Here is the first story in The Keeper’s Warrior, by Christina “Smudge” Hanson. Enjoy!

For over a month, his entire world consisted of blue skies, screaming seabirds and the briny taste of the ocean spray that clung to the insides of his mouth. But soon, he’d have a reprieve. The ship he had traveled on had finally made dock in a tiny port-side town. It needed supplies for the rest of the journey so the stopover here would be brief. Just long enough to unload some minor cargo, take on fresh water and food, then take the next available tide back out in the morning. But it would be long enough to do a little exploring in town, maybe even get a drink of something other than the foul swill the sailors guzzled. He was not going to pass this by.

He stood on the edge of the ship’s deck, waiting anxiously for the gangplank to drop. Solid ground was calling him. As he waited with long-sword and short-sword scabbard on his hip, knife tucked behind in the small of his back, he shifted his duffel bag across his shoulder, in an attempt to have it lay better across his back-slung shield, then looked out over the port.

It was more a fishing village than true trade port; a small deep cove harbor, with one all-wood pier to moor. The township itself was maybe a few buildings deep, and of those, mostly warehouses and a spattering of dock maintenance workshops. Behind them, stairs rose out of solid rock and stretched to the upper levels of the town, which tiered itself along the cliff-side for at least three more levels. Half-timber houses and shops lined the cobblestone streets as they snaked higher up the receding cliff-face.

But what really caught his attention was to the southeast. An extra crag jutted out over the already high town, its slopes surrounded by dense green, with an open area on top of which a small building stood, its top covered by the canopy of a great tree. He knew exactly what that was.

A shrine to Euseeda.

The corner of his lip ticked up briefly in a soft smile, then disappeared as quickly as it came. It had been some time since he had been able to give an offering to his goddess of the earth. Now was as good a time as any.

The plank hit the pier hard and bounced before settling still. One boot in front of the other, and the tinny rattle of chain mail in his ears, he strode off the ship and into the township of Echo Cove.

The town was much bigger than he first thought, streets and buildings stretching beyond the edges of the cliff. While it was nowhere near as big as many of the cities that he had marched through, it was indeed prosperous in its isolation. The drinking water flowed clean from the fountains that were dotted around the place, and the streets were bare of the typical smell of sewage. Now that he was higher, he could see beyond the township to rolling farmland fields. They were packed with abundance and heavy stalks of grain danced in the gentle breeze. Everything here seemed green and alive, despite the oncoming of the fall harvest. He crossed very few people as he made his way, as most were out in the fields beyond, or taken to sea for the day’s catch. But those he did, smiled and greeted him with pleasant “Good Day”s or “Howdy”s.

“Euseeda has blessed this land greatly,” he muttered to himself.

He finally reached the steps to the shrine and stopped. From where he stood, they looked dizzyingly steep. For a moment, he contemplated turning back. He still had his sea-legs and the world seemed a bit unsteady. But he had walked farther, climbed higher, and trudged through far worse things than this shrine’s pathway. He couldn’t properly call himself a sell-sword if something like this hindered him. Taking a deep breath, he began his ascent. Around him, trees danced on the edge of the path, their leaves softly chiming as they brushed against each other in the coastal breeze. The woods here were thick and lush. It was hard to see very far past the sides of the granite steps. Roots reached and tangled within the grooves of the stones, yet remained clear enough to insure a good perch for a climber’s foot.

When he finally reached the top, he paused just under the small arbor that marked the sacred ground’s true entrance, letting himself catch his breath. While the climb probably would not have been much effort for him regularly, his time being lazy on-board ship was telling. Being dressed in his full, heavy plate and chain did not help the matter. But he was not about to leave all his worldly possessions unguarded. Plate was easier worn than carried. After a moment, he straightened himself out, readjusted his bag on his shoulder, then continued into the courtyard of the shrine.

The courtyard itself was full of sunlight, open and airy. The ground around the shrine was rich with green grass that was trimmed just shy of stones set into the earth as a pathway. Chest-high bushes ringed the entire area, insuring that no visitor would accidentally fall off the top, short of the stairs that lead here. In the center was the shrine, little more than a square walkway of wooden pillars with leafy capitals and a simple peaked, red-clay tiled roof surrounding an open air atrium. Inside the atrium, a tree of Euseeda rose, dominating nearly all of the space, its large canopy rising past the roof to cover the entire building. Behind and to both the right and the left of the shine itself were three smaller enclosed structures, each connected to the shrine by smaller walkways and sharing the same sense of design.

