The Keeper's Shadow

by Dennis Foon

  “I saw them too, not so long ago, in that place,” Roan says. “But I had so little time, and so many questions. I wanted to ask—”

  “Why they sacrificed themselves?” Stowe finishes.

  Roan nods. “Did they tell you?”

  “No, of course not.” Roan can hear the anger and frustration curling dangerously beneath the statement. “They’re very sorry about it all, but not sorry enough to answer questions. I’ve decided to give up on that front and concentrate on the next. Willum and I will return to the City immediately. There’s work to do.”

  Darius will kill you.

  Mother says no. They knew I’d have to go back. They accepted it. You should too.

  Why are you being this way?

  “This is the way I am.”

  Her voice is so devoid of warmth, her eyes so cold. If only he had gripped her hand tighter, she’d never have left his side. Two years with the Turned and her ordeal with Ferrell have made her hard. Very hard. “You want revenge.”

  “Shouldn’t I?” Her smile is almost cruel. “Don’t you?”

  Seeing her fierce passion reminds him all too clearly of his own rage. But it barely offsets the slyness of her question. “Once,” he says, carefully, “but vengeance is a dull knife.”

  “Well spoken, Brother,” Stowe smiles, her cheeks dimpling with sweet, little girl innocence. “But I take care to tend the sharpness of my blade.”

  Please, Stowe. We’ve just found each other again.

  Partings are our fate, Roan. “It’s in the prophecies, The Book of Longlight: ‘Though the destiny of the son and daughter of Longlight be joined, it shall never be shared.’”

  There is no escaping her resolve. In the end he knows she’s right; he’s the one whose motives are questionable. He’d failed to protect her once and doesn’t want to make that mistake again. But maybe she doesn’t need his protection. If she wants to go back and play Our Stowe, win Darius’s trust and help destroy him, who is he to deny her? She suffered more at Darius’s hands than he and she’s earned the right to play the part she chooses. Still, he knows she’s hiding something. He sees his sister but also…something else, something he’s not sure he can trust. Who are you?

  “Do you think you haven’t changed too?” she asks impatiently.

  Whatever Roan had hoped to recover in this meeting is lost forever. He should have known. History cannot be reversed. He hears her mind call out, Willum, and in a moment her guardian joins them.

  “I have marked the locations of the more recent constructions. Shall I…?” says Willum, looking curiously from one to the other.

  Roan nods, smiling weakly. “Please.”

  Arranging the map on the floor, Willum begins, “This is the Whorl, it sits atop the Well of Oblivion.”

  “I’ve been through it,” adds Stowe. “Spirits are trapped inside. They try to tempt you to stay in there with them.”

  “The Spiracal,” continues Willum. “Darius uses it for executions.”

  “But it’s in the Dreamfield. Who…?” Roan looks quizzically at Willum.

  “The Masters who do not agree with him,” Willum states matter-of-factly.

  “What is this thing with the tentacles?” Roan asks.

  “The Antlia. Its purpose is kept secret to all but the Masters of the Inner Circle. The Gyre, here, is a mystery as well. I suspect these constructions feed the Masters’ powers and help sustain them, though I am not sure how it is done. That is the Ocellus. It is made up of disks that can be used to fold space in the Dreamfield, so that long distances can be traveled with the speed of thought.”

  “But isn’t that—”

  “—what we can do, Brother, without any help,” says Stowe. “But not so the Masters. They have many limitations.”

  “This is intriguing,” Willum says as if the thought has just occurred to him. “All the Constructions seem to radiate around a central point.”

  Roan joins Stowe as they both try to view the three-dimensional map from Willum’s perspective.

  Stowe gasps. “The Spiracal!” Then she points at a conspicuously undeveloped area. “Look down here, there’s nothing.”

  “Where’s Darius’s Throne?” asks Roan.

  Stowe and Willum exchange glances. “Throne,” she says, musing. “He was talking about a new Construction, maybe that’s where he’s building it.”

  “The summation of his architecture,” Willum concludes.

  Turning back to Roan, Stowe asks, “What do you know about it?”

