This is Episode 2-12 of a serial urban fantasy & paranormal story.

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Part 2-12: Keeper

“Rude,” I breathed, as the Keeper dropped her arm and stood facing us. It was halfway between us and the middle of the cavernous room. As we all stood, facing off, I got my first good look at the boss lady. She was probably twice my height and built like a barrel with trunks for arms and legs. No womanly shape about her. I did recognize the shape of her helm, however. It was tall, totally obscured the face, and was crowned with five pointed Gothic spires, in the exact fashion as a certain antagonistic timepiece.

I also took in parts of the chamber. There was a raised dais behind The Keeper. Numerous jail cells ringed the perimeter, with bright yellow sconces fixed above them. We’d come tumbling out between two of them. There wasn’t time to count, but I had a pretty good guess at the number.

“Stay close to me,” said the Jailer.

I shifted the polearm to my right hand, careful not to point it at the giant knight. “Alright. Tell me that’s not the extent of your plan?”

The Keeper began to spin her weapon.

“I can lend you some strength. Tell me, how did you repel the Minder?”

“I punched him. With the ring.”

“The same, then. The King’s tools have their limits.”

“Just punch it. Punch that. Not a problem, why would that be a problem?” I swallowed as the hulking figure approached, moving along a diagonal.

“Give me the polearm,” said Persi. She stood now, blood still caked down her face. “More targets, a better chance it will leave an opening.”

I handed it over without looking, because the strategy session was about to be cut short. The Keeper trotted now, curving in at us, giant snowflake of death whizzing above her head. I grabbed the Jailer’s shoulder and raised my right hand.

“To me, Persi!” he cried. Yellow lights sparkled to life in front of us.

The Keeper bent low, hiding near full behind the shield, and swept out with the mace, then apparently turned into a stone wall. The wall twitched upwards, my legs buckled and my ankle rolled. Then the world tilted and the ground welled up and slapped me. This was all very disorienting and uncomfortable, but preferable to getting obliterated by the Keeper. I scrambled up into a seat, a shade of me concerned with a dizzy feeling and scraping pain, most of me alert and needing to find our foe.

She was far across the room, her back to us, head pivoting this way and that.

The Jailer groaned beside me, eyes shut, crumpled in a heap. He sputtered and coughed, and I saw what looked like tiny gold coins come out of his mouth and sprinkle before him.

“We got warped, I think,” Persi said, in a coarse whisper. She crouched on my other side, keeping the yellow polearm close to the floor. I adopted her pose. From a prone position, the stone dais in the center of the place partially shielded us from the monster.

“We can’t just lie here forever,” I said.

“I know. But, what?”

“I’ve a terrible idea.”

I wished Deluxe were here. She’d have some sort of cunning plan. I only knew of one plan, the same one that had gotten me into this mess: hesitation was death. Less of a plan, more of a philosophy, perhaps. Last time we hesitated, Willy died. Now all our lives were on the line, including the Jailer’s if what he had was considered living. I told Persi my idea as the Keeper began to stalk the perimeter. She’d not spotted us yet, or was faking it.

“That is a terrible idea. Let’s go,” Persi said.

“On my three. Like, when I say three. Not after.”

“Ready.”

“One.” I made all my muscles tense.

“Two.” I kicked up into a runner’s pose. The Keeper’s head twitched.

“Three!”

We took off running in opposite directions, keeping close to the edge of the room. There was a scrape as the polearm lifted off as well, Persi mind-controlling it. For a second or two, I watched it out of the corner of my eye. It glided toward the dais, hugging the floor, sometimes grazing it and bouncing unsteadily.

Then my full attention was on The Keeper. She’d spotted us now, rounding towards her from both directions. After a moment, she shifted her shielded position toward me, but darted her head back at Persi, like I see baseball pitchers do when there’s a cheeky runner on first base.

I raised my fist, broke away from the perimeter and ran headlong at the tall knight. I think I was screaming. It felt good. This monstrous thing, this alien ghost, demon, demigod, this what-the-fuck-ever—it got ready. For me. The shield came full around, the ice spike thing waited.

And now—I skidded to halt, a hair outside its striking distance. I pointed at Persi, who’d hung back, and screamed, “Now!”

The polearm spat out from behind the dais, sailing at The Keeper, pert and pretty as a paper airplane. I did not wait to see if it worked. I charged, trying to hook behind the beast.

It spun its arms out, swinging both the shield and the spiked ball. The shield was aimed at me, but not aimed well. My hook maneuver took me out of its killing path, and the only thing that slammed me was a buffet of air. But The Keeper was not totally fooled. She leaned into her spin, twirling past me and away from me as I got behind her.

I pivoted, opened my hand and imagined the polearm with me, imagined myself emerging triumphant from a pile of black feathers hoisting a sword alive with ancient fire, imagined those knights trembling as they shrunk from me.

There was a flash from up high, from where Persi had floated the projectile, then a flash in my hand. My fingers merged into a long bar of light as the weapon appeared in my grip. The Keeper dug in with a heel and rushed me, shield forward, and I swung the glowing polearm like a bat. It struck the edge of the massive blue shield and time froze.

Well, almost. My arms shook and the thick, coppery scent of overcharged ozone filled the air. Otherwise, I could not move, and neither could my enemy. My polearm and her shield appeared to fuse, their colours flickering, snapping, struggling—and growing brighter and brighter until they were white hot.

Then a brief pulling sensation followed by an ear popping thap!, as both weapon and shield sprayed into dust and feathers. We both stumbled to our hands and feet, having had our respective weights pressed into the former war tools. The Keeper’s terrifying ice mace skittered and trembled on the ground, shone bright blue and disappeared.

Half of the minion knight replaced it, all jumbled up—half a leg and three quarters of the arms stuck out from part of the torso. The head teetered from a leg stub.

“Round one’s a draw then!” I said, terror masquerading as insane good cheer. “Ding!”

I pounced, hoping to clock The Keeper while she was recovering. She leaned back and kicked with amazing speed, booting the Franken-knight at me. I gasped and slapped at it, and it exploded against the Queen’s Band into streamers of swirling quills.

I pushed through the cloud, trying not to lose my target. Two loud clangs gave her away. She’d backed up to the dais. I saw large sheets of armor lying behind her. Was she falling apart? Good.

I charged again, feeling in control.

Two enormous rook’s wings sprouted from The Keeper’s back. I kept running at her, wanting to end it. The wings rose and swept down with a mighty whump! The rush of air staggered my pace.

She did it again, whump! and I reeled.

A third time, whump! and the blast knocked me straight on my back. The domed ceiling bulged smooth above me. The Keeper was airborne, rising into my field of vision, the huge wings tucking in as her massive weight carried her in a sharp, tidy arc. The five pointed spires on her helm lined up with my face and grew, spreading out like Death’s own hand. Too late, I remembered my ring hand. It lay beside me, almost peaceful.

There was a slam, a crunch, and a terrible scream.

 

Continued in Part 2-13

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