by S. C. Monson
The man shook his head. “It’s true.” He pulled two round objects out from under the collar of his double-breasted jacket and held them in his hand. Each was attached to its own cord around his neck; one cord was a silver chain, the other, braided sinew. He slipped them over his head. “Let him be,” he ordered Keasby and Peter, who still had their hands on Kor’s shoulders. “Once he understands the situation, I’m confident his anger for the commander will diminish.”
Keasby released Kor immediately, but Peter leaned in before letting go.
“Martt helped me rescue you,” he whispered. His grip on Kor’s shoulder was firm, his tone warning. “He may not be a friend, but he has proven a worthy ally.”
After a moment, Kor nodded reluctantly.
The monarch dismissed Keasby and Hardison, then beckoned Kor closer. “What do you call yourself, boy?”
The young forester stepped up to the edge of the dais. “Kor.”
“Kor? Hm… And how old are you, Kor?” The doubt in his tone was obvious.
Kor opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again. He had never been able to remember his age.
“Twenty-one, I’d guess,” the monarch said, appraising him. “Though just barely, if the Isle was your first full shift.”
The tips of Kor’s ears grew hot. His smoldering anger for Martt was replaced with a rising annoyance for this man and his probing assumptions and lack of answers.
The monarch opened his hand and let the items in it dangle by their cords. “This was your father’s once,” he said, holding up the one on the sinew cord. “Now it rightfully belongs to you.”
Kor’s gaze riveted on the spiral shape as the monarch held it out to him. There was a tiny gem in it now, but otherwise it looked exactly the same. “My pendant.” He took it and the same feelings of strength, courage, and grounding he’d always felt from his bone piece rushed through him, twofold. But now, accompanied by the clarity from its new gem, the pendant felt whole. Despite his aches and fatigue, Kor’s mind grew sharper. He had healed fairly quickly from his last night on the Isle, but there had still been some residual discomfort in his left side from the close call with the grenade. That eased now.
Nostalgically, Kor ran a finger over the badger head profile etched in the spiraling bone. There was the scoring above and below the eye, but now the tiny new, golden-orange gem was cemented in the indent. Its glowing color and the thread thin cream veins spreading through it looked identical to the gem he’d found on the Isle and seen in Leon’s crown. The almost imperceptible K on the badger’s upper neckline that Kor had scratched there as a boy was still visible. He turned the pendant over. The familiar worn, unevenly-spaced letters of his name were etched into the back.
K O R
He looked up. “How did you—”
The monarch gestured at Martt. “Commander Veen brought it to me.”
Kor glanced at Martt then back at the monarch and felt a strong tingle from the gem in the pendant. Something about the ruler seemed familiar.
Remember your blood. The thought pierced Kor’s mind and he narrowed his eyes at the man. “Who are you?”
The monarch lifted his chin, his gaze boring into Kor. “I am Hysoph Katell, monarch of Nalkara, descendant of the shifters of Caderia. And you, Kayor son of Kollvin, are my grandson—heir to the Badgerblood throne and last in a long line of shifters.”
40
“Grandson?” Kor’s jaw dropped at the declaration. It was unsettling enough that this stranger seemed to know more about him than he knew of himself. Now the man was claiming blood relations.
But deep down, the truth of it resonated with Kor. Goosebumps rose on his skin. The thrumming in his bones returned, though he tried to push it away. “My past is a mystery, even to me,” he said stubbornly. “How can you be certain I am who you say?”
“Only firstborn descendants of the Nalkaran royal family are capable of shifting.” Hysoph said it as though it was obvious.
Kor shook his head, confused. “I’m from Perabon.”
“Your father married Princess Eliese of Perabon,” Hysoph said. “You were born there.”
“And where is he now? You claim I am Kayor, son of Kollvin. Where is my father to prove it, or my mother?” Kor’s tone was defiant, demanding, but his heart felt heavy. He thought he knew the answer.
“Both dead,” Hysoph said, confirming his suspicions. “Until recently, I believed your father’s death was nothing more than a hunting mishap. But now…” He gestured at Martt.
