The Sapphire Flute
by Karen E. Hoover
The Wolfchild Saga
Book 1
PROLOGUE
Jarin smoothed the final rope of stone decorating the altar. The orange magic of Bendanatu flowed through him in a circle of energy that allowed him to mold the cold stone with his hands. There was no dust to blow away, no chisel marks to scar the perfection of the glossy black surface. The heat of his hand alone sculpted the pictures and polished them as smooth as onyx until they reflected the candlelight by which he worked. He sat back on his heels and inspected his creation.
The flat panels on the top and sides depicted the seven Guardians of Rasann creating the world, each holding a keystone that rooted magic to the land. C’Tan had been adamant that the altar remain untainted by color, leaving only the dark of the onyx she brought him.
If he’d had his way, the altar would burst with color, from the sapphire of Klii’kunn’s flute to the deep amethyst of Hwalan’s handheld eye. Jarin sighed with a small ache of regret, but still he was pleased. The interwoven vines running along the upper edge had turned out particularly well, roping in and out in endless knots that were the best he’d ever done, but then, there was reason for that. This was not just any commission he’d taken. This was for his sister, C’Tan—or Celena Tan, as she’d been called as a child.
He rubbed his hand over the top one last time, his fingers catching slightly on the raised image of S’Kotos holding a heartshaped gem. Why C’Tan had wanted The Destroyer on the altar’s top, he didn’t understand. She’d given him some kind of convoluted explanation, but it had made no sense.
Jarin shook his head and stood. He separated the fine chains hanging about his neck and placed a finger on the stone that hung at his throat. It warmed at his touch, suddenly alive and listening, prepared to transmit every word he spoke into his sister’s waiting ear. No matter how often he used the stone, it always amazed him that he could speak to C’Tan as if she stood before him, whether she was in the kitchen or riding her dragons in a neighboring county. He could hardly wait to share his news. The altar was done! Nearly a year of work, and it was complete.
The spell activated instantly, catching C’Tan mid-sentence as she spoke. “. . . don’t want any excuses. The master requires the child’s soul in order to negate the prophecy.”
Jarin froze in shock, holding himself completely still as he listened to the unfolding conversation, expecting any moment for C’Tan to laugh at the joke she was playing at his expense.
“Yes, I have a rather full understanding of that, Mistress,” Kardon, C’Tan’s servant, said, “but I am not sure you are aware that she is not the only child of the prophecy. The keystones must each be held by a balanced one in order for Him to be sealed. She will be drawn to the stones, so why not use her to find them? Why waste this resource when it is so close?” His voice gave Jarin the chills, as it always did.
It was as cold as a midwinter freeze and just as dead. “She is only one link in the chain.”
“Yes, but she is a link within our grasp here and now, and the Master wants her sealed. Besides, have you forgotten she is the link to them all? She is The Chosen One! The Binder! Distasteful as it may be, she must be soulbound to that stone.” Her voice was different than Jarin remembered, full of bitter anger and razor scorn.
“I have no qualms binding the babe to the stone, Mistress. I only question your motives in following S’Kotos’ directions.”
There was a slap that made Jarin wince.
“Never question my loyalty to the Master,” she said, her voice low and menacing. “Now go and collect Shandae before I decide to offer you on that altar.”
Jarin’s heart froze again at his daughter’s name, the cogs finally turning into place. Shandae, his little baby girl, was the child of prophecy? She would bind The Destroyer? Of course he knew the legends. He’d grown up hearing them, playing the parts as a child, but he’d never really believed them—until now.
Jarin yanked the chain from his neck, sickened with panic and fear, and flung the stone at the altar. Instead of bouncing off the slick surface, it stuck to the image of The Destroyer as if it were made of tar instead of stone. Chills raced up the back of his neck, and he did the only thing he could.
He ran.
By the time he reached the main hall, he’d shifted into the form he inherited from his father. Hair sprouted across his body, his nose lengthened, his back curved, and in an instant Jarin had gone from man to wolf, his clothes merging with the snow-white fur. Only the pendant his father had given him years before still thumped against his breastbone. Its magic never had allowed him to hide it with his clothes.
