Keeper
by Marcelo Almeida

From the dark depths of the earth, the sound of footsteps echoed loudly as Christian, Laurent, Cecile and Jacques delved into the heart of the world. Walking down the mine and its tunnels, they left behind all sorts of traps and perils. The sun was now only a distant memory, and their sole guide was a bright light coming from on ahead, reminiscent of a starred sky.
    The march through the last forgotten path had taken its toll, and their will grew increasingly weaker. Were it not for that comforting blue light that enveloped their beings, perhaps they would have turned back by now. Mordred had pointed the way, and they were glad for it at the time. If only he had not been so kind on them, now the darkness would not be so tightly woven around their hearts.
    Soon, the light ahead shone brighter, and a great hall – worthy of a thousand empires of a thousand kings – lay before them in all of its barren glory. This hall was composed of both emptiness and passageways, each taking turns in its construction, mixing and swelling in the darkness that crept ever on.
    Bridges were scattered all around, like the webs of a hungry spider, searching for its next prey. The paths glittered as if covered with stardust, much like a reverse sky in the night, mirroring the steps they were yet to take.
    By the time the four younglings had arrived at the labyrinth of intercrossed roads, a dark, ancient figure – resembling either a guardian or a keeper – slowly approached. He was covered in an old mantle, the color of despair. Since none of them had ever suffered it, however, all that they could see was a hint of brown. His left hand was the only visible part of his body, and he used it to carry a lamp almost as old as himself. When he saw them – if he had eyes to see – he spoke with a deep, harsh voice, cast from the depths of those unending halls.
    ‘I bid you welcome to the Great Hall of Atlantis. Where do you wish to go?’
    The four of them exchanged glances, unknowingly. They resided some moments in a most sincere silence until Christian took the lead.
    ‘We wish to go to Arcadia. Will you take us there? We have no time to waste.’
    ‘Oh, but do not fret upon that. Time is not a concern here. Past, present, future. It is all but a fragment of a greater moment. Now, come. Follow me.’
    With that, the guardian turned around and started moving across one of the mirror bridges. The four of them exchanged glances once more; but were soon to follow. As they stepped onto the path, they felt the glass bend – if only slightly – to the weight of their bodies. Below them, an open mouth of darkness awaited their descent, while the reflexive material of the bridges transformed their images to its own accord.
    ‘I must warn you,’ said the guardian. ‘Do not look down, lest you will lose yourselves to the mirror. You shall not know who you are, man or reflection.’
    After such a warning, Christian, Laurent and Cecile braced themselves, keeping those words close to their hearts. A pity the guardian were not so fast as to save all of them from harm.
    ‘Wait,’ Cecile said. ‘Where’s Jacques?’
    The three turned around only to see their comrade looking down, as if charmed by his image reflected on the looking glass.
    ‘I warned you,’ said the guardian. ‘Now come. We are close.’
    ‘Wait!’ shouted Laurent. ‘What is going to happen to him?’
    ‘The same that happened to me,’ replied the guardian, indifferently.
    ‘Is there no way to save him?’
    ‘None. Now come. Follow me,’
    ‘But . . .’
    ‘Let’s go!’ ordered Christian. ‘You both heard him. There is nothing we can do.’
    ‘And you’re just going to leave him like that? Aren’t you even going to try? He was your friend.’
    ‘And an idiot. We have more important things to attend to.’
    ‘More . . . important . . .’ Cecile repeated those words slowly, savoring the bitter taste they left in her mouth.
    ‘Exactly. If you want to sulk there, be my guest. But I’m going.’
    And Christian turned his back on them, following the guardian. Cecile and Laurent wanted to say something, anything that would bring them back and help, but they could not find the words. Before such indifference, such coldness, they lay there – defeated. Had Christian truly changed that much, or was he always like that, only they had not noticed? Beaten by the behavior of their leader, they carried on, leaving yet another comrade behind.

Jacques wandered in the darkness, following the twisted directions of the obscure hall in which he was. The ground was covered in a murky liquid through which he waded. The air pressed him against waves of heat and cold, while the nauseating smell of rot took hold of his body, and caused him to fall. On his knees, he felt more fiercely the heavy burden he was elected to carry. A deep breath. He stood. Although dizzy, he tried to move on, rushing ahead and out of there. If only he could see the way.
    His strengths left him little by little, consumed in that never-ending walk through the heart of darkness. He felt his body failing him, his legs weak and his mind feeble. Soon, he were no longer capable of standing, and fell towards the muddy floor.
    The water caressed his face like a gentle hand, brushing softly against his hair. His eyes were nearly closed, and he felt his limbs numb, one by one going to sleep. The walls were soft blankets of oblivion, protecting him from the cold.
     But when he was ready to give himself up to the embracing darkness, he was hit by a comforting light that extended all the way to his body. Even though he was fatigued, he raised his eyes and saw, a few feet ahead, something vaguely resembling a torch. It moved as if by a will of its own, and lit the way ahead.
    In a sudden rush of mad hope, Jacques felt his strengths returning to him. Not all of it, but just enough to feed his body to a point when he could once again stand and walk. The Will o’Wisp floated slowly, awaiting for him before it moved again, guiding him across a plethora of halls and plains.
    After so many hardships, the Will o’Wisp guided him to the innermost sanctum of the labyrinth. They arrived at a poorly lit room, decorated with ancient runes and mystical writings. A map-like drawing covered the walls with an exquisite pattern, reflecting the twisted souls that roamed about. Jacques approached it and started studying its shapes and details, hoping it would save him.
     Before he could analyze it any better though, all of the lights extinguished. On one of the walls, there was a lamp that Jacques took in his hands and lit with the rests of the Will o’Wisp, illuminating his surroundings yet again. And when he was ready to return to the map, a cold wind invaded the room, cutting his skin deeply, sinking to the bottom of his very soul. Shivering, he still managed to find a dark mantle in a corner, which he wore at the ready.
     Warming himself up, he finally went back to the map, unaware of the state of his body as the eons went by. The map was long and tricky, and when at last he was able to keep all of the directions in his mind, he slowly headed towards the exit back into the world of men.
    Reaching the last forgotten path, he saw coming through it a group of four younglings.
    ‘I bid you welcome to the Great Hall of Atlantis. Where do you wish to go?’ said Jacques with a deep, harsh voice, cast from the depths of those unending halls.
    ‘We wish to go to Arcadia. Will you take us there? We have no time to waste,’ said Christian.
    ‘Oh, but do not fret upon that,’ Jacques went on. ‘Time is not a concern here.’

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