Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1)

by Bridgett Powers

  The stones he’d chosen would bruise, but were neither large enough nor piled high enough to kill. One glimpse of Lyssanne had turned his honor to dust. His oath and its consequences could hang. He could not be the hand that caused her death.

  Venefica needn’t be aware of that, though. His plan would appear an attempt at fulfilling her commands, and would discourage Lyssanne from pursuing this foolish quest.

  All was proceeding as he’d anticipated. The midmorning sun crested the peaks as Jarad entered the pass ahead of Lyssanne, pointing out hazards. Even should he notice the branch in time to warn her, she would trigger the trap. Her legs were too short, especially in skirts, to step clear of it.

  The minor rockslide would bar their way, and Lyssanne would doubtless refuse to risk a greater landslide or worse calamity that might endanger Jarad’s life. She would turn back, perhaps for Avery Hall. Then, Brennus could put his earlier plan into play, sending her to safety.

  Noire alighted on a ledge overlooking his trap. As Lyssanne and Jarad neared, cold lanced up his spine. Venefica was watching.

  Jarad stepped over the branch but, seeming lost in thought, said nothing of it.

  Seconds later, shuffling her feet as she often did to feel for unevenness in the ground, Lyssanne reached the spot. The toe of one shoe caught beneath the branch. She pitched forward, arms flailing, as a low rumble shook the mountainside.

  The chill increased along Noire’s back, and the ledge beneath him heaved in a violent lurch, propelling him into the air.

  Venefica! She’d sent a burst of power through him to augment what he’d done! That power cracked open the mountainside.

  Jarad spun around and looked up. His wordless yelp came seconds too late, as half the mountain slid toward him. He jumped back, fending off the wall of loose stones and dust that rained between him and Lyssanne.

  In that instant, Lyssanne too looked up, but couldn’t extricate her foot from the branch and small stones that had already fallen. Just as the larger rocks began their crushing descent, she cried something Noire couldn’t make out, and Jarad loosed a scream of terror and loss that would have shattered the coldest of hearts.

  21

  The Path Unseen

  Noire whipped the air into a vortex of feather and fury. He could do nothing but circle and croak. Nothing!

  Lyssanne’s indistinct cry and Jarad’s scream nearly slammed him from the sky.

  The next instant, a green haze coalesced from the air behind Lyssanne and resolved into a giant dog. The beast latched its teeth onto the back of her cloak and…vanished!

  The mountainside fell, but Lyssanne was no longer beneath it.

  Lyssanne closed her eyes and flung her arms up to shield her head from the falling dust and rubble. The world was breaking apart above her! Something snagged at her cloak, jerking her backward by the throat. She stumbled, her foot at last wresting free of the debris.

  The ground heaved then gave way. Her stomach lurched as if she were spinning, and air whipped at her face. The next instant, her feet slammed into a floor that hadn’t been there seconds before, jarring her spine. She flailed for balance, stones and dirt no longer pelting her.

  The violent tremors stopped, but an ominous rumbling continued behind her.

  Her eyes flew open. Darkness filled her vision. Gasping, she swept out a hand, but could discern no motion, no deepening of shadow where her hand should be…nothing. Her throat constricted, but a thought far worse than loss of sight crushed her heart in its frozen fist.

  “Jarad!” she shouted. “Jarad, where are you? Are you hurt?”

  Her voice rang hollow in the vast, black silence.

  She had to find him. She stretched a hand toward the fallen rocks on her left, and met emptiness. Where was the mountainside? It had been within reach even before half of it had decided to bury them. Had the ground opened beneath her when the mountain had torn asunder?

  “The King is our refuge, though all else gives way,” she whispered, finishing the passage she’d shouted when the rocks first fell. “Jarad!”

  She slid her foot forward, searching for whatever had pinned it. No debris met her toes. A guttural sound rumbled again behind her. Flinching, she ducked to ward off more falling rocks.

  Then, hot breath puffed through her hair.

  An animal! That rumble was its growl.

