Call of Kythshire (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 1) (33 page)

“Believe it and do it!” She says.

“But I’ve never been there before, Flitt. I don’t know what it’s like. I can’t imagine it, I’ve only seen it from a distance.” I think of the ominous storm cloud over the massive mountain and the jagged lightning striking the black stone, and I shiver. Suddenly I realize what I’ve really gotten myself into. “So high,” I whisper, feeling the color drain from my face. “I don’t know if I can do this...” I sink against the trunk of a nearby tree. My heart races, my chest aches.

“Hey.” Flitt hovers in front of my face. Her eyes are bright yellow as they look into mine, and her prisms glitter and flash across my vision cheerfully. “I believe you can. Come find me.” Her light brightens and I turn away from it, closing my eyes. When I open them again, she’s gone.

“Flitt?” I cry, spinning around. The forest is quiet, still sleeping as the sun rises. Deep down I know where she’s gone: to the Crag. I steel myself and take a deep breath and close my eyes. I think of her dancing light and her bright colors. “Flitt,” I whisper, and the ground falls away beneath my feet.

Immediately I’m struck by a chill wind that rustles my bangs and whips my braid into my face. I turn my back to the gusts and crouch down, grasping the frigid stone with my already numb fingertips. “Gloves,” I murmur, and my hands are covered at once. I stay there, eyes squeezed shut, heart racing. I don’t need to look. I know exactly where I am.

“You did it!” Flitt’s voice is barely audible as the wind whisks it away. I feel a tug on my braid and I know she’s holding on for dear life. My belt is heavy now, weighing me down. I reach to the pouch that holds the stone to find it bursting open, the bandages spilling out.

“Is it growing?” I shout over the roar of the wind.

“Well, it has to be able to fit, doesn’t it?” She shouts into my ear. “The face is somewhere around here, come on. Azi, you can’t do this with your eyes closed.” She’s right, I know, but I can’t open them, either. The thought of the height turns my knees to jelly, and my hands tremble so violently I fear I’ll lose my tight grip on the jagged rocks of the Crag.

“I can’t.” I cry. “You do it. You can have the wish!”

“You can,” she clings to my neck. “What are you afraid of? In Kythshire you can float, you can fly. You won’t fall. Just look, it’s so beautiful. You can see the ocean and the prairies. You can see The Haigh. You can see the Keep and the treasure field, and the wheat, and the edge of the forest where your mum is and—oh!” She clings tighter, and her sudden silence distracts me enough that I allow my eyes to open for a very narrow peek.

At first I can’t tell what’s startled her, but when I follow her gaze I see it just above us: the profile of an enormous face carved into the black rock. It juts out over the edge of the crag like a great, round head. The early morning sun casts a cool yellow glow over its burnished surface and I can easily make out the nose that is as long as I am tall, the mouth open as though it’s crying out, and the single eye in the center of the forehead. I push myself to my feet and back away, following the line of the neck to where it meets the mountain. It isn’t just a face. It’s a shoulder, an arm, a torso. Legs. Feet.

“What is this, Flitt?” I whisper.

“Iren,” she says with reverence. “The Guardian of the North. Spirit of the Crag.” As she speaks, my belt pouch tears open and I catch the stone quickly as it slips out. It’s as large as my hand now, and the inky energy seeps from it into the face. “It wants to go back where it belongs,” she says, tugging my collar.

“It seems like it could get there on its own,” I hold it out, feeling its strong pull.

“You need to put it in yourself,” she calls over a gust of wind. “With your own hands. So it knows you’re giving it back.” My eyes trace the contour of the great head, fixed to the mountain only by a narrow strip of stony neck. It could crack and break while I’m out there. I could fall down the mountain. I imagine my bones snapping and cracking as I tumble down the rocky slope. Then I remember Flitt’s words. Even if I fall, I can float, I can fly.

I stare at the nose where I know I need to be. I steel myself and think hard about it and I’m there, sprawled across the mouth, my feet firmly planted on the neck. I try hard not to think about how high we are but I can’t help but look as the great glint of gold catches my eye at the base of the Keep. It’s so far down that I can cover the entire keep with the tip of my little finger.  In the crook of my arm, the stone wriggles insistently, pulling me toward the precipice of Iren’s forehead. Beyond that, I know, is a drop that could surely kill me.

