Page 9

“What if it mentions the Zavien tribe?” I said. “What if there’s some connection to the stone?”

“Come on, the Zavien tribe’s just an old legend. I don’t think now’s the time for wild theories.”

On our quest to find the Zavien stone, we’d run across the wordZavienmore than once. It was the name of a hardwood tree that only grew in the far east, and a type of seahawk that nested along the southern coast. But we’d also heard a distant rumor that it was the name of an ancient tribe in Eastlandra that had died out centuries ago. Except, we’d never uncovered any evidence that this ninth tribe actually existed … or that the stone was connected to them—or the tree or the seahawk—in any way.

But despite what Kah said, if there was ever a time for wild theories, it was now. I opened the book and flipped through the dry pages, looking for any sign of what the previous reader discovered here.

“Wait, stop, go back,” Kah said abruptly. I did as he said. “There.”

At the bottom of the page,Zavien Tribewas written in faded black ink. My mouth fell open as we both read the text.

There is no evidence of the existence of the Zavien tribe or direct knowledge of their tribe’s powers, appearance, or nature. Only stories, fragmented and degraded by time and mystery. The stories tell of a mighty tribe of shapechangers that was wiped out during the Winter Ages when the Great Earthquake sank the lower peninsula of Eastlandra into the sea, taking the realm of the Zaviens with it.

For centuries after the Great Earthquake, no mention of Zaviens surfaced in the historical records until the Blood Ages. Legends of the Battle of Kalka told of an army of man-to-bird shapechangers that appeared during the battle, arriving on wings but fighting as men. The men were said to have tattoos of feathers on their arms and weapons made of rare wood. Some believed they were from the lost kingdom of the Zaviens, a place thought to be swallowed by the Untamed Sea long ago.

“Blazenhell. It says they were shapechangers, Kah,” I said, studying the illustration of three black feathers drawn beside the text, which I assumed was a depiction of their tattoos. “I thought only powerful Magis possessed that type of magic.”

“Maybe both tribes possessed transformational magic back in the Winter Ages?” Kah said. He seemed just as astonished as I was about finding any reference to this mythical tribe.

“Or maybe their tribe’s magic came from a powerful object,” I said.

“Like the Zavien stone.”

“Exactly.”

I stared at the page, my heart rate quickening. It was a far-fetched idea, but could we be getting closer? Underneath the feathers was another faded drawing. I traced over it with my finger. It looked like an old key with the head shaped like abird with outstretched wings. I’d never seen a key like that. I wondered if it was connected to the stone in any way.

“All right, let’s say that’s true,” Kah said. “How does this help us? Even if this ninth tribe did exist centuries ago—which is a bigif—and they had possession of the Zavien stone, where is it now? Why did the Magi seer point us to Malengard?”

“Maybe there’s another clue in here.” I flipped the page, sucking in a breath.

The next page had been ripped out.

My jaw tightened. “Who do you think did this? Thrailkull? If he knows about the stone?—”

Kah cut me off. “Jeddak, someone’s coming.”

Being with Kah since birth, I’d learned (most times, the hard way) that he had a better sense of hearing and smell than me, which had clearly remained acute despite the spell.

Moving fast, I took the knife out of my belt and cut along the edge of the page with the feather and key illustrations on it. Then I tucked it into my armor, grabbed the torch, and headed for the exit. Once outside the door, I could hear voices at the top of the spiral stairwell.

“We’re trapped down here,” I muttered, locking the door behind me and shoving the keyring in my pocket.

The sound of boots pounding on the stone steps was getting louder.

“Your flask. Empty it on the step,” Kah said.

“What in blazenhell are you talking about?”

“Trust me, just do it.”

“I’m not—” I started, but then understood his plan.

Not a minute later, Guard Commander Bloodbain appeared above me as I was ascending the stairs, his dark red cape flapping behind him. Word among the other guards said when he kills, he dips his cape in his enemy’s blood so that deathfollows him wherever he goes. From the look of the thorough dye job, I doubted he’d hesitate to add my blood to the mix.

“Guard, what are you doing down here?” he demanded.

“I—uh.”