If you have not yet read “All Of Us Monsters,” I highly recommend that you STOP NOW! Major spoilers ahead!

If you have finished book one, please enjoy the working prologue of book two in the Essence of Magic series.

Prologue: Kathiria

My world was dark. 

It was a dichotomy of hot and cold, confinement and freedom. I was utterly exposed and totally trapped, unaware of why or how, my knowledge reduced to dust as I floated aimlessly in a state of in-between. It could have been minutes, it could have been months, but my body was undone. I was a disembodied spectre, a spirit, a forgotten memory lost to the wind. It was queerly torturous, eerily blissful…

And it ended without warning.

Light and sound and tactile sensation slammed into me all at once, returning with a sharp surge of pain as my re-stitched body crashed into a surface hard and unforgiving. I groaned, then swallowed, registering how rusty my vocal chords were from lack of use. And something wet was trickling down my skin. Was that… rain? 

With great effort I peeled my eyes open, the lids like sandpaper. I was outside, and the dark of night surrounded me; a fact I thanked the great spirits for, since the intensity of sunlight would surely have had my touchy senses reeling. I looked up, seeking the orienting sight of the moon and stars above, but they were concealed by a thick layer of leaking clouds. 

I felt behind me, my fingers sliding over the jagged rock pressed against my back. Squinting through the dark and droplets, I deduced that I was in a landscape of similar craggly boulders, outlined by massive summits with points like knives that jutted into the sky. A sea of sloping, stony foundation, as far as the eye could see. I shivered viciously, unsure if the root cause was adrenaline, fear, chill, or confusion. Where was I? 

And who was I?

I wrapped my arms around my legs, strings of long, wet blonde hair tangling in my shriveled fingers. Hazy, partial memories flashed across my memory. The feel of smooth serpentine scales, the whoosh of an overpowering wind… 

A voice, deep and desperate, calling out my name. 

Instantly my heart surged in my chest, my brain evoking the shadowy form of a monstrous creature, a man but more, tall and strong and… featureless, in my scrambled memory. Want, and guilt, and a host of other emotions I couldn’t understand the source for flared, near to the point of pain. What had he called out? What was my name? Tears of frustration welled. Perhaps they overflowed, mixing with the rain drops that ran down my face, but it was impossible to tell. 

Something had happened to me, that much was clear. Something that had a direct hand in my current state of strandedness and amnesia, but I couldn’t remember what. The realization induced a horrible, bubbling anxiety in my chest, but I couldn’t allow it to paralyze me. If I wallowed here, I would freeze to death; my instincts knew that much. I breathed deeply, willing myself to hone in on the most immediate of my predicaments: the elements. I needed to find shelter, and warmth. I needed to move.

Clumsily I stood, my legs like jelly. Water ran down my thighs, bringing to my attention the fact that I was completely naked. I wondered why. Yet another riddle to add to my growing list of questions, I thought dryly, but it was not the time to unpuzzle that one. I crossed my arms over my bare chest, re-focusing by again surveying my graded surroundings. 

I was clearly smack dab in the middle of a mountain range, and somehow, it didn’t feel completely foreign to me. Recognition teased the edges of my consciousness as I surveyed the collection of dark slopes. I squeezed my eyes shut, leaning into a cloudy visual as it formed; the outline of a fabric map, a tapestry hanging on a stone wall. A depiction, I assumed, of the place I was from. 

Rolling waves sewn in blue threads were situated down at the bottom, the map’s Southernmost point. Grass and trees and rivers wound above it, and at the very top of the depiction, a mountain range. Stitched by dark gray, it stretched across the tapestry, creating a domineering Northern border. The peaks and rocks embroidered to create the range’s image were sharp, and treacherous, and dense, just like the landscape surrounding me. And there was a name sewn across them, thick white letters that said…

I gasped out loud as it came to me. The North Mountains! That’s where I had to be! 

