by Clayton Wood
“What is it like?” he asked. “Seeing like a bird.”
“I have eagle-eyes,” Pukwa replied. “My vision is far sharper than yours, and I can distinguish between similar colors better, and I can spot a rabbit from over two kilometers away.”
“Cool.”
“I also have two set of eyelids,” Pukwa continued. A thin, translucent membrane covered his eyes suddenly, then opened again. “I can see through them reasonably well even when I blink.”
Hunter nodded turning back to the woman on the table.
“Why’s everything wood?” he asked.
“To prevent the floor and walls and ceiling from absorbing spirits,” Pukwa replied. “The wood will be disposed of after the procedure, and new, fresh wood will be put in its place.”
“I take it the wood’s…spirit is weak?”
“It is,” Pukwa confirmed. “We do not want our birds turning into trees.”
Hunter smirked at that, watching for a while longer. Then he began to fidget.
“What now?” he asked.
“If you are done,” Pukwa answered, “…then you can go to another shrine. If you want, I can fly you.”
Hunter considered this, then shook his head.
“Thanks, but I think I’ll walk.”
Chapter 6
It’d been days since Dominus had left the pond where he’d awoken, making his way through the deep forest on the long journey to Lady Camilla’s mansion. The going hadn’t been made any easier by the fact that he was utterly naked, rocks and sticks underfoot jabbing at his vulnerable flesh. Not to mention the blood-sucking mosquitos. If there was any consolation, it was that his newfound ability to heal seemed to prevent him from getting bug bites, and any scrapes or other minor injuries healed within the hour. He foraged as he went, eating whatever he could. Wracked by hunger – his body still emaciated – he stuffed himself with mushrooms and leaves, hardly worried about getting sick or poisoned. He’d heal from that too, he knew. And after being burned alive, any discomfort such things caused would seem mild in comparison.
It was the wild wills within the plants he consumed that worried him. What they might be doing to him. How they might be changing him. His will was strong, but there had to be more powerful wills within the forest; if he were to consume a Legendary mushroom or plant, his doom would be sealed. He had to be extremely careful, making sure to check if there were clusters of identical-looking plants…a sign of a powerful will exerting its power on the organisms around it.
So it was that he traveled, one foot in front of the other, trying to enjoy the feeling of his bare feet on the forest floor, as Tykus had instructed him to. To feel connected to the land, to the things around him. One foot in front of the other, day after day, until the days blended together. By the time he reached the shore of a wide river, he’d lost track of just how long he’d been walking for. It was, he knew, the River Ormr…the river upon whose banks Lady Camilla’s mansion had been built.
Dominus paused before the river, looking upstream, then downstream. He doubted that Farkus had brought him more than a few kilometers away from the Castle Wexford before dumping his charred body…which meant that he was almost certainly downstream of Lady Camilla. He turned left, following the river upstream.
Onward he went for another few hours, stopping every once and again to take a drink of water from the river. He felt stronger than he had yesterday, his body having filled out a little with each passing day. And it would get even stronger, he knew. For, though he was over seventy years old, his skin was now that of a much younger man. Not only had the Ironclad’s head given him the power to regenerate, it’d also reversed the ravages of time, slowly transforming him into a younger version of himself. He was perhaps fifty now, by the looks of his reflection in the river. His hair was gray mixed with blond, what little of it he had after being set on fire.
King Tykus’s words came to him then.
Be what I can never be…eternal, one life extending forever into the future, gathering the wisdom we so desperately need.
An impossible charge, to be expected to approach anything close to that great man’s wisdom. But Dominus would do as his king requested. He would try.
It was nearly sunset by the time he saw a clearing ahead…and the unmistakable five-story-tall U-shaped building beyond. A white stone building with blood-red shingles composing its roof, it was similar to the Lady’s family’s former residence in the Acropolis, before they’d fled to the countryside during the civil war. But Camilla had made it her own, transforming her family business from simple academics to a bustling hub for the buying and selling of wild artifacts. Artifacts that, had she possessed in the kingdom, would have earned her the death sentence many times over.
