Chapter 6

        He stood on a dark avenue.  It was dark and colorless, and there was a curious lack of scents around him.  He was surrounded by people wearing Arakite robes, young and old, men and women, adults and children.  They wore gray robes, all of them, and all of them had pallid, chalky skin.  They looked down, at the ground, and would not raise their heads to face him.  The buildings were also gray, the stone buildings common in Dala Yar Arak, with their smooth walls and flat roofs and the gardens hidden at the centers of their walled yards.  But all of the buildings looked exactly the same, as if a child's wooden toys had been set on each side of a line.  There was no disparity among the houses, nothing to distinguish one from another, just as all the people wore the same robes, had the same pale skin.

        Where is this place? Tarrin thought to himself, looking around.  The sky was featureless, dark, completely alien, with no moons, no stars, no Skybands, nothing but empty blackness.  Am I dreaming?  I have to be dreaming, I'm in the desert.

        There was no sound.  He realized that now, no sound coming from anyone before him.  Their feet made no sound, there was no wind, no talking, no clatter of hooves or squeaking of carts.  There was nothing but the sound of his own breathing, an eerie sound that echoed in his ears, a sound that made him feel unease, even fear.  What was going on?

        This has to be a dream, he told himself, looking around, slashing his tail in agitation.  Wake up, Tarrin!

        "There is no waking from this dream," a hollow voice intoned from behind him.  He whirled around, found himself facing one of the chalky denizens of this strange dream.   It was a young woman, a young and pretty woman, who would be beautiful if not for the chalky skin.  Her head was down, and a hood covered her hair.  "There is no escape from this prison."

        "Prison?" Tarrin demanded.  "This is a dream!"

        "What is a dream?" the girl asked in that same hollow, emotionless voice.  "Perhaps your dream is a reflection of another reality."

        "Speak sense, woman!" Tarrin said hotly, feeling his anger rise.  "I'm in no mood for games!"

        "Do you expect me to fear you?" she asked, raising her head.  Tarrin recoiled from her, feeling sudden panic within him.

        She had no eyes.  There was nothing but black sockets staring at him, staring into his soul, piercing him with the eyeless gaze.

        "The dead have no fear," she said in a resonant voice.

        "No fear," came a murmuring echo from everyone around him.  All of them stopped moving, became still as stone.

        "Who are you?" Tarrin demanded, feeling true fear creep into him.  Wake up! he screamed inside.

        "We are what you made of us," she said, her voice turning cold, like a knife.  "We are yours."

        "Mine?  What do you mean?"

        "We are those who died by your hands," she said, her voice taking on a power of its own, as if that admission released it from within her.  "See how many you have?  You make sure we are not lonely."

        Tarrin took a step back from her, looking around.  She was right.  There were thousands of people on the avenue, as far as he could see in both directions.  It couldn't be!  It was impossible!

        "Liar!" Tarrin accused.  "I've never seen you before!"

        Her form seemed to shimmer, to change, to take on color.  When it was done, he found himself standing before a petite woman, young and beautiful, with honey colored hair and wearing a simple blue dress that clung to her form appealingly.  In sudden horror, he recognized her face, recognized her dress.  She had been a servant girl under the Cathedral of Karas.  She had stood before him, paralyzed with terror, and he had struck her down mercilessly.

        He had killed her!

        "No!" Tarrin said in a strangled tone, backing away from the apparition.  "I was out of my mind!  I couldn't control it!"

        "Excuses do not concern the dead," the young woman said in a chilling voice, her color and features returning to their eyeless, fearful state.  "Do not deny your truth.  A murderer you are, and a murderer you shall always be.  Never will we be anyone's but yours."

        "We are yours," the people around him began to murmur.  They all turned towards him, ranks and ranks of the eyeless, their vacant gazes piercing his soul like spears.  He turned away from the woman, and found himself looking directly into the eyeless face of a child, a little boy with white skin and cherubic features.  A child!  He had killed a child!

        "No!" he said, closing his eyes and flinching away.  "It wasn't my fault!"

        "Deny your truth, but you will never deny us," the woman said behind him.  "We are yours, and we always will be.  We who fell for no reason other than it suited you."

        The blatant truth of her words drove into him like a sword.  "No!" he screamed at her.  "I didn't choose to kill you, kill any of you!  I had no choice!  I had no choice!"

        "There is always a choice," the woman said in a mocking tone.  "You have chosen to be what you are.  Do not deny it.  You have chosen to be evil."  The black eyes suddenly flared with a red light, the same light that came from Jegojah's empty sockets, and they were all around him.  "Face your choice, Tarrin Kael," the woman whispered to him, a whisper that thundered in his ears.  "Face what you have become."

        In her eyes, those red eyes, he saw himself.  He saw himself as the monster he had become, a heartless killer who had no regard for those around him.  A pure killer, unfettered by moral restraint.  The monster he had always feared.

        The girl reached out for him, and when she did so, so did all the others.  Thousands of hands reached towards him, seeking him, thousands of red eyes burned him with the knowledge that he had killed them all, killed people he had never seen, had never known.  He had killed children.  They reached towards him, moved towards him, surrounded him with the unholy accusation in their gazes, whispering over and over again for him to face his truth.  Utter panic swept over him.  He sought to flee from them, but there was nowhere to run.  He tried to touch the Weave, but even the sense of it was gone.  There was no Weave to touch.  He was surrounded by their eyes, by their hands, by what he had caused to be.  They reached for him, and then they touched him.  It was the touch of the Wraith, the cold of death, a burning cold that sought to draw the life from his bones.  Their hands were all over him, sucking away his life, draining the color from his skin, turning his fur gray, seeking to have him join them in their eternal prison of death.

        A terror unlike anything he had ever experienced swept over him, drove down into the very core of his being.  The Cat at first welled up, and then mysteriously shied away, retreated from the fear, leaving him alone to face it.  He felt paralyazed, helpless, unable to find his magic, unable to fight off the cold hands of death as they were laid upon him.  Hands pressed in on him, killing him, causing his knees to buckle as they pressed in on him, until he sank into a sea of gray death like a drowning sailor succumbs to the sea.

