by Sophie Davis
I flipped the release switch.
Anya’s protests were drowned out by the wind and rain suddenly whipping about the small cabin. I stood on the seat. Anya’s fingers wrapped around my wrist, attempting to pull me back down.
“You can’t leave me. You don’t understand,” Anya shouted inside my head.
I blocked her. Too much more of her pleading and I would stay. In my gut, I knew going separate ways was in Anya’s best interests. Mine too, if I was being honest. Alone I had more options, could take more chances. Anya would only slow me down and likely get me caught. I’d be too worried about protecting her to save my own butt.
“I’m sorry!” I screamed, yanking free of Anya’s hold. Then, I closed my eyes and concentrated on the bird form that had become my go-to morph.
It had been a long time since I’d morphed, but the change came quickly and easily, though not painlessly. When Anya grabbed for me a second time, several black feathers were her reward.
Racked with shame and guilt for leaving her to fend for herself, I didn’t look back until I was soaring high above the pod. By the time I did, Anya and the pod were little more than a spec in the distance.
Flying was exhilarating, liberating, and it felt amazing after so much time locked in a cell. The air tasted cool and fresh. Even the rain pelting my feathers couldn’t ruin those first minutes of absolute freedom. I’d missed this so much.
Being directionally challenged, I’d plotted a course using the pod’s GPS system prior to take off. Once up in the air, the map I’d committed to memory wasn’t so easy to follow, though. I had a general idea of where England was in relation to my point of takeoff and hoped that was going to be good enough.
The sky was dark, sapphire blue infused with brilliant streaks of pink and gold. In a matter of minutes the sun would emerge, hopefully driving away some of the rain with it.
I flew north and west, feeling good about my course as the air grew colder and figuring that was probably a good sign. But when day finally did break, the rain was no longer refreshing; it was hard and sharp and clung to my feathers, weighing them down. Flying became increasingly harder. The wind howled around me, great gusts whipping my small bird body in first one direction and then another, and soon I was very far off course.
Diving low to see if flying closer to the ocean’s surface would help, I surveyed my surroundings for a place to land and wait out the storm. The lower altitude did me no favors. If anything, the conditions were worse.
Waves rocketed across the water’s surface, crashing into one another and sending up geysers of frigid salty spray. Soon, tiny icicles hung from my wings, throwing off my equilibrium. Great gale-force winds rolled off of the tumultuous black sea, pushing me back towards the sky. At the same time, the air above smacked me down like a giant fist swatting a pesky fly.
It wasn’t long before icecaps dotted the seascape.
Too far north, I thought frantically, but had no idea how to correct my course. And that was even assuming I could manage to correct my course. The squall was so intense. It was all I could do to stay in the air.
A ginormous wave swelled up out of nowhere. The crest hit my right wing, sending me into a tailspin. Long, liquid fingers reached up out of the sea and pulled me under the water. Conflicting tides yanked my body in too many directions to count. I felt like the favorite ragdoll of quadruplets, each of them having seized a limb and tugging in an effort to claim ownership. For a long, terrifying moment, I thought it was the end.
Erik’s turquoise eyes, eyes I wanted so desperately to gaze into one more time, filled my mind. Images flashed behind my own eyes: My and Erik’s first meeting at my Hunter tryouts; our first mission, when I’d stupidly gotten myself stabbed and he’d taken away the pain so that Henri could stitch me up; the first time we’d kiss; the night after the Coalition attacked a medical facility and Erik returned to my hotel room and we made love for the first time; the last time we’d been together at Victoria’s family home, Walburton Manor.
No! I screamed inside my head. Fight. For him. For us.
Harnessing all of my strength, I flattened my wings against my sides and darted in what I hoped was the direction of up. My bird head broke the surface. Icy cold air burned my lungs as I soared higher and higher towards the ever-darkening sky. Lightning flashed in my periphery, sending a bolt of fear lancing through my heart. When I’d concocted this ridiculous plan, I’d never imagined so many potential pitfalls.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, terrible and ominous.
