Instead of smashing into the oddly colored water with a bone-shattering impact, it felt like sinking into a lake-sized pillow. Inexplicably, he now faced up, dizzily looking at the tops of trees and puffy white clouds in a brilliant blue sky.
In that instant, his physical and magical senses came online and overwhelmed him.
Magic surrounded him, soothed him. The hilly land had little water. Millions of colors everywhere, and so bright that his eyes watered.
But the smells were awful. Dirt, grass, cactus, dung, fresh urine, decay, metals, salt… He was learning there were drawbacks to context memories. He tried rolling over to bury his nose, but the multicolored fluff supporting him was no help. Waves of hot and cold nausea hit hard, making him heave involuntarily.
He tried telepathy, but no one answered. He’d sometimes wished to be alone in his head, but this was exactly the wrong time.
“Chantal!” His voice sounded pathetically raspy. “Kelvin! Nibi!”
Still no answers came as he struggled to half swim, half crawl in the magical fluff.
Unmistakable retching sounds came from the right. He shifted his direction. The stench would probably kill him, but he had to help.
Dauro? Chantal’s tentative voice in his mind flooded him with relief.
Chantal! Are you hurt?
No, just hungry. Or I was, until everyone started throwing up. How about you?
Miraculously well, considering the long fall into whatever this is. But the smells are overpowering.
I felt your forced shift and saw the others. I think it’s magical rebound, now that you’re not having to follow the demesne’s rules. I know it hurt, but it’s probably better not to have to explain how aquatic creatures appeared on dry land. I’ll ask the pool to bring everyone to shore.
The colorful fluff became a gentle wave that pushed him backward. He maneuvered himself around until he was facing the right direction, and counted his lucky stars for Chantal’s phenomenal magical gifts.
Moments later, his fingers brushed mud. Dropping to his knees, he found purchase on the ground and crawled out of the fluff and onto dirt that smelled of everything it had ever touched. He fought another heave and tried to be grateful he hadn’t eaten that day.
His gaze landed on Chantal, beautiful in the full vibrant color of his human vision, still wearing her visor hat, still carrying Nessireth’s book in one arm.
She smiled when she saw him and launched into a quick trot, headed his way.
“Stop.” He buried his nose in the crook of his elbow. “Sorry. I can’t handle any new smells right now.” It would be an inauspicious first scenting if he promptly threw up on her.
She ground to a halt, frowning. “Yipkash and Rayapkhal had the same problem when I found them the first time.” Suddenly she snapped her fingers. “The demesne suppressed scents. I thought I was allergic to something, but it was the demesne rules. I bet rock fairies are super-sensitive to smells, so Nessireth had the demesne nullify them.”
It made sense, once he considered it. Trixis and Omorachi had complained often about how much everything stank in the dying demesne. And Nessireth wouldn’t have cared what suppressing the smells did to shifters who relied on scents for social interaction. Hell, the old fairy probably considered the impairment a bonus to help keep them in line.
Chantal turned to her left, her gaze on a figure moving in the foggy fluff. “Kelvin, this way. Listen to my voice.” She sidestepped that direction. “It’s okay. Just lie there a minute until your stomach settles.”
Dauro sat up on his heels and looked around. The uneven wind blew hot and dry. The scrubby shrubs and gnarled trees looked like they’d had a hard life.
Chantal walked farther away along the shore of whatever was in the pond. “Nibi! Rosinette! Yeah, I know, everything stinks. Sorry about the pee smell, but I had to go. If it’s any consolation, leopard urine would have been a hundred times worse.”
From his loose collection of stray memories, he had an equally loose idea of where they were versus where they wanted to be. As the crow flies, they were only two miles from the ocean.
Unfortunately, none of them were crows. They weren’t even animals at the moment. His sloth side had submerged into a deep sleep the moment his human shape took hold. He couldn’t blame it for wanting rest after four hundred years of vigilance.
Disorientation made him dizzy. His magic felt like someone else’s. It might have been the real world, but nothing felt real except the obnoxious smells.
