by DM Fike
I leaned back against the base of a tree, trying to find a comfortable spot. “Yeah, yeah. Can’t know about golems. Can’t know about Mt. Hood. Can’t know about much at all. I’m an eyas and all.”
Guntram sat on a log, knees bent with his elbows on top, leaning toward the fire to absorb its pith. “It’s not only your eyas status. It’s more about you being you.”
I straightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That tone is what it means,” Guntram shot back. “You are impulsive to a fault, jumping into situations without truly understanding the consequences or even trying to.”
I considered Rafe’s prediction that one of these weirdo vaetturs would try to absorb the energy inside the lava dome. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand what that had to do with my temper, but I had to be careful for a change and not blurt out everything.
“Maybe if you told me what was going on, I’d make better decisions.”
“It’s not only your personality, Ina. It’s your abilities. You can’t handle lightning yet, and without control, no one, myself least of all, will put you into highly volatile situations.”
On one hand, I did understand. Lightning can be unpredictable. But you’d think the times I’d used it to save shepherds would count for something. My unique abilities should be regarded as a blessing, not a curse, against a powerful enemy.
I folded my hands behind my head, deciding to respond with a jab based on another augur-eyas pair. “I bet Tabitha would let Darby in on it.”
“Highly doubtful. Not given Tabitha’s past.”
This gave me pause. I knew very little about Tabitha’s history. Tabitha, an earth augur, openly hated my guts, so we weren’t exactly on friendly terms. I had only recently learned one juicy tidbit about her.
“You mean because she lost an eyas?”
Guntram flinched in surprise. “You heard that too?”
I ignored his attempt to change the subject. “What happened? Or is that classified?”
“It’s not classified.” Guntram sighed. “You may find this hard to believe, but Tabitha used to be a very gentle soul. Nurturing and caring. She told me once she wanted children of her own.”
That wasn’t just hard to believe, it was impossible. Tabitha seemed about as nurturing as a black widow, both the spider and the stereotypical female killer. “I thought shepherds don’t have kids.”
“You are correct. Having children creates an unnatural conflict between your duty as a parent and your duty to Nasci.”
Seemed a bit outdated to me, but then again, so did half the rules shepherds observed. “What does that have to do with Tabitha’s bitter personality now?”
“She could not be a mother, but she could be a mentor. The moment she became an augur, she devoted every spare moment outside her duties searching for an eyas. She prayed to Nasci, studied sigils that might help her locate a candidate, asked her kidama to communicate with dryants in order to identify a candidate. She even went as far as to wander into a few rural human towns.”
I tried to imagine Tabitha walking down Main Street of Small Town, Oregon. I could only imagine her looking like some drugged out hippie on a bender, especially if she was eyeballing kids.
“That probably went over like a lead balloon.”
Guntram ignored the joke. “It turned out Nasci offered Tabitha a chance when she least expected it. After banishing a vaettur deep in the woods, she found a starving child. Beaten and bruised by his caregivers, he’d run away from home. At the tender age of 14, he’d meant to live off the land. He’d followed a snake dryant into the wilderness, surviving on blackberries and water. Tabitha never would have met him if not for that chance encounter, so she took it as a sign that her prayers had been answered.”
That was an incredible story. Most eyases, like myself, are approached after months of observation by an augur. For example, in my case, Guntram learned from dryants living not far from my college town that I could perceive them. I started skipping class to take longer and longer hikes out into the woods just so I could find them. They were the most beautiful creatures I had ever viewed in my life: larger than normal animals with strange-colored fur and features, exuding this intense aura. I didn’t realize that as I studied them, Guntram watched me in the shadows, determining if I’d be a good fit as a shepherd of Nasci.
“So, Tabitha just up and trained this newbie?”
Guntram nodded. “Phineas took to the shepherd life like no other I’d seen. Unlike some children who miss modern comforts”—he gave me the side eye, since that applied to me—“he didn’t miss anything. Not the food, not the warmth of a stable home, not even school friends. He simply loved nature and animals. He also had an insatiable drive to protect Nasci’s creatures. And it was that quality that would eventually be his downfall.”
