by Nina Berry
He wasn’t anywhere on the ground floor, so I steeled myself and crept up the spiral stairs. I came up against the door. Firelight from below insinuated itself among the shapes. They seemed bigger now, more three-dimensional. I thought I saw a knife, a lightning bolt, and a dragon, but I couldn’t be sure. Only the dark sun seemed to hover longest, casting its long rays over everything else.
It took me a few seconds to get up the guts to knock. My first timid tap brought no response, so I banged on it three times with more force. “Morfael! I really need to speak with you. It’s about the Tribunal. The school could be in danger.”
No reply. So I made my way back down the rickety stairs and wandered into the library to stare at the phone. I had no way to call the shifter Council or my mother and Richard. Perhaps an e-mail . . .
My eyes came to rest on a small blue book on the side table near the phone. The book we’d been searching for when the trouble all began earlier that day. For the first time I noticed the embossed lettering on its spine: Ancient Symbols and Runes.
I picked it up. It had seemed so important to find out what the dark sun stood for. But what did it matter now? Caleb was gone. With Amaris.
I ruffled the book’s pages, seeing strange squiggles and squares, crabs and daisies and grinning skulls. Then I saw it, a circular sun with black flaring rays. I read, “Rune of the Shadow Walker.”
Shadow Walker. Caleb had called Morfael that after he fainted and went into a trance. There was more. “Shadow Walkers are mythical creatures who traverse the veil between the worlds.”
At first the words meant little. But I forced myself to think. Caleb had said that no one could travel between this world and Othersphere. This book even said that such creatures were mythical. Why then did Morfael have that rune carved so prominently on his door?
Those flickering shapes. I blinked and lifted my head, snapping awake as a distant pounding sounded far away. Had I fallen asleep? I was still standing by the side table in the library, book in hand, but I felt as if an eternity had passed and strange suffocating dreams had claimed me. My whole body was vibrating. Behind me, someone was humming.
I whirled, heart jumping. Morfael stood there, his strange eyes bright gold with power. He was pointing his staff at me. The dark sun rune was carved on the tip.
“What the hell are you doing?” I stepped forward, reaching for the staff without thinking. The humming stopped as Morfael drew it back.
“I am sorry,” he said.
“Why?” I said sharply.
Outside, the thumping noise grew louder. Then he said, “I will do all I can. If I fail, you must do what you think best.”
The whomp whomp noise outside grew, almost drowning out his words.
“Oh no.” I pushed past Morfael and ran through the living room to open the front door. I knew what I’d see.
Dawn was lightening the eastern sky. The tops of the trees danced in a fierce wind. Waves of sound beat against us as the insect form of a large helicopter hovered over the central area between Morfael’s house and the two cabins.
As I gaped up at the aircraft, its side door slid open and a person in gray dropped something. A ladder unfurled, and the figure began to descend, a long, thin object, a gun, strapped to its back. Another form in similar colors crouched behind a gun mounted on a tripod. Its point swiveled toward us.
I slammed the door shut and threw the lock. “The Tribunal,” I said. “Get back.”
“No,” said Morfael.
Something thwacked into the door. Chips of wood flew. Bullets.
“Ximon is here.” Morfael walked toward the front door, unlocked it, then turned and threw something at me. I caught it automatically and looked down. The key to the gun locker. “I’ll hold them as long as I can,” he said. “The wall will drop when you’re ready.”
“Wall?” I said. “What wall? Don’t go out there!”
Morfael threw open the front door and strode out, staff held at arm’s length. A terrible vibration emanated from him. Through the slanted doorway I saw someone on the ground lower a rifle and fire at him point-blank. A few inches in front of his staff, something black opened and closed in the wink of an eye, like a brief splotch of ink. The bullet was gone.
Behind that man stood another, tall and broad-shouldered, his head of thick white hair not covered by a gray hood like the others. He smiled at Morfael, his teeth even and unnaturally bright. Ximon.
“Fiend,” he said, in an almost friendly tone. “Give me my son and I may spare your students.”
