Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3)

by Missy Sheldrake

  Osven glances at her replacement. This healer bows his head. He whispers a fervent, faithful prayer and presses both hands to the sides of my head. The pink energy glows.

  My awareness shifts. Someone else is here with me. Someone familiar. Someone comforting. I search the room for her. She’s difficult to find at first. Hidden by iron. Bars. A cage. A cat.

  “Zeze!” I rush to her and reach for the cage, but I’m not really here. My hands go right through the bars. Right through her. She sits watching, though. She sees me. Both of me. Her eyes meet mine. Calm. Trusting. Waiting.

  I spin on my heels. Run straight through the healer. Straight through myself on the dais. Fling myself at Osven. I want to claw his eyes out. I want to choke him. Feel his life leaving him. Watch him bleed out.

  “I hate you,” I scream at him, “I hate all of you!” I lash at him wildly. Swing through him. My fists are clouds. Apparitions. He doesn’t even feel my energy. Some Sorcerer.

  “Valenor,” I cry, confused. I feel him beside me before he appears. His cloak flutters around me, offering peace. Offering comfort. I welcome it. I let it close around me. I let it calm me. I let him take me away from here.

  We’re on his terms now. Valenor. The Dreamwalker. My friend. The darkness is pushed out by light. Forms swim before me, silhouetted. Saesa. Ki.

  We settle in the grass at the base of a great castle. He lets me sit for a while, in between Ki and Saesa, drinking in the sun. When he knows I’m calm enough, he speaks.

  “Do you understand what you have seen, Tib?” he asks.

  “I think so. This isn’t real. The real me is in that fortress, about to die,” I say. “And they have Zeze.” My heart pangs with the last, and my anger starts to bubble again. “They’re trying to heal me, but they can’t.”

  “Two days they’ve tried, Tib,” Valenor says with a disapproving shake of his head. “Why do you deny them?”

  “Deny them? What are you talking about? I’m unconscious! Besides, what difference does it make? I’ve been healed before without having to give anyone permission!”

  “People you were familiar with,” Valenor explains. “You welcomed their healing. These are strangers. They cannot touch you with magic, good or bad.”

  While I turn his words over in my mind I note something else. Something different about him. No, not something. Someone. A familiar pulse. Golden wings and armor of the same. A gold fleck in his eyes, peering out at me.

  “Mevyn?” I whisper and push myself to my feet. Ki and Saesa follow me silently, like they’re afraid I’ll stray too far. “Is that you?”

  “It is,” Valenor says, and Mevyn’s voice echoes within his.

  I reach out to him, to Valenor, shocked by my reaction to our reunion. Tears roll down my cheeks. I missed him. Mevyn’s presence fills a hole I didn’t even realize I had.

  “This reaction is quite normal,” Mevyn explains. “I assure you, there is no magic between us, my old friend. What you are feeling is the bond we had. It is still present, despite the distance between us. It always will be. I would explain further, but there are far more urgent matters at hand.”

  “Why do you speak through Valenor?” I ask him, disappointed. “I’d like to see you.”

  “I cannot leave the Wellspring for the Dreaming. Not now. We are on the precipice of Dusk. Tib, you must listen.”

  I don’t know how to respond. I have too many questions. I remember what Nessa says. Silence draws truth. I wait.

  “Your title, Dreamstalker, still stands. As such, you cannot be touched by magic. You cannot be swayed by Mentalism. You cannot be harmed by Sorcery. You cannot be healed by Mending. None of the Arcane can touch you, unless you will it so. Unless you consent to it. Do you understand?”

  “What if I don’t consent?” I ask. “What if I let myself die? What happens to me then?”

  “Death is the Great Mystery, Tib. We only know that if you die, you will be gone from our reach. Only your shell will remain on the worldly plain, and it is an evil act to pluck you back from wherever the rest of you goes,” Valenor’s voice is stronger during this explanation. The corner of his eyes crinkle with a smile even through his light scowl. “We hope this is not the end you wish. Especially not in the grips of Sorcerers who are capable of raising you and manipulating you. For, once you are dead, your titles die with you.”

