Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1 - Lightseer
Chapter 2 - Memories
Chapter 3 - An Invitation
Chapter 4 - The Blackwoods
Chapter 5 - The Willows
Chapter 6 - Southwick
Chapter 7 - Prison
Chapter 8 - Curiosity
Chapter 9 - Change of Plans
Chapter 10 - Silexa
Chapter 11 - Overheard
Chapter 12 - Interloper
Chapter 13 - The Vivatera
Chatper 14 - The Feast
Chapter 15 - Torture
Chapter 16 - Possession
Chapter 17 - Ferra
Chapter 18 - UnderElm
Chapter 19 - The Echoes
Chapter 20 - Lost and Found
Chapter 21 - Fight and Flight
Chapter 22 - Paradise
Chapter 23 - Awakening
Naomi's Journey Continues...
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Hardcover Edition 2019
Shadesilk Press, LLC
Original copyright © 2013
by Candace J. Thomas
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in this story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.
1st Edition: May 2013
originally printed by Xchyler Publishing, an imprint of Hamilton Springs Press, LLC
Edited by Elizabeth Gilliland 2nd Edition: January 2019
Shadesilk Press, LLC
Published in the United States of America Cover Design/Inside Graphics by Monika MacFarland Ampersand Book Covers
Library of Congress 2018913512
To Kevin, my favorite
Prologue
The wide hall echoed with his footsteps. An unsettling quiet filled the palace. The only sounds Reyn heard came from the quick clips of his boots on the hard stone and the thumping of his young heart.
Most of court would be at the ceremony. The king rarely invited so many to come, but that special occurrence marked a crowning achievement in his reign. Only adults would be there, all except for the young princesses.
The impatient boy dashed from his family’s quarters toward the palace apothecary. As apprentice to the king’s healer, Lytte, Reyn knew he would find it empty. He needed the crucible for his experiment; Lytte wouldn’t allow it if he knew. Tonight, an opportunity opened up. The ceremony provided the perfect cover.
The small figure of Taren stood tucked away in a quiet corner of the passage, waiting just as he’d promised he would. His age made him too young to understand the risk but old enough to keep quiet—innocent, naïve, and motivated, an ideal accomplice. If Taren wanted to be included, Reyn needed proof he could handle it.
“Come, Taren.”
Taren hesitated. “Reyn, I think this is a bad idea.”
“I don’t care what you think.”
“I don’t think you should touch the magic— ”
Reyn loomed over him, nearly a head taller than his toady. “You agreed, Taren. A promise for a promise. I need a second pair of hands for this to work.”
The little boy swallowed his words and followed.
On and on the two traveled through the empty hallways, down stone paths and under intricate archways as they ventured to the apothecary.
The knapsack Reyn slung over his shoulder carried his precious treasures. Six jumbled jars clinked together from his hurried steps. His mind worked out everything he needed to do with the leftover stone pieces he had carefully collected and protected in secret——the discarded shards Lytte ordered him to destroy. But his curiosity wouldn’t allow it. The possibilities his plan presented sent thrills throughout his body, down to his fingertips. He hardly contained the adrenaline racing in his veins.
They found the apothecary unoccupied, as expected.
“Start the fire,” he ordered. “We need it really hot.”
Taren did as asked. The flames grew bright.
Reyn took out each jar and placed it very carefully on the table. The magic glowed in its measure, curious and wonderful. Out of his pocket, he pulled the beautiful gold medallion, its center hollowed and empty. His fingers brushed over the intricate hawk symbol. Pride swelled at his own accomplishment.
It had started as a piece of scrap he used for practice. His father allowed him to make it—a project they worked on together when the trusted forge-master created others as a favor for the king. It belonged to him, and so would the stone.
Taren stared, completely distracted by the colorful magic sparkling in the jars. “What will you do?” he asked.
“Nothing wrong.”
“I didn’t say—”
“Yes, but I know what you meant.”
Taren stared at the containers. He prepared to say more but thought better of it.
Reyn turned to face him. “You can’t say a word to anyone, got it? Nothing that you see here. Nothing. Not to anyone.”
The little one nodded.
“Swear it!”
A look of loathing crossed the child’s face. “I swear.”
Good enough. Reyn didn’t have time to worry about the loyalties of the younger boy.
Now to heat the minerals.
Even at the age of nine, he knew much of the trade for which he was apprenticed to his grandfather. He grabbed the tongs and a small metal cup. They would have to do.
Each jar drew in an audible gasp as Reyn opened it, like the magic needed to breathe. The unexpected reaction provided a quick reminder of the danger, but he had no time to think about it.
Reyn softly tipped each jar until the pieces dropped out, careful not to touch them. The large pieces would work. Not everything would fit in the cup, so he left the small pieces in the jar. Too precious to waste, he would keep them for something special.
Whispers of magic floated above the top of the cup as each stone touched its brother. A strange sizzling started around the edge.
“Grab the tongs,” Reyn ordered his assistant.
