Destroyer of Legends

by Clayton Wood

  “Just experimenting with the wind.”

  “Wind?” Xerxes pressed.

  Hunter frowned, then realized that, with his armor, Xerxes probably couldn’t feel breezes very easily. Or maybe Hunter was just more sensitive to the wind because it affected his wings so profoundly.

  “Watch,” he prompted. There was a pretty strong breeze blowing toward them; he leaned into it, spreading his wings all the way out and pulling them forward a little. The wind caught them, and Hunter slid backward, his toes dragging across the grass.

  Xerxes grunted.

  “I bet if I flap my wings once, I might even be able to get off the ground,” Hunter ventured.

  “Do it,” Xerxes signed.

  “Alright,” Hunter agreed.

  He waited for another breeze, then spread his wings out again. The breeze pulled him back, and he felt it fill his wings. He pulled his wings forward again, using his chest muscles…and promptly lifted a couple feet off the ground.

  “Whoa!” he cried, folding his wings back. He fell to the ground, stumbling backward. “You see that?”

  “AWE…SOME,” Xerxes confirmed.

  “Damn right.”

  “Again,” Xerxes signed. Hunter complied, repeating the performance…and even flapping his wings a little more powerfully. He flew up a good three to four feet, sailing backward…and kept his wings open this time. He glided gently to the ground.

  “Yeah!” he exclaimed, feeling positively giddy. “You see that? That was amazing!” Xerxes chuckled. “You know, getting these wings might not be so bad after all,” Hunter admitted.

  “AGREE.”

  Hunter tried a few more times, and then the breeze died down, much to his disappointment. He folded his wings, and they continued their trek. Minutes turned into hours, and before long the sun was shining directly overhead. They stopped to eat, much to Hunter’s relief. After summoning Zagamar yesterday – and growing a pair of wings – he never seemed to stop being hungry. Their limited rations made foraging a necessity, and Hunter even found himself accepting hunks of mushroom that Xerxes got for them. It was gross – something no civilized person would normally eat – but it calmed the hunger pangs.

  Onward they went, talking on occasion, but mostly enjoying each other’s silent company. Xerxes was perfectly happy to talk when talked to, and to be silent otherwise. It was actually rather pleasant, getting to spend time with his brother. The guy was far smarter than he appeared to be, communicating deftly and elegantly when signing…even if he did seem like a dumb, knuckle-dragging brute when he spoke. Hunter recalled his first meeting with Xerxes, when he’d arrived in Varta, and wondered for the umpteenth time what would’ve happened if Tykus had never gotten him. He never would’ve been fooled into thinking he’d killed his own mother and brother, and never would’ve gone to Lady Camilla to get revenge. Which means he never would’ve drank Zagamar’s liquified brains…and had to go to the Deep. He’d probably have ended up with his mom and brother, no wings, no Zagamar…and no Vi.

  Of course, that hadn’t happened. And honestly, he was glad. Despite everything, things had turned out all right.

  “Love you big guy,” Hunter said, patting Xerxes on the lower back as they walked. Xerxes gave him a questioning look. “I just…I’m glad I went through the Gate. Getting to meet you, well, it’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.”

  Xerxes smiled.

  “BEFORE…YOU, HEART…HALF. NOW…WHOLE.”

  Hunter smiled back. A few minutes passed, and Hunter noticed the ground sloping sharply downward ahead, leading to flatter ground a few dozen feet below. They stopped at the edge of the slope.

  “Be careful,” Xerxes signed. “Don’t break a leg.”

  And then promptly jumped down the hill, rolling wildly to the bottom.

  “Must be nice being invincible,” Hunter grumbled. He hesitated at the top, peering over. Sliding down on his butt was probably the safest way to go.

  Unless…

  He spread his wings out, eyeing the bottom of the hill. If he spread his wings out and ran down the steep slope, he might just be able to glide down the hill. Of course, if he lost control, he’d have to tuck his wings and roll down. Which meant he’d probably break a wing. Xerxes had given him some goo, but there was no guarantee he’d heal very quickly. Of course, the big guy could always just take some more goo and spread it over the wound…

  “COME,” Xerxes urged from the bottom.

