Vivatera (Vivatera Series Book 1)

by Candace J Thomas

  Naomi stared, trying to read his expression in the dark shelter.

  “I know that’s the reason you left the Willows.”

  Naomi shifted her knife, calculating. Was it worth the risk?

  Suddenly, Taren snatched her wrist and squeezed, hard. Naomi winced, and the knife clattered to the ground. “I don’t have time to waste. You’re coming with me.”

  Naomi met his gaze. “I’ll come, but because I choose to.”

  “I’m not giving you a choice.”

  “You’re wrong. I have something you want.”

  Taren squinted as if trying to read her expression, but she didn’t flinch from his gaze. “And what’s that?”

  Against her better judgment, Naomi slowly lifted the chain around her neck, the warm light from the stone sending a flicker of magic into the darkness and catching Taren off-guard. “Looks like we both have secrets.”

  For a long moment, Taren simply stared. Then, still clutching her wrist, he dragged her to the door and out into the night.

  

  Far from the Silver Fox Inn lay the ridgeline of Edenwake Forest. Crowded thistle bushes made for an uncomfortable passage, but Taren knew of a farmhouse not far off. He would take Naomi there until he knew the others hadn’t followed.

  He gripped her tiny wrist tight, increasing his pace to put distance between himself and Landon before the other boy figured out his plan.

  The rain fell in heavy drop until they entered the canopy of the forest. The ground felt soft and marshy, covered with slippery ivy. Although night had fallen, an unearthly glow stretched across the forest floor. He continued through the misty patches hovering over pools of standing water.

  Naomi began to lag; he pushed her to her limit.

  “I have to stop, Taren,” she finally insisted. “I can’t . . .” She lost her breath and fell to the ground.

  Taren stretched out his arms and scooped her up, carrying her as he ran. He moved much faster without her dragging behind across the vines covering the forest floor.

  They reached the small farmhouse near a quiet spot on the river. Light gleamed from the windows. To the right of the house, a barn sat dark and still. It would be perfect.

  Not many animals slept in the barn, so Taren found a stall in the back, stored with hay. The small piglets didn’t mind sharing their home, too tired to squeal as he laid the exhausted Naomi on the soft bed. He couldn’t risk her escaping, so he found a bit of rope and tied her to a post near the door, in case she woke and tried to run away.

  Naomi looked peaceful, though the soggy clothes on her body couldn’t be comfortable. His internal struggle returned. Naomi confused him. To him, she couldn’t be more beautiful, and he understood why Reynolds protected her as he did. He didn’t want her to hate him, to fear him, but he knew what must be done in the end.

  Taren clapped his hands together and began rubbing them. The heat came immediately, like little smoke ringlets. He pressed his palms to her wet clothes until a light heat moved through the fabrics; steam rose as they dried.

  The rest of the night Taren sat against the wall, drifting in and out of consciousness as he watched Naomi sleep.

  

  Taren sat watch during the night as Naomi began to stir. She looked around and flinched as she saw the pigs nuzzled next to her.

  “Careful,” Taren warned from across the stall. “I’d rather you not wake them. Who knows what kind of sounds they would make?”

  “You put me next to pigs?” Naomi whispered, her tone harsh.

  “Yes. They kept you warm.”

  Naomi tried to slide away, but noticed the thick rope binding her hands. She held them up to him. “Is this really necessary?”

  “It might be.” Taren continued sharpening his knife against a stone. “I wasn’t sure how you would react when we were alone. You’re a smart girl, though a little too trusting.”

  “Why did you take me away?”

  Taren smiled wickedly. “There are plenty of people looking for you, but probably not around here.” He examined his knife again before continuing. “I know your little band of friends would fight a very valiant fight, but they would lose. You don’t realize the kind of danger you’re in, but I do.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “You were ready to believe.” He shifted his focus. “I didn’t say anything you hadn’t accepted already. I think you wanted to believe someone chased you, to make you feel better about leading everyone on a meaningless quest. Actually, I deserve a thank you for saving you that embarrassment.”

