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“Mogkan tortured them both physically and mentally until they could no longer bear to be aware of their surroundings. They retreated within themselves and just became a conduit for him to exploit. Their magic remained in their bodies.”
The implications over the different ways for people to abuse power raced through my mind. “Going back to the Kirakawa. If the Daviian Vermin have been performing it for a while, then they could have more than eight Warpers.”
Moon Man nodded. “Many more.”
Paranoia sizzled up my spine. Convinced Warpers surrounded us, my desire to return my friends to the safety of the plateau pressed between my shoulder blades.
However, if the Daviians wanted to find more victims for their ritual, the Zaltana Clan teemed with people and magicians. With the Warpers using a null shield, the clan would have no warning. Fingers of desperate fear squeezed my stomach as the images of my mother and father being mutilated filled my mind.
CHAPTER 7
“HOW DO YOU COUNTER the null shield?” I asked Moon Man, failing to keep the panic out of my voice. The jungle around us darkened and I imagined predators lurking behind every tree and bush. Only the small fire we huddled around gave off any light.
“Magic cannot pierce the shield, but find a way around the shield’s edges and you can use your magic.”
“What are the shield’s dimensions?”
“Depends on the strength of the builder. The one we used in the plateau was as tall as a man astride a horse, and as wide as thirty men. But we had four Story Weavers combine their powers to build it. For one Warper, the shield would have to be smaller.”
I looked up at the trees. The ambush had come from above. Would they use the same tactic for another ambush? No. If the first attempt hadn’t worked, then a different strategy would be used. Being higher than your target had many advantages, and if I climbed into the tree canopy, I might be able to get past the edges of another null shield and discover where another ambush lurked.
Knowing my next move helped to dampen my terror for my family. I made contact with Kiki, projecting my awareness up toward the plateau.
Any trouble? I asked.
No. Bored, she replied. Go?
Yes. I’ll meet you at the Illiais Market rendezvous location.
I then told my plan to the others.
“Not without me,” Leif said. “I grew up in the jungle. I know every leaf and tree.” His body stiffened with determination.
“That is why you need to stay with them. To show them the way to the homestead. To help them avoid predators.”
Leif crossed his arms over his broad chest. But he knew I made sense, so he couldn’t argue.
“I need to question our prisoner before I go. There could be a chance the other Vermin might not be targeting my family.”
The man groaned and blinked at me when I woke him from his deep sleep. Moon Man had been right to tie his arms. There hadn’t been enough Curare left on my blade to paralyze him.
The Vermin’s tunic and pants had been ripped, and I glimpsed portions of blackish-red tattoos on his brown skin. Moon Man reached over and ripped the man’s right sleeve off.
The Story Weaver pointed to the symbols on the man’s arm. “He has made the proper blood sacrifice to prepare for the Kirakawa ritual. That ink in his skin has been mixed with blood.” Moon Man’s shoulders dropped as if he grieved. “The Sandseeds were wise to banish the old rituals.”
“You were misguided and fooled into following the teachings of Guyan,” the prisoner said. “Not wise but weak and pitiful, giving up your power to become docile pathetic Story Weavers instead of—”
Moon Man grabbed the man by the throat and lifted him off the ground. Docile and weak were not words I would have used to describe the Story Weaver.
“Where did you get the instructions?” Moon Man asked, shaking him.
The man smiled. “I am not telling you.”
“Instructions?” I asked.
“The details for the old rituals had been lost to time. At one point in history, we knew how to perform many different rituals to increase our power. Our clan passes information down to our children through teaching stories. Once Guyan became our leader, the evil ones who knew the required steps were killed. The information should have died with them.” He dropped the Daviian to the ground.
I remembered Dax reading a bunch of ancient tomes when we had tried to interpret Ferde’s tattoos to discover why Ferde had been raping and killing those girls.
“There were a few books in the Magician’s Keep. A Sandseed might have written the instructions and symbols down before they died. Perhaps there is another copy that the Vermin are using.” I turned to the man. “I guess you’re not going to tell us what the Vermin’s plans are either?”
He met my gaze and sneered. It was all I needed. My family could be in danger. I sent a rope of power toward his mind and rifled through his thoughts and memories, extracting the information I needed. I suppressed the pang of guilt and my recollections of when Roze Featherstone had tried to examine my mind in a similar fashion. She had thought I was a spy from Ixia, and the Ethical Code didn’t apply to spies or criminals. I could argue the same in my defense. Did that make me the same as Roze? Perhaps. The thought made me uncomfortable.
Besides a few horrid memories of watching an initial level of the Kirakawa ritual, the man knew almost nothing. Ordered to stay behind and ambush anyone who came out of the caves, his small unit had scheduled a rendezvous with the larger jungle group at a later time. Where and when the meeting would be, he had no idea. And, more important, he didn’t know what the others planned to do.
