Blood and Shadow (The Mage's Gift Book 1)

by Robin Lythgoe

  Magic snaked out and scraped against him, demanding compliance. Sherakai could not defend against it. Instead, he ran.

  Chapter 8

  Buried in sweet-smelling hay, Sherakai listened to the quiet murmur of the horses. The familiar stable loft sheltered and protected him, but it did not give him the solace he craved. His father’s coldness haunted him. So did the stark fear the older man kept bound but not completely hidden. His mother's shock and hurt at his words made no sense to him, but nothing had. The awful clatter of emotions in the room overcame him.

  His brothers were gone.

  The adults said 'missing' or 'taken,' but their terror and suspicion said something more. Something worse. His parents would move heaven and earth to get them back unless they knew they were dead. Father had found them all before when they had gotten lost.

  Dead.

  The word wrapped icy fingers around his throat and strangled him. Too much food and foolery into the bargain conspired against him. He hurried down the ladder to find the nearest bucket and crouch over it, heaving and miserable.

  The sound of his retching brought a stablehand. “Do you need help, sir?” he asked.

  “Go away,” Sherakai choked, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.

  Boots scuffed on the packed earth floor as the stablehand moved away. The respite was short-lived. “Here, I’ve brought you water,” the man said.

  He waited silently until Sherakai accepted the cup and muttered a rough thanks and a sidelong glare. It was no one he knew. Likely one of Marata’s men. After a moment’s hesitation the fellow nodded and left him blessedly alone.

  Sherakai wiped his eyes on his sleeve, washed his mouth out, then drank down the rest of the water. It was good when it ought to taste like ashes.

  A few curious horses nearby had their heads over the stall doors. He couldn't hide from them. That’s what he was doing, wasn’t it? Hiding like a sorry little boy.

  “Leave me alone,” he said, eyes stinging. Up the ladder again, he made his way to the loft’s furthest corner. When he dropped down to the dusty floor, he knocked over a stack of books. Treasures borrowed from the library, they were mostly to do with history or horses. Warm and dry, the loft was his favorite place to read. With a book, a blanket, and the soft sounds of the horses, he could while away hours here.

  He put the books back in order. Lost in thought, his fingertips traced the embossed title of the last, Josawa the Fox. The history of a spirit-gifted scout for the king’s army, Tasan had suggested it to him. It was good reading, but now he wondered if Tasan had known of his little brother’s upcoming trip to Kesurechi.

  Hunched into the tight angle of the roof, he hugged his knees against his chest. Bits and pieces of the last few days played through his memory. He had to make a man’s decisions, but everyone still treated him like a child, called him a boy. Boy, as though he lacked intelligence or maturity of any kind.

  But didn’t he have a Gift stronger than any of them? Stronger than his father could either wield or train? His father should have used his magic. He’d done it before when they were lost. And if his magic wasn’t strong enough, he should have left the gathering to go find them.

  Conjuring a detailed image of Tasan's face, he tried to feel him in the magic. The aro. He only needed a hint of direction to start. When he failed to come up with even a hint of Tasan's location, he tried Fazare. He tried Imitoru.

  Nothing.

  He got up to walk back and forth, shaking out his arms to loosen the tension so he might try again.

  Still nothing.

  He went through each of the exercises he knew to relax and center himself and tried again. He tried until his head swam and his muscles shivered in fatigue. Until his jaws ached from clenching and his ears rang like bells.

  And still… nothing.

  Complete and abject failure left him boneless. His father was right. He lacked skill. For a long time, he lay staring up at the impenetrable darkness of the roof. The music and laughter of the festivities faded. The sound of muffled voices drifted up to him as the grooms checked on their charges one last time. No one called or came looking for him, which was what he wanted—and what he didn’t.

  Above him, not a single glimmer through the tiles proved the light of the stars still shone. Did the Abyss look like this? Was it a place one crept into, or did it creep into you?

  He closed his eyes and put one hand over them. One at a time the tears slipped from his eyes, then faster and faster until they became a bitter torrent.

