The Eighth Born: Book 1 of the Pankaran Chronicles

by C. Night

  “No kidding,” Rhyen said. He slid from Cinnamon’s saddle and held out his hand. “I’m Rhyen.”

  “Ylop,” the man smiled and took Rhyen’s hand. The men firmly shook, and Rhyen was surprised to feel a slight current run through his fingers.

  A curious expression crossed his face. “I can feel the magic radiating off of you too, now, Ylop. I wonder why I didn’t sense it before.”

  Ylop chuckled. “Like I said, I’m only a magician. You have to get close to sense us lower wielders. But you I could feel coming a mile off, and your companion I can feel from here. You are a very high wielder.”

  Rhyen smiled. “I’ve never heard that one before. I’ll have to keep my eyes open, so maybe one day I’ll be able to pick up wielders like you can.”

  “Was there something I could help you with, Rhyen?”

  Rhyen suddenly remembered his question. “Do you know why the trees grow in such straight lines? I thought a lumberjack would know better than anyone.”

  Ylop grinned. “It’s a strange forest, eh? They grow in straight lines because after we cut ‘em down, we sow seeds for new trees, so the forest will never cease being a forest.”

  Rhyen looked around interestedly. “That’s clever! But how are the trees all so tall if you’ve just planted them?”

  “This forest is old—very old. And people have been living here and trading lumber for almost as long. The trees you see today were planted maybe fifty years ago.” Ylop looked around, getting his bearings. “You see, we make our camps in quadrants that make a wide circle through the Low Country forest. When we cut down in one place, we replant and move on to the next quadrant. By the time we return to the first one, it has been about fifty years, and the trees are ready to harvest again.”

  “Ingenious!”

  Ylop spread his hands. “Keeps the forest shady.”

  Rhyen shook his burly hand again. “It was good to meet you, Ylop. Thanks for the information.”

  Ylop nodded. “These are dangerous times, Sorcerer. Good luck.”

  The knot of trepidation that was never far from Rhyen’s stomach these days compressed sickeningly at the seriousness in Ylop’s face. What did the lumberjack mean? But as he mounted his horse, Rhyen dismissed the thought. Obviously Ylop was referring to the oncoming war, and Rhyen knew he would need all the luck he could get. “Thank you,” Rhyen replied sincerely. “You as well.” He squeezed his knees together slightly, and Cinnamon clip-clopped along the yellowed forest road as she trotted to catch up to Brefen.

  * * *

  There was no inn at Maypole. In fact, there were only a few dozen citizens in the whole village. Rhyen and Cazing had grown used to a nice hot meal and a bed every night since entering the Low Country, and both were quite displeased to discover this unpleasant absence of their accustomed comforts. They had gotten into the habit of stopping just after dark each day, because there was always a village to be found within a day’s ride of the next in the Low Country, and it was already nightfall when they found that Maypole was too small for an inn, and it was too dark to continue. With a sigh they rode just outside the village, which was only a few steps from one edge to the next, and found a bit of a clearing on the mossy edge of a little stream that was a tributary of the Deameos. They set up camp a little clumsily, for it had been awhile since they had needed to, although once they had a fire crackling merrily and some dry stores to settle their growling stomachs, they found it was actually quite pleasant.

  After supper Rhyen was restless. His knot of nervousness was flaring up, but it was something more than just the feeling he had first experienced at the Tower Avernade. It was something else, riding on top of his worry, and had started the same afternoon he had met the magician. He thought about his conversation with Ylop a few days ago, and remembered the current he had felt in the lumberjack’s hands. He realized what the nervousness was: A sense of magic, only not his own, nor Cazing’s, but something else entirely. It made him twitchy and agitated. From where was the magic coming? Someone powerful, no doubt, if he had been feeling them for days.

  Suddenly he had a fearful thought. Was it the dark rider? Rhyen looked around him carefully. It was so similar a feeling that it was uncanny, but Rhyen sensed that it was something more than the hooded figure. What could it be? Rhyen was too nervous to settle. He abruptly stood and turned from the fire.

  “Where are you going?” Cazing asked around his pipe.

