Shift of Shadow and Soul (SoulShifter Book 1)

by Hilary Thompson

  “You’ll do as a student of shifter magic, of course. There’s no other reason to seek such a place at the snowy top of the NeverCross Mountains. Besides, Weshen women don’t travel anymore. If you’re here, it’s because you need a teacher. Now, get on in here, and I’ll get you some hot soup.”

  Coren watched Damren turn and hurry down the hall she’d come from. “And take off those wet boots!” she called back over her shoulder.

  Sy obediently shed his boots, lining them under his cloak like a boy at school, and Coren couldn’t help but smile. She quickly did the same and followed Sy into the next room, where a fire burned brightly in its grate, heating the close-quartered kitchen gloriously. Damren sat in a rocker so close to the fire that Coren marveled the woman wasn’t up in flames. She reached a ladle into a hanging pot and stirred vigorously. A few drops splashed out and sizzled on the wood below.

  “It’s early yet for your visit, Syashin.”

  “Something’s happened, Damren. We’ve both been banished.” His voice trailed down at the end, and Coren wondered again whether she would truly be welcome here. Would Damren blame her for Sy’s troubles?

  Damren stirred her pot one last time before turning to them. “Sit,” she said. Coren nodded in thanks, but so far she didn’t feel particularly welcome. In fact, she felt very much lacking as Damren’s bright eyes looked her carefully over once more, her face a wrinkle of reserved judgment.

  Damren gestured to the rough wooden table. Two benches gathered beneath it, and Sy scooted onto one, leaving room for Coren beside him. She glanced at the woman, who was still watching.

  Coren sat across from him instead, and a hint of a smirk crossed Damren’s face before she stood and reached into a cupboard to fetch bowls.

  Damren’s hands shook as she carried the bowls, but Coren felt she didn’t want any help. Several drips spilled onto the table as Sy received his bowl and thanked her, the grease shining in the firelight.

  “Who is your mother?” Damren asked, reaching toward her with a steaming bowl. Coren blinked at the suddenness of such a question, but she’d known enough old women to realize her answer would likely make a difference. That was, if Damren knew much of Weshen families. Even so far from Weshen gossips, Coren found herself reluctant to share.

  “Well?” Damren prompted, withdrawing the soup.

  Coren narrowed her eyes. Evidently, the woman’s question wasn’t idle. “Her name was Sorenta Shonen. She died when I was ten.”

  Damren nodded perfunctorily, her mouth grim as though she’d already known this, or suspected it. Finally, she set the bowl before Coren. “I know of her. We all did. Quite the strong, haughty family. Her mother was Lorental Shonen?”

  Coren shrugged in agreement, gulping a steaming mouthful and reveling in the warmth as it coursed down her gullet. Regardless of what other Weshen thought, her family was hardly proud of itself. She’d barely heard a word about her grandmother her entire life.

  “All I know is my grandmother didn’t make it through the mountains during the Separation. Sorenta was an orphan by the time she made it to Weshen City, and my father Kashar was a young half-Weshen knight who deserted the king to help her home, then deserted her later to go back to StarsHelm. The Restless King took everything from my family. That’s why I want to learn whatever magic I have, and quickly enough to kill Zorander Graeme before he finds out the magic is back,” she added, setting her bowl down so abruptly that she added to the spills on the table.

  She wiped at them with her sleeve, suddenly embarrassed by her outburst. What did this secluded old woman care about her family’s struggles? Why should anyone believe her naive claims of vengeance?

  Should she ever be face-to-face with the Restless King, he could cut her down in a second.

  “Yes, you do have much to learn,” Damren murmured, staring intently into the fire.

  Coren guessed she wasn’t just talking about learning magic, and she flushed.

  “Damren, do you think the magic is returning to all the Weshen?” Sy asked.

  “How many more?” she asked.

  “Just us,” Sy said, his voice defensive.

  “And my brother, who was banished for it,” Coren added. And her mother and Maren, she thought, who had never actually lost their magic.

  Damren nodded, watching her so closely that she seemed to be listening in on Coren’s thoughts. “Two in one family. Same father?”

