Nina Berry: Othersphere

I shook my head and pulled away. He was about to find out where I’d been. He wasn’t going to like it. “Amaris. Ximon took her. I’m getting everyone together to tell them what happened. Come to the living room.”

How different it was from the first day I’d set foot in Morfael’s school. It was hard to believe that just a few months ago I had no idea there were thousands of shifters living secretly in the world with a school that took in a troubled teen from each of the five tribes to help them make it safely to adulthood.

One of those teens was now dead—the laconic, kind, handsome bear-shifter Siku had been killed by the Tribunal six weeks ago, just a day after he and our friend November had declared their love for each other.

When Lazar and I walked into the room together, November cast London an expression of mock-alarm, raising her eyebrows, and shooting her eyes over to Caleb.

London gave her back a slight headshake.

Great. So our weird, tense little triangle hadn’t gone unnoticed. At least in a regular high school, my dating life would’ve been less obvious. When Lazar sat down, I deliberately chose a different couch. Best to stay focused on Amaris’s disappearance and let my stupid love life not even be an issue.

November was on the couch holding a giant bag of potato chips. She looked like the same petite, pointy-faced girl with pixie hair, except for the black circles under her eyes. But Siku’s death had changed the rat-shifter at an atomic level. She remained a casual smart-ass on the outside, but inwardly she was consumed with a bottomless rage, most often aimed at me.

“So Dez secretly followed Amaris.” November popped a chip in her mouth and crunched down on it loudly. “Keeping secrets and trying to control everyone as usual, I see.”

“It’s a good thing she did,” said Arnaldo, “or Caleb would be gone, too,”

I shot Arnaldo a grateful look. He was the eagle-shifter of the group, and he’d matured a lot in the last month. I’d turned his alcoholic father in to Child and Family Services for abusing his sons, and Arnaldo had stepped in to take care of his two younger brothers while his father finished an outpatient treatment program. The situation was promising so far. Mr. Perez was staying sober, sticking to his regimen, and determined to find a job so he could take care of his boys again. Meanwhile, Arnaldo had brought Cordero and Luis to stay at the school until he graduated in a couple of months. They were both asleep down in the boys’ dorm room at the moment, but during the day they added a lot of crazy energy to classes.

“I saw her leaving and followed because I didn’t think it was safe for her to go anywhere alone,” I said.

I cast a glance over at Lazar. He hadn’t said a word since he walked in the room and saw Caleb there. He sat in a chair, elbows on his knees, eyes on his clasped hands, face unreadable.

“My father thinks Othersphere is where evil originates,” he said, his normally deep, expressive voice flat. “Sending Amaris there makes no sense, unless he’s developed some crazy new dogma.”

Caleb shot a black glare at his brother. “As if his belief that the otherkin are demons in human form is sane?”

Lazar met Caleb’s look stoically. “I’m otherkin, too,” he said. “I’m a caller of shadow now, not an objurer. Morfael’s been training me himself these last few weeks. I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

“You have everything to prove.” Caleb’s voice was a growl.

“I’ve been here, every day,” Lazar said in a hard tone. “I didn’t run away.”

“You ran the day that mattered,” Caleb said with venom. “The day you killed my mother. You shot her and ran away.”

“That’s enough,” Morfael said in a voice that brooked no argument. Our spindly teacher was clad in black that made him look like a statue made of bone and onyx.

The brothers shut their mouths in twin grim lines. It was confusing having them both in the same room. So similar, so familiar. Unlike Caleb, though, Lazar had grown up under Ximon’s twisted care, which had effectively brainwashed him into killing a number of people. One of those people had been Caleb’s mother. I understood why Caleb hadn’t forgiven Lazar, but then he didn’t know Lazar’s deepest secret.

I did, and it had forged a bond between us, one I couldn’t explain to Caleb without betraying Lazar. That, among other things, had pushed Caleb to break up with me and leave the school. Lazar hadn’t even tried to hide how happy the breakup made him. He’d made sure to find me alone and talk to me, hugging me tight when I cried about losing Siku, listening whenever I needed to talk. Although I’d never talked about the other reason I was crying. I never talked about Caleb.

“How did Ximon do it?” I asked into the quiet. “He didn’t use any kind of device to open up that window to Othersphere, not one that I could see. He just sang out, ‘Now,’ and it popped open.”

“We can wonder how and why Ximon did it all we want,” London said. “The real question is—how do we get Amaris back?”

Morfael was staring at me, motionless, with his glittering, colorless eyes.

“We have to go to Othersphere and get her,” Caleb said.

“How you gonna do that?” November was licking salt off her fingers. “I know Dez was born there, but it’s not like she can just go back any time she wants.”

“Morfael can,” I said.

The others stirred, turning to stare at our teacher. They didn’t know what I did. Morfael didn’t stop me as I said, “Morfael’s a shadow walker.”

“What the hell?” November was surprised enough to stop eating for a moment.

Lazar leaned forward. “What does that mean, exactly?” And I remembered that growing up inside the Tribunal meant he didn’t have the same background knowledge the shifter kids had.

“Shadow walkers are legendary beings,” Arnaldo said, his eyes on Morfael. “Well, I guess they actually exist. But the legend says they belong to none of the many worlds, but can move easily between them.”

“The legends are basically correct,” Morfael said. “There are an infinite number of worlds which exist alongside each other, and the shadow walkers are the only beings who move unhindered between them.”

“So you’ve been to Othersphere,” London said. “You can guide us to find Amaris there.”

As was his habit, Morfael took his time answering. “I have been there,” he said at last. “It is the world that lies closest to your own, which is why when you shift, your shadow forms come from there, and why callers of shadow like Caleb and Lazar can draw objects forth from that world. Because it is so close, it is possible for creatures other than shadow walkers to move between that world and this. But only with great effort.”

“What’s it like?” Arnaldo asked. “Is the sky blue? Can we breathe the atmosphere?”

London looked alarmed. “We’d better, or Amaris is dead already!”

“That world is very similar to this,” Morfael said. His voice was dry, not soothing, but London breathed easier. “With a blue sky and atmosphere you can breathe. It is a world where nature runs rampant and no race has learned to work metal. It is a world without silver, too, which is why Dez is so allergic to that metal, and indeed to all worked metal and technology. Because she is from Othersphere, her vibration interferes with that which is truly alien to her world.”

“Which is why I can’t wear a watch and don’t carry my phone around much,” I said. “But what . . .” I hesitated, fearful of the answer I might get to this question. Still, I was dying to know. “Are the people I come from there? The Amba?”

Morfael’s glittering eyes assessed me, as if deciding how much to say. “The Amba are currently the ruling class in Othersphere,” he said. “Not only are they able to change shape into that world’s version of a tiger, but they have an innate connection to everything in that world—the air, the earth, the plants, which allows them to control some of the weather and terrain. They can ask certain plants to grow into useful or pleasing shapes, or request the earth to crack open and create a new valley. Their tiger forms are bigger, stronger than the tigers that dwell here. Many animals there are larger versions of the ones you find here.”