Extinction Agenda

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Peru

As the hours passed, the clearing Jaden had chosen slowly shrank. The wind blew, while countless animals above and below them encroached like a living fist. If Randolph remained silent, he could hear the trees creaking beneath their weight. He remained in his upright form but allowed his fangs to retreat beneath his gums so they weren’t piercing his cheeks in a gruesome show of force. His claws stretched out to their full length and drove deep into the fertile soil when he crouched down to bury them as well as the powerful hands from which they grew.

“I don’t suppose there is a need to let him know we are here?” he inquired.

Jaden laughed under her breath. “No.”

“Legends say, no matter what any living thing does, one of the Mist Born will know about it.”

“Those are legends. We above all creatures know how convoluted those can be.”

“The legends of the Mist Born are beyond convoluted,” Randolph said. “They become muddier every time another group of humans tries to figure them out. Tales of Icanchu refer to twins. Is there another Mist Born within these trees?”

“There is only enough room for one,” she said while gazing up at the dense greenery that closed in on her from all sides. “Does that ruin your plans?”

“The only thing that would ruin my plan is if Icanchu himself is nothing more than a story.”

Something rustled in the leaves near Randolph’s feet and something else shook the branches over his head as well as behind Jaden. While he stood up to get a look at what might be creeping in on him, she closed her eyes and lifted her chin as if to smell the wind or bare her throat to an all-encompassing opponent.

Reflexively, Randolph shifted into a form that he would have shown to the Skinners or the human military. Fangs extended from bloody gums. Muscle swelled into layers equally suited for protection or combat. Although the Full Blood didn’t know what Icanchu might look like, he knew the legends that told of a demon in a body of fog, a creature with a thousand mouths or a serpent lord that could crush the life out of the mightiest warrior if the mood struck him. He had already dealt with one Mist Born, and knew they were not demons or ghosts. Kawosa had his limitations, but if only a fraction of the legends were believed, Icanchu was mighty even by Mist Born standards.

“Where are you?” Randolph roared. “Show yourself!”

The trees shook. Not just some or most of them, but all. No matter which direction Randolph chose to look, he found quaking branches and leaves fluttering toward the ground. Smaller animals bolted from dens or whatever cover they’d taken to hide from the pair of Full Bloods, only to be swept up by opportunistic snakes that dipped their long bodies down and captured the frantic creatures within inescapable coils.

“Stay still, Birkyus,” Jaden urged.

Having given himself over to the primal survival instincts that always fought for dominion within him, he bellowed, “Point me toward the Mist Born or hold your tongue!”

She knew better than to try and calm him, so she just made certain to stay out of his reach. When the snakes dropped down to wrap around her arms and brush against the side of her face, she pulled in a breath and forced herself to remain calm no matter how badly she wanted to join Randolph in his display.

The blood surged through his veins, powering his mighty form like a steam engine. Every time he raised his fists and brought them down, they slammed against the dirt to shake even more leaves from their branches. The touch of a serpent’s body against his ankles unleashed a desperate howl that raked against his throat and thundered to the narrow strips of sky he could see through the jungle’s leafy canopy. One of the serpents encircled his leg and tightened, so Randolph tore it apart with a swipe of claws that also ripped into his own flesh. Another snake wriggled between his toes, only to be crushed when he shifted the shape of his foot so it could clench shut like a knot within a rope. And still the snakes came. Bodies of varying lengths, color, and texture rose up from the earthen floor and dropped down from the trees. Randolph slashed at them until he realized he was wasting his strength. The blood he’d spilled didn’t smell like anything he’d ever encountered. He stopped then, pressed his palm against his fur and lifted it to his nose so he could draw the scent even deeper into his lungs. Something about it was familiar. He’d last smelled it when the wing was torn from Kawosa’s shoulder.

The snakes gripped his legs but didn’t try to drag Randolph down.

They slithered through his fur but didn’t sink their fangs into his flesh.

Leathery bodies emerged from the soil and every tree to form a living, writhing wall between the Full Bloods and the outside world. Once that wall closed in around them, the world they knew disappeared. Randolph enjoyed the solitude of the jungle, but this was something else.

“Move your scouts away from me before I shred them all,” Randolph warned.