        "NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

        "NO!" Tarrin gasped, jerking up, a heartbeat away from seeking the power of the Weave to fend off his phantom assailants.  He could sense it again, the strands crossing the area, the power they held within them.  He could smell Sarraya, smell the rock and the sand and the faint trace of dust in the air left over from the sandstorm the day before, and the return of sensations for his senses to sample reassured him more than anythng else that it had been a nightmare.

        A dream!  Tarrin flopped back down on the cool sand, breathing heavily to recover his composure.  It had been a long time since he'd had nightmares, but at least before, he couldn't remember them.  This one was lodged in his memory, every second of it, and it caused his entire body to shiver.  He'd never felt so afraid in his life!  But it was just a dream, just a dream.  It wasn't real.

        It wasn't real.

        It had certainly seemed real.  The pain had been real.  Even now he shivered, felt as if the heat had been sucked out of him, and he struggled to put it out of his mind.  But he just couldn't.  The image of that girl was burned into his memory, the pretty girl with the black eye sockets, and the sense of accusation that had been behind that eyeless gaze.

        So many...so many.  Had he really killed so many?  In his rages, sometimes it was hard to remember exactly what happened.  But there had been so many.  It gave him conflicting feelings.  The human in him was mortified at it, the thought that he had caused such destruction, but the Cat simply did not care.  It was a conflict inside, a conflict that was usually won by his feral nature.  But even he hadn't appreciated the damage he had done until then, until he could see it, see the numbers of people who had died because of him.

        But even as he appreciated it, the Cat within shrugged it off.  They were strangers, unknowns.  They did not matter.

        Closing his eyes, he sought to soothe himself, but found little peace.  He could tell that it would be useless to try to go back to sleep.  And sitting in the cave would be a torture for him.  So he stood up, stretching in the cold night air.  He would run.  He could try to forget if he started doing something, took his mind off of it, and it was about the only thing that he could do right now.

        "Sarraya," he called.  "Wake up.  We're moving on."

        "It's too early," she said in a muffled grunt.  He couldn't see her, but he could smell her, and he could see the displacement her body made in the sand in the back corner of the cave.

        "The more we move now, the less we'll have to move when it gets hot," he told her.  "Just conjure a sling, and I'll carry you.  You can sleep."

        "I guess," she grumbled, appearing before his eyes.  She sat up, then shivered a bit in the cold air, as if waking up alerted her to the temperature.

        In moments, without food or water or preparation, Tarrin was on the move.  Using the Skybands to tell direction, he travelled westward over sandy ground strewn with small pebbles, along and between the rock spires that peppered the region.  Sarraya was already asleep, snuggled into a leather sling he wore behind his neck, under his braid to give her warmth.  The activity gave him the distraction he needed to try to get away from the face of the eyeless girl, a face that haunted him no matter how hard he tried to forget.

        As usually happened for him, the time began to blur.  When he found himself thirsty, he slowed to a stop, and realized that the sun was about to come up.  He paused long enough to take a long drink of water, to feel the cold night air against him and allow his skin to warm after hours of running, and that was when he noticed the smell.

        Dropping onto all fours, Tarrin put his nose to the ground and studied the many scents he found there.  Most of them were unidentifiable, but the distinct coppery smell of the Selani was plain over them all.  Many Selani scents, male and female, and all of them moved in the same direction, to the north.

        Selani had passed through here, and had done it since yesterday.

        There were no tracks, no traces of their passage.  For so many to move and leave no trace, it was quite a testament to the Selani's stealth.  If they were that close, then their scouts, Selani with vision like Allia's, had to have seen him by now.  Allia told him how Selani moved, and that involved the employment of scouts both in front of and behind the group, to seek out dangers ahead and stalkers behind.  Those rear scouts had probably seen him, since he'd made no attempts to hide his passage through the desert.  They had to know he was here, but so far he hadn't seen any of them.  Then again, he hadn't been looking.  He stood up and scanned the terrain with his eyes, allowing his night-sighted eyes to show him what even the Selani could not see at night.

        There.  On that rock spire about two longspans north.  Three Selani, standing on its top.  They were too distant for him to make out anything, even which direction they faced, but he could clearly see their shapes, and the fact that they moved told him that they were not rock formations.

        There was a slight shiver in the ground under his feet.  It was faint, scarce, barely noticable, but his sensitive pads detected the disturbance.  Again.  There it was again.  And again!  They were rhythmic, predictable, occuring every second or two.  But it wasn't natural, and that raised all sorts of warning flags inside him.

        Raising up, he tested the cold air thoroughly with his nose, screening, sifting, classifying the scents carried in the night air.  The never stopped moving in the desert, but it was calm enough so that dust wasn't kicked up into the wind.  He turned into the wind and analyzed all the scents drifting in.  Though he couldn't identify most of them, he could discern animal from mineral, reptile from mammal, bird from insect.  All of them had basic elements to their scents that identified their kingdom.

        The shuddering stopped, and then it started happening very quickly.  As if something were running!

        Instinct taking over, he immediately understood what was happening.  He coiled his legs and jumped straight up, impossibly high, twenty spans into the air--

        --just as a massive reptillian creature charged under him, jaws snapping together in empty space where he had been standing instants before.

        It had come at him from downwind!  It was a massive, monstrous, unbelievably huge lizard, a lizard that walked on two legs!  He landed squarely on its back, a back covered in tan scales, a color that would allow it to blend into the desert.  A back fifteen spans off the ground!  It rose up, and he appreciated that it had a large head, and when it turned to look at him with those black, soulless eyes, he saw the teeth in its mouth.  Teeth as long as a child's forearm!

