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  Kaliel didn’t come when the storm reached its worse. The guards said she was gone, in the field with the Ferryman. Pux huddled in the small house with Jack and his mother Bethula until Shimma pounded on the door and in a flash of chaos and abruptness he was ripped from Jack’s home and dragged down the walkway to the backside of the castle.

  “I don’t know if this will work,” Shimma had said, hair plastered to her face, lip bleeding from a cut. Pux shot her a bewildered look through the sheets of ice and snow. She snapped the seashells together and raised her hand to the sky. The lake behind the castle was relatively small and it was blocked by a stone wall at the far end of the compound. The water rippled and out of the nearly frozen water, the boat appeared. Shimma tugged him down the banks, his feet punctured by jagged rocks on the shore. Pux had cursed and let out a cry, the wind so cold frost appeared on the tips of his ears. Shimma splashed in the icy water and held a hand out to him as he looked back at the uneven bank, patches of mud, grass, and the tall stone walls of the Tavesin Hall.

  “Come on,” Shimma commanded, the squall kicking water over the boat. Pux turned, unable to fathom dying in a sea of ice and took Shimma’s hand. He didn’t have time to find Kaliel and Krishani, and he couldn’t take a human like Jack to Avristar. Shimma took the staff out of the boat and pushed with all her might. Wind, rain, ice, and mist covered them as she recited the incantation under her breath. Pux peered through the sheets of snow and thought they might crash into the wall but they glided through it, the storm dissipating around them. Pux fell on his knees the moment he saw the Isle of Avristar in the distance, never happier and sadder to see his home in all his life. He had glanced at Shimma, her stern expression never wavering.

  “Why?” he asked, astonished, and heartbroken.

  Shimma ruffled the blue cloak around her shoulders and let out a hrmph. “I didn’t do it for you.”

  In the present, Pux let the whistle fall against his chest as he waited. The boat faithfully appeared and he climbed inside, sitting on the cracked, mossy seat. He picked up the staff and pushed off the banks, reciting an incantation that would take him to Terra.

  He wasn’t angry with Kaliel anymore, not for the storm that killed Jack, and not for the way she left him. He pressed his lips together thinking about the only kiss he’d ever had. He didn’t regret the kiss, no matter what kind of trouble he might have gotten into. Jack was a shy, intimate boy that was too afraid to talk to girls. What he did regret, was not saying goodbye.

  He threw his hood over his head as the boat began rocking, the familiar shifts in the waves making Pux nervous. The Lands of Men really were no place for a feorn and while nine hundred years had passed on Avristar, nine thousand years had passed on Terra. Finding places uninhabited by humans was nearly impossible. He used the cloak as a means to an end, too many close calls, too many unsuspecting maidens on the banks of shores shrieking about faeries and shining people.

  Things had changed considerably on Terra in the past ten years, so fast Pux was caught off guard by the growing population, the ever-evolving nature of humans. It may have happened slowly to them but in the past hundred years on Terra, the people were forgetting. They forgot the names of Atara and Istar, heroes became villains and villains became martyrs. Great civilizations fell, leaving behind the rubble and ignorance of newer generations. Pux couldn’t keep all the details in his head, too many differences to point out, but people went from building pyramids to driving cars.

  The boat emerged under a sunset laden sky, orange and pink-tinged clouds streaking across the horizon. The boat slid through serene reflective waters, cutting through shapes of trees and clouds as it reached the mossy shore. Pux didn’t jump out, the water below tar black. He inched to the edge, getting a better look at the shore. Evergreens and birch speckled the land, their leaves a brilliant green. The chill in the air made him assume it was closer to autumn wherever he was. He squeezed his fist and thought hard about the shore. The depth of concentration it took to transport on Terra was amazing.

