Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1)

by Missy Sheldrake

  "Take cover!" Ember's command from outside is barely audible over the rush of the wind, and as Flitt's light fades, Rian and I clamber through the ruins together to the edge of the keep. Just outside, fairies and their golems scatter away from the windswept Sorcerer. He's merely a blur within the cyclone among the swirling mass of rubble, but occasionally there is a burst of lightning, fire, or ice that escapes the wind. Rian and I cling to each other at the precarious edge of the rubble, watching.

  "He's trying everything to get out," Rian calls over the deafening wind, "but he doesn't realize it's only fueling the wind. Impressive, isn't it? I had no idea Shush had it in him."

  "No wonder he's always whispering," I shout over the gale. Rian and I hold tight to steady each other as Iren rumbles to its knees before us. One hand remains cupped to its broad chest, and I note a thin stream of crimson trailing down its arm. With its free hand, Iren reaches out to Shush's cyclone and plucks the Sorcerer from it. As soon as he does so, the torrent of wind dies to a squall, then a rustle, and then a soft breeze. After a brief a nod of satisfaction, Shush darts back to us to join Flitt, who has perched on a broken bit of wall beside me. She grins at him a little shyly.

  "That was brilliant," she whispers to him. Beside her, with little warning, Twig emerges slowly.

  "Sorry I'm late," he says as he peers around the ruins warily. "Palace business. Did I miss anything?"

  "Only everything," Flitt giggles.

  "Shhh," Shush points and everyone's attention is drawn back to Iren, who holds the limp Sorcerer in his palm, level with its enormous, perfect stone lips.

  "Amazing," Rian breathes as Iren parts its lips and, as though drawing a breath, takes in a stream of twisting blackened energy from the broken sorcerer. The stream goes on for a long while and we watch in silence, mesmerized by the way the energy changes from black, to red, to orange, to gold.

  "It's stripping him," Rian whispers with a mix of awe and horror.

  "Recovering that which was stolen," Ember corrects him as she drifts up the mountainside to join us.

  "Will Iren keep it?" Rian asks, flexing his own fingers as if to quell the pent-up energy that still crackles from them. Ember shakes her head.

  "Of course not. It doesn't belong here. It’s Sunteri magic," Ember scoffs. "Isn't that obvious?" She rolls her eyes and Rian shrugs apologetically. Above us the stream of magic thins. Lifeless in Iren's hand, the Sorcerer's body seems slighter now. Faded, like a swatch of threadbare fabric.

  "You'll be next, Mage," Ember says to Rian with a satisfied grin.

  "What?" I gasp as my heart begins to race at the implied threat. The Sorcerer's frail form grows even more sunken and faded, and with the pounding of my heart comes the ache in my chest again. I reach up instinctively to rub it, my gloved hand clunking softly against the stony scales of my breastplate.

  "I know," Rian says softly as he watches the final stream of energy leave the Sorcerer's body. "I'm ready." The air around Emris' body shifts slightly, his skin and robes fade to gray, and then he crumbles to tiny pebbles which Iren tips out of its hand like grains of sand.

  "Rian," I hug his arm to me tightly as I watch the pebbles bounce gently down the jagged mountain slope. "No..."

  "It won't be like that for me," Rian says. "Don't worry."

  "Flitt," Iren rumbles, and as Flitt rises up to the eye, Iren blows a stream of golden energy into one remaining pebble. "When we are through here, take this stone," it holds out its hand, "to my son.”

  "All right, I will!" Flitt dives to retrieve it, tucks the glowing pebble into a belt pouch, and then darts back to us again.

  "Azaeli, Rian," Iren shifts toward us, lowering the hand that has been clutched to its chest. As Rian and I inch forward together, its fingers uncurl to reveal Viala, her body broken and bruised, lying in a pool of blood which spills down its wrist. "I know of your history," Iren says, mostly addressing Rian, "and so I leave her fate to you." As its words softly rustle her tangled black hair, Viala takes a shallow, rattling breath.

  “Choose to end her suffering, or choose a new life for her with us. One in which she will have no memories of her time before this moment." The eye moves from Rian to me. "If you choose death for her, then you yourself must deal the killing blow." Rian and I exchange looks. Neither of the possibilities seems ideal. The fairies in Ember’s command line the base of the mountain, milling in silence as they watch our exchange. “Choose quickly, for the battle is not yet won. One Sorcerer remains, locked in battle with the king’s men, just through the keep.”

