The Spell Keeper: The Magian Series Book 3: Magian Series, #3

By MJ McGriff

Zuri Abayomi doesn't need her nation's eccentric oracle to reveal her destiny. She's going to become the general of her father's armies whether she likes it or not. But not even she can go against tradition. On Zuri's coming-of-age day, the oracle sends her on a strange quest, far away from her people and into the territory of their sworn enemies. 

 

Find the serpent slayer and the one who would never be king. Give them what's inside the Oracle's mysterious little box. Discover her destiny. But her path looks nothing like she imagined. 

 

When dark magic brings to life an evil sorceress and her shadow griffins to terrorize the Griffin Vales and bring about a civil war that's been brewing for centuries, Zuri must set aside everything she thought she knew and take up the ancient magic of the Spell Keeper. 

 

And, for once, she can't do it on her own. It'll take the help of another magic wielder, a nun-turned treasure hunter, an ex-order captain, their motley crew of pirate friends, and—by far the worst—the prince of the nation she's been trained to destroy.

 

Yet their efforts won't be enough to defeat an evil sorceress and stop the destruction of both nations if Zuri can't find a way to heal a past she's fought hard to forget in order to unlock the magic that's always been inside her.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: MJ McGriff
• Release date: Apr 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781736162224

Book preview

Chapter 1

Zuri

They’re out here.

The summer breeze rustled the rich green leaves of the trees lining each side of the narrow path. Zuri Abayomi took careful steps, her heavy wooden staff warm in her hands. Her eyes darted from left to right, scanning the thick brush for any sort of disturbance.

A whistle.

Branches snapping.

Shadows darting behind the banyan trees.

Come out already! Her skin tingled with intuition.

Or was it anticipation?

She slowly twirled the staff, the grass soft and soundless under her boots. One of her raven braids loosened from her topknot, tickling her bare brown shoulder. She set her jaw. She didn’t dare push it back.

Distractions mean death.

Her father’s words boomed in her mind as if he were there with her, watching, criticizing, finding another reason to be disappointed.

A branch snapped. The air whistled. Zuri ducked.

The arrow flew over her head and sank into a nearby tree. She rolled to her feet, whirling and raising her staff. Her weapon clashed with the downstroke of a sword. The man who’d snuck up behind her grinned over the blade, his perfect white teeth a stark contrast to his midnight black skin. Zuri clenched her teeth.

I should’ve brought my sword!

Zuri aimed blows at his face. His sword hacked into her staff with every block. She took a step back, but he swung again. She dodged the attack, then blocked the next one with her staff. The sharp blade bit into the already-weakened place on her staff.

Dust and ashes!

The wood cracked ominously. Zuri skidded back to put space between her and the man, breaking the staff over her knee.

He will not best me! Not today!

Gripping a piece in each hand, she lunged at the man, wielding her staff halves hard and fast. Keep him distracted long enough to leave his face open. The man swiped one of her sticks toward the ground. She slammed him in his narrow nose with the other, then kicked the sword out of his hand. The man staggered backward.

Two more whistles through the air.

One arrow grazed her shoulder. Zuri dodged sideways, and the second thudded into the earth behind her. Her arm stung like the dickens, but she kept her eyes on her attacker.

A soldier is always light on her toes.

She found her footing, lunged forward, and aimed her stick dead at the man’s throat. He skidded to a stop, her makeshift weapon nicking his neck.

You were better today. Duma, one of her father’s lieutenants, pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped the blood from his nose.

Yes, but that doesn’t get me out of this. Could she pretend she wasn’t going to be sent off to the last place she ever wanted to go? Zuri threw down the broken staff, sweat pooling on her forehead. They stood on the edges of the Abayomi family compound, with only a line of trees separating her from her new life—a life she didn’t choose. A life she wanted no part of.

A life that was supposed to be Dali’s.

She watched the tree line until a tawny-skinned man emerged. She frowned. She’d had a feeling it was Kuende shooting at her. He was her father’s best archer and a cousin so far removed he could care less if he hurt her. He swaggered up to them, his neck thick with muscles. His short stature made him look young, but when he glared—and he was always glaring—it brought out the wrinkles that showed his true age.

