by S. S. Segran
The chief ordered those still standing to launch their spears, but to their bewilderment, the strangers neatly dodged the weapons, brows furrowed in concentration. Instead of initiating a counterattack, the outsiders stood ready, sharp eyes flitting from one tribesman to another.
Furious, the villagers regrouped and dove forward as one, thrusting their remaining weapons at the strangers. Somewhere from the back of their line, a seven-foot dart whistled through the air, launched from an atlatl.
A lone figure that had stood silently on top of the beast as the conflict raged suddenly somersaulted into the night, grabbing the long dart mid-flight. The tribesmen stopped and stared at the figure, perplexed, but the darkness covered the stranger’s face as he backed into the shadows.
Undaunted, one of the villagers hurled his last spear with full force at the cluster of strangers. Instead of striking home, the spear slowed midair and came to a stop at the apex of its arc. It hung in space for a fleeting moment. Then it flipped in the opposite direction and accelerated back at the tribesman who’d hurled the weapon. The chief yelped and careened toward him, just barely managing to push the man out of the way in time. The spear struck the ground and buried itself deeply in the dirt. The villagers shrank back. What kind of sorcery was this?
A tall woman garbed in blue leggings and a black tunic torn off at the shoulders emerged from the group of strangers. She looked around forty summers old. Her hair was a glossy jet black, her eyes bright green. She spoke to the tribesmen in a peculiar language. When she completed her short speech, she waited for a response, calmly surveying them.
The native brothers exchanged glances and made a move toward her, only to be pulled back by the others. The tribe’s chief stepped forward. He spoke suspiciously to the woman. She cocked her head, appearing not to understand.
The impatient brothers spat at the ground and snarled at her. The chief tried to calm them but the older boy bellowed and propelled his spear at the woman with all his might. The woman stayed where she was and glowered at the weapon hurtling her way. Ten inches from her face, the spear paused again in midair and swung straight up toward the night sky. Then it arced back down at the young man. With a startled cry he tried to dodge but was too slow. The spear pierced through his deerskin shirt to the flesh below his collarbone. He screamed in agony, a horrible, cursed sound to the ears of everyone there, and collapsed onto the sand.
A few of the tribesmen rushed to the fallen boy. To their astonishment, the tall woman began walking toward them. The men helping the youth backed away slowly, while others stood rooted, petrified. They watched with wide, alarmed eyes as the woman halted before the fallen youth and knelt down.
It was so quiet that the only sound anyone heard was the ragged breathing of the wounded boy. As the woman placed her palm on his cheek, his younger brother leapt forward and shouted at her. She raised her hand. He stopped immediately and with a look of bewilderment, retreated to the cluster of villagers.
The chief watched, ready to jump in, as the woman lowered her hand back to the young man’s cheek. His brown eyes were wide open and there was a hint of hysteria in them. The woman carefully grasped the shaft of the spear and, as gently as she could, drew it out. The youth groaned, spittle flying out of his mouth. With a burst of energy, he reached up and tried to claw at the woman. She leaned out of reach with ease, shielding her face.
Glaring, the youth rolled to his feet and staggered back to his tribe, blood dribbling from the wound leaving a scarlet trail behind him. His brother lent him a shoulder to lean on and led him to a tree where he slumped down, head lolling.
The chief quietly drew away, bringing himself closer to the forest. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but the longer the strangers stayed on their land, the more his people were bound to get hurt. He needed to protect his tribe.
He closed his eyes, head slowly falling back as he inhaled deeply. His arms rose almost of their own accord and his fingertips fluttered slightly. He lost track of how long he’d stood still, until he finally snapped forward and unleashed an undulating bellow that filled his chest and throat. The call echoed deep into the wilderness.
Pure silence followed.
Then, a thundering roar reverberated back through the forest like a massive avalanche. Bewildered, the strangers went still and glanced around, but the chief saw relief rush over his tribe.
