Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2)

by Missy Sheldrake

  “Shut up!” I scream. “Stop dancing! Stop it!”

  “Tibreseli,” Crocus’s calm voice just infuriates me more. She beckons to me, and I storm across the grass to her. Past Rian. Past the knight. Saesa trails behind. She slows at Azaeli. The fairies keep dancing. They’re caught up in it. None of them cares about what’s going on in the Ring anymore. When I get closer, I can smell her flowery perfume. It makes me feel slow and lazy. I scowl and step back until it’s not as strong. Glare at her.

  “What?” I snap.

  “Why have you come here?” she asks again. I shove my hand into my vest and pull out Margy’s woven bracelet. The one I promised to deliver. I hold it out. Let it dangle from my finger.

  “The princess sent me to deliver this. For Twig.” I’m compelled to throw it at her, but I control myself. She’ll take it, give it to Twig for whatever reason, and then I’ll leave Kythshire. Leave and never come back. Get away from magic and fairies and Mages and Sorcerers. Find a place where they can’t touch me. I hate magic. Hate its power. Wish it didn’t exist.

  “Place it on the stone, please, Tibreseli.” Her soft voice grates on me.

  “No. I won’t come any closer to you.” I plant my feet. Stand my ground. Beside me, Saesa stares in disbelief. She slips the bracelet from my fingertips and delivers it to the stone. I watch her pause and breathe in the scent of Crocus’s perfume. She sighs and blinks lazily. I grab her arm and pull her away from it.

  “Don’t get too close,” I warn her. “She’ll get you.”

  “We don’t intend to harm you,” Crocus laughs.

  “Bet you didn’t intend to hurt her, either. Or her.” I stab my finger toward Azaeli and Ki.

  “That was not our doing,” Crocus says quietly.

  “Maybe not you, but your kind. All of your kind. You did this. Magic did this. All of it. Magic and Wellsprings and greed and power and selfishness.” The dancing slows. Some of the fairies stop. Watch. Listen. When they do, more follow. Soon, they’re all standing quiet again. Waiting. My words have power. No one would dare speak this way. Not to Crocus. Not to the thunder voice. I feel the rush of it. Feel the awe and the fear of me and my words.

  “Only those with a respect for our ways are welcome here,” Scree booms.

  “Then I’ll be going.” I turn on my heel. Turn my back on them. I’m aware right away of the insult. The crowd gasps. Cries out. Doe claps her hands over her mouth. Shakes her head. Ki ducks low, bowing so much that her nose brushes the blades of grass. Rian is pale. He grips Azi’s hand. Winces.

  “Forgive the boy.” Mevyn says. “He has endured more in his short life than anyone should be made to suffer.”

  I spin again. Crocus is looking out over the audience, seeking the speaker. I do, too. Search for him. I see a flash of gold armor as the crowd parts. He comes to the edge of the Ring and pauses there.

  “Who speaks? We do not recognize you,” Crocus says.

  “I am Mevyn. Mason Evret Valor Yester Numinous. Last of the Sunteri Fae. Keeper of the Wellspring. Guide to Valenor. Sworn Sage of the Known. Keeper of Songs. Spear-Bearer. Warden of Sands. Second to Demsin. Second to Valenor. Second to Cintigra. WindCaller. Weaver of Threads. Mindspinner. If you allow it, Lifebringer.

  “This boy is my Champion,” he says as he raises his chin. “He has carried me through the deserts of Sunteri, the vastest seas, and the deep jungles of Elespen. He has guarded me against threats known and unknown. He has kept me safe in Cerion and fought for me along the roads of Ceras’lain. He is steadfast, courageous, and strong. I name him Truest Infallible Bastion. Steward of the Last. Knifethrower. Dreamstalker.”

  Chapter Twenty-One: A Fairy Bargain

  Tib

  All around me, they’re whispering. Scandalized. Curious. Saddened. Shocked. Two voices, though, draw my attention. They’re not speaking aloud. They’re in my head like Mevyn used to be. It isn’t him, though. It’s them. Crocus and the thundering voice of Scree. I turn to them slowly. Watch them. Her lips aren’t moving. She’s gazing down at the rock. Silent. Still, her voice is in my head. His, too. Scree. Having a secret conversation they think I can’t hear.