Be faster next time, Kuende grumbled, throwing the bow over his shoulder.

Next time I’ll head straight into the forest and crack open your nose. She straightened her shoulders, held her head high, and gave a curt nod—the most respectful response she could give an Abayomi elder.

The sun burned away the gray clouds, bringing in the new day.

Zuri turned to Duma. Is our training session over?

Yes. Duma pinched his bleeding nose. We’ll escort you home.

Zuri stiffened. I don’t need to be escorted to my own home!

But it was no use arguing. These men would jump off a cliff if her father ordered them to. There was no way they would leave her alone. Especially not today.

Duma took the lead, and Kuende brought up the rear, keeping at least ten paces behind her. She looked over the tall yellow gates that faced the acres of rolling farmlands on the northern side of the compound. Stalks of white corn wrapped in bright green husks rose into the sky. Zuri clenched her fingers, itching to dig her hands into the neat dirt rows where the potatoes grew, to see if they were bigger than last year’s crop. Then she would skip to the tomatoes, with their light green fruit waiting to be plucked so they could ripen in her mother’s kitchen. The family farmlands had fed their family for ten generations, and that legacy would continue for many more—as long as Zuri abandoned her dreams of tending this land like her ancestors.

They marched past the animal barns and pastures, zigzagged around the forge, and entered the maze of short walls and painted clay cottages belonging to the Abayomi family. The intricate designs painted on each house designated where each major family member lived. Her youngest uncle and his family of five lived in the yellow and green houses at the south end of the compound. The middle Abayomi elders—her fussy aunts and their soldier husbands—took up the blue and gold houses on the western side. Her father, the oldest and most legendary Abayomi general, had a series of four interconnected homes, making his cottages the biggest in the compound and situated closest to the family dinner hall.

Duma brought them through the houses the back way. The walled paths narrowed as they led up to Zuri’s cottage.

Duma knocked once, then opened the door and entered Zuri’s room. A fire burned in the clay hearth at the far side of the circular space. A woman stood right in front of it, arms crossed and scowling. Duma and Kuende took a step back.

Aunt Ebele— Duma began.

Zuri’s mother raised her hand. You all know how important today is, she scolded.

Duma cleared his throat. The general insisted she train this morning.

Zuri’s mother shook her head. Zuri needs to get ready. She cannot be late to her own Ceremony Day.

We can, actually.

Duma stepped aside, letting Zuri walk in. We’ll be posted outside.

No, you won’t, Ebele countered. I’m more than capable of taking care of her from here.

But our—

Zuri’s mother held up a hand, and Duma closed his mouth.

Zuri smirked. I really need to learn how to do that.

Duma and Kuende ducked out of the room and closed the door behind them.

Zuri let out a breath, relaxing her shoulders. Thank you.

Now she could breathe. Enjoy what was left of her life before she gave it up for good. Enjoy her room, because who knew when she would see it again? When would she next study the wrought iron chandelier, hanging from the pitch ceiling, and bathe in its inviting glow? Or flop down into the cozy, blanket-covered chair by the fireplace?

She’d miss rummaging through the wood and gold trunks in the corner, each filled with farming tools and books she’d never use again. Her double-sized bed in the room’s center, draped with her mother’s handmade quilts, begged to be slept on. Instead, her eyes found the outfit laid across it, and her breath caught.

The firelight danced off the bright white sequins, swirling in perfect circular patterns over the ceremonial outfit’s deep gold top. Golden embroidery zigzagged along the waist sash, and more white sequins created a perfect line down the center of the wide skirt.

Zuri tried to swallow the lump in her throat. That was—

I had it altered a little, her mother interrupted. She grabbed Zuri’s shoulders and ushered her to the washbasin on the other side of the room.

Zuri quickly undressed and stepped into the bath. The water was steaming, but she found herself shivering. White flower petals swirled on the surface around her. She felt the smooth stones under her feet and pushed them away so she could sit down properly.

