Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3)

by Missy Sheldrake

  I glance at Celli as Dub bears down with his blade and the other two men tighten their hold on me. I could slip into the half-realm and grab her. I don’t have the ability to move from place to place like Azi and Rian do, but I could at least hide us both until we could figure out a way out of here.

  The problem is the step. I always step into it, like Mevyn taught me to. A step through the cobwebs, into hiding. I wonder, as Dub presses harder and a bead of blood drips down my cheek, whether I could do it without actually stepping.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and try, but nothing happens. No shift. No cobwebs. It’s empty. Like it doesn’t exist. I think of Mevyn in Sunteri. Of Valenor in the dreaming. I have always felt like they were nearby, like they would come if I ever needed them. Like I had their protection, somehow. If I called out to them, would they hear me? Could they help? Do I dare try it and risk them coming to this place?

  “Enough,” a different voice barks from outside.

  Dub lowers his blade with a grunt of annoyance and we both look toward the door.

  The man there is a Sorcerer, obviously. The Mark creeping across his forehead announces that proudly. He’s very tall and thin, and his gray robes hang on his frame. His skin is white. His hair is white. When he turns his head slightly, I see the point of his ear. Elf.

  I swallow the lump in my throat. All the elves I’ve met have been peaceful, gentle, and kind. They respect magic. They’re good. This Sorcerer is a walking contradiction. It’s disturbing. Confusing. My breath catches. I can’t stop staring at him. He notices. His lips curve into a graceful, terrible smile.

  Through the bars of the cell he watches me with a mix of curiosity, fear, and something else. A need to own. To control. It makes me feel like an animal in a cage. Right away I know what he’s after. He wants to keep me. Tame me. I’ll die before I let him.

  “Bring him,” he orders, “and the girl.”

  Dub crosses and hefts Celli up. He doesn’t let her walk. Instead, he slings her over his shoulder. She doesn’t squirm or fight. She must be scared or hurt, because that’s not the Celli I know. The two holding me lift me up too, so my toes drag along the floor as they carry me into the hallway.

  As soon as I cross the threshold I feel the shift. The magic assaults me so much that I can’t breathe. It seeps in from every crevice of this place, strong and powerful. Wards. Spells. Shadows. Power. Darkness. Death. Waking. Desire. Manipulation. Sorcery. I feel all of it pressing in around me, taking up the air, drowning out the sound. I’m sure nobody else notices the sudden flood of arcane power. Celli doesn’t. She just lies limp.

  I try hard to catch my breath and notice the Sorcerer watching me again with that same curiosity. He sees how it affects me. I can almost hear him thinking about how he can use my abilities for his own twisted cause, whatever that might be.

  It makes me furious. If my arms weren’t tied, I’d fight them all. I’d wring his skinny white neck. They try to drag me forward, but I refuse to be meek like Celli. I don’t care that my legs are tied. I squirm and kick and swing my bound hands. With my heels I bash one guy in the kneecap. With my fists clenched together I slam the other in the nose.

  They both curse and throw me onto the floor. One of them presses his knee to the back of my neck.

  “Try that again,” he barks into my ear, “and I’ll gut you.”

  “Now, now, Jin, no need to be barbaric. Yet.” The Sorcerer laughs softly. Jin presses his knee harder into my neck. The elf steps closer. His soft boots come to rest right at the tip of my nose. I look past them, into the cell across from the one I was just dragged from. A dozen terrified faces stare back at me. Two of them I recognize. Griff. Mikken. So this is where they ended up.

  “Come now,” the Sorcerer’s tone is quiet and dark, “Tib, if you will agree to come peacefully, I shall allow your bindings removed.”

  “Back off,” I scream and spit on his boot. “I don’t bargain with Sorcerers!”

  “Have it your way,” he laughs and walks away. Jin, or at least I assume it’s Jin, grabs me by the hair and whacks my head hard on the stone floor.

  When I wake up again, I’m propped against a wall in a room like the first one. Another cell, except this one has stone walls instead of metal. It’s empty except for the mirror in the center of it, and Celli next to me. Her head rests on my shoulder. The bag’s off her now. We’re all tied up together. Her left wrist is tied to my right wrist, and my right ankle is tied to her left one. Our other arms and legs are shackled to chains that attach to a ring in the floor in front of us.

