Forged From Ash - Book #7 of the Skinners Series

by Marcus Pelegrimas

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Many have been speaking of you. The humans call you Randolph Standing Bear.”

  “Few who know my birth name speak it with such perfect pronunciation. You honor me.”

  Licking his lips as if on the cusp of a yawn, the gray one said, “I know how to speak a word. That doesn’t mean I honor it. You have been traveling wide in recent days.”

  “Have you been watching me?”

  “No. Your coat smells of British waters, Scottish dirt, the airs of France, German smoke, Russian snows.”

  “And yours smells of nothing at all,” Randolph snapped. “How can this be?”

  The gray one sat up and cocked his head to one side. “I have lived a great many years. In that time, I have occasionally drifted into listlessness or despair. I can truly say I have never been so tired or so bored that I have studied my own scent.” One side of his mouth curled into what could have either been a smile or an attempt to suck a piece of meat from between his back teeth.

  “You are Borrek?”

  The gray one’s eyes were not solid white. Randolph could see that now. Instead, their pupils were alive and swirling like a cauldron full of steam as they narrowed slightly and took in every detail before him. “It has been a long time since I have heard that name. And to hear it pronounced correctly is much more of a feat than my knowledge of the Celtic tongues. Who spoke it to you?”

  “It came to me as I was running. I…thought I heard it in the wind.”

  Borrek’s wide head bobbed up and down. “You sound like you don’t believe what you say.”

  Randolph’s eyes rolled slightly. It was a gesture he’d picked up from the humans like one of their many viruses. “It seems quaint.”

  “Quaint?”

  “Almost as quaint as following the voices heard in a dream. Such fanciful notions are left for children and poets.”

  “This coming from someone who walks as both wolf and man?” Borrek chided. His snout wavered slightly as he stalked forward and sniffed the air. “From someone with the breath of ancients clinging to his fur.”

  “The breath of ancients?”

  “Don’t take me for a fool, boy. You’ve been walking with the Mist Born.”

  Randolph straightened up and lifted his chin to an almost haughty angle. “I have.”

  “How many have you seen?”

  “Kawosa roams free, although I don’t know where he is now. I have sensed the presence of Tiddalik, the Water Keeper, in the seas to the west.”

  “And what of the Snake Lord?” Borrek asked.

  Randolph considered lying to the gray one but decided against it for several reasons. Self preservation ranked high among them. “I have also seen Icanchu,” he said. “But that was before the humans fell.”

  “The humans have fallen before.”

  “Not like this,” Randolph said. “They were attacked by the leeches and pressed close to extinction by several of our own.”

  “I thought things had gone quiet. That could be why.”

  When he moved forward, Randolph did so cautiously. Borrek stood, and as Randolph continued to advance, the gray one lifted himself onto his back legs. He shifted into his full upright form, bones creaking like an oak being tested by strong winds. There was power within him. It ran so deep that it could barely be sensed, but it was there. Randolph stood on his hind legs as well, shifting into the most primal of his shapes in order to display every layer of muscle that could be heaped upon his frame.

  “Have you felt the change within the wellspring?” Randolph asked, using a term that was outdated even for one of his years.

  Borrek nodded once, clearly recognizing that the younger Full Blood was speaking in antiquated terms for his benefit. Like any human who found himself in that situation, he didn’t like it. “Of course I have. It has been many years since I have had to draw from the Torva’ox. My sire taught me the benefits of an even temperament and not exerting oneself unless it is absolutely necessary.”

  “The voice that led me here said that you were old. If that truly was coming from a Mist Born, you must have dust running through your veins.”

  “You goad me so that you may get an idea of my abilities. You want me to lash out so you can feel how much strength is behind my claws. You believe you are strong enough to survive an attack from anyone.”

  “The Snake Lord himself could not put an end to me.”

  “I am no snake,” Borrek said. “Tell me why you came here. Surely, it cannot be simple curiosity sparked by a voice on the wind.” The gray one squinted at Randolph for a few seconds before digging his claws into the dirt. “You wanted to see if I was tainted by the wellspring.” Closing his eyes, he stretched his neck toward the younger beast and drew a long breath through his wrinkled nose. “So you have not squandered the prize you won from Icanchu? Will you use your prize to put yourself on Esteban’s good side?”

  “Esteban is no better than Liam. Both destroy just to watch the fires burn. But he is not the only one marshalling his forces.”

  “You speak of the leeches,” Borrek said with disdain. “They hide from the humans as they always have, feeding them scraps of pleasure or power so they may grow into plump, juicy cows.”

  “Not all the humans are fools.”

  “Enough of them to doom them all.”

  “The Skinners still fight,” Randolph said. “If only a few are left when the packs settle in to sleep, the humans can be honed into a weapon that can take back their world. The Skinners will see to that.”

  “Of course they will,” Borrek said with a shrug. “That is what the Skinners do. It is the way of The Balance. No matter how many fires burn, how much blood is spilled, or how many times the world is changed, only The Balance matters. Those who seek to upset The Balance,” the gray one added as his hard, white eyes fixed upon Randolph, “are the biggest threats and must be dealt with by the swiftest, deadliest blow.”

