The Shift of the Tide

by Jeffe Kennedy

  Marskal leaned in, murmuring into my ear, “See? It’s not just me and my family.”

  Over dinner, we told them about the sleeper spies, a topic Ursula’s missive had alluded to, but hadn’t detailed.

  Ami and Ash exchanged a long look, and he cleared his throat. “We’ve had them here,” he explained. “That’s what we planned to tell you.”

  A chill—which had up until then been adequately fended off by the roaring fire in the stone fireplace big enough for Marskal to stand upright in—ran across my skin.

  Marskal put a hand to his blade, scanning the shadows as if something might leap out at us. “What happened?”

  “Various creatures,” Ash replied. “Mostly a twisted sort of wolf. All as you describe. Mindless, but with some sort of ability to hide themselves until they attack.”

  “That’s the other reason the Tala nurses went home,” Ami put in, a wrinkle in her pert nose. “They called the creatures evil shapeshifters—and a lot more in Tala that I couldn’t get them to translate—and refused to stay. They left though the rest of us were snowbound. Suffice to say we had an interesting Feast of Moranu.”

  Ash took her hand and kissed her fingertips, green eyes full of meaning. “Good with the bad, yes?”

  She blushed, prettily, as she did everything, but she had a determined set to her chin. “The best ever.” She said it like a vow.

  I looked away from it, catching Marskal’s knowing gaze.

  “We’ve killed all the ones we’ve found,” Ash continued, his scarred face sobering. “But I’m certain there are more. The tunnels are so narrow, it never made sense to me to take more men down there. I didn’t see how we could kill enough of the creatures to justify the men we’d lose. It was easiest to wall off the tunnels. I’m having the men unblock a passage for you while we eat. Since we closed them off, we haven’t seen any more of the creatures. Still—I sometimes think I sense them, like a strange scent on the air.”

  “You’re a Tala partblood, yes?” I asked.

  Ami glared at me and opened her mouth, but Ash squeezed her hand and smiled. “Zynda doesn’t mean it as an insult. Yes, I am. With sufficient shapeshifter blood magic to heal, but not to shift.”

  I examined him with that inner sense I seemed to have gained. “You came to it late in life, or you would have. I’m sorry.”

  He gave me a funny half smile. “Don’t be. I’m happy in my skin. Grateful for the life I have.” His gaze wandered to Ami again and softened. “More than grateful.”

  “I mostly ask because I think shapeshifter blood can detect them,” I said. “I feel like I can smell them, too—only it’s not exactly a scent.”

  Ash nodded slowly, eyes hard again in his corrugated face. “Same. Also, there’s something else. I’ve been working with various groups to locate Tala partbloods in hiding, especially escaped convicts.”

  “I know something of that. King Rayfe and Queen Andromeda are committed to repatriating all of our partbloods.”

  “Yes.” He looked grim. “But they’re disappearing before we can get to them.”

  “Disappearing?” Marskal asked.

  Ash shrugged. “We get word of one or more. Our people go to meet with them—we’ve been having good luck at making contact and drawing them out in the recent past—but then they’re gone without a trace.” He raised his brows at me. “Others have mentioned a strange scent.”

  “Moranu preserve us,” Marskal swore.

  Ash dipped his chin. “I couldn’t have said it better.”

  With no reason to delay and feeling the press of Deyrr’s stink, I resolved to descend into the tunnels that night. Marskal, of course, came with me.

  “You don’t need to.” I tried yet again. We’d long since passed the storage cellars—along with the guard stationed at the narrow, unbricked opening—and entered corridors carved by lava flow rather than the castle’s builders. The heat grew steadily, thick and humid, the hiss of vapors combining with the roar of the surf on the other side of the rock walls.

  “Don’t start,” Marskal replied, evenly and without inflection. Though his sword remained sheathed, he’d drawn his heavy knife, carrying it at the ready in one hand, a torch in the other.

  “Are you going to stick the dragon with that knife?”

  He met the mocking gaze I tossed over my shoulder with grim severity. “If necessary.”

  “You know I can’t save you if—”

  “Oops,” he cut in. “That counts as starting. Don’t. How about you share your plan instead?”