  “Twins,” Sy answered for her. “And there are two younger. Also twins.”

  Damren looked sharply at Sy. “Two sets?”

  “They’re too young,” Coren protested. She wasn’t ready to discuss Kosh and Penna’s potential for magic, not with this crusty woman.

  “Not much younger than your brother when he was banished,” Sy countered. “Your twin brother,” he repeated, emphasizing the so-called blessings of her family.

  Coren glared at him, and he pressed his lips together, moving his gaze to his empty bowl.

  “Two sets of twins in one family,” Damren muttered, rising to refill Sy’s bowl. Coren sighed. It had always seemed to her like a slap from the Magi to be blessed with a twin, only to have that twin ripped from her because of his magic.

  “So if the magic is returning to Weshen now, why us, and what is its purpose? Do you know?” Coren demanded, growing tired of the woman’s continued scrutiny. She still hadn’t decided if Damren and she would get along.

  “Of course I know why. Do you?” Damren asked, turning to Sy.

  Sy shrugged. “Because it’s needed?”

  “Magic does not appear simply because it’s needed, or because we wish for it. Magic plays by rules, not by desire.”

  “The Weshen have recovered their numbers?” Coren guessed, although she knew that couldn’t be true, or the General would have reacted very differently to her discovery. Damren only snorted and slurped from her bowl.

  “Love,” Sy whispered then, and Damren cackled.

  “My favorite student,” she said, pinching his cheek affectionately.

  “Your only student,” he laughed.

  “Not anymore,” Damren replied, sliding her eyes toward Coren. “But yes, shifter magic responds to the love between partners. And the children born of that love. Not only magic was lost during the Sacrifice. And not only magic has returned to the Weshen people.”

  Damren gazed intently at Sy, but he turned his head away, his face flushed.

  “I know my parents loved each other,” Coren offered. “Maren told me that’s why I have magic. But then Kashar abandoned her. So it seems love is as fickle as magic.”

  “There could be many reasons for his leaving,” Damren said, her voice low. “Magic is born of love, and love is born of magic. It’s circular and eternal unless one is removed. Then the circle is broken, and both are lost. Who is to say which should return first?”

  “Well, how do you explain Sy, then?” Coren challenged. She knew it was rude, but the logic wasn’t sound.

  Damren shrugged. “Perhaps the General loved Sy’s mother.”

  Coren made a disgusted noise. “I know his mother. Maren made a bargain with Ashemon, nothing else. A bargain he broke when he banished his own blood. That man is incapable of love, as are all the Weshen men.”

  Sy set down his bowl and turned his face from her, and she realized he was hurt. Maybe even insulted. But it was true - Weshen men hunted, and they killed, and they deserted.

  But in her experience, they did not love.

  “So then Neshra didn’t love Maren?” he asked, provoking her. Coren glared, contemplating tipping his soup into his lap.

  “Neshra?” Damren repeated, watching the fire. “The name is not familiar.”

  “Neshra Shennar,” Coren supplied, but Damren still didn’t answer.

  “You’ve been gone too long, Damren,” Sy said gently. “You can’t be expected to know everyone.”

  “Shennar,” she whispered, nodding as though the name had finally reached her. “Another strong family.”r />
  “But the Magi banned love between partners until the magic returned. The hunts ensure that no-one even has time to learn it,” Coren said, still stuck on this piece of the puzzle. “None of the other Weshen will have magic until they give up the hunts. My mother told me as much, but I was too young to understand.”

  She thought again of Sorenta’s warnings, which she now knew were cautions to wait for children until she was in love.

  “Why do you think my father set us adrift in one boat instead of two?” Sy burst out, his voice still hurt. “His methods may be terrible, but he understands love must return too.”

  “But we aren’t in love!” she protested, her face hot. “We care nothing for each other!”

  “Nothing,” Sy repeated, pushing up from the table and dumping his bowl in the sink. He stayed there, his back as solid and still as the rock walls around them.

