Heart Stone

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Heart Stone - book excerpt

CHAPTER 1 – Betrothed

Tanzaa looked up when the eunuchs came in to collect her. She had known. All the other girls in the harem glanced secretively at her with a mixture of jealousy and excitement. It was mid-winter day and one of them would be called, as was tradition, on any of the equinox or solstice days. Her best friend, Zamira smiled, for she had been selected just before at fall equinox to become a concubine at the spring festival and was only three months into her preparations. They would be together in their selection.

Tanzaa felt her stomach plunge as the tall eunuchs stopped and stood before her. She carefully set aside the music she had been studying and rose. The silence echoed among the other girls, for they envied her, but dared say nothing.

They would never know how her heart broke for the love she lost.

Obediently, Tanzaa followed the guards out of the garden room and to her bower where she would prepare to meet with the king. She bathed thoroughly, and then let her servants wash and oil hair and select her richest clothing. They wove silver beads and jeweled pins through Tanzaa’s blonde tresses, to match the gray velvet gown. Unlike the current fashions in Umzulio, this draped frock allowed her free movement. Perhaps the king would request her to dance at this court review and she must be able to do so without argument. In a few moments, she would be setting fashion in the entire capital. Tomorrow the popular tight bodice and heavy skirts would fade from favor very quickly, all because she was selected to become the next concubine of the King of Demion.

When she had been prepared properly, Tanzaa followed her escorts toward the throne-room. As she walked, Tanzaa began silently composing the letter she would write to Dayvian when she returned to her rooms. He would get the note as soon as the weather in the pass lifted. Without meaning to, she glanced out the huge windows of the foyer. She saw that a storm brewed, with wind bending the trees of the palace gardens. The winter’s cold sleet reflected her mood. Yet her gloom must not impact her dancing. She must never let the king know how she despised his offer to select her for his consort.

My Beloved Dayvian,…

She entered the main hall and tried not to react. Over fifty other concubines and a vast assortment of Lords along with their ladies, all turned to look at her. Their brightly colored robes flashed like summer flowers against the gray of the stone chamber. The king stood, resplendent in gold, on the dais, smiling grandly down at her, stretching forth his arms as if to invite her into his embrace. She wanted none of him. Zamira would remind her she would never want for anything, jewels, prestige, security, servants, power. She might even have a bit of freedom, as far as the demon would allow, but painful sorcery would rule her life.

Tanzaa would have everything except affection.

The one requirement of becoming a king’s consort was to house a demon and take on the magic that went with such possession. Tanzaa shivered in terror at the thought but did not hesitate. She did as was expected. She held her head high and strode bravely through the gathered courtiers. Then Tanzaa knelt at the foot of the dais, her arms outstretched before the king, forehead on the running carpet. King Zathuramin owned her already. She had lived in his household, under his protection for most of her life. All her training as a courtesan was his. Tanzaa, the dancing harem girl would become Lady Tanzaa, the courtesan of the king.

Outside, the gathered storm struck, rattling the windows in the foyer, beyond the tall wooden doors.

“Ah, Tanzaa, my love,” the king announced. “As lovely as ever. You wore silver and I stand here in gold. You have me under your spell, and even before you take on the power. Dance for me, will you?”

He didn’t need to ask, she thought. She lifted herself off the floor and glanced around for the musicians. Zamira had not rejoined the musical group, for the choosing-brand on her wrist still prevented her from playing the lute, her best instrument. Zamira would return in a few weeks to playing, just in time for her wedding that was to take place at Spring Equinox. Even without her friend, Tanzaa knew to dance in obedience. Six other harem girls had gathered on the side steps and smiled down at her as they struck up a lively winter tune, designed to counter the dire weather outside.

Dance, Tanzaa.

She spun and sculpted the air with her arms like she had wings. Her delicate feet hardly seemed to dust the chamber floor like snowflakes flitting across an ice field. The loose hair across her shoulders shielded Tanzaa’s impassive face from the awed onlookers. She twisted in impossible contortions, imitating a swan lifting free from the winter lake and fleeing into the sky. The courtiers watched, enchanted and murmuring their approval. King Zathuramin collected such stunning specimens, gifted with talents that would only be enhanced as they became hosts to demons. Oh, Tanzaa would be an exquisite addition to the menagerie, they thought.

The swan landed again on the ice and settled. The music faded and the king began to clap his approval.

“Yes, you will do,” he almost whispered. “You will be my sixty-third wife, my lovely. You will dance for me…after you have healed.

Tanzaa resumed her kneeling on the carpet, with her arms in front, but she could not stop the slight tremor of fear rippling down her limbs. She struggled to get her breathing under control before the next stage of this ceremony. Tanzaa heard the tramping of the eunuchs’ return. She did not struggle as they carefully stretched her legs out behind her so she lay sprawled in front of the king. She could not watch as a priest approached and the eunuchs held her down, both arm and leg.

