by Raye Wagner
Stolen
Magi Rising Book 1
Raye Wagner
Stolen
Magi Rising Book 1
by
Raye Wagner
Copyright © 2019 All the Words
Cover Design by Alerim
Typography Design by StudioOpolis
Edited by Krystal Wade and Dawn Yacovetta
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, media, and incidents are either products of the authors’ imagination, or are used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Illusions—Sneek Peek
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Raye Wagner:
For A.J.
Love knows no bounds
1
Book #3 in The Fantastical Golden Egg Hunt
A panthera’s roar reverberated through my bones, echoed by the squawks of scattering macaws and parrots, and silencing the howler monkeys in the canopy above.
Mercifully, my attacker paused, and I writhed, batting blindly in a desperate attempt to get him to release his hold. The dark tangles of my hair obstructed my vision, but I didn’t need my vision to know I was in danger.
“Every fetid day,” he snarled, tightening his grip as he yanked. “It’s disgusting; you’re disgusting—”
I stumbled forward as a low growl announced the predator’s arrival. My heart leapt into my throat, and the male magî relinquished his grasp with an added shove. Tumbling into the mud, I caught a glimpse of him running through the dense growth of the jungle, his crimson leather pants forever seared into memory.
As my ribs screamed in agony, I bit my lip and lay as still as possible. Covered in blood, sweat, and dirt, I whimpered. Waiting for the great cat to make me his next meal, only one thought cycled through my mind: don’t use magîk.
I had no idea what it meant.
Fetid rot. I didn’t know anything. My breaths grew shallower as panic blossomed and bound me. I didn’t even know my name.
Not that it mattered, because I wouldn’t be here much longer.
After a short, stuttering heartbeat, the panthera’s breaths, so like my own, puffed out over me as he sniffed.
The warmth of his exhalations billowed over my skin, at my waist, then my back, and finally returned to my neck. He continued to sniff, and, eyes closed, I waited for him to strike, crush my throat with his powerful jaws, or maybe even my skull. Only, he didn’t. Instead, the panthera’s rough, wet tongue bathed the left side of my face.
“If you’re going to kill me, could you do it already?” I screamed. Pain seared through me with the movement, and my stomach heaved. Rolling to the side, I retched, rising to my hands and knees to escape the vomit.
When I had nothing left, I wiped moisture from my eyes and looked up to see where the predator was. My jaw dropped. The sleek black cat—a melanistic rarity—rounded on me, and I sucked in one shallow breath after another, hyperventilating with fear and pain. The cat’s tail twitched back and forth as he stared me down, his prey.
Still holding my ribs, I bolted to my feet and managed to scream again. I’d intended to scare away the animal, to make him run off, but the movement shattered my mind with a wave of fresh pain, and my roar of anger became a shriek of agony. My knees buckled, and I collapsed into the sticky muck, gasping. Every twist, every flinch, every shift of my body pummeled an old bruise or poked at some fresh wound—none of which I remember receiving. More tears streamed down my face, making my skin sting.
At least death at the jaws of the panthera would be swift, and most likely a mercy, in comparison to whatever the magî who’d captured me had intended.
But death didn’t come. Neither did the memory of how I got here.
A low, rhythmic sound startled me, and the large panthera plopped down next to me, pushing his head under my arm so my palm rested just behind his ears—nearly knocking me over the rest of the way. The sound reverberated up my arm and through my side, making me gape. The panthera was . . . purring.
I gawked, completely certain that a panthera’s purr wasn’t supposed to be a familiar or comforting sound.
Or was it? Nothing here was familiar. Especially not the hovel—partially collapsed with several broken branches on the side nearest me—resting in the middle of the clearing, slumped and dejected. Filthy scraps of fabric poked out from the splintered wood, maybe blankets or clothing.
I stared, fixated as a wave of shock threatened to pull me under. There was something wrong—really wrong. As in, worse than a-panthera-nuzzling-my-hand wrong.
I lived here? I wouldn’t . . . Recoiling from the thought, I frowned. Even the idea was distasteful. I glanced up at the jungle canopy, through the leaves to the tallest trees now bathed in bright sunlight.
My attention stuck on the highest layer of the rainforest as I sifted through the emptiness of my mind. I should know something . . . I swallowed, my dry mouth working with the motion. My pulse raced anew with the dawning comprehension. I truly didn’t know . . . anything.
I should know my name at least. Why didn’t I know my name? Or how I got here? Or where here was?
I forced my gaze to the hovel, willing myself to remember, but . . . Nothing. My stomach churned, and instincts told me I didn’t want to remember. “If you ever come across that magî,” I said to the cat, “you have my permission to kill and eat him.” As soon as the words were out, I recoiled, so I amended. “Actually, you don’t have to eat him. Just gut him.”
