The Flight of the Spellbound: The Karneesia Chronicles, #2

Prologue

GUIDATH, DAMASLAR’S CAPITAL CITY—THIRTEEN YEARS AGO

The tavernkeeper shook the boy hard on the steps of the fine mansion, making his small head jolt back and forth, rattling his teeth. Now, you listen to me, he said, spittle flying from his lips as he tried to form the words correctly, drunk as he was. Listen. Don’t you come back. Nothing for you there now.

The boy twisted but couldn’t free himself from the fingers clamped on his shoulders. Even drunk, the man had a grip of iron.

The tavernkeeper rang the bell of the grand house, and a lone chime echoed inside. And keep your mouth shut. Else you’ll end up jus’ like her. They don’ want your kind. You hear?

The boy looked up. Fear poured off the balding man along with the sweat plastering his remaining hair to his head. The tavernkeeper eyed him sidelong, and the boy heard the word as clear as day, though the man’s lips didn’t move.

Unnatural.

The boy clenched his teeth.

The door creaked open cautiously, and a thin man with a beaky nose looked out dubiously in the dusk light at the drunk and an odd-looking redheaded boy in his grasp.

May I help you? the servant asked, clearly hoping he couldn’t.

Here to see the High Wizard, the tavernkeeper said, pushing the boy into the light that spilled from the doorway. Got his bastard.

The boy vainly tried to scrub away the tear tracks on his face.

The servant gave the boy a long, slow look. Follow me, he finally said.

He stowed them in a small parlor with a fire crackling in the grate and left. After a time, the servant returned with a tall, dark-haired man with narrowed blue eyes and a few threads of gray in his beard. His rich green-and-gold robes swept the floor.

The wizard looked the boy in the face, and the boy looked back. He knew what the man saw—red hair, blue eyes, and pointed ears, the elongated tips a clear indicator of faefolk blood somewhere in his line.

I don’t know this child, the wizard said.

The boy saw the truth in the eyes the same shade as his own.

Liar. The word popped out before he could stop himself.

Those ice cold eyes bored into him. The boy shivered.

The wizard turned to the tavernkeeper. Why have you brought him here?

The tavernkeeper cleared his throat. Beggin’ your pardon, m’lord⁠—

Your Grace, the man corrected smoothly, a thread of iron in his voice.

Yer Grace, the tavernkeeper went on uncertainly. Him and his mother worked at my tavern until yesterday—The Crane and Cup. You remember. The mother’s dead. Down a well by mob rule. They would’ve taken the lad as well, ’cept I hid him when they came lookin’. But he can’t stay. I got customers to think of. They don’t much like being served by sommat could witch ’em.

The boy gave one shuddering gasp and then was quiet.

I see. With a long, assessing stare at the boy, the wizard glanced at his servant. Give this man something for his trouble, Yoast, and see him out.

The fat man glistened appreciatively, and then the boy was alone with the wizard.

Well, what are you called? the wizard finally said, breaking the silence of the crackling fire.

Fee, the boy whispered.

What?

Fee. Feonar, he said, voice stronger. Yaldson, he added pointedly.

Well, Feonar, while you are a bastard and do not bear my name, I am your father. The wizard’s gaze swept him again, and Fee clenched his hands at his sides to resist covering his ears. The pointed ears that marked him as different. Something other.

"Can you ‘witch them’?" his father asked, his voice full of bored curiosity.

Fee stared at the man who had sired him and did not respond. This night had taught him the value of silence.

The wizard’s voice slithered into the boy’s head, coldly assessing: Perhaps this boy may be of use to me after all.

SOUTHERN DAMASLAR—NINE YEARS AGO

The snatchers hauled the girl out of the wagon with the rest of the crying children, all chained together in a line. The black stone tower loomed over her, hiding the sun and throwing them all into shadow. An old man with white hair and black eyes emerged from the tower, carrying a tall, carved staff. Behind him, a dark-haired woman, thin and pale, stared at the line of children, her eyes watering.

For a batch of ten, that’s ten gold apiece, the snatcher in charge said, his voice thick with phlegm. He hurked the mucus up and spat it into the dirt.

The old man barked, You know I don’t want them all.

