Treasurekeeper Read online

  Treasurekeeper

  .

  Then the pure of heart shall witness the coming of a great darkness. Upon those who dwell in the light an endless night shall fall.

  For unto this world the Horror shall be born, the dark one, who was cast from Heaven.

  And lo! The curse of our destruction shall rest on its scaled shoulders, and its names shall be: Chaosbringer, Fireborn, Dreamweaver, Treasurekeeper, Worldmaker, Lifebreaker.

  The Old Words: Verse 18:11-15

  Title page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Unlike the dragons of Western mythology, Chinese dragons are not viewed as evil fire-breathing monsters but as benevolent, powerful and highly spiritual beings who, historically speaking, were closely linked to imperial power. In fact, the emperors of Chinese feudal society were said to be directly descendant from dragons, and because the Chinese consider the legendary emperors of ancient China to be their ancestors, there are many Chinese people today who proudly call themselves the Lung Tik Tuan Ren (Descendants of the Dragon).

  As the symbol of the emperor, dragons represented greatness, goodness, abundance, and prosperity. But that is not to say that they were creatures to be trifled with. One curious tale, for instance, tells of how a dragon enslaved the entire imperial court by mesmerizing them with its flaming pearl, an artifact closely associated with dragons in almost all significant depictions and decorations.

  According to the story, the courtiers of the imperial palace attempted to put an imposter on the throne and, in an act of justice as much as revenge, the true emperor’s dragon ancestor descended from the heavens to mesmerize the faithless courtiers into an obsessive devotion towards the true, dragon-descendent emperor that was far deeper and more humiliating than any form of slavery.

  From Dragons in Folklore (1961), by Gordon Green

  I’m sitting on a large balcony overlooking the extensive formal gardens of the Pendragon mansion. The gardens are green and lush and perfect. I’m sipping a margarita and sharing a bowl of nachos with Daniel, who’s telling funny stories in that laidback, charming way of his.

  Rationally, I know this should be a pleasant experience. Nachos are my favorite food. A margarita is my favorite cocktail. Summer is my favorite season. Daniel is my favorite person.

  But the food tastes like cardboard and the alcohol doesn’t work, and despite the blazing sunshine, the sky is a washed-out, grimy, depressing gray. Even Daniel’s company is impossible to enjoy because I have to concentrate so hard on making a happy face while I’m listening to him.

  “…hope you’re enjoying that margarita because the barman here is the best in the world. As in literally the best.” He leans forward, his chocolate brown eyes twinkling. “Apparently the guy won an international mixology competition and Jack Pendragon made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. Can you imagine? The poor bastard obviously had no idea what he was letting himself in for.”

  “Mixology?”

  “Yup. It’s a thing.”

  I’m doing my best to keep up a normal conversation but I’m not sure I’m fooling anyone. Mostly I just try not to stare blankly into space or let the silences stretch out too long. Would this be the right time to smile? I go through the motions, my cheeks a bit stiff, but my timing must be off because a shadow flits over Daniel’s face.

  “You okay?”

  I force myself to smile wider. “Sure.”

  He doesn’t look convinced, but then again, I might not be reading him correctly. Lately I feel as if I’m trapped behind a pane of thick glass that cuts me off from other people and leaves me all alone with nothing but the dreadful thoughts in my head.

  I don’t feel part of the real world anymore. I don’t even feel like a person. I’ve become a ghost, a shadow of the girl I used to be.

  But I won’t be a ghost for long.

  A wave of self-hatred crashes over me, and I clutch my glass tighter to keep my hands from shaking.

  I’m not a person and I never was.

  I am a monster out of nightmares.

  And one of these days, not so long from now, I will grow wings and fangs and a tail and—

  “Oh! You’re bleeding.” Dasha, one of my Skykeepers, leans over to reach for my hand, her face concerned.

  I look down, see that I’ve shattered the glass in my hand and cut myself on the shards. The sight of my wound is strangely familiar, as if I’ve seen it somewhere before, once in a dream maybe, and I find myself mesmerized by the way the red blood oozes from my skin to fall on the white tablecloth.

  Drip, drip, drip…

  “Shit! It’s happening.”

  “Get him out of here now.”

  I’m vaguely aware of a commotion around me, but I can’t get myself to care about anything except the slow seeping of my blood onto the tablecloth.

  Spots of crimson on a pure white background.

  “Don’t let him touch her!”

  Red on white.

  Blood on snow.

  I exhale deeply as my mind becomes a swirling vortex of lives lived and horrors suffered and atrocities endured. So many lives ruined. So much blood spilled. So many horrors endured. So much time wasted.

  We should have left this place of pain a long time ago.

  “My Queen. Please.”

  A gentle hand on my shoulder draws me out of my reverie. The young man who leans over me has the dark skin and finely crafted features of the people I loved first, a long time ago, in a land far wilder and richer than this one.

  “What is it you request of me?”

  “You are going too deep, my Queen.”

  “Too deep?” I frown, not sure that I like the sound of his words.