From somewhere in the mass of people, a stranger shouted in horror. All eyes turned to him, then to the forest where his gaze was set.
Five large silhouettes stalked through the trees, eyes gleaming out at the crowd like black ice.
One of the strangers, a man with fire-colored hair plastered to his face, stepped forward. With a gaze as sharp and cold as a biting winter’s wind, he held his arms high above his head and bellowed an intense, wordless call.
There was a moment of quiet. Then, like specters vanishing in the night, the silhouettes were gone. The chief gawked at the flame-haired man who stood protectively in front of his people. Then, with an ache, he noted the look of defeat in his tribe’s eyes. The Guardians were their last line of defense but they had vanished, somehow commandeered by an outsider.
Together with the woman in black, the flame-haired man strode toward the wounded youth as the villagers stood in their place. The boy spat at them. The woman knelt again and stroked the side of his head, letting her fingers slide down to the gaping wound. He hissed in pain and jerked away.
Her gaze softening, the woman reached into a pouch at her waist and withdrew a pinch of silvery powder, peppering the wound with it. The youth ground his teeth, knocking the back of his head against the tree and blinking back tears.
The chief rejoined his tribe from the edge of the tree-line. As he watched, a strange expression fell upon the wounded youth’s face. Moments later, the blood that had streamed out of him ceased its flow. The boy blinked in wonder, then looked up at the woman. He gave her an uncertain and minute quirk of the lips. No one would call it a smile, but the woman grinned back anyway. Amazement rustled through the villagers.
A pitiful mewling sounded somewhere behind them. The strangers looked back. There, holding a small child in her arms was a native woman, her jet-black hair braided in a single tress down her back. She had round, tired eyes. The child let out a rasping, choking noise. Startled, every single stranger fixed their eyes on the infant.
To the chief’s alarm, the tall stranger and her flame-haired cohort approached mother and child. The other woman didn’t move but only raised her head at them. The chief stormed over, placing a protective arm around her.
The man with fiery hair touched the child’s forehead, prompting the child to open eyes dull with sickness. His small lips parted as he beheld the strange people. The man cleared his throat and muttered in a guttural voice. The little one’s eyes slowly closed, and the chief could only watch helplessly.
The stranger ended his incomprehensible mutterings and pulled a luminous violet leaf from a leather pouch. He held it to the child’s lips, squeezing the leaf until a single drop of liquid fell into the child’s mouth, then moved back. The chief and his mate peered anxiously at their son.
A minute later the little one stirred and opened his big eyes again. His parents gasped. The child’s gaze was brighter now, slowly filling with life, and there was more color in his skin. He smacked his lips, small tongue darting in and out of his mouth as if tasting the air. The chief exclaimed with emotion, and his mate caressed their son and rubbed noses with him. Holding the infant close to her chest, she dipped her head thankfully at the man who had healed their one and only child.
The villagers rushed to their leader’s side, milling about the joyous parents, their fight forgotten. The two strangers headed back to the beach and sat peacefully on the sand with their brethren.
The youth whom the female stranger had healed detached himself from his kin and strode with somewhat shaky steps toward the assemblage of outsiders. He halted in front of the woman and bowed. Sh
e smiled and nodded, acknowledging him. The tribe’s chief appeared behind him, then. The youth exchanged glances with the older man and politely left.
Looking at every stranger, from man to woman, the chief solemnly extended a hand. He was less guarded now, his posture more open. The strangers reciprocated.
Gradually, the tribe and the strangers mingled. Though unable to understand each other in the beginning, the natives were astonished at how quickly a few of the outsiders were able to learn their language, and thus began a new friendship.
Years passed, with the two groups coming together. The tribe shared their land and traditions with the strangers, and imparted to them the deep bond with nature they possessed. In like manner, the outsiders showed the villagers the secrets of their own way of life and the history of their people. More than that, they taught them to open the gates of their minds to the incredible powers inherent in themselves.
