Stolen: Magi Rising Book 1

by Wagner, Raye

  I lurched and met the gaze of the shifter. My anguish became fury, hot and fiery, and I wanted to lash out at the monster, not scream or yell uselessly. I narrowed my eyes and said, “If I could, I would just so he’d kill you.”

  “If you believe that, you’re a fool,” he replied, the muscles of his neck tightening. “He was not what you think.”

  He grabbed my arm, pulling me away from the other Serîk, and I tugged back, testing his grip. He held firm, and I rotated so my back was to him, and my gaze landed on Svîk’s soul again.

  “I’m sorry,” Svîk said, his lips twisting into a sad smile. “I should’ve told you everything right from the beginning. I didn’t understand . . . I’m so sorry.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, to ask him something, but over one . . . two . . . three heartbeats, Svîk’s spirit melted away, fading until it disappeared into the humid air. Gone, and now it was too late. A fresh wave of emotion crashed over me, and blinking through my tears, I tried to see well enough to run, but it was useless.

  Instead of getting away, Panthera-magî yanked me to him, wrapping me in a tight embrace and pinning my arms to my sides. His scent hugged me, a smell strangely familiar and beloved—which only made my animosity greater.

  “Stop this foolishness,” he growled. “If you can’t do anything, stop.”

  He was right. I couldn’t do anything, and the futility of fighting now was enough to clear my head. I stiffened and muttered, “Let me go.”

  Surprisingly, he did, stepping back half an arm’s length, and then he grabbed my upper arm again and frowned as he glanced down at my tunic. His gaze shifted to his men, and he said, “Take those other two. We’ll start now. I don’t want to stay in this wretched post.”

  I hated him. I hated that he’d killed my friend, peed on my house, ruined my belt, and this close to him, I hated that he’d taken the two scents which smelled like love and made them his. He was a murderer, a thief, and an animal.

  How could ten minutes last so long? And now . . . my entire world was wrong.

  He pulled on my arm again, but as he tugged me down the perimeter road toward the Little Rê, full realization hit. “Wait,” I snapped, resisting his motion. “Where are we going? You’re taking me? Us? With you?”

  I looked, really looked, at the other two magî captives, now estranged from the rest of our group by a few feet. Most of the remaining magî from Pûleêr stood as still as baked mud-bricks, watching with slack-jaws and wide eyes. Both Nebe and Rojek were pale, but while Nebe’s lower lip trembled, Rojek’s hands were fisted out in front of him as if ready and waiting to fight.

  The Serîk captors drew swords and advanced to claim their prisoners, but Rojek only glared and waited, refusing to move, his gaze darting to his bondmate, Dawi.

  Oh my soul.

  My heart thundered back to life. Less than a dozen feet from where I stood was Dawi, the quiet girl I’d been talking with all morning, her entire body trembling. She whimpered and then covered her mouth as tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. I wanted to reach out and comfort her, save her, do something for her—for her kindness to me.

  I shook my head and turned my full attention to the obvious leader. “Please, stop,” I said, my voice hoarse with shock. “Don’t take him.” I gestured at Rojek with my free arm. “If you don’t let him go, he’ll do whatever he needs to escape.” I stared up at my captor, clasping my hands together to beg. “Please . . . His bondmate is expecting.”

  One of the guards laughed and then muttered, “She sure has a bleeding heart like your zeta.”

  The magî holding my arm quirked his eyebrow at me.

  “You should show mercy,” I said, my gaze going to the other three magî before returning to the shifter. “If you take him and leave her, you’ll make them miserable.” I didn’t want to say what I really thought would happen. Rojek wasn’t going to leave his wife. He’d fight, and she’d have to watch him die. “Please,” I begged, choking on the words. My chest heaved with emotion, and I sputtered, “S-show mercy.”

  “Show mercy?” The panthera-magî asked, his eyes widening as if he found the concept foreign. He studied me, his lips pursing, and then glanced at one of the Serîk.

  I followed his gaze to the magî with honey-colored hair a shade darker than Svîk’s in time to see the magî jump as though pulled from a stupor.