I imagined Tabitha training this teenager, taking a motherly interest in him. A knot settled in my gut, but I had to ask. “What killed him?”
“A fenrir.”
My muscles tightened. Fenrirs are giant wolf vaetturs, some of the nastiest to appear in the Talol Wilds. I’d never fought one, but they featured heavily in Guntram’s worst lectures. They were in a class of vaetturs that took an army of shepherds to banish.
Guntram continued. “The fenrir was stalking black bears, mostly mothers and cubs. It would maim the mother but leave her alive while sucking the life out of her offspring. The mothers later died of heartbreak, even though we tried to treat them. Phineas took the losses very personally. He insisted on helping to banish the fenrir. Tabitha feared he wasn’t ready, but he talked her into it. She reasoned that she’d trained him well, and that if nothing else, she’d be there to protect him.” Guntram shook his head. “But in the end, it wasn’t enough.”
I knew how personally Tabitha took loss. Her behavior toward me had only become more aggressive since she blamed me for the death of Jortur, the deer dryant she’d imbued a few months back. I tried to imagine her grief after witnessing an eyas, whom she’d treated like a son, die in front of her. Given her abilities as an augur, I could only imagine her rage in that instant.
“Please tell me Tabitha beat the living daylights out of that monster.”
“She didn’t just beat the fenrir. She banished it singlehandedly, a feat never achieved before and likely never to be repeated again.”
I whistled. Even though Tabitha and I didn’t get along, I respected that she had wicked talents well above my pay grade. Hearing that she’d banished a fenrir by herself, though, really put her abilities into perspective.
“Remind me not to get on her bad side.” Then I shrugged with mock dismay. “Whoops, too late.”
Guntram chuckled. It really lit his face up for a second, contrasting so heavily with his recent gloom.
It was not to last, of course. He drew a few quick sigils to douse the fire. “Get some sleep, Ina. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
Little did he know how right he was.
CHAPTER 8
GUNTRAM AND HIS ravens rose at the butt crack of dawn, dragging me out of a restless sleep. My internal clock had woken me in the middle of the night, but with nowhere to go, I’d tossed and turned with random thoughts floating through my head. For some reason, I couldn’t shake the image of Tabitha, tortured by the death of her young eyas. At least I didn’t have nightmares, but drifting in and out of consciousness seemed like a lousy consolation prize.
Guntram warmed me up with some practice rounds of each elemental sigil (minus lightning for obvious reasons) and then disassembled our meager camp to head farther south. Guntram led us so close to the outer edge of Florence that we spied a handful of mobile homes planted off ill-maintained gravel roads. We got so close to one that I saw a flannel-jacketed man cursing over rusty tools in the back of his pickup truck.
We poked our way to Mercer Lake, one of a handful of fishing spots east of Florence. Early summer had enticed a handful of recreational boaters onto the water, so we maintained careful coverage un
der the trees. Guntram occasionally lifted his hand to the air, drawing a simple air sigil. He searched for any twinge of increased air flow that couldn’t be attributed to the weather. He scanned the shoreline, hoping the large flat expanse of the lake might reveal his target.
The farther along we traveled, the more guilty I became. No air golem would appear, but I couldn’t tell Guntram that. Maybe, though, I could help end this pointless chase sooner rather than later.
I skipped in front of Guntram. “Why don’t I explore the other arm of the lake? If we split up, we can cover twice as much distance.”
“The idea does have merit,” a tired looking Guntram agreed. But then he eyed me suspiciously. “Although you should not take on a golem by yourself.”
I resisted the urge to announce I’d already defeated two, so he could wipe that condescending expression off his face. Instead, I said, “You can have one of your kidama tail me if you’re worried. They’ll alert you the moment I’m in danger.”
