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

  “And this last one is Cedric…Cedric Baldwin, you and him were particularly good friends. There were times you and he were closer than you and Romeo were. Heck you even….”

  “I even what?” Tristan asked after a while, looking up from the photo.

  “You know I thought a picture might just trigger something.” This would have been the first image he had seen into his forgotten past but it had opened no clues to it.

  Tristan looked up at Merlin, his eyes as clear as glass. The photo had triggered nothing within his head, no memories, no visions, no nothing. Tristan wiped a single tear from his cheek; both angry and frustrated with himself that he couldn’t remember his own brothers. Merlin reached out and placed his hand on Tristan’s, comforting him in a kind of fatherly way.

  “Give it time Tristan!” reassured Merlin. “It may come eventually. It’s clear the picture is making you feel something; you just need to connect with how it is making you feel. We have progress, even if it is only small progress.”

  Tristan placed the photo on the table so that it faced down and took a sip of his tea. The two men sat in silence for a while, pondering the taste of the berry tea perhaps.

  “I’m not sure I like this tea…too strong for my liking,” squirmed Merlin, walking over to the window and emptying the contents of it into the street. “I prefer a more dulcet flavour.” Tristan sniggered at the sudden poshness of Merlin’s voice. “What did you think of it?”

  “I quite liked it!” answered Tristan honestly as he downed the rest of his tea.

  “You can have it then! Come on,” Merlin grabbed his cloak from the back of the front door. “Let’s go for some dinner, my treat. I’ll wait for you downstairs!”

  Tristan rose from his seat, turning the photo over again and looking once more at it. Smiling slightly to himself, he folded it neatly and placed it in a pocket on the inside of his tunic. Then, taking a deep breath he headed down the stairs after Merlin.

  Chapter 2 - Glowing Palms

  The Green Clover Inn was at the centre of the city around a glorious fountain. It was the biggest public house in the whole of Az Lagní, only an inn to those in desperate need, although saying that Tristan had only seen the upstairs bedroom used a couple times by him and the very attractive barmaid coming over to take their order at the bar. This attractive young woman was of course Jennivere Bennett and she was all Tristan’s. She wasn’t the prettiest girl Tristan had ever seen, that was the woman he dreamt about at night, but she loved him and that was all he could ask; especially after everything he had put her through in the past. Right now, she seemed to be the only person not linked to his Keeper days, and he needed that.

  “And what can I get you two fine gentlemen today?” asked Jenni in a cheeky tone of voice, giving Tristan a little wink.

  “I don’t know about being a gentleman…but I am quite fine!” exclaimed Merlin returning the wink with a cheeky smile. “What’s the special?”

  “Fish pie with potatoes, peas and carrots.”

  “My favourite, I’ll have that with a brandy.” Merlin winked again and removed his pipe from his pocket. Jenni poured him his drink and he strolled over to a quiet table by the fire.

  “And what about you,” Jenni now turned to Tristan.

  “I’ll have that red dress off you for starters…” he joked.

  “Behave!” she whispered, slapping him on the wrist and smiling blushingly to herself as her cheeks matched the redness of her dress. “What would you like to eat?”

  “Well wouldn’t you like to know…” he said cheekily, shaking his head and looking her up and down when Jenni raised her eyebrows looking like she was about to say something when...

  “Can a man get some service over here?” shouted a deep voice, silencing the whole pub. Jenni looked around, why had all the bar hands chosen now to disappear?

  “It’s okay,” reasoned Tristan. “Serve him first; I haven’t decided what I want to eat yet anyway.”

  “Okay,” Jenni sighed, slumping off to stand in front of the hooded stranger that stood not far from where Tristan perched at the bar.

  He watched as the man pushed down the hood of his cloak revealing a dusty face with a full-length unkempt beard. Long scruffy dark hair draped around his long face like curtains, greasy and greying in areas. An old scar stretched down his left cheek which was shadowed and gaunt, like he had just been involved in a bar brawl elsewhere. Perhaps he had been to one of the other more low-key pubs in Az Lagní and got into a scuffle. Something about him irked at Tristan’s curiosity so he planted himself comfortably so he could just about hear the conversation.

  “About bloody time too!” The man sounded western, but it wasn’t an incredibly strong accent - subtle but enough to tell the direction at least. Perhaps he was well travelled?

  “What can I do for you sir?” asked Jenni, putting on her best serious voice.

  “Oh, I’m not a sir...aren’t you a little young to be a barmaid?” A slight smile crept into the ends of his mouth as he looked down on the wench before him.

  “Is there something you want?” the man looked up suddenly at the oversized man who now stood behind Jenni. The landlord’s name was Gregory, an imposing stature of a man with wispy blonde hair and a red face framed by a trimmed beard. He looked the opposite of the dishevelled stranger that stood on the other side of the bar.

  “I need a place to stay…” he explained rationally.

  “We don’t offer that kind of service here!” Jenni interjected.

  “I was told you do for people in my…predicament.”