  “You’re sure she’ll have no memory of her past?” Rian asks, staring at Viala’s broken form as she takes another weak gasp for breath. “No way at all to cause this sort of mess again? What will you do with her?”

  “You ask your questions without ceremony, Rian Eldinae.” Iren smiles. “I am certain. She will begin a new life, a life of service to the Northern Border.” Rian turns to me, his eyes searching mine.

  “I don’t know,” he whispers, pulling me close. “She tried to kill you. She’s been horrible.”

  “But it wasn’t all her, Rian. She was being manipulated and controlled. They had her family...” I stare at her pale face, now free of the Mark. She looks so innocent.

  “Still,” Rian sighs. “We’re taught to be guardians of the magic the fae allow us, and she squandered that trust. She shared secrets she vowed to keep. Ancient secrets. She held the prince with Sorcery. Her actions could have destroyed Cerion from the inside out. Kythshire, too.”

  I don’t say anything. I know he’s right. If she was in the hands of the Academy, she’d be stripped, imprisoned or banished, and left to die. In their eyes, what she did would be deemed unforgivable.

  “Yet,” Rian shakes his head. “To kill someone knowing there’s a chance they can be spared? To offer a second chance?”

  “I know,” I nod and reach up to brush a bit of splintered wood from his hair. “I trust Iren. But,” I glance behind me. “Flitt?” She drifts up into the small space between us and crosses her arms.

  “You’re going to spare her, aren’t you?” She purses her lips, and I can’t tell by her tone whether she’s for or against it.

  “I am aware that she has wronged you, Flitt. But this choice is left to the humans. The fae cannot intervene.” Iren says quietly.

  “All right.” Flitt glances at me with a hint of disappointment and then turns to Rian. To my shock, she floats up to his shoulder and perches herself there. Rian turns his head in her direction, wide-eyed. It’s a simple act that might not mean a thing to anyone else here, but to us it means a great deal. With that one, simple movement, she has shown she supports his choice, no matter what he decides.

  “We leave her to you, then, if you’re sure she’ll never be a threat again.” Rian reaches up and rakes his fingers through his hair, his shaking hands still crackling and bursting with excess magic. Iren covers her over with its other hand and closes its great eye as it sits back onto its heels. “And this,” Rian says, holding up his hands as he turns to Ember and Shush. “This I want to return to the Wellspring. Please.” There’s a hint of desperation in his tone that makes me press myself nearer to him and hold him closer.

  “Don’t you want to go out there and use it?” Ember chides. “Iren said the battle isn’t over yet. Think of how impressed your people would be with you.” She smirks. All around us, the fae seem to lean in closer, watching Rian with a mix of fear and awe in anticipation of his reply.

  “No, I don’t,” he answers firmly. “It isn’t mine. It belongs here, with you.” He holds his hands out past me, reaching toward Shush. “Please.”

  “So honorable. These two have to be the ones,” Shush whispers from behind me, and some of the fairies whip their attention to him, issuing a collective “shush!”

  “As you wish,” Iren booms. Gently, it tucks Viala onto a ledge nearby. “Give it to me, and I shall return it to the Wellspring.” Its stony hand lowers to our level, and Rian kisses
me softly and offers me reassurances before climbing up into it. Flitt leaves his shoulder to settle onto mine as Shush and Ember join him. When I start to follow, Iren shakes its head and raises his hand away carefully. “Rest now, Azaeli, and take comfort. It will not be long, and he will not be harmed.”

  “Don’t worry. Wait for me, and we’ll go together to join the others,” Rian offers me a half-assured smile before he disappears behind Iren’s stony fingers.

  Though Iren insisted the process would be short, it seems like ages to me. Flitt, Twig and I try to watch, but from our angle I can’t see anything at all except for the occasional flash of light behind Iren’s bent fingers. A couple of times I feel myself start drifting off, and I’m reminded it’s been nearly a full day since I’ve had any sleep. That’s a dangerous train of thought, though, with a battle still raging on and our guild in need of us. Restlessly, I push myself to my feet and pick my way back inside to the ruins of the keep.

