The Sapphire Flute Read online

  "The Sapphire Flute is a steady burst of imagination and adventure. What a great start to the series!"

  James Dashner, author of The Maze Runner

  "This book has everything I read fantasy for: excitement, adventure, engaging characters, and a storyline that is completely unpredictable. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Karen Hoover is one heck of a writer! Now I just want to know when I can get my hands on her next book."

  J. Scott Savage, author of the Farworld Series

  "A delightful tale filled with action, magic, and enchanting characters you're sure to love!"

  Julie Wright, author of The Hazzardous Universe

  "This is one of those books I can picture myself reading when I was much younger--I think it would be among my most-loved books of my pre-teen and teen years, along with A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle, The Oval Amulet by Lucy Cullyford Babbitt, and Lloyd Alexander's Prydain Chronicles. Perhaps it may be presumptuous of me to rate The Sapphire Flute so highly. I do so because this story resonated with me the same way those did. I can see my self re-reading this book many times down the road, as I have the titles I mentioned above."

  Melissa Owens, of Melissa's Bookshelf,

  book review website

  By Karen E. Hoover

  THE WOLFCHILD SAGA

  The Sapphire Flute

  The Armor of Light

  *The Emerald Wolf*

  *The Amethyst Eye*

  *The Hidden Coin*

  *The Ruby Heart*

  *The Crystal Mallet*

  *Forthcoming*

  THE SAPPHIRE FLUTE

  by

  Karen E. Hoover

  Book 1 of TheWolfchild Saga

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2011 Karen E. Hoover

  Cover Art © 2011 Deirdre Eden Coppel

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction, and the views expressed herein are the sole responsibility of the author. Likewise, certain characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting this author's work.

  ISBN 978-1-613-64423-2

  2nd Edition June 2011 / First American edition March 2010

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  It's hard to know exactly who to thank when the first words of this story were written over seventeen years ago. For all those who helped in the early years, you know who you are and I thank you—for the feedback, the late night brainstorming sessions, and the encouragement when everything felt like drivel. This book would not have become what it was without those beginnings, and for that, I thank you.

  There are a few people in particular who deserve some individual thanks, though, and this is the place to do it. First, Darla Isackson, for telling me that the only way I wouldn't get published was if I quit writing, and who encouraged, pushed, and pulled me forward at times to keep me moving ahead. Thank you for sharing your wisdom and for believing I could do it. Second, my dear friend Shari Bird, who spent many a morning walking with me pounding out the details of my stories and believed in when I forgot to believe in myself. She's got to be the best butt-kicker in this world. Thank you, Shari, for your love and encouragement, and for loving my stories almost as much as I do.

  For Tristi Pinkston, editor and friend extraordinaire, who saw the potential in me and helped me on my journey to publication long before she became my official editor, and for Candace Salima, who always encouraged me, and when Valor Publishing Group opened its doors, invited me in, she gave my book a home for a time. I'd also like to add thanks to BJ Rowley and and Muriel Sluyter for all their hard work on the book, and Deirdre Eden Coppel for the AMAZING cover. For all the friends and critique groups who've seen the rounds of this story, I thank you. I'd be nowhere without my family, and wish to thank them for the patience, tolerance, and encouragement, despite simple dinners of fruit, toast, and cheese, and the many, many days and nights I've spent up the canyons writing, or buried in the basement. Gary, thank you for encouraging me to follow my dreams and helping make it real. Austin and Robert, thanks for being the amazing kids you are and for understanding this crazy need I have to throw words on a page.

  And most especially, I'd like to thank my Heavenly Father—for without His gifts and guidance, I would be nothing.

  Dedication

  To my biggest cheerleader and greatest fan,

  the woman who told me I could do anything if I wanted it badly enough,

  and was with me from the first word until the last.

  I only wish she were here to cross the finish line with me.

  I love you, Mom.

  Earlene Gillespie

  9/6/1931 to 8/6/2008

  Pronunciation Guide

  Kayla's Story:

  Kayla = KAY-luh

  Kalandra = kuh-LAN-druh

  Felandian = feh-LAN-dee-in

  Brant = brANT

  Domanta = doe-MAWN-tuh

  King Rojan = ROE-hahn

  Tomas = TOE-moss

  Balania = beh-LAWN-yuh

  Joyson = JOY-sun

  Pedran = PEHD-rin

  Matios = muh-TEE-ohss

  Sarali = suh-RAW-lee

  T'Kato = te-KAW-toe

  Darthmoor = DARTH-more

  Peldane = pehl-DANE

  Dragonmeer = DRA-gun-mere

  Klii'kunn = klee-KOON

  C'Tan's Story:

  C'Tan = SEH-tawn

  Kardon = KAR-dawn

  S'Kotos = SKOE-toess

  Ember's Story:

