Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2) (20 page)

Kythshire. I imagine Flitt’s grotto, with its sparkling clear water and bubbling waterfall. I picture Rian standing knee-deep in the pool and chuckle. When that doesn’t work, I think of the Ring, with its perfect circle of whitecap mushrooms and the gathering of fairies who dance and discuss. I whisper the names of places as I think of them in my effort to get there.

“The Ring. The Grotto. The Crag. The field, the Wel—”

“Shh!”

I’m startled to my senses as the shushing drags out to a low hiss. My eyes fly open and search the meadow and the trees, but I see no one. Not even a shadow. At my feet, the flowers rustle and the ground starts to shift. I stumble backwards as a lump of earth stands on two feet and a curious creature looks up at me.

“Not too smart, is she? But she is pretty, yes. I’ve seen her before, but no, no, she isn’t the same one. This one’s got more to her. Come down here, girl.” I sink to my knees in the tall grass and come to his eye level. We look each other over carefully, cautiously. His face is flat and dirt-covered, with a wide mouth and big, amber eyes. He wears a shell-like chest plate, and on his back lush fronds of grass and bright orange flowers grow from a hump that reminds me of a turtle’s shell. In fact, he could be a turtle, were it not for his human-like hands and feet and his size. If the two of us were both standing, he’d come to my waist.

“What is her name?” he asks me.

“Azi,” I answer, a little confused.

“Oh, no,” he says. “Her full name. With titles. She has titles, I can tell.”

“Azaeli Hammerfel,” I start, and he waits for the rest. I don’t like spouting off my titles. It makes me feel conceited. But he asked for them, and somehow I feel obliged. “Sir Azaeli Hammerfel, Knight of His Majesty’s Elite,” I take a deep breath and try to remember all of the titles Crocus bestowed on me, “The Temperate, Pure of Heart, Reviver of Iren, The Great Protector, and Cerion’s Ambassador to Kythshire.” I let out a long breath and press my fingertips to my cheeks, which I’m sure are as red as they are hot. “And, you are?”

“Stubs.” He grins and bows.

“Sorry? Just Stubs?” I blink in disbelief.

“She doesn’t need to rub it in,” he says, sounding dejected. “Yes, just Stubs. I’m only a field knoll, after all. Nothing special. No grand titles, like she has.” He peers up at me and looks me over carefully.

“Hm, something else about her,” he says. “She bears the Mage seal. Apprentice?” He points to my forehead with a stubby finger, where Rian touched me at the moment I agreed to become his student.

“No,” I shake my head. “Not really.” Becoming Rian’s student was a quick and necessary decision, and I never pursued it. Mages are only allowed one student at a time. In choosing me as his, he was able to share secrets with me that were necessary for the protection of Kythshire against the Sorcerers. It also prevented Viala from coercing him into her plots to perhaps begin secretly teaching magic to Prince Eron. That seems like a lifetime ago, though. I had forgotten all about it since. Rian knows I have no interest in learning magic. I have a healthy respect for the Arcane arts and prefer to leave them to those more suited to learn.

“She’s been accepted, though. Claimed by a teacher. Why not pursue it?” He blinks at me slowly.

“I have no interest. I’m a knight. A swordswoman.”

“A swordswoman, no sword,” he reaches up and scratches at his nose.

“No. I left my sword behind, and my armor.” I try not to make a face as little clumps of soil tumble from his nostrils.

“Behind where? Wasn’t very fitting of a swordswoman.”

“Where I fell asleep. In the tavern, with my family. Please, do you know how I can leave here? I need to get to—”

“Kythshire. Yes, I heard her shouting all about it. The Grotto. The Crag. Shouting all over the meadow. Even almost said the one thing she oughtn’t, didn’t she?”

He’s right, I did. I almost mentioned the Wellspring aloud. I was careless.

“I thought I was alone,” I scowl.

“Never. She is never alone here,” he warns. The grass on his humpback sways as he shakes his head. “She’d be wise to remember that.”

“Please,” I say desperately. “Can you tell me how to find my way?”

“Same way to find anything,” he says with a shrug. “By looking. Sometimes we must look in places we don’t want to, hm? Use methods we don’t like?” He scratches at his soil-covered head and squints as he pushes his finger in and digs out a grub, which he holds up between two fingers. “No biting!” he scolds, and tosses it to the ground before turning his slow-blinking attention back to me.

“I’m not sure I follow,” I say as I watch the grub burrow into the earth near the toe of my boot.