  “Of course I don’t want that,” I say impatiently. “And I won’t leave Zeze in their hands. I want to stop them. They need to be stopped. Do you know what they’re doing? They’re raising the prince! I felt him there. I felt them doing it. If what you’re saying is true, then they can do that to him, can’t they? They can bring him back. Manipulate him.”

  “One of many sinister plots, Tib.” Valenor says. “One of many. But you must understand what you face, should you allow them to heal you. We cannot reach you in that place. It is too protected. If you are to return, once you do, I cannot stand beside you.”

  “But we were just there together! I don’t understand.”

  “I was able to reach you at the cliffs, my friend.” Valenor explains. “Their wards and iron walls protect the fortress, but not the grounds surrounding it. And I was your guest in the Dreaming in the room with the dais. Once you awake, I shan’t be able to reach you there. But you will not be alone. Zeze will be with you.”

  “You need to be calm about it, Tib,” Saesa offers quietly. “When you wake up, don’t lose your temper.”

  “You need to outsmart them and get out of there,” Ki says. “You can do it.”

  I look from one of them to the other. My sister. My best friend. It makes sense that Ki would be here. She can travel easily to the Dreaming from Kythshire, as long as she has Iren’s permission. We’ve met here lots of times before. Saesa is another story, though. The Dreaming is vast. Infinite.

  “How did you find us, Saesa?” I ask.

  Saesa’s eyes flick to the air beside her head.

  “Are you going to come out now?” she asks. “I think he’s agreed. You’re going to let them heal you, right, Tib? You’re going to go back?”

  “Do not answer yet,” Mevyn’s echo rings out. “As soon as you agree, their healing will wake you.”

  “Who are you talking to?” I ask Saesa.

  The air shimmers beside her, revealing a slender, stick-like form.

  “Afternoon,” Twig bows merrily. “Glad to see you up and about, Tib, so to speak.”

  I look from him to Saesa. Shake my head.

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “Why aren’t you with the princess? Is she all right? Did something happen?”

  “I’ll be happy to explain later,” Twig says cheerfully. “Once you wake up.”

  “But, how…” I’m so confused, I can’t even form a question.

  “Like I said,” Twig grins, “all questions will be answered at a later point in time. What you need to do is get Zeze, okay? Get the cat, and have them bring you outside. Someplace calm, if you can. A place with trees would definitely help. Or even just a little grass. And Tib? It’s really important that you succeed. Really, really important.”

  “First things first,” Valenor says. “You must consent to their healing. When you are ready.”

  Ki steps forward. Her hair shines bright and slick in the sunlight. The studs on her gray leather armor twinkle and shine. The last time I saw her, it was winter. She has since shed her long sleeves and leggings for something that shows off the muscles in her arms and legs. She looks good. Healthy. She adjusts her bow on her shoulder and offers her outstretched arms to hug me. I let her.

  “I’m not sure when you’ll see me again,” she says, “but I’ll be watching you from here. From the Dreaming, okay? I believe in you.”

  I bury my face in her shoulder. Stay there for a while. Feel Iren’s hold on her, the magic deftly woven between her and the Guardian of the North. Take in the scent of her: crisp mountain air and pine. Save this feeling, the love of my sister. Even though the magic of that fortre
ss can’t touch me, it’s still heavy with despair and hopelessness. I’ll need this to help me through.

  Next to us, Saesa’s sniffling again. She doesn’t wait for Ki to let go. She flings her arms around the both of us.

  “I’m glad we found you,” she whispers. “Be careful.”

  “I’m glad you’re safe,” I say. “Stay that way. I’ll see you in Cerion.”

  I don’t let go of any of them. I keep hugging. Valenor’s cloak settles around us, poking us with starry pinpoints of hope. I think of myself back on the dais. The man with his hands on me. In my mind I agree to it. I allow it. I let him heal me.

  There’s no gentle shift. It happens suddenly. Pain. Agony. Suffocation. The blood in my mouth sputters out as I gasp and choke on it. His hands are rough over my ears. His fingertips jab into my temples and skull. I open my eyes to pink light. Healing magic pulses through me, ripping through my bones, binding and fixing splinters and shards. It isn’t the soothing healing I’m used to. This is forceful. Powerful. Fast and hard. Excruciating.

