by Jim Galford
Atall caught up, coming up alongside his sister and giving her an annoyed glare, while picking sand out of his ear with a fingertip. She seemed to ignore him completely.
“You’re a little bigger than mom,” Oria mused, smirking in a subtle manner that reminded Estin of her mother, “but she’s still the boss.”
“We have an understanding,” answered Estin, waving the kits into the shelter. “Get inside before she wakes up and yells at me for letting you both stay out too late.”
Giggling, Oria ran past him, disappearing into the darker region under the canvas cover of their den. Atall just stood where he was, seething somewhat as he watched his sister go.
“She says boys can’t fight,” Atall admitted once his sister was gone.
“That’s your mother’s doing, not mine.”
Atall scowled at Estin, cocking his head slightly. “Oria’s a better fighter than me and a better tracker. I hate this! Can’t you teach me something to show her I’m not going to be a pushover like—”
The kit clamped his mouth shut abruptly.
“...like I am with your mother?” Estin smiled as he pulled the sack Oria had left him over to his side. Without opening the bag, his nose picked up the scent of cactus fruit and something dead...likely some small rodent. In better days, the combination of scents might have upset his stomach, but as hungry as he was, he could have found a way to make sand sound appetizing.
“That’s not what I meant,” Atall dodged, though his face made it clear that was exactly what he meant. “You’ve saved us all so many times. Whether she’s a better fighter or not, you’re not helpless like me.”
Estin reached out and caught the young male by the neck, pulling him close so that they were face-to-face. Lifting his own shirt, Estin pointed out a long smooth scar that ran most of the way across his stomach. “You did that more than a year ago, Atall. Accident or not, you’re far from helpless.”
Atall looked genuinely miserable at seeing the remnants of the wound he had caused out of anger. Estin had nearly died from the cut Atall had inflicted on him out of protectiveness when his mother first started showing affection toward Estin. It had been something Atall had been quite vocally regretting for some time.
“I couldn’t even catch a lizard that we found tonight,” Atall mused, not taking his eyes off the scar. “Oria ran it down, but it kept slipping away from me. Mother was going to teach me after Oria, but she’s...you know.”
“Not running around chasing anything right now. I’m guessing you don’t want to wait a month or two for her to be ready to teach you, while the new kits are underfoot?”
Atall grinned, finally looking Estin in the eyes. “Are you offering to teach me?”
“Not until after I eat something. Then I’ll do what I can.”
They sat at the entrance to the den until the sun was finally visible in the eastern sky, Atall talking up the night’s run through the desert with his sister. The two had found various old ruins and a mostly sand-covered stone road in their explorations. Whatever had once been in these deserts had been far larger than the tiny city of Corraith.
Through the storytelling, Estin listened attentively, even as he picked at the meager food they had brought him. Two small cactus fruits, a tiny lizard, and a thick-skinned frog were hardly enough to fill a stomach, but they were enough to settle Estin’s after eating about half that much each day for Feanne’s sake.
Once Estin had finished eating and Atall’s story was finished, he led the kit toward a sheltered section of the nearby hills. From there they could see the entrance to the den, but anyone approaching the area would not be able to see them right away.
The cool sand of the desert was almost pleasant on Estin’s bare feet, letting his toes and their claws sink in slightly without the burns that he was becoming accustomed to during daytime travel. Estin had to remind himself that they would not want to stay out too long, or the sun’s heat would scorch them both as the dawn grew brighter.
“Show me what your mother’s taught you,” Estin asked the youth, facing off against him. Casually, he flexed his long fingers, trying to convince himself to be ready to use his claws to fight as Feanne had taught him so long ago. Generally, he preferred to use weapons, but knew that Atall would want to learn to fight more like his mother and that meant claws.
Atall looked nervously at Estin and then down at the long curved knife at his side. Taking off the weapon, he tossed it aside. “You sure I won’t have to explain to mother why you’re bleeding again?”
“Only if you do it right. She’ll probably applaud you, as long as I’m not dead.”
They both laughed briefly and Atall took a deep breath and looked as if he were trying to work himself up to the fight. When he did rush at Estin, he snarled half-heartedly, his claws clicking together as he swung wide. Estin stepped quickly out of his reach.
“You need to either relax or find the kind of anger your mother revels in,” chided Estin, sweeping his own hand in and giving Atall a sharp but not painful scratch across the shoulder.
Snarling in annoyance, Atall leapt at Estin again, this time getting close enough with his attacks that Estin had to block several, slapping aside Atall’s hands with his palms. After a series of near-misses by Atall, Estin gave the youth another scratch with his own claws and danced easily away from danger again.
“Too slow. You need to keep pushing the attack without stop, or I will always get away.”
Atall rushed in again and again, getting angrier each time he failed to connect. Finally he caught Estin’s leg, kicking it hard enough to throw off Estin’s balance, then tackled him, bowling Estin over onto his back.
Rolling with the impact, Estin flipped Atall tail over head and tossed him aside. When the youth tried to get to his feet, Estin flicked his long tail out, sweeping Atall’s feet out from under him, sending him sprawling.
