The gargoyles sat perched at the top of the gate, still as the statues they were meant to be, but Serra knew they were as alert as ever. Would they notice a little mouse? If they did notice her would they pay any mind? She hoped not.
Taking a deep breath, well as deep a breath as she could with her mouse lungs, she scurried forward until she ran smack into the door. She paused staring up, hoping against hope that she had not drawn the attention of the gargoyles above her. After a time, she relaxed. They had not moved from their stationary positions. She crept along the base of the door, searching for a tiny crack or crevice that she could squeeze through.
Serra walked back and forth along the seam where the door met the ground three times before she decided that she would not be able to get into the citadel through the large gate.
She thought back, trying to remember what she had seen when they’d first arrived outside the wall. If she recalled correctly there had been some dying brown vines that led up and over the wall to the left of the door.
She hurried along the base of the wall, her heartbeat becoming more frantic with every step she took. She prayed as she went that her memory had not been remiss in her recollection.
Serra’s heartbeat slowed as she came upon the lone twisting vine. Cautiously, she pulled herself off the ground and onto the thin piece of plant. She gripped it with her claws and began her ascent. As she went, Serra forced herself not to look down. She knew that in her mousiness the ground would seem even farther away. If she dwelt on that fact she might pass out.
The going was slow and treacherous. Several times Serra slipped and had to scramble to catch her grip again, grabbing at the dead, brown leaves and vines with her claws and even on one occasion her tail.
She had just reached a particularly small patch of vine and had intended to hurry across it, when she slipped. She scrambled to catch her footing again, but the vine she was standing on broke and she tumbled headlong toward the ground. Leaves and vines flew past her and she tried to catch hold of them, but still she continued to fall. Until in desperation she reached out with everything she had. Her tail caught a vine, curled around it and held. Serra hung for a moment, possum-like, looking toward the ground. She couldn’t be more than a foot from the solid earth. A foot from death.
Breathing heavily, she pulled herself back upright and closed her eyes. She took a few calming breaths and started on her journey to the top of the wall yet again. This time Serra was more cautious in the paths that she chose, often jumping from one vine that seemed to be weakening to another that had a thicker base.
Within time Serra reached the top of the wall. She scrambled onto the solid stone. Never before had she been so happy to feel smooth rock under her feet. She took a moment to compose herself, before looking for a way to get into the courtyard below her. She began to travel along the wall away from where she knew the gargoyles perched, when suddenly a heavy weight descended over her, locking her to the ground. She was flattened against the stone, though whatever was covering her seemed to be careful of crushing her.
“Well, what have we here?” purred a voice that sounded disturbingly like Reks. Serra squeaked as the heavy paw lifted from her body and she was pulled from the wall by her tail and dangled in front of a large stone cat face. “A little mousy.” The arvel purred. “How very convenient, I was just beginning to grow hungry. You will hardly do to satisfy my appetite, but you will be a start.”
And with that Serra was tossed in the air by her tail. She spun once, twice, three times, before beginning her descent. She was too frightened to do anything. Her mind kept screaming shift, shift, shift! But Serra was paralyzed by her fear, certain that she would end up between the solid stone teeth of the arvel gargoyle. But instead the stone creature caught her in his paw and readied to throw her again. The game of cat and mouse.
“Niva!” Firan’s voice cut across the night. “Let the mouse go. Our mistress has need of us.”
“Certainly, Firan. I’ll be along shortly. Just let me-” There was a loud roar from Firan that had Serra cowering in the palm of the arvel’s paw.
“I said, let the mouse go, Niva. Now do as I say like a good little cat and follow me.”
Obviously angry, Niva held Serra out over the edge of the wall and dropped her. Her squeak of fright couldn’t hide the angry roar of Firan above her or the answering roar of the Arvel.
Serra landed with a soft thump in a pile of hay. She cowered amongst the strands of dry grass, trying to regain her breath and to keep her heart from exploding out of her chest. She supposed she should be thankful that Niva had dropped her within the wall instead of outside, in which case she would have had to climb the vine again, if the fall hadn’t killed her.
Why hadn’t she thought to shift into a bird and fly over the wall? That would have made things a lot easier. But birds weren’t generally seen in a house, unless they were pets, and so Serra would have had to find a safe place to shift into a mouse or something similar.
Serra peaked out from the hay. The dark courtyard was empty.
She descended back into the hay to gather her courage, then burst forward, only to scramble back as a white cat cantered into view. This cat was not made of stone, nor as large as a horse. Instead it was small and well kept. A collar glittering with jewels circled its neck. As Serra watched the cat made its way to the stables nearby and disappeared within its doors. Thinking fast Serra descended back into her hiding place and began to shift.
Vaughn had warned her against shifting within the grounds of the citadel, saying it was likely that Mistress Vaneza would be aware of any magic use in her dominion. But the chance that Mistress Vaneza would mistake Serra for her own cat was too good to miss. If the mage believed Serra was her beloved pet, rather than a mouse who had invaded her house, she would more likely let something slip if she was indeed up to anything.
