Badgerblood: Awakening

by S. C. Monson

  Across the cavern, Peter was halfway down the last ladder. He dropped the rest of the way to the cavern floor, and his legs collapsed under him upon impact. As he limped to his feet, he clutched the leg that had been injured before the Isle.

  Kor struggled against the guards as they pulled him to his feet and clapped him in irons. He was taken away before Peter could reach him. Rimak led the way through the tunnels, into the prison fortress courtyard. They climbed the wooden stairs up the north rampart wall to the parapet walk. Kor fought every step, swinging his hands like a cudgel. There would be no escaping the punishment now, but blast it all if he wasn't going try anyway. The short chain between his manacles snapped at his captors, drawing blood. He knocked two to the ground before two more pinned his arms. Leaning into the men, he kicked out and felled another.

  They reached an anchor in the parapet with a chain secured to it, and threw him to the wall walk. Two soldiers knelt on his back, holding him down. Two others reeled in the chain tied to the anchor and with every scraping clink against the stone, Kor’s pulse throbbed faster. Like the beat of a ship’s drum in a galley of condemned criminals. The chain was long, hanging over and running the length of the wall to the ocean below. A set of manacles was attached to the end of it. The soldiers switched Kor’s bonds for these, Kor still resisting their every move. When they finally finished securing the new set of irons, Kor managed to fight his way to his feet. He seized the long wall chain and whipped it back and forth. Guards stumbled and cried out, enraged, as the metal struck their legs.

  Only Rimak kept his footing. He grappled with the writhing chain, slowly working his way hand over hand toward Kor. When he was close, he rammed the prisoner back against a crenel in the parapet. The forester clung to the chain as Rimak leaned him dangerously far over the gap between the jutting stones. Kor’s heart leapt into his throat as he glanced over his shoulder at the ocean and the long drop at his back. It was close to midnight, but the moon was full and bright, illuminating the scene far below. The ocean lashed against boulders at the base of the prison wall.

  “I am to finish you at my convenience. The king commands it,” Rimak said, leaning Kor back farther.

  The mercenary’s stinking breath hung in his nostrils, compounding his fears. He fought it and bared his teeth at Rimak, at death.

  The mercenary clicked his tongue. “Pity you were not born Vahindan. Such kuvvet deserves a more honorable warrior’s death.” With that, he shoved Kor over the wall.

  Rimak pulled him up short with a jerk on the chain, keeping him from dropping all the way. At his command, the other soldiers took over, lowering Kor in short, wrenching jolts to the ocean and boulders below. Icy waves tossed him against the rocks, opening new cuts. He gasped and coughed as saltwater flooded his mouth and stung his injuries. Rocks split the surface around him, cutting ominous shapes in the moonlight. The ocean roared in his ears and terror welled inside him. For the first time since arriving on the Isle, he wished he had died in the salt mines…anywhere but here.

  The barbing sensation from his fight dreams pushed through his dark thoughts.

  Rise. Remember your blood, remember me. The words pressed on his mind and he clung to them.

  He gritted his teeth and allowed himself to feel his pains. They distracted him from his fear. Clutching at his chain, he flipped around to face a boulder. He clawed his way up, sandals slipping on the slick surface. More than once, he bashed his knees against the rock and cut his palms on the rough chains, but at last he reached the top and pulled himself onto the narrow slanted surface. The prison wall seemed to grow out of it. Lantern light flickered on the ramparts above. Guards leaned out over the parapet, watching, laughing as the waves soaked him.

  Kor clung to the rockface, teeth chattering so hard, he feared one might chip. Another wave crashed over the boulder, then another, and another.

  The last pushed him up against the prison wall, and subsided, pulling him with it. His breath came in short, panicky gasps. Death surrounded him. There was no escape. In vain, he scrabbled for a handhold, tearing his fingers on the rock, and slipped over the edge. His fall was cut short by the end of the chain and his right shoulder wrenched from its socket. The pain was agony. Ocean waves slammed him against the rocks and a few ribs snapped in the collision. Kor uttered a strangled cry and cracked his head on a rock. He hung limp in the waves, barely breathing.

