Ten

Hey! This is the first of a ten-part series about Keys: what they open, how they were lost, etc. I hope it turns out as well as I'm hoping - please comment below, and tell me what you think!
Thanks!
​-Little Lion

One key of ivory, from a broken horn
One key of ebony, a rock from the shore
One of pearl, taken from the sea
One of gold, pure as can be
One of tin, salvaged from a roof
One of jade, a former monkey statue’s tooth
One of saphire, kept in a Kings pocket
One of copper wire, Hephaestus’ son
One of stars, ancient history
One of sunlight, a bright mystery.

Ten
One key of ivory, from a broken horn

I shake the match to extinguish it, and drop it into the fledgling fire. My hands are freezing, and I hold them up to the small flames. I can taste snow on the air, and pray it won't come down tonight- it's been a long, cold day, and I don't need to wake up buried in snow.
I burrow into my blankets, hoping to get warm before I start supper.
Before I know it, I'm snapping awake, the fire dead, and my blanket dusted in snow.
I curse the gods, and call for my horse, gathering my two packs and blanket. He follows me to the nearby woods, and I settle back against an oak tree.
With a command, my horse settles down in front of me, legs folded underneath him as the elder has trained all of our horses to do. I cover myself completely with my blanket. In case it snows much tonight, I will be able to rise tomorrow.
The next morning, I shake off the few inches of snow that have accumulated, and rise, stretching my arms above my head.
My horse snorts, and rises as well.
I tie my packs to my back, feeling for the key of white on a piece of string around my neck.
My fingers find fur, air, and beads.
No key.
I mount my horse, thinking it futile to pursue the key carved from a great buffalo horn Chief slain so many years ago.

“Anna! Don’t!”
I wrench the box away from her, and she yells something, probably a question, in Spanish back at me.
My fingers run over the eagle carved into the lid, hearing my grandfather's voice rumble in my ears.
This was given to me by my father, your great-grandfather, who got it from his grandfather. It’s never been opened- the key was lost a long, long time ago.
“Anna, you know this box is special, very... special. It’s been passed down that the key was lost after a snow, when my ancestor was heading for home. He told his wife when he reached the Indian settlement to hide this, hide it well, Anna. We don’t know what’s inside it, you see.”
Anna walks forward, eyes bright, and reaches out to touch the eagle.
“Maybe it's time we find out.”
“No! No! There's no way we're breaking this box open. We- we can't!”
“But you don't know what's inside, Jake!”
“That's the point, Anna. Our children won't know. Our grandchildren won't know. My ancestors didn't know. We certainly aren't going to break it open just to know what's inside. It teaches a certain respect for your past, having a family heirloom to pass down like this.”
She holds her hands up, conceding. “All right, all right, Jake. Have it your way.”
Anna leaves, and I gently set the box down on the table before grabbing my car keys and the grocery list.
“Anna, I’m going to the store!”
“Don't forget the milk!”
“Yes, dear.”

I know Jake wouldn't want me to open it- he would probably divorce me if I so much as tell him about the key his mother gave me.
The women in the family all know not to tell their husbands that we can, and have, opened the eagle box.
I hear his car start. I watch out the window as he pulls out of the driveway, and drives off.
I fetch the key from my keychain, and walk to the box, sitting where Jake put it down on the table.
I insert and turn the key, smiling at what I see.
When Jake's however-so-many-great’s grandmother opened her husband's box, she was stunned to find only an arrowhead inside. Ever since, as it's been passed down, more items have been added by the women. I've already added my contribution to the memories inside- a photograph of Jake and I with his grandmother, days before she died.
I lock the box, and put my keys away.
Our children won't know about the key until they get married; the oldest gets the box, per tradition.
The legend of the box has two sides: the lore, and the reality. Without the key, it would only be a wooden box, with a old arrowhead; with the key, it’s a treasure trove of memories.