A breath rolled through the jungle. The inhalation caused every one of the snakes to expand, and when those serpents exhaled, they expelled the stink of mold that had grown on the bottom of a thousand year-old rock. Closing his fingers around the snake that wriggled over his palm, Randolph realized it swelled with the same heartbeat that echoed within all of them. A chill rolled through his body when he felt dozens of forked tongues flutter against his fur.

Now that his instincts had settled, he studied the serpents surrounding him. They weren’t unlike other snakes he’d seen in other forests, deserts, or prairies, apart from one major difference. None of these had a tail. Serpent bodies hung from above and wriggled below, but he couldn’t see where any of them ended. After looking closer, he couldn’t even be certain they all had heads. Much of the leathery muscle was encased in scales that simply came up from one pile of leaves, disappeared beneath another, went up into some trees, dropped down again, wrapped around his waist, slithered down his leg and submerged into the dirt. When he looked up again, he found himself staring into the wide, churning brown orbs that could only have belonged to a Mist Born.

Its head was larger than Randolph’s. Considering how far back it stretched along a thick tube of a body covered in dark green and darker orange scales, it may have been as big as his own torso. Vaguely snakelike in shape, the head also shared qualities with an alligator. Its snout was long and wide, capped by slits that opened and shut with every breath. Ridged brows met above its eyes and extended all the way back to the smooth bumps that could have been its ears. And after taking all of that in, Randolph was brought back to its eyes.

Instead of a pupil and iris, they contained a thick substance the color of old mud that slowly boiled inside thick glassy orbs. Those eyes took him in as the large, scaly head slowly recoiled and was raised by a body that flowed all the way back into the dense masses of the jungle and was thicker than a cluster of telephone poles.

“Icanchu?” Randolph asked.

The churning eyes blinked and the head nodded once.

Without being asked to do so, Randolph Standing Bear did something he’d never done to another living thing. He did something that had never even occurred to him as a possible course of action in all of the most difficult turns his life had taken. Lowering his head, he averted his eyes and knelt before something that was undeniably greater than he.

“One Full Blood on these lands is a presence I barely tolerate,” the Mist Born said in a voice that was neither hiss nor growl. “But you have already been in the presence of one such as I.” Icanchu’s voice escaped from between lips that barely parted, rolling like fragrant smoke in the back of a throat that could very well have stretched all the way back to the river. His words had the flavor of an accent culled from fifty countries, curling around a thick tongue that was split into three segments.

Randolph shifted his shoulders to feel for the sling. It was still there, but was most definitely lighter than the load he’d carried all the way across the continent. Before he could worry about having possibly lost his trophy during his journey through the treetops, he spotted the withered black wing being dragged by three snakes.

The snakes carried it over to Icanchu and raised it so he could sniff without bringing his nose too close to the ground. A brow arched as he said, “I hope this wasn’t intended as a threat. Besting the trickster in a fight is impressive, but not enough to warrant whatever special favor you surely want to ask of me.”

“Not a threat,” Randolph said. “Merely an offering to show that I am worthy of an audience.”

“Spare me the formalities, Full Blood. I have heard of you. I have seen you. I know the only thing you respect is the Balance.”

“Y . . . yes.”

“You’re surprised I know this?”

“You can’t hear everything I say,” Randolph said. “There is no way for you to be everywhere at once.”

“Not everywhere, but I can see more than you know.” Icanchu’s mouth closed tightly and his eyes continued to churn.

“I already told you,” Jaden said. “The Mist Born haven’t gone anywhere. There are more than the ones you have seen.”

Although Randolph had almost forgotten about his guide, glancing over at her was enough to bring all of his more recent memories to the front of his mind. She smirked at him as if she could hear the wheels turning inside of him. “So,” he said to the serpent lord that loomed over them, “you talk to each other.”

Jaden nodded and settled into a seated position.

“I know I am correct in what I said,” Icanchu told him. “That’s all you need to know. I can smell the trickster on you, which means you’ve spoken to Kawosa before coming to me. The last I saw of him, he was living as a coyote and selling his lies to the natives of the northern continent.”

“The Skinners captured him and were holding him captive.”

Icanchu’s eyes narrowed in blatant disapproval.

Randolph continued at his own pace. “He was simply contained. It was only a matter of time before one of the Skinners either put Kawosa to use or allowed him to escape.”

“Instead of that,” Icanchu said, “you decided to free him yourself. Perhaps to garner his favor?”

Randolph didn’t confirm or deny that, but his silence was more than enough to put a fraction of a grin on the Mist Born’s face.