  “It looks like a giant hand. The base of its arm sits in a pool, a silver pool. Darius told Saint that Stowe and I and the Novakin were meant to fuel it. But it wasn’t just us. In the hand there were shapes flowing up from the pool. Hundreds of them.”

  “Willum, remember when we went to Cooperation Unlimited? There was something Fortin said about enablers that got me thinking. I could sense he knew something, something secret. Later, it occurred to me that it might have something to do with Darius’s new Construction.”

  “Yes. Fortin spoke of their tremendous potential…” Willum pauses for a moment then, turning to Roan, asks, “Kira told you of the new enablers those Clerics were equipped with?”

  “Yes. But what do you think they have to do with Darius’s Throne?”

  “You’ve seen the enabled?”

  “Clerics. Yes. And people in the City.”

  “How did they seem to you?”

  “Listless…soulless. Do you mean…those shapes I saw floating into the hand. Are you saying Darius is using enablers to steal people’s life force so that he can power his Throne?”

  “It is certainly a possibility.”

  “Mabatan said his new weapon—the Apogee—took the lives of the Hhroxhi without wounding them. Do you think—”

  “We’ll have to go back to the factory, Willum,” Stowe says purposefully, “and find out.”

  “Yes,” agrees Willum. “It would at least partially explain how Darius continues to advance despite the loss of both the Novakin and the son and daughter of Longlight.”

  “Pardon me for interrupting,” Kira says, slipping into the tent, “but everyone is gathering for Council.”

  As Stowe rises to follow Roan, Kira stands between them. “You’ll have to wear the cloak. Grandmother’s conferred with Wolf. It seems he’s a little jumpy about the possibility of spies in our midst and so she’s decided that it is unsafe for you to stand openly in Council.”

  Though Kira towers over Stowe, it is clear that his sister does not fear her. She listens not out of obligation but respect and picks up her cloak without hesitation.

  “Ende requests that we join her after Council. She would like to share some thoughts with us.”

  They all nod their assent and Stowe lifts her hood. I don’t think I’ll be able to wait till after to share my thoughts with you, Brother. I hope you don’t mind.

  I could use your help, actually. I’ve never done anything like this before.

  You asked for it, she says mischievously as she follows Kira through the open canvas flap.

  As the three “Apsara” go to join Ende, Roan starts walking back to Saint’s tent and the dreaded council. There were so many things he’d wanted to discuss with Stowe and Willum to prepare for the meeting and he’d only scratched the surface. Maybe there’ll be time when they met with Ende tonight. Would Stowe agree to meet with the Hhroxhi? There’d been moments in the tent when he almost felt he had his sister back again, but mostly she’d seemed distant, so much a stranger that he wondered if she still cared for him at all.

  “Sorry to barge in on what is obviously some deep thinking, Roan, but I have an important proposition.”

  As Roan slows for the Storyteller, Kamyar blusters, “No need to slacken your pace. I’ve no trouble conversing on the move. After all, we don’t want to be the last to arrive,” he continues, hurrying Roan along. “You may have noticed, Roan of Longlight, that though you are on somewhat friendly terms with most of the peop
le who are convening tonight, the rest of us are not all so well disposed to each other. Now my idea is this: how about we fire up this little gathering with a prophecy? It might be the very thing to remind us why we’ve come together. Get us off on the right foot.”

  “Sounds great,” Roan says enthusiastically. “Got any ideas for the middle and the end?”

  Laughing heartily, Kamyar strides past Roan and through the entryway to Saint’s tent.

  The evening mist is already rising. Roan stops for a moment, reminded of a night two years ago when four Brethren returning with news of the Farlands interrupted his first session with Saint. He had felt nervous that night too. Nervous but also excited. It was that night he’d accepted Saint’s offer to teach him how to fight. He’d believed then that no harm could come of it. But he wouldn’t be here tonight starting a war if he’d made a different choice.

  THE TWO COUNCILS

  AFTER THE BULL WATCHES THE MOON’S SHADOW RIDE THE EARTH, THE SUN WILL BE SET FREE AND THE FUTURE DECIDED.

