Call of Brindelier (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 3) (48 page)

“Whoa! Look at that!” Ruben shouts.

Above us at the pyre, a blinding light pulses. Bright as the sun. Warm. Perfect. It washes everything white. It pushes away the shadows and welcomes the Dawn.

“Azi!” Lisabella lets out a joyful gasp. I don’t know how she knows, but she’s right. I can’t imagine who else would be able to do that.

“We have to go, quickly,” Twig says. “Tib, you know where to go. Can you feel it?” I scowl at him, confused at first. Then I close my eyes. He’s right. Out over the ocean, I can sense it. A magic unlike any other I’ve felt. It reminds me of the floating island near the Sorcerers’ keep, but it’s different. Brighter. Inviting.

I run to the helm. Take the wheel. Over my shoulder I call instructions to the golems working the cranks and bellows. The ship shudders and creaks. It teeters and rocks as it jolts forward. I spin the wheel hard away from the cliff and whoop as we list sharply to the side.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Cort shouts as he takes the steps up to the helm two at a time. “Easy, easy. You have to be gentle. Treat her like a lady.”

Beside him, Bryse grunts. “Like a lady, eh?”

“Quiet, oaf,” Cort chuckles and guides my hand on the wheel, and we float higher into the sky. The wind catches the sails and puffs them out and we soar.  The air sacs tied to the masts glow yellow and orange as they lift us higher. Fast. Faster. The ride is smooth. No waves to rock us side to side. No wake to cut through. Just ship and sky. Floating, like a dream. My dream. I forget about the impossible light. I leave The Void far behind. Ahead, the gate of Brindelier calls. As we race toward it, a figure on the forecastle catches my eye.

Margy stands at the rail. Her brown curls dance across her face as she looks into the distance. I follow her gaze to Cerion, growing smaller. Black smoke drifts up into the sky from all over the city. In the early morning light, flames glow at the base of the castle. Despite Lisabella and Donal talking nearby, she looks so alone, gazing across at her kingdom. I give into the overwhelming need to comfort her. I hand the wheel over to Cort and rush to her side. When I reach her, I don’t know what to say or do, so I just put my hand on hers on the rail.

“How can I leave them, Tib?” she chokes. “My people? My kingdom? Look at it burn. Look what they’ve done to it. I can’t turn my back. They need me.”

I scan the city in the distance with my healed eye. See the truth of it. “It does look bad from here, Princess,” I say. “All that smoke. But, look harder. Your light shines. All those people who accepted your gift, they’re still there. Fighting. Helping. Look closer. See Azi’s light by the pyre? She’s still fighting. She’s doing her part.”

Margy moves closer to me. Pulls my arm around her. Keeps looking out to the city. My heart thumps in my chest. I tip my chin to her shoulder and my cheek brushes hers. Her skin is warm and soft and sweet-smelling, like flowers.

“He’s right, Princess,” Twig reassures her from his perch on her other shoulder. “Cerion’s strong. They’ll come through this. But if the Dusk claims Brindelier, all will be lost to darkness. Let them do what they must, so you can do what you must. Trust your people.”

“You sound just like Paba,” Margy sniffles, and her soft voice is carried off by the wind.

“Maybe so,” Twig says. “Your father was a wise man.”

Lisabella joins us and follows the princess’s gaze. Her peace pulses over us. I straighten up, suddenly self-conscious, but Margy keeps a tight hold on my arms around her.

“Donal and I have decided to stay aboard with Cort and Bryse and see that creature safely into holding.” Lisabella looks into the distance at the brilliant light beaming from the pyre platform. Worried. “Cerion is strong. They’ll come through this.” Her words echo Twig’s and bolster the princess, who stands a little straighter. Her eyes flash with pride for her kingdom.

“You’re right,” says Margy, “Cerion will prevail.”

“I’m staying aboard,” Raefe says to me. “I’ve been learning about ships and navigation. They need me here more than Saesa does out there. Tell her not to worry. I’m safe.”

I nod in agreement and chuckle to myself, knowing how Saesa would feel about Raefe tagging along into Brindelier. She’d be more worried about him coming along and being overbearing than staying behind and out of her hair.

