Shift of Shadow and Soul (SoulShifter Book 1)

by Hilary Thompson

  Miles and miles to the south, but closer to a Weshen woman than many generations had seen, those same waters began to lap at the shores of Umbren, seeping into the roots of the thick trees in ShadowsEnd Forest. Rivulets of enchanted water worked inland, loosening the dirt and feeding the thing that had slept in the earth of Umbren for decades, shattered into pieces and bound long ago.

  The darkness of the forest sparked with a light unseen since the Separation, and Shadow began to stir.

  A Vespa’s cry echoed on the breeze, and the trees began to whisper their green-black leaves with an ancient enchantment.

  The Shadow is good, the Shadow is bad.

  The Shadow will take all that you had.

  The Shadow is near, the Shadow is far.

  The Shadow knows all that you are.

  Chapter 16

  “Which direction is the Hungry River?” Corentine asked, breaking the silence. Sy was wary of the flatness in her voice and the rounded slump of her shoulders.

  The wind had pulled the little boat gradually west until Weshen Isle disappeared into the horizon. Now, there was nothing to see in any direction. Nothing except sea and sky and each other. Not a bad view, in his opinion.

  Sy lifted his eyes to the blue above them, considering the position of the sun. “That way,” he pointed. They were drifting west and slightly south, but he wasn’t worried. He’d been watching the timing carefully.

  Too soon and they would be sucked north into the treacherous rocks surrounding NewMoon Falls. Too late and they would be pulled down into the black mouth of the Hungry River, or worse, to the shores of Umbren, a place of darkness and death.

  “The current will pull us to the river eventually if we don’t begin to row,” he added.

  “How can we row with no oars?” Corentine glared at him. “If you shift more wood from the boat, we’ll sink, and besides, you’ll likely pass out from exhaustion.”

  Heat rose in his already sun-warmed cheeks. So she had noticed how much shifting the sail had drained him. Sy knew he had little practice in sustaining his magic; he’d always been able to replenish his energy with the tonic his teacher had shown him how to make. But there had been no time to make more before leaving. Once they were safe on the shores of Weshen City, he would fill a sack with enough lemondrines for the journey.

  But for now, all he could do was wait until his body had rested sufficiently.

  “There is wood to use,” he answered. “This boat has a false bottom. Resh was supposed to pack it with weapons and food.”

  “And you trusted him?” Her laughter was more cutting than the winds of the NeverCross Mountains, but he supposed his family deserved it.

  “I did, and I do. Reshra may be a lot of things, but my brother would never see me die.”

  With that, Sy bent and fumbled for the hidden latch. Finding it, he raised an uneven rectangle of the boat’s bottom. Beneath it was an assortment of knives, a wrapped portion of dried meat, a sack of dried beans in a shallow cooking pot, and a disassembled bow sword. Sy noticed a sheaf of papers and smiled as he lifted a corner: Resh had even stolen and packed the map to find the Wesh.

  His heart sang with the knowledge of what he could now do, once they survived the MagiSea. Surely such a deed could turn this curse of banishment into a blessing for his people.

  Not ready to ask Corentine to share this new burden, though, he shoved the papers beneath the crude medical kit and a thick blanket, pushing everything back into the compartment.

  Sy began to break apart the false covering, finding it to be more than enough source material for an oar. Corentine watched him without comment, but her gaze had grown shrewd again, and she sat straighter. Not for the first time, he wondered if she would actually follow him once they were on the mainland.

  “We can visit Weshen City for heavy winter clothing before entering the mountains,” he said, sorting through the knives.

  “My family is going to Rurok, Maren and the twins. She said I must meet them there,” Corentine answered, and Sy clenched his jaw. That was the worst plan he’d ever heard. He noted the square of her shoulders. She would think nothing of trying to follow them.

  “Rurok is suicide!” Sy tried to keep his voice steady, but his stomach rebelled at the thought of the young twins adrift on the Hungry River, food for the sharp-toothed mouths of Sulit witches, or worse.

