Vivatera (Vivatera Series Book 1) Read online

  “Can you see down there?” she asked as the crowd moved around them. “Come here.”

  Both small, neither could see over the crowd, so Naomi stepped gingerly onto the cart, pulling Zander up with her. From that vantage, they could see everything happening on the street.

  “But, the meats—Father?” Zander mumbled.

  Naomi hushed him. “He’s coming, Zan. Look!” She pointed into the crowd.

  A caravan of animals and performers paraded down the street to the awe of the crowd. Peculiar beasts appeared that neither Naomi nor Zander could recollect seeing before: horses of all sizes, huge cats lying in cages, and an enormous, lumbering, gray creature carrying travelers on its back.

  Naomi smiled in spite of her dislike of the whole business. Seeing the animals filled her with joy and amazement. Finally, following behind an oversized, white cat with long, dark, vertical stripes, she saw a large, silver carriage.

  She glanced at Zander, who watched, totally absorbed in the spectacle. Smiling, she looked toward the carriage. Sure enough, inside sat a very handsome gentleman waving at the crowd, sometimes blowing kisses to the girls. Dark, brown locks curled around his face and highlighted his bright, blue eyes. Without realizing it, Naomi found herself staring at him, transfixed, like all the rest of the women.

  And then she caught his eye.

  Blood began to pump faster as she gazed at him. Her cheeks became flushed, her hands sweaty, yet she could not escape. After a few uncomfortable seconds, he looked away to the waving females. Naomi stood embarrassed, her thoughts scattered.

  What a stupid thing to do, she thought as she crouched down out of sight. Why did I just stare at him?

  “Naomi?” Zander mumbled, confused. “I d-don’t understand.”

  Naomi stood back up. “What is it, Zander?”

  “Look,” he said pointing, “at the woman in the back.”

  Naomi searched and found the woman Zander talked about: a thin, beautiful creature with wonderful features. Her short black hair swept along her cheeks in sweet curls, highlighting her heart-shaped face and pointed chin. Her flowing, gray gown looked like mist as the carriage approached. She sat stone-faced and emotionless, an unreal creature.

  “I think I see her, Zander. She looks familiar, maybe.”

  “That’s not what I . . .” he stumbled. “. . . look at her neck.” His confusion could hardly find words. He grabbed her hand and pointed it toward the girl.

  The carriage traveled right before them at that moment. Without any mistake, without a question or a doubt, Naomi saw what Zander had seen: the scar—the star symbol burned on the nape of the woman’s neck.

  Exactly like Naomi’s.

  Everything moved in slow motion, registering what she saw. The peculiar scar stood out, clear as day, on the girl’s creamy skin: the lines of the six-star symbol intertwined. Naomi reached for her neck under the scarf which tingled as she rubbed the scar.

  A spark of recognition. The young woman—she had seen her before. She knew her. The brief glimpse flashed in memory. White . . . maybe snow . . . cold. Pieces of an intricate puzzle. She needed to know more.

  Every fiber inside Naomi yearned to understand what importance this young woman had in her life. She had so many questions—why she looked different than anyone she had ever met, what happened to her parents. Everything remained a mystery. Perhaps this woman held a clue, a key that could unlock where Naomi came from, maybe family, everything.

  As the caravan passed, she stood frozen in place. The mystery of her own existence paraded before her very eyes. She felt paralyzed, unable to move under her own power. Precious time slipped by as the carriage moved away from her. She had to act.

  Zander looked frightened as he glanced at Naomi’s intense expression.

  “Zander, I have to find out who she is.”

  “No,” Zander warned. “The g-guards!”

  Completely forgetting about the meat, Naomi hopped down from the cart.

  “Excuse me!” she pushed her way through the crowd. Her heart pumped hard in her chest. She didn’t care about anything else. She had to get to the carriage. She rushed forward like a salmon swimming upstream.

  It only took a moment for the prince to take notice. With a snap of his fingers, the guards were on the move.

  “Na—!!” Zander yelled, practically falling from the cart to the ground. “The g-g-gua— ” he started, but fear choked him to silence.

