Shifting
Copyright © 2003, edited by Rob Knight
Illustrations Copyright © B. Cameron, Chalcedony Cross, SA Clements, K. Fuhr, Tammy Lee
All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, PO Box 4351, Grand Junction, CO 81502.
ISBN: 0-9748202-5-3
Printed in the United States of America.
Torquere Press electronic edition / November 2003
Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, PO Box 4351, Grand Junction, CO 81502.
http://www.torquerepress.com.
~Table of Contents~
Foreword 4
Outcasts 5
The Beast Within 210
In the Heart of Tigers 346
Pack Mates 564
About Our Contributors 745
Foreword
There's something primal about the shapeshifter; something that sparks the imagination. They appeal to the side of us that hasn't come down out of the trees yet, the side that's more animal than it is human.
It's more than animal attraction, though. If it was just that, we'd be happy with Tarzan and Mowgli. The fascination is in the spark of magic, one that draws us as much as it frightens us. For centuries, werewolf tales have circulated through nearly every culture in the world. The man who becomes a wolf who becomes a man is a myth rooted deeply in the collective subconscious, for there is a man who has the best and worst of all things human and bestial. The werewolf is a creature who can shed the human skin, who can kill at will, who is not bound by the social mores that limit a mere man.
So, the shapeshifter, then, is a creature of endless possibility.
Add the erotic element in and you have an irresistible combination. The character of the shapeshifter is already naturally sexual, with the animal instinct so close to the surface. When relationships are brought in, when the human notions of sex and romance are mixed, the stories gain a charged atmosphere, one that opens a whole new realm of sexual exploration.
The stories in the Shifting anthology exemplify much of what makes the shapeshifter so alluring, so interesting, and at times, so frightening. They have humor and grit and raw sexuality, all wrapped up in characters that are all the more human for being half animal. Read them. You won't be disappointed.
Rob Knight
November, 2003
Outcasts by Sean Michael and Julia Talbot
~Chapter One~
So enamored was Anneal Vere Faolin of the high country he explored that he did not notice the changes in the air about him until it was almost too late. The great flocks of birds overhead, going in the direction opposite of he were what finally made him see that winter was on its way.
There was no chance of him making it back south in time to winter as he had his first year out of the city, doing translating work for the trading caravans on the south road, doing scribe work for petty nobles. He had worked his way too far out of the reaches of man, had wandered too far.
So Anneal began to look for a place to spend his winter alone. He had little food and no shelter, and judging from the looks of the leaves upon the trees, he had all of a few short weeks before he would need it.
There would be time enough for gathering wood and food if he could find a place that would shelter him from snows and ice, and provide him with water. So he began with the creek that ran through the crags, working out from it in ever growing circles, searching the hillsides for hollow trees or caves large enough to move about in and store his belongings.
Three days later, Anneal thought he saw, up the slope of one scrub covered hill, a gap that might be the opening of a cave big enough to hold him. It could easily be traversed even in the snow, was close to the creek, and would receive afternoon sun for warmth.
He climbed, hoping against hope that his eyes were true, and he was indeed favored, for the opening was the mouth of a cave, deep enough that he could not see the far end, and a quick once over told him that the mouth of it would not fill completely with snow even if the winter was harsh.
Or at least he hoped not.
The scent of the cave was sharp and musky, and as he took out his flint and knife he hoped that the prior inhabitants had moved on. He was not one to go where he was intruding, and many animals were far larger than he at any rate.
The bright spark of the tiny flame he blew into life in a pile of needles and twigs illuminated the cave, and it proved to be empty. Thank the powers above and below. He laid down his pack and blanket roll. It grew late. Tomorrow he would begin making his home here. Later in the evening he would get water, eat a meal. Now, he would rest.
He lay down to rest, and fell asleep very quickly, relief exhausting his energy. He had no idea how long he had been asleep when a low growling woke him. The sound was angry and deep, filling the cave with noise. His first instinct was to sit up and look about wildly, but he stifled it with what he thought was admirable aplomb. Instead, he opened his eyes slowly, barely daring to breathe.
A huge cat stood just inside the cave, blocking the entrance. His eyes glowed preternaturally in the light of the fire. It was a great mountain cat, coat a reddish gold, teeth sharp, paws huge. The muscles beneath the fur were ropey and solid.
The beast did not look happy to see him and the growling continued, took on an edge.
