Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2) (26 page)

“It isn’t real,”
the girl whispers,
“whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real. Wake up.”

I spin around to see where the voice is coming from, but there’s no one else here. Outside my window, dawn is breaking. I can see the sun peeking up over the horizon of thick green leaves.

Trees tower over me. Their trunks are broader than my shoulders and so close together that there’s barely room for the light to shimmer through. I’m not in my room anymore. I’m in the forest where I started. Through the narrow cracks between the tree trunks, I can see the meadow. I’m still in the Dreaming.

As the morning light grows brighter, it pushes my memories of Jacek away. The pain in my head and shoulder fades, too. Instead I think of Rian. I fill my heart with him. I focus on him as I push my way between the trees. I need to get back to him, to the inn where my family is waiting, and away from this strange, confusing place.

I finally reach the meadow and take in its beauty. The newly-risen sun splashes across it, causing the morning dew to sparkle brightly in a vast array of colors. It reminds me of someone else. Someone dear to me.

“Flitt!” I call out, “Flitt, where are you?”

“Azaeli, wake up.”

The voice isn’t hers, but someone else’s. The whispering girl.

“How?” I shout. “How? Help me!”

“Just…open your eyes.”

Azi

Open your eyes.
It seems like such a simple suggestion, and so obvious. Why hasn’t it occurred to me until now? I saw myself fade from my mother’s arms in the inn. I felt the shift to this realm. I’m so confused. Is it another of the Dreamwalker’s tricks? Is he trying to make me believe I’m not really here, that I’m actually asleep somewhere? That all I have to do to escape this strange, confusing place is simply wake up?

I look down at my hands, which are familiar and unfamiliar. Thin golden lines swirl across them, glittering and shining in the sunlight. I turn them over and rub my fingers together. They feel real. I feel real. When I fell, I was in pain. I felt my bones crack. I reach up now and press my head gingerly where it hit the stone. The pain is gone.

I close my eyes. Somewhere in the distance, someone is calling my name. I don’t know the voice. It sounds like a boy. A young Jacek, perhaps. I block it out and try to wrap my mind around this new concept that maybe I really am asleep, and all I need to do is wake up.
Wake up,
I tell myself,
wake up
.

Slowly everything around me shifts, and with it comes the feeling that I’m fading out and in again. This time, I’m lying in the grass with the sunlight warm on my face. Someone is beside me, holding my hand. Close by I’m aware of familiar sounds: Dancing, singing, laughter. The air is thick with magic. It seeps into me and settles over me with such a subtle power that my breath shudders from the shock of it. When it touches me, I know in an instant that I’m in Kythshire.

“I think,” the one holding my hand announces quietly to the Ring, “I think she’s waking.” It’s the girl, the whisperer. “Sir Azaeli?”

The dancing stops abruptly. Everything is quiet. My eyelids are so heavy, but I force them open. The first thing I see are green eyes framed by a shock of red curls. The girl grins and squeezes my hand.

“She is! She’s awake! Oh, I’m so relieved.” She pats my shoulder through my armor. My armor. I have it back. My free hand searches in the grass.

“My sword?” I feel for the hilt at my back, but it isn’t there. I start to panic.

“It’s here,” the girl says. She reaches to the grass above my head and pulls my weapon close. The look in her eyes as she holds it is that of awe. With a careful reverence, she lays it beside me and places my hand on the hilt. When she looks at me and smiles, her eyes are glistening with tears.

“What’s your name?” I ask her. I feel like I’ve seen her before. She has a vague familiarity, like a face in passing who I’ve seen many times but never really met.

“Saesa.” She straightens a little and gives me a respectful nod.

“Saesa, you saved me,” I say. “I heard your whispers. I thought I was really there, but your words, they made me see another side.”

“Good thing you sent me for that crystal, Crocus,” Shush’s voice comes like a breath of wind from somewhere close by. He zooms to Saesa’s side. I smile at the familiar sight of him as he pushes his goggles to his forehead. “It really worked,” he whispers, pointing to the orange-colored crystal that bobs over my chest.

