Copyrights: I don't own Drew, Doyle, or their parents. I...technically don't own the birdman; he owns himself. Or the Sumerians do, depending on how you want to look at it.

Author intent: The story is not meant to be Alternate Universe, though it depends on the readers' perspective whether or not it turns out that way.
The "story" is episodic in nature.
You know the drill. If you don't, please see my over-long author note at the beginning of chapter 1.

Timing: About half an hour or so following chapter 5. In spite of Anna's internal dialogue in chapter 6; she didn't actually know how much time had passed.

Language alert!
This chapter contains a small amount of swearing—exactly two words, if I recall correctly. I, like many authors on this site, have a particular aversion to swearing. I can't tell you how bad a story seems when an author overuses swear words. You see it often enough on TV, when a character's dialogue is so peppered with swearing that you start to wonder if they have Turret's syndrome. To me, such overuse suggests a lack of imagination on the author's part; it looks like they are unable to explain the situation (such as a description of a "rough" character) without resorting to vulgar language.
I realize that that isn't necessarily true of every writer that uses a lot of swearing; it just looks that way sometimes.
However, if I were to use the "brevity is the soul of wit" excuse—which, ironically, I rarely find elsewhere in my writing—there are times when a well-chosen swear word, or a few, is full of so much meaning that it could take pages to describe without it. For example, one character is surprised and/or angered by a certain turn of events, and responds with a certain curse word or other. In addition to the actual chosen word, and the situation that prompts it, how the word is said—shouted, muttered, spoken by itself or in describing something else—explains so much about the character's feelings about the situation, an explanation that could border on ridiculous if the author actually tried to describe it. And if the character (or the author/narrator) does not normally swear, so much more meaning is to be had in such a small word.
In short, I try to avoid swearing in my fiction, but I will use such words now and again if I deem them appropriate to the situation at hand. Whether I am successful in that venture is a matter of perspective.
You have been warned.

Avalanche!

Jonathon had not made much progress. He thought it had only been half an hour since he'd set out, but with this storm messing up his spells, why not his sense of time?

Drew was still very far away. He was desperate enough to try the compass spell again....

A wave of dizziness dropped him to his knees. It took precious minutes before the sensation passed. What the hell—? Was it the storm? He hadn't even cast the spell!

He shook his head. No. An alarm had triggered. Someone had gotten hurt. Who...?

Anna! Anna was hurt, hurt badly, and Doyle was scared. He had to help them...but...but he hadn't found Drew. He couldn't just leave his daughter, but...but his wife...his son....

Tears froze on his face. How could he consider leaving any of them, even for a moment? How could he possibly decide who to save? There had to be a way!

He opened his mind to call for help, any kind of help.

He received the last sort of answer he could have expected...or wanted.

"Such silly, stubborn things you mortals are," the birdman said. "You wander where you don't belong, and then you whine to the gods to protect you from your own mistakes." The creature seemed to grin. "Well, since I'm here, I may as well do my part. Mortals are much more entertaining than my brethren, anyhow." He generated a wave of fire that warmed Jonathon's body yet chilled his heart.

Jonathon's jaw dropped. "Anzu?" What was he doing here? This was not his land; they were not his people. Why would he...? How could he...?

"Why shouldn't I take part?" the birdman replied, though the questions had not been spoken. "One of your ancestors helped to entomb my brother, though the stage has been set to release him; when some fool mortal thinks to control him, both your children will become involved in the ensuing war. Am I wrong to take an interest?"

Jonathon shivered; it had nothing to do with the cold. Some would call Anzu a trickster, and he had not specified which brother had been entombed. Was he angry or glad? Was he here to give a reward...or seek revenge? And how quickly would he change his mind...?

"Enough questions, mortal," Anzu snapped. Jonathon cringed. "Return to your mate while you still can. I will keep your daughter safe...by mortal standards."

Jonathon's head shot up and he stared at the god. "What...what cost?" he forced himself to ask.

The god snorted. "My, aren't we the mercenary? I offer to help you, and all you can wonder at is cost."