  Naomi looked stunned. “A thank you? What do you know about me?” She struggled with the rope. The pigs rustled in the hay next to her and she stopped.

  Taren watched. “It’s only rope.”

  Her tone became a cutting whisper. “You think you know who I am and what I need just by being around me for a few days?”

  Taren sat still, as calm as before. “People aren’t that complicated, Naomi.” He sounded out her name, rounding the vowels almost sweetly, which angered her. “Believe it or not, I care about what happens to you, and I don’t trust the others. They’re going to lead you into trouble.”

  “I know you have the ability to read other people, but I also know that you can’t read me.”

  Taren sat back, evaluating her perception, impressed. “You’re right . . . and wrong about my ability. I can’t read minds, just magic.” He felt a slight excitement at sharing the information he’d kept hidden from everyone. “Magic is different for everyone, and some are easier to communicate with. I’m curious about you, though. You puzzle me. I know you could be powerful if you had to, but your magic . . .” He trailed off, looking for the right words. “It’s so unfriendly.”

  “Are you really that surprised?”

  Taren remembered the shock he’d received when he first tried to read her magic. “I’ve never felt such boundaries around anyone. Usually I can get some communication.”

  Naomi examined her wrists. The rope had rubbed her skin red. She tried to flip it with her fingers, but could not reach.

  “See?” Taren watched her struggle and almost laughed. “Why not try to use your magic?”

  Naomi just stared.

  “I have a theory about you.”

  “How could you know anything about me?” she asked. “You don’t even know who I am.”

  Taren smiled, wickedly amused. “Well, you’ve got a good point. Maybe I should shed some light.”

  Naomi rolled back on her heels, indicating her readiness.

  “I know Reynolds.”

  Naomi looked skeptical. “How?”

  Taren noticed the color flush to her cheeks and waited for his jealousy to pass before he spoke again. “The real question isn’t how I know Reynolds, it’s how much do you know him?”

  “Enough to trust him with my life.”

  Taren kept his temper in check. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Saving you once doesn’t make him a saint.”

  Naomi shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “How do you know Reynolds’ character?”

  Taren twisted his knife in the straw, his focus lost in memories. “I’ve known him all my life.” He looked up to gauge her reaction before pressing on. “I grew up in Southwick with my father, who lived in the palace. Everyone knew Reynolds Fairborne. He was everyone’s favorite.” A small, bitter smile crossed his face as he remembered. “Reyn had the run of the place. I was very young. I idolized him; every boy did.

  “I was there in the palace with Reynolds when he first experimented with magic.” Taren snapped his fingers and a spark of fire burned near the tips of his fingernails. He blew on it, giving it wings, and it took flight toward Naomi——an elegant fire sparrow that landed near her tied hands before fizzling out in a gentle puff of smoke. His favorite trick.

  “Humans are not naturally born with magic. No one would choose this. It’s a poison that saturates your body until it needs to breathe on its own. It possesses and controls
you, and each element has its own way of seduction.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I wasn’t always like this. Reyn wanted to experiment. It was his idea and he let the others mess around with the magic he collected—I don’t know from where. He didn’t want me touching it. He let the others, but not me. He said I was too young and that I was a pest.” A bitter taste formed in his mouth. “He wouldn’t show me, but I followed anyway. I saw what they were doing. I threatened to tell.”

  “So it wasn’t his fault. It was yours.”

  “Wrong. He used me. He wanted to experiment. I agreed, because I wanted to be included. But the experiment went wrong. I have the scars all over my body to prove it.” He pointed to a line near his temple. “That night changed everything.”

  Taren’s hands started to fidget; emotion took over his body, sore from years of repression. “I aged overnight. There was no childhood left for me. Lytte didn’t even know the magnitude of it until years later, when they brought me to the Willows.”

  He looked at Naomi, whose face turned pale; she bit her lip, seeming afraid to speak.

