Island Shifters: Book 01 - An Oath of the Blood (4 page)

What his father did not say, but Beck had been told, was that it was only after weeks of immensely heated debate between the Assembly of Kings that Galen’s request was granted. None of the Kings was comfortable with having any magic—no matter how benevolent— outside of Pyraan.

Again, the redheaded legionnaire grunted disrespectfully.

“Do you have a problem, red?” asked Rogan, temper rising to the surface.

“I might,” replied the earthshifter with a level look.

Rogan slowly stood, along with Beck, Airron, and Kiernan.

Heath laughed scornfully. “Yeah, I did you hear that you freaks traveled in a pack. Come on, Jon,” he said to his friend. “I have had enough of child tales for one evening. Mages six hundred years old? Bloody hell, what a joke.”

Nobody said a word as the two legionnaires departed.

Jaimes stood and put his hand on Beck’s shoulder. “It is over.”

“Somebody needs to teach that one a lesson,” snarled Rogan, but he did sit again.

Jaimes looked around at the remaining legionnaires. “For the record, it is common knowledge that the Mages of old did have access to spells that extended life. Unfortunately, all of the lore and histories of the Mage was destroyed in the war, and we have never been able to regain even a fraction of that which was lost. Without a Mage to guide us, we only have our shifting left.” Jaimes remained standing, signaling an end to the evening’s impromptu history lesson. “Off you go now. You’ve only a few hours before your tests and journey tomorrow and,” he said, lowering his voice as he glanced around, “Commander Dismore does not take kindly to tardiness. Good luck, gentlemen. Your duty is appreciated.”

As the legionnaires dispersed, Jaimes grabbed Beck’s arm to hold him back from the throng. After bidding farewell to his friends, Beck let his father put an arm around his shoulder and pull him to the side. “I probably will not have a chance to do so in the morning so I wanted to wish you well, son. Your mother and I will miss you terribly. We are very proud of you, Beck, and all that you have accomplished at the Academy. The Highworld knows, the next time I see you, you will be taller than me!”

Beck looked down at his father and laughed. “I have been taller than you for over two years now, father,” he responded, hugging him tightly. “Besides, the only thing I am in danger of dying from at The Bluffs is boredom.”

“Just be careful,” Jaimes admonished softly. “There are dangers everywhere, Beck, and you should be more mindful of that. Do not think that you are indestructible.”

“I will be careful,” he assured his father and smiled inwardly at the concern. An only child, Beck had always been very close to his parents. He knew that both still had family members living in Iserlohn, but he had never met them. Beck’s extended family had always been his friends and neighbors in Parsis. There was Jorge Owen, the blacksmith, who taught him how to ride a horse. Jakob Martyn, the grocer, spent many afternoons with Beck teaching him how to hunt and fish. Of course, there was also Master Martyn’s son, Ben, who taught him how to filch a pint of ale from the back of his father’s store, and pretty Katrin Allendale who gave Beck his first, if awkward, kiss.

But above all, there were his best friends Kiernan, Rogan and Airron who, Beck knew, taught him more about friendship, love, and laughter than any family in Iserlohn ever could have.

Father and son said a final farewell, and Beck began the half league trek to his house to see what little sleep he could manage before he had to report to the Academy before dawn. As he walked the well-used path with the lake on one side and the thick Grayan Forest bordering the other, he thought about leaving behind the only home he had ever known. Even though it was only for two years, he knew there would be change in those years. He was grateful that Airron and Rogan would be with him, but he was unhappy to be leaving Kiernan. He thought about what she said earlier and wished he could do something about the situation. He would miss the time they spent together, along with Rogan and Airron, exploring the dark interior of the forest, swimming at the lake, or camping in the nearby hills.

For some reason, he had always been the unspoken leader of the group. He guessed it was due to his determined nature and the inherent strength that evolved out of his dominant magic. Like him, Airron was born in Pyraan. His parents, Jeni and Joshe Falewir, were both Elven magic shifters and had lived in Parsis all their lives. As was the case with all Elves, they bore the purple eyes and silver hair distinctive to their race. The Falewirs were the last Elven shifters to live in Pyraan, the common belief that the spark of magic had bred out of the Elves and that, as a people, they were not strong with magic.

Rogan and Kiernan were both born to non-magical parents and did not arrive in Pyraan until after their abilities began showing at young ages. Rogan was abandoned in Pyraan at the very young age of six. Nobody knew who his parents were or why they left him behind. The Dwarf believed that his parents must have been alarmed by his magic developing at so early an age and did only what the laws of the land demanded they do—they brought him to Pyraan to be exiled with other shifters. Rogan often confided his hope that his parents’ actions were motivated by love and that someday they would be reunited. For his friend’s sake, Beck hoped he was right.

Kiernan, on the other hand, was the cherished daughter of Maximus Everard, leader of people and ruler of a kingdom. He was the King of Men. By his own rule, King Maximus had no choice but to send his daughter to exile when she was twelve years old and her shifting was exposed. Over the years, the King visited Kiernan as often as he was able, but his onerous duties in Iserlohn made it very difficult for him to get away.

Both Kiernan and Rogan lived in the dormitories at the Academy that housed children separated from their non-magical parents.

Hurrying down the path and lost in his ruminations, Beck was caught completely off guard when he was hit from behind with such tremendous force that he went sprawling face first into the dirt for the fourth time that day.

