by Lindsey Duga
The hint of a yellow blouse.
Breath stalling in my chest, I ran to the corner of the cave, where a beautiful woman lay on her back on a bed of autumn leaves.
The woman had long dark brown hair, parts of it streaked with fine silver, and wore jeans and a yellow sunflower-printed blouse.
Mom.
Choking on my own breath, I dropped down next to her, sweeping my hands across her inert body. Her chest rose and fell, but her eyes were closed.
My hands trembled as I tried to shake her awake, but like Alder had said would happen, she didn’t wake up. Didn’t even flinch.
I’d found her body, but her spirit was still trapped in the astral plane.
But I was so close.
I could touch her face, feel her pulse, brush her hair behind her ear. Kiss her cheek.
The woman before me technically was a stranger, but I still felt this inexplicable connection to her. Maybe it was simply knowing that she had sacrificed everything to save me from a spirit who’d tried to take me away. Or maybe, even if all my memories had been removed, the feelings and longings were still there, buried deep and woven into the person who I was, who I’d always been, before the fire stole everything away.
A slight huff from behind reminded me that I wasn’t alone. Glancing over my shoulder, I looked at the bear. Had it been watching over my mother’s body this whole time?
And did it bring me here to find her? Or had it simply found another human and thought, I know where this goes!
Either way, I felt a rush of gratitude toward the great spirit.
I crossed to the bear and rubbed its caramel-colored snout. “Thank you, Mr. Bear.”
It closed its eyes, like it was enjoying my touch. “Welcome.”
Reeling back, I stared at the bear. “You can talk?”
A rumble started in his belly that I could’ve sworn was a chuckle.
“The whole time?” My face flushed, thinking of how I’d spilled my guts to him.
More rumbling.
Oh, well. I had a feeling the bear wouldn’t exactly tell a lot of people. And hopefully not one nature spirit in particular.
I glanced back at my mom. There was no way I could carry her, and I needed to find Alder and open the air gate, and then the fire gate, too. I wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it had to be at least noon. We were running out of time, and quickly.
With anxiety mounting, I turned to Mr. Bear. “Hey, can you keep watch over my mom?”
“Yup.”
“You are a bear of few words.” Scratching under his big chin, I asked, “Any chance you know where I can find the spirit that looks like a human? Alder?”
The black bear spirit shook his giant head.
Drat. What had I been expecting? The ethereal plane was massive, and this particular spirit seemed to be a bit of a loner.
“Thanks anyway.”
I gave my mother one last look, then hurried out of the cave.
…
Cupping my hands around my mouth, I called, “Alder!”
The forest remained still and silent. The trees around me gave off large amounts of mana that pulsed with energy, even more than usual. Just how deep into this forest had the bear taken me?
Sourwood, short-leaf pine, and black walnut trees towered above with trunks the width of car tires. Green mana misted over them while light silver mana blew, tickling the branches and breaking off a few leaves that fluttered to the ground.
Maybe I could find a river somewhere and Rikki, Tikki, and Tavi could lead me to Alder, or at least get a message to him about where I was.
“Alder!” I called again, feeling the panic rise in my throat at the empty echo that reverberated back to me.
“I fooouunnnd her.”
My heart almost jumped out of my skin as Ashka the eastern cougar came out from behind a tree.
White fangs bared, she hissed, “The human.”
Chapter Twenty-two
The mountain cat lunged for me. On instinct, I dove out of the way, rolling to the side, barely escaping its powerful claws. Skidding across the ground, Ashka hissed and lowered herself, ready for another pounce.
I wasn’t sure I had it in me to dodge again. My whole body ached from the fall, and using so much mana had me drained and weak. But maybe I still had a little left. Calling upon the astral energy inside me, I directed my attention to the ground.
The image of Alder manipulating a mound of earth against the charging buck came to mind. I knew I’d never be able to pull off something as incredible as that, but maybe I could throw the cougar off her balance. Enough to get away and hide. Maybe back to the black bear spirit.
“Please, Ashka,” I said, green mana coating my fingertips as I began collecting the mana, ready to be expelled. “I don’t mean any harm.”
Whiskers quivered as she snarled. “So you say, but you will not take my home from me, as your species has done to my kind in your world.”
No sooner had she finished speaking than she leaped forward, but I was ready. The green mana flowed from my hand, crashing into the ground and causing the earth to explode in a shower of dirt and rock. I threw up my arm against the dust and debris, but it caught Ashka in her eyes. She skidded across the grass, hissing and spitting.
Now was my chance.
As I twisted away to run, a bolt of pain arced up and down my arm and side where the air guardian’s wing had struck me. Gasping, I stumbled forward, dropping to my knees. Paralyzed with pain, I could do nothing but watch as the mountain lion recovered from the face-full of dirt. It didn’t take her long. She lowered her front half while her back legs pushed off the ground, springing for me.
Sharp claws dug into my shoulders. The beast pinned me to the ground, and I let out a cry of pain. Warm liquid blossomed on my shirt—sticky and metallic.
