Stolen: Magi Rising Book 1

by Wagner, Raye

  As I turned to follow Esi, a breeze whispered past, the air chill, and the skin on my arm prickled with the odd sensation. Qralî was hot, the air muggy, but it felt as if someone were running their cold fingers up my forearm. I flinched, jerking my head up. “Do you feel that?”

  Esi stopped a mere six feet away and frowned. “Feel what?”

  “Just . . . the wind seems colder, or it did there for a moment.” I felt someone behind me and glanced over my shoulder, even though I knew there was no one there. I sucked in a breath, but it caught when I heard a voice.

  “It’s poisoned,” a female stated, very matter-of-fact, her voice strangely familiar.

  Rot. The same magî who’d been yelling at us to save Drav.

  “Trying to take back what was stolen.”

  I spun around, but she wasn’t there.

  “Her magîk is all mixed up,” a male said.

  I studied the surrounding area, looking for him—her—both of them. Was this . . . My stomach turned with the thought of hearing the dead, but what else could it be? Oh rot. Was this my magîk? I liked it better when I thought my magîk was talking to animals—even if it was just Ruin.

  “She’ll need to fix it before she can do anything more,” he said with a huff. “Come on, Gert. She can’t even see us.”

  “Taja?” Esi said, stepping beside me. “Are you—what’s the matter?”

  I closed my eyes. Whatever this magîk was, I didn’t want anything to do with it. I didn’t want to talk to the dead or hear them talking to me. I wanted really good vision, like Esi, or magîk that could burn back the new growth so we didn’t have to spend all day clearing it. After taking a deep breath, I released it with a shudder, unwilling to admit that I’d inadvertently done magîk.

  “I’m fine,” I said, spinning toward the center of Pûleêr. “Let’s go have dinner.”

  We approached the communal area, and I felt Esi’s questions hanging between us. I needed to figure out a way to distract her—just until I had a few minutes to sort through what this meant. Following the wide path between the homes on the northside of Pûleêr—the nicer homes—I slowed as unease crawled up the trail to greet me. Instead of the expected sounds of mourning, or even the normal sounds of supper, the cacophony of heated disagreement singed the air.

  I pulled Esi to a stop, but her furrowed brow and faraway look indicated she wasn’t really hearing. I leaned toward her and said, “Why would they be fighting?”

  Her eyes cleared, and her frown shifted from me to the road. “I don’t—”

  We both strained to hear, but I couldn’t distinguish any specific words, not from this far. Still keeping my voice low, I asked, “Is there danger? Should we . . .”

  What could I suggest? Go home? This was her home. Leave?

  She pointed at the bell tower, visible from all of Pûleêr, the magî on top a small figure but present. The fact that he stood in plain sight and wasn’t ringing the bell like mad made it seem logical that Pûleêr wasn’t under attack.

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” she said with a huff, as if my reaction were unreasonable. With a dismissive wave, she added, “You worry too much.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and shook my head. Her snide comment pushing past my boundary of tolerance. “We both know that isn’t true.”

  She inhaled, straightening as she fixed me with a glare, but her expression shifted from defensive to defeated as she exhaled, and her shoulders slumped. Shaking her head, she said, “It’s been a fetid day, and I’m done with being strong—or even pretending like I am. I just want my dinner and bed. Is that too much?”

  She brushed by me and trudged up the path to the kitchen. I followed, but the unease refused to leave, and my pace slowed. As I drew near the kitchen, I caught a break in the congregation of Pûleêr and halted mid-step. My mouth dried, and my heart flipped, turning over and then skipping a beat. Instead of moving forward when I brought my foot down, I’d unconsciously stepped back. I swallowed, frozen in the moment as I stared. There, in the middle of the clearing, stood a male magî—in pants. Deep, crimson leather pants.

  He was strikingly handsome with rich golden hair, and his smooth, bronzed skin dipped and curved over well-defined muscles, no fat or flab on his svelte frame. His head was bowed, but his spine was straight, and his broad shoulders were back, as if even the act of humility was a challenge. His chest and abdomen were on full display, the small silver charm on a leather cord around his neck accentuating his athletic prowess. My heart flipped again, something familiar and yet not.

