Special Passage (The Coursodon Dimension Book 4)

by M. L. Ryan

  Soldiers scattered in all directions as I flew toward Jerkoff’s escape route, and I thought for troops, they weren’t very brave. Uncertain what type of weaponry J.O. possessed, I dismissed my original plan of ripping his face open with my talons, opting for the less painful ignominy of unloading some hawk-poo on him to avoid flying too close.

  I tried to summon a massive shit-bomb, but was disappointed when nothing emerged from my back end. Instead, my wings—of their own volition, it seemed—swung forward, and flames engulfed the fleeing soldier. J.O. screamed as he burned, and even with a bird’s poor olfactory senses, I’d never forget the acrid smell of roasting skin.

  Glancing down at the shadow I cast over both the immolated would-be rapist and the terrified throng cowering nearby, I realized it was way too big for a Harris’s hawk.

  Son of a fucking goddamned bitch, I’ve turned into Birdzilla.

  There was no time to wrap my feathery—scaly?—head around that as a volley of arrows flew toward me. Banking to the left, I avoided the barrage, but was unsure of what I should do next. I wasn’t used to the larger body, this being only the second time I’d ventured into the realm of mythical-creature status, and the first and only instance when I’d been aware of what I was doing. Assuming the arrows could only launch so far, I flew higher to get out of range.

  So far, so good, I thought, noticing no more bowmen poised for attack as I circled the compound. Jifga was standing a few feet away from the now-smoldering remains of Jerkoff, along with three of his men. The soldiers were holding someone, but from my altitude, I couldn’t quite make out who it was. It took only a slight descent to identify their victim as Alex, and one of the goons had a knife shoved against his neck. Jifga was yelling something I couldn’t really hear, and as it was Dekankaran, I couldn’t understand even if I hadn’t been so far away.

  His palms raised, Ulut pleaded with the warlord. Eventually, Jifga stopped shouting, and Ulut stepped back a few feet. The details of his appeal became clear when he shifted into his dog form. Jifga, along with all the other Dekankarans, gaped at the sudden transformation, but otherwise stayed put.

  “Hailey? Can you hear me?”

  I didn’t think I’d ever been happier to hear a voice in my head. “Yes, Ulut, I can.” We’d done this before, communicating telepathically at distance when he was a dog and I was a hawk, and I was relieved it worked now.

  “Thank God. Jifga will kill Alex if you do not stand down.”

  “I’m down, I’m down,” I shouted mentally. “I didn’t mean to kill him; it was an accident.” That wasn’t completely true. I wanted to kill J.O., but I’d thought it impossible as a hawk. “I didn’t know I was… whatever I am,” I sent out more softly.

  “Before I transformed, I told him you can only communicate with me, and only when I am an animal. We can check later if you can transmit thoughts to others like you can as a hawk.”

  Secret dialogues were possible only with Ulut when we were both in our animal forms. If I concentrated, when birdy, I could push thoughts out, but anyone within a short distance could hear them. While neither Jifga nor his men understood English, Ulut must have figured the less they knew about my ability to communicate, the better. Unfortunately, Ulut couldn’t “speak” with anyone but me in his doggy form. Unless he planned to shift back and forth, continuing as middle-dog-man between the warlord and me wouldn’t be possible.

  As I pondered the dilemma, Sebastian launched into a frantic combination of broken Dekankaran and some pantomime, and eventually convinced Jifga to send someone into the tent. When the soldier returned, he handed a cellphone and the pawboard to his boss. Jifga examined the items, frowned, and apparently satisfied neither presented any danger, tossed them to Sebastian.

  Unrolling the keyboard in front of Ulut, Sebastian powered up the phone. If he was at all concerned it might be dead after so long without use, he never showed it. Thank heaven for good batteries and Bluetooth technology, I mused as the two devices linked. The phone wouldn’t function as a phone in Dekankara, but it could still receive signals from the pawboard, and vice-versa. Sebastian waited for Ulut to step on the keys, and using the pawboard app on the phone, showed the screen to Jifga.