He stepped up onto the wooden walkway then stopped, gazing at the Rapture Tree, Blessed of the Goddess. Its trunk was huge, bigger than he could put his arms around, its bark, somewhat pale cream in color, with soft, darker brown stripes tickled around its circumference. Its leaves were oblong in shape, with tips coming to fine points, each one slightly smaller than his palm. Under the tree’s grand umbrella swayed vines, stretching in gentle arcs from bough to bough. A couple ends dangled almost touching the ground, their motion in the wind was like that of a sleeping cat’s tail.

Quietly, he rolled his duffel off his shoulder and placed it on the floor. His shield and long sword quickly joined the bag, leaning against on the walkway’s pillars. Once unloaded from his heavier burdens, he sat down and removed his boots and socks, then placed them next to his other belongings.

He took a moment to let his feet feel the grass below the inner walkway before standing and approaching the Tree. An arm’s length from the Tree, he stopped and bowed as gracefully as he could muster, his forehead coming a breath away from touching its trunk.

“Oh Euseeda,” he said, his voice low and soft, “I thank thee. I thank thee for the clean water I have drunk, and the rich food upon my table. I thank thee for the children, whose laughter fills my ears, for bountiful harvests, and full tankards that I drink. May you continue to smile upon these lands, and may the people’s songs fill your heart. I have come in gratitude for all you have done and provided. Please, allow this humble child to make an offering to you and your Blessed Tree. A piece of myself, a part of my life, so that you, through your favored, may continue to make the land fertile and water sweet.”

He stood, bare feet in the soil, his upper arms by his side, elbows bent, and lower arms extended outward, palms up, and face turned to the Great Tree’s canopy. Eyes closed, he remained for countless moments, simply existing. And yet, something seemed wrong. He cracked his eyes and peered to one side, then the next, as his body relaxed.

“Where are the Nymphs?” he muttered to himself. “By now they should be practically swarming.”

But no one came. The atrium was silent. He backed away from the Tree and took a deep breath.

“Hello?” he boomed loudly, yet without yelling. “Is there anyone here?” his ears strained at the quietness as his voice faded, trying to pick out any sound beyond the leaves and breeze.

A door to the far left building slightly opened. He could almost make out the profile of a man peering from the doorway. Just as quickly as the door opened, it shut again.

Instantly, instinctively, he went from devotee to warrior, his hands drawing his short sword and knife that were still hung from his belt. It only took a few breaths for him to reach the far walkway. Without breaking stride, he leaped up from the atrium’s ground, landing to one side of the doorway. Using the tip of his knife, he flicked the door-latch open, then dashed inside, making sure not to stop silhouetted within the door-frame, the short sword held defiantly forward.

At the tip of his blade was a man’s throat, muscles trebling. The Adam’s apple bounced once as the throat swallowed, veins running its length pulsed for a moment, then disappeared.

But its flesh was a lie.

While it started a pale beige, the color faded into a deep green color, almost brown, as it wrapped around to the back of the neck. Its “skin” was slightly chipped, like bark pulling away from a trunk. Upon the neck was a man’s face, long and sharp, with green sideburns disappearing into long, flowing wild hair. Branches stretched out from its hair as if antlers on a stag, yet tiny leaves and small flower buds gave away their true nature. On its brow a knot of wood circled upon itself. Long, goat-like ears that normally flopped to each side of its face had rotated and flared backwards, shaking. Below its throat was a very human torso, arms and hands, well defined, strong, while lanky. All with the same beige coloring in front, then slowly turning to dark green around its backside. Yet, the torso faded within a mane of green only to reappear with the four-legged body of an elk with a large flat tail.

The creature lay frozen on its side, its human torso raised from the ground, its arms stopped in mid-reach towards a now over-boiling pot hanging over a small fire. The dirt pit in floor in which it laid was sunken down, with the cooking hearth in the center. Its emerald eyes were large with surprise, its gaze never wavering from the Warrior’s blade.

“Take what you want,” it finally muttered, its voice unsteady. “Whatever it is, take it and go.”

He knew what this creature was; a sentient plant, a male Dryad, a Keeper of the Blessed Tree of Euseeda. No sooner had his blade started to drop away, the Keeper was gone; bounded away and out the door.

“Ah, crap,” he muttered. With well-practiced flourish, the Warrior returned his blades to their scabbards. He grabbed the cloth the Keeper once held and took the boiling pot from the fire. In all the confusion, leaving it there to writhe seemed unwise.

With his hands raised he slowly exited the small room back towards the atrium. He had made a grave error and threatened the holy brother. If he wanted to remain in Euseeda’s good graces, he knew he’d have to make amends, somehow.

