Key Keepers: The Opening (Prologue - Spring 1988)
Winter winds whisper through the trees of Bedlam National Forest, but above the barren branches, a storm sings a song of spring across the night sky. Heavy rain cascades down through still-naked trees and spills into streams that course through the forest floor. Bursts of scattered lightning crash behind rolling clouds, setting the ground ablaze with reflected light.
The delicate dance between life and death traces the edges of Alice's mind as she clutches the small package underneath her robe close to her chest.
If the woods are a dead man, the young woman thinks, then the rain is like a roadmap of veins as his heart slowly pumps back to life.
She laughs a light laugh that gets swallowed by the storm.
A harsh breath of wind whips the dark green hood of her robe behind her, blowing her raven hair backward as she delves further into the forest. She stumbles every so often on a stray root or fallen branch in her battle with the unfamiliar terrain, straightening up and running faster with each failure. While the storm is presenting an additional challenge to navigating through a place she has never before dared to go, the inclement weather isn’t going to stop her.
Alice has traveled to the island of Bedlam for business, and she has come to Bedlam National Forest to collect — or rather, to deliver. To Alice, there is nothing in this world that can stand in the way of her mission tonight. Tonight, she will be meeting her master and receiving his highest honor.
Tonight, Alice Castor will be exalted.
Only months ago, her master had come to her in the night like an apparition. The shadow of a shadow. Youkai. Spectral, serpentine-voiced, and darkly shrouded in a flowing black robe, he was unlike anything she had ever seen before. His form was like a trick of the moonlight, more of an emanation of energy than a living body. His ghastly face, creeping out from beneath his hood, was like the ghost of a skeleton, hollow-eyed and ethereal as mist. Worse yet was the putrid sulfuric smell which not only encompassed, but lingered.
Horrified yet captivated by his presence, Alice had listened that night in awe as he revealed his worst and most glorious intentions. After learning of his plight, the young Alice Castor couldn’t resist the temptation to serve.
The Seventh Sacred Relic, hidden away here after all this time… wasted. Dishonored. But tonight, all is about to change.
Alice blinks rain droplets from her pale grey eyes as she dashes through the forest, following the faintest of paths that has been left by the others. Keeping her breath steady as she presses forward through the darkness, she repeats in her mind the instructions she was given.
Take the first lefthand path at the main entrance. Take a right into the forest when you see the American Beech across from the White Oak, both with haircap moss growing at their base. Run until the Dogwood appears amongst the Pitch Pines. Then, let the North Star guide you until you feel the threshold.
She slows to a stop at the end of a colony of Pitch Pines and places a steady hand on the rough, wet bark of the massive tree before her. Dogwood.
She’s nearly there now, the entrance to their meeting place. She’s searching for the old, wise Oak where Astrid Castor had been hung over a century before, another battle in the occultic war that has been waged since the beginning of man. She tilts her head back and looks up to the dark sky, worried she might not be able to see the stars amongst the rain clouds. Squinting through the rain, she spots the North Star shining down from the strip of sky still visible in the night. With her heart beating against her chest, she wipes the rain off her face and once again begins to run.
After another mile of racing through the trees, the steady rain slows to a soft mist. Praise the Lord, she thinks as she slows her pace. The clouds drift away from the moon, and its soft white light spills into the forest, mirroring off the many puddles on the ground. The roaring wind dies down enough for Alice to hear her own now-labored breath as she trudges along, allowing the North Star to guide her forward to the threshold.
It’s getting closer now. She can feel it.
Thunder rumbles in the distance as she comes upon a clearing and begins to slow even further, wanting to stop and connect with the sacred space around her. With the threshold just ahead, she comes to a stop and breathes in the calming petrichor of the storm, holding her arms out wide with her palms facing toward the sky. Lungs full of hallowed air, Alice tilts her head up to the heavens.
Lightning rips through the clouds, sending bursts of brightness to fall across the forest. Shadows from the tall trees around the clearing dance across the ground as Alice holds her breath and smiles up at the blinking stars.
But before she can exhale, a sharp whistle rings through the air — the unmistakable sound of an arrow. The sharp point of the weapon grazes a wisp of Alice's dark hair. She whips her head around just as the arrow slices into the trunk of a birch tree in a splitting crack.
She turns in the opposite direction and widens her eyes as several shadowy figures sneak out from behind the trees, each of them wearing hunting gear complete with head coverings that shield all but their eyes. The Secret Seekers. A figure wielding a bow breaks from the rest of the group and expertly weaves through the trees toward the clearing where Alice now stands, exposed. The figure pulls back the string of their bow as they launch another arrow toward their prey, not missing a step as they rush toward Alice.
“Surrender, witch!” the figure commands in a woman’s voice.
Alice shifts her raised arms and presses an open palm toward her assailant. Impedimus! In an instant, the huntress’ legs slow just enough to allow Alice time to grab the package from beneath her robe and tear open the brown paper wrapping around the item inside. Underneath the dull wrapping lay a marvelous ruby amulet with a gold chain encrusted with radiant diamonds. The gold feels smooth and heavy in her hands, and its smoldering jewels glimmer faintly under the dim moonlight. The Amulet of Eternal Devotion. She pauses for a moment as she takes in the relic’s irresistible sight before clasping the amulet around her neck, its diamond encrusted chain cradling her delicate throat.
