Shift of Shadow and Soul (SoulShifter Book 1)

by Hilary Thompson

  “I’ll send a message if I see the Vespa again,” she said, then turned and jogged across the plain, toward a gap in the far cliffs. Sy knew that way lead back to the women’s village, so all he could do was stare after her.

  There was a distinct sensation that she’d pulled him here on purpose, as though luring an animal from its den to learn its secrets. His face stretched into a grin at the realization that she was a skilled hunter as well.

  He explored the perimeter of the plain a few minutes longer, staying in the shadow of the cliff in case the creature reappeared. But there was nothing.

  Just as he’d reached the path leading back to camp, though, he heard a creature’s screech, and it was a sound he would always know. A sound that was imprinted in the survival part of his brain. He should run away. Far away.

  But even as the flight adrenaline coursed through him, Sy’s logical brain insisted there was no way a Vespa was on the island.

  But he heard it again. And then something else: a human shriek.

  His feet began running before he told them to, seeking the sound.

  His heart nearly exploded when he rounded a corner and found a full-grown Vespa flapping at the air, and Corentine pinned against a rocky outcropping on the smaller plain, just where he had cornered her the previous day. The water could never save her now. The Vespa had begun circling her, rising higher in the air with each revolution.

  Hunters called it the death spiral, and nobody survived the creature’s plummet - often the impact burst their bodies open.

  Sy aimed his bow sword and trained it on the Vespa, waiting for it to reach full height and begin to speed back toward the plain. He would only get one shot, and he must not pull the trigger too early, or the arrow would not fly high enough.

  Why didn’t she run? It wouldn’t have made a difference, but he thought she would at least try to save herself.

  The creature screamed in triumph and dove, a blur of swollen belly and shimmering white wings. Corentine yelled back wordlessly, cracking her whip at the air.

  Instinct born from years of training pulled the trigger of the bow sword, and Sy’s arrow flew true, aimed directly at the creature’s heart.

  Then the Vespa vanished.

  A pop resonated through the air, bouncing off the cliffs, and a shimmer of dust and iridescent droplets rained down on the quiet plain. The unused arrow clattered to the ground.

  The Vespa was gone. Disappeared. And Corentine was slumped back against the rock like a sacrifice.

  Sy sprinted to her, a dark shroud of confusion and fear hazing across his soul.

  And somewhere deep in the southern Sulit woods, far beyond where the MagiSea drained into the Hungry River, a heart began to beat again. A pale pink leaf drifted down from the trees above, followed by another, until the colors of sunrise papered the ground.

  A woman - a witch - so ancient and unmoving as to have nearly melted into the ground where she waited, keeping watch over the heart, began to cackle. The sound started as a dry whisper, the air pushing cobwebs from her throat until the noise grew to reach even the starbirds perched in the branches above.

  “It begins,” she rasped, stroking a long, dirty fingernail across the crystal box where the heart lay, shuddering in its struggle to regain rhythm.

  A snakka thicker around than a man’s waist, fangs glistening in the half-light of the forest floor, wound its way around her elbow. She bent to whisper to it, and to the dust-dulled crowen that hopped onto her knee.

  “Tell the others.”

  Chapter 5

  Coren blinked her eyes open, groaning against the too-bright sun. All she remembered was the Vespa, diving with its golden claws aimed for her heart. How was she still alive? A face came into focus above her, and her heart plummeted.

  What was that boy doing here? Syashin. First Son.

  She would be so mad if she had survived a Vespa attack only to need the help of some boy - some entitled General’s son.

  His face disappeared and she felt fingers brush along her ankle. Panic sent her scrabbling against the rock, but she still couldn’t move. Pain rocked her body as she realized the problem - her ankle was still wedged between two rocks.

  He made a shushing noise, and she gritted her teeth. Coren could tell he was trying to be gentle, and she tried to hate him for it. With a final scraping of skin, her ankle wrenched free. She let go of the breath she hadn’t meant to keep, along with a curse she hadn’t meant to say.

