The Vine Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 2)

by Carol Beth Anderson

  She heard one pained cry from beyond the shield, then several more in quick succession. She brought her confused gaze to the Anya.

  He was directing his defenders to go inside. When he turned and saw Zeisha’s expression, he gave her a broad smile. “The dirt cuts them if they try to pass.”

  A laugh burst from Zeisha’s mouth. Shaking her head, she helped the Anya move toward the building.

  Ovrun ran up to her. “I got him!” As he scooped the Anya into his arms, more shots rang out from beyond the spinning dirt.

  “Get inside!” Zeisha cried, running.

  She heard a grunt. Her eyes fell on Ovrun, confused. He’d carried the Anya all morning. Why would he struggle now?

  The grunt turned into a moan. It wasn’t coming from Ovrun’s mouth. Zeisha’s gaze shifted to the old man in Ovrun’s arms.

  The Anya’s shirt was red with blood.

  38

  A recent study showed that children who laugh at least twelve times a day are more likely to achieve success as adults. It also showed that as our nation’s educational standards have improved, laughter in classrooms has decreased.

  A group of Derogan teachers wants to get their students giggling. They tell daily jokes and give extra credit to kids who do the same.

  -“On the Subject of Laughter” by Genta Ril

  The Derogan Chronicle, dated Cygni 2, 6293

  “Go!” Zeisha screamed.

  Ovrun was already running toward the building’s doorway, carrying the Anya and leaving drops of dark blood on the dusty street.

  Zeisha followed. Just before she reached the building, she gasped. Osmius was approaching, flying low, carrying Nora and Krey.

  More shots sounded. Zeisha rushed inside and knelt by Ovrun, who was sitting on the dusty floor, holding the Anya. A vine eater handed Ovrun a shirt. Ovrun pressed the cloth to the man’s bleeding stomach. The Anya was awake, his face twisted with pain.

  “Zeisha!”

  At the sound of Krey’s voice, she turned. He was flying into the room. Nora ran in behind him. Zeisha’s eyes fell on Krey’s swollen ankle. “Your foot!”

  Krey landed on his good foot and lowered himself to sit next to her. He was pale, with bloodshot eyes. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, but he’s not.” She turned back to the Anya and rested a hand on his cool, wrinkled cheek. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  His eyes, still clear and vibrant, met hers. “It is my time,” he murmured through pale lips. “And yours.”

  “Shh. Save your strength.” Zeisha tuned out Ovrun and Nora, who were both trying to stop the man’s bleeding. Her attention remained fixed on the Anya’s face.

  “Zeisha.” Somehow he smiled. “If I had a child—” He paused, his mouth stretching into a grimace, his eyes squeezing shut. After taking a deep breath, he gazed at her again. “I would have prepared them to use the Well. I would have taught them to be gentle. Good. To listen to God.” There was that incomprehensible smile again. “You already know these things, child. You are ready.”

  Zeisha stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. A coughing fit overtook him. Ovrun and Nora murmured in alarm. The coughing stopped, and the Anya gave Zeisha a weak smile.

  The peace that had washed over her yesterday swept through her again, dissolving her fear and uncertainty. All she could think was that she loved this man she’d just met.

  “Come close,” the Anya whispered.

  Zeisha leaned over.

  “Closer.”

  She brought her ear to his mouth.

  “Remember these words.” In a low, clear voice meant only for her, he said, “Listen always. Love always. For you are now the steward of the Well.”

  Every noise in the room faded to nothing. Heat entered Zeisha through the Anya’s hand on her cheek and his breath in her ear, a warmth so rich and substantial, it felt nearly solid. With it came a new sense of power, far beyond any she’d experienced as a vine eater. Her body trembled, unable to contain the rush of strength.

  The Anya’s voice reached her ear again: “Share this gift with your own child.” His hand came up to cup the back of her head. “Or one who is like your child.”

  Despite her shaking, Zeisha’s breaths remained slow and steady. “Thank you,” she said, lifting her head to look in the Anya’s eyes.

