Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1)

by Bridgett Powers

  Then, one of those arms loosened and left her.

  “No!” She buried her face in his tunic, trembling harder, praying he wouldn’t vanish as the dog had, as she had. Instead, he reached behind him to pull his mantle tight around them both. She looked up into his face, inches from hers. Her heart pounded, no longer from fear.

  “Rest.” His breath fanned the hair that had fallen across her nose. “I won’t let go.”

  “The rocks,” she whispered, staring into his eyes, so close she breathed his breath.

  “It’s over,” he said. “Hours since.”

  “Hours?” she asked. What were they discussing? His scent—cedar, mint leaves, and intensity—filled her lungs, putting all thought to flight.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Jarad asked. “What happened to her in that place?”

  “This will pass,” Jada said. “She needs a moment to adjust. Time moves differently in the land of the faeries.”

  “How long…was I…?”

  “Most of the day and half the night,” Jarad said.

  It had felt like mere moments. Oh, she had questions, but she could focus on nothing save Jarad and the prince. They were here. They were unharmed. They wouldn’t leave her.

  She closed her eyes, relaxing into Prince Brennus’s hold. He settled her atop his crossed legs and brushed aside her hair, keeping both arms around her as if anticipating her need. His heart beat a steadying rhythm, coaxing hers to slow and match it.

  The trembling in her limbs subsided. Safe, she was safe.

  At length, Olivia popped into view. Lyssanne sat up. She must tell them what had befallen her, and her own questions wouldn’t rest. Questions for the faeries and for the prince.

  “Are you well?” Prince Brennus asked, keeping a steadying hand at her back.

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat as she slid to the ground beside him. “I am better now. Thank you, Your Highness, you—”

  “Brennus,” he said.

  She stared at him.

  “We are beyond formality,” he said. “After all these months, after all we’ve seen…” He unfastened his mantle and draped it about her shoulders. “Call me Brennus.”

  “But you’re…I’m—”

  “I would have insisted sooner, but I knew it would cause you discomfort.” He sighed. “You’ve not spoken my name since you discovered my title. Would you do me the honor now?”

  “Yes,” she said, her cheeks heating, “Brennus. How did you find us?”

  “Duncan.”

  “We never said we were going to the mountains,” Jarad said.

  “He guessed your destination, and I…thought you might need assistance. These mountains can be treacherous.”

  Lyssanne nodded, took a deep breath, and told them of the FAE realm.

  “I shall have words for Alvar,” Olivia said, her tone ominous.

  “Good,” Jada said. “He didn’t think much of mine.”

  “You didn’t overstep yourself, I hope?”

  “No, but I didn’t know about his little test.”

  “That,” said Olivia, “was ill-conceived. This was neither the time nor place.”

  “What he said about your queen,” Lyssanne said. “What recent sacrifice has she made, and what has it to do with me?”

  Olivia settled in front of her. “I have much to tell you, but we must speak in private.”

  “We have no secrets,” Lyssanne said. “You may speak freely with my friends present.”

  “Jarad has proven his heart trustworthy, but—”

  “As has His—Brennus,” Lyssanne said. “I trust him.”

  “Very well.” Olivia motioned, and Jada joined her on the ground before them. “This path is yours to walk. You alone can choose who walks it with you.”

  Olivia sketched intricate patterns in the air with her wand. A domed web of green light formed over them, settled, then vanished. The air and sound changed, as if they now sat indoors.

  “All your life, our queen has watched over you from afar,” Olivia said. “When you fell ill, she increased her vigilance. She went to you in disguise and has rarely left your side since.”

  “That isn’t possible,” Lyssanne said. “I was alone for months. I saw no sign of her.”

  “As I said, she was in disguise.”

  Silence unfurled over the entire group.

  Jarad snapped his fingers. “Reina! Is Reina the queen of the faeries?”

  Lyssanne’s heart raced for an instant, then her shoulders slumped. “I only met Reina this summer past. That was weeks after we’d left Cloistervale.”

  “Yeah,” Jarad said, “and people would’ve noticed a unicorn hanging around.”

  “Indeed,” Olivia said. “Which is why our queen took on a form far smaller, more common. She was remarked upon, but attracted no suspicion from the townsfolk.”