Once across the drawbridge, his paws dug at the soggy earth, kicking up clods that spattered his hindquarters, littering the grass behind him as he raced toward home. If he’d been in man form, he would have been cursing, shaking his head at his blindness and stupidity, but he wasn’t. Tonight he was wolf, snarling through the grass, praying he was not too late to save his child from the betrayal of C’Tan. His own sister was willing to steal the life of his child. His hackles rose at the thought.
He wasn’t even three hills from the castle when he knew time had run out. The riders were being sent. Jarin’s sharpened wolf senses could hear C’Tan scream at her guard. “After him! Bring him back alive, or I’ll have your hearts!” The horses tore across the drawbridge, hooves tharumping, chain mail clinking as they raced away from the castle.
Fool! he thought. He should have taken the stone with him—that would have given him more time to escape. But what was done was done. Time was the one thing he needed, and he’d thrown it away with the communication stone. Obviously C’Tan had found it already. Jarin glanced over his shoulder at the loud “hyah!” echoing across the hills. They were nearing the top of the first hill now. The captain of his sister’s guard whipped his horse down the other side. Jarin guessed he had a five, maybe ten-minute lead on the guard.
It wasn’t enough!
He howled, putting on a burst of speed that took him up a grassy slope, past the ghostly forest of whispering aspen, through the flower-filled meadow, and up a final hill. His muscles bunched as he labored up the steep slope, breath coming hard until at last he reached the crest and paused. For only a moment he took in the glowing magelight Brina had left burning and allowed himself to feel the ache of loss.
His sister was gone, to be replaced by an enemy who only looked like her. What had happened?
Jarin shook it off before he loped down the hill, a low growl coming unbidden to his throat. It wasn’t the first time his sister had hurt him, but he’d never expected her betrayal.
The light of home pulled him on, guiding him as a lighthouse for a storm-tossed ship—warm, yellow, and safe. But tonight the light was a beacon for his pursuers as well as for him, and he did not want the evil ones to be guided so easily. With a single whisper of thought, the light went out, and Jarin sat panting in the darkness, his haunches chilling on the damp ground as he took time to change into human form once more. He couldn’t surprise Brina with that bit of himself—not tonight. He’d never quite known how to tell her about his other form, and now he chafed at the delay.
His body shifted, like clay molded by an unseen hand. The hunched wolf stretched and straightened until he stood erect, with only a few pops to settle his spine. The thick hair withdrew to a single mop of black, and Jarin shrugged his clothing back into place.
He stepped through the thick wooden door, shutting it firmly behind him, then placed a hand on each side of the doorframe. The stones he had embedded in the wood months before began to hum under his touch, and in seconds he had activated the protection spell. The air shimmered around him, and the magic settled into the wood with a whoosh. That would hold C’Tan’s guards for a bit, maybe long enough to save his family.
“Brina, I need you!” he called to his wife, racing to their bedroom at the back of the house.
Pulling out bags fr
om the trunk at the foot of their bed, he stuffed them with whatever clothing lay nearby.
“What are you doing home? I thought you were going to be helping your sister late tonight. I’ve got dinner on the stove if you’re hungry,” she answered, stepping from the kitchen and wiping her hands on her apron.
Jarin wasted neither words nor time. “We’ve got to go, Brina. Get Shandae and meet me at the stables.”
“Whatever for? Jarin, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“C’Tan . . .” he choked. He dropped his head, but forced himself to hold his composure. “C’Tan has betrayed us. We must leave.”
“C’Tan? Betray us? But she’s your sister!”
He stopped what he was doing long enough to meet his wife’s eyes. “My sister no longer,” he said, gritting his teeth. “We’ve got to leave.”
