Stolen: Magi Rising Book 1

by Wagner, Raye

  “There’s more?” My gaze went from the clear water to my mutilated skin and then to Esi. Every time I thought I was catching my breath, another hit came, and yet I felt partly detached or removed from everything I’d learned. “What else?”

  She pointed at me, waving her hand up and down the length of my body. “I already said you were pretty, and you had to notice all the attention you were getting today from the boys. I just think you should settle some of your questions before you add anymore to the pile. Your scars . . . There used to be a healer in Terit, where my cousin lives, and to heal that many wounds—ones that were obviously big and deep—would take really powerful magîk.”

  My heart pounded as I thought of the magî in dark-red pants. “Five days ago, there was a male in leather pants in the clearing where I lived. I don’t remember why, but we were fighting. That’s when Ruin saved me. He jumped out . . .”

  Esi’s eyes widened again, and her warm brown skin turned ashy. “Were they red or black?”

  I stopped washing and grimaced. How would she know it was either-or? I hedged, wondering if I should be more careful. “I just know they were dark. Why does it matter?”

  “Only the Serîk wear leathers now, and those in red serve the kümdâr.”

  “And those in black?”

  “Served Zîvrünê—the Zîv.” She narrowed her eyes and studied me.

  So only the Serîk wore pants—rot. I thought of all the male magî I’d seen—all of them in sulus—and my insides churned. Talk of the kümdâr made me nauseated, compounded by my empty stomach. I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath to stop the dizziness. All this plus the shock of my mutilated body . . . I returned to scrubbing my tunic and grumbled, “That better not be my luck—to be tortured by the Serîk.”

  “No,” Esi said, wading farther out into the water. “Those scars aren’t new. We get plenty of injuries, and without magîk to heal them, I can tell your injuries are at least months, and some of them even years, old.”

  She dunked under the water and then relaxed, floating on the surface. I rinsed my tunic again and then pulled it over my head; the wet fabric clung to my body. There was nothing I could do at this point about the Serîk, my scars, or my amnesia. And Esi’s wisdom was sound: I needed to get a firm understanding of Qralî and get my head on straight before I went on the search for more answers.

  9

  We splashed and swam in the pool, and the minutes floated away unheeded. At one point, I wondered why we were the only ones here, especially as this place wasn’t infested with caiman, but I was happy and didn’t want to risk hearing more bad news. I lay on my back, drifting in the water, and the bell in the middle of Pûleêr clanged. Esi splashed me in the face, and I sputtered as I turned upright.

  “Come on,” she called with a wave. She swam toward the shore, shouting at me to hurry.

  Treading water, I inched my way forward reluctantly. I was hungry, but I was also tired, and the fatigue was currently winning the battle over my body.

  “If you don’t hurry, I’m leaving without you,” she hollered as she waded to the bank. “I’m not going to get stuck with rice and fruit again.”

  I grimaced at the thought and pulled my arms through the water with powerful strokes as I kicked. Less than a minute later, I joined her on the rocky shore, and she turned and started down the path toward Pûleêr.

  “I thought you said if we worked, we got to have a portion of meat,” I said, jogging to catch up.

  She glanced back at me, her eyebrows raised. “I said if there was enough and we did our portion of the work.”

  “Exactly what constitutes enough?” I pressed. “Who determines that?”

  Shaking her head, she said, “Not everyone is happy I brought you back. I think some of the magî are punishing us.”

  Guilt flooded me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t apologize,” she said, waving away my words. “Considering everything, I would say you need the help. I can handle a few grumpy magî.”

  We crossed the outskirts of Pûleêr and into the main perimeter where most residents chose to build their homes. Like Esi, the magî here had built structures made of wood or a combination of wood and stone. The roofs were exclusively thatch—or, at least like Esi’s, they appeared to be. Some of the dwellings had small pens for animals—mostly chicken and goats—and I wondered if everyone in the community had the same integrity as Esi or if there were those who skimmed off the top.

  We approached the center of town, and a young male magî sidled up to Esi with a wink.

