Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1)

by Bridgett Powers

  “But it isn’t yet noon,” Jarad said.

  Lyssanne looked up into an unbroken tent of deepest green. “How can you tell?”

  “The angle of the sun slanting through the trees.”

  “Then, perhaps we should go on,” Lyssanne said. “I have strength enough.”

  “No.” Steel undergirded the softness of Reina’s voice. “It is time.”

  They stopped to share a meal of cold roast rabbit and berries, then Jarad pointed out a rather unusual plant. Lyssanne bent close to examine its velvety, blue leaves. Cupped to form an inverted bell, they shimmered iridescent in the gloom.

  The faint glitter brightened to a sudden glow, and a geyser of green and white sparks shot from the center of the plant, pushing its leaves outward. Lyssanne yelped and jumped back.

  A tiny pop overhead sent sparks raining to the ground. Atop the geyser of light, sat an emerald-clad faerie with spiky, black hair.

  Jarad exclaimed something unintelligible, all but concealing the sound of a second pop. Then, a familiar voice spoke from above, wrenching Lyssanne’s gaze from the geyser.

  “Must you forever indulge in theatrics, Jada?” said the faerie Olivia, floating down from the trees. She poked her wand at her spiky-haired companion.

  “Cut it out!” said Jada. “That tickles.”

  Lyssanne’s breath hitched. It had been Jada’s acerbic voice she’d heard just before meeting Olivia in the ring of flowers behind her cottage.

  “That’s—They’re…flying!” Jarad said.

  “Of course we’re flying,” Jada said. “We’re faeries. Though, actually, we are floating.”

  Jarad began murmuring again.

  “Hush, Jarad,” Reina said, seeming unsurprised at the faeries’ sudden appearance. “Come, let us search out more berries. I believe your supply is running low.” She nudged him through the bundle slung over his shoulder. “Lyssanne will be quite safe in their company.”

  He followed her into the trees, still muttering about faeries and myths.

  Olivia made formal introductions then asked Lyssanne to sit with her in the thick grass. Once they three were settled, she sighed. “You are losing your way, daughter of the King.”

  “I know,” Lyssanne said, flushing at this lofty manner of address. “Autumn is soon upon us, and I have no notion how to find the nearest town. Can you help us?”

  “You mistake me,” Olivia said. “I speak of a concern far more important than the direction of your travels. You are losing your way within.”

  Lyssanne raised a brow. “Within?”

  “How can you direct the power that resides in your spirit if you flounder in the dark?” Olivia said. “The youngest of faeries learn this before all else. Your mind must be centered. The smallest spark, without clarity of purpose, will wreak havoc.”

  “What has such to do with me?” Lyssanne asked. “I am no faerie.”

  Jada snorted.

  “Unless you rediscover your center,” said Olivia, “like that spark, the fire within you will either burn to no effect or cause great damage.”

  “You speak of sorcery,” Lyssanne whispered. She rose; her gaze fixed on the faeries. “Since Reina holds affection for you, I ask your forgiveness if what I must say seems uncivil.” She took a long breath, her face heating. “The Kingsword forbids sorcery, and if you practice such, I wish nothing further to do with you.”

  Olivia’s leaf-green wings fluttered, and she floated up to Lyssanne’s eye level. “You are wise to test us so,” she said. “Always test the spirit of those who seek to influence you.”

  Jada whisked up beside her. “Olivia wasn’t talking about magic, though,” she said, “but of a gift from the King. What men call a faerie’s magic is His power at work through us, not our own.” She drew so near, Lyssanne could see tiny points of light dancing across her face. “The gift He has given you is far more powerful than that.”

  A nervous laugh escaped Lyssanne’s throat. “You are mistaken. I have nothing of the sort. Such gifts would be wasted on me.” She sighed. “His others certainly were.”

  “And you have the right to judge the choices of the King?” Jada said. “Will you dare tell Him His time and blessings are a waste?”

  Heat draining from her face, Lyssanne shook her head. She’d meant nothing of the kind.

  “Jada, that is enough,” Olivia said.

  “I intend no disrespect, Captain, but the time for coddling is past.”