He had a few tidbits of information. I confirmed that both Cahil and Ferde had come this way and they traveled with a group of twelve Vermin.
“Fourteen is not enough to win in an attack on the Zaltanas,” Leif said, pride in his voice.
I agreed. “But winning isn’t everything.”
My anxiety to leave increased a hundredfold. A group of Vermin had entered the jungle and my clan could be in trouble. Images of my father and mother being captured and staked to the ground replayed in my mind. The thought of my cousin Nutty climbing without care through the trees and falling into a trap, hurried my preparations.
I shouldered my pack, threading my bow through its holder. “What about our prisoner?” I asked Moon Man.
“I will take care of him.”
“How?”
“You do not want to know.”
“Yes, I do. I want you to tell me everything!”
Moon Man sighed. “The Vermin were once a part of the Sandseed clan. They are our wayward kin, and they are infesting the rest of Sitia. How we deal with them is in accordance to our laws, and it is the proper way to take care of Vermin.”
“And that would be?”
“You exterminate them.”
A protest perched on my lips. What about those members who might have been misguided? But my question remained unvoiced. Now wasn’t the best time to argue crime and punishment.
Instead, I gazed at the tall trees, looking for a way up into the canopy, wishing I hadn’t left my grapple and rope in the cave. I found a long vine and used it to climb into the higher branches. After a moment to reorient myself—the Zaltana homestead was to the west—I swung over to the next tree.
I kept my magical senses tuned to the life around me, seeking the Daviians and other predators as I traveled toward home. The web of branches and crowded trees slowed my progress. After a few hours, my sweat-soaked clothes were ripped, and my skin burned and itched from innumerable cuts and insect bites.
Resting on the branch of a hawthorn tree, I scanned the area between me and Moon Man. There was no sign of any intelligent life so I linked my mind with Moon Man’s and Leif’s.
You will be safe to travel to this area, I said, picturing the small clearing below. Stay there until I contact you again.
They agreed.
After I rested, I pushed my way through the jungle’s canopy, staying alert to any sign of the Daviians. The rhythm of climbing from tree to tree combined with the steady pulse of the jungle’s undisturbed life force. When an out-of-tune presence plucked at my senses, my energies focused on the distant ripple. Engrossed, I concentrated on discovering the source. A man in the tree canopy. Before I could determine if he was friend or foe, my left hand grasped a smooth and pliant branch. Surprised, I jerked my awareness back and my mind connected with a hunter lurking in the trees.
The leaves rustled with movement. The terrifying rasp of a stirring snake surrounded me. The limb under my feet softened. I scrambled for a solid branch, and touched nothing but the snake’s dry coils. The necklace snake’s coloring blended with the jungle’s greenery so well that I couldn’t determine where the rest of it lay.
I closed my eyes and projected into the snake’s mind. It had looped part of its body between two branches, creating a flat net now closing around me. Pulling my switchblade from my pocket, I triggered the blade.
When the heavy coils of the snake dropped onto my shoulders, I knew I had mere seconds before the predator would wrap around my throat like a necklace and choke me to death. I sensed satisfaction from the snake as it moved to tighten its hold.
I stabbed my knife into the snake’s thick body. Would the Curare on the blade affect the creature? Mild pain from the thrust registered in the snake’s mind, but it considered the wound minor.
The snake contracted around me, trapping my legs and left arm. I realized the necklace snake held me aloft. If I cut through its coils, I would plummet to the ground.
Another loop brushed my face as the snake tried to encircle my neck. I pushed it away with my free arm. A coil slid up my back.
Deciding the odds of surviving a fall were better than dying by strangulation, I stabbed my blade in the nearest coil with the intention of sawing through it. Before I applied more pressure, the creature stopped.
Perhaps Curare had paralyzed the snake. I pulled the blade out and the snake resumed its tightening. The Curare hadn’t worked. But when I reinserted the knife, the creature paused. Odd. I must have found a vulnerable area. We were at an impasse.
Through my link with its mind, I sensed the snake’s hunger warring with its desire to live. I tried to control the predator’s will, but our minds were too incompatible. Even though I could feel its intentions, I couldn’t direct its movements.
I wanted to avoid killing the snake, but I could see no other way. Once dead, I should be able to cut my way back into the trees.
“Hello. Is someone in there?” a man’s voice asked.
My struggle with the snake had seized all my attention. Cursing myself for forgetting the man, I directed my mind into the tree canopy and encountered the well-protected thoughts of another magician. But Warper or Story Weaver, I couldn’t tell.
“Has the snake got your tongue?” He laughed at his own joke. “I know you’re there. I felt your power. If you don’t belong in the jungle, I’ll gladly let the snakes have you for dinner.”
“Snakes?” I asked. His speech patterns sounded familiar. Not Daviian. Not Sandseed. I hoped Zaltana.
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