13
We, the folk, were once the guardians of the land.
Humans worshipped us, giving us offerings of gold and food.
—FROM T HE O RIGINS OF THE L AND F OLK
C ASSIA WENT TO THE LIbrARY AND FOUND IT empty. With no one around to stop her, she picked up a volume on the history of the land folk and took it outside. The previously eerie silence was broken by a few birdcalls. And to her surprise, the apple tree was now full of red, ripe fruit. Delighted, she picked one, taking a bite and sighing with satisfaction at its taste. She picked another, then returned to the courtyard and found a stone bench that wasn’t broken. As she ate the second apple, she looked around. The haze in the sky seemed to be lifting. A touch of sun made the neglected courtyard seem more inviting. She curled up on the bench and opened the book, resting the heavy tome on her knees.
Much of the history was familiar to her. She knew that Sylvans traditionally depended on revelry to keep themselves healthy and long-lived. But one thing she hadn’t understood was the reverence humans had once had for Sylvans. Hailing them as the rightful custodians of the forests, humans had left them offerings of gold, food, armor, even weapons. They would even drop precious items into lakes or streams as appeasements for the spirits who protected those waters. Cassia knew from stories that land folk of that time were prouder, more demanding. They would take revenge if humans used their water or land without giving offerings.
Her mother, Cassia recalled, had a fountain named after her in human lands. Sometimes she forgot that her mother was old enough to remember the time the folk had fled to Thirstwood. As the light failed, she closed the book and returned to her tower, feeling sad. Thoughts of her mother made her melancholy.
As night fell and Cassia still couldn’t turn off her thoughts, she gave up trying to sleep and returned to the woods. The sense of being watched was stronger in the dark, the silence more menacing. She had a conviction that these woods were hungry, crying out for help. She wished she could speak to the trees the way her father could. Ask them questions and understand the answers. But all she had was a vague sense of wrongness, of things not being what they should.
The gibbous moon was enough to show her a path, but the shadows were deep, making her neck prickle. She was too curious to turn back. The winged creature had to be a guardian of Welkincaster. She needed to know more about him. Maybe he had the answers she was seeking.
Before long, she found herself in the clearing with the small lake. The glassy pool reflected moon sprites in a glittering array, like gently rippling stars. A shift in the air alerted her that she wasn’t alone. One minute, the winged stranger blended in with all the other forest things. The next, he was there, standing out.
Though he was tall and muscular and moved with the care of a predator, the moon sprites moved closer, hovering around him in a welcoming cloud. More reason to think this was a guardian spirit. Though moonlight didn’t much penetrate the canopy, she could just make out strange markings on his face, swirls like a painted design on his forehead and one cheek. His hair was tipped with gold as if he’d been basking in the sun.
Instead of greeting her, he picked up a large fallen leaf from the rock and twisted it in his hands, staring at it as if he could puzzle out some mystery in its veins.
Cassia tried to calm her racing heart. “What’s your name?”
He looked up from the leaf, speaking softly. “Aril.”
“I’m Cassia,” she said, folding her arms to hide their tremble. It didn’t matter how curious or determined she was. If he was a defender of the welkin, that meant he was dangerous. She only hoped her instinct was right that he wasn’t dangerous to her .
He inclined his head in greeting.
“Are you a guardian of Welkincaster?” she asked, wanting confirmation.
“What do you mean by guardian?”
She fought the urge to step back. If he wasn’t a guardian, what was he? “Zerians like yourself keep this welkin safe from intruders. More should be waking soon.”
Aril inclined his head. “What sort of intruders?”
She had no idea. “Come to the castle tomorrow morning for instructions.” She lifted her arm and pointed. “It’s that way.” She waited to see if he would fly away the way he had last time she’d mentioned reporting to the castle.
Instead, he nodded and moved closer, stopping at the water’s edge. She had the sudden thought that this clearing might be his spot, and she was, in fact, intruding.
“I hope you don’t mind me being here,” she said.
“Not at all,” he said. “You are welcome.”
She relaxed at the sincerity in his voice.
“Is the water not cold?” Aril asked.
