A World Reborn: Higher Reasoning

By Krista Gossett

In this second entry of the World Trilogy (Heroes, World, Universe Chronicles), those affected by the double-edged magic that awakens in them are joined by citizens of the secretive Felisfolk (cat human hybrids) and Kitfolk (fox human hybrids). Discover more about the secrets of the Sicatta and the boon and bane of these unknown powers. Their journey grows more demanding in light of the pursuit of other forces who want their powers at any cost.

An adult epic fantasy containing strong themes of sex, violence and morality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Krista Gossett
• Release date: Jul 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463634226

Krista Gossett

Krista Gossett is a professional graphic artist/illustrator as well as an author. Her first love was comic book art and video gaming which helped her develop an interest in creating her own worlds. Krista has two degrees in graphic design and would love to teach someday. Artists never retire. She also raises her two awesome nephews and hopes to always be a role model that encourages them to follow their own dreams as well.

Book preview

To El/Em/En/O/P and sometimes Y, Emily and Evan Roberts, my many-faceted friend who, through hell and high water still has a bridge to cross with me. I wanted to give you one of my grittier books for dedication, as promised.

Also, to Liz Link, another amazing friend and fellow artist who shares her stories, her art and many after-school cigarettes.

Childhood friends are the best friends to make again, as many times as it takes to get it right.

Chapter 1: Cat Burglar

He held his head under the water for far too long and his breath had expelled, his lungs in a panic response, but he needed a few seconds longer. There wasn’t much air left now, but he pressed his lips together and held on… 3…2…1…

Reylon threw his head back and gasped frantically, big greedy swallows of air, his shoulders heaving with the effort. He knelt beside the lazy riverbed and smiled with satisfaction.

Five minutes. A new record.

Felisfolk had a natural predisposition towards hating water, but Reylon had learned how to swim and now he worked on holding his breath. He couldn’t hold his breath nearly as long when he was swimming of course—the exertion cut it down to about 2/3 of what he could do just wading, but five minutes without a breath was better than anyone else he knew could do and he always strived to do better. Every couple days he would try to add another second, curious as to how far he could go. He had already learned some little tricks like where to hold the pressure, releasing short bursts of air when the pressure built too much…

He slowed his breathing and saw Meleka was watching him, a look of disapproval on her face and he grinned lopsidedly.

Meleka was Pantera tribe like he was—the tribes tended to keep to their own, it was just how Felisfolk were. Reylon was a bit of a loner even so. Pantera were descended from panthers and you need only tell them apart by their generous display of inky black fur. His tribe had special rules due to their coloring, a rarity even among the Felisfolk. His ears flicked at a fly buzzing around them. Like Bryfolk, Felisfolk did not have large ears, but they pointed slightly at the tip and those tips often had a light sprinkling of fur.

Meleka wore her hair short like most of their tribe. He was always the rebel though and while he shaved the sides and back very short, he let the rest grow very long and wore it in a ponytail at the back of his head. Sometimes he would let some of the little girls twist the strands into small braids and he’d wear it back like that.

Meleka started to walk away and Reylon shot to his feet and ran towards her.

You never answered my question, Reylon told her, his sharp canine teeth flashing for a moment when he grinned.

Meleka always wore more clothes than the average Felisfolk. Her father was Chief and she was highly prized. Although Reylon’s family held no high distinction or wealth, he and his father were Hunters and it was worthy of respect. Still, she sneered at him with distaste. He loved how her eyes were a brilliant shade of spring green. His own were amber gold, not as large as most of the Felis and it made him look untrustworthy with such a pronounced slant to them.

She kept her gaze on his face and he knew it unnerved her that he always ran around in little more than a loincloth and bone jewelry.

I told you I’m seeing Atuman. You’re just going to start trouble if you don’t stop, Reylon, Meleka told him with annoyance.

She left him standing there with a stupid grin on his face and he shrugged and headed back towards his home. His father was hunting today; Reylon would be joining the Hunters tomorrow but today had been his rest day. Rest days always made him restless, but having them at all was a sign that the tribe was prosperous and thriving. In hard times, there were never rest days, even holidays and celebrations were cancelled in favor of surviving.

Still dripping from his water exercises, he felt like running. Meleka was always leaving him frustrated and running was always good for that. He wasn’t so hung up on her that he didn’t distract himself with easier prey; quite the contrary, he was sure his antics weren’t exactly helping her take his feelings seriously. It was useless to do little but pine for a girl who made every effort not to like him.

Reylon dove into the river, darted across and broke into a run on the opposite bank.

