Keepers of the Crown

by Lydia Redwine

  “Whatsortofservices?” Camwondered. This placedidn’t appear to be a pleasure house.

  “As for the rest,” she said, “It is for your own enjoyment.” More cheers and clapping and Cam found herself smiling at the childlike entrancement of the woman’s patrons. The woman herself was laughing. “First music!” she announced over the din. “Then a story.”

  The loudest cheering was now issued, and Cam looked to Fiera. Her sister was beginning to smile. “We should find the boys,” Fiera said. “Before they become as rowdy as these.” Cam agreed. Fiera grabbed her hand before they dove into the crowd.

  Music in some far corner was struck up, lutes and lyres, tambourines and drums. This was not the music of Mirabelle. At one point, a tin plate of food was pushed into Cam’s hands. Another into Fiera’s. It was warm bread and sizzling fish. They found Caleb and Joel in a corner on stools beneath a festoon of cobwebs. Caleb was laughing, face red, and ale sloshing from his cup. Joel was smiling and tapping a foot on the wooden floor to the music. Fiera’s brows rose as she observed Caleb. “What’s happened to him?” she asked Joel.

  Joel only shrugged.

  The music was dying out now to be replaced by deafening acclamation. The woman had never left but had been seated throughout the course of the music and the dancing. She had conversed with many, accepting food and gifts. “Why do they love her so much?” Cam wondered. Yes, she was beautiful, and she seemed kind. But there seemed to be more for all these people to trek through a forest of thorns to come to her. And they...adored her. This much was evident as she became the center once more and waving her hand for silence.

  The room hushed, and the people were soon seated. “The story, now,” Cam surmised. The woman motioned to one of the musicians. With a nod, he placed the flute to his mouth and began a slow, trilling tune. It was nothing festive like what the people had just been dancing to. It was haunting and calming simultaneously.

  The woman began, her voice clear and warm. “In days long gone past, there arose from the swelling sands a kingdom rich in power and preserve.” She spoke was a voice that drove Cam’s mind to envision golden-brown sand beneath a radiant, blue sky.

  “Over them, they built gods of gold and silver and temples of brick and mortar. They were a kingdom of wealth and divine, reaching to the mountains and the sparkling Scarlet Sea. They bore the blood of kings and heroes, princes and mages. Until…”

  Here the room was entirely hushed except the trilling flute in the corner accompanying the woman’s words. “Until the people of Perez took it into their hands to enslave their friends of the east. Their comrades dwelling in their lands, with darker skins and fervent prayers, with one god they claimed to exist solely with no other to contend. They threw their princes into rivers and their daughters to vipers. They summoned fire and winds and sang songs to their gods as they tore their skins.”

  Here the woman paused, her eyes alight on the crowd, her hands extended to her sides. Her voice grew softer.

  “But these people, the enslaved and tortured who now held the kingdom on their shoulders, were not to be forgotten. For their god, their Elyon would not forsake them.”

  Cam felt her breathing hitch, her mind froze around that single word. “Elyon…”

  The woman rose her brown arms and circled them above her head. “Elyon broughtbloodandbeasts, storms anddarkness, death and plunder to the people who would kill and hate their fellow men. And thus, Elyon’s people escaped the land of Perez to dwell in one rich in honey and safety…”

  “Enboria,” Cam heard Joel murmur. She turned to him, brows furrowing. “That is theland that thepeopleof Elyon made for themselves. Enboria. Until they were no longer faithful, and it fell to ruin.”

  The flute’s tune hadpickedup to something merrier than what it had been moments ago. The woman was finishing in song, now, rather than by speaking.

  “How many are my foes,

  how they rise up against me.

  But you are

  the shield at my helm,

  the dagger in my hand,

  seer of my soul roaming realm,

  the fist of my rebellion,

  the color of my victory,

  wings of my withstanding.

  Elyon, from You, comes my deliverance, no fear shall come of the thousands as the tide,

  no fear shall come at the breaking of the starlight at the tearing of the veil of night.

