Shift of Shadow and Soul (SoulShifter Book 1)

by Hilary Thompson

  “How long?” she whispered. She knew little of Weshen magic, but control over matter - sources - this was more than Maren’s Sulit spells.

  “All my life, dear.”

  “But why…” The magic wasn’t returning. For Maren, it had never left. Were there others then?

  “There is no-one else now, at least not among the women,” Maren answered, her odd skill of hearing the unspoken barely registering this time. The water, lemondrine, and salt surged together again and poured itself back into the mug.

  Maren set it down on the garden wall and fixed Coren in her blue eyes, storm-dark and piercingly honest.

  “It’s time for me to give you my story. When I was a young woman, I went to school in Riata for a time. I knew many Sulit witches. When we were forced into the Sacrifice, I feared what would happen if all the magic were taken, and no-one was left to teach a new generation. So I asked my closest Sulit friend for a cloaking spell, and I hid my shifter magic from the elders.”

  Coren felt her mind spinning, feeling like her world was about to tip off the edge of the cliff from her dreams. “Why-”

  “When Sorenta came crawling through the passage, orphaned and rage-filled and already so, so powerful, I decided to cloak her budding magic, too. I did it out of selfishness, and fear of loneliness, and perhaps love for her mother, who was also once a good friend. So we alone kept our magic. But the Sulit spells are insidious. They have a way of taking over, crusting like barnacles over rocks. Our magic was cloaked, but over time it dulled, like a muscle that has atrophied.”

  “So Jyesh…what he did…” Coren managed, gulping back a half-sob.

  Maren nodded. “Was shifter magic. I think when you and Jyesh were born, the magic did indeed transfer to both of you. But instead of Sorenta’s magic increasing to share with you like it should have, the Sulit spell sliced it in half. That was the beginning of her madness, as though half her soul was stripped away. Then when Kosh and Penna were born, there was nothing left inside of her.”

  Coren slid down the garden wall, her legs folding beneath her in the dirt. “Then why did my father leave her, in her weakest moment?” she asked, because she couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Why did he desert us?”

  Maren knelt beside Coren, a soft hand resting on her shoulder. “To find a remedy, dear. He loved Sorenta so, so much.”

  “More than his own children. We needed him!” Coren bit out, blinking tears of hurt and anger from the corners of her eyes. But she knew nothing would have changed if he had stayed. Kashar couldn’t have stayed on the island to raise them.

  Then something else occurred to her, knifing through the self-pity. “That’s why I must never be claimed, isn’t it. Because my magic will be cut in two, like hers.” She glanced up in time to see Maren frown and nod. Her mother’s words began their well-worn steps through her mind: your family will lose everything.

  “She prayed you would find and keep your magic until the Sacrifice was reversed. And now here you are,” Maren said, something like a proud smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  “But the Sacrifice hasn’t been reversed,” Coren said, her nerves strumming. “If I’m found out, I’ll be banished just like Jyesh.”

  Maren sighed and turned her eyes to the sky. “I won’t let that happen.”

  “It happened to him,” Coren whispered, shutting her eyes and locking away the memories.

  “But we didn’t know - we didn’t even realize the magic had passed into his blood until that very day,” Maren said, a raspy catch in her throat. “I won’t let it happen to you,” she repeated.

  Just then Penna burst through the nearby rows of plants, Kosh following close behind. The air around them seemed to swirl and shimmer as they wove through Maren’s vegetables and chickens.

  Maren made a noise that was open to interpretation, just as Coren sighed and pushed to her feet. She’d gained the sort of knowledge today that could change her world forever, but instead of powerful, she only felt heavier and more tired, The burden of this new secret weighted her like the stones Sorenta had filled her pockets with, just before diving from the cliffs of Weshen Isle.

  Nothing was ever enough, and everything was always too much.

  “Are we going home tonight?” Kosh asked, leaning in to squeeze her waist. Coren nodded absently, and they scampered away to gather their things.