  I’m not sure if she’s awake until I hear her sniffle. My shoulder is wet. I wonder how long we’ve been here. How long she’s been crying.

  “Celli?” I whisper. She shakes her head slightly.

  “Don’t,” she warns, “they’ll hear.”

  Now that she knows I’m awake, she sits up and moves away from me as far as the ropes will allow.

  “Who are they?” I ask her. She shakes her head again.

  “Just do what they say,” she says wearily. “Whatever they say. Please. They said if you don’t do what they want, they’ll kill me.”

  Her eyes meet mine and the fear in them makes me look away, to the mirror in the center of the room.

  It’s magical. I can feel the flow of it shimmering on the surface of the glass. It feels like a portal, or a way of seeing more than what there is. As I watch it, the reflection of the stone wall across from it changes. I nudge Celli and point.

  “Look,” I whisper. “It’s Nessa’s house.”

  She and I crawl closer and peer in at the scene that unfolds. It’s sunset. Nearly dusk. A dark form passes by in the street. A gloved hand emerges from dark robes and conjures a ball of fire. With a flick of a wrist, the fire bursts forth. It smashes through the windowpane into the Ganvents’ dining room. The figure vanishes as the fire catches. Black smoke billows from the window. The fire spreads through the first floor quickly. The windows of the sitting room shatter into the streets.

  “It’s a trick,” I whisper. “It has to be. It can’t be real.” I watch in horror. I can almost smell the smoke. That’s when I see her in the upstairs window. Saesa. She throws the shutters open and looks down into the street. Emmie is beside her, crying. Saesa shakes her head. Scoops up Emmie. Ducks back inside.

  “Saesa!” I scream and fight the chains that hold me back. It’s really happening, I’m sure of it. It isn’t a spell or an illusion. I’d know it if it was. That mirror is a portal. If I can get through it, I can save them. “Help me, Celli!” I shout and yank at the chains with all of my strength. Celli does her best, but we aren’t strong enough to break the bonds.

  The flames lick higher in the Ganvent manse. The fire brigade comes, but they’re close to useless with their buckets and pumps.

  “Where are the Mages?” Celli grunts as we try again to pull the chain link from the loop in the floor. “They’re always there to stop a fire.”

  I don’t answer. I’m too caught up in the scene in the mirror, where some of the brigade rescue emerges from the house. Two of them carry Nessa. Her dress is black and burnt, her skin covered in soot. They wrap her in blankets and run off with her. Probably to the Conclave. More of them come out. They get Ruben, Garsi… both are coughing and black as coal. Both get wrapped up and raced off to the healers. I wait and watch, but two more men come out empty-handed. One shakes his head at the other. The house crumbles into itself.

  “No!” I scream again, “Saesa!”

  I charge at the mirror until my wrist and ankle are bloody and raw, until Celli finally pulls me back and shakes some sense into me.

  “She’s fine, she got out. I’m sure she got out, Tib. There’s a back door, right?” She forces me to look away from the mirror, to look at her instead. “Right?” she whispers again.

  “Right,” I say hoarsely. “She got out. She had to.”

  I look again at the mirror and see something curious. Zeze, just her face, just a flash, lo
oking right at me. Our eyes meet, and the mirror goes black.

  “Curious,” the voice of the Sorcerer hisses around us. “He is not immune to visions of what might come to pass.”

  The elf Sorcerer steps through the mirror. He’s dressed the same as the figure that sent the fireball through Nessa’s window.

  “No bargains with Sorcerers, you say?” he laughs. “Did my little scene convince you, perhaps, that it might be prudent to consider a slight exception to your policy, Dreamstalker Tib? Who knows what may happen, if you refuse.”

  Chapter Seventeen: Palace of the Dawn

  Azi

  “Flitt?” I call out to the light beaming through the white birch trunks. It shines with the purity and intensity I’ve come to recognize with her tiny, perfect radiance. There are no motes of dust or swirls of smoke to obscure it. I rush forward, wanting to be closer to it, knowing that the hard part is over and on the other side of these trees is where I’ll find her. Just through the trees is the gate we’ll go through together to get to the palace.