A shot of warmth spread through me at the small success. The name did nothing to help me directionally, but the triumph of recovered memory was motivating, and I took a determined but careful step forward. With my bare feet and the extra slickness caused by the rain, the jagged terrain felt especially dangerous. Just a single slip could cause me to tumble down one of the many drop-offs, where I’d likely be impaled by a blade-like spike. Again I breathed deeply to stave off panic, inching myself over boulders, slippery stones, and a few intriguing black hunks that were more like glass than rock. 

Eventually I crossed into a sort of natural tunnel between two cliff faces, receiving some glorious momentary protection from the rain. At the far end of the pass, a slight glow was visible, and my insides fluttered with excitement. Could there be fire waiting at the end of the stretch? The idea of warm licking flames was nearly enough to send me into sobs of want.

My energy was fading. A horrible raw hunger had set in, and I thought of my strange stint in the in-between, wondering now that my body was whole again how long it had been since I had eaten. I swallowed and pressed on toward the light, trying to ignore how the tingling in my limbs had stopped. Numbness couldn’t be a good thing. 

I finally emerged from the pass, coming to an immediate screeching halt. The shaft had opened up on the edge of a very high cliff, a precipice that dropped farther than I dared consider. But it wasn’t the drop alone that had rendered me frozen in place. 

Below me, nestled in a bowl-like valley of rock, was a city. A network of quadrilateral grey-stone structures spidered and spread, climbing even the sides of the valley, where many had been built into the rock faces themselves. The candles in their countless windows flickered in the dark, illuminating the numerous stretches of stairs and bridges that traversed gaps in the interconnected web. It was terraced township so complex, my eyes didn’t know where to settle. 

And at the very center of it all was a kind of palace. I gawked at the structure, slightly elevated above the surrounding city, a collection of turrets as sharp as the spires of the mountains that encircled them. Carved into the railing of a great balcony that circled one of the turrets in a complete circle was a long line of female statues; like mermaids, etched into a ship mast. They stared down into the city like guardians, each one oozing regality in their long flowing robes, the crowns adorning their heads. Every one of them was blonde-haired, tall and lean in body.

I cocked my head, staring at the collection with interest. It was too many women to count, and they appeared to extend all the way around to the side of the balcony I couldn’t see from my vantage point. There was an obvious disparity in when each piece had been erected; some of the statues were brightly-colored and smooth, appearing much newer. Others were faded, their colors muted from weathering. Still, the collection appeared clean and relatively well-kempt, overall, as if someone who lived in the city of rock was posted to the balcony every so often and charged with the task of scrubbing them.

Well, all except for one. My eyes shifted to the most decrepit statue of them all, the most ancient among them, situated in the very center of the lineup. Unlike the others, this statue appeared to be skipped over on cleaning days… and that was putting it mildly. She was chipped, abused, horribly faded, her stony form crawling with damp spongy moss. There were speckles of obvious mold crawling up her stained, yellowed robe. A fern had sprung up in a notch in her crown, covering the collection of dulled gemstones imbedded in the accessory. Despite the statue’s decolorization, I could still make out the ocean-blue of the woman’s irises, the white-blonde of her hair. So blonde, it was almost white. 

I fingered my own tangled strands, my empty stomach curdling with unexplainable unease as I took notice of one additional feature I hadn’t upon first glance: two appendages, poking out from the woman’s mane of pale tresses. The tips, I realized, of pointed ears. I looked from statue to statue, realizing that all the women had them. Curious, I reached up to brush my own ears, finding them smooth on the ends. I frowned, but my curiosity ended before it could develop further. 

Because from behind me, in the shadows of the cliffs, a booming voice called out:

“Halt!”

This startle was a last straw. Combined with starvation and adrenaline, my already-shaky emotions cracked, and I was pushed over a ledge I didn’t know existed. Before I knew what was happening, my body was morphing and changing, but I wasn’t afraid. I felt only relief as the claws sprang forth from my paws with fervor, comfort as my limbs lengthened, consolation as my muscles expanded and rippled with power…

But as I shifted into the form of a giant wolf, whipping around to face my unexpected assailants, something else sprang from my body. Something that didn’t carry with it the same level of familiarity as my fur and muzzle. 

Something new.