ISLAND SHIFTERS
BOOK THREE
AN OATH OF THE CHILDREN
VALERIE ZAMBITO
Copyright © 2012 Valerie Zambito
All rights reserved.
Cover Art by Nick Deligaris
www.deligaris.com
OTHER TITLES BY VALERIE ZAMBITO
Island Shifters - An Oath of the Blood (Book 1)
Island Shifters - An Oath of the Mage (Book 2)
Island Shifters - An Oath of the Children (Book 3)
Angels of the Knights - Fallon (Book 1)
Angels of the Knights - Blane (Book 2)
Classroom Heroes
ISLAND SHIFTERS SERIES REVIEWS
“From this book’s first paragraph, I was hooked until the very end.”
“I have to say it has been a very long time since I read a book and got goose bumps!”
“I was swept away by the colorful characters and brisk pacing of the book, almost compelled to keep turning the pages as Zambito’s action-packed story carried me along.”
“Without a doubt, this is, by far, the best book I have ever read in my entire life. As someone who has read over 780 books in the last 20 years, that’s saying something.”
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 - The Departure
Chapter 2 - Crones and Crows
Chapter 3 - A Proposal
Chapter 4 - Growls in the Night
Chapter 5 - Blood thirst
Chapter 6 - Betrayal
Chapter 7 - Baya’s Sorrow
Chapter 8 - Birthrights
Chapter 9 - Dangerous Waters
Chapter 10 - The New Order
Chapter 11 - The Mayor’s Gala
Chapter 12 - Immunity
Chapter 13 - Trapped
Chapter 14 - Blood Supply
Chapter 15 - A Tightening Web
Chapter 16 - Predator and Prey
Chapter 17 - Up in Smoke
Chapter 18 - The Island of Ellvin
Chapter 19 - Shattered Innocence
Chapter 20 - Gifts
Chapter 21 - Bloodbath
Chapter 22 - The Feast
Chapter 23 - Gooseberry
Chapter 24 - An Arrow Through the Heart
Chapter 25 - First Blood
Chapter 26 - Surrender
Chapter 27 - A Beacon of Hope
Chapter 28 - Dark Legacy
Chapter 29 - An Arrow Through the Back
Chapter 30 - The Short Stick
Chapter 31 - Battle at the Gates
Chapter 32 - An Oath of the Children
Chapter 33 - Calm Before the Storm
Chapter 34 - Airstrike
Chapter 35 - Release From Darkness
Chapter 36 - The Return
Ruling Nobility of Massa
About The Author
PROLOGUE
The boy knew he would be punished. That much was certain. All that remained to be seen was what form it would take.
A tremor of fear raced up his spine as he ran, and he fought back the urge to cry. The Shiprunner had been very clear in his instructions to deliver the letter unopened and without haste to the Premier. Anyone with sense would have done just that, but curiosity got the better of him, and after examining the rolled parchment, he felt confident that he could manipulate the wax seal back into shape so that it would appear undisturbed.
He had been wrong.
Even he could see that the Premier would know immediately that the letter had been opened.
Clutching the damning evidence tightly in one hand, his anxiety propelled his steps faster as he raced through the streets of Ellvin.
Papa often warned him that his inquisitiveness would get him into trouble, but surely, his father could understand how all of the gossip in the villages had built his hopes so. With worry for Mama weighing on his mind, the temptation had proved too much.
Despite the reprisal sure to be handed down on him from the Premier, a surge of excitement coursed through his body as he recalled the written words of the missive. The rumors were true. People from far away were coming to the island to meet with the Premier, and they were bringing precious wormwood plants with them.
The boy shook his head in disbelief. Bringing them here to the island! Maybe now Mama will be able to take the draught she so desperately needs. He knew there was a long waiting list for the meager supply of wormwood left on the island, but if these new visitors brought enough, it was possible that his mother could be moved higher on the list.
With renewed hope, the boy ran faster, dodging around carts and pedestrians, his long black hair flowing behind him.
If he was going to suffer lashes for opening the letter, he did not need to add any more by being late. Pumping his arms furiously, his small feet kicked up a trail of dust from the dirt road leading to the Premier’s compound. Passing through the caste villages along the way, he did not stop, even when friends of his called out for him to join in their game of marbles. With a curt shake of his head, he pushed on. Not just because of the lashes, but because he wanted Mama well again and the sooner the Premier received the letter, the sooner the foreigners would come.
“Letter for the Premier!” he shouted out as soon as he descended on the front gates of the compound. He waved the parchment in his hand at the two Battlearms standing guard. “Quickly now, let me in! Important letter for the Premier!”
One of the slender guards on duty thrust his spear out toward the boy in order to stop him from advancing further. The other reached out and rang a large, bronze bell.
The Premier’s Adjunct, his white tongor flowing around his ankles, strode across the courtyard to the gates. He grabbed the iron bars and peered imperiously down at the boy. “What is it?” he asked impatiently.
The boy held the note up. “A message for the Premier, sir!”
