Call of Sunteri (Keepers of the Wellsprings Book 2) (36 page)

“Dreamstalker,” the dragon calls again.

“Go,” Mevyn says to me. “He will explain.”

I creep through the pool of melted ice along the dragon’s massive foot to face him. His nostrils stream with smoke. He could breathe right now and burn me to a crisp. I could die. But something about him tells me that he won’t. He isn’t the desperate empty-headed creature we first saw anymore. With Mevyn’s magic, he’s changed now. He lowers his head to me, like he’s bowing. I don’t know why but I do the same. Mevyn still clings to my arm.

“I have seen your bravery,” Valenor says to me. “Your courage has borne Mevyn to me. For that I am most grateful. I shall reward you, Dreamstalker, in due time.” Each time he uses my title, I feel a tightening in my chest. A speeding of my heart. It makes me believe I’m more than just a boy with knives and vials. It makes me important. It changes me from the slave in the dye fields to a warrior. A hero. Each time he says it, the shadows that bind him shrink a little, like they’re afraid of what it means.

“My fate is in your hands, Tibreseli Nullen, Dreamstalker, Bearer of the Guardian. Release me from these bonds, that I may fight beside you against the impostor who calls himself Dreamwalker in my stead. The thief, the wretch, the unworthy filth. Help me take up my mantle once more, and together we shall end him.” He tips his head lower so I can see the desperation in his great red eye. “Please,” he says, “release me.”

I tear my gaze from him and look back to Azi and Rian. They glance at each other and then nod to me slowly. In the openings above, the rest of them nod, too. A dragon would be a good friend to make, I think. Still, I’m not sure he’s telling the truth.

“How can I be sure you won’t hurt any of us once you’re free?” I ask him. “You could be lying, just to get yourself out of this.”

“Wise child,” his eye slowly closes and opens again. “Look, and I shall show you.”

“No.” I cross my arms. I know about looking. I’ve fallen for that before. The eye slides to Mevyn, who even as weak as he is, chuckles.

“Did I not show you? The boy has spirit,” Mevyn says to Valenor.

“Indeed,” Valenor looks at me. I wouldn’t have believed that a dragon could smile, but the corner of his scaly mouth lifts slightly as he looks to me. “I give you my word, and something more. The gift of knowledge. Two gifts, in fact. The first is this: The Dreamwalker cannot be defeated from within his own realm. He must be drawn out completely, or as he sees it, released into this realm. The second…” he turns to look at the others. “Azaeli, come forward.”

She sloshes through the frigid water to come to my side, where Valenor bows his head to her and she returns the gesture.

“Take your sword. Strike the bonds, Azaeli.” Valenor says. Azaeli looks from me to Rian. Both of us nod. She raises her sword and slashes it through the shadow that binds the dragon’s foot to the floor. It does nothing at all. The shadow isn’t even aware of her. “Tibreseli, coat her blade with the liquid from your yellow vial.”

Azi nods to me and offers her blade. I’m a little hesitant to do it. I don’t have that much left and I’ll need it later. I think of how the shadows screamed and fell when my yellow-coated dagger struck them. I don’t want to give it up. Don’t want to waste it.

“Trust him,” Mevyn says weakly. Reluctantly, I pull out the stopper and streak a thin yellow line down the length of her blade.

“Again, Azaeli,” Valenor says with a watchful eye. Azi swings her sword against the shadow and I wait for the shriek, but nothing happens.

“Now, Dreamstalker. Do not coat your blade. Strike the shadow.” He tips his head toward me. I creep into the binding shadow and draw my dagger. I plunge the bare blade it into the darkness expecting nothing just like Azi, but the bindings writhe and twist and let out an earsplitting shriek that echoes through the chasm.

All around us, shadows seep from crevices and dive at me. They whip and lash from the dragon’s back, legs, and tail. The bonds that held him drive toward me. They swirl around me, closing in. Lashing. Striking. I’m protected though. They can’t touch me. I stab at them. One. Two. Three. Six. Nine. Twelve. Twenty. I jab and slice and growl and plunge and they keep coming, swarming me like a flock of birds, like crows at the dead.

I can see nothing but darkness. My ears ring with the shrieks of shadows as they die. I fall into a rhythm, turning and swinging and piercing. It’s mindless work, almost like picking blossoms. They can’t touch me, and all I do is swing. Swing and think.

