Standing amidst all this was a stout old man with a face that closely resembled the face of the knocker. He was dressed in vibrant red robes that added to the flushed pallor of his wrinkled cheeks. He scowled at them as they entered.
“I had hoped you would not remember the way, Natesa.”
Sylvan laughed and bent down to kiss him on the cheek. “I missed you too, Master Gerard.”
If possible his scowl became more pronounced as Sylvan pulled away. “Alright, let’s get on with it. Tell me why you’re here.”
Sylvan sighed. “We’ve had a long journey and some tea would surely lift our spirits. Why don’t you make some? And invite us to sit down.”
Grumbling, Master Gerard waved his arm. The books moved themselves off the chairs which then zoomed across the room to make a cozy circle. Mugs of tea appeared next to each of the chairs and hovered on the air.
Smiling, Sylvan sat in one of the chairs and took the mug in her hands. “Come on, sit down. The chairs won’t bite.”
They all sat, if a bit stiffly, and took the tea. Serra sipped it cautiously. Warmth spread through her entire body and she suddenly felt so energized that, had she chose to, she could have run up and down the stairs for the rest of the day.
“Come on. Come on.” Master Verteri said with growing impatience. “I can’t spend all day simply standing around waiting for you to remember yourself. Out with it.”
Sylvan sipped her tea one last time before telling Master Gerard why they were there, starting with her joint search with Rian and Vaughn for more information and ending with the discovery that death muxins had been called.
Master Verteri had listened with grunts and snorts through the entire story, but when Sylvan reached the death muxins, his face cleared and a look of discovery crossed his features.
“So, you all are here to see if I am the one who summoned the death muxins, hmm? Only a powerful mage would be able to do that. I have to say I’m flattered that you would come to see me first.” He stumped across the room and began to rifle through the books in a pile there. “Here it is.”
He pulled a book from the pile, making it tip precariously, but the pile stayed intact as he turned unconcerned. He handed the book to Sylvan who looked down at it curious.
“Unfortunately, I am not the mage you are looking for. This taking of children has been happening for far longer than I have been alive.” He motioned to the book and went back to his table and the experiments on it.
Sylvan opened the book and began to read to herself. The others, not sure what to do, sat back in their chairs and sipped their tea. Serra looked around the room. It probably contained more knowledge than the library at the Great House in Malvern’s Ward. She wondered if any of these books had anything to do with shifters. If she had a book to read Serra might be better able to understand what was going on in her own body.
She looked idly around the room and her gaze collided with that of Master Verteri.
Placing her cup on the floor, Serra took a deep breath and approached the Mage.
“Master Verteri? I- I wondered if I might ask you a question.”
He regarded her shrewdly for a moment. “You’re the Shifter, aren’t you? Never met one myself, until now, that is. Though I’m not sure I entirely believe you are one.”
Serra swallowed. “I am, though I only just discovered it.”
“Show me.”
“Pardon?”
“Shift into something.”
Serra felt all of her companion’s eyes burning into her back. Even Sylvan had stopped reading to see this. If she shifted it would the first time she did it willingly in front of her friends. Every other time they had seen it she had been sleeping.
Quickly before she could change her mind, Serra shifted to look like Sylvan.
“Well, that’s a bit disconcerting.” she heard Sylvan murmur.
Disconcerting. Reks had used the same word when he told her that she shifted in her sleep. Her power was disconcerting.
Serra shifted back and looked expectantly at the mage.
“Illusionment charm.” He scoffed and turned back to his experiments.
Serra stood there for a moment wanting to ask her question, but knowing she would most likely be rebuffed. Not sure what to do, she turned toward the nearest bookshelf and scanned the titles.
She hated that tears blurred her vision, making it difficult to read the words scrawled on the spines of the books. Shaking her head in frustration she returned to her seat.
“Look at this.” Sylvan leaned forward in her chair and placed the open book on the table. Inside there was a chart very much like the one that Rian carried in his vest with the name, age and place that someone was taken.
“These are recorded kidnappings in Iperia from the last two hundred years. Usually there’s only a handful per year. But on this year,” she pointed to the page. “365. There’s a jump in the kidnappings to the tune of 75 per year for three years straight. Then the next year they go back to only a handful.” She flipped forward in the book and paused again. “Then seventy-five years later the same thing happens. And another seventy-five years brings us to two years ago. There’s a pattern.”
“And we all know how much you like a pattern.” Rian said wryly.
Sylvan glared at him. “This is very definitely a pattern that has not been broken.”
Master Gerard spoke up from the other side of the room. “She’s right. I noticed it seventy-five years ago, but it was too late. When the kidnappings stop, there is no way of discovering who is doing it.”
“Why haven’t you done anything this time around?”
“I’m one hundred and eleven years old. I am not able to go traipsing about the countryside, I simply wouldn’t make it. I have, however, been working on tracking spells, but those death muxins are tricky things, stupid as they are. Magic slides off them as easily as water off a duck’s back.” He motioned to the instruments around him. “I’ve had to resort to alchemy and potions, no magic involved. As it is, time is running out. Come the start of the new year, the kidnappings will stop and there will be little hope of discovering the culprit or of finding those who have been taken.”
