Keeper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 1)

by Ingrid Seymour

  Alerted, Veridan whirled to face Greg, reached inside his shirt and pulled out a thick chain. From it hung an amulet crisscrossed by intricate lines and set with a dark rock at its center. Veridan mouthed a spell and the necklace began to glow.

  Greg faltered, wondering if his powers would hold, then remembered that it didn’t matter. Self-destruction was the goal. If he bloodied up the Sorcerer in the process . . . so much the better.

  Gathering what was left of himself, Greg attacked. A burst of energy erupted through his fingertips, shooting across the room in a jagged lightning bolt. As the surge erupted from his core, he felt his limbs weaken. He staggered, fighting to keep his balance, and watched his magic hit Veridan square in the chest. The Sorcerer staggered, but recovered almost immediately. A smile of surprise and satisfaction stretched his thin mouth.

  Greg inhaled, focusing all his attention on his enemy. More energy collected in his hands and he let it strike again. With a quick gesture, Veridan drew a circle around himself. Greg’s magical force sizzled through the air, hit an invisible barrier mere inches from its target, then rolled off to the floor like rainwater on a clear umbrella. Veridan smirked with satisfaction once more.

  “I’ll kill you,” Greg shouted, storming forward.

  Veridan flinched and moved back a step.

  Just like his magic, Greg slammed against an unseen barrier. He bounced back, dazed. Veridan straightened from his cowering posture and laughed. Leaving one hand outstretched to hold the shield in place, the Sorcerer launched a counterattack with the other. After an inaudible whisper, a red blast struck Greg’s face. Blistering heat licked his skin. He should have been immune, but weakened as he was, he felt every nerve ending scream.

  Greg shrieked, blinded, and covered his face with both hands. Distorted shapes rose in front of him. He ignored them and stubbornly plowed ahead, seeing little more than the Sorcerer’s outline. Veridan was a breath’s length from his reach, but Greg’s hands flailed against the barrier, unable to take hold of him.

  “Not so strong anymore, are we?” Veridan’s smug voice.

  Greg growled in frustration, pushing against the Sorcerer’s invisible wall.

  “I guess your little pet’s slipping away,” the Sorcerer sneered.

  How dare he even think of Sam, the filthy bastard? His mocking and dismissive tone made Greg’s blood boil. Worst of all, it was true. Sam was slipping away. His dwindling strength was proof. But she wasn’t gone yet was she? Which meant he wasn’t gone.

  Determined to die, Greg shut his eyes and focused all that remained of his power. His body vibrated with the effort. Sweat dripped down his back as he emptied each and every one of his cells, seeping their life force and condensing it in his right hand. For a few more seconds, he pretended to struggle, smashing against Veridan’s shield. When his fingertips felt like blazing claws, Greg drew his arm back and released it. The glowing mass of his fist hit Veridan’s barrier with a strident pop that almost burst his eardrums. Ignoring the pain, he pushed harder.

  Greg’s knife-like fingertips cut through the barrier with a sizzle. Veridan jumped back, shocked, but not before Greg took hold of the chain around the Sorcerer’s neck, squeezed his hand around it and pulled, trying to rip it off. The remnants of energy left in his fingers crackled against the coarse metal, fusing the chain into a lumpy mass.

  Veridan looked down in panic. Greg yanked the chain. The Sorcerer stumbled forward and crashed into Greg. Losing their balance, Keeper and Sorcerer tumbled to the floor. In the tussle, Veridan rolled on top of Greg and clamped his hands over the young man’s throat. Air flow to Greg’s lungs stopped immediately, blocked by Veridan’s strength as much as his magic. Blood began pounding in his ears. Greg tried to push the Sorcerer off, but his body had gone as rigid as the marble floor. He shut his eyes, hoping to find some magic left in him, but he was spent. This was it. He had failed her even in his revenge.

  Sam. He sent his mind in search of her familiar presence, the presence that had been with him ever since he morphed. She wasn’t there.

  I love you, Sam.

  As his vision darkened, he finally managed to picture her beautiful honey-colored eyes—the part of her that the metamorphosis had altered the least. As quickly as it came, the image blurred and began to fade, melding into the ominous shadows that crept around the edges of his consciousness.

