Stolen (Magi Rising Book 1)

by Raye Wagner

  I picked up a starchy plantain and took a bite. Normally I could stomach the fruit, even when I couldn’t stand anything else, but the greasy piece was unseasoned, and the texture made my mouth fill with saliva. I spit the food out and then dropped the remaining bit back on my plate.

  “He said Zädîsa told him—about Pûleêr.”

  I grimaced. “I thought you said she disappeared—or was that her sister?”

  “Her sister, Zerôn’s bondmate, disappeared. Svîk said Zädîsa is still in Yândarî—which matches what I heard in Terit and gives me some relief that she’s still fighting for our cause. She sent him here to escape the kümdâr.”

  “Do you believe him?” I wouldn’t believe him if he said we were going to clear the undercanopy today—which was an established fact.

  She shrugged and dropped her fork to her plate, looking at me with weary eyes. “How else would he have known?”

  “Torture—like I said before.”

  She shook her head. “Zädîsa is a zeta.”

  Right. Torturing a zeta would be near impossible given the strength of their powers—regardless of which type of magîk they wielded. I took a deep breath, letting her explanation settle. I couldn’t put my finger on why I felt the need to poke a hole through this rationale, to prove he was hiding something—like that he could turn into a panther. Or maybe I was just tired and irritable because Ruin was gone. I turned her words over again and then shook my head. “I don’t like it. Something’s off.”

  Esi grabbed her tray and stood. “That’s just it; you don’t have to like it. It’s what the council decided. And there are a lot of things that are off—including your memory.”

  I grimaced with the dig, and she paused and pursed her lips.

  As she exhaled, her shoulders sagged. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. I’m not sure I like it either, but his story does sound pretty in character for Zädîsa, and she didn’t trust blindly.”

  I wanted to argue with her; how well did she know Zädîsa? And if the zeta was okay with this level of hypocrisy, how could Esi or anyone else trust her? But what would be the point of arguing? Neither Esi nor I could change anything the council did. After everything she’d said, it was clear she didn’t trust the Serîk either, but with such limited options, I could even understand the council’s hesitation to execute a complete stranger.

  After we dumped our plates into a barrel, Rull stood and announced assignments. My attention bounced from table to table as he spoke, but I tuned him out. I still didn’t know many of the people of Pûleêr, at least not well, and I told myself it didn’t matter. I was always with Esi. Over a dozen people were still in the kitchen, Dostane among them, as well as the girl who’d refused to give me cheese, Doli. The two were standing next to one another, and when Doli turned, her profile was so similar to Dostane’s I wondered how I’d missed their relationship.

  The young female was likely in her late teens, maybe even past her second decade. I’d seen her with Nebe and several other young women who all flocked together. My instinct was to avoid them as well, although this time, there was no question or doubt of the thought—my fatigue wasn’t impacting my intuition in that regard.

  “Come on,” Esi said, flicking her finger against my skin. “We’re on the east side, over by the Cem today.”

  The Cem was the big river where most magî bathed, also frequented by caiman. Esi had said more than once she didn’t like the Cem, but we weren’t headed there, so I didn’t know why she sounded irritable. I shifted my gaze back to her while Rull continued to list off names.

  Her lips were pursed, and her eyes flashed as she muttered under her breath. “Fetid rot. He did not put Svîk in our group.”

  “Who?” I asked, but my question got lost in the surge of magî flowing out of the communal section and toward the paths leading to the perimeter road.

  Esi said something and began wading through the crowd, going upstream, back into the center of the dining area, and I pushed my way through the crowd, weaving in and out of the waves, trying to catch up to her.

  “Why are we going this way?” I hollered.

  Someone bumped into me as they passed, and I grimaced with the discomfort. I was definitely stronger now than a month ago when I’d arrived, but I still went to bed sore every night.

  As I drew closer to her, I asked, “Did you forget something at our table?”

  But Esi stepped right past where we’d been sitting and marched toward Rull, her hands balled at her sides.