The priest peeled her dancing shoes off and then, with little ceremony, placed the glowing red iron seal against the heel of her right foot. Zathuramin’s mark on her talent. She could only dance for him. The pain tore from her throat, but she smothered it into the carpet. Tanzaa hoped her bowed head and shrouding hair hid the tears and fury she could no longer contain.

Outside, the storm raged on.

CHAPTER 2 – Invited

The circus geared up for the spring tour and Dayvian helped, lending his muscle to loading brightly colored tents and heavy ropes into the carts. The circus manager stood in the way, barking orders instead of helping, and Dayvian grumbled under his breath, about his laziness. However, he dared not let his sour attitude carry farther into the morning air. Dayvian needed this job. Indeed, he had needed it since he was six. There was nothing else a musician could do if he wanted to reliably feed himself. So, he endured his manager's laziness stoically.

"What's with you?" asked Cardin, his best friend for years and the only other musician in the company. He could tell Dayvian was at least fixating on something. "You usually enjoy loading up. It means we're moving out. You hate wintering over here in Teal. Besides, you'll get to see Tanzaa soon," Cardin added. He knew that the mention of the girl always cheered up his friend.

Dayvian looked around Teal's circus lot with its muddy grounds, just budding trees filling in around the perimeter and the long winter’s clouds finally breaking up. Truly, he should be excited about the circus’ departure. In one more day the troupe would depart Teal and wander through the Land’s few eastern cities before departing through Ravgail Pass. After traveling another month, they would arrive in Umzulio. The capital of Demion, Tanzaa’s hometown, a teaming city in the center of the exotic country. However, that thought brought no comfort now. Instead, Dayvian dripped with dread at seeing Tanzaa once again. He could never share the true reasons for his depression with his friend Carsin. No one knew the dark root of the fear in his stomach. A difficult tour awaited Dayvian and he knew it.

So instead of ruminating on his inability to resolve the true problem, Dayvian chose to focus on the issues he could address; nosy friends, lazy managers, the broken string on his guitar. That would have to be rectified before they left. He didn't have the funds to fix it, let alone purchase enough spare string to last the entire eight-month tour. Time to go scavenging.

Dayvian threw another load of props on top of the tent canvas that filled a cart to hold it down and turned around to get another armful. Abruptly he almost ran into a pretty lady walking between the other carts. He thought he knew everyone associated with the circus, but he would have remembered someone like this woman. Rich, chestnut hair, warm skin, and memorable eyes, one green, one blue, both twinkling in the spring air. Carsin, his quick eye open for any female within marrying age, moved forward boldly and introduced himself before Dayvian could even apologize for bumping into her.

"Hello, I'm Carsin," the musician stuck out his hand, laying on the charm, smiling and holding on to the lady's hand longer than necessary. “Pardon my clumsy friend here.”

Fortunately, this lady knew how to handle an awkward situation. "Hello, gentlemen," and Dayvian caught how she carefully included them both. Her smile would have melted even Dayvian’s depression, but he let Carsin continue bumbling through an introduction.

You're in over your head, Carsin, Dayvian thought. Surely his lady was already taken. Indeed, he doubted if she wasn't already married, for though she was dressed as a common maid, with her hair down and her rich tanned skin spoke of someone who worked outside, he doubted a dairymaid or farmer's daughter could afford the finely woven skirt and leather bodice she wore. No, she's spoken for and Carsin is going to go the entire tour pining for the one that got away.

"You may call me Rashel," she said in a sweet voice that Dayvian’s musical ear could appreciate. "I was wondering when the circus was pulling out."

"Alas, my lady, that we must depart," Carsin brought her hand to his lips, "and we won't be back for eight months. I shall be deprived of the opportunity of gaining the acquaintance of such a lovely…"

Dayvian rolled his eyes at Carsin's pathetic attempts at charming a lady. Then another stranger, a tall, wiry huntsman, came around the corner of the cart and froze Carsin under this newcomer's glare. "And I'm Yeolani, her husband. Just answer the lady's questions please."

Dayvian sighed for his friend, but came to his rescue. "The circus leaves at dawn tomorrow. What can we do for you?"

Rashel smiled winningly, making Carsin’s jaw drop. "We're looking for a certain musician and thought perhaps you qualified. The gentleman back at the gate said something about…" and she faded off, again smiling, her green and blue eyes flicking toward Dayvian. Was she really trying to get their attention, even with her husband standing right behind her now? "Dayvian, is there a place I can speak with you privately?"

