by Ann Gimpel
With a jaunty wave, he vanished back through the thick clumps of grass.
She knelt next to the pool and stilled her mind, or tried to. The loss of her psychic ability disturbed her far more than she’d let on. If she cast future-seeking magic, and failed again…
Katya raked curved fingers through her hair, wincing as they snagged on tangles. Best not to even consider failure. It might tempt the gods, and not in good ways. Perhaps that was what had gone wrong her last few tries. She’d been so despondent about her beast’s absence, she’d anticipated a fiasco, and it had become a self-fulfilling prophecy.
Kicking her shoulders back, she inhaled to the very bottom of her lungs, blew out the breath, and repeated the action a few times to clear her mind of everything but the task ahead. With her hands turned palms up atop her knees, she stared at the still surface of the pond. Its blue-green water soothed her.
As ready as she was likely to be, she began to chant. The familiar words of the scrying spell spilled through her as if they’d been anxiously waiting in the wings for her call. Before, she’d had to pull each spell element out of sticky mud. Hope soared this attempt would be different.
Her chant shifted to a series of notes from low to high and back again. She merged her magic with the surface of the water, urging it to cede to her casting and show her the future.
She’d chosen to keep her request vague. Any future was better than none, and scrying often displayed many futures. She wouldn’t know until they occurred which one was real. Time was a funny thing. Multiple timelines spread out from a central location like spokes on a wagon wheel. Some came to be, intersecting with other spokes as time lurched forward. Others lay in wait, not in play, but not out of the picture entirely, either.
She’d often wondered whose hand played at manipulating the various possibilities time presented. Who decided which future would be primary? One of the dinosaurs had said he was a seer. Perhaps he knew the answers to her questions. She’d have to ask him.
The water’s surface remained stubbornly quiet. Maybe because her mind was wandering. Was she so afraid of failing, she was sowing the seeds of her own ineptitude by not giving the spell her full magical attention?
“Help me,” she begged her beast.
Her inner beacon, repository of her power, brightened.
Once again, she picked up her chant and focused everything in her on the surface of the pool. Drawn by her magic, small creatures crept close. Mice. Squirrels. A vole.
Determined to reclaim her ability, Katya poured everything in her into her casting. Inner doors burst open as she held nothing back. Finally, the water swirled into a familiar vortex, twirling downward as water spiraled into a chute. The blue color darkened to first gray and then black.
Her breath quickened, and she scooted forward until her knees touched the water’s edge. “Tell me,” she exhorted. “What will be?”
Images crashed against one another, taking shape and ceding to the next in line. Part of her magic was interpreting the cavalcade of illustrations painting the water’s surface before they were sucked into the vortex and replaced by another sketch.
The initial image was their grotto deep beneath Antarctica. Relief filled her to find it unchanged. Serpents hadn’t desecrated it, apparently hadn’t discovered it, but she hadn’t expected them to.
Not really.
The next picture showed the headlands and beach above their lair. Serpents lolled on ice-covered water and ice-crusted rocks on shore. Hundreds of them, stretching as far as she could see. The next image added several ships bobbing in brash ice in the Weddell Sea.
She moved the lens closer and made out bodies spread across every visible deck. Bodies and blood. Was this how the serpents had strengthened themselves? By capturing ships and eating the humans?
Stomach roiling, she cast her net farther, needing to see if the serpents had spread to other lands on Earth. Two research stations looked unoccupied. A third had been turned into a fort. She sensed humans barricaded within, but no serpents lurked anywhere near. A large, apparently empty, ship was moored in a nearby bay.
Had word gone out?
Probably. Considering their lack of telepathy, humans had decent communications systems. She considered searching Argentina, New Zealand, and South Africa but didn’t want to take the time. Now she had her scrying ability back, that quest could wait for another day.
Since her magic was cooperating, she returned to the headlands. This time they were empty. Not a serpent in sight. Where had all of them gone? Or had the first vision been of a future that might not occur?
She searched for other dragons but didn’t find any. Surely that boded well. No dragons meant no one for the serpents to seduce, although how they’d managed to convince any dragon to merge magic with them remained a mystery.
Katya was about to close off her spell. She’d seen enough to reassure her twin they probably weren’t teleporting into a trap. As she scanned the empty headlands, the absence of marine life jabbed her. Seals should be barking. Penguins prancing, yet neither was present.
What did it mean?
The ocean turned black, ice cracking into dark shards. Unable to look away, she stared as a chiaroscuro curtain gradually obliterated everything. She blinked, but the darkness was absolute.
Because her attention wavered, the spell blew up in front of her, showering her with pond water. Katya gasped. She’d never had a scrying spell end this way. Ever. Almost as if this world sensed she dallied with evil and had slammed the gateway fast.
She scooted back from the edge of the pond and wrapped her arms around her knees. An edgy weariness filled her, along with dark thoughts. Destruction. Despair.
Her dragon bugled. The sound broke through inertia wrapping her in hopelessness, and she understood fragments of evil had traveled through her spell. She shot to her feet and immersed herself in the purification ritual to dispel the last of them.
