Keeper of the Future

Chapter 2:

The Princess

Raising a child, I thought seven years later, was a challenging task for a boy only fifteen years of age. I had been spit up on, pulled on, thrown up on, pinched, and bitten. I have been a clown to entertain, a tree to climb on, a “horsey” to ride on, and so much more. The hard part, I found, was yet to come.

I was now twenty-two years of age with an Elven child that was six years, eleven months, and twenty-nine days old, as she so kindly kept reminding me.

“Keeper,” she said, using a customary greeting of Elves, “when are we leaving for the Elf country?” Her blue eyes were hopeful, and she kept fiddling with the new piercing in her ear. It was common for Elven girls to pierce their ears right before their seventh birthday; it was a sign that they were coming of age and that they should be treated as such. She knew this was the year she would be of age, but she knew little about what the future held for her. That was soon to come.

“Tomorrow, Seika,” I didn’t look up from my reading of a letter from the Elven king, Hikakeg, but the girl persisted with her questioning.

“Keeper, why were you chosen as my Keeper?” She took a seat in a chair across the room, her ankles crossed, hands folded comfortably in her small lap.

She had changed so much in the past year alone, and I was astounded to say that the girl had become the “perfect child.” She was respectful, polite, lady-like, kind. All of this was expected of her by her family and from her people—she was the princess. Despite this, something was wrong.

“That’s not important, Seika,” I replied. She didn’t show her disappointment, but instead asked another question.

“Are you part Elf, Keeper?”

“Don’t you have something to do? Perhaps you can get ahead in your writing lessons.” It came out more quickly than I intended it to.

Seika frowned ever so slightly, but nodded. “Yes, Keeper. Forgive me.” She got up, vanishing through the door with a swish of her blue skirts.

Sighing, I sat back from my desk. We were headed back to her true home soon, I told myself. This meant, soon enough, that I would not need to avoid the princess’s questions—at least the ones that I was permitted to answer.

Who permitted me to answer these certain questions? King Hikakeg did, and this list of answerable questions was sent in the first letter I received from him, and with it, there was a list of questions not to answer, and a rather rude paragraph:

It was a mistake that you have been chosen as my daughter’s Keeper. It is a fluke in the thinking of my ancestors; it was foolish to think that Elves—more importantly fortune tellers—would not leave the kingdom in time. It was only a matter of time that a Human would end up being inducted into the Elven culture to become the Keeper of an Elven child. You are the first Human to be a Keeper, and this can be a blessing or a curse. I, along with my people, agree that you are the Keeper of our future, and we will not accept any kind of failure; remember that.

I knew the instant I held her, her small squeals of laughter echoing through the entrance hall to the palace, that she was a blessing, not a curse.

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The next morning, I had woken early, though I had barely slept a wink. My mind had not turned off to allow me such a luxury and insisted instead upon swirling in mad circles all night. I could not get it out of my head: I thought something was going to go wrong, that this grand scheme of getting Seika to be the perfect ruler of her people would fail. It was a horrible feeling, one that weighed heavy in my gut.

I pushed this thought away for what seemed like the millionth time, telling myself that today was the day Princess Seika, Saiya, the royal guards, and myself left for the Elf country, Saiyarik.

Trusting Humans, I realized, was a challenge for the Elves though with such an important task as this, I truly didn’t blame them. When they’d sent word by messenger of a rendezvous point, I agreed wholeheartedly to their offer, no, their order, to have more guards. This, I thought, will surely protect the princess.

Getting up, I dressed quickly and met a few of Seika’s lady servants along with the princess herself. Seika was sitting atop a bench while her servant accented her silvery hair with braids and bows of green and brown. The two braids fell neatly over her pointed ears, which needed to be hidden during this journey, as much as Seika protested.

“No, princess, your fath—your Keeper has insisted,” said the young woman. The little girl sighed in annoyance and went back to flipping through an Elven storybook her father had sent her years ago. It was a clichéd yet cute story about a girl’s first crush, who happened to be a prince. Seika loved it, especially when the couple kissed.

“It’s so sweet!” she said once when I had questioned her about it. “Nothing is better than a kiss.”

“And how would you know?” I asked suspiciously. She giggled, covering her mouth, and she went back to looking at her book wordlessly.

I stepped up to greet who I had grown to think of as a daughter. “Good morning, Seika.”

The girl stood, curtsying as I bowed. “Good morning, Keeper,” she said. She remained standing and asked, “Are we leaving soon?”

“Shortly,” was my reply, nodding to a servant boy who had brought our packs from the coat closet. “I just need to say goodbye to my father first.” Turning to see her curious face, I realized my mistake. Never was Seika to know the meaning of a family; she was a royal meant to know all and love all equally. I had just put all of that in jeopardy.

It was then that she appeared. “Hello prince and princess,” said Saiya, curtsying grandly with the grace that only a dancer could muster. She touched Seika once on each cheek, which was a customary greeting between a fortune teller to her Told Child.

“Allo, Mistic,” Seika, too, used a customary greeting.

“Should we set out, then?” asked Saiya. With my nod, I offered Saiya my arm, which she took. She then took Seika’s hand, and the three of us exited the colossal lobby and descended the marble steps of the palace.

Our guards were waiting for us upon their steeds on the long, rolling, green hills of the palace grounds. Our horses were waiting for us as well: three mares that were ready for their first long journey. Black, golden, and brown in color, they looked beautiful in the rising light of the golden sun. A guard took the ladies to their mares; Saiya refused help with getting into the side-saddle position on the brown mare, who seemed quite impatient, pawing at the ground. This could not be a better fit for such a stubborn woman. Seika was helped onto her mare with a challenge—she didn’t seem to want help either, which was not surprising. Seika was growing more and more like Saiya every day.

Once the ladies were safely in side-saddle position, I mounted my own mare, the black one, whom I had trained for quite some time in my teenage years before Seika had arrived. Her name was Mikara, and she seemed quite happy to see me what with her neighing.

Only once we were safely mounted did anyone speak. “But Father, did you not wish to say good-bye to King Moor?”

Silence filled the air.

Saiya reacted faster than I: “Don’t you dare use that word again,” she said, her voice dark and full of authority. I’d never heard her speak in such a way despite her rough, stubborn nature.

My heart sank, knowing I had failed young Seika.

The princess was obviously confused and upset. “But that’s what Keeper said—”

“Shush, child.” To my surprise, Saiya did not ask me why I had said such a thing. Instead, she said, “Princess, that is a Human expression and an insult to your people.”

Seika fell silent, clutching her cloak in her small fists.

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