Doublesight

by Terry Persun

  The sound of crickets clattered in his ears. The air around him was warm, close to the ground and amidst the grass. He moved farther from the campsite until he knew he wouldn't startle anyone with noise. At the moment he felt distant enough from the others, he burst into a full run, leaping occasionally to view where he was. His strong body leaped and turned as he ran full speed. He didn't stop until he stood on a small grassy knoll where he could see the buffalo herd grazing and sleeping. Strategically placed sentinels watched for predators.

  For a moment, as a thylacine, Brok had the urge to charge them. But his human mind encroached and he sat. One buffalo snorted, and a few walked off and grazed. The ground had been trampled and eaten into a clear area. Brok shifted into his human image. As all doublesight must do, he longed for both images, but could have only one at a time, the human image being the most natural.

  He listened to the crickets. Fireflies blinked all around him. The moon had shifted slightly and shadows lay across the ground, adding bulk to the buffalo, causing the animals to look larger than they were.

  Brok wondered what it was like to live that way, completely animal, with literally no human side. Did they yearn for more? And he wondered equally about those who were human-only. Did they want an animal side, physically? He had heard that it was their oneness as a human that caused their sanity to slip, that humans could be more ruthless because when their minds slipped into an animal state, there was no control, no coming back. Was that to be the fate of Therin?

  His shoulders and back tensed with the sorrow he felt suddenly for the death of his parents. As much as his face muscles tightened and his eyes welled up, he could not cry for some reason. His thoughts would cut him from the sorrow and connect him to images of vengeance, not against all humans, but against the ones who murdered his family and left only three of them to fend for themselves.

  In human form, Brok focused on his own thoughts, and the sounds and images faded at different degrees, dependent upon his emotional state. In deep sadness the entire plain could have been invisible, while in thoughtful openness to the sensibility of the buffalo his senses were more acute on the lumbering animals, but still oblivious of the plains around him. It was during a time of anger, with his eyes closed, imagining the deaths of his enemies that someone was able to creep up on him. It was the jump and snort of a buffalo that alerted him. He turned and saw a shape encroaching.

  “Don't be alarmed,” the shape said as it approached.

  Brok looked around and reached for a rock.

  “It is Arren of the crow clan.” The man stepped closer until Brok rose to his knees in a ready position. “I thought you might want company. You might need to talk. Caring for your brother and sister can be an arduous task when you are going through a lot of emotions yourself. There is hardly time to consider your own choices.”

  “All the more reason for me to be alone,” Brok said.

  “Would you like to tell someone what happened?”

  The buffalo moved away from the two in a calm manner. Brok knew that the animals could sense the lack of danger in their presence. The sound of Arren's voice broke the silence in a strange way, like the slow cutting of a long cloth—even, yet somehow destructive.

  “Why the interest?” Brok asked.

  Arren ignored the rock in Brok's hand and crouched next to the thylacine doublesight. “I lost a close friend in the attack on my people early this morning.”

  “Yet you celebrate tonight.”

  “Our ways are difficult for others to understand. You see, all crows are intuitives in some small way. My friend, all our relatives step into the next realm. None of us truly die.”

  “His body is gone, being picked apart at this very minute. How can you say he didn't die?” Brok let the rock slip from his fingers. He sat back and crossed his legs.

  Arren turned his eyes to the moon. “He doesn't speak to me. At least I can't hear him if he does.” He made a fist. “But I feel his presence. Feel it with my whole body. He…he touches me.” He opened his fist toward Brok. “And you, my friend?”

  “Memory.”

  “Clear? Sharp memory?”

  “Horrible memory. I close my eyes and I see my father's head severed by some monstrous human, my mother's back slashed as she tries to escape, my sister stabbed in the back while running toward me. The images are stuck in my head.”

  “How ruthless humans can be when they are fearful,” Arren said.

  “Fearful? Of what? Doublesight are the least dangerous among them. And in Brendern Forest? You'd think of all places for the doublesight to be safe it would be here, especially thylacines. I think these humans came from another place. Sclan perhaps, or Weilk. Much of Weilk are warriors from the Sclan battles. There is still much trouble along Torturous Road leading between Castle Weilk to the Weilk Stronghold.”

  “Doublesight have not always been so peaceful. There was a time when you and I may have fought to the death,” Arren said.

  “We are both predators and prey,” Brok said.

  “We are, I admit. Do you wonder if the doublesight are having an uprising? Are The Few behind any of this? Why else would humans from another land come into the Brendern Forest? Wouldn't Kurstom have his own guards planted?”

  Brok huffed. “You may be right.”

  “About the guards?”

  “About the fear.” Brok searched Arren's eyes for the reason the man visited him. “Thylacines can be frightening animals if at every turn you run into one. Have you ever seen a thylacine take down a deer? A bear? If so, you wouldn't want to allow your children to run free.”

  “These men knew you were doublesight. It sounds as though the attack was planned to me,” Arren said. “If I were you, I'd want to avenge my family's deaths.”

  “I thought you believed they didn't die?”

  “I said, ‘If I were you’ that's what I'd do. You are the one haunted by the images.”

