Dreamthief

by Tamara Grantham

Thirty-one

  “I could be killed for what I’m about to tell you,” my father said.

   “Killed?” I asked. Through the room’s arched windows, I watched the afternoon light turn golden orange. Evening approached, and with it came a chill I couldn’t shake.

  “There are those who believe that some secrets are more precious than life.” My father crossed to the hearth, walking with the fluid movements only an elf could duplicate. I heard a whispered word of magic, and a tiny flame ignited on the stack of dry wood.

  “Will you swear not to repeat what I tell you?”

  Fire spread over the logs. Soon, it roared from the open hearth. Even so, I couldn’t shake the chill. An elven oath wasn’t something to be taken lightly. I’d learned that from him.

  “I swear it,” I told him.

  He nodded. His voice became quiet. “Have you heard of the Gravidorum?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Most people haven’t, and for good reason. They are an elven secret society, an elite group involved in the highest government positions. Secrecy may sound like an innocuous power. In truth, it is their greatest asset.”

  “How do you know about them?”

  He paced the floor. “Because I’m one of them—or was.”

  This didn’t come as much of a surprise. Father had always been guarded. I knew he kept secrets. And now I knew why. “So you were a member of a secret society. Why did you leave?”

  He waved his hand. “It’s a very long story. Suffice it to say, I had a falling out. The importance of the Gravidorum is in its history—a history it tries desperately to protect.”

  “History of what?” I asked.

  “History of whom, would be the appropriate question.”

  “Okay, history of whom?”

  Dad and his proper usage of pronouns. Ugh.

  He paused in his pacing to stare at me. I tried not to flinch under his gaze. “Tell me what you’ve been taught of elven history.”

  Okay, I could play along. “Pa’horan the First saved the elves from war. He united them. They became a peaceful species and—”

  “No, no,” he cut me off. “Before that.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “There’s nothing recorded before that. They evolved from our first ancestors after the two worlds were rended.”

  “Yes, yes. They evolved, and who else?”

  Where was he going with this? “About a million other species. The dragons, the pixies, the goblins.”

  “Goblins, yes. That is what you were taught, correct?”

  “Of course. Everyone was taught the same thing.”

  He took a seat beside me. His voice became quiet. “What if I told you that the goblins didn’t evolve with the other species? That they were elves once, like us?”

  Could it be true? If it was, then this was huge. “They were elves?”

  “They were elves with extraordinary abilities. They were born with a special magic that gave them the power to manipulate liquid elements. They could create healing potions, invisibility potions, even potions to revive the dead, without learning the elemental magical names.”

  My stomach knotted. Geth. Could they be the descendants of the people my father spoke of? I tried to wrap my mind around it, but relearning something you’ve been taught your entire life is no easy task. Discovering the magical names of elements took years, and no one ever found them all. But for a group of people to manipulate magic without learning the names was an incredible power.

  My dad continued. “Other elves tried for years to recreate these powers, but failed. They became the Gravidorum, who felt the potion users were hoarding their talents. The Gravidorum tortured the potion users to find out their secrets. They experimented on them, manipulated their DNA, all the while trying to discover the source of their powers. After time, the elven potion users no longer maintained a humanoid appearance. They became monsters. However, the Gravidorum never found a way to duplicate the spells.

  “Finally, the potion makers were exiled to the northlands and became the goblins. The Gravidorum destroyed all knowledge of this, recreating history to lead others to believe that the goblins had always been a separate species.”

  Thoughts spiraled through my head. Potion makers. Goblins were nothing more than elven potion makers. “How could this be possible?”

  “Most goblins became insane after they were tortured. They became depraved, animalistic. But others resisted the torture. This was kept closely hidden, even from me. Years ago, I discovered a group of these goblins. They had organized and wanted to bring the goblins out of obscurity. They called themselves the Caxon.”

  I pressed my eyes closed. This confirmed it. Geth was the leader of the Caxon. Geth and his people were goblins. It was almost too much to take in.

  “Do you know of the Caxon?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “I met them in the goblin lands. That’s why they were there. They weren’t travelers—they lived there. They’d always been there.”

  “I am surprised you found them, though their cause has gained some support, even from the Wults. When I learned of these goblin rebels, it was then I decided I could no longer associate with the Gravidorum. Goblins, in my mind, were no longer depraved animals but real people, no different from me and you. Except once I became a member of the society, there was only one way for me to leave it.”

  “Death?”

  He nodded. “Since then, I’ve kept quiet, helping the Caxon however I could while pretending to be involved with the Gravidorum. Months ago, a young girl came to me. She worked with the Caxon.”

  “Sissy.” But how had she made such connections? She lived on Earth, and she was so young. Sissy was more than she appeared. I wished I had gotten to know her better.