As I creep up across the stone face, I’m vaguely aware of the sky darkening above us. Flitt hovers over the eye, bright against the dark backdrop of a storm cloud that has just begun to form over the keep. A clap of thunder echoes across the mountaintop and as I cling to the bridge of the nose, a streak of lightning bursts forth from the cloud, striking the keep. Even from this distance I can see the cyclone that forms at the mouth of the balcony. I watch it twist and coil and drop away to the rocky bank, which immediately erupts with fairies and golems and flashes of light as the battle rages. The stone tugs at me again, now as large as my forearm. The eye is a great hole carved into the stone, its iris hollow and empty. Its edges have been chipped and broken where the jewel must have been dug out at some point. I slide the stone up until it slips neatly into the iris with a satisfying click.

Inky energy swirls out around it, clinging to the eyelid, spreading across the forehead, inching toward me. The stone beneath my knees rumbles violently, and a deafening cracking sound forces me to let go of my hold and clap my hands over my ears. The face tilts upward and I start to panic as I feel myself slipping. I tighten my grip on the nose with my knees and flatten myself against the rock, but I’m still sliding down. Then something catches me, grips me, pulls me away, tightens around me, and I’m encased in stone with only a small crevice to look through. I watch the ground below streak past in a dizzying blur.

“Flitt!” I scream, clawing at my stone prison, and she appears before me, beaming brightly.

“Don’t be scared,” she giggles. “You did it! You woke up Iren!”

My stomach jumps into my throat as I feel myself lifted up. When I’m face to face with the great eye, I realize it isn’t a prison at all, but a giant stone hand holding me its grip. I step up onto one of the fingers as I catch a glimpse of the Oculus peering in at me. The stone is as large as my torso in its socket now, and the black energy swirling around it creates a depth that mesmerizes me. Looking into the eye is like looking into everything that ever was and ever will be. It’s terrifying and fascinating all at once, and as I watch the golden flecks swirl within it, Iren pulls memories from me.

I see myself, a young woman caught by the wrist, being dragged by a horse in the center of the playing pitch while crowds of people toss brightly colored rings at me. I’m strolling in the palace gardens with Margy and Sarabel. I’m watching Rian’s trials, clutching Mouli’s arm, stealing glances at Eron and Viala. I’m sitting in the sunshine at my father’s forge, watching my mother scrub my chain mail. I’m laughing with Rian through the circle hatch. I’m defending Flitt from Ember, I’m standing before Crocus and Scree, and I’m dancing with the fairies, hugging my mother at the edge of the forest, waking in Rian’s arms, surrounded by glowing orbs and gifts among the trees.

The images come faster now, quick as flashes: soaring over the ocean on Elliot’s back, drained white fairies, filthy streets of Zhaghen, six Sorcerers at the keep, Rian, Shush and Ember stripping Viala, my father leading the king’s guard, myself kneeling before Eron and picking up the amulet, swinging my sword at the skeletons, choosing to walk away from the treasure in the wheat field, being dangled over the sea wall by Dacva and his group, holding Flitt’s diamond to the light, kissing Rian in my ball gown, reaching up to slide the Oculus into place, steadying my cup as Bryse slams his fist on the dining table. There is no rhyme or reason to any of it. No order, just memories one after another as the gold flecks spin and swirl and dance within the enormous eye.

As fascinated as I am to see myself from the outside this way, it’s also unsettling. The Oculus is using this information to judge me, and without my permission it feels like an invasion. I tear my gaze away from the powerful hold of the eye, and as soon as I do, the memories fade. With my attention averted, I take in the creature’s face, which is like a beautifully chiseled stone sculpture.

Its features are neither male nor female but handsome and beautiful all at once. Its lips stretch into a slight smile as it watches me take it in. Its shoulders are strong but slender, its stone torso draped with folds of carved fabric that cascades to its knees. A rumble of thunder at the keep catches its attention, and when it turns to look in that direction, stony locks of curls slide over its shoulder with a fluid movement.

“Azaeli,” it turns back to me again. “Despite your great fear, you have restored me from blindness. After nearly two hundred years of sleep, you have returned that which was most precious and woken me. You are noble, true of heart, generous and brave. You give these gifts of yourself freely.”

A blinding flash of lightning cracks at the keep, followed by a clap of thunder that shakes the mountain. I try to peer past Iren, but my view is blocked by the mass of its shoulder as it continues to speak. “I am the Shadow Crag embodied. The Mountain Keeper. Esteemed Guardian of the Northern Border. I will crush all those who threaten the peace of Kythshire. Fight beside me, or remain safe upon the mountain. What do you choose?”

“Fight,” I say without hesitation.

“As I knew you would. Then, be prepared.” Iren’s words fall over me like a spell. My body tingles from head to toe as a rush of power sweeps over me. I step back into the safety of Iren’s palm and look down at myself.

