Page 41 of Fate Promised

“With my kind, we keep our mind when we shift. We don’t become the animal or the being. And we retain magic. It’s much more difficult. The firebird is the ultimate proof of one’s prowess with magic.” His gaze softened a smidge. “Back before magic turned this island wild again, some of my brethren built their homes along the high cliffs, only accessible to those who could take firebird form. Showoffs.” His lips twitched as if he might actually smile.

Juri asked her, “Have you seen an eaglewalker shift?” A flash of red glinted in his eyes.

She frowned up at him. “No. Why?” When a peltwalker shifted, they stripped naked. It was intimate and reserved only for partners and lovers to see. It dawned on her why Juri was asking—Emil. She raised a brow. Last night she’d told him she and Emil were nothing, yet he was still growling about him.

She turned from him and refocused on Koschei. “What is a chatak? I’ve never heard of a rain drinker.”

“Ah.” Koschei leaned forward, spearing a bite of food, as if relieved she’d changed the subject. “There is a nesting pair here, and they had babies this year, so that means there will be even more storm clouds zipping around.” He spread his hands about a foot apart. “They’re yay big and kind of gray. They don’t look like much except for their tail. It’s twice the length of their body. They aren’t content to drink the water from the spring in the center of the island, they only want fresh rain from the sky.” He glanced upward. “If they weren’t around, I bet it wouldn’t be so misty here, but at least their storms are quick. By the time we’re done lunch, it will have passed.”

“I think it’s time you explain about this island,” Juri speared another hunk of smoked meat. So far she’d noticed he’d ignored the salad except for the plump blueberries scattered on top. “The tales of this place speak of it appearing at dusk, wrapped in mist, and the closer one gets, the farther away it seems.”

“Yes, what is the burden of magic here?” Fergal asked. He had remained quiet, observing and eating, without his usual commentary. “I can feel it’s here, but you’re right that it isn’t all accessible. How is that possible?”

Koschei huffed. “Burden of magic? I haven’t heard that term since I was a lad learning how to shapeshift.” He stared over her shoulder out the window, also battened against the rain. “The island has a long and complicated history, it … it will be best if I show you after the rains stop.”

16

Steam drifted from the soaked boards of the path and the loosely packed earth next to it to join the mist still swirling overhead. Fat droplets rained down over Juri’s head, and he tucked Triska under his arm, trying to keep her new clothing as dry as possible. The rains had stopped as suddenly as predicted, and now Koschei led them along a path through the island, but everything was still damp, tingeing the air with the sweet fresh scent of rain.

As Koschei said, the island was wild, with vegetation and trees competing for every bit of ground. There was a sense that if one wandered off the trail, they’d become lost to the forest.

Well, he wouldn’t become lost. Already he’d marked the distinct smells of the island. The vegetal odor of the dense forest near the meadow. The tangier air when they strode close to the ocean. And he’d also noticed the differences in the trees and the moss. A lot of lichens, with their hair-like tendrils, dripped down from the branches, showing the surrounding forest wasn’t as dense as it seemed—lichens enjoyed a bit of sun.

Triska nestled closer to him and whispered, “Someone keeps these paths in good order.” She pointed at the well-constructed walkway with its smooth slates. “And I doubt it’s Koschei.” Their trail gently ascended, weaving higher and higher through the trees. Not dramatically, but gradually.

By the scent of the air, Juri could tell the path they took was skirting the ocean. The trees ended, and they stood along towering cliffs, the waves crashing below. The rocks might have once been as dark as the stone along the black beach, but over time they’d bleached as if the wind and weather had exposed the bones of the cliffs.

Koschei stood near the edge, his cloak whipping in the wind. “Here was where my palace lay, built along the cliff itself.”

Juri scanned the area. The vulk erected vast structures from stone, and he could see how it would be possible to build here, yet no crumbling foundation remained. Even after millennia, the roots of a building of stone remained. Had the magicwielder lost his wits?

Wait … there was something.

Juri strode over to a section of rock where the earth appeared charred. About ten feet across, the scorched section was a perfect ring. “What is this? How does this place explain the island?”

The others joined him, and the wind died as if it wanted to hear Koschei’s response, too. “Once this island was a part of Ulterra, and this was where the junction down to Peklo stood.” He gestured around him. “It was a golden staircase in the outer courtyard of my palace gardens. Protected from all access and guarded by me at all times. None crossed the realms without my permission.” He glanced away.

The ground rumbled under their feet, and the scorched ring rippled. A yellowish light shot through the air, turning the mist hazy. Shadows of a building, vast and towering, appeared around them with outlines of a tall hedge and opulent gardens. Underfoot, the rumbling wasn’t enough to make anyone lose balance, but Juri put his arm around Triska anyway. “What is this?”

Koschei didn’t answer him. Instead, he’d raised his hand to touch the ornate pillar in the mist near him. His hand went through it. “I forgot I had my coat of arms on everything, even the pillars. What a fool I was.” An oval with a flying firebird, similar to the one on the tapestry, was carved into the pillar, barely visible on the faint shadow of the once grand building. Koschei shook his head. “You can stop your magic now, I’ve seen enough.” His expression was haggard and haunted, and his eyes bright.

Fergal shook his head. “This isn’t my doing.” But the surrounding image faded, and the ground steadied, leaving only the vacant cliffs behind.

Juri bent and touched the charred ground. He hissed and snatched his fingers back. Burning hot. Yet there was no stench of brimstone or sulfur. He stared at what remained of a junction into Peklo.

A junction to Peklo.

He raised his head. “You were a guardian?” The underworld lay below Ulterra, a hidden and inaccessible realm except at the few places where Ulterra and Peklo touched. Those crossing points created junctions between the two worlds, and a guardian was chosen to guard each one, allowing no one to enter or cross between the worlds.

The problem was, the two realms shifted occasionally, rubbing against each other and causing rifts to open in other places, which allowed the spawn from Peklo to crawl their way up into Ulterra. And that was when the vulk took care of them.

Koschei stared at the desolate cliffs as if he could still see the echoes of his old palace. “Yes. I was a guardian. Bound here, unable to leave my post. I’m still bound here, even though the junction is now closed.”

“Guardians can’t leave?” Juri asked.

“We have unlimited power but a limited range.” He pointed out at the ocean. “Where you see the mist sink into the ocean is how far I can go. Those are the boundaries of this island.” He shrugged.

Fergal rubbed his mouth. “I think when Hoyt called the island, the barriers around it fell. We entered your waters, and the harpies emerged from somewhere. Maybe here.”

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