The Vine Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 2)

by Carol Beth Anderson

  Field dressing them all would’ve taken forever. With this much game, they needed help. Carrying nine of the creatures in three overflowing sacks, they trudged to the butcher on the Star Clan’s main street. The woman was pleased with the haul, especially when she heard there were eight more to come. She led them around the building to drop off the carcasses at the cleaning and skinning station.

  Nora and Ovrun returned to the little office building and carried the remaining shimshims to the butcher. The three of them, together with the butcher’s assistant, began cleaning the animals.

  Nora found the whole process macabre, but she’d gotten pretty good at it during the weeks she, Krey, and Ovrun had hidden in a warehouse in a Derogan suburb. These days, with her memories of Faylie so eager to overwhelm her, she appreciated anything that kept her hands and mind busy. She chatted with Ovrun and the trogs to distract her from the yellow blood of the shimshims and the red blood of her friend.

  As she was about to start working on her second shimshim, she held up the knife the butcher had loaned her. “This is much sharper than the one I usually use. The edge is holding up well.”

  “Good knives make good work,” the butcher said with a smile.

  Nora wiped the knife clean with a rag and examined the blade. “MADE IN CRUINE,” she read aloud. Cruine was the country east of Cellerin. Burig Bay, which made up Deroga’s eastern edge, separated the two lands. “Our chef back home only used Cruinese knives. He swore by them.”

  “My cousin lives in a little town called Emling, northwest of Deroga,” Ovrun said. “There’s a shop there that trogs sometimes visit. Is that where you get knives like these?”

  The two trog women exchanged a quick glance. “Perhaps,” the butcher said. “I do not buy knives.”

  “Someone else does the shopping?” Ovrun asked with a smile.

  The butcher nodded, glancing again at her assistant.

  Noting the looks the women gave each other, Nora examined the blade and handle more closely. She lifted her gaze to the butcher, her brow furrowed. “I thought when Cruine sent products to Cellerin, they had to mark every item with three letters: CCE, for Cruine-Cellerin Export. I guess they missed it on this knife.”

  “I have work inside,” the butcher said. She gave Nora and Ovrun a quick smile before hurrying through the back door of her shop.

  Nora dropped the subject but worked even faster. If the trogs had a relationship with a nearby nation, that could change everything. It was time to pay Eira a visit.

  7

  My family occasionally crosses Burig Bay. We’ve taken solarplanes, boats, and glidecrafts. In just four years, we’ll have a cheaper transportation option: a Skytrain. The Derogan Skytrain Authority told me the track they’re building across Burig Bay is the longest over-water track in the world.

  -“Overwater” by Genta Ril

  The Derogan Chronicle, dated Quari 9, 6293

  As soon as Nora and Ovrun finished their task, they sought out Eira in her office. She was sitting at a dented, preday desk. Has she always used such furniture? Nora wondered. Or did the army burn whatever she’d had before?

  At Eira’s invitation, Nora and Ovrun sat. With no preamble, Nora asked, “Do the trogs trade with Cruine?”

  Eira’s sparse, white eyebrows rose. “Why this question?”

  Nora explained what she’d noticed about the knife, then pointed at a pen on Eira’s desk. It was carved of pale wood and had a fat bulb on the end, made to hold ink. A Cruinese design. “I’m guessing that doesn’t bear the export stamp either.”

  “Are our trade habits important?” Eira asked.

  Nora didn’t miss the fact that the leader was asking, rather than answering, questions. “You heard the report Krey and I brought back two days ago. The New Therroans can’t help us fight the Cellerinian army. If you have a good relationship with the nation across the bay, this would be a great time to turn it into a formal alliance.”

  Eira watched Nora for a long moment before at last saying, “We trade with Cruine.”

  “Do you think they’ll help us defend Deroga?”

  “I ask them,” Eira said. Seeing the hope in Nora’s expression, she clarified, “I ask last week. They respond yesterday. They refuse. Cellerin is their ally. They will not fight an ally.”

