He sat up, seeing that the first hints of dawn had begun to appear on the eastern horizon, causing the Skybands at the horizon to take on that pinkish cast they showed just before the sun came up. He couldn't go on with the dreams. They were starting to affect him in very bad ways, even had started making him hallucinate. He simply couldn't face what he had done, could not bear the merciless eyeless gaze that haunted him. There was no hiding from the dream, but there was a way to draw its fangs.
But the price of that may be more than his humanity, maybe even more than his soul. To take the bite out of the dream, he would have to completely reject his humanity, to totally eradicate any feeling of pity or guilt inside. He could do it easily, all it would take would be to find a new balance between him and the Cat, where its survivalist outlook on life would overwhelm his human emotions. That would make him everything he did not want to be, a brutal reactionary being that existed for its own survival, at the cost of anything around it. There would be no mercy in that being, and what was worse, there would be no constraint. It would kill without reservation, without consideration, without hesitation.
He could live with the memory of being a monster, or he could become one.
Neither option seemed very attractive, and it left him feeling helpless. That feeling made him angry, and that anger quickly built into an aimless fury. It wasn't fair! Why did this have to happen to him! He'd been trying to change, trying to reclaim some of his humanity, lose some of his feral harshness. Why did the dreams have to upset that? They were forcing him to abandon his goal of being more like Triana, forcing him to become the one thing that he could not bear to become!
It wasn't fair! When was he going to finally get a break? After everything he'd done, he deserved a chance!
He accepted what he was, but he hated it. He faced the possibility that he would be worse, and it frightened him...but wouldn't he just accept that too? After all, in that state, he wouldn't care what he did. But there would always be the human in him, trapped in the control of the Cat, screaming to the end of his days that what he was doing was wrong. It would never go away, it would become the new face staring back at him, though it would have no fangs.
Maybe he wasn't as well adjusted as he thought. He accepted his condition now. In many ways, he preferred it. He was Were now, and it seemed inconceivable to be anything else. But the Human in him still could not accept it, could not live with it. It did not want to be Were. It wanted its place back, to be the only voice inside him, unrestricted by the animal instincts that influenced his behavior. He'd hated being feral for a long time, but there seemed to be nothing he could do about it. A feral Were-cat was forever feral. Just like being turned, there was no changing that. It was a conditioned reaction to stimulus. It was instinct, and there was no going against instinct.
There was no going back. Once one was turned, the transformation was complete, and there was no going back. If something stripped his Were nature from him, it would kill him. He accepted it because he had no choice. He lived with it because he had no other way to live, and no matter how bad it was, his own nature would not permit him to give up.
After so long, the Human in him had finally begun to stir. He realized that, sitting there and looking at the horizon. It had finally found the strength inside to challenge his Cat instincts for dominion of his mind. That had to be it. His attempts to curtail his feral nature had strengthened it, and only now had it begun to strike back at the instincts. It explained the dreams, it explained a great deal.
But it faced an almost insurmountable challenge. And so, it seemed, did he.
He sat there while the sun rose, watching it through hooded eyes, knees drawn up and chin resting on arms set across knees, tail wrapped around his ankles. He watched the progression of darkness to light with little awareness of it, as night succumbed to day in varying degrees, consumed by his own internal conflict. Even the flittering buzz of Sarraya's wings did not make him look away from the rising sun, nor did her landing on his shoulder make him move.
"It helps to talk about it, Tarrin," she said gently, putting a hand on his cheek. A very tiny hand.
"I've been having a dream," he replied woodenly. "It's the same dream over and over. In the dream, all the people I've killed come back and haunt me. One in particular stands out, and I see her face behind my eyes all the time. It won't let me sleep."
"That's your conscious talking to you, Tarrin," she said compassionately. "Just be patient, and the dream will fade."
"I can't take it anymore, Sarraya!" he said in pleading voice, charged with emotion. "I see that face, and it reminds me of what I've done, what I've become! And it's right! I am a murderer!"