She leaned her head back and inhaled the steamy air. Having to go through this day was bad enough. Now I have to wear Dali’s ceremonial outfit?

This bath will help clear away all negative energies and distracting thoughts, her mother explained. She knelt beside the tub. So the Oracle can clearly see your fate.

Why does that matter? Her mother knew just as well as Zuri did that the Oracle didn’t have final say in the Abayomi family. Father did. It was only out of respect that they continued this tradition—he couldn’t afford to incur any more shame on the family name. Oracles were the spiritual blood of their people, the ones who led them through the dark beginnings of their kingdom. When the War of the Brothers split their realm into two kingdoms Aeria and Mebria, their Mebrian ancestors were nothing more than scattered tribes—starving and fighting amongst each other. It was the oracles who showed them the way to prosperity, revealed their destinies, gave them their life paths.

But there’s no new path this Oracle can give me.

Zuri’s path was determined the day Dali ran away, leaving her the burden of restoring the family’s honor. Could the Oracle give her a destiny that kept her at home without risking her family’s legacy?

I highly doubt it.

Even if she did, Father would never allow it.

Her mother stood and clapped her hands. Let’s be quick. We are already late.

Zuri scooped up water and washed away the dirt and grime from her morning training. When she stepped from the tub, Ebele greeted her with a towel, then moved to the side table, fussing with the small pots of paints she would use on her daughter’s face. Zuri gripped the towel and watched her mother’s nimble fingers select the right pigments.

The paint speaks.

It was said a mother knew her child’s destiny as soon as he or she was conceived. Not in great detail, but as a feeling—a feeling a mother kept to herself until this ceremonial day, where she would express it on her daughter’s face.

What will the paint say about me? That she was the woman who gave up her dreams in order to save her family? Was there a ceremonial pattern for that?

Zuri trembled as her mother helped her into her ceremonial clothes. The dress fit her well, despite being made for another. Yet here she was. Her mother tied the sash, then stepped back to admire her.

I should not be wearing this! Zuri fought the urge to fist her hands in the golden skirt. This was not her burden to bear.

Her mother studied her and tugged a wrinkle from the sash. I know this is a difficult day, she said finally.

Zuri’s body warmed. Finally, one person in her entire family who understood how trapped she was, the heavy charge she’d had to carry ever since she was twelve years old, all because of her sister’s selfishness. Maybe there was a way out of this—another way to save their family lands and honor that didn’t involve going to military school and becoming the next Abayomi general.

But your hard work and sacrifice won’t go unnoticed. You are saving our family. We’ll be eternally grateful. Ebele wiped the corner of her eye, then gestured for Zuri to sit down.

Zuri collapsed into the chair by the table, closed her eyes, and hoped no tears would fall. How stupid was I to think she would understand?

The pots clanged a bit, then cold paint touched her face. She didn’t have to imagine the look of concentration on her mother’s face every time she paused between designs. Zuri had watched her intently, from the foot of the very same bed, when she painted Dali’s face on her Ceremony Day.

Can I have paint on my face too? Zuri had pleaded in a squeaky voice.

Only firstborn children have Ceremony Days, her mother had explained. And only firstborns have the paint on their face.

When her mother had finished, Dali had swiveled around in her chair and whispered, Don’t worry. I’ll paint your face myself after I see the Oracle, okay?

Zuri clenched her fist. What a stupid fool I was. She was probably planning to run away the whole time.

And I loved her too much to see it coming.

Her mother lifted her chin, and Zuri opened her eyes. Her mother held a mirror before her face. Blue swirls, like the waves of an ocean, decorated her left cheek. Small gold diamonds twinkled on her right. The Abayomi Family symbol glistened on her forehead—a caramel-brown triangle surrounded by a white-and-black border. Zuri watched in the mirror as her mother gathered her braids in a bun on top of her head. Then she covered her hair with a large, patterned scarf, and tied it in the front with a giant bow.

Ebele patted Zuri’s shoulder, met her gaze in the mirror, and forced a sad smile. We’re ready.

