Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1) (7 page)

“I just want to check on Da. I’ll meet you downstairs.” We slide our hatches closed and I crouch to lift up my bed skirt and look for the diamond. It winks brightly at me from beside a ball of dust and I retrieve it and drop it back into the pitcher, covering it again with the lace. As I turn to leave I hear it again, a faint and squeaky sneeze. When I look over my shoulder in the direction it came from, I think I see a flutter of light but I blink and shake my head. Certainly it was just the way the sunlight waved through the rustle of my window curtain, reflecting off of the rim of the pitcher.

My father is sleeping when I check on him, and he’s attended by a healer assigned by Brother Donal. I recognize her as Emme. She has ministered to our guild before in Donal’s absence.

“Azaeli, child!” she whispers. Her smile is slightly pitying as she sets down her knitting and crosses to hug me. She holds me at arms’ length and looks me over. “My, but you’ve grown!” I feel my cheeks grow warm at her appraising look, and I manage a smile. Behind her, my father is sleeping soundly just as I left him hours ago. She follows my gaze and turns to guide me to the bed. “He’s resting now, exactly what he needs,” she whispers.  I sit on the edge of the bed and stroke his arm gently.

“How long will he sleep?” I ask, noticing the bottle on his bedside table.

“Oh, as long as he needs to.” She settles into her chair again. “Another day, most likely.”

Without warning, Da bolts upright and grabs me by the throat. His eyes are wild and frantic as he pulls me close to him. I try to pry his hands away, to escape, but his grip is too strong. His fingers are closing off my air. His lips curl into a sneer and his eyes bulge feverishly, darting back and forth.

“Two steps in, I only took two steps!” He growls. “You can’t have her!” I choke and kick away from him as Emme dives for the bed. He screams piteously as she wrestles him away from me, prying his hands from my throat. I fall back to the floor and gasp for breath, my lungs burning, vaguely aware of someone else in the room as I try to recover my senses. Emme calls for the sleeping draught. I look up to see Rian uncorking the bottle. My father gurgles as they force it on him.

“Leave him alone,” I croak. My neck throbs where he squeezed it. The struggle at the bed subsides and Rian sinks down next to me. He tries to put an arm around me but I move away from him. I don’t understand what just happened. My father attacked me. He has never raised a finger to me in all of my life. He’s one of the kindest, gentlest people I know. Emme finishes settling him in and smoothing the coverlet over him, and then comes to crouch beside me.

“Oh, child, I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “It comes with a blow to the head, sometimes. The fits. I ought to have warned you. It’ll pass in time.” She raises my chin to look at my throat, which I’m sure has already started bruising. I pull away and push myself to my feet.

“I’m fine,” I lie, smoothing my trousers. I stare at my father, lying so peacefully again. I want to kiss him, to tell him it’s okay, but I’m too afraid it might happen again. Disturbed by own fear, I spin around and leave the room. I need to put space between us, to gather my thoughts and calm myself.

“Azi...” Rian calls after me.

My feet carry me unthinking through the house, out the door and into the familiar city streets. Dazed, I wander all the way to the low cliff wall near the docks, to let the sea air wash over me. All around, the people of Cerion bustle about their every day jobs, pulling in traps of shellfish, checking lists and collecting tariffs. Labor men work at cranking the lifts, hauling barrels on pulleys up and down the cliff side, loading and unloading the tall-masted ships lining the harbor below. I disappear into everyone else’s routine. Nobody recognizes me as Azaeli Hammerfel, the young new squire who won the Princess’s favor in the arena just weeks ago. Here, I’m simply a girl in plainclothes staring off into the vastness of the sparkling blue ocean.

A gentle hand rests on my shoulder and I know at once Rian has tracked me down. We watch the gulls swooping down and up and down again, catching morsels that tumble from the traps into the crashing waves below for what feels like hours. The sea breeze has long since dried my tears. After a while, he wraps an arm around my shoulders and leans close.

“We have work to do,” he says quietly. I nod, and we walk together back to the guild hall.