  If only he’d been able to tell her he loved her, he would have one less regret.

  Gradually, the darkness engulfed his vision until only a tiny circle of light was left, much like a lonely star against a black, lifeless universe.

  Goodbye.

  The tiny circle suddenly flashed, expanding at the speed of light, eradicating the darkness like a supernova. The light was as blinding as the blackness had been.

  It held him in place.

  Chapter 38 - Sam

  Drifting.

  Like a hollow log in a river, Sam sailed on an invisible current. It was gentle and slow, yet powerful. Floating adrift in this tranquil and painless abandon was easy.

  For what felt like a lifetime, she glided without resistance. It didn’t even occur to her to go against the flow. Something beckoned her downstream, and she was loyal to her instincts, just as she had ever since she morphed. It was too late to learn from her mistakes.

  From a million miles away, a pleading cry reached her. It brushed her numb consciousness like a feather’s touch. It almost made no impression, yet the plea was fierce and sincere. Something in her soul stirred. The calm flow that had set her adrift changed, and Sam now felt herself being tugged by another, opposite current. At first, the draw was weak, but before long its intensity became impossible to ignore.

  She listened, and thought she recognized the call. It was . . . hope. Even though it was harder, much harder, to heed this new plea, she opened her mind and her heart. As abruptly as the call began, it stopped. Sam struggled to find the lifeline cast into her river of abandonment, but every time she thought she’d taken hold of something, it slipped away.

  Goodbye?

  Sam fought harder. Hope awaited on the other end. It couldn’t be goodbye. Giving up no longer seemed a good idea. Like a drowning victim kicking desperately to get her head above water, she struggled against the relentless current that promised only oblivion.

  With all her might, she reached toward a pinprick of light through which her lifeline retreated at an alarming speed, an anchor being pulled up by a departing ship. Her redemption was sliding up and away. If she let this one chance go, there wouldn’t be another. And not just for her. She needed to save herself if she wanted to save him. She couldn’t allow Greg to perish. Wouldn’t.

  But how? How could she make a choice when her nature didn’t allow her? She searched her heart for an answer. The despair of her loss stared her in the face. Pain was the only thing pulling her down and away from life. There was nothing else. What had held her back before had been severed.

  There is choice, now. There is a choice!

  Realizing this, Sam fought. Her own heart and mind, not something alien, drove her to act. Her desire was rooted on free will, not blind obedience to her Morphid nature.

  I’m free, free to choose.

  Suddenly, her vision exploded into a kaleidoscope of blinding light. With a jolt, she sat up and gasped for air, calling out the one name that burned in her mind and in her throat. But her voice was weak, and didn’t carry. She looked madly around the hall. She saw Danata first, kneeling on the floor, and ignored the bundle by her side. She couldn’t look at it. She wouldn’t look at it, or she’d be lost again.

  “No,” she gasped when she saw Greg across the stone floor, pinned beneath Veridan, his face slack and red. “Greg!” Her hand reached out to him, fingers trembling.

  Blood coursed through her veins, making her limbs tingle, giving back her strength in spurts. She staggered to her feet, even as the hall seemed to tip over to one side. He needed help. She teetered weakly toward them.

 
; As she approached, she could see Veridan’s face contorted in rage and vicious pleasure as he throttled him.

  “Greg,” Sam called out again, fearing it was already too late.

  At the sound of her voice, Greg’s eyelashes fluttered and his hands lifted from the floor. Veridan’s mouth dropped open in shock. His victim was coming back from the brink of death, and started fighting back. Greg’s eyes sprang open, and Sam’s blood flowed faster, flooding her with warmth and coordination. She was like a tree relishing the sun after a long winter.

  Sam realized what was happening. Their link was growing stronger, and that was all Greg needed to regain his power. Sam halted and felt Greg's power surge. A terrible, raw cry of agony broke through the hall as Greg threw Veridan to one side, the Sorcerer's face contorted in an awful grimace. Greg rolled over and straddled the Sorcerer, face intent on murder. His eyes were dark, huge pupils blotting away the cerulean of his irises.

