Inside the decrepit building, Ilyana crouched, straining to hear between bouts of thunder. Rain drummed on the roof of the shapeshifter’s nest like the fingers of an impatient giant. She had never ventured this far into the council halls before, but her curiosity outweighed the fear of her getting caught.

            She had drifted in the natural, insectile form of the vilskje like a shadow through the heart of the nest, far enough to see the skeletal remains of the human co-conspirators dangling above the dark abyss at each side of the bridge, fastened by some unseen device. Those bones had been an effective deterrence for most of the timorous vilskje population—a warning to stay away from the side where the clan’s leadership took domicile. Only appointed messengers like Oyi ever crossed from the commoner side.

            But what the other shifters feared, Ilyana took as a challenge. She had crossed the bridge, her heart pounding like a drum. It was more than blatant curiosity that drove her onward. Siv, Ilyana’s only comrade in the council, had shared concerns with her. He described a poison seeping through their nest, and though his words had been quite vague, she had felt the fear in his voice, had seen it ignite his shark-black eyes. Still, she could sense him holding something back—there was more to the story than the ill feeling he described.

            Ilyana crept down the stone council hall, sticking to the shadows of the torches. At the end, she turned right to find an elaborate chamber unlike any she’d seen elsewhere in their nest. Sparkling emerald structures jutted upward from the walls in dramatic spikes. The chamber floor transitioned from grey stone to sleek, reflective slate. A faint voice skittered from far off, on the other side of the room, and she crept closer, her pin-prick eyes widening. Ahead, light seeped from a crack beneath a grand wooden door—another unusual sight. The vilskje’s nest was composed mainly of open archways connecting the many winding halls and stone chambers. 

            This must be Master Yuryk’s quarters. Upon her approach, the master’s familiar, commanding voice confirmed her suspicion. Her antennae nubs twitched, and she lowered her body, focusing on the sound. She realized now, there was more than one voice coming from the next room. The second one held a calm tone. Deep and smooth, she instantly recognized it. Siv!

            Thunder rocked the nest, and she sprang up, startled. Anxiety seized her in an icy embrace, breaking her focus and sliding down her spine. She had no reason to be here. What would Yuryk do if he caught her spying? The council had turned noticeably colder since they’d moved into this new home months ago.

            “What are you trying to say, Advisor?” Yuryk asked.

            “I wanted to discuss your plans, Master. We followed a nebulous path to arrive here, but our future now seems no less cryptic.”

            “You were beside me when I made clear our plans. Two days ago,” Yuryk spat.

            “Yes. But surely, as Seer, you wish for my input on the matter? I’ve served as the council advisor for centuries.”

            There was a long pause. “Very well then, Seer. Shed my ignorance.”

            “The fledgling learns to crawl before it can shift,” Siv said, his words flowing like a soft current rippling the surface. “And what are we vilskje, if not fledglings in this human world? We need not be hasty, Yuryk. A careful progression will yield better results in the face of uncertainty.”

             Ilyana could almost feel the heat of Yuryk’s rising anger from inside the room, and the ensuing, uncomfortable silence had her eyes searching for darker shadows in which to hide.

             At last, Yuryk spoke. “Uncertainty? There is no uncertainty in our predicament, Seer. Extinction nips at our heels! There’s no time for idle plans. We will proliferate on our own terms. Humans be damned!”

             “Preposterous. We can’t go to war with the humans. They are billions … we are less than one hundred. Do you think this nest impossible to find? They will hunt us down at the first drop of blood.”

             Ilyana’s breath caught in her throat. She had never heard anyone speak to Yuryk like this.

             “You don’t think big enough, Siv! Don’t you realize how formidable we can be?”

             “The vilskje are not warriors.” Siv said.

             “We are what we choose to be! Don’t you remember Windlyn Vale? How the humans slaughtered us like cattle? Now, you propose we waste away in this place, afraid to venture outside?

             Siv sighed, a soft, insectile hissing that swept like smoke beneath the door. “On the contrary, I think we should leave this place altogether. I sense something here, Master. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s changing you. And not for the better.”