  Bîcav glared at the leader and then muttered, “He’ll fight until you kill him.”

  Panthera-magî’s lip curled, and his gaze returned to me. “Here in Pûleêr, do they show mercy?”

  I blinked, initially surprised by the question but then more so by my inability to answer. The word mercy meant little to me here except possibly in reference to leniency regarding punishment. In the last four months, I couldn’t remember anyone in Pûleêr ever being punished—except by exclusion or the land, both of which, incidentally, didn’t show any mercy. “Please?”

  His eyes hardened, the vibrancy of blue shifting to sharp crystalline. He focused his attention on the other two captives before glancing over the rest of my work group. “You want me to show mercy?” he asked. “How much?”

  Hope sparked in my chest, and I looked from Rojek to Dawi before looking up at the leader. “As much as you can. These people work hard, every day, to keep back the jungle. Your . . . interruption has cost our group precious time.” I pointed behind us to where I knew Svîk’s body lay in pieces and, with my lip curled, asked, “Would you kill needlessly?”

  Glowering, the magî stepped closer to me, the muscles in his neck going taut as he clenched his jaw. “Needlessly?” He paused and sucked in a breath. “I don’t do anything needlessly.”

  I nodded, agreeing with his ridiculous statement. He’d killed Svîk, and I was certain his death was not necessary, but I would agree to almost anything right now. I needed to stop any more deaths from happening. I looked to the rest of the people from Pûleêr for support, but no one else in the entire work group said or did anything as if they already believed the effort would be futile.

  But these men had come for a reason, and Panthera-magî knew Svîk . . . and they said we had strong magîk. My mind spun as I tried to make the pieces fit together in a way that made sense, but all I could think was Rojek would die if they tried to force him to come.

  “Please,” I whispered. “Let him stay with his bondmate. I promise . . .” If Svîk had betrayed the shifter and ended up here . . . My mind spun, but nothing made sense. “I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll come with you, no fighting . . . do whatever you say. Please.”

  He studied me, the intensity making me feel as though I was naked all the way to my soul, and then he asked, “You want mercy—for them?”

  I nodded, still desperate to make it right for Dawi.

  “How many of you knew the Serîk you called Svîk killed several of your magî?” he asked, eyeing the rest of the group. He waited, but no one raised their hand.

  An emotion crawled through my chest, something I didn’t even want to examine, and I scrutinized the magî, my neighbors, my fellow village-mates, but not one looked up from the ground. My captor cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to him.

  He gazed down at me and asked, “Don’t for a moment believe no one knew.” He shifted his attention to one of his men. “Bîcav? How many knew?”

  I spun toward the Serîk and the one with honey-colored hair, the one who had confirmed that Rojek would fight, and watched as he scanned the cluster of magî. He met my gaze and, with a rough voice, said, “More than half of them.”

  “You’re lying,” I rasped.

  The blond, Bîcav, grunted. “I don’t lie. They knew what he was—and what he was doing.”

  “Do you really believe it would be a mercy to spare these fools?” Panthera-magî asked. “If we allow them to breed, it will perpetuate their idiocy and fear on generations to come. They won’t be heroes.”

  His harsh offense hit me, but far worse was the doubt about their integrity.
And if Bîcav was right . . . what about Svîk? Panthera-magî raised his eyebrows, and I was stuck in the trap of his questions. Would my answer even matter? It would for one family—and Dawi had been kind. “I’ll do anything you ask.”

  He stared at me for a long moment then, still looking at me, he said, “Fine. Let him go.”

  “Done,” his man said.

  Nebe let out a wail, but I could hear Rojek’s squishing footsteps as he ran, hopefully to his wife.

  Panthera-magî grimaced and, in a low growl, said, “Fetid rot, shut that magî up.” He offered me a grim smile and tugged on my arm, indicating I should follow. “That’s all the mercy I have in me. Now, let’s go, Taja.”

  I jerked my head to stare at him and asked, “How do you know my name?”

