by DM Fike
“Excellent. Shepherds should not waste food.” She leaped to her feet, readjusting her tunic so it fell back to below her knees. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be on my way. May Nasci bless you in your quest.”
Everyone else stood, so I did too. My bow was about a half-step behind theirs as well.
“Good day,” she called over her shoulder.
“Bye, Yoi,” I said, but I whispered it. I didn’t have the nerve to yell it out, like I might have with anyone else. Maybe some other time, when I’d been a shepherd for a good three decades or so.
CHAPTER 7
YOU WOULD THINK, given that I would embark on a special mission tomorrow, Guntram would let me rest up for the trip. You’d think wrong. Guntram instead marched me to the library and nabbed a basic primer of water sigils off a bookshelf.
I made a face. “What’s with all the water magic lately?”
“You need to brush up,” Guntram commanded, shuffling me out of the library and to a pond nearby. “Water manipulation will feature heavily in collecting vitae.”
I stifled a groan. Water had always been one of my weaker elements, and I wasn’t looking forward to relying on it so soon after the kappa. “I doubt I’m going to master it in one day.”
“You’re still going to try.” Guntram cracked open the tome to the dead center of the book and begun a hard day of water sigil drills. It began with water flinging—creating waves, parting the pond to the bare floor, that kind of thing—but swiftly progressed to more water environment survival. I ran on top of the pond’s water for almost an hour, which drained my pith stores as well as my stamina. But even when I was out of breath and ready to call it a day, Guntram wasn’t finished. He instructed me to practice breathing underwater.
I absolutely hate this skill. Drawing the sigil alone is a form of torture: a series of Vs with Ss laid over the top of each other in an alternating pattern. It requires eighteen strokes to complete a cycle and invokes a complex stroke order between the Vs and Ss that I always mess up. Is it three Vs, then two Ss, or two Vs then three Ss? I never remember, which sucks because I won’t realize I’ve screwed up until I’ve stuck my big fat head underwater and inhaled a lungful of water.
And even when I’m successful at drawing the damn sigil, breathing water as air just plain hurts. You know how some food textures taste really gross in your mouth, leaving a grimy film on your teeth? Breathing water makes your pithways feel like that, coating your entire body in the sensation. Water pith pumps through the alveoli in your lungs like oxygen, and you have to push past the fact that you’re drowning.
To top it all off, in order to maintain underwater breathing, you must draw the sigil every two to three minutes to refresh your pithways. This leaves you vulnerable to aborting the magic at any time, including when you’re deep underwater, where you could choke on your lungs. I love shepherd magic, but man, this sigil’s the worst. It just solidifies my belief that mammals and water breathing don’t mix.
I tried my best to master it, I really did. I must have drunk gallons of pond water with no visible progress. Guntram drilled me well after we should have broken for dinner, hoping beyond hope that today would be the day I’d finally become a dolphin.
As the sun cast long shadows over the homestead valley, another earthquake jolted the valley. It knocked me on my butt, and I lay sprawled out like a starfish with my bottom half still in the water.
“Forget it… Guntram,” I wheezed, my diaphragm more jelly than muscle. “I… can’t do… it.”
Guntram frowned at me, but he accepted the inevitable with slumped shoulders. “I suppose I’ll have to ask Sipho for something to aid you in breathing underwater.”
“Why can’t I just breathe from an air pocket?” I asked. “That’s sigil’s much easier, and it’s always worked before.”
“Because we won’t be close enough to the surface for constant resurfacing,” Guntram snapped. “You’ll drown before we hit the ocean floor.”
Ocean floor? “You mean the vitae cleft is at the bottom of the ocean?”
“Far, far at the bottom of the ocean.” Guntram sighed. “I was hoping to avoid it, but it looks like we need a breathing charm.”
Well, that didn’t sound so bad. If a charm could do the trick, who cared if I ever mastered underwater breathing?
* * *
Sipho interrupted me at breakfast the next morning to shove an entire breastplate of shiny blue metal in my face.