“I didn’t like that,” her beast muttered. “Something sly is afoot. We must be careful.”
Katya’s eyes widened. Careful wasn’t even a word in her bondmate’s vocabulary. Until now.
“What on earth will I tell Konstantin?” she mused.
“The truth.” Her beast puffed smoke and ash. “What else?”
Sure, but if the truth was what she thought she’d seen, none of them would ever be safe again. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts determined to come up with something more coherent than amorphous fear when she talked with her brother and the other shifters.
Chapter 17
I’d been keeping an eye on the direction where Katya and her brother had gone. Obviously, Kon was long since back, but I was waiting for Katya. My heart was so full of love and gratitude she loved me back, I fear I was rather a blithering idiot whenever anyone tried to talk with me.
She was gone far longer than I anticipated from her blithe assessment that if her magic worked, things would unfold quickly. Konstantin had gathered everyone and was evaluating theories about how to neutralize the serpents with the least damage to us. And the most to them.
I was coming to appreciate how inconvenient immortal enemies were. I didn’t say anything, but I was hoping they were still vulnerable in their human bodies. Drawing them out was time-consuming, but at least it ensured they wouldn’t jump on some sneaky backdoor magic no one knew about and rise to fight another day.
I knew Kon was worried about his sister because he often glanced the same way I was looking, but it didn’t keep him from funneling and distilling suggestions. So far, the best ideas had come from the dinosaurs. They had access to an ancient vein of magic. From the sound of it, perhaps the bedrock all other magic had sprung from.
The dragon shifters didn’t care much for the dinosaurs’ explanation; they’d always assumed their magic was the prototype for what came later. At least they were civil, though. Not as if they had a lot of choice in the matter. Word of how the dinosaurs managed the renegade dragons had spread, and if any do
ubt remained, Konstantin provided an instant replay of our battle.
He was a competent leader, understanding it paid to give credit where it was due. Many commanders simply grabbed all the glory for themselves, but Konstantin actually minimized his role with Loran’s brothers. I suspect he was ashamed any dragon had hearkened to evil’s inducements.
I felt Katya’s unique energy drawing near before she came into view. Breath rattled from me, mixed with steam. I’d been worried about her, but so had my beast. He was just as happy to see her as I was. She strode purposefully toward us, her face set in determined lines.
I’d seen that combination of grim determination and grit on her face before. Apparently, so had Konstantin. He broke off midsentence and walked toward his sister, gripping her forearms as soon as he got close enough. She shook her head, perhaps in reaction to private telepathy from him.
“I am only going to say this once.” Her tone was neutral, as if she were making an effort to suppress any feelings she might have about how things had gone with her scrying spell.
My beast urged me to go to her, stand by her side, but I was close enough. It appeared she’d had a rough time, and she didn’t need me crowding her. Katya wasn’t asking for emotional support, and I wouldn’t insult her by assuming she couldn’t stand on her own. Rushing to her like an overprotective husband would be the wrong thing to do. She’d been managing her own life for a very long time.
Konstantin motioned his twin forward, and she took his place at the head of the gathering. “Before I begin,” she said, “I have a question for the dinosaurs’ seer.”
A pterodactyl flew close, shifting in midair and somersaulting to the ground as the silver-haired shifter. His eyes glowed, appearing almost as eerie as dragons’ eyes. How long would it take before I looked at a normal human and found them lackluster, boring. No glowing magical nimbus. Pedestrian eyes. The transition would happen, and probably sooner rather than later.
“You were successful.” Yle didn’t pose it as a question.
“If the measure of success is my scrying spell worked, then, yes, I was successful. Do you know who controls time’s various iterations?”
“What do you mean?” Yle narrowed his eyes.
“I’m not certain how scrying goes for you, but I see multiple versions of the future. I never know until it comes to pass which of the variants won. My question to you is this: Is there some entity—perhaps a god—behind the scenes controlling outcomes? If so, have you any idea how he or she determines which timeline will be primary?”
“If any such being exists, they haven’t made themselves known to me.” Yle frowned, creating a deep furrow between his silver brows. “My issue has always been figuring out which vision is years in the future, and which is likely to unfold in the next few moments. Sometimes, they are very similar.”
“What did you see?” Apparently unwilling to wait any longer, Konstantin had moved close to his twin.
“Several possibilities. Our home has not yet been disturbed, but in one set of images, serpents were thick around our headlands. In another set, boats littered with dead floated quite a way offshore. Depending on which theory about the source of the ice is correct, Earth could be fighting back because both the ocean and beach areas were frozen.”
“Go on,” many of the shifters urged.
“Still more images showed our headlands undisturbed, but the water had turned brackish and darker. I expanded my scan to include some of the research stations. Humans appeared to have barricaded themselves into one of them.”
“They must know they’re in danger,” Erin spoke up.
“I assumed the same.” Katya nodded. “They have communication via satellites and would have recognized they were imperiled after many ships were set upon.
“My last vision…” She stopped, perhaps regrouping, before talking again. “The headlands were empty. The sea was black. The ice shattered, but nothing poked through. I’m certain this next is metaphor since it doesn’t match any physical phenomena, but darkness fell across the land, closing it in blackness so absolute I couldn’t penetrate it.