  Wait a minute.

  I slowed my pace and then took a step back. Had she invited me to follow or instructed me to leave? I wasn’t sure, but the tension made me think that she’d said the latter. Ironic considering my previous thoughts on intuition—

  “What are you doing?” Esi asked Rull, her face red.

  He turned toward Esi, his expression tightening. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re making me take him in the work units?” she snapped.

  She spun, lifting her arm to point, and her gaze collided with mine. She stiffened, and I followed the trajectory of her index finger . . . to the Serîk.

  14

  The young male magî stood several tables over, his fists pressed onto the wooden top as he leaned, his gaze fixed on us. His expression darkened with Esi’s heated comments, and I noticed he was no longer wearing the red leather pants but a sulu like the other men. His little charm rested between his upper pectoral muscles like an eye-magnet. He stepped around the table, revealing he was also barefoot, and the wrap exposed the ropey muscles of his lower extremities. I shifted, uneasy, as said extremities drew closer, along with all that was attached to them. He passed me, stopping only when he was near enough to both Rull and Esi that he towered over them.

  He was tall—really tall.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked, staring down at Rull.

  Rull’s gaze remained on Esi as he said, “Nothing. This is Esi.” He glanced up at the Serîk. “She’ll take you to the work area. Help you get a feel for how Pûleêr runs.”

  The young male nodded, and the lull in conversation stretched to awkward. I wasn’t sure what Esi wanted, but it was clear she was waiting for something more.

  “Is there something else?” Rull asked, nodding toward one of the other members of the council. “Otherwise, I need to get some work done.”

  Esi sucked in a ragged breath, but before she could say anything, either insulting the Serîk or Rull, I jumped in.

  “Excuse me,” I said, “Serîk . . . guy.” I waved for him to come. “Let’s go.” I glanced at Esi, but she was riveted by Rull even when I said her name. “All right then . . . We’ll just meet you at the site, Esi—whenever you get finished here.”

  I looked from Esi to the Serîk but avoided Rull’s gaze. The more I got to know him, the less I liked him, as in not at all. I huffed, hoping Esi appreciated this because the sacrifice was real, and when she didn’t even acknowledge me, I narrowed my eyes.

  The Serîk grunted and stepped back, away from Rull and Esi who were having an intense stare-off. Behind them, I noticed a few other members of the council still eating their breakfast and a dozen magî scattered about the empty tables.

  “Let’s go,” the Serîk said, oblivious to the conflict under his nose. He took two long strides and then halted, waiting for me to join him. “Which way?”

  “Left, once we get to where the path branches,” I muttered, scooting around him to lead the way. We wove through the tables before exiting the communal area and into the paths leading toward the perimeter road. We walked side by side, the discomfiture as pungent as the heavy air. I grasped for something to say as we strode through the verdant growth, but I didn’t really want to know much about the male next to me. The trill of the birds and chirp of crickets swelled but did nothing to dissipate the uncomfortable gap between us.

  We were approaching the split on the perimeter road. Only a few more minutes . . . five at most. I picked up my pace. Golden
boy had long legs; he could keep up.

  A beautiful blue-and-black butterfly fluttered across the road, the movement catching my attention. I stopped to watch as the insect dipped then rose in the air, the stunning colors of the wings reminded me—of Ruin. The butterfly glided toward the jungle, and my smile disappeared at the same time as the vivid creature.

  “Do you like panthera?” I blurted, watching for his reaction out of the corner of my eyes.

  He shrugged. “They can be very territorial and even a little temperamental. Why?”

  “Just curious.” No way he was Ruin. Instead of feeling resolved, the knowledge made me grouchy.

  We walked another dozen feet, my glower growing deeper with each step.

  “Why are all the magî here so distrustful?” the Serîk asked, his low voice soft like the touch of a butterfly. “Zädîsa said this place would be a haven, that the people here were warm and friendly—”

  “Probably because they’re all trying to cover up their hypocrisy,” I muttered, disgusted. Shaking my head, I resumed our pace and led him onto the road encircling all of Pûleêr. The discomfort crawling through my chest might have been interpreted as guilt, and after a sigh, I muttered, “Never mind. Sorry.”

