by Mima
“They are fools. I will prove one for you. I will do it right now and return shortly. And you will bond to the man I bring you. You’ll prove your worth later as he will prove his to you. But for now, for your weary body, let me take on the proof and damn their Council.”
His eyes opened slowly, dazedly, and her heart thundered even more in fear and sorrow. “Do you choose to live Rylan? After all your chances to quit before, will you do it now when you hold a bloodclan within a breath?” She held her own breath as he rolled his head back in line with his body and sighed.
“Prove one for me KarRa, and I will take him.”
She squeezed his hand and laid it gently to his side. She stood, starting as she realized for the first time that a man was sitting opposite her across Rylan's body. He was red-gold. Eyes, hair, and skin. He was power breathing and she froze in his gaze, hard and flat on her. She couldn’t believe she’d been so careless, despite his stillness in the shadows.
“What proof do you seek?” he asked.
“It is a small magic only, that Rylan has a childhood belief in.” She glanced down at him, and thought he must be unconscious again. Her heart thumped.
“Can you help me find someone in charge?”
He stared at her for a series of heartbeats then pointed to a man dressed in black leathers in one of the small groups at the edge of the room. “That is our Dom. He is our Council leader.” She went to him, praying a new Beast brother was worth more than their politics.
Not ten minutes later she was facing a handful of men, including the redgold man, in a small empty room much like the one Tril had brought her to. The table was pushed back and the stools set atop it.
“You are the men the spiritmage felt would match Rylan. I am here to review for him, as he refuses to be given to a Clan by a discussion of strangers. What your Council decided by your laws and logic they have agreed to undo according to my proving. You have to do nothing but answer my question.”
She stepped up to the shortest man, who was dark skinned like Tril, but as thick as a tree and still a head taller than she. Raising her palm up and out until it was hovering over his heart, she sent out her energy.
Scuffle had watched her prove someone once. He had grunted at her findings. “Interesting,” he had muttered. He had gone to a jar, opened it, and tossed the empty air inside it at her. Nothing had happened and he closed it muttering, “Oh well.” He scuffled out of the room and never looked back. Rylan had been hoping that the exercise would reveal which Element she belonged to.
He had been disappointed and angry on her behalf, believing her ability to attune herself with someone to get the truth, to find connections between people, incredible. She had shrugged to Rylan and pulled him outside to try to find new bread, but secretly she had been devastated. Her most closely guarded secret, her kernel of belief and hope and pride, had shriveled to a pea that day. There was no denying she had contributed a few times with her gift, but the time and concentration it took made it impractical.
“Would you take Rylan into your Clan?” she asked with her eyes closed, seeing with her energy now, not her eyes.
“Of course!” the man answered. The question didn't really matter, nor did his words. She felt the inner response, measured it to what she knew of Rylan, and closed her hand into a fist. She heard his breath huff, but took a gliding step to the left, to the next man in line.
Her eyes stayed closed as she moved, not listening to their words, some so long and polished as to be poetry. She listened to their hearts, energy, and souls. Finally she had passed down to the fifth and last man. When she had closed her eyes, this had been the redgold man, and her breath slipped from her in a small sigh, her shoulders lowering slightly in dejection as she realized she was not going to be so lucky as to pick the same man they had. What would be the political fallout from this she did not know enough to say, but she could tell from the cold eyes of the Dom that Rylan’s demands were not appreciated.
Sliding to her right again, up one man back into the line of five, she opened her hand on the fourth man again to be sure. She was pleasantly surprised to find that the spiritmage who had chosen first was right—any of these men would be able to embrace Rylan's soul. But this one would understand, respect, and grow it.
“You,” she said, closing her fist. She opened her eyes and couldn't stop the gasp. He had changed places! The redgold man was in front of her, eyes still hard and assessing. She cleared her throat. “How fortunate,” she croaked nervously. The whole process felt like it had taken a day to her but had only taken a quarter hour.