"Life is never easy, Tarrin," she told him in a gentle voice. "Part of life is living with the past. Another part is living for the future. You've been placed in a very difficult position. It makes you do things you don't want to do, but you have to do them because things would be worse for everyone if you don't. I don't really blame you for the things you've done, because if you hadn't, we wouldn't be here now. You have to understand that. The dream will fade, but it has to run its course."
"I just can't face it anymore," he said wearily, tears welling up in his piercing eyes. "I can deal with what's outside, but this never gives me peace."
She reached up and put her hand on his temple. "That's because you're tired," she told him, and he felt her well up with Druidic magic. He could feel it in her hand, feel it through her touch, feel it flow into him. "Lay back, Tarrin, lay back and let yourself rest. I'll keep the dream away from you. I'll make sure you sleep."
He sniffled, and found himself obeying her, laying back on the hard rocky ground. He felt that hand on his temple the entire time, until he was fully reposed on the rocky ground. "I'm just tired of it, Sarraya," he said in a small voice. "I don't want to face it anymore. I don't want it anymore. I want them to leave me alone."
"I'll make sure they leave you alone," she told him in a motherly tone, cooing to him. "Just close your eyes and go to sleep, Tarrin. I'll be here to watch over you."
He closed his eyes, and he felt something strange cover over his mind, like a heavy wool blanket that muffled his thoughts. The blanket was drawn over the eyeless face, concealing it from him, and that immediately made his body relax. It was gone, hidden away, and his mind seized on that cessation of the endless guilt and torture, let him drift into a dreamless, contented slumber.
Sighing, Sarraya leaned against his shoulder, continuing to use her Druidic magic to subdue his mind, to give him the opportunity to rest without his memories coming back to haunt him. She could feel it through her magic, feel the towering mountain of self-loathing and regret that had built up inside. So much pain. There was so much pain inside him. How had he hidden it for so long?
It saddened her, but it also gave her hope. For too long, she had feared that he had become what she saw in him, but this told her that he had not. He had teetered on the edge of that dark pit, had indeed fallen in for a while, but he had not surrendered to it. He was trying to claw his way out of it.
He was strong. He could make it. All she had to do was offer him a helping hand. And that she could do.
She had helped unbalanced Were-kin before. It was one of the reasons Triana had sent with him. She knew what to do to help him recover his humanity. And she would be there for him whenever he needed her.
She leaned against his shoulder, looking up into his face with tenderness. Strange that a Faerie would become so attached to a Were-cat, but she couldn't deny it. They had their moments of contention, but under it all was the genuine affection they had for one another. He was so complicated, like an child seeing through the eyes of an adult, trapped between two worlds and unsure which was the one where he belonged. It made him testy, unpredictable, and not a little violent, but the gentleness he used when dealing with friends and loved ones showed her the truth beneath that facade of ruthless strength. His outward personality was nothing but a front, a shie
ld to protect the young child inside him from the harsh brutatlity of the world. But it couldn't protect him anymore, and his defenses were starting to crumble.
But, truth was truth. She loved him like a brother. And because of that, she'd do everything in her power to help him. She would help him find the truth inside him, help him discover who he really was.
She would be there for him.
The rest had done him good, but had done little to calm his mind.
He ran over an area of stony hard desert, running on solid bedrock that had been stripped of all soil, a table of rock. The rocky spires which dotted the desert were thick here, almost like a great forest of stone trees, spread out just enough so that it left wide expanses of relatively flat rock between them. Piles of sand and dust had built up at the leeward sides of the bases of some of the pillars, but there was little more loose soil or sand to be found. It was midafternoon, and the searing heat of the day had begun to wane with the lowering of the sun, but it was still blisteringly hot.