  Coren gulped. He cared for her, and if she were honest with herself, she cared something for him. It couldn’t be love, though. They’d only know each other a few weeks. But he cared enough that his fool father had seen it, then gambled on it with the life of his First Son.

  “The greater the love, the greater the magic,” Damren said, her voice soothing the tense line of Sy’s shoulders. “Love between partners strengthens each person’s magic, and the children they produce are stronger for it. Your family, Corentine, was once the most powerful family Weshen knew. Their shifter magic was unparalleled in the community. You may not see it now, but your family was once made of love.”

  “There is nothing left of that now. My family is gone. Scattered. Dead.” The words caught in her throat, choking her.

  “Yet here you are,” Damren said. “Learning magic.” She didn’t say the rest, but Coren heard it. Felt it. The old woman expected her to learn love as well.

  “No matter what I am here to learn, what matters is that we help our people, both enslaved and in hiding. The Restless King’s days are fewer than they were before this summer,” she muttered. She must remember her true purpose here - otherwise her banishment would mean nothing. Her life would mean nothing.

  “Where will I sleep?” she asked, turning back to the table. Sy’s face was still turned from her, and he stared unmoving at the fire as Damren rose to show Coren to her narrow, cold bed.

  “That girl is our people’s greatest hope for salvation from Zorander Graeme, you know,” Damren said to Sy when she returned to the kitchen.

  “I’ve wondered as much,” he whispered.

  “And you’re learning to care for her, aren’t you?” Damren asked. She didn’t expect an answer, but she smiled warmly when Sy met her eyes. But even though he agreed with Damren, something in him resisted calling it love. What bond he felt developing was still more like family or friendship, though he hoped to someday feel the strength of emotion Damren spoke about.

  She rose and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Life has been hard for you. Both of you. And it’s just the beginning. But if you have each other…”

  “Don’t say it, Damren. There’s so much to do. We could both die in EvenFall.”

  “You could,” Damren agreed, clearing the other bowls. “But think on this, Sy. Her family was once rumored to possess Triple magic.”

  He turned to her sharply. “Triple? What is triple?”

  Damren snorted. “I’ve taught you so much, and yet I’ve taught you nothing. Single magic is?” she prompted

  “SourceShifting. Controlling the matter,” he answered, the diligent student.

  “And Double magic?”

  “SelfShifting. Controlling how you look.”

  “And Triple is SoulShifting. Controlling where the soul resides.”

  Sy stared at her, unable to absorb such an idea. “So someone could shift a soul from its body?”

  Damren nodded. “And into another body. Make no mistake, Syashin. Triple magic is not always good. Weshen magic works best in pairs, and Triple has no pair. It’s unbalanced. And of course, Triple magic is rumored to be the true reason the Restless King coveted Weshen women.”

  “If a soul could be shifted into another body, that person could live forever,” he whispered.

  “Yes. Triple magic hasn’t been seen in many, many generations. Even before the Separation and Sacrifice. But that girl…there’s something powerful in her. Sleeping, yes. But powerful.”

  She fixed Sy in her gaze and continued. “Even in these few hours since your arrival, I’ve felt my magic strengthening. Powers I haven’t felt since the Sacrifice are whispering through my veins. This girl, Syashin, is like a hurricane. A storm on the water. If her power cannot be controlled, if her path veers…” Damren broke off, watching the effect of her words on Sy.

  He shook his head, brushing away the idea. “Coren is better than that. She wants what is best for our people, I think, even though she’s been treated poorly.”

  “But would the Weshen people trust her? Enough to lead them? Where there is no trust - where there is doubt - there will be a need to prove, and the possibility of a great bitterness rising in her heart.”

  “I’ll watch over her, Damren,” Sy answered. He didn’t think Coren was bitter enough to turn black inside, but he also remembered the stories of her father, her mother, her brother. Desertion, suicide, and murder. None of it boded well for Coren. He thought uneasily of the guard they’d left behind in the city.

  If her family’s magic swirled in her blood, perhaps their darkness did as well.

