by Ann Gimpel
“Yes, but not in a straightforward manner,” the whale replied. “There’s an interplay between how strong we were to begin with—a highly individual measure—and the power inherent in each borderworld. We can survive on many of the borderworlds, but the longer we stay, the harder it is to find the will to leave…”
As the whale droned on, Leif tried out and discarded possible approaches to their dilemma. Moira had been correct about their stay on a borderworld being dangerous. By the time the lines had recovered enough to power a return trip, he, Moira, and the whale might be sunk into the lethargy created by too much time away from Earth. They’d lose their ability to reason, but it wouldn’t matter since a corollary was they’d stop caring about anything beyond making a new life on the borderworld.
He’d been in a similar spot before and barely escaped.
The folks back on Arkady must be frantic, but none of them would have enough magic to launch a rescue effort.
“If we can encourage the heathier parts of the lines to work on the gutted ones—” Leif began.
“Exactly,” Moira jumped in.
“But how can we do that without sucking ourselves dry?” the whale asked, apparently not the least bit annoyed at having been interrupted.
“I’ve been working on it.” Leif inhaled deeply, all the way to the bottom of his lungs, blew it out, and did it again. They’d have one shot at this. “Ideas?” he asked his bondmate, but the dolphin didn’t answer.
“Are you certain we don’t have enough magic to teleport ourselves out of here?” the whale asked. “It’s my assessment, but you sometimes view things from a less conservative perspective.”
“Quite certain,” Leif answered in almost the same breath as Moira.
She added, “Teleporting isn’t as easy for me as it is for you. In fact, it’s not easy at all. I burned through far too much magic getting here.” She screwed her face into a determined expression. “Maybe you two could leave, though. I’d wait until the magic recovered somewhat, and—”
“Not going to happen,” Leif growled.
“We are not leaving one of our own behind,” the whale concurred.
Moira angled a pointed look at both of them. “This isn’t exactly the time for chivalry. Do you suppose we could talk with the lines? Sorry, but I’m shooting in the dark. All I’ve ever done is view them, and from Earth, not from wherever we are now.”
“Not talk in the manner you mean, but there may be a method to communicate with them,” Leif said and settled on the packed earthen floor of the cavern. It felt warm beneath his haunches, and the warmth gave him hope the entire cavern was interconnected.
“What are you doing?” the whale asked.
“Sit next to me. Stretch out your legs so they connect with the cave floor. You too, Moira.”
She sat, legs splayed in front of her. “Now what?”
“Quiet your mind. What do you feel where your body is in contact with the floor?”
“What am I supposed to feel?” the whale muttered.
Leif smothered annoyance. Whales were always literal to a fault. “I’m not sure,” he replied, holding a neutral tone. “Maybe nothing, but we won’t know until we try. I’m guessing this entire structure is intertwined, which might mean the ley lines and the floor and walls and ceiling—”
Next to him, Moira wriggled from side to side. When he looked, he saw her sliding her pants down her legs. She caught the angle of his gaze and shrugged. “Better contact with the ground.” She toed her boots off and pushed them aside before removing her trousers the rest of the way.
Long legs, shapely with muscle, stretched before her, and Leif felt his groin tighten. Before his arousal developed a life of its own, he said brusquely, “Probably a good idea since I’m not feeling much of anything this way.”
The whale muttered in their sea tongue and pushed his pants aside. He wasn’t wearing footwear. None of the sea Shifters did. “Never saw much use for clothes in the first place,” he added in English.
Not trusting his anatomy not to respond to Moira’s nearness, Leif dragged hair over his shoulders to shroud himself. He’d considered cutting it now that he was spending so much time as a human, but maybe this was a good argument for keeping it knee length. To maximize what little power they had, he extended his hands and the others gripped them.
He shut his eyes and concentrated on the warm, uneven surface beneath his legs and buttocks. Minutes ticked past, and he was close to telling Moira and the whale they’d have to come up with something else when the slightest flutter tickled the back of one thigh.
