by DM Fike
Guntram watched me slurp water as he chewed. “You look unwell.”
“Thank you for that stunning observation, Jichan.” I only used the Japanese nickname for “Gramps” when I wished to irritate him.
It did the trick. “Let this be a lesson to you,” Guntram began. “Mastering the necessary sigils provides you with—"
“I swear, if you give me a lecture while I’m trying to recover from dehydration and waterlogged feet, I will use every last bit of earth pith to create a hole and swallow you up.”
Zibel gasped. “How dare you talk to your augur that way!”
But Guntram raised a hand to silence him. “What did you say about your feet?”
“They’re soaked,” I whined, not caring that I sounded like a surly teenager. I had no energy left to censor my big mouth. “I don’t have enough fire pith left for a dryness sigil, and I’m pretty sure I’ve contracted some rare swamp disease.”
Guntram rubbed his temples. “Then why don’t you take off the boots?”
“Because I just broke them in!” I shot back. “You know how hard it is to do that?”
Zibel decided to put in his two cents of superiority. “It’s better to walk barefoot and absorb earth pith.”
Guntram pointed at Zibel. “Did you hear that? It’s not just me saying these things.”
I bounced the back of my head on the ground and closed my eyes, letting the sensation distract me from my other aches and pains. “I suppose you’ll also point out I shouldn’t have used lightning pith against the kitty either?”
“Kitty?” Guntram asked, confused.
I cracked an eyelid at him. “Didn’t you guys see the vaettur that attacked Baot and me?”
Guntram shook his head. “By the time I came through the wisp channel, you’d already broken through the water’s surface. I saw the flash—” He shot me a disgruntled glance to show me what he thought of me using lightning. “—and then you sunk into the water like a stone. I focused my efforts on dragging you to the surface to breathe.”
“Baot said the vaettur hit him too fast to describe it,” Zibel said. “And given its head start, I doubt Tabitha saw it either.”
I shook my head. “And nobody bothered to ask me what it looked like?”
Guntram shrugged. “We’ll take care of it soon enough.” He shoved one last bite of dried fruit into his mouth, then scooted over to stand near my ankles. He raised his hands and drew a sigil I didn’t recognize. It must have been water-based, given the series of Vs he used. As he finished, a weird tingling sensation spiked inside my hiking boots.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping you,” Guntram said, waving his hands upward. The tingling sensation oozed out of my feet, leaving behind a strange emptiness.
I scrambled away from him and yelped. “Hey!”
But then I noticed something else. Dryness. The insides of my hiking boots no longer felt water-logged. Cool relief cascaded all the way up to my ankles. I scrunched my toes, sensing their wrinkly texture from having been soaked, but the actual wetness had disappeared.
Eyes wide, I stole a glance at Guntram, who juggled a ball of dank water between his two curved hands. He wrinkled his nose as he breathed in a whiff of it. “Disgusting,” he said. Then he tossed the entire batch of foot water behind a nearby bush.
I stood and placed weight on my feet. Good as new. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
Guntram peered down his nose at me. “Much is possible, Ina, if you master the elements as part of your training.”
“Can we finally go?” Zibel interjected, unable to remain still as he shifted from side to side.
I intended to give a snarky retort but changed my mind. Zibel just wanted to save the martens. I shouldn’t fault him for that, especially when there were plenty of other things about his personality that deserved trolling.
“Yeah, I’m good.” I motioned toward the will o’ the wisps dancing nearby. “Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 11
SHEPHERDS DO NOT like dealing with people. While we do run into hikers, campers, and other outdoor enthusiasts, it’s generally under the cover of dense forests. Like the animals and dryants we protect, we also tend to avoid the human-made paths and beaches wherever possible, navigating the true wilderness far away from population centers.
