She nodded. Her mother’s ancestors had been one of the earliest families, if not the first.
“My father’s side was as well. We’re the ones who chose that particular site,” he told her, picking up a small rock and rolling it between his fingers. It was a nervous tic of his. He’d always needed to keep his hands busy, and it indicated his unrest over the topic. “We kept our names off the founder’s list and changed the story so that it would seem we joined in the turbulent years directly after.”
“Why?” she asked.
He shrugged. “To confuse our enemy and hide one of the Keep’s original purposes. We’re the ones who carried the Lux out of Belaria.”
Shea straightened, her lips parting as she blinked dumbly at her father. This part of the story had never been revealed before.
Patrick ignored her surprise. “My so many times, great, great grandfather was the Lux’s creator. He tasked his line with its protection. It’s our greatest burden and highest honor. I suppose you’re part of that tradition now.”
“Why was I not told about this before?” Shea asked.
“About the time you were ready to hear this story, you left for the Badlands,” he said as if that explained everything.
“And you had to be sure I hadn’t been tainted by my time there,” Shea guessed.
“You’ve seen what can happen.”
That she had.
“What is the Lux?” Shea asked. She had a vague idea based on conversations between her mother and others. She also had caught the briefest of glimpses of it on its pedestal before the doors to the chamber were closed, the one time she’d followed her mother down there. She didn’t know much beyond those brief details.
“The Lux wasn’t originally a weapon. It was supposed to do good, but as so many things created in that time, it was eventually turned to that purpose,” he explained. “Do you know Lux means light in the old language?”
Shea shook her head.
“It was supposed to be a burning beacon of hope. Instead, it killed thousands.” He plucked another pebble from the ground, rolling it in his hand with the first. “By the end of the cataclysm, its creator decided to hide it beneath the Keep in the hopes it would one day be used for its intended purpose. Personally, I think he just didn’t know how to destroy it.”
She had so many questions she almost didn’t know where to start. Shea opened her mouth to ask more. A cry from behind distracted her.
Patrick jumped to his feet. A furred body tackled him. Shea caught the impression of a long tail capped by a tuft of fur before Patrick toppled over the other side of the ridge. He hit the ground and rolled, his assailant still attached as they careened down the steep incline.
“Dad,” Shea shouted. She paused as shouts alerted her to the fact that Trenton, Buck and Reece were dealing with their own set of problems.
She didn’t hesitate, darting down the hill after her father. The other three had each other to watch their backs. Her father only had her.
Shea picked up speed, sprinting down the sharp incline, her legs moving almost too fast for her body as she prayed she wouldn’t trip and break her neck.
She hit the bottom at a run, dashing toward where her father struggled. She didn’t draw her sword, the warning she’d given the others at the start of this journey still holding true. Blood drew beasts, even when it was the blood of another beast. She needed to avoid that if at all possible.
Chittering snarls reached her. It was an otoo, about the size of a medium-sized dog. It looked cute and cuddly—with the dark ring of fur around its eyes and soft cream and gray of its fur—it was anything but cuddly. Its long tail whipped in glee.
Her father fought to keep the otoo from ripping out his throat as it jumped up and down on his stomach. Shea reached them in the next second, grabbing the otoo around the waist and flinging it as far as she could.
It hit the ground, rolling to its feet. It hopped closer, cocking its head and making a warbling, growling sound. It was like an extraordinarily large bunny crossed with a feline. The otoo was oddly shaped, its back legs taking most of its weight. Its jump covered long distances—a trait helpful in the rocky terrain of the Badlands where its habitat tended to be the boulder fields and steep cliffs.
Shea stooped and grabbed a small rock, holding it as she watched the otoo. She hadn’t thought the beast particularly aggressive. The ones she encountered in the Highlands tended to mind their own business unless threatened.
It could be that the Badlands made them more violent or perhaps Shea and her group had wandered unknowingly into its territory.
Either way, she’d like to keep it from attacking again. Its kick could cave in a grown man’s chest if it hit just right.
“Go on, get out of here,” Shea said, gesturing violently at it.
It bared teeth at her, the sharply pointed molars flashing, the kind that were perfect for sheering flesh from bone.
It crouched, the muscles in its legs bunching before it sprang. Shea lashed out with the rock, hitting the otoo on the side of the head. It gave a sharp cry of pain before fleeing up the ridge, leaving Shea and her father behind.