Think of the knowledge Valenor has given me. The yellow vial held no power. The power was within me all along. I am the Dreamstalker. Slayer of Shadows. No longer the boy at the end of a whip. I’m so much more now. I was never meant to remain in Sunteri. I was meant to be here, in this chasm, fighting darkness. This is my fate. Tib. Dreamstalker. Bearer of the Guardian. Slayer of Shadows. Liberator of Valenor.
 

Tib

Blinded by darkness and deafened by screams, I fight. I lose count in the thirties somewhere. The shadow wraiths seem endless as they charge at me. They whisper things, wicked things that I know are lies. Everyone else is dead. Stop fighting, or Saesa will be next. I don’t, though. They can’t fool me. Outside of the shadows and below the screams I hear them encouraging me. Cheering. Applauding.

I’m getting tired. My arms and legs ache from fighting. Mevyn knows. He clings to my shoulder. He sends me the little strength he has left. I slash out again but meet nothing. I’m not blinded, my eyes are closed. I open them as Azi rushes me and claps me on the shoulder.

“You did it,” she grins. “Look, Tib,” she whispers, and turns me toward Valenor.

He raises his head, stretching past the openings where the others watch. His wings open slowly, up toward the small crack of white that slashes the black far above. Sky. He screeches and blows his fire. Terrible. Magnificent. Free.

A shift distracts me. A change in something within me. Something is fading. Leaving.

“Tib,” Mevyn whispers in my ear. I tear my gaze from Valenor to him as he slips down my arm. I can barely see him. Barely feel him. “Look at me.”

His eyes are dark and empty, like they were under the roots. Almost lost. Almost gone. Still they pull me in. Show me things. The Wellspring in Sunteri, filled with golden liquid to the brim. Fairies dance around the rim, laughing and singing like the ones in Kythshire. Blurs of color and sweet music. Sweeter than Mya’s, even.

Another place. A circle of bright red mushrooms in a dense oasis. Fronds of rich green leaves that drip clean, clear beads of water. More fairies perched on mushroom caps, like the ring in Kythshire but more vibrant. I recognize these fairies. One has a long fabric draped over his arm and a needle in one hand. The others are here, too.

At the center is a beautiful lady with enormous wings that sparkle with their own silver light. Mindspinner. She raises her arms and starts the dancing and they come. Dozens. Hundreds of fairies, in all shapes and sizes. A ball. A Celebration. Laughing. Their joy makes me grin. I want to join them. Be as happy as they are.

“This is what it once was,” Mevyn says in a whisper, “and what it shall be, when restored. I shan’t see the day, Tib. My time is nearly at an end.”

I look away to break the connection and then look back. He’s nearly gone. Flit comes to perch on my arm. She places a hand on him and closes her eyes. Her light flows to him, but doesn’t do much. Makes him a little more solid, maybe. Azi and Rian come closer. Valenor dips his head to us.

“Fairies,” Flitt says as she looks up at me sadly, “are like people. They only live so long. Some have easy lives and live for a very long time. Others work very hard, and their lives are much shorter. How old are you anyway, Mevyn?” she asks.

“One hundred seven full turns of the seasons,” Mevyn takes her hand.

“So young,” she whispers mournfully, shaking her head.

I can’t wrap my head around what they’re saying. Mevyn is bold and strong. He’s a warrior. He knows things. He showed me so much. He brought me to this place with dragons and fairies and friends who protect me. Saesa, Azi, even Rian. People who value me. All that and still he carried the others with him, too. He’s my friend. At the end of all of it, past the anger and frustration, he’s my friend.

“I didn’t understand,” I say to him. “I was angry because I didn’t know.”

“I would have told you,” he sighs, “but they had to remain safe.” He leans his head into the crook of my arm. Closes his eyes. “Bring them home, Tib. For me. Restore it, and bring them home.”

“I will,” I say. “I swear.”

“Thank you,” Mevyn says. “My journey ends here.” With the light given to him by Flitt, Mevyn is able to lift himself on his wings. “If you are ready,” he says to Valenor, who gives a somber nod. The dragon tips his head down. His long black horns scrape the wall above us.