  Images flickered in his mind, faint and fading, but discernible—rocks in a steep ravine, falling and being swept away by a river into the forest, a guayvan attacking, Spart and Peter fighting the venomous creature.

  He remembered now. He had been running away from something—someone—and brought the pendant along for comfort. His mother had given it to him. There was a strength in the carved bone spiral, but he couldn’t recall the secret. It was gone now. So was she.

  The unbearable guilt returned, ripping Kor from his daze. He struggled weakly against it and the ocean, then felt his strength and resolve waning. At last he closed his eyes, ready to give up.

  The sliver-like prodding at his flesh returned then, stronger than before, refusing him rest. Refusing to let him go. Fuzzy black lines shuddered behind Kor’s closed eyelids. The phantom hand from his nightmare shivered into focus and reached for him. The bloodstained pendant dangled from the fingers.

  Rise, Kor. Remember your blood, remember me! Her sharp reprimand pierced his despair. A feeling that was stiff and dusty, as though eons old, stirred his bones, sparking his will to live. Kor gasped and his eyes flew open. Seizing the chain in his good hand, he twisted around to face the boulder. A groaning grunt rolled from him as he hauled at the chain. One step up the side of the rock, then another. His foot slipped. The pain in his dislocated arm shocked his grip loose and he nearly passed out.

  He kicked off his sandals, drew several deep breaths, and tried again. To prevent himself from slipping as easily, he wound the chain around his good arm. His bare toes latched onto crevices and indents as he walked up the boulder. The climb was laboriously slow. Every inch of him screamed in agony and exhaustion. The prickling in his skin grew stronger. The shivering black lines obscured his vision. At last he hooked his legs over the slanted tip of the boulder, dragged himself over the top, and collapsed into blessed oblivion.

  35

  Peter sat in the guard room outside the isolation cell, boots propped on the desk. He rocked gently on the back legs of his chair with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. There was a rough edge in the metal. He rubbed his thumb over it again and again, barely noticing that the action drew blood.

  As he rocked, he stared into the empty cell. The door was open. Kor was still on the rocks. After the brawl, Peter had tried to follow the group to the prison courtyard, but the other mercenaries started asking questions. Not wanting to raise suspicions, Peter had gone to snag a late shift meal, then tried to sleep. But sleep had been elusive and he’d returned to wait for Kor here.

  He’ll be fine, he thought, trying to convince himself. He dug his bleeding thumb deeper into the snag, staving off doubt.

  Suddenly the door at the top of the steps banged open. Peter let his chair whump back to all fours and shot to his feet. Roe was strutting down the long stairway. Behind him, two soldiers dragged a shivering, unconscious Kor between them. Peter stared at the limp, moaning form and restrained himself from strangling the soldiers. Roe said something, but Peter didn’t respond. Instead, he watched the guards drag Kor into the cell, wondering if the boy would ever wake again. Roe snapped his fingers in Peter’s face, repeating himself in his obnoxious, whistling voice. “I said, keys, Salky.”

  As the other two guards disappeared up the steps, Peter unhooked the keys from his belt and took a step toward the cell door. Roe immediately snatched them from his hand. The woodsman stiffened. Then, trying to relax, he backed up to the desk and sat on the edge. He rested his hands against the wood and crossed his legs, watching Roe. The guard locked the cell door and tossed the keys on t
he desk as he left. Peter saw him sneak a flask from his jacket and take a swig, then he stomped up the stairs and was gone. For a long moment, Peter remained where he was, waiting for Roe to poke his nose through the door. He didn’t. The woodsman snatched up the keys and rushed to the cell.

  “Kor, milad, can you hear me?” he asked, dropping the Salkaran accent and opening the peephole.

  The young forester was curled on his side, back to the door. Blood seeped from cuts and gashes on his body. Some of them were severe. Kor shuddered and started wailing. Startled, Peter snapped the peephole shut and backed away. He glanced at the stairwell, afraid Roe would return with the noise. Soon Kor’s wails subsided in a groan. After listening carefully a little longer, Peter finally decided Roe was not returning.