Alice jumps to her left to dodge another arrow as the huntress draws near. With her assailant standing only a few feet in front of her now, the young witch’s face turns into a wicked grin. Her hungry eyes find the huntress, ready to demonstrate the relic’s power after generations of suppression, but the masked woman only looks to the ground before closing her eyes.
“Mono! You knew about the relic!” Alice screams at the human through the spitting rain. She brings her fingertips to rest gently on the amulet around her neck. “How did you know?”
Before the huntress can respond, a quick succession of sharp snaps and splashes stomps toward them. Alice whips her head toward the noise as a tall, muscular figure runs up from the side of the forest, apparently laying in wait for this moment’s ambush. He’s wearing similar hunting gear, except he brandishes a long knife in his right hand and has a Colt AR-15 still strapped safely to his chest.
They aren’t aiming to kill, Alice thinks. Not yet.
“No!” The huntress warns the man running toward them. “She’s wearing it!”
Alice looks deeply into the man’s dark green eyes, a hint of a smirk on her face. The man holds her gaze with horror before coming to a stop. He’s staring straight at her, but his eyes have grown distant, as if he’s now lost in a trance. Out of her periphery, the witch sees more hunters enter the small clearing from the woodwork — too many, she knows, to take on alone. Still, she keeps her malicious gaze fixed on the man as the hunters gather around her.
“You’ve made a mistake coming here tonight,” Alice says quietly to the crowd.
She cocks her head to the right and lifts her left hand, pointing a single finger in the direction of the man. Just as suddenly as he had appeared, the man reaches up his hunting knife and presses the sharp, serrated blade into his jugular. The rest of the hunters that have gathered near the edge of the forest cry out as blood spurts from the man’s wound, but their cries don’t stop him from slowly pulling the blade across his throat.
His flesh rips open seamlessly.
Blood pours from his wound and mixes with the puddles on the ground, sending small streams of crimson creeping into the crevices in the ground around him. What little light that’s left in the man’s eyes slowly drains as his face pales. He drops to his knees before crumpling into a lifeless pile on the floor.
Alice’s eyes swim with vindication as she smirks at the still figure before her. “If mercy is what you seek,” she hisses, “then you’ve chosen the wrong generation.”
She reaches up her hand to strike the huntress from afar, a simple spell, but before she can do so, a strong mesh net wraps itself tightly around her. Spider silk. A magic suppressant. She lifts her hand to try to slice through the fabric — Textum Discidens! — but the magic falters at her fingertips.
She flops onto the wet ground like a fish struggling to breathe and fights to free herself as an army of combat boots stomp toward her. A few begin to kick her into the mud as they draw close. Alice’s yelps of pain ring through the air, but the hunters ignore them as they descend upon her. She lifts her arms to shield her face from their blows, the ruby relic still fastened securely around her neck.
“You’ll pay for that,” the huntress barks from above.
Despite her pain from the attack, Alice peeks up at the huntress through the cracks in her fingers and gives a bitter laugh. “The blood remembers what the bone forgets,” she spits.
The group of men cease their attack on the witch and step away from her trembling body. Before Alice can get her bearings, she feels the huntress squat down beside her. The huntress grabs at her through the fabric of the net, forcing her own hands away from her face and grasping her by the throat. The cold jewels of the relic bite into her skin as the huntress tightens her grip. She gasps one last strained breath before the huntress rolls her face-down onto the forest floor.
Alice feels the huntress’ hands cradling the back of her neck through the net and expects her to fumble for the relic’s clasp, but instead, she releases her hands from Alice’s throat and lifts her from under the arms. The huntress throws Alice back down onto the ground like a cadaver, this time with her head resting face-first into a large puddle. Alice gasps in surprise.
Water seeps into her mouth and nose through the net and catches in her throat. She sputters as she reaches her hands behind her and tries to fight the huntress off, but the huntress only digs her knee into Alice’s low back as she holds her head in place. Alice struggles under the huntress’ weight, lungs burning like they’ve been scraped raw with glass.
“Don’t overdo it,” a gruff voice commands from above. “We need her alive for now.”
Alice winces as the huntress removes her knee from her back.
“Yes, father,” the huntress responds, shoving Alice’s face into the puddle one last time before releasing her grip.
Alice flops over and raises her hands above her head as she takes a desperate breath of air. An engine rumbles in the distance, and bright headlights draw nearer.
The witch ceases to struggle, but she certainly doesn’t surrender.
Rain splashes onto the net as a black Jeep Cherokee with tinted windows pulls up to the clearing. Several men reach down to lift Alice off the ground while the rest of the hunters stand around them with their guns trained on the witch. The click and swish of the trunk door can be heard amongst the angry voices surrounding her as the men throw her into the back of the vehicle.
The voices fade to a faint murmur, and Alice glares through the mesh net at the single man left standing at the trunk. “You’re too late,” she snarls. “The key has turned.”
Her eyes are hard as he slams the door, and her voice is full of an ancient hatred that speaks of what’s to come.
