“I have begun research on the source of Azaeli’s affliction.” He hands Rian a thick roll of notes. “The sword itself showed no sign of magical tampering. I have suggested other causes in my notes, and it is important you explore them together. You will write a report of your findings and send it on to me. You are to share this information with no one else. If you complete this task by the time Sir Benen is able to ride, then you may join him and Azaeli to meet us.”
“Yes, sir,” Rian says again as he unrolls the scroll and looks it over with interest. I crane my neck and he leans closer so we can read it together.
“Azi, if you’re feeling up to it, I’m sure your help is needed with the preparations for our departure. Luca could use a hand in the stables.” Mya stretches and rises with the grace of a dancer despite her obvious exhaustion. She leans down to her sleeping husband and tickles his cheek. “If no one has anything else, I’m going to try to steal an hour or two of rest before we set out.” There is a collective noise of dismissal from the group as those gathered agree she should rest. Elliot blinks slowly and slides to his feet a bit reluctantly, and the two of them step out of the room together hand in hand. Watching their tenderness reminds me of my own parents and sends an ache through my chest. I swallow hard and push myself up. The others are too involved in their own conversations to acknowledge my leaving.
On the step between the guild hall and the training square, I hesitate, remembering my last moments in this room, when I gripped my sword and passed out. I take a deep breath and steel myself before I step down onto the packed dirt floor. Nothing happens. I glance over my shoulder and bend to pick up my sword, which has been returned to the rack. Pain shoots through my fingertips as they graze the hilt and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. Furious and confused, I storm off to the stable and lose myself in my work.
Eventually Luca joins me and we spend the morning repacking the saddlebags and grooming and checking the horses for injuries. Ollie, My mother’s enormous white draft horse, nuzzles me and we lean against each other as I brush his mud-crusted haunch. In the quiet solitude of the stable with my mother’s horse beside me, I succumb to my fear and cry into his soft, warm shoulder.
Through my tears, I catch a glimmer of multi-colored light outside of the stable. When I snap my head toward it, I’m met with only the dark curve of a tree trunk and rustling leaves washed gray in the light of the dull, foggy dawn. My hand slides over Ollie’s strong leg to my mother’s saddlebags. Unthinking, I open one of them, and my fingers graze a sheet of parchment. I pull it out and crouch in the straw, holding it up to the lamp light of the stable. I blink my tears rapidly away so I can read:
My Dear Azi,
It is with a heavy heart that I write this, imagining you alone, reading it. We know the risks of our profession, but each time it seems to get more difficult to say goodbye and leave you behind. This time, especially so. If I should not return, I want you to know how proud I am of the young woman you’ve become. I know in my heart you will one day be a knight and honor the values we have taught you. Always remember the values our family stands for: Integrity, kindness, justice, charity, and loyalty.
With that in mind, I leave you with a warning. Listen to your heart, my Sweeting. Pay attention to your dreams. If you must venture, never do so alone. Have faith in the Elite, but be wary of others who you’ve grown to trust. Be cautious. That is all I dare say here. I love you always and forever, no matter where I am, my darling girl. Be strong.
As ever, it is my prayer you never have a reason to find or read this note.
With all of my love,
Mum
I read it three times, committing it to memory, and then I tuck it back inside the bag. When my mother returns, I’ll keep her believing that her prayer was heard, and I never saw it.
“All right, Sunshine?” Luca asks, peering around Ollie at me. I nod and wipe my eyes as I push myself to my feet. “Atta girl. Give me a hand with this, here.” He nods at the saddle girth around Mya’s horse and I go over to help him. His long, knobby fingers work to pull the cinch tight, but they slip off. “Argh, these old hands,” he grumbles, and I take the billet strap from him and buckle it snug under the horse’s belly. “That’s it, thank you.” Luca says, patting me on the shoulder. I give him a weak smile and check the rest of the tack.
As I tie Mya’s cantle bags to the back of the saddle, I’m aware of the approach of clomping hoof beats. I look out into the soft light of sunrise to see Rian leading a horse I immediately recognize as Thunder.