  He turned the key in the cell door lock and checked the peephole again. “Hang on lad, I’m comi—” The word trailed off as he saw the figure in the cell. His jaw dropped. The suspicions of Kor’s identity came rushing back. It’s true. It’s all true. He was certain now.

  Peter opened the door and stood, watching as Kor underwent a strange transformation. Fur sprouted from his skin. The existing hairs on his arms grew fatter and darker. The newer hairs started thin and cavern-paled olive, the same color as Kor’s flesh, then grew thicker. Some hairs turned black, others white. The fur enveloped his clothes and body, until the clothing completely disappeared and the skin was no longer visible.

  The figure shrank to half its size. Hands and feet melted into paws; fingers and toes lengthened into digging claws. Peter had never witnessed the shifting process before. The sight was unnerving and strange, yet smooth, almost natural. He crossed to the form and knelt beside it. A high-pitched chittering came from the bundle of fur as the shift completed.

  “Easy,” Peter said nervously, reaching toward the creature.

  A massive badger half Kor’s size, but larger than Spart, had taken the man’s place. It looked just as ragged and beaten as Kor. It was covered in cuts, and patches of fur were worn and scraggly. The coal-black back fur was speckled with snow-white hairs. A stark contrast to Spart, whose white hairs were graying. Two slim, black stripes marked the length of its white muzzle. Tufts of white fringed the round black ears.

  The badger’s eyes flew open. Peter drew back, but the badger just twitched on its side, whimpering. Its eyes rolled in pain. They were darker than Kor’s, a hazy, deep cobalt. Flecks of dull forest green floated in the irises. A muted shadow of the golden starbursts bordered the pupils.

  Peter stroked the bristly fur and felt the badger trembling under his hand. He leaned forward cautiously to check its front. There was a spot of white fur on its upper chest amid the ebony hairs. He almost missed the scar hidden in the badger fur. Peter pushed hairs aside and followed the mark with his fingers. It ended in a curved hook over the badger’s chest, just like Kor’s.

  The badger was Kor.

  Peter ran a hand over Kor’s badger body, searching for injuries. The right fore shoulder looked swollen and deformed.

  “Dislocated…” He felt along Kor’s side. Bumps jutted up at odd angles under the fur. “Broken ribs.” He sighed. “We had two weeks left. And you blasted-well nearly kill yourself in a fight.” It was a half-hearted scold.

  A series of high-pitched yelps came from Kor as an audible pop sounded from his shoulder. Peter jumped at the noise and stared. The shoulder no longer looked deformed. The broken ribs seemed to knit back together under the skin next. Kor kept up the yelping, and Peter clamped a hand around his muzzle. The muffled yips and whines sounded loud in his ears.

  “Whisht, lad,” Peter said in a soothing whisper. “Don’t want the guards to come running, do we.” He glanced back at the open cell door. True, most Isle guards were accustomed to the sounds of human suffering, but Kor was no longer human.

  Kor’s muscles went taut and his entire frame shook. He kept up a steady, pitiful whine and struggled under Peter. The woodsman kept an eye on the door, trying to hear over the sound.

  “Easy, lad, you’re healing. You can change back at will when you’re ready. I think,” he added under his breath. “You hear me? You can shift back.” Peter realized the phrase probably meant little to Kor. Much of the younger generation either didn’t know what shifting was, or believed it to be myth. Besides that, Peter wasn’t sure how much Kor understood in badgerform.

  The whines died down. In the lull, Peter thought he heard another noise, like a door opening, or a shout. “Someone’s coming,” he said. “Change back.”

  Kor whimpered again, scrabbling at the stone floor with his paws. A long, piercing whine sounded through his black nose.

  “Whisht!” Peter jerked Kor’s muzzle around and met his gaze. The wild, fearful badger eyes locked with his. “Change, Kor. Change back.”

  Before he let go and crept to the cell door, Peter thought he saw a spark of understanding in Kor’s eyes. Just as he closed and locked the door, Roe’s pinched tones carried down the stairwell. “I said, what’s going on down here?”

  Peter’s heart pounded in his chest, but he stood staring calmly through the open peephole at Kor as he responded. “You mean since you were last here?” he asked, slipping effortlessly into his Salkaran accent. “Not much. Prisoner’s just talking to himself again.”