  “Yeah yeah,” Hunter grumbled.

  He tensed his wings, then leaned forward, hesitating a moment longer. Then he stepped off the edge, running down the steep slope.

  “Ahhhh!” he yelled, his guts doing somersaults as the air caught his wings suddenly. He felt them fill with air, and he leaned forward, his feet lifting off the slope. The ground pulled away quickly, dropping out from beneath him as he glided through the air.

  Crap!

  He resisted the urge to fold his wings, holding them in their spread position. Forward and downward he glided, until the ground leveled out. He passed directly above Xerxes, at least a dozen feet above the guy’s head…which meant he was flying a good twenty feet above the ground. And right toward the tall trees ahead.

  “Crap!” he shouted, pulling his wings in…and dropping like a stone. He swore, re-opening his wings, feeling them catch the air like a parachute a few feet above the ground. Seconds later, his feet struck terra firma, and he stumbled to a stop.

  Hunter stood there, hands on his knees, his wings safely tucked on his back. Sweat dripped from his forehead, his armpits itching a little. Like they usually did when he got the crap scared out of him. He heard heavy footsteps behind him, and a deep chuckle.

  “CLOSE…CALL,” Xerxes noted. Hunter grimaced, turning to face his brother.

  “Remind me never to do that again,” he grumbled. Xerxes chuckled again.

  “You’ll get used to it,” he signed. “Don’t stop practicing.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Hunter muttered. “Let’s go,” he added, walking toward the trees. “We have a war to prepare for.”

  Chapter 15

  Rain poured from the dull gray sky in a steady downpour, making the canopy of leaves overhead tremble violently. It formed deep puddles on the forest floor, filling Zac’s boots and soaking through his clothes. He shivered in the cold, hugging himself tightly in a vain attempt to keep warm.

  You okay, Zooey?” he asked, glancing back.

  Zooey nodded silently, walking behind him. The clothes he’d taken from home were far too big for her, his jacket able to serve as a cloak of sorts. She glanced up at him, her face pale from underneath her hood.

  Zooey wasn’t really Zooey anymore.

  She’d continued to change as they’d traveled together, her hair falling out completely, save for her eyebrows and eyelashes, and the top of her head. Her limbs had grown longer, and – having eaten everything in sight for the last few days – she’d grown significantly bigger. Nearly three feet tall, she walked as he did. And talked. Her claws were nearly gone.

  She was practically human.

  “Want to ride on my back for a little?” he asked.

  She nodded again.

  Zac stopped, crouching down, and felt her jump on his back, wrapping her arms around his upper chest. He stood back up, then continued forward through the woods.

  Lightning flashed high above, a burst of dull light amidst the gray.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Cold,” came Zooey’s reply. Her voice was like his, but higher pitched, and more feminine. She could easily pass for his twin sister if she wasn’t so short.

  Zac hesitated.

  “Do you still remember…being a cat?” he asked.

  A pause.

  “Yeah.”

  “Sorry,” he offered. It’d become clear what he was, after seeing Zooey’s transformation. His parents had understood it before him. They’d known what he was. Normally he would’ve figured it out
long before anyone else. He’d always been smarter, after all. His whole life, people seemed…slow.

  But this time he’d been slow. Because the truth had been too terrible to contemplate. What he was. And what that meant.

  Zac pushed the thought away, gritting his teeth.

  “Why?” Zooey asked.

  “Hmm?”

  “Why sorry?” she clarified.

  “I…for what I did to you,” he explained. “How I’ve changed you.”

  He felt Zooey squeeze him, felt her cool cheek against his.

  “It’s okay,” she murmured.

  “That’s what I would say, even if it wasn’t true,” he pointed out. He always said he was okay, even when he wasn’t. Something he never told his parents, but had confided in Zooey many, many times…when she’d still been a cat.

