by Bree Moore
Tyson shook his head. It wasn’t worth speculating. After all, if his abilities had started manifesting in obvious ways, he would have lost his job and been shipped off to a camp—most likely in another state to avoid conflict of interest. And he’d be facing Naturalization, which, as a magic user, would include reporting to someone every minute of every day for the rest of his life to ensure he stayed within the bounds of his Naturalization agreement. Not so bad as having wings cut off, certainly, but miserable enough that he could see why Mal had left the program, and why Fletcher—
Harper cried out, jolting Tyson from his reverie. Standing in front of him, not twenty yards away, was a grizzly bear. It had come out from behind a boulder near the river ahead. It dropped from its hind legs to the ground, and Tyson swore the ground quaked beneath his feet. The bear rushed forward, and Tyson knew he was dead. His mouth went dry, his heart pounded as blood rushed to his ears. He couldn’t move.
The bear stopped, its ears twitching, snuffing, turning its head side to side in an agitated manner.
Harper dropped her pack. Her wings rushed out in a flurry of feathers and she flapped them, rising into the air and hollering nonsensical sounds with trills and yips. She beat her wings threateningly.
The bear disregarded her, bearing down on Tyson with a steady gaze. It huffed, almost woofing. Tyson had never heard of a bear barking like a dog, but this one certainly did. It opened and closed its jaws, clacking its teeth together.
Harper swooped over the bear’s head. It reached up to swipe at her, but she managed to get out of its range. Tyson tried to remember anything from his science classes. Should he make himself look bigger or play dead? They didn’t have any bear spray.
The bear charged again, then doubled back when Harper cawed and threw sand in its eyes. Its massive paw swiped at its eyes to get the dirt out. She flew low again, this time with a rock, and the bear sprang up on hind legs and batted at her. Its heavy paw struck her side, knocking her from the sky. Then it charged.
Harper drew her wings in and quickly flattened to the ground. The bear stopped its charge and sniffed at her curiously. For a second, Tyson thought the strike had killed her.
Play dead.
Tyson dropped to the ground, covering the back of his neck with his hands. His elbows covered his face. He heard the bear growling and making distressed sounds. His own breath fed back into his face, warm and sticky feeling. He tried to slow it down, hoping the pack on his back would be enough to protect him from the bear’s jaws.
He kept expecting screams, but he heard nothing. The bear’s heavy steps thudded on the ground toward him. He squeezed his eyes shut. The bear’s claws pricked his side as it tried to roll him over. Tyson went as limp as he could. Strong jaws clamped on his backpack, worrying it back and forth, then stopped.
Silence.
Had the bear lost interest? Was it leaving? Tyson resisted peeking. And then he felt the teeth again, more delicately this time. And the sound of a zipper on his pack moving. He made a tiny gap between his arm and his head and peered out, catching a glimpse of a naked human thigh.
A man’s face dropped down, looking solemnly back at him. He held the ulu knife in front of Tyson.
“Is this yours?” he asked in a hoarse, unused voice.
Tyson lifted his head. The man squatted on the ground, completely naked except for a necklace with several carved totem figures, bones, and teeth strung on it. His long grey hair trailed down his back in a ponytail. Tyson blinked several times. His jaw moved, but no sound came out.
“Were you the bear?” he finally stammered.
“I was.” The man inclined his head. “Are you the son or grandson of Nukilik?”
Nukilik. His grandfather. Tyson’s head moved slightly, confirming.
“Good.” The man grabbed Tyson’s pack and hauled him up by it in a show of insane, inhuman strength. He slashed the air in front of them with the ulu knife and a dark slit appeared. With a single shove, he sent Tyson tumbling, arms windmilling into the void.
Harper’s scream was the last thing he heard as darkness closed around him.
⇺ ⇻
Chapter Thirteen
Harper
Harper hurtled toward Tyson and the bear-man. The bear-man raised the ulu knife in the air and slashed downward, splitting the fabric of the universe and opening a dark gash in the air. He pushed Tyson, who fell through the hole in the air, arms pinwheeling.