  “I heard noises,” Roe said, approaching.

  Peter turned, fiddling unconcernedly with his keys. “The prisoner is suffering.” Chittering badger yelps rose from the cell.

  “Animal noises,” Roe said, suspiciously.

  Peter casually rested his hand on his sword and eyed Roe doubtfully. The guard pushed past and stood on tiptoe to peer through the peephole. He gasped. Peter looked over him into the cell. Kor was in the throes of what Peter hoped was shifting back, not quite fully man again. He shrank and grew sporadically, vacillating between badger- and man-form. The black and white fur followed suit. It grew and shrank, rippling through Kor’s olive-toned man flesh and his prison clothes. The process did not look as smooth as the shift into badgerform had been.

  Blinking in astonishment and pointing, Roe stumbled back from the door. “What in Caderia is that?”

  Peter pretended to take a closer look. “Looks like a prisoner to me.”

  “It’s a werebeast,” Roe said, sounding terrified.

  Peter scratched his jaw uncertainly. “I—see a man,” he said, stalling for time. The longer he could keep Roe here, the more time Kor had to shift back before other soldiers saw. He eyed Roe’s jacket where the flask was hidden. “You sure you aren’t, you know…” He hesitated and dropped his gaze. “Tipsy?”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  Peter glanced at the stairwell and raised his hands. “Alright, no need to shout. Maybe if you just sit down a moment, relax.” He reached an arm across Roe’s shoulders, intending to guide him to the desk, but Roe batted it aside with a strong blow.

  “I know what I saw,” he said.

  The woodsman rubbed his arm gingerly, watching Roe make for the stairs. As soon as the guard disappeared, Peter dropped his hand and stepped quickly to the peephole. Kor writhed on the ground, half badger, half man. The escape planned for two weeks later seemed to crumble before Peter’s eyes.

  “Blast.” He slammed the peephole shut and took in the guard room. It was small and the stairway was steep and long. When the guards piled in to see the creature, Peter could move between them and the stairs. If Kor was still shifting, Peter would take the guards out from behind before they raised the alarm. Then he and Kor could steal a ship and escape…

  And leave Eliker and Serah behind, he thought sarcastically. Then, We could hide in the tunnels for two weeks… He rubbed his leg. The thought made his old wound ache. “Come on, Kor,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Shift, blast you.”

  Roe returned shortly with Rimak and four other guards. “It was a beast, I said, with fur and claws and paws, in the shape of a man—a werebeast. See for yourself.”

  Rimak glanced at Peter. The woodsman
raised his eyebrows doubtfully and glanced away. Ever since arriving on the Isle, he’d avoided lengthy interactions with Rimak. The mercenary was the only soldier on the Isle who had seen Peter before he was Vance.

  The guard room fell silent as Rimak peered through the peephole. Peter backed away, cutting off the guards from the stairs. His hand went to his pommel, thumb absently digging into the rough spot again. At last, Rimak turned from the cell door, his mouth set in a sneer. Peter tensed as the mercenary glanced at him, then looked at Roe and shook his head. Roe peered through the hole, then dropped back to his heels.

  He gestured at the door, annoyed. “So he’s changed back, but I tell you, I saw it. Vance was here, he knows. Ask him.”

  All eyes turned to Peter. The woodsman relaxed a little and dropped his hand from his pommel. He grimaced at Roe and raised one shoulder in an apologetic shrug.

  Rimak started chuckling, a hoarse, grating sound, not entirely genuine. Following his cue, the other guards burst into laughter.

  “A werebeast?” cried one, wiping tears from his eyes. “Aren’t those bad luck?” He thumped Roe on the back. “Better go wash yourself in garlic juice, eh, little man?” He nodded at Roe and looked at Peter. “Bit tipsy on Isle plonk. Only man I know who can accomplish such a feat. Last time it was a fire-breathing sea monster.”

  Roe’s entire form went rigid with rage. “I saw what I saw,” he said through clenched teeth, but the other guards just laughed harder and walked him to the stairs.