Adrenaline pounded through him in a torrent as he sprang to his feet and whirled around to meet his attacker in a low crouch. Fingertips splayed and crackling with the magic he instinctively summoned to his aid, the ground began to rumble at his feet, churning in a rolling boil. Dust rose all about as he called forth a ball of earth and the mass erupted from the ground in front of him and began rotating in the air. Thinking of the deadly black wolves that prowled the Grayan Forest, Beck peered along the roadway, ready to unleash the deadly missile at whatever delivered the blow to his back.

He tensed as a large shadow slowly emerged from the trees on the side of the road and eyed him intently.

Even in the dark, Beck recognized those eyes.

They were Kiernan’s eyes.

Sighing with relief, he reluctantly let the magic go and the ball of earth fell apart and sank to the ground, the tremors subsiding as quickly as if Beck took a boiling kettle abruptly from the flame. Because of the ferocity of his reaction to the perceived threat, he still looked around warily, not yet convinced he was safe.

It was Kiernan’s snow-white Draca Cat.

“Bajan!” Beck called shakily. The cat moved silently to his side and gave him a nudge that almost sent him to the ground for a fifth time. Smiling, he reached out to pet the massive Draca whose head came up to his chest.

The Draca Cats lived somewhere in the Puu Rainforest of Haventhal in the magically hidden city of Callyn-Rhe. Extremely intelligent and fierce fighters, Dracas were said to have been used in battle by the Mages of long ago. According to his lessons at the Academy, the Dracas of today were solitary creatures that preferred to remain invisible to the other races of Massa. Most people believed the cats to be more figment of overactive imagination rather than made of real flesh and blood. This belief was reinforced by the inability of people to reach the mythical Callyn-Rhe. Travelers caught up in the magical shield surrounding the city were inexplicably turned around and forced onto paths designed to carry them further away no matter how many attempts made to reach the city.

Bajan made a susurrus noise of satisfaction in response to Beck’s touch. Another Draca would never let a human stroke their head in this way. As a primordial and magical race, they were very proud and considered themselves quite superior to others. Physically large and imposing, a Draca Cat had the body of a cat, sleek and muscular, but with the long sharp talons and spiked tail of a dragon. Both were extremely deadly weapons to an adversary.

Stroking the cat, Beck realized how much he would miss him, too, when he left for The Bluffs. Bajan was as much a part of the group as his other three friends. When people were not present, Bajan often joined in on their activities, communicating to them through Kiernan. With his dignified personality, however, he did not always approve of their exploits and was eager to let them know it with a disdainful click of his tongue here or a head toss there.

“Bajan, can you please tell Kiernan to meet me at the lake after the tests tomorrow? I want to tell her good-bye.” The cat nodded very slightly and lowered his head as his eyes turned black, the telltale sign that he was linked with Kiernan. After a few unmoving moments, Bajan shut his eyes and when they reopened, they were green again.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said. “I will miss you. Take care of Kiernan for me, will you?”

Again, the cat nodded regally and then slipped away as silently as he appeared.

Beck turned and headed back down the road toward his house, wishing only that he make it home without falling face first into the dirt again this day.

Chapter 3

T
HE
H
OUSE OF
R
AVENER

A
drian Ravener gazed out of the thick paned window of the study in his Keep in Nordik, the only named city in the unnamed land north of Massa.

It was raining outside as it did most days in this dark land. A cold, damp and dreary rain. His powerful conjuring over the centuries had slowly stripped the island of all life and vitality, the plants and animals destroyed to the verge of extinction. And, with his black hair, black robes and black demeanor, Adrian Ravener was the personification of the land he inhabited. He knew he was not a handsome man with his mean smile and thin cruel lips, but his pallid face, even at three hundred and twenty six years old, was unlined and his body hard and strong.

He sat pensively in a chair behind his desk with one leg thrown casually over the arm, the index finger of his left hand idly tracing a circle around the rim of the wine glass he was holding with the right. A Cyman slave girl sat at his feet holding a wine decanter on a tray, head bent meekly and her hair falling forward, covering her face.

“It is almost over!” he hissed suddenly, slamming a fist on the desk. The slave girl flinched, almost spilling the tray.

“Patience, my brother,” drawled a voice from the doorway.

Adrian turned his head to see his sister stroll arrogantly into his study. Avalon had the same shoulder-length black hair as he, and her physical appearance was just as untouched by the years. The alabaster skin, however, was much more complimentary on her than on him, he freely admitted. Combined with her almond eyes and high cheekbones, she was a strikingly beautiful woman.

“Has the seer had another vision, Avalon?” he demanded impatiently.

“Yes,” Avalon replied as she stopped before his desk. She held up a hand as he was about to interrupt. “Even so, it changes nothing. The plan is still intact. Your army has been created and your ships built. Now is the time to reclaim what was so unfairly stolen from us.”

“I did not ask for your opinion, I asked you a question. What did the seer say?”

Instead of answering, she turned from him and walked to the window just as a flash of lightning streaked out of the dark, boiling clouds beyond the paned glass. “You know, Adrian, when you are back in power in Massa, I caution you to take much better care of the Old World than you have this land.”

Adrian slammed his fist on the desk again and stood abruptly, sending the chair toppling back. The slave girl scrambled backwards to get out of his way. “I asked you about the seer, sister, and when I ask you a question, you had better answer!”

Avalon’s expression was cold as she slowly turned from the window. Then, she stalked over to his side and slapped him across the face. Hard. “Don’t you
dare
think you can talk to me that way, Adrian,” she snarled through clenched teeth. “I am
not
one of your slaves. Do you hear me?”