Ashka opened her mouth, and hot, smelly breath blasted me in the face. Her claws pierced my skin farther, and I whimpered and squirmed beneath the cat.
“Hold still. This can be quick.”
But before it could end—fast or slow—a gust of wind hit Ashka square in the side, sending the cougar flying into the tree, cracking the bark with a great sound that echoed in the near-silent forest.
My vision bleary with pain, I turned my head to the side.
Alder stalked toward the cat, a miniature windstorm of leaves and forest debris whirling around him. His gold eyes glowed with energy.
White mana extended outward from him like tentacles, lashing against trees and striking the ground like small lightning bolts.
While he appeared chaotic and wild like a hurricane, I noticed how the bolts of energy were careful not to lash out anywhere near me. The control he had over his mana was impressive, especially when I now understood how truly difficult it was to tame. It had so easily overtaken me, but he was masterful in his movements…even as angry as he was.
Ashka dropped to the forest floor and whined in agony and fear.
The cougar might’ve almost killed me, but I actually felt pity. She was an animal. A wounded one. Not a thing of evil, just wild and hungry and trying to protect her home.
And Alder was trying to protect me.
“Al…der…” I breathed, the pain making my voice crack and hitch.
The gold in Alder’s eyes calmed, and immediately his mana fizzled out. He ran to me and dropped to my side, squeezing my hand.
Ashka lifted herself up and limped, as quickly as she could, away into the forest.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Alder murmured, touching my neck, his fingers coming away with crimson liquid. His hands trembled.
He dropped his forehead to mine while his hands pressed down on the claw wounds. I jolted in pain, twisting under his grasp. Still he held on.
“I’m right here,” he breathed against my cheeks. �
�I’ve got you.”
Before I had time to question it, mana surged out of his hands. Once more, I felt the essence of the mountains seep into me.
The pounding rain of a spring thunderstorm echoing in every tree and hillside. The whisper of autumn wind rustling through the fallen leaves. The crunch of fresh snow underfoot of a young buck.
A part of me.
“Breathe,” Alder reminded me, his voice next to my ear.
My lungs expanded, a deep gasp vibrating through me as my back arched and the last tiny spark of mana jumped into my bloodstream. Gripping his forearm tightly, I focused on controlling my breathing.
I could…feel…everything. Mana pulsed from my skin, and it was almost too much.
Silence in the earth around us, the steps of sprites—a rabbit through the underbrush, the scamper of a squirrel up a sourwood tree. A woodpecker hammering away.
Alder squeezed my other hand, intertwining our fingers. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing my neck. “You’re okay.”
And I was. The astral energy flowed through me, consuming my soul in its mystical essence until I was sure that soon I would become a mountain spirit myself.
“You’re okay,” Alder repeated, and I could feel his heart hammer against his chest, the shakiness of his breath and the tremble of his fingers as they threaded into my hair.
With my hands on his skin, I was encased in the senses of my valley. I smelled juniper, tasted blackberries, felt exhilaration.
It was a wonderful feeling, but that wasn’t what was exhilarating. It was the touch of just him. I ignored the rain, the scents, the bird calls—it all faded away into the background as I ran my hands over the slight stubble on his jaw and the corded muscles on his neck and shoulders.
I just felt him. Just Alder.
The feeling of him was like the thrill of standing at the top of the world and seeing the distant forests and the rivers, and the jagged line where the Blue Ridges merged with the sky.
That moment of beauty and amazement. The moment where you look at something and wonder how anything so astounding and unreal could’ve been created.
Like watching summer lightning illuminate the heavens. My perfect storm.
Being with Alder, breathing him in, was like that.
I wanted to always be like that.
“When you went over the edge—” His words were strangled, like snaking vines had wound around his throat.
I wove my fingers into his silver hair, wanting to calm my storm, who could rip up the trees and shake the skies. Assure him that I was alive and with him, and I wasn’t going anywhere.
“I missed you, too,” I said softly.
Because it was true. It was what this huge hole in my chest had been telling me every time he got close. Nostalgia, longing, loss, all meaning one thing: I’d missed him.
I turned my head only slightly and brushed my lips against his.
He tasted like autumn, like crisp air and the intoxicatingly sweet scent of woodsmoke.
It was only a brush, and yet his lips chased after mine. Sliding one arm under my lower back, he tugged me closer while his other hand tangled further into my hair, kissing me back with firm purpose. With desire.
With hope.
I felt it not in his lips or his kiss, but in the way he broke it and pressed his forehead against mine a second time. Keeping me close meant he hoped for another. And another. As many as I would allow.
I could still taste the woodsmoke and the fall air on my lips.
He swallowed hard, his eyes closed as he kept me in his arms, muscles taut.
Meanwhile, my skin hummed with energy—mana or hormones or both—it didn’t matter. I’d never felt so alive while feeling so breathless.
I had to breathe. I had to keep breathing.
All it took was a small inch of movement to meet his lips, but I would’ve crossed the whole world barefoot for another.
