Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2)

by Missy Sheldrake

  Mum and Da, Bryse and Cort, Mya, Donal, and Dacva all jump to their feet and retrieve their weapons to charge. They do little damage to the shadows that swirl around Tib, trying to strike him. The boy is somehow immune to them, though. As he stabs at the shadows with a fury, whispers fill the huddled space.

  “Dreamstalker,” they say over and over in a chorus that makes the hair on my arms prickle. We stand watching in awe as Tib, with a courage and determination that surprises all of us, drives the wraiths away with nothing but a single dagger coated in yellow.

  “Well done, Tib,” Mevyn says as the rest of us gather our wits. He turns to us.

  “A little warning next time please, Mevyn,” Mya says with a shiver. We huddle together in the small passage, and Mum’s peace fills us. Mya hums softly, and her song soothes us.

  “Of course,” Mevyn says. “My apologies, I didn’t expect the wraiths so soon. It isn’t far, now. Tib, I will ask you to do one last thing for me in this place. Clear the way for the others.” He nods into the darkness ahead. “I shall be beside you.”

  “Sounds more like a command to me,” Flitt mumbles in my ear with annoyance. “He’s so bossy.”

  “So will I,” I say to Tib. “I can’t do much, but I won’t let you go alone.”

  When he looks up at me, his smile is filled with gratitude. He turns to Mevyn.

  “I’m ready,” he says.

  “I’m with you, too,” Rian says. He casts a shield that settles over us.

  “Your spells will have little effect,” Mevyn says. “The shadows follow different rules.”

  “I won’t leave Azi,” says Rian.

  “We shall remain here,” Uncle says, “Until we have your word that the way is clear.”

  “Very well, then,” Mevyn hovers just behind Tib’s shoulder. “Onward, Tib, into shadow.”

  Chapter Thirty-One: Valenor’s Prison

  Tib

  Ice. Cold. Creeping. Silence. Puffs of breath. Darkness.

  My fingers are numb with the cold, but my feet are warm and sure on the ice. I could run in here. I would never fall. Right now, I’m not annoyed with Mevyn. I’m grateful for him. All of those warriors fell. They couldn’t fight. They couldn’t do anything, but I could. I saved them. The shadows couldn’t touch me. They didn’t even see me. It gives me courage. It makes me want to use my new dagger again.

  A gift is a trick. As we sneak through the black, I think of what Rian said when he gave me the weapon. This will give you courage. It will give you strength and clarity. As soon as I took it I could feel the change. With my dagger and my yellow vial, I’m the only one who can beat these wraiths. Everyone is counting on me. Still, Nan’s words nag at me. I don’t know what the trick is, yet. I have to be careful. Keep an eye on that Mage.

  Wraiths. Shadows. Stabbing. Screeching. Silence. Three. Five. Seven. Ten.

  I keep count as they fall, just like Bryse and Cort always do. The wraiths keep coming, but they’re no match for me and my new dagger. I thrust and creep and the others follow me until Mevyn stops us at the edge of a deep chasm where the tunnel ends.

  “There,” he says with awe. “There he is. My dear old friend, Valenor. Azaeli, you may tell the others the way is clear.”

  I don’t know what I expected to see when I peer into the darkness. A wise old man in tattered robes, maybe. A Mage or even a Sorcerer trapped in a cage, reading old books. Or maybe a fairy like Mevyn or Crocus or Flitt. Not this, though. Never in my life would I have imagined this.

  “Quiet. Mustn’t wake him yet.”

  Yes, quiet. I stare in disbelief at the creature as my eyes adjust to even deeper darkness. At first he’s hard to see, black against black, but then I catch glimpses.

  Long, leathery wings cracked with age and frosted with ice. Scales and claws and horns, and a twisted, broken tail. He’s cramped at the bottom of the chasm with no room to stretch or move, and even from this distance I can tell he’s enormous. Bigger than Cap’s ship. Bigger than Nessa’s manse.

  Shadows stretch across his bony frame, pinning him. Binding him like they bound the others. He’s been asleep so long that the ice has crept up over his haunches. He’s alive, though. Once in a while I see him shiver.

  “Carefully,” Mevyn whispers to the others as they approach. “Quietly.” Mya is the first to reach the edge. She clings to the wall and peers down.

  “Is that?” she whispers.