  Why had something so awful happened to his family? And if he had such an outstanding Gift why couldn’t he use it? Nothing made sense to him.

  Think, Sherakai! he berated himself. He succeeded in drawing upon the aro, but he’d struggled. He’d lost control. What did he need to do to ease the flow of magic? A physical connection?

  He considered that for a few minutes, then crawled across the hay to the ladder and down again. Hands flat against the pounded earth floor, he calmed his breathing and drew again upon aro, the energy of magic. It came to him sluggishly. Forcing aside impatience, he pictured Imitoru. Toru was the easiest, the most accepting, the closest to Sherakai in age and in humor.

  For a long time he drifted in a trance, searching for that single spark of life and vibrancy. It came so faintly he almost missed it. He stilled, not daring to breathe. The barest suggestion of direction, fragile as a breath on his cheek, touched his senses. With no warning, it disappeared again. Which way? Please, which way? But it was gone and with it every ounce of strength he possessed.

  He sagged against the wall. He’d almost done it. So very close! He gave a shaky laugh and shook his head. ‘Almost’ wasn’t enough and it wouldn’t convince Papa to let him do the job. First he would have to rest, and then he would need to go where Imitoru had gone. Touching the earth had helped. If he touched the place where his brother had last stood, the connection would be stronger.

  “I will find you, Toru,” he whispered. “I will.”

  Chapter 9

  Sherakai worked alongside the stable boys, raking out Aishe’s stall, then currying him until his coat shone bright. His brush moved in gentle, swishing arcs. Now and then Aishe shifted or let out a murmur of appreciation. Careless of the youth’s somber mood, the morning sun shone through the high windows, illuminating dancing motes of dust. The thump and gurgle of an emptied bucket, the thud of hooves and swish of tails were a sweet, familiar melody. It did not soothe away his sense of displacement. Now and then his lips whispered prayers to the gods to protect and deliver his brothers. He tried not to think of what might have happened, but his imagination had a ready supply of terrors.

  Soon he would need to go prepare himself for the rest of the impossible day, but he lingered, unwilling to leave this fragment of peace. The sound of voices came from the stable doorway, and a moment later a shadow blocked the light.

  “Sherakai.”

  He stilled. Had anyone else stood there and said his name just so, he’d nod and mutter a reply, but Chakkan… He swallowed hard, several times. His eyes blurred and he managed a wordless shake of his head.

  The two of them had been best friends forever. As children the two had gravitated to one another, and Tameko had allowed the relationship—within reason. His father had made it clear a man in their society needed the friendship of those that served him. But Sherakai must never lower himself to Chakkan’s level, and Chakkan would never be a lord’s son.

  “I heard,” Chakkan whispered, stepping into the stall.

  Sherakai shook his head again, blinking to clear his vision. Aishe shifted. A jealous creature, he wanted Sherakai to himself. “Who told you?”

  “Your father.”

  He grimaced. “Sent you to pat me on the head and bring me to heel, did he?”

  “No.” A scowl tugged his brows. He shook his head and folded his arms. “No, nothing like that. He’s worried about you.”

  “I’m sure he knows where to find me.
” Sherakai often took refuge in the stables or riding. If his father couldn’t find him with the horses, he could use his magic. If he wanted to. “Is there any news yet?”

  “No. I’m sorry.”

  “I should have been with them.”

  “What? No. Why would you think that?”

  “They invited me to go with them and I—I stayed.” All for the fleeting attention of a few pretty girls.

  “It is good you did not, else the jansu would have no sons at his side today.”

  “It’s not fair to him that he has the least of them.”

  Roughly, Chakkan thumped his shoulder with a fist. “Don’t talk like that. You’re every bit as worthy as they are. What are your parents going to do?”

  Shrugging away, he leaned his head against the stallion’s broad shoulder. “Go ahead with the wedding. They have to. Too many things depend on it.”

  “Blessed Saints! Things more important than three missing sons?”

