Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1)

by Missy Sheldrake

  I think of its red-orange fur and golden eyes, its quick feet and gentle strength. I remember it leaping into the woods after Redemption’s retreat from the fight at the border, and I think of Mya’s expression as she saw him go. When it comes to me, I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to realize who it is. I wonder if some sort of concealing magic has been in play to keep me from thinking about it too much.

  “Elliot?” I call over the wind that roars in my ears as our pace quickens. I open my eyes to slits long enough to see the brown-tipped ears bob with his nod, and then I duck back into the safety of his fur. “Where are we going?” I shout, but he doesn’t answer as we make our slow descent toward the water. A great continent stretches out before us, growing larger and larger as we near it. When the ocean changes to land beneath us his pace quickens impossibly, over the jungle and the desert and the jungle again and then we climb once more, far above another sea.

  I close my eyes again and try to think of where we are, conjuring Uncle Gaethon’s torturous geography lessons. You’ll need to know this one day, he’d said. I hate that he’s always right. I mentally plot our course. We’ve already traveled Southeast over the vast trading channel between Cerion and Cresten City, and across the continent of Elespen into the wide Sones Ocean. Here, I know, is the great triple island continent of Sunteri. Viala’s homeland. We travel along the coast of the great island to an intimidating city which I know at once must be the capital, Zhaghen.

  I barely have time to take in the opulence of the forbidding towers that stretch into the sky, each draped with silks of rich scarlet and indigo, and the stone facades that sparkle with jewels and gold before we dive down. Elliot slows his pace here, in the depths of the city, on the grimy cobbles of an alleyway strewn with filth. Nearby in the shadows, a huddled woman rifles through a pile of refuse with a sickly-looking baby strapped to her back.

  Elliot trots past her and weaves through dark alleys and crumbling shanties in an endless maze of poverty and hopelessness until my heart feels as though it will to break into pieces. Just when I’m about to ask him why he’s brought me here, when I feel like I can’t take another moment of it without taking some sort of action, he pushes off again and we’re streaking away out of the city. We cross endless fields of scarlet flowers, where dozens of sunbaked laborers bend, picking and piling blossoms. Their clothes and skin are stained with red, their shoulders permanently hunched. These must be the dye fields that Viala spoke of with such distress.

  Soon the ground beneath us fades from red and green to golden, and the desert here feels different from that of Elespen. I’m reminded of the wheat fields of Kythshire and with the thought comes the distinct sense that this place used to be the same. Littered along the grayish sand lie the blackened and petrified remains of a great forest. As Elliot takes us further into the desolation, my heart grows more and more heavy with grief for this place that I somehow know was once as rich and beautiful as Kythshire itself.

  He picks up speed until we reach a great bowl-shaped canyon, and he pauses carefully on its rim. The perfectly circular canyon is empty, save for a small amount of sparkling gold liquid at the very bottom. As we watch, a glittering spray of it shoots up into the sky in the direction of Zhaghen, and it empties even further.

  “Another Wellspring?” I whisper. “But it’s nearly empty...” We trot along the vast lip to a small outcrop of three massive trees, the only ones in sight. As we approach, I realize something is odd about them. Their roots grow in tangles above the ground, twisted together as if clinging to each other for life. We stop a safe distance away and at first I wonder why, but then I see them. A dozen or so creatures huddle among the roots, their nearly white skin stretched tight across their spindly bones, their wings mere stubs at their backs. Their hair is wispy and colorless, and their eyes are black and cruel. One of them darts close to the roots and a whimper escapes from within them. Elliot and I creep closer and I spy a sprig of black hair wound tightly within the twisting prison. A close look reveals the figure of boy who wriggles and fights hopelessly against his bonds. Beside him the other two trees hold their own captives. I can’t see them, but I can hear the occasional whimper and cry as the fairies peer in at them.

  “Shut up, you three,” one of the creatures hisses, jabbing at the roots. We move closer, so close I can touch one of them if I want to. It crouches possessively over something small, blood-red, and polished. An elegant glowing golden line rises up to its surface. “Not long now,” it reads. The wasted fairy snaps its head over its shoulder and spies us. It screeches out a deafening warning and instantly Elliot leaps into the air and dashes away, northward, off again to Cerion.