He brushed past her and strode to Rylan's larger room. The men gathered around the doorway muttered in surprise at his entrance. Looking at her speculatively as she scurried in behind red-gold, most drifted away. Only two remained, they in leather skirts, and then Merk strode in, his muscular legs making the leather whisper. They stood at equidistant places around the room, a triangle she thought from her place by the door. She didn't know what to do, but wanted to stay. Simply standing here against the wall felt safer than asking, or calling attention by approaching Rylan as she yearned to do.
The red-gold man strode up next to Rylan. He touched his shoulder gently and soon Rylan's breaths came stronger and he opened his eyes. “You again,” he said.
The man smiled, a small closed mouth movement. “Yes. I am Grif. I am the Owl. I am your Alpha.”
Rylan looked at him, then rolled his head down, his eyes going to KarRa's without searching. She nodded once. Her eyes filled with tears. Rylan looked back up to Grif. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back so that the crown was all that was touching the table, and the strong column of his throat was fully extended and bare.
KarRa was shocked at what she saw next. A wildling would have hummed in acceptance of the submission or if he was being really snarly, touched it. But Grif bent down and took Rylan's flesh in his teeth, his mouth wide across Rylan's voice box. Then he bit slow and steady until the skin broke under his incisors. Rylan never moved. When Grif pulled back from the shallow punctures, Rylan relaxed his neck, still breathing deep and even. KarRa's heart swelled with pride at his dignity and beauty.
Grif moved to stand at the crown of Rylan's head, and laid his hands on either side, gently holding his skull. “I have taken your smell and taste. Picture a doorway in your mind. Through that door is all that you are, your secrets, your past, your pride. I will go through it, and help you find the path to the Owl. Open it to me.” It was a command, calmly and firmly given. KarRa slammed back into the room's wall with the mental shock of Grif entering Rylan.
She felt him. The room swayed and dipped, the light flaring bright and flat and hot. Crowded. She gasped as she began to see scenes from Rylan's life running in a torrent in her brain. Squinching her eyes tight, she tried to pull away from the intrusion, her brain screaming, You should not be here! As she fought to leave, her soul screamed back against her efforts, Alone! Unneeded! If you leave him you are lost. Her breath coming in pants but not caring, she let her legs fold as she slid down the wall, knowing instinctively that if she stayed connected to Rylan during this bonding, it would not go well for either of them.
Sinking her head between her knees and folding her arms over the top like a small child hiding from a fuzzy she concentrated all that she was into dividing herself. She drew herself away at the same time she tried to leave strength and love behind. After an eternity in a hot dark wrenching pain, she saw herself standing on a bright blue line as wide as her shoulders, grey fog all around. Turning, looking down, she saw that she was at the end of the magepath that stretched off the way she had come into the fog. She could not make herself step off that line into the fog.
Suddenly a rounded rock opening came sliding down the line like a bird on wing and came to a slamming stop just a length from her. Through the fog, striding down the line, her skin crawling with a feeling of otherness, came the red-gold man, Grif. He stopped on the other side of the round rock door and lo
oked at her with a strange look. Shock? Awe? Concern? He reached out to the side and rolled a rock door, just like the gate she had seen at the women’s caves, across the line. Then she felt nothing. Not him, and not Rylan. Alone, her soul hissed in a bitter mocking voice. He had closed the intimate magepath KarRa had depended on her entire life.
How long she sat there shivering and rocking she did not know, but commanding chanting drew her head up weakly, her neck aching and stiff. The three mages had their hands up and out and vivid green magelight streamed from palm to palm making the triangle visible. Grif now had his arms extended, palms down, hovering over Rylan's torso. He was shaking, sweat visibly rolling down his neck as he chanted too. It seemed to be building, and Rylan began to shake.
The chanting grew demanding and a green glow settled over his body. He suddenly jerked, and began to thrash. Grif's face turned savage as he continued to spit the strange magewords down onto Rylan. The tension held and held and held and held until KarRa thought she'd scream and suddenly she was. On her feet, fists clenched, she shouted, “FLY! FLY! FLY!” in time with the strange chanted words.
