Scarred Man (5 page)

How much of it is mine?

How much of it is Korbinian's?

He closed his eyes again, unable to prevent the visions of the people he had killed parading before him. Waarde, Ileki, the slaves, Korbinian and his
clan. Other faces, other nameless faces stared accusingly at him. He saw the people in the arena, soldiers, slavers, women — a red-haired woman with startlingly green eyes screamed noiselessly as his Claw smashed into her head. Slave shook his head to try to clear the images, but they would not leave him alone.

He lay back onto the ground. His body ached from too many wounds and his mind ached from too many deaths. Slave suddenly drove himself to his feet and staggered away, weeping, retching and not once looking back.

The scars.

The scars across the face.

Tatya moved quickly among the bodies, examining those with faces still intact. Every one of these creatures had the same scars — some real, some drawn. Many had only one eye, others had coloured an eyelid silver.

The images that had haunted her sleep, taunted her mind, were these scars dragged across the faces of these nearly human creatures that lay scattered like fallen leaves in this northern forest. She knew now that these things, these bulky, large-eyed creatures were the underdwellers. The humans, as was their wont, had given them a name. But what were they doing above ground? Why had a julle pack killed so many? The scattered bodies of julle told her that they had fought back ferociously, but the sets of tracks departing this place told her neither pack had been destroyed.

Tatya was heading north.
She had to keep going north.

Had to lose herself in the wastes.

Had to allow the brutal north to cleanse her mind and soul.

Had to keep going.

She tore off a chunk of flesh for the journey and loped north, only coincidentally following the tracks of the remaining human-like creatures. As she ran, enjoying the feel of earth beneath her feet rather than snow, she allowed the new scents to cover her aching needs. She smelt the trees, the small rodents that scurried out of her way, the birds above her, the hints of the julle who claimed this hunt as their home, the humans who passed this way and the bittersweet bite of death. The way north was occasionally interrupted by bodies of the underdwellers who had run this way before her. She felt no need to pause and examine any of them; they were dead and of no more interest to her. Prey was plentiful, her colouring was good here and she was unknown. Her methods, strength and speed were unexpected so food did not know how to counter her.

If it weren't so cold, she could live here.

If she didn't have to keep heading north.

But she had to keep going north.

 

The days passed unnoticed in a comfortable flow of running, hunting and sleeping. No humans troubled her, no more dreams disturbed her nights, and she even relaxed slightly as she headed north. The hunting was good and, with these creatures unused to her, easy as well. She became sleek again, her coat regained the shine it had lost during her journey north and her eyes were once more keen.
The ground beneath her paws was again soft and yielding with the build-up of leaf litter. There were even birds in the air to warn her of things that might creep and stalk. And there were plenty of those here.

The nights were bitter cold, full of icy winds and rising chill from the near-frozen earth, but the tree roots, leaves and things that crawled deep under the surface kept it from becoming the unwelcoming tundra. She often slept off the ground, nestled in spreading branches, protected by shadows, height and night creatures that swarmed and scurried.

She almost forgot the driving urge that kept her heading north. Almost.

She slowed her passage and allowed herself to glory in the life of the simple predator. She hunted by day, hunted by night, ate until sated and slept when she was tired. The time passed easily, unnoticed, as she grew strong once more. With effort, Tatya as hunter forced the face, the need, the urge, the link to the back of her mind and satisfied her hungers amid the rich life of the northern forest. The great wastes further to the north called to her, but their voice was muted by the ancient trees, dimmed by a full belly and warm ears.

There were times when she abandoned her primary form and scurried about in her secondary form. As a rodent, she gripped the earth more closely, felt it more deeply. She rested amid the comfort of ages, far removed from the conflicts that had raged across and through these ancient woods.

The problem was that while scurrying amid the living woods, she was also more subject to the
stirrings of life, the memories held in the roots of these trees that had survived so much.

Flashes of the great battles between Scaren and Mertian flickered through her mind.

Scenes of the mystical conflagrations troubled her.