  His people, of course, betrayed me in the end. Just like all the rest of them. Betrayal upon betrayal.

  “Your shine, my Queen. It’s become too bright.”

  Too bright? Too bright for whom? I flash my power at the boy, forcing him to his knees. “How dare you demand that I lessen the glory of my shine?”

  “It is no demand, my Queen. Just a humble request from your most loyal servant.”

  Hah! They all want the same thing, these men who claim to serve me. Always exactly the same thing. To make me less than I am. To keep me weak and vulnerable and full of pain.

  “Insolent child! Who gave you the right to ask this of me?”

  “You did, my Queen.”

  He sounds so sincere that I look closer.

  “Ah!” The moment I recognize him, I give a long, satisfied sigh. When I first bound this one to me, his spiritfire was utterly black with hatred, so I find the fact that he now burns with nothing but the unblemished emerald green of his concern for me deeply gratifying.

  Indeed, I may have reason to heed his warning.

  People lie, but my firemagic has never failed me.

  With some regret, I allow the power to flow from my body. I make myself smaller and smaller, weaker and weaker, until I begin to feel the girl’s sadness overwhelm me once more.

 
“No!” I resist the unpleasant sensation. “I do not want to do this. I have spent far too long locked inside the shattered minds of broken young women.”

  “Jess. Please. It’s time to come back.”

  That name.

  There’s a sharp rush of blood to my head. An expanding of consciousness, and then a contraction.

  The name is the key. The air thickens around me as reality shifts and then hardens.

  I blink my eyes a few times.

  It is now.

  I am Jess.

  I am sitting on the balcony of the Pendragon mansion.

  The sun is shining, and I am Jess.

  I am eating lunch with Daniel and—

  Oh no.

  Across from me, Daniel’s chair is empty.

  My stomach lurches with fear. “Did I hurt him?”

  “It shouldn’t be too bad.”

  Michael is standing next to me, his face calm but serious. “Dasha and Iryna were afraid it might happen again, so they were ready this time. They got him away as soon as you lit up with the shine.”

  “Oh. Okay. Thanks.” I rub my eyes, my hands suddenly numb and strange and somehow too small. “How long did it last?”

  “Not that long. Two minutes, maybe. Not more than five.”

  Okay. Good.

  I couldn’t have done too much damage in five minutes. Surely.

  I look at Daniel’s empty chair, overwhelmed with guilt. These days my firemagic comes to me so naturally that I usually don’t even notice it until it’s too late, and I’ve hurt some people really badly.

  “Am I still shining?”

  “Yes. But we’ve sounded the alarm and barricaded the door.”

  Last week the head of Pendragon security, Jacob Abelson, happened to be in the room when I lit up with my magic. He’s now convinced I’m some godlike being and that his only mission in life is to fulfill my every wish.

  “Nobody can get near me?”

  “Zig is guarding the door.”

  “Okay.”

  Jacob Abelson is a regular person with no magic of his own, which means that he can’t be cured of his shine-sickness and will probably go to his grave a miserable, slave-like creature who lived the rest of his life in constant need of my presence and approval.

  “Can I?” Michael kneels next to my chair. He takes my hand in his and carefully begins to remove the shards of glass from my skin.

  We do our best to ignore the noise coming from the other side of the door: angry cries and low wails and the sickening sound of blows. I don’t feel any pain. I feel nothing.

  “Is it dimming yet?”

  “Not yet, no.”

  “You’re sure they can’t get to me?”

  “I’m sure.”

  After Jacob Abelson became shine-struck, I wouldn’t let any normal people come near me anymore, but the moment I light up with my magic, they flock to me anyway. My shine is too powerful; they can’t help themselves.

  I can’t help myself either.

  Nobody can fix this.

  There’s the sound of a harshly whispered argument outside the door, which opens briefly to let my other two Skykeepers in. As they rush towards me, their spiritfires flame brightly with the pure emerald green of their concern for me.

  “Daniel is not very affected,” Dasha reassures me immediately. “His mother is with him and he will be right as rain within a short time.”

  “You must not cry. I beg of you.” Iryna’s eyes fill with tears of sympathy.

  I touch my face, surprised to find my cheeks wet. “I’m fine,” I say, sick with guilt. “You shouldn’t worry about me.”

  “This is not your fault.” Dasha strokes my hair away from my face, her gesture so maternal that I almost start crying for real. When I first met her, Dasha all but fell to her knees whenever she saw me, but these days she clucks around me like a mother hen despite the fact that we’re almost exactly the same age. “Your body reacted to your wound, and the shine came over you to heal your injury before you even knew what had happened. Nobody will blame you for that, least of all Daniel.”

  I look down at my hand. Not so much as a scratch.

  And yet her explanation doesn’t quite ring true.

  “No. It might’ve started as a way to heal my wound but then…” I wipe my hand over my face, disgusted with myself. “I allowed myself to be pulled in. I saw a pattern on the tablecloth, and I just lost myself.”

