Manhattan

"Come on Nicky!” the woman yelled through the door. I rolled over on my stomach and growled, glaring at the stuffed bear that stared at me from its position in the corner. Its small black eyes didn’t waver.

Ted muttered something, and Rachel furiously said something back. Sighing, I stood up and looked around again, wondering if there was anything I could use to remove the bars on the window. Shifting, I ran my hands over the stainless grey steel and sighed again. It was going to take a miracle, and I, unfortunately, was fresh out.

The Service had caught me again, and taken precautions against anymore ‘escapades’, as they called it. My ‘freedom’, as I called it, would not be handed over so easily. Not that there was anyone beside me who probably even cared, but even an orphaned freak doesn’t like cages.

I fingered the material of my jacket, glaring once more at the door, where the now faintly whispered conference of foster guardians was taking place. Stupid. Apparently they hadn’t been completely briefed on the strangeness that was Nicky Dell. The odd, blonde girl that had no history. Lucky for them. At least they didn’t have to be me, stuck in one room forever, or at least until the Service was tired of giggling themselves silly over me.

Taking off the jacket finally and revealing the thin undershirt I wore, I stretched, wingtips brushing the walls. Smiling, I smoothed one of them.

The soft down feathers, black and white speckled, grew from between my shoulder blades, and the tiny fluff continued down to the small dip in my lower back, black threads of some kind of vein circling and stopping suddenly right above my waist line. They ached from confinement, and I didn’t want the new ‘parents’ seeing them.

No matter how high up in the Service you were, only the scientists and my personal watcher were ever told about the wings, for some reason. But as I was about to relax, a key scratched at the door handle, and I quickly fumbled with the jacket, enclosing them in the bulkiness and zipping it up tight.

The door swung open, and I glared at the tall black-haired woman who stood there.

“Barbara.” I growled the word.

She smiled sweetly and walked over, taking my hand and dragging me from the room, dumping me in the hallway.

“Now Nicole, don’t you think it was rude of you to ignore the Michaels’ request to come out of your room for lunch and supper? They are your new parents, after all,” her grip was like iron, but it didn’t hurt.

I extracted my fingers from hers and stood, shorter by a good three inches, and spit savagely, “They are not my parents! They aren’t even briefed on any of this.”

“Actually, Nicky, we are,” Rachel spoke, voice soft.

“Really? What do you know, then?”

Ted stepped up now and said, “We were told that you have some unique issues and needed special attention. Also, you needed a strong family since you also have abandonment issues.”

I couldn’t help it. I was speechless. But just when Ted smiled, I busted out laughing. Where did the placement department come up with this stuff?

“Nicole,” Barbara’s voice was low, warning me. A threat. I smirked.

“Yeah, I’ve got some ‘issues’. You might say that."

Rachel smiled understandingly, and nodded, “The agent also told us you have a strong imagination and should be indulged. But Nicky, we’d rather work with you to keep your feet on the ground, instead of in the clouds, daydreaming.”

“You don’t believe me,” I muttered, “I don’t blame you.”

I touched the jacket’s zipper, contemplating.

“Nicole.” Barbara hissed, glaring at me.

That made the decision for me. I unzipped the jacket, and as Ted and Rachel walked forward with kind, confused smiles, I spread my wings.

They froze. Barbs cursed and got out her shiny black cell phone, calling the Service.

I stood silent for a moment, before realizing something, the breeze from the ceiling fan blowing through my feathers and down my exposed back.

The windows out here didn’t have any bars.

Mesa

The Roost was quiet and peaceful, the morning dew still dripping off the dewberry bushes that were scattered around the base of the large, imposing hills. Aine watched as the night patrol glided into the barracks, the dawn guard sweeping out from around the bend of stone.

Huge rock formations that piled and stacked together made up the Roost. The spiraling, branching stones sat like one large, proud tomcat in the hollow created from the surrounding hill country. Vast plains sprawled on all sides, curling un into jungle  Blue skies reached as far as his whirling eyes could see, and in the distance, the sea glittered quietly.

He turned his head slowly to regard the younglings that tumbled about on the nesting flats. The newest mothers crouched in the sun, their scales glowing in good health even though they were lean from birth.

Even over the sand slopes and the rocky cliffs, the raucous cries of sea birds could be heard as the sun rose.

It was early in the spring yet, and there were several queens that still had litters due in the coming weeks. There was plenty of time though, and there was plenty of food to go around. They lost an egg or two every season; not every egg in a clutch of five would have a hatchling, and sometimes a runt was born and they were sent quickly to the smaller prides that lived in the mountain range.