  Lyssanne shuffled forward as swiftly as she dared. If she lost her footing, the beast would be upon her. Trusting her toes to detect any rubble in her path, she stretched one hand before her midsection, the other angled to shield her face.

  As she moved ahead, the growls ceased.

  Where was all the rubble? She halted mid-step, her questing feet finding only smooth ground. Even had she fallen into a hole, debris should have fallen with her.

  The growl began anew, moist breath sliding down her nape.

  She must keep moving, must find Jarad.

  She brushed at moisture beading on her cheeks. The air had lost its crisp, mountain chill. Still, she shivered. The icy kernel of an idea had lodged in her heart.

  What if…could she be…dead? Was this growling creature ushering her through the Great Dark to…what? Nothing she’d heard or read about the King’s Shining Land had included this.

  But where was Jarad? Where was the debris? And where was the light?

  A sudden gust of air whooshed up her arm and struck her face, a stirring so vast it could only be coming from below. She skidded to a halt, flung her arms wide, and flexed her knees, as vertigo nearly sent her sprawling. Certain she stood at the edge of a precipice, she backed away a few paces…then froze again.

  Something was behind her, something huge—and it wasn’t the animal. In contrast to the maw ahead, the air at her back had thickened and grown warmer, as if trapped against a wall.

  She reached behind her, intending to back against the wall and follow it with her palms, but instinct screamed that she mustn’t touch it.

  The great animal growled beside her, its breath hot against her left arm.

  Flee, her mind shouted. But where, with some danger behind her, a vast openness before?

  The air stirring from below seemed to whisper. A light unto your path…

  “King of All…” She mouthed her words, lest she rouse the animal with true speech. “Direct my steps. I need your hand to guide me.”

  She blinked away unshed tears, and her vision shifted. A ribbon of brighter darkness stretched forth from her right foot, illuminating the ground a pace ahead as if she held a dim lantern shrouded in dark silk. She sidled along that indistinct path as she would a narrow ledge.

  Noire flew in dizzying circles over Jarad and the mound of rock filling the pass. His keen eyes pierced every inch of the area, examining every pebble for a scrap of cloth, a discarded shoe, any sign of her. People simply didn’t vanish before one’s eyes.

  Jarad broke free of his stupor and went mad with desperate action. He shifted rock after rock, calling Lyssanne’s name. Heedless of bruises and hands scraped raw and bloody, he dug through what he could lift and heaved at what he could not. His intent flashed in his eyes—he would dig her out of that heap if it killed him.

  If he kept up such a pace, it likely would. At least he could do something besides fly about. Noire had no way to even utter what he knew. She was gone.

  Just as Jarad reached up for another chunk of mountain, a flash lit the stone. He jerked his hand away from the leafy sparks sizzling at his fingertips.

  The faerie Olivia stared down at the boy from atop the rock. She crossed her ankles and tapped her wand in a lazy rhythm across one knee. “She is not to be found here, young Jarad.”

  “The rocks fell…and she, she was…Help me!” Jarad shrieked.

  “Hear me, Jarad,” Olivia said, vanishing her wand to grasp his face in both hands. “She has been taken to the realm of the FAE.”

  Jarad blinked up at her.

  “You must await her return.” She slid her hands to his shoulders and
gave them a gentle shake. “Jarad, travel farther along the pass, for ’tis there she will arrive. She will need you.”

  “She, she’s alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?” Jarad said, a mere rasp. “When will she return? Is she hurt?”

  “The sun will not shine again before you see her face.” Olivia released him and fluttered above the rubble. “Watch and wait.” Another flash, and she vanished.

  Lyssanne followed the vague path, each footfall surer than the last. Soon, she turned to walk it straight on. As she went, her surroundings gained definition. The animal’s breath remained at her back.

  At length, the deeper darkness to her left grew distinct, indicating the precipice she’d suspected. Shifting shades of gray played over the mass to her right, sharpening to reveal pointed spines peppering the wall.

  A pinpoint of light punctured the gloom ahead. She froze. The light drew closer, growing in size and brightness. Then, rays of color shot forth from the light, illuminating the landscape. Even the precipice filled to bursting with hues so vivid she had to shield her eyes. Flowers?

