The Hourglass Keeper, page 1
Copyright © [2023] by [M. L. Burns]
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact M. L. Burns. The only exception is a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This is a work of fiction. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
Book Cover by Katarina @nskvsky
Edited by: Roxana Coumans
Formatting: M. L. Burns
Hardback ISBN: 979-8-9894808-0-7
Paperback ISBN: 979-8-9894808-1-4
First edition [2023]
“I hate when the guy, loves the girl, but won’t just go for it.” A whiny, almost childish, voice echoed through a once quiet forest.
“You know,” the voice huffed, seemingly out of breath. “When the readers know they…love each other…but for whatever reason they just… don’t… Skyy—” The shrill voice let out a complaining drawl of the name. “Are we there yet?”
The young girl, who could not have been more than fourteen, stopped at a tree and bent over, trying to catch her breath. Her hand was resting on it for support. Her long red hair fell over her shoulders and masked her face.
“Do you ever stop talking, Mel?” Another voice rang. Subtle hints of irritation sang in its tone. Another female, more of orange hair this time but with striking gray eyes, stared towards Mel with intent. “Better yet, do you ever stop complaining?”
Mel shot her head up, fixing her gray eyes on the other. “Shut up, Skyy. This was your idea, not mine.”
“Why did you come?” Skyy questioned. “You could have stayed home with mommy and daddy.” She drew out her words.
“Can you both get along, please?” A third voice came, ringing with maturity and authority.
Emerging from around a group of oak trees, one last redhead came into view. Her face was sculpted to perfection, with piercing sky-blue eyes that seemed to glow in the sun’s rays shining through the trees. A short, thick mop of curly red hair sat atop her head, reaching just above her shoulders.
The woman was not necessarily tall, just clearing five and a half feet, but her stature was lengthy. She stood as if she were taller than the giants that once roamed the realm.
“Skyy,” she spoke again, “be nice to your little sister. You were the one that dragged us out here.” She placed one hand on her hip to mockingly scold her sister.
Then her eyes dragged to the other. “And Mel, please, you have been talking about that book for hours. We get it – you don’t like a passive man who won’t just go for it.” She winked and let out a soft laugh.
The sisters followed behind her, giving in to the joke.
“Azahara,” Skyy spoke as the three began walking up the hill through the trees. “Why don’t you read? You are like what, now, twenty-six?” She asked, knowing exactly why.
An endless, heavy sigh escaped her then.
Azahara peeked over her shoulder, giving her younger sister that look. The one that told her she was going to get it. “You know why. I cook, clean, hunt, and care for you and your younger brothers. When do I have time?”
“It’s because you never learned how to, huh?” Mel said with a coy grin.
Azahara whipped around, her freckled cheeks rosy as she glared down at Mel. “That is rude,” she wanted to say so much more, but she stifled it. Cursing out her younger sisters would not be polite, and she knew they would tell their parents. “When I was your age, us girls did not go to school. I had to help with the housework.”
Mel knew to move around as Azahara began to stalk towards her. A mischievous smile crept on her face. “Now that there are seven of us, Mom and Dad do not need your help. So… you both can swindle your way to school and learn.” She drew out the word, stalking towards Mel.
Skyy and Mel let out a playful gasp as they both began running off up the hill. “Now I’ll show you what no schooling has done for me!” Azahara called, causing them both to shriek in mock terror.
Tracing her sisters’ path through the trees, their joyful squeals guiding her way, she followed behind them.
The forest enveloped them in its vibrant embrace, teeming with an abundance of mysteries waiting to be unraveled. Venturing this deep into the verdant expanse carried its share of risks, but the sun’s radiant presence offered a glimmer of reassurance. In the daylight hours, the forest seemed relatively serene, its hidden inhabitants biding their time until the veil of night fell.
Azahara unleashed her strides, her legs extending and arms propelling her forward as she traversed the leveled plane. Adorned in flexible black pants crafted from stretchy fabric, ideally suited for agile movements, she relished the freedom they afforded. Her bare feet made contact with the ground, a testament to her affinity for nature’s touch.
As the trees opened up into a spacious clearing, her keen eyes locked onto their figures. A playful smile tugged at her lips, and she couldn’t resist letting out a melodious whistle, signaling her presence with a touch of mischievous delight.
Both of them halted, and Azahara refrained from pouncing on them as she had intended. They had finally reached their destination.
The bright sun cast down on them as Azahara approached the opening of the clearing. She moved past her sisters, who were both wide-eyed and astonished. The two of them were out of breath, barely standing, while Azahara was steady.
“This is it,” Skyy said, a smile curling at her lips. As if unconvinced they had heard her the first time, she repeated herself once more. “This is it!”
Azahara nodded in agreement, feeling Mel’s hand grasp hers tightly. “The Temple of Ohrok. Said to be the local gods’ place of worship.”
Skyy moved past Azahara, and she followed suit while holding Mel’s hand reassuringly.
