Destiny (The Keeper's Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  Destiny

  The first installment of The Keeper’s Trilogy

  Prologue

  “Cry Brethren Cry, for The Betrayer hath cometh!” chants the Interpreter as the hoods watching her listen with anticipation. “The coming of the Third Dawn shall be seen upon the land as the Beginning of the End, as the opening of the Unwritten Times. The Order of the Glyphs shall by touched by the Ancients and the Wretched, and the words of the Glyphs shall unwind.”

  A low murmur of discussion breaks out among the hooded Keepers below. The Interpreter traces the words she has read, a single frail finger floating across the drying ink. As she finishes, she taps the page making more runes appear suddenly as she looks up towards the crowd of Keepers.

  “There is more,” her voice is weak and silent, yet heard by the whole room as the Keepers silence themselves and turn to face her. “Our hands will be crippled and we will perish as fools whilst the Wretched One unveils the Bleak Unwritten. Then we will know the face of our Destroyer!”

  Silence; the room echoes with it as Keepers turn their heads to each other with anguish on their faces. That anguish turns to panic, and once again the room is in uproar. The Interpreter looks to the First Keeper and he steps up to the podium where she had been. For a moment he surveys his followers, not noticing the books in the shelves surrounding the walls begin to shudder in their places. Clearing his throat, he removes his hood and holds out his hands.

  “Silence!” he roars as the room turns to face him, the noise dulling and their faces hoping for salvation. “We must not panic…”

  “But First Keeper Felix,” interrupts a Keeper below as he too removes his hood. “Surely this prophecy means the end of us all?”

  “Brother Percy,” he says with a surprisingly calm voice. “I appreciate your concern, but we must remember the balance we have struck. We must not fall apart, lest the rest of the world will follow! We can prevent this prophecy from taking place if only we find a way.”

  “But how First Keeper?” questions another.

  “Brother Basso, we….”

  A loud bang sounds from the top end of the room as a book fall from its shelf, the sound echoing on the wood tiled floor. The Keepers watch as a Scribe near the back steps towards the book that has fallen by his feet, the pages bent as it lays open on the floor. He opens, it staring blankly at the white papyrus pages.

  “The books,” he shouts desperately, a single tear falling from his crystal grey eyes. “They have become…Unwritten!”

  Shouts escalate from the hooded crowd and panic erupts like a volcano that has been dormant for centuries. It is an uproar The First Keeper cannot contain and as he surveys his followers once more, he watches as those running to leave the Reading Room stop dead in their tracks. He looks towards the stars that can be seen through the glass ceiling above, the window shattering and the shards raining down upon the screaming crowd.

  “Can you not hear the chanting?” someone shouts from within the crowd, many putting their hands to their ears. The First Keeper looks around spotting the perpetrator in a sudden smoke that spreads around the room, enveloping the legs of all the Keepers.

  “Father Talus save us from the Shadows that will embrace us in Eternal Darkness!” He prays, and as he finishes other hooded members form within the crowd; their eyes a piercing red inside their non-existent faces, their cloaks showing no evidence of a living form beneath them.

  “The Faders are here!” speaks a Keeper Elder as he fades moments later followed by countless others.

  The Faders begin to fade too, taking with them the souls of the unafraid Keepers who dared to accept their fate. As they perish, a single tear falls from the blue eyes of The First Keeper and he too fades alongside his followers.

  Chapter 1 - The End of an Era

  Sparks flew off the steel as a stone hammer came down hard on the malleable metal, sapping it to a point and tarnishing the natural shine. The arm that wielded the hammer was strong and forceful, his control over his tool shown through every vein that rippled through his flesh. As the shape was completed, he placed the hammer on the floor and removed the mask that protecting his face. As he did so the wisps of blonde brown hair clung to it, the static attracting them. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and admired his handy work, grabbing a cloth from the side of the furnace beside him and wiping the blade clean, bringing back the natural shine once more. He placed the blade into a bucket of cold water which stood on the cobblestoned floor to cool for a moment, hearing a voice coming from the other room.

  “Tristan!” Jenni called. “Don’t tell me you’re still here?” She sighed heavily as Tristan came through from the workroom of the smithy. “You realise you’re going to be late?”

  “Yes, I know!” Tristan sighed, taking the apron off from around him and placing it on the counter. “Don’t worry, no one is going to miss me.” He caressed Jenni’s face, brushing her deep red hair out of the way. “I bet you will though.”

  “Of course, I’ll miss you,” she kissed his hand as it rested upon her face. “But you really should go!”

  “Okay, I’m going!”

  Tristan leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. It was a longing kiss, a kiss that wanted to last a lifetime. As he broke away, he winked at her, turning on his heel and leaving her alone in the blacksmith’s hut.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; may you forever be within our memories, reminding us of your greatness - your reign of gold.” chanted the priest as he dropped a handful of dirt onto the ivory coffin that lay in a neatly dug hole in the royal gardens.