“Kawosa does what he pleases,” Icanchu warned. “No matter what he told you.”

“He told me where I might find you.”

Icanchu’s mighty head swung toward Jaden. Several of the snakes that had arisen from the earth also looked in her direction. It wasn’t until then that Randolph could see the serpent bodies wrapped around her ankles and sliding beneath her fur. Suddenly, he couldn’t tell if she was sitting down or being held fast by fingers springing from the ground itself. Icanchu’s face was as tough to read as the expression worn by an oak tree. Randolph couldn’t help but wonder what terrible promises Icanchu would have fulfilled if he thought she’d been the one to betray his hiding spot within the Amazonian jungle.

“So,” Icanchu said, “why go through so much trouble to find me? Surely you don’t think you have anything to gain from attacking me as you did the trickster.”

“What I asked of Kawosa was payment for his freedom, and he would not comply.”

“Liars are often difficult to bargain with.”

“I am not. My terms are simple and I uphold whatever word I give.”

Icanchu’s body lifted his head high enough for it to hang down from the leafy ceiling and gaze down at the Full Bloods as if they were bugs in a terrarium. “Terms? Terms? You come to my home and offer me terms? For your sake, I hope the act of spilling Mist Born blood hasn’t given you a swollen head. Kawosa is not a fighter, but even he has not been defeated by one of the mighty shapeshifter immortals. The trickster’s biggest fault has always been his soft heart. He likes to deal. Entire human civilizations have disappeared when they spoke out of turn to any of the rest of my kind. And as for your word, the wind passing from a frog’s backside means more to me!”

Throughout this entire tirade, Randolph stood tall. Even though he was forced to stare several stories up at Icanchu, he never turned away from the eyes set within the Mist Born’s ridged face.

Shifting his glare toward Jaden, Icanchu asked, “What insanity has infected your mind for you to bring this one here?”

“Don’t speak to her,” Randolph said. “Speak to me!”

For the next few moments Icanchu was speechless. He looked down at the Full Blood, unsure whether he wanted to show him more respect or strike him down where he stood. Even in eyes as muddled and alien as his, the conflict was clear to Randolph. Finally, Icanchu asked, “What is it you want?”

“I need access to the flow of the Torva’ox.”

“If you wanted your share, you should have taken your place at the last Breaking Moon.”

“I’m not talking about the trickle given to the others or even the more lingering taste given to those who broke the long-held traditions by gathering near a source.”

“You want a taste of the purest waters,” Icanchu said.

“Yes.”

“No creature has drunk from that well since your forefather cut his swath of blood across the mortal world.”

“Gorren was overambitious,” Randolph said. “And he wanted to dominate the lesser creatures.”

“What would you do with the power that comes from the raw Torva’ox?”

“That’s not your concern.”

Icanchu didn’t like that. The scowl that formed on his face turned him into a vast, unknowable horror from the deepest recesses of a fever dream. His thick body brought his head closer to Randolph’s level while retreating so far back into the jungle that even a Full Blood’s ears couldn’t track where the rustling ended. “Then you can go back where you came from, little dog. You’re not the first to approach me with big demands. There is no other being on this earth apart from me that can bend the flow of the Torva’ox, and no other that is more qualified to guard it.”

“I want to take a small piece so I can make a change to this world that will set things right again.”

“For your precious Balance?”

“Yes.”

Icanchu expelled a short, huffing breath. “What sort of change could I possibly be concerned about?”

“One that eradicates those who would drink from the Torva’ox without caring about tainting the flow. Only the strongest would remain,” Randolph explained. “No more cheating or lying to acquire territory. No more machines providing strength to humans that are barely able to defend themselves without them. No more wretches fighting on Full Bloods’ behalf. Things go back to how they were meant to be.”

“The only way to make a genuine change,” Icanchu pointed out, “would be to eradicate Full Bloods. Nothing draws from the Torva’ox more than your kind.”

“Only those who were power hungry enough to turn the last Breaking Moon into a farce. The Torva’ox flows to them in a stronger current, while some of us have chosen to only take what we need to live. Surely you can see that just by looking at me. Whatever is put into the flow will go to the power-mad like Esteban first, and to the rest of the shapeshifters next. Those of us who have hardened ourselves enough to live without such an advantage will be able to weather any storm.”