The Adjunct pushed his spectacles higher on his nose with one finger and looked at the rolled parchment, but made no move to take it from him. “Is it from the ships?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Very well, come with me.”
The fighter opened the gate to allow him passage. “Maybe I could just leave it—”
“You heard me, boy,” the Adjunct snapped. “Now come along.”
With a resigned sigh, the boy followed behind the Adjunct, renewed trepidation making his feet feel as though they were made of lead. He had never been to the Premier’s compound before. In truth, he was not even a messenger. He just happened to be playing at the docks when the Shiprunner grabbed him by the back of the neck and ordered him to deliver the note.
He looked down at the wax seal in one last desperate glance to determine if there was anything he could do to fix his mistake, but there was nothing.
Swallowing back his fear, he climbed three flights of stairs behind the Adjunct and then followed him down an opulent arched corridor with large curved windows lining the sides. The hallway reminded the boy of a tunnel, only this tunnel held magnificent tapestries, vases, and golden statues the like he had never seen in his entire life. He tried not to gawk, but it was impossible. The value of the items in this hallway could probably feed his entire caste for a year. It always puzzled him why moneyed folk purchased meaningless trinkets when they could buy more practical things like food and tools and, of course, the draught. Did the Premier not realize that many people on the island were struggling to feed their families and to get their names on the lists? The boy shook his head. If he was the Premier, he would sell all of these items and give the profits to the people that needed it the most.
Walking swiftly along the end
less hallway, he realized that the Premier’s compound was also much larger than any of the other homes in his village. And, eerily quiet. Again, he had to wonder why the people that needed the least space lived in the largest houses. He would change that, too, when he was the Premier. To his way of thinking, the largest families should have the largest homes. It just made sense, so he wondered why no one thought of it yet.
Listening to the whispered hush of the Adjunct’s slippered feet on the lavish tile, he grew more nervous with each step. He wished he had stopped at his hut beforehand to get Papa. With his father by his side, he would not be feeling so afraid.
He wiped away a tear that suddenly fell from his eye and straightened his back. He was twelve now and boys of twelve years did not cry. At least that is what Papa always told him.
Up ahead, the Adjunct stopped before a set of double doors at the end of the corridor and guarded by two more fighters in their crisp white tongors with gold trim. One of the fighters opened the doors without a word from the Adjunct. As personal aide to the Premier, he must not need special permission to enter.
Just inside the door, the Adjunct turned to him. “What is your name, boy?”
“Tatum, sir.”
“What caste are you?”
“Ironfingers, sir.”
The Adjunct grabbed his hands and inspected both sides. “I do not see the scars of the blacksmith upon you.”
“I am only twelve, sir. My apprenticeship will not begin until next year.”
The Adjunct shook his head. “What a pity. So young.”
Tatum did not know what he meant by that, but decided he should not ask.
The man turned back to the dark interior of the room and announced, “Your Eminence, a messenger is here to seek an audience with you.”
Standing behind the Adjunct, Tatum tried to peer around him, but his vision could not penetrate the dark recesses of the room as it was lit only by a few candles. They waited in silence for several long moments before Tatum heard a rustling of movement.
“Send him in.” The voice was deep and confident and could only be that of the Premier.
The Adjunct stepped to the side and placed a hand on the small of Tatum’s back, urging him forward. He went nervously with the rolled parchment held out in front of him as though a talisman that would keep him safe. Tatum kept his eyes forward as he walked the aisle between massive pillars toward the figure sitting upon his throne and bathed in candlelight.
“Come closer boy.”
Tatum hurried to the Premier and stretched the parchment out toward the leader of the Ellvin people.
A long fingered hand appeared out of the folds of a richly embroidered robe.
After releasing the note, Tatum immediately knelt with his head down, but his curiosity piqued once again and he glanced up from underneath his eyelashes.
Just as Tatum feared, the Premier looked carefully at the seal and frowned before he unfurled the small paper and began to read.
The seconds ticked by. The room was deathly quiet as the Premier’s eyes glided over the words. Finally, he looked up and steely, black eyes latched onto Tatum. “Did you open this, boy?”
Tatum suddenly felt the urge to lie. Some deep-rooted preservation instinct inside his body was telling him that in order to live, he must lie. But, with the Premier’s gaze boring into his skull, he found that he could not. The Premier’s Ascendancy was the strongest on the island.
“Aye, Your Eminence.”
“Why?”
“I…I was curious, Your Eminence.”
“Can you read?”
“Aye.”
He held up the parchment. “What does this say?”
“It says that…that people are coming to Ellvin and they are bringing wormwood plants with them.”
“I see. And, this interests you?”
“Aye, Your Eminence. My mother is plagued.”
The Premier scoffed. “We have many plagued on the island, young man. What makes yours so special?”
His small shoulders tightened and he was afraid he would cry again. “She is special to me, Your Eminence.”
“You would like her to receive the draught?”
“More than anything,” he whispered.
The doors in the back of the room opened and the Premier released Tatum from his penetrating stare. Tatum let out a small breath, relieved for the short reprieve from the Premier’s attention.
