“I promise,” she says convincingly. I nod, too.
Margy places her fingertip in Mevyn’s palm. It glows with a soft, pink light that streams from the princess to the weakened fairy. Slowly, Mevyn’s form becomes more solid. The flesh on his bones thickens to muscles. His skin deepens to a healthy bronze color. His hair brightens to yellow. Wings of gold unfurl from his back.
“I see a light,” Saesa gasps. “A golden light. Is that him?”
I can’t answer. I’m mesmerized by Mevyn’s transformation. Margy seems different, too. Her eyes are brighter. She’s happier. Relieved, like a heavy weight has been lifted from her. She giggles beside me as the fairy zooms past her. He darts around the room and then dives quickly behind my pillow as a knock comes and Tirie pokes her head in.
“At the very least,” Tirie says shrilly, “I must insist upon an open door.” All of us nod at her, wide-eyed. When she leaves, Mevyn comes to sit on my knee. I’ve never seen him looking so whole and healthy. His skin glows with winding golden lines. His hair waves on its own. His shining, spiky wings are twice as large as he is. A spear is slung over his shoulder. As I watch, his tattered pants are replaced with armor of leaves and bark that look like they’ve been dipped in gold.
“You’re a warrior,” Margy gasps.
“And you, Princess, are not supposed to have magic, are you?” His voice is stronger now than it has been in my head. Deeper. Commanding. It echoes over us and in my thoughts, too.
“I can’t help it,” Margy whispers. “It just comes to me. It fills me up and weighs me down and makes me cry. I can’t let it go or I’ll start a war. That’s my secret. Nobody can know.”
“You’ll start a war?” I ask.
“Oh, yes. Royalty isn’t allowed magic in Cerion,” the princess says gravely. “It isn’t like Sunteri.”
“Why not?” I ask. When I think about it, it’s a good rule. Sunteri would be a lot different with that rule. More equal. Like here.
“Because of the Sorcerer King. Diovicus?” she asks, a little surprised by my ignorance. I shake my head. Stories and history. A boy in the dye fields has no reason to hear about those things. Margy goes on.
“King Diovicus was the King of Cerion a very long time ago. He didn’t care about our kingdom or its people. He was cruel and selfish. He burned people who disagreed with him. He controlled people to do his will, and he made armies to march on Kythshire. He wanted to destroy all of the fairies there to claim their power for his own. My great-great-great grandfather rallied an army to stop him. The elves helped him. They won, and that began the Plethore Dynasty. He made a pact with the fairies who survived, that there would be peace in Cerion as long as the Plethore line ruled. With two promises: One, we would keep the fairies’ existence a secret and two, the ruling family would swear to never wield magic again.”
Margy’s eyes well with tears and she shakes her head. “I can’t help it, though. It just comes. It comes, and I give it to Twig. He helps me with it. He understands, but now he’s gone. Nobody else knows. Not even Paba. I’ve kept it a secret all this time.”
“Give it to me then,” Mevyn says. “All of it. And then you will be rid of it for now.” He settles in her hand. She closes her eyes and the pink glow returns. Mevyn soaks it all up. Basks in it. Radiates with magic so strong I can feel it myself, in my bones. The golden curls on his skin burst with light. Beside her, Saesa seems to be staring off at the wall over my shoulder. Dazed. I wonder if it’s Mevyn doing it. I don’t like it. When the magic is finally absorbed, Margy slumps against me.
“What about Twig?” she whispers sleepily. “I need him. He’s my friend, and I’m so worried something’s happened to him. Please, can you search for him or his tether?”
“Of course you’re worried,” says Mevyn softly. He drifts up to her face. Places a gentle hand on her cheek. Gazes into her eyes. She smiles peacefully. Drifts to sleep. Mevyn turns to me.
“It’s nearly time,” his voice echoes in my mind. “You remember our journey? Our adventure?”
I nod.
“You did well, Tib. Now that I’m restored, I’m certain we can find your sister.”
“My sister?” I whisper. I think back to Nan beneath the tree. Zhilee. “But, she was killed.”
“Zhilee, yes. But your other sister. You wanted to find her, remember?”
