Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1)

by Bridgett Powers

  “No,” she whispered. “You’re right. The King never gave up on me.” Her voice grew stronger. “I shan’t give up on Him.” She pushed herself up, but slipped back to the ground. Sighing, she closed her eyes. “The King’s joy is my strength,” she said. “His Light is my hope, my safekeeping.” She drew in a deep breath. “Shine in this darkness. Light our path.”

  She flared—purer, whiter than the creatures whose music held their hearts in thrall.

  The music ceased.

  The minstrels froze, hands dripping, tunics soaked. Lyssanne’s Light had melted their instruments of ice. They fell to their knees, hands outstretched. “Forgive us!”

  “We beg your clemency!” said the one in the center, perhaps their leader. “We are no enemies of Light.” He looked up at Lyssanne, his cerulean eyes beseeching. “We were only protecting what is ours to guard.”

  “What, a mere cave?” asked Brennus. “You enslave travelers who but seek shelter?”

  As though Brennus’s presence did not exist for him, the chief minstrel’s eyes remained fixed on Lyssanne. “You may pass,” he said. “The cave will lead you where you seek to go.”

  Still on their knees, all three creatures scooted to one side of the pass. Heads bowed, they gestured toward the cave.

  She arose and stared down at the creatures as she might at wayward children. “How do I know some further trap doesn’t await me?” she asked, her voice strong.

  “Light favors you, protects you. We are no enemy of His or yours. We dare never provoke His displeasure.”

  Lyssanne nodded. She glanced at Jarad, then at Brennus, before turning toward the cave. She skirted around their discarded weapons with an uncharacteristic air of confidence.

  “Lyssanne,” Brennus said, “we know not what lurks in that cave.”

  “We need a torch,” was her only reply.

  “That which you need awaits within,” the chief minstrel said. “Look to the cave mouth.”

  She strode forward as if on a quest. What could Brennus or Jarad do, but retrieve their weapons and follow? Brennus found a torch just inside the cave. He struck it to life with flint from his belt pouch. At the edge of its glow, a trough resolved from the gloom.

  “Hold,” Brennus said, sheathing his sword. Sweeping the torch before him, he walked to the near end of the trench then touched the flame to its surface. Fire sprang up within the trough, a line of light racing all along the cave’s walls.

  Jarad whistled. “No wonder they were guarding this place.”

  Heaps of shimmering treasure littered the chamber. Gold and silver caught the flicker of the flames. Gems of every hue sparkled around them.

  “What were they? Those creatures?” Jarad asked.

  “The fabled Snow Men of Lyrynn, I suspect,” Brennus said. Another legend proven fact.

  “This isn’t all they guarded,” Lyssanne said, moving past him toward the far end of the cave, toward an alcove half-concealed in darkness. “This is the way.” She approached the stone stair just visible within, sparing not a glance at the wealth surrounding her.

  “Then, take hold of my arm,” Brennus said. “Jarad, stay close.” He hefted his torch, and they ascended the winding stair into the belly of the mountain.

  23

  The Messenger

  Fighting weariness, Lyssanne ascended the steep but smooth stairs alongside Brennus, his steadiness a comfort.

  Such an unexpected gift, his arrival. He’d saved them all in front of that cave. ’Twas as if the voice of the King had spoken through his words, piercing the music’s hold over her spirit.

  “Are you in need of rest?” he asked.

  Lyssanne sighed. She could have slept where she stood, but urgency had again seized her heart. “I thank you, but we must press on. The exit can’t be much farther.”

  “Very well,” he said, wrapping his arm about her waist, “but a fall here could be fatal.”

  They climbed until, at last, a stir of night air tickled a lock of hair across her brow, and dim light fell upon the stairs. She sniffed. Was that…salt?

  A soft susurration of sound met her ears as she emerged onto a wide, flat expanse of rock. The night sky seemed to meet the mountaintop, bringing the stars near enough to touch.

  She released the folds of Brennus’s mantle and let it hang loose. How could it be so warm here? The salty scent intensified in the mild, moist air. And that sound! Like cloth sliding across a floor, it flowed toward them, then ebbed away—beautiful, lulling.