        What a monster!  It was a kajat, he realized, one of the cabin-sized two-legged predators of the desert.  An elongated body with a tail longer than its body, a massive tail like Binter's, used for stability.  It's frame was horizontal, and though its forelegs weren't long enough to let it walk on all fours, they were long enough to allow it to reach the ground when it leaned down.  The feet of those forelegs resembled hands more than feet or paws, and he could see them flailing, trying to reach behind itself and dislodge its potential meal.

        Allia had described them to him, but the reality was a thousand times more intimidating than the description!

        It began to writhe, and he heard Sarraya scream as he jumped away from it, getting clear so he could face it in a manner of his own choosing rather than getting knocked off.  Tarrin looked at the massive beast, the size of a Giant, and he felt both respect and fear for this monstrous lizard.  This was no animal to be taken lightly!  It had attacked him from downwind, a sure sign of cunning.  He wouldn't let the fact that it was an animal blind him to the fact that this was an experienced hunter.  As a fellow predator, he could appreciate its tactics, and he was amazed that something so big could move with such speed and stealth!

        "Tarrin, it's a kajat!" Sarraya screamed in fear, getting loose of the sling and flying away from him.  "Run!"

        He took a moment to appreciate his opponent.  It was just huge!  He'd never seen a living thing that large before!  It was twenty spans tall when it stood relatively upright, but it had to be seventy spans long, nose to tail, covered in tan scales that would allow it to blend in with the sand and rock.  The tail made up more than half of its length, but it didn't make it any less intimidating.  It was bipedal, with forelegs--arms--slightly longer than normal for a bipedal body, but not long enough to allow it to walk on all fours and keep its spine level.  It was built horizontally, not vertically, horizontally built around its powerful back legs, the long, thick tail there to provide balance for the body when moving.  He still couldn't get over how big it was!  It could swallow him whole!  That oversized mouth was filled with row after row of spearpoint-sized, gleaming white teeth, and he certainly didn't want to find out how sharp they were.

        There would be no running from this beast, he could see that already.  It was big, but it could move very fast, maybe as fast as him.  He wasn't about to try to run away and be forced to deal with it when it was behind him, when it had an advantage.  He couldn't give up anything to this beast and expect to live through his mistake.  Run, no.  Climb, yes.  There was a rock spire about a hundred spans behind him, a good thick one that the monster couldn't knock down.  He had to convince it that there were easier meals to be had, and use that momentary trepidation to get to that rock spire and climb to safety.  That, he could do without hurting it too much.  And if it was persistent, well, he'd never tried kajat before.  It could be tasty.

        It gave out a tremendous bellowing roar, and he could feel the wind of its breath on his face as it roared at him.  The breath was disgustingly foul, making his nose curl.  But before it could make a move, Tarrin suddenly exploded into action, going on instinct, not really feeling fear as the Cat rose up and joined with his conscious mind.  He streaked towards the massive beast, who seemed quite surprised that such a small thing would charge it.  He drew his sword as he rushed it, face expressionless, lost in the moment, feeling no fear, no danger.  He knew what he had to do, and he would go about it with the same gravity that some people felt when they peeled apples.

        It lowered its head to snap up the crazy prey, but jaws again snapped on empty air.  With all the speed of his breed, Tarrin sidestepped those jaws, slid up under the huge monster, then rose up the sword and stabbed it squarely in the tail.

        The bellow that rose up this time was one of pain, and the great beast sidestepped frantically as it tried to whirl around to face this cagey foe.  Tarrin moved with it, nearly getting trampled by its massive feet, jumped over it tail as its slashed aside, then reared back and used his sword to slice off the last half-span of the scaly tan tail.

        It bellowed again, trying to turn to face this foe, but Tarrin again dashed under it, using its own body as a shield from its sight, staying under and away from those jaws.  He again nearly got stomped by a thunderous slam of a foot into the ground, as it realized that its quarry was underneath it.  It stomped again, and again, and yet again, but Tarrin danced around the moving tree-trunk sized legs, using his speed to keep those huge feet from crushing him.  He turned after it stomped and whipped the sword around as he spun away, the very tip finding the beast's foot and slicing scale and skin.  It was a scratch, a superficial cut, but the beast howled again at this unknown sensation of pain and flinched its foot away.

        That was it.  He managed to get the beast turned so its back was to the rock spire.  It was confused, couldn't find him, and he used that momentary distraction to suddenly bolt out from under the monster, jumping again to avoid its whipping tail, and then sprinted all-out towards the rock spire.  He felt under his feet that it had stopped stomping, and the sudden furious bellow told him that it had turned enough to see him running away.  The stomping started again as he felt it in the ground, that it was rushing after him, but he could already see that it was too late.  He was more than halfway to the spire.  He sheathed his weapon on the run, slowing down only slightly to prepare for the critical first jump that would get him out of the beast's reach quickly.

        With a bounding leap, Tarrin vaulted twenty spans up the rock on the initial jump, and claws immediately found purchase in the sandstone of the spire.  He climbed quickly and easily, moving up the spire nearly as fast as a human man could run, literally climbing the spire by leaps and bounds.  In mere seconds he was more than halfway up the sixty-span high rock spire, and by the time the kajat reached the spire, he was on the top, down on all fours on the flat, narrow table-like top of the spire, looking down at the huge lizard with very little concern.

        "Tarrin, are you insane?" Sarraya literally shrieked at him as she reached him at the top of the spire, screaming at  the top of her lungs, sounding like a possessed fife.  "What in the Abyss did you think you were doing!?"

        "Buying enough time to get up here without getting my head bitten off," he replied calmly.  "I'm alright, Sarraya.  It's too slow to get me."

        "I should slap you!" she said vociferously.  "You scared me half to death!"