“Magic,” he says. “I can teach it to her. Then she can find her way, hm? Yes?”

“How will learning spells help me leave here?”

“Magic,” he corrects me. “Not spells. It’s different. Everything here is made of it. Even me. Learn it, and she will find her way.” He leans closer to me and clasps his hands, his amber eyes hopeful as he anticipates my response.

“Why?” I ask. His eagerness only makes me more wary. I’m not a Mage. Not here, not anywhere. I’m a knight. I wield steel, not magic. “Why do you want to help me?”

“Because we share a common enemy, we do,” he says, and lowers his voice. “He walks in the shadows. Tampers. Frightens. He thinks all of this belongs to him, and it doesn’t. It doesn’t. It is ours and theirs. It is to be shared but he snuffs it with darkness and makes us hide away in the night. He reaches across into the waking and plucks his strings and makes them dance, and their dreams become dark and twisted, and so does their waking. And we can do nothing. Then, she comes with her titles. She who can walk in both realms and in-between. She who is loved and brings love. She will need her sword and her magic together to stop him. He’s her enemy, too.” He looks up at me with his deep amber eyes. “The Dreamwalker.”

Azi

Stubs proves a strange but welcome guide in this new world that I feel so trapped in. He leads me through the tall grasses and shows me where to step in order to avoid hurting anything or disturbing creatures that are best left undisturbed. With the sunlight warm on my skin, the place doesn’t seem nearly as daunting or threatening. In fact, it’s very pleasant here. Almost as much as Kythshire. Almost enough to make me want to stay and forget about all the things that seemed so important to me only yesterday. I recognize the magic of this place, though. It’s meant to do just that: to make me forget, to make me want to stay and never leave. I remember Iren’s words to me only days ago:
Memory is a most precious commodity. It empowers us. It makes us who we are.
I can’t forget, or I will lose myself to this place.

“Here now, will she sit?” Stubs gestures to a soft, grassy spot in the middle of the meadow and I gather my skirts and have a seat.

“All right,” I say, still a little wary of his lessons. “How do we start?”

“First, we practice See What I See. She will do to me, yes? Look through my eyes. Go on.”

“What? How? I can’t—”

“No saying “can’t!’ Do it. Imagine it. What I must see. Go on,” he taps his cheek just below his eye with a grubby finger. “Look.”

It takes me a while of staring at him before I get it. First, I see myself reflected in his great amber eyes, looking back at him with my blue ones. When I lean in closer and peer a little deeper, the space between us starts to shift. My eyes start to tingle pleasantly, and the sensation spreads through me slowly as my perspective changes. It’s very disorienting at first when I look up at myself through Stubs’s eyes. The meadow is more golden from his perspective, larger and far more beautiful. I take myself in as well, this woman before me. The red of my gown is so bright that it’s jarring, and my blonde hair seems to glow in the sunlight. With the sight of myself comes emotions that aren’t my own: curiosity, admiration.

Part of me wants to look away. It’s too imposing, too personal to be inside of someone else’s view this way. As I withdraw, I become more aware of my own body and the sensation of pure delight and power that charges through me. Magic. My toes and fingertips are pleasantly numb, my head is oddly, wonderfully light.

I dip my attention to Stubs again and the euphoria rises in me as I look back at my own face once more. My lips are plump and red, my eyes such bright blue that they rival the sky. My skin shimmers soft and bronze in the sun. Elegant golden lines curl slowly from my chest onto my neck. They remind me of the Mark, but these aren’t wicked. They shine with light, and are elegant as filigree on the frame of a fine painting. They enhance me.

“Good, good!” Stubs says. “She’s got it! Now, try another.”

“Another?” I ask a little vacantly as I slide my perspective back to my own eyes again. The lovely sensation of magic flowing through me fades slowly, and with it comes a desire to fill myself up again with it. Restraint, I often heard Uncle telling Rian, is the most important aspect of training in magic. Now I understand why. This feeling is so delicious that the need for it could easily consume me. “I don’t understand, Stubs. How is this going to help me? I need to get to Kythshire and I don’t see—”

“Knowing.” Stubs raises a finger to his temple and taps it, causing a cascade of soil to tumble down his flat cheek. “Knowing this way, what others see, it is a boon. She will understand in time. Now, this time, look deeper. See my past. Hm?”

He blinks up at me and I’m incredibly tempted to do it again, but I stop myself and shake my head.