That’s hard to do at the Oregon Dunes. Most of the area consists of rolling sandy hills without vegetation, meaning there are very few places to hide for cover. Add onto that its status as a dune buggy hotspot, and the place ends up crawling with people speeding toward you out of nowhere at any given time. In fact, we emerged right where the trees overlooked a dip between two dunes, the ocean hidden somewhere beyond the second ridge. All around, we heard the buzzing of motorized vehicles. A flag of one even poked up momentarily on the other side.
We instinctively crouched farther into the trees to keep out of sight. Zibel snarled as the flag sunk below the horizon. “Filthy riders,” he spat. “They think they own the place.”
“They’re just having fun,” I said. “As long as they’re not hurting anything…”
“Not hurting anything? Are you even listening to yourself? You know that wild lands suffer thanks to human greed. And these jerks—” He waved toward the sounds of revving engines. “—dig their wheels into the virgin habitats of creatures who have been here hundreds of years before them. And for what? A fun Saturday?”
I mean, Zibel wasn’t wrong. People tend to destroy things for no reason other than it gives them a moment of pleasure. Even so, I don’t harbor the general scorn for humanity the way some other shepherds do.
“Humans are just another creature of Nasci.” I shrugged. “An animal we need to manage.”
“Maybe we should manage them into smaller numbers so the rest of us can live,” Zibel threw back.
I knew this argument, the one whispered in the hot spring after a difficult encounter with a poacher or developer. That logic always made my blood run cold. Aside from vaetturs, who invade our world from another dimension, shepherds preserve life. We are in no position to take it.
Guntram, although not super fond of people himself, agreed strongly with me. “That is not in accord with Nasci’s teachings,” he said sharply. “I will not tolerate this speech any further.”
Zibel’s face turned an even deeper red than his natural hue, sufficiently cowed.
Guntram adjusted his orb underneath an arm. “We must imbue your marten as soon as possible. Show us the way.”
Zibel strode farther into the forest, away from the hills. The scraggly trees of the dunes were a lot sparser, but they did mark a path away from the tourists. We trekked through this strange hybrid area for several miles, a forest with sand instead of dirt. He located the last wisp channel, and we jumped through only to emerge in a very similar geographic area with one key difference.
Peace and quiet.
I discovered a brown forest service billboard not far away. Two laminated notices fluttered from half-loose staples. I ran ahead to read them. The first one declared the area off limits to motorized vehicles, which explained the lack of noise. The second outlined the recent law against trapping martens Vincent had told me about, citing the ordinance and fines for doing so. I pointed it out to Zibel in triumph.
“See?” I said. “People are trying to help.”
“Maybe a few people, for now, for a little while,” Zibel grumbled. “But humanity has a short memory. I don’t trust them.”
We continued forward under the cover of more sporadic, stubby trees. We quickly broke through to a beach, not the ocean since you could clearly view mountains on the other side, but the Umpqua River. Zibel headed north and we walked parallel to the shore, keeping our steps within the foliage as the occasional motorboat sped by. The forest began to thin even more. I thought for sure the trees would eventually vanish altogether, and we’d be forced to walk like zombies across the hot sands (me still in plate mail), when Zibel finally called out.
He pointed ten feet up into one of the sturdier trees near the river to reveal a miniature vulpine head blinking curiously at us. The Humboldt marten had mostly burnt orange fur with a much brighter belly. Given her size and fluffiness, she looked like she’d make an excellent plush doll to snuggle with at night. Hooked claws sunk into the tree to keep her from falling to the waters below, although she appeared steady at the junction of the trunk and a large branch.
“Abby!” Zibel waved. “Hello there, girl!”
Abby the marten’s intelligent black eyes recognized Zibel, but she stayed rooted to the spot. She gave out a sharp cry and huddled lower into her branch.
Zibel’s smile wavered. “She always comes when I call. Maybe she doesn’t like strangers.”
That struck me as odd. “Why would an animal be scared of a shepherd?”
Zibel didn’t acknowledge my statement. “Don’t worry, Abby! These guys are my good friends. We’re going to turn you into a special hero, just like I promised.”
