Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1)

by Missy Sheldrake

  My hand frequently slides into my pocket to find Flit’s diamond. I’m so paranoid I’ll lose it that I’ve tucked it into a pouch and tied that pouch to a hidden loop sewn into the lining of my tunic. Occasionally, someone calls my name from their window or doorstep and I wave, and more than once a child runs up to give me a ribbon or a flower or some small trinket. When we finally arrive at the Academy, I’m blushing profusely. I’m also crestfallen.

  A massive crowd has gathered near the entrance to the public audience hall. I can’t recall ever seeing such a gathering to watch an exam. Poor Rian. As we near, I realize that people are being turned away. A harassed-looking yeoman is standing on a platform near the door and gesturing emphatically.

  “No more room, no room. Clear out!” He shouts. My heart sinks at the thought of breaking my promise to Rian.

  “I never saw the likes of it,” Mouli says, and a dejected looking passerby stops.

  “Should have expected it,” he says. “Considering. The youngest to try for Sixteenth in more than forty years, he is. Of course everyone would want to see it.”

  “Protégé of Gaethon himself,” says another, “You know that though.” He nods at my livery, “Azi, right?” I offer the man a half-hearted smile and a nod. Of course everyone would turn up to see Rian’s trials. It’s just as they said. He’s the youngest from Cerion to reach this Circle in decades, and rumors have been flying for years that Master Gaethon is molding him to take his seat one day. The thought of it makes his order to fail that much more of a puzzle to me. My eyes scan the crowd of disappointed would-be onlookers. Are they all here just to see him? My Rian? There’s a tap on my shoulder and I turn to see a page in purple livery. He bobs his head.

  “Squire Azaeli Hammerfel?” he asks. I nod. I recognize this page and I know he recognizes me, too, but of course we have to observe the formalities. “Your presence is requested by Her Highness Princess Sarabel and His Highness Prince Eron. Your chaperone is welcome as well.” I nod again, stunned. Though the palace keeps the Academy at arm’s length, it isn’t unheard of for its members to attend an exam from time to time. Naturally, a trial of such high profile would pique their interest. Especially Prince Eron, I think to myself, knowing what I know now. I try hard to keep my expression neutral as Mouli and I follow the page through the parting crowd and up into the narrow corridor that leads to the viewing area. It’s difficult, considering. All I can think of is my dear Rian having to throw away his chance to shine, and not just in front of an audience, but in front of royalty, too.

  The royal viewing area is dimly lit and cozy. It resembles a theater box about one story up from the floor of the exam ring. It’s set into a recess in the wall, and as Mouli and I enter, I can sense the same spell Rian used in my room earlier has been cast between us and the floor below. We’ll be able to hear what goes on in the ring, but we won’t be able to distract him with our comments.

  The ring itself is small, about the same size as our training square at home. It’s set in a circular stone room with a domed ceiling about seven stories up. A section of the dome has been opened so the early morning sun casts a single beam of light across the floor. Rian sits cross-legged in the center of the beam, his head bowed. I swallow nervously and tear my attention away from him to the princess who is waving me over. I offer the assembly of royal siblings a respectful bow before taking the offered seat beside Sarabel. Princess Amei and Prince Eron are seated on her other side. The prince leans away from his new bride, his rapt attention on a conversation with the stunning woman seated beside him.

  Her sleek black hair falls like a curtain as she tilts her head to talk to him. Her dark almond eyes flick to me and away quickly. She’s dressed in long, wine-red robes with the high styled collar commonly worn by a master. An intricate black design weaves across the fabric of the robes, meant to echo the lines of Mage Mark. I recognize her almost immediately as Mistress Viala, and my hands curl into fists in my lap. It’s her fault Rian is being put through this.

  “Thank you for the invitation, your Highness,” I tear my attention from the two and whisper to Sarabel, who giggles and bats my arm playfully.