             Ilyana felt one of her claws tremble and clench before she lowered closer to the ground, a position of high anxiety. She found herself growing increasingly afraid of where this conversation was going. Siv was older and physically inferior to the Master, and no amount of shifting could make up that difference.

             Yuryk’s tone turned ominous. “Your position is egregious, Siv. Osiris agrees with my direction, and, after his travels, we must appreciate his worldly perspective.”

             “That’s the next topic I wanted to discuss,” Siv said, his voice falling to a whisper. “I don’t trust this Revenant, Osiris. As the eldest of our clan, I have no recollection of him, whatever. Not his leaving. Not him ever having been with us in the first place. There is no mention of him in any clan record. We must question him at council.”

             A new voice emerged, deep and irritable. “Why not discuss now, Siv? Master Yuryk has informed me about how well you have served him in the years since my absence.”

             Osiris!

             The Revenant—as he was often called—must have been listening in from somewhere close. Ilyana found herself creeping backward, heart racing. Like Siv, she didn’t trust Osiris, and she couldn’t recall him from any point in the past. The enigma had simply shown up one day, months ago, and Master Yuryk had granted him a place at council.

             “I think a discussion is warranted,” Siv said.

             “I agree,” Osiris said. “You have served as advisor for over three hundred years, Siv. That’s a long time. You’ve earned your retirement, wouldn’t you say? Which is why Yuryk has granted me the role of advisor, moving forward. You are relieved of your duties, effective immediately.”

             Ilyana’s stomach twisted into a sickening knot. For him to serve for so long, only to be discarded like this! She couldn’t believe her timing, to catch this exact moment. Whether it was luck or misfortune, she couldn’t decide.

             It didn’t take long to find out.

            “Yuryk—tell me this isn’t true,” Siv said, clearly trying to hide the pain in his voice.

            “The Revenant speaks truly,” said Yuryk. “Your services are no longer needed.”

            “No,” Siv muttered. “He’s controlling you! Can’t you see that?”

            “Master, He opposes your vision,” boomed Osiris. “He’s become a threat to us all.” No … they’re not going to                …

             “Yes. He has,” said Yuryk. “Strigo—seize him!”

             A gasp escaped before Ilyana could muffle the sound. The giant oak doors flew open, and blinding light filled the corridor, banishing all cover of shadow. A set of claws gripped her throat. Ice tore through her body.

             “What is this … a spy?!” Ilyana’s vision adjusted to see the Master’s face, twisted with rage. He choked her until Strigo interrupted.

              “Master! Siv’s escaping through the window in his crow form.”

              Yuryk turned, still holding Ilyana. “Then get after him!”

              Abruptly, he dropped her to the ground, where she lay coughing and wheezing, limbs twitching. Beyond the open door, her gaze fell to an opening in the stone wall and, just outside, a flurry of black feathers. She wanted to go after Siv—to find a way to help her friend—but Yuryk hovered over her.

              The master crouched, four insectile limbs bending inward at the joint. He pressed his small face close to hers and brought his fingers to her throat again. “Do you wish to live, little bug?”

              Her misery drove the membrane sacs beneath her eyes to fill with fluid, threatening to burst. She nodded.

             “Then follow Strigo and make sure Siv is dead!” He pushed her away.

             Still struggling for breath, Ilyana sprang and sprinted toward the window, shifting to her mountain thrush on the way, her lean flesh falling inward, compacting and feathering. 

             Yuryk yelled after her. “If you try to flee, I’ll send hunters for you!”

             She stumbled and launched herself through, her thrush’s breast skimming the bottom ledge. She found herself flying through the dark space that wrapped their nest like an empty shell—an in-between-space, outside the council halls but still within the walls of the building.

             Up ahead, Strigo’s tail feathers scattered the light that poured in from an open window … and then he was gone. Ilyana flapped frantically to catch up, at last emerging outside under a stormy sky. The wind blasted her, and in the distance, through sheets of rain, she spotted Strigo’s giant ferruginous hawk. Just beyond, a much smaller crow dove to avoid contact. 