  “For a walk,” Rhyen replied.

  “What are you looking for?” Cazing called shrewdly from behind him.

  Rhyen walked on without answering. He didn’t know what he was looking for, didn’t know if he would even find anything at all, but what he did know was that he felt a deep, unsettling sort of urgency. He continued, his feet carrying him forward without any rational thought about his course. There was a pulling inside him, and it was getting stronger by the minute.

  The leaves formed a pattered roof overhead. The stars were shining through them, so brightly that they reflected down to the forest floor and in the water that ran musically through the little stream. Frogs sang throatily as Rhyen walked along the brook, and fireflies lit up around him, dancing after each other in dizzying circles. Rhyen turned away from the creek and walked deep into the woods. The pulling sensation was urging him forward.

  After he had gone quite a ways, so that he could no longer hear the frogs or the tinkling sound of water over rock, and when the shadows were so complete in the forest that he could no longer see either moon or stars, Rhyen’s sense of urgency spiked. He was so close, he was almost to the source of the magic that was calling him like a beacon. He turned north and walked on. The shadows were lighter up ahead—he must be coming to the edge of the tree line, the natural border of the Low Country farm acres. He shoved aside some branches, and stumbled into a clearing, much smaller than he had anticipated. His mouth fell open in surprise.

  A woman was kneeling on the ground, digging aggressively with her hands and a small knife. Her dark hair was braided back into a long rope that brushed the ground, and she was mumbling in frustration as her hands scrabbled at the dirt. She didn’t seem to notice that Rhyen had appeared behind her, so he watched, fascinated. Suddenly she laughed—a laugh that would have been as pleasing as ringing bells were it not for the steely note of triumph. She jerked a large stone from the ground. It glittered purple in the starlight, and with a wrench Rhyen realized that it was what had pulled him here.

  “Don’t touch that!” he shouted, breaking out of the trees and rushing toward her. The ground had been recently excavated, and the earth was loose and damp. Rhyen had to take care to keep his footing. At the sound of his voice, the woman gave a small scream as she whipped around and saw him. The motion set her off balance and she fell flat on her rump. She sprang to her feet and held up her knife in front of her.

  “Stop!” she yelled. “Stop right there!” Her voice was shaky with fright, but Rhyen was impressed to see that she was holding her knife quite steadily.

  Rhyen raised his hands, palms open, to her. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice, but was a little rough with worry. He knew the object she was holding was incredibly powerful and most likely dangerous, and he needed her to understand that she must let it go. “My name is Rhyen of Avernade, and I’m trying to help you. Put the stone down.”

  She narrowed her eyes at his name and looked at him carefully. Rhyen could see that she understood the title, but still she didn’t lower her blade. “What? Why?” But then she gave a yelp and dropped both knife and stone. She cupped her left hand, which was smoking slightly. Rhyen threw caution to the wind and darted towards her. He grabbed her hand as gently as he could and saw that it had burned black where the stone had touched her bare skin.

  Rhyen swore at the sight and gulped, fighting the urge to run away. He hated anything to do with healing, and he freely,
although a touch ashamedly, admitted his weakness: He despised blood, gore, and wounds. Rhyen knew this was not a particularly masculine trait, but couldn’t help himself. Damn, where’s Cazing when I need him? But he narrowed his eyes at her palm and began let the familiar cool numbness ease across his mind. It came, as it always did, so quickly. As he emptied his thoughts, he discovered that the right words, “cool and smooth like new,” sprang to his tongue like they had been waiting for him to speak them. Rhyen was relieved to see that as he worked the blackness began to recede to the center of the wound. After a few seconds, all that was left was a shiny new layer of skin, which was, as he had wielded, cool to the touch and smooth.

  Rhyen looked up at her, smiling in relief. The woman looked back at him, eyes wide and afraid. He dropped her hand and stepped back, and she clutched her hand to her chest. After a moment she glanced down at her palm. She sank to the ground, staring open mouthed at it.

  “You really are a sorcerer,” she gasped, tearing her eyes from the mark on her palm and searching his face.