  “Captain?” Lyssanne asked.

  Olivia waved the question away. “My rank in the Royal Elfin Army.”

  “FAE division, of course,” said Jada.

  “Fay?”

  “F. A. E. Faeries Against Evil,” said Jada, as if that explained everything.

  “We serve the King of All Lands, as you do,” Olivia said. “The FAE are one small branch of His vast army.”

  “You are akin to angels, then?” Lyssanne asked.

  “Nothing quite so grand,” Olivia said, chuckling. “Angels go before the throne of the King and battle in the spirit realm. Faeries receive messages from Him and battle other so-called magical creatures. Mostly, we fight mortals who gain dark power from the Thief of Souls.”

  Lyssanne shivered. “Surely you don’t think that I would ever—”

  “No, dear child of the King,” Olivia said, “quite the contrary. We have come to help you prepare for battle, and to fight beside you if necessary.”

  “Now, I know you are mistaken,” Lyssanne said, laughing. “I am the last person you would wish beside you in a battle.”

  “The queen was right,” Jada said. “Her spirit’s wet as mud. You can't ignite that.” She turned, waving her wand in Lyssanne’s face. “Dry up, girl. Where’s the fiery resolve that has kept you alive?”

  “I’m sorry,” Lyssanne said. “I am not what you think. I've never been like that.”

  “Humph. You learned to read when no one thought you could. Where is that spark now?”

  “That’s different. Mr. DeLivre and my mother—”

  “Sure, they believed in you, but you had the fire to do the thing,” Jada said. “Don't give me that look. Many still believe in you—Reina, the kid, our queen—though I can’t fathom why.”

  “Jada!” Olivia said.

  “Well, the King never gave up on her, so she has no right to give up on Him.”

  “I would never—”

  “Giving up on yourself is the same thing, saying what He created wasn't good enough.”

  Heat bubbled up from Lyssanne’s middle. Why must she forever fight to prove herself? This faerie was no different from the people in Cloistervale. “I am not giving up!” she said. “You have no idea what effort is required of me just to rise each day. If I’d given up, I’d be dead!”

  “Ha!” Jada said. “There it is. There’s that fire!”

  Lyssanne drew a deep breath to calm her voice. “Forgive me.” She ducked her head. “The fault is not yours. How could immortal beings possibly understand what it is like to suffer prolonged illness or the kind of pain that saps the strength and steals the ability to truly live?”

  “And poof,” said Jada, “there it goes.”

  “I’m certain you mean well,” Lyssanne said. “’Tis just, the King, I—I've failed Him.”

  “No,” Olivia said, “you will only fail Him if you refuse His call, refuse to try.”

  Tears stung the corners of Lyssanne’s eyes. “What must I do?”

  “Acknowledge and use the gift He has placed inside you,” Olivia said. “’Tis a powerful weapon, and you must learn to wield it.”

  “What weapon could I possibly possess? I haven't the strength to lift a sword, the sight to aim an arrow, or the nerve to wield a dagger.”

  “The ability to command Light is a weapon stronger than any blade, surer than any arrow. You’ve been granted the authority to command Light Himself.”

  “Himself?”

  “Light is the very essence and nature of the King of All Lands,�
�� Olivia said.

  “If that is true, how can you say I must command Him?” Lyssanne shivered. “I dare not even think it!”

  “Not as a superior to a subordinate,” Olivia said. “It is His power you may command. In placing a measure of it within you, He has chosen to shine through you.”

  “Yet, beware,” said Jada. “This weapon can warm or burn, sustain life or consume it, destroy, create, reveal, all the things natural light can do, only to a greater degree. This Light operates in the realms of the spirit as well as the natural.”

  “But how do I—”

  “Shh,” Olivia hissed, glancing over her shoulder as a distant caw pierced the forest. “Leave questions for later. We have given you quite enough to think on. Here.”

  With a sizzle of sparks, a scroll unfurled from empty air.

  “Study these passages in the Kingsword,” Olivia said, handing Lyssanne the scroll. “They will help you understand the aspect of His nature that is Light.”

