The Keeper (11 page)

A
STREA USED A
large iron key shaped like an arrowhead to open a door and led me into a room that was clearly a library, for every inch of wall was taken up by books in large, ornately carved cases that rose all the way to the ceiling a good fifteen feet above us. In the center of the room were lumpy chairs and scuffed tables scattered hither and thither.

As I gazed around, there was a distinct
click
. A section of the bookcases had opened, revealing a patch of darkness beyond. We entered the space, which was completely black until we had moved into it. Then the room was awash in light that cast the objects in the room into exaggerated relief.

There were comfortable-looking overstuffed armchairs and small tables upon which rested contraptions unrecognizable to me. There was a large wooden desk cut from timber so aged that it looked petrified. Behind the desk was a leather chair with a high wooden back with gleaming nail-heads visible. On the desk were papers and parchments and scrolls, stacks of books and glass inkwells and a rack of old-fashioned quills that I had once seen my grandfather use to write a letter.

There was a small fireplace surrounded by brick, with a thin copper-edged chimneypiece upon which sat a clock that, thankfully for my nerves, had no serpents on its face. In front of the empty fireplace were two equally decrepit-looking chairs with the stuffing falling out and tiny footstools in front, where one’s feet could draw closer to the warmth if there had been a fire burning.

The next instant, Harry Two and I leapt back as the fireplace, which had been empty not only of fire but also of logs, sprang to life and roaring flames leapt forth. The room, chilly when we had entered, quickly became warm and comforting and, despite my excitement, I felt my eyes droop a bit. I suddenly realized that I was beyond exhausted.

My eyes snapped wide open when I glanced at the floor. It was wooden, the boards worn down over the sessions from the tread of innumerable footsteps. But I was not focused on the planks. I was looking at the square of tattered rug upon it.

More to the point, my gaze held on the images on the rug.

“What are those creatures?” I asked breathlessly.

Harry Two went to stand on the rug, and I watched as he reached out a tentative paw and touched one of the figures woven into its surface.

Astrea pointed to the one on the left. “That’s a unicorn. Its horn of course can cure all known poisons.”

I had no idea what a unicorn even was. “And the other?” I asked, looking at it. Though undoubtedly aged, the colors of the rug’s images were extraordinarily bright, more vibrant than anything I’d ever created at Stacks.

“A firebird,” she said casually. “So named because of its exceptionally brilliant plumage. The feathers of the actual bird can be used to light the way and also for warmth against the cold.”

“Wait a mo’, I’ve seen one,” I said. “It chased me into a cave.”

“Indeed? ’Tis not usually dangerous.”

“Are you sure Delph is safe?” I blurted out.

“He
is
safe. You care much for your friend?”

“I care everything for him.”

“It is a dangerous thing to place so much of one’s self in another.”

I ignored this and, summoning up courage, I said, “How did you know my surname was Jane?”

Instead of answering, she seized my hand with surprising strength and exclaimed, “That mark? How did you come by it?”

I looked down at the inked three hooks, which I had drawn there.

I jerked my hand free from her grip. I had just endured imprisonment from Thorne. I was not going to make the same mistake with her. Until I knew she was a friend, she would be considered a potential enemy.

“It’s the same mark as on this ring.” I took it from my cloak pocket and showed it to her. “It belonged to my grandfather,” I added warily.

“So he had this ring? You’re absolutely certain?”

“Yes.” I wasn’t about to tell her that it could make me invisible.

She studied the ring for a few more moments before pointing at my hand. “That’s only ink.”

“I know, because I inked it,” I replied promptly. “My grandfather had the same mark on the back of his hand, though it wasn’t simply inked.”

She waved her hand over mine and the mark vanished.

I stared down at my clean skin and then back up at her.

“Do you know what it means?” I asked.

“No.”

I knew she was telling an untruth, which made me ever warier of her.

Before I could ask another question, she walked over to a large blank wall and Harry Two and I scurried after her.

She raised her hand and an astonishingly bright light blasted from it and hit the wall a direct blow. I immediately squatted down and shielded my eyes from what I thought would be a terrific blast emanating from the collision of wall and light. But there was no explosion. I opened my eyes and stood.

And gasped.

The entire wall had come to life. If the little table in the other room was impressive in what it had shown me, this spectacle was like a mountain versus a knoll by comparison. Every inch of the great wall, which must have measured fully fifty feet in length, was now ablaze with images,
moving
images.