Of course the hatchling wasn’t killed, but they had long since learned that only the strongest could survive outside the protection of the mountains, with their solid walls and steep cliffs. An open mesa like the one Aine ruled was much more dangerous, what with the rocs on the southern coast and the griffins in the eastern jungles that raided when autumn came.

Even worse were the wyverns that had their own nests in the crags to the far north. They almost never came out, but when they did there were always deaths, and they hated drakes with a passion. Their wicked fangs dripped acid, and their sickly yellow scales were hard enough to armor them against flame.

A contest of claw and tooth was the only thing that would stop them, and only after most of the attackers were dead would they retreat, leaving the pride to lick their wounds. This year had been quiet so far, as had the winter leading up to it. The rocs were only trouble in summer, when their chicks were learning how to hunt, but the griffins had a different hatching season, and their young learned in the fall.

Every year it was the same; a few skirmishes here and there, one or two deaths if the pride was having a bad year. Usually the wounded were sent to stay in the mountains until they were well again, but sometimes there was no time and it was too late. It had been several years since the last death, and numbers were beginning to swell into the thirties. It wasn’t as if they were pressed for space, as the mesa they lived in and around had so many holes and caves it was a wonder it stood as firm as it did.

There were tunnels that ran from the lower caves into the ground, even, vast openings into open space and cracks that seemed to run down forever. Here was where they lived in the winter, sleeping away many days until the sun came back from the long darkness. The cold came with snapping fangs and reaching talons, scraping away the warmth

The pride’s roost wasn’t quite in the center of the valley, but it was close to it, clawing high into the skies and housing the largest number of drakes for days of travel. They had come here seeking food for the expanding numbers of the mountain prides, but had realised that expanding and separating would be better to support everyone. So the strongest young drakes came to live in the few mesas scattered around, and the elderly and smallest survived happily on the herd of mountain goats and deer that roamed the valleys.

Her Chance

The darkness clung to my fur as I padded over the loamy ground, paws damp. Leaves stuck to me too, a coat of tiny twigs and slimy leaves covering my belly from where I’d had to wade through the shallow pools of water. Thankfully the mud was behind me, but the gross, thick feeling was still matted between my toes and on the undersides of my knees.

My body was a deep grey, ebony spots gleaming in non-light, seeming to absorb the moon. The trees offered me an escape from the slick ground, but I was almost there and I was already dirty. Besides, it would be difficult to climb the steep, smooth-barked trunks while plastered in so much muck.

I could tell I was close because the ground was getting warmer and harder to walk on. The hairs on my neck stiffened until I had a mane down my back and a tail that tried to be bushy even though it was sticky and disgusting. Claws sinking into the earth, I had to pull myself forward until all I could do was stand, unable to move.

Before I could think to fight the sudden need to lie down and give up, a pressure heaved my mind open, and something that felt like warm water washed through my head. It bubbled and frothed until I felt like I would lose consciousness, eyes heavy and blank.

Then a voice spoke, and a great gasp was pulled from me as the water drained away.

"She has come, Naullo. Your kitten has arrived," a mocking female voice said, setting my teeth on edge. It wasn't friendly, and I felt distinctly like I was being laughed at. My ears flicked back, and I smothered a growl in my chest.

Still, my body felt pressed to the ground, but I fought the force, legs locked against folding. My paws began to ache and burn as what felt like hundred of pounds weighed on them, the soil folding up around the edges of my feet.

"Awfully bold, this little kitten. It is good she is well, little brother," a different voice murmured, this one a deep male tone. It felt like cool rain on my face and crumbling mountains down in my bones, but a stern weight was shed when it laughed, a contented chuckle that seemed to move away. The burden wasn't gone, but it was lessened without the mind of the God of Dwarves adding to it.

"So you have arrived, Nichole-Anne," a light male voice called to me, and I struggled to turn my head. A shadow detached from the tree line, vague and watery until he got closer and I could see his face. This was the one who had done this to me, and I wanted to savage him for it.

My lips needed to pull back over my fangs, needed to teach this one respect. Thankfully, my human side realized this idea might not be a good one, so deep in the Mother Wood.

Yes, I have, I thought curtly, knowing he would pull it from my mind. He did, smiling in pleasure.

"I trust you like my gift?" he asked innocently, gesturing to my body. This was too much, and I did finally did growl, my chest heaving in a rattling snarl when he only smiled harder.

Somehow I will make you pay for this humiliation, I swore, scraping at the ground, tail thrashing. He was so close, and my jaguar mind said to strike now - he was in range! I knew I couldn't though. Even if he looked to be standing before me, only ten feet away, I knew it was only my eyes fooling me.

