by Jen Valena
Contents
Copyright
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
1 ✹ Ithia Awakens
2 ✹ Tyrsten's Vision
3 ✹ Ithia Falls
4 ✹ Second Birth
5 ✹ Augur’s Omen
6 ✹ Ithia’s Initiation
7 ✹ Tyrsten Awakens
8 ✹ Ithia’s Lessons
9 ✹ Warrior’s Mastery
10 ✹ Ithia’s Circles
11 ✹ Fate’s Charism
12 ✹ Soul Awareness
13 ✹ Holding Surrender
14 ✹ Beginning’s End
15 ✹ Messenger Within
16 ✹ Binding Ties
17 ✹ Letting Go
18 ✹ Exposed Heart
19 ✹ Moon Shadows
20 ✹ Solar Illuminations
21 ✹ Judgment Night
22 ✹ World Order
From Book Two of the Magian Series:
About the Author
Published by Entraverse Publishing
Sedona, AZ 86339, USA
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, actual events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Editors: David Vincent Mills & Michael Blevins
Copyright © 2017 by Jen Valena.
Map copyright © 2017 by Jen Valena
Cover Illustration © Jen Valena.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission of the author.
www.JenValena.com
ISBN:
ISBN-13:
ITHIA
✹ ✹ ✹
Book One of the Magian Series
Jen Valena
Dedication
To my partner, David, for being my love, my friend and my mirror.
You have been an inspiration to me, both in my life and in my writing.
This book would have never been, if it weren’t for our life together.
&
Thank you my dear friend, Mike, for helping me on my path in so many ways,
but especially, in this particular case, with your contribution as my editor.
&
Thank you to all those who:
Challenged me (even if some of them didn’t necessarily want me to grow);
Encouraged me (when I needed it); Inspired me (by just being you);
Assisted me (by reading my book and answering all my annoying questions).
Prologue
He watched her.
His persistence had finally paid off, her location was revealed to him.
Ithia was now a self-reliant young woman. He had always imagined her taller. She was of average height, but she had loomed as a formidable figure in his mind all these years.
Chestnut-brown hair danced loosely down her back. It was the exact same color and texture as her mother’s—although, she did not know that. This gave him solace that he had this memory, and Ithia did not. So much had been stolen from him. But couldn’t the same be said for her?
Ithia didn’t seem full of herself. Here. Alone. He had wanted to believe she would be cocky. Even arrogant. Autocratic. If that was indeed her nature, she hadn’t shown that side. It would be easier for him to do what was needed if she were detestable.
Ithia’s eyes were still an intense golden brown. Ah, very good, he thought. Even so, they seemed to absorb everything.
Her Godfather was gone now. Perhaps because of this absence, the protective shield that had kept her hidden had fallen. He was frustrated he couldn’t detect how much that old man had told her.
Her lack of family may have molded her differently from those blessed with a family. Blessed? No, he would never use that word. How many times had he wished he didn’t have a family? Or at least, not the one he had. He allowed himself a moment to wonder what he would have been like if he had been hidden as she had.
She appeared unaffected by her solitude, living alone, never searching for someone to share a glance. Independent—she must be broken of that.
Could he gain her trust?
For weeks, he watched for any detail that he could use to manipulate her. However, Ithia lived a simple life. Other than attending school, her only excursion was a daily hike to a massive oak tree.
Why did she come here so often? Did she know she rested near a portal? He guessed she was unaware. He assumed it was a coincidence, nothing more.
Unless—she knew he was coming and didn’t fear him. That gave him pause. If she did know, he admired her bravery.
Ithia checked the calendar hanging on the kitchen wall—her birthday penciled in. That evening, she refrained from her routine of turning on all the household lights. Instead, she settled down on the couch in the dark and lit a white pillar candle on the coffee table.
After several minutes of gazing at the flickering flame, Ithia quickly turned her head and stared in his direction.
She felt him watching.
Glancing over each shoulder, she shivered.
Part of him was excited that she sensed him.
Ithia shrugged and leaned forward, mumbled a wish and blew out the candle. For the rest of the night, she sat undisturbed in the darkened house with a woven blanket over her shoulders, and dreamed without sleep.
He had begun to like her. His determination wavered. She seemed more like him than he wanted to admit.
He rethought his plan. He regretted informing Garrick he had located her. Now he would have Garrick’s soldiers in tow and would have to navigate their animosity toward him.
No. He shook himself to remain detached. She was a tool to be used. He had to remember that.
Ithia’s voyeur tired of spying on her solely with his mind’s eye. He needed to look into her eyes—face to actual face.
It was time for action.
It was time to snag her from this little life.
1 ✹ Ithia Awakens
At any point in time there are a million roads
On can travel that will create a new reality.