  “Do you remember the cloaking spell?” Coren asked when the twins were out of sight.

  Maren nodded. “But I need a few days to prepare it. Go home. Rest. You need to be in control of your emotions - calm - for the spell to work properly. That was always a problem in your family,” Maren added, a shadow of sorrow passing over her lined face.

  Coren hesitated, wanting more information, but she sensed Maren was not ready to give it.

  Perhaps the old woman was right, and things would be taken care of with a little rest and a spell.

  Or perhaps Coren was right, and they had already begun the slow slide from the cliffs of Weshen Isle.

  The shifter magic was simply a new puzzle for her to worry into submission. In the meantime, she had the hunts to plan for.

  She despised feeling weak instead of strong. Standing tall was her only defense against the unfair blows life seemed determined to throw her way. So, because she had learned that even pretend strength helped defeat real weakness, she left Maren and strode after the twins, out of Maren’s garden and down the rocky path toward the village.

  Resh stalked behind his father, silent as a shadow. It was several minutes before the old man noticed him in the dusk.

  “Reshra, did you need something?” he asked, turning to examine his Second Son.

  “I’ve heard a rumor, and I want it confirmed.”

  The General’s brows drew together and his shoulders squared. Resh knew he hated being questioned directly, and that was precisely what he had set out to do tonight. If Resh played the game well enough, his father would spill his secrets before his son’s blood.

  “The boats of food for the women come tomorrow, correct?” Resh began.

  Ashemon nodded, crossing his arms before him. “That is hardly a rumor.”

  “That is hardly my main request. Once the boats are here, send me back to Weshen City with a few men. Let me find the Wesh slaves and bring them home.” Despite what he’d said to Sy about the Wesh, rescuing them would increase their numbers in much more useful ways than the children toddling the island.

  “How do you know about that?” the General asked, his voice low and dangerous.

  Resh kept his eyes steady, merely shrugging. “I listen when people speak, even if they aren’t speaking to me. So you confirm there are Wesh slaves traveling to EvenFall?”

  “The mission is suicide, Reshra,” he answered, his posture finally slumping. Resh narrowed his eyes at his father’s weakness. “The route is filled with places to die, and though I wish we could collect all the Weshen blood here and protect it, I must be true to those who have served me their whole life.”

  “And so the Restless King wins again,” Resh taunted, baiting the cowardice into the weak moonlight. He noticed Ashemon’s fists clench, and he prepared to sidestep a blow.

  But Ashemon only turned away. “Say nothing of this to anyone, Reshra. Especially your brother. Let nothing distract him from the hunts this summer, and when we return to the city, I promise I will send someone to investigate further.”

  “By then they will be sold and scattered. Why do we hunt for infant heirs when we could be rescuing an army from Riata?” Resh asked before he thought better of it. Ashemon whirled on him, gripping his son’s finely-made collar.

  “It is all I am willing to offer. I will not sacrifice full-blooded Weshen.”

  Resh held, never blinking, never flinching, and soon Ashemon let him go. “I’ll watch over Sy,” he said, smoothing his shirt again. He had heard the implication in his father’s voice. Shifter magic had always traveled in Weshen blood. The more blood, the more magic, or s
o the elders claimed.

  All Resh understood was that his father was choosing to save the potential for magic over the real increase in numbers. Choosing to wait and pray for more instead of acting with what he’d been given already.

  The General turned his face to the rising moon. “He needs an heir, Reshra. The men…they talk.”

  Resh eyed the General, hating the weakness in his father’s admission.“I know what they say. Remember, my General. I listen when people speak.”

  “Then listen to me. Forget about the Wesh. The Magi will help us survive, and until our power returns, my job is to keep the blood flowing in our veins, not spilling on the ground.”

  Resh nodded, though he felt like spitting at his father’s feet. The man cared too much for the promise of magic. Resh was prayerful, but he drew the line at superstition.

  The old men of the city grew fat waiting for a fairy tale to come true, while more of their people died in a war the Restless King still fought. And Resh feared his brother would be no better as General, as Sy clung to the hope that the magic would return, along with the love.

