by DM Fike
“Wait.” Vincent grabbed my sleeve before I vanished again. “You okay to go in alone?”
“Aren’t you’re the one who wanted me to do this? Well, now we’re here, and I’m the only one who can go through. What else can we do?”
He reluctantly let me go. “Fine. I’m not budging from this spot, though. Just go in, check it out, and come right back out. And please”—his eyes darkened—“please don’t get in any trouble. I can’t help you from here.”
I nodded, then moved forward.
As Vincent disappeared in the brush behind me, I upped my stealth game, careful not to crunch the brush underfoot. I crossed Mill Valley Creek, leaping on narrow stones, then treaded deeper into the forest. I hadn’t made it very far when a sharp caw rang out above me. Blood pounding in my veins, I crouched down near a bush, hoping to pinpoint the bird. A flash of sable revealed a raven gliding through the canopy alone. He flapped once, twice, then faded into the leaves.
I swallowed. He could be a normal bird but probably not. Guntram had a special connection with ravens as kidama. They flocked to his bidding, both near and far, which made them an ideal spy network.
I followed discreetly in the bird’s wake. As a kidama, the raven might scan the area for intruders. That meant the shepherds were indeed protecting something precious up ahead.
As I crept forward, I mentally prepared myself for coming face-to-face with my old augur. He’d decimate me in a fight, so I couldn’t confront him. Staying low to the ground, I inched my way through the thicket, clutching to trunks and keeping my ears peeled for any sound. My caution paid off when a string of coughs sounded close ahead. A fiery glow lit up the shade, revealing a shadowy figure. I flattened myself against a tree, muscles tensed to flee.
“Man,” a nasally voice managed between rasps. “Wish I could be in the hot spring right now.”
I recognized Zibel, a coastal shepherd a rank above me. Zibel had been injured during the fight on Mt. Hood. When I’d sneaked off the homestead, he’d been among the unconscious healing from the ordeal. I guess this meant he’d recovered enough to handle normal duties.
I squatted low to the tree’s roots, crawling for a better vantage. Through stalks of wildflowers, the forest opened up into an unnatural clearcut site. It might have been the staging area for a new forestry project. In the middle of that stark flat land, Zibel’s red hair contrasted with the brown and green tones around him. He sat on a large boulder, overlooking a long, narrow pit. Freckles spattered his pale skin. He turned in profile, revealing bags under his eyes. Always jittery, his gangly knee bounced up and down, unable to sit still even for a moment.
The thing that really bothered me though, was the strange glow emitting from within the pit. It flickered at Zibel’s feet, deeper in the ground than I could view at this angle. Why would Zibel build a fire if he could draw a sigil for warmth?
Zibel tilted his head toward me and said, “Glad you could keep me company at least.”
I froze, thinking I was doomed until the raven swooped out of the sky and landed on the shepherd’s shoulder. Zibel patted him on the head. “Only an hour until shift change. We’re almost there.”
He lapsed into silence, stifling yawns as the raven preened his feathers. A shift change? That meant shepherds had set up a watch system over whatever glowed in that strange pit. Guntram must have paired Zibel up with a raven as a precaution. The shepherds must have been spread pretty thin to send someone as bone-tired as Zibel to perform major guard duty with a kidama.
I itched to take a closer peek, but Zibel didn’t seem intent on moving anytime soon. Ten minutes passed, and he continued to fidget in place, the raven content to perch on him. My legs cramped in such an awkward crouching position.
It occurred to me if I waited too long for a shift change, I might have to deal with not one but two shepherds. That probably wouldn’t go well. My mind reeled for another solution when the sound of gurgling water entered my ears. Even though I’d crossed Mill Valley Creek, its tributary burbled somewhere to my right, curving around the field’s border in a ‘C’ shape. Beyond Zibel, water glimmered in the foliage.
Pooling all my water pith, I lifted one hand and drew a simple V. I wanted to splash the water around enough for Zibel and his feathery friend to investigate. My first attempt, though, failed. The sigil, although simple, eluded my pitiful abilities.
