CHAPTER SIXTEEN
T’Kato was the thief. Kayla never would have thought it possible. He didn’t strike her as the type of man capable of pulling off such an act. Actually, he seemed the kind of guy that would bash your head in and take what he wanted without subtlety. Evidently there was more to the tattooed chef than anyone had realized. Now that she thought of it, he made everyone in Dragonmeer believe he didn’t speak their language, proof of his duplicitous nature.
And then there was Sarali to consider. Kayla was extremely disappointed that the servant she adored so much had played her for a fool. It hurt and made her angry, though she had known the woman with the beautiful brogue less than a day.
Kayla looked at the darkening window. The hours had raced past since the flute’s disappearance. She’d missed lunch and probably dinner as well, and had not heard the bell announcing meals. That was not like her, but the thought of food was repulsive. The loss of the flute tightened her stomach with nausea and fear.
Her thoughts turned back to T’Kato, Thenari, thief—all applied, and she couldn’t distinguish
between the three names. They had become synonymous.
“The Hand of Klii’kunn,” she muttered to herself, remembering the last phrase in his note. What did that mean? Klii’kunn was one of the Guardians who created Rasann, or so legend said. The glowing flute was supposedly cut from the mountain whole. But questioning the legend of deity did not answer the real question: what did T’Kato mean when he claimed to be the Hand of Klii’kunn?
Legend said Klii’kunn was one of six Guardians who remained behind after Rasann was nearly destroyed. He was the Blue Guardian, responsible for the blue magic dealing with wind, sound, and air.
Okay, that made sense, since the flute was powered by air, but why the Hand? The hand was the extension of the body, the tool of the mind. So . . . maybe Thenari was like . . . a prophet? No . . .that didn’t seem right, but something along those lines, as if he were the Blue Guardian’s greatest tool, his servant, a disciple perhaps. Disciple, yes—that word made sense to her, whether true or not, and would explain his seeming possessiveness where the flute was concerned. It helped somehow to label him. He wanted the power of air to be used properly, wisely, though why he would not just come and talk to her about it, she wasn’t sure.
Something in that last train of thought nagged at her, though she couldn’t quite grasp it.
The power of air . . .
What was it Thenari had said? Kayla pulled the note from the folds of her dress and read it aloud.. . . "You were warned, and yet not even a full day went by before you breathed life to the instrument . . ."
Breathed life to the instrument . . . the power of air . . .
Could it be? Kayla’s stomach clenched, her heart stopping at the thought. Surely not—but, what if . . . ?
The power of air—
If the flute was the blue keystone, and if it truly had been created by the Guardian Klii’kunn, the Guardian of sound, wind, and air . . .
Could her breath alone have brought the instrument to life?
Somehow that was exactly what had happened. Kayla knew it without doubt. She was tempted to give up right then. How could she prove herself worthy when she truly was guilty of T’Kato’s accusations? It seemed hopeless.
But it was not in Kayla’s nature to give up.
She stiffened her spine and stopped sniffling, then swallowed the lump in her throat. She would not let him beat her, no matter who he thought he was. She was the flute’s guardian. Somehow she would prove her worth and get it back. She had to.
She just didn’t know how.
The sun was going down quickly, and Brant still had not returned. Thenari was waiting in the cellar. Kayla quailed at the idea of going down alone. Anything could happen, anything at all. What if T’Kato was something worse than a thief? What if he was a murderer? What could she do then?
In the end, she decided it didn’t matter. She would rather die than face King Rojan without the flute.
And so, just as the light of the sun was brightening to sunset, with streaks of pink flashing across her wall, Kayla left her room in search of a thief and went to meet T’Kato, the tattooed Ketahean chef, in the darkness of the immense cellars. She walked down the hall, stopping to look at the statues and portraits of Brant’s ancestors that seemed so out of place on the bare stone walls of the castle. Only the tapestries brought lightness and life into the castle, and Kayla found herself admiring them as she wound her way downstairs.
Despite her resolve, she was in no hurry to reach the cellar. Few people wandered past—a servant activating magelights and lighting torches, a young whispering couple cuddling in a corner, a pack of giggling girls she easily avoided. Kayla sincerely hoped Brant would find her so she could let him know where she was going. Mentally she kicked herself for not having left him a note, though if T’Kato truly was what he claimed, even Brant could not help her. She would have to fix this one herself.
Kayla finally reached the main level and meandered through the kitchens. The servants still bustled about, almost oblivious to her as they snatched their dinner between dishes and cleaning duties.
The smell of food still made her sick, so she moved quickly through the noisy room, arriving at last at the great door leading to the cellar.
With a hand on the knob, she hesitated, listening with faint hope for Brant’s footsteps that would keep her from this insanity. But all she heard was the faint clatter and laughter echoing from the kitchen.