  “We have to go back!” I cry. “We can’t leave them there!” Elliot’s only response is to go faster until the torrent of wind against my face stings my eyes and I’m forced to bury my head again. I steal glances now and then as we run for leagues and leagues, back over the ocean and the jungle and the desert until the long cliffs of Cerion finally stretch out before us again. The palace walls gleam gold in the sunlight, and as Elliot’s paws find the cobbles, I’m struck by the stark contrast between Cerion and Zhaghen.

  Here, everyone has a place. It’s a pretty kingdom, but modest. Here, we don’t flaunt our riches. Here, we are charitable. I think of the wretched woman in the alley with the sickly baby on her back and my grip tightens. That would never happen in Cerion. Cerion isn’t perfect. There are those who are lawless and those who are poor, but charity is an important part of who we are. When someone is in need, we help them. I wonder what has happened in Zhaghen to make it so cruel and uncaring.

  Elliot carries me up over the wall again and straight to the guild hall, where Rian continues to doze with Emme working over him. At first I think that he means to leave me there, but we only slow to a trot as we pass Rian, and then we’re off again. We leave the city walls for the trade road that heads West across Ceras’lain, toward Kythshire. Far ahead of us I can just make out a score of riders in gleaming armor and the livery of Cerion’s Guard. As Elliot quickens his run and we near them, I see Da at the forefront in his blue and gold. As we match their pace and begin to gain on them, I watch proudly as he thunders authoritatively over the packed dirt road.

  I wave to him as we pass, forgetting that he most likely can’t see us as we remain in the Half-Realm. We speed up to a blur again, and it feels as though we’re skipping forward in time along the road. We pass the fork that branches to Kythshire and instead of heading that way, we veer north along a different route. The air grows cold around us as we climb into the mountains, and this road is the same that Elliot took me on in my last dream.

  It winds along cliffs and narrows dangerously, and I remember the point where the riders in my dream dismounted and left their horses behind. I think ahead to the black keep and the skeleton sentries and I steel myself. This time as we approach, he brings me along the side of the wall and leaps up impossibly high, to a parapet that is tucked against the black stone. We land lightly and silently on the wall, and Elliot slips with caution through the archway of a guard’s tower.

  Inside, the keep is as grand as Cerion’s palace, but so dark it’s nearly impossible to see. I can make out only the walls on either side of us, which are lined with countless sentries standing an arm’s length apart from each other. There’s an unnatural stillness as we creep past them and I realize it’s because these aren’t men. They’re completely lifeless, not even breathing. I hold my own breath as Elliot pads softly along the corridor. He has shown me so much already, all of which I know are important parts of a larger picture, and despite the eeriness of the twisting corridors here, I feel safe with him. Here in this dark place, I’m filled with a sense of battle-readiness that makes me eager to see where this dark path leads and what he will show me next.

  We ascend a long spiral staircase and the orange glow of firelight dances on the walls as we reach the top. Here, Elliot pauses just before the threshold of a grand circular room. H
e peers inside, through a ward that seems to be made of shadows and black coils. The effect reminds me of the cyclones in the field, and I lean away. Echoing my thoughts, Elliot takes a cautious step back. Beyond the magical barrier, I count six figures. Half of them are reclined in ornate cushioned chaises, sound asleep. The other half stand at a great arched balcony, shoulder to shoulder.

  This room seems out of place in the otherwise sparse keep. The curved walls are draped with rich damask curtains in bold reds and purples, just like the towers in Zhaghen. A massive mirror over the hearth is set in a gilt frame, and even through the shadow barrier I can see Elliot’s golden eyes reflected back at us. Opposite the fireplace, there is a circular table lined with ornately carved chairs. The table is set for six with a feast that has already been well picked-over. Another mirror stands in the center of the room, atop a disc of shining sapphire not unlike the one Rian and I stood on at the ceremony that teleported us.

  Movement by the three figures at the window catches my attention. One by one, each of them raises an arm and a clap of thunder echoes over us, shaking the walls. Then, from each upraised hand, a stream of black energy begins to form and swirl until three enormous cyclones swirl before them. Each Mage flings a hand forward and the cyclones drop out of sight beyond the window. The view outside causes me to clap my hand over my mouth. A golden field of wheat stretches out beneath the crisp cool blue sky, and far in the distance I can just make out a lush green forest. My heart starts to race as I realize what it means. Elliot has brought me inside of the Shadow Crag.