  We passed a unit, their backs bent as they worked to clear the emerging growth. Two young women giggled as we stepped by, but the rest of the group ignored us. There was a gap then, a section of uninhabited road, and I glanced back toward the group and frowned. Why was there a gap here? Shouldn’t there be a unit working to clear this area of growth?

  “You’re not from here either,” he said, like a sudden epiphany.

  We walked for a few steps, just enough for me to think he was done.

  Then, in a tight whisper, he asked, “Are they not friendly to you either?”

  He needed to stop talking. I extended my palm with a snap of my wrist.

  At the same time, he said, “Or are you going to tell me I don’t understand?”

  The way he said the word sounded exactly like Rull when I first met him, all the way down to his condescending tone. I dropped my hand to my side, my lips parting with surprise at the vivid memory of the council leader, and then asked, “Did Rull say ‘you might never understand’—and then dismiss you?”

  Rot. I hadn’t meant for that to come out. Without waiting for his answer, I jerked my thumb east and said, “Let’s go. We’re almost there.”

  “Yes,” golden-boy said, walking beside me. He ran his hands along the foliage, the leaves slapping back against each other as he released them. “Rull is an ass, but so is almost everybody on that council—if you can really call it that.”

  We rounded the bend and then stopped. There was our unit, twenty magî from Pûleêr, and almost all of them were standing around, talking, eating guava—spitting the seeds.

  What the fetid rot?

  “Hey!” I snapped, running toward the group of young adults all in their late teens or early twenties.

  Two girls, Rumi and Lis, and a young male laughed. Rumi spit a mouthful of pink pulp and white seeds onto the ground. My growing irritation flared as she scooped up a mound of mud with her foot and buried the fruit. Nearby, two more young men, Teso and a guy I didn’t know, threw a round, green pomelo back and forth. Not gently tossing, but as though trying to peg each other with the fruit.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded.

  Just then the large, green fruit connected with Teso’s abdomen. The skin burst open, and the large citrus splattered juice, pulp, and seeds all over him and then dripped to the ground.

  I scanned the group, searching for someone with sense, but apparently Rull had sent us out with a group of fools.

  “Why so uptight?” the young magî who’d thrown the pomelo asked. “Tomorrow, Rull will send a group of the lower magî to clean up the area, so no need to get your tunic in a twist.”

  This confirmed what I’d suspected. I didn’t anticipate finding any sympathy here among the group of elitists, but I no longer cared. “Do you not ever work?”

  Teso wiped the juice and snorted. Rumi, the one spitting fruit on the ground, tossed her half-eaten guava into the jungle and faced me.

  “Do you really think it matters what we do? If the bûyî is going to come, it comes. It took that whole group, and the spot they’d been in had been cleared the day before,” she said.

  I frowned, wondering if they were right. Did it matter if they stayed on top of the undercanopy’s growth, or was the bûyî independent of it?

  “Then why bother?” I asked.

  “Well, somebody has to keep the growth back,” the young male who’s name I didn’t know said. “The new growth isn’t going to just clear itself.”

  His explanation was beyond disgusting and riled my ire. “Then what is this rubbish about everyone being fair or equal?” I snapped. “You lazy asses get meat when you do nothing, and other magî—who actually work—get rice and beans?”

  Rumi rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you picked up on that yet? They don’t deserve meat.” She looked down her nose and added, “You probably don’t either.”

  “Don’t deserve it?” I asked, fists clenched. “How is that determined?”

  “They’re lower magî,” Teso said. “Beans and rice are good enough for them.”

  My vision went red. I took a deep breath, but before I could launch my verbal assault, the Serîk spoke.

  “Apparently, there’s some confusion.” His voice was low but cold, and he stepped forward, past me, closer to the young magî. “Didn’t Rull instruct everyone to work?”

