The Vine Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 2)

by Carol Beth Anderson

  “Am I the first non-trog you’ve met?”

  “Yes.” Kebi flashed her white smile again.

  That answered Zeisha’s question about how often the trogs welcomed outsiders. “Do you know people from the other clans?”

  Kebi stood straighter, pride clear in her square shoulders. “I am from the Moon Clan. I live with my people until my marriage. My wife is from the Star Clan. She brings me here.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Dera.” Kebi’s pace slowed. Her voice grew soft. “She dies from a fever ten moons ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Zeisha would have to get used to the trogs’ unwillingness to speak in past tense. She’d assumed Kebi’s wife was still alive.

  “Zeisha, all people die. Dera is still here.” Kebi placed a hand on her heart. “And beyond this building.” She held both arms out. “Deroga is her home. That does not change.”

  For a couple of minutes, the only sound was their breathing, which got heavier as they continued to descend. At last, Zeisha said, “I thought the clans didn’t like each other, but when we all hid underground, everyone seemed to get along. And you said you were born in a different clan. How does all that work?”

  “Trogs change as time passes. The first trogs are violent, killing all intruders.” Kebi’s voice was soft, yet matter-of-fact.

  “The first trogs . . . you mean the ones who lived here right after The Day?”

  Kebi nodded. “Now, we rarely kill intruders. Usually, we scare them only.”

  Zeisha thought about a story Krey had told her, of a trog shooting arrows at him when he’d first visited their territory. Had the archer missed on purpose?

  Kebi continued, “Trogs are strong. For some, to be strong means to fight. These trogs want to fight new-city folk, but new-city folk rarely come. So they fight trogs in other clans. Over trade, love, or territory.”

  “You said ‘some.’ Not all trogs are like that?”

  “No. Many trogs say the clans should unite. We already trade with each other. That is how I meet my wife. My father makes bread. Dera’s mother makes arrows. They trade. One day, Dera brings home more than bread.” Her face softened into a smile.

  When they exited the building, Zeisha blew out the candle and blinked at the sun’s brightness.

  Kebi picked up the crate they’d lowered. “Come,” she said with a warm smile.

  “I’ll carry it,” Zeisha said, reaching out.

  “We will carry it together.”

  Each holding one of the crate’s handles, they walked to the Star Clan’s residential street. Everywhere, Zeisha saw evidence of the Cellerinian army’s vandalism the day before. Front-yard gardens were torn up. Thin sheets of wood replaced torn-off shutters. Smoke still wafted from the blackened remnants of a bonfire.

  Zeisha looked beyond the pointless damage, trying to see the homes like they’d been before. The walls were made of durable, preday materials in neutral shades of white, brown, and gray. The wooden doors, however, sported coats of paint in colors ranging from stark white to sunny yellow and bright red. Not just toothpaste, but paint too?

  Kebi walked up a narrow path to a covered porch and knocked on the dark-blue door. A preteen girl opened it. Over the next few seconds, her face and voice underwent multiple transformations. First, she smiled shyly. “Hi, Kebi.” When her eyes dropped to the crate, both her expression and her tone brightened. “Violitus!”

  Then the girl’s gaze found Zeisha. Her eyes widened. Her smile disappeared. She took a step back and grabbed the doorknob, like she might slam the door. Voice low and breathy, she asked, “Who is that?”

  “This is Zeisha.” Kebi didn’t acknowledge her companion’s status as an outsider. Instead, she said, “She is a vine eater. She makes this food for your family.”

  The girl blinked. Swallowed. After several long seconds, she stepped back, whispering, “Come in.”

  Kebi carried the crate so Zeisha could enter behind her. The girl led them to a room at the back of the house. A middle-aged woman opened the door. She smiled at Kebi and gestured for her to enter. Zeisha stood in the open doorway, waiting to see if the room’s occupants would accept her.

  A bed took up much of the space. Next to it sat an elderly woman. The bed’s occupant was a girl who couldn’t be older than sixteen. In her arms was a tiny, nursing baby.

  Zeisha felt the stares of every member of the family except the distracted young mother and her hungry baby. Tension seemed to connect them all, like the taut lines of a stretched-out net.

