by DM Fike
“She has?” The Oracle was the lead shepherd of the entire Talol Wilds, a higher rank than even Guntram. I guess I thought it beneath her to make decisions in the affairs of an eyas, but given that I was a late bloomer, maybe it made a sort of sense.
“She has,” Guntram confirmed. “Why else have I kept silent when you visited them before?”
This caught me completely off-guard. “You knew about my previous visits?”
The omniscient twinkle returned. “I know a lot of things you don’t know about, Ina,” he said. “At least you learned how to defeat the kappa from our recent lessons.”
So Guntram had expected me to apply something he’d taught me to the kappa situation, but I struggled to pinpoint what that could be. He often sat me down in the homestead library and droned on and on about specific vaettur cases. He could have given my college history professor a lecture on how to lull young people to sleep. Don’t get me wrong. I really do try to learn what he’s teaching me, but my mind often gets distracted by more entertaining things, like specks of floating dust or unintentional ceiling patterns.
“Oh,” I said in a low voice. “Right.”
Guntram narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t you find it odd that only water sigils harmed the kappa?”
Truth be told, I only drew a five-pointed star with water pith because of the cephalopod victim. It had been a matter of coincidence rather than any deliberate action on my part.
“Sure,” I lied quickly.
Guntram looked like he wanted to strangle me. “You didn’t remember the lesson at all, did you?”
“Sorry!” I cried. “My memory’s a bit hazy, especially when I’m in high pressure situations.”
“It’s exactly in high pressure situations when you need to use your brain,” Guntram countered. “If you always use the same method—such as banishing an aquatic vaettur with fire—you might end up getting yourself and others killed. Sometimes, vaetturs are more vulnerable to their own element. Revise your tactics accordingly.”
“Well I won’t forget that now,” I told him. “That horrid kappa stench is nailed in my memory for the rest of my life.”
“You should be so lucky that a bad smell is the worst thing that happened to you.” Guntram scowled. “The next vaettur might not be so weak.”
I rolled my eyes. “I took care of myself in an entire den of cockatrices. You don’t give me enough credit.
“And you rely too much on luck and your own hubris,” Guntram threw back. “One day it will result in consequences you’re not equipped to handle.”
The grumpy old man then waltzed toward the front door of the lodge. I should have let him have the last word, but I didn’t like the implication that I just bumbled around as a shepherd.
So, I opened my big, fat mouth. “You’re not going to grumble about wishing you hadn’t been my augur again, are you? Or are you going to threaten to bind me now?”
I pushed my luck mentioning binding, a punitive ritual where a shepherd loses access to their pithways permanently. I did not, however, expect Guntram to whip around, his face a dark shadow. He suddenly loomed above me despite his average stature, the air pith flowing through his hair making the strands rise around him in a halo.
“Don’t joke about binding, Ina,” he warned. “Ever.”
Then Guntram stalked away. I caught a brief glimpse of the starry night sky before he slammed the door in my face.
CHAPTER 6
THE EARTHQUAKE CAUSED me to roll straight off my lumpy mattress onto the dirt floor.
The shaking intensified, jostling my bony knees. Cursing, I crawled in my robe over to the bedroom entrance, shoving the door open and standing in the door’s frame until the shaking subsided ten seconds later.
Huffing and puffing, I gathered my bearings. I’d gone to bed after the argument with Guntram. Given the purply pink sky visible from the hallway windows, dawn must have just broken over the thick foliage of the homestead.
The bedroom door across the way opened, revealing Guntram fully dressed in his shredded-edge cloak. “You are awake,” he noted brightly as I gaped at him. “Excellent. I was just about to rouse you.”
“Hard to sleep through an earthquake,” I grumbled as I retreated back into my room.
Guntram headed down the hallway. “Don’t go back to bed,” he called over his shoulder. “We have much to do today.”
Of course we did. Guntram believed in an early start the way some people believed in sending TV evangelists their hard-earned cash. Yawning, I removed the robe and thrust myself into a hoodie and shorts. I carried my socks and hiking shoes in my hands as I walked down to the common area.
