by Ann Gimpel
Hatching Plans
Leif sat in a quiet corner of a vacant cabin on Deck Two. Soon, he’d have to join the others for dinner. His pod had cooed and fussed over him until he’d ordered them to stop. One thing his absence had accomplished was establishment of a line of succession. Lewis would take over as alpha if something happened to him. Everyone had agreed on the plan, which was a great relief.
Back before they’d joined with Arkady’s Shifters, he’d been certain all of them would be dead within the next month or two. It made no sense to plan for who’d take over if none of them were left. At least he finally understood, in an uncomfortably up-close-and-personal way, why the king and queen of the sea had abandoned them. The partnership had been one sided and existed only in his mind, not theirs.
Amphitrite had her own agenda, one she probably hadn’t bothered to share with her consort. Leif dragged the heels of his hands down his face as he worked to force a logical pattern out of everyone’s subterranean motives. It didn’t help that Moira kept popping into his mind with her wild black hair and keen dark eyes.
Even so little as allowing his attention to drift her way set his blood alight with need. He wanted her, but it ran far deeper than the erection pressing into his belly. Something about her independence and incisive mind made him want to be more than just her lover.
Far more.
If he could move past his ambivalence about being attracted to a woman who wasn’t a sea Shifter—a huge if—he wanted her as his mate. Giving up on sorting through Amphitrite, Poseidon, and the ley lines’ guardian, he considered how such a pairing could possibly work. Sea Shifters may have mated with their land kin centuries ago, but such marriages had ceased when his kind took to the sea for longer and longer periods.
He rolled out of his hunched position in a corner of the bunk he’d perched on. Thinking about Moira was a waste of time. Precious time when he had to hone his focus on survival. Besides, the vulture Shifter probably wouldn’t be interested in joining her life with someone who loved the sea. It was far from her preferred element. That had been obvious when they’d ended up stranded a long way from the ship.
She’d been a decent sport, but she’d been cold, and he’d recognized her attempts to tamp down panic as water soaked her clothing, dragging her down. He’d done his damnedest to instill confidence, and he’d told her not to breathe. Maybe he hadn’t said it soon enough, because she’d sucked water into her body anyway, flooding lungs that weren’t designed to process anything except air.
He’d been relieved beyond words when he got her head above the surface and she’d choked and wheezed. If she’d been unconscious, he’d have had no good way to clear the water from her lungs since his magical center was sucking fumes. His fallback position was the whale, who still retained some of his power, but it hadn’t been necessary.
He stretched his hands in front of him, flexing his fingers as he forced his mind back to how they could take advantage of what they’d discovered on the borderworld. He’d carved out this little island of solitude to make sense of everything, and he hadn’t made much progress.
Where had the ley lines come from? What was the original purpose to stringing them around Earth? What manner of being was the guardian? Would that entity help them defeat evil? The malevolence he’d seen blazing in Amphitrite’s silver eyes left no doubt the ley lines would be one of the first casualties of war. Given that, an alliance with the guardian made sense, but how could they raise it to engage in dialogue?
“Yeah,” he muttered in the clacks and bleats of his dolphin tongue. “Lots of questions, but no answers.”
He wasn’t under any illusions the land Shifters would know any more than he did. Their magic was weaker.
“You make assumptions without facts to back them,” his dolphin spoke up, startling him. Leif waited, but his bondmate didn’t add to his statement.
He screwed his face into a frown. The dolphin rarely said anything, which had to mean Leif’s assessment of the other Shifters was incorrect. He thought about what he knew from his limited time on the ship. The land Shifters’ magic seemed to be evenly split between Shifter and bondmate, and the animal bondmates acted independently, even when the pair was in human form. Moira’s vulture jumping in and saving the day by communicating with the guardian was one example, but he’d seen others.
“Thanks.” He directed the word inward.
“Our magic is complementary,” the dolphin reminded him.
“And different doesn’t mean weaker. Do you know how the ley lines came to be?”
“No. They’ve always existed.”
