Chapter 6

There just never seemed to be an end to it.

Tarrin stood on the deck, near the bow, staring up into the clear night sky, up at the four moons. The night was unseasonably warm, with a muggy wind blowing up from the south. The sails had been raised and the sea anchor dropped so that the ship could sleep during the night, with only a trio of watchmen to look for danger and inform the navigator of how much they drifted during the night. They left him alone. They knew better than to bother him.

It had been months since his transformation into a Were-cat, and he'd thought that the trauma of it had been dealt with. But the simple fact of the matter was that he'd never faced it before. The very moments after he woke up had been spent trying to deal with the new body, the instincts. He'd never allowed himself to think about what he had lost, only how to make the best of a bad situation. There had been laments, wistful thoughts, but never did he allow himself to dwell on what had happened. Even when he had time to think about it, the chaos at the Tower always gave him something other to think about. Staying alive had been a very large part of his life since being turned, forcing him to shunt away almost everything except that one simple goal. To stay alive. Part of the acceptance was because of the very instincts inside him. They forced acceptance, had altered his mind so that it seemed natural to him to be what he was. But it wasn't natural to him, a fact that he'd only now been able to face.

He stared up into the sky, and what looked back at him was an image of how he used to be. A very young, somewhat naive boy that had once been very friendly and outgoing, modest and thoughtful. A boy that would spend days wandering the unexplored tracts of the Frontier for no other reason but to see new things. A boy that was much too innocent for his age, whose life had been sheltered more than his parents realized. But he was dead now. There was no way to deny that. Tarrin Kael died the instant that Jesmind's fangs sank into his arm, and the new Tarrin was born. The change had taken time, as the newborn acclimated to new instincts and motivations, but that change was so terribly complete now. He was nothing like he used to be, like the way he remembered. Even if he could go back, to be human again, now it would be a hollow sensation. Too much had happened, had tainted him, and he could never be that way again.

And now he knew it. He'd said it to himself, but maybe some little part of himself wouldn't accept it, had clung to the hope that he could rebuild his life the way it had been. That was gone now. There was nothing left but stark reality, the blaring truth that he was a Were-cat, and that could never be changed. He had been thrown into the inferno, and finally he had admitted to himself that it had burned him.

But there was no comfort in that confession. There would only be the struggle to maintain some shred of his humanity in the face of his animalistic impulses, instincts that made him capable of killing. He'd never believed that animals could be cruel, but in a way they were. They weren't sadistic or evil, but they had little regard for the possible injuries they inflicted on others. The hunter killed to survive. It didn't relish inflicting pain on its prey--it didn't even understand that concept--but it was trained to kill, to inflict pain, from its earliest days. To the Cat, the end justified the means, and that the means may hurt someone else were of no matter.

And he had to live with that. In a way, he didn't have a choice. The Cat forced it on him, had changed him so that that concept of life seemed completely natural. But every time he hurt someone, he killed, it hurt the human inside him. And to isolate himself from that pain, he had buried that part of himself. He had tried so hard to hold onto his sanity, and had succeeded. But to keep from going mad, he had forced himself to sacrifice his humanity, to cast it aside and embrace the animal instincts that were the causes of the madness. He had kept sane, but the cost to him seemed more now than going mad would have been, because at least in madness there would be no feeling of guilt over what he did. Not like it was now. Every life he took brought with it the deep feeling that it was wrong, yet he was totally incapable of stopping himself.

Haley was right. He had truly become a monster. And what struck him hardest was that even now, with his realization and confessions of it, he really, truly, did not care.

There wasn't much left for him anymore. Just his sisters and his friends, and this intangible quest that made less and less sense to him every day. Every time he thought he had overcome what he was, had found a peace within himself, it was stripped away from him, and left him to start anew. This time, it had taken nothing more than an arrogant young man and the word freak.

Sometimes it only took one word.

The wind in his face made it hard to scent the approach of others, but the whispery footsteps that approached him from behind betrayed the presence. By the sound of the slippers and the measure of the stride, he knew it was Miranda. The mink came up beside him and put her hands on the rail, then looked up into the sky quietly. Neither of them spoke for quite a while, simply sharing each other's company. There was little doubt she knew. She was Keritanima's closest friend, and there was nothing Keritanima knew that Miranda didn't find out. Dolanna would have told Keritanima, and Keritanima would tell Miranda. And that put Miranda here. She obviously had something to say, so he simply waited for her to get around to it.

"Are you feeling better?" she finally asked.

"No," he replied in a quiet voice. "Where are the others?"

"Keritanima was very upset, so I put her to bed," she replied. "Allia is with her. I don't know about the others." She put her hand on top of his paw. "There's no need to be alone, Tarrin," she said reasonably. "We can help."

"Not with this," he replied gruffly. "There's nothing you can do, or anyone else." He looked down at the calm water, barely stirred by the lack of wind. "I woke up this morning feeling just fine. Then a single word makes me realize how angry I really am about what happened to me. And then, after that, I stared at myself in the mirror, and realized exactly what was staring back at me. It has not been a good day." He closed his eyes. "I've become everything I was afraid I'd be, Miranda. I'm not a rampaging beast. I'm worse. I'm a cold-blooded murderer, and the real kick is that I don't care. I know what I've become, but I don't care. Isn't that strange?"

"Hardly," she snorted. "I've never seen you kill someone that wasn't deserving. I've seen how gentle you are when you don't feel threatened, how tender you are with children. You're not evil, Tarrin, you're just frightened. And because of that, you react in an extreme way whenever you feel in danger. It's a very basic reaction among animals, and humans and Wikuni, for that matter. It's instinctual. The only thing that sets you apart from us is that you're so powerful."

In a strange way, that made him feel a great deal better. "Thanks, Miranda," he said sincerely.

"We're friends, Tarrin," she smiled. "Outside of Keritanima, Binter, and Sisska, you're my only friend. And I don't let friends go around being all mopey."

"Only friend?" he challenged. "Don't you like Allia and the others?"

"I know them, Tarrin. I haven't decided yet if I like them. They don't really understand me, and I don't bother trying to explain myself. You don't require things like that. You take me as I am, just as I take you as you are. No questions, no regrets." She looked down into the water. "I'm really not a very nice girl, Tarrin. I'm a spy, sneak, thief, and from time to time, an assassin. I have more skeletons in my closet than you ever will. People in my line of work have trouble finding friends, because we're all naturally suspicous and distrustful. But from the first time we met, I just had this feeling that we were going to be friends. Very good friends. And here we are."

"Here we are," he agreed. He put his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned against him comfortably.

They stood at the rail and stared up into the sky quietly. Nothing more needed to be said.

Despite the fact that Miranda had helped him feel much better about himself, it didn't change his restrictive punishment. For four days, he spent his days in the cabin, and was allowed to come out only at night. And even then he was restricted to his cat form. The days were long and almost insufferable, because everyone was kept up on deck to learn their routines for the carnival performances. They didn't have the leisure to spend time with him until well after noon, nearly sunset Tarrin spent that time the only way he could, reading. Keritanima had brought several books with her, two of which were the Sha'Kari language books. It turned out it that Keritanima had used Sorcery to create written words, and used that the laboriously translate every word of Sha'Kar she knew into the common tongue, and the other way around. The result was a dictionary of the Sha'Kar language, the closest thing to a comprehensive work on the Sha'Kar language that there was. The other book was the original Sha'Kar instruction scrolls transcribed into the book, which she still studied nearly every day. Tarrin didn't understand why she did that. Keritanima had the amazing ability to remember almost everything she read or heard, with an exacting recall that was astounding. Even things read or heard months or years ago were still immediately recalled whenever she needed it. She had admitted that her memory wasn't perfect unless she studied the material a while or she was paying very close attention when she read or heard it, but she had had that book for months. Certainly that was long enough for her.

The time had had a souring effect between him and Dolanna. He was somewhat angry that she had punished him, and stewing about it alone in the room day after day did not help that at all. He was mad at her, but he already realized that it was like a rebellious adolescent stiffening against the orders of a parent. Her rebuke of him had also stung him, stung him deeply, making him feel like he was starting to drive away his own friends. His friends and family were dear to him; they were all that he had left in a very empty, cruel, and unforgiving world. Without them, he would be utterly lost, and the very thought that Dolanna didn't like him anymore was enough to send a cold wave through his heart. He wasn't sure why he could be both angry and afraid that she had rejected him, but he was.

The fifth day of imprisonment began as the other four had, with him trying to sleep away as much of it as possible. There was a kind of sublime forgetfulness in sleep, and being part cat, he had the ability to sleep whenever he wanted, for as long as he wanted. But the sounds of laughter and voices would drift in from above, and it would awaken him with a sharp pang of loneliness and regret. His cabin had no windows, forcing him to rely on the light of a candle, but it was currently out. There was no need for light, and the light shining from the crack under the door was more than sufficient for him to see if he wanted to. He couldn't read like that--it was too dim, and a cat's eyes couldn't see with the exacting clarity needed to make out letters written on a page--but he didn't feel much like doing anything that required rational thought. He drifted in and out of sleep, trying to ignore the sounds of music above him.

And then the entire ship rocked violently to the side, followed up by a ear-splitting crack that seemed to reverberate throughout the entire ship. Tarrin was hurled off the bed and head- first into the wall some five paces away, so violently did the ship lurch, as if struck by some gigantic hand. The impact dazed him, leaving him to lay on the floor woozily and try to stop counting all the pretty little stars. After what seemed ten years, he finally managed to shake the cobwebs loose from his mind. He pulled himself off the floor, fighting against a wave of intense pain that went up his skull and down his spine. The impact had broken his skull, and it didn't seem to be healing back very fast. He left his head drooping until the pain subsided, and then he quickly changed form and rushed out of the cabin.

The companionway was clogged by several fallen beams from the ceiling above, and more than one small hole let murky light filter in from the sky above. He slithered over and around several obstacles, and over the still form of Phandebrass the Unusual, who looked by casual inspection to be alive but unconscious, clonked on the head by a piece of wood. He didn't have time to mess with that now, he had to get on deck and see what had happened. He raced up to the steep stairs, then was thrown back to the deck as the ship shuddered again. Tarrin clawed back to his feet as the ship swayed alarmingly back and forth, hearing the screams and the sounds above that sounded like breaking wood and general confusion. The light from the outside streamed down the stairs, heavy with dust shaken free by the impacts. Using the claws on his paws and feet, he pulled himself up onto the deck by steadying himself against the rocking of the ship by hooking into the walls of the staircase.