As time wore on, the two different communities intertwined and eventually migrated inland to a distant refuge away from the coast. Most of the strangers, whom by now the tribe knew as the Islanders, had intermarried and the people had truly become one, sharing not only their lives but also their rich cultures and most importantly, a powerful prophecy that was bequeathed from generation to generation.
PART ONE
1
The small red plane shook violently as a flash of lightning streaked not more than two hundred feet from its nose. Muffled shrieks rose from inside. One voice rose above the others. “Mr. Tyler! We’re gonna crash!”
A deep voice growled from the cockpit, “No we won’t! Hang on!”
Tegan Ryder was scared out of her wits. This was without a doubt the most terrifying experience of her life. Beside her, Mariah Ashton drew in a sharp breath and clung to Tegan, brown eyes wide and her body frozen. Though they were both sixteen, the fright that consumed Mariah made her look like a terrified preschooler. Tegan leaned back into her seat and screwed her eyes shut, trying to will this horrible episode away.
Less than an hour ago, she had been enjoying a smooth flight on the Piper Comanche with her four closest friends. It wasn’t a big plane, but it carried six people comfortably in three rows. Tegan sketched a Siberian tiger on a notepad; it would be an addition to the large collection of wildlife drawings she had accumulated over the years. She absently scratched her ear as she scrutinized her work, forgetting about her array of piercings, and winced when her fingers caught on her newest one. “Owww.”
Mariah, seated next to her, was completely engrossed in a five-hundred-page mystery novel she’d nabbed from her basement full of books at home. She would only pause to take occasional sips from a can of Dr Pepper, her favorite soda.
The girls were settled comfortably in the middle row of the plane, sharing a set of earbuds connected to Tegan’s phone. Jag Sanchez, the tallest of the group, was seated in the back with Aari Barnes. With a golden complexion revealing his Brazilian-Italian ancestry, Jag was also the most athletic. He would occasionally participate in sports but, given the choice, would rather be honing his parkour skills or biking with friends.
Kody Tyler sat in the cockpit beside his father. He was proud of the short afro he’d inherited from his father, and his striking green eyes that he acquired from his mother. Despite his skinny frame, he had an insatiable appetite that astounded everyone around him. An aviation enthusiast like his father, Kody had been learning to fly from the age of twelve and was on his way to attaining his private pilot’s license.
Slumping down in her seat, Tegan yawned and looked out the window at the bright day. They’d just reached the plane’s cruising altitude of 18,000 feet after their final refueling stop at Watson Lake, Yukon. She couldn’t wait to finally arrive at their destination. She was just thinking how soft the clouds seemed when a yell of delight cut through the air.
“Dude, that’s amazing!”
Tegan pulled her earbud away and turned around to glare at her friends. Mariah did the same.
At the back of the plane, Jag and Aari stared in awe at something on Aari’s portable gaming device. Jag gave Aari a congratulatory pat on the head but Aari ducked, not wanting his gelled hair to be tampered with. “Oy! Don’t touch!”
“Alright,” Tegan sighed. “What gives?”
Aari was glued to the small screen. “You tell ’em.”
Jag raised his eyes heavenward. In a voice that was husky for his age, he answered, “He’s playing Descending Tartarus, the game that was recalled. Seems that el hacker here managed to sneak a download, and it’s actually working.” Then he added, amused, “Though I have no idea how he did it, and he won’t talk.”
“Seriously?” Tegan peeked over her seat. “Can I check it out?”
Aari was curt. “Nope. I went through a lot to get this. Come again in another year.”
“You hog,” Mariah chided.
Aari didn’t tear his gaze away from the device but his ice-blue eyes twinkled. His fingers moved over the controls with quick ease.
“To think you guys didn’t want to come with us to Dawson, just two weeks ago,” said Tegan. “Poor Kody would have been all alone with Mariah and me during the trip.”
Mariah nodded. “Imagine all the fun they would’ve missed if we hadn’t changed their minds.”
