The Banned And The Banished - Witch Fire Part 16

Like the ebbing of a tide, the growling battle rolled away from Mogweed's hiding place, freeing a route of escape. Mogweed edged from the security of the overhang, meaning to make his run. The cold rain again attacked the skin of his face with its rough affection. Mogweed ignored its bite. He kept one eye focused on the fight and the other on the dark path that led away among the rocks. Just as he began to turn his back on his brother, motion hooked his eye.

A large boulder tumbled from above to crash near the two fighters. Its cracking impact startled the combatants. Wolf and sniffer paused in midfight, b.l.o.o.d.y teeth poised at throat and belly.

Suddenly the boulder reached out and grabbed the sniffer.

It wasn't a boulder but an og're! Mogweed dashed back under the overhang and crammed himself into the darkest corner. Fardale scrambled in retreat, hindered by a broken forelimb that hung crooked and limp. Standing on three legs, the wolf stood guard at the entrance to the shelter, protecting Mogweed from this new threat.

From his hole, Mogweed watched the sniffer, one of the most savage predators of the Western Reaches, torn to raw-edged pieces at the hands of the og're.

Once finished, still tangled in the entrails of the sniffer, the creature twisted toward them, its blunt face scarred by splashes of black blood, its yellowed fangs bared. Steam plumed from its wide, squashed nostrils. It boomed, in a crude approximation of the common tongue shared by many of the land's peoples, "Who be you trespa.s.sers?"

Tol'chuk shook as he crouched among the shredded remains of the woodland beast, fighting his blood l.u.s.t. His claws ached to rend the wolf who still stood near, and his tongue ran thick with saliva. The odor of blood, with its hint of iron like freshly mined ore, tinged his thoughts. He had heard warriors of his tribe speak of the fer'engata, the fire of the heart, during" battles, of how the scent of an enemy's blood could ignite an og're to further savagery, until all control was lost.Tol'chuk felt his heart thundering in his chest, the real thunder crashing around him only a pale imitation of his blood's booming. Blood called for blood.

He fought the instinct. Now was not the time for blind actions. Such a path he had followed earlier in the day, and now Fen'shwa lay dead in the chamber of the spirits. His shoulders trembled, but he had control of his mind.

Since he had seen the small man-thing crawl under the shelf of rock, his wolf guarding him, Tol'chuk spoke in the common tongue used in trading with other mountain races. Tol'chuk struggled with his words. An og're's throat was not built for the subtleties of common speech. The og're language was more gesture, posture, and a guttural grunting. Still, Tol'chuk knew that there must be some reason for the Spirit Gate sending him here. He remembered the Triad's words: The Gate would send him where he needed to be. The appearance of a man in the lands of his people had to be significant. Humans had not ventured into this territory in ages. The skulls of the last still adorned the warriors' drum chamber. So Tol'chuk fought his tongue to form the words needed. "Who be you?" he repeated. "What seek you in our lands?"

The only answer he got to his questions was a low growl from the wolf-not a threat or challenge, but a tentative warning.

Tol'chuk sensed from the wolf's answer that the pair meant him no harm, only wished to be left alone.

But he also knew that their meeting here was not mere chance. This encounter was meant to be.

"Do not fear," he said calmly and slowly. "Come. Speak."

His soft words seemed to confuse the wolf. Tol'chuk saw the wolf glance back into the shadowed hole under the overhang. When the wolf's eyes settled on his own again, Tol'chuk noticed something strange.

The wolf's eyes, glowing a soft amber, had pupils slitted like his own-as unnatural for a wolf as his own eyes were for an og're. Tol'chuk also sensed an intelligence behind those bright eyes equal to his own.

All at once, strange images formed in Tol'chuk's head like suddenly remembered dreams.

A wolf greets another wolf nose to nose. Welcome to the pack.

MOGWEED STAYED CROUCHED DEEP UNDER THE OVERhang. Fardale must have struck his head on a rock during the battle with the sniffer. The creature out there was notsi'lura! He refused to risk moving any closer to get a better look at the og're's eyes as Fardale insisted. He was not about to put himself within arm's reach of the beast. He was determined to stay hidden until he died of starvation, rather than have his limbs rended as the dead sniffer's had been.

But the og're's next words gave him pause. "How be it that your wolf's thoughts are in my head?" the og're said in a voice that sounded as if he had a throat packed with grating stones. "What trick be this?"

The og're could hear Fardale? Mogweed found himself creeping forward just enough to peek out from the shelter. The rain had stopped, and a few breaks in the clouds brightened the streaming landscape. He glanced toward the og're, who stood only a few steps away. A wary expression clouded the og're's rocky features. Wearing only a leather loincloth and a pack strapped to its leg, it hunkered among the shreds of the sniffer. It looked like drawings he had seen of og'res, but this one did not seem so twisted and misshapen as the etchings had suggested. Perhaps the drawings had been exaggerated. This was the first og're he had ever seen-if it was an og're!