  “He didn’t mean us,” Teso said with a nervous smile.

  The Serîk ignored Teso and glared at the other magî. Standing next to each other, the contrast between the two became evident. I’d always thought everyone in Pûleêr was in good shape; we had to be, given the amount of activity we did every day. But the evidence to the contrary stared me in the face.

  “Did you get different instructions?” the Serîk pressed.

  A tamarin screamed above, and the tension climbed. The young male glared at me, like it was my fault.

  “What’s your name?” the Serîk asked, the corded muscles of his arms flexing as he clenched his fists.

  The young magî’s lip curled. “Pilk.” He glanced to either side at his friends. Two more magî joined his ranks, making five against one. “What’s it to you, Serîk? Zerôn kick you out for being limp?”

  “It’s Svîk,” the previous guard for the kümdâr growled. “And I’m ex-Serîk. I certainly wouldn’t be in this magîk-forsaken hole if I worked for the kümdâr—unless he’d ordered me to kill you . . . prick.”

  “My name is Pilk,” the magî from Pûleêr said, stepping forward. “And maybe you need a lesson in manners, Svîk.”

  The humid air swelled with the strain, and my stomach flipped.

  Pilk and his friends were close to the same age as the ex-Serîk, and by numbers, they far outweighed the one magî. However, the thin layer of visceral fat around the midsection of each of the group was distinctly different than the cut muscles of the professional guard. Whatever his power was, he’d obviously spent plenty of time training his body. Not only was he more toned, but he was far more muscular. He also stood half a head taller than any of the young men from Pûleêr, and his shoulders were broader—much broader.

  “Are you offering lessons?” Svîk asked, raising his eyebrows. He straightened, and his muscles tightened in his neck and upper chest. “Because I don’t believe you exercised the discipline to learn any.”

  I glanced down, seeing Svîk’s hands clenched, the muscles of his forearms corded and taut.

  Pilk sneered, but his hands trembled at his sides—just a small quiver, and I only noticed because I was staring.

  “Are you challenging me?” Pilk asked, his voice trembling much like his hands. “You think you’re better than us, rot-face?”

  I held my breath, waiting for one of them to break. Pilk took a deep breath and step
ped forward, his actions slow and projected. Svîk moved, a blur of activity that registered a fraction of a second late—far too fast to stop. The tall magî closed the distance between him and the group of young magî, hunching as he brought his elbow up behind him.

  While Pilk appeared to be moving through water, Svîk was water, both smooth and fluid, running right over the top of the stones in his path. In an explosive uppercut, Svîk’s fist connected with a resounding crack against Pilk’s chin. The young male dropped to his knees with a wet splat in the mud. Someone gasped, and at the same time, a female magî squealed.

  Wanting to see, I scooted to the left, to the side of Svîk and Pilk, just as the latter pitched forward, only the whites of his eyes visible in unconsciousness. But Svîk didn’t stop moving. He danced to the right, kicking the passed out magî to the side as he fell—toward me. I jumped out of the way of the collapsing body, but my attention snapped back to the former-Serîk.

  Like a waterfall, Svîk crashed into the group with his assault. With his next step, he twisted, bringing his left hand up and across his body as he stepped in front of another young male. With a grunt, he rotated his torso as he swung his left fist . . . into the head of the other magî. I blinked as Svîk’s right fist followed, a hook punch landing on Teso’s jaw when he moved behind his fallen friend.

  “Stop it!” Rumi screamed from the group, and another magî echoed her.

  One of the remaining two young men darted forward, a huge branch in his hands. He swung the makeshift club, but Svîk ducked the wide arc and shifted to the side, popping up from behind the still moving assailant. The former guard delivered two jabs to the boy’s back, and the young male dropped to the ground with a bellow of pain.

  Svîk took a deep breath and rose to his full height. He scanned the crowd, his dark gaze challenging anyone else courageous or stupid enough to fight. The last of the original five young male magî backed away, and Svîk turned to me.