“Farewell, Tib,” Mevyn says, resolved. He brushes my cheek with his hand. Looks into my eyes one last time. Shows me everything we’ve done and seen. Everything we’ve accomplished. New things, too. Secret things I must keep to myself. When he’s through and without warning, he dashes up. Straight into Valenor’s forehead. Disappears.

I feel it right away. An emptiness in my heart. A hole that gapes. He’s gone. Truly gone. I stumble back against the wall. Sink to my knees. Before me, Valenor begins to transform.

The oily black scales at his forehead are the first to change to shining golden plates. The color spreads down the bridge of his snout, flashing brightly. The scales at his chin and throat flare to deep sapphire blue. Blue at his chest going to green along his shoulders. Green like the jungle. Like Saesa’s eyes. Green to yellow along his sides, yellow to orange at the spines along his back. Sharp orange, tipped with red. Not like the blossoms. Like blood, rich and dark.

He turns a green face to me and tips back on purple hind feet. His wings open slowly over his head. They shimmer white at first and then burst into splashes of every color. The edge of every scale is trimmed with gold. Mevyn’s gold.

“By all the stars,” Rian whispers. Azi stands beside him, her mouth open in disbelief. Above us in the chasm, the others whoop and cheer.

“Did you see that?” someone cries out. I think it was Bryse. They don’t know Mevyn is gone. I can’t feel him anymore. Can’t hear him in my head. He’s part of Valenor now. He left me. Flitt drifts up to my face. Pats my hair comfortingly. Glows brighter. It makes me feel better. Not all the way, just a little.

“Come,” Valenor says. “It won’t be long before he discovers my escape, and there is much to do. We must go.” He nudges me with his nose. Tells me to climb up.

I wipe my eyes on the edge of my vest. The vest Mevyn gave me. Step onto his enormous snout. Climb with my boots. The boots Mevyn gave me. Gifts. Not tricks. Things to help me. To help us. To help Sunteri. I’ll have to go back there. Back home, where I never wanted to return. I made a vow, though. I’ll do it for Mevyn. For his people.

Azi and Rian climb up behind me. We each cling to a spine on Valenor’s back. He rears up on his hind legs. Drives his claws into the rock. Starts to climb. We pause to gather the others.

There’s discussion about levitating us out, but it’s short-lived. They faced a fight in those openings. Gaethon and the clerics are drained. It would be too much for Rian alone. So we tighten our grip on Valenor as the others climb on. When they’re all safely on board, he plunges his claws again and scales the icy rock all the way to the top of the chasm.

The wind billows and bites as Valenor spreads his shimmering wings at the crest of the mountain.

“Oh no,” I hear Azi over the roar of it. “Flying. Why must it always be flying?”

We rise above the wind and clouds where the only sound is the rhythmic swish of the dragon’s enormous wings as they push us forward. Everyone is quiet. Most duck their heads against the wind but I raise mine to it. Feel it cold against my cheeks. Let my eyes tear up and be blown dry. Think of Mevyn and the hole he left behind.

The air grows warmer and more pleasant. The craggy snow caps flatten out. Turn to green. Far below I see a castle. It sprawls low and sturdy along the shore of a great green lake. Lake Kordelya, I think. All around it are trees and long stretches of meadows dotted with colorful flowers.

We soar over it and lower and lower and finally land in a sun-splashed glen at the edge of the lake. I stretch my neck to see the castle but it’s not close to here. This place is far away. Secluded. Valenor flattens himself to the ground to allow us to slide into the warm grass. The others seem shaky and grateful to be on solid ground again, but not me. I want to be back in the sky. Completely free.

Once everyone has climbed from his back, Valenor lumbers past us and plunges into the lake. He disappears beneath its surface and comes up again, splashing merrily. When he returns to the meadow, he rolls in the sunlight onto his back and twists and wriggles to dry off.

All the while, he groans with pleasure as his tail lashes dangerously and his wings splay out beneath him. Thoroughly clean and dry, he stays on his back and slides his head toward us so that he’s regarding us upside down. His tongue lolls out of his mouth and he grins at us.

“I have dreamed of such a moment,” he says mirthfully, “for seemingly endless days and nights.” He sighs and wriggles again in the warm grass, closing his eyes. The others sit in the grass to rest while the clerics check each of them over.

“Now that it is done,” he says after a while, “we must act quickly.” He rolls to his stomach and turns to me and Azi, who is still looking a little green.