Guntram had already started a morning fire, but that didn’t stop goosebumps from forming on my bare legs. Pulling on my fire pith, I drew a triangle with a cross over the top, the sigil for inner heat. It filled me with a pleasant inner radiance. Dragging my feet, I pulled up to the kitchen counter, where Guntram cut into a fresh loaf of baked bread. He had some storage cloths out too, etched with sigils to keep the food fresh and ready for a trek out into the wilderness. We spent a lot of time wandering the many unpopulated areas of the temperate forests—reinforcing defensive sigils, practicing new ones, and banishing the occasional minor vaettur—and we had to eat during those long periods away from the homestead.
I didn’t expect anything out of the ordinary until Guntram ordered me to grab one of the enchanted blackberry jam jars out of the cupboards. Curious, I did as instructed, opening the room-temperature pantry and reaching into the back until my fingers touched something frigid. I pulled out a metal cannister that Sipho had designed to remain as cold as a freezer for months at a time.
Guntram threw a tea kettle on the stone stovetop above the lit oven. “Grab some honey while you’re at it.”
Jam and honey were true luxury items at the homestead. “You expecting someone?” I asked as I plunked them on the counter next to the bread.
“Indeed. Do you not remember the significance of such pith-ladened earthquakes?”
I paused. “Now that you mention it, I thought that earthquake near the kappa breach felt funny. But that was hundreds of miles away in Washington. They shouldn’t be connected.”
Guntram paused in mid-jam spread to toss me a look of disappointment. He was clearly preparing to give me a lecture when the front door burst open. Sipho, the forger in charge of the homestead, strode across the threshold. She had her long hair done up in several braids woven together in a crown-like bun on top of her head. She wore a simple tunic with an oversized silver buckle. A laptop sized satchel bounced on her hip, held in place by a long strap that looped around her neck and chest. Something clinked inside, glass hitting glass.
She inclined her head toward us. “Guntram. Ina.”
“Sipho,” I smiled. “You joining us for breakfast?”
“Among others,” Sipho said, stepping aside from the door.
Homesteads are resting places for shepherds, but they don’t generally cater to a large number of guests except on special occasions. Clearly, today counted because three others entered the lodge. The first was a shepherd I recognized but couldn’t recall his name since I’d only met him once or twice in passing. Maybe ten years older than me, he had a slow, deliberate smile, his hooked nose reminiscent of a turtle’s beak. I couldn’t see the color of his eyes due to his stringy, long bangs. His rumpled tunic and baggy pants appeared damp, as if he’d showered with them on an hour ago. He immediately crossed over to Guntram and embraced him in a tight hug with a lot of shoulder slapping.
“Guntram?” he cried. “Good day to you!”
Guntram gave him a more subdued pat. “Same to you, Baot,”
Baot relinquished Guntram to focus on me. “Ina, right?” he said before throwing one arm around my neck and giving me a squeeze. I could feel the clammy moisture of his wrinkled fingers. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Bet she doesn’t know anything about you,” a nasally voice sniffed as a seco
nd shepherd entered the room. I recognized Zibel right away. Short and shifty, his greasy red hair fell in tendrils around his ears. Blotches of freckles overlay sunburnt skin throughout his arms and legs where his raggedy homespun shirt and pants didn’t reach. He’d been an eyas when I was recruited, so I’d seen him around the homestead with his augur from time to time. Zibel was like a super awkward nerd at prom: always fidgeting, radiating a superiority complex, and way out of his social element.
Baot let go of me and flashed another big smile in my direction. “I’m Baot, and that’s Zibel.”
“We’ve met,” Zibel greeted me with a belittling pat on the head that I’m sure he thought was affectionate. “Still an eyas, I see.”
I pushed his hand away. Zibel had only risen to full shepherd a year ago, and he hadn’t hung out at the homestead much since then. I should have been so lucky to have another Zibel-free year.
