by Taki Drake
He was too far away to help Henley. The blood mage had pulled a dagger from his belt and was stalking toward the witch. Holding the dagger in his right hand, the mage gestured toward Henley with his left, releasing a ball of fire that slammed into the witch’s chest. The fireball dissipated quickly, leaving a few scorch marks and slightly singed hair behind. But the defense to that had visibly impacted Henley. The witch looked more tired after each one of the fireballs, as the blood mage hit him again and again with what apparently was a never-ending supply of them.
The situation could not continue, Dascha knew. Henley was on the verge of collapse, and the mage’s rage was driving him. If something were not done, her friend would be dead. The small cat felt such a mass of fear that it was like a gathering storm. The lack of options felt like a tornado that was stalking the yard, getting closer and closer to its center.
What could she do? She had no magic and was a small cat. Her frantic, scattered mind couldn’t think of anything that would work. The blood mage was getting ready to toss another fireball, and she had to do something.
Afterward, she would insist that there was no conscious decision in her reaction. There was no deliberate choice in what she did. Her subconscious just pushed her.
With an explosion of speed that only a cat could manage, Dascha dove toward the blood mage. Without a pause, she sprang up his back and jumped onto his head. Sticking her claws into the front of the man’s face, while her back claws anchored her body, she gave a mighty yank, ripping through his face.
Her fury and her leverage gave her strength beyond her wildest expectations. The surprise attack from such a small being froze the mage just the instant necessary for her to cause major damage. Ripping through his cheeks, her claws caught in his eyelids and ripped them apart. One of his eyeballs was speared as well and pulled out of the socket to dangle uselessly.
Being this close to the blood mage was nauseating. The intense smell of the rotting meat and the loose feel of his skin under her claws was almost more than she could bear. She felt the man stumble underneath her as the shock of her attack gave way to an echoing shock of the damage and the smashing impact of the pain.
The blood mage lost control of his spell. It was always dangerous to interrupt a magic worker in mid spell because the energy gathered for the spell had to go somewhere. The mage himself was out of control, beside himself with pain and unable to focus or concentrate. He had been gathering a huge amount of energy in preparation for what should have been the last fireball. Instead, the spell was interrupted right before completion.
The pending tornado struck. Dascha was slammed with the accumulated energy of the interrupted spell. The mage disintegrated underneath her, eaten by the backlash. The cat’s body was ripped by smashing energies, feeling like frying, sizzling oil ran down all of her nerve endings and erupted out of her claws. It was as if pipes in her body were blasted open. It wasn’t a gentle or gradual opening of channels, but instead an explosive rape of her magic system.
Her vision was dabbled by fireworks of different energy colors. Blues, purples, oranges, greens, and yellows, none of them made any sense. The fireworks of the explosion inside of her head and inside of her body were the last thing she saw as the cat slipped into magic shock and once again descended into the abyss of unconsciousness.
Chapter 4
Dascha woke several times. Each time she awoke, she couldn’t see. Her eyesight was covered with strange lights and swirling shapes.
Her friends were there each time. Even though she couldn’t see them, she knew they were there. The soft hands of the witch stroked her and murmured incomprehensible words of comfort. She could smell him and knew his touch. Glenfrey was there also. She was warm and safe, held under the feathery touch of a wing and next to the rapid heartbeat of a bird. Protected, warm, and safe, Dascha slipped back to sleep.
<< <> >>
This time when she woke it was different. For one thing, she could actually see this time. She also didn’t immediately slip back into sleep. Dascha was aware of her surroundings, the warmth of Glenfrey and the fresh air smell of his feathers.
<< Welcome back, small one. >>
<< Thank you. I wasn’t sure if I was going to be back. >>
Henley’s voice sounded close by, “You had a pretty good case of magic shock there. It takes a while to recover from that.” The witch continued, “Speaking of which, what on earth were you thinking? You could have been killed!”
Dascha chose not to answer. How could she explain something to them that she couldn’t explain to herself? And she certainly did not want to tell them that she just did it. It would ruin the whole cat mystique thing, and she wasn’t going to let the species down.
Wisely, her friends didn’t press her for an answer.
<< <> >>
It’d been a couple of weeks since Dascha had awakened and been able to move. Recovery had been somewhat slow, fraught with nightmares and the slow regrowth of her strength. Glenfrey and Henley had been patient with her. There was no hurry for her to be better except that her own desire to be whole again drove her. She moved each day to the limit of her ability, and then a little bit further. She was growing in strength and her agility every day, although the phantom pains and aches continued to plague her.
There were some changes going on around Henley’s cottage. The neighboring villages were appalled at what had almost happened. The quiet of the courtyard was changed now, as a revolving group of guards had been assigned to Henley. Builders and tradesmen from the area had banded together to rebuild the outbuildings and repair the damage to the cottage. A warning system had been set up among the three villages and Henley’s compound. They would not be caught out again by an invasion.