  28

  I marched beside the leather-clad leader, my mind churning and spinning. The world around me blurred, the overwhelming confusion spreading to all my senses as I reeled. Panthera-magî had to be lying about Svîk, trying to get me to hate my friend. Svîk had been my rock, and I would spend every minute of every day devising a way to execute justice on the magî at my side.

  “She blames you,” one of the three men behind us said. “You’d better fix that, or you’ll need to look over your shoulder every single minute.”

  I glanced back to see who was speaking, but Panthera-magî yanked me forward with another growl. Nice. He really is an animal. For some reason, the thought made me think of mated pairs, and I couldn’t help but grudgingly admit he was attractive—at least physically.

  Someone snorted, but this time I didn’t even bother trying to see who.

  The three magî with swords followed us, and I blinked, shocked with the sudden awareness that we were already at the Little Rê. My thoughts stuttered as the memory of Svîk’s gruesome death flashed in my mind, and I shuddered violently. I had no way to reconcile the panthera-magî’s accusations of Svîk, the fight with him, and the constant friend he’d been to me.

  “Here,” the leader snapped, propelling me forward, his touch far gentler than his tone. “Bîcav, keep an eye on her for a moment. This is where the girl was hidden.”

  The dark-haired magî shifted into the melanistic apex and disappeared into the jungle. I stared after him and then turned my attention to the horses on the opposite side of the trail into Pûleêr.

  I frowned, counting the horses a second time—still only four, and then said, “Wait. What happened to the other guy?” I asked. “The one in the sulu. Where did he go?”

  One of the men laughed, and another one asked, “This one?”

  The bare-chested male in a sulu appeared in front of me on the road, waved, and then evaporated.

  “He’s an illusion?” I asked, my chest heaving as I hyperventilated. Looking away, my gaze landed on Nebe, who was quiet and calm. Holy Kânkarâ. I stared at the magî holding her and choked out, “Are you c-controlling her mind?”

  The magî with shorn hair shook his head. “Just what she sees and hears.”

  Which is pretty much like controlling her mind.

  “No,” Bîcav said. “There are limitations for each of us.”

  The panthera stepped out of the undercanopy’s thick foliage and stopped in front of me. He opened his mouth and dropped two things into the mud.

  Captivated, my attention remained on the ground even as I felt the magî shift beside me.

  “Keep your focus,” Panthera-magî grumbled. “Not on entertaining the prisoners.”

  “Got it, Rünê,” one of the magî answered. “Whatever you say.”

  His name was Rünê—so close to Ruin, and yet nothing like my panthera. Unless he really was protecting me from Svîk. My heart thundered with the thought, the concept frightening in a way I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

  I swallowed and bent down, picking up the scrap of fabric. Running my thumb over the faded-blue garment, I felt my heart stopped when I recognized it. With my stomach turning, I hoarsely choked out, “How?”

  “Two female magî kidnapped her and tied her to a tree for Svîk. The two of them fought—Svîk and your friend—before he killed her. Her body is mostly gone, but the bones are still there if you want more proof,” Rünê said. “Or you might recognize this? She had it in her hand.”

  He scooped up the thin leather cord—more worn than I remembered—and set it on top of the piece of Esi’s tunic, the silver charm still bright and untarnished. Bile burned the back of my throat, and I shook my head. Tears blurred my vision as the memory surfaced. Esi’s soul talking to me, telling me not to trust him, and then Svîk appeared—without his necklace. My thoughts tumbled incoherent with the fresh grief.

  Rünê continued, “There were two more victims. Women who lied to you—told you there was a conda who killed your friend’s mother. He killed them in a mangrove forest. You saw the blood on his hands.”

  “How would you even know that?” I whispered.

  “It’s his magîk,” Bîcav said, his face pinched with emotion.

  I nodded, but it made no sense. Panthera-magî’s magîk was obviously his ability to shift—or something about picking out the magî with power—or . . . Someone was lying, and I had no way of knowing. Overwhelmed, I tried to put the pieces together in some other way that could make sense, but I couldn’t process anything more. Tears dripped down my cheeks, unheeded, but I wasn’t even sure who I was mourning—or why. I only knew the wrongness of everything today was too much.

