Soaring in Air: An Urban Fantasy Adventure (Magic of Nasci Book 5)

by DM Fike

  “I’ve been okay languishing at my parents’ house. I’m sure I can languish just as well here.”

  Vincent opened his front door. “If nothing comes up, I should be home around four. Can you be here then? And please, Ina—” he paused at the threshold, “—don’t do anything dangerous.”

  * * *

  Don’t do anything dangerous. Yeah, sure.

  The nerve of that guy. It’s not as if I had a lot of opportunity to get in trouble inside his apartment. The truth was, I had hoped that meeting up with Vincent would give me purpose. Instead, I only had a bunch of earthquake data to ponder. I’d traded in my parents’ boring suburban home for the more picturesque tedium of having nothing to do on the Oregon Coast. Even as far as chasing windmills went, it lacked any real substance.

  With no real idea what to do with my limited leads, I retreated to old habits of mindless channel surfing. For the better part of the morning, I shut off my brain, bouncing between game shows. Much as I loved the true crime genre, after my run-in with dude-bro, I opted for more light-hearted television.

  It wasn’t until I broke for a snack around 10 a.m., staring into the stark fridge of a single guy, that I confronted my own laziness. What was I doing? Was I waiting for Vincent to come home? Because his arrival wouldn’t change anything.

  I slumped onto the futon, now in couch form, the TV droning on in front of me. I’d become lost, rejected by shepherds due to my own hubris. Despite how critical they were of me and my lightning abilities, I now knew how much their world had meant to me. I might have been a wild card and didn’t follow rules well, but we had purpose. Guntram had even given me hope that I could protect Nasci, like generations of shepherds before me.

  But now he didn’t believe in me. I’d finally broken one too many rules, and it had gotten someone killed. I wished I could make it right, but I couldn’t. I could only verbalize what I wanted to say to Guntram.

  “I’m sorry I disappointed you,” I whispered to the empty living room. “Sorry everyone else was right about me, and you got screwed because you trusted me. It’s my fault, Guntram, not yours.”

  It would have been easy to leave it at that and go back to watching TV, but somewhere outside, a storm brewed, tugging at my pithways. I cracked the blinds open and found the day had become overcast with dark rolling clouds. It probably wouldn’t turn into a lightning storm because I couldn’t feel that pith through the sheer humidity, but it reminded me of the fox dryant nevertheless. She’d reopened my pithways for a reason, and that reason wasn’t to find out if some soccer Mom from Wisconsin would make it to the final round and win $30,000.

  I shut off the TV, inhaled a stale granola bar and near-expired milk, and marched out of the gloomy apartment with my boots laced on.

  Whenever Guntram and I had free time as shepherds, we always trained. Before the Rafe situation had literally blown up, we had been focusing on studying all four natural elements plus lightning. I’d already mastered water and fire skills, and ironically, had expanded my earth sigil repertoire when Rafe tried to bury me. With diminished pithways, though, I didn’t know what I could do now.

  I guess I’d have to test my skills and find out.

  I headed for Clear Lake, a mile northeast of Vincent’s apartment. Surrounded by sandy dunes to the west, the area did not permit ATVs, and the locals deemed the fishing prospects so-so. In other words, it was the perfect isolated spot for casting magic. I only had to cut through one block of residential homes before finding myself surrounded by trees. I made one detour around a gun club with firing ranges on the south end of the dunes. The sharp cracks of gunfire faded in the distance as I dove deeper into the forest.

  I approached Clear Lake from the western sands, sticking to where conifers took root in the soil. I didn’t need my fire pith for warmth as the overcast day heated up to a comfortable seventy degrees. A light breeze cooled my bare legs. I discarded my socks and footwear and let my toes sink into the muck at the edge of the lake—earth, air, and water pith cycling throughout my body.

