by Jean Johnson
Nodding, Kenyen turned back to Traver and crouched. He hadn't been able to bring a list, since he wore nothing more than a coat of fur from waist to knees, but he did have a few things memorized. With his back to the others, he risked a slight wink, then spoke. "I discovered today that you've never kissed your girl. What a shame. I had to do it in your place."
Traver glanced quickly at the others, then scowled at Kenyen. "You leave her alone!"
"I can't. She's expecting such things from her betrothed. Wanting them, even," Kenyen taunted. At least, his tone of voice was taunting. He rolled his eyes briefly and continued. "But she did say something that made me curious. She wanted to know who else 'I' have kissed, to be so good at it. So, who have you been kissing?"
Traver blushed. "A gentleman doesn't—"
"—It's going to come up," Kenyen countered. "She'll start asking around, and if you don't cooperate, and she finds out I'm not the real you... then you become expendable."
His flat warning made Traver swallow. "Uh... right. Killia Lis Pel. We kissed a little bit behind her holding's cattle barn a couple months ago—but she's now twining with Lunnor Bel Nath, from farther down the valley, about three holdings down."
"What does she look like?" Kenyen interrogated him.
Behind him, Cullerog grunted again and started climbing the ladder. Zellan sighed and settled against the shelves holding bags of grain and baskets of vegetables on the far wall. Kenyen wished Zellan would go away as well, but he didn't expect that much trust this early in the game. Paying attention, Kenyen focused on memorizing each of the answers Traver gave, as well as on the expressions Traver used and the way he sounded when he spoke.
The food was good. Most of it was wild game, caught and cleaned earlier, seasoned with local herbs and skewered onto planks that faced the fire. The way they treated the woman scuttling from plank to plank, tending it, wasn't good. They kicked her as she passed, made crude comments about her figure, and at least two of the fifteen or so members of Family Mongrel abused her in ways that made it hard for Kenyen to hide his blush.
Zellan had told him on their arrival that this was by no means all the shapeshifters in the Correda Mountains. Not everyone made it to every meeting, though many gathered in one of two locations. One was somewhere to the east, closer to the Morning River Valley and the land of the Mornai who lived along its banks. The other took place in this cave-sheltered clearing, hidden in a steep ravine a modest distance from the Nespah Valley. The high, shallow arch of the cave concentrated the light and reflected the heat of the chest-high flames in the bonfire pit, providing a warm, well-lit venue for this gathering.
Most of the shifters had left their clothes at home. The few men attending the gathering who did bother with modesty shifts used scales instead of feathers or fur; Kenyen was one of them. Traver's covert handing of the ring to him suggested it was something he didn't want anyone to know about. Until Kenyen could get Solyn alone—truly alone, with no chance of eavesdropping by Zellan or another shifter—he couldn't say for sure. Prudence told him to hide its existence beneath reptile-style modesty.
One discrepancy was noticeable. Whenever the shifters around him relaxed into what Kenyen presumed was their natural, normal shapes, all of the older ones displayed Banished brands on their foreheads. But only a couple of the dozen or so younger ones—around Kenyen's age but not younger—bore the burn scars. That meant the younger ones were sons born to the Mongrels after their Banishment from the Plains. Kenyen's sister-in-law hadn't been the only child in the Mongrel's camp, just as her mother Ellet hadn't been the only woman being held captive back then. He tried not to think of the implications of that.
Someone had brought a keg of plum wine, and someone else produced a couple skins of fermented mare's milk. Kenyen sipped a little bit from the skins simply to blend in as they were passed around, but it wasn't as good as the kind made back home on the Plains. Aware of the scrutiny of the others, he mirrored the actions of the others for the most part, eating the meat, drinking the beverages, laughing at the crude jokes.
The only thing he didn't do was touch the woman, who was simply called "bitch," a nickname accompanied by barking noises and crude laughter. He tried not to think about that, either, so that his disgust wouldn't be seen. As much as he wanted to stop all of this, the important thing was blending in, gathering information, and not getting caught.
The white-haired shifter from earlier, whom the others called Ankah, finally stood and raised his hands. The others quieted down, giving him a modicum of respect. Dipping his head slightly in acknowledgment, he spoke.
