Extinction Agenda (28 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Peru

A
s 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.”