But he barely noticed it anymore. Fifteen days in the desert had given his body the time it needed to adapt to the brutal conditions, to build up a tolerance for the tremendous day heat and the biting night cold. He knew that it was his Were regeneration that did that, that had changed his body to deal with a new environment, but he didn't think that much about it. The sun had bleached his hair to nearly white, and the sun had darkened his skin so much that he looked like a Selani. He looked like a true child of the desert, though it was still an unfamiliar and dangerous environment to him. Sarraya too had seemed to adapt to the heat, but he had the feeling that her Druidic magic was working there somewhere to make her more comfortable. She never seemed to sweat or complain about the heat.
He felt...awkward. Sarraya knew now, knew his secrets, and that made him feel strangely vulnerable. She was a friend, but she saw him at his worst, had seen every aspect of his worst, and he wasn't sure how to take that. His Were pride was stung; he had admitted weakness to an inferior. Part of him wanted to prove to her that he was still strong, that he was still dominant. Part of him wanted to prove it to himself. The Human in him was glad that Sarraya was with him, for she gave him someone to talk to, someone to confide in, someone to hear his troubles with a sympathetic ear and provide comfort and reassurance. She had allowed him to sleep, to rest without the terrifying nightmare to disturb him, and he couldn't thank her enough for that. She was a companion out in this blasted wasteland, a safeguard against isolation. He was both glad and unsettled that she was with him, but that was only natural for someone who often had two minds about everything.
He ran on over the heated rock, on pads that had toughened to deal with the harsh things on which they tread, with Sarraya's buzzing wings telling him that she was close. Fifteen days. Alot had happened in those fifteen days. He'd met a Selani. Twice. He'd seen the mighty kajats, had gotten into two fights with them. He'd seen the killing lizards, the umuni, but he'd yet to see some of the other wildlife that Allia had described. He hadn't seen any inu yet, but he figured that was a good thing. The way Allia talked, the inu were the worst of them. Inu literally meant quick death in Selani. He wasn't sure if that was a testament to their speed, or how effective they were at bringing down a victim. Either way, the Selani were very hard to impress, so if they gave a monster that kind of name, there was absolutely no doubt that it was a name well earned. He hadn't seen the massive armadillo-like kusuks, fifty-span long beasts that looked like gigantic rolly-polly bugs that were often found under rocks. He had yet to see a single chisu, moderately sized reptiles that ate whatever plants that they could find, and served as the main meal item for kajats and inu. Allia said that the Selani didn't herd them because they had very nasty dispositions, and their flesh did not taste very good to Selani. It had to be a reptillian version of mutton, an animal that humans herded for wool and food, but few actually enjoyed eating. Nor had he seen the draka, insectoid creatures that looked like giant ants. From what Allia had said, draka were very docile and gentle, and were often herded by Selani. Not because they were good to eat, but because they could live well with the herd animals the Selani did eat, and they were very alert. Draka were exceptionally gifted with sharp senses, and they warned the Selani when something dangerous to the herds was nearby. In exchange for their service as sentries, they were kept fed and sheltered. It was a mutually beneficial relationship. The draka kept the Selani from losing their goats and sukk, the huge, flightless birds that served as the basic staple of the Selani diet, to roaming predators.
But he was in the corner of the desert. From what Allia described, most of it didn't look like this. Most of it was barren soil dotted here and there with tough desert plants, just enough graze to support their animals. This was a very barren part of the desert, all sand and rock, and there was nothing here to support any great amounts of wildlife. He'd encountered two kajats, but he hadn't seen anything on which they could prey, so they had to be wandering, hunting for new territory. Not all of the Desert of Swirling Sands was quite as desolate as this corner of it.
Tarrin pulled up. The western horizon, which was now off to his left since he'd been travelling northwest as per Var's advice, was starting to darken. He knew what that meant. "Sarraya," he called as he pulled up, "there's a sandstorm coming in."
"I see it," she replied. "This place is pretty bare. We'll have to dig in."
"Not much to dig into," he grunted, looking down at the bare stone beneath his feet. "And it'll let the sand drain into whatever we make."
"Then let's raise the stone," she replied. "You think you can do that?"
"Sorcery?"