  May You remain,

  evermore.

  Evermore.

  Evermore.

  May You remain evermore

  Cam jolted forward at the warmth and familiarity of the song. The words she knew because they were sung in her tongue. The meaning she knew because…

  It had been sung to her before. Years, ages, eons ago. In the far distance, her soul knew it even as her memory could not tell her time and place. She looked to her companions to find Fiera’s eyes glowing and Caleb and Joel…

  They were singing along. Both were smiling, eyes sparkling. This was a song of the Spirit Followers. When the woman had ceased singing, and the flute had trilled out its final notes, the room erupted into cheers once more. The woman dipped her head before scanning the room. Cam felt, rather than saw her eyes snag on her. Well, not her, but those she was with. Joel and Caleb were still singing the song.

  Cam watched the woman’s features change fro m soft merriment to a flickering curiosity. Cam guessed that the storyteller knew most who ventured to this castle and found their company of four out of place. And…

  No one else in the room had sung the song.

  Cam placed a hand on Joel’s arm as the woman stepped down from asmall platform andmadeherway towardthem.“Oh no…” Joel murmured. She took some time before people extended their hands to her.

  “Newcomers,” she said in the same hospitable tone. “Welcome.”

  “Thank you,” Joel said as he stepped forward and extended a hand. The woman looked him over, then, slowly, she smiled and shook his hand.

  “It has been some time since I have had new guests to entertain,” she remarked. “I am glad to make your acquaintance, Sir…”

  “Joel,” Joel said quickly without including his last name. “And these are my friends: Caleb, Fiera, and Camaria.”

  The woman shook each of their hands. “Where do you hail from?” she asked.

  “Various places,” Caleb said as he made to finish the last of his ale.

  The woman laughed. “You, good sir, are from Caranthia, if I remembering their common features correctly.”

  Caleb froze mid-sip, brows raised. He lowered his cup. “And you are from…” he motioned his hand in the general direction of the crowd, “here?”

  “I am from many places,” thewoman replied with atilted head. Cam noted a slight crispness to her tone.

  “Where do they come from?” Cam asked as she once again glanced around the room. “We did not come with this company,” she added, “but of our own accord.”

  The woman nodded. “They come from various places as well.” She smiled at Caleb as she said this. “Most of the clan regions and small towns outside this forest. They bring me food in exchange for hospitality for an evening or two. I give them stories and a home for the night and they bring me necessities.”

  “Like food…” Caleb drawled. “Because there isn’t any in the forest.”

  The woman nodded. “And because I know most of these people, I do not make a habit of asking them so many questions, but forgive me for wondering. You come bearing no food and thus must have some other purpose. Unless you wandered into the forest of thorns on accident.”

  “It was no accident,” Cam said. “We...were traveling with a company in search of something we have lost in our own land, and in the process, we lost some of them. One who died left a map on which this very place was marked. There were no other markings. Just here.”

  The woman’s brows furrowed and her expression adopted a slight concern. “May I see it?” she asked softly.

 
Cam reached inside her bag and withdrew the weathered, cloth map. She handed it to the woman, pointing at the red mark over the Forest of Thorns. The woman barely looked at the mark, her attention seemed to snag on the map’s edges. Her eyes widened, and she traced her fingers over it. “This map is Marked,” she said in a tone that was slightly alarmed.

  “Yes…” Cam started. “As I said…”

  “No,” she interrupted. She turned the map to Cam. “The edges bear marks of the Infernal Speech. But...you cannot see it, can you?”

  Cam stared at the cloth, seeing nothing but the stitching of the features themselves and Riah’s mark. The edges were frayed and browned, but that was it.

  “Who’s was this?” the woman asked with a voice wholly unlike the one she had been using just moments before. Her face, too, was firm.

  “That doesn’t matter, now,” Fiera said.

  The woman’s brows rose as she met Fiera’s gaze. “It matters a great deal.” She paused and looked at each of them in turn. Her gaze lingered on Caleb and Joel. “You are Spirit Followers?”