Guntram accepted this modification to my plan. I thought that would end the matter, but he surprised me by placing both hands on my shoulders. “I know you are upset about all the recent secrecy,” he said, a hint of fatherly warmth in his voice. “Thank you for your maturity in this matter. Once this has finally concluded, I’ll tell you everything that I can.”
I managed a tight nod. I hoped I didn’t look like a stiff robot as I hiked back into the woods. Normally, I would have walked across the water’s surface to the other side, but too many boaters on the lake would spot me. Besides, a wisp channel not far away would cut my travel time down to minutes. Taking this route, Fechin and another female raven bounced from branch to branch overhead, keeping track of my every move.
I traveled my way up the shore, avoiding a sprinkling of vacation cottages huddled around a dock. At one point, a country road cut so close to the shore, I had to duck back into the forest to hide. It was there, away from the lake, that I heard the distressed quack of ducks taking to the air. Curious what had frightened them, I followed their cries farther into the trees. Fechin and his friend cawed after me in warning as I temporarily abandoned the lakeside.
I waved at them dismissively. “I’ll be right back.” They flapped furiously after me.
I stumbled across a pond created by a small beaver dam. A family of industrious rodents had blocked off a section of Levage Creek, which fed into Mercer. Various sticks and branches lay scattered about, some in use for the dam, some just random yard debris for the beavers. While I didn’t actually see the cute little guys, I admired the fruit of their labor. Their home had created a natural wetland space that would surely cater to their waterfowl neighbors.
Except something had scared them off. I noticed a section of broken dam, water spilling over submerged logs back into the creek. The ducks must have been sitting on the placid waters when a shift in logs had caused a sudden change in water level. The ducks probably sensed danger and took off rather than stick around for a potential predator.
It was a shame really. The beaver dam looked quite sturdy, but even nature’s best architects can’t account for everything. Thinking I’d do the original engineers a solid, I drew a drying sigil and strode knee deep in the pond, intending to patch up the hole.
A dark outline of a tail paddle appeared in the water not far away. A cute little snout with eyes poked up at me. I had found one of the house’s occupants.
“Hiya!” I beckoned the critter toward me.
The beaver scuttled lower into the water as if scared of me.
I frowned. Animals adored hanging around shepherds. I’d grown used to things like moose lumbering behind me for a lick and hummingbirds stabbing berries out of my hand. It’s the kind of bond we had.
What was up with this beaver?
I waded out farther, following the beaver’s shadow dancing below the surface. “I’m trying to repair your house,” I explained.
No bueno. The beaver appeared confused, flitting about half the time as if running away, the other half floating in a daze.
I became really concerned when the rodent suddenly came belly up, head and back still fully submerged in the water. A death float.
I rushed toward the little fellow. “Hey! Are you okay?” I reached over for a gentle pat.
It snapped forward and bit me.
It shouldn’t have been possible, but its bite was so forceful, one chomp snapped my defensive charm right in half. The little bastard didn’t go for my extended hand either but attacked my leg instead. I had enough instinct to pull back in surprise. If I hadn’t, the beaver would have torn off a good chunk of my flesh. As it was, wisps of red mist swirled in the water, my blood spilling into the pond.
I yelped in pain, scrambling backwards. I scurried out of the water for good measure. Glancing back at my attacker from the shore, I finally noticed details that hinted this was no ordinary beaver. Streaks of green and blue striped through its dark brown coat, not that it had a lot of fur. Crocodile-like scales covered its limbs, tail, and even the upper half of its head, giving it the appearance of wearing part of its skull on the outside. Sharp claws matched its gnashing teeth, the two front incisors so massive that they hung down to its chin.
Awesome. A beaver vaettur.
It launched clean out of the water toward me. I drew a sideways S to knock it away. It splashed and disappeared underneath the water.
“Get Guntram!” I shouted at the ravens, but they’d already taken off toward Guntram’s last location. I doubted they could even hear me at this distance.
I drew a series of water sigils, meaning to part the water and locate the little jerk. To my dismay, I couldn’t do it. My water pith wouldn’t activate. It felt like mud on my insides, sinking toward the bite on my leg instead of pooling in my hands.
