Pathfinder Tales: Skinwalkers

by Wendy N. Wagner

  "This is the Basalt Library," Lomont announced. He spread his arms, indicating the empty tables. "And this is where we study and repair the texts we bring in."

  "Who are you?" Jendara asked.

  "Humble members of the Pathfinder Society. You may have heard of us—adventuring scholars who travel in search of lost knowledge. Some of us are philosophers, others historians. Some of us," he gave a crooked smile, "have rather more interesting skills."

  Jendara had indeed heard of them. The Pathfinders were legendary, even out here in the islands. She'd seen their headquarters, the Grand Lodge, during her time in Absalom. She began to circle the space, noticing dust on a desk, the remarkable coolness of the space, and the lack of smells, save perhaps a hint of hide glue. "Where is everyone? It's so quiet."

  He inclined his head in agreement. "At any one time, there are only a few of us inside the library. The majority of our work takes us out into the world." He swept open his heavy black robe, revealing a sheathed sword. "But protecting the collection is also an important part of our work."

  Jendara raised her hands. "Relax, librarian. We're not here to hurt you or your books. I am Jendara, lately of Sorind, and this is Hazan. We're on a mission to learn about the history of these islands—to better understand a dangerous enemy."

  He pulled out a chair, then flipped it around and straddled it. He waved a hand at the nearest chair. "In that case, I need to know more." He rested his arms across the chair back. "What is this enemy?"

  Jendara sat down. "Have you ever heard of creatures called skinwalkers?"

  "Skinwalkers?" His dark eyes glimmered. "By chance, I have. In fact, I have a particular interest in shapeshifters."

  "I see," Jendara said.

  "No." He slid his shirt collar back, revealing the beginnings of an ugly puckered scar. Not a brand like Jendara's, but the furrows of some terrible claws. "Now you see."

  Jendara's heart raced. This place, this strange place of books, was just what she needed. She rested her elbows on her knees and began to explain Kalira's ability to turn men into monsters.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  He led them into the lower stacks, a warren of bookshelves on the ground level. Jendara couldn't stop gaping. She knew nothing about the value of the books themselves or the information they contained, but every twist or turn revealed some new treasure: a series of volumes bound in dragonhide, their covers winking in the soft light; a book bound in blue burnt velvet that almost begged to be stroked; an entire shelf covered with a linen sheet that she swore chirped and tweeted as she passed by, rather like a sleeping aviary. Occasionally they passed the implements of the librarians' work, carts full of glue pots and dusters and sacks of charcoal.

  Lomont noticed her curious glance toward one cart. "Moisture is ever our enemy," he explained. "Most of the bookshelves have been enchanted to repel dust and dampness, but even the best charm fails after a few years. Moreover, our feet bring in dirt and molds every time we enter the chambers. Constant vigilance is needed in the fight to preserve these books."

  "I had no idea your work could be so consuming," she murmured, peering at the painting of a nymph stretching across the spines of a multivolume set. She rubbed the back of her neck. "This art is remarkably like the real thing."

  "Yes," he agreed. "A magically enhanced image. I wouldn't recommend looking at it for too long.

  "Nor would I recommend touching that!" he bellowed, catching Hazan's hand as he reached out to a glossy black volume. "That shelf is for books about magical combustion. Many of them require special handling—if you see what I mean."

  Hazan nodded, his face very white. He gripped his hands behind his back and walked with his elbows close to his body.

  Lomont directed them around another corner, where the labyrinth of bookshelves ended and small study nook opened up. He pointed to one of the study carrels. "Hazan, you can read, correct?"

  "Yes," Hazan snapped.

  "I'll bring you a few works so you can begin looking for information on the skinwalkers. In all my studies, I've only found a few references to them, so I'm not certain how much will be relevant to our search today. You are welcome to use the graphite sticks and parchment on the desk."

  Lomont hurried away. Hazan pulled out the chair at the little desk and looked at Jendara. "He's a little pompous, but this place has to have the information you've been looking for."