She nodded. "I can't do that with Druidic magic."
"It would be easy," he said after a moment of contemplation. Basic Earth weaves. Simple. "I wouldn't even need High Sorcery for it."
"Then I'll choke down on you pretty hard," she commented, flying up to him. "This is as good a place as any."
"No doubt there," he agreed. The nearest rock spire, wall, or irregularity in the bare stone was a few longspans away, and they didn't have that kind of time. "Instead of raising a stone shelter, why don't I just use a Ward?"
"Because I'd rather have a shelter," she said. "If your Ward fails, we'll be exposed. The rock will still be there."
"You have a point," he acceded.
It was a pretty simple process. He felt Sarraya's Druidic magic fall over him like a blanket, and he reached through that restrictive presence to the Weave. It responded to him sluggishly, and he drew in the sweet power of it as quickly as the Faerie's barrier would permit. When he had enough, he began weaving flows of pure Earth, sending them down into the ground as he released them, then he raised his paws in a gesture. The stone in front of him began to swell, expand, then it suddenly began to rise from the rock table like a folded cloth pushed up by a pet beneath it. Streaming the magic through him, letting it flow through him as it continued its work, he systematically raised up the stone to form a triangular wedge, very low to the rocky floor of the desert, and gently sloped on both sides so that the wind wouldn't eddy around the top and cause sand to build up on the leeward side. It was just high enough to let him stand fully erect at the center without hitting his head. The rock continued to move, to flow, changing its color as its substance shifted to his directions, and throughout there was a low grinding sound, as if the stone did not flow as smoothly as it looked to move. He sealed up both sides of the triangular structure, then opened one side into a narrow entrance. After that was done, he formed a crude door of stone,drawing the stone right from the earth, and attached it to the structure with simple eyes and hooks. He remembered to make a slot on the back and on the walls flanking it to hold a bar, then formed a stone bar so the door could be secured against the wind. The last little detail was a series of tiny holes in the top of the door, just enough for air to get in, but not enough for sand.
Once he had the shelter formed, he used another form of Earth weaving to harden the stone to th
e wind, make it very hard to wear down, giving it strength to stand against the wind and the scouring sand it would carry within.
Blowing out his breath, he let go of the Weave and surveyed his handiwork. Then he marvelled at how it felt to use Sorcery safely, to be able to use the gifts granted him through birth without fear of them destroying him. How much others took it for granted! It wasn't until he let go of the Weave that the sweetness of it touched him, reminded him of what it once felt like to be a Sorcerer, to command the power and not fear it as he did now. What would have been commonplace, child's play, for Dolanna, Dar, or Keritanima was something for which he had to prepare, plan, get cooperation from Sarraya to accomplish.
How wonderful it would be to be able to use his magic the way they did.
But such warm thoughts were doused when the eyeless face seemed to settle into the back of his mind, reminding him that there was no escape from it, reminding him of the darkness he had perpetrated, the darkness that had blackened his soul. It effectively sucked away the joy, the satisfaction he'd felt at creating the stone shelter. He sighed morosely and looked to the western horizon, guaging the speed and direction of the storm. It was bloody fast, and it was coming right at him. As all storms seemed to do. At the most, they had about ten minutes before it hit. It wasn't a very large one. They'd be stuck in the shelter for at least a day, but no more than three, if he estimated the sandstorm correctly.
A couple of days of forced isolation. He hoped Sarraya could take it. He hoped he could. The eyeless face made him restless, and a day or more of being stuck in the shelter, with nothing more than Sarraya or the walls to look at, would not do him very much good.
He was right to worry. After retreating into the shelter, just as the wind wall struck, he immediately felt enclosed, restricted, isolated. Sarraya sat down in the back corner of the dark, triangular structure, where he could not possibly hit her by accident, where she yawned. "I don't think this is going to be very fun. Want to play some chess?"
Tarrin Kael Firestaff Collection Book 3 - Honor and Blood by Fel © Page 28