The gateway isn’t far away. We soar over the ocean and see it in the distance, still and dim. White stone covered by a patch of grass. Cort’s got a masterful touch at the wheel. The ship seems to know just what he wants and respond. The golems turn cranks and pulleys. The propeller stops. The flames in the air sacs at the masts dim. Valenor’s protection stays around the ship, hiding us from view. We glide up to the edge of the grass and dock so perfectly that there’s barely a seam between the bulwark and the grass.

With a quick farewell to the others, Margy and I climb the few steps to the bulwark. Her foot touches the grass just as the sun breaks over the horizon. The ship vanishes from view the moment we leave it. In its place, a meadow of grass stretches out as far as we can see. It’s just a few paces to the archway, where Rian is talking to a Knight in bright silver plate mail who seems to be guarding the only gateway into the city, set into a glittering stone wall. Beyond it, spires of towers stretch up into the sky. Rooftops glisten with morning dew. What I can see of the city is grand. Everything is highly decorated and interesting to look at. The towers are carved with figures and animals and brightly painted. Even the tiles of the roofs are adorned with intricate designs.

“I sing in the sunshine and the rain. I soothe in the summer. In winter I’m wicked again. What am I?” Rian asks as we near. His back is to us, and he doesn’t seem to notice our approach.

“I know it! I know it!” a strange, high voice answers excitedly. Margy and I exchange an amused glance. The voice doesn’t fit the Knight at all. She puts her hand up to stop me, and we pause to watch the scene.

“Answer, then, Stryker,” a deeper voice booms.

“You answer,” says Stryker. “I’ve already answered six. He’s going to think you’re dimwitted, Gus.”

“Very well,” the Knight shifts his stance and taps his barrel helm. “Sing in the sunshine…” he ponders.

“Oh, come now! It’s wind! Wind! I’m right, aren’t I?” Stryker yelps.

“Yes, that’s right,” Rian replies. In his hands he holds a glowing orb. A closer look with my healed eye reveals the three offerings inside it.

“What if Flitt held it, and I left to fetch her? I promise to come right back,” Rian holds the orb out, and Flitt darts down to accept it.

“Your fancy Knight said she would return, and yet she never did! She sends a fae in her place. Trickery! They are trying to trick us, Gus! Be careful!” Stryker warns. The knight shifts slightly, like he’s carefully considering the matter.

“I still don’t understand why we can’t enter.” Rian says. “You’ve pretty much told us you want the Dawn to be the victors. Why are you holding us back? We have what you asked for. The three offerings, the coin. It’s all here.”

“It is not, and you do not!” Stryker squeaks. “You promised a suitor! They promised a suitor, Gus!”

“Calm down, Stryker,” the knight booms. “We impressed upon the Lady Knight the importance of reaching us before the Dusk does. She is aware of the stakes. If she fails to deliver her promise, we can do nothing. Those are the rules, as you are well aware.”

Beside Rian, Saesa stares off into the distance with a hopeful look. Searching for Azi. Obviously thinking she’ll appear at any moment. She’s the first to see us.

“Tib!” she shouts. “Princess!” She runs the short distance and gives Margy a hasty curtsy before flinging her arms around me. “How are you here? What happened? The vigil!”

Margy winces. Her eyes glisten with tears. She shakes her head.

“It’s behind us,” I explain. “What’s important is that we’re here now, and the Princess is ready to do what’s needed.”

Rian bends a knee to Margy as she approaches the Knight, who looks her over cautiously.

“Her Highness, Princess Margary Plethore, I presume?” he greets her with a much gentler tone than the one he used with Rian. Margy nods.

“Welcome to Brindelier, the Kingdom of Spires,” he says with a bow. “We are aware of your intentions. You have all that is required to enter the gates. I will warn you, Princess, that though the city sleeps, it is not without peril. It would be wise for you to await your champion before you step within.”

Rian groans. Flitt covers her face with her hand and shakes her head. Even Shush lets out an exasperated sigh and a gust of wind that sends the knight’s cloak billowing out behind him.

“Sorry,” the wind fairy mutters.

“I’ll go get her,” Rian says.