“I think not,” Leif countered. “I’d always assumed they were part of the warp and weft of the world’s makings, but after today, I’m not so certain.”
“Some of the land Shifters’ bondmates are very, very old. Ask them.”
It was a good idea. And if that didn’t work, maybe one of the animals could retreat to their borderworld and scare up someone who had answers. He switched to his psychic view, gratified when ley lines formed immediately, lines that appeared far healthier than they’d been prior to their mission to trap the power thief.
“There you are.” Viktor stood in the doorway of the cabin where Leif had sequestered himself.
“Here I am,” Leif agreed, engaging his earth eyes as he met Viktor’s direct gaze.
Viktor narrowed his green eyes and stepped inside the cabin, pulling the door shut behind him. Tawny hair spilled down his shoulders, and he wore his usual black pants, black stretchy shirt, and black vest. “Anything you’d like to talk about, mate? Before we’re all together, that is?”
Leif nodded, straightening from his crumpled position on the narrow bunk. He understood. Viktor was requesting an alpha-to-alpha conversation. Despite the land Shifters not designating alphas, Viktor was the de facto captain of this ship. It was a whole lot like being an alpha because he was responsible for the wellbeing of everyone aboard.
“Go ahead. Sit.” Leif glanced at the room’s only chair.
Viktor settled into it, not saying anything.
“Mostly, I have a lot of questions,” Leif said.
“About?” Viktor angled a speculative look his way.
“The ley lines. I’m starting to think they were an afterthought, rather than part of the planet’s underpinnings.”
“What difference would it make?”
“A lot. Clearly, someone—in this case Amphitrite—isn’t concerned about Earth failing if she bleeds the ley lines down to nothing.”
“Say more.”
Leif marshaled his thoughts, not an easy task since they pinwheeled around his head in crazy circles. “It’s like a building where you assumed something was part of its foundation, but it may not be after all.”
“Got it. If the ley lines aren’t critical—for anything beyond fueling magic wielders—short-circuiting them long enough to fuck with us might be in the other side’s best interest.”
“Something like that, although this is all esoteric since I have no idea if I’m right or not. I’ve always believed Earth is sentient and the ley lines a part of its intelligence.”
Viktor frowned. “Maybe both are right. Earth can keep chugging along without the ley lines, but it won’t like it.”
Leif raked his hands through his hair shoving it over his shoulders. “We should head for the dining room before we fall off the end of the Earth into chaos theory.”
“Chaos theory, huh? That’s obscure as hell.”
Leif shrugged and got to his feet. “It’s not new. It dates to Poincaré’s work in the 1880s. I exited the ocean from time to time before the Cataclysm hit, and I’ve always been drawn to unusual ideas.”
“Thinking outside the box makes you a good leader.”
Leif shook his head, his mood growing somber. “You’re offering me way too much credit. Not reacting fast enough almost killed all my people. If it weren’t for you…”
Viktor clapped him across the shoulders. “No going back, mate. C
ome on. Bet by the time we’re done eating, we’ll have a bunch of directions to choose from.”
Leif hoped so. His plan to come up with a few fertile guidelines hadn’t borne fruit. “Thanks for coming to check on me.”
Viktor pulled the door open and motioned Leif through ahead of him. “I do the same thing when I’m sorting through something.”
“Hide out?”
“Something like that.”
The welcome smells of cooked food met him as soon as they exited the cabin, and he smothered a grin. He’d adapted to a human diet far quicker than he’d anticipated. At first, he’d choked down prepared food, but that phase hadn’t lasted long.
He ducked through the dining room door with Viktor right behind him. The raven Shifter moved around him, heading for where Ketha sat near the front of the room. A spate of bleats and clacks welcomed him, and he nodded at his pod where they’d gathered off to the right, taking up three tables. Food sat on platters and in bowls on the tables, so no need to make a trip through the galley.
Leif scanned small groups scattered through a dining room that could hold triple their number, hunting for Moira’s dark head. He chided himself. What he needed to do was join the other sea Shifters and do a better job corralling his disorganized thoughts.