  In a voice flush with cheerfulness, Kebi said, “This is Zeisha, a new member of our clan. She is a vine eater. She makes violitus for your family.”

  The strained atmosphere abated a bit, but no one spoke. Then the girl in bed looked up, met Zeisha’s gaze, and smiled. “Thank you. The army takes our food yesterday. Violitus is my favorite.” Her face glowed with joy that Zeisha guessed was linked to the baby in her arms, not the vegetables in the crate.

  The girl’s smile and kind words sliced through the remaining unease. Suddenly, everyone was introducing themselves to Zeisha. She gladly touched fingertips with them all. The middle-aged woman gestured to the bed. “My granddaughter is born early this morning. She has no name yet.” She gave her daughter a hurry up and decide look that almost made Zeisha laugh.

  Zeisha walked to the bed.

  “Would you like to hold her?” the girl asked.

  Zeisha nodded. A soft smile found her lips as she cradled the infant. She was giving this baby health by feeding her mother. Vine eating is a talent that brings life. This is how I want to use my magic.

  Zeisha and Kebi soon left. As they walked, Zeisha’s heart was lighter than it had been since she’d woken from her slavery. The ancient city, with its crumbling Skytrain tracks and brightly painted doors, almost felt like home. For the moment, anyway.

  Soon after the two gardeners got back to work, the wind picked up. A strange, clinking music rang through the air. Zeisha looked up, quickly finding the source: wind chimes hanging from a tall hook that rose from one corner of the roof. “That’s nice,” she said, pointing.

  “Bone chimes,” Kebi said.

  Zeisha flinched. “They’re made of bones?” Seeing Kebi’s nod, she asked hesitantly, “Are they from trogs who’ve died?”

  “No. We burn our dead.”

  Zeisha remembered the large, nighttime fire that had blazed in the distance the day after the militia battle. She could almost smell it now. She swallowed and tried not to grimace.

  Kebi continued, “Bone chimes are from those who come before.”

  “Before?”

  “Before The Day.” Kebi placed a hand on Zeisha’s knee and locked eyes with her. “Trogs have a purpose. We remember the before.”

  Zeisha nodded. It made sense—the murals in the community space, the chimes, even the trogs’ insistence on living in buildings that were full of ancient memories. Such a focus seemed almost spiritual. “Are trogs religious?” she asked.

  “Many are,” Kebi said, returning to the plant she was harvesting. “We worship at home. We are not Rimorians, but we worship the same God.”

  That simple statement sent a wave of comfort over Zeisha. She missed the traditions she’d grown up with in Tirra—praying with her family and attending Rimorian chapel services with Krey. Zeisha had always yearned to know God.

  Her ancient ancestors, she knew, had shared such a desire. Anyari’s original settlers had represented various religions, but the details of their beliefs were lost over time.

  The Rimorian religion was founded a thousand years after colonization. Rimorians had clergy, a book of scripture called the Sacrex, and prophets called emissaries. The religion’s followers committed themselves to rediscovering and reconnecting with God.

  Kebi interrupted Zeisha’s thoughts, asking, “And you? Are you religious?”

  Zeisha considered the question. At last, she looked up from the violitus she was growing and said, “I believe
God is with me, and I seek to know him more.”

  “I am told new-city folk worship the stone,” Kebi said.

  Smiling, Zeisha replied, “A few do, especially in Cellerin City, since that’s where the stone is kept. But most of us pray to God, not the stone.”

  Kebi gave Zeisha a smile. “We are more alike than I expect.”

  For another hour, the two of them worked and chatted. They’d filled several big crates with violitus when a loud CLANG rang across the roof. Zeisha jumped, then stood and looked at the metal trapdoor at the center of the roof. It was open. As she watched, Krey’s head and shoulders emerged.

  Zeisha’s face broke into a smile. She dashed across the churned-up soil, stopping in the center of the roof, where nothing grew in a square about two mets per side.

  “Hey,” Krey said with a grin as he stepped off the ladder.

  “Hi! What are you doing here?”

  “We figured we should all talk.”