“What can you tell us about the reason why the children have been taken?” Vaughn asked.
“Of that I know very little. It’s possible that someone wants to sell them as slaves to traders in Satel or Anatola. Our little country as long fallen prey to such evils. If it weren’t for the presence of the dryads and the sylphs at our borders we would have long ago been decimated. Another possibility is that someone just wants workers for the next seventy-five years. Long enough to use all of the youth they have before discarding them.”
Serra disliked both scenarios. But what she disliked even more was the idea that they might not be able to find out who was doing these things. The New Year was only a few short months away. What if they failed? This was the last year the kidnappings would occur. She would never see Eva again.
The thought was too painful to bear.
Master Gerard went back to his tinkering and the companions looked at each other.
“I think it’s safe to say that Master Verteri is not our thief,” Reks commented.
“I agree.” Serra said.
The others did as well and after a few parting comments to the mage, they took their leave of the Citadel, descending the stairs, and emerging back at the rickety bridge.
Serra hardly noticed their crossing, her fear of heights surpassed by her fear of failure. Master Verteri had given them much to think about. There was a deadline on whether they would be able to find their loved ones, and return the children to their families.
Serra fought to keep despair and fear from overwhelming her, but the task was difficult. Especially since they had accomplished so very little already.
They returned to the palace in silence and retreated to their separate rooms, needing time to process the new information. Thistle went to explore a new part of the palace, leavin
g Serra truly alone for the first time in days.
She sat curled in the window seat, supported by plush pillows, oblivious to the height.
She should have been more aware back at the Great House that something was wrong. That Eva would be taken. Her mind drifted back to the night that the death muxin had taken her friend. Eva had almost seemed to know, lingering over what should have been a simple good night. It was if something had told her that she would be gone from her home the next morning, stolen from her bed and brought to Gods know where.
Serra felt moisture on her cheeks and realized that she was crying. When had that started? And suddenly huge wracking sobs made her body shudder. She buried her head in a pillow and wept. She wasn’t sure how long had passed when she felt a light tapping on her back and realized that Thistle had apparently returned from her excursion into the palace.
Serra lifted her head from the pillow and sniffed, embarrassed that the pixie had come upon her in such a state. “Thanks, Thistle.”
The Pixie flew around to look Serra in the eye and smiled. She leaned forward and kissed Serra’s forehead.
“Can we keep this between us?”
Thistle held a finger over her mouth and nodded.
“Thank you.”
Serra sat up fully and looked around the room. The Pixie flew to in front of Serra’s face again and mimed eating, and then she flew to the door.
“It’s time to eat?”
Thistle tinkled.
“Alright, I just need to make myself presentable. Will you tell them I’ll be along shortly?” Thistle nodded, touched Serra’s cheek one last time and then disappeared.
Serra retreated to the bathing room and stood in front of the looking glass. Her eyes should have been puffy and red. Her nose should have been running profusely, but as she looked in the mirror the only thing that seemed out of place was her hair, pieces of it had fallen out of the braid she’d put it in that morning.
After redoing her plait, she left her room and made her way to Sylvan’s. She could hear voices through the wood of the door and so she pushed it open without knocking. Inside, stood Sylvan and Nalren.
Nalren’s hands were cupping Sylvan’s face, his expression so tender that Serra hardly recognized the dryad. Sylvan’s hair was unbound, flowing to her hips. Her hands were clutching Nalren’s wrists, whether to push him away or pull him closer Serra couldn’t say.
They seemed unaware of her presence as she stood in the open doorway.
They spoke in quiet voices, their words foreign to Serra’s ears. She watched as Nalren pulled Sylvan closer to rest his forehead on hers, with such tenderness that Serra’s heart ached. Sylvan said something back to him, shaking her head.
Nalren dropped his hands from her face and stepped back, his voice harsh.
Serra stepped back quietly and closed the door without making a sound. She retreated down the hall to Rian’s room and knocked before entering. Rian, Vaughn and Reks looked up from the food on their plates.
“We didn’t wait for you.” Reks said, around a mouthful of food.
“Obviously.”
She sat down at the circular table and helped herself to the food spread on it. She was bursting to tell them the new information she had on Sylvan and Nalren’s relationship, but she kept the words locked in her mind. If Sylvan wanted to share with them, she would when she felt comfortable. The Natesa had the right to her privacy.
“Sylvan may be a bit,” was all she said.
The others paid little mind to her comment and applied themselves to their food. Serra shook her head. Never had she seen three men with heartier appetites. They appeared to have bottomless stomachs.
They ate in silence until Vaughn said. “I think our next move should be to the citadel at Hawksong Peak, then down to the one in County Talmon.”
Reks shook his head. “The fastest way to get to Hawksong peak is to follow the Lynse River North through the mountains. If we travel East from here we’ll hit it, but we’ll be closer to the citadel in Talmon. Maybe we’ll get lucky and we won’t have to go to Hawksong Peak.”