  Another shrug. He hesitated briefly. “Did he tell you Elinasha is pregnant?”

  Chakkan twitched and took an involuntary step back. The color drained from his face even as anger flared in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry. I know you were—are—fond of her.” Though he’d never admitted as much out loud, it didn’t take a scholar to see the way Chakkan looked at her or spoke of her.

  “Is anyone challenging Okata dan Kensaka to answer for her honor?”

  Sherakai’s jaw knotted. “Probably not. The alliance with his family is more important than her honor.”

  Chakkan banged an angry fist against the stall wall. Aishe danced to one side, taking away Sherakai’s support. “He’s just going to get away with it?”

  Instinctively, the youth reached out for the horse, gentle hands soothing the animal’s indignation. Chakkan took care to stay well away. “They both broke the law. Do you really think she refused him?” he asked, his voice far more calm than he felt. “Papa would be within his rights to turn her out and demand restitution, but no, there’s the gecking alliance.”

  “I suppose so.” Constant companionship had taught him a little of politics and maneuvering of the nobility. He thumped the wall again, angry still, but considering. “She is the lesser problem,” he admitted.

  “Papa is forced to continue with the wedding, but her disgrace takes time and man-power away from the search for my brothers. What if they die because of her?”

  “What would you do instead, Kai?”

  “Isn’t it obvious? Put off the wedding. Find Tasan, Zar, and Toru.”

  “What about all the guests?”

  “They can all go to the Abyss.”

  Chakkan huffed a humorless laugh. “Really? And what, send them home insulted and gossiping? Or keep them here and pay for their food and lodging and silence?”

  Sherakai rounded on him. “Whose side are you on?”

  “House Tanoshi’s.”

  He said it with such certainty, such conviction, that it made Sherakai pause. Elinasha’s foolishness had complicated matters, but it hadn’t caused them. And how best to handle that so they could deal with the real problem? Chakkan was right. It was impossible to shove an entire wedding to the side without consequences. There were those who would make life ugly for the entire House with favors refused, insults spread, backs turned, contracts dissolved, or worse. That threat needed just as much energy and attention as those who were missing.

  Chakkan frowned. “You’re thinking. Tell me you’re not going to do something idiotic.”

  “I’m going to help.”

  “How?”

  “Papa says my Gift is stronger than most anything he’s seen. I tried to use it last night, but it didn’t work. There was too much emotion and noise. With all these people here it’s like a river in the spring overflowing the banks. I need to go to where my brothers last stood.”

  “Leave the keep,” Chakkan echoed in dismay.

  “Yes.” Green eyes shone bright and determined. He grabbed Aishe’s halter and tugged him out into the aisle. “Go saddle your horse.”

  “Now?”

  “Of course. I’ll need a guard. You’re a guard. Are you coming?”

  “That didn’t go at all the way I expected.” With a jerk, Sherakai fastened the bow securing one corner of a bench pad while Chakkan dealt with the opposite. The plan to ride boldly through the gates had been foiled by none other than Imarasu herself calling for him to find so-and-so and help with the greenery boughs. He’d no sooner finished that than his mother had handed him the basket, muttered something about a lazy servant, and told him to tie bows.

  “Really? Because it went exactly the way I figured it would. Except for the part where I should have got thrown in a cell and you locked up in a tower. I can’t say I’m disappointed.” Chakkan grinned. He didn’t appear to mind the task Sherakai had drafted him to.

  “I need to get out somehow. Have you thought of anything?”

  “Nothing practical. Unless you can fly.” He scanned the keep’s curved roofs, then the curtain wall as though plotting a route.

  “You’re not helping.”

  “I’m lending a hand with this bow-tying.” He frowned at the result. “Probably a mistake.”

  “Will you be serious, Chakkan? Please?” Imarasu must have caught wind of his attempted escape and given him the most humiliating task she could think of on the spur of the moment.

  “If I were really serious, I’d tell your father what you’re planning, but I can’t decide which of you is the most right. I don’t suppose you’ve considered that he already has men hunting for them, or that he might take you himself after the wedding.”

