Serpent Cursed (Lost Souls Series Book 2)

by Bree Moore

  Quinn’s mind reeled, searching for a solution. How to incapacitate Avaan and take possession of that flute without making Becca go mad and hurt anyone else? Nothing came to mind. If only he had more time.

  Avaan gestured and Quinn reluctantly followed, the two men emerging from the tent at the same time.

  Avaan spread his arms. “Welcome. You are just in time.”

  “What have you done?” Chief Aguta snarled.

  “I have awakened the bond between a lamia and her charmer. I am the only one who can control her.”

  “Then we will kill you both.” The chief took hold of the amulet on his chest, and the others did the same. “Raven will protect us.”

  Avaan scoffed. “Your heathen god will not interfere. Even if he does, I have gods with me as well, and the power of the lamia at my side. How many of your men must die today? I will tell you the answer: none.”

  “What of Ahnah?” Quinn hissed. His fists clenched. “She will not survive the poison, unless you have an antidote.”

  “Let us free and we will not harm another being on your land. Provisions and supplies to survive the wilderness, safe passage guaranteed. That is all I ask.”

  “What’s this about Ahnah?” The chief turned to Quinn, his face paling.

  “I do feel badly about that,” Avaan said. “The lamia became overeager after being trapped so long. I let her out on too long a leash, perhaps, but now you can see what we are capable of.”

  The chief stood straight-backed, his tone firm. “The antidote, or you die where you stand.”

  “You may kill me,” Avaan said, smirking, “but she will destroy many lives in her madness when you do. Lamia cannot control themselves, they can only be controlled by one of my blood with an instrument of power.” He patted the blue flute hanging on the cord around his neck.

  “We will carry you both into the sky and watch your entrails paint the rocks unless you provide an antidote,” Chief Aguta threatened. Quinn shifted.

  Avaan visibly swallowed. His voice took on a less haughty tone. “I never intended for anyone to be harmed. Listen, in my bag I have an antidote—an attempt at an antidote. I made it as a precaution for myself, should things go wrong, but I would be willing to give it to you for the woman if you will hold to your end. My things, provisions, and your word we will travel safely.”

  “We can’t just allow you to leave with her. With Becca. Let her go,” Quinn said.

  “Quinn,” the chief barked. Quinn tore his eyes from Avaan. His grandfather shook his head. “This is the best option for everyone. She is beyond your help now.”

  “She deserves to be with someone who sees her as human, not as an animal to be controlled,” Quinn clenched his fists.

  The chief’s face softened. “She deserves to be understood for what she is. She is no longer human. She is no longer the human she was when you met her. Can you bring yourself to see that this will be best for our people and best for the lamia?”

  Quinn looked at Avaan, hating the desperate tightness in his chest. “What will you do with her?”

  “I will take her back to my country. She will live a luxurious life, I assure you.”

  “But as a prisoner.”

  Avaan shrugged, as if there were nothing he could do about it. As if he had no choice. As if he had any right to make that decision for Becca. “I hope she will come to like me. Perhaps even love me. It is the way of our people.”

  “She will never love you, not after you’ve sought to control her. She deserves to be free.” Quinn’s voice rose. From inside the tent, he heard a hiss.

  Avaan motioned with his hands for Quinn to lower his voice. “You will agitate her into attacking. I need to return to her. Our bond is new and relatively unstable, but I assure you, she will be happier with me, in time. There is no cure for the curse of the lamia.”

  Quinn looked away from him. He wanted to hate Avaan, wanted to blame him for what had happened to Becca. But more than anything, he didn’t want to accept that his time with her was over.

  “Bring the snake charmer’s things,” Chief Aguta commanded one of the warriors. He rushed forward. “I must see my wife.”

  Avaan nodded. “I will come with you. The serpent will not harm you, you have my word. Bring your warriors, if you wish.”

