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

  After what seemed like hours, but in reality must have been mere seconds, Beck pulled out of his magical excursion and back to his corporal surroundings. 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.

  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 and rubbed his backside, unused to riding for so many hours at one stretch.

  Dismore ordered 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 boys, and it wasn’t 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 a prison term, but just accepted it as his fate in life never to leave Pyraan. He had always been very happy and content with two loving parents, great friendships and his magic. But, what did Kiernan have? She lost her mother when she was young, her father due to her shifting ability and now 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 I have been so callous?

  Abruptly, the ground beneath him began to churn with his roused emotions, 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.

  “What’s going on?” Airron whispered, sitting up and brushing his blanket clean. Rory also sat up and looked worriedly at Beck. The small fireshifter had become 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. “Let’s have it. What’s bothering you?”

  “I’m fine,” he answered coarsely, embarrassed that his anxiety had escaped his usual tight control. “I was just thinking again about Galen Starr and the story my father told us last night,” he said, which was the truth if not exactly all encompassing. Reaching into his uniform 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.”

  “Bloody hell.” Airron’s hand shot out and he grabbed the pendant for a closer look. After a quick scrutiny, he put his hand to his own neck and pulled forth a silver pendant that looked exactly like Beck’s except for the fact that Airron’s depicted a man alternately changing between human and animal instead of a fist. “My parents gave this pendant to me last week on my eighteenth name day. They said nothing to me of Galen Starr, but you can’t deny that the two pendants are identical except for the images.”

  As puzzling as it was, Beck had to agree with his Elven friend.

  “Speaking of Galen,” Rogan said, “I’m curious as to why the magic users of old are called Mages instead of shifters?”

  “Good question.”

  Beck started at the figure of Commander Dismore standing above them.

  “It is?”

  “Yes,” Dismore replied, 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 perform elemental magic, but we don’t have any spell casting abilities.”

  “What about the elements of air and water?” Beck asked.

  “Nonexistent.”

  “Is it something that we can learn?”

  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 pocket to wipe 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 got to their feet to slip 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, he hurried to pack his gear and 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 again.

  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.

  The legion made very good time traveling along the well-established roads and arrived at the base of the mountains just before sunset. The soldiers fell into an easy routine for setting up camp and each man knew his part and went about it quietly with little conversation.

  The evening meal now finished, the legionnaires were swaying tiredly before the mesmerizing dance of the fire, and it was precisely this silent tranquility that made the sudden, deafening scream that rent the air so terrifying.

  Beck leapt to his feet in a crouch, the earth stirring in response to his call. Somehow, his friends materialized at his side, the air around Airron shimmering and fire already called to Rogan’s palms.

  “Be alert!” Beck shouted, and the legionnaires stood ready with whatever modest magic they had available to them.

  Dismore emerged from the trees tugging up his trousers. “What in the bloody hell was that?” he cursed. “Is everyone accounted for?”

  There was a hushed swirl of activity before Jon Anders whispered urgently, “No, Commander, Heath is missing.”

  Beck bent down to place his palm on the ground. “Hold on! Someone approaches. Actually, several someones.”

  A moment later, the visitors appeared out of the shadows.

  Beck swallowed. He had heard all of the childhood stories of the notorious usurpers of Galen’s Pass, but the sight of the horde of tiny terrors prodding a bound and gagged Heath into the camp with spears was alarming nonetheless. The Halfies stood three to four feet tall with very muscular bodies like that of an adult human male. The strong bodies were at odds, though, with the cherub faces and curly, golden hair. From what Beck had been told, those angelic faces could turn wicked in an instant with their mean-spirited and spiteful antics. These little creatures were the reason that this beautiful region was off limits to most Pyraanians.

  “What is the meaning of this?” demanded Dismore, and the tallest Halfie came forward, dressed in a loincloth, his chest and feet bare.

  In a high-pitched voice, the Halfie said, “You shall not pass.” He gestured to his companions, and they pushed Heath forward until the legionnaire fell to the ground on his face. Rory Greeley and the earthshifter, Jon Anders, hurried over to untie Heath and help him to his feet.

  “Now you wait just a bloody minute here!” bellowed Dismore. “As you damn well know, we are the Northwatch Legion of Pyraan and we pass through here twice every two years.” Dismore looked around, “Where is Verdie Vee?”

  The Halfie recoiled slightly at the name. “Verdie is dead. I am Tribe Leader now and as such, I tell you that you shall not pass.”

  “We have always had passage before,” Dismore pointed out in frustration.

  The Tribe Leader nodded. “Yes, that is so, but the clouds portend great peril. When the cloud
s portend peril, humans are usually the cause. More specifically, magic users are normally the cause which, as I can see by the marks on your necks, includes all of you.”

