I rush to him. His hands are pressing the sides of his head painfully, and his breath comes out in short puffs of white in the chilled morning air.
“Tib!” I cry as I kneel beside him. “What’s wrong? What happened? Are you hurt?”
“He won’t let me,” he whispers as he slumps against me. “It’s just like the roots. He won’t let me go. I should have told the truth,” he says, holding out a scrap of silk with an elvish mark on it. “In Ceras’lain. They would have helped me. They could have kept me safe.” His skinny little body wracks with sobs as he presses his face into the crook of my arm. I try to take the scrap to get a better look at it, but he tucks it away protectively.
“Mevyn?” I ask him. “Is that who? He won’t let you go?”
“He won’t let me find her,” he sobs. “She’s all I have. All I have left.”
“Shh. Listen,” I stroke his hair away from his face. It’s stringy and greasy and caked with blood from yesterday, but that doesn’t matter to me. This close, I see him for who he really is. A boy, alone, small, and confused.
A boy who’s been through things that would have broken grown men, and despite everything he’s faced, his concern is not for himself, but for the sister he lost twice. I want to tell him everything will turn out for the best, that he’ll be safe and so will she. I can’t be sure, though, and I won’t make him promises I can’t keep.
“Tib,” I say, clearing the lump in my throat, “I realize how important she is to you. We’re concerned for her, too.”
I dry his tears and look into his eyes. They’re brown, rich brown, and as welcoming as warm steeped tea on a snowy day. Without trying, I’m drawn into them. It’s almost as if he knows what I can do and he’s inviting me. I fall quickly into fields of red blossoms, where a young Viala sits with a book on her knee. He shows me her innocent days before she became a Sorceress. Shows me how kind she was, how tender to her brother and younger sister.
Despite the grueling work and the cruelty of those who drove them, they had each other. I watch her promise him in the darkness that she’ll come back for him one day. I see her waving hopefully from the window of a carriage driven by…Emris. I pull myself away. The face of the Sorcerer comes as a shock to me.
“I swear,” I say to him after taking a moment to catch my breath, “I’ll help you find her. I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re together. I promise. Okay?”
He nods, “okay.”
“Let’s go back into the inn,” I say. “I’ll talk to the others. We’ll make a plan.”
“He swore he’d never meddle with my mind again,” Tib rubs his eyes as I help him to his feet. “And then he wouldn’t let me leave. He lied to me. I hate him.”
“From what I understand,” I rub his back reassuringly as we walk back to the inn, “you’re justified in that.” With one vow made to Tib, I make another to myself in secret. I will find a way to make certain the two are separated. When this is over, Tib will be allowed to choose his own path.
We’re met with a surprising scene as we return to the gathering. Mevyn is floating in the center of a circle of the Elite with Flitt perched on Rian’s shoulder, scowling at the golden fairy. When she sees me, she darts across the room and tucks herself into my collar.
“Ah, there,” Mevyn says. “As I was saying, he can’t have gone far.”
I feel Tib’s shoulders tense beneath my hand at the fairy’s words, and I squeeze them reassuringly.
“Is there any way that some of us,” I turn to Elliot pointedly, “could search for Ki while the rest of us go with Mevyn to Valenor?”
“Tib must remain with me,” Mevyn flies to Tib, who bats him away.
“Yes, that’s been established,” I try not to scowl. I understand now why Tib always seems so angry.
“And you think I’m annoying,” Flitt chuckles in my head.
“If nothing else,” Uncle says, “it is obvious that the prince has a dangerous interest in that woman. Perhaps it would be wise after all to seek her out and keep her safe.”
It’s hard to miss the distaste in his tone. Before she became Ki, Viala was the Academy’s prize student. She betrayed the Academy by plotting right under Uncle’s nose. Since then his mistrust of the Sunteri has grown tenfold. He seems to have pity for Tib, though. Like the rest of us, he has no respect for those who would enslave others. Still, Mevyn’s plight is partnered with our own. Jacek is a direct threat to Cerion now, and without Mevyn’s direction, we don’t know how to fight him.