Oh. Well, it would appear that his new home did belong to someone else after all. Anneal was not sure whether he would simply expire from the fear, or if unholy curiosity would keep him conscious while the beast ate him.
The big cat took a step forward and roared. Its teeth were indeed very big and very sharp. Its mouth was large.
The roar echoed in the cave, making his ears ring, making him scramble back against the wall of the cave. Perhaps not the brightest move, but it put space between them.
His movements seemed to give the cat confidence and it moved slowly toward him, giving the fire a wide berth. It stopped no more than three feet from him and roared again. The hysterical urge to roar back was strong, but he did not. Instead, Anneal began to look about for something to use as a weapon or distraction, just enough that he could take his things and run. The growling settled into something low, the beast seeming to relax as he looked away.
Oh. Well that was good, he supposed. Except that his search proved fruitless, there was nothing but the fire, and that was on the other side of the cat, along with his pack. What a magnificent animal, really. Pity it was going to kill him. He moved along the wall, sliding slowly, trying to get to the entrance of the cave.
The great muscles tensed again, the growling increasing, but the cat let him move, watching him closely.
Perhaps there was hope yet. Perhaps the big animal wanted a fight no more than he did. Or perhaps the animal was simply like the cats his father kept in their home to rid it of vermin, playing with his food.
He froze and the growling got louder, the cat stepping toward him.
With not the faintest idea what to do next, Anneal snapped. It was inevitable. Yelling loudly, waving his arms, he crawled toward the mouth of the cave as quickly as he could, expecting sharp claws and teeth any moment.
The cat roared and snapped at him, but didn't hurt him.
Once he was out, the way in and his pack and the fire were barred from him, the cat protecting the entrance to its home.
Damn. He would not survive the winter without the things in his pack, which also carried the few small memories he had of home. He could not leave it. But he could not chance the cat again. He would simply have to wait until the next time the cat left his den, and go b
ack in after it. In the meantime, he would find a sheltered lee of rock where he could watch, and try to stay warm.
He would not rage as he wished to. He simply would not. It did no good to act like a spoiled child, as he had learned too often in the last months. He found a spot, near the mouth of the cave, but upwind, where he could see, and curled up, miserable and chilled, and tired as well.
He did not mean to at all, but he soon drifted off to sleep, the cat seeming to have decided he was not worth pursuing.
***
Growling. Pacing. Invader. Man.
Man.
Roaring.
Man smell everywhere.
His smell under man smell.
Man smell!
Wrong. Bad. Growling.
Kill. Make gone.
Wrong. Danger.
Feris shifted, growling even as he took on his human form.
There was a man here, in his territory. The man had been in his cave and it was wrong.
He couldn't kill though -- that would bring other men. Men with weapons and who hunted in packs and he would have to move further north, further into the wastelands.
He had to make the man go.
Go and not come back.
Winter was coming. He had things to do. No time for man things.
He took the pack to the mouth of the cave and searched for the man. There he was, downwind but in plain sight. Sleeping. The man was not afraid of him, but the man had looked away, had submitted, why did he do that if he was not afraid? Why did the man leave, but stay close?
The pack. Right. The man wanted his things. His man smelling things. Even in his human form Feris could smell the strong scent of the man on the pack.
He climbed to the man and stood, watching. The man was asleep. It would be so easy to kill him. But then the others would come and drive him further into the wastelands.
Growling, he put the pack next to the man.
The man stirred, shivering in the night, but did not wake. So easy. So little instinct for danger.
If they did not hunt in packs, they would not survive. This one would be dead if he himself were only mountain lion, killed while still caught in his cave.
He curled his lip and growled contemptuously.
The man woke to his growl, eyes flying open, squinting into the dark, even as the man scrambled away from him. Except that the man fell over the pack beside him, landing hard.
He chuffed, the laugh strange in his own ears. This one was going to be dead without any help from him.
"Who.. who are you?" The man sounded more afraid of him now than he had when he was himself.
"Who are you?" he countered. This was *his* place. The man was the invader here.
"Are you not cold?" The man clapped a hand over his mouth, looking amazed at his own words.
He growled. "You should go."
"I should? I should. I... I simply don't know where to go." The man looked sad now.
He growled again. Was this his problem? No. This was his territory though. And the man had to go.
Maybe he should shapeshift back into his other form. The man seemed ready to run then.