  “Yes, but you don’t have to be afraid of me.” Rhyen said quietly. He slowly crouched to his knees and surveyed her. “Who are you?”

  She hesitated. In a small voice, she replied, “I’m Caliena.”

  Rhyen studied her. She looked younger than he had first thought. She had a small heart-shaped face with a prominent widow’s peak and a pointed chin. Her black hair contrasted sharply with her moon white skin, though her cheeks looked rosy under the dirt smeared across them. Her eyes were flatteringly large and framed by dark lashes, and so deep a blue they were violet. Her features were likewise delicate, but she would have been plain save for her striking eyes. Even with the dirt, she was pretty, though a simple sort of prettiness that would rarely have been mistaken for beauty. Rhyen looked at her curiously. She reminded him of someone he had once known, long ago… She tilted her head, eyes flashing under his scrutiny, and he hastily looked away.

  “What is that, Sorcerer?” she asked, nodding to the stone.

  Rhyen shook his head, trying to clear it. He felt like he had received a blow to the head, and his mind was groggy—perhaps wielding the healing spell had cost him more energy than he had guessed, for the girl had received a magical injury, which was difficult to reverse. Besides it was always difficult to wield against humans. Or maybe he was just a tad light-headed from the gruesome experience of healing a wound. But Rhyen thought that this was not the case here. Usually healing spells cost him a little energy, but for some reason his fingers were tingling as though he was fresher than ever. Rhyen felt that he had never been so strong, and while he basked in the power that was seeping through him, he realized that it’s intoxicating allure was costing him his concentration. He forced himself to ignore the compelling magic and, with difficulty, he followed her nod and focused on the stone. It was lying on the ground, twinkling innocently under the moonlight, though the mighty swells of magic were still rolling off it like thunder through clouds. Rhyen’s brain cleared somewhat, and he made an executive decision.

  “Do you live nearby?” he asked her. She hesitated, then shook her head slowly and meaningfully. Rhyen did not know what she meant, but also knew that he could not leave a young woman out in the dark forest by herself. He stood slowly so that he wouldn’t accidentally wield—he rarely had to concentrate on controlling his magic anymore, but now with this spike in his power, he was finding it as difficult as his first year of wielding. He looked down at her. She was still staring at him with her huge almost violet eyes, watching his every move like a frightened rabbit.

  “Caliena, it’s not safe here. I’ll explain what I can when we get back to my master. Will you come with me?” He held out his hand to her. She stared at it, fear plain as a painting across her face. “Nothing will hurt you,” said Rhyen, hoping to reassure her. He was desperate to get back to Cazing and to get some answers. “I promise.”

  Caliena looked into his eyes for a long moment, then took his hand with her uninjured one. He helped her to her feet. They stood for a moment before Caliena pulled her hand out of his and looked at the stone. “What about that?” she asked.

  Rhyen hesitated only briefly before bending down and snatching it up.

  “Careful!” Caliena warned.

  But instead of a burning sensation, he felt a pleasant tingling spread through his hand. He was puzzled—maybe only wielders could touch this? They waited for a few minutes, but when Rhyen’s hand remained intact, he pocketed the stone, which was a triangular, sharp shape.

  “This way,” he said to Caliena, steering her back the way he had come.

  Chapter 20

  It took a long time to return to the campsite. Rhyen had no idea of just how far he’d come, and he was slow going back as he carefully reined in his magic. Caliena, too, was slow moving, as though she was utterly exhausted. Rhyen tried to take her hand and help her through a particularly mossy patch that was slick with water, for she looked very weak and like she might fall over with every breath of the breeze, but she slunk past his hand, looking sideways at it with wide, scared eyes as if it might bite her.

  When they reached the campfire, Cazing was dozing, leaned back against his boulder, pipe hanging limply from his mouth. The fire had lessened and was little more than embers. Caliena grabbed a few sticks and roused it. The fire sprang back to life under her hands. Darkness was complete as clouds covered the stars, and the air was unseasonably chilly—spring clinging to the summer evening—but perhaps that was only because it was so very late. Caliena huddled over the fire. Rhyen could see goose-bumps rising on her arms. She was dressed all in black, with rather worn leather boots, faded leggings, and a short-sleeved, tunic that hung mid thigh. She had no belt. Rhyen rolled down the sleeves of his shirt, and fished out his travelling cloak from his pack. He gently dropped it over her shoulders. She glanced up at him, startled, but he turned from her before she could say anything.