“I’ll search for her,” Elliot says. “Alone would be best. I can cover more ground that way.” He goes to Tib. “Do you have something of hers I could use? For reference?”
I can see the reluctance in his eyes as he pulls out the necklace with the blue stone. He looks at it for a moment and then hands it over to Elliot. In the half-elf’s hands, it pulses softly. Elliot’s eyes go dim and bright again, and I know that Iren is talking to him.
“Don’t worry,” Elliot says to Tib as he presses the cord to his nose. “I’ll find her.” He gives the amulet back to the boy and rushes out without another word.
“That’s settled, then. Who of the rest of you is coming along?” Mevyn asks. “We really must be going.”
“Dunno,” Bryse says with a scowl, turning his back on Mevyn to face Mya. “What does our leader say?”
“We don’t know what we’ll be facing,” Mya says quietly. “As long as we’re in agreement, I think it would be best if we all stayed together.”
“I can tell you to prepare yourselves for battle. It will not be easy to get through into Valenor’s lair,” Mevyn says. “It is likely to be guarded by fiends the likes of which you have never before encountered.”
“I’m sold,” Bryse says, running a thick finger along his blade. “How do we get there?”
“As am I,” Cort grins. “Dark lairs and fiendish guards? Sounds like treasure to me.”
“Wait,” I say. “Mevyn, if Valenor is an old friend as you’ve said, then why must we fight our way to him? Wouldn’t he just let you in if he knew you were coming to call?”
“If only it were so simple, my dear.” Mevyn floats toward me, pausing to hover before my eyes. “They are not guarding to keep us out. Oh, no. They are there to keep him in. You see,” he turns to the others. “Valenor is a prisoner, cast out by Jacek. The boy stole his titles and his mantle and shut him away in a place so dark that none would dare venture to seek him. That is why I need you, Tib. That is why I need all of you.”
“It seems we’re all in agreement, Mevyn,” says Uncle. “Where then, is this lair?”
“Deep in the mountains of the ancient lands that my kind calls Sevtis Vailsh,” Mevyn replies.
“That’s Long Arm,” Bryse says. “That’s a two week ride from here in summer months. Uphill. Mostly mountains and cliffs and in Midwinter it’s all ice. Pass is closed, little man. Probably have to take a ship.” Beside me, Rian rifles through his pack and pulls out his map case. He tugs a parchment free from the roll and flattens it out on the bed. Mya and my parents peer over his shoulder as he traces his finger along the route.
“He’s right,” he says. “No way we could make it there this deep into the season.” I follow his finger on the map. Long Arm Pass is a thin stretch of land that acts as a bridge between Haigh and Hywilkin, far to the north. It connects two unlikely allies, the Northern Caste, a hearty culture of men and women who make their homes in cold and unforgiving lands, and the Stone Giants, who are exactly as one might imagine. Bryse would be our expert here, as he is half of each.
“Of course not,” Mevyn says. “Not with traditional means of travel. But you,” he grins at me and scoops a lock of my bangs into his hand, “you, my beautiful dear, have other means of getting there. Do you not?”
I look across at Rian, whose jaw drops open slightly as his eyes widen.
“Well, Rian and I can… and we’ve brought others before, but…” I look around at the group as I brush the lock asid
e. There are fourteen of us all together. Rian and I taking Uncle through the Half-Realm was barely any trouble at all, but attempting so many others… “It’s too risky. We’ve never taken more than one or two with us.”
“I wasn’t even sure bringing Gaethon would work, to be honest,” Rian says.
“Wait a minute, now,” Flitt pipes up. She’s still safely hidden away from the others, who are oblivious to her rant. “That’s supposed to be a secret, you two! What do you mean, spouting it in front of everyone? The Half-Realm is one step closer to our realm. Would you really just let him in?” She points at Bryse with a scowl. “And him?” She points at my father.
While she’s going on, the others are discussing what I’ve said. It’s too difficult to keep track of everyone talking at once. I sink onto a nearby bed and press my palms to my head to try and focus.
“Enough,” Mevyn says. “Enough. Fine. If it means less chattering, then I can bring you each there, but it must be one at a time. And when I am through, I shall need to replenish.” He looks pointedly at Uncle, who slowly closes his eyes.
