Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3)

by Missy Sheldrake

  Margy gathers Twig close to her and whispers to him. I watch her give him her own energy. Watch him perk up a little. She’s tired, though. They both are. She doesn’t have much more to give. Watching the others warily, she creeps closer to me and clings to my arm. The bad one. It doesn’t matter. I barely feel the pain as she comes to me for protection. My anger toward her fades. Having her so close, depending on me, sends a rush through me.

  Silently, I position myself between her and our former allies, not knowing what to expect. I draw one knife from my bandolier. Beside me Raefe looks a little confused, but does the same with his rapier. We circle Lisabella, who’s on her knees, hunched over her sword, trying to catch her breath. Bryse stands over her looking confused as he shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. Beside them, flat on his back, Brother Donal stares up at the stars. His hand drifts to his shoulder where I stabbed him. To my surprise, he doesn’t heal it. Instead, he pushes himself to his feet with a little difficulty and steadies himself against the riggings.

  Bryse is the first one to see Margy. His eyes flash with recognition. He strides closer to us and his heavy footsteps make the deck beneath us shudder and creak. I raise my knife, ready to throw it, knowing it’d do little against the giant of a man. I don’t have to worry about that, though.

  “Princess,” he says, his voice heavy with grief. He drops to his knees. Thumps his fist to his chest. Bows his head. “Please forgive me. It was a spell. I would never…”

  Lisabella and Donal approach, too. They do the same as Bryse. Kneel. Apologize.

  I glance back at the princess and she nods. “I know,” she says. Her voice is thick with pain and fear. “It’s all right, Bryse. Sir Hammerfel. Brother Donal. I know it wasn’t your doing. You’d never—” She interrupts herself with a scream as another figure hurtles over the side of the cliff and plummets toward the ship. Twig tries to catch it again with his net of vines, but he’s too tired. Despite Margy’s gift, his magic is spent. The figure hits the deck with a deafening crack that splinters the wood. At first, it doesn’t move. Lisabella, Donal, and Bryse take a cautious step toward it. Margy ducks behind me and peers out cautiously. She grips my arm so tightly my fingertips go numb.

  “You have lost, little sister,” Eron’s twisted, sinister voice is almost unrecognizable. He pushes himself to his hands and knees. His neck bends at an odd angle as he grins and looks to the top of the cliff. “The Void encroaches.”

  When he straightens to his full height, there’s a collective gasp from all of us. His chestplate is pierced through, showing a wound that would have killed even the heartiest fighter.

  “How is he not dead?” Lisabella whispers.

  “Oh, but I am,” Eron sneers and jerks his head to straighten his neck into place. “And soon you will be, too.”

  Bryse is the first to react. He’s fast, for such a hulk. Even Eron doesn’t see him coming. He clomps to him, raises his fist, and drives him like a nail all the way through the already cracked deck. Then he kicks some splinters of wood down into the hole that’s left behind and grumbles, “That’ll shut ‘im up.”

  “Bryse!” Lisabella gasps in disbelief.

  “Yeah,” I scowl, “you put a hole in my deck!”

  Cort scampers down from the ship’s wheel and skids to a stop right before the hole. Together, he and Bryse peer into it.

  “What’s down there?” Bryse asks Cort.

  “Barracks are up front, and storage,” Cort replies. “Captain’s and officers’ quarters are at the stern.”

  They back away a little at the sounds of Eron’s raging screams and thumps below.

  “We should figure out a way to hold him,” Lisabella says, looking plainly horrified. “And be respectful. He’s still the princess’s brother, after all.”

  “No,” Margy whispers from behind me. “That thing is not my brother.”

  “She’s right,” Donal agrees quietly. He takes my arm and heals it the rest of the way with a graze of his fingertips. “Resurrection is Necromancy. That beast may seem like Eron, and look like him. It might even have Eron’s knowledge, emotion, and memories. But it is a creature of darkness now. Immortal and changed forever. The butterfly can never again become a caterpillar.” His voice is soft and calming. When he talks, it’s like Lisabella’s peace pulse. I let it soothe me and I realize it isn’t magic. He’s just got that sort of voice. He moves through the group of us, checking us over. Takes special care with Margy. Heals the small scratches on her. Gives Twig energy, too. When he’s sure everyone else is healed, he finally heals himself of the knife wound in his shoulder.

