The Keeper Ch. 17-19

Chapter Seventeen

Anna Larsdotter Ohm was sitting on the porch of her cabin waiting when Quinn drove up.

She had sharp, merciless gray eyes set in a wind-wrinkled face that was tanned to the color of strong tea. Her bone-white hair was done up in an elaborate braid. Anna was a wild-crafter and healer who had lived her entire life on the edge of the Opari. She harvested mushrooms and grew a variety of herbs and obscure plants which she distributed for herbalists and restaurants as far away as San Francisco. Her log cabin--a combination workshop and greenhouse--was tucked into the base of a massive lightning-struck cedar. Her place was a quarter mile from the workshop of old Finn, where Quinn had spent his apprenticeship.

Anna was the one who led him at seventeen into the Murk and left him without explanation with the Vísdómur.

Quinn gave her a surly nod. He still hadn't forgiven her trickery, but the little wolf-girl needed a healer and Anna was the best.

"Hello Lachlan," she said, ignoring his less than enthusiastic greeting. "I've been expecting you. What on earth are you doing with a Wolf-kin? Come here, girl."

The girl looked at Quinn and after he nodded, she walked over, stopped, and looked up wide-eyed at the hedge witch.

She knelt and held the girl's chin and gazed into her eyes.

"She's change-impaired. What happened to her?"

"I don't know. A shifter woman showed up at my house and shoved her into my arms. She managed to shift back okay, but Edie down in Oldtown told me to bring her to you. By the way, a Hag showed up looking for her." Quinn closed his mouth and watched for her reaction.

"Wait here." She held a hand to the little girl and the pair disappeared inside the cabin.

Quinn stood and let the soothing sounds of the meadow that stretched in front of Anna's cabin seep into him. He breathed deep. Green smells, like every spring and summer and fall, all rolled into one. Faint and subtle sweet pansies and petunias planted in the sunny corner of Anna's porch to the overpowering heady smell of mint and lavender in the huge herb garden on the south side to the toasted smell of meadow grass as it yellowed in the July heat. Fat gray squirrels were flickering speedy shadows as they ran their mysterious errands through the old-growth cedar and maple trees.

He could FEEL the colossal life-force of the Opari Forest--millions of tiny rustlings and whisperings -- feel the vibrations of their tiny lives down deep in the root of his brain--resonating a kind of welcome? The yammering whispering in his head now had a note of childlike eagerness as The Goddess called Opari welcomed him.

"At last. You've come back at last." A thousand million voices sang.

The dragon's whip symbiote in his arm rolled and twisted as it basked under Her regard. Quinn was no different. He felt like the spotted pony at a kid's birthday party.

The Other, however, sat back in the corner of his mind and regarded Her presence with profound suspicion.

The whispering in Quinn's head grew louder. Again, he tried to follow the whispered conversation that tickled the edge of his perception. A lassitude overtook him--peaceful and oh so soothing.

The Other shouted a warning.

The glyphs flared and there was a sudden quiet.

Wow.

Fifteen minutes later Anna came out.

"You say a Hag visited you?"

Quinn nodded. He took a seat on the tailgate of his pickup and waited for her reaction.

"Damnable Hags, filthy greed-cursed women. So Althea was correct that one of them was roaming about. The Covens won't be happy."

"Mistress Anna, why was that witch after that little girl? What's going on? What the hell are the covens up to?"

Her cold eyes raked over him. She ignored his question.

"Tell me everything."

Quinn dutifully filled her in on the night's events.

"Mother of All," she barked. "What a mess. Why did you take the pup, you idiot?"

"I had no choice."

"There is always a choice. "

"There wasn't for me."

"You're a fool, but no matter, you cast the dice. I can sense the symbiotes that are infecting you. Show me."

Quinn pulled up his shirt, showed her the glyphs that lay on his back. Next, he rolled up his sleeve, showed her the satiny silver ribbon that started at his wrist, wound around his forearm, and disappeared up under the sleeve of his shirt.

She touched it and jerked her hand away.

"Evil thing," her face twisted in a moue of disgust. "Damn Vísdómur. Mother of All, why they favor those disgusting sentient weapons, I'll never know. Can you even control it? They live on life force. It will kill you eventually, you fool."

Quinn looked at her, irritated at her willful stupidity. "It's not like I had a choice in the matter. Listen up witch, you left me with them. What did you expect? Do you even know what they did to me?"

