by Taki Drake
Once Trey could see that they had heard him, he calmed down. Dascha realized later that she didn’t expect Trey to actually do anything in their battle. After all, he was a delicate, bubbly, long-tailed bird with little in the way of claws or a strong beak. She admitted later that she had underestimated him. She had forgotten what he was.
Firebird. Fire bird.
A raucous defiant sound ripped itself out of the throat of the beautiful white bird that was her friend. Spiraling spiraling, he rose up in the air. At the top of his arc, Trey flashed his wings open and turned to drop down toward the fighting wolves. Six feet above the wolves a wash of color slid over the firebird’s body like watercolors over a wall. Intensifying as they ran from his head to his tail, the colors changed from a soft pink to a brilliant, fiery red. As tray leveled off to fly over the wolves, flames sparked from his tail and covered the combatants with fist-sized medallions of fire.
The firebird executed a tight turn and strafed the wolves again. This time the circles of flame were larger and more intense. In response to the heat, Dascha and Stinky crouched protectively over the injured white cat. As Trey passed, the cat and ferret exchanged glances and wordlessly dragged the unconscious feline further away from the fight.
The air support made all the difference. Even infuriated wolves could not ignore burning fur. There was a momentary pause as each of the combatants rolled frantically in an attempt to stop the pain of the fire attack. Before they could resume, the bigger guns had arrived.
One of the wolves was slammed to the ground and batted over on his back by an enraged, oversized Siberian tiger. No longer looking amused or pleasant, the same tiger that had provided Dascha’s earlier lesson pinned the wolf to the ground and held the canine’s throat in a slathering grip. The tiger’s snarl was frightening even at ten feet away. The pinned wolf responded with an immediate stream and puddle of urine as he peed his submission frantically. The tiger didn’t appear to care.
The other wolf fared even worse. He had half risen when he saw the Siberian attack his opponent, whether in alarm or in satisfaction. Before he could make another move, he was slammed to the ground with a dual strike from the air. George and Glenfrey executed a perfect, simultaneous airstrike. The sound of the coordinated impact was harmonized by the sound of breaking bones and a whine of pain from the wolf. Each bird had slammed into a foreleg of the wolf. The snapping of the large bones was frightening, the murderous fury exhibited by both birds was terrifying. Not content with disabling the wolf, the two birds executed a complex mid-air roll that flipped the wolf onto his back before they slammed him back down to the ground. The three of them came to rest with the wolf on his back, broken forelegs splayed to the sides and the murderous beak of a bird positioned over each of his eyes.
They were not amused. It was apparent in their posture, and the tension of their bodies, as well as in the fireworks display of colored lines that Dascha could see radiating out from them, some into the air, some into the ground. The weary cat was just pleased that it was not directed at her.
Chapter 8 - Healing
The resolution had been a total mess. Apparently, the tradition was that on the first night that there were two parties. One of them was for a scattering of more experienced familiars to be present to allow the new members to talk with them. By not heavily loading the partygoers with the more intimidating elements, the thought was that the lower-level participants would feel that they had more of an ability to talk to the higher-ranked members and that the camaraderie would foster the development of important friendships. At this point, it was obvious that occasionally there were vulnerabilities to this plan.
The two wolves not only were from opposing packs, but their witches were in direct competition in the same area of the world. Both witches and familiars were very new. Emotional and rational control was something that came with maturity, and neither one of the pair bonds had built that basis.
The wolves were placed under control, and attention moved to the injured. Dascha was not sure how they were supposed to help them. Nanny had trotted over where Dascha and Stinky were huddled around the unconscious cat, kneeling down. Nosing gently at the white cat, she said, <
Nanny’s drooping head and subdued manner was so at variance with the way she had interacted with Dascha before that the cat was compelled to ask her, <
<
In a lower voice, Dascha could hear Nanny say <
Recognizing the sound of unreasonable guilt, Dascha rubbed her whiskers along the side of Nanny’s head purring as loudly as she could. <
The distraught goat did not look reassured, but before she could say anything, a human voice called her name. “Nanny! Vita is here. Where do you need her to help the most?”
It was the human storyteller that Dascha had seen earlier. He somehow looked different than he had during the day. More real and less polished. He was not wearing his cape but instead carried it in a rough bundle cradled in his arms. Only when the bundle started to move did Dascha realize that his cape was wrapped around something that he was carrying protectively in his arms. This must be the mysterious Vita.