It was so subtle, he might have imagined it, so he forced himself to remain completely still, his mind empty of expectation. Holding a quiet mind was growing easier, which unnerved him. It represented the beginnings of the borderworld sapping his will. He recalled the other time that had happened, and his blood chilled at the memory.
Stop. Do not go there.
Leif inhaled, picturing the ocean and his ability to remain submerged for long periods of time. He parceled air to his body slowly, much as he did when he was a dolphin. Somewhere between the second and third breaths, he felt the same flutter, this time against his other thigh.
Moira tightened her fingers around his hand. Did that mean she’d felt it too?
He waited, focusing the entirely of his attention on breathing. It was like the magic of this place was testing him, and he didn’t want to spook it. If the cavern and ley lines were sentient, it must have infuriated them when Amphitrite showed up and helped herself to what didn’t belong to her.
What had his bondmate said? Magic belongs to everyone.
Cautious, he let the phrase run through his mind. The response was instantaneous, and the flutter beneath him turned into a staccato tide. “Magic does belong to everyone,” he said aloud.
“Was there ever any doubt about it?” Moira trained her intense, dark gaze on him.
“I feel movement beneath me,” the whale said. “What should we do next?”
“Reassure it we mean it no harm,” Leif replied.
“What is it?” the whale asked and shook his big, shaggy head. “I do better in the sea.”
“You do fine here,” Leif reassured him. “It’s different from what we’ve grown used to is all. It has to be whatever powers at least this borderworld, maybe more of them as well.” He tightened his grip on the whale’s and Moira’s hands. “Let me try something.”
“Hurry,” Moira urged. “I’m starting to like it here, which isn’t good.”
Leif gathered energy from the other two Shifters and collected his thoughts before speaking. The undulation beneath his legs hadn’t lessened, and it gave him hope the force behind the ley lines might listen to him. The whole idea was so esoteric, he stumbled wrapping his mind around it. Because it was a losing battle, he stopped trying to force their current situation into any of his previously conceived ideas about how magic and the world worked.
“I apologize for Amphitrite,” he said. “She may be a goddess, but it doesn’t give her permission to steal from you.”
Beneath him, the earth warmed still more, so he forged ahead. “We are very sorry for harm you’ve sustained.” He paused, hunting for words. “Parts of you are stronger than others. Can you work with them to heal yourself?”
A booming, crashing noise rose around where they sat. Leif opened his eyes. If he’d just signed their death warrant, he’d face it squarely.
“Where?” Moira muttered. “It’s asking where.”
“How do you know that?” the whale asked.
“My vulture told me.” She pushed to her feet and walked carefully between two sets of lines. “Here’s a stronger place.” She pointed. “Another sits over there.”
One more boom was followed by several lesser rumbles. Moira kept going, index finger extended as she identified spots the ley lines weren’t as badly damaged.
The whale leaned close. “Maybe this blending of abilities isn’t such a bad idea after
all.”
Leif eyed him. “I had no clue what the entity sitting behind the lines wanted. Neither did you. If we’d had one of the wolf or coyote Shifters along, they may not have, either.”
“The goddess takes care of her own.”
“I’m assuming you’re not referring to Amphitrite.”
The whale made a disgusted, snorting noise. “If I ever lay eyes on her again, I’ll—”
“She’s immortal,” Leif cut in. “Naught we can do but our damnedest to stay out of her way. Poseidon too. Although, I got the impression there’s no love lost between them.”
“Aye, she was quite clear about being on no one’s side but her own.” The whale nodded thoughtfully.
Leif scrambled to his feet, wanting to keep Moira in sight. The cavern’s only light came from the ley lines, and they’d dimmed to perhaps half what they’d been when he arrived. Moira stepped over a line, ducking to avoid the one strung above it, and continued her mission. At least, she was walking back toward him.