The predator hissed, and I chose to see it as an acknowledgment of my wishes. Not that my assessment made sense, but truly . . . Nothing made sense at the moment.
“Why can’t I remember?” I muttered. My insides twisted and turned, not nearly as sedated as the rest of my battered body, and I couldn’t get past the crawling, awful wrongness of knowing . . . Nothing.
The panthera nudged my hand, and I glanced down, forcing a shaky smile, because we were obviously friends—even if I didn’t know it.
2
“Am I insane?” I whispered to the large black cat. “I might be, seeing how I’m here, talking to you. Somehow that doesn’t seem normal.” I swallowed and then asked, “Why are your eyes green?”
He closed his eyes and nuzzled my hand as he had before, possibly the panthera equivalent to, “We’re not going to talk about that.”
Rot.
As if to reinforce his point, he walked to the edge of the clearing and started sniffing at the plants.
I turned my attention back to the hollow in the jungle and tried to remember something from before my fight with the magî, something other than the nagging thought that I shouldn’t use magîk�
�whatever the rot my magîk was.
I could do this; I’d start with easy, like what I had for breakfast. I shook my head when memories of food wouldn’t surface and then tried to go further back, first by hours, then days, weeks, and years. But I had no memories—as in none. I couldn’t remember a single thing about me from before the fight with my captor.
I kicked at a mangrove root and recited dozens of plants and animals. I knew the names of all the posts and even their distance from Yândarî, the capital of Qralî. I was excessively knowledgeable, brilliant really.
The acrid stench of urine made me grimace, and I turned, my frown deepening, as the predator stalked several feet along the edge of the thick growth of plants. He stopped, faced me and, with his tail quivering in the air, kneaded at the dirt with his back paws.
“What are you doing?” With my next breath, I understood. “You’re marking territory?”
The panthera returned to me and started purring again. At least he was happy—and he might’ve saved my life. Unless he had a weird sense of humor about playing with his food. Then I should be scared.
Only I wasn’t.
“It stinks,” I muttered, glancing down as he dipped his head beneath my palm. A deep-purple bruise on my thigh caught my eye, and I gingerly ran my hand over the ghastly mark. Several more fading bruises were scattered on my legs, indicating something I wasn’t ready to face. I took another breath and, waving my hand to clear the air, said, “I’m going to take a look around. Please don’t kill me.”
The cat stopped purring, and when I stepped toward the dilapidated shelter, he blocked my way, rounded on me, and hissed.
I brought both hands up and shook my head. “We’re friends, remember?” I pointed to where he’d just peed; maybe he had a memory problem, too. “Don’t forget or . . . change your mind, okay? I like you.”
He stepped toward me, dropping low to the ground, and bared his teeth. His ears flattened as he padded forward, and my heart started thumping—again. Stupid moody panthera. I inched back, my terror mounting as he continued to press his advantage one step at a time.
“You better not be trying to eat me,” I muttered, my gaze darting from side to side. There was a path to my right, not that I had any delusion about escaping the predator, but—Wait. I stared at the panthera and snapped, “Are you herding me?”
He straightened, his ears perked, and his tongue lolled out between his vicious canines.
“Is that your idea of a joke?” I gasped. “You are not fun—”
After he crossed the distance between us, he rubbed against my thigh, sending me stumbling to the side from the force. I tripped over a few scattered branches and landed on my butt.
“You did that on purpose,” I grumbled, glaring up at him.
He stood over me then licked my face, and I swatted at him, trying to push his big head away. But he was huge and, apparently, all muscle. He continued to lick me, and I fell backward, arms flailing.
“Stop,” I said, giggling when his rough tongue tickled my neck. “Stop trying to groom me. It’s gross. I don’t want to bathe in your spit.”
He licked me again and then rested his nose on mine.
Whoa. I blinked up at him, captivated by his vibrant eyes, and ran my hands into his fur. “I’m sure it’s not normal,” I said, my voice suddenly hoarse. “I feel safe with you.” I pursed my lips and then added, “But maybe that is normal. Maybe that’s my magîk.” What would I know?
He stepped back, his tail twitching.
I sat up and surveyed the area, the normal sounds of the rainforest swelling around me: the trill of birds, chirp of insects, and bellow of frogs. I might be safe right now, but—even if I wanted to—I couldn’t stay. “Everything here is ruined, and judging by your territory habits, it’s not safe. I should go . . . or I’ll be ruined, too.”
He tilted his head to the side.
“What does that mean?” I asked, jerking my chin at him. “You obviously don’t want me to be ruined.”
He leaned forward and bumped me with his nose.
