by D M Fike
Vincent, now able to move freely again with the cockatrice gone, stumbled forward, his gun falling out of his hands. “I… I didn’t mean to pull the trigger,” he stammered. “I was just trying to move.”
“Tell that to my chiropractor,” I shot back, struggling to stand.
Vincent must have noticed that there was no blood, nor sign of an entry wound on me. “But I hit you, right?” His uninjured eye widened in bewilderment. “Don’t you need an ambulance?”
I absorbed the forest breeze caressing my skin. “What I need is for you to GO AWAY!”
I drew a sideways ‘S’ and pushed all the air pith I had, including that stored in my charm, straight at Vincent. It made him lose his footing and he fell backward into a leafy bush.
I would have felt bad if my pithways weren’t throbbing. I wanted to stay and investigate the specifics of this freaky little vaettur but couldn’t with a gun-toting ranger following me. I hobbled instead in the opposite direction of where I’d thrown Vincent, toward a wisp channel not far away.
As I huddled to enter its blueish light, Vincent scrambled in the brush behind me. “Miss!” he cried. “Come back! I can call for help!”
I resisted the urge to tell him where I thought he could shove his help and hauled my sorry carcass out of there.
CHAPTER 7
IT TOOK ME an extra hour to trudge back to Sipho’s. My shoulder felt like hamburger meat, and the nastiest black-green bruise spread across my upper arm and around my back until I could no longer see it. I hated guns, and now they’d left me vulnerable without a defensive charm. Between that and the bizarre behavior of the little cockatrice I had yet to fully process, I needed to retreat to a safe haven.
I arrived with the blue sky still shining above, but the sun had long sunk behind the surrounding mountains. I could hear Sipho pounding away in the forge but decided to stop by later. First things first: the hot spring.
The homestead contains two small pools of bright turquoise water fed by the small creek running through the property. Reinforced by sigils drawn and maintained by Sipho to boost the spring’s natural pith, it’s like sitting in a little steam capsule of healing. You have to climb down a set of steep steps to reach them, with one pool of water positioned several feet higher than the other. Glancing straight down on them as the eagle flies, they form an infinity circle, an on-the-nose symbol of bubbling perfection.
Hot springs heal followers of Nasci because they contain all four types of pith: an abundance of earth (stone), air (from being outdoors), and, of course, water (in the pool). It’s also one of the few natural sources to contain fire pith in the form of lava, the blood of Nasci herself. Although we cannot touch lava directly without risking death (because messing around with heavenly fluids is a big no-no), shepherds can absorb fire pith indirectly through many geothermal sites. Refilling all four elemental types simultaneously aligns the natural flow of our pithways, kind of like a juice cleanse, except it actually works.
I really didn’t care at the moment how it worked as I stumbled toward the higher pool. I threw off my clothes and jumped in naked. With my feet planted on the pool floor, the water only reached up to my waist. I settled myself down into the built-in stone seating along the pool’s edge for a nice, long soak. The minute my battered shoulder hit the water, instant relief radiated from the bullet bruise.
“Oh yeah,” I moaned. “That’s it, baby.”
A raven cawed overhead. He flew down to land not far at the pool’s edge, beady little eyes laser-focused on me. I sighed, recognizing him as Fechin, my augur’s top go-to raven stooge. Guntram often sent him to watch me like a feathery babysitter. He generally spent his time squawking at me to obey the rules. I responded by either cursing or ignoring him.
It didn’t make for a great relationship.
“What do you want, bird brain?”
Fechin ruffled his feathers and screeched.
I raised an eyebrow at him. “What? Am I not allowed to soak in the hot spring now?”
A low voice mixed with Fechin’s cackling. “He wants to know what you’re doing back at the homestead so early.”
A rush of adrenaline went through me. I’d thought I had the place to myself. I poked my head over the pool’s rim to view the one lower below. Guntram relaxed not far away, leaning back.
“Hey,” I replied with an awkward wave. “Didn’t see you there.”