“Good lad,” Bryse calls from inside the passage that runs to the guild hall. He strides up to his horse and strokes his gleaming neck, “Hey, beaut,” he murmurs affectionately before throwing up his own bags and fixing them to the saddle with ease.
Rian barely has time to greet me as the others filter in. There’s a flurry of activity as they make last moment preparations, and Rian and I are sent running for this and that. Then they’re gone, and we’re left alone in the quiet.
“It seems strange to send them off that way,” Rian says as he leans into my shoulder. “No banners, no trumpets...” No Mum or Da, I think to myself. He turns to me and picks a bit of straw from my hair. He gazes into my eyes and I feel my cheeks warm. Here, so close to him, all of my pain and fear seem to fade away. I find my gaze trailing to his lips again.
“Wow,” he whispers, drawing my attention back to his eyes. His brow furrows. “You look awful,” he says with exaggerated gravity.
“Oh! Such a charmer you are!” Mouli bats at him with her kitchen towel. “Course she does with no bath for almost a week and no sleep all night and all morning in the stables mucking about. Look at yourself, little sir! You’re not all blossoms and blooms, either.”
“Ah, Mouli,” Rian winks. “I love it when you call me little sir.” He takes her by the waist and spins her around and she yelps in protest and beats him away playfully. I can’t help but laugh at the scene of the two of them sending straw dust swirling in the sunbeams that filter through the thatched roof of the stable. This is why I’m so glad he’s here. Rian can always make me laugh, no matter how dark things might seem. Mouli eventually fights him off and takes me gently by the elbow.
“Come on, dear. I have a bath ready for you.” I catch Rian’s eye and he wriggles his brows up and down. I bite my lip and shake my head.
“Don’t worry about me, Mouli,” Rian says, dejected. “I guess I can find my own bath.”
“Get out of here!” Mouli shoos him off and Rian skirts out of the stable, flashing a mischievous wink over his shoulder.
“Knock after you’re all cleaned up, Azi,” he calls with a wave as Mouli leads me back inside.
Later, alone in my room, my thoughts wander to the dream I had and how real it was. The memory of the diamond’s hard edge against my palm entices me. The pitcher where I stashed it yesterday gleams in the sunlight, and I reach in and take away the coverlet fashioned from scraps of lace. The facets of the stone send glittering beams dancing all across the walls of the tiny house. I nudge it with my finger and the droplets of light wiggle and flash and mesmerize me. They remind me of the glimmer I thought I saw earlier, outside of the stable. Rian knocks on the hatch and I nearly jump out of my skin. The pitcher falls with a clatter to the floor and the diamond skids across it and rolls under my bed. I swear I hear a sound, something like a sneeze, as the knock comes again and I jump up to slide the hatch open.
“What are you doing in there, throwing things?” He cranes his neck to look into my room.
“You startled me!” I pick up the pitcher and set it upright on the shelf beneath my window. I’ll retrieve the diamond later.
“Jumpy,” he says as he rests his chin on the edge of the opening. “I like you better this way than sleeping beauty, though.”
“Me too,” I say honestly.
“At least you smell better now.” He wrinkles his nose.
“Thanks,” I roll my eyes.
“Are you
ready?” he asks. “We have work to do.”
“I just want to check on Da. I’ll meet you downstairs.” We slide our hatches closed and I crouch to lift up my bed skirt and look for the diamond. It winks brightly at me from beside a ball of dust and I retrieve it and drop it back into the pitcher, covering it again with the lace. As I turn to leave I hear it again, a faint and squeaky sneeze. When I look over my shoulder in the direction it came from, I think I see a flutter of light but I blink and shake my head. Certainly it was just the way the sunlight waved through the rustle of my window curtain, reflecting off of the rim of the pitcher.
My father is sleeping when I check on him, and he’s attended by a healer assigned by Brother Donal. I recognize her as Emme. She has ministered to our guild before in Donal’s absence.