  “Mevyn,” Rian breathes the words, barely daring to make a sound. “You never told us Valenor was a dragon.”

  “You never asked.” Mevyn whispers matter-of-factly.

  “Typical,” Flitt smirks inside Azi’s collar. Mevyn goes to Gaethon and I can tell he’s saying something silently to the Mage. Gaethon nods and whispers a spell, and the ward of silence stretches out over all of us.

  “There,” Mevyn says. “Now, Tib and I must get to the eye. I have things that I must show Valenor. You see, when Jacek took his mantle, with it came his most powerful memories. I share some of those memories.” He goes to the edge again and looks down at Valenor sadly. “At this time,” he says, “my friend doesn’t even known his own name.”

  “That happened to me,” Azi says. “When Jacek held me in the Dreaming, I forgot many things. I didn’t know who I was. I even forgot…” she looks up at Rian and moves closer to him. Clings to his arm like she’s afraid he’ll disappear.

  “We can’t all fit down there,” Mya says. “And the climb will be treacherous. What do you propose, Mevyn?”

  “The Mages have a means to lower Tib and I, do they not?” Mevyn asks. Gaethon and Rian exchange worried glances.

  “Indeed,” Gaethon says.

  “Do you also have a way to send teams there?” Mevyn points across to an opening in the sheer wall of the chasm across from us, and another to the left. “We shall need coverage against any onslaught that might try to stop us from freeing him.”

  “Yes, there are levitations and movement spells at our disposal.” Gaethon says.

  “I don’t like it,” Benen says. “I think we should stick together.”

  “Discuss it amongst yourselves,” Mevyn says. “I must have a private word with Tib.” He turns to me. “If you will allow it,” he says with a strange sort of humility.

  I shrug, and he flies away from the others and beckons me to follow.

  “I have things to show you, if you will let me do so,” he says. His tone is slightly urgent but somber, too. I feel his emotion leaking into me. He isn’t afraid. It’s something else. He’s prepared. He knows what he has to do. I focus on his strangely floating golden hair. Avoid his eyes as he goes on. “I could not have gotten this far without you. I owe you a great debt, Tib. Your courage has given you victory in many battles up until now.”

  “No,” I say. “That was you. You and your vials and your knives.”

  “Perhaps,” he says, “perhaps not.” He glances at the others and then turns back to me. “I have something to give you. It is the last thing I shall ask of you, Tib. Hold it for me. Keep it safe. When the time comes, return it. Do you agree?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t understand.” I remember all the times he asked me to trust him and then erased my memories. I take a little step back.

  “You shall, when you see what it is. Please. It is a burden for me, and you are the only one I trust enough to ease it.”

  I look at him, really look. He’s tired. Not bright like he was in Cerion after his meeting with the princess, or after Kythshire. His skin is paler. Gaethon helped him some, but his glow is fading. Something about him tells me this time is different. I trust my judgment. I nod slowly. With a little hesitation, I look into his golden eyes.

  The memories rise and fall between us like waves in the ocean, like a sand storm spinning and billowing and fading again in streams of golden threads. With them come the titles that Mevyn listed in the Ring at Kythshire.

  Mindspinner. The image of a beautiful winged woman emerges from the golden th
reads. She raises her arms as they form from the light. Blows me a kiss. Flies into my chest. I feel a warmth as her light enters me. Fuller, somehow.

  Weaver of Threads. Another fairy’s image emerges from the threads. This one is a man with a long fabric draped over one arm and a needle and thread in his hand. He plunges the needle into the fabric and pulls the thread through, and then slowly he seeps into my chest just like the woman did.

  WindCaller, Second to Cintigra, Second to Demsin, Warden of Sands, Spear-Bearer, Keeper of Songs, and Sworn Sage of the Known all do the same. One by one they form from the golden light and show themselves to me. One by one they fly to me and let me hold them inside me. When Mevyn is through, he looks relieved and also very sad.

  “Keep them close,” he says, “take care of them.”

  I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t expecting that. Around us, everything is silent. I close my eyes and the golden light goes away. I look inside myself. Try to feel all of these fairies that I’m carrying now. I don’t feel anything, though. I wonder whether I’m supposed to. Maybe it went wrong.

  “Keep them safe,” Mevyn says to me as Mya comes to our side.