  Veridan’s shrieks were reduced to a strangled groan as Greg squeezed his throat with one hand, his other fist raised over his head. A sizzling sound that made Sam’s insides churn hissed through the hall. The Sorcerer’s legs kicked under Greg’s weight.

  Veridan’s raspy pleas were reduced to no more than an annoying bee’s buzz. Greg slammed his fist into the Sorcerer’s face and growled savagely.

  “Greg?” Sam said hesitantly.

  He stopped and turned to look at her. He was breathing heavily, chest pumping, eyes full of despair. He sat stock-still, staring at her without a shred of comprehension, pupils still wide, expression savage. He showed no signs of recognizing her.

  A jolt of fear went through Sam. “Greg. It’s me. Sam.”

  He stood. Veridan cowered at his feet, not making a sound.

  Hands shaking, Greg hesitantly approached Sam. His expression cleared. A few paces away from her, he stopped. His lips parted and his eyes wavered. A breath caught in his throat while different emotions colored his features.

  “Sam,” he said in a husky breath of incredulity. For a short instant, their eyes held fast.

  After a too-short moment, Greg turned, glaring at the few who remained. The intensity in his stance was such that several took a step back. They knew what he was capable of. No one dared challenge him.

  “Perry!” Greg shouted, “Someone bring me Perry or I’ll make you regret it.”

  Sam’s skin crawled at the ferocity of Greg’s threat. In spite of that, no one moved even an inch. Making good on his threat, he started toward a group of people in the back, looking ready to tear them down.

  “Wait!”

  Portos—the tired, old Sorcerer—hobbled forward, looking stricken with grief and shame. His eyes were red, and his hand shook as he gestured toward the door. “Please, come with me.”

  Without a second thought, Greg took Sam by the wrist and pulled her along. She looked back and saw Veridan squirming on the floor, each jerk of his body accompanied by an agonizing groan. As she passed by the Regent, now weakly keening by her son, Sam shut her eyes. A world of pain lay at her back. If she looked, she’d never be able to leave it behind.

  As they stepped into the corridor, they found it blocked. Greg bristled.

  “Move out of the way,” Portos ordered.

  “Y-yes, Sir.” It was Simeon, who was pulling Bernard’s unconscious body, probably feeling guilty for having punched him out and trying to get him some help. A fearful eye toward Greg, Simeon yanked on poor Bernard, dragging his limp body into an adjacent hall.

  “Wait.” Sam pulled her hand free from Greg’s grip. “I have to help him.”

  “No.” Greg took her by the shoulders. “Sam, we have to get outta here.”

  “I have to, Greg. He’s in such pain. I felt that agony today. So did you. He’s lived with it for years.” Sam struggled in Greg's arms, while Portos and Simeon regarded her warily. “Now let go of me!” She pushed him aside and calmly stepped to Bernard’s side. Simeon took a step forward, trying to stop her.

  “Don’t interfere,” Portos ordered in a stern tone that was also full of curiosity.

  The guard backed away, muttering something under his breath.

  Sam knelt next to Bernard and stared into his careworn face. His nose bled from the punch he had taken earlier. All his features spoke of pain and misery, but physical injury was not the cause. It was something much deeper, something Sam now knew from experience.

  Closing her eyes almost completely, Sam let her instincts take control. After a moment, her hand reached upward. Her fingers moved in a beckoning motion, coaxing the ribbon of light to her. As it brushed her fingers, she made a fist and caught it. Feeling its weak energy blundering, searching, Sam shut her eyes and lowered her face as if in prayer. In her mind’s eye, a ribbon of energy oscillated in a gentle and aimless search for its other half.

  She reached with her free hand to the heavens, lips moving in a litany of unknown words, like a priestess beseeching her god. For a few seconds, nothing happened. Greg’s shoes scuffed against the floor, making her aware of his restlessness.

  Before Sam realized her actions were having a visible effect, she heard the surprised gasps of those around her. She saw a warm, orange light through her shut eyelids. Her eyes sprang open. The hall was shining under a dazzling light, as if the sun had broken through the castle’s stone walls. Everyone shielded their faces from the luminosity that descended from above. Simeon took several steps back, abandoning all pretenses of courage. Portos stood immobile, in complete awe, barely shielding his eyes from the blinding light.

