by Skyler Andra
I scribbled my signature twice, once to acknowledge my leave date and a second time to agree to my return within forty-eight hours. If I broke the agreement, I was toast. Tor came back late once because of a broken down car and the warden gave him extra duties and took him off missions for month. Without missions, I couldn’t earn time off my sentence. No way was I getting caged up for that long.
I hated it here. Restless spirits wandered the halls. The stone walls blocked me from getting in tune with the mother spirit of the land. I was raised to live in harmony with nature, so being locked away went against everything in my essence. I hadn’t been able to practice any of my culture’s traditions and all I had left were the few smoking ceremonies I had been able to do that cleared bad energy. The warden had only agreed to let me do them out of respect for my people.
I slid the paper and pen under the glass.
Ford stamped it with a magical label, and flicked the paper into his completed tray. “You’re right to go, brother. Enjoy your leave.”
I shifted my hand from my pocket. “Thanks, Ford.”
He laughed. “That's the most words that have ever come out of your mouth.”
Out of all the prison guards, he was one of the few with honor, giving respect where it was due. If this little plan of mine didn’t work, he wouldn’t let me out of here with the item.
Last step of my plan. Walk through the metal detector and prevent if from going off. I'd put a sprig of bees’ nettle and dandelion weed in my pocket. The magical properties disguised random items and would help me avoid its detection. A trick I'd learned from a friend on the outside. I held my breath and squeezed my pocket so hard my hand ached as I crossed the machine. The thing didn’t beep, and I quickened my pace.
Behind me, Ford pressed a button and the gate at the end of the room wound open with a clackety clack.
I grunted and left. Man of few words, they called me. Man of mystery. Shy. Stuck up. None of them true. But they could say whatever they wanted, I didn't care. Opinions didn't define me. I knew who I was, and that was all that mattered.
When the door closed, I strode to the next one, a tall metal gate full of see through mesh, which clinked as it rolled open. Two giant gargoyles resembling demonic-looking eagles watched me as I exited. The Guardians were full of these creatures, large enough to hunt members that escaped or who did not return from leave.
Outside the compound, the sunlight warmed my skin. It was midafternoon by the position of the sun in the blue sky, and an eagle circled in the sky above. The wind carried the scent of rain. A good sign. Freedom... for two days, at least. Enough time to visit my family.
I took of my boots and socks, preferring the feel of the dirt beneath rather than leather and plastic as I crossed the car park. Energy from the Earth crackled in my feet. Nothing compared to my connection to the mother spirit and my ancestors.
In the third row of cars, I passed Devon, sitting on the hood of his car, smoking a cigarette. He smirked, pulled out the burning paper and threw it on the ground. Fire hit my veins. Disrespectful to the mother spirit. I picked it up, stubbed it out on his taillight, leaving ash on it. He chuckled and leaned back on the hood as I carried the stub and my boots to my truck.
Irked, I jumped into my black ford pickup and cranked the engine. I gave it some gas, listening to the roar of the engine, then reversed and ripped out there with a squeal of the tires. My wheels hit one of many oil-filled potholes, and the suspension bounced.
On my way past Devon, I swerved, hitting a pothole, and my tires flicked water at him. I caught him in the rearview. Dripping, swearing, flying the one-fingered salute. I smiled. Bastard deserved it.
Our teams had a strong competitive edge. Every year, the warden tallied our scores, and the top one got an extra year off their sentence. For Tor’s mistake, leading to the death of our friend Jaz at the hands of Styx, as well as Jaz’s crime feeding intel to the Shadow’s enemy, my crew earned a hundred-year sentence. Anything we could do to shave time off, we were all over.
But at some point—and we all knew the exact moment—things between Eduardo’s squad and mine got worse. Knoxe had Devon’s brother thrown into The Hole for a month. Since then, we’d found more than one dead rat in our beds, been stalked and attacked by various gang members, and had fights picked.
I pulled out onto the highway, speeding up, the barbed walls shrinking in my rearview. I flicked the radio on to Triple J, and Ben Harper played. I hummed the tune and rested the side of my head on one fist.
