Shadows of the Keeper

by Karey Brown

  Moving pictures jetted around her mind as if on a zip line.

  She wielded a sword. Pivoting, fighting an invisible foe. And oblivious to the brilliant silver glow emanating from the blade in her grasp. It was as if the blade were burning silver fire! Aunsgar and Broc were in the barn. She wrinkled her nose, horse dung obviously fresh. Weird, in a vision, she retained sense of smell. Broc and Aunsgar stood like two males about to trod their own death march. Between them, on the ground, lay an overly long iron box. They were awaiting her. She approached, furious and betrayed. Ornate artwork done in silver and inlaid with large rubies was adhered to the lid. The artwork, Emily noted, look very similar to designs carved into various pieces of furniture adorning Aungar’s receiving solar. Emily observed herself placing the magnificent sword within the box. She stepped back, seething. Aunsgar gave a slight nod. Broc kicked the hinged lid, making it slam shut. Emily flinched. The laird hoisted the box onto his shoulder. With an expression shot to her of such contempt, he stomped away. Vision cleared, and Emily found herself in the snow-garden, minus the gagging barn odors.

  And minus one incensed, disgusted Laird Broc MacLarrin.

  Reincarnation is how moderns refer to it as, Broc had explained during her healing.

  Yeah, well something’s going on. Problem is, each time I see one of these mini-mental video playbacks of Broc, there’s a rage that builds until I want to rip his face off. Why? Okay, so he and Aurelia broke up. He replaced her with a shrew. Said shrew became physically and mentally abusive towards Aurelia. So, why didn’t the chic use her powers and either obliterate Na’Dryn, or, at the very least, vacate Broc’s keep and travel elsewhere ‘til she found peace and happiness? Seems to me, this Aurelia was too obedient. Granted it was a different time, but with the powers she supposedly had, it wasn’t like she really had to put up with the ignorance of mortals in that era. And, for Broc’s part, he sure didn’t treat her like royalty. More like one of his pigs in the sty. Emotional battles of long ago weren’t her problem today in the here and now.

  Aurelia was dead. Broc remained.

  And still holds onto much of his anger. If he hasn’t gotten over his Aurelia-issues in thirty-six hundred years, then he never will. Not my problem. With a final glance at roses now askew, Emily started to make her way back to the door.

  “Please, my lady, do not leave me here. I beg of you.”

  “If you can call to me, can’t you dig your own way out?”

  “No, it must be from you. Only you.”

  “Says he, the corpse looking for a bride.”

  Chuckling.

  Emily smirked. “Obviously, you’re six feet under. And, obviously, I’ve taken leave of my damn mind to be having this conversation. Start giving clues as to how I’m to free you, or I book.”

  “Book? You have become parchment?”

  Emily’s mouth scrunched, her lids lowering to half-mast. “Yes, and the first page clearly states: avoid voices lacking a body and visibility.”

  More chuckling. “I see you’ve retained your wit.”

  “Oh, I’m just loaded with it.”

  “I am here, having awaited you.”

  A slow nod. “Oookay.” God forbid it couldn’t have been a hot babe having awaited her. Oh no, she had to get the iron box, coffin-deep in the ground. Lucky, lucky me. “Box, rise.”

  Nothing.

  Save for an exasperated sigh.

  “I could leave, you know. Leave and never come back. Then, where will you be? Oh, I know, right here, still buried!”

  “You will have need of me in the very near future, which is why Xyn has mandated it is time for our reunion.”

  “Xyn?”

  “Yes.”

  “And, who would Xyn be?”

  “Your Elder.”

  “Oh, okay.” Emily shook her head and rolled her eyes. “There’s been a mix-up. I’m not Aurelia.”

  “This time.”

  “Why is it, throughout this castle, all males assume I enjoy riddles?”

  Chuckling again. Deep and scratchy.

  “What, exactly, are you?” She peered closer. “I’m not digging you out. These thorns are vampire-huge. I’ll be bled dry before I even make it past the first foot of digging.