        "Sorry, but I wasn't in a position to explain it," he told her, looking down at the beast.  It was looking up at him with utter hatred in its eyes, burning with fury that it couldn't reach him.  It put its forelegs on the spire, pushed at it, even looked to try to climb up to him, but Tarrin wasn't that concerned.  He reached down and picked up a flat rock on the top, a rock the wind had yet to dislodge, then stood up and threw it at the monster.  Tarrin's inhuman strength gave the rock enough power to kill a human, and that deadly missle struck the kajat squarely between and just over the eyes.  It wasn't enough to kill a creature with such a thick skull, but it did make it shut up, take a step back while shaking its head.  It didn't kill, but it certainly felt it.  The monster looked up at him again and bellowed, but that bellow turned into a hiss of pain when another, even larger rock hit it right on the snout, nearly hitting it in a tooth.

        When Tarrin ripped out a rock large enough that no human could hold over his head, large enough to put a crack in its skull, then held it up in both paws and threatened to unleash it on the reptillian beast, the kajat wisely turned and stalked off.  It was indeed intelligent.  It understood that Tarrin could kill it if it pressed him, and realized that he was in no mood to be its dinner.

        "That's right," Tarrin called to it as it stalked away from him.  "Go find something else to eat."

        "Ooooh!" Sarraya growled in her throat.  "You didn't have to give me a heart attack, Tarrin!"

        "Explain that to him," Tarrin said to her, pointing at the retreating reptile.  "He started it."

        "Did you have to attack it?  Did you really feel that giving poor little Sarraya a heart attack was a good way for her to start her day?" she demanded hotly.

        "I couldn't just run away from it, Sarraya," he defended himself.  "It's big, but it's fast.  I didn't know if it could catch me, and I didn't want to find out the hard way.  I had to confuse it first.  Besides, I wasn't really in any danger.  Hmm, that piece of tail I chopped off is still down there, and I'm hungry.  I wonder what it tastes like."

        "I hate carnivores!" she screamed in exasperation, then she flew away.

        The experience did three things for him.  Firstly, it taught him that the dangers of the Selani desert were many, and that some were unexpected.  Secondly, the exercise helped him put the eyeless gaze of the dead girl out of his mind, allowed him to concentrate on other things for a while.

        Thirdly, he found out that kajat isn't that bad at all.

        Running with the heat of the rising sun on his back, Tarrin continued towards the west, towards his goal after the short scrap with the kajat.  Sarraya had flown off in a tiff, leaving him alone with his thoughts.  He wasn't that worried about her.  She was a grown Faerie, and few of the desert's denizens could so much as reach her, let alone threaten her.  When she was over it, she would come back.  Until then, he was left alone with his thoughts, and they mostly centered over the nightmare he'd had.  He still couldn't shake that face.  It seemed to be right behind his eyes, and whenever he stopped paying attention to what he was seeing, it appeared before him again.  It reminded him of the Cat, how it felt when he had first been turned, how it always seemed to be there whenever his mind wasn't focused on something else.  As before, he realized that the way to keep the face from him was to keep his mind occupied on other things.

        But that wasn't easy in a vast desert, where he only had himself for conversation at the moment.  So he spent the time running digging up absolutely everything that Allia had told him about the desert in their time together.  Some of it was useful at the moment, but most of it wasn't.  Most of it was just stories, stories of their clan's holdings, stories of the life of the Selani.

        They were semi-nomadic people with some permanent settlements where the water would support it.  They mainly herded animals for a living, subsisting off large, flightless desert birds and animals that sounded to him like goats.  They grew plants where it was possible.  Wandering tribes of a clan often stopped in at these permanent settlements to restock supplies, get more water, trade information, and renew kinships.  The denizens of these permanent settlements often didn't stay there more than five years, as they joined a wandering tribe and someone from the tribe took their place.  The Selani didn't like living in one place like that, so it was seen more as a chore than a privilege.  Clans were rivals, so it was rare that a tribe of one clan paid a visit to a tribe of another.  Clan chiefs did communicate with one another, and once every five years all the clan chiefs and many clan members met at some place called Cloud Spire for what Allia called kiswisa, or the Gathering.  From what he remembered, there was a Gathering to take place this year.  Last year she said it would be next year, so that made it this year.  She never said exactly when this Gathering took place, however.  He hoped it wasn't now.  If it was, then large numbers of Selani would be on the move all at the same time, and it would make crossing the desert more dangerous for him.

        That, more or less, was the life of the Selani.  They spent their free time training in the Dance and perfecting the skills that allowed them to survive in such a harsh environment.  A place like the desert demanded constant training, constant vigilance.  He already learned that lesson.  If he lived in a place where reptiles that weighed enough to shake the ground with a step could move with such stealth and speed that it could even sneak up on him, he'd be on guard all the time too.

        And kajats were only one of the types of giant desert reptiles.  Allia had talked about inus, smaller versions of kajats that were faster, smarter, travelled in packs, and were about ten times more vicious.  There were also anuka, monstrous four-legged animals with huge sail-like fins on their backs, who were also carnivores.  Those were the most dangerous ones.  There were smaller animals in the desert that were less dangerous, but most of them were poisonous.

        He wondered for a moment just how these animals survived.  A beast the size of a kajat must need huge amounts of water to survive, and that wasn't available here.  There wasn't very much in the way of hunting either, unless they preyed upon one another, and that violated his Cat-based concept of nature.  An ecosystem consisting of nothing but carnivores wouldn't last long, because there was no infusion of fresh energy, no beginning of the food chain.  But it was apparent that they did somehow find a way to survive out here.  He'd just have to figure out how they did it.

        Thirst returned him to reality, and he pulled up.  The sun was beating down on him, and without the cloak, he could feel it on his back.  His blond hair helped keep it off his head, but his ears were noticably hot.  But it wasn't as bad as it had been yesterday.  Even now, his body was quickly adapting to this new climate of extremes.  He pulled up his waterskin, but found it empty.

        Empty.  He needed water, but Sarraya wasn't here.  He could fill it himself with Druidic Conjuring, but Sarraya made him promise not to use his abilities without her unless it was an emergency.  She was still off somewhere in a tiff.