  Corentine fixed him in a stare that sucked him dry. “Your mother is taking my brother and sister to Rurok. I am to meet them there,” she said again, emphasizing each word carefully.

  His mouth opened, then snapped shut. “My mother,” he whispered. Forbidden words, for a son of Weshen. How did she know this? Why would she tell him now?

  Corentine’s laugh was bitter. “Yes, the woman who raised me after my mother threw her life away is the same woman who raised you until your life was stolen. Her name is Maren.”

  Sy blinked out at the broken-mirror surface of the MagiSea, everything else forgotten. He turned the name over in his mind, but he had no memory, no emotion tied to its soft syllables. The elders had done their only allowed spell with the perfection of practice.

  “Why is she leaving the island?” he finally managed.

  “Because of your father. Ashemon came to her years ago to make a child of magical blood. She loved a man named Neshra, and still your father asked this of her. He knew, Sy. He wanted to continue the bloodlines. He even promised her you would never be banished.” A derisive snort told what she thought of his father’s promises.

  Sy glanced up, grateful to find she was no longer watching him with that piercing stare. His world was crumbling, and for the first time since the banishment had begun, he felt truly abandoned by his people. His father’s words, and Tag’s, as he left.

  All for nothing. For show.

  The General could have stopped the banishment. Had promised to. Why would he make such a child - such a promise - if he didn’t intend to keep either one?

  Sy gripped his temples and stared into the boat’s false bottom. He was being punished, he knew now. Not cast aside, but punished for not showing his magic to Ashemon, for not hiding it from Resh. For not producing a Weshen son.

  And then he realized the piece he had missed. Shame broke into shards of fury. Their double banishment in a single boat was unheard of. What his father obviously hoped might happen between them, alone in this narrow boat…Sy glanced up quickly at Corentine, certain that guilt lined his face. Certain she would see it and assume he had held a role in placing their fates here, adrift together on the MagiSea.

  Corentine’s eyes rested on the water, though, and several minutes passed in silence. Sy wondered what he should say, but words were scarcer than land. Finally, Corentine began rummaging in her sack. She pulled out a rolled paper, spreading it on her knees.

  “So will you help me navigate to Rurok, or should I swim for it?” she asked, and he let out a deep breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. She didn’t suspect, and he’d give her no reason to. She lifted her eyes to meet his and pointed at the map, silently repeating the question.

  He adjusted his cramped position, stretching his legs carefully. The boat dipped too close to the water, and he watched a few drops slide down the wood. “I can’t go to Rurok, Corentine. Weshen men are forbidden there. We have been for generations - even before the Sacrifice.”

  Corentine studied him as though she didn’t believe it. And he didn’t blame her - it wasn’t a thing people even spoke of anymore. Few of the Weshen even traveled far outside of their own land now. The ones who did were only allowed to hunt MagiCreatures in the open southern plains of Riata, then trade in EvenFall and dart back across the mountains before the king’s men scented them.

  “But the women? Children?” she asked.

  Sy shrugged. “As far as I know, they aren’t forbidden. But I’d be killed on sight if the rumors are true.”

  “What’s your plan, then?” she asked, bending to study the paper in her lap. Her emphasis g
ave Sy the distinct feeling she still intended to head to Rurok once they hit land. He leaned forward enough to see that what she held was a crudely-drawn map. She didn’t hide it from him, but she didn’t offer him a better look, either.

  He pretended to study it for a moment. What would entice her to give up her fool plan of Rurok? Even if this Maren woman were able to reach the city without drowning, the witches were just as likely to drain their blood for spells as anything else. Of course, he wouldn’t be telling Corentine this bit. She’d be in the water and swimming in a second.

  “I’m going to rescue a group of Weshen slaves,” he said, the specifics of a plan crystallizing in his brain. It wasn’t what Ashemon had instructed, but Sy was growing less concerned with his father’s wants. Even betrayed and banished, Sy would work for the return of his people’s magic and love and land. But he would do it his way, and not his father’s.