The whale stood too and dragged his trousers up his legs. Leif did the same. The skin-to-earth contact had at least snagged the cavern’s attention.
Moira strode to him and bent to retrieve her clothing. “Now we wait,” she said as she dressed.
Leif stared at the lines, but they didn’t appear any brighter. “Do you have any idea how long—?” he began.
She shook her head, cutting off his flow of words. “The others back on Arkady must be desperate. I’m certain they’ve tried to come after us by now and discovered they don’t possess enough magic.”
“The same thought occurred to me,” Leif said.
“Nothing we can do about it,” the whale cut in.
Moira knelt and slid one foot into a boot, which she then laced, following it with the other one. Remaining in a crouch, she shaded her eyes with a hand and focused intently on the lines nearest them. “I keep thinking I shouldn’t hold my psychic view open since it utilizes magic, but I don’t want to miss anything, either. Does that look brighter to you?” She angled her chin to the right.
Leif walked in the direction she’d indicated, close to the next horizontal line over. A pulse began at the far end of the line, slow and undulating like a sea snake emerging from hibernation. By the time it passed him, continuing where the line crossed through the cavern’s wall, it was followed by another.
Faster this time.
After a few more pulses, the line brightened considerably.
“Does that mean we can leave?” Moira asked. Tension zinged through her words, betraying her nervousness.
“Not yet,” Leif cautioned. “Look. More of the lines are joining suit.”
A pattern lit as intersecting lines began to glow. It was beautiful and mesmerizing. Blues and greens and reds and violets blinked and flashed.
A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. The whale squeezed hard. “Better not to look,” he rasped.
Leif tried to close his eyes, but he couldn’t stand to shut out the glory unfolding before him. It sang to him, pulled him, made him long for a life he’d never have again. One where the sea hadn’t been tainted by the Cataclysm, killing almost all the sea Shifters.
“Goddammit.” The whale moved in front of him, grasped his other shoulder, and bodily turned him around.
“Thank you,” Leif muttered.
“What just happened?” Moira sounded confused—and worried.
“It’s how the borderworlds hang onto us,” the whale said. “We invited the energy in when we were sitting in the dirt. Whatever the driving force behind all this is took it as our consent.”
“For what?” Moira’s words held a strangled edge.
“To remain forever,” Leif answered. While he still could, he reached deep, assessing his magic. It was recovering along with the ley lines. Was there enough to power them out of there?
“If we don’t go soon…” The whale left the rest of his thought unspoken.
Leif stood straighter. “Agreed. Our magic is recovering, but so is the mage or god or whoever maintains this place.”
“Won’t we piss it off if we leave?” Moira closed her teeth over her lower lip and moved closer to Leif and the whale.
“Probably, but the longer we remain, the more possessive it will become.” Leif exchanged glances with the whale, who nodded once tersely.
“Get between us,” Leif told Moira. “We’ll include you in our casting.”
He was grateful when she wrapped an arm around them both and didn’t argue or insist she wanted to try this on her own. Their escape would be close, so close they might end up in the airless void between worlds.
“Are we all of one mind?” he asked.
“Is there any choice?” she mumbled.
“Yes,” he told her. “If we remain here, we’ll at least be alive. If we run out of magic between here and Arkady, we’ll all die.”
The arm she’d threaded through his hardened into an iron band. “We have to try.”
“Yes,” the whale agreed. “We do. Being alive on a borderworld is no life at all. We may as well be dead if we remain.”
Leif didn’t respond. If they lost the battle in Siberia, the survivors—if there were any—would probably end up on a borderworld. Nowhere else left to go.
“Open your magic to us,” he told Moira. “We will draw from it, but do not deploy it yourself.”
“I understand. Let’s get on with extricating ourselves from this place.”
Leif launched a channel that encompassed Moira and the whale and let magic boil through him. Once he thought he might have enough, he summoned a spell to teleport them back to the ship.
