The High Keeper

My mother used to tell me stories about what things were like before. She would tell me how the world was a kinder place, that people were not so fearful of each other. Sometimes she would sing me songs she had heard in Nandorun, the capital city, before it became a place of fear to people like me, before the Rune Lords betrayed us. She said everything was spring and summer then. But that was long before I was born, when my mother was still a young girl. I don’t have any memories like she does, I can’t even really imagine a world like that.

I sat with my chin in my hand as I stared blankly out the window. Spring had come and the days were wending towards summer. The fields swayed in the wind, their grasses and reeds bending between shades of green, brown and gold. The sky was clear, save for wisps of distant clouds. Far off, I could see the hazy blue and violet peaks of the Denholm Mountains, where the imperious territory of the Rune Lords stood sheltered between its peaks and the sea. I then looked at the tall branches of the forest. The forest that gave us all a false sense of protection; that created a barrier between us, the humble people of Border Lands and the empire beyond.

In years past, my mother had said that spring was a time of festivals that welcomed the warmth and bounty of the new year. I knew it differently. Spring was a time of dread and nervous anticipation. Everyone would be staring from their window as I was. Everyone would be waiting to see if the riders would come, to breach the final ranks of the forest, clad in glistening armour, to take someone away who would never return. We never knew for certain if the messengers of the Rune Lords would come with the blooming of the flowers. Sometimes they did. Sometimes they didn’t. We knew though, that if they did come, someone would be taken to the capital to be part of the the Call – the innocent name given to a yearly massacre. That was what spring meant to me.

When the knights from Nandorun came, they were laden with smiles and courtesy, proclaiming that they had come to bestow a great gift on one lucky peasant. This blessed individual, the Chosen they were called, would be taken to the capital to help the Rune Lords understand their subjects better and in return, they would live in luxury, to be trained as a member of court. It was a pretty story.

But other tales had reached us, ones that told the truth. The Rune Lords had no interest in being fair and just rulers, they were hunting, hunting for someone or hunting for sport. None of us knew why or what made this individual special or why they were chosen. We only knew that when someone was taken, they were subject not to balls and fine clothes, but chains and pain. And when the Chosen did not prove to be the one our wretched rulers were searching for, they were killed.

I had asked my mother why we all didn’t run? Why didn’t we hide somewhere safe in the spring and wait for the knights to move on?

‘There is no point.’ She had said sadly. ‘The Rune Lords give the knights a way to find the Chosen. Running would only delay the inevitable.’

But that was not the real reason no one ran. If the Chosen ran, tried to escape, there was a terrible price – their village and everyone in it would be burnt alive. We knew it only by rumour, no one had ever survived to report the tale, but we knew the knights sent out were gifted strange powers, a fractional amount of what the Rune Lords themselves possessed. Razing a village to the ground was probably no harder to them than raking leaves. That was the real reason no one ran: the life of one could not outweigh that of an entire village, we all knew it.

I had watched as my friends, one by one, had been taken, young men and women alike. Fendra, Janik, Gelia and Kirim, I had watched them all leave with silent tears falling down their cheeks, resided to their fate as they trailed behind a tall knight decked in armour. I had watched their mothers wail and their fathers try not to protest. And I had watched as the rest of the village looked on pitifully, helpless to do anything.

I was in my nineteenth year and had been thus far spared, praise the Powers. The knights, as far as I could tell, always came for people younger than I was now. This gave me some small, though guilt-ridden hope. There was a chance I might never be taken, that I would live a happy life, watch my own children grow up and hide my own fear of spring from them as my mother did from me. It was possible. It was all we could hope for. Spring was nearly over now which meant I was nearly safe. I looked at the still green stalks of larkspur growing beneath the window with impatience. I knew when they finally opened, sprouting flowers of violet, white and blue I would be safe. The larkspur’s blooms marked the end of spring, marked the end of the hunt.

I heard the back door to the cottage open with a creak of the old metal hinges.

‘Lendra, what are you doing?’ She asked a bit exasperated and melancholy.

‘Nothing, just watching the forest.’

‘Come away. It does no good, little dove.’

I wanted to at least see my captor coming if I was taken today, but I did as she asked.