On the way back to the hall, Rian diverts my attention to his studies regarding my affliction. He thinks we should recreate the moments leading up to my passing out, which he and Uncle believe was probably caused by some strong magical effect. In the training hall, Rian takes detailed notes as I go over the events of that afternoon. I try to remember even the smallest bit of information I think might be helpful, from where I sat to what I ate for lunch. I finish with my conversation with Bryse.

“Then he got up and said he wanted to show me something with the shield, and I reached for my sword.” I reach out for the hilt of my sword which Rian placed there for me. As my fingers close around the hilt, a rush of darkness washes over my vision. The ground spins beneath my feet. Ear splitting screams ring in my ears, melding with my own until I throw the sword down with a clatter. Rian is at my side in an instant, reassuring me.

“Breathe, Azi,” he says, and takes a long, deep breath himself to guide me. It’s not until after I mimic him that I realize I have in fact been holding my breath. He watches me with concern as I take a few deep breaths and finally nod for him to continue.

“Now,” he says, his sharpened stick of graphite poised over his notes. “Tell me what you felt.” I describe to him in detail all of the sensations, from the spinning, to the darkness, to the screaming. “And it starts when you take your sword?” He asks. I nod. He thinks for a moment, then crosses to the weapon stand and takes a dagger. He comes back and offers it to me. “Try this.” I take it cautiously. The pain comes, the room spins, the blackness threatens, and the screaming drowns out his voice. As he tugs the weapon from my hand, I lean away from him and vomit into the bucket he had the foresight to set up at my side. I drop sideways to lie on the bench and wipe my mouth with a groan. Rian pats my arm absently while his other hand scratches notes. He leaves and comes back shortly, offering me a cup of water, which I take gratefully.

“Can you go on?” he asks, distracted by his notes. His serious tone makes me feel like the inanimate subject of some study. Still, I nod. He goes around the room, collecting an array of weapons of all types which he brings back to the bench. One by one I grasp them and succumb to the darkness, the screaming, and the spinning.  When the stash of weapons has all been tried, I rest my aching head against the wall and close my eyes, thankful that I managed to get through them all without getting sick again.

“The weapon doesn’t matter,” he murmurs, tapping his lip with the stick of graphite. He looks at it thoughtfully and then offers it to me. I peer down at the writing instrument warily, bracing myself before reaching up to close my fingers around it. Nothing happens. I sigh with relief and hand it back to him.

“Well, I’ll be sure to carry a writing stick at all times in case I ever need to defend myself,” I say dryly as I close my eyes and rub my face.

“Whatever the cause, it covered all possibilities,” he says, looking down his list. “Even a bow and arrows.”

“That was hardly necessary.” I scowl at the bow long ago discarded at his feet. “Shooting was never my strength, anyway.” I sigh and tuck my knees under my chin, gazing at my beloved sword lying in the dust at my feet, buried under a pile of everything from knives to cleavers to clubs. “I don’t understand.”

“It seems like,” Rian makes another note, “something or someone is trying very hard to keep you from fighting.”

“But who?” I ask. “And why?” He shakes his head, poring over the page, searching for some clue.

“Rian, what if it’s like this forever? What if I can never fight again?” I press my forehead into my knees. It’s all too much. I’ve lost my mother, my father is a madman, and now even my own abilities have failed me. At this point, I’m beyond tears. Rian seems to sense the despair creeping in on me.

“No curse is unbreakable, Azi,” he says softly.

“Do you think that’s what this is?” I ask, looking up at him. “A curse?” His hazel eyes burn with something I’ve never seen before in him, something dark and angry. He doesn’t look away until I do.

“That’s what I think this is, and I promise you we’ll find a way to break it.” I lean against his shoulder as he scours his notes, and eventually I fall into a dreamless doze. When he taps me awake, the sun is already dipping down to touch the rooftops outside.

“I need to go to the library,” he says. “I’ve read all of Master Gaethon’s notes and my own and I have some questions.” I slide away from him and stretch. My muscles are stiff and sore. Usually by this time of day, I’ve had several hours of swordplay and training. I wonder to myself how long it will take to lose the strength I’ve worked so hard to build up over the years. Rian stands up. His hair is disheveled and his usually bright eyes are framed with dark circles.

