by Toni Kerr
“He looks like this!” The idea of being a composer, or creator, had bothered him before, but this was different. This was a perfect opportunity to use the ability for something absolutely necessary. He created a replica falcon, careful not to invest anything personal in the process.
He made slight technical adjustments to the wingspan and color, and tried to match everything exactly to his memories as the bird circled overhead. But it had been so long since he’d seen the bird in flight. Maybe too long. He sent the bird gliding in a wider circle, slowing it down so everyone could get a good look. “Have you seen this bird before?”
There was silence for a moment, and some whispers of explanation as a few more plants awoke from various states of dormancy.
Yes! came a shout. Others followed and soon, the whole area was cheering.
“How long ago?” Tristan’s heart leaped with excitement. “What direction was he flying?”
He was just here, not long ago!
“Which way?” Joyful elation had him springing on his feet. He’d go after the falcon with the sagebrush tracking his path, and would return to this exact spot in record time. It would be impossible to get lost. Speed would be the biggest factor—how long did he have? He was already losing perspective of time.
That way! Right toward the sun!
Tristan frowned. Without fingers, how could they express direction? The sun was no help, being high noon. “Who saw him last?”
I did! Just about everyone echoed the statement.
I see him right now!
“Where?” Tristan spun to follow the voice. Gliding above sagebrush, about fifty feet out, was the replica falcon.
He’s coming around again, right above me!
“No, no, no!” It was no use. “That falcon is just the example. I’m looking for one exactly like it.” He dissolved the bird instantly, giving him only a slight stab of pain in his chest for having created it.
What was so wrong with that one?
Why do you want a falcon, anyway?
Tristan shut his eyes and debated throwing a fit. Where would the falcon go? What was his plan? “Water. Where’s the nearest source of water?”
Water arrives every morning just before the sun rises.
“No. Where is the nearest spring?”
Spring only comes after the long winter, never before.
“I need a source of water. A creek, pond, or puddle. A place where animals can drink.” Silence burned into his flesh worse than any sun. He could barely breathe. “Okay—how ‘bout this. If I wanted to walk in the direction where the sun rises, which way...?” Did a specific direction really matter? He tried again. “In the early morning, before the heat sets in, are there visible mountains on the horizon?”
No answer. Tristan threw his head back and held back a roar of defeat.
They are afraid to make you more angry, said the clump of weeds.
“I am not angry. I’m frustrated. I’m in a hurry, and I don’t know which way to go. If I walk away from this spot, will any of you remember me in an hour? A day? Would you be able to help me find my way back?”
Oh, yes! We would not forget a dragon.
“How do you know I’m a dragon?” He certainly didn’t look like one; he glanced at his hands to be sure.
Whispers circled the area, but they had no real answer, other than it felt like a truth they could not argue against.
“Have you seen a dragon other than myself, recently? As in, during this hot season?”
Nobody had.
Tristan’s optimism sank to a new level. Maybe Jacques came through at a different location. Maybe he came through at night, when the majority of the plants were at rest. Or, the very worst possibility that had been waiting in the back of his mind to be acknowledged: the council had tricked him into entering this barren wasteland willingly, so they could keep him prisoner forever without actually killing him.
“If someone happens to come looking for me, feel free to send them my way if they seem trustworthy.” His starting point made no difference; he had no intention of returning.
If Tristan could walk a straight line, he could have traveled twice the distance. As it was, he’d zigzagged for hours around the scraggly shrubs, often veering off course just to find a spot wide enough to squeeze through. He had the sense to pull his arms into his T-shirt, but the back of his neck and face were fried, and an afternoon windstorm had sandblasted him from behind.
Everything about the land looked the same as it had when he’d started, with the exception of the ground shifting from colorful, sandy pebbles to white, powdery sand with cracks an inch wide. Daylight faded and he was no closer to finding his way out. It was probably foolish to think the way out would be something he’d recognize.
Donovan would kill him. If he ever got back. Maybe no time will have passed, and he wouldn’t have to tell anyone.
Something tripped his step, probably his own foot, and he fell to his chest, unable to get his arms out in time to catch himself. What was the point? Especially at night, when it was too dark to see. He drew an arrow in the sand, so he wouldn’t have to remember what direction he’d been heading, and closed his eyes.
The temperature plummeted. A twig snapped in the distance; Tristan leaped to his feet with his eyes shifting into night vision mode before the sound had registered. Barely visible on the horizon, an orange spot crept silently through the shrubs, slow and steady. His stomach growled with hunger.
Starlight shined brightly across the desert. And though his body resisted movement, lethargic and sore, his mind was wide awake. He focused on the orange blob and took off at a run, maneuvering easily around the sagebrush, even bounding over a few to close the distance.
The creature seemed to sense the approaching danger and fled faster.
The thrill of anticipation filled Tristan with joy. The desert was suddenly a place of pure freedom. The brilliant stars, the never-ending sky, the wind blowing across his bare skin...like being set free from a lifetime of hollow gloom. He threw out his arms and vaulted over a large cluster of sage, never quite hitting the ground on the other side.
