Vivatera (Vivatera Series Book 1)

by Candace J Thomas

He would have to find something harder.

  On the cart sat a sack of walnuts, which he had picked up off the ground on his way there and had planned to share with Naomi. He grabbed a handful and threw one at a guard close by, hitting his head with a sharp thwack. It worked. Zander steadied his aim and fired one walnut after another. More guards turned to see what had hit them.

  Before Zander could react, the guards were upon him, ripping him down from the cart. Someone punched him in the stomach. The blow took his breath and he fell to his knees. Hands came down upon him, pulling, pushing, grabbing.

  Something smacked his head and everything went black.

  ~*~

  Zander awoke to the splash of water on his face. He sputtered, shivering in the cold air. Mocking laughter surrounded him. Head spinning, he lifted his eyes to see his attackers.

  The guards of the cold, stone prison were not a kind lot, especially the head of the guard, a strong, burly man who wore a steel mask everywhere he went. Zander feared him most of all. The past few days had changed him, had altered his perception of humanity.

  He’d lost Naomi, who left behind only the bundle of papers she treasured. He held them close to his chest, a sweet remembrance of his old life with her.

  He hardly remembered the journey to the prison, having been gagged and blinded with a bag over his head as the guards shoved him into the corner of a dark, covered wagon and carried him off. In the prison yard, he had been kicked and beaten. It came as a relief when he finally reached the dungeons, but there he soon discovered what real cruelty could be. Subjected to inexcusable torture—more sport than anything else—Zander wished it would all go away, that he could go back to the fantasy that had once been his life.

  The guards approached him, the head guard in the center, all laughing as Zander cowered in a small corner of his cell. He knew what awaited him; his eyes closed tight, bracing himself for the beating to commence. But it never came.

  “Haggar, you’ve had enough fun, now leave him!” a voice shouted. Zander still kept his eyes closed. It must be a trick. But still, nothing came. Opening his eyes, he saw torchlight flicker on the wall as guards disappear out of the cell, leaving behind a man, dressed head to foot in midnight blue, standing at the doorway.

  The man walked toward Zander and examined him. “Ouch. Looks like they cut you good there.” He snapped his fingers to some outside presence. Soon, a little maid dressed all in white came forward, carrying a small basket full of medical supplies. He whispered in her ear and she began to dress Zander’s cuts and bruises, dabbing on ointments and creams and securing bandages.

  As she did so, the man sat on the ground and lowered his hood. Leaning against the stone wall, he rested his gaze on Zander. “You’re a lucky boy. Haggar would love to see you dead if he had the chance, bloodthirsty maggot that he is.”

  Zander tried to form words but could not. His recent experiences had heightened his stuttering, so he simply remained silent.

  It only took a few moments for Zander to recognize the man, though he looked kinder than at the festival. His manners and demeanor befitted an heir to the throne. The recognition must have read on Zander’s face, for the man smiled.

  “So, you think you know me, do you?” He laughed. “I’m Bryant, just Bryant, and there is no need to be afraid of me. Understand?”

  Zander slowly nodded his head but more out of fear than trust.

  “That will do,” Bryant ordered the maid dressing the wounds. She finished in a hurry, grabbed the medical basket, and left.

  Silence fell in the cold, stone cell.

  Bryant stood and paced back and forth, examining the living quarters: the poor condition of the bed, no more than a board with a thin layer of straw. The bucket provided for waste—the general stench. “Disgusting,” he pronounced.

  Zander sat in the corner, not daring to move but wondering why in the world a prince had come to visit him.

  Finally, Bryant sat down on the bed and rested his elbow on his knee. “How are you?”

  Zander only stared at him.

  “I hear your name is Zander Bucklingdown, yes?”

  Zander nodded.

  Bryant’s smooth brow furrowed with worry. “I’m sorry to tell you this . . . your father is dead.”

  A lump grew in Zander’s throat. He had suspected something like this might happen, but he didn’t like hearing the words. Nothing made sense to him anymore. Tears wanted to form but didn’t. He wanted to mourn but couldn’t. Overwhelmed with emotion, he put his head down on his knees.