Within the multitude of potentials,
There is always the one that is most likely
— Sauvant Larin
Darkness can be as soothing as a warm blanket on a restless night. It can wrap sweet comfort around life’s worries. Or, at times such as this, it can pinch every nerve-ending with the unknown.
Ithia hadn’t worried about falling asleep outdoors again. She could find her way home by the moon’s silvery glow.
When she awoke, she guessed it was the middle of the night, yet she couldn’t see anything at all. This was odd. The waxing gibbous moon should have been dangling overhead. And where were the stars?
If there were no stars, then maybe she was inside now, somehow. But Ithia knew she wasn’t in her bed. There wasn’t the familiar feeling of how the mattress normally fit her body. Her pulse quickened as her brain worked out how far from home she might be.
Ithia anticipated the stagnant smell of motel blankets and perhaps the memory that she was on vacation and had somehow forgotten. She waited with bated breath hoping to find the television was left on, explaining the unexpected sounds of men’s voices. Maybe an action film was intruding on her dreamlike state.
That wasn’t it.
Definitely outdoors—a cool breeze chilled her cheeks and an unforgiving rocky ground stabbed her back.
This darkness even smelled ominous, oppressive. The mixture of charred meat, mildewed leaves and pu
ngent male sweat wafted over her.
Ithia began to acknowledge that something might possibly be wrong. This darkness was a harbinger of a greater danger. Her stomach turned with dread that things were seriously out of her control, like being in the back seat of a car about to catapult off a cliff.
Her mind had just enough awareness to know it was muddled. Her thoughts pushed and pulled with an unnerving pulse—a mental vertigo—attempting to understand what was happening. This was disturbingly similar to the recurring nightmare she had experienced for weeks.
Ithia tried to move, but her aching arms and legs wouldn’t respond. Her body was paralyzed with the sting of pins and needles.
Ithia heard a crackling fire. Men grumbled, huddling around it a couple yards away.
Binds gnawed at her wrists and ankles. A gag wicked all the moisture from her mouth. Ithia felt the blindfold against her face, explaining her lack of vision.
Struggling to make sense of how she had ended up here, Ithia thought back to her last memories.
She recalled the foreboding that had tugged at her stomach, how she had resisted the temptation of plopping down on the couch and contemplating the life of a potato. As Ithia had approached the entryway of her home, she had tucked her tousled long locks behind pierce-less ears. Her hand had automatically grasped at her neck to adjust her lucky pendant. As she did so, she remembered the chain had fallen apart. It had suffered a lifetime of abuse and would need replacing before she could wear her pendant again. It seemed the chain had broken in synchronization with the death of her habitually absentee godfather, Gramps.
Everything had failed her at the same time.
Ithia felt naked without the silver charm. Exposed. This was added to the long list of things that felt wrong lately. She had known she’d feel better once she got moving, so she slipped on her muddy sneakers. Pulled on her jacket and grabbed a worn blanket.
She snatched up her wire-rimmed glasses to see the world in the distance and tapped them into place.
With a half-smile and an inclination that her godfather’s ghost might be one to linger, Ithia had whispered to the empty house, “See ya, Gramps.”
Ithia had stepped outside and shut the door to what she knew as home.
She had brushed off the intuitive warning as she hiked to her favorite oak tree. She lodged her unease as a physical pain in her gut until she could identify its source. Although, she often dismissed her instincts as paranoia.
Ithia had fallen asleep on her frequently visited hill near home. She hadn’t worried about running into anyone out there—the far outskirts of a sleepy town. She enjoyed napping under the stars as it made for interesting dreams.
It was now evident that her sense of doom wasn’t imagined. Why don’t I ever listen, even to myself?
In her current predicament, she hoped that she wouldn’t be seeing Gramps on the other side of the veil—the dead side of it—at least, not for many years.
The men’s speech was strange to her ears—another language, but she got the gist.
Ithia had an inexplicable understanding of languages. She was popular with foreigners because of this unusual talent even if she couldn’t speak the languages. This talent came in handy now.
The men didn’t like someone in their group. She believed the despised man was sitting near her, somewhere to her right.
Ithia hated that she couldn’t see what was going on. She wouldn’t necessarily have called it a phobia although most psychiatrists would have. She found hindering her vision in any way was intolerable.
Ithia remembered the last time she was blindfolded. At four years old, she had discovered just how intense her need was to see. She had fallen and cut her chin open on a rock while playing outside. The emergency room doctors placed a cloth over her eyes to prevent her view of the needle used to stitch her up. She flailed about and screamed for them to stop. They thought she wanted them to stop sewing. Fortunately, Gramps recognized her fear was of the blindfold and not the needle. He demanded they remove the cloth. The medical team was circumspect, but once they freed her sight, Ithia calmed down immediately. She was more afraid of not seeing the needle.