“Very well,” says the knight. “With your princess here, we can be assured that your intentions are true. Go, Rian Eldinae. Go with haste.”

Before the knight can even finish, Rian steps into the Half-Realm and vanishes.

Azi

The sensation is indescribable. I feel as though I’m in the Wellspring again, dipped in love and warmth, but this time it’s more intense and complete. I am the Fairy Queen, and she is me, and we are Light and Dawn, Magic and Power. We know everything the light touches, and it is ours to command. The pyre of His Majesty’s Rites fades from beneath us, and as we face the Void, we seem to float over nothing and everything all at once. The sensation is disorienting but not at all disconcerting. I have the Queen and the Light, and they have me. We’re three: Her Majesty, me, and everything else that calls itself the Dawn. Together, we’re safe and secure. My wounds are healed. I am strong and capable.

“Fighting is useless and primitive, Vorhadeniel,” I say in unison with the queen. Her knowledge fills me with centuries worth of memories, of thousands of battles between Dawn and Dusk, most of which had been won by the Dawn. “You know this.”

“Will you never cease this banter, Eljarenae? Does it not bore you as it bores me?” the Void echoes beyond our light. “The battle, the chaos, is my meat and marrow.
You
know
this
.”

“What you wish for can never be,” we reply.

“Who do you deny it for, Elja? I know you wish it as well. A reprieve. A rest, if only for a decade or a century.  Who does it benefit for you to be so stubborn? Your charges? Your champion?” The voice moves closer. Close enough to brush against the light. Close enough to touch, but it doesn’t dare. The light quivers at its nearness. It stretches out slowly, longingly. Parts of it mingle with the Void in ways that only light can with shadow. Casting it, dancing within it, drawn to it and repelled by it all at once. It’s beautiful, almost playful, until I realize the feeling behind it and understanding dawns on me. These two, the Dawn and the Dusk, are siblings. Brother and sister who share a rivalry as strong as their love for one another. She tries to placate him, but he won’t hear her.

“Do not,” we say. “Do not act under the guise that you have any concern at all for the Dawn, Vorhadeniel. What you call stubbornness, we call vigilance. We know what it is you wish. This time is no different from any other, and we will not stand down.”

“You have seen my might, Sister. You have been witness to it. This time, I have been patient. I have grown strong. My numbers far surpass your own. Stand aside, and give us what was rightfully claimed by my agents, or you shall see a war to begin the Dusk of all time,” the darkness laps toward us, threatening us. It takes the form of a great dragon, drawing all shadows to it, until its impressive wings stretch out from its back and it lifts from its feet.

Around myself and the queen, the light draws closer, the same way the shadows did with the Void. As we grow, we take a different form than the dragon: that of a winged centaur. We raise our hand and Mercy’s light glows bright from it, driving the dark creature back.

“We will never yield to you, Vorhadeniel,” we cry. Beneath our hooves, the rocky hillside crumbles as we drive the dragon back. “You cannot be trusted with the Great Source. You would claim it and waste it. You would destroy life and light and that which is pure and good. You would never accept the balance.”

I slash Mercy down and strike the dragon’s snout, and it howls and opens its mouth and spews a stream of shadow and darkness at us like a jet of pitch. It strikes us in the chest and pushes us back, then it flees over the hillside toward the city.

We give chase, pounding over the hillside, taking care not to trample the tiny people who dive away from our enormous hooves as we thunder after the dragon. It doesn’t take flight. Instead it crashes past the palace and levels the forest park outside of its walls.

As we chase after the Void, I try hard not to be distracted by the state of the burning palace or the crushed and fallen trees where Rian and I once lay in secret in the grass, dreaming of our future together. Instead I focus on the beast that clambers away down the streets, paying no heed to the crowds of people fleeing. We pass the Elite complex and my breath catches in my throat. Half of its roofs are charred and melted. A thin line of smoke wafts up from my burnt bedroom, where an orange and red flag of Redemption flaps from my smashed and half-burnt window frame.

“No,” I whisper, and my anguish takes the form of a gray stain that slashes across our pure white tabard.