  Tristan weaved in and out of the crowd of mourning councillors, a few disgruntled glances escaping him as he passed. He joined his father at the head of the procession, bowing his head down as the priest joined them all in a prayer of forever rest for the dead king.

  “You’re late!” his father whispered harshly, casting Tristan that all too familiar disappointing look.

  “I know and I’m sorry but I had work to do.” Tristan snapped back, giving his father not one single ounce of respect in his words. In truth he hadn’t had to be at work at all today – a public holiday had been commanded throughout the whole city due to the sad event.

  “Surely the swords can wait? This is the King’s funeral; you should not have missed it!”

  A few faces looked around and hushed Theorryn as Tristan smirked at his father’s sudden embarrassment. Theorryn sighed heavily as the priest finished the prayer, casting a look of disappointment in their direction, and raised his hands to signal those at the head of the procession to step forward, take a handful of dirt and drop it on the casket. Tristan and Theorryn stepped forward and placed their hands in the bucket of dirt, grabbing a handful and then dropping it in the hole. They stepped away from the crowd, just out of earshot where Tristan hoped their heated discussion would not continue.

  “What are your plans for dinner?” asked Theorryn.

  “Not sure yet…why?” answered Tristan, suddenly suspicious.

  “Well, it’s more than likely that I won’t be around, I have a council meeting to attend.”

  “I see, it’s alright, I’m sure Jenni will sort me out with something.”

  “So long as you don’t end up going without...”

  “I never do!” Theorryn nodded and turned away from Tristan.

  “I have to go. I’ll see you tonight.” He re-joined the procession at the head of the Royal Gardens leaving Tristan to depart and return to the city streets.

  Tristan and his father had an awkward relationship; they had ever since Romeo, his older brother had died. He was convinced that his father thought he was to blame for the murder even though he never sai
d so. Three years ago, there had been corruption within the city of Hasaghar where he and his brother were living at the time; becoming Keeper Acolytes. In the chaos, Romeo had been murdered by rioters along with a few other civilians whose names escaped Tristan. He and Jenni had become stronger since; he had begun to rely on her for support in his everyday life, support that should have been given by a father. In total, they had been together about nine years, on and off of course…but no relationship is perfect. For now, Tristan was happy and that was all he wanted.

  Tristan left the Royal Gardens, heading back out towards the now quiet city streets. As he passed into the square, he took note of the lowness of the sun and how the moon was just appearing behind the fading clouds. The thought of going back to work did enter his mind momentarily but he thought better of it. Besides, he had more important things to worry about, like the fact that he was already late for his lesson with Merlin.

  Merlin had been teaching Tristan about the Keepers and trying to make him remember the time he had spent with them. He has amnesia and there is a period of about six years that he doesn’t remember anything about. All he knows is that in this time; he joined the Keepers and progressed to the Acolyte stage, got married and widowed and lost his brother. His father had never mentioned anything of his forgotten past, neither had Jenni, and whenever Tristan asked a question about it, both would try to avoid the subject. The only one to show an interest in Tristan’s past was Merlin, but even though he had been teaching him the lessons of his past for just under three years, it wasn’t sparking any memories.

  The old man lived above the stables. To most, he was thought to be a grumpy old coot who had no manners, but to the children of Az Lagní he was a storyteller and a great one at that. To Tristan however, he was more of a father to him then Theorryn ever had been, even before the Keepers came into his life. Romeo had always been the ‘Golden Boy’, but he never hated his brother for it, he hated his father.

  Tristan knocked loudly on the door of Merlin’s residence, stepping back and waiting patiently for him to answer. He could hear footsteps on the other side of the door, meaning someone was definitely in. The old man answered the door rather briskly, his sideburns becoming even more slanted as his bearded mouth stretched into a smile.

  “Tristan!” exclaimed Merlin’s gruff voice. “I wasn’t expecting you this early. Please, do come in.” he was being sarcastic of course.

  Merlin turned, opening the door fully so that Tristan could enter. His abode was rather bright today compared to the dullness it usually resembled, the sunlight of the late afternoon catching the patches of baldness on top Merlin’s grey head.

  “Yes, I thought I’d come a little earlier seeing as there was no point going back to work.” replied Tristan with the same sarcasm, stepping straight into the seating area where a fabric couch and a coffee table greeted him to his left. A dining and kitchen area were in front of him with a staircase behind the surfaces leading up to the two bedrooms and washroom.

  “So, you decided to go the funeral after all then?” Merlin strolled forward into the kitchen and placed a pot of water on the fire to boil. He pointed to the table, motioning for Tristan to sit.

  “To be honest, if I hadn’t of gone it would’ve given my father another excuse to scold me and he has enough already.”

  “Fair enough I suppose.” Merlin sat opposite Tristan, watching the pot on the fire and waiting for it to boil. “How was it?”

  “I ah…I arrived late, so I missed most of it.”

  “And you wonder why your father scolds you so often,” Merlin scowled as the water began to boil. He got up and retrieved it from the fire, placing it on a hot plate on the surface and reaching into a cupboard over his head. “What tea do you fancy?”