"It gave you what you needed, Anna. Didn’t it?” his innocent face made me hesitate, kneading the ground with my claws. The already ripped up soil shifted like worms and I thought hard. Had the jaguar’s form given me anything?

Then I remembered the men who had waited in the shadows of my corridor, and a chill ran through my fur. Had they been there for me? Had I narrowly escaped death, not even realizing it? Seeing it in my mind, I could remember thinking they were a group of palace guards sent to watch over me. What if the opposite was true?

I couldn’t recall their faces; I’d been in too much of a hurry to get out of the palace at the time. I knew how it would look come daylight – my room was a disaster, the sitting room not any better.

The panic had driven me mad, and the single maid in the room had almost lost her life coming to see what the commotion was. As it was, the only thing she would remember is a huge black cat jumping at her. She had fainted directly after, and the loud crash of the silverware she’d landed on had shocked me out of my attack.

My bed was in shambles, the fine lace canopy shredded beyond repair, my nightgown torn into pieces. Everything I could reach had been mangled, including my wardrobe and the lovely carpets padding the floor. The wonderful tapestry that had floated on its invisible attachments had been ripped into with long, savage slashes, bright threads stuck in my claws.

Standing there a moment had given me time to look around, and realize that people would assume me dead, even without a corpse. I was a duchess from an important family, and the country was on the brink of war. With my room destroyed and my clothes torn apart, it heavily implied that I had been either kidnapped or killed. The maid’s story would tell them it was the latter, and my parents and brother would be heartbroken.

So I had marched down the mountain side, sure of where to go but not what to do. With that mischievous message in my dream, I knew the only way I could reach the god was in the holy forest. Thankfully it wasn’t too far a journey, the palace having been built as close to the Mother Wood as possible while still respecting the boundaries.

After a night’s walk and very sore feet, I stood here, filthy, bristling from indignity, and feeling much like a scolded kitten.

You couldn’t have sent guards instead? I demanded.

His face changed, growing into a black mask of anger, and the words he spoke were deadly quiet, “Do you think to rebuke a gift from a god? Do not overstep your bounds, girl!”

As I took in his temper, I let go of mine. Finally giving in to the bone-deep need, I laid down on the ground. The torn earth was uncomfortable, but I knew it was better than provoking an irate deity. As human as he looked, as playful as he could be, Naullo was still a god, and he had a god’s capacity for rage. One I didn’t desire to test.

No matter how close it felt like we’d grown in the past months, I had to remember that this was not someone I could yell at. But, perhaps predictably, when I met his dark eyes, I saw a glimmer of amusement.

Before I could explode again, I clenched the words between my teeth and tried to relax. Now that I wasn’t fighting to stand I could think clearer, and I realized that the sudden transformation had done more for me that what I saw before. Besides saving me a great deal of pain (and probable death), it had given me what I had wanted for weeks now. The freedom to move through the country unmolested. A wild jaguar was a kind of sacred animal that was only supposed to live in the Mother Wood.

Nobody would dare harm one, and so my invisible chains had been cut. Not that I minded, being a duchess; it is what I was raised to be. However, with everything happening so quickly it was impossible to make it to the enemy on time, or know where they would strike. Now I was free to spy on the troops that had crossed the nation’s borders last winter.

My brother was fully capable of running the estate in my ‘absence’, after all. Indeed, he would probably handle the incessant clerks and assistants better than I had been.

“Now you see, little one,” Naullo said, his voice kinder than before. I started, having drifted away with my thoughts. My mind came back to me slowly, and I realized – not for the first time nor the last – how very old Naullo really was. To my eyes, he looked to be in his late forties, or an early fifty. In reality, the mentions of him were colorful and lasting in our history from beyond the knowledge of written word. The ancient tombs portrayed him as half man, half jaguar, the god of the hunt. He was a guide to lost souls, a quiet voice of comfort in the dark, and the last thing you ever hear at the same time.

His name is sometimes whispered when a mother is pregnant, to ask a blessing of His own wit and cunning upon the child. Or perhaps a prayer from a desperate man trying to feed his family, to ask for luck with his bow.

I myself had never put too much thought into the gods before last Midwinter, accepting them as a natural part of life the same as everyone else. Now here I was, sitting in the dirt, talking to one. 

A Sound Like Falling Coins

The restaurant was pleasantly warm as they came in from the stormy afternoon outside, the hooks at the doors catching their coats for them as they took them off. The maître d' showed them to a table to the back of the room, where the lighting was low and soft. The table itself was a dark wood grain, carved with tiny swirls and loops in the legs. The chairs were comfortable and felt almost heated against the woman's chilled skin.

