Drinking Life (Keeper of the Water Book 1) (22 page)

A part of me thinks he’s right, that maybe I should forget everything he’s told me and everything I’ve seen in my dreams. John and I could still be happy with each other, still make a happy future together as long as we forget the past. Sadly, I know this is something I could never just forget…

“I must know
everything
,” I say resolutely.

He nods. “As I said, the island wasn’t very big but there wasn’t a good port on the other side. Still, we lowered our anchors and slowly made our way inland. We didn’t make a sound heading through the mountains, guided by no more light than that from the stars and the moon. We walked all night on high alert, knowing that these were no normal women. Even though I was still skeptical about the stories of the water’s powers, I very much wanted to acquire some. Giving magical water to my king and queen would’ve made me a very rich man, a very
powerful
man. As is still the case today, wealth and power were very alluring in those days.

“But I also wanted to avoid any more blood loss between my men and those women. I don’t know how to describe it but I could sense when we were getting close. It was like a string attached to my soul that pulled me closer. No matter how quiet my troops were, I knew we could not sneak up on the women with so many of us. Usually, I would’ve sent ahead scouts to gather intelligence but the thought of power made me greedy. I ordered my troops to stand down. Instead, I went ahead with the two men I now call
uncles
.

“The mountain appeared deserted but we knew how well the women could blend in. Luckily, we could be very sneaky, too. As we climbed higher, I spotted a single tree that had a great view of the mountain where the women lived. I stopped my troops and pointed to the tree, though we saw nothing that looked strange about it. They wanted to keep going but I made them stop and wait. For nearly an hour we stared at that tree in silence—my men thought I was crazy, I’m sure. But finally we spotted the faintest sign of movement amongst the leaves, the shadow of someone on guard. If my men weren’t nervous before, they certainly were when they realized how invisible these women could become.

“We took the long way around the mountain, avoiding a few more guards hidden within the landscape. In hindsight, it was probably a miracle we weren’t spotted, regardless of how careful we were. That was a skill we got much better at over the years but that’s a different story altogether.

“A bluish light glowed brighter the higher we climbed. Once we reached the top, we found the small spring of water, just as blue and amazing as the old villagers described. I wanted to rush forward and seize it as much as my men did but I held them back. More than a dozen women encircled the spring.”

My heart is back to pounding. I can picture exactly what John describes, the scene nearly identical to what I’ve seen in my dreams.

“I was amazed to see the woman shooter still breathing as she lay on the ground next to the water. But she wasn’t alone,” he continues. “I think we interrupted a ceremony of sorts because in unison, the rest of the women approached the injured one and kneeled. During my many travels, I’d seen many rituals involving the dead or dying so I thought this was their way of saying goodbye to their wounded friend. With all of their backs to us, my men urged me to attack, knowing there would never be a better opportunity to succeed. I knew they were right but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, I was too interested to see what they were doing.

“I thought the ceremony was for the injured woman only but a second woman suddenly appeared from the water—I hadn’t noticed her amongst the bluish glow. Her back was turned to me the entire time but I could see that she commanded the others to turn the injured woman over. She cried out in pain but soon lay on her stomach, the stab wound exposed. The mystery woman proceeded to sprinkle some of the water over the wound and pour a bit into the shooter’s mouth.

“The shooter cried out in agony and I wondered if the mystery woman was doing something to kill the other one, to put the injured woman out of her misery. It was the guttural cry of a dying animal, a noise so loud that I’m sure the villagers would be talking about it for years to come. The injured shooter started to spasm and shake—her back arched in agony. It looked like she might explode at any moment…

“Suddenly, she appeared to breathe her last breath. The screaming stopped and so did her shaking. Even the glowing water seemed to dim. The rest of the women stood and returned to their posts around the spring. I was upset with myself for allowing curiosity to ruin my best chance to attack. But just before I gave the order to my men to move forward, the dead shooter began to stir. The mysterious water woman talked quietly but I could not hear what she said. The shooter slowly stood up but looked wobbly on her feet.

