Author's Note:  Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the new (hopefully) improved version of The Enigmatic Timekeeper.  I am Silken Petal Waning, and will be your hostess for the course of this story ^_^.   The PG-13 still applies to most areas of the story, but considering American ratings don't appear to have a between, there was no suitable rating to convey who can and cannot view this tale, in some areas an R rating may have to suffice.  This prologue is PG-13.

  Well, here you are: the new improved story.  I was not satisfied with the original in that it moved too fast, with too many questions left unanswered and it was beginning to turn into a tedious soap opera.  In this, I've incorporated more of the tale on both sides, and we have villains!  Yay!  Maybe you'll be able to guess whom, but I'm not going to reveal the identities - well, not yet anyway.

  So here is a short prologue (mostly concerned with our heroine, her brother, her cat, and those annoying stalkers) to ease you into the scheme of things as they begin to occur. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I do writing it!  Please, wipe your feet by the door and, if you're feeling charitable, leave a cookie or a review on your way out.  Chapter one will hopefully be posted soon.

  Comments, questions, I'm sure you know the drill 0_^.

  Disclaimer:  Even if I were the reincarnation of Tolkien, nothing branded with his name would belong to me.  To my utmost knowledge I am not the reincarnation of anything.  In simple terms, I don't own half of the things in my story ^_^.

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  Depthless, a soothing emptiness, a place that did not exist, a nothingness sustained by Time and yet beyond its reach.  He stood, suspended, drifting in the timeless void: a well of knowledge, a pool of existence.  It was everything, this abyss between.  And he - he was all, a surging tide that bore love and hate and joy and grief: every emotion and sense infused his veins, etched in his soul.  This void belonged to him, as he belonged to it.  This nothingness was born of him, he begotten of it.

  His arrival had been belated.  The destruction had already begun: dismally he beheld the unravelling of the seams, undoing years of hard toil and sacrifice; the slow decay of his own being as the division began.  Time was sundering.  The process had to be halted.

  Desperately he swept into the anarchy, haphazardly seizing the pieces as they fell, directing them to order.  But his command was no longer heeded.  No sooner had success been achieved than it came apart once more: autumn leaves stripped from a rotten bough, fluttering to the ground, irrevocable.  Dead.  He knew frustration and despair, a master whose servants had turned upon him in his hour of need.  The efforts involved in his exertions were attenuating him.  His strength was depleted, insufficient for the inestimable task before him.

  Inside influence would not work.  And it was beckoning again.

  So close ... so tempting ...

  » Who are you, Changer?  Where are you? «

 

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  The pallid rays of a grey morning sluiced through the gap in the curtains, falling like a ghostly blade across her forehead.  Rain tapped gently at the windowpane, a soft soothing lull.  A pedestal fan hummed quietly in the corner, teasing her tousled fringe with a cool breeze.  Immersing herself in the quietude, she sought sleep again, tossing restlessly in the blankets she had rucked in last night's heat.  Late summer's oppressing humidity dampened the air, hard to breathe and causing sweat to prickle discomfortingly down her neck.  The last vestiges of a fleeing dream brushed against her consciousness, sweeping stealthily past her fumbling grasp as she tried to recall it.  It had been so real, almost remembered - but it had not been her memory.  Surely not. ...

  Her door hung ajar.  Blearily she stared at it, as a sliver of fluorescent white light and the hiss of water on ceramic tiles drifted through.  The shower door swung shut.  'Shit!' the occupant cursed, and wet feet made a hasty exit.  Her door was swung wide open, admitting the shadowed form of her brother, arrayed in a towel and with beads of water sliding down his skin to pool at his feet.  'Sean, don't drip on the carpet,' she admonished in exasperation, resigned to the fact that the peace was now extinct.

  'Did you turn the hot water off last night, Jenny?' he asked accusingly, slicking his copper hair out of his freckled face.  'Because it's bloody freezing!'

  'No.  Just go and press the reset button,' she said, heaving a sigh.  Sean mumbled something inaudible, gripping his towel firmly about his waist as it made to slip away.  Jenny rubbed her misted eyes.  The digital clock informed her that it was 5:30 a.m.  Groaning, she took up her spectacles and perched them upon the bridge of her nose.  Restive tresses hung unkempt about her face. Traces of her original copper colour were inconspicuously peeking through the brown dye.  Impatiently she waved her matted locks aside and left the inviting dimness of her bedroom.