Harper screamed.
The muscles in her wings and shoulders strained as she pulled up at the last moment. Scratchiness lingered in her throat as she flapped slowly, drifting to the ground numbly.
She blinked at the spot by the river where Tyson had stood. Why hadn’t that blasted soothsayer said anything about running into a bear-man and getting thrust into another dimension, or whatever sci-fi mystical thing this was?
Harper’s wings flapped a few times, cooling her off. She was panting, she realized, her heart still racing. Sensation and awareness gradually returned to her body as her mind processed what had just happened.
Tyson was gone. Would Harper ever see him again? Could she somehow follow him?
“I didn’t think you cared.” A dry male voice sounded from behind Harper.
She pivoted, wings ready, hands up, knees bent. A raven stood on a rock. It cawed and ruffled its feathers, staring at her with beady, dark eyes. The rock wasn’t big enough to hide a person, and it seemed unlikely the raven would stand there with a human talking so close to it.
Harper narrowed her eyes. “Was that you? The voice, talking to me?”
The raven’s beak opened. “It is, and it isn’t. This is not my true form, only one that I could appear in that wouldn’t terrify you or make you attack.”
Harper snorted. The bird didn’t startle at the sound, and the way it cocked its head made her realize this was certainly no regular raven.
“Do you have a name, then?” Harper asked, crossing her arms.
“Many names. Most call me Raven.”
Harper snorted. “How original.”
“It was.”
The bird’s response made her pause, and Lilith’s voice filled her mind. Have you ever heard the lore of the Raven? A sacred being. Mischievous, creative, trickster.
And Fletcher. Are you descended from the Raven? Cooler, because he’s a god.
Raven born.
Harper licked her lips. “Are you the Raven? Are-are you a god?”
The laughter that came from the bird’s throat was a garbled, choked sort of laughter. “You curious mortals. What you don’t know can kill you, you know. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”
Harper threw her hands in the air. “Well, you less mortal beings can do as you please, I guess. Do you at least know what the hell is going on with Tyson?”
The raven’s right eye color bled from black to gold and shone from its socket. “He is being tested, as you are about to be.”
Harper stepped back. “Well, shit.”
“Indeed.” The raven nodded gravely. “You could call it deep shit, to coin a mortal phrase. Your journeys will mirror each other. You will emerge triumphant, or you will fail and dissolve into nothingness. And you have until dawn.”
“These things never have any middle ground. You should do something about that. I would go for a so-so outcome here.” Harper’s snark was getting the better of her. Her feathers itched where they met her back, just in that idiotic spot she could never reach. She moved each wing up and down, one at a time and the sensation subsided slightly.
The bird watched her silently, as if waiting for her to say more.
“Okay, so you’re saying our journeys will mirror each other. Does that mean if one of us gets injured, the other one gets injured, and if one of us dies, the other dies, and…”
“It does sound like you grasp the idea,” the bird said in its dry tone.
“But why?” Harper insisted. “Why the hell would
I be connected with him in any way? Did someone place a bonding spell on us? How did this happen?”
“The universe has its own kind of magic. I understand as much as you. Consider me a messenger.”
“Do I at least get a clue about where to begin? Tyson was thrown into another dimension. Pretty obvious that he’s gotta find his way back here. What’s my grand task?”
“To find what you’ve forgotten.” His eye bled silver. The orb gleamed at Harper.
“The Beryllium orb.”
“You made an unwitting contract with forces darker than you can imagine. They must not be allowed to succeed. Unfortunately, my own bindings prohibit me from returning your memories. It violates millennia-old contracts. But I can point you in the right direction, and you’ll find hints from me along the way to keep you on track.”
“It seems too simple.”
“You don’t have all the information you need to make that decision, so I warn you to be wary. Be wary of your pride and your pigheadedness.”