  —THE BOOK OF LONGLIGHT

  STOWE IS IMPRESSED WITH THE AUSTERE GRANDEUR of the central tent. Only six oil lamps, evenly distributed to surround the gathering, supplement the muted glow of the central fire. She notices a rainbow of colors shimmering around the participants. When did she first see something like this? It was right after her attack on Raven and Brack, after Ferrell had almost killed her. That Hhroxhi, Mhyzah, she’d emanated a bright red…and then, in the Dreamfield’s Longlight, Roan had been blue. The light around him now is layered and it tendrils out to the others in the circle. It meets Ende’s warm golden glow and blends beautifully with the wisps of orange that dance over Kira’s heart. Stowe can sense the power of each individual from the quality of the air around them. This new ability could be useful, she thinks, noticing that the Governor’s nimbus wavers, fine jagged bolts, like tiny twisting cracks, riving its surface—he’s edgy, not at all comfortable to be here.

  The guards are less interesting, though there are more of them than participants. Examining the Brothers closely, Stowe can see why Ende and Wolf are concerned. Some of them are no older than Roan—easy prey for any interested party to manipulate. One catches her eye. He has a scar that runs from eyebrow to chin and the air around him is the murky brown of dried blood—that can’t be good. He’s looking curiously in her direction, and though she knows she could easily kill him, Stowe’s happy to be concealed within her broad hood.

  The meeting had begun quite well, she thought, with a prophecy rousingly delivered by that Storyteller friend of Willum’s. He had ended with: “And the son and the daughter of Longlight shall stand and be recognized. People shall gather behind them and the fall of the City will be won.”

  Then Roan had stood to say that he had called this meeting to discuss how they might, together, bring about this “fall.” And everyone in the room has been shouting ever since.

  “The Fandor are one thing, the Clerics another.”

  “No matter how many you kill, they’ll still keep coming.”

  “There can’t be an endless supply. I thought this was war!”

  “War?”

  “You can’t fight the City head on.”

  “We could infiltrate.”

  “How? They have spies everywhere. It’s better to fight.”

  “The City’s impenetrable. You can’t get close enough to launch an attack.”

  These are all powerful, opinionated people, most of them leaders. Roan’s the youngest person in the circle, and it’s obvious that he hasn’t got a clue how to control them.

  You’re not handling them.

  Roan cringes. I don’t know how to run a meeting. It’s a disaster.

  Relax. Smile. Look as though you expected this.

  Are you sure?

  When it comes to manipulating people, believe me, Roan, I was trained by the very best.

  Stowe’s happy to see Roan take a deep breath, cross his arms, and smile knowingly, just as she suggested. On that carpet of twisting snakes, his eyes flashing in the blazing fire, Stowe has to admit that, despite his age, Roan cuts quite an imposing figure.

  Mabatan, the only one to remain silent amidst all the arguing, lifts her head, acknowledging Roan. Within moments, the Governor notices him as well. He’s familiar with the cue, obviously. Soon Kamyar, Ende, Kira, Mejan, Stinger, and Wolf, one by one, all stop and turn to him, waiting on his next words.

  Say nothing. Keep smiling. Let them stew.

  Roan is silent.

  Wait until they’re all shifting uncomfortably. There. Now. Slowly. Softly.

  “I have been to the City. I have seen its power. Darius has a large army equipped with advanced technology. We cannot match it. So what do we do?”

  The room is silent, all eyes fixed on Roan. Good.

  You have them, Brother.

  “We approach the City and Darius the way we would any more powerful and better-armed assailant—with as accurate an assessment of our enemy as we can get. Yes, the City has a larger army, but the Clerics are all enabled—they follow orders blindly and so lack initiative. If we can control the engagements, we’ll have the advantage. Yes, they’re more heavily armed, but the City’s dependence on technology makes it vulnerable to sabotage. Access and contacts will get us the information we need. Mejan, you’ve just come from the City. Ideas?”