  “No need to be so formal, Azi. Can you believe the turnout?” She flicks her eyes to the ceiling where I can hear the thumping and creaking of dozens of feet. “The common seating is standing room only, Viala says.” I try to keep my expression neutral as I look down at Rian. He seems so small and alone, kneeling there in his wedge of sunlight. “He’s awfully handsome, isn’t he?” Sarabel says, making me shift uncomfortably. “I never realized how good looking he is.”

  “Poor Sara,” Amei says with a singsong accent from beside Sarabel, “Anyone looks good after Prince Beaky.” She pinches her nose and pulls her fingers outward, miming a bird’s beak.

  “Or Prince Eyebrows,” Sarabel furrows her brow dramatically, and the conversation dissolves into the two of them lightheartedly teasing about the line of suitors who’ve recently come calling for Sara. They go on as I watch Rian sit in perfect serenity, and I wonder if it’s possible that I’m more nervous for him than he is for himself.

  “Ah, it begins,” says Viala as Rian rises to his feet. “He will demonstrate his spell range in order, from First Circle to Fifteenth.” she explains to the rest of us. Our box goes silent as we watch.

  The knees of his robes are coated in dust and badly rumpled. He sweeps his hands down and away from his shoulders in a smooth movement and all at once the dust is gone and the wrinkles fall away until his appearance is impeccable. He moves his hands again, and the air around him seems to shimmer slightly and then settle.

  “First Circle. Novice spells. A little something to tidy himself, and a shield spell.” I find myself annoyed by Viala’s droll tone as she describes his efforts. I can tell she’s eager to get through the review of simpler spells and into the more impressive ones. I try to block out her voice as I watch Rian use his magic to arrange a wall of glass vases behind him. One of them falls to the ground and shatters, and with a flick of his fingers it repairs itself and sets itself back into place. The ring goes pitch black and I’m momentarily alarmed until Viala explains that he’s just performed a Sixth Circle darkness spell. Then, a burst of colors and blinding light flashes through the ring and I’m forced to squint and look away.

  “Seventh Circle. Dazzle.”

  I blink rapidly and peer down to see Rian floating several feet above the ground. He rises higher and higher until he’s eye level with me, and he points at me and gives me an exaggerated wink. I wave hesitantly and Sarabel grasps my arm and squeals with excitement. He bows to her and then to the Prince before he disappears from view and continues to rise to the next level. Above us we can hear the muffled sound of cheering as the common crowd goes wild, stomping their feet and clapping.

  “That was a Thirteenth Circle levitate. He’s skipped several. He’ll be marked off for that, he’s meant to go in order.” There’s an edge to Viala’s voice as she raises her chin to indicate the box across the ring. For the first time, I notice the group of Masters seated there. They’ll be grading Rian, and he hasn’t missed them. He lowers himself to the ground and then trots over to face them and repeats the spell again until he’s at their level. He offers a midair bow and a flourish before lowering again.

  His feet touch the ground and there are suddenly two of him, then three, then four, then a dozen. All of the Rians walk away from each other in opposite directions, and I have trouble recognizing the real one until he bends to pick up a stone from a stack across the ring from his carefully arranged wall of vases. He tosses the stone up once and catches it, and then he turns to wink at his audience. I shake my head. He isn’t supposed to make such a spectacle of it. He throws the stone with great force and I wince as it goes hurling toward a row of vases, waiting for the crash. It doesn’t come. Instead, the stone hits what seems to be an invisible wall and falls with a thud.

  “Fourteenth Circle Mirror Illusion,” Viala says through clenched teeth. �
�Fourth Circle Ward.”

  “What is he doing?” Eron murmurs. Viala remains silent, and I imagine that she’s shaking her head, but I don’t risk looking away from Rian’s exhibit to see for certain.

  Rian’s mirror images begin to fade as he walks over to retrieve the stone. He raps on the barricade shielding the wall of vases and shrugs. He waves his hand across a section of the wall and it shimmers and fades, much like my bedroom wall those nights ago. He steps through it, and there is an audible gasp from Viala. In the Masters’ box, several of the Mages have risen to their feet. Two of them are arguing with each other, two others are frantically scrawling notes on their parchment.

  “Sixteenth Circle, Cross Borders.”