  She nodded. "I think you're right." She smiled a little. "I have to thank you, Hazan. You've been encouraging me ever since I organized that scouting party on Sorind. You lent me your boat. You helped me out of that garbage heap back at the palace. Maybe I was wrong about you."

  "Thanks. I just wish Byrni were here to help." He fell silent, his gaze pensive.

  "Hey, we're going to make those bastards pay for what they've done." She gave him a fierce grin and felt her fingers fold into fists. Studying books might get her the information she needed, but she was already spoiling for a fight.

  Lomont reappeared, pushing a cart full of books. He offered some to Hazan, then crossed to Jendara with a full armload. "Are you all right?" he asked. "You look pained."

  She realized the back of her balled fist stung. She shook out her hand, surprised by how much it hurt. "Just a little burn, that's all."

  "Very well, then." He unloaded his stack of books. "You've got a lot of reading to do. You'll need to be focused."

  Jendara surveyed the heap of texts. None of them had velvet covers or scantily clad women on the spines. She opened the one on top and stared at the tiny letters in dismay.

  Lomont clapped her on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I brought out the magnifying glasses."

  She sank into her seat. She had a hunch she'd rather be facing a rabid wolf than this heap of books.

  paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas , Aug 10, 2014

  Chapter Sixteen

  Smoke and Mirrors

  Hours passed. The light from the clever system of mirrors waned, and Lomont brought out some kind of charmed lantern. It glowed with a cold blue light. Every now and then it flickered, and he tapped it a few times until the glow went steady again.

  He unfolded his lanky frame, a small book dangling from his hand. He stretched and then crossed to Jendara's side. "Look at this."

  Jendara set aside the massive tome of Linnorm history she'd been looking at. "What am I looking at?"

  He hooked a chair leg with his toe and pulled it close to Jendara's seat. "You said Kalira and Brynorm gave you some kind of brand."

  Jendara flexed her hand and winced. "It hurt like hell. Kalira said it would make me part of her clan."

  He shook his head. "I don't think that's why she branded you." He tapped the page. "Marks like this can be used to influence people's behavior—compelling them to do certain things or forbidding others."

  "So you think my brand is some kind of...spell?"

  "I think I want to take a look at it." He got to his feet. "Let's go out to the kitchen and examine the brand under some better light. Hazan, if you need anything, follow the leftmost aisle and take the first two left-hand turns, then the second right. You'll find yourself in the entry hall."

  "I'll be fine," Hazan answered.

  In the kitchen, Lomont lit whale oil lamps and beckoned for Jendara's hand. He unwound the dirty bandage covering the brand. The fabric tugged and yanked at the scab.

  "Oh no," Jendara breathed.

  The black stain around the now-reopened wound had spread. It ran down to the first knuckles of her fingers and up past the base of her wrist. Where it touched healthy skin, an ugly red seam showed, livid as a burn.

  "It's grown?"

  She nodded. "A lot."

  He pushed gingerly at the flesh at the base of her thumb. "Does that hurt?"

  "No."

  He prodded the reddened skin of her wrist. She grunted, startled by the pain. He turned her hand over, looking at the charcoal-colored skin of her palm.

  Lomont put down her hand. "Th
e spreading stain is just like the book described. The magic of the brand is moving into your bloodstream."

  "What do you think it's doing to me?"

  He reached for a cake of soap and rubbed it over the seeping wound. "It sounds like some witches use similar brands to influence important people in their community. Maybe that's how Kalira was able to bring the Kalva clans together so easily."

  Jendara's hand burned as he rinsed it. She tried to ignore it. "That's all the more reason to take her out of the picture right away. If she's using magic on her own people, the attack will definitely fall apart without her."

  He began rewrapping her hand, binding the wound firmly. He paused. "Do you smell something?"

  Jendara stiffened. "Smoke!

  Lomont threw aside the roll of bandages. "Oh gods, no!"

  He raced into the book maze, Jendara on his heels.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Jendara dropped to a crouch, trying to keep her head beneath the smoke level. "Lomont!" she called. He didn't answer. The man had moved faster than she could have imagined, vanishing into the cloud. She coughed and pressed onward. Cold sweat trickled down the back of her neck. She couldn't remember which turns to make.