The temple stood modestly, resembling a quaint cottage barely more extensive than a single bedroom. Its sturdy stone walls and roof exuded an ancient aura, weathered by time and elements. Only a solitary entry point beckoned visitors, a portal into the unknown. Devoid of windows, the temple held an air of mystery and intrigue, as if hiding secrets within its depths. The cobblestone floor, now overgrown with patches of vibrant moss and wild grass, seemed to reclaim its territory. Along the floor’s pathway, a series of candles stood in solemn rows, their once vibrant flames now extinguished, leaving behind a haunting atmosphere of hushed reverence.
This place had not been touched by mortals for centuries, if not longer.
Azahara came to a sudden halt about five feet from the entrance, instinctively tugging Mel’s arm to bring her to a stop as well. Her eyes fixated on the intricate markings adorning the top of the entrance, cryptic symbols etched in a language unfamiliar to human tongues and script. “Skyy, do you know what that says?” She asked. Skyy wanted to specialize in language studies and already knew Elvish and some Old Tongue.
“Sort of,” she said, stopping a mere foot in front of the entrance. Azahara was visibly nervous for her sister. “It’s written in the words of the gods, but an old, ancient version of it.”
“What does that even mean?” Mel said, not understanding.
Skyy grunted and shook her head. “It means that over time the words of the gods have been rewritten to be decipherable by our languages. This, this makes no sense how it is written.” She skimmed the words repeatedly.
Azahara surveyed their surroundings, her gaze scanning the tranquil forest. The stillness that enveloped this particular area was palpable, even more pronounced than during their ascent. Yet, there was an unsettling quality to it. The absence of wind left the trees motionless, as if frozen in time. No melodious bird songs echoed through the air, depriving the woods of their usual lively chorus. Not a trace of life could be detected within this small, desolate clearing spanning a mere quarter acre.
It was so quiet while Skyy was reading that Azahara swore she could hear her own heartbeat.
“It makes no sense.” She said again, irritated.
Mel sighed. “You said that already. Just say what it says.”
“It says,” Skyy emphasized the ‘s’ at the end. Little miss attitude here, Azahara thought. “The best I can get is ‘Time tilts at … the base’, no, that can’t be it. Is it ‘A broken time’? No, that does not look right either.” She was getting frustrated.
Azahara looked at the back of her sister’s head. “Skyy, it’s okay. Let us go; we have seen what we wanted to see—”
Skyy began walking into the opening of the temple.
“Skyy, do not go in there.” Azahara’s firm voice was not to be challenged.
Mel cowered behind her. “Skyy, listen to Azahara.”
She refrained from hesitation, and a curse slipped from Azahara’s lips. She swiftly turned to Mel, locking her gaze with determination. “Do not enter. Stay right here, please. I’m going to lift your sister onto my shoulder, and we’re leaving.” Her tone carried no trace of playfulness, only a resolute seriousness.
Turning from Mel she stomped towards the temple, disappearing into the darkness.
“I swear to the goddess Skyy, we are leaving.” With fervor, Azahara spoke, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness. She squinte
Although the structure outside was square, the room itself was circular. Its interior appeared untouched by nature, mortals, or gods alike, as if frozen in time. There was no trace of dust or cobwebs, and everything appeared gray, devoid of color and life. Yet, there was an eerie, ethereal quality to its dullness. Nothing demanded her attention except the pillar at the room’s center, where an hourglass rested.
Azahara found her sister standing aforementioned said pillar. She sucked air between her teeth and strode purposefully toward Skyy. “I said we are leaving,” her tone leaving no room for debate.
“It meant hourglass,” Skyy said. “Behold, the tilt of the hourglass lies here.”
Azahara looked at the hourglass, noticing that the sand had already poured from the top to the bottom, likely remaining in that state for thousands of years. “That is great, now we are leaving.” She said, placing her hand on Skyy’s forearm and giving a forceful tug.
Skyy jerked away, surprising her. Gritting her teeth, “Skyy…” She reached for her arm again, but Skyy swiftly jumped out of the way.
Before Azahara could even fathom her sister’s next move, Skyy took the hourglass into her hand and turned it over.
The blood drained from Azahara’s face as, within seconds, she kicked off her heels and tackled her sister to the ground, their shoulders meeting the hard surface as they both let out a cry of pain.
She did not pause but instead got to her knees and grabbed her sister’s shoulders. “Why,” she screamed, “why would you do that?!”
“I-I don’t know!” Skyy trembled. Azahara did not know if she was afraid of her or what she had done.
“Skyy? Azahara?” The sweet sound of Mel’s voice echoed in the chamber.
Please, no. She thought, pleading with whoever could hear her.
Azahara quickly stood, pulling Skyy to her feet and dragging her towards Mel. “We need to leave now.”
Before she even made it to her sister, the floor rumbled. The darkness of the room felt endless. The air thickened as the only light that filled the room vanished.
The sudden plunge into pitch-black darkness elicited a piercing scream of terror from Mel.
Azahara pulled Skyy, colliding into Mel’s lithe frame, their arms wrapping tightly around each other.
A heavy silence enveloped the chamber, broken only by the soft whimpering of Mel and Skyy.
