From howell_g@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz Sun Jun 11 08:28:09 PDT 1995 Article: 32142 of alt.fan.furry Xref: netcom.com alt.fan.furry:32142 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!noc.netcom.net!news.sprintlink.net!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!ames!waikato!comp.vuw.ac.nz!newshost.wcc.govt.nz!usenet From: howell_g@kosmos.wcc.govt.nz Newsgroups: alt.fan.furry Subject: story:The Human Memoirs part 8 Date: Sun, 11 Jun 95 22:20:57 +1200 Organization: Wellington City Council Lines: 1184 Message-ID: <3reg36$cgb@golem.wcc.govt.nz> NNTP-Posting-Host: ix.wcc.govt.nz Well, this is it. . . the HALFWAY mark. Human Memoirs Part 2 Section D I slept badly that night: long, indeterminable periods of uneasy wakefulness interspaced with dreams. I dreamt badly that night. Dashboard lights. Outside, signposts flashed through the headlights, too fast to read. Tenny was at the wheel, cigar clamped in a corner of his mouth. In the hellish green glow of the dash lights I could see he was grinning, laughing about something. I couldn't hear over the growl and crackle of the engine. I looked at the sky out my window: glowing red, The air was thick and cloying: like smog, like the choking reek of thamil. Trees were dark shapes like jagged teeth, fangs and claws with a sullen slit of a moon hanging over them. The sky blinked. Now there were flames, a searing heat, only this time it was me inside the inferno. Through the flames licking over the windshield I saw a shape blurred by the heat:a human figure standing with head bowed and shoulders slumped, a helmet dangling forgotten from a hand. The heat and noise became unbearable. . . I thrashed and cried out and opened my eyes to flames not a foot from my face. "Jesus!" I swallowed a lungfull of smoke. Choking and coughing I backpedalled to the end of my chain, retreating into the corner between stone fireplace and the wall. The centre of the room was ablaze, a pool of blue- orange fire spreading from the shattered remains of an oil lamp, crawling across the floor between me and the rest of the room. Already it was climbing wooden posts, crackling into the rafters. Ah shit! The roof was thatch! The chain still refused to give. I grabbed at the tether and hauled back frantically."Goddamn! You bastards! HELP! Goddamn! HELP ME!" Beyond the flames and smoke the Sathe were frantically fighting a losing battle against the fire; already being pushed back. Several of them manhandled a bulky object over to the fire and tipped it. Water poured across the floor, washing burning oil aside, but not extinguishing it. The oil just floated on the water, but it created a causeway through fire. A single trooper in leather armour, arm across face, pushed through. That female again. Already her fur was curling and smoking with the heat. She pulled at the shackles then yelled back through the fire, "KEYS! WHERE ARE THE KEYS!" There was blurred activity. "I do not know!" came the reply from the other side of the flames. "FIND THEM!" "They are not here!" Then the thatch caught. There was a soundless explosion of light, a pressure as air was torn from the room. The female looked up in panic, then turned and fled. The flames roared up behind her. "Nooo! GODDAMN YOU!" I screamed uselessly into the fire, grabbing onto the chain and yanking until my skin burned and tore and bled, screaming and the staple pulled out of the floor sending me recoiling into the wall. Now the chains tangled my legs. Flames spun about me, burning, as I coughed and hacked and tried to scramble for a footing. Smoke rushed into my lungs and I doubled up; coughing. The cold stones of the fireplace were hard up against my back, the flames drawing closer. A rafter collapsed in a shower of sparks and a hand grabbed my shoulder, sharp points digging in. A white- shrouded figure was leaning over me and for a split second I wondered if perhaps I should have adopted a religion. It shouted somethin inaudible over the roar of flames and fumbled with the locks on my ankles. I felt the fetters on my feet fall away. Part of the ceiling fell in, steam hissing and sputtering as snow plunged into the flames and was evaporated. "Hurry!" it screamed into my ear. I was on my knees, gagging on pain, smoke-blinded, trying to stay low as I stumbled after my guide through the smoke until the Sathe vanished. Where. . . ? I all but fell into the hole. A hand grabbed my arm and tugged. "Come on!" A tunnel, dark as pitch and tiny, meant for Sathe stature. I struggled through on belly and elbows, cobwebs dragging at my hair. Every time my chest or leg