I let the smooth wood of the ship’s wheel slide over my fingertips as it unwinds. This feeling, the wind in my hair, the whole ship at my command, is one I could get used to. I don’t say anything. I let myself enjoy it for a while. Let myself dream. Let us coast.
“Six offerings,” I say after a while. “Three from Light and three from Dark.”
“Yes,” Valenor replies.
“Shush says the Light will be fairly easy. How will we get the Dark?” I ask.
“There are ways,” Valenor replies. “Bindings to the earth. Origins. Rules that Light and Dark must both adhere to.”
“Origins?” I ask.
“One’s place of birth has power,” he explains. “Going home.”
“I was born in Sunteri,” I say to him. “But it isn’t my home.”
“For some part of you, it will always be home, Tibreseli,” Valenor says. “And so, receiving the offering from the Wellspring there shall prove very little challenge to you. Even less so because of your bond with Mevyn. Indeed. I daresay Sunteri and Kythshire will be the simplest of offerings for the Dawn to collect.”
“What about the others?” I ask. “Shush says he can get Kythshire, but where are the rest of them?”
“That is where it becomes difficult, I’m afraid. You see, the elves are quite protective of their Source, and they hold the last of the Light. The Dark shall be hard-fought. One is hidden in the thickest jungles of Elespen. It is guarded as Kythshire, with wards of magic and totems and golems which will deny your entry. Only a child of Elespen may gain entry, and whoever it is must be determined, persuasive, and strong-willed.
“If you are fortunate enough to gain entry and collect the offering from Elespen, you must then travel to the frigid north, to lands which are so harsh they go unnamed even now. Not even the giants who reside there dare wander into these frozen peaks. Those who do become lost in endless squalls and jagged stone and ice. You have been near to there before, my friend. It is close to where I was held, though my prison was in a far less treacherous setting. As you might have imagined, that place is the home of the giants, and only one of Giant blood might convince the dervishes that protect it to allow him passage.
“Then there is Hywilkin, Tibreseli. Do not be fooled by what you know of this place. Humans live there, indeed, but its Source is well hidden in the darkest cavern, in the heart of the deepest lake. No man has set foot within its borders for centuries. The last to do so painted cryptic and primitive messages upon the walls in the stone depths. Warnings to those who were unfortunate to find the place. Filled with the Risen, it is. A wicked, dark place that will leave any sensible man clutching for the last remnants of his sanity. As you might guess, it is more easily conquered by a man whose family line can be traced to Hywilkin soil. Though I would warn against any effort to seek it out.”
“But we need all six, don’t we? Eventually?” I ask. The air is becoming drier, now, and filled with sand. A glance over the side shows me what I suspected, desert as far as I can see. In the distance, the ground is covered in red blossoms. Sunteri. My stomach flips. I promised myself I wouldn’t come back here. It’s not a place I ever wanted to see again.
“My advice would be to begin with three, my friend. Begin with three, and pray you have no need to seek out the rest from their source. There is another way to seek the Dark offerings.”
I remember what Loren said about the Dusk already having two. They must be Dark. They have to be. They couldn’t have gotten into the Light places without word getting back to us. Valenor is right, and I can’t help but smile. It’s another excuse to go back to the stronghold. We’ll get the one from Mevyn, and steal the other two from the Sorcerers. That will give us three. That will open the way. We’ll get Errie, and maybe even save Griff and Mikken and maybe even the other kids.
“How does it work?” I ask him. My heart races with anticipation. Finally, a plan. A real direction. A way to stop them. “How does it open the way?”
“First,” Valenor explains, “you must understand the way cannot be reached by magical means. The first gateway into Brindelier is said to be well-hidden. An archway in the sky.
“An archway in the sky? Valenor, I’ve seen it. I know where that is!” I whoop loudly and turn the wheel hard until we tip to the side and nearly fall out.
“Now, now,” Valenor chuckles. Rather than tip to the side with the rest of the ship, he floats upright in place. “As exciting as that is, you must still have a way to reach it. As I said, Tibreseli, it cannot be reached by magical means.” He watches me closely. Like he’s waiting for something to dawn on me. “Do you see now, why I so encouraged you to continue work on your invention?”