  “What about avenging your clan? How many died?” Brok stood above Arren. “Twenty? Fifty? They may have changed realms, but they are not here. Even you admit that you can't talk with your dead. You can't put your arm across his shoulder. Don't you want revenge against your attackers?”

  Arren reached out and gripped the stone that Brok held a few minutes ago. He slammed it into the ground, and a few buffalo jumped and trotted farther away. His teeth clenched and his jaw set. “Yes, I'd like to see them dead. Does that surprise you? Doublesight are the peaceful ones, it is said, but that does not mean that we are dead inside. That does not mean that we must sit back and accept whatever fate befalls us.” Arren stood to meet Brok's gaze. “Oro is getting old. Zora was reckless. The way she wanted to run the clan would have us all dead. And Zimp.” He stopped and looked away. “We were not well organized. We set no guards most nights. The warning signs were everywhere.”

  Brok remained silent. He waited for Arren to say what he came to say.

  “The crow clan needs a warrior leader, not a sensitive woman too weak to look you in the eye,” he said.

  “But Zimp has powers.”

  “She turns them all inside. She forgets tradition. You saw that she didn't even have a sacred candle with her. And then, to mock our dance by not participating? If she loved her twin, she'd welcome her into the next realm. No. Zimp is a danger to us all. She would have us all killed with her lack of concern for anyone but herself. No different than her sister.” Arren took a deep breath. “If she were only gone.”

  “Killed?” Brok said.

  “Just gone. I don't care how.”

  Brok tightened his brow and stepped back. “You want me to kill her?”

  “No, no, that's not it at all. I just want her gone. Oro will be unable to lead. She's unable to lead now. Zimp can't lead. If you challenged her, showed everyone that she doesn't have it in her.” Arren quieted. “I'm not proud of this. But we're vulnerable. Do you feel safe with us?” He turned to leave, then swung back and said, “I would be your greatest asset in finding the peo
ple who killed your family. All Oro is concerned with is the council and the call of The Few. They are not so important to me.”

  Brok said nothing. There was nothing to respond to.

  Arren had said what he wished to say. But then Arren turned one last time. “Think it over.” Arren walked into the grass and bent down to hide from view. In a moment, a large crow entered the sky like a shadow. The silhouette glided low over the plain and cut east so that it did not enter the camp directly.

  The blazing fires had died down; only a glow existed to indicate the campsite. The night temperature placed a cool hand against Brok's body. The drumming had silenced. He hoped that Breel and Therin were still asleep.

  A breeze pushed his curls along his neck. Chills ran up his back. He closed his eyes and opened his arms to the light of the moon. He considered Arren's proposal, and Oro's. He wished on his own life that he could hear Fremlin's voice as Zimp must surely be able to hear her sister's, and how Oro, he guessed, could hear the whole of the other realm. What should he do? What was his duty to his family? To the doublesight and The Few?

  Brok set his intention on making a decision before morning. He took in the plains and the buffalo, turned and stared at the forest, his home. He pulled in the night air until his chest expanded to its limit. Long and slow, he exhaled as his body shimmered and changed, as fur appeared to burst from his skin, as he felt his head elongate, the colors dim. Forced by the shifting shape of his own body to drop to the ground, Brok let out a small whine. His teeth felt wet with saliva, cold against the night air.

  He sniffed the area where Arren had been. The scent of fear lingered still. The thylacine let his mouth hang open and pulled in the scent as deeply as he could, pulled it up and through his nasal passages in the hopes that in human image he would remember the smell. After scouring the area, he turned to the buffalo and burst into an angry run. At one point he imagined the bodies of his family and almost shifted back into human image. But he continued on, casting the thought aside. Once the buffalo ran, he turned to run back to the camp.

  The woods, in its darkness, calmed the beast. His animal sight brought clear edges and unique details to the trees and underbrush. He heard the caw of a crow and shifted into his human form. The bird clucked and Brok wondered if that was a signal for a false alarm. He touched the trunk of a nearby spruce and traced its bark with his fingers. Returned to his human form, the darkness had closed in, the sparse moonlight the only illumination.

  Brok sneaked up on Oro and Zimp's wagon. At the entrance he stopped and placed his hand on the side pole. He tensed to pull himself into the space as quietly as he could.

  10

  THE WAGON'S CENTER OF GRAVITY shifted and Zimp knew that she had company. She lay still and held her breath. A chill scurried like a mouse up her back and into her scalp. She held back from shaking it off. A floorboard squeaked and the intruder hesitated before advancing another careful step. She let her breath slip out and turned as if in sleep. A knife, located along her feather mattress, found its way into her hand. In a more ready position, Zimp allowed her arm to stretch in the dark at the exact pace as the advancement of the person in the wagon with her.

  “Zimp?” a voice broke through. A moment later a hand reached to touch her shoulder.

  Zimp opened her eyes and in the deep darkness of the wagon picked out the body mass of Brok. She turned her wrist in a very slow movement to indicate to him the position of the knife she held. It pushed against his solar plexus until it met resistance. She pulled back.

  “You were awake,” he said.

  “Never try to surprise a thief.” She sat up onto her elbows and let the knife slide back into place along the mattress. “What are you doing here?”