  He felt the clicking in the back of his mind as the transporting took place, there was a whoosh, and when he opened his eyes he was standing on the banks, staring at the water. He didn’t wait for the boat to retreat, for the unnatural mists to camouflage it on its journey back. He heard someone shriek nearby. He froze, but the noise carried, very close. Pux crouched. He didn’t encounter humans often but when he did he played games with them. A mischievous smile crossed his lips and was wiped away by the sound of a man. Pux pulled the cloak tighter around his shoulders and moved to the nearest cluster of trees off the path. He waited, and the voices came closer. A young girl with long blonde locks skipped past, wearing pink shorts and a white tank top. Behind her was a guy in jeans and a black t-shirt, words and stick figures on it. The girl stopped at the ledge and pointed at the water.

  “Not so close, Steph,” the guy said.

  “Alligators!” she exclaimed.

  The guy laughed. “Do you think the alligators will get you?” He picked her up and she squealed.

  “Don’t throw me in!”

  Pux pressed his lips together, waiting for them to leave. It used to be different. Young girls came to the forest alone and sometimes he’d show them his true form and other times he’d transform. These days girls didn’t go anywhere without their fathers and while this one was only a child, one day she’d be older, and she wouldn’t go into the forest at all.

  A song began playing, some obnoxious noise Pux couldn’t place. It sounded vaguely like drums and guitar, but the sound made his ears bleed and he pressed his hands to his head ducking further into the brush. The sound cut out abruptly and Pux took a peek only to find a weird box in the guy’s hand. The guy moved his fingers along it effortlessly, stealing glances at his daughter.

  “Come on Steph, time to go,” he said. The guy looked directly at Pux. Though Pux was sure he was covered by the leaves and the hood it sent chills through him. Before he could tell himself not to, he transformed into an owl with reddish brown feathers and a speckled coat. He flew out of the brush and perched on a high branch, his cloak and clothing below him. The man’s eyes followed and it was his turn to point.

  “Look there, Steph! An owl!” The girl didn’t respond and the guy took a few steps towards her. “Earth to Steph …” He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up.

  “No daddy!” Her eyes were closed until he nudged her to look and when she opened them she gasped. “Owl.” The guy laughed as Pux remained frozen, his eyes locked to the girl’s. She gaped at Pux and the guy let her down, taking her hand and leading her from the water. She turned back once, trying to find Pux. Soon she crested the hill and turned the corner, out of sight. Pux fell from the branch, transforming and dressing in the brush. He pulled the whistle out of the grass and called the boat. Humans didn’t call it Terra anymore, they called it Earth. He almost forgot, having known it as Terra for so many centuries. He stood on the banks, nervousness flitting through him. He didn’t like all the new things Earth had, like those tiny weird boxes.

  Mists covered the shore as the boat appeared and Pux transported, fear of human encounters forcing him to flee. Part of him hoped he’d see someone he knew. Desaunius, Atara, Luenelle … he hadn’t seen them in ages and he wondered if any of them were still alive.

  After the wars the Valtanyana brought, they were probably dead.

  ***

  Chapter 2

  Unstoppable

  There wasn’t a lot going on in the emergency room. Empty gurneys sprawled from one end of the pasty walls to the other. Big gray double doors hung at the far end, light blue curtains pulled at all lengths giving privacy to the lack of people. Tor wasn’t really sure how he ended up there. He’d been speeding down the highway one minute and walking away from a tree the next. Stuff in between was blurry. It was always like that—life jumping from moment to moment, stringing together in incoherent patterns. He perched on the edge of a gurney, legs dangling to the floor. He
wore knee high combat boots, black jeans, and a black muscle shirt topped by an open-faced short-sleeved button down shirt. His black hair was slicked back in a ponytail. His face showed the wear of years, wrinkles around his stony blue eyes, high cheekbones, carved jawline, long nose. His hands bunched at his sides, big leathery things with calluses and bruises along the backside. Thin striped veins bulged out of the tanned skin and raced up his bulky arms. Muscle upon muscle rounded his bones. He turned his attention on the machines across the hall, blood pressure devices, resuscitators, heart monitors; everything he was used to in the modern world. He’d probably blow up the ER if he tried to touch that stuff.

  The curtain flapped and a blonde woman appeared with a tray. He already told her not to bother hooking him up. He was bleeding from a few spots and if she’d let him, he’d stitch himself up. Hell, he wouldn’t have come to the hospital at all if he hadn’t blacked out. He couldn’t tell them he was running. Another confrontation with the local police wouldn’t be fun.

