THE FLUTE KEEPER’S PROMISE
Book Four of The Flute Keeper Saga
by
Ashley Setzer
Copyright © 2013 by Ashley Setzer
All rights reserved
OTHER BOOKS BY ASHLEY SETZER
The Flute Keeper: Book One of The Flute Keeper Saga
The Flute Keeper’s Voyage: Book Two of The Flute Keeper Saga
The Flute Keeper’s Training: Book Three of The Flute Keeper Saga
For Alyson, Kristen, Roxanne and Casey
You clapped and brought her back to life.
CHAPTER ONE
Lev Hartwig walked alone down the familiar corridors of W.R.A.I.T.H.
Weapons Research and Informational Technology Headquarters was like a second home—if he counted Ivywild as his first home. Even after two years it was hard for him to think of it that way.
He didn’t fit in at Ivywild. With his frost white skin and his bat-like wings, he looked as different from the Fay as was possible. They all had caramel complexions and long, pointed ears. Then, of course, there was their hair. He’d seen tresses of every fathomable color since coming to Ivywild. His hair would forever be black as blackest night, just like his eyes.
There were plenty of other differences. He’d calculated them all and come to the conclusion that no matter how long he made Ivywild his sanctuary, he could never adopt the Fay culture. It wasn’t as if he had a choice. The Fay weren’t ever likely to accept him as one of their own.
The thought made him grin wryly. It wasn’t worth it to point out to any of them that he was a foot shorter than he should be for a Slaugh his age. He’d always worn his hair long enough to conceal the slight points on the tips of his ears. He also had a peculiar talent that would interest any Fay, but he’d been careful to keep it hidden, always attributing his spot-on premonitions to his Slaugh instincts.
All for the best, he mused as he walked down the empty hallway. Every now and then he caught the scents of the foreign world drifting down from above. He’d never been to the surface, but he could taste the cold grit of the desert and smell the strange, metallic odors of distant machinery. Faint among these was a hint of the human smell that he had grown to like. It reminded him of tan skin warm from the sun and gray eyes that could speak the language of his own soul.
The sound of footsteps echoed down an adjacent corridor. Lev tensed up, his every muscle reacting in lightning quick succession. Even though he was in friendly territory, the threat of ambush kept him on his toes. All thoughts left his mind. For half a heartbeat, he relied solely on instincts of self-preservation.
“Lev?”
The high, breathy voice brought him back into his civilized mind. He caught the scent of petal soap and knew this was no enemy. It was Violet.
The Fay princess rounded the corner and stopped in front of him. She wore a plain dress and an apron of Channeler’s white. Her blonde hair stopped inches above her dress collar. She was pretty, but there was something guarded in her mannerisms. Lev knew that the wispy moonbeam maiden was just a front to hide somebody far more interesting underneath. In this, she had much in common with her mother.
“You’re late,” Violet said. She sounded puzzled rather than impatient. “Mother has been waiting.”
“Does she have anything better to do?” Lev asked.
A hurt look darkened Violet’s eyes.
Lev instantly felt guilty. “I had some things to take care of. The summons came at such short notice—”
“So you should have treated it as urgent,” said a sharp voice.
Othella rolled down the hall in her two-wheeled chair. She’d been restricted to the device ever since suffering injuries while battling to save W.R.A.I.T.H. from intruders. Her limited mobility didn’t curb her pride. She still wore dresses of flowing lace and silk. She still held her chin high and wove strings of pearls into her hair. Aside from the chair, the only difference in Othella was that a new determination blazed from her ice-blue eyes. Lev respected her for that.
“Let’s not dally,” the queen said, eying him from his wingtips to his boots. “There is much to discuss. Leave us, Violet.”
Othella spun her chair nimbly and took off in the opposite direction. Perplexed, Lev followed her. He heard Violet’s shoes clicking on the tile as she vanished around another corner.