I’m confused at first, but then I remember her. Older sister, sitting in the red blooms, her nose buried in a book. Riding off with the Sorcerer who later terrorized us, held us with roots. Rage wells inside of me, and with it, longing. Yes. I want to find her. I want her to see me. The brother she abandoned. I want to see her, the last of my family. The family she destroyed with her greed for power. Sunset. Sunset, and she didn’t come through for us. Sunset, and she let Zhilee die. I hate her. I love her. I’m confused. How can I feel both so strongly?
“I want to find her,” I say. Maybe seeing her will help me understand.
“Good,” says Mevyn. “Then for now, my friend, it is best that you don’t remember. As I always do with your permission, for your protection and my own, I will make you forget.”
I nod, and my eyes slowly drift closed. When I open them, Margy is standing and stretching. Yawning. Saesa blinks rapidly as she comes out of her own trance.
“I’ll be going now,” Margy says airily. I pick up her cloak. Hand it to her. “I want to be back at the palace in time to dress for dinner. I had a wonderful time.” She tilts her head at me and smiles. “Would you come to visit again? I’ll send an invitation. And you, Saesa. It would be lovely to have new friends to show around.”
“I’d be honored, Your Highness,” Saesa grins.
“Please, just call me Margy.” She smiles and skips out into the hallway, where Tirie is waiting at the top of the stairs.
“It was awfully quiet in there, Your Highness,” Tirie says suspiciously.
“We were playing the whisper game,” Margy says without missing a beat. “I’m sleepy now.”
“The litter,” Tirie calls down the stairs as she fusses with Margy’s cloak.
“No, I’ll walk,” Margy says cheerfully. “It isn’t far.”
At the door, everyone makes their bows and curtseys. The guards file into their lines. Margy waves at us from beneath the canopy. We watch them go until they disappear around a distant corner, and then Nessa pulls me into the sitting room. Asks me what happened. The others lounge on the floor, listening. My memories are foggy, like I have to fight through something more important to get to them. I answer their questions until my head tips to the arm of the sofa and keeping my eyes open is a battle. Nessa sends everyone off. Helps me to my room. Puts me to bed. Tucks the blankets around me. Smoothes my hair. Kisses my forehead. Stays with me until I drift to sleep.
“Wake up. Get dressed.”
It’s dark. Silent. The whole house is sleeping. I pull on my shirt from yesterday, yank my rumpled pants over my boots. Grab my belt with the knife on it that I thought Finn took from me yesterday. I don’t remember getting it back, but here it is. I yawn. Wipe the sleep from my eyes. Slump onto the bed again. Wonder why I woke so early. There’s no light coming in through the shutters. It’s not even morning yet.
“Out the window.”
Yes, out the window. I push it open and shiver as a gust of wind nearly blows me back inside. Back where my bed is still warm.
“Climb.”
Yes, climb. My teeth chatter. I straddle the sill. Pull on my gloves. Wish I had my cloak. Doesn’t matter. I climb down the side of the manse. I know the footing well. It’s familiar now. Second nature. The snow on the street below is thick. Up to my knees. It finally stopped falling, though. Now there’s just the frigid wind.
I creep close to the walls of houses and shops as I make my way into the heart of the city. I don’t know where I’m going, but I know the way. Not sure why, but I know I have to. Something in my mind nudges me. Pushes me along. Northward. Westward. I vaguely remember the promise of an adventu
re. I wonder if this is it. No, Saesa was supposed to come with me. This must be something smaller. Never been this deep into the city. It feels different here. More serious. I stop in an alley and crouch in the shadows. Peer across the street at a low building. There’s no moon tonight, but my eyes have adjusted to the darkness.
“Get inside.”
Yes, get inside. Five men mill around outside the small stone building. Not guards, thugs. It’s one story. A shed, or a shack. Not even as big as our house back home. I have to get in. I creep toward it in the shadows and hide against the side wall. Watch. Listen. No windows on this side to climb through. No chimney on top. There’s only one door, and they’re all in front of it. Smoking herbs. I creep closer. Slide along the wall to the back, then around to the other side. No windows at all. It’s all stone. I come around toward the front again. Peek around the corner.
The men are supposed to be watching, but they’re not. They’re distracted. Talking.
“Who cares what it is? Doesn’t matter, long as we get paid,” the biggest one says. He’s got a hood on. A broadsword. Chain mail. Wolf’s head cloak. Its empty eye sockets stare at me. I creep closer. Press myself against the wall. Wait in shadows. Move slowly. Toward the door. Toward the men. I’m not afraid, just determined.
