Chapter I

Kizu found himself stuck in a tree. The moss he foraged for was successfully clasped in his fist. A nice tawny color. Perfect for brewing something to let him walk on water. Not perfect for getting him out of a tree. Cicadas clicked and sang all around him. They seemed to laugh at him.

Then Kizu spotted his savoir. Mort, an owl monkey, pounced onto a nearby branch and cocked his head at him. The white markings along Mort’s cheeks made him always appear as if smiling.

“Come on then,” Kizu said with a sigh. “Show me the way down.”

Mort hummed a purr, then hopped onto his shoulder, climbed down his leg, and showed Kizu where to place his weight on the tree. Slowly, the two of them clambered down.

“I know you could have gotten me the moss yourself,” Kizu said at another hum from Mort. He jumped the final couple meters down to the dirt. “But I’ll get fat and lazy like the crone if I let you do everything for me. And I know the last thing you want is to be bonded to someone like the crone. I’m looking out for both of us by foraging for ingredients.”

Mort appeared skeptical, but he perched himself on Kizu’s shoulder and let him bring them both back to the hut.

The nights were finally getting a little longer again, and the air carried a nice cool northern breeze through the jungle. While autumn might not really exist down in the basin, it still offered a bit of a reprieve from the summer heat.

Moonlight barely pierced through the canopy above the hut. As they approached, Kizu felt something a bit off about the air. He stopped. Mort felt the unease as well and leapt off his shoulder to begin scouting the area around them.

A moment of shrill intense white light burst from all around him and knocked Kizu from his feet. He clutched at his eyes, completely blind. Something had attacked them. Immediately he began to process the possibilities. A test from the crone? Rivil witches assaulting the hut? Some sort of creature from the jungle? He dismissed the possibilities as soon as they came to mind. The crone wouldn’t have jeopardized Mort’s eyes for a test. Rivil witches were always more subtle. He was far more likely to find a cursed doll under his bed. Something deniable if found. And nothing in the bestiary could get through the crone’s wards.

He rolled onto his stomach and groped around. A hiding place, he need to hide and access the situation.

“Boy, what are you doing here?” a man said to him. He grabbed Kizu by the arm and yanked him into a sitting position. A man’s voice. Kizu hadn’t spoken to a man in a decade. “Did the crone capture you? Are there other survivors?”

“The illusion hit him,” another person said. A lady’s voice this time. “Someone grab the rejuvenator.”

“Mort,” Kizu said. He blinked his eyes rapidly, panicking at the continual blindness. “Where is my monkey, Mort?”

“We don’t have time for this,” the man said, dropping Kizu’s arm. “Fuabe, Jiso, circle around back. I’ll enter through the front. “Taroe, watch the boy until we’re finished. We can’t let her slip away.”

Kizu could hear them shuffling around in the underbrush. Keeping his eyes closed and attempting to calm himself, he reached out to Mort. Through their bond, he felt him a few arm-spans away in a patch of tall grass. Slowly, Kizu crawled toward him.

“Kid,” a man said. His voice sounded like gravel raining on stone. “Lay back. Just relax.” He flipped Kizu over and placed a knee on his chest. With one hand holding his temples down, the man used the other to wipe a thumb over the Kizu’s eye sockets. A burning pain erupted from his touch. Kizu struggled against him but the man’s weight was too much. Kizu could only lay there, pinned and writhing, while the pain scorched his irises

Finally, Kizu managed to blink his eyes open. A bearded man frowned down at him. Flees sprang from around his dirty clothes and unkempt hair.

“My eyes melted,” Kizu said stupidly, brushing his lids tenderly with a finger. He regretted the decision. His eyes teared up with irritation.

“Just feels that way. A quick rejuvenation to get you back on your feet. I could do it painlessly, but I neither have the time nor patience to sit here waiting around for hours until your sight returns.”