  “Impossible,” Brennus whispered.

  “What?” Lyssanne asked.

  “Wait here.” With torch held high, he strode to the edge of the plateau.

  Jarad joined him and gasped. “Is that…the ocean? Lady Lyssanne, you must see this!”

  She hesitated, heeding Brennus’s counsel. “Is it safe?”

  The prince extended a hand behind him. She walked forward and took it. He brought her alongside him, his eyes remaining fixed on the view.

  Water? Moonlight glinted off wave upon wave far below. Never had she dreamt so much water could occupy one place. Oh, she’d read of the great seas, and Mr. DeLivre had tried to describe them, but nothing had prepared her for this beauty, this vastness.

  “Where’s the snow?” Jarad asked. “It was all over the mountaintops. I can’t even see the pass, and there’s no ocean near the Lyrynn Mountains.”

  “The Ocean of Time knows no shore,” said a smooth, musical voice. “You are neither in nor out of the Seven Lands.”

  Brennus tightened his hand around Lyssanne’s. A warning? They turned; and, thrusting the torch before him, he stepped in front of her.

  The mound of rock through which they’d emerged had vanished, leaving behind nothing but smooth plateau. Where the cave had been, stood a creature as tall as Lyssanne’s cottage.

  “Welcome, seekers of truth,” the creature said in the firm, female voice that had so surprised them. “It is long since your kind found the Way to my domain.”

  Enormous wings furled around the creature’s birdlike body, gleaming copper in the moonlight. She tilted her head, that of a dog, her large floppy ears and shiny black nose twitching. Catlike paws supported her weight. The claws of a lion.

  “Who are you?” Brennus demanded. “What is this place?”

  “Your mind brims over with questions, Prince of Navvar,” said the creature, “but it was not for you I opened the Way. For a man with so many faces, you are frozen, changed by nothing, moved by nothing…or so you would have yourself believe.”

  Lyssanne could practically hear Brennus’s teeth grinding.

  The creature turned her great, canine head toward Lyssanne. “I am Seianelle, and this is my home. I am the one men call simurgh, the only one of my kind.”

  Lyssanne’s heart skittered. The King’s messenger, at last! She curtseyed.

  “You need show me no such obeisance, dear one. I am a mere creation of the King, not of His family as are you.”

  “Mr. Fescue was right,” Jarad whispered against Lyssanne’s ear.

  “Seanan Fescue?” Seianelle asked. “A wise human, if ever there was such.”

  Jarad gasped.

  Seianelle laughed. “These canine ears aren’t so large for nothing. Fear not, young one. Your curiosity is flattering. The King is a great artist, is He not? With such a sense of humor!”

  “Then,” Jarad said, “can you…can you fly?”

  “You have not journeyed so far and braved dangers merely to ask of my abilities.”

  “No, my lady,” Lyssanne said.

  “Address me by name, for ’tis you who are higher in the King’s service.” Seianelle settled upon her haunches, her fanned tail spreading like an elaborate chair-back. “You found me, Hlyssaunna, because you seek the answer to no question.”

  “But Mr. Fescue said nobody could find your home unless they’d already been there,” Jarad said. He turned to Lyssanne. “I’ve never been here. Have you?”

  “Not even in d
reams.”

  “Hlyssaunna has come not for self, but in obedience to the King’s command—a place, such obedience, in which she has oft dwelt.”

  “Oh…” Jarad whispered.

  Brennus stood rigid, a silent sentinel, as if ready to defend at the slightest provocation.

  “Hear me, Hlyssaunna, Light’s Grace,” Seianelle said. “You are well named. For, like the Great Grace, which Light bestowed upon all men, you are a gift granted of the King of All Lands, undeserved, to your people.” Her wings fluffed. “All who accept you, and accept whence you came, will be spared from disaster. Those who do not will suffer of their own choosing.”

  “Is that what the King wished you to tell me?” Lyssanne asked. “The meaning of my name, to remind me of His gift?”

  “No. By your obedience to His call, I may speak for you the prophecy that shaped your past and destined your future. Heed me well. It can be spoken only once.”

