Chapter 8: The Keys

The sun rose above the horizon like a tenacious foe, locked in eternal combat with the darkest of night. Its light licked at the remnants of the retreating blackness, casting the awaking town in a deep purple glow.

Throughout Anzora, alarms blared a melancholy melody, and the sleep-filled townsfolk answered with frustration and anger. People reluctantly began their days, no doubt grappling with the agonising thought of leaving their fluff-filled dream palaces.

Amongst the steadily busying streets marched a pale man with eyes as dark as midnight who strode with certainty, he did not truly feel. The man had many names, some he liked, some he did not.

Lately, he called himself Noah.

He'd sported more grandiose names in his past, the type of names printed in history books and carved so deeply into the minds of men they became legend.

His names would quake cities and level armies; mothers used them as cautionary tales to their children, and the superstitious rebuffed their use as if they were an omen of doom.

Of course, these names and lives were filled with lies and exaggeration. Some he told himself…

Some others proclaimed for him.

Noah was not one of these names, it certainly didn't make the world tremble in fear or cause mass panic in the streets. But he felt it suited his goals; it was simple and forgettable, and that was all he wanted to be.

Forgettable.

Noah walked unnoticed by those he passed, not entirely invisible but not quite visible either. Those around him quickly forgot they even saw him, like a stray memory that lightly stroked the back of the mind.

And he liked it this way. He wanted anonymity. He wanted peace.

It was this mystery that made his job all that much easier. Mind you, not that his job was all that tough, to begin with. As far as roles within the Oath Keepers went, Noah definitely had one of the easiest.

It was his main condition for returning to the order. Easy and simple; that was what he asked for; that's what he'd had for the last fifteen years.

"About as easy as a brick to the head", he muttered bitterly to himself.

One more meeting. That was all he had left. He thought blissfully of the sleep that awaited him, the soft pillow and warming blanket. He felt his steel-like eyelids flutter briefly at the idea, fighting against themselves to remain open.

He tried to stay the fantastical thoughts of rest that sat at the forefront of his mind, but they stubbornly remained. Like an uncatchable insect, flying at the corners of his eyes, invading his brain with an obnoxious hum.

Frustrated, he rubbed his eyes until they stung enough to forget their weight.

His feet ached through his scuffed dress shoes, the black suit he had changed into hours prior scratched at his skin, and its tightness shallowed his breathing. A combination of too much coffee and exhaustion had left his skin a sickly mixture of pale and waxy.

His previously neatly comb-backed hair was now pestered in flyaways and sweat. He'd desperately tried to tame the monstrosity earlier in his office's bathroom, but it had been a useless endeavour filled with foul language and screaming and, he wasn't afraid to admit, a few tears.

A few hours ago, he would have been more than happy to have been swept from his cramped office. There are only so many files, folders and documents you can read before you have the most grandiose of mental breakdowns.

So, you can imagine the eagerness when the summons appeared on his mahogany desk. An escape from the cramped office he'd made into a home the last few nights. Although it had been an excitement quickly crushed as the sender's identity had become clear. It had burned a deep crimson red into the polished surface of his desk.

7am

Mewled. Alone

- O.B

Only two people with the initials O.B have the power and know-how to craft an appropriate Summons.

It's not an easy practice, you require a direct connection with the summoned; you need to have met them personally, talked to them, and made a link within their heart…

It's a runic practice beyond most people's station.

Out of the two possibilities, he'd hoped for Osiah Brockile, an ex-council member and retired Curator. They had worked together years prior on a case involving the improper use of an artefact. But a quick flick through the records had confirmed his death three years prior.

The only other possibility was much worse.

The Oath Breaker.

The walk from his office had passed like a coin through honey. Every step was lethargic, and every thought seemed to be followed by a consuming fog that darkened his vision as much as it did his thoughts.