C’mon, I thought, regathering what little water pith I had. Just reach, will you?
A second sigil released a shockwave from my hand. I steadied myself from falling as it shot across the clearing. It sounded like a large animal crashed through the creek. Zibel whipped around as the raven flew up into the air. The pair scampered away from me as they headed toward the racket.
Now was my chance. I bounded forward to where Zibel had been sitting only moments ago.
The pit wasn’t manmade as I expected but a jagged crevasse of earth, like a mini canyon twenty feet in length by five feet wide. It cut ten feet deep, revealing a pool of magma not unlike the ones that haunted my dreams. The lava boiled like thick gravy, an occasional bubble popping. It cast a fiery gleam all around the enclave, giving everything a hellish tinge.
Someone had carved a direct wound straight into Nasci’s earth, exposing her lifeblood.
A shuffling of ferns warned me of the pair’s return. Sending out a second light wind gust, I swayed pine branches to mask my escape. I kept glancing over my shoulder for any sign of Zibel or the raven but didn’t see either as I recrossed Mill Creek.
I must have passed Vincent at some point because he appeared out of nowhere to jog alongside me. “Hey! What did you find?”
“Sh!” I hissed back at him. “Get back to the car. I’ll explain when we get there.”
My warning came too late.
A sharp caw rang out above us. The raven screeched out a signal to Zibel as it dive-bombed us, all claws and fury.
I drew a sideways S and blew him out of the way before he hit Vincent. I cursed. Guntram would now definitely know I’d been here.
Vincent’s Subaru came into view, and we crammed into it with record speed. Vincent had just started the ignition when a sudden shaking rocked the vehicle.
“INA!”
Peering in the sideview mirror, I saw Zibel emerge from the woods drawing squares, the dirt crumbling below him as he sent a quake straight toward the car.
“Go!” I yelled, an unnecessary command as Vincent floored the gas. The car lurched forward with a whiplash.
We bumped up and over a series of cracks in the road. In the end, a car is way faster than a shepherd and a raven. As we hit the main road and accelerated back onto the main highway, the trembling stopped. Zibel could not follow us.
Vincent kept scanning his rearview mirror as if expecting a ghost. “Who was that?”
I gritted my teeth. “That was a shepherd guarding Nasci’s lifeblood. He now believes I tried to steal some, just like Rafe.”
CHAPTER 9
VINCENT GRILLED ME on the way back to Florence, shattering our previous road trip vibe. What exactly had I seen? Why did Zibel guard it? What connection did it have to the uptick in earthquakes? My answers came out curt thanks to not having any answers. I could have kept my irritation to a manageable level, except Vincent decided to ruin it by taking things too far.
“That punk really tried to hurt us. Maybe shepherds aren’t such pacifists after all.”
Fire pith flushed my face. “I already told you, shepherds don’t hurt people.”
“Except you, and by proxy, me,” Vincent said.
“I’m a loose cannon.” I hated defending the shepherds’ view of me but needed to get it through his thick skull. “Binding me is at the top of their to-do list, remember?”
“You’re the one who pointed out the flaw with the random sneaker wave killing the Wonderland exec.” Vincent’s lips formed a grim line. “Shepherds are sworn to protect nature, right? Maybe they really are after Wonderland in the same way they’re aft
er you.”
My composure snapped. “When did you suddenly became an expert on shepherds?”
He scowled. “I’m not, but I deal with facts and reason. And usually the simplest solution is the correct one. If the shepherds are hiding these earthquakes, and these earthquakes happened around the same time that Wonderland started experiencing unbelievable bad luck, maybe they’re all connected.”
I wanted desperately to argue with him, but the truth was, I had no idea what to think of that crevasse. It didn’t resemble any lava dome I’d ever guarded. And it really did appear as if someone had torn open the earth using magic. The only people who could do that were shepherds. But why? My only innocent guess would be some sort of strange vaettur attack but even that seemed like a stretch.
So instead of a rebuttal, I went for an insult. “You want simple truth? You’re just a regular dude dealing with forces you don’t understand. Maybe your limited logic doesn’t apply here.”
