Island Shifters: Book 01 - An Oath of the Blood

by Valerie Zambito

  Galen nodded as though expecting those very words. “If you will all excuse me, I would like a few words alone with young Beck.”

  As everybody began to file out of the room, Rogan stepped over to the sofa. “Pardon, Mage, for the imposition, but I was wondering what you can tell me of my parents.”

  Galen coughed. “I wish I could give you what you seek, fireshifter, but the truth is that I never knew them. I only met them one time, very briefly, on the day of your birth.”

  Beck patted Rogan lightly on the back in compassion and watched the dejected Dwarf nod this thanks to Galen and walk out.

  “Why did you just lie to him?” asked Beck, when the door closed behind his friend. Ever since Beck had known him, Rogan had been desperate to find out the truth about his family. And, just as long, Beck had always secretly worried that the truth would never live up to the fantasies Rogan conjured over the years.

  Animation crept into the newly wrinkled face. “Very perceptive, I am impressed.”

  “Can you answer the question?” Beck persisted, knowing through pure instinct that the Mage was holding information back.

  Galen shrugged his thin shoulders. “He already knows the truth. The loss of his parents was a very traumatic event for him, so he has blocked it out of his mind. But, he will remember, when he is ready.”

  Galen began to wheeze, and Beck knelt beside his bed. “Can I get you more water?”

  “No, I am fine.” With trembling hands, he reached under the blanket thrown over him and produced a book that he held out to Beck.

  “What is it?”

  “A very valuable item. It is called The Protetor and it protects within its bindings the only written record of Mage teachings. It is bespelled and only you can read its contents. Anybody else who opens the book will see only blank pages. Guard it well, Beck, it is a powerful magical tool and one that is essential to your quest. The Protetor contains every spell, charm, incantation, and curse known to me. It is all yours. If Massa prevails in this battle, Beck, the people of Massa will need the wisdom of a Mage to guide them.”

  He took the book from the pale outstretched fingers and examined the cover. It was small, black and non-descript, with no writing on the front or spine. He looked at the Mage in confusion. “Why me?”

  Beck noticed a glint flare in Galen’s eyes. “Because you are my great, great…,” the Mage paused, “too many greats to list…. grandson.”

  For some reason, Beck did not question the validity of Galen’s revelation. “On my mother’s side or my father’s side?”

  “Mother. You are both direct descendants of the Starr lineage.”

  Beck thought back to the discussion he had with his mother before Ravener’s destruction of Pyraan. Whatever her reasons for not telling him then of his ancestry, Beck did not hold it against her. She did what she did out of love for him and nothing else. “Is that why I have been named Savitar? Because I am your descendent?”

  “Yes. Just like Kiernan, you are pureblood.”

  “What of the others?”

  Galen was fading quickly, but managed to continue. “All of the new Savitars are descendants of the original Savitars. The power of the blood oath runs deeper in you four than in any other shifter. Your strength comes from your patrician blood. Kiernan is a descendant of Garret Kenley. Rogan from Regan Rojin, and Airron from his mother’s side by Arias Sarphia. Garret, Regan, and Arias were at my side in the defeat of Adrian Ravener. Sadly, they did not survive the encounter. Our progeny will have the unfortunate honor to rid this land of him once again.”

  Beck twirled the small book in his hand, contemplating all that he heard.

  “I cannot take this, Mage.”

  “You must, Beck.” His voice was getting softer and harder to hear. “You must also promise me that you will carry The Protetor with you until this is over.” A long-fingered hand reached out to grab him with surprising strength. “Promise me!”

  “But, I will never be a Mage. I am a shifter. It is who I am.”

  “Learn from my mistakes, Beck!” implored the dying man. “Take the knowledge from this book and start over. Create a world where magic is to be used for good again. Where shifters can come out of hiding! The wisdom of a Mage is essential to the safety of the island.”

  “I do not know if I am strong enough,” he admitted.