I needed to find land. Any land.
I stretched my wings and halted my ascent. Gazing down below me, I once again searched the seemingly endless sea for a coastline or an island. It was like looking for a pinprick-sized hole in the world’s largest blanket.
Another bolt of lightning split the sky in two, the cymbal crash of thunder directly on its heels this time. I was flying in the center of the storm. The next bolt was so close that it singed the tip of my wing—just enough to send me into free fall.
It happened so fast. My mind didn’t have time to conjure the images of Erik this go-round. I hit the water back first, Erik’s name an indecipherable screech when it left my beak. Then, the world around me fell silent, and I was lost to the darkness.
Violent tremors racked my body from head to toe. Punishing wind swept across my bare skin like a giant broom with razor blades instead of bristles. Water licked the soles of my feet, occasionally climbing up my legs and over my stomach to cover me in a wet blanket made of ice, only to be ripped away a moment later.
My mind was as numb as my fingers, the cold seeming to freeze my emotions so that I lacked not only the strength but also the desire to move.
“Is she alive?” a voice called from a distance.
I tried to open my lids, but the simple everyday task took a herculean effort. It felt as though my eyelashes were coated with mascara made of pure lead. In the end, I managed only small slits that allowed in just enough sunlight for me to wish I’d saved my strength.
“She’s moving,” a second voice answered, this one closer than the first. “Run back to the house and tell Andromeda to get a bed ready.”
“You’re going to bring her back to our house?” the first voice asked incredulously.
“We can’t leave her here, she’ll die for sure,” the second voice replied. “Go now. Quick. I’ll be right behind you.”
A rustling noise came a second later, and then warmth enveloped me. But the cold had seeped deep into my bones and my body continued to quake with aftershocks. I felt myself being lifted. A long, low moan escaped my lips. Hot pinpricks of pain ran down my right side as though hundreds of fire ants had decided to make a feast out of my exposed skin.
“Shhhh. We’ve got you now. You’re going to be just fine,” a soft voice murmured near my ear.
This time, when I attempted to force my eyelids open using sheer willpower, I succeeded. The face staring back at me was more animal than human, with a great mane of fluffy white hair circling its head and three green slashes across each of its cheeks. Deep-set midnight blue eyes sparkled above razor sharp cheekbones.
“Where am I?” I mumbled unintelligibly, the words slurring together so that it sounded like another long groan.
“Shhhh,” the creature said again, and I got the impression it was female, but couldn’t say why. “Don’t try to talk,” she added.
My head felt fuzzy as though full of cotton, and too heavy for my shoulders. I was no longer cold, but I wasn’t warm either. In fact, I couldn’t feel anything at all. A remote part of my brain knew this was bad, that my body was shutting down. The worst part was that I couldn’t muster the strength to care in that moment. I closed my eyes and let the darkness claim me once again.
I drifted in and out of consciousness for what felt like a very long time.
The first time I came to, I was lying on a cot in the corner of a dimly lit room, bundled in thick blankets that gave off a musky odor that r
eminded me of the way a horse smells after a long, hard ride.
A figure was standing opposite the cot facing away from me, apron strings tied in a bow at the small of its back. Judging by the small stature and sheet of dark hair cascading down past the shoulder blades, I assumed the person was female and probably young. She held a large bowl in the crook of one arm and was using a wooden spoon to mix the contents. Over the soft clangs of the spoon hitting the sides of the bowl, I could hear the girl humming quietly.
I wondered what she was making. Eggs? Pancakes? Oatmeal? My stomach growled at the thought of food, and then I passed out again.
I next awoke to find the girl hovering over me, the back of her hand pressed to my forehead. Her skin felt cool against mine. She smiled serenely when my eyes fluttered open and our gazes met. I tried to speak, but my lips felt as though they’d been welded together and nothing short of a crowbar was going to pry them apart. The girl shook her head from side to side adamantly. She leaned closer and I realized she wasn’t a girl at all. There were deep lines etched in the loose skin around her mouth and eyes, and her dark hair was shot through with streaks of white and gray.
