Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1)

by Missy Sheldrake

  “Six days?” I groan. With any luck, my parents will have finished their quest and be home soon. I glance at the hatch to Rian’s room. “What word have they sent? Are they coming home?” Mouli pauses in her work and I open my eyes and watch her.

  “Never you mind about that,” she says. “You need your strength back. I’ll fetch you something to nibble on while you wait for your uncle.” She finishes the bed and bustles out of the room again. I rest my head back against the chair. It’s no use trying to get anything out of Mouli. I’ve had too much experience with that in the past. She tells me what she thinks it’s good for me to know, and not much more, no matter how hard I try to get it out of her. She takes her duties seriously, and those duties sometimes involve keeping a tight lip.

  My heart is racing, thumping against my chest as I sit slumped in my chair. She sent for Uncle. He’s coming here. He’ll see the Mark over my heart and what will he think? That I’ve been dabbling in forbidden magic? My stomach flips and I tuck the diamond under the covers of Margy’s fairy bed before Mouli returns with a tray and silently helps me back to bed. She watches to make sure I take a bite, and then pats me kindly on the shoulder. With a quick concerned glance at the Mark on my chest, she rushes out again, leaving me to wait alone in fear of my uncle’s wrath.

  Once, when I was only seven years old and Rian was seven and a half, we were studying alone together in the guild hall. I set aside my dull writing to watch him as he practiced a simple movement spell. He would wave his hand and wiggle his fingers in an intricate pattern and speak strange words, and the button on the table would slide this way and that. It was fascinating to watch, and he taught me the incantation in secret whispers. He held my hands in his and showed me how to move them to perform the spell. The feel of the magic flowing through me as I made the button move was thrilling, and made me feel wonderfully lightheaded. It wasn’t long before we were nearly collapsed in a fit of giggles together as the button zoomed back and forth between us.

  It was then Uncle Gaethon discovered us, casting and laughing as the button skidded across the table and struck the far wall. His fury was like none I had ever seen. His blue eyes seemed to glow with a white heat as he raged at us. Rian was at the time a Mage of First Circle. The spell he was practicing had been Third Circle. Uncle raged that no spell is harmless. It was too powerful for Rian. It could upset Cerion’s delicate balance. On top of that, it is strictly prohibited for an apprentice to teach anyone magic without the express permission of the Headmaster. He told us we were careless, and threatened to cease Rian’s training then and there. Rian swore he’d never share magic with me again, and we were both forced to Silence for a week.

  I did get a bit of the Mark then, but it faded quickly. Uncle’s fury left me terrified and confused, and with a healthy respect for the strict rules that govern magic. I understand now it requires a certain balance, which can be upset by even the smallest indiscretion. The childish fear is fresh in my memory as his footsteps sound softly on the stairs outside of my room.

  “Come in,” I say before he reaches the door. As Uncle enters, his eyes flash with a hint of the same furious white heat they showed all of those years ago. When he looms over me at the bedside, his nostrils are flared and his lips pressed tightly together, framed by the high collar of his deep blue robes.

  “Show me,” he commands in a terrifyingly steady voice, and I pull the neckline of my gown down to show him the Mark at my chest. It’s rather small, about the size of a hen’s egg, with a beautiful curling pattern of tendrils. They remind me so much of the roots of my tree that tears prick my eyes. Or perhaps it’s the fear of his fury that causes it. I shrink away from him as he inspects the lines.

  He turns abruptly and paces the floor and I fight the strong urge to defend myself. I know enough not to say a word until I’m spoken to, with him. When he turns to face me again I’m puzzled by his softening expression at first, but then I realize it’s because I’m crying. I brush the tears away, embarrassed, as he takes a seat in the chair by the window.

  “You collapsed in the training square. Mouli suspects from overwork and heat. Yet you slept for several days, which is not in keeping with heat exhaustion.” His eyes flick over Margy’s pitcher and back to me again. “According to her, you did not have the Mark when you were put to bed. Interesting.” He reaches over and turns the pitcher to peek inside of it. I force my breathing to slow, and pray he doesn’t see the secret I’ve hidden inside. “Where did you get this?” he asks, momentarily distracted from his train of thought.

