Island Shifters: Book 03 - An Oath of the Children (8 page)

“Now, that the two of you have had your conversation, I
must ask
for a favor. Please take
the children and go to
Northfort
to
find
out why the Ellvinians have returned. I will take Reilly with me as he can help Digby watershift our craft to Haventhal.”

Kirby nodded. “All shall be as you command, my Princess.”

“Thank you. Come, Baya. It is time Callyn-Rhe had a
long overdue
visit
from a Kenley.”

C
HAPTER
5

B
LOOD
THIRST

“So, what do we know about the Ellvinians, Beck?” Rogan asked and handed his empty dinner plate to the young crewman assisting their meal.

The cook peeked out of the galley. “Would you like anything else this evening, Your Graces?”

Beck shook his head. “No, thank you, but if you
would, please have Captain Wilden join us when he has a moment.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Beck leaned back from the
large
wooden
table bolted into the floor of the ship’s hull. “To answer your question, Rogan, very little. I know that the island of Ellvin, roughly
twice
the size of Massa, lies due west of here. Lars Kingsley, the mayor of Northfort, mentioned that the ambassador
who
visited
last week
as well as
his
crew
all
appeared to be of Elven descent.”

Airron spoke up. “They
are
Elves.”
When all eyes turned incredulously his way, he quickly continued.
“At least I think they are. I
have been researching
Elven history in King Thorn’s private library and found tomes
that very few know survived the Mage War.
The Ellvinians are mentioned in writings that date back hundreds
and hundreds
of years.”

Melania’s flabbergasted look was not missed on Airron.

“What?” he asked. “I
can
read, you know.”

“I know you
can
read. I’m just surprised you did.”

The friends laughed, but Airron
tossed his long white hair over his shoulder and
forged on. “As I was saying,
if they are the same people, I think these Ellvinians once lived on Massa. According to Elven lore well before
shifters
were exiled in the Mage War, the Elves fought bitterly over magic with
the majority wishing
to
ban its use
completely. When a compromise could not be reached, hundreds of Massan Elves left the island to start anew elsewhere where magic
could be
practiced out in the open. No one ever knew what happened to them after that, but there is a record that
Ellvinian
was the name they chose for themselves before leaving.”

“What makes you think they are of Elven descent, Beck?” Kiernan asked.

“According to Lars, the ambassador had the pointed ears characteristic of the Elf, but unlike the silver hair and purple eyes of Massan Elves, both his hair and his eyes were black.”

Airron shrugged. “The books never mentioned
them having black hair. Maybe they are not the same people after all.”

“So, why are we bringing them all of the wormwood stashed
below?” Rogan inquired.

“According to the Ellvin
ambassador, whose name
was
Chandal
by the way,
his people
are in dire need of the plant for medicinal purposes.
He
has
traveled far in his explorations for
the plants
and when he
sailed to
Nordik
and discovered that Massa
had opened
its
borders to travelers,
Chandal
immediately
changed course for a visit.”

Janin shook her head. “I never heard of using wormwood
plants
as a curative.”

“Actually,
some
of the Elves in northern Haventhal
call wormwood the blood plant and swear that it produces plasma instead of nectar.”

“That can’t
be true,
is
it?” Kiernan asked.

Beck
leaned forward and interlaced his hands together on the table.
“I have no way to analyze it, but the
flowers on the plants
do secrete a thick red fluid. I cannot imagine that it is actually blood, but I have seen stranger things in my life. And, it doesn’t
taste like blood. It has
a sugary, sweet flavor.”

Kiernan scrunched her nose in distaste. “You tried it?”

“Yes. I was curious.” A knock on the door cut their conversation short. “Come in.”

It was Rafe Wilden. All wiry, corded muscle throughout his chest and arms from working all of his life on ships, his hips and legs looked abnormally thin and narrow
in contrast. Beck nodded at the Captain he first met many years ago when he was a ferryman in Iserport and transported Beck to Elloree when he was searching for Kiernan. The world was in chaos at the time with the treacherous scheming of Adrian Ravener, and Rafe ended up abandoning Beck in Elloree, but
Beck understood why
Rafe
made the
choice
he did. The world was in turmoil and
he had been worried for his family.
It was hard to hold that against a man.

“You wanted to see me, Your Grace.”

“We did not get much of a chance to speak earlier, Captain. How long do you think before we reach Ellvin?”

The Captain stuck a finger in his
short, white
hair and scratched. “By my estimation of the map that the Ellvinian
Captain provided, we should arrive in a week’s time.”