Glenfrey seemed to be taking it in stride, although Henley seemed to miss the previous quiet. The eagle even had started a game with the guards. If he spotted one of the sentries that were stationed on the general approaches to the valley, he would drop a sticky piece of fruit on them. The dye from the fruit skin would show that they had been seen and marked. The guards had a roving inspector, and the eagle had a game to play. Worked for both of them.
During the time that Dascha had been recovering, all of the rebuilding was completed, and the expanded group had settled into a comfortable routine. Henley and Glenfrey had continued with Dascha’s education. They told her stories, they showed her things that she might be able to do if and when she became a familiar. As useful as all of that was, she thought that seeing how the two of them worked together was the best education she could get.
The smooth working relationship carried with it mutual respect and a two-way sense of reliance. It still surprised Dascha occasionally at the major difference between what she had been taught and what she’d seen compared to how Glenfrey and Henley lived. She couldn’t even regret the pain and suffering of that first attack because it had led her to this.
It was now three weeks after the battle. It had been another fairly tiring day of learning new skills and watching the antics of the guards as they practiced. Dascha had a basket close to the fire these days. It was getting cooler, and she loved the warmth. She curled up in the basket and practiced one of her expert skills, sleeping.
Going to sleep for Dascha was like stepping through multiple layers of clouds, each denser and darker than the previous. The descent into the depths of sleep was gentle and measured. This night however her normal journey into sleep was different. Instead of relaxing and letting go of her conscious thoughts, her descent into the dark cloud of sleep was interrupted.
Stepping down into the depths of relaxation, Dascha was started to realize that she was in a different place. Instead of the soft cloudy state of almost sleep, she found herself in a bracken woods. The woods were dark with shadows and illuminated with dappled light. Her paws were firmly planted on a crossroads of sorts where multiple paths met. These were not really roads, more like a game path but she felt the power from the location as if many travels led to thi
s point.
The only thing that she could think of that made any sense was that somehow she was spirit walking. She thought only mages and witches could spirit walk, and she certainly wasn’t one of those. Dascha had no clue on what she was supposed to do now. Glancing around, she saw nothing moving, no sign of life.
The hair in the back of her neck stood up. She knew that feeling, that unconscious recognition that one was being stalked. On a smaller level, she played that game with her brothers and sister. But the feeling was unmistakable. Once again, she felt like a small kitten. But instead of being stalked by another of her same size, her stalker was huge. The image in her eye was of a giant cat getting closer and closer. She crouched down the middle of the crossroads, making herself as small as possible, eyes darting from side to side.
Between one blink and another, she had company, and she flattened herself totally on the ground in recognition of the essence of her breed. It was the avatar, the symbol of every cat that ever lived. He was magnificent, huge and perfect. A warrior of the spirit as well as four-footed death on the move. He stared at her for a moment, and she felt her body and mind opened to his inspection.
Cats do not worship anyone well. The essence of cat expects no slavish following but demands attention. The sound of the avatar’s mental voice resounded in her head and carried the demand for attention to every fiber of her being.
<< A warrior for all the small size that you are. You’ve done well. Too few of our magical kind have any ability or potential these days. I, Kotonich, am pleased that you have broken through your walls into your power. >>
Dascha accepted that there was no use in trying to deceive this being. << I have no idea what I’m doing. This is all a surprise, and it’s all different than what I have been taught. >>
<< There are explanations that would provide you with some clarity but those you will have to find one by one. For now, I will give you some general information, and you can learn the rest as you grow. The magical partnership between a witch and familiar is to provide balance and to satisfy a need for rejoining and reawakening. Most of the magical pairs these days have lost that. The basic fault comes from the loss of the Volkny. Without that direction, the witches of Russia have become nothing more than mercenaries. They lack the emotional commitment that is necessary for familiar bonds. There is no more emotional balancing, no level of intimacy between the witch and familiar. >>
<< Is that why it sounds so much like a slave relationship to me? It’s not that way with Glenfrey and Henley. They are two partners, and I can see where each provides something the other one doesn’t have. >>
<< Essentially, yes. They are a good example of what the bond should be. But those bonds are not what is happening in Russia. The bonds are echoing the crippling that occurred when all of strongest witches were killed. At that moment, it was more than that just witches that were decimated. The strongest and most knowledgeable familiars also died then. >>
As Kotonich spoke, Dascha could see pictures in her mind. She saw the lines that connected Henley and Glenfrey. She remembered seeing other witch-familiar pairs but only now realized that none of them had those accompanying lines of connection.