"No, and I don't want to know, boy. Your father said it was necessary, so I did what I was told."

"The old following orders excuse," he said. "That makes it right."

"It was your duty. Quit whining boy, there are far worse things than spending a summer with some trolls."

"You ignorant woman. It was far longer than a summer. Years longer--time flows differently in the Murk. And listen to me, Witch, there are few worse things. Would you like to see what you wrought?" Quinn stepped close to her, grabbed her hand, and let her sense the Other that lurked inside.

She quickly stepped back, her eyes widening. Her right hand reached up to hold the medicine pouch around her neck. "Mother of All save us," she whispered. "You are an abomination."

"Why, yes, I am, Witch. You and the old man created a monster. Fix my little shifter friend or you will get to meet what you wrought in person. I'll be back tomorrow to pick her up."

Chapter Eighteen

Quinn cursed his out-of-control temper as drove down to the end of the meadow to Gus' workshop. After taking some time to calm himself, he entered without knocking.

"Honey, I'm home."

"I wish I could understand why you think that is so humorous. It wasn't the first time you said it--it's less now--a lot less." Saria Glass spoke tartly from her workbench, where she was marking out dovetails for a drawer.

"Not my fault you have no sense of humor, Sar. It's too bad I'm not up here any more often. I could coach you on the finer points of humor so you wouldn't embarrass yourself by saying stuff like that."

He looked around wistfully at the stacked white oak lumber drying alongside one wall. He'd always loved this cozy place. The workshop had been old Finn's, now it belonged to Sari and Gus. The air was rich with the scent of freshly sawed oak and aromatic cedar. He'd like nothing more than to spend the rest of his days working here.

Saria was Gus' partner in their furniture business. She was an Asrai-halfling. Her mother had an adventure with a tall, handsome wood elf out of the Opari before she met and settled down with a human. Tall and willowy with yellow eyes one size too big for her face, she could have named her price as a model for Vogue. Since she was not out among mundanes and didn't need to cover her pointed ears, she wore her blue-black hair in a ponytail to keep her hair out of her eyes with their vertically slitted cat pupils. Her ears twitched her irritation. Quinn figured he must have startled her as she made a slight miscut on the dovetails in a wide desk drawer she was working on.

Sari's hobby was figuring out how to be a mundane human. Because of her elvish half, she was cool-blooded and ultra-rational--emotions of humans confused and fascinated her at the same time. That was one reason why she and her cousins were addicted to movies and television.

He set the bag of chocolate on her work bench.

She looked at the bag. Her nose twitched and she smiled slightly. Saria seldom smiled, so it was worth the trip to surprise her.

"Where's Hopeless," Quinn said. "He's making you do all the work, as usual."

"Stop calling him Hopeless," she snapped tartly. "I've asked you not to do that a hundred times. He's still in Seattle working on landing one of Sven's friend's remodeling jobs. If you quit being a jerk, there might be some work for you as well."

"That's good news. I'm going fishing for two weeks, but I've got nothing going after that." Quinn heard a vehicle drive up. He looked out the window. A Hummer. It was Gus' resident millionaire client, Sven. The desk Sari was working on must be for him.

"It's your admirer," he said.

Sari frowned.

"S'up Dude. Hello Sari," said the big man as he slouched into the shop.

"Hey, Sven. Nice to see you," Quinn said.

"Sven." Sari nodded to him and went back to her dovetails.

According to Gus, Sven had become his most important client in their custom furniture business. They were currently building furniture for his fishing cabin/mansion up on the bench.

Sven Anderson, although he was six foot eight and 280 pounds and looked like he could start at a tight end for the Seahawks, was an ultra-smart tech nerd. After he'd graduated from Cal Tech at 17, he sat himself down in his mom's basement and started writing compression algorithms that were effective enough that Jeff Bezos paid him a boatload of money to license them.

He had a serious lust-crush on Sari and according to Gus was constantly dropping in "to check" on things. So much so that he knew more about things in Emory than was good for him, especially given the witches' paranoia. According to Gus, he had practically stroked out one night when Sari's cousins, twelve of Opari's forest sprites, showed up for one of their Friday night Veronica Mars TV binges. Sari had to call Anna to bespell him to keep both his sanity and the Opari's secrets.

