The Last Keeper
Written by: Grant Lewis Chapter 1- The Old Man
The man ran until every draw of his breath felt as though his lungs were on fire. Apart from the occasional glimpse behind, his eyes were kept to his path. It had begun to get immensely hard to navigate, even for a young, well rested man. But with disheveled grey hair, torn ragged clothing and a mangy beard, the old man was anything but young. His face was well worn, showing the wrinkles from years of wear. He seemed lost in thought, muttering inaudible words as though debating his journey ahead. It was the dangerous path ahead that must be traversed. Weighed down heavily with mud, his snow white robe was struggling against gravity to cling to his emaciated body. Along the forest trail the fringe of his robe had caught on a thorn covered shrub tearing it nearly to his waist.
After running for what seemed ages, he began to slow, hunching over, hands on his knees, he began to cough violently. Wiping his lips, his index finger was covered in blood, and he trembled. His appearance was no better than his health. The man continued to run, for should his plan succeed, his entire life’s work would be validated. Although he could not hear the man giving chase anymore, he knew he was advancing on his position. Desperate and frightened, he knelt. He had come to rest directly at the foot of a large, very old willow tree. He chose the spot on the forest floor with precision, “This should do it,” he said aloud. He had found the exact spot on the forest floor he had been searching for.
Reaching into his left pocket, he grasped the familiar round object. It was hot, just as it always was. The small round object he held seemed to be a golden paperweight of sorts. It was perfectly round with deep carvings covering the entire surface. Many of the carvings ran jaggedly all over the object, while one deep carving ran through the center causing a precise axial line of geometrical ingenuity. It was as if he was holding a three-dimensional puzzle comprised of inter-locking pieces that fit together with complete precision. Retrieving the golden orb, his left hand trembled slightly, allowing it rest in his palm. Closing his fingers slowly over the orb, he took a deep breath and tried to relax his mind. As he held it at the tip of his left fingers, the golden orb’s carvings began to glow a plethora of vivid colors between deep red and orange, as though hot lava was contained in its very core. The orb began to softly vibrate, and the old man smiled, content with the orbs reaction. Quickly, he grasped the golden ball with his right hand and wrenched it free before it could take hold of him. The orb restored almost instantaneously to its natural state. It was still warm to the touch, but no longer glowing the molten colors, and no longer vibrating.
Closing his eyes briefly, as if resigned to the inevitable, he placed the round object back into his pocket and began digging furiously with his hands. He was digging so wildly that two of his left fingernails were bent backwards in an extremely awkward position, but he dare not scream, taking care not to give away his location. Continuing to dig until the hole was nearly a foot deep, he reached back into his pocket, grabbed the small golden relic and placed it into the hole. Covering it quickly he rose to his feet. Perhaps it was partly terror or partly his age but he found this task incredibly difficult. He knew the orb must be in the precise spot on the forest floor or his people, and their memories, would be lost to time itself. With a great exhale, he felt his empty pocket.
It had been several years since he had not had the golden orb in his possession, and it was agonizing. How much time it had actually been was another question completely. He thought it may have been three years, or perhaps four. Ever since he had completed building the golden orb called The Keeper, it had not left his sight. He knew he must leave it behind, but it had not been easy. There had been many years that it lay hidden in his workshop while his plans and final preparations were taking place. The last few years had been incredibly difficult, and he was forced to work hidden underground nearly night and day. In the beginning of the Great Frost War he was able to secretly leave his workshop confines at night to breathe the fresh air, but those days had long passed. As the war progressed, and the enemy began to gain the upper hand, he was forced to live the life of a recluse staying underground night and day. If the Keeper he had been preparing for all those years fell into the wrong hands, it would be devastating; and he could not risk leaving such a thing to chance. This Keeper was like no other and completely unique. There had been many Keeper makers in his world, but most, if not all, had been killed or captured during the Frost War. The last few years had been a terrible time, and he dare not leave a Keeper of this magnitude just lying around. This Keeper, the one he had just buried in a shallow grave on this planet, had the potential to end the tyranny and bloodshed back home. He was much too old and much to weary to use it himself, and so he had traveled to Earth. He was looking for the man for whom the Keeper was custom-made, and he would find it. He must find it.
At just that moment, while pondering his past and limited future, he heard the noise of heavy foot fall coming from a short distance behind. “No time,” he said quietly. Quickly looking the way he had come one more time, he set off. Running for what seemed another fifteen full minutes, he began to slow. The adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins had long run out, and his knees seemed to buckle with every stride. Then, just as suddenly as the journey had started, he fell to the ground. The old man lay face down on the forest floor, his heart struggling to pump with each passing beat. He rolled slowly to his back and looked into the bright sun directly overhead and smiled. He hadn't felt an actual sun on his skin in years, and he grinned. Emfore had only three small suns, but he enjoyed the warmth that Earth's single sun expelled. The enemies hunting him would find his body and surely dispose of it, but they would not find the Keeper, and the the confidence that his life's work was complete, enveloped him with a profound peace. The Keeper would be found by the man for whom it was created; the man that could end the bloodshed; the man who contained the power to end it all-Clay Sweeney. The old man closed his eyes, drew one deep breath, and exhaled for the last time.
No comments:
Post a Comment