Island Shifters: Book 01 - An Oath of the Blood (37 page)

A true witch’s lair, she thought sardonically.

Turning, she spied a three-legged ornate censer vibrating softly on the corner of Gemini’s desk emitting a sweet smelling vapor into the air. The source of her artificial serenity, no doubt. Next to the censer was an open, velvet-lined box with a large array of gemstones.

Gemini spoke, interrupting her perusal. “My apologies, Kiernan, for the last time we met. But, using your own words, you left me no other choice.”

Kiernan pointed to the censer. “Turn this off. I like to have my wits about me when I face my enemies.”

Gemini smiled indulgently and walked over to pull the rosewood incense stick from the censer and ground it into the sand on the bottom. “Sit down, Kiernan,” she said pointing to the velvet couch. “Let me explain.”

Kiernan reluctantly sat down. “Explain first why you kidnapped me and why I am not free to leave. If your answer satisfies me, we might have something to talk about. If not, sorcery or no, get out of my way, because I am leaving.”

Gemini clapped her hands in delight, her blue eyes twinkling. “My, my, they say that Princesses are born, not made, and you certainly give truth to that adage. Although you have not been a Princess for many years, you certainly still act like one.”

Kiernan scowled. “I act like a person who is being held against her will!”

“Where is your Draca Cat?” Gemini asked, startling her.

“How do you know about him?”

“The bond between your female ancestors and the Draca Cats goes back many, many years. A Kenley should never be without the protection of her Draca Cat.”

When Kiernan was silent Gemini sat down next to her. “First, let me explain who we are.”

“Sorceresses,” pronounced Kiernan evenly as if she had met them every day.

“Yes. I have been rescuing female shifters from the dreadful fate of exile in Pyraan for years. Without the benefit of training in the art of the metamagics as a shifter, the girls are taught instead the use of gemstones in sorcery. Just like mind, body, fire and earth, gems contain an enormous amount of energy that we use for healing, divination, spell casting, and combat, just to name a few applications. Each gem has its own unique purpose in witchcraft, and we study them all here.”

Kiernan was shocked. “That explains why we saw so few girls coming to Pyraan.”

“It explains some of it, certainly, but we only have a little over four hundred girls and women here in Elloree. There should be more.”

Kiernan was fascinated now.
Four hundred shifters in Iserlohn? Untrained shifters, but shifters nonetheless.
Kiernan felt her heart soar. “How do you find the girls?”

“Actually, they find us. Our vocation here is not entirely clandestine. People talk. When parents are faced with a daughter’s shifting abilities, the first thing they think about is how to keep their child from exile, so they bring them here and we care for them and train them.”

Kiernan’s eyebrow raised in question. “You mean you teach them magic?”

Gemini looked at Kiernan as if she was daft. “Of course! We are magical beings are we not? Did you not learn to use your craft at the Parsis Academy in Pyraan?”

“Well, yes, but only because we were required to use shifting to protect the lands. We did not use it in everyday life.”

Gemini shook her head in disgust. “Bah! Why not? Don’t tell me you subscribe to the archaic and ridiculous notion that having magical ability means you are defective in some way?” The sorceress rose to her feet. “What a waste! All these years of exiling and subjugating people solely because of a gift they possess. A gift that can heal and create and, yes, to defend if necessary.”

Kiernan felt that same way and gave much of this same speech to Beck during Homage Festival, which seemed so long ago now.

Gemini was still raving. “And to think, this all started because of an oath my absurd brother took!”

Kiernan snapped her head up. “Brother?”

“Yes, my dear. My full name is Gemini Starr, sister of that idiot, Galen Starr.”

Uncomfortable, Kiernan said, “Did you know that….?”

She waved a hand in the air. “Yes, I do know that my brother has passed. A Pigeon sent me a message from Nysa several days ago.” She shrugged. “I have not seen Galen since he took the oath. I concealed myself from him because I knew that if he found this coven, he would have commanded us all to exile. He would have had no other choice because of the oath. I am certain he heard of my activities, but this palace is bespelled with an invisibility veil that affected only my brother. Exile was an area in which we most definitely did not see eye to eye.”

Kiernan felt like she had to defend the dead Mage. “I agree with you that shifters do not deserve to be exiled, but Galen did a lot of good and it all came from his desire to protect this land and its people.”

Gemini smiled. “Yes he did, and that was his biggest flaw. He was not objective about the situation. He felt so responsible for the Mage War that I think he would have agreed to anything back then.”

“You were there?”

She laughed and the sound reverberated throughout the room. “Yes. I was a few years younger than Galen and, before you ask the next question, yes, he did share one of his Mage secrets with me, the Lifefire Tonic.” Gemini walked over to the chaotic bookcase and, after moving several items out of her way, pulled forth a vial that swirled with a red mist. “While not immortal, I have had prolonged existence in this world through regular use of this tonic. However, I have not, and will not, share it with any other person. I gave my word.”

Gemini returned the tonic to its rightful place and, though her movements appeared uncomplicated, Kiernan felt confident that nobody would ever be able to retrieve that vial except the sorceress herself.

Kiernan was curious about something. “As a shifter then, do you not feel the pull of the blood oath?”

She shook her head. “No, because I have not been marked.” She pointed to the tattoo on Kiernan’s neck. “The mark of the athame unleashes a very powerful energy into the body—into the soul—that binds the oath.”

Princess!

Kiernan flinched at the unexpected shout in her mind. It was Bajan.

Princess can you hear me? Beck is searching for you. Tell me where you are so we can come get you!