Serra finished the shift into the sleek white cat and emerged from the hay. She crept into the stable. The sounds of a stable at night greeted Serra’s ears, calming her with their familiarity. A wave of homesickness washed over her as she searched for the cat. It was curled in a small pile of hay, apparently worn out from the night’s exertions.
Serra retraced her steps and made her way through the courtyard. She didn’t slink through the shadows as she would have done as a mouse. Instead, she trotted through the center of the courtyard, her tail held high as she had seen the other cat do.
She reached the front door and was about to meow loudly when the heavy wood swung inward, allowing her entrance. After she had passed through the threshold the doors closed of their own accord.
Serra had read books with descriptions of the Emperor’s Palace in Sybella, across the ocean. She was positive that the Citadel had been modeled after those descriptions. Ornate gold leafing covered the walls of the great hall from floor to ceiling, which arched away from the ground, supported by columns covered in the same gold leafing as the walls. Benches covered in red and white silk lined the walls and potted plants had been placed at regular intervals to create the illusion of jungle foliage.
The air was warm, heavy and scented with some sort of incense that burned in gold braziers hanging from the columns. Serra’s nose twitched at the heaviness of the smell, wondering how the cat endured the fragrant interior. Perhaps that is why the animal would forgo the warm air and comforts of the benches for the clean crispness of the outdoors.
At the back of the room Serra saw two staircases curving to the floor above. She climbed one, her feet padding softly on the stone floor and found herself facing a long corridor that had four closed doors lining the walls. The décor was much the same as it had been in the Great Hall and the smell of the incense had permeated this part of the citadel as well. She tried not to sneeze as she made her way down the corridor, pausing outside of doors to press her ears to the wood and listen for a sound from within.
At the fourth door, she heard quiet voices on the other side. Knowing she needed to get into the room,
but not sure how the cat she had changed into would go about gaining entrance, Serra paused and considered her options. She could sit and wait quietly for the door to be opened by one of the occupants of the room or she could get their attention and make them let her in. Remembering the way the cat had trotted, the jeweled collar and the sleekness of its coat, Serra opted for the latter. The cat was used to getting its way.
Reaching out with her paw, Serra scratched at the wood of the door and mewed loudly. After a moment, the door opened and Serra looked up into the green eyes of a woman who had to be Mistress Vaneza.
She was tall for a woman and Serra had to tilt her head far back to see her. Her long black hair hung straight to her waist framing her thin body. While Mistress Vaneza could be considered a striking woman, she wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense. Her nose was slightly too beak-like, her mouth a little too small and her green eyes almost too big for her face. Her pale skin was only accented by the black of her hair and the bright pink of her Sybellan style dress.
Serra mewed again as the Mage’s mouth formed a circle of surprise. “Tazu!” The mage bent down and scooped up the cat. “You silly cat, I thought you were outside, as you so often are on nights like this.”
Serra purred as the mage ran her hand down her back. Mistress Vaneza closed the door and turned, giving Serra a view the Mage’s companions. The purr died in her throat. Perched in the corner of the room was Niva, a wide cat grin on his stone face.
“Hello, little shifter,” he purred. “You should have stayed a mouse.”
Chapter 18
SERRA
Mistress Vaneza’s hands tightened around Serra as she struggled to get free. Had she really gone through all that as a mouse, nearly dying twice, only to be caught now? Not if she had anything to say about it.
“Now look what you’ve done, Niva.” The mage cried. “You’ve frightened her. I warned you against that, didn’t I?” Serra froze. Mistress Vaneza had known that Serra was a shifter? How long had she known? Since they had approached the walls of her citadel? She had let Serra go through all this only to capture her now?
All of her friends’ warnings came back to her, especially Reks' warning about not knowing how people would react to the discovery of a shifter in their country. What did the mage plan to do with her?
“Peace, shifter, peace.” Mistress Vaneza’s hand stroked and soothed Serra, until she could not contain the purr of pleasure that the feline part of her felt. “There now. That’s better, isn’t it? I mean you no harm and neither does Niva, no matter what he might say.” Mistress Vaneza strolled across the room still cradling Serra and settled herself on one of the silk covered couches. She placed Serra on the couch next to her and removed her hands.
“You might consider shifting. Our conversation will go so much faster if I do not have to decipher what you are saying in cat tongue, which, incidentally, I can do.” Serra shook her head and mewed.
“Ah, you haven’t discovered how to shift your clothes yet have you? You must be a very new shifter indeed.” The mage waved a hand. A dressing screen appeared in the corner of the room. “You will find everything you need on the other side of that screen.” Serra did not move more than to cock her head. “Go on, shoo.” The mage flapped her hands in Serra’s direction.
At the sudden movement, Serra skittered off the couch and onto the floor. She slunk behind the dressing screen and began to shift into her normal self. Serra considered changing into someone else, anxious to not let this unknown mage know what she really looked like, but she decided against the idea. Mistress Vaneza would most likely recognize her disguise.
After shifting Serra dressed in a gown very similar to the Mage’s, only in a cornflower blue with silver trimming. The gown was complicated and took some maneuvering to get into, but she did eventually.
When she was once again dressed, Serra stepped from behind the screen and faced the mage.