  A wild, screeching yell came from the tent. “Harper,” Quinn murmured. The three men bolted into the tent. Quinn’s breath came ragged. He saw Harper standing on her bed, throwing pots at the serpent. They exploded with clouds of herbs and dripping liquids. The healer lay sprawled on the ground, a bloody gash on her head. Quinn couldn’t tell if she, too, had been poisoned or wounded.

  Becca swayed and spat at Harper, who wielded a pot lid like a shield.

  Quin reeled around, spotting Avaan. “Do something!”

  Avaan hurriedly put the blue flute to his lips and played a tune. Becca’s eyes closed. She swayed, lowering to the ground until she had fully curled up and appeared to sleep.

  Quinn rushed to Harper’s side as she swayed, catching her in his arms. They both stared at the sleeping Lamia, and Quinn glanced at Avaan. A tiny smile played at the edge of the charmer’s lips as they curved around the instrument that controlled the violent serpent Becca had become. Quinn hated himself for the relief he felt. He should have fought harder, should have found a way to help her instead of giving up.

  Quinn turned away toward the opening of the hut, helping Harper walk steady. Behind him, the music stopped for an instant, and Quinn stiffened.

  “She doesn’t need you anymore,” Avaan said quietly, the sincerity in his voice piercing Quinn’s chest with the truth of his words.

  Quinn straightened his back, walking out of the hut and into the sun. His heart clenched in a tight ball of pain that he tried his best to hide, but Harper looked at him and, in her eyes,, he could see that part of her understood.

  ⇺ ⇻

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tyson

  Tyson blinked against the blinding brightness of the world he’d landed in. He lifted his head off the ground and shook it, then looked around. The sky was near dark and lit up like Christmas with the famous ribbon of ethereal light. He climbed onto all fours, shaking his head and staring at his hands. Except they weren’t human hands holding him off of the snow-covered ground, but paws. Enormous, white bear paws. He lifted them and shook off the snow, revealing black pads and claws.

  Tyson shuffled his back legs, too, to confirm it. He raised his nose toward the air and sniffed. It was like a reflex. He caught hint of an owl winging overhead, and a rabbit skittered through the snow behind him. He felt the pulse of the earth beneath his paws, teeming with life under the frozen landscape. And there he stood in the midst of it all, breathing chill air but not feeling any of it through his thick white coat.

  Someone had turned him into a polar bear.

  A sound like a gunshot rang behind him and he bolted, galloping through the snow at a break-neck pace. Power coursed through his limbs, power he didn’t know how to control. Adrenaline and instinct had taken over. He barely dodged a snow-covered pine tree, his shoulder glancing off the branches and sending snow cascading to the ground as he came up over a rise and slide, legs sprawling.

  The air stilled. A huff in the wind told him he wasn’t alone. Tyson cracked his eyes. Even as a polar bear, he could see in color. He’d assumed bears were like dogs and could only see black and white, but the landscape was awash in greens and blues from the shifting lights above, illuminating the brilliant coat of a female polar bear not twenty yards away. Tyson could smell on the air somehow that she was female, and that she, too, wasn’t alone.

  A tiny bear grunted and another squeaked. The female growled a warning. Tyson slowly backed away, but his return was blocked by the slick hill behind him. The only way out of the situation was around, and this mama bear could charge in an instant.

  Her scent changed in an instant. His nose interpreted it in a way his h
uman one never could. Fear. She nosed her two cubs along, glancing back over her shoulder as they conceded their territory to Tyson, who had been preparing for her charge.

  He, too, caught another scent on the wind, but his human mind scattered the bear-sense. He needed to rein it in, to focus. The wind shifted through the pines, bringing a myriad of scents, and his bear-self relaxed.

  His human mind, on the other hand, did not relax. It was the heart-pounded, heavy breathing, feet racing of those times he’d been the last one up the stairs from the basement with the responsibility of turning off the lights. No matter how irrational, his brain had made as if every imaginable horror breathed down his neck, but of course when he turned around, nothing was there. He lumbered forward in a different direction from the female and her cubs.