Desperate to compose herself now, Ithia played a mental game. I will see with my mind—my other senses. She had heard of a third eye and wondered if it was real. Ithia focused all her attention to her eyes, insanely willing herself to see through the blindfold.
A strange sensation of pressure emerged above the bridge of her nose. Her attention naturally shifted upwards. She imagined a spyglass. A faint, distorted image developed within her mind, as if through a hazy filter.
She was no longer on the hill where she had fallen asleep. A backdrop of lush foliage that she wasn’t familiar with suggested she had traveled farther than she had guessed. The leaves glistened with a sprinkle of fresh rain. The splash of drops slipped from leaf to leaf. A sharp, thick humidity rose from the ground. Her hair wicked the moisture.
Although blurred in her mind’s eye, she saw the men were outfitted in leather armor, equipped for warfare with combat blades strapped at one side and a bludgeon on the other. She found their attire and choice of weaponry a bit outlandish for the suburbs.
The men, circled around a campfire, passed a leather canteen containing hard alcohol.
The unpopular man was shrouded in a dark cloak and sat removed from the others, both in proximity and manner. As she lay a couple of paces away, his attention on her was protective in nature—or more accurately—possessive.
The cloaked man stared at Ithia with heightened interest as if he knew she could see him despite her blindfold.
Even though Ithia didn’t know if she had regained her ability to move, she resisted the urge to find out. Movement would reveal that she was awake and might endanger herself further before she assessed the situation.
He approached. His imposing presence crouched beside her, and a faint and somehow familiar trace of incense crept over her.
She fought the itch to sneeze.
He whispered low, so the others couldn’t hear him, in forced English, his voice hardened, “You very well may be able to hear me now. I do not wish to harm you, but I will do whatever it takes to keep you in my control. Prove yourself wise and do not forget that.”
Then the cloaked man reluctantly walked away.
A moment later, the sound of crunching gravel drew near.
A low growl gurgled in this new visitor’s throat—a repetitive guttural hum. He squatted and leered. He had a stench of wretched personal hygiene.
Ithia got the impression he was hungry, and she was on the menu.
“Commander, back away!” the cloaked man yelled as he returned, upset to find her not alone. He spoke in another language, but Ithia’s mind translated the meaning.
“Everything is fine.” The commander moved away, his arms held ready to either pledge innocence or to throw a punch.
“Fine?” The cloaked man was irked. “Commander, we are not fine.” He pulled the commander some steps away from her for privacy, but not far enough to prevent her from overhearing.
“What?” The commander asked, “The woman? Is the potion wearing off?”
She noticed a strange tang in her mouth—laced with a metallic and bitter flavor. Perhaps an aftertaste of some concoction to knock her out. That must have been why she couldn’t remember being abducted.
“She will regain consciousness soon enough. For the moment I am more concerned with someone catching up with us.” Her cloaked warden was now nose to nose with the commander. “As for her, I remind you that we have no idea what she is capable of—yet. No one is to get near her, except me.” His fists clenched at his side. “Remind your men.”
The commander glanced down and scoffed, but a hint of worry betrayed his voice, “Is she really that dangerous?”
“She very well may be.” The cloaked man’s voice hardened further, “But if you disobey my warning, I will be the dangerous one. You understand the consequences if we fail.”
<
br /> “I will give orders to my men.” The commander turned around and said over his shoulder with a dose of contempt, “Remember, I am in charge.”
“Of your men. Not her.”
The commander stopped. “You better be ready to deliver on your threats. You have no friends here.”
“I do not give a damn what you think of me—you have your orders. Concern yourselves with that.”
With a curt nod, the commander continued on to his men to gather them for riding out. When they snuffed out the fire, the moon cast a muted glow, illuminating the soldiers and horses.
Ithia had no idea why she would be valuable and mulled over potential scenarios in her head. Clearly, the kidnappers had mistaken her for someone else. Perhaps they would release her when they came to that conclusion.
The cloaked man slumped down at Ithia’s side. His shoulders drooped. His head tipped forward loosely, showing his exhaustion. She sensed his fatigue was due to something much more troubling than his conversation.
After a moment collecting himself, he drew in a deep breath as if to anchor his strength. He picked her up and cradled her in his arms. He whispered, “Do as I say, and you might survive this.” He placed her on a stretcher attached to a horse’s saddle and tied her wrists to the wooden supports.
Ithia again questioned the men’s unusual ways. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been near a horse.
Hurried, muffled sounds filled the air. Ithia tried to stay awake to see what was happening around her, but her haunted, stolen glimpses into the world around her faded as she lost consciousness.
✹ ✹ ✹
A loud curse brought Ithia out of her slumber.
Not far from her, an argument had erupted. From the sun’s warm rays on her skin and the red glow of her blindfold, Ithia deduced it was mid-day. Unfortunately, she was still strapped to her stretcher.