The commander drew a leather envelope from his jacket and held it out. Kor took it and flipped through the stack of tattered notes within. As he read, he muttered snippets of each one aloud. “Men will rise when kings fall… Wealth untold once deed is done… Kollvin hunting in fortnight. Accidents happen…” His expression darkened and he glanced up. “What is this?”
“Proof that your father’s death was no accident,” Hysoph said. “Proof that—”
“Leon killed my father,” Kor said, filling in the blanks.
“And proof,” Peter added, “that you are the rightful heir.”
Kor turned on him. “You knew?”
“I suspected who you were, but could never be certain,” Peter said calmly. “You hadn’t shifted before the Isle—leastways, not that I had seen—and I didn’t feel I could take you to Nalkara on an unproven fancy. But, now I’ve seen you shift…” He shrugged a shoulder. “Well, you’re here.”
Kor’s jaw tensed. For years, he’d known nothing of his past and the gap in his memories had haunted him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“If you really were the prince, I didn’t think Leon would welcome you back. And I doubted you’d act rationally, knowing a man you loathed—one who wasn’t technically the rightful ruler—was sitting on the throne starving the people—your friends. I feared you’d try to confront Leon on your own or start a revolt with a few weak, inexperienced villagers to dethrone the king, and then get yourself killed. Now you have allies, family, to help. We were already planning to go to Nalkara when I first saw you shift. You didn’t seem to realize you’d shifted, so I thought it would be easier to leave the explaining to King Hysoph.”
“And now that you can shift,” Hysoph said, “you can reclaim the throne—carry on where your father left off, and inherit Nalkara as well. Yours would be a kingdom to rival Salkar’s,” he said proudly.
A little overwhelmed by the influx of information and potential responsibility, and still uncertain about his lineage, Kor threw up his hands. “But I can’t shift.”
Hysoph leaned forward in his seat, a bright determined glint in his eye. “Why don’t you put on the pendant, boy, and try.”
41
“No, no, no.” Hysoph pounded his armrest with a fist. “You’re resisting. Allow the pendant to enhance the strength within. Feel the pull, embrace it. Keep your chest out, shoulders back.”
Kor leaned forward, panting, one hand on his knee, the other clutching the ache in his left side. The pendant swung forward between his loosened neckstrings. His sleeves were rolled up. His jacket lay on the edge of the dais before him, the envelope of notes beside it. As the prickly sensation in his skin returned, he squeezed his eyes shut against it. The restless buzzing in his bones persisted, making them throb. He trembled all over. The gem and bone pendant together made his discomfort more bearable than either had separately, but they didn’t completely eliminate it.
“I don’t think this gem-thing is working,” Kor said, holding up the pendant.
“Titian stone,” Hysoph corrected. “The stone offers clarity, often prompting thoughts and actions, preventing you from losing yourself in the badgerskin on long shifts. The carved badgerbone bolsters strength and courage. Both help ground you to reality. Together they form the shifter’s pendant.”
“If shifter’s pendants need to be carved by shifters to work,” Kor said, referencing a bit of information Hysoph had told him earlier, “won’t Leon notice his is a fake? Won’
t he realize it feels…empty?”
It was Martt who answered. “I carved a convincing copy.” The commander stood in front of the dais. “Leon had already cemented that titian stone into your pendant before I replaced it. So I could add one to the copy without drawing suspicion. That titian stone will feel enough to fool him and cover the lack of feeling from the bone.”
Hysoph nodded in agreement. “Titian stones can work independently from shifter-carved badger bone, for shifters and non-shifters alike, even if a little more weakly.”
“How do I know this isn’t a copy?” Kor eyed his pendant dubiously.
“You’d know,” Hysoph said. “Shifters can feel the difference between a true pendant and a fake.”
“But I ache all over—the pain, the needles, are still there.”
“Your…afflictions will not always be taken away completely. Shifting is made stronger by adversity. Now try again—shift.”
Kor sat down beside his jacket on the dais and glanced at the envelope of notes.
“I said shift, boy, not sit.”
“It’s been an hour,” Kor said. “Nothing’s happened.”