Behind him, five more figures in gray fanned out. Two more headed for the front door of the girls’ cabin. The other two fanned toward the boys’ cabin, guns pointed. I recognized the blond hair and proud nose of the last one—Lazar. But if Lazar was there, what did Simon mean about Morfael giving him his son?
“If you loved him as you believe you do,” said Morfael, “you would let him be what he is.”
That’s all I had time to see. Morfael made a small gesture back toward me and the open door.
Then it was gone. A wall of rock stood where the front of the house had been. The sound of helicopter blades vanished.
The front wall of the house had turned to stone, as if Morfael had drawn a veil of rock between me and the danger. I was now inside a cave. A cave drawn from shadow. He had given me time, and the key to the gun locker.
I ran.
Raynard stored Lazar’s silver gun in a locker near the gym equipment, along with boxes of bullets and an extra magazine. I unlocked it, wrapped a towel around my hand, and grabbed the gun, the original mag and the spare, and a box of bullets.
What if they’ve already killed everyone? What if I’m too late?
Even through the towel, the silver made my hand itch. I wasn’t the best person to use the gun, but perhaps I could get it to Arnaldo.
I ran back to the living room and made sure a round was chambered as I waited for Morfael’s rock wall to fall.
What if I’m trapped here?
To stop that thought I tried to picture the landscape outside. As soon as I could, I’d move to wherever the greatest concentration of objurers was. That would be the place that needed the most help.
I stuck the spare magazine and the box of bullets in my hoodie pocket. I moved to where I figured the door would reappear if Morfael ever let me out of there. He’d sent me for the gun. That had to mean he wanted me to fight.
I made sure the gun’s safety was off.
Then, without a sound, the wall was wooden again, and the thudding of the chopper’s blades beat through to me.
Siku’s guttural bear roar overrode the helicopter noise, followed by the rattle of bullets. Someone shouted, “He’s down!”
More bullets. The eerie howl of a wolf sent goose bumps down my arm.
I unlocked the door and pulled it open.
CHAPTER 21
I stepped outside and sighted my pistol on the mounted rifle in the chopper.
I fired. The pistol kicked. Cordite stung my nose. The man behind the helicopter’s gun ducked. I fired again. The bullet sparked off the gun, and the gunman threw himself backward.
I moved left, gun trained on the chopper. Only then did I take a moment to see what else was going on. Events slowed down around me. My right hand burned from the silver gun; crazy gusts of wind from the chopper whipped my hair around like a live thing. The universe narrowed down to now, and nothing else.
In front of the girls’ cabin, a silver wolf tripped a man in gray with a nip and a shove. He sprawled on the ground while another objurer tried to get a bead on London without endangering his friend. A large brown rat scuttled out of the undergrowth.
By the boys’ cabin, an eagle flew at the face of another man. His long wings flapped against the wash from the helicopter’s blades as he clawed at the man’s eyes. A grizzly bear thrashed on the ground near them, encased in silver netting as two men struggled to secure it around him. Near them, Lazar threw another net at Arnaldo. It reached
out for him, but he fluttered out of the way.
Siku needed help. I swiveled to run toward him, then froze. A lean form in black lay on the ground not twenty feet away. Morfael. Blood spattered his pale neck and hands. Ximon stood over him, leaning forward, about to take the twisted staff still clutched in one gnarled hand.
Black fury narrowed my eyes and steadied my hands. I aimed the gun at Ximon. “Back off,” I snapped. “Or I’ll shoot.”
Ximon straightened, a condescending smile baring his teeth. “Where are your fangs, Amba?”
Shock shivered through me. He was using the same word that Morfael had when we’d first met.
His voice deepened. “Drop the gun. Show me your claws.” The sound of it pushed at me, and my fingers loosened on the stock of the gun. I wished they were claws so I could tear out his throat.
“No,” I managed to say. My own voice stabbed through the command in his. “I won’t let you trick me.”
He frowned and swept his eyes over me, assessing. “What has Morfael done to you? You’re able to resist me now because the shadow is gone. So this is how he hid you from me all those years.”