Carsin began sputtering, but his friend got what he deserved for flirting so outrageously. For his part, Dayvian swallowed a wave of sudden nerves. He glanced over her head toward the master, who at the moment had his back to this part of the circus lot. To the left, he knew the cook's tent probably wasn't occupied at this point in the morning, and he motioned for her to follow him. Carsin was about to protest when Yeolani clapped his hand on Carsin's shoulder and said something about helping to finish the packing. So Rashel’s man knew about this private interview and encouraged it? How strange.

In the cooking tent, no one occupied the supper table which would probably be the last piece to be packed after the evening meal that night, so he invited Rashel to sit and then took a seat himself across from her, curiosity finally breaking through the sour mood he had cultivated all day.

"Thank you for seeing me," Rashel began, wringing her hands in a surprising show of nervousness. "I came here to speak with you specifically. How long have you been with the circus?"

That was a strange way to begin this mysterious conversation. "Since I was six…what is this about, ma'am?"

"It's about magic, Dayvian." Her frank expression caught him off guard. She wasn't trying to charm him now but had grown deadly serious.

Dayvian deliberately misconstrued what she was talking about. "The circus already has a magician. He does a pretty good rope trick, but his disappearing box could use some work," Dayvian tried awkwardly.

Rashel almost believed him for a moment, pausing to judge whether Dayvian was serious. "No, I mean real magic, no tricks," she replied, rolling her eyes at his misdirection. Then, without preamble, she held up her palm at his eye level. Without any distraction or magic words, a beautiful blood-red rose began to form in her hand, completely free of stem, leaf, or soil. It emerged as a closed bud and then opened to summer size in the matter of a breath or two.

"There's no such thing as…" but Dayvian could not finish the sentence in the face of such beautiful and blatant proof to the contrary. He gave up completely as she handed him the rose and then began to craft a daffodil to go with it, again, with no subterfuge.

"How are you doing this?" he finally had to ask.

Rashel smiled secretively. "Because I am magic. You might call me Queen of Growing Things. I am one of the Wise Ones. Most people know me as Rashel. I have come to find you Dayvian because you are magic as well."

He watched her strange blue-and-green-eyed seriousness and forced himself to breathe. He could not think of one thing to say to that declaration. Magic…did he even believe in it? Dayvian knew it existed and not in the form of sleight of hand like the circus magician. He also knew about the demons in the court of the King at Umzulio. That type of magic he knew all too well. That demonic power was taking Tanzaa from him even as he sat at this simple table across from a sorceress.

“I am not a sorceress,” Rashel insisted. "That is evil magic and in the Land, there are only the Wise Ones, the guardians of truly good magic. Vamilion, the King of Mountains lives just up the river in that grand palace that I'm sure you've seen. He is one of the Land’s true magicians, as am I. My magic is mostly based in growing plants, though that is not a limitation. And Dayvian, you can also be a Wise One. It is one of my tasks to find the next Wise One that will become a guardian of magic in the Land. I will train you in your powers. You will live forever, able to do almost anything, but with a duty to serve the people of the Land.”

This could not be true. Dayvian’s entire experience with magic taught him such powers were wrong and evil. In his travels with the circus, he had seen demons at work in Demion. They possessed and then manipulated people. In Malornia the demon-possessed used their powers to oppress anyone without magic. He had also seen the small hedge-witches in Marwen who made the air noxious with smokes and hexes, claiming they could cure all sorts of ills. Nothing good ever came from their hocus-pocus, no matter how much a seeker paid for magical services. Here in the Land, he had not seen a whiff of magic…except, as Rashel claimed, that huge, glorious palace farther up the river. However, Dayvian never thought of it as magic; just some great Lord looking down on his domain.

Dayvian found himself standing, backing away from Rashel and her bizarre offer to train him in magic. He couldn't get away far enough from her, he knew, but he had to reject the idea of magical powers. He didn't know how to think, let alone consider it. He didn't want to believe in magic.

"Why do you not want to believe in magic?" Rashel asked.

Had he said it aloud? He didn't think he had. She had replied to something she must have heard in his head.

"I don't want…magic is…," he whispered and then tried it again, louder. "If there is magic then…"

"Dayvian, what's wrong? You're upset. I'm sorry. I thought you were old enough understand…who is the girl?" Rashel’s eyes flashed in alarm.

She had been inside his head. Dayvian closed his eyes over the image burned into his mind; Tanzaa, the girl he would love forever. He tried to erase the vision of her white-blonde hair and stunning silver eyes. He wanted to unsee her graceful movements, alabaster arms around him. He must forget her shy smile.

Tanzaa had always been inaccessible, though he continued to seek for ways they could be together, but this year his dreams would all end. He would fail in his promise to Tanzaa. It would take magic to free her and yet magic was the reason they could not be together.

"Dayvian, tell me about the girl," Rashel ordered smoothly. She somehow created a pot of tea and poured it for him graciously. He took the proffered cup and he found he couldn't resist her magic voice.