I would have given him a scathing retort if the Talol Oracle hadn’t been the last person to enter the lodge. Any foolish outburst died at the very sight of her commanding presence. Her wise eyes shone from a heavily wrinkled face, giving her the appearance of someone who graced mountain tops for years. That contrasted heavily with her short muscular frame which moved with the flexibility of any younger shepherd. She sported one long white braid behind her tanned head, interspersed with blue and purple beads. She wore a navy tunic that fell to her knees with a leather belt holding it all in place.
Guntram straightened from behind the counter and bowed his head in reverence. “Oracle.” As I continued to gawk at her, he nudged me with his elbow so I would also comply.
The Oracle laughed, the sound of a grandma watching unruly children. “No need to be so formal,” she declared. “Call me Yoi.”
“Yoi!” Baot laughed.
“Do not call her Yoi,” Guntram hissed in my ear as everyone else headed toward the shallow pool on the opposite side of the room. “And get me six plates.”
The Oracle and the others whispered politely to each other, legs dipped into the pool up to mid-calf, as we finished making breakfast. In between pouring tea and warming up honey, I wondered what could possibly bring the Oracle to Sipho’s. I’d never seen her outside of the homestead near Mt. Rainier, which was far grander than this one in the Willamette, and I’d never really talked to her. Truth was, I didn’t know how to treat her. For some reason, interacting with most other shepherds didn’t bother me. They seemed like ordinary people caught up in the same extraordinary circumstances. Maybe it was because of her age, but the Talol Oracle bore herself more like a legend, someone who knew more than she should. She always appeared friendly—and indeed, she smiled at me kindly and thanked me when I brought her the bread and tea—but something about the way she observed her surroundings made me think she perceived more than we did. As if her ken allowed her to view things beyond even Guntram’s comprehension.
I took a seat opposite her on the edge of the pool between Sipho and Guntram. I nervously brought a mug up to my lips for a sip.
The Oracle rounded on me immediately. “I hear you can absorb lightning pith, young Ina.”
Everyone’s gaze swiveled to me. Zibel’s eyes widened to golf balls while Baot let out a slow, “Whoa.”
I accidentally took a much larger swig of piping hot tea than I’d intended, half swallowing and half inhaling it. It burned a layer of skin on the roof of my mouth and down my throat. While I coughed profusely, Guntram pounded my back, the closest to a public beating he could get away with. The whole while, the Oracle cocked her head at me, waiting for my coughing fit to diminish. Once it did, she continued to stare into my very soul.
I felt obligated to say something. “Yeah. I do.”
She kept her expression neutral. “Guntram has kept me appraised of this exceptional, yet unexpected, gift. I hope you follow his scrupulous instructions to the letter until you can control it properly.”
I didn’t trust my voice, so I just gave her a half nod under Guntram’s intense glower.
“What does this mean, Oracle?” Zibel asked, still giving me a side eye. “Is Ina cursed?”
The corner of the Oracle’s eyes wrinkled. “Do not look so worried, Zibel. I believe, as we all do, that Nasci provides for us in mysterious ways.” She then gave me her full attention. “And Ina, I am confident that if you continue to live a life under strict shepherd code, you will be able to harness your new skills for good.”
Sipho tilted her head pointedly away, staring off into the distance. I didn’t score well in the “strict shepherd code” category, and the forger knew it. Guntram tucked his beard into the folds of his neck, his hands clenched tightly in his lap.
“Yes, Oracle,” I croaked. I couldn’t help but ask, “Is that why you came here today?”
The Oracle blinked. “Of course not. We have much more important matters to discuss.”
Her tone (and Guntram’s subsequent death glare) indicated I should keep my mouth shut unless absolutely necessary. I drew my knees so that they knocked together and nibbled at my bread while the Oracle addressed the entire entourage.
“I’m sure you’ve noticed the trembling over the last few days.”
All other heads nodded.
“Baot and I have confirmed it to be a vitae cleft.”