“It was foreseen, and so it was,” Crocus declares abstractly. All around us the fairies murmur their agreement. Shush leans over me and blows softly on the crystal, and it fades and disappears.

“What was that?” I ask him.

“Just a little something to open up the channels,” he replies, always whispering. “Avenside crystal. Always does the trick. Of course, this little one did most of the important work.” He points to Saesa. “Couldn’t have reached you without her.”

“Nessa taught me that words have power,” Saesa beams. “I guess she was right.”

“Nessa?” I prop myself up on my elbows and she helps me to sit up in the grass.

“She’s my mother. Well, foster mother. She takes care of me and my brothers and sisters.” She sits back on her heels again and slides my sword to her. While she talks, she buckles the harness around my shoulders. “There were six of us until Tib came. Now I guess that makes seven. She teaches us things.” She helps me to my feet and clasps my hilt to the harness.

“Thank you,” I say absently. While Saesa fetches my gloves I look across to Crocus, who’s watching the scene with interest. As always, a gentle sort of curiosity plays in her smile and her bright eyes.

“We recognize Azaeli Hammerfel, The Temperate, Pure of Heart, Reviver of Iren, The Great Protector, Cerion’s Ambassador to Kythshire, Champion of Kythshire, and we are glad to see you restored.”

“That last one is new, isn’t it?” I ask Crocus. Saesa fastens my cloak to the golden clasps at my shoulder and adjusts its draping as Crocus and I talk.

“It is,” Crocus nods slowly.

“I didn’t earn it.” I shake my head. “I’ve been foolish, and quick to anger. I’ve allowed myself to be manipulated. I’ve…” A pang of guilt stabs my heart. I pull off a glove and look at my hand. The golden swirls have faded, but they’re still visible. “I’ve used magic, Crocus. Selfishly.” I hold my hand up to show her. Around the edge of the Ring the fairies lean in, wide-eyed and curious. They whisper among themselves. Crocus beckons me closer and takes my hand.

“Mentalism,” she says quietly. She looks up at me curiously. “You learned this in the Dreaming?” I nod apologetically. Her mention of the Dreaming brings a hint of a thought to my mind. A memory of promises made. One in particular, a strong one that I never ought to have bound myself to. I shake my head and push the thoughts away.

“Do not be ashamed,” she says brightly, “this magic is rare, but it isn’t ours to steward. Kythshire has little dominion over it. It comes from another place.”

“Sunteri?” I ask. It seems the next likely source.

“Not Sunteri. We shall tell you another time. Right now, your path lies ahead of you. You must return to the Dreaming and seek those who ventured to rescue you.”

“Those who ventured…” I turn around and scan the circle, and my heart starts to race. Rian. Flitt. They’re not here. How did I miss that before now? “You mean they went, they’re there? They’re in the Dreaming? How? Why would you send them there if you had that crystal?”

“The crystal was a failsafe, and Shush retrieved it much more quickly than we anticipated.” Crocus says regretfully. “We had to ensure your return, one way or another.”

“So you put my friends in danger?” I ask frantically.

“We did what we knew we must,” she says. “We did not wish to lose you.”

“I have to find them before nightfall, Crocus!” I cry. “You don’t understand what they’re facing. How can I get to them? Please!” She knits her brow together painfully as I squeeze her hand in my panic, and I drop it right away. “Sorry.”

“I’ll take her,” a voice calls out from across the Ring. It takes me a moment to place it. “I have to go, anyway, to make a delivery.”

“We recognize Tufar Woodlish Icsanthius Gent, Steward of Princess Margary, Keeper of the Castle.” Crocus beams.

“Twig,” I whisper and turn to watch him float toward us with his dirt-encrusted toes brushing the grass. A loop of woven ribbons and pearls is slung over his shoulder, and upon his arrival those outside of the circle erupt into cheers.

“Margy’s Twig?” Saesa asks behind me.

“How do you know the Princess?” I ask her.

“We’re friends,” she grins. “Tib and I. We brought her bracelet here for Twig, see?” She points to the loop that Twig is holding. He nods to her.