  “They’re being transported from MatinsHold to EvenFall, and I think I could free them and send them through the passage to Weshen City. Then I could go to StarsHelm Palace, kill the Restless King, and take back everything we used to have.”

  He imagined returning to the city and increasing their numbers not with a single infant, but with a dozen Wesh. Even Corentine should be interested in a plan like this.

  “You will die doing it,” she said. But she was studying him wide-eyed now, the map forgotten.

  He nodded, holding her eyes, marveling at their mix of shimmering brown and bronze. “But I will also die not doing it. Better to die fighting for what should be ours.”

  Corentine considered him for a long moment, then rolled the map tightly and shoved it in her sack. “I thought all the Weshen captives would be dead by now.”

  Sy shook his head. “There are many of our people still stranded in Riata. They couldn’t return to Weshen City for the Sacrifice, or refused to. These slaves are their descendants. Half-bloods. Now they’re mixed with non-magical Riatan families in a foolish attempt to draw the Weshen magic into their bloodlines.”

  “They’re forced to breed?” she asked, her eyes flashing.

  “And more, I’m sure.” He could plainly see the horror and bitter realization spilling onto her face.

  Setting her mouth in a firm line, she seemed to make a decision. She bent and drew out a water skin, tossing it to him without a word. He unscrewed the lid, and the heady smell of lemondrine made his muscles tremble in anticipation. His eyes rolled back as he drank deeply, though not nearly as much as he wanted.

  “Where did you get this?” he asked, handing the skin back to her reluctantly. Someone on the island knew how to make the tonic. Maren, perhaps?

  She ignored his question and gazed into the horizon for a long moment, lost in thought or a memory.

  “I’ve dreamed idly of becoming a Weshen warrior for so many years,” she whispered to the wind. “Now it seems the impossible is suddenly here, and I want a chance.” She turned her head and fixed her eyes on him. “I want my life and my family’s name to mean something again.”

  He struggled to find the words that would embrace her, keep her from thinking she was worth so little.

  “I will travel with you to StarsHelm, Syashin, First Son of Weshen,” she continued, and he winced at the formal way she addressed him. “Together we can rescue these slaves and slay the man who destroyed my family and reduced our people to game-players and bounty hunters.”

  “And your brother and sister?” he asked, although his chest was swelling with how quickly she had chosen him, chosen his quest and made it hers as well.

  “They’ll wait for me to find them, and Maren will keep them safe. I trust her with everything.”

  Coren wished she were as certain as her words sounded on the open air. Yes, the Restless King should die for what he’d done to the Weshen and all of Riata, and certainly no-one should ever be forced into slavery.

  But if the twins died because she neglected to find and save them, then Zorander Graeme would have still won.

  She closed her eyes against the hot sun, pulling the shawl back over her face. All her life she’d wished to travel beyond the island. But for a brief moment, her mind filled with regret and desire for a quiet, safe life of hunting groundbirds and growing old with Maren. But safety was no longer an option for her, if it ever had been.

  Why had her family suffered so much more than any other? Was it punishment for their ambition, as Reshra had insinuated? Tendrils of unease began to wind around her heart. She knew Sorenta had lived in fear of the magic - her mother had grown up knowing its power to destroy, as it had consumed every good thing in her life.

  Coren knew she might slip down the same road of shadow, not quite dark, but not quite light either.

  “The shifter magic is part of you, Corentine, even if you know nothing of it,” Sy said, and she shoved the shawl away, snapping her eyes to his. He read her thoughts too closely. “You might as well start to learn how to control it, so you can help us.”

  And not hurt us further, she added to herself, guessing the unspoken end of his sentence.

  Regardless, Coren knew he was right. If she had known how to control her magic, perhaps they would never have been found out. So she pushed away the dark thoughts of her mother and watched intently as Sy finished using the slim slats of wood to form an oar. Then she took it from him, exchanging it for the water skin again. She examined the oar from each angle while he drained the last of the tonic.

  “It looks carved this way. From a whole piece of wood,” she marveled, angling it against the sunlight. Shifter power, even in its weakened form, was impressive. “No wonder the king wanted Weshen people on his side.”