  “The Princess.” My response comes as a whisper, and I swallow the lump in my throat.

  “Explain to me what happened in the training square,” he says. To my relief he turns away from the pitcher and folds his hands in his lap.

  “I’m not sure,” I say. I force myself back through the dream to focus again on the moments before. “We had just had lunch, and Bryse wanted to show me something with his shield. I went to pick up my sword and everything started spinning. I heard screaming and I felt like the ground beneath me was slipping away. Everything went black, and when I woke up, I was here in bed.” Uncle taps his lips thoughtfully with a slender fingertip.

  “Which sword was it?” he asks. “I will have it inspected.”

  “My own. The long sword. My name is etched on the hand guard.” He nods and stands, but then pauses as his eyes rest on the hatch.

  “Have you and Rian been experimenting again?”

  “No! I swear it, Uncle. Rian has kept his promise.”

  “Then how do you explain the Mark, Azi?” He spins, and his eyes bore into mine as if he can see every thread of thought in my mind. I think of the dream I had and how wonderful it was and how real. I glance at the little fairy bed hiding the diamond which was once a star in my sky. I wonder if anyone has gotten marked simply by dreaming, but the question catches in my throat. I shouldn’t tell anyone about it, not even Uncle, who is trying to help me. I shake my head.

  “I can’t.” I say, looking down at my lap. I snap a cracker and scoop up a bit of soft cheese with it, grateful to have something to do with my hands to hide their shaking. Uncle pauses at the door. In the distance, I can hear trumpets sounding and people shouting.

  “Is there anything else...” His voice trails off as the shouting grows closer, mixed with the quick beat of horses’ hooves. He goes to my window and looks out. “Get dressed,” he throws over his shoulder as he rushes out of my room and down the stairs.

  I’m still a little shaky as I push the tray from my lap and cross to look out the window, jarred by Uncle’s sudden departure. A single rider approaches our front door and Uncle meets him in the street. They talk too quietly for me to hear, and then the rider goes off again toward the center of the city. I hear the thundering gallop of several horses a distance away and I know it can only mean one thing. They’re home, and early. I rush to the dressing room and pull out a long, easy blue dress which I slip on hastily. I still feel weak, and I have to stop and rest against the wall a few times as I make my way downstairs. The horses are closer now and their quick pace makes me nervous, as does the general quiet in the streets. The sounding of horns generally draws a crowd. I lean heavily in the front door frame, tired from my short trek down the stairs. My eyes fix on the street corner where I know they’ll emerge, and I reach up and smooth my sticky hair back from my face. I wish I’d had more notice, to make myself more presentable for my parents’ arrival.

  The soft sound of Mya’s voice is carried on the breeze to me, surprisingly clear above the pounding of the horses. She sings a song of calm healing, its words ancient and melodic. They round the corner at full speed, four horses and three riders. Mya leads the charge with my mother’s empty-saddled horse tethered to her own. Behind her, Elliot rides with my father’s horse close beside him. As they near, I realize my father’s form is slumped over the neck of his horse, his hands bound to the reins. At first I think he’s unconscious, but as they near he raises hi
s head slightly and I gasp. His face is a solid, swollen bruise. Blood is caked over his right eye. The side of his helm, which is tied to his saddle, is badly dented; he has obviously been bludgeoned in the head.

  Bryse emerges from his house to meet them as they skid to a stop. The horses dance in place as Elliot works deftly to free my father’s hands and legs from the bindings that served to keep him steady on the journey, and then Luca leads the horses away to the stable. Mya’s voice melds perfectly with her lute as the men heft my father, and as her healing song washes over us all I can feel my own strength returning. My father’s form is limp, and I grab his hand as Bryse rushes him past me into the house. We stumble up the stairs together and Bryse lays him in bed. Mya’s singing and it helps me feel better. I know it’s helping Da, too. His eyes are closed now. He lies unmoving and I when I squeeze his hand, it’s cool and still in mine.

  “Brother Donal is on his way,” Elliot says softly, resting a hand on my shoulder. I reach and brush a blood-crusted strand of hair from my father’s brow.

