Sende slowed her mount to a canter as Day Long and Nathan approached. Behind her, the spare horses took lead from her gelding, while she turned to make sure the mustangs did so. Sensing the moist ground and thick grasses at the bottom of the scree, many of the spare mounts were eager to graze.

Sende reined up, dismounted and hobbled her ride. The gelding nibbled at the grass as the young wrangler moved to her pack animal. From the mule, she unwound a length of rope, ready to stake a temporary corral around the remuda.

From the the front of the herd, and the distant chuck wagon, Sende’s brother Hernan rode past Day Long and Nathan, followed by three fellow vaqueros. As Sende began driving stakes into the ground, Hernan reined the draft horses, stopping to assist, as did the vaqueros.

The two scouts galloped around the eager herd of horses. Nathan swept off his gelding while it slowed into a canter and Day Long jerked on the reins of his mount swinging his leg over the rear of the horse, sliding off his saddle.

Nathan approached a bay with calm focus. From his vest pocket he presented a saltlick. The bay nickered and pressed its muzzle into Nathan's gloved hand.

As the vaqueros walked around the remuda with rope in hand between them, Day Long strode up to and gripped Sende. “We got shapeshifters lurkin’ and no time for lies or anything you think ain't important. What are you running from, girl?”

Hernan lunged towards the Seminole scout and was stopped by Day Long’s outthrust arm. Gasping, Hernan fell.

Day Long swung his arm back around and pointed at Sende. “Speak up Señorita.”

Before the shocked and angered young woman spoke, Christian galloped in shouting. Day Long ignored him.

“Don't try an’ scoop me, girl. Start jawin’.”

Off his mount and rushing forward, Christian protested. “Sende doesn't know. She already told me.”

Day Long cocked his head. “What she tell you?”

“Let her go and pull in your horns!” Christian said. “She doesn't know anything.”

“That's what she told you? Warmin’ up to her are you?”

Nathan gripped Day Long’s shoulder. “Let her go.”

Day Long raised both hands from Sende. The young woman rubbed her arms.

Nathan shook Day Long’s arm. “Johnny! We ain't got time for this. Time’s wastin’ and best we be on our way upon whatever scheme you have.”

Christian turned to Nathan. “Scheme? Where's my brother? Where's Van and their cousin Juan?”

Day Long pushed Christian aside. “Don't you worry how we're gonna deal with the shapeshifters. Help them drovers gather us up some spares to ride south.”

“South?” Christian scoffed. “Hell are you talkin’ about, shapeshifters? Why the hell are your arms all cut up?”

Day Long stared over his bloodied shoulder, “This ain't no ‘maybe, could be’, little Har. This is serious business. Black magic and witchery.”

Christian turned to Nathan in disbelief.

Day Long laughed. “What's with the look to ol’ Silver Hair? You don't believe the tales your brother an’ Van tell of their time in Azov?”

Christian’s face flushed red, whether by anger or embarrassment, it wasn't clear. For Christian, it didn't appear he knew either. “That's all beside the fucking point. My brother, Van and old Juan are out there. Do you mean to track them or not?”

Day Long waved his pointer finger between himself and Nathan. “We do, yes, but like I said before, you can't come it. Yo duty’s with the herd. Lotta money, lotta hope put into this here venture.”

It was Christian's turn to laugh in anger. “An’ what's any of it mean, what's it all come to, if they're dead?”

Nathan slapped Christian on the arm. “It's for you to travel north and sell the herd, provide for your sister-in-law and Aleya.”

Christian swatted Nathan's hand away, ready to speak, his nostrils flared. He hesitated, Nathan stood firm before him, a rein in his hand, a bay gelding stood behind the blonde scout. Hernan stood with Sende behind him, his body placed between his sister and the scouts.

Day Long shouted orders to the other vaqueros and they formed up around the spare horses to encircle several within their rope corral.

Christian glanced back at Nathan. “Shapeshifters?”