  Resh shook his head. When examining history instead of fireside tales, the stories showed time and again that the one who acted first had advantage over the one who waited for the action to come.

  Coren allowed the twins to run ahead of her on their path back to the women’s village, giving her time to think on what she should do next about the magic she potentially possessed, the summer’s continuing hunts, and the persistent First Son.

  Unlike Sorenta, Coren was not interested in dying. Did she have the power to do what Jyesh had done? She shuddered, thinking about how she may have already done it to the Vespa.

  Until the cloaking spell was ready, she must be ready to protect herself from the one person who had seen her shift.

  The house was quiet when she entered. Penna and Kosh had already tumbled into bed, groggy with sleep. Coren pushed Penna’s limp hair from her forehead and dropped a kiss there. Kosh’s arm dangled from the side of the bed, and she lifted it back to rest on his small round belly.

  Her attention snagged on the snakka fangs, glinting on the table. She needed information about Sy, and they would be a good bribe for someone who was poised to share such secrets. This, at least, was a task she could accomplish tonight. Gritting her teeth against the decision, she started out the door, walking toward Amden’s house.

  As luck would have it, Amden was outside her home, scattering feed for her chickens. A chair with sewing on it rested near the door, and when Coren glanced at the fabric, she realized it was a baby blanket. Amden was also wearing a ridiculous skirt, banded high on her ribs and full enough to hide her figure, fashioned of delicate lace and a netted fabric that floated around her ankles and shone like spiderwebs.

  A gift from Weshen City, expensive enough to be from a General’s son.

  “Are you with child?” Coren asked, then realized it sounded too blunt. She didn’t say anything to soften the question, though.

  Amden only laughed and glared up at Coren. “I certainly hope so. I have lain with the General’s son enough times to make him an army of heirs.”

  “Syashin,” Coren said. This was not the sort of secret she had hoped for.

  Amden snorted. “No, the other. Reshra. Syashin is the First Son, but he prefers boys.” She giggled, although spreading rumors like this could mean punishment. Weshen were not expressly forbidden from choosing their own kind once they had provided heirs, but it cut too close to the reasons behind the Separation. Love integrated with their shifter magic in unexplainable ways.

  Coren glared at Amden, who showed her top row of teeth.

  “Has he not caught girls?” Coren asked finally.

  “Oh, I’m sure he has,” Amden shrugged. “Why are you so curious, anyways?”

  “I haven’t meant to be. Actually, I’ve brought you a present. For your baby blanket.” Coren held out the fangs and Amden smiled possessively.

  “Those will be the perfect fastener for the blanket of a General’s heir,” she said. “Now that I think of it, he did catch that one girl a few summers ago. The quiet one. Lorenya? Yes, she’s the only one I can remember.”

  “That’s nice. Congratulations on your news, Amden.”

  “Well, I believe I’ll go to bed now, and rest my body.” She turned her back and went inside, shutting the door of her house firmly. Amden and Coren did not like each other, but they were each good at understanding what the other wanted.

  Coren crossed the village square and walked down a small lane to reach Lorenya’s house. There were several small children still playing tag in the yard, and a battalion of different-colored chickens hunting for insects in the grass. Lorenya sat in the grass, stitching together gaps in torn clothing by the bright light of the moon.

  “Hello,” Coren said. Lorenya looked up suspiciously, and for good reason. Although the women of Weshen Isle all knew each other, Coren rarely approached any of them.

  “Do you have a minute? I have a strange question. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone, either.” Of course, Coren knew she had no way to hold Lorenya to such a request, but it couldn’t hurt to ask.

  “Okay,” Lorenya nodded simply. She rose and walked into the house, waving at Coren to follow.

  They sat at her table and Lorenya lit a single candle. Coren pursed her lips, unsure how to begin.

  “Amden told me you were caught before by the General’s son? Syashin?” she asked, deciding to just jump in the middle.

