Betrayed: Magi Rising Book 1

by Wagner, Raye

  His anguish wrenched my heart; his sheer panic overwhelmed me. As if to confirm the terrible reality of the situation, Bîcav returned carrying a rucksack.

  “This will get you to Terit, possibly farther. There are stamped coins in the bottom. Just be careful how and when you use them. Not many magî have coin like that.”

  “Save the coin until after you get to Terit; the magî in the company have been well-compensated to get you there and to return here without you. Don’t tarry there though.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  Zîvrünê closed his eyes, and when he spoke, his tone and words and expression were rife with conflict. “You will leave. If you refuse, I’ll have Bîcav throw you out.” He choked on the last word, and a single tear trickled down his shadowed cheek.

  His words punched me in the stomach, igniting a fire of rage at his manipulation. I wrenched away, livid that he would stoop to such tactics, that he wouldn’t even level with me. Refusing to tell me the truth like I was a child. I took two steps before he caught my arm, and momentum rocked me back.

  “Dîsa—”

  “No,” I snapped. “You can’t have it both ways. You can’t be my friend and treat me like that. You’re hiding something—maybe a lot of somethings—but I won’t let you decide what I’m going to do or not do. Keep your sack. Keep your coins. Keep your—”

  He fell to his knees and bowed his head, holding his hands up in supplication. “Please.”

  Fetid rot. His contrition gutted me, and I knelt next to him.

  “Just tell me,” I whispered.

  He shook his head, his bowed head, and his shoulders trembled. “I can’t. Please… Please, don’t ask.” Lifting his chin, he blinked away tears and said, “I promise, Zädîsa. As soon as it’s safe, as soon as I make it right, you can come back.”

  I glanced at Bîcav one last time, depending on him, his honesty. With a single nod, he crushed my hope.

  “Do what you can to warn the outposts to avoid the kirinî,” Bîcav said, his expression grave. “Perhaps if they don’t use magîk, the Serîk won’t bother. Maybe they won’t even be able to track magî in the distal posts.”

  A stone of dread settled deep in my belly, and I knew—I knew—this wasn’t the time for hysterics. Both Zîyanâ and Zîvrünê were terrified—and terrified to tell me. If I wanted to be seen as an adult, I needed to act like one.

  I rose and extended my hand to Zîvrünê as I whispered, “I’ll go.”

  He shuddered and then stood with liquid grace, not bothering with my hand. “Do what you can, but don’t risk exposing yourself.” He grabbed the bag from Bîcav and held it out to me. “We’ll find you as soon as it’s safe.”

  Yanking the bag from Zîvrünê’s hand, I grumbled, “I heard you the first dozen times. Enough with the safe; I get it.” I looked up at Bîcav. “Take care of him. Don’t let him be the sacrificial lamb again, right?”

  Zîvrünê stiffened and then laughed, a low, dark sound without mirth. “Please be careful.”

  He leaned over, and I froze as he brushed his lips against my cheek. Before I could say or do anything, he strode from the room.

  “Come on, Buttercup,” Bîcav muttered. “Let’s get you to the caravan.”

  So I went… because I’d do anything for Rünê.

  18

  Today

  “Do you know where he went?” I asked. The question was a courtesy because I was certain Bîcav knew. How could he not?

  He was in my head right now, just like he would’ve been inside Zîvrünê’s head the entire fetid time I was gone, hiding in the outposts. I pulled my shoulders back and marched toward Bîcav, my frustration swelling. I was functioning on such limited knowledge precisely because no one bothered to talk to me.

  How can I help… “When I don’t know what the fetid rot is going on?” I screamed, poking him in the chest. “So help me, Bîcav, if he dies or gets maimed because of your stupidity, I will find a way to make you pay… even if I have to steal your body for him!”

  Bîcav gaped like a torpid fish, so I jabbed my fingers at him again for good measure.

  “Can you do that?” he asked.

  I had never tested the limits of my magîk, so I ignored the meaning of his question and poked him one more time. “Yep, I just did. And if you don’t get your legs in motion, I’ll figure out a way to break them.”