Brina hesitated only a second longer, then left the room, returning quickly with little Shandae. Jarin took her in his arms and glanced at the sleeping one-yearold, so peaceful in sleep and spirited when awake, so much like the both of them in the best ways. He brushed a lock of dark hair away from the child’s face. He laid the babe gently on the bed and pulled the emotion inside. Not now. He couldn’t deal with it now.
“Grab whatever food you can.”
“All right, Jarin, but why? What’s going on?” Brina ran to the kitchen and frantically stuffed a satchel, fruit hitting the floor in her frenzy. Jarin watched her through the open doorway for only a moment before he returned to his packing.
“C’Tan has turned to S’Kotos, and she wants Shandae,” Jarin said over his shoulder.
He glanced across the room at her silence and watched as her eyes turned from the warmth of mid-day to an icy winter gale. She nodded sharply to her husband as if afraid to speak.
And then time ran out. The sound of horses thundered down the hill, slipping and squealing in the wet grass, the guards cursing as they tumbled.
“Leave, Brina!” Jarin said, gathering up the bags and the sleeping child.
“What do you mean, leave? You’re coming with us!”
“I’ll be right behind you,” he tried to reassure her, but his heart felt the lie. “I’m going to send the horses up to the hilltop. Anything else you need, take it now,” he said, tying off one of the bags and laying it at Brina’s feet. He took his small family into his arms and began to pull the power to him that would save them, but he suddenly realized there was one thing he had left to do.
He slipped his pendant from beneath his shirt, the final gift his father had given him. It would no longer do Jarin any good, but it might save the life of his child.
Jarin whispered to the carved silver wolf as he tied the necklace around his daughter’s neck. Fear made his hands shake, desperation made his eyes tear, but the chant never faltered.
“Keep her safe. Hide her from the magic eye,” he begged of the amulet.
The enemy was at the door. He could feel C’Tan breaking through his spells one by one. It was almost too late, but he would save his family, no matter the cost to himself. Shandae must live. He brushed away the baby’s hair and placed his palm gently on the side of Brina’s face. She blinked rapidly for a moment, then set her jaw. He wrapped his arms tightly around them both and let the breath of power roar to life, a cyclone of magic circling tightly around his family.
“I love you,” he whispered. Then he let go.
“No!” Brina screamed, reaching for him, but it was too late. Her hand passed through his arm as her body was instantly transported to the hill overlooking their home.
His attention immediately switched to the horses corralled on the far side of the valley. “Monster, Bluebell. Go to the woods and wait for Brina. Keep her safe.” The horses sent a questioning thought but immediately agreed, and Jarin felt them race toward the fence and soar over in a single leap.
Within seconds, his thoughts were back with his wife.
“Go home to your sister, Brina. Kalandra surely has forgiven you by now, but if you cannot do the same for her, go to Ezeker in Karsholm. At the very least, seek out the Bendanatu. What family I’ve got, you can find through them. Be safe, love. Now go,” he whispered through the line that still connected them. He sent a final swell of love before letting go, her angry, pleading cries cut off like a knife. He only hoped he’d have the chance to make it right.
Cold spread from toe to top and he shivered, trying to shake away the winter of body and soul that settled over him. Death awaited him tonight. He could feel the icy breath of the specter watching from the darkness. Deep in his bones, a voice whispered that his time had come.
Jarin gathered more of the breath of power. He pulled it to himself until he nearly glowed with it—enough to burn himself out if not released soon. It was no different than an archer putting arrow to string, or a swordsman going into fighting stance. He was prepared to use magic to defend himself and only hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. He had one chance to do this and do it right, and could only pray it would work.
The barrage on his shields reached a crescendo, and he knew he could hold them no longer. Rather than damage himself fighting a lost cause, he pulled all the power of his shields into himself, closed his eyes, and waited.
There was a moment of breathless silence, and then the door exploded inward in a shower of splinters. Jarin didn’t even duck. He knew who would be on the other side when the dust settled.
C’Tan.
Jarin didn’t say a word. He watched as the air cleared and his sister stepped through the doorway, her red satin robes glittering in the magelight that still bounded about the room from the broken protection spell, her pale yellow hair standing up with the static of it. She paid it no mind. Instead her eyes sought his immediately, the rage in them as visible as the magelight.
