2 The Mission
Jaumes
In the target village, wattle and daub huts rose seven feet above the sand. The esosa lived here, and they knew nothing of the depojico’s existence. That was why the depojico still existed.
The official, Gunine Janeke, stopped the three others on the opposite shore of the river it sat on. She turned to them.
“Before you enter the danger zone, what do you do?” she asked.
“We stay silent as we watch for the forest esosa to cross the river. Otherwise we may get caught and eaten,” Reni said.
It was nice to see Gunine Janeke’s expression at being called out. Jaumes had to keep from bobbing his head. Suddenly Mahela’s head shot up. Her companions followed her gaze to an esosa emerging from the forest onto the riverbed. The esosa jumped in and started to swim across.
Splash. Splash. Splash. Splash.
The depojico followed, using the magic in their breath to propel them across the river and keep them on course. By the time they reached the other side, all four depojico had shifted to natural brown scales. The better to fool the esosa.
The lizards scurried up the side of a hut, watching the forest esosa be greeted by a small group of desert esosa. From there, the group walked through the village. After a few moments, Reni flicked his tail to motion the others to follow them.
The four depojico left the wall and made their way across streets and around the legs of non-diplomatic esosa. Both groups came to the largest hut in the village. Before entering, the dipojico camouflaged themselves for extra safety. Then they entered the diplomatic hut.
Now the true mission started: the depojico watched the esosa meeting. They picked up every word of the esosa language that they could, so that the translators could figure out what the esosa were planning. The esosa weren’t just weird because they were mammal magic-struck. They were dangerous.
They had magic-chosen.
Jaumes made himself focus as the desert esosa tribe’s Chief came in. All the other esosa immediately fell silent and stood, although the visiting one stood a split second after the others. The custom was different in his tribe, Jaumes remembered.
The desert chief nodded at his subjects, then walked over to his chair at the head of the table. Everyone sat, and the meeting officially began.
Every mission was like this. They were both the most dangerous things that Jaumes had done, and the most boring. At any second, an esosa could notice a small pull of magic from the atmosphere that a depojico had accidentally used, or, conversely, a depojico’s camouflage could drop. But most of the time, it was just clinging to one spot on the wall and trying to listen attentively for an hour or so.
Jaumes had sat through enough of these to be able to pick up several words that the jawasa (translators) had managed to figure out. As far as Jaumes could tell, the forest tribe wanted an alliance with the desert tribe, but against what? The depojico? Other esosa? The few trees he recognized among the forests of words that were spoken couldn’t answer.
Halfway through the meeting, Jaumes caught himself zoning out, studying one of the esosa.
He wasn’t an adult, as far as Jaumes could tell. He had shorter front legs, though that was still long, since the esosa never walked on their front feet and used them for holding things or climbing trees. The esosa had a rounder face than the adults, but seemed equivalent to Jaumes in relative age. He had green/blue eyes and brown fur on the top of his head that was cut short above the ear.
The young esosa was looking between the Desert chief and the forest visitor, who were the main ones talking. Jaumes had to remind himself that this esosa was deadly. More so than normal in this case, since the stone necklace of a rising sun that he wore on his neck marked him as the chief’s son. After about five minutes of Jaumes studying him, the Chief turned to the young esosa and asked him something. He answered in a voice that wavered slightly.
A nervous esosa? Jaumes thought, That’s new. And kind of fascinating. Just how similar to us are they?
Not enough to keep them from killing the other magic-struck species, Jaumes’ mind reminded him.
The meeting ended a small eternity later. The chief’s wife brought in several platters of roasted lizards for the males to eat while they talked casually among themselves. Those lizards reminded Jaumes of why he had agreed to become an apprentice. These lizards may not be sentient, but the esosa wouldn’t make that distinction if they discovered the depojico.
While Jaumes was reminding himself of that, the forest esosa glanced in his direction. The diplomat leaned and murmured something to one of the desert esosa near him. The esosa he talked to calmly got up and retrieved a basket that had been hidden under the table. Carrying it, he made his way around the room, talking with other esosa every few steps or so.
After a few minutes, Mahela noticed his objective. Under her magical cloak, green and rage covered her five-inch-long body.
She burst.
* * * * *
Sandstorm
“Of course, it is good that you will come back with a greater hold on your abilities,” Sandstorm’s mother, Silt, said.
She twiddled her thumbs as she spoke. Sandstorm wished that she would stop talking. It was hard enough already to keep pretending that this wasn’t the end of his childhood.
A loud pop reverberated through the room, and Sandstorm briefly wondered if his wish had been granted. A Blue River warrior, carrying the lizard basket, stumbled back a few steps. Bright pink paint covered his front, as well as most of the room around him. It was almost like a ball of paint had exploded in front of him! The room erupted into panicked and confused shouting.
“It’s an attack!”
“The Western Forest are attacking!”
“Forest lier! Forest traitor!”
Chief Rain and Sandstorm both stood at once.
“Enou-”
The chief’s voice was cut off as a magic-induced, deadly silence enveloped the room. Sandstorm could practically see the magic fill the air, choking out any sound.
Around him, the panic increased. The now-pink warrior with the basket charged at one of the walls, where a small brown lizard was watching them. Sandstorm had noticed the lizard looking inquisitively at him earlier. It had an aura of magic around it, but had been gone when he looked again a few seconds later. Now it was back, watching the room with a calmness that was unnatural. Evil. Sandstorm’s heart caught in his throat. It was a Shifter. And it knew.
Sandstorm was doomed.
Chief Rain grabbed Sandstorm’s arm and brought the other up and down like a hawk flying. He was asking Sandstorm to undo the magic. Sandstorm nodded and brought his hands up. He closed his eyes, imagining the paint and the silence as they were- sheets of matter and magic in the air. In his mind’s eye, he gathered the magic into his bones to rest.
The room again filled with noise, and the pink disappeared.
“It is the work of the Shifter here!” one voice called above the fray.
Now each warrior turned to see the lizard. On cue, it turned green. The warriors rushed it, but Sandstorm stayed stuck in place. He was feeling the swell of magic that came before a spell was cast. The only thing that seemed to work was his voice.
“Watch out!” he said.
Wild barking came from the direction of the forest. The lizard scurried away out of the window next to it. When the warriors in front saw what the barking was coming from, they froze. Chief Rain demanded to know what it was. Sandstorm knew the answer before it was given.
A pack of rabid dogs was crashing into the village with barks and howls. They were illusions, but so detailed that the magic couldn’t be discerned by mere magic-struck. On top of that, Sandstorm couldn’t just absorb it. It was too advanced, and it would be on top of the other magic that he’d just absorbed. Instead, the magic would have to be pushed into rocks and huts and bushes and lizards- but what would that do to the objects? Was this Shifter the product of magic-dealing like that?
Had Sandstorm really endangered his tribes- birth and true- by doing that before?
