Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1)

by Missy Sheldrake

  “I’ve been studying to rise to a new Circle,” he says, his voice a little feeble. “I came across some spells that were beyond my level and I was curious. I wanted to try them. Also, I was trying to help my friends, who were touched by your border wards.” The two study each other for a long time, and I feel awkward for him as I shift uncomfortably.

  “Rian,” Flit leans forward to whisper. “It’s your turn to ask.” I groan inwardly. I don’t think either of us realized a game had started. Poor Rian.

  “Oh, uh...” he glances back at Flit and then looks around the Ring, up at the vast array of fairies perched on mushrooms, hovering in the forest, and milling around the grass. I can guess how he feels. There are too many questions, where does he even start? “Is it true that the Mage Mark, that is, the coils, causes the cyclones?”

  “Indeed, they are directly related.” She bows her head in grief, and the sadness drifts over me like a perfume. “Both mean that the balance has been disrupted, and that our Wellspring is abused. Were you unaware?”

  “I didn’t realize,” he shakes his head apologetically, “that it was causing harm. I only meant to learn and grow so that I could be helpful to others.” Crocus nods, waiting for his question. “Why do you believe me so easily? I could be lying to you. I could be a danger right now.” All around us, the fae erupt into a fit of giggles, and even Crocus presses her delicate fingertips to her lips and looks down coyly.

  “It is impossible,” she says, “to deceive us here within the Ring. Please, try. Tell me a lie.” I watch Rian as he opens his mouth and closes it several times, pausing in between to think, or scowl, or scratch his head. “So, do you see now?” she asks among a scatter of laughter from the others.

  “I see. That’s very interesting,” he says. “Does it mean that you trust us, then?”

  “To a degree, Mage. You may step away now.” She gestures back to the center, and then meets my gaze.

  “Ah,” she beckons to me, and I exchange places with Rian. “You have the student’s print.” She gestures to my forehead. “Are you also a Mage? We understood that you followed your mother on the warrior’s path.”

  “Rian chose me as his student,” I say. This close, I catch the floral scent of her petals. It’s so lovely that I have trouble forming my thoughts. “Just before we left to come here. It was easier that way to...” I glance back at him, trying to remember the events that happened just last night, but my mind is already foggy. “To get into the Academy. As a student. It’s very private. They keep things secure.” There was another reason, which I try hard to remember. “Oh, also I was affected by your border when my father crossed it. I wasn’t able to wield my sword. But that’s changed now. I’m still a warrior.”

  I shake my head and rub my eyes. “Why do I feel so strange?” I ask her. Up close I feel enchanted by her. My eyes fix on the petal skirt, which is so full that I can’t see beneath it to tell whether she has a stem or legs and feet. I ponder that while she starts to reply, and I have to focus hard on her lips in order to understand.

  “Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” she smiles. “My perfume has such an effect sometimes. You may step back, if you’d like. That will help.” I step back, and as the distance grows between us, I begin to feel my wits returning to me. “We are well aware of the Academy and its workings. You need not explain. Now,” she smoothes her petals, “how is it that you and Re came to be in the Half-Realm? The in-between?”

  “We were trying to get to our guild, to warn them,” I say. “They were about to be betrayed. They would have been ambushed and killed. Do you know of Mistress Viala, and her plotting?”

  “Yes, Twig has kept us well informed of the Mage and her hold on the young prince.” Some of the fairies perched on the mushrooms start to protest, but she raises a hand and they go silent. “It is an issue much debated within the Ring these days. Some feel that the prince is acting of his own accord, but we are of the belief that Viala has enchanted him. Either way, it is a dangerous pairing for the Wellspring.”

  “He came here seeking treasure and power,” a fairy perched on one of the mushrooms raves, “his greed has blinded him! Without the Oculus which their people stole,” she jabs a finger at us, “our northern borders lie open and unprotected! There is peril on the Crag, and the prince is well aware. He’s the one who sent them here. Do not underestimate his motives!” The fairy is charcoal-skinned and wrinkled, with long orange hair and a dress of bright red embers. She floats up above her mushroom as though readying to dive into the circle. She sends a spray of orange and red sparkles behind her as she moves, which remind me of the sparks that fly from my father’s hammer as he strikes the red-hot steel at his forge. There is a long pause before Crocus replies.