  “What have you got?”

  “I have lemongrass, elderflower, and a new berry flavour I thought might be nice.”

  “Um…I’ll try that new one…the berry one.”

  As Merlin made the tea, Tristan looked around the place, his eyes being caught by the sun setting out the window. He hadn’t noticed how late it was until now.

  “I have a present for you by the way,” Merlin said as he placed the tea on the table, bringing Tristan back to reality. “I’ll just go and get it.”

  As Merlin disappeared upstairs, Tristan stared bemused at the cup of red liquid that had been placed in front of him. It was so red, it almost resembled blood. He sniffed the steam that rose from it, noting the strong smell of rich summer fruits and a blend of honey to sweeten the brew. He was never really a fan of Merlin’s tea, especially the elderflower one, but this berry one could be an exception.

  “I came across this whilst searching through some of the things you left at Hasaghar. The box this was in was found in your dorms so I thought I’d have a look through.” Merlin sat back down and handed a piece of parchment to Tristan. “Here!”

  He unfolded the stained parchment to gaze upon a photograph of six men all facing forward. All of them looked rather serious but at the same time relaxed; as though each were in the presence of their brother. He recognised one of them to be Romeo - the details of his death were varied; everyone seemed to have a different version of events. Tristan remembered none of it and it wasn’t a particular memory he was looking forward to eventually recollecting. In the photo, Romeo’s blonde-brown hair stood up on end, planted scruffily on the top of his head. He wore a smart light green tunic that had a collar up to his neck with tan coloured breaches that disappeared into brown boots. He was a rather tall man, and completely the opposite image to the tall smart man Tristan had known when he remembered him. The men stood around Romeo he did not recognise, however there was something about the man that stood to his left. It was in the blue eyes that stared out from the shaggy blonde brown haircut that was similar to his own just not as scruffy. He wore a brown tunic that left some of the chest bare. His breaches and boots resembled the same colour, only they were slightly darker. If anything, this man looked older than Romeo because of the stubble that stretched around his cheeks and onto his chin.

  “That boy there…is you!” said Merlin, pointing to the boy Tristan had just been pondering about.

  “That’s me?” Tristan asked in disbelief.

  “Hard to believe isn’t it? You were much more of a rapscallion in those days. I think you are about nineteen in this photo. It was taken not long after you arrived in Dilu actually, to become a Keeper Scribe.”

  “Who are the others?”

  Merlin moved his finger to the man stood next to Tristan, a dark imposing figure who had a regal aura about him, as though he were far better than anybody imagined. He had short black hair that curled around his ears with a middle parting and a rather bony face with fairly tanned skin. His eyes seemed to shine, a stylised beard and slight goatee just touching his chin. He wore a clean white shirt underneath a black leather jacket that had a stitched white design on it. Smart black leggings covered his slim but strong legs and big black boots his feet. A wide belt stretched around his waist with smaller ones that hung off the side so a scabbard could be strung there.

  “This is Jacques,” Merlin explained. “You and Romeo knew him before the Keepers…you used to call him Jacques Indigo. You three and my boy Thomas were practically inseparable as children.”

  “I remember Thomas!”

  “Jacques’ uncle moved him away when he was thirteen, you boys never saw him again…until you became Keepers that was. He was raised in the libraries at Dilu along with the two boys here.”

  Now Merlin pointed to two very similar looking boys; obviously brothers. The older looking of the two stood at the edge of the left side of the photo, as though they were mirroring Tristan and Romeo stood on the other side. This man was also dark haired like Jacques but his hair was much less groomed than his and a lot curlier. A full beard covered his finely chiselled chin. He too had rather tanned skin like his possible younger brother and Jacques. This man wore a groggy looking white shirt that left h
is hairy chest bare. This shirt was covered by a patchwork like jacket with different shades of brown. Leather breaches clung to his legs and boots of the same shade of dark brown came to his knees. He was rather cheeky looking, as though there wasn’t a serious bone in his body. The one who Tristan assumed to be his younger brother looked a lot more serious than the other, more swarve. He wore a plain red shirt, again leaving the chest bare, with a brown jacket. Dark brown leather leggings covered his legs with boots that came to his knees.

  “These two are Ramien and Zhaine,” said Merlin at last.

  “Are they brothers?”

  “Yes!” Exclaimed Merlin, suddenly feeling hopeful; “Did you remember them?”

  “No, they just looked similar to each other.”

  Merlin’s face dropped slightly, the hope disappearing from his face as he hovered his finger above the final boy in the picture. He looked different from the rest of them, an air of naivety and innocence. He seemed younger as well, although in reality he was probably the same age as Tristan was in this photo. He had blonde hair in the same style as Jacques did with a slight beard that was probably more of a stubble really. His skin was rather pale, made paler so by the dark brown jacket he was wearing with its gold patterns and buttons. The jacket draped over a tan shirt and he wore dark brown leather breaches that were covered at the knees by brown boots.