At night Zaqri guarded her. Though he shared her bed, he did so chastely, in lion form, literally keeping the jackals from the door. Hessaz watched them both with bitter eyes, but Cym soon realised that she was not alone: all the women of the pack wanted Zaqri.
They are more beast than human
, she thought.
He is the alpha male and must have a mate
.
When she dreamed it was of him, and she was a bird flitting about his giant jaws. A dozen times a night his teeth clamped on her fluttering wings; a dozen times a night she awoke with hammering heart to find a lion lying next to her, never sleeping, his eyes on the door.
In some dreams he lowered himself onto her, his fur soft on her skin, his meaty breath hot on her neck: the lion and his lover. In her dream she welcomed it, but when she woke she could scarcely keep from vomiting at the notion.
*
Next day he made her strip to her underclothes, a humiliation, but he claimed he needed to see her body as she attempted the change. Not that Zaqri made her feel overly uncomfortable about it. He remained proper toward her, gave her no further reasons to hate him, not that any were needed. Her frustration grew through the day at her lack of tangible progress. The more she tried, the worse she got, and still the change wouldn’t come. Eventually she stormed away, screaming, ‘Just let me sleep! I’ll do it tomorrow!’
Despite her mind-numbing exhaustion, she lay awake for hours, agonisingly conscious of his proximity; when she eventually slept, she dreamed of him and woke jaded, nowhere near ready for the day to come. Breakfast was a spicy meal similar to Ramita’s cooking, full of alien flavours and tongue-stinging bite.
She threw some Rimoni words at Zaqri, to test his story, but he fielded them easily. ‘Northern barbarian,’ she sneered anyway. ‘You’re no Rimoni.’
But none of that could put off the appointed moment. The pack wrecked Meiros’ lair and tipped most of the debris into the sea, then gathered on the roof. As she looked around she was met only by blank hatred.
Calmness, girl
, Zaqri whispered in her mind.
You can do this, I know it. Shed your inhibitions as you shed your identity. Become the gull.
‘How’s she going to shapeshift fully clothed?’ someone laughed, and the pack tittered contemptuously. They were all naked as they waited to change shape; whatever possessions they carried were packed into satchels strapped to their shoulders or waists.
‘Does the gypsy think she’s got something we haven’t?’ Darice, a big Brician woman, cackled.
‘Too good for us, eh?’ sneered another woman.
Cym felt her skin flush darker and tossed her head angrily. ‘No, I’m the same as you,’ she snapped back. ‘Just better looking.’
A Rimoni backs down to no one.
A few of them chuckled, appreciating her spunk. ‘She’s certainly a damned sight prettier than you, Darice,’ one of the men called.
Another leaped up and waggled his cock at her. ‘Hey, girly, this’ll be waiting for you when we land.’
‘How’ll she find that little thing, Kenner?’ Zaqri quipped, to more laughter.
‘It’ll be towering above Southpoint,’ Kenner the cock-waver boasted.
‘It’ll be mistaken for a tiddy-worm and eaten by a gull, more like,’ Darice responded. More banter was flung about, all voices shouting at once, as much laughter as hostility present.
‘She’s still got to fly,’ Huriya said sourly, her voice killing the merriment. ‘Or someone gets a free meal.’
Cym glared at the tiny Keshi girl, whose voluptuous breasts stood proudly high on her chest as she stood with her hands on her hips. Small as a child, worldly as a whore.
Little bitch. I’ll show you.
‘We’re waiting, gypsy,’ Huriya trilled.
She gave him a contemptuous look and walked to the far wall. She touched a panel and the wall opened. Inside it, right where her mother had told her, was a large rolled-up carpet and a pouch containing the gemstone that powered it. The only pity was that Zaqri had been so attentive of her that she’d not had the chance to slip up here alone.
Who says I need wings to fly?
She removed the gem from the pouch and hung it about her neck beside her own periapt, then she dragged out the carpet and unrolled it. Justina had told her the gem converted other types of gnostic energy into Air-gnosis, but she was an Air-mage and shouldn’t need it, she hoped.
Some pack-members started guffawing with laughter as they watched her place her few belongings in the middle and sit down.
‘Wait,’ Huriya snapped. ‘I said you must learn to shape-change – your life is still forfeit, girl!’