Chapter 2

Samara

Out of all the shops Samara Davalos had needed to break into over the past month, The Broken Fish was by far the tackiest. Sure, the Twisted Serpent back in the Majestic Isles was a drab shack of a place with a stupid, stuffed shark hanging in the middle of it, but this Griffin Vale antiquities shop seemed devoted to things no one would ever want.

Moonlight shone through cobwebby windows on the animal heads mounted on the walls—a sad-looking eagle, a shaggy-haired lion, and floppy-eared rabbit. An oversized, rickety chandelier hung from the wood and stone ceiling, its candles surrounded by mismatched glass fixtures. Patched up wood bookcases stood about, packed to the brim with dusty bottles and stupid figurines of frogs and fish. And the oversized wooden statue sitting in the center of the shop—the one with the extra-long nose, inky eyes, and a puke green uniform? She wished she could unsee that too.

Samara drummed her fingers on her hip and edged away from the statue’s empty stare. She was still guarding the back door, just three feet further to the left.

She sighed. She and Baz had wasted the last month running errands for pirate-turned-smuggler Deadman Byrd just to get information about the Spell Keeper, the next magical item they needed to find. There were a million reasons Byrd should’ve been the last person they went to for help. But the things that made him despicable also made him the eyes and ears of the realm. When it came to hunting for artifacts in a kingdom that took great pains to erase its magical history, that bastard would know how to find them.

Or at least, where to find the tablet map that will lead us to the Spell Keeper.

Samara adjusted the leather satchel on her shoulder. Macario’s Scepter was tucked safely inside. She clenched her fists, fighting the urge to at least touch her magical object. Make the ground tremble, even a little bit. Make sure she could still use it.

Make sure I’m still a Chosen One.

If she’d known the last time she’d get to use the scepter was when she scared Lucho, the owner of the Twisted Serpent, into giving her back the money he’d stolen she would’ve taken her time. Savored it, even. The world knew he deserved it. But back then she had no idea they’d spend almost a month stomping around the Aerian kingdom trying to find the blasted Spell Keeper.

And not using my magic at all.

According to Baz Blackwater, they had to keep a low profile, not draw any attention, and, most importantly, not get arrested. King Kosan was known to be quite a stickler for rules and had no problems with executing anyone for the most minor offenses.

Speaking of her handsome companion, it had been awhile since he disappeared inside.

What’s taking Baz so long?

A map on a stone tablet should be incredibly out of place in a shop like this. She should’ve been the one who went in and looked. Unlike her pirate love, she would plan less and search more.

A soft pair of footsteps drew her attention to the center aisle. The muscles in her back tightened, and she reached toward the scepter. Baz poked his head out from behind a bookshelf. The moonlight glistened on his long, black hair.

Samara huffed. About bloody time!

Keeping to the shadows, she crept along the bookcases—avoiding eye contact with that creepy statue—and joined the ex-pirate captain. He gave her a sexy wink and beckoned.

He found it.

She followed him down a tight row of jars and bottles toward the far-right wall. Halfway there, a pulsing blue light illuminated their boots and a patch of dirty flooring. Samara stopped mid-stride and looked down at her satchel.

The scepter was glowing.

She frowned. It shouldn’t be doing that. She hadn’t said the ancient prayer that unlocked its awesome power. She wasn’t even touching it.

Baz spun around, the small lantern he held lighting up his chiseled face. Samara, are you crazy? he gasped.

I’m not doing anything!

Make it stop! We’re gonna get caught.

I would if I could! She reached into the satchel. The golden handle felt warm, as if she’d just used the scepter. She pulled out her hand and shut the bag up tight, then tucked it under her arm. Hopefully that would block the light.

Or not. By the time they reached the wall, a blue glow lit up all the nearby shelves, including the tablet they were looking for. The stone slab hung by itself, high on the wall.

It was cracked like a stale cracker.

Samara put her hands on her hips. Where’s the rest of it?

Dammit it, Byrd, Baz grumbled under his breath.

Samara eyed the broken artifact. Did he happen to mention if there’s another piece of the map hidden around here?

