Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1) (23 page)

“It’s a long story,” I say, “but we came to tell you that Mum is okay. She’s helping in Kythshire. You don’t need to search for her anymore.” Uncle circles around me slowly, watching me as I talk.

“Is it some trick? Some spell of deception to send us away?” Cort reaches out to poke my arm.

“If it is, it’s quite convincing,” Uncle says.

“Rian’s here, too,” I say, pointing to Rian. Uncle turns, and though Rian’s standing right beside me, he looks right through him. “Here,” I say to Mya, taking her hand. I place it on Rian’s shoulder. “See?”

She steps a little closer, sliding her hand up to his face and into his bristly hair. Her eyes light up and she pulls him to her and hugs him. I think of how strange it must look to those who can’t see him yet, as though she’s hugging thin air. Then Uncle steps forward and juts his hands out and casts the Revealer, and Flit darts away just in time to keep from being caught in it. The others gasp, and there is a great deal of hugging and laughing and congratulating before Uncle finally takes Rian by the elbow and leads him away.

“Mage secrets,” Mya says as she watches them go. “Necessity doesn’t make them any less irritating.” We settle together against the same tree while the others go back to their watch points. Still safely hidden, Flit comes to perch on my shoulder. “You were inside, then?” Mya asks quietly. I nod. “What is it like?”

“
Careful
.” Flit whispers into my head.

“It’s beautiful and strange,” I say. “Easy to lose yourself.”

“Did you meet any of them? The fae?” she looks at me with hope in her eyes. The very little I know about Kythshire came from Mya. She sung to us as children about the dark times, and the Sorcerer king, and the legend of the fairy folk. Songs are safe, passed down from generation to generation, unwritten. Not as secret or forbidden as the writing locked up in Mages’ libraries. How I wish I could tell her what I’ve seen and how perfectly her songs described the fae. Instead, I look away. The words just won’t come.

“Sorry,” I say quietly. It’s the safest answer I can give her.

“I understand,” she sighs and takes out her lute to strum a lazy melody. The music soothes me, and it isn’t long before my eyelids grow heavy. I’m comforted by Flit’s steady breathing as she lies nestled into the crook of my neck. The exhaustion that I’ve been fighting for so long finally wins its battle, and it isn’t long before I drift off to sleep.

My father is the first one to greet me in my dreams, which are mottled and confused. He sits on the edge of his bed, looking out the window. Beside him, tucked inside the rumpled blankets, a red fox dozes. I’m vaguely aware of the smell of bread baking. Downstairs, Mouli chatters away. Da offers me his hand and we go downstairs together to breakfast, but when we arrive in our cozy kitchen, we find Viala and Eron sitting at our table. They’ve just finished eating our breakfast, and Mouli is fussing over the prince, wiping his cheek with a napkin the way a mother would dote on her own child. I hear movement under the table and bend to see Luca kneeling there, brushing the dirt from Viala’s fine slippers.  He’s quite happy in his work, and it leaves me feeling disgusted. When I turn to my father to ask him to put a stop to it, I find him sitting beside the prince, picking the crumbs off of his plate to eat them. I’m so repulsed by the sight that I turn away, and that’s when I see a streak of red slip through the door to the street.

I trot after the fox as it weaves through the deserted city and out of the city gates. It picks up its pace to a run and I chase it into the thick of the woods. The space between us widens; it’s too fast for me. I stumble over roots and underbrush while the fox leaps lightly, far ahead of me. I wonder why I’m so slow and then I realize that I’m weighed down by my armor and my sword. I try to keep chasing it as I struggle to free myself from the weight of the chain mail, piece by piece. Now it’s just a tiny red dot against the green, far in the distance.

I will my feet to go faster as my last piece of armor falls to the ground, and I start to close the space between us. I’m so compelled by the creature that I follow it through the day and into the night. We never slow, but eventually I catch up to it and we run together. We come to the charred clearing of the guild’s first camp, and we run through it and dive into the trees again. Far behind us, I hear the pounding of horses’ hooves. I look over my shoulder and see in the distance the banners of orange and red. We find a place to hide and watch the riders pass, and then we start again, only this time we’re following them.