Territories for the Felisfolk tended to be divided by rivers with the whole cats-not-liking-water deal. That tended to be the case for human settlements too, but to Reylon, the other Folk and humans seemed like tales altogether. On the other side of Genlon River, it was unclaimed territory though. If he went too far to the north, it got colder and he would eventually run into the snow leopard variant of the Pantera whom they called themselves the Oonshya. Their southern brethren were whispered to be assassins but they

didn’t associate with them. The inky black Pantera were, in truth, outcasts of other tribes of leopard and jaguar. When they interbred, most of their young were also melanistic (all black) but if they bore the markings of the Pardis or Onka tribes, they would go to be initiated into those tribes once they reached six years of age. There were rogue communities or free cities where families who didn’t wish to live in these groups or be separated from their families would but it wasn’t common. Felisfolk were rarely emotionally attached and were happy to send their outcasts to the tribe.

Reylon wasn’t entirely paying attention to how long he was running but knew he had gone too far when he could smell the snow and feel the chill of the north. It wasn’t upon him yet—you couldn’t accidentally run half a day into the start of the territory, but he could still feel the change in the air. He went into high alert when he heard a rustling to his left and spun to see two of the Oonshya, young men maybe a little older than himself, with hunting spears. Reylon hadn’t come armed but he was a Hunter and could put up a hell of a fight with his bare hands if needed.

What a strange looking Pantera, one of the men purred menacingly.

So far from home… purred the other.

Reylon resisted the urge to remind these two of the treaties between their tribes—it would only show how afraid he was.

They were looking at his skin. Felisfolk usually had human skin tones, but Reylon’s was a dark silvery grey. It lent more to his sinister appearance. The boys showed bravado, maybe stupidity, some false confidence in the strength of numbers perhaps. Usually his appearance alone made strangers steer clear. He could take on ten of their ilk.

As are you, he shot back softly, warning them with his eyes not to play games. They weren’t as far from home as he was, but unless more of their kind were trailing, they wouldn’t alert anyone with their screams here either. These weren’t hunting grounds and that was an easy enough thing to tell. There weren’t animal tracks here showing herds had passed through. There were no sources of water to draw prey and there wasn’t a whole lot of cover either. Given, the Felis could outrun many small animals, it was wasted energy and the north was less plentiful for food anyway.

I’m just passing through, Reylon said and meant to turn away.

There’s a toll, one shot out as the other laughed.

Reylon tensed. It was clear he wasn’t a traveler and he had nothing on him save the loincloth and they damn well knew it. If they intended to exact a body price, he had news for them—he wasn’t parting with any of his body parts and he wasn’t gay. Well, he was bisexual but he had standards.

After Meleka had shot him down (again), he really wasn’t in a mood to play at all.

Reylon scoffed, laughing bitterly and turned away. They acted as recklessly as he had hoped they would.

He could hear them rushing behind him and swung his foot up and around, a satisfying crack as his heel connected with one man’s jawbone. An enraged big cat snarl came from his friend and that friend had collided into his midsection, taking him from his feet to the ground. Reylon growled in anger as that one bit into his shoulder, drawing blood.

The other had recovered from the kick to the face and grabbed his arm and tore off Reylon’s loincloth, leaving him naked. He hated fighting naked. They had dropped their spears before charging which confirmed his worst fears that they didn’t just want their pound of flesh, but also utter humiliation. He planted his elbow into the face of the one that held him and it stunned him enough to pull away as he threw dirt in the face of the other. He used that momentum to roll away, diving for a spear and swinging it blindly behind him, knowing they would be on him again in an instant if he didn’t take the chance.

He sliced completely through the right leg of the one that had torn his loincloth away, the stump gushing blood instantly as he crumpled to the ground, screeching. The other had drawn a dagger and lunged ahead, but Reylon sidestepped it and swung the spear around, taking off the guy’s arm at the elbow. Reylon’s nostrils flared at the cloying scent of their blood and finished the guy off by driving the spear into his neck. The other was whimpering, dragging himself and leaving a blood trail. Reylon spun the spear and took his head.

Reylon hated every bit of this. Not that he had killed them—they intended to leave him broken and they deserved what they got. Standing here naked, covered in their blood, no place to hide the bodies and nowhere to clean himself off. He had been careless and there would be no way to stage that they had inflicted such injuries on each other. No one would be convinced that one could have a severed spinal cord while beheading someone at the same time or vice versa. He grabbed up his torn loincloth. There was still enough of it left to fashion it into a covering so he did that. He dropped the spear. He wasn’t taking anything with him to incriminate him later. He knew that regardless, this might very well cause a tribal war. Other tribes always seemed to be itching to start conflict with the rebel Pantera Tribe and he was loath to give them ammunition.

Felis were good at tracking so running straight back to the river he crossed by his tribe’s land was out of the question. In order to throw off suspicion, he would need to cover his tracks from the south then head northwest of here, towards the ocean itself and swim it until he reached the tributary that led into the river that would take him back home. He didn’t relish doing so—it would take all night and he would be home late. Hunters were never late. He would get no sleep but that was pale beside what punishment he would get for the delay. Still, they wouldn’t welcome the Oonshya coming for blood either so the choice was clear.