Taren watched the minerals move and crack in the small container, mesmerized by the thin wisps of magic escaping the rim. The hot sparks shot out in different directions, dangerously close to where they stood.
“Quick!”
“I don’t like this,” Taren complained.
“I don’t care! Now, grab me the tongs.”
Taren just stared at the magic, petrified.
Reyn’s patience ran thin, and he grabbed the tongs himself. He slid the metal around the cylinder in a firm grip.
“Reyn, don’t do it! It’s not stable.”
“And what do you understand about the magic?”
“Don’t force it together. Bad things will happen.”
Reyn didn’t care to hear anything else. It took a long time to get to that point. He knew everything he needed to know. He felt the anticipation. He would create a stone just as amazing as the others—maybe more. It would be brilliant.
As he moved the tongs closer to the fire, the sizzling increased. He just needed to get the cup into the heat. The minerals would soften and the magic would release. Reyn thought of the splendor of what would happen. After seeing what each mineral could do—even the small taste he had witnessed—his wo
nder ignited.
“Reyn! Don’t!”
Just a few more inches. The flames licked around the cup; the sizzling continued.
A spark . . . a crackle.
Just a little more.
The iron tongs grew scalding. He didn’t want to drop it. Just a few more seconds.
Colors inside the cup turned to flame. Blue ribbons moved upward, mixing with the heat. Green sparks flashed out. Thick, purple liquid spiraled around the iron, like a snake wrapping around its prey. Sparks flew.
The tongs began to shake.
Just a little longer.
He couldn’t hold on.
The tongs slipped out of his hands and the tiny cup dropped into the fire.
Boom!
The blast hurled both boys against the opposite wall.
Ringing . . . vision blurred . . . head aching . . . What had happened? Flames crept near him. The sizzling mixed with the ringing in his ears.
Then Reyn felt burning. He was burning. The purple flame reached around his chest. Moving quickly, he rolled over, smothering the fire that singed his skin.
Across the room, Reyn saw Taren. He lay still against the stone, his face and chest covered with sparks, his eyes closed against the pain.
Reyn stood and ran to the younger boy, smacking at the sparks with his hands. “Oh, no. Can you hear me?”
Cuts covered Taren’s face. Fresh blood streaked down his forehead and around his ears. For Reyn, panic set in. What had he done?
Reyn grabbed some of the strips of cloth near the medical cabinet and placed it around Taren’s head. He didn’t care about his own burns. They were nothing.
What had happened? He did everything right. It should have worked. His mind raced on what to do.
The dust settled around the stone hearth. Within the fire, as it died into ash, a glinting shimmer of light attracted his eye.
Reyn watched as a small stone rolled out of the overturned cup and onto the floor. The mysterious magic secured inside. He crawled through the rubble, completely captivated by the beauty of his creation. With a tiny cloth, he picked up the delicate stone. A greedy smile covered his face.
He was right. It worked.
Chapter One
Lightseer
Those in shadow watch through gentle cracks of cedar,
upon a young woman
with hair, silver as moonlight, running down her back.
She knows she will die and she waits.
Naomi sat straight up. Sun streamed through the leaves above her. How late was it? Disoriented, she looked around. The branches beneath her feet swayed along with the wind. The worn pages of her journal fluttered gently back and forth. She hadn’t expected to fall asleep here, just to get some peace.
“Girl!” The yelling felt far away because of the muffling wind through the trees. She knew it was for her.
“Naomi, you lazy girl!”
Looking through the hollow, she saw Ferrell, mad as ever, his red skin nearly purple with anger. The sun high in the sky, it had to be late morning, which made her late for the market and left poor Zander all alone. The boy might get in trouble for her sake. Best not get caught.
Naomi gathered her dream journal in her knapsack and swung it over her middle. She looked down the tree and saw her boots at the base of the trunk. Well, she couldn’t take those now. Climbing down would risk Ferrell seeing her. She hated the boots anyway. She loved the feeling of her toes in the grass.
Nimble as a cat, she moved along the branches to the next trees. She could hear distant yells with her name thrown in here and there. The further away she got, the better she felt. Ferrell would forgive her if she sold as much meat as he sent.
She followed along the great oak trees lining the rarely traveled road to the town of Sharlot, jumping when needed, but always with grace. She enjoyed testing her limits bounce after bounce. She could see through the trees, along the grass to the village. Not much farther to go.
Naomi rubbed the nape of her neck out of habit, tracing the scar she seldom thought about anymore. The scarf still wound around her throat, secure, just how Malindra taught her to wear it. The feel of the smooth fabric comforted her, reminding her of Malindra’s love. Naomi smiled at the memory of her beloved caregiver.
With a few climbs and a small hop, Naomi’s bare feet slid into the grass, which tickled her legs and toes. The soft ground yielded to her feather-light frame. Naomi cinched her hood tight around her face, her hair concealed beneath. She let the morning air fill her lungs before she sprinted off to town.
