Shattering Earth: An Urban Fantasy Adventure (Magic of Nasci Book 4)

by DM Fike

  Guntram, obviously, did not prescribe to movie logic because he forced me back into consciousness by dunking me into Sweet Creek. I awoke gasping for air, disoriented and flailing, thinking if I didn’t drown from submersion, the cold might kill me. Only when I scrambled out of the water, I realized I would not die.

  Guntram hovered over me, his spine stiff as a board. “What in the name of Nasci is wrong with you?”

  “The list is too long to repeat.” I pushed past him to squelch my way to dry land, plopping onto the ground to kick off my boots. I immediately regretted that decision as I sank into a patch of pine-needles that scratched my thighs.

  But Guntram had no patience for my sarcasm. He flicked out a quick earth sigil, and the ground beneath me flung me back up on my feet. I barely managed to find my balance and remain upright before I plunged back onto the ground on my knees.

  “Hey!” I protested.

  Guntram closed the gap between us, so close that I could see the mud in his dark beard. “You know better than to pull a stunt like that!”

  My nose scrunched in confusion. The cliffs where I’d almost died loomed behind his angry countenance. As Darby came wobbling toward us, still pale and shaking, I couldn’t figure out why Guntram was so upset.

  “I’m sorry.” I held up my hands in surrender. “Darby and I didn’t mean to pick a fight. We were sitting where you left us, and the boar vaettur attacked.”

  “I’m not talking about the gyascutus,” he said out of the side of his mouth, presumably not to yell. “I’m talking about you absorbing its pith.”

  My face reddened. “Oh.”

  “Yes. ‘Oh.’” Guntram looked like he was borrowing patience from his future reserves. “What possessed you to do such a thing?”

  Well, this wasn’t exactly the opportunity I envisioned when I thought of confessing about Rafe. He’s the one who taught me to absorb vaettur pith, albeit from golems. I scrambled to find a logical explanation and found none. “I dunno,” I said, hating how I sounded like a whiny teenager. “It just happened.”

  He slapped his hands on my shoulders so fast that I either wet myself a little or I lost internal water pith, it was hard to tell.

  “Never,” he emphasized as if my life depended on hearing each syllable. “Never, ever absorb pith directly out of a vaettur.”

  The word escaped my thoughtless lips. “Why?”

  “Because it exposes you to Letum, you foolish eyas!” Guntram said. “You think that black substance dripping from your face is normal? That’s Letum’s blood coursing through you, eating you from the inside out. You cannot have both Letum’s and Nasci’s essence coursing through your pithways. It not only harms you physically, it eats away at your soul.”

  That dramatic statement triggered my skepticism. “C’mon, really? My soul?”

  He brought his face within inches of mine. “The more vaettur pith you absorb, the more you give yourself up to Letum, turning away from the light of Nasci. Its effects are small at first. You’ll have visions, dreams of destruction and death brought on by the very essence of Nasci herself. Then you will find your ability to command pith weaken. You’ll falter with advanced sigils. As time progresses, you will find more sigils, even simple ones, difficult to execute.”

  I froze in horror, all the awful dreams and the difficulties I’d had with training flooding my memories. “Is it permanent?”

  “It’s hard to say, since most shepherds who attempt it more than once are bound.”

  I ignored the threat. “But you absorbed the fire golem’s pith. What makes you so special?”

  “That was a golem, not a vaettur!”

  “Same difference!”

  “No,” Guntram spat. “Big difference. A vaettur is a creature of Letum, like a dryant is one of Nasci. A golem, though, is crafted by a follower of Letum as a construct of his pith. You cannot banish it since Letum did not create it. Instead, you must diffuse it by dispersion. That’s why Tabitha, Azar, and I immediately released that vile pith back into the atmosphere. We needed to keep our contact with Letum’s blood, however removed, as minimal as possible.”

  “Maybe you got it all wrong,” I shot back at him. “Maybe you could use Letum’s own power to fight back against him.”