  “I…”

  “I’ll need to see some sort of identification?” demanded Gregory, startling the already shaken Jenni and flexing his right hand. “Jenni, will you leave us please?”

  As Jenni slumped out to the kitchen, the man looked around, forcing Tristan to avert his gaze down at the coaster he was spinning on top the bar. He glanced up slightly, watching as the man removed a black fingerless glove from his right hand. He showed his palm to Gregory, as though there was something upon it. Tristan watched as the lines on his palm formed a shape, a rune within his skin that glowed slightly, emitting a blue light. Whatever this mark meant it was enough proof for Gregory who nodded. As the man began replacing the glove onto his hand, Tristan’s own palm began to burn, searing with pain suddenly and causing the coaster he was fiddling with to fling across the underside of the bar. He looked down at his palm, the same mark appearing in the lines as had done on the stranger’s. He marvelled at the sight as the glow faded but the mark remained. He looked up in time to see Jenni coming over to him, picking up the coaster from the floor as she did.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, a concerned look on her face.

  “Yes! Yes I’m fine!” Tristan stammered as he clenched his hand into a fist, sending shooting pains through to his wrist.

  “Got a name?” he heard Gregory say.

  “Dante Ashdown,” answered the man, his face seeming brighter and cleaner than it was.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Jenni asked, turning Tristan’s face away from the stranger. “It’s just you’ve gone really pale?”

  “I’m fine honestly,” Tristan lied his head feeling light all of the sudden. “I’m just hungry!”

  “Right, of course,” the stranger had unnerved Jenni for some reason; she too had gone rather pale. “How about I ask the chef to fix up your favourite; steak and mushroom pie?”

  “Mushroom…yuk!”

  “But you love mushrooms? Steak and mushroom is your favourite?”

  “No, steak and ale is my favourite!”

  “Everything alright old-boy,” asked Merlin now standing beside Tristan. “What’s taking so long?”

  “Sorry,” stammered Jenni. “Steak and ale pie and a fish pie coming right up. Can I get you a drink Tristan?”

  “A wheat beer will be fine!”

  “But you hate wheat beer!” Jenni protested.

  “Since when? Jenni what’s w
rong with you today?”

  “Nothing…sorry…” Jenni said eventually when Merlin said nothing. She poured Tristan a wheat beer and handed it to him. “I’ll be over with your dinners soon!”

  Merlin and Tristan both nodded to her and returned to the table Merlin had selected for them by the kindling fire. As the two sat, Tristan sipped his beer; relishing the taste as though he hadn’t had one in rather a while.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with her today,” he started to say as Merlin too sipped from his brandy. “I mean first she suggests a steak and mushroom pie and now she thinks I don’t like beer…I love beer!”

  “She’s right though you know,” Merlin said after a while, lighting the candle with a simple flick of his fingers. “Maybe the question we should be asking is what has gotten into you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Tristan, what’s wrong?” he stared into Tristan’s cloudy blue eyes. “Something has happened, hasn’t it?” Tristan shook his head slowly, still trying to get his head round the mark that was still burning on his palm. “You remembered something…”

  Merlin looked down at Tristan’s still clenched fist, glancing up at his cloudy eyes once more. He gently took the fist into his own relaxed hands and slowly prised open Tristan’s fingers, keeping eye contact with him all the whilst. He put up no fight, simply letting Merlin gaze upon the mark that rested on his palm. Merlin studied the mark, a look of what appeared to be relief painted on his gaunt face.

  “When did this appear?”

  “Just now,” Tristan stammered, suddenly quivering where he sat.

  “Tristan this is serious…”

  “Tristan, you do realise what this mark means right. This might be the connection we were missing…the key to getting you to remember. I don’t mean to alarm you, but something has snapped in you. I mean, these past three years all you’ve drank is ale and you always have a steak and mushroom pie.” Tristan stared at Merlin, the colour draining from his face as fear gripped him. “But what can it all mean…why now?”

  Merlin looked over at the bar and Tristan followed his gaze back to the stranger who shot a look in their direction. Something in his eyes sparked at Tristan, making him jump up and knock into Jenni who suddenly appeared behind him with their pies all plated up and ready. The plates crashed to the floor, smashing and sending food everywhere, gravy spilling all down her red dress.

  “Tristan!” Jenni screamed as she looked down at herself, suddenly very embarrassed.

  Tristan starred at the mess he had caused, looking round the pub as everyone stared at him. His head was pounding and he was shaking like a leaf. He shook his head in frustration and stormed out of the inn, Merlin and Jenni both shouting after him.

  Chapter 3 - The Shadow Lands

  Tristan slumped down on the wooden tiled floor as the front door of his home slammed behind him, his ears ringing. Resting his head in his hands, he tried to quell his headache by massaging his temples and fighting against the visions trying desperately to cloud his mind. His breathing began to slow but he could still feel his hands burning; the tops searing with pain. He stared in bewilderment as two runes etched themselves there, blood dripping from his palms and staining his breaches. He turned them round and glanced at them again, looking in disbelief and confusion. Just then, he felt something harden on his back as the feeling of a thousand needles stabbing him at once met his senses. Jumping up, he raced into the sitting room to stand in front of the mirror above the fireplace, ripping off his tunic and staring at the tattoo forming between his shoulder blades; a blue glyph in the shape of a sigil Tristan knew to be that of the Keepers.