Our journey lasts for several days and nights, never stopping. We travel through beautiful plains and along coastline and into the snow-capped mountains. We’re careful never to let the riders see us, but we always keep them in our sights. Eventually the mountains fade from green pines and snow into charred black stone. A false step would send the horses careening over the unforgiving cliffs, so the riders dismount and leave them behind.

The fox and I creep along behind them, undetected as we descend into a deep ravine. I wonder where we are going as the chill in the air bites at the bare skin of my face. We follow them until they reach a fortress of black stone cut into the mountain. The doors swing open and they disappear into its depths, and the fox whimpers and trots back and forth to skirt the boundary of the strange place. Outside the door, several sentries stand guard. The fox does not seem to be afraid, and so I approach them to investigate. It’s then that I realize that I must still be in the Half-Realm, because the sentries’ helmed heads don’t turn in my direction as I near.

As I peer up at the nearest sentry, I realize that something about it isn’t right. The eyes behind the barrel helm are dark and vacant. I look down to its arm and see bare bone. The sentries aren’t men. They’re skeletons. My screams echo through the canyon and they don’t stop even after I jolt awake and feel Mya’s arms around me, quieting me. Her gentle voice washes away the horror of the dream until I feel safe again.

There are no skeletons, no black rock mountains. The image of them shifts in my mind and I see them from another angle, with a great golden field of wheat stretching out before them. I blink myself back to my senses. Rian sits beside me, opposite Mya, rubbing my arm to comfort me. The rest of our party have rushed to investigate. Bryse is the last to crash through the woods. When he sees me lying in Mya’s arms, shaken, he tosses down his shield in disappointment.

“Bah, still no fighting? Sounded like someone was gutting you, Azi.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” I attempt a smile. “It was just a nightmare.” Mya and Gaethon exchange glances.

“There didn’t happen to be a fox in it, did there?” she asks me. My eyes widen.

“Yes, actually.” I go into detail, including everything from the creepy breakfast scene to the disturbing skeleton sentries.

“I told you,” Dacva pipes up from behind the tree where the horses are tethered for grooming. He drops the brush and meets Gaethon’s eyes a little fearfully, but steels himself. “They’re going there. They plan to collect anyone that’s left. To gain their allegiance.”

“But that’s impossible,” Mya says. “Nobody has lived there for generations aside from the banished, and the last of them were sent off nearly twenty years ago. It’d be a wonder if they survived this long.”

“The banished?” I breathe. Dacva’s expression darkens.

“All of Redemption is obsessed with them,” he says. “You know the history of my former guild.” He spits the words with distaste. “Everyone knows it. It’s why they feel like they have so much to prove. I’m sure you’ve heard some version of the story.” He dares to edge closer, still eyeing Uncle as though waiting for a scolding, but Gaethon simply nods his assent for Dacva to continue.

“Years ago, my old guild was called Knights of Conquer. They prided themselves on claiming more and more land for Cerion. But their greed for power and control grew so fast and so strong that many started to question whether they were really doing it in the name of the King, or just for their own gain. Their Mages were powerful and covered with Mark, and their warriors were ruthless to any who stood in their way.

“Soon, the crown started to suspect that the Knights had selfish motives. Claiming distant lands in the name of the king and looting treasure for the kingdom wasn’t enough for them. They wanted more of a share for themselves. Everything, even the throne. When word got out about their treachery, King Victens, Tirnon’s father, ordered the guild dissolved and sent its high members to be banished to the Outlands. The Academy had their Mages stripped.” Rian shifts uncomfortably and I reach for his hand.

“The weaker members were allowed to stay in Cerion, and they reformed under the name Redemption. They’ve fought hard since then to gain the king’s favor, but he’s never been able to trust them fully. The prince, however, admires their perseverance. He sees their potential.”

“But those banished members, if they’re even still alive, must be very old by now,” I say. “In their seventies or eighties, aren’t they? What good would it do to have them back?”