Memories of the great powers of old, now reduced to Revenants, stalked these woods.

Their final throes, so far from death throes, still echoed through the primeval earth.

Whenever she scurried, she became at once at peace with the world and troubled by the life that scarred its surface.

She could not stay rodent for long.

 

But such times are rare and short-lived. Hers came to an end one afternoon as the sun was sliding down towards the horizon. A new scent, one that had been nagging at the edge of her senses for a while, came into its full strength.

More bodies.

Charred wood.

Death.

Human detritus.

Tatya slowed to a walk when she noticed the first human body. It had been dead long enough to have attracted the scavengers, but not so long to have lost its story. This one had been killed by a weapon. She stopped and sniffed. Her nose wrinkled at the astringent sting of one of the weeds these humans sometimes ate. This one would have died soon anyway, even without the weapon.

It was female.

Tatya moved ahead more carefully. Slower. Senses alert. Mane and crest prickling with barely controlled tension. The scent of death continued to grow, as did the number of bodies, both human and underdweller. Soon she came upon a building. It had been burned, reduced to rubble and char. Before its destruction, it would have been large, round perhaps. It would have housed many humans before the underdwellers came and killed them all.

A sound.

Movement.

Walking.

Ears twitched forward. Nose seeking the source.

A human.

Walking slowly, it approached her. She gave a low growl in warning, but the human kept coming. If anything its pace increased.

The human came into view.

It was male. Old and feeble, he neither posed a threat nor offered a meal. She was about to ignore him when he addressed her.

‘Shapeshifter,' he said. ‘You are a long way from home. What brings you this far north?'

Tatya growled and raised her mane in threat but the old human did not falter, nor did he show fear. Instead, he held her eye and continued approaching. She held her ground, allowing her growl to deepen, her mane to rise to its full extent. Her teeth showed white against the black of her raised upper lip. At last the human stepped back; a pleasing wash of fear flooded out from him. She stepped forward and was pleased to see the human step back again.

She was less pleased at the sudden scent of another human close behind her. With a snarl, she went to turn, but the heavy blow to the base of her skull was too quick. Stars exploded behind her eyes and she dropped unconscious to the ground.

 

Pain.

Restraints.

More pain.

She opened her eyes to stare up at the old human.

‘Do not struggle, shapeshifter,' he said. ‘You are securely bound, even allowing for your particular nature.'

Tatya struggled nonetheless. She had been moved while unconscious, and was now in a damaged room. The walls were scorched and the roof had more gaps than solid sections. Through the gaps, she could see that night had fallen.

The old human showed his teeth, so Tatya showed hers. She knew the intent was different, but pretending ignorance was a game she played often and well. To test the words, she shifted into her lesser form, but the human had spoken well. The bonds shifted with her, retaining their grip.

Sorcery!
Tatya shifted back into her major form and spat at the old human in disgust.

‘You did well, Ilmari,' the old one said, looking over the top of Tatya's head at the other human.

‘I told you it would work, Wielder,' he replied.

‘So you did, Ilmari, so you did.' The Wielder of the Key lowered himself slowly and with great difficulty until he was seated cross-legged on the
ground in front of Tatya. He stared intently into the shapeshifter's red eyes. ‘Now,' he mused, ‘what are we going to do with you?' His long, spindly fingers moved erratically across his knees as he sat. Tatya shifted her gaze down to watch them as they danced and skittered like unsteady insects. ‘I think I know just the thing for something like you, shapeshifter.'

The fingers stopped their distracting motion as the Key Wielder raised his hands. The man called Ilmari stepped forward and, gripping the old man's hands, helped him to his feet.

‘Keep watch on her,' the Wielder told Ilmari. ‘I will return soon.'

Despite the cold, Tatya decided that once the old man had left, it might be time to try her other form. She shifted into her human shape. With her teeth bared in the confusing human custom, she gave Ilmari her best sultry stare.

‘You are not human, shapeshifter,' Ilmari said stiffly. ‘No matter what you look like, you are still a beast, an animal. Your inhuman wiles are not effective.'