Do yer test, then. The snatcher shrugged. The ones you don’t want, I can sell down in Darikar and the Wastes.

The girl shivered, trying not to rattle her chains. The winter was cold, even here in the south, and she was barefoot, wearing only her flannel shift and smallclothes, those now dirty and stained from weeks of travel. But Darikar was even farther from home.

The staff in the old man’s hand made her uneasy. It was covered in glyphs, runes she didn’t understand. They weren’t the common printing, or the complicated script that nobles and royalty used. That left only the wizards’ script.

Magic.

The old man sneered. He traced one of the symbols and muttered a few words.

The hair stood up on the back of her neck. She stared wide-eyed down the line of children as, above a select few, tongues of fire appeared. Of the ten children, three sported flames flickering weakly above them.

Then she tilted her head back, and her eyes rounded. Above her head hovered what was comparatively a signal fire, flaring nearly a foot in height.

The old man rubbed his hands together. I’ll take these four.

The snatchers moved quickly, uncoupling the chosen from the line. The other three began to wail in earnest as they were shoved towards the door at the tower’s base.

At the end of the line, the girl dug her heels in. No! I don’t want to go in there!

A clout from a heavy hand made her eyes water and her ears ring. Shut up.

No! No⁠—

He walloped her again.

The sad-eyed woman ducked her head and counted out coin to the snatchers with shaking hands. One pinched the woman’s bottom and laughed. Her face blanched, her hair sweeping forward like a curtain to hide behind. The men returned to the horses, pulling the unwanted children behind them.

The girl grabbed on to the doorframe and hung on grimly. Something inside her warned of the danger inside. She shrieked, I’m not supposed to be here! I was stolen! I’m⁠—

"You forget who you are, the voice in her memory said. Forget even your name. Only then can you stay alive."

And then a cudgel came down on her hands with bruising force.

Her grip released. She was pulled through the great, gaping door into the dark.

She came to consciousness later, gasping on the cold, stone floor as the old man cackled. It finally worked! he crowed to the younger woman, his hands flying, moving quickly to form unknown shapes. This proves that my theory is correct! He sat down at a great desk and began to write frantically, his quill flying across the page. Those fools will have to lift my banishment now!

The girl tried to push herself up, but her bones felt like melted wax and she could barely move. The woman knelt beside her, holding a cup. She barely sipped from it before falling back to the cool ground.

The woman carefully gathered her small body into her arms, ignoring the dirt and the smell of dried urine. She walked out of the big, circular room and down a flight of stairs. They came to a small room with a bed, a small washstand, and a clothespress in it.

What… The girl coughed, her whole body shaking. What happened to me?

Flashes came back to her—a ring of glyphs on the floor. Trapped inside that circle. Blinding pain.

Bodies, off to the side. Discarded.

The woman did not reply as she set her on the bed. She reached for her hem.

No! The girl scooted back on the bed, searching for something to throw.

The woman held up her hands in a gentle, pacifying gesture. She picked up a cloth, dunked it in the washbasin, wrung it out, and offered it.

The girl stared at it a moment before snatching it from the woman’s hand. As the girl rubbed it over her face, the woman pulled a clean shift from the clothespress and set it on the bed beside the girl. She mimed disrobing and washing before pointing to the shift.

At the farthest point on the bed from the woman, the girl shed her ruined clothes and pulled on the shift as fast as possible. It was far too big—one of the woman’s, possibly. She washed with the cloth once she had the shift over her head to cover herself and then pulled her arms through it.

The woman pointed to the bed, patting it.

Don’t you talk? the girl asked, frowning.

The woman tapped her mouth and her ears, shaking her head. She rapidly moved her hands.

The girl stared, confused.

The woman sat on the edge of the bed and traced a letter from the common alphabet on the wall with her finger. She leaned toward the girl hopefully, her eyebrows raised.

T, the girl whispered.

The woman smiled and traced three more letters. A, L, A. Then she pointed to herself.

Tala?

The woman nodded and moved her hand. A hand in a fist, her thumb between her pointer and middle fingers. Fist, thumb at the side. Fist with pointer and thumb extended in an⁠—

L, the girl said. T-a-l⁠—

Tala made the fist with the thumb at the side again, smiling. "TALA." Then she gestured to the girl.

