“People have been inventing methods to overcome magic for as long as they have known of its existence. As with any form of warfare, for every discovery in the magical world, another appears – whether through magic or technology - with the sole purpose of invalidating its existence.”

~ Bek Trent, M.A.S.O

It was nearly noon, but judging by the sky outside, it may as well have been late evening. The snow had been piling up outside since days ago, but in the previous evening had taken on a particularly vengeful edge. Bek was merely glad that he and his men would no longer need to be so cautious about the use of their magic now that they were settled on the outskirts of the village, Icthuria.

It was the result of magic that, at the moment, he was cozily warm in nothing but his nightclothes. It was also thanks to magic that he was seated in a stiff-backed wooden chair with a low-slung cot to his back and hardwood underfoot, his eyes drawn repeatedly to the sullen triangle of blue-gray light that filtered through the unzipped flap of his tent. The magicked walls of the tent cast a soft burgundy glow over the rich wood of the room, and the overhead light bulb flooded the center of it with a rich golden hue. If he and his men had not resorted to the regular minimums – a -10 degree sleeping bag and canvas tents – for the first leg of their trek, he would have felt like the magic was unnecessary.

They had arrived late the night before; late enough that they might as well have called it early. There was no rush. The river spirit moved much more quickly than any of them, and had not been hindered by red tape. If Silver had been here even briefly, she would be gone already, or so he had reminded himself several times as he urged his subordinates to rest at least until dawn. Even so, sleep had not come to him. He was busy mulling over the possibilities of what she would do next.

It was possible Silver had been killed by the Zara. Dr. Jim had heard nothing from the river spirit since the two, girl and beast, had chased after the Zara two days before. If so, he was tasked with finding her body. The doctor, indeed, insisted that Silver would be returning to the MASO with the serpent, with or without the eggs. It was a reasonable assertion. Jorik seemed content to believe it for now, anyway. She had nowhere else to go, except out into the wilds or back towards civilization.

Twenty-four hours remained before they would notify the local law enforcement agencies that she was missing, per MASO protocol. In just one week, her personal assets would be frozen and more persuasive measures taken to force her return, just in case she had determined that the contracts she had signed were not as binding as Bek had promised when he explained them to her. Unlike some people, he had been certain she understood, both the good and the bad.

Five years in the MASO’s employ would be enough to assure her full rights as an American citizen. They had already contacted the university that had accepted her in the Fall, and the institution had agreed to postpone her acceptance one year, at which point the MASO would test to deem whether she was a threat to non-magical citizens. If not, she could pursue her education full time, assuming she continued to work on a part-time basis. It was a largely accommodating arrangement, but that was because magic users with her capacity were extremely valuable. Silver had no idea how valuable, in fact, and Jorik wanted her to remain ignorant for a while longer. Bek had no say in that matter, though he had planned to let slip just enough information for her to figure it out. He liked those he worked with to know what their bargaining power was in the agency.

Of course, it was possible that Silver had neither been killed nor run away. It was possible, little though anyone but Bek believed it, that she had the eggs, and that she had spoken to the beasts using a power only she possessed. It was possible she was with them even now. Whatever the MASO liked to believe, the mythical beasts were persuasive and entirely too clever. He had already pegged Silver for someone who would not stand for injustice – whether she realized she had that trait or not was less clear – and the beasts would not have a hard time persuading her that their situation was anything but unjust.

The faintest light of triumph glittered in his gaze for an instant, and then was gone.

From the far corner of the tent, Bek retrieved a copper bowl that he promptly filled with snow by scooping from the drifts piled up against the flaps of his tent. This he heated with electricity from his left hand while he combed his sandy blonde hair with his right, until the snow had melted and the resultant water was warm enough that he could stick his fingers into it without shivering. Not for the first time, he wished they could carry hand mirrors. Instead, he allowed the water to settle and chanced a glance into the still surface before using it to clean his face.