  Nora expelled all her breath in a sigh. She’d been afraid of that. She leaned over the desk. “Why didn’t you want to tell me you trade with Cruine?”

  “King Ulmin tells them not to trade with trogs. He wants us to remain isolated. Weak. Cruine does not wish to anger him.”

  “But they’re willing to risk trading with you?” Nora asked.

  “Cruine has few shimshims. The blue leather is valuable there. Trogs provide it to them, along with handmade goods. Cruine knows we will keep this secret.” Eira tilted her head and examined Nora. “You ask me to ally with Cruine against your father. With how quickly you change your loyalties, I wonder if I can trust you.”

  Nora took a deep breath. “This may sound strange, Eira, but I’m not just doing this for the trogs. I’m doing it for Cellerin.”

  Eira squinted at her.

  Nora tried to keep the tremble out of her voice. “Ten days ago, we freed thirty-three militia members—some of them as young as me. It should’ve been thirty-five people. The other two died, not knowing who they were!” Her voice was loud now. Unsteady. She didn’t care. “Their families don’t even know they’re dead! And their leader—who was just as controlled as they were—I killed her. Her mother’s out there somewhere, and she doesn’t know her daughter is gone!”

  Ovrun took Nora’s hand and squeezed it. Neither he nor Eira spoke.

  “Then what they did to you—and New Therro . . .” Nora took a deep breath. Tightness filled her throat. She pushed words past it. “When the army came here last week, I told you I don’t know my father anymore. Well, I don’t know my country anymore either. Cellerin doesn’t enslave and vandalize and invade.” Nora let go of Ovrun and grabbed Eira’s wrinkled hand in both of her own. “The country I love is dying. I have to fight to save her. To return her to who she’s supposed to be.”

  Eira’s eyes fixed on Nora’s. “Will you fight your father to save your land?”

  Nora released Eira’s hand, breathing hard. The best way to save Cellerin would be to save the king from his own addiction. But what if I can’t get through to him? She gritted her teeth against the thought.

  Lifting her chin, she drew in a deep breath. “Eira, I swear to you, I will do whatever is necessary to save my country. That includes preventing my father from taking Deroga.”

  Eira gazed at her with incisive, watery eyes. Nora sensed her credibility was on trial. She had to get this woman to trust her. “We stole four handguns from royal guards,” she blurted. “We’ll give them to you. Maybe you can use them.”

  Eira’s brows lifted. She gave Nora a single nod. “At noon today, we will meet. Bring those who lead your people. It is time you know our battle plans.”

  Zeisha waited outside the building where Krey, Nora, Ovrun, and a few militia members were meeting with Eira.

  Krey had invited her to the strategy meeting. She’d even convinced herself to go. But when they arrived at the building, her hands started sweating. Her breath came in quick gasps.

  She couldn’t enter.

  She couldn’t hear about all the ways people wanted her to use her magic to fight. Again.

  Krey had understood and even offered to stay with her. She’d seen the relief in his smile when she’d said no. He respected her desire to stay out of the fight, but he wanted to be right in the middle of it.

  Even now, part of her wished she’d gone in. In their time together, Krey, Nora, and Ovrun had established a casual camaraderie. They’d welcomed Zeisha into their little group, but she felt like the new kid when they all spent time together.

  It was different when she and Krey managed to snag time together, just the two of them. Then the world felt right again, even
this far from home. Until the topic of fighting came up. Then, as much as Krey assured her she didn’t have to fight—whatever Nora told him really had worked—she still felt disconnected from him. He wanted justice. She wanted peace. Was there any common ground between those goals?

  Is this meeting ever going to end? Deroga had no working clocks, so Zeisha didn’t know how long she’d been waiting. It felt like forever, though it was probably more like two hours. Will Eira insist I fight?

  The doorknob turned. Zeisha stopped pacing. Isla and three other militia members exited the building, chatting easily with each other. Besides Isla, Zeisha couldn’t remember any of their names. I trained with them for months. And we’re strangers.

