The Vine Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 2)

by Carol Beth Anderson

  She looked to Eira, who said, “After the long ride, I wish to stand.”

  When her eyes shifted to Osk, he said, “I’ll stand too.”

  Zeisha sat.

  The Anya’s eyes swept over his guests. “Why are you here?”

  Osk replied, “I brought them, because this young woman”—he gestured at Sarza—“said they should visit you.”

  The Anya’s expression remained as neutral and pleasant as ever. “How wonderful. How may I help you?”

  Sarza spoke, her voice seeming too loud in the small room. “Yeah, I’m the one who said we should come here, but I have no idea who the hell you are. So let’s start with that.”

  Nora and Eira fixed Sarza with glares as sharp as swords. Zeisha, for some reason, found herself grinning.

  The Anya laughed. The sound, full of joyful freedom, took decades off his age. “It is a worthy question.” He spread his wrinkled, liver-spotted hands wide. “Our planet is full of magic. So full, it nearly bursts at times. You all know this, to a point.” He gestured to Nora. “If I am not mistaken, you are an ice lyster. You also talk to dragons.”

  Nora’s eyes widened.

  “Your ice-lysting capabilities are generally quite average,” the Anya told Nora, his voice gentle. “However, at your strongest, you used them in an exceptional way. In doing so, you saved others. You should know you did well.”

  Nora’s chin quivered, and she didn’t seem to be able to speak. Zeisha knew her friend still thought of Faylie daily. She’d needed those words.

  “You, of course,” the Anya said, shifting his attention to Sarza, “are a seer. I have never met a seer. I want you to know how honored I am.”

  “Um . . . okay,” Sarza said, her cheeks darkening a bit.

  The Anya continued, “Prime Minister Osk, your fire-lysting capabilities continue to grow, do they not?”

  “They do.”

  “And you.” The Anya turned to speak to Zeisha. “Your plant-lysting faculty is impressive, my child. And there is . . .” His lips curved into a smile, and she immediately wanted to adopt him as her grandfather. “There is more,” he said.

  “More?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  His wiry, white eyebrows lifted. “You have a gentle heart. I saw it when you walked in. That is a gift.” Seeing her smile, he winked, then returned his attention to the group. “I am sure you have all heard the legends of Anyarian planet magic.”

  “You mean weird magic that happened after The Day?” Sarza asked. “Rivers parting and stuff like that?”

  “Yes.” The Anya’s eyes fixed on Nora. “You have seen it, have you not?” he asked.

  A slow smile spread across Nora’s face, and she nodded.

  “What did you see?” the Anya asked.

  Nora gestured to the front door. “The gray dragon showed me parts of Cellerin I’d never known existed. I drank from a magical pond that gave me energy. We saw a field that makes people fall asleep and forget who they are. He told me there used to be other places, but the magic has faded.” She shifted her gaze to Zeisha. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t tell Krey or Ovrun either. It seemed—”

  The Anya interrupted her. “The dragon did well to tell you, Princess. You did well to honor the secret.” He gestured to the wood floor. “Please, sit. I will tell you what I know. Then we will discuss what comes next.”

  Zeisha wanted to stay close to the Anya, but if they were going to be here longer than a few minutes, she couldn’t keep the only comfortable seat in the room. She offered her spot to Eira, who took it. Everyone else sat on the floor. Prime Minister Osk’s knees crackled as he lowered himself.

  “After The Day,” the Anya said, “many travelers came across various types of planet magic. Half a century after The Day, a woman from the area we now call Cruine learned to control such magic. She even gave it a name: the Well.

  “The woman found that where the Well was evident, she could strengthen and direct the magic. She then discovered that the Well was not restricted to those places. The Well is everywhere; it is simply dormant in most locations. She learned to awaken it wherever she chose. The nature of the magic changes from one place to another, and she took joy in discovering its various expressions.

  “After a time, the woman chose four lysters—for only those who already have a magical faculty may connect to the Well—and bestowed her gift on them. They became known as the Anyas.”