“Rest,” she croaked, her voice hoarse and oddly deep for such a small person. The hand on my forehead slid down over my eyes, the bridge of my nose, and lightly brushed my mouth and chin.
I got the distinct impression she was telling me to close my eyes.
When I didn’t comply immediately, she added, “Safe.”
A tingly sensation swept over me, and suddenly I did feel safe. I let my eyelids fall shut. Just as I was drifting off yet again, it occurred to me that not once since arriving here—wherever here was—had I worried about my safety.
The sound of two people talking pulled me from a dreamless sleep for a third time. The fog inside my head had cleared some, enough that I was mildly interested in the speakers’ conversation. Ears open, eyes closed, I laid still and listened, hoping one of them might say something that would give me a clue as to where I was.
“Where did you find her?” a man asked.
“Ross and I were out on a hike,” a girl replied.
I thought her voice sounded familiar but wasn’t positive.
“Yes, but where exactly did you find her?” the man insisted.
“You mean like the exact spot?” the girl asked.
I smiled. Classic stall technique.
“Yes, Emma, that is precisely what I mean.” The man was losing his patience.
I heard something that sounded like the sole of a shoe scrapping against dirt and envisioned the girl, Emma, kicking the toe of her boot into the ground out of habit.
“On Freedom Beach,” muttered Emma reluctantly.
“Emma,” the man spat angrily.
Between Emma’s guilty tone and the man’s harsh reply, I assumed Freedom Beach was off limits. It also seemed the girl, Emma, had a penchant for pushing boundary lines.
“You know better. What if you’d been caught?” the man demanded.
“It’s free land, Dad,” Emma said with the contempt of a petulant teenager. “We’re allowed there. Everyone is allowed there.”
“Yes, but there are no rules, no laws in the free lands. If something had happened to you, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. There is no recourse for misdeeds committed in the free lands.”
The room grew quiet, the air heavy with the tension between father and daughter. Curious to know where I was and what mess I’d stumbled into, I opened my eyes. The man and the girl were standing in the middle of the room glaring at one another. His arms were crossed over his chest. The visible half of the father’s expression appeared disapproving and paternal in the lantern light.
Emma was over a head shorter than her father. She too had her arms crossed over her chest and an expression that matched her father’s.
“You’re awake!” someone exclaimed.
Neither Emma nor her father had glanced in my direction, until the speaker, a small boy sitting in the corner, started pointing towards the cot excitedly. Both father and daughter turned.
“Hi,” I said uneasily. “Um, my name’s Talia.” Struggling with the heavy blankets, I tried to sit up, but found someone had tucked me in so slightly that my body was practically pinned to the cot.
All three people—Emma, her father, and the boy—continued to stare at me as though I was a green-skinned alien. The boy recovered first. He grinned and waved.
“I’m called Ross,” he told me. Then, pointing first to the girl and then the man, he added, “That’s my sister Emma, and our father Jeb.” Ross’s deeply tanned face turned thoughtful. “What were you doing on the beach naked? Temperature’s well below freezing this time of year. Don’t you know you could’ve died? You almost did die. But Andromeda made sure you didn’t.”
“It’s a long story,” I replied vaguely. Finally managing to extricate myself from the blankets, I shifted into a sitting position. That was when I realized that I was still naked. I pulled the blankets up around my shoulders, repositioning my body so that my back was against the wall.
“What’s your tribe, girl?” Jeb demanded, not looking nearly as pleased to see me as his son.
“Tribe?” I repeated.
Emma moved closer to the cot. Her father grabbed her arm to hold her back. She shook him off and came to sit on the edge of the hard mattress. Eyes so dark blue they appeared almost black studied me intently. Self-consciously, I brushed tangled curls back from face, tucking the knotted strands behind my ears.