  In the time it takes me to come to this realization, the three at the window have summoned and released three more cyclones. I tear my gaze from them and scan the room again, looking for any information that we could use. It’s difficult to see through the shadow barrier, but my eyes fall on the lap of one of the sleeping figures, where a blood-red polished slab rests gleaming in the firelight. One of the Mages turns away from the window and I see that his skin is completely blue-black from the Mark as he crosses the room to crouch nearby.

  He yanks a crimson drape aside to reveal a cage stuffed with a score of tiny sleeping fairies. The Mage reaches in and pulls out a lovely one who instantly reminds me of Shush, with windswept blue hair and a green dress of feathers and dried leaves that shimmers with iridescence in the firelight. He hovers his free hand over her and I watch in disgust as he draws forth a stream of green and blue light from her which he absorbs into his palm. When he’s finally through and the energy fades to a wisp, the fae’s bright green skin and blue hair have drained to bone-white. I’m reminded of Flit lying on Viala’s desk and the twisted white fairies at the trees. My stomach twists as he tosses the helpless creature into a second cage, this one filled with similarly drained, unconscious fairies.

  Elliot wriggles his shoulders slightly and I realize I’m gripping his fur so tightly in my fury that I’ve pulled some of it out by the roots. I loosen my grip and stroke it down apologetically. When he looks over his shoulder at me, his eyes echo my own rage. These Mages are using the fairies’ own magic against them. I wonder how my mother is managing the torrent of cyclones on her own. The Mage returns to the window, and one of his companions leaves to cross to the cage and pluck out another windblown fairy. I can’t watch it again. Instead, I lean to Elliot’s ear and whisper so quietly I’m barely mouthing the words.

  “Why would they do this?” I ask. His only answer is to turn his head and stare at one of the hanging curtains, where an elaborately embroidered crest has been hung. The symbol in golden thread is a hand with a glowing globe hovering over it. The crest of Zhaghen.

  We’re off again, this time he runs straight across the deep circular stairwell, toward the narrow slit of an archer’s window. I brace myself thinking it will be too narrow, but we slip through with no trouble at all. I feel a sudden change in my mood as Elliot prances to the south. Suddenly I feel both calmed and bolstered. The air is thick with magic as Elliot turns to the balcony where the three Mages stand. We dive to the craggy slope that the keep is perched upon and my breath catches in my throat at the scene that unfolds before me.

  We’re running alongside the vast piles of gold and jewels at the base of the massive Shadow Crag. As the cyclones charge down the slope from the keep window, the black craggy stones of the mountainside grow to form human-sized figures. Golems, similar to Rian’s glass one at the trials and Flit’s figure of light that I trained against in the grotto. Some swing stone swords, while others have enormous clubs or just fists that they use against the cyclones, bursting them into wisps of shadow. With each defeat, tiny voices rise together throughout the battlefield in a victory cheer.

  Elliot weaves carefully through the jagged battlefield of stone clashing with wind and I’m amazed to see that each of the rock golems has a fairy hovering nearby. Beside us, a glowing red golem of molten stone is torn apart by a cyclone, and the bright red-skinned fairy accompanying it is sucked into the swirling black mass. A larger gray golem rumbles up, trailing flakes of white ash behind it. It swings its stone club and the cyclone dissipates, dropping the captured fae to the ground and inciting yet another victory cheer.

  “Thanks Ash!” the rumpled red fairy chirps and ruffles her short-cropped yellow hair before she waves her hand at a nearby pile of rock. It begins to glow red and liquid as it rises up into the form of a woman this time, with an elegant sword. She gives a squeaky battle cry and then charges together with her golem to an oncoming cyclone.

  “Woo! Any time, Glow!” her rescuer calls after her as he sends his own gray golem against another attacker. “Get ‘em!”

  “Who let that one past?” Ember’s familiar gruff voice shouts as she nears us. She points at Ash. “You! There’s a hole on the east side, get over there!” Her red-orange hair ripples and glows with wrath, and the sparks that trail behind her flash brightly as she dives past us in a commanding fury.

