The Last of the Ageless Page 4

  Dalan sat down and passed her some beans and forest berries from his pack, and Nyr handed him some dried meats. He chewed with difficulty, wondering if he could transmeld his teeth without any outward sign of his Changeling abilities.

  “So…” he said. “Was nearly out of water when we met. Have any extra?”

  Nyr sat with her side to the fire, facing back the way they’d come. She said nothing, but lobbed a stainless steel canteen over to him. He twisted the cap, but then thought better of it.

  “Is from the men you killed?”

  “It’s actually from the man you killed.” Nyr paused in her chewing. “What’s the matter?”

  “Is bad to take from the dead…”

  “You’re superstitious.” She blinked. “Out here, there’s no time for that. You take what you can to survive.”

  As he had the night before, Dalan spread his offerings near the fire. Nyr insisted on taking few breaks during the day, and Dalan was beginning to accept they would enter the grasslands before he found a dragonfly.

  Nyr glanced down at the fan of metal discs and rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure why you think those would attract a dragonfly. You’d be better off with some food as bait.”

  “The bonding ritual has nothing to do with food.”

  “Maybe it should.”

  Dalan shook his head. “The discs represent the iridescence of a dragonfly’s wings and the banishment of illusions. Reminds my people life isn’t always what it appears.”

  Nyr’s lips parted to reply, but Dalan held up a finger, his eyes going wide at the sound of a distant buzzing.

  Nyr tilted her head. “I’ll be over here answering nature’s call while you make your sacrifice or whatever it is you’re supposed to do.” She got to her feet and strode off into the twilight, her boots scuffing across the barren ground.

  Dalan double-checked the offerings and then closed his eyes to meditate, something that had taken him years to master. He hoped the approaching dragonfly would catch sight of his offerings despite the fading light. He batted aside this desire, letting himself find the calm within and slip into a trance.

  For some length of time, he floated in a world without sight or sound, thought or breath. When he opened his eyes, he beheld a giant mutated dragonfly hovering in the heat. Its fist-sized compound eyes unnerved him, but Dalan reminded himself they enabled the dragonfly to see the vastness of the world and to look beyond the obvious.

  Bowing his head, Dalan opened his arms in the first movements of the bonding ritual, letting them imitate the dragonfly’s wings. Then he patted the ground, gathering up a handful of dust to symbolize the dragonfly’s connection with the earth and its invincibility. He split the dust into each of his palms and flung it to either side to symbolize the dragonfly’s flight through air and the purity of the wind itself.

  Then he opened the canteen, tilted it, and let a few drops spill out to symbolize the dragonfly’s relationship with water, the most sacred of elements. Enacting the ritual reminded him of the dragonfly’s unique perspective and its transformative power.

  A feeling of awe rose within him as the huge dragonfly settled down atop the shiny discs, its giant wings kicking up dust before going still. Its thick thorax anchored six legs and four delicate wings and then tapered back into a long, furred green body.

  Dalan took a few slow, steady breaths, willing the insect not to leave.

  As though it knew his thoughts, the dragonfly buzzed its filmy wings and lifted off the ground.

  Dalan reached out and rearranged the offerings, each disc a different color. His heart raced—if this dragonfly considered him a suitable companion, he could complete his trials.

  The dragonfly’s legs touched the earth again, the front two perched on the silver disc previously overshadowed by the others. Its transparent wings rested at a perpendicular angle to its body, and its globular eyes studied him.

  Dalan closed his eyes and tried to regain the serenity of meditation. He envisioned his mother’s house perched high in the canopy, the wind caressing the leaves of his home forest, and the creeks cutting through the undergrowth below. He remembered his first lessons in flying through the tree canopy as a hawk with his oldest brother Mishnir.

  His eyes still closed, Dalan kept his arms open wide and twisted his hands into arcane gestures to beckon the dragonfly into bonding. He started with a flitting hand motion to symbolize the dragonfly’s agility. Next he placed his palms together as a symbol of the dragonfly’s poise.

  Then he placed a palm on the top of his head and a fist at his bellybutton, to show his hope for self-realization through the dragonfly’s guidance. Lastly, he closed both hands into fists and put them in front of his eyes, thumbs toward his face, to show his inability to see the world as only the dragonfly could.