The beaver vaettur recovered faster than I anticipated. Its shadow zipped under the water toward me, tailing flapping so rapidly it sent a shower of droplets into the air. I only had seconds before it jumped at me again, and I couldn’t slow it down with water.
But I had other tricks up my sleeve. I shoved a batch of earth pith past the sticky water pith in my veins. It throbbed, but the pain only made the next sigil more satisfying. I drew a square with a slash at the bottom.
“Eat dirt!” I yelled as I raised a wall of mud from the pond floor in front of the charging vaettur. It slammed head first and bounced backward into a cloud of mud, where I couldn’t track its movements.
I kept a decent distance from the shore but craned my neck looking for the vaettur. A minute passed with no movement. Gathering fire pith in my hands, I tensed for round three. The water’s surface stilled to a complete calm, not even bugs skipping across its surface.
“Come out, you marine rat!” I yelled at my enemy. “Or are you afraid to show yourself?”
The pond suddenly sloshed about, sinking a little lower than its previous level. I assumed more water had leaked out of the dam until a vortex appeared. It flushed downward like a toilet, water draining and eventually revealing the hideous beaver vaettur, beady eyes focused on me. It hissed and raised its flat black tail like an alley cat.
My finger drew a five-pointed star. “Bad call, buck teeth!” I sneered at it. “You should have stayed hidden.” I prepared to finish it off in a fiery blaze.
A stream of water hit me square in the face, knocking me off balance. I aspirated water, the fire banishment sigil dying in my hands. I instinctively pulled on my water pith, an action which only caused my body to seize up as the sludgy mass stuck to my insides.
Falling into the mud, wave after wave of water crashed down on me. I covered my sputtering face with feeble arms, knowing it would do little to lessen the impact. The entire pond’s worth of water soon surrounded me, refusing to follow the rules of gravity as it encased me in a liquid dungeon. I couldn’t manipulate the water with pith. I couldn’t breathe. Instead, I tossed about to and fro. I opened my eyes, trying desperately to swim for air, but I couldn’t orient myself. Flun
g about like a toy, I caught glimpses of the awful beaver as it sat in the muck of the former pond, watching me drown from an element I should have been able to cast aside.
Not a pretty way to go, irony.
I finally gave up and breathed that lungful of water. I drew the underwater breathing sigil. Nothing. I tried again, willing the water to rise out of my airways. But my lungs refused to cooperate. The world shivered on the edge of nothingness.
Then the pressure lifted. The sun came back into view as water flowed away from me. As air hit my face, my queasy lungs threw up water. I collapsed on the ground, squelching in mud, hacking.
A barefooted figure stepped in front of me, cape billowing in the wind. Guntram turned his head in profile, scowling as angry as any vengeful spirit, complete with actual fire sparking out of his ears. The flames whipped around him in a frenzy as a maelstrom of wind howled via his fingertips. If he hadn’t used earth pith to bind me to the ground, I would have flown away instantly like a piece of paper.
The beaver fared little better, having been lifted up by the wind, claws flailing as it realized its doom. Guntram drew a sigil, his fiery finger leaving the afterimage of the banishment star gleaming in front of him.
“Return to Letum!” he screamed.
And the vaettur exploded in a supernova of light.
CHAPTER 9
“INA!”
Beside me, Guntram kneeled, flickering with flame. “Ina, are you well?”
I absorbed some of his fire pith, but without access to any usable water pith, it coursed raw in my veins. Wincing, I yelled, “Shut off the fire, Jichan!”
Guntram immediately complied, and the wind around us died too, leaving us back inside a mostly undisturbed forest, save for the scorched circle around us.
Guntram’s strong hands helped me sit upright in the falling ashes. He noticed the gash on my leg. “The afanc bit you.”
“The what?”
“The vaettur. No wonder you couldn’t get out of the water globe it created. Its bite seals its victim’s water pith.”