Mistress Vaneza sighed. “You are lovely. I should see no reason at all for you to ever shift into anything other than your delightful self.” She motioned to a table in the center of the room which was laid out with an array of pastries, fruit and tea. “Please help yourself to some refreshment.”
Serra shook her head. “I’d rather not. My friends are expecting me.”
Mistress Vaneza’s mouth curved into a smile that was not entirely pleasant. “Ah, yes. Your… friends.” She moved to a large gilt mirror that hung on the wall and touched the glass gently. Almost at once the reflection of the mirror darkened and shifted. Serra watched as a plain with rocks appeared in the depths of the mirror. She started as she realized that the glass was showing where her friends had taken refuge while they waited for her return.
Serra watched as the two remaining gargoyles stalked toward the rocks on what she could only assume were silent feet.
“I wouldn’t worry about them. They’ll be joining us shortly.” She touched the mirror again and the image melted back to a reflection of the room. The mage motioned again with one hand that was surprisingly graceful. “Now, please have a seat.”
Grudgingly, Serra swept her skirts up into her hands and moved to the chair that faced toward the door, though with a slight twist of her head she would be able to see out the window.
“I see Vaughn has been teaching you position in a room is important.” Mistress Vaneza said her mouth curling with disgust. “That was always my chief issue with him. He could never stop being a soldier. He was always looking for the closest exit, placing his back against the wall to survey his enemies… My niece deserves more than that.”
Serra didn’t answer. Instead, she chose a flaky pastry with jam in the center of it and placed it on her small plate. She picked at it in silence.
As the mage sat down in the chair opposite Serra, she said. “I see I have offended you. But do not take my comments to heart. My reaction to Vaughn was, in a way, a test of his affections for my niece. Their relationship crumbled under the pressure, indicating to me that they were unsuited to each other. I have no real complaint against the soldier.”
Serra stared at her plate, her hands clutching each other in her lap. She feared if she opened her mouth she would say something to offend the mage, which she had no desire to do. She still had to ascertain if Mistress Vaneza was the person behind the kidnappings.
Trying to keep her tone nonchalant, she said, “You have a large house here for just you and a cat.”
“Ah, now you will try to lead the conversation in the tract you would like it to go. Let me save you the bother. I am not harboring any stolen children within my citadel, nor have I ever taken a child from their parent. I will admit that while some people do not agree with many of my views, I would do nothing to hurt an innocent… At least not intentionally.” She sipped at her tea. “When your companions arrive, you are welcome to search the buildings and grounds, but I assure you, you will find nothing to even raise an alarm. Now,” she placed her cup back on her saucer with a slight clink. “In the meantime, I would much rather converse about you. Who are your parents? They must be powerful mages indeed to have produced a Shifter such as yourself.”
Serra shook her head at the suddenness of the inquiry. She had not expected to be questioned about herself. Still, there was the possibility that Mistress Vaneza could help her in discovering more about her ability.
“I do not know who my father was and I never met my mother, though I know she was a servant. She died when I was just a baby and I was left in the care of the Grand Lord of Lyre’s care, in Malvern’s Ward.”
“Malvern’s Ward you say? Hmm, that is interesting,” She tapped one long bony finger against her lips. “You know, there is a myth about shifters and their origins that says that at least one of the true parents of a shifter is a god or goddess. Most of the parents have been commoners, but it is quite possible that they simply hid their infidelity from their spouses and claimed the child as their own. At least in the cases of mortal mothers, mortal fathers would be a bit
trickier.”
Serra had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. The daughter of a god or goddess? Her? That was impossible. She would have known, wouldn’t she? Besides her ability only really surfaced after she had left Malvern’s Ward. Serra was convinced that her body had reacted in some way with the illusionment spell that Sylvan placed as a protection around their camp every night. She wasn’t entirely sure why it had happened to her and not anyone else, but she couldn’t be the daughter of a god. She just couldn’t.
“I think you are mistaken, Mistress. If my father or mother were a god they wouldn’t have allowed me to live as I have for the last seventeen years, the servant of some very ungrateful people.”
Mistress Vaneza shrugged. “Who are we to say what a god will do?” She regarded Serra with wide green eyes. “Tell me, do you know who Malvern is?”
“Malvern?”
“Yes, the person whom your little town was named after.” Serra shook her head. “It does not surprise me. Very few people do remember him. He is after all a lesser god, nearly forgotten in these times. It is said that he so often watched the mortals from the Other Realm that eventually he longed to walk among them as a mortal. He was granted the ability for one month and in that month he discovered all he could about the mortals. The emotions that the mortals allowed to guide their every action he soon began to feel himself. At the end of the month he returned unwillingly to the Other Realm and begged the right to return once a year for the cycle of one full week. When Vasilis, the High God, saw how much Malvern wished to be a part of the mortal world he granted his wish and gave him a new commission. Malvern is the god of our humanity. He is the one who keeps us from becoming too wrapped up in power, especially us mages.”
Serra bit her lip. She was uncertain as to what exactly she was meant to glean from Mistress Vaneza’s lesson on Malvern. Still, it did seem a bit strange that she had been placed in the care of a family in Malvern’s Ward, named for the only god who had the right to walk amongst them.
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