There was a whistling, whizzing sound as something shot at him, from out of nowhere. He gave a cry and flattened himself to the ground. Overhead, he heard a distinct thunk as an arrow lodged itself into a tree. The arrow was of light-colored wood, the feathers on the end of some kind of bird he hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t one of those store-bought arrows with the plastic feathers.
“Stand up!” a woman’s cry demanded.
From behind a tree trunk, a woman revealed herself. Her dress was torn and tangled at the bottom, suggesting that she too had been wandering through the forest like he had. She had high cheekbones that made her face seem regal, even with the dirt that streaked across it. Her long black hair was captured in a long braid down her back and...were those pointed ears? Her ears were delicately pointed at the top, like some storybook fairy.
“Stand up!” she yelled again, her green eyes blazing.
Figuring that obeying him would save him from being skewered by an arrow, Marco stood up slowly, his hands up in front of him in the universal sign of, please don’t shoot me.
The woman approached him, a tautly-strung bow in her hands. She notched an arrow and aimed at him.
“Are you human?” she demanded.
When he didn’t answer fast enough, she let the arrow fly. It had to be a deliberate miss with how close she was. The arrow tore through his shirt and lodged into the tree behind him.
“Are you?” she shouted, her voice growing angrier with each passing moment. “Answer me! Are you human?”
Chapter Five
The sun was starting to set over Moonriver Academy. Dirk had asked several people if there were any foreign visitors, but so far, no one had heard anything. The Shadow Assassins had not landed in Moonriver, like they were supposed to.
He consulted with another teacher about the matter. The only thing that made sense was that whoever had attacked had disrupted the portal. It was supposed to be a difficult thing to do, but by disrupting the portal and its original destination, it opened the portal up to the complicated network of portals that made up the white void they traveled in. The Shadow Assassins could have landed anywhere on the continent of Aurialis for all he knew...if they were in fact on Aurialis.
It wasn’t a good situation to be in. He was responsible for the Shadow Assassins and now they were nowhere to be found. Their original mission was in jeopardy now, the one that involved only a little observation. The Shadow Assassins were missing.
In addition to all of that, he had one more problem on his hands. The hybrid Dante sat in his office, an unruly student to be disciplined. Now, in addition to the larger crisis on hand, he had to resume his normal duty as Dante’s unofficial caregiver.
“What exactly were you thinking?” he asked her.
She glared down at the ground, making it clear that she hadn’t been thinking of much at all. She sat before him in the typical uniform of Moonriver Academy, the black slacks, polished shoes and black blazer over white shirt and purple tie. The front of the blazer had many golden buttons and the school’s insignia on it in deep purple thread. She wore hers unbuttoned, with her white shirt untucked and sloppily wrinkled. He could have disciplined her for her untidiness alone, but there were other matters to attend to.
“The mage started it,” she sighed. “I really hate her, you know that.”
“And that is why you cannot let her get to you. By allowing her to anger you, you allow her to wield that much more power over you.” He sighed, echoing her. “Dante, I care about you, but this is not the time to need my disciplinary touch. I–”
He was cut off by a knock on his office door.
“Enter,” he called.
The door opened and a tiny man entered. The man barely reached the height of Dirk’s chest, but he spoke with power. “No word yet on your four visitors, sir. Do you want us to expand our search?”
One more weary sigh escaped him. “Yes. Extend to the entire grounds of the school. If they’re on our property, find them.”
“Yes, sir.” with that, the man headed out the room.
“You have visitors?” Dante asked, disciplinary action forgotten.
He didn’t answer her on that. Instead, he said, “Go back to your room, Dante. One more fight with another student and you will be on academic probation, if not other disciplinary actions. Go.”
He watched her leave before he sat back on his chair. This was not a good situation. He would have to seek permission to open another portal back to the First Realm. Dr. Fyrn should be notified about what happened to his team.