  “I am a Realm Guard, milady, and your shield.”

  “They call ‘em maxi-pads now.”

  Silence.

  Apparently, female humor was lost on him—it. Flowers vibrated again. Emily trotted backwards.

  “Call to me.”

  “Call you what? Rise, oh Realm Guard.” She even raised her hand, waggling her fingers.

  “You mock me.”

  “Trust me, the only one looking the idiot right now is me,” Emily stated and pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking for a minute. “Maybe the box imprisoning you simply needs to be dug up. Thing is, I don’t think Broc’s gonna be jumping for joy that I’ve found you.”

  “I thirst.”

  She dropped her hand. “What, you want me to water the garden, now?”

  “Ah, like before, your humor never depletes.”

  Emily glared. “Could it be you were put in the ground due to wretched sarcasm?”

  “I was put here out of fear.”

  “Fear of what? You’re a sword—holy shit! A talking sword! Well, yeah, I can see why the locals back then would have flipped-the-fuck out.”

  “I do not understand your words.”

  “They’re foul. Never mind.”

  “Call to me, milady. The hour grows dire.”

  Emily looked above. Where had the morning gone? “You mean dark?”

  “I mean, dire.”

  “Testy.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Rise, sword.”

  Again, nothing.

  “That will hardly suffice.”

  “It might help,” Emily fumed, “if you tell me what to say, you son of a bitch!” Emily stomped away. Who needs this shit? “I’m tired. Ciao!”

  “My Lady, there will not be a ‘later’. Darkness descends and with it, Drakar prevails.”

  That got her attention. “What do you know of Drakar?”

  “I have waited time without end for your return.”

  “I’m not Aurelia.”

  “You have her temper, but you speak with your fury whereas, the princess hid her emotions. Mayhaps, if she had allowed herself the luxury of anger, she would have survived her enemies. I wonder, however, if you will be able to rule—“

  “I swear, blade, when you are free—“

  Ground rumbled. Rose bushes collided and toppled. “What the hell did I say?”

  A long, filthy box shook free from the garden grave. A box the exact duplicate of her vision. She plopped down on her rear. Expecting it to be much heavier, she kicked it free from thorny rose bushes. Too much force. It bounced along the dirt, teetered on its side, and fell over with a thud. “Pandora’s box. I quite possibly am going to free evil upon the world.”

  “Ah, Pandora. A beauty. Evil already existed. She was merely the pawn. I am hardly evil. A Defender against it, my pledge has been to you.”

  “You’re growing on me.”

  “Impossible. I am here, in this dark prison.”

  “Great, he’s literal.” She reached over and attempted to open her prize. “Yay. It’s glued shut from too many years buried. Now what?” Emily glanced behind her. Her nape prickled. I have been gone quite some time. “Better think quickly. My jailors will be looking for me soon, if not, already.”

  “Perhaps you could recall incantations taught to you before being gifted my presence in your life?”

  “You were a gift?” No answer. “It’s a different era now. People chanting spells are locked away in white jackets.”

  “Magic is forbidden?”

  “More like scoffed at. Hasn’t existed for centuries. Unless you count pulling a rabbit from a hat as magic.” She seriously doubted that was the kind he implied.

  “How do you obtain possessions?”r />
  “Uh, we buy them.”

  “Barbaric.”

  “This, from something living in a box.”

  “Did you not set flame to flower?”

  “What, you want me to torch you? And how would you know? You were underground.”

  “How did I know you were amongst us again, and how did I call to you?” Feudal silence followed. The sword caved first. “No,” it sighed. “I do not desire to be torched. I am sure you will think of something else in order to free me from imprisonment.”

  Emily jumped up and kicked the box. Hard. It tumbled over and over.

  “I had not thought of that,” the voice rattled. “Clever.”

  Disgusted, Emily walked towards the contraption. Kicking it had felt good. “Amazing. You can talk, but you can’t free yourself.”