Thank the gods for the comforting spark of Chantal’s presence in his mind. Not to mention, the tantalizing golden threads of shifter-mate magic he never expected to see for himself.
It was too late to pretend he wasn’t profoundly affected by her. But he could put off doing something about it until they evaded the storm of trouble still hanging over their heads. Just because the portal was closed now didn’t mean it would stay that way.
Chantal strode farther along the shore. “Yipkash! Rayapkhal! This way!”
He watched the couple struggle to their feet and help each other stagger toward him and the others. As humans, they were shorter and paler than he’d imagined, with black and gold in their matted hair and in Rayapkhal’s rough beard.
Actually, none of his friends looked the way he’d pictured them in human form. Nibi was short and muscular, heavy-breasted and wide-hipped, with brown skin and strong features, and long, straight, but tangled black hair. Rosinette had delicate features and a lithe build, with pale white skin, and waist-length, wavy, red-blonde hair, plus noticeable silvery scars on her arms, shoulders, ribs, and back. A legacy of the iron, perhaps.
Kelvin, on the other hand, looked exactly like his picture, except he was moaning miserably instead of grinning.
Chantal whistled for attention. “I know you’re all sick, but we’re too vulnerable here.” She pointed toward a hill. “That way is north to a road that will take us to the southeast shore. As soon as we get clear of the fairy magic’s influence, I’ll try the radio and ask for help.”
Nibi moved her hand from her mouth long enough to ask, “Help from whom?” Her abdomen spasmed.
Dauro looked away, in case it triggered his own stomach again. Even the thought of water made his diaphragm contract in warning.
“Flamingo shifters. I came with them to help survey the damage from the storm. Assuming they’re still here.” She frowned. “If they aren’t, we’ll go with Plan B.”
One of Dauro’s stray gifted memories showed him busy humans unloading wood panels and tools from a corrugated metal shipping crate big enough to hold his sloth.
Chantal pointed to the sun above the tops of the trees. “Based on that and the heat, I think it’s about three in the afternoon, but it’s not necessarily the same day I left. Demesnes don’t always track to real time.”
Dauro got to his feet and stood, willing the heaving to stop. “She’s right. We should leave. Let’s go find the road to the ocean.”
Chantal nodded, then crossed closer to Kelvin. “I’ll give Dauro the book and carry you a bit, until you feel better.”
Kelvin pushed himself up. “I can make it.”
Dauro crossed to help him stand. “Nibi, Rosinette, you help each other, too. Together is better.”
Chantal gave him a soft smile. “You’re a good man.” She turned and started toward the hill.
Funny how such simple words could warm him far more than the blazing sun.
The walk up the hill was an embarrassing reminder of how uncoordinated he still was as a human. And of how tender his skin had become. As a clan warrior, thick calluses had protected his feet from the hard ground and his hands from cultivating the earth or and carrying a weapon. But after four hundred years of living in the water, every twig and pebble brought blood.
The smells weren’t getting any better, either. Kelvin reeked of stale odors and sour stomach acid. Whiffs of Chantal’s concentrated sweat combined a spicy citrus undertone with nothing else he recogn
ized. The others behind him retched several times. Only the pain from scratchy shrubs and the determination to match Chantal’s brisk pace kept him from doing the same.
Nibi muttered a litany of inventive curses as they climbed. Yipkash and Rayapkhal spoke encouragingly to each other in their native language. They were going to make great parents.
At the top of the hill, Chantal waited to the side until they were all together. “There’s the road.” She tilted her head toward a smooth dirt path. “Shifters won’t care that you’re naked, but humans live on the island, too. If anyone acts scandalized, I’ll tell them you were on a back-to-nature retreat and got lost.” She glanced at Dauro’s hand resting on Kelvin’s shoulder. “He can be your son.”
She pulled her radio out of its holster with deft fingers. “Dammit. The demesne must have drained it.” Putting it away, she turned north. “There’s an abandoned truck on our way up the road. If we’re lucky, the truck battery can recharge it. There’s a good resting spot just over that ridge.”