  “No,” he said and grabbed my arm.

  Hauling me alongside him, we left the lakeside sanctuary, taking a path I’d never seen before. Instead of exiting near the Rê that led into the magî market, Bîcav wound through the lower canopy of growth. The sunlight dimmed, crossing from afternoon to early evening, bathing the flora in shadows. I searched the area for Ruin, but the great cat hadn’t been around since our arrival, not that I could blame him.

  My attention snagged on a large aleph ear plant, and I brushed my fingers over the surface as we passed. Something was off. I’d never seen leaves this big before. A faint memory tickled my mind, and I asked, “Is there something happening with the plants? The jungle seems different.”

  Bîcav nodded but gave no other answer.

  “Do you know what’s happening?” I asked, letting anger leak into my voice. “I’d love to know if you’re deliberately being obtuse or if you have a sick, new fascination with being gamey. If you don’t know, just spit it out. I’m not going to think less of you for not knowing.”

  “I have theories… but no answers.”

  “I’d like to know what you think.”

  We arrived at a small clearing between the tall trees of the canopy with a rope and pulley attached to one of the large banyans. Bîcav grabbed the rope, and a few seconds later, a simple platform rushed toward the ground, jerking to a stop when Bîcav held the rope taut.

  The wooden unit was crudely built, roughly hewn pieces of lumber sealed to one another. Even if the surfaces were uneven, they’d been buffed so as not to cause splinters on bare feet. I glanced down at Bîcav’s feet, but they were shod with shoes, magîk shoes—much like mine.

  “I think it has to do with your sister,” he said, distracting me from the wood.

  I met his gaze, and he raised his eyebrows as if to challenge me. But his supposition was more than reasonable. I shrugged and said, “I could believe that. Do you know why?”

  He grunted and then said, “Zerôn mistreats her, but I’m not sure if that’s enough to make things grow crazy.”

  I mulled over his words, looking for something to either lend or steal credit from his conclusion. He waved me onto the platform, and I absently followed.

  “Hold on,” he said as he reached for the rope.

  “What?” I snapped back to the present, and my irrational fear sliced through me. I spun, my eyes widening as I realized—

  “There’s nothing to hold on to,” I screeched, throwing my arm around him as my stomach dropped to my ankles.

  His laugh twisted with my scream as we ascended into the trees, lessening the panic enough that I didn’t turn into a puddle of goo at his feet, although it was pretty close. The blur of green in my peripheral vision made my stomach churn, and I closed my eyes, waiting.

  The platform shook under my feet, bouncing as we came to a stop. I released Bîcav’s waist, turned, and smacked his bare stomach with a loud clap.

  “Oww,” he rumbled, chuckling. “Still worth it.”

  I brought my hand back for a second hit, but he caught my wrist.

  “Fun’s over. We should talk while we have a chance.”

  I scanned the area, memories wiggling to the surface. We’d played tag, capture the flag, and hide and seek up here in the trees. The suspended bridges were a maze—some of the areas completely abandoned over time—making the perfect sanctuaries for children.

  My mouth dried, and I shook off the nostalgia. “Where from here?”

  “This way,” Bîcav said, taking the first bridge to the east.

  He led at a brisk pace, fast enough that I had
to scramble to keep up. Left… right… left…

  “So what’s the linoxa?” I huffed. “That word means experiment.”

  “Yup,” he grunted.

  I waited for him to explain further, but Bîcav was quiet. Too quiet. Maybe he was out of shape or something. No, if I was still able to talk, he would be too. I debated telling him the rumors I’d heard about magî dying up here in the kümdâr’s castle, but I didn’t want to put voice to my fear.

  “So?” I prompted. “What are they…” My voice cracked because I knew whatever he said would be awful. I knew, but I wanted so much for that to not be true. I forced the question out as the anguish tore my heart in two, despite the rasp of my voice, despite the fact that Bîcav could hear my thoughts, despite the baseness of anyone who would allow such things to happen, let alone participate in them. “What are they experimenting with?”