scraped the ground I wanted to scream, feeling myself go lightheaded, but I couldn't pass out, not there. It was impossible to see, but I could feel, feel the moist earth, wooden supports, bugs that crunched under my hands. Fear when my shoulders wedged and dirt pattered on my neck. God! Not a cave-in. Yet, amazingly, it held as I frantically pushed my way through. There was smoke in the tunnel now and breathing was becoming harder by the second. Head down, I crawled. . . Right into the feet of the Sathe ahead of me. He did something and a cold, dim light filtered past him, along with freezing, fresh air. "Come on!" he hissed. I followed him, spilling out of the hole like a worm from its tunnel, rolling into the shock of snow in a low culvert. Red glare shone from the farm fifty metres or so behind us. I snatched a peek: just a pyre of flame with the skeleton of the house in the heart. Silhouettes of Sathe dashing around in confusion. What did all the light do to their night vision? Could they see me? A hand grabbed my arm, pulling me along. Then we were running, stumbling across a night-cloaked white landscape, roaring of fire hiding the noise of chains, perfect white crystals, glittering with red and orange light, crunching under my feet. So soon after that scorching heat it was bitterly cold. My damaged leg buckled, sending me sprawling, ice crystals scratching at my skin. I spat snow and scrambled after my rescuer. "Down!" Again I dove headlong, rolling, landing in a drift in a ditch, almost screaming as my nipple ripped along the snow. I shook ice from my face, feeling the aching chill lancing into my skin again. For a time we lay there before a swat on my back got me up and running again. Across a wide space; blue-dark under the inconstant moonlight. My heart hammered; surely they would see us. . a shout. . . a crossbow bolt. . . pursuit. They would catch me! I couldn't outrun Sathe! There was no outcry. Snow-covered fields merged with woodland. Night and shadow mixed under trees. Branches I couldn't see tore at me as I stumbled over invisible roots. Thank god my feet were so numb, I didn't feel the pain as I stubbed my toe yet again. My wounded leg collapsed twice more and the second time only the other's aid got me back on my feet. He was short, so small. . . The cub! By God! the cub. The mask against the smoke had fallen from his muzzle and his eyes were wide as he glanced back past me, then at me. "Th. . . thank you," I managed to get past my rattling teeth. He waved that aside, hissing, "Come on! Run!" "I cannot see! It is too dark." A small hand caught mine and pulled. "Follow!" We ran. I followed him through the trees, not seeing anything else, just holding his hand and trusting him absolutely. Branches lashed me and I held my other arm over my face, protecting my eyes. Now the cub stopped me, made me kneel, guided my head into absolute darkness. With my hands I felt another earthen tunnel - this one not more than a metre long - then a tiny round chamber, soft leaves and scraps of cloth lining the floor, the heavy smell of loam and. . . and something else. Here I collapsed, gasping air, the acrid aftertaste of smoke lining my mouth and throat. "Wait here," I was told. "W. . . what? Where are you. . . " There was a scrabbling sound. "Hello?" I ventured. Silence. After a time I reached out, trying to determine the limits of my burrow. My shivering hands touched cold earth, then cloth. A few blankets of coarse-woven cloth; something like canvass. I grabbed handfuls and wrapped myself, trying to get away from the freezing earth and air, huddling in the dark, slowly thawing. The cub was a while returning. I heard the panting in the entrance to the den and remembered wolves before a quiet voice reassured me. There was a metallic tinkling, then hands pushed aside the blankets to work at my irons. It was only seconds before tumblers clicked and the shackles came off. "Y. . . y. . . you have the k. . . k. . . " my teeth were chattering so hard I couldn't work my mouth around the Sathe words. "Quiet down," he growled. "Your hands." The manacles were quickly removed. "T. . . thank you. " Fur and leathery pads on small fingers touched my skin. "You are still cold? There are more coverings. Here. . . " It was almost a bed he helped me find in the darkness: soft furs under me and blankets - albeit thin and feeling worn to my fingertips - on top. He settled me there, then said, "I have to go now." "Hey! Please wait. . . " "They will miss me. There is some food over there. I will come back, " he told me, then there were scuffling sounds and his presence