  She hesitated at the next junction. Was the smoke thicker to the left? Something clattered ahead, and she launched herself forward. She hit a book cart and fell.

  "Forget this," she growled and put her shoulder to the nearest shelf. Let Lomont worry about his books: she was worried about his life. The bookshelf toppled with a crash and a volley of tiny shrieks. Gods only knew what kind of books she'd spilled. She leaped over the pile, pushing onward. There was a faint blue glow ahead. It had to be the lantern.

  "Lomont? Hazan?" She coughed too hard to repeat the call.

  A shadow streaked past on her left,and she spun around.

  "Hazan?"

  But it was already gone. She dropped onto her hands and knees, crawling forward. A dark figure lay on the floor ahead, outlined in the blue light of the lamp and the sooty glow of a smoldering desk.

  Jendara checked the body first. Blood ran down Lomont's face, but she felt his chest moving, and that was all that mattered for now. She looked around herself for something to smother the fire, but there were no rugs, no tapestries, no water. She should have grabbed a bucketful on her way out of the kitchen.

  A fat book on the smoking desk exploded into flames, belching out coppery smoke. These weren't ordinary books—she had to remember that.

  She grabbed her belt knife and sliced at the neck of Lomont's robe, ripping it off his motionless body. It felt like good heavy wool. Jendara slapped the robe against the flames, breaking up the heaps of books and stomping on one that tumbled onto the floor. If she didn't get this under control, they'd both be dead.

  A bookshelf fell over behind her.

  She whirled around. Saw nothing.

  She turned back to the fire, working faster now, slapping at the smoldering stuff, stomping on the coals. Someone had knocked Lomont over the head to take him out of the picture, and now this fire was destroying the books Jendara needed to stop Kalira. She yanked one out of the flames and hoped it was worth the blisters on her fingertips.

  "Jendara?" Lomont groaned. "It was Hazan. He hit me over the head with a chair."

  "What?" Jendara stopped moving. "What?"

  It made a sick kind of sense, she realized. All Hazan's quick talking back on that island had been just that—words. She'd been right to doubt him, and he'd talked her into believing in him. She stomped on a smoldering book and watched the coals fly. Besmara take the bastard, she'd even started to like him.

  A knife whizzed past her ear, plunging into the wall.

  "Shit!"

  No time for firefighting now. She tossed the remnants of the robe over the desk and hoped it would smother the last of the flames. She whirled around, looking for her assailant. No sign of anyone. She doubled over, hacking.

  "We've got to get out of here," she gasped, grabbing Lomont's shoulders. "Don't move."

  She began to drag him backward, praying she wasn't hurting him worse as he jolted over the books and scrolls strewn across the floor. She paused a second to orient herself.

  "Left," he gasped. "There's a door to the stairwell."

  She turned, fast, colliding with something hairy and tall. She dropped Lomont and stumbled backward. If only she'd grabbed the Pathfinder's magic lamp, she could have avoided this.

  The smoke eddied, warning her of her attacker's movement. Jendara struck out with her boot, hitting something soft. With a grunt, her attacker stumbled back. In the clearer air, she could see his wide form and dark hair. Whoever was in the book maze with her, he wasn't Hazan.

  Jendara charged the stranger. They hit the ground rolling and ricocheted off a bookshelf. Jendara scrabbled to get her knees beneath her. She found purchase and came out on top, her forearm digging into a man's throat.

  His fingers caught in her braid and yanked her head backward. She squeezed his ribs tighter with her knees, trying to keep her weight on her forearm. She couldn't let him up.

  He dropped the braid and clawed at something behind him. Jendara slammed her free hand into his nose and dug her arm into his throat. If he got a knife—

  But he didn't have a knife. He had something furry and he was pulling it up against his cheek. Jendara had a moment to gape as the hide touched his face, the animal skin melting into his own flesh, stretching, rippling, hair covering everything. And then he snarled. He shook himself, and Jendara's arm slipped off his greasy fur. She tumbled off the body of a bear.

  It roared and the bookshelves shook.

