Where to begin? How did one fit enough questions to cover more than a thousand years into a conversation with a woman who withered visibly with every passing instant? Witnessing her decline made me ill.
“Will you be alright?”
“Winsome,” she smiled, her eyes clear despite advancing age. “I greet this end without hesitation. If I have regrets, they are that my deliverance has come at your cost. And I will not get the opportunity to know you, for which I am profoundly sorry.”
“How do I beat her?”
“You must remember, Winnie, a skill unpractised is a skill lost. The Keepers before me had been too successful at hiding. Their talents remained dormant and diminished down the years. So when my turn came, I inherited almost nothing of the original power Isadore possessed innately. How are your dreams, Winsome?” she asked. “The visions will hound you to action, unless you wish to succumb to madness as was Bernadette’s fate.”
“Hiding is definitely out, then.”
I suspected those dreams of Daniel and his doomed family could get a whole lot more horrid before the end of his story. If they weren’t the worst of it, I couldn’t imagine sleeping ever again. A chill seeped my bones and my teeth began to chatter.
“From the beginning, we Keepers have buried our heads in the sand. Yet the witch has indeed been busy. She leaves a trail of desolation in the endless search and no one is immune. Not babies, not mothers, brothers, grandparents, not anyone. The despised witch must be challenged and you are the only one to do it.”
Her hair was white and wispy, skin creased like parchment. She casually fingered her jaw, reaching into her mouth to extract a tooth. Her tongue nudged the inside of her cheek at newly raw gum. She changed position, rolling stiff shoulders.
“So this is arthritis. Most objectionable.”
I pushed her on. “You changed the Ritual to give me help?”
“Previously, we inherited our gifts in consecutive fashion. I have altered the Ritual to ensure you will receive our accrued pasts, regardless of Bernadette’s insanity. It is not the only alteration I made.”
That sounded ominous.
“Seth.” She could not hide the longing, before her tone hardened. It appeared that she remained unaware of his true name. “You will not suffer the lonely centuries as I did, Winnie. I made sure of it. He will protect you with his dying breath. When your travails are finally over, he will be by you for life. You can live as normal people, love, have children, and perhaps even grow old at a normal pace. This bequest to you is my atonement.”
Peachy! Did I really come across as so romantically inept? There were several flaws in her white-picket-fence fairytale, which Smithy would point out were he present. I settled for stating the obvious.
“But D-Seth was yours, Raphaela. He loved you.” If Daniel had not shared his true name with Raphaela, who was I to? Technically, he hadn’t shared with me either, but it seemed I could now access more and more of our history. Maybe full disclosure was due to us nearing the end game. I hoped how this knowledge helped, became clearer soon.
“Do not judge him harshly, Winsome. You have no concept of what he’s lost.” I didn’t have time to put her straight on that account. “Seth has been imprisoned for innumerable years. He will come to see you as his saviour, as the one who offers him purpose after all that time. You will have freed him and provided him with the occasion to exact revenge on his tormentor. More than anyone, Seth as you will come to know him truly, deserves a second chance at happiness. You should offer him that chance, Winsome.”
I detested the word “should.” Thanks to her free-loving meddling, dealing with Daniel was going to be tricky. In the real world, where flower-power was brown and shrivelled in its pot, Smithy enjoyed beating him with a metal bar. It was probably best to omit the choking episode of my last visit, too.
“Will any of the things you have done help me win?” It was ungrateful, but Raphaela had not answered my original question.
She worked to fill her lungs, her efforts shallow and rasping. She had reached old age in an alarmingly short period and was after all, a victim too. I should reserve my bile for the one who deserved it most, the one who necessitated our involvement from the beginning. My predecessor gave me a gap-toothed grin.
“Murdering you now is no easy feat, even without the modifications. Your supremacy is on the ascension and you will develop your own abilities to fit the demands of the role. These will be extraordinary, I am positive. A Keeper turning to face her foe. That would be something to see. I predict the vile Priestess will not have it as easy as she anticipates.” Her speech tumbled forth under the pressure of shrinking time.
“And you have accepted the mantle as the youngest Keeper. The Key is your primary objective now. You simply must find it, and the remaining lost articles. You have to leave for Lafayette as soon as chance allows. I believe Bernadette found the Keeper’s Key and brought it with her from the old continent. I followed her journey down through Canada, exhausting all other alternatives en route for its resting place. Bernadette died on my land in Lafayette and I am sure she was in possession of the Key. I trust it will lead you to the Sceptre.”
“This Key and the Sceptre will help me defeat our enemies? Is that why it’s important to reunite the lost articles?”