  Images entered his mind. Large rats and lizards fleeing the dragonfly’s shadow. The calm waters of a river far below. The dizzying swoop as the dragonfly initially investigated the offerings in the firelight. And finally, Dalan himself. The images blurred around the edges and had a strange quality to them, due to the insect’s multifaceted vision.

  Dalan smiled. When he opened his eyes, he felt the peculiar sensation of the bond taking hold, like a smooth dive into the river on a hot day. His heart was full with the knowledge that he possessed a direct link to the divine; he was now bound to this dragonfly, and it to him.

  The dragonfly rested its wings, silent in the presence of its new companion. Its antennae twitched as Dalan focused on sending a thought to the insect: his own view as he repeatedly placed the offerings on the ground over the past few days, searching for a companion. Sitting in the darkness, he repeated his name several times both mentally and audibly, “Dalan.”

  Dalan met the dragonfly’s unblinking gaze. The two compound eyes touched over what Dalan would call its nose, and its relatively small antennae remained still. After studying its appearance, Dalan mentally sent an image of the dragonfly to itself through their bond and said, “Saquey.”

  It was the name of Dalan’s late uncle’s dragonfly. Athegal had been killed by a pack of dingars while escorting traders between their tribe and another. The mutated animals had torn him to pieces, leaving only his partially transmelded bones as evidence of his demise. A few days later, Saquey had followed him into death. Legend had it that Ancient dragonflies had been much smaller, and their lifespans much shorter, but a mutated, post-Catastrophe dragonfly’s lifespan matched its bonded companion’s.

  Dalan repeated the sound of its name a few times, both mentally and audibly. The giant insect’s wings blurred into motion, launching it into the air. Saquey hovered in front of Dalan as though memorizing his face, and then buzzed up into the air, fading to nothing more than a dot in the darkness. Images filled Dalan’s head, showing him his own body from above, growing larger as the dragonfly dove.

  His vision cleared, and the dragonfly swooped up, over, and around him, as though excited. Its circles around him grew wider and wider, until Dalan couldn’t see Saquey in the darkness, though the buzzing of its wings reassured him of its presence.

  Dalan leaped to his feet. “Finally!”

  One moment Dalan was looking around for Nyr—the next, he seemed to black out. He turned his head, trying to make sense of the sudden darkness. It was a vision from Saquey, flying. In the vision, Dalan saw a man picking his way through the drylands scrub in the dark, not far outside a circle of firelight.

  Dalan’s stomach clenched, and he shook his head to clear away the image. He hunkered down and scrambled for his pack. He’d silhouetted himself against the fire and his yell had no doubt traveled far across the open drylands.

  A big, burly body crashed into him, smashing Dalan’s shoulder into the unforgiving ground, and a fist slammed into his cheekbone. Dazed, Dalan kicked and thrashed, but the man’s bulk kept him pinned.

  “Don’t make trouble,” said a voice some distance away in the darkness. “Surrender, and we won’t have to hurt your friend
.”

  Dalan jerked both his legs to one side of the man’s body. He wriggled out from underneath and rolled. The big man punched Dalan again, but the blow glanced off his ribs as Dalan spun, one arm still pinned. Dalan struck back with his free arm, smacking the man’s face with an open palm. The burly man’s weight shifted enough to free Dalan’s arm.

  Dalan regained his feet and backed away. His body churned with adrenaline. His muscles grew thicker and denser as the instinct to transmeld threatened his self-control.

  Nyr had returned, and another man pointed a crossbow at her from the back of a horse. Dalan recognized the beefy man as the one he’d dismounted when he’d saved Nyr’s life. And the crossbowman had been the first to gallop away as a bloodsoaked Nyr had rushed him.

  Dalan struggled to prevent the transmeld from continuing, unwilling to kill anyone else. He raised his hands to show he was unarmed. “Don’t want to make any trouble.”

  “Good,” the horseman said. “Because it’s her we came to kill.”

  “Maybe we could talk about this…” Dalan said, but maintained his partial jaguar transmeld just in case.

  The burly man leered and pointed a short blade at Dalan. He spoke with a slight lisp. “This one here knocked out all my teeth, and I say we—”

  The crossbowman interrupted Toothless, “Now—”

  Nyr lunged forward, sank her claws into the crossbowman’s leg, and ripped him from his saddle before Dalan even noticed she’d changed forms. The horse whinnied and reared as Saquey circled overhead.

  In the chaos, Toothless tackled Dalan again, gaining the upper hand in an instant. He raised his knife and plunged it toward Dalan’s heart.

  “No!” Dalan yelled, too late.

  Not so fast, said a directionless voice. A pink glow surrounded the knife as it reached Dalan’s chest.

  Dalan felt no pain. With added strength from his partial jaguar meld, he pushed the man’s knife arm aside and inspected his own torso in disbelief—no wound. With his other hand, Toothless twisted Dalan’s new necklace in an attempt to strangle him.

  Dalan reeled, slipping even closer to a full transmeld. Black fur erupted from his arms, and claws pushed from his fingertips. The world narrowed.

  “Another—?” Toothless jumped away from him.

  Dalan hadn’t completed the transmeld, but the burly man’s life was forfeit if he didn’t regain control. With all his will, Dalan forced himself back toward birth form. He groaned in pain at the sudden reversal as his muscles returned to human proportions. His claws retracted into his fingertips.

  Both of them whirled as a shriek of terror followed the sound of ripping cloth. Cat’s eyes reflected eerily in the firelight.

  Nyr leaped across the fire, and Toothless fled.

  “Don’t kill him!” The words tore from Dalan’s throat.

  Nyr gave no sign she’d heard Dalan’s plea. Sprinting, she caught up to the big man. She reached a hand over each of his shoulders and ripped out his throat.

  The man collapsed with a quiet gurgle. Blood pooled around him, the hardened, parched ground unable to absorb it all. In the distance, Dalan heard hoofbeats. The horse was gone.

  Nyr surveyed the area. In a gravelly voice, she asked, “Anyone else?”

  Dalan took a breath. She had a point. Yesterday, four had fled, so two remained. He sent Saquey an image of men sneaking up on them. The dragonfly swung away. Blocking out the gory scene on the ground, Saquey stole Dalan’s sight. The aerial vision panned around the firelight.

  “Looks clear,” Dalan said. His firelit view returned as Nyr stalked toward him, gore dripping from both hands.

  “‘Don’t kill him’?” The firelight danced in her slitted eyes. “Idiot Purebred boy! You made the perfect target.”

  Dalan coughed to cover his relief. She hadn’t seen him transmelding, then. “Can you turn completely into a tiger?”

  “Tigress. And no. This is it.” She bent to rub some drylands dust through her blood-soaked fur.

  He didn’t understand her deficiency. “Can’t turn into any other… cats?”

  “I’m Tiger Clan. I did mention that.” She raised a black eyebrow.

  The hair on her head grew longer while the fur on the rest of her body lay flat and was absorbed into her skin, much as his own had been moments before. Her ears, unnatural without fur, slid down the sides of her head while her tiny pink nose returned to its normal state.

  She pulled the flat stone from a pouch at the bottom of her bandoleer and scraped blood and dirt off her pale skin. Afterward, she used the edge to clean under her rounded human fingernails.

  Dalan smelled blood, and glanced down at the crossbowman. Deep gouges scored the body’s upper chest and neck. Dalan jerked his gaze away from the grisly sight.

  Nyr crouched down to wipe the stone on the crossbowman’s shirt. She gathered all the food from his packs and added it to hers. What trinkets she found also went into her bag. She grinned and fitted a beaded cloth bracelet from Toothless around her left wrist.

  Swollen and sticky, Dalan’s tongue demanded water, forcing him to take a drink from the stainless steel canteen Nyr had given him. He would need to learn better conservation of water in the drylands, since transmelding used up much of the body’s moisture.

  Dalan closed his eyes and begged absolution from the All-Seeing Eye, though it wasn’t visible in tonight’s sky. Alone, he could have transmelded into a different form and escaped without killing anyone.

  He opened his eyes and bent over the crossbowman to begin the death rites. Saquey landed, wings fanned, on an upraised rock.