Vaughn shook his head. “I don’t relish the idea of traveling through the mountains in winter. We could easily freeze to death. That is if the arvel don’t decide that we would make very tasty meals.”
Serra shuddered. The arvel were mountain cats the size of horses. They traveled in packs and hunted to kill. Intelligent beyond belief, they would be storing food for the long winter in the mountains.
“I wouldn’t worry about the arvel, if I were you.” Reks said. “And we have plenty of money to purchase whatever supplies we need to survive the mountains.” Briefly, Serra wondered who he’d robbed recently.
Vaughn looked unconvinced, and Serra had to agree with him. She would rather get through the mountains before hard winter set in. “Look,” Reks said. “The simple truth is that if we travel all the way to the north from here, then we’ll have to backtrack to make it to the Citadel in Talmon. It will be a waste of time. If we ride a day or two east from the Lynse River and get to the citadel, we can head north no more than five days later. We’re running short on time.”
Serra hadn’t thought of that. Time was an issue. They couldn’t risk losing any.
Sylvan stepped into the room. It was clear to Serra that her friend was upset over what had transpired between her and Nalren, though she masked it well. She sat down at the table and asked, “What are we discussing?”
Reks and Vaughn filled her in, repeating their arguments. As Serra listened she realized that Reks was right. They couldn’t afford to lose time by backtracking, arvels or no. She was willing to risk winter in the mountains to find her friend.
Sylvan and Rian agreed with Reks and Vaughn grudgingly admitted that Reks had brought up some points that he had not thought about. So, they began to lay out plans for their journey. Sylvan timidly asked if they could remain in Sidondale for a few more days, wanting to regain her strength and her connection to the wood. “Also,” she pointed out. “It’s possible that Master Gerard will have a breakthrough with his experiments. Two more days is all I ask.”
They agreed that one of Master Gerard’s experiments might be the best way for them to defeat the death muxins.
“In two days, we head to County Talmon.” Rian said decisively.
Serra spent the next two days in training. She woke early with Vaughn and practiced the staff. On the second day, he moved on to the sword, saying that they would alternate from then on. Reks continued showing her how to handle and throw knives and Sylvan took her to the Archery range. Every spare second of every day was filled with some sort of training.
While she worked on her body, her mind was constantly moving. Jumping from the kidnappings to her shifting to who could be taking the children to Sylvan and Nalren to Reks and back.
She became particularly focused whenever her mind jumped to Reks, forcing him out. She couldn’t figure out why he was there so often. When he taught her how to use the knives he was arrogant, bordering on rude and yet when his fingers closed over hers, her heart began to beat faster and her hands shook, making her clumsy.
She began to avoid him when he wasn’t teaching her, quickly leaving a room whenever he entered and eating by herself when she could.
Thistle scolded Serra every time she did it, but Serra couldn’t help it. Reks made her nervous and she couldn’t understand why.
On their last night in Sidondale, Thistle’s angry tinkling finally drove Serra from her room and down the hall to Reks'. She knew she needed to talk to him about it, but wasn’t entirely sure what to say. She was sure he would say that it was her feelings of attraction to him that made her nervous. But the very idea was ridiculous.
Still, the only way for her to get over it was to address the issue, whatever it may be. They were stuck together for the foreseeable future and she didn’t want their journey to be uncomfortable.
She paused outside of his door, raised her hand to knock and then dropped it back to
her side. Her heart was beating fast, too fast. She took a deep calming breath and pushed the heavy door open before she could lose her nerve.
Reks was standing in the middle of the room wearing only a pair of trousers. Water glistened on his dark hair, dripped from the strands onto his torso, running down his well muscled chest and back.
His back was to her and in the torch light she could make out twin scars between his shoulder blades. They were long, perhaps eight inches and thick, the width of Serra’s hand. They looked red and painful, as though they had yet to heal. Now she knew why her back ached every time she changed into Reks. She was feeling what he must feel every second of every day. How had he received such brutal scars? It was true that he had no doubt been in plenty of fights, scars peppered his skin as proof, but these scars seemed different. As though someone had cut him with intent and precision.
The skin puckered and stretched as Reks reached for his towel.
Light fell on Reks' Caste Mark. The inky black extended far beyond his elbow, twisting up to nearly his neck. Whoever Reks Malarkey really was, it was someone important. She watched as he used the cloth to rub water from his hair, then to dry the drops that had traveled down his torso.
He turned to reach for his shirt and caught sight of her. He froze mid-movement, then deliberately picked up his shirt and pulled it on, covering the scars on his back and his Mark.
“Enjoy the show, Serra?” he asked stalking toward her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She turned to go, but he closed the door before she could leave, placing his hands on either side of her on the door, effectively locking her in place.
“Of course you didn’t mean to disturb me. If you had you would have knocked before entering my room.”
Serra kept her back to him, pressed against the door. She could feel the heat from his body through her clothes, warming her skin. He was angry, beyond angry really. It emanated from him, burning into her. She hadn’t meant to anger him. Had she known he was dressing she would have knocked.
The Caste Marked Page 15