  “We?”

  He gestured to the trapdoor, where Nora’s head was now visible. “Ovrun’s here too.”

  “I’d love to,” Zeisha said, “but I should probably keep working.”

  “I need a break,” Kebi called. “You take one too.”

  “How’d you get away from your lookout duties?” Zeisha asked Krey.

  “They gave me a partner today. He’s covering for me.”

  “And nobody knows Nora and I are taking a break,” Ovrun said with a sheepish shrug. “We need to get back to hunting soon, since the soldiers stole most of the meat stores yesterday. We’ll keep this short.”

  “Have a seat,” Zeisha said.

  When the four friends were seated, Krey spoke first, keeping his voice low. “I talked to Eira. The trogs are preparing for the next invasion, and they want to confirm that we’re fighting with them. I told her yes—that’s what we promised when they let us stay here. But we need to decide how long we’re planning to stay. If this turns into an all-out war, will we stay involved?”

  Zeisha’s mouth went dry. Don’t ask me to fight. Heaviness filled her chest.

  “First of all, it may not turn into a war,” Nora said, her voice steely. “If there’s any way to get through to my father, I’ll find it.” Her sharp gaze moved between her three companions.

  The statement allowed Zeisha’s breaths to come easier.

  Nora released a sigh. “But if he attacks the trogs again, then of course we’ll fight with them. They helped us free the militia. We have to help them defend their independence.”

  All at once, Zeisha’s heart pounded against her ribs. I can’t fight again. Trying to keep her panic off her face, she glanced at Krey. He had his knees up and was tapping one boot against the roof, like he was ready to enter a battle right then.

  Krey spoke up again. “Like Nora said, they’re counting on us. And I know they’re planning a defense. We need to make sure we’re an active part of it.” His mouth widened into a smile. “We have dragons on our side; that’ll definitely help.” He turned to Ovrun. “You’re in, right?”

  “We can’t abandon these people after all they’ve done for us,” Ovrun said. “I’ll do whatever’s needed to protect them.”

  Zeisha briefly closed her eyes. In that short moment, a snippet from one of her dreams the night before flashed in her mind. Her hand was stretched out, a strong vine extending from it. She’d wrapped the vine around the neck of a man in black—a trog. She pulled, tightening the magical noose. The man’s eyes bulged. His mouth gaped in silent desperation.

  When Zeisha opened her eyes to escape the image, she could still see it as clearly as if someone had engraved it on her brain. She drew in a sharp breath, released it, and gulped down more air. Her breaths kept coming, shallow and fast. Everyone stared at her.

  Krey’s arm, slim yet strong, slid around her shoulders. “You okay?”

  The picture of her vine, tight around the neck of a man she didn’t know, refused to fade. There wasn’t enough air in all the world to fill her lungs.

  “Breathe with me,” Krey murmured in her ear, pulling her into a hug.

  Zeisha felt Krey’s chest swell slowly. She tried to convince hers to do the same. In. Out. Her lungs rebelled with a quick gasp. Krey murmured soft words of encouragement. After two or three minutes, Zeisha was matching him breath for breath.

  Krey’s arms released her. He cupped her cheek in his hand. “What is it?”

  The words that came out of her mouth weren’t the ones she expected. “Did I kill anyone during the battle?”

  Even this close, she could see his eyes widen. He pulled back a bit and moved his hands to her shoulders. He was still so close that his breath warmed her face. “Zeisha, you didn’t do anything in the battle. The king and Faylie did, using you and the others as weapons. I saw you, and trust me—it wasn’t you at all. I don’t even want you to think about what happened, because it wasn’t you.”

  “Did I?”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it and licked his lips. A battle raged in his light-brown eyes. “Zeisha . . .” Apparently he couldn’t think of a better answer than that.

  “I wish you’d just tell me the truth.”

  “The truth is, you’re literally the best person I’ve ever met. The truth is, you would never willingly hurt anyone.”

  That was exactly what he was asking her to do: hurt the king’s soldiers. Willingly. She pulled away from him. I was forced to be a weapon, she wanted to say. Don’t ask me to choose to be one now.