  Naomi saw the blue cloaks coming from every direction. The swarm of bodies following the procession smothered her, smashing together in a mass of heat and sweat, confusion and chaos.

  “No! Stop!!” Zander yelled.

  Even amidst the chaos, Naomi recognized the cry for help. She had heard it so much in the last few years: Zander in trouble. She had become jumbled in the sea of people. With a glance to her side, she saw Zander still on the cart, the blue cloaks surrounding him.

  “Leave him!” she shouted at the guards.

  A guard grabbed her arm. Naomi struggled away from his grip. Being small, she slipped underneath the large man’s arm and around another cloak.

  The crowd became hostile with the pushing and shoving. Her heart pounded and her mind raced. Please, let me get to him. In her peripheral vision, she saw the blue uniforms mixing in the mass of people. The blue headed toward her, she knew it. They had Zander. In another moment, they would have her, too. She had to save him. She had to try.

  Suddenly, a strong arm grabbed her and everything went black; she felt herself covered by a thick cloak. A hand held her mouth tightly, preventing a scream. Feeling a swift motion around her waist, she was lifted off the ground and whisked away.

  ~*~

  Darkness and motion. The hand over Naomi’s mouth moved a fraction to allow her breathing, but it did not keep her heart from pounding. The movements created dizziness, and she lost complete perspective of the world under the thick cloak.

  Uncomfortable heat from the man’s body smothered any breath she stole through his tight grip. Who was this person? She thought she had been caught by a Southwick guard, but the singular sound of his footsteps against the stone told her differently.

  Other little clues made her more curious. His heart beat just as fast as hers. His strength gripped her like iron; she felt so small compared to him as he carried her. She felt a metal blade swing in its sheath; the weapons he wore around his waist clanked next to her body. The complete arsenal of weaponry alarmed her.

  The progress finally slowed to a stop, and her feet touched the ground.

  “Not a word,” a voice whispered in her ear. The soft plea in his voice caught her off guard.

  Naomi nodded her head slowly and felt the hand come off her mouth. The man lifted the draping cloak but still held her arms tight.

  The deserted street they had entered looked different from the craziness of the town: an outcropping of homes built tightly together, all in shambles of straw and wood. Clotheslines strung between the houses and connected them intimately. It was quiet. Smoke rose from a few of the humble chimneys, filling the air with the smell of burned wood and grass.

  Dread consumed her. Naomi thought she knew the town well, but she did not recognize this side at all. If only she knew how to get back to the street—she felt lost and afraid, with a stranger who had spirited her away from the crowd.

  She looked at the man who had captured her. He, towering over her by a foot, and was not as old as she had imagined he might be but no longer a youth—perhaps five and twenty. His shaggy hair hung around his face in untidy waves, getting into his eyes. His skin under the dark green cloak looked browned by the sun.

  “Who are you?” she asked. Afraid of the answer, her voice quivered.

  He wagged his finger slightly. Confused at the gentle gesture, Naomi’s mind filled with even more questions. But before she could speak, he tugged on her arm, guiding her down the rocky, unused path.

  The closer she got to the homes, the worse they looked. Aging wood sp
lintered on the outside of the cylindrical huts. Cotton curtains, tattered by the wind, hung in the dirty windows. The smell of rotting apples, mixed with moldering soil, swirled around. Bones of dead birds lay about the ground, crunching like twigs under her feet.

  Naomi’s heart had never thumped so hard.

  The stranger led her between the houses and down a small alley just wide enough for the two of them. He stopped, brushed the ground, and uncovered a door under the dirt and a tangle of overgrown weeds.

  “Down here,” he whispered.

  Naomi hesitated. “No, please,” she begged. Strangely, her thoughts focused not of herself at the moment, but the boy she had left behind. “Please, I can’t leave Zander. I can’t.”

  His grip only tightened as he carried her like a rag doll down the steps to the cellar.

  Panic filled her. “I have to find him!” She tried to remove her wrist from his iron grip. His other hand closed the door tight.