"I know the legends, Anzu," Jonathon snarled. "The gods are well known for exacting some cost when they give aid. And—"

"And well we should. Else we'd have mortals whining at us with every little problem that they're too lazy to solve for themselves, or that they're stupid enough to wander where they don't belong...."

"—and you're a trickster. Your costs are likely greater even than the help you would give...."

"Greater than your daughter's life? Are you quite certain of that, mortal?"

Jonathon froze. Anzu had promised to protect Drew. He'd even promised that protection by mortal terms, so Jonathon shouldn't have to worry—much—about the god's interpretation. No cost could be greater than that...! Or could it? He was dealing with a god, a trickster...

Anzu made a sound in his throat. "I want your son, mortal."

"My...what? No! No, I can't promise that! I can't give him to you; he's not mine to give!"

Anzu raised an eyebrow. "Your son is...not yours?"

"You know what I mean, Anzu! I can't just let you..." Tears threatened to choke off his words. "...let you kill my son, not even to save my daughter! I don't have the right to make that choice; it isn't my choice to make!"

"'Kill?'" The god laughed at him. "Who said anything about killing him? I want his life, yes, but I want him alive. He wouldn't be nearly as entertaining if he were dead."

Entertaining? Jonathon shuddered. "I can't give him to you," he repeated.

"Not even to save your daughter; yes, I know. I suppose he'll be terribly disappointed, though. I'd hate to see the look on his face, when he learns you had one chance to protect his sister and you just left her to die."

Jonathon made a rude sound. He might have let a fellow mortal guilt him into that trap; he refused to be manipulated that way by a god. "I'd hate to see the look on Drew's face if she learned I sacrificed her brother just to save her." Anzu chuckled. "Not that I could call it a sacrifice, of course; it isn't my decision to make!"

"You mortals are such hypocrites," Anzu said with a sneer. "You had no problems stealing your mate away from her father. You didn't mind buying that apprentice of yours from his parents. But I ask for your son, and I'm making horrible demands?"

That's not the same, and you know it. Jonathon trembled. He'd promised himself he'd never use that excuse; even thinking it left a nasty taste in his mouth. "They chose—"

"Stubborn as a mortal...or as a god," Anzu sighed, though he did not bother to hide his amusement. "Very well. You return to your mate and son. I will protect your daughter from the storm, after which I will leave her alone, unless I am called upon in her favor. She doesn't interest me as does your son, so I've no reason to bother with her. I will act as your son's guardian, to ensure that he is prepared for the role he must play in the war with my brother. And when he is ready to make that decision, I will offer him the choice to serve me. The decision will be his alone. Should he refuse, I will exact no penalties."

Jonathon tried to suppress another shudder. It sounded good; it sounded too good.

And he was dealing with a trickster god.

Anzu heard that thought and snickered. "The only cost is that you will not interfere. You or your mate. Not with me, and not with his choice."

Jonathon gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to snarl again. He wanted to refuse, but what other choice was there? Abandon his daughter? Or abandon his wife and son? Or....

Take the damn deal, already. Jonathon sighed. Whatever trick the god had up his sleeve, Jonathon still couldn't see how it was worse than the alternative. Sorry, kids. Whatever happens...we'll just have to deal with it when it happens. He finally nodded. He refused to look up as the god flew away.

"And when I find out who caused this storm," he growled, "I'm going to bash his head in and seal off the spell with his own blood. Even if it's Anzu himself."

He staggered his way back to the campsite.

Wonder what Anzu has in mind for Doyle? I don't know, but I think that explains why I tend to be so mean to him, despite the fact that I'm a total fan-girl.
I'd come to the conclusion that one of my muses was a sadistic witch with a goddess complex—and please note, the word I had in mind was not "witch." If I'd said the word I had in mind, I would've insulted canines everywhere, and since I'm a wolf-nut....
Anywho....I'd come to the conclusion that one of my muses is a sadistic witch with a goddess complex, but seeing as I'm dealing with an actual god with a sadistic sense of humor...who knows?

Thought process:
Anzu "first" appeared in the Skinwalker storyline...in Ireland of all places. Why, you'll find out when you read the relevant chapters. Suffice to say it's based on one of my many "theories" regarding the presence of gods in the mortal world. Theories that exist in my fan-fiction and my original stories.