Reylon set about first covering his scent in the direction he came from. Messing too much with covering tracks sometimes made it more obvious. He was also aware if those men had been part of a larger group, time was of the essence in not being seen with their bodies. The scent of blood was making his mouth hang open a bit, dragging the strength of it more fully into his lungs. He didn’t want to eat them—he wasn’t mad or feral, but it was an irresistible pull.

There was no point in disguising his tracks away from here; he hoped they be more fixated on where he went than where he came from if he were to be pursued at all.

While the run to this point had been leisurely, he now ran for his life towards the mountains where it would be easier to hide, easier to draw their trail while making it harder to be caught. He wasn’t particularly bad at climbing either. He was anxious to get to the ocean but he had to be careful not to get careless. It was always possible that he would run into one of the Oonshya on the way and even if they didn’t suspect him now, they would have no problem identifying him later. Avoiding them at all costs was the safer bet.

Reylon’s lungs were burning by the time he reached the shoreline. He was so tempted to crash into the wet sand. He had drunk some icy cold water from a source at the foot of the mountain and munched on some root plants he found but for all the energy he expended, he was ravenous with hunger. Still so much longer to go.

He stumbled into the tide and fell into the water once it lapped at his waist. He wanted to wade there, catch his breath, but he rolled onto his back and started to backstroke. One thing he learned was that even if you were wounded, even if your muscles were tired, backstroke was the best way to relax your muscles and keep buoyant while still moving. He moved as far out from the shore as he could, remembering that if he could see them, there was a chance they could see him. Once night fell, it would be harder. He wouldn’t leave a trail in the already restless waves and his dark coloring would make him look like any other large fish in the water.

The bite on his shoulder was already scabbed over and he wasn’t bleeding elsewhere so he wasn’t worried about drawing larger marine predators either. If they were hungry enough to try, he had claws of his own.

Reylon concentrated so fully on swimming south now, already seeing stars peeking through the dusky sky, that he hadn’t noticed he had been pulled into a riptide and was being drawn far out to sea. When he switched to a wading stroke he looked back for the shore and started to panic. No tree line, no mountains, just the flat horizon of water everywhere he looked. He knew which clusters of stars would lead him back east, but there was no telling which direction the riptide had actually pulled him in and it could have pulled him way further south than the river he was looking for. He had never swam in an ocean before, never knew just how unpredictable its currents could be. He was tired and the water was cold, his muscles flagging from hours of running and swimming. He rolled into a lazy backstroke and said a silent mantra for strength.

Ten minutes of swimming, still no land… Fifteen… Twenty…

A sudden violent tug pulled his entire body in the opposite direction then up. He was cast in a giant net, steel cabled so there was no clawing or chewing free, sharing captivity with hundreds of large flopping fish. Reylon snapped one up and started munching it down, swallowing it in the mouthfuls he tore away. His eyes darted around wildly and he saw the ship that he hadn’t heard.

It was made of steel, shiny in the moonlight, a whirring motor starting up now as they kicked into motion. If it had been on before, he might have heard it coming. Reylon had never seen anything like it before; there were no machines or anything of its like on his homeland. Like the other Folk and humans, it always sounded more of a myth or a legend when he would hear mention of it.

The men on the deck were wearing some sort of rubber overalls and Reylon eyed them with suspicion and awe. They were humans, large men with round bellies but muscled arms. The one that was operating the crane arm holding the net he was caught in noticed him and stopped hauling the net in.

Hey, boss, we got one of those cat people in the net! he called out. He was younger than Reylon, with a freckled and pocked face and ordinary brown hair. He wasn’t round bellied like the older men on deck, but he was also not as muscled. He looked as scared and confused as Reylon did.

The big bald guy on deck squinted his eyes and sauntered over to look closer into the net.

Mean looking son of a bitch, that’s for sure, the bald guy said and spat. You speak the common tongue, boy? What the hell are you doing swimming in the middle of the damn ocean?

Reylon did speak the common language— if this guy knew anything about Folk, he’d know they all came from Vieres. The Felisfolk hadn’t just broke off and started their own language and writing systems. True, they had migrated to an uninhabited continent and stayed off to themselves, but they didn’t lose their history, however terrible it was.

I’ve never swum in the ocean before. It carried me too far from land, Reylon slowly explained, thinking it was painfully obvious.

You have a name? the bald guy asked.

Reylon fought the urge to sigh at the stupid questions. Of course he had a name. He had a feeling the actual question was what was his name.

Reylon. I am from Pantera Tribe, he said, not bothering to get too descriptive. He doubted this man knew anything about Felisfolk so it seemed useless to elaborate.