‘No,’ Cym said calmly, ‘you said I must fly. And so I shall. I won’t slow you down.’ She looked at Zaqri, who was grinning broadly, to her surprise. ‘The question,’ she added, ‘is whether you
animals
can keep up with me.’
Before the Dokken could react, she threw all her stored energy into the carpet and willed it into the air.
In a few seconds, the shrieking howls of outrage were dulled by distance, but she felt a sudden flaring of the gnosis behind her and a vast force gathered as if to swot her from the air. She looked back fearfully and saw Zaqri had seized Huriya’s arm and just in time deflected whatever attack the tiny girl had launched. She felt her skin flush at the exertion, and poured more energy into her flight.
Hey, maybe I can outrun these bastards?
she thought jubilantly.
She couldn’t, though. A few minutes later a giant golden eagle swooped onto the carpet and gripped the fabric in its claws to steady itself before resolving into a naked Zaqri. He had a satchel tied to his waist. His eyes were a mixture of fury and amusement. ‘Damn you, girl, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘You killed my mother,’ she said. ‘I’ll never tell you anything I don’t want you to know. Anyway, you’ve been inside my head: you should have worked it out for yourself.’
‘It doesn’t work like that. I’m not a strong mystic: I just got glimpses – emotions mostly, and a few big memories. Huriya wanted to rip you limb from limb for that little trick.’
Cym smiled at that.
‘Girl, she is our Seeress. She has the power of an Ascendant, and Sabele still dwells inside her, she who was present when Corineus died.’
That wiped the smile from her face.
No wonder the little bitch thinks she owns the world.
‘Why do you resist her?’ she asked Zaqri snarkily. ‘Shouldn’t you be honoured that she wants to rukk you?’
‘I still grieve for my wife,’ he replied flatly. ‘I loved her, whatever you think of
animals
like us.’ He pointed southwards across the sea. ‘That way.’
She willed the carpet to turn and it did so. It was taxing, and not as efficient as a windskiff, being neither aerodynamic nor assisted by sails, but she set her jaw and powered on, aware that she was burning through energy fast. The wind whipped at her face and made a banner of her hair, but the worst of the headwind was deflected by unseen shields. She glanced over her shoulder to see a stream of gulls following, shrieking angrily. She wondered which was Huriya.
Probably the smallest, with the best plumage
…
‘Are all Dokken beast-magi?’ she wondered.
Zaqri’s eyes narrowed at her tone. ‘We call ourselves Brethren, or Kindred. And no, we have a mix of skills, but we tend to clan together according to our major affinities. My pack are, as you can see, mostly animagi. You can judge us for our rough manner if you must, but remember that we must live on the fringes because the most powerful beings on Urte have pledged our annihilation.’
‘I’m Rimoni – they pledged ours too,’ she retorted, though she couldn’t deny his words had struck a chord in her. ‘They destroyed our cities and turned us into wandering beggars. If you’re really one of us you’ll know that.’
‘I know my heritage, girl. I was born on the Metian border and Rimoni was my first tongue. But my father was Brethren, and he took me into the pack. Our forebears were at the Ascension of Corineus. The Blessed Three Hundred ascended, but they didn’t, and for that crime they named us apostates.’ He glanced at the nearest gull, a dark-hued bird with red eyes.
Hessaz
, Cym guessed. ‘The Brethren found Ahmedhassa before even the Ordo Costruo.’
Cym noted that he said ‘Ahmedhassa’ – the local word for the eastern continent, not the Yurosian ‘Antiopia’. ‘Did most of you come here?’
‘Those who could. It took morphic-gnosis, animagery, Air-gnosis or Water-gnosis. Most of those who couldn’t use those affinities stayed in Yuros. The Ordo Costruo were no friends to us, nor us to them: we preyed on them to gain more souls and awaken the gnosis in our children. It was war.’
Cym imagined untaught Dokken against Arcanum-trained magi. ‘You lost.’
‘We lost. We had to go into hiding, even here in Ahmedhassa. The locals believed us to be Afreet – the demons of their legends. We could not live or train openly, so we could master only the simplest gnosis: elemental magic and body-magic. Only a rare few, like Sabele, can do more.’
His words echoed the plight of her own people too closely. She willed away her empathy. ‘So you really were Rimoni.’
‘My mother was. My father was Brician … and Brethren. He’s long dead. I am older than I look.’