  I shield my eyes when I finally come through the forest to stand before what I can only assume are the sweeping gates. I can’t see a thing. Everything is dancing light and color.

  “Flitt?” I call again, and the light beams so intensely that I have to squeeze my eyes shut. It glares and pulses with a strange warmth that draws me in and pushes me away all at once.

  “Azi!” Flitt’s sudden squeaky voice makes me jump. “You did it!”

  She emerges from the light the same size as I am and I rush to her and throw my arms around her. I feel as though I’ve been alone for days, and I’m exhausted by the thought of it. I’m so relieved to see her that I don’t bother to hide my tears.

  “Wings, ow,” Flitt winces and shrugs and tries to wiggle away but I hug her tighter, afraid if I let go she’ll leave me alone to fend for myself again in this strange fairy proving ground.

  “Azi,” she whispers to my mind and flicks her eyes toward the gate. “You’re embarrassing me. They’re watching, you know.”

  The gate of the palace tower over us, gilt and shining. Its lace-like design sparkles with drops of dew like a spider’s web. Beyond it, the white rosebud towers of the palace stretch up to the sky, washed in the ever-present lavender and pink glow of the rising sun.

  They’re watching. Two shining sentries flank the gates on either side. They tower over us like giants standing at full attention, their dark hazel eyes fixed on us both. Their ornate spears are crossed over the threshold, barring our entry.

  “Ow,” Flitt whines and wiggles again and I let go reluctantly.

  “Sorry,” I murmur as she reaches back and rubs her wings.

  “You nearly crushed them,” she pouts.

  “No I didn’t, I was careful,” I say, a little annoyed.

  “Well, you could have let go when I said,” she crosses her arms. “Typical.”

  “Sorry!” I scoff in disbelief. “Excuse me for being relieved to see you after all that!”

  “Funny way of showing it, smashing my wings.” She looks behind her and waves her glittering wings slowly as if checking for damage. I don’t know what to say to her sudden annoyance of me, so I just stand and wait.

  Just as I’m about to ask her what comes next, the soft sound of chimes dances through the air around us. It’s so soothing and peaceful that I nearly forget why I’m standing here. The sentries raise their spears and drive the ends of them into the mossy green earth before them. They give us an abrupt nod of approval.

  “No harm done!” Flitt chirps, grabs my hand, and tugs me forward. Her sudden change in spirit makes my head spin.

  As we approach, the sparkling doors swing open to reveal the entry hall of the palace. I gasp at its grandeur as I peer inside. The hall is so vast and splendid that I find myself pausing on the threshold. Flitt does, too. Even with the permission of the sentries and the invitation of the open doors, I can’t bring myself to step from the earthy moss to the glossy white stone. I don’t want to taint the perfection of it with my presence.

  It’s magic, I know it is, yet I can’t help but obey its command. I stand together with Flitt, entranced by the endless pure ivory arches that stretch up into the pink sky and the lines and lines of carved pillars that seem to go on to infinity, each one flanked by two fairy guards dressed in silver and gold. The light of this place washes over me and I drink it in slowly, savoring the feeling as it seeps into every pore of my skin.

  Power, light, love, peace, beauty, compassion. This magic, these wards encompass everything that is good. As drawn to it as I am, I still can’t bring myself to spoil it by entering.

  “Enter,” a voice drifts from within, so sweet it brings tears to my eyes.

  I lean forward and will my foot to raise and step, but I stop with my knee in mid-air. The guards closest to us snicker softly, and their chuckling invites more of the same from within the great hall. Soon, the sound of fairy laughter echoes across the arches and columns, flooding my ears, further enchanting me with the magic of this place.

  Beside me, Flitt giggles and takes my hand again. The moment she does, all goes quiet. I feel something change between us, something I can’t describe. It’s as though the bond between us just in that simple gesture has solidified.

  “What was that?” I push to her as the command of the warding magic fades away.

  “You know fairies,” she replies aloud. “They had to be sure we were the right fit. Come on.”