I leaned into Guntram’s ear as Zibel continued to coax the marten. “Do animals resist becoming dryants or something?”
“Quite the opposite,” Guntram whispered back. “They always jump at the chance to be infused with Nasci’s spirit. It is not all that different from the sense of yearning one feels before becoming an eyas.”
I remember how strong the urge was to follow Guntram when he approached me about the shepherd life. He performed some complex sigil over my body that unlocked my natural pithways. Nothing about the process hurt at all. If anything, it felt like a blindfold had been lifted, and I could sense things I just knew existed before. I imagined imbuing a dryant would feel similar.
Zibel shuffled at the base of the tree, thoroughly flustered. “I don’t understand,” he said more to himself than to us. “She understands how important it is for the martens to have a dryant protector. She wants to be imbued, I know it. Maybe the recent vaettur attacks have spooked her. Or maybe”—he focused his attention on the orb under Guntram’s arm—“she needs to warm up to the orb.”
Guntram frowned. “I highly doubt that’s the case.”
“But it can’t hurt to try, right?” An edge of desperation had crept into Zibel’s voice.
“Sure, son.” Guntram offered him the orb. “It can’t hurt to try.”
Zibel told us to step several yards back so he could talk to Abby in private. I raised my eyebrow at Guntram, but he refused to look at me, politely granting Zibel his request. As we nestled against a grove of trees, Zibel continued to coo soft words at the now shaking marten, who appeared ready to bolt.
“You think this will work?” I asked Guntram.
But my augur was no longer watching Zibel. His eyes darted around the forest, never staying in one place for too long. He crouched slightly lower to the ground, a sigil stance that allowed him to absorb more pith from his surroundings.
I stiffened next to him. “What are you looking for?”
“Maybe nothing,” Guntram said. “Just a precaution.”
Precaution or not, his reaction put me on alert. I also scanned everywhere, in between the trees, over toward the sand, along the lapping river waves. I didn’t know what to look for, though. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and a vaettur attacking three shepherds at once would have to be stupid.
Or insanely powerful.
That’s when I sensed the oncoming storm in my pithways. Thunder suddenly rumbled from across the bay. That didn’t make any sense given how bright the day was, but a few dark clouds formed above the now churning waters just the same.
Guntram flung his head toward them too. “Ina,” he said slowly, a hint of panic in his voice. “What kind of ‘kitty’ was that vaettur again?”
“A big black panther with a nasty fish tail,” I said. “Why?”
Guntram opened and closed his fists, flexing his knobby fingers for a confrontation. “You really need to stop with your ridiculous understatements.”
I was about to call him a hypocrite when the situation went sideways.
The panther vaettur jumped out of the water about thirty feet away. From the tip of its nose to its spiked tail, it flew in a perfect arc that would have been beautiful if not for the murderous gaze in its yellow eyes. It aimed stark white teeth straight for Abby. The marten wailed an unearthly scream that scratched down my pithways. She fell down, latching onto Zibel’s tunic. Zibel, for his part, could only stare slack-jawed as the massive vaettur bore down on both of them.
Guntram reacted with inhuman speed, sending up a wall of earth that barricaded the panther from Zibel and the marten. The sudden movement of earth caused Zibel to lose his footing. Abby dropped to the ground, then skittered off into the bushes.
Zibel did not get off so easy. He fell backwards, hard. His head made an awful thud as it smacked against the tree. The orb shattered, sending hundreds of glass fragments everywhere and emitting a large cloud of green smoke. Zibel’s head went straight through that cloud before he landed in a heap on the forest floor.
The panther, who had jumped to the side, darted around the earthen wall and stuck its nostrils into the cloud. It swiftly inhaled about a third of the gas, then stumbled about in a drunken daze, blinking rapidly. A flash of green ignited in its eyes for a split second. The sleek muscles underneath its jet-black fur bulged, as if coming alive. Then the cat roared as it prepared to thrust forward for more vitae.