  Ember = EHM-burr

  Shandae = shawn-DAY

  Jarin = JAIR-in

  Brina = BREE-nuh

  Marda = MAR-duh

  Aldarin = ALL-duh-rin

  Paeder = PAY-der

  Tiva = TEE-vuh

  Ren = RIN

  Ezeker = EHZ-i-kurr

  Ian Covainis = EE-in Coe-VANE-iss

  Shad = (A as in apple)

  DeMunth = deh-MOONTH

  Asana = ae-SAW-nuh

  Laerdish = LAIR-dish

  Shiona = shee-OWN-uh

  Siedow = SEE-dowe

  Javak = JAW-vuk

  Karsholm = KAR-showlm

  Mahal = muh-HALL

  The Sapphire Flute

  by Karen E. Hoover

  The Wolfchild Saga

  Book 1

  PROLOGUE

  Jarin smoothed the final rope of stone decorating the altar. The orange magic of Bendanatu flowed through him in a circle of energy that allowed him to mold the cold stone with his hands. There was no dust to blow away, no chisel marks to scar the perfection of the glossy black surface. The heat of his hand alone sculpted the pictures and polished them as smooth as onyx until they reflected the candlelight by which he worked. He sat back on his heels and inspected his creation.

  The flat panels on the top and sides depicted the seven Guardians of Rasann creating the world, each holding a keystone that rooted magic to the land. C’Tan had been adamant that the altar remain untainted by color, leaving only the dark of the onyx she brou
ght him.

  If he’d had his way, the altar would burst with color, from the sapphire of Klii’kunn’s flute to the deep amethyst of Hwalan’s handheld eye. Jarin sighed with a small ache of regret, but still he was pleased. The interwoven vines running along the upper edge had turned out particularly well, roping in and out in endless knots that were the best he’d ever done, but then, there was reason for that. This was not just any commission he’d taken. This was for his sister, C’Tan—or Celena Tan, as she’d been called as a child.

  He rubbed his hand over the top one last time, his fingers catching slightly on the raised image of S’Kotos holding a heartshaped gem. Why C’Tan had wanted The Destroyer on the altar’s top, he didn’t understand. She’d given him some kind of convoluted explanation, but it had made no sense.

  Jarin shook his head and stood. He separated the fine chains hanging about his neck and placed a finger on the stone that hung at his throat. It warmed at his touch, suddenly alive and listening, prepared to transmit every word he spoke into his sister’s waiting ear. No matter how often he used the stone, it always amazed him that he could speak to C’Tan as if she stood before him, whether she was in the kitchen or riding her dragons in a neighboring county. He could hardly wait to share his news. The altar was done! Nearly a year of work, and it was complete.

  The spell activated instantly, catching C’Tan mid-sentence as she spoke. “. . . don’t want any excuses. The master requires the child’s soul in order to negate the prophecy.”

  Jarin froze in shock, holding himself completely still as he listened to the unfolding conversation, expecting any moment for C’Tan to laugh at the joke she was playing at his expense.

  “Yes, I have a rather full understanding of that, Mistress,” Kardon, C’Tan’s servant, said, “but I am not sure you are aware that she is not the only child of the prophecy. The keystones must each be held by a balanced one in order for Him to be sealed. She will be drawn to the stones, so why not use her to find them? Why waste this resource when it is so close?” His voice gave Jarin the chills, as it always did.

  It was as cold as a midwinter freeze and just as dead. “She is only one link in the chain.”

  “Yes, but she is a link within our grasp here and now, and the Master wants her sealed. Besides, have you forgotten she is the link to them all? She is The Chosen One! The Binder! Distasteful as it may be, she must be soulbound to that stone.” Her voice was different than Jarin remembered, full of bitter anger and razor scorn.

  “I have no qualms binding the babe to the stone, Mistress. I only question your motives in following S’Kotos’ directions.”

  There was a slap that made Jarin wince.

  “Never question my loyalty to the Master,” she said, her voice low and menacing. “Now go and collect Shandae before I decide to offer you on that altar.”

  Jarin’s heart froze again at his daughter’s name, the cogs finally turning into place. Shandae, his little baby girl, was the child of prophecy? She would bind The Destroyer? Of course he knew the legends. He’d grown up hearing them, playing the parts as a child, but he’d never really believed them—until now.

  Jarin yanked the chain from his neck, sickened with panic and fear, and flung the stone at the altar. Instead of bouncing off the slick surface, it stuck to the image of The Destroyer as if it were made of tar instead of stone. Chills raced up the back of his neck, and he did the only thing he could.

  He ran.

  By the time he reached the main hall, he’d shifted into the form he inherited from his father. Hair sprouted across his body, his nose lengthened, his back curved, and in an instant Jarin had gone from man to wolf, his clothes merging with the snow-white fur. Only the pendant his father had given him years before still thumped against his breastbone. Its magic never had allowed him to hide it with his clothes.