6
A Whole Lot of Unknowns
Moira unlocked the channel to her magic and abandoned control over what would happen next, which wasn’t easy. She’d always been a major control freak. One of many reasons she’d chosen to work alone whenever she could. No one to argue with about how to do something, and if that something didn’t work out, she didn’t have to deal with recriminations as she introduced plan B.
“You’re a master at turning your shortcomings into virtues.” Her vulture smirked.
Despite the seriousness of their predicament, the corners of her mouth twitched. She didn’t know whether to scold her bondmate or strangle it; the bird rarely missed an opportunity to dish out criticism. Magic surged around them, turning the air blue-white, the color of many of Leif’s workings.
Electricity pricked at her skin, and the fine hairs along her arms rose. Usually, magic held soothing elements, but not this time. She wanted to help, but the only way to do that was by making sure she didn’t engage in a kneejerk reaction and protect her magical center by tossing up wards.
The specter of dying in the void between worlds mocked her. She was strong, knowledgeable. Leif had made a mistake not allowing her to control the feed of her power—
“None of that.” The vulture was back.
Moira felt its peculiar brand of energy clamp around her, watchful and ready. Even if she lost it and panicked, her bondmate wouldn’t allow her to do anything to interfere with Leif’s spell.
It bubbled and boiled, thickening the air around the ley lines. The bizarre light show intensified. This time, captivating enough to draw her in. Since she held onto Leif and the whale, it seemed safe enough to look. Red diamonds merged into blue circles and thence into greenish diamond shapes.
Tension bled out of her. The kaleidoscopic effect was reassuring, soothing. What a silly goose she’d been to—”
A sharp blow centered on her midsection almost unbalanced her, and she started to pull away from the men.
“It wasn’t them.” The vulture enunciated each word as if it spoke to a child. “Empty your mind. Don’t watch. Don’t think.”
Irritation surged, driving the dreamy trance state aside. “You can’t order me about.”
“I can, and I will if your misplaced attention threatens everyone’s survival. Breathe deep. Pretty soon, there won’t b
e any more air.”
She knew better than to ask Leif or the whale anything. Lines of strain carved deeply into both their faces. Even with magic thick enough to touch, they remained in the cavern.
Why wasn’t the spell working? Did they not have enough spirit to carry it off?
She was still employing her psychic view. She cut it off to funnel a little more energy to the men’s efforts. Once she’d returned to her earth eyes, the macabre dance laid out before her vanished, the lines merely glowing ropes again. She inhaled raggedly and held it. She hadn’t freed up much. Would it help?
Leif changed incantations to one she knew. Even though she wasn’t imbuing her words with magic, she chanted along with him and the whale. Between one breath and the next, the cavern walls exploded, and they hung suspended in the same void she remembered from their trip there.
Leif and the whale continued to chant, so she did too. She wanted to ask her bondmate if this was a good sign or the beginning of what would be a short, downhill slide to death and oblivion, but she was afraid of its answer.
Instead, she said, “Maybe you should leave while you can.”
“Too late for that.”
“No, it’s not,” Moira urged. “All the borderworlds are linked. You could return to the animals’ world—”
“Not going. It’s a coward’s path. Save your energy.”
Her eyes prickled with unshed tears, and she wasn’t the crying type. Her lungs were starting to burn, and she dragged her jacket over her nose, hoping to capture some trapped air molecules. She tightened her hold on Leif and the whale. Come on, she urged without words, trying to convey hope and belief through her touch.
Her magical reservoir, what there’d been left in it, was emptying fast. Not being able to breathe would only hasten the process. She tried to remember how long it had taken them to get to the borderworld when they left Arkady, but sentient thought was departing fast.
Deep in her mind, the vulture fluffed its feathers, standing at attention, beak opening and closing. The small clacks blatted through Moira’s head, sounding like a small-caliber weapon. Nothing soft or fuzzy about her bondmate.