It didn't take long for the fog to drift to the body that had exhausted his attention for the previous few days. He thought about what he had seen, what he had felt…

A cold chill ran up his spine, and an uncontrollable shudder followed soon after.

He'd been left with a hollowness that he could not explain. It was an emptiness that terrified him as much as it confused him.

He didn't feel it for Seabright; he knew this much. One of his own had been killed; it was unfortunate but unavoidable. Noah had long since lost his empathy for death, and it had been too long since he had last felt the coldness of grief.

It was all a part of the job, part of their birthright.

It was what was missing after his death that prickled his skin and straightened his hair. The loss of the key, especially one as significant as Seabright's...

Well, there was a reason Seabright was guarding it.

Before he could ponder that cheery thought, the subtle silence he'd been enjoying evaporated as his destination drew near. He felt fresh nerves creep into his gut; without thinking he traced the small rune etched into his collarbone.

The Mewled Café stood vibrantly against the local neighbourhood. It was a modest building, the faded red exterior the only separation from its suburban neighbours. A crudely made sign hung over the street, each corner held up by dangerously rusted chains that Noah eyed carefully as he made a wide berth around it.

Plastic tables and chairs covered the poorly maintained front garden, and a small wry woman hung out the window, hurriedly taking orders and shouting them back to the kitchen.

It was a popular café; its location and ease of access were only a tiny attribution to its success. No coffee or pastry compared to Mewled's; they were divine in their creation and taste.

Today was no exception to its popularity; dozens had gathered outside its doors, eager to indulge in the collective vices that the café offered. Its fragrance already pierced his senses. Its wonderful aroma wafted through the air like magic on the wind.

Usually, the delicious sensation would calm him, but his anxiety and his complete exhaustion compounded it into nausea.

He cast his eyes through the large café windows, searching for a quiet seat away from the obtuse crowds. He was disheartened to find the interior packed more than he had ever seen in all his years coming here.

Noah looked at his watch, concluded he was early and took an uncomfortable seat on a wet chair outside. He toiled with the idea of a coffee or dessert, but the thought of eating had his stomach in knots.

So instead, he waited. Safe in the knowledge he wouldn't be bothered.

It didn't take long for the morning crowd the dwindle to a fraction of its original size. Meanwhile, Noah sat quietly, staring unblinkingly at the road ahead as he waited for evil incarnate.

As the clock struck seven, he saw him. A tall, well-dressed man appeared amongst the dwindling crowd. Noah wasn't sure where he came from. He'd watched the entrance carefully, more out of anxiety than genuine curiosity. But he wasn't the least bit shocked at the spontaneous arrival.

The man wore a long dark trench coat that hung loosely from broad, muscular shoulders. His blonde hair had been tied into a neat ponytail and tossed loosely to his side.

He sat opposite Noah; his usual boastful vibrant eyes were covered by dark glasses that did little to soften the sinister smile that plastered his face.

"Mr Winter, how are you doing?" His voice was soft, yet it was hard to miss the sharp undertone to his question, "the wife and kids ok?"

"I don't have any kids," Noah replied.

"Oh, whoops." The man shrugged, "the wife then?"

"I'm gay."

"Congratulations, a husband then?"

"I'm…" Noah had no clue what was happening, nor did he have the brain space to make sense of it, "not really seeing anyone right now."

The man's eyes widened in exaggerated bewilderment, "Why didn't you say that in the first place?

"Why did you ask to see me?" Noah asked curtly, already angry at this conversation.

"Patience Noah, all will be revealed with time." The man flagged down a waiter who had begun clearing a nearby table, "Do you want anything? The cakes are to die for."

"No, I'm on a diet." Noah took care to measure his voice, "I don't have the time-"

"Then make time." The smile had melted from the man's youthful face, replaced by a burning scowl. Noah felt himself involuntarily wince, which he tried to hide under a cough.