You know he didn’t. Baz crossed his arms against his broad chest. But we’ll look anyway.

I’ll get it down, she said. The other piece has to be here. It better be, or I’ll test out my magic on Byrd!

Baz raised an eyebrow. Fine. But no magic.

But it will be so much faster to—

"No magic. He took one last look at the tablet, then turned to her. I’ll take another look around for the missing piece."

She scowled. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and took off. Nice try. I’m still mad at you. Setting her satchel down, the scepter inside still giving off its bright light, Samara eyed the shelves below the tablet. Some were made of wood, others of glass.

It’ll be fine. It’s just like climbing the rigging of a ship.

She tested her weight on the first shelf, wriggling her boot in between the spice bottles.

Should hold. But the scepter would’ve made this a whole lot easier.

She stepped up and grabbed the next board. As she scaled the shelves, her mind wandered back to the deck of the pirate ship. She pictured the sweet and salty air, the weathered deck swaying under her boots. She’d been away from the sea for far too long.

And away from Seraphina.

Had her sister found the library back in the Majestic Isles? Did she run into any trouble along the way? Samara swallowed down the ache in her throat and quickened her pace. The tablet hung conveniently from a metal hook. She braced one elbow on the last shelf and reached up for it. Her fingers touched the jagged edge of the stone map. The blue scepter-light flashed brighter, illuminating the entire shop.

Who goes there?

Stop you thieves!

The door to the antiquities shop flew open. Lantern light flooded the room.

Good evening, gentlemen. Baz’s voice bounced off the shop walls.

Samara froze, her muscles aching from her awkward position hanging off the shelves.

Drop the sword, a guard commanded.

Time to do things my way.

Samara heaved herself up onto the last shelf and yanked the tablet off the wall. Thank goodness it was lighter than it appeared. She tucked it under her arm and scrambled toward the floor. It didn’t matter how many bottles of spices she knocked over on the way down. Swords clanged and guards shouted. The moment her feet hit the floor, she dove for her satchel. She stuffed the tablet inside and pulled out the scepter.

I pray that I am worthy to be Chosen.

The pulsing energy of the scepter’s ancient power seeped through her skin, racing up her spine and wrapping around her heart.

Yes! It still works.

Samara sprang to her feet. A pair of guards dashed toward her. She brought the scepter down, sending a wave of carpet and dirt at her pursuers. They flew backward screaming, and a set of bookcases collapsed on top of them.

I would love to stay, but I have a previous engagement. Baz laughed.

The crashes of glass bottles drowned out the guards’ screams. Samara raced along the back wall, satchel over her shoulder, the scepter in her hand glowing like a beacon. She flew around the corner. Baz was already throwing open the back door.

Son of a sand crab! More guards charged into the shop toward them.

Samara slid to a stop and willed the ground to rise, creating a wall between her and a trip to a jail cell. Baz grabbed her arm and dragged her out the door and into the dark alley.

What did I say about magic? Baz hissed.

It saved our asses, didn’t it?

Baz rolled his eyes. Let’s move.

As much as she missed using her gifted scepter, he had a point. Priorities. Samara stuffed the scepter on top of the tablet. They darted down the alley, the walls practically scraping their shoulders. When they reached the end, they slowed. The moon lit up the empty street ahead of them.

Find them! a guard shouted in the distance.

They couldn’t have gone far!

Samara tugged on Baz’s sleeve. What now?

He scanned the street. There was no way they could leave that alley without being seen.

Unless I use the scepter.

Baz must’ve read her mind. Create a distraction—a bit of dust so we can slip out of here.

About time you came to your senses, Blackwater.

He put a hand on her wrist. "A minor distraction. Too much and you’ll topple more than just the guards out there." He gestured to the cluster of three-story buildings across the street.

Don’t worry. Samara smirked. I got this.

She reached into her satchel, snatched out the scepter, and planted her feet. She focused on the street. With a slight wave, the pavement began to shake and crack. The street separated, creating a jagged line down its middle. The guards’ shouts became confused. People poked their heads out of the surrounding buildings.

We need cover, not an earthquake, Baz yelled over the noise.