“Oh, Azi!” Flitt cries with wonder as she watches the transformation. My climbing clothes have been replaced with a perfectly fitted set of deep blue armor. Describing it as plate mail wouldn’t be accurate. It’s smooth and shimmers like stone or glazed clay, though it carries little weight as it hugs my body. When I move, it gives me more freedom than chain or leather. Even the helm on my head is light and free, allowing me a full range of vision while safely covering most of my face. To finish the look, a cloak of pure white drapes my back. I sense something else about it as well, another sort of protection.

“Is it warded against magic?” I call up to Iren as we make our way down the mountain to the keep.

“To a degree, if you are not foolhardy,” Iren’s voice booms, rustling the leaves of the trees far below as we pass. Iren holds me close into its chest as we near the keep, and I climb up to watch the approach. The guardian’s sheer size is breathtaking. Even from this distance I can tell that the keep will be as small as a doll’s house to the Guardian of the North.

As we reach the base of the mountain, Iren stoops low and scoops up a heaping handful of the gold piled there. It tips its head back and opens its mouth to pour the treasure in, and I duck for shelter as coins and goblets and chains tumble and bounce and roll back to the ground. Iren lets out a long sigh of contentment at the snack and then we’re off again into the fray.

The claps of thunder and torrent of cyclones are not as frequent this morning as they had been when Elliot first brought me through the battlefield, but Ember’s stone fairies and golems are out in full force to face them anyway. Iren pounds up the slope causing the ground to quake, and we are met with cheers and dancing and cries of disbelief as we pass by those gathered to fight. Inside the safety of Iren’s hand I turn to Flitt, whose excited glow is sending bright prisms across the stony enclosure.

“It’s not safe for you here,” I say to her. “You should go back to the grotto.”

“Are you for real?” She asks, wide-eyed. “I want to see what happens! You and I, we’re friends now. Azi and Flitt, together!” She grins at me. “Let’s go get Shush.”

“And Ember?” I grin.

“I guess so.” She shrugs and wrinkles her nose and I laugh. A burst of lightning flashes just outside, crackling right above us with a deafening strike. Iren roars in fury and closes us securely in its fist as a shower of black stone rains down from its head.

“Sorcerers of Zhaghen, I address you. Cease this assault!” I clap my hands over my ears at the thunderous voice. “I am Iren. I am the Shadow Crag embodied. The Mountain Keeper. Esteemed Guardian of the Northern Border. Watcher of the North. Blinded by Sorcerer King Diovicus and restored by Cerion’s Champion Azaeli Hammerfel. I will crush all those who threaten to encroach upon Kythshire. Cease now or face your utter destruction!” The lightning strikes again and I peek out between the cracks of its fingers to watch. Far below on the balcony, two Sorcerers stand with their arms raised as they summon the cyclone.

“You are nothing but stone,” one of them cries. “Stone and words. Begone, Iren of Nothing!” She thrusts her hands at us, releasing the cyclone. It twists and swirls with tentacles of darkness as it whips closer. Then Iren reaches out with its free hand, scoops it into its fist, and squeezes it. An earsplitting scream pierces the air, causing the Sorcerers to fall to their knees in agony. Iren laughs and puts its hand to its mouth, swallowing the cyclone like a plump black berry. Then it crouches down and, grinning, blows a great gust of golden light at them. Most of the light shoots up into the sky, but some of it dashes to the Sorcerers on the balcony, throwing them back against the stone wall where they both slide limply to the floor.

“Six of you there are. Soon to be none if you do not heed my warning. Cease this!” Iren’s voice courses through me like fire. I feel as though it might split my bones. Then we’re lifted again to its mouth, and as it whispers, glints of gold and white sparkle at its lips. “Free the others, Flitt and Azaeli. Keep your distance from the balcony.” It swings its free hand down, crushing one side of the balcony to rubble and with the other deftly deposits me onto the ledge of a tiny window slit. I recognize it as the same one Elliot took me through, and I slip down onto the landing and quietly release my sword from its sheath as Flitt hovers beside me. As I creep toward the Sorcerers’ room, I can hear their panicked voices over the rumble and crash of stone outside.

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing in here about any of it. No Iren, no Mountain Keeper. Nothing about a creature that eats shadow twists and spits out pure magic.” The panicked voice is smooth and familiar, and I swallow back bile as I creep forward to the doorway to see Viala’s curtain of black hair shimmering over a pile of great tomes.

“Give it to me, you empty-headed whelp,” an older man covered completely in the blue-black swirls of the Mark strikes her hard across the head, sending her crumpling to the floor. He pulls the book close and rifles through its pages frantically. “Mountain spirits, defeating rocks, natural enemies... there’s got to be something.”