Cassia chuckled softly. “Not for me. My sister Enora says I’m like a wood sprite. I never mind the cold.”
“You are of the forest.” His eyes caught the moonlight as he looked her over. “I can… smell it on you. The forest breathes and lives in you.”
A strange fluttering filled her rib cage. She was touched, and a little surprised and unsure how to respond. Her sisters showed affection through teasing. Her father never praised. Perhaps spending most of her time at the outskirts of battles waiting to be called on as a weapon of last resort didn’t leave much opportunity for admiration.
“That was a great compliment to a Sylvan,” she said, her throat tight.
“What is a Sylvan?” he asked.
Her eyebrows rose at his question. But then she remembered Gutel saying Sylvans did not come to the sacred realm. “We’re forest folk.”
“You live… in trees,” he said, as if half remembering something.
“That was once true. We each still have a tree we’re connected to.” She felt a familiar pang of longing. “What sort of creature are you?”
He turned his head away, his profile in silhouette. The curve of his nose was somewhat birdlike, but it was hard to see more than that. She waited, but he didn’t answer. Did he not know or did he not want to say? Her curiosity about him was piqued.
“Do you swim?” she asked, searching for a neutral topic. “I wish we had a small lake like this back home. My sisters and I swim in the Scar but it’s more of a battle against the current.”
“The Scar?” he asked.
“A river,” she said. “It’s near my home.”
“Where is that?” he asked, his face in shadow.
“I’m not sure. Somewhere below this cloud.”
He cocked his head to the side, looking more birdlike than ever. “Is that why you have no wings? You don’t live in the sky?”
She smiled at the surprise in his tone. “No. I dream about flying sometimes.” Lately, she dreamed of falling.
He was quiet for a minute. Usually, silence felt awkward, but Cassia found this peaceful. “I like it here,” she said finally.
“Yes,” Aril said. “I like it here, too.”
Something in his tone made her cheeks heat, and again she wondered if she was being naive to be so trusting of him. “I should get some sleep. I’ll see you again.”
“Very well,” Aril said, bowing deeply from the waist. With a light movement, he sprang up, his great wings spanning the sky. As he disappeared, Cassia found she had a lump in her throat. Maybe because Aril seemed a bit lost. Or maybe she envied that he could leave whenever he wanted.
After her midnight wanderings, Cassia slept well past dawn, her eyes opening to her view out the tower window. In the light of day, Aril seemed almost like a dream, something she had created out of loneliness. Her curiosity about him would not be denied, though. She found Gutel alone in the library, perched on a stool facing the bookshelves, his chin resting on his hand. He turned briefly, his eyes cooling as they fell on her, then turned away again.
She moved determinedly to the window seat. She wouldn’t be scared away by the grumpiness of a hearth-spirit. Glancing around, she said, “I thought Zeru would be in here.”
“He brought you the bandages, I see,” the kobold said, choosing a book. “Sure you didn’t throw him out the window?”
Cassia fought a smile. “I thought about it.”
Gutel snorted.
“He gave me his dagger.” Cassia angled herself so he could see the weapon at her hip.
“Why would he do a fool thing like that?”
She frowned at his clear disapproval. “I think he felt bad about the Summoner. You know, the one who set a hostile spirit on me and left me slashed to ribbons?”
Gutel had the grace to look abashed. “That should never have happened. Xoden is a plague. I wish you’d thrown him out the window.”
Finally, a little softening toward her. “Is he not like the other Seers you’ve hired to reinforce the wards of this place?”
The kobold made a sound of disgust. “A few of them know what they’re doing. Some are plain worthless. You can guess which category he falls into.”
This civility was a good start. If she offered him information, he might offer some in return. “I think I saw a Zerian,” she ventured.
He swiveled to face her, his eyes wide. “Where? When?”
“Last night. By a lake in a clearing in the woods. He looked like those creatures in the portrait gallery.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t a bird?” He eyed her with obvious doubt. “A sprite or a shadow? You Sylvans don’t see well at night.”
She breathed in for patience. “There was enough moonlight. It wasn’t a bird. Or a sprite. And we spoke to each other.”
“So,” Gutel said, and might have smiled under his beard. “The spirits of Welkincaster are waking.”