  She'd seen grizzlies before, but she'd never seen anything like this. The claws he reached toward her must have been at least four inches long.

  Jendara stopped thinking.

  She'd never moved so fast, twisting under the huge paws so quickly she felt a breeze against her neck. She shoved a bookshelf, bringing down a stack of books that burst open around the beast. Light burst out of one, and the grizzly snapped at it. The book fell to the floor, sending up golden beams.

  The grizzly blinked in confusion and swatted its paw blindly.

  Jendara grinned and reached for her sword.

  The creature snapped its head toward her. The sound of steel on leather must have alerted it, but the movement only helped Jendara find her target. She thrust the sword at its face and grinned as the blade sank into the grizzly's eye. The hilt vibrated with the force of the blow.

  The grizzly screamed, pawing at its face, and Jendara took a nervous step backward. It should be dead, with a foot of steel plunged into its brain. Impossibly, the bear lunged at her, its teeth clicking closed just a hairsbreadth from her cheek. She felt hot drool spatter her face.

  Then it sank to the floor.

  Jendara staggered away from its body, trying to clear her lungs. She'd inhaled a lot of smoke. Her head swam.

  She crumpled to her knees, gasping for air. Something brown seemed to twist and swirl on the marble floor. She fell forward, her filthy hand landing on the wriggling thing. It felt soft against her palm, sleek and warm.

  "Jendara? Are you all right?" Lomont croaked. He had pulled himself to her side, and now he clung to a bookshelf. A shroud of smoke clung to the ceiling, but it didn't seem to be spreading. The fire must have gone out.

  She looked down and realized she was holding the last three inches of her own braid. The grizzly's claws had sheared it off. She pulled herself to her feet, laughing a little, and yanked her sword free of the dead creature. "I'm fine."

  Movement drew her gaze back to the skinwalker's corpse. The magic was fading, the body becoming human. The edges of the bear skin pulled back. Jendara frowned. "The hide—it's been tanned. The old wives' tales were wrong about that."

  "We've got to get some fresh air," Lomont said. "Come on." He stumbled toward her, and she took his weight on her arm, her mind spinning. She hurried the injured man across the room.

  He fumbled fo
r the key ring on his belt and passed it to her. "The big gold one," he said.

  She jammed it in the keyhole and pushed open the door. Its weight reassured her. Once this was locked, even a grizzly would have a hard time getting it open. She shivered at the thought. How many of Kalira's people were down there? Were they all skinwalkers? Hazan must have let them inside the library while Lomont was looking at her brand.

  She unlocked the door at the top of the stairs and held it open. A cool blue glow filled the staircase, illuminating the confusion on Lomont's face. "This whole time," Jendara growled, "he's been lying to us. He's been working with them all the time."

  "Kalira's secret spy." Lomont sighed. He pointed out a bench sitting at the end of a hall lit blue with enspelled lamps. "Let's sit down. Please. My head is killing me."

  She helped him to the bench. He sank down, letting his head fall back against the thick black curtain covering the wall.

  "I'm sorry," Jendara said. "This is all my fault."

  "Your fault?" He lifted his head to give her a sharp look. "Your fault that you trusted a man who had good reason to help you? Your fault that you asked me for help?"

  "Well—"

  He raised a hand for silence, listening hard. He twisted around, wrenching the curtain open.

  Thin moonlight filled the hallway. A massive glass window looked out over the windswept moors on the inland side of the library. Lomont tapped on the glass. "Look at them go."

  Jendara peered down. A small knot of men had emerged from the building, four or five hide-cloaked figures bunched tightly around Hazan. They ran south, toward the city.

  "Fambra!" Jendara gasped, realization hitting her. "They'll scuttle her boat so we can't follow!"

  "Go, then." Lomont put out his hand. "Good luck, Jendara. My duty is here, with the books, but if I could go with you to fight these beasts, I would."

  She shook his offered hand. "I'll do my damnedest to make sure you never see any more of them. Thanks for all your help."

  He led her out to the library's gates and paused. "I wish we'd found a way to remove that mark. But curses can be broken—trust me on that one. The knowledge is out there, somewhere."