“I won’t, Stubs,” I say firmly. “I’m not a Mage. Besides, I have questions. Things here don’t make sense. If I’m truly here, why were my armor and sword left behind? And my necklace, too? Why did I see another of myself when I arrived? Was she really me? Why can’t I travel as I have in the past, to all of the places I know of in Kythshire? How do I find my way? Sitting here isn’t accomplishing anything.”

“Look and see. I will show her. Look. Just once more. Come.” He takes my hand and gazes up at me. “Look, Lady Knight.” My curiosity in the face of all these questions wins out over my attempt at restraint. Against my better judgment, I want to feel that rush again. I look at him and see myself, and then he widens his eyes and I tumble away, far away, into Stubs’ memories of a time long past.

I’m alone in the same meadow, but my viewpoint is much lower as though I’m peering up through a hole dug in the earth. The night is falling quickly, and somehow I know that with the darkness come other things. Wicked things. My view is obscured by tall grass, but I don’t dare move. Robes rustle through the grass nearby and three figures approach: a woman, a man, and a younger man perhaps a little older than I am.

“See now, my child, how lovely? You will be safe here. This place will protect you,” the woman pauses and takes the younger man gently by the shoulders. In the waning sunlight, I can see the Mark on the woman’s face, curling up from her jaw to her brow. She wipes a tear from his eye and he looks away.

“I don’t care. I don’t like it. I want to stay with you, Mother!” he cries.

“Enough, Jacek. You know we’re only doing what’s best for you,” the man with them says sternly. His cold, distant demeanor is a stark contrast to the woman’s. The Mark on him is so prominent that only a hint of his yellowish skin peeks out between the blue-black lines. Instead of covering them up, he wears a rich, sleeveless red robe that ties loosely at his waist and displays them proudly, like a trophy.

“You know what we’ve had to do to bring you here,” the older man says. “This place will keep you safe. You are to remain until we return for you. You can do what you like until then. Anything you like. Do you understand? Stop sniveling. You should be grateful.” His tone tells me he’s the sort of man who doesn’t tolerate being challenged.

“Yes, Father,” Jacek looks down shamefully. As the sunlight fades and the meadow goes gray, the woman holds him close and sings a sweet song to him. I’ve heard it before. Mya used to sing it to Rian and me sometimes. We called it the Sunteri song.

“Dineae. Say goodbye,” the man says impatiently.

“Just a moment longer, Corbin. Perhaps we can stay through the night?” Dinaea presses her face into Jacek’s hair and the boy looks straight at me. His eyes are dark, his hair long and black. He and the other two are vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place them.

“We’ve gone over this. Don’t be weak. We can’t linger. Come.” Corbin takes her by the arm and lifts her to her feet. Her eyes lock with Jacek’s as she and Corbin fade away. When they’re gone, Jacek sinks to his knees in the grass and weeps.

The scene before me shimmers and I’m in a memory of the meadow again. This time it’s night, but I have a sense that quite a lot of time has passed. Years, perhaps. A figure moves among the tall grass, dark and ominous. His robes billow out behind him like a storm cloud. He flicks a finger and several nearby lumps of earth rumble and rise and shake themselves off. They’re creatures, like Stubs, and it’s clear that they’re under this man’s control. He turns toward me and his dark eyes flash with mischief as the corner of his mouth curves into a smile. Again he gestures and I feel Stubs’ limbs move under his direction.

What follows sends chills through me. I can hardly bear to watch as Jacek makes his commands and the hatred that surges through Stubs is so strong I can taste it. All around me, the other field knolls bare their teeth and charge each other, gnashing and snarling and sending tufts of grass flying. As Stubs joins in the fray, Jacek’s laughter echoes over the meadow. There’s no way for them to fight it. Pain surges through me as one of them yanks a handful of grass from my back. I whirl and lash out and bite off its stubby finger and it screams in agony.

This is wrong, I think to myself as I pommel my opponent with my knobby fist. We are peaceful. We are kind. This is not our way. The thought brings clarity with it. I push away the hate. I fight it. I find my heart and cling to it until my fist is my own again, but it’s too late. My opponent, my friend, it’s too late for him. Jacek’s laughter creeps over all of us like a dense fog, but it can’t touch me now. I’m too aware. He has no power over me. I should fight him, try to stop him, for my brothers’ sake, but I don’t. I’m too confused, too frightened by this young man and the power he wields over us. I sink into the earth and bury myself. I grieve for my brothers and wait the evil to pass.