Crumbling with a sudden wave of grief, Dayvian sat back at the table and put his head down on his arms so he would not have to look at anything beyond his eyes. He did not want to speak, but somehow, he had to do as he was told. It broke through the dam holding back his grief.

"I met Tanzaa ten years ago when she first became a courtesan in the Demion King's household at Umzulio. She was sold into that life as a dancer, as just a child. She had a gift for grace that the court valued. Some even said she was magical. Then our tour arrived in Demion, I saw her dancing and completely fell for her there. The first and only girl I've ever loved. Every year when the circus comes to Umzulio, I go out of my way to meet with Tanzaa, to play my music just for her to dance to, and she is exquisite. Tanzaa and I…we are a pair. I spent all my money on lessons so I could learn to write to her. She risks being beaten or killed every time I came, sneaking out of the palace to meet with me. Three years ago, when I was at Umzulio we promised ourselves to each other. We began plotting how we could marry ever since. But what I didn't know about at that time was magic.”

Dayvian then lifted his head and almost snarled at Rashel as he declared, "I hate it. It's ruined my life and hers. I won't have it."

Rashel didn't react to the obvious resentment he directed toward her. He did believe in magic, but that world had destroyed him, and so he rejected Rashel’s offer out of hand. "Dayvian…what happened?"

Although there was no magical imperative, Dayvian managed to pick up the shreds of his story. "This winter I got a letter from Tanzaa. As a courtesan, she officially belongs to the King of Umzulio, who has exclusive rights to her. Unfortunately, the King is also a sorcerer. He gets his power through demons. Tanzaa wrote to me that she has caught the eye of the king…and…and she is to be married to him at midsummer. That means she will be made a host body for a demon as well. If she refuses the marriage or fights this edict, she will become one of the blood sacrifices for his demon instead. No one, if they can help it, refuses the demons. She'll be his sixty-third wife and a demon’s slave. There is nothing I can do. It's too late."

* * *

Rashel sat at the table watching the miserable young man crumble, and couldn't console him. No wonder the thought of magic repulsed him. And truly, there was little she could do to help him or Tanzaa. As a Wise One, Rashel’s magic was for the Land, not Demion, a completely separate country, where magic developed differently. Demion, from time to time, even attacked the Land. Yet, offering to go to Tanzaa's rescue would not help their situation. Oh, if Dayvian took the magic Rashel offered him, he technically could probably rescue Tanzaa, but not without inciting an international incident and even then he would have to leave her regardless of the results.

"Rashel…" The voice of her husband, Yeolani, pierced silently into her mind. "What are you thinking? You aren’t doing anything reckless…?"

"It won't be my decision," she replied in magical silence. "I'll leave it up to him. He has to at least know what he's giving up."

Rashel reached out across the table and shook Dayvian out of his malaise. "Not all magic is demon evil. The magic I'm offering you is in you naturally. I traced it to you here. Already it's part of you. I can give you the key to opening it and you…if you accept this gift, you will have more power than the Kings of Demion."

Dayvian gasped, sucking in his breath suddenly, and he reached out, gripping her hand. "What?"

"But you must understand, there are restrictions and you will not like them. You must be aware of this before you make your decision." Then, even if it were not polite Rashel tapped into the young man's thoughts, hoping he was in the right frame of mind to listen.

"If you accept my offer of magic, you will become a Wise One. It gives you almost unlimited power magically, but the moral restrictions are severe. You could rescue Tanzaa from the King and set her free here in the Land. However, doing so might start a war with Demion, if the King is willing to pursue her that much, and you will regret that. Also, you should know you will not then be able to keep your promise to Tanzaa to marry her. A Wise One must only be married to another Wise One. Then one of your duties will be to find the next one in our order, the way that Yeolani found me. You will go Seeking a woman with natural magic and can marry only her."

Dayvian’s mind spun with the possibilities, making Rashel almost dizzy listening to his thoughts. "But can't Tanzaa become a Wise One too? What if I choose her?" he asked.

Rashel shook her head and restlessly rose to pace the tent. "No, you misunderstand. Only a few people have the Wise One gift. You do not get to select who will receive it. God does that. Yeolani had to look to find me and all he had was my name…just as I only had your name as a clue to find you. Dayvian, I've been looking for you for the last thirty years, starting before you were even born. And then half that time you've been out of the country, out of range as it were. I didn't know what kind of person you would be, what your gifts will be or how this will work out. If…if you do not choose the magic gift I'm offering you, then I will leave and move on, seeking another person named Dayvian and it could be a hundred years before I find another."

Dayvian shook his head, running his lean musician's fingers through his tousled brown hair in frustration. "Thirty years…I've been in the circus fourteen…you cannot be that much older than me. How did you…" His confusion made him still again.