The Vulture King

By Nikki Turner

Orphaned Aram has survived alone for five years, his only friend a thieving magpie, who acts as his eyes. For in the Carrionlands, magic comes at a terrible price. It costs you your sight, hearing or voice.

When he rescues a voiceless girl, Bina, from being sacrificed to the Vulture King, he is taken in by an underground resistance group. They reveal that Aram's mother is alive, but the king is using her and other slave magicians to fuel his unnaturally long life.

With his mother's magic being rapidly drained, she doesn't have long to live. If Aram can find the Radix, a hidden magical power source, there's a slim chance he might be able to save her. But to get there, he must cross the Barrens where every living creature is out to kill you. That's if one of his new companions doesn't betray him first.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BLKDOG Publishing
• Release date: Aug 24, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393208112

Nikki Turner

Nikki Turner has been writing urban fiction since her 2003 novel A Hustler’s Wife. After writing more than a dozen books and landing on bestseller lists for Essence, USA TODAY, and The New York Times, she’s been dubbed the Queen of Hip Hop Lit. She resides in a suburb of Richmond, Virginia, with her two children.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

A

ram clung to his mother as they fled through the darkness, their palms so slick with sweat, his hand was starting to slide loose from her grip. He clawed his fingers around hers, for to lose her now was certain death. His magpie flew in panicked circles in front of his face, distorting his vision so he was literally running blind. Somebody was screaming. The high, thin wailing made his ears and his heart hurt. Above the screams, the ominous beat of giant wings tracking them as they raced for cover.

His mother jerked him towards her, then blocked his mouth. Only as the screams cut off did he realise they’d come from him. As his magpie settled on his shoulder, the focus of their connection returned, and he could see again through the bird’s eyes.

They had made it to the grove and wispy branches formed a sheltering screen above them. He turned his bird’s sight towards his mother but Orane’s eyes were fixed upwards, scanning for the monsters that hunted them. Her nightjar fluttered down to settle on his shoulder. From its beak his mother’s voice whispered, I’m taking away my hand now Aram, so keep quiet my love. Do you understand?

He nodded and her hand eased away from his mouth. ‘Little mouse’, she often called him. Now he huddled in her arms, trying to be just as small and silent. Aram knew the world was a dangerous place, filled with those who hated his kind. But his mother had always kept him safe. He nestled against her, sure in the knowledge she would find a way out of this nightmare. Later, she would kiss his brow as she sang him to sleep and this would all melt away. He hummed a few notes of his favourite lullaby and felt her hand gently brush through his hair. Everything was going to be all right.

The sky beasts ripped into the thin canopy again, and broken branches crashed around them. Orane kissed his brow. I lay a blessing on you, my son. May his eyes never see you and his ears never hear you. Now, you need to stay here and keep still if you are to be safe. Aram tried to cling to her, but she pushed him back against the tree. Stay or it is all for nothing.

An aching cry rang out above them, a vocalisation of sorrow and loss. But Aram wasn’t fooled. Monsters weren’t capable of emotion, they would show his mother no mercy if they found her. A few seconds of silence and then talons tore into the trees above their heads. Aram’s magpie took flight and once again his vision became a confused blur. His humming turned to small gasps and Orane pulled him closer. He could feel her lips moving against his hair, although her words poured from the throat of her bird. He couldn’t clearly hear what she was saying but the rhythm was comforting somehow. He rocked in time to it, wishing he could burrow right into her chest and curl up in there, safe and sheltered from the world.

The sound of her footsteps running out from under the slight protection of the branches let him know she was abandoning him. He screamed again, grief tearing through the fabric of the night. His pain mingled with her fearful cries as the monsters swooped down. Tears ran from Aram’s blind eyes as he cowered there, unable to help her. He heard the thud of wings moving off and...his mother was gone. With the clear insight of a child he knew he was now completely alone and always would be. As a Veldera outcast, this was all he deserved.

He was six years old, the night his old life ended. His new life as Aram the orphan began as he wept, lost and alone in the Carrionlands.

CHAPTER ONE

A

solitary magpie wheeled and fluttered in the grey half-light. Its eyes scanned the kraal below, feeding aerial images back to the boy lying flat on the ground a little way back. The walled settlement was difficult to spy on as every building and walkway was roofed over. Danger came from the skies in the Carrionlands, a fact which its inhabitants never forgot.

Aram whistled and the bird looped back; then swooped towards him. As it flew closer, he saw himself through avian eyes, lying on his belly like a sand worm. He ran a hand through his shaggy, brown hair. It was desperately in need of a trim by the look of things but there were no dariks in his money pouch to pay for a cut. The knife he usually used to hack it short was blunt and rusted. He needed to find work and the kraal in front of him was his best hope. Entering would also put him at risk, though the rumbling in his belly would force the choice eventually. He stood up and opened his jacket. The magpie hopped up and nestled into the hidden pocket, staring out through the thick mesh that concealed it while still allowing it to see. If a blind boy went stumbling up to the gates, he would attract unwanted attention. People were always on the watch for Veldera, so he’d come up with this method of hiding the bird while not cutting off his vision.

He walked slowly towards the kraal gates. With his bird tucked away it was easier to miss loose stones or uneven ground, so he took his time. He was tall for eleven, with a wiry strength that often meant he was mistaken for a much older boy. Nobody would wonder at him being alone. Guards were only placed on the gates at night which made things easier. He slipped through the opening, joining the sparse crowds on the streets. Tight, unfriendly faces and cold eyes swept past on each side. Strangers were tolerated but never welcomed in these lands. Aram followed his nose, sniffing for the familiar smell of dung. If he could find the animal pens, he was sure to pick up a couple of days work mucking them out. Kraal dwellers thought themselves above such menial chores and relied on wanderers like him who provided cheap labour.