“You like . . . ruin?” I shook my head with disbelief, but the cat had leaned forward with the last word. I tried again. “Ruin?”
He licked me, his tongue brushing from my neck to my hairline, and then bumped me with his nose, the low reverberation of his purr filling the space between us.
“Well then, I’ll call you Ruin.” Weirdest name ever. I took a deep breath and ran my right hand over my ribs. They were sore, tender, but not painful anymore. I petted the cat and asked, “Did you do that? Do you have magîk?”
The cat snorted and turned away.
“Well, I don’t remember doing any magîk,” I called after him as he crossed through the rubble. “And no one else has been here.” Maybe I had healing magîk. Maybe I could talk to animals.
He walked to the narrow strip of path and sat, fixing me with his intense gaze.
I stood and brushed off my filthy, torn tunic. With my next blink, the great cat turned and growled at the fauna, near where he’d just sprayed—and close to where the magî had run. Fear prickled my skin, and I hurried to him. As I approached the panthera, I trailed my fingers over his fur and whispered, “Come on, let’s go.”
3
As we strode away from the clearing on the narrow path, my attention snagged on the growth of the undercanopy, slowing my pace. I stalled and studied the fauna, far denser than I remembered . . . almost a wall of plants. I grabbed the stalk of an aleph-ear and tugged, wrestling with the weighty shoot, bringing it down so I could see behind the leaf—
Rot.
I gawked at the stem in my hand—as thick as my wrist—and my jaw unhinged. Aleph-ear plants were big; a single leaf could easily be longer than my forearm and half that in width. But these plants were . . . really big, at least twice what they should be. Taking a deep breath, I crouched and scrutinized the ground. My heart skipped several beats as I watched the variegated leaves unfurl on a creeping nali vine—right before my eyes.
How? This made no sense.
I blinked and only then realized I might’ve been a dozen steps onto the path a few minutes ago, but now the path barely existed. Rot. I slowly spun around, my jaw dropping at the thick wall of fauna right behind me.
This was not the jungle of Qralî I knew. Something had changed. There was something wrong—with the jungle, the plants, the animals, and with me. Did normal even exist anymore? What kind of magîk was powerful enough to make things grow so fast? No, the question wasn’t what kind of magîk; it was whose magîk, and what had gone wrong with them?
Unease skittered up my spine, followed by a flash-flood of panic, as a rumble of thunder in the distance promised rain. I needed to get out of here—especially if it was the rainy season. I needed to find a magî. Specifically, one I could trust. I needed to find out what was happening. Right now.
I sprinted down the narrow path, the leaves smacking against my legs and shoulders as I fought my way through, and nearly crashed into Ruin.
The panthera sat in the middle of the very overgrown path, but as soon as he saw me, he stood and led the way forward, tail twitching.
“Just don’t spray me,” I muttered. “I’m not like female panthera. I don’t think that smells good, okay?”
The panthera’s ears flattened with my words, but that was his only response.
“Well, don’t get your feelers all twisted up and make this awkward.” I laughed at my own pathetic joke, but Ruin obviously didn’t share my same sense of humor. Too bad. Was he actually walking faster? “That being said, I kinda wish you were a magî. I think we’d get along well—sense of humor aside,” I said, hurrying to keep up with his stride.
Minutes later, he stepped out onto the road, and I followed, taking in the width—at least fifteen feet of mud—with the jungle on either side.
“This is one of the Little Rê,” I said. The Rê, the main road leading into Yândarî, was thirty feet wide. More information I knew without knowing why o
r how. I sighed, staring at the vibrant leaves of bromeliads in red, orange, and yellow standing out among the lush, green foliage of the jungle. I looked left and then right, wishing I knew which way to go. I wanted safety and answers—something more than a hovel in an area infested with predators.
All of the Little Rê’s fed into the Rê. If I walked far enough, I’d eventually get to Yândarî. That thought made my palms clammy, but I knew answers were there; I just wasn’t sure what the questions were. If I stayed in one of the posts, would my memory come back? Or would I just be putting off the inevitable?
Fetid rot. I’m rubbish at making decisions.
I shifted my gaze, intending to ask the panthera—as if he would know—and then turned in a full circle, frowning when I couldn’t spot him. “Ruin?”
The rustle of leaves made me spin with anticipation. The black panthera poked his head out from the plants, his bright-green eyes glancing behind me before meeting my gaze. He let out a low yowl, more of a whine than anything I’d ever heard from him.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, dropping to my knees in front of him. My heart clenched with the realization . . . He was saying goodbye. I buried my hands into the fur at his neck and rested my forehead on his. “I’ll never forget you—”
He pulled away and then disappeared between the plants, leaving me frowning. His sudden abandonment stung, but I had no time to examine the emotion.