David Baldacci - The Keeper

“His full name is Daniel Delphia but everyone calls him Delph. He’s out in this storm. There was this dark cloud and it covered us and he was gone and...”

“Why did you venture here?” she said sharply.

“I don’t have time to explain. Delph is out in the storm and I’m worried about him. I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

She suddenly turned and left the room, this time using her feet.

We hurriedly followed her into the next room, which was far larger than the first and, indeed, appeared much bigger than the entire cottage had looked from the outside. In the very center of the room was a round table.

Astrea strode over to it with quick, short steps and then stopped. We followed. On the table were two identically sized pewter cups. And in each cup sprouted an emerald flame.

“What’s that for?” I asked curiously.

She pointed to the cup on the left. “The Quag,” she said, and then she took from her pocket what looked like sand and threw it on the flames. They instantly shot much higher. Then she tipped the cup over and the flaming liquid spread across the tabletop.

“Look out!” I exclaimed, reaching out to smother the fire with my cloak.

A moment later, it was as though I had run into an invisible wall. I was frozen, my outstretched hands inches from the molten liquid.

“There is no need, Vega,” she said, pointing to the tabletop.

The flames had vanished and the water had spread to engulf the tabletop, with the exception of the other cup, which the water did not touch.

“This is a Seer-See,” she said. “A prophetical eye.”

Confused, I looked down at the tabletop and my breath seized in my lungs.

It was as though a picture, a moving picture, had formed on the table. I scanned it frantically for Delph.

“Amarocs,” I said sharply. There was a herd of them in full gallop. They jumped and leapt and galloped and swerved around obstacles with a grace I could barely imagine. They would be beautiful to look at if they weren’t so murderous.

“Can you see what they’re after?” I was terrified that the something was Delph.

She waved her hand once more and the image leapt ahead of the amarocs. It was a herd of deer. But they were all as white as snow. They were fast, but the amarocs seemed to be gaining.

“The amarocs are swifter than the deer,” I said worriedly.

She nodded. “But as you can see, ’tis no matter.”

I glanced back at the Seer-See and gasped. The deer were no longer there. In their place were little bits of light that flew into the air and then disappeared, leaving the amarocs rushing around in all directions and roaring in fury.

“What happened to the deer?” I said.

“They were not deer.”

“Then what were they?”

“Fairies having a bit of fun at the expense of the amarocs. And more’s the better, I say. Bloody troglodytes.”

“Can you see Delph on this thing?” I said impatiently, my insides frozen with thoughts of what might have happened to him.

She waved her hand over the tabletop once more.

I caught a breath when I saw him, but then let it out slowly and with relief.

Delph was fast asleep in the huge crook of a towering tree whose canopy was so thick that not one drop of rain could penetrate it. I could see that he had used a bit of rope to secure his perch. That way he could not turn in his sleep and tumble down.

“Is he safe?” I asked worriedly.

In answer, she reached in her cloak pocket and drew something out. She lifted up her hand and let the things she’d drawn out fall onto the tabletop. They looked like grains of rice. They hit the water without making a splash. But I could see the ripples caused by the tiny collision of rice and water. These ripples carried over Delph and formed a circle around him. And then they hardened, becoming still and fixed in the water. It was like he was now in a cage.

“He is free from harm now.” She turned once more. “Please come with me, Vega Jane.”

As I followed her, it occurred to me that I had never told her my last name was Jane.

Astrea 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.