by Alan Tucker
Clouds had rolled in during the night and the rain had started at first light. Brandon sat up and combed his fingers through his wavy brown hair. He watched as the others woke to the same wet surprise then he packed his things.
His eyes found Sara across the camp. She had beaten him again last night and his anger rekindled.
He reached into his bag for a Tolenton’naie and ate it. He grabbed two more and ate them as well. The fruit didn’t satisfy him any more. He was always hungry and had a terrible craving for meat. All they had to eat was the fruit and some flat bread the little dwarf people had given them.
Still fuming, he grabbed his pack, slung it over one shoulder and marched out of camp. It didn’t take a genius to figure out which way they were headed. They had been following the river to the southeast for a week. He was pretty sure they weren’t going to do anything different today.
A rabbit darted from his path and dashed away. His eyes tracked the movement immediately. He thought he could hear and feel its racing heartbeat. It excited him.
He looked at his fingernails. They were growing, becoming stronger, like the rest of him. Soon he wouldn’t need a silly tree branch to fight with. His skin felt tough and leathery, like armor almost. It won’t be long before Sara gets hers. It’s just a matter of time.
Brandon had always been the best at everything, without really even trying. Sports, school — everything came easily to him. He enjoyed the praise and attention from friends and family. Then they had arrived here, and he’d been relegated to pack mule most of the time. Now they were following a puny little runt with a beard who wouldn’t last two seconds in a real fight.
Everyone had been so quick to compliment Denny for his stupid nut bombs. Who had carried the injured girl most of the way that night? Me, that’s who. But did I get a “thank you”? No. Of course not. Then his two best friends, Mike and Scott, had been hurt in the attack and had to stay behind. Now I’m stuck with the retard patrol, he steamed.
He grimaced as pain shot through his upper back. He dropped his pack and reached over his shoulder, feeling along his spine below his neck. Several hard spikes poked through his skin, each two or three inches long. That’s interesting. Brandon then heard a pop, and a tearing sound at his feet. He looked down and saw his toes had torn through one of his shoes. Disgusted, he pulled both shoes off his feet, as well as his socks, and tossed them all in the grass. His toenails looked like his fingernails and he could hardly feel the ground beneath his bare feet. He shrugged, hefted his pack, and kept walking.
It rained lightly, on and off, throughout the day. Fortunately, the grass was thick enough that there wasn’t much mud if he stayed away from the river. By evening, the clouds broke up and the rain subsided.
Brandon ate four Tolenton’naie but still didn’t feel full. He needed meat. He had seen rabbits, mice and other small creatures all day, but wasn’t sure he could catch them. Maybe I can try tonight after everyone’s asleep.
Someone decided to build a fire after dinner, and everyone sat near it, chatting or listening to music. After a few minutes, Brandon got up and walked off to find a place to practice. He’d had an idea earlier in the day and was eager to get started.
He found a good spot in short order and began to stretch and limber up. Will, Todd and the others showed up soon after and started their own warm-up routines.
After they were stretched, Brandon announced, “I thought we’d do something different tonight.” The others looked at him expectantly. “I think we should practice without the weapons, hand to hand.”
The boys, and even Kim, all nodded. Sara looked at him skeptically.
Brandon continued, “Will, since you’ve wrestled, why don’t you show us a couple of moves?”
Will agreed and they spent the next few minutes learning some basic holds and throws. Mr. Kain arrived and Brandon saw him raise an eyebrow but he didn’t comment.
When the rest of the class had gathered around, they started with matches. Kim proved to be a natural. She was big, strong and had an attitude. Todd was a good match for her, but when he grabbed her once in a place she didn’t like, she took him by the arm and literally threw him ten feet. Mr. Kain stopped the match. Todd was only bruised, but Kim looked like she’d kill him if he got close to her again.
Brandon beat them all, including Will, before Sara was the only opponent left. Surprisingly, Sara had beaten everyone except Kim and Will. Todd had been a tough opponent for her, but her reflexes proved too fast. Todd tended to lunge and unbalance himself often. Sara had taken advantage of that and had pinned him with his left arm held painfully behind his back.
Brandon stood waiting in the circle. Sara conversed with Jenni off to the side. Brandon figured Jenni was trying to talk her out of fighting. Sara shook her head and turned to face him.
Brandon smiled at her. “You sure you want to do this Wilson? No one would blame you for wanting to quit.” Brandon knew that would only anger her.
“I’m no quitter,” she spat back at him.
Brandon smiled again.
They circled slowly. Eyes fixed on each other.
Brandon had all the advantages in a fight like this and they both knew it. This wasn’t about fairness any more though for Brandon, it was about payback for having embarrassed him the past several nights.
He lunged low, knowing she would avoid it. She danced to the right, then, cat-quick, jumped on his back and tried to apply a sleeper hold with her forearm.
Perfect.
He grabbed the arm around his neck, then spun quickly and dropped. She was beneath him and couldn’t release because of his grip on her arm. She landed heavily with all of his weight on top of her. One of his newly formed spines pierced deeply into her left shoulder.
Sara screamed in pain. Brandon thought it was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.
Mr. Kain and Ms. Pap rushed in to tend to Sara. Brandon got up, blood dripping from the spine on his back and was greeted with shocked silence. He tried to look concerned for Sara, but inside, he was grinning from ear to ear.
“Someone get the first aid kit — quickly!” Ms. Pap shouted. Several kids jumped up and ran back to camp. She turned back to Sara. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll take care of it.”
Sara nodded and gritted her teeth in pain.
Jenni and Crank dropped down next to her. Jenni held Sara’s hand as Ms. Pap pulled her shirt away to get a better look at the wound. Crank applied some sort of ointment to it and someone rushed in with the first aid kit.
Brandon strode off, out of the clearing and away from camp.
Mr. Kain caught up with him after a few yards. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Walking.”
Mr. Kain spun him around and stared at him. “You did that on purpose back there.”
Brandon stared back. He considered denying it, but decided not to. “Yeah, so what? She deserved it.”
“She deserved it? Because she’s been beating you, she deserved to get injured?”
“Fighting with sticks is one thing. Fighting for real is another. She needed to understand what that’s like.”
“Brandon, you’re what — fourteen? What do you know about fighting for real?” Mr. Kain asked him.
Brandon smirked. “More than you might think. This body I’m building knows how to fight. It knows what it needs. And I know I’m not getting what I need here with you.” He searched Mr. Kain’s eyes. “What’s your body telling you? To follow Ms. Pap? A little dwarf? What do they know? This place is new, and it’s real. I can feel power building in me — and I like it.”
Mr. Kain pursed his lips and let out a breath through his nose. “No more sparring. I won’t put up with that kind of behavior.”
“Fine. We done?”
Mr. Kain nodded. “For now.”
Brandon turned and walked away. He heard Mr. Kain pause, then return to camp. He’s scared of me, Brandon thought, they’re all scared. He felt flushed with power, like he did on the
football field after he’d scored the winning touchdown. He smiled. All right — time for some real tests.
Brandon spent most of the night stalking prey. Rabbits, mice, voles — all creatures came under his scrutiny. He caught several, and satisfied his carnivorous cravings. He surprised himself at his own savagery. His first kill was a rabbit. He tore it open with his nails and fed on it immediately, spilling its blood everywhere.
He felt more changes in his body as he hunted.
Brandon found if he could catch the eye of his prey for more than an instant or two, he could hold it with his gaze. The creature became helpless; became his. He reveled in the feeling of control over another life.
He fell asleep in the early hours of the morning amid the carcasses of his kills. He dreamt of his hunt, his first victories.
Later, he dreamt of a fortress carved from a mountain.
It was a maze of towers and walkways, parapets and spires. He approached from the air, gliding in effortlessly on a cool, steady breeze. The rock was nearly black. Stars lit the sky, but the grays and pinks of dawn hinted in the east. Warm light poured out of a single window in one of the tallest towers. In his dream, Brandon swooped toward it.
Suddenly, he was inside, standing with his back to the open window. He was in a large, circular room, perhaps forty feet across. The walls were lined with bookshelves, stuffed full, all the way to the ceiling, fifteen or twenty feet up. Light came from a large glass globe suspended from the ceiling by a silver chain two or three feet long. A huge oval table, made from some kind of dark wood, dominated the middle of the room. A couple dozen high back chairs surrounded it.
Standing beside one of the chairs was a man.
He was a little taller than Brandon, probably about six feet, with straight black hair drawn back in a pony tail. He wore a long dark jacket with tails, trimmed with a burgundy lapel, over a dark silk shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. Matching black pants and shoes completed the outfit. Smooth, tanned skin surrounded gray, almost completely colorless, eyes. Striking eyes that Brandon could almost feel piercing his soul.
“Welcome,” the man said in an accent Brandon couldn’t place. “I’ve been trying to contact you but your … adjustments were not far enough along.” He held out a hand with rings on several fingers, offering one of the chairs. “Please. Sit.”
Brandon hesitated. “Who are you?”
The man clasped his hands in front of him, “I have known many names, but you may call me Mogritas.”
“Never heard of you,” Brandon said warily.
“No, I don’t expect you have,” Mogritas replied with a smile. “Please be at ease. This is still your dream and you can wake up any time you like. I would, however, like to talk with you. Maybe explain some things for you.” He again pointed to the chair.
Brandon shrugged and sat down.
“Would you care for something to drink?” A silver platter holding a decanter and several stemmed glasses appeared on the table.
“No thanks,” Brandon replied, still nervous and suspicious.
“Very well.” Mogritas poured himself a glass and seated himself next to Brandon, turning the chair to face him.
Mogritas took a sip of his drink, then set the glass on the table. “I’m sure you have questions. Please, ask away.” He grinned and held Brandon’s gaze.
Brandon forced himself to look away and studied his hands in his lap. He noticed his fingernails had become even longer and his skin was growing still darker. “What’s happening to me?”
“Yes. You, and your companions, are not from here. This world — many call it ‘Mother’ — is reshaping you into what it sees as your proper form.”
“My ‘proper form’?”
Mogritas nodded. “The inner core of our being, call it a soul if you will, has a shape, a form. Mother is remaking your physical body to match your soul.”
“What am I turning into then?”
“Ah, you, my friend have a soul of great power.” Mogritas turned and a large mirror appeared on the wall in place of a bookcase.
In the mirror, Brandon saw himself not as he was, but as he supposed he would become. He was obsidian black, with a rippling musculature covered by scales. His body didn’t truly seem to fit in the room and he had two enormous wings unfurled on his back. Teeth, like white knives, showed from a slightly open mouth and he sat on all fours. He stared at the image. It radiated strength and power. Brandon liked it.
Mogritas continued. “We have not seen dragons here for over a thousand years. They left in a mass exodus. No one knows why they left or where they went.”
Brandon turned back to him. “How did I get here?”
“That,” Mogritas said after another sip of drink, “is a very interesting question. One I would like to find the answer to.” He leaned forward. “You see, beings from this world were able to travel to your world in the past, with the right set of circumstances. But none ever returned. Your arrival here has opened up the possibility of movement in both directions, rather than just one. I am … intrigued by the notion.” He sat back in his chair again.
Brandon sat quietly and mulled over what he had heard. Mogritas sipped his drink and waited patiently, eyeing him thoughtfully.
“So,” Brandon began, “how long will it take for me to completely change?”
Mogritas smiled. “That is somewhat up to you. The change will happen regardless, but if you embrace it, desire it, it will happen much quicker. Fight it, and it will slow, but not stop completely.”
“I see.”
“Embrace it, and you can begin exploring and exercising your new powers just that much faster. I can teach you much about your capabilities.”
“How do you know all of this?”
Mogritas laughed and indicated the room full of books. “I am a very learned man, Brandon. I have spent a lifetime studying how this world thinks. There is no one more capable to help you reach your full potential.”
Brandon shook his head. “Wait, the world thinks?”
Mogritas’s expression turned serious. “Yes. And it can be quite devious at times. Let me be your guide. Come to me when you are ready, and bring any of your friends that would like to come along. Tell them what you have learned from me tonight.”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
Smiling again, Mogritas said, “I would expect nothing less.”
“I’d like to wake up now.”
“Farewell, Brandon. And thank you for considering my offer …”
The dream images faded and Brandon opened his eyes to a midmorning sky. He lay in blood spattered grass with small bones and fur scattered around. His memories of the hunt came back and filled him with pleasure.
Embrace the change, he thought. Embrace the change.
11
Tori was angry.
She’d spent most of her life trying to blend in, to go unnoticed. This, however, was going a little too far.
She was shrinking.
It had been subtle at first, but now her clothes didn’t fit right and her shoes were a couple of sizes too big. They made blisters on her feet and were difficult to keep on as well. She had always been the smallest one in her family. Being even smaller was the last thing she wanted.
Two nights before, after Brandon had hurt Sara and stomped off, they had all sat down and talked about the changes that were happening to them. Few seemed happy about them, so at least she wasn’t alone in that. Many were having similar problems in fact. Still, it didn’t make her feel any better.
Crank had talked about the world molding them to fit or something. It hadn’t made much sense to Tori. Why would we all be changing so differently? We’re all human so why not change us all into the same thing? She was confused. And frightened.
Brandon hadn’t come back by morning. After some discussion, they had decided to press on without him. He knew the direction they were headed and the group wouldn’t be hard to find if he decided to come back. Crank didn’t believe there was anythin
g dangerous nearby, and there was an ample supply of Tolenton’naie and water available.
They moved away from the river because the rocky ground and some recent mud slides had made the footing treacherous. The fast flowing water could still be heard off to their right as they continued southeast on their journey.
A sound from up above caught Tori’s attention as she trudged along with the rest, trying not to slip out of her shoes. She looked up and saw a hawk, or falcon, lazily pacing them in the slight breeze. Sara and Jenni, marching along side her, saw it too.
“Oh, cool,” Sara said. “I wonder if one of those little guys is riding it — what did you call them, Crank?”
Crank was riding on Jenni’s shoulders as he often did. “Faerstrastenai,” he said, looking in the sky. “Difficult to see from here.” He reached down and covered Jenni’s ears, then whistled loudly.
The bird took no notice and kept riding the air currents. Crank shrugged and removed his hands from Jenni’s ears.
Tori thought about the sound she had heard from the bird before. After a few more steps, she looked up again and made a high pitched “kee-yah” sound.
The response was immediate. The bird swooped down toward her. Surprised at first, she recovered and held her arm out like she had seen Crank do previously.
As it came closer, she could see details. Its belly and underwings were speckled white and brown, while its back and head were a silvery gray. It soared in on wings about two feet across, and landed lightly on Tori’s outstretched arm, talons not quite piercing her skin.
She almost jumped in fear and pain when the bird landed, but managed to keep control. It let out a short screech and looked at Tori with dark eyes. She answered with a quick “kee” before she had time to think. He — Tori knew somehow it was male — had the sharp, curved beak of a predatory bird and appeared completely unconcerned about all the people around.
Tori and her friends stood in amazement, then the bird hopped up Tori’s arm to her shoulder and settled down for a ride.
The bird didn’t weigh more than a pound or two and felt comfortable on her shoulder. Okay, so maybe this stuff isn’t all bad, she thought and smiled.
* * * *
That evening, when they stopped for the day, Tori sat down with Jenni and Sara to eat and rest. The bird, who had not left her shoulder, hopped to the ground next to her. They ate quietly, resting and stretching after their long march.