“Our champion is strong,” we shout ahead to the fleeing dragon. “She will not falter!” Our words strengthen me and push me faster. Our hooves pound the cobbles as we gain ground. The Void streaks past the Academy, which is still pristine despite the ruins surrounding it. The dragon leaps from the sea wall and soars out over the ocean and we keep chase. The light of our wings flashes in the corners of my eyes as they propel us forward. I let my anger and sorrow fuel me, but the Queen’s voice echoes in my mind.

“Bar the shadow from your heart. Let go of what you have seen. Do not allow darkness to stake its claim within your pure soul, Azaeli. Fight it. If you cannot, we must release you.”

It’s easier than I would have expected to follow the Queen’s instructions and push away the hurt caused by the things I have seen. The result is a hollow feeling which fills quickly with light, much the same way a hole dug at the seashore quickly fills with water. The euphoria is similar to what I feel when I use Mentalism, and that gives me an idea. As the dragon pumps its wings faster over the surface of the ocean, we imagine golden ropes to hold it. With the help of the Queen and the Light, we make them chains, broad and thick. They stream away from us as we gallop across the air, and they catch the dragon around its neck and legs. It plunges into the sea, screaming and thrashing, and our small triumph causes the light around us to beam brighter.

“Kaso Viro,” we call, and the serpent is there in a flash, streaking yellow and turquoise through the water. He strikes at the Void once, twice, three times, weakening and paralyzing it. Our golden chains constrict it as it sinks beneath the water’s surface.

“To all the ends of these lands,” we command, “we banish thee, darkness and shadow, Dusk and Void. We are the victors of this battle. Disperse, and wander in the night to dwell on the fatuity of your reckless and wanton depravity.”

“
Strike it down, Azaeli
,” the Queen’s voice in my head commands, and we plunge fearlessly into the water with Mercy raised and ready to thrust.

The moment my blade meets its black mark in the depths of the water, a scream unlike any I’ve heard screeches through the water around me. Fury, defeat, anger, rage, defiance, disbelief, darkness, shadow, hatred, death. All of these sensations barrage me at once as the shadows give under Mercy’s attack and burst into thousands of shards of darkness. The dragon is defeated, the Void and its agents cast away with one mighty blow. The feeling of triumph overwhelms me as Kaso Viro pushes me to the surface and I gasp for breath. The light holds and protects me. It soothes and congratulates me. The elation of victory courses through me. The battle is won, for now. I close my eyes and drift to sleep, lulled by the ebb and flow of the ocean waves.

I wake some time later in the grass, utterly alone. Warm beams of midday sunshine splash across my face through the cover of the forest canopy. I test my arms and legs. I call Mercy to me and feel its hilt heavy in my palm. When I sit up, I find myself face-to-face with the veil. Beyond it, the queen smiles warmly at me.

“You fought well, my Champion of Light,” she says gently. “And I and the Dawn thank you. But do not be quick to celebrate. There is still much to be done. Though the Dusk is dispersed, it is not defeated. Even now, its agents are waking and working to find each other. As you have seen, it shall not ever be ended. Not completely.”

“I understand,” I say, but my voice comes out only as a whisper. The grief of seeing and feeling her separate from myself overwhelms me. “Why did you split away from me?” I ask. “Why can’t we be together as we were?”

“Though we are grateful for your aid,” she explains, “we each have our own role to play. Eljarenae cannot leave the Light, Dear Azaeli. She is bound to it, as Kaso Viro is bound to the waters and Valenor is bound to Dreaming and Vorhadeniel is bound to shadow and darkness.”

“I’m confused,” I say, pushing myself to my feet. I reach out to her, and the soft, airy veil brushes my fingertips. “I thought you were Eljarenae.”

“Eljarenae is the Muse of Light. She is an ally of the Dawn, as you and I are. She is a Muse of the Six, as Valenor and Kaso Viro are. Siblings of Vorahdeniel. Bound to their realms,” she explains. “She and I are as separate as you and I are. Only in times of dire defense can we meld together.”

“But if you’re fae and she’s light, why did you need me at all? Together, you have so much power.”

