Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1)

by Missy Sheldrake

  I don’t know how long I’m out, but I wake up to Flitt’s face hovering over mine. Beyond that, there’s only silence.

  “I did it! She’s awake!” she squeals with delight, and when she whips around to look over her shoulder and my eyes finally come into focus, I notice that her red ponytail and her orange one have lost their color completely, and her green one is dull and gray.

  “Your hair,” the two short words are agony to speak as my chest throbs in time with my head. I close my eyes again.

  “It’s all right,” Flitt hovers beside my ear and keeps her voice low. “I used a little light to help you out. It’ll come back in a while. Twig got hit, too, but he’s back already. He was easy to help out, being so small and all.”

  “You’re a healer?” I push myself up to sit and press my pounding head with my palms to keep it from feeling as though it’ll split open.

  “Sure!” She giggles. “I can use my light for a lot of things. Oh, shh.” I feel her tiny fingers wrap around the curve of my ear as she leans against me. “They’re right in the middle of it, we have to be quiet.” At first I’m not sure what she means, but then I squint across the room to where Viala lies twined in the floorboard vines. Ember and Shush are just where they had been right before I was struck, but Rian has moved to kneel at the center, with his hands placed on the crown of her head.

  “What’s he doing?” I whisper.

  “Getting all her magic,” Flitt replies. “The sand was lost when she attacked. She burned it up and the vial was shattered. So they decided that Rian could hold onto what they strip out for now and then bring it to the W--um—bring it back to where it belongs.”

  “They’re trusting him with that?”

  “Well, they didn’t have much choice. He’s the only one who volunteered... Nobody else wanted it, and they don’t want her to keep it of course. It’s tainted magic. Too dark and creepy.” I watch as Viala writhes and whimpers in the grasp of the roots, and Rian’s brow furrows in time with her protests.

  “It’s hurting him...” I push myself to my feet and Flitt darts in front of me to stop me from approaching them.

  “Course it is. It’s bad magic. But you can’t stop it or it’ll make it worse. Besides, he’s strong. He can handle it.” She presses a hand to my forehead. “You need to sit back down until you feel better. Rest, like Twig.” She points to the vines above us where Twig is curled up in a twisting nest of vines, sound asleep. “Stop crying, too, because that won’t help anything.” I shake my head and reach up to wipe away the tears I didn’t even realize were falling.

  “I don’t want him to change,” I whisper. “I don’t want him to hurt.”

  “I know.” Flitt sighs at my shoulder, stroking my earlobe in an effort to comfort me. We sit in silence, watching them wince and writhe, listening to them cry out. There is little evidence of the transfer aside from the occasional flash of blue or black at Rian’s fingertips. Then, something strange begins to happen. The Mage Mark that stretches across Viala’s cheek begins to move, its coils breaking free of her skin and reaching up into the air above her like black tendrils that lick at the space around them. They lash out like a whip, twirling and spinning violently as they expand and rise up to become a full-sized cyclone. In the enclosed space, the force of it is overwhelming. It rips the vines from the ceiling and sends fragile petals swirling through the air around us. Flitt cries out for Twig, who is sucked toward it. She darts to him and catches him fast, pulling him away as a tendril licks out for him.

  Rian's brow furrows, but otherwise the four locked in the stripping seem to be unaware of the threat as the cyclone changes course to charge them. I don't think twice. I leap forward with my sword raised high and bring it down with a furious battle cry, slashing it from top to bottom. To my relief, it disappears in a puff of gray. Flitt and Twig cheer exactly the way the fairies on the mountain did at Ember's battle against the Sorcerers, and I can’t help but chuckle at their enthusiasm.

  My amusement is short-lived, though, as Flitt calls out a warning, and spin back to find myself face to face with two skeletal sentries. Each is armed with a spiked club and a tower shield. Their eyes glow eerily as two ominous voices ring out in unison.

  "You will cease or die. She is ours."

  "We won't cease, you creepy things!" Flitt squeaks. "She's getting what she deserves! We're taking back what you stole!"