As if he could see her thoughts, Kotonich meowed his agreement. With a flick of his ear, he motioned to Dascha to follow him. Setting off at a rapid pace down one of the pathways, Kotonich slowed as he reached the edge of the forest. Slinking carefully closer to the roadway, the giant cat laid down and became invisible. Dascha mimicked him as best she could. And waited.
In just a few minutes, a crippled old crone came walking down the road. It was obvious that the woman was a witch. She carried her sense of power and a cloud of roving magic around her.
Dascha watched with a fascinated eye as the woman walked past them. She’d never really looked at the witches that she had run into before. Not with heightened senses and not with this type of sight. She saw some sort of shield in her chest encapsulating the heart. It looked like a frozen heart or an unavailable one, and she knew that on this plane that symbolism was important.
The small Russian blue cat also noticed a fuzzy cloud wrapped around the head of the witch. She didn’t know what that meant, but she was pretty sure that the unavailable heart was the message that the giant cat wanted her to learn.
As soon as the woman disappeared from view, Kotonich stood up and stretched. Glancing down at Dascha, the giant whiskers twitched, and the tip of the tail curled up.
<< Oh, Oh. I’m in for something now, >> Dascha thought. She recognized the signs that something was going to happen that she wasn’t going to be really thrilled about even if it was supposed to be for her own good.
The avatar took off at a flat out run. There was no way for Dascha keep up. The representative of the God of all cats stared back at her over one shoulder and urged her forward. His figure turned a corner around the side of a small hill, and she lost sight of him. Charging headlong in his wake, she found herself suddenly in the middle of a circle of wolves. The shock held her motionless for only a split second before she jumped straight for the top of a pile of rocks.
The surprise was overwhelming and caused an unthinking reaction from her. She left the ground a small Russian blue cat, she landed on top of the stones as a huge black sabertooth tiger. The transition of shape was unthinking, a reaction to the danger.
<< How on earth could this have happened? I didn’t know I had another shape. >>
The pain of the transformation started running up and down her body in waves. It was as if her skin was exposed to everything. A hyper awareness that went beyond just air brushing against her fur. She could feel the mass of her muscles, the power in her claws. She knew this body, knew it from her dreams, knew it from her subconscious. This was her power form, her battle form.
In the brief moment of contemplation and acknowledgment, the wolves had disappeared. Only one being remained, Kotonich. His purr of approval rumbled through the rocks under her feet and echoed off the stone walls. Apparently, she had learned her lesson.
Chapter 5
Dascha woke up refreshed. She expected to be as exhausted on her waking as she had been when she finally left the spirit paths. Kotonich had made her practice going in and out of her other shape multiple times so that she could take it at will. It was deeply satisfying but still left Dascha confused. She felt somehow out of balance, unsure of her footing.
Stretching mightily, the small cat left the warmth of the fire and wandered outside. Seeing Henley leaning against the newly carved perch, she walked over to join him. The witch had been talking to Glenfrey, and Dascha could still hear the echoes of their conversation reverberating in her head. It was frustrating to not know what they were saying, but she supposed it was enough that she could tell when they talked.
Henley did a double take when he saw her. Inspecting her closely, the witch said, “Somebody’s been doing some walking it looks like.”
<< Yes. A new experience and one that I will have to practice many times it appears. >>
“Good! That is definitely a big stage in your training, a mark of significant improvement. Most familiars never learn to spirit walk. You’re going to make your witch a formidable partner.”
<< How do you know that I’ll ever find my witch? I wouldn’t even know how to go about it. >>
“Glenfrey and I decided to help you find him or her. It’s a very small thanks for my life.”
<< I did not help you in the battle because I expect repayment. I did it because you’re my friend. >>
Henley smiled gently at Dascha, before running his hand down her spine. Her purr of pleasure broadened his smile and brought Glenfrey hopping to the ground.
<< Well, small one, Henley called in some favors. We asked the Seer to assist us in locating your witch, and she has agreed. >>
<< How long do I have to prepare? She going to decide if I’m worthy of a witch? >> Dascha was jittering in excitement and tense with fear.
“Less than five minutes a
nd no.”
Fluffed in surprise, Dascha had no time to respond as a smoky slash appeared in the air right before Henley. A ghostly hand grabbed the edge of the slash and pulled it back. An older woman stepped through, followed by three others.
She was a woman of the Mongols, moving as if she was still on horseback. Although older, she moved lightly and quickly. The people following her made it clear in their posture and respectful obedience of how well she was regarded.
Henley moved to greet the woman, saying, “Hovhey, Dochin. Be welcome in my home. My hearth is open to you, eat and drink freely.”
The Seer nodded in acknowledgment and responded, “My thanks for the welcome, Henley. My weapons are yours for defense.” Ritual completed, the woman looked at the cat.
“Dascha, please be known to the Seer of the Steppes, Dochin.”
Dascha nodded her head in respect, speechless for once.