Dauro thanked the gods for sending them a resourceful rescuer who could be a leader when needed. It didn’t hurt that they were all motivated to get the hell away as fast as they could. And that they all knew they could trust her, thanks to Sunscar.
Dauro could barely help himself and Kelvin stay on their feet at the moment, but he vowed to the ancient Heart of the Sky that he would find a way to rescue his noble friend. They would have all gone feral without Sunscar to create the telepathic web to keep their human minds alert.
By the time they got to the promised resting spot, Dauro felt like he’d marched for days in the searing heat of high summer through a thicket of thorns, and Kelvin hissed in pain every other step. None of them had breath for talking, or strength for anything but sitting in the shade of the twisted tree. At least his nausea had retreated.
He did have enough energy to watch Chantal as she used a bandana to wipe sweat off her face and neck while eyeing the road ahead. Dirt streaks all over her and straw in her fraying braid spoke of a tumbled landing. The pink crystal peeked out from under the front of her partially buttoned shirt. Miraculously, she’d hung onto the book despite everything.
Her generous lips mesmerized him. Not just because they were a work of art, but because he wanted to caress hers with his and find out what she tasted like. And touch her, skin to skin...
She turned unexpectedly and caught his gaze. Her brown eyes widened and flashed gold before she looked away.
While the first flush of desire he’d felt in centuries gave him hope that he wasn’t disabled for life, the timing stank worse than his armpits. Tearing a clump of grass and smelling it helped distract him, but his stomach gurgled in protest.
Chantal’s gaze swept the group. “I’m sorry you’re all hurting. Is there anything in the book that would help? Or maybe your treasures? I still have the bag.” Reaching into her shirt pocket, she pulled out a handful of charms and showed them on her open palm. “Plus, I pilfered these from the dew-hammered fairies.”
Rosinette spoke for the first time. “The ruby ring compels truth. Nessireth used it on all of us at one time or another. The small rock hammer opens her cellar. I gather her foolish nieces didn’t recognize it. The cloudy-looking glass is for mirror mages. The necklace is a charm that generates clothes from plants the way elves do. Nessireth only knew it was a wyvern scale. She traded for it to taunt me after I annoyed her with another escape attempt.”
“It’s yours,” declared Chantal. “If you can stand the smell of me, I’ll put it on you right now.”
Rosinette smiled. “I’ll hold my breath.”
Chantal stepped in and hurriedly draped the necklace over Rosinette’s hair, then stepped back.
The chain sparkled and expanded as it slithered onto Rosinette’s scarred shoulders. Powerful magic flared, waking his own magical senses. In a matter of moments, the area around her was scoured clean of anything organic, and she now wore flat, brown shoes and a short, green tunic.
“If it’s not too much to ask, could you make shoes for the boy?” asked Rayapkhal, pointing to Kelvin’s bloody feet. “He doesn’t heal as fast.”
Rosinette nodded. “I can make clothes for all of you, but it will be easier with living plants to work with.”
Dauro frowned. “At what cost to you?” Magic was never free.
“Oh,” she said with a straight face, “feed me a fairy or two, and I’ll be fine.”
Nibi laughed. “Oh, sister, you’ll have to stand in line for that.”
Rosinette smiled. “To a wyvern, magic is like breathing, even when I’m human. I thank you for your concern, Sinchi.”
“If you’ll hold the book,” said Chantal, “I’ll collect the raw materials.”
At Rosinette’s nod, Chantal stepped forward to hand it to her.
Dauro pushed himself to his feet and moved to the edge of the shade. “I will stand watch.”
Chantal nodded and strode across the road to the ravine on the other side.
Resolutely putting his desire to follow her aside, he turned his attention to listening. He didn’t hear as well on land as other shifters, but much better than humans, so hopefully, he’d hear them first.
A trilling bird song came from somewhere up the road. The first he’d heard since they arrived. Come to think of it, the first he’d heard in centuries. Nessireth had detested birds.
He vowed not to take things like that for granted ever again. He’d not only been given a second chance for living, but a first chance for a mate.