  “What happened to him?” I whisper. In my mind I see my mother’s empty saddle and I go numb. I won’t ask. My father is here. He needs me now.

  “We don’t know for certain.” Mya answers softly. “He and your mother crossed the border ahead of us into Kythshire. He returned raving mad, struck by his own hammer. Lis...” She clears her throat. “Elliot went to find her but only met with the empty boundary.”

  “We know exactly which path they took,” Elliot’s tone is apologetic, “but there was no sign of their passing, in or out of the border. It was as though she disappeared.”

  “Redemption stayed to search for her. We didn’t realize the extent of Benen’s injuries at the time or we would have had their cleric come with us. We thought to keep him with us, but in the end we agreed he’d be better off here, with the Conclave to tend to him.”

  “So we decided to ride hard for home,” Elliot finishes for her. Brother Donal’s arrival is announced by the soft rustling of robes, and he tries to move me aside to get to my father, but I refuse to budge. I know they’re talking around me, but I’m unable to focus on what they’re saying.

  Finally, Bryse’s strong hands scoop under my arms and Donal pries my fingers away, and I watch my father’s hand fall limply to the bed. I’m vaguely aware I’m being carried down the stairs and tucked into our worn sofa with a soft blanket. Bryse and Mouli whisper in hushed tones. A mug of something warm is pressed into my hands. Mya’s healing song continues to fill the house. The cushion beside me sinks under Bryse’s weight as he sits.

  “Why are you sitting here?” I turn to him suddenly, surprised by my own fury. “Why are you just sitting here when my father is up there dying and my mother is lost who knows where, maybe even--?” I can’t say it. Bryse turns to me sadly and I realize Cort is here, too, and Uncle and Rian are behind them, crowded in the kitchen with Mouli.

  “He’ll be okay, Azi. Donal will heal him up,” Bryse offers.

  “What about Mum?” I shout and jump up, throwing down the mug, which shatters at my feet. “We have to go! We have to find her!” My rant is interrupted by a knock at the door. Enraged, I stalk to it and throw it open.

  A page in royal livery stands perfectly erect, his gloved hand offering an envelope stamped with the royal seal. He bows when I take it from him, and then turns and trots off in the direction of the palace. My hands are shaking so much I have difficulty opening it. Rian comes to my side and takes it gently. He cracks the seal and pulls out a quickly scrawled note.

  “His Royal Highness Prince Eron requests the presence of Lady Mya Eldinae and Elliot Eldinae to recount the details of their quest at their earliest convenience.”

  “He must have gotten word of our return,” Elliot says from the bottom of the stairs. His low voice does little to calm me. “I’ll tell Mya.” Rian hands the note to his father and then folds me into his arms. At first I feel like fighting him away, but it’s so comfortable I rest against him and bury my face into his shoulder. He smells sweet, like the spicy smoke of the incense I know is used to aid in Rumination. Suddenly, I wish we were alone together.

  “I’m glad you finally decided to wake up,” he murmurs as the others converse quietly in the kitchen. I nod into his shoulder. I want to tell him about everything, even the dream, but it will have to wait. Upstairs, Mya has stopped playing to talk with Elliot, and I can hear Brother Donal at prayer over my father. I hear the couple come down the stairs, and I feel Mya’s arms around the two of us. She kisses Rian on the cheek and tells him to take care of me, and then she and Elliot slip off into the darkening streets to the castle.

  Chapter Six: The Search

  Curled in the crook of my father’s strong arm, I lie staring out his window at the cloud-covered sky. I imagine the moon dancing behind the clouds, smiling as it did in my dream. Sleep won’t come for me tonight. I’m afraid if I let it take me, I might be out for days again and miss something important. I have a feeling even if I wanted to doze, I wouldn’t be able to. My head is too filled with thoughts darting in and out, making me dizzy.

  After Mya and Elliot left for the palace, Brother Donal called me up to my father’s room. He told me Da’s physical wounds were grave, and had Mya and Elliot not raced him home so quickly, he would be in much worse shape. But his healing took well, and with luck and good care Da should be up and about within a day or two. I’m so grateful. Too many times tonight I’ve imagined life without him and it was too painful to bear. I turn away from the window to look at him. The bruises on his face are faded to a yellow-gray ghost of what they had been earlier this afternoon. There is a scar across his brow where he took the worst of the blow, but after the healing and with the blood cleaned away it isn’t so frightening to look at now.