  He turned around now, eyes scanning the horizon. It was a perfect, peaceful canvas. Perhaps he was just paranoid. What could harm a polar bear, after all? A king of the ice and snow. He padded forward more confidently. He needed to find that other bear-man. He might know how to change Tyson back, how this had happened. He owed Tyson that much, considering the jerk had shoved him through some sort of portal. Remembering how he’d gotten here made him think about Harper, a welcome distraction from the paranoia that haunted him. He wondered whether she was searching for him or if she’d continued on toward her tribe. He wouldn’t blame her for leaving him to his fate. It wasn’t like she could follow him here.

  A gunshot cracked through the silence and Tyson felt a sting in his shoulder. He growled, head snapping up to find the source of the pain. Another shot broke the stillness, and another. Both went into his belly in different places, and anger surged through his chest. He didn’t deserve to die. He hadn’t done anything aside from exist. His pupils dilated and he spotted the two figures on the hill, rifles against their shoulders, headed toward him. He broke out into a sudden run, charging for them. The hunters fired again.

  Tyson went down in a spray of snow and blood. The life pumped out of him, his thoughts narrowed to a pinprick of pain and consciousness.

  A hand reached from the aurora and took his soul from the body. A spirit in the form of the polar bear followed. It opened its mouth and the roar shook the skies. The hunters below took no notice, chatting as they made their way to the body of the bear.

  The anger remained with Tyson. Sure, men needed to eat. He knew that, and why would these men have any motive other than feeding their families? But something still felt wrong. A brief, searing pain went through his elbow, then faded to nothing. He reached a hand across to touch it, but couldn’t feel anything different.

  They did not thank the spirit, a voice rumbled through him, immense and pulsing. It flooded his blood and pumped through his heart.

  Who are you? Tyson asked, but his words came out as thoughts. Why was I in the polar bear’s body? Why did you bring me here?

  Silence. He felt no sensation on his skin, floating in the air, facing the glowing outline of the polar bear. He suspected his body lay somewhere without him. Was he dead, too? Was there a point to any of this?

  The mysterious hand appeared again, pressing gently on his shoulder, moving him downward, toward the men spilling the dead bear’s hot intestines across the snow. The stain of its was blood dark and filled Tyson with the smell and sensation of being sick. As he realized his destination, he balked. He did not want any part of that man’s thoughts, of his actions, cutting into a creature that Tyson had been one with only moments before.

  But he had no choice. A force beyond his power to withstand thrust him into the man’s soul, taking up a tiny space in the back of the man’s mind.

  Satisfaction. Glee. Disgust. The man hated this part of his job, but it paid well—guiding elite, wealthy hunters through the Alaskan wilderness to get a kill like this one. They wanted polar bears, moose, and other large trophy game. Some of them hoped for creatures of legend. Others were intent on poaching the protected paranormals in this region. It all paid a handsome sum.

  A shout from his companion alerted him to something. He turned. A young woman with short-cropped hair stood in the distance, a massive pair of wings grown from her back.

  “Tyson!” she screamed.

  He reached for his gun. A prize like those wings would bring in a hefty bounty with a few sellers he knew.

  Harper! Tyson dragged himself out of the man’s thoughts and pushed to the forefront of his mind. He beat himself against the wall between himself and the world.

  The gun propped up on his shoulder. The body moved on the last order it was given. Aim and shoot.

  Tyson yelled as the gun went off.

  Harper’s form faded before the bullet ever reached her. A hooking sensation grabbed his attention moments before he was dragged back into the sky, anger and fear coursing through him. They felt like heat, and he had none of the physical reactions he would have had if he’d been in a body. His own body, at least. He glanced down at the hunter and shuddered at the murderous sensations that now flooded him. He wanted to stop the two men, turn those guns on them and leave their bodies to benefit the wild things that lived here.

  Protection. From things both physical and spiritual. Can you accept that responsibility?