“My monkey,” Kizu said, he scrambled and reached into the undergrowth. The poor monkey shuddered under his touch. Kizu’s soul mimicked the pain.

“A familiar?” the man sighed. “Phenomenal. Give him to me.”

The rugged man waved his hand and, with a green glow, Mort went limp in his hand.

“Mort!” Kizu yelled. “What did you do to him?”

“Shut up and check your bond. He’s asleep. Like boys your age are supposed to be at this time of night. I need to go through the rejuvenation process and it will be a lot easier on both of you if he doesn’t feel the pain. Unless you’d like to experience that a second time?”

Kizu reached for the bond and felt it. Sheepishly, he acknowledged to himself he should have realized it before the man spoke the words.

“Who are you?” Kizu asked him as the man passed him Mort.

“Taroe. Member of the Elites. And you, kid? Who are you and what are you doing out here? What’s your relation to the crone who lives here?”

“She brought me out here.”

“How long ago?”

“Ten years. Almost eleven.”

Taroe blinked at him, as if not understanding the words. “Eleven years? How did you survive for eleven years?”

“Survive? She raised me.”

“A witch with a maternal streak. Never thought I’d see the day.” But he spoke over Kizu’s head, not to him. Then he shook his head, as if to accentuate his disbelief.

Kizu didn’t respond, instead he cradled Mort in his arms. The little monkey slept peacefully. He wondered if Taroe influenced the monkey’s dreams when he put him to sleep.

Three more people filed out of the hut wearing crisp black uniforms. Different objects decorated each of their belts. From wands to bags of marbles to shriveled heads.

In glowing chains, the crone stood in the center of them. She smiled down her crooked nose at Kizu, her green hair swayed in the breeze. She opened her mouth and mimed words. Then brought her head back in what Kirzu recognized would normally be a throaty cackle. Nothing. Someone had muted her.

The man in the front had an ugly nose like a tapir. He strode up to Kizu and eyed him with displeasure.

“What did you find out about him?”

“The crone captured him years ago. And, get this, she’s been raising him out here and teaching him.”

“A witch teaching a boy? Impossible. Get the truth out of him. Elixir him if you need to.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Kizu said, irritated about being ignored. “What are you doing to the crone? Where are you taking her?”

“Don’t worry,” the ugly-nosed man said. “The bad woman won’t hurt you anymore. We’re going to lock her up and toss out the key. Now what’s your name?”

“Kaga Kizu.”

The man’s eyes widened and a smile touched his lips. He looked over at Taroe. Something passed between them.

“Well, now we get somewhere,” he said to Taroe. “Imagine how the members of Lost Division will look when we tell them what we stumbled on. They won’t be able to live this down.” He laughed a dozen rhythmic throaty bursts. It sounded like an animal with a fishbone caught in its throat.

Not understanding, Kizu watched the two Elites standing beside the crone. He weighed his options. Mort was out of commission. So for the time being, he slipped the monkey into his satchel for safety. Getting to the witch and removing the chains seemed impossible. But if he charged them, he might be able to take them by surprise and break the Elite’s grip on the chains. Then maybe the crone could scamper away and remove the chains later.

He settled on the rushed plan. Readying himself. He took a deep breath preparing to make a break for her.

Then pop. The crone and her escort jumped out of sight. The only sign that they had been there at all was a patch of the tall grass slightly more matted down then the rest.

“I’m placing you in charge of the boy,” the man was saying to Taroe. “If he’s who he claims, then you might earn yourself a promotion. Now get back to base and contact the Kaga’s.”

“And you, sir?”

“I need to search the place for contraband. Anything unsafe, I’ll dispose of without endangering anyone else. I’ll make contact if I need anything else.”

Taroe’s hand clamped down on Kizu’s shoulder. “This won’t be comfortable, kid.”

And with that, Kizu’s world lurched and shifted, leaving the hut behind. After ten years, his home, once again, was stolen from him. And Taroe was right. The shift was not comfortable.