Three of my ancestors appeared in the backseat. They often travelled with me. Brought me warnings.
Besides all the constant drama, we were a tight team and had lead the warden’s scoreboard the last two years thanks to Knoxe’s persistence in riding our asses, his insistence we train to exhaustion.
Personality wise, we were a match made in hell. A hothead who couldn’t take a joke but played them a plenty. A leader salivating for revenge and then Pascal, tender and shy, withdrawn and Autistic. And me. Quiet. But not silent. Calm, but not peaceful.
Orange desert soil dotted by rocks and sparse vegetation surrounded me. Home. And after three months away hunting Styx, it was good to be back. I wanted to see my family. I’d been away too long. My foot stamped heavier on the gas pedal.
My family lived thirty minutes west of the prison, and every chance I got, I left that stone hell hole. My people belonged to the land. We followed the seasons, lived off what nature provided, used plants as medicine and hunted for food. To be imprisoned was to be sentenced to death. Thankfully, Knoxe kept us out on missions most of the time or I would have gone stir crazy being locked up, especially with my crew and the other prisoners.
Half an hour later, I pulled into my little community, a ramshackle of fibrous cement dwellings, bordered by burnt orange hills and landscapes of rocky clay and sand. Only this time my village was different. Spirits of my ancestors wandered aimlessly. Wind rocked the blackened shells of cars. Deadened branches of trees curled like demon fingers. Scorch marks blemished various homes.
My gut hardened. Munyara. What had happened?
Uneasy, I continued through the center, parking outside my mom’s place, a grey two-bedroom with fly screens hanging loose, chipped paint, and rusted corrugated iron sheets at the base. The old place needed maintenance, but I didn’t get the time these days. And about eighteen months ago, when the world started going haywire, a rare desert flood washed through and Mom’s house still showed the damage it left behind.
I got out of the car and a spirit wafted through me. I quickly turned. “What happened here?” With no one to hear me but my ethereal ancestors, I expected no answer but…
A spirit drifted to face me. Sadness colored its spirit to a shade of grey only seen in shadows. It pointed to the darkened yarning circle in town which had crumbled from both fire and flood. Destruction of the Bunyip, a demon spirit from another world, which came to this land to feed. We were a cursed people.
Agitated, I walked inside, calling out, “Yaama,” our tribe’s word for hello.
“My boy!” my mother replied in our language.
I found her in the lounge room, sitting on the sofa, grinding up roots in a bowl. Thanks to my uncle’s death, a new batch of wrinkles lined her darkened skin and streaks of thick grey had woven through her hair. She struggled, using the arms of her chair to push herself to stand and give me a hug. The doctors had diagnosed her with diabetes, and it forced her to sit a lot more than usual when she’d been very active before.
She placed her hands on either side of my head and pulled until my forehead rested against hers. Our tribe’s greeting. “Where have you been? Why didn't you come to the funeral?” Here came the hard questions. When she pulled away, her eyes were even redder and tinted with yellow.
I pulled away. “You know why, Mother. I have to follow their rules if I want to find the Munyara.”
The Munyara was our sacred tribe animal, and for thousands of years, it had protect
ed our people. But eighteen months ago, it disappeared. My people fell ill, our water supply filled with mud, dust choked the air, and locusts ate our plants. Homes were washed out with floods, and now fire struck my community, undoubtedly also caused by the same curse.
The Bunyip had stolen our protector, held it somewhere, kept it alive, but drained it. Every day my connection to it weakened, and more chaos rained on my tribe. I had to find the Munyara before it perished, and my people’s suffering multiplied in scope and veracity. That was why I'd joined the Shadows. But my goal had been sidetracked after I’d been sentenced to work for the Guardians.
My mother shook her head and returned to her seat, her knees creaking as she did. “The Guild doesn’t respect our values.”