        Dropping down into a squat, nearly sitting on all fours like a cat, Tarrin debated with himself just what to do.  He was thirsty.  Very thirsty.  It wasn't a dire need, but his thirst was immediate and wasn't about to go away.  Without Sarraya, it meant that he would be using his very dangerous powers unaided, something she had drilled into him not to do.  But he was thirsty.

        Foolishness.  Tarrin stood up again, taking an aggressive posture as he decided that he didn't need Sarraya's approval.  She'd taught him how to Conjure, and it was something that he knew he could do.  He fully intended to be careful about it.

        Sitting down cross-legged, Tarrin held the waterskin before him.  The trick of it was to Conjure the water into the skin.  He considered what had to be done carefully.  The image would have to be water, but water inside the skin.  Envision a full skin, with the intent that clean water be inside it.  Yes, that would be the methodology for conjuring a liquid.  The liquid inside its container, where the intent was more important than the image.  Sarraya had told him that some Druidic magic used intent over image, and some used image over intent.  The key to a successful Conjuration would be to match up the right image with the right intent.

        He realized a snag.  When Sarraya did it, the skin didn't just go poof and was full.  It visibly filled.  If he tried to Conjure the skin full when the skin wasn't expanded to accept the volume of it, something unpredictable might happen.  He remembered Sarraya's warning's clearly:  Exotic is bad.

        So.  That meant that he had to somehow sustain the Druidic spell, make it progress to where he wanted it, then cut it off.  So, perhaps the image would be of water, and the intent was to have it appear within the skin at a set rate of appearance.  Like water pouring from a jug.  Yes, that would work.  Envision water, and the intent would be for it to pour from wherever it came from like water pouring from a jug.

        Fretting a bit, Tarrin put his chin in his palm and mulled it over.  He was starting to understand why  Sarraya was so serious about this.  Since he wasn't sure of the exact way to imagine what he wanted, of what kind of intent he needed, he wasn't sure if it was going to work or not.  And in Druidic magic, if you didn't know, you didn't try.

        But he needed water.  And it was starting to get serious.  He was really thirsty.

        Steeling himself, he decided to do it.  He wasn't going to suffer because Sarraya was mad at him.  He closed his eyes and used his training to sweep all irrelevant thoughts out of his mind.  He held up the waterskin and formed the image of water.  Pure, clean water, fresh and safe.  That image fully formed, he decided on his intent.  For water to appear inside his waterskin at the same rate that his mother's old battered pewter pitcher poured out water when it was used.  It would stop when the skin was full, just like filling a glass.  He blew out his breath, and then reached into himself, into and through the Cat, reached within and found that place where the gentle warmth of the All resided inside him.  He reached into it, touched it, felt it suddenly infuse him.  He felt it wash over his mind, see his image, sense his intent, and then he felt its power flow through him.

        From out of nowhere, the face of the girl struck him, like a hammer.  Her visage suddenly laid over the image of water, her eyeless gaze boring into him, the totality of his guilt and shame burned into his mind.  He recoiled from that image, from himself, and that seemed to suddenly twist and distort the energy flowing through him.

        The waterskin in his hand suddenly exploded!

        Water, a geysering torrent of it, suddenly exploded from the skin, and its direction was directly back into his face!  He inhaled a good lungful of it as he gasped when the power changed inside him, and then the force of it sent him flying backwards, tumbling along the ground.  He could feel the power still flowing through him, but it had taken up a life of its own, and it no longer depended on him to manifest in the real world.

        It was out of control!

        Control!  Get control! he thought to himself as he was pushed out of the stream of water erupting from thin air, saturating the ground.  He rose up onto knees and elbows and coughed out the water from his lungs, and quickly formed the intent that the water geysering from nowhere stop.  His reaching within was frenetic, hurried, but the All again responded to him, finding no image but sensing an intent, and then the power flowing through him increased considerably.  It rose up against the other power already moving through him, blocking it, restricting it, quickly and efficiently strangling it until it flowed no more.

        The intense geyser of water stopped as if an unseen hand had simply turned a valve.  The power flowing through him, all of if, simply stopped.  Unlike Sorcery, there was no pain, no sense of lessening from the experience.  It simply stopped.

        Coughing again, Tarrin rose up onto his knees.  He was soaked all the way to the skin, and was kneeling in a column of sandy mud caused by the geyser.  Most of the water created by it had already seeped into the dry ground, leaving a dark, muddy splotch behind, and a shallow gouge had been dug out by the water as it hit the ground forcefully, piled up into a little wet sandbar at the far end of the muddy streak.  A pool of muddy water quickly disappeared where it pooled up before the sandy barrier.  He shook his head, snapping his wet braid to and fro to get the water off his face, stop it from dripping into his eyes, making his ears twitch reflexively.

        Then he laughed.

        That wasn't quite what he had in mind, but he had to admit, he wasn't thirsty anymore.  The water had cooled him off, and the dry air and hot sun were already starting to dry him out.

        The little adventure showed him that Druidic magic could be a continuous process rather than the simple manifestation of power.  It had kept going within him, and he had the feeling that it would have kept going until he actively stopped it.  After all, the power wasn't coming from him, it was simply moving through him.  And when he opened the door, it would stay open until he closed it again.

        "Ande no adu bai!" came an amused voice.

        Tarrin turned to look, and found himself staring at two Selani.  Both were male, tall, thin, sleek, wearing the sand-colored baggy clothing for which they were well known.  It took him a second to translate that.  Ande no adu bai...You funny are.  He thinks it was some kind of joke!

        "Ande no doro na quiste dai, ne?" the second seemed to say to the first.  You think dangerous is?  Since Selani didn't employ pronouns when referring to an object, the context of the sentence made it clear he was referring to Tarrin.  "Sume no natta abuda-ko bakaida, suja."  Water from somewhere want-to-come, as-you-know...That water had to come from somewhere, you know.

