Island Shifters: Book 01 - An Oath of the Blood Read online

  Adrian looked up at him. “And how would you know about such things?”

  Lucin swallowed wondering if he had gone too far. “I knew ‘er grandmother who was also a seer. She ‘as since passed to the spirits, but she once told me that she ‘ad no control over the visions. What she saw always came true, without fail, but she could not control when they came.”

  “Is that so?”

  “In any event, I need to speak to you now. Besides, I think the girl ‘as been through enough for one evenin’ and ‘er stress may prevent ‘er from tellin’ prophecies in the future.”

  Adrian looked over at Saige as if seeing her anguish for the first time. He sniffed and said, “I guess you are right, Lucin. This useless lump has not been able to tell me anything new for days.” He waved the girl out of the room, and she jumped out of her chair as if it was on fire and ran to the door, giving Lucin a quick look of gratitude as she exited.

  Adrian unceremoniously dropped the bloody finger into a bowl on the table between the two chairs. “Sit,” he commanded.

  Lucin did so trying his best not to look at the macabre display.

  “Everythin’ is ready for our departure in the mornin’,” he began. “The ships are being fortified with the equipment and food supplies that will be needed. We will be goin’ ashore at the only possible entrance to the Old World which, as you know, is located at the northern end of the island with the twin bluffs.” It was all Lucin could do to continue looking at Adrian when all he wanted to do was put his hands around his scrawny neck and squeeze until he breathed his last breath, but he forced himself to continue. “As you requested, all Cyman males over the age of fourteen will accompany us to war. All women and children will remain behind.”

  “And?”

  Lucin was startled for a moment. “Master?”

  “Oh, come now, Lucin. You took great risk in interrupting me the way you did, and you have been wringing your sweaty hands ever since you arrived. If this is about your slave daughter….”

  “No!” he said, cutting Adrian off, not wanting his daughter’s name coming out of his filthy mouth. “I just want you to be aware of everythin’ I ‘ave done for you so you will see to repayin’ me in kind.”

  “Meaning?”

  Lucin took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. “Meanin’ that I will go to war for you, my people will go to war for you, but we would like our freedom in return. After the war is won, and mark my words we will win, the Cyman people would like to come back ‘ere to Nordik to live. I believe there are still good sands east of ‘ere.” When Adrian remained silent with his hands steepled under his chin, Lucin continued. “If the witch Niema was right and all of the magic users are exiled in Pyraan, they can be defeated easily and you will not ‘ave any opposition to your rule.”

  “Ah, yes, poor Niema,” drawled Adrian. “She served her purpose well,” he paused, “until one of your men killed her.”

  Lucin flinched.

  The witch Niema often used her divination skills to gather information about the Old World for Adrian and the two were close for many, many years. She was very ruthless, however, to the Cyman people, and one of his soldiers finally had all he could take when she was being particularly cruel one morning to a group of children. That soldier snuck up behind the unsuspecting Niema and snapped her neck with his bare hands. Her death had been quick and merciful.

  His death had been slow and agonizing.

  “That man paid for ‘is crime. I…”

  “I? I tell you what to do, Lucin, and I am not interested in any of your pathetic attempts at deal making.”

  Lucin stood slowly until he towered over the Mage. “You should be interested,” he said softly.

  Adrian stood as well. “It has been a long time since I have had to break you, Lucin. Maybe too long?”

  Despite the horrific memories invoked by Adrian’s threat, Lucin did not flinch again. He could not afford to when so much was at stake.

  “You will give the Cyman people their freedom, Master, or you will die.”

  The Mage stared unbelievingly at him as they faced each other. “So, let me get this straight, Lucin. Unless I give the Cyman people their freedom, I will die. Are you threatening me, Captain?”

  Lucin held up his hands. “No. Let me explain. Can we sit?” he asked, wanting to get Adrian into a less confrontational arrangement.

  Surprisingly, Adrian backed down. “You have thirty seconds to give explanation or my whip will slice open your back,” he said coldly.