  At Viala’s narration, I understand the sudden uproar in the Masters’ box. It’s utterly brazen of him to perform a Sixteenth Circle spell when he’s only Fifteenth, especially in this setting. Mouli reaches for my hand and grips it, and my own knuckles are white as I continue to watch. Rian steps back through the wall again and the vases solidify. Then he bends and picks up the stone and murmurs a spell over it. He takes a few steps away and tosses the stone casually over his shoulder. It hits the vases and bursts into a violent explosion, sending a spray of glass shards littering the floor. A collective scream echoes from the royal box and the gallery above, which then erupts into cheers. He is certainly failing spectacularly, just as promised.

  “Fifteenth Circle, Explosive Stone,” Viala huffs as Rian performs a series of intricate gestures. His lips are moving silently and his brow is knit in deep concentration. The shards of glass collect together in a swirling mass in front of him. “Oh, what is he doing now?” Viala ducks her head and covers her eyes. “I can’t watch. He’s ruining everything.”

  “Careful,” I catch Eron’s warning just as the tinkling of glass ceases. We all gasp as the glass glows deep orange as though molten, and shapes itself into the form of a man. It’s a perfect replica of Rian except in glass, like a sculpture made of ice.

  “Seventeenth Circle,” Viala’s voice quivers. “Golem-Self. Excuse me.” She rises to leave, but Eron gestures for her to sit.

  “Leave it. I want to see how far he’ll go.” I see him lean forward from the corner of my vision, obscuring Viala who has slunk back into her chair with her arms tightly crossed over her chest.

  In the center of the ring, Rian commands the golem to follow him. He walks a lap around, and the golem obediently trails behind. Rian gestures at the floor at the golem’s feet, and a group of vines break through the boards and climb upward, entangling it.

  “Fifteenth Circle, Command Plant,” Viala croaks. We watch as the vines carry the golem as high as the ceiling, and Rian thrusts his hands upward. Through the opening of the dome, a thunderous crack of lightning pulses. It crashes into the vines, instantly charring them, and the golem shatters again into thousands of shards of glass that rain down like ice.

  “Nineteenth...Lightning Strike.” I watch the glinting shards as they fall, and I’m worried that Rian will be cut, but they slide away from him as though he’s protected by an invisible bubble. He sweeps his hands together and the shards of glass swirl and link together into their previous form, a wall of glass vases. The gallery above erupts into applause.

  “What was that one that reformed the vases?” Eron asks. The rest of us turn to Viala. She shakes her head. She has no answer for him. I feel a nudge in my pocket and I clap my hand over it protectively.

  “What did I miss?” Flit’s voice echoes in my mind. I shake my head slightly. The crowd above us is still roaring and the sudden racket makes my ears ring as the masters in their box drop the sound barriers. One of the two who had been arguing steps forward and rests his hands on the ledge. He looks quite weary as he peers down at Rian.

  “After much deliberation, it is decided that Apprentice Rian Eldinae is condemned to silence for a period of two weeks week as a punitive measure for his indiscretion in this ring.” The common crowd jeers rudely. The master raises one hand and waits patiently for them to calm down. “After which,” he pauses again, waiting. “After which, it will be recognized that he has risen to the Sixteenth Circle and therefore appointed the title of Mentor.”

  “He didn’t fail it?” Flit’s tone is disappointed. “Why I am not surprised?”

  “No,” I whisper. “But he won’t be able to perform at the ball tomorrow, either.” Suddenly, my uncle’s command makes a little more sense to me. He must have known about the plan to exhibit magic at the palace. Part of me hopes that he also knew how Rian would show off in his effort to fail. Perhaps he foresaw that it would turn out this way.

  “Oh, that’s right,” says Sarabel sadly. “I was so looking forward to seeing what he would do. Perhaps they’ll make an exception, just for tomorrow.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Sara,” Eron sounds as though he could spit venom. “The Academy doesn’t make exceptions for anyone. Especially not us.” Viala rests a hand on his arm but he pulls away petulantly and signals to the royal guard. “Let’s go.” He files out first, and I rise as he passes. Sarabel offers me a hug in his wake.