Nanny trotted back over to where Bolad still stood protectively over the injured dog. Butting the vigilant stallion in the chest, she forced him to carefully back up a couple of paces. The goat dropped to her knees and managed to get out only the word, <
Dascha, lying on the ground in exhausted and determined protection of the injured white cat was uniquely positioned to see the emergence of the big, slow-moving animal that reached out its impressively clawed paws toward the injured dog. Stifling the protest in the base of her throat, Dascha watched the buildup of the green threads of magic from the ground into what was obviously a healer. From the healer, a braided rope of blue, white and green energy slid into the canine victim.
The intensity of the magic that the healer used trailed off as the dog appeared to ease. After about ten minutes of examination and healing the concealed healer pushed back away from her patient, almost falling into the arms of the storyteller, who had knelt behind her. Dascha could hear her voice as she told Nanny and those surrounding her, <
The voice of the healer was strange to the mental ears of Dascha. It was a slow voice. Something that was very deliberate and almost hypnotic in its cadence. She had never heard anything like it before but knew immediately that the being associated with that voice was a magic user.
Dascha felt a moment of disorientation. The idea that a familiar could be a magic user was foreign to her. She was used to thinking of a familiar as a passive battery, something to be used by their bond partner. She had seen something different with Glenfrey and Hadley but had not rejected the teaching of her youth. That head formed an unconscious conceptual framework that told her something different than what she saw now.
Familiars as magic users.
The storyteller gathered the healer back up, being care
ful to cover her with his cloak. Carefully, he found his way over to the injured white cat. Just short of the cat’s location, a long arm with clawed fingers reached out and poked him hard in the leg. Obedient to the healer’s direction, the storyteller carried her over to one of the wolves. It was the one that Glenfrey and George held pinned to the ground.
The healer’s strange voice sounded once more in Dascha’s mind. <
The man stopped briefly, his head whipping between the tiger and Glenfrey. When there is no contravening command, he turned and kneeled with the healer next to the pinned wolf.
Once again, the clawed arm of the healer slid out between the folds of the cloak and touched the injured wolf. Dascha could see a complex mixture of red, green, white, and blue magical threads that spun together into a rope and poured into the wolf. The intense energy from the healer only existed for a short period of time before the arm withdrew.
A pained but relieved whimper ripped itself out of the throat of the wolf. His tensed body relaxed, and he collapsed into unconsciousness. Both of the birds peered down in consternation at the sudden laxness in the body under their talons. In unison, their head spun toward the concealed healer.
<
The two birds exchanged a glance and Glenfrey took off like a rocket-powered airplane. George remained to watch the wolf, mantling his wings and crouching down in vigilant observance.
Wordlessly, the storyteller gathered the healer back up, and they proceeded over to Dascha and her injured victim.
Stinky instinctively moved back away from the injured cat as the healer was laid down next to her. Dascha refused to move. At this point, she was not willing to abandon the cat to anyone. Her protective nature and a strange feeling that might’ve been loyalty and responsibility stapled her body into place as nothing else could have done.
Dascha watch carefully with all of her senses as one arm extended out from the covering and touched the unconscious cat. There was no rise in magical threads at first. After a few seconds, a second arm reached out and touched the lower body of the cat. The cloak convulsed in rapid movement and the thick body of a sloth was revealed.
The light-sensitive eyes of the healer were squinted against the dim lights. It was obvious that the brightness was causing the healer pain but that she was ignoring it. Her watering eyes were focused on her patient, and the flash of magical threads that slammed into Dascha’s mage sight was intense. Dascha squinted her eyes in an effort to keep the threads in focus. Compared to the other familiars that have been healed, the threads that went to the cat were far denser and much larger.
As Dascha focused on the threads, she felt the healer jerk in startlement. Whipping her gaze back to the healer, Dascha didn’t see anything different than what had been done before, but she knew that something had triggered the healer’s interest. Focusing back on her patient, the sloth appeared to become almost comatose. To those that couldn’t see the bands of magic, the healer would not have appeared to be doing anything but Dascha could see the intense weaving and pulsating of the bands and knew that the healer was hard at work.
The healing session seemed to last forever but to the observers unaware of the effort that the healer was exerting it was only a few minutes. Dascha watched as the pulses from the healer got smaller and weaker. Intuitively, she knew that the energy necessary to heal the cat was more than the healer had available.