  Guntram’s thoughts must have shot out from his brain like a series of ninja stars because his ravens suddenly took flight, screeching in a panic. Shadows grew on his face despite the brightness of the day. Darby gasped and shrunk back into the foliage, a sibling escaping her parents’ upcoming wrath.

  “You will not play with Letum’s blood!” Guntram’s voice boomed across the valley, causing animals in the brush around us to scurry away. “It is forbidden!”

  Maybe it was the way he tried to frighten me, but I didn’t care anymore. I was sick of rules, ultimatums, and half-truths from everyone. So instead of cowering in front of Guntram, I rose up, pith aching and sluggish in my veins but flowing fast enough that fire sparked across my core.

  “I am not your former eyas!”

  Guntram flinched. “What did you say?”

  It was too late to back down now. “I’m not the eyas who murdered people in the name of Nasci.”

  Guntram recoiled from me as if I’d suddenly grown a third arm. “You know about that?”

  I nodded. “I also know the difference between right and wrong. Nasci chose to give me ken for a reason.” I focused all my attention on his bewildered face. “You chose to train me for a reason, so quit threatening me like a spoiled brat and give me a chance to prove myself. Tell me what’s going on at Mt. Hood.”

  His confusion turned into a deep scowl the longer I spoke. “You’re just like him. You want to be treated like an equal?” His feet slid slightly apart, hands up at the ready. “Then act like one!”

  My bravado meant nothing against my augur’s decades of experience. One minute I stood proud and tall, confident in my ability to defend myself, and the next, a hurricane gale skipped me like a stone across Sweet Creek, back up toward the ravine. Loose rocks and other small debris flew along with me, nicking cuts across my exposed limbs and face. I landed with an unceremonious thud in a shallow section of the stream again.

  Thinking my humiliation over, I attempted to stand only to have the water shoot up in the air, taking me with it. When it evaporated, the lack of support dumped me back into the stream. Mud inched like a living creature up my arms and legs, gluing me to the creek’s bottom as effectively as any duct tape.

  And there, with me stuck in the muck and waist deep in water, towered Guntram, covered completely in flames. For a split second, he reminded me of that awful fire golem. I screamed as I imagined it consuming me as it did in my dreams, burning me down to ash and dust.

  Guntram must have sensed my sheer terror because he backed off, fire fading from his abdomen. He drew a few quick sigils, and the mud relinquished its hold so the water could toss me to the shore. I sputtered in the reeds, adrenaline loud in my ears as my augur’s voice drifted over me.

  “Do not ever speak of my former eyas again, Imogene Nakamori.”

  Then he stalked away from my pitiful coughs, his ravens’ caws mocking me until they faded away into the silence of the woods.

  CHAPTER 15

  THE TRIP HOME could have won an award for pure awkwardness. Guntram took the lead, a furious augur with a cloud of ravens stomping his way from wisp channel to wisp channel. Darby tread lightly behind him at a respectable distance, not close enough to attract Guntram’s attention but not so far to seem like she wasn’t following. I played caboose much farther back, a ball of contradicting emotions. Self-righteousness for standing up for myself but self-doubt for confronting Guntram. Proud of the work I’d done with Rafe in secret but terrified it may have permanently harmed my pithways. Confident I’d done the best I could but convinced it would still bite me in the ass anyway.

  Once we returned to the homestead, we all quietly went about our business. I occupied the hot spring with Darby at first, neith
er one of us acknowledging each other at the opposite ends of the water. When I left, she gave me my charm necklace back like a drug dealer, thrusting it into my hands without looking at me, never changing her stoic expression. Guntram, for his part, went straight to bed, his kidama ravens roosting on the lodge roof like holiday ornaments. I heard him stir behind his bedroom door but never actually saw him.

  Well past sunset, I lay on my own bed, staring at the first quarter moon, my lonely crab slowly fading from view with each passing night. I wondered where everything had gone wrong. Despite how it made me nervous, I had to confront Rafe. Guntram had pointed out too many inconsistencies in Rafe’s great plan. Should we absorb vaettur pith or even golem pith? What about the effects on our pithways? I didn’t look forward to that conversation, especially given where I’d left things with Rafe, but I couldn’t wait to get it over either. When midnight came with no one stirring in the other bedrooms, I finally decided to leave for the motel, this time with boots on.