  “She shared her magic with them?” Nora asked. When the Anya nodded, she prodded, “How?”

  The Anya lifted a gnarled finger. “That, I will not tell you. You see, the first Anya had chosen protégés she had every reason to trust. She taught them to listen. To only use the Well in ways it is meant to be used.”

  “Listen to who? Or what?” Sarza’s cynicism rang in every syllable she spoke.

  “Some Anyas say they listen to the planet itself; some believe it is the stone communicating with them.”

  “What do you think?” Zeisha heard herself ask.

  “I think it is something bigger. Someone bigger.” The Anya gave Zeisha that gentle smile again. “Someone who speaks to many people, not just Anyas.” He held his hands wide. “Regardless of who or what was speaking, one of the four new Anyas chose not to listen. He drew forth magic from the Well and used it to wreak violence and benefit himself. The first Anya wished to bring him back to the path she’d taught him. She set off to meet with him. He caused a river to flood over a bridge as she crossed it, and she drowned.”

  “Damn,” Sarza breathed.

  The Anya continued, “The remaining three Anyas attacked and killed their rogue brother. They spent the rest of their lives traveling over as much of the planet as they could. They listened to fellow travelers who told of magical locations. The Anyas put the well to sleep in those places so its power could not be used for evil.

  “That is why humans rarely encounter the Well now. The magic has not faded; it is merely dormant. There were only three Anyas, however, and our world is large. They could not find all the areas where the Well was active. I am certain every continent still has such places.

  “As the three Anyas grew older, they agreed not to pass on their magic with anyone, lest it again be misused. Then a seer arose.”

  “Another seer?” Nora blurted.

  “Yes, a century ago, shortly after the nation of Cruine was established. She was very young when her visions began, and she died of a fever at the age of ten. While she lived, she told our nation’s leaders that after decades of traveling the world, only one of the three remaining Anyas would come home. She said this Anya must pass his gift to his daughter, who still lived in Cruine. She was the only one of his children who was a lyster.

  “Though that Anya never met the seer, he did as she’d instructed. His daughter was my great-grandmother. The gift became our family legacy. We, and Cruine’s prime ministers, have faithfully kept our secret. Since the days of my great-grandmother, we Anyas have used our connection to the Well only rarely and only when it will bring peace and safety.”

  “Have you shared the gift with your child?” Nora asked.

  The Anya’s smile carried more than a hint of sadness. “My wife and I had no children.”

  “You’re the last Anya?” Zeisha asked.

  “Things do not always happen as we wish them to.”

  The room fell silent. At last, Sarza spoke. Her voice had lost its demanding edge. “How did you know about our talents? Are you a seer too?”

  He smiled softly. “I am not. I merely listen. After many decades, I hear more than I used to. All magic is intertwined.” He lifted his hands, weaving his fingers together. “My knowledge, however, is limited. I do not know why you are here or what you want from me.” He turned expectant eyes on Eira.

  “We live in Deroga,” Eira said. “Cellerin’s army is marching now to invade us. We need help to save our city.”

  “What kind of help?”

  Eira shook her head. “I do
not know.”

  Zeisha didn’t feel any such confusion. “We need shields.”

  “Shields?” The Anya brought his warm gaze to her.

  She knelt before him, taking his hand in both of her own. It was an intimate gesture, but it felt right. He responded by squeezing her hand, his wise eyes still fixed on her. She said, “We want to keep the army away from the areas where we live. I tried to use my talent to make walls from thorn plants, but it didn’t work. If you could use the planet’s magic to protect us . . .” She trailed off, inexplicable emotion taking over her voice. “Please,” she managed.

  The Anya smiled widely at her, delight dancing in his eyes. He leaned close and rested his free hand on her cheek.

  “Of course I will,” he said.

  35

  A woman who lives near me turned 103 years old yesterday. At her party, she told me she’s writing a novel.

  “I’ve met nearly all my life goals,” she told me. “Only one remains.”

  “To publish a book?” I asked.

  She gave me a bright smile. “No. To ensure I am not underestimated.”