  He turned, whether he heard the accusation in my voice or my head, and his lip trembled as his expression crumbled. “I’m hoping Zîvrünê just went to confront his brother. That was all I picked up in his thoughts when he left.”

  “Would that take this long?”

  His non-answer hung heavy in the air between us, and my heart chilled.

  “Bîcav?” I said his name through gritted teeth.

  “Maybe.” He cleared his throat and added, “But if I’m wrong, we need to hurry… if we’re going to save him.”

  Wait. “What?” I screeched. Anger swelled until rage consumed me. “You’d better hope we can save him or I’ll destroy you for letting whatever-it-is happen.”

  I continued to seethe, hurling accusations in my mind because Bîcav was Rünê’s guard, meant to protect. How could he stand by and let Rünê be harmed?

  Bîcav bowed his head and closed his eyes. “It would be no less than I deserve. But I can’t disobey him.”

  I spit at his feet, disgusted and embittered. Even if his obedience excuse were true, and I was certain it was, somehow he’d contacted me. Somehow, he’d managed to disobey Zîvrünê long enough to get me here. Why wait so long?

  “Basvîk has no loyalty to Zîvrünê, but I had to convince him to reach out.”

  Even as reasonable as that sounded, I couldn’t believe it had taken Bîcav two years. “Let’s go,” I snapped. “And you better explain why you let this go on for two fetid years.” When he said nothing, I glared at him and snarled, “What. Is. Going. On?”

  “I’d tell you if I could, but he bound me with a vow so I can’t tell you.”

  “He bound you with magîk?” I asked.

  Bîcav nodded, and I clenched my fists so tight my nails cut into my palms.

  “Why would he do that?”

  “If you believed you held no value, what would you do?”

  Bîcav’s question hollowed me out. I’d watched Rünê struggle with that question my entire life, but did I ever say anything to contradict the lie? And the blatant truth of my earlier battle with the same issue was in my own pathetic history. I’d been so desperate to be of worth to Rünê I’d left when he told me to just to please him. Damn. “Take me to him, or I’ll—”

  Bîcav waved away my threat, and I could tell by his expression that death would be easier than the guilt he’d carry.

  “Come on,” he said and led me to another elevating platform and then another.

  We wound through the trees, through the crisp clean air perfumed with the smell of thriving foliage, into an area far from where we’d played as children. The growth here was darker, and the smell…

  I clapped my hand to my face as the stench of unwashed bodies, rotten meat, and something else…

  “What is that?” I muttered through clenched teeth.

  But that was all I needed to ask before I tasted the rank and putrid stench of death. Rot—it was everywhere here, so thick it coated my every breath, even through my nose.

  “What is this place?” My stomach heaved, and I stopped to retch, bringing up the scanty meal I’d had a few hours ago. “Bîcav?”

  “The kümdâr’s prison,” he said. “I’m sorry I brought you this way, but there are no Serîk here; it’s the only way I know we can get to the linoxa without risking getting caught.”

  My eyes burned, and I remained hunched over, wishing there was some way to not breathe while we passed through. “Please, can we hurry?”

  Bîcav tapped my chin, and I tilted my head to look at him.

  He gave me a small, sad smile. “It won’t get better, Zädîsa.”

  I whimpered and nodded, waving at him to get going. It didn’t matter if it got better or worse; we needed to get to Zîvrünê. I stretched my hand out, Bîcav grabbed it, and I let him tug me through the prison. When we stumbled into the foliage of the canopy, I sucked in one clean breath before the next assault pummeled me.

  The smell here wasn’t worse because it was stronger or more rank. The air wafted with the growth of the canopy, but layered over the smell of fresh leaves was a putrid sour smell on top of rancid, brutal death. We crossed another bridge, and the odors grew until the air was so saturated with the coppery stench of blood, so heavy with humidity, that it seemed weighted with crimson. In addition:—wet animal pelts, acrid ammonia, fermenting alcohol, and sour vomit.

  I trudged after Bîcav, my heart and soul rent with anguish.

  “How often did he come…” I choked on the question, unable to finish it as the taste of blood coated my tongue.