Fortunately, the Keeper had not gone too far, choosing instead to remain beside his tree. He was partially hidden behind its trunk, one hand resting on the bark, the other in a tight fist. His eyes glared at him with deep intensity, a mix of anger and fear, an animal teetering on the edge of fight or flight.

The Warrior dropped to his knees and bowed deeply on the ground, his own long, braided white hair arching a trail of his body’s passage.

“Forgive me, Keeper,” he said, his voice muffled slightly, his face pressed into the grass of the atrium’s floor. “With the way the door closed I feared burglars were within the shrine.”

The air seemed heavy in the silence.

“You reek of salt and brine,” the Keeper finally said, never moving from behind his tree. “Why would someone of the sea be here?”

“I am not of the sea,” the Warrior replied, never once lifting his head. “I am a follower of Euseeda. I came here to make an offering in her name. Though I did come to this place via the ocean. This is a welcomed break in a modest voyage.”

He paused, a thought flickering in his mind.

“Do you have issues with those who tread the waters?” He asked.

“I and my ilk have not had … fond experiences with those who ply their skills upon the waves.”

“You’re talking about the illegal practice of a ship’s fawn,” The Warrior sat up, swinging his legs around in front and crossing them.

The Keeper nodded, the leaves of his antler-branches dancing slowly.

“I swear upon my real name, I have come with no such foul intention.” The Warrior bowed again, his forehead pushed into the earth. “Your Nymphs here are safe.”

“How can I trust you?” the Keeper asked, his face stern.

The Warrior sat back up again, but made no motion to return to his feet.

“How can anyone trust anyone else in this world?” He returned.

The Keeper sighed and stepped away from his tree to face the Warrior. A sad look slowly crossed his face even as their eyes met.

“There are no Nymphs here,” he said. “I think in all the time I have been Keeper, I have seen only three come this way. And of those, none have ever returned.”

The Warrior looked at the Keeper, surprised. He knew something of Dryads, being a follower of Euseeda. Nymphs, female Dryads, were a gregarious and vivacious lot. When not being struck by wanderlust, they tended to congregate around a Keeper and his Tree. A Keeper without at least a couple of Nymphs was unheard of.

“How do you fare come pollination season without Nymphs?”

“Not easily.” The Keeper looked up into his Tree’s canopy. “It breaks my heart that the Great Tree has never born fruit, despite all my effort.”

“Still, is this place so hard to get to that no Nymph would come?”

The Keeper nodded.

“The only way to Echo Cove is by sea from west. To the east and south our farmland is boxed in by high mountains, and to the north… is the Dead Wood. There is no passage there. If I understand correctly, all the shipping lanes bypass us to travel to one of the great cities farther up the coast. If any boats stop here it’s because of bad weather, poor supplies or damage that cannot be patched up enough to limp father along. Most Nymphs travel by road anyway, being fearful and unsteady aboard ship. If they can’t pass the Dead Wood, they simply will turn to a simpler and easier destination.”

“Bugger,” the Warrior grumped as he scratched his soul patch on his chin. “So that’s why none appeared when I started the chant for the traditional offering.”

“I almost never see a true devotee to Euseeda at this shrine,” the Keeper continued, “This place has more ties to Tempest, not his Sister-Wife. So the girls not being here hasn’t been that much of a hindrance for the standard offerings the townsfolk occasionally bring. I am sorry that there is no one who can assist with yours.”

“Are you saying you can’t?”

An awkward silence filled the room.

The Keeper shifted his weight, his tail twitched from side to side for a moment.

“Would you have any issue with my assistance?” He finally asked.

“I’m a sell-sword, a shield for hire. I have traveled too long, waged too many wars, and bled far too often for me to be picky about who helps me with my offerings. I make my offerings to Euseeda wherever I can, whenever I can. For tomorrow, I might not be here to make another.”

The Keeper stood there motionless for a moment, slightly biting his lower lip.

“Alright,” he said taking a timid step towards the Warrior. “You need to stow your weapons in the storeroom. And you have to take a bath first. There is no way I’m going to allow you to make an offering smelling like you just got worked over by Euseeda’s Brother-Husband.”

“You have a bath?” the Warrior said, a tiny hint of surprise and longing tinged his voice.

“Weapons. Lockup.” The Keeper pointed to the small out building next to his quarters, his voice stern.

The Warrior complied.

The Keeper deftly descended the tree-covered hillside, with clean towels in hand. He had already shown the Warrior to the bath and had given him some alone time before fetching some basic toiletries. The bath itself was more of a small wooden box with a sluice feeding water in from a hot-spring, nestled about one-third way down the hill and hidden within the thick grove, accessible only by the faintest of deer-trails. It was his little secret. One he had now shared with a complete stranger.