  Small, commonplace…Lyssanne gasped. “Serena!”

  “Yes,” Olivia said. “You named her well. Doubtless, part of your mind recognized her from that long-ago night when Serena, Queen of the FAE, summoned a little girl into the wood.”

  Brennus’s arm twitched at Lyssanne’s side. She glanced at him, but he sat rigid.

  “All this time, a dove,” Lyssanne whispered. “Is that the sacrifice Captain Alvar meant?”

  “No,” Olivia said. “She has fallen under a spell of evil intent.”

  “Oh!” Lyssanne sprang to her feet. “We must go to her.”

  “There is no need for haste,” Olivia said. “The spell was cast months ago. The day you left your home, she was trapped in her disguise by the same evil which besets Cloistervale.”

  “The Keeper of the Shadow Mist?” Lyssanne said, sinking back to the ground.

  “Yes,” Jada said. “That witch is getting stronger. Cloistervale is all but finished, and if she isn’t stopped soon—”

  Olivia lifted a hand, and Jada subsided.

  “No wonder Captain Alvar was angry,” Lyssanne said. “It is my fault.”

  “Lyssanne.” Brennus rested a hand on her knee.

  “No,” she said. “If she hadn’t been watching over me, she wouldn’t have been in the village, near the sorceress.” She stared at Olivia. “Why was Serena watching over me?”

  “The King has many ways of protecting His people,” Olivia said. “But be warned, Alvar’s attitude is not uncommon. This shadow is growing across the land, and with Queen Serena confined, many of the FAE question our chances of defeating it.”

  “Whatever the cost,” Lyssanne said, “we shall keep your queen safe.”

  “I can see where young Jarad learned of courage,” Olivia said. “Now that we are assured you are well, other matters require our attendance…and yours.”

  “Yes,” Lyssanne said. Now, more than ever, she must discover the King’s message.

  Olivia waved her wand, and the dome reappeared above them, only to dissolve. The sensation of enclosure vanished with it. They all rose.

  “Before you depart, honorable faeries,” Brennus said, slipping a hand beneath Lyssanne’s elbow. “Might you assist us with the rubble blocking the path to Lyssanne’s campsite?”

  “I can’t return to camp as yet,” said Lyssanne.

  “Of course you can,” he said. “Your faerie friends can get you through the pass in time to rest for most of the night. On the morrow, we shall begin our return to Avery Hall.”

  She shook her head. “I must find the granite tree.”

  “Lyssanne…” His voice gentled. “You’re exhausted. You were nearly killed today.”

  “Please, this is the path the King has set. I must follow His leading.”

  “Indeed,” said Olivia. “We shall clear the pass, should you need it.”

  The faeries shrank to the size of sparks and whisked off.

  “I see there is no dissuading you,” Brennus said. “Let us move swiftly, then. Perchance we’ll find a hollow or cave in which you can shelter overnight.”

  Dismissing another feeble excuse he
might offer for what morning would bring, Brennus slowed again, matching Lyssanne’s pace. Whatever may come, this night at least, he wouldn’t leave her side.

  After an hour’s walk, she had already stumbled twice. She pushed herself onward with feigned cheer, but he wasn’t fooled. Her eyes showed strain, and her mouth formed a tight line. Keeping her gaze fixed on the ground, she trudged beside him, leaving him and Jarad to keep watch for the elusive granite tree.

  Without warning, Jarad halted. Focused on Lyssanne, Brennus plowed into the boy.

  “Oof!” Jarad grunted, then spun to grasp Lyssanne’s arm. “I think that’s it!”

  “What?”

  “The granite tree.” He pointed upward. “It looks like the picture in that book.”

  Jutting at an oblique angle from a ledge partway up the mountainside, a gnarled tree stood silhouetted against the circle of the full moon.

  “Is it truly made of stone as the legend holds?” Lyssanne asked.

  “Tell you in a moment,” Jarad said, swinging his bundle down from his shoulder. He backed to the side of the pass opposite the tree, then took a running leap for the wall of stone. As he reached it, he thrust one foot up to connect with the mountainside. Momentum propelled his body upward. He grasped at the rock for a handhold then began to climb.

  “Jarad, no!” Lyssanne said. “The rocks could fall again.”