  Jifga’s jaw dropped, and he glanced cautiously between Sebastian and the dog before steeling his features. Even from my vantage point above the scene, the warlord’s reaction to seeing Ulut’s words displayed before him left no doubt he had no idea what to make of us. Still, between two transformations and what had to seem like a magical book, Jifga was taking everything with more aplomb than I’d have given him credit for. His lack of discomposure made me nervous.

  Suspicions aside, Jifga pressed on, verbalizing his demands while Ulut typed out his responses, and as each pawboard-text made its way to the phone, Sebastian dutifully showed the message to Jifga. After a considerable amount of back and forth, and some input from Sebastian, Ulut finally conveyed the conversation to me.

  “Jifga proposed a deal. If you help him, he will not harm Alex or anyone in our party.”

  “Help him how? I’m not going to be his weapon of mass destruction. If that’s what he has in mind, he can forget it.”

  Ulut winced, and I wondered if I had any choice in the matter. I sensed at that moment I was incapable of unleashing another firestorm, and even if I could, Jifga was standing next to Alex. Nevertheless, Ulut said something to the warlord, which elicited another lively discourse.

  “You won’t have to kill anyone; just a few non-lethal demonstrations should be enough to get people to surrender immediately. He claims with your help, few, if any, will die because there will be no battles.”

  I floated down—slowly, as not to frighten Jifga into doing anything rash—alighting in the clearing in front of the now partially decimated tent. Based on how much room I took up, I estimated my body was roughly twice the size of an adult man, with a wingspan of around fifteen feet.

  I told Ulut I was going to try to shift back, but he warned against it.

  “This may be the only bargaining chip we have. We can test whether you can change back at a less precarious moment.”

  I nodded, and as I did, I heard the unmistakable sound of an arrow being loosed, and felt a thump on my side. Craning my oversized head to my left, I saw the bolt lying next to me, its metal tip flattened. Must have a tough hide, I decided, thrilled I hadn’t been shot at close range. I turned to the shooter, who still held the bow, his face a mixture of both shock and awe. It was difficult to tell for certain, as his clothes were dark and filthy, but I thought he’d peed in his pants.

  Jifga shouted at Mr. Incontinence, and then told Ulut to apologize for the idiot’s actions.

  “Let’s let him think I restrained myself from blasting him away,” I replied. I didn’t think it wise to let on in any way that I couldn’t perform, and this showed my good will. Like benevolence means anything to a douchebag like Jifga, I thought glumly. “I’ll help him without killing anyone if he lets you all go.”

  Jifga balked at that option. “He says if he lets them go, he has no hold over you,” Ulut explained.

  “Tell him he has my word.”

  Ulut typed my declaration, which made Jifga rattle with laughter. When he regained his composure, he gave Ulut his answer.

  “Jifga said there is no honor among thieves. Your word is not enough.”

  “Then, how do I know I can trust his word not to harm anyone?”

  Ulut passed my words to Jifga and conveyed his response. “He ordered me to translate his words verbatim,” Ulut stated. “‘I can kill your friends. You can kill everyone. This is how we will trust one another, knowing the consequences for the other’s treachery.’”

  As I suspected, I didn’t have much choice. Locking eyes with Sebastian, he nodded, just enough to let me know what he thought I should do. Ulut must have been texting Sebastian to keep him apprised of both sides of the conversation, or the crafty Xyzok understood more Dekankaran than he let on. Maybe both. Hopefully, S
ebastian had something up his sleeve for later.

  “Fine,” I acquiesced. “But if any of them is harmed in any way, I will take it out on him.” I pointed one of my wings in Jifga’s direction to emphasize my point, and he flinched. Good, let him be worried, I gloated internally.

  “That means no sexual assaults, beatings, torture—either mental or physical—for anyone,” I emphasized, gesturing toward where the girls were held. “And we must have proper food, water, and bathing facilities,” I added as an afterthought. I tried to clearly spell out everything I could think of, so Jifga couldn’t do something heinous and claim it wasn’t in the agreement. As Sebastian was fond of pointing out, the devil was in the details.