The waiter walked over; he wore a look of contempt that was poorly hidden behind a customer service smile. He wore a dark brown uniform stained in days' worth of food and coffee. Noah couldn't help but notice that his name tag was pinned crookedly to his pocket; it displayed 'Hi, my name is Eugene' in large block letters.

"If you'd like to order, please go-"

The well-dressed man quickly looked back at the waiter with a new too-wide smile, "I'll take a black coffee, please." He gestured at Noah, "My friend here will have the vanilla slice."

Noah watched Eugene's eyes flick between the pair as an uncomfortable silence descended. He sensed that the boy was considering the unspeakable and likely horrific things he'd like done to them.

"Of course, sir, and how will you be paying today?" Eugene replied carefully.

The man's smile only grew broader and more unhinged. Noah felt the ball of anxiety within himself grow to a critical mass.

"By letting you live, Eugene."

Noah held his breath; his hand moved reflexively to the weapon hidden on his belt as he prepared for the worst. He shouldn't have come here; he was stupid. He should've known better.

Eugene blinked slowly, not quite believing what he had just heard. Noah watched as his expression shifted from confusion to shock and, all at once, fear and horror.

"Sir…"

"I'm kidding, Eugene," the man chuckled and pulled a bill from his pocket, "Keep the change."

Still white as a ghost, Eugene stammered a thank you and hung awkwardly in place for a moment. Then, as if he remembered he could move, he walked briskly towards the kitchen and away from the frightening stranger.

Noah let his hand gently slip from the weapon handle, but his body remained taught and tense.

"What was that?" Noah asked stiffly, desperately trying and failing to keep the anger from sharpening the words, "Are you trying to get yourself arrested?"

The man ignored his question; instead, he sighed, removed his sunglasses and gingerly placed them on the table. The bright emerald eyes evident in his family bore deep into Noah.

"Davion, please, I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here", Noah croaked pleadingly.

Davion Elmdew rapped his fingers rhythmically on the table as a stiff silence befell the pair, "why did you agree to see me, Noah?"

Noah sighed, "Because I'd like to think you'd do the right thing."

Davion pursed his lips, but before he could respond, Eugene arrived with a coffee and vanilla slice. He placed them hastily on the table, spilling some coffee as he did so. He stammered an apology before quickly retreating to the kitchen at an awe-inspiring speed.

Davion gently pushed the cake to Noah and grabbed the coffee for himself. He made a satisfied sound as he sipped the boiling liquid before carefully placing it back on its coaster.

"The right thing…" Davion said absent-mindedly to himself, "that's funny."

Noah narrowed his eyes in confusion, "why is that funny?"

"How's my brother?" Davion asked, ignoring the question.

"He's fine. He made it to the library…" Noah shifted uncomfortably in his chair, "so I take it he doesn't remember?"

Davion shrugged and let the question sit uncomfortably between them before taking a long sip from his mug, "I was shocked you did come alone."

"Well, I didn't really want to explain why I was meeting with the Oath Breaker."

"Oh, it's that well known now?" Davion let out a small chuckle, "I feel famous."

"You should. It was almost unheard of to go against your oath, not to mention your escape from the Wigston prison…"

"I do suppose escaping from the unescapable would provide a touch of notoriety." Davion pulled Noah's untouched cake towards himself, "But I think you're lying, Noah."

"Oh, please do enlighten me," Noah said sarcastically.

"I think you came here wanting to know why I did it." Davion punched the air with the fork to accentuate his point, the cake on end wobbling dangerously over the table, "Admit it, it's killing you, isn't it?"

Noah didn't respond. Instead, he looked resolutely at the Oath Breaker, studying every line on the boy's aged face. For the first time, it occurred to him that he was barely twenty. His sharp features had been accentuated by years of battle scars and stress; they aged him well beyond his years.

"There are dozens of Key Holders. Why Seabright?" Noah paused briefly, considering his next words carefully, "He was your mentor."