  He turned his face, but not before she had glimpsed a hint of a smile.

  “What happened to the Vespa?” she managed, scooting a few inches away from him.

  He stared down at her, his face nearly blacked out by the fierce yellow of the afternoon sun behind him. “I don’t know,” he said, his tone flat and careful. “It’s gone.”

  “Then I need to go before it comes back.” She pushed herself standing and tested her ankle. The skin was raw, but she should be able to walk. Yet she took two steps and dizziness washed over her, rolling her eyes into her skull.

  Coren lurched forward, and the boy caught her against his broad chest, his arms warm and strong around her waist. He lowered her to the ground, leaning her against the rock as gently as though she were a small child, and this time she did hate him for it.

  “Just sit here a bit, okay?” he asked. “That Vespa isn’t coming back.”

  “Why not?” Swallowing back a lump of nausea, Coren curled into herself. She sensed him crouched next to her, and her body tensed. She was in no shape to defend herself from a hunter of women. But he didn’t move to touch her again.

  “Here. Drink this.” He set a small water skin in the grass and settled back against the rock. It smelled faintly of lemondrine and salt. Surprisingly, the scent alone seemed to calm her whirling insides, and she took a small drink, finding it tasted mostly like fresh water. The rest of the cool liquid slid down easily, and as she removed the empty skin from her lips, she caught him watching her with a curious expression.

  “Better?” Syashin asked. His eyes were darker than she remembered, like storm clouds over the ocean.

  Coren nodded. “Thank you. For coming back, I mean.” She felt her cheeks flush, and then she really hated him.

  “What else would I do?” he asked, and his voice was so soft she could barely hear it. But of course he was right - the hunters were sworn to protect the women. Paladins supposedly welcomed the chance to battle with creatures such as Vespa.

  Coren got up, more slowly this time, testing her stomach, her ankle, her head. But all was good. She stretched, feeling like she could sprint across the plains. Then a sense of what had just happened between them began to creep into her conscious, and nerves strummed across her belly.

  “What will you tell the General?” she asked, working to keep her voice as flat as his.

  “Nothing. There is no Vespa,” he said, and his mouth closed in a firm, straight line. He reached to retrieve the water skin, then stood. “Do you want me to walk you to the village?”

  Corentine blinked at him. Men were not allowed in the women’s village. What was he playing at? “No. I’m fine.”

  She turned and hurried toward the gap in the rocks that would take her home. She knew he wasn’t following, but she felt his eyes on her back until she slipped through the rocks. It was already near dinner time, and she hurried as she neared the village.

  Sy didn’t go straight back to the men’s camp, choosing instead to roam the beaches where the hunts took place. He stared out at the sparkling MagiSea, trying to make a plan and failing. The white-gold sand was warm from the day’s sun and seemed to stretch into the setting sun, golden-orange on the dark water. The cliffs here were higher, too, much of the rock slick and flat from the waves.

  Creatures in general didn’t vanish, but that Vespa had disappeared. Dust and droplets didn’t fall from the sky unless a storm was ripping the island, yet it was as though the bird had been pulled apart, source by source. And lemondrine with salt wate
r wasn’t appealing to most people, but Corentine had drained his secret water skin and looked better for it.

  He’d never seen anything like it. The lemondrine tonic was a Sulit secret…was the rest?

  Sy knew SourceShifting had once been so much more than his ability to move water into a cup. Damren claimed a powerful shifter could be as destructive as separating the very matter of the world, but he’d never seen anything beyond the simple tasks she set him, as her power had weakened to nearly nothing over the years.

  He knew his father still prayed for the return of magic, but he also knew Ashemon feared it, dreaded what would happen to the Weshen if the magic arrived too late, or with too little effect to shield them from the king. And so it was with this in mind that Sy had never shown his shifting to the General.

  Eventually hunger drove him to the tents, and he quietly filled a plate from the common table. Nobody seemed to notice as he slipped away to sit in the tall palmpress grasses, their plumes waving gently above his head.