  “I was only seven years old,” he continued. “Seven! And already I could feel things about people that no one knew. I could make things burn if I wanted to.”

  “You can’t blame Reynolds. It was an accident.”

  “I can and I will. The camp is not a place for special kids with special abilities like they want you to think. It’s a decontamination ward for those exposed to magic.”

  “Maybe it was for your own protection.”

  “I don’t need protection.” He slammed his fist into the ground. “He persuaded us to go into hiding, but he was wrong. He took us away from our families and friends, trapped in that unforgiving environment where our magic remained bridled. Magic can’t live that way. It needs to feed and breathe and live, just like us. To have it stifled inside is torture. And Reynolds knew and did nothing. He left me there.”

  “He did it for me,” Naomi murmured as she clenched pieces of straw wrapped in her hand. “To make sure I was safe. To protect me.”

  Taren glared at her—such a naïve creature. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? He cleans up his messes.”

  A look of recognition came over Naomi’s face. “Do you think Reynolds did the same to me?” she whispered. “You think he poisoned me?”

  Feeling a surge of unexpected pity, Taren moved close, cutting the rope from her hands. Naomi watched it fall but continued to sit there. “He doesn’t love you, Naomi. Everything he does is to hide his own guilt.”

  He watched as her expression changed to horror and then resolution. Naomi believed him, every word. She breathed in and out, slowly. “He’s responsible for me . . . for the way I am . . .”

  Taren didn’t answer.

  Tears streaked down her face from unblinking eyes. Naomi fell back to the hay and lay in limp, disillusioned thought.

  Taren thumbed the knife again, the one his father had given him. The warmth of the handle breathed a faint whisper to his mind. I could do it, he thought. Now, while she cries and wastes tears on my enemy.

  He couldn’t help but feel compassion, even as the magic spoke to him. It must be done. He must restore the magic—make it whole again. His knife could do it.

  No. Not now. He would wait to see the reaction on Reynolds’ face when he let the knife sink in softly, where it belonged.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ferra

  Naomi felt something sticky covering her face and hair as she opened her eyes. The pigs, happy and awake, had decided to use her as their own personal saltlick. She squirmed and tried to move away, but strong arms held her in place.

  Wide awake, Taren signaled for her to be quiet. Dark circles under his eyes evidenced his lack of sleep. He half-smiled at her—strangely refreshing, since she remembered all too well the anger he’d shown last night and the turmoil he’d caused inside.

  “Relax,” Taren whispered, though the feeling of his breath on her neck made her even tenser.

  Soon she heard a door open, followed by the gruff voice of a farmer, calling to his animals to come and eat. The pigs scampered to the barn door, squealing with pleasure as they exited, leaving Taren and Naomi in quiet solitude. Once alone, Taren release her.

  “Am I still your prisoner?” she whispered.

  “Possibly.” Taren sat up.

  Naomi took a look at herself and felt embarrassed at how dirty she must appear. She brushed her clothes and rustled her short hair to a manageable state. Her hasty impulse to cut her hair rushed back like a smack to the face.

  She eyed Taren, thinking of her next course of action. He looked peculiar in the half-light of morning—shady and wild.

  His revealing history had changed her perception but not her intent. She still believed him a danger to her friends, possibly to Reynolds. Her action to leave with him might have very well spared their lives. Taren seemed to tell only fractions of the truth, leaving huge pieces missing—pieces she believed only Reynolds could put together.

  “You look restless,” Taren whispered. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” she lied.

  Taren’s dry smile returned. “I want to trust you, but I’m not convinced you trust me yet.”

  Naomi stood up. “Are you using me for revenge or just trying to win the prize?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind.” Taren shifted his eyes. “Depends on how much you’re worth.”

  Naomi stared at him. “To Reynolds or to you?”

  Taren put his hands to his head and took in a sharp breath. “Naomi, he isn’t what you think. He doesn’t care about you or he wouldn’t have left. I confronted him in the Willows, and he ran like a coward.”