Astrea turned to me and said simply, “The Quag. In all its glory. And in all its depravity, which runs deeply. Very deeply indeed.”

When I had first seen the extent of the Quag from the top of the plateau where Delph, Harry Two and I were chased by the garms and amarocs, I had been gobsmacked by its breadth and dark, sinister beauty. I had thought I was seeing to the very horizon of the Quag, but I apparently had been wrong about that.

As I watched, spellbound, I could see herds of unknown creatures bounding across open plains and up rugged ridges. Flying creatures, some I knew, most of which I didn’t, soared across a sky that was as black as a lump of coal. Trees trembled and creatures crept and I could hear sounds, some gentle that tickled my ears, and others fiercely foreboding that gnarled my nerves and chilled my courage. I saw the majestic peak of the Blue Mountain. And there was the dark river that snaked across the face of the Quag to places unknown and probably hostile. With a thrill that reached all the way to my toes, I thought I saw a small boat with something or someone inside it, slowly making its way across the water’s wide, blackened width. That image vanished and was replaced with a frek devouring what looked to be a goat. And then a creature stepped from the trees into the clearing and came into full view.

It was tall and powerfully built, and though it stood on two legs like I did, it had fangs and claws and long, straight hair over its body.

I glanced quickly at Astrea. “What is that ghastly thing?”

“ ’Tis a lycan,” she said.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Its bite makes you become like …
it
.”

We watched as the lycan, with a tremendous leap that covered yards of dirt, attacked the frek. There was a furious battle, for they seemed fairly equally matched. Yet finally the lycan won out and its fangs bit deeply into the frek’s neck. The latter howled in pain and fury and then, bloody and beaten, it broke free and fled into the trees.

The lycan stood there, dripping blood from wounds inflicted by the frek, and then it reached its clawed hands to the darkened sky and roared in triumph. It was a terrifying spectacle to witness and yet I found I could not look away.

“The frek’s bite drives one mad,” I said in a hollow tone.

“The lycan is
already
mad, Vega. A frek’s bite will not make a spot of difference to its tortured mind.”

A long sliver of silence passed. “What is beyond the Quag?” I asked.

“Why did you enter the Quag?” she asked me once again.

“I don’t see why that matters,” I said stubbornly.

She looked back at me impassively. “The difference between what I think matters and what you think does could likely fill a bookcase.”

“Do you know what’s beyond the Quag?” I persisted.

I glanced at her in time to see her face seize up like she was in pain. But before I could say anything, she replied, “It is late. And I’m very tired.”

“Well, I’m not tired,” I said in a strident tone.

“I will show you your digs and then you can stay up or sleep, as you like.”

“And I can go where I want? I mean inside the cottage?”

“You can go into any room that will
let
you. Mind you, not all of them will.”

I looked at her like she’d gone completely mental. “The
room
mightn’t let me?”

“Rooms have opinions,” she said. “And feelings too.”

“Feelings!” I exclaimed.

“Feelings I said and feelings I meant,” she reiterated forcefully, and then turned and strode away.

I hurried after her, wondering what madness awaited me in this place.

M
Y DIGS TURNED
out to be a large oval room with not a stick of furniture in it. I turned to Astrea and said, “It’s all right. I have no problem sleeping on the floor.”

“Now, why would you do that, I wonder?” she asked.

I gazed around the room to make sure I had not somehow missed a hulking bedstead lurking in a corner. “Well, I’d need a bed to —”

Harry Two and I jumped back to avoid being crushed by a mammoth four-poster that seemed to drop from the ceiling.

“Bloody Hel,” I cried out, my chest heaving and my limbs quivering. Harry Two started barking madly until I held up one hand and he instantly quieted.

“One must be careful what one asks for, at least in
my
cottage,” said Astrea casually, as she fluffed up the pillows. She turned to me. “Or at least move quickly on one’s feet, as you did, my dear,” she added benignly.

“B-but where did that bed come from?”

“It comes from wherever such things exist before they’re needed. And it saves no end of cleaning time to have the things go away while they’re unnecessary.”

“So,” I said, “you simply ask for something and it appears?”

“I told you, did I not, that rooms have views and opinions? Does it not logically follow that they can hear what you say?”

