Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2) (31 page)

“I made you who you are. I gave you everything. I saved your life more than once, and still you don’t trust me? It isn’t time yet. You will not speak.”
His last word is a command. I feel it hold me. Furious, I push it off. Shove it away, like a heavy stone. I refuse to let him control me anymore.

“
I didn’t ask for any of this!” I scream so loud I think I might wake the rest the sleeping patrons. They don’t even flutter an eyelid.

“Obviously the boy is a little conflicted,” Benen says quietly. “Perhaps—”

“No, I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything I know. I saw you fight. I trust you. It’s not my fault that
he
doesn’t.” I turn to the room. Cross my arms. “You need me more than I need you,” I say to him. “And we need them, whether you want to admit it or not.”

“
Fine.”

“Who’s he talking to?” Cort whispers to Bryse, who shrugs.

“Boy’s slap-mad,” Bryse murmurs in reply.

“I’m
not
mad,” I half-growl. I look around. The others, the ones who can see Mevyn, are watching with interest or pity. They don’t think I’m crazy. They want to help, and I trust them. They fought when they didn’t have to. They tried to spare lives when they could. They’re honorable. I want to put my faith in them. I need to.

I tell them about the roots. The trees. The fallen fairies. Nan. Zhilee. My nightmares. Mevyn. The towers. The ship. Nessa’s. The kids. All of it. All of the truth except for Margary’s secret. Everything about Mevyn, too. I’m surprised when he lets me. He seems interested to hear my side of it, almost like he didn’t think of my perspective before. Maybe it didn’t matter to him, or maybe he was avoiding my perspective so he wouldn’t have to be burdened by it.

The others listen quietly. Azi and Rian lean against each other. Benen comes to stand next to Lisabella. Holds her. They look out the window. Bryse and Cort stare into giant half-drained mugs of ale. They’re compassionate, but impatient. They want to care, but they’re worried about their missing member. Even though I’ve only gotten to the elves, I feel like it’s enough for them to know. They’re aware of the Dreamwalker. They’re aware of how Mevyn has used me.

I raise my chin. Look at him, a little defiantly.

“You don’t want them to see you yet? Fine. But you’ll tell them what they need to know to help. Talk through me,” I say. “Just this once. Tell me what to say, and I’ll repeat it.”

Tib

I lean back against the wall. Cross my arms. Close my eyes. Wait a long time while Mevyn thinks it over. He’s angry, I can tell. He doesn’t like that I have a mind of my own now. He hates not being in control. Too bad, I think to myself. If he wanted a puppet, he shouldn’t have given me that title in the Ring. If he wants my help, our help, then he’s got to be more trusting.

As the silence stretches on, I start to think maybe he’ll go on being stubborn. The others are getting impatient. I don’t blame them. I clench my fists. Fight back my annoyance. Open my eyes and stare at him expectantly. He frowns. Shakes his head. Flitt looks from me to him and back again, her eyes wide. Finally, reluctantly, his words flow through me.

“Over a decade ago, nearly two” he starts, “I was not bound by circumstance as I am now.” It’s strange to hear my own voice saying words that aren’t my own. I don’t like it. It makes me dizzy. I close my eyes again. Lean against the window frame. Let him go on.

“Many years ago, I was revered. Honored. I was a Guardian, a keeper of peace. I was a steward of the magic that our lands had to offer. Our source flourished, and with it, so did our people. All was well.

“We were not greedy with our magic, nor were we miserly. We shared willingly with those who came to seek it. We had excellent relations with the Mages of Zhagen, the city to the north. They came to study, and we gladly shared our knowledge with them. I was ever cautious of these creatures, who seemed each time to be more curious than they ought to be. Presumptuous and entitled, some of them were.

“With this new policy of sharing, I was witness to the slow drain of our golden waters, our source. The elders were unconcerned, of course. They would not listen to my pleas to put an end to our new deeper alliance with the Mages. What harm could it do? They argued. Magic is eternal. It has always been, and it will always be. What harm indeed?

“Well, I will tell you. My reservations ought to have been heeded. There was a Sorceress by the name of Dinaea, wed to another, the Sorcerer Corbin. Her lust for power was unmatched. So obsessed was she with our magical source that it destroyed her ability to think of anything else. She wandered round it for days, months. Her belly swelled with her husband’s child, but she never rested. I did my best to keep her at bay, but she was wild with the need for it.

“I called upon my ally from the Other Realm, whom I had known for many years. Valenor. He was my charge, and I his guide in our lands. He looked into the woman’s mind and showed me the truth. Her interest was not completely selfish. She was an observer, sent to collect and deliver information to the libraries of Zhaghen, the great city to the north. A channeler of our powers, a direct link between us and the city. A drain. A parasite.

