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 the forests. More obscure tales say it was found in the wake of a great beast that dwelled there. Skinner journals narrow the beast down to a serpent. Historians say many serpents. And finally, after centuries of pursuing my answers, I piece together enough to know of one among the Mist Born who can truly fit all of those tales. Ironic that I needed to approach the First Deceiver for my truths.”
“Even more ironic that a beast known for howling at the moon and eating raw meat is the one to spend so many years in such intricate study.”
Randolph chuckled as he flexed his fist around the shattered slivers of bone. There was no use in trying to hide his activity from Icanchu, so he appealed to the ancient creature’s curiosity by making the process of cleaning the talon even more of a show. “There were plenty of useless tidbits, dead ends, and insulting references mixed in with what Kawosa said, but there was truth buried there as well. If I’d had my conversations with him when I was a few hundred years younger,” he added, “I may have been taken in by the lies. As it was, I knew just enough of the picture to know which pieces truly fit.”
“And which were those?”
A smile crept onto Randolph’s face when he heard genuine interest in Icanchu’s tone. To intrigue something like him was no small feat. Randolph tensed and his muscles shifted into a thicker mass beneath the near-invulnerable coat of fur that covered his body. No matter how much he prepared, he knew there was no true way to be ready for what was coming. “He told me that the Gypsies only had a few Jekhibar remaining and that Jonah Lancroft had acquired one of them. I believed him. And when Kawosa told me that the source of the Jekhibar was to be found in the metal pearls that grow beneath the scales of the Mist Born Serpent Lord, I believed that too.
“I’ve taken a lesson from the Skinners as well. They know how to use their enemies’ strengths against them. Now that I see the fear in your eyes,” Randolph said as he crouched down and allowed his fangs to grow to their full length, “I see my time was well spent.”
Icanchu’s interest was no longer piqued. His head pulled away from the clearing and rose into the upper reaches of the trees. “If you trust the word of one known for his lies, then by all means put it to the test.”
Despite the urge that built inside of him, Randolph did not howl. His blood pumped vigorously through his body and his muscles tensed to launch his body into a jump that carried him from the leafy jungle floor into the gaping maw of what many believed to be a god. The talon he’d plucked from Kawosa’s severed limb was entangled within several layers of fur that had grown specifically to hold it in place.
Jaden shouted something at him, but Randolph was beyond the reach of her words. He’d already committed himself to the path that he knew would either lead him to the destination he’d been seeking for centuries or off the edge of a cliff. For the moment, neither of those outcomes mattered. There was only the fight.
Icanchu reared back and up, which still wasn’t enough to avoid the Full Blood’s first assault. Randolph landed on the side of his neck, digging in with the claws attached to each of his paws so he could remain in place when the serpent’s gigantic body started to thrash. Twisting around, he snapped at Randolph using powerful jaws that sent a shower of sparks through the air as jagged teeth made from a substance resembling petrified stone scraped against each other. He opened his mouth, allowing half a dozen forked tongues to spew out and slap against the werewolf’s side.
Now that he was attached to Icanchu, Randolph needed a moment to reorient himself. The world he’d traversed to get into that jungle had been replaced with a floor of thick scales and a skyline that churned crazily over his head as trees smashed into him. He kept his head down low while climbing along Icanchu’s segmented torso, and flattened his body against the shifting Mist Born as massive, snapping jaws tried to find him. Suddenly, the trees gave way to a blinding view of clear sky. Icanchu’s angry, hissing roar exploded in every direction until hot breath flattened the fur on Randolph’s back. Even though he was moving as fast as he could, the Full Blood knew he had to go faster.
The first bite that found its mark sheared several layers of skin from Randolph’s ribs. It was followed almost immediately by a nip that would have been enough to cut an aged tree in half if it hadn’t caught empty air. Icanchu began flailing madly, trying to knock Randolph off using either the trees or the side of his head. Much like a tick being swatted by a fleshy palm, the werewolf was tough enough to withstand the blunt attacks and move on.
The serpent’s scales were everywhere beneath Randolph’s feet, hands, and belly. Once Icanchu turned his head down toward the trees and dove beneath the uppermost layers of branches, Randolph used the talon he’d taken from Kawosa to chip at the edge of one scale. The Skinners knew that humans didn’t have what it took to wound a werewolf, which is why they used fangs and blood from fallen enemies to help them in their fight. A Full Blood facing a Mist Born had a similar problem. If there was one thing in the legends that was consistent, it was that the only true threat to a Mist Born was another one of their own kind. As he clung to Icanchu’s body, Randolph had to use all of his strength to drive his claws in less than a quarter of an inch. For a creature that was too large for three sets of Full Blood arms to encircle, and longer than Randolph could fathom, Icanchu truly had nothing to fear from any other species.