The Keeper

Sedecim: The Keeper

I stared from Astrea to — her son?

“You mean he’s younger than you are?” I exclaimed. “But—”

She cut me off. “Come with me.”

“I thought you were tired?” I asked.

She turned back to her son. “There, there, Archie. Try and get some sleep now, luv, okay?”

She kissed him on his withered forehead.

Harry Two and I followed her out and down the passageway. We returned to the place with the old desk and fireplace that one reached through the secret doorway in the library. She sat down behind the desk and motioned for me to sit across from her.

“If Archie is your son, why is he so old and you’re so young?”

In answer she pulled out a small glass flask. “Because of this.”

“Is it medicine of some sort?”

“It is an elixir so potent that it keeps one young for as long as one takes it. It is devilishly tricky to make. It requires the blood of a garm and the venom of a jabbit, among other special ingredients.”

“How do you get blood and venom from those vile creatures?”

“I keep one of each in cages here at my cottage.”

I cried out, “A garm and a jabbit in your cottage!”

“If you tried to enter the rooms where they are kept, they would have told you to ‘Go away!’ ”

I shivered after discovering how close I had been to another wretched jabbit.

“Archie is dying because he chose not to take the youth elixir.”

“Why?”

“He no longer sees a point to it.”

“Then he’ll die?” I asked.

“And soon,” she said coldly.

Well, I thought, she was rather heartless. “How old are you?”

“Did you find the room with the clock on the wall and the chains going through the floor holes?”

“Yes.”

“What did it read?”

“Eight centuries, whatever that is.”

“A century is a hundred sessions.”

“A hundred sessions! But what is that clock keeping track of?”

“My time here.”

My jaw dropped. “You mean you’re eight hundred sessions old?” I could barely process what she was saying. It was all unbelievable.

“A bit older actually. I came here when I was already fully grown.”

“I also saw a room with many paintings.”

“You were no doubt told about the Battle of the Beasts back in Wormwood?”

“All Wugs were told about it. The beasts attacked Wormwood long ago but were beaten back and thereafter remained in the Quag.”

She said emphatically, “Well, that was a lie. There was never such a thing.”

“But I’ve seen the paintings at the Council building—”

She shook her head impatiently. “There was a war that took place over a great many sessions. However, it was not with the beasts.” She paused.

I was now squeezing both my legs so hard they felt quite numb. “Who was it with, then?”

She gazed at me so strangely I felt myself involuntarily shaking.

“It does not matter. Not now.”

“It matters to me,” I retorted.

“It was a battle between two opposite forces. One won and one lost. That is all I will say on the matter.”

“You tell me nothing,” I said forcefully.

“I will tell you this, Vega. We created the village of Wormwood. And then we managed the building of the Quag. And the decision was made to wipe away our history and replace it with another. We called ourselves Wugmorts.” She paused. “Do you know why we chose that name?”

I shook my head.

“There is a plant that is universally considered bitter. It is called the Mugwort. We altered it slightly to Wugmort. The survivors carried that feeling of guilt, of bitterness, every time they uttered the word.”

I sat forward, my mind filling with questions and possible connections. “I met a creature named Eon. Through him I went back in time. Not just my past. But further back. I was on a great battlefield. A female warrior, while she lay dying, gave me something she called the Elemental, that I could touch using the glove she also gave me. She knew my name. She said I had to survive. And she was in one of the paintings back in that room.”

Astrea looked gobsmacked by this information. “You... you met her? As she lay dying?”

“Yes. Who was she?”

Astrea didn’t look nearly so formidable now. Her eyes held a faraway look, and I could see tears clutching at their corners. She said slowly in a trembling voice, “Her name was Alice Adronis, one of our greatest sorceresses and my dearest friend. The Elemental was her creation.” She paused and swallowed. Astrea seemed to be trying very hard not to burst into tears. “She could only live as a victor or die as a warrior, could Alice.”

“But why would she know my name? Why would she say I had to survive?”

“I have no idea, Vega. I... I...” She looked away.

“What happened after that?”

Astrea took a moment to compose herself. “As the first century went by, the magical powers with which we were imbued faded drastically. It was at that point that the decision was made to let them die completely.”

“How do you let magic die?” I said slowly. I didn’t know why, but I felt a great sense of loss at this.

“By not using it. By not believing in it anymore. Belief, having faith in something, is a very powerful thing, Vega. Perhaps the most powerful thing of all. And as the sessions went by and we started dying off, our descendants knew little of what we were. And finally, virtually no Wug in Wormwood knew anything of us a’tall, but accepted as their history the lies that had been created for them.”