‘Your words lie, human,' Tatya said. The human's scent was rich, redolent with fear and growing desire. ‘Surely we can play, just a little.' She looked down at where her skin was responding to the cold. The human's eyes followed her gaze down, resting predictably on her breasts. ‘It is getting cold,' Tatya went on. ‘I need to warm up. Could you help me?'

The human's scent shifted further into desire, rapidly overcoming fear.
Not long now.

Ilmari stepped back abruptly. ‘You are not human,' he repeated.

‘Really?' Tatya said. She writhed sinuously, offering the human a fuller view of her body. The cold was beginning to bite. Unless she was successful soon, she would have to shift back to the warmer form. Snow drifted in through a gap in the roof, bringing with it the promise of painful cold. Tatya hooded her eyes and curled her body. Ilmari took half a step forward.

Very close.

Cold.

Biting cold seeping into an unprotected body.

Deep, aching shivers starting, moving up through legs.

More snow drifted down onto uncovered skin.

Curse this naked form!

A growl escaped her lips as her control over her form failed completely in the face of the brutal cold. She shifted into her primary form, the large black feline with yellow mane and ridge running the length of her spine.

Ilmari sprang back. ‘Ice and wind!' he gasped.

Tatya snarled, her anger at her own weakness battling with her anger at her failure. Her claws slid out, unsheathing like curved daggers, seeking out the restraints. Even so soon after shifting, her instincts to struggle, to rend, to escape, to draw blood were strong.

So different from the instincts of her secondary form.

To hide, not fight.

To gnaw, not tear.

To flee, not devour.

The restraining bonds tightened, seeming to slide away from her seeking claws. Ilmari stepped closer and swung a powerful kick at her head. His boot landed hard, sending a burst of agony screaming through her. Her snarl shifted up to a yowl of fury. She slashed at his foot, but the bonds stayed strong, reducing her attack to a humiliating thrashing about.

‘Ilmari!' The old one had returned. He stood in the ruined doorway and glared at Ilmari. ‘Do not hurt her. She is precious, and so very rare.'

Ilmari bowed and stepped away from Tatya as the other human shuffled in.

‘Now, shapeshifter,' the Wielder said. ‘My name is Joukahainen and I think we can be of great service to each other.' Stiffly, with Ilmari's steadying hand, the old human lowered himself to the ground to sit beside her.

Tatya stopped moving and snarled at him, showing her teeth in defiance. The old one showed his in reply.

Feeble, yellowed teeth.

Small and blunt.

His breath is rancid with rot.

Old thing is not long for life.

Even shorter when she escaped these sorcerous bonds.

‘Just lie still, shapeshifter,' Joukahainen murmured. ‘This won't take long.' He pulled a small bowl out from under his robe and placed it on the ground between them. Into it he poured a powder. Tatya's heart rose as she recognised the ritual.

Next the liquid.

Then the flame.

Then the yellow smoke.

The ritual played out exactly as she remembered it. Her head swam as the pungent smoke wafted towards her, filling her nostrils and lungs with its powerful narcotic haze. She saw images, they danced across her mind, telling their own bizarre, disjointed tales of adventure, pain and subjugation. Tatya let the tale play itself out in her mind before uttering a low growl and feigning sleep.

The bonds would come off.

Someone would die.

Then she would run.

Head north.

Away.

Flee and hide from it.

Hide.

Joukahainen rocked back on his heels, his eyes a mystery.

‘Well, well, shapeshifter,' he muttered. ‘You poor thing.' He chuckled as Tatya opened her eyes to stare balefully at him. ‘Let's see what we can find out about it, and turn it to my advantage.' He discarded the bowl and the burning powders before reaching his skeletally thin fingers out to grip Tatya's head. She tried to pull away, to better rip at the grasping hands, but again the sorcerous bonds defeated her.

Once the bony fingers gripped her head, she was wrenched around to face the old human. His eyes bored into hers, his powerful mind battering away at her defences, smashing its way through to the core of her terror, her despair, her need to flee.