Captive (The Survival Race)

by K. M. Fawcett

Tamping down her fear, she took a deep, cleansing breath, preparing herself for the confrontation. Once the Highlander touched her, her spirit would enter his and she’d heal his angry heart.

  Assuming she could remain calm and at peace with the world.

  This would be so much easier if she weren’t whacking the heck out of an upside-down metal bowl, and the tower wasn’t shaking from the warrior climbing the ladder.

  “Spirits fill my heart with peace and tranquility to help my people.” She closed her eyes and struck the bell with an even tempo. The rhythm of it wasn’t relaxing her. No power surged through her body.

  A fist encircled her biceps, stopping her arm midswing. Her eyes opened, and a young man’s aura she hadn’t seen since he’d been taken last month glowed in front of her.

  “Myia.” He released her arm, and embraced her. The gesture lowered his defenses and his emotional brew of aggression, anger, and eagerness flowed into her.

  The last time their souls had intertwined she’d helped him grieve the loss of his mother. “Lem. I’m so relieved you’re alive. Everyone sent to negotiate our people’s return had been captured.”

  Though he spoke no words, his spirit admitted that was exactly his purpose here as well. Her soul grew heavy with that knowledge. “Are the Highlanders forcing you to capture your own people?”

  He glanced over the half wall before pulling her to the floor as he crouched. “Stay down. It’s best if no one sees us talking.”

  “But the warning bell.”

  “It’s too late.”

  He was right, of course. The Highlanders had already invaded, and by the sounds of the chaos below, the villagers were defending themselves as best as a peace-loving people could against warmonger aggression.

  “They aren’t forcing me. I volunteered. My objective is to take you.”

  “Me?”

  “Not you exactly, but the bell ringer.”

  “Lem. Take my hand. I can heal the hostility in your heart.”

  “It’s not hostility. It’s determination. I must bring our tribesmen to the Highlands.”

  “Why? Why would you capture your own people?”

  “Life is so much better there. The Highlanders are so advanced and smart. They have technology. And the food! Myia, there’s so much to eat all the time.” Lem certainly didn’t appear to be starving. In fact, in the few weeks he’d been gone, he looked to have been well nourished and filled out his nearly six-foot frame. “Our people fear the unknown. By bringing them to the Highlands, we help them see the light. After a few days, they don’t want to leave.”

  Not want to leave? Not want to return to their homes and families? He was talking nonsense. “Take my hand and I’ll heal your heart.”

  “I don’t need healing. I know the truth.”

  “What truth?”

  “That the Hyboreans capture humans. They keep them caged as pets. They force men to kill each other for sport. Kedric, our leader, believes we can defeat them and free the human race.”

  Poor Lem. Only two years younger than she, he’d been easily led astray. “Your so-called leader has captured you. He’s kept you caged behind stone walls. He’s seduced you with food and technology, and brainwashed you to attack your own people. Look.” She pushed aside some thatch in the half wall to make a hole. “Your brethren run in fear for their lives and their families. How could you have become a part of this?”

  “But they won’t be harmed. Kedric only needs more men for his army. We can’t fight the Hyboreans without them.”

  “They won’t be harmed, yet they are made to join an army and forced to kill? Do you not hear the foolishness of your own words? Your leader is no better than a Hyborean.”

  He had no counterargument. “I-I never thought of it like that.”

  Myia’s fingers entwined with Lem’s. She breathed in deeply, silently calling upon the spirits to give her strength to calm his heart and fill it with peace.

  “Myia,” he whispered.

  “Shh. Let the grace of the spirit-world reveal what is truly in your heart. You aren’t a soldier. You don’t slay other creatures for war. You’re a spiritual being who lives in peace, harmony, and balance with all life. Let the Spirits breathe the goodness and love you knew back into your soul.”

  Her spirit flowed into his body.

  It didn’t take long before his thoughts dissipated from Highland belligerence to the old, peaceful village life. His spirit had a strong and deep connection here. His subconscious knew what was right and what was wrong. Unfortunately, his conscious mind had been under the influence of the Highland Lord the past few weeks. But now that she’d reminded him who he was, he was ready to return to his true essence.

  This was what shamanism was all about. Healing a man’s soul. Restoring his balance and harmony and joy.

  Reawakening his essence.

  When she finally separated her spirit from his and rejoined the physical world, mournful sobs had taken the place of the screams and warriors’ shouts from earlier. The village men had already been roped and tied and taken away.

  “I’m sorry, Myia.” Lem wept.

  It was a natural response to enlightenment. Tears were the body’s way of purging ego.

  The planks beneath her vibrated as though someone was climbing the ladder. The tower couldn’t possibly hold any more weight. “Myia!”

  The fear in her little sister’s voice sent shivers down her spine. She crawled to the edge of the platform and peered over. “Don’t come up, Doreyna. The tower can’t hold us all.”

  “Come quickly. Father’s been injured.”

  Myia turned back to Lem. She didn’t want to leave him while he was so vulnerable, but Father needed her.

  “Go,” he said. “I’ll be all right.”

  She touched his shoulder in thanks. Lem would be all right. He needed time to reflect on all he’d been through in the last month. She’d check on him later.

  As soon as hard ground met the soles of her bare feet, Myia sprinted after her sister. When she saw two women carrying her father into his home, she paused. It wouldn’t do anyone good to see a shaman-aprendi in a state of panic. She wiped her eyes and then calmly walked to the door.