  He had nearly finished the brown bread and grilled meat when he heard his father’s voice, and Tag’s, as they walked the nearby path. Sy slid down farther into the grass, not interested in giving his report on the Vespa just yet.

  He still hadn’t worked out what he could say to avoid creating more suspicion.

  “What do you make of this creature report?” Tag asked Ashemon, confirming Sy’s worry.

  “I’ve seen nothing to indicate a creature could be on the island. The girl likely overheard someone telling stories and is seeking attention. Who could know the motivations of a young girl’s heart?” General Ashemon answered, but his tone sounded strained. They had stopped just beyond Sy, and he barely breathed for fear of being discovered. “Have you seen Syashin tonight?”

  “No,” Tag answered. “But Resh mentioned he’d been with him at dinner.”

  Sy grinned. Resh would lie for him even when unasked. The brothers may not get along on everything, but when it came to the General’s requests, they were united.

  “Sir,” Tag began after a few moments’ silence, “I’d like to respectfully ask you to reconsider sending a party to rescue those Wesh. So many-”

  “No, Tagsha. I’ve made my decision. It is regretful, and I will mourn the further destruction of our bloodlines, but it’s simply too dangerous to provoke the king like that. Our duty is to protect the Weshen here, on our island and in our city.”

  Sy heard Tag sigh, disappointment audible even through the waving grasses, and he nearly leaned up and showed himself. He wanted to know more of what they were talking about.

  He knew the Wesh were the half-blood and quarter-blood descendants of the Weshen who had once lived freely in Riata. Sy had met a few still living in hiding in EvenFall, and some were still locked away with the Restless King’s Alchemists.

  But why would a group of them need rescue, and danger or not, why would his father be so set against it? Was this decision based on a cowardly fear of the king?

  The older men moved on, walking farther down the beach, and Sy rose carefully from his hiding spot, winding his way in the shadows to the General’s empty tent.

  “Hello, brother,” a whisper in the dusk greeted him just as he lifted the tent flap.

  “Resh,” Sy said, straightening, but not letting go of the fabric.

  “Father General is not in there,” Resh said. “But you weren’t looking for him, were you?”

  “I’m looking for something else,” Sy admitted. “Help me keep watch.”

  “Will you share the spoils?” Resh asked, considering.

  Sy huffed and ducked inside the tent, reaching for a candle. Resh grinned and followed him inside. “I’ll help you look, but I’m no watchguard.”

  Sy sifted through the papers on Ashemon’s desk, looking for anything with the word Wesh. In spite of his words, Resh merely lounged in their father’s chair, toying with a dagger. Finally, tucked into a journal of scribbled battle notes and hastily-drawn maps, Sy found a communication from one of the guards he knew worked undercover in EvenFall.

  “This is it,” he whispered. “Let’s go before he comes back.” He snuffed the candle and slipped out of the tent.

  Once back in their tent with a new candle, he read the paper aloud to Resh.

  General Ashemon, Sir,

  I have come into information on a group of ten or more Wesh, traveling from MatinsHold to the new auction house in EvenFall. These Wesh were gathered from the northern nobility, and though there are no reports on their abilities or health, they are indeed our people. It’s an unheard-of torture to see our people reduced to the treatment of animals, and I respectfully request that you send a contingent of men to aid in their rescue and return to Weshen City.

  Your servant,

  Denesh Parken

  “Let me guess,” Resh said, stretching out on Sy’s bed. “You want to skip out on the pleasures of summer hunts and go rescue these Riatan mutts.”

  Sy ignored his brother’s careless slur as he sifted through the other papers. One was a corner of a map, showing a route traced between the two cities, with a few spots marked as appropriate for ambush. The others were a handful of sketches, showing individual people, their faces unsmiling and lean. Were these the Wesh themselves? Sy studied the drawings for so long that Resh grew bored and snatched them away.

  “You’ll never be allowed to go, and we both know you won’t sneak away. Let our Father General take care of the mess.”