  “We do not recognize Ember at this time. The game will continue.” she turns back to me. I watch from the corner of my eye as Ember sits back down on her mushroom and crosses her arms with a huff. “We would like to be certain of the origins of this Mage. Are you aware of her past?” she asks. I try to remember what I know of Viala, which isn’t much.

  “She’s from Sunteri, I think. She came to study a few years ago...” I turn to Rian for help. He looks from me to Flit and then Crocus.

  “May I?” he asks. Crocus nods, and he continues. “She arrived six years ago from Sunteri to study at the Academy. Do you know of Sunteri?”

  “We do. It is the triple continent, beyond the sea and the desert and the sea again. Far to the south. A land of mysteries not unlike our own. And so why do you suppose she would travel to Cerion to study?”

  “Our methods are different here,” he says. “I imagine that she wanted to learn ways other than those taught by her countrymen. She rose quickly through the Circles until she became a Master herself. Everyone was quite impressed at the time.” There’s another stretch of silence and I nudge him with my elbow.

  “Your turn,” I murmur.

  “Oh,” he thinks. “You refer to yourself as ‘we’. Are you royalty? Should we call you Your Highness?” This causes a spattering of giggles from the onlookers again, and Crocus looks down at the ground with an adorable smile.

  “No, we aren’t. I’m afraid we never properly introduced ourselves. My name is Chantelle Rejune Cordelia Unphasei Seren. And his name is Subter Crag Rever Enstil Evrest.” She gestures to the ground beneath her petals, which begins to rumble. Rian stumbles into me and we hold each other steady as Crocus is lifted up by a jagged-looking rock that emerges from the soil and grass beneath her.

  “Scree!” The crowd shouts in unison, cheering. Flit joins the excitement, squealing and clapping.

  “It’s a rock.” Rian utters under his breath, and I’m just as perplexed as he seems to be by the very ordinary-looking dirt-crusted rock. The only thing remarkable about it is the way Crocus’s delicate white roots weave over it.

  “All of their kind wants something. What is it they want?” A deep voice booms through the circle, sending the very ground vibrating. Crocus blinks at us expectantly.

  “What do they want? What do they want?” The fairies cry in unison. The sudden chaos change makes me uneasy, and Rian squeezes my hand reassuringly as we wait for the fairies to calm. When they don’t, Crocus claps her hands and the dancing starts again, blurring around us. Shush grabs my free hand and pulls me into it.

  We dance for what feels like hours, and I feel the tension of the game fall away. Laughter wells in my heart and bubbles from me. I turn to look at Rian, whose own grin is wide and carefree. It reminds me of the rare afternoons we shared chasing each other through the forest park beside the guild hall, when he was allowed a break from his studies. The dancing slows when the sun is low in the sky, casting bright coral beams through the trees.

  “Your reply.” Crocus says as we fall into the grass before her, laughing, and now I understand why the dancing is important. The long session of wildness has lulled everyone into a state of serenity.

  “We want to get out of the Half-Realm,” Rian says after a thou
ghtful pause. “So we can tell our guild that Lisabella is safe, and they can stop searching for her. We want Azi’s father’s sanity restored. We want to do something about Viala and the Wellspring. Can we help?”

  “Yes.” Scree’s voice thunders. I stare at the rock, trying to figure out where the sound is coming from. “Viala has shared secrets that were put in place to ensure the safety of this land. She encourages and aids in the abuse of the Wellspring. She has invited darkness upon the Crag and her actions have opened the North. In our eyes, she is no longer a Mage, but a Sorcerer. Our laws and agreements with Cerion clearly state that Sorcery is forbidden. Our bargain is this. We will free the father from his afflictions and restore you. In exchange, you shall strip the Mage Viala.” I glance at Rian, who has gone pale.

  “That’s Archmage-level magic. Fortieth Circle at least.” His voice is barely above a whisper and I can tell by his expression that he’s completely repulsed by the idea of it. Once Mages have been stripped, not only do they lose all of their ability to perform magic, but their minds also unravel slowly. They eventually become so simple that they can barely manage the most basic tasks of dressing, walking, and even talking. Once Mages have been stripped, they can never be restored. They’re better off dead.

