Wings of Tavea

Chapter FOURTEEN

Not a Shifter


EMANE GROANED, FLOPPING BACK in the rocking chair. His dagger lay on the table across the room. He had been staring at it for hours, and that was just today. Yesterday he had alternated between trying to move the dagger, testing his abilities with the elements, and anticipating magical attacks. The dagger had wiggled twice. But that was hardly the progress he expected.

“You are not doing it right,” Drem said, sitting calmly at the table, the dagger near his elbow. “You are still trying to do it the way Eleana showed you.”

Emane shook his head. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Drem stood and made his way over. “Right now you are trying to get your magic to move from here.” He tapped the snake. “To here.” He tapped Emane’s fingers. “It needs to start in here.” Drem put his hands over Emane’s chest. “It is a desire. The desire pulls from your magic. It should move from the band, back to your heart, and then outwards. You are bypassing the desire and trying to force your magic into submission. It doesn’t work like that.”

“But it moved,” Emane objected. “It still worked.”

“Yes, it moved. But what good is that? It needs to move into your hand,” Drem said, wiggling five spindly fingers before dropping back into his chair. “In a fight, those with magic will be able to strip you of your weapons. You need to be able to call them back. And a twitch of your dagger on the other side of the battlefield will be of little use to you. Try again.”

Emane leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the dagger and trying to do as Drem had suggested. The dagger wiggled before jerking wildly to the side, slicing a gash up the side of Drem’s arm.

Drem leaped to his feet, swearing, clutching his bleeding arm to his chest.

“I’m sorry!” Emane darted across the room, placing his hand over Drem’s forearm and healing the cut.

Drem pulled his fingers back, eyeing the healed wound. “Impressive. I am envious.”

Emane shrugged. “At least I can do something right.” He ran his fingers though his hair. “I think I need a break, and some breakfast.”

“Of course,” Drem said, making his way into the kitchen. He pulled out bread and butter, along with some red fruit with yellow spots that was new to Emane.

“May I ask you a question?” Emane asked as Drem placed the food on the table.

“You might as well. We will be spending a lot of time together.”

Emane picked up the fruit and eyed it, before taking a bite. It was nice—sweet and a little tart. “You said Lomay showed up before your mother could drown you. Did you mean that?”

Drem settled across the table from Emane, his large ears swiveling again. “I did.”

Emane swallowed. “That’s horrible.”

Drem shrugged. “It is what it is. My people have been hunted to near extinction. I suppose I should be grateful I am alive.”

“What? Why?”

“My species, the Domat, have a unique gift. While all magical creatures can feel threads, the Domat can feel magic.”

Emane waited for an explanation. None came. Drem instead pulled off some bread for himself.

“Why is that important?” he finally asked.

Drem smiled. “Because when the lights were taken, no one could find them. But magic always leaves traces. Although they were hidden well, the trails were still alive. Traces of magic where the lights had passed over on their way to new hiding places. The Domats were hired by the thousands to track them down, and subsequently began to die by the thousands. There is a death warrant out now, though the trails have long since grown cold. Any Domat is to be killed on sight. The few that survived are under Lomay’s watch.

“Well then.” Drem reached up, clapping Emane on the shoulder. “We need to train you, to teach you. So you can survive this world. Because I would very much like to see your world.”

Emane looked down at the grey stone wrapped around Drem’s forearm. For the first time in a long time, a tiny bud of hope blossomed in his chest. “How well do you think my magic will work?”

“You won’t be the Solus.” He patted his back twice before pulling the dagger from the sheath at Emane’s waist. “But we can at least give you a fighting chance.”

“That’s better than nothing,” Emane muttered as Drem walked the dagger across the room and placed it on the table.

“It is. And we might do better than that. Let’s see how much power you have wrapped up in that armband of yours.”

He pursed his lips before rocking back on his heels with a deep breath. “Where do we start?”

“First, you have to get this dagger back.”

Emane took a step forward.

Drem held up his hand. “Stop. You have to get the dagger back from where you are standing. We are working magic after all, not testing you ability to walk.”