Samara tried to imagine dirt spewing out from in between the cracks. The ground just shook more, almost knocking her off balance.

New plan! Baz yelled.

Just give me a minute! Samara narrowed her eyes. I must be out of practice.

"No! Baz grabbed her arm. We’ve got to make a run for it. Now!"

Samara let out an exasperated sigh. She shoved her scepter back in the bag, barely closing it before Baz pulled her out of the alley and raced down the street.

The ground grew still, and the guards left standing took off after them.

I run better with both arms. Samara pulled her arm from Baz’s grip and gasped for air. Her lungs already felt on fire. Baz took a sharp right into a narrow alleyway, and she practically tripped on her own feet as she dove after him.

I can buy us some time.

She slid to a stop and spun to see the guards racing toward them. They were closer than she’d thought. She reached into her satchel, but one of the blokes lunged and seized her collar. She kicked him in the groin. He yelped like an alley cat and doubled over.

Another guard took a swing at her. She ducked, almost knocking into Baz who rushed up from behind. His sword was out, and he slashed one guardsman in the face. Three more charged him, their swords at the ready. He grinned and shoved a man into a wall, knocking him unconscious. His sword clanged with another.

Now this is more like it! The ex-pirate captain swiped the man’s sword from his hand.

At least one of us is having fun.

But more guards were coming. If she didn’t do something, they would get arrested for sure. She backed away from Baz and his melee, searching for a way she could dislodge a rock from the walls and hurl it at the guards.

Samara, you couldn’t even get dirt to move how you wanted it to. How do you plan to use magic without hurting Baz in the process?

A gang of footsteps thundered toward her. She whirled and her eyes widened.

That has to be half a bloody army!

Baz! she yelled.

He head-butted a guard, and the poor bloke slumped to the floor.

A sweaty arm wrapped around her neck, pulling her backward.

Get off of me you bastard! she shrieked.

Shut your trap! the guard’s nasty breath heated her cheek. One of his companions snatched away her satchel.

Pick on someone your own size, coward! Baz shouted. He took two steps toward them, then a guard came up behind him and knocked him out cold.

You’re gonna pay for that! Samara cursed.

Shut up you witch! the guard holding Samara bellowed. He shoved her to the floor.

Oh, I’m a witch all right. I’ll show you as soon as I get my scepter back! She arched her back and kicked uselessly.

The oversized Valeman trying to choke her waved to the other men. They held her down, smashing her face into the smelly ground.

I should’ve just used my bloody magic!

Rope scratched her wrists. They tied her hands together, gave the knot an extra tug, then yanked her to her feet.

What do we do with them? One of the guards sheathed his sword.

A fat one let out a breath. Bring them to the king. He needs to know about these foreign thieves.

Chapter 3

Jabari

The carriage had stopped a while ago, but Prince Jabari Kosan was in no hurry. He sprawled contentedly across the carriage’s plush seats. After two weeks of sleeping on the hard rock floors of the Rylond Mountains, anything with a cushion felt glorious. Besides, he was in no rush to reenter the stifling society of the Aerian palace.

Though I am looking forward to a bath.

Frigid cavern lakes did not compare to a hot, scented bath in a porcelain tub. Oh, he could sit in there for hours, inhaling the lavender and jasmine scents rising with the steam. After this rather long ride home, it was just what he needed.

The carriage doors flew open, and Jabari opened his eyes.

Enjoy your vacation, brother?

Oh, how I’ve missed you, Razi. Jabari took his time sitting up. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light.

How nice of you to greet me! Jabari flashed his most charming smile. Judging from the uptight expression on Razi’s face, the charm wasn’t working.

Jabari climbed out of the carriage and stretched his arms over his head, making his back crack. The jeweled staircase to the Royals’ Wing glittered in the late summer sun—what little of it wasn’t crammed with foot soldiers.

Way more than usual.

Jabari rubbed the stubble on his rich-brown chin. He’d ditched his guards so he could go mountain climbing in peace, but it didn’t seem the sort of offense to warrant this type of homecoming. Truth be told,