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

  Lucin sighed in disgust and strolled purposefully through the camp. Soldiers stopped what they were doing, whether mending tools or cleaning weapons, to quickly stand and offer him a salute. He did not return them. His mind was on his destination and his meeting with Adrian Ravener. If all worked as well as he hoped, he would at last have Ravener’s promise to release the Cyman people from their bonds.

  Despite the foolishness of the act, he had made a promise to his wife and he intended to keep it. His children, Titus and Miah, were too young to know the joy of life that he and Maree had experienced in their early years when Ravener allowed families to live in relative peace. The Cymans were content back then with the minor comforts they were permitted. Food, blankets and shelter. More importantly, they had their families together under one tented roof, which fulfilled their basic human need for love, touch and companionship.

  It was only in the last forty years or so, as the Mage became more and more obsessed with training and developing the army, that the living conditions deteriorated to nothing short of torture.

  By isolating the men, women and children into three unconnected groups, Ravener stripped the Cymans of life as surely as he had already stripped the land. It was just taking longer for them to wither and die.

  Lucin closed his cloak tighter around his throat as he walked toward the first checkpoint at the outer wall of the Keep. It was harder to ignore the miserable cold than his own soldiers.

  His hatred of cold, he knew, came from his Desert Troll ancestry. When the Mage War rent the land of Massa in half over three hundred years ago, the entire race of Desert Trolls, who made their home in the Sandori Sands, were swept away with the cleaving.

  As a reclusive, tribal race, this separation was not initially viewed as disastrous. The Trolls still had their beloved sands, and they felt fortunate to be free of the subterfuge and infighting of the Assembly of Races. It wasn’t long, however, before Ravener made his presence known and enslaved the Desert Trolls and the humans unfortunate enough to be on the wrong piece of land when Massa was divided.

  Ravener’s many experiments over the centuries with humans and Trolls resulted in the Cyman race of today. Their imposing physical stature, strength and quickness inherited from the Trolls and their intelligence, determination and empathy from the human side. Ravener had invested years trying to breed empathy out of his Cyman warriors to no avail. Without question, the Cymans would be fierce fighters in the protection of their people, but they would never be evil.

  The single eye was a manifestation of the dark magic that maligned the physical traits of Ravener’s subjects.

  Lucin shook his morose thoughts away as he arrived at the Keep. He returned the salute this time to the soldiers on guard and crossed the courtyard to the black iron door that led to the lower level kitchens.

  The Cyman women cooks glanced up as he entered and smiled. “‘Ello, Captain,” said the scullery boss, Ame.

  “Ame,” he greeted with a nod of his head. “‘Ave you seen Miah?”

  “Aye, Captain, she should be just returning from the Master’s chambers with ‘is dinner tray.”

  “Good. I’m on my way there now, so our paths should cross.” He started to leave and then turned back to settle a large hand on Ame’s shoulder. “‘Ow is your back, Ame? I know you ‘ave been ‘aving problems.”

  “O’ tis all right, Captain,” she replied. “En old bird like me should expect some aches and pains now and agin.”

  Lucin laughed for the first time in a long time. “You and me both, Ame,” he said, clapping her back affectionately. “You and me both.”

  He left then and took the stairs to the private chambers of Adrian Ravener on the third floor. He was surprised not to have run into Miah along the way, but was unconcerned. She could have been anywhere in the Keep, despite what Ame told him.

  Lucin stepped out of the stairwell and strode to the wooden doors of Ravener’s rooms. He knocked loudly and after a moment, the door was opened by his daughter holding a dinner tray in her hands.

  “‘Ello, darling,” he said, reaching out to hug her.

  Miah shied away from his embrace.

  He narrowed his eye enquiringly at her. “What is it?”

  Miah tried to hide her face. “‘Tis nothing, Da,” she answered and then broke down and started to cry quietly. Lucin pulled her out of the room and set the tray on the floor. When he lifted her chin and parted her hair, he saw a bruise on her cheek.

  “I will kill ‘im!” he hissed in rage.

  Miah grabbed his shirt and turned him around. “Please, Da, don’t! It was my fault. I wasn’t listening to the Master as I should ‘ave. You will only get a whipping if you confront ‘im!”

  He shrugged away from her grasp. She was right. It was pointless. His shoulders sagged and all of the fight visibly drained from him. How was he supposed to save an entire race of people when he couldn’t even protect his own daughter?

  Turning back to Miah, he pressed her face into his shoulder. “Believe me, Miah,” he said, his voice soft yet filled with resolve, “the dark Mage will get what is coming to ‘im.”

  “What are you talking about, Da?” she asked anxiously, looking both ways along the hall to be sure they were alone. “Ma said something to me yesterday. She said you ‘ave a plan.”

  “I do, darling, and after this whole affair to the south of us is over, we will be back in the desert sands where we belong, living our lives in peace.” He grabbed her face tightly. “I promise you that!”

  Miah looked at him with unconditional love and confidence. “I believe you, Da.”

  “Go now,” he ordered.