My tribe knew why I’d joined the Guild of Shadows three years ago. They’d met with early members of the Australian Guild, helped them locate the ruptures in the veil, track the gantii that had crossed the thresholds. But my mother didn’t know that I’d been sent to the Guardians, sentenced to one hundred years of service. If she knew, it’d break her heart, and I didn’t want to worry her anymore than necessary.
I changed the topic. “The fires. What happened?”
My mother turned her gaze to her hands clasped in her lap. “The Bunyip.”
A wave of cold washed over me. The beast had struck again. It had taken my tribe ten months to rebuild after the flood, to plant new gardens and harvest the food and re-establish their animals.
I pulled out the item I’d snuck out of the prison. A pocket-sized compass that detected demons and should help track the Bunyip. The needle went haywire, spinning in a rapid circle clockwise, then reversing to counterclockwise.
My mother touched her chest and stood again. She was always in tune with the magic of nature, and she must’ve sensed the power in the compass. “Where’d you get that?”
“I borrowed it.” I kissed the top of her head.
I’d used up all my Christmas leave, a generous two days, from the Guild to track the Bunyip. I’d followed every trail. Fine dark grey filaments it left. Imprints on the ground like no other animal because it wasn’t one. It was a demon. But every trail went dead. How did I find something that had no physical form? That just vanished into thin air. I was running out of options, and that was why I’d stolen the compass.
I waited for the needle to settle, but even after a few minutes, it still spun. Clockwise. Counter. Clockwise.
My mother dug her fingers into my arm. “The dead are watching.” She’d convened with the spirits of my ancestors ever since she was a little girl. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “You should not have brought that device here.”
“I had to.” The spirit activity was probably preventing the compass from working, interfering with the magnetics, so I moved to take it outside. But even in the fresh air and heat, I couldn’t get a clear signal.
“Wait, my boy.” My mother brought a ceremonial bowl with several leaves in it. She lit them, curling her hand over the smoke, blowing on the leaves, encouraging the flames. When the leaves caught fire, she waved the smoke over the device, and fanned it. “This should clear the spirits.”
The haze drifted over and the needle calmed, settling in at north west. I had a direction.
I gave my mother another kiss. “I’ll be back in time for dinner.”
“You just got here. I never see you anymore. You’re always too busy.” My mother’s complaint made my chest ache. “Have you got a girlfriend? Is that why you don’t visit us anymore?”
The pain in my chest threatened to crush me. How did a guy tell his mom he didn’t have a girlfriend because he lived in prison and couldn’t afford to get close to anyone because of what he was? That I had no prospects even if I met a woman? And that I didn’t have time for a girl because who knew when my job of tracking a gantii would happen or if I’d come home from it?
“I have to find the Munyara.” I left her as I walked down the dusty road to the rocky outcrop in the distance. One way or the other, I was going to find my tribal animal and return it to where it belonged. With us. Before any more destruction befell my community.
Chapter 13
Astra
Five past eight. Crap. Late to my first training session. Knoxe was going to have my ass for breakfast if I didn’t get to training.
I’d barely slept a wink the last two nights. The pain from where Tor struck me kept me awake. Tylenol didn’t even take the edge off it. Still, I’d read all the documents Knoxe gave me, along with the required homework. Thanks to my Asperger’s, when I dove into a task that I enjoyed, I really got lost in it. And I enjoyed learning. Training. Using my mind to solve problems and explore concepts.
I checked the map again, tilting it one way then the other. There had to be a top. Maybe a “You are Here” tile? Shit.
Where the hell was I going? I glanced down the corridor. Where were the landmarks I’d graphed into my memory? The designation markers? According to the map, I should’ve been in the training area, unless washing machines had recently been designated as some sort of new weapons—maybe we were supposed to clean the gantii to death—I must’ve somehow ended up in the laundry facility. One of the inmates ironing, looked up and nodded a hello. I nodded back the twisted my map one more time trying to figure where I’d gone off track.