  Chapter Nineteen: The Border

  “We will provide the means to do so, if you will agree to our bargain.” Scree’s thunderous voice booms through the Ring. Rian turns to me, searching my eyes for answers.

  “He’s right,” I say quietly, thinking of the draw of the Wellspring. “She needs to be stopped.”

  Rian nods and turns back to Scree and Crocus. “We’ll return to Cerion and find out exactly what she’s planning. If she is as much of a danger as we all believe her to be, then,” he steels himself, “yes, I agree it needs to be done.” There’s a stretch of silence while Crocus gazes around the Ring and up into the sky, not unlike a daydreaming child, with her eyes distant and her smile serene. As she tilts her head this way and that, there’s barely a whisper among the crowd.

  “Well enough,” Scree finally rumbles. The ground shifts again, and he burrows down into it amid the cries of farewell from the assembly. Crocus makes a sweeping gesture at the churned up dirt surrounding her petals, and thick green grass springs up from it as though Scree was never there.

  “Flit,” Crocus smiles and gestures, and Flit floats forward to take her hand. “You have done well in your duties, and now you may be dismissed. Unless of course, you wish to continue.” Flit turns to look at us. Her eyes trail over me first and she smiles, and then she turns her attention to Rian she wrinkles her nose at him dramatically.

  “Yep.” she says as she beams back at Crocus. “Wouldn’t miss it!” The crowd bursts into applause.

  “Very well. Take your place,” she says with a nod, and Flit comes to stand beside me.

  “Shush,” she nods to the mantis-like fae who spoke earlier. He shoots down from his mushroom and lands lightly beside us. “Twig,” she says, and Twig steps forth. She pauses for a moment and her eyes fall on the coal-skinned fairy who ranted at us from atop her mushroom.

  “Oh, Please. No, no, no.” Flit murmurs through her teeth beside me, barely loud enough for me to hear. Crocus doesn’t seem to notice as she gestures to the fiery fairy.

  “Now we recognize Elia Magest Brimstone Envis Rife,” she says with a respectful bow. Ember’s red dress trails behind her and her long orange hair shifts from red to yellow and back to orange, giving the effect of a coal on fire. When she lands at my side, I can feel the heat emanating from her like a campfire. Crocus nods again. “The four of you have been chosen for this quest,” she begins, but Ember interrupts.

  “I’ll send someone in my stead. I can’t leave the Crag. I shouldn’t even be away now.” The wrinkles of her brow deepen as she scowls, and her eyes flash bright red.

  “Here we go,” Flit says under her breath.

  “Impossible,” Crocus waves a hand dismissively. “You and Shush must work together on this. We are all depending on you.” I watch as Shush leans forward slightly and attempts to catch Ember’s eye, but she looks away from him pointedly.

  “A jaded fairy entourage. Not what I was expecting,” Rian whispers to me.

  “We shall leave it to you to devise a plan,” Crocus says. “And Ah, we have restored your father as a gesture of good faith. He continues to sleep, though.” She tips her head to Rian. “That is a spell not within our power to undo.”

  “Oh, thank you!” I rush forward in my excitement and hug her. Her skin is cool to touch, and she feels so frail I fear I might break her if I squeeze too hard. “Thank you,” I say again, tears flooding my vision.

  “Of course,” she whispers, patting my shoulders. Her perfume drifts to my nose again and I retreat to Rian’s arms as it starts to affect me. I sniffle softly, undisturbed by the dozens of eyes that I know to be watching me from outside of the Ring. My father is cured. My mother is found and as safe as can be in her situation. My curse is lifted. My family is well.

  “As for your second request,” Crocus goes on, “we feel it is a boon for you to be in the Half-Realm, considering the task at hand. It will aid you on your quest, if you remain unseen in your world. If you succeed, then we shall restore you to your realm.”

  “How will we get word to our guild?” Rian asks. “They’re still searching for Lisabella.”

  “There are ways,” she says, gesturing to the group of fairies beside us. “Your new companions shall help you in that. Now, the dusk comes, and I’m sleepy.” She rubs her eyes, and the petals of her skirt begin to rise around her, enclosing her. She looks so child-like and small as she stretches up and yawns, that it’s hard to believe the authority she seems to hold here.

