Island Shifters - An Oath of the Blood (Book One)

  “Digby, does anyone in Massa know about Aquataine?”

  “Not many. We use the grates whenever we have to go to the Surface World for supplies, but since you must have the use of magic to open them, visitors are rare.”

  “Magic?”

  “Of course,” he said, laughing, and it sounded like a gurgle. “Haven’t you figured it out yet, Master Atlan? Everyone in Aquataine is a watershifter.”

  Beck was stunned. “Watershifter! I…I thought there were only the four metamagics of power?”

  “Four? Highworld, no! There are many metamagics known to us and many more that are not. What kind of shifter are you?”

  “Earth.”

  “Well, then, we shift the water the same way you do the ground. As you may have noticed, we have also started to take on the physical characteristics of water beings and can now move rapidly through the water without even shifting.” Digby pointed to his bare webbed feet and webbed hands. It wasn’t something particularly discernible unless you knew what to look for.

  “How many ports to the…Surface World do you have?”

  “Four now. We had one in the northern part of the island, but it flooded.”

  I just have to ask. “Are those gills on your neck?”

  Digby nodded with a grin, proud of his magic and the manifestation of that magic on his appearance.

  The watershifter steered through the cave entrance and announced ceremoniously, “May I present the city of Ebba!”

  A city of waterways instead of roadways, Ebba bustled with activity. The canals were crowded with people swimming or riding porpoises or steering rafts similar to the one he and Bajan were riding. The people came in all shapes and sizes, but it was easier than he first thought to distinguish the men from the women due to their facial features, mannerisms and hairstyles. Most of the buildings perched on stilts, but some sat directly on the sandy shore. Much like any other city in Massa, merchants sold their wares in front of taverns and inns. Along the beaches, couples strolled happily arm in arm, laughing and somersaulting into the water. Children waved and shouted at Bajan as they glided by.

  An unbelievable, utopian waterworld. I wish Kiernan could see this magical place.

  Digby guided them ashore in front of a modest temple constructed of limestone and clay, the front portico supported by three pink granite pillars. “Word was sent ahead, so the Elders will be expecting you,” Digby informed him. “As soon as your meeting is finished, I will show you the way out.”

  “I will need to go fast.”

  Digby chuckled with a sly grin. “You have never seen a watershifter in action, have you?”

  Beck smiled back. It was hard not to like the young, congenial watershifter. He reminded him of Airron.

  Alighting from the raft, Beck and Bajan approached the temple and walked through an archway that led to the dim, cool interior of a vestibule. A young girl appeared and motioned him inside. Her eyes widened in shock when she saw the Draca Cat, but she quickly lowered her head and held out a towel.

  Beck looked at it uncertainly and then realized the towel was for him. He took it from the girl and patted the wetness from his hair and clothes, hoping that was what was expected.

  The girl glanced up and nodded her approval. When he had finished, he handed the towel back to her and started to walk further into the room.

  “Mister!” she admonished in a whisper, her face pale in shock. “Your shoes!”

  “Huh? Oh, right.” He quickly bent down and removed his boots.

  When the girl was at last satisfied, she led them to the back of the temple to a dome-shaped chamber where three men sat cross-legged on the floor, all with varying lengths of white hair.

  Beck approached with Bajan.

  The man seated in the middle, and who appeared to be the oldest of the three, spoke. “Welcome, shifter,” he burbled out in the same watery voice as Digby. “It has been a long time since an outsider has entered our world.”

  Beck remained silent. Whatever the Elders had to say to him, he wanted them to say it fast.

  “We understand that turmoil brews on the island, but we cannot become involved. It is a decision not based on cowardice, but on necessity. My people require water to live and breathe. We can only visit the Surface World for a few hours at a time now.”

  “I understand. I’m not here seeking aid. I found one of your grates by accident.”

  The watershifter bowed his head. “Very well. We must ask that you take an oath of silence before you leave. You will always be welcome in Aquataine, as are all shifters, but you must never bring a non-magical entity into our world. Our way of life must be preserved at all costs.”