  “We’re done here,” the panthera-magî, Rünê , said. “Mount up.”

  “Wait . . . wait,” I begged. “Just tell me something else. Give me some answers, please . . . How did you know Svîk? How did he betray you?” I asked in a rush. “How did you know my name? How—” is any of this possible?

  This time when Rünê looked at me, the ferocity in him singed the air between us. He lowered his head and looked me in the eyes. “You thought his name was Svîk?”

  I nodded, a little less sure of my conclusions. How could they know each other and not know names?

  “Basvîk swore an oath, and he broke it.”

  “What was the oath?” I demanded. If I pushed hard enough, I’d find the flaw in his logic or his magîk. I was determined to discover the truth through the lies.

  He mumbled something else under his breath and then looked at his guard.

  Bîcav grimaced. “You’d better tell her everything. She probably won’t believe you, but you should tell her.” His shoulders dropped and then he added, “I didn’t know that happened in the clearing.” He coughed, closed his eyes and shuddered. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t know what?” I asked.

  Bîcav looked at me. His eyes reminded me of my friend, only right now, the Serîk’s eyes were filled with pity—for me. I studied him, noting he had wavy hair like Svîk, too. Bîcav’s complexion was darker though, and right now, the black-clad warrior’s face was tight with restrained emotion. There was something deeper, darker, beneath the pity and anger.

  “Are you sure you want to know?” Rünê asked me, drawing my attention back to him. When I nodded, he continued, but the ferocity was gone. “Basvîk promised to keep my . . . friend safe. But apparently he didn’t. I don’t know much more right now, no idea when or how the two of you ended up together, but . . .” He took a deep breath, and when he spoke next, his voice was quiet, subdued, and just for me. “Do you remember the Serîk in the clearing—the one you were fighting with—your first memories?”

  My eyes widened, but I refused to give him anything.

  “The Serîk who attacked you, your most vivid memory, from just over six months ago.” He crouched and looked me in the eyes. “That Serîk wearing crimson pants was your friend, Svîk.”

  “No,” I said, my breaths coming in short gasps. There was no way that was possible. “You’re lying.”

  But I remembered the trepidation I’d felt the first time I’d seen Svîk. I remembered the familiarity of the timbre of his voice and t
he reservation I’d felt yesterday and even this morning, I’d put so much effort into talking myself into . . . what? I swallowed hard, the answer sticking in my throat: trying to have a relationship with him. I blinked and studied Rünê.

  His eyes flashed from blue to green to yellow, and then he shuddered. Green—just like . . . Which would explain why I’d felt so at peace when he’d first walked by. Oh rot. How could he . . . be Ruin?

  Shaking his head, he frowned.

  “Tell her,” Bîcav snapped.

  My gaze bounced to the guard and then back to his leader, hyperventilating as disbelief strangled me.

  Rünê bowed his head and whispered, “I was there—sort of. That panthera was . . . is . . . me . . . now.”

  I jerked, and my stomach dropped. If that was him, that would mean . . . I swallowed as heat spread low in my abdomen and a fierce sense of possessiveness stormed through me. No. I refused to believe that. “If that was you, then you lied earlier when you said you’d never seen me. Were you lying then or now? How can I trust anything you’re saying when at least part of it is a lie?”

  “Stop,” he growled. His eyes flashed green again, and he trembled. “I don’t care if you trust me or not, but I’m not lying. And I didn’t lie before either. I don’t need to explain myself to you.” He pushed me toward one of the other magî in black leather. “Bîcav, it’s your turn. I need time. I can’t,” he said. He strode to his horse and mounted, snapping instructions to his men about the prisoners. “Let’s go. If we ride hard, we might make it out of here before the Serîk come.”

  “Aren’t you the Serîk?” I asked, glancing at the group of magî in leather.

  Fetid rot.

  Black leather. I swallowed as the realization sunk in. These weren’t Serîk from the kümdâr. These were magî-guard from the Zîv.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, suddenly filled with new trepidation.

  The magî mounted their horses, and I followed Rünê with my gaze. When he said nothing, I turned to Bîcav. “Where are we going?”