  Knowing he was moments away from feeling that blow, Randolph said, “Esteban upset The Balance by twisting the Torva’ox into something he could use to create more wretches. Because of this, the wretches have evolved more in the last few years than they did in the previous few centuries. The Balance must be set straight again. That is why I challenged Icanchu for the last pure piece of the wellspring.”

  “The Balance applies to all of this earth. Rulers come and go. Life is created and becomes extinct. Things are not in danger of truly becoming undone until the unearthly are drawn into the fight. There is a reason the Mist Born stay just outside of our sight. They are not to be trifled with.”

  “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  Borrek rose up to his full height, splayed his arms to the sides and let out a bellowing roar that displayed rows of teeth stretching from bloody gums like a chorus of death building to a crescendo. Soon, his savage voice formed words. “Do NOT justify your actions with HUMAN proverbs! Such shortsighted ignorance alone is enough reason for me to pull your head from your neck!”

  Randolph’s frame stretched to its limit as well, bringing him to within an inch or two of Borrek’s height. “It is a mistake to cast aside the humans. Because of that mistake, the humans were pushed into so tight a corner that they were forced to become greater than they have ever allowed themselves to be. We have toppled them before, but carefully and deliberately.”

  “And Esteban has toppled them in the space of a few months,” Borrek pointed out.

  “The damage Esteban has done has been inflicted upon all of us!” Randolph snarled. “He gives the humans no choice but to see the Skinners as something other than witches, lunatics and criminals. He gives the Skinners themselves reason to bridge the gaps within their own ranks. And he has done all of this AFTER the leeches were able to solidify their position to the point where they could crawl away to where even we cannot find them all.”

  “Perhaps you cannot find them,” Borrek said.

  Taking a step back, Randolph bow
ed his head without exposing his neck to the elder Full Blood. “Maybe this is why I was told to come here.”

  “To draw me into a war?”

  “No. To set things right again. We have always lived by the code of The Balance, but the scales are resting on top of a pile of bodies, broken cities and mountains that have been shattered by all the tumult that has taken place over the last thousand years. Esteban wishes to lay his empire down on top of that heap of rubble and make a new Balance that favors him.”

  “What favors him favors all Full Bloods,” Borrek reminded him.

  “But it will favor Esteban most of all,” Randolph said. “Even if he is defeated, his legacy will continue. The wretches will keep growing until they become something we cannot control. He may be wild, but he is not stupid. He must have factors in play that we do not see.”

  “There will always be factors none of us can see,” Borrek said.

  “Yes.”

  “So what is it you hope to do?”

  Randolph lifted his chin so he was once again looking at the gray one directly in the eyes. Seeing Borrek in this form, being so close and still not being able to catch his scent was beyond disconcerting. “My aim is to wipe clean all of the rubble beneath the scales of The Balance.”

  “Enough with the parables, child. Just because I am old doesn’t mean I won’t understand plain talk.”

  “We are not affected by the Torva’ox that Esteban has sullied. This gives us a unique opportunity to set things right.”

  “How?” Borrek asked. “By bringing the Mist Born into this debacle?”

  “They can play a very important role.”

  “Gods do not appreciate being manipulated.”

  “Some of them don’t need to be manipulated,” Randolph told him. “Some only need to be asked.”

  Borrek’s scowl shifted into something more contemplative. “You cannot be talking of the trickster.”

  “I knew Kawosa was a betrayer shortly after I first met him. He is not to be forgotten just because he is in hiding once again, but I was thinking of others of his kind who do not share Kawosa’s fondness for lurking in silence. Several Mist Born are rising to the surface. Some are angry. Others are restless. A few might long for how things used to be.”

  “Might?”

  Randolph shrugged. “I don’t presume to know everything that flows through minds like those. My nose tells me they are as divided as the humans, the leeches or our kind. If a Full Blood only has one strength, it is his nose.”

  As he let out a slow breath, Borrek shrank himself down to a four-legged form that could easily be mistaken for nothing more than a large timber wolf. Even from where Randolph stood, only Borrek’s fangs, claws and white-on-white eyes separated him from the more common animal.

  “There is some truth in what you say,” Borrek admitted. “Most of the humans are still weak and take the scraps they have been fed without questioning their source. Soon, their kind will be whittled down to only the strongest of their number. One thing keeps the Skinners and gypsies from uniting into a single force.”

  “The Dryad,” Randolph sighed. “Ever since The Balance has been skewed, I haven’t been able to find one of them. I fear the leeches may have gotten a hold of some of the lesser nymphs. If things continue along these lines, the Nymar may finally get the sweetest blood they have been seeking for so long. I wonder if even they realize the power they will gain by consuming Dryad souls instead of simply feasting on their sweet blood.”

  Borrek turned his back on Randolph to slowly walk toward the rise where he’d been resting earlier. Such a gesture was never taken lightly among Full Bloods. It was either a show of respect or complete disregard. “The gypsies have always worshipped those pretty ladies. The Skinners have only recently been charmed by them. The Dryad will find a way to stay alive. Such delicate creatures couldn’t have made it this long without having more than looks on their side.”