Rylan jackknifed, white light blazed, and a huge Owl sat blinking, dazed, on an empty blanket. Its beak was open and wings mantled out from its body, feet shifting nervously.
It looks shocked, KarRa thought and would have laughed if her throat worked. The glowing triangle was gone also in the sudden silence. Grif's face broke into a smile. KarRa blinked. By the Winds he was different when he smiled. His face beamed with pride and relief and joy. Rylan's Beastspirit is an Owl, KarRa thought in wonder. Her face felt stiff as it curved into a smile of her own when she thought incongruously that chuck had always been his favorite food. The Owl flung its enormous wings out to their widest and keened a cry that pierced her with beauty. Tears flowed over her face unnoticed.
“Now you will return,” Grif's voice grated and low, raspy. “You must. I guided you to the Owl, but you must find the strength to return so that it does not own you. Prove yourself. Return. Now. And I will take you to your Clan.” The Owl cocked its head at him, and then rotated its perfect glowing eyes around the room, blinking at the other mages, but not focusing on KarRa. It hopped experimentally up and down the pallet, folded its wings, then mantled again.
“Follow the path. Come back, Rylan. Master the Owl.” Grif said again, calm but with a push of power in the words. The Owl turned away from him and began to glow. Grif's breath breathed out in a rush. He was muttering, staring intently at the great feathered shape in front of him. What encouragement, she could not say, but KarRa was sure that Grif was lending Rylan his will.
Suddenly she was worried again, for how difficult it had been to shift that first time, and Rylan had been so weak for so long. The glow grew and faded several times. The Owl's wings were now dragging, his body hunkered down over the huge talons, his beak open and hissing. A ruff of dust swept past one of the magelights and the Owl jerked its head to attention on it, predator eyes intent. Grif's face flashed alarm and fear and KarRa was sure the Owl was taking over.
“Rylan!” she screamed harshly. It was a reprimand born of fear, a mother's cry at a child balancing on a high place. Instantly the Owl's head snapped to her, those golden-orange eyes focused. It stretched out its wings, and one of them became a muscled arm reaching out to her.
Grif's face went shocked then intent. “Follow it! Keep going!”
KarRa stepped forward, unconsciously answering the plea of that straining hand and the unblinking eyes but Merk barked at her from across the room, “Stay back!” She froze. All was silent as Rylan again glowed and dimmed, glowed, swelled and with a snap of pressure that rang her ears lay gasping and sweating upon the pallet in human form.
With a cry that sounded just like the Owl's, Grif swooped down to raise him into an embrace and Rylan's arms came up to surround his shoulders in return, laughing breathlessly as the men grasped each other. Pulling back from him Grif stared intently into Rylan's dazed eyes and said fiercely, “Welcome!” Gathering him up he tossed him in his arms for a better grip, uncaring at his nudity, and strode out the door in a rush, calling for a healer, a spiritmage, and Dom, the man in black, as he went down the hall.
Cries of excitement and relief rang out. “Make way!” “Hail!” “Praise!” “Welcome Owl!” Two of the bare-chested mages hurried out after Grif, seeming to follow the murmuring swell of voices down the hall and away. Merk hovered in the door, looking over at her where she stood rooted, still facing the raised stone pallet a few steps from the wall.
“You did well. He is bonded and guided in his first Change. In no time I'm sure a man of his power will be trained and assigned.” He hesitated when KarRa did not respond in any way. “Your work is done. He is saved, and home. Go to the women’s caves.” He swept out.
KarRa listened to the silence for a long time. There was the earth beneath her feet, and the comforting scratch and slight stink of her old sweater, a prime thick one she had only stolen a month ago. Her hair was suddenly itchy and damp. Her stomach lurched unpleasantly even though the room stayed still, and a wash of heat and damp swept from her nose down over her lips to drop off her chin. Alone.