  “I won’t be long,” he said then returned his attention to the mountain.

  Brennus stood below him, in case he slipped. The boy was an expert climber, despite growing up near what amounted to forested hills compared with the Lyrynn Mountains. Soon, Jarad reached the ledge. With one hand cupping the narrow ridge, he reached up and backward to touch a lower branch of the tree. In moments, he scuttled back down the mountainside.

  The instant his feet touched the ground, Lyssanne exhaled. “Jarad, if you ever—”

  “That thing’s rock, all right,” Jarad said. “And I don’t mean like wood that’s older than Mr. DeLivre. It’s like, part of the mountain broke off, and that’s what was left.”

  “The granite tree,” Lyssanne said. She looked up toward it, shading her eyes.

  “What now?” Jarad asked. “He said to seek the message beyond the granite tree. There’s snow aplenty up there, but no sea anywhere. How much farther will we have to go?”

  Lyssanne shrugged. “All I know is, we must go past this place. The King will lead us.”

  At an unexpected bend in the pass, Brennus called a halt. Lyssanne and Jarad huddled close, shivering in the increased chill of night.

  Jarad pointed down the short passage ahead, which ended in a cave. “Th-thank the King!”

  Lyssanne nodded, wrapping Brennus’s mantle tighter.

  “I shall enter first,” Brennus said, pushing ahead of Jarad. “Any manner of beast might make its home in these parts.”

  As he drew his sword, Jarad hefted his bow. Providing cover? The boy had learned much. He would make a fine squire, should anyone grant an orphaned peasant the opportunity.

  Brennus eased forward on silent feet, listening for any telltale sound. The wall comprising the mouth of the cave stretched the breadth of the pass. No danger of ambush, then.

  A sudden whoosh from above stopped him cold. Arching his back, he stared upward. Three cascades of snow slid from the rock atop the cave’s mouth. Not snow. A trio of inhumanly tall, pallid figures dropped in front of him.

  Moonlight flashed off long, slender objects in their hands. Brennus swung his sword forward to meet them, welcoming a clash of steel after the events of this accursed day.

  Only empty air met his thrust.

  The creatures backed away, brandishing not weapons but slender, silvery horns that shone translucent in the moonlight, as if sculpted from ice. A sound like no other filled the night, and Brennus’s sword-arm began to jerk, then his legs. The spasms increased, growing rhythmic, fluid, a dance born of compulsion, and no exercise of his iron will could prevent his compliance.

  Brennus concentrated every nerve, every sinew, every vestige of his not inconsequential strength, on controlling his wayward limbs. If only he could bring his blade to bear upon the source of that hypnotic music, all the more chilling for its crystalline, spirited beauty.

  The creatures, too, Brennus might call beautiful, if not for the coercive power of their music. As if painted with the powdery drifts of deepest winter, their bodies flowed when they moved like waves of snow in a steady wind. Gossamer strands, glittering with the facets of falling flakes, hung from their elongated heads to brush tunics the shade of frosted pools.

  “I can’t…stop…wiggling!” Jarad cried.

  Brennus dared not take his eyes from the sinister musicians to determine how Lyssanne fared. His efforts were consumed with fighting the weight of his sword. Its point dragged downward as if drawn by an invisible force, then the blade clattered to the ground. Grinding his teeth, he redoubled his struggle to reclaim mastery of his muscles.

  Then, the music changed. Its high, smooth tones gave way to deep, haunting melancholy. Notes echoed off the mountains, mournful yet retaining a rhythmic swing.

  Released at last from the bondage of the dance, Brennus’s limbs grew leaden, as if the music’s melancholy weighed upon them. He turned, keeping half his focus on the musicians, to assure himself of Lyssanne’s welfare…and Jarad’s.

  She’d slumped against the mountainside, eyes closed, chest heaving. Jarad stood panting nearby, hands on knees, his bow and one arrow at his feet.

  Brennus turned back to face the alabaster minstrels. Keeping his gaze fixed upon them, he eased into a crouch. He reached for his sword, and the music sped into a wild cacophony of trills and breathless quarter notes, thrusting the dance upon him anew.

  A groan from Jarad proved the others fared no better than he. Brennus forced all his will into his hands, raising them through their unwilling movements to show he wouldn’t try for the weapon again. Retreat was sometimes the only victory.