  I inhaled and exhaled. I planned to start small and work my way up. Spreading my legs apart in a sigil stance, I drew an airy sideways S, the wind whipping around my fingertips at my command. After a few minutes of that, I switched to square shapes, absorbing heavy earth pith and flinging sand. I ended up with a little sand in my eyes, but still, success. Water came next, stacking Vs on top of each other to divide the lake in front of me, revealing irritated crabs scuttling for cover. Finally, I expended fire pith by drawing a cross with long vertical line. My mood flickered as radiant as my fingerflames.

  So far, so good.

  With the tutorial out of the way, I focused on more advanced techniques. I recharged my pithways, letting all the natural elements flow over me. I’d passed the first bar with such ease, maybe I’d sail over the next hurdle as smoothly. I might even get some lightning practice in with the batteries in my kangaroo pouch.

  No such luck.

  You know how old cars protest when you try to start them in the winter? My inner pith acted like that as I entered the second round, not hurting exactly, but creaking to ignite. I frowned in irritation over how long it took to refill my pithways to their maximum capacity, given the minor sigils I’d drawn.

  Gazing out over the quiet lake, I decided to try walking on water. The lake’s surface barely rippled, meaning I wouldn’t even have to balance over rolling water. I strode into the shoreline. Water absorbed and pooled into the soles of my feet. My legs shook a little, but I chalked it up to nerves. Then, drawing a triangle over a series of waves, I stepped upward with a thrust meant to hoist myself on top of the water.

  Instead of walking on the surface, though, my foot penetrated straight through. Off-balance, I tumbled face first into the lake.

  Spitting, I crawled out of the lake, all my clothes soaked. In angry instinct, I drew a drying sigil. It should have flung all the water off me and made me dry.

  It didn’t. The water in my pithways lurched, and a small spray shot out of my bare arms, but my hoodie and shorts remained sopping wet.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I’d mastered the drying sigil years ago. I tried it several more times, but my water pith refused to budge.

  Breaths coming in ragged, I refused to give up. Maybe it was just water pith. I focused on my air pith, drawing two Ss for an infinity symbol that should have created a barrier of wind around me. The breeze around me hiccupped a bit, whipping hair into my face, but then died back down without much fanfare. Another failure.

  Heart pounding now, I tried a few more moderate sigils: breaking a nearby boulder, creating a water stream from the lake, and sucking air into a mini-funnel. Nothing. Desperate, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the double A batteries I’d taken from home. Lightning was always erratic, but I could rely on it to pack a powerful punch. I drew a sigil of zigzags back and forth, pulling on the energy contained within the batteries to command a bolt of lightning.

  Although I could feel a slight electric tingle, it was no use. My pithways refused to absorb the lightning.

  I plopped down in the sand, astonished at how weak I’d become. I resisted the urge to chuck the stupid batteries out into the lake. Was this the extent of my abilities then? A handful of newb skills that I couldn’t use to fight even the weakest vaettur?

  I gave up on any further training. As I trudged back toward Vincent’s apartment, I tried to focus on any bright side. At least the simple stuff worked fine. Maybe I needed more time for my pithways to heal. I drew a bit of inner fire to warm myself after the lake dunk, grateful that it helped dry me off even a little. Still, that bit of silver lining did nothing to dispel the metaphorical cloud hovering over my head.

  Given my disappointment, I barely registered my surroundings, heading vaguely back in the direction I’d come. Out of habit, I kept mostly to the tree line, which ended up saving me. As I stepped behind a tree, gunfire cracked around me. Only then did I realize I’d wandered too clo
se to the gun range. Squealing, I threw my hands over my face to protect myself as a branch collapsed down on me.

  “Hold!” I heard someone yell. “Hey you! What are you doing here? This is private property!”

  I fled back into the woods before any of the distant figures could get a good look at me. I heard someone pursuing me, but as I dove into thicker bramble, my pursuer couldn’t follow. It was a small comfort that some of my abilities didn’t require magic.

  But that bullet whizzing by my head reminded me how much I’d relied on my pithways, not only to fight, but to keep me safe. I had no idea if what I had left would be enough to do any good.