My augur sat neck-deep in the water, which spared me from viewing his private parts. Unless he’d had his eyes closed when I arrived, Guntram got a front row display of me peeling off my underwear and thrusting my nude self into the hot spring. I fought back a blush. Ah, well. We’d caught each other naked several times now, traveling together. We had decided a long time ago to be as modest as possible, but not to comment when we accidentally flashed one another. Still, I sank down in the water so it covered up to my collarbone. Old habits die hard.
Guntram narrowed his eyes. “I assume you’re done reinforcing the defensive sigils?”
“Nope, not even close to finished,” I answered.
It got the reaction I expected. Guntram scowled up at me. “Then why are you here?”
I folded my arms over the rock edge and lay my head in the crook of one elbow, attempting to look as innocent as possible. “Because I got attacked by a vaettur.”
Guntram straightened immediately, his hairy old man nipples poking out of the water. “That’s not possible.”
“Today’s full of impossible,” I replied. “Not just any vaettur, either. Another cockatrice, a teeny version of the one that possessed the sperm whale. Despite jumping through a breach, it was destroyed by a simple defensive sigil and the tiniest amount of pith I’ve ever used in a banishment.”
Guntram’s forehead wrinkled as he considered this information. “Vaetturs generally don’t travel in pairs, but perhaps a mother brought one of her young through the portal. It’s rare, but I have heard of such things.”
That actually made a lot of sense, but it didn’t explain one detail. “What about a seal carcass reported not far from the little cockatrice? That tiny vaettur couldn’t have taken down a full-grown animal.” I left out the part where Vincent was the one who actually found the dead seal. I didn’t think Guntram would appreciate how many times I’d run into the same game warden.
Guntram shrugged, wincing as it pained his still-injured arm. “It’s probably an old corpse the larger cockatrice killed.”
Since I had not viewed the carcass myself, I couldn’t comment on its freshness. “Maybe I should find Tabitha and Darbs and tell them about the little guy.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Guntram replied. He settled his fatigued body back into the turquoise pool. “We gave the task of sealing the breach over to them. They will be insulted if we interfere without just reason.”
“I don’t see the harm of giving them a heads up.”
Fechin poked his beak at me in agitation. “Caw!” he barked.
Guntram agreed with his kidama. “I’m warning you, Ina. Stay out of their way.” His voice left no room for argument.
* * *
An hour in the hot spring took most of the sting out of my bullet bruise. Only the faintest outline remained where I’d been struck. I thought it looked kind of cool and hoped it would stay a few days, a temporary tattoo to commemorate my recent battle.
I left Guntram lounging in the pool. He groaned and moaned a lot more than he should have. For the first time since the whale attack, I really worried about him. I’d recovered from a lightning strike and a bullet impact, and that was just today’s injuries. The cockatrice bite must have packed a powerful punch to keep him on the sidelines like this.
I took over a bedroom at the lodge that night and, with no one hovering around as a human alarm clock, slept in until late morning. Between that and the full soak in the pool, I felt better than I had in weeks. I didn’t spot Guntram around but decided I should probably get back to defensive sigil work anyway. With little
vaetturs running around unchecked, even I knew when I needed to buckle down and finish the job.
First things first, though. I skipped over to the forge. This time I found Nur, the lighter coated mountain lion, stationed outside the log cabin. He recognized me coming up the path and trotted over for a scratch behind the ears. I gratefully obliged.
“Who’s a good kitty?” I purred in his ears. He shoved his forehead into my palm several times when I wouldn’t scratch fast enough. After several minutes of this, in true cat-like form, he grew instantly bored and sauntered off, as if the whole thing hadn’t happened.
“Done with me, huh?” I called as he sashayed around the back of the building, perhaps into the trees beyond to do a little midday hunting.
Inside the forge, Sipho crouched over the table, her long legs stretched underneath like a ballerina. She donned a pair of magnifying eyeglasses, an etching needle in her hand as she painstakingly engraved something onto an oval belt buckle.
“Hey, Sipho,” I greeted as I entered. “Got a minute?”
Sipho took off the glasses, brightening at my entrance. “Ina! Did you bring batteries?”