  Dismore threw up his hands. “Oh, for Highworld’s sake. Listen…uh, what is your name?”

  “I am Vinni Vee, Tribe Leader, Cloud Reader, son of Verdie,” he replied. “Until the clouds are clear, my fighters will ensure that no human shall pass.” The Halfie tribe raised their spears and thumped them to the ground in unison.

  Not all of the yells came from the Halfies in the camp, and Beck swung his head up to the mountain shelves, some of which were a hundred feet or more off the ground. Howling Halfies, including women and children, crowded each side of the pass. Most of the children also wore loincloths—others were quite naked—and the women wore one-shouldered, short tunics above the knee.

  All held a rock in their hands.

  “Hey, stop that!” screamed one of the legionnaires. Beck turned to see Halfie fighters sneaking up behind the soldiers and poking them from behind with their sharp spears and then darting off again before the larger humans could grab for them. One of the legionnaires shredded his clothes to rags as he shifted into a black bear and lunged at the pint-sized imps.

  Rogan had had enough. Not much taller than the Halfie leader, he stalked up to Vinni and the Halfies in the pass abruptly quieted as he did so. “Tell your people to stop this nonsense now, Halfie,” he threatened, “or I will make them stop. Have you ever seen what an irate fireshifter can do?”

  Vinni held his ground and said in a solemn, but squeaky voice, “It is our way to be wicked, Master Dwarf, sir. It is part of our nature and we could not change it even if we wished to.” He looked at Rogan and then pointed with his chin. “It would be like asking you to grow taller, sir. You cannot change your height any more than we can change our ways. It is how the Highworld made us.”

  Rogan actually laughed. “How do you argue with that logic?”

  Dismore surprised Beck when he turned his back to the legion and whispered to him, “What do you suggest, Atlan?”

  He’s leaving the decision to me? Thinking quickly, he said in a low voice, “I can easily distract and pen in those closest to us with a shieldwall, but that would only serve to send a rainstorm of rocks down on our heads from those in the pass.” It also wouldn’t help Troop 157 at the Crown Bluffs and soon to be returning through here. He ran his hands through his hair. “Give me a minute to try and reason with Vinni.”

  Dismore nodded.

  As Beck turned to speak to the waiting Tribe Leader, a single desperate shriek erupted from the foothills. Beck looked up and saw a young Halfie child tumble from his mother’s grasp toward the rocky terrain below.

  “Airron! Go!” Beck screamed.

  Airron’s lithe form took two long running steps and shifted gracefully into a large eagle, his clothes falling away from him. With an eight-foot wingspan, the eagle shot into the air like a missile toward the falling child and gently grasped the tiny boy by his loincloth in both talons seconds before the young Halfie would have hit the ground.

  With powerful effort, the eagle climbed back into the air with its struggling cargo and wheeled around to hold the child out to his mother, wings beating furiously to hold its position.

  There was no gratitude from the Halfie woman as she snatched her child back and stuck out her tongue. Free of the extra weight, the eagle dropped into a low dive parallel to the ground, and Airron bodyshifted back into his human form on the run.

  “You did not let the child die. Why would you do that?” the Tribe Leader asked, seemingly genuinely puzzled over their behavior.

  Beck squatted down to Vinni Vee’s height. “We did it, because we would never stand by and watch an innocent child be hurt. Humans are not as bad as you think, Vinni.”

  “Interesting,” was all the Tribe Leader said as he stared at Beck. “Strange, but interesting.”

  Beck extended his hand. “My name is Beck, Vinni, and it’s nice to meet you.”

  Just as Vinni was just about to spit on Beck’s hand, his eyes widened as big as saucers and he stumbled back. “Oh, dear.”

  Beck traced Vinni’s gaze to the pendant around his neck that had come free of his uniform.

  “Oh, spirits of the Highworld, you are Savitar!” As soon as the other Halfies closest to the camp heard Vinni’s words, they turned on their heels and ran, shouting, “The Savitars are in motion!” and “The time has come!” It was complete chaos after that as the Halfies along the shelves scampered down out of the foothills, pushing and shoving each other out of the way as they ran.

  Beck looked to Dismore for guidance, but the commander just shook his head in helplessness.

  “Stop them!” Beck yelled to Vinni. “Someone is going to get hurt!”

  Vinni bowed to Beck as he started to retreat. “They will be fine, Savitar. You may pass, but you should do so quickly. The clouds were right and darkness descends!”

  Beck could only look on in bewilderment as Vinni, his fighters, and the rest of Halfies disappeared into the countryside.