  But Krey believed fighting was the only right thing to do. His passion was one of the things she loved about him. She couldn’t bring herself to stomp all over it. Zeisha realized she was shaking her head slowly, her body betraying the hesitation her mouth refused to speak.

  “Zei.” Krey’s voice was gentle, but when he took her hands, his fingers pulsed with restrained determination. “What is it?”

  “I—” She took a deep breath, trying to slow her racing heart. The words she needed to say—I can’t fight again—still wouldn’t come out. Instead, she said, “The woman I’m working with took me to visit some trogs. There was a girl there, younger than me, who just had a baby. I gave her the violitus I’d just grown. Krey, that’s what I want to be doing. Feeding people. Not . . . anything else.”

  “That’s what I want for you too.” Krey intertwined his fingers with hers. “By the stone, it’s what I love about you! But when the army comes, you’ll be using your magic to protect innocent people. We’re all on the right side this time around. Your strength, it’s . . . it’s astonishing! You could—”

  “Krey!” Nora interrupted, her voice loud enough to carry across the whole roof. More quietly but with no less vehemence, she said, “As usual, you’re being an—” She halted, her gaze flicking briefly to Zeisha before returning to Krey. “You’re being unreasonable. Let me talk to Zeisha. Alone.”

  Krey opened his mouth, like he’d argue with her. Then he looked to Zeisha, and his expression softened. “Would that help?”

  “I think so.”

  Krey squeezed Zeisha’s hands and stood. He and Ovrun strode through the garden.

  Nora was already sitting across from Zeisha, but she leaned forward. Zeisha did the same.

  “Do you know who Faylie was?” Nora asked softly.

  Zeisha’s eyebrows drew together. Of course she did. “The Overseer. She controlled me.”

  “Right, but did you know she was my best friend before my father turned her into a brain lyster?”

  Zeisha’s mouth dropped open.

  Nora’s face crumpled. She looked away, chin quivering. After taking and releasing two deep breaths, she turned back to Zeisha. “I killed her because it was the only way to save all of you—and myself. I . . . I don’t think I had a choice. I also don’t know if I can forgive myself.” She blinked. A tear rolled down her cheek. It halted briefly in the thin scar that ran across her soft skin, before continuing its path to her chin. Nora ran her fingers along the scar. “Faylie
did this to me. But I know it wasn’t really her. And you know what? I’m glad the healer couldn’t mend my skin completely.”

  “Why?”

  “I want the physical reminder of my father’s mistakes. Of how easy it is for those in power to hurt their people.” She swallowed. “And maybe I think I deserve the scar after what I did.”

  They were both silent for several breaths. Then Zeisha spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I killed at least one person. I know Krey doesn’t want to tell me the truth, but I dreamed about it last night.”

  The skin between Nora’s dark brows wrinkled. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I. About what you had to do and what I had to do. About all of this.” Zeisha shook her head. “You did the right thing. And I know if I have to fight, I’ll be on the right side, like Krey said. But I still don’t think I can do it.”

  Nora grabbed both Zeisha’s hands and squeezed. “You don’t have to. Do you hear me? You don’t have to fight. Krey feels the same way; I know he does. He’s just stuck in justice mode right now. But if this turns into a war, I’m going to make sure we don’t pressure any of the militia members to fight. If we do that, we’re no better than my father.”

  Zeisha’s breath escaped in a shuddering sigh. She pulled Nora into a tight hug. “Thank you. I’ll support the rest of you the best I can, but I can’t . . . that’s not what my magic is for, Nora.”

  Nora spoke in her ear. “Leave Krey to me. We can plan a defense with one fewer plant lyster.” She let go and smiled, despite her still-wet eyes. “Now go create some violitus. I want a big salad for dinner.”

  Zeisha laughed and stood. She looked to where Krey was sitting. He raised his eyebrows and gave her a half-smile. She beckoned him over. “We’ll talk later,” she said when he arrived. She gave him a quick kiss. “Be safe out there.”

  “Always.” He smiled and headed for the ladder.

  5

  Going downtown anytime soon? Don’t be too shocked if you encounter a dragon.