Sure, kid. Reylon, he corrected himself. I’m Rogar, this is Shenk— he pointed to the heavy guy with the thinning salt and pepper hair. —and the kid is Gripp. Seems you owe us for the stolen fish so sit tight and we’ll see about you paying off your debt.

Reylon grabbed the net frantically.

Bring me back to my homeland. I am a Hunter, they will pay you well for my return, Reylon said hopefully.

Sorry, kid, you’re worth your weight in gold in Vieres. They don’t see many Felisfolk around those parts.

Reylon panicked and shook the net ineffectually, snarling in fear and anger. Seems he had bigger problems than missing the Hunt in the morning.

Chapter 2: One in the Hand

Calyra knew that slipping away on her own probably wasn’t the safest course, even in a sleepy place like this. She was always aware of how much she stuck out everywhere she went. Her father’s genetic coloring combined with her mother’s look made her a striking picture, standing out even in Reishefolk populated cities. The wings certainly didn’t help. In a small town like this, there simply was no getting around unnoticed.

She liked the simple fences, just rough split trunks fitted into other split stumps. The trees here did not have leaves, most of them surviving in this area due to their long thin needle-like fingers that required little water or sunlight to thrive. She had seen them before, of course, but somehow she was just noticing things more keenly. Moving about on her own often had that effect on her. It heightened not only her sense of adventure, but also her senses altogether. She wanted to be more aware when she didn’t feel watched. Unless you counted the fact that Arred was shadowing her, but he was skilled enough not to make noise or follow too close.

In truth, all of Arred’s talk about love had left her feeling troubled. It wasn’t something she could pinpoint. It just didn’t make sense to her how the horrible way she treated him could ever cultivate affection. Maybe he always saw it as her defense against her true feelings, but even so, how could anyone be that charitable or tolerant? She was glad she didn’t have to keep being unkind, but in a weird way, she wanted to be cruel and believe he was stupid again. Maybe not for what it was at face value, but because she was now associating it with feeling safer, in simpler times. She really didn’t want to think about that amazing kiss and how his words danced across her spine when he hinted at what would happen if she kept tempting him.

Sneaking out of a window to be alone really wasn’t ensuring her safety though.

Calyra kept checking behind her, not sure where Arred was but not sure she should just blindly trust he would have her back. Still, her wings made her very self-conscious; they were flags on her back signaling who she was, what she was. Be careful what you wish for, she thought. You just might get it. How badly she had wanted to fit in, to have the wings of her father’s people. Now that she did, her life certainly wasn’t easier. She thought of her mother, confined to her chairs, and wished she could give these wings to her. Her legs might be useless but she would still have some independence with wings to carry her about.

She didn’t dare follow the dirt roads though; it would be far too easy to be spotted. It wouldn’t do any good to just completely go off the beaten path either so she moved alongside the path but hugged along the sparse tree line. A little too closely sometimes since she would smack a wing against a trunk at times. Her frustration increased as her wings rustled in the high grass and weeds as well. She was about as stealthy as a lumbering drunk.

The road went down towards a village common, a small market, the heart of the small town. She could see mountains off in the distance and the wintery chill in the air was evident. Calyra had wanted to go straight north, but there had been an avalanche on the main road and Arred decided they should detour. Not just moving a bit more east; he wanted to go far to the east of Vieres, to pass the Merchant Roads and head into the valley that had once been abandoned by living humans and inhabited by wraiths. The area had been dotted by ghost towns then and her father had told her about it, how on one of his foolish childhood adventures, he had ended up in the deserted port town, ending up on a ghost ship and very nearly dying. As terrifying as that sounded, if it hadn’t happen, he wouldn’t have met her mother or helped his friends save the world. It was a lot to take in.

Calyra didn’t really have any reason to be so impatient to move north. Once she thought about it, it might be a good story to bring home to her parents. As well traveled as they had been, neither of them had traveled back to that area since the wraiths had been pushed out. Maybe she wouldn’t tell them at all. It would serve them right for their half-truths.

There were barbarian tribes dotted across the area and while they would be crossing through a frigid area as they moved northeast, the valley where the port city sat was warm and temperate, the mountains around it seeming to create a bubble of warm air. The mountains ended several miles before the ocean, however and they could easily move east then north towards the Diviner settlement to the northwest. It was a huge detour, but Calyra actually welcomed the delay into the snowiest parts of the north. Her father might be from the north, but she was certainly her mother’s daughter and preferred the warmer climes.

The people milling around in the lower part of the village proper made her feel a bit homesick. There were some focused on their tasks, selling wares to feed their family or bargaining for a good price. Some were carefree and unhurried—young men flirting with the naïve village girls, children chasing each other and nearly knocking over their mothers diving under their skirts to get away. It was the sort of scene that marked prosperity and that tinge of homesickness mixed with pride for the town her own father had grown from a derelict manor house into a place where people