        Shaking his head slightly to ready himself for whatever was about to happen, he sized up these two.  Thin, sleek, tall, standard Selani.  They moved like Allia, so they were quick, and they were old enough to be dangerous.  Both of them carried longswords in scabbards on their backs, but the shorter of the two, the one that spoke first, also carried a wooden spear tipped with a steel point.  But they had no idea what he was, or how to deal with him.  Against two, Tarrin had the advantage.

        And they had no idea he could understand what they were saying.

        "Well, he may be a magician," the first said, and now that Tarrin was paying attention, he didn't mull over translating.  "He's certainly no human.  Want to roll for the honor?"

        "I'll give you this honor, Var," the second said with a wicked little smile.  "You're the one looking to impress Suji.  Maybe a story of your skill and bravery against an unnatural invader will enhance you in her eyes."

        "Chuko," Var said, the Selani word for "come", waving Tarrin to stand up as he lowered his spear.  "Chuko."

        He wanted to fight.  A test of skill, a challenge to the invader.  It was the Selani way.  If an invader could best a Selani, he earned a day's reprieve from all other challenges, as a tribute to the honor and skill of the invader.  Of course, in actuality, it was win and die a day later, because the next day the entire tribe would come after the target.  So in this case, it was die, or win another day of life.

        Best get it started with some intimidation, he realized.  Against one, he had all the advantages.  He let the Selani approach him, spear levelled, get closer and closer.  Once he was just at the range of his own spear, he stopped, and Tarrin looked up at him calmly.  He wasn't afraid of a single Selani.

        Now that he was close, Tarrin got to his feet.  Slowly.  Rising up to the Selani's eye level, then over it.  And over it, and over it, and over it, until he absolutely towered over his smaller opponent.  He looked down at the Selani with an emotionless expression, standing fully erect and in a powerful posture that emanated strength and confidence.  Just like he'd seen Triana do it so many times, a stance that intimidated everyone around her.

        He could see it in this Var's expression.  He literally wilted under Tarrin's penetrating stare, taking a step back and clutching his spear in white-knuckled intensity.

        The other Selani laughed.  "Aren't you glad I didn't roll with you?" he called.  "You may have lost!"

        "There is no honor in showing your back," Var said under his breath, then he brought the spear up to a ready position.  But Tarrin seemed to confuse him, because he did not move.  He didn't move, barely breathed, kept his eyes locked on this Var in a way that unsettled the smaller opponent.  This Var didn't quite seem to know how to take that.  The usual reaction to being threatened with a spear was either retreat or preparation.  Var could see the sword on Tarrin's back, but he didn't go for it.

        "Just stick him, Var!  He knows he's in a fight, so there's no dishonor in it!" his companion called.

        Var moved to do just that, stabbing at Tarrin's middle with the spear.  But Tarrin's paw blurred as it moved to intercept the weapon, and he grabbed the wooden shaft in a crushing grip, and the muscles in his arm and shoulder locked.  Tarrin's inhuman power caused the spear to instantly stop, and it nearly dislodged Var from his grip as he staggered along the shaft of the suddenly immovable weapon.  With a quick snap of  the wrist, Tarrin ripped the weapon out of the Selani's hands, and he jumped back in shock and surprise and drew his sword as Tarrin pulled the weapon away from him.

        He pulled it in and took it with both hands, looking it over.  It was a very nice spear.  Good weight, nice balance, and its steel tip was well shaped and very sharp.  It was a bit oversized for the Selani, but it was also a bit too short for him.  He looked from the spear to this Var with his eyes only, and raised an eyebrow as he saw the Selani bring his sword up into a ready position.  It was a position Tarrin recognized, one Allia used when she wielded a longsword.

        Tossing the spear aside, Tarrin adjusted the heavy steel manacles on his wrists, doing little more than making this Var take notice of them.  Then he widened his stance and lowered into the wide-armed slouch he used when fighting.  He held out his paws and extended his claws slowly and deliberately, letting the Selani see what was waiting for him, and then he suddenly roared out in challenge, his eyes exploding from within with the greenish radiance that marked an angry Were-cat.

        Or in this case, was merely an exotic display of threat meant to intimidate the opponent.

        It worked.  Var took a quick step back, surprise showing on his face, and it was clear from his expression that he was now very uncertain as to what he'd just gotten himself into.  But, to his credit, his resolve was firm, and he shook of his surprise quickly.  He even smiled!

        "It looks like he'll be a challenge, Var!  I envy you!" the other Selani called.

        "A great challenge," Var said respectfully.

        Of course.  The Selani feared nothing.  They would battle with anything, anyone, and the more dangerous it was, the better.  It was a matter of honor to battle stronger foes, and even a loss to a greater foe was still a increase in honor.  The Selani gained honor in the fact that he did not back down, that he was willing to battle a stronger foe.

        Extending a paw, Tarrin crooked it at Var, urging him to come on.

        As was usual for seasoned warriors, the first blows were tentative, light, a feeling out to gain an understanding of the strengths and weaknesses of the opponent.  Those first quick slashes of the sword showed him that Var was an apt pupil of the Dance, and that he was very quick, strong for his size, and had excellent control of his weapon.  Tarrin recognized the forms he was using, basic forms of the Dance meant to test an opponent's defenses.  Tarrin responded with sheer agility, using the bracers on his wrists as shields, turning the blade of the sword aside time and time again.  He was careful not to let elements of the Dance creep into his style.  He didn't want to give away the fact that he knew about the Selani, that he knew what to expect from his foe.

        When Var came, it was all out.  A sudden explosion of furious slashes assaulted Tarrin from every side at once.  Var was a bit more aggressive than what Tarrin would have expected, but not everyone fought the same way.  Tarrin deflected each and every blow expertly, causing a staccato chiming of steel on steel to emanate from between them as manacle blocked sword again and again.  Tarrin began to give ground as Var advanced, keeping up his furious assault, trying to overwhelm Tarrin quickly with blazing speed and careful control.  Tarrin moved to block another sword slash, but Var pulled it back and turned it into a quick stab, forcing Tarrin to twist aside or get steel in his belly.  The Selani's attack came so fast that Tarrin nearly missed it.  He had been intentionally going slower than he could actually go, to bait him into expecting a certain speed!

        This Selani was good.

        A feint inside a feint.  Clever!

        He realized that he shouldn't be playing with this Selani.  Selani were dangerous adversaries, and Var had just proved to him that it would be stupid to spar with him when the Selani was trying to kill him.

        That decided, Tarrin did what had served him so well against every other opponent he had faced.  It was time to use his Were-cat gifts.

        He fell into blocking again, waiting for an opportunity to put this Var down quickly, but not kill him.  Tarrin already knew that killing Selani would upset Fara'Nae, and he wouldn't offend a goddess when he stood upon her land.  He already knew what he wanted to do, he was just waiting for his chance to deploy it.

        What he got was another abrupt change in direction from Var's sword, suddenly jerking high and coming in over his bracer.  Tarrin felt the slip, turned away from the weapon so it couldn't bite deeply, but it still managed to hit him just above the elbow, slicing his shirt and sending a thin line of blood away from the sword's edge as it went whistling by.

        "First blood!" the other one called.  "He's good, but you can take him, Var!"

        Tarrin stepped back, and that confused this Var.  He dropped his guard and looked at his shirt.  There was some blood there, but not much, since the sword the Selani was using couldn't do him any permanent harm.  But it had cut the shirt, and that irritated him.  His face suddenly slightly perturbed, Tarrin backed up again when Var stepped forward, and started rolling up his sleeves.

        "I think he's serious now," the other one called with a chuckle.  "You'd better be careful!"

        "This one is full of surprises, Morin," Var told his companion.  "He moves like the wind, but there's a strength behind that fur that's not natural.  His arms don't buckle or move when they deflect my sword.  He's much stronger than he looks."

        Oh, he was very good.  Not many would have picked up on that.  Now Var knew that Tarrin was much stronger than he looked, and that meant that trying a quick power move may not be his best option at the moment.  But Var didn't quite know just how strong Tarrin was.  A quick power move was out, but a feint into a power move would be more useful in this situation.

        "Then maybe you shouldn't give him the chance to roll up his sleeves!" Morin laughed.

        "To attack an undefending foe is dishonorable!" Var said in shock to his friend.  "I'd never do such a thing!"

        "I was just kidding, Var," Morin said seriously.  "I know you'd never do such a thing.  You are an honorable man."

        "Then there is nothing for me to challenge in your words," Var grinned at Morin.

        Woah.  Var had just told Morin that he just avoided a fight to the death with Var.  Honor was a very serious matter among the Selani.

        Done rolling up his sleeves, leaving everything bare to the elbows, Tarrin widened his feet and settled into his slouching stance, then laid his ears back and fixed Var with an unholy stare.

        "He's serious all right!" Morin laughed loudly.

        It was the same, yet it was different.  Var came after him again with that same fast fury, moving with a swiftness that was impossible for a human, and Tarrin could pause long enough to appreciate his ability.  Var was an outstanding pupil of the Dance.  His forms were flawless, perfect, and he had the strength and dexterity to make them look like pure art.  Var was a poet of motion, a whirlwind of steely death that held a terrible beauty.  Tarrin ignored several opportunities to take Var down to test him, push him, to see how skilled he really was.  He was impressed by the Selani, very impressed, though the Selani's expression was one of intense concentration.  Seconds dragged into moments as the chiming ring of manacle and sword filled the air, as Tarrin allowed Var to dance and weave and flow before him and play out his full knowledge of the Dance.  Var's sword didn't so much as get inside his manacles again, despite several very clever tricks and feints to lure Tarrin out of position.  Now that he knew Var was a trickster, he was giving the fight all of his attention, and Tarrin was much better trained than Var.  Var seemed to sense that Tarrin was holding back, wasn't fighting with the same intensity, and it worried him.  He was trying to take Tarrin down quickly, before he did start fighting back.  Tarrin could feel it in the blows against his bracers, could see it in the narrow-footed stances Var used when moving through his forms.

        He wouldn't disappoint.

        In a heartbeat, things changed completely.  Tarrin stopped parrying, stopped evading, and was all over the smaller Selani.  The wicked sword was deflected by his manacles or simply slapped aside contemptuously by an open paw as Tarrin turned on Var, claws slashing the air as he sought to strip the Selani bare. The Selani retreated furiously to avoid those flashing claws, claws that shredded plant-fiber clothing with every swipe, drew blood without doing true harm.  The more he tried to stop those claws, the more they found him, slapping the sword away, slicing cloth and skin with every stroke, coming at him from every direction in rapid succession in a flurry that confused the smaller Selani.  Trying to slash the arms holding those clawed paws seemed to elude the Selani as he simply tried to get away from him.  Hooded head covering flying to the side, Var dove away from the Were-cat when an overhanded swipe threatened, to the Selani at least, to rip out his ribs.  He managed to get away, but not before losing his shirt to Tarrin's snagging claws.

        When he stood up, he was a sight.  Brown skin striped here and there by Tarrin's claws, some of them bleeding enough for it to ooze down his chest and back slowly.  He still had his sword, but a disbelieving look was stamped onto his face.

        "Ande no adu bai," Tarrin said in perfect mimicry of Var's own voice, then he crooked a clawed finger at him.  "Now, little man, let's dance," he said in Arakite.  He bent down more, spreading his stance and then drew his great sword in a slow, deliberate motion.  The sound of steel sliding over leather and iron was a grating, rasping sound, and he could see from there that it made the hair on Var's arms stand up.

        "He's playing with you, Var!" Morin called urgently.  "Be careful!  I don't want to tell Suji you lost a challenge of honor!"

        In seconds, it was all over.  The Selani came in bravely, refusing to back down, and that was his biggest mistake.  The first stroke of his sword sheared the majority of the Selani's blade off, blasting his arm to the side and knocking him out of position.  The second stroke, with the flat, caught the Selani just under the sword arm, hitting chest, and sent him flying to the side.  The Selani soared through the air and landed in a heap about ten spans from where he started, right in the mud, wheezing for breath and trying to rise up onto his hands and knees.