“Have you had any sleep?” I ask him. He bends to roll up the notes and tuck them into a scroll case so that his long side locks obscure his face. “Rian, you need to rest.”

“I will,” he says. “When I finish this.”

“Why don’t you just take a quick nap now? It can wait.” I pick up the bucket I’d gotten sick in earlier. I won’t leave that for Mouli, it’s too disgusting.

“It can’t,” Rian says. “Your father’s going to be ready to ride out when he wakes up, Azi. With or without us. If I don’t figure this out, then we’re stuck here. Again.” I sigh. I know he’s right. As soon as my father is well, nothing will keep him from joining the search. I’d be allowed to go, but what could I contribute? If anything, I’d be a hindrance with no way to defend myself on the road.

“I’m keeping you here,” I say. “I’m so sorry, Rian.”

“Azi...” he shakes his head and steps close to me, circling his arms around me. He strokes my hair and my back as I rest my cheek on his shoulder. Too soon, he drops his arms and steps away. “I promise I’ll be back with answers as soon as I have them.”

“Can I do anything to help?” I ask. He shakes his head.

“I wish you could, but you’re not permitted.” I know he’s right. There is a strict law governing who is allowed within the walls of the Academy. Only students and teachers of magic may enter the compound. Even the fact that I’m related to the Headmaster won’t grant me entry. “Don’t worry.” He flashes me a grin that melts away the anger and exhaustion that was there just moments before. “Take care of your Da. I’ll see you soon.” He turns, and I watch until his slender form disappears around the bend beyond the park promenade, leaving me alone.

The bucket is easily emptied, but when I return to the training square my next task seems insurmountable. The scatter of weapons lying dusty and discarded by our experiment is my responsibility. One of my first duties, even before I was able to start training, was to tend to polishing, storing, and organizing the guild’s cache. I take pride in the fact that they are always on gleaming display in the racks around the square. The state of them now is a disgrace. I nudge the butt of a hammer with the toe of my boot. Nothing happens. I crouch and wrap the loose hem of my trouser leg around my hand, and then grasp the handle of the weapon. Screaming, blackness, spinning, and I toss the weapon down with a growl of frustration.

Determined not to give up on the simple chore of putting the weapons away, I go to my father’s forge and find his pickup tongs. With them I’m able to line the weapons along the training bench and wipe each one down. I find that avoiding the hilt prevents me from any effects of the curse, so I am careful not to touch any handles even with the barrier of oiled cloth in my hand. I’m halfway through the task when Mouli finds me kneeling in the dust, polishing the blade of a scimitar that rests on the bench. I secretly slide my father’s tongs between my knees before she notices them. I don’t want to worry her with the curse.

“Always working, you.” Her tone is soft and affectionate. She steps down from the hall door, and with her she carries the sweet scent fresh, warm bread. My stomach growls. “Skipped lunch today, I expect?” I think back and realize that I haven’t actually eaten at all since yesterday. This information, I know, would incite her wrath, and so I keep it to myself. “I’m starving now,” I admit truthfully enough as I carefully slide my fingers under the blade and flip the sword over to work the other side. “Something smells amazing.”

“Well, it’s your favorite for dinner. Sea crab stuffed rolls.” My mouth waters as she dusts some flour from her skirt. “Will you take it in the hall, or perhaps with your father in his room?” I’ve avoided thinking of my father for most of the day. Our earlier encounter still rattles me. But I know that wasn’t really him, and I know he should be getting better. Suddenly I feel guilty that I haven’t checked in on him all day.

“Has he woken up yet?” I ask.

“Now and again,” she replies. “He had some broth at midday.” My heart skips.

“How was he?” I search her face. She looks to the side, and I can tell she’s deciding how to word her reply.

“Not quite himself, yet.” She offers me a sympathetic smile. “But think of how he’s improved since yesterday. He’ll be up and about in no time.” I look down at my work and then along the bench at the dozen weapons waiting for their shine.

“I’ll finish up here and then eat upstairs,” I say. It’ll take at least an hour to get through the task, and I hate to leave it half-finished. 