He observed Davion. What he was looking for, he had no idea. Maybe sadness, guilt, a sense of loss…

Whatever it was, he couldn't find it.

"Seabright's key is the only one I need." He said as he pushed the half-eaten cake towards Noah, "man, you have to try this cake. It's amazing."

"Why?" Noah asked before following quickly with another question, "you said need as in future tense. You don't have the Key?"

If Noah had just caught Davion in a lie, he didn't show it. The boy's face remained placid and calm. It was a far cry from the pulsating anger from earlier.

"Noah, do you know how the keys came to be?" He asked between bites of cake.

Noah tried not to look offended. Of course, he knew; it was his job to know. He could talk for hours about the convergence of dimensions, the fragments that remained, how each piece had been found by the Order and subsequently forged into keys that held untold amounts of power.

He could discuss the ramifications of such devices, the effects the users suffered, and how the power the keys held was essentially unusable. Or perhaps how, despite their millennia of study, it was only recently discovered that the keys could break veils that should remain sealed.

Perhaps he could even explain to the boy that the keys could open the one door that should remain shut, how it was the only thing holding the Order's most ancient oath together.

He could have said all of that.

But instead, he just nodded.

"Well, that simplifies this. All the other keys are useless. Seabright's was the only one that works." Davion explained calmly.

Noah blinked. It was all he could do. He tried, really, he did, to muster any other emotion. But blinking was the best he could hope for.

"A bit shocked, hey?" Davion said, "imagine my horror when I found out."

"How…"

Davion made a dismissive hand motion, "Just believe me when I say I have it on good authority."

"You're lying…" Noah stammered, honestly taken aback for the first time in his long life, "we did tests!"

"Yes. The tests…" He drew out the last word, shrugging as he did so, "They did those tests years ago, Noah. The keys may have been working back then. But now, for whatever reason, the other keys don't work."

Noah didn't believe him. He just simply couldn't. He may as well have told him the sky was on fire, and everyone was naked for all it mattered.

"Why are you telling me this, Davion?" Noah asked quietly, "why did you even come? You had to know I wasn't going to let you leave."

Davion looked dutifully at him, an unseen shadow falling across his face, "Because I want you to stop me, Noah."

"You do?"

Davion laughed, "gods no. You can't stop what's about to happen. I just needed to know where the key was being held."

"And I told you that?" Noah asked, slightly dumbfounded. He didn't even know where the key was if Davion didn't have it.

"You're a very smart man Noah." Davion stood up, fixing the collar on his jacket, "you confirmed you didn't have it when you agreed to meet me. You came alone because you didn't want to risk scaring me off."

"And you know where it is now?" Noah asked desperately, frantically tapping the rune etched into his collarbone, "How?"

"Call your dogs if you must. But we both know I'll be long gone before they get here." Davion said calmly as he placed a sizable tip under his mug and walked towards the street.

Davion turned around, his face unreadable but his voice clear, "Don't follow me, Noah. I will kill you."

He watched weakly as the handsome boy walked away. He wanted to stand up. He wanted to run. He wanted to stop him. But something held him in his chair. An unseen force pulled him down and glued him in place.

He couldn't move. He couldn't even speak; it felt like the ground itself held tight to his feet, unwilling to let go. The air responded in kind by constricting his chest, freezing the breath from his lungs.

The unwise would think it to be a runic art, some amalgamation of magic and intrigue. But deep in Noah's ancient heart, he knew the truth.

He was afraid. More so than he'd ever been in his life.

Davion's eyes had told more of a story than any words could. Noah saw ruin and fire, destruction and mayhem.

And Noah knew the worst truth of all.

What Davion had said was right. They couldn't stop him. He doubted anyone could.

----

In mere minutes Davion was miles from the café. He confidently strolled down a less patrolled section of town. A newfound spring in his step, he smiled at a young boy in the local school uniform, who politely but quizzically returned the gesture.

He was feeling good.

He was going to pay his brother a visit.