The girl reached out a hesitating hand to the wall.

You can’t trust anyone, her memory insisted. Tell and you’re dead.

She pressed her lips together. Then, slowly, she traced the letters. E, Y, L.

The woman showed her the hand signs for the letters and smiled. "EYL."

She nodded and gave the woman her own tremulous smile. Maybe she could trust her. Maybe she could escape—return home⁠—

But that hope died at the break of day, when the old man’s magic did its work and all her bones broke in unison.

Chapter

One

EYL

As the sun met the edge of the western horizon, painting the sky vibrant shades of orange and pink, Eyl felt the familiar tingle in her wings.

Banking sharply to catch an updraft, she flew higher over the wood and screamed, the sound echoing through the air. Her keen eyes could see the faint outline of the waxing moon to the east, rising above the trees. Eyl screamed again as the tingling became stronger, spreading down to her talons. The need came over her, as it did every night, to return to the lonely stone tower that jutted through the sparse treetops to the south, but she kept her gaze stubbornly away, fighting the urge as long as possible.

Eyl’s golden eyes swept the landscape. She spied a flash of movement on the winding road that led through the wood. Hunter’s instincts triggered, she dove.

Impressions rushed in at her as she plummeted. A dark horse. A rider, cloaked. The head tilted back⁠—

Blue eyes.

The tingling in her body became a burn, burrowing into her skull, overriding her will.

Screeching her displeasure, she jerked up sharply and banked, heading back to the tower, back to prison of the worst sort.

Her powerful wings closed the distance as the last burning beams of dying light flared across the sky. She dove through the skylight in the top of the tower, her body prickling with sensation. She had barely made it back in time.

She fluttered behind the long, dingy curtain in the corner, her one shroud of privacy, and landed on the cold stone floor. More pins and needles spread through her body. Eyl braced in horrified anticipation, even though it was the worst thing she could do.

It was always the same. There was no escape.

Less than a minute later, all her bones snapped.

Pain exploded behind Eyl’s eyes. Instinctively squeezing them shut, she shrieked and thrashed. Her whole body throbbed—and shifted. It seemed an eternity while her bones ground together and her limbs elongated. Feathers receded. Skin ached. Her brain felt as though it had been stirred with a red-hot poker.

Finally, the pain eased. Eyl opened her eyes and stared at her human fingers splayed out on the floor. Coughing, she shook hair so pale, it was nearly white out of her eyes and sat up, flexing her hands. She sometimes needed reminding of what she was—a girl or a bird.

She held back a shudder, remembering the few times her change had gotten stuck halfway. She’d lain there in agony, wishing to die. She always made it through, but she held a secret horror that what if this time would be the time she wouldn’t complete the transition, if she’d stay like that forever—neither one thing nor the other, trapped in hell.

Eyl tasted the tang of iron. She had bitten her tongue. She drank greedily from the flask of water that sat beside her rolled-up pallet and her clothes, the only things in the world she really had a claim to.

Once she had drunk the flask dry, she pulled on her leggings and tunic. Straightening the tunic, she padded around the curtain and into the tower room proper, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the firelight.

Bookshelves and racks of scrolls crowded the large, round workroom. Cabinets stuffed with bottles and jars filled most nooks and crannies, save for her small, curtained alcove. Worktables and a few armchairs ate up most of the floor space. On the other side of the room, the large fireplace burned merrily, eagerly snapping up the fresh wood Imani laid on the fire.

The girl turned to look at Eyl and straightened. Her dark skin glowed in the firelight. The same eternal embers flickered red-gold behind her eyes. Strange that a girl from Cadruissau, a country made up of ocean and islands, had gained power over fire.

Nodding at Eyl and smiling faintly, Imani returned to her post by the old man as he muttered and paged through a tome in his overstuffed chair.

How was he today? Eyl signed.

Imani flicked her fingers furtively. All right.

Eyl scanned the worktables. Not many new notes. The old man’s arthritis was probably hurting him. That wasn’t good. He got testy when he was in pain, and when he was testy, he forgot more.