  “You must be,” he said, and Beck had to lean in close to hear his next words. “You are the only one who is.”

  The Mage produced one last weak cough and then his head slumped to the side. After six hundred years of walking the earth, Galen Starr was dead.

  Beck lifted his head when a pitiful roar rose up from outside of Galen’s rooms. Scrambling to his feet, he ran out into the corridor, shoving The Protetor into his pocket as he went. Looking around wildly, he saw Kiernan kneeling on the ground with her arms around Bajan’s neck. The Draca was lying still on the ground, a line of blood from his nose staining his beautiful white coat.

  The Cyman Army was just bedding down for the evening when Lucin heard a deafening scream from Adrian Ravener’s tent. He rushed in and found Adrian lying on the floor with a maniacal smile on his face and blood trickling from his nose.

  “It is done, Lucin. Galen Starr is dead, and the portals are now open.”

  Chapter 17

  FIRST PUNCH

  Kiernan awoke early the next morning and silently dressed in the damp chill air. It was always cold in the palace in the early hours, she remembered, before the sun had time to infuse its warmth into the day. Bajan lay relaxed by her bed, but his eyes watched her every move as she packed her belongings and ran a comb hastily through her long hair. Securing her scabbard and sword over her back and fastening her dagger on her thigh, she said, Let’s go.

  The castle was silent as she made her way along seldom-used passageways to the stables. Gray skies and a light drizzle of rain greeted her as she opened one of the small outer doors on the south side of the palace. It was just as well, she thought, pulling her shoulder mantle up over her head. She would prefer not to be recognized on the journey to Iserport. After last night, she no longer considered herself the Princess of Iserlohn. She was simply a shifter who had a job to do, and it was painfully obvious that her father felt the same way.

  With a heavy heart, she also made the decision not to bid farewell to Miss Belle or Larkin or any other of the royal staff. The wound was too raw for her to expose, even to those she loved most, and lengthy partings would have only intensified the pain.

  Arriving at the stables, she pushed open the doors and breathed in the nostalgic aroma of hay and horses, wiping away a tear that fell unexpectedly with the back of her hand. She would never be back. Would never again lay eyes on the beauty of Nysa or her people. There had been no time to put thought into where she might live out her life if she was fortunate enough to survive the upcoming conflict, but it would not be here. Not when she was so clearly unwelcome by her father.

  Bajan startled her as he bumped up against her side to rub affectionately against her.

  Thank you, Bajan.

  The King does love you.

  Really? I would hate to be his enemy.

  He will come around to the irrationality of his beliefs.

  She snorted. I will not be around in the unlikely event that happens, Bajan. We are never coming home.

  Home is where your heart lies.

  She smiled. True. I leave a piece of it here, but the rest will always be with you and Beck and Airron and Rogan.

  Especially Beck.

  She did not deny it.

  Turning from her friend, she walked over to the exquisite blue roan mare with black mane and feet that she would ride south to Iserport. Her name was Milan and one of her father’s prized mounts from King Jerund J’El’s personal stable. A final gift from a long-suffering father to his wayward daughter, she thought bitterly. Well, she would take her. She would have need of a quick and intelligent horse underneath her.

  The stable
doors opened and Rogan, Airron, and Rory poured in amid loud conversation and laughter. Rogan questioned Rory about his whereabouts the previous evening, and the fireshifter confessed to feeling ill and slipping out of Grace Hall during the War Council to lie down in his chambers. One of the servants confirmed his story when she told Rogan that she had started to enter Master Greeley’s chambers to clean, but the room was dark and there was a figure lying on the bed. She did not want to disturb the young shifter so she backed out and left him to his sleep.

  Kiernan never thought for a moment that Rory could have been guilty of anything, but Galen Starr insisted on the questioning before his death.