Cassia drew the dagger from its scabbard, showing the winged fox on the hilt. “Speaking of spirits, a creature that looks like this protected me in the summoning circle.”
Gutel’s mouth dropped open. He looked more surprised by that than her mention of a Zerian.
“What is it?” She offered him the hilt and he took it, hefting it experimentally before staring at the design.
“A beautiful piece,” he said, handing it back carefully. “Quite old and well-made. Keep it safe.”
She took it back, returning it to the scabbard with care. “You clearly know something about this and how it’s connected to me.” When he didn’t reply, she sighed. “I’m being open with you. The least you can do is share information in return. Or don’t kobolds believe in fairness?”
He eyed her resentfully. “I believe in Sylvans being too curious for their own good.”
She shrugged. “Then you know I won’t stop asking. In fact, consider me your new closest companion.” She took a spot on the chair next to him, putting her hands on her knees and leaning toward him. “I’ll follow you everywhere. I won’t leave your side until you share what you know. You’ll likely never sleep again. Won’t this be fun?”
His eyes widened. “I had no idea you had such a cruel streak.” He put his hands to his head and adjusted his hat. “It’s called a Vozarra. One of the creatures of the welkins.”
“Why did it appear in the circle with me?” She toyed absently with her ring.
Gutel nodded, his eyes on the Solis Gemma. “Because you were in danger.”
“I’ve been in danger for days. Why now?”
The kobold wiped his forehead with the back of a hand. “It’s hard to accept. You came to the ring by accident. I’d assumed it was meant for someone else. That you were merely a temporary aberration in its history.”
Cassia’s jaw clenched. Temporary aberration. Not that she hadn’t had the same thought herself. “And what do you think now that the Vozarra defended me? And spirits are waking?”
“It pains me,” Gutel said, his eyebrows drawn together. He stood and began pacing, his hands making helpless gestures. “But it appears to mean that the welkin has… accepted you… as its rightful caretaker.” He tensed as if bracing for something. “It recognizes your stewardship of the ring, and therefore your power to bring life and protection to this sanctuary.”
Cassia sat in stunned silence, his words echoing in her mind. Rightful caretaker. Stewardship. Bringing life and protection to this impossible realm she hadn’t known existed. And the sacred, ancient magic of the place had found her worthy.
That was perhaps the most shocking thing of all.
She’d had little choice in coming here, but now it felt like fate. If the kobold was correct, it meant she’d had a connection to this realm in the clouds from the moment she put on the ring. The ring she’d been told was nothing but a weapon. It was so much more.
“I still say it may be temporary,” Gutel said quickly. “Rightful stewards have always been Zerians.”
Cassia paused at that. Perhaps she was an aberration. But if Gutel believed she was a rightful caretaker, she could use that to her advantage. “Well, I’m not a Zerian. Don’t you think it’s time you accepted that and did your duty as one of the guardians of this realm? I need help. Are you going to refuse me?”
“All right, all right!” Gutel cried. “Enough! If I wanted to be shamed, I’d visit my mother’s spirit in the Netherwhere. Honestly, you are merciless.”
“Thank you,” Cassia said, smiling. She waited, letting him catch his breath.
“Let me go back to the beginning,” he said more calmly. He pulled his stool closer to her, his red eyes lively. “How much do you know about the Old Ones?”
“Not much,” she admitted, determined to be a better pupil now than she had ever been for her tutors.
Gutel cleared his throat. “The Old Ones were giant spirits who sprang forth when the world was young. They heaved rocks in a constant shaking of ground, made winds that lifted great waves that swallowed continents, blazed lightning over the skies, and poured lava from the mountains. They played that way for an untold time, making our world into the shape it is now. But after ages, they became bored and longed for someone to appreciate their handiwork. They longed for children. Brought forth by their longing, the ones we call the Ancients came to life. Noctua, Nerthus, and Solis, among them. Of course, there were more than the three sisters, but I don’t have time to tell you everything.”
Cassia tried to hide her Sylvan curiosity and merely nodded. “Go on.”