  Rull asked him something, and whatever red-pants said must’ve pleased the leader of the council because, a moment later, the stranger brought his hands to the front of his body and rubbed his wrists. He raised his head, and with a jerk of his neck, flicked his hair away from his face, revealing chiseled features: a strong, square jaw, straight nose, and high cheekbones. His lips parted with an inhalation, and then he grinned, revealing straight white teeth. My mouth dried, and panic seized me.

  I should go. Hide. Run.

  “Taja?” Esi said, waving at me to join her. When I didn’t move, she returned to me once again and grabbed my arm. “Is it the one who attacked you?” she asked in a low voice. “Tell me now if it is because I’m sure we’re going to meet after supper.”

  I tore my gaze away from the mob of magî surrounding him. “I don’t know.” Shame welled up from my stomach to my chest. “I don’t remember what he looked like.”

  How could I not remember? Self-loathing gnawed at me, worse than useless, destructive. And yet, even knowing my feelings were irrational, I couldn’t quite push them away. “Does this mean the kümdâr is coming?”

  Esi’s gaze slid to the Serîk, and she muttered, “I hope not.”

  Rull stood on top of a table and pounded a spoon against a metal lid. The clanging noise was enough to draw everyone’s attention away from the Serîk and to our leader.

  “He’s not from the kümdâr,” Rull announced, and the crowd tittered with the information, forcing Rull to bang on the lid again. When the noise diminished, he added, “The council will convene after our meal. Announcements will be made tomorrow.”

  Esi yanked me into the line for food as the crowd flowed away from the Serîk and toward the kitchen. The line shuffled forward, and Esi and I both grabbed trays. Dostane smiled as she and her team slopped rice, beans, and fruit onto our dishes.

  “What does that mean?” I asked, glancing at Esi. “There wasn’t an announcement the morning after I came.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a fist-sized mound of herb-dotted cheese on her plate, and I stopped, forcing the person behind to bump into me. A quick peek was all I needed to confirm that I didn’t have any cheese—and I wanted some.

  I spun around and stared down the stunning girl behind the counter. “I want cheese too.”

  “Oh, uh . . .” The young female dropped her gaze.

  A moment later, the person behind me bumped me again. “Come on,” he said. “Just go.”

  I glanced down at his tray. He had cheese, and so did the magî behind him. Even though my appetite was abysmal, I was angry with the injustice. Clenching my tray, I tried to convince myself cheese wasn’t worth fighting over—not with the recent deaths. But as I turned, my gaze skimmed over his hands—his very clean hands—all the way down to his cuticles.

  “Where did you work today?” I asked, glaring at the male. He flushed, and I sucked in a seething breath. “I thought the rules were no work no meat. And if there isn’t meat, like today, then no cheese.”

  His expression hardened, but I merely stared him down, my emotions ratcheting up with my pulse. Suddenly, Esi slid between us and someone dropped a scoop of cheese on my tray.

  “I’m sorry,” the young female said from the other side of the counter. “I misunderstood.”

  Misunderstood? I scanned the surrounding magî and met with a dozen similar expressions of discomfiture, but not a single one of support. W
hat was wrong with these magî?

  “Sure you did,” I grumbled, setting the tray down on the long counter, my stomach now filled with disgust. “Never mind. I’m suddenly not hungry. I’m sure one of you can redistribute my portion fairly.” I stared at Esi and said, “I’ll see you when you get home.”

  I strode out of the kitchen, my chest tight. The people around me blurred, and I tuned out their murmurs. I didn’t care what they thought, not really, but the hypocritical touting of equality was getting old—or was it just because I was new?

  I bumped into someone, but my apology stuck in my throat when I saw his leather pants.

  “Pardon me,” he said, his voice deep and warm. “I wasn’t watching where—”

  Keeping my head down, my gaze on the packed dirt of the covered eating area, I scooted to the side of the Serîk, completely ignoring him. I wanted nothing to do with him, whether he stayed or not. Red-pants and I wouldn’t see eye-to-eye, not if he’d chosen to swear fealty to a crazed sovereign.