Outside it was chaos. The central mast was sheared off about halfway up its length, leaning heavily over and straining the rigging that held the masts and sails in place. Debris littered the deck, as well as several still forms, and to the ship's left he could see a large fogbank. Six large, sleek black ships hung lazily in midair, moving with a silent grace as they surrounded the garishly painted galleon, and he saw men along the sides, pointing down at the decks and unleashing small, sizzling missles that looked to be purely magical in nature. Men and women rushed about mindlessly, screaming and seeking shelter, even as some of them fell to the magical attacks from the ships above. Zakkites and their skyships, probably attacking by surprise from the fog.

Tarrin simply stood there, and time seemed to slow to a crawl. He surveyed the deck, looking for his friends, for his sisters. Dar was hunkered under a fallen boom and sailcloth, looking up at the ships in raw panic. Faalken had smashed a hold hatch and physically threw Dolanna into it before jumping in himself, just as a sizzling bolt of lighting hit the deck right where he had been standing. Allia had pulled a young woman into another hatch near the bow before disappearing with her below decks. Binter was sheltering Keritanima near the bow bulwark, holding onto her, as the Wikuni kicked and gouged and seemed to be screaming, but it was lost in the loud cracks and deafening din of the coordinated attack. It was her eyes. She was in a panic, and she was desperately trying to get free of her protector and run across the deck. Tarrin followed Keritanima's eyes, and he saw them.

Sisska laid still on the deck, her tail twitching spasmodically, and beside her laid Miranda, who had a wisp of smoke rising from her chest.

He never remembered running across the deck. One moment he was hunched in the stairwell, and the next he was kneeling beside Miranda. Her simple peasant dress was scorched in several places, but it was the hideous charred wound in her chest, smoking above and between her breasts, that captured his attention. Her burned breastbone was clearly visible, and the flesh around gaping wound was seared. The smell of burnt fur and flesh reeked from her. Tarrin looked at her in stunned confusion, into eyes that were glassy and empty.

"No," he said quietly, hugging her to his chest. She was dead. He couldn't believe it. Miranda, gentle Miranda, with her quiet, wise ways and her cheeky grins. Miranda, who always had a place on her lap for him, always took the time to pay attention to him when nobody else would or could. Miranda, who probably understood him better than Allia, yet never sought to usurp Allia's rightful place in his life. Always favoring the background, even with him, her presence was always noticed by him, even if it wasn't by anyone else. She was his friend, one of the few that she trusted. She couldn't be dead. It was impossible!

He stared into her empty eyes again, shaking his head. The impact of something searing against his back barely registered to him, because his entire world seemed to be dissolving away.

"No," he said more forcefully, as dumb shock was quickly being replaced by rage. A searing, blinding, overwhelming anger that boiled up in him like an erupting volcano, but he did not fight it. He couldn't fight it. Not like this, not now. He welcomed it, joined with it. He knew what it wanted to do, and he wanted that himself. He set Miranda down on the deck gently.

"NnnnnnnnnnnnnnOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" He shrieked as he lost himself. Blindingly white radiance literally exploded from his paws, as the Cat took hold of the Weave and nearly ripped it asunder as he demanded its power, all the power it could give to him. He jumped to his feet as that power began to build, faster than was possible for the richness of the surrounding Weave, until its light limned over his entire body. The scream of denial transformed into an inarticulate bellow of pure, abject fury, so loud that it echoed back from the fogbank and made the entire ship vibrate with the immensity of its power. He raised his paws against the nearest of the Zakkite skyships, which was about twenty spans in the air and about thirty spans off the rail, whose every eye was riveted to him.

A huge bolt of pure, raw, magical power blasted from his paws, the same chaotic weave of Fire, Air, Earth, Divine energy, and token flows from the other spheres to grant the spell the power of High Sorcery. It struck the Zakkite ship dead in the stern. The instant it hit, the wood of the side of the ship simply disintegrated under the immense power of the weave, and debris and shards of wood exploded with the beam as it ripped its way completely through the entire ship. He deliberately raked that magical onslaught across the entire ship's length, from stern to bow, literally cleaving the ship in half, implacably sending a steady stream of fiery debris flying from the far side of the ship as the beam burned and punched through the ship and continued on for nearly a league before finally dissipating.

The attack sent the first ship tumbling to the sea with a loud, frothy splash, and suddenly every attacker's magical attacks came right for him.

Riding a nearly euphoric sensation of the raw power of High Sorcery, Tarrin opened himself up to it more and more, drawing in the power faster than the Weave could supply it, surpassing what he could usually hold without injury. His rage, his fury caused him to completely ignore the usual dangers of wielding that kind of power, and quickly his clothes and fur began to smolder as he drew in so much that his body could not contain it. But he was beyond pain, beyond caring. There was only those who had killed Miranda, and the overwhelming desire, the need, to make them pay for their crimes. There could be no vengeance too merciless, too brutal. They would suffer a million times more than what they had done to Miranda. Tarrin swatted his arm to the side negligently, weaving together a spell made up almost purely of Divine power, with only token flows from the other spheres to grant the weave the power of High Sorcery. The area around the galleon shimmered in a scillinting sphere, and all the magical attacks of the Zakkites struck that barrier, and were absorbed. He turned his attention to the next ship, weaving together a nightmarish weave of Fire, Divine energy, and Earth, infusing it with such power that it almost completely drained him to create it, then he snapped the weave down and manifested it. A black ball, crackling with electricity, appeared in his cupped palm, and he turned and hurled it at the next closest Zakkite ship in a sidearm motion. The ball expanded as it soared at the ship's middle until it was the size of a wagon, causing the Zakkites aboard to turn and flee from it in terror. But there would be no escape.

The ball hit the ship almost perfectly amidships, and in that touch it doomed the black vessel. Wood sheared and snapped as it was sucked into the unimaginable void created by the weave, drawn into that black oblivion with such force that the air itself howled into it with hurricane force winds. It picked up hapless Zakkites and anything not nailed down, sucking it into its effect, sending them into an abyss from which there would be no escape. The ship compressed and crumpled around the black sphere, crushing and crunching to the sound of howling wind, ripping wood, and the screams of the doomed, until the last shards of the bow, the stern, and the masts were drawn into its black depths. After the last pennon on the mast disappeared, the ball shrank steadily, until it too simply winked out of existence.

The lull of sound was from the awed, stunned disbelief of the four remaining Zakkite vessels, and it gave Tarrin a chance to recharge. The energy roared into him, but it did not come fast enough. The Weave couldn't support the demands he made on it. Eyes blazing with incandescent white light, he reached out his paws to the sky and forced the Weave to obey, drawing in energy of all seven flows, then sending them out from him in every direction. They spiralled together as they radiated out from him in every direction, intertwining with each other in groups of seven, until they made contact with other strands. When they did that, Tarrin pulled on them, causing each intertwined finger of flows to suddenly flare with bright white light, then fade into invisibility. Along with the light came a shimmering bell-like sound that vibrated the very air, causing wind to blow away from him with enough force to tatter the fog bank that had been resting to their port. The light faded to nothing, as did the sound. The intertwined flows were gone.

Leaving new strands in their stead.

Standing in the center of a web of saturated strands, Tarrin immediately drew in more power than he could hold, so much that the air around him wavered and the deck beneath his feet began to blacken. There was no pain in his fury, a fury unlike anything he had ever experienced, a fury that did not care if he survived so long as he took those responsible for Miranda with him. He generated a weave of pure Air, not high Sorcery, but a weave of such titanic immensity that its physical manifestation was nearly as large as the ships it was created to attack. It manifested as an invisible wall of pure air, and Tarrin made a pushing motion with one arm--

--And there was a thunderous BOOM, as the Zakkite ship directly astern simply shattered against the force of a wall of air, as large as it was, striking it at supersonic speed. There was no piece of it larger than a teacup, and the finely pulverized debris sprayed the water aft of the galleon in a spreading fan pattern that turned the waters gray. The shockwave caused by the attack had kicked up a wave ten feet high, that went racing to the southwest at a speed that defied imagination.

The other ships finally reacted. The remaining three began to turn, to flee from this monster who could destroy entire ships with single spells, but they would not get far. Still holding the air Weave, Tarrin sent it against the next nearest ship. He slashed both arms down in a smashing motion, and the flat surface of the weave slammed into the top of the next nearest ship. It didn't strike at supersonic speed, but it struck with enough force to shatter the masts and crush the ship underneath it. An ear splitting series of explosions of ripping wood heralded the death of the vessel, smashed into fragments that were slammed into the ocean with enough force to send up a splash hundreds of spans into the air.

The toll of his actions slowly began to catch up to him. Even in his rage, he began to feel the bone-weariness that working with such power was causing, an exhaustion that would kill him if he didn't stop. But he would not stop. Not until they all paid for what they did to Miranda. But even in they purity of his rage, he understood that he had to do it fast. Already, he could feel the burns, the injuries he had done to himself. He understood that he was walking a razor's edge between being Consumed and dying from burning up all his own energies. But there was no fear in it. He would welcome either, so long as they came after he destroyed the Zakkites.

There could be time for one more weave. The remaining two ships were fleeing from the galleon, close to each other. Tarrin reached out in his rage and drew in the power to weave, saturating himself with the power, the majesty, the might of High Sorcery. His fur was all completely burned away, and his skin was smoldering as the power burned him alive from the inside out, but he did not stop. Weaving together a weave composed primarily of Water, he raised both hands and released it. Two massive walls of water rose up from the sea on both sides of the Zakkite vessels, who immediately tried to climb out from that valley of death. The walls of water shimmered and pulsated, undulating like the surface of water blown by the wind in a pond, then their surfaces snapped taut, as if some giant had pulled the corners of a sheet laid over them.