“Pigheadedness? Mighty words.” Harper walked over to the nearest pack, the one Tyson had dropped. She needed a break from that twitchy bird and its magical eye. She zipped the outside pocket closed, the one that had held the ulu knife. She scoured the ground, but found no signs of the knife. The bear-man had taken it into the other dimension.
She ignored the lump in her throat at the thought that she might not see Tyson again and hauled the pack over to where she’d left hers. She observed the contents of both, exchanging a few items, but mostly leaving hers intact. She hated the idea, but she’d have to leave Tyson’s here. She couldn’t carry both. And she’d have to carry this one in her hands if she flew. Backpacks weren’t made for people with wings.
“To begin, you must follow the inuksuit. They will lead you where you are meant to go.”
“What is an inuksuit? And where is it, exactly, that I’m meant to go in this insane wilderness?” Harper huffed.
The raven flew over to a pile of rocks. They were stacked together in the shape of a person. A blocky, crude sort of person, but a person nonetheless. Two stones on the bottom, a wide stone on top of those, and then an assortment of shapes making the head, torso, and arms.
“This is an inuksuk.”
“What about when it gets dark?”
“It will not get dark in the Alaskan summer. Sleep when you are tired, eat when you are hungry, and keep following the path. The direction the stones face will tell you where to turn. When the sky goes pink, your journey will have ended.”
“And Tyson?”
The bird cocked its head. “If you both succeed, you will find him in the end. Do not worry about that.”
“I wasn’t worried,” Harper snapped. After a moment’s thought, she withdrew her wings and shouldered the pack. Seeing these inuksuit from the air could be difficult, and she didn’t want to miss any.
“Walk north from here, through the mountain gates and into the valley.” At that, the raven took off, flapping its wings and soaring into the air. Harper dropped her gaze from the sky and passed the inuksuk swiftly without another glance. How often would she find them? Every few miles? Or every hundred feet? She didn’t see another one immediately visible, so she angled herself north, toward the mountains standing sentinel ahead.
She passed through them as the sun headed for the horizon. But it never fell. Harper’s stomach complained, so she stopped and filled it with jerky and an apple. She didn’t want to waste time lighting a fire. The faster she got through this, the better. Brushing off her hands, she surveyed the land for another stone feature before it got too dark to see. Despite what that raven had said, the light was fading.
She spotted what looked like a stack of rocks some distance ahead and hurried to it. It was angled east, so she changed her trajectory. An owl hooted in the distance. Little scuffling noises distracted Harper as she tried to discern what could be making them, but she rarely saw any of the creatures. She expected the twilight to fade and for darkness to force her to stop and build a camp, but the dim blueish grey light never faded from the land. It was like walking in an eternal twilight.
A faint floral scent filled her nostrils as she walked. It was so sweet and unexpected, Harper found herself taking deeper draws of breath. Beneath her feet to either side of the narrow game trail she walked, the path was lined with swaths of tiny blueish flowers on spindly stems. Forget-me-nots. Harper remembered the flower from somewhere, she wasn’t sure where. They seemed to grow all around her, carpeting the ground.
And then, out of the strange half-night, a cry sounded. A human cry. Harper surged forward, head looking to either side as she searched for the source.
A rock to her right moved.
Not a rock. Bear. A small one. A cub, lost from its mother? Or maybe its mother was nearby. Harper dropped her pack and unfurled her wings. The bear cub startled, turning to face her with a pale, flat face. No snout. Harper flew into the air and got closer. Not a bear at all. It was a child. She lowered herself to the ground, tucking in her wings.
The child stared at her, mouth agape. Harper couldn’t tell the gender, but the child seemed to be aged around six.
Harper held up her hands. “Don’t be afraid. I’d like to help. Is one of your parents around?” Based on the blank stare the child gave, he or she probably didn’t speak English. She brought up a finger. “Wait a moment.”
She went back to her pack and brought in her wings again, replacing the pack on her shoulders. She trotted back to the child, who had ducked behind a nearby bush.