“
What happened to me?
the dead woman asked. The woman in the water answered,
You were hurt badly and nearly died. I wasn’t sure I could save you. It is a good thing you are young and strong and one with the water.

“I could not believe what I was seeing. Now I
needed
to get some of that water. The rest of the women were relieved to see their friend alive but that relief was short-lived. No sooner did the shooter take a few steady steps when another woman rushed into camp.
What is the problem?
the mysterious woman in the water asked.
My keeper, it is the men from before, they have returned. I’ve spotted their army on the other side of the mountain.
The rest of the women whispered worriedly but the woman in the water held up a hand and they instantly quieted. I wished I had been as effective a leader to have such control over my soldiers that she had over hers.

“
We tried to deal with them peacefully but those men are no different than any others. They only want the power from our water. We cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands. We knew this day might come and it has finally arrived. Our Earth Mother demands peace when peace is possible. It no longer is. Go to those soldiers, eliminate the threat if they prove to be hostile.
The women ran off in formation, moving as silent as spirits. The shooter tried to follow them but couldn’t move the same way as before. One of the women near the back of the group stopped her and said,
No, you must stay here, your full strength will return shortly. Besides, you’ll be the only one here to protect the keeper
.”

I thought I heard John mention that word earlier but I can’t resist interrupting him this time.

“Did you say the
keeper
?” I ask.

John nods but offers no further explanation. If I had any doubts whether John’s story and dreams were related, the mention of a ‘keeper’ puts an end to that.

“My men and I barely avoided detection when the last of the women rushed away from camp, leaving the shooter and keeper alone. I knew the rest of my troops were in trouble, that they would have no idea that the women were coming for them. Without proper leadership, my soldiers would have no chance. I knew I should go back to warn them, to lead them in battle or do what I could to broker peace between the two sides. But I was too enamored by the water to do what was
right
, a decision I still regret to this day. Not that it’s a good excuse, but I was only 18 at the time—a
real
18, like for the first time, too blinded by the thought of being the most powerful man in Spain. For that power, I was willing to sacrifice every one of my soldiers for a single drop of the magical water.”

Again John stops, lost in his own regretful memories. It’s becoming harder for me to feel sorry for his pain. But if he’s truly sorry for what he did, I might be able to forgive him. Most people that do something horrible have a lifetime of regret; John has had ten lifetimes. But that doesn’t mean I’ll forgive him right away. Still, I put a comforting hand on his arm, where I notice a long scar for the first time. I’m curious about how he received it but that curiosity doesn’t last very long. Another strong tingling sensation washes over me and I instinctively back away. I still don’t know what the tingling means but I take it as a warning.

But when I look into his eyes, I see only concern, not even a hint that he means me harm. My heart tells me to trust him but it’s impossible to ignore this damn tingling. I look across his yard at the shed, searching for any clue that will help me understand what I’m feeling.

“I’ve been ashamed of so many things for so many years. But since I met you—since I saw you during that field hockey match—I finally feel like I’m understanding the true meaning of life, of what’s most important,” he says. “Because of you, I’m ready put my old life—those hundreds of years of singular, misguided focus—behind me once and for all.”

I’m not sure what he’s trying to tell me, though I can see it’s very profound for him. Regardless of his deep feelings for me, I can’t reciprocate until he tells me more about the past.

“Please, tell me what happened next with the water,” I quietly request.

“Once the women were gone, my men and I raised our weapons and emerged from the hiding spot, ready to strike down the keeper and the recovering shooter if needed,” John says. “We stayed quiet but the keeper could sense our presence. She turned around and it was…”

John stops and takes a deep breath. I can tell he’s struggling to tell me the next part. I’m sure he has his reasons for being hesitant but I could care less about his feelings at the moment. If I were sitting down, I’d be on the edge of my seat. The intense tingling doesn’t help my nerves either.