  “I heard him talking to Tag. They aren’t going to send anyone. These people are slaves, Resh. They have Weshen blood, and they’re going to be sold like animals.”

  Resh’s eyes burned in the candle’s light. “You think I don’t understand? I may enjoy a girl or two and drink more than I need, but I am no traitor to our blood. But the grandmothers of these Wesh were traitors. They lived happily in Riata, and they bedded Riatan men. Not out of some noble love, and certainly not to protect the magic. No, they squandered our blood just like the king’s army. It’s their fault that the Sacrifice was even necessary.”

  “Many of them had no choice,” Sy insisted. “The king seduced many of our people to his land, only to turn on them in an instant.”

  Resh only stood straighter. “Still, you forget your duty, Sy. If the General says no, I say no. That is how Weshen work, Sy. If you don’t obey him, the men will never obey you.”

  Sy noticed an anger in his brother’s tone that made him wonder if Resh were only speaking of these papers. A tickle of pride snaked up his spine and his eyes slitted at Resh’s insinuation.

  “Our father may be more cautious than we are,” Resh continued, “but he’s kept our people safe all this time, and his father before, and his before that. One day it will be your job, and you’d do well to learn which battles can be won and which will only be suicide.”

  And with that, Resh gathered the papers and stomped out of the tent. Seething, Sy barely resisted running after his brother to retrieve the papers. If the General found them snooping, they would be put under watch like children until the summer was over, and he needed freedom to move about the island, especially after what he’d seen today with Corentine.

  Returning, Resh said, “I’ve put everything back. You’re welcome.”

  “Do you never question our father?” Sy asked, blood still coursing too quickly in his veins.

  “Of course, but it does no good.” Resh bent and drew two cups from his trunk, along with a bottle of brown liquid.

  “If things were different, it would,” Sy said, turning to pace the narrow tent.

  “But things are the same, Sy. Always the same. Here,” he said, handing Sy the mug. “Drink to our fallen brothers, and pray no more may die.”

  Sy glared over the rim of the mug, but he did drink. Prayer was needed, of course, and obedience to a strong leader. But sometimes so was action, and suddenly it was as though his role and Resh’s were reversed. Seeing the Vespa today made him feel reckless, and the sloth of these summer da
ys seeded a restlessness he hadn’t felt in years.

  He knew better than most how the Magi had begun to answer prayers for renewed protection. He knew better than most that things were not the same, and he wondered if his father and brother would accept the magic once they learned his secret, or continue to fear it.

  Downing the rest of the liquor, Sy counseled himself to be patient. For now, the secret should stay kept.

  Maren sat alone at her table, peering into the bits of tea leaf in the bottom of her empty cup. A tawny catten purred on the stool next to hers, and Maren petted its silky back absently.

  There had been a death today. She could see it with the borrowed Sulit spell and swirl of the lemondrine leaves.

  A retribution, of sorts. Maren smiled, an image of Neshra appearing clearer in her mind than in many years. Even if it wasn’t the same Vespa, she felt he was finally avenged.

  Then another thought entered. In her haste to celebrate, she had nearly forgotten. Maren swirled the leaves again, counterclockwise with the drops of liquid in the cup, and her expression darkened. The cycle was not complete, not even close. Instead, the circle in her cup was more of a ripple, with ever-expanding consequences.

  In spite of all Sorenta’s secrecy and Maren’s cloaking spell, Corentine’s shifter magic had awoken today, and now she must be told the last of her mother’s secrets.

  Soon other magic would begin to awaken, and then the General would have a decision to make. Maren wasn’t certain he would be strong enough to choose wisely, and so she knew she must ready herself.

  The Weshen magic was born to bring light into the shadows and darkness. But it had always been both a curse and a blessing in the cycle of power, for the strongest light creates the darkest shadows.

  Maren rose and set about preparations, including packing clothes for tomorrow, making pineberry cookies, and preparing more tea. Her help would be needed, and soon.