"Hey Sven," Quinn said. "I thought you were at a big meeting in Denver or some such."

"It was Boulder, dude. It was a gaming programming conference. I thought I would drop in to see how Saria was coming on my desk. I thought you would be up in Montana by now."

"So did I," Quinn said sourly. "How's the game project coming?"

Sven's newest gig was the design of a video game. Quinn knew nothing about video games, a fact that was a source of amazement for Sven, who maintained that he was probably the only male his age in the world who hadn't played at least one video game.

"Real well. Check out my latest iteration of my warrior princess." He reached into his briefcase and pushed a picture of a voluptuous armor-clad woman across the desk to Quinn.

The warrior woman looked remarkably like Sari.

"Oh wow, did you see this Sar," Quinn said. "Look at the warrior princess. Is she hot or what?"

She gave him a cold look and finger-signaled a scathing alfar curse at him.

Quinn laughed. His day was suddenly brighter.

A brassy hunting horn blew a fanfare outside. Once, then again.

"Mother of All, Sar. What the hell could SHE want. Take Sven over to the corner and the both of you sit and stay still. Sven, this is fucking serious. If you value your life and sanity, keep your mouth shut and pretend to be invisible--no matter what happens."

"What's going on, dude?"

"Just do it. That sound is the fanfare of a Daoine Sidhe Princess."

The shop door crashed open.

Two sword slender seven-foot Daoine Sidhe lordings shoved their way inside. They flared out from the entrance -- yellow cat eyes searching for threats. They ignored Sven and sneered at Sari. They stiffened when they spotted Quinn casually leaning against a workbench, his arms crossed.

She strode in like She owned the place. The lordlings hovered protectively beside her and continued to shoot him challenging glares.

The Lady Iris of The Daoine Sidhe Court was perfection personified--her features were utterly feminine but far too perfect to have any sort of sexual allure. Huge jade-colored cat eyes gleamed with vast ancient intelligence. They held no trace of kindness or warmth.

She moved like the apex predator she was--an arrogant leopard among the sheep. She had been ancient when the first Greek farmers watched her stride out of the Thinning atop the mountain, they named Olympus. The Lady Iris was Queen Uonaidh's messenger.

"May the Singer and Song bless you, Lady Iris. You and your group are well come," Quinn sang politely in high alfar. The three old troll women had drilled the language into him the same way they administered all their lessons--with beatings and curses. The language was not made for humankind, so Quinn's singing still had an odd accent he couldn't shake.

One of the lordlings curled his lip. The other sang out:

"You will bow to my Lady."

Quinn ignored him.

The lordling stiffened at the insult and swept his black ash staff into the ready position preparing to administer the customary punishment they meted out to impudent human slaves. A blow to the knees that would cripple him.

"Hold," the Lady Iris said.

He froze.

"Cease your posturing," trilled the Lady. Her voice sounded like the tinkling of a multitude of silver bells.

He gave Quinn a furious glare and stepped back.

"Singer and Song bless you, Keeper. Blessings to you, sister Saria, as well. I come to ask a boon in the name of my Queen."

Quinn heard a thump and looked around to see that Sven had fainted and fallen out of his chair. He guessed that meeting a real-life demi-goddess was not as much fun as Sven thought it would be. Sari reached down and effortlessly lifted him back up to his chair.

Quinn gave Lady Iris a slight bow and adopted a respectful listening posture. She was being extraordinarily polite, so that meant she knew about him. He returned the courtesy. You can't go wrong with polite respect when you're hanging out with God and Goddesses, but there was a fine line between politeness and obsequiousness. Showing any weakness sent the wrong message. Quinn was a far cry from the usual humans the Sidhe dealt with.

He was not one of their slaves.

"Two of the Faerie have defied my Queen and answered a call to cross through the Thinning. They almost certainly have the Madness. They most certainly were summoned. My Queen asks for your aid to find them. I ask a boon that you not end them." Her face made a very slight grimace. "They belong to my House."

"My Lady," Quinn said respectfully. "I must refuse the request. It has been years since I dealt with your kind. I no longer use the skills."

This last was too much for the lordling by the door. He cursed and slid into a fighting crouch and drew a punishing rod from its scabbard across his back.

"Human," he hissed, "I understand you have a young shifter in your care, perhaps an eye or an arm torn from her or your sibling's spawn would convince you of your place when my Lady has a command."