“You knew,” I whisper. “You knew we’d need it to get to Brindelier.”
“Indeed,” he nods.
“Why didn’t you say so? You knew all of this the whole time and you never explained.” I try not to look as annoyed as I feel. “Was it my idea after all, or did you give it to me?”
“Oh, no, no,” he chuckles. “You are entitled to claim the idea as your own. Absolutely entitled. A strange coincidence, to be sure, but still, it was fully yours. As for why I did not explain things to you…I have found, in my time, that it is best to allow these things to unfurl as they will. Much like a sail to the wind, with as little interference as possible.”
“Helpful of you,” I mutter and spin the wheel. “Where am I going, exactly?” I ask.
“Surely you know the way,” Valenor raises a brow. “You have been there before, after all.”
I shake my head.
“All you need to do is think about him, of course,” he nods.
“Why are we flying all over the place, then?”
“I should ask you the same. It is—”
“My dream. Right.” I close my eyes and think hard about the last time I was there. Sunteri’s Wellspring. When I watched Mevyn restore it. I remember the oasis in the desert, green and bright, with its red-gold pool. When I open my eyes again, I see it in the distance. My pulse quickens. I will the ship faster and it obeys my thoughts, skimming across the sand, sending a wake of dust billowing behind us. Valenor holds tight to the rigging, laughing heartily.
We crash through broad green ferns and leaves as big as I am. The ship teeters on the edge between desert and grass. Everything around us goes silent.
“Mevyn!” I call into the green depths. The ship fades from beneath us and we tumble into the ferns.
“Do not fear,” Valenor says quietly. “You cannot be harmed here. As real as it may seem, we are still in the Dreaming.”
As if summoned by his words, the vines above twist and snarl together in an enormous tangle of a creature. It ducks beneath the canopy to lower its head to me. Opens its mouth. Lets out a ferocious growl that covers me in musty, damp soil and bits of leaves.
“We are Gred. The Oasis embodied. The Vine Keepers. Revived from Dust. Esteemed Guardians of the Northern Border. Who calls the out the forbidden name? What human knows to speak it?”
It howls fiercely and lashes its vines out at me like whips. I jump back to avoid them and stumble into Valenor.
“Answer them,” he whispers to me.
I try to look brave. Even with Valenor’s assurance it’s hard. Gred is huge. Horrible. The vines. The voice. It’s a nightmare. I try to steady my wobbling knees. Try to keep from collapsing. Its vines swirl with wicked force. They weave around it like writhing, thorny snakes. I imagine them reaching out for me. Binding my arms, my legs, so I can’t move. Pinning me to the hot, dry sand.
“T-t, T,” I try to speak, but my voice won’t work. The creature is terrifying. It’s just like the roots that held me to the ground the last time I was in Sunteri. The vines. The trees that were my prison. I’m the boy I was two years ago. Confused. Distraught. Alone. I’d rather face a hundred Sorcerers than this.
“Speak your name,” the creature rumbles and hisses. It lashes at my wrist. Thorns catch and rip my skin. I come to my s
enses. Dodge away from it. It chases. Lashes again. The sudden fight, the rush of battle, somehow helps me find my voice.
“Tibreseli Nullen,” I shout as I draw my knives and slice at a tendril. I tumble beneath the ferns as the vines whip the broad leaves that shelter me. “House Ganvent, Steward of the Last, Knifethrower, Dreamstalker, Bearer of the Guardian, Slayer of Shadows, Liberator of Valenor!”
With each title, the vines slow and shrink until everything is still. Valenor stands on the edge of the oasis, silently watching. Wearing a smile of pride. The vine-beast pauses. Curls its tendrils tight to itself. Bows its head to me.
“Tibreseli Nullen,” it thunders. “House Ganvent, Steward of the Last, Knifethrower, Dreamstalker, Bearer of the Guardian, Slayer of Shadows, Liberator of Valenor, you are welcome here. Enter.”
I glance back at Valenor. He nods to me.
“Can Valenor come, too?” I ask Gred. It rolls its shoulders and its eyes flash blue.
“Proceed,” it says with a bow, and we walk together into the oasis.