  “Did he say Last of the Sunteri Fae?” Scree asks. His voice is just as thunderous in my head as it is out loud.

  “He did,” Crocus replies.

  “That means…”

  “Yes.”

  “And what was that last title for the boy? Dreamwalker?” I shudder at Scree’s mention of the name.

  “Dreamstalker. Stalker.” Crocus corrects him.

  “Ah, that’s his direction, then.”

  “It would seem so,” Crocus smiles at the murmuring crowd and looks at me before resting her eyes on her skirts again. “Quite young for a Champion. Rough, too. It’s interesting. But then who do you suppose the red haired girl is?”

  “I have my suspicions,” Scree says.

  “I did not expect the songs to come to pass so quickly in succession. The Muses have been quiet for so long, and now this.”

  “Yes. When they have something to offer, it certainly transpires quickly.”

  “What of Azaeli, though? She was never mentioned,” Crocus’s eyes rest on the knight.

  “Not in a way we would suspect, no. But she has her part.”

  “It certainly has come together neatly, hasn’t it? So to speak.”

  “It certainly has. Let the Sunteri fae make his request. We shall grant it of course, as a trade.” The stone rumbles a little.

  “Of course,” Crocus smiles.

  “Make him wiggle a little first, though. For fun.”

  “Oh, indeed.” Crocus turns her attention to Mevyn and smiles sweetly. “We recognize you, Mevyn of Sunteri. Please join us in the Ring, which is getting terribly crowded, isn’t it?”

  She giggles softly and covers her mouth, and the fairies all around giggle, too. Mevyn comes to stand beside me. I edge away from him. I’m still confused. Still angry. What was the meaning of him giving me all of those titles? A gift is a trick. And why could I hear Crocus and Scree when nobody else could? What did all of that mean? I look at Mevyn. I wonder if he could hear it, too. It doesn’t seem like it to me.

  “Why have you come, Mevyn?” Scree rumbles. The ground beneath me trembles. I glance at Saesa, who’s kneeling in the grass opposite Rian, beside Azaeli. Mevyn steps closer. He’s got Rian’s attention. The Mage is staring at him, taking in every detail.

  It’s strange to see Mevyn this way, taller than I am. He looks much more like a man. His golden armor gleams brightly. The curling gold lines on his tanned skin seem to shine on their own. They even let him keep his golden spear. I remember how he plunged it through the eye of the man in the shack to protect me. I wonder if that memory just came to me on its own, or if he sent it to remind me that we fight together.

  How much of what I’ve done would I have chosen to do on my own if he hadn’t been there? None of it. I’d have been a beggar in Zhaghen. Suffering. Half-starved with the masses of other orphans. I never would have been capable of working a ship’s sail, or smart enough to talk my way into passage out of Sunteri. I need Mevyn as much as he needs me. I stare at him in disbelief. Push his influence off of me.

  “Stop it,” I growl. “Stop.” I want to lunge at him. Punch him. Drive his blasted spear into his own eye. I’m sick of his controlling, his manipulation. I’d rather be picking blooms. I’d rather work knowing I’m a slave the rest of my life than constantly wondering whether my mind is my own. I turn to Crocus.

  “I’m leaving,” I say. “You can have whatever this is. I don’t need any of you, and you don’t need me. I’m taking my sister, and we’re going.”

  “Oh my, he does have spirit, doesn’t he?” Crocus tips her head to one side.

  “Pity that he still considers her his sister.”

  “Oh yes, quite.” Crocus smiles sadly at me. “You are free to leave whenever you care to, friend. But I am afraid that Ki is bound to the Crag. She belongs in service to Iren, the S
hadow Crag Embodied. The Moun—”

  “Mountain Keeper, yeah, yeah!” I interrupt. “I don’t care about your stupid titles! I don’t care! She’s my sister. She’s all I have left.” I storm across the grass to Ki. I take her hand. Look into her eyes. Different but the same.

  “Why can’t you remember?” I ask, choking back tears. “What have they done to you?”

  Ki shakes her head apologetically.

  “I’m happy here,” she says. She actually sounds sincere.

  “Because they make you happy,” I say angrily. “They make you. Can’t you see that? This isn’t you.” I tug at her hand. “Come with me.”