“Come on. Let’s find your family.” Whether desperate or too trusting, the child crawled out from behind the bush and drew near to Harper. Up close, the child seemed to have more feminine features.
“Do you have a name?” Harper asked, moving forward along the path. That open, innocent face smiled, clueless. Harper pointed to herself. “Harper.” She pointed at the little girl.
The chid’s face brightened. “Siku!” she exclaimed.
“All right, Siku. We’re going to find your family.” It shouldn’t take that long. Harper could always come back to this place and get back on the path. “Which direction to your family? Mother? Father?”
Siku shrugged her shoulders. Harper frowned and kept her ears and eyes alert for any hint of a tribe nearby. She didn’t think this little girl was from her parents’ tribe of raven people. At least, the girl hadn’t shown any particular recognition when she saw Harper’s wings.
A tiny, warm hand slipped into Harper’s. She startled, and then realized it was Siku, not some critter trying to crawl up her sleeve. She smiled slightly. Children had never paid her any particular attention, and it felt good to have the trust of this one. Harper couldn’t be an abomination if a child trusted her.
They walked for ages. The never-changing light made time stretch. Harper contemplated pulling out the phone from her pack and checking the time, but it was turned off to reserve the battery for a time it might really be needed. Eventually, the sky would brighten again. But how long could she spend searching for this little girl’s tribe?
As long as it took, Harper determined. Whatever the raven had said, this was more important. She glanced down. Siku had slowed, moving at a snail’s pace. She dropped Harper’s hand and yawned. She was exhausted, poor thing.
“Do you want to stop and rest? We can search for your family in the morning.” Harper’s chest tightened at the thought of delaying her search an entire night.
The little girl didn’t respond. Her feet moved at a grudging pace. Her animal skin coat seemed bulkier than before, somehow making her bigger, more like a bear than ever.
Harper continued walking. If Siku started to stumble, they would stop. Harper’s own eyes felt dry and heavy.
A dragging sound accompanied Siku’s shuffling steps after a time. Harper noticed something dragging at the little girl’s side.
Arms. Siku’s arms had stretched. Harper’s eyes widened
. She dropped to one knee and took the little girl by her shoulders, turning her face toward her. The girl’s hood had closed tighter around her face, looking like a second skin and showing only the girl’s nose and eyes. Harper tried to push the hood back and failed. It was stuck fast. A tiny moan escaped the girl. In front of Harper’s eyes, Siku’s eyes stretched wide and lit up with a silver light.
Harper got to her feet and stumbled back. “What are you?” she asked, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.
Siku—or whatever the little girl was now—stepped forward and grew in height an entire foot. The arms stretched again, dragging fully on the ground like long ropes.
The fur grew and sprouted. The evolving creature kept approaching Harper, the sounds it made developing into a cross between a bird-call and a wolf howl. It sounded… mournful. Haunting. Those wide, silver-lit eyes expanded again, widening until they nearly filled the little girl’s once-face. The body stretched again, growing until it was taller than Harper, and tiny antler buds appeared on the creature’s head.
“Siku?” Harper asked. Had there been a child at all. Had she walked into a trap?
The creature made that wailing animal sound again. A rustling came from behind Harper. She spun to face a line of similar, larger creatures with inhuman, long arms, fur-covered bodies and those terrible eyes like headlights breaking through the twilight.
They closed in faster than Harper could react. She dropped the pack and let her wings expand. The creatures halted in a circle outside the reach of her wingspan. She fell into a crouch, ready to spring up and attempt to take off straight out of the circle. A vertical lift-off was the most difficult, and she’d rarely attempted it and rarely succeeded in getting enough lift.
The smaller creature, the one that had been a little girl minutes before, sounded the eerie wail again and one of the taller creatures came close, bending down and touching its head to the smaller one’s head. Little hoots came from them.
“Are these your family?” Harper asked. She didn’t know what the creatures were, but by all appearances they weren’t harmful. They filled her with a terrible sadness, a longing, a feeling of abandonment.