  “I like me better now,” she insisted. “I can talk to you, and understand you.” She paused. “Now I understand everything you used to tell me, back when I was…me.”

  Zac swallowed, feeling uneasy. He’d confessed a lot to Zooey over the years. Everything.

  “I’m different now,” she continued. “You made me better.”

  He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve, hoping Zooey would think it was because of the rain. Minutes passed, until he spotted a clearing in the distance. Zac veered toward it, and moments later they emerged from the forest.

  They were on a large hill, he realized…and the ground sloped downward ahead, leading to a valley below. A small town was nestled there, barely visible in the rain.

  “There!” he said, relief coursing through him. “Maybe there’s an inn or something.”

  “We don’t have much money,” Zooey warned.

  “We’ll make more,” he countered. “I can always build things for people.”

  “True.”

  “We have enough for a night,” he added. “Unless you want to sleep in the rain.” Zooey grimaced. As a former cat, the idea clearly didn’t appeal to her.

  “All right,” she agreed.

  They made their way down the hillside, reaching one of the larger buildings. A three-story building with a sharply-angled roof. He found the sign. Lionfare’s Inn, it read. Zac put Zooey down.

  “Hide your…” he began, but Zooey was already pulling her hood well over her head, hiding her face from view. He grabbed the door handle, pulling the door open and stepping through. A small lobby greeted him, the innkeeper standing behind a tall counter. It was an older man, in his fifties or early sixties.

  Zac studied him, taking in every detail.

  He had graying hair, bald on top and thinning at the sides. Few wrinkles, indicating a life spent mostly indoors. Well-groomed beard and mustache. A man who prided himself on his appearance, even if he was overweight. Clothes wrinkle-free, without stains. But rough hands, with callouses. He did labor, likely carpentry. A good skill for a man who owned an inn, to be able to build and repair furniture.

  The counter was polished, without many scratches. Recently sanded. The innkeeper prided himself in the appearance of his inn as well. A man who spent more time in the world than in his head.

  Unlike Zac.

  In a split-second, Zac finished sizing the man up. Just in time for the man to glance up at them. The innkeeper’s eyes went from Zac to Zooey, then to Zac again. Clearly suspicious.

  “What’d’you want?” he growled.

  “A room for the night,” Zac answered. He stepped up to the counter, but the innkeeper stopped him with a gesture.

  “Hold on,” he ordered. “Back a few steps.”

  Zac paused, then obeyed.

  “What’s a couple kids doing out in the rain at night?” the man inquired.

  “We’re orphans,” Zac explained. “Our house burnt down. Our parents…” He swallowed, lowering his gaze and shaking his head.

  “Uh huh,” the innkeeper replied. He inclined his head at Zooey. “Take off your hood.”

  “Why?” Zooey asked. The innkeeper rolled his eyes.

  “Because if you don’t, I kick your ass out,” he answered.

  Zooey glanced at Zac, who nodded. She reached up, pulling her hood back.

  The innkeeper’s eyes narrowed.

  “She’s my sister,” Zac explained.

  “I can see that.”

  “We just need a room for one night,” Zac stated, dropping a few coins on the counter. “Will this be enough?”

  The innkeeper glanced at the coins, inspecting them. Then he reached down behind the counter, putting on a pair of gloves and taking the coins.

  “Your room is outside,” he declared. “In the shack to the left.” He handed Zac a key. “Leave it like you found it.”

  Zac smiled, nodding his thanks, and they left the inn, running through the rain to their room. It was indeed a shack, separate from the inn itself. A precaution against powerful wills, he knew. There was a small pen attached to the shack surrounding by a little fence, probably for chickens or some such.

  They reached the shack, and Zac unlocked the door, opening it and stepping inside.

  “Oh,” Zooey muttered, covering her nose. The room was small and dusty, and cheaply made. Far from the quality of the main building.

  Disposable.

  There was a bed in one corner of the room, and Zac pointed to it.

  “You can sleep there,” he offered. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “There’s enough room for both of us,” Zoey countered.

  “You sure?”