D’oh! I had totally forgotten about picking some up back in Florence. “Sorry, Sipho,” I replied chagrined. “I’ll get some next time.”
Sipho’s expression dimmed somewhat, but she’s also a professional. She’s not the kind of person who would deny me her services because I’m bad at supplying her with contraband. “Then what brings you to the forge?”
I unlatched the silver chain from my throat and handed it to her. “My defensive charm broke, and I need a new one.”
“Broke?” she raised an eyebrow. “How did that happen?”
Sipho and I often traded secrets, but I decided to keep this one shrouded in mystery. “Let’s just say that your defensive charms are indeed bulletproof, but it’s a one-use kind of deal.”
“Oh.” The spark returned to her expression. “I had always hoped that would be the case, but it is good to hear confirmation.”
I decided not to be bothered by the fact that I’d been her firearms guinea pig. “Do you have a spare before I go back out?”
“Of course,” her tone held only a bit of pride, hinting at the insult that she might not have spare charms. She strode across the room to a doll-sized set of drawers on top of another workbench. Opening up one small compartment, she retrieved a handful of thumb-sized metal sheets and shuffled through them until she found one with the proper sigil. She then slid it through the chain via the loop on top and returned it to me.
“I’ve been working on increasing the strength of charms using different natural ores,” she told me. “This one may be strong enough to stop two bullets.”
“We’re lucky to have you, Sipho.” I re-latched the chain around my neck. I could instantly feel the comforting hum of the defensive sigil surrounding me. “Thanks a ton.”
“You can thank me with some double A batteries,” she said slyly.
Sipho may be a professional, but I didn’t dare press my luck. “Okay, okay,” I threw my hands up in the air as I exited. “I’ll pick some up soon, I promise.”
CHAPTER 8
BUT BEFORE BATTERIES, I had other priorities. I required real food.
I still had the credit card stashed in my pocket, so I could go straight to a restaurant for a meal. Thinking to avoid any possible run-in with my least favorite park ranger, I took a wisp channel to Yaquina Bay—not far from the lighthouse—and strolled into Newport, Oregon to a breakfast diner. Its sign boasted a happy pink pig devouring a stack of pancakes. The locals swarmed the place for breakfast, so I had to wait a few minutes before a table cleared up. The hostess really tried to get me to sit at the bar since I was alone, but besides not wanting to get squished between two burly dudes, I insisted on a booth to keep my face out of sight.
As it turned out, staying anonymous was about to get tricky.
The hostess finally seated me near the back of the restaurant, next to a couple with a crying kid. Most people would find this unacceptable, but I welcomed it. More eyes on the annoying brat, less on me. The patron before had left a newspaper on the bench, and the table still had syrupy plates and crumpled napkins. As the bustling hostess picked up the tip and dirty dishes, I told her I’d keep the paper to read. It’s not like I had much better to do.
The waitress came, and I ordered the same thing as the pig mascot: a stack of pancakes with a large side of milk. She cleared the rest of the booth so I could spread out the newspaper. I started with the national and world sections first because that’s what I missed most about living in seclusion: you have no idea what the rest of the globe is up to. I read an article about a terrible wildfire in southern California started by an unknown arsonist. I learned that Russia had Europe up in arms, and a bunch of people didn’t like the current president.
Color me shocked.
I read the comics (boring), and barely glimpsed through the sports section (something about March madness). I skimmed an advice column about a girl who wanted to dump her boyfriend after he’d cheated on her twice, but she couldn’t stop loving him (girl, run!). Then I finally cycled back to the front page to see what the people of Newport found most interesting.
I did not expect Vincent Garcia.
In the grainy photo, Vincent pointed to a clump of brown fur several yards away on the beach, the upper half of his face hidden by his ranger hat. The caption read, “Game Warden Garcia discovers more illegally poached Stellar sea lions south of Yachats.” Upon closer inspection, I discerned matted blood in the sand underneath the carcass.
I gobbled up the article. In a nutshell, it outlined a series of ‘poaching’ incidents that Garcia was working on. Although the carcasses appeared to be mauled by an animal, neither Garcia nor the Fish and Wildlife Division could match it to any known predator in the area. Plus, most of the meat and fur had been left behind. They concluded it must be thrill-seekers slashing them for sport.