  “The Shadow sees everything,” Damren whispered, almost to herself. “The Shadow hides the messes that the light and dark make, and it is a master at making the unequal seem equal. Wouldn’t your young beauty prefer to be seen as an equal?”

  Sy nodded, the fear bubbling into his chest.

  “Then you must watch her for signs of the Shadow.”

  Sy’s brain was racing. It had been a long time since he’d been afraid of the Shadow. By now it was a bedtime story he and Resh used to scare each other with. But what Damren spoke of was ancient and different.

  “May I go to the practice room?” he asked, his limbs suddenly restless. He needed to pause his whirling mind, and the best way to do that was to beat it into submission with the fatigue of training.

  “Of course. But don’t be up too late. We begin at sunrise, as always,” she grinned, bowing to him. He returned the gesture, then took the stairs up to the vast inner room carved with the power of many shifters and designed specifically for combat practice.

  Sleep was impossible, despite Coren’s intense fatigue. The bed was too comfortable, or too narrow, or too far from home. Something.

  Finally, she gave up and lit a candle, then padded down the silent hall to the bathroom Damren had shown her. Splashing icy water on her face, she held up the flickering light and studied herself in the sliver of mirror. The early-summer sparseness and then the journey had taken the plumpness from her cheeks, and the sun glinting off the MagiSea had darkened her skin and lightened strands of her hair.

  She looked older. Harsher. More like Sorenta. Her mother had been beautiful, once, and Coren remembered her vanity. Once, when her mind was nearly lost to delirium, Sorenta had described a StarsHelm ball she’d attended as a very young girl. A ball at the palace, given by the Restless King himself. Her eyes had sparkled as she listed the foods, the colors, the names of well-known and well-to-do guests.

  Coren shook the memory from her mind. Such beauty had never counted for much in her world. Sorenta mourned the loss of her wealth as much as the loss of her mother, and the two were twisted together in Coren’s mind as well. Love and money and magic and power. All things the Restless King had stolen.

  Once, all things that had been forbidden or out of reach for her.

  Now, all things she could regain for herself. For her people. Perhaps even for all of Riata.

  Coren showed her teeth in the mirror. Foolish girl, she admonished herself, turning to head back to her room. She’d be lucky to make it to StarsHelm alive, and
the Weshen people had never cared much about saving her.

  A rhythmic thumping reached her from somewhere in the mountain. What were Sy and the old woman doing now? She shouldn’t have left them alone after dinner.

  The door next to hers was ajar. She peeked inside: another closet-sized bedroom, empty except for Sy’s bags. A third bedroom was completely empty, but a fourth door was shut tightly, warmth and a dim light seeping from beneath the door.

  The thumping continued, so she followed it, the vibrations in her bare feet helping her trace it to a staircase cut from stone, leading up to a wooden door.

  The door was open an inch, and she pressed her eye to the slit, finding a room that seemed to be scooped right from the stone. Torches flared in alcoves every eight feet or so around the walls, glimmering like fiery crystals behind their glass screens.

  Sy was in the center, his feet and chest bare, using a long wooden rod to hit a human-sized bag suspended from the ceiling. He moved around the bag in a fluid circle. As the bag swung with each hit, he ducked and leaned, each time knocking it away before it connected with his skin.

  And once Coren noticed his bare skin, it seemed that was all her eyes cared for. The torchlight cut his arms even more sharply, and beads of sweat trailed between his broad shoulder blades and across the rippled muscle of his stomach.

  As quietly as possible, she pushed the door open a few more inches, forcing herself to study the other walls. Each wall had a variety of weaponry, plus bars, bags, and pulleys obviously designed for physical training. There was no sign of Damren.

  Sy stepped away from the bag, grabbing a cloth from a nearby chair. He wiped his face, then turned directly toward the door.

  “Join me, Coren,” he said, his voice now the only noise in the night.

  Coren’s breath jumped at the surprise of being found, then come twice as fast as he strode toward the door, pulling it open and grasping her hand to pull her into the room.

  “I always train when I can’t sleep,” he said, releasing her hand to latch the door. She wondered if he’d left it open before in hopes she would come find him.