  Jifga bowed theatrically and gave his response.

  “He says we will be his honored guests. In fact,” Ulut continued, “two of us will remain next to Jifga at all times, in case you get the urge to go back on your word. His men have orders, should anything happen to him, they are to kill the rest of us.”

  This bargain was beginning to sound less and less like it was working in our favor. The only thing it had going for it was that rape seemed to be off the table, which in and of itself was a positive, but Jifga still had the advantage.

  The warlord flicked his hand and the lackey moved the knife—slightly—away from Alex’s neck. He shouted some commands, and soon V was dragged into view. I noticed my clothes—or what little was left of them—were clutched against her chest, and she peered at me with her own version of shock and awe. In contrast to Jifga’s ruffian, however, the gentle Jyryxahal displayed no deficiency in bladder control as far as I could tell.

  You go girl, I thought, the urinary fortitude of a true warrior.

  The negotiations complete, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to eat and dismayed that some of the soldiers looked mighty tasty. I warned Ulut of my problem, and he must have texted that I needed to hunt. The warlord pondered for a moment, instructing that I could go find food, but I was to recall he still had my friends, and I was not to eat any of his livestock, particularly not the horses. Like I’d ever eat a magnificent creature like a horse.

  As I took to the sky in search of dinner, I wondered if his failure to mention a ban on munching on his men gave me tacit approval to do just that, but I decided against it. Craving a light snack of Dekankaran baddie was one thing, actually consuming one was another. I felt guilty enough hunting wild animals; I’d require decades of therapy if I resorted to cannibalism.

  I’d always relied on rapid directional changes and keen eyesight to snag prey in hawk form, but as Birdzilla, I was much less maneuverable and also a bit myopic. The differences turned out to be less of a problem than I originally thought once I realized the pointlessness of hunting small game. First, my talons where too big and clumsy to grab hold of a rabbit, and second, eating a bunny was like eating one chicken wing: it tasted fine, but it did nothing to diminish your hunger.

  Eventually, I spied a Bighorn sheep perched on a craggy cliff in the nearby mountains. I felt bad for the ram; he knew how to elude a mountain lion or some other large predator that attacked from the ground, but had no idea what to do when pursued from above. Plus, I might not have been able to bank quickly, but I was fast and easily overwhelmed the poor thing. I dispatched the sheep with the expertise of a true predator, pausing a moment for a silent prayer of thanks for his sacrifice so that I might eat.

  As a hawk, I always consumed my kills raw. Preferred them that way, in fact. I was about to do the same, but the carcass wasn’t as appealing as I expected. Lightly seared, however, that seemed delicious. I had just enough left in my tank to produce a nice, caramelized crust. I must have the gift of fire for some reason other than mayhem, I reasoned before digging in.

  Sated, I flew back to the compound. Jifga had left a few men to watch for my return, and I had to laugh when all four of them ran immediately to his hastily repaired tent the moment I arrived. From the look of panic on their faces—and even one high-pitched wail—I knew they weren’t hauling ass just to tell the boss man I returned.

  I realized there was another problem—where I would sleep. The jail was out; I never liked it in there to begin with and now there was no way I’d even fit through the door. In bird form, I instinctively knew where and how to roost safely at night, but now, I wasn’t sure what to do. The trees around here weren’t big enough to perch on, and even if they were, the idea didn’t thrill me. No, the more I thought about it, sacking out on the ground seemed a reasonable solution. I wasn’t too worried about vulnerability from predators; I was almost positive I was the biggest thing around.

  The nice thing about being a big, scary beast was no one made a fuss when you found a comfy place and settled in for the evening. The men who abandoned their campsite and ran screaming into the darkness might have seen it differently, but it wasn’t as though anyone argued with me about it. The area I picked was not too far from Jifga’ tent near the jail. The proximity to my friends made me feel less lonely.