  After she retrieved her tray and walked away, Lucin yanked open the door to Ravener’s rooms. The antechamber was empty so he continued into the living area where he spotted the source of his fury sitting in one of two armchairs facing a large stone fireplace tall enough for a man to stand upright inside.

  He wasn’t alone. In the other chair sat a seer by the name of Saige. The poor creature looked as if she hadn’t slept or eaten in days. Her eye was glazed over and terror and pain etched her face. It was only when Lucin made his way around the furniture that he could see why. Ravener was holding a sharp knife and one of Saige’s fingers in his hands. The seer held a bloodied bandage to her wound as she sat in her chair trembling.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Lucin demanded, forgetting his place in his revulsion of the spectacle in front of him.

  The Mage casually inspected his grisly trophy. “You know, Lucin, I do not remember inviting you into my chambers, and I certainly do not remember allowing you to question my activities. Now, get out. I have business to conduct.”

  The panic-stricken seer shrank back into her chair.

  “You can’t torture visions from this seer, Master! ‘Er predictions come when she least expects it, and you can’t expect to draw it out of ‘er at your will!”

  Ravener 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 couldn’t control when they came.”

  “Is that so?”

  “In any event, I think she’s been through enough for one evening and ‘er stress may prevent ‘er from telling prophecies in the future.”

  The Mage looked over at Saige with a frown as though seeing her anguish for the first time. He sniffed and said, “I guess you are right, Lucin. This useless lump hasn’t been able to tell me anything new for days.” He waved the woman out of the room, and she jumped out of her chair as if it were on fire and ran to the door, giving Lucin a quick look of gratitude as she exited.

  Ravener 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.

  “Everything is ready for our departure in the morning,” he began. “The ships have been fortified with the equipment and food supplies that will be needed. As you know, we’ll be going ashore at the only possible entrance to the old world which is located at the northern end of the island with the twin bluffs.” It was all Lucin could do to continue looking at Ravener 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?”

  The question startled him. “Master?”

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

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

  “Meaning?”

  Lucin took a deep breath. There was no turning back now. “Meaning 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 Ravener remained silent with his hands steepled under his chin, Lucin hurried to continue. “If the witch Niema was right and all of the magic users are exiled in the north, they can easily be defeated and you will ‘ave no further opposition to your rule. You will no longer need us.”

  “Ah, yes, poor Niema. She served her purpose well.” He paused. “Until one of your men killed her, that is.”

  Lucin flinched.

  The witch Niema often used her divination skills to gather information about the old world for Ravener 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.

  Ravener stood as well in barely-controlled fury. “It has been a long time since I have had to break you, Lucin. Maybe too long?”

  Despite the horrific memories evoked by Ravener’s threat, Lucin did not flinch again. He couldn’t 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, hoping to get Ravener into a less confrontational arrangement.

  Surprisingly, the Mage sat down. “You have thirty seconds and if your answer does not satisfy me, my whip will slice open your back.”

  In spite of 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 attempting 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 dying. She told me then that visions ‘ad come to ‘er and she needed me to ‘ear them.”

  Ravener 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 the Mage would give his right arm to do so.

  “Continue.”

  “‘In the year that the star grows weak, 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?”

  Lucin didn’t hesitate. “‘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!” Ravener hissed 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 distractedly. “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 Ravener would really let them go, regardless of what he told Maree. “You…you are going to free the Cyman people after you ‘ave established your rule?”

  “Yes, Lucin, I told you, you have your deal. The information you have provided me has been well worth the exchange.” Ravener 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. With considerable effort, he forced himself to reach out his hand to the Mage.

  Ravener looked at him 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, Ravener 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 and walked to the door, but felt Ravener’s presence at his back. He had his hand on the knob 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? 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 couldn’t 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 a countryside alive with verdant grasses, fragrant blossoms and the rushing water of a blue winding river. Serving as backdrop for it all, as fresh and crisp as a new painting—the majestic Balor Mountains.

  Beck inhaled the hot mountain air, 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 bridl
es, 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 for the first time, he felt free to probe her secrets.

  With a thrill of excitement, he causally reached out with his magic toward the terrain before him. As soon as he did, an unexpected jolt surged through his mind and he was mentally wrenched from his body. Panicking, he tried to pull back, but was as helpless as an ensnared fish on a line as the spirit of the earth seized control of the link and directed him with express purpose.

  Forcing down his unease, Beck 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 and glimpsed seedlings ready to burst forth with new buds. Delving deeper along the warren of roots from a black pine that twisted 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, Beck plunged out of the ground to scale the bark of a hickory tree. He smiled 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.

  Curious for more exploration, Beck raced back down into the ground. The life he found there! Beyond the simple plants and trees, a massive number of seething life forms teemed in the millions.

  And, not only that.

  He sensed the spirit of the earth itself.

  Sentient. Watching. Emitting a power so vast that the hum of conscious energy radiating throughout the land thudded through his body with frightening force.

  How have I never felt this before?

  The truth teased and taunted until he finally understood. 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.

  Thank you, Mother, for this humbling lesson.