  “I’m glad you took a swim,” he said. “You definitely needed one. Hopefully you washed the uppity attitude of Terit off too.”

  I frowned and glanced at the male magî and his hypocritical words. Dried mud was stuck in his dark hair and across his chest, partially covering his massive tattoo of a conda mid-strike. The magî was tall and wiry, and his sulu was saturated with grime. Like everyone I’d seen in Pûleêr, his feet were bare. I studied his face and pursed my lips as I recognized him; he’d been sitting at one of the tables when we left the communal area this morning.

  “You should go for a swim, Velt,” Esi grumbled, brushing by him. “Wash off the smell of rolling-in-the-mud.”

  I wrinkled my nose because he was filthy. I’d never seen someone so coated in grime. “Do magî fall in the mud a lot?”

  Esi snorted. “They like to wrestle.”

  I stuck out my tongue and said, “Yuck. I would not want to spend my time off intentionally rolling in the mud.”

  Esi didn’t respond, so I flicked my gaze her way. Her expression was drawn, and my mind jumped to fill the gap in my understanding.

  I followed, but as we drew closer to the communal area, we merged with the collective crowd and their chatter and gossip. Initially, I heard meaningless snatches of conversation, drivel. Then an anguished keening crawled out to us. The initial talk diminished, and the mourning grew, expanding and spreading with hushed whisperings.

  “All of them,” one male said with the shake of his head, his eyes glistening with tears. “Rull went to check, but—”

  Esi started walking faster, and I rushed to keep up.

  Another male magî said, “They were sucked into the bûyî.”

  And as we passed a group, I heard several magî bemoaning how help had arrived too late.

  I caught Esi by the arm, but my questions died on my lips at the ravaged expression she wore. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her chest heaved with emotion. I’d managed to piece together one of the units—the entire group—had died. While the idea was incomprehensible to me, it clearly devastated her. Twenty-five magî gone. No fire, no attack, just sucked into a bog.

  The citizens of Pûleêr congregated in the dining area, but no one moved toward the kitchen. Some of the people collapsed onto the benches, curling into themselves, and others clung to one another. The sound of loss pierced me, driving their anguish deep into my soul until my eyes burned with the pain of their loss.

  Esi turned to me and choked out, “I’m sorry.”

  I shook my head; she had nothing to be sorry for. She stepped toward me, my arms went up instinctively, and I fumbled as she pulled me into a hug. Not knowing what else to do, I ran my hand over her hair, and she sobbed into the crook of my neck. Her grief pulsed between us, and I wanted to say something to make her feel better, but I didn’t know these magî. While I understood their mourning, my grief was only for Esi’s pain.

  Morbid curiosity plucked at my heartstrings, the tune a desperate call to see the wretched bûyî. I ignored the callous desire and continued to whisper hushing sounds to soothe Esi. But the twisted desire to investigate clung to me, repulsive yet intriguing at the same time.

  “Oh, Esi,” a female wailed. “I’m so sorry.”

  Esi turned and pulled the magî into an embrace. The two young women sobbed, and I stood, momentarily dumbfounded by their commiserating. I patted Esi and told her I’d meet her la
ter. She mumbled a response into the other girl’s shoulder, and with a final glance at the mourning community, I passed through the kitchen, collected my dinner, and followed the nagging pull toward the other side of Pûleêr.

  The houses I passed in this section were noticeably nicer than I’d seen elsewhere in the post. Instead of structures cobbled together in a haphazard way, the baked-brick homes had carved, wooden doors, and while the roofs were thatch, the sloped angle—as well as the visible wood—declared the solidness of these dwellings. For the first time since my arrival, I felt a spark of anger on behalf of my friend. Because even though she’d spouted rhetoric of equality here, the evidence to the contrary was everywhere.

  After two rows of houses, I crossed into the outskirts, noticeable because of the occasional frond or plant springing up in the mud. Here was the perimeter road, the one Esi had said traversed the entirety of Pûleêr. The density of plants increased on the opposite side of the road, and there was an occasional path that disappeared into the undercanopy.