“Good morning, Ina,” she greeted with a cheery expression that was the complete antithesis of my own. The muscles in her arm strained under the weight of the armor. “I’ve brought what you asked for.”
I stared bleary-eyed at the hunk of metal. “I’m not going to war in medieval Europe, Sipho.”
“You misunderstand. This is a breathing charm. See?” She flipped it over and showed me the water sigils she had etched onto it. A pattern of Vs and Ss stood out as a huge emblem on the back, with smaller versions lining the soldered seams. “Now let me attach it to you.”
My foggy, sleep-deprived mind fought against this information. All the charms I’d ever worn were thin little metal slabs that hung from a chain. You did not cosplay with them for the Renaissance Fair.
I shook my head frantically. “No. I’m not wearing that.”
Guntram, who stood by making tea, cut off my protests. “You are if you want to come with us to the vitae cleft. Do what she says, Ina.”
I dumbly lifted my arms as Sipho skirted around the counter with her ridiculous ‘charm.’ It took some maneuvering around my hoodie, but she managed to shove my head and both limbs through the proper holes. Unfortunately, the phone in my hoodie’s pouch made it impossible to position the stupid thing correctly. I attempted to slip it out of my pocket discretely, but Guntram noticed.
“Ina?” he said. “What is that?”
I couldn’t lie my way out of this one. “It’s the phone I used to call my parents.”
Sipho craned her neck to look at the device in my hand, clearly intrigued.
Guntram seemed less enthused. He extended his hand. “Give it to me.”
My heart pounded as I surrendered it. It wouldn’t take much for him to power it on, view my history, and discover that I last called one Vincent Garcia.
But Guntram had become a shepherd well before the age of cellular phones. He had no idea how to even hold the thing upright as he gripped it uncertainly in his hand. He poked at the screen, not even savvy enough to touch the big round power button. I might as well have given him a novel written in Japanese. He would have understood about as much.
Guntram pointed it at me. “You shouldn’t possess this,” he said, giving it a shake.
“Yeah.” Well, another one bites the dust. It had been a while since he’d found a phone on me. I guess I’d gotten careless about keeping them more hidden. I fully expected him to toss it outside for one of his ravens to dispose of. He’d done so often enough on previous occasions.
He surprised me by addressing Sipho. “Think you can hold this for her?”
My jaw dropped.
Sipho also flinched. “I beg your pardon?”
Guntram shot her an exasperated look. “Don’t look so shocked, Sipho. I already allow Ina to wear prefabricated clothes and eat a meal in town occasionally. What’s one more device, especially one that connects her with her family?”
Sipho collected the cell phone reluctantly from Guntram. “What would you have me do with it?”
“Keep it safe until we return from the cleft. Ina doesn’t need any distractions out there.”
Sipho continued to stare at my phone. I recognized that look as one she generally reserved for when she felt guilty about using the Walkman.
Guntram misinterpreted the look. “I pray I’m not infringing upon your moral code. I know it is against the rules to keep such possessions, since it grounds us more to the human world than our own.”
I swallowed hard to prevent myself from choking on a reply. G
untram clearly had no idea how many contraband cassette tapes I’d given Sipho over the years.
Guntram continued. “If you would prefer not to hold onto it…”
“No, I’ll keep it,” Sipho declared quickly, composing herself at last. “It is no problem at all.”
With the issue of the phone out of the way, Sipho resumed fitting the breathing charm properly over my torso. She fitted the edges of the metal together, then secured them with extra metal pins that clasped through the holes. The pins, I noticed, had their own etchings on them, causing the pith stored inside to vibrate with a hum. She tugged several times, but the pins kept the armor firmly in place.
Once finished, Sipho took a step back, and the gravity of twenty extra pounds pressed down on my shoulders. The breastplate restricted most of my upper body’s natural range of motion. Steel doesn’t have a lot of natural give.
“It’s like wearing a metal straitjacket,” I whined.
“It will allow you to breathe underwater,” Guntram said.
Sipho nodded eagerly. “You won’t need to draw the underwater sigil at all. The breathing charm will do the work for you, which should free your hands for other tasks.”