  “Sorry about that,” I mumble sincerely.

  “No need,” he says with a dismissive wave. “You did what you had to in order to protect our princess and the throne.”

  Below deck, the crashing grows louder. Eron’s angry howls give me chills. Lisabella and Cort exchange a glance.

  “Are there iron chains on board?” Donal asks Cort.

  “Aye,” Cort nods.

  “Those will hold him for now,” Donal says, and Bryse and Cort agree to go and bind him up.

  “How do we end him, Donal? Once and for all?” Lisabella asks quietly.

  “This is one of those rare cases,” Donal replies, “when healers and Mages must work together. It’s like a stripping. Blood magic, Necromancy.” He glances at Margy and looks away. “The life that was taken from another to be given to him…” he sighs and shakes his head, and my heart pangs for Errie. Donal rubs his eyes and strokes his palm over the bare skin on the top of his head. “It’s complicated.”

  “Could the boy be saved?” I ask. “The one they used?”

  Donal shakes his head mournfully. “What’s done is done.”

  My stomach twists with guilt. If I hadn’t been so bent on getting Dub, if I had just kept my temper, Eron wouldn’t be here. This is all my fault. I pull away from Margy and go to the port side bulwark to look out over the sea. Between her outburst earlier and my own guilt, I need to be alone. She’s got them now, anyway. She doesn’t need me. Suddenly, I just want to be away from this. All of it. I stare at the horizon and imagine taking the ship and just flying away, forever. Valenor’s face shifts before me. He doesn’t say anything. Just shows me he’s there. Shatters my daydream. Brings me back to the present.

  As Cort and Bryse come back from below, a thundering voice from above grabs everyone’s attention. I know it right away. The Void. Declaring victory. Claiming that it will own Brindelier. I forget my anger and guilt and whirl to face the others.

  “We can’t let that happen,” Twig says. “Eron is the Dusk’s claim to the throne. Where the princess is pure, just, and kind, Eron is her opposite: Corrupt. Wicked. Dangerous. The Dusk must not be allowed to bring him through the gates. He must be taken far from here until he can be destroyed.”

  “I know a place,” Bryse says firmly. Cort glances up at him and nods. He seems to know just where Bryse means without him having to say it.

  “If I can use the ship, we can be there in a day’s time,” he says to me.

  “’Course you can use the ship,” I say, a little disheartened by the reality that I won’t be sailing off on my own any time soon.

  “Whoa! Look at that!” Ruben shouts.

  Above us at the pyre, a blinding light pulses. Bright as the sun. Warm. Perfect. It washes everything white. It pushes away the shadows and welcomes the Dawn.

  “Azi!” Lisabella lets out a joyful gasp. I don’t know how she knows, but she’s right. I can’t imagine who else would be able to do that.

  “We have to go, quickly,” Twig says. “Tib, you know where to go. Can you feel it?” I scowl at him, confused at first. Then I close my eyes. He’s right. Out over the ocean, I can sense it. A magic unlike any other I’ve felt. It reminds me of the floating island near the Sorcerers’ keep, but it’s different. Brighter. Inviting.

  I run to the helm. Take the wheel. Over my shoulder I call instructions to the golems working the cranks
and bellows. The ship shudders and creaks. It teeters and rocks as it jolts forward. I spin the wheel hard away from the cliff and whoop as we list sharply to the side.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Cort shouts as he takes the steps up to the helm two at a time. “Easy, easy. You have to be gentle. Treat her like a lady.”

  Beside him, Bryse grunts. “Like a lady, eh?”

  “Quiet, oaf,” Cort chuckles and guides my hand on the wheel, and we float higher into the sky. The wind catches the sails and puffs them out and we soar. The air sacs tied to the masts glow yellow and orange as they lift us higher. Fast. Faster. The ride is smooth. No waves to rock us side to side. No wake to cut through. Just ship and sky. Floating, like a dream. My dream. I forget about the impossible light. I leave The Void far behind. Ahead, the gate of Brindelier calls. As we race toward it, a figure on the forecastle catches my eye.