He peeked over his shoulder and recognized the woman hurrying down the long aisle toward them. It was Samara, the Caste Second of the Eyereaders. She appeared to float as she glided closer, her long black hair hardly stirring as she moved. By the look of health in her face, Tatum realized that she, like the Premier, did not suffer in the least from lack of the draught.
Samara glanced briefly at him before kneeling in front of the Premier. “Your Eminence.”
“You may rise, Samara.” He gestured with his chin. “This boy has just delivered a message from the ships. Is the news as good as I have just read?”
“Better, Your Eminence.”
The Premier snorted. “What could be better than the arrival of wormwood plants, Samara? The Ellvin people have just been saved from obliteration!”
Can it be? Tatum wondered. All on the island saved?
Samara glanced once more at Tatum before continuing, but the Premier urged her on.
“Blood.”
“Blood?”
“It is an island of magic, Your Eminence. Almost every soul I encountered in Massa had some spark of magic.” Her eyelids fluttered. “It was exhilarating.”
The Premier sat forward on his throne. “Are you sure of this, Samara?”
“I am, Your Eminence.”
The Premier came off his chair and stood before the Eyereader. “It has been many, many years since we’ve had the blood. I was starting to believe that there was no magic left in the world.”
“There is an abundance of magic in Massa, Your Eminence. I can assure you of that fact.”
“Oh, Samara,” he breathed in excitement, “to obtain our sustenance from blood instead of the wormwood draught? I can hardly dare to believe it’s true!”
Samara’s thin eyebrows arched higher. “You do understand the repercussions?”
“Of course, I do!” the Premier snapped. “Not everyone will condone such an approach, I realize that.”
“No, I am afraid not, Your Eminence.”
The Premier turned and walked back to his throne and sat. “I think it goes without saying that we cannot disclose this information to the population just yet. It could cause untold turmoil if people knew a cure was on the way. Folks with loved ones who are ill will do just about anything to save them.” Black eyes turned his way once again. “Don’t you agree, boy?”
“Aye, Your Eminence.” Tatum smiled broadly at the handsome face. How could he have ever thought him to be frightening?
“You may go now.”
Tatum stood. “I…I can go?”
“Aye, you may go.”
What? No lashings? He could hardly believe his luck. And, Mama is going to receive the draught she needs to be well again! Wait until Papa hears about this!
Tatum bowed one last time to the Premier and turned to walk down the aisle. It felt strange to be walking without an escort, and he suddenly felt an icy itch between his shoulder blades. Ignoring the peculiar feeling, he kept walking and did not turn around. If he had, he would have seen the brief nod the Premier gave to his Adjunct standing in the shadows. He would have seen the small crossbow appear in the man’s hands, and then he would have known that the bad thing he had done would not go unpunished after all.
CHAPTER 1
THE DEPARTURE
“Your daughter is late again,” Kiernan felt the need to inform him for the third time.
“Why is she always my daughter when she’s not doing what she’s supposed to be doing?” Beck asked.
Kiernan raised an eyebrow at him as if the answer should have be
en obvious. He shook his head in good humor and let the conversation drop. After nearly twenty years of marriage to his iron-willed Princess, he knew when to keep his mouth closed.
Instead, as they waited together at the harbor at Northfort, he silently appraised his lovely wife. At thirty-eight years of age, she was still stunning in every regard. Lithe and toned, she had the body a woman half her age would be envious of, but it was more than her physical beauty that captivated him. Right from the very beginning, it was the intoxicating combination of her passion for life, her intelligence, and her strength. She challenged him at every turn whether a simple game of Dragon’s Fire, innocent swordplay or a heated debate of political stratagem. Kiernan kept him engaged and excited about life on a level that surpassed anything he could ever achieve alone. No, there was never a dull moment with his warrior bride, and he adored her more today than the day he first met her.
With a satisfied smile, he turned from his wife to glance out to sea. It was hard to believe that where he now stood was once his homeland of Pyraan.
In his youth, Pyraan had been nothing more than a disgraced land of exiles. A place where every shifter born on the island was forced into cohabitation for the singular purpose of using their magic to defend Massa against outside forces. But, to Beck, it had always been home. It was where he was born, where he lived with his beloved parents, and where he first met Kiernan. Such bittersweet memories and now the entire land lay submerged under the Arounda Ocean.
Just as unstoppable as the shifting tides of the sea, so, too, on land does everything change. Where once, only a small portion of Massa was accessible by the ocean through the narrow Twin Bluffs, this northernmost section of the island had grown over the years to the now bustling port city of Northfort where travel to and from the island was becoming more frequent.
Nordik, the home of the Cyman race of people and located northeast of the island had become a popular retreat for many Massans. There was also the newly discovered land of Damone east of Nordik, and the tiny island of Hiberi south of Damone.
Beck and the other Savitars had visited all three islands over the past few years and their efforts resulted in the development of profitable trade agreements for Massa and opened talks for numerous other cooperative ventures. Beck had to admit that he was surprised to find no other shifters or magic users on any of the other islands they visited. He felt sure that Massa was not alone in its magical capabilities, but so far, they had found nothing.
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