  ***

  Kiernan watched the events unfold with interest while attempting to stay out of the line of sight of Beck, Rogan and Airron. At least the problem of the superstitious Halfies seemed to have resolved itself. She couldn’t afford to be delayed by their half-mad mutterings. If she was discovered by Dismore now, before going through Galen’s Pass, he would surely send her back to Parsis on her own. Once through to the Crown Bluffs and Troop 157 of the legion had departed, Dismore would be forced to let her stay and train with her friends.

  She smiled at the thought of their faces when she made herself known.

  Especially, Beck.

  That young man is going to admit his feelings for me once and for all, she vowed silently.

  Chapter 7

  A Snake in the Water

  Adrian Ravener made the long trek to the docks and watched the frenzied activity as the Cyman soldiers carried last minute supplies onto the one hundred war ships that would take him home to the old world. He adjusted his hood to keep the omnipresent rain off his face. The storm rolling off the waters kicked up heavy winds and the soldiers were having a time of it on the rocking ships. Avalon stood by his side with her arm draped through his. He heard her mumble a few words and abruptly the rain around the two of them stopped and fell down outside of the protective shield she created.

  He glanced at her, nodded, and put his hood down.

  “How many soldiers will we have with us, Adrian?”

  “Fifty thousand. Each ship will hold close to five hundred men.”

  “Will that be enough?”

  He looked down at her and smiled. “Plenty.” Lucin’s prophecy quite conveniently assured him of that fact.

  He wondered if Galen Starr was in Pyraan with the shifters. Was he aware that the Raveners were returning? In Pyraan or elsewhere in Massa, a confrontation with his old advisor was inevitable, and he was looking forward to the moment when Galen realized that he had lost and Adrian Ravener had won. Galen stole everything from him, and the wizened fool would pay dearly for that theft. He just hoped the Mage stayed alive long enough so that he could be the one to deliver the deathblow. His mouth twitched upward with bloodlust at the thought. One way or another, I will find you. And a Netherworld curse to any shifter who dares to stand in my way.

  Avalon noticed his smile and tightened her grip on his arm. “You seem in a good mood, brother. Does it have anything to do with your meeting with Saige last night?”

  “Hardly,” Adrian scoffed. “That boob wouldn’t know a vision if it reared up and bit her nose off.”

  Avalon looked at him in confusion. “How can you say that, Adrian, when Saige was the one who gave us the very prophecy that set our return in motion?”

  “I say that because our army captain has given me more information about the prophecies than our seer. Apparently, Lucin knew Saige’s grandmother and told me of another vision that s
ucceeds the one we have already uncovered.”

  Avalon whirled around to stare at him. “Come now. What would Lucin know of such things, Adrian?”

  Adrian readily understood his sister’s disbelief. “As I said, he gave me another vision, which I will share with you later. The more pressing nuisance is that Lucin is in possession of a third prophecy that he is holding over my head in order to gain freedom for the Cyman people.” What Lucin did not know was that Adrian had absolutely no intention of giving the mutants their freedom once he was back in power. For now, however, he would let Lucin presume he was in control. He needed Lucin to keep the army focused on the task ahead, but the captain would be expendable after that—prophecy or no prophecy.

  Adrian gazed at the ships in expectation. He had yearned for this return for over three centuries, and there was much he missed dearly about Massa. Topmost among them, blue skies, a decent glass of spiced wine and the small frame of a human woman under him. The Cyman cows did nothing for him and he only took one when absolutely necessary. Oh yes, he decided, the pleasure of a woman would be of the highest priority.

  “I hope you told him he was mad!” Avalon said scornfully, startling him out of his reverie.

  “Who?”

  “Lucin! I hope you set him straight about gaining his freedom.”

  Adrian shook his head at her transparent motives. “Why? Not ready to give up your little Cyman toy?”

  His red-faced sister glared at him. “I care little for Lucin or his son or any Cyman for that matter,” she spat, letting go of his arm and pushing away from him. “I am three hundred and nineteen years old, Adrian, and all that I want, all that drives me, is seeing the old world again.”

  “Aye, me, as well, sister.”

  “Then you must get the third prophecy from Lucin so we can understand what we’ll face upon our arrival. As a Mage, Adrian, surely you have ways of getting the information without too much trouble,” she challenged.

  Adrian was saved from replying when a shout came from behind them on the road. “Master! Master!”

  Adrian spun around to a young Cyman army messenger. “What is it?” he responded harshly to the boy.

  “I ‘ave a message, Master,” he said hastily and thrust a parchment into Adrian’s hands, no doubt eager to be away as quickly as possible.