             Siv!

             He wouldn’t last long against Strigo. Physically imposing, with unmatched speed and ferocity, Strigo’s hawk would tear Siv from the sky in short order. Dubbed ‘the Stalwart’, Strigo had once been among the clan’s most honorable. But now, newly elected to the council under Yuryk, he seemed anything but.

             Lightning flashed, blinding her, driving her to greater panic. There’s no way she could catch them in time. Strigo was going to kill her dearest comrade. He didn’t deserve to die like this … hunted down like vermin. Ilyana wasn’t the most faithful, but such a plea was all she had left in this moment.

             Watcher, if you are there … do something!

             Up ahead, the birds’ bodies converged. Siv twisted to separate, diving to one side. But a moment later, Strigo’s hawk held him in his formidable talons.

             A brilliant flash­—different from lightning—blinded Ilyana, forcing her thrush’s eyes shut, and she tumbled down. Her vision returned too late to prevent her from crashing to the ground. She peeled her wings from the mud and shook her feathered crown. Not far ahead, Strigo’s hawk stood, inspecting his wing. He looked around, confused, turning her way after a moment. When he noticed her, he rose aggressively and hurdled toward her.

“A thrush?” he shrieked. “A mountain bird in the city makes no sense. Who are you?” He stopped a few feet away. “Why are you following me?”

             “Master’s orders.” Ilyana squawked. Rain trickled down the side of her beak and onto her tongue, where she pushed it down her parched throat. “He sent me to assist you.”

             Strigo hopped closer, splashing down to spray her with cold water. His talons speared the ground. His sharp gaze pierced her own. “Yuryk sent a thrush to help the Stalwart?”

             Ilyana’s eyes narrowed. Not long ago, she might have called Strigo a comrade. How had he become an enemy? She rose from the mud, beyond her thrush’s height, her feathers shifting to striped fur, and large nimble feet extending from bird claws.

             Recognition flooded Strigo’s eyes. “There’s only one vilskje odd enough to choose the raccoon as their dyr form. Ilyana.”

             “Yes. And shall I still call you Strigo the Stalwart? I’m not sure who you are anymore. Where is Siv?”

             Strigo growled, a sound more akin to a grizzly than a hawk. “Siv is dead. I tore him to pieces, and the rain washed away his remains.”

             Ilyana sat on her haunches. “I think you’re lying. I was watching closely. That flash knocked us both from the sky, and I’m not sure how I caught up to you. Whatever it was—it must have blasted you backwards.” She rose again, whiskers twitching. The corners of her mouth pulled into a smirk. “Father of Light! Siv got away, didn’t he??”

            Strigo cocked his head to the side, sizing her up. “That flash­ did send me tumbling, but not before I tore out the seer’s throat. The ground up ahead is soaked in his blood. Now, we report back.”

             She shook her head, whipping her tail around. “No. I really don’t think you did.” Her tone turned catlike. “You’re up to something, aren’t you? Yes. You were planning to let him escape all along! Maybe you even told him to flee in the first place.” She purred. “I think I’ve misjudged you, Strigo.”

             “Why would I help a traitor? Siv got what was coming to him! Now, let’s go.”

             Ilyana didn’t move. “I’d be more convinced if I saw this river of Siv’s blood for myself.”

             Strigo smote her under the chin, knocking her backward. He charged, more bear-like than hawk, and sent her sprawling on her back, where he pinned her in the mud by her throat. 

             Ilyana clawed wildly at the towering hawk, scratching his legs and drawing blood, but he bit one of her arms at the elbow and squeezed tight with his talons until she stopped squirming. 

             After a while, he eased from her throat. “Listen if you care to live,” he shrieked. “Siv is dead. Forget about him. Do you understand?”

             Ilyana stared into his eyes, searching for confirmation of the truth she so desperately sought. But she knew the Stalwart would give her no more, and, at long last, she nodded.

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