  “Not likely,” he grumbled, moving to secure the next tie. A surreptitious glance didn’t reveal anyone looking their direction. “Besides, by then it could be too late.”

  “True.” Chakkan heaved a sigh and straightened. “I’ve got to go; the captain needs me.”

  “Says who?”

  “He whistled. You didn’t hear him?”

  “No.” He gave his friend a look of accusation, but Chakkan nodded up at the closest wall where Captain Nayuri directed his men with hand signals. “Fine, go. I can see where your loyalties lie. Deserter.”

  Chakkan patted his shoulder as he moved past. “I’ll talk to you later, weevil-brain.”

  Chapter 10

  Open windows at either end of the long hallway allowed a breeze through the family quarters. The cool breeze flowing down the canyon carried the scent of flowers and greenery. Imarasu’s delicate slippers whispered on the dark, polished wooden floor. Beside her, Sherakai measured his steps to match. In winter they’d lay down thick rugs for warmth and burn perfumed candles for light as well as fragrance. Imarasu and her ladies harvested many of the herbs used for the scents themselves. They would wrap some of the collection in scraps of cloth to burn on the fire. Imarasu liked candles infused with sweet orange while Tameko preferred bay. The scents blended as perfectly as wife and husband.

  “I should check on our next shipment of oranges.” Imarasu sounded distant, distracted. Their oranges came from the south or from Kyusaido. Hard frosts or snow—depending on the year—kept the beautiful trees from growing this high in the mountains. “With the wedding, there will be none for our own use.”

  “Would you like me to go tell Suchedai Ginsaka?” Sherakai asked, careful with the tray of tea and delicate cakes she’d entrusted to him. He did not know how she could think of oranges or putting things by for the future with her sons missing. Tense, glittering eyes kept him from asking. He desperately wanted to walk out of the hall, take the nearest horse, and ride away to search for his brothers. He suspected that Imarasu kept him at her side to avoid losing him, too.

  “Not just yet, thank you, sweetling,” she replied absently, then laughed. “Do you know, I still smell like lavender. How many hours did we spend tying all those lavender wands?”

  Thankfully, Sherakai had escaped that task. The women had spent hours in the sha
dy garden, tying the stalks and flowers for the wedding. They did smell good, but left to his own devices, he would stick a fistful of flowers in a bottle and call it ‘finished.’ Lavender was Elinasha’s favorite scent, and the flowers were everywhere for her wedding. Everything smelled like lavender.

  “A hundred, at least,” he guessed, wildly inflating the number.

  “There is Elinasha to consider. Poor, foolish child…” she murmured to herself. At the sound of a man's voice, she paused outside Mimeru’s room. Her hand went to her chest when the sound of a man’s voice drifted from inside. “Imitoru?”

  Sherakai’s heart leaped, but it was not his brother. The entire keep would be aflame with the news if he’d returned. Bairith sat in a chair next to Mimeru’s bed, her hand in his. His arresting features flowed into a smile when he saw the pair of them.

  “Look, there is your lovely mother now. I asked her to bring you some fortifying tea.” Bairith rose to come take the tray from Sherakai with a soft word of thanks and a look that left a slender ribbon of expectation and promise stretched between them.

  Sherakai waved the illusion aside as he would a thread of spider’s web, but it lingered.

  “I didn’t realize you’d be here, Bairith, or I’d have brought something for you to drink. Unless you need fortifying?” Imarasu had a gentle way of teasing, but today’s attempt lacked vitality.

  “Considering the press of lofty guests, your offer is tempting, but no, thank you.”

  “Join us, won’t you, Mama?” Mimeru held her hand out in supplication. A shadow of desperation haunted her exhaustion-bruised eyes. “Just for a moment or two? Come sit by me. Please?” She gestured to the chair her husband had occupied.

  While she seated herself, Sherakai perched on the bench in front of the open window. Bairith gleamed the way he always did, but he could make out no telltale sign of magic use. Not that he was any expert…