  The girl ripped open some sort of disinfecting patch and padded the gash on his arm. It was a thick cut, slicing from one end of the bicep to the other, about half an inch wide. He winced as peroxide permeated his senses. She glanced at him, blue eyes full of questions she wasn’t asking. He scanned the thin powder blue bedding on the gurney next to him, a heart rate monitor on a pole with wheels. He felt the pin prick of a needle in his arm, but didn’t flinch.

  “You were really lucky you know,” she said, piercing the silence. He glanced at her, eyes trailing over pink medical scrubs. They were standard; drawstring pants, short sleeved and v necked. In this August heat he wondered how she could stand it. “Most highway victims bang their cars up that bad don’t make it.” She diligently pulled the needle through the skin, cinching the wound shut.

  Tor cracked a smile. “I guess I’m not most victims.” His voice came out deep and gravelly.

  She feigned a smile. “It’s good your car took most of the damage.”

  He swallowed and unclenched his fist, resting it on his thigh. He wondered how far away the Valtanyana were. He didn’t have much time to escape. The Valtanyana had the universe. They controlled everything from one end of the stars to the other. And they liked sending their dogs after him. Vultures. Vile creatures with one purpose: devour souls. He shifted his weight on the gurney and the items on the tray bounced. The girl dropped the needle. She recovered it and furrowed her brow, going back to work on the insipid injury.

  “Do you know if they pulled it out yet?” Tor asked. When he looked at her this time he really saw her. She was young, early twenties, round face with smooth baby soft cheeks and blue eyes. Her blonde hair was the darker, dirtier kind and she hadn’t dyed it. Studs for earrings decorated both ears, plain gold balls.

  She shook her head. “Highway patrol guys don’t tell me anything.” She paused, a scrutinizing gaze crossing her eyes. “But I heard you wrapped it around a tree.” Her hands trembled as she finished with the stitches. “You’re a miracle.” She moved the tray off the bed and disappeared around the curtain but was back a second later with another tray. She set it down and stopped; a hand on her hip. “How did you get out?”

  Tor smiled and this time it was all teeth and pride. There was something he loved about how easy it was to impress a blonde. He shrugged and gave her a look. “I teleported.”

  She laughed and went to touch the tray when he caught her by the wrist, gently, but enough that her eyes met his. “You’re a liar.”

  “The perks of not being human. Just so you know, I fully intend on getting my Tempo back.”

  She pulled her wrist out of his grip and straightened up. “You know we have a psych ward … if you wanted to talk to someone.” He ignored the comment, turning his attention to the big double doors. Something was about to happen, he felt it like déjà vu, knowing he’d been here before, but last time it wasn’t like this. The blonde reached for the needle and rounded the other side of the bed. “This is for the obvious, tetanus, potential metal poisoning, you should know the drill.” She dug the needle into his other arm without asking and depressed the plunger. He cocked his head to the side.

  “Where am I anyway?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Lake of the Woods General. There’s some paperwork you need to fill out before you’re discharged.” He shot her a bewildered look, not wanting to write anything down on any piece of paper. Anything he wrote would immediately be copied in the Great Hall. Kemplan would see it; Rahedra and Grimassi would see it.

  “You passed out before you got here,” the blonde explained.

  Tor frowned. “That’s not how I remember it.” But he wasn’t really sure how he remembered it. The paramedics were hysterical, and then he was in the emergency room. He narrowed his eyes, hating the fact that time travel made him miss parts of the timeline when he wasn’t expecting it.

  The nurse sighed. “You were fighting with the paramedics and bleeding out. They used a sedative to get you here.”

  He put his hands under his thighs and smirked. “What if I’m not from Canada? Are you going to hold me hostage?”

  She shook her head. “That’s not my problem. I don’t care where you’re from.” She put the needle on the tray and reached for the curtain but glanced back at him. “What’s your name?”

  “You can call me Christian,” he said, like it was an inside joke. She looked him up and down like she was checking out the goods and shook her head.