Far from Moonriver Academy, another society stirred. The werecat tribe of Kkyathi was bustling with activity. Rough-hewn cabins made out of wood stood in a forest clearing. There were metal disks above the door of each cabin, the disks also rough-hewn and roughly circular. It was the moon-disk, the good luck charm of each cabin to welcome in the moonlight and its good graces. Between the ten or so cabins were bright orange and red tents as tall as the house. These tents also had the moon-disk on the front entrance.
Tradition must be kept. The moon-disks were as old as the tribe itself. The same went for the piece of jewelry one woman held. The woman, slight in build and wearing a plain white dress, held a silver disk in her hand about an inch in circumference. Etched into the disk was a symbol of one of the moon phases – hers held a crescent moon shape etched into the circular pendant. The leather cord was tangled around her fingers. It was habit that had her taking the leather cord off from her pale neck. Pale fingers ran over the worn metal, taking comfort in the familiar feeling of the worn etching.
“Worried, aren’t you, Kikkaho?”
She turned and faced another woman in a short, crude-cut dress. The woman’s face was scarred badly, but she still smiled.
“Always worried,” the woman, Kikkaho, said.
“Don’t be. The warriors are coming home tonight!”
It was as if the scarred woman had said some magical word. At the edge of their home clearing, there was a small cheering and the distant sound of drums. She listened for the pattern of percussion beats, picking out the notes of the Kkyathi victory dance. Victory. The warriors had come home with food and other supplies.
“Yes,” she said faintly, pausing to slip the leather cord over her head before taking off at a run. The leather necklace dangled the pendant down past her breasts and to the center of her chest. The cord was absurdly long, but that was required for her kind. As she ran, the moon-disk pendant bounced against her chest, her shoulder-length blonde hair streaming out behind her.
A procession was making its way to the center of her camp, of men and women. There were no horses like other colonies and tribes used, but there were many men and women, all carrying a bag of supplies or an animal that had been successfully hunted. There were several warriors still in what they called feral form, or their animal form. Large cats patrolled the perimeters of their traveling group. At the front was an older man with graying hair, a woman in the traditional Kkyathi warrior armor and a strange human male.
Kikkaho ignored their strange visitor for a moment and ran to the two leading the group. “Father! Sister!”
Her father held out his arms to her and she ran right into an awaiting hug.
“Welcome home,” she said.
The older man hugged her tight and gave her is own greeting. He was the chief of the Kkyathi tribe. In his older age, he rarely hunted with the others, instead, joining the hunting party to guide his daughter, Kikkaho’s half-sister.
“I see you fare well, sis,” said the woman in leather armor.
“Kirrah. Glad to see you as well.”
Other greetings were exchanged among the Kkyathi and supplies were distributed. The slaughtered animals were brought into a large tent with several other supplies. The crowd disbanded into several of the cabins or tents.
Kikkaho oversaw each of the tribe move, before turning to the strange male in their party. “Who is this?”
Kirrah p
ushed ink-dark hair out of her golden eyes. “I found him on our hunting grounds. He’s a shape shifter, this one. I saw him shift out of a bird form.”
“Why is he bound as if he were a prisoner?” Kikkaho asked, noting how his arms had been bound behind him with leather cord.
The woman named Kirrah frowned, accentuating a small scar near her lip. “Khala’s idea. Useless really, considering he can shift out of it, but he has not moved yet.”
“I’ll take him. Thank you for the successful hunt.”
“Of course, my sister.”
Kirrah’s voice was ripe with formality, but Kikkaho didn’t bother to correct her. Half-sisters they may be, but Kirrah had never warmed to Kikkaho at all. They were total opposites, inside and out. Kikkaho had been charged to lead the women and families who remained behind when the hunting party left to roam the woods outside their small village. Her father Korjah, the Kkyathi chief, insisted it was best for her to run the village, while he took Kirrah out and taught her how to lead the warriors. Younger than Kikkaho, Kirrah had war in her veins. She was the perfect warrior, while Kikkaho was the perfect diplomat.
Unfortunately, that difference in their being meant that they had no other common ground to bond on. Kirrah made a rapid exit, leaving Kikkaho alone with the strange younger male.
She turned to him. “Why don’t we untie you?”