  "Flitt, I've got this..." I motion to her to move back as the sentries snap their heads toward us.

  "You choose death," the voices shriek their wicked threat and Flitt ducks behind me as they charge us with their weapons raised. I ready my own sword and take a wide stance, bracing myself for the fight. The odds are against me at two against one, but it’s only a small challenge. My personal best in training was seven-to-one, and all of them had minds of their own. These foes are empty-headed and predictable. I’m not afraid.

  Rather than charge me in a fury, they stomp forward with a purposeful rhythm and raise their weapons and shields in unison. The first one swings at me with its spiked club. I parry the attack easily and bring my sword across in a powerful arc that catches the seam beneath the sentry’s helm and sends its skull flying across the room. It makes a loud thump as it hits the velvet drapes on the wall and slides down to rest on the soft pool of red. The rest of the bones crumple at my feet with a clatter. Flitt cheers, but there’s no time for me to celebrate.

  The second skeleton bears down on me, charging behind its enormous shield. I dodge it easily and swing again. This time, my sword glances off its chest plate with a loud clang. It spins to face me, its teeth pressed together in a deathly grimace. I aim again for the space beneath the helm but it’s ready for me. It throws up its shield and the force of the block jars my arm as my sword strikes it.

  “Surrender her to us!” The sentry hisses as it lashes out. I parry again, but not before a spike catches the back of my hand, tearing at my flesh. I grit my teeth and ignore the pain as I return with a barrage of attacks, trying to find an opening. I’m vaguely aware of Flitt at my shoulder as I press my attack. Her glow is nearly blinding, and I’m about to ask her to stop when I realize the wound on my hand has closed. A rush of confidence charges through me and I sidestep the sentry deftly. With a swift movement I swing my sword up and the shield falls away with a clatter, taking the bony arm still strapped inside with it. I duck behind the sentry and swing again, and the club clatters to the floor along with its remaining arm.

  The sudden silence makes my ears ring as I watch the armless sentry, waiting to see if my move has ended the battle. It stumbles to one side and then the other and then turns to face me. Its glowing eyes surge and ebb and the wide grin seems to widen even further as it sneers.

  “They will all be ours,” it screeches and falls backward onto Viala, and her robes ripple and swirl over it in a blur of purple and black. The swirls of her robes lash out like a cyclone. Its tendrils grasp at Ember and Shush, who are too deep in their meditative work to even notice. A streak of purple curls around Rian’s wrist, but he is oblivious. Then, they all begin to fade.

  “No!” I scream and dive at Rian. He fights me as I work to free his wrist, but I’m stronger. I’m able to tear the fabric away and drag him a safe distance from the others. His eyes are half-open and vacant as I lay him down, but I don’t have time to worry. I turn back to free Ember and Shush but I’m too late. Just as I reach out for Shush, he, Ember, and Viala fade to nothing along with the defeated bones of the sentries. All that is left are the empty floorboard vines and the sound of the driving rain that blows in through the now unprotected archway.

  “No,” I cry.

  “They’re gone...” Flitt whispers as she comes to rest on my shoulder. My outstretched hands fall empty to my lap as I kneel there, stunned.

  “You tried your best, Azi,” Twig offers quietly from my other shoulder. I shake my head in disbelief and my attention snaps to Rian. I close the space between us faster than I can think, and I scoop h
is head into my lap to cradle it.

  “Rian,” I sob, and I’m met with silence and a blank stare. I shake his shoulders and slap his cheek gently. “Talk to me. Can you see me? Are you here? Rian!” Flitt floats down to land on his chest and gaze up into his eyes. Twig does the same, landing lightly beside her.

  “Shock,” he says. “He’s in shock. Get the blanket, Azi. That will help. Get him warm. Flitt, give him some light.” I wrap him in the red velvet cover yet he still shivers as Flitt presses her hands to his heart.