Beck nodded, wishing it could be sooner. Although Kiernan felt relaxed and carefree on these goodwill voyages, he
was always anxious to return
home. He enjoyed the
time with his
dear
friends, but intangible ties
pulled
him back toward
Massa.
The children first and foremost, but also his
concern over the
Oracle’s foretelling all those years ago. A fight was coming to Massa at some point in his future, of that he was certain.

“Thank you, Captain. That will be all.”

Rafe
bowed his head
and went back through the
galley
door.

Beck turned back to his friends.
“Before I forget,
if I ever use the word
gooseberry
on this trip, I want you to
repeat it back to me instantly without question, without hesitation.”

Rogan
blinked. “Gooseberry? What is a gooseberry?”

“It is a small
green
berry, but what it
is
, is not important. However, if I ever use this term, repeat it back to me.”

“Oh, I get it,
fireball,” Airron said and wiggled his fingers in the air. “Beck is doing
the whole enigmatic Mage thing right now.”

Beck smiled. “Humor me.”

“Gooseberry?”

“Yes, gooseberry.”

When he extracted promises from all of his friends,
Beck leaned back on the wooden bench. “Now, let’s get to a more pleasant topic. How do you think the children are doing?”

“The better question is,” Kiernan mumbled, “how do you think the protectors are doing?”

* * * * *

Hendrix Bane hated this walk. Fortunately, he rarely had to make the effort. For the most part, the medical technicians tended to the creature and that was fine with him. He would rather forget the thing was even alive.
But, he could never do that
now.
After hundreds of years
of tending to the Vypir, it had suddenly become
relevant.

As always,
his Battlearm Second,
Emile,
walked by his side. After this visit, they would go before the
other
Seconds and inform them of
the
imminent
arrival of the
wormwood plants.
Before the news was shared with the
populace,
however, the solicitation of
new bribes would
commence and
new lists
would be
devised.

Hendrix laughed to himself. Let them
fight over
the
draught.
According to Samara,
he
would soon have the blood.

Emile interrupted his thoughts. “When are the Massans due to arrive, Your Eminence?”

“Oh, we should not see them for a while yet.”

“But, it should only take—”

“The map that Chandal provided,” Hendrix interrupted, “will take them off course and at sea longer than necessary.”
He glanced over at his
confidante. “You would not have them
catch sight
of
our Shiprunners making their way to Massa now, would you?”

Emile bowed his head.
“No, Your Eminence.”

A white-robed technician rushed along the
white corridor to intercept them. “This way, Your Eminence, Second Emile.”

The technician
directed them into an unfurnished white walled room. The only disruption to all of the white was the large observation window across from the door.

Hesitantly, Hendrix walked to the glass
window and gasped
aloud. The emaciated white-haired Vypir looked nothing like it did the last time he saw it. Lying on its back
on a narrow table, the protracted chest heaved as
the creature
struggled to breathe, its rib cage clearly visible under dry, translucent skin. The knuckles of its long arms rested motionlessly on the floor on both sides of its body, and its long legs, muscle and sinew bulging, were bent at the knee and perched on the tips of its clawed feet. But, it was
the
face that had shown the most
change. The skin was pulled so tight over its skeletal features
that the
narrow
lips were unable to cover the sharp
teeth protruding from its mouth.

It was hard to believe that this creature was once one of the most powerful Magi to ever have lived.

“What is wrong with it?” he asked the technician.

“It requires blood, Your Eminence. The Vypir is engineered to seek out and consume magic-laced blood. We do not have any here on the island to give it.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Hendrix snapped. “Is it still eating food?”

“Very little.”

Suddenly, the Vypir leapt off the table and hurled himself against the window with a blood-curdling scream. Hendrix shrieked and stumbled backwards. With strength the Premier did not know it possessed, the creature banged its head on the glass leaving streaks of blood as the skin ruptured from the contact.

A technician ran into the room to subdue the beast, but it evaded the
soporific dart from the small crossbow and used its long arms to envelop the technician and pin him to the ground.

The Vypir’s long tail sprang up from behind him, and
Hendrix shrank back from the two tiny fangs
that clicked together inside the
opening at the end.

The creature swung the
appendage
down onto the neck of the technician and latched on. The man’s eyes bulged and small rivulets of blood trickled down his throat as the
Vypir’s tail suckled
greedily.

Emile ran from the room.

“Has it ever done that before?” Hendrix asked in whispered horror to the technician
in the white room with him.

“No. He should have no desire for normal plasma.”

As though he heard the exchange, the
Vypir’s
purple eyes jerked up toward the window and the look of satisfaction was unmistakable.

Hendrix gulped.
“I have a feeling that blood was taken for revenge, not sustenance. How are we going to control it outside the confines of
its
room?”