  “There are many things in motion,” Randolph said as if he was discussing the weather. “So many crucial elements ready to fall or rise.”

  “Eat or be eaten. That has always been the way.”

  “We are crucial elements as well, you and I. Perhaps the elements that can decide which of the others rise and which of them fall.”

  “You think a lot of yourself,” Borrek chuckled as he lay down and curled his brushy tail around the front of his body. “And of me.”

  “You are the direct descendant of Gorren,” Randolph said. “The mad one who was the last Full Blood to wreak so much havoc.”

  “I know my own lineage.”

  “Then you must feel the pull to take part in the crafting of this new world. Like it or not, The Balance has been tipped. Esteban has done the unthinkable. The humans know more than they should, and it is unknown who will remain when things settle once again.”

  Resting his head upon his wide paws, Borrek said, “Too much has burned already. Between the legions of wretches and the human armies, the destruction will not stop anytime soon. Any world that emerges from that will have been forged from ash. Such a thing cannot stand.”

  “Exactly,” Randolph said through a partial smile. “The true victors will be the ones who are able to survive the fires and knock down the ashen castles built by those who are too weary to defend them.”

  Borrek idly gazed in another direction. “We should have spoken earlier.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think we are both similarly longwinded. It amuses me.”

  “You must know I’m right,” Randolph said. “At least about some of what I have been going on about.”

  “I must?”

  “Yes. Otherwise you would have told me just how wrong I am.”

  Borrek ran his tongue along his teeth as if he’d just completed a hearty meal. “How are you not like them?”

  “Like who?”

  “The humans. The leeches. The other Full Bloods. Take your pick. All fight for power in some way or another. All want to be at the top of a pile of bodies.”

  “I seek to reset The Balance, not tip it in my favor. I yearn for the way things once were when the fields stretched for miles across most of the world, there were no such things as cities, the dirt was not paved over and humans were just another species making their way where they could. I forced myself to accept things for what they were and where they were headed, even when the stench of oil and metal filled the air. Esteban overstepped more than just the Full Bloods’ bounds but all bounds. There is no undoing it, but since things are in flux there is a chance to make sure they land in a spot that’s better than where they started.

  “After this war is settled, there will be a time when things are calming down, the casualties are high and both sides are wounded more than they have ever been. That will be the time for a final blow to be delivered which will set everything where it needs to be.”

  “And you are the one to deliver that blow?” Borrek asked.

  “Right now, I am the one pulling together the means to decide who is set up to be hit. This world can be rid of the Nymar as well as the humans. The Half Breeds can be turned back to the obedient dogs they were meant to be, and the land can recover from being raped and burned for so many years.”

  “And I am the one chosen to join you on this grand endeavor?” Borrek chided. “Should I be honored by your choice or insulted by how stupid you must think I am? You’re talking like one of the humans you wish to eradicate. Murder and greed wrapped up in perfumed fanfare.”

  “I am not trying to pass myself off as anything but what I am. I never even knew you were out here,” Randolph said. “Not until I was told. I’ve been looking for anyone or anything I could use for what needs to be done. Our paths crossing presents an opportunity. The other Full Bloods have enough to keep them busy either fighting this war or surviving it. They are the only other ones with any chance of gazing upon the last descendent of Gorren. The humans, the leeches, anyone who is not Full Blood doesn’t even know Gorren’s
name. Because of that, I believe I am the only one who knows of you.”

  “You,” Borrek added, “and the windy voice that pointed you this way.”

  “Which is why I came immediately. However highly I may think of myself, I doubt I’ll be the only one to whom the wind speaks.”

  Randolph would never be stupid enough to threaten the gray one. Gorren’s brutality and raw power were legend. Any Full Blood who might have a trickle of that one’s spirit running through them was to be handled with extreme caution if, indeed, they could be handled at all. His words were intended to give Borrek something to think about, gently nudging him to do something more than lay on the ground and clean his teeth.

  “You know why I went through so much trouble to find places where I could remain unseen and easily forgotten?” Borrek asked.

  “Why?”

  “So I wouldn’t have to listen to the pleas of those looking to put me to work.”

  “I thought I amused you,” Randolph said.

  “That’s passed. Go.”

  Randolph wanted to ask if the gray one was intrigued by anything that had been said or would consider taking him up on his offer. He wanted to press Borrek for an answer on whether he would help shape the world or merely rest on a quiet patch of it. He wanted to do these things but knew better. The gray one was finished speaking and tired of listening. Pressing him any further would do as much good as whining for the sun to rise faster than normal. And so, he turned and walked away.

  “When you stand against the other Full Bloods,” Borrek said in a voice that stopped Randolph in his tracks, “they will turn against you.”

  “I have spoken to some who will not.”

  “Even so, you may have to kill several of them.”

  “I realize that,” Randolph said.

  “The rest will then see you as an enemy. That is what happened with Gorren.”

  “Gorren wanted to kill all humans with his own claws. He sought to rule through fear and muscle. He made too many enemies and underestimated them.”

  As Randolph spoke, Borrek had gotten to his feet and walked slowly toward him. He stopped less than five steps in front of him and said, “I was waiting for you to call Gorren a fool.”