  The Mark has grown and swirled thickly across his face and arms. His chest is almost completely black beneath his sheer shirt. Flitt has changed, too. Her hair is almost all white now, with just the roots of it showing its usual rainbow of colors. Her own skin is paler than ever, but her light is unaffected. She glows and sparkles and casts her prism of colors out over Rian as I hold him tight to me, rocking him, staring into his unseeing eyes.

  “Try kissing him, Azi,” Twig commands, and I don’t need to be told twice. I press my lips to his and it’s strange at first not to be met with his usual welcoming warmth. His own lips are still and cool, but then they slowly soften and warm and press into mine. His arms wrap around me and his fingers slip into my hair and I can taste my own tears as our kiss deepens until there is nothing and no one but us, together.

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Sorcery

  “I swear, I’m fine, Azi. For the hundredth time. Really.” Rian says as we move quietly through the dormitory. Still, he holds my hand with a much stronger grip than usual, and from time to time I catch a strange gleam in his eye that he hides by glancing away from me. We’re alone. Flitt has gone back to Kythshire to rest, and Twig has left us for the palace. Their absence along with the disappearance of the other two leaves me feeling uneasy. We pause at the main dormitory door. He pushes it open, letting in the driving rain.

  “Good,” Rian murmurs, and shows me that the guards have gone.

  “What does it mean?” I ask him as he pulls the door shut again and leads me on through the corridor.

  “She lost her hold. Or rather, I took it from her. She made the suggestion for them to guard here, and when I received her magic, I was able to see that and remove it.” We cross into the white room with many doors. This time, Rian chooses a door that opens into a passageway carved in deep purple stone.

  “You took control of her spells, the ones she already cast?” I ask, pressing closer to him in the narrow space.

  “Yes,” he says. “That’s what I was doing after you tore me out. Trying to take stock of her dealings here, determining everything she’s got a hand in. It’s intricate work, beautifully done. I see now how she’s been able to rise through the ranks and go so unnoticed. It’s like a long, slow dance of enchantment with many unsuspecting partners.” He seems almost enraptured as he tries to explain it to me, and it frightens me a little.

  “Where are we going now?” I ask as the corridor slopes downward and the walls begin drip with cool condensation.

  “To the prince.” His answer sets my heart racing, and with it comes the dull pain that has been creeping up on me since we left Viala’s room. It throbs just beneath my breastbone, where her spell struck me. Now that the battle is done and the rush of the fight has faded, the pain is growing. I push it away, dismissing it as an injury that will eventually fade. There’s no need to worry Rian with it. Not now, when he’s been through so much himself and we still have so far to go.

  Twig is already there to greet us when we emerge into the palace. As he guides us unseen among the guards to Eron’s chambers, he chatters about how the king is well again and has called off the arrest order for Rian and I. “He’s awfully angry at the prince, though,” he nods his head. “As he should be, of course. For now he’s locked him away in his room. And the king is meeting with his advisers. He wants to keep everything hush-hush, but they know he’s been covering up for the prince now, and they want Eron held accountable.”

  “We should go to them, then, and explain. Why are we going to see the prince first, Rian?”

  “He has something they need,” he says matter-of-factly as he pauses in an empty corridor and rests his hand on the wall with his eyes closed. “Azi, is there a chamber door around the corner, guarded?” I look and nod.

  “Four of them,” I whisper.

  “Stand back,” Rian says, raising his arms as if readying to cast something.

  “You’re not going to attack them, are you?” I shift my stance slightly, putting myself between Rian and the guards. Skeletal sentries are one thing, but I refuse to fight a palace guard.

  “Guess I shouldn’t,” he sighs and turns to Twig. “This is Eron’s room, correct?” He pats the polished wood of the corridor wall with a slender hand. Twig nods.

  “We’ll do it this way, then.” He runs his hand across the wall and starts an incantation, but Twig interrupts him.

  “You don’t need all that,” he says. “You’re in the Half-Realm. You can just go through. Like this.” He dives at the wall and disappears through it. A moment later, he’s back again. “See? Just like everything else, it’s a matter of belief. The wall is there and it isn’t, too. Believe it isn’t, and you go right through. You try it.” He gestures to me and I blink.