  I scream and gasp and scream again. My own voice echoes back at me. The pain is too much. I need it to stop, but no. It must continue. I remember Ki’s arms around me, and Saesa’s. The sun-splashed deck of a flying ship. I focus on the scent of mountain air and pine. They help me through, just like I thought they would.

  Through a cloud of pink and pain, his face hovers over me. Narrow and haughty, with slits of eyes that turn up as he grins. Triumph. The boy is awake. The boy he flung over a cliff for not seeing what he needed him to see. For refusing to tell. I have never hated anyone more than I hate him.

  As the sensation returns to my arms and fingers, I fight the urge to reach up and strangle him. My back, my legs, my feet and toes mend, but I lie still. Unmoving. I don’t want him to know the extent of my healing. I bide my time.

  All I reveal is a slight turn of my head to look for Zeze. She’s still there in the cage across the room. Watching intently.

  “You’ve done it, Prent. Go,” Osven says, peering over me. The healer removes his hands and leaves the room.

  “Zeze,” I whisper with difficulty around the crust in my mouth. “I need Zeze.”

  “Fetch his familiar, girl,” Osven commands.

  In my mind I chuckle. Of course this is a term the Sorcerer would fall back on. Familiars are pets. Old magic. Once someone is bonded to a familiar, they have an empathic link. Anything that happens to it, happens to them. They’re not a custom in Cerion. They used to be, in Sunteri. Before the really powerful Sorcerers snuffed out the Mages and weaker Sorcerers. Nan used to tell me fables about them.

  Anyway, Zeze is definitely not a familiar. She’s not even really a pet. She’s a cat. We have a bond. Sometimes it feels like something more. Sometimes I wonder about her. I used to think she was Ki, like Elliot can dreamwalk in the form of a fox, but it was wishful thinking. I asked her about it once when Zeze first came around, and she denied it. She said Iren wouldn’t let her just wander around the city that way. It’s too risky.

  “My master said—” the girl’s voice sends chills through me. Celli. I whip my head in her direction. Her hand rests on the cage latch, ready to open it.

  “Do you defy me?” Osven hisses. “You were ordered to assist me, were you not? If you wish to disappoint Quenson, then by all means, ignore my request.”

  “But I’m not supposed to—” she starts again, and Osven growls.

  “What,” he demands through clenched teeth, “exactly were your master’s orders?”

  “To do as you say, and not to let the cat out of my sight,” she answers. “And to fetch him if there’s any change.”

  “And will the cat,” he over-enunciates every word with utter annoyance, “be leaving your sight if you bring her to Nullen?”

  “N-no, sir,” Celli answers with a wince.

  “Then do as you are told, whelp,” Quenson jeers wickedly, “or I shall remind you of the taste of lightning.”

  “You can’t,” Celli raises her chin, “my master protects me.”

  “If you wish to test me,” Osven huffs, “I’m happy to oblige. THE CAT!” he shouts.

  Celli jumps and fumbles with the cage latch. She reaches in to grab Zeze, but the cat hisses and lashes out with her claws and she pulls her hand away fearfully. I chuckle.

  “Bring the cage, witless,” Osven sneers. “Dump her there,” he points to the crook of my arm.

  Celli tips the cage and Zeze slides out. Her soft fur brushes my skin. She looks calmly at me, licks my cheek, and curls into a ball with the top of her head pressing on my neck. The comfort she brings me is quickly dampened as I look past her at Celli.

  She’s a completely different person, standing there. Dressed in assassin’s clothes, hair slicked back, eyes flecked with malice. A spell hangs heavy over her, woven through her blood. Allegiance. Loyalty. Bound to another. A Sorcerer. Quenson. His name pulses through her veins with every beat of her heart. The magic is so strong my breath catches. She revels in it. Embraces it. It’s who she is now. No turning back. If I get out of here, even if I wanted to try and take her with me, she wouldn’t come.

  She slams the cage shut and stalks away, never taking her eyes from me. She won’t. Quenson ordered her not to. She’d die before she’d allow Zeze to leave her sight. Despite the furry warmth that nestles my neck, I shiver at the utter, evil power of it. Irreversible. Celli’s gone.

  “You have your pet now, boy. But to what end? What powers does she afford you?” Osven leans closer, his eyes wild with his hunger for knowledge.