  He gave her a soft smile, all trace of pain gone from it. When she returned the smile, his face relaxed. A sigh exited his mouth. It was long and full. Zeisha knew it was final.

  The sounds of the room—shuffling bodies, low voices, moans of the wounded—returned to Zeisha’s ears. She sat up. Ovrun and Nora were both pressing on the Anya’s wound, the cloth and their hands covered in blood. Krey was watching her.

  “He’s gone,” she whispered, laying her hand on the Anya’s still chest. His open eyes seemed to gaze at nothing and everything.

  Krey’s warm hand fell on Zeisha’s shoulder. “You’re shaking,” he said. “What did he say to you?”

  Zeisha paused, searching for the words. “He—” She swallowed. “He wasn’t the last Anya.”

  Krey’s mouth curved into a slow smile. “You.”

  “Yes.”

  He pulled her into a tight hug. When he let go, Nora and Ovrun were watching them.

  Nora’s eyes dropped to the white-haired man on the floor, then returned to Zeisha. A bittersweet smile on her lips, she said, “I can’t think of anyone more perfect for the job.”

  “Sarza,” Nora said, “do you see anything? Have any hints about what we’re supposed to do next?”

  The two of them, plus Krey, Zeisha, and Ovrun, were huddled together in the lobby where the Anya had died. According to Taima, the line of attackers had moved on. The vine eaters who’d acted as lookouts had returned, confident the building wasn’t in immediate danger. To play it safe, Kebi was fetching the trogs on the twenty-fifth floor. They would all climb down the building’s back stairs and escape through the Extrain tunnels. The vine eaters were walking to the tunnel entrance now, minus Zeisha and one who’d succumbed to a gunshot wound.

  “If I saw anything, I’d tell you,” Sarza answered, her voice curt.

  “Okay.” Nora let out her breath. She didn’t want to say the next words, but she had no choice. If I’m ever queen, I’ll have to get used to these hard conversations. “Taima says the army is in control of nearly all of trog territory.”

  Everyone’s shoulders drooped. A couple of groans escaped.

  Nora continued, “Some trogs are still fighting, but it’ll all be over soon. The soldiers are disarming trogs and bringing them to a single, large building outside their territory. My father is leading from the back of a wagon that’s parked in an abandoned street.”

  She turned to Zeisha and Ovrun. “The good news is, your team protected most of the residential areas. If my father still lets the trogs live here, at least they’ll have homes.” She took a deep breath. “I guess our next step—”

  “Nora?” Zeisha’s quiet voice interrupted her.

  “Yes?”

  “The Well still wants to help us.”

  Nora swallowed, trying to squash the bit of hope that sparked in her heart. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t even know if I’m using the right words. But I’m listening, like the Anya told me to. We need to move. We should be near the king.”

  Nora felt a wry smile tug at her lips. “I’m supposed to be the one who suggests ill-timed confrontations with my father.” She looked between Krey, Ovrun, and Sarza. “We listened to the last Anya. We should listen to this one too.”

  Krey took Zeisha’s hand. “My ankle’s killing me, but I think I can fly. It beats walking. Just give me a few minutes to fuel up.”

  “You’re sure you’re the only feather eater left?” Zeisha murmured into Krey’s ear as they flew low through Deroga’s streets.

  “Unless the army’s got one hidden. They brought three. Nora and I took down two, and Tai
ma incinerated the other.”

  Zeisha shuddered.

  “We need to be quiet,” Krey said. “We’re getting close.”

  She knew he must be relieved. It was the fourth time he’d made this trip, having already carried Nora, Ovrun, and Sarza. And he’d been weak at the start.

  They flew between two tightly spaced buildings, stopping to hover near an alley. Two soldiers, wearing the blue shirts, black pants, and black jackets of the Cellerinian Army, patrolled the area.

  Krey’s back swelled with steady breaths that pressed against Zeisha’s chest. When both soldiers had their backs turned, he flew at top speed across the alley and through the back window of a gray building. Inside, he slowed and hovered close to the ground, letting Zeisha dismount in a large storage room.