“You need to use every weapon at your disposal,” said Estin, letting his tail snake back behind him. “You’re only using your claws. Use your fangs, your weight, anything you can.”
Letting out a feral growl, Atall rolled onto his knees, grabbing and drawing his knife as he came up.
Estin instinctively reacted to the sight of the weapon that had gutted him once already, raising his hands and focusing his mind. Though much of the magic he had learned over the last few years had become so muddled in his mind through lack of study that he could not hope to create the spells anymore, several simple magics still were available to him. He formed one of these as fast as he could, gesturing toward Atall’s weapon and flicking it harmlessly away into the sands.
The voice of disembodied spirits flooded Estin’s mind as the spell took shape, making his head spin. Once, he had been comforted by hearing the steady rhythm of those voices that were an intrinsic part of all spells tied to healing energies, but after so long without using his magic, they were somewhat disorienting.
His anger gone as abruptly as it always appeared, Atall stared off toward his lost weapon in dismay, his tail sinking low. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s another weapon. You draw your deadliest weapon, I’ll try to take it from you every time. If you’re fighting for your life, you can’t hesitate if you lose one weapon. Find another, even if it’s a rock or your own teeth.”
Atall nodded and sighed as he went to pick up the knife. Staring at it in his hands, he turned to face Estin with a new look in his eyes. “My sister fights better than I can. I get angry, but I can’t focus it like mom. Maybe you can teach me to fight the way you do? I used to want to fight like Insrin…”
“Your father,” Estin cut in, always feeling like he was somehow cheating the kits out of the truth if he did not remind them that he had not been Feanne’s mate when they were born. Whether or not there were doubts about who the father of the kits was, Estin felt he owed Insrin at least this much, wherever his spirit was now.
“…Insrin,” reaffirmed Atall as though Estin had said nothing. He sheathed
his knife. “But I’m not that strong or fast. Mom’s faster and stronger than you, but you can hold your own. You’ve even beaten her a couple times. I want to know how.”
“I’ll teach you whatever you want,” Estin told him, putting an arm around Atall as he led the youth back out into the desert. Giving him a slight hug as they walked, he added, “Follow me, and I’ll see if we can find you something to work on. Just promise not to stab me again.”
“No promises, dad. I think mom might not approve unless I stab you at least once. It’s kind of a right of passage in this family.”
They made their way out into the rocky section just northeast of the den, where smaller versions of the great stone pillars of the south lay. These thin spires were twenty feet tall on average and had served as a marker for the den’s location early on, before any of them were used to traveling in the desert. These stones were also, they learned later, a great source for small game and the occasional larger desert creature that used the shade of the stones to hide from the sun.
Slowing their pace as they entered the shade, Estin sniffed almost constantly, trying to find something for Atall to test himself against. There were small animals that kept catching his attention, but all were fast and would dive into the nearest burrow if they approached. He needed something bigger, but not deadly.
Estin raised a hand to stop Atall, pointing toward an area where the stone columns had collapsed, likely during one of the many sandstorms. There, he smelled something lizard-like. The creature was one he had encountered several times during his own searches for food outside the city of Corraith and was not overly dangerous.
Pointing, then gesturing to indicate to Atall to go around the stone pile, Estin waited for Atall to get closer to the far side. Once they were nearly opposite one another, surrounding the place where he smelled the lizard, Atall drew his knife and nodded to Estin to indicate that he was ready.
Letting out a chitter to announce himself, Estin watched as a dog-sized brown lizard scurried directly away from him, straight toward Atall. Though Atall was ready for it, his knife missed its mark, skittering off the thick hide of the lizard as it nearly ran over top of him to get away. Falling on his back, Atall tried to grab the lizard, but it hurried out of reach.
Atall immediately began to get upset, but Estin yelled at the boy, “Calm yourself and do something!”
Atall seemed to be listening, as he clenched his jaw and rolled back onto his feet. With a leap that Estin found impressive for a fox, Atall tackled the lizard and drove his knife into the creature’s neck. Dragging Atall another step or two before it fell, the lizard grunted loudly, before stumbling and falling.
“You don’t fight like that,” Atall noted, yanking his weapon free. “I’ve never seen you dragged around by a lizard.”
“No, but I’ve been tossed around by nearly everything else,” he said as he came over. Touching the lizard to be sure it was dead and not suffering, Estin added, “If you can’t rage like your mother, calmly trying over and over until you succeed is the next best option.”
Atall laughed, then stopped and cocked his head as he looked at Estin. “You’re serious. Do you really think I should just calm down? That’s not like mom at all.”
“She’s a great warrior, Atall. That doesn’t mean her way works for everyone.”
Estin led the way, grabbing the lizard’s tail to drag it back to the den. It would be foul to eat, but it was better than some of the things they had been forced to try and cook recently.
Lost in thought, Atall followed him back, spending most of the journey looking at his bloodied knife.
*
Two days later, sitting in a tight squat that kept his body hidden in a crumbling alcove along the street, Estin watched from the corner of his eyes as the light of the sun faded, gradually covering the people and cobblestones in shadow.
When Estin had returned to the guild house as directed two nights prior, he had found a bag waiting for him. To his dismay, it had a small note tacked to it that had said just one word: “squirrel.” Inside that bag, he had found all that they had been promised prior to completing the scouting of the house. Tied to the bag were two cheaply-made swords which were now draped across his back, their weighting horrible, but their presence giving Estin a degree of confidence that he had missed for some time. A small notebook filled with another person’s notes on various healing magic spells had been inside the bag, along with a handful of coins, and a note explaining that the person he was looking into was in possession of a series of maps that the guild wanted.
Despite how busy the street had been throughout the evening, as the sun set, the place emptied quickly. Soon, Estin was alone as he paged through the book.
Scribbles filled twenty pages or more, documenting the writer’s methods for casting various spells. The notes were taking Estin considerable time to work through, sometimes making it difficult to decipher what spell was being described, even if later he realized they described some that he was quite familiar with. Most were spells he had already learned in days past, but several were new to him, requiring even more study to understand.
Estin eventually made it through all of the filled pages, finding himself less than halfway through the book. The remaining pages were empty, aside from several dried flowers that the previous owner had stuffed into them for no discernible reason.
He stared at those blank pages for some time, not really sure what to do with them. Back in the mountains, paper and parchment had been so difficult to acquire that they usually scraped old books clean of flaking inks to reuse them. This was the first time Estin had found himself with an abundance of paper at his disposal. He would have to find some use for it.
Looking up, Estin found that the street was finally empty, with the sun having set far enough below the walls that the area was washed in darkness. It was just dark enough that the average human or elf would likely have difficulty seeing and thus would seek better-lit regions, but Estin had no such troubles. His eyes were better suited for the dim lighting than for daytime, which had been advantageous more than once working jobs such as this.
Slipping from his hiding place, Estin let his cloak fall over his weapons, hoping not to attract any more attention than he normally did. Thankfully, no one appeared as he walked across the street, right up to the door of the home he was to investigate. The area was very nearly abandoned.
Estin eased himself up near the door, keeping a watch for anyone who might be looking toward him. Finding none, he darted to the side of the building and dug his claws into the soft clay alley-side wall and practically ran up it. Once he reached the top, he surveyed the small entry courtyard inside for guards, before hopping down inside the home’s entryway.
He knelt for a little while in a corner of the simple garden, watching for any movement nearer the main door of the building. Every window appeared still, giving him some hope that he might pull off the job easier than expected. The place was quiet and seemed entirely abandoned.
Having not been inside any of Corraith’s homes, Estin was even more cautious than he normally would have been. He knew the general layout of the homes in Altis, but here he had no idea what to expect.
Estin slid slowly through the window farthest from the main door, carefully letting his toes touch down on the wood floor inside. He was silent as he moved, carefully listening for the slightest noise from outside the dark room. Nothing reacted, so he let himself down off the windowsill fully, looking around the kitchen he had entered for doors into the rest of the house.
Once Estin had his bearings, he surveyed the room more carefully. Hardly thinking, he sniffed at a pile of fruits, then stuffed half of them into the bag that he had gotten from the guild house. Several more sniffs and a large loaf of bread from the cupboard went in after. Being paid to steal one thing usually meant he could get away with stealing as many lower-value items as he wanted.
Reminding himself that he could not waste too much time, Estin slid himself alon
g the door from the kitchen, pressing his ear to it. He heard nothing, so he slowly eased the door open, struggling against the hinges to keep it quiet until he could slip through.
The home’s main room was spacious, at least by the standards of the homes Estin had broken into as a youth. Artwork lined the walls and two large couches stood opposite one another in the middle of the room. The place looked as though it had been designed to function both as a social area for guests and a dining area if a table were brought in.
Not overly concerned with the guests the owner kept, Estin glanced around, finding four more doors, in addition to the front door of the home. He was unsure what three of the doors might lead into, but given the size of the room he was in compared with the exterior size of the home, the door at the rear wall could not open into anything larger than a closet…or a staircase. In a city known for its open doors, a basement would be the obvious place for hiding anything.
Estin hurried across the room, constantly changing his attention between the doors, in case someone managed to sneak up on him. Still, nothing came and he was able to pad over to the back door without any indication that anyone was aware he was in the home.
Unlike the last door he had approached, this simple wooden door was ajar. That made Estin’s ears perk, wondering if he was walking right into a trap. He listened long and hard at the door. Hearing nothing, he sniffed to see if he could pick up any scent of someone recently passing through.
What he did smell surprised him. There was no scent of anyone coming near the door in a while. He could smell a human or two, but they had not passed in some time, possibly as long as a full day. Distantly, he could pick up the faint aroma of death, which could have been anything from a human corpse to the leftovers of a meal.
Estin eased himself away from the door, sniffing as quietly as he could around the home’s main room. Again, that fading smell of people. He had to wonder at the odds of this job coincidentally occurring on a day when no one was home, but he could not guess at what the absence of people might indicate.