In this kiss, I felt the subtle shift in him. The shedding of worries, fears, and boundaries. His grip tightened around me, flattening his palm against my lower back, drawing his fingers into the roots of my hair. I slid my arms around his neck, removing the extra space between us and burning the bridge that I’d just crossed.
I wouldn’t go back now.
He sensed the change in me, and his kiss deepened, drawing me closer, turning our second kiss into our third, then fourth, and it was only then that I realized…
The mountains were gone. The smell of the woods, the taste of blackberries and autumn air…gone. I was wrapped up in Alder, feeling only his warm skin, callused fingers, smooth lips, and rough jaw.
And he could feel me, too. The heat of my flushed neck and cheeks, the knots in my wild hair, and the rough skin of the scars on my lower back.
He broke our kiss, and I felt him go rigid, while his fingers skimmed across the four long scars.
“Brye.” His wide gold eyes captured mine. “What is that?”
Still a little dizzy from our kisses, it took me a moment to catch up with him. “M-my scars?” I asked, utterly bewildered.
“Scars…” He pulled me up into a sitting position. “Can I see?” he asked, his voice soft, but full of repressed tension, almost as if he was trying not to panic.
I nodded, confused.
He moved around me, lifting up my shirt just enough to see the shiny pale skin of my scars.
His fingers traced them lightly, and I shivered at his touch. “You never told me you have scars,” he whispered.
“I didn’t think it was important—”
“They’re scars from the fire that day, aren’t they? Scars from the spirit.” He gripped my hands, and I could feel him tremble just a little from his tight grasp.
His fear was starting to worry me. “Y-yes, I’ve had them since that day. I thought they were just old burns.”
Alder jumped to his feet, eyes wide, chest rising and falling. “No, no, no, no,” he said over and over again.
I pushed myself to my feet and tried to place my hand on his arm, hoping to soothe him. Mana came off him in waves and the astral energy was intense.
“Alder? Talk to me. Please…”
He buried his face in his hands, and his words came out muffled. “It’s true.”
“So the little god figured it out.”
I whirled around at the familiar voice.
Raysh. The fox spirit sat on a tree stump, his tail flicking back and forth in rhythm. Like the tail of a cat clock.
Alder stared at Raysh, the irises in his eyes burning like two suns.
“You knew all along.”
“Of course I did.” Raysh’s lips peeled back to reveal white fangs. “I am as old as this forest, and you are merely an infant—a human with the powers of a god. You know nothing of this world and its secrets. Its legends.”
My skin prickled at his last word.
It’s an old local legend about how a god who lives in this valley…
Old settlers told stories about a god that roamed the forests. Every hundred years, the god would come down from these mountains and mark a woman and steal her away to make her his bride.
What if the mark came in the form of scars?
Raysh cocked his head at Alder, vibrant emerald eyes burning against the rustic orange hue of his fur.
“Poor little god thought it was just another spirit who tried to steal away his girlfriend,” the fox continued, mockingly. “Poor little god had no idea that it was the god himself who condemned her to her fate.”
Chapter Twenty-three
“God?” I asked, my gaze jumping from Raysh to Alder.
Alder stood stock still, the mana radiating from him like the smoke off a bonfire.
Raysh turned his head to me. “Yes. God. What did you think the guardians were? Merely powerful spirits? Wh
at are all-powerful spirits if not gods?”
My skin grew cold to the point of numbness. I thought of the deer spirit who could make earthquakes, the turtle spirit who kept the rivers and brooks chilled, and the hawk spirit who created the blue smoke of the Blue Ridges.
Of course. If there were nature spirits, why couldn’t there be nature gods? Especially ones that were powerful enough to affect the physical world.
If I understood it right, Raysh was calling Alder a god as well. My gaze slid over to him and almost everything about him made sense now. He wasn’t just a conduit for the mana to flow into the physical world. He was the human embodiment of the valley.
It was why he could use all the elements, why he could give mana to humans, and why his mana contained the essences of the Smokies.
“You’re a god,” I whispered, brushing the back of my hand against my lips—lips he’d just kissed.
Alder closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling in one giant sigh, as if he was resigned to this moment. The moment where I found out the truth and rejected him.
Or hated him.
Or got angry at him for not telling me.
I waited for those emotions to come, but they didn’t. I waited to feel rage or even disappointment at his lie by omission, but all I kept seeing was his face as he admitted to me that he’d been lonely.
It made sense now. His reactions and worries to things I hadn’t quite understood. He’d thought his god status would drive me away. He’d thought I’d be scared of him.
But I wasn’t.
If anything, the only thing I felt was an indescribable sadness as I realized that the barrier between us grew taller and thicker. Dating a spirit had felt impossible enough. But a god? It was unfathomable.
I shoved all the feelings away, locking them up until I had time to take them out and examine them. To truly process the fact that I might, just might, be falling for a god.
“So, wait, what did you mean when you said he had condemned me?” I asked, feeling like my brain was trudging through quickly drying cement.
“The fire gate and its god are not like the others,” Raysh said. “It is pure energy and therefore the mana has no physical connection to the physical plane. So it requires an anchor.”