"As you know, we have a new, tentative member of Family Mongrel. He has taken the place of that whelp, Traver Ys Ten. Zellan, what's your opinion of the new Traver's performance?" Ankah asked.
Zellan swallowed whatever he was eating and stood. Scraps of cloth and animal hides had been scattered on the ground or draped over sections of log for seats, though the latter seemed to be reserved for the older shifters. Zellan, like Kenyen, was seated on the ground. Hiding his apprehension, Kenyen listened to the middle-aged shifter.
"He's not bad. Quick-witted. And he's been playing up the mix of memory and memory loss fairly well," Zellan stated, relieving Kenyen. "However... he's too confident. Too careful. You need to bumble things a bit more. Traver Ys Ten is still a hatchling, someone who hasn't matured."
Kenyen dipped his head in acknowledgment. His face was his own at the moment—and his body ached from holding the other shape for so long—but his forehead bore a Banished scar similar to the ones marking the others. "I'll try harder. Though it's difficult to play a fool. It's not my style."
"Play better," Tunric growled. "And work your way faster into that family. After looking at two score possibilities, we've narrowed it down to this one. The Healer bitch liked to experiment, particularly years ago, and she's married to a blacksmith. It all fits."
"If I knew what I was looking for, I'd be able to look for it faster," Kenyen retorted.
The thick-jowled shifter smiled, his teeth visibly sharpening. "Are you sassing your elders, boy?"
"Just stating a fact." He dared a brief smile. "I like how things are set up around here. I'm not about to set the grass on fire."
"If you knew, you'd push too hard," Tunric countered. "Just ingratiate yourself into that Gods-be-damned family. Seduce the girl. Marry her if you have to. Get into their good graces fast."
Tarquin laughed and waved the half-eaten duck leg in his hand. He was one of the youths who lacked a scar. "I've already helped him with that."
"You mean you almost ruined it," Zellan countered, moving over to smack the younger shifter on the back of his head. Tarquin dodged most of it, but not all; his hair swayed under the glancing blow.
"Hey, now; if it were up to the real Traver Ys Ten, he'd never have that bitch in heat." Tarquin shot Kenyen a feral grin. "Besides, I was testing to see how much of the Plains was still shackling our new boy, here."
Ankah grunted. "All that Gods-be-damned respect they show for women." The elderly shifter spat toward the woman scuttling to turn the latest pieces of meat. She didn't look up, didn't react. He smirked. "We get enough of our kind into the village and holding elders, we can change things in the lives of these mountain sheep so that they're the right way. Our way of thinking."
Kenyen smiled along with the rest. Tarquin got up and crossed the distance between them, settling next to Kenyen on the scrap of canvas covering the ground. He elbowed the Shifterai. "You're not upset I did that, are you?"
"No, I figured it out." He hadn't been happy about the challenge to his cultural beliefs, but knowing in advance that Tarquin was a Mongrel shifter, Kenyen had figured his actions were being watched and measured. "I don't care either way about women. They're nothing special, no matter what they tried to claim back on the Plains. I just didn't want to get smacked by the locals, because I didn't know how much was allowed."
Tarquin smirked, tearing off another piece of duck
meat. He chewed it and said, "Just about anything... provided you don't get 'em pregnant, you don't do it in public, and you make sure they don't complain to anyone. Get caught, though, and they'll force you to wed—that's an idea, by the way," he added. "Ysander's traditional enough, so long as it's out of sight, it's out of mind... but you get caught twining with his precious little girl, he'll have you strapped either to his anvil for a beating or to the nearest altar for a wedding."
"Well, she's passably pretty," Kenyen allowed, "but I'm not sure I'd want to be tied down to her."
Tarquin coughed, choking on a laugh. Clearing his throat, he rasped, "You don't have to be! Bitches are for breeding shifter sons, nothing more." He grabbed the cup he had brought over and drank some of the plum wine it contained, then gestured at the middle-aged, scuttling woman in their midst. "In the meantime, you can go plow that one."
Kenyen wrinkled his nose. He couldn't help it and didn't stop it. Putting disdain into his tone, he said, "No, thank you."