“Luca’ll finish up for you,” Mouli offers. “He’s been sitting up there with your Da all afternoon. He’ll be glad of the work. Go on and wash up. I’ll bring you a tray.”

Da is asleep when I arrive a little while later. I whisper my greeting to Luca, who gladly hurries off to finish my work in the training square. He’s not much different than I am in that respect. We both hate to sit idle when there’s work that needs doing. When he’s gone, I approach Da’s bedside with caution. Just like this morning, he’s tucked perfectly into bed, resting on his back. His shirt has been changed, and the yellow fabric against his skin makes him look sallow. I sink to sit on the edge of the bed, and I slip my hand into his. His skin is rough and calloused, but his hand is warm and his fingers close gently around mine. Slowly he turns his head and his eyes flutter open. They take a moment to focus, and I feel my muscles tensing, ready to jump up and run away if I need to. I’m relieved, though, when his lips stretch into a weak smile.

“Azi, my Azi,” he whispers. His eyes rest on my throat and I reach up quickly with my free hand to cover the bruises that I’m sure are there. His hand tightens around mine and a tear brims in the corner of his eye and rolls down his cheek. I wipe it away before gets too far. “I didn’t know.” He closes his eyes.

“It’s okay, Da. It’s okay.” I smooth a curl behind his ear and stroke his hair until he falls asleep again.

When Mouli comes with my supper, I finish two rolls the size of Bryse’s fist and delight her by asking for more. My father’s recognition of me and his apology have lifted my spirits. The warm glow of candlelight dancing over his sleeping form comforts me. He knows me. At least I have him. At least we’re together. With a full belly and an exhausting day behind me, it isn’t long before I find myself dozing curled up in the soft cushions of the bedside chair. I don’t know how long I’ve been sleeping before I’m roused by a single thump in my room. When I open my eyes they’re drawn to the hallway, where an odd cast of light dances on the wall. It melds with the waning lamplight, but its pattern is a dapple of every color of the rainbow, and its flicker is brighter.

In a sleepy daze, I glance at my father before I push myself up and tiptoe to the door. The light reminds me of the diamond in my pitcher, and its source is somewhere in my bedroom. Curious, I creep through the hall as quietly as I can and peer into my room. The pitcher on my windowsill lays on its side again, though I distinctly remember setting it upright in my haste this morning. Sparkling light glimmers from inside of it, casting colorful prisms across the walls. The pitcher wriggles a little, and the ribbons and lace adorning it flutter. I stand fixed in the doorway and rub the sleep from my eyes as I watch the odd spectacle. I’ve just about convinced myself that some outside source must be shining on the diamond inside to cause such an effect when I hear a tiny whisper.

“You can stay, just be quiet—“

“What?” I cross the room in two strides and pick up the little house. The light goes out instantly, leaving me blind in the sudden darkness. When my eyes adjust, I pull out the little bed and the scraps of lace and silk to discover my diamond rolling around beside a small black cricket. I stare at it for a moment. “Did you...” I realize that it’s mad to be addressing a bug and I shake my head. With impeccable timing as always, the hatch slides open and Rian peers in at me. I imagine how I must look, standing at my window, talking to a pitcher. Maybe I am going mad.

“Catch any fairies yet?” He jests. I set the pitcher on its side. At this point, I’m not sure how to answer him. The whispering was clear as day, but already I’m doubting it. I had been sleeping. It was probably just a lingering dream.

“None yet.” I force a laugh and tuck the makeshift bed back inside, careful not to crush the cricket. “Did you find anything?”

“Nothing. But an interesting nothing. Can I come over?” I nod. The wall between us shimmers and shifts, and Rian steps right through it to stand beside me. As the wall solidifies again behind him, he gestures to it dramatically and turns to grin at me.

“How...?” I gape at him.

“I found a tome about borders and territory. It was fascinating. The theory is that with permission, one can cross any border, ethereal or physical, no matter how impossible it may seem.” The cricket’s chirp emanates from the pitcher, followed quickly by a “Shh!” I look at Rian, who has heard it too, and is staring at the source of the sound. He shakes his head dismissively and turns back to me. “It’s a fairly simple spell once you get the hang of it.”