Kiernan snorted. Beck? The same Beck who thought it was more important to kiss another woman instead of finding Airron so they could continue their mission?

Princess!

Kiernan clamped her mind shut. She was not yet ready to go back. She had more to learn.

“Tell me about my mother and our bond with the Draca Cats.”

Airron decided that the Elves of Massa were the most decorous race he had ever met. A very reserved people, the dockworkers went about their tasks assiduously with very little engagement in casual conversation.

What few he encountered anyway.

He was surprised to find that Havenport was not a city at all. It was a wharf with two wooden docks and a few merchant shops and bungalows that butted up hard against the Puu Rainforest. The villages of Haventhal, he was told, lay beyond the towering trees. Airron gazed toward them wistfully. He had extended family somewhere within that forest, but he did not know their names or how to find them. Maybe someday he might get the chance to search them out, but not today, not now.

Without the comfort of an inn in Havenport, Airron, Rory and Bret Schwan were forced to spend their first night in Haventhal in their bedrolls outside of the rainforest. The plan was to purchase supplies at one of the dockside shops in the morning and then Airron and Rory would continue their journey to Sarphia while Bret returned to Iserport.

Airron was the first to wake the following morning and hurriedly set off for the wharf, anxious to spend time talking with the Elves. He was about to pull up his hood when he realized with satisfaction that it was unnecessary. The combination of silver hair and purple eyes so unique in other parts of Massa would be unexceptional here.

A slight wind picked up as he made his way across the open grassy knoll between the docks and the Puu. All was quiet except the gentle sound of the waves lapping against the shore. He did not see any of the Elves as he approached the small road that fronted the shops. Havenport looked deserted. Trying doors, he was surprised to find them all closed for business and locked up tight.

He tilted his head as a muffled sound flowed to him on the breeze. It sounded like singing. Walking further down the road, he saw them then. All of the Havenport Elves were down by the lake standing in a circle with their palms pressed together with the person on either side and held vertically, fingertips pointed toward the sky. Their lips moved in unison to the words of a chant, the cadence in their upraised voices captivating, the lyrics poignant. The grief that Airron carried around with him like a lead weight since the destruction of Pyraan, seemed to lighten with each word. Sorrow was replaced with thoughts of joy as he watched the Elves gesticulate in prayer, faces bathed in rapture and silver silken strands floating in the wind.

Suddenly feeling somewhat of an interloper intruding on a private ritual, he reluctantly backed away silently and returned to the docks to wait.

The Elves returned to their duties several moments later. One of the dockworkers Airron had met the previous day approached him. His name was Loren and he walked with an elegantly powerful grace. “
Asha
, brother,” he said and clasped forearms with Airron in the traditional Elven welcome. “If you plan to stay in Haventhal, you cannot miss the Morning Song to Elán.”

Red-faced, Airron admitted that he was ignorant of Elven customs. Loren explained that Elán of the Earth was the Elves’ woodland deity and daily supplication at sunrise was expected of every Elf.

Airron smiled. “When my duty is over, brother, I will be back here so you can teach me all I need to know about being a proper Elf.”

“It will be my pleasure.”

Airron remained to chat with Loren and a few of the others, and then left them to purchase the items needed for the trek on foot to Sarphia. Walking back to his meager campsite, he realized with a measure of contentment that he gained more than supplies this morning—he had gained a friend in Loren.

Rory was awake and sitting by the fire, quietly stroking the embers when he returned, but Bret was not in sight.

“Where is the Saber?” asked Airron, letting his bulging backpack fall to the ground.

“Gone,” replied Rory, not looking up from the fire.

A chill went down Airron’s spine as he regarded the fireshifter. “What do you mean gone?”

Rory shrugged. “Left for Iserport. You must have missed him at the wharf.”

Airron took a breath and widened the smile on his face. “Looks like it is just you and me then, kid. We should get going.” He walked over to the fire and kicked dirt over the smoldering cinders.

Picking up his pack again, he turned his back on Rory with some difficulty and started for one of the roads that led into the Puu. Ducking his head under the trailing vines and ferns hanging over the entrance, he entered the rainforest and immediately winced at the humidity. He had expected the interior to be cooler in temperature similar to the Grayan Forest, but it was anything but. It was hot and sticky, and beads of sweat popped out on his brow instantly.

Turning to face Rory, he gestured to the young fireshifter to take the lead. “After you, my friend. I do not wish to obstruct your view with my ungainly height.” Rory complied without complaint, and more at ease now that Rory was in front of him, he let his guard down to gaze at the plethora and size of the plant life in the Puu—the palms, ferns, orchids, mosses, bamboo, and the forest giants, the Ficus Trees, that soared one hundred and fifty spans or more into the sky. His visibility was restricted due to the heavy foliage that encroached on both sides of the road and, as he walked, he silently prayed that a snake or jaguar native to the forest did not drop down on his head.

Eventually, the trees began to thin and the first of Haventhal’s villages came into view, and it was unlike anything Airron had ever seen. It was a magical wonderland. Winding paths twisted through a landscape of quaint cottages, ponds with floating lilies, colorful gardens, and trees that were alive with twinkling lights—the source of which Airron could not even guess. Silver-haired Elven children flitted swiftly through the village on toes that barely touched the ground, the lovely sounds of their laughter enchanting. The adults were busy laboring over one chore or another. He saw gardeners, weavers, cooks, teachers, tailors, cobblers, fletchers, carpenters—all painstakingly going about their workday.