From a magical perspective, mirrors were a problem. They reflected magic, making them nearly impossible to affect with spells. That did not, however, mean, they had no place in the magical world. Exorcists relied on them to hunt down ghosts, vampires did not always have reflections, and all of it because mirrors displayed only the realm in which the least magical of them resided. They had been a beloved topic of magical philosophy in the ancient texts of the lost people – the Altians – who called them shimrea, a combination of their words for sand and magical light.

He finished washing and dressing, and then sat for a moment thinking over his plans for the rest of the day. Several times, he cycled through his conversation with Weiss. Then, irritated by the circular nature of his thoughts, he ran his hand roughly down his neck and remained motionless for a moment with his wrist resting against his collarbone, apparently considering something, before pulling up the collar of his shirt. He finished buttoning the collar with practiced ease just as Koriander appeared at the flap of his tent.

“Enter,” he said smoothly, standing.

Koriander pressed the material aside and stepped under the glow of the magical light. His wispy blonde hair shone dully in the orange glow, giving his deep brown eyes a warmer hue. For some reason, Bek seemed to find this amusing, as a wry smile just barely touched his lips.

“Rested?” Bek asked. The man nodded.

“And you?”

“As much as can be expected.”

Koriander blinked in response, as if acknowledging that their exchange was one of habitual regard rather than sincere interest.

“I assume they’ve sent someone to greet us,” Bek stated.

It was not a question, but Koriander’s pause made him wonder if someone from Icthuria had been awaiting them for some time. Rising, Bek gestured for Koriander to fall in behind him as he stepped out of the tent, tapping the canvas flap on the way out as he silently commanded it to open to no one other than himself. He emerged into a mist of snowfall so thick that he could make out his company’s tents only as up-thrust silhouettes, dark as pitch against the snow and kindled from within by warm, magic light. Dorn joined him in a moment, along with two other new recruits that he knew only by last name – a dark-haired and dark-skinned young man who stood several inches taller than himself that he knew as Sanderst, and a slightly older woman that he remembered had decided to come the rounds after her maternity leave ended purely because the position was flexible. Her name was Bordeaux.

Turning his attention back to the task at hand, he trudged forward towards a darker and more massive shadow against the trees that he knew would be the village. Strangely enough, it was most likely easier to find in the snow than it would ever be in the height of summer, when its carefully erected barrier, called The Veil, would not have to contend with the weather. More than once, Bek had needed the aid of a specialized tool – a pair of faei binoculars, as some unknown smart-ass had christened the lenses that would allow any onlooker to see through magic in much the same way that other devices allowed people to see infrared light – to find the village. They were tricky and often useless devices, though he had personally made some adjustments in recent years that made them infinitely more useful…provided he was searching for something larger than the broad side of a barn. Regardless, it was thanks to The Veil that they were allowed to use their magic and their more comfortable amenities in the vicinity of the village.

It was not long before the village came into view, a clump of narrow, cabin-like buildings that had been built with a mixture of hand tools and magic. The people of Icthuria were unique in many ways, the most prominent of which was their decision to live with few of the comforts of their modern age. They rarely used machinery, preferring to adhere to older traditions and the tried and true methods of their forebears. In their isolation, the MASO permitted them greater flexibility in the use of their magic, as well as providing a measure of security and access to medical care. The people of Icthuria were not adverse to those things. They had great respect for science and technology. To them, it was simply frivolous. Magic filled the niches electricity and science had wriggled into elsewhere. There was simply no need for it – not the infrastructure, and not the expense.

The MASO protected their secrets from the outside world, sometimes taking advantage of campfire ghost stories that had crept up in the region – small villages like this one were popular subjects of stories about mysterious haunted towns where a drunken camper might stumble in a stupor, only to wake the next morning in the empty forest with memories of a warm bed and good company. It had been over a year since the last such case, probably because no one wanted to camp in the snow.

Through The Veil, it was impossible to pick out any detail, but Bek did not need to. There was an archway that marked the entrance to the village, and it was visible even in the finest weather. A man waited for them there.

“Bek Trent,” Bek said before they were even within a distance that would permit the mandatory handshake that always accompanied such a greeting. “We’re here to pass on news and aid, as is necessary.”