When they did that, Tarrin slapped his hands together, which made the two mountains of water smash into one another with a thunderous noise, grinding the last two ships into small shards of waste. The debris showered the sea all around them as the two mounds of water turned into a singular column of power that sprayed out as if a god had thrown a small island into the sea, spraying water, wood, and the mangled bits of the dead all over the water's surface for longspans in every direction.

The last windrows of the sound faded away, and Tarrin sagged to his knees on the deck. Charred paws came to rest on Miranda, where he had laid her so gently, and in that touch he could sense everything about her. His awareness heightened by his touch on High Sorcery, still saturated with its power, he could assense her in a way that he had never been able to do before. Her body was dead, but the soul within had not yet been released, as it awaited Dakkii, the goddess of Death, to come to claim her. With a clarity that seemed unnatural, he understood the significance of that simple fact. Sorcery could not resurrect the dead, but Miranda was not truly dead. Not yet. But Dakkii was coming--in his state of expanded awareness, he could feel her approach, knew that there wasn't much time.

Reaching out one more time, understanding that to draw on the Weave again would be fatal, he drew in the power for one last spell. There was no regret in the action. The rage had subsided, leaving behind an emotionless sense of awareness that judged an action only by its rightness, and what he was going to do could not be any more right. He leaned over and put one paw on Miranda, and the other on Sisska, then closed his eyes. The black metal amulet around his neck flared into sudden incandescence as he wove together Water, Air, Earth, Divine energy, and token flows of the other spheres so that his weaving carried the power of High Sorcery, and then released them into the two females. His touch became a searing flash of light, and both females suddenly bowed their backs and snapped their jaws tightly shut. The weave of healing literally attacked the ghastly wounds which had killed both of them, reknitting flesh, smoothing away burned bone, reconstructing entire sections of body, and then infusing them both with the pure energy of the Weave. That spark of power incited their hearts to beat, their diaphragms to flex, reawakened the souls that had been preparing to depart this world and move onto the next. The power of his touch was more potent than any spell of destruction or battle, as if the Weave itself responded to him with a complete surrender that was missing when he used it in anger or to destroy, magnified by the utter saturation of energy that the new strands allowed him to bring to bear.

As one, both Miranda and Sisska drew in a ragged breath, on their own. They would make it.

He had no more. Still connected to the Weave, he no longer had the power to sever himself from it, or to let go of it. But it did not rush into him as he thought it would have. He was utterly defenseless to the Weave, yet it did not seek to fill him with its power. Instead, it simply drained away, evaporated, letting go of him with a gentleness that made him blearily wonder what had happened. But no matter how gently it happened, it still generated a backlash within him, one that his body simply could not tolerate. Eyes rolling back into his head, he collapsed forward, and knew no more.

"By all that's holy!" Dar said in utter awe, crawling out from his hiding place. Keritanima stood not five paces from Tarrin, Miranda, and Sisska, hands held out. He could feel her, feel the tremendous effort it had taken her to cut Tarrin off from the Weave. Dar wasn't an expert on Sorcery, but he was positive that she just saved his life. He was being Consumed, had drawn too much power to handle, and had she not stopped that, it would have killed him. His body was burned, blackened, as if he'd walked through a fire, but Dar knew that those were only the injuries that they could see. The same thing had been done to him inside, almost like he'd been cooked in an oven. She stood there for a long moment, a look of terror and hope in her eyes. It would have to have been Keritanima to do that. Not even Dolanna had the raw power necessary to try to overwhelm Tarrin, even when he was in such a weakened state. Keritanima was a powerful Sorceress, and would be among the very strongest, if Tarrin's power did not eclipse her. Only she had both the power and the ability to even hope to cut Tarrin off from the Weave.

He had never--never--thought that he would ever see anything like that. He had felt it in his soul, a power so immense that anyone who could touch the Weave could not help but feel. Tarrin had created new strands, built them out of flows pulled from existing strands, and for no reason other than the fact that he wanted to draw more power, faster. Dar stood there and stared in mute shock as Keritanima rushed over the the inert trio, stared dumbly as Miranda took in a shuddering breath, and then sat bolt upright so quickly that it nearly scared him into wetting himself.

"A Weavespinner," Dolanna said in reverence, coming up beside him, and seeming to know what he was thinking. "That, my young pupil, is what being a Weavespinner truly means." She touched the shaeram around her neck delicately, then grabbed hold of it in a strong grip. "Come, Dar, Tarrin is badly injured, and there are many in need of our aid. I will need the power of a circle to help mend them."

Crying.

Someone was crying. Someone was dead.

Miranda!

"Miranda!" Tarrin gasped, eyes fluttering open as consciousness flooded into him with a speed that left him disoriented. He felt as if he'd been baked in an oven, and his entire body itched. And it ached with a weariness that seemed to have infected him like a disease, leaving him feeling feeble. The recent past was lost in a haze of weariness and a memory of rage. He had lost control of himself again, he remembered that, but as was normal for him, his actions during that period of frenzy were murky and indistinct. Time would sort them out. As if he really wanted to know what he had done this time. He was too tired to brood about it, but he distinctly remembered what triggered it. Seeing Sisska and Miranda laying dead on the deck.

He was in his cabin. Keritanima sat on the edge of the bed, Allia stood at her shoulder, and much to his eternal relief, Miranda sat on a plush chair that had not been in his room before, right at the head of his bed. She had a blanket in her lap and was dressed in a soft blue dressing gown, and on her face was a look of profound relief. The scents of his other friends were still strong in the room, hinting that he was being visited often, as was the smell of some kind of hot broth.

That was an expression shared by all three women. Keritanima's hands were on his shoulders, pushing him down, and Allia had a hold of one of his paws. Both of them looked just a little haggard. "You put yourself right back down, brother," the Wikuni princess said sternly, but the tears in her eyes gave away her concern. "Don't you ever do that again!"

"Wh-what happened?" he said in a bare whisper. "I, don't remember very much. Only seeing Miranda laying on the deck. Everything after that is a blur."

"Brother, let us just say that you avenged Miranda," Allia said gently.

"As you can see, I'm just fine, Tarrin," Miranda told him, a voice that sang like music in his ears. "A bit weak and a little tired, but otherwise fine." She took a sip of that broth he had smelled earlier. "Kerri's been babying me almost as much as you. She won't let me walk ten steps by myself."

"And if you do, I'm going to chain you to your bed," Keritanima said with a steely expression at her maid.

"What happened?" he asked again.

"Zakkites," Keritanima replied. "Six of them. They came out of a fogbank and hit us before we even knew what was going on. They were about to sink us, but you showed up and destroyed them with Sorcery." She shuddered. "You nearly killed yourself, Tarrin. If I hadn't been there to cut you off from the Weave, what's left of you would be in a little jar. Don't ever scare me like that again!"

"Azakar," he recalled blearily. "I never saw Azakar. Is he alright?"

"We had to fish him and a few others out of the sea," Miranda replied, drawing a glare from Keritanima. "He was thrown overboard after the first assault."

"Sisska?"

She's fine," Keritanima assured him.

"Binter is tending to her," Allia told him. "She is still recovering from her ordeal. Binter agreed to allow me the honor of defending Keritanima until he can resume his duties."

"That couldn't have been easy," Tarrin said weakly. "I'm really thirsty, sisters. Can I have something to drink?"

Keritanima picked a cup of broth up from a small table, and Tarrin sensed her touch the Weave. It began to steam slightly, heated by her magic, and she allowed him to take small sips. The liquid was flavored with chicken, and tasted sweeter than any wine ever could.

The door opened, and Dolanna and Faalken entered. Their entrance cramped the small cabin somewhat, but Tarrin's eyes were locked on Dolanna. She looked very tired and wan, with dark circles under her eyes. Faalken was literally supporting her. She smiled at him warmly, and that made Tarrin feel an entire world better for some reason, as if their fight had never been. "Dolanna, you look terrible," he told her.

"I look much better than you," she said in a weary tone, but her eyes danced and she gave him a glorious smile. "After the fight, there were many people to tend. You among them."

"How bad was it?" he asked quietly.

"By some gift of the Goddess, only two people were killed," she replied. "The Zakkites struck during the breakfast meal, and most of Renoit's people were in the galley filling their plates. Most of the injuries were very serious, but the conditioning of these people allowed them to live more than long enough for us to render aid."

"It pays to be in shape, it seems," Faalken noted, as Miranda took another sip of her broth.

"We did pick up a few survivors from the Zakkites. All of them are slaves," Dolanna told him. "One is an Aeradalla."

"What is that?" he asked.

"A race that is reputed to no longer exist," she said in a tired voice. "Some call them the Winged Ones, winged, human-like beings that were thought to be long dead. She has refused to leave until you recovered, even after I healed her of her injuries."

"Refused? How long have I been asleep?"

"Nearly two days," Allia told him.

"They had her in their soultrap," Dolanna told him. "It was her life force that was making the ship to which she was bound fly. That is how Zakkite skyships defy gravity, by consuming the life force of flying creatures. She managed to get free of it before what was left of the vessel sank."

Tarrin sipped up the rest of the broth, then laid his head wearily back on the pillow. Just the act of raising his head had completely exhausted him.

"Tarrin, do you remember what happened?" Dolanna asked intently.

"No, not really," he said. "Just seeing Miranda laying on the deck. Everything after that is a blur."

"Let us hope that you can recall what happened," she said. "You and I absolutely must discuss what you did."

"Why, what did I do?"

"Tarrin, you created strands," Keritanima told him in a gentle voice. "You made them, but they're just like any other strand. It's like you reached out and put new threads into the Weave."

"That is exactly what he did, Keritanima," Dolanna assured her. "It is something that is supposed to be completely impossible, and yet you did it." She leaned against Faalken a bit more. "If you can remember how you did it, then the possibilities may be boundless. We could repair the thinned sections of the Weave and restore it to its former state. Maybe even reclaim some of the power of the Ancients."

She smiled and patted him on the arm. "But that can wait. Right now, you need rest, and your sisters need to sleep. Neither Keritanima nor Allia has left this room since we put you here."

"And she made me sit here when I wasn't in my own bed," Miranda said with a caustic little look at the princess.

"I was not about to leave him alone, Dolanna," Allia said. "He always knows when we are near, and it makes him rest better."