“Well, a stout wardrobe would not be unwelcome for my things.”

I was ready this time. I had already jumped out of the way when an oak wardrobe with two big doors and a drawer underneath landed with a thud against a wall across from the bed. As I stared at it, the doors opened, and inside were nice cubbies and metal hooks for hanging clothes.

Astrea gave me an appraising look. “I see you’re getting the gist of things.”

“Should I wish for a table and chairs?” I said, ready to jump.

However, they simply appeared in the corner of the room with a lighted candle in the center, burning brightly. I looked at her inquiringly.

“There’s no rule that all things
must
drop from the ceiling,” she said. “Now, are you hungry? I daresay things can be scrounged up in the kitchen. It does an excellent trifle, in fact, if you fancy such.”

I shook my head, though in truth, as usual, I could have used something in my belly. “I’m full up. You can toddle off to bed while I put my few things away.”

She looked at me curiously but also intently. A bit too intently, I thought.

“Well … if you’re … sure?” she said in a drawn-out way.

“Quite sure,” I replied, perhaps a bit too quickly. “And we’ll go for Delph at first light?”

She said, “Yes.”

After she left my digs I turned out my tuck. The cavernous wardrobe swallowed my meager possessions with plenty of room left over.

I jumped up on the bed, which I found quite comfy. Harry Two hopped up next to me and I scratched his ears. He rewarded me with a soft whimper of pleasure. I looked at the door, which had closed when Astrea departed. I jumped down, strode over to it and tried to tug it open. It wouldn’t budge.

I looked in disbelief at Harry Two.

“She’s locked us in. Well, how do you like that?” I was miffed beyond belief.

I stepped away from the door and sized it up. Then I backed up to get a running start. I glanced at Harry Two. “Don’t worry, I want out of here and we
will
be in a mo’.”

I started to charge forward and then stopped dead.

The door had swung silently open.

I want out of here.
That’s what I’d said. And the door had just opened.

I cautiously peered around the corner into the darkened corridor. There was no sign of Astrea. I stepped out of the room, Harry Two right with me. I looked down at him. I guess he could tell I was anxious because he gave my hip a nudge with his snout as though to say
Let’s budge along, shall we?

I looked to the right. I had been down that way. Thus, I turned left.

A door stood on the right side of the passage. I tried the handle, but it was locked. I stepped back, drew up my courage and said in the most polite voice I could muster, “Might I come in, please?”

The door swung open, revealing nothing but darkness.

I looked at Harry Two, who stared back up at me. Now
he
looked anxious.

“Okay, right,” I said confidently, though I was feeling not a jot of it actually. I stepped through the doorway. Harry Two followed. As soon as we did, the door shut behind us, and the room brightened.

There was only one object in the room. It was an enormous clock that rested on one huge wall. Attached to it underneath were twin chains with large metal balls affixed to them. The chains disappeared through holes cut in the floor. I crept forward and stared at the clockface. It was unlike any I had seen before. Wug timepieces were divided into the different sections of light and night. There were numbers and words on this one. I drew even closer.

“Century,”
I read off. That word was under each number etched on the clockface at regular intervals. There was only one hand on the clock. It was now pointed at eight centuries. I had no idea what any of this meant. I stared down at the holes in the floor, into which the chains disappeared. I had no idea where they went. Well, I could learn nothing more here, it seemed.

The next door we reached was about ten feet down the hall.

I stepped in front of it and said, “Might we come in, please?”

“GO AWAY!” The scream was nearly ear-shattering.

I jumped back so far I hit the opposite wall and slumped down, dazed.

“Bloody Hel,” I muttered.

I staggered up and we hurried along to the next door.

It opened at my request, though I did cover my ears in anticipation of a negative response. We walked inside and I looked around as the room was illuminated by a source of light that remained invisible to me.

There was a small cradle in one corner. I rushed over to it, but it was empty. It was also covered with cobwebs. So was the entire room, which was filled with old, moldy furniture. While I stood there, I was slowly filled with deep despair, as though only sadness reigned in my heart. Then my despair grew fathoms deeper and I felt tears creep to my eyes. I looked down at Harry Two and I could tell he was having similar emotions. He had lain on the floor and covered his snout with his paws.