“Hid me?” His words made no sense.
“Come with me now and I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” he said. “I know where your true parents are. I can show you the very essence of your self. And if you like”—he smiled again—“I can take it from you. You can be normal again. I can even take your memories of the otherkin, of these last few weeks. You’ll be just like any other teenage girl. And your family can live forever safe from shifters and the Tribunal.”
I felt the gun waver in my burning hand. “You’re lying,” I said.
“Don’t you understand?” he said. “It’s the easiest way for me to save the world from you.”
Save the world . . . from me?
“Our Lord only blesses bloodshed as a last resort. Come with me, and you’ll never hear the word otherkin again.” He held out his hand.
There it was. The thing I wanted. Or thought I did. I kept the gun trained on him. “You’ll leave my family alone?”
“I promise. If you come with me now, they will live out their days safe from all this.” He swept his arm out to take in the helicopter buzzing above, Arnaldo and November battling objurers, and Siku thrashing in a silver net. “It will be as if none of this happened.”
It was tempting. So tempting. Everyone here had rejected me, called me a freak. All I had to do was turn my back and soon I’d be home safe with my mother once more.
Siku flailed and uttered a guttural moan. Arnaldo flew over to pluck at the silver strands with his talons, only to be driven back by bullets. Over by the girls’ cabin London dodged a tranquilizer dart and leapt at the man who fired on her. We’d all be dead soon, or taken, no matter what I did. We didn’t stand a chance.
We. That was how I thought of us all, in spite of everything. We.
You must do what you think best.
Morfael had known I’d have to decide. He must have suspected Ximon would take him down. Now it was up to me. Home, safety, and a normal life. Or death or capture with a group of people who didn’t want me sleeping in the same cabin with them.
“No,” I heard myself say.
Ximon’s hand dropped. “Don’t be a fool.”
“You’re a murdering son of a bitch,” I said. “I’d rather die than give you what you want.”
His thick white eyebrows lowered thunderously. “Very well, then.”
I stepped toward him, pointing the gun as my finger tightened on the trigger. “Tell them to free Siku.”
“Stupid girl,” he said, touching his ear. He was wearing a headset almost too small to see. “Objurers, kill them all but the bear.”
“Very well, then,” I said, and fired. The gun kicked in my hand.
But the bullet did not strike him. A spark of light flared around Ximon like a shield. The bullet was gone.
“I told you to try your claws,” he said, walking toward me. A low hum began deep in his throat.
I had to shift. About to drop the gun, I saw a dark-haired figure in a long black coat walk out of the woods behind Ximon. My heart lifted.
“Get away from her, Ximon,” said Caleb. His face was creased with fury and exhaustion, his duffle bag over his shoulder and streaks of mud on his pants. But he’d never looked more wonderful. The jar full of leaves and twigs from the lightning tree was tucked under his arm. His right hand reached inside it.
Ximon turned, one of us now on either side of him. “There you are,” he said. “My son.”
I felt myself get very still, except for the hand holding the gun. It trembled. “Your son?”
Caleb’s eyes shot over to mine, tension between his brows.
“He didn’t tell you?” said Ximon. “Yes, Caleb is my son, half brother to Amaris and Lazar.” He turned back to Caleb. “We have your sister safe. Come with us now and I promise she’ll stay that way.”
Sister. Amaris was Caleb’s sister. In a flash I saw it all anew. Caleb, throwing his arms around Amaris in a hug in that diner, helping her escape from a father willing to put his own son in a cage, saving her from a life of isolation ruled by fanatics. Between that moment and this, the Tribunal must have taken Amaris back, but somehow Caleb had escaped. A huge weight lifted from me even as Caleb paced closer to Ximon, power vibrating from him as his eyes flared gold.
“There’s only one way she’ll ever be safe,” he said. “If you are dead.” He drew a twig from the jar and held it out. “I call you forth!” he commanded.
The stick struck Ximon’s shoulder.
And fell to the ground, rather anticlimactically. Ximon stepped back from it, his blues eyes widening. He began to intone a note of his own.