“This finally convinced the elders to send her away, to close off our precious source until such time as we could be assured of its safety. It did not last long. The child was born, and years later Dinaea appealed to the elders. Pleaded with them. Made deals. She was allowed to return with the boy, whom she called her little prince. She ignored the appeals of her husband to return to the city. She was too consumed by the power, too addicted now. Her child was curious. He touched the source, and therefore became touched, himself.”

“I saw this,” Azaeli says quietly. I open my eyes. The others turn to her. “In the Dreaming, I was shown memories. I saw the boy touch the pool. I saw you scolding the child. He was only a little one, barely walking. You defended it as though he was a grown man. He was frightened of you.” She looks at me I shake my head and close my eyes. Not me. Mevyn. I won’t be scorned for what he did. I listen to his voice echoing through mine.

“As I should have. I sent them away, furious with them for desecrating our sacred waters. By now, though, the elders were too tangled in promises and bargains to truly banish the Sorcerers. Corbin was furious that Dinaea would allow such a thing to happen. He left her. Shattered her world. Neither of them realized at the time what they had created.

“No man should ever touch the golden waters. If he does, he shall never be the same. If he does, he shall be changed forever. Some might say cursed, others forsaken. Tormented. Forever hungry for it. Driven mad with greed and lust for the power that he can never harness or own. Even at such a young age, especially at such a young age, it devours.

“They returned some time later, when the boy was nearly ten. He was out of control. He was unstoppable. Filled with anger, mistrust, rebellion. His parents appealed to the elders, who wanted him put to death. He was brought before me, for it was my duty as Guardian to carry out the punishment. Dinaea pleaded with me. There must be another way, she said. Corbin, too. As difficult as he was, he was their son. They begged me to save their boy. To help them keep him safe until they could find a way to reverse what had been done.

“Perhaps it was my weariness of the constant battle with the elders. Perhaps I was feeling rebellious myself, or reluctant to have the boy’s blood on my hands. Perhaps I am a coward, as my kind has branded me. I do not know, to this day, what possessed me to show him mercy. I called upon Valenor, my friend in Dreaming. My charge.

“Of course he agreed to aid me. Why would he not? He trusted me. We were allies. Friends. He allowed the boy’s parents passage into his realm, to make certain their son would be safely hidden away. He had no way of knowing, at the time, what he invited. No way of knowing the boy would be his demise, that the child would continue to draw upon the source, that he would eventually usurp and cast out my dear friend Valenor. That he would steal his mantle and wear his title, Dreamwalker.”

“What does it mean, exactly?” Rian asks. “Dreamwalker?” He sets down a ring and picks up the belt of pouches. Closes his eyes. Whispers a spell. I can feel the questions it poses. What’s in here? Is it safe?

“It is difficult to explain,” Mevyn replies through me. “There can be many Dreamwalkers, or only one. It is a ruler of sorts, but not like your kings. A Dreamwalker is more like a creator. A spirit, usually, who manipulates and shapes the world of Dreaming. They are always powerful in their own realm, nearly omnipotent. But when they try to slip out, to join your realm, they have limited power. They can give suggestions, shift emotions. They can create dreams and plant them.”

“So there’s more than one of these things?” Bryse grunts. Drains a mug. Cort fills it up again.

“Not precisely. Not anymore, rather. This one snuffed the others out, as far as I can tell. Certainly Dreamwalkers are powerful, but they almost always remain in the Dreaming. They have no desire to leave or to have dealings with this realm, and so they remain within it and no one here is aware of their existence. The only evidence of them in the past has been in dreams. Jacek, on the other hand, is a special circumstance. He does not wish to be there. The Dreaming is his prison. He wishes to be freed.”

“Where are the others?” Rian asks as he spills the contents of a pouch onto the table. It’s bones, little ones. Toes, maybe. Or fingers. He pushes them back into the pouch with his fingertip, wrinkling his nose. “The other Dreamwalkers? Why don’t they try to fight him and stop him?”

“I do not know,” Mevyn replies. I clear my scratchy throat. The talking is making me thirsty. Letting him use me this way is making my head pound.

“How do we stop him?” Rian opens another pouch. Pulls out a flat red stone, no bigger than his palm. Its polished surface flashes in the light from the window. He brushes his finger over it, activating it. It pulses with a golden glow, like the one that sent orders to the fae at the roots. Mevyn doesn’t notice it. He’s too absorbed with the tooth amulet, still.

“I do not know,” Mevyn says in reply to Rian’s question, “but I know of someone who does. My old friend, Val—”

“Shh,” Rian puts a finger to his lips. Stares at the stone. Holds it up to his ear. Listens. It’s making sounds, strange sounds. Like voices seeping in and out. Skipping and fading. Echoing oddly. Difficult to understand. Like spirits, whispering.

“Have her,” the voices hiss and fade. “…lost…others...back…”

“Take her to the lake,” another voice comes through more clearly. A man. “Cover your tracks. Do not speak to me again unless spoken to.”