“Dinaea!” another voice sobs from the direction of the balcony. “She’s fading! Ornis, get the fae, do something!” A round man, also completely covered in the Mark and draped in rich burgundy velvet, lounges on a chaise across the room. He gestures to the balcony lazily, his attention deeply fixed on the polished red slab in his lap. The curtains against the far wall ripple softly as they part to reveal an empty cage, which slides across the floor to the balcony. One of the two Sorcerers that Iren had sent flying against the wall crawls inside and grasps at it, his eyes wide with fury.

“Ornis, you wretched slug! What do you mean, sending me an empty cage? Get the other! She’s dying, she’s dying!”

“And the stars wept,” Ornis mutters dully, sneering as he flicks his fingers across the room once more, never taking his eyes from the slab. Another empty cage slides across the room, and when the curtains settle back again I catch a glimpse of Shush and Ember huddling together behind them. Both are bedraggled, but to my relief I see beside them all of the previously caged fairies. They huddle behind the curtain, looking drained but thankfully alive. Outside, another deafening crash sends the walls shaking.

“The creature is a common mountain spirit,” he announces in a bored tone, reading from the slab. “Any fool can defeat it. Just rid it of its source. That would be the eye, witless,” he calls to the balcony. “Gorgen, go and help the fools.” The older man who struck Viala glares at Ornis.

“I’m sure you’re not presuming to issue orders to me, Ornis,” he growls, but he storms out to the balcony.

“Emris,” Ornis barks. A wiry man with a hunched back and a Mark that curls up through his white beard continues to peer through the mirror at the center of the room. He makes a grunting sound, but doesn’t turn away. I keep an eye on him as I step closer to the threshold. It’s only a matter of time before they discover Ember and Shush and the missing fairies. I need to figure out a way to get them out of there before they do. “The High Master demands a report,” he says distantly, his eyes reflecting the golden script of the slab. The man before the mirror leans closer to it.

“Six score and twelve sentries down. Serkin and Maj are trying to raise them as quickly as they’re falling. Cerion’s guard is relentless. The others have joined them. Gaethon is as impressive as tales would tell. He just took out seventeen in one strike.”

“What of the Banished?” Ornis asks as he scrawls his report onto the slab.

“Rally failed,” Emris leans closer, the spectacles on his nose reflecting bursts of light that shine out from the mirror. “Redemption was cut off before they could reach the Outlands.” My heart races, amplifying the pain in my chest. My family is here, at the keep. They’re fighting the sentries. They’ve defeated Redemption. Their victory bolsters me. I creep closer to the room, raise my foot to cross through the door, and a strong hand grasps my arm and holds me.

“Wards,” Rian’s voice is soft in my ear. “They’ll see you if you cross.”

“Oh, Rian!” I whisper, throwing my arms around him. “How did you know I was here?” I look up at him. His eyes are clear now, his jaw set and determined.

“The Crag’s voice carries pretty far,” he whispers. “It said your name and I knew right away I had to get to you.” He steps back and takes me in. “You look amazing...” As if on cue, Iren roars outside.

“Puny, worthless, powerless little Sorcerers,” it rumbles, and the walls around us creak as the keep shakes with the noise. Rian peers into the room and takes count of those inside. His eyes rest the longest on Viala, who is still out cold on the floor. He tears his gaze away from the scene and steps to the side of the landing. His feet hover just above the stone steps as he drifts along to the other side of the wall from where Ember and Shush are hiding.

The thunder rumbles again and the fiercest lightning I’ve ever seen flashes and cracks outside causing Flitt to yelp in surprise. I duck as a spray of golden light shoots in through the balcony doors, shattering the stone frames to a gaping hole. Debris pelts at Emris, who throws himself against the mirror to protect it. Ornis groans in annoyance, tossing the slab onto the cushion beside him. An uproar of cheers erupts from the fairy defenders outside on the slope.

“The eye, idiots! Just aim for the eye!” Ornis shoves himself up from the chaise with a grunt of effort and shuffles to the gaping hole that once was the doorway to the balcony. I turn my attention back to Rian, who is tracing his fingers over the stone, murmuring a spell. The wall beneath his hand shifts and fades into a tiny shimmering opening. He gestures to Shush and Ember, who immediately begin ushering the others through.

The first few are hesitant as they look up at Rian, whose Mage Marks continue to widen and creep to cover most of his face. He smiles at them kindly and nods, offering the safety of his arms to the weaker ones. With Ember and Shush to reassure them, most make it through to our side safely while the Sorcerers inside are distracted by Iren’s fury. Many of them are battered and half-drained, and Flitt rushes to the weakest looking ones straight away. She bobs from one to the next in turn, offering hugs and shining light on them. Each is rejuvenated by her touch, and I’m relieved to see she doesn’t seem at all drained by the effort herself. Shush continues ushering the remaining refugees through the hole, with Ember beside him keeping watch on the Sorcerers.