When it came to his studies, his research of magic and spells, his brain was as sharp as ever. But his body was weakening. The staff he’d once used for magic now doubled as a cane, and his gaunt frame showed none of the hearty meals they cooked for him. Worst yet, his memory was going. That, more than the tether runes on their bodies, served as a cage that grew tighter around them every night.

Memory rose again. Two blue eyes.

Eyl would have to speak to Kai about the person on the road.

I’ll be right back, she signed to Imani, shielding her flicking fingers so the old man wouldn’t see.

Imani nodded, her eyes flaring with light.

Careful to keep out of the old man’s line of sight, Eyl hurried down the long, circular stair that ran the height of the tower. Halfway down, she bumped into Kai on his way to take over the old man’s duty. He always sat with him while she and Imani got supper ready. He was a dependable boy, and she hoped he knew how much she relied on him, since she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

I saw someone on horseback, she told him, heading this way.

Kai nodded once and went back down the stairs. Eyl followed hard on his heels. They emerged in the kitchen, and she waited by the door as he stepped out into the darkening twilight, peering at the road.

She could not pass over the threshold as a human. The rune on her foot saw to that. Wouldn’t want the precious experiment to escape. Imani could go as far as the clearing’s edge, but only Kai could go as far as the village a few miles down the road. Thank goodness for that, or they’d all starve.

Which direction? Kai asked. A thin, emerald-green garter snake slid from between Kai’s lips. Its forked tongue flickered, tasting the air. Kai pulled it free of his mouth and dropped it gently in the grass.

From the north. Eyl pointed, and he strode away to investigate.

They had all been irrevocably changed by the old man’s magics. She was forced to be a gyrfalcon during daylight. Imani could control fire. Kai spat up bugs and all manner of creepy crawlies when he spoke. Outside the tower, that was. The tower was spelled against vermin, and Kai hated coughing up dead things even more than live things. Luckily, they all knew hand signs, courtesy of Tala.

The familiar ache came again at the thought of Tala, gone for almost three years now. The only one who had cared.

Kai came back, a frown on his face. There was no one in either direction.

What? Are you sure? Could they have passed by, or stopped to camp? Eyl leaned as close to the doorway as she could and peered down the dark road’s long expanse.

Kai shook his head. Only if they were on horseback.

They were!

But I saw no tracks. He stared down at her. He and Imani both had surpassed her in height. She hadn’t grown much in any direction after the old man’s magic had its hooks in her. Another thing to blame him for.

Eyl stared up at him, her eyes narrowed. So what are you saying?

Are you sure you saw someone? he asked quietly, then he spat out two moths. They fluttered towards the light shining out of the doorway, but when the first reached the threshold, it shriveled and fell to the ground. Kai flinched and looked away.

Eyl bit her lip, leaning against the doorframe. Had she imagined it? Two chips of blue in a face. They had seemed so real…. She swallowed back the bile that rose up in her throat. Were the moorings between her and the falcon beginning to unravel? She had read of such things in the old man’s tomes, shape changers and others with a beast nature losing themselves to the animals within. Some night hence, would her body change without her mind intact?

But would she have imagined the horse?

I’m going to start supper, Eyl finally said.

I’ll spell Imani and send her down to help. Kai pulled the wriggling lizard from his mouth and set it on the tower’s outer wall, away from the doorway. Then he stepped inside and headed for the old man’s workroom.

Eyl hung the kettle on the hook over the fire, listening to his footfalls fading away. Then she sagged against the wall. I can’t be going mad, she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. "Not now. You owe me that. You owe me. She pinched the bridge of her nose. But thank you for Kai."

She and God had a contentious relationship, but she made a point to acknowledge the small mercies, for fear even they would disappear. And Kai was a mercy.

He had arrived here at eleven years old, but even at that age, he had shouldered more responsibility than necessary. Before that, Tala had been the one to deal with her father and his needs, helping him wash and dress, getting him in and out of bed, because even then he had started to slow down. Kai had insisted on taking over those chores.