  CHAPTER 8

  VINCENT BARGED INTO the apartment almost exactly after the microwave clock flipped over from 3:59 pm. The door bounced off the rubber door stop and saved his wall from damage. He glanced around suspiciously at the gloomy living room interior, disappointment already etched onto his face until he noticed me sitting on the futon, squinting uncomfortably at him.

  My mouth twisted in a wry smile. “You thought I’d be gone, didn’t you?”

  “Of course not,” he lied, throwing on a switch by the door. I groaned as the additional light pierced my eyeballs. “And why are you sitting in the dark?”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him I’d been brooding over my lack of magical talent. “Just bored with TV.”

  “Well I got something to cure your boredom.” He tossed a plastic see-through shell at me. I caught it, finding a prepaid cell phone strapped within. “I bought one for you during my shift. I even programmed it with my number.”

  I palmed it dubiously as he strode toward his bedroom, already shrugging out of his uniform. “You think texting is going to solve my boredom?”

  He shut his door, ostensibly to put on civilian clothes, so I didn’t expect an answer. He shouted a muted response nevertheless. “Open the browser.”

  I did as requested, clicking around. Vincent had left a webpage open, the same USGS website he’d shown me at the bar with maps of red dots outlining quakes. “So? You already showed me this last night.”

  Vincent returned in a shirt and jeans, pushing the white pockets back into place near his hips. “Check out the point north of Noti.”

  Noti was a super small town between Florence and Eugene, less than an hour’s drive away. Tucked in remote forests, I’d wisped past the area often when traveling from the homestead to the coast, viewing it from the mountains above but never having a reason to stop.

  Pressing the red dot above Noti revealed details on a quake that had apparently happened in the middle of the night. 4.5 magnitude quake at a 0 km depth. I whistled at the stats.

  “I know, right?” Vincent nodded. “I’m actually amazed we didn’t feel it ourselves.”

  Me too but for a different reason. As a shepherd, I’d gotten used to faint natural tremors. Guntram had told me most of them occurred as Nasci herself shifted beneath the Earth’s crust. I hadn’t felt any since the battle on Mt. Hood, though, not even with my pithways restored. Yet another reason to get nervous about my current magical predicament.

  “But there’s more,” Vincent continued. “Despite the readings, the geologists can’t accurately locate the origin point. A magnitude of that size and depth should leave some marks on the surface, but their satellites couldn’t find anything this morning.”

  I knew why that could happen. “The shepherds might be hiding it for some reason.”

  “My thoughts exactly. It’s like trying to find your homestead. I’m sure the field guys are overlooking it disguised as a rock or something.”

  “But the shepherds would only cover something important to them.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “I can’t imagine what that would be.”

  “Well there’s only one way to find out.” He held his hand out to me. “Go see for ourselves.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m not sure, Vincent. We have no idea what could be out there. And the other shepherds aren’t too happy with me right now.”

  “Since when did that stop you? Besides, it’s too close not to investigate. I don’t have enough days off to go driving around the other earthquake sites on the other side of the state. This is our best bet.”

  He wasn’t wrong. In a sea of stagnation, he’d found something actionable. It did me no good to chill in the apartment all day. “Fine, but you’re buying dinner on the way.”

  He grabbed my wrist and pulled me upward. “Deal.”

  * * *

  True to his word, Vincent grabbed a greasy meal of burgers, fries, and root beer floats on the way out of town. We slurped as he navigated his car off the coast into the two-lane highway that fed back into the state. I fed him fries as the twisting roads forced him to use both hands to drive.

  We passed by the river town of Mapleton. I recognized the bridge where I’d left a geezer once after saving him from his burning home. I realized with a pang that I’d never followed up on him.

  “You don’t happen to know a Mr. Pitts, do you?”

  “The old farmer who likes to hunt without a license? Sure, I’ve met him. Really sucks that he lost his farm, though. It happened when…” His voice trailed off as he made the connection. “…you were hospitalized.” A scowl marked his face. “That was Rafe too, wasn’t it?”

  “Yep.” I sucked up the last dregs of my float.