W.R.A.I.T.H. was not much different in its design from the labyrinth beneath Ivywild where Lev made his home. It was a beehive of connected corridors and hidden passageways. The one exception was that the labyrinth was always damp and invitingly dark whereas the halls of W.R.A.I.T.H. were always lit up with glaring white light.
Othella was going a direction he’d never been before, though he’d seen her emerge from this wing of the complex many times.
“What’s all this about?” he asked. Did you have a breakthrough with the Ambrosia Project?”
Othella’s hands faltered, causing the wheels of her chair to slow down. “No,” she said.
“Something else?” Lev asked.
The chair stopped. Her knuckles blanched white on the wheels. “Yes. Something very important. I’m afraid we must direct all of our resources away from the Ambrosia Project for now.”
Though he felt surprise, Lev said nothing. The Ambrosia Project was the last bid to save the dying King Theobald, Othella’s husband. Something huge must have happened for her to abandon it.
The wheels on the chair squeaked as Othella started rolling again. She passed several corridors and unmarked doors in silence. With growing curiosity, Lev wondered where she was taking him.
“How is the Flute Keeper?” she asked.
Lev was so startled by the question he didn’t know how to answer right away. Othella never asked about Emma.
“She’s fine, I suppose,” Lev said.
Othella laughed softly. “I see. Let me re-phrase the question: how is she dealing with her training? Is she eager to become a full-fledged member of the clergy?”
When Lev did not answer immediately, Othella laughed again.
“What?” Lev asked.
“Another try, then. How do you feel about it?”
Lev took his time answering, as he nearly always did. It wasn’t that he didn’t have an answer; he just didn’t know how to phrase it without sounding rude. He wasn’t used to discussing his feelings.
“I don’t like the clergy,” he said. “I don’t see why she can’t learn about magic and history without dedicating her life to those fanatics.”
“But at least her future place in Ivywild is guaranteed,” Othella said. “No other Flute Keeper has enjoyed that luxury in quite a long time.”
A chill went down Lev’s spine, causing his wings to twitch. A memory, hazy from neglect, surfaced in his mind. He was lying against a boulder, stiff from battle. His wounds had started to heal but there was a painful gash in one wing. He felt the hot black blood dripping down his back. His cheek felt like it was on fire. The cut on his face was fresh and it didn’t matter that he’d done it to himself. It still hurt like hell. It was worth it. At least he’d have a scar and not a brand.
Swimming in pain he had blacked out, numb to the carnage around him. They were dead. Every last loyal Slaugh had been cut down. He had no allies, no family and no friend in the world.
Somewhere in that blackness he’d heard a voice. He had been drawn to it, sensing an echo of his own pain and loss. He could almost make out her face as his hidden talent revealed a shadowy image. The girl figure wavered in and out of the edges of his perception. He had longed to make her tangible, but he sensed all around her the specter of doom.
Lev had
seen his mother in the grip of visions, but this was the strongest one he’d ever had. It terrorized him and he had awoken in that terror to find a pair of gray eyes gazing into his. He knew instantly that she was the girl in his vision, but his Slaugh instincts had taken over at that point and he’d thought only of protecting himself.
He had wanted to dislike her—vowed to, in fact, from the very beginning. Within their first few hours together she’d proven herself to be mouthy, quick-tempered and oblivious to danger. It would have been easy to write her off as a naïve weakling who needed protection.
She’d long since flipped those notions. He came to see that her fiery attitude was proactive and her willingness to take risks was courageous. Aside from the occasional loan of his wings, she was just fine without him. Once he’d realized that, he’d found it difficult to stay away from her. She was a study in potential. He wanted to hone and polish her just like one of his knives.
He’d begun to suspect that he was the one being molded. She’d brought facets out in him that he didn’t know were there. He cared about things and people and places he never would have given a thought to before. Sentimentality, he sometimes thought, admonishing himself.