When Tala had died and the old man had gotten more unmanageable, Eyl had tried to help Kai, but the boy wouldn’t hear of it. No woman ever attended a man to whom she was not related in Sarkan’ande culture. Not in Eyl’s, either, but the sorcerer was old, and he’d never seen them as people at all, so Eyl doubted it would ever occur to him to be improper to his experiments. But Kai had stood firm, and she loved that boy for it. She couldn’t be prouder if he were her own brother.

Brother.

She fumbled the cutlery as the memory threatened to overwhelm her.

There you go, Eyl. Can’t go riding on adventures without a sword, can you? Once you get the hang of a wooden one, I’ll get you a real blade. Here, let me show you the first position.

Eyl tried to breathe through the unexpected slice of agony and threw the mental door shut.

It will sign your death warrant, whispered the specter of the past.

Imani padded down the steps, her voice preceding her. I made bread while the old man was napping today, she said cheerily, stepping into the kitchen. The younger girl’s eyes danced, sparks lighting within them. We can have it with the meat pie.

Good. Eyl squeezed the girl’s shoulder and gave her a crooked smile. I’ll slice it. Is the rabbit for the pie cooked? She had dropped off what she had caught earlier in the day.

Yes. What did you want to talk to Kai about?

The knife in her hand trembled. I thought I saw something from the sky. I was…. Seeing things. It was nothing.

As Eyl sliced the bread, Imani stretched her hands over the fire in the hearth, and the flames leapt up to meet her, like loyal dogs eager for a master’s praise. The hearth burned brighter, and Imani added a few more logs to feed the flames. She had turned out the best of the old man’s experiments. What he had done to her had actually worked instead of corrupting her.

Eyl shoved away the thread of bitterness. She was alive, wasn’t she? The scores of graves beyond the tower were testament to how much worse it could have been. She had no call to hold something against a thirteen-year-old that she had had no control over. No, she held it against the old man, who had bought children to experiment on. He was the one to blame.

Eyl’s hand clenched around the knife. We will be free, she promised herself. Even if it takes forever. There must be a way. If I just keep searching, I’ll find it.

After the old man goes to sleep, Imani said. Can we practice?

Yes, Eyl promised. She had taught Kai his letters and to read when he’d arrived, hidden from the old man and Tala. Now she was teaching Imani. It was hard though. Unless the old man was sleeping, one of them had to be with him at all times. And she didn’t want him to know any of them could read. She had had to learn to keep secrets when she’d been sold, but she had learned well.

And she had kept her secrets—from the snatchers, from Tala, and even from Kai and Imani.

It was safer that way.

Imani beamed. I’m getting better—I know I am. My hand doesn’t shake and wobble as much when I make the letters. I practiced in the flour when I made the bread.

Eyl smiled. Good for you.

Kai arranged for the deliveries tomorrow, and he brought the mail and newsletters back from the village today.

The newsletters the old man ordered from Guidath, Damaslar’s capital, were their one link to the outside world. They contained news on Damaslar’s neighbors, politics, economics, and the war. Tala had always held them back for a day before she gave them to her father, and Eyl did the same—he would never share what the letters contained otherwise. We’ll read them after practice, then, Eyl promised. See what you can pick out.

When the meat pie had finished cooking, she and Imani carried their dinners up on trays, and Kai silently served the old man.

His arthritis was definitely paining him today. His rheumy eyes glared at her over his plate. Well, girl? he finally said, his voice rasping like a sawblade. What did you see today? How far did those wings take you before you came back?

He enjoyed taunting her, knowing very well that his magics ensured she had to come back to the tower every night. The freedom in her wings was an illusion, but he would not take the few scant hours she had to herself. Eyl put the meat pie in her mouth and chewed deliberately without answering.

You open your mouth and speak to your master, you little beast.

She swallowed. You didn’t make me a beast; you made me a bird.

Imani hunched her shoulders.

You answer me, girl. He threw power behind the words.

Eyl rocked hard and ground her teeth together as the lance of pain found its mark. She knew better than to needle him when he had his staff in his hand. I flew to the village and back, she snarled. To Stagfell. That’s all. She wasn’t about to tell him she’d flown north as far as she could before the tether had pulled her back.

The old man sneered. I wanted a nightingale, you chit, for Tala’s voice. Not some growling monstrosity.

