The Keeper's Shadow by Dennis Foon

connected somehow, he could feel it.
    â€œDid Mabatan find Willum—is she with him?” Roan feels an urgent need to know.
    â€œLast I heard she was in that village where Saint used to sometimes lay his head. The one with all those very…strong Apsara.” Kamyar smiles broadly. “They can be friendly, if they like the story. So when I’m there, I’m always at my best. Anyway…apparently she has something to do in that village. Whatever it is, I’m sure she’ll join up with you again…when it’s done.”
    Roan snorts, half out of frustration, half out of amusement. “If any of those myths of Khutumi’s give some straight answers,” says Roan, “I’d like to hear them.”
    â€œTruth be told, Roan of Longlight, the problem is often not in the answer but in how we hear it.” Kamyar wipes off his face, and pats his well-fed belly.
    â€œNow I’m wondering if I should have left the Caldera at all.” Roan sighs. “This searching for a library that was probably destroyed…”
    â€œYou know,” Kamyar says, leaning into the firelight, “one of the most useful things Khutumi told me was that we discover possibility for ourselves and for others in the stories that we are told. But possibility is useless unless you chase after it. Roan, you have to pursue the opportunities laid out before you. If you do, you can gain the power to reinvent not only yourself but the world. Trust the path and the way will open before you.” And with a wide yawn, Kamyar diligently begins to make himself comfortable for a good long sleep.
    But Roan’s not ready to let the Storyteller drift off. Not yet. “Yes, well, you sort of told me that before. Create the future as you go. But there are already so many stories about me. It’s like my life is one of your scripts, and there’s nothing really left for me to do except act it out.”
    Kamyar props himself up on his elbow and eyes Roan sympathetically, if a little sternly. “Well, we all feel that way at times, my boy, if we bother to think about it. Truth be told, though, all those prophecies are pretty vague about how things will happen. It’s a script, yes, but with a lot of room for improvisation. Which, make no mistake, is never easy, but I’m sure you’re up to the challenge.” Kamyar’s head drops on his blanket and as if in afterthought, he adds blearily, “Oh, yes. About your request earlier. Being a bit of a leader-type myself, I think I can safely speak for we Storytellers as a group. You can rely on us to assist in whatever way we can. I may even have a few ideas, if you care to…” And with a snore, Kamyar calls a halt to the evening’s discussion.
    Roan leans back to take in the waxing moon as Lumpy tucks in for the night. Their crickets sing, wings glowing in the firelight. “A story to change the world,” Lumpy murmurs drowsily. “What a story that will be.”
    When Roan wakes, there’s a thread of silver moonlight in the west, and a firelike glow announcing dawn in the east. Kamyar’s already gone, no doubt hoping to be quick enough to head them off at Othard and Imin’s.
    At the crest of the hill silhouetted against dawn’s corona are two figures. Moving closer, Roan can see that it’s Lumpy in an animated conversation with the Blood Drinker, Mhyzah—that should make him happy. Roan joins them, bowing courteously to the young Hhroxhi. She bares her fangs and hisses. Though Roan can tell from her intonation it’s only a greeting, he keeps his distance. The scar on his chest burns a little. Despite his attempt to make peace with Mhyzah and her people, Roan feels the blood of Mhyzah’s father will always stand between them.
    â€œAny chance of the Hhroxhi joining our cause?” Roan asks.
    With a glance at his red-eyed friend, Lumpy shakes his head. “Her people are split.