A tick formed on Vincent’s forehead. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. After miles of awkward silence, he flipped on the radio to a Latin music station. We both simmered, the upbeat music creating a contradiction to our dour moods.
We returned to the apartment around sunset. He retreated to his room, using an early shift the next morning as an excuse to go to bed early. I heard him shuffling around for a while. I buried the urge to knock on the door and attempt a reconciliation. Let him stew. The wound to my pride was too fresh to apologize. Instead, I made buttered toast and watched enough TV to realize I didn’t care before turning in myself.
* * *
Despite broken sleep, I missed seeing Vincent get up and leave like I had the day before. With a new day underway, I felt awful about acting like a spoiled brat in the car. Without him, I would have never known about the lava crevasse in the first place. He’d been willing to share information since the beginning, and I’d responded with petty sarcasm. I promised myself I’d make things right when he came back.
Vincent aside, I had other things to worry about, like earthquakes, lava crevasses, and Wonderland Resorts. I had no idea how they all fit together, if they were even supposed to. While I didn’t have a lot of options, I could check out Heceta Beach. Sure, it was a bit morbid to take a stroll where Borden had drowned, but maybe it would give me insight into this mess. Besides, the walk might alleviate my oncoming headache.
Exiting the apartment with purpose, I almost didn’t catch the raven loitering in the parking lot. For a moment, I paused. This one seemed more interested in pecking the ground than screeching at me. I sauntered past her toward the trees, the bird not sparing me even a side glance. I guess that meant Guntram hadn’t sent her.
At least the weather acted like full-blown summer for a change. The sun broke through the clouds, heating up the wooded area north of Vincent’s apartment. I purposely avoided going anywhere near the gun club, not chancing a stray bullet to the brain. The meandering path added an extra ten minutes to my trip, but I used the time to refresh all four elements in my pithways. Before long, I spotted the twinkling blue lights of a wisp channel glowing at the base of a Sitka spruce. I dove in, expecting a splash of salty breeze on the other side.
Instead, smoke stung my nostrils.
I followed my nose toward the source of the haze, racing through a grove and emerging not far from a cul-de-sac of mansions, the literal end of Florence’s residential roads. Built right next to the beach, all four structures were so huge and with such ample parking, at first I thought they were upscale condos. You had to have some serious dinero to own one of these babies.
And one of them was on fire.
The house in question looked somewhat like a layer cake, with a white rock façade encompassing the ground floor, yellow siding for the second floor, and red paint on the third. The expensive two-door entrance had exploded, bits of charred wood hanging from the doorway like broken teeth. Smoke billowed from the entry point, but the two upper floors leaked a much thinner gray mist. The surrounding yard was under some sort of landscaping rehaul with flat dirt and piles of mulch adding to the starkness of the scene. Flames flickered here and there behind the windows, not yet penetrating the roof or walls.
Even more surreal than the house fire itself was the lack of activity around it. Nothing stirred—not a billowing curtain, cracked door, or peering face. I guessed everyone else had left for the day.
I pulled out the cell phone Vincent had given me and dialed 9-1-1. An operator immediately asked me why I’d called.
“Fire,” I managed.
“What do you mean ‘fire,’ ma’am? A fire at your home?”
I shook my head like an idiot. Of course, she couldn’t see me. “No, someone else’s.”
“Okay, what’s the address?”
Address. I glanced around and saw plenty of house numbers but no street signs. When the operator pressed me again, I said, “I’m not sure. Northern most edge of town along the beach.”
“Which beach, ma’am?”
“Heceta.”
A shrill howl suddenly cut through the air. Glancing up, I spied the edge of a third-story balcony toward the mansion’s left side. A flat-faced cat with long hair poked his head between the wooden rails and mewed. Soot spattered his fine white coat. The poor boy coughed between pleas for help.
“There’s a cat!” I yelled into the phone.
“You see a pet in the fire?” the operator asked.
“Yes!” I ran closer to get a better view of the kitty. He had exited from the sliding glass doors high above. Smoke slid out from within, trapping him on the balcony. “He’s trapped!”