"No?" Tarquin challenged, eyeing him as he plucked off the last bits of meat from the bone in his hand.
Kenyen wrinkled his nose. "I prefer my meat fresh." Leaning closer to the other young man, he asked under his breath. "Do you know what I'm supposed to be looking for? I don't like working blind. I even went back to re-interrogate that little pup whose face I took over, to make sure I'm doing the job right... but I don't even know what the job is, yet."
Tarquin shook his head. "What the alphas want, the alphas get. If they don't want you to know... well, they probably don't trust you enough, yet. You'll have to prove yourself before they'll tell you anything. And I wouldn't go against them, if I were you. They're multerai. They'll change their shape faster than a blink and tear your throat out. They'll tell you when they think you're ready to know, when they trust you."
Kenyen grunted. Someone nudged him with a nearly empty skin of mare's milk. He took it and pretended to drink more than the few sips he actually did. At least they're not going to kill me tonight. They're still dangerous men, but they're not deadly. As for that threat about one of the elders getting the jump on me...
He slid his gaze around the bonfire-lit gathering. A few moved like hunters, like warriors, but the rest didn't have the right edge, the right mix of competence and confidence. If these Mongrels have fought more than each other and a few frightened Corredai holders, I'd be surprised. He started to smirk at that thought, then checked himself. Careful, Kenyen, don't get overconfident. You have several lives at stake. Yours and Traver's foremost, followed by Solyn's, and so forth.
Assume these men are cold-blooded killers who can take on a warband and survive. Lay your own plans accordingly... what little you do plan, he acknowledged wryly, and then you'll be ready. Maybe.
A heavy hand came down on his shoulder. It belonged to the shifter impersonating Tunric Tel Vem. "Make sure you ingratiate yourself, boy. Do it quickly, but don't make any mistakes." His meaty, callused hand tightened to the point of pain for Kenyen, proving the older man was shifter enough to strengthen his grip. "You may be a murdering cannibal back on the Plains, but here, you're one of the lowest members in this pack. Mess up any of this, and I'll eat you alive."
"I'll keep that in mind," Kenyen grunted, hiding his pain. Once Tunric let go of him, he subtly shifted his shoulder, healing the damaged tissues before they could leave darkened fingerprints on his bare skin.
Solyn muttered to herself all the way down the path to Traver's home. Not out loud, not very often, but in her head. He's too different. He's too changed. He's too... manly. He's not the real Traver Ys Ten. He's too graceful, too confident, too handsome... handsome?
She almost stopped on the path, wrinkling her nose, before resuming her steady strides. The gathered folds of her light blue skirt swished against her calves. Traver is Traver, and he's always been Traver! He's always looked like that, and I've never found him attractive before now. Cute, yes. Good-looking, that's undeniable. But attraction?
On reflection, it wasn't really his looks. It was more the way he held her, muscular and strong, warm and male. The way he touched her, without awkwardness and without hesitation. The way he kissed me... Shaking it off, she firmed her thoughts. He's not the real Traver, and he's trying to muddle my mind with... with seduction—Goddess! I can hardly even think the word seduction in the same breath as Traver... but he's not the real Traver. Surely that means he knows what happened to Traver, and that means I'm going to get this version alone today.
And thanks to this morning's hard work by Mother, Aunt Hylin, and me, I have the perfect excuse to get him alone with me... Waving absently to his sister-in-law as she passed the older woman, Solyn reached the door of Traver's home. The sound of his laugh—even that sounded slightly off—caught her attention before she could knock on the open door.
Detouring to the goat barn, she stopped at the entryway and peered into the shadowy depths of the large building. Clumps of hay fell from above, pitched by Traver and his younger brother Tellik. They looked like they were in the last stages of tidying the barn for the morning, for the straw on the ground was clean, and the stalks they were shoveling from the loft were landing in the mangers. Mostly in the mangers. Flapping her hand at a stray wisp that floated her way, Solyn waited patiently for them to notice her.
"Oh, hello, Solyn! Hey, Traver, it's your betrooothed," Tellik teased. He did it with a friendly wave to her, at least.