“The blood binding must be broken,” he says. “Jacek will leave the dreaming then. He will consider himself freed, but he will be vulnerable here. The girl,” he says. “The one that Mevyn showed me. Saesa. She must be brought into the dreaming. Only she can break his bonds.”

“How?” I ask him. “Will it hurt her?”

“No,” Valenor says. “It must be done willingly, and with cunning. He cannot know that I am waiting for him in this realm. He must think it is his own doing. You must let him take hold of her. Let him convince her. He cannot know the truth.”

“It’s too horrible,” Azi says. “Letting him take hold of her. I’ve been in the Dreamwalker’s grips. I know what that entails.”

“You will bring me to her first,” Valenor says to her. “I will give her protections.”

“Wait a minute,” Flitt pipes up, “you want to go to Kythshire?”

“That would be most prudent. Dreamwalker cannot seek us there. The borders between the dreaming and the land of the fae are too strong.”

“But Jacek had his hold on me,” Azi says quietly. “I was in Kythshire and he was still manipulating me.”

“But he took hold of you in Sorlen River Crossing,” Rian says. “You were already in his grips when I brought you to Kythshire.”

“Indeed, that would make it easier for him.”

“Nope, can’t do it,” Flitt says. “Sorry. No dragons allowed. I’m pretty sure I’d get in big trouble bringing you back with me. Even as nice as you are.”

While they’re talking, I reach absently into my vest pocket and run my fingers over the fringe of the scrap of fabric Shoel gave me what feels like so long ago. I pull it out and smooth it over my knee.

“What about Ceras’lain?” I ask. “We could bring her there. It’s guarded from the Dreamwalker too, isn’t it?”

“The elves?” Gaethon thoughtfully scratches his beard.

“I have friends there,” I say. The others turn to me with looks of disbelief. I show Gaethon my scrap scrawled with elf writing and painted with the cygnet.

“The White Line, no less,” he looks at Mya.

“Well, you are full of surprises aren’t you, Tib?” she laughs and moves closer to see it. On my other side, Rian is already eyeing it in his Mage way. Reading the words I can’t read.

“It’s imbued,” he glances at Gaethon. “What does it do, Tib?”

“Shoel said if I’m in trouble I should whisper into it,” I explain, “and he’ll hear.”

“Shoel has become White Line?” Valenor rests his chin in the grass. His voice is a low purr. “Tremendous.”

“You know him?” I move closer to Valenor. Lean against his foot. Trace the golden edge of his scale with my finger. I don’t feel any closer to Mevyn, though. The hole still gapes.

“Many years ago,” Valenor blinks his great red eye at me, “I traveled throughout the waking realm. I was curious, you see. Curious about the dreamers and the lives they lived when they left my realm in the day. I was welcomed by most. Dreamwalker, you see, did not have such dark connotations then. I traveled to Ceras’lain and Stepstone Isles and Elespen and First Sunteri. Even Cerion.” His eye slides to rest on the others.

“How many years?” Benen asks. “I don’t remember ever hearing of a dragon sighting in Cerion.”

“Oh,” smoke puffs from his nose as Valenor chuckles. “I did not appear this way at that time. With my mantle I can take any form. Dragon was my last before Jacek stole it from me. When I visited these places, when I traveled, I was a falcon, or a great cat, or a man just as you are.”

“Why is it that you were able to walk in these lands?” Azi asks. “Jacek can only observe and make suggestions. He can’t be fully here in this realm.”

“Those are the bindings holding him,” Valenor says, “set by his parents. When the girl releases his bonds, he will most certainly be able to walk freely among us.” He looks at me, “I should like very much to see Shoel again, if the others have no disagreement with your calling him.”

The only one who seems to have a problem with it is Bryse, who grumbles something that sounds like “elves again,” but Cort whispers something and Bryse shrugs and nobody else argues.

“Okay,” I turn the fabric over in my hand and raise it to my lips. “Should I do it now?” I look over at Rian.

“The writing says, ‘Whisper my name, friend, though the distance between us might grow. We are never far apart, call upon me wherever you may go.” Rian says. “It’s actually more poetic in Elvish, but that’s it essentially.”

“Your translation could use a little work, Rian,” Gaethon says with that haughty Mage’s tone. “But essentially, yes. That is what it says.”