When I could stand it no more, I rushed from the room, with Harry Two closely following. When the door closed behind us, the awful feelings instantly vanished. I drew a small knife from my cloak pocket and cut a tiny notch in the wood directly above the door handle. I rushed back and marked in the same way the door that had screamed at me. Now I would know which to leave alone.

The next room shouted at me to GO AWAY! I marked it as well.

The door after that didn’t budge at first and I thought the room was going to scream at me. But no sound came. Except finally a tiny click as the door swung open.

I crept inside and looked around as the darkness was dispelled by a wash of light, again from an unknown source. On every single wall were hundreds of paintings. I moved forward so I could see them more clearly.

Groups of females had on long gowns with low-cut necklines revealing far more of themselves than I was used to seeing. Their hair was beautifully styled and layered and piled on top of their heads. The males wore dark cloaks with embroidered stitching and what looked to be gold leaf on their shoulders. Some held short sticks of wood and others had swords in holders on gilded belts encircling their waists. One male clutched a long leather lead attached to a canine that looked like a far larger version of Harry Two. The thing looked proud and noble staring off into the distance as it sat obediently beside its master. I looked down at Harry Two and found him staring at his counterpart cast in oils on canvas. He seemed awestruck.

My gaze kept roaming until it finally stopped and held on one female. She was taller than the others, her flaming red hair pooled luxuriously around her broad, muscled shoulders. I instantly recognized her. She was the one I met on my trip through the fiery portals into the past, which I had discovered at Stacks. I gazed back up at the painting. This female had saved my life and given me the Elemental before dying on the battlefield. Curious though I was about her, my gaze again began roaming to the other paintings, which held landscapes of broad, lovely countryside, towns with towering stone buildings and smoothly laid cobblestone streets. Sleps and carriages were pictured on the cobblestones and there was an air of prosperity and, well, peace.

As I moved around the room, though, the air of hope and prosperity faded. The paintings turned far darker and the lovely gowns, piled-up hair and stately carriages on fine cobblestones were no more. Replacing them were scenes of bloody battlefields, smoldering ruins and abject carnage. Along with this change in subjects, the bright colors of the earlier paintings had disappeared into the shadowy and depressing hues of blacks and grays, displaced only by the garish thrust of bloody red, as someone lay dying. Flames leapt from the stone towers, and everyone looked frightened and confused. In one small painting, there was a young female alone on a street, her face uplifted to the dark sky and her mouth open apparently in a scream as tears fell down her dirty cheeks. The sense of loss was awful.

We left this room and reached the next one. The door opened at my asking. Darkness again. I expected the lights to come on, but they didn’t. I did hear something. Something breathing.

The breaths were uneven, harsh, and sounded painful. I felt my own chest tighten as I listened to them. I looked wildly around for the source of the noise.

There was a large four-poster bed set in the deepest crevice of the room. As I drew closer, the room lightened a bit, allowing me to see more clearly.

My jaw dropped when I saw him.

He was the oldest male I had ever laid eyes on, even older than ancient Dis Fidus back in Wormwood. He had not a hair on his head. His beard was snow white and curled down his chest and then past it by a good two feet. His eyes were sunken, hollow and brushed liberally with red. His nose was long and horribly misshapen. His cheeks were flat. When he rose up a bit on his pillow, I could see his hands. They were wrinkled claws with large brown spots across them.

He said in a gasping whisper, “Who … are … you?”

“I’m … I’m …” I frantically realized I’d forgotten my own name.
Think, think, you git!
“Vega. I’m Vega J-Jane,” I said in a rush.

“J-James?” said the creature, now trying to prop himself up higher.

I hurried to aid him. When I gripped his shoulder through the nightshirt, I could feel it was not much more than bone. His breath was foul and his skin was like the chilliest of water. I easily lifted him because he weighed almost nothing. I stepped back. “
Jane
,” I said more loudly. “Vega Jane.”

He looked up at me out of those cavernous eye sockets. “How came you to be here?” he said croakily, though he seemed to be breathing a bit easier.

“A hob named Seamus told me of the place. So I came.”

“But why?”

“Because I heard that Astrea Prine would help me.”

He gave a shuddering breath and said, “Help you with what, my dear?”

I sprang back as a hand passed by me.

Astrea laid her youthful palm on the aged creature’s chest and he instantly calmed, his breathing becoming regular. He thanked her with a smile.

Astrea turned to me and said, “I see that you’ve met my son, Vega.”