The man allowed her to remove the leather bindings before he backed off from her, his eyes wide in fear.
“I will not hurt you,” she said calmly, meeting his eyes. “I am not a warrior like they are.”
“What are you?” he asked.
Her eyes widened. He spoke Kkyathi-Wereinsh, her native tongue! The way he spoke it sounded choppy, as if he either wasn’t a native speaker or was using a magical device to translate. Mage speak, it had to be. If he was truly a shape shifter as her sister had said, he must associate with mages to be able to use the universal translator of magic.
“We are the Kkyathi, a werecat tribe,” she explained calmly. “You were found on Kkyathi hunting grounds. This is our village. What are you called, shape shifter, and how are you speaking our language so fluently?”
“My name is Kaleb,” the man said after hesitating for a moment. What followed was a confusing series of events, something about coming from the First Realm, jumping through a portal and becoming lost. He explained the foul potion he had drunken before crossing over, which explained the fluency he spoke with.
“Kay-leb,” she mused over his name. “Such a strange name. Well, Kaleb, you are safe as long as you do not threaten my people here. You are free to go as well, if you wish it. You are not a prisoner of ours. I hope you find your people.”
Her words were a clear dismissal, giving him the option to leave if he chose. She expected him to do just that, as others have done when they were found trespassing on Kkyathi hunting grounds. Instead, the man in the strange black clothing glanced at her with dark gray eyes, taking her form in. It was unnerving, as if he had never seen a werecat before, but as he said, he was from the First Realm.
“I don’t know where they are,” he said, finally. “My people, that is. We all got separated. I don’t know where I am.”
She gave him a kind smile. “Well, Kaleb, you are in the Second Realm, on the continent of Aurialis, on the territory of the Kkyathi.”
She saw the growing smile that crossed his lips. He chuckled. She had to laugh with him.
“Come,” she said. “I will introduce you to our people. Maybe one of them can help you find your lost comrades.”
Kaleb followed the woman called Kikkaho as she led him to a large orange and red tent. Above each dwelling was the same circular disk that each of the Kkyathi wore around their necks. He supposed it was something to signify the were-part of each of them. Werecats. He had never heard of werecats, but he had gotten a good demonstration of them.
The woman he had encountered in the forest had given him a good demonstration. When she had shifted back into her human form, she had threatened him at knife point, demanding to know who he was and why he was on their hunting ground. It was only after other Kkyathi warriors had found them that she had backed down and pulled on leather armor. A redheaded woman had chided her about running around naked.
The werecats were an interesting tribe. He walked around with Kikkaho as she introduced him to others. Most of the people who had remained behind were women raising families or men too old or weak to fight or be of use gathering food and supplies. The healthy warriors were bustling around, too busy to stop and say hello, but preparing the slaughtered animals for roasting or other preparations. He briefly saw Kirrah, the woman who had captured him, and the redhead who had chided her. The two women were inside the tent, their lips locked in a tender kiss. Kaleb averted his gaze. Kikkaho passed over the two without much notice, as if she were used to seeing the two together.
As they went around the village, Kikkaho explained what the disks were for. Moon-disks, she called them, for protection and a reminder of who lived there. Each of the werecats had a specific time of the lunar phase when they felt the most powerful and were most prone to shifting. It wasn’t like the werewolf, she said, who were bound specifically to the full moon. The Kkyathi tribe could shift to what she called feral form, or the cat form, at any time, but each werecat had a specific moon phase to abide by. The Kkyathi who shifted during a particular phase of the moon went out on what were called midnight hunts, to shift and hunt and do whatever it was that their feral form demanded them to do.
“You’re lucky that you didn’t catch Kirrah in pure feral form,” Kikkaho added. Pure feral form was what they called the Kkyathi who were forced to shift during their moon phase. According to the werecat in front of him, the Kkyathi were most dangerous when in their pure feral stage.
As the tour to the village came to a close, Kikkaho turned to him. “You are welcome to stay if you like, Kaleb.”