Easier said than done. Where was she? Had the seawater she’d inhaled created damage he hadn’t suspected? Worse, had illness dug its claws into her from her stint in the water? He balled his hands into fists, pressing his nails into his palms to get hold of himself. Shifters never fell ill. He was being stupid. And he needed to move beyond his attraction for the vulture shifter fast.
He might miss something critical while part of his mind was occupied yearning for the impossible.
Lewis had left his seat and strode toward him. “Is everything all right?” he asked in their sea tongue. Straw-colored hair stuck out at crazy angles, and his gray eyes radiated concern. None of them were spiffy dressers. Lewis had mixed green pants with a shirt in clashing notes of green and red.
Leif nodded and followed the other sea Shifter back to their table. Someone had poured him a mug of hot, bitter black tea and he took a sip, grateful for the immediate lift it provided. He accepted dishes as they were passed his way, taking a little of this and a bit of that, not hungry but recognizing the need to fully replenish his magic.
“You’re not acting like someone who just spit in Death’s face,” a whale observed. Like all the whales, he looked like a stuffed sausage, body spilling around clothing much too small for his Neanderthal build. Fair hair cascaded down his barrel chest in corkscrew curls, and his blue eyes held keen intelligence.
“Leave him be.” The whale who’d come with him to the borderworld made a chopping motion. His shirt was open, revealing a thickly haired chest.
“If I’m quiet, it’s because I’m considering how best to proceed.” Leif kept his voice low. “Sometimes one avenue rises above all others, but this time I’m having trouble finding any path at all.”
“We trust you’ll do what’s best.” Lynda smiled encouragingly. Her black hair had been braided, and her violet eyes shone with compassion. She must have borrowed clothing from the land Shifters because a lovely, embroidered teal tunic swathed her upper body.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but—”
She shook her head, cutting him off. “None of that. We move forward. Poseidon’s balls, Leif. All of us were so ill, it’s a miracle we can think at all.”
“Thanks, cousin.”
Lynda made a face. “Our kinship is one of our many problems. Those of us who are left are too closely related to mate.”
“Let’s see if any of us are even alive after Siberia,” the whale who’d come to the borderworld spoke up.
“Priorities?” Lynda quirked a dark brow.
The whale nodded.
Maybe because he hadn’t done as good a job as he’d thought banishing Moira from his consciousness, Leif felt her distinctive energy enter the room. He couldn’t help gazing at her as she stood framed in the doorway. Her face was blotchy from being asleep, and unbound hair fell to waist level in a riot of curls. Navy-blue pants hugged her slender hips, and a multicolored fuzzy jacket hung off her shoulders, covering a white long-underwear top. The points of her nipples were visible through the thin fabric.
His body reacted immediately, and he directed magic to obscure his desire and confusion—in case any of the sea Shifters were paying close attention to him. The last thing he needed was a barnacle load of crap about how mating outside his immediate genetic circle was forbidden.
Karin hurried toward Moira, and Leif eavesdropped shamelessly as the wolf Shifter said, “I was getting worried about you.”
“I overslept. Told my vulture to wake me, but it’s not around. Must’ve returned to the animals’ world.”
Karin hooked an arm through hers. “Come on. Food’s still warm, or on the warmer side.”
A corner of Moira’s full mouth twisted downward. “Whiskey?”
“After you’ve eaten.” Karin eyed her sternly.
Moira rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mother.”
“Better.” Karin grinned, and the two women walked to the table where Daide, Aura, and Juan were seated.
Over the next quarter hour, everyone finished eating. Leif was grateful for the respite. It gave him an opportunity to regain the upper hand and block the lissome vulture Shifter from his thoughts.
Viktor rose from his seat and walked to the rostrum at the head of the dining room. Turning to face everyone, he nodded at Leif. “Join me.”
While Leif made his way to where Viktor stood, he continued, “Our task this evening is to get every single possible idea out on the table. Nothing is too far-fetched. We’re stronger as a group, so don’t hold anything back.”