“And what of the humans? Even if they don’t use it, they draw from the Torva’ox as well.”

“I know that. So do the Full Bloods who strive for more than their share. That is why they’ve spent the days following the Breaking Moon wiping the humans out. The fewer of them there are, the fewer trickles will be taken from the Torva’ox. They are to be slaughtered, and many thousands have already fallen or been turned into wretches. Fortunately, this is after they have played their part in creating the tools I need to harness the single element the other Full Bloods have been lacking. Even tolerating the presence of the leeches will prove to be worthwhile once I cannot only collect more than my share of the Torva’ox, but focus it well enough to require one drink from the purest source to make me more powerful than Gorren himself.”

Icanchu’s body stretched once more from the jungle. His nostrils flared and a whisper emanated from the back of his wide throat that sounded like steam being released after being trapped in the bottom of a volcano. “You do not carry the Jekhibar with you. That is the only thing ever created that could do what you claim.”

“Not the only thing,” Randolph said. He calmly picked up Kawosa’s severed wing and began pulling it apart. “I have studied the legends. If nothing else, the humans are good enough at telling stories and keeping records for me to piece together much of the Torva’ox lore. What I couldn’t learn from them, I got from Kawosa. The trickster loves to talk, and being locked away for so long made him even more willing to confide in someone who was willing to listen.” The wing came apart with a great amount of effort, but Randolph kept tearing away the narrow bones until he separated the narrow talons from where they connected to the whole.

“I have been alive for several of your lifetimes,” Icanchu said reflectively. “There isn’t much of what he says that’s worth hearing.”

Randolph’s hands spread into wider appendages. With them, he was able to strip away the flesh and clean the severed wing down to the bone. Because he’d waited until now, the few drops of Kawosa’s blood that had been preserved in the Mist Born’s flesh soaked into the skeletal frame to rejuvenate it. When he snapped the wing apart and slipped the talon between his fingers, Randolph could feel it solidify into a lightweight hook that was tougher than iron. “Some of the things he said were stories, but others were true.”

“How can you be certain?”

“I trust my instincts.”

Sensing the change in the Full Blood’s tone, Icanchu clenched his jaws together and hissed, “Do you, now? And which stories do you need me to verify?”

“How about the one that tells where the Gypsies found their Jekhibar? The Travelers never were forthcoming, no matter how vigorously I questioned them. The legends only tell of scavengers finding strange ore scattered in the forests. More obscure tales say it was found in the wake of a great beast that dwelled there. Skinner journals narrow the beast down to a serpent. Historians say many serpents. And finally, after centuries of pursuing my answers, I piece together enough to know of one among the Mist Born who can truly fit all of those tales. Ironic that I needed to approach the First Deceiver for my truths.”

“Even more ironic that a beast known for howling at the moon and eating raw meat is the one to spend so many years in such intricate study.”

Randolph chuckled as he flexed his fist around the shattered slivers of bone. There was no use in trying to hide his activity from Icanchu, so he appealed to the ancient creature’s curiosity by making the process of cleaning the talon even more of a show. “There were plenty of useless tidbits, dead ends, and insulting references mixed in with what Kawosa said, but there was truth buried there as well. If I’d had my conversations with him when I was a few hundred years younger,” he added, “I may have been taken in by the lies. As it was, I knew just enough of the picture to know which pieces truly fit.”

“And which were those?”

A smile crept onto Randolph’s face when he heard genuine interest in Icanchu’s tone. To intrigue something like him was no small feat. Randolph tensed and his muscles shifted into a thicker mass beneath the near-invulnerable coat of fur that covered his body. No matter how much he prepared, he knew there was no true way to be ready for what was coming. “He told me that the Gypsies only had a few Jekhibar remaining and that Jonah Lancroft had acquired one of them. I believed him. And when Kawosa told me that the source of the Jekhibar was to be found in the metal pearls that grow beneath the scales of the Mist Born Serpent Lord, I believed that too.

“I’ve taken a lesson from the Skinners as well. They know how to use their enemies’ strengths against them. Now that I see the fear in your eyes,” Randolph said as he crouched down and allowed his fangs to grow to their full length, “I see my time was well spent.”

Icanchu’s interest was no longer piqued. His head pulled away from the clearing and rose into the upper reaches of the trees. “If you trust the word of one known for his lies, then by all means put it to the test.”