  Lorenya startled, then flushed. But she nodded. “Two summers ago. No. Three. It must have been his first hunt too. He was my age, but he seemed so much younger. Why do you want to know this?”

  “He’s tried to catch me. I’m…I’m afraid of him,” Coren lied. Although she wasn’t so sure it was a lie anymore.

  “Syashin would never hurt you.” Her face flushed again, and Coren saw a hardness come into her eyes. “But if he catches you, be sure Reshra will follow. He wants everything his brother has.”

  Coren grew wary of the anger in her voice. She needed to be careful. “Amden said…well, she said he prefers boys.”

  Lorenya raised her eyebrows and smiled, the shadows clearing from her eyes. “Perhaps she says that because he has never tried to catch her.”

  Coren grinned. She wondered why she had never talked to Lorenya before.

  “Anyways, I don’t believe that. He was very shy. He’s noble, actually. He has ideas. He believes in love…that it could exist for Weshen again.” She added this last bit softly, casting her eyes to the table.

  The two girls sat in silence for a minute, then a crying child burst through the door. She was tiny, with tousled hair and a scrape on her knee. Coren found herself examining the child’s eyes to see if they matched Syashin’s. They did not. Lorenya gathered the baby into her arms, murmuring reassurance against her plump cheeks.

  Coren turned away, thinking of her own mother, and how she did not remember her like that. She rose and moved toward the door. “Thank you for talking with me.”

  “Come again,” Lorenya invited, smiling. “And Coren? Be careful. Syashin is gentle, but he is nearly grown. I don’t think he’s caught a girl since me, and he never returned to me either, although I hoped he might. This is his last year, and if he has decided to hunt again, there is a reason.”

  Coren nodded and left the house, her stomach churning. This much she had deduced. If he had no heirs, and this was his last summer, she knew exactly what he would want.

  Her protection wouldn’t come in the form of a mouthful of goshen berries, but in the ability to trade something worth his silence.

  Chapter 8

  All night again, Sy had been forced to listen to Resh and his girl. The General’s Second Son seemed bent on making enough heirs for a battalion by the end of the summer.

  Perhaps I could simply claim one of them as mine, Sy thought with a snort.

  Sy watched the light begin to filter into the tent,
his eyes dry and his head pounding as though he’d drunk too much wine. And all he could think about was how to see Corentine again before the next hunt. They needed to talk about the Vespa. And about the hunts themselves.

  Sy knew he couldn’t risk her escaping again, not if he wanted to salvage his First Son title from Resh’s destruction.

  Perhaps he should just forget about hunting her and bed some foolish island girl to appease the General.

  Rising and dressing quickly, he pushed irritably through the tent flaps and began to walk, not thinking of any certain destination. He passed the General’s darkened tent, the path to the women’s village, and the sentries who watched the water before reaching the ocean itself.

  Sy waded into the water, its cold waking his skin and asking his heart to pump faster. A current pulled at his calf muscles, teasing him to follow it into deeper water.

  Here on the island, surrounded by the waters of the MagiSea, he could feel the sources in the water much more strongly. He imagined shifting them apart - removing the salt and the air bubbles to leave fresh drinking water. Would he ever be powerful enough to do what he believed Corentine had done to the Vespa?

  He longed to practice his shifting as he did with Damren, but it certainly wasn’t safe here, even for him.

  A shout rang out behind him and he turned quickly. The sentries were scattering, one running toward the General’s tent. Sy gazed into the horizon, shading his eyes against the morning sun.

  A ship was just barely visible, coming toward them from the direction of Weshen City. A grin broke across Sy’s lips - this was how he would see Corentine today. She would come with her family to claim their supplies from the mainland. He splashed out of the water and headed to his father’s tent to ensure his part in the ceremony.

  A few hours later, the sun was beating down on his back. He paused often to wipe sweat from his brow. An interminable line of women and children leaned patiently against their three-pronged barrows, waiting for their parcels of supplies - dried meat, preserved vegetables and fruits, sacks of wheat and oats and sugar.