  “She had a bold plan to free the Caxon. It involved a dream catcher.”

  I exhaled. “The one I found in the tombs.”

  “Yes.”

  “But it was tainted with dark magic. Where did you learn to use it?”

  “It was never my intention to use dark magic. Remember, the user makes magic good or evil. When I spellcasted the talisman, I used only the powers I possessed. It became powerful, yes. But not evil. It was meant to show the truth—and the future. It was never meant for evil.”

  “Yet somehow it became tainted.”

  He nodded. “What do you know of the human girl?”

  “Not much, apparently. She’s my godson’s big sister. She’s had a rough life, which makes her desperate, which makes her dangerous. But I can’t imagine that she’d want to hurt her brother.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  I paused. Would Sissy hurt Jeremiah?

  “She has no reason to hurt him.”

  “Then she must have been trying to save him.”

  I pondered the possibilities. She’d come to my father before Jeremiah had succumbed to the coma, which meant she must have known beforehand what would happen to her brother. Perhaps the dream catcher was meant for whoever intended to hurt her brother. But how had it ended up in the Wults’ tombs? Even with my father’s explanation of the Gravidorum and Caxon, I still didn’t know how to rescue Jeremiah. “So much doesn’t make sense.”

  Through the windows, the sun dipped below the mountains. The once vibrant blue sky faded to a pale pink. Another day ended, another day that Jeremiah suffered.

  Father paced to the kitchen. Soon, I heard the steam from his teakettle, and the smell of mint filled the air. The scent calmed me. There were many things I disliked about my dad, but his teas weren’t one of them. He returned with two steaming cups.

  “Do you think I’ll rescue my godson?” I asked as he sat across from me.

  “I don’t possess the powers of clairvoyance. But if he has been captured by the Gravidorum, there is a good chance you will never see him again.”

  Good old Dad, never sugarcoating the truth. This brought back some memories…

  Father, what do you think of my painting?
<
br />   You’ve used an ill-bristled brush, and the perspective is badly wrought. Unless you intend to devote your life to practicing the art of painting, you’ll never be a true artist.

  I sipped my tea. I wouldn’t let him get under my skin. Not anymore. “Then is it hopeless?”

  “It is never hopeless.”

  I placed my cup on its saucer, deciding to level with him. Keeping secrets would only cause more confusion. “I saw a vision of an enchanted wall surrounding a place called Mog’s Keep. My godson was inside. Do you have any idea where that might be?”

  He raised an eyebrow, which made him look even more elven, if that were possible. “Mog,” he said the name slowly, and then he stood and crossed to his bookshelves. “I recognize the name. He was a Wult, yes?”

  “Yes, but his family wasn’t typical. There is no history of them before the crossing.”

  He scanned his rows of alphabetically arranged books. They were coordinated in every way possible, even by color. Librarians would envy this place. He pulled out a copy of Peerling’s When Dreams Cometh and showed it to me. “Are you familiar with this?”

  “I’ve read it several times, though it hasn’t helped me much. When Death Cometh was more informational.”

  His eyes widened. “You’ve found a copy?”

  “Yes, and I’ve read it.”

  He looked shocked.

  Ha. Ha! A book I’d read and he hadn’t. I wanted to stand up and do a happy dance.

  “You are very fortunate to have found a surviving copy. Where, may I ask, did you discover it?”

  “In the Caxon’s camp. I sort of stole it from them.” And then Kull stole it from me, but my dad didn’t need to know that.

  Kull. Painful memory. Ouch.

  Father leaned forward. “The Caxon? You do realize that they are still learning to be civilized. They could have killed you.”

  “Yes.” I sipped my tea. “They almost did.”

  “Yet I am pleased you found a copy still in existence. Do you realize how valuable that book is?”

  I cleared my throat. “I have an idea.”

  “Where is it?”

  I’d had it in my bag, but hadn’t seen it since yesterday. Had Kull taken it? Or had I left it in my apartment? Darn it all. Why couldn’t I be organized for once? “I don’t know.”

  If I’d slapped him he wouldn’t have looked more surprised. “You don’t know?”

  “I may have lost it. Or had it stolen from me.”

  Father rubbed his forehead. He let out a long, disappointed sigh, a sound I was too familiar with. “No matter. To know a copy still exists is enough for me.” He forced a smile, though I knew I would never hear the end of it. “You must be careful with knowledge, Olive. In the wrong hands, it could lead to disaster.”

  A typical elven sentiment—they treasured knowledge more than their own offspring. Elves had been storing knowledge for centuries. They seemed to have a monopoly on it. It was no wonder there were only a few copies of Peerling’s text left.