  Lyssanne held the parchment as if it might crumble. Rows of large, neat script covered it.

  “Captain,” Jada said, her voice full of warning.

  “I know.” Olivia placed a hand on Lyssanne’s shoulder. “We must go. Be always on your guard, for the wings of darkness hover ever near.”

  With a pop and shower of sparks, the faeries vanished.

  Brennus clenched and unclenched his fists, as his shadowy fingers took on solid form. Sunset, at last. He slipped from behind a plateris trunk just in time to intercept Jarad’s blundering rush toward the tree line.

  “C’mon, Lady Lyssanne!” the boy called over his shoulder. “The town’s just through those trees, but if we don’t hurry, they might close the gates.”

  “I just need…a moment,” she said, stopping with hands on knees several paces behind.

  Sighing, Jarad faced forward as if to continue walking. His gaze alighted on Brennus, and he straightened, the frown melting from his face. “Sir Brennus? Here? Brilliant!” He stepped forward, pointing through the trees. “Did you come from that town? We’re headed there and—”

  “Straight into a manhunt,” Brennus said. “One that hunts you.”

  Jarad stared. “Us? Because of Westerfield? But we can’t stay in the forest forever.”

  “Jarad, what…?” Lyssanne stumbled to a halt next to the boy. “Sir Brennus?”

  He inclined his head, schooling his expression and voice to neutral civility as the unicorn trotted up to Lyssanne’s side. “I advise a change in course, lest you risk imprisonment or worse.”

  Jarad slumped against the tree that had been Brennus’ hiding place. “Camping, again.”

  “There is a small stream to the east,” Brennus said. “Its banks are smooth enough for a campsite, and the tree cover will shelter you from view of the town.” This would afford him the perfect opportunity to complete his odious mission.

  As Brennus led the way to the small clearing, Jarad and Reina peppered him with questions, for which he’d prepared plausible responses, but Lyssanne remained silent. When she stumbled over a root, he caught her arm to steady her.

  “You’ve gone pale,” he said. “Have you contracted a fever?”

  Shaking her head, she sank onto the pebble-strewn ground near the stream.

  He crouched beside her, unable to resist this chance to discover what she might know of her curse. “What causes this lack of strength which so often plagues you?”

  “I am not certain how to explain it,” she said, squinting toward Jarad and Reina, who’d stopped farther downstream to drink and refill the water-skins. “I barely understand it myself.”

  “At times, you seem perfectly healthy,” he said, “but with the least exertion, you fade.”

  She glanced about as if his scrutiny unsettled her, then her expression shifted. Leaning toward the stream, she gathered up a handful of pebbles. “Imagine, every day we are each given a measure of strength,” she said. “Not strength of character or of muscle, but the energy to sustain life and perform all the tasks set before us.”

  Brennus murmured his understanding.

  “Now, imagine these stones represent that measure of strength.” She piled all the stones into a heap between them. “Let us say, this is the energy given most people—you, Jarad, others. The strength of one stone is required to keep the heart beating and breath flowing, one stone to rise from bed, one to dress, another to prepare food, one to eat it. You see?”

  “Yes,” he said. “And when that strength is used, you remove a stone?”

  “Just so.” She smiled. “Will you try an experiment with me?”

  He consented.

  “Then, if you please, close your eyes.” He complied, and after a moment, she said. “Now, open them and tell me what you see.”

  “Nothing,” he said, raising a brow at her. “That is, all is as it was.”

  “Is it? Let us say you’ve prepared and eaten a meal.” She opened her hand, revealing two stones she’d hidden. “You have so many stones, you don’t notice when two are used up.”

  She beckoned him to lean forward and showed him a spot on her side of the pile, from which she’d removed the stones she held.

  “The height of the pile isn’t diminished from the loss, but…” She arranged four stones into a square, with a fifth atop them. “Let us say this is the measure of strength with which I awaken.” She removed the topmost stone and one other. “Now, I’ve prepared and eaten a meal.”

  “I take your meaning,” he said. “The shape of your pile is greatly altered, and only the strength to sustain life and perform two other tasks remains. This for the entire day?”