  Once across the drawbridge, his paws dug at the soggy earth, kicking up clods that spattered his hindquarters, littering the grass behind him as he raced toward home. If he’d been in man form, he would have been cursing, shaking his head at his blindness and stupidity, but he wasn’t. Tonight he was wolf, snarling through the grass, praying he was not too late to save his child from the betrayal of C’Tan. His own sister was willing to steal the life of his child. His hackles rose at the thought.

  He wasn’t even three hills from the castle when he knew time had run out. The riders were being sent. Jarin’s sharpened wolf senses could hear C’Tan scream at her guard. “After him! Bring him back alive, or I’ll have your hearts!” The horses tore across the drawbridge, hooves tharumping, chain mail clinking as they raced away from the castle.

  Fool! he thought. He should have taken the stone with him—that would have given him more time to escape. But what was done was done. Time was the one thing he needed, and he’d thrown it away with the communication stone. Obviously C’Tan had found it already. Jarin glanced over his shoulder at the loud “hyah!” echoing across the hills. They were nearing the top of the first hill now. The captain of his sister’s guard whipped his horse down the other side. Jarin guessed he had a five, maybe ten-minute lead on the guard.

  It wasn’t enough!

  He howled, putting on a burst of speed that took him up a grassy slope, past the ghostly forest of whispering aspen, through the flower-filled meadow, and up a final hill. His muscles bunched as he labored up the steep slope, breath coming hard until at last he reached the crest and paused. For only a moment he took in the glowing magelight Brina had left burning and allowed himself to feel the ache of loss.

  His sister was gone, to be replaced by an enemy who only looked like her. What had happened?

  Jarin shook it off before he loped down the hill, a low growl coming unbidden to his throat. It wasn’t the first time his sister had hurt him, but he’d never expected her betrayal.

  The light of home pulled him on, guiding him as a lighthouse for a storm-tossed ship—warm, yellow, and safe. But tonight the light was a beacon for his pursuers as well as for him, and he did not want the evil ones to be guided so easily. With a single whisper of thought, the light went out, and Jarin sat panting in the darkness, his haunches chilling on the damp ground as he took time to change into human form once more. He couldn’t surprise Brina with that bit of himself—not tonight. He’d never quite known how to tell her about his other form, and now he chafed at the delay.

  His body shifted, like clay molded by an unseen hand. The hunched wolf stretched and straightened until he stood erect, with only a few pops to settle his spine. The thick hair withdrew to a single mop of black, and Jarin shrugged his clothing back into place.

  He stepped through the thick wooden door, shutting it firmly behind him, then placed a hand on each side of the doorframe. The stones he had embedded in the wood months before began to hum under his touch, and in seconds he had activated the protection spell. The air shimmered around him, and the magic settled into the wood with a whoosh. That would hold C’Tan’s guards for a bit, maybe long enough to save his family.

  “Brina, I need you!” he called to his wife, racing to their bedroom at the back of the house.

  Pulling out bags from the trunk at the foot of their bed, he stuffed them with whatever clothing lay nearby.

  “What are you doing home? I thought you were going to be helping your sister late tonight. I’ve got dinner on the stove if you’re hungry,” she answered, stepping from the kitchen and wiping her hands on her apron.

  Jarin wasted neither words nor time. “We’ve got to go, Brina. Get Shandae and meet me at the stables.”

  “Whatever for? Jarin, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

  “C’Tan . . .” he choked. He dropped his head, but forced himself to hold his composure. “C’Tan has betrayed us. We must leave.”

  “C’Tan? Betray us? But she’s your sister!”

  He stopped what he was doing long enough to meet his wife’s eyes. “My sister no longer,” he said, gritting his teeth. “We’ve got to leave.”


  Brina hesitated only a second longer, then left the room, returning quickly with little Shandae. Jarin took her in his arms and glanced at the sleeping one-yearold, so peaceful in sleep and spirited when awake, so much like the both of them in the best ways. He brushed a lock of dark hair away from the child’s face. He laid the babe gently on the bed and pulled the emotion inside. Not now. He couldn’t deal with it now.

  “Grab whatever food you can.”

  “All right, Jarin, but why? What’s going on?” Brina ran to the kitchen and frantically stuffed a satchel, fruit hitting the floor in her frenzy. Jarin watched her through the open doorway for only a moment before he returned to his packing.

  “C’Tan has turned to S’Kotos, and she wants Shandae,” Jarin said over his shoulder.

  He glanced across the room at her silence and watched as her eyes turned from the warmth of mid-day to an icy winter gale. She nodded sharply to her husband as if afraid to speak.

  And then time ran out. The sound of horses thundered down the hill, slipping and squealing in the wet grass, the guards cursing as they tumbled.

  “Leave, Brina!” Jarin said, gathering up the bags and the sleeping child.

  “What do you mean, leave? You’re coming with us!”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” he tried to reassure her, but his heart felt the lie. “I’m going to send the horses up to the hilltop. Anything else you need, take it now,” he said, tying off one of the bags and laying it at Brina’s feet. He took his small family into his arms and began to pull the power to him that would save them, but he suddenly realized there was one thing he had left to do.