Sons of Destiny Prequel Series 003 - The Shifter

by Jean Johnson

  The King's men had come to investigate, but they couldn't follow the tracks of the beasts, and no culprits had been found. Those few who knew the importance of that acid-ruined blade, frightened for Reina's and Ysander's sakes, had immediately agreed to keep their mouths shut on the source of the miraculous metal. At first, nothing seemed to come of the matter, but then the owner of the local mines, Tunric Tel Vem, went away on a long trading trip. He came back changed. Harder, crueler, more arrogant... and rather interested in the Healers and the blacksmiths of the region.

  Other men changed as well. After Solyn's best friend stumbled across the strange bonfire, he had confided to her how eerie and surreal the whole thing had been. When she heard about that, Solyn had realized the mauling-by-animals and the face-melting men had the same source: evil shapeshifters.

  The Shifterai did come south into the mountains, looking for trade and other forms of work, though they never quite came this far into the kingdom. Nespah wasn't on a major trade route, nor on a road that led to the capital. With the secret of bluesteel smithing long since passed into their hands, all the Shifterai needed from the Corredai tea farmers were properly moldered leaves, which were created carefully, deliberately, when the tea was improperly stored. In fact, the cave where that mold grew had been specially set aside specifically for making and moldering bluesteel tea leaves, at the top of the valley. But it was the Corredai who usually took that tea down to the Plains, and not the Shifterai who came in search of it.

  Another cave held the source of the mold for making greenvein cheese. It was uncomfortably close to one of Tunric Tel Vem's mines, upriver at the wooded base of the valley, but the entire family had been using that cave for cheese-ripening for generations. Greenvein was sharp, tangy, and a touch on the pungent side; few people enjoyed eating it directly. But it preserved well, sliced neatly, and a little bit grated into a dish went a long way in flavoring various foods. She actually liked it a lot, herself.

  Traver finished his bartering, measured out the silver scepterai and the copper thronai coins, and shook hands with the trader. The trader then helped him put his paper-wrapped purchases into the net bag slung over his good shoulder. Solyn realized belatedly that Traver had paid quite a bit less than she would have for an equal amount of the costly, imported spices. When did he learn to barter so well? Okay, not that I know how well Traver barters for anything other than sweets. Every honey-nut-bun baker and sugar-curl crafter in the valley knows they can charge him an extra thronai or two for those sorts of treats, but I can't remember the last time I watched him buying spices and herbs.

  He turned to her with a smile that revealed his delight in his bargain. Solyn found herself smiling right back. Odd, but... but maybe being hit on the head and forgetting a few things finally helped him to finish growing up? That could be it. Traver had always struck her as a bit like a gangly lamb, or a spindly-legged colt, not quite fully grown. Not quite comfortable with his adult body and the strengths which came with maturity. Until now, that is.

  "I still don't see what you think you see in that idiot."

  Oh, great, Solyn thought, shutting her eyes for a moment. Tarquin Tun Nev. What a beautiful day this is... Opening them again, she glanced at the idiot. Tall and handsome with his sun-browned skin and dark brown curls, he made many a young maiden's heart skip a beat whenever he smiled their way. Except for hers.

  For one, he was the son of Tunric Tel Vem, which meant anything she said to him would no doubt make its way back to a known shifter. For another, he, too, had changed several years ago, after his mother had divorced his personality-altered father and taken herself and her daughters to distant relatives. And for the third reason, Traver was certain he'd seen Tarquin alongside his father at that bonfire several years back. That was more than enough for her to distrust him.

  Still, it paid to be polite. "Hello, Tarquin."

  "Honestly, what do you see in him?" Tarquin dismissed, ignoring the puzzled frown Traver was giving the two of them. Cupping his hand around her arm, Tarquin stepped close enough that Solyn tried to sidle away. Unfortunately, that put her up against the cloth seller's wagon, leaving her no room to retreat. The wagon was narrow, well suited to be pulled along the winding paths that lined most of the mountains, but he had her trapped against the wheel.

  "I see someone more polite than you. Stop pushing me into the wagon, Tarquin," she ordered, elbowing him. "It's not polite!"