  “Cazing, wake up!” Rhyen bent over his master and shook his shoulder gently.

  Cazing jerked his head and batted at Rhyen’s hand. “Go away! Can’t you see I’m sleeping?”

  Rhyen resumed shaking him. “Cazing. Wake up.”

  Cazing blearily blinked his eyes open. He caught sight of Caliena, who was staring resolutely into the blaze. He paused, and his mouth fell open. The old sorcerer leaned forward with a rapturous expression.“Gretle!” he exclaimed, moving forward at once.

  Rhyen looked at Caliena and realized that was the reason she was so familiar. She was the older image of the little girl, forever four, frozen happily in the painting on the third floor of the Tower Avernade. Caliena looked exactly like Cazing’s daughter. But as she looked up with surprise into his eyes, perhaps wondering whom he meant, Cazing’s face fell. It wasn’t his little daughter after all.

  He sank back. His eyes were fathomless, but, after a moment, he composed his face. “Well,” he said easily, though Rhyen, who knew him so well, heard that the cheerfulness in his voice was pretend. “Hello then, my darling. I’m Cazing of Avernade, and I’m delighted to report that you are a much prettier sight to wake up to than my friend here.” Cazing leaned around the fire toward Caliena and extended his hand. She warmed up to Cazing much quicker than she had to Rhyen, and she smiled shyly. “What is your name?” Cazing asked her.

  “Caliena,” she said. “You’re a sorcerer?”

  Cazing gazed into her face. “I am,” he replied evenly. She began to look afraid again, and Cazing quickly went on to say, “But you mustn’t fear me. In fact, you are the one who is bewitching! It’s no small wonder Rhyen brought you along, you’re the best thing we’ve laid eyes on in years!”

  Caliena blushed and smiled uncertainly, pulling Rhyen’s cloak tighter around her thin shoulders. She glanced between the two and seemed to grow nervous. She turned her attention back to the fire. She seemed very small. Cazing leaned back, watching her with a clinical interest. T
o Rhyen he said, “I see you found something interesting on your walk after all.”

  Rhyen answered, “I felt like something was pulling at me, leading me on, and so I followed the feeling.” He looked meaningfully at Cazing, who raised his eyebrows but said nothing. “I stumbled upon Caliena, who dug this out of the ground before my very eyes. It burned her when she touched it, but it has no negative effect on me.” He pulled the stone from his pocket and handed it to Cazing. He settled himself next to his master, across the fire from Caliena.

  Cazing’s astonishment was written across his face as he handled the stone. Behind his wonder, Rhyen detected traces of mixed emotions—fierce determination, concern, grief, and fear. Rhyen felt the tension build. Cazing stared mutely at the stone, unmoving like a statue. Rhyen felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. Caliena tore her eyes from the fire and locked them on the stone like it was a precious treasure.

  Finally Cazing spoke. “Caliena, how did you come upon this?” Though he was smiling gently at her, his voice was low and commanding and filled with magic.

  Caliena blinked. Rhyen saw her shudder at the power in Cazing’s voice. “I did nothing wrong. I found it on my own land!” She gave a brave attempt at boldness.

  Rhyen narrowed his eyes. “You said you didn’t live nearby.”

  Her eyes flashed at him. “I don’t!” she snapped.

  “Then where is your home?” asked Cazing shrewdly, his gaze piercing.

  She met his eyes for a long moment. “It’s gone,” she replied in a small voice.

  Rhyen looked at her, confused. “Then why are you still here?”

  “I can’t leave,” she mumbled.

  “Where is your family? Do you have a husband?” pressed Cazing.

  “No,” Caliena replied, eyes slipping to the ground.

  “Your parents?” Rhyen asked. Caliena was a young woman, after all.

  There was a pause. “They’re dead.”