  Vincent’s knuckles whitened as he strangled the steering wheel. “I really wish I could get my hands on that guy.”

  “Can’t beat up a dead guy, much as we want to. But Mr. Pitts? Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, don’t worry about him. I hear he’s living with his dog at his son-in-law’s place, driving everyone crazy.”

  “Good to hear.” I smiled at the image of anyone dealing with that old geezer on a daily basis. Maybe his dog Rufus would take the sting out of cohabitation.

  Vincent glanced sideways at me. “You really care about him?”

  “Care’s a strong word. I used his barn as a place to store some extra cash. A little shepherd safe deposit box if you will, for a rainy day.”

  Vincent chuckled, shaking his head. “Ina, only you would do something as psycho as trespass on Pitts’s property. I’m surprised he didn’t use you for target practice.”

  “Who says he didn’t?”

  His chuckle erupted into full-blown laughter.

  The rest of our conversation embodied the same light tone. We chatted about a number of inconsequential topics that flowed from one to another—whether we liked gingerbread after passing a restaurant themed in that vein, why I didn’t consider myself a ‘witch’ (I threatened violence if he ever called me a hag), and the odd career path of game wardens in Oregon. The casual banter made me temporarily forget my worries, turning us into two ordinary people for a change. I didn’t even mind when we got stuck behind an eighteen-wheeler going ten miles under the speed limit.

  I wished we could preserve the moment forever.

  A looming sign for Noti, though, eventually altered the mood. Vincent scooted forward in his seat, anticipating the exit.

  “We need to take a left turn before entering town,” he said. “Look out for a sign marking a tree farm.”

  We almost missed it since the dilapidated sign had been sun-bleached by years. Vincent had to execute a sharp turn to steer his Subaru onto an ill-maintained dirt path, heading into thick wooded forests with infrequent residential driveways. We bumped along until Vincent pulled over onto a relatively flat patch of weeds.

  The smell of wet pine lit up my nostrils as we exited the car. Vincent ushered me toward a broad expanse of trees, a cool draft blanketing us as the surrounding vegetation blocked out the sun. After we lost sight of his car, he pulled out his phone and held it up for a signal.

  I snorted. “As if that’s going to work.”

  He waited a few beats before smiling, showing me an uploading map. “Ha! It does, actually. This is my work phone, and it’s tapped into a satellite network not accessible by
the public.”

  I threw up my hands in surrender. “I stand corrected.”

  Vincent shifted directions slightly based on his map. I couldn’t tell where we were going. We’d moved so far away from the road that when an airplane passed overhead, it sounded as loud as a bullhorn.

  As the noise faded back into silence, I asked, “What are you searching for?”

  “I hoped you would know. Everything’s going to appear normal to me, but we should approach the quake’s epicenter very soon.”

  It’s hard to find something that resembles everything else surrounding it. I used to cross the threshold of Sipho’s homestead without sensing the magic that kept it hidden from outsiders. It wasn’t until Vincent veered sharply to the side for no visible reason that I realized he had hit a barrier.

  “Stop,” I called to him. When he halted, I cut a straight line to the place he’d avoided. He flinched in surprise after I’d taken only a few steps.

  “Hey!” He looked over my shoulder even though we were standing only yard apart. “Where’d you go?”

  I walked back to him, his eyes scanning in my general direction. He couldn’t see me until I came back within feet of his position. From his perspective, I must have popped out of nowhere because he sucked in a sharp breath of surprise.

  “Boo!”

  He ignored my childish proclamation and patted his hands against an invisible wall. “I guess you don’t see the overgrown cedar trees here?”

  I glanced around, but besides Douglas firs and ponderosa pine, I saw no red wooded bark.

  “Nope. It’s the barrier.”

  Vincent groped around the invisible trunk of a cedar. “Wow. Even the texture feels normal. That’s incredible.”

  I glanced farther into the woods, past the line where Vincent could not cross. “You think the epicenter’s back in there.”

  “A half mile at most, if the data is accurate.”

  I straightened my shoulders. “I’ll go check it out.”