“We seem to have a problem,” she said, her voice full of ice.
“Not of my causing. Why don’t you come in, and we can discuss it.”
“I think not.” She smiled, though it never reached her eyes. “You have something that belongs to me.”
“She was never yours to take, Celena.” Jarin leaned against the wall, arms across his chest, trying to hide with casual arrogance the fearful power he’d pulled to himself, waiting for the right moment to be released.
“Don’t call me that,” she snarled. “Give me the child.”
“No.”
The time was close now. The suppressed power burned. Jarin hugged himself tighter to keep from shaking as C’Tan left her guard at the doorway, pushed past him, and tore through the house. She howled in frustration and rage, moving from room to room and finally circling back to him. Her hands glowed with a blue flame that engulfed them, but did not burn.
“Where are they?” she hissed from between clenched teeth.
“Gone, Celena Tan. You will not have my child.” His eyes flashed fire. C’Tan began to laugh.
“You’re a fool, Jarin. I’ve got S’Kotos and all his agents at my beck and call. You might be able to fool me for a time, but you can never escape The Destroyer. S’Kotos wants the child every bit as much as I do, though for different reasons. We’ll find her. It’s a shame you won’t be around to see it."
“What happened to you?” His voice shook with anger and the power that burned within, but at least the fear was gone.
C’Tan stopped laughing, and Jarin saw a flash—small as it was—as some humanity returned to her eyes, haunted and pained. That was the girl he’d known, the child he’d loved—but the ice returned and she shrugged.
“Life happened. Enough said. I don’t want to do this, Jarin. Give me the child and you can live. You can always have more children. You must give me this child.”
That was too much. Even with all he’d heard from her, he could not take the callous dismissal of his only daughter any longer. Jarin let the power surface and simmer just below his skin. “I’ll not let you use my child for evil. You’re insane.”
“Don’t call me that!” she screeched
. Her eyes narrowed in anger, and the blue flame around her hands burst once again to life. She drew back her arm as if to throw the ball of fire, but paused. Her eyes focused on the cyclone of sparkling energy in which he’d immersed himself.
She cursed and hurled the flame at him as she raced for the doorway, but it was too late. Jarin relaxed his hold on the power, and it roared to life like a tornado, twisting outward quickly. Stones littered the yard as the walls bowed, the beams high above sagging with the sudden loss. Chaos reigned as his home began toppling about him. Jarin’s ears ached with the blast, but he was not done. He reached out one hand and a great rope of flame shot toward his sister, lassoing and holding her in place as the house collapsed around them. The flames never touched Jarin—he was used to his gift. There was nothing that could hurt him here. Relief flooded through him as C’Tan tried to run for the door. She wasn’t going anywhere. The lasso tightened around her as she struggled, her hair and clothing catching fire as she fought and screamed in his grip.
There was a great crack directly above. Jarin looked up to see the squared wood he’d cut and formed with his own hands, the largest piece of the house, fall directly toward him. He lunged out of the way, throwing himself to the left, but the wood ricocheted off another fallen beam and followed him. On his knees, there was nothing more Jarin could do. The wood caught him across the chest, and he had but a moment of regret before he was pinned by the tree-sized beam. It crushed the breath from his lungs. What small margin of control he had over the whirlwind was lost.
He’d burned himself out, and now C’Tan’s flames were going to finish the job.
The fire burst around him, and Jarin was able to turn his head just enough to see that he was not the only one caught in the conflagration. C’Tan lay pinned beneath a pile of rubble, half in and half out of the doorway. Her hair was burned almost completely away, her skin a reddened mass of flesh. Perhaps the blast was enough after all, enough to destroy the enemy he’d once called sister.
Jarin choked with the heat and smoke as darkness glazed his vision.
At that moment he knew. Death had come to claim him.
The Sapphire Flute: Book 1 of The Wolfchild Saga Page 3
