His time with Triana had helped in some ways, but it had hurt him in others. She had taught him to understand his own nature a little better, and in that understanding there was an incredible feeling of helplessness. He was no better than Mist in the simple respect that he was too weak to overcome his own instincts. It was his instincts that made him fear and distrust the humans on the ship, the people who would look at him and do their best to not draw his attention. He knew they posed no threat to him, he knew that there was no danger, but he still just couldn't help being afraid of them. They were strangers, and just knowing he could kill them wasn't enough to make him feel safe when he was around them. After all, Jula had been a human, and she had definitely stripped him of his freedom, and had helped turn him into what he was now. No matter how much his human mind knew that he was safe on the ship, his instincts refused to allow him to feel safe and secure among them. He understood where it was coming from, but it was so strong that he was helpless against it. It was almost infuriating, knowing that nothing but his own irrational fear made him a pariah, but no matter how hard he tried, he just could not handle it.
And he had tried. Many times. He had tried talking to the performers, he tried having Renoit teach him the Shacèan language, he tried helping Shelli set up a performing cat act, since he could speak to the animals and tell them exactly what they had to do. But every time, it ended quickly and it ended nervously. he nearly hurt Shelli when she put her hand on his shoulder by accident. He had to give up at that point. He was just too nervous, too frightened, too worried about what someone might do that he posed a physical threat to them.
The only person on the ship outside his personal circle he could talk to was Phandebrass. The doddering mage was wildly curious about Tarrin, had been ever since he came on the ship, and the times that he had spoken to the mage had reinforced a sense of ease around him that no one else on the ship outside his circle had managed to match. His intense curiosity had only increased with Camara Tal and Sarraya coming on board, who were also extremely exotic individuals with many interesting things to teach him. Phandebrass lived to learn, had spent many long hours talking to Dolanna about Sorcery, to Faalken about the Knights, to Dar about the Arksian upper class, and to Allia about her people and their mysterious desert, a place no human would set foot in and few humans had ever seen. Ever since they left Shoran's Fork some ten days ago, Phandebrass had been grilling Sarraya about Faeries and Fae-da'Nar. The Faerie didn't seem to mind the attention, though she did nearly kill one of Phandebrass' pet drakes, who mistook her for an appetizer. Phandebrass had dismissed that incident as the accident it was, and after all, the drake was fully healthy again. It wouldn't come within fifty spans of Sarraya, though, and that had caused an interesting relationship to form. When the drake--Tarrin could never tell them apart--left Phandebrass because of Sarraya, it would sit on Allia's shoulder and beg for attention. The drake seemed fascinated by the Selani, and Allia seemed to like the creature. It fled from her when Tarrin approached, however. To the drakes, Tarrin was a predator, and they avoided him religiously. That suited him just fine. One of the little monsters snapped at him two days before, and the fact that it could fly was the only thing that saved its life. If he could get his paws on them, he would kill them, and they knew it. So they made it their business to know where he was at all times, and stay very far out of his reach.
Sarraya was turning out to be more of a problem than the Amazon, strangely enough. In the ten days they'd been together, she's already worn Tarrin's patience thin with her mercurial personality. She was a flighty little thing, given to pursuing whatever caught her fancy at the moment, and that made her very unpredictable. Tarrin did not like unpredictable. Her pranks and jokes quickly wore at his nerves, especially when she had the nerve to put a bucket of water over the door to his cabin. Toying with him was tempting death, but that didn't seem to phase her in the slightest. She would just go on talking or laughing, fading from view if she thought she pushed the moody Were-cat too far and hiding from him until his temper cooled. She knew Were-cats, and she understood that much of their reputation came from the fact that they were very impulsive beings. Trying to kill Sarraya was more a reflexive reaction than actual hatred, and the Faerie knew that she'd be safe again after Tarrin had a chance to cool off. Where Camara Tal wore on his patience, Sarraya really pushed his temper. And Tarrin didn't have very much temper to push against.
Dolanna had promised to fix that. The Faerie's games with Tarrin kept him in a state of almost perpetual anger, and that was causing everyone around him to suffer. Everyone but Sarraya was paying for her games, and they were all getting just a little put out with her. Tarrin had no idea what wild notion Sarraya contracted to start playing pranks on him, but just knowing that Dolanna was going to put a stop to it made him feel much better.
It was such a wonderful day. Tarrin closed his eyes and soaked up the summer sunshine, letting the sound of the creaking ropes and the shifting sails meld with the subtle shifting of the wood. The smells of the sea and the ship danced inside his nose, smells of wood and hemp and canvas, salt and water with a hint of tar, and the scents of the humans in the rigging as they adjusted one of the sails to better catch the wind. There was also the scent of the lookout, one of the acrobats, who sat in the crow's nest not far from him to keep an eye out for ships and other potential hazards. The angle of the wind brought the smell of the iron in the manacles to his nose, as well as the strange smell of the black metal of his amulet.
Thinking of the amulet made him think of Keritanima. She was on the way back to Wikuna, probably with some very unpleasant plans for her father. He missed his clever little sister a great deal, missed her wit and her toothy grins, her cute little jokes and the calm presence of her. He wanted her to come back, but he knew that she had something that she had to do first. There was no telling what evil schemes she had concocted for her father, but if he knew her, they'd be very thorough ones. Keritanima hated her father with a passion that was nearly religious fervor, and his attack on her, his injuring of Tarrin and kidnapping, had absolutely enraged his intelligent sister. That much was easy to tell, with what he knew of her and how she sounded when the spoke to her some rides ago. He knew she'd deal with her father and be back as soon as she could but it didn't make her not being here any easier on him. Keritanima was a very important part of his life, and not having her there with him brought to him the most curious sense of loss. It was almost as bad as when he left Aldreth, or worried that his parents would reject him after he had been turned Were. But there was nothing he could do about it. She would come back when she would come back, and all he could do was wait for her. Just knowing that he could speak to her was a comfort, but hearing her voice without her being with him, without the scent of her reassuring him she was there, was curiously painful. Close enough to communicate yet not close enough to feel she was there, it felt like some cruel joke to him, and he actually preferred not talking to her unless it was necessary. Hearing her voice just made it that much worse.
The fluttering of wings made his ears turn towards the sound, and the woody smell of Sarraya touched his nose. He opened his eyes to see the blue-skinned sprite, with her multicolored chitinous wings, land lightly on the spar in front of him. She was so very tiny. He could never get over that, no matter how many times he saw her. She brushed her auburn hair out of her face absently and sat down on the spar, looking down. She was quiet, and that told him more or less why she was there.
"Who did you outrage this time?" he asked with only mild curiosity.
"Renoit has no sense of humor," the sprite fumed.
"No. Renoit doesn't have your sense of humor. I don't think anyone on this ship appreciates the things you do."
"I didn't come up here to be lectured," she flared.
"You came up here to get away from Renoit," he said with calm logic. "Anyway, let me show you how we feel after one of your pranks."
And with that, his tail struck over his head li
ke a cobra, the tip smacking her squarely in the belly. She was carried forth with his tail like a leaf blowing in the wind, and it knocked her off the spar.
It took her nearly thirty spans to gain control of her fall. She stopped tumbling and managed to pull out of her freefall, then flitted between ropes and around jibs and landed back on the spar, out of the reach of his tail. She put her hands on her tiny hips and glared at him. "I have half a mind to get you for that, Tarrin!" she shouted in her high-pitched, piping voice.
"Renoit has a whole mind to get you for what you did to him, Sarraya. If you get me, then it's only fair that he gets you."
"But that wasn't funny!"
"Really? I thought it was very funny," Tarrin said in a low voice, staring at her. "Who doesn't have a sense of humor now?"
"No sense of humor at all!" Sarraya growled as her wings began beating at the air, making that peculiar rhythmic buzzing sound, and she flew over to a spar on the foremast.
Tarrin settled back down and closed his eyes, his tail swatting at something that touched his back before returning to rest.
Things were different now, different but the same. Meeting the other side of his family had shown him things about himself, but so far they were things that he couldn't change, couldn't conquer. He didn't fit in with them anyway. He was turned, not born Were, and that gave him a fundamentally different personality than them. To him, the others were strange, even a little worrisome. He saw things through eyes that had once been another species, and even now the memories of his human life influenced what he saw. The Cat was a relatively new resident inside him, and even though he'd come to terms with it, it couldn't help but still be influenced by what had always been there. He wasn't the same person that left Aldreth anymore. He wasn't even the same person that left Suld. Time and events had forced him to change to adapt, forced him to change or risk being driven insane by his own instincts. He could reconcile that, but there were times when it saddened him. Being feral was a self-imposed prison, Mist had shown him that. He was a prisoner of his own fear, and knowing it was fear made him angry and easy to set off. There was alot of life out there he was missing simply because he couldn't bring himself to associate with strangers, alot of things he could learn if only he could bring himself to talk to people. But there was no changing it. He was restricted to those few people that he trusted, and he relied on them in ways that made him feel more of a pet than a sentient being.
But it was water under the bridge. He looked down at the jugglers, two young human men from Shacè who had been born and raised in this circus. There were other children in the circus, but they had been left in Dayisè with some of the performers, because Renoit wouldn't risk them in the long and dangerous journey to Arak, nor would he expose them to the slavers and kidnappers that preyed on children who were notorious in the capital city. Outlanders were always at risk in Dala Yar Arak, and the younger they were, the better. The number and wide racial range of slaves one owned was a symbol of status among the Arakites, and non-human slaves were especially prized. From what Dolanna told him, there were a large number of Goblinoids serving as slaves in Arak, and the Arakites constanty sought to invade the desert and steal Selani children. This they did with the utmost caution, for fear that a single mistake would bring the entirety of the Selani race sweeping over Saranam to attack Arak once again.
They had to go to a cesspool like that and perform, entertain the people, while they looked for the Book of Ages. Just thinking about that worried him. Dala Yar Arak was the largest city in the world, and it would make the task nearly impossible. There were countless people with the resources to own a rare book like that, and that was just assuming someone knew they had it. It could be hidden behind a loose stone in a poor man's hovel, for all they knew. It would be a very dangerous place for both him and Allia, probably for Camara Tal as well, because they were all so blatantly exotic.
Camara Tal. He looked towards the stern, and there she stood. She wore that same open-fronted haltar and thigh skirt she called a tripa, her sword hanging from a belt secured loosely around her waist, dipping down onto her hip on the right side. She just stood there, waiting for him to get tired of hanging in the rigging and come down. She was tenacious, she was very patient, and sometimes she drove him crazy. She spent the time in conversation with Phandebrass, who had a book in his lap, sitting beside her, writing in it furiously as they conversed. No doubt the mage was asking her about her people and their customs, writing it all down in his book. Phandebrass was a mage, but he had a keen interest in the societies and customs of races all over the world, and he studied new ones whenever the opportunity presented itself. He had a keen interest in anything he didn't know, for that matter. Phandebrass learned so much that it made him forget little things, like what he was wearing, when he last ate, and who he was talking to. He wasn't scatterbrained, he just had so much on his mind that he lost track of the little things. Tarrin had been impressed by him. He had to be nearly as smart as Keritanima.
Tarrin was starting to get hungry. It was close to lunchtime, and thinking about some beef stew was starting to wake up his stomach. Triana told him that he still had to eat more than normal for him, to give his body the energy to complete the healing. He knew that was the case, because he got hungry much faster than usual, and he wanted to eat more. Tarrin's accelerated healing was fueled by the energy of his own body, which was in turn fueled by eating. That meant that he had to replace that energy much faster than normal. Sliding off the spar, he dropped about fifteen spans to a rope, then used it to angle him to the mast. His large claws drove into the wood, and he climbed down the mainmast as easily as a man may walk across the deck. He dropped the last ten spans, landing easily near the mast, and immediately Camara Tal was there. The bronzed smell of the Amazon touched him immediately, and he turned around to find both her and Phandebrass standing close to him.
"It's about time," she said with her light accent. "I had the cook make you some lunch. Are you hungry?"
Tarrin looked down into her eyes, but he didn't have to look far. Camara Tal was a very tall woman, taller than most men, nearly looking him in the eye. She was physically a very impressive specimen, a perfect balance of chiselled muscle and sleek feminine curves that kept men's eyes on her. The fact that she went around wearing next to nothing helped keep men looking at her. But they didn't stare. They knew better than that. Her coppery colored skin and her raven black hair glowed in the noontime sun, as did the simple silver medallion she wore around her neck. Camara Tal was more than a warrior, she was a priestess, and that medallion was the holy symbol of her goddess. Tarrin had come to discover that all priests wore medallions, even the pseudo-priest Sorcerers, the medallion identifying which god the priest served. By focusing on that medallion, Camara Tal could call upon her priestly magic. Without it, she couldn't use hardly any of her magic, only the most basic and simplest prayers. One of which, she had told him, was a prayer that conjured forth another medallion, in case she lost the one she had now.
That was a very wise precaution when travelling in a place where one's god was unknown.
Camara Tal never ceased to confuse and irritate Tarrin. He liked her--he could admit that he liked her--but her hovering protectiveness was something that he'd never experienced before, even at home. Knowing that she was always nearby sometimes made him feel safe, but sometimes it just rubbed his fur the wrong way. It wouldn't be that bad if she wasn't so pushy. There were two ways of doing things. Her way, and the wrong way. She never lectured or preached to him, but sometimes that look was enough to tell him that what he was doing displeased her. Sometimes her opinion mattered. Sometimes he did it just to annoy her. It was a relationship in flux, which had yet to root itself one way or the other. They could be talking warmly to one another one moment, then shouting at each other the next. He did like her, but he still didn't trust her, and that was probably what kept him so contrary with her.
"I am a bit hungry," he admitted to her calmly. Because
he didn't entirely trust either of them, he was wary, nervous, on guard, and Camara Tal seemed to be able to sense that. As a former warrior, she wouldn't have been able to live so long if she couldn't.
"Come on, let's go down to the galley," she invited.
"I say, mistress Tal, you must tell me why your people always dress so, provocatively," Phandebrass continued as they walked. "I've met other Amazons, and that type of dress is something of a standard for your people. I know it's hot in Amazar, but I've been there, and I've seen your people wearing trousers and shirts."
"You've been to Amazar? How did you get away?" she asked curiously. On Amazar, all men were consisered property. Once captured, no man left Amazar, or managed to escape very easily. The Amazons didn't see this practice as slavery. It was a social institution more than anything else, because men did have legal rights. They just weren't permitted to leave the islands the Amazons called home. Koran Dar was the only Amazon male Tarrin had ever heard of escaping the clutches of his female overseers.
"I'm a wizard, madam," he replied with a grand smile. "I'm not quite so easy to catch."
"No doubt there," she chuckled. "Well, we dress like this because of the competition," she explained. "This isn't the only way we dress at home, but when we're going out in the world, we always show skin to keep any potential combatant off guard."
"What do you mean?"
"Look at me, Phandebrass," she said. "Imagine you're a male warrior or cutpurse. Where are you going to put your eyes first?"
Phandebrass thought about it a moment, then laughed delightedly. "I say, that's a very clever bit of subterfuge, mistress Tal. Showing off a figure like that would distract even the most professional mercenary."
"Precisely, and I appreciate the compliment," she said with a quirky smile. "We're not a race of exhibitionists. We just understand our opponents. We've found that men have a hard time fighting against us if their eyes have more than one place to look."
The Questing Game Page 74