  Her yawn carries through to Rian and me, reminding me that it’s been a full day since we’ve slept. As Crocus continues to close up, a deep serenity washes over the Ring. All around us, the fairies either settle sleepily into the grass or fly away into the depths of the forest. Crocus is now merely a pale green bud held up by a single stem.

  “Well!” Flit’s wings flutter, raising her up to her tiptoes. “That’s that I guess! Let’s go to my place and figure out what to do next.”

  “If you think for a moment that I will be taking orders from you—“ Ember starts, but Shush quietly interrupts her.

  “They’re her charges,” he whispers. “She knows them best.” Ember doesn’t argue with him. She simply glares, her eyes glowing a hot yellow-white.

  “Perhaps it would be best if we let the humans rest. They are both tired,” Twig offers. “And I’ll need to check on Margy. I’m sure you two have arrangements to make before we get started, too.”

  “Of course,” says Ember haughtily. “I can’t just up and leave without any notice. I shouldn’t have even come to the Ring. There’s too much strife on the Crag right now.”

  “Yes, yes.” Flit rolls her eyes. “We all know how important you are, Ember. You remind us every chance you get.”

  “We’ll meet up at Flit’s in the morning.” Twig nods, and then vanishes. With a final glare at us, Ember goes, too.

  “She’s charming,” Rian says.

  “Very.” Flit giggles.

  “I have arrangements to make as well. I’ll see you at sunrise,” Shush’s whisper is like a quick breeze, and he crouches down and then springs up with a powerful jump that sends him into the treetops in a streak of green.

  “Back to my grotto then?” she asks us.

  “We need to see our guild first,” I say to Flit. “Can we get to Mya through the diamond?”

  “Even if we can, how will we be able to communicate?” Rian asks. “They can’t see us, remember? We’re still in the Half-Realm.”

  “Oh, they can.” Flit says. “We just have to make them believe we’re there.”

  “What about the Revealer spell?” I ask. “Would that work?”

  “It might, Rian says a little reluctantly. “I honestly don’t know.” He looks dow
n at the ground and digs the toe of his boot into the earth, frowning.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him softly. He’s quiet for a moment.

  “We think we’re so brilliant,” he says finally. “We study and we practice and we work so hard to figure out all of the mysteries and knowledge and to gain our Circles. We compete against each other...” He trails off, shaking his head. “If I had known about any of this, really known, I mean.” He gestures to the Ring of sleeping fairies and shakes his head. “Viala and I, we pushed each other. She passed me quickly, but it made me work harder. She was awful to me, but I still looked up to her. I never suspected. Sorcery. I should have seen this coming. I should have tried to stop it a long time ago. Master Gaethon, too. How did we not realize?”

  “It’s not your fault, Rian. You can’t blame yourself.” I hug him, and he returns the gesture silently.

  “Typical,” Flit says. “There always has to be someone to blame, with you people. What good is blame, anyway? Sometimes things just happen because they happen. It’s when you don’t do anything to stop it that makes you part of the problem.” When we don’t say anything in reply, Flit wraps her arms around both of us. “Let’s go play with your mum, Mage,” she says. “Ready?”

  Squeezing through the diamond is an experience I don’t think I’ll soon forget, or ever want to repeat. Flit warnings weren’t enough to prepare me for the discomfort of it. At first, everything is dark and blurred, and a loud thumping and ringing jab at my senses. The sound of Mya’s soft song is muffled thickly by the leather pouch where I appear. I do as instructed and stretch my arms up over my head as far as they will go, and I feel a little resistance before Flit’s hands clasp mine and start to pull. Every inch of me is squeezed from head to toe as I’m pulled out of the diamond and spill into the contents of Mya’s belt bag.

  “You do this every time?” I ask her. “Flit, that’s awful.”

  “Not every time. It’s just a precaution,” she says. We help Rian through after me, and the space in the bag is so cramped that I can barely breathe. “Hang on,” Flit says. She grabs our hands and in a blink we’re standing on the ground at Mya’s boot, still fairy-sized. Rian whispers a spell and we begin to grow again, and I wriggle my toes and shake the tingle out of my arms gratefully as I reach my proper height.