He found the pig pens without much trouble and approached a taciturn, grey-haired man who seemed only too happy to hand him a shovel, along with the promise of three full dariks a day.

Mind the sow, boy. She dropped a litter yesterday and she’s mean as a snake over them. She takes a chunk out of your leg; I’m not paying you anything extra.

Aram nodded and got straight to work, keeping his bird’s view of the sleeping mother unobstructed. Being attacked by an angry pig wasn’t what he had planned for the day. With the promise of money in his pouch, he let himself dream of a hot meal, his first in months. There wasn’t much food to gather in the wintertime, a fact to which his concave belly bore testament. He quickly got into a rhythm and his muscles burned as he hoisted loaded shovels into a barrow. He lost himself in the work and before he knew it the grey-haired man was back, looking approvingly around the clean pens. You work hard, boy, I’ll give you that. You come back tomorrow, and I’ll pay you the same.

He dropped three coins into Aram’s outstretched hand. Don’t have much to say for yourself, do you boy?

Aram ducked his head and muttered, Sorry, been out in the wilds so long I haven’t had much chance to practise my chattering skills.

The man gave a bark of surprised laughter and clapped him on the shoulder. Ha, got a sense of humour have you? Name’s Bayre. If you head along the street there’s a waystop at the end. Tell Kenna I sent you and that she’s to take care of you. Happen she’ll offer you a free bed down in the stable if she likes the look of you.

Aram gave a half-smile. Thanks, I’ll do that.

You got a name, son?

After a moment’s hesitation, the boy replied, Aram.

Bayre leaned closer, whispering right near his ear. Take care nobody spots that bird you’ve got hidden there, son. You touch your hand to it every so often. Now, I’m sharper than most but be careful.

A cold chill ran through Aram’s body and fear sweat broke out on his back. He wanted to run but was frozen in place by the memory of the last time he’d tried to escape. He still heard his mother’s screams in his nightmares. In kraal after kraal he’d seen firsthand what happened to discovered Veldera, and it was probably no better than he deserved. But he wanted to live so badly that it lay thick on the back of his tongue, a bitter longing.

Then Bayre’s hand landed solidly on his shoulder again. You’ve nothing to fear from me, Aram. I’ll hold your secret for you.

He walked away, leaving Aram churning with confusion and relief. Part of him wanted to turn around and walk straight out of the kraal into the darkness. But just a little way along the street lay a warm meal and a hay-fragrant bed.

Bayre could have grabbed him right there and turned him over to the guards. Strong as he was for his age, he wouldn’t have stood a chance against the larger man. So, could he trust Bayre even though it went against his every instinct? He hesitated just a moment, then turned the way the man had pointed and scuttled down the cobbled path.

As promised, a waystop lay at the end, the three red dots on its door indicating beds, a bath and food waited inside. He sidled in through the entrance and to his vast relief found the room all but deserted. A woman with ginger hair was cleaning stains off the tables but otherwise the place was empty. She looked over her shoulder at him without stopping her scrubbing and asked, Can I help you, lad?

Bayre sent me, Aram mumbled. A warm smile broke over the woman’s face, like a rare ray of sunshine through the ever-present clouds.

Well, any friend of Bayre’s is most welcome. Sit down there, near the fire, and I’ll bring you something to eat. It won’t be a moment too soon by the looks of you. Scrawny as a weasel, you are.

Although the description should have been insulting, her tone was so motherly that Aram could feel himself relax. Since his mother passed on, he’d received little in the way of kindness. He’d forgotten how good it could feel. He slid onto a bench with his back to the flames, luxuriating in the heat. His position also meant he could keep an eye on the door. Despite the woman’s warm welcome, he wasn’t about to completely let down his guard.

She soon returned with a plate piled high with potato and parsnip stew. It smelled like there was some real meat broth in there too, and his stomach growled in anticipation. As she placed it in front of him, she said, Name’s Kenna as I’m sure the old man told you. Will you be staying the night, lad?

Aram nodded his head, mouth stuffed too full of food to reply. He swallowed and answered, My name’s Aram. I’ll be helping Bayre with the pig pens for a few days.

Kenna ruffled his hair and the shock of being touched stopped his spoon halfway to his mouth. The woman didn’t notice the effect she’d had on him but simply turned to continue wiping tables.

"Well, Aram, there’s a spot for you to sleep in the stables tonight if you’d like?’

She glanced over and once again he nodded his head. Kenna threw him a wink and left him to his meal. Aram sat, lost in the pleasure of a full belly and the inexplicable kindness of strangers. When he’d licked every scrap of stew off his plate with a finger, he rose to his feet, leaving a coin on the table next to his bowl. Kenna scooped it into her apron and pointed to a door at the far end of the room. Stables are that way, lad, and a peaceful night to you.

He smiled his thanks and slipped out the back, just as the waystop’s front door opened to admit the evening’s first patrons. The stable was warm and the hay soft. Aram lay down in an empty stall and opened his jacket to release his bird. It stretched its wings, flapped and flew to a rail with harnesses hanging from it. Moonlight glinted off metal rivets and the magpie pecked at the leather, trying to prise loose the shiny treasure.

Aram laughed. "Leave those alone,