  The afternoon light dwindled, and I headed north on the wide path, the area we’d been clearing on my right. Every twenty to thirty paces, the border of the bright bromeliads made it clear where the lines were for the groups to work, but more often than not, the bright plants weren’t necessary. I thought of Rull’s words this morning, how the growth had increased and we would need to work harder and faster than ever to keep up, but Esi said assignments were random and everyone rotated areas to ensure the work was fair. Yet, the areas weren’t equally clear, not by a long shot. Some had five or more feet of newer growth, and others mere inches, despite the footprints in the mud declaring activity in each section. I passed a segment of road that had less than a foot of new growth, but the next—

  A low growl behind me stopped me in my tracks, and I pivoted to face the cat, sighing with relief when I spotted his green eyes. Ruin crossed the remaining distance to my side, the low, guttural sound turning into a hiss as he crossed in front of me.

  “Where have you been?” I asked, resting my hand on his shoulder.

  His attention remained fixed ahead on the perimeter road, this section with more than three feet of newer growth. I frowned, wondering if this was close to where the magî had disappeared.

  “Did you come to see the bûyî, too?” I asked, inching to the side so I could go around him.

  A breeze eddied past, carrying a putrid stench of rotten meat. Ruin hissed again and then blocked my path, pushing me back with his body.

  “He sees the death-trap,” a male said.

  I jumped, startled by the unexpected company, but when I scanned the area, no one was there. My heart thumped, and I clenched my hands. This better not be someone’s stupid idea of a joke. “Hello?”

  “No need to shout,” he answered. “I’m right next to you.”

  My skin prickled, and fear danced down my spine. I swallowed back the urge to scream and turned to my right. Nothing. To my left—nothing. “I’m losing my mind.”

  “No,” he said. “You need to free the rest of your magîk so you can see.”

  “See what?” I whispered, closing my eyes. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see.

  “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I saw you with Esi this morning. Will you tell her I’m sorry, please? She was right.”

  I opened my eyes, and for a split-second, I thought I saw the transparent form of a magî beside me on the path.

  I blinked, and he was gone.

  Fetid rot. The heat, work, and hunger must’ve made me hallucinate. I shook my head to clear it and shrieked when a lizard darted out from the plants, scurried into the road, and the ground dissolved beneath it. One moment the bright-green reptile was here, and the next, gone.

  Ruin pressed against my legs again, hissing at the empty space in front of us, and I finally understood. I squinted and noticed an oily sheen, and—was it a trick of the light?—the edges of the bûyî were tinged black. Otherwise, it was just as Esi had said, invisible and deadly.

  “Let’s go back,” I said to Ruin, no longer curious. “I want to go to bed.”

  I returned to Esi’s with a little help from my furry companion, milked the goats, and shortly after, Esi returned and shooed me off to bed. When I opened the door, I nearly toppled over as Ruin pushed past me into the home. Too tired to care, I collapsed on my pallet, drifting into unconsciousness as the cat settled next to me.

  Consciousness teased my mind, and I ran my hand over Ruin’s silky fur, pausing mid-stroke because . . . I brushed my fingertips over warm skin and then pushed my hand against—

  Skin?

  Warm, human skin and taut muscle beneath. I blinked, but the dark was so thick I couldn’t see. Inching closer, I breathed in the smell of sandalwood and ylang-ylang wafting nearby—which was impossible because I was inside—in bed no less.

  I sucked in an unsteady breath and closed my eyes. Was I losing my mind? The possibility seemed to be gaining merit, and if I went insane, how would I ever figure out—

  Ruin started purring, the sound like balm. This time, when I stroked, his silky fur tickled my palm. Fur—not skin. I exhaled, releasing the breath slowly through pursed lips. Hallucinations were not good.

  I needed to figure out what was happening to me.

  10

  Several days passed, and I kept hoping the work would get easier. Only it didn’t. Every morning, we were assigned an area of the undercanopy worse than the previous day. Each time, the rest of the group rotated, Esi and I the only constant—for three days—but the other group members talked. Over those three days, I heard the same complaint of “worst bit of work, ever” at least a hundred times.