  Blinking, she turned from the gorge. The wall of spines resolved into the thorny, vine-covered base of an earthen terrace. She glanced back at the floating light and gasped. It had dimmed, sprouted wings, and taken on the form of a faerie.

  The figure, a male, began to grow, soon exceeding Clark’s height. His wings and tunic, a purple deep as dusk-painted forests, drank in the light. Hot breath fanned Lyssanne’s hair as a hulking shape pushed past her. The faerie turned to pat the head of the beast—a great, green dog.

  “Well done, Cusith,” the faerie said, his voice deep and resonant as the creature’s growl. He slapped the dog’s flank, and it bounded off, vanishing mid-leap. The faerie turned to Lyssanne, his expression fierce. “You’ve passed the test,” he said. “Barely.”

  “Test?” Lyssanne whispered.

  “A trial of trust.” He loomed close. “Does your trust truly rest in the King, or will you pay more heed to the counsel of your senses?” His tone grew icy. “Will you walk the path unknown, relying on His guidance—even if that guidance reveals nothing but the next step to be taken?”

  “The darkness, the cliff…you were testing my loyalty?”

  He nodded. “As yet, I am unconvinced.”

  Lyssanne clutched fistfuls of skirt and fought to keep her voice level. “Where is Jarad?” He could be hurt, and this faerie was toying with her?

  “Already, you lose focus!” The faerie drew nearer, forcing her to step back. “This is no game. The path you’ve been called to walk is treacherous. If you turn aside, even by a single footfall, it could mean destruction—and not only for you.”

  She clutched at the pendant Aderyn had given her a lifetime ago. Its star-points bit into her palm. “His—his life isn’t a game either.”

  The faerie tilted his head, as if listening to something she couldn’t hear. “He lives.”

  “Thank the King,” she whispered. “Wait…” She swung her gaze back to his face. “You speak of trust; how do I know I can trust you?”

  “I am Alvar, a captain of the FAE.”

  “Like Olivia.”

  He laughed. “Olivia is assigned to protection detail. I, to offensive warfare. It is my task to vanquish the King’s enemies. I do not wait for them to attack. I sweep them before me like dust.” At his gesture, a whip-crack of air slashed past her, forcing her back another step. “You are at war. The Thief of Souls gives no quarter, and neither do I. It is time you join the battle.”

  “I’m no warrior.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  Of him? “Yes.”

  “Do you place so high a trust in your enemy?”

  “Of course not, but if you’re in the King’s army, you couldn’t be—”

  “I speak not of myself,” he said. “In the war against the Thief of Souls, more than mere life is at stake. Fear is faith in the powers of darkness. If you expect the works of the enemy will come to pass, you can have no victory.”

  “But fear makes us cautious,” she said, “restrains us from reckless action.”

  “Caution is born of the King’s wisdom. Fear breeds doubt. That is death to faith.”

  “I…yes, I understand.”

  “See that you do. My queen has sacrificed too much, just to give you the chance to wield your gift as it was intended. Know this, I will not permit the enemy to use you to further harm her. Nor will I see your gift turned from the King’s purpose. I’ll see you destroyed myself first.”

  She shivered. “I wasn’t even born when the queen’s daughter—”

  “My queen has lost far more than the Princess Tria for your sake, and recently. See that those sacrifices were not in vain. Else, you deal with me.”

  “Alvar.”

  Lyssanne spun. Jada hovered paces away, staring at the giant faerie as if he were a bug.

  “Your charge got herself into trouble again, Jada,” Alvar said.

  “Who it was that got her into trouble isn’t at issue, Captain. The question is, why’s she here?”

  “The voice of the King’s word puts me to flight, as it does you.”

  “Yes, we heard her speak it, ‘The King is our refuge.’” She fluttered around Lyssanne, partly shielding her. “She is our charge. Why was it you who snatched her from that trouble?”

  “I was closer…or Cusith was.”

  “Where, exactly, are we?” Lyssanne asked. “And where is Jarad?”