  “So sorry, my dear boy.” Bryant’s expression looked pained. “How unfortunate. It sounded like he got in a confrontation with some of the guards.”

  Zander didn’t want to hear the details. He didn’t particularly like his father, but he hadn’t wanted him to die. With Naomi gone, he had nothing to do and nowhere to go. Despair took over and the tears finally came; he sobbed.

  Bryant ran his hand across his chin, like he didn’t know how to comfort him. After a moment, he knelt by Zander’s side, placing a firm arm around his shoulder. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you.”

  He lifted the boy up and brought him back to the bed, waiting a few moments before speaking again. “I hear that you don’t talk much and that’s too bad, because I have some questions for you.” Dirty tracks of tears streaming down his face, Zander met Bryant’s gaze. He hadn’t dared look at the prince until now; the older man seemed sincere but guarded.

  “I sent the guards after a girl, not you. You were trying to save her.”

  The memory stood out in Zander’s mind as the worst day in his life.

  Bryant placed his arm on Zander’s shoulder. “Do you happen to know where she might have gone?”

  Zander felt an empty void without Naomi. He remained silent.

  Bryant sighed. “Sorry to ask, but here’s the dilemma: the guards brought you here—which was not my idea, by the way. You’re now an orphan, without family, without a home. Did the girl know of relatives or someone who could take care of you?”

  Zander heard the lies in the words. Did this man think because he didn’t talk, that he couldn’t think? He tried to say the words, but only “mmmmmuhh,” came out.

  “So you can speak after all!” Bryant clapped his hands together. “Good news; I have no need for a mute.” He laughed a little, though Zander did not know why.

  The Prince stood and began pacing again. “So, the question begs—what should we do with you? And I’ve had an idea.”

  Zander looked down, not wanting to meet the prince’s eyes or hear his charming words. He wanted Naomi.

  “I need a page, and you would be perfect for the job. Since you have no family, there’s really no need for you to reject my offer.” Bryant stopped for a second and lifted up Zander’s chin. “Unless you don’t trust me.”

  Zander pulled away. He didn’t mean to, but the reaction came naturally.

  “Ah!” exclaimed Bryant. “Now I’m getting somewhere. You think I’m not trustworthy. You think it’s a trick. How could you possibly trust me, after all?”

  Zander huddled back into himself, hugging his knees tightly.

  Bryant sighed and smoothed his hair with his hands. “Listen . . .” His tone came out differently—weaker, filled with remorse. “I’m trying my hardest to rectify this situation.” He heaved another big sigh. “You’re here now, and I’d rather not see you die in a prison when all you did was throw some harmless walnuts at a few lousy guards.”

  Zander liked hearing the prince call the guards ‘lousy’ and couldn’t help but let a gentle smile creep around his mouth.

  Bryant knelt down before the boy. “I feel responsible for your placement here and . . .” he hesitated, “and your father’s death. I sought after the girl, more out of curiosity than anything. I didn’t want to hurt her. You got in the way of things. And . . . and I am trying to make things better.”

  “My father . . . dead.” The words came out clear and articulate. So
mehow, Zander scarcely noticed, but he could no longer stand to be silent.

  Bryant leaned back on his heels, seemingly astonished to hear Zander speak. “I’m sorry.”

  Zander unfolded his limbs, taking in the prince’s words. “I don’t know . . . wh-where . . . N-Nnn . . .” He stopped. He couldn’t form Naomi’s name.

  “I know you’ve lost her,” said Bryant. “There are men trying to find her now.”

  “W-why?”

  “Someone is looking for her. I don’t know why, honest! Lockwood, my father’s head general, is looking for something.”

  “Will . . . they k-k-kill her?”

  “Oh, I hope not.” Bryant shook his head. “Such a rare creature shouldn’t be murdered like that.”

  Zander felt the anger rise in his body as he stared down the other man. He still didn’t trust Bryant, but what other choice did he have? If he stayed in this prison, he would surely die.