Dominus resisted the urge to grimace, knowing that he was now guilty of the same crime. Neither one of them was welcome in Tykus…ever again.
He paused before the end of the forest ahead, staring at the mansion, then down at himself. He was utterly nude…hardly a state in which to seek audience with a Lady. But there was no choice. He took a deep breath in, then stepped out of the trees, forcing himself to stand tall. Dignity was a state of mind, after all. Striding all the way up to the fence surrounding the mansion, he stopped before a closed gate, watching as the silver-armored guard beyond stared at him.
“Get lost,” the guard ordered, waving Dominus away.
“I am here for an audience with Lady Camilla,” Dominus declared. The guard stared at him, then burst out laughing. He waited patiently for the man to finish, doing his best to give the guard an imperious glare.
“Get outta here,” the man replied at last.
“The Lady would not be pleased if she learned of your having turned me away,” Dominus warned.
“Oh yeah?” the guard inquired. “And who should I say is requesting her presence?” he added mockingly. Dominus considered the ways in which he could answer this question.
“Duke Dominus of Wexford,” he answered.
That shut the guard up.
“Hold on,” the man muttered, turning around and walking up to the double-doors leading into the mansion, guarded by two more men. He went inside, and several minutes later he returned, walking up to the gate. He unlocked it, gesturing for Dominus to step through. “The Lady will see you,” he stated.
Dominus stepped through the gate, making his way up to the front double-doors. He glanced to the right, seeing a huge silver statue of a snake-like creature with innumerable legs like a centipede set back in a field of crops beside the stone path. It was several stories tall, coiled upon itself. A remarkable likeness of the Lady’s signature animal, the horned serpent – a creature both revered and feared by the denizens of the Kingdom of the Deep.
He reached the front double-doors, waiting as the guards standing before them opened the doors, allowing him to step through into the foyer beyond. It was a spacious room, the ceiling some seven meters above supported by large red beams. The floor was made of polished cherry, the walls painted a deep red, the Lady’s signature color. A fine establishment, if rather plain compared to Dominus’s castle at Wexford. Former castle.
He strode across the room toward another set of double-doors ahead. The guard accompanying him gestured for him to stop a few meters before the doors. Moments later, they opened, and a woman stepped through them, flanked by two masked men in black and red uniforms. She was tall and slender, and wore a long, blood-red dress that showed off her every curve. Of which she possessed many, in all the proper proportions. A dark red corset studded with rubies glittered as she strode toward Dominus, her ample cleavage threatening to spill out of its deep V-cut. Long black hair spilled down her back in thick waves, the occasional gray hair all that hinted at her true age. For she was striking beautiful…and she clearly knew it.
“Dominus,” she greeted, stopping a few meters from him and inclining her head slightly. Then her gaze dropped to his groin, lingering there for a moment. “Your sword is unsheathed,”
she noted. “Are you planning on stabbing me?”
“Camilla,” Dominus replied. “Give me some clothes and I’ll put it away.”
“If you insist,” she stated. “You look…sick,” she noted. “Are you all right?”
“Nothing a few good meals can’t fix,” he answered.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Duke of…?”
Dominus suppressed a grimace. She was intentionally leaving out his former duchy…a particularly clever way of saying that he was duke of nothing at all. Which meant she knew of his ‘murder’ by Farkus’s hand…and almost certainly knew how he’d survived the attempt. Like her or hate her, Lady Camilla was incredibly resourceful…and possessed of a formidable intellect. Two traits that made her exceedingly dangerous.
“I came here,” he replied, “…to make you a deal.”
Chapter 7
Hunter sat down on a small boulder at the shore of a large pond, glancing up at the sun. It’d swung across the sky, now well on its way to falling toward the horizon. There were still a few hours of sunlight left by his estimation, which was rather surprising considering the sheer amount of stuff he’d done throughout the day. He sighed, kicking off his boots and wiggling his aching toes.