  Beck looked into the eyes of each Elder and was surprised by what he found there. Terror. These men were terrified that he would not agree to take the oath. Terrified that, as the protectors and wisemen of the watershifters, they would be unable to ensure the safety of their people.

  “With all due respect, Elders, it’s not necessary. If keeping your world a secret will protect the people of Aquataine, then I shall keep that secret. The blood oath that courses through my veins is more powerful than any verbal oath I could give to you.”

  The Elders gave each other uneasy looks.

  Beck sighed. “If it makes you feel more confident, I will do as you say.” He went to one knee. “Until released, I, Beck Jaimes Atlan, earthshifter and Savitar, do solemnly vow to undertake an oath of silence regarding the world of Aquataine to all non-magical entities on the island of Massa.”

  When Beck looked up again, he could see the relief in the faces of the Elders. “Will that do?”

  “Yes, that will do. Thank you, shifter.”

  Beck nodded. “Great. Now, how do I get out of here?”

  ***

  Adrian drummed his fingers on his desk as he listened to Lucin’s report. The Iserlohn Army, now camped on the western lip of the Valley of Flame, had made no further move toward Starfell. Whether they were there to surrender or fight was still uncertain.

  Of the twelve demons sent out weeks ago to harass the citizens of Massa, none had returned. Either they were still engaging the enemy or were defeated, the latter being a highly unlikely possibility. The people of Massa were no match for a demon.

  There had been no word of the Savitars. He had expected to hear from them by now with Earthshine only days away. And, still no sightings of the armies of the Dwarves and Elves. The scouts he sent on foot had not returned. It was taking far too long to obtain the answers he needed. He had no choice but to create more demons.

  As usual, Lucin chose to be difficult, refusing to allow more of his soldiers to be sacrificed. The Cyman was very quickly becoming a dangerous liability and would have to be dealt with soon.

  He gave his captain a threatening look. “I need them, Lucin.”

  Lucin shook his head. “My soldiers will fight for you just as well as men instead of the abominations you wish to create.”

  “And, what are you, Lucin, if not an abomination of my creation?’

  The big man’s nose flared in anger. “We are not mindless, evil monsters.”

  “Yes, something went horribly wrong there,” Adrian murmured in agreement.

  “Give the Cymans a chance, Master.”

  “I don’t have time to take chances, Lucin. We are at war! I need information, and I need it now!” Enraged, he stood up from his desk. “Especially, since you refuse to give me the third prophecy. Don’t think for one single moment that I can’t retrieve that information from you by force if I so choose. I could peel the skin off your body one strip at a time to get that bloody prophecy! But, you and your army are serving a purpose, so you may keep your hide for a while longer. Now, run along and give me thirty soldiers for this evening’s rite or you will no longer serve that purpose. Can I make it any simpler than that for your thick skull? It is either thirty men or the entire Cyman Army!”

  The doors to his chambers opened and his sister stalked in, black
robe trailing behind her. “Well, well, some things never change. At it again, you two?” she asked, walking directly to the mahogany sideboard to help herself to wine. “Lucin, if this is about Adrian’s Demon Army, I can tell you that I was as shocked as you about his ability to spiritshift. Unfortunately, Captain, we do need them.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “Prophecy, Captain. ‘For the dark to conquer the land of old, the spirits will need to sing.’ Adrian will need the aid of the demon spirits to be successful.”

  Lucin’s shoulders dropped in defeat. “I just want this to be over,” he said softly. “I just want to win this war and get my people back to Nordik.” He turned and started toward the door. “You will ‘ave your thirty men, Master. I will send them at nightfall.” And, he was gone.

  Adrian joined his sister at the sideboard. “What an idiot. Tell me, sister, is his son really still alive?”

  “Of course not. He was too much of a threat to leave behind alive.”

  “I’m starting to feel the same way about Lucin,” he scoffed.

  “Have you had any word about the Dwarven and Elven armies?”

  He shook his head. “No, none.”

  “Trust me, Adrian, I think they will fight. From what I’ve learned, these lands will not submit easily.”

  “Then they will submit the hard way. It makes no difference to me either way.”