“I’d like that,” he said after a moment. He wasn’t sure what it was about this werecat tribe, but he felt an odd sort of connection to them, more so than he had with normal humans. Maybe it was that animal part of the weres that he liked, he didn’t know.
Kikkaho gave him a brilliant smile. “I’d like that, too.”
Chapter Six
His name was Erik. That was how he introduced himself to Evangeline. After telling her his name, he paused, and then added the word prince, with some distaste. Prince Erik, of the Emeralde Kingdom.
Evangeline responded politely, as to not seem rude to him. Inside, her thoughts turned over unpleasantly. She was in the Emeralde Kingdom, the place Dirk the vampire wanted them to inspect and investigate. Prince Erik’s father, the king, was the one responsible for so many deaths. She had expected a kingdom of stereotypical darkness, but instead, what she found was a verdant forest and a castle with brilliant green banners. Equal to her liking was the prince in front of her, wearing a friendly smile.
He did not fear her instinctively, as most humans did. Or, if he felt that edge of fear, he was good at not showing it.
“Evangeline,” he said, echoing her name after she had said it. “And where do you come from, Lady Evangeline? Surely not from around here. You do not dress as the rest of the women in our kingdom do.”
She hesitated, then explained her situation from the First Realm, carefully leaving out any details about investigating this man’s kingdom. Instead, she focused on the fact that she was separated from her friends and that she didn’t know anything about the land about her. Prince Erik listened, fascinated by her story.
“Moonriver Academy is to the east of us,” he said. “If you would like, I can escort you there.”
“You would be able to do that?” she said with a small smile. She didn’t know why she was so trusting of the son of a supposedly prejudice and genocidal king. His father would strike her down for what she was, but the prince himself wasn’t so bad.
He nodded. “Yes. I am...well, supposedly o
n a lone hunting trip. It is one of the only things Father allows me to do alone, to prove I am a man worthy of the crown.”
She noted how his voice was tinged with distaste. “What are you really doing, if you are supposedly on a hunting trip?”
He shrugged. “Relaxing. Fishing. I have a hunting cabin some distance away from here. Would you like to join me there? It may be more relaxing than this open forest.”
It didn’t seem right to trust him so quickly, but Evangeline sensed no threat from this kind prince. He didn’t eye her with hatred and distrust, as other people might have. She could only smile and nod at him.
He dismounted his horse. “Here, you ride on my horse, Nightstorm. It is not proper for a lady to be forced to walk while the man rides leisurely.”
“No, I can’t–”
“I insist, my lady.”
What was it about this man? Evangeline saw nothing particularly special about the prince, from his pale skin to his light brown hair. His emerald eyes shone in the sun. They were kind, trusting. It wasn’t the kindness she was used to and really only able to find among her friends the Shadow Assassins. This man, however, a total stranger, seemed ready to trust her.
There was the unfortunate complication of the horse to deal with, though. With an awkward admittance, Evangeline confessed that she had never ridden a horse. He didn’t seem to mind and instead introduced her to his war horse, then showed her the proper way to mount Nightstorm. He tried showing her the way to sit like a lady on a horse, but the horse protested like she did; it felt unnatural to her. So, with a laugh, he showed her how to sit properly on the saddle in the way a man did. For this, the horse stayed still, only snorting lightly as her weight settled over him. Prince Erik grabbed hold of the reins and led Nightstorm and the war horse’s rider away from the castle and deeper into the forest.
As they traveled, the prince allowed himself to talk, as if he had been searching for someone to converse with. He mentioned the men in armor and his father’s ridiculous idea of a war. This got Evangeline’s attention and when she questioned him, he seemed eager to answer her. He spoke of his father’s confusing ways and how it seemed as though his father was a different person than he had been a few years ago. A few years ago, his father would never had considered the thought of war, especially against a certain type of people that did not exist among their kingdom, but now it was as if his mind had twisted. Some of the villagers spoke of demon influence. Evangeline didn’t seem to believe that demons could influence the king so, but the prince mentioned that in this world, demons existed in physical form and they interacted with humans just as angels and gods did.
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