  As she shuffled sleepily into the kitchen, resplendent in her old Winnie-the-Pooh nightshirt and pinstriped pyjama bottoms, a sinuous something curled on a black vinyl lounge chair uncoiled lazily, leaping lightly to the floor and running to her with a plaintive meow.  'All right, all right Milo.  I haven't forgotten your breakfast,' Jenny informed the ginger tabby as it twined lovingly about her legs. 

  As the water boiled in the kettle and the bread toasted Sean emerged from the bathroom, having completed the morning's primping session to his satisfaction.  Jenny had given up on trying to persuade him to be a little less liberal with the hair gel.  In her personal opinion he looked like a badly pruned cactus, with a crown of gravity-defying spiky red hair poking from his head.  But then, could anything save a new fad dissuade a nineteen-year-old from following what was considered the latest fashionable trend?  'Did the hot water work?' she asked him conversationally as he searched in the pantry for the coffee.  'Look on the third shelf, next to the pasta.' 

  'It did when I hit it,' Sean replied, sliding the terracotta sugar pot across the marble bench and fetching a mug from the cupboard.  Jenny rolled her eyes.  The curtains were drawn back, admitting the watery light of a miserable day.  Milo meticulously rubbed a well-licked paw over his face, belly sated, and returned to his cosy cushion on the chair, fashioning his personal nest to his liking before settling down with a purr.  Sean rudely disturbed him by thrusting his hand under Milo's bedding to retrieve the remote control for the television.  The cat gave him a reproachful glare and sauntered out of the room, making for Jenny's bedroom with his fluffed tail flicking haughtily behind him.

  Jenny prepared the morning's repast of peppermint tea and toast smothered with raspberry jam, seating herself at the table and idly browsing last week's newspaper.  As the weatherman announced that showers could be expected to continue until Friday evening with a possible storm on Saturday, Sean joined Jenny at the table.  The sky visible through the tall buildings of the city blushed with a faint tinge of rose, a subtle hint of the morning hiding behind dreary rain clouds.

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  Hark to it.  Cannot you feel its call?  So potent - so ... powerful.  I want it.  I want her.  You will bring her to me, the Outworlder woman.

  'Yes, sire, but might I be so bold as to inquire how you intend for me to fetch her?'

  The Way Between Worlds, you fool.

  'But it is zealously guarded!  The Timekeeper - he bides there.'

  You fear him?

  'Well, no; but he has no love for me.  And even if he suffers my passage, how am I to persuade her to accompany me?  Like as not, she will refuse.'

  Do not think to gainsay me.  A Snake-Charmer such as you must have certain methods of persuasion.  Wear a facade.  Slip through.  Dispose of him.  Do whatever you must; but I must have it and her here, whole and unharmed.  I will have no further quarrel with you.  Leave before my disposition changes.  It is highly probable that my change in mood will not sway in your favour.

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  A fine veil of misting rain laced the outside air.  Jenny dried the obscured lenses of her glasses on her jacket as her hair fought against the firm-hold hairspray.  Sean climbed into the driver's seat of their shared red Holden Barina and beckoned to her.  'Hurry up,' he said.  Jenny threw her shoulder bag at him as she clambered in and fastened her seatbelt.  Sean dumped the bag on the back seat.

  Wandering in thought, Jenny found herself transfixed on the rhythmic movement of the windscreen wipers as her brother drove.  Sean tapped the steering wheel as he hummed uncertainly to the song on the radio. 

  A glowering red light impeded them at an intersection.  Jenny twisted around in her seat of a sudden, driven by impulse.  The hair on the back of her neck prickled like - like someone, or something, was watching her.  Rain trickled down the glass at the back, fogging everything beyond.  It was hard to see if any suspicious characters observed her from a vantage point.  The feeling subsided.  Jenny frowned.  Stress, she concluded wearily.  But then, there it was again - that disquieting sensation of being appraised by unseen eyes.  Casting quick glances over both shoulders, Jenny settled uneasily back in her seat when Sean requested for her to sit still.  It seemed to take forever for the green light to flash, and the traffic to move again.  Almost as if everything had been suspended in time.

