portal prophecies 01 - keepers destiny

  The Portal Prophecies: A Keeper's Destiny

  By

  C. A. King

  Cover Art By

  Ryan M. King

  Dedication And Acknowledgement Page

  This book is dedicated to my family for their

  help and belief in me.

  Ryan, Zachary, Caitlin, Elizabeth, Mark and Lesha

  without your support and loving advice this would all still be a dream

  and to the memory of James Huntington Turner who taught me

  anything is possible if you try.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any historical references, real places. real events, or real persons names and/or persona are used fictitiously. All other events, places, names and happenings are from the author's imagination and any similarities, whatsoever, with events both past and present, or persons living or dead, are purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2014 by C .A. King

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author and/or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

  Cover Art by Ryan M. King

  First Printing: 2014

  ISBN 978-0-9939131-0-5

  Kings Toe Publishing

  kingstoepublishing@gmail.com

  Burlington, Ontario. Canada

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  The Portal Prophecies: A Keeper's Destiny

  Dedication And Acknowledgement Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  King Cornelius

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter One

  “We should tell her now! I can’t stand the way in which the child lives.”

  “No not yet. She isn’t ready. When the time is right we will. For now, she must wake and live the day as she always does and we must be there to help and protect her as we promised.”

  “But the prophecies, she will need time...”

  “There are some things she must learn for herself. Too much too soon and she could be lost to us forever. Remember she is different from the others. Now pull yourself together and bid good morning.”

  *****

  “It’s time to get up sleepy head,” a soft voice sang out gently in the dark. Willow opened her eyes and scanned the room slowly, instantly adjusting to the darkness. She never questioned how easy night vision was for her. It was a normal part of her daily routine.

  Tilting her head from side to side, she looked over the room. There was a table, cupboards and a few storage chests. On top of the table a bucket overflowed with rain water. Fixing the leak in the roof was on a list of 'one day to do chores' that she hadn't quite got to. All the furniture was made out of the same aged wood as the building and needed the same amount of repair, including the bed she was lying on. Martha the seamstress had made her one blanket and a pillow, both of which were tattered and torn from use. There were no lights or windows and only the one door. It was a place to sleep, definitely not a home. Scanning the room one more time she sighed. As always she was definitely alone.

  “Come or you will be late and you know how the Council dislikes tardiness,” a new voice, this one deeper, harsher, definitely a male, sounded loudly in her thoughts. She didn't bother to look around this time. There was no point, no one was there.

  She had fantasized for as long as she could remember that these voices were those of her mother and father. But how could they be? She had been told that her parents had died long ago. At the time she had only been six cycles. Her limited memories from that age didn't include what had happened to them. Nobody in town talked about how, just that they were gone, if they talked about it at all.

  Willow sighed. Of course the voices were right. She had work to do and if she wasn’t on time she would be in trouble again. The Council wanted things done a certain way, their way. As they had often said when she stepped out of line, “Our lives are like a puzzle. We all have to find the place where we fit in to make the bigger picture whole.”

  Her duty to the common good was assigned to her. She grew fruits and vegetables. That was her place in the puzzle. She needed to accept it and to do the very best she could. But still she couldn't help but feel there was something more, something she was missing, something she was destined for.

  Her feet slid to the floor. Grabbing a pile of clothes from a cupboard, Willow pulled them on. The female voice returned. 'Make sure you are completely covered. Remember what we discussed.'

  How could she forget? They reminded her every day. On her back there was a beautiful portrait of two stunning midnight black cats with crystal blue eyes and their kittens. They warned her to never show anyone the pictures on her skin and never tell anyone about their conversations, or the Council would be less than lenient with her. They never told her why, but deep inside she knew it had something to do with the past, something to do with what happened to her parents. History had been ruled a taboo subject and no one, not even the voices, would give her any information.

  Willow opened a wooden chest and picked up a small hand mirror to look at herself. She hated the mirror. To her, all it showed was her imperfections. Her eyes were a green and blue mix with speckles of red throughout. Everything else about her, she considered unremarkable. Her skin was a lightly tanned, bronze tone colour, even though most of it never saw the sun and the places that did had freckles. She was above average in height and her work kept her in a physically fit state, which she felt made her some what less feminine than other girls.