Up close, I noticed smudges of green paint beneath Emma’s eyes. A hazy memory floated to the surface of my mind. The creature that had carried me had also had green paint on its face.
“You brought me here, didn’t you?” I asked Emma, giving her the same scrutinizing appraisal she was giving me. The girl was tall, thin, and wiry. I guessed her age to be around fourteen or fifteen.
“What’s your tribe?” Jeb repeated.
“Yes,” Emma said in answer to my question, ignoring her father’s mounting agitation.
“You must be stronger than you look,” I told Emma, also ignoring her father.
“That makes two of us.” Emma grinned.
It took me a moment to realize she wasn’t referring to my physical strength. Emma, like Erik and me, had the ability to sense other Talents and their strengths.
“Damn it, girl. Tell us where you belong so we can send you back,” Jeb hollered, striding forward to tower over his daughter’s shoulder.
“Come on, Dad, can’t you see she isn’t from here?” Ross interjected. He stood and joined his father. All three family members were staring at me as though I was the newest attraction at the zoo. Gesturing in my direction, Ross added, “Look at her. That skin’s too pale to have seen the sun lately. It’s smooth, too.” He pointed to where my hands were clutching the blankets beneath my chin. “She doesn’t even have callouses.”
Apparently spurred on by her brother’s appraisal of my appearance, Emma chimed in. “Yeah and she’s got paint on her toes, they’re purple.”
The look of awe and jealousy Emma gave me was almost comical and definitely a little unnerving. Automatically, I crossed my legs and curled my toes underneath my knees to hide them, even though several blankets stood between them and Emma’s and Ross’s curious gazes.
“No scars on her body either,” Emma added, reminding me uncomfortably that she had firsthand knowledge of that fact.
I pulled the blankets tighter around me. “Where am I?” I asked the question burning a hole in my mind.
As though I hadn’t spoken, Jeb demanded to know: “Are you from the mainland?” Though his tone wasn’t nearly as harsh as it had been earlier.
“Obviously she is, Dad,” Ross answered for me.
Still, Jeb stared expectantly, unwillingly to believe his son unless I confirmed his words.
I swallowed hard and debated how much to tell them. I considered insisting I would only answer their questions once they’
d answered mine, but figured outnumbered and naked on foreign land gave me very little bargaining power. Using my talents to pull the answers I wanted from their heads also crossed my mind. That too seemed like a bad idea. Emma, at least, knew I was gifted and might feel me invade her mind, which had the potential to turn the closest thing I had to an ally into an enemy.
“Sort of,” I admitted finally. “I’m not from here, if that’s what you’re really asking. I sort of crashed here. There was this storm and lightning hit my wing—that’s the last thing I remember. Then, your daughter,” I nodded to Emma, “found me and brought me here.”
Jeb rested one hand on Emma’s shoulder and glared down at me from his impressive height. I felt like a child caught telling a fantastical tale to get out of trouble.
“Planes can’t fly over Pelia. Even if they could, our scavengers found no wreckage washed up on the beach. So you want to tell me the real story of how you came to be here.”
At least he finally believes I’m not from some rival tribe or whatever, I thought.
I ran my tongue over my cracked lips, stalling for time as I, once again, debated my options. The truth was complicated. Given that the current global climate was decidedly chilly where Talents were concerned, the truth was also potentially dangerous. The people I knew who were sensitive to Talents were all Talented themselves. Meaning Emma was likely Talented. Then again, half of my life had been spent exclusively in the company of other Talents. Norms could feel my kind; it was just rare for them to understand why they felt either a draw towards someone like me, or an overwhelming urge to run for the hills when I was nearby.
No matter what, I decided against divulging the whole escaped convict thing. That would definitely come across badly.
“You can shape shift, can’t you?” Emma asked kindly.
It wasn’t really a question. Her expression made it obvious she already knew that I could.
