Page 60 of Shifter King
He wished it was that simple. "Your first rule in dealing with illusionists is to remember that you are dealing with illusions. What is not real cannot harm you unless you believe it, even if you have let it into your mind. Any good Tiablo would tell you the same thing. Illusions gain their power from belief. And you all fear them, so that makes them far more powerful. But if you can recognize that they are illusions, you can break free of them." It would probably be too much to start teaching them how to keep the Abliatos from putting them into the illusion to begin with. Even for his brothers and himself, it had taken years and years of working with Tiablos and Neyeb. Indeed, their friends had assisted in building that initial foundation. They would not have gotten nearly so far without them. But breaking free from an illusion was something these young Vawtrians could start with. "You all dream, yes?"
Ren nodded, arms tight over her slim chest. "Quite a lot."
"How can you tell if it's a dream if you are in a realistic dream? You'll all have different triggers. So look for them. It's hard for some to read words on a page or a sign. For others, the fingers will always be wrong or the numbers on a timepiece will be in the wrong order. Things like that. Practice that."
"And that will work?" They looked at him skeptically.
"I'm not thinking about reading when something is eating me," said one of the broken-armed youths. "I'm only thinking about not dying."
AaQar nodded. That he understood. But it made no difference. Especially in this short a time. "I can't tell you what triggers are in your dreams. You have to figure it out, and it will take time. That's the way you start. Although it would be wiser to stay out of the Abliatos' way as much as possible. I'll assume you all plan for that. Then once you know what your dream triggers are, make it a part of your life. If numbers or words are your tells, get them bone-tattooed on your hands or your arm or an accessory that has them. Find a way to show you that the place you are in is wrong. I'm afraid I must be going though."
"If you are willing to teach us, someone will be here at this point usually. Leave a message or tell whoever is here," Ren said. "We will learn whatever you're willing to show us."
"Of course. We have some matters to attend to, but I am sure something can be arranged." He took one more glance at the injured and weak Vawtrians, then dipped his head forward. "Be well and heal swiftly." Pressing his hand to his chest, he turned and walked away.
He needed to heal his toal again. At least as much of it as he could. That aging wound still cut deep. Its itching scar had appeared now twice in as many days, a reminder of what had been taken from him and what he could have again if he was willing to make the sacrifices. The Blood Rook had been capable of healing others as well. He had almost convinced AaQar a time or two that he should go through the process of healing his toal. Now, more than ever, he wished he had. These young Vawtrians needed all the help they could get. He wasn't certain, but it struck him that the effects on their shifting and their overall health had not come simply from being drained and blooded regularly. It was quite likely the Abliatos were putting something else in.
Naatos wanted vengeance, but these Vawtrians desperately needed healing in this place. In all respects.
His thoughts heavy, he returned to the bunker. The wind blew against his face as he stepped inside the rock shelter, full of the scents of fresh water and black briars. The faint scent of smoke lingered once he stepped below the stone overhang. Something had likely caught fire. The cachi gourds hung undisturbed, and nothing stirred within the traps. He opened the bunker door—a long piercing wail rose from within.
He scowled.
A baby?
How had a baby gotten in here?
He made his way down into the bunker and found that not only was there a baby, but she had been placed in the middle of Naatos and Amelia's bed. From the long cries she was probably hungry. Where were QueQoa and Amelia? And...he frowned as he studied the child. The child was Bealorn. That distinctive eagle birthmark left no doubt. "Why are you here, little one?" he asked.
She only screamed louder.
He swaddled her in one of the smaller brown blankets.
Of all the things he had expected to find when he returned, a shrieking Bealorn baby was not one of them.
Poor child was desperate for food.
It wouldn't take long to care for her.
The kettle at the stove had not been removed from the stove though it steamed vigorously. A couple cups of hot water remained. He prepared the copapa roots to make a milk-substitute, grateful that the roots were already peeled and ready for the night's addition to the stew. It only required pouring water over them and stirring briskly for a few seconds to get them to release the nutrients and vitamins so essential for a young one. So far as milk substitutes went or vitamin supplements, it was one of the better options in this world.
A dull sinking knowledge warned him something bad had happened. No baby could survive out here by chance or misfortune. Not for long at least. And as strong as the baby’s voice was, too much farther beyond the rels and the cachi gourds and her voice would have been swallowed up. Perhaps her caretakers had been wounded. Amelia might have gone off to help them, although she didn't seem like the sort to leave a child unattended. QueQoa wouldn't either unless there was an emergency. If something had gone wrong and the whistle had been sounded, he had been too far away to catch it.
"I wish you could tell me what happened, little one," he said. He channeled his shifting energy into one of the mugs and turned it into a bottle to feed her. It stung his hand a little and required some adjustments. Effective as it was in times like these, it was by far one of the less efficient uses of his energy. Feeding a child from a mug resulted in too much spillage and, even worse, sometimes too much milk and causing the baby to choke.
She took to the bottle immediately, draining it dry despite making an odd face that suggested she wasn't fond of the taste. It probably wasn't the best flavor. No child of his had ever drank quite that fast though. Maybe she was older than three months. She'd barely burped before she fell asleep, and then he put her to rest in Naatos and Amelia's bed.
No one had returned. It hadn't been a full fifteen minutes, but he was officially concerned.
He returned to the bunker's entrance, climbed the ladder, and walked out. The wind changed. A pungent odor somewhere between sulfur and skunk struck him in the face. He grimaced, his eyes watering almost at once.
Well, no doubt about who that was.
Naatos had made his plague lion scent much stronger than usual. And that meant—he wiped his eyes as he secured the bunker door. Something had gone wrong. He dropped to the ground, transforming into a twenty-foot blue horn-browed viper and shot in the concentrated direction of the horrid odor trail.
UNDERGROUND
Naatos shouted for QueQoa and then dove into the tunnel after Amelia and the goliath tunneler. It moved unnaturally fast.
