Void Oath (Sins of Magic Book 1) Read online

  Void Oath

  Sins of Magic Book 1

  Seth Sheffield

  Copyright © 2021 by Seth Sheffield

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  Blurb

  Every four years, the dragons demand a maiden sacrifice.

  But this time, the voluntary victim is male.

  As a young man, Syrin has always been safe from the dragon’s violent whims. The terrifying monsters only steal girls and Syrin was lucky to be born male. But when the village’s chosen sacrifice is found dead and the role is forced on her transgender twin brother, Syrin refuses to let the injustice go. He takes his friend’s place on the sacrificial altar, dooming himself to death—or worse.

  But the truth of the dragons’ abductions is more complicated than Syrin imagined. After narrowly avoiding death from his captors for being the wrong gender, he is given one chance to participate in their ritual.

  And for the first time ever, it succeeds—but at a great cost. The dragons’ ritual has forced an evil upon Syrin against his will: the sin of magic.

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter One

  Wolves howled, their song cutting the brutal winter wind. In the night sky above loomed a blazing red moon just a sliver short of fullness.

  Syrin shivered at the haunting noises and tried not to think about how close the wolves sounded as he hauled a small hay bale onto his shoulder. The forest was all that stood between their hungry jaws and the throats of the people of Fieldfell.

  He completed the rest of his chores under the red eye of the moon. It was an omen of things to come, but also a somber promise that he would be safe. The eve of the Fire Moon was a warning—the following night, when the horrible moon swelled to its fullest, was when tragedy struck.

  The wind whipped Syrin’s face as he hauled the barn door open. The inside of the barn was warm and the familiar scent of hay and animal comforted him. His family owned a small farm on the edge of the village. They mainly raised sheep for meat and wool, but out of all the livestock, Syrin’s favorite was a horse named Flower.

  After doling out hay to the sheep, who were nestled safely inside the barn tonight, Syrin stopped at the single horse stall. He smiled and held his palm out for Flower. The chestnut mare pressed her velvety nose to his hand. She had been a gift from his father when he became an adult two years ago. She represented the half-hearted possibility of exploring distant towns, but everyone knew going outside the Fieldfell boundary was always a risk. In any case, Syrin had no interest in leaving home anyway, so he rode the mare solely for joy.

  When the sheep weren’t looking, he slipped Flower a slice of dried apple.

  “Shh. Don’t tell the others.”

  Flower gobbled up the apple. Of course, she didn’t tell.

  On the way out of the barn, Syrin paused to watch the sheep devour their hay so quickly he wondered if they even tasted it. They clearly didn’t care about the howling wolves. The moon was one thing, but the jaws of predators were another. Still, if the flighty animals weren’t worried, maybe Syrin didn’t have a reason to be either. The wolves could’ve been farther away than he thought.

  But Syrin knew wolves were nothing compared to the horror in the imminent future. They were both lucky. The sheep were safe inside the barn and Syrin was safe in his own skin.

  As he finished up his chores and left the barn, he struggled against the bitter wind and snow. At least knowing a hot meal and a comfortable bed awaited him at home made the trek tolerable. He grunted with effort as he trudged through the snow. He had always been lithe, never as muscular as the other boys, and as a young man his strength was barely enough for farm chores. His mother often chided him gently about his delicate appearance, saying he’d need to use his wits and charm to win over a wife instead.

  Syrin was worried about hurting her feelings so he hadn’t yet told her that he wasn’t interested in women in the first place.

  Down at the foot of the hill, something caught his eye—a bobbing light in the darkness. A hooded figure holding a lantern ran towards his house. It was late, and the only reason to visit a neighbor in the evening was in case of an emergency. A flicker of dread made Syrin bolt down through the snow.

  His lungs burned from cold and he was gasping for air by the time he reached home. He threw the door open to see his parents and a middle-aged villager named Marlow. The thick aura of discomfort hit him immediately. Syrin was still worried, but at least the fear that something had happened to his parents fizzled out. His mother and father looked horrified, and Marlow’s expression was grave. They regarded Syrin but nobody spoke.

  “What happened?” Syrin asked.

  Marlow faced him. “Luna. She…”

  At the mention of her name, Syrin’s breath tightened with concern. Luna was one of the village maidens and the unlucky sacrifice for the upcoming Fire Moon ritual. She was also his best friend’s sister. Syrin and Luna had never been close, but she was a kind and smart young woman. Syrin didn't envy her duty, but he wished he could face the world with the same bravery Luna had in facing her own death.

  “She what?” Syrin asked when Marlow trailed off.

  His father spoke up. “She was killed.”

  The shock that hit Syrin was colder than the wind outside. “What? By who?”