  Despite his efforts to prevent it, Lucin gulped visibly as he also sat. But, seated or standing, he had to tread very carefully with his volatile master. “It actually ‘as to do with what you were just now attemptin’ to get from the seer. On a night not too long ago, I was called to the bedside of ‘er grandma, Sashan, when she was dyin’. She told me then that visions ‘ad come to ‘er and she needed me to ‘ear ‘em.”

  Adrian did not move a muscle, but the hunger for knowledge burning fiercely in his eyes was unmistakable.

  Lucin went on, “Sashan said it was the last ‘ope of our people. Would you like to ‘ear?” he asked, knowing full well that Adrian would give his right arm to do so.

  “Continue.”

  “Sashan told me that the first vision she ‘ad was accompanied by these words, ‘In the year that the star grows weak in the world, the ravens begin their flight, Ancient skills long since dead, resurrect in the morning light, Beware the four Savitars, who are light to the dark, But fear the Shadow more, who is death to the dark, Beware the star, when it shines so bright, But fear the star more, in the eternal night’.”

  Adrian raised his eyebrows, and Lucin could tell that the words of the prophecy rang true with intelligence previously held by him.

  “That hardly constitutes a death sentence for me, Lucin. I trust you have more to bargain with?” he questioned in challenge.

  Lucin did not hesitate. “The second part is this, ‘For the dark to conquer the land of old, the spirits will need to sing, Until that time the only hope, is the army of the raven king, As all livings things, it is freedom they crave, And grant it he must, it is that or the grave’.”

  “I was right!” Adrian said and sprang from his chair, startling Lucin. He slammed his fist into the open palm of his hand. “Ancient skills? Spirits will need to sing? What else could it mean?”

  “Master?”

  “What?” he asked turning back to him. “Oh, Lucin. Yes, yes, you have your deal. You would not want me to go to my grave now, would you?” He laughed sardonically.

  Lucin trembled, afraid to believe it. Even with the prophecy in his possession, he had little hope that Adrian would let them go, regardless of what he told Maree. “You…you are goin’ to free the Cyman people after you ‘ave established your rule in the Old World?”

  “Yes, Lucin, I told you, you have your deal. The information you have provided me has been well worth the exchange.” Adrian uncharacteristically reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “Oh, yes, you have no idea what you have just given me, my friend.” It was all Lucin could do to stop himself from cringing at the contact. He forced himself to reach out his hand to the Mage.

  Adrian looked at his outstretched hand and cackled. “Do you really think I would abide by a gentleman’s handshake, Lucin? Your naiveté truly surprises me.”

  When Lucin did not pull back his hand, Adrian said, “Very well, if it makes you feel better.” The Mage’s hand felt limp and soft in his and again he fought the urge to recoil from the touch.

  Cautiously, Lucin nodded, walked to the door and had his hand on the handle when Adrian called to him. “Captain!”

  He turned around slowly, warily. “Yes, Master?”

  “Satisfy my curiosity if you would. Why are you so quick to take my word that I will let the Cyman people go when our mission is complete? You are much smarter than that, so it puzzles me.”

  Lucin blinked his huge eye. “Oh, did I not mention? There is still
somethin’ you will be needin’ from me. You see, dear old Sashan, ‘ad not two, but three visions to share with me that night.”

  With that, he slipped through the door and closed it softly behind him, grateful that he could not see the look on his nefarious master’s face.

  Chapter 6

  SMALL SURPRISES

  It was late in the afternoon and uncomfortably humid when the Legion crested the hill of a deep river valley. The volatile island temperature, so cool in the mornings that frost on the ground was not uncommon, provided searing temperatures in the afternoons. In search of relief from the heat and the press of bodies, Beck rode a distance from the others and gazed out at the stunning vista below him. Gigantic sugar pines dotted the valley walls, and the floor was a profusion of grasses and wildflowers bending in a light wind through which white-throated magpies glided freely in search of an early meal. Serving as backdrop for it all as fresh and crisp as a new painting was the majestic Balor Mountains.