The desert is a memory in the span of a few steps, replaced by dripping green leaves. Green moss on the trees. Green grass thick and squishy beneath our feet. All around us, I feel them. Fairies, hidden. I don’t need to know where the Wellspring is. I can feel it. Its power is a beacon. It pulls me closer and closer. Fairy orbs drift behind us as we go. Watching. Listening. Curious. Their giggles make my skin prickle. Like they’re amused by some secret I don’t know.
Sunteri’s Wellspring is a fairly small pool. Maybe the size of Nessa’s dining table. Big enough for a few people to sit in. Not very deep, either. Up to my waist, probably. Not impressive at all, except that it glows like molten gold. It reminds me of the red-hot end of the blade Sir Benen hammered for me. The magic of it shines so brightly that the leaves and trunks of trees around it are pure white. Once in a while, sparks of magic spray up out of it like embers.
Even though it’s so small, the feeling of it is overwhelming. The power it holds is incredible. Like ten Sorcerer’s keeps. Like twenty Academies. It feels infinite, even though I know it isn’t. Not long ago, it was depleted. Drained completely. That’s why Mevyn needed me. That’s why he forced me to help him. I used to hate him so much.
“Mevyn,” I fight the lump in my throat to call his name.
All around the pool, they wait. Watch. Whisper. Fairies. Eyes between the trees. Flashes of wings among the leaves. When I look closer, my healed eye can see their full forms. Hiding. Waiting. I feel like I know some of them. Like I must have carried them.
The surface of the pool ripples and glitters. The first thing to emerge is his spear tip. The tips of his golden wings. His golden hair. His face like a burnished statue. His armored shoulders, also gold. He drifts toward me through the pool until only his toes are grazing the surface of it, leaving a rippling wake behind him. He doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of my face, close enough to touch me.
“My friend,” he says and opens his arms in a welcoming gesture. “What a relief to see you. I feared we might have lost you to the Dusk.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Mevyn,” I smile. I never would have thought it, but it really is. It’s a relief. Even if I am only dreaming. It’s like a part of me was missing and now it’s back again. He moves closer and stares into my healed eye.
“Something new,” he says.
“It’s a long story,” I shrug.
“Dub,” he says simply.
“How did you--?” I start, and he shakes his head.
“I see things. Glimpses. He is allied with the Dusk. He has a great hatred for you.”
“I know,” I scowl.
“No matter. I know why you have come, and I shan’t waste your time. I cannot give you what you seek, my friend,” he says. My heart sinks. The Sunteri offering was supposed to be the easy one.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because you could not bring it away with you through the dreaming,” he says mournfully.
“Oh,” I sigh.
“There is another way, my friend. But I would need to break my promise to you and to this Source.”
“What way?” I ask.
“I can deliver it myself. In the waking. You still have the tether, I see,” he smiles fondly and points to my feet.
I shrug. “I like them. They’re good boots.”
“Tib,” Mevyn glances over my shoulder at Valenor, and back to me again. “This task you’ve set for yourself, this quest, is more dangerous than you might expect. It is more than just a race to the same destination as the Dusk. It will test your will, your Light. In desperate times and difficult choices, the truth of one’s heart is revealed. Who you think you are becomes twisted.”
“I have help. Friends. They want to see the Dusk stopped just as much as I do.”
“Perhaps so, but be wary,” he warns. “For they, too, will face their inner darkness.”
“Right,” I say, “because that’s a real struggle for Lady Azaeli and Rian and the rest of the Elite.”
“You have no idea,” Mevyn shakes his head. “Do not take their Light for granted, Tib. Darkness hides in the most unlikely places.”
“Maybe,” I shrug. I don’t know why his warning annoys me so much. Maybe I just don’t want to believe him. “So what now?”
“Now you shall wake, and I shall deliver the offering to you myself,” he says.
“I’m sleeping in Kaso Viro’s tower. Do you know him?”
Mevyn glances again at Valenor with a glint of amusement.
“I have heard the name,” he smirks. There’s the Mevyn I remember. Secretive. Cocky. Obviously smarter than me.