Despite the urge that built inside of him, Randolph did not howl. His blood pumped vigorously through his body and his muscles tensed to launch his body into a jump that carried him from the leafy jungle floor into the gaping maw of what many believed to be a god. The talon he’d plucked from Kawosa’s severed limb was entangled within several layers of fur that had grown specifically to hold it in place.

Jaden shouted something at him, but Randolph was beyond the reach of her words. He’d already committed himself to the path that he knew would either lead him to the destination he’d been seeking for centuries or off the edge of a cliff. For the moment, neither of those outcomes mattered. There was only the fight.

Icanchu reared back and up, which still wasn’t enough to avoid the Full Blood’s first assault. Randolph landed on the side of his neck, digging in with the claws attached to each of his paws so he could remain in place when the serpent’s gigantic body started to thrash. Twisting around, he snapped at Randolph using powerful jaws that sent a shower of sparks through the air as jagged teeth made from a substance resembling petrified stone scraped against each other. He opened his mouth, allowing half a dozen forked tongues to spew out and slap against the werewolf’s side.

Now that he was attached to Icanchu, Randolph needed a moment to reorient himself. The world he’d traversed to get into that jungle had been replaced with a floor of thick scales and a skyline that churned crazily over his head as trees smashed into him. He kept his head down low while climbing along Icanchu’s segmented torso, and flattened his body against the shifting Mist Born as massive, snapping jaws tried to find him. Suddenly, the trees gave way to a blinding view of clear sky. Icanchu’s angry, hissing roar exploded in every direction until hot breath flattened the fur on Randolph’s back. Even though he was moving as fast as he could, the Full Blood knew he had to go faster.

The first bite that found its mark sheared several layers of skin from Randolph’s ribs. It was followed almost immediately by a nip that would have been enough to cut an aged tree in half if it hadn’t caught empty air. Icanchu began flailing madly, trying to knock Randolph off using either the trees or the side of his head. Much like a tick being swatted by a fleshy palm, the werewolf was tough enough to withstand the blunt attacks and move on.

The serpent’s scales were everywhere beneath Randolph’s feet, hands, and belly. Once Icanchu turned his head down toward the trees and dove beneath the uppermost layers of branches, Randolph used the talon he’d taken from Kawosa to chip at the edge of one scale. The Skinners knew that humans didn’t have what it took to wound a werewolf, which is why they used fangs and blood from fallen enemies to help them in their fight. A Full Blood facing a Mist Born had a similar problem. If there was one thing in the legends that was consistent, it was that the only true threat to a Mist Born was another one of their own kind. As he clung to Icanchu’s body, Randolph had to use all of his strength to drive his claws in less than a quarter of an inch. For a creature that was too large for three sets of Full Blood arms to encircle, and longer than Randolph could fathom, Icanchu truly had nothing to fear from any other species.

After climbing down farther along the serpent’s body, he found a single loose scale. The Mist Born thumped against the ground with an impact that sent a shockwave through both creatures’ bodies and crushed one of Randolph’s legs. Bones that should have been turned into powder were instead cracked into pieces before being healed again. Even with his ability to recover from that and much worse, Randolph still felt a pain that surged through him like a raw electrical current. Icanchu lay flat on the ground and started rolling against the earth in an attempt to scrape him off.

All he could do was press his face against the serpent and hang on. At times he felt stumps or rocks tear into him like teeth. Other times he was forced to endure impacts that made it seem as if the earth itself was a fist pounding against his back and head. When Icanchu rolled over long enough for Randolph to catch a breath, the Full Blood drove his stolen talon beneath the wayward scale and levered it away from the serpent lord’s flesh.

Suddenly, all thoughts of harming Randolph were pushed aside as Icanchu lifted his head to wail in a voice loud enough to ride the Amazon River all the way to the ocean. The Mist Born tensed as Randolph sank his other hand beneath the scale. When his finger found an irregularly shaped lump of metal, Randolph figured out why that particular scale had been loose. That brief touch was more than enough to send a chill of the Torva’ox throughout his entire body. Before he could pull the metal out, however, he was flattened between the ground and the enraged Mist Born.

Randolph could see only black.

Most of his bones might have been broken, and when he felt the gnawing itch of his body mending itself, he knew it was so.