  Margy stands at the rail. Her brown curls dance across her face as she looks into the distance. I follow her gaze to Cerion, growing smaller. Black smoke drifts up into the sky from all over the city. In the early morning light, flames glow at the base of the castle. Despite Lisabella and Donal talking nearby, she looks so alone, gazing across at her kingdom. I give into the overwhelming need to comfort her. I hand the wheel over to Cort and rush to her side. When I reach her, I don’t know what to say or do, so I just put my hand on hers on the rail.

  “How can I leave them, Tib?” she chokes. “My people? My kingdom? Look at it burn. Look what they’ve done to it. I can’t turn my back. They need me.”

  I scan the city in the distance with my healed eye. See the truth of it. “It does look bad from here, Princess,” I say. “All that smoke. But, look harder. Your light shines. All those people who accepted your gift, they’re still there. Fighting. Helping. Look closer. See Azi’s light by the pyre? She’s still fighting. She’s doing her part.”

  Margy moves closer to me. Pulls my arm around her. Keeps looking out to the city. My heart thumps in my chest. I tip my chin to her shoulder and my cheek brushes hers. Her skin is warm and soft and sweet-smelling, like flowers.

  “He’s right, Princess,” Twig reassures her from his perch on her other shoulder. “Cerion’s strong. They’ll come through this. But if the Dusk claims Brindelier, all will be lost to darkness. Let them do what they must, so you can do what you must. Trust your people.”

  “You sound just like Paba,” Margy sniffles, and her soft voice is carried off by the wind.

  “Maybe so,” Twig says. “Your father was a wise man.”

  Lisabella joins us and follows the princess’s gaze. Her peace pulses over us. I straighten up, suddenly self-conscious, but Margy keeps a tight hold on my arms around her.

  “Donal and I have decided to stay aboard with Cort and Bryse and see that creature safely into holding.” Lisabella looks into the distance at the brilliant light beaming from the pyre platform. Worried. “Cerion is strong. They’ll come through this.” Her words echo Twig’s and bolster the princess, who stands a little straighter. Her eyes flash with pride for her kingdom.

  “You’re right,” says Margy, “Cerion will prevail.”

  “I’m staying aboard,” Raefe says to me. “I’ve been learning about ships and navigation. They need me here more than Saesa does out there. Tell her not to worry. I’m safe.”

  I nod in agreement and chuckle to myself, knowing how Saesa would feel about Raefe tagging along into Brindelier. She’d be more worried about him coming along and being overbearing than staying behind and out of her hair.

  The gateway isn’t far away. We soar over the ocean and see it in the distance, still and dim. White stone covered by a patch of grass. Cort’s got a masterful touch at the wheel. The ship seems to know just what he wants and respond. The golems turn cranks and pulleys. The propeller stops. The flames in the air sacs at the masts dim. Valenor’s protection stays around the ship, hiding us from view. We glide up to the edge of the grass and dock so perfectly that there’s barely a seam between the bulwark and the grass.

  With a quick farewell to the others, Margy and I climb the few steps to the bulwark. Her foot touches the grass just as the sun breaks over the horizon. The ship vanishes from view the moment we leave it. In its place, a meadow of grass stretches out as far as we can see. It’s just a few paces to the archway, where Rian is talking to a Knight in bright silver plate mail who seems to be guarding the only gateway into the city, set into a glittering stone wall. Beyond it, spires of towers stretch up into the sky. Rooftops glisten with morning dew. What I can see of the city is grand. Everything is highly decorated and interesting to look at. The towers are carved with figures and animals and brightly painted. Even the tiles of the roofs are adorned with intricate designs.

  “I sing in the sunshine and the rain. I soothe in the summer. In winter I’m wicked again. What am I?” Rian asks as we near. His back is to us, and he doesn’t seem to notice our approach.

  “I know it! I know it!” a strange, high voice answers excitedly. Margy and I exchange an amused glance. The voice doesn’t fit the Knight at all. She puts her hand up to stop me, and we pause to watch the scene.

  “Answer, then, Stryker,” a deeper voice booms.

  “You answer,” says Stryker. “I’ve already answered six. He’s going to think you’re dimwitted, Gus.”

  “Very well,” the Knight shifts his stance and taps his barrel helm. “Sing in the sunshine…” he ponders.

  “Oh, come now! It’s wind! Wind! I’m right, aren’t I?” Stryker yelps.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Rian replies. In his hands he holds a glowing orb. A closer look with my healed eye reveals the three offerings inside it.