  “She cannot,” Crocus says. “But you may remain with her, if you’d like. Please, sit and listen to the gathering for a time. Think on it. Try to calm your mind. Do not make a rash decision you may regret later. We understand your emotions. You have a right to them. For now, though, there is much to be discussed.”

  I look at my sister who isn’t my sister. She nods at me. Across the circle, still kneeling beside the knight, Saesa meets my eye. She nods too. Sit and listen. Knowing I can leave makes me feel a little better. I’m free. I can go where I like. They have no rights to me.

  “Fine.” I cross my arms and drop to the grass next to Ki.

  I work to calm myself. As I do, I’m aware of how tangible the magic is here. I feel as though I can reach out and scoop it from the air. I glance at Rian, who has Azaeli’s hand pressed to his cheek again. He’s still staring at Mevyn. The knight seems to help him keep it under control, even though she’s not conscious. Even though he’s surrounded by it. He could draw it in, I know. He could take this magic and mold it into anything. He could probably destroy the entire Ring if he wanted to, with one stroke of his finger. Instead, he sits and tries to be calm. He’s respectful. He frets for the girl he loves. I’ve never seen a noble Mage before. Not really. It’s nice to know they exist. I still don’t trust him, though.

  “Please go on,” Crocus says to Mevyn. “Why have you come?”

  “I have come,” Mevyn bows his head respectfully. His words are well-rehearsed. I imagine he’s gone over them a hundred times in his head on our long journey here. “To beg for my family, my friends, my people. Our Wellspring has been ravaged, drained. It is no more. We are no more. No longer corporeal, the Sunteri fairies are banished to the Dreaming. Until our Wellspring is restored, they shall remain there, too weak even to appear before you. In the meantime, Kythshire thrives. Your conviction in guarding that which is most precious has been enviable in its success. You are brilliant. An inspiration. And so I beg you. I plead with you. Help us restore our Wellspring. Show us how to keep it safe, how to guard it from those who would waste it. Help my people to be reborn.”

  Crocus folds her hands at her waist as the gallery goes silent waiting to hear her response. She smiles softly, and then her expression goes grave.

  “Your carelessness,” she shakes her head mournfully, “has birthed some of the most powerful Sorcerers we have seen in a century. Just last season, they came to us. They broke our border. They tried to expand their reach, their power. They nearly succeeded.”

  Mevyn bows his head. Closes his eyes. Acts ashamed, as he should. He has no response for her. Nothing to say to that.

  “With the aid of these humans,” she gestures to Rian and Azaeli, “our armies, and Iren of the North, those who would pillage us were destroyed. Still,” she looks around at the others, her eyes filled with tears, “we are not free from the threat of Sorcery. Others linger unchecked. One is unlike any Sorcerer we’ve seen. He moves in the darkness. Lurking. We are safe here, but if any of us crosses the border, we are threatened. Our travelers cannot leave, for this wickedness seeks them out. He twines himself around those most precious to us.”

  “Our own Champion,” she says, gesturing to Azaeli, “is in his grips even now. This threat, this unmatched Sorcerer was born in Sunteri. His mother’s milk was your Wellspring.”

  I think of what Mevyn said in the pit. We are old rivals. It’s a long story. I’m certain Crocus is talking about the Dreamwalker. And Mevyn knows him. He’s fought him before. I watch him now as he keeps his head low. He knows she’s right. His people were careless, and the Dreamwalker is the result of their carelessness.

  “I could offer excuses,” he says quietly. “Tell you of the slow bleed. How concessions were made, one by one, to allow the Mages of Zhagen more power, little by little. Decade by decade. How I was against it from the start. How I fought to keep our magic locked away. None of that matters now. That I was correct, that they ought to have listened to me, it doesn’t enter into it. They need me. My people are nothing more than wisps now, trapped in cold and darkness. Threatened and terrified. Our home is drained. That which used to be lush forest is desert. Wasteland. Given a second chance, I know we would make better decisions. I would do anything, anything to right this. To restore my people.”

  “There it is,” Scree says to Crocus, “bind him to it. Anything, he says.”

  “Yes.” Crocus rests her gaze on Mevyn. “Anything, indeed.”

  “Come closer,” she says to him, “and kneel.”