  Darkness consumed them. The cellar stank of rotten apples and damp wood. The earth felt chilly, freezing Naomi to the bone. The warm hand of the stranger guided her backward. She stumbled, but landed in a soft pile of straw. She curled up in the corner, holding her ankles. She shivered all over; her nerves worked outwardly in the chilly cellar. She hadn’t her cloak, which she left near the cart.

  “I have to go back for him,” she pleaded.

  “I can’t save the boy right now. You were all I could carry.”

  Naomi took a deep breath at the word. “Save?”

  “Here.” The man wrapped his cloak around Naomi to keep her warm.

  His kindness felt out of place. “Thank you.”

  The man stood and began pacing the room. His steely grey eyes reflected like deep, shiny onyx from the little bit of light streaming through the old wood slats of the cellar door. Without the cloak, his frame looked fit and strong; not an inch of him appeared unused. He confused her. His natural bearing projected sensibilities—something she hadn’t expected from a kidnapper. She didn’t know what to think of him.

  “Can I ask a question?”

  An enigmatic smile crossed his face. “I expected that.”

  “Are you going to kill me?”

  “That’s your question?” A small laugh escaped him. “No. Quite the opposite.”

  She sat up, curious instead of fearful. “You said you saved me—from what?”

  “A better question would be, from whom? And that I couldn’t tell you specifically.” He stabbed a rotten apple with his small blade and flung it. “The last thing I want is Southwick finding you.”

  “What’s wrong with Southwick?”

  He laughed softly again. “They don’t like me much down there.”

  “What about Zander?”

  The man knelt before her, his eyes suddenly solemn. “We can’t go back for the boy. I don’t believe he is in danger.”

  “Only because you don’t see it.” A nervous knot formed in her stomach for the boy’s safety.

  “It’s not him who is in danger, it’s you.” The look in his eyes indicated that he wished he hadn’t said the words.

  Naomi didn’t know what to make of him. “The prince’s guard doesn’t scare me.”

  The man sat in quiet contemplation. “Naomi Everstar, you are a conundrum. Do you not care for your own life? Don’t you think the Guard wanted you? They swim in a pond with many bigger fish.”

  Naomi lost her voice. Shivers ran through her as the word ‘Everstar’ echoed in her mind. She hadn’t heard it in years; Malindra had been the only other person to call her that. “How do you know my name?” She nearly bit her lip with her question. “Who are you?”

  He stroked his untidy, unshaven face, contemplating his answer. “My name is Reynolds Fairborne. Some call me Hawk. Does it sound familiar to you?”

  Naomi had to admit she did not know the name. But like many things in this world, he did seem familiar, like a whiff of tobacco or change of season. She shook her head. “I’m sorry, no.”

  “Just as well,” he replied. “I try not to know many people. Though . . .” He trailed off as he moved next to her and crouched down in the straw. He lowered his voice. “Does it help that I have known you all your life?”

  “Me?” Naomi immediately retreated. Her brain tried to make a connection and failed. “I don’t believe you.”

  Reynolds took a breath. “Would you believe that I knew Malindra?”

  Naomi froze. Speaking those words felt like walking over a grave; Malindra had died years ago. Naomi had only lived eleven summers when it happened; she had now passed seventeen. “But, how? I’ve never seen you before.”

  “Somebody had to keep you safe.”

  The conversation unsettled her. Naomi huddled in the dark corner, suspended in thought. She didn’t like being watched, but the idea of being protected made her blush. “But why would I need—?”

  Reynolds quickly pressed his hand back to her mouth to prevent her from talking, angling his head around the darkness for a better view. Then, swiftly he rose and disappeared into the dark.

  Naomi’s heart jumped.

  He returned, pulling Naomi to her feet. “She has come. Hold tight to me.”

  He led her forward into the dark toward a faint glimmer of color. A light purple glow fell on the back corner of the cellar, behind a maze of crates and barrels.

  There, between the high barriers, stood a small, ancient woman, shawled and patched. The purplish light fell around a glowing orb which she cupped in her withered, crippled hands. Her hair resembled white-spun cotton, softly flowing down her back. Not much substance to her, Naomi thought. Spindly legs and spider-web arms. She could blow away with the wind. But her eyes stood out the most: peculiar and white like her hair.