  -“Centenarian Novelist” by Genta Ril

  The Derogan Chronicle, dated Cyon 29, 6293

  “We’ve been here at least two hours,” Krey said to Ovrun, “and you still look like a kid who climbed a tall tree for the first time.”

  Ovrun laughed, getting closer to the edge of the rooftop where they were both acting as lookouts. “I love the view.”

  Krey followed his friend’s gaze. The sun was setting, but there was still enough light to make out city streets and clommets of open land beyond. The area west of Deroga was mostly wilderness, with occasional patches of trees and bushes to break things up. Based on Ovrun’s expression, you’d think it was a paradise.

  The former guard pointed at the Deroga River. During the day, the banks were green, far more lush than the surrounding land. In tonight’s dim light, the foliage looked gray. “Just think about it,” Ovrun said. “You could start a farm along the river. Put a windmill on one of the hills. The soil’s so fertile by the water, you wouldn’t even need a vine eater to help things grow. It would take less than a day to drive a wagon to Deroga or the capital. You could live there in peace, growing crops, trading with Cellerinians and trogs.”

  “Trading with trogs is illegal,” Krey said.

  Gaze still on the river, Ovrun grinned. “When the king’s that far away, you really think he’s gonna care?”

  Krey chuckled. “Maybe not. Though you keep saying you, and obviously you mean . . . you. Not me. Because no offense, man, but that life sounds dull as hell.” He expected his friend to laugh.

  Instead, Ovrun crossed his arms and coughed. “Yeah, well . . . I used to think that’s what I wanted. Things change as we get older.” He looked over at Krey and smiled, but his furrowed forehead ruined the effect. “I’ve been thinking lately about how it wouldn’t be so bad living near a city.”

  Krey nodded slowly. “I suppose a princess can’t live in a perfect little farm halfway between the trogs and the capital.”

  Ovrun shrugged. His smile was resigned now. “No, she can’t.”

  After eyeing his friend for some time, Krey asked, “Is she worth it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then I’m happy for you two.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Ovrun’s words led Krey to consider his own future. He shifted his view from the open land in the distance to the shadowy city of Deroga.

  His vivid hallucination of preday Deroga returned to him. It had been similar to dreams he’d had since moving to Deroga. Humans on Anyari had created a truly wondrous world before The Day. Krey’s heart yearned to build something just as spectacular. Maybe in the coming years, he’d start that library system he’d always dreamed of, or establish a university or magical research center.

  “Krey?” Ovrun said.

  Krey flinched, but he was thankful for the distraction. Thinking so hard made his still-injured head ache. He turned. “Sorry. I was . . . somewhere else.”

  “Thinking how cool it would be to build your own farm?”

  That made him laugh. “Hopefully something way bigger than a farm.” Krey sat, his gaze sweeping the landscape. The day’s light was nearly gone.

  Something caught his eye—a darkening on the horizon. It was the type of thing he could’ve dismissed as a trick of the fading light . . . except he’d seen this type of shadow before. His eyes narrowed. “If I were a general,” he said quietly, “I’d save the final leg of my trip for nighttime. I’d travel in the dark, hoping any lookouts wouldn’t see me coming. Around dawn, we’d arrive, ready to fight.”

  “What’re you saying?”

  Krey pointed north. “That’s an army.” He sighed, grabbed his pack, and shoved feathers in his mouth. His breaths quickened, along with his pulse. It was almost time to fight for the city below. “Give me a minute to fuel up. We’ll fly to the other clans to make sure they know, and then we’ll start knocking on doors. When the army gets here, we’ll be ready.”

  Ovrun pounded on the door of yet another house with a light shining in the window. “Get to your stations!” he shouted. “This is not a drill!”

  A man opened the door. The candle he held shone on his exasperated face. “We are coming. We have time.”

  Ovrun wasn’t easily angered, but after hearing that same message from people all over Deroga, he wanted to throttle this guy. Three months ago, when the trogs had all been told to rush to their hiding spots underground, they’d had to wait for hours before the army arrived. Many of them assumed they’d have that much time again.