She studied him, his timeless eyes and weathered, ruggedly handsome face. He had the commanding manner of someone who knew himself, had come to terms with what he was, but there was a haunted aspect to his eyes that suggested it had been a long battle. ‘How many people have you killed?’
He looked at her steadily. ‘I don’t know. I lost count long ago.’
How revolting
, she thought, surprised she had felt any pity for him. That angered her. ‘I guess being a packleader justifies everything,’ she jeered. ‘You killed my mother. Does that make you as strong as she was now?’
His face was grave but unrepentant. ‘It does: purer blood strengthens our own gnosis. I gained her strength, though not her skill.’
‘Quite a coup for you,’ she said harshly. ‘
Murderer.
’
‘We were in combat, and she fell. What was I to do?’
‘Grant her passage to the afterlife! Let her die! Don’t pretend you have a conscience, you piece of dung. If you did you’d hang yourself.’
‘No, I wouldn’t. I want to live as much as you do. I want to be able to walk free without being hunted down for the nature I was born with –
born with
, not chose. Sol made me what I am; he had to have a reason.’
‘You should have been drowned at birth.’
‘I go on as I must, for my kindred. Sabele has prophesied that we will find a way to cure ourselves; we will become equals with the magi.’
‘The magi don’t want any equals,’ she retorted.
‘I know. We are not fools, but we have to hope. Until then I guard the humanity I still have.’
It felt harsh to mock such a dream when her own people harboured much the same aspirations, but he had ripped her mother’s throat out and drunk her soul.
There is no way to forgive that
. ‘Why are you protecting me?’
‘Cymbellea,’ he said in his rough-smooth voice, ‘I’m not a murderer, whatever you think. When my gnosis was awakened I didn’t even know what was being done to me. I’ve tried to kill only enemies in battle, or someone who is dying already. Your mother’s last thoughts were of you: she begged me to protect you. I swore to do so, to the last remnants of her soul. I hold that oath sacred.’
‘How dare you try to make killing her sound so rukking noble. Go away: I don’t want to talk to you.’
He didn’t go, though. They fell silent as the air rushed by. Below, the sea churned, menacing even at this height. There was still no sign of the coast and she was beginning to feel her strength flagging. She was going to have to ask his help soon, and that gnawed at her pride.
In the end she didn’t need to ask. Almost as soon as she began to falter he reached out, plucked the gemstone from her throat and sent his own gnosis powering into the carpet. At once it gained speed. She looked away, unsure how to convey gratitude and hating this ambivalence she felt when things needed to be clear between them. But she was so tired, so drained from the grief and exertion and the stress of hating, that she just rolled into a bundle and closed her eyes.
If he can’t reach the coast, let us drown instead.
*
She awoke to find herself covered with a thin blanket. She was still lying on the carpet which was spread on the sands beneath vast open skies. A vivid sunrise pierced the gaps in the mountain ranges on the eastern horizon. She blinked uncertainly and sat up.
Beneath a spindly tree a few yards away, a lion rumbled, its amber eyes on her. Zaqri. Not far off, a black panther prowled, watching her with hooded eyes, and beyond that menacing shape, many more, perhaps a hundred, far more than had left the Isle of Glass. Some were in human form, others still in beast shape, jackals mostly. In their midst was Huriya, wrapped in a shawl and hunched over a luminous bowl of water, scrying.
The Keshi girl sensed her gaze. ‘Ah, you’re awake.’ A pulse of energy stirred about her and the pack came awake as one, leaping onto their feet or paws, shaking and grunting and snuffling their way to alertness. So many eyes, hemming her in as Huriya called to her, ‘Clever girl. Do you have any other surprises for us?’
Cym clambered stiffly to her feet. ‘That’s for you to find out.’
‘Such pretty defiance. You know, I could almost come to like you, girl. But you’re magi.’ The blanket fell from one shoulder as Huriya stalked forward, swaying hypnotically, a cobra in girl shape. ‘That makes you more useful to us dead.’
Cym glanced uncertainly at Zaqri. ‘He said—’
‘Zaqri is packleader. I am Seeress of the Western Reaches. Our authorities are different. But Brethren laws say that a mage must die, to strengthen us. The only thing preserving you is Zaqri’s whim.’ She flashed from ten yards away to one in an eye-blink without apparent effort, and the Rimoni girl recoiled in shock. ‘I’m feeling quite whimsical myself.’