  She nodded. They stripped off their wet clothes, and Zac hastily retrieved his blanket from his pack, handing it to Zooey. She was older than him, six in cat years and maybe double his age in human years. And as such, she was…developed.

  “Thanks,” she murmured. They laid down on the bed together, and Zac stared up at the ceiling, letting out a sigh.

  “This is nice,” he murmured.

  “I think we overpaid,” she countered. He smiled, turning to gaze at her.

  “Thanks for coming with me,” he stated.

  “Didn’t have much choice,” she countered. “Our…your parents would’ve killed me.”

  “You didn’t know that at the time,” he pointed out. She smiled back at him.

  “True.”

  Zooey reached out, running a hand through his hair. The stubs of her claws felt good on his scalp.

  “You’re…special, Zac,” she stated.

  “Because I’m a…”

  “Because of this,” she interrupted, putting two fingers on his forehead. She lowered them to his chest, just to the left of his breastbone. “And this.”

  He swallowed past a lump in his throat.

  “They were afraid, Zac,” she continued, staring into his eyes. “They loved you, but they loved themselves more.”

  Zac rolled onto his back, his vision blurring. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

  “If they’d known you like I do, they wouldn’t have been afraid,” she insisted, running her fingers through his scalp again. “I’m lucky to share this,” she added, pointing to his forehead, then his heart again.

  “Thanks Zooey,” he mumbled. She leaned in, kissing him on the cheek.

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  “For what?” he asked.

  “For making me better.”

  * * *

  Sukri opened her eyes groggily.

  She was lying on her side on a bed of animal furs, in a small room with thatched walls. There was something pressed against her face; she reached up, touching it…and realized that it was something rough but slightly flexible.

  A mask.

  She stared at her hand, realizing that it was completely wrapped in a yellow-brown material.

  What the hell?

  Sukri frowned, looking down at herself. Her entire body was covered in the same material. Even her feet. She wracked her brain, trying to remember what’d happened to her. How she’d gotten…

  She felt m
ovement against her back, and then an arm draped across her chest. A slender arm covered in short gray fur.

  She froze.

  It came to her then, her memories of the night before. Getting drunk at the tavern, then going back to the wigwam with Kayla. Their…night together. Then their repeat performance a half-hour later. And again, and again.

  Sukri touched the mask covering her face again, running her fingers over it.

  Kayla’d taken her back to the Shrine afterward, guiding her to the fifth floor of the place. She remembered lying down in a small room, on a wooden cot. A woman wrapping her up like a cocoon. And then…

  Then it got hazy.

  She gazed at the wall ahead, recognizing it. She was back in Kayla’s wigwam. They must have come back here after the…procedure.

  Shit.

  She looked down at herself again, at the wrappings covering her. Imagined herself covered in fur. A bolt of fear went through her.

  You’ve done some stupid shit when you were drunk, she told herself. But this…

  The thought of lying here was suddenly too much for her to bear. She had to move.

  Sukri sat up, twisting around to look at Kayla, whose arm slipped off of her. Kayla opened her eyes sleepily, gazing up at Sukri. She smiled, reaching out and stroking Sukri’s arm.

  “Hey you,” she purred.

  “Hey,” Sukri mumbled.

  “You okay?”

  Sukri didn’t answer, staring down at Kayla. At her golden eyes and gray fur, her pointed ears. Imagining herself looking like that. Not being herself anymore. She had the sudden urge to tear off her wrappings…and would’ve done so if Kayla hadn’t sat up, cupping Sukri’s face between her warm, furry hands.

  “Hey,” Kayla said, staring into her eyes. “It’s okay.”

  “I don’t…”

  “Shhh,” Kayla interjected, leaning in and kissing Sukri on the lips. Sukri allowed this, swallowing past a lump in her throat. “You’re going to be okay,” Kayla reassured.

  “I think I made a mistake,” Sukri confessed, moisture blurring her vision. “I…”

  “This is normal,” Kayla insisted calmly, running a hand over Sukri’s head. Which was also wrapped.

  What have I done?