"It's that nose of his," Miranda said with a cheeky grin. At that moment, there was nothing more beautiful in the world to him than that quirky little cheeky grin Miranda had.

"Come on, children," Dolanna ordered. "Let us let him rest."

"And you're going to bed too," Faalken told the Sorceress. "You've been up almost as long as them. You won't be any good to anyone if I have to drag your unconscous body around by the hair."

"Right now, my friend, I am too tired to put up much of a fight."

"That's good, because I wasn't looking forward to knocking you over the head with a belaying pin," he said adamantly. "You push yourself to hard, Dolanna. Now then, I'm going to take you to your room and put you to bed. And if I see you out of that room until tomorrow, I'm going to borrow a nice heavy blunt object from Renoit and bash it over your head."

Miranda grinned, but she had the sense not to laugh. Faalken escorted Dolanna out of the room, forcefully. Only after the door closed did she laugh.

"I heard that," Dolanna's voice came through the door.

Keritanima giggled, and Allia smiled. "Bed sounds like a good thing, but I want--"

"Go to bed, Kerri," he told her. "I'll be alright by myself for a while. You too, sister."

"Alright, my brother," Allia said in a gentle voice, "but if you should need anything, just call for us, and we will be here."

"Go on, I'll catch up in a minute," Miranda told them as they kissed Tarrin goodbye. She stood and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, ignoring Keritanima's heated look and dismissing her with a wave of her hand. Tarrin's sisters filed out of his room, and Miranda sat down on the edge of the bed. She stroked his unbraided hair back from his face tenderly, looking down at him with serious, sober eyes and a gentle smile. "You saved my life, Tarrin," she told him calmly. "You did more than that, actually. I could feel Death coming for me, but you fought her off. You brought me back from the edge of death. I don't even know where to begin thanking you."

"We are friends, Miranda," he told her weakly, exerting what little strength he had to reach out with a paw and take her small hand. "If you haven't noticed, I'm very protective over my friends. You're all I have, and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, or any of the others either."

She chuckled in her throat, smiling as she leaned down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Be that as it may, I owe you a big one, Tarrin," she told him.

"I'm not keeping score, Miranda," he replied in a voice barely more than a whisper. Her form was becoming fuzzy, and he found it a sudden chore to keep his eyes open. "I'd do...anything...for a friend...."

And he surrendered to sleep, leaving whatever reply she had for him unheard.

Miranda stared down at his inert form for a long time, stroking back his tangled blond hair, pulling it out of his ear gently. The door opened, and Keritanima stood there. "Regrets?" she asked simply.

"No," Miranda replied. "I don't love him that way, Kerri. I'm just thinking about what friendship can really mean, that's all." She stroked his hair again. "I could feel it, Kerri. When he healed us, he touched us. I could look right into his soul. He healed me and Sisska, knowing that it was going to kill him. It would have killed him, if you hadn't stepped in and saved him. I feel unworthy."

"I think you're more than worthy, Miranda," Keritanima told her gently. "And so did he. If anything, you've been a good friend to both of us, and if he's taught me anything over these months, it's how important friends really are." She was quiet a moment. "What else did you see when you looked into him, Miranda?"

Miranda's eyes were a mystery. "A friend," she replied with a gentle smile.

Her name was Ariana, and everything about her was exotic.

Her wings absolutely dominated her entire appearance. They were very large, bird-like wings with white feathers, some of which were over two spans long. They folded nearly three spans over her head, and their tips brushed the wooden deck. Fully spread, those wings had to have a breadth of nearly twenty spans. She was very tall, seven spans in height, about Allia's height, thin, willowy, and maybe just a little bony. Or she would seem that way, if not for the fact that she was generously buxom and had the wide hips of a heartstopper. She was very sleek, athletic, and her visible corded muscles rippled whenever she moved. The most surprising of her musculature had to be her rock- hard, ripped abdominal muscles, but then again, powerful abdominals would be necessary for a flying being whose wings were attached so far forward. She would literally have to hold the rest of her body straight while flying, and that had developed exceptionally powerful muscles in her body.

Her body was impressive enough, but aside from her wings, it wasn't the next thing that got one's attention. It was her hair. Tarrin had never seen such a deep shade of blue before, and had never dreamed to see it in a human-like being. But her hair was undeniably blue. A deep blue, like the skies over the sea, or maybe the water on a sunny day. In a curious reversal of normal coloring, her eyes were an amber-like yellow not too far from Keritanima's eyes.

If her appearance was striking, her clothing was not. She was garbed in a ragged wrap that went around her neck and over her breasts, tying behind her, and a pair of loose fitting cotton breeches given to her by one of the performers. A piece of rope served to keep the garment from sliding off her hips. She had been kept naked, Tarrin had learned from Dolanna after waking up, naked and chained to the magical device that drained her of life to make the Zakkite vessel fly. She seemed unconcerned with the amount of skin she was showing, skin that was deeply tanned. Exposure to the sea's uninhibited sun had left its mark on her.

Tarrin thought he could understand how that would feel. He had never felt so drained before. He felt almost feeble, even after spending the entire day sleeping, but he couldn't tolerate laying in that bed any longer. After having a nasty fight with Keritanima over going for a walk, he did so. But it only took climbing the stairs to the deck to convince him that it may have been better to let Kerri win the fight. But coming up had brought her into view, and then curiosity got the better of him. He'd forgotten that she was still here, even after Dolanna had told him about her.

Memories of the attack had started unravelling in his mind, and it scared him. Not that he had lost control, but at the raw power which he had displayed. It even frightened him. Never had he performed such Sorcery before, and he doubted he could ever match that feat again. It had taken losing a dear friend to bring that out in him, and he desperately hoped that it wouldn't ever show again. He had no doubt that the carnival performers had to be absolutely terrified of him now. He couldn't blame them. He was a little frightened of himself. That she had survived the onslaught was a miracle. She had been on the first ship he'd attacked, the one he'd sheared in half. Blind luck had separated the chains, and she had flown free of the wreck before it sank.

She was one of six. Five men and women, wearing wraps and borrowed robes, rested below under Dolanna's care. They were traumatized and horribly scarred by their enslavement, both physically and emotionally. Tarrin remembered the wicked, horrible scars Azakar had on his back, the visible reminders of life under an Arakite's whip, and he wondered if the other survivors were similarly marked. That people could be so cruel to each other completely mystified him, but if there was one thing that life in the world had taught him, it was that human beings had no limit to the evil and cruelty they could inflict on others of their own kind. They were the only race Tarrin could think of outside of goblinoids that were so self-destructive.

The Aeradalla regarded him for a long moment. standing at the rail, then she beckoned to him with a long- fingered hand. He approached her quietly, coming close enough to thoroughly analyze and memorize her scent. It was light, metallic, curiously similar to Allia's. But where Allia's scent was coppery, hers was more like bronze, but not unpleasant at all. His tail swished back and forth rhythmically as he looked at her, waiting for her to say or do something.

"You are the one?" she asked in a richly timbred voice, a contralto that would sound heavenly when put to song.

"In what way?" he asked calmly.

"You saved us," she said after a second. "Your powers of magic are unparalleled, furry one. Seeing it from the receiving end was very eye-catching."

"Well, it's not something I do on purpose," he told her after a slight pause.

"Yes, the Sorceress told me," she agreed. "I am Ariana Ak'Kalani. I am in your debt."

"I think we can forget about debts," he told her immediately. "To be honest, I had no idea you were on that ship. Saving you was purely accidental."

"I know, but credit goes where it is due," she said adamantly. "I'd never have gotten away if not for your intervention. That places a debt of life to repay to you."

"Don't worry about it," he told her with a dismissive wave of his paw.

"I'll not worry about it, but it will always be there," she told him. "I'll leave it up to you when and how you wish it repaid."

"Thanks," he said in a grunt. That was as good as forgiven, as far as he was concerned. "Dolanna said she thought your race was extinct."

"It's a belief we encourage, because of the Zakkites," she replied calmly. "They have hunted us for thousands of years to power their ships. Those of us who remain live as far from their reach as possible."

"How did they catch you?"

"We can't survive without contact with the other races forever," she said. "We usually trade with the Selani for what we need, but sometimes we have to go further. I was caught in a Pelan border town by Arakite merchants, who sold me to the Zakkites."

Tarrin thought about that. Pelan was the small kingdom created after the Selani war with Yar Arak, placed between them as a buffer between the two bitter enemies. The Aeradalla certainly didn't live in either Pelan or Arak, because of Arakite custom of enslaving non-humans. That meant that they had to be coming from the other direction, from the desert. "Pelan? It would be safer going to Arkis."

"True, but we don't trust Arkisians. And Pelan is closer, and distance is serious when you have to fly back with what you've bought," she pointed out.

"That would put your home somewhere in the Desert of Swirling Sands," he realized.

"Where else is it safer from sea-going enemies than in a desert?" she pointed out with a smile and a wink.

"Do the Selani know about you?"

"Of course they do," she replied. "We trade with them, remember?"

"Allia's never mentioned the Aeradalla."

"The Selani? I think she's from a clan very far removed from our home. We don't go that far to trade, and as you may have noticed, Selani clans don't communicate with each other very often."

"I guess so," he agreed finally. "Her clan territory borders Arkis." The fact that Selani don't talk is relatively well known in the world. Those who knew the Selani knew that the thirteen clans were generally rivals with one another. Though their Goddess forbade warfare between clans, there nevertheless existed real aggression and hostility between rival clans. Raiding and abductions were a common occurance along borders between clans, and though there is no killing, there was nevertheless a state of bloodless war that raged between Selani clans. It tended to be a war of prestige and honor, where the objective was to gain honor over other clans. It was the one aspect of Selani culture that Tarrin could never quite understand. Selani clans would battle each other in wars of intrigue and oneupsmanship, steal each other's food, water, and livestock, even occasionally battle each other in the Dance in a form of non-lethal combat, yet turn around and give food, water, or aid freely to the very same clan who had suffered a crisis or emergency. That the Selani seemed to hate each other, yet maintained an exceptionally powerful racial unity, seemed illogical. Allia explained that it was one way that the Selani kept in shape and fighting trim. The Holy Mother, Allia told him once, put her children against one another to make them stronger against those from the outside. Selani were clannish and very territorial, but would quickly dissolve those boundaries when an event occurred that threatened Selani lives. Even the lives of the most bitterly rival clan. "My brother the enemy," Allia had called it one time. Odd.