  “You got it, Boss!” Ash gives a salute and guides his golem off to the east.

  “Ember!” I call out, and she whips around, her eyes narrowed.

  “What are you doing here?” she snaps. “You’re early! I’m not leaving until moonrise!” A cyclone surges toward her and she throws her arms to the side. Nearby, an enormous shining black golem with glowing orange veins crashes into it and throttles it into oblivion.

  “I’m not here to collect you,” I say.

  “What, then, just to have a chat?” she growls. “If you’re not going to help, then stay out of the way!” she screams over her shoulder as she speeds to the west side of the mountain, calling commands as she goes. “You, there, stop that one!” I whip around and watch as another cyclone finds a gap in the golems and charges away off across the piles of gold and jewels to disappear into the wheat. Ember’s golem, which had been chasing it, skids to a stop at the edge of the treasure, sending a spray of gold coins into the air. Ember turns back to me again. “You see that? Every one that gets past us goes straight to your mother! We don’t need you here distracting us! Fight or leave!” She darts away after her golem, calling it back to her.

  “Fight,” I say to Elliot as I start to slide from his back. Here, I can wish myself back to my own size again, or even bigger. I have my sword. I can help. But Elliot nudges me back with his nose and turns to look pointedly up at the window where the Mages continue their summoning. He shakes his head firmly, and I get his message. For now, my part in this lies elsewhere, away from the Mages who want me dead.

  Elliot leaps up to the sky, and we’re off again, faster and higher than before. My stomach sinks as we bolt eastward, away from the setting sun. To Cerion. I bury my face into his fur again and go over everything I’ve seen in my mind, from Viala talking me over the cliff to Margy mending Twig’s tether, and all the way to Zhaghen and back. The scene in the tower and the mountainside battle have my blood boiling. When he lands softly and I open my eyes to find us in the guild hall again, I’m relieved he has nothing more to show me. Now that we have all of the i
nformation we need, we can start our planning.

  Emme has gone, and Rian doesn’t notice us at first. He’s at the table now, bent over the books and scrolls he grabbed from Viala’s desk. Her polished red slab lies on the table beside him, blank and gleaming. He’s taking fervent notes from one of the books, poring over a map, and he doesn’t notice me until Elliot deposits me on the table beside him and I step onto the page and lean on his quill hand.

  “Hey,” he grins down at me. “Back already?”

  “Wait until you hear where I was,” I say, tilting my head back to way up at his face.

  “Oh, I know,” he says, and gestures to the map beside him, which has been marked with the course Elliot and I just finished. When I raise a questioning brow at him, he glances over his shoulder at the empty space where Elliot was just moments before. “A little fox told me while I was healing. Either that or I need to get my head looked at.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four: Mind Games

  “You saw everything?” I ask, thinking back over the journey that started with me trying to throw myself off the cliff. I try not to think of how far I might have gone if Elliot hadn’t intervened. I’m too ashamed to talk about that now, especially to Rian. “Did you see Zhaghen?” I ask. His expression darkens slightly and he nods.

  “Awful,” he says. “The Academy is always using Zhaghen as an example of what could happen if magic is abused. There’s a general idea among the students that the masters exaggerate. I had no idea it’s really like that.”

  “It got that way because of the Mages?” I ask.

  “Mm.” He follows a passage in a book with his fingertip and takes a note, “You saw the city. Gold and jewels glittering in the bricks of the towers, ten stories of silk draping from the windows, all while others starve in the streets. It happened over decades, so they say at school. Slowly, so that at first they didn’t realize the damage they were doing. It might have started with a few decorations at a party.” He glances up at me meaningfully. “Magic has that effect. Slow intoxication. You do a little bit, and you want a little more until you’re blinded by the beauty and the power of it and you no longer see the damage you’re doing. And if you don’t know something exists, you can’t care about it. You just want more. And when there’s no more energy to draw from, you steal it from others. That’s when it stops being magic and starts becoming Sorcery. Those people you saw in the keep, they were wicked. Twisted by evil and selfishness. Sorcerers. Necromancers, too, from the looks of all of those skeletons.” He shakes his head.