“Emris! Stop watching that and get over here. Corbin and Dinaea are fallen! The eye, I said, the eye!” Ornis screams at Gorgen, who I assume is perched on the remainder of the balcony outside the ruin of the doorway.

“We have to destroy the mirror.” Rian says as he helps the remaining fairies through. “It’s a portal, among other things. They can escape through it if we don’t. And I have a feeling they’ll be looking to get out of here soon enough, if Iren keeps it up.”

“Tell us what to do,” Shush whispers quickly as he gestures for Ember to go before him through the hole.

“Not so fast,” a soft voice hisses, and an elegant hand closes around Shush. From my place at the threshold, I can see Viala kneeling before the curtain which has closed to conceal Rian's hole in the wall. She squeezes Shush tightly in her fist, watching him with wild eyes.

“Who are you talking to, pretty little windy?” She jeers at him, taking one wing in each hand to pull them slowly apart. “Where are your lovely friends?” Shush squeezes his eyes shut, his face twisting in pain. “I won’t hurt them, I only wish to learn from them,” she purrs. “Have they left? Do you know how to leave? I wish to leave,” she whispers, ducking as another spray of rubble crashes through the room. “I promise I’ll be good. Show me how to get out?”

“You’re...hurting...me...” Shush whimpers, and Viala loosens her hold.

“That wicked man, he struck me. He hurt me,” she says, reaching up to the bruise on her cheek. “Take me with you on the wind, back to Sunteri. I don’t want to know anything anymore. I just want to go home.” She leans against the wall, pressing her face into the curtain.

Outside, the battle rages on, the floor of the keep shaking and rumbling as Iren pounds at the walls, crumbling them. I watch Viala’s back straighten slowly, her chin raise, her eyes slide to the side, to the wall where Rian hovers just beyond the curtain. 

“He’s here,” she whispers, squeezing Shush mercilessly. “Isn’t he?” Her eyes go wide and she tosses Shush aside. “I feel him. He’s here!

“You thief!” Viala screams as the floor quakes and bits of the ceiling shower down over her. “You took everything from me, everything!” She thrusts the curtain to the side and reaches through the opening to claw blindly at Rian’s face, but he steps out of her reach.

“Where are you?” she screams again, and though she’s looking right at him, she can’t see him. Shush dives through to our side just as Rian sweeps his hand across the hole in the wall, solidifying it. Viala is smart enough to pull her hand back before she’s caught. In a rage, she pushes herself up from the floor and charges straight at me. I step aside just as she stumbles over the threshold. The shadow ward fizzles away with a loud crackle, and the collective cry from the Sorcerers the moment she crosses through is deafening.

“The ward!” they all scream in unison as the doorway shimmers and the magic fades. Oblivious to her folly, Viala spins on the landing, searching for Rian. We are still safely hidden in the Half-Realm. Over her shoulder I watch as Gorgen comes to hover in the gaping ruin of the wall. In a fury, he grasps Viala roughly by the throat.

“Worthless cur,” he growls as he drags her back through the rubble. “Ornis was wrong. You’re not worth keeping around, even if you are nice to look at.” Viala’s eyes go wide as she pleads and grasps at the old man’s hands.

He lifts her up at the edge of the broken balcony floor and I watch in horror as he unceremoniously tosses her over the edge. Her terrified screams echo over the rumble of the battle outside until they finally end in a sickening thud. I take a step back, shocked by his callousness, and bump into Rian. When I turn to look at him, his face is drained of color. He’s just as appalled as I am.

“The mirror,” he croaks, more within his wits than I am as he nods through the door. “The wards are down.” Outside, Iren’s attacks have slowed. I steal a glance out of the gaping hole as we charge through to the mirror and see the Crag’s great stone form hunched over, just outside. At first I’m afraid they’ve managed to damage it, but it straightens after it scoops something from the rubble.

“Your wickedness shall not go unpunished.” Debris rains down again as Iren’s voice sends vibrations through the weakened stone above us.

“The mirror, Azi!” Rian’s cry tears my attention away from the scene. I charge into the room and raise my sword, and drive it through the wooden backing of the looking glass. What happens next catches me completely off guard. The room begins to spin around me as the mirror shatters. Shards of glass burst from the other side and time seems to slow as they drift around me like snowflakes. My sword is caught fast in the frame, which radiates powerful streams of magic.