  “Where you left him, I expect,” said Jada. “You’ve strayed into the realm of the faerie folk, and it is time you return to your young friend.”

  Jada turned to Alvar and spoke in a language Lyssanne had never heard. After a brief exchange, Alvar looked at Lyssanne, still babbling that odd tongue, as if expecting her to reply.

  “I only speak Starransi and Lyryan,” she said.

  “Learn,” he said, “if you wish to truly master your gift.”

  “Only the King can teach the language of the FAE,” Jada said, “His language.”

  “Precisely,” Alvar said. “Your natural skill in the tongues of men will not aid you here, but that is why you must learn. The Thief of Souls is a master of language as well, but cannot comprehend the tongue of the King.”

  “Then, how can I—”

  “Time grows short,” Jada said. “Take my hand, Lyssanne, you must return.”

  The instant she did so, the world spun and constricted into a swirl of color.

  Brennus leaned against the mountainside and, despite their agreement to keep watch in opposite directions, glanced at Jarad. The boy was exhausted. Jarad swiped at his eyes again, his bandaged hands glowing in the moonlight, but he refused to rest until Lyssanne returned. If the faerie had spoken true, she’d arrive before morning. Brennus would be there when she did.

  “Reina!” Jarad said on a sudden gasp. “She must be frantic. We’ve been gone an age.”

  “She was,” Brennus said, turning back to his vigil. “The instant I arrived at your camp, she all but skewered me, urging me toward the pass. Lyssanne’s dove saw the landslide and told her somehow.” He hid a smirk. His feigned shock had been a performance even Venefica would have admired. Then, he’d had to climb the rubble.

  Precautions to keep up his cover would be for nothing, though, if Lyssanne’s return waited until dawn. He swiped a tattered sleeve across his eyes, his scraped hand burning.

  “If…when she gets back,” Jarad said in a tremulous voice, “d-don’t say anything about the faeries. I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “You’ve done no wrong.” Brennus kept his voice soft. “Your secret, and hers, is safe.” His throat tightened at the memory of Jarad grasping him by the arm, begging him to find her.

  “Maybe we went too far up the pass,” Jarad said, his voice cracking. “What if she comes back and we aren’t there. What if—”

  “We will see her,” Brennus said, his gaze fixed ahead. “With the moon glaring off the
snowcaps, if anything moves in this pass, we’ll know it.”

  A sudden, emerald flash lit the night. In its midst, stood Lyssanne and the spikey-haired faerie. Lyssanne seemed frozen, her face waxen as the mountaintops. Then, her knees buckled.

  Swifter than flight, Brennus lunged forward and caught her against him. She flinched.

  “Easy,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

  “Let me help her,” the faerie said, her tone sharp.

  “No.” Brennus stepped back, tightening his hold on Lyssanne.

  “Lady Lyssanne!” Jarad cried. “Oh, thank you, King of All Lands, thank you!”

  “Indeed,” Brennus murmured. He shook himself. Perchance her King had saved her. What other power could snatch her from the very instant of death?

  “You’re…here?” Lyssanne whispered, peering up at him with watery eyes. “How?”

  “That can wait.” He sank to the ground, cradling her closer. “Are you harmed?”

  She shook her head, but her hand fisted around a fold in his tunic, clinging to him as if to life itself. Then she began trembling.

  “What have they done to you?” Brennus fair growled, squeezing her to him.

  “Saved her life,” the faerie said.

  22

  Of Dogs, Doves, and Snow Men

  Jarad’s face leaned in, filling Lyssanne’s vision. “What happened? Where were you?”

  “Jarad,” Lyssanne whispered, tears flooding her eyes. He was unharmed.

  “Give her room,”’ Prince Brennus said. “Questions can wait until she’s recovered.”

  “But—”

  “She is safe.” The prince’s voice cracked. “That’s what matters.”

  “Jarad,” Lyssanne murmured, “I thought you were…” She couldn’t say it, even now. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “Yeah,” Jarad said, sniffling. “Me too.”

  Another hard tremor seized her. Why couldn’t she stop shaking? The prince’s arms seemed the only things holding her together.