  He tapped the book on his knee. “Peerling was a descendant of Mog. His family built the Keep in the Northlands. I am not aware of the particulars, but the elves feared it. They constructed the wizard’s wall to keep it safe from the rest of Faythander.”

  I scrutinized him. “You’re not aware of the particulars? I find that hard to believe.”

  “The light tower was dangerous. There are certain places on Faythander where magical abilities can be amplified. The Wult caves near the Rheic Sea are one. The tower is another. It was being used for a spell to recall Theht to the world, but before the followers of Mog were able to recall the ancient god, the elves attacked. They killed most of the followers and attempted to destroy the tower. However, the tower had been enchanted. All the elven magic in the world couldn’t bring it down. So they built a wall around it instead that would stop anyone else who wished to summon Theht.”

  “That’s where my godson’s dreamsoul is being kept. The goblins must be trying to summon Theht from the same place they tried to summon him from hundreds of years ago.” This was huge. The children’s dreams were being used as fuel for their spells, and the tower amplified those powers. “Isn’t there any way to get inside?”

  He stared out the window, his eyes turning amber with the setting sun. “The wall was constructed by magic wielders who possessed dark magic. Only one enchantment can truly bring the wall down.”

  “Which one?”

  He opened the tome and flipped to a page near the back. He turned the book toward me and showed me a picture of a gnarled, oriental-type tree. I’d seen this picture before. “Pixies,” he said. “They guard this tree with their lives. Do you know why?”

  Although I’d read the book, I only remembered that the tree was held sacred by the pixies, and it was supposedly a remnant from the first creation, older than any living thing on the planet. “Does it possess magic?” I asked.

  “It possesses the most powerful magic in Faythander. When the worlds were rended, magic was born in Faythander. In those days, the magic was pure and untainted, more powerful than anything we wield today. There is only one source of that magic left.”

  “The tree,” I whispered.

  “Yes. The only magic capable of bringing down Mog’s wall.”

  I rubbed my eyes, feeling a headache trying to start. “How hard would it be to retrieve pure magic?”

  “None have done it.”

  “That easy, huh?”

  “The pixies guard it with their lives.”

  My heart sank. I’d never fought a pixie. Most people hadn’t, and if they had, they didn’t live to tell it. Pixies were guarded, territorial, and more connected with nature than any species I’d met. There was a reason why that tree had lasted for centuries, and I knew they would never let me near it. “Then my godson is as good as dead,” I admitted.

  “Not necessarily.” My father stood and crossed the room. He removed a small box off the shelf. Firelight flickered over the worn wood as he sat across from me and then opened the lid. A ring sat inside. The gold band supported a small, pear-shaped diamond.

  “A ring?” I asked.

  “Your mother’s.”

  I tried not to let my mouth gape. He hardly ever spoke of Mom, and when he did, it was something in passing, and nothing about their relationship. Honestly, I’d always had trouble believing they’d fallen in love. Father was so stoic. I supposed my mother must have bewitched him. “You gave this to her?”

  “I crafted a memory charm, crossed to Earth Kingdom, and bought this for her. Being from different worlds, we had trouble communicating effectively. She always accused me of not understanding her, which in retrospect was most likely true. Elven jewelry didn’t suit her. So I bought this for her.”

  The tiny diamond reflected the orange firelight. Compared to elven jewelry, this would have been considered poorly crafted. But for Father to create a memory charm, a challenging test of patience and endurance, just to buy this for my mother, left me stunned. “What did she think of it?”

  He paused. “I never gave it to her.”

  I shot him a questioning glance.

  “We’d been married civilly in an elven court, but it had little meaning to her. I wanted to make her a proper bride in a human ceremony, but I always found an excuse not to. I kept that box in my pocket, and every day I determined that today would be the day I married her the way humans do. But I never did.”

  And now Mom sat in that huge, empty house with no memories of the man who loved her. I’d never felt sorry for her. It was a strange emotion, and somehow, I wished I could tell her. I wondered if my dad knew what had become of her.

  “It wasn’t easy for me, you see. Elves think of marriage as an arrangement. They recognize that a family with two parents is the best place for a child to be raised, but they never speak of love.”

  He took the ring from me. “These things don’t matter anymore, of course. I brought out this ring for a different purpose.” He s
napped the lid shut, like a cover to his heart. “Because an emotional bond is tied so strongly to this ring, it has become a talisman.”

  “But it’s never been spellcasted.”

  “True. But sometimes objects can absorb magical energy without being enchanted.”

  “How powerful is it?”

  “That depends,” he said.

  “Depends on what?”

  “The magical word you discover from it.”

  And now this all made sense. The ring would provide me with a new magical word, which I could use to help me influence the pixies. Whether it would actually work, I had no idea, but at this point, I would try anything.

  He passed the box to me. “You will discover the magic when the time is right. This ring is yours now.”