The Keeper: A Short Story Prequel to Forbidden by Ted Dekker, Tosca Lee
Authors: Ted Dekker, Tosca Lee
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The Keeper
The day Pavel and Gustov Malincovich learned that they were dead was like any other day in the Russian wasteland—hot, dry, and sublimely quiet.
The seasoned twins lived alone in the hovel where they had spent nearly thirty years practicing the near-monastic discipline of the hermit separated from the rest of the world. They were fifty-one years of age—identical in appearance down to their threadbare robes, the blue eyes in their weathered faces, and the grey beards that hung from their chins.
Their existence was a simple affair dedicated entirely to stripping away the distractions of a world gone mad to chase peace through perfect Order. A small price to pay for the promise of Bliss in the life to come.
But tonight everything the brothers thought they knew about life was about to change.
Pavel sat outside on a log beside his brother, staring in silence at the cook fire crackling at their feet, listening to the wind rustling through the trees at the edge of the clearing. His hands, rough from years of carving a living out of the wasteland, cupped a tin cup filled with water. He did not speak because there was nothing new to say, nothing to do but simply
be
. In that way, fear—the natural enemy of the living—could not control him.
Beyond the periphery of firelight the mud house crouched beneath a scraggly pine. Pavel pushed to his feet, about to go inside, when Gustov abruptly grabbed him by the arm.
Gustov was staring past him to the edge of the clearing.
When Pavel turned, he discovered the reason for his brother’s gaze: a man carrying a small lantern, coming toward them through the trees with soft, crunching steps. Fear sliced into Pavel’s mind—where had he come from? The nearest town was half a day’s walk to the south, where the brothers went once a month for supplies.
The man was dressed in a long tunic with a pack over his shoulder. His beard was almost as grizzled as Pavel’s own, though he looked a few years younger. He was alone.
Gustov was the first to speak their customary greeting. “Welcome to our fire, my friend. Our life is yours.”
The stranger shifted his gaze to Gustov. There was something particularly unnerving about the steadiness of it. “No. It’s not. But if you’re worthy, perhaps my life can be yours.”
“Are you in trouble?” Gustov said.
“Terrible trouble.”
“Who would cause you this trouble—out here, where there is no one?” Pavel said.
“You would.”
“But you are mistaken. We mean no one trouble. Certainly not to a stranger in need of shelter and rest.”
“I’m not looking for shelter or rest.”
“Then what do you seek?” Gustov asked, concern clear in his voice. “We have nothing of value but our hospitality.”
“I seek two dead men who would know the truth.”
This time he could not suppress his own fear.
“You mean to kill us?”
“No,” the stranger said. “You’re already dead.”
He was mad! Mind lost to the wasteland.
And that meant he was dangerous.
Pavel willed the tremor in his hands to quiet and spread them to calm the man. “My friend, as you can see, we’re very much alive, and we would like to stay that way. My name is Pavel and this is my brother, Gustov. Come, unburden yourself, tell us your name.” Pavel motioned to the log across the fire.
The stranger stared at them for a moment, then sat on the log and took a deep breath.
“My name is Talus,” he said. “Today, as I was coming to find you, I passed a gulch where I heard a faint and dreadful crying. So I veered from my course to find the source of such a mournful sound. I couldn’t manage the thought of passing someone in such terrible need, as you can imagine.”
“Of course.” Gustov nodded.
“There in the bottom of the gulch I found a girl who’d fallen from the crest. She might have been twelve—a beautiful, dark-haired girl. Her face was pale—dirtied and streaked with tears. But it wasn’t her sweet face that drew my
The day Pavel and Gustov Malincovich learned that they were dead was like any other day in the Russian wasteland—hot, dry, and sublimely quiet.
The seasoned twins lived alone in the hovel where they had spent nearly thirty years practicing the near-monastic discipline of the hermit separated from the rest of the world. They were fifty-one years of age—identical in appearance down to their threadbare robes, the blue eyes in their weathered faces, and the grey beards that hung from their chins.
Their existence was a simple affair dedicated entirely to stripping away the distractions of a world gone mad to chase peace through perfect Order. A small price to pay for the promise of Bliss in the life to come.
But tonight everything the brothers thought they knew about life was about to change.
Pavel sat outside on a log beside his brother, staring in silence at the cook fire crackling at their feet, listening to the wind rustling through the trees at the edge of the clearing. His hands, rough from years of carving a living out of the wasteland, cupped a tin cup filled with water. He did not speak because there was nothing new to say, nothing to do but simply
be
. In that way, fear—the natural enemy of the living—could not control him.
Beyond the periphery of firelight the mud house crouched beneath a scraggly pine. Pavel pushed to his feet, about to go inside, when Gustov abruptly grabbed him by the arm.
Gustov was staring past him to the edge of the clearing.
When Pavel turned, he discovered the reason for his brother’s gaze: a man carrying a small lantern, coming toward them through the trees with soft, crunching steps. Fear sliced into Pavel’s mind—where had he come from? The nearest town was half a day’s walk to the south, where the brothers went once a month for supplies.
The man was dressed in a long tunic with a pack over his shoulder. His beard was almost as grizzled as Pavel’s own, though he looked a few years younger. He was alone.
Gustov was the first to speak their customary greeting. “Welcome to our fire, my friend. Our life is yours.”
The stranger shifted his gaze to Gustov. There was something particularly unnerving about the steadiness of it. “No. It’s not. But if you’re worthy, perhaps my life can be yours.”
“Are you in trouble?” Gustov said.
“Terrible trouble.”
“Who would cause you this trouble—out here, where there is no one?” Pavel said.
“You would.”
“But you are mistaken. We mean no one trouble. Certainly not to a stranger in need of shelter and rest.”
“I’m not looking for shelter or rest.”
“Then what do you seek?” Gustov asked, concern clear in his voice. “We have nothing of value but our hospitality.”
“I seek two dead men who would know the truth.”
This time he could not suppress his own fear.
“You mean to kill us?”
“No,” the stranger said. “You’re already dead.”
He was mad! Mind lost to the wasteland.
And that meant he was dangerous.
Pavel willed the tremor in his hands to quiet and spread them to calm the man. “My friend, as you can see, we’re very much alive, and we would like to stay that way. My name is Pavel and this is my brother, Gustov. Come, unburden yourself, tell us your name.” Pavel motioned to the log across the fire.
The stranger stared at them for a moment, then sat on the log and took a deep breath.
“My name is Talus,” he said. “Today, as I was coming to find you, I passed a gulch where I heard a faint and dreadful crying. So I veered from my course to find the source of such a mournful sound. I couldn’t manage the thought of passing someone in such terrible need, as you can imagine.”
“Of course.” Gustov nodded.
“There in the bottom of the gulch I found a girl who’d fallen from the crest. She might have been twelve—a beautiful, dark-haired girl. Her face was pale—dirtied and streaked with tears. But it wasn’t her sweet face that drew my
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