“Over time,” he continued, “the Ancients themselves wanted more creatures to share the lands with them. But the three sisters realized that nothing would grow if wind and lava and lightning kept destroying everything. So, they bespelled their primordial forebears into sleep.”
“Nerthus made a lute of slumber!” Cassia said, delighted to remember something of relevance. “And then she helped to put the wind and rock and lava giants—the Old Ones—to rest. I liked that story when I was a child.”
“It’s not a story,” Gutel snapped, pointing to her hand. “The Solis Gemma you wear on your finger? Is that a story?”
“Fine, I liked that history ,” she corrected.
He gave an approving nod. “Each sister had an artifact that they used to bind the Old Ones into a long slumber. Nerthus fashioned a lute from a branch of the most beautiful tree in the world. Noctua harvested silver from the moon and had it made into a cup of forgetfulness. And to maintain the life force of the sleeping forebears, Solis chose a rock that glowed like the sun, and had it shaped into a gemstone. It was called the Solis Gemma.”
A chill swept over her back as she looked down at the amber cabochon on the gold band. Surely not. The ring on her finger was used to maintain the life force of the Old Ones? How could something so important end up in Zeru’s family? Or on her own unworthy finger? It made her stomach churn. It was as if a thread tugged on her, leading all the way back to Solis. And if she broke that thread, she would be destroying history. Angering the Ancients. Upsetting the balance of the world. The ring bore down on her with the weight of an anvil, heavier than ever.
“Some accounts say the Solis Gemma brought joy, hope, or freedom from darkness,” Gutel went on, watching Cassia carefully. “Solis wanted the Old Ones to sleep in peace, and the Solis Gemma provided that.”
“It sounds like the ring was meant for good,” Cassia said, wishing she didn’t have to take these warm stories into darker places. “But the ring was used in the Ancient Wars. The wearer was called Deathringer.”
“The ring’s theft and corruption into a weapon happened much later,” Gutel said, lifting a palm. “As I said, the Old Ones slept, other creatures came to be, and the Ancients nurtured them. Perhaps too well. From barren to fertile, the land exploded with life. There were so many creatures vying for dominance in places that had once held only trees and birds and other small creatures that the Ancients could scarcely rest. Over time, the Ancients craved peace from this ever more crowded land. That’s when they harvested power from the primordials and used it to create the welkins. Slowly, carefully, so as not to wake the Old Ones, they took some of the old magic from deep within the earth and spun it into the sky. From here, they observed the land of mortals, both the very long-lived land folk and the short-lived humans, as well as the eternal spirits who roamed the air.”
“If I hadn’t seen this place for myself,” Cassia said, “I’d never have believed it.”
Gutel looked pleased. “Indeed, it is impossibly beautiful here. Or it used to be. The Ancients were entranced by what they’d created. But they weren’t finished. They needed votaries to guard this realm. They chose creatures they deemed worthy and bestowed wings on them. Any of the land folk could be chosen. So the Zerians came to be.”
“You don’t have wings,” Cassia pointed out.
“Of course not!” His eyebrows snapped together, and he pierced her with a sharp glare. “I’m a hearth-spirit. I guard the hearth, the walls, and the rooms inside. I have no need for wings. And the Zerians were long established by the time I came here.”
Seeing she had upset him, she changed the subject. “Are those the people in the portrait gallery? The past stewards?”
Gutel nodded. “There were many welkins, many Zerians, back then. Much art and revelry and song. It was a different time. But yes, through most of its history, the ring was worn by a Zerian.”
“Was the ring passed by right of succession when a steward died?”
“There is no right of succession. Stewardship was passed on by choice. The lore says the wearer must be of good character, but also strong enough to bear the magic of the Old Ones. It is an honor to wear the ring, but also a burden. Acting as the bringer of life and vitality to this place takes a toll. It takes energy and life force from whoever wears it.”
Cassia took a shuddering breath. That was the first time she’d ever heard anyone acknowledge the fact that the ring was a burden as well as a great power. “I think it pulls from my strength when I use it.”
Gutel nodded slowly, his eyes understanding. “Over time, a bond is formed so they can work in harmony. But if the wearer isn’t strong enough… well, it can kill someone who doesn’t have enough vitality to handle its power.”
Cassia shivered. Did that mean the ring would eventually kill her, take all her life force as she’d feared? She bit her lip before asking, “A Seer in the Cryptlands said there is a bond between me and the ring. Does that mean I’m worthy?”
The kobold looked at her hand. “I’m no Seer. But if the bond is complete, then… yes.”
She sighed. “The bond isn’t complete. She said it might be one day soon. Can someone steal the ring before that happens?”
The kobold wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know that much about the magic. But my understanding is that the bond can only be broken by choice of the wearer, by gifting the ring to someone with a close connection to the wearer. This is the way the magic is supposed to be passed on, only to someone trustworthy who will be a good steward to the welkin.”
“But trust can be misplaced,” she pointed out.
Cassia felt a prickle on the back of her neck and turned sharply to see Zeru in the doorway. She wondered how long he had been there.
Zeru took his spot in the red chair, leaning back and resting an ankle on his knee. “Don’t stop on my account.”
The kobold cleared his throat, clearly sensing tension. “The three sisters fought. Nerthus, Noctua, Solis. They razed cities, uprooted forests, and made the land barren in their conflict.”
Cassia tried to block out Zeru’s presence. “What were they fighting over?”
“Dominance. Power. And most importantly, life for their favored people. Nerthus preferred the humans and hated how some of the land folk hunted them.” His eyes shifted to Cassia, and she remembered what he had said about the Sylvan king hunting humans. She steeled her spine and gave him a warning look.
Something flickered in the kobold’s eyes, and he continued. “Noctua favored the ephemeral spirits, beings of air and fire who roamed freely and took what they wanted, passing between the earth and the Netherwhere—a place of chaos and instability. Solis preferred the land folk like Sylvans and Dracu, declaring they had the right to hunt humans or any creature. They fought, and thousands upon thousands died. Before the Ancient Wars, there were many more of us land folk. So many more.”
“I’m confused about Solis,” Cassia said. “She was kind enough to want to bring joy to the Old Ones, but she believed humans should be hunted?”
Gutel nodded in understanding. “You might think by the creation of the ring that Solis was peaceful by nature. But she had no compunction about killing those she saw as beneath her. She found a champion who learned to use the ring for ill. That was the Deathringer of legend.”
“Who was the Deathringer?” Cassia asked, leaning forward.
Gutel paused, watching her before answering. “That was before my time. There have been theories, but all agree the Deathringer was described as a creature with horns.”
“An Azpian, then?” Cassia asked.
“Couldn’t have been,” Zeru said. “The ring was used against Azpians, I assume, as it only affects us.”
“Not solely,” Gutel said. “It isn’t light that kills. It is a surfeit of life force, pushed into a body too small to contain it.”
“You mean,” Cassia said slowly, “the ring could kill Sylvans, too?”
Gutel gave her a hard look. “I don’t see why not. Might want to think about that when you’re deciding how to use that gemstone. At any rate, only a creature with enough life force can wear the ring.”
“Too much life force is what makes it a weapon,” Cassia breathed. The revelation that Sylvans could be harmed, too, was terrifying. But she was also closer than she’d ever been to finding out what she needed to know.
“A corruption, but an effective one,” Gutel said darkly. “Solis’s champion caused much destruction.” He paused, cleared his throat, and looked away. “It turned out, however, that his slaughter of many thousands wasn’t enough to win the war.”
“How was the war won?” Zeru asked, drawing Cassia’s attention. “I have heard too many different answers for any one of them to be true.”
“It was neither won nor lost but ended by a bargain,” Gutel said. “The sisters realized their war was destroying everything they themselves held dear, so they made a pact. Each would govern a realm and leave the others alone. Noctua governs the Netherwhere and agreed to keep her ephemeral subjects from entering the material realm, though of course Seers have found ways to summon and contain spirits for short periods. Nerthus watches over the humans, though not many of them worship her anymore. And Solis is the goddess of wild, uncultivated places, still guarded by the land folk, though their numbers have dwindled. When the bargain was struck and the war over, the Cryptlands were dug.” He shifted his attention to Zeru. “A burial place for all who had died during the Ancient Wars.”
Zeru nodded. “And the Dracu, creatures of water and earth, chose it when their wetlands were taken over by the humans. Many creatures already lived there, like the drakes and Skrattis.” He glanced at Cassia. “We’d been closer allies with the Sylvans, once. The Dracu were caretakers of the roots of trees.”
Cassia laughed, then bit her lip as the kobold looked at her with a scandalized expression. “The Dracu cared for the trees? You can’t possibly think I’d believe that.”
“Your excellent tutors didn’t teach you that, I suppose?” Zeru didn’t try to hide his animosity, which almost made her wonder if she had imagined him bandaging her wounds and giving her the dagger.
“Much changed when the land folk were forced to move from their natural homes,” Gutel said. “Friends became enemies.”
“How was the ring lost?” Cassia asked, not caring to dwell on past friends turned enemies. “I know it came here after the Ancient Wars and was worn by Zerian stewards. But when did that end? How did the ring end up in the Cryptlands?”
“That I don’t know,” Gutel admitted. “The last Zerian steward was Xerxunia the Wise, or so she was called in my time. At some point, I went into my slumber and much more time passed than should have. But I can tell you, at one time, our Zerian caretakers moved freely between here and the lower mainland.” He shook his head. “Somehow, it was lost in the Cryptlands.”
“I wouldn’t call it lost,” Zeru broke in. “As I said, the ring has been in my family for generations. I don’t know who last wore it, but I know my mother was tasked with keeping the ring safe.” His eyes met Cassia’s. “Unfortunately, she didn’t tell me that until after I gave it away.”
“If you got your hands on it as a child,” Gutel said, “your mother failed in her task.”
Zeru’s jaw hardened. “Careful, Kobold.”
Gutel held up his palms. “It’s a thing of great power, vital to the upkeep of the sacred welkins, stolen and corrupted to become a weapon of the Ancient Wars. It’s an artifact of legend. And you said you found it among your mother’s things?”
Zeru nodded stiffly. “I admit it’s strange. My mother always swore it was hidden. She couldn’t understand how I’d found it.”
“Tell me about the fox creature,” Cassia said, her head spinning with all this knowledge. “What did you call it, a Vozarra?”
“Ah, yes.” Gutel sat forward, his eyes bright. “When the wearer of the ring is in mortal danger, a spirit is summoned. It’s believed that each of the artifacts has a protective spirit connected to it. In the case of the ring, a Vozarra.”
Cassia looked at the dagger. “I’ve been in danger before, and nothing ever came to defend me.”
“Then perhaps the ring had not yet accepted you. Or you were never in mortal danger,” Gutel said decisively.
“I was,” she said, feeling heat rise to her face at his dismissal of the most terrible experience of her life. “Starting with night I put on the ring. The Dracu queen’s vassals tried to kill me.” Cassia looked down at her bandaged hand. Even before the attack by Xoden’s creature, her hands had been crisscrossed with fine white scars from where drakes had clawed at her and imps had torn at her with their sawlike teeth.
When she looked up again, Gutel’s eyes were narrowed in thought. “How did you escape?”
“My father came to my rescue,” she said, her chest warming as she remembered. She’d always assumed the trees had alerted him. Maybe, she’d thought, maybe he’d even sensed it through a bond with her, his child. In any case, he had come to save her. It had meant everything. It was how she knew that she mattered to him. Because of that night.
“To your rescue,” Zeru said, his voice hard.
She looked up to see his eyes glittering coldly.
“Yes.” Her fists tightened in her lap. “You were there.”
“I remember it distinctly,” he said. “The Sylvan king rode into the clearing, ordered you brought to him, and checked to make sure you had the ring. Then he foisted you on one of the Huntsmen, barely glancing at you. I’m not even sure he knew you were alive. He came for the ring.”
The viciousness of his claims stole her breath. “You are vile,” she breathed.
“I watched him,” Zeru said, relentless in the way he held her eyes, the way he spoke with razor bluntness. “You were insensible. I was fighting to get to you. I saw the way he lifted your arm and dropped it as if you were no more than a container that held his precious ring.” His eyes held a fury she had never seen in them. “It was chilling.”