“Ma’am, stay on the line and answer my questions. Is anyone inside the home?”
Was she deaf or simply stupid? “I just said there’s a cat.”
“I mean people. I want to know if any people are inside.”
The dismissiveness in her tone made my jaw clench. “The cat’s life is enough.”
I didn’t give her a chance to respond. I ended the call.
I rushed toward the house, evaluating all my options. Directly beneath the cat on the ground floor were sliding glass doors on a wooden deck. Flames roared inside, enveloping all the furniture like Satan’s living room. I couldn’t enter there.
The second story had a balcony that ran the entire length of the house. I considered briefly casting focused air underneath my feet to “fly” upward but ditched that idea. I couldn’t even pull off that kind of magic before with my normal pithways.
That left one last option: the rock façade comprising the first floor’s exterior.
I pressed my hands up against the rock, gauging how much actual earth pith it contained. Processed materials often lose their natural energy, but these stones retained a decent amount of their original composition. I couldn’t climb all the way up to the third floor, but I could get to the second story balcony. Gathering earth pith into my palms, I drew a square with a triangle and willed my hands to stick to the rocks’ rough surfaces.
To my relief, my palms did attach. It wasn’t an optimal adhesion, kind of like trying to climb over wet tide pool rocks. It would have to do. I painstakingly pushed upward, clinging to earth pith on the wall while my boot tips wedged between cracks for support. I slipped once, cutting my arm on a sharp edge, but didn’t stop. Finally, I grasped the second-story balcony and pulled myself over the railing.
Long, hardwood planks stretched from corner to corner, providing a balcony to two different sets of smoky glass doors. I ignored the first one and ran to the opposite end. There, I could hear the cat yowling above the ceiling, which served as his floor.
“I’m here, kitty!” I yelled. “Just give me a second.”
I couldn’t stick to the siding. I needed a physical way to lift myself up. Glancing around, I found solid wood patio furniture. I pulled a single chair over to the side and used it as a step stool to stand on the balcony’s railing. I tilted precariously on my tiptoes, the edge of the dirt lawn below giving
me mild vertigo. Ignoring my fear, I planted one hand on the wall and reached above with the other to the third-story balcony. If I really stretched, I could grip the edge, but I didn’t have the strength to pull myself up to grab the cat.
He’d have to come to me.
“Here, kitty!” I yelled, wriggling my fingers.
I barely felt the surge of fire in time. I wrote a quick cross with a pentagon as a flash of flames shot out from the third story’s sliding glass doors. I thanked my quick thinking when my fingers cut through flame unharmed.
But that didn’t help me rescue the cat. I heard him shuffle toward me and mewl, not daring to step closer to the fire.
I had to douse the flames. I gathered all my water pith and drew a long line of Vs, then finished it off with three lines bursting over the top. Water sprayed upward from my fingertips, and I directed it toward the sliding glass doors. I produced a lot less water than I intended, but it did the trick, creating steam out of the blaze.
When I ran out of water pith, I waved again at the cat. “Come here, kitty!” I encouraged.
I heard him padding around, but he continued to whine, not brave enough to come forward.
“I know it’s tough,” I cooed at him, hoping I had sufficient animal charisma to coax him. “I wouldn’t want to do it either, but it’s the only way out of here.”
Seconds passed with no movement. I kept my fingers elongated toward him. I thought for sure he wouldn’t come when fur suddenly became entangled in my palm.
“Good boy!” I yelled up at him. “Move around so I can grab your collar!”
The fur shifted until my knuckles scraped against hard leather. I got a firm grip on the collar, then gently pulled him through the rail posts down toward me.
I had to let go of the exterior wall so I could catch his body with my other arm, and for a split second, I leaned the wrong way toward the lawn below. Blasting wind to correct my unbalance, I landed on the second-story balcony with a thud, the cat cradled in my arms.
And just in time, too. A loud crack filled the air above us, sending a shower of glass falling like snow. A steady roar of flames sounded up above as ash floated down in its wake.