Leif faced the assembled mix of Shifters and humans. “That goes for our human companions as well,” he said. “A lot of brain power resides in this room.”
“Thanks!” Boris called from where he, Ted, and the other three from Arctowski sat.
Ketha stood. “I finally saw bits of the future with my glass.” She strode to a whiteboard mounted on the wall behind the rostrum. Once there, she snapped up a colored pen and began sketching. What emerged were three intersecting spheres with what looked like lightning bolts shooting through the points they overlapped.
“These places”—she tapped the lightning bolts—“maintained their integrity despite the darkness around them. I couldn’t see far enough ahead, but what I did see suggested we could glom onto their energy and use it as a tool to defeat the dark places.”
Ted shot to his feet. “At the risk of being overly literal, where is the fissure in respect to the spheres?”
Ketha’s mouth twisted into a rueful expression. “I asked my glass the same question in a whole lot of different ways, but it didn’t yield anything beyond what I drew.”
“Any idea what the three circles represent?” Viktor asked.
Ketha shook her head and gazed at the assemblage. “Aura? Any prophecies, unfinished or otherwise, come to mind?”
Aura stood slowly. “Maybe. First, though, I want to hear from Zoe, Tessa, and Becca.”
Zoe got to her feet. “Aye, sure and we were busy with the cards casting tarot spreads.”
Ketha spun an index finger in a circle. “Don’t try too hard to interpret, just—”
“Let me tell this my own way.” Zoe’s brogue was clipped. “Tarot is naught if not interpretation.”
“Sorry. I guess I’m edgier than I thought.” Ketha held a hand up, palm facing outward.
“Aye, we all are,” Zoe muttered.
Recco left his chair and joined her, draping a supportive arm around his wife’s shoulders.
She leaned into him briefly, but then ducked from beneath his embrace and stood straight. “The cards were as equivocal as I’ve ever seen them.”
“Yes, but that’s a good thing,” Tessa called from her seat.
“�
��Twas positive in that the cards didn’t say we were doomed. Nor did they predict victory. My impression was we would rise or fall directly predicated on the decisions we make and our efforts. If we choose wrong, we’re probably doomed. But the option is also open for us to choose right.”
“We face a level playing field,” Leif said. “My people have never done much with tarot cards. The difficulty of maintaining something like cards in an ocean environment is daunting. My read of your divination is we have a better chance than I’d hoped against whatever holds the fissure open.”
“’Twas my take as well,” Zoe said and turned toward Aura. “How does this feed into a prophecy?”
“Nicely as it happens,” Aura replied. “I was vacillating between two possibilities, but this one is a better fit.” She cleared her throat and her gaze hazed over. Leif assumed she was accessing memories, and her next words clinched his impression.
“As the other land Shifters know, the duty of pack historian is passed like a baton—or torch—from generation to generation. The previous historian is usually still alive but wanting or needing to move responsibility for the task to younger, fresher blood. Although our histories exist in written archives, the information is also handed from one historian to the next in oral form.”
Aura stopped to take a deep breath. “The first unfinished prophecy deals with the beginnings of the world. Bear with me while I relate the tale. Once upon a time, there was no time and no gods. No man walked the surface of the land. But there was the sea, and where the sea met the land, a mare was born, white and made of sea-foam. And her name was Eiocha.
“From an oak tree that grew in the land sprouted a plant. This is where Eiocha gave birth to the first god, Cernunnos. Cernunnos mated with Eiocha and begot more gods. The gods were lonely because they did not have anyone to command or to worship them, so they created the first man and woman, as well as other animals from the wood of the oak tree. Giants, too, were born from the bark of a different tree that Eiocha hurled into the water.”
Juan moved to Aura’s side and handed her a tumbler. She drank deep and continued. “The gods squabbled. Eiocha was worried about the integrity of their magic, so she dropped out of sight for long years. When she returned, she told the assemblage she’d created an infinitely renewable source of magical power that crisscrossed Earth.”