  “Every day,” he whispered, and a moment later he answered my next question. “He discovered this just before you left; it’s why he sent you away. A few weeks ago, we stopped.”

  “But Zerôn didn’t stop whatever he was doing,” I stated, waving my hand. The evidence weighted the air.

  Almost like a dam burst, Bîcav continued, “It wasn’t always… like this. The changes were gradual… and slow… like boiling a frog.”

  The analogy was sickening and hard to believe.

  “Zîvrünê found out Zerôn had lied—that he was experimenting on other magî. Zîvrünê said he was done, and there were a few days I believed we were finished. But… Zerôn begged forgiveness. His explanations made sense, enough sense to make Zîvrünê doubt himself, and the two struck a bargain. That’s when I had Basvîk call for you.”

  “Zerôn is a liar, and Zîvrünê’s never seen it. How could he believe anything that snake—”

  “How long did it take you to see your sister’s selfishness and pride?” Bîcav asked, stopping to face me, his pale-blue eyes sharp and clear.

  The truth sliced through me.

  “Does he see it now?” I asked. “Does he know?”

  Bîcav didn’t answer right away. We rounded the next bend, and flickering torchlight flanked an open doorway ahead. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I hope so, but I’ve been hoping he would see the reality of Zerôn for years.”

  “Why would Rünê come back here?” I asked. “Why would he storm off…”

  The pity etching Bîcav’s features indicated how much I would hate his answer.

  “He came up here because Zerôn was hunting you. Rünê would do anything to protect you.”

  My heart clenched as ice slithered through my veins. There was no time to mourn something I couldn’t fix. The past was done. I had to make a better future.

  “Is this the linoxa?” I asked, pointing at the building.

  The rectangular structure was built of stained wood, with a dozen small square windows along the front, half on either side of the lit doorway. No noise accompanied the smell billowing out from the openings, but the taste of death, rancid and oily, grew.

  Bîcav nodded and pointed at the window just to the left of the door. “If you go to that one, you’ll be able to see in. The others are all magîked. I suggest we look before we storm in, but I’ll follow your lead.”

  Dread settled deep in my stomach and pulled my shoulders into knots. The smell increased the closer I got, but when I rose on my tiptoes and looked through the window, I forgot
all about the stench.

  I forgot everything.

  19

  Today

  The linoxa was a single room, longer than it was wide. The perimeter walls were lined with cots, easily a dozen on either side and several more along the back. Most were unoccupied, but more than half were stained with dark, dried blood. The sole occupant on the left side of the room was a female, judging by the length of her hair and the drape of the fabric covering her torso and midsection. Her skin was lined with dozens of thin scars—just like Zîvrünê’s—all over her extremities. Her skin was pale, almost tinged blue, and her chest didn’t rise or fall—at all. Her eyes were open, but she stared unblinking at the ceiling, and her jaw hung open, her expression slack with death, but her gray flaccid skin indicated her death was not recent. The stench was too fresh to be from her demise. I was about to glance away, but my attention snagged on the spotted ears poking through her dark-chestnut hair—furry ears—like an ocelot’s.

  As I checked out the rest of the room, my attention snagged on the black panthera hanging upside down from the ceiling and twitching. My soul screamed in protest, and only Bîcav’s hand stopped my cry. I covered my eyes but couldn’t unsee the gutted panthera, his chest severed and empty and his neck slashed. Fresh blood splattered the floor from the vicious slaughter, and there was a bucket-sized circle from where they’d collected his blood—his life.

  I forced my eyes open, and hatred burned through me, demanding revenge.

  And then I saw Ruin’s soul slowly stalking across the room.

  To the right of the panthera’s body, three other magî lay prone, lashed to their cots, only one still moving. My gaze skipped to Zîyanâ, the left side of her face smeared with blood, who stood screaming at Zerôn and Basvîk, the two arguing in front of her. The gruesome scene played out silently—the noise somehow contained by magîkal wards.

  Bîcav dropped his hand from my face and gasped.

  But I couldn’t say anything, ask anything, because the situation was too riveting. I blinked, and time slowed as my vision tunneled.