  “That’s only the beginning of our powers,” Sy murmured, his eyes drifting closed as he leaned back into the Alimente’s prow. “One day, we’ll have it all again, and then we’ll take back our land. We’ll be a free people again.”

  She handed the shawl to him so he could cover himself, and she began to row, testing the oar against the gentle current that marked the direction of the Hungry River.

  As the water parted around the oar, she watched how she could control its motion and the resulting ripples. Sitting taller in the boat, she began to fortify the decision in her mind, forming her foundation of strength with promises to herself.

  She would meet Sy’s teacher, and she would learn power and control over her magic.

  She would travel to Riata, help rescue the slaves, then find the Restless King, who had ripped her family apart.

  She would be the wind and the storm. She would be the shadow that snuffed the light from his patchwork kingdom.

  If Zorander Graeme were restless, Corentine Ashaden would be ruthless.

  The sun grew hot in the sky, and she knew they were both burning. She also felt the beginnings of real thirst, and she fantasized about the streams of the upper Weshen plains, where the water was somehow always cold. Sy stretched and sat up, reaching for the oar. She relinquished it gratefully, rubbing at her shoulder.

  “I haven’t seen land in hours,” she complained as she draped the shawl over her face again. His cheeks were red, and his forehead gleamed with sweat. They both needed a bath.

  “Not seeing land is a good thing,” Sy reassured her. “If we get close enough to see Umbren, it’ll be too late. We’ll be caught in the current and lost to the Hungry River.”

  “And NewMoon Falls? How will we avoid those?” she pressed, suddenly needing more information. The heat and open water were making her itchy, and her nerves felt stretched like a hide on a rack.

  But Sy shrugged, apparently not sharing her anxiety. “It’s not the falls we need to worry about. It’s the rocks. But we should be able to stay far enough from them to be safe.”

  As he rowed, he directed her while she started to make more of the lemondrine tonic. It wasn’t much of a recipe, although here on the water it would take time they may not have. Lemondrines Maren had packed from the island trees. Heat from the sun to draw the oil from
the peel. Water and salt from the MagiSea to mix.

  As she carved the peel into slender sections, Coren wondered how they would continue to make the tonic, once they were too far from the island trees and the sea. But too many other questions swirled in her brain, which pulsed with heat. She put her effort into surviving the despair of the endless water instead.

  The afternoon slid into evening, and although this brought relief from the sun, Coren recognized the change in the water. From the south it came at them like a crawling, living thing, sucking at the bottom of the boat and pulling them relentlessly toward the Hungry River.

  Sy grunted through the effort, paddling hard to correct the current. Too often, he was forced to flip the oar to Coren and rub the cramps from his muscles. The sun sunk to the edge of the Sulit forest before them, its orange-red rays concentrated in a fierce line above the treetops.

  “That old woman is a fool to leave the island,” Sy grunted as he heaved the oar to her. “How could she make it past this?”

  Coren said nothing. In her mind, no future existed except one where she would see her family again. Maren wouldn’t risk their lives without good reason. She dug in harder against the current, setting her teeth against the burn of her muscles and the sting of sweat on her raw palms.

  Suddenly her grip on the oar faltered, and she felt the slick wood slip from her fingers as though the water had tugged back.

  “Sy!” she gasped out. He lunged forward, grabbing at the oar, nearly tipping the boat, but they were both too late. The narrow tool slipped into the water, bobbing just out of reach. Coren cursed violently and wiped at the sweat on her face.

  “I’m sorry-” she started, but just then a wrinkle in the water made her pause. She squinted into the depths but could make out nothing clearly. The shadows were knitting too quickly into the blanket of night.

  “It’s okay, I’ll just jump in and get it,” Sy answered, eying the dark water. He didn’t want to get in, though. It wouldn’t be a simple swim. The bow of the boat had begun to twist and drift, exactly in the direction he knew they didn’t want to go. He heard Corentine begin to protest, but he was already sliding into the water.