More darkness came, but then Randolph was able to swallow a few large gulps of air. The paw he pulled out from beneath the scale was skewed in the wrong direction. Because the fingers were crushed, he wasn’t able to do anything as simple as make a fist around the lump of metal he’d collected. Since that end of Icanchu’s body was thrashing like the tail of a whip, Randolph worked his way farther down the Mist Born’s segmented length.

After a few cautious advances, he found a way to move with more speed. As Icanchu thrashed, Randolph shimmied in one direction as if climbing a tree. When one hand gripped tightly, the other stretched forward. He even clamped on with his teeth to keep from being dislodged as the mighty serpent bellowed and flailed. Now that Randolph was no longer digging into him, Icanchu seemed to lose track of where he was. Settling into the lower branches above the jungle’s floor, his thick body swayed.

“You’re making powerful enemies, Full Blood,” Icanchu said in a voice that rolled through the jungle like a foul wind.

Even though he wasn’t foolish enough to believe he could hide from the Mist Born, Randolph moved as carefully as he could to keep from drawing attention. Every step of the way, he tested more scales with fingers and toes. He found another that shifted beneath his palm and immediately set himself to the task of prying it loose. The moment he made enough of a gap, he sank the talon in and pulled.

Icanchu roared and lurched into motion. Being farther away from the giant’s head, Randolph had an easier time hanging on. Before he could get too used to his more tenable position, however, he felt smaller bodies slithering against his feet and legs. While reaching beneath the loose scale, Randolph shook his leg to try and rid himself of whatever smaller creatures had attached themselves to him during Icanchu’s journey through the trees. Little tongues flicked against his skin, and soon fangs sank into him. The pain of those bites was something new to the Full Blood. Teeth, claws, and even knives and bullets were rarely strong enough to pierce his hide. Feeling something as common as a snakebite brought him down to a level he’d all but forgotten throughout years of dominating lesser beings.

After the first bite, another followed. Another and another came after that, piercing Randolph’s body at will. Slithering bodies wriggled beneath his fur, burrowing deeper so they could find yet another place to plant their curved teeth. Randolph reached down with one hand to swipe at the snakes. Some of them were instantly severed by his claws, but the rest swung back to wrap around him. They were more than just stray snakes following a command from Icanchu. They were connected to the Mist Born somewhere along his massive body. The serpents that had been shredded by the werewolf’s claws were sucked beneath Icanchu’s scales like rope being retracted by a reel, while the others were free to move without being impeded by the larger serpent’s movement.

Not wanting to pass a chance to claim another stone, Randolph gritted his teeth and absorbed the pain of all those bites. Some kind of venom was being pumped into him, which clouded his vision around the edges and made his ride on the Serpent Lord’s back even more dizzying. Another lump of metal was firmly in his grasp, but Randolph had to fight to dislodge it. When it came loose, he reclaimed the arm he’d sunk in all the way down to the elbow.

It wasn’t just a Jekhibar. That was something crafted by Gypsy hands and suited to their needs. Perhaps the humans couldn’t do anything with the raw ore, but that wasn’t Randolph’s concern. He was a Full Blood, and the Torva’ox flowed like blood through their veins. Now that the ore was in his possession, he could feel it being drawn to the earth. Perhaps this was why the Gypsies needed to craft it into their Jekhibar. It took all of his strength to maintain his hold on the pieces of metal as the Torva’ox flooded his system.

Rather than clench his fist around that which he’d sought and jump away from the Mist Born, Randolph moved even faster along Icanchu’s writhing body. He was no longer concerned with looking for anything, so he was free to scamper along the Mist Born’s thickly muscled trunk as it swung back and forth. Some of the smaller snakes chased him, while others appeared to block his path or clamp onto him to prevent him from jumping free. Branches of all sizes brushed against his back and tugged at his fur until Randolph was finally slammed into the river.

He kept his focus on the living plateau directly beneath him. Submerged in the chilling waters of the Amazon, he concentrated on shredding the snakes holding him in place so he could circle around Icanchu’s rough cylindrical body toward open air. Breaking the water’s surface and filling his lungs, he found more scales that rose above the smooth plane of the rest. Since he was only a short pull away, he dragged himself along the Mist Born and drove the talon beneath one of them to pry it off. Icanchu responded with a renewed series of twisting convulsions. A snarling hiss drifted from the skies, warning Randolph that the serpent’s massive head was coming his way. Before he could escape, Randolph spotted something that caught his interest. Without wasting another moment of contemplation, he leapt back into the water and dove straight to the bottom of the river.