  Her long, curly hair hung down around her shoulders. Today, it was blonde with a few blue and black strands. As with all girls, her hair colour would change on its own, as if it were matching her moods, abilities, or personality. She could have any number of combinations of hair colours in a day. In fact, last night she had gone to bed with pure white hair. This would continue until her sixteenth cycle, when her hair would choose the permanent colour it wanted to be. At one time, it was of common belief that the final colour of a girl’s hair was directly influenced by the strength of her abilities. The Council recently renounced that idea, declaring only Council members and their families had the most powerful gifts. That explained the many types of hair colours the women on the Council and in their families had.

  Like most of the under-aged, she didn’t even know what her abilities were yet. When she was younger and out with her friends they would often sit and dream about different abilities and which ones they wanted. They had all been told the signs were there somewhere, subtle indications of the future and if they looked hard enough the answer was there. Once she sat in a corner and concentrated for a full evening trying to make something, anything happen. Falling asleep out of boredom was the only result.

  It was important to
have the right abilities. It meant the difference between acceptance or a long, hard life of work and at times ridicule. If you could do something dazzling or entertaining, you might even get to stay on the castle grounds in accommodations which were far more comfortable than anything the town had to offer. Of course, on the flip side of the equation, some abilities were considered useless.

  Her mind wandered to Victoria who was only in her tenth cycle and showing signs that she could heal bruises and cuts. Her parents had tried to hide it, but rumours got out and the teasing began. One would think healing to be a good quality, but not in a world where there is no sickness or war. Oddly enough she couldn't remember the last time someone had died outside of what the Council had declared. At least Victoria still had more cycles in which to develop other abilities. Willow was near the end of her fifteenth cycle and time was passing fast.

  She looked one last time in the mirror, let out a frustrated groan and tied her hair, which was already changing to a golden colour, away from her face. Pulling the hood from her shirt up over her head, she said out loud, “Just get through the day.” She allowed the last drops of the daily rainfall to hit an outstretched hand and roll between her fingers before disappearing.

  The rain fell at the same time every day. It started two hours before sunrise and the last drops dribbled down an hour later. Always the perfect amount of rain for the trees, plants, animals, drinking water, water to wash with and other daily uses. In fact the weather in general was always perfect, not too hot, not too cold, not too dry, not too wet and always the same.

  Taking her first step outside she was greeted by a warm breeze. Closing her eyes she deeply inhaled the fresh air, enjoying every vibrant scent it carried including the forest, the plants, the gardens from the castle grounds and a touch of the smell of rain fading ever so slightly away. This is what made living worthwhile. She loved the fullness of the forest, with trees reaching high into the skylines, often climbing to the highest limbs of the tallest trees just to peek over the stone walls at the castle gardens with its beautiful flowers in all colours, sizes and shapes. Then there was the great hill overlooking everything. It was lush green covered with soft grass and four leaf clovers that could cushion a bare foot’s every step, like walking on a cloud. Sadly, no one was allowed to the top. The Council had forbidden it, but it was beautiful to look at. In some strange way it gave her world an unusual sense of calmness.

  Walking around to the back of the small building she lived in, there was a large plot of land filled with vegetable plants and fruit trees in abundance. In a daily ritual, she gestured with her hands from side to side and thanked all the plants, trees and bushes for growing the finest produce. Her friends had expressed how unusual they thought she looked talking to vegetation, but in Willow’s mind that vegetation provided enough food daily for everyone and for that it deserved a thank you. She was pretty sure almost everyone already thought she was crazy anyways. Her mind wandered back to the voices and how quiet they were at the moment. Imagine what people would think if she told them about that. She let out a little chuckle.

  “So don’t tell them,” echoed through her head. “We have told you before not to tell anyone.”

  Sometimes she forgot as much as she could hear them, they could hear her thoughts as well. She supposed it was much better that she didn’t have to verbally communicate out loud with them and handle the glares and stares that talking to herself would bring. Deep down however, she was thankful for the voices. She had learnt over the years their advice was always sound and in her best interest. They basically had raised her since her parents had been gone and besides it was nice to not always be alone. Having someone to listen to her most serious problems made the hard times in life a little easier.

  She placed empty baskets and bushels around the trees and plants and began to harvest produce for the market. After filling several bushels with tomatoes, squash and peas, enough to more than overload her wheelbarrow, she pushed them round front to the market stands. By the time she returned all the rest of the baskets were full of peaches, cherries, apples, plums, grapes, berries of all kinds, carrots, potatoes, corn, beans, lettuce and more. She never questioned where the help came from but thanked whoever was responsible out loud and went about finishing her work.