"Keep your mind on your work," Traver returned calmly, though he did give her a smile. "Hello, Solyn. We're almost done here."
He's acting like he's gained four or five years, Solyn decided, hands going to her hips. She had to consciously remind herself not to seem belligerent, and relaxed her arms again. "Well, that's good. Mother wants to see you for your checkup, since you're not supposed to be doing heavy work until today, and then you need to... I mean, I would like your help in transporting the cheeses, if she clears your shoulder for heavy lifting and carrying. Which she should, if you're mucking stalls and pitching hay."
"Goddess, not even married yet, and already she's giving you orders." Tellik snorted.
Traver narrowed his eyes. "Just for that, you can finish pitching the hay and filling the water buckets. Mind you pour out the old on the garden herbs, and don't just dump in fresh."
"I know," Tellik complained, rolling his eyes.
Traver jumped down into one of the larger mounds of straw. Solyn held her breath, since that was an uneven surface, but he thumped in an easy crouch, picked his way out of the straw, and hung his pitchfork from one of the pegs on the wall, making sure the metal tines faced the wall. "Let me tell Father; he's turning the compost piles behind the hen yard, then I'll be free to go."
Nodding, Solyn waited in the shade of the goat barn. Tellik finished his chores, jumped down, and hung his pitchfork on the wall next to his brother's. Catching sight of it after a few moments, she tsked and turned it around. Metal tines were more sturdy than wooden ones, but they were also more dangerous. A scratch carried the risk of infection, and a puncture carried a risk to one's life. A good Healer—even if she was only so-so at the magical side of things—made sure her charges took the appropriate steps to prevent injury.
He took his time in coming back to her. She saw why when whoever it was pretending to be Traver returned. Face, arms, and chest had been scrubbed clean, and he was shrugging into an equally clean tunic. At her look, he smiled. "Father wants a round of your mother's hyssop cheese in exchange for my labor, and my mother would kill me if I ruined whatever batch Reina's making, so I took the time to clean up a bit."
Fastening the short-sleeved garment from throat to waist, he smiled and nodded. "Lead the way."
Doubt once more crept into her mind. He can't be an impostor. One and all, their personalities went downhill. Ruder, more arrogant, crueler, dismissive of women and children, argumentative... but this fellow is... is... nice. But he's not the same as Traver. So I cannot be wrong... can I? None of the others would've tho
ught of the need to be clean first.
Dithering silently, she escorted him up to her mother, where he sneezed three times. Each time, Solyn noted, was a moment when her mother used actual magic to examine him. How odd. He's never reacted like that before. Not like magic was... was like weed pollen to him.
Her mother pronounced him perfectly healed and ready for work. "With that in mind," Reina stated briskly, clearing away the materials she had used to make him one last posset for his health, "I want you to help Solyn haul the cheeses we made this morning to the caves. Flavor them with the greenvein mold, set them in the presses overnight, and help her wrap them for the next two weeks, or until they stop beading with whey."
"Solyn told me she wanted my help," he agreed, "and I'm ready and willing."
Reina eyed the two of them, brows quirked in suspicion, then sighed. "... Wait here."
She ducked into the herb-room. Traver glanced at Solyn, visibly puzzled. She shrugged in return, muttering under her breath. "Don't look at me. The cheeses are still in the draining cloths, which are in the kitchen, not the herb-room. I don't know what she's doing in there."
"What I'm doing," her mother's voice drifted through the herb-room door, "is what I should've done when the two of you finally made up your minds about each other. Ah, there they are..." A cupboard door snapped shut. Moments later, Reina emerged, two braided leather thongs in her hands. Strung onto the braids were rune-carved beads.
Belatedly, Solyn realized what they were. Face flushing red, she protested, "—Mother!"
"If you're old enough to be betrothed, then you're old enough to think about twining all the way with each other." Pushing one into her daughter's hands, she held out the other to Traver. "You will start wearing these contraceptive amulets, both of you. And you in specific, young man, will not get my daughter pregnant outside of marriage. Is that clear?"
Traver blushed as well. Taking the anklet from her, he mumbled a polite, if awkward, "Yes, Healer Reina. No, Healer, Reina. Um... thank you?"