“I have researched our history as thoroughly as possible, to no avail. I am not sure what reuniting the lost articles achieves. But I am certain it is the best way forward. Bernadette’s delirium blocked the knowledge of those before her, damming it behind addled ramblings. If only Isadore had not burned the original diary.”
“Hmm, if only …” There were so many if onlys. The past Keepers were a bloody unhelpful lot and sapped any charity I might have felt.
“She obliterated the diary because she came to wrongly associate it with the deaths of her children and of those who came after them, while she lived on impervious to the trials of age. Too much time alone does strange and terrible things to a person, Winnie. It is something I was unable to overcome.” Dishonour lined her desiccated features. “I cannot adequately convey my remorse for such a crime.”
My panic mounted. “But I’m not ready. I’ve only been training for days.”
Vague references to lost articles offered slim salvation. They were lost for pity’s sake!
“Winsome, when Finesse realises you aim to challenge her, waiting for you to fade with old age will no longer be an option. Not that she has ever been a patient creature, but you and those dedicated to helping you are the last of us and have the accumulated life spans of the Sacred Trinity at your disposal. Who knows how long you shall live. In essence, my actions have compelled a confrontation. Destiny entangles Anathema and the Trinity in a web of convergence.”
Hugo had tried to explain this way back before I had a clue what he meant. His story conjured giant cosmic spiders weaving their infinite tapestry, each thread forcing us closer to our enemy. Then, I believed he was tapped in the head. Now, their creepy little arachnid offspring burrowed under my skin and no matter how I scratched, I could not get them off. Ill-defined questions fogged my brain. There was much more I needed to know, but the words would not line up.
“The Crone is arrogant beyond belief. Still, her imprisonment will have shaken her and she will need to recover and make new plans. You have this small advantage, use it. Plus, she will draw out this game for fun, believing herself infallible. The delay is your opportunity to stay one step ahead.”
Raphaela sagged. A puff of wind could feather her away, skin gauze-thin over a skeletal frame. This was how Bea, Fortescue and Mrs Paget might go in the gentlest version of events – the other versions vile and bloody. Raphaela didn’t have time to wait for my brain and mouth to coordinate.
“Everything you do from this point forward will be hazardous and I do not think further training will better equip you. You are the Last Keeper. The abilities you were born with will make themselves plain when the need arises. The only one standing in the Crone’s way, Winsome, is you. If not you, then no one. You must find a way.”
“Tell me how!”
She shook her head. “I do not know. The witch cannot die while the Stone exists. And the Stone is indestructible on Earth.”
“That seems pretty infallible to me.”
“Ask Enoch. And Winsome, heed this warning well. The next weeks will be extremely confusing and discomforting as you adjust. Stay close to your guardians. They will ease you through the process. The Delta pathway can provide solace, but you must resist the temptation to gain respite by coming here. It is an addiction easily fostered. Persistence in the real world is the ideal, as it will encourage your tolerance and hone your skills. You will understand better about what I am saying when you leave this haven.”
I scrambled around for better, more practical questions and came up empty. At least I was prepared for confusion; it had been my enduring state since arriving home from boarding school. The husk of a woman before me took on a faraway expression, like the benevolent saints in religious manuscripts.
“I believe my time approaches.” Raphaela became still, her mouth hardly moving. “It is imperative you complete the set of the lost articles before the Crone reaches you, Winsome. The Sacred Trinity faces the unique challenge of preventing the witch from hunting you, while you must eventually hunt her. Destroy our records. Burn the ancestral map, so if by chance your hideout is found, no information remains. Protect your identity. It is your final shield.”
Her voice began to fade and she lost substance, eyelids slipping closed. “And remember, you can only run so far and hide for so long. This time, she will find you. Guard against the Keepers’ most insidious enemy: growing tired of this world and its unworthy inhabitants. Find reason to fight no matter how grave the circumstances and you shall triumph, Winnie. Please tell Seth he was the best thing in all my long years.”
She was barely audible. “And Maya. Find her. Keep her with you. Tell her she gave me a reason to live.” Her body broke into shards of light, briefly rendered youthful, unmarred by any burden.
Too soon!
“How do I fight her? Please!” I whispered, afraid to know. “What do the articles do?”
“Ask … Enoch.” I heard the faintest echo of her reply in my mind.
Raphaela’s influence ended, her form a column of sparkling motes that danced apart and spiralled upwards. As the glowing nebula dispersed about her statue, the blank face transformed into her likeness and a duplicate of the diary came to rest in her chiselled hands, her answers trapped forever in remote marble.
The single repository of hope I had was gone, abandoning me alone in a monument filled with dead ancestors. Their voices were silent. And I didn’t feel any the wiser or better able to deal with what was inevitably coming for me.
