by Marjorie Liu
Karr walked away from the beasts and down to the creek. Rocks shifted beneath his bare callused feet, and he allowed his skin to stretch in a soft haze of golden light that was quick and fleeting, and created a ripple of fur that shifted into scales. It was brief; he quickly resumed his mask of human flesh.
Is it truly a mask? Karr wondered, as the scar over his gut tingled ominously. And why is it that we hold ourselves to standards of humanity? Why do we even resemble humans at all when we are not wearing our animal skins?
These were questions that had plagued him before, and again now. Never had there been an answer, nor did he expect one. Perhaps in this new world people knew where stars came from, or the wind, or how shape-shifters and Karr’s kind had sprung into existence … but Karr preferred the mystery. He crouched by the creek, dipping his fingers into the swift-moving water before tapping them on his tongue. Ice-cold, sweet. He bent and drank deeply, listening as a hum of music rose from the tents behind him: a thrilling trill of notes that shot chills down his spine. Humans had music, and shape-shifters did not. He could not explain that, either.
Tau filled his thoughts, memories of him standing in the old royal courts, listening to plucked strings and beating drums. Uncomfortable beneath the stares of the curious and awed; and yet hungry for such luxuries, and for the attention he received, which both repelled him, and made him feel strong. A false strength, Karr had tried to tell him, but Tau would flash that wolf’s smile and say, “Brother, they think we are gods, and there are few who can claim that privilege. You are both fire and king to these humans. Enjoy it. Savor it. A reward for what you—all of us—suffer.”
Karr had not found it to be much of a reward, and it seemed the world had changed to agree with him. His kind were merely phantoms in the wind. He wondered if Tau had found happiness, later; or had died in the war.
He sat for a long time before catching a familiar scent on the wind. Rocks crunched. He did not turn his head or say a word, and Soria sat down beside him.
“They saved you some more food,” she said, after a moment of silence. “Whenever you feel like eating.”
Karr glanced over, and found a small cloth bag in Soria’s lap. She followed his gaze and smiled. “Soap. According to Evie, a bath makes everything better. Even in freezing water.”
“Sounds foolish. You will become ill.”
“I am not going to go swimming,” she said wryly. “Just wash my face.”
Karr remembered her at the edge of the lake, her shirt pulled up and held in her teeth, soaking her stump in cold water as if seeking relief for pain. He glanced down at her empty sleeve. “How is your arm?”
“You say that like it is still there.”
“Your mind thinks so. Until it stops, you have a limb. A ghost.”
Soria touched her sleeve. “What are your ghosts like?”
He hesitated, and tapped his forehead. “You have seen some of them. The rest have been swallowed up.”
“Is that why you wanted to die?”
Her words were softly spoken but blunt. Irritation sparked inside him, though it was quickly stamped down. He had started this by telling her the truth, and Soria was not a woman who let things go. Nor, he thought, was she a woman so weak as to take her own life simply out of guilt.
Shame dripped through him—for that, and for many things. “I killed my friend’s wife.”
Soria said nothing. He could not bring himself to look at her. “She was human, a priestess of some nameless goddess, who was not put off by my friend’s appearance. Tau … could not pass as human, though he was a man in every sense.” Karr waved his hand over his face. “He had the face of a wolf, if that makes any sense. Wings of an eagle. It was easier for him to stay like that. It was his natural state.”
“I have noticed a rather leonine aspect to your face,” Soria said softly, but her face was solemn, as though she was speaking merely to show him that she still could, that his confession had not broken her voice.
“I would not know,” he replied just as quietly. “But Tau was proud of his human woman, perhaps more than he should have been.”
“You can be proud of the one you love.”
“But he did not love her.” Karr ran his hand once more through the cold water. “Or rather, he loved the idea of her—which was certainly enough for her. Yoana believed that she had given herself to a god, and he did not disabuse her of that notion.”
Soria upended the bag, and a small pale brick fell into her lap. “Did they have a child?”
“No.” Karr took the brick from her, running his fingers over the smooth, waxy surface, though where his hand was wet it became slick and soft. “I killed her soon after she learned that she was expecting.”
Soria went still. So did Karr. He had never said those words out loud. He had hardly let himself think about the unborn child. Just the woman. The rest … was too much.
The waxy brick fell out of his hands onto the rocks. He did not pick it up. It was all he could do to lean forward, bowing his head between his legs. Forcing himself to breathe. His stomach hurt so badly he thought his scar had opened again, but there was no blood, and the flesh was whole. Just pain. Just memory.
Soria did not say a word, but instead inched closer until he could feel the heat of her body. Even her scent was warm. He was afraid to look at her. Behind them, he heard men laughing and the bleat of goats. Dogs still barked. The sun had set, and the darkness was falling thick and cool. The skies cleared of the storm.
“Yoana was not supposed to be with us,” he said finally, quietly. “Our trade mission to the south was meant to be quick. But she was tired of living among chimera, without regular human contact. She wanted to be useful.” Karr reached down and handed Soria her soap. “I was not supposed to lose my mind.”
“How did it happen?”
“I do not know.” He closed his eyes, trying to remember, but all that filled him was darkness. “The humans we traded with told stories that made us think that some of our kind could be hiding in nearby forests. So I attempted a … special ritual to try and find them. I remember nothing after that, until I woke covered in blood. Yoana was dead. Tau told me I had killed her.” He scooped water from the creek and ran it over his face.
“We cannot predict our triggers, but once we break, we do not risk it happening again.”
“And yet you are here,” Soria said softly. “Around people. Me. Searching for your kind.”
“I know it is irresponsible—”
“It would be if you were really crazy,” she interrupted, running a handful of water over her face. “Frankly, I cannot imagine what you went through, or what you are feeling now. But I have been around. Seen things. Made only one mistake in my life when it comes to judging character.” Her jaw tightened, and her gaze ducked down to the soap in her hand. “I do not think I have made a mistake with you.”
“Soria,” he began, but she shook her head.
“It would be irresponsible of you to hide. Not the other way around. You are alive for a reason. A second chance. I think you know it, too.”
“Easier said,” he murmured.
“We all break,” she replied, and the expression on her face was heartrending in its fullness of memory. Yet she said nothing else, and dipped the soap into the creek, turning it over and over, one-handed, until it began to foam. She dropped the bar on the cloth bag and rubbed her face, leaving white suds behind. Her eyes were closed.
When Soria bent to rinse her face, her braids fell into the water. Karr pulled them back. She gave him a startled look.
“Let me help you,” he said. “No games, no regrets.”
“I can do this?”
“I know.” He looked down, searching for a way to express the feelings that were bubbling inside his heart, boiling up his throat. He felt wounded with the things he wanted to say. “Let me anyway.”
He did not expect to see such vulnerability in her eyes. Nor did he expect to feel the same defenselessness. He had ba
ttled, and bled, and been tortured. He had died at the end of his own sword. None of that made him feel as naked and small as standing here before this very human woman.
Soria said, quietly, “Just hold my hair, please.”
So he did, observing the line of her throat in the shadows, and the flick of her delicate wrist as it splashed water on her face. He watched the tension melt from her, bit by bit, though it was not gone entirely when she finally sat back, sighing. Water dripped down her face, which she tried to dry with her dirty sleeve. Karr caught her hand. “Leave it.”
Soria hesitated.
Karr asked, “Are you in pain?”
Again, that vulnerable flicker. He remembered what she had said about running from her friends. Which meant that, except for her parents, no one had cared for her at all since she lost her arm. She had done everything for herself. Lived alone. Healed alone.
Conflict filled her eyes. Even shame. “I am not used to this much activity.”
“And so the left side of your body strains, trying to make up for the loss on your right.” Karr released her hand. “May I see the injury?”
“No,” she began, and then stopped. She held still, eyes distant, thoughtful. And pained.
Slowly, so slowly, almost rigid with tension, she turned and reached over her shoulder to hitch up her shirt. He followed her lead, carefully pushing up her clothing until most of her back was exposed. As well as the remains of her right arm.
Most of it was gone. Some withering had already occurred, and he could see that the skin was dry and flaking. No seepage, no bruises. Just a bony lump at the break. Her limb resembled a small, naked wing. It hurt to look at.
“Does it ache at the end?” he asked.
“Sometimes.” Her voice sounded strained. “You going to stare or help?”
Karr dipped his hand into the water. “I am not staring. Just deciphering. Yours is not the first missing limb I have ever seen.”
Some of the strain drained away from her. “I suppose they just endured.”
“Not everyone was as strong as you.” He placed his cold, wet hand on her stump, and she flinched, twisting away from him.
“No,” she said. “Just … stop.”
Karr released her, and she scrambled to her feet, pulling down her shirt. She stooped a moment later to pick up the soap and little cloth bag.
“I am sorry,” Soria mumbled, and then glanced over her shoulder at him with dark eyes that seemed to swallow what little light was left in the night. “I am so …”
She stopped, jaw tight, and shook her head.
“Sorry,” she said again, and walked off toward the encampment.
Chapter Fourteen
By the time Soria reached Evie’s ger, she had managed to steady herself into some semblance of calm and dignity. Not easy. Too much had just happened. From Karr’s confession, to his touch on the remains of her arm—both things had seared her in different ways.
Stupid, she told herself angrily. You should have known that would be your reaction.
But she had not known. She had thought she could handle having someone—having Karr—touch her there. It should not have been a big deal. It was just a goddamn part of her mangled arm, and nothing he hadn’t seen before if he was to be believed. And she did believe him.
Of course, she had only just begun to have the stomach to look at herself again in the mirror. Mirrors, which always made everything feel real. She could hardly expect to feel comfortable with anyone else getting an up-close look, not to mention touching her injury.
Music drifted from Evie’s ger—nothing local, if the English lyrics were any indication; electronic and melodic, and effortlessly moody. Soria paused outside the door and took one last deep breath of the cool night wind. The sky was clearing, stars coming out. She could hear the soft murmur of voices in the camp, and goats making quiet chewing sounds. Lost and found, she thought, marveling at where she had ended up.
She could not help but look back, to see if Karr had followed. She did not see him.
I killed her soon after she learned that she was expecting.
Horrible, horrible words. Heartrending, terrifying. She had watched him break a little, making that confession.
Watched a part of him fade that she hadn’t even known was there. And there was not a thing she could do about it.
She could hardly even remember now what she had said to him. It was all a blur, based on instinct. She’d been driven not to make him feel better about the past, because nothing was going to do that, but to keep him from wanting to kill himself again. Soria had never been tempted to take her own life, but she knew all about hiding so deeply that her life hardly existed. Now was not the time for any of that crap.
How do you lose your mind so completely that you kill without realizing it? Soria wondered. She did not doubt the truth of his story as he knew it, but it just seemed such an odd thing that a strong mind could break so easily. For this to be common … And for Karr to be prone to it?
He might kill you. If he could snap and kill a pregnant woman, he sure as hell can murder you.
Right. And back home she could be shot at the gas station, lost in a plane crash, have a lightning bolt explode her into a thousand charred bits—or stop to help an old man at the side of the road and have her life turned upside down forever and ever.
Her stump ached. So did her neck. Ghost fingers tingled. Soria shook her head, smiling bitterly, and went inside the ger.
It was well lit with oil lamps and candles. Evie sat at a fold-up card table with a laptop in front of her. Several little girls and boys were spread out on the floor, resting on their stomachs with workbooks before them, pencils in hand. All looked at Soria, but only Evie smiled. The kids had deep concentration lines in their brows, and appeared as though they were either in the throes of some horrible math problem, or trying to excrete a bucketful of prunes.
“I teach in the evenings,” Evie said, as Soria returned the little bag of soap. “English, math, whatever they want to learn. I had my parents send me a boxful of study materials. Nothing you can’t find at Barnes & Noble.”
Soria looked around. Besides the laptop, she saw a bed covered in soft, thick blankets, and another desk that held a surprising amount of electronic equipment, along with several half-full jars of candy. The walls were somewhat plain, with the ger’s lattice frame clearly visible, but the wood floor was covered in bright rugs, and the heat emanating from the central stove was fierce and sank pleasantly to the bone.
“Is this really immersion?” Soria asked, trying not to smile.
Evie grinned. “Sure. Nomads can be modern, too. I’ve got a solar panel rigged on the side of this sucker, along with a satellite. Not for television, but communications. I won a grant to pay for most of it. I blog, write reports back to my thesis adviser, make sure my parents know I’m alive.”
“I love technology,” Soria said.
“I bought the T-shirt,” Evie replied, whipping open her sweater to reveal a faded flimsy tee underneath that was covered in dancing robots.
Soria had to laugh, and plopped herself down on the floor near the children. Evie joined her, bringing along a jar of candy. The kids put their pencils down, staring, and the young woman heaved a highly dramatic sigh before chucking peppermints and chocolate in their direction. Squeals filled the air, and just as quickly descended into contented silence as the girls and boys began studying again, this time with their mouths full.
“Amazing work ethic,” said Evie. “I’m probably ruining their teeth.”
There were tiny Snickers bars. Soria drooled a little on herself and took one, wrestling one-handed with the wrapper. Finally, she gave up and delicately put one end in her teeth, tugging until she tore a hole large enough to squeeze the chocolate through. She looked up, and found Evie dragging down her laptop to place it on the floor beside them.
“Is there anyone you want to contact?” asked the young woman.
“Yes,” Soria replied. “
I don’t suppose you have a phone?”
“Ham radio. But the signal won’t carry all the way to the States.” Evie smiled wryly. “I wish.”
“You’re homesick.”
“A little. I love it here, though. You come to this place and you’re judged by your actions and what you contribute. Nothing else matters.” Evie ran her finger along the bottom of the keyboard. “You know, I read once that some Greek philosopher—at least, I think he was Greek—was told that so-and-so is a good person. His name was probably Bob, right? And this philosopher’s response was, ‘Bob is good for what?’ That always stuck with me. What am I good for? But suddenly I come here, and all those weird little things about me that never seemed to fit are suddenly good for something. I feel as though I make sense for the first time in my life.”
“I felt like that once. And then, like you, I got lucky. Found my place.” Soria said the words, but they sounded hollow in her ears. She had found her place for a while, and while a piece of her felt good to be part of Dirk & Steele again, the baggage that went with it, her self-imposed exile, made it hard not to feel as though she was telling a small lie. She took a bite of chocolate and closed her eyes. “You certainly speak the language like a native.”
“I knew someone when I very young who was from this part of the world. She taught me. Started my fascination.” Evie hesitated. “You, though, are something else. I thought your name sounded familiar, so I did a search. Found out quite a bit about this prodigy in linguistics who just … disappeared about ten, fifteen years ago.”
“Really? Do tell.”
“She was hot stuff, man. And just hot.” Evie turned the computer around and Soria saw a familiar picture of herself as a teen, standing beside some professor at Harvard whose name she couldn’t remember, but whose garlicky breath would be forever embedded in her mind.
It hurt a little to see that photo. There was a look in her eyes that was very young and happy, carefree, not a real stress in the world. Plus, she had two arms.