  Isla stopped next to Zeisha while the other militia members moved on. “Why didn’t you come to the meeting?” Isla asked. “They asked for militia volunteers.”

  Zeisha tried to shrug casually. “I don’t consider myself part of a militia anymore. I’ve had enough fighting.”

  “But this is our chance!” Isla took Zeisha’s hand, as she’d done so many times in the middle of the night in that dark room. Her long, black hair caught the sun’s light as she spoke animatedly. “After what the king did to us, I can’t wait to open up the ground underneath his soldiers!”

  Zeisha bit her lip as she imagined Isla using her talent to do just that. This side of Isla hadn’t come out when they’d had their gentle, late-night conversations. She squeezed Isla’s hand and gave her a smile. “We need people like you. It’s just—that’s not who I am.”

  “Isla!” one of the other militia members called. “Let’s go eat!”

  Zeisha looked over to where Isla’s three companions had stopped to wait for her. “Go ahead.” She gestured to the building. “I had an early lunch with Krey before the meeting.”

  “Okay.” Isla let go of Zeisha’s hand, gave her a quick hug, and jogged off to join the others.

  Zeisha’s chest felt hollow. During their short conversations in the dark each night, she and Isla had encouraged each other. But they hadn’t really known each other. Now that they were free, Isla was making new friends, while Zeisha reconnected with Krey and got to know Nora and Ovrun. The connection the two girls had formed through those lonely nights had met their needs at the time. Maybe that was the extent of it. They were both moving on, in their own way.

  At last, Krey, Nora, and Ovrun exited the building. Nora and Ovrun said hi to Zeisha, then excused themselves for an afternoon of hunting.

  Krey gave Zeisha a sweet smile. “Sorry that took so long.”

  “It’s okay. I know we both need to get back to our posts, but can you tell me about the meeting first?”

  “Of course.” He took her hand. “Let’s go to the park.”

  Those words brought lightness to her heart. They’d only been here a week and a half, but the Star Clan’s small, well-tended park was already their special place. When Zeisha was there with Krey, she could almost imagine they were in a park in Tirra, before all this mess began.

  They entered the peaceful space and strolled along a gravel-lined path. “When the army returns,” Krey said, “we won’t go underground. We can’t use the same hiding place twice. Anyone who’s not fighting will split into groups of ten or twenty. They’ll hide in the upper floors of unoccupied buildings. The trogs keep the ground floors of all the buildings in the vicinity swept clear of dust, so invading soldiers won’t notice footprints.” He turned his head to smile at Zeisha. “I found out what your hiding place will be. Before we go back to work, I’ll show you.”

  The space that had felt empty in Zeisha’s chest filled with warmth. “Thank you for not pushing me to fight.”

  He pulled her close, his body heat banishing the chill of the shade they stood in. “Nobody’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

  She stood there for a few minutes, soaking in the security of his words. At last, they resumed their walk. “What about those of you who are fighting? What’s your plan?”

  He smiled. “We’ll take advantage of the trogs’ knowledge of this city. Some of them are magic eaters, and many are experts with knives and swords. They’ll hide on the streets—in shadows, building lobbies, even under old sewer grates. The king’s soldiers won’t know where anyone is. The trogs will jump out and wreak havoc as the army comes through.”

  Krey was grinning; he clearly loved this. He continued, “Archers and magic eaters will attack from windows. All the militia members will stay hidden in case the king comes with his army. We can’t risk him controlling them again. Osmius will help however he can, but he’ll have to stay out of the king’s sight too. Taima, on the other hand, has already told Nora she’s anxious to join the battle.”

  “How many of the trogs will fight?”

  “Most of the adults and quite a few teens. Remember I told you about that young trog archer who almost hit me when I first sneaked into the city? Well, it turns out a lot of the kids start training with weapons when they’re eight or nine years old. Younger teens will be stationed in the safest locations, of course. And they won’t be forced to fight. But most of them want to do their part.”

  Zeisha swallowed. Most of them want to do their part. The phrase punched her in the gut. Teenagers would fight while Zeisha stayed as far away as possible. But is it really right for thirteen-year-olds to fight? No matter how passionate kids that age are, should they be allowed to risk their lives?