The wheels of Othella’s chair gave another squeak as she paused. Lev shook off the weight of his memories and studied their surroundings. There was no door nearby or any connecting hallway.
“Are you tired?” Lev asked. “I can push,” He grabbed the back of the chair.
“That won’t be necessary,” she said. She leaned down and rummaged through a satchel she kept tied to one of the chair’s handles. After a moment, she pulled out a small mirror.
“Stand back,” she instructed.
Lev took a step backwards and watched as she used the mirror to look at the wall behind her. Though the wall appeared blank, Lev caught the reflection of a door handle in the mirror.
“Turn that, would you?” she asked.
Using the mirror, Lev felt for the invisible doorknob. His fingers touched something solid so he gave it a turn. A door appeared out of nowhere.
“A clever deception,” Othella said as she placed the mirror back in her satchel. “You know something about deception, though.”
Lev tensed as he followed her through the door. It vanished behind them, leaving them in darkness.
A blue spark cast glimmers of light around them. Othella was using her source crystal as a torch. She pulled the crystal from her necklace and gave it to Lev to hold above them.
Lev peered into the tunnel ahead. He could tell they were no longer in the main W.R.A.I.T.H. complex. The walls were made of stone. Ancient, earthy smells hung thick in the stale air. He was reminded of the labyrinth until he detected a scent he had never expected to encounter again, especially not here.
“What?” Lev said, bewildered. He took a deep breath to make sure. The scent stung on the roof of his mouth, bringing with it images of leather, wings and black blood. His hand went to his belt where his fingers grasped the handle of a small saber.
“Calm down,” Othella said. “Would I lead you into danger?”
Lev scanned the tunnel again. The rocky walls glowed blue in the light of the crystal. “We’re still in the human world, aren’t we?”
“What better place to hide refugees?” Othella said.
Lev was about to ask what she meant, but the scent grew stronger and he saw a pool of light ahead down the winding tunnel. His boots made rapid thumping noises on the earthen floor as he ran towards it.
“Wait!” Othella called after him. He still had the source crystal and she was left behind in darkness.
Lev halted even though he wanted to keep running. Othella rolled to a stop beside him. She was breathing heavily. “There are some things you should know,” she said. She took out a handkerchief and patted her brow with it. “W.R.A.I.T.H. has gotten involved in things that would get us all banished from Faylinn permanently if the Seelie Court found out.”
Surprised, Lev stared down at her. “What do you mean? I thought dabbling in machines and alchemy were already a severe offense.”
Othella tucked away her handkerchief and said, “Those things are punishable, yes, but treason is worse.”
“Treason?”
“Harboring people from an enemy race. That is treason. You are the only Slaugh that the Seelie Court has ever given refuge to within our lands…at least, the only one they know about.”
Unable to wait for an explanation, Lev dropped the crystal in her lap and spread his wings. He flapped them as hard as he dared to propel himself down the passage.
The pool of light grew brighter. An opening to a vast underground chamber lay ahead. Torches mounted high on the walls gleamed off a lake below. Docks and stone platforms stretched over the lake like a subterranean marina. Makeshift shelters of stone and salvaged wood stood precariously along the lakeshore. It was a hidden village tucked within the depths of the earth.
Gathered among the docks were dozens of Slaugh, all teenagers and younger.
The sight knocked all the strength out of Lev. He folded his wings and fell to his knees on the nearest dock. Crouching, he stared at the ground then glanced up quickly to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him
It was more than he’d ever dreamed. He wasn’t the last Slaugh. There were other living, breathing Slaugh just like him. None of them had brands on their faces. That meant they had somehow escaped Marafae’s purge two years ago.
“Hey, Mister,” said a child’s voice.
Lev felt a tug on his right wing. A Slaugh toddler was staring at him. Her black eyes gleamed with curiosity.
“Yes?” he asked.
She put out her tiny white hand and touched the scar on his face. “Ouchie. Did that hurt?”