  Lyssanne shivered. “I, I understand.”

  Seianelle nodded, her great head casting a shadow over them all, then began to recite.

  “Child of Light

  Of Heaven born,

  Trapped within

  Her mortal form,

  Through Mist of doubt

  And Shadow rise,

  And bring release

  To a land that cries.

  One hidden gift

  To dispel the night,

  Destroy the Darkness

  And bring forth the Light.

  No common pow’r

  This strength she wields,

  When to the King

  Her weakness yields.”

  Lyssanne stood frozen, uncertain what to say, what to think. She concentrated on committing Seianelle’s words to memory.

  “It is both prediction and call,” Seianelle said. “It foretells the one with the ability to destroy the shadow which threatens the lands of men, and perhaps its master. More importantly, it is a call for the Child of Light to rise up and do so.”

  “Who is the—”

  “That, Hlyssaunna, is your message. It alone I am commanded, I am permitted, to speak.”

  Lyssanne sighed, more riddles, but nodded.

  Seianelle threw back her head and uttered the strangest birdsong Lyssanne had ever heard—between a trill, a growl, and a roar, yet somehow musical.

  “While the Way is prepared for your return to the lands of men,” she said, “this truth I will grant you, Prince. One shadow cannot guide you through another. To accept a mask over your eyes, expecting it will lead you out of darkness, is folly. Only Light can lead you home.”

  “I…thank you for your counsel, Wise One,” Brennus said.

  As he spoke, an echo of sound reached Lyssanne’s ears from afar. It rose up, as if from the waters below or from within the cliff. The sound, the music, strengthened until it grew as loud as Lord Duncan’s hired minstrels. Then, in the midst of a golden flash of flame that wasn’t flame, stood the shining musicians who’d guarded the cave.

  Lyssanne clutched Brennus’s arm.

  Like fluid marble, the creatures bowed, first to Seianelle, then to the humans.

  “The Neigeans will play you a portal back to your companions,” Seianelle said.

  “Neigeans?” Lyssanne asked, her heart trembling.

  “My guardians. They live in snow-covered regions wherever my gateway is found. They descend from their icy mountaintops only when travelers approach the Way.” Seianelle rose to her full height. “You came to me on the last night they shall ever inhabit the mountains of Lyrynn. The Way of the Stupasce cave is no more.”

  The Neigeans lifted new instruments to their lips—these of a fiery golden metal flickering with life. Once again, their music created in Lyssanne the need to move. However, this was no enslavement of limb, but a bursting of uncontainable joy. Flames swirled from the mouths of the horns and formed an upright ring, tall as Seianelle.

  “Pass through the ring of song,” Seianelle said. “Pass from my realm to yours.” When none of them moved, she laughed. “Understandable. You have suffered much to reach me. Fear not, Hlyssaunna. The power of your King is at work in me, as in you.”

  “Thank you, Seianelle,” Lyssanne said. “May the King’s favor forever shine upon you.” She stepped forward, but a hand upon her shoulder stopped her.

  “Allow me.” Brennus drew his sword and stepped through the circle of heatless fire.

  Liquid air oozed over Brennus. He pushed through the center of the ring of flame as if through a taut membrane that was more presence than substance. One step stretched into a lifetime. His feet sank into the soft grass of Lyrya. Reina stood mere paces away. He’d taken but three strides, when Jarad’s voice filled his ears.

  “That’s it? That’s the message we’ve been waiting for all this time? A poem!”

  As Brennus turned, Lyssanne emerged from a distortion of air no more distinct than a heat haze. “It wasn’t a poem,” she said, voice heavy from the lateness of a night bloated with tension. “It was a prophecy. The King has often given such predictions in rhyme.”

  “Lyssanne,” Reina said, “come, sit. You are paler than my coat or Serena’s feathers.”

  “Oh, Reina!” Lyssanne rushed forward and flung her arms about the unicorn’s neck.

  “What has happened, child?”

  “I, I shall tell you, but first…” She turned and approached the dove nestled in the grass nearby. She curtseyed as low as she once had to Brennus. “Your Majesty.”

  The dove cooed.