  “Think about my offer, boy.” Bryant waved over the gatekeeper as he moved to the cell door. “The guards don’t care about you. You’ll be forgotten, until you don’t even remember your own name. They care nothing for the life of someone like you. You’ll die in here. But I am trying to save you, give you a life that means something. Don’t you see that?”

  Zander sat in silence, wiping the tears from his cheek.

  “This is all too much for you today.” Bryant brushed the straw off his clothing. “I will return for your decision in a day or two.”

  Bryant whirled around, his big cloak sweeping the dust on the floor as he exited.

  The door swung shut, plunging Zander again in to darkness. He curled up his knees and cried.

  Chapter Four

  The Blackwoods

  The devastation of the mudslide had bent many of the trees down and cluttered the path with broken limbs. Reynolds picked Naomi up and carried her through most of the tricky parts, until the grass returned and she had steadier footing. They traveled in silence. The rain slowed, and a tiny sliver of sun hung around the horizon, slipping in and out of the thunderheads.

  Slowly, things started to improve. Ahead lay a large grove of shady trees. And toward the top of the hill stood a strange forest with tall, black-trunked trees, their large, dark green leaves stretching from their branches. They had reached the Blackwoods.

  Reynolds remembered the advice Jeanus had given in the cellar and altered his course, walking the other direction.

  “What’s wrong with those trees?” he heard Naomi ask from behind him.

  “Those are the Blackwoods. The Willows are on the other side.”

  “They look sick.”

  “You would be right. Contaminated magic—waste—has poisoned the wood.” Reynolds stopped to look at the forest again, contemplating. “It would be much shorter taking you through there, but Jeanus warned me not to risk it.”

  Naomi looked sad, even horrified by the state of the trees. “Magic did that? Illusion or real?”

  Reynolds stood, impressed. “You were listening.” Naomi didn’t look amused. “It’s a dumping ground for residual magic. It has mutated the animals that live inside into hideous creatures and other things. I’d rather not have them following us.”

  Naomi swallowed. “What other things?

  Reynolds looked right into her face. “Ghosts. The place is haunted by Stains.”

  Naomi’s voice quivered a little. “Do I want to know what Stains are?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t. The souls of those touched by real magic, trapped to haunt this world—they are Stains. The ones affecting the Blackwoods are more like a virus, infecting those who live in it. The elements need to live and breathe, just like us. Something else from the world has to die in order for them to survive.” Reynolds stopped in thought. “Why don’t you know about Stains?”

  “Why would I?”

  Reynolds shrugged. “Well, I don’t know. I figured being around Malindra . . .”

  “We didn’t get out much.” Naomi pressed her hand gently against her ribs. “I think I would have to see the Stains to really understand, but don’t take that as a hint that we should go in there, because I don’t like the idea of ghosts. We’ve had enough scares today.”

  “Agreed. Though I think you could charm any Stain in there.”

  Naomi blushed. “No, I doubt they would be interested in a little thing like me.”

  A laugh burst from his lips. He knew the truth: those creatures would feel her charm, just as he did. The pull had started again. He cleared his head and travelled onward.

  The light faded, and they needed a place to stop. Reynolds surveyed the area, then froze. Off in the distance, a figure stood in a dark cloak near the ridgeline of the trees, long hair billowing from the hood.

  The tracker.

  Reynolds seized Naomi’s arm. “Quick! Down!” he whispered as he flung his cloak over her, covering her completely. “We’ve been spotted.”

  He made a quick decision. Reynolds grabbed her hand and practically dragged her up the hill. “We need to make for the woods.”

  Naomi huffed. “After all your talk of ghosts?”

  He hurried, pulling her faster. “We don’t have a choice.”

  Naomi couldn’t know the trouble they were in, but Reynolds did. It wouldn’t be long before the bloodthirsty Louving reached them.

  ~*~

  The exertion spent from the flash flood made for a hard run to the trees. He looked back once, only to see the dark image of the tracker darting after them. It wouldn’t take her long to find them in the woods. He had to confuse her, mix up the trail——lose her in the snarled tangles of the Blackwoods.