The man nodded gruffly, though Bek noted, without a hint of friendliness, as they shook hands. They knew each other, obliquely, from past visits. Nersrir Furian was the president of the tiny village, or as close to one as they could claim to have. A ruddy-faced, sturdy man with eyes lined by years of leadership, Nersrir had never been one for small talk. It was hard for Bek to imagine him having ever been young, carefree, or in any way not the face of Icthuria. His hair had been dark once, the same black as his eyes, maybe, but had gone to gray long before the two of them first met.

“This’ll be quick, I think, unless you have some pressing news from th’ uppers.”

Bek knew that by the uppers Nersrir meant the director of the MASO, but chose to make no comment on the casual remark despite feeling Koriander stiffen behind him. Bek wondered as he removed his hand from Nersrir’s solid grip when he would choose a successor. By tradition, Bek knew only that the village preferred a telepath.

“This is a routine check-in, Nersrir, so you can relax. Have you had any problems?”

“There’ve been some things.”

Nersrir turned and led the group of them under the arch. Schooling his expression into one of cautious indifference, Bek took the last few steps that would guide him through the Veil. It took some concentration not to twitch or wince or otherwise show any sign of discomfort as the strange hum and buzz of magic caught in his ears and played across his skin, but he was glad that he did. Nersrir appeared not to notice anything, as he continued to speak without pause. The conversation fell quickly to pragmatic discussions of finances and sanitation, medical care for the elderly, and the typical assurance that there had been no problematic encounters with the mythical beasts. This last point was in some ways comical to Bek, since the villagers themselves took great stock in their good relations with the beasts, and had continued for decades to hide as much from the MASO. It was even rumored that The Veil was the result of a beast’s magic.

The talk was tedious, and Bek’s only respite was that they continued to wind through the many twisting streets of the village as they spoke, circumnavigating the occasional tree that sprouted from the unpaved roads. Icthuria had been built around and within the trees rather than in place of them. The foliage broke up the silhouette of the village, and allowed the growth of the town to proceed upward instead of outward. Through the snow, however, none of them could see much of the structures overhead.

They stopped more than once at the various farm fields, spotted with crops that could last out the winter and also the undying shade cast by the trees. Here as well, the massive trees were left intact and merely avoided by the farmers, many of whom promised they could speak to the plants the way people had once spoken to the beasts. What food the people of Icthuria ate was largely grown themselves. The vast majority of them were poor, economically speaking. Many had family members among the MASO staff, and were either unwilling or unable to abandon their current lifestyle.

Bek tapped a finger against his neck to clear his mind, since such thoughts sometimes led him to wonder just what he believed, and where exactly he fit best in a world without magic. He was fully drawn back to the present by Nersrir.

“One more thing you might want to know. Last week, an associate from ENTrust made his way up here. Seems old Kael Delark thought to extend us an invite to his newest venture.”

“Delark?” Bek confirmed suspiciously, “What did he say?”

“What else? Magic is law. Man didn’t say much in the end, but I’d say they’re going through a bit of a change, if you catch my drift. Kael’s getting older, and so’s his upstart of a son.”

“I hope you refused.”

“‘Course. No use gettin’ our hands tied up with the likes of Delark.” Nersrir looked slightly disgusted by the thought. “Sure you don’t have any news for us, Agent?”

Bek fixed the man with a thoughtful gaze before saying, “Only a question. One of our agents went missing, Nersrir, days ago. She was chasing after one of the Zara.”

The man paled visibly, but as expected, did not seem concerned about the MASO’s missing agent. “Zara, you say?” the man repeated after a moment.

“Zaranal Sorea,” Bek carefully emphasized the name of the deadly beasts of shadow. “She is about my age, brown hair, hazel green eyes, average build.” Something in the man’s expression stopped him from saying more.

“Most likely she’s dead, Agent Trent. Hate to be a downer, but it’s not so easy for me to lie as it is for you folks.”