Here there were no footsteps, no voices to which she could cling. She stood at the border between safety and the unknown blackness before her, suddenly terrified to open that door and descend into the musty darkness she had loved as a child. In those days of games and adventure, the monsters had been innocent, make-believe. Now the terror was real. The man down there had stolen her beloved flute, and only she and Brant knew of it. Was this a trap, or a legitimate opportunity to claim what was hers by right?
Honestly, she didn’t know, but she couldn’t miss the chance. She had to try, and could only pray that T’Kato spoke the truth.
With shaking hands, she pulled open the heavy door and slid into darkness, the wood whispering closed behind her.
She stood for a long moment, her back secure against the thick oak, hands behind her ready to push it open in an instant, but no monsters came from the dark. No one jumped at her, no one called, nothing moved. Her ears could make out the scurry of rats and the faint drip-drip from the wall closest to the moat. These sounds were familiar, an echo of the past that relaxed her enough to calm the shaking consuming her.
She stepped into the darkness.
There were twelve steps to the basement. As her eyes adjusted, she made out the faint outline of the pillared, boxy rooms. The last of the evening light disappeared through the slits that marched along the tops of the high wall. If it had not been so close to sunset, Kayla knew she would have been able to see fairly well. As it was, she was guided more by memory than by her eyes.
She had no idea where she was supposed to find the thief. All the note had said was to meet in the cellar, but the cellar was an awfully large place. It ran the entire length and width of Dragonmeer.
Kayla had spent many hours as a child playing in the rear portion of the cellar. There were some fascinating old costumes and furniture back there. It seemed as good a place as any. Thenari would probably want to meet where discovery would be least likely.
Of a sudden Kayla’s nerves got the best of her, and she stopped, unwilling to go farther into the deep recesses of the dungeon without even a lantern or magelight to guide her. Instead she quietly pushed her way into one of the small rooms that stored root vegetables and hid behind the open door. Her pulse quickened and her knees trembled. The door didn’t offer much protection, but the solidity of the oak between her and the unknown, the crack that allowed her to scan the room, did a lot to make her feel better. She gathered her nerve and breath and called out, “I’m here, Thenari
. Show yourself.”
Kayla waited. There was no response.
“You asked me to come, and I have come,” she yelled a little louder this time. “Will you torture me with your games? Show yourself, and bring me the flute.”
Still there was no answer, and Kayla began to grow desperate. “T’Kato! Show yourself! Please!” she begged.
Her heart nearly stopped at the soft chuckle that sounded from just outside the room. “You’re smarter than I thought, Kayla. How did you figure it out so quickly?”
Her heart pounded so loudly she couldn’t think, could hardly hear. Finally she got her nerves under control enough to answer, though her voice still quavered. “You said to come while Brant was gone, and I couldn’t think of any other way you would know he’d left unless Sarali told you. Then I looked at your name and saw how it contracted into T’Kato. It wasn’t hard,” she said.
The quiet chuckle came again, and a soft blue magelight appeared, floating just outside the door. There was the scrape of leather on stone as the giant of a man approached the door and peered through the crack at her, then gently pushed the door open and stepped into the room. She cringed and wanted to scream, being inches away from the man with swirling blue tattoos that made him look hideously ferocious.
If it wasn’t for the soft sadness of his eyes, Kayla would have cowered, shrieking at that moment, but she remembered her mother telling her that the eyes could not lie. “You can tell a lot by a person’s eyes, Kayla. Always remember you can judge the man by the windows to his soul.” She had never forgotten, and those words had led her unerringly through the years. The eyes of this fierce-looking giant said, “trust me.”
And she did.
Kayla met his eyes, the color of the Sapphire Flute, and let him see into the windows of her own soul. He seemed troubled by that, a little confused, but eventually a gentle smile settled, and he withdrew from the door. She stepped from her hiding place, no longer afraid, though the man had to be near seven feet tall and broad as an ox.
“I didn’t mean to play the flute,” she said, her face red with shame. “I didn’t think I had, since no sound came from it. I didn’t know my breath alone would bring it to life. I’m sorry, T’Kato. I really didn’t know, or I never would have done even that.”
T’Kato was silent. He looked at her, troubled, then stared into the distance, lost in thought or prayer or . . . something.
After a long moment, he spoke. “I believe you, Kayla, though I had not expected to. You show your wisdom, not only in admitting your wrongdoing, but in understanding why it was wrong.” He was quiet, then continued. “Do you know why I took the flute?” He leaned against one of the great stone pillars, his arms folded across his chest.
“Only by what you said in the letter, though why you didn’t just come and speak to me about it, I don’t know,” she answered.