“For Redemption, I think,” Mya says, “it’s a matter of pride. That was their family, just as everyone here is ours. Imagine if we were all sent away when you were just a girl, what kind of effect that would have had on you.”

“But that’s different,” I say, avoiding Dacva. “You would never plot against the king. And if you did, then you’d deserve any sentence he handed down.”

“Some people,” Brother Donal sighs from beside Dacva, “create their own sense of right and wrong, Azi. It’s easy enough to justify one’s misdeeds if you have the mind to.”

“It’s not just that,” Dacva says. “They have other motives, too secret to ever talk about around me. They haven’t trusted me for a while. I think they knew I was looking for a way out. Anyway it’s not just the elders in the Outlands. Lots of men have gone to settle there. Rebels.” He looks from me and Rian to Uncle. “And I can tell you who else is involved. That Sunteri Mage who’s seen around the prince. The pretty one with the dark hair.”

“Do you mean Viala?” Mya asks. I try to catch Rian’s eye, but he and Uncle are already exchanging their own secret glances.

“Yeah,” Dacva says. “Dar has it bad for her. I walked in on them once. He’d walk off a cliff for her if she told him to.”

“Here’s what I know,” Bryse interrupts. “Azi never woulda missed that cake of mud on Celi’s knee.” He nods to his grey charger pointedly.

“And mine still has burrs on the hind near the saddle.” Cort offers lazily. “Azi never let my horse stand for a moment with a burr.” Cort and Bryse grin at each other as Dacva slinks away to his place again and picks up the grooming brush. I look at Bryse and he gives me a wink.

“I think the boy is well aware by now how much more you favor Azi, what with your constant reminders.” Donal says quietly. I feel my cheeks grow warm. So, Bryse and Cort have been giving Dacva a hard time. Thinking back over the years of torment he put me through in training, I’m glad getting back a little of his own.

“Nah, I don’t think he’s got it yet.” Bryse chuckles and bends for his shield. He raises it in a quick salute to me and then clomps back off into the woods again to take up his watch. Donal sighs and shakes his head, and then tucks his hands into his sleeves and bows himself into a prayerful pose.

“It seems we have a new mission,” Mya says, steering the conversation back. “Stop Redemption, and if what Dacva says is true, then we should send a note of warning to Cerion regarding Viala.”

“Viala will be taken care of,” Uncle says, giving Rian a meaningful look. “I shall draft a letter to the king to update him on this turn of events.”

“I’ll have Elliot send a bird for you when he wakes,” Mya says, looking up into the nook of the tree where he’s still snoring soundly. “Or Rian and Azi can ride back on his horse to deliver it.”

“Rian and Azi have their own path to take in this,” Uncle says. “They’ll be leaving us soon.”

“I might have known,” Mya sighs, her tone rich with sadness. She pushes herself to her feet and offers Rian her hand, and they walk together into the forest.

“A word, Niece,” Uncle says quietly. He gestures to the woods in the opposite direction. Flit follows along behind us a little hesitantly until Uncle stops among a tall grouping of pines. I wonder what this will be about, and I can’t help but feel like I did as a child preparing for a scolding. I cross my arms over chest and stand in silence, waiting for him to start.

“Rian,” he says in his usual stern tone, “tells me that you kept him in check within Kythshire.” I nod and hug my arms tighter. “You stopped him from making records.” I nod again, shifting uncomfortably. “It is highly unusual for a student to stand against her teacher in such a way. The binding between mentor and pupil prevents it. And yet you managed it anyway.”

“Yes, Uncle,” I say, looking down at his feet.

“The two of you have a strong bond. You depend upon each other. I would ask you to continue to keep your eye on him.” My eyes snap to his and his expression softens.  “Are you prepared for what lies before you?” he asks me. I’m not sure of his meaning, and so I shrug. “Is there anything you need from me? Anything at all?”

“I’m sure there is,” I say. “But right now I don’t know exactly what lies ahead, so I don’t know what we might need.” It’s mostly true. I’m not sure how much Rian has told him or how much he already knows, and I wouldn’t dream of mentioning the fairies. He nods and we stand in awkward silence for a long stretch before he slips a ring from his finger and offers it to me.