"There you are," she said with a chuckle. "We never go that way, because we don't trust the exiled Arakites. I doubt her clan has ever seen us."

"Probably not."

"You are unusual. Dolanna called you Were cat. Is this so?" Tarrin nodded. "We have long debated whether to return to Fae-da'Nar. I doubt that they remember us anymore."

"I wouldn't know," he told her in a quiet voice. "I'm not Fae-da'Nar."

She gave him a startled look. "A Rogue? You are very brave, Tarrin of the Were-cats. Few challenge Fae- da'Nar and live. Their power is formidable."

"I've never seen that power," he told her, leaning against the rail. "They've tried to kill me, but they haven't been able to do it yet."

"You are lucky, then. A single Druid is usually all it takes."

"I can deal with Druids," he told her. "Not that I want to, but they don't really leave me much choice."

She leaned against the rail with him. "It's not my place to speak for you, but if you have any way to reach an agreement with Fae-da'Nar, I suggest you find it," she advised.

"It's gone too far for that, Ariana," he sighed. "I wanted to at one time, but it's too late now. My bondmother put her own needs over mine when mine were much more important, and it made me Rogue. Then I damned myself in Fae-da'Nar's eyes when I killed innocents protecting myself from another one of them. I didn't ask for them to be an enemy. I've tried to resolve it without killing any of them. But it's too late for that. The next time Fae-da'Nar crosses my path, one of us is going to die."

"Sad words," Ariana consoled. "Sounds like a twist of fate."

"There's nothing but twists in my fate anymore," he grunted. "I think about it sometimes, standing up on a deck and looking into the stars. I've lost my way, Ariana. I don't really know what I'm supposed to be anymore, or where I'm supposed to be, or what people expect out of me. I feel like a stranger. And I have no idea why I'm talking about this to a complete stranger. I shouldn't really be talking to you."

"Why not?"

"Dolanna calls me feral," he told her.

"Ah, say no more," she said lightly. "I guess I should feel honored that you'd deem me worthy enough to confide in."

"I guess you're just a non-human face," he sighed. "I guess I just don't trust humans anymore. Not after everything they've done to me. And to think that I used to be one." He shivered slightly. "I've never met one of you before, so I guess I haven't decided yet if you're a friend or foe."

"Well, that's a gentle way to put it," she said with a slight smile.

"Now that I've bared my soul to you, when are you planning to leave?"

"Well, I was waiting to talk with you," she replied. "To thank you and to tell you of my debt. I guess that since that's done, I can return home. It will be a long flight, but I'll enjoy every minute of it."

"It must be something else to fly," he said, looking up at the sky.

"There's nothing like it in the world," she said dreamily. "I should get some rest. I'll be flying out with the dawn.

"I think I'd better go back down to my room pretty soon too," he said ruefully. "It's starting to become work standing here."

"I didn't realize you were ill," she said in concern.

"Not ill, just weak," he replied. "Doing what I did really drains me."

"Do you want help?"

"No, I'll be alright. Besides, it looks like you wouldn't fit in the companionway with those wings."

"Alright. If I'm not here when you wake up, I just want to say thank you, and may your gods speed you on your journey."

"Thanks. Have a good flight home, Ariana."

She took his paw, smiling at him warmly. "If you ever need me, just call, and I'll come," she told him seriously. "It's the least I can do for someone who saved my life."

"I don't see when I'll need you that bad, but I'll remember it, Ariana,"he told her. "I hope we meet again."

"We will," she said with a smile. "Trust me. We will."

Tarrin gave her a curious look, watching her move towards the large lean-to style shelter that was made for her on the deck. For some reason, he had to agree with her.

Absently swatting some insect that landed on his back with his tail, he turned and looked out over the calm seas, both paws on the rail. The memories of what had happened had started unveiling themselves, and they worried him. He understood why Dolanna wanted to talk to him so badly. He remembered weaving together strands. He knew how he did it, and he could do it again. The amount of energy it required had been staggering, but it was something that he could accomplish.

He had no idea how he knew how to do it. In his rage, he was completely subjugated by his animal instincts. Perhaps they had some sort of mystical connection to the Weave that he didn't understand. Perhaps they could sense things that he couldn't when in control of himself. Maybe it had just been blind luck. Whatever it had been, it had worked, and worked too well. He had wanted more power, faster, and that was exactly what he had gotten. The fact that he used that power to destroy meant nothing to him; they had nearly killed Miranda and Sisska, so there was no mercy. Not that he was ever overly merciful in the first place. Regardless of why he had wanted it, the fact that he had managed to call it forth wouldn't leave his mind.

The power had been incredible. Now that he could remember what had happened, he could remember things that his animal instincts hadn't noticed in their rage. About how beautiful it felt, to hold onto that much power. Even when it was burning him, there was a nearly euphoric sensation involved in wielding that much power, a feeling that was odd, and a little frightening. He was starting to fear that he was beginning to like using High Sorcery, and that would be a deadly attraction. He had been lucky so far, either using Sorcery so quickly that he didn't have the chance to build enough power to cross the threshold, or managing to break away from the power when he did. This time would have been it, if Keritanima hadn't been there to cut him off.

It was sobering. It was more power than any single Sorcerer could manage. It was power that even a Circle had to work to contain. Yet he could use it, alone. That scared him, deeply. He didn't understand what set him apart from all the others, and he was starting to worry that having that kind of power was going to become comfortable to him. It would change him, if he allowed it to. He would become used to it, and used to the pedestal on which it placed him over others. That could lead to arrogance, conceit, maybe even belief that he was better than anyone else. So much power was an allure, almost like a drug, and he realized now that he had to be careful, or he would be seduced by its dark promises.

It's very good for you to understand that now, my kitten, the voice of the Goddess echoed within his mind. Power is a sword with two edges. It must be respected.

"Goddess," he said in surprise, looking around. "I thought you were gone."

I may not speak to you, but I'm always watching you, kitten, she said whimsically. It's good to see you up. Are you feeling alright?

"I'm still a little weak," he replied, looking down into the sea, at the wavering reflection of the greatest moon, Domammon. Soon the twin moons, Duva and Kava, would rise, and just behind them, the red moon Vala would rise. Behind the large white disc shimmered the colored pools of light on the water which reflected the Skybands. They were much narrower now than he remembered them in Aldreth. Keritanima told him that when someone was on the equator, they were nothing but a knife-edge in the sky, and only visible at night. In the frozen expanses of the north, they took up the entire southern section of the sky, brilliant and scillinting in the night, and dulling the light of the sun a little during the day as it shined through them. They seemed to be in front of the sun and moons, yet behind the clouds. "But you already knew that."

Of course I did, she said with a choral giggle. But it seems to make you feel better if I pretend to ask about things I already know, rather than bowl you over with them.

"Thanks," he said dryly. "Goddess-- that sounds so impersonal," he grunted. "But maybe I should be more formal. You are a goddess, after all."

Let's not start that again, she warned in a dangerous voice. You know how I feel about frivilous platitudes. It's how you feel in your heart that concerns me, not how silly you can make yourself look for my benefit.

He looked into the sea, quiet and brooding.

I know, she said gently. You should have expected it, my kitten. You're a being of the wild, trapped on a seagoing ship. It's only natural that you'd start wondering why you're here, and doubting what you're doing. I don't blame you for it, because I know your heart. You won't abandon me. I count on that.

"It's more than that," he sighed. "I'm just not the same person anymore. I've turned into everything I feared I become. Even more."

It's necessary, she said gently. It's a process of discovery. You've only been Were for about six months, kitten. You haven't discovered what that means to yourself yet, and being on these ships isn't helping you. But there's nothing I can do about that. All I can tell you is that no matter how much you feel that you've lost yourself, you will always have the power to decide what you want to be. It may not be an easy road to travel, but there's nothing stopping you from trying.

"I know. It's just so hard sometimes. Sometimes, I feel like I should go back to Suld and gut the Keeper for doing this to me. I should have killed her."

No, she said sternly. The Keeper had no choice. She was acting on my orders.

"Your orders? You made them do this to me?" he asked in shock, his entire moral and religious foundations beginning to buckle dangerously.

Yes, I did, she replied calmly, almost challengingly. And the reason you are so weak is the very reason why.

"What do you mean?"

Kitten, you are a Weavespinner. Maybe now you appreciate more fully what that title means.

Tarrin blinked. She was right. The title wasn't some archaic, ambiguous term, it was a literal description.

That's right. You have the power to create and destroy strands of the Weave. It's a very rare gift, something that even the Ancients didn't see very often. My children may remember the title, but they had no inkling of what to do with you. They trained you like a normal Sorcerer, because they didn't know any better. They didn't realize that when they did that, they would have signed your death warrant.

"What do you mean?" he asked in confusion.

Weavespinners are so strong in the Weave that they can't survive being in direct contact with it, the way that Sorcerers contact it to draw power. Had you remained mortal, were you still human, the instant that Jegojah pushed you into the Heart, it would have incinerated you. Your Were body, with its inhuman endurance and ability to regenerate, was the only reason you survived. And if it wouldn't have been him, it would have been something else. The first time you would have touched High Sorcery, it would have Consumed you. Being what you are is the only reason you can survive it.

So, my kitten, I had you changed. It was a simple matter of keeping you alive. You may hate it, and you'll probably hate me for it, but there are some things that we all must do that we don't like.

Tarrin turned that over in his mind several times. That the being he looked upon as his patron deity had been at the center of his life's greatest turmoil shocked him to the core, but the logical part of his mind couldn't refute her explanation. Pragmatism seemed to be a universal compulsion. To save his life, she had ordered him turned Were. And he had survived. He was still struggling with those consequences, but as his mother would say, life was an opponent, to be challenged and battled. There was a little sense of betrayal, but it came from the childish part of him that still believed in happily ever after.