  But that was impossible.

*

  Across the street the little green neon man flashed, proclaiming the road safe to cross.  As men and women jostled past him, he looked askance at the Barina once more.  A glimpse of blue peeked from beneath his dark sunglasses, incongruous with the hazel that flashed as he turned upon his heel and strode away.

*

  The smooth heels of her boots slipped on the asphalt of the car park, treacherously slick with water.  'I'll see you later,' Sean said, pocketing the car keys.  'Wait,' Jenny said quickly, touching her brother on the shoulder.  'Let's have lunch,' she suggested.  'It's been ages since we did anything family-orientated.'

  'Okay,' Sean conceded, his expression torn between a bemused frown and an amused smile.  'How about Gloria's at, say, twelve-thirty?'

  'Alright.'

  'Good.  I'll see you at lunch then.'  He offered her a brief wave as he hastened for the backdoor of his workplace: a twenty-four hour general store, the brick posterior of which provided the perfect canvas for young graffiti artists to commemorate their presences or love lives, discordantly decorated with scrawled messages such as 'Jet wuz ere '96', 'Markie 4 Alli', and 'Kay's a FAG.'  Jenny reciprocated Sean's gesture and shouldering her bag, stepped out onto the pavement already alive with pedestrian traffic.

  Awkwardly weaving through the living labyrinth she shouldered her way through the crowd, excusing herself to an obviously decorous young man dressed impeccably in a navy business suit.  He frowned at her as she bumped into him and clumsily slid past with a hasty apology, but flawlessly continued the conversation he was holding via mobile phone.  Pushing her insistently untidy hair out of her brown-flecked face, Jenny clutched her bag close to her as though it would buoy her up in the maelstrom of people.  She checked the antique watch on her left wrist, bequeathed to her by her great aunt Muriel.  No doubt it would attract a hefty offer from an avid collector, but to Jenny it was priceless.  Delicate lines danced about the ebony frame, worked with seams of emerald, almost like some foreign writing system.  It was a beautiful timepiece, wrought with skill and a great deal of patience.  According to it, the time was now a quarter to eight.  She was already late.

  A youth studiously pushed past her, laughing as she stumbled.  Fortunately she did not lose any of her work folders, and rewarded the young churl with an expressive hand gesture for his trouble.

  Bastard.  Now, where are those tax records...?

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  The alley was cluttered with refuse carelessly discarded through the years.  It reeked of rodents and vegetable matter in various stages of degeneration.  Soggy cardboard slumped limply against concrete walls scarred by years of vandalism.  Choked dustbins threatened to vomit their contents on a street speckled black with old chewing gum.  The razor edges of shards of broken glass winked in the disheartened sunlight.

  A decrepit door stood despondently in the far wall.  The blue paint had chipped and peeled over time, succumbing to the elements with no hope of repair.  The building had been abandoned long ago because of structural faults, and was now supposedly empty, obsolescent.  The faded gold letters on the grimy glass read "McKinley & Co. Quality Traders Est. 1854."  Slender fingers furtively pried apart the dusty wooden venetians shuttering the dirty window. 

  Kneeling, the newcomer plucked further fragments of rotten wood from his trousers, having set his foot through the worn floorboards.  No matter: a frayed fragment of carpet he had found lying by a rusted sink had soon patched that problem.  He could see nothing through the fouled glass of the window and let the blinds slip back into place.

  The door creaked open a fraction, rusted hinges protesting.  Grey eyes flickered in brief appraisal of the outside world, and the aquiline nose wrinkled in distaste as he withdrew into the dank dimness of the decrepit McKinley headquarters.

  'I have gained the Outworld,' he announced to dust motes swirling about his head.

  Good, good.  And the Timekeeper?

  He smirked.  'He was not present.  I stole the index and found my own way through.'

  Ah, excellent.  Your progress is pleasing, Snake-Charmer.  Now, find the Outworlder who currently has possession of that which I covet.  It must not be allowed to fall into his hands, for his absence can only mean that he, too, has been alerted of its existence.

  It was good to bathe in his master's approval, to be regarded with such high esteem by one of such high rank.  Like a dandled infant basking in the adoration of proud parents, he smiled.  'I shall find her,' he promised.