Her dress was long and flowing, falling like water to the floor and brushing against her ankles. Before she could complement her partner's choice of dinner, a whisper from him snatched her air.

"Lumiere."

A sound like falling coins came from above, and she looked up in time to see a vine of light unfurl from where it had been dimmed on the ceiling. It looked alive, and tiny flowers bloomed along it's length until a large bud formed at the tip and it stopped several feet above their heads. Then it slowly opened, and a glow of light blue and yellow was set on the table.

She gasped and beamed at her husband, putting a hand on his.

It was a lily, and he had remembered after all.

"Happy anniversary, love," he smiled, taking the hand on his and holding it tight.

Green Light

Every shade under the forest.

The green you see when the sun shines through new leaves, and the green of the moss that grows under the logs. The green-brown of the rot setting into the tree stump hit by lightning, and the tiny sparks of green that are shown by new grass shoots. The green of fish scales as they dart through the stream, and the glinting green of the pebbles at the bottom of the water.

Green from a bird's wing singing in the branches, and green in the autumn season, turning slowly to gold. The flower stems are different from the leaves, and the grass is changed from the unripe berries in the brush.

Wild apples that grow on the short trees are glistening green in the morning's crisp light, and the flesh of the snapped sapling branch is a deep dark green. Mushrooms dotting the roots of the sycamore have thimble-sized green splotches, and the briar rose's prickles are green-black in the darkness.

The Girl

The wind was spinning in tight, close flurries around me, and I shifted, reaching to pick a bit of gravel out of my pants leg. I had had a cramp in my back for the past twenty minutes, and my goosebumps had goosebumps, but I wasn't allowed to move yet.

I could still feel his eyes on me, waiting for me to give in to the inevitable. It had been a good four hours since I came up here, to the summit. Everyday I did this, and it never took long for him to follow me up. I had never given in, and I didn't plan to start today. Instead, I returned my focus within, seeing the currents as they came toward me and moving just so, making sure that I was in the perfect position for them to continue supporting me.

I sat with my back against a thick post, my legs crossed with both feet on the opposite knee, my hands flat on my ankles. I didn't hold them up, but simply rested my palm against my pulse, breathing in time.

If he hadn't been watching, I would've left ages ago, but that's why I never confronted him. I figured he was helping me improve, making sure that I would do anything to stay sitting against that post, freezing in the thin air. Time faded away again, like it had been before the gravel got lodged in my pants, and before I knew it the sun was beating on my neck. Already it was sore and hard to move around, so I knew I had a sunburn.

I also knew I was going to be late if I didn't move myself. This was the only way I could be sure nobody thought less of me here; waiting until I had no choice but to stop. Unwinding, I found that my cramp had moved into both arches of my feet, and I smothered a gasp, stretching carefully. Then I reached behind me to massage my back and hips, working out the tough ball of nerves that was hiding in my thigh.

Hurrying, I came down from the summit, reveling silently in the warmth of the torches in the hall. My steps echoed alone until I went through the heavy cloth curtains that blocked off the hot main chambers where the monks held the evening classes. Stopping the dreamy sigh from coming out when the heat sank into my skin, I headed to my assigned place, sitting on the large cushion that lay before my stack of books.

My fellow disciples were talking quietly amongst themselves, and it had been long enough so they no longer ceased conversation at my presence. Now they ignored me and talked quieter if I was close.

I was the only girl in a school of all boy students, and they made sure I was aware of it every moment of the day. Even the monks addressed me simply as, "Girl". No, they couldn't just call me 'Miss Brenan', even when they addressed the boys by name.

It's not like I asked for special treatment. It wasn't my decision that I be transferred here, but if I was going to be at a mountain school that taught fighting to the upper years, I wasn't going to slack off just because they were mean to me. My father had barely spoken a kind word to me in four years, my sisters and brother had been shipped off to a finishing school, and my step mother hated me; there was nothing these boys could say to break me.

Especially when I was so close. The meditation lessons would progress into battle stances within the month, or so I had heard among the servants. Apparently it was tradition to begin the 'defensive positions' in the fall, so the disciples would be ready to move on to sparring in the spring and summer months, when the ground was firm enough to fight on.

I was the heiress to my father's house of state, so it had been decided I should attend the monk academy instead of my brother. Only one child from each family was allowed to attend at a time, and I knew my brother had been relieved by the news, so I had seized the chance.

Sure, my father meant only to punish me in the disguise of letting me learn about duty and staying calm in the moment, but I was going to take everything I could from the school.

A Paw

His eyes are big and blue-grey, and his paw taps my arm as he stares at me. His fur is soft and light grey. He is my friend, my closest companion. I think he must know it, because he never hesitates to tell me just how he feels.