  “I shifted and took a run into the valley tonight.”

  “You are free to do what you wish. Why tell me?”

  Brok rested his knee on the floor. “I had a visitor.”

  “Go on.”

  “Your clan is not as tight as you might think. I am afraid that someone tried to use me, thinking that my anger would be easily sparked into the flames of hatred. Thylacines are predators, but so are crows.” He stopped.

  “This is a warning, then?”

  “More than a warning. You are not the only one in danger.”

  “Oro?”

  “It appears that your captain does not trust you or Oronice. He suggested I dispose of you.” Again, Brok stopped speaking.

  Zimp quieted and checked in with her own emotions. So much happened during the day that she wasn't sure what she felt. “If you mean Arren, he's loyal to the clan. He may not believe that I am the right person to lead, but he wouldn't harm me, either.”

  “He may not, but who might he solicit? When might he choose not to protect you? He is a man who does not do his own dirty work. Such men are the most dangerous.”

  “Why should I believe you? You haven't liked me from the beginning. I can see how you look at me.”

  “It is treachery like this that killed my family. Perhaps once the doublesight fought amongst themselves, but my father has always said that those days were ended, that the doublesight would be wiped out if they did not protect one another.”

  “I see.” Zimp reached out and touched his hand. She sensed calm in him. Either he hid his hatred or he had none in him at that time. “I will admit feeling uneasy around you and your family. The power you have within you frightens me. But I can tell that you mean me no harm.”

  “We are taught how to hold our aggression so that we may spring it upon our prey.”

  “Then I am thankful that I am not your prey,” she said.

  “You would not know until it was too late,” Brok said.

  “Another warning?”

  “Arren may be right about your inability to lead, but it is not for him to decide, nor is it for me to decide. I have heard great things about The Gem of the Forest and I believe my father would have given his life to protect her. I am offering the same.”

  “You are an honorable young man,” Oro said from outside the rear of the wagon.

  “Grandmother? You were listening?”

  “I noticed young Brok was off on his own and became suspicious, I am afraid. I felt no deep fear, but I am old and don't always trust myself any more. The other realms have their own needs, their own battles, and the voices I hear do not always want what is best for this world. Remember, my dear, we can be tricked as easily by other worlds as we can by this one.”

  Zimp felt the weight of responsibility being shifted from Oro's shoulders to her own. “If you can't rely on your senses, how can I ever learn to do it?”

  “Your sense of the other realm delivers only half of any decision. You must draw the other half from your own beliefs.”

  Brok pulled his hand from Zimp's touch and addressed Oro. “I am sorry you had to hear this,” he said. “You need not worry about it.” Brok let his head drop into a respectful bow.

  Zimp tried to make literal sense of what was happening. A natural enemy, a thylacine, and one who admittedly disliked her, just announced his loyalty and protective services, while a fellow clan member became exposed as her enemy.

  “Help me into the wagon,” Oro said.

  Brok quickly crawled over and extended a hand.

  Zimp, still dressed for the ceremony she had skipped, pushed the blanket from her lap and sat with her legs next to Brok's.

  With Oro in the wagon and seated on her cot, Brok bowed once again to both of them, stepped out the back and onto the ground. “I should check on my brother and sister,” he said.

  “If there is a way I can thank you…” Zimp said.

  “I will let you know,” Brok said.

  Zimp felt another obligation settle on her shoulders.

  Oro settled back on her cot. “You have made a mistake not taking part in the Ceremony of the Dead. Your clan must know that tradition is as important to you as it is to them if they are to trust your leadership. There was much talk about your abs
ence.”

  “But you said I could do as I pleased,” Zimp said.

  “And you can.”

  “Riddles.” She flopped onto her back. The darkness suddenly felt heavy and smothering. Her eyes welled up with the confusion she felt inside. Who could she truly trust? Brok, even while warning her about Arren, made it clear that he was not trustworthy, either. Must she suspect everyone? “Anyway, there is more to be concerned about than mindless tradition,” she said.

  In a sleepy voice, Oro said, “Tradition is never mindless unless you act in a mindless manner.”

  More riddles. Zimp let the tears seep from her eyes and run down her cheeks to tickle her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut in frustration, as though she could block out the world she now lived in. It was all she could do to hold back the pressure that originated from inside her. She tensed her muscles. She could not move, had no will to move. The distinct sound of Therin as he crawled under the wagon to lie down relieved some of her concern for Oro. Brok had kept his promise and set his guard. Zimp allowed her mind to wander until she faded off into sleep.

  She awoke to the sound of birds chirping. Her head and neck ached with the stiffness of a tense sleep. Prior to opening her eyes, Zimp checked her thoughts for a dream, but remembered nothing more than her last conversation with Brok. Everyone appeared to be against her, even Oro. Arren thought her weak; other clan members felt she didn't adhere to tradition. Even Oro asked that she make decisions that Zimp felt were beyond her ability. Zora may have loved the chance for all the attention, but Zimp did not. She had her difficulty with Arren, but he was a trained soldier—better trained than she was. So, why wouldn't he make a better leader than her? He wanted the post. Let him have it.