“And I thank you for it,” he says. “Now the Princess will have a new tether to replace the one which was lost. I’d like to thank Tib as well, for setting me free from that box. Is he here?”

“No, he went with the others,” Saesa sighs and looks away. It’s obvious she’s worried for him, whoever he is.

“Are you certain you’re well enough?” Crocus asks Twig cautiously. She reaches out for him and he hugs her. A soft green glow settles around them both, and Crocus seems to grow a little. Her colors brighten. “All right, all right, you’ve made your point,” she giggles. “Don’t overdo it. Very well, then, Twig, you may take Azaeli into the Dreaming with you.”

“What happened, Twig? Who’s Tib?” With the mention of his tether, my hand automatically goes to the pouch where I keep Flitt’s. It’s empty.

“Well, the long and the short of it,” he explains, “is that I tried to visit with the princess and got trapped in a box for a few days until Tib found me and let me out. My tether was destroyed, so I have to bring her another one through the Dreaming.”

“Oh, that’s horrible, Twig! How frightening.”

“It was at the time, but I’m fine now,” he shrugs. “Just concerned for the princess. I haven’t seen her in several days,” Twig looks off toward the east, toward Cerion. His brow is knit with worry.

“Yes, the Dreamwalker is growing bolder by the day. Right now we are warded against him, but we fear his reach may soon extend into Kythshire if he isn’t stopped.” Crocus’s sweet voice is filled with warning.

“Do you mean to tell me,” I turn to him, “that it was the Dreamwalker who held you prisoner?” I remember a moment in the Dreaming, when Jacek showed me how he compelled the maid to bring him the object of power. “It was your tether,” I whisper. “That’s what he wanted.”

“Yes, it was he.” Twig watches me closely. “You know the why of it.”

“What have you seen, Azaeli?” Crocus asks. All around us the fairies lean closer, encroaching on the ring. Scree rumbles a little and they give a little space before I go on.

I tell them what Jacek showed me, all of the people he touched and manipulated. I tell them about the boy I saw, being left by his parents. How he controlled me and clouded my mind and manipulated me. Finally, I tell them about my vows.

“I promised that I would speak for the fallen Sunteri fae. They’re so weak, so hopeless and miserable. They live in fear every moment. They need their place, they need to be restored,” I tell Crocus.

“We already made a bargain to that end,” Crocus says. “Mevyn was to return you to us, and then we would aid in the restoration of their Wellspring. But he failed. You returned to us on your own. He had no part in it.”

“Mevyn.” I think back. “He was at the Wellspring when Jacek touched it as a baby. He tried to stop him, and when he couldn’t, he sent them away.”

“We know this,” Crocus says. “Oren has shown us. Mevyn has stumbled along his path more than once, and now he has failed in his agreement with us. He has failed to redeem himself.”

“You can see what the Oren has seen?” Saesa interjects, and ducks her head right away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Crocus looks to me. For a moment I’m not sure why, but then I realize it was my turn for a question.

“It’s all right,” I say. I’m curious about what Saesa asked, too.

“Yes.” Crocus answers. She closes her eyes slowly. “The Guardians watch our borders, gathering information. Each of them is connected to us, to Scree, through the stones and soil and earth. They send their thoughts to us, that we may be aware of incoming threats.

“This way we are always aware of our security, or lack thereof. For example just now, on the Western border coastline, Aren, the Golden Coast embodied, the Sand Keeper, Esteemed Guardian of the Western border, Watcher of the West, Spirit of the Tides, sees a ship passing by. We can see it clearly in our mind’s eye. It poses no threat. It respects our sea borders.” She looks at me and smiles. “What was your second promise, Azaeli?”

Shame and self-loathing settle in the pit of my stomach like a heavy stone. I don’t want to tell them, but I know I have to. I’ve betrayed them with this promise. I’ve forsaken myself. When I tell them, I know they’ll never see me the same way again. How can I remain their Champion, their Ambassador, when I’ve promised to defile the one thing they hold sacred?