  Who are you? Tyson shouted. No physical sound manifested, more like a vibration through the air. The polar bear spirit still hovered above him, joined by an eagle. But he hadn’t seen an eagle. Did they represent something?

  You are a dreamwalker. A realm skimmer. Understanding others’ experiences is essential for you to do the work before you.

  Is this a job interview? The thought broadcast without Tyson intending it. He wasn’t sure he could have prevented it. It’d be great to know what the position is.

  You were born into this position, as you call it. This is merely a test.

  Frustration built inside of Tyson. A test for what?

  For your readiness to build a bridge between worlds. The voice resounded in every part of him, disembodied and somehow fully embodied within Tyson. It was maddening, it was calming, it was everything he didn’t understand about the world.

  A burning pain pierced his ankle. He gasped and bent to touch it, but of course he wasn’t in his body. Somehow, he could still feel every sensation.

  Tyson floated in the void. The darkness pulsed, drawing close enough to suffocate and then withdrawing, as if it were breathing.

  “Hey!” Tyson yelled as loud as he could. There was no echo. The darkness swallowed his words.

  A form drifted past. The bear-man who had forced him through the gash between worlds he had cut with the ulu knife sat cross-legged in a meditation position. One of his scarred eyelids cracked open.

  “Do not waste your energy. Here, it is best conserved for what comes next.”

  “What exactly comes next? There’s nothing here!”

  “This is a womb. Only you determine if you’ll be expelled or absorbed.”

  Tyson didn’t like the sound of either of those options. He folded his arms, and then unfolded them, feeling like a petulant child. “Is Harper okay?”

  “Her journey is her own. Focus on your path in the here and now.” The bear-man’s form blurred and he turned into a bear, then some sort of seabird.

  “I still don’t understand what I’m doing here.” Tyson rubbed his hands on his pants. At least he still had a form that he was aware of.

  “You will come to understand, in time. This is a test all of those with dreamwalker abilities are put through. You are being tested for your suitability in connecting with the power of the Eternal Source.” The seabird gained the head of a man. Tyson winced, wishing he could look away from the combination, but feeling he had to look at the same time.

  “But how do I have these abilities? Neither of my parents do. Did. That I know of,” Tyson insisted. To his relief the bear man regained his human form.

  “When you were an infant, someone spoke a sacred ancestral name over you. His spirit came
into you, lives in you. You are Nukilik.” The bear-man spread his hands wide. “If you reject this path, you reject the spirit inside and so will die. If you accept, you must prove you are worthy.”

  “Or I’ll die. Okay, I get it. Seems like I don’t have much choice in the matter.”

  “You will not be forced.” A piercing blue eye directed itself at Tyson. When the other opened, it was green. “Do you wish to proceed?”

  Did he?

  His Nana’s face came to his mind. Her smile. Her stories. Her determination. Had she been the one to speak his grandfather’s name over him? Had she expected him to accomplish something beyond his human desires and goals in this life?

  “Yes.” The word sounded foreign as it left Tyson’s mouth of its own accord. I haven’t decided yet! His mind screamed. But he took in a breath, and then another, and imagined Nana was here with him, her cool, wrinkled hand in his, and the ulu knife in the other. Strength surged through him and he straightened, though his hands remained empty.

  The bear-man bowed his head. “Let it be so. This next challenge will reveal your inner turmoil. You must be at peace to access the ethereal powers of worlds beyond. Still yourself and you will still the chaos around you. In that stillness, you can control the elements and you will find yourself back here.”

  “What chaos?”

  The void swallowed the bear-man, and he vanished from sight. The tendrils of darkness shot out from within the void and consumed Tyson, smothering his screams and suffocating him until he landed on the other side of some dark rift in the air. The rift sealed and he stood, all of his clothes removed except a thin panel of fabric at his waist. A loin cloth. He wore a loin cloth and stood at the top of a moderately sized mountain. Beside him, a massive boulder towered at the peak of the mountain. The rocks below felt warm below his feet. Was there a hot spring nearby?