  Beck entered next, giving her a small, furtive smile that sent shivers through her body, and behind him were Gage Gregaros and Bret Schwan, two Scarlet Sabers. Gage was the elder, a wiry, gray-haired man, and Bret was younger with a muscular build and short, blonde hair. Kiernan had preferred to travel without an escort, but Colbie Nash convinced her to accept the two Sabers as an extra safeguard.

  She nodded to the men and then rechecked her backpack for their traveling papers. Since passage between lands was restricted, they would all need to rely on the King’s Decree of Purpose to avoid difficulties.

  It was disconcerting to her that each of the lands operated independently of each other without any industrial trade or creative exchanges. The three Kings rarely met and thus the isolation and racism was allowed to grow more pervasive every year. Regardless of the reasons, however, it was a state of affairs that must be rectified— especially now that a common enemy had emerged.

  Once mounted, the party of eight rode out of the stables and through the deserted streets of Nysa. Kiernan heard Rory ask Beck how long it would be before they arrived in Iserport. Kiernan smiled at the little fireshifter, who seemed to have matured greatly in the past week. He had considerably more confidence today than the nervous boy Kiernan met for the first time at the Homage Festival. It was not surprising considering the horrors they lived through in recent days. It had changed them all. She knew that she certainly felt older than her eighteen years.

  “We should reach Janis in two days and Iserport in another three,” replied Beck to Rory.

  The tall iron doors of the outer wall were ajar, and the soldiers standing on either side and on top of the wall nodded respectfully as they left the city, the atmosphere conspicuously devoid of the fanfare that would usually accompany soldiers going to war. Maybe they think we do not have any chance of success, she mused. She was just relieved to be departing unnoticed.

  Then, the sound of hooves on the road behind them and Captain Colbie Nash appeared, the crisp, dignified black and scarlet uniform contrasting with his tousled hair and red-cheeked, youthful features.

  He looks like an angel, she thought fondly.

  Colbie reined in before them and gazed at her for a long moment, but then addressed Beck. “I hold you personally responsible for her safe return.”

  Beck nodded. “As does the King.”

  He glanced at her again, but cautiously this time as if not sure how she would react to his next statement. “I plan to fight you for her, you know,” he said turning back to Beck.

  Beck shrugged. “Cannot say as I blame you, Captain.”

  Colbie lifted an eyebrow. “You are not concerned?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe you underestimate me.”

  Beck shook his head. “On the contrary. I think you are an honorable man and one who Kiernan holds in very high esteem. In any other circumstance, you would be a very worthy opponent.”

  “But in this?” he inquired.

  “It has already been decided. She is mine.”

  The young Captain looked carefully from Beck to her, and whatever he saw in their eyes must have convinced him. He danced his horse close to Beck and Chasin and held out his hand. “Take care of her.”

  Beck shook Colbie’s hand and nodded. “My life on it.”

  Without a backward glance, the Captain of the Scarlet Sabers spun his mount and disappeared back along the quiet city streets of Nysa.

  Beck looked at her, waiting for silent confirmation. At first, she was a bit put off by the verbal contest between the two men. She was no mindless git after all who expected the men in her life to make all of her decisions. But, in this instance, Beck was right.

  It was already decided.

  She tilted her head slightly in approval and guided Milan to the gate.

  Once outside of the city, Gage Gregaros took the lead at the head of the group with Airron and Rogan next, Beck, Kiernan, and Rory in the middle, and Bret Schwan bringing up the rear. Bajan sprinted ahead and turned west into the forest to feed. Luckily, he recovered fully from his episode the evening before without any adverse effects. The Draca told Kiernan that he did not remember much about the event, only a blinding pain that exploded in his head and sent a strange ripple through his body. Even so, it did not escape their notice that it occurred at the exact same moment that Galen Starr died.