“We have no dominion on the human plane, Azaeli. Certainly we can visit. We can grace these places, but your connection to Cerion and your loyalty to that land is what gave us the power to walk among humans, just as the Dusk had its own allies to allow them to do the same.”

“You said Muse of the Six. Does that mean there are two more?” I ask.

“Yes. In due time, you shall learn of them. For now, you must carry out your vow to the Princess. Open the gates of Brindelier for the Dawn. Your task is nearly through.” She looks past me and smiles again, her eyes glinting with happiness. “Do not be disheartened. You are not alone.” She gestures behind me.

“Azi!” Rian calls as he runs toward me through the golden grass. “Azi!”

“Rian!” I take off toward him and we crash into each other’s arms. The strength of his body against mine and his rough beard on my cheek brings tears to my eyes. All of the loneliness I felt being separated from the Light disappears in his embrace. His breath is warm and welcome as he tips my face toward his and kisses me hungrily. After a long, lingering moment, he holds me away and looks into my eyes.

“I was terrified,” he says. “I couldn’t find you anywhere. I thought…” his voice trails off and his fingertips crackle softly, tickling my cheeks.

“I was…” I say breathlessly and curl my fingers into his auburn hair.  “I can’t even explain it to you. Not now. Maybe she can,” I say and turn to look behind me, but the veil is gone.

“You can show me,” he whispers and brushes his lips across my cheek, “later. First, Brindelier. They’re waiting.”

He takes my hand and pulls me into the Half-Realm, and we tumble fast onto the grassy lawn of the gateway. 

“Well, well,” a squeaky voice rings out as soon as we stumble forward. “Took you long enough, Lady Too-Many-Titles!”

“Azi!” Flitt yelps and darts to kiss my cheek. I stroke her tiny arm gently with my fingertip and she shivers and giggles and settles into place at my pauldron. The others waiting echo my name, and I’m surprised and relieved to hear Margy’s voice among them.

“Princess,” I stride to her and dip to one knee, and she offers me her hand.

“What happened?” she asks. “Is Cerion safe?”

“I’ll show you,” I whisper, eager to share what I know with all of them. They gather around me as I cup my hands in front of me. Even the knight and his fairy companion lean over to get a view. I gaze into my palms and concentrate on the battle between Dusk and Dawn and my part in it, and the scenes play out across the gold-flecked palms of my gloves. Some things are difficult to show. They don’t come through from my thoughts very clearly. My run through Cerion lingers too long on the burning palace and the Redemption flag in my window, and Rian grips my shoulder reassuringly. When the battle is through, Margy looks away to the West, toward Cerion.

“We can rebuild, Princess,” Rian says. “And quickly, with the aid of magic. Don’t be discouraged. It can be restored in a matter of days, with the right provisions. It will be expensive, but it can be done.”

“It did seem that our side had the upper hand,” I offer reassuringly. “Especially since that dragon took much of the Dusk’s forces away.”

Margy nods slowly. With a glance at Tib, she takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders, and turns to the Knight. “I’m ready. We have all that is required, now.”

Rian hands the coin to the Knight, who accepts it with a nod and tucks it into a dusty pouch at his belt. He then turns to the princess and salutes.

“I suppose there’s nothing more to say than this,” the knight says with a bob of his head. “Welcome to Brindelier, Princess Margary Plethore,” he steps quickly aside, and the gates swing open.

“Welcome to you as well, Twiggish of Kythshire,” Stryker peeps from his hood.

“Lady Knight,” the knight nods at me as I escort Margary through the gates.

“Flitter, welcome!” Stryker says.

“Mentor Rian,” the Knight says.

“And welcome, Shushing,” says Stryker.

We pass through the gate to face another, larger gate of gilt filigree. Beyond it, the city of Brindelier shines with brilliant splashes of color that seem to adorn every surface. I gaze into the city, dazzled by the artistry of the carved stone walls and statues depicting everything from fish to birds and dancers to soldiers.

“Ho, wait a moment there, you two,” the knight says, and I turn to see him straighten dubiously as he looks Tib and Saesa over. “You are unpaired.”

“Oh, what now?” Rian murmurs under his breath.

“Unpaired?” Tib scowls. “What do you mean?”