The Keeper’s Heart
By Catherine Stovall
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, including photocopying, recording, or transmitted by any means without written consent of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, establishments, names, companies, organizations and events were created by the author. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events, companies or organizations is coincidental.
Published by Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing
Text Copyright 2015 Catherine Stovall
Edited by Elizabeth A. Lance
Cover by CLS Services
Dedication
To my little sister and friend, Samantha Hebrock, whose strength and beauty inspired this story.
The Keeper’s Heart
Definition of a Keeper
Keeper ~ (n): a demi-god or demi-goddess who possesses the life clock of one or more humans. A Keepers’ duty is to ensure the clock is wound and undamaged for the duration of the human’s life. At the time of a human’s death, the Keeper must return the human’s clock to the house of the Parcae (Nona, Decuma, and Morta) where it is stored until the human is reborn.
The Laws of Time Keeping
Protect the Time Clock. If the clock is destroyed the human’s time will cease to flow in a smooth and continuous state and will perish.
Never rewind the Time Clock. This will result in an imbalance of natural life and influxes in the human time continuum.
Never reveal yourself to, or interfere in the destiny of, a human. In such cases, the human’s clock will be destroyed resulting in instantaneous euthanasia. The Keeper will be banished to Sheol where they will suffer an eternity of depraved and hideous punishments.
Prologue
Amara was a Keeper of the lost souls. Those humans who would leave the world without ever meeting their destiny were hers to watch over as a Keeper of time. Her hand turned forward the clock and created every precious moment in the lives of her wards. She lived for three hundred years, watched great men fail, evil men rule, and witnessed wicked women lure good hearts into darkness. She observed the innocent perish at the hands of the ones who claimed to love them. All the while, she kept to the Keeper’s law.
Nona, Decuma, and Morta, the Goddesses who choose the Keepers, came down from their lofty places when Amara was sixteen. Each of them looked into her eyes and saw what they needed within them.
Nona whispered, “In her destiny, time cannot be kept.”
Decuma’s raspy murmur followed, “I see that it cannot be fettered.”
Morta stared longer than her sisters had, before she agreed, “Humans are meant to be bound to the passing of a moment like so many pieces of sand in the glass. This one is not bound. She is the one we seek, Sisters.”
In all her years of service, Amara never failed to wind a clock, never broke a rule, nor interfered in the destiny of another. She served flawlessly and with honorable loyalty, until humanity found its way into her heart.
Chapter 1
Broken Destiny
Amara held two small clocks before her as she watched her wards. The ticking of the little golden hands kept beat with the human children’s hearts as they stood in the parking lot of an abandoned garage. His face was pale and his hands were shaking as he stared at the crying girl. Her long, ebony colored hair hung in front of her face, partially hiding her pain and tears.
Desiree turned her eyes on Anthony, two watery pools of blue fire, and as his heart skittered, so did the ticking hand on the clock that bore his name.
The girl’s voice was a trembling wreck of its usual lyrical sound. “You don't understand. I know it’s over, and we are going to be fine. My mind believes it, but my heart never will. It’s in those quiet moments, when I am all alone, that I hear something whispering to me. It keeps telling me that I can never feel safe again."
His voice was steady, but thickly coated with sadness, “I love you. I’m sorry. I should have never done this. I was stupid. I don’t know what else to say.”
Desiree swiped at her tears with the sleeve of her skull-pocked shirt. Wavering for a second, she finally gave in and stepped forward. Anthony opened his arms to her, relief spreading across his face. Their embrace, which should have been the catalyst that sealed their destinies together, was a combination of murmured words, kisses, and tears.
His back to the road, Anthony never saw the truck as it crept slowly toward them. Desiree, blinded by her tears and the joy of feeling his arms around her, never saw the window silently slide down. No one in the sleepy little town would ever forget what came next, though no one but Amara bore witness.
Anthony pulled back to look into Desiree’s face, one hand reaching for a ring stuffed in the pocket of his torn jeans. As he opened his mouth to offer her the token of love, the gun fired. The sound rang out, bouncing off the brick building and shattering the peaceful afternoon.
A spray of crimson shot from Anthony’s neck as his body lurched forward, crumpling Desiree beneath him. Passing through his body, the bullet ricocheted off his spine and exited the base of his throat, spiraling downward into Desiree’s lovely face. Blood flowed from the wounds like crimson rivers and their clocks jarred as the tiny hands slowed.
Something inside of Amara spun. She loved them, the two children. She had been present on the day they met, which had started their destinies turning in a fatal spiral. She had witnessed all of their firsts. She had even watched him betray her and had looked forward to the day when they would reunite. Amara knew every one of her charges would die before reaching their destiny, but it seemed unfair that the two lovers would perish. So young and innocent, they would never truly unite. They would not be reborn to each other again for another thousand years.
Without pause and without thinking of consequences, Amara began to turn the dial on Anthony’s clock. Tremors ran into her through the timepiece—his death only seconds away. The fragile hands inside the clear face seemed to fight against her as she tried to hurry. She knew she could not save one without the other. They both had to survive, or the one who lived would waste their destiny on guilt and despair over the other.