  I asked Esi, but she just shrugged.

  “Everybody complains,” she said. “It won’t always be so hard.”

  Yeah, because we’ll have cleared the entire border.

  After yet another long day, aching with exhaustion, we tended the goats. As soon as we’d finished, I stumbled to bed. I hadn’t believed Esi when she said I had no stamina, but after a few days in Pûleêr, I believed her.

  “I have to go to sleep,” I said, shuffling toward my pallet. “My aches have pains they’re so bad.” The stiffness hadn’t improved, and the blisters on my hands were raw and oozing. I peeled the bandages off and rewrapped them. “I seriously need some help, and you’re not doing much better.”

  She didn’t have quite as many blisters, but Esi’s movements were stiff. She might have stamina for walking, but she wasn’t used to all the weeding. As if to reinforce my thought, she grunted as she shuffled the pails of cheese together to clear a wider path from our beds to the door. “Do you want to take a bath?”

  “No,” I mumbled into the coverlets, my eyes drifting closed. I didn’t want to do anything but lie here until forced to do otherwise.

  I startled awake, heart pounding, completely confused. Sitting up, I listened for what had yanked me from my dreamless slumber, but there was only silence. Profound, weighty silence. I glanced toward Esi’s bed just as the low yowl of a panthera ripped through the night. Not even a heartbeat later, the goats cried.

  “My goats,” Esi hissed. “Your panthera—”

  Another growl was followed by the sound of splintering wood, and the bleating of the goats became a scream. The panicked sound cut off, and I cringed. There was another bleat, short and pathetic, and I hoped the other animal would be smart enough to flee.

  The seconds dragged, and I shifted onto my knees, thinking we should investigate. I opened my mouth to say so, and a threatening snarl sliced the air. The vicious sound was followed by an answering shriek, and then the night air was filled with the violent screeches, rumbles, and wails of savage animals. My heart leapt into my throat. “Ruin!”

  The commotion continued, and I wanted to crawl out of my skin. The minutes seemed like hours, and my lungs and heart battled against my ribs. The inside of the hovel smelled of sour milk, fruit, and sweat, the stench filling my lungs with every breath. I
needed fresh air. I needed to feel Ruin’s silky fur. I needed him to be okay because I owed him. After an eternity, there was huffing and scratching on the wall near the goat pen. A few minutes later, there was more scratching on a different wall, and then again.

  It’s over! I scrambled toward the door, stumbling to get to Ruin.

  “Stop!” Esi snapped. “Don’t you dare open that door.”

  “It’s Ruin—”

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know if it was one panthera or more, or a pack of wild dogs. That scratching is something marking his territory. If you open that door, you remove the only defense we have. Even if it is Ruin . . .”

  I swallowed, understanding what she didn’t say: he might not know me. And worse, if it wasn’t him, I’d be risking both our lives. I crawled to bed eyes burning, as I felt my way through the crates and pails, sniffing back the tears and hating that Esi was right.

  “Just wait. In the morning, we’ll be able to see.”

  Esi’s caution was not only reasonable, but it was the only option to ensure our safety. I flopped onto my pallet and stared up into the darkness, waiting. I tossed and turned, twisting the bedding into a heap with my impatience. The patter of rain filled the room, but there was no comfort in the sound. Eventually, the thick layer of night melted into the gray predawn light. The silence stretched my nerves, thinning them, and when Esi nodded my way as she arose, my stomach flipped.

  “Let’s go see the damage,” she said, her expression grave.

  I tugged the door open, and Bizi squeezed through, bleating desperately. The poor creature stayed inside the hovel even after we stepped outside. The morning air was pungent from the fresh rain. The scents of orchids mixed with the rich loam of the forest, but underneath the clean smells of the jungle, I could pick off the coppery tang of blood. I scanned the clearing, spinning toward the back when I didn’t immediately spot Ruin. My chest was tight. I couldn’t breathe. Tears burned at the back of my eyes.