I imagined myself plummeting to the bottom of the Pacific Ocean with this cement shoe equivalent. “You’re right. I’ll use my free hands to pull myself around the sea floor. I bet I can move upwards of inches per hour.”
“Oh no, Ina,” Sipho reassured. “I’ve etched other sigils that will lighten the charm once submerged in water. You’ll be fine.” To accentuate her point, she punched me on the arm. I’m sure she thought it was gentle, but it stung, and I couldn’t rub it because I couldn’t cross my arms anymore.
Arm throbbing, I said, “I don’t suppose you could lighten its weight a little on land?”
“I have actually,” Sipho said excitedly. “The old version weighed more than fifty pounds. I’ve more than halved the weight by incorporating lighter materials and modifying unique sigils to compensate for the loss. Isn’t that wonderful?”
I didn’t exactly see the wonder of this situation, but Guntram interrupted in his best mentor voice. “We’re grateful as always for your services. Thank you, Sipho.”
Sipho flashed me one last smile. “Good luck, Ina. And Guntram.” She patted the large satchel that the Oracle had left the day before. “Don’t forget these.” Then she slipped out of the lodge.
“Wait,” I said, a few seconds after she vanished. “You mean I’m supposed to wear this paperweight while we hike to the coast?”
“Sipho sealed the charm over your body,” Guntram said, sipping a cup of tea. He slid a second mug over to me. “You can’t expect her to come with us to reseal it at the beach. You’re stuck with it for now.”
I had to angle my torso sideways to grab the mug. The wrinkles around Guntram’s eyes scrunched in mirth as I struggled with lifting the damn thing to my lips.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I accused, tea spilling down in between the armor and my hoodie.
“I take no pleasure in your discomfort,” he lied, “but hopefully this will remind you of the weaknesses you must yet overcome before you undergo your Shepherd Trial.”
Ah yes, the Shepherd Trial. Guntram would not tell me much about it, even though he constantly dangled it as the main boss standing between me and upgrading from eyas status. All I really knew is that at some point, after I’d mastered all the magical elements, I would be tested by Nasci to become a full-fledged shepherd.
And once I’d risen a rank, I wouldn’t need an augur as a mentor anymore. I smiled sweetly at Guntram. “If it means getting you off my back, I’ll put mastering underwater breathing at the top of my to-do list.”
Guntram looked like he might chastise me, but Zibel saved me by meandering into the room. His bedhead hair was flattened at odd angles, and he looked like he’d slept in his wrinkled tunic. Basically, messy as normal.
Zibel took one look at the breastplate and asked, “What in Nasci’s great realm is that?”
I shook my head at Guntram, but he answered anyway. “It’s a charm. Ina has not mastered underwater breathing yet.”
Zibel clicked his tongue as he plopped down in a seat next to me. “Eyases are clearly not cut out for collecting vitae.”
Guntram shook his head Zibel. “You heard the Oracle. We’re shorthanded and require extra security.”
“Yeah,” I added, happy that shepherd hierarchy worked in my favor for a change. Everyone seemed to toe the line around the Oracle. “You think you know better than her?”
“Ina,” Guntram warned.
Zibel slouched low in the wooden chair. “As long as we imbue a marten, I’ll put up with anything.”
I perked up. The photo of the slumped over creature on Vincent’s phone flashed through my brain. Zibel would only push to create a new marten dryant if he could justify the added protection. Vitae was a precious commodity, after all.
I leaned toward him. “Is something going on with the Humboldt martens out at the coast?”
Zibel lowered his gaze. “It’s none of your business.”
Aha! So there was something going on. I crouched down so Zibel had to view my face. “They’re in trouble, aren’t they?”
Guntram frowned at me. “Is there something you’re not telling us, Ina?”
“Just a hunch.” I waved him off to focus on Zibel. “But they are, aren’t they?”
Zibel lifted his head in suspicion, but then nodded stiffly. “I keep finding them dead from an unknown cause. It’s been going on for about a month.”
Guntram narrowed his eyes. “Is it a vaettur?”