He soared higher and higher, then swooped down toward the four-legged creature with such speed, a long whoop of laughter tore from his throat. He sped past what looked like a large cat, then spiraled in the sheer joy of flying.
When he circled around, he noticed three smaller specks of heat huddling as one, about a quarter mile away. Tiny creatures scurried everywhere, darting from the shelter of one sagebrush to another. He landed on his feet next to the spot that had caught his attention earlier.
A sudden hope sparked in his thoughts. Maybe this would be a reasonable way to find the falcon, searching at night for the right heat signal.
He knelt to peer beneath a pile of twigs, where three frightened kittens began meowing loudly.
“Hello little kitty-kitties. Did your mama leave you behind?” Tristan wriggled his fingers in the sand until the first kitten couldn’t resist the temptation any longer. It pounced on his hand with its tail in the air. “Ahhh,” Tristan cooed, a little uneasy when his eyes shifted back to normal. He was practically blind in comparison. “Can I keep you?”
He sat cross-legged and let the kitten gnaw on his finger. Its body fit perfectly in his hand, and the other kittens climbed onto his lap to join in.
Behind him, something prowled.
Tristan gathered the kittens close to his chest and rose to his feet. It was then when he realized something heavy dragging him backwards. He twisted to see behind himself, almost pulled off balance in the process. Something snagged on a sharp branch and he felt a twinge in his back—the more he twisted, the sharper the pain and the more clear the situation was.
Even in the dark.
No matter how much he blinked, the concept of having a wing, two wings, attached to his back.... No wonder his shirt had gotten so uncomfortable.
The rumbling growl grew louder.
Tristan had no interest in the
kittens, other than they were cute and in need of protection. So if the mother cat, probably the mountain lion he’d accidentally run off while flying.... With wings? His heart raced. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner?
A shadowy shape approached in the darkness. Tristan’s scattered attention snapped into focus and his wings were suddenly not an issue. In fact, he felt them strengthen with each steady heartbeat that had gone from frantic confusion to absolute authority without missing a beat.
A wolf stood before him, with his jaws adding an odd cadence to his growls. It was probably a coyote.
Whatever it was, it didn’t matter if it was trying to communicate or not; the kittens were not up for discussion. He could fly away, instead of staring the animal down, but then the mother lion wouldn’t find her kittens and he wasn’t about to raise them himself. He had things to do and this wasn’t one of them.
Anger flared in his shoulders and his wings lifted higher at the joints.
The coyote sensed it immediately and lowered its nose. He seemed unsure what to do, and finally walked away at an angle, prepared to take off at a run if necessary. His pack waited quietly in the distance.
Tristan lifted the kittens higher and buried his nose against their soft fur. They smelled real enough, but were they? Did someone think a litter of kittens was the best way to distract him from finding Jacques? From finding the way out of this place?
An involuntary shudder racked through his limbs in the cold air. He curled his wings around himself without thinking.
Each joint rotated quite easily, like a second set of arms, but with two elbows and a wrist. The skin felt exactly like his normal skin; full of nerve endings and blood vessels. He stretched experimentally; each wing expanded about ten feet, maybe a little more. And though they were bony, they were surprisingly light and maneuverable—though he was already feeling the strain of holding them out for so long.
He shuddered again, more in confusion than cold. There was so much to think about all of a sudden. Could he lay on his wings without cutting off the circulation? How would his heart handle the extra work to maintain such a circulation? Could he conceal them if he wore a long coat? He couldn’t see how high they protruded over his head.
They were making him cold, he realized, as his blood flowed through the thin membrane against the night air. His mind raced in a million directions as the purring kittens fell asleep, cradled in his arms.
24
OASIS
TRISTAN SMILED AS the kittens tackled each other with tiny roars, tumbling over his outstretched arm. He was lying on his side, one wing tucked tightly behind him and the other covering him and the kittens like a tent.
He’d kept guard over the little fur-balls for most of the night, kept awake by all his crazy thoughts, until a single idea changed everything.
So what if he could be easily distracted by kittens? It only proved he valued life, and felt a duty to protect. It seemed silly to think he’d eat Landon or Victor if he was hungry enough, without thought. Why would he? They were his trusted friends. He’d protect them with his last breath if necessary.
A rasping hum sent a shiver down his spine.
Tristan rose to an elbow, collecting the three kittens as they tried to make a run for the outside. All the doubt was back in his head at a full rampage—why hadn’t he sensed any danger? The hairs on his neck bristled and his eyes shifted naturally.
He got to his feet and swept back his wing in one fluid motion, then froze.
Lying a few feet away was the biggest cougar he’d ever seen, with thick golden fur. A dead rabbit lay between her huge front paws.
The fact that the cat was laying down had to be a good sign, but how long had she been there? Surely he would have heard her breathing.
They stared at each other. But not as he’d done with the wolf. This was more for establishing an understanding. She’d trusted him with her kittens all night, and he was trusting her not to change her mind, now that the night was over.
He lowered the kittens to the ground, then stood again. They ran toward their mother, stumbling a little in their eagerness to see her. She rolled to her side and let them nurse at her belly.