  His mother shook her head, hiding her tear-streaked face in her hands—though if she was more upset about Luna’s death, or what it meant for the village, Syrin didn’t know.

  “Wolves,” Marlow said.

  Syrin’s stomach churned. He felt sick and foolish. While he was doting on sheep, Luna was being torn apart by wolves. The hideous image sent a shudder down his spine. He couldn’t imagine how awful her family felt. He thought of Sol and how devastated he must be.

  “Now what are we going to do?” Syrin’s mother cried. “Our choices are so few that we even had to settle for a mere girl with Luna. There are no maidens of age in the entire village!”

  Although Syrin’s father wore an apprehensive frown, he shot his son a relieved glance. He was probably glad his only child was male and would never have to experience the tragedy of sacrifice.

  Marlow’s gaze sank to the floor. “Not of age, no. But there are girls.”

  Syrin stiffened at the dark implication. As difficult as it was, he held his tongue. It wasn’t his place to speak out, not when the fate of the villa
ge depended on the outcome of the ritual.

  But that didn’t mean he wanted to listen to this sickening conversation. When he turned to leave, his father demanded, “Where are you going?”

  “I should spend the night with the flock,” Syrin said, not meeting his eye. “They must be rattled.”

  If his father knew he was lying, he didn’t comment. He sighed. “Fine.”

  His mother grabbed her husband’s arm. “You’re not seriously letting him spend the night out there? Someone was just killed!”

  “It doesn’t matter. The wolves won’t attack again.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  His father’s voice was grim. “Because they’re sated now.”

  Syrin didn’t go to the flock.

  His heart raced as he rushed towards the graveyard that edged their property. This was not the true graveyard with real bodies, which lay on the other side of the village, but the symbolic resting place for lost maidens. Sacrificed girls.

  A single, unassuming rock monument stood in a clearing with the dark forest looming behind it. In warmer months, the ground around the tomb was often littered with flowers, but now only a thick blanket of snow surrounded it. When Syrin was younger, he wondered why the maiden’s graveyard was so far from the village, but as an adult he had a grim understanding that it was Fieldfell’s way of hiding its shame.

  The bitter air clawed his cheeks. Syrin tugged his shepherd’s coat tighter as he skidded down the snowy slope.

  Just as he thought, a single figure kneeled by the empty tomb.

  “Sol,” Syrin called.

  The young man froze. Sol didn’t turn to meet him, and when Syrin went to his side, he saw why. Sol’s face was streaked with tears.

  Syrin’s heart sank. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. He knew the words wouldn’t ease Sol’s pain, but they filled the air better than silence.

  Sol nodded, wiping his eyes, too choked up to speak. He rested his head against Syrin’s arm. Sol didn’t object as Syrin shifted his wool coat to fit over both their shoulders.

  “Do your parents know you’re out here?” Syrin asked after a moment.

  “No.” He sounded miserable. “They don’t know where I am. They’re too upset about Luna to care.”

  Syrin flinched at the raw way Sol spoke it so coarsely, almost like his sister was still alive. But he knew better than to judge his friend for the way he handled his grief, especially given his complicated relationship with his family.

  “Not that they shouldn’t be,” Sol mumbled. “I’m selfish. My twin is dead, but I...”

  Sol weakly slammed his fist into the snow and began sobbing again. His face was red from cold and crying, his bloodshot eyes and flushed cheeks stark against his pale face.

  Not for the first time, it struck Syrin how much Sol looked like his twin. The two had been identical until Sol had cut his hair and name short when he decided he didn’t want to be Luna’s sister anymore.

  When Sol got it out of his system, he got up and approached the monument. He produced a small knife from his pocket and held it with shaky determination. Syrin watched in silence as Sol found Luna Lacroix at the bottom of the column and dug the blade into the black rock, crossing out her name.

  “Every four years,” Syrin murmured, looking at the list of dead girls. “It’s too much.” He glanced up at the red moon. It taunted them with that single missing sliver, promising to return the following night with a vengeance. “Why does this have to happen?”

  Sol had no answer. Neither of them knew.

  A moment passed and Sol spoke again. “You know what the worst part is?”

  “What?”

  Sol turned to him, eyes bitter and full of grief. His mouth curved into a phantom of a smile, mirthless and resentful. “I think Luna did it on purpose.”

  The words took Syrin off guard. Luna wouldn’t have done that. She was a bright girl who lived life to the fullest. Or she would have, if she wasn’t chosen to be sacrificed.

  “Why?” Syrin asked.

  Sol’s smirk disappeared. “What’s worse, Syrin? Being thrown to the wolves? Or being thrown to the dragons?”

  Not knowing what to say, Syrin’s glanced at the dark woods beyond the tomb. It was still and silent except for the eerie howl of the wind. The forest was an ever-present shadow, a constant reminder that danger lurked in all corners of their world.