Of course, a vitae cleft! One of a shepherd’s most sacred duties is to aid in the process of creating new dryants. We can only do so with vitae, a rare substance from Nasci that drifts up to the surface once every year or two during a cluster of earthquakes. Seismologists in the Pacific Northwest called it a “slow slip” series of tremors emerging along fault lines. They think it signals a bigger earthquake in the area when, in fact, it’s just the opposite. With the vitae, we can imbue a worthy endangered animal to become the next dryant, thus giving the species added protection from extinction. This actually saves humankind from a Nasci-fueled extinction event because it keeps nature in balance.
I only knew about this from Guntram’s boring lectures, though. Eyases are considered too green to help collect vitae. The last time a cleft appeared, I’d been shooed from a meeting just like this one while plans were set. While Guntram and a dozen other shepherds left to perform one of our most sacred duties, he’d ordered me to stay at the homestead and study sigils until he returned. As I recall, I’d eaten a pretty delicious sausage pizza in revenge.
Guntram must have been recalling the same thing (collecting vitae without me, not the pizza) because he gestured in my direction. “Do you need Ina to leave as we discuss further?”
“No.” The Oracle motioned to Sipho, who gave her the satchel. “She will accompany you.”
“But that’s not how it’s done,” Zibel exclaimed. “A vitae cleft requires shepherds of a certain rank.”
I had to bite my tongue to keep silent. Shepherds of a certain rank, indeed. I guess he’d just forgotten all about the whole “rare lightning” thing already.
“Normally, it would,” the Oracle replied. “But there is another situation.”
Baot’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Something more important than a vitae cleft?” he asked with surprise.
“I’m afraid so,” the Oracle said. “I will be personally leading a team to investigate it, which means all of you,” she pointed around the pool, “will be short-staffed.”
Guntram leaned forward, bushy eyebrows furrowed. “This is quite unprecedented, Oracle. We’re normally at least twice in number.”
“I’ve assigned two more shepherds to meet you at a rendezvous point tomorrow at noon, right before the best harvesting time,” the Oracle said. “Baot knows the specific location and will guide you. He’s also done an excellent job in the past decade creating protection sigils around the perimeter. Thanks to his added security, we have not had a difficult vaettur encounter during vitae collection for years, which is why I feel confident an eyas can handle this task.”
Baot gave us all an enthusiastic thumbs up, which had the opposite effect of reassuring the gr
oup that he had things under control.
Guntram cleared his throat. “If I may be so bold, Oracle, can you tell me the nature of the other situation?”
The Oracle’s expression darkened just the slightest. “All I can say is that it has been brewing inside the Talol Wilds for quite some time.”
Magical leaders have a reputation for being mysterious, but these vague allusions to stuff beyond my rank were killing me. I could tell by Baot’s, Zibel’s, and Sipho’s faces that they too had no clue what was going on.
But Guntram straightened, clutching his hands together so hard I worried his fingernails would break the skin. He obviously understood more of the Oracle’s cryptic message than the rest of us. “Are you sure you don’t require my assistance on this separate objective?”
The Talol Oracle’s face softened, as if comforting a small child. She placed the satchel over Guntram’s closed fists, forcing them to accept the bag. “This is our best path forward for now. Besides,” she swiveled her attention on me, “a vitae cleft will be a fun challenge, don’t you think so, Ina?”
“Yes, Oracle,” I replied dumbly. Whatever the ‘other’ situation was, only the most highly ranked shepherds would get the scoop on it.
She gave Guntram one final smile. “Thank you for the tea and bread. I should try it before I go.”
Given her age and stature, I thought for sure, as she brought the mug to her lips, she’d take a polite sip. Instead, she tilted it upwards toward the ceiling the way the bikers had guzzled their beer at the bar, gulping it down in three hard swallows before turning her thin lips on the bread and devouring it in the same number of savage bites.
Everyone else also dug into their food, but I couldn’t stop staring at this poised woman who ate as if it was her last meal. I must have stared too hard because she patted the corners of her mouth politely afterward. “Did I leave a jam smear on my cheek?”
Her innocent question made me stutter. “N-nope. You look great.”