“No!” I yelled. I drew a quick wind gust sigil toward the green cloud, sending it scattering in all directions. The panther got a small whiff, but most of it dissipated before he could absorb more.
Frustrated, the panther roared, centering its attention on me. It crouched low to the ground before springing, halfway toward me before I could so much as register its intent. The accursed thing had agile reflexes I could not keep up with.
Fortunately, Guntram could. He let forth a primal bellow accompanied by a colossal stream of water bursting from both of his palms. It struck the panther in mid-leap. The cat twisted until it landed on all four paws, digging into the weeds as Guntram kept up the assault. The panther struggled to gain footing against the firehose blast.
With the enemy diverted, I scrambled to Zibel’s side, checking for any signs of life. He had a gash on his head where he hit the tree, but more alarming, his face had turned a horrible pasty white, fading out even his freckles. His fingers circled his throat, struggling to breathe.
“Use an air suction sigil!” Guntram yelled at me over the surge of water. “Pull the vitae out of his lungs!”
I wished Guntram, master of air sigils, could do this. I knew my way around air pith, but the suction sigil required a delicate hand, not really my forte. But Guntram had his own hands full, caught in an odd tug-of-war with the panther, who screeched as it tried to dart past the stream toward us. I bent over Zibel and placed a palm over his mouth. His bloodshot eyes stared up at me in terror.
I drew an S with a few light lines over the top for the air suction sigil. The harsher the lines, the harder the tug. I hoped a gentle pull would get all the vitae out of his system and allow him to breathe. I did detect something foreign move in his airways. The sigil only seemed to agitate Zibel even more, though. He writhed, gasping like a fish on land.
I’d have to up the power level and pray it wouldn’t permanently damage his lungs. I placed my hand firmly over his mouth.
“Brace yourself,” I whispered. Then I drew another S with two sharp slashes overhead.
Everything inside Zibel’s airways came pouring out of his mouth, like nicking an artery of blood. I skittered away just as a puff of green smoke nearly flew into my own face. Zibel heaved huge gulps, the smoke slowly sinking back toward his gaping mouth. I quickly flung a wind gust at it, aiming away from us. The green smoke swirled before it faded away, mixed with the natural breeze of the coast.
As Zibel’s breathing stabilized, I shot a quick glance at Guntram. He was still locked in the same watery
battle with the panther, who had gained quite a bit of ground on him.
“Ina!” he cried when he noticed I’d helped Zibel. “I need a distraction!”
I’d worked with Guntram long enough to know that meant he didn’t think I’d have the chops to banish the vaettur myself. Guntram would have to do it. A thunderclap high above us caught my attention, and for a brief second, I thought about absorbing lightning pith. But then I felt the heavy armor weighing me down and decided not to zap myself unconscious again.
Since a water stream couldn’t contain the vaettur, I gathered all the fire throughout my pithways and charm, letting it settle in my hands. My finger outlined a spiky circle with a cross through it, sending a fireball at the vaettur’s slashing tail.
The panther roared as this blaze seared its scales, stumbling half into the river. My fiery attack did little to stop the panther, who charged toward us.
“Hurry up!” I yelled at Guntram.
The panther leaped for us at the same time as Guntram drew a five-pointed star. Bolstered by a water banishment, Guntram’s deluge hit the cat squarely in the chest, sending it flying over the bay. The vaettur skipped like a stone over the water.
“Yes!” I shouted, waiting for it to vanish like vaetturs normally do.
Only, it didn’t. The panther bounced a few more times before its weight overcame momentum. It sunk down into the water, shrieking, its hateful yellow eyes focused on us. I thought it might circle around and come back for a second attack, but it hissed before dropping completely out of sight below the water’s surface.
Guntram relinquished his water attack, but instead of relaxing, he stayed upright in his sigil stance, cursing under his beard.
My pounding heart drummed in my throat. “Guntram,” I whispered. “Why didn’t the banishment succeed?”
“Because it inhaled vitae,” Guntram growled. “And it’s a mishipeshu.”