“Azaeli, child!” she whispers. Her smile is slightly pitying as she sets down her knitting and crosses to hug me. She holds me at arms’ length and looks me over. “My, but you’ve grown!” I feel my cheeks grow warm at her appraising look, and I manage a smile. Behind her, my father is sleeping soundly just as I left him hours ago. She follows my gaze and turns to guide me to the bed. “He’s resting now, exactly what he needs,” she whispers. I sit on the edge of the bed and stroke his arm gently.
“How long will he sleep?” I ask, noticing the bottle on his bedside table.
“Oh, as long as he needs to.” She settles into her chair again. “Another day, most likely.”
Without warning, Da bolts upright and grabs me by the throat. His eyes are wild and frantic as he pulls me close to him. I try to pry his hands away, to escape, but his grip is too strong. His fingers are closing off my air. His lips curl into a sneer and his eyes bulge feverishly, darting back and forth.
“Two steps in, I only took two steps!” He growls. “You can’t have her!” I choke and kick away from him as Emme dives for the bed. He screams piteously as she wrestles him away from me, prying his hands from my throat. I fall back to the floor and gasp for breath, my lungs burning, vaguely aware of someone else in the room as I try to recover my senses. Emme calls for the sleeping draught. I look up to see Rian uncorking the bottle. My father gurgles as they force it on him.
“Leave him alone,” I croak. My neck throbs where he squeezed it. The struggle at the bed subsides and Rian sinks down next to me. He tries to put an arm around me but I move away from him. I don’t understand what just happened. My father attacked me. He has never raised a finger to me in all of my life. He’s one of the kindest, gentlest people I know. Emme finishes settling him in and smoothing the coverlet over him, and then comes to crouch beside me.
“Oh, child, I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “It comes with a blow to the head, sometimes. The fits. I ought to have warned you. It’ll pass in time.” She raises my chin to look at my throat, which I’m sure has already started bruising. I pull away and push myself to my feet.
“I’m fine,” I lie, smoothing my trousers. I stare at my father, lying so peacefully again. I want to kiss him, to tell him it’s okay, but I’m too afraid it might happen again. Disturbed by own fear, I spin around and leave the room. I need to put space between us, to gather my thoughts and calm myself.
“Azi...” Rian calls after me.
My feet carry me unthinking through the house, out the door and into the familiar city streets. Dazed, I wander all the way to the low cliff wall near the docks, to let the sea air wash over me. All around, the people of Cerion bustle about their every day jobs, pulling in traps of shellfish, checking lists and collecting tariffs. Labor men work at cranking the lifts, hauling barrels on pulleys up and down the cliff side, loading and unloading the tall-masted ships lining the harbor below. I disappear into everyone else’s routine. Nobody recognizes me as Azaeli Hammerfel, the young new squire who won the Princess’s favor in the arena just weeks ago. Here, I’m simply a girl in plainclothes staring off into the vastness of the sparkling blue ocean.
A gentle hand rests on my shoulder and I know at once Rian has tracked me down. We watch the gulls swooping down and up and down again, catching morsels that tumble from the traps into the crashing waves below for what feels like hours. The sea breeze has long since dried my tears. After a while, he wraps an arm around my shoulders and leans close.
“We have work to do,” he says quietly. I nod, and we walk together back to the guild hall.
Chapter Seven The Curse
On the way back to the hall, Rian diverts my attention to his studies regarding my affliction. He thinks we should recreate the moments leading up to my passing out, which he and Uncle believe was probably caused by some strong magical effect. In the training hall, Rian takes detailed notes as I go over the events of that afternoon. I try to remember even the smallest bit of information I think might be helpful, from where I sat to what I ate for lunch. I finish with my conversation with Bryse.
“Then he got up and said he wanted to show me something with the shield, and I reached for my sword.” I reach out for the hilt of my sword which Rian placed there for me. As my fingers close around the hilt, a rush of darkness washes over my vision. The ground spins beneath my feet. Ear splitting screams ring in my ears, melding with my own until I throw the sword down with a clatter. Rian is at my side in an instant, reassuring me.
“Breathe, Azi,” he says, and takes a long, deep breath himself to guide me. It’s not until after I mimic him that I realize I have in fact been holding my breath. He watches me with concern as I take a few deep breaths and finally nod for him to continue.