“Oh my…” Azi whispers. Her eyes are wide as saucers. Her face drained of color. She meets Rian’s gaze and then looks at the others while Rian brushes his hand over the stone. The golden light fades. “Is it me, or did that sound like…”

“Prince Eron,” her mother finishes for her. “It did.”

“Did he hear us, Rian?” Benen asks. “Could he know what Tib was saying?”

“Mevyn,” I correct him.

“Sorry, yes. Mevyn,” Benen nods to me.

“I don’t think so,” Rian turns the stone over. “I think the way it works is by intention, and it wasn’t our intention to send a message.”

Lisabella offers me a cup while the others discuss this new discovery. Their prince is somehow deeply involved in this. He’s the one talking on the stone. I wonder if he sent messages to the fairies at the roots. Was he involved in that, too? I sip and stare out of the window, not really seeing. Some of the villagers have come out. They’re peaceful, now. Busy dragging away bodies of dog men and Wildwoods. Cleaning things up.

I look toward the edge of town where I battled the third Sorcerer with Rian and Azi and Flitt. A smudge of color catches my eye. Red hair, spiked up. Mya. Walking hand in hand with Elliot. Both of them look tired. Defeated. I look past them for her. Strain my eyes, but I know already. They’ve come back without her. Ki is gone. Lost. Taken.

As they near, a flash in Mya’s hand catches my eye. Blue light. The cord of a necklace twined around her fingers. She closes them around it as they approach the tavern. Hides it away from the villagers who pause to watch them. I race to the door. Throw it open.

“I’m sorry, Tib,” she says to me as soon as she sees me. Steps inside. Hands me the amulet. Ki’s necklace. Maybe the last remains of my sister. “We couldn’t track them. They just…disappeared.” I look down at the stone, glowing blue. The floating golden flecks blur through my tears. I feel myself drawn into it. Feel the blue light washing over me. “Don’t lose hope. We’ll find her.” Mya’s voice fades, replaced by another, more commanding one.

“She is alive. With your help, she will be recovered,”
the voice echoes in my head.
“I am Iren. The Shadow Crag embodied. The Mountain Keeper. Esteemed Guardian of the Northern Border. Watcher of the North. Friend to you, Tib, and friend to your sister, Ki.”

“Great,” I whisper under my breath. Just what I wanted. Someone else inside my head, telling me what to do. The others don’t notice me talking to Iren. They’re busy filling in Mya and Elliot, who have crossed to the hearth. “Where is she?” I whisper into the blue glow, “How do I get to her?” I creep toward the door. Ready to run out. Ready to leave them and find her.

“
Keep me safe, for now, and I shall guide you. You cannot go alone, Tib. It is not wise
.”

I feel it rising in me. The anger. The frustration of knowing something can be done and being held back from it. It’s not safe, it says. Does it think I’m weak? Afraid? I’m not. I just killed three Sorcerers. I’m the Dreamstalker. Not just a boy anymore. Not a slave to the fields. I’ve done things. Bad things and good things. Powerful things. I don’t need anyone else. I can find her on my own.

Iren senses my thoughts, I think. Interrupts them.

“
Yes,
” it says.
“You are brave. Strong. Capable. But quick to temper, young one. Quick to act without a thought. Slow yourself. Find your own thoughts, which have often been kept from you of late. Find them. Trust them.”

I stare at the amulet, considering Iren’s words. Look up at Mevyn, who is pulling magic out of the teeth of the Necromancer’s necklace. Collecting it. Absorbing it. Glowing brighter as he does. Iren is right. My mind hasn’t been my own these past weeks. Months. When Mevyn has allowed me to keep to myself, my thoughts have been clouded with emotion. Anger. Mistrust. Confusion. I don’t know who I am. Who I really am, beyond all of that.

It’s too much to consider right now. It was easier before, just going along. Now is more difficult. Thinking for myself. Knowing I’m free to make my own decisions. Trying to make sense of all of this. I shake my head. Turn my attention to the others.

“First things first,” Mya says decisively. Looks around the tavern at the mess of overturned tables and stale food and spilled pitchers. “How long have we been asleep?” She goes to the table. Picks up a loaf of bread. Knocks it on the wood, like a rock.

“About a day?” Rian looks a little guilty.

“It’s time you woke the others,” she nods to the sleeping patrons and barkeep. “But if you woke the innkeeper now, can you imagine?” She bends at the hearth beside Bryse, where the fire has burned down to gray ash. A great pot hangs there. She reaches for a spoon and scoops out a crusty black glob. Turns to Rian, eyebrows raised.

“Mum, are you serious? In the middle of all this, after that battle, your concern is cleaning up?” He slumps back against the wall. Crosses his arms.

“Yes, I’m serious, Rian. I don’t care what we’re facing or how tired you are. You don’t just come in and destroy someone’s livelihood and walk away. You know better. Fix it up first, and wake them. Put it right, and then we can make a plan.”