  Mevyn does as he’s bidden. All around us, the forest is hushed. Not even a breeze dares interrupt the silence. Crocus squares her shoulders a little, like she’s preparing to say something very important. She doesn’t get a chance, though. All at once, a jarring burst of color fills the Ring. It appears in a bright blur so blinding that I have to shield my eyes and look away. A voice, squeaky and excited, bubbles out from the light.

  “Dabble did it!” she cries. “He figured it out! He knows who tried to steal the diamond. You’ll never believe who it was, either! Or maybe you will, actually. And oh! Who are you?” I squint toward the voice. All I can see are colors. Every color imaginable, shifting and glittering and splashing over everything. When I can finally focus, I’m not surprised to see a fairy in the midst of it. She stands with her fists on her hips, looking at Mevyn dubiously.

  “I am Mevyn, Last of the Sunteri Fae…” as he goes through his titles, this new fairy raises her chin further with every word. Her eyebrows disappear behind her rainbow bangs. Her arms slowly cross over her chest. The tips of her wings droop down a little.

  “Well, that’s impressive,” she mumbles when he’s finished. “I’m Flitt. That’s with two Ts. Felicity Lumine Instacia Tenacity Teeming.” She bobs her head in a quick nod. “Did I interrupt? That was rather rude of me.”

  “Under the circumstances it’s forgiven, Flitt.” Crocus smiles. “Tell us, what has Dabble discerned from the diamond?”

  “You’ll never believe who tried to steal it. Prince Creepy himself!” Her mouth drops open and she looks around for a reaction. “You know, Prince Eron?” That does it. The crowd is scandalized. They gasp and shout and talk amongst themselves. Some of them shout toward Crocus. They’re scared. Angry. One of them, a fiery fairy dressed in red and orange lifts off from her mushroom cap. Sparks of yellow crackle behind her as she hovers above everyone.

  “Betrayal!” she shouts. “See? They aren’t to be trusted. They’ve broken their agreement. Cerion’s crown is supposed to protect us, not threaten. What’s happened in Sunteri will happen here, too. They mean to take us over. He’ll be king one day, he’ll wage war on us!” She’s met with cries of agreement from the crowd. They shout and raise their fists and surge toward the Ring.

  The ground starts to tremble, then rumble, then shake so violently that I drop to my knees.

  “Silence.” Scree thunders. “Silence!”

  “Ember is right,” Crocus says to Scree. “Too long has the young prince been obsessed with us. His interest in itself is a threat. He will be king. Soon to have an heir.”

  “Do not be so quick to condemn him. We must consider this carefully.”

  “Perhaps it is beyond us,” Crocus looks smaller, somehow. More frail. Tired.

  “I agree,” Scree says after a long pause.

  “If I
may,” Ki ventures. Her voice rises calm and clear over the din. The crowd quiets slowly. Crocus nods to her. She gets up and crosses to stand next to Mevyn. I do, too. Stay by her side.

  “What have you to say, Ki? Do you speak on behalf of the Crag?” Crocus blinks at her curiously.

  “Not at this time,” Ki says. “I have seen this threat, this shadow in the Dreaming. He used to come to me, into my nightmares. His reach was so terrifying that it disturbed my waking, until Iren realized what was happening and drew the darkness out of me. I have been tracking him, this Sorcerer as you call him, ever since, in my dreaming hours. He holds sway over many. He works with subtlety. And once, I did see him with a man with a crown.”

  “She would speak up for Eron! Remember who she is!” Ember shouts angrily.

  “Enough, Ember. We do not recognize you at this time.” Crocus dismisses the red fairy with a wave of her hand.

  “What else have you seen in the Dreaming?” Crocus asks Ki.

  “Sir Azaeli,” she gestures to the knight in the grass. “Just last night. Dressed in a red gown. She was running from him. She hid with me in a cavern as we waited for him to pass. She was confused. She asked me to help her leave, but I had no way of bringing her with me.”

  “You saw her?” Rian whispers, “She’s safe?”

  Ki turns to him. Nods.

  “She was, just last night, Your Excellency,” she says. “But she is stalked by the Dreamwalker.”

  “How do I get to her?” Rian lets go of Azaeli’s hand and stands. “How do I find her?”