“I believe she’s alive,” Bek stated firmly, testing the waters. Nersrir nodded very slightly, averting his gaze. His lower lip puffed out slightly, nervously.

“May be. But for your own sake, I’d treat her as dead. Once ya’ fall in against th’ Zara, Agent, not much o’ a life left then. Demons don’t take prisoners.”

“Dually noted, thank you. You’ll receive a report within the week,” Bek observed. Then he averted his gaze and found himself back at the arch, staring up at the engraved wood. His face remained expressionless as he left the village with the others behind him. It was possible The Veil retained some heat as well; he felt a sudden chill as soon as he stepped through it. All around his tiny party, the shadows seemed to press, and only the gray skies offered reprieve.

He knew what came next – without words, he had already indicated his intentions to Weiss. Nersrir, purposefully or otherwise, had confirmed his suspicions. Silver was alive. There was no way she was coming back to the MASO. Zien must have found her. How, he had no clue. He had intended to inform the beasts that she existed the next time they sent a messenger to him, but that was clearly not necessary. They never ceased to amaze him.

“Koriander.” He turned sharply once they had reached their tents. The blonde man stopped abruptly, while Dorn, Bordeaux, and Sanderst froze a little behind him.

“Yes, sir?”

“Take everyone and return to the MASO. Prepare the report for Icthuria. I plan to follow the river and look for Ms. Alurian’s body.” He could see the refusal in the man’s face, and averted his gaze to give the illusion that what he was about to say was difficult for him.

“You heard what Nersrir said. I was supervising Silver when this happened…it’s my responsibility.”

“We’ll come with you, sir,” Koriander suggested. Behind him, Bordeaux nodded while the other two maintained a more carefully impassive expression.

“Unnecessary. I’ve already requested a personal day from the agency, Koriander. The MASO is short-staffed right now with the upheaval among the beasts at the city’s edge – they can’t spare you as well. Too valuable.” He cracked a smile, watching Koriander carefully. “Believe me, this will be one of my simpler tasks. I can handle it alone. Dismissed.”

There was no more argument. It was with some relief that he watched Koriander nod and excuse himself to pack up his own belongings. Bordeaux and Dorn followed, casting him somber glances. Only Sanderst paused, meeting his eyes. For an instant, Bek worried that he might have made at least one of their number suspicious, but Sanderst simply said stiffly, “Condolences, Trent, sir. I know what it’s like to lose a partner, or a subordinate.” Bek had not considered the circumstances around the other man’s transfer from the police department when he shared his plans.

“Thank you, Sanderst,” he said sincerely. Sanderst sucked in a slow breath, and then left him.

Interesting.

Bek hoped that whatever conflict might arise between men and beasts, it would spare his own subordinates. There was no question in his mind that he was abandoning them. Koriander was more than capable of taking his place, of course. Four years ago, when Bek had been promoted above the man, they had butted heads more than once. Koriander had a son around Bek’s age – it was no wonder he had balked at taking orders from a fourteen-year old boy. It was laughable even to Bek. But it left a sour taste in Bek’s mouth nonetheless, knowing that they would be left to contend with Jorik and whoever was placed in their command when Bek was gone.

Thoughts of his grandfather brought a scowl to his face, and he went to pack up without another word. Within the hour, they went their separate ways. It was a quiet affair. If he never made it back to the MASO, or only ever made it back in handcuffs, at least no one could have said they expected him to disappear. The only precaution he took was to turn over the heavier materials for the magicked tent to Koriander; for as long as he planned to be gone, the additional weight would only slow him down.

Bek skirted the village that afternoon, looking for any signs that Silver and the tree wolves might have left. The heavy snows the previous evening had obliterated most signs of anything. It was too close to midday for him to track well on the ground regardless, so he turned his eyes to the sky instead, and was rewarded after several hours with the telltale ruts left by a tree wolf’s claws in the bark of a particularly large oak. He was lucky he knew what he was looking for, and that he was able to take the time to search for it. He had a month’s worth of supplies with him; enough, in his mind, to find Silver and the wolves, and to share if necessary. Heavy, without a doubt, but worth every calorie and every ounce of warmth.