That was too much.

Quinn moved.

His runes flared incandescently. The dragon's razor whip scabbarded around his right forearm flared out to its full length in an instant. A snap of his hand and it loosed a high-pitched shriek--and coiled around the lordling's neck.

A thin line of blood trickled down the neck of the suddenly stilled elf.

To the troll women, a threat was the same as an action. The issuing of any sort of warning was poor tactics. They would have punished him for what they regarded as gross stupidity, but he sang out a warning:

"Listen carefully, my lord. Hear my oath. If I ever get even a premonition that any of your House has even thought of harming them, not the Queen herself would keep you and those in your house from me. You are five beats away from The True Death. Then I will journey to Alfheim and harvest your house, root, and branch, and after I burn your sacred groves, I will sow the grounds with salt. Nod if you wish to retract your threat against me and mine."

The elf scowled at Quinn. Stubborn and arrogant -- typical.

"Aenrindel," the Princess' laugh was cruel, "you are a fool. You have threatened one of the Vísdómur's Shadow Walkers. He is the reason no Ashanti Dökkálfar dance at Mayday Court. He harvested the entire House. He is a Grendel--one of the Lost Children. Be silent and I will see if I can save your worthless life."

The Lordling paled.

"Keeper, please do not end him." She smiled. "Though I must say, it seems you overstated the degradation of your skills. I beg you to reconsider."

It took Quinn a minute to quell the feral, wild thing who haunted him. When he was calm, his fingers flashed, and the symbiote retracted and slithered back inside his arm.

"I will do as you wish, my Lady." The demi-goddess knew as well as Quinn did that he would not deny her request.

She smiled. She had come out ahead, especially now with the bonus that she now had. A lordling from a competing House had lost considerable face. Eternity is a tedious time and the game of knives that entertained the Houses of the Daoine Court was vicious. Today's meeting provided a tale of a shameful bungling that would be told and savored for seasons.

"However," Quinn added, "if the two Faerie have caused harm, I will have justice from your Queen."

The two lordlings stiffened again, aghast at his impudence, but Quinn didn't give a shit.

"Agreed. We have a bargain." She tossed him a white leather pouch. "This contains three silver rings. Wear one to protect yourself and use the others to bind them. Grant this boon and I will not forget."

Quinn nodded. He slipped one on and pocketed the other two.

"My Lady, one more thing. Do you know why Prince Arianrhod Dökkálfar would be running around with a hag-witch on the mundane side of the Thinning?"

Her eyes widened in shock.

"I do not. I will take counsel with the Queen. Fare you well, Keeper."

As quickly as they had arrived, they departed before Quinn could correct her assumption--he was not the Keeper.

He cursed. This was the last thing he needed. Two of the faerie insane with the endemic affliction of the Sidhe, the boredom madness that was endemic to immortals. The two were no doubt playing the witches in Emory the way a team of cocaine-addled Hollywood script writers might play with the characters in a soap opera. He wondered if they were the ones who created the Hag--the faerie had done it before. They had a huge lever to move the power-hungry--forbidden knowledge. The question was, who had summoned them.

"What the fuck. dude?" asked Sven as rubbed the side of his head that had hit the floor. His face was pale, his eyes wide and stunned.

"That my friend," Quinn said, "was the Iris, messenger of the Daoine Sidhe Queen.

"Seriously? Are you telling me that woman was a Sidhe? Like out of Tolkien. Like out of Lord of the Rings? Jesus, there's a python at the Woodland Park Zoo that has more kindness and humanity in its eyes than that woman did."

"I always wondered which one of them broke the compact and talked to Tolkien," Quinn said.

"Think of her as a female alien, Sven," Sari interrupted. "Don't make the mistake of thinking of her as a woman. Iris has been alive for millennia. She's as alien to humanity as if she had just landed from Mars."

She glared at Quinn. "Well, at least she didn't maneuver you into killing that idiot."

"No, thank the Mother. I was incredibly lucky. I'm out of practice dealing with them. Only a fool lets the Sidhe grant a favor--and having them owe a favor is almost as dangerous.

He needed to have better control. Rage made for sloppy tactics. Maybe it was understandable, given the happenings from the last few days, but there could be no excuse for not having better control. He had escaped Lady Iris' manipulations by the skin of his teeth.