"You're right, I hate it. But I can understand it," he said after a long moment, in an emotionless tone. "But couldn't you have found something a little less...traumatizing? I may not feel so alienated if I was a Were-wolf instead."

There was nothing else, she replied. Were-cats are the only breed of Were-kin that would have suited.

"Why?"

It goes back to the Breaking, kitten. Were-cats are much different than other Were-kin, and it's much more than skin deep. It happened to them in the Breaking. The next time you see Triana, ask her about it. She was born just after it happened, and she can explain some of it to you. Anyway, after the Were-cats were changed, they were like you are now. But what most outside of Fae- da'Nar don't know is that it gave the Were-cats some enhanced abilities compared to other Were-kin. Were-cats retain their inhuman strength, speed, agility, senses, and their power of regeneration in any form, where in other Were-kin they only receive those gifts in their hybrid form. It's the gift they receive in exchange for losing the ability to hold the human shape without pain. It's also one of the reasons the other Were-kin resent Were- cats. Only a Were-cat's body is suited to resist High Sorcery. Using any other Were body would have still killed you.

Tarrin considered that. It was a bit surprising. Jesmind had said that Were-cats were different, but it seemed that even she didn't understand the truth about their condition. He wondered why that would make the other Were- kin resentful.

Because they're a little jealous, the Goddess answered.

"But they can take the human shape."

So can you, if you're willing to endure the discomfort. The only thing the Were-cats really lost was the ability to stay human for extended periods of time.

"What caused them to change?" he asked curiously.

The Breaking did more than kill mages and Sorcerers, and make magical objects explode, she replied. It also affected some species with ties to magic, like Were-cats. The Were-cat condition is something of a side-effect of the Breaking, an alteration brought about by the shift in magical power. A mutation, in a word.

"What does that word mean?" he asked.

It's a rather technical term for when a child born of parents doesn't look like the parents, she explained. I'm not talking about just facial features or hair color either. Imagine if all human babies born after this moment had four arms instead of two. That's a mutation. That's what happened with the Were-cats. All children born after the Breaking were like you and Jesmind and Triana.

"If they were born changed, what happened to the parents?"

They're all dead, she replied, a bit sadly. They tried to raise their children, but they were very different from their parents. The original Were-cats were very benign and domestic, where their changeling offspring were wild and grounded very much in their instincts. That made the parents afraid of them, so they branded the Were-cat offspring to be Mal- de'Kii, or Children of Darkness. The same title given to vampires, lamias, and other exotic creatures that prey on humans. The parent Were-cats then tried to kill their children, deciding to reproduce by biting humans, to infect them with the same type of lycanthropy that they had. Humans bitten by these elder Were-cats became the same type of nonmutated Were-cat. By then, these changeling children were old enough to defend themselves, and there was a merciless war between the changelings and the original Were-cats. It ended when the changelings wiped out their elders, replacing them in Fae-da'Nar as the new Were-cat society.

"That's horrible!" Tarrin gasped.

Yes, but it was a matter of survival, she replied gently. As a Were-cat, I think you understand how savagely a Were-cat will fight to protect its life. Tarrin was forced to nod in agreement there. There was no other way. I don't think that the changelings wanted to take it that far, but even one elder Were- cat had the power to bite humans to increase their numbers, then come after them again. So they decided to exterminate them all. It may be sad, but not everything in life or history is all light and sunshine.

"I guess not," he sighed. "Triana was involved in that?"

She's the oldest of your kind, kitten, born just after the Breaking. She was part of it.

"It must have been awful, knowing you had to kill your own parents," he said compassionately.

Hold on to that feeling, she told him. There will come a time when what you say to Triana will decide whether you live or die. Look at her before you answer.

"What does that mean?"

What you want it to mean, she answered cryptically. Just remember what I told you, kitten, about Triana, and about the path you decide to take. It's time for me to go. Be well, and know always that I love you.

And then the sense of her presence was gone, leaving him feeling like there was an emptiness inside. And leaving him with more questions than answers.

A path to take. Maybe she was right. Maybe, if he worked very hard, he could reclaim some part of himself that he'd lost to the Cat.

Two days in bed had done wonders for Tarrin's health, but little for his ire. And the main reason for that was standing at the doorway, in the form of Phandebrass the Unusual.

The doddering mage had discovered that Tarrin's bedridden condition left him incapable of defending himself from the man's endless ranting. He had a captive audience, he and his two little teacup dragons, and he had taken advantage of it. Phandebrass had quite effectively bullied his way past Keritanima and Allia, and then he went to work on Tarrin. The mage was fascinated with the Were-cat condition, asking endless repetitive questions about every facet of Tarrin's life, even the most intimate and private things, without so much as batting an eyelash. He would write endlessly in his little book, with a drake on each shoulder looking down. Even Sevren and some of the other Sorcerers hadn't hounded him as severely as Phandebrass did. It was an ordeal for Tarrin, who had come close many times to breaking the man's arm just to make him shut up. But the words of the Goddess always drifted back to him, about how the path he travelled was up to him. Phandrebrass was aggravating, but he represented a rather grim challenge to the Were-cat, to keep from killing him as an exercise in self control.

But as two days went by, something strange happened. Tarrin started to like Phandebrass. He was a bit scatterbrained, but he was very smart, and his questions were inciteful and searching. He loved to talk, and he knew many stories. When he wasn't grilling Tarrin about being a Were-cat, he would tell the most wonderful stories about faraway lands and times long gone, about dead legendary heroes and sinister villains. Tarrin quickly became completely infatuated with the mage's ability to tell a tale, how his voice would reach out and grab hold of him, and not let go until the tale was complete. It turned out that that was one of the things Phandebrass did for the carnival. He was a storyteller who used his arcane magic to enhance the story, bring it to life, supplying visual and audial effects to add weight to the story's plot. But even without magic, Phandebrass was exceptionally gifted in bringing a story to life with his voice alone. But it was more than the stories. Phandebrass was a bit addled, but he had a good heart, and his sincerity was worn on his sleeve. Tarrin couldn't help but like him because he didn't feel in any way threatened by him, and the man was alot like Dar, having a nearly infectious personality that people couldn't help but like. After he'd overcome his irritation with the human over his endless questions, Tarrin started liking the man.

But where Tarrin was starting to warm to Phandebrass, he was not so friendly with the drakes. Chopstick and Turnkey were small dragon-like creatures, but they were still animals. Tarrin's scent was one of a predator, and his size made the Were-cat a perceived threat to the two little dragons. They didn't like Tarrin, hissing and snapping at him whenever Phandebrass approached him, and that quickly rubbed Tarrin's fur the wrong way. He'd already decided that the first one that bit him was going to lose all its teeth. Maybe even the head in which they were rooted as well.

It was a very unusual position for Tarrin. He liked Phandebrass, despite his irritating personality, and it was obvious that Phandebrass was working very hard to befriend the Were-cat. And what was the most confusing was that he still didn't entirely trust Phandebrass. It was just like Kern. Tarrin respected Kern, would even fight for him, but didn't completely trust him. He had the feeling that it was because he was human. Tarrin was very distrustful of humans, mainly because they had proven themselves to be untrustworthy in the past. Phandebrass hadn't conquered his mistrust yet, and until he did, Tarrin wouldn't let the man get too close to him. He did like him, but only from a distance. When Phandebrass started trying to get close, Tarrin would stiffen his back and push the man away, forcing the mage to start all over again.

He may be a bit more open, but Tarrin was still feral, and he understood that. He doubted he would be anything but feral for the rest of his life. He had simply been betrayed one time too many. But what he was hoping was that he could dull that intense distrust of everything not known to the point where he could operate in a human society without killing someone. That was his only realistic goal.

The mage was there that morning, sitting in a chair usually reserved for Keritanima, wearing a silly black robe with patches portraying mystical symbols sewn randomly to the fabric. And that hat. It was a truly ridiculous conical hat, with a wide brim, that tapered to a sharp point some two spans over the mage's head. It was Phandebrass' stage costume, and he was wearing it because he'd spilled ale on all his other robes. A mug of ale was casually held in his left hand, threatening to soil the last garment the mage had left with each movement of his hand. Turnkey and Chopstick--or was it Chopstick and Turnkey?--sat on his shoulders, glaring at the Were-cat as the mage finished off what was left in the tankard. The two little drakes, with their reddish scales, looked almost exactly the same. Their scents were different, but Tarrin had yet to figure out which drake was which. Phandebrass rarely called them by their names, nor were they often separated from each other. The mage was relaying a tale of the gods, of the twin gods of death, Dakkii and Dakkuu. The origins and histories of the Elder Gods were very blurred and uncertain, but what was generally known of the twin gods was their roles. Everyone referred to death as she because nobody wanted to see the male Death come to claim them. Only those who had lived a live of selfishness or evil, whose afterlife would be a punishment, were claimed by Dakkuu, the male Death. Those who had lived a good life, and were being carried on to an afterlife of reward, were claimed by Dakkii, the female Death. When Death Herself came to claim someone, it was a fear only of what was lost. When Death Himself came for a person, it was a fear of what was to come.

The story he told was the story of the twin gods' eternal hatred for each other. So the story went, they had been borne at the same instant, and had originally been meant to be only a single entity. But fate had split them into two, and each secretly felt that they were what was originally intended the god of Death to be. Dakkii saw the god of death as a nurturer, to gently carry the souls of the deserving on to their patron gods, who would mete out justice. Dakkuu saw Death as an avenger, someone to keep the souls of the damned and torture them for their failures and evil natures. They had nearly went to war with each other, until Ayise, Allmother, the creator of the gods, stepped in and separated them. To each she granted that position in which they believed. Dakkii became the god of Death for the vast majority of the world, someone to ferry the souls on to their final destination, doing it with compassion and love. Dakkuu became the punisher, who kept the souls that the other gods told him were beyond hope of redemption, to make them suffer for the hatred and evil he had in his own heart. Because of the horrible finality of this punishment, the very name of Dakkuu became taboo to the world, and nobody ever spoke of death as male. To be claimed by Dakkuu was a fate worse than a million agonizing deaths, because it meant that an eternity of torment awaited the hapless fool.