More sounds came, now that he was listening instead of feeling sorry for himself. Different birds. Insects, lizards, and small rodents, too. And of course, more nose-burning scents. Why couldn’t human bodies have nose flaps, like aquatic sloths? He concentrated on learning the frequency and rhythm of the sounds, so he’d know when they changed.
Chantal finally reappeared with an impressive armful of leafy branches and set them in front of Rosinette. “The recent hurricane shredded most of the trees and bushes around here. I can bring a lot more deadfalls, if you can use them.”
“These will do.” Rosinette beckoned to Kelvin. “Come, young hippo. You first.”
With quick bursts of magic, they soon all wore flexible, woven foot coverings with thick soles, loose green pants with a drawstring waist and pockets, and loose green tunics with chest pockets. Clothes felt weird on his skin. If he was honest, his smooth skin felt weird, period.
For her part, Rosinette seemed energized. “We all smell terrible, but I am glad to use magic again after so long to help my friends. The clothing design is modern, from Kelvin’s memories.”
“How long were you captive?” asked Chantal. “If it’s not impolite to ask.”
“Forty-three thousand and seventy-one days. Over a century.” Rosinette offered up the book to Chantal. “And thanks to you, not one day more.”
Chantal shook her head. “Just doing my job. Please keep the book, if you don’t mind carrying it. By rights it belongs to all of you, not me.”
Rosinette nodded and hugged it to her chest. “I will keep it safe.”
Chantal turned to look at them all. “My plan is still to stop at the truck long enough to charge the satellite radio, call the flamingos, and get to the ocean. Are you all okay to pick up the pace?”
When they all agreed, she strode purposefully out of the shade and started trotting, slow at first, then faster.
Dauro took up the rear as a warrior should, and because each of his legs had its own idea of how to walk. If he fell, he didn’t want to take anyone else down.
It was one thing to have other people’s memories of trucks, and quite another to see one up close. And smell it.
“Ugh!” Kelvin covered his mouth and nose with the hem of his tunic. “Gasoline.”
“Sorry,” said Chantal. “Move upwind if you can. The smell will be worse in the shade. The good news is, I think this is the same day as I left. Otherwise, the gas smell would have dissipated.” She
turned toward the steep ravine the vehicle seemed to be stuck in. “Cross your fingers that the battery has juice.”
Dauro caught Kelvin’s eye and tilted his head. “Let’s go up the road.” The boy still limped, but less pronounced than before. “Is that a big truck?”
“Nah.” Kelvin used the hem of his tunic to wipe a sheen of sweat off his forehead as they walked. “That’s just a rusty old farm truck. The really big ones are taller than your sloth and eighty feet long. They’d never fit on this road.”
The terrain inclined toward a higher hill. “How’s your foot?”
“Better than my stomach.” He was silent for a long moment. “What’s going to happen to me after this?”
Dauro stopped and put his hand on the boy’s thin shoulder. “What do you want to happen?”
Kelvin’s words rushed out. “I want to stay with you until I can find my aunt.” His gaze dropped as he scuffed one foot. “She might still be a prisoner.”
“Where are your parents?”
“They fight a lot.” Kelvin’s foot scuffed harder. “My aunt is looking after me because they needed space.”
So many obstacles ahead. Not the least of which was his ignorance of… pretty much everything.
“You know I love you, yes?” At the boy’s nod, Dauro breathed deep. “But you also know I have nothing. No clan. No home. No living family. I would be a very poor...”—he settled for the English word that came closest to the right one from his native tongue—“...guardian.”
Distant thunder reached his ears.
Kelvin shaded his eyes and looked to the sky. “I hear a helicopter.”
An image of a big flying machine with whirling blades popped into Dauro’s head. His new context memories didn’t explain how it stayed in the air.
“Hide,” shouted Chantal. “They might not be friends.”
Dauro pointed toward the low trees on the side of the road and crossed to force his way into the thicket. The stabby branches would have been worse without his tunic. Kelvin joined him. The close-up smells weren’t quite as bad as before, giving him hope that his nose was acclimating to the real world.
The helicopter sounds grew louder. Moments later, a yellow and black helicopter flew into view and slowed.
Shifter's Storm Page 10
