"I've always liked the Twin Cities," Thean said conversationally as he looked down into the water. "It's the only place I've ever been where two cities in different nations stood within sight of each other, and weren't at war."
"Was it always like that?"
"More or less," he replied. "Var Denom was originally part of Arkis. It was really part of Shoran's Fork. But a long sequence of events I won't go into caused it to declare independence. The King of Arkis at that time allowed it. He wanted an independent city sitting there because at that time they were having trouble with Darronam, a kingdom that once stood west of Arkis. An independent city with its own lands put something between the two squabbling empires. Old King Shul was a wise man. He ceded a little land to avoid a war. Most kings wouldn't do that."
"What happened to Darronam?"
"Faded into history, my boy," Thean replied. "Darronam was very aggressive, and they eventually pushed once too often. Tor did them in, with help from Arkis. What was once Darronam is now the free duchy of Darrigon."
Darrigon was a name Tarrin recognized. The Free Duchy that separated Tor from Arkis. "Why is Var Denom's buildings so much older than Shoran's Fork, if they used to be the same city?"
"Fire destroyed Shoran's Fork about a hundred years ago," he answered. "The river was too wide for it to cross to Var Denom. When they rebuilt, they took the chance to plan out the city's streets a little better. Old cities tend to get very narrow and twisty, because streets disappear when people build things on top of them, and new ones are made from buildings that are torn down."
"Oh. That was a good idea," he agreed. "Aldreth is spread out, with lots of space."
"I've been there," he said with a chuckle. "I bought some steel tools from a monster of a bald man named Karn. That had to be twenty years ago."
"He's still there," Tarrin replied. "Still smithing. Some people think he's tougher than stone, because he's more fit than men half his age."
"Dals are like that," he told the younger Were-cat. "That man was from Daltochan, or my tail is pink."
"He's a Dal," Tarrin affirmed. "Of course, now, there are probably more Dals there," he said with a grunt.
"I heard about that. Well, don't worry too much about it, cub. Dals aren't a very savage lot. They'll treat the people in the land they occupy fair."
"It's not them I'm worried about. I heard that the Dals made arrangements with some of the Goblinoids that live in the mountains. There are Goblinoids in the Dal army."
Thean looked sharply at him. "I think that would be impossible, cub. Goblinoids hate humans. They'd never agree to that."
"I have it from a reliable source, Thean," he said. "I trust it." "Hmm," he hummed. "Sathon has a grove a few days out of Aldreth. I think I'll send a message to him and ask about this."
"Sathon?"
"A Druid," he answered. "The Druid of Westedge. He's responsible for watching the Woodkin who live near Aldreth, and watching the humans in Aldreth to make sure they don't spill onto our land."
"I didn't know about that."
"I doubt you would have. Sathon doesn't leave his grove often, because there are enough Were-kin near Aldreth for them to get him what he needs. It also gives them a chance to get a little exposure to humans."
"Triana told me about that. How some Were bring cubs there."
Thean nodded. "Aldreth is something of a training area for younglings. It's a good thing it's there. Whatever possessed you people to live so far out?"
"Exactly," he replied. "My parents moved there because it is so far out. Everyone else who's there always lived there. So for them, it's just home."
"Don't you ever worry about raids?"
"We've never had problems with raids," he replied. "My father always thought it was because of the Frontier. Goblinoids are afraid to come out of the mountains."
"That's why they're afraid. Were-kin hate Goblinoids. We kill them whenever we find them."
"So I guess the Woodkin protect the villagers from Goblinoids in the mountains, and no human bandits would come that far. They'd starve to death. The road to Aldreth is used about once a month."
Thean laughed. "I never thought that Woodkin would actually protect humans," he grinned. "But it looks like they do. Indirectly, anyway."
"They get something back for it," Tarrin shrugged. "If Aldreth were a dangerous place to live, there wouldn't be anyone living there. It's so far out, the king wouldn't even bother sending men to protect it."
"True, true," he agreed. "It's not a one-sided relationship. The humans get our protection, and in return they trade with us. And I have to admit, they're very fair. I always thought they'd try to gouge us."
"It's against village law," Tarrin told him. "Treat the strangers from the Frontier like they were your neighbors, because they are. Your people get the same prices the villagers get."
"You have some very smart laws there, Tarrin."
"Common sense rules in Aldreth, Thean. That should be all the law people would need."
Thean laughed. "If only the world lived by that law," he said. "Feeling alright?"
"I'm getting a little tired, but I'm alright," he replied. "I'll be fine. I'm just glad to be outside."
"Be that as it may, Triana will skin me if I don't bring you back. She said a short walk, and Triana always says exactly what she means."
"I noticed that too."
"That's a good thing. It'll keep you healthy."
Tarrin laughed. "That common sense thing comes in handy."
The talk with Thean did wonders for Tarrin's mood.
He sat in his room, playing a bit with one of his blankets, thinking about what the older male had to say. Thean proved he was a very wise Were-cat, and he had that calm common sense that reminded him alot of his own father. His conversation had calmed Tarrin down a great deal, mainly because he now had a better idea of what to expect, and what others would expect from him.
Not that it helped him much now. He still felt like an outsider among the Were-cats, and in a way, he guessed that he was. He didn't share their upbringing or their teachings. To him, they were all strange, different, unusual. They didn't incite a fear in him the way strange humans did, but on the other hand, he wasn't about to open his arms and embrace them all as family. He was pretty sure that they felt the same way about him, too. They all treated him a little different, but he wasn't sure if it was the fact that he was turned or if he was hurt that made them do that. Maybe it was because they didn't know him. Thean said that Were-cats were usually solitary, and that fit with their independent natures. Maybe they weren't going to open up to him until they got to know him better. He'd already found ones he liked. He liked Kimmie, but he had the feeling that was because he felt she understood what he went through a bit better than the others. Mainly because she went through it too. He liked Triana, naturally. He found that he liked Mist, in a way other than compassion for her. Her, he could understand, so it let him approach her on even ground. In a way, she was alot like him, so he had a very good idea of how to approach her.
That made him look at the manacles. They were still sitting on the nightstand, laying there waiting for him to pick them up and put them back on. They represented everything that had probably made him the way he was. They were his reminders to never put his trust in humans again, and their weight was always there to keep his attention on them, to remember whey they were there, keep him from falling into that trap. He didn't know if Triana understood why he wore them, but at least she didn't have them thrown out. They were symbols, symbols of what happened when he trusted humans, symbols of what was waiting for him if he dropped his guard. He hated them, but he wouldn't stop wearing them, because enduring their presence was much better than forgetting the lesson that they were there to teach him.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he sighed and reached down and picked one of them up. It was heavy, made of steel, and its surface was heavily scarred, nicked, and pitted from all the times he had used the manacles to parry
weapons. At least in that sense, they served him in a practical manner. He held it up and stared at it a long moment, then held up his other paw and concentrated enough to make it a human hand. The manacle wouldn't slide on over his paw, but it would go over his human hand. His wrist was alot thicker when his paw was attached to it, and it was to that wrist that the manacle was fitted. The pain of the human hand gnawed at him slightly, but it wasn't there long enough to try to tune it out. He slid the manacle over that hand, over the wrist, and he held it there as his arm and hand reverted to their natural shape. The manacle slid a bit as it found its old place on his wrist, coming to a rest just behind the wrist bones. After twisting it into position, he repeated the procedure with the other arm. Their weight felt unusual after long days without them, but in another way, it felt more natural. He had worn them for so long, they nearly felt like part of his arms. And they wouldn't let him forget.
He would never be a slave again. He would never be held in thrall to another, ever again. He would never place blind trust in someone again. He had trusted Jula, and she had turned on him and locked that collar around his neck. She had paid for her acts, though, so he really had no more malice towards her. She was dead now, long dead, though killing her was never meant to be the punishment. Her punishment was to know how he had felt, to lay there helpless and feel her life draining away, and know that she was powerless to stop it. That was how he had felt when imprisoned within his own body by that damned collar, then when he had went berzerk and killed so many people. How it felt to be completely out of control. That was what he wanted her to feel. He had gotten even with the Keeper as well for her part in all that, in the Tower's part that turned him Were. He knew now that she was just doing what the Godess told her to do, but he still couldn't forgive her for ruining his life. He held her responsible for everything that had happened to him, and no matter how much he knew that that wasn't true, he really didn't care. He had to have someone to look at and blame for what had happened, and the Keeper fit that description nicely. It was irrational, but he didn't care.
The door opened, and Triana stepped in as Tarrin twisted the second manacle into place. She looked at him, then looked at his arms, and then she shook her head sadly. "I was hoping you'd give those up, cub," she said in a gentle tone.
"No," he said quietly. Grimly. "Ask Dolanna what these mean to me, then ask yourself if I should give them up.
"I already know what they mean to you," she told him. "I hoped that your time with us would lessen that in you."
"I am what I am, mother. These," he said, holding them up, "are a part of what I am. If anything, my kin out there make me even more nervous and edgy. They're strangers to me, mother. Almost alien. They make me feel things I don't understand, and their presence makes me do things I don't like. I may not trust humans, but at least I understand them, and I'm used to them."
"Do those make it any better?"
"No, but they keep it from getting any worse," he replied. "As long as I wear them, I won't let myself get caught in that trap again."
"And they'll keep you from overcoming your distrust and making new friends."
"Better a few real friends than fifty false ones," he replied bluntly.
Triana moved slightly, in time for Mist to come around her and look at him. Her eyes softened considerably when she looked at him, as her guard lowered in his presence, and she actually smiled at him. "Tarrin," she said in her strong voice. "Triana told me, told me that I've conceived. We won't have to try again."
"She told me, Mist," he assured her. "Do you feel alright with it?"
"I feel whole, Tarrin," she replied with a warm look. "For the first time in a very long time, I feel whole. And I wanted to thank you again."
"You're leaving?"
She nodded. "I want to be home, home for my baby. I don't want to take any chances."
"You're being paranoid, Mist," Triana snorted.
"I don't care," she snapped in reply. "I'm not doing anything to risk losing the baby. I want to be home before I start filling out."
"What about Kimmie?" Triana asked.
"She's coming with me," she replied. "We had a long talk, Tarrin, like you said we should. She's going to help me until I have the baby." She looked at him and smiled. "If it's a girl, then I'll name it Elke. If it's a boy, I'll name it Eron."
His parents' names. Tarrin was a bit startled at that, that she even knew the names of his parents, but her announcement didn't fail to send a warm feeling through him. "I'd be honored, Mist, and so would my parents."
"The cub is also yours, Tarrin. I'll never forget that."
"It's still not necessary."
"I don't care if it is or not," she said bluntly. "It's what I want."
"Then that's good enough for me," he told her.
She approached him and embraced him warmly, then kissed him. "Thanks for everything you've done for me," she said with a gentle smile. "I can't ever repay you."
"I don't need to be repaid, Mist. Just be happy. That's all I ask."
"I will," she promised. "We have to go now. We have a long way to go. Take care of yourself."
"I'll watch him, Mist," Triana told her with a faint smile.
"You'd better. If you let him get killed, I'll kill you. Be well, Tarrin. I hope we'll see each other again soon."
"Take care of yourself," he replied to her. She only smiled at him, then she turned and left the room.
Mist. If anything good came of anything that had happened to him, then it had to be her. Just knowing that she was going to be alright was enough for him, that she had found a trust and love for Kimmie that both of them had so desperately needed. Mist wouldn't be alone anymore, and that was all he could hope to ask. Being turned Were, all the pain and heartache, it all paled in comparison to what that poor woman had endured for hundreds of years. If his pain brought her peace, then it was a good trade. She was in much more desperate need of peace than he ever was. He didn't love her, but he found that he did care for her, a great deal.
"I hope she'll be alright," he sighed.
"She'll be fine," Triana told him. "It's things like that that give me hope for you, cub," she said gently. "You're feral, but your heart is still deep. You want to help people, even the very people you fear and distrust. Just be very careful with it, my cub. Don't let your conflicting ideals tear at you. Find ways to satisfy both of them."
"I'll try, mother," he promised.
"Now then, since Mist got in her goodbye, it's time to go back to your lessons," she said in a brusque voice. "We're running out of time, and you still have much to learn."
"Yes mother," he said, sitting back down on the bed. "Let's get it overwith."
The days began to flow by for Tarrin, as a regiment of sorts evolved from his daily activities. He would get up, eat breakfast, then learn. Then they had lunch. Triana would let him go out for walks and other light exercise, which he spent most often with Allia, Dar, and Dolanna and Faalken, then he would go back to lessons until supper. The time after supper belonged exclusively to Allia. Then he would go to sleep, get up, and do it all again.
The lessons began to drag on for him. He learned many exotic and seemingly senseless customs of many of his forest cousins, customs that seemed silly. But all it took was one hostile look from his bond-mother, and he was very attentive until his fear of her began to be eroded away by the boring subject matter. He learned the customs of the Faeries, the Pixies, the Brownies, the Gnomes--he'd thought they were all dead--the Centaurs, the Dryads, and a slew of other Woodkin races. He also learned the customs they all used to deal with the Druids, and he received an education on the Fae-da'Kii, the castout races of their magical society. Beings like Vampires, Lamias, and Leucrotta, for example. There were a great many of them, and Triana's teachings only centered on being able to identify them. He also learned some customs of the Goblinoids, but he found that his father's Ranger training, which he passed down to his son, already covered a great majority of that lesson.
Dolanna sat in on his lessons less and less, absorbed in her own lessons with Dar and Faalken. She was teaching them the language of the Sha'Kar, a language that only they could speak, a language that would absolutely ensure the security of any information they had to pass between themselves. Her teaching style was half Sorcery, half more standard teaching. She used Sorcery to implant a basic working knowledge of the language in their minds, then expanded on that with her lessons to reinforce it. Teaching using Sorcery wasn't as effective as learning information the old fashioned way, and that was why she only used it to teach them the basics, then have them learn for themselves the rest of it. That learned knowledge would reinforce the magically granted knowledge, and make them retain it. That was the flaw with magical teaching, that the information faded from the mind over time. Dar was struggling with it, but surprisingly, Faalken turned out to be an apt pupil of the dead language.
The injury in Tarrin's chest faded with each passing day, until the chronic pain was completely gone. It reached the point where it only hurt when he moved the wrong way, and could enjoy a little bit more strenuous activity. When he reached that threshold, Triana allowed him to go out for long walks. She had other Were-cats accompany him, both to continue his instruction and allow him to get a feel for his own kind. He got to know Rahnee, Singer, and Shirazi a little better, and became good friends with Thean. Laren, on the other hand, didn't get anywhere near him. Tarrin didn't like Laren at all, and Triana kept the two of them seprarated. Laren was a delicate little wisp of a Were-cat, nearly too weak to protect himself, and that weakness aggravated Tarrin to no end. Tarrin could thrash him easily, even with his injury, and his past insults and slights, and the horrible disrespect he showed to his mother, burned at him every time he saw the little fluff's face.
He also got to meet a few new Were-cats. They had drifted in late, or were just passing through, and he learned that Thean was very correct. That Were-cat females tended to act more aggressive in groups, and that Were-cat personalities were very widely spread over the spectrum. He met Nikki, Triana's youngest. To his surprise, she was only fifteen years old, but she was fully grown. He learned from Triana that a Were-cat reaches full maturity by age twelve, a full eight years or so before a human does. The Were-cat physiology made them age at a rapid rate after birth, reaching puberty around age eight or nine, and becoming a fully recognized adult at about age thirteen. But once they reached that level, they remained thus until something killed them. By the same time next year, Mist's cub would be the size of a two year old, though he'd be less than a year old. He'd be crawling one month after birth, walking at three months, and capable of running by six months.
Tarrin Kael Firestaff Collection Book 2 - The Questing Game by Fel © Page 48