“Right afterward, my spell snapped back on me like a boomerang. Something wicked followed me, but between my beast and me, we made short work of it.”
Yle’s gaze had never left her. “It may not be as bad as you assume,” he began.
I waited. Her recitation had sounded pretty frightening to me. Not that we wouldn’t return to Earth and do the best we could, but evil that could latch onto a spell and follow it to another location had to be powerful as hell.
A corner of Katya’s mouth turned downward. “I wasn’t aware I’d voiced any judgment on my experience.”
“You didn’t have to,” Yle retorted. “A spell or two has chased me back to my point of origin. It’s unnerving, and it happens when the world you’re on senses a threat from what you’re doing and slams the door shut on your casting.”
“The entire Fleisher system is on high alert,” Konstantin affirmed. “These lands are angry. They feel taken advantage of and are determined to mount a better defense.” He hesitated. “When I initially touched the land with my magic, it rebuffed me. Its trust in dragons has been severely compromised after the debacle on the third world and the extent of the breeding farms on the ninth.”
Katya raised her arms to quell side conversations that were cropping up. “I’m nearly done. My overarching sense was that darkness and evil are growing, but they have a long way to go before Earth succumbs.”
“Do you believe it’s only serpents?” Nikolai asked.
Katya’s brow furrowed. “That’s a sound question. It doesn’t seem possible the serpents could have grown strong enough to set up brood farm operations here and invade Earth too. Perhaps something worse is behind them, directing their actions.”
“Like what?” Melara asked.
“Besides their dragon allies perhaps a bored dark god or two? We haven’t heard much from any of the gods beyond Y Ddraigh Goch—and the shifter gods who helped us clear the seventh world—since Mu fell,” Konstantin growled. Before anyone could posit more theories, he went on. “I traveled to this system of borderworlds to solicit aid from others with magic, but the barefaced truth is dragons aren’t your problem. Neither are sea-serpents. Returning to Earth and mounting a defense against whatever faces us will be dangerous.”
He rocked back on the balls of his feet before continuing. “I welcome assistance from anyone who wishes to offer it, but one of my core assumptions is no longer true. When we teleported here, I figured all of us were immortal. It’s clear the serpents—and their dragon allies—have found a way to steal our magic and end our lives. Think long and hard before committing to a cause that doesn’t impact you directly. Your altruism could cost far more than you have in mind.”
“But the serpents do impact us directly,” Gustaf said. “They inveigled their way into our worlds. Had you not shown up, we would have been much slower figuring that out. The ones who pretended to be like us may well have gotten away with it. By the time we understood what they were up to, it would have been too late. I’m not clear why we didn’t recognize them for what they were, but we accepted their illusion as reality.”
“They tricked you with dragon coercion.” Katya’s words were stark.
“Same way they lulled the land into not raising hell about their presence,” Konstantin said darkly. “Regardless, we’ve set things to rights here. The land is more savvy than it was and will hold vigil too, now that it knows to be on the lookout for dragons who are not what they seem.”
He thinned his mouth into a harsh line. “Every single time I utter the word dragon in close proximity to the word serpent, a part of me dies. I will not rest until I’ve rid every world of serpents. Before they were a scourge, but they’ve made it personal.”
My beast trumpeted, along with every dragon there. The mesa filled with fire, smoke, and ash.
When it cleared, Konstantin said, “Think on what you wish to
do. Once we’ve firmed up who will accompany us, we’ll be on our way.”
“The dinosaurs are fully committed,” Yle said without hesitation. “Our magic has been underutilized for centuries. You’ve offered us an appealing project, plus we do not seem to be vulnerable to your brand of magic. It will make us valuable since the serpents cannot harm us.”
“Thank you.” Kon bowed low. “I admit I’m relieved since your ability is a lynchpin for every strategy we came up with.”
“The time to thank us,” Yle said, “is when we are done and the serpents vanquished.”
I noticed he didn’t add traitorous dragons to the vanquished list. Probably wise. My dragon was angry at the betrayal of his kinsmen, and I suspected every single dragon shifter’s beast was muttering the same dark curses and urging immediate retribution for those who wore false faces.
Katya strode toward me. I opened my arms; she walked into them and closed hers around my back. She felt so good in my embrace. So right. Fierce protectiveness seared me. “How are you?” I asked.
“Better than I was. I’ve never had a spell blow up in my face like that.”
“Could it have injured you?” Alarmed by the possibility, I stroked her hair.
“No. At least I don’t believe so.” She tilted her head back and looked at me, her golden eyes serious. “Magic is changing. I’m not certain when it began to alter itself, but I wonder what the outcome will be.”
“What do you mean changing?” I didn’t know enough about enchantments in the first place to understand what she was suggesting.
“There was a time long ago when it wasn’t possible for dark power to corrupt anyone wielding dragon magic. As I think on it, the beginnings of where we now find ourselves probably occurred when the serpents tortured Y Ddraigh Goch’s children. The children were tainted by evil. Rather than compelling them to commit foul deeds, though, dark power drove them mad.”