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?
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