  The old lady reached forward. “Hawk?”

  “I’m here.” Reynolds stepped out of the shadows. He embraced her, speaking words Naomi could not hear and pointing in Naomi’s direction.

  “Let me look at her,” the old woman said, confirming she wasn’t blind. Naomi felt exposed, as if this woman could see right through her. “Come here, Goldie.”

  Naomi did as she was asked, although tentatively.

  The woman reached toward Naomi’s neck. “May I?” she asked as she slipped off the silk scarf. Naomi put her hand up to her scar and tried to cover it——a self-conscious habit. The old woman rubbed and smelled the fabric, wrapping it around her own hand several times. The scarf shimmered with flecks of dazzling color, shone brilliant in the pale cellar light, highlighting the intricate patterns of gold and pearl. “This was Malindra’s,” she muttered, “made of Shadesilk. Still as beautiful as I remember.” She gently placed the scarf back on Naomi.

  “How did you know that?” Naomi asked, amazed.

  “I was there when Malindra acquired it. I always liked it, you know.” Her thoughts seemed to drift back to the girl. “And you are Naomi,” she finished, matter-of-factly.

  Naomi stood perplexed, not knowing what to say or do. “Yes. How do you know me?”

  “I don’t,” the old woman laughed. “I only know of you, and that is enough.” Her eiderdown hair waved in the air as she chuckled to herself. “Do you have any memories of your parents?”

  Naomi was stunned. She hadn’t expected this. “No, nothing.”

  “Only Malindra?’

  “Yes,” she whispered solemnly.

  “Oh, child.” The woman’s raspy voice tinged with sadness. “How sad to lose the only family you’ve known. Come,” she beckoned her forward. “It may be safe for now, but the magic will be discovered soon. We have little time.” She turned to Reynolds. “Hawk, lead me.”

  Reynolds held out his arm. The cotton-haired woman held to him tightly as they walked. Naomi, though still apprehensive, followed behind. He led them to a back corner of the cellar and removed a stack of crates which led to a barren, cold tunnel. Roots in the earth hung down in the passage, blocking the view of what lay deep beyond. Reynolds reached into his pocket a
nd pulled out something black and small. As he snapped his fingers, a light appeared above his hand. Without saying a word, he led them down the earthen trail.

  Creeping softly over the earth, Naomi followed the two along the long path. The claustrophobic atmosphere almost became too much. The air smelled of mustiness and decay. Past the roots, there lay a small room which had sunk down into the ground. Beyond it, from the light above Reynolds’ fingertips, she could barely see what might be a staircase.

  Storage of all kinds lay inside the room: crates, barrels, and woven blankets sat about in piles, rotting from the dark earth. The smell overpowered, and rested in the back of Naomi’s throat, prompting her to gag.

  Reynolds quickly started to pack gear and food from the barrels.

  The old woman turned and grabbed Naomi’s hand. “Help me, Goldie. I cannot see down here.”

  Naomi steadied herself and looked back at the woman, confused by her comment. But she led the woman to a crate where she could rest, which creaked as she sat. To calm her stomach, Naomi began breathing through her mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” Naomi started. “I’m really confused. How did you know Malindra?”

  “She was my sister,” the old woman explained, taking a breath to steady herself. “My name is Jeanus. Some call me Lightseer.”

  Naomi’s heart erupted in joy. “I never knew Malindra had a sister. She never said. Why didn’t she tell me?”

  The old woman laughed, heartier than before. “There are many things left for the world to reveal to us. You are no exception. Reynolds has shouldered his responsibility well.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “He is my eyes.” Jeanus smiled in his direction. “I cannot see the world of men very well. Years have taken a toll on my sight, but I can see you just fine, bright as the sun. Men sometimes cannot see the world as it is—making up silly explanations for the unexplainable. But you saw the magic today while others did not. Yes?”

  Naomi didn’t understand. “Magic? I’m not sure I understand.”

  “I am talking about the girl,” the old woman whispered.