He saw the slitted eyes. Fardale was right. Si'lura perhaps... but this creature was huge. Si'lura couldnot swell their ma.s.s when altering form. Flesh was flesh. A si'lura's weight stayed the same no matter which form was chosen: deer, wolf, bear, man, rok'eagle. The bulk of the si'lura stayed the same.

Fardale glanced back to Mogweed. His brother's eyes glowed with curiosity. Fardale's thoughts intruded on Mogweed: A wolf recognizes the howl of its pack.

So the og're wa.s.sensing his brother's touch! Mogweed crawled forward. How was this possible? The og're was at least three times their weight. No si'lura had ever come close to matching this size.

"Come out, little man. Do not be afraid. I will not eat you."

Mogweed noticed the og're's eyes had picked him out of the black shadows. The og're stared directly at him now. Its vision must be keen, heightened by life in the caverns.

"Come." The voice boomed.

Mogweed stayed where he was, still partially hidden behind Fardale's form. But the og're's words had somewhat calmed the terror around his heart. He loosened his tongue. "What do you want of us?" he called out, his voice a mere squeak when compared to the og're's.

"Come out. I then see you better."

Mogweed tensed. Fardale turned his eyes on his brother. A hawk with a broken wing can't fly. Forest cats prowl in the bushes. Fardale hinted that they would need help if they were to pa.s.s through og're lands.

Fardale hopped on his three legs closer to the lumbering creature, leaving s.p.a.ce for Mogweed to climb out. Still Mogweed hesitated. He knew he had no choice, but his legs refused to budge.

"I will not harm you, little man. My word be my heart." The beast tapped a b.l.o.o.d.y claw to its chest. The og're's words had a trace of sorrow and weariness. It was more the voice than the words that finally freed Mogweed's legs.

He climbed from under the overhang and straightened to face the og're. Its flat, crushed face, with huge nostrils and thick lips, caused Mogweed's mouth to twist in disgust. Its mountain of muscle and bone trapped Mogweed's tongue.

og're was not going to attack. "He is not a wolf. He is my brother. I am called Mogweed."

"I be Tol'chuk." The og're nodded his chin in greeting. "But how be this wolf your brother?"

"We are si'lura-shape-shifters. We can speak through our spirit tongues to one another."

Tol'chuk stumbled back a step. His voice cracked across the stone. "You be tu'tura! Deceivers. Stealers of babies!"

Mogweed cringed. Why were his people so persecuted? A twinge of anger penetrated his fear. "That is a lie! We are simply a people of the forest, and much maligned by the other races. We harm no one and live our lives peacefully."

Mogweed's words sunk visibly into the og're. Mogweed saw Tol'chuk narrow his eyes in thought.

When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "I hear truth in your words. I be sorry. I hear bad stories."

"Not all tales are true."The og're sagged, and his shoulders slumped. "I be taught that many times today."

"We only mean to pa.s.s through here. That beast you killed drove us into your lands. Please let us pa.s.s."

"I will not stop you. But you will not survive in our lands alone. The og're tribes will hunt you down before you clear the pa.s.s."

Mogweed winced.

A pack grows stronger as it grows in size.

Mogweed found himself nodding, but he could not take his eyes from the long fangs of the og're before him. Let's just hope, he thought, that the pack doesn't get eaten by one of its members.

Tol'chuk stared across the fire at the two brothers. They had traveled well into the night before finally stopping to rest the few hours until daybreak. The wolf-brother already lay curled with his nose tucked under a sodden tail. The splinted forelimb stuck out and pointed at the crackling fire. Tol'chuk watched his even breathing. Fardale was fast asleep.

Movement caught Tol'chuk's eyes. The other brother lay wrapped in a blanket on the far side of the fire, but from the open eyes reflecting the firelight, this brother did not sleep. The one called Mogweed had remained wary of Tol'chuk throughout the journey.

"You need sleep," Tol'chuk said in a low voice, still struggling with the common tongue. "I guard. I do not need much sleep."

"I'm not sleepy." But Mogweed's voice cracked with exhaustion. The man's eyes were bloodshot, and bruised crescents outlined them.

Tol'chuk studied him. How frail was the human race. Such tiny arms, like budding sapling limbs, and a chest so small he iou cannoi cnangc: "No. There was... an accident... and we became stuck in these forms. Like you, my brother and I are on a journey, to try to find a way to free our bodies. We seek a city of trace magick among the lands of the humans, a city named A'loa Glen."

"The trip you take be a dangerous one. Why not be happy with the way you are now?"

Tol'chuk saw Mogweed's lips curl in disdain. "We are si'lura. If we remain in one form longer than fourteen moons, the memory of our si'lura heritage fades until we become that form. I do not want to forget who I am or where I came from-and most of all I don't want to stay a man!" Mogweed's voice had risen enough to cause Fardale to stir in his slumber.

This was obviously a sensitive matter to Mogweed. Tol'chuk crinkled his face, then rubbed his chin with a claw. When he spoke next, he changed the course of their talk. "Your wolf... I mean your brother...

he sends me the same picture over and over: A wolf sees a fellow brother. Over and over. I do not understand this picture."

Mogweed hesitated. The silence stretched. If it weren't for the reflection of the fire revealing Mogweed's staring eyes, Tol'chuk would have thought him asleep. Finally, Mogweed spoke. "Are all og'res like you?"

This question startled Tol'chuk. Were his deformities so obvious that even another race could spot his ugliness? "No,"ground suddenly chilled his bones. He remembered the Triad's hushed response when he had spoken of his mixed blood. The words "he knows not" had flowed from them. If the Triad had known of his true heritage, why hadn't they told him?

Tol'chuk shuddered. Mogweed's words had the scent of truth-especially after seeing how weak and small the race of humans grew. A female of the human race could not withstand the mating with an og're.

The og're females, while weighing no more than a man, were squat and thick with bone. A human female could not withstand the mount and forcefulness of an adult rutting og're. Even some of the toadish og're females were crushed and broken under excited males. That's why a male kept a harem of the small females: If one was crushed, there were always others.

Tol'chuk lowered his head into his hands, his mind spinning. A si'lura altered into the form of an og're female could have survived his ma.s.sive father. But did she do this deliberately, or had she become fixed in og're form and forgotten her si'lura past? Tol'chuk would never know. She had died giving birth, or so he had been told. But what was true?

Mogweed must have sensed Tol'chuk's shock. The man's tongue clucked in his throat, obviously fearful he had offended him. "I... I'm sorry if-"

Tol'chuk held up a hand to quiet him, his jaw frozen. Words stayed buried in his throat. He only stared in silence at the two brothers across the fire. Here, too, was his tribe. He saw the fearful look in Mogweed's eyes. And here, too, like his og're home, was a place he would never be fully accepted. The og're half of him would always offend and terrify this new tribe.

Tol'chuk watched Mogweed burrow into his blankets and pull a woolen corner over his head. Tol'chuk sat numb. The fire offered no warmth this night. He stared at the few stars winking through the breaks in the clouds. The fire popped as it devoured the bits of wood.

He had never felt so alone.

The next afternoon, Tol'chuk regretted his com-plaints of lonely solitude. Suddenly the mountain paths were too crowded. Mogweed's words had kept Tol'chuk's thoughts grinding throughout the night. Only the morning distraction of breaking camp interrupted his shock. It was this roiling consternation and lack of rest that weakened Tol'chuk's keen wariness. Before Tol'chuk could hide his companions, three og'res had rushed them from a leeward slope of the mountain trail.

He stared at the three og'res of the Ku'ukla clan, the very tribe that had killed his father in the raids.

Thick with muscle and scar, these three had seen many battles and were well hardened by war. The leader of the pack towered over Tol'chuk.

"It's the half-breed of the Toktala clan!" grunted this giant of an og're. He pointed an oak log that he carried in his free hand in Tol'chuk's direction. "Seems even a half-breed can capture a bit of game on these trails."

Tol'chuk stepped in front of the cowering Mogweed. Fardale, listing on his three good legs, remained near the thick thigh of Tol'chuk. The wolf growled toward the band of og'res. Tol'chuk kept one hand knuckled on the wet stone to maintain as much true og're form as possible. If he were to have any chance of surviving this a.s.sault, he must not provoke their disgust. Relieved to use the og're language again, he forced his tongue to its most masculine guttural. "These are not blood meals. They are under my protection."

The leader pulled back his lips to expose his fangs in an expression of amused menace. "Since when does an og're do the bidding of a man? Or is the half of you that is human overwhelming the og're?""I am og're." Toi'chuk allowed a hint of fang to slip free of his lips, warning that the words of the leader threatened retribution.

This show, though, only seemed to amuse the huge og're. "So the son of Len'chuk thinks himself better than his father? Do not threaten the one who sent your father to the spirit cave."

Tol'chuk stiffened, and his neck muscles bunched up. If these were true words spoken, here stood his father's killer! He remembered the Triad's words that the Heart would guide him where he needed to be.

Tol'chuk fully exposed his fangs.

At this action, the amus.e.m.e.nt lighting the leader's eyes died away, leaving only a sharp menace. "Do not bite more than you can swallow, little half-breed. Even this insult I'll ignore and let you live-if you give your catch over to us." The leader's eyes pointed to the wolf and Mogweed. "They'll make a tasty stew."

Though they spoke in the og're tongue, some meaning must have been transmitted to Mogweed. Or maybe it was the hungry l.u.s.t in the leader's eyes as they settled on the small man. Either way, Mogweed moaned and pulled farther behind Tol'chuk. Fardale stood stiff, but his growl thickened.

"They are under my protection," Tol'chuk repeated. "They will pa.s.s unharmed."

"Only strength of arm will decide that!" spat the leader. He slammed the oak log on the trail. The thud echoed off the peaks around them.

Tol'chuk glanced at his own empty hands. He had no weapon. He bared his empty hand. "Claw to claw, then."

The giant og're cackled. "The first law of war, half-breed. Never give up the high ground." He kept the log.

Tol'chuk's brows lowered. What chance did he have against this armed opponent? "So this is the honor of the Ku'ukla clan."

"What is honor? Victory is the only true honor. The Ku'ukla clan will rule all the tribes!"

As the leader huffed and prepared to attack, Tol'chuk rapidly scanned the trail for a weapon-rock, stick, anything. But the night's rain had washed the trail clean of debris. He had no weapon.

Then he remembered. No, he had one weapon: a stone. He fumbled his thigh pack open and removed the huge heartstone.

The leader spotted the rock in Tol'chuk's hand. The giant's eyes widened with recognition.

"Heartstone!" Obvious l.u.s.t trembled the og're's limbs. "Give it to me, and I will allow all of you to pa.s.s."

"No."

A bellow of rage exploded from the leader, and he raised the oak log high. Tol'chuk pushed Mogweed and Fardale aside. Facing the giant, Tol'chuk prepared to use the stone as a weapon. He had killed earlier with rocks, perhaps he would prevail here.

But he would never be given the chance to find out. As he raised the Heart of the Og' res, a shaft of sunlight pierced the clouds overhead and struck the stone. The sun's touch on the stone burst into a thousand colors.Tol'chuk winced at the bright light. Shading his eyes against the radiance, Tol'chuk saw the leader bathed in the Heart's glow. A soft smoke drew forth from the giant's body and maintained the shape of the leader for a single breath. Then, like a hearth's soot drawn up a chute, the wispy smoke was sucked to the stone and vanished into its radiance.

As the smoke disappeared, the clouds closed overhead, and the sun vanished. The stone lost its l.u.s.ter.

Tol'chuk and the other two og'res stood like granite statues as the leader's body teetered for two heartbeats, then collapsed to the trail. The log rolled from his limp claws. He was dead. The other two og'res stared with eyes stretched wide.

Then, as if on some unseen signal, both turned in unison; fled from the trail.

Mogweed stepped to Tol'chuk. "What happened?" he asked, his eyes also on the stone.

Tol'chuk stared at the corpse of his father's killer. "Justice."

Over the next two days, Mogweed noticed a change in Tol'chuk. They traveled mostly at night to avoid the eyes of other og're tribes. But even in darkness, Mogweed spied how the og're lumbered as if shouldering a heavy burden. The creature seldom spoke, and his eyes had a distant glaze to them. Even Fardale's sendings were ignored by the og're.

So Tol'chuk knew of his heritage. Why did this news so damage the creature?

Mogweed dismissed his concerns about the og're. He was just relieved that the party had crossed out of og're territory and into safer lands this afternoon. The summit of the pa.s.s through the Teeth lay just ahead. Beyond the ridge lay the lands of the east-the lands of humans.

Even though nightfall approached and they would soon need to prepare a campsite, Tol'chuk trudged ahead of the others to the cusp of the ridge. Fardale followed at the og're's heels like a trained dog.

Mogweed watched his brother leap with difficulty atop a rock. The splinted forelimb hindered the wolf but did not stop him. Nothing seemed to slow him down for very long. Mogweed reached to his side and felt the iron ribbing of the muzzle through the leather of his pack. He had scavenged it from the dead sniffer when everyone's eyes were busy elsewhere. It might come in handy if he ever needed to control Fardale. He patted the spot. It was best to be prepared.

Stopping next to the boulder, Mogweed gazed out at the eastern slopes. The shadows of the peaks stretched across the lands as the sun set behind him.

From here, all paths led down.

Fardale raised his nose to the breeze coming from the lower lands. Even Mogweed's weaker nose could pick up traces of salt from the distant sea. Such a foreign and intriguing smell, Mogweed thought, so unlike home. But what also colored the air, almost overpowering the subtler scents, was a more familiar odor. "I smell smoke," Mogweed warned.