The cave was utterly silent. As empty as the feeling inside her where a connection had always been. Somehow, it was suddenly important to go. She turned stiffly and shuffled out. I'm scuffling like Scuffle she thought inanely. I have no strength. When was the last time I ate? She had gone a short ways down the hall when she realized, I'm bleeding again. Getting blood on my sweater. Blood seemed to be a big deal to the Beasts. I better get inside.
She went into the first room she came to, another small room just like she had woken up in, but this one was dark. She couldn't remember how to turn up the magelight. Her hand went to her waist to light her club, but it wasn't there. She looked at the room in the light from the door, closed her eyes, and dropped the heavy, thick curtain. Remembering the layout from her glance, she scuffled to the bed and sat down. The blood had soaked through her sweater onto her chest now and was cold and clammy.
Blood ran down her throat and she coughed, gagging and spitting. Soft silent sobs, because if someone hears you crying they usually come to steal or hit, at least laugh.
By the time the light came, she didn't know who she was, and didn't care. Each moment was endless, an echoing solitude. Then thudding feet and dark men, handsome, came into the room, staring, shouting, bringing up bright light that hurt her eyes.
She was having trouble breathing, something sticky catching in her nose and mouth, clinging to the back of her throat. She was cold and shaking. Shouldn't be shaking, she thought stupidly. Mustn't shake in front of the monsters.
Her voice croaked and bubbled, blood spraying as she whispered to them, “Don't be scared.” Then a tall man came toward her slowly, but she noticed he was between her and the door and even though he looked gentle she wasn't stupid. Suddenly angry, she sprayed at him, “I'm cold!”
He flinched when the blood landed all over his bare chest, his eyes wisping with green light, but then he breathed out, “KarRa, it’s Merk. What happened? Who did this to you?”
She just stared at him, not understanding. “I'm cold,” she said softly. “Rylan went away. I'm so cold.”
The man's face eased into an expression she didn't understand but he said softly, “Come then, I'll help you.” He held out his hand slowly and she looked at it. She looked at it for a while. It was strong and muscled, with a little bit of hair on the back. She wanted it to touch her but she didn't know. She didn't know that hand. She just didn't know. Then her eyes closed and she knew nothing.
* * * *
From the blackness came a firm touch, a strange hand encircling her wrist. Just like that the dark and the pain were pushed back as her every instinct came rushing in a surge of blood and light so bright it made everything seem flat. Her arm twisted and pulled, sliding expertly from the firm grasp. She struck out in a full extension of her opposite arm, fingers stiffly hel
d as claws as she slap-raked the lower face and neck of the man sitting next to her.
At the same time she kicked her legs up to her chest and out, arching her back and flinging herself into a crouch that lurched sideways at the soft bedding underneath her. The man swung down in a fast counter sweep, pounding her arm away in the same direction she was tipping and she tucked and rolled as her body fell off the softness into space.
She hit ground and came up in a low fighting stance, torso even with her spread thighs, bent in half, feet firmly shoulders width apart, arms extended, her head traveling the room in a snap to take in the danger and escape. She was in the corner of another stone room, barely clothed in some sort of thin dress tied around her neck. The man was by a raised pallet she'd been lying on, a woman was at a table. The room was only three bodylengths wide and long, yet the only door—no windows—was across the table between the two.
However, in the instant before her legs tightened to spring up onto the table, both of the people in the room dropped to their knees, palms up on thighs, still. In the second it took for her to understand their deference her legs gave out and she fell in a heap, scrabbling with her heels to put her back to the wall in defense.
Her heart was pounding much too hard, and blood splashed warm over her lips from her nose. Gasping and shuddering, suddenly soaked in sweat as if it were midsummer. The light became a soft golden glow from a mageball set by the door, the man became a grey and lined older Beast, and the woman was clearly terrified, staring wide-eyed at the floor.
About ten seconds after waking she gasped out, “What are you doing touching a sleeping person!? Are you insane?”
The man rose and sat again on his stool, feeling gingerly at his face. “I can't believe you got a blow in. You're the fastest human I've ever seen. Or I'm older than I thought.”
The woman gave a wavering, “Sir? You are wounded?”