  Two days later, the outline of the town of Janis came into view in the distance. After days of cold meals and sleeping on the ground, Kiernan longed for a hot dinner and a warm bath to take the dirt off her body. She glanced up at the sun and wiped her brow. The rain had cleared after the first day of their departure from Nysa, and the sun beat relentlessly down on them from a cloudless sky ever since. Warily, the party rode toward the open gates of the town, hoping to raise no questions. Just another group of travelers stopping by on their way to somewhere else. Two guards on the ground eyed them as they passed, but did not attempt to stop them.

  A number of shops, an inn, tavern, and church lined the main road, and small, well-kept homes dotted the side streets and children played out front, running in and around lines of laundry flapping in the light breeze.

  Maneuvering Milan carefully along the street, Kiernan stopped in front of one of the larger buildings that declared the establishment within The Lantern Inn. Gage Gregaros dismounted and offered to go into the inn and secure rooms for the evening.

  Kiernan waited patiently with the others in the heat, silently praying for a trouble-free visit so she could get that good night’s rest in peace.

  Then, she glanced at Beck and the look on his face was anything but peaceful.

  Gage Gregaros stepped up onto the wooden platform that encircled the town’s establishments, and Beck frowned. The sound of flesh striking flesh and then a pitiful groan came from the alleyway between the inn and a merchant’s shop. Dismounting, he quickly tied Chasin to a post and walked around the corner.

  A heavy-set, bearded man, sweating with exertion, stood over the top of a woman, who was on the ground with her arms held up in front of her attempting to protect her face from the man’s fists. She was middle-aged and her disheveled hair was falling free of the neat chignon she wore at the nape of her neck. The fading remnants of an older bruise yellowed her cheek.

  The man did not see Beck approach from behind him and was poised to throw another punch at the woman when Beck reached out and stopped the man’s fist in his own, just inches from her face.

  “What the…?” the man said, looking around at Beck in surprise.

  The woman scurried backwards on her arms and legs, whimpering.

  Beck squeezed the man’s fist. “What are you doing, man?” he demanded.

  “None of your business,” the bearded man spit, trying to yank his arm from Beck’s grasp.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Beck noticed Kiernan hurrying over to the woman to remove her from harm’s way.

  “This is between me and my woman, now get lost,” growled the man, still trying to pull his fist loose.

  Beck held on tight. “It is a very small man who would beat a woman.”

  The abusive man’s face screwed up in anger, and Beck could smell ale on his breath. “Yeah, well, she oughta learn to obey a little bit better.”

  Beck glared at the man in disgust and asked Kiernan to take the woman inside the i
nn.

  Kiernan nodded and ushered the broken woman out of the alleyway holding onto her shoulders for support. As soon as they were gone, Beck turned around and walked out of the alleyway still holding the man’s fist. The woman beater did not have any choice but to stumble behind his long strides.

  Beck shoved the man into the street. “Now, get out of here and do not come back before I lose my temper.”

  People in the streets stopped to stare at the scene, whispering behind their hands and running off to spread news of the incident. The door of the tavern across the street banged open and two men walked out, eyeing Beck with caution as they approached. “What’s going on Sully?” one of them asked.

  Sully got back to his feet. “A bunch of strangers sticking their noses where they don’t belong, that’s what’s going on.”

  “Need help?” the other man said, spitting tobacco juice onto the road through a gap his teeth.

  Sully looked from Beck to Bret and Rory, and then Airron and Rogan, who were standing idly by—Rogan with his arms crossed at his chest and Airron leaning against one of the horse posts casually chewing a piece of grass.

  “Well, well, if it aint a Dwarf and an Elf. I shoulda known there was something off about you people. We don’t take to your kind around here.”

  Beck did not hesitate. “Do you take to my kind?” he asked and waved a hand in the air. A small tree next to the wooden platform in front of Sully responded to his summons, and its thin branches shot forth and wrapped around the man’s wrists securing them above his head.

  Sully shrieked in surprise and struggled as the branches pulled him upright to the top of his toes. Sully’s two friends backed away from him, one narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Beck. “Look at his neck!” he said, pointing. “He’s one of them shifters that are supposed to be banished up north!”