  There’s little that remains of them, now. Bits of tattered velvet drapes, a torn crest. I pause at the crushed settee where Ornis lounged, as a golden glow catches my eye from beneath a torn pillow. Moving it aside, I find the stone tablet, its golden script glowing and fading so quickly that I can barely read it. When I do catch a glimpse, I realize it’s coming through in the Mage’s language. I watch the curling lines ebb and flow as Flitt and Twig join me to peer over my shoulder.

  “It’s going so fast,” Flitt whispers. “What are they saying?”

  “Not yet sunset,” Twig reads aloud, “but we cannot hold them much longer. The effort drains us. We lost another of our number just now. The well is nearly dry. Please, let us release them. We cannot hold on. Please.”

  “Who is it?” Flitt hovers close to the slab. “They sound desperate.”

  “It’s the Sunteri fae,” I whisper. I see them clearly in my memory, huddling around the roots of the trees, hunched over their own slab, hissing over their shoulders at Elliot and me as we near them.

  “We cannot hold much longer,” Twig reads aloud. I’m so drawn in by the golden lines that I don’t notice Rian until he settles onto the settee and leans against me to reach across to the shining surface of the slab. I wonder at the now smooth, unmarked skin of his neck and face as he uses his finger to scrawl upon it. Twig reads his writing as the words form and fall away into the polished red surface:

  “We have no need of the humans now. Release them and restore yourselves. Guard the Wellspring with your lives. It is yours to protect.” We watch his script fall away into the depths and the reply rise to the surface. “Thank you! Yes! Masters, we will guard it!”

  “Masters!” Ember barks over Rian’s shoulder. “Masters! What have the southern fae reduced themselves to, addressing Mages as Masters? Answering to humans?”

  “Careful, Ember,” Shush whispers.

  “Well!” Flitt says loudly, sending a burst of rainbow prisms dancing over the walls to divert our attention from Shush and Ember’s exchange. “Will you look at that?” She points outside, where Iren sits with its head tipped back. A thick, steady stream of golden energy rises from its mouth up into the bright blue sky. “All of that was in you, Rian, and now it’s going back to the Wellspring!” I turn to Rian, who looks as exhausted as I feel.

  “I’m glad to be rid of it,” he laughs with relief. “I don’t wish that on my worst enemy, having to own so much power. I’m content to stay in the Sixteenth Circle for now.” I graze my fingers along his pale jawline where the Mark once swirled, and he leans forward and kisses me. “You were brilliant,” he murmurs in my ear, warming my cheeks.

  “We’re not done yet,” I say, remembering the battle still being fought outside. Flitt settles on my shoulder as I push myself wearily to my feet and Rian tucks the slab into his bag.

  “Azi?” My mother’s voice echoes into the ruined keep amid a sudden uproar of cheers and applause from the fairies gathered outside. I lunge toward the edge of the keep ruins to see her making her way up the mountain slope among them, her silver plate mail gleaming bright in the midday sun. She pauses when she sees me, her hand reaching instinctively to her sword. At first I’m confused, but then I imagine how I must look to her in the strange, shimmering blue armor gifted to me by Iren, standing in the rubble with my white cloak whipping around me. It’s only when Rian comes to stand beside me that she seems to realize who I am.

  “Mum!” I cry as I stumble down the slope to her. We meet halfway and crash together in a tight embrace as the cheers rise to a deafening roar. Through my tears I watch the crowd of countless fairies in every color and shape gather. The mass of them stretches far up into the sky and deep along the golden wheat field all the way to the forest’s edge. I stare in disbelief at the sheer number of them. I had no idea that Kythshire was home to so many. The sight is dazzling, and the sudden realization of how many creatures we fought to protect today overwhelms me. My knees wobble, and my chest aches with the pounding of my heart. Beside us on the slope of the Crag, Iren’s great mouth closes as the stream of energy ends. It tips its head forward again and surveys us all.

  “Iren! Iren! Iren!” The mass of fairies chants and cheers and dances wildly. Their energy is infectious, and I find myself grinning and laughing in my mother’s arms as Rian comes to join us with Flitt and the others trailing close behind.