Something deep inside Lev reared its head and he had to swallow hard to fight back the sudden warmth fogging his eyes.
“It…it didn’t hurt much,” he said. “Where are you from?”
“Noemi!” shouted a young Slaugh woman. She looked only a little older than Lev and she wore her inky hair in long dreadlocks. She flew over to the little girl.
Lev glanced around quickly. Nobody else had noticed him yet.
“I told you to stay close!” the woman scolded. She grabbed the little girl’s hand and gave it a slap. “What if you’d fallen into the water and drowned?”
“Lookie, Mama!” the little girl shouted. She pointed animatedly at Lev.
Lev hid his face behind his wing.
The woman barely gave him a glance before tugging the little girl away. “Noemi, don’t bother people! You chatter so much that they will think you were fathered by a Pixie!”
Noemi persisted. “But Mama, he has an ouchie!”
At this, the dreadlocked woman took a longer look at Lev. “You okay? Hey, I’ve never seen you here before.”
Lev kept his head ducked behind his wing. “I’m fine.”
The woman watched him with the same questioning gaze as her daughter. “No strangers here. What’s your name?”
Lev lifted his chin to look at her while he tried to think of something to say. His hair fell back, revealing the scar that had drawn Noemi’s interest.
Noemi’s mother clapped a hand to her mouth. Her eyes went wide. “Great ghosts of oblivion!”
Her outburst drew the attention of others. A Slaugh boy who was fishing nearby glimpsed Lev’s face and dropped his spear in the water.
“It’s him!” the boy shouted.
A Slaugh girl with scrolling tattoos on one arm flew to where Lev was standing. Her brow crinkled as she studied him skeptically. “Can’t be,” she said.
“King Hagan!” Somebody shouted.
Every Slaugh in the underground chamber flocked to get a closer look.
Lev tried to hide his face again, but they surrounded him. He felt their prying eyes. Their hope and desperation weighed heavily on him. Had they been waiting all this time? With a shudder he lifted his head and stared all of them down.
“
I’m not your king,” he said loudly.
The crowd fell silent. His voice echoed through the cavern, repeating “I’m not your king” over and over.
The boy who’d been fishing leaned in close to examine Lev’s face. “But you look just like him.”
“Yeah!” said Noemi’s mother. She made a protective sign with her fingers. “You’re either the ghost of Hagan Winterwing or some other specter come from the Twi-Realm to fool us all.”
A chorus of agreeing murmurs came from the crowd.
The girl with tattoos on her arms stared Lev up and down. She was as tall as he was and the muscles beneath her tattoos bulged slightly.
“He’s not King Hagan,” she said decisively. Her eyes narrowed and she looked down her nose at those around her. “You imbeciles. Can’t you see that he’s much shorter than King Hagan? Or have you been among the Fay so long that it has muddled your minds?”
“I take offense to that, Katriel.”
To Lev’s surprise, Lord Mulberry Finbarr elbowed his way out of the crowd. The short Fay man gave the girl called Katriel a friendly smile. It was not returned.
“Seems I’ve yet to pick up on Slaugh humor,” Lord Finbarr said to Lev with a wink.
“Well I’m right, aren’t I?” Katriel asked Lord Finbarr in a pushy voice. She pointed at Lev. “This tadpole is too young to be King Hagan.”
Lev scowled at Katriel. “Mind who you call a tadpole, commoner,” he growled in the Slaugh language. “Where’d you get that tattoo, anyways? Looks like a Goblin did it.”
“Vistkern!” Katriel hissed. It was a very dirty Slaugh insult that caused the dreadlocked lady to clap her hands over little Noemi’s ears.
“Now, now,” Lord Finbarr said. “There’s no need to get nasty. Allow me to make some introductions. As Katriel so delicately pointed out, this young man is not your King Hagan.”
“I knew it!” Katriel said.
“But—” Lord Finbarr started to say.
The Flute Keeper's Promise (The Flute Keeper Saga) Page 1