  13

  I continued my measured stride on the path until I was out of sight of the crowd and then sprinted back to Esi’s hovel. Even after arriving, my heart continued to race. I searched the area for Ruin, wanting the comfort he provided. I circled the clearing, yanking up small shoots of green and tossing them into the undercanopy as I surveyed the jungle, calling his name. He didn’t appear, and even though it had only been a few hours, a bereft ache settled under my ribs.

  Stop it. I steeled my heart, eschewing my feeling of desperation—ridiculous considering the circumstances. After a deep breath, I found a pail and a crate, but then rolled my eyes when I remembered how I’d led Bizi to the center and left her with Dostane just this morning. I cleaned up the remaining pieces of the fence, piling them up close to the border of our clearing. I forced myself to drink coconut water, but the churning of my insides wouldn’t let me eat, nausea hitting me with the very thought. After a couple hours with nothing left to do, I sat on the crate, the pail between my legs, waiting for Esi or Ruin to return.

  The canopy layer disappeared into the descending darkness, and then the jungle blurred into the shades of night. Ruin still hadn’t returned, and I tried to tell myself I didn’t care—he was an animal, not a magî—but the frequency with which I thought of him as opposed to anyone else called me a liar. And what was taking Esi so long?

  Even so, my concern about him increased as my irritation toward Esi likewise grew. She wasn’t an animal with animal instincts and uncontrollable urges, so she should’ve been back by now and with Bezi, no less. What could be taking her so long? Had the Serîk magîked the citizens of Pûleêr?

  “If you throw up in that bucket, you’ll need to take it to the Cemik tonight and clean it out,” Esi said.

  I jerked upright and met her gaze.

  “Do you know him, the Serîk?” she asked, stepping closer. Her voice lowered, and she added, “Recognize him?”

  I shook my head. Working the mud with my feet, I tried to ground myself. My unease was not because I recognized him. “Did he come because someone used magîk?”

  Esi grunted, pulled the other crate next to me, and sat. “No. He said he’s hiding, actually.”

  I jerked upright and shifted toward her. The thick air of Qralî pressed on me, pinning me to my seat. “Hiding from whom?” But as soon as I asked, I realized there could only be one person. “And the council believed him?”

  She shrugged and started toward the door, and I drew back with a frown, realizing she was alone—without our goat.

  “Where’s Bizi?”

  Her shoulders slumped, but she didn’t bother to turn around. Jerking the door open, she huffed, “Gone. Rull wanted me to have a think about privilege.”

  Then she disappeared into the darkness of her home.

  I suppressed my desire to march into the post center and yell at Rull. It wouldn’t do any good. Instead, I spent the next hour worrying about my friend, and several more worrying about Ruin. As sleep tugged away my consciousness, a strange thought flitted through my mind: What if the Serîk is Ruin?

  With the morning light, Esi seemed to shake her gloom from the night before. We sat in the communal area with our breakfast of roasted plantains and coconut water, waiting to get our unit assignment.

  “You’re staring,” Esi said, her voice weighted by an odd tone, something heavier than harmless teasing but without any bitterness.

  Even so, I turned, my face flaming for having been caught. “Just looking.”

  She snorted. “You and every other single young female in Pûleêr—maybe even some who aren’t young or single.”

  I studied her face, trying to see past the impassive mask she now wore. I’d never seen this side of Esi. She was older, wiser; this was the Esi who sat on the council and helped make decisions for the rest of the community. My urge—instinct even—was to keep my attention on the young male. But first, I needed to explain something to my friend.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking,” I said, keeping my voice low. I waved away her expression of disbelief and continued. “Yes, I know he’s good looking, but there’s something more. I don’t know if I recognize him or if it’s because he’s Serîk . . .” How could I explain? I didn’t even know what I was trying to tell her; there was no way to make it clear when it wasn’t clear in my own head. I picked at my food, dropping the pieces of plantain back onto the plate. I couldn’t eat because my stomach was so full. Finally, I forced my gaze to meet hers and stated the barest truth. “I feel like . . . What if he knows something—about me?”