Dammit. I’d taken a left when I should’ve gone right. Which meant I had to go back and make a right? But I was going the other way now so I should make a left? I grabbed an inmate by the shoulder of his issued garb—a white—bright like snow white—shirt and blue jeans. “You. Come with me.” Rather than broadcast to the entire laundry staff how I’d managed to get lost, I pulled him outside. “I need to get to the training area.” He lifted a hand to point and I shook my head. “No. Take me there.” I didn’t have time for more directions gone wrong.
My temples throbbed, but onward we went because the throbbing was nothing compared to what it would be after Knoxe got through with me.
And what had Warden Vartros had said about the bracelet? It would incapacitate me or something would be injected if I failed to show up where I was supposed to be. Was that inside the facility or on passes, which I would probably never get if I couldn’t be on time for my training. Shit!
It had to be the stress. Too much information to digest all at once. Paperwork. A new home. Lack of sleep. The fact I could be murdered in the middle of the night and no one would care because I’d become dispensable.
Out in the hall, Devon leaned against the wall, smoking a cigarette. He smirked as he saw me and took a long inhale of his cancer stick. What the hell? This was the second time I’d seen him hanging around. Something about him oozed creep, shifty and dangerous. All the little weasel was missing was his tail.
I passed him. Shit. How did I always manage to get myself into these messes?
I listened for a second. Footsteps. I glanced over my shoulder and caught him tailing me. Fuck. What did he want?
Back in the Guild I would have confronted the guy, put him in his place, made sure he never stalked me again. But these weren’t Shadow Gildrons. These were criminals. Some hardened. Some crazy. Some whack jobs. Then there were the dicks who had an axe to grind with my team. I was a target by association. Thanks, Knoxe.
My muscles stiffened. Chances were I was leading myself away from the training area. Worry sank in my gut, sticky and hot like tar.
Think Astra. Get it together. Figure out the best way.
I pictured the map. Used my mind’s eye to focus. I needed a new route. As soon as I had one, I ran. Sprinted. And I was fast. Down a corridor. A quick left. I was close. I could smell the smoke from Raze’s clearing bowl. Thank God for his quirks.
Devon sped up to match my pace.
Shit! The heat in my belly turned sour and gluey. I wasn’t going to make it. Math and chemistry were my things. And the math said he was faster, stronger and deadlier. Or maybe it was his feet that said it, but I heard the words and had no choice.
I had to nip it in the bud before it got worse. If he thought he could intimidate me just because I was thrown into my team, then he had another thing coming.
“What the hell do you want? Why are you following me?” Unfortunately, I’d inherited my father’s temper, or maybe fortunately in this case. Anger warded off fear.
He flicked away his almost finished cancer stick. “Calm down, feist.”
I’d give him feist in the form of a knuckle sandwich and kneecap to the balls. “Why are you following me, you creepy bastard? Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to stalk a woman?”
His neck twitched. “I killed dat bitch.”
“Psycho.” I started for the training room. Hopefully, my team would be there, and his odds would shrink by four.
No such luck. He grabbed me by the arm and twisted me to face him. My stomach curdled. “Come on, feist, here me out.”
“No can do. I’ve got a training exercise I’m already late for.” I side-stepped and bolted.
My muscles hardened, ready for my fight response to kick in since flight had let me down, when he overtook me, stopped in front of me, blocking my path.
“Leave me the fuck alone, okay.” My voice wavered. As an added show of bravado, I added, “Don’t make me hurt you.”
He threw his head back and laughed. Belly laughed. Hard. I tried not be insulted, but damn. He was still laughing until finally, he slammed his knife in its sheath, and pounced on me like I was covered in sardine oil and he was a tiger, jamming me between him and wall. The cold of the stonewall seeped into my back.
Smiling, he used his body and his massive arms to box me between him and the wall. “I ‘ave a proposition for ya.”
“A proposition? Big word.” Sometimes, I didn’t know when to shut the hell up. Brave for a girl who had no clue how to work her way out of this mess. I shook my head and knocked against his arm as I tried to liberate myself.
“Come on. Join me team.” His breath smelled like nicotine. “The winning team. We’ll get ya out of ‘ere sooner dan dose losers.”