The Keeper emerged from the bush and onto the wooden landing the outdoor bath sat upon. There he was, the Warrior, leaning back in the Keeper’s private waters.

He was a tall, handsome man. His wet, pale skin gleamed as if made from alabaster in the bright afternoon sunlight that trickled down through the canopy of leaves. Large in the shoulders, yet small in the waist, his body was ripped with carved muscles, yet, his frame was not overbearing and held a sleekness to it. Strong, meaty hands that were bigger than the Keeper’s rested gently along the sides of the wooden box. His face was just as finely rendered as his body, long, with a squared jaw offset by an almost delicate nose. Thin, sharp eyebrows rested above his closed small, almond-shaped eyes. With careful grooming, he had nurtured a patch of pale white hair on his chin to form a small, close-cut triangle, broad at the bottom along his jawline, then coming to a sharp point just under his lower lip. He had let his extremely long white hair down from its tight bindings letting it lazily dance across the surface of the warm waters around him, almost hiding his small, pointed ears.

“How should I address you?” the Keeper asked as he stepped forward and placed the towels and toiletries to one side of the tub. “Elf?”

His guest smiled softly for the briefest of moments, before his face returned to a more neutral expression.

“I’m a half-Elf, actually,” he said, his sharp, clear amber eyes turning to meet the Keeper’s, “On my mother’s side. You can call me Warrior. That’s what everyone else does. Can I assume, you are fine being addressed as Keeper?”

“As I am the only one here, I see no harm in that,” Keeper nodded.

With the air smelling cleaner around Warrior, Keeper was feeling more at ease. Bad memories brought on by the smell of salt and sea had faded once more. It had been a long time since he had someone he could talk to, yet here was this naked half-Elf, sitting in his bath, freely replying to anything he said, providing more information than what was originally asked. He thought for a moment.

“So, you mentioned you were a sell-sword. Does this mean you’ve traveled the road for a long time?” he finally decided to ask.

On closer inspection, Keeper realized that Warrior was covered in scars of all shapes and sizes, ones that had magic help to heal, leaving but the faintest of color traces on the skin. Though there were three very distinct ones that were more visible than the rest; one on each lower arm running the length from just below his palm to the inside of the elbow, and a single one running down his center of his chest, starting at the clavicle and stopping just shy of his manhood.

Warrior closed his eyes again, leaning back into the waters.

“Nearly as long as I’ve been alive,” he replied.

“Have you ever seen a dragon?” Keeper bent down and retrieved a hairbrush from the items he had brought.

Warrior sat up in the bath abruptly, warm water spilling over its sides.

“What is it with people and wanting to know about dragons?” he spat. “You let slip even the tiniest mention of having had some sort of possible adventure and the first thing folk ask is if you’ve seen a dragon?”

“I know,” Keeper said, chuckling deeply as he moving around to behind Warrior. “It was a joke.”

Warrior glanced at him for a moment, then settled back. He chuckled as well.

“With that jibe, I take it you’ve seen the long road too?”

“A lifetime ago.” Keeper settled himself down next to the bath, the gently reached out and pulled Warrior’s hair from the water.

Warrior started to pull away, but Keeper placed his hand on the half-Elf’s bare shoulder to stop him.

“You said you wished my assistance,” Keeper reminded him.

“For a traditional offering,” Warrior said.

“Preparation for such counts as well.”

He felt the Warrior relax under his hand.

“Fine. But if I find any flowers in my hair, I’m going to take that brush and shove it up your nose.”

Keeper paused. The tone of Warrior’s voice told him that the threat was very real. After taking a deep breath, he began carefully brushing the water out of the silver mane.

“Perish the thought.”

Keeper fell silent for a few moments as he worked.

“Please,” he finally said, “tell me of the world you have seen. It has been ages since I became my Tree’s Keeper. I have not left this shrine since. What has happened outside these scared grounds?”

“Humm,” Warrior muttered, scratching his little white patch at his chin. “Where to begin?”

“How about your current trip and why you ended up at Echo Cove?”

That soft, timid, off-center smile flashed briefly again at the corners of Warrior’s mouth before he started his tale.

Something poked his cheek. Slowly, Warrior became aware of his feet turning cold, but the warmth on his back kept lulling him back into slumber. He felt so relaxed, peaceful and wanted so much to stay that way.