  Yes, you will.  Because if you do not, there will be great gratification for me in strangling you with your entrails, and leaving you to hang by them as carrion for the crebain.

  Scowling, he crept once more the door, and, when assured that the street was empty, slipped into the open air.  With a pale hand he casually flicked lank black hair from his languid, long-jawed countenance.  Utilising a much-practised caution, said Snake-Charmer emerged carefully into the open air: the insidious predator taking up the hunt.

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  'You're late.'  Sean accosted his sister with this accusation as she dropped wearily into the opposite chair.  She closed her eyes for a moment, savouring the breath of the air conditioning upon her perspiration-beaded brow.  'Busy.  Network crashed,' she offered by way of quick excuse.  Sean merely set a menu between them and began to peruse it at leisure.  Jenny shook her head and picked up her own.  As tantalising and exotic as some of the dishes on offer sounded, she read the various names without appetite.  Her stomach had been performing somersaults all morning, ever since that feeling - the one of being watched.  And it had returned to trouble her after a transient reprieve.

  'Aren't you going to order, Jen?'  Sean's voice broke through her reverie.  Returning to reality she noticed a waitress had appeared beside them, eyes upon her and with a pen poised expectantly above her notepad.  'Oh, um, I'm not really that hungry; but I'll have a peach and rose tea with honey, please,' Jenny said.

  'How many teaspoons, love?'

  'Two thanks.'

  'Right.  Won't be long.'

  Lunch was the meal that coffee shops and cafes benefited from the most.  Today, however, the noon-time crowd frequenting Gloria's had diminished, comprised only of Jenny and Sean, an elderly couple seated in a corner sipping tea, four young women chatting animatedly over cappuccinos and muffins in the opposite booth, and a lonely man wearing sunglasses and reading a newspaper at the table closest to the entrance, wisps of steam curling from the cup at his left elbow.

  'Empty,' remarked Sean.  'Mmm,' Jenny hummed in agreement.  The sweet aroma of peaches laced with a fragrance of rose crept into her nostrils.  The waitress had returned and set their orders on the table.  'Right, loves; enjoy,' she smiled warmly and bustled away.

  Sean picked contemplatively at his calamari, head resting in hand, elbow on the table.  Jenny stole a few chips.  'Oi!  You said you weren't hungry,' he mock-protested.  Jenny merely simpered at him as she ate the spoils.

  The man seated by the door gave the two a brief glance, drained his coffee, and returned the newspaper to the stand.  A glint of green flashed through the dark lenses of his sunglasses as he decorously combed a hand through his raven hair, and fishing a mobile phone from his pocket merged into the flowing crowd and vanished.

  As though a great encumbrance had been removed from her shoulders Jenny felt a great sense of relief.  She realised that the onerous foreboding had gone.

  The gaze that had been unsettling her all morning had been averted: she was no longer being watched.  Was it merely happenstance that this relief had occurred with the departure of the dark-haired diner?

  Yes, just coincidence ...  Those chips look good - yoink.

  'Hey!  Get your own lunch.'

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  'Utilise your surroundings.  You are not of this world.  Manipulate it, shape it to suit your purposes.'

  'When did you learn that?'

  'A long, long time ago.  What does not fit you can set aright, because your existence is not dependant upon anything here.  The pattern is different: you are not immersed in the current, you are outside of it.'

  'I do not exist here, then?  What of you?'

 'I am immersed within the current of both worlds: my existence is incumbent upon each pattern, for I do not belong to any sole flow.  If they tear, I will share that fate.  They cannot be divided without terrible devastation ensuing, a veritable cataclysm to extinguish all life.  That is why I need you: here, you are the Catalyst.  I am not within my element, not the Changer here.'

  'But - I do not know how to be a Catalyst!  How can I be an influence on Time's machinations?  You are the Keeper, not me.'

  'Please.  I need you.  They need you.  I cannot do this alone.'

  'Very well.  I will try to do this thing, but only because you ask it of me.  Teach me to be a Changer.'

  'Good.  But first, there is a more pressing matter that must be attended to.  The second Catalyst must be found.  The only one who can change your world.  And I have my suspicions…'

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