“You don't believe the stories of what happened to Teven in the Crimea?”

Christian sighed. “I don't really know what happened to them. They don't speak of it. But they have nightmares.”

Nathan nodded. “True, and Aleya's shared some with me, when she couldn't help Van. When long nights kept them both awake. She's only mentioned Cossack magic and an army of nymphs and wraiths on the Azov Sea.”

Christian stared north west towards the Colorado Territory. “But shapeshifters? You two fought what, werewolves? Just now, I mean.”

“No. Shapeshifters, maybe skinwalkers. Locals call ‘em Diableros. Two of them disguised as Van and your brother attacked us after Day Long kenned to their nature.”

“How?”

Nathan shrugged. “He knew.”

Christian watched the Black Seminole. “He's run into shapeshifters before?”

“Don't think so, but he's takin’ us to people who have, or leastways knows how to kill ‘em.”

Christian's eyes widened. “Us?”

Nathan raised a steadying hand. “He and I. No one else. Like I said, get the herd to market.” He turned to his lathered, first mount and pulled out Teven’s pistol. “Your brother's.”

Calmer, Christian nodded and gripped Nathan's shoulders. “You find old Juan, my brother, and Van.” Christian glanced at Day Long. “Kill the bastards that took them.”

*

Twilight crept across the Gasento lands as the scarred skinwalker and the thin and hawkish countenanced gunman delivered their captives. Fallen and abandoned mining structures, crooked and aged, cut twisted silhouettes against the western sunset. A number of skinwalkers emerged from the depths of a vast cave which yawned in the earth eighty feet from the group. Each wore varied animal skins that shadowed their bodies. Dark, crystalline macuahuitl blades hung from their backs. These exotic, native weapons appeared entirely crafted of an ebony crystal, with no wood, honed straight, thick, double-edged, and tapered.

Dressed only in his long johns, Van watched as the leader of the shapeshifters approached. To Van's side, Juan Semos, weakened by his loss of blood, strained to speak. “Galtero Gasento.”

Teven, also stripped to his long johns, leaned over Juan Semos. “Rest. Remember, Van can understand most of what they say.”

While Juan Semos nodded, it wasn't entirely true. Van understood most Spanish well enough through Portuguese, but the skinwalkers, not speaking some supernatural tongue, did speak a mixture of native languages.

The leader of the shapeshifters, Galtero Gasento, as Juan Semos said, stood atop a crumpled platform and looked down at the party. He pointed toward Van, addressing the hawkish gunman. “They are not under your control, Nico?”

Surprised, the thin and hawkish countenanced gunman grimaced, looking at the scarred shifter beside him. “Only the old man, the other two could not be controlled.”

The leader smiled, raising his hands to the scarred shifter. “Do you sense the power in them, Mateo? The wealth of their souls?”

Mateo, clad only in his wolf skin, nodded, waving his arm toward Van and Teven. “Those two, yes, the other is but a common soul.”

Teven frowned at Van. “Netolli?”

Van returned the look of confusion. “I heard ‘alma’, which means ‘soul’. ‘Alma comun’, so ‘common soul’? Gasento seems to prefer Spanish. Makes sense, the family is Spanish legacy.”

Teven shrugged. “What's ‘netolli’ mean?”

Van frowned. “Not any word I know.”

Mateo approached Van. Teven, wary of the shapeshifter, shielded Juan Semos.

The leader of the shifters raised his hand and Mateo stopped.

“These are ancient souls, but that one,” the lead Gasento pointed at Van, “is especially unique. I've never sensed its like. A soul that retains its memories, in a cycle of rebirth, carries with it, knowledge. But that soul, of the two, oh my!”

“Something about rebirth and knowledge. Old or ancient souls?” Van said.

Teven turned and spoke into Van's ear. “All souls are ancient. Aren't the number of souls finite, plucked from the Tree of Life? ‘The fruit of the righteous is a tree of life; and he that winneth souls is wise.’ Proverbs?”