“I doubt it,” Zibel said. “I can’t find a breach or anything like that. I’ve set up defensive sigils all over the dunes, but not a single one has triggered yet.”
Guntram stroked his beard. “Then it must be some kind of a disease. The Humboldt martens in that area are a particular subspecies. Perhaps their lack of interbreeding has made them vulnerable to a blight.”
“I don’t care what it is!” Zibel snapped. He immediately recognized his rudeness toward an augur and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry, sir. What I mean to say is that the martens need a dryant. I told the Oracle during the last cleft we should have imbued one, but she chose other animals. This time, it must be done. Otherwise, they will die out.”
Guntram placed both hands on Zibel’s shoulders. “I remember your protests well from the previous cleft, son. While I support the Oracle’s decision, I also completely understand your frustration. Some decisions have clear winners and losers, and you felt the true sting of loss.”
I raised an eyebrow. Guntram was laying it on a little thick.
Zibel did not seem moved by my augur’s speech, but Guntram continued anyway, “Fortunately, the Oracle has given me permission to distribute the vitae where I see fit. We will certainly use a portion of this year’s vitae to imbue a marten you deem worthy.”
This declaration widened Zibel’s eyes as they shot up to meet Guntram’s bushy eyebrows. “Really?”
Guntram smiled. “Really,” he agreed. “But,” he raised a finger in warning, “this business of martens dying and you not telling anyone must be addressed.”
A blush spread across Zibel’s freckles. “I… I wanted to handle it myself, sir.”
“I understand,” Guntram said gently. He glanced over at me as he said, “Many young shepherds believe they can go it alone.” He turned back to Zibel. “But the truth is, we all need help. Consider what would have happened if you had held your tongue and all the Humboldt martens died out.”
Zibel protested, “I would never let it go that far.”
“You may not intend to, but many a talented shepherd before you have decided to handle things themselves, and an animal population went extinct because of their pride. So, I’ll imbue your marten, but only on one condition.”
“Condition?” Zibel asked.
“When you require assistance, ask for it. Shepherds m
ust rely on each other.”
“Yes, sir,” Zibel replied quietly.
Guntram squeezed his shoulders. “Good.” He then let him go. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to fetch Baot. He slept in the hot spring last night. Rouse him and meet us outside.”
Zibel saluted, a full military flourish complete with tapping his heels together, then scurried off.
Guntram returned to sipping his tea. I pointed a finger at him. “You sure know how to push his buttons.”
Guntram shrugged. “I’ve been an augur a long time, Ina. I motivate people.”
I snorted. “Yeah, right. That stuff never works on me.”
He chuckled. “If you say so.”
CHAPTER 8
WITH BREAKFAST FINISHED, I helped Guntram pack food supplies: the usual hard tack and dried fruit combo. Oh boy. He made me carry the food bag while he tied Sipho’s satchel with the clinking objects to a loop around his waist. He secured it in such a way that it wouldn’t bounce around too much while he walked.
“Why are we leaving so early?” I asked as he made for the door. “We’re just going to the coast, right?”
He motioned me forward. “You can’t walk fast with the breathing charm.” A fresh, if chilly, morning breeze hit me in the face. “Plus, we’ve got some distance to cover if we’re going to make the rendezvous point on time.”
Several ravens launched themselves from nearby trees and swooped down to greet their imprinted master. Guntram dismissed them with a wave of his hand. They reluctantly squawked back into the trees, not following in our wake.
I’d never seen Guntram do that before. “I thought you liked the ravens.”
“I do. Normally, the ravens protect and guide me wherever I go, but scouts can also be a liability. Collecting vitae requires stealth. The earthquakes have already signaled to savvy vaetturs the bounty they could devour if they find the cleft. The less visible we are, the better.”
Baot and Zibel met us halfway across the homestead. Baot, for his part, did not seem to care that I looked like a bad anachronism, greeting us with his signature enthusiasm and hidden eyes. The armor at least shielded me from his crushing hug. Guntram took the lead as he marched us toward our destination. I quickly became the caboose of our group, my metal burden slowing me down. As my internal body temperature rose, I felt grateful for the colder morning air.
