Pathfinder Tales: Skinwalkers

by Wendy N. Wagner

  The sea snake struck at Jendara, but her sword was ready. She slashed at the creature, but the blade slid off it scales and only turned its head. She doubled-up her grip. As the snake twisted back around at her, her steel scored a long gash down its side. It spat with pain.

  Jendara risked a glance behind her. She didn't have much room, and the snake moved fast. She guessed it was twice as long as she was tall, its girth almost the same as hers. Big and dangerous.

  It twisted left, and she parried its move, her blade not quite touching its side. With a hiss, it struck out at her again, this time shooting in low, aiming for her legs.

  She was ready for it. Her sword bit through the scales just behind its head, severing its spinal cord. She danced to her right, just missing the spray of hot blood. A rock rolled beneath her boot, but she leaped over it, coming down beside Vorrin's spear.

  "Vorrin!"

  "I'm all right," he called, his voice thin.

  He'd kept his hold on the spear, and his other hand gripped Boruc's scraped and bloodied hand. The two looked up at her, each pressed firmly to the rock wall. The ash shaft groaned beneath their weight.

  "A little help, maybe?" Vorrin asked.

  She threw herself to her belly and stuck out a hand, digging her free hand into a crack in the rocky ground. The spear's shaft crackled ominously. With a grunt, Boruc scrabbled up the rocky wall a few inches more. He loosened his grip on Vorrin to grab her wrist. For a moment, he didn't move. Then he gritted his teeth and found another toehold. His whole face went white.

  "You okay?" Jendara asked.

  "Think I broke my leg." His fingers dug into her wrist as he grabbed for the stones at the top of the causeway.

  She sagged a little when he released her and swung himself up onto the walkway. She reached out to Vorrin. His fingers closed on hers just as the spear, with one final protest, snapped in half.

  Vorrin scrambled up the rocks and lay back on the ground, panting. Jendara rubbed her wrist surreptitiously against her shoulder. Boruc was not a small man. She'd have bruises for sure. Vorrin had been holding up Boruc's weight a lot longer than she had. His arms must ache.

  "Big creature for an island snake," Nol noted.

  She felt a moment's anger that the older man hadn't helped her with the snake or Boruc's rescue. Her lips tightened.

  He looked up at her from where he knelt beside the beheaded sea snake. "You move awful fast," he said.

  She remembered then that he was older than her father and felt the anger subside. She was fast. And not everyone's skills lay in fighting. She shook out her sore wrist and joined Nol beside the creature.

  "A shame we had to kill it," he said. "It's a beauty. And our clan symbol."

  Jendara groaned inwardly. She had a feeling a certain clan wisewoman wouldn't like the fact they'd killed such a creature.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Jendara plopped herself onto the stairs leading up to the Alstone Village meeting hall and let her head fall back. The trip from causeway to village had taken four hours. They had to build a travois to drag Boruc through the forest, and it had been rough going. Everyone had taken turns, but she'd tried not to let Nol work too hard. He looked pale as he sank down beside her.

  "I'm getting too old for this," he muttered, rubbing his shoulder. "I thought we'd never make it past the quarry."

  Jendara thought of the steep rocks and zigzagging track they'd managed, and made a face. They'd given up dragging at that point and flat out carried the man. He'd tried to walk, but when Jendara saw the blood seeping through his pants, she'd forced him to stop. It was a bad, bad break.

  Gerda emerged from the meeting hall. "I see you managed to seriously injure Boruc."

  Rak jumped to his feet. "We were attacked by a sea snake!" His eyes shone a little in the late afternoon sunlight. "And Jendara killed it, but Boruc got knocked over a cliff. He would have died if Vorrin hadn't caught him."

  Vorrin smiled fondly at the young man. Jendara covered her own grin. Maybe this hunting trip had been good for him.

  Gerda raised an eyebrow. "A sea snake?"

  But Jendara didn't have a chance to answer. Wilfric waved at her and strode toward the hall. "Any luck?" He extended a basket that smelled wonderfully of bread.

  Jendara grabbed a piece and bit off a hunk. "Some. We ran into someone out there. We tried to catch him, but he fell over a cliff before we could interrogate him."

  Wilfric frowned. "A man?"

  "Well..."

  "It looked kind of like a bear!" Rak interjected. Wilfric raised an eyebrow and the boy flushed. "It looked like a man, too. Kind of."

  Jendara shrugged. "I don't know exactly what it was. It looked something like a man and something like a bear. We found some of its hair next to a campfire, so that suggests it was manlike."

  "And you killed it?" Wilfric asked, disappointment sounding in his voice.

  Rak grinned. "She did! She shot it with an arrow, and the arrow went all the way through its chest. It would have died for sure if it hadn't toppled over the cliff."

  Wilfric combed his fingers through his beard thoughtfully. "Werebear, you think?"

  Gerda shook her head. "Not likely. They're very moral creatures. After all, their shape is a blessing from the ancestors."

  "What if it was rabid?" Rak asked.

  Gerda frowned. "That's always possible, I suppose. But unlikely. What happened at that quarry was pure evil."

  "Evil, and now washed out to sea," Jendara said. "I guess we'll never really know what happened, or what the creature was."

  "But it sounds like it's probably dead," Wilfric mused. "That's good. I have to congratulate you on your hunt, Jendara. We didn't find a single sign beyond that spoor. I should have listened to you."

  Jendara smiled. "Thank you, Wilfric. But you're the expert on creatures on your own island. You did what you thought was right."

  She put out her hand, but Gerda pushed it aside, scowling around her at the tired hunters. "Shooting a strange creature is all well and good, but you mentioned a sea snake. An attacking sea snake."

  "Yes," Nol said. "A good sized male, very territorial—"

  She cut him off. "A sea snake. Don't you see? The totem of our clan. And this morning, I offered you all the blessing of the clan spirits." She shook her finger at Jendara. "But you wouldn't take it, no, no. Not you. Our clan spirits' blessing wasn't good enough for you."

  "What are you talking about, Gerda?" Nol snapped. Jendara remembered that Gerda was his sister.

  "I'm talking about the anger of the clan spirits. I'm talking about vengeance." The old woman spat on the ground. "You brought this upon yourself. You should be the one in there with your leg in plaster."

  Jendara felt the blood pound in her ears. She dug her fingernails into the tough woolen fabric of her pants and bit off the retort at the tip of her tongue.

  Rak snorted. "You think that snake was sent from the clan spirits? How does that even make sense? Jendara shot and killed the creature that ate a third of our clan! The spirits ought to throw her a party!"

  Wilfric cleared his throat. "I don't know about the spirits, but I do believe a party is in order. Tonight, my wife and I will feast you all. There's plenty of last summer's loganberry brandy, too."

  Jendara forced herself to laugh. "I can't say no to brandy."

  Wilfric put his hand on Gerda's shoulder. "Gerda. I have a few questions for you about my still. I know you're an expert, so if you could take a look at it." He led her away.

  Jendara rubbed her eyes. Every inch of her sagged with tiredness, and she only felt more exhausted after the confrontation with Gerda. That superstitious old biddy. That kind of attitude made Jendara want to vomit.

  Rak rubbed his chin. "Do you think Wilfric would still be throwing this party if he knew what happened to that spear he lent Vorrin?"

  Nol laughed. "Let's not tell him."

  paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas , Aug 10, 2014

  Chap
ter Seven

  Blackbirds

  Jendara tapped on the front door of Fambra's house and slipped inside without waiting for an answer. The fisher and her family had already made their way to Wilfric's party; it was their unwilling guest Jendara hoped to see.

  She was in luck. Boruc blinked up at her from a makeshift bed beside the fireplace, his eyes droopy from the painkilling concoction Gerda had given him.

  "Hey," she said. "How you feeling?"

  He pushed himself up on his elbows. "Well, I don't hurt half as much as I did. As a healer, Gerda sure knows her stuff."

  Jendara pushed a mound of pillows and furs under him so he could sit more upright and he sagged back, clearly exhausted. He managed a smile. "Thanks."

  "Do you need anything? Food? Water? Gerda already warned us you can't have any of Wilfric's brandy. I guess the combination of herbs she gave you doesn't really agree with liquor."

  "Figures." He closed his eyes for a moment. "That stuff makes it hard to stay awake."

  "I'll just let you get back to sleep."

  "Wait a minute." He coughed, and Jendara hurried to the cask of water on the kitchen counter to get him a dipperful. He nodded his thanks.

  "Jendara, I need to ask you a big favor."

  She studied the dipper. "What's that?"

  "I can't go back to the quarry, not after what happened. No way I could sleep in that house again. And with my leg like this, I can't do much. I was thinking maybe I could go back to my family's place. Over on Sorind."

  She sat down on the hearth beside his bed. "Why exactly did you leave Sorind?"

  He twisted his face. "Lots of reasons. One part's the business—no stone better in all the islands than Flintyreach stone. But mostly because, well, you know how Yul and Morul are. I'm not sure Sorind was big enough for all three of us."

  "I think I understand." She nodded, more to herself than to Boruc. She'd had a nearly famous father that half the people of the islands still remembered. Of course she could understand needing to get out of the shadow of two larger-than-life big brothers to find his own place in the world.

  She brought her attention back to the big ginger-haired man. "So you're asking if we can take you back to Sorind when we leave tomorrow?"

  He nodded. "I could pay with my carvings. They're still back at my house at the quarry, but they're all yours."

  Jendara felt her heart pound. "I just have to go get them."

  "Right. And if you wouldn't mind bringing back some of my other gear. When I get back to Sorind, I'm still going to need to earn my keep."

  "Of course." She smiled at him. "You can count on me."

  She hurried out of the house, suddenly very eager for morning to come. With all the hunters traveling through the quarry yesterday, she wasn't likely to find any untrampled evidence—but that didn't mean she didn't want to look. Wilfric and the rest of his clan might be content with the comfort of a dead possible-werebear. She wanted the truth.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Sleep was a long time in coming. The next morning, Jendara found herself groggy and bleary-eyed as she headed up the cart road to the quarry for the third time. She urged Wilfric's mule forward. It tossed its head and took a balky step forward, then hesitated. She couldn't blame it for being spooked. They'd left Alstone Village before the sun had even appeared on the horizon, and now, in the still-dark, misty woods, Jendara felt cut off from the world. Every shadow hovering in the corner of her eye made her reach for her handaxe. She reminded herself that she had wanted to come alone. It would help her focus on the task at hand.

  "It's okay, critter," she called out. "Let's get this done." She flicked the reins and it plodded onward.

  They were nearly there now. She recognized a lingonberry bush she'd crushed during their struggle with Boruc's travois. Just a few more yards before the path curved and she could see the quarry.

  The mule made a soft, distressed sound and stopped in its tracks. Jendara cursed to herself. She should have expected this. After all, if she could see the quarry, the mule would certainly be able to smell it. Even two days later, the place must stink of spilled blood.

  She jumped down from the wagon and studied the track. Bunches of smaller ferns flanked the dirt road, clamoring for the extra sun afforded by the clear space. She uprooted one and brushed the dirt off its root. The sweet scent of licorice rose up.

  "Hey, buddy." She held the root in front of the mule's nose, piercing the root with her thumbnail to release more of the powerful smell. With any luck, the aroma would overpower any other scent. "Come on." With her free hand, she took hold of the mule's harness and led it forward. It shuffled along, stretching its neck toward the aromatic fern.

  They rounded the last corner and the quarry workers' quarters appeared below them. Jendara had missed the cottage on the western side of the work area on her last visit, but she saw it now, and led the mule toward its wattle fence. It looked as snug and sweet as her own cottage, built into the side of the hill to minimize the winter winds. A kitchen garden bloomed in the front, bees already bumbling over the borage and mint flowers. Boruc's house was a fine house.

  She felt a moment's sadness for him. He had made a good place for himself here on the island. It was too bad the massacre had driven him away from it.

  There was only one room inside the cottage, and Boruc had given her good instructions. It took less than twenty minutes to pack up and load all of Boruc's gear and to find the crates he'd already loaded for sale on the mainland. She slid the crates into the wagon and wondered what today might be like if her trip to Flintyreach had gone as planned. She'd be well on her way to Varisia by now. She wouldn't have met Fambra or Nol, and she would never have heard Gerda's grating voice.

  And she wouldn't have seen nineteen dead men and women, half-eaten by some kind of monster.

  She scratched the mule behind the ears. It grumbled a little, stretching its neck to reach Boruc's rose bushes. It seemed calm enough, but then, the wind was blowing in its face. It couldn't smell the bunkhouse or mess hall behind it.

  But Jendara knew what was back there. Wilfric's men had collected the dead, but they hadn't stayed long enough at the quarry to do any real cleaning. All the blood and bits still lay there, waiting for the beetles and flies to finish tidying up.

  She gave the mule one last pat. All the mess was still there—and so were the clues she needed. She strode toward the closest building, the mess hall where she'd seen the overturned milk bottle and realized someone, or something, had just left the building. She paused. The door stood open, a long thin mouth into blackness.

  Anything could be in there.

  The door creaked on its hinges, stirred by the wind.

  She hurried back to Boruc's house and snatched a lantern off the mantel. She wasn't going to find anything in the dark.

  Back outside the mess hall door, she fumbled for her flint striker and lit the lantern. The comforting smell of cheap whale oil filled her nose. She let herself hope the strong-smelling stuff might help cover the stink of three day-old offal. She raised the lantern and stepped inside.

  The lantern didn't light all the mess hall, but its wobbling golden glow pushed the darkness back into the corners. The sound of flies buzzing in the kitchen was very loud. Jendara turned in a slow circle, trying to imagine what had happened in this space. An overturned bench at the farthest table suggested panic, an attempt to flee. But there was very little blood here. Just the trail that led out the door.

  She peered into the kitchen. So much blood. Something terrible had happened here, great violence done quickly to several people. She waved curious flies away from her face, but they covered every surface. A rat ran over the toe of her boot. There were simply too many vermin to get a clear picture of what had occurred here. With a shudder, she backed out of the kitchen. She'd only go back in there if she had to.

  Once she was outdoors again, she studied the area. Gray dawn didn't provide many details.

  She tried to remember what t
he scene had looked like when she and Vorrin had first arrived. She closed her eyes. There'd been the man just beside the cart road, front and center when viewed from above. She tried to let her inner vision pass over him without recollecting the details of the stake plunged into his gut, emerging from his open mouth. She couldn't.

  Impaled, just like her father. Impaling wasn't an ordinary method for murder. It didn't just kill a man; it left him behind as a message. What were these murderers trying to say when they left this man hanging on a skewer?

  Her feet crunched on gravel, searching for the hole where the post had been planed. Wilfric's men must have taken down the stake, but a bloody stain marked the spot. She squatted beside it, moving the lantern over the ground. A meaty, rotten smell rose up from the ground.

  She turned her head and waited for her stomach to settle. It was all too easy when envisioning that poor man to make his face her father's. Her father had been the only man in their tiny village left mostly intact. A spear had run him through and he'd dangled six inches off the ground, his weight tearing open his abdomen. But he'd gone out fighting. She had his axe to remind her of that.

  Jendara brought her attention back to the bloody spot. When she had found her father, he'd been dead several days. The vultures and coyotes and bugs had gotten a good start on their work, and it was hard to make out the details of the scene. It had rained once, washing away tracks. She hadn't had a chance of catching the devils that wiped out her clan.

  But it hadn't rained here. And while at least a dozen people had gone over the area yesterday, they hadn't gotten too close to the actual death sites. No one had walked here except the men who'd taken down the body. The imprint of the stake was deep and clear, the blood thick and unstirred. She knew she was being too hopeful, but she couldn't persuade herself that this particular spot was unimportant.

  Something glinted at the bottom of the stake hole.

  Jendara pulled her belt knife free and pushed it down inside the hole, catching a black strand on its tip. She lifted it carefully, holding her breath.