29

Forge

CALLA AND SAFFRON BREATHLESSLY HURRIED up the steps of the Grand Hall, as the sun blazed brightly above them.

Mischief and Pye scrambled after them, seemingly more energized from the sudden outing.

As they reached the stop Calla hunched over to catch her breath. Saffron swayed like she was about to topple over. A guard posted at the doorway approached them with concern.

“Are you both okay? Is there trouble?”

“Fine,” Calla panted. She knew how bedraggled they must have appeared. Half day of walking, plus an hour of running and trekking through plants and ravines will do that to you.

She startled a little. “Nettle?” Then she saw Spruce glowering from the shade of the building. “What are you two doing here?”

Spruce grumbled, “After your little stunt ruined the mission, we were forced to take up work out here.”

“Are you ever in a good mood?” Calla asked.

Spruce frowned, “No.”

“Come on,” Saffron said to Calla.

They hurried past the guards and darted down the hall. As they turned a corner, they nearly collided with Oakbur, who carried a scroll in his arms.

“Running in the halls, are we?” he huffed. “Some things never change with you two.”

“Oakbur, we have some questions to ask,” Saffron said.

“Big questions,” Calla said.

Oakbur rolled his eyes. “I suppose, since I’ve already lost my concentration,” he muttered. “Okay, out with it. What compels you to burst in here?”

“Did our mother hang out with any Keepers that weren’t from here?” Calla asked.

Oakbur blinked in surprise and adjusted his small glasses. “Well my memory is a bit foggy on this, but I do recall she used to work on more private missions with an old caster friend. She was obsessed with finding ancient relics, but none of us could quite keep up with her research. She and this caster worked miracles. They recovered a good amount of scrolls, books, trinkets, and ancient items we thought were gone forever.” He shook his head. “It’s too bad it had to end.”

“End?” Saffron said. “How so?”

“They eventually had a messy falling out,” he said. “Over what, we still have no clue. All we know is that their arguing and bickering came to a head over finding an artifact that no other plant-lark has been able to find.” The lark gave a small laugh. “It was a fool’s errand. The relic that tore them apart was something that many generations of Keepers fought to find.”

Calla listened intently. “What was it?”

“The Spindlechest,” he answered. “I’m aware many larks believe it exists but personally, I see no solid evidence for it being real.”

“What’s the Spindlechest?” Calla asked.

“A myth,” Saffron said. “It’s mentioned in old poems and fragments of a book but there’s no proof it actually existed.”

The Keeper stroked his leafy mustache. “Well your mother believed it was out there,” he said, “and she searched and searched along with that other caster. The closest they ever got was a clue that the old Spindlechest was in Hembeard’s village.”

Calla and Saffron both stiffened at that.

Oakbur sighed. “They never found it. Shortly after, your ma finally retired from being a Keeper to focus on something that she—in her words, I believe— ‘truly cared about.’” He looked at them. “You two.” He shrugged. “Personally I think being a Keeper is a more rewarding experience, but to each their own.”

Saffron frowned. “She never told us any of this. And I don’t recall seeing some caster hang out with her.”

“I never met the caster either,” Oakbur said. “I mostly heard the mutterings about him from past Keepers.”

“What was the caster’s name?” Saffron asked.

Oakbur scratched his head. “No name. He was secretive and withdrawn from others—to the point where we pondered if there was perhaps more going on than, well, searching for relics. But that’s age-old gossip.”

Calla scowled. “What gossip?”

Saffron shook her head in disbelief. “No, I can’t believe any of this.”

Calla glanced at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how could we not know this?” Saffron blurted., “And now here we are having to learn from Oakbur? No offense but—”

There was a loud pounding and all three stood up straight.

“What was that?” Saffron asked.

They traced the knocking noise to one of the large wooden doors. Oakbur took out a key from his cloak pocket and unlocked it. Standing at the doorway was Captain Conifer, among of sea of paper, books, and scrolls.

“Captain Conifer?!” Calla exclaimed.

Oakbur’s eyes widened. “What are you doing in here?” He looked at the scattered paper in horror. “And what have you done to the archives?”

The captain glowered. “I’ve been in there for three days!” he grumbled, stumbling out of the room and brushing himself off. “You would think one of you would’ve checked around here. At least for a scroll or something!”

“Well, we’ve all been winded from our journey,” Oakbur said, “and then Nia came down with a bit of a cough. And with everything going on it’s been rather slow around here.”

“Are you okay?” Saffron asked. “Should I get you some water?”

The captain raised a hand and shook his head, “I’m fine, thank you. I do feel some sunlight would do me good, I’m due for some photosynthesis.”

“How’d you get in there?” Calla asked.

The captain frowned. “Rowan told me there was commotion down here—that an angry wilder got in, but when I entered, I heard the door shut behind me and that was it. I hope that fella is all right. He seemed very concerned about the wilder when he got me. I worry it may have injured him badly, thus he couldn’t alert anyone of my absence.”

Calla exchanged a knowing glance with Saffron, while Oakbur looked at him puzzled. “Pardon me, captain, but you mentioned being in there for…three hours, was it?”

“Days,” Captain Conifer corrected.

Oakbur frowned. “That can’t be right. I just saw you yesterday enjoying a muffin after hauling in some prisoners. A rather dangerous looking bunch, by the looks of em.”

The captain stared at him blankly.

“I what?” he asked.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Captain Conifer boomed to his guards, who eyed him wearily from a distance, clutching their halberds. “And why does it look so awful here?”

They all stood in a ravaged courtyard. Chunks of stone and uprooted flowers were strewn here and there. Calla looked around at the destruction in disbelief.

Saffron stepped back in horror of the sight, while Spruce shook her head.

“So you’re saying you don’t remember any of this happening?” she asked the captain.

Both Spruce and Nettle had been caught up by the captain as they left the Grand Hall. They were just as bewildered.

The captain shook his head. “I don’t,” he said. “I’ve been locked in those darn archives, which really need to be dusted from time to time.”

From the crowd of guards, Peat cautiously walked up and squinted. “Is it really you, captain? And not some imposter?”

Captain Conifer squinted back, as if he were crazy. “Of course it’s me. Why wouldn’t it be me?”

“But your sore throat,” Peat said, “how’d it heal so fast?”

“My what?” the Captain said.

“That’s why you sounded weird.”

“Calla,” Saffron whispered.

Calla turned to see her sister pointing at the ground, where small wisps still fluttered.

“Rowan was here,” Calla whispered.

Saffron nodded; it was all looking too likely.

“Ridiculous, this is ridiculous,” Captain Conifer boomed. “I…”

He paused. They followed his gaze to a small dead bird on the ground. As the captain bent down to examine it, a small glider came down and landed on his shoulders.

Then it hit Calla. The first time she’d met the captain, he’d had two small wilders perched on his shoulders. His companions, Calla thought. She felt a tug in her chest as the Captain lightly stroked the head of the fallen wilder.

Saffron walked up and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, Captain Conifer.”

The guards seemed to ease up at his reaction, and started muttering amongst themselves.

“It’s him, it’s got to be him,” a guard said. “That glider doesn’t come to just anyone. It has to be him. He loves that bird.”

Spruce walked up to him. “Captain…”

The captain looked up morosely.

“You—I mean, your imposter—also injured a number of our group the other night.” She gestured around them. “He caused all of this this to happen.”

“W-who could responsible for all this?” he said. “And how?”

“I might know,” Calla blurted.

They all looked at her.

She nervously straightened her posture. “It may be Rowan,” she declared, “and it may be through the use of magic.”

Oakbur raised a brow. “Rowan?”

Spruce huffed, “That tender flower heart?”

“Possibly,” Saffron chimed in, standing next to her sister. We’ve been investigating and digging around somewhat, and we think he may be behind all this—not just the imposter fiasco, but the dead wilders you’ve been finding.”

Calla nodded. “We’ll explain all of it, but I think we need to find him, and quickly. If he’s blown his cover, he’s probably taken off somewhere to finish what he started.”

All those years ago, Calla added in her head.

The captain, now carrying the bird in his hands, rose to his feet. His eyes were furious. “Where is he?” he demanded.

Calla’s eyes met Saffron’s, who nodded.

“Hembeard’s village,” Calla said.