  “I’m afraid I’m the bearer of bad news. Since Our Stowe disappeared, the prisons have been filled to bursting. Executions are common. People are running scared. The Gunthers have been our contacts there for many years, but they are also the most reviled segment of the population and unfortunately are easily targeted as scapegoats. One or two are being arrested daily. They can’t even find out where their people are being held. They’re afraid they’ve been singled out by Darius for extermination. Roan, Number Seventy-Nine is missing.”

  You know Gunthers?

  They’re friends, we can’t do this without them.

  “Getting into the City right now is impossible. I only made it out because I’d gone in as one of a group of traders and had the good luck to be present when they were handed their expulsion papers. The City’s in lockdown. No one goes in; no one comes out. Not until Our Stowe’s returned. The one bit of good news is I have it from a reliable source that Stowe is heading back.”

  I don’t want you to go back—

  But I must, Brother.

  Stowe, it’s worse than we thought.

  You heard that woman. They’ll pick off those Gunthers, one by one, till I return. Do you want that on your head, Roan?

  “Kira,” says Roan. “How long can we afford to wait?”

  “Not long. Darius may have locked down the City but he’s sending his Clerics deeper into the Farlands than he ever has before, and in force. I had an encounter with a few of them. Their enablers were noticeably different but as to exactly how improved they are—your guess is as good as mine. Darius also has a new weapon. The Apogee. It’s deadly. Mabatan?”

  “The Clerics used it in an attack on the Hhroxhi.”

  “Excuse me. Who are these…Haroshi?”

  The Governor is the City’s major supplier of foodstuffs. He could hurt Darius. You need him.

  I’m aware of that.

  “You may know them as Blood Drinkers,” Mabatan says patiently.

  “Well then, good riddance, isn’t it?”

  Mabatan, Stinger, Ende, and Kira stand.

  If you don’t do something quick, there’ll be a fight.

  Tell me something I don’t already know.

  Well, look at that! At least someone is doing something about it.

  Roan’s friend, the Mor-Tick survivor, has also risen. She’d hardly noticed him before; there seemed to be no color wrapped around him at all. But now that he’s standing, she can see silvery sheets, like floating water, pouring off him and wrapping around the others, dampening their emotions.

  “Appearances can be deceptive, Governor Selig,” he says. “The Hhroxhi are fri
ghtening to look upon. They keep themselves separate. I, like most people, once shared your feelings about them. Then, in a time of need, I was helped by them. I learned their language, saw how they care for their children and old people. I know that if we can win their trust, they will be invaluable allies.”

  The Governor’s mouth drops open. “That is all very nice, Lieutenant, but it doesn’t sound like much of a guarantee. How are they to earn my trust, I wonder.”

  “I understand how difficult your decision to be here with us must have been. I’m ugly, an eyesore of a thing who has nothing to lose by being here. But you’ve come here at great personal risk. You could lose everything. That takes courage, a lot of it.”

  The color slowly returns to the Governor’s cheeks. “So you’re saying, what’s another risk among the many others I’m taking, is that it?”

  “More or less.” Lumpy smiles. “Besides, the Hhroxhi have tunnels throughout the Farlands. They quite literally can pop up anywhere. It’s in everyone’s best interest to be on their good side.”

  As the Governor digests this last bit of information, Mabatan, Stinger, Kira, and Ende relax back onto their pillows.

  Brother, your friend has hidden talents. He pitched his voice to catch his victim just so. You should learn his technique.

  I don’t think it’s something he learned. It just comes naturally to him.

  Does it? Hmm. I think you should keep a close eye on your Mor-Tick Lieutenant. With a power like that, he just might turn and bite his owner.

  He is my best friend!

  Roan’s words hit her like a punch in the stomach and Stowe’s feelings catch in her throat. She wants to snap back at him, but she knows she was wrong to say what she did. She has so little time to share with her brother and now she’s gone and offended him. Why can’t she cast her petty viciousness aside? But before she can find it in herself to apologize, Roan proceeds with the meeting.

  “Mabatan, you were about to describe the attack on the Hhroxhi.”

  “The Apogee kills instantly,” Mabatan reports. “The Hhroxhi are great warriors but even they could not stand against it. Brother Stinger examined the dead; perhaps he should continue,” she says, looking in the Brother’s direction.