After the shrine with the birds, he’d gone to the next shrine…one with reptiles of all kinds. There’d been underground pools where turtle-people got to swim around, and lizard-men that could climb walls and had prehensile tails. The shrine after that had been filled with insects and arachnids. If there was anything Hunter hated more than birds, it was spiders; he’d spent as little time there as possible. The mammalian shrine had been far less bizarre…and not very interesting, other than a few cat-women he’d seen. Their lithe, nude bodies covered in silky fur had been oddly appealing. He’d been caught staring more than once, and had moved on quickly thereafter.
The final shrine he’d visited had been the underwater one…a black stone building like the others, but set beneath a large lake, the shrine’s black spire emerging from the water. Someone resembling the creature from the black lagoon had helped him, recommending that he remove everything but his underclothes. Hunter had done so only under the assurance that no one would be interested in stealing his stuff; the fish-man had then helped swim Hunter to a small stone dock at the spire. A doorway there at the base of the spire had led him down – below the surface of the water – to a shrine similar to the others. Except with pools everywhere. Thank goodness the place had been waterproof, with plenty of breathable air. After gazing at more than a few men-fish, crab-men, and even a jellyfish-woman hybrid, Hunter had had quite enough. Being able to breathe underwater seemed like a cool ability, but gills looked ridiculous on people. He didn’t consider himself to be particularly vain, but even he had his limits.
One interesting thing he’d learned was that all of the lakes and ponds in the Kingdom of the Deep had underground homes or habitats where the fish-people lived…and that the sea was only a few miles away. Citizens wishing to absorb saltwater spirits started their metamorphosis here, then were brought to the sea to complete it.
Hunter yawned, stretching his arms up above his head, then looking around. He spotted the first spire he’d visited in the distance. Birds still circled it, gliding lazily in the cooling air. He closed his eyes, recalling the short memory he’d absorbed from the dead eagle earlier, remembering what it felt like to fly.
It’d been pretty damn cool.
He was struck by the sudden urge to go back to the shrine, even if just to look at the birds again…and to talk to Pukwa. He wanted to see more of the transformation process…to see how it all actually worked over time.
“Might as well,” he mumbled to himself. He wasn’t supposed to meet up with Xerxes back at the entrance until sunset, after all.
He slipped his boots back on, making the long walk back to the Shrine of Birds. He was nearly there when a familiar bird-man flew down to meet him.
“Hello again,” Pukwa greeted, landing a few feet from him and folding his wings behind his back. “Did you enjoy the other shrines?”
“Some yes, some no,” Hunter admitted. Pukwa chuckled.
“I know what you mean,” he agreed. “The Shrine of Insects is not to my liking.”
“Mine either.”
“Although a few of my colleagues consider it a buffet,” Pukwa added with a wink, glancing up at the other birds. Hunter smirked.
“If they eat spiders, I’m all for it.”
“Some do,” Pukwa admitted.
“I’d like to go back up if you don’t mind,” Hunter stated. “I was hoping to see more of the…uh, spirit transfer process.” Pukwa raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling.
“You’re drawn to our shrine?”
“Little bit.”
“I’ll take you up,” Pukwa agreed.
He swooped forward and upward, grabbing Hunter’s arm as before and lifting him off the ground. Seconds later, they landed on top of the building, and walked back in through the small entrance. Hunter found himself back in the huge main room, and took the stairs all the way down to the bottom, meeting Pukwa there. They made their way up to the fifth floor again, stopping before one of the small rooms there. A man was being wrapped as they watched…but the sheets wrapped around his arms were being painted with that clear gel.
“He wishes to have only wings, not arms,” Pukwa explained.