  “I’m sorry,” Lyssanne whispered. “I’ve brought you such misery, such disaster.”

  Serena ruffled her feathers and shook her beak from side to side.

  “We shall keep you safe, and…” Lyssanne rubbed a hand across her eyes. “If we can, find a way to undo this spell.”

  “Ah,” Reina said, “you have discovered the truth.”

  “You knew?” Lyssanne spun to face her. “You knew and never told me?”

  “’Twas Serena who called me to you,” Reina said. “She commanded my silence.”

  Lyssanne sighed as if resigned to yet another secret kept from her by one she’d trusted.

  And she had come to trust Brennus.

  It was a testament to that trust or to the effects of the simurgh’s and faeries’ tidings, that not one of Brennus’s companions inquired after the whereabouts of his horse.

  While Lyssanne and Jarad recounted the day’s events, Brennus cleared the ash from their previous campfire. He said little, except to greet the unicorn and, before setting off to find wood, pay formal homage to the be-feathered queen of faeries.

  What did Serena know? What had she seen during their travels together, that interminable summer? He’d been careful to transform far from Reina’s sight, but a bird could observe, concealed, where a unicorn could not.

  Upon his return to camp, he kept his back to the dove, busying himself with the fire.

  “Who do you think it’s about?” Jarad asked. “Who’s that Child of Light?”

  Lyssanne leaned against Reina’s side, folding and unfolding a corner of Brennus’s mantle as if the answers lay hidden there. “Perhaps…Queen Serena? Faeries are heavenly creatures, in their way. The spell trapped her in the mortal form of a dove.” She stared at the cloth. “But why did the King go to all that trouble to give me such a message, and in so cryptic a fashion?”

  “Yeah,” Jarad said. “Olivia already told us about her. I mean, of course the queen of faeries is somebody who could stop evil. So, why all the mystery?”

  “Perhaps there is something He wishes me to do, some clue hidden in the verses.” Lyssanne sighed. “Am I meant to somehow break the spell?”

  “This is dark magic, Lyssanne,” Reina said. “Likely, only its caster can lift it.”

  “Then, has she any hope?”

  “There is always hope,” Reina said.

  “I’d thought,” Lyssanne said, “the message would reveal the King’s wishes for my destinat
ion and purpose.” She rested her head against Reina’s flank. “Or, failing that, what reason the sorceress had for wishing me harm.”

  “What if the prophecy’s about you?” Jarad said. “All that Child of Light stuff. You know, the thing you do with light, like with those snow people?”

  Lyssanne laughed, shaking her head. “I’m not trapped in my mortal form. My only form is mortal. Besides, I’m but the daughter of a blacksmith, not born of Heaven.”

  Brennus stiffened as Jarad walked over to the fire and tossed in a stick he’d bared of bark. So, this was the prophecy that prompted Venefica to target Lyssanne before her birth, before the Light-Wielder could pose a threat. Still, how could she have known of it? And why suspect Lyssanne as that child?

  “What are your thoughts, Reina?” Lyssanne asked.

  “The message was for you. Such tidings are meant only for the judgment of the hearer.” She flicked her tail at a fly, sending it buzzing toward Brennus. “I was not among your party.”

  “What d’you think it means?” Jarad asked, glancing at Brennus.

  “It all sounds like nonsense,” Brennus said. The more Lyssanne learned of the hidden matters surrounding her life, the more danger found her.

  “But you don’t even believe in the King of All Lands, do you?” Jarad snapped.

  “Jarad,” Lyssanne said. “If you ask for an opinion, you must respect the answer.”

  “Sorry,” Jarad said. “I think I’m just tired.”

  “We are all weary,” Brennus said. “It is past time we take our rest.”

  “What did Seianelle mean,” Jarad asked. “All that talk of shadows and masks?”

  Brennus stared into the fire. The simurgh’s words had played upon his mind since they’d stepped through the ring of flame. “More nonsense,” he said then clapped the boy on the shoulder. “See to your blankets. I shall keep watch for what remains of the night.” He strode to his pile of gear and retrieved a dagger and whetstone, needing something to occupy his hands, if not his thoughts.