  Once inside, she knelt at his bedside. “I’m here, Father.” Her voice was low, quiet, and sounding far more at peace than she felt. Outwardly masking her feelings was the easy part. She’d had eighteen years to perfect that skill. The trouble was quelling them on the inside.

  How could she be a true shaman when she couldn’t control something as simple as her own emotions?

  Father didn’t speak. Nor did he open his eyes, yet somehow his hand found her fingers and he squeezed them in reassurance. Their spirits didn’t connect. He would want to mediate first.

  “His shin bone is broken,” Doreyna said.

  Myia forced her tears back and nodded. She had to be strong for the group. They would look to her for guidance and strength. It would help no one to blubber all over her stoic father.

  With a fortifying breath, she let go of his hand, and then took command of the room. In all the time it took to cleanse his wounds, set poultices, and dress his injuries, his breath remained steady and strong.

  The fact that he hadn’t spoken in over an hour didn’t concern her. He would speak when he had something to say. And she knew he’d have nothing to say until he finished meditating on this morning’s invasion.

  His tranquility was admirable. Awe-inspiring. Even in the most trying and troubling times, he could be still, reflect, and receive the Spirit’s wisdom. Would she ever be able to do the same?

  When she finished administering to his injuries, he intertwined his fingers with hers. His despair gushed into her soul. His heavy heart was burdened not with his own ailments but with the attack, and worse, the betrayal of his own people. They’d taken up arms and fought back when he’d instructed them to hide. Apparently the villagers had spent the last month secretly practicing hand-to-hand combat. But their skills had been
no match for the Highlanders. Engaging in battle only caused them greater suffering.

  She hated feeling her father’s anguish over the tribe’s path to becoming a fighting people. Once a nation became ruled with anger and hatred for another nation, there would be no bringing peace and spirituality back.

  “I see your thoughts and fears, father. You rest, and leave the villagers to me. When you are well, you will see each and every heart in our nation healed.”

  “No, my child.”

  “Father?” She hadn’t expected him to voice an answer. He’d been too weak; his spirit too dim. Had her anger at the Highlanders clouded her ability to read him clearly?

  She must get control of her feelings.

  It took all his strength to speak. It would have been less taxing for his spirit to communicate directly with hers, but she sensed his desire for all in the room to hear his words.

  “Heal the…Highlanders.” His breathing labored. “Only then…will we…have peace.”

  In order to heal the Highlanders she’d have to leave the village. Leave Father. What if he got worse while she was away? He was getting up there in years, and his body didn’t recover like a younger man’s. He needed her here to care for his wounds; both the physical and spiritual. “I can’t go. The people here need me. You need me. If I step foot beyond the Highland walls, I’ll never be set free.”

  “You will…once you heal…their people.”

  How would she do that from a prison cell or a dungeon? Surely those barbarians would keep her locked away. Or maybe they would get rid of her body altogether. How much help could she be to anyone on this island if her soul joined the Protecting Spirits? Without her father or her to link the physical world with the spiritual, there would be no healing. No enlightenment.

  What would happen to the people of Pele if left to rule by ego?

  “Start with their leader.” Father spoke slowly, taking many breaths between his words. “His heart has a great wound. Mend his spirit, and he will stop the attacks.”

  How could she possibly do that? She wasn’t a full shaman. She had to pass the initiation test, and she’d yet to begin her vision quest.

  It would take the greatest strength coming from the greatest inner tranquility in order to heal the warring heart of an alpha gladiator leader who was hell bent on taking all their men for his army. The fool couldn’t win against the Hyboreans. They were an advanced race, indigenous to this planet. And the Peletians were either escaped refugees or descendants of escaped refuges. They were only a few hundred strong.

  “I can’t leave you, Father. You need me to help heal you. You’re too weak to do so on your own.”

  “You must…heal…the nations. That is…most important.”

  “But—”

  “You will not fail.” Faith in her flooded his soul in a powerful surge. He believed in her abilities wholeheartedly. Whether that was due to prophecy or blind faith, she couldn’t be sure. She only knew it was unwise to argue with the most astute elder shaman in Peletian history. Especially when he was her father and suffered from a broken leg and a broken heart.

  “Yes, Father. I will heal the warriors’ hearts.” It wasn’t a lie. She would do everything in her power to uphold her vow. She just wasn’t as confident in her abilities as he was.

  His lips pulled into a smile before he closed his eyes to sleep. As peace entered his soul, she withdrew her spirit from his.

  “Doreyna, I need you to take care of—”

  “I will. I’ve been studying the herbals. I can nurse Father back to health.”

  She cupped her little sister’s cheek. Though Doreyna was only fourteen, she was smart and capable. “I know you can.”

  By the bright morning sunshine filtering in through the window, Myia estimated about eighteen hours of daylight left. It should take about fifteen hours to hike the mountain to the Highland kingdom, assuming she didn’t run into any trouble.

  If she were to arrive before dark, she best get started.

  It didn’t take long to gather supplies, kiss her father and sister good-bye, and bid farewell to the few villagers who’d escaped the attack.

  Funny, whenever she’d imagined today’s journey into the jungle, she’d thought it would be for her vision quest. She’d no idea she’d be on a journey to heal the Highland warlord’s heart.

  If he even had a heart to heal.

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  Contents

  Title Page

  Welcome

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fift
y-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  A Preview of Fearless

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  Newsletters

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by K.M. Fawcett

  Excerpt from Fear copyright© 2013 by K.M. Fawcett

  Cover copyright © 2013 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com . Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  ISBN: 9781455528189