  I sighed, which he ignored, then twisted up my hair, pinning it in place as we walked. The oppressive, moist heat was truly unbearable. “I remember the feel of the magic spell on Nahanau when Nakoa used the connection with Dafne to wake Kiraka. I ought to be able to replicate it. This dragon has been on the verge of waking longer. If not, I have another idea that might work.”

  “What do you think it means, that the volcano has been quieter?” Marskal asked.

  “I don’t know,” I replied, troubled by that, too. “I hope a sleeper spy hasn’t gotten to the dragon.”

  Unsurprised, Marskal nodded, grim. “That’s my fear also.”

  I followed the sense of dragon, indicating the direction and Marskal finding the appropriate tunnel. Until we reached those deeper than any he’d explored before, twisted channels with narrow openings we had to crawl through.

  We emerged into a somewhat bigger chamber, large enough that the torchlight didn’t penetrate the shadows, and the stink hit me. I held up a hand to signal Marskal. He immediately thrust the torch into a crevice, and drew his sword, too. All at my slightest gesture of warning. Love quick-punched me, an emotion I didn’t have time for.

  All was still for a moment, the only sounds the gasp and hiss of the venting gases. I wasn’t at all sure what had alerted me; perhaps I’d imagined it. The torchlight flickered, as did Marskal’s eyes, darting as they scoured the gloom.

  “There,” he whispered, pointing his sword and taking a half-step forward. As if summoned, a massive creature leapt from those shadows, snarling with rage, reeking of death. With a speed belying its size it juked around the sphere defined by Marskal’s reach, fangs bared. Going for my throat.

  I dodged with shapeshifter speed, slipping into tiger form, while Marskal spun on its flank, stabbing it in the side of its shaggy neck with his sword. The blow should have felled—or at least staggered—the beast, but the creature didn’t so much as pause as it stalked toward me, ripping the hilt from his hand. Marskal frowned, nonplussed, as the wolf-thing prowled forward, the sword still lodged in its hide. Then his usual determined visage snapped into place and he advanced again, armed only with his big dagger.

  I growled deep my throat as I instinctively backed away, my tail lashing with feline rage. Don’t let the instincts overwhelm you, I told myself, mindful of Marskal’s advice to Zyr to fight with the mind of a person. Oh, but it felt good to be the tiger, to rend and tear, to be powerful again. With a roar I leapt at the creature and we tumbled together, jaws snapping, claws slicing.

  Its teeth found my shoulder and I yowled with pain. Without thought my rear legs pulled to my abdomen and I raked down, eviscerating the squirming monster. Putrefied innards and black ichor spilled from the wound, but the creature continued to fight. Its claws sliced my flank. I barely felt the wound as I tried desperately to grapple the beast. It was no use, the creature was too much larger, too much stronger than I was.

  But it didn’t have to be. With a burst of will I summoned the form of an elephant. Toppling the creature with the sudden shift, I pinned it under my massive gray foot. As if we’d rehearsed such tag-teaming, Marskal dashed in, grabbing the sword protruding from the wolf-creature’s neck and, with a deft motion, severed its spine.

  But it didn’t stop struggling. Just as the pieces of those fish-birds had kept fluttering grotesquely on the deck of the Hákyrling. I reached down with my trunk and, avoiding its snarling head, wrapped around its thick n
eck and pulled, decapitating the writhing horror. It stared at me with mad eyes, jaws continuing to snap voicelessly—and for a moment I imagined I saw a human being trapped inside that monstrous form. Appalled, I gave into my instincts and squeezed with all my might. The bones crumbled, pulping under my grip. I released the disgusting mess and allowed myself a victory trumpet.

  Coming back to human form was a relief, if only to shed the disgusting ichor. Marskal, his blade still impaling the beast’s chest, assessed me. “You took some hits.”

  “Healed by shifting back,” I assured him. “And at least—”

  “Watch out,” he warned as he used his off hand to push me to the side. The half-crushed carcass of the headless beast was attempting to rise. With four efficient strokes, he severed each of the legs at the knee. The claws continued to sheath and unsheathe.

  “These…things, they don’t die easy,” he muttered. “This one seems neutralized, if not exactly dead. We should probably burn the remains. Do you know what they are?”