  No answer. Emily hunkered down, contemplating. “This logo looks Elvish—not that I’m an expert, but some of Aunsgar’s furniture has similar features.” Blowing and brushing off dirt, Emily traced the beautiful silver swirls. “Strange. How long did you say you were buried?”

  “Eternity.”

  “Narrow the scope. Eternity is endless.” Distracted, she continued feeling the maze of loops and swirls.

  “The current year, milady?”

  “Two-thousand thirteen.”

  Garbling and choking spewed. “Certainly took your time returning, did you not?”

  Emily retracted her hand. “I don’t recall it being my choice.”

  “It is not my intent to anger you.”

  “The silver on this lid should be tarnished, yet remains shiny-new.”

  “Mined by dwarves.”

  “Oh, of course. What was I thinking?”

  A sigh of resignation. “Long ago, silver was mined by dwarves, only the best sold and traded to Elves. Elves, they still exist?”

  “A few.”

  “What they fashion from silver always remains exquisite.”

  Stalemate silence enveloped them. “Well, blade, we’ve ourselves a real pickle right now. I can’t exactly leave you here, like this, locked up.” Preoccupied again with plots on how to open the damn thing, without asking Broc, Emily traced the silver design, this time not letting up her finger until she had followed along its entirety.

  Rubies began to glow.

  “Ah, you have found the key.”

  Emily bolted. Something whooshed past her head and thudded into the door she was mere feet from reaching.

  A sword, black leather hilt and shining silver blade etched with markings resembling Ogham Maeve had begun teaching her, stuck out from the door.

  “You, milady, shant leave again without my hilt grasped in your hand.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Emily stopped so abruptly, she teetered, flapping her arms to stop her fall. The blade pulsated.

  “Take my hilt.”

  “No.”

  “Take my hilt, my lady, and get me out of this door.”

  “Get yourself out. I’m not touching you.”

  “Claim me, and ready for battle.”

  “I so don’t think so.” She reached around it. It arced and twanged. Wisely, she retreated.

  “You must take my hilt, and become one with me like days of old.”

  “Stuck, aren’t you?”

  “Never.”

  Unladylike snorts escaped her nose, though she quickly covered her mouth, trying to squelch the eruption of laughter.

  “I was not honed in the blue fires to be mocked—“

  Emily roared. And doubled over, slapping her leg several times, laughter taking over. Its sigh of disgust did her in. Long, long moments passed. Each time it quivered, her giggling renewed.

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Prisoner in a box for centuries, then wedge yourself into a door, and you’re supposed to help me?” More snorfing coupled with tears of mirth. “What . . . do they . . . call you? Sir Sticks A Lot? Sir Not So Sharp?”

  “Blade.”

  She sobered. “So, when I said your name, though not realizing that’s what you’re actually called . . . ”

  “I was set free. Somewhat.”

  “How is it you speak?”

  “Once, I protected the Elders. I was chosen for the honorary task of protecting The Keeper from within this sword.”

  “I’ve heard a few things about Elders. What’s a keeper?”

  “The Elders are more ancient than any life residing upon this planet. We came from far away.”

  “And this keeper? I think someone played a nasty trick on you, convincing you this was somehow honorary.”

  “My lady. A great competition of strength, hunting, and mental abilities was conducted amongst we Realm Guards. To be chosen as protector of The Keeper, there existed no higher honor.”

  “And you won. Typical men. What did you have to do, run fast, live off the land for a few days? Kill lions with your bare hands?” She waggled her hands.

  “I was dragged by a team of horses for several weeks to test my endurance. I was then dropped from a ship and made to find shore with not more than a dagger for self-defense and hunting. I promise you, my lady, you do not want to know what creatures resided in the sea in a time that far surpasses this era you’ve revealed I now reside in.”

  “You were dragged . . . by horses?”

  “Strength. Pain. Mental endurance.”

  “How many of you did this to yourselves?”

  “Eight hundred.”

  She balked.