“Who was it?” I ask, snapping more than I meant. “Was it the old woman?”

I can’t help myself from mentioning the old woman from my dream. John raises a curious eyebrow but slowly shakes his head.

“She was not old at all,” he says. “In fact, I have seen her again recently. The keeper was – ”

John never gets a chance to finish. I’m so focused on the story that I make the colossal error of ignoring the tingling. Too late, I hear a familiar
whoosh
that should have sprung me into action. It’s not until I hear a heavy
thud
that I recognize the sound of an arrow striking its target.

A blast of pain explodes in my chest. In an instant, all of my energy is sapped and my legs turn to mush. I collapse to the ground, my head bouncing against the grass. I see stars but barely notice
that
pain. Breathing is difficult; thinking even more so. It’s only been a few seconds since the speeding arrow impaled the top part of my chest but my brain has trouble remembering where I’m at or what I’m with or what has happened to me…

I barely have the strength to raise my head and look at the arrow sticking out of me. There’s no way I’m strong enough to pull it out. Instead, I lie back and look at the beautiful blue sky and swaying leaves in the trees above me. I concentrate on breathing in and out though it feels like a car is pressing against my chest instead of an arrow. There’s something surreal and placid about what’s happened to me, like I’m in a dream…

I hear voices yelling in the distance though I can’t make out the words being said. I know the yelling must be loud but the
rustling
leaves register in my ears much more clearly. I suddenly spot movement above me and look into the face of a handsome young man. John. I smile weakly though he doesn’t return it. His eyes are wide with panic, his brow creased with concern. I try to say ‘hi’ but only the slightest of wheezes escapes my lips. His expression suddenly changes—his face twists in rage—but he’s not looking in my direction when he yells again. His face returns to concern when he kneels down beside me.

“Stay with me,” he says gently. His words are now clear to me, as is another realization: I am about to die. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Don’t…lie…” I barely whisper.

I spot several more shadows approaching and see two huge men now standing above me. John’s goonish troops—one of whom holds a bow—sneer down at me. I guess my fake trail didn’t work as well as I hoped.

“The girl’s a goner,” one of the goons says. “Should I find a spot in the woods to start digging her hole?”

“I
told
you two to leave her alone!” John yells at them.

“She’s a danger to our mission,” the other goon says.

“I don’t
care
about the damn mission anymore! I gave you direct orders and you disobeyed! I will not…”

Consciousness is fleeting, as the sound of their conversation fades in and out. A part of me wants to hear more about their ‘mission’ but learning about it seems worthless at this point anyway. I only catch a few snippets of what they have to say.

“…she’s been nothing but trouble…”

“…get her out of the way…”

“…she’s clouding your judgment…”

“…she’s one of
them
…”

“…need to focus on the mission…”

The blue sky begins to darken as my vision slowly fades. It’s probably a miracle that I’ve survived this long but I feel my time running short. My breaths come in ragged gasps but I’m beyond the point of panic as my eyes start to flutter closed…

“Please, Nia, you have to fight, you have to stay with me,” John says. “You are strong—very strong. You can beat this.”

“Let her die already,” one of the goons says. “She is of no consequence.”

“She is the most important person I know,” John snaps at him. “That’s why I will do
anything
to save her.”

Their conversation sounds very dramatic but John’s voice begins to drift off into the distance again. I try to think about my parents, about Celeste and Cassie, about important moments in my life. But it’s hard for me to recall anything specific. I might assume the lack of oxygen is affecting my brain but other memories suddenly flash clearly in my mind.

The blue water…

The tribe of women…

Running with them… fighting alongside them… traveling with them…

The old keeper… the deep wrinkles on her face… the fire in her eyes… the way she looks so familiar now even though I’ve never met anyone so old…

Though my mind is a jumbled mess of memories, I suddenly focus on one moment I haven’t yet recalled. I’m looking at the old keeper close up. The bluish glow of the water illuminates her face—we
both
stand in the water. I don’t look at anything else except her but I can feel the rest of the tribeswomen nearby, watching our every move. I wonder what’s going on but the next five words the old keeper says completely shocks me.