  Sam beckoned to the light. She didn’t know how she was calling it, or why it obeyed, but it descended until the tips of her outstretched fingers felt the smoldering heat emanating from it. She flinched, but it was a human instinct, like a child shying away from a candle flame. The brilliance retreated, but she gently commanded its return. It fell upon her, reaching her hand, traveling down the length of her body until it engulfed her. Brilliance embraced her. Sam’s arms tingled with energy, and she felt something barely tangible slip between her fingers.

  Her heart swelled, and a tantalizing sensation filled her being. She reveled in the sweet, blissful feeling. A cry of victory rose to her throat. She felt like a goddess, a being capable of restoring life. A glorious shiver ran down her spine, while in her hands, two pieces of a broken puzzle yearned to be reunited.

  She marveled at the existence of such powerful connections between two people, and at the audacity and heartlessness of the one who’d severed them. Such an evil, twisted soul.

  In awe of her own gift, Sam brought her hands together and watched as every strand of the severed strip extended to find its missing thread. Each tiny filament joined its match and rejoiced, exploding into a million colors that Sam never knew existed. Absolute joy washed over her in waves.

  She carefully let go of the repaired connection, confirming that it would remain whole. The burst of light that had blinded them all gradually diminished. At last, all that was left was a floating ribbon of light that seemed to pulsate with rapture —a union that only Sam could see. It lifted up and disappeared through the stone ceiling. Sam imagined it lead to Bernard’s Roanna, but where was she? Where had she been all this time?

  A sharp cry of something between pain and deliverance pulled Sam out of her state of amazement. Bernard sat up with a jerk, panting like a man who’d just been saved from drowning. He looked at Sam as if he’d never seen her before. The man looked from one unfamiliar face to the next, trying to make sense of his situation. His eyes were clear and attentive. At last, they settled on the High Sorcerer.

  “Portos?” He said, his voice full of uncertainty and bewilderment.

  “Bernard?” Portos’s voice echoed the same wonderment.

  “You . . . look different,” Bernard said, trying to stand. Sam offered him a hand. He took it, and wobbled to his feet. “What happened? Who’s this lovely young lady?”

  Portos was at a loss for words. “I . . . well . . . she’s . . .
”

  “Where is Roanna?” Bernard asked, forgetting his previous question.

  The High Sorcerer shook his head and averted his eyes. Bernard looked to the others for an answer, his anxiety growing with every second of silence.

  “Is she all right? And the baby?” Bernard demanded. “Has something happened? Where is Danata?” He asked this last question with dread. When he received only blank faces in answer, he burst into action. “I’ll find Roanna and Celestine myself.” He scurried past the guard and disappeared into the long corridor.

  With Bernard’s parting words, Sam felt all her happiness disappear. Confusion filled her instead.

  “Simeon,” Portos said, “follow him and inform me of his whereabouts.” As the guard left to obey his orders, the old Sorcerer turned to Sam.

  His inquisitive eyes made her squirm. To divert his attention, she asked, “Who’s Celestine?”

  Portos didn’t answer, but continued to scrutinize her. “What are you?” he asked after an interminable moment.

  “I . . . I don’t . . . know.”

  “Sam, we’ve stayed long enough. We need to find Perry. He can send us back.” He wasn’t pleading anymore. His tone was now commanding.

  Portos stepped forward. “You don’t need Perry. I’ll help you get back, lad. You two have had your fill of Castle Rothblade’s hospitality, I’m sure. Follow me.”

  Greg gave the old man a dissecting once-over, then said, “Yeah, he’s safe.”

  They followed the High Sorcerer, hurrying down a different set of corridors.

  “We need the potion. I’ve got it in my room,” Portos said, “They took my talisman away. I couldn’t do anything to help you. I’m so sorry.”

  Greg’s eyes swiveled all around, checking every corner for danger. He was much more interested in speed than apologies.

  “Bernard’s vinculum must have been broken. You repaired it, did you not?” Portos asked Sam.