I took a deep breath, put aside my misery and told Astrea about the Adder Stone and Destin the chain and how I had come by them at Stacks.

She nodded and said, “Stacks was the castle of our leader, Bastion Cadmus.”

“You took his castle with you?” I asked, wondering how this was possible. But, I supposed, anything was possible with blokes who could do magic.

“We had to create another place to live. Every bit was precious to us.”

“And the Stone? And Destin?”

“Objects possessed by Bastion.”

“And the Quag? And what we were told about it? You haven’t explained that.”

“I have no need to explain it,” she said, her tone sharp again.

I bit back my anger and groped around for something else to ask her.

“But why are you here?” I asked.

“I am, quite simply, the Keeper of the Quag.”

“So you had your family here with you at the cottage?”

“Yes. My mate, Thomas, and I came to live here with our sons and daughters.” She paused and for the first time I could see her features soften, just a tiny bit. “Thomas never did take the elixir. He was the first of us to go. After Archie passes, it will just be me.”

“Why do you do it? Stay here?”

Her eyes flashed. “It’s my duty, Vega. I gave an oath as Keeper and I mean to keep it.”

She rose, came around the desk and stood next to me. I tried to imagine her as more than eight centuries old, older than poor dying Archie, but I couldn’t.

“How much did you know about your grandfather?” she asked.

“He was very nice. But stubborn too.”

“He is far more than that. He is an Excalibur.”

“A what?”

“Those who are born with their magical powers intact and an innate and profound knowledge and understanding of our real history embedded in their minds. They are terribly rare, but he was one of them.”

“My grandfather left Wormwood.”

“I know he did.”

“And you couldn’t stop him?”

“Excaliburs do not carry a sign on their foreheads proclaiming them as such. It was only after he left that we truly became aware of what he was and could do.”

“So you saw this, what, through your Seer-See?”

“Yes.”

I felt my anger rising. “Then I suppose you saw Morrigone blast me with a blue light, and Delph with a red light that turned his mind to mush and left him jargoled for ten long sessions!” My voice and fury rose as I spoke. “You saw all that, did you?”

“I did,” she replied calmly, which made me even more furious.

“She argued with my grandfather. She wanted him to stay.”

“Doubtless she did. But against a true Excalibur, she was but nothing.”

I stood. “And did you see my parents disappear in a ball of flames? Did you see me crying my heart out? Did you see that, Astrea bloody Prine?!”

Her gaze never wavered. “I did, Vega. I did indeed.”

“Well, good for you. I hope you enjoyed it, because I sure as Hel didn’t!”

I was halfway to the door when she called out.

“Do you know where they went, Vega?”

I slowly turned and looked at her questioningly. “No, I don’t.”

She scrutinized me closely before saying, “Let’s apply a bit of logic, shall we? If they’re not in Wormwood and they’re not in the Quag?”

“They’re beyond the Quag,” I said.

“Yes.”

“So why can my grandfather leave Wormwood without ever stepping one foot into the Quag like I have to?”

“Leaving Wormwood and bypassing the Quag would have been easy enough for someone like him.”

“And my parents? I suppose they made the decision to leave me?”

“No, Virgil summoned them.”

“Summoned them? Why?”

“Did he never talk to you about it?” she said fiercely. “Tell me the truth!”

“No, never,” I said, taken aback by her harsh tone. Was she as nutters as Thorne?

“You do not know of his plans? Tell me if you do. Tell me!”

I took a step back, for her face had twisted into a furious mass. I thought for a moment that she was going to attack me.

“I have never heard from my grandfather since he left,” I said calmly. “And he never told me anything about any plans. All he ever told me was... that he loved me.”

This was a lie of course. My grandfather had actually told me something about Wormwood. He had said that the most bitterly awful place of all is one that Wugmorts don’t know is as wrong as wrong can possibly be. I had no idea what he was talking about then. But now I believed that I did.

Her expression became normal once more and she sat behind her desk and steepled her hands in front of her. “I think that is enough for one night. At next light, we will fetch your friend. And then all will be right again.”

She smiled at me in a way that made my skin crawl.

I walked slowly back to my room, wondering who I really was and concluding that I was nothing. If Astrea was right, my grandfather had been able to leave Wormwood because he was magical, this Excalibur thing in fact. And he had summoned my parents to join him, which showed that he could bring others to him if he so desired. But he hadn’t summoned me. He had left me behind, in Wormwood. He apparently considered me of no importance whatsoever.

So no matter whether I made it through the Quag or died here, I was nothing. Sometimes the truth helps. Sometimes it hurts.

And sometimes it destroys you.