  “It is a small number. I am most apologetic.”

  “That wasn’t why my mouth dropped open. It’s a rather large amount of men being dragged about. All this for this position you spoke of. If you’re in that box over there, what happened to this Keeper?”

  “I was deceived into believing my presence endangered her life.”

  “I saw my hands placing you in that box, Blade.”

  Silence.

  “Aurelia was this Keeper, correct?”

  “The Keeper. Yes.”

  Emily’s skin puckered. Something tickled her mind. “What does a Keeper do?” she whispered.

  “She holds the power of The Elders in the palm of her hand. She is queen over all beings residing within the kingdom. To humans, she is myth.”

  “You make it sound as if she is a goddess, or something.”

  “Power bestowed in The Keeper through years of teachings and trainings makes her exactly that. She is a goddess. She is immortal. Her life, however, is forever besieged with danger by those plotting to seize her power by way of her soul.” Blade quivered again.

  “It is the highest honor to be placed within this sword, to be ready for battle, to defend The Keeper. When the steps are performed, we are forged. Nothing penetrates the barrier surrounding the Keeper. Those who think otherwise lose their lives.”

  “So, once upon a time, you were a man, then placed in this sword, and voila! Here you are. And, we meet again. My luck just keeps getting better—not!”

  “I had a male form similar to your Outlander, I will concede that, but as for being human, I was not.”

  “My Outlander?”

  “Broc,” the name hissed out like poison.

  “Oh, the laird. Like you, he’s still around too.”

  “Impossible. I was laid to rest into the ground over three thousand years ago. Not even Elves live such lengthy lives.”

  “Oh, you’re in for several surprises then. Broc lives, as does Aunsgar.”

  “And what is the Outlander to you in this life that you find yourself amongst us?”

  “A bastard. Jailor. Protector. Friend. Worst enemy. Yup, that about sums it up. Just depends upon the hour.”

  “Full circle.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Life is three circles. You have near completed your first. The Outlanders thought they were so clever as to create the three circle theory in their religion.” Blade chuckled. “Every aspect of their beliefs was taught to them from the Elders.”

  “
How long is your imprisonment in that blade?”

  “I am not a prisoner.”

  “You can leave the sword and resume your human form?”

  “Not until you command it.”

  Emily snorted. “I didn’t even know how to command you out of the ground, let alone out of the box. I don’t know any spells, Blade.”

  “They are simply dormant.”

  “And you would know this, how?”

  “Take my hilt, and begin the reawakening.”

  “Think I rather like sleeping, but thanks.”

  “It was never in your nature to have fear”

  “Guess what? In this life, massive fear. I could bottle the stuff.”

  “Aurelia would never have succumbed to such an emotion.”

  “Well, like I keep telling everyone, I’m not Aurelia!”

  “We have a visitor.”

  “What?” Emily stilled. “The stairs. I told you I’d been down here too long,” she whisper-hissed. “They’re probably flipping out!”

  “Above us.”

  Emily automatically crouched and looked above. At first, the canopy of snow revealed nothing. Then she heard it. Footsteps. Crunching. Walking on the ‘dome’ she found herself under. Muffled voices. She strained to hear.

  “He can sense something amiss. He senses me, but does not yet realize.”

  “Who?”

  “Prince Aunsgar. Perception I have been freed will be upon him soon. I look forward to feeding from his blood.” Blade quivered, but still remained wedged.

  “Feeding off his blood implies you’re going to kill him. So not gonna happen.”

  “In battle, it is how I gather strength; what nourishes me.”

  “So, basically, my first theory was spot on, you’re a vampire? Great. Perfect. Swell.”

  “I do not recognize this ‘vampire’.”

  “Bloodsucker.”

  “Something of the sort.”

  “And, what’s your problem with Aunsgar?”

  “He created the spell imprisoning me in that . . . what was your term?”

  “Box. Coffin.” Emily shrugged.

  “Several more gather. The prince becomes agitated. His intuition strengthens.”