‘The blackberries have come early this year, look.’ She took a faded cloth off a pile of shinning, deep purple berries. ‘I can make us lovely jam and pie with these.’

‘That would be nice.’ I said feebly. I didn’t have much of an appetite given the circumstances.

She smiled patiently. ‘Every day is a blessing from the Powers, remember dear. We must be glad of each day and make the most of it.’

My mother was a source of constant optimism, a trait I had not inherited from her. She said my temperament was more like my father’s – contemplative and sceptical. I had to take her word for it. I had never met my father, he died from the Vapours, an illness that came with the winter mists, before I could make any memories of him. It took many away each year.

‘What have you planned for the day?’ she asked me, tying her long waves of golden hair back with a ribbon as she prepared to cook.

‘I’ll go into town and fetch the grain and oil we need.’

‘Will you hunt today?’

I looked to the cupboard where I knew the dried meat stores were running low.

‘I suppose I should.’

My mother did not mind if we went without meat. It was a common occurrence. With spring there was no real reason to though, the forest would be teaming with life.

The forest. I thought to myself. It represented something terrible to us all. A gateway through which our oppressors came and went without warning. But I loved it nonetheless. I loved the way the wind rustled the leaves, the sweet smell of the wet earth after a rain, the pockets of flowers brought to life by the sun that broke through the canopy. The forest was calming to me, even if it was also a dark and dangerous place.

I picked up the haversack I would use to bring back the necessary victuals, gave my mother a kiss on the cheek and began the journey to the village.

‘Lendra…’ my mother called after me.

I turned form the door and she took both my hands, looking lovingly and smiling, her bright blue eyes cheerful and kind. ‘Each day we have together is a gift. Try to remember that there is no point in dwelling over the mights and could be’s. Our most precious gift from the Powers is each present moment. We are promised nothing else.’

‘Yes mother, I know.’ She said this to me often, trying to remind me be present, rather than some far off place in my mind.

I left our neat, modest cottage with its thatched roof and plaster walls and began to follow the narrow stony path to the village.

My mother’s words echoed in my mind. I wished I could think like her, never worrying, blissful to the point of annoyance, completely surrendered to the will of events around her. In darker moments I imagined that if someone came to kill either her or I she would meet the end with a little sigh and shrug of her shoulders. Some times I resented her for her calmness, her peace. The world I knew was neither calm nor peaceful. I saw struggle and fear, hardship and worry. We lived in the shadow of the Rune Lords, their towering kingdom far away and invisible to us but somehow a tangible threat. Now that it was spring, we all felt it, knew that somewhere a rider might be making his way towards us to shatter our world once again and take away someone we loved.

As the little path took me towards the forest, my attention shifted. It was daytime and spring so unlikely that any of the big predators that stalked the woods in the winter would still be this far south. They knew when the snows melted and the trees sprouted that hunters would retake this part of the wood. Still, I kept my hand near the knife at my side, just in case.

I listened to the birds twitter in the branches, growing quiet as I neared and resuming their song when I passed. I heard the familiar sounds of rabbits and squirrels scurrying away and smiled to myself. Not too far from the path I walked through the ancient forest on was a small river that bubbled, having come all the way down from the mountains. I decided that after I finished my errands I would stop there for a little while and write a bit in my journal.

I passed through the first rank of the woods without anything remarkable happening, coming to the a small village that sat in a yellow field beyond which was the next rank of the expansive forest. There were only a couple dozen little buildings, each occupied by a family who served a vital role, whether that be a baker, farmer, doctor or smith. Everyone in the village contributed in some way and this made it a rather harmonious existence, other than the odd lovers quarrel or neighbourly squabble over livestock eating vegetables they shouldn’t. Today was the market, so there were several stands set up in the small village square. People from the surrounding countryside would travel here to sell their wares and buy supplies and services.

Given it was spring, I anticipated seeing more unusual faces, travellers and pilgrims making their way north to the Capital to take part in the economic prosperity The Call created. With the arrival of all the of the Chosen, the poor people uprooted and brought to the Capital, came a swarm of mercenaries, armourers, smiths, and enchanters, all offering their services to help the Chosen prove themselves…for a price.