“I’ll wake up, then,” I say. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s already on my nerves. Maybe it’s all the magic here.
I don’t wait for him to reply. I shift my thinking. I’m not here. I’m back at the tower, in the comfortable guest bed Kaso Viro offered me. Sleeping. Waking up. The oasis fades slowly. I feel myself inside my head. It’s a strange feeling. Difficult to describe. It’s the Half-Realm. The place between sleeping and awake, where Rian and Azi can go with a thought. The place I slip into that feels like walking through cobwebs.
Mevyn’s already here when I wake up. Sitting on my knee, looking smug. In his hands, he holds a red glass bottle that shines with liquid from the golden pool.
“Quickly,” he whispers to me. I take the offered bottle, and he disappears before I can think to utter goodbye.
Chapter Thirty-Three: Palace Shadows
Azi
The passage to the dungeons is dank and quiet compared to the courtyard just outside. It’s so silent my footsteps barely make a sound on the sand-worn stone as I rush down the steep slope. I imagine what it must be like to be led through here as a prisoner, as a criminal facing her sentence, and I shiver.
If it wasn’t for the light from my sword, it would be too dark to even see my feet. There are no doorways or other passages that branch off this one. The further I go down the passage, the more determined I feel. I see the archer clearly in my mind, his arrow dripping with poison, and my heart thunders in my chest. I need to know everything about him. Who is he? Why would he do such a thing? I can know. I can find out. The lure of it entices me.
The dark passage leads directly to a cell-like room with a carved wooden desk and a shelf filled with scrolls. Two palace guards flank a broad door to the side of the desk. A fairly young Mage dressed in disturbingly bright orange robes and a strange pointed hat faces them with his back to me.
The three of them are so occupied with whatever the Mage is doing they fail to notice me. I creep up behind the Mage and watch over his shoulder while he performs a complicated sleight-of-hand that involves three glass marbles and a square of silk. When the trick is done, I give a single clap. The guards startle toward me, hands on hilts, and the Mage yelps and catches his hat as it tumbles from his head.
“What-Who-Ah!” the Mage sputters and jumps to his feet. His eyes linge
r on my face and go wide. “H-how can I help you? That is—wh-what are you? I mean,” he musters a little courage and stands a little straighter. “What are you doing here, Lady Knight?”
“That’s Sir Hammerfel,” one of the guards gives me a nod and drops his hand from his hilt. “She’s within her rights to be here.”
His statement is as much of a surprise to me as it seems to be to the Mage. I’ve never had a reason to be here in the dungeons before, so naturally I didn’t realize I’m allowed to be.
“L-lady, S-sir Hammerfel. Pleasure, pleasure,” the Mage stammers, offers a hand to shake, and then pulls it away with uncertainty before I can reach for it. “Right. Name’s Dumfrey. Willis Dumfrey. I’ve always admired you. I mean, your, Rian. Your guild! The Elite. Admired them. Yes.” He folds his arms over his chest and rocks back on his heels as though he’s really unsure what to do with himself. His gaze lingers on the Mark on my cheek. Behind him the guards watch us both, obviously amused by his nervousness. “Wh-what can I do for you?”
“I’d like to see the archer,” I say.
“Uh, the archer, the archer,” he murmurs and rifles through the messy pile of parchment on the desk.
“He just came through,” I crane my neck to look at the papers and then glance at the guards.
“Aye, you just put a sleep on him, Dum,” one of the guards says. “It’s that one there you were just filling out.”
“Right! Well! Here it is, yes. Charges: Trespassing, High Treason, Attempted Regicide,” he scowls at the page. “Name: Unknown. Origin: Unknown. Motive: Unknown.”
“I’d like to see him, please,” I say, and the back of my neck prickles with excitement as Dumfrey gasps.
“Oh, no. I can’t allow that, Lady Knight. Once a prisoner is held asleep, I can only wake him up for trial. That’s the law. I am sorry.”
I look up at the guards and down at the paper again.
“I understand,” I nod thoughtfully. Perhaps it’s best to leave the matter to the courts, after all. Then again, this isn’t about justice. It’s about preventing another attempt at the King’s life. I turn to the guards.
Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) Page 34