They watched the wrapping process, and then Hunter turned to Pukwa, eyeing him for a long moment. Or more specifically, eyeing his wings. To be able to fly…it was pretty damn tempting. And not just for traveling. If he could fly, Tykus’s soldiers wouldn’t be able to reach him, other than crossbowmen and archers. And if he flew high enough up, they wouldn’t be able to reach him at all. Any advantage he could get in the upcoming war would not just benefit him…it could save the lives of his friends and his new people, the Ironclad.
“Yes?” Pukwa asked, snapping Hunter out of his reverie.
“Uh,” Hunter mumbled, realizing he was still staring at the bird-man. He turned back to the man being wrapped on the table. “So, hypothetically, if I wanted to do this, would I be able to?”
“Of course,” Pukwa answered, breaking out into a big smile. “We would be honored to have you among us!”
“Really?” Hunter pressed. “I could just…do it?”
“Yes.”
“How much does it cost?” he inquired. Pukwa laughed.
“We don’t use money here,” he replied. “That is for other kingdoms. Everyone works to help each other. Those who are honorable may take on the animal spirits we have collected.”
“How do you know I’m honorable?” Hunter pressed. Pukwa smirked.
“The Guardians can see memories, like you.”
“The Guardians?” Hunter asked. Kip had spoken about them earlier.
“Suffice it so say that you are welcome here.”
“Ah.”
“If you wish to take the spirit of a bird, you must choose one,” Pukwa informed. “Then we can begin.”
“When?”
“Whenever you like,” Pukwa answered. Hunter paused. He was going to leave with Xerxes tomorrow for the Deep.
“I have to leave tomorrow,” he confessed.
“You can start the process today,” Pukwa replied. “Your spirit is strong, so we can use a more powerful extract. We can also use needles coated in the extract to put the spirit in your body. This will speed up the process, and the wrappings will only have to stay on for a day or two.”
“Needles?”
“An alternative to painting the wrappings,” Pukwa explained. “If done properly, the wrappings aren’t necessary. But it is painful.”
Hunter considered this. If he was really going to go through with this, he’d have to go the quicker route, especially if the Deep was going to lock in his traits afterward. And there was no doubt in his mind that Xerxes wouldn’t approve, which means he had to hide it from the big guy until it was too late for
the brute to do anything about it.
“Pain I can take,” Hunter replied at last. He’d experienced awful, painful deaths many times, at least in the memories he’d absorbed from the animals and people he’d killed. A little acupuncture was nothing.
“We puncture the bone,” Pukwa warned. Hunter hesitated.
“You got any pain medication?”
“We have alcohol,” Pukwa offered. Hunter smirked.
“That’ll do.”
* * *
The wooden cot was stiff and uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as being stripped and lying belly-up in front of the bird-woman attending him, not to mention Pukwa, who had chosen to stay to watch the process. Being rather spectacularly gifted in the groin department, Hunter had noticed the bird-woman peeking more than once. It didn’t help that she was young and quite attractive, and that people here generally didn’t wear shirts. Or that she was perilously close to his groin as she wrapped his uppermost thighs with the first layer of bark. To his chagrin, there was a definite – and obvious – change in blood flow when her hand accidently brushed his member as she finished wrapping his left leg. He ordered it to reverse course immediately…and it defied him.
Most definitively.
Hunter grimaced, glad that the warmth in his cheeks would not be visible to those watching due to the darkness of his skin. He caught the bird-woman admiring the show, and his cheeks burned even hotter. To think that Pukwa was watching! The thought made his body reverse course rapidly, and soon the problem was resolved. The bird-lady resumed her work, wrapping his groin region next. Which started the process all over again.
Oh for Christ’s sake!
Upward she went, wrapping his belly, then stopping just underneath his pecs. She switched to wrapping his arms then, and his hands. The bird-lady was quick but gentle, and soon only his chest and back were left unwrapped, as well as his head.
Then came the peat moss, and another layer of wrapping. And then more moss, and more wrapping.