Page 4 of Shifter's Homecoming

Not the first time, an unfamiliar voice whispered to Trent inruhi.

Trent whipped around in mid-air, looking for whoever had spoken. He saw only space, planets, stars, and darkness.

“Not the first time…” he repeated out loud, his voice deep and rolling, rather like he heard it in his own head. The way Trent saw it, there was only one way that it was possible that this was not the first time he’d ever spoken out loud.

He really was atraveler.

Thedragenhad told Trent that having an echo most likely meant Trent was a traveler, and that a traveler was someone who lived a real second life in their dreams, one they remembered, and one in which the lives could affect each other. Thedragenhad intimated thatifTrent was a traveler, even though he couldn’t shift in this life, in this world, that didn’t mean he never had in some other life, some other world…

The only problem was, Trent had no memories of being a traveler, or of ever having anything other than a “normal,” hazy, dream-like, dream, so he couldn’t be a traveler. Except…

Trent grasped the badge on the chain around his neck and turned it to face him, intending to read the department name, but there was no department name. It was a blank badge, it didn’t even have a number on it. No answers there. He dropped the badge. It bounced against his chest once and settled.

Trent leaned back a little, reclining as he moved through familiar night time sky, stars all around, deliberately thinking of nothing, but instead, sensing what was happening around him. He seemed on the edge of the atmosphere, about to enter space. He listened to the silence of the night as he passed through it. It was a sweet sound, a comforting sound, a lulling sound. Trent did not let himself be lulled. Lulled wolves became dead wolves way too easily.

Below him, the land gave way to land mass, which gave way to mountain ranges, which gave way to continents hedged in by oceans on every side. Trent had seen this before on the Internet, via Google Earth, it did not fascinate him. But the flashes of light he saw all around, did. There were flashes everywhere, like space lightning come to see him, to escort him. They were compelling, those flashes. Theymeant something.

Trent became aware of the rush of silent wind on his bare skin. He found it curious that there would be wind after death and wondered what was next. Whatever it was, it was coming up fast. The earth was far below, but above… above was—Trent twisted in space to face the other way. Facing this direction, light and movement seemed to coalesce in a point in front of him, a point he was heading straight for.

It was a meadow, floating alone in empty space, and the closer he came to it, the less he was able to see anything but it. He could no longer look around, even if he wanted to. The meadow called him in a stronger way than the flashes had, even seeming toreachfor him, holding his gaze steady upon it. It was a perfect green meadow, vast and wide and long and far, bordered by lush green forest, carpeted by rich grass, and dotted with wildflowers of purple, blue, and pink.

All at once, he realized the world,his world,had reoriented itself around him, and the meadow that had been above him was now in front of him, while the earth was further and further behind every moment.

Was thisthemeadow, the spiritual home of Rhen? Trent shivered slightly. Was he about to meet Rhen herself? All his recent bitterness, his righteous indignation that no one knew about but thedragen, it all burned right out of his head. He stared hard at the meadow as he approached it, gliding smoothly through empty space, through nothing.

He wished he would get there faster. He wanted ground under his feet, but he could only watch, like he was approaching a monstrous movie screen, one he would eventually smack right into.

The trees on one side of the meadow seemed to shake and shimmer, and then a stream of running dark-furred wolves burst from the cover of trees, flowing into the meadow. The lead wolves changed direction, cutting sharply to their left, their tails stiff near their bodies, but free flowing closer to the tip, whipping in the wind from their movement. The wolves behind turned with them and the stream curved back into the forest.

A sweet sense of homecoming filled Trent, moving him along faster.

It was azyanya, a running for the dead. Where he had just come from, they would run for him in mourning, but he could feel in his heart thatthese wolves, these wolves ran in welcoming. His mother was there. His father, too. His sister, too. Others, too, evenwolvenhe had never met, but whose blood flowed in his body, they were waiting for him, they wererunningfor him.

Trent itched to shift into a wolf but he did not try to do so, fear gripping him suddenly that if he did, he would not be able to shift back— but the ground was close. Trent angled straight toward it, his mind blanking, his body tensing, ready to land hard—

3 - The Mission

A small black furball with claws like needles rushed through the ether of the afterlife, grabbing Trent by the ear, pulling him away from the meadow.

Trent roared in pain. “Smokey!” he shouted. “Lay off!”

Smokey let go. The pain in Trent’s head subsided and he dropped into the meadow, but the meadow had changed.

Trent dropped into a dead meadow, an alleyway of a meadow, one that was stuck nowhere. The grass was only shades of light and dark, with no color at all. There were no flowers. Crooked trees bordered not much of anything.

Trent hit the ground pacing already, the grass crunching under his boots. He had to move, he had to use his muscles, he had to burn off the confusion that was threatening to roll him. As he strode, he looked around, rubbing one hand to his ear, feeling wetness there. His blood. Lifeless trees and air surrounded him. The meadow looked small and fake now, and there were no wolves.

“My zyanya,” Trent said softly.

Trent had a moment to realize that he was walking, he was pacing, he was practically running and he did not have to learn to walk on two legs like Troy had. Last Trent had seen him, Troy was still lurching around like a gargoyle.

Trent walked perfectly. He balanced himself perfectly. His muscles felt strong and warm and the urge to use them hit him. He wanted to jump, to leap, to somersault, to boogie the fuck down, but he only paced. This dilapidated excuse for a meadow was no place to prance around like a pup.

Behind him, Smokey quietly leapt onto the dead ground from nowhere.

Trent turned. “What in the hell, Smokey?” he growled out loud into the stillness, surprised again at how easy the words came to his lips. His voice was raspy and deep and he wanted to hear more, but he shut his mouth with a clacking of his own teeth and stared Smokey down.

Smokey stared back.

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