  Any lingering doubt I had about Guntram’s lecture on never using vaettur pith waned as I struggled to ignite the kembar stone with water pith. I must have sat in the lodge’s pool for twenty minutes, unable to execute a single underwater breathing sigil. At one point, I smacked the stone into the pool’s side so hard, I worried I’d wake someone up.

  But I did finally perform the sigil. The world spun upside down and sideways as it teleported me across Oregon. Once in Florence, though, I could tell something was different. Rafe always left the bathroom light on for me, but I found myself in pitch blackness. I patted around the slimy shower curtain to stand. My hands groped my way over the tub, along the sink, and toward the light switch. Flicking it on, I confirmed I’d teleported to Rafe’s bathroom by spying his comb on the counter.

  Then I opened the door to the bedroom and turned the light on there.

  Someone had ransacked the room. Drawers had been left partially open, the bedsheets ripped from the mattress and flung to the side. Strange gray dust covered a bunch of surfaces, revealing fingerprints near the windowsill, the nightstand, and around the table. Rafe couldn’t have made the mess because the curtain had been left wide open. Rafe valued his privacy more than an Illuminati member.

  Who could have done this?

  Stepping on a fragile piece of triangular plastic provided the answer. Gingerly picking up the yellow pieces, I reconstructed a large number ‘3’ that had been printed on one side. I’d seen these kinds of markers on true crime TV shows.

  “Cops,” I breathed.

  A blinding light suddenly pierced my eyes. I raised my hand and realized someone had shone a flashlight through the window. I barely took a step back when the motel’s door swung open, and a uniformed officer with a crowned hat stepped in.

  “Ina,” Vincent said. “I should have known.”

  “Vincent?” I gaped as he shut the door quietly behind him. “Why are you here?”

  “I was driving by on patrol and saw a light on. This is an active crime scene and it’s the middle of the night. What’s your excuse?”

  I couldn’t process coming face-to-face with the one person I’d tried desperately to forget. My feeble brain lurched like snail. “‘Active crime scene?’” I repeated dumbly.

  “I tried to warn you earlier. Something’s not right with this Rafe guy you adore. I’ve done some follow-up research. Rafe’s a ghost, a man with no background—not a Social Security number, not a birth certificate, nothing. But he does match the general witness descriptions of a suspect involved in various criminal cases along the West Coast over the last two years. Lots of arson, vandalism, assaults, even a few murders.”

  My mouth went dry. “Murders?”

  Vincent nodded. “He was last seen with two poachers who ended up dead at their illegal campsite.”

  My knees went weak, but I held onto a straight spine. “How can you be sure he did all those things?”

  “I can’t conclusively for most of them,” Vincent conceded. “But I know for a fact he started a Heceta Head beach fire. You remember, the one that interrupted us at my apartment last month?”

  My face flushed. He was referring to the call that interrupted our almost kiss. I managed a bland, “And?”

  “That arsonist left behind a food wrapper with a fingerprint that matches the person who’s been renting this very room.” Vincent tossed me a smug nod. “That means the same renter was on the scene of a fire meant to burn down a popular tourist beach. It’s enough to get us a warrant for his arrest on that case.”

  My mind raced at that implication. “Why would he do that?”

  “You tell me,” Vincent said. “Rafe seems to show up where a lot of destruction happens, like the golf course storm.”

  I stifled the urge to punch Vincent’s arrogant face. “And I told you that was a shepherd thing. It has nothing to do with these supposed crimes.” I scooted away from him.

  “Ina,” Vincent pleaded, losing all pretense of his cop persona, “what can I say to convince you? Something’s not right with this guy. If he’s done even half of the things on my list, he’s a major criminal.”

  “But I don’t understand,” I said, more to myself than Vincent. “He wants to help shepherds.”

  “If he’s trying to help you guys, he’s got a funny way of showing it.” He pulled out his phone and flipped it to a news article from a California newspaper. “Remember this fire?”