  “It’s a wall, Twig.” I reach up and tap on the solid wood with my fingertips.

  “Only if you want it to be, hm?” He sticks his arm through the wall. “The rules are different for us. For you now, too, since you’re not here or there. You two, your heads are stuck in your world. You don’t see the possibilities. Just like before, when I showed Rian how to slip in and out of view and he still needed a spell to do it, when he really doesn’t. Go on, try it.”

  “We’re wasting time,” Rian rolls his eyes in frustration.

  “And you’d have wasted magic, and you need to be careful now, don’t you? More than ever before.” He watches Rian knowingly.

  “What does he mean?” I look from one to the other. “Why do you have to be careful, Rian?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbles and sidesteps to disappear into the wall.

  “Twig—“

  “Come on,” he interrupts me and darts into the wall after Rian. A moment later his head pops out again. “It’s fun, try it.” He glides back and forth along the wall, but all that’s visible is his head, and I can’t help but laugh. “Having trouble believing?”

  “It isn’t that, it’s just...” I shrug. “Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean that you should. Those are Eron’s private chambers. He’s still the prince. It’s trespassing. There are guards posted for a reason. It isn’t right to just go in simply because I have a way to do it without getting caught.”

  “You snuck into Viala’s room, though. Even took things from her.” He tips his head to the side curiously.

  “That was different. She had to be stopped.” I shiver and hug my arms to my chest. Even though it was several weeks ago now, I can still feel Eron’s breath hot on my neck in the room with the paintings. I wonder for a moment whether I’m making the decision to stay outside out of fear rather than righteousness.

  “You’re too good for your own good,” Twig chuckles. “That’s probably why people find you so trustworthy.” Rian’s face pops through the wall and I jump back, startled.

  “Coming in?” He wriggles his brow at me, causing the blue-black swirls on his face to dance. “I need a word with the prince, and it would help if you were here, too.” His outstretched hand comes through to my side. “Come on. It’s okay, I promise.” I take a deep breath to steel myself, slip my hand into his, and step through the wall to the other side as if it isn’t even there.

  Prince Eron’s outer chamber is a warm, lavishly decorated room with a grouping of chairs set around a fireplace that crackles brightly despite the hour being well past midnight. Its light casts deep shadows across walls hung with various trophies of stuffed beasts: Birds, wild boar, deer, and in the place of honor above the hearth, a plai
ns-lion’s head. When I turn to look at Rian, I’m met with the lifeless head of a fox. I yelp and jump back and nearly go through the wall again but he catches me. Perched atop the fox’s head, Twig holds his belly as he laughs silently at me.

  “Impossible,” the prince’s voice is low and cold as it drifts across the room. Rian moves closer to me, his hand squeezing mine so tightly that my fingers go numb.

  “It isn’t, my husband,” Amei’s tone is gentle, but I can sense the underlying hurt in it as we creep closer to the chairs where they sit. “It has been long enough since our wedding night.”

  “And you choose to tell me this now?” he snaps. “While I’m locked in my room, sitting vigil, possibly awaiting an accusation of treason?”

  “I thought it would give you hope, or at least some small happiness.” Even in her dressing gown, Amei looks regal. She holds her chin up and her back straight as she sits with a natural poise that enhances her beauty.

  “Happiness?” Eron scoffs. “To learn that I might have a child who will grow up fatherless? Or to learn that my wife is just as much an enchantress as every other woman out there, weaving lies to manipulate me?” Amei doesn’t lose her poise at his accusation. Instead she leans slightly closer to him, her gaze steady on the prince’s as he slumps lower in his chair.

  “I have never lied to you, nor will I ever. I have stood beside you while other,” her eyes narrow slightly, “women have woven their spells. Against my own judgment I have not interfered. Do not ever compare me to her again.” She shakes her head and closes her eyes. “What happened to the sweet prince who courted me? You’ve changed, Eron. Still I love you as I ever have, as you used to love me, before she entered into it. I stand beside you, even through this, my husband.” Her hand slides to rest on her belly as she leans back into the chair wearily.