  “What if Flitt held it, and I left to fetch her? I promise to come right back,” Rian holds the orb out, and Flitt darts down to accept it.

  “Your fancy Knight said she would return, and yet she never did! She sends a fae in her place. Trickery! They are trying to trick us, Gus! Be careful!” Stryker warns. The knight shifts slightly, like he’s carefully considering the matter.

  “I still don’t understand why we can’t enter.” Rian says. “You’ve pretty much told us you want the Dawn to be the victors. Why are you holding us back? We have what you asked for. The three offerings, the coin. It’s all here.”

  “It is not, and you do not!” Stryker squeaks. “You promised a suitor! They promised a suitor, Gus!”

  “Calm down, Stryker,” the knight booms. “We impressed upon the Lady Knight the importance of reaching us before the Dusk does. She is aware of the stakes. If she fails to deliver her promise, we can do nothing. Those are the rules, as you are well aware.”

  Beside Rian, Saesa stares off into the distance with a hopeful look. Searching for Azi. Obviously thinking she’ll appear at any moment. She’s the first to see us.

  “Tib!” she shouts. “Princess!” She runs the short distance and gives Margy a hasty curtsy before flinging her arms around me. “How are you here? What happened? The vigil!”

  Margy winces. Her eyes glisten with tears. She shakes her head.

  “It’s behind us,” I explain. “What’s important is that we’re here now, and the Princess is ready to do what’s needed.”

  Rian bends a knee to Margy as she approaches the Knight, who looks her over cautiously.

  “Her Highness, Princess Margary Plethore, I presume?” he greets her with a much gentler tone than the one he used with Rian. Margy nods.

  “Welcome to Brindelier, the Kingdom of Spires,” he says with a bow. “We are aware of your intentions. You have all that is required to enter the gates. I will warn you, Princess, that though the city sleeps, it is not without peril. It would be wise for you to await your champion before you step within.”

  Rian groans. Flitt covers her face with her hand and shakes her head. Even Shush lets out an exasperated sigh and a gust of wind that sends the knight’s cloak billowing out behind him.

  “Sorry,” the wind fairy mutters.

  “I’ll go get
her,” Rian says.

  “Very well,” says the knight. “With your princess here, we can be assured that your intentions are true. Go, Rian Eldinae. Go with haste.”

  Before the knight can even finish, Rian steps into the Half-Realm and vanishes.

  Chapter Fifty: Dawn Versus Dusk

  Azi

  The sensation is indescribable. I feel as though I’m in the Wellspring again, dipped in love and warmth, but this time it’s more intense and complete. I am the Fairy Queen, and she is me, and we are Light and Dawn, Magic and Power. We know everything the light touches, and it is ours to command. The pyre of His Majesty’s Rites fades from beneath us, and as we face the Void, we seem to float over nothing and everything all at once. The sensation is disorienting but not at all disconcerting. I have the Queen and the Light, and they have me. We’re three: Her Majesty, me, and everything else that calls itself the Dawn. Together, we’re safe and secure. My wounds are healed. I am strong and capable.

  “Fighting is useless and primitive, Vorhadeniel,” I say in unison with the queen. Her knowledge fills me with centuries worth of memories, of thousands of battles between Dawn and Dusk, most of which had been won by the Dawn. “You know this.”

  “Will you never cease this banter, Eljarenae? Does it not bore you as it bores me?” the Void echoes beyond our light. “The battle, the chaos, is my meat and marrow. You know this.”

  “What you wish for can never be,” we reply.

  “Who do you deny it for, Elja? I know you wish it as well. A reprieve. A rest, if only for a decade or a century. Who does it benefit for you to be so stubborn? Your charges? Your champion?” The voice moves closer. Close enough to brush against the light. Close enough to touch, but it doesn’t dare. The light quivers at its nearness. It stretches out slowly, longingly. Parts of it mingle with the Void in ways that only light can with shadow. Casting it, dancing within it, drawn to it and repelled by it all at once. It’s beautiful, almost playful, until I realize the feeling behind it and understanding dawns on me. These two, the Dawn and the Dusk, are siblings. Brother and sister who share a rivalry as strong as their love for one another. She tries to placate him, but he won’t hear her.