Talon (The Astor Chronicles Book 1) (4 page)

‘I’m a little too young,’
she said.
‘My first heat, as you call it, is probably not far away. But I asked about you. Do people come into heat as well?’

‘Nay,’
I replied.
‘It’s not quite like that for us. Mating… well… sex is part of what we call marriage, a lifelong commitment to love and support another person.’

‘Is that what we have? A marriage?’

I laughed.
‘No but I’m sure the commitment level is similar.’

‘So you will marry a female of your own kind some day?’
she asked hesitantly.

‘Yes,’
I replied,
‘but I haven’t met her yet.’

The icetiger sniffed the air and tossed her head. She continued investigating the house for ages and barely noticed when Bessed and Drea called me outside to talk. Drea hugged me tightly, tears in her loving, green eyes. I led her to the door where she could peer in at the ferocious cat prowling around inside my house.

‘Oh she’s glorious, Talon, simply wonderful. Where did you find her?’

I told her the story about the cave and the sardines. She laughed and exchanged glances with Bessed, who looked preoccupied.

Dozens of others came to visit that afternoon, looking in on the icetiger with reverence and imparting a few words of wisdom, which was Jaria’s custom. Only one of the masters attended us, Archive Master Namal.

Perhaps the others had got used to the idea of me being without any of the Astor gifts. Did they see it as a punishment for the rebellious days of my youth?

By the age of ten I had stolen from just about every house in Jaria, but I always gave back what I took the next day. Each time my father had found out about one of my misdeeds, there had been a long talk and much arguing. I remembered having shouting matches with him, which sometimes led to physical punishment.

One time I had helped my older sister, Ella, sneak out to see a boy, my father caught me. Ella managed to get away while Father was taking me to the village centre to be “corrected”. He assumed I was on my way to steal something again.

After Mandus died Ella assumed the role of caregiver. She was twenty, single and beautiful, with dark ochre skin and red-brown hair. Like all brothers and sisters we had our conflicts, but, for that one year of my life, I was happy. The guilt stabbed me even now that I had only been able to be happy after my father had died. A small voice inside spoke on my behalf, reminding me that the Mandus I knew died with my mother, seven years before his actual death.

The Zeikas had taken my family from me, just as they had killed or kidnapped so many other Jarians. They had been exiled from Telby since before I was born, but that didn’t stop them coming to Jaria, which was outside the king’s protection. For religious reasons I did not understand, the elders of Jaria had always refused amalgamation with Telby, preferring the status of ally. But Telby’s kings weren’t known for their generosity, and those nations they could not conquer were usually considered enemies.

I read a Zeika propaganda flyer once. The words spoke of immortality in this life, with powers that brought exultation, riches and women. It encouraged the reader to make the journey to Reltland, the island once known as Kaslonica, where the Zeikas ruled, and become one of them. I had thrown it in the fire.

When it started to get dark people retired to their own homes and fireplaces. I dined with Bessed and Drea, in their house, discussing everything from the weather to the lack of fish in the rivers around Jaria. The icetiger insisted on sitting next to me, even though she panted with stress from the strange noises and smells. Eventually we retired to my house and I brought a rug into my bedroom so she could lie at the foot of my bed. Exhausted from my journey, and from the mental strain of learning to navigate the waves, I fell asleep quickly.

Chapter Three—Transformations

I
awoke to find the icetiger sitting by my side of the bed, staring at me intently. The stark blue eyes portrayed the voracious appetite of a practised hunter. Just looking at her brought pangs of hunger to my belly—not just any hunger, but an irresistible craving for fresh meat. I realised that the icetiger’s perceptions were a part of me now, and I would have to learn to block her animal instincts from my mind. She was well aware of my thoughts and growled in response.

‘If I have to become a little bit human, it’s only fair that you become a little bit icetiger.’

‘I fully intend to,’
I replied.
‘Learning to morph into an icetiger is the thing I most look forward to. It must be amazing to have such strength, such sharp claws and teeth—every weapon you need to survive.’

‘It is,’
she agreed, not bothered by my avoidance of her original statement.
‘Your feeble human flesh does not compare.’

I regarded her with curiosity.
‘Does it vex you to know the Lightmaker made us “feeble humans” the rulers of the world?’

‘In a way,’
she replied.
‘Yet I still know very little of the human world. It is difficult to grasp much of what I read in your mind.’

I rubbed my eyes and crawled out of bed. In my cold store there was plenty of meat. I offered the icetiger different things to try: chicken skin, rabbit, cheese and duck. For my own breakfast I had a few slices of bread dipped in eggs with milk and herbs fried in pig fat.

Even though there were only four strips of dried nyno left, I offered them to the icetiger. She gulped them down in a flash, chuffed at me and paused so I could stroke her neck. I was distinctly aware of the four inch teeth glistening in her jaws as she licked her lips. Such ferocity was symbolised by teeth and claws, such wild fury that it made me shiver with awe.

‘Rekala
,’ the icetiger said.
‘That word means “fury” in another language?’

She had plucked it right out of my head even though I hadn’t been thinking about it.

‘You thought about wild fury,’
she replied to my thoughts.
‘And this word “Rekala” encompasses that, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes,’
I said.
‘It is ancient Kaslonican, the original language of our kind. “Rekala” also embodies wrath and power.’

‘Can this be my name?’
she wondered.
‘So you don’t have to keep calling me “icetiger”.’

‘Sure, if you like it.’

‘Rekala,’
she said, roaring at the same time.

‘Rekala,’ I echoed, lost in thought. I felt privileged to have her, and it was already unthinkable that we should ever be apart.

‘So, you’ve got fish in here,’
she stated.
‘Not only can I smell it but I know so from your mind.’

I raised my hands in defeat,
‘You’re going to eat me out of a living.’

‘I would never eat you,’
she responded.

I explained the saying, but she wouldn’t be distracted.

‘The fish.’

‘Very well.’

I lifted the coldest meats from the bottom of my cold store and located the fish I had stored beneath. It was almost frozen when I pulled it out, wrapped in a few sheets of a recent Telbion news scroll. I held the fish close to the fire to warm it.

While I was waiting, I glanced over the news article. The neat hand-writing of the scribe was wasted now that the ink had run. I could still make out one slightly blurred headline: “Princess Denliyan Still Without Heir”. Apparently there would be instability in the monarchy of Telby if something should happen to King Flale. Princess Denliyan would become Queen, and her husband would become Duke of Telby unless she elevated him to King. Without an heir, though, distantly related nobles would squabble and fight to have themselves named.
Who cares?
I thought.
Telby doesn’t seem to care about Jaria anymore, so why should we care if they fall into squabbles about who rules them?

The warmth from the fire soon made the fish glisten pink in my hands. The raw flesh even smelled appetising to me. Rekala growled impatiently.

‘Hand it over!’

With claws extended, she draped one paw over my bare shoulder.

‘Ouch!’ I said aloud, dropping the fish onto the floorboards. ‘Trees! That hurt.’

The great she-cat bent down to gnaw on the fish.

‘Sorry?’
she offered. It was probably the first time she had encountered the concept of contrition. There was a smear of blood from the tiger’s claws on my shoulder, which she licked.

I changed into fresh clothes and strapped on my marblehilted knife. Rekala paused in her slow enjoyment of the fish to listen to something on the waves. Because she was still new to it all, it both fascinated and horrified her.

‘Uola is coming to get us,’
she said.
‘Something about learning to morph.’

A few minutes later, Bessed knocked on my door.

‘Good morning,’ I said, after opening it. ‘Rekala told me you were coming.’

‘Rekala? So you’ve named her already?’

‘She chose it for herself,’ I replied. ‘Do you like it?’

‘I can see why it might appeal to her,’ he said. ‘But it’s an aggressive name. It fits more with the warriors than the harvesters.’

I shrugged and gestured for him to come in. I had never told Bessed that I preferred my warrior training over most of what he taught me. I couldn’t decide which I enjoyed more, fishing or archery, but I definitely enjoyed sword fighting and sporting on horseback the most.

The three facets of Jarian culture—the speakers, the warriors and the harvesters—often came into conflict. Even the layout of the village reflected the division.

Jaria was a gigantic clearing in the forest, shaped somewhat like an egg, with the Jarvi River running right through the middle. On the north side was the village centre, market district, houses, farms, herding grounds and the village storehouses where Bessed, Drea and I worked.

The north was the place of the speakers and harvesters; peaceful people, intelligent, spiritual, and gifted in crafts and creativity. The Rada of the north usually had animals like horses, dogs, birds or ferrets.

To the south of the river was Jaria Fortress, the stables, archery range, warrior barracks and dwellings for all those who spent their lives in service to Jaria’s fighting forces. A very different culture to the rest of us. The Rada of the south tended to have large predators for kin: wolves, bears, wyverns and cats of all kinds.

What did that mean for me? I had spent my entire life on the north. It had not seemed to be an option for me to move to the south, especially without a Rada. But I had always had a secret yearning, I realised. Now that I had an icetiger….

‘Are we going to the south side for today’s lesson?’ I asked.

‘Nay,’ he replied. ‘The first lesson in your morphing training involves some nature studies up in the village hall.’

Rekala and I followed him out of the house and stood in the small garden I had built up over the years. The sounds and smells of the village were a gentle reminder that I was home. As much as I was uncertain of my place in Jarian society still, this was my home.

‘How long have you lived here?’
Rekala asked, looking around the village, taking everything in.

‘Nineteen years
,’ I answered.
‘My whole life. This house belonged to my father seven years ago and then my sister became the owner. Seeing as she may still be alive, I have never asked the masters to transfer ownership to me.’

‘What happened to her?’
Rekala asked, pouring all her love and concern into my mind.

I nearly stumbled when I sensed the depth of her emotion. I reached out my hand to touch her shoulder blade and rallied myself to face her question.

‘I was only thirteen,’
I began.
‘Ella was twenty-one… my guardian… all I had left. My father died a year before she was taken. There was a Zeika raid. Actually, there were many, but in this one we defeated them. I killed for the first time that day.’

‘But you were only a child,’
Rekala said, knowing from the human conventions she had learned from my mind.

‘My father was no longer around to keep me from getting involved in adult matters,’
I replied.
‘Besides, it was a life or death battle. All those who could fight did so. The Rada-kin were more ferocious back then. We had been hardened by years of conflict with the Zeikas, and there were still some warriors who’d been part of the Telbion Realm Wars—before I was born. The fight was loud, fast and confusing. Ella and I got separated but she was with the other Anzaii.’

‘What are the Anzaii?’
Rekala interrupted.
‘Some kind of mind readers?’

‘Yes,’
I replied.
‘You could call them that. They have the rarest gifts of the Kriite faith and can use the waves with far more precision and over far greater distances than other wave-users, like Rada. Their gifts take time to develop and it is said that some can eventually use the waves with any sentient beings.’

‘Was Ella an Anzaii?’
Rekala asked.

‘She was Anzaii, like our mother, and had an Anzaii-kin, but she was not a Rada.’

‘And she was with other Anzaii during the battle,’
Rekala prompted.

‘Yes, they were standing together dispelling the demons—conjured monsters—the Zeikas called to do their bidding. I was trying to get to her, but there were Zeikas everywhere. Bessed saved my life, and instructed me to hide in the stables behind his house. I went partway to the stables, but then I saw the Anzaii being overcome
.

‘I ran to help them, but an injured Zeika grabbed me. He was a conjurer, one of the higher-ranking Zeikas, with the ability to conjure a tyrak—a black dragon. He struck me over the head and dragged me to his tyrak. Even with all the Zeikas attacking her, Ella somehow managed to reach her hand towards the tyrak. It was the first time she had dispelled one without touching it. It vanished in a cloud of greasy, black smoke. While he was distracted, I stabbed the Zeika with this dagger.’