  “We’re ready,” she says. Rian has agreed to bring us down the chasm. Azi is coming with us, too. Gaethon will help the others into the openings. We decide to rest before we act. The Mages are taxed after the battle and the clerics insist, so we sit against the wall and wait. I spend the time going through my bandolier. My vials are almost empty, the yellow especially. When I show it to Mevyn, he waves a hand dismissively.

  “You shan’t be needing them much longer, anyway,” he says. I wonder what he means as I peer down at the dragon and the massive shadows stretched across him, shackling him. What’s left in my vial would be enough for one of them. Maybe two.

  “But,” I start, and he interrupts me.

  “Have faith in yourself, Tib,” Mevyn says. “That is all you need.”

  He goes to Rian, who’s poised at the edge of the opening. Gaethon is already moving the others across. Mya, Lisabella, Benen, and Dacva go together. He whispers a spell and they walk across thin air, like there’s an invisible bridge supporting them. Bryse, Cort, and Donal go next. Gaethon stays with them at the mouth of the tunnel.

  “When you’re ready,” Mevyn says to Rian. His way is different. We have to hold onto him so he can float us down. I wrap my arms around his middle and Azi holds him around the shoulders. I watch the jagged wall slip past us as we float down. I could have climbed this. I wish I had. I don’t like depending on magic this way. He could stop his spell any time, and we could crash to the ground or worse, land on the dragon.

  He doesn’t, though. He sees us safely to the bottom. Settles us into a small space by the dragon’s face.

  Valenor’s head rests on his enormous cramped foot. The claws of his toes are as long as I am tall. Rian walks along his foot, studying the beast with interest. Azi looks a little pale. Inside her collar, Flitt peers out at the dragon with wide-eyed interest.

  Azi comes to stand so close to me that our shoulders touch. She offers me a reassuring smile that’s very obviously forced. Together we take a few steps back and watch Mevyn, who flies up to hover by the slit of the sleeping dragon’s eye. He looks over his shoulder at us and nods when he’s certain we’re ready.

  “Keep your knives sheathed,” a voice echoes in my mind. Not his. Someone else’s. A woman. Mindspinner, maybe.

  “Old friend,” Mevyn says quietly. The eye snaps open, fiery red and savage. It narrows and the dragon’s snake-like neck shivers and shifts. The shadows hold him, though, and he can’t do anything other than growl and sneer and glare at Mevyn. I watch in awe as the fairy, the size of a gnat to the beast, flies closer. Mevyn steels himself even as Valenor struggles and thrashes beneath his bonds.

  “Valenor,” he speaks the name with a commanding voice, and the dragon’s black slit of an iris contracts and expands. “Valenor,” Mevyn says again, this time soothingly. Affectionately.

  Valenor’s great nostrils flare and huff and smoke. Azi puts her arm out in front of me. Guides me back until we’re pressed against the jagged rocks of the chasm wall. Rian doesn’t seem to notice. He’s crouched at the dragon’s foot. His eyes trace every scale, every line. Azi stares at him and he snaps his attention to her and looks at the smoke and rushes to our side.

  Up above in one of the openings, someone shifts. Sends a cascade of rocks tumbling down the wall. The rocks rain over the dragon, pelting his frostbitten wings. Valenor scrabbles and screeches and lets out a great, fiery breath. It blasts the wall in front of him and flames billow back toward us. Rian casts a shield just in time to block the blaze.

  “Mevyn!” I cry as the flames clear.

  “Quiet,” the woman says again. I search the air around the eye for him, but he’s gone. Azi grips my shoulder. We watch together as the dragon settles again. Wait for Mevyn. He doesn’t appear.

  “Mevyn,” I whisper.

  “There,” Rian points and I see it. A glint of gold peeking out from behind an ink-black horn. Mevyn flies up and back to the eye again. It blinks as the dragon huffs impatiently.

  “Valenor,” he says again. The name placates the dragon. There is a long silence as something about the creature shifts. He’s thinking. Remembering. Finally, he lowers his head. Bobs it into what can only be a nod of consent. We watch the golden strings lick out. They stream into the fire red eye, filling it. Strengthening it. Warming it. The ice that crawls up the sides of the beast melts into knee-deep pools so that Azi and Rian and I have to climb onto a pile of rocks to keep from getting soaked. The shadows remain, though. Holding him. Binding him.