  “You … don’t look like a Christian.”

  Tor smirked. “I get that a lot.” She went to leave again. “Do you want to go for drinks later?”

  She gave him a look saying she was appalled, surprised, and offended. The look dissolved into curiosity. “Sure … I know a place. I’m off at six, but I have to be back by two if you don’t mind.”

  Tor was about to agree when the double doors shot open and a young guy in a black bomber jacket, jeans and combed over black hair burst into the room. Across his arms was a little girl about five years old. Her head lolled to the side, eyelids glued shut. Dark locks of black hair swept the floor. The blonde girl yelped something as another guy in a white coat and navy blue scrubs skidded into the room after them. He had glasses and spiky brown hair, a stethoscope around his neck. He shouted something at the blonde but Tor didn’t catch it. For a slow day at the hospital this guy was as animated as a cat on catnip. He turned as the girl’s father set her down two beds over.

  The girl wore jean shorts and a blue t-shirt, white sandals strapped to her little feet. A Band-Aid covered one of her knobby knees, scars dotted her shins. The young doctor fiddled with the machines, unhooking tubes, pushing the father out of the way. He backed up like he was in a trance and Tor caught his hazel eyes watching the girl, terror etched into them. The father covered his face with his hands for a second and pulled them down until his fingertips rested on his lips.

  “She fell off the play structure at school,” he began; his voice surprisingly calm and smooth.

  The blonde appeared on the other side of the small girl, looking at the doctor as he strapped an IV to the girl’s hand. “I called Doctor Cameron for you.”

  “Thanks, Sheila,” the doctor said as he finished with the IV. A clear bag hung from a metal hook, saline solution moving through the tubes into the girl’s arm. It made her look like a tiny alien. Her lips were a slight blue, her skin pallid like the color of death.

  The doctor turned to the father and Tor glanced at him briefly, noticing a red and yellow patch on the sleeve of his bomber jacket, “Gordie” embroidered on it. He sized Gordie up: barely six feet tall, medium build, strong hands, calm resolve. He had bushy eyebrows, hazel eyes, and a round but defined face. Splotches of lighter colored skin rounded his mouth and jaw bones, signs of vitiligo. “I …” Gordie mustered; his defeated eyes on the little girl.

  The doctor held his hand out, ushering the father towards the waiting room. “Mr. Jonsson? There’s nothing we can do but wait until Maeva wakes up,�
� the doctor said.

  Tor glanced at the girl—Maeva—once they left. The name came from the Lands of Immortals and Jonsson, stemmed from Norway, where parts of the world started, near the place Kaliel failed, damning them all.

  Maeva was in a coma. Her little chest rose and fell in successions, the breathing apparatus attached to her mouth and nose. Her eyelids flickered even though they were shut, her legs twitched. Tor pushed himself off the bed, boots stamping the linoleum with a heavy clack. He was about to use the distraction to lite out of the hospital without filling out the paperwork when he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Goosebumps rose across his arms and he stopped, his heart thudding. He gulped, and glanced around the empty emergency room, no one but him and the girl.

  “I know you’re there, Zanthos,” he said, spreading his arms wide and taking a step into the middle of the room. He moved in a small circle, showing he was ready for the taking. If there was going to be a scuffle, now was a good time to do it. Darkesh liked keeping him on his leash. Tor was unnaturally experienced at staying off the radar, making moments like this infrequent.

  The eerie chill grew. Fluorescent lights flickered, and one of the machines beeped even though it was off. The deathly form of the Vulture filled the center hallway. Tor cocked his head to the side, unable to see Zanthos clearly with human eyes, but able to feel him enough to know he wasn’t in possession of a human body.

  “Coming in the nude I see.”

  “I’m not here for you,” Zanthos seethed, his voice raspy like chains, rattling the air. Tor took a curious step back. He glanced at the girl in the coma. She had her whole life ahead of her and it was going to end. Tor had seen plenty of people die, but something tugged at him. Zanthos moved to the side of the bed. His tentacle-like hands gripped the edge and flowed over her arm. Her body shivered in response and Tor instinctively moved to the other side.