  Cam didn’t know why she was surprised by the question, especially after the song. Perhaps it was because Erland had spoken of the Spirit Followers as nearly extinct and that this woman seemed to live in the middle of nowhere with boisterous tradesmen and performers as her companions. Joel nodded for them. “I am, and he is.” He motioned toward Caleb.

  “My father is one,” Cam stated before Joel could say anything.

  “Is your father…” the woman said slowly, “a Watcher?”

  Joel was answering for her. “Mine is. That is why I know the song.”

  “Most Spirit Followers know the song,” the woman replied. “Even those from Caranthia.” She glanced at Caleb once more.

  “Why does she keep doing that?” Cam wondered. “What is your name?” she asked aloud.

  “My name…” the woman echoed softly. Her gaze grew distant for a moment. The look was fleeting, however. She gave Cam a small smile. “My name is Ilea, and I am very glad to make your acquaintance.”

  Fourteen

  The young man with darkened locks swept over a beautiful

  brow and emerald eyes, stepped over stone after stone as they jutted from the murky sands of the seaside. He drew in the salty air, attempting to calm himself. Even now as he approached the cave, he was not thoroughly convinced his mission was one of nobility. Is searching peace within one’s self a noble quest? This question circled his troubled mind for the entire journey from the Medulla Realm to the seaside.

  As he descended from a particularly high rock, he spotted the cave he sought but a few yards further down the shore. The wind brushed his hair and chapped his cheeks. He wrapped his cloak tighter around his form. Though it was summer, the caves by the Silver Sea were under threat of a storm. The calm before was rushing wind and chilling waves.

  Adria Briar watched from the window above. He was but a blur through the window which was now covered in raindrops. She brushed white hair from her chilled cheeks as she watched Owen disappear into the mouth of the cave. His mission was mostly a mystery to her. All he had said was that he was meeting with someone. Adria assumed it had something to do with the magic disappearance enigma. She had heard nothing on the matter since Cam’s departure.

  Her eyes roved over the expanse of the sea beyond the rocks.

  Occasionally, the flingingof a mermaid’s tail wouldcatch her eye. She had watched them at this time, nearly every day since her arrival here with Owen. Usually, they were abundant in the waters closer to the shores at this time. But now…

  “Only one,” she murmured.

  She glanced behind her. The other healers in training were milling about with an array of books on poisons and their cures in their midst. She was not yet sixteen but both Owen and Imber Fel’s leader, Heiron, had allowed her a month in the realm by the sea for training. Not that there was any magic left to be healed from.

  Adria remembered her sisters. It had been so long since she had seen any of them. Even Mista seemed far away even if she was just in Medulla. “They will be enjoying golden summer air, and Amelia will be running the realm in Owen’s absence.”

  She wondered after Owen. She had yet to ask him of his cave ventures. He had requested to meet with Lord Heiron regarding their stolen magic, a meeting even Peter and Saffira hadn’t been invited to. But this cave visit, Adria thought to be an entirely different situation. She waited patiently, however, and asked a few questions. Owen did not seem in the mood to answer any of them anyway.

  A warm hand was on her shoulder. She turned from the window to see Brooks, the kind man who accompanied her about the realm, standing there with a hand perched on her arm. “Heiron requests your presence. He has news.”

  Adria’s brows furrowed. The Lord of Imber Fel hadn't been seen since her arrival nearly a month ago. He had been grieving, she suspected, the loss of his daughter Glista. “Andwhy would he want to see me?”

  Brooks seemed to see the question in her wide eyes. He shrugged. He extended an arm, and Adria took her. Her steps were light and graceful, and when they reached the closed chamber of Heiron and his advisors, Brooks gave her a slight bow and moved off. Adria gathered her blue skirts in her hands as the doors swung open and she stepped over the threshold.

  Heiron was alone, and in his hand was parchment bound with string. A letter. “Your sister Camaria sends word. She speaks of grave danger, but I would like your counsel. Do these seem to be words she would speak? I do not want to be exposed to some sort of hoax.”