~*~
“Where h-have you . . . ?” Zander stuttered. The words always rushed out when he hadn’t talked to anyone for a while, making him seem much younger than his twelve years.
“No worries, Zan,” Naomi said as she approached the cart. “I’m here now. How are you this morning?”
“Okay,” he mumbled. He looked embarrassed, maybe frightened to say anything more on the subject. “Where . . . do . . . you go?”
“The tree,” she said without a thought. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”
“D-did you d-dream again?”
Naomi couldn’t hide things from Zander. Her dream still sat in slim awareness near the surface of thought: the girl with the amazing silver hair, the lightning outside of the tiny space she hid, something or someone hunting her. She looked terrified, but not of the lightning. The lightning protected her.
Naomi blinked back to reality and looked at Zander. She nodded and patted her sack over her shoulder. “You want to look?”
Zander smiled as Naomi handed over her dream journal. It didn’t look special in any way, just a small, insignificant parchment of scribbles. She’d added to it over the years with scrap pages and spare twine. It really didn’t look important to anyone, but she liked it that way. It gave it character.
Naomi watched Zander carefully as he looked at her newest entry. A worry came over her. “How is your back?”
He looked up embarrassed, afraid to speak.
“May I see?” she asked.
Zander turned and slowly lifted his tunic. The whip marks were completely healed over, no oozing welts or bloody scabs, but smooth and clean. Naomi always liked to check. She had rubbed it the previous night with cornflower oil and it always worked.
“I’m sorry that happened,” Naomi said, thinking of his father’s tirade. “I hate it when he’s in a bad temper.”
Zander shrugged it off and forgot about it. “I’m g-glad I have . . . you.”
Naomi rubbed his shoulder and smiled.
“I’ve only sold . . . a few . . . chops. Some people came to look and asked me a question, b-but I . . .”
“Oh, Zander,” Naomi said with love. She reached her arm all the way around him in a mothering way and squeezed. “I don’t want you to worry about it, okay?”
The boy nodded in relief.
Naomi looked over the crowd. Many people filled the streets and alleys. Women in fancy dresses and masks with ornate, jeweled wraps and men in headdresses with feathers peppered the street with color, like peacocks prancing for approval.
“I don’t know why your father thinks we can sell more meat today than any other day,” she said.
Zander shrugged his shoulders. “I did . . . see a man breathing f-f-fire.”
Naomi scoped the street. She saw no fire-eater, but she did notice more blue than normal: men dressed in blue cloaks, swords strapped to their side. “Who are the men in uniform?”
“G-guards from Southwick,” he stated. “The prince is c-coming.”
“A prince . . .” Naomi repeated, perplexed.
Far from the village, Southwick stood near the sea. Sharlot served as a skipping stone to other, greater cities of Parbraven. Naomi knew very little about this prince, the son of the king. He must have a handsome face, she assumed, to draw such a crowd. She witnessed a glowing review of the monarchy in the faces all around her. An air of hope to a sad people.
In her assessment of the cro
wd, Naomi spotted someone in a dark-green cloak in a corner alley. She felt something familiar about him, like in the dreams she had scrawled on her parchment. He seemed interested in the crowd as well. He held very still, observing the people, not joining in or carrying on like the others.
The crowd wouldn’t have noticed him, but Naomi sensed a deeper purpose for his presence. She surveyed the street and the guards. When her eyes wandered back to the alley, he had disappeared.
“Zan?” she asked. “Did you see someone in the corner in a green cloak?”
Zander shook his head.
They risked wasting the day with their wandering distractions. She didn’t want Zander hurt because of her curiosity, and restored her focus. “Sorry. Let’s see what we can sell.”
Naomi pulled back her hood. Her hair glinted in shades of honey, seeming to take its energy directly from the sun. The fluid blonde curls attracted attention immediately. The color didn’t appear commonly in Sharlot—or in Parbraven, for that matter.
Zander’s father knew it caught attention of crowds and used it to sell his cargo. People would sometimes ask to touch it for good luck. They wondered where she came from, or where she got such a blessing. Sadly, she didn’t know. It remained a mystery unlikely to be solved. While in town, and when not selling, Naomi covered her hair with a hood.
With her cloak down, trading started immediately. She drew customers without trying. Zander had a hard time keeping up with all the orders. Selling went well for a time, until the crowd erupted.
“The prince comes!” someone yelled. Girls throughout the crowd began giggling. All interest in buying disappeared.
Naomi reached for Zander’s hand as she conceded defeat. “Have you ever seen a prince?” she asked.
Zander shook his head.
“Nor I,” Naomi sighed, reminded of her small existence. “I don’t know much of him. What do you think?”
Zander looked toward the crowd. “I don’t know . . .” he started. “I’ve heard good things . . .”
“Can you tell me?”
Zander merely shrugged. Naomi understood his silence. He hadn’t heard good things, but he hoped for good things, much as others in the town . . . much like herself.
Vivatera (Vivatera Series Book 1) Page 1