  He pressed closer, making her scowl. "I think you need a real man, someone who can take charge of you." He flashed her a grin. "Certainly, if you marry that pile of goat droppings, you'll eventually come looking for one. You need passion in your life, Solyn. And I—yeeowch!"

  Tarquin jumped back, wincing and rubbing at his inner arm. Traver pulled back his hand, though he raised it in warning, thumb and forefinger ready to pinch the other young man's bicep again. "She has made her choice. Respect it."

  "Some choice," Tarquin scoffed. He rubbed his arm one more time, giving Traver a wary look, then lifted his chin at Solyn. "She'll come to realize who the better man is. When given the choice of being mauled by your cow herder's hands or enjoying my touch... she'll come to me for her pleasures."

  Embarrassed by such frank, arrogant, idiotic words, Solyn glanced around. More than one holding had sent family members to chat with the spice traders, and that meant more than one pair of eyes was watching this little interaction. More than one pair of ears, and more than one lifted set of brows.

  "She'll have nothing to complain about in my arms," Traver stated flatly, once again displaying that odd new confidence.

  Tarquin smirked. "That's because she doesn't know any different. Still, her 'choice' isn't irrevocable, is it? Let me help you make up your mind, my sweet."

  Before she knew what he was up to, Tarquin had her face cupped in his hands and his mouth pressed to hers. His tongue probed at her lips, making her flinch back at the unexpected, unwelcome invasion. Disgusted by the attack, she groped for her magic, ready to fling him back with blunt power. Even as she did so, two things happened: Traver sneezed and flung Tarquin back himself.

  Staggering, Tarquin regained his balance and rubbed at his shoulder. She hoped he was bruised by the rough handling. Traver glared at him, then turned to Solyn. He lifted his own hand to her cheek, but his touch was gentle, and his gaze the only thing that brushed her lips. "Are you alright?"

  She nodded, then scrubbed at her mouth with the back of her wrist. "I'll be fine. I'd have hit him myself, if you hadn't pushed him away."

  Nodding back, he slipped his arm around her waist, sheltering her at his side. Traver faced Tarquin. "As I said, she's made her choice. Respect it."

  Solyn slipped her arm around his hips as well. It was her fault Traver was now her betrothed, but he was man enough to defend her choice, however impulsive and inadvertent. And really, who else should I wed but a great friend? There might not be raging passion between us, but we'll still have something to talk about in old age.

  Tarquin sneered. "Another man kisses your woman, and that's the best you can do?"

  "That's because you're not worth fighting," Traver stated dismissively, sounding far, far more confident than Solyn had ever heard him speak before.

  A strangely humorous look curled up the corner of Tarquin's mouth. "... You can't kiss her, can you?"

  Solyn felt Traver stiffen at her side. The corner of his own mouth curled up, but it wasn't very amused-looking. Turning to her, he once again brushed her cheek with his fingers, then lowered his head. His lips dusted over hers, then alighted with gentle pressure, showing that he could indeed kiss her.

  Those lips nibbled for a moment, then the tip of his tongue swept lightly over hers. Not to probe invasively, just to moisten. It tickled... and it intensified everything. The warmth of his arm holding her close, the nibble of his lips as they teased and tasted, the mingling scents of spices and male sweat. He didn't even smell the same anymore; before, there was always a lingering hint of farm an
imals and sourness to his scent. Now, Traver smelled more manly, with hints of musk and something else. She supposed it might've been the lack of barn-cleaning duties since his last bath, and the seasonings he had bought.

  His mouth coaxed hers open, nipping here, licking there. Shivering under his slow assault, a corner of Solyn's mind wondered who her best friend had been kissing behind her back, to know how to do it this well. The rest of her mind... well, it melted, and took a good portion of her body along with it.

  Sagging into him, she tightened her own grip on his waist, her other hand coming up to clutch at his shoulder. He cupped her closer, switching his right hand from her face to the back of her head, fingers twining in her curls. A soft, hungry sound escaped him, and her own throat released a sigh that hummed in tune with the rest of her nerves. The astonished, unmelted corner of her mind wondered, Cora, Goddess of Hills and High Places... where in the world did all this pleasure come from?