  “The problem,” she reasoned, “is that the Demon Army can only travel at night. They can’t walk the land in the light.”

  Adrian walked away to study the camped army outside of Starfell. “I have been thinking about that as well. If my army can’t tolerate light, then I shall give them dark.”

  Chapter 34

  Heartbreak

  Rogan rolled out of the dive off the porch of his ancestral home and crouched, igniting a sword of fire in his hand with a flick of his wrist. The magic in his blood pumped furiously, but it wasn’t in response to the King’s men—it was the two black wraiths with glowing red eyes hovering in the air behind them.

  Unaware of the threat, the six Iron Fists unsheathed their swords at the sight of Rogan’s fiery weapon. “Extinguish your magic now, shifter!”

  “Get down!” Rogan shouted.

  The wraiths swooped over the heads of the Fists and settled on the ground in front of Rogan, materializing into horned demon monsters thick with muscle and shadowy swords of evil clenched in their claws. “By your magic, I name you Savitar,” one hissed, forked tongue darting in and out. “My Master has been looking for you.”

  Rogan signaled with his free hand for the Iron Fists, Janin and Dillon to stay out of the way. “Well, here I am, demon,” he said, twirling his sword of fire in readiness.

  The demon snapped his head around at the movement of the soldiers. In one swift motion, the demon rushed over and grabbed one of the Dwarves by an ankle, lifting him upside down in the air. The dangling Fist lashed out with his sword but dropped it and screamed in pain when the demon ripped open his abdomen with a swipe of its clawed hand. The fiend howled in gratification and let the soldier fall to the ground writhing in mortal agony.

  Rogan clenched his teeth together and stalked toward the demon, his blood oath demanding retribution.

  It would not be denied.

  Sword in his right hand, he summoned a ball of fire with his left and hurled it forward.

  The creature sidestepped the fire with an evil smirk.

  Rogan continued to advance, lifting his arm to unleash a fiery bolt of lightning. It sliced with deadly precision this time, stunning the demon. With a howl of effort, Rogan leapt into the air at an inhuman height and swung his fire sword, carving the monster’s head from his shoulders. Fire licked over the collapsing corpse and it disintegrated into a shower of ash before hitting the ground.

  Rogan whirled with a snarl to the second demon.

  Janin and Dillon were engaging the creature as another Iron Fist lay dead between them.

  The maimed soldier still shrieked in anguish. Rogan grimaced. It would be a slow, painful way to die. The Dwarf’s fellow Fists must have thought so as well, and Rogan watched as one of them walked over, whispered a word in the soldier’s ear and then stood over him and buried his sword in the Dwarf’s chest.

  Rogan rushed back into the fight, but wasn’t fast enough. He watched in horror as the remaining demon raised his spectral sword high into the air and brought it down on Dillon, severing his friend’s arm at the shoulder. Dillon cried out as blood spurted out of the wound, drenching the soldiers closest to him in scarlet strings of matter. Dillon crumpled to the ground.

  “No!”

  With little regard for her own life, Janin dropped down next to Dillon, pulled a knife from her belt, and cut off a piece of her uniform to try to stem the bleeding.

  “Demon! Over here!” Rogan screamed. “It’s me that you want!”

  The demon moved unbelievably fast and before Rogan could react, he was lifted off his feet by the neck. “Yes, it is you, Savitar.”

  Rogan shrank back from the depravity before him. This thing loves to kill. It derives great pleasure in destroying the living. I can see it in his eyes. Smell it on his breath.

  The demon tightened his grip. Rogan kicked his legs and tried to pry the clawed fingers free of this throat.

  The red eyes narrowed. “If only I had time to play with you before the end, shifter. I would enjoy taking you to the brink of death many times over many days before the final release. Do you know what it feels like to have your face separated from your skull? Your bones pulverized? Alas, prepare to die—”

  The demon dropped Rogan as a sword erupted from the middle of his chest. The creature spun around to face a defiant, tear-stained and bloodied Janin.