  The sun was just rising over the great hill and everything was still quiet. The town was made up of buildings that all looked the same on the outside, built out of ageing wood which was a greyish colour, with newer patches, made out of whatever wood was available where rot couldn’t be ignored. Appearance wasn't a concern as long as any holes were covered as best as could be. There were no fancy designs or gardens. These houses had been built strictly for need, the bigger the family, the bigger the house. Some people had added a couple steps or a porch out front perhaps to try to make for a more inviting sense of home or perhaps because some had a front room where they worked and showed people their products.

  There was only one main dirt and rock road. It ran from the castle gates to the north, down through the town and ended at the orphanage. The forest bordered around the buildings to the south, where it connected to the base of the great hill to the east. To the west the forest bordered the town all the way to the stone walls of the castle. No one had ever ventured to find where or if the forest ended.

  Across from Willow’s was Mrs. Waddington’s place. She was the finest and only book writer, not to mention a talented story teller. Unfortunately, there was less and less need for books since the Council declared learning to read, actually learning at all, wasn’t necessary. Still the under-aged would sneak out after dark whenever possible to listen to one of her wondrous tales of great beasts, love, deceit, war and peace. Her words could fly through the room and create visions of the very stories she was telling, as if it was happening before your eyes, and invoke the emotions of the characters she spoke of. There wasn’t a lot of entertainment for children and young adults in the town, and story time was the favourite on everyone’s list.

  Beside Mrs. Waddington's place was the seamstress Martha who made everything from blankets to dresses and her husband Olie made shoes. Then was the Posh place for dishes and candles. At the end of the street was the Shinning house which made anything you needed out of gem stones, mainly jewelry for the Council. Across from them was the Miller bakery, which made the most wonderful fresh bread that melted in your mouth and danced on the taste buds.

  There were other houses not on the main market street, with various different professions such as woodworking, metal working, tool making and sharpening. It was mainly people who made the larger things you would order to be made for a specific need and various forms of crafters and animal farmers.

  Willow finished setting up her market stands as the last of the night silently whisked away to make room for the light of day.

  An hour later and the town was starting to show signs of life, although most of the store fronts wouldn’t open for hours yet. People were moving about starting their chores and gathering water from old barrels for their daily needs. Jessie, Dezi and Pete, the gem worker’s boys, sat on their front porch watching every last detail that was happening while their mother and father began to prepare for the day. Willow didn’t envy them, knowing their only customers were Council members and their families, who were always hard to please. Each one always wanted something bigger, brighter and more outstanding than the other. Across from the produce stand Mrs. Waddington was sweeping her porch. After her husband, son and daughter-in-law were all declared dead by the Council, she had been left raising her grandson, Nathan, alone. All of a sudden she motioned a fast wave and quickly moved inside.

  A silence fell over the market place which could only mean one thing, the Council was in town to pick up their fresh produce for the day. Council members enjoyed a fresh fruit breakfast every morning and were always served first before anyone else in town. Willow looked down the lane and held her breath. Today wasn’t starting off well at all. The Council had sent t
heir children into town this morning to fetch the castle needs. Rumours had been flying around town that Council family members close to their sixteenth cycle were being given more duties to prepare them for the future. Unfortunately, it looked like they weren’t just rumours anymore.

  Malarchy and Nebulah’s daughter, Jade, was leading the teen group as usual. She was slim, with a white complexion, perfectly rosy cheeks and plump red lips. Her deep green eyes flickered specks of emerald in the light in such a way that they matched her name. She was the only girl whose hair hadn’t changed in three cycles. It's light blonde colour shimmered like an illusion. She always seemed to effortlessly control the style, which changed more often than her clothes. Today it was curly, not a natural curl, but more a manufactured one. Sometimes it was hard to tell if it was just the different hairstyles or if her facial features were different daily as well. It had been known for some time that appearance especially her hair, was one of her talents and she was quite proud to show off the glamours she could create. To complete her look today a frilly white dress hugged the curves of her body which were far more developed than any other girls her age. Following closely behind were Sabrina and Camile, who both tried to copy the same look as their leader, right down to the curls.

  Willow winced as she imagined the two girls having to roll pine cones in their wet hair and then even worse remove them when their hair was dry. For the moment she was glad she had natural curls.

  Behind them walked two boys, Justin and Neil, who weren’t paying much attention to anything going on around them except for the rock they were kicking back and forth between them. Willow figured they were as good looking as boys get. Both were tall with sandy coloured hair and hazel eyes, medium build and dressed well. She didn’t understand the other girls' fuss over boys. They were okay, some were fun to hang out with and play games, but she hadn’t ever felt gushy mushy gooey like the other girls her age did at the sight of any one or another.