  “Yes,” she said, “and if I fail to rest, I must borrow strength from tomorrow. Then, I may be unable to rise for several days thereafter.”

  “Why is it, your store of strength is so paltry compared with others’?”

  “I, I am not certain,” she said. “It wasn’t always thus. I became quite ill early last year and have not been myself since.”

  He stared. Could she truly still have no knowledge of Venefica’s power…or her own?

  Lyssanne piled the kindling and small limbs Sir Brennus had gathered onto a smooth spot of ground well away from the stream—and the night bugs it attracted. She squinted at the rough pyramid she’d constructed. Would it hold the larger wood the knight had gone to collect?

  She pulled her cloak tighter about her and sank onto the soft grass. Who would imagine a simple stream and patch of smooth ground could seem a luxury? Still, with fatigue leeching the heat from her, what she most needed was a bed and a couple weeks to spend in it. Since her illness had struck, that had been the only thing capable of restoring any semblance of energy.

  Now, if she could just get the fire going, she might stop shivering. If only the faeries had spoken true, and she did possess a gift that could warm the coldest night. She shook her head at the notion, but a sudden thought struck. For once, she was alone. She would ask the King.

  “If I do have such a gift, and it is your good purpose that I should use it,” she whispered, “please grant me to know this. Show me, that I may never question a treasure you've given.”

  Continuing in silent converse with the King, she made several attempts at the fire. The wood refused to spark. Perhaps she should wait for Jarad’s return. Surely he could get it going. Tossing the flint aside, she begged the King’s pardon for her distraction and thanked Him for her companions—especially Sir Brennus, who seemed to appear just when they needed his aid.

  Sudden warmth pulsed at the center of her being then wrapped its way outward, through and around her body. Such love for the King filled her, it mattered not what gifts she might possess or where she must go. He was with her. Nothing else could compare.

  The warmth grew so intense she might soon catch fire. ’Twas no wonder the King was often called the Great Light of the world. This love must light the very air around her. Surely anyone who looked on her would see it. She smiled, her first true sm
ile in an age.

  Then, a flash lit up her closed lids.

  Her eyes flew open, and she stared. A tiny flame danced on the kindling that had resisted the flint, and her hands…they glowed. Not with reflected firelight, but with some inner radiance that faded even as she watched. She glanced around. Had she somehow struck the kindling while in prayer? No, the flint lay several paces away from either her or the wood.

  The faeries were right! This must be the sign she’d longed for, but why would the King use His great power for so mundane a task? The very thought seemed a sacrilege. Still, perhaps He’d known this small demonstration wouldn’t frighten her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered. She stood on unsteady legs, in need of water and even more tired than before. She cared not. The joy of the King’s gift spilled over into a laugh.

  A twig snapped, and the laugh shrank back into the pit of her stomach.

  “Witch!” Sir Brennus lunged from the shadows, tall, solid as the trees from whence he’d emerged. Ringing metal rent the air as he drew his sword.

  Lyssanne shook her head. “What…where?”

  Sir Brennus advanced toward her, firelight sparkling off the edge of his blade. He held the sword between them as if to guard against an impending blow. “What sorcery is this?”

  “What? I…” She stepped back, spreading her arms.

  “Do not think to use your witch tricks against me.” The tip of his blade stopped inches from her chin. “You'd be dead before you have the chance.”

  “Me?” she whispered, her remaining strength draining away. “I'm not a witch.”

  “I saw what you did. Do not attempt to deceive me.”

  “What—what did I do?”

  “The fire.”

  “That w-wasn’t magic. It was just…” She longed to retreat, but her legs were about as steady as unbaked loaves. What could she tell him? She hadn’t done magic. She couldn’t have.

  Her stomach plummeted to her feet, and air whooshed in her ears. To prevent falling, she dropped to her knees, then stared up at him, cold droplets beading on her upper lip and cheeks.

  “Oh, you hide it well, behind that mask of helplessness.” He let out a bitter laugh. “You nearly had me fooled, but I know intentional magic when I see it. No flint sparked that fire. It came from your hands, from somewhere inside you.”