  “We don’t know what the dragons do,” Syrin said. But even as he spoke, the words felt hopeless on his tongue.

  “What do you think the dragons do?” Sol snapped. “Collect the girls like dolls? Turn them into little pets?”

  Syrin flinched. He hadn’t meant to hurt his friend by speaking thoughtlessly. “No.”

  “Tell me, then.” Sol’s voice trembled, on the verge of an angry sob. “Tell me what you think the dragons would’ve done with my sister!”

  “Nevermind,” Syrin said. “I’m sorry, I was careless.”

  But his friend was too far gone. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and this time he didn’t bother wiping them away.

  “No. I want to know, since you’re so much older and smarter than me,” Sol demanded. “Because I know what the wolves did. They hunted her down, ripped her flesh with their teeth, tore her limb from limb, ripped the meat off her bones—”

  “Sol,” Syrin interrupted, raising his voice.

  “Gorged themselves on it, I bet! They’re all nice and fed now, so at least she didn’t throw her life away for nothing. Now we don’t have to worry about them attacking us!” Sol threw his trembling arms in the air. “It doesn’t even matter. Because that’s what the ceremony is about, isn’t it? Sacrificing a life so that we all may live. Except now…”

  Sol’s voice broke for a final time. He fell to his knees, curling up and burying his face, reverting from the slow maturity of a young adult to the broken shell of a boy. Syrin’s heart clenched in pain. He joined Sol on snowy ground and held him as he wept.

  The wolves were quiet that night.

  They slept huddled among the scent of hay and sheep, ignoring the wind that rattled the old barn walls. Syrin woke first, gripped by a vague sense of unease that refused to let him sleep any longer. He went to the window. Watery morning light blanketed the field, turning the land a pale shade of yellow.

  He glanced up to where the previous night’s moon lingered in the furthest corner of the sky. The rising sun threatened to mask it, but it was never truly gone. It would return again in the evening, fat and full; the true Fire Moon.

  Reality dawned on Syrin. The ritual was tonight, but now there was no sacrifice. The entire village was in grave danger.

  “There’s no point,” Sol said behind him. His face was solemn and tired, stained with last night’s tears. “We should leave. All of us. Evacuate the village before the dragon comes.”

  “And go where?” Syrin asked. “Into the woods, into the mouths of wolves?”

  Sol flinched, and Syrin felt a pang of guilt for reminding him of his sister.

  “Why not?” Sol replied. “They can’t kill us all. But a dragon can.”

  They grudgingly left the barn. Syrin didn’t find his parents at home, but the agitated noise rising from the middle of the village told him where they were. Everyone was gathered in the dirt square, all speaking above each other in increasingly frantic tones. Sol stuck close to Syrin’s side. He was still emotionally fragile from loss, and fearful of the unknown to come.

  Syrin grimaced when he spotted Sol and Luna’s parents near the center of the crowd. The twins’ weeping mother clung to her husband while he shouted at the Mayor.

  Syrin picked his own mother out of the crowd and asked, “What’s going on?”

  She gasped and pulled him into a tight embrace. “Oh, you’re here. Where have you been?”

  “We’re okay. We fell asleep in the barn.”

  His mother frowned and shot Sol a strange look. She lowered her voice. “The village is trying to decide what to do about the ritual n
ow, with Luna gone.”

  From the corner of his eye, Syrin saw Sol’s jaw tighten, but his friend’s tears had dried up for now. Either that or he was too tired to grieve anymore.

  His mother didn’t apologize to Sol. The atmosphere in the square was frantic and tense, and there was apparently no time to be civil. Syrin’s mother gripped his arm. She muttered gratefully under her breath about her only child being a son.

  Sol backed away from the crowd with a frightened look in his eyes. “I don’t care what happens anymore. I just want to go home.”

  “Wait, Sol,” Syrin said, removing himself from his mother’s grip. “You shouldn’t go off on your own right now.”

  A set of heads turned towards them. Sol’s parents shoved through the crowd, shouldering Syrin aside to snatch their only remaining child. The way they grabbed Sol seemed less like relieved parents and more like an impatient master annoyed at his dog.

  Sol flinched. “Mom, you’re hurting me.”

  The crowd parted as the Mayor stormed ahead. He stood on a wooden platform in the center of the square and summoned Sol’s parents closer with a firm wave of his hand. The three of them joined the Mayor on the platform. Sol looked particularly small next to the adults.

  Dread pooled in Syrin’s stomach.

  A hush settled over the crowd as the Mayor demanded their attention.

  “People of Fieldfell,” he began, “I’m sure by now we all know of the tragic death of Luna Lacroix, this year’s sacrifice for the Fire Moon ritual.”