Jag grinned. “Yeah. I wonder if we’ll find a Sasquatch up at the lake-side cabin.”
Snickering, Tegan reached over the back of her seat to ruffle his hair. “With you around, who needs a Sasquatch?”
Jag pulled away, scowling. “Hey!”
Tegan snickered. Mariah prodded her with an elbow. “Just because he’s the tallest doesn’t make him a Sasquatch.”
Pretending to flex, Kody hollered from the cockpit, “He may be the tallest, but we all know who’s the strongest!”
“Yeah, Sasquatch over here,” Tegan hollered right back, then thought to herself, If only he’d focus more on school and stay out of fights.
Kody sniffed. “Well, I’m the most charming, then.”
“Yeah, right.” Aari finally looked up from his game. “Only in your dreams, you are. I’ve got more charm in my pinkie than you’ve got in your entire body.”
Grinning, Jag leaned back in his seat with his hands behind his head, enjoying the jest and staying above it.
Seeing another round of banter coming, Tegan promptly plugged in her earbud and passed the other to Mariah. She watched through her window as a majestic mountain range rolled out at a distance. Recalling the map they’d studied before the trip, she guessed that these were the Mackenzie Mountains, northern cousin of the Rockies. Then her sharp gray eyes caught something. “That’s a weird-looking ridgeline,” she muttered.
Mariah leaned over. “Yeah.” She blinked. “It’s running east to west—the others stretch out from north to south. Wait . . . there’s another one just like that, right next to it.”
As the plane advanced, the curious ridgelines fell out of sight and the girls’ interest drifted elsewhere. The endless mountain range rippled beneath them. Before long the two had dozed off.
Now here they were an hour later; the plane shaking like a leaf in the storm, terrifying the passengers inside. Tegan peered through lashes wet with tears.
Though the Comanche was built tough, it wasn’t designed for extreme pounding. The freak storm had come out of nowhere, taking Samuel Tyler and his passengers by surprise. The plane wobbled for a moment before its nose tilted downward. Like a roller coaster passing the tip of its ascent, the dive came suddenly. This time, there were no stifled shrieks. Instead, deafening screams echoed throughout the cabin.
“Dad!” Kody yelped. “Pull up! Pull up!”
Mariah screeched, rendering Tegan half deaf. Wincing, Tegan put her hand over the other girl’s mouth. Mariah clammed up immediately. Tegan glanced back and caught the exchange of looks between the boys. She knew they were scared stiff as well.
In the cockpit, the pilot sounded distraught. “Oh, God.”
“Dad?”
“Mr. Tyler?”
“What is it?”
With a hardened face, the lone adult in the plane looked back. “I think we just lost the left engine.”
“What!”
Sure enough, the left side of the cabin fell silent as the engine sputtered to a halt.
“Are we going to crash?” Aari asked, voice quavering.
“No!” the pilot barked. “The right engine is working fine—I just need to compensate with the rudder.”
As Kody’s father furiously fought with the controls, the friends held their breaths. In what felt like half a dozen lifetimes, the plane’s nose slowly inched back toward the horizon.
“Okay,” cheered the pilot. “We’re back in business!”
Just as the friends started to release a sigh of relief, Mariah pointed ahead and yowled. There, in the plane’s path, another lightning bolt flashed.
Tegan jolted. They weren’t out of the storm yet. At least we weren’t there, she comforted herself, and then spoke her thoughts out loud. “It’s alright. Remember what they say: Lightning doesn’t strike the same place twice.”
She spoke too soon.
There was a blinding flash of light followed by an ear-splitting crack, and the plane veered violently to the right. “Gaaah!”
“What’s going on?” Jag demanded.
“Lightning!” Kody bellowed. “It hit the right engine!”
Like puppets on a string, everyone turned their heads to look, and to their horror saw that Kody was correct. But worse, the only working engine they had left was on fire.
“We’ve lost all power!” The pilot turned around. “We have to find a place to glide the plane in!”