Van nodded, his eyebrows drawn together and low over his eyes. “Maybe it's exactly that. He that holds a soul, gains knowledge and knowledge is power. I'd say they value souls as we do gold.”

The three Gasento men stood together in a heated discussion about their captives and next moves. Two of the earlier trio of riders already held the guises and clothes of Van and Teven, sure to have returned to the cattle drive to carry out their part of whatever plan this Galtero Gasento crafted.

Van listened as the lead Gasento shifter spoke to his diableros. The two nodded as their leader spoke. “With no contact from Jacan and Muli, we must assume that the other souls are equally as strong.” He turned to the scarred skinwalker. “Mateo, you will take a larger force, overcome the remaining souls, and return them to Los Orlos and our Caddite allies. The cattle can be sold north, driven by the vaqueros.”

The scarred skinwalker nodded, his body now dry, no longer glistened with gore from his transformation.

The shifters’ instructions gave Van pause.

Teven gripped his arm. “What did he say?”

“Sounds like the shapeshifters that took on our countenances have gone missing.”

Teven smiled. “The boys likely done the bastards in.”

“Maybe, but that scarred beast is being sent after them.”

Teven’s expression cycled through mischief, disappointment, and confusion. Van followed his gaze.

A new, cloaked figure joined the group and pointed toward the open maw of the cave. “Spider riders from the city of Opio have taken the entrances to Subterranea and I advise we avoid physical entry into the Spirit Realm with such precious captives. We've no recourse but to ride overland to Los Orlos.”

The lead shifter turned to the scarred diablero. “Mateo, before you pursue the remaining souls and learn of Jacan and Muli's fate, you will assist the priests. We must be wary of the Escuridon Watcher. Wait three days, enter Subterranea and destroy this gateway to the Underworld.” He gestured at Nico. “We will transport these two souls to our Caddite allies at Los Orlos.”

The dark gunman crossed his arms, annoyed. “It will take longer overland. Especially if we cannot control their minds. Can we not do as planned, travel the Underwest of Subterranea and destroy the gateway to the Underworld behind us?”

The hooded priest raised a gnarled finger. “Mateo must engage the Spider riders and destroy the local gateway. Those souls are far too important.”

The shapeshifters’ leader nodded. “With the riches of these prizes, Nico, we'll soon be rid of such barriers to our people.” He gestured to the drovers. “If we cannot obsess them, we will possess them. Control them from within, begin to weaken them through their fears.”

A deepening ache grew at Van's temples, the entrenched headache and wariness draining his reserves of strength. Juan Semos lay unconscious.Teven, concerned, watched Van with a knowing look.

“I don't see a way out of this one, Van.”

Van shrugged. “Didn't see a way out of Azov either.”

“I'd have preferred death at the hands of the wraiths, to death by these werecreatures.”

Van grinned. “Death by spectral women over loss of self to shifters? Don't let Jessica hear that.”

“I hope she does, hope I'm the one to tell her.”

Both men looked up as two new arrivals approached them. Shifters for certain, clad in cloth so black as to absorb the very light of the setting sun. Witches, brujas or brujos, nothing about them suggested a clear gender.

Gnarled, clawed hands reached out and seized Van and Teven by their heads. The men struggled with the witches, their strength ebbing. His energy sapped, Van watched as the hooded figure holding Teven lifted him by his head even as the shapeshifter leaned forward. Teven clutched at the creature’s wrists. Neither could see into the ebony darkness under the black hoods. Teven’s eyes turned toward Van while his head could not, held vice-like in the grip of the creature. It made a hideous screeching growl, and the moment Teven looked back, the elder Har brother began to convulse. Seconds later, the black material that covered the shifter fell and a fine black mist rose from beneath it. Teven stood motionless with glazed, vacant eyes.

Before Van had a moment to cry out in anger, the creature holding him forced its face into his. For a moment, he saw the vague hint of an asexual human face before a heaviness overwhelmed him like the pit of endless slumber.