"Of course, Dakkuu rails against this custom," Phandebrass concluded. "Dakkuu wanted to be a punisher, and he became one. But the fact that when everyone thinks of death, they think of his sister, causes him even more anger and frustration. Ask a common man about death, and he'll tell you it's a she. Ask him about what happens to the damned, and he'll tell you that it comes for them. That's what Dakkuu has become to the world. An it. A nameless spectre everyone fears, but nobody completely understands."

"Isn't it a bad thing to speak his name then?" Tarrin asked. Tarrin was impressed. He didn't know that. He knew there were ten Elder Gods, but even he could only name nine. The tenth was a mystery, a mystery that the mage had just solved. He knew about the nameless reaper of the damned, but had never been able to put a name to it--no, he.

"Oh dear me, no," Phandebrass chuckled. "If anything, he probably appreciates the fact that some mortals remember him, and remember, Dakkuu is a punisher of the deserving. If you're not deserving eternal torture, then you have nothing to fear from him. I'm not saying he's going to appear before us and shake my hand, but I also don't doubt that he knows we're talking about him. To mortals, Gods are capricious beings, my boy. They seem to adore attention. Why they adore attention is something that sages still argue about. Us lowly mortals will probably never fully understand the minds and motivations of the gods."

"Probably not. If we could, we'd be gods too."

"Excellent observation. I must write that down. I say, where is my pen?"

"In your hand," Tarrin pointed out delicately.

"Ah. So it is."

"I've been wondering, why are you in the carnival, Phandebrass? You seem too, experienced, to be in a travelling circus."

"True, my boy, but to be honest, I love telling stories, and it always makes me smile to see people marvel at my magic. They see my magic, and some of them become interested, and want to learn about it. It helps spread the learning of magic through the world, and if my efforts help bring only one child to the path of the Arcana, then it makes me happy. And this circus visits some of the largest cities in the western world, where they have very comprehensive libraries. I say, the fact that I'm allowed into the Imperial Library in Dala Yar Arak when we perform there makes my employment with Renoit more than worth what I lose in quiet study time. That library has the most complete collection of magical works in the world. Mages drool over the idea of being allowed unrestricted access to it."

"So it's mutually beneficial."

"I say, my boy, that's the best kind of agreement," he said. "I do alot of experimenting on the ship. I have my own lab, you know. I just have to break my studies from time to time to go perform, which I don't mind doing at all. Father always said I had a flare for the dramatic."

The door opened, and Azakar stepped in. "How are you feeling?" he asked Tarrin without greeting him.

"I feel alright, Zak. Dolanna says I'll be off bed restriction by tomorrow, but I think she's being protective about it."

"You need to listen to her. She's trying to keep you healthy."

"Are you going to start trying to be my mother again, Zak?" the Were-cat asked in a dangerous tone.

"Yes," he said flatly. "You need to start taking better care of yourself, Tarrin. If you're not going to do that, well, then I guess we'll have to do it for you." He wiped sweat from his brow absently. "Anyway, I'm done for today, and I was wondering if you wanted to play stones or cards or something."

"Sure. I think Phandebrass knows how to play King's Crown, and it's always more fun with three people."

"King's Crown? I say, do you know the tale behind the game?"

"We can hear it some other time, Phandebrass," Azakar told him immediately. "I can't concentrate if you're distracting me with your stories."

Phandebrass glanced at Tarrin, then he winked. "Well then, I'll just save it for later, then. I say, you have a deck?"

"I do, but only if you promise the dragons won't eat the cards this time," the huge Mahuut said steadily.

"I scolded them for that, my boy," he replied with a straight face. "I say, do you know that the suit of crowns started out as the suit of gold? There were four suits, all named after precious metals. The suit of gold, the suit of silver, the suit of copper, and the suit of platinum. But time and the need for pictographic cards, which are easier to make, brought about the changes. Now we have the suit of crowns, the suit of clubs, the suit of diamonds, and the suit of swords."

The door opened again, and Dolanna entered with Keritanima, Allia, and Dar in tow. Tarrin's small cabin wasn't really meant to hold so many people, so Allia and Dar stayed by the door as Dolanna and Keritanima entered. "Gentlemen," she said brusquely, "your presence here is no longer required. I wish to speak with Tarrin alone."

"That's a sweet way of saying 'get out'," Azakar told Phandebrass.

"If that is what you wish to hear, then get out," Dolanna said in a calm voice, but with a light smile that made her face radiant.

Azakar chuckled, but Phandebrass gave the Sorceress a curious look, then he too broke out into laughter, giving Azakar a wink. "Very well. I say, this must be secret Sorcerer business. They must be preparing to exchange the secret handshake."

"I've seen it. It's nothing compared to the Knights' secret handshake," Azakar said with a straight face.

"I will give you reason to wish you were not here in a moment," Dolanna said flintily. "Out."

"Yes ma'am," Azakar said calmly, standing up. "We'll play later, Tarrin, when Dolanna's not being pecky."

"I am about to show you pecky," Dolanna challenged the huge Mahuut. She pointed towards the door imperiously, her eyes hard and impatient. Azakar, being taught the wisdom of retreat in the face of a more powerful foe, bowed out with an elegantly overwhelming bow to the Sorceress, nearly brushing his forehead to the deck. She smacked him lightly on the top of the head when he started rising, making Phandebrass laugh heartily. Then the two filed out between Allia and Dar, who closed the door behind them.

"Now, down to business," Dolanna said. She seated herself in the plush chair Keritanima had dragged in so she could sit with Tarrin. That got her a nasty look from the Wikuni Princess, who sat down on the end of the bed as Tarrin sat up and sat crosslegged at the head. Allia sat in the middle of the bed, and Dar took the sturdy wooden chair after moving the small end table aside, that had been put there to hold cards. "It has been made clear to me that I was in grave error to allow you to ignore your training, Tarrin," Dolanna said. "So we are here to study, practice, and learn. The first thing we are going to do is listen to you explain exactly what it is you did to make new strands."

"That doesn't sound much like instruction," he countered.

"For us, it will be," she said. "Perhaps the relation of your discovery will help us come into closer contact with the Weave, or learn new ways to apply its power. Besides, a good Sorcerer learns everything he or she can, whether or not it is knowledge that can be applied practically."

"I guess that's a good way to look at things," Tarrin admitted. He closed his eyes and conjured up the memory he had of that, but it wasn't easy. The entire affair was heavily tinged by his outrage and anger, and it made the dynamics of the act hard to recall in words that could easily be explained. "I remember pulling out all seven flows, then sending them out in groups," he said in a quiet voice, as the others all leaned in to listen. "Groups of flows that would make strands. I braided them together and made them connect to existing strands, then I, well, pulled on them. That's how I remember it, anyway."

"You charged them with your power," Dolanna told him. "That caused them to snap taut, just like loose-weaving a spell, then snapping it down to release it. I suppose you charged them with enough energy for them to interact, and form new strands."

"I remember that," Keritanima said. "The entire Weave shifted when he did that."

"It shifted because he was making it move with him," Dolanna replied. "Do you remember that, Tarrin?"

"I think so," he said, trying to pierce the veil resting over much of his memory or the episode. "Maybe."

"Do you think that you would remember how it was done?"

"I could do it again," he told her confidently. "I'd rather not, though."

"I do not want you to, dear one," she told him immediately. "The amount of energy it cost you to do it was staggering. I am still shocked that you did not tear the Weave in the attempt, and that you were not burned to ash within seconds. This is something I never want you to attempt alone again."

"I saw the scorchmarks," he said quietly, memory of the pain making his spine tingle. Up above, on the deck, were two blasted, charred marks that were perfect imprints of the bottoms of his own feet, right down the the texturing of his pads. Branded into the deck as a testament to what had occurred. "Was it really as bad as it looks?"

"Worse," Allia answered evenly. "You were all but on fire, brother."

"I don't really remember that."

"I think I'd be happy not to remember something like that," Dar noted.

"No doubt," Tarrin agreed.

"This is something that we will work on later, Tarrin," Dolanna said. "For now, you are too weak to attempt anything, and I am unsure as to how safe it would be to try. But I would very much like to see if there is a safe way, and that brings us to the real reason we are here."

"What is that?" he asked.

"I recall that the Tower never trained you in Circling," she announced. "You will learn this skill with us."

"What good will that do?"

"I did not see what happened when you interposed yourself on the Council's Circle, but I did hear about what happened. If you could circle with us, it may be possible for you to wield your power in a much safer manner, spreading it out among the five of us instead of shouldering the burden alone. There would still be danger, but it would take much longer for it to reach a critical point. In the interests of safety, we should practice and prepare for the possibility that we may have to defend this ship from marauders again."

Tarrin mulled it over, and he found her reasoning somewhat sound. When he had managed to hijack the circle of the Council, it did allow him to spread the burden of his power among them, allowing him to keep control of it much longer. He remembered that clearly. He even had the control necessary to let go of the Weave without having to sever himself and suffer a backlash. He didn't like the idea of putting his friends and sisters at risk, for he remembered clearly the effect he had on the Council after the circle was broken.

And he remembered what had broken the circle. The Cat had done it, rejecting the intimate mental communion that came when Sorcerers formed circles. Even if he was willing to learn, it was very possible that the Cat wouldn't permit him to form a stable link to the others. "There may be a problem, Dolanna," he told her.

"What with?"

"Your idea is good, but they didn't tell you why the circle broke up when I got dragged into it. The Cat rejected the link. It took the circling link to be a foreign entity and attacked it. If I hadn't released the Weave and dissolved the circle myself, the Cat would have broken in for me. I remember that. I'm not sure if I can circle."

"Yes, but you know the four of us intimately. There is a good chance that your trust in us will allow your instincts to accept our bonds."

"Well, I'm not sure, but we can try. If you're willing to accept the risks."

"I'm aware of the risk," Dar told him. "Dolanna explained it to us. I trust you, Tarrin."

That meant more to him than he could easily express. He gave Dar a sincerely grateful look, then nodded. "I know how my sisters will answer."

"If I was not prepared to face danger for my brother, I would not have the honor to call him so," Allia said bluntly.

"I'll do almost anything to further the cause of Sorcery, even if it wasn't my brother and sister doing the risking with me," Keritanima said with a toothy grin.