  I recognized the picture immediately. Although shepherds were cut off from technology and the world, I often caught glimpses of stories on TV screens and newspapers when I sneaked away to eat at restaurants. I remembered reading about this fire last spring. “Oh no.” I put my hand to my lips. “He didn’t.”

  “Investigative files say he did,” Vincent said grimly. “Someone taking pictures of the area snapped a shot of a hiker leaving the area right before the fire started. Look familiar?”

  My heart sank as Vincent scrolled down the same article to show a selfie of two college-age students overlooking a lake. Not far off their shoulders, a man in profile turned his head, as if trying to hide his face but didn’t quite make it before the picture was taken. I recognized the hair and backpack immediately.

  It was Rafe.

  “Believe me now?” Vincent asked.

  I balled my hands into fists to stop them from trembling. “So, you have him custody.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Vincent answered it nevertheless. “No. The motel owner told us the bill was past due this morning. He’d never been late paying before. We assumed we had missed him.”

  But Rafe had been here the night before. Why would he have left all of the sudden?

  Then I remembered his frequent peeks out the curtain. “You had surveillance on this place, didn’t you?”

  “I kept my eye on things while I got a warrant, but I was very discreet.”

  I snorted. “Not discreet enough. Rafe knew he was being watched.”

  Vincent cursed. “He must have abandoned this place right before I convinced a judge to sign the warrant. I hate red tape.”

  But something didn’t quite add up. “How did you know he was here in the first place?”

  Vincent suddenly wouldn’t meet my gaze. “I got a tip.”

  I frowned. “A tip?”

  “Okay, fine,” he growled. “I don’t want to get accused of hiding things from you again.”

  He pulled a familiar phone out of his back pocket. It was the white one he’d given to me. I patted my kangaroo pouch, and sure enough, it wasn’t there. Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t seen it for a long time.

  “Where’d you get that?” I snatched it from him.

  “You used it here about a week ago. I had a tracking app on it, remember? I noticed you used it here instead of out near the homestead. I hoped I’d be able to pin you down for a chat, so imagine my surprise when I pulled into the lot and spied your buddy slipping off into the woods for a little stroll.”

  Fire sparked in my pithways. If
I’d had batteries in my kangaroo pouch, I would have electrocuted Vincent right there. “You were tracking me? Again?”

  Vincent surprised me by yelling, “I wasn’t spying on you!” When he realized how loud he’d been, he smacked a fist into his open palm, grinding them like a mortar and pestle. “I was worried about you,” he said in a quieter, restrained tone. “You nearly died in that fire, and then you wouldn’t answer me to say you were okay. If your phone would have pinged in Pennsylvania, I would have driven across the country to find you.”

  The pained expression on his face made my heart race, but I had to stick to the facts. “But you saw me at the convenience store. You knew I was okay.”

  “Not if you were running around with this Rafe guy. Come on now, Ina.” He held out a hand to me, not quite touching my shoulder, hesitating. “Even you have to admit it looks bad.”

  I ran my fingers through my hair, resisting the urge to tear out a clump. “No, you’re right. It does.”

  Vincent hunched over slightly so our gazes were at the same level. “Then help me find him. He’s written something about Sweet Creek Falls and Glenada Ponds in his notes, but there’s no trace of him at either spot.”

  I froze. The gyascutus had appeared at Sweet Creek Falls, but I had no idea why Rafe cared about Glenada Ponds.

  “Maybe I’ll help you,” I told Vincent slowly. “But I’d like a chance to talk to him first. Explain himself.”

  Vincent grimaced at that. “That’s a terrible idea.”

  “Why?”

  “You always like to throw expertise in my face. Well, I’m the trained police officer here. You may be good at slaying monsters in the woods, but I deal with criminals day in and day out.”

  I balked at that. “But if you lock him up, I might never get answers to my questions.”

  “I’ll ask him whatever you want. I’ll work it into my interrogation, I promise you. Completely off the record.”

  I would never concede to that plan. There were too many shepherd issues to discuss with Rafe. I had to get to him first. But defying Vincent would only lead to an argument, or worse, he’d pull some cop maneuver and detain me.