It was a bittersweet event. On the one hand it meant a much needed source of income for the village, on the other hand it was a vivid reminder of the sadness to come. But like my mother said, thinking about this “does no good, little dove.”

As I approached the village square I could hear the noise of trade. It wasn’t a particularly busy day at market but there was enough of a buzz that I had to weave my way around people as they inspected and bartered. I bought eggs, flour and apples from the usual places and then stopped, as I always did, to admire the silver and turquoise jewellery the wife of the smith sold. She made beautiful bangles and necklaces of fine silver that gracefully curled like the tendrils of grape vines around stones of turquoise, amethyst and crystal. I hoped one day I might be able to buy one of her necklaces.

‘You really are obsessed.’ Came a familiar voice. I turned to see Gedral. There was a time when the mere sound of his voice made my cheeks flush and quickened my pulse. Now when I looked at him I didn’t feel much of anything.

‘I’m not obsessed. I just appreciate how talented the smith’s wife is.’

Gedral rolled his eyes.

I hadn’t seen him since the snows became heavy. He and his family lived on the opposite side of the forest to my mother and I so we didn’t have much occasion to encounter one another anymore unless it was like this on market days. The winter had done him good. The particularly harsh season had added something masculine to his previously boyish face, squared him up a bit I guess. There was still a certain gangliness there but that was likely from less full dinner plates, something we all dealt with in winter. He looked more like a man than I’d ever noticed before yet some how, to my surprise, it didn’t inspire any of the previous feelings I had for him. The rather unpleasant end to our courtship the summer prior had tarnished what had been a friendship of many years.

‘How is you mother?’ He asked with a forced attempt at civility.

‘Fine.’ I didn’t have any interest in taking to him. I looked at him with a cool, emotionless eye.

He opened his mouth, twice, as if he wanted to say something but was too scared or embarrassed.

‘I’ll see you later.’ Was all he said then turned and walked away.

I wondered what sentimental thought might have crept into his head that moment.

I moved on from the stand of jewelry I would never be able to buy. Passing slowly by each stall I stopped at one that looked unusual. A traveler had set up a small table over the top of which she had laid a tattered red velvet cloth, on top of this sat a number of small strange items. The woman was old, she had a terrible scar across her jaw that was accented by the heavy wrinkles that weighed down her face. She didn’t seem to take notice of anyone who happened by, even if they picked up one of her trinkets. She simply stared at the ground with a distant expression in her cloudy eyes. I decided to take a closer look. I couldn’t tell what she was selling exactly. There were some odd colored stones, small pieces of metal with strange shapes carved into them, vials of slow moving liquid.

‘It’s you!’ The old woman suddenly said, causing me to jump slightly.

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you.’

I stood with a confused look on my face, glancing from side to side to see if she was talking to someone else. The old woman looked straight at me, though ‘look’ might have been the wrong word. By the whiteness of her eyes I could tell she was blind. While she may not have seen me, her face was filled with urgency and excitement. Her hands roved quickly over trinkets on her table, feeling each and dropping them again as she searched for something. She picked one up and held it out.

‘Take this.’ She said.

‘Thank you but I can’t. I don’t have any money.’

‘No money. Just take.’ She urged leaning forward shaking the thing in her hand.

‘That’s very kind but I couldn’t.’

‘You must!’ There was desperation in her voice.

‘Really, I can’t. I couldn’t pay you.’

She stood up with a groan, her knees cracking, and with a hand on the rickety table guided herself to me.

‘The time will come when your possession of this will pay us all back.. and then some.’ She took my hand and placed the trinket in it and closed my fist.

‘But…’

‘No but. This is ancient enchantment. Ancient. It tells me it belongs to you and only you. You must take. One day you will need it, one day soon I think.’ She looked up at me and her eyes seemed to have cleared somehow. She smiled. ‘Yes, it is a good choice.’ She patted me on the arm and then returned to her stool, resuming her bent, expressionless staring.

I looked at what she had placed in my hand. It was a stone, a dark sort of crystal. I didn’t recognize it as anything I’d seen before. It had a sort of deep unattractive russet color but when I held it up to the sun the fragmentations inside sparkled greens, blues and yellows. I put it in my pocket and decided to head home.

The coming of spring attracted all sorts.