  “The army might be moving faster than we expect,” Ovrun said. He spied a teenage girl standing in the shadows behind the man. Next to her was a middle-aged woman. “Don’t you want to get your family to safety?”

  “My family will fight!”

  “Then you all need to get to your stations! Now!” Without another word, Ovrun left the porch, running down the Star Clan’s main residential street to look for any other stragglers.

  Ovrun turned at the sound of footsteps. After warning the other clans, Krey had asked a young trog to watch the street where the dragons were expected to land. Now, the girl was running their way. “They’re back!” she gasped.

  Within minutes, Krey and Ovrun arrived at the wide street where the dragons always landed. Taima and Osmius were already there, their passengers having dismounted. In the light of his and Krey’s lanterns, Ovrun saw Nora, Zeisha, Eira, Sarza, and one extra person: a stooped, elderly man leaning on a cane.

  Nora ran up to them, followed by Zeisha. “We flew high over the whole area,” Nora said. “Dragons can see a lot more in the dark than we can. The army’s coming.”

  “We know,” Ovrun said. “Most of the people are at their stations. We hope it’ll be a few hours—”

  “We don’t have a few hours!” Nora gripped his arm. “A hundred soldiers or so rode ahead on orsas. They’ve almost reached trog territory!”

  Next to Ovrun, Krey said, “Eira, I’ll fly and spread the word.” He turned back to Nora. “Could you tell if the king was with them?”

  “I don’t think he was in the first wave,” Nora said. “I know he wouldn’t travel without guards, and the soldiers on orsas were pretty spread out. If he came, he must be with the main army.”

  Krey kissed Zeisha’s cheek. “Be safe,” he said, before jumping into the air and flying away.

  Zeisha turned to Ovrun. “Do you know where Kebi is?”

  “I saw her with that team of vine lysters yesterday,” he said. “They couldn’t get the thorn shields to grow large enough, but I think they’re still planning to work together during the battle.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Can you find them?”

  “I’ll ask around. What do you want me to tell them?”

  Zeisha gave him directions to a nearby building where they could meet. “Oh, and Ovrun?” she added. “We need you to stay with
us during the battle.”

  “Okay . . . why?”

  “I’ll explain when you get back.”

  Ovrun nodded, then ran off in search of Kebi, his stomach tightening with every step. They’re here . . . and we don’t have any help.

  It wasn’t for lack of trying. Krey had done his best to ally with New Therro, but they didn’t have any help to give. When Sarza had shown up, Ovrun’s hope had bloomed again. But apparently the only assistance Cruine had provided was one elderly man.

  Beating the king might be impossible . . . but I’ll do whatever I can to protect the trogs and my friends.

  Ovrun ran faster.

  Zeisha, Sarza, and the Anya huddled in the lobby of a building just outside Star Clan territory. In a nearby room, they could access the tunnels under the city. Those tunnels were vital to their plan.

  But to navigate the tunnels, they needed maps. Kebi had those; she and Zeisha had planned to use them during the battle to check on the thorn shields. Maybe some good will come from that idea after all. Zeisha smiled at the thought. She caught the Anya’s eye, and he smiled back.

  Zeisha fueled up as she mentally begged Kebi to come quickly. Once they had maps, they’d travel through trog territory. The Anya would use the power of the Well to shield important streets from the Cellerinian army.

  Sarza had offered to stay with the Anya. She hoped she’d have visions or general feelings—urges, she called them—that would help direct him. Knowing the importance of protecting the Anya, she’d also convinced Eira to return her weapon, a knife.

  Zeisha, too, would stay with the Anya during the battle, by his request. When he’d asked, she couldn’t imagine why he wanted her there, but she’d said yes. She’d also offered to bring Ovrun along to carry the Anya.

  When Zeisha heard that Kebi had kept the vine-eating team together, she’d realized what her role must be. Along with the other vine eaters, she would protect the Anya. She despised the thought of using her magic in violent ways again, yet she knew in her gut she was where she was supposed to be.