  The others waited in a room at the front of the building. Krey didn’t take her there immediately, though. He hovered next to her and murmured, “I still can’t get enough of you flying with me.”

  The statement made her smile, but she felt a deep yearning that had nothing to do with him. The Well itself seemed to be calling to her, begging her to connect with its magic. “Let’s go,” she said.

  Krey flew low, leading her through a doorway and into a huge room filled with shelves, many of them collapsed. This must’ve been a preday store of some sort. It was dusty and smelled of age, dampness, and rotting polymus.

  They reached Nora, Ovrun, and Sarza, who were all huddled behind a counter, near a huge, broken-out window at the front of the building. Krey landed and lay down, propping his foot on a crate. He shoved a few diced feathers in his mouth. Eyes closed, he started chewing.

  Zeisha whispered, “What’s happening out there?”

  “Taima has been sending me pictures,” Nora said, her voice soft. “and we’ve peeked out that window a few times. My father is still in the back of an open wagon, conferring with army officers as they come and go. A dozen royal guards are constantly around him. They’re probably all mind controlled. There’s also a group of soldiers guarding the street, and another group patrolling a larger perimeter.”

  “Okay.” Zeisha took a deep breath, still feeling that strange draw to the Well, but unsure what to do with it. “What’s our goal here?” she asked.

  Nora was uncharacteristically hesitant. She glanced at Ovrun, who gave her an encouraging nod. “We need to capture my father,” she said, “and I need to take his place.”

  Zeisha’s brows rose. “As queen?”

  “Just until he recovers.”

  “If he recovers,” Krey said softly.

  A thud sounded. Zeisha swiveled her head and saw that Sarza had toppled over and was lying on the dusty floor, eyes closed.

  Krey jolted, sitting up. Nora knelt by Sarza, trying to rouse her.

  “It’s okay,” Zeisha said. “It’s a vision. Sometimes she freezes; sometimes she falls over. She’ll be okay.”

  Nora looked up. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s been happening all day,” Ovrun said.

  Nora nodded uncertainly but returned to her seated position. “You remember when we all went to the palace, when Krey . . .” She trailed off, looking at Krey. Her expression softened, which struck Zeisha as odd. Usually when she mentioned anything about Krey’s brain eating, she got angry.

  “Anyway,” Nora continued, returning her attention to Zeisha, “back then, we wanted to take my father from the palace and bring him somewhere private where he could recover. That’s what we need to do now. I’m his legal heir. I’ll return the city to the trogs and clean up the mess in New Therro as well as I can until he’s ready to take his crown again. I . . .” She trailed off, looking down and pressing her lips together. “I don’t feel ready.” Her eyes found Ovrun, and she took his hand. “But I know I’ll have support.”

  “No!”

  The word had come from Sarza, and it was way too loud. In an instant, Nora lurched forward and clamped a hand over the seer’s mouth. “Quiet!” she insisted before removing her hand.

  Sarza sat up and opened her mouth to speak, but Nora shook her head hard, holding up a hand. Sarza stayed silent, looking like she’d explode with whatever she wanted to say.

  Half a minute later, Nora whispered, “Taima says everything’s normal out there, despite your outburst.” She glared at Sarza. “Don’t do that again.”

  “Listen to me, Nora. You can’t forcefully depose your father.”

  “Why not? Besides the obvious difficulty of figuring out how to do it, I mean.”

  “Oh, Zeisha could make it happen.” Sarza’s gaze shifted to the new Anya, and a rare smile took over her face. “You’re gonna do some cool stuff.” She turned back to Nora. “If you steal the crown from your father today, Cellerin may not survive.”

  “It wouldn’t be stealing! I’m the legal heir!” Nora’s whisper had fire in it.

  “You’re not the legal monarch. Your father is. Most of the country has no idea about his crazy brain magic.”

  “You know about that?” Nora blurted.

  “Yeah. I . . . uh . . . I listened to some of your conversations when Krey was locked up.” She waved a hand, as if brushing away the statement. “Listen, Nora, you take your daddy’s crown, and his people will think you’re a stupid, power-hungry teenager. Some people will follow you, sure. But others will do whatever they can to return your father to his position. It’ll get violent.”