  The stream of memories flows between the fairy and the dragon for what feels like an hour. With each one, Mevyn seems smaller. Paler. Less impressive. By the time he’s through and they break from each other, he’s reduced to little more than he was at the roots. Skeletal. Shrunken. White. Nearly naked.

  Valenor, on the other hand, is no longer bony and cracked. His muscles ripple beneath black, glistening scales. His eyes flash with clarity. He opens his mouth and I brace myself for the flames, but none come. Instead, he speaks.

  “Mevyn, my friend. My confidant. My guide. I have waited for you these long years. You are my savior. Lifebringer.” He breathes a long sigh and closes his eyes. I feel his relief wash over all of us.

  “Dreamstalker,” the dragon calls to me. Azi’s grip on my shoulder tightens, but Mevyn sinks down toward me and comes to rest on my forearm. He looks awful. Like he used to when we started out.

  “What happened to you?” I ask him.

  “What was meant to happen all along,” Mevyn says. “Do not concern yourself with me, Tib. Speak to Valenor. He shall explain everything.”

  “Here, Mevyn,” Flitt pops up from Azi’s collar and darts to his side. She beams her light across him and he looks a little better, but he’s still white and thin and without his armor. I raise my arm to look closer at him.

  “Mevyn,” I whisper. Sure, he’s been irritating. He’s been controlling. He’s made me do things. But now, seeing him back this way again makes me sad. Angry, even. Why did he have to go and do this? Why did Valenor need to be so greedy?

  “Dreamstalker,” the dragon calls again.

  “Go,” Mevyn says to me. “He will explain.”

  I creep through the pool of melted ice along the dragon’s massive foot to face him. His nostrils stream with smoke. He could breathe right now and burn me to a crisp. I could die. But something about him tells me that he won’t. He isn’t the desperate empty-headed creature we first saw anymore. With Mevyn’s magic, he’s changed now. He lowers his head to me, like he’s bowing. I don’t know why but I do the same. Mevyn still clings to my arm.

  “I have seen your bravery,” Valenor says to me. “Your courage has borne Mevyn to me. For that I am most grateful. I shall reward you, Dreamstalker, in due time.” Each time he uses my title, I feel a tightening in my chest. A speeding of my he
art. It makes me believe I’m more than just a boy with knives and vials. It makes me important. It changes me from the slave in the dye fields to a warrior. A hero. Each time he says it, the shadows that bind him shrink a little, like they’re afraid of what it means.

  “My fate is in your hands, Tibreseli Nullen, Dreamstalker, Bearer of the Guardian. Release me from these bonds, that I may fight beside you against the impostor who calls himself Dreamwalker in my stead. The thief, the wretch, the unworthy filth. Help me take up my mantle once more, and together we shall end him.” He tips his head lower so I can see the desperation in his great red eye. “Please,” he says, “release me.”

  I tear my gaze from him and look back to Azi and Rian. They glance at each other and then nod to me slowly. In the openings above, the rest of them nod, too. A dragon would be a good friend to make, I think. Still, I’m not sure he’s telling the truth.

  “How can I be sure you won’t hurt any of us once you’re free?” I ask him. “You could be lying, just to get yourself out of this.”

  “Wise child,” his eye slowly closes and opens again. “Look, and I shall show you.”

  “No.” I cross my arms. I know about looking. I’ve fallen for that before. The eye slides to Mevyn, who even as weak as he is, chuckles.

  “Did I not show you? The boy has spirit,” Mevyn says to Valenor.

  “Indeed,” Valenor looks at me. I wouldn’t have believed that a dragon could smile, but the corner of his scaly mouth lifts slightly as he looks to me. “I give you my word, and something more. The gift of knowledge. Two gifts, in fact. The first is this: The Dreamwalker cannot be defeated from within his own realm. He must be drawn out completely, or as he sees it, released into this realm. The second…” he turns to look at the others. “Azaeli, come forward.”

  She sloshes through the frigid water to come to my side, where Valenor bows his head to her and she returns the gesture.

  “Take your sword. Strike the bonds, Azaeli.” Valenor says. Azaeli looks from me to Rian. Both of us nod. She raises her sword and slashes it through the shadow that binds the dragon’s foot to the floor. It does nothing at all. The shadow isn’t even aware of her. “Tibreseli, coat her blade with the liquid from your yellow vial.”