The younger sisters trembled, their fear evident, while Azahara stood resolute. She was unsure of what she could do in this situation. The only weapon she possessed was a single knife, intended for mundane tasks like cutting fruits and vegetables or spreading jam on toast.
It wasn’t that Azahara lacked fear. She did feel it, but not for the same reasons as her sisters. The fear that gripped her was centered around their safety. She worried about what might happen to them, whether she would be able to navigate the situation and ensure their safe escape, keeping them unharmed and whole.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, another sound pierced the silence. It was not a sound she welcomed but rather one that filled her with apprehension: footsteps.
They echoed loudly in the confined chamber, drowning out the screams of Skyy and Mel. Unable to discern the steps clearly amidst the chaos, Azahara made a frantic move, swiftly guiding her sisters toward what she hoped was the nearest wall.
The cold, smooth stone met their backs abruptly, eliciting groans of pain. Azahara then positioned herself with her back against them, creating a protective barrier between her sisters and the unknown intruder.
“A protector.” A voice that was not theirs came.
“Please,” Azahara said with pain in her voice. “Keep your eyes closed.” She was speaking to her sisters. “For once in your years, please listen to me.”
“And a lover.” The voice said again.
It possessed a distinctly male quality, yet it emanated from beyond this realm. It transcended it, evoking a voice that defied mortal existence. Each word carried an ethereal echo, blending beauty and danger in perfect harmony.
“You turned my hourglass.” No questions. “Thank you.”
Azahara’s heart was pounding as she drowned out her sisters’ cries, attempting to focus on the voice and its proximity to them. It seemed to reverberate from every direction, engulfing them in its omnipresence.
“You are welcome; please, let us go.” Azahara addressed the voice.
He hummed. “Who are you?”
Why does it matter? She thought, her breathing becoming unsteady. It was coming closer to her.
“Your name, human.” He said forcefully this time.
“Azahara.”
“Beautiful name for a beautiful mortal.” Still, the voice was everywhere, and although she couldn’t see him, she knew he was mere inches from her.
Azahara shifted one of the hands that had been shielding her sister and extended it cautiously in front of her. With a trembling touch, she moved her fingers from left to right, hoping to encounter any tangible presence that might be lurking in the darkness.
“Do you want to know who I am?” There was eagerness behind those words.
“The god of this temple.” As Azahara answered, it wasn’t a body or a mere brush that she felt. Instead, cold, stiff fingers intertwined with hers, yanking her forcefully. She was surprised that her fingers didn’t crack under the immense pressure.
Azahara let out a pained scream as she collided with a hard object.
She heard her sisters scream out for her, but the sound faded into the distance as quickly as it had come.
Her eyes shot open.
She found herself still in the stone room, but as if someone had switched on the lights, everything became visible. Without hesitation, she turned around to search for her sisters, only to discover that they were nowhere to be found.
“Look at me.” Azahara gasped. The voice was right behind her. The body of the man, a god, towering over her.
She dared not look, or else it would be the end of her.
“Look at me, girl, I am no medusa.” A firm hand grabbed at her shoulder and spun her around.
She trained her eyes downward. She saw the feet of a man, humanoid in nature. They were large but to be expected for such a stature. The skin was slightly darker than her own.
“Look at me, girl!” He took her chin and forcefully made her look at him.
Though Azahara herself remained composed, it was the god before her who was taken aback by her ethereal beauty. His gaze, filled with a mixture of astonishment and intrigue, fixated upon the fiery-haired woman standing before him. Puzzled, her heart raced, her breath shaky, as she tried to comprehend the intensity of his stare.
The radiant yellow aura surrounding him confirmed his divine nature, casting a captivating glow in the chamber. The air felt charged with otherworldly energy, and she couldn’t help but tremble in his presence.
“My goddess, you steal my breath.” He said, moving his hands around Azahara’s face without touching her. Over her shoulders, down her arms, to her stomach. She gasped but did not move. His fingers were mere centimeters from her as he moved back up, one of them grazing her breast. “Oh—my.” There was a low growl that hummed in his throat.
Azahara shook her head. “Where are my sisters?” She asked through bated breath.
“Who are you?” He asked the same question again.
“I told you. Where are my sisters?” Azahara asked again, trying to find the strength and courage she did not have.
“Not your name, girl.” He said, beginning to circle her. “No mere human could be this beautiful.” Not a question. “Yet someone has blessed you with such divinity.”
Azahara hated cryptic messaging. “I am human. Now, where are my sisters?” She bit her lip at how harsh she sounded. She did not want to gaze at him for fear of the pain that was coming.
“Outside.” He said pointedly, and she believed him.
A sigh of relief. “Alive?” She asked, hopeful.
“Asleep.” His voice was straight to the point, seemingly bored with her questioning.
He came back into view after circling her like a vulture. Azahara scrutinized him, truly taking in his appearance this time. His body was a sculpted masterpiece, accentuated by his lack of a shirt, revealing his chiseled physique. His face exuded a captivating allure, with sharp contours and impeccably placed features, from his defined chin to the slant of his eyes. And those eyes, a mesmerizing shade of red, almost maroon, seemed to consume her very being.
