its usual focals—the gold nugget and the mountain lion tooth.
The breeze touched my flesh, drying my clothes, drying me. From somewhere I heard birds singing, chirping, the notes sharp, intense, and raucous. Heard water dripping and falling. I smelled the mineral rift water, the wet of stone and the green of bracken and moss. I smelled the magic of the arcenciel. I breathed through my mouth, flehmen response, and tasted pollen, the hairy sensation of squirrel and rat, downy baby birds, delicate flowers of springtime.
My mind and my body felt raw and hypersensitive and very in tune with the world. Healed . . .
But what had happened to the others?
I had a lot of questions for the arcenciel, but when I opened my mouth, the words wouldn’t come. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know about Bruiser yet. Or how long I had been gone. Or what happened to the Flayer of Mithrans. All that was too scary to ask aloud when I felt so sensitive, so peculiar.
I blinked at the arcenciel. She hadn’t moved. Suddenly, I wasn’t certain if I was alive or if this was a new vision. Or some kind of dream state.
The air felt warmer than before I fell into the rift, maybe in the midsixties. The breeze smelled different. My body felt stronger, with a denser muscle mass. And healed. I could feel the grit of sand beneath my fingers, the frayed ends of my pants on my pelted legs.
If this was reality, then I was different. And I had been gone awhile. The unknown rainbow dragon and I studied each other to the accompaniment of nature plinking and dripping around us. Reality or a vision?
Eventually, the arcenciel must have decided I wasn’t going to speak because she said, “You make strange decisions for such a bloody creature.”
“Oh?” That seemed as good as any other reply I could give.
“You freed her from her restraints. You gave her access to the rift. She is free.”
Several breaths later I figured it out and guessed, “Soul?”
“As you call her. She is not called that by us now. In your pitiful language, she is called She Who Claims the Rift. She is called She Who Seeks Peace. She is revered.” The arcenciel didn’t seem happy about that.
“Okay.”
“But she is still hated and feared by a few of us.” Meaning her. Got it. She leaned in to me, watching my face as she said, “I don’t like her.” The arcenciel sounded young and petulant. Maybe not quite stable. Kinda like Soul when she had been trapped in human and mer-form.
I didn’t see a silver anklet on this one, but there might be one elsewhere. Or maybe she was just rude. “Okay.”
The arcenciel scowled at me. “I have been assigned by She Who Seeks Peace as emissary to your court. I have been told that your man and your brothers and your court are waiting for you.” She pointed a finger beyond me. “They left you that.”
Glancing away for all of a single heartbeat, I took in the open area of the crevasse to see a ring of blackened stones and ash, the remains of a fire that had burned a long time. Hanging above it was my large gobag. The arcenciel hadn’t attacked, so I pulled my feet from the water, stood, and lifted skinny, pelted arms up, taking down the gobag and setting it at my bare paws.
I opened the bag to find the contents were in large zippered plastic bags. There was a change of clothes and a lightweight jacket in one. Water bottles in another. A dozen chocolate bars and protein bars and turkey jerky were packed tightly in another.
There was a cell phone and a charger in another baggie. Not that I had a signal down here. In another baggie was a brand-new medicine bag. I touched my chest and felt a pang of grief. Both were really gone, my father’s and my own. This part felt more real, less visiony.
I hesitated. Beast?
She didn’t answer this time and my heart beat funny. My fingers went cold and tingly.
Beast is here. Jane chose well.
Relief whooshed through me and I nearly fell, suddenly dizzy. I caught my balance and managed, Yeah. Beast is best hunter. Jane and Puma concolor are always the best hunter, right?
Yes. Best ambush hunter. But Jane/Beast is skinny. Jane must eat much cow and gain much weight and muscle.