“I probably should have,” he said, looking slightly embarrassed. “But I truly thought you had played the flute purposely, selfishly, and were undeserving of it. I misjudged you, and I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
Kayla was very surprised by his admission, though she shouldn’t have been. The face she presented to the world was only an act. Few knew the real Kayla, she kept herself so well hidden. If his judgment of her came from the banquet dinner and the confrontation with her grandfather, it was no wonder he had jumped to conclusions.
“Thank you.” She leaned against the door jamb, relaxing further in his presence.
“Lady Kayla, this flute is more than just a beautiful, magical instrument. It is a key, the key . . . the sapphire keystone.”
She nodded in understanding, and he continued.
“The keystones were created by the Guardians themselves to knit our world together after Mahal and S’Kotos nearly destroyed it with their battling. C’Tan wants those keystones more than anything. As long as they are inactive, she cannot find them, but once they live . . . they call to any who will listen, and she is listening very, very hard.”
Kayla thought about that and suddenly understood why she was not to play this instrument. “So when I breathed upon it, I awakened it, and now C’Tan knows where it is.”
The Ketahean nodded gravely. “That is why I had Sarali take the flute. I felt it awaken, and in order to protect it and all our people, I had to shield it from C’Tan. I only hope it was done soon enough.”
“Shield? As in magic?” she questioned, pushing herself away from the door.
Again T’Kato nodded. “I am the keeper of records and protector of the keys within Ketahe. I was told to come here and await the Sapphire Flute.”
“By whom?” Kayla demanded, but the large man only shook his head.
“That I cannot tell you.” He paused and looked her over, seeming to assess her strength before he continued, guarded and compassionate. “If you wish to save these people, you must leave here. We will protect you and keep the flute safe until the player comes to collect it.”
“The player? I thought I was the player.”
“You are its guardian, but player you are not.”
We’ll see about that, she thought, then focused on the rest of what he’d said. “Wait, you want me to leave with you? What are you talking about? Leave Dragonmeer, or Darthmoor?”
“Leave Peldane, Kayla,” he said, voicing her worst fear.
“Peldane? You want me to leave the country just because I breathed on the flute? Isn’t that a bit much?” she asked.
T’Kato shook his head before she even finished. “If you care for your home, you will get as far from here as you can. I have done my best to shield the flute, but it is possible that C’Tan can sense it even so. At the very least, she may know where it was last held and come to Dragonmeer. We must get you to a place where it can be shielded indefinitely. Until the player comes, we have no choice.”
“Can’t you just take it?” she asked, a little desperate. She couldn’t leave now. Everything had just been righted for her family. She was getting married, for goodness’ sake. She could not leave!
“It must be thus, holder of the flute. It is tuned and tied to you, as it was you who breathed it to life. Only you can carry it, and until the player comes, you are the only one who can use it. You must come away with me.”
“I think he’s right,” said a familiar voice from the darkness.
“Brant! You found T’Kato’s note!” She rushed to him. Brant took her in his arms and gave her a quick squeeze, then held her hands as he faced her.
“Much as I hate to lose you right now, you must look to the good of our home first. That’s what leaders do, Kay,” he said, giving her his haunted smile. “My father was in agreement.”
“Your father? You told him? Brant, how could you?”
“I didn’t. Sarali did. Father wanted to speak with me about it. He has to look at what’s best for his home and country too, you know. I’m only grateful this didn’t happen on purpose. I know it was an accident, that you were not informed well enough, and so do my father and the king—”
“King Rojan knows, too?” Kayla groaned.
“My father had an obligation to inform him. He feels badly that he didn’t give you a better idea of what rules apply to the instrument, and he accepts responsibility.”
“But it’s not his fault!” she defended.
“Nor is it yours, Kayla,” T’Kato broke in. “Lord Brant is right. You were not well enough informed before being given such a gift, and with your love of music . . . well, no more need be said.”
Kayla hung her head. They were right and she knew it, but part of her still wanted to take the blame. The other part was still trying to process the fact that she was leaving Dragonmeer and Darthmoor all because she was idiot enough to breathe into the flute. She looked longingly at Brant. “I can’t leave you when I have barely found you,” she whispered.
Brant chuckled, though she thought she detected tears lurking in his eyes. “Kayla, the last thing I want is to lose you, but we can’t afford to
have C’Tan flaming down on us. When the danger has passed, or you have what you need, or the flute has been passed on . . . come back. I’ll wait for you.”
Kayla was desperate. She didn’t want to go, but she knew in her heart she had no choice. She slowly nodded her head in agreement. Brant put his arms around her again, held her for a long moment, then let her go.
She turned to T’Kato. The big man took her shoulders in his giant hands, giving her a surprisingly gentle squeeze. “You choose well, little one—very well indeed. Let’s find a place for you to sleep. We’ll have someone retrieve your things from home. We leave at dawn.”
The Sapphire Flute: Book 1 of The Wolfchild Saga Page 23