  He stared in disbelief at the tattoo, the pain of his new markings subsiding and leaving them to settle within his skin. Shaken, he sunk into the armchair his father would usually sit, again cradling his aching head in his hands, blood still seeping from the wounds. After a while, the pain in his head began to subside and he watched the floor as a dark shadow began to appear before him. Expecting to see his father, he looked up suddenly startled to see another man before him. The man looked exactly like him, only different somehow. He stood there, grinning at Tristan; his stance relaxed slightly and his feet planted firmly on the floor. The man had the same piercing blue eyes that Tristan himself had, looking upon him from behind a blonde brown hairstyle that covered his brow and ears. Tristan ran his hand through his own hair; considerably shorter and neater than his lookalike. A stubble prickled his chin; framing his face and making his high cheekbones stand out. The rugged look had obviously been a thing this double liked…it was probably the only thing differing between the twins. As Tristan continued to stare at himself as though a mirror stood in front of him, he noticed the bare skin on his torso begin to split into symbols and words that seemed to scar his once immaculate form. Tristan gasped, watching as words turned into whole passages that were written as though they belonged to endless prophecies his ears once knew. He clawed at his own torso, looking down to see nothing but old scars from long ago wounds.

  He looked back up at his own face as the grin faded and his mouth became stitched together. At the same time, he noticed that although some of the words were too small for him to read, other words he could make out - the word ‘listen’ was now etched into his forehead. He looked himself up and down, noticing other words; ‘secrets’ spread across his chest and ‘union’ just above his midriff. The glyph on his palm rested below the last word, the same glyph Dante shared with him, a word echoing in his head as he studied the glyph.

  “Nobility!” the echo came.

  The double of him jolted his neck suddenly, the smile stretching back and causing his mouth to bleed as the stitches were ripped out. Tears of blood began to bleed from his eyes, peeling his skin as they spilt down his face and dripped onto his torso. Tristan gasped as the scarred version of himself jumped at him. Flailing, he used his arms to shield himself, his arms absorbed the scars of the man as they became one. Tristan fell to his knees; the immense pain that had just left him gripping him once more. Yelling out in anguish he saw an illuminated figure form in front of him; in the place of where he had seen himself, reaching out with a graceful hand. He reached out to take the hand, begging the glowing silhouette for help, for seldom away from his pain. When their hands touched, he was met by an overwhelming sensation that would only be bought on through torture, a feeling like the bones inside his body were being shattering into a thousand pieces.

  Then the figure obliterated, leaving a numb Tristan kneeling on the rug in the middle of the sitting room. Dizzy, he collapsed to the floor.

  ~~~

  A scream sounds in the darkness and for a moment I fear I am not alone. It echoes all around me; causing a ringing in my ears; a sensation which made me feel human for the first time since I became stuck down here. I am still unsure of how long I have been down here – the variations between night and day are much the same; there is no sun or moon, no stars or clouds, just the blackness of the sky above me. The screaming stops, leaving me in silence once more. There is a strange safety in this silence around me, it means I am alone and therefore no one could hurt me…at least that’s what it meant down here. There is always danger here. There are cloaked shadows that reside in the Watchtower on the horizon and every so often they come lurking into the darkness and flush out us faded ones from our hiding places. On the surface world, silence is suspicious and makes you feel as though you are being followed or watched…like something bad is about to happen. Here, silence is a sanctity.

  I look around suddenly, fearing the screams would arouse the hooded shadows but there was no such movement. The dead trees up above remained still, the blackened grass standing on end, the greying sky…greying sky? The sky was usually black, blackest of blacks, but the tone was now changing, a greyness tinging the barrier. It was smoke! The Watchtower on the horizon was beginning to crumble, falling to the ground and enveloping the horizon in smoke. I could hear the crashing and banging of rubble hitting the f
loor, bringing back the ringing in my ears. As the smoke faded, I noticed a light flickering in its place. It could have been fire but its colour marvelled me. In all the time I had been down here I had never seen colour, even my clothes had become blackened by the dust. The colour was so beautiful…the light bringing me peace as it shone brighter than ever. No way could something that pure be fire. It was like it was calling to me, wanting me to behold it…and I wanted to behold it.

  Maybe the light marked the end of my time in darkness; maybe it would take me back to the land of colour and light I used to revel in. I take a deep breath, and before I know it my feet are taking me towards the source of the light. As I begin to leave, I turn and look back at the shadows that cower behind the trees and in the bushes, behind the tall grass and camouflaged within the darkness. Goodbye my brothers, perhaps one day soon, the light will call to you as well!