  Adria was quick to Heiron’s side. She didn’t have to snatch the letter from his grip, for he had it extended to her already. The words had been written hastily. Adria’s eyes scanned every inch twice. When she finally lifted her widened gaze to meet Heiron’s, she found his expression to be grave. His once warmly colored skin was now pallid.

  “We never knew if she actually died but this…” Adria trailed off. The letter fluttered from her hands, and she sank to the nearest chair.

  The parchment now before her seemed worn as though it had come far. And the last part had read…“I have sent three more letters...one to Owen and another to my father and the last to Peter and Saffira,” Cam had written.

  But Adria had not heard a word from any of the others. If they had received the same letter, action would have been taken immediately. “They never came,” she breathed. “And this...I think its arrival was an accident.” She picked up the letter once more. “Who was the messenger?”

  “A fisherman brought it in,” said one of Heiron’s attendants. “He had met with someone from the swamplands. The man handed over one letter and fled. From what or whom we do not know.”

  Heiron leaned forward, brows furrowed and fingers intertwined on the table. “He fears something or someone out there. Was he interceded before he was met by the fisherman?” Heiron asked.

  The attendant shrugged. “The fisherman didn’t ask. The messenger was gone before he could.”

  Adria’s voice was shaky and her hands trembling. “ I am afraid that it is too late.” She turned her wide-eyed gaze to the open window which overlooked the sea.

  Then, as a vague outline on the horizon, she saw a far-off ship. Both Adria and Heiron remained silent.

  There was a flag. Its background was black and upon that black was a curling green figure. “Green as poison,” Adria thought. The next moment she detected more ships on the horizon. She stood, her legs going numb. The letter fell from her hands again. “Oh, Camaria. My mother has come.” She turned to Heiron and swallowed, fear filling her eyes. Her voice was choked. “Silva is coming.”

  Cam guessed that half of the patrons stayed the night, for, by

  the time the music had finally died down, a good number had left laughing and drowsy into the night. Some were asleep in the main room. Others were venturing up a winding, stone staircase to the upper level.

  Ilea had vanished an hour or two ago, the map of Riah’s with her. She had gone
before Cam could ask questions. Still, she was shocked. Shocked that it had been this easy to find the woman and that they found her in such an unlikely place.

  Cam’s shock was numbed by her fatigue, and thus she and her companions followed the other patrons to the second floor. The corridor wrapped in one circle around the staircase which continue father up into the castle. So far up, in fact, that Cam could not see where it ended in the dim torchlight. The rooms were many and spacious. Furnished too, but she spared little time looking at them. And soon, she was asleep.

  Hours later, Cam jolted upright in bed. Sweat trickled down her brow. Her eyes wide, she panted, a new nightmare fading from her mind. She glanced at Fiera who lay fast asleep beside her. The fire in the hearth had long since died out. She thrust the covers from her and touched her bare feet to the coldness of the wooden floor.

  When she rose, she drew the cloak hung at her bedside around her. Before bed, she had changed into comfortable clothing for traveling in case they would need to make a hasty getaway. Fiera clutched a dagger in her fist but breathed evenly. Cam slid into her boots and crept from the room, closing the door behind her.

  A shadowy figure stood to her right in the dim corridor. “My watch. Caleb turned in only ten minutes ago,” Joel said in a low voice. He leaned against the wall his hands holding something in his lap. “We figured since Ilea disappeared so quickly, having one of us stay up was best.” Cam nodded as she drew her cloak more tightly around her. “Bad dream?” Joel asked. Cam nodded again. “They visit me too,” Joel murmured quietly. Cam did not question what sort of dreams he faced, but she was certain that in his life, his horrid experiences were quite limited compared to hers.

  They remained silent as Cam sat at his feet and pressed herself against the wall. He shifted slightly, keeping his eyes and ears alert. His shift caused her to glance at him, down at his lap where a book was laid face down. In his palm was a thin silver ring. He was tracing it idly.