was gone. "Wait!" I called after him. "Don't. . . " I trailed off into the silence. There was no reply. ****** I crouched at the border of field and forest, hidden behind the snow-dusted skeleton of a bush and a drift banked against a fallen trunk. Now the storm had passed, the sky was a pure cobalt blue with a white sun and the world was a clean as a blank sheet of paper. Over there, a stark contrast to the crystalline snow and achingly clear sunlight, the farm was a cluster of low outbuildings around a blackened mound of timbers. A stiff breeze whisked tails of powder across the fields, piled it millimetre by millimetre against the buildings, making it even colder. And over there a hare worried at the a few remaining leaves on the lower branches of a bush. There was no other sign of life. That morning I'd woken alone to light at the entrance to the burrow. It was a strange little chamber and I spent a time trying to puzzle out what animal had dug it: a badger set? Too big. Wolf? Perhaps, but I didn't think so. There was food, as the cub had told me the previous night, but precious little. I ate, rationing myself. The dried meat was tough, like old leather, but it filled a hole. For some time I waited there, hiding. Would my abductors think I'd died in the blaze, or would they be looking for me? Should I stay put or make tracks out of there? Where the hell was I? I spent hours waiting, hoping the cub would return, but there was no sign of him. Finally I crawled out of my sanctuary. Strange how people who have never before encountered snow have the impression that is soft, dry, and fluffy. It is none of these things. It is inimical to humans. New- fallen powder may be soft, but after a time it can compress, melt, form a layer of ice on its surface that is quite capable of breaking the skin. My impromptu marathon the last night had left me with lacerations that only that morning were beginning to make themselves noticed. Could've been worse. I'd torn the blankets into strips, divided them between makeshift moccasins and mittens. They'd provide some protection against that, but they weren't waterproof. Frostbite: I'd have to take my chances Outside, I squinted in the sunlight, the first I'd seen in God-knows-how-long. I was somewhere in the forest, snow knee-deep all around me. The kid had done a good job of covering our tracks, but I was able to trace tell- tale signs - a half-covered footprint, trampled bracken - back the way we'd come. The tunnel opening was gone; closed and buried under snow. Just as well. There were the prints of adult Sathe along the culvert: most likely Gulf Sathe. Just making sure. I limped over to the homestead and spent a while poking through the wreckage. The farmhouse was a gutted ruin. The chimney had collapsed into a pile of rubble. Some of the stones had been moved in an aborted attempt by someone to search the debris, a few beams shifted, but otherwise the ruins were undisturbed. I pulled the cloak tighter about my shoulders and nudged a blackened beam; it shifted with a grating and a slight cloud of soot. Not very thorough on their part. If they HAD searched the remains they'd have discovered the lack of a body, or even of the chains. Outside the stable there were the wheel marks of wagons, hoofprints of llamas and bison, already half filled with wind-blown snow. Inside, there were half a dozen crude pallets arranged about the remains of a small fire. Nothing there. The other rickety outbuilding was a storage shed of some kind. Any food had been cleaned out, but there was still some heavy canvass sacking, a few farm implements. I took up a rusty knife with a handle bound in varnished string and set to work. A few hours later I was leaving the farm again, this time for the last time. Even through the crude padded jacket and leggings I'd made from the sacking I felt the bite of the wind. New England winters are harsh. ****** Most of the day was behind me by the time I reached the road. Like all Sathe roads this far from habitation it was little more than wheel ruts following the path of least resistance around boulders, steep hills, lakes, and gorges. I had almost passed it; missing it completely. Buried beneath the snow it was all but invisible. I tightened my hold on the cloak around my shoulders and set off at jog. . . well, a fast walk actually, following the road north. At a guess, my captors would have been taking me south, toward the Gulf realm. . . But then again they might have been headed west, into the neutral territory of the Open Realm. No, not at this time of year. The Appalachians. . . Skyscratchers would be