  From behind him, Nyr said, “Tell me about the first time you killed a man.”

  “Why?” Dalan raised a hand to his neck and felt the cut his necklace had made during the fight.

  “That was pretty stupid, standing near the fire like the perfect target. Yelling and giving away our position.” She shook her head.

  Dalan didn’t answer. He finished the rite for the crossbowman and went to Toothless. He dabbed a drop of water on the dead man’s forehead, and then faced Nyr.

  Raising her eyebrows, she smiled wryly. “You saved the life of someone you don’t even know. And you’re pretty timid around bodies.”

  “So, what…” He paused, remembering to phrase his words carefully to this strange Changeling. “Am I supposed to revel in killing?”

  From the corner of his eye, Dalan noticed the twitch of Saquey’s wings, but it remained on the rock.

  Nyr’s eyes widened. Her slit pupils expanded, the only sign she wasn’t Purebred. “This world is made of violence. We must repay it in kind sooner or later, boy. Denying it just shows your weakness. A Purebreed should know that more than anyone.”

  “In my tribe, we use subtler means of defending ourselves.” Dalan tensed, trying to avoid revealing too much. “We believe in the Ancient Teachings, which condone killing in only two cases. The first is in defense of life. In this situation,” he gestured to the bodies, “mine. Yesterday, yours.”

  The fire’s heat plastered his pants against his legs, and he took a step back. He hoped his bait would draw her thoughts away.

  “And the second reason? You said there were two.”

  “The second reason for killing?” Dalan resisted a victorious smile. “Vengeance for life taken.” But his mirth faded. Vengeance had led him to his first kill, a memory he tried not to think about.

  “That makes no sense.” Nyr scuffed up sand and collected it in a cup.

  “Why not?” Dalan picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder.

  “Because,” she said, pouring the sand over the fire, “if they kill one of your friends, you can take vengeance on them, right? What’s to stop them from taking vengeance right back? That’s how you start blood feuds.”

  “No vengeance for vengeance. Only the elders can give permission to a person seeking vengeance for a family member’s unjust murder.”

  Her lips curved up in a smile. “Your tribe is fooli
sh. You and your people may follow those rules, but no one else will. Your elders hold no sway over someone from a different tribe who seeks retribution.” Reflected in her eyes, the final flames died. “It’s better to stamp your enemies out, like we did tonight.”

  Saquey’s wings buzzed again, and Dalan glanced over, wondering if the dragonfly was reacting to Nyr’s words. “Agreed, Saquey,” he murmured.

  Nyr gathered her possessions—all things she’d accumulated from dead foes. Dalan’s tribe traded with all its neighbors, but he remembered the stories past generations told. How Purebreeds had brought war upon them in fear. Purebreeds hated their race because of Changelings like her.

  Nyr disappeared into the darkness. Dalan didn’t want to follow, but she was headed in the right direction. As he trudged behind, he thought about how he could travel west through the grasslands toward home, if he lost Nyr. He hoped her destination was nearby so he could transmeld into a hawk and be home in a matter of hours, rather than days. Once he could no longer spot Saquey’s green body in the darkness, he heard the dragonfly’s wings rustle, as though Saquey was just as reluctant to follow Nyr.

  “What horrible kind of code does your tribe follow?” Dalan said to Nyr’s back as he caught up.

  “It’s called survival,” her disembodied voice floated back. “Like my ancestors before me, and the Ancients before them, we fight back, or we die out.”

  Dalan took another swig from the canteen as he trailed behind. The fight had dried him out. He longed to return home, to plunge into the winding river beneath the shade. “The Ancients didn’t believe in unnecessary violence.”

  Nyr chuckled. “Purebred fools. Is that what the elders of your tribe taught you? If it weren’t for the Ancients’ devotion to violence, we wouldn’t be here. The Joeys would’ve wiped us all out during the Catastrophe.”

  “The Ancients tried for peace. Didn’t want to fight the Joeys at all.” Dalan’s words quickened as he defended the Ancient Teachings.

  “But the Ancients did fight back. And they won. Otherwise there’d be more Joeys around and less of us.”