Too late. A black beam from Caleb’s hand hit the stick. A blinding slash of light leapt from the ground and stabbed at the sky. I thought my heart stopped. The boom from it silenced the helicopter for a second.
Ximon cried out, illuminated in silhouette. The bolt didn’t strike him directly, but the charge flung him back. I smelled ozone, and every hair on my arms stood up. Then the world went dark again, and Ximon lay in a heap on the ground. Smoke curled up from the ground where he’d stood.
Above, the helicopter bobbed like a cork. It hadn’t been struck, but the pilot ascended sharply in reaction. Now that Ximon was down, I ran to Morfael, fumbling for a pulse under his pointed jaw.
Caleb strode over to Ximon. His white head lift weakly, hands grasping at the soil beneath him. So he was still conscious. Caleb stared down at his father, a grim, lean figure in black holding a jar full of lightning.
“Please, Caleb,” said Ximon, his normally deep voice scratchy and frail. “I do everything only to save you. Because I love you.”
“We have different ideas of love,” said Caleb.
I held my breath as his fingers dropped a stick from the lightning tree back into the jar. Instead, he held out the saltshaker in his left hand and tipped it, sprinkling salt onto his father. “Come forth,” he ordered.
“Wait,” said Ximon. “Please . . .”
But the black smoke from Caleb’s hand had struck the white powder. It exploded into a thousand yellowish strands. They fanned out in a gummy net, encasing Ximon. He writhed, but the filaments held his arms clamped to his sides, his back glued to the ground beneath him.
I didn’t know how to feel. Part of me wanted Ximon dead. But Ximon was Caleb’s father. I could understand why he hadn’t killed him.
Beneath my hand, Morfael’s skin was damp but warm. A heartbeat thudded regularly. Blood was leaking from his side, but slowly. “He’s alive!” I shouted to Caleb. “Get to Siku!”
Caleb hesitated. “Dez,” he said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you . . .”
“You can beg my forgiveness later,” I said. Urgency beat through my bloodstream. “We have to help the others now.” I grabbed his arm, and we ran flat out toward the boys’ cabin.
The objurers, including
Lazar, had fired tranquilizing darts into Siku. He lay still inside the silver net as they dragged him into the trees.
The man under Arnaldo’s onslaught screamed and fell into a fetal position on the ground. Arnaldo landed, cawing out to us with piercing urgency and prepared to take flight again.
Lazar was retreating with Siku. I pointed his own silver gun at him. But the bear’s bulk got in the way, giving him and the other objurers cover. I had to lower the gun for fear of hitting Siku. Every second they gained more concealment, moving farther into the forest. Lazar was talking into his headset. Damn. Was he ordering reinforcements?
The helicopter descended again, rotating so that its open side allowed the gun to point at us. I fired at the gunman as he reached for the rifle. He winced backward.
“I’ll cover!” I said.
Caleb nodded. “I’m on Siku.”
He ran after Lazar and the men with the net, vanishing into the woods with a swirl of his coat. Arnaldo leapt into the air, wings flapping with terrific force against the crazy wind from the helicopter. A bullet zipped into the ground where he’d been. He wheeled, lost control, and tumbled through the air.
I forced back my fear and anxiety. Giving in to emotion was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I fired again at the man wielding the mounted gun, but he didn’t flinch this time. The gun swiveled toward me. I broke and ran behind the boys’ cabin for cover. Bullets cut into the ground, kicking dirt over my feet as Arnaldo grabbed the roof of the cabin with his powerful talons and righted himself.
I looked up at Arnaldo, his cruel beak and fierce yellow eyes above me. “As long as the copter’s pinning us here, we’ll never get to Siku,” I said. “Take it down.”
Arnaldo nodded once, spread his wings, and took off, this time away from the helicopter. The choppy air from its blades caught him under the wings, and he zoomed out over the trees.
A bolt of lightning leapt into the air off in the direction of the dirt road. A brain-splitting clap of thunder followed. My heart lifted. Caleb was still out there, making life tough for the Tribunal. As soon as I could, I would shift to tiger form and join him.