  She tried to smile at Krey. “What about you? What will you be doing?”

  He stopped at a smooth, wooden bench. “Want to sit?”

  “Sure.”

  He sat in the corner. She settled next to him, and he pulled her close. “Every clan will have sentries stationed on rooftops,” he said. “They’ll have messengers at their disposal. If anything changes in their territory, they’ll get word to the other clans.”

  “So you’ll be on a rooftop again?”

  He pressed a kiss into her hair. “No, I’ll fly above it all. Provide a bird’s-eye view. I’ll travel between the rooftop observers to spread information between all the clans.”

  Zeisha pulled back far enough to look in Krey’s eyes. She spoke through a broad smile. “That sounds like a pretty safe job. You can fly high enough to avoid arrows or bullets.”

  Krey’s eyes dropped. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth.

  Zeisha knew all his expressions. Her smile faltered. “What are you not telling me?”

  His gaze lifted to meet hers. “They need me to fight too, Zeisha. Not just watch. I’ll throw ice on the enemy, and I’ll carry another magic eater on my back—possibly Nora. She and I have already worked together so much. She’s arguing against that, of course. She hates flying with me. So I might take a militia member. We’ll make sure we don’t get close enough to the king for him to recognize them.”

  She nodded, not sure why the thought of him carrying someone else bothered her so much. “Besides Nora, who are you considering?”

  “An ash eater or”—he swallowed—“or maybe a vine eater.”

  “Oh.” It was barely a whisper. She cleared her throat. “One of the other vine eaters from the militia is really good.”

  “Almost as good as you,” he said.

  She pulled back, like he’d burned her. Was he really going to pressure her, after all this?

  “Zei—” He took her hand, holding it between both of his. “I didn’t mean anything by that. Well, I meant it, but just as a compliment. I wasn’t saying you should come with me.”

  She nodded slowly. She believed him. But she also knew him. And she was certain that underneath all his words of support, he was fighting an unspoken longing for her to fly with him and use her magic against soldiers below.

  He watched her with his brows furrowed, the single sign of his internal battle. If he were a less honorable guy, he’d beg her to fly with him during that battle. But he respected her enough not to make that request.

  Why, then, was a small part of
her considering the question he would not ask?

  There were a million reasons, she supposed. She wanted to see his face break into a smile when she said yes. And after all the time they’d spent apart, she didn’t want to be separated from him, especially during a battle.

  Besides, she was afraid Krey was right. She had a talent, one she’d honed to violent perfection. Now that she had such a powerful ability, did she have any right to refuse to use it?

  Krey cupped her cheeks in his hands, “I don’t know what’s going on in that mind of yours, but you need to do what’s best for you. The meeting today didn’t change that.”

  “I know.” Zeisha stood, trying to push away the arguments that were battling for prominence in her head. “You said you’d show me the building I’ll be hiding in.”

  With a smile that wavered just a bit, Krey stood. “Let’s go.”

  8

  I’ve avoided writing about the security breach in the Therroan government’s systems. However, the story isn’t going away, so I’ll (reluctantly) address it.

  My friends and I have grown up with devices in our hands since before we could talk. Adults, here’s the difference between your generation and mine: unlike you, we grew up knowing privacy is an illusion. I suggest you make peace with it, as we have.

  -“The Pretense of Privacy” By Genta Ril

  The Derogan Chronicle, dated Quari 12, 6293

  Zeisha, Nora, and the other female militia members entered their bunkhouse. Along with the rest of the Star Clan, they’d woken early for a battle drill. They hadn’t gone to their assigned locations in case the king had left soldiers behind to watch them. Instead, they’d met on the main street and reviewed their plans.

  Zeisha crawled into bed but didn’t try to sleep. The drill had interrupted a dream, and she didn’t want to return to it. It was the same nightmare she had every night. She’d used her vine to strangle a trog. Watched the light go out of his eyes.