  Rogan did not waver. He bellowed in rage and beheaded the monster in a single mighty swipe. The headless corpse fell first to its knees and then sideways to the ground, crumbling to fiery dust.

  Rogan sprinted to Dillon and crashed to his knees at his friend’s side. What he found rocked him back onto his heels and he thought he might be sick. Dillon was gone. He lost too much blood and his lips had already turned blue in a ghostly pale face. Rogan pressed his cheek to Dillon’s forehead. “Until we meet again,” he whispered huskily.

  Gentle hands, he never knew who they belonged to—probably Janin—guided him away and they prepared Dillon’s body for burial. The sun was just beginning to rise in the east when the last stones were laid on the graves of Dillon and the two Iron Fists who perished in the fight with the demons.

  “You’ll tell his family that he died honorably and in the defense of his fellow soldiers?” Rogan asked of one of the Fists.

  “On my word, shifter.”

  Rogan thanked the Dwarf and rubbed his neck. He hadn’t slept since his last night in the cell of the King’s palace, and even then not well, but he needed to keep moving. Earthshine was quickly approaching. Down to days now.

  The sound of a large number of horses approaching broke the quiet of the early morning. Bloody hell. He sensed Janin step up silently to his side and he looked at her, grateful she had not been hurt.

  The King of Dwarves, Rik Rojin, rode into the yard in front of his house, surrounded by Iron Fists. Reining in his white stallion with a flourish, his eyes scoured the freshly dug graves and the blood. Finally, his eyes landed on Rogan and he pointed. “Take this Dwarf into custody,” he said to the four soldiers on the ground.

  One of the Fists stepped forward and bowed. “Your Grace, if you will permit me to explain—”

  “No! I will not permit anything except that you bind that Dwarf’s wrists and take him into custody! He is an escaped prisoner and I want him returned before he has a hand in the death of any more Dwarves of Deepstone.”

  The soldier hesitated, and it was a fraction too long for the King’s taste. He raised his sword and from his saddle, swept it out toward the Fist. Rogan rushed forward and knocked the soldier to the ground causing the King’s sword
to miss all but a lock of the Fist’s hair.

  Rik’s face turned scarlet. “How dare you!” Before the King could articulate another order, a young voice interrupted him.

  “What is going on, Father?”

  A boy dressed in all white and atop a stallion similar to his father’s approached from behind. He looked to be of thirteen years or so and wore a golden circlet upon his brow.

  “The Prince,” the Iron Fist under him whispered.

  The King turned toward his son. “Erik, you must not interfere with this matter. This Dwarf,” he said, thrusting a hand out toward Rogan, “must be punished.”

  The young Prince stared into Rogan’s eyes. “What is his crime?”

  The King faltered slightly and then said, “He’s a shifter, for one.”

  The boy considered his father’s words. “We all know that Pyraan has been destroyed, Father.” Erik looked around at the scene and then back to Rogan. “Did you use magic, cousin?”

  He winced right along with King Rik at the Prince’s use of the familial address.

  “Yes I did.”

  “Explain.”

  “I used magic to destroy two demons that killed three of your soldiers…cousin.”

  The Prince smiled slightly and addressed one of the Fists. “Can you verify the truth of this?”

  The soldier nodded. “I can. Not only that, our swords were ineffective against the demons. If not for the fireshifter, we would all be dead.”

  Satisfied, Erik turned to the King. “Father, this Dwarf is to be commended, not punished. He acted in defense of his life and the lives of his fellow Dwarves.”

  “He has committed other crimes,” the King gritted out through clenched teeth, not at all pleased with the way things were going.

  “Such as?” enquired the Prince.

  The King didn’t blink. “He killed my brother, your uncle.”

  “I did no such thing,” Rogan protested. “I was only a small child when my parents were killed!”

  “Maybe not by your hand, but by your very existence,” he spat contemptuously. “The day you snapped your fingers to ignite fire was the day you killed your parents.”

  “My parents died trying to flee from your soldiers, uncle, not by magic!”

  “Do not call me that!”

  An uncomfortable silence developed causing the soldiers to shift on their horses. The Prince broke it. “If my father frees you, where would you go?”