  “You did not lose yourself!” Red blotches of emotion appear on Iryna’s pale white skin. “You did nothing wrong!”

  “I hurt Daniel.”

  “You did not mean to.”

  “I never mean to, and yet I keep doing it. How long before he’s broken so badly that he can’t be fixed?”

  The noise outside the door is not letting up. Either Zig is losing his touch or I’m still shining like crazy.

  “Once his magic is sparked, this will stop being a problem,” Michael says soothingly. “He’ll be able to protect himself fully against your shine and you’ll never have to worry about making him sick again.”

  “But how can he spark his magic without pledging to White?” Iryna asks, frowning. “The White Lady will kill him if he approaches her. She will never forgive him for his betrayal.”

  “Thanks for pointing that out, you moron.” Michael’s spiritfire flashes dark blue with anger.

  “I am so sorry.” An orange flicker of anxiety. “We will find a way. Daniel will be safe, we will help him to…”

  For the next few minutes I listen distractedly as my Skykeepers try to comfort me. They hate to see me like this, not least because they understand me in a way that others can’t. A couple of months ago, they pledged themselves to me in the hope that this would free them from the White Lady’s hold. At the time none of us realized exactly what such a pledge would mean; we were simply going through the motions of a ritual established by the Order of Keepers over three thousand years ago.

  Well. Turns out those rituals aren’t to be messed with. To say the least.

  What we thought would be just the empty exchange of certain formulaic words ended up in binding us together closer than a family. Far closer. These three have begun to feel like parts of myself that I never knew existed and never knew I needed, but now can’t imagine being without.

  And it’s even worse for them.

  Their power might have grown exponentially since their pledge to me, but our bond has also become so close that their lives seem to center around me now—to the point where they’ve even begun to experience some of my feelings as their own.

  I look into their anxious faces, sick with what I’ve done.

  Dasha and Iryna, two honey blonde beauties with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes, are sisters from the Ukraine who’ve spent years of their lives at the White Lady’s palace in the northernmost wastelands of Siberia. Dasha, the older sister, was thirteen when she pledged herself to White, Iryna only ten. They don’t often talk about their past, but I know it must have been traumatic because of the damage done to their spiritfires. Dasha’s natural forest green fire—the color of health and nurturing and compassion—has been permanently stained by black flecks of pain and loss and suffering, while Iryna’s spiritfire hasn’t settled yet and still flickers in all the colors of the rainbow, like a small child’s. These girls have been through a lot in their lives, and the idea that I’ve somehow managed to chain them to me forever makes me feel physically ill.

  Michael, who grew up in suburban Baltimore, is bespectacled and slightly built and clever and sarcastic. He only spent a few months of his life in the White Lady’s palace, but his hatred for her is so intense that I almost sent him away last year when I first looked into the darkness of his spiritfire. In the months since then I’ve had many occasions to be grateful for giving him another chance, but as I’ve come to rely more and more on him and the girls, I’ve also become increasingly uncomfortable with the pact we made that day in the desert.

  Iryna is only fifteen years o
ld. Dasha is eighteen. Michael is twenty. They have their whole lives ahead of them.

  Suddenly it’s clear to me what I must do.

  All three of my Skykeepers are strong in their magic, but unlike me they can lead normal lives too: they can have children and marriages and careers and friends; they can fall in love and fall out of love; they can grow old or die young; they can become bitter and disillusioned or they can find happiness and peace before they finally leave this world.

  But not if they live like this.

  Not if they remain forever chained to… someone like me.

  I stand up to take Michael and Dasha’s hands in mine. Iryna was already holding her sister’s hand, so when she puts her hand in Michael’s, the four of us form a closed little circle. This is the way we always end up standing, sooner or later, and it feels right and soothing and good.

  But it’s not. It’s weird and it’s bad.

  I have to remember that.

  “Michael,” I say. “Iryna. Dasha. I am so grateful for everything you’ve done for me. I will never forget that you saved my life when we escaped from the desert, and since then you’ve all been so very good to me—” I stop talking as my voice thickens.

  “My Queen?” Iryna is the first to notice that something’s wrong. “Why do you say this to us now?”

  “Because it’s time. I can’t let this situation continue. You have sworn your service and your loyalty to me and, believe me, I’m so grateful—”

  “No.” Michael won’t let me finish. “Don’t do this.”

  “I have to. Don’t you see? This isn’t right. I never meant to trap you like this. You should be free to live your lives for yourselves, not for me.”

  “Please.” Iryna’s eyes rounds with fright. “You cannot abandon us.”

  “I’m not abandoning you. I promise you. I’m trying to set you free. You will always have a right to all the help and protection I can offer, but I can’t allow you to chain yourself to a monster forever.”

  “You are not a monster!”

  “I know what I am. There’s no need for any more lies.”

  “We made that pledge of our own free will,” Michael says, his dark eyes burning with emotion, “and knowing exactly what you are.”

  It’s true. They all knew what I was when they made their vows. I was the only one who had no idea.