  “You,” I think of how he lost his temper with me, how he shoved me from the cliff. I remember every single crack of a bone as I struck the wall. “You saved my life,” I utter. The deception is sour on my tongue. I swallow bile as his eyes flash with triumph.

  “Fetch your master,” he waves behind him at Celli, who hesitates only for a moment before rushing off.

  I close my eyes, pretending to be tired. Really, I’ve never felt stronger. The healing they gave me pulses through me, energizing my bones and muscles. I want to jump up. I want to run. I have a plan to get them to take us outside. I curl my arm around Zeze and she purrs happily.

  It doesn’t take long for Quenson to arrive. I feel him without even opening my eyes. Feel his power. His wards. His link to Celli. I don’t want to look at him. He’s awful. Wicked. Cold.

  “You saved my life,” I whisper again, and the Sorcerers hover closer to me. “I’ll try again. With Zeze. She helps me. I’ll look again. I’ll tell you what I can see. Just don’t hurt her. Let her stay with me.”

  “Well done, Osven,” Quenson murmurs, impressed.

  I pretend to struggle from the dais. They walk with me, Osven ahead, Celli and Quenson behind. Guards all around us, of course, but just like last time the guards stop at the wards to the tunnel. I step through with Zeze in my arms. At our ease of passage through the wards, Quenson gasps.

  “Remarkable,” he whispers. “Remain here, Celli, with the guards.”

  The Sorcerers guide me hastily through the tunnel that leads to the cliffs, and my heart starts racing. What if this doesn’t work? What if Osven throws me off again? Zeze nuzzles my arm. It’ll be okay, she seems to say.

  I stroke her neck absently as we go, and something odd grazes my fingers. A collar? But, Zeze doesn’t have a collar. I never got her one. I stroke again and feel the smooth, hard beads buried in her thick fur. Feel the faint magic in them. Fairy magic. A flash of a memory surges through me. A pearl bracelet, offered to Crocus and Scree. The same bracelet later, slung over Twig’s shoulder. A tether, ready to be taken to its owner.

  My feet slip on the slick stone as we reach the edge of the tunnel. My hands are numb. My whole body tingles. I can’t believe it. Zeze, all this time. All this time, and she never told me. I cling hard to her. Nothing else matters. I need to get her home. Back to Cerion. I don’t dare think her name. I don’t dare think of her at all. I clear my head of my memories of
her. I can’t risk her safety.

  My feet touch the grass, and Twig’s voice rings out bright and clear in my mind.

  “Hello!” he says.

  My eyes snap to Osven ahead of me. He’s already looking out into the sky. The black stone hovers there. The inky staircase leading to it glints in the sunlight. The storm is done. The air is fresh and crisp. Quenson slips out from behind me to join him. Both of them are too focused on the sky. They haven’t noticed Twig at all. Thankfully, he’s hidden safely in the half-realm. He settles on the crook of my arm next to Zeze and makes sure he’s got a hand on both of us.

  “Ready?” he asks. I understand. He needs my consent.

  “Get us out of here,” I whisper.

  I grin at the look of surprise and fury on the Sorcerers’ faces as they spin to face us, and wave farewell as we fade away into the Half-Realm.

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Secrets Squandered

  Azi

  The breakfast feast promised by the queen is spectacular. They adorn us with necklaces of live flowers that open and close with the sound of our laughter, and set dishes before us so delectable that even Mouli would be impressed.

  The quest is set aside as we eat our fill, and though when I sat down I was rather impatient, by the time my belly is full I’m lulled into a quiet calm that eases my nerves. We have time, the mood of the place seems to say. Live in the moment. Enjoy life while you can.

  Rian is very affectionate through the meal. His hand rests on my shoulder, his fingers play with the end of my braid. Once in a while I catch him watching me, just looking, taking me in.

  “It is not every day we see love in its purest form between humans,” Zilliandin is saying to Flitt. “You know, in days past, it was not unusual for the queen to perform the maritals. Ah, yes, humans would come from countries wide to seek her bonding ceremony. And then the wedding night! Heheh! One could not imagine a more romantic place to spend it. Something to think about, you two.” He gives us a wry grin.