  Esi snorted again and shoved a bite of cheese in her mouth. Chewing, she studied me, and even though I felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny, in this regard, I had nothing to hide. She swallowed and then shrugged. “Okay. But you know every other young female here is hoping he wants to know more about them. You’ve got some stiff competition for his attention—although you’re attractive enough.”

  “No,” I protested, shaking my head. I set my fork down on the table. “I’m not interested in him like that. It’s just . . .” I turned the other thought from last night over in my mind, but here in the daylight, the reasoning in the early hours of between darkness and morning seemed a lot less . . . reasonable. The coincidence of the Serîk showing up the very same day that Ruin disappeared had made me wonder if it was possible they were the same, but the magî was nothing like Ruin.

  Rot. There was something wrong with me. Ruin was an animal—and an absent one at that. He still hadn’t come back, and I’d called for him for well over an hour last night. I needed to get my head on straight. There was no such thing as a magî who could shift.

  I glanced back over at the golden-haired Serîk sitting next to several young male magî. His smile from yesterday was gone, replaced by a more somber expression. He said something to Riv, the magî next to him, and the male from Pûleêr glanced at me. I turned away, the strange tug-of-war inside making me irritable.

  “He’s probably an ass,” I muttered.

  “No. He’s nice enough,” Esi said. “Maybe a little arrogant, but that goes with being a Serîk, I would think.”

  I narrowed my eyes and studied her. “You don’t like him either,” I said, not sure if I was stating a fact or asking a question. A bit of both, truthfully. But Esi didn’t deny or confirm, so I fished for more. “If you don’t like him, why did you let him stay?”

  “Like it’s my choice? I’m on the council, not the entirety of it.” Esi raised her eyebrows and, staring at me intently, asked, “Do you even know what you’re asking?”

  I shifted under the weight of her question. “The way you ask makes me think I don’t.”

  “First, he’s a Serîk, which means he’s powerful. We didn’t know what his magîk was when we interviewed him, and even now, there’s no way to know if he’s lying. We don’t have a truth-diviner in Pûleêr.”

  “More reason to kick him out.”

  “We couldn’t really kick him out,” she
explained, her voice soft so it wouldn’t carry past the people on either side of her. “If the concern was he might report us to the kümdâr, we’d have to kill him to ensure that didn’t happen. And really, we wouldn’t want him wandering Qralî and telling other places about Pûleêr, either.”

  Kill him or let him stay were the only options? “I guess I didn’t really think that through. So, are you waiting until he proves himself worthy of either death or life?”

  She sighed. “Something like that.”

  I startled in my seat, jerking with her admission. “What? Are you quite serious?” The impact of her meaning hit me, and my jaw dropped. “You mean . . . Am I alive on a trial basis? Is that what’s going on with me?”

  The tension in her expression slipped, and this time Esi’s smile was genuine. She snorted and then said, “Your probation time was pretty short. You don’t even know what your magîk is. You’re definitely not a threat here.”

  That didn’t make me feel better. Not at all. What if I wanted to leave? “And him? How long is his probation going to be?”

  “The thing is, he knew about us. He specifically came here, to Pûleêr, because he knew we’d adopted a no-magîk policy, that we were trying to avoid detection by the kümdâr.”

  “How would he know that?”

  “Maybe from one of the other posts,” she said.

  But the way she said it indicated something more. “But?”

  Esi mashed the rice and beans on her plate, making a sticky, brown paste. She grunted and continued her vehement pulverization of the remains of her breakfast.

  Several seconds passed while she worked. Was she frustrated because of him? The council? The council’s decision? I had no idea, but her feelings were apparent, even if the reasoning behind them was not.

  I turned my attention back to my own plate, staring at the food. The mounds of rice, beans, and fried plantains still sat in the same place they’d fallen from the serving spoon. There was even a blob of nasty taro paste. Talk about going through the motions.