  The tree line loomed before them, and soon they were enveloped in thick darkness. Reynolds’ eyes adjusted quickly to the black shield as he led Naomi through the dense, eerie stillness.

  They ran swiftly, darting this way and that, flying over the broken tree branches and small shrubs littering the ground. Massive black shadows came and went as they moved between small pathways and cracks within rocks. The gloom of the hovering Blackwoods chilled every sense and crept like a plague onto everything it touched.

  Although the forest appeared to be dead, it definitely lived. Reynolds could feel the curiosity of the woods, and the overwhelming craving for what had just entered. He knew their hunger, a desperate yearning for home. The Stains felt Naomi’s magic as a saving grace, a beautiful unspoiled wish for their salvation.

  Naomi’s hand gripped tighter in his. Reynolds held it, firm and reassuring. He wished he hadn’t scared her with the talk of ghosts and Stains.

  The Blackwoods manipulated thoughts. Reynolds knew how to handle it, but Naomi would have no idea. Strange moaning came from one direction, then straight in front of them, and then disappeared altogether. Human shapes appeared but quickly vanished. Every fiber of Reynolds’ body warned him of the danger Jeanus mentioned. He should not have brought Naomi here.

  The dizzying depth of the Blackwoods kept him guessing at their location. Had he lost the tracker? He wouldn’t know until he figured out where they were. His reassuring grip on Naomi’s hand tightened. Their pace slowed to a trot, and finally Reynolds stopped to listen again in the wind. Naomi breathed in exhaustion.

  “We need to rest, but we can’t stay long.”

  “Can you see in the dark?” The question came out more like a complaint. “I can’t see anything.”

  “I can. There was a time in my life when I lived underground.”

  “Like a rabbit?”

  “Not exactly.” He smirked. “Come.” And with that he grabbed her hand once again and they began working their way through the darkness. “I see a grassy clearing not far from here. It should make a more comfortable bed for us tonight.”

  “You’re telling me we’re sleeping here?” Naomi sounded panicked.

  “We’re resting,” he explained. “I don’t think I can find the Willows tonight. Entering is tricky, even for me.”

  The clearing looked more dry and b
are than he’d anticipated. Reynolds brought her around and sat her next to a rock.

  “I don’t think I can sleep here.”

  Reynolds understood her fear. He tried to be positive, but he knew the Stains were watching. He squeezed her hand again, trying to reassure her. Then he ran his fingers over the knuckles on her hand.

  What am I doing? He had been charmed by her once again. He released her and stood. He needed to clear his head, so he paced.

  “Rest. I’ll be close.”

  “Don’t leave me.”

  Her pull felt different this time, filled with desperation. It held him tight. He didn’t know how to act. Just a little distance would help. “No worries. I’m too invested to leave.”

  Reynolds perched himself on a rock ledge where he could see all around the clearing. The tracker would find their trail. He feared her more than the Stains.

  Images appeared and disappeared in the clearing, each curious about the strange girl he had brought with him. He knew they smelled her magic, pulled mystically to her.

  Movement alerted his attention.

  Reynolds unsheathed his broadsword. Images moved from his sight . . . right side . . . left side . . . then vanished. He blinked. Did he see anything? He shook his head to keep alert. A clicking sound moved through the trees, circling, and then disappeared. He jumped down from the ledge, his sword ready. His ears perked up, listening for footsteps or breathing. He felt he’d lost his mind.

  Mist moved into the area, chilly and iridescent. It glided in a solid form, an undefined mass of grey cloud creeping toward him.

  Reynolds froze and narrowed his eyes. He held his sword firmly. Sweat dripped from his forehead. The clicking came again, louder and stronger. Reynolds moved slowly in a circle. The mist moved forward, and then stopped right before him. Weird light slowly began to condense and form into the resemblance of a man.

  Cold sweat ran down Reynolds’s back as he coiled, ready to strike. His eyes followed the floating image.

  The form before him stood tall and floated gently in the slight breeze. Reynolds could see the crown still on his head, the wrinkles still prominent on his face and brow. Gray hair streaked down his back, flowing into the silvery robes he wore.