Struggling against whatever forces the Parcae controlled, Amara wound the dials back as far as she dared. Three and half minutes were all she had to save the two humans and confine herself to the torturous depths of Sheol. Before she could change her mind out of selfish fear, she pushed the small buttons on the top of the watches down.
Never having rewound a clock, and never knowing of anyone who had, Amara did not know what to expect. In her imagination, she supposed it would be like watching a movie on rewind. She assumed blood would seep back in, the bodies would raise, the gaping exit wounds would close, the bullet would retract into the gun, and the truck would disappear back down the road.
To her utter shock, none of those things happened. One second Amara stood on the edge of the building watching Anthony and Desiree die, and the next, they were repeating the exact conversation as before. There was no gradual process, just instantaneous recall.
Without hesitation, she ran to them, her wards, wanting to throw her arms around them in relief that they were once again whole. All concern for the Keeper laws that bound her had vanquished. She had broken those chains when she wound back the clocks. Realizing that neither of her wards would recognize her, she slid to a halt only a few feet away and screamed their names.
Anthony pulled Desiree closer to him as they both stared at the strange girl in wide-eyed surprise. Suspicion and shock shined brightly in their eyes.
Amara shouted out the words as fast as she could, the low rumble of the truck coming up the road sending her into a
wild panic. “Carl has a gun and he’s going to shoot you! Run! Follow me! He’s on his way up the street right now!”
Disbelief immobilized Anthony’s body. He tried to argue with the girl. “No. Carl said we were cool. I gave him back the money.” Even the unmistakable sound of the dual truck exhaust growing closer did not move him.
Desiree obviously had more sense. She grabbed Anthony’s hand and pulled him behind her as she ran toward Amara. Fleeing in pure terror, they ducked into the alleyway, running as fast as they could.
Struggling to maneuver in a human body, Amara stumbled. She had walked the Earth as a mist most of the time, and the physical effort of moving weighed down on her. The adrenaline was the only thing that kept her legs pumping, despite the pain in her side causing her to puff like a steam train.
She skidded to a stop, realizing that she had led them to a fence and trapped them in the narrow passage between the tall buildings. She could revert to her ethereal form, the mist she walked in most of the time, but Anthony and Desiree could not. Unsure of what to do, and more exhausted than she could ever remember being, she tried to think of a solution.
While she stood dumbfounded, breath hitching and chest heaving, her wards proved how resourceful human children could be. Grabbing the fence and scaling it with speed, they passed her without looking back. The rattling of the chain link chimed into the quiet afternoon for a moment before Desiree and Anthony were on the ground and running once more. The loud clapping sound of their sneakers hitting the pavement on the other side reminded Amara of gunshots and she moved.
Hand over shaky hand, she climbed the metal fence and let her body weight carry her to the ground on the other side. The impact sent a vicious jarring through her, and painful tremors wracked her bones, despite her rubber-soled shoes. Amara was suddenly thankful that she had discovered specialty coffee shops over the previous ten years. In order to obtain the particular treat, she had dressed in the styles of the period. If not for that strange habit, she would have been running naked through the alley.
The hollow popping of Carl’s pipes thundered away as Amara, Desiree, and Anthony hid in the shadows of the passage. Amara cautiously watched through the diamond shaped wiring as the rear of the pickup disappeared around a curve. Relieved that they seemed to be safe for the moment, she turned to survey her wards and to check on their welfare.
Desiree had sunk to the ground, worn and desperately shattered. Her mascara ran down her face as she hiccupped little sobs and wiped her nose on her sleeve. When Anthony squatted down next to her, trying to offer comfort, she clutched his shirt in her hands and buried her face in his chest.
Amara came closer, causing both of the teens to look up at her with suspicion. She could only guess what it was they were seeing. Not having looked in a mirror since she had become a Keeper, she knew she hadn’t aged a day since the sisters had chosen her. It was hard to recall one’s appearance when it meant so little in the grand scheme of things.
She assumed Anthony and Desiree saw her as a thin, short girl with long, white-blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes. Though she had transcended when she was sixteen, she’d always appeared much younger. They had no way of knowing she had already lived a hundred human lifetimes, when she must look like a child.
Anthony was the first to speak. “Who the hell are you? How did you know about Carl?”
Amara hesitated. She couldn’t help thinking it was so like him in his bravery, which bordered on stupidity, to be the one to initiate the third degree. However, she had broken the cardinal laws of time keeping already. She hadn’t thought over the situation and her own circumstances yet. The gravity of their current position hit her with an astounding wave of nausea and her voice turned sharp.
“Don’t worry about that right now. Get her up and let’s get moving. Do you have somewhere safe we can go?”
Desiree spoke so softly Amara had to strain to hear her. “We can go to the Bluffs.”