  “So what are we supposed to do?” Nora asked.

  “You’re not gonna like it. Hell, I don’t like it.” All Sarza’s breath came out in a sigh that seemed terribly loud. “You gotta negotiate.”

  “Negotiate? What do we have to offer?”

  Again, Sarza smiled. “It’s less about offering . . . and more about threatening.”

  Zeisha sat in a dark corner of the preday store, eyes closed.

  Listening.

  She had no idea how to use the Well or how it might help in their current situation. Her only choice was to hope something—or, as the Anya had said, someone—spoke to her.

  She wished she could sit in the middle of a green meadow, warmed by golden sunlight. She’d breathe the scent of sweet wildflowers and listen to a bubbling spring nearby. That, she thought, would’ve been the perfect way for her to connect with the Well.

  Instead, she was on a dusty floor, breathing the mustiness of bygone years and listening for . . . well, she didn’t quite know what she was listening for. And she was okay with that. Tranquility flowed through her. Even here, she somehow knew that all was well.

  She ran her fingers over the floor. Truth came to her, settling in her mind as if carried there on a soft breeze. The dust that clung to her hands, she realized, was dust from the planet. The oddly sweet mold she smelled was also from Anyari. The air she drew into her lungs was the same air that kept Anyari’s species alive.

  Even in this old store, I feel Anyari.

  As the Anya had performed his magic, making fences of lava, steam, and mud, he’d touched the ground. He’d even placed a bare foot in the dirt at their last location. How can I touch the ground without someone seeing me? Zeisha’s mind slipped in and out of that problem. There was no anxiety in her pondering. The answer was there, she just had to listen.

  An image entered her mind: the Anya, holding his hands up, making the dirt spin. The Anya had used his foot to touch the dirt when he’d made his final shield. But he’d also touched the air. The Well isn’t just in the ground. It’s everywhere.

  Zeisha smiled, though she still didn’t know what it all meant. She held that picture in her mind, of the elderly man creating his spinning fence. She continued to listen for the voice she’d heard all her life, during prayers and times of quiet. Mind still and ready, she drew in deep, soothing breaths of Anyari’s air.

  The same air my friends are breathing. The same air the king is breathing.

  And suddenly, she felt it. The magic of the Well, all around her. She gasped with the wonder of it. This world was brimming with magic. And it was
meant to be used. By her. Today.

  An idea entered her mind. Her first instinct was to reject it. Nothing violent! I won’t use my magic that way! A peaceful, yet urgent assurance filled her mind. The power behind the Well shared her desire to harm no one.

  This might even be fun.

  Eyes still closed, Zeisha stood, drawing in another deep breath. When her eyes slid open at last, she found Krey, Ovrun, Nora, and Sarza all standing nearby, watching her.

  “I have a plan,” she said, smiling.

  Zeisha stood in the old store, eyes closed again, breathing and listening. The Anya had talked a bit while he guided the magic of the Well. But he’d had decades of experience. She didn’t think she could speak a syllable.

  Once again, she sensed the Well’s power in the air, felt its eagerness to come out of its dormant state. Her mind traveled along motes and strands of magic. Though her eyes were closed, she could sense her friends’ locations, even the positions of their bodies, by feeling the air around them. A smile pulled at her lips.

  Zeisha had thought she’d need to stand by a window or something. Now she knew she could perform this whole task right where she was. She followed the magic in the air outside, seeking the king and his mind-controlled guards. Each time she found one, she took control of the air around their face. The actions were new, yet intuitive. She listened and acted. It was thrilling.

  She reached out to the soldiers patrolling the perimeter, even the ones behind the building where she now stood. At last, she was ready. She guided the air’s magic with loving, cautious nudges. The Well responded eagerly, reducing the oxygen in the air around each soldier’s head. Not enough to make them unconscious; that would lead to quick death for some. No, just enough to—

  Laughter sounded outside. One voice, quickly followed by another, then multiplied by ten and more.