  After a while I hear the door downstairs open and close, and the soft shuffle of Rian’s footsteps as he makes his way upstairs. He peeks his head into the room.

  “They’re ready for us,” he whispers. I sit up and turn and stroke my father’s stubbly cheek, and then pull the blankets up to his shoulders and smooth them tenderly.

  “Sleep sweet, Da,” I whisper as Rian’s warm hand encloses around mine and he leads me down the stairs.

  “What did the prince say to your parents?” I ask him once we’re downstairs. He pauses in the dark sitting room.

  “He wanted a full report of the Quest.” He scowls. “He told them they’re to go back and find your mother at all costs. But he said they must keep it a secret. Their Majesties don’t want anyone to catch wind the quest might have failed. He said it’s a bad omen for his marriage. It was supposed to be a simple task.”

  “A simple task?” I shake my head in disbelief, “They were sent to a land that isn’t supposed to exist on a mysterious quest to return some lost treasure and to whom? Kythshire has no people! It’s only spoken of in legends and storybooks. How is that a simple task?” Rian shakes his head.

  “I don’t know. My mother seemed to feel the same way, though she’d never say it.” He reaches up and rubs his eyes. He looks exhausted. “It seems to me she agreed with everything the prince said just to get through the meeting quickly. Her greatest concern is to find your mother. She wants to ride at dawn, as soon as she’s able to talk to us and make arrangements.” I’m comforted by Mya’s urgency to start the search. It means she believes there’s hope my mother is still alive. Not for the first time tonight, the thought of being orphaned at sixteen pushes into the edge of my mind. I shove it away.

  “Do you think we’ll be able to go this time?” I ask. I would hate to leave my father behind, but I can’t imagine the agony of sitting here in an empty guild hall while everyone else goes off to search.

  “That’s what they were discussing when I was sent out to get you.” he says shaking his head. “It’s hard to say which way the conversation was tipping. Mum, Bryse, and Cort were for it. Gaethon and Donal seemed to be against.”

  “And your father?” I ask. If Ellio
t was for it too, that would help.

  “Sleeping,” he says with a bemused shake of his head.

  “Always sleeping,” I sigh. “Well, we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

  There is no fanfare or royal proclamation, no crowd at the door of this guild meeting. When we arrive at the hall, everyone is slouched in armchairs around the great hearth. The air is thick with a sense of tedium and fatigue. Mya looks especially exhausted but determined. There’s a fire in her eyes that matches the bright red shock of her spiked hair. Beside her, Elliot is curled up in his own chair, his eyes closed, sound asleep just as Rian had said. Across from him, Bryse, Cort, and Brother Donal are bent together in quiet conversation. Master Gaethon sits rail-straight on the edge of his cushion. When Rian and I enter the room, he eyes us thoughtfully and gestures to two chairs between himself and Mya. They exchange looks and Mya nods to him. She closes her eyes as he addresses us.

  “It has been decided that the two of you are to remain here,” he raises his voice as Rian and I start to protest, and holds his hand up impatiently to silence us. I bite my tongue hard and slump back into the chair, crossing my arms. Being left off of the quest list was bad enough, but being made to stay home through this is unthinkable.

  “Azaeli, you are to care for your father.” Uncle says. “When he is well enough to ride, you may accompany him to meet us.” He presses his fingertips together and turns to Rian, “Rian, I will take a temporary leave of my position at the Academy and join in the search. Mistress Viala,” he pauses and meets Rian’s eye meaningfully, “will oversee your studies while I am away. You will show her the same respect you show me. Understood?” His eyes burn into Rian’s and I find myself looking away uncomfortably.

  “Yes, Sir,” Rian says, his tone careful and disciplined. I can’t help but be impressed by his restraint. Viala is Rian’s rival, his own version of Dacva. Though she’s only a couple of years older than him, she’s has far surpassed him in her studies during her short time at the Academy. I know for a fact he both admires and resents her for it.