  “Nothing natural. Definitely stinks of Deyrr, but the magic is different,” I told him. “Like the shark. A variation. But a fortunate one for us. I have this. Stand back.”

  He withdrew his blade and circled behind me. I applied the magic I’d prepared, vanishing the still-moving remains of the beast.

  “Onward?” Marskal asked, cleaning his blade.

  “Yes, though I’m afraid of what we’ll find.”

  “More of the same, I’m guessing,” he replied.

  An accurate guess. We killed five more of the creatures, all of them monstrous, though none in exactly the same way. Each continued to battle despite a multitude of mortal wounds; only dismemberment worked. Each focused on me, ignoring Marskal unless he interposed himself. Which he insisted on doing, ignoring my arguments.

  Over time, the relentlessness of their assaults began to wear on us. We pushed through the fatigue, but each attack was more difficult to repulse than the last. The third beast scored a bite on Marskal’s leg, slowing him. The fifth nearly took his eye, but he deflected with his forearm at the last instant, taking three deep gashes there from the creature’s claws. Nonetheless, he steadfastly refused to leave my side. I comforted myself that Ash could heal him at the end of all this. We went deeper—and something brushed my mind. Like Kiraka, but… sleepier.

  “Who—Kiraka?” The awareness sharpened. “My love, are you here?”

  The keen-edged excitement in the mind, the excruciating leap of hope, nearly ripped out my already tender heart. Despair and resolve were my companions. Hope only made me hurt and I couldn’t handle any more pain. I was too weak.

  “No. But I’m a friend. And I know Kiraka. She sent me.”

  “Kiraka! Where are you?” The mind-voice was thready, as if hoarse from disuse, and clearly confused—like talking to one very old and not seated in reality. The volcano rumbled, fires roaring somewhere off to my right. The heat became unbearable. Sweat rolled down Marskal’s face as he watched me for cues, utterly calm and focused.

  “Kiraka is awake. She bids you wake, too.”

  “Kiraka is awake. Kiraka is awake.” The chant sounded almost childish, and I hesitated to feed the growing hysterical urge to move that emanated from it. The volcano rumbled again, the stone floor of the tunnel shuddering so I staggered sideways, caught by Marskal’s steady hand. “Her Highness will be angry if you wreck her castle,” he observed. “Work on releasing the dragon without that part, okay?”

  I had to laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “See? Kiraka, I can’t see you. I hurt. I can’t move. Where are you? Kiraka!” The volcano roared. Or was it the dragon? The thing off to my right that had been venting gave way with a collapse of stone rubble.

  “Remember the babies,” Marskal said calmly. “Your kin. Protect them.”

  We should have evacuated them. Why hadn’t I thought of that? My heart fluttered, hummingbird speed, stressed and needing to escape. “We have to get out of here,” I breathed.

  Marskal’s hand closed on my arm. I wondered wildly what he’d done with the knife he’d held. He caught and held my gaze, torchlight and shadows leaping wildly across his face, his brown eyes steady as earth. “Handle it. You know shapeshifters. You have this.”

  Something thumped, a huge tail hitting rock. “I have to see him, look him in the eye.”

  “Go,” he replied. “I have your back.”

  “Kiraka!”

  “Here, I’m here,” I mind-whispered, soothing, adding images and feelings like I would for the toddlers or for a staymach.

  “Kiraka…” He crooned the word, ages of love and passion riddling it like venting tunnels of lava. “I’ve waited all this time. I was so afraid that…”

  “Don’t be afraid. All is well. Kiraka is awake. She’s waiting for you. Where are you?”

  “Here. But it’s so dark. I want out. I’m trapped. These things. Who trapped me?”

  “You’re inside a volcano where you went to sleep. Remember going to sleep?”

  “No.”

  “That’s okay—I’m here to help. The memories will come back.”

  I followed the call of his voice, wending my way through blind passages, picking over rockfalls. Then we stumbled into a cavern that hadn’t seemed to exist a moment ago, and there was the dragon. We faced a ruby eye more than twice our height. An enormous tail thrashed, rocks rattling from the ceiling. The dragon tried to lift his head, but dropped it weakly again. Wrapped around his gleaming silver scales were nearly a dozen long, fetid tendrils, festooned with pulsing suckers. Each tentacle led back to a malignant lump on the dragon’s back, a huge tower of decaying flesh.