“You are now the keeper.”

I’m jolted out of my vision by a blast of pain and my eyes focus on John’s backyard again. The pain is worse than before but that’s probably a good thing—I felt no pain when I was fading away so my body is fighting the black hand of death. I look at John again, who yells at the two goons.

“If you don’t help me
right now
, I swear I’ll disappear forever with her. You’ll both grow old and die…
if
I don’t kill you first!”

The two goons are huge compared to John but their faces skew in concern at the sound of John’s threat. They drop their weapons and each grab hold of one of my feet while John holds me beneath my arms. My body jostles painfully as they carry me across the backyard. Though my body fights to survive, the nearest hospital is miles away. My strength might normally be superhuman compared to others—a normal person would’ve died instantly—but I doubt I’m strong enough to last longer than a few more minutes. The arrow must’ve missed my heart by inches but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t shredded apart my insides.

But anatomy isn’t what’s on my mind in these waning moments. My head lolls from side to side with every step they shuffle. The goons continue to sneer down at me with intense hatred so I’m glad when my head rolls back and I see John. I must all the remaining strength to ask him one question—I don’t want to die with such a mystery hanging over my head.

“Was I… the keeper… that you saw?” I whisper.

John shakes his head. “Don’t think about this now. Save your energy.”

I don’t have the strength to argue even though all I want is the truth. My world suddenly goes dark and it takes me a moment to realize we’ve gone inside. The goons let go of my legs, which smash against the concrete floor. Any movement worsens the pain, especially rough moves like that. John is much gentler as he lays me on the hard floor. I hear him yell at the troops—they yell back, too—but the chirping birds and buzzing insects still fill my ears. I realize I’m inside their shed, not their house. I’m in and out of consciousness but sense John leaving me to stand in front of the safe.

“But that will take the rest of our supply. We’ve conserved it for years just to reach this point,” growls one of the goons. “She’s not worth it.”

“She’s worth
everything
I’ve ever possessed and more,” John says, typing in the combination.

“And what if one of us gets hurt and needs it?” the other asks.

“You’ve ruined our chances by not thinking of that earlier,” John answers.

The safe’s lock
clicks
as it disengages. Through the intense pain that wracks my body, my curiosity is piqued and I roll my head over to look toward the safe. John opens the safe’s door but he’s blocking my view of what waits inside. Still, it’s impossible to miss the bluish glow that suddenly fills the shed.

“Don’t do this,” one of the goons says. “Let her die.”

“
Never
.”

It’s too small inside the shed to hold all this tension. I’m afraid a fight may break out, that the goons will do to John what they’ve done to me.

“Fine, then we won’t stand by and just
hope
your plans work out. While you play love-struck doctor, we’re going after the
other
one.”

“You can’t,” John snaps, a different sort of panic in his voice. “You need me to do that,
she
needs me. I won’t let you leave.”

John steps in front of the shed’s door, blocking his troops from leaving. Now I’m even more certain a fight is coming, though one of the goons stands just over me.

“You have one of three choices,” the goon says. “First, come with us and finish what we’ve been working toward for
years
. Second, you can
try
to stop us. Or third…” The goon stops talking long enough to grab hold of the arrow sticking out of me. The arrow’s slightest movement causes me anguish. “…you can try to save her.”

“Let go of that arrow right – ”

The goon yanks the arrow out of me. I can’t hear if John finishes his sentence over my cries of agony. It feels like the inside of my body has been ripped out and replaced by a trail of fiery pain. I want to scream and scream but barely have the breath to whimper. Blood shoots out of me and I feel its warm splatter hit the side of my face. John is next to me within seconds and I can sense the goons rushing out.

“I’ll make you two regret this, I
swear
to that!” John yells at them.