  “Six there were, and none remain,” Iren bows to us. “The battle is won.” Its great eye slides past us to the keep above. Rian, Mum and I turn, and the first thing I see is a flash of red hair and the swish of a blue cloak. Slowly, other figures begin to emerge from the darkness and appear at the crumbled edge of the keep wall. Bryse is easiest to spot in his now badly dented plate, and Cort is at his side, his twin swords drawn and ready. Brother Donal is next with Dacva peering out from behind him. Then comes Uncle Gaethon, his tattered robes whipping around him as he stares at the gathering with an expression of wonder and disbelief.

  Mya’s voice carries over us before we see her, her fingers idly strumming her lute as the fox comes to sit at her side. Her song lifts me up, its power energizing and healing me. I search the darkness desperately as they arrive one by one, and I know my mother sees him before I do when she slips from my arms and starts clambering up the rocky slope, crying his name.

  “Benen! Benen!” She struggles in her heavy armor, and Flitt, Twig, Ember, and Shush rush to lift her up to where my father stands with his arms outstretched.

  “Lisabella!” His voice cracks as she falls into his arms. In unison they slide each other’s helms off and drop them to the ground. My father holds her close, and they stare deep into one another’s eyes in a way that plainly shows a hundred words silently spoken between them in an instant. Then he bends his head to hers, and they lose themselves in a sweet, deep kiss.

  Chapter Thirty: Home

  Mya suggests that we set up temporary quarters in some of the lower, intact rooms of the keep and get a good night’s sleep after the hard-fought battle. We settle easily back into our usual routine. Rian and Uncle go off together to whisper secretly while Mum, Da, and I prepare the room we’ll sleep in with Mya, Elliot and Rian. I smile to myself as I help Mum off with her armor and she does the same for me. The quilted gambeson and trousers beneath the suit that Iren gifted me is just as finely made, and quite comfortable. We make up our beds and build a fire in the small hearth. When the work is done, Da settles beside my armor to admire its craftsmanship while Mum brushes the dust and knots from my hair. Bryse’s laugh booms from the room beside ours followed by Donal and Cort’s. Further away, Mya’s song drifts along as she and Elliot scout the remains of the keep.

  My heart sings with joy to know we’re all together and safe again, and as its beat quickens, the pain I’ve come to expect follows. I press my hand to my chest and Mum pauses the brush mid-stroke.

  “Sweeting? Are you hurt?” She rests a gentle hand on my shoulder and Da looks up with concern.

  “Last night,” I pause. Was it really just last night that
Viala was stripped? No wonder I’m so exhausted. So much has happened. “Last night Viala struck me with a spell. I was healed, I thought, but I still have pain from time to time.” Mum rubs my shoulder and exchanges a look with Da.

  “I’ll get Donal,” Da says as he sets down my glove.

  Brother Donal is of course trailed closely by Dacva. He does his best to avoid me while Donal looks me over, which is just fine by me. While we were making up the room, Da recounted some of their battle against Redemption and the Sorcerer and his skeletons. He laid on the praise of Dacva’s newfound healing talents thickly for my benefit, even describing a moment when Dacva saved him from bleeding out by healing a deep gash while Da and Bryse were locked in battle with Dar. Still, it’s going to be awhile before I can accept his change in allegiance.

  Bryse and Cort mill just outside of the door and a hush falls over us as Donal administers to me. He describes the wound in detail to Dacva, who listens like a dedicated student.

  “The spell was meant to kill,” he says. “But it was stopped by some ward so it only affected the heart. It’s been healed but not completely. Imagine a fist of energy clamped around the heart, squeezing. Of course one would notice it more during moments of fear or joy. Any time the heart would beat faster. See here.” He takes Dacva’s hand and moves to place it on my chest, but I roll away quickly in protest. Accepting him is one thing, but allowing him to touch me is quite another. Outside in the hall, Bryce growls.

  “Right,” Donal says with a sigh. “Very well, I’ll do it myself, Azi. Come, now.” He pats my shoulder and I roll back, and it’s not long after he places a gentle hand over my heart that I drift to sleep.

  I wake just after dawn to a room empty of all but Rian, who is snoring next to his parents’ unoccupied bedrolls. Careful not to wake him, I pad across the room to sit at his side and take his hand. The conversation next door drifts into the room, and I listen quietly as I settle back against the wall.