Something poked his cheek again. Begrudgingly, he cracked his eyes. Night had come, turning the entire atrium into hues of blue and dark purple. He was sitting, naked, facing the Great Tree, his legs splayed out before him, his back propped up straight. Around him, his clothes were strewn in the grass and fallen leaves. A knife was standing upwards between his feet. The tip buried in the ground in front of the Great Tree, the last of his blood slipping from its surface. His hair ties had come undone yet again, letting his long snow-white hair dance freely about his face, partially obscuring his vision. He closed his eyes again and rolled his head backwards.

There was that poking again. His vision blurred then came into focus. Keeper’s face, a wily smile disguised by tranquil eyes, filled his sight, a single green finger moving out of his vision.

“Crap!” Warrior bolted upright. A sharp pain seared down the center-line of his chest, causing him to buckle farther forward than he’d intended. He hissed. Behind him, he could hear Keeper scramble into all fours.

“Are you okay?” Keeper asked, as he placed a hand on Warrior’s back.

Warrior forcibly uncurled himself and looked down his chest. The once bright red line of blood that started at his clavicle and extended past his belly button had turned a deep brown. His lower arms were in similar shape.

“Its fine,” he finally hissed, “Just stings like all get-out. Like a bad razor cut from shaving. Look, they’re already closing up.”

Keeper shook his head, the leaves of his branches rustled.

“I cut too deep,” He said while helping Warrior to his feet. “I was afraid something like this would happen.”

“Big deal. I’ve had far worse in battle.”

“That’s beside the point!” Keeper’s front legs pranced, landing heavily in the grass. “I have not preformed the old rites in over a decade. You practically had to walk me though the incantations as it was.” He stopped and sighed, turning his face away from Warrior. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop your blubbering. You did fine. Especially compared to the last Nymph I had performing those same rites.” Warrior bent down to retrieve his underwear. “She nearly chopped my dick in half,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

Warrior waved the comment away and continued to pick up his clothes. He could feel Keeper’s eyes on him as he moved and occasionally hissed when he stretched the wrong way.

“Wait here,” Keeper finally said, turned and walked back to his room. He returned a moment later, an amphora in hand. “Face me.”

Warrior did as he was told. Keeper cracked the wax seal on the jar, removing its cork. Tossing the cap aside, he placed the lip to his own. He let the contents flow into his mouth, holding them in his cheeks until they puffed up like a chipmunk’s. A golden liquid that smelled of honey, yet moved like water, trickled out the corners and down his chin.

Keeper took a deep breath then forced the liquid from his mouth in a steady stream and onto Warrior’s chest, tracing the path of the cut until his cheeks were empty. Warrior winced. Then Keeper closed his eyes and reached out with his fingers to trace the wound. As he did so, the sharpness of the cut subsided, the bleeding disappeared, leaving healthy skin in its place.

“Ah,” Warrior said as he felt the wounds wash away, “See, you do remember some of your rituals.”

Keeper snorted.

“Arm,” he said as he slapped Warrior’s elbow. Warrior raised him arms, one after the other to have the same healing done to them. Once Keeper was done, he placed the amphora aside and helped Warrior with retrieving the rest of his clothes.

“Where shall you go from here?” Keeper asked as he handed a belt to Warrior.

“Probably back to my bunk on the ship,” Warrior replied as he slipped the knife back into its scabbard. “It took a lot longer to get up here than I had planned and I don’t want to miss the outgoing tide.” He offered the sheathed knife back to Keeper, who took it.

Warrior turned and walked to the storehouse to retrieve the rest of his gear. It took him no time at all to re-armor and arm himself. Once he had put his boots on, he did not reenter the atrium proper, instead stood on the walkway surrounding the Great Tree. After slipping the leather strap that held his huge scutum shield in place across his back, he hefted his duffel bag over it. He turned back to Keeper.

There was a silence the filled the shrine, thick and palatable. The two stood for a time, Warrior slightly turned to Keeper. It seemed like there was something Keeper wanted to say, and Warrior stood, waiting for it to be said.

“All right,” were the words Keeper finally uttered. “Be careful going down the steps, the fog rolls in here early and does not burn off until well past sunrise.”

Warrior nodded and stepped away from the walkway. He got half way across the courtyard before stopping.

“Are you lonely?” he asked over his shoulder.

Keeper took a while to answer.

“I have my Tree, and I have Euseeda. That is all that I need.”

Warrior began to walk into the darkness.

“However,” Keeper added, his voice timid, “If you pass this way again, please take more time to visit. I would like to hear stories of your travels.”

Before descending the stairs, Warrior raised his hand waving it slightly back and forth, the polished metal of his gauntlet catching the moonlight.

His little shore-leave was over. At least he had made a friend.

And in this world, he needed all the friends he could get.

If you enjoyed this short story, please consider buying the full book from the seller of your choice!