The Last of the Ageless

by Traci Loudin

  Dalan opened his wings and rose from his perch. As he gained altitude, the hawk part of his mind scanned the empty drylands that stretched below for any sign of prey, but the human part of him listened for the buzz of dragonfly wings.

  Several days ago, Dalan had sighted the shadow of a dragonfly skipping from rock to rock in the borderlands. In his haste, Dalan had spread out his offerings, but the dragonfly did not deign to inspect them.

  The insect had buzzed off toward the grasslands, leaving Dalan to contemplate his failure. When he glanced down at the colored discs, he realized he hadn’t fanned them out enough: the dragonfly probably hadn’t seen its preferred color among the offerings.

  Dalan vowed to take his time with the next dragonfly. He would perform the bonding ritual as his instructors had taught him, and return home with his companion. Until then, he would confine himself to the tortured drylands, where only dragonflies seeking companions would venture.

  When a deer mouse skittered beneath him, the hawk took over and dove. Dust scattered as his talons sank into flesh.

  Long after his beak plucked at its entrails, Dalan’s mind resurfaced. Cahlae would have scolded him for losing control, but Mishnir would’ve said returning to his birth form to eat his supper would waste energy and water. He gazed over the expanse of nothingness, contemplating whether coming out to the drylands had been such a great plan to find a dragonfly.

  A tremor in the ground sent Dalan bursting upward in a surge of flapping. As he rose above the barren earth, he reasserted control over the hawk’s startled mind.

  To the west, a dust cloud rose in the distance. Within it, indecipherable shapes were silhouetted by the red sun, but the thunder of hooves hinted at people on horseback.

  Dalan considered returning to the remainder of his meal before the distant figures happened upon him, but decided to remain airborne instead.

  Dalan’s keen eyesight took in the riders as they neared, most of whom rode two to a horse. They wielded clubs and crossbows, and the lack of mutations in their appearance suggested Purebred human stock.

  A woman with orange-hued skin—a Changeling for certain—fled before them. As Dalan watched, the gap between them and their quarry closed.

  Soon, he was able to see the individual hairs on their prey. Her skin wasn’t orange after all; black-and-orange striped fur covered her entire body. Atop her head sat two cat’s ears.

  Dalan was stunned. A fellow transmelder caught between melds? He closed his eyes and let the updrafts from the drylands lift him into the air. Concentrating on keeping the hawk part of his mind silent, Dalan reached out to her. Can you hear me?

  He heard nothing but the thunderous pounding of the horses’ hooves.

  Dalan tried again. What’s going on? Do you need help?

  Despite being two to a horse, her pursuers would soon catch up. Adrenaline coursed through Dalan’s veins, demanding that he act, but allowing outsiders to know of his Changeling powers was forbidden.

  Dalan flapped away from the group and plunged to the ground. Hiding behind a mound of boulders, he gained mass, his bones becoming denser in order to withstand the weight of the new muscles attached to them. He lost himself in the agony as his joints shifted and reformed.

  His teeth grew in, and he clenched them together to ward off a scream as his body thrust his clothing and other accoutrements to the surface. Sound traveled well out here where vegetation was scarce, and Dalan knew better than to risk being heard.

  Ignoring his body’s need for water, Dalan poked his head above the rocks while the final changes completed. Anyone encountering him in birth form would likely assume him a Purebreed.

  The horsemen and their quarry neared. Dalan dropped his pack and rummaged through it for the Ancient gun. A shout got his attention as his fingers closed on the gun’s short barrel. He yanked it out and peered over the rocks again.

  Though Dalan had only been visible for a moment, the unarmed woman apparently had spotted him—and she led her pursuers straight toward him.

  Dalan’s breath caught in his throat. He raised the LEC6, hoping the sight of the Ancient weapon would be enough to scare the horsemen off.

  But on they came. If Dalan didn’t do something, the horsemen would ride down both of them. Sighting along the short barrel, Dalan aimed for the foremost horse, the only one with a solo rider, his face marred by a large, untreated burn mark.

  Praying the animal’s spirit would forgive him, Dalan pulled the trigger. Sizzling blue lightning shot out. It crackled across the horse’s chest and writhed over the man’s legs like tentacles.

  The horse collapsed, pitching its rider. The other horses shrilled in terror and scattered.

  Dalan ducked down, taking advantage of the distraction and waited. He sidestepped to peek over a shorter boulder as he counted to six.

  A horse reared, causing one of its riders to fall while the other clutched at the reins. The furred woman darted toward them, dodging the horse’s flailing hooves. Silhouetted against the sun, her hand arced toward the fallen man just before a panicked horse blocked Dalan’s view.

  The gun vibrated in his palm. The remaining men surrounded their intended victim as the sun slipped lower on the horizon.

  A noise behind him caught Dalan off guard. He jumped to the side as a crossbow bolt thudded into the sandstone beside his chest. He threw himself behind a mutated prickly-pear cactus, aimed between cactus paddles, and fired alongside the mound of rocks.

  Writhing snakes of blue energy rolled across the shoulder, neck, and face of his attacker. The scrawny man gaped in a silent scream, his whole body going rigid.

  The body of his would-be murderer hit the ground hard and peppered Dalan with dirt. He coughed at the taste of dust. Gathering his wits, he tried to figure out what to do next, but instead found himself just watching.

  The burned man Dalan had dismounted earlier approached a horseman, who ignored him and raised a club. “Get her!” he said, taking a swing at the furred woman. She dodged to the side and leaped onto the horse, landing in the saddle behind him. They wrestled momentarily before falling to the ground.

  “You idiot!” someone called out. “Watch her claws!”

  The crossbowman aimed but held his fire as the two rolled in the dirt. He noticed Dalan and swung his arm toward him. The sun disappeared below the horizon, and in the deepening shadows, Dalan ducked behind the rocks again. He remembered the gun in his hand, raised it, and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing.

  A crossbow bolt skidded across the top of the sandstone, catching the cloth of Dalan’s shirt as it flew past.

  Dalan heard a scream, then a gurgle. Her fur matted by blood, the woman rushed the crossbowman, who yelped and dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. The man with the burned face chased after the crossbowman on foot, shouting until he reined in.

  The burned man struggled to climb up behind the saddle but slid off, the front of his shirt ripping. The crossbowman steadied him on his second attempt. As the horse whinnied and lunged into a canter, they fled, followed by their companions. Dalan gazed across the expanse after as they disappeared into the darkness.

  Dalan reeled at the scene around him. Blood drenched a man’s threadbare shirt, his wooden club abandoned in the dark pool beside him. His face and neck were torn to ribbons, a chunk of his lip hanging loose. A red seam split another corpse’s neck, and his pool of blood touched the first man.

  Dalan found himself on his knees by the prickly-pear, puking his guts up. When he finished, he sat back on his ankles and let his stomach settle.

  The furred woman kneeled down next to the crumpled body of the man Dalan had killed. Her hand slipped inside his shirt and groped around. Finding nothing, she proceeded to go through his pockets and the pouches on his belt. To Dalan’s consternation, she pocketed a few trinkets from the man’s belongings.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head to clear away the image of the scrawny, rigid body and gaping mouth and told himself he had
n’t meant to end his life. But the man had been trying to kill him, so the Ancient Teachings would condone Dalan’s actions.

  The woman stood and regarded Dalan contemptuously. Under all the blood, it was impossible to tell what color her vest had been. Now matted with blood, orange fur with black stripes covered every inch of her skin. The tips of her fingers ended in sharpened claws.

  She appeared to be trapped between birth form and some kind of cat transmeld, which meant she was definitely a Changeling, but not a true transmelder like him.

  Dalan held his hand out, though he hoped she wouldn’t take it until she’d cleaned her paws. “Hello. Dalan, of the Omdecu Tribe.”

  She didn’t take it. The woman’s mouth moved as if to introduce herself, but her cat’s eyes pierced Dalan, making him want to check over his shoulder for what might be behind him.

  She turned her face to the side and snapped, “No.”

  Dalan stepped back, concerned she might be a half-wit Brute, a Changeling whose mutation had left her mentally unstable or deformed.

  The woman huffed. “Here. Take this.” She held a furred fist toward him, and a pendant dropped from it, suspended by a band of leather.

  “Why?”

  “For thanks…” she said through her fangs. “For what you just did back there.”

  He smiled. “Oh, no need. The Teachings say—”

  “Really,” she rasped. “Take the damn necklace. You apparently deserve it.”

  She stepped forward, and he decided to humor her demands in case her people’s customs obligated her to offer him a gift of gratitude. A flat, oval stone hung from the black leather cord.

  “Well? Put it on.”

  “Thanks.” Dalan slipped it over his head. “Wasn’t necessary.” A pink light blazed as the necklace touched his chest. He held the stone up in the darkness to discover that two pink dots gleamed inside it.

  She gave him a strange, sideways glance, as if waiting for him to say something. When he didn’t, she asked, “What happened back there, to your gun?”

  “Oh.” He held it up. “Doesn’t work after dark.” Dalan wiped the sweat from his brow. This early into the night, the heat of the drylands still reigned. “Needs to be recharged.”

  She shot him a look of confusion—or what he assumed was confusion. It was hard to tell through the fur.

  Despite looking like a transmelder, she evidently lacked his people’s ability to communicate telepathically. He chose his words carefully before saying, “The gun is recharged by the sun. It is a rare Ancient weapon.”

  The furred woman smirked. “It may be Ancient, but Ancient guns aren’t all that rare. I’m guessing yours is a LEC6. Six seconds to recharge, right?” The slitted pupils of her cat’s eyes unnerved him.

  Dalan squeezed the gun’s grip. “Yes. Old technology…” He ran a hand through his hair, wondering how she knew so much. “The Ancients supposedly saved up daylight so they could use it after dark, but the knowledge is lost to us now. Is not rare?”

  “No.” Her disinterested expression went unconcealed as she tossed him a knife. “Here. Use that at night, then.” It stuck into the earth near his foot.

  Dalan had saved her from a horrible death, perhaps a death worse than these men had suffered. He shuddered. If he intended to remain in his birth form and pretend to be a Purebreed, he might actually need the knife.

  He tucked it away and glanced up at the night sky, searching for the All-Seeing Eye. The stars of Ursa Major caught his attention, but the glint of the All-Seeing Eye shone brighter than any stars. Dalan closed his eyes, begging its forgiveness for the killing it had witnessed.

  When Dalan opened his eyes, he noticed the strange woman had followed his gaze. “Now, there’s some rare Ancient technology. Who knows what junk is left above the Earth?”

  Her assumption that the All-Seeing Eye was a piece of Ancient technology and not a sacred omen irked Dalan, but he didn’t want to argue over it with a stranger. “Uh… so, what’s your name?”

  “I’m Nyr. Tiger Clan of the Hellsworth Tribe. Which way were you headed before you decided to…” she seemed to search for the right word. With a peculiar smile, she settled on, “Rescue me?”

  “The forest.” He waved a hand toward the west, though the forest was nowhere near visible, even in daylight. He longed to return to the cool shade of his homeland, and hoped he could shake Nyr before he found a dragonfly to bond. He didn’t want an audience.

  Nyr hesitated. “What a coincidence. I was headed that way myself before those men chased me back in this direction. Maybe we could help each other out. Since this is such dangerous territory to tread through… on my own.” Her eyes held contempt, which put Dalan on edge. “Let’s get going.”

  “Of course, in case they come back.” According to the Ancient Teachings, he should offer his protection to a fellow traveler until their ways parted. “But first I need to pay my respects.”

  Nyr’s eyes narrowed. Dalan leaned over the first man she’d killed, and whispered words of encouragement to the dead man’s spirit. He struggled to focus on the rites as he considered the repercussions of what had happened.

  The Ancient Teachings justified their killing of these men as self-defense, but that didn’t make his part in it any easier to accept. In a way, Dalan should be glad that he’d solved a much bigger problem than his grandmother required. He’d saved someone’s life. Now, if only he could find a dragonfly.

  As he visited the next two bodies, he averted his gaze while whispering the words. Then he tipped his canteen to his hand and dabbed a drop of water between their eyes. He deemed this part of the ritual especially important in the drylands. After completing the death rites for all three men, Dalan replaced the cap on his canteen. He hoped the men’s spirits would find peace.

  Dalan straightened, his eyes falling on his new companion. He gaped at her appearance. Not only had she changed into clean clothes, but she’d also lost her fur. The rest of her pale face took on human angles, and her long, red hair draped over her shoulders. Like him, she now appeared to be nothing more than a Purebreed.

  Nyr’s raised voice interrupted his rumination. “Why should I give your shards to anyone else?”

  Dalan hadn’t said anything, so he wasn’t sure what she meant. He frowned, wondering how to respond. Dust and blood covered her left forearm; Nyr ran the edge of a flat stone across her freckled skin, sloughing off the residue. As Dalan watched her pull the flat stone down next to the clean spot, he heard a man’s voice say, Don’t worry about her.

  Dalan scanned the darkness, but saw no one. He shivered and opened his mouth to ask Nyr if she’d heard it too, but when his gaze caught her, his teeth clacked back together.

  She appeared to be engaged in a whispered argument with no one he could see.

  Chapter 2

  Korreth had barely put his foot down before he had to lift it again, the chain on his ankle pulling tight as Jorrim strode toward the fork in the ravine. Not for the first time, Korreth admitted to himself that escaping in this manner might not have been the best of plans.

  “Which fork should we take?” Korreth asked, wiping a hand across his brow. The dark skin of his forearm glistened with sweat. They needed shelter from the sun—soon.

  Jorrim headed toward the right, tripping Korreth yet again. “I think there’s a way up over here.”

  A dry chuckle from the other arm of the fork startled Korreth. As one, he and Jorrim faced the sound and fell into similar fighting stances.

  A brown, furry creature stood before them, up to Korreth’s chest in height. It lifted its arms and threw back a hood to reveal its weathered face. An old woman’s face. Korreth dropped his hands to cover his nudity. When he glanced at Jorrim, his friend rolled his blue eyes.

  The crone looked them up and down. “That’s hardly the best way up, considering the difficulty you’d have in your...” she ogled their naked flesh, “situation.”

  Jorrim stepped toward her, the chains going taut. �
��What’s that supposed to mean, old woman?”

  She gestured off-handedly. “You’re chained together so tightly.”

  Korreth twitched his wrist, and Jorrim relaxed. Not long after they were chained together, they’d developed a way of communicating without talking. Korreth tapped on their shared chains. Let me.

  Korreth shuffled forward. “What do you want?”

  She shrugged, the gesture almost hidden by the furs and leathers piled upon her. “I merely wish to save you the difficulty of the climb. There is a much easier path. Follow me.”

  Jorrim tensed but didn’t budge. “What makes you think you can order us about? We’re in no mood to be following anyone’s orders, especially not some crazy old hag’s.”

  The woman plodded along as though she hadn’t heard them. Korreth lost sight of her as she reached a slight bend in the fork.

  Korreth worried for his fair-skinned friend. The ravine had sheltered them in the morning, when the sun cast deep shadows. He raised an eyebrow at Jorrim and then tapped the chains. Harmless.

  A trembling under his feet distracted him from tapping more. Pebbles jumped on the ground. “Is that an earthquake?”

  “Not an earthquake.” The crone’s disembodied voice echoed eerily off the ravine walls. “Shake a leg.”

  Korreth and Jorrim exchanged a glance at her strange way of speaking. But then a rumbling noise, barely audible at first, made Korreth’s pulse quicken. As the sound increased in volume, they loped after the old woman.

  “She ignored what I said,” Jorrim muttered despite the rising thunder.

  “Just keep moving,” Korreth urged, concentrating on staying in lock-step as they came around the bend.

  The crone waited at the top of a gently sloped incline. At first, Korreth and Jorrim tackled the incline in sync with each other, but when one slipped, the other would stumble and fall, causing them to lose a few feet sliding back down.