<
Dascha reached inside of herself and pictured power coming into her paws and her paws pushing that power into the lines between the healer and the injured white cat. Eyes closed, mind focused and determined, Dascha kept repeating to herself that she was not going to lose anyone more.
Even through her closed eyelids, the intensity of the light rays that indicated magic became brighter and brighter. It was even possible now to determine the color of the line that connected the healer and injured one. Dascha could sense the healer’s equal determination to hold the white cat away from the brink of obliteration.
Picturing herself standing next to the healer in support, Dascha had a mental view of clinging to the sliding, slippery white cat as it tried to slip down an incline into a yawning hole. Her native determination helped the black familiar to both visualize her goal and crystallize her stance. A soft intake of extra air was all the notice that the healer appeared to give to her.
The blanket of exhaustion that covered Dascha and by extension, the healer, settled deeper into her bones and muscles, deeper into her brain. Dascha fought it off with every stubborn bit of her mind and body.
The healing seemed to last forever if only a short time for those on the outside. Finally, the gentle touch of the healer on Dascha’s shoulder told her it was time to drop out of rapport. It was like pulling your legs out of thick, viscous mud. Difficult to do but essential for ongoing activity.
Dascha shook herself an effort to regain alertness. Feigning energy that she did not have, the cat straightened up and stared around her. She could see a small group of humans over by the partially-recovered dog. They were endeavoring to wake the injured canine up without moving her too much. Finally, one of them, a very old man in rich robes tenderly lifted the dog and walked away. The others, two men and a woman, rapidly followed him.
Dascha watched them long enough to see the group disappear with the sparking lights that she had come to associate with a teleport. At least one of the victims was going to be all right.
Glancing quickly over to the area where she had last seen the two combatants, Dascha noticed that neither one was still there.
Their absence wasn’t causing her any heartbreak whatsoever, but she hoped that they got the punishment that they deserved. Such a huge amount of disruption and injury, all because an argument could not be left alone for even a little while. Mentally, Dascha made herself a note that no battle was worth damage to the innocent.
The old man storyteller reappeared in Dascha’s field of vision so suddenly that the weary cat jumped. She must’ve looked a startled because the old man was smiling at her. She knew that she was bedraggled, covered with blood, gore, and dust. Not something that could be used to make a good impression. If it was one thing the cats hated, it was to have their dignity impaired. Trying to compensate by holding herself regally, the small cat just stared at the human. <
Dascha was extremely surprised when the old man responded back with a sure mental touch, <
<
<
Dascha decided at that moment that it was a perfect time to make sure that her fur was clean and the dust was picked out of it. Relying on everyone’s perception of cats needing to clean themselves at strange times, she assumed he would take it as a dismissal. She was wrong.
<>
<>
<
<
<
With that, the storyteller straightened up and walked away. Leaving Dascha to wonder who it was that now owed her a favor.
Chapter 9 – Lessons in Adaptability
The sun was not even all the way up in the sky when Dascha woke. Muttering to herself about stiff muscles, aches, and pains, the young cat stretched out thoroughly and started to move around. Taking care of necessary visits to designated areas took just a few moments, so as she waited for her friends to finish their morning preparations she thought back to the previous activities.
The rest of the evening after the healing had been somewhat of a blur to Dascha. Her exhaustion from the fight and healing efforts had left her low energy and inclined to find a quiet place to curl up and sleep. The rest of her group of friends had decided not to attend any further festivities that evening. Instead, they had scouted out the best places to sleep and bedded down within a couple hours of the fight.
She was not the only one with sore muscles. Many of the other familiars were moving slowly while complaining about pains and aches. It didn’t seem to matter if they had fought or fled. The strain on muscles and the damage of colliding with others had formed individual patterns of experience clouded memory the more that the incident retreated in time.
Dascha knew that today was the day that they would be getting some more information about the different areas of skill that familiars could develop. She was excited about that because it meant new areas of things for her to learn. She also knew that ranking was going to be described and discussed. Although she wasn’t much interested in rank, she thought it was a good indicator of something to look for in others. It was going to be important to have representation at that meeting.
From the previous day’s discussion, she knew that general and specific areas would contribute to the overall rank. Familiars were constantly being asked to provide power and other contributions to widely changing and changeable situations. Therefore, adaptability made lots of sense to rank familiars on.