"Very well then, it is decided," Dolanna said dismissively. "To start, Tarrin, the key of a circle is communion. The Sorcerers join together, both their power and their minds, forming a cohesive will led by the designated Sorcerer commanding the circle. A circle cannot have more than seven, because too many minds in a circle cause the creation of a mass mind that dies when the circle is broken."

"That's not entirely true, Dolanna," he said absently. "Only seven of the same species can circle."

"Where did you hear this?" she asked quickly.

"I didn't. I remember it from when I joined the Council's circle. If you don't mind me sounding obvious, there were eight of us in it. It didn't form a mass mind because my mind isn't human. My different mind blocked it. I realized it when I dissolved the circle. I think that's one of the reasons why I had trouble holding it. If it had been seven other Were-cats, I don't think the Cat would have rejected the contact."

Keritanima gave him a strangled look, then she laughed. "I forgot all about that!" she admitted in a loud voice. "You even told me that!"

"Kerri forgot something?" Tarrin asked, giving her a smile. "Someone look out and see if the sea hasn't turned to glass."

"Well, maybe not forgot. Maybe more like misplaced," she said with a chuckle.

"The theory does have merit," Dolanna said after a moment of tapping her chin, obviously in deep thought. "A great deal of merit. The reason a mass mind forms is because of the presence of numerous minds linked together in the communion of the circle. It only stands to reason that a mind of a dissimilar nature would reject such a formation, and prevent the mass mind from forming. The different mind would insulate the other members of the circle, protecting them from the formation of a mass mind. After all, the mass mind cannot form unless all participants of the circle join with it. If one does not, then all do not. It is the very nature of a circle."

"What does that mean to us students?" Dar asked curiously.

"A circle is inclusive, Dar,"she explained. "It is like a school of fish, or herd of goats. Where one goes, all go, when one turns, all turn. But if one does not jump off a cliff, for example, then none will."

"Even if other goats go first?" he asked.

"It is an abstract concept," she reiterated. "Think of the herd being tied together with rope. If the one goat that does not jump is strong enough, it holds all the other goats up, preventing them from falling to the bottom."

"Oh," he sounded. "I think I get it. Even if all the other goats want to jump, they can't do it because the one goat that doesn't want to jump won't allow them to. Because they all have to go together."

"Pecisely," Dolanna agreed. "They must go together."

"So, if we had seven human Sorcerers aboard, we could conceivably make a circle as large as ten," Keritanima mused. "The seven humans and use three non- humans."

"Perhaps larger," Dolanna elaborated. "There are many ways to circle, young one. If the lead of a circle were to join to another circle, they could conceivably expand the total number to fifteen. Seven in the first, seven in the second, with the non-human mind between them to act as a buffer." She tapped her fingers on the bed. "It certainly makes sense. The old stories tell of the Ancients joining in circles numbering in the hundreds, to perform their mightiest magic. That was when the Sha'Kar lived. Non-humans, to buffer their circles and permit them to join in such large numbers."

"Can we prove it, though?" Keritanima asked.

"Actually, yes," Dolanna said. "We have two humans here, and Dar knows how to circle. Dar, Keritanima, join into a circle. Keritanima, you lead it."

Tarrin felt the edges of it. Dar reached out to Keritanima in the oddest way, almost as if he were trying to touch the Weave. But instead of touching the Weave, he was trying to touch Keritanima. He felt Keritanima respond to that searching probe, and when they met, he felt their power pool together and expand.

"Very good. Now, Keritanima, join with me in another circle. I will lead it."

Tarrin felt it again, as Keritanima simultaneously maintained her contact with Dar, and reached out to touch Dolanna in the same manner Dar had reached out to her. He felt Dolanna's reply, and then they too were linked together into a circle. The pooled power of Dar and Keritanima suddenly expanded into Dolanna, joining the two human Sorcerers through their nonhuman conduit.

"Yes, I think it does work!" Dolanna exclaimed. "I can barely feel Dar at all! Keritanima is isolating him from me, yet I can still access his power!" She looked at Tarrin. "Did you feel it? How it was done?"

Tarrin nodded. "It was like trying to touch the Weave, except she was trying to touch you."

"Try it," she urged. "Reach out to me. Try to touch me."

Tarrin nodded and closed his eyes. He knew how to touch the Weave; it was almost instinctive now. He used the same sensation to begin, but instead of trying to touch the Weave, he reached out for Dolanna instead, using her scent and her feel and her presence to guide his awareness.

It was shockingly easy. He touched Dolanna, almost as if she were the Weave, and he felt her mind respond. There was almost something of a door opening between them, and he found he could peek through it and look into her mind. But she could also look into his, and the Cat took immediate notice of this unknown, strange sensation, of this strange presence. It rose up to investigate, to challenge the interloper.

Dolanna gasped audibly as the Cat invaded her through the contact between them, and he felt her mind attempt to push it back away from her. He tried to rein it in, convince it that the mind in contact with them was a friend, not an enemy, not an attack, but the impulse was powerful and it was irresistable. He felt the Cat rise up and smite the doorway between them, shattering it like a window.

Both Tarrin and Dolanna cried out, reaching for heads that were suddenly splitting with pain. The Sharadi Sorceress sagged in her chair and Tarrin's head banged into the wall behind him. Keritanima winced, flinching away from the other two, but Dar made no outward motion at all that he felt anything. "That was very unpleasant," Dolanna said delicately, rubbing her temples.

"I felt it too," Keritanima said. "What happened?"

"Tarrin rejected the link," Dolanna replied. "Violently. The disruption of the circle fed back into us as a backlash."

"I didn't do it on purpose," he said defensively.

"I did not say that you did, dear one," she assured him. "I do not wish to try that again any time soon."

"I warned you it may happen."

"So you did. But we do seem to have unlocked a forgotten secret. This is something I must write down and send back to the Tower for further study."

"You're going to tell them?" Tarrin flared. "I don't trust them, Dolanna!"

"True, but we cannot allow knowledge to be cast aside," she said calmly. "If we fail in our quest, we very well may perish. I will not allow this to die with us." She patted his paw. "Besides, dear one, how can they possibly use this against us? All of the non- human Sorcerers are right here. This provides them with absolutely no hold over us. Because of that, I see no reason not to share it."

He looked for a good logical reason to object, but he couldn't find any. He decided that logic was a great deal overrated. "Well, I still don't like it," he snorted, crossing his arms.

"I do not like it very much either, but I see little recourse," Dolanna assured him. "Because of my newfound headache, I think we will stop for now. After I recover some, we will continue with normal lessons."

"That's fine with me," he said flatly. But then the words of the Goddess, about how he chose his own path, echoed in his mind. "We'll try it your way, Dolanna," he said, with considerably less hostility in his voice. "I guess I can trust you to do the right thing."

"I appreciate that," she said, standing up. She swooned slightly, but Dar was there to give her a reassuring arm. "I think I need to lay down a while," she announced.

"I'll take you to your room, Dolanna," Dar said in a gentle voice.

"Thank you ever so much," she said with a bright smile to her pupil.

"Are you alright, brother?" Allia asked in Selani as Dar helped Dolanna from the room.

"I'm fine, just a little headache," he replied. "I think Dolanna took the brunt of it."

"I think she did too," Keritanima agreed. "It was about the same as being hit in the head by a cannonball. I can only imagine how bad it was for her, since she was the lead."

"Sorry," he apologized to Keritanima.

She snorted. "It was a calculated risk," she replied. "At least it wasn't a complete failure. I doubt we'll get you into a circle, but at least you remembered that part about non- humans. That's new information, and that's always good to have."

"Whatever," he yawned. "How are dance lessons going?"

Keritanima visibly bristled. "You have alot of nerve to ask that," she said ominously.

Allia giggled like a little girl. "She has the other dancers in a state of terror," she told Tarrin. "They're afraid she's going to pull out a knife and stab them."

"What about you?" Keritanima challenged. "Didn't you break Jak's arm this morning?"

"I can't help it if he can't land on his feet," she shrugged.

"Renoit's talking about making you dance instead," she told the Selani in a light tone.

"Fine. Unlike you, I find nothing wrong with dancing. I enjoy it."

That seemed to take the wind out of Keritanima's sails. She gave Allia an irritated look, then took Tarrin's paw. "Well, at least Tarrin understands," she grunted.

"No, I don't," he said bluntly. "But I'm not going to tease you about it. If you don't like to dance, then that's fine."

"Hmph," she snorted. "I'm going to spend time with Miranda. At least she doesn't make fun of me."

And with that, she stormed out.

"She'll never learn," Allia chuckled.

"What were we teaching her?" Tarrin asked curiously.

"That fear is there to be conquered," she replied easily. "Keritanima is afraid of dancing in front of people. Stagefright, I think Renoit called it."

"That's a strange condition for someone who lived her entire life in the public eye," Tarrin mused.

"True, but she was always in a position of control before, or at the very least she was on familiar ground," Allia reminded him. "This time, she must dance to the beat of another's drum, in unknown territory. It's an entirely different situation."

"If you say so," he shrugged.

"I do say so," she teased, poking him lightly in the ribs. "And I also say that it's time for you to take a nap."

"But I'm not tired."

"But I am, and I miss napping with my brother," she said. "I'm starting to chafe at the time they take from me to train."

"I don't mind. You don't have to be right beside me for me to know you're near."

"Yes, but we don't talk as we used to do, deshida," she sighed. "The loss of private conversation could make us drift apart again, and I won't have that." She scooted up onto the bed more fully. "Now make room."

Tarrin gave her a light smile, then shifted into cat form. She laid down on the bed without a word, and Tarrin curled up beside her. His head nestled under her chin, he could hear the beating of her heart within the vessels of her neck. He listened to it for quite a while, listening to it slow, become stable and calmed as Allia drifted off into sleep. The sound of that, the coppery scent of her, the very feel of her closeness was usually more than enough for him to enter a state of utter security and contentment. Much as he felt with Janette, Allia's presence made him feel totally safe and secure, knowing that she wouldn't allow anything to happen to him.

Closing his eyes, he began to purr. To him, there were few things better in life than peace.

©2000, James Galloway. All Rights Reserved.