  "That's enough, you two!" Aunt Hylin's voice dashed over them like a bucket of cold water. "No twining in public!"

  Shuddering in shock, flushed with embarrassment, Solyn pulled back. Traver did as well, though he kept his left hand at the small of her back while turning to face her aunt. With his own cheeks distinctly red, he searched the crowd around the spice traders' caravan, no doubt looking for Tarquin.

  He wasn't in sight; at some point during that slow but rather intense kiss, the other young man had slunk off. Clearing his throat, Traver nudged Solyn off to the side, away from the caravan. Aunty Hylin chuckled, waggled her finger with a mock-stern look, and turned back to her own spice hagglings, leaving them alone.

  More or less alone, not counting the watchful eyes of a dozen men, women, and youths all visiting with the trading caravan. Frustrated with their lack of privacy, Solyn resolved to drag Traver down to the cheese caves. The only thing she could be grateful for was that the other holders waited until they were almost out of earshot before gossiping about the fact that Traver Ys Ten had kissed Solyn Ys Rei, and "... practically twined with her on the spot!"

  Equally grateful to leave, and even more embarrassed, Kenyen escorted his false betrothed away from the gathering field located halfway down the valley. Tarquin was one of them, a member of Family Mongrel. Someone who had taken over the life of the real Tarquin Tun Nev, and no doubt allowed the real one to be murdered. To hear such a cur mocking true Shifterai ways had not sat well with him.

  On the Plains, the sanctity of maidens was absolute. If a man wanted physical intimacy, he arranged to meet with an earth-priestess. As widows, they could have gone back into the maiden's geome, the communal dome-tent where all maidens lived until wed. Instead, some of them chose to take up the holy calling of tending to the pleasure needs of the men in a particular Family. Each young man learned how to please a woman properly, thanks to their teaching. And each man learned to respect the compassionate generosity of each duly ordained earth-priestess.

  Outlander women, the kind when met while traveling outkingdom... some of them could be approached, but it was always best to be polite and avoid such things unless a Shifterai was sure about two things. One, that the local culture didn't forbid it, and two, that at least one of them had a contraceptive charm. Because of the peculiarities of their kind, it was thought best not to beget any shapeshifter sons, or even a rare shapeshifter daughter, on an unsuspecting woman.

  To kiss a maiden is anathema, Kenyen acknowledged. Maybe not an outkingdom maiden, but the hesitation and shame are still there. But to kiss someone else's betrothed is an outright betrayal. To enjoy it makes me depraved as well as a criminal. Except I had little choice. If I heard her right, if his name is Tarquin, then he's one of the shifters the real Traver warned me about. By now, he undoubtedly knows I'm a face-shifter, too.

  "Traver?... Traver!"

  Pulling himself out of his guilty thoughts, Kenyen looked back at Solyn. "Yes? What?"

  "You missed the path," she pointed out, literally pointing back at the right one.

  Sighing, Kenyen moved back to join her. A glance all around showed they were more or less alone. Not very, since it was the start of the harvest season and anyone working the various terraces could have glanced their way, but as close as they would get to being alone. The guilt wouldn't go away though. She was a sweet young woman who didn't deserve to be treated like that. "I'm sorry if I offended you, kissing you like that."

  Solyn blushed. There was the Traver she knew, awkward and uncomfortable with man-woman things around her. On these narrow, sloping paths, pony-drawn wagons didn't work so well, which was why the main road through the valley had fields and yards for traders to park their carts. A glance around showed how they seemed to be out of earshot, but her ring hadn't reacted. Apparently someone could still hear them, though she couldn't see who.

  "You didn't offend," she pointed out, climbing the shallow stone steps to the next winding stretch. "Tarquin did that. Actually, I'm more wondering who you've kissed before, to kiss so well!"

  He blushed. "I just... thought of a way to kiss you that matched you. Sweet and gentle, and, um..."

  That made her laugh. "Since when have you ever thought of me as gentle? I can still arm wrestle with you, you know."