        "Mother's blood!" Morin called in shock.

        Rising up, Tarrin sheathed his sword with a practiced familiarity that made it look natural.  He crossed his arms patiently, tail slashing side to side as the Selani Var tried to find his breath.  Morin gawked at him for a moment, then rushed over to Var and knelt beside him.  "Var!  Are you injured?"

        "N-No," he wheezed.  "The man-cat was counting coup!  I think if he wished me dead, I would be dead!"

        "Truly, there is no dishonor in losing to such a warrior," Morin consoled him.  "You fought well."

        Snorting, Tarrin turned and started walking away from the pair.  He'd sampled a taste of what he could expect from the Selani.  Var had been a very worthy foe, but his unfamiliarity with Tarrin's nature had been his downfall.  He had lost himself when Tarrin turned on him with his claws, when he could have used his sword to make the Were-cat back off.  He had forgotten Tarrin's strength, and when he came at him, Tarrin used it against him.

        Even a Selani could be intimidated.

        "Hold, stranger!" the one Morin called in Arakite.  "To venture into our lands is death!  Your victory has earned you a day of protection, but no more!  I say to you now, as a warrior of honor, return to Saranam!  It would be a great loss to have to kill you!"

        Tarrin stopped, turning just enough to look back over his shoulder at the two of them.  "I spared him out of respect for the Selani," he bluffed.  "I won't be so gentle next time.  Remember that before you decide to chase me down."

        He looked down, and saw the Selani's spear laying by his foot.  Impulsively, he snaked his tail around the shaft, and pulled it up into his paw.  He hefted it once, then turned enough to lob it harmlessly in their direction.  Both of them stared at it for a long moment, then looked to him again.

        "Answer me one thing, stranger," Morin called.  "Where did you learn the Dance?  I saw its roots in your movements."

        "From the best," he answered honestly.  He wouldn't dishonor Allia, no matter what.  He looked right into their eyes.  "From the best."

        Tarrin turned and started walking away, but Morin called again.  "Show me the brands!"

        That stopped him in his tracks.  He turned and regarded Morin and Var calmly.  "What makes you think I have brands?"

        "You know the Dance.  No Selani would teach you the Dance unless you were deshida.  Which clan calls you brother?"

        "No clan," he replied bluntly.  He wouldn't dishonor Allia, but he wasn't about to get her in trouble either.  Allia's clan didn't know about Tarrin.  "My brands were for the sake of one, not for the sake of a clan.  Hers is the only honor I carry.  As far as you or any other Selani are concerned, I am kaiji, an invader."

        That seemed to intrigue both of them, wildly, but they said no more.  He left them where they were, moving off towards the west, muddy and a little bloody and a bit tired.  He had dealt with a kajat and he had made his first contact with the Selani, a meeting that had turned out more or less as he expected.

        But at least he wasn't thirsty anymore.

        The face wouldn't go away.

        He stood on one of the rock spires that dotted the desert that sunset, climbing up to look at the beautiful spectacle from a higher vantage point.  He had run the rest of the day, without water, to distance himself from the Selani behind him.  He was thirsty, very thirsty, but there would be time enough to drink later on.

        The day had been eventful.  He had seen a desert reptile up close, and had his first meeting with the Selani.  Both had bolstered him a bit.  Both had been exhilerating encounters, but had proved to be not too dangerous.  With some luck and patience, he had a good feeling that he'd get across the desert in one piece.

        At least physically.  The face of the girl was still there, behind his eyes, and he was tired.  He would have to sleep soon, and he was certain that she would be in his dreams, waiting for him.  That terrified him more than any kajat or Selani horde ever could.  From the girl with no eyes, there could be no escape, no quarter, no mercy.  The dead had no compassion.

        Sleep was something he did not want to face, but he had to sleep.  The desert really took it out of him, and he had to rest, to do more than just sit.  He had to sleep.  And he knew that she was going to be there.  The very thought of facing the dream again was almost enough to send him flying into a panic, but that wouldn't do him any good.  He would take the time before having to sleep and try not to think about it, enjoy his calm before the storm to come.  When it was time to sleep, then he would face the dream, face his punishment for his evil, stand before their accusing gazes and know that he had become what he had always feared.  It was unavoidable, inescapable, and the only solace in it was that he would eventually wake up, and it would be over.

        Again, it seemed that he had little choice in things.  But then again, the choice that would have avoided it had been made long ago.  And he had made the wrong choice.  Now it was time to pay for that mistake.

        The flutter of wings heralded the return of Sarraya.  He couldn't see her, but he could smell her as the wind picked up.  She was coming up from behind.  He heard her wings right beside him, and then a blur in the corner of his eye told him that she was visible again.

        "You're a mess," she said conversationally.  "What happened to you?"

        "I was dancing," he told her quietly, staring at the lovely sunset.  The sun was almost all the way down, and it painted the sky with breathtaking reds, yellows, and even some oranges and greens.  The Skybands were just beginning to flare into their colored brilliance, bisecting the sunset in a most breathtaking manner.  The desert was a land of extremes, both extreme dangers and extreme beauty.

        It was a land that mirrored his own soul.  A barren landscape of desolation, but with certain beauty, if one cared to take the time to look for it.

        "I'd hate to see your partner," Sarraya chuckled.  "I'm, I'm sorry I left you alone all day, but you made me really mad.  I left you out here all alone, with just one waterskin.  You must be parched."

        "I've had enough water today to last me a month, Sarraya," Tarrin said quietly, somberly.  "I'll tell you about it over dinner.  Come on, I found a nice little cave where we can spend the night."

        Tarrin began climbing down the rock spire, the stark beauty of the desert sunset forgotten in the moment.  But it was still there, waiting for someone to look up and take it in, to look beyond the harshness immediately before them and appreciate the beauty in the distance ahead.