impassable. And this road was the only way to anywhere I had, so I stuck with it. Kilometre after kilometre crawled by. The cloth wrapped around my feet became torn and soaked. Through the damp, chilling cloth my feet grew cold, numb. They felt as if they weren't even really there; just abstract lumps on the ends of my legs I'd dreamed up to walk on. Muscles that hadn't been used in the long months in the Citadel started complaining, occasionally balking, causing me to stumble. The gash on my thigh throbbed, adding to the pain. I'm not sure when it reopened, but blood began seeping through the rags and running down my leg to chill in a sticky mess. My jog turned to a walk, to a stagger. Finally, my legs gave out completely, leaving me sprawled and exhausted in a rut. An ancient conifer, a pine, with branches that formed a curtain to the ground. Inside this circle, near the trunk, the snow had not encroached and the ground was dry, covered with needles. I pushed the branches out of the way and wearily sank down on the needles, leaning against the trunk. Huddled in the cloak, I tore at a strip of the dried meat with my teeth, too exhausted to make much of an impression on it. I dropped the meat and closed my eyes. "Just five minutes," I told myself. I don't know exactly how long I slept. ****** A llama's whining bleat sounded through the veils of sleep, jolting me to bleary awareness. Dim light - morning light - was filtering in through the branches of the tree, throwing moving, stippled light across the ground and me. Beyond the branches, I caught a glimpse of rapid movement before they were pushed aside amidst a deluge of pine needles and snow crystals. Two cloaked Sathe were silhouetted against the morning sun shining over their shoulder, dazzling me. I gave a yell; fear and desperation turning it into an animal's howl, and hurled myself at them. They seemed as surprised as I was, falling backwards as they fumbled for their weapons. I pushed past them, knocking them aside, and found myself in a circle of Sathe. My leg screamed pain as I spun on the spot, but found that the two I'd knocked down had recovered, their swords in their hands. I kept turning, looking only for a way out of there; all I saw was the glittering steel of swords and knives, the swirl of cloaks, shaggy faces with flattened ears snarling. Something landed on me from behind, clinging and tangling: a net. I tried to throw it off again, but someone tackled me and I hit the ground hard. Thrashing and kicking, I tried to wriggle free, but my legs were pinned. I jabbed with my fingers and elbows and was rewarded with a grunt of pain. A hand grabbed my arm, trying to hold that down as well, hit my chest, sending skyrockets of agony bursting in my skull. I twisted my wrist, caught hold of the hand and wrenched the arm, aiming to crack the elbow. A Sathe howled in pain. Then they all piled on and hammered away until the lights went out. ****** Something sent a white-hot burst of stars through the back of my skull and made me whimper with pain. I was curled up on a hard surface covered with a thin smattering of reeking straw. Everything was shaking and jolting. There was the distant clattering of wheels and squeaking of axles. A bump, and again the lump on the back of my head met the floor with agonising results. Dim. A low, wooden roof, metal bars and beyond those a rough, canvass fabric with pale, yellow light filtering through. Animal stink was overwhelmingly strong. My clothes, the rags I'd cobbled together, they were all gone, but the temperature was bearable. Barely; I was still shivering with the cold. I rolled over onto my hands and knees, my head hanging and my vision blurring in time to the throbbing in my skull. A low growling made me look up into a set of amber eyes and bared fangs. I flung myself backwards against the bars of my cage as the wolf in the next cage snapped and snarled viciously at me. Cages. Cages of all sizes stacked in the back of the wagon, animals of all kinds locked within them: Minks, squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, gophers, birds of various kinds, a badger, and the beady, bespectacled eyes of a ferret watched me. There were furs of all kinds hanging stacked in piles, other fresher ones hanging from the roof. My prison was a cube about a metre on all sides; not nearly enough room to let me stand or stretch out. The bars were grids of solid iron, a couple of centimetres thick. A clay container with a few dregs of water left in it was strapped to one of the bars. The door was just a hinged side of the cage, held shut by an iron bolt; no lