by Jean Johnson
"Yeah, that's it," Traver agreed, peering at it. "At least, I'm pretty sure. It's been several years, like I said. Some of them I think had two lines through the swirly bits."
"The mark means Banished from the Plains. Two slashes means both the Shifting Plains and the Centa Plains. It's an automatic death sentence if they cross the border, if they have two." Kenyen frowned and pitched the twig into the river. "How did they cover it up?—No, I can't believe I'm actually asking this... You can't cover up a bluesteel scar. Once you've been marked, it's there for the rest of your life. Not even a Healer's best spells can remove it!"
"That's not true. If you had a..." Traver caught himself, flushed, and cleared his throat. He swallowed and gestured at his head. "They do this skin-flap thing with their foreheads. And they grow a fringe of hair along the edge, then comb it into the rest and tie it in a ponytail, or sometimes a braid. And they also wear headbands across their foreheads. There are some days when I wonder if every Corredai man with his hair pulled back or his forehead covered is secretly a shapeshifter in disguise."
The thought both disgusted and intrigued Kenyen. Wondering if it was even possible, he moved over to his saddlebags and dug until he found the hand-sized, polished steel mirror his father had given him at the onset of puberty so he could study himself more carefully while trying new shapes. The lightly scratched surface could have used repolishing, but it allowed him enough of a view to frown at himself and slowly bulge out a flap of skin. Growing hair along the edge was the tricky part. After the fourth try, he caught the Corredai youth staring in half-horrified fascination.
"That is... so... I'm sorry if this offends, milord, but that is just disgusting. Skin shouldn't move like that!" Traver swore, shaking his head.
"Little partial shapings like this are not looked upon with great favor, I'll admit," Kenyen said, smoothing out his brow. "We prefer to honor the animals created by Mother Earth and Father Sky by making ourselves look as natural as possible, indistinguishable from the real ones. It's... not common for us to pretend to shape ourselves like others, save for maybe in our earliest years—not to scare you, but I used to be somewhat good at making myself look like my friends. I haven't done it in years, though, and I only ever did it for a laugh. My mother made me stop after a few turns of Brother Moon."
Traver digested that. He nibbled on the remaining cheese in his hand. Finally, he shrugged. "Can you still do it?"
Kenyen blinked, bemused by the odd request. "I suppose I could try. I was only doing this to see if it could hide the scar in question," he added, gesturing at his forehead. "It looks like it might actually work."
"I already know it can cover the scars," Traver agreed, dismissing the subject. "What I want to know is, can you make yourself look like someone else?"
"The question is, why?" Kenyen countered back.
"Well, since I don't know who is a... a man-shifter, and who's the real person, then maybe the only way to find out is to get invited to one of those midnight bonfires and catch them all in one place," Traver offered, shrugging. "The best way to do that is to pretend to be one of them. Only I can't shift my shape. You can."
The idea was perverted: a true shifter didn't imitate another person. Animals, yes. People, no. Not once they learned to control their abilities. But Kenyen couldn't deny it also made sense to try.
Since he lacked any other candidate, Kenyen faced the other man, lifted his mirror, and carefully started shaping his face to match. Traver's forehead was a little broader, his chin a little more pointed, and he had a small tuft of not-quite-beard on his chin. The sort a young man would try to grow to make himself look older. His eyes were lighter brown, his nose thinner, if with a little bump from having been broken and reset, and there was a mole near the Corredai's left ear.
"Um... you put my mole on the wrong cheek," Traver told him, gesturing at the right side of Kenyen's head. "It's on the left, not the right?"
Flushing, Kenyen tried again. He got the face more or less right, but when he tried to smile, it looked awkward. Sighing, he relaxed his face. "Something like this would take practice. Same with the forehead-flap thing. And that's just the face; there's also the body. I'm a tiny bit taller, with narrower shoulders, and our muscles are bulked up differently. I might lose the sense of one of my other shapes if I tried to really grasp a total transformation."
"I have no idea what that means," Traver admitted, shrugging, "but like I said, it was just a thought. You said there were other Shifterai here in the mountains, in a town somewhere nearby? True Shifterai?"
"Yes, they're headed to Teshal to question someone," Kenyen said.
"Then I guess we should saddle up," Traver agreed. "One of them might be able to do it."
Kenyen bit back a retort on that, rephrasing his reply a little more politely. "It's not a matter of power; it's a matter of control. I might lose the sense of a less-familiar shape, but I can do it. I'd just need to practice for a bit. And we're not leaving for a few more minutes, to give the saddle and pad a little more time to dry. Your pony will also need to be walked for an hour or two, and her hocks checked for swelling. But we should be able to reach the village of Kethrin by nightfall.
"From there, I think it's just a couple days to Teshal, maybe less if she recovers tonight. When we do get there, Ashallan of Clan Cat, Family Lion, is in charge of our search," Kenyen told the young man. "She can hear what you have to say and decide what should be done about these man-shifters. If they really are banished ex-Shifterai, then part of your problem is in a way our fault." Kenyen checked both sets of tack. His was almost dry, but the pony's saddle was still a little damp. "You should take care of your mount a little better, you know."
"Well, I've been in kind of a hurry. It's bad enough I left the caravan in the middle of the night," the young Corredai man muttered. He grimaced and pressed a hand to his stomach. "Ugh, that was a bit too much cheese. I love eating it, but it doesn't always like me back—um, if you need me, I'll be in the bushes..."
Kenyen chuckled and flicked his hand, giving permission. He still had his shirt and pectoral necklace to pick up, plus a bit of food to eat and his waterskin to refill. "Take your time. Just don't take all day."
The other man nodded, grimaced, and hurried off into the undergrowth. Kenyen eyed his mirror in curiosity and tried folding the flap of skin from his hairline down this time. That seemed to work better than trying to haul it up from his eyebrows, while allowing him to keep the lead edge properly fringed with hair.
Forming and retracting it a few times, he ignored the noises in the distance, playing with the minor changes, then tried tracing a false scar on his forehead. After almost getting it right, he chuckled, relaxed his flesh, and reformed it so that it appeared reversed in the mirror, which meant it would display correctly on his brow for anyone who wanted to look at his face and read it. Right versus left, yes... mirrors are great for looking at oneself, but even they don't show you how you look to others. Sweeping the extra fringe into a partial braid atop his head, Kenyen checked his reflection, wanting to know if the seam could be easily seen.
A crash in the bushes and a startled yelp—which evolved into a scream and more thrashing—made him drop the polished scrap of steel. Launching forward through the bushes, he shifted stronger muscles and grew claws on his fingers and toes, giving him better traction across the forest floor. Foliage rustled with another yelp, followed by a thud. Bursting through the branches, Kenyen leaped and hit the figure that had pinned the Corredai man to the ground, sending the two of them tumbling.
Both males scrambled apart, whirling and facing each other on hands and toes. Kenyen's feral, feline hiss, teeth bared and body tensed to spring, was met by the other man's bared canines and wolfish growl. They stared at each other. A crackle of dried leaves and twigs distracted both of them. Traver froze, his trousers mostly pulled back into place, his fear-filled attention more on the stranger than on Kenyen.
The stranger, older than both of them by a f
ew years, glanced between Kenyen and Traver, visibly torn between dealing with his original target and the newcomer. The unexpected shapeshifter. With instincts honed by nearly eight years' worth of experience following his brother into battle with the rest of the South Paw Warband, Kenyen struck.
"My prey," he growled. "Find your own!"
The stranger glanced briefly at the wide-eyed Traver, then looked back at Kenyen with a smirk. "Well, I do have a prior claim. I suggest we secure him, then discuss the matter in a civilized way. Did anyone send you here?"
"A former son of Dog. He didn't give me a lot of information," Kenyen hedged.
"What sort of information?" the other shifter asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Strangers have been sniffing around certain caves. He only told me enough to do this," Kenyen added, freeing one hand from the ground to tap his forehead, though he didn't actually reveal the fold of shapeshifted skin held upright in its braid. "Then he told me to head south, to Nespah. And to bring a gift."
Glancing pointedly at Traver, Kenyen studied the other shifter out of the corner of his eye. The man looked at Traver, too. While his attention was diverted, Kenyen shifted his face. When the man glanced back, he twitched and blinked. Kenyen knew the imitation wasn't perfect, but his nose was a lot more snub like Traver's and his brow a little higher, his cheekbones a little broader, and his chin a little softer with the signs of youth. He grinned, displaying feline-long teeth, then reshaped his face back to normal with a little shake.
The other shifter studied Kenyen a long moment, then pushed himself upright, glancing around the woods. "Right. I'm taking you and him to see the others. He had a pony he took with him..."
Kenyen smiled slightly. "I convinced him to stop riding and let the poor thing rest. I was just waiting for him to use the bushes before making my move, so I wouldn't have to deal with that later. I didn't expect anyone to stumble across us, let alone a fellow shifter."
The other shifter narrowed his eyes. "Why him, as a gift?"
Kenyen flushed. He hadn't considered being caught on that point, and his mind raced. I can't tell him what Traver told me, but I have to seem evil enough to be acceptable. Father Sky, how can I show myself evil without having to prove it? To kill time, he smiled at the other youth, doing his best to make it look slow and feral. Traver gulped and licked his lips under the weight of Kenyen's stare.
That gave him an idea. Shifting his gaze to the other shifter, Kenyen shrugged. "Not him. His belongings. That's a nice pony he was riding. I take it you know him, so he's probably from the same area as you?"
The older man shot him a dark look. "He's been acting weird lately, and when he ran away from the tea caravan... well, we have orders about this one. Particularly given the latest rumor about why he fled. We won't have to kill him, don't worry. At least, not if he cooperates."
"But I was so looking forward to it," Kenyen pouted. He didn't want to lay it on too thickly, but he did want to try to establish that he fit in with the other criminals hidden in these mountains. "I like it when they scream." Eyeing Traver, he licked his lips. The Corredai youth shuddered. "So what's this rumor about him?"
"He ran away so he could try to tell someone about us—and you can't run, let alone hide," the other shifter added, glancing back at Traver, who had started to shift his weight. The subtle movement stopped. "When we get what we want, you'll be set free. Until then, you're our prisoner, boy. Cooperate and live; run and die. You do want to make it back to your pretty little betrothed, don't you?"
Kenyen didn't like the way the other man mocked the Corredai, nor the way Traver paled and swallowed at the older man's threat. He tried distracting the older shifter with a question. "What's your name?"
The other shifter glanced back at him. "You can call me Zellan Fin Don. Particularly if the others have a use for you in our area. Until they do... I'll just call you Catson. Our real names aren't meant to be discussed around outsiders."
"Then 'Catson' I am. For now. If you want him replaced," Kenyen pointed out, lifting his chin at Traver, "you probably can't afford to use one of the others. Given how long you've been doing this, there probably aren't many free bodies left. My arrival seems to be a bit of good timing for both of us, given the circumstances."
Zellan eyed Kenyen thoughtfully. "You're rather smart, for new blood."
Actually, it had been a wild stab in the dark, a guess at best, if something of an educated one. Kenyen accepted the compliment with a dip of his head. "I try. I have some rope in my saddlebags, Zellan. Why don't we drag this tasty little prize back to where I left our mounts?"
"A good idea. Get up," Zellan snapped at Traver. "Remember, if you run, you die. And there is nowhere you can run that I cannot track you."
Swallowing, Traver did as he was ordered, rising slowly. He paused to finish tying the waistband of his trousers, then carefully picked his way back toward the small, grassy clearing where Kenyen's horse and his pony waited. As much as Kenyen wanted to reassure the Corredai, he couldn't, daren't say anything out loud.
It didn't take long to return to the two mounts, nor to bind Traver's hands behind his back. Flexing shapeshifted muscles once both steeds were saddled again, the two Shifterai put him on his pony. Kenyen mounted his mare and took the reins of the pony. The man named Zellan tucked his clothes into Kenyen's saddlebags and shifted shape into a large, rangy, gray-furred wolf. The short fur on his forehead looked mangy, however; Kenyen belatedly realized that was because the skin beneath it was scarred.
He's one of the ones Banished from the Plains, Kenyen realized.
"We go to de hiding plaze." Zellan stated the words carefully through his wolfish muzzle. "You, Catzon, follow me on de road. I am fazter den I look; you vill not be able to run from me, eider."
"I didn't have time to hear much before being sent on my way, but I did hear enough to know you have a sweet setup in these mountains," Kenyen retorted. "I'm not about to ruin it. Not when I have a chance at a piece of your little pie."
Huffing, Zellan trotted up the path. Knowing the hearing of a wolf—one of his own shapes—was quite good, Kenyen didn't try to reassure Traver. He did, however, slip the other man a quick wink when he glanced back, making sure the mountain pony was comfortable with following his larger mare. Some of the worry left Traver's gaze, but not all of it. Not when Kenyen gave him a sharp look.
I may not think things through as fast as my brother—I just know this is going to come back and bite me on the tail if these Mongrel shifters get a hold of Nollan Sil Quen and find out I didn't come from him—but it's not like I had enough time to think of anything better. Dissatisfied but unable to do anything about it for the moment, Kenyen urged both steeds up the semi-steep path, headed back to the road that mounted the slopes of the foothills flanking either side.
The wolf glanced back a few times, but continued upward, moving first on the path, then through the bushes at the side of the main road once they reached it. Kenyen followed dutifully, glad the pony wasn't fussing too much from the scent of the predator leading them. If I didn't need to know the identities of these Mongrel types, I'd have rather fought this fellow in straightforward combat. I'm good at fighting. Father Sky... if You can hear me here in this foreign land, help me be good at disguising and dissembling, too. It's not just my life on the line but the life of this Traver fellow, too... and however many more may wind up duped, threatened, impersonated, and slaughtered by Family Mongrel.
Gods, how am I going to get word of this mess back to the princess and the others? I don't dare leave Traver in this cur's hands. Until I can get him free in such a way that they wouldn't even think of tracking him... Kenyen had no clue how to manage that. The twists of Fate, distant Threefold God of another land, had put him in this awkward place.
Here's hoping that, whatever comes, I can act fast enough to save all our hides.
* * *
Cullerog Twil Ziff—if that was his name—rubbed his gray-stubbled chin, eyeing Kenyen in the fadi
ng light of dusk. The cabin behind him, not much more than a shepherd's croft at the edge of a high meadow, had taken the trio the rest of the day to reach. With the scent of smoke curling up from its stone chimney and the muffled baaing of sheep herded into their barn for the night, the scene was remarkably tranquil for such a tense moment.
"You say Nollan sent you?" Cullerog challenged.
"That's right. Though he'll probably deny it," Kenyen added. The long ride had given him time to think of several defenses for this moment. "There were rumors of Shifterai on his trail when I was kicked out. Something about some cur of a shifter female claiming some Family Mongrel was committing crimes up here. So he'll probably deny our meeting from fear of secretly being watched." He smirked. "Me, I'm just looking for work and a place to live... and the chance to keep doing what I love doing."
"And that is?" Zellan asked, stepping through the doorway of the cottage. He had taken Traver inside, supposedly to the root cellar, and now appeared alone in the doorway.
Reaching for the braid at the top of his head, which he had tied in place between saddling the mare and the pony, Kenyen carefully, subtly reshaped his forehead under the guise of working the locks free of their plait. A scrape of his palm dropped the fringe of hair and its flap of flesh, revealing the fake brand he had shaped, long enough for the elderly man to get a good look. Smoothing the false flap upward again, he rebraided his hair with a few flicks of his fingers. Cullerog grunted, watching him fasten the thong in place.
"What did you get that for? In specific, I mean," the older shifter ordered, lifting his chin.
"Well, first off, I killed a man," Kenyen stated plainly, keeping his expression impassive. Zellan snorted, and Cullerog did not look impressed. Keeping his tone matter-of-fact, Kenyen ad-libbed, "Then I took a bite in the heat of battle rage... and I liked it. So I kept eating him. I didn't kill the next one, though. I just started eating her."