“Shifting can be difficult to control for beginners without proper training and preparation,” said the monarch. “It forces its hand when you push it away and refuses to come when beckoned.”
Kor leaned forward and ran his hands through his hair wearily. “Maybe this shifting gift skipped me and passed to someone else.”
“I saw you shift, lad,” Peter said. He was sitting on the other side of Kor’s jacket, one leg stretched out before him.
“Hallucination,” Kor suggested.
“Three times?” Peter sounded doubtful. “Hardison and Keasby saw you shift the last time, too.”
Kor shrugged. “Group hallucination?”
“Shifting always goes to the firstborn, Kayor,” Hysoph said. “My sister was a firstborn. She manifested the powers, but died before marrying. The gift passed to me when I came of age. It only passes to the next in line if the firstborn dies before having offspring. But you’re not dead, are you? And the only sibling you have is a half brother, on your mother’s side.”
“Merrick,” Kor said. Hysoph had touched on the subject earlier.
“Now, remember my instructions,” Hysoph said. “You must feel the pull, embrace it. Stand and try again.”
Still, Kor didn’t move. “I’m tired.”
Hysoph sighed. “Is he always this obstinate?”
“Usually,” Peter replied dryly.
The monarch grunted. There was a rustle and the steady click of boots on wood behind Kor as he rose and spoke again. “Perhaps if we recreate the circumstances leading up to his first shifts, invoke the same feelings…” The pacing stopped. “Tell me what happened before his first shifts.”
Peter rubbed the stubble on his chin. During the last days on the boat, he had allowed it to start growing again. His hair was still straw-blonde from the last bleach, but the roots were showing black, and he no longer kept it in a bun. “Before the first, he’d been dangled in the ocean at the end of a chain. By the end, he was half drowned, but breathing, with a few broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. The second time, he’d been fighting Rimak on the fortress wall—fire on one side, death drop on the other. He leapt off the wall into our ship and finished shifting mid-jump. I think he broke a few bones when he landed, but of course they mostly knitted together again before he shifted back. And the third time was on the boat, after he’d nearly drowned in the ocean during a storm.”
“So, pain and life-threatening danger,” Hysoph mused. “Both common elements leading up to shifting in beginners. But we can’t very well throw him off a wall or drown him in the ocean, now, can we?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Peter said, sounding intrigued. “I wouldn’t object.”
There was a brief silence, before Hysoph finally rejected the idea. “No, better not.” He sounded disappointed. The click of boots on the wooden dais resumed. After a moment, the pacing stopped again abruptly. “Kayor wasn’t wearing the pendant when he shifted, was he?” It was almost a statement. His tone was eager, pensive.
“No,” Peter said.
“Of course not,” Hysoph agreed. “Either King Leon or I had it. I wonder…” He snapped his fingers. “Kayor, give me the pendant.”
Kor absently slipped it over his head and handed it to the monarch, his eyes on the envelope of tattered notes on the dais. Without the bone piece, he felt the clarity leave and his strength weaken. The tiredness and aches permeated every inch of his body more strongly.
“The pendant grounds shifters to reality,” Hysoph told Peter, taking the pendant from Kor. “Sometimes it grounds beginners too well. They cling to it, hide behind it instead of embracing its power with their own. That suppresses their gift.” He paused. “Suppose we try a duel?”
“I’m afraid I’d be no help in one today,” Peter said, massaging his leg. “My injury is flaring up again—still healing, unlike some people’s.” He glared pointedly across at Kor.
Kor ignored him and picked up the envelope of notes. “Where did you find these?”
“Leon’s quarters,” Martt said.
His suspicion growing, Kor narrowed his eyes. “You caught and tortured me for Leon. Why should I believe a word you say?”
The commander glanced away, nodding. “You have every reason to doubt me. Your capture and torture was—regrettable. But, I’m a soldier. Soldiers follow orders. They swear allegiance to their kings. Besides, you were wanted for murder, and you could have stolen the pendant. Can you really blame me for my actions?”
Kor pressed his lips together and didn’t respond.
