Part 1 (1/2)

Bloodstone.

by Barbara Campbell.

Acknowledgments.

The gang at The Never-Ending Odyssey 2005, who helped me celebrate the publication of my first novel and reviewed the opening chapters of this one. Special thanks to Bob Cutchin, Geoffrey Jacoby, Laurie Lemieux, Susan Sielinski, and Susan Winston.

Laurie Lanzdorf and Michael Samerd.y.k.e, who critiqued the first draft, asked the tough questions, and pointed out the occasional horrifying gaffe like having a character die in one chapter and show up, alive and well, in the next.

The experts: Professor Ellis Underkoffler for insights into earthquakes and tsunamis and Joe Abene, keeper of the Bronx Zoo Reptile House, for advice on adders.

Susan Herner, my agent and friend, who helped keep me calm and focused when deadlines loomed.

Sheila Gilbert, my terrific-and terrifically patient-editor. Her feedback shaped the story and her comments and questions helped me manage this large cast of characters without losing my mind. Too often.

And finally, David Lofink, my husband, my first reader, and my best friend. Whether discussing characters, bringing home takeout food, or demonstrating how a ”loose-limbed wolf on the prowl” really really moves, he kept me going during the writing of moves, he kept me going during the writing of Bloodstone Bloodstone and I dedicate it to him. and I dedicate it to him.

PART ONE.

The remains of his body are scattered and lost, But his name shall be remembered forever: Morgath the False.

Morgath the Destroyer.

Morgath the Eater of Spirits.

His deeds shall be cursed by G.o.ds and men, And his fate, the fate of all who subvert the laws of nature.

-The Legend of Morgath

Chapter 1.

HE WAS FLYING. Not the dizzying whirl of emerging from a trance or the effortless drifting of dreams. He was flying with the eagle.

Keirith wanted to laugh, to shout with the joy of it, but he was voiceless now. His body still sat on the boulder. He could see it far below, face upturned to the sky, eyes closed, hands resting lightly on his knees. He could even feel the sun-warmed rock under his thighs and the breeze that stirred his hair. The core of his being still rested there while his spirit reached skyward, a spider's spinneret that connected him to the eagle.

They soared over Eagles Mount, great wings scarcely moving despite the cool gusts of air that ruffled the tips of their dark feathers. Below them, shadowed by the overhanging shelf of rock, the female perched on her nest of sticks and bracken. As long as Keirith could remember, the pair had nested on this crag. The tribe regarded them with awe; most eagles preferred the open moors of the north to the dense forest that surrounded the village.

They rode the air currents up, banking around the circle of huts. Each was the size of a man's fist from this height, and the lake looked small enough to jump across. Their eyes-keen enough to pick out the blossoms on a gorse bush-swept over the glistening thread of the river as they searched for prey. With their hooked talons and muscled legs, they could easily carry off one of the newborn lambs frolicking on the rocky slopes of Eagles Mount, but the shepherds and their dogs would be watching. Aye, there was Conn, one hand raised to shade his face from the sun as he followed their flight.

Keirith yearned to call out a greeting to his milk-brother. Surrendering to his eagerness, the eagle gave a soft chirrup, a silly, weak sound for such a majestic bird.

A wolf howls. Even a hawk screams. You should have a cry the whole world can hear.

As if the thought were his own, he heard the eagle's response: <your mate=”” hears=”” your=”” cry=”” during=”” courts.h.i.+p.=”” why=”” warn=”” your=”” prey=”” when=”” you=”” hunt?=””> <your mate=”” hears=”” your=”” cry=”” during=”” courts.h.i.+p.=”” why=”” warn=”” your=”” prey=”” when=”” you=”” hunt?=””> May I hunt with you?

He had always loved the eagles. During his vision quest last spring, he had climbed far up Eagles Mount, to the special place he had discovered as a child. All night, he had sat there, s.h.i.+vering with cold. As dawn approached, he'd watched the sky lighten to a deep blue and Bel's first rays paint the treetops gold.

At first, all he could make out was a faint shadow against the sky. He knew at once it was not a real eagle, for the outspread wings flapped with otherworldly slowness as the bird descended. His heart slammed against his ribs at the thought of finding his vision mate so quickly; his father had waited three days and nights in the forest before he heard the she-wolf's howl.

Only when the eagle swooped lower did he see the wriggling serpent in its curved talons. The adder's head reared back. Red-brown eyes gazed down into his. A tongue flicked out and a voice, dry and rasping as autumn leaves rubbing together, whispered his name.

The adder's choice had shocked him. He'd been so certain his power was leading him along the shaman's path and every shaman in the tribe's history had found a bird during his vision quest, a bird that became his guide to the spirit world. When Tree-Father Gortin agreed to take him as an apprentice anyway, he had been relieved and thrilled, but he could not resist the urge to seek communion with a real eagle.

Three moons ago, the male had permitted his touch, such a fleeting brush of spirits he had wondered if he'd imagined it. Since then, they had touched many times, but only today had the eagle allowed them to fly together.

And already, it was time to separate; Keirith could feel his weariness mingling with the eagle's hunger pangs.

Thank you, brother, for allowing me to fly with you.

<we will=”” fly=”” again,=”” fledgling.=””> Slowly, carefully, he began the process of returning to his body. The separation must be done gently lest he injure his host, the energy furling as gently as the morningstar closed its blossoms at twilight.

”Keirith!”

The voice startled them both. His spirit tore free. For one terrifying moment, he was lost between bodies, falling helplessly through s.p.a.ce. And then his spirit hurtled back into his body with a jolt that left him gasping.

When he came to himself, he was lying on the ground, looking up into the Tree-Father's worried face. The Tree-Father was speaking in a low, urgent voice, but it took Keirith a moment to understand the words. When he did, he whispered his name three times to seal his spirit's return. Then he ran his hands over his body to reestablish the boundaries of his physical self. But when he tried to sit up, the Tree-Father pressed him back.

”Just lie still and breathe.”

He closed his eyes, allowing the dreamy la.s.situde to relax his body and mind.

”What were you doing out here by yourself?” the Tree-Father scolded in his mild way. ”You should know better than to attempt a vision on your own.”

”It wasn't a vision. I was flying.”

”What?”

”With the eagle. I touched his spirit. And we flew together.” His triumph faded when he opened his eyes and saw the Tree-Father's expression. ”What is it?”

”You touched his spirit?”

Keirith nodded, still trying to understand why the Tree-Father looked so horrified. When he realized the truth, relief left him breathless. ”I was careful. I never hurt him. Not even the first time.”

”How many times have you done this?”

”I . . . not many,” he lied.

”How many? Twice? Three times?” many? Twice? Three times?”

”I can't remember. Please. Tell me what's wrong?”