  I look down at my raised foot and this time when I try to step forward it comes easy to me. Flitt’s hand squeezes mine and the unseen fairies inside the palace applaud. The guards each stomp a single foot and point within, toward the endlessness of the great hall. Flitt bobs along beside me, still tugging my hand as she goes. I want to ask her to explain, but I get the distinct sense that I should remain quiet, so I do.

  We walk for what seems like ages, until when I look behind me I can no longer see the gate, and when I look ahead there is nothing but pillars and arches and splashes of the pink light of dawn. After a while, the peace and grandeur of this place begins to fade, and I find myself growing annoyed as my thoughts drift back to Cerion and the plight I was torn from.

  The sensation of my mind inside of the prince’s is the first thought that comes to me. As I walk hand in hand with Flitt, I remember the feeling of the ax on the back of his neck. I relive the darkness that followed. The fear, the panic of the people. I recall Rian’s command to Flitt to escape with me.

  Despite the peaceful magic of this palace, my heart is racing. I feel the anger rising in me, the shame of running, the worry, the fear. Sorcery has returned to Cerion, after generations of peace. The existence of dark magic so powerful, with such little concern for our common people, is terrifying. That they would be so bold as to attack such an important gathering with the Royal family present is even more so.

  I remember the faces of the common folk during the trial. Men and women, hardworking, loyal to His Majesty the King. Commoners and their children who live kindly and honestly. People who give to one another and care for those less fortunate. I remember their terror in the quick moments before Flitt whisked me away. I remember the prince and his strange words. I remember Rian, standing ready with his spells, commanding Flitt to take me. Rian, who always stands beside me. Rian.

  I can’t bear to think of the outcome of the attack. We had our Mages there, but they ought to have been able to prevent whatever evil that was. Their wards alone should have kept it out. I think of Rian again and how on edge he’s been. I think of the visions he showed me of his life at the Academy since the battle of the keep at Kythshire. I think of his face, how it’s changed since then. How young he was before, and how much older now. But still he has that glint in his eye, that mischief, that self-assured smirk. It’s rarer these days, but still it makes my heart skip to think of it.

  I don’t realize that I’ve reached the end of the hall, or that the steps to the throne of the Fairy Queen
stretch out before me. I don’t notice the mass of onlooking fairies who line the pillars and hover in groups all the way up to the ceiling. I don’t hear them whisper or see the twinkle of pink light that glances off of their wings. I’m unaware of Flitt’s hand holding mine tightly, or the queen who watches from her throne high above.

  I don’t feel my feet on the steps or know that I am nearing Her Majesty. I walk in a trance, my thoughts still on Cerion, on the High Court, on Rian, my memories telling the story of my recent past.

  I don’t notice that her steel-gray eyes are fixed on mine, or see the golden tendrils that drift between us, pulling these scenes to her. Showing her everything she wishes to see about Cerion and its people.

  Rian and I are together again, lying in the soft, cool grass of the Forest Park, our noses touching as we gaze at one another. I feel his arms around me warm and soothing. I fall into his eyes and see things he never showed me. The Academy and its workings shuffle between us like cards in a deck. Secrets I never would have asked to know, rules and mandates and policies strictly adhered to by the Mages of Cerion. Regulations put in place for the safety of the fairies, for the preservation of the Wellspring of Kythshire.

  I see the Mages who value these rules like a sacred canon, and I see the others who treat the rules as loose guidelines. Faces of men and women who have dedicated their lives to their work. Most of them are familiar to me simply as acquaintances of my uncle. I see the Mark on a few, covered by their high collars, a sign of their overreaching, a brand of their thirst for power that is not theirs to take. These faces imprint on my mind and linger.

  I slowly become aware of Her Majesty the Queen as the face of a Mage fades between us to be replaced by her own. As the golden tendrils linger, I take in the perfect line of her lightly blushed high cheekbones and the way the light catches on her white-painted eyelashes. Her rosy lips smile playfully as slowly she closes her eyes and breaks the connection between us.

  I don’t feel angry or violated. The knowledge she sought was her right, her claim. Not an imposition, for the knowledge of Cerion’s Mages was borrowed from her people, and therefore hers to own.