  That night, I dreamed I was back in middle school, and my classmates were bullying me on the playground. I towered over everyone, even the teachers, who did nothing when the kids taunted me with insults like, “You’re fat and scaly,” and “Why don’t you go away and cook your food?” Someone even threw a bean and lightly seared sheep meat burrito at me. Flapping my wings in despair, I wondered why I wasn’t homeschooled. I knew parents generally thought their own spawn were wonderful, but didn’t mine think I might be unequipped for public education?

  One kid slid cautiously toward me and invited me to share his lunch. His name was Frankie, his hair was dark and curly, and he wore long, thick pants and a heavy coat, even though everyone else was in shorts. We ate his food alone in the far corner of the schoolyard, two freaky outcasts nibbling on a tuna salad and jelly sandwich.

  I woke to find Ulut, still in dog-form, asleep next to me. He must have convinced Jifga to let him remain free, maybe so there’d always be someone around to communicate with me. He opened his eyes, blinked once, and resumed his slumber.

  “Goodnight, Frankie,” I mumbled, falling back into a blissfully peaceful sleep.

  Sunrise brought no new changes. Ulut was gone, but I was still Birdzilla. Not that I really thought I’d miraculously transform back overnight, but a gal could hope. Stretching my sleep-stiffened wings, I realized I had no inkling what I looked like. When last I shifted into this form, Alex, Sebastian, and Ulut described me as a cross between bird and reptile, but none had gotten a good enough look to provide much in the way of details. I ambled toward the river, hoping the water would provide the necessary reflectivity to reveal my current appearance. The view was disappointing, as I could make out only a vague, rippled form.

  Still curious, I craned my neck to get a glimpse, but that turned out to be problematic as my head wasn’t very flexible. From what I could see, my wings were leathery, not feathery, but my chest looked much like it did as a Harris’s hawk, with the same coppery-brown feathers, just spread over a much large area. I did notice I had sort of talon-like projections at the elbows of my wings that I could use as ballast to allow maneuvering about, almost like on four legs. They were nothing like the ginormous claws on my feet, and my tail, like my wings, was featherless, but longish and covered with scales. Based on the previous day’s predation, I believed rather than a beak, I possessed a mouth, filled with sharp teeth. I decided I must look like a giant, feathered vampire bat with a lizard tail.

  I was also ravenous. Apparently, the super-sized, adult ram meal didn’t satisfy my hunger. Either my skills as a hunter improved with practice, or luck was on my side, because I bagged another sheep within minutes. Guilt, prayer, barbeque, breakfast, and I flew back to Jifga’s. I intentionally left cleaning up until I got back, even with the flaming, my meal remained rather bloody, and I figured licking the remnants from my talons was a nice touch for enhancing my reputation as a badass.

  I’d hoped to put off any excursions until I felt mo
re comfortable in my new skin, but Jifga was ready to trot out his new “weapon” sooner rather than later. By the next afternoon, we set out—Jifga in a wagon surrounded by the day’s safety net of Alex and W, fifty henchmen on horseback, Ulut trotting alongside, and me flying above it all.

  “Any idea where we are going?” I asked after about an hour.

  Ulut replied telepathically. “No, but I believe it is not far. The soldiers didn’t take much in the way of provisions.”

  “Maybe they plan to steal as they go along,” I said sullenly. Like General Sherman on his march through Dixie, with me as the advance team.

  We encountered no one until we reached our destination. The village was small, but judging from my aerial view of their verdant fields and livestock-filled pastures, they were well versed in the intricacies of third dimensional, Chiricahuan Desert, agro-ranching.

  Jifga, through Ulut, instructed me to hover over as his men stormed the town. On his signal, just in case a gargantuan, prehistoric-looking bird soaring overhead wasn’t enough incentive to give up immediately, I was supposed to incinerate something and look generally menacing. I had no problem with the intimidation. However, while toasting my meals was one thing, I wasn’t certain my ability to spout enough fire to provide an adequate demonstration was possible when not simultaneously consumed with unbridled rage.

  The townsfolk were a spunky bunch and didn’t fold easily. The minute they engaged Jifga’s troops in battle, it was my turn to make them see the error in their ways. They looked up in horror during my first fly-by, but then again, so did most of Jifga’s men.