“Very well,” he says. “Who shall go first?”
“Me,” says Bryse. “I’ll stand guard. Haven’t been home in a while.”
Once everyone has agreed, the journey to Long Arm Pass is not difficult at all. I take Tib and Flitt with me and focus on Bryse, and I have no trouble falling through the frigid air into the icy peaks of the place that Mevyn called Sevtis Vailsh. Rian brings Mya and Mum with him, and Mevyn takes a few more trips to bring the rest. By the time he’s through and everyone is huddled against the wind in an inlet of stone, Mevyn looks ragged and pale. He goes to my uncle, who tucks him into the folds of his robes.
Snow billows around us so thickly that we can barely see our hands in front of our faces. My cheeks are immediately frozen by the bitter wind that whips through the pass. The mountainside is slick and treacherous: a sheer drop on one side of us and nothing but ice-coated wall to cling to on the other.
“This is madness,” Da says through chattering teeth. “Are you certain we need this Valenor’s help? Perhaps there’s another way,” he goes on, but the wind roars through and carries his voice away.
“This way,” Uncle calls, and we follow his voice blindly. I cling to Rian who creeps ahead of me, careful not to slip to his demise from the icy ledge. This is my worst nightmare. I try hard to put the thought of plummeting to my death out of my mind.
We creep together along the perilous mountain’s edge for what seems like hours. My fingers are as numb as my toes, and my cloak drags me down, heavy with ice and snow. Just when I’m about to lose hope, I look ahead to see Uncle and the others disappear into an opening in the cliff face. I slip into it after them, grateful for the reprieve from the harsh wind and snow.
There’s no time to rest and warm ourselves, though. The crevice we entered opens immediately to a spacious ice cavern that glitters with Flitt’s colorful light. It splashes over a face frozen within the walls, and at first I think it must be Valenor, but I’m mistaken.
The ice begins to crack with an eerie echo that booms through the cavern. The crack spreads and the ice wall shatters, sending glass-like shards shooting toward us. A quick word from Uncle and Rian throws a shield between our group and the shards, which strike it hard and clatter to the ground with a horrendous crash.
When the shards settle the face pushes outward, grisly and awkward. It was once a man, but his eyes are milky white and his mouth open in a wide red grimace. He stalks forward to strike at Uncle, who is at point, and Bryse charges forward to block the attack.
All around us the ice crackles and shatters, and I spin to see several more of the dead figures emerge from their frozen caskets. They growl with a fierce, cold fury as they drag themselves in our direction, striking out with claws and rusted, blunt weapons. One of them sets its sights on me.
He was young when he died, perhaps my age. His hair is long and blonde and glazed with ice. He lunges for me and I swing my sword and he falls to the ground without a sound. I know I’ve severed his head. I can’t bear to look.
“Necromancy,” Rian says with his back pressed against mine. “I’m not surprised.” Fire shoots from his palms, melting the ice in front of him, burning the dead men who struggle toward us. Between the group of us, the risen are barely a challenge. In fact, when the fight is through, Bryse and Cort look a little disappointed.
“Four,” Bryse mumbles to Cort.
“Two,” Cort shrugs.
“This way,” Mevyn calls from deeper within the cavern. We all follow, careful with our footing on the ice-coated stone.
The deeper we go into the mountainside, the more fiendish our foes become. We battle ice goblins with sharp teeth that drip poison and fury sprites who enrage us so that we can barely swing our weapons and hobnubs who confuse us and try to get us to turn away.
We creep into the winding depths until the only light is Flitt’s colorful beam emanating from my collar, and Mevyn’s golden glow streaming from Uncle’s robes. I keep close to Tib, who has his dagger out and ready. It glows with a greenish light that seems to turn his foes to stone when it meets its mark. He’s fought bravely until now, but I fear we still have far to go.
The shadows encroach on us as we continue into the darkness, stifling our vision, filling us with dread.
“Not much further now,” Mevyn whispers from his hiding place. “He’s here, just here in the next chamber.”