She had to search her memory for the explanation. It only took a minute to recall the secluded area where kids often went to party and make out. Her wards had met there to sip cheap strawberry wine and kiss the hot summer afternoons away in the cool, dark of the caverns. In the last year, the port authority had bought out the land and enclosed it behind fences and No-Trespassing signs.
As if reading her thoughts, Anthony informed her, “There is a hole in the fence near the road. We cut it a couple months ago. Some of us sneak in there to hang out.”
“Great. Good. Okay. Here’s the plan, I’m going to go get your car. Stay here and don’t move.” Looking directly at Anthony, she ordered, “For the sake of all that’s good, do not, under any circumstances, as much as peek out of this alley. I am sure Carl has not just given up and gone home.”
In less than a second, Anthony was on his feet. “Look, kid, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’m not going to sit here and wait around for you to go get my car. You’re freaking fourteen. Thanks for warning us about Carl, but maybe you had better run home to your mom.”
Amara vaporized, merely disappearing into thin air. She watched with a snide grin on her face as Desiree and Anthony gasped and clung to each other. An impressive stream of cuss words flew from Desiree’s mouth, and Amara felt proud. Her little tough cookie was finally starting to show the backbone Amara knew she had.
When she re-appeared before them, she enjoyed their dual shriek of fear a little too much. Not giving them time to panic and run, Amara began to talk, “Don’t freak out, okay. I will explain everything when we get to the Bluffs, but for now, I need you to trust me. If I was going to hurt you, why would I have put myself in danger to save your asses from Carl?”
With one arm wrapped protectively around Desiree’s shoulders, Anthony dug in his pocket for the keys to his car. The sleek, black ‘67 Ford Fairlane was the only thing he loved other than Desiree. “If you wreck her, I will kill you. I don’t care what you are, or what you can do to me. One scratch on my car, and you’re gonna get it, kid.”
Tough talk had always been Anthony’s downfall. Had Amara been in a better mood, she might have taught him a lesson. Instead, she simply held out her hand for the keys and smiled complacently. She didn’t have the time for hard-learned lessons, they needed to move. She had a feeling that she and Anthony would come to a head sooner rather than later.
Once he forfeited his keys, complete with a white rabbit foot, Amara quickly vanished. As she faded into the eternal mist of her own world, she heard the faint sound of Desiree screaming. Amara was too busy shaking her head and thinking exasperated thoughts about the two children to notice that she was not alone.
Chapter 2
Covenant in the Mist
The voice was full of sadness. “Amara, what have you done?”
An ancient face appeared in the fog only a few feet away, and Amara started as she tried to explain. “Morta, I am sorry. I don’t know what I am doing. I only know their destinies cannot end here, in this godforsaken place. Their precious clocks must not stop in a bloodbath.”
“That is not your decision to make. We are the Parcae. Our duty is to keep to the path laid out for our wards. You must come with me, child. We must seek out the others and undo this heinous crime.” Tears brimmed in the old one’s eyes as she spoke.
Amara knew the children would die, and the Parcae would cast her into the depths of Sheol, where she would become a senseless being without fervor or design. “Please allow me this one chance. Allow me to save them. Three hundred years, I have served the Parcae. I have watched from a tearless and unmerciful distance while the damned souls were shattered. Never once have I broken the covenant. Please, give me these two. They deserve life.”
Morta shook her head, causing her ghostly silver hair to unnaturally shift in a nonexistent breeze. In the silence of the foggy world, Amara listened for the sound of the Apollumi guards coming. She waited for the hooves of the black horses, her ears straining for the sound of the hell hounds that were said
to lead them into a hunt.
Instead of those terrible things, she only heard Morta’s ancient voice. “Amara, daughter of time, do not ask this of me.”
Amara felt the anger well up inside of her. Years of flawless and heartless actions weighed heavily on her shoulders and laced her words with poison. “Then I shall not ask you, mother of time. I will tell you. These children are mine. I will save them at any cost. Call forth the guards if you must. Cast me into Sheol if you insist, but you will have to catch me first.”
Her temper flared like a volcano erupting. “I know you three, the witches of time. I know your minions as well. I am well-versed in the limitations set upon those of us who walk between the mists and the world of the humans. I am no longer your ally, your puppet. I am now your enemy.”
Before Amara could run, Morta spoke. Her voice held the sound of a stranger’s indifference. “Very well, child. You shall have what you desire, and you will face the consequences. Save your children, if you so wish. I warn you, it will not be easy to avoid the destiny given to them. I’m offering you a head start to the hunt. Run.”
“You are letting me go?” Her confusion held no cockiness. Amara knew if she battled, she would lose. She had only thought, in the process of the fight, she could save her wards. A bargain held hope. “What is it that you want, Morta?”
“I want nothing, but to help you, though it may cost me my own soul. In the eons before the creation of mechanical gears, the Parcae used strings to measure the breadth of human life. During these times, the Keeper’s were known as Weavers. They did not simply weave, though. They sheared the sheep, cleaned the wool, oiled it, combed it, and spun it into thread. When at last it was ready, they tied it to their looms and wove the pattern of destiny.
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