“You left us before,” the goon calls back. “You’ll leave her once she’s dead and come to your senses. You’ll crawl back to us and the plan.”

“Don’t listen to them,” John says. He tries to put pressure on the wound with his hand but blood squirts out between his fingers. “You’re going to be okay. I won’t leave you. But we have to do this quick.”

He lets go and scrambles to the safe, removing a small vial. The bluish light glows so brightly that I figure the vial would be completely filled. But when John brings it closer, I see there’s barely anything inside, little more than a few drops. John looks at it longingly but doesn’t hesitate to unscrew the lid.

“I thought there was more of it,” he whispers.

He pours the small amount of water directly into my wound. A surge of freezing energy speeds through every vein in my body, followed immediately by a new level of pain I never thought imaginable. It feels like every tiny cell in my body is ripping apart and—maybe even more painfully—being melded back together. My body spasms uncontrollably. If I could think clearly, I might recall the part of John’s story about the shooter’s agony when receiving water.

The pain seems to go on forever, but I’m in no condition to tell the difference between a few seconds or a few minutes. The only good thing is that dead people don’t feel such pain, though death might be a welcome relief. John remains beside me the whole time. The moment I stop shaking so severely, he kneels behind me, placing my head between his knees.

“I need to keep your head still,” he says. “Try to unclench your jaw.”

I didn’t even know I was doing that. Though the pain subsides slightly, it’s still so bad that I can’t control myself. Somehow, I manage to concentrate long enough to ease the tension in my mouth.

“Try to stay still, there’s no water to waste,” he says.

John holds the vial to my lips. Only the slightest glow remains. He shakes the vial and pats the bottom of it, trying to coax out the lone remaining drop. It rolls to the edge of the vial, where it balances precariously for several long seconds. Another wave of pain crashes over me just as the drop falls. My body shudders but John holds my head in place, squeezing so hard that it might have hurt had the rest of me not felt such incredible pain.

The last drop splashes against my tongue. The shed’s bluish glow disappears. While only a drop enters my mouth, I feel the sensation of a deluge of soothing coolness rushing through my body. The pain instantly eases but once the rush ends, I am left feeling completely drained. My eyes can no longer stay open…

My dreams begin but there’s something different about them now. The water I drank seems to unlock my memory even more. I see everything clearer, have more control over what I see and
who
I see –
“Nia,” a voice whispers as I look around the jungle camp. It’s a man’s voice but I only see women. “Wake up, Nia.”

My eyes snap open and John kneels over me, lightly shaking my shoulder. When he sees me awake, he takes me by the hands and drags me to my feet. I have the urge to cry out but realize the pain is gone. My mind is fuzzy and I’m so exhausted that it’s hard to focus on anything but the thought of sleeping. I look down at my blood-soaked shirt and carefully put a finger through the torn cloth above my chest. No wound. I wobble where I stand, legs like jelly.

“How did…” I begin, trying to make sense of what happened. “That was the last of your water? Did you kill the keeper to get it?”

My words run together in one long slur. I’m groggy but angry, confused about John’s story and the last memory
I
had from the old keeper. I no longer question the fact that my dreams aren’t merely dreams—they’re memories.

“I would
never
kill the keeper,” John says.

“Then how – ”

“Not now,” he interrupts in a panic. “Your family is in serious danger. I’m sorry to put them in such trouble—I’m sorry for
everything
—but we must go and save them.”

I’m woozy and weak but my instinct to protect kicks in and clears the cobwebs from my mind. There are plenty of things I could ask but I sense John’s fear and know we must act quickly. I take a deep breath and nod my head. He rushes out of the shed—kicks the bloody arrow aside—and I run after him. Or at least I
try
to run after him. My feet barely hit the grass when I stumble over a stick. It might as well be as big as a log in my current condition. I’ve never known clumsiness in my life, can’t remember ever tripping, ever being anything but steady on my feet. This must be what it feels like to me a normal person and I can’t say I particularly like it.