With a gasp, I’m jolted back to the present. I fall back into grass and gaze up into the deep blue sky. My limbs feel so light that I could be floating, and my head is spinning, tingling pleasantly. Despite what I just saw, I’m smiling. The sensation of magic surging through me is too wonderful to ignore. As the feeling slowly fades, I’m assaulted by the information I’ve learned. It horrifies and angers me, and it makes me want to do more, to wield more magic and push the uneasiness away. I want to fill myself up with that power again, so I don’t have to think about anything else.

“Lady Knight?” Stubs’s cautious whisper brings me to my senses. My thoughts are of Dineae, Corbin, and Jacek. I remember now.

“The Sorcerers.” I close my eyes. “The mother and father. They were at the keep. The battle in Kythshire. They were the first ones we encountered.” I remember Iren blowing flecks of golden dust at Dinaea and Corbin on the balcony. I remember watching them thrown against the keep wall, seeing them slide lifelessly to the rubble below. “They didn’t survive.” I prop myself up on one elbow and look at Stubs. “That first memory. How long ago was it?”

“In her time, years,” he answers. “Our time moves differently. Days are slower.” He watches me and I start to slide into his great amber eyes again. This time, I ache to go there. My skin prickles with the need to feel that floating again. I want to soar in my own skin, to lose myself. Instead I stop myself and look away.

“So this man, Jacek, he has been here for years?”

“Such a long time. Every day he grows stronger, and every night he creeps and brings his fear. He is king here now. He rules the Dreaming. We are all too terrorized by him to stop him. All of us who are left.”

“But, why? To what end?”

“It started as boredom. Loneliness, we imagine. We were his playthings. It was his way of keeping occupied. But as he grew in power and discovered how much he could own, he didn’t stop. As the son of two Sorcerers, is she surprised by this? He has no regard for our world, or any world. He walks in dreams and reaches through to the Waking and tweaks and pulls and manipulates. He touches things that oughtn’t be touched. He makes his plans. He holds his sway. He grows, and none here are brave enough to stand against him. He is no longer Jacek now. All of us call him something else.”

“Dreamwalker,” I whisper. The sensation of magic coursing through me is fading, and creeping over me in its place are depression and exhaustion. My arms and legs are heavy. I can barely keep my eyes open.

“Yes,” Stubs sighs. “Dreamwalker. I know she is tired now. It is to be expected. But there is one last thing she must learn, and she is such a fast learner, hm?” He smiles apologetically and blinks his wide eyes, and despite my weariness, I agree once more and gaze into them.

“Good,” he says, sounding rather tired himself. “This time,” his voice is distant and coaxing, “she will do what Jacek did. She will move me herself. Make me do something, I won’t say what, so she will believe it was her own doing. Think about it and do it, Lady Knight.”

I don’t know if it’s my exhaustion or my repulsion to the idea of controlling someone else that keeps me from picking this bit of magic up as quickly. It takes me a long time to achieve the effect Stubs is so keen on teaching me. He doesn’t want me to sink into him this time, as I do when I see through his eyes. I have to do it from the outside, so that I can remain within myself.

The sun slowly climbs into noon and then starts to dip lower. It’s hours before I finally make his arm raise up. Magic surges through me, prickling my skin, charging me with its power. I push harder as it courses over me. I imagine strings that flow from my fingertips to his arms and legs. I make him walk, I make him run until he’s breathless and stumbling over his own feet. It’s difficult for me to stop, as filled with elation as I am, but when he blurs past me I see the fear in his eyes, the pleading, and I let go.

He stumbles and rolls to a stop in the grass before me, panting. The tantalizing sensation caused by magic drains away, and in its place I’m filled with an awful sense of dread and exhaustion. My first instinct is to do more, more magic to fill me up again, but I fight the urge. Stubs’ gasping for breath on the grass before me frightens me. I did this to him, and he had no way of stopping me. The notion makes me sick to my stomach. Why did I agree to such a thing? This isn’t me. I’m a swordswoman, not a Mage. Not a Sorcerer.

“Stubs, I’m so sorry.” I crawl to him and stroke a frond of grass from his face as he shakes his head at me and brushes my hand away.

“She did what I taught her,” he says breathlessly. “She learned it well.” His eyes drift closed as he continues. “Now she must rest, while she is safe in the light. Tonight, she will see into the Dreamwalker. She will learn things. She will stop him.”

“What? No, Stubs…” I shake his arm gently. “How can I manage to see inside him without him suspecting? What good will it do? He’s a Sorcerer, isn’t he? Wouldn’t it be better to learn how to defend myself against him? What you’ve taught me isn’t enough to defeat him. I need my sword at least. Tell me how to arm myself.”