“Now,” he says, his sharpened stick of graphite poised over his notes. “Tell me what you felt.” I describe to him in detail all of the sensations, from the spinning, to the darkness, to the screaming. “And it starts when you take your sword?” He asks. I nod. He thinks for a moment, then crosses to the weapon stand and takes a dagger. He comes back and offers it to me. “Try this.” I take it cautiously. The pain comes, the room spins, the blackness threatens, and the screaming drowns out his voice. As he tugs the weapon from my hand, I lean away from him and vomit into the bucket he had the foresight to set up at my side. I drop sideways to lie on the bench and wipe my mouth with a groan. Rian pats my arm absently while his other hand scratches notes. He leaves and comes back shortly, offering me a cup of water, which I take gratefully.
“Can you go on?” he asks, distracted by his notes. His serious tone makes me feel like the inanimate subject of some study. Still, I nod. He goes around the room, collecting an array of weapons of all types which he brings back to the bench. One by one I grasp them and succumb to the darkness, the screaming, and the spinning. When the stash of weapons has all been tried, I rest my aching head against the wall and close my eyes, thankful that I managed to get through them all without getting sick again.
“The weapon doesn’t matter,” he murmurs, tapping his lip with the stick of graphite. He looks at it thoughtfully and then offers it to me. I peer down at the writing instrument warily, bracing myself before reaching up to close my fingers around it. Nothing happens. I sigh with relief and hand it back to him.
“Well, I’ll be sure to carry a writing stick at all times in case I ever need to defend myself,” I say dryly as I close my eyes and rub my face.
“Whatever the cause, it covered all possibilities,” he says, looking down his list. “Even a bow and arrows.”
“That was hardly necessary.” I scowl at the bow long ago discarded at his feet. “Shooting was never my strength, anyway.” I sigh and tuck my knees under my chin, gazing at my beloved sword lying in the dust at my feet, buried under a pile of everything from knives to cleavers to clubs. “I don’t understand.”
“It seems like,” Rian makes another note, “something or someone is trying very hard to keep you from fighting.”
“But who?” I ask. “And why?” He shakes his head, poring over the page, searching for some clue.
“Rian, what if it’s like this forever? What if I can never fight again?” I press my forehead into my kne
es. It’s all too much. I’ve lost my mother, my father is a madman, and now even my own abilities have failed me. At this point, I’m beyond tears. Rian seems to sense the despair creeping in on me.
“No curse is unbreakable, Azi,” he says softly.
“Do you think that’s what this is?” I ask, looking up at him. “A curse?” His hazel eyes burn with something I’ve never seen before in him, something dark and angry. He doesn’t look away until I do.
“That’s what I think this is, and I promise you we’ll find a way to break it.” I lean against his shoulder as he scours his notes, and eventually I fall into a dreamless doze. When he taps me awake, the sun is already dipping down to touch the rooftops outside.
“I need to go to the library,” he says. “I’ve read all of Master Gaethon’s notes and my own and I have some questions.” I slide away from him and stretch. My muscles are stiff and sore. Usually by this time of day, I’ve had several hours of swordplay and training. I wonder to myself how long it will take to lose the strength I’ve worked so hard to build up over the years. Rian stands up. His hair is disheveled and his usually bright eyes are framed with dark circles.
“Have you had any sleep?” I ask him. He bends to roll up the notes and tuck them into a scroll case so that his long side locks obscure his face. “Rian, you need to rest.”
“I will,” he says. “When I finish this.”
“Why don’t you just take a quick nap now? It can wait.” I pick up the bucket I’d gotten sick in earlier. I won’t leave that for Mouli, it’s too disgusting.
“It can’t,” Rian says. “Your father’s going to be ready to ride out when he wakes up, Azi. With or without us. If I don’t figure this out, then we’re stuck here. Again.” I sigh. I know he’s right. As soon as my father is well, nothing will keep him from joining the search. I’d be allowed to go, but what could I contribute? If anything, I’d be a hindrance with no way to defend myself on the road.
Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1) Page 7