“Why should we listen to him?” Dacva calls from the back of the tunnel. “He’s done nothing but lead us into danger since we arrived.”
“Don’t be insolent, Dacva,” Donal hisses. “It’s unbecoming.”
“You’re unbecoming,” Dacva replies.
“Quiet, both of you,” Da says, “I’d sooner suffer those risen again than have to listen to your constant bickering.”
“All of you shut up,” Bryse growls. “I don’t need to hear it. I mean it, I’ll throw you down the mountain, every last one.”
“Try it, you great oaf,” Da says.
“Yeah, I’d like to see you find your way out.” Dacva says.
“Probably couldn’t find his way out of his own shirt,” Donal murmurs to Dacva.
“I heard that!” Bryse plows through half of us to get to the rear of the line where the clerics are catcalling and taunting him. As I watch in disbelief, my vision shifts oddly around them. Tendrils of shadows stretch across Dacva, Donal, and Bryse, creeping across their skin, seeping into their minds. Bryse raises his sword and readies to swing it at Donal, his friend, his guild mate. It’s not them. It’s the darkness. I try to think of a way to stop it.
I remember Stubs running through fields of grass and panting as I willed him to stop. I reach out to the shadowy tendrils with my thoughts. I imagine strings on them. Like inky puppets, I pull them away from my friends one by one and hold them in place. Bryse blinks. So do Dacva and my father and Donal.
“Don’t know what got into me,” Bryse says, shaking his head. Dacva looks horrified as he does the same.
“Me neither. I didn’t mean it,” he says.
“Course not,” Bryse says. He looks ahead to Cort, who’s just standing there watching. “Why didn’t you stop me?” he asks.
“I’m sick of it,” Cort sneers at Bryse. “Always being the one to keep your temper at bay. You need to be a man. Take responsibility for yourself. I’m through being your pacifier.”
I look closely and see more of the shadows. They creep over Cort, binding him, holding him in their sway. I concentrate on them and push them from him and he closes his eyes.
“Sorry,” he says. “I don’t...”
“Perhaps a song,” Mya whispers as Rian stares at me in disbelief. I’ve pulled the shadows away and they cling to my arms like a shroud, but they don’t affect me. I remember Uncle’s talisman. I’m sure that must be why. Mya’s soft music fills the passage with sweet echoes. The song soothes us all but angers the shadows, which swirl wickedl
y around me. They break free of my strings and combine into towering creatures that hover over us wickedly, plucking and poking and taunting.
There’s one shadow for each of us, and despite Mya’s song they have the upper hand. Half of our group sinks to their knees and drops their weapons to clutch their heads.
“Shadow wraiths,” Flitt sends to me. “Don’t let them hold you.” She shines her light brighter but the shadows aren’t affected.
They wrap themselves around my friends and family, binding them, seeping into their eyes and noses and mouths. Rian, Uncle, and I are unaffected. Tib stands watching in disbelief as he’s completely ignored by them. The others, though, all of them, lie helpless and writhing on the ice.
I try to concentrate on the one that holds Mum, imagining the strings and pulling them away, but it fights me. It’s too strong and I’m too unskilled in this magic. There’s nothing we can do. If I tried to stab them it would harm the people they’re holding, too.
I drop to my knees between my mother and father and rest a hand on each of them, but my talisman does nothing to protect them. Uncle and Rian try several spells, but nothing seems to work.
“We’re getting closer,” Mevyn whispers. “This is the last defense. Tib, the yellow.”
Desperately, I keep trying to move the wraiths away with my mind, but have no success. Beside me, Tib pulls a yellow vial from his bandolier and coats the blade of Rian’s dagger with it.
“Good, now, slowly. Carefully,” Mevyn whispers. The wraiths on Mum and Da are too occupied by their prey to notice Tib creeping up to them. He raises the blade and thrusts it. It takes every bit of my will to keep from blocking the attack aimed for my mother. It strikes the shadow, which screeches with the most ear-splitting, unholy sound. Immediately the others spring up. As the shadow on Mum is absorbed into the darkness, the rest of them charge Tib in a savage fury.
Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2) Page 35