Tristan observed with fascination for a few moments, shocked she would put herself and her kittens at such a risk in the open desert, then took a few steps back. He would keep watch over her until she was done, but then he would have to keep moving.
Jacques, then home.
He picked up a sharp stick and scratched the words into the dry skin of his arm to make sure he didn’t forget, and circled around the mother and her kittens.
An hour passed and the air was finally gathering some warmth. His first priority should be water. Then shelter from the sun and a safe place to spend the night, if he was still here by then. He glanced at the spot where he the mother cat was sleeping. Maybe this was a good time to get moving. It’s not like he had to wait to say goodbye or anything. He picked a direction, one with a possible shimmer of a mountain on the horizon, and headed that way.
Not fifteen minutes had passed before the need to get back had him forgetting the purpose of his mission. He took to the sky and stayed low, straight back the way he’d come. He flew directly over the cougar hiding her kittens and spotted a whole pack of coyotes on the far side—probably a mile out but closing in.
Were they smart enough to know he’d abandoned guard duty? The guilt hit him a bit harder than it should have. The kittens had to be several weeks old. How had she managed for so long by herself? The coyotes took off yipping in every direction. Instead of picking one to follow, he turned back for the mother and her cubs.
By the time he landed, his temper cooled. Maybe there were things he didn’t understand about the pecking order in this place. Maybe the coyotes wouldn’t have considered taking down a mother mountain lion, but they could certainly keep her occupied while others in the pack found the kittens.
She probably couldn’t carry them all at the same time, could she? Maybe she couldn’t travel across the desert because then she’d have to pick one over the others. Maybe it was all she could do to leave them for short times and hope they were still alive when she returned with food for herself. Maybe she didn’t realize he’d leave her unguarded.
“Look,” Tristan said, frustrated the cat seemed so clueless as to what could have happened. “I have to go. I’m searching for a friend, so, you and the kittens are on your own. Got it?”
One of the kittens rolled to her back and the mother started licking its full belly. Tristan tried not to laugh. Such a cute little thing with a big scary predator for a mother. Did he outrank her on the predator scale? Would he be as gentle if he was his full dragon self? He hoped so.
“I’m going that way.” He pointed in the direction he’d been heading originally. “If you want to come with me, I’ll carry the little ones. I’ll be looking for water and shelter, and my friend. My friend is a bird. He won’t hurt you or the kittens.”
Tristan rolled his shoulders and neck. Flying would definitely take some getting used to. The cougar yawned and put her head down.
“No!” How could he make her understand? “We can’t sleep. We have to find water as soon as possible. You might not fry in the sun, with all that fur, but I will. I need shade.” The coyotes yapped away in the great distance, probably trying to find each other so they could regroup and try again. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll sneak up on you while you sleep?”
The cat’s tail twitched, but she didn’t bother lifting her head off the ground.
“Fine. Good luck.” It took him a second to find the other two kittens; they were taking turns chasing some sort of beetle, who was slowly leading them farther and farther away from the mother. He gathered them up and set them next to the one dozing on her back with her feet in the air.
He swept his hand over the sleeping cub to roll it to its side and it tackled his hand in a heartbeat. The others joined in.
“You think I’m playing?” Though it took
some effort to hold back a smile. Tristan lifted his hand and the kitten stayed firmly attached. He sat cross-legged next to the drowsy mother and the other kittens clawed their way up into his lap. “Don’t you know your belly will get fried in the sun if you lay like that?” He tickled the cub’s soft belly and the others leaped to the rescue. How could he leave? “Oh, no! The big mean dragon has your little sister! What are you going to do?” Tristan laughed as the two free kittens ignored the hand and went for his arm. He tipped over to be more easily conquered and let them climb higher to his shoulder.
He couldn’t tell if they were boys or girls, but they were all fierce players and their claws would be deadly in a year. Probably sooner. “All right, you little rascals, the wings are off limits.” He pried one of the cubs away from the tender flesh and used the other wing to create a bit of shade for the babies. “Nappy time.”
They tackled each other for all of thirty seconds and settled down to sleep, cradled in a pile between his arm and chest. Not that they needed to stay warm, but it was nice to have them all in one spot, so he could close his eyes and rest along with them.
The thought startled him. Nappy time?
He’d lost track of his mission as quickly as the kittens had fallen asleep. He got to his hands and knees, careful not to disturb the kittens more than necessary. But where could he leave them? The mother was practically snoring and provided absolutely no shade. They’d bake in the sun and they had no water. It made no sense. How did they survive this long?
“Hey. You.” A giant paw twitched.
The odd thing was, he felt no fear about standing next to a sleeping mountain lion, holding her cubs. Not that he wanted to wake her, but still. She could rip him to shreds, but he’d just shift and swallow her whole. Then take her babies somewhere shady with water.
He sighed. Obviously she knew what she was doing, and he had no intention of raising her cubs. If he did, they’d probably turn out like domesticated housecats, which would do them no favors in the long run. He set them down gently by the mother’s belly and noticed the words scratched in his arm: Jacques. Home.