  The stink of Deyrr was nearly unbearable.

  “He needs our help.” I had to swallow down my sympathetic horror at the sight.

  “How do you know it’s a male?”

  “He’s been talking to me. But he’s not… entirely sane.”

  “You say that like you think Kiraka is.” He grimaced when I didn’t smile. “I’m not surprised, given the nightmares the poor bastard must have been having. How do you want to go about this?”

  “If we can cut those tendrils off of him, I can vanish them. I don’t want to try it with them attached. Then we can deal with that…whatever it is.” I gestured toward the main mass on the dragon’s spine.

  Marskal nodded grimly, stepping forward. I put a hand on his arm. “You’re wounded. Are you up for this?”

  “Let’s finish it and get out of this place.”

  Tentatively, we approached the nearest of the vile growths. It stretched from the nexus on the dragon’s back all the way along its neck, terminating just below and behind the gargantuan red eye. The scales where the suckers attached were mottled and discolored, flaking away. One of the suckers quivered, like a suckling baby might, and I had to suppress the urge to retch. I reached out, wanting nothing more than to pull the abomination off the lustrous scales of the dragon.

  “Wait,” cautioned Marskal. I stopped, and Marskal stepped forward. He worked his dagger between the tendril and the dragon and began to pry. The sucker began to spasm, and Marskal grunted with exertion. He put a leg up on a scale for extra leverage, and gripping the blade with both hands, pulled. The cords in his neck stood out, his muscles straining. Finally, after an interminable moment, the sucker released and that segment of the tentacle had a slight droop to it. The scale it had been draining flushed with sparkling silver, already beginning to look healthier.

  We shared a look that was a mixture of satisfaction, triumph, and exhaustion. We could do this, but it would take time. Then a horrible screech split the air. Had I been in animal form, I might have been deafened. As it was I merely clutched my ears. All over the dragon, the tendrils unwrapped themselves, withdrawing. The pillar of decaying flesh on the dragon’s back moved. Two glassy eyes opened. As I stared into those cold, malevolent orbs, a cetacean memory thrust itself into my consciousness: kraken.

  “Down!” shouted
Marskal as a tendril whipped towards my head. Instead I shifted to my falcon form, soaring above the flailing limb. Marskal stood his ground, resolute, a castle withstanding a siege. As a tentacle flew toward his head he sidestepped and swung his sword, the momentum of the incoming attack adding to the power of his slice. Ichor splashed from the severed appendage and the kraken roared in anguish.

  With the behemoth distracted, I stooped for one of its alien eyes and was satisfied to feel it burst under my talons. Too late, a tentacle curled up to protect its ruined organ, pressing into the eye socket. Three more shot up, attempting to snare me. I banked and dipped, a small target for the huge beast, but one of the suckers caught my wing, dragging me down.

  I went weak, my magic and life force draining away. Shifting without thought, I took cobra form. My brilliant gold scales were too slick to provide any purchase to the grasping suckers and I slithered free. The serpent instincts clamored to run and hide, but I forced myself to stay, to turn and sink my fangs into one of the whirling tendrils, pumping my venom into it.

  No luck. The thrashing didn’t slow. I shifted again, becoming a crocodile. I released my bite and snapped down again, cleaving the limb. Two more tentacles darted toward me and I became a hare, bounding over one and under another.

  Unlike the wolf-creatures, the kraken treated both Marskal and me as a threat. Part of me worried for him, but despite the limitation of a single body he moved in a graceful and complicated dance, weaving around each whirling tentacle as it came for him and inflicting telling blows with regularity. He seemed at one with his sword, existing completely in the moment. Perhaps Final Form would give me something of that thorough self-knowledge, that complete and steady cohesiveness.

  Although he had his back to me, he seemed to sense my gaze. “Don’t worry about me,” he grunted even as he leaped over a tentacle attempting to sweep his leg. “I’ve got it distracted. End this.”