I knew better. A vaettur didn’t eat the meat of the local fauna. It just sucked their pith like a magical energy vampire. And the number of animals killed, according to Garcia, was larger than the shepherds knew about: a dozen Stellar sea lions and nearly as many harbor seals.
The reporter asked Garcia if the blown-up whale had anything to do with the poachers, but the game warden had no comment on that.
I smirked. I bet he didn’t.
What he did have was a lead. He claimed he had a potential suspect. My heart pounded as the article continued on page A4. I knew before I flipped the page what I’d find.
I just didn’t expect it to be so bad.
In the article, Garcia got all my stats right: about 5’ 4”, 110 pounds, shoulder-length black-brown hair, dark eyes, shorts, hoodie, and hiking boots. He even mentioned that I looked like a teenager but might be as old as my late twenties. Thank you, Japanese heritage.
But whoever drew the accompanying police sketch must have just graduated art school. It was like a bad caricature of an Asian gangbanger. Scowling, eyes set wide apart and slanted at too far of an angle. Flared nostrils and a punk haircut instead of my normal frazzled mess.
It was like looking at some trippy, alternate universe version of myself.
I snickered as the waitress came back with my pancakes. “Found something funny?” she asked.
I hastily shut the paper. “Just the comics.” I asked her to bring the check because I don’t like to wait around for it after a meal.
I examined the grainy photo with Garcia and the dead pinnipeds with more scrutiny as I wolfed down breakfast. The picture was supposedly taken yesterday. That carcass did not appear decomposed. It confirmed my suspicion that the attacks had continued after I’d banished cockatrice senior.
Things didn’t add up. Vincent must have agreed because he provided contact info for anyone who had tips for him.
I finished eating quickly, not wanting to stick around just in case some of the locals thought any Asian chick would match
that horrible sketch. With a stomach full of breakfast, I slogged my way back to the Yaquina Bay wisp channel. I couldn’t just ignore this information. Someone needed to look into it before more animals died.
Guntram had told me not to meddle, but he was in no condition to deal with this. I needed to get to the bottom of the vaettur problem at Cape Perpetua.
CHAPTER 9
IT’S GREAT TO have goals and all, but execution is a whole other ball game. I needed more evidence of cockatrices at Cape Perpetua but didn’t know where to start. I conducted a quick dash by the beach where I blew up the whale, but it remained taped off, meaning that of course a bunch of beach-goers ignored the warning signs to swarm the area out of curiosity. I didn’t feel up to mingling with more ignorant people, so I then sought out the isolated beach where Ronan had protected his fellow harbor seals. At least in that relatively isolated area, nothing loitered except a few stray seagulls.
My next best bet was to locate Ronan himself, since he had been involved in both attacks. His territory covered a wide range where Tabitha and Darby would be searching for the breach. Although I wanted to avoid any contact with the Sassy Squad if at all possible, I didn’t have a lot of other options.
If a vaettur was indeed killing off Ronan’s buddies in the area, he would probably straddle the water and land, giving his herd access to both types of terrain to hide. I snuck down to a secluded beach a decent distance from the road and took off my hiking boots. Stuffing my socks into one boot, I plunged a foot directly into a wave up to my ankle, absorbing water pith. I then drew a triangle over a series of waves, and as the next wave splashed onto the shore, I hopped upward and stood directly on top of the water with my opposite foot.
Who said walking on water was just for Christians?
It has its downsides, however, especially near the beach. It’s like balancing on the world’s biggest waterbed, with waves bouncing up and down on top of an ever-changing landscape. If I fell, I’d plunge right back into the water below. A large wave could also knock me over. I ran out several hundred yards past the first dip of the continental shelf, the part of the ocean floor closest to the water’s surface. Once past the drop-off, the steeper seas flattened the waves and made walking less of an acrobatic feat. It also decreased the odds of someone on the shore spotting me out on the water. Even if they did, good luck passing any grainy video off as real on the Internet.