  The music shifted to the lament of a moment before, and he expelled a breath. Still eyeing the musicians, he edged backward toward Lyssanne, snagging Jarad’s arm as he passed. “Stay close,” he whispered. “I cannot discern their intentions.”

  The musicians played on, their ice-blue eyes staring at nothing. Their song seeped into Brennus’s soul. Was this wrenching sadness a window into the musicians’ hearts, or was it his own? The haunting tones roused every disappointment or loss he’d faced, every futile effort he’d made in a lifetime of vain struggle.

  “What shall we do?” Lyssanne whispered. “We can’t go onward. Even if we could pass those…people, Stupasce is a dead end.”

  “We wait,” Brennus said.

  “This can’t be,” Lyssanne said, her voice low. “We’ve followed the riddle. We went beyond the granite tree.”

  “There’s nothing here,” said Jarad.

  “Perhaps I’ve misunderstood the riddle.”

  A shudder passed through Lyssanne. Brennus’s full attention snapped to her. She’d bent her head, eyes closed, hair spilling around her face.

  “Seek out the bird whose bark is the soul of wisdom,” she quoted, “that lion who has flown through every age. The copper wings that unite earth and sky carry words to set the Darkness ablaze. Seek out the King’s message where the sun lays its head in snow and sea. For you and all, one hope remains. Seek it beyond the granite tree.”

  So oft had she recited the riddle in Duncan’s library, even Brennus could have quoted it.

  “Perhaps it isn’t literal or…” Her voice fell. “Or I’ve already missed it.”

  Brennus stiffened. “Now is not the time for—”

  “The head of a dog…” she said, tears glistening in her eyes. “What if the creature with the message was that green faerie dog?” She gasped and brought a fist to her mouth. “What if Captain Alvar’s real test was to see if I’d recognize him?”

  “How could you recognize someone you’d never met?” Brennus a
sked.

  “From the riddle,” she said.

  “But it’s supposed to be a bird,” Jarad said, his voice flat as the low note emanating from the ice-horn of one of the minstrels.

  “It could have been a reference to both of them, the faerie and his dog,” Lyssanne said.

  “Yeah, but neither of them had lion claws,” Jarad said. “Did they?”

  Lyssanne sighed. “I…don’t think so.”

  “Besides, you said that faerie’s wings were purple, not copper.”

  “This creature you seek matters not,” Brennus said. “We must leave this place.”

  “But if I have missed it…” Lyssanne covered her face and sank to the ground.

  “We came all this way for nothing,” Jarad said. “Almost died, for nothing.”

  “I’ve failed again,” Lyssanne whispered. “The King wanted to give me a message, and I can’t even find the creature who carries it.”

  “Maybe that peddler was crazy.” Jarad joined her on the ground. “Probably didn’t even have a vision.”

  Lyssanne slumped, shivering in the growing chill. Her sapphire eyes dulled, as if everything for which she’d so long struggled had lain in her hands, only to dissolve as smoke through her fingers. It was like watching hope die, a feeling Brennus knew well.

  His head snapped up. A spell! He should have seen it! This haunted melody held them just as enslaved as had the dance. The weight of its chains was crushing Lyssanne and Jarad.

  Brennus wasn’t immune, but dark thoughts and hopelessness had been his constant companions all his life. He was the last, the only hope for his people, bearing the burden of a quest that couldn’t be fulfilled. He’d forced those feelings to fuel his resolve.

  To Lyssanne’s spirit, however, such would be death. Already, her skin had taken on the cast of a winter traveller preparing to die in the snow.

  He crouched before her, cupping her chin in his hand. “Lyssanne,” he said, filling his tone with command. “Look at me. Don’t give in. You are the one person I know who never surrenders the fight. Let this not be the first time.”

  She blinked up at him.

  “To relinquish the battle now, after all you’ve survived…” He bit his lip, drawing blood to distract himself from the music’s pull. “Should you die in an accident or by the hand of an enemy, ’twould wound me, but to watch you die by this failing of the spirit—that, I can not, shall not permit.” He clasped her hands in both of his. “We’ll return to Avery Hall. You can make your home there or, failing that, I shall find a place for you. We—”