Sighing, Martt looked away. “Leon told me you fell down a ravine as a child and drowned in the forest river. I believed him. There was no reason not to. But when I saw the entirety of your scar, then your partial manifestation and Leon’s response to it all, I sensed something was amiss.” At last he met Kor’s gaze. “A just king with nothing to hide would have welcomed you back, restored your title.”
Kor scoffed. “Leon has never been just.”
“Perhaps not, but until then I believed he was the rightful ruler. In order to secure help from King Hysoph in rescuing you, I needed proof beyond my word. So, I made plans to search Leon’s quarters after your sentencing. Meanwhile, I couldn’t let you die, but I also couldn’t risk raising Leon’s suspicions.”
“So you suggested the Isle instead,” Kor said. “I nearly died there anyway.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I had friends who did.”
“Unfortunate,” Martt said, “but unavoidable, given the nature of the place.”
The envelope in Kor’s hand crinkled in his grip. “Unfortunate?” he said through gritted teeth. “Rimak killed them.”
“Rimak is a mercenary. He serves the highest bidder.”
“And you?” Kor tossed the notes on the dais and shot to his feet. “Who’s paying you?”
“You might need this,” Hysoph cut in cheerfully. He held the silver pommel of his sword out to Kor. Kor took it without hesitating.
“Money doesn’t buy my loyalty,” Martt said quietly, drawing his own.
Kor lunged.
The commander parried the attack and leapt lightly aside, rapping Kor’s temple with the flat of his sword. Kor staggered sideways, head ringing. Instantly, Martt feinted another side swing at his head and Kor brought up his blade to block. In that moment, Martt dropped his sword and slashed Kor’s side instead.
Grunting, Kor stumbled back, clutching his ribs. He glanced down to see red staining the tear in his shirt. It didn’t look serious, but the pricking in his skin increased with the sting of the cut.
“Remember what I told you, boy,” Hysoph called from the dais. “Embrace the pull.”
Kor tried to focus on the fight, but the prickling in his flesh grew stronger, distracting him like his grandfather’s instructions. Martt was advancing now, making a vertica
l moulinet with his sword, spinning the blade in a full circle at his side. As he drew closer, he chopped down at Kor diagonally, first from the right, then the left, then from the right again. Under the onslaught Kor was driven back across the room toward the curtained wall. His breathing came quick and shallow as he struggled to block each overhead attack.
“Regulate, regulate,” Hysoph said, pacing the dais. He sounded like a tutor irritated at a slothful student. “Breathing is key. Remember to breathe in on the shift, out on the shift back. Proper timing decreases the discomfort of shifting.”
Kor gritted his teeth in annoyance and tried to slow his breathing, but his chest was heaving. Anger, pain, and exhaustion muddled his mind. After nearly an hour trying to shift and now without the pendant, his stamina was waning.
Martt, on the other hand, seemed tireless, flicking aside counterattacks and working around parries with an ease that startled Kor. The commander grinned, noticing Kor’s flagging strength as they fought.
“Shifter’s fatigue,” he said, keeping his own breathing frustratingly strong and regular. “I hear it happens after removing a pendant. I believe it’s worse for beginners.” With that he easily parried a side cut and swung his blade in an overhand attack.
The blades clashed as Kor thrust up his sword to block. Martt’s weapon slid down his. Steel screeched against steel until the hilts locked. They wrestled in place a moment, thick drapes of velvet bunching under their boots as they edged closer to the wall. Then Kor shoved against Martt. The commander fell back a step and kicked out unexpectedly, catching Kor in the stomach. Kor slammed back against the curtained wall, winded. An impatient throbbing beat at his bones as though seeking an outlet, and shuddering dark lines appeared in his vision.
In an instant, Martt was on him again, pinning his sword against his chest. His blade dug into Kor’s shoulder. Arms shaking with the effort, Kor gritted his teeth and pushed back.
“I wouldn’t bother,” Martt said, grinning.
Anger barrelled up through Kor at the words. Martt had used the same phrase when he’d first captured him outside the forest. They seemed to mock the months of pain and misery Kor had endured on the Isle.