  Naomi pressed her chest slightly and felt the warmth of the Vivatera against her skin. She knew that was real, even if Reynolds’s regard for her might not be. She also knew that Taren’s memories had been shaped by his lonely, bitter, seven-year-old self. “I can’t know the truth until I see him,” she said finally. “Every word you speak may be true, but I need to know it for myself.”

  “Who’s there?” a yell bellowed from the entrance of the barn. Their argument had alerted the farmer outside. Taren seized her wrist in a grip so tight it hurt, pulling her through a gap in the planks and leading her to the back gate. They bounded toward the trees beyond.

  A safe distance away, Naomi struggled to stop. “Where are you taking me?”

  “I thought we would go find Reynolds and then you can see what he is for yourself.” He pulled her onward, anger seething from his body. “You said he was in trouble. Where, exactly? Can you use your magic to locate him?”

  Naomi stumbled. “How could I?”

  Taren stopped, looking directly into her eyes. The closeness unnerved her. “I think you know. I’m not a fool.”

  Naomi wrenched away from him his grip. “I’ll try.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  Her magic wouldn’t play. She tried to relax, to channel, but it wouldn’t cooperate. Come on, please. I need to see Reynolds.

  It came fast, frantic. The usually calm spirit moved erratically, spinning in odd patterns about her.

  Run, a voice echoed in her mind. Get away.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she thought to her magic.

  He wants us. Save us.

  ‘How?’

  Protect us. Keep the secret.

  Naomi began to panic. ‘I need Reynolds. He will help.’

  The magic spun around her even faster, at an almost blinding speed, little tendrils wrapping around her arms, holding her in place.

  We cannot. He is seizing you. He has tricked you. Go now! He will find us and we will die. GO!

  Naomi’s eyes opened. She found herself lying on the ground with Taren hunched over her. She pushed away from him.

  “What’s wrong?” Taren asked. “What happened?”

  Naomi scrambled to her feet, watching him closely and trying to understand the danger. “I .
. .” She tried to think. “I’m no longer connected to him. I couldn’t find him.”

  “There’s something else.” Taren’s eyes hardened. “You pushed away from me. Why?”

  “Just startled, that’s all. I don’t have much control when I . . .” She trailed off. Taren had tried to read her magic when she connected. Her magic always told the truth. “I can’t find him.”

  Taren’s eyes roamed over her. “Did you see anything else?”

  Naomi looked straight at Taren. His hair whipped around in the wind and fell soft around his thick eyebrows, contrasting dramatically against his sharp jaw bone and dark eyes. She felt the danger of him, but also a thrill of excitement, wild and unhinged. A fire of interest sparked in his gaze.

  Taren walked toward her, his hand outstretched.

  Naomi hesitated before taking it. The magic pulsed through her veins, fast and frantic near her fingertips. She stumbled backward.

  “Naomi, please. Let me help you.”

  Then everything changed.

  She fell backward toward the earth, reaching out to catch her fall, but it didn’t matter. Vines of tangled ivy caught her before she touched the ground. Naomi’s eyes widened with amazement. She watched the tiny woven patterns yield to the pressure of her weight, cradling her from harm.

  Naomi caressed the resting ivy between her fingers, her magic reacting to the touch. The plant acted like an obedient cat, purring at the attention of its master.

  Taren loomed behind her. “What are you doing?”

  Naomi turned to see him stop in bewilderment. The vines crept up slowly around his feet.

  “Stop it, Naomi!”

  “I’m not doing it.”

  The vines continued slithering around his boots in tight ringlets. Taren lifted his legs, trying to free himself. He whipped out his dagger.

  The vines beneath Naomi lifted her back to her feet. She could see Taren’s greed for her magic’s knowledge, despite his attempts to hide it from her—like a thirsty leech, craving her lifeblood. He wanted her magic and would do anything to have it.

  She turned and ran, her magic ready to help, narrowing the paths between the thick trunks and shrubs. Her naked feet moved nimbly over the ground.