Icanchu’s head splashed above him, creating a ripple through the Amazon that he could feel as he paddled farther down. The Mist Born’s segmented trunk emerged from the bottom of the river, surrounded by several glittering jewels similar to the ones he’d already plucked. There was more of the ore to be had, but even more interesting than that was the moss-covered portion of Icanchu’s torso that led into the ground itself.

Like a chunk of rock that had been dropped from the sky, Icanchu’s gaping jaws surged toward him. When he glanced over his shoulder, Randolph discovered the Serpent Lord a few inches away, his eyes churning wildly, as if reflecting the mud kicked up on all sides. The Full Blood curled his body so he could turn around sharply and swipe at Icanchu with both rear paws. He drew enough blood to form a hazy cloud around Icanchu’s face and followed that with a solid bite to his cheek. Icanchu recoiled and twisted his head away, more stunned than wounded by the attack. Randolph took the opportunity to swim down far enough to see that his suspicions had been correct. The river bottom was cracked open, and Icanchu’s body emerged from the hole like a worm from the meatiest portion of a rotten apple.

As he floated beneath the surface, Randolph wondered how far down the Mist Born went. If his body had the same proportions as a snake, it would widen in the middle and slowly taper at either end. As far as he could tell, Icanchu’s segmented torso had gotten wider the farther into the water it went. At the spot where it emerged from the cracked river bottom, it was as thick as four tanker trucks lashed together in a bundle.

The rush of water came again. Randolph pushed away from the river floor using both legs and paddled as best he could with both hands clenched around the lumps of ore. Suddenly, the water around him rippled. A distortion formed on all sides, and before he could change direction yet again, massive fangs pierced his back and chest. They tore into him like broken iron girders, dragging him sideways through the filthy water as his powerful limbs kicked uselessly against the current.

Randolph’s mouth opened to unleash a scream that was silent apart from the torrent of bubbles exploding from his throat. Those same bubbles were brushing against his face before being left behind completely. Icanchu’s fangs tugged at the flesh in which they were lodged, and before Randolph could figure out what direction was up, he was lifted from the water and tossed into the air.

Even as he sailed without anything solid beneath his feet, he thought to protect the pearls he’d collected. His fists closed around them and he angled his body so his back would take the brunt of the impact when he landed. Wind rushed past his face and roared in his ears, letting him know he was still sailing.

Trees brushed against him and branches snagged in his fur to pivot him in midair. It was still another few seconds before he snapped the larger branches on his way down through the tree line. Closing his eyes, Randolph tucked his chin in tight against his chest and formed a ball of muscle that skidded against the dirt after a solid thump. His ears hadn’t stopped ringing when he heard the hissing of snakes drawing closer. Icanchu’s voice could be heard above them as it cursed the Full Blood in an ancient language. When Randolph attempted to stand up, he staggered and lurched to one side.

Power surged through his hands, emanating from the pearls that drew their energy from the rawest form of the Torva’ox. Randolph had lived through many full moons when the ancient energies flowed but had never felt the visceral connection to that which fueled everything from the first sparks of life to the whitest core of every flame. He knew if he soaked it in and channeled it through his body, he would become the most powerful shapeshifter on the planet. Even among Full Bloods, he would be a force to be reckoned with. Legends of Gorren told of how the ancient werewolf could rip through legions of wretches and annihilate entire populations of Nymar without their claws or fangs causing more than a scratch. Gypsy clans had been made extinct in the effort to put Gorren down, and cities set to the torch in the smallest hope that he might be caught in the flames. Such legends were unproven, but now Randolph had the means to test them for himself. And unlike those who needed to wait for their share when the next Breaking Moon rose, he would just have to allow the pearls in his hands to recharge.

“Keep that which you took,” Icanchu hissed through the mouths of at least a dozen snakes that wriggled toward him through the grass, “and I will be able to find you. Return them now and you may keep your life.”

Randolph’s fists clenched even tighter as he shifted into a more compact form, one that would allow him to run faster without forcing him to use all four legs. Ahead, Jaden howled in a way meant to show him the quickest way through the jungle. He pointed his nose in that direction and started covering ground in leaping bounds. He only needed to run toward a few more howls before the ground became familiar beneath his feet. Once she’d led him to the river and pointed him north, Jaden disappeared.

He would remember what she’d done.