  He smirked, clearly not believing her. Not that she believed it, either, not if she used just her muscles, but Solyn didn't mind augmenting her efforts with a little magic. To her surprise, he impulsively caught her fingers in his, lacing them together. It made walking on the narrow paths a little awkward, but the contact felt surprisingly nice. It also made her awkwardly aware of how much the effects of his kiss still lingered. Every nerve was now more aware of his presence, reminding her of the unexpected pleasure they had shared.

  Zellan startled him. The older shifter rose into existence inside the goat barn, where Kenyen, still shaped to look like Traver, son of Ysal and Tenaria, was patiently grooming the family holding's milk goats. He jumped a little and the nanny goat bawled, startled by the scrape of the currying brush. Soothing her with a few pats, Kenyen eyed the other man warily. "Yes?"

  "You're not doing a bad job," Zellan praised him quietly. "But you can do better. Tonight, when Brother Moon is two fists above the horizon—shortly before midnight—you will come out here and wait for me. You can fly at night, yes?"

  "I can," Kenyen admitted, keeping himself calm by stroking the brush over the goat's surprisingly silky hide. "Why should I?"

  "It's a gathering night. The others want to meet you and critique your progress."

  "I was hoping to go see my 'brother' tonight," Kenyen countered, unsure if he was ready to meet a whole bunch of criminal shifters. "I have more questions to ask."

  Thankfully, Zellan didn't object. "Then meet me here when Brother Moon rises. Make sure no one knows you're gone."

  A ripple of flesh, and the shifter shrunk down, resuming the shape of one of the small hedge birds that flitted about the terraced hills, pecking at insects and seeds alike. Kenyen didn't know the local name for the kind, but he did study what he could of the shifted Zellan before he flew off. I won't be able to assume I'm alone at any point, unless I can find a deep cave to hide in. With my luck, it'll be a cave stacked with yet more dead bodies.

  An unpleasant thought. It didn't give him nearly as much apprehension as the thought of this gathering thing Zellan mentioned. Is it one of the bonfire nights that Traver recalled seeing? Or is it going to be my funeral, as they gather around me to tear me to pieces, having uncovered my true reason for being here?

  ... No, they don't know. They might suspect, but they can't know for sure. Whatever they want, they're desperate enough to use a stranger to get it. Nudging that goat aside, he coaxed another one near with a bit of straw, then began grooming it as well. I'd better think of several different ways I could react to anything they might throw at me. And think of a list of questions for Traver. I'll also want to figure out just how difficult it might be to break him free. Because if I can do that without getting caught or tra
cked, one of us could run to Teshal to tell the others what's really happening up here.

  The alternative was him taking all night to fly out and try to find the town himself, but that risked not making it back in time to avoid his absence being discovered. Not to mention being exhausted the next day. What a tangled mess this is... A stray thought as he finished grooming the goat made Kenyen chuckle. If only I could find a big enough currying comb to brush it all out.

  * * *

  Five

  Traver looked all right. A little dirtier, but he'd been given enough slack in the chains to use a chamberpot. A pair of waterskins and the remnants of food in the bowl he hugged to his chest proved he was at least being fed. With Cullerog and Zellan right there, Kenyen couldn't do much. He did crouch to examine the younger man's face in the light of the oil lamp illuminating the space and sighed roughly.

  "He's starting to get pale," Kenyen pointed out. He did his best to sound gruff, almost disgusted, rather than concerned for Traver's condition. "He might even get sickly looking if he stays cooped up down here. I can't imitate someone who looks like they're wasting away, particularly when he's supposed to be a dirt grubber. Make sure you march him around outside in the sunlight for at least an hour a day."

  "Are you giving me orders, boy?" Cullerog growled.

  Zellan snorted. "You should be good enough to keep his face going, no matter what the real one looks like."

  "I am. But a good shifter knows that a living shape isn't a static image. Living creatures grow and change, and that includes my fellow human, here." Rising, Kenyen faced the other two, his gaze shifting back and forth. "I'll also bet it took you a few days of studying your replacement targets before you could keep it up. I had only one night—emphasis on night. I didn't get as much of a chance to study him in daylight as I'd have liked, since I had to guide both mounts. Forgive me for trying to get it right."

  Cullerog grunted. "I'll give it some thought. Ask your questions, boy, then be on your way."