He camped out the night not far from the village, listening through the long midnight hours for the howling of wolves. He knew the voices of the pack well enough that he would at least be able to tell them apart from other wolves.

The night was mockingly silent.

So he rose in the gray hours before dawn to strike out in the direction he knew they were headed - to the mountains. Not an easy trek, but one that was bound to eventually force him across their path.

It did so sooner than he could have hoped.

After two years of steady contact, Bek was used to the tree wolves’ messenger. The bat was not small, but it was tiny in comparison to the nightwings he knew it roosted with when it was not in the tree wolves’ company. It dropped from the sky to flutter for a moment in front of his face, and landed with a sharp chirp on his outstretched hand. He had no idea how Silver spoke to the beasts, but he had his own methods. Over the years, he and the bat had adopted a yes or no system of communication; the bat understood simple questions, and seemed to know the human given names of not only its own kind, but of the tree wolves. It also knew the name it had been given, since it seemed he was not the only human it carried messages to.

“Itoru,” he greeted the tiny beast before reaching into one of the lower pockets in his pants and pulling out a bag of dried insects. They were a treat the beast seemed to enjoy, particularly through the long winters, when it should have been in torpor. “You have a message from Zien?”

One chirp for yes, two for no. He offered some of the insects, and Itoru swept them up without pause. The little bat crunched for a moment while Bek glanced up through the darkening trees, considering how far he still was from the mountains. Four days hike, most likely.

“There is a human with Zien?”

One chirp.

“Where?”

A single chirp to indicate the beast knew, followed by a low, thrumming song he understood well. As he had thought, they were headed to the nightwings’ caverns.

“The human chose to go?”

A single chirp.

“She has the dragon eggs?”

Another single chirp, though now the bat followed it with a series of squeaks and screeches that were more difficult to decipher. Itoru was agitated, but Bek did not know why.

“I don’t understand.” The bat fell silent, as if considering what to do next.

“The nightwings expect them?” Bek asked, and received a single chirp in response. “Is there trouble in the colonies?” Another single chirp. Interesting.

“Is that why Zien is headed there?” Two chirps this time, which meant nothing had changed since Bek had last spoken to Zien. There was no good way for him to ask what the trouble was in the colonies without any prior knowledge, so he let that topic drop. He would find out soon enough, anyway.

“Has your message been delivered, Itoru?” One chirp.

“Zien expected me to follow?” Two chirps, again, as expected; Zien must have thought Itoru would find him at the MASO. He stared for a moment around the two of them, at the empty forest.

“How long since you last went to the caverns?” he asked, raising the bat a bit higher so he could get a clear view of its face. “Do you understand?” A single chirp. “How many moons?” Silence. Less than a month, then.

“Do they know that Zien has a human with her?” One chirp. “Do they know she has the eggs?”

Two chirps.

That surprised him. Though the beasts did occasionally withhold information from each other, the presence of the dragon eggs was one secret he doubted the tree wolves would keep from one of their closest allies.

“Did you know about the eggs when you delivered your message to the nightwings?”

Two chirps.

Bek nodded understanding. Things were falling into place. Zien must have known about Silver before she knew about the eggs, and sent the bat ahead preemptively. Most likely, the bat had not met Silver yet, because it had been too busy flying between marks. To cover the distance, he was sure Itoru had flown by day as well as night, something he knew was dangerous and exhausting for the little beast.

“I’m headed the same way as the tree wolves. Why not rest with me?” he suggested. The little bat squeaked something that sounded like agreement.

Little though he minded traveling alone through the woods, the bat’s company was welcome. As evening fell, it stayed close, and while Bek slept, busied itself with hunting down whatever insects braved the late spring chill. When morning dawned crisp and sullen in the heart of the woods, it climbed into one of his many pockets and contented itself with a long day’s ride through the trees. Soon enough, they would split ways, but that did not seem to bother Bek. He knew where he was headed, and he never looked back.