  “Tell Rian he’s still welcome, even if he isn’t able to perform, okay? And tell him we said congratulations, it was really very impressive.” Over her shoulder, Amei gives me an awkward smile. Eron calls for them to hurry and they rush out together. Viala remains in her seat, glowering down into the ring that Rian has already vacated. Mouli tugs on my arm and we leave together after an awkwardly rushed farewell to the brooding mistress.

  “Oh, if his parents could’ve seen that,” Mouli frets in my ear. “Your uncle is going to have ten fits, I know it. It oughtn’t to have happened.” She wrings my arm nervously. “What was that boy thinking, honestly? Always showing off.” She clicks her tongue.

  “I thought it was amazing,” I say. “Despite the trouble he got himself into. I had no idea what he was capable of.” I mean it. Even though he never should have attempted half of those spells, and certainly not in front of an audience, I’m so proud of him.

  Chapter Thirteen: The Royal Ball

  “My turn!” Flit perches on the window seat beside me, where I sit watching the street below. The afternoon hours have crept by, and as the sun dips low to touch the castle spires, I grow increasingly worried about how long it’s taking Rian to get home. “Did you like the dancing?” Her question conjures a blur of colors and sweet music as fairies dance across my memory. I smile.

  “It was wonderful,” I reply. It’s strange, I usually don’t really care for dancing, but there in the forest it felt so natural and free. I’m reminded of the ball tomorrow, where I will probably have to dance in the formal way, and my stomach twists into knots. I push the anxiety away and recall the forest again. “Was my mother really there?”

  “Uh huh!” Flit nods. “What spells did the stinky Mage perform at his test?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call him that,” I scowl. Someone rounds the corner in the street below, but it’s just a passing neighbor. He waves up at me and I wave back. Flit wiggles her feet. “Shouldn’t you hide?” I ask. “He could have seen you.”

  “My question first.” She tips her head to the side. I sigh and think back to the trial. There were so many spells, I’m sure I miss one or two of them, but I list them off to the best of my memory. Her wings move slowly back and forth as she listens, casting a glittering spray of rainbows across the rough wood of the window molding and the walls beyond. The effect mixed with the peachy glow of sunset is breathtaking. When I’m finished with my answer, she gives me hers. “People can’t see me unless they believe in me. So, a stranger walking by who has no reason to think about fairies has no chance at all.” She pulls a sugar cube out of her tiny belt pouch and starts to crunch on it. “Did the prince say anything interesting while he was watching Rian?” I chew my lip thoughtfully.

  “Mistress Viala said something about Rian ruining everything, and Eron warned her to be careful. It seemed like he was reminding her not to
say too much in front of me.” I think for a while about my next question, careful not to allow her line of questions to distract me. “Why is it that my father and I were both affected by the curse?”

  “Hmm.” Flit’s eyes fade from pink to lavender and then green as they slide to the side thoughtfully. Her lips purse together and scrunch to the opposite side, making her look rather silly. “Your Da crossed into Kythshire with ill intent. Anyone who does that gets touched, and all of their descendants do, too.”

  “Touched?” I ask, but she wiggles her pointer finger to chastise me. Her turn.

  “Do you have something else sweet? I’m getting bored of sugar cubes.” She stuffs the half-eaten cube back into her pouch, and I imagine it must be getting rather sticky in there.

  “I’m sure we do. We have fruit. What does it mean, touched?” I ask.

  “Well, most see it as a curse, because they’re not so bright, are they? I mean, you pick something up and it hurts you and frightens you, so you put it down and worry about it. Some folks are really stubborn and they just keep picking it up and dropping it and trying until their minds get all befuddled and confused and even cruel. And it makes the worst of them come out, and they get even more greedy and even more hungry and they don’t know that it just pushes them farther and farther from what they wanted in the first place. But others are clever, and they figure it out. And if they make the right choices, then we can be friends. But only if friendship is all they really want, and they don’t want to get anything else out of it. But nobody ever really wants that. No one from here, anyway.”