Then you’ve got only yourself to blame for the results, Eyl thought.

The old man glanced around the room, eyes narrowing when he did not find what he wanted. Where is Tala?

Eyl paused mid-bite. Kai’s jaw tightened so hard, she thought it might break.

Master, Imani whispered. Tala’s gone. Don’t you remember?

She can’t leave, the old man said flatly. The tether rune forbids it. None of you can ever leave me, especially not my own daughter. Now where is she?

There was no way this could end well. Eyl tried to swallow the food in her mouth, now as dense as lead.

The old man banged his staff on the ground. Tala? Tala!

Kai raised his hands to sign, but Eyl opened her mouth first. She died three years ago.

The old man’s wild eyebrows shot up his forehead before drawing low over his eyes. No. No, I don’t believe you. You’re lying! Tala, get out here!

Kai snapped to get the old man’s attention and signed, "It is the truth⁠—"

I won’t have you lie to me! the old man raged. He drew his fingers along the carved staff, tracing a symbol on the wood.

Eyl tried to dodge—though even after all this time, she had no clear idea if that was even possible with a spell; could you move or deflect it, as if it were an arrow?—but she felt the magic hit her like an acid splash.

Pain laced through her limbs. But she didn’t cry. This was nothing compared to what she endured every day.

Speak, girl! Where is my daughter?

The spell pulled the truth from her like a hooked fish on a line. She’s under the oak tree, Eyl panted. With the children. Dead three years in autumn.

His face went slack. The spell assured him her words were true. But then a blaze of fury filled his eyes, and he swung the staff at her, striking her across the eye socket and temple. Stars exploded. Eyl heard Imani gasp in horror, followed by a sharp scrape of a chair on stone.

Good, Eyl thought as her head rang like a bell. Kai pulled Imani out of the way.

The staff walloped her across the shoulders, and then on the knee. Damn you, the old man panted. Damn you, damn beast….

Did you really love her, or are you just angry she’s gone? Eyl wondered through the haze of pain. She curled up in a ball to protect her head and torso. She knew better than to ask. He might really kill her then, and as tempting as that escape was, Kai and Imani needed her.

Chapter

Two

EYL

Eyl dabbed at the split, bruising skin around her eye with a cold cloth. The old man’s anger had lasted a long time, even with Kai there to try to take some of the rage. He had finally gone feeble and trembling and demanded to be taken to his bed—Kai’s duty. Luckily, Kai had only gotten a few glancing blows and could still take the old man’s weight.

Eyl peered through her swollen eye. Blurry. I don’t know that I can read the news tonight, Eyl told Imani with regret.

Oh. Imani sighed, her shoulders sagging. There went not only the newsletters, their one connection to the world, but her story for tonight. Kai and Imani could both read printing—she’d taught them—but had not graduated to script, and both the letters and storybook were all rolling script and curlicues.

Kai came up the stairs and signed, He’s asleep.

Eyl doesn’t think she can read, Imani announced.

Eyl touched her eye, wincing from pain both physical and emotional. They had so little they looked forward to. She hated disappointing Imani. Well, I haven’t tried. Heat the letters open and let me try. And why don’t we open the gingerbread tin while we’re at it?

Imani beamed and dashed downstairs.

The old man ordered the newsletters, the avvisi, from the capital; besides political, military, and economic news, they contained a surfeit of gossip about people with whom they were unfamiliar. It was sometimes puzzling, but often like another story, told in installments, about people they would never see. Kai slid a heated knife under the seal and opened the envelopes, handing her the contents as Imani returned bearing the gingerbread tin. Eyl baked and kept a variety of treats on hand that they never shared with the old man. They were solely theirs, to be a treat and a pick-me-up when everything became a bit too much to bear.

Mouth full, Eyl stared at the elaborately written sheets. If she closed her swollen eye and squinted with the other, she could focus.

Scanning quickly, she swallowed and said, ‘The war rages on. Damaslar troops were pushed back from the Lliore River to the Trellester border by Altesian troops, newly arrived to aid Trellester. The Damaslar armies are regrouping at the border.’ Bold of them to assume Altesia wouldn’t come