“If it’s worth more than they’re payin’ us, we could sell it ourselves. Split it four ways,” another man says. He’s got a club. Fists the size of a horse’s head. I try to make myself smaller. Hide in the dark. Hold my breath.
“Five ways,” another says. Dressed in dark leather. Decked all over with knives and daggers. He throws a knife into the hitching post nearby. It’s already peppered with blades. He throws another.
“Yeah, five ways.” The horse-fisted one says, after counting all of them again and remembering himself this time. I glance at the door. It’s ajar. There’s a big enough space. I’m small enough. I could slip between the broad sword man and the knife-throwing man. I’m right here. They haven’t noticed me yet.
“Brilliant plan, Muster. Would be, if our client wasn’t so terrifying.” I didn’t realize one was a woman until she speaks. She’s too covered up in her cloak.
“You scared of him, Stone?” The knife one says.
“You didn’t meet him,” the woman replies. “You’d be, too. Leave it alone. It’s an easy job. Just wait here until he comes to pick it up. Then he pays us money. A lot of money. Trust me.”
“Do it now.”
Yes, now. Now, before I can think too much. Before I lose my courage. I slip behind the big one. Past the one with the knives. Push the door open slowly, carefully. It squeaks. I freeze.
“You’re getting soft—” the one nearest me stands straighter. Turns his head toward me. Reaches for one of his many knives. Around me, the air shimmers. He looks right at me. I hold my breath, brace for the knife. He doesn’t do anything. He can’t see me. I slip inside, where it’s even darker.
“Dub?”
“Thought I heard something,” says the knife one. They keep talking but I don’t stay to listen. I slide along the wall, feeling my way deeper into the darkness. The stone is cold. Wet. The floor is wood, half-rotted. Creaky. Dub comes in, too. The one with the knives. He creeps around looking for me, but I evade him easily.
“Find the hatch.”
Yes, find the hatch. Quickly. I sink to my knees. Search the floor with my hands. Find a raised board, a metal ring. It clanks loudly. A knife whizzes past my ear. I don’t think. I roll to the side. The blade thuds into the floor beside me. The door slams shut. Outside, the thugs pound on it. Shouting. Rattling it.
“Roll left!”
Roll left. My body acts without thinking. Another knife misses me by a hair, striking the floor where I just was. I grab my own knife from my belt. A flash of golden light blinds me. I see a glimpse of a figure, tiny and golden beside my ear. It darts away from me in a streak. Charges the knife man. Throws a golden spear right into his eye. He doubles over, screaming. Outside, they slam against the door. It splinters.
“Into the hatch!”
Yes, into the hatch. I grasp the ring with both hands. Yank it open. Lower myself inside. Down the rungs of a ladder. Deeper into darkness. Away from the chaos above. The golden figure is gone. The hatch slams shut.
Down, down, until my arms and feet ache. Down until I feel the pressure in my ears and have to open my mouth wide to relieve it. I think about the trees. The roots. The darkness. This shaft is small. Suffocating. I start to panic. Wrap my arms around the rungs. Pant. Shake. Cling.
“Keep going.”
Yes, keep going. No, I can’t. I can’t. My feet won’t let me. My eyes strain in the darkness. I can’t see. I’m blind. I’m trapped.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“You can. You will.”
Yes, I will. I forget my fear. Don’t remember it now. Keep going down. Like up above, my body moves without me thinking. My boots find the bottom. Packed dirt. It smells here, like mold and decay. A golden light builds slowly above me, glowing just bright enough to show me the small space without hurting my eyes.
“There. The box.”
Yes, the box. I see it in the center of the room. A metal chest encrusted with jewels. Sapphire and emerald and ruby. I pick it up. Turn it in the light. Watch the gems flash and glow.
“Open it.”
I turn it over and over. It’s molded shut. I can’t find the lid. I press on the gems. Nothing happens.
“It can’t open,” I say.
“Be quiet.”
Yes, be quiet.
The golden figure appears again. Lands on the box. Places his hands on it. Makes it glow. The top of it slides open. The figure moves away. Its golden wings flutter as I stare at it. It looks up at me, into my eyes.
“Mevyn.” I whisper.
“Quiet,” Mevyn says again. He looks into the box. So do I. Inside is a filthy pile of rags and yarn. A button eye. A frayed, stitched-on smile. A doll, a ruined doll. Beside it, pale and sickly, is another tiny figure. Another fairy, like Mevyn. His clothes are rumpled and frayed, his skin smudged with dirt. His wings are sticks of wood that poke out of his back. He turns his head slowly toward us.
“The princess,” he says. I blink. Fight through the fog in my head. Remember Margy and her grief over the lost doll. Her secret in my room.
“Twig?” I whisper.
“Tell her,” he says weakly, “I’m safe. Tell her.”
“Yes,” says Mevyn.
“Burn the tether. I’ll send a new one. Find me in Kythshire.”
“Wait,” Mevyn says, but he’s too late. Twig fades away. Disappears. Mevyn growls. Kicks the box. “Take the tether,” he says to me. “Take it and leave the box. Let’s go.”
Chapter Nine: Dreamwalker
Tib
I do as I’m told. Scoop the tattered doll from the box. Stuff it into my trouser pocket. Turn to Mevyn. Behind him, the shadows seep together. Swirl. Form into a dark figure. Terror grips me. Worse than my fear of the roots. Worse than my fear of anything else. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
“This is your champion?” The shadow laughs cruelly. “This boy? This pile of crumpled fear?”
My knees quake. I collapse to the floor, trembling. Whimpering. This shadow will destroy me. This shadow will overcome everything.
“Get up.”
Yes, get up. I push myself to my feet. My legs wobble like jelly. The shadow moves closer.
“Stand your ground.”
Yes, stand my ground. I square my shoulders. Take a deep breath. Try to be brave. My instincts tell me otherwise. They tell me to run. Run far away. Up the ladder. Back to Nessa’s. Back to where I’ll be safe. Never come here again.
“Mevyn, Mevyn…” the shadow laughs. “I thought you were smarter. More resourceful. Is this really all it took to lure you in? All it took to trap you? I’m disappointed.”
Mevyn doesn’t say anything. He puts himself between me and the shadow. Raises his spear. I honestly
don’t think the weapon will do anything against it. It makes me feel better, though. Protected.
“Don’t listen to him. Stand with me. He can’t harm us.”
“Ha! But I can.”
“You know that you can’t touch him, or me. We’re leaving. We did what we came to do.” Mevyn flies to the ladder. Lights the way into the shaft.
“Climb.”
Yes, climb. I start to follow, wary of the swirling darkness that watches me with no eyes.
“He cannot. His legs are bound.”
I look down. My ankles snap together. I try to walk but I stumble forward.
“Bound with what? Look closer, Tib.” Mevyn says. “Don’t listen to him.”
“Tib, is it?” The shadow asks as I realize Mevyn is right. There are no bindings. I’m free to move. I rush to the ladder. Start to climb. “Tib, wait a moment. Listen to me.” Every time he says my name, I feel a stronger connection to him. Like he’s my friend. Like he has power over me. His voice is soothing. It lures me. Makes me want to stay, to hear what he has to say to me. “Listen.” I pause with my hand on the wrung.
“Climb,” says Mevyn both aloud and in my head. His voice is booming. Earsplitting. It courses through my body, commanding. Pleading.
“Wait.” The shadow demands.
Yes, wait. No, climb. Somehow I’m compelled to do both. My head starts to pound. My body fights itself. Hands cling, feet climb. Arms shake.
“What do you know of Mevyn?” the shadow asks. “What do you really know? Only what he has revealed to you. Only what he wants you to know, hm? And even that, he takes away until he needs you to know it again. Over and over. What do you think that does to a young boy’s mind?”
I look up at Mevyn. I do know him. We’re friends. We help each other. But the shadow is right. My memories have holes. Not holes, chasms. Dark places that are difficult to get to. I think of Zhilee. Try to remember, but I can’t. The shadow is right. What else has Mevyn taken from me? What harm has he done to my mind?
“I’ve given you things, Tib. Knowledge. Gold. Safety. Freedom. We need each other. Close him out. Don’t listen.” I remember how I somehow knew to tie the sails, to impress Cap. I remember the gold coins I tucked under Saesa’s pillow, the excitement on her face when Feat was finally hers. “Friends, I’ve given you friends. Nessa, Saesa, Raefe, Lilen, Ruben, Emme. Margary. Climb. Climb back to them.”
Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2) Page 10