"Yes. I should go. I will." The man nodded firmly. "In the morning. When I can see."
He supposed that would have to do, but he didn't like it.
He was about to let the man know that when he heard the bear. It made the skin on his neck stand up.
This was *his* territory and first the man and now a bear invaded!
The man must have heard the bear as well, for he looked scared again, the scent of fear heavy on him.
"Shh. Be still. Safe that way."
But would they be? The bear was far into his territory, he must be desperate for food before the cold began.
Nodding, the man sat very still, hardly breathing, pale in the darkness.
The bear continued to come toward them, snuffling and growling and rumbling. He tensed, ready to shift and to spring.
At least the man was bright enough not to impede him, not to get in his way, simply freezing where he sat, hands on his pack.
The bear broke through the tree line and started toward them. Right for them. There was nothing else for it.
He shifted back into himself.
Bear. Bad. Wrong. Kill.
Leaping. Snarling. Tearing.
Bear down.
Throat. Tear. Finish. Kill.
Bear. Dead. Good. Blood, food, good.
Soft noise of man, still there, wrong.
He turned back. Growled. Mine. My kill. My place.
Mine.
Kill man.
He shook himself. Shifted. No killing men. It was too dangerous.
His face and hands were badly bloodied, the rest of him spattered. The kill was his. The man should go now. He glared.
"You... I. You. You killed the bear!" The man was not going, was not moving at all, except to point at him.
"He would kill us!"
He growled. This man was stupid. He could not remember all men being so stupid. Maybe he had made them worse in his mind than they had really been. Maybe he could kill this one.
"Yes. Of course. I.. thank you. How do you do that?" The man clutched his pack, fingers turning white, moving back with tiny pushes of his feet.
He frowned. Definitely stupid, had the man not seen?
"I went for the throat. Clean kill. Less risk of getting hurt."
"Well, I could see that." Brows as black as the tip of himself's tail drew together as the man frowned at him, voice turning snappish. "I meant the cat. How do you change back and forth? Or am I dreaming?"
The man nodded. "Yes, of course. I must be dreaming."
Oh. The shapeshifting thing. Yes. The men were always interested in that.
"My kill," he said, standing in front of the bear. Better to turn the man's attention to other things.
"Of course." The man stood suddenly, holding his pack in his arms, swaying back and forth. "I should go, as you said."
After which the man promptly fell down, passed out cold.
He growled.
He had a bear to dispose of. Himself to clean. And now there was an unwanted man, in front of his cave.
And it was going to rain soon.
He would deal with the easy things first. The bear.
He shifted back to himself.
Eat. Bear. Good.
***
The first drops of moisture on his upturned face woke him yet again, and Anneal groaned, sore body protesting as he tried to move. One wrist throbbed, and his head ached, and he was freezing.
He blinked, wetness clinging to his eyelashes, and Anneal gaped, realizing it was not rain or tears, but snow that fell upon him.
Snow!
Already.
And he had nowhere to go. No place to escape the storm. His internal time sense, which was quite good, really, told him it should be day, but the clouds were so thick, and the snow coming down so heavily, one could not tell.
Then to add insult to injury, his stomach growled. There was no choice for him but to go back to the one place he knew had food and fire. Back to the cave, with his dream cat-man, who he feared as much as he wondered about. There was no other option.
Anneal dragged himself to his feet, cradling his sore arm, almost forgetting his pack in is haste, but remembering it at the last moment.
The mouth of the cave was where he remembered, luck with him as he retraced his steps without actually being able to see.
The fire he'd built in the cave was down to embers, the cat-man obviously not feeding it. It was enough, however, to see by. The cat-man, or maybe just a cat, maybe he had dreamed the man part, for the beast curled near the back of the cave was definitely a cat. Mountain lion really.
A low growl sounded, the big head coming up, eyes gleaming, looking right at him.
Such an amazingly beautiful animal. Glorious, really, and tremendously intimidating. He hoped he had not dreamed the man, he truly did.
"I..
. I need your help. Please. Let me stay until after it stops snowing, at least."
The beast growled, staring at him.
He looked away, distraught. He was in trouble if he couldn't stay here. When he looked up again, the man sat in the beast's place.
"And then you will go."
Not that the man was any easier to deal with, but at least he could talk. "Yes. I promise. When the storm is over and I can find my own place to winter, I will go."
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