  Beck inhaled the hot mountain air and was pleased to discover it tinged with the smell of two of his favorite scents—jasmine and impending rain. The bouquet of the valley was invigorating to his tired muscles, the tranquility balm to his weary mind. In contrast to the coarse racket of the Legion with its creaking leather, snorting animals, and jangle of bridles, Mother Nature spoke to him in a lullaby and cradled him to her breast. Earth. The elemental power to which he was invariably linked, held power beyond measure, and he felt a thrill of excitement as he reached out with his magic to explore the terrain before him. As soon as he did, he felt an unexpected jolt surge through his mind, and he was mentally wrenched from his body. Panicking, he frantically tried to pull back, but was as helpless as an ensnared fish on a line as he realized that the spirit of the earth had responded to his casting and seized control of the link, directing him with express purpose. Forcing down his unease, he relaxed his mind and found himself soaring at breakneck speed on a cerebral journey through the earth.

  Weightless, he burrowed down into the rich soil of the valley floor and glimpsed seedlings ready to burst forth with new buds. Delving deep along the warren of roots from a black pine as they twisted and turned through the ground in complex designs, he paused to listen to three tender heartbeats from a mother fox and her two cubs as they slept snug and unaware in their underground den. Suddenly playful, he plunged out of the soil to scale the bark of a hickory tree and to survey the butterflies, birds, and honeybees as they flitted through the nut-laced branches. He then barked out a laugh in amusement as a normally sure-footed squirrel almost fell from its perch as it attempted to gnaw into the husk of a hickory nut.

  He then felt the earthen link begin to slacken but curious for more exploration, he raced back down into the ground.

  The life! Beyond simply plant life, a massive number of organisms from bacteria and earthworms to slugs and rodents teemed in the millions. And, he pored over it all, taking his time to appreciate an implication that was suddenly quite clear to him. As an earthshifter, he had always believed it was he who was master over the earth and had only to summon the oldest of the elemental powers to his trifling needs. How embarrassingly mistaken that notion was. He might have the power to summon, but the will to act was clearly the earth’s alone.

  It was a humbling experience.

  After what seemed like hours, but in reality must have been mere seconds, Beck felt the connection withdraw completely, and he pulled out of the magical excursion and back to his corporal surroundings. Feeling light-headed, he grabbed the pommel in front of him to steady his equilibrium, and Chasin immediately snorted his concern. He looked around hesitantly, but it was apparent that his journey had gone unnoticed by his fellow soldiers who were already making their way down into the valley.

  He rubbed the side of Chasin’s long, silky neck. “Easy, boy. Everything is fine,” he cooed to the horse, who responded to his ministrations.

  Halfhearted after such a remarkable foray, Beck rejoined the Legion and followed the procession into a small copse of trees on the western side of the valley beside the river. Saddle sore, he swung down gingerly and rubbed his backside. He was not used to riding for so many hours at one stretch. Once they left Parsis behind early that morning, Dismore led a steady pace around Hawthorne Lake and past the scattering of farms and villages spread out south of the mountains. If all held well with the weather and the horses, the Commander estimated they would reach Galen’s Pass by nightfall the following day.

  Beck heard Dismore order Rogan to make a campfire, and his friend nodded eagerly, unaccustomed, Beck knew, to being requested to perform magic outside of an academic setting. After soliciting a few of the legionnaires to help gather wood, Rogan had a large fire blazing in moments. Tasks were assigned to all of the men, and it was not long before the food was cooked and consumed, the horses curried and picketed, and the exhausted legionnaires settled quietly into their bedrolls.

  Listening to the peaceful night sounds of the insects and the crackle of the fire, Beck put his hands behind his head and gazed up at the sky. His jumbled thoughts raced between Galen Starr and his pendant to Kiernan and her lack of farewell. Unlike Kiernan, he never felt their exile as a prison term, but just accepted it as his fate in life never to leave Pyraan. He was very happy and content with two loving parents, meaningful friendships and his magic. But, thinking about it objectively, what did Kiernan have? She lost her mother when she was young, was forced from her father due to her shifting ability, and now was losing her closest friends. He wished he had been more sympathetic to her feelings and made an attempt to get her accepted into the Northwatch Legion. How could he be so callous?

  Abruptly, the ground beneath him began to churn and the surrounding dirt shot up into the air and rained down on both Airron to the left of him and Rory to the right. Beck was stunned. The earth was now responding to his spontaneous emotions instead of a formal calling? Apparently, this newfound nexus was more intimate than he first thought.

  “What is it?” whispered Airron, sitting up and brushing his blanket clean. Rory also sat up and looked worriedly at Beck. The small fireshifter was his shadow since the trip began, always finding a way to be near him as much as possible.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “It was an accident.”

  Rory, satisfied with the answer, rolled back into his blanket to go back to sleep.

  Rogan sidled over next to Airron and Beck. “You sure you are all right, Beck?”

  “I’m fine,” he said coarsely, embarrassed that his anxiety had escaped his usual tight control. “I was just thinking again about Galen Starr and the story my father related last evening,” he said, which was the truth if not exactly all encompassing. Reaching into his tunic at the neck, he pulled out the pendant with the moving fist and held it out for his friends to see. “Just before we left today, my mother gave me this pendant and said it was a gift from Galen Starr. She told me that he left it with her on the day I was born with instructions to give it to me on my eighteenth name day.”

  Airron’s hand shot out and he grabbed the pendant for a closer look, startling him. After a quick scrutiny, Airron slowly put his hand to his own neck and pulled forth a silver pendant that looked exactly like his except for the fact that Airron’s depicted a man alternately changing between human and animal instead of a fist.

  “Demon’s hell!” swore Airron. “My parents gave this pendant to me last week on my eighteenth name day! They said nothing to me of Galen Starr, but you cannot deny that the two pendants are identical except for the images and that they represent our shifting abilities.”

  As puzzling as it was, Beck agreed with his Elven friend. “They are definitely very similar,” he said examining Airron’s pendant.

  “Speaking of Galen,” said Rogan, “I am curious as to why the magic users of old are called Mages instead of shifters? I do not know of anybody in Pyraan that is referred to as Mage.”

  “Good question,” came the reply from over the top of them. Beck started a
t the figure of Commander Dismore standing above them.

  “It is?” asked Rogan.

  “Yes,” said Dismore. “I usually get this question a little later in the tour,” he said, lowering his considerable mass into a squat. “The simple answer is that a Mage is a practitioner of sorcery. As shifters, we are able to exploit the four metamagics, but we do not have any spell casting abilities.”

  “What of the other elemental magics of air and water?” asked Beck.

  “Nonexistent,” was Dismore’s reply.

  “Is it something that we can learn?” asked Rogan.

  Dismore shook his head. “With only one Mage left in the land, and in seclusion no less, it is highly doubtful that we ever will.” The Commander put his hands on his thighs to leverage himself off the ground, and then removed a handkerchief from his back trouser pocket and wiped it across his brow. Even at the late hour, the air was still thick with humidity. “Get some sleep, men. We leave at sunrise.” Dismore started to walk away and then abruptly turned around. “By the way, Radek and Falewir, you get first watch. Good evening, gentlemen.”

  Beck laughed to himself as Rogan and Airron groaned and then got to their feet and slipped soundlessly into the darkness. He thought it would be impossible to fall asleep with his thoughts churning so, but in what felt like no time at all, he was roused out of his blankets at dawn.

  Breath misting in front of his face as he hurried to pack his gear, he had to periodically tuck his hands under his armpits to keep them warm. Thankfully, the bitter cold would be very short lived. In a few short hours, it would be blistering heat to deal with.

  Once mounted and in formation, Beck pulled up the hood of his shoulder mantle to keep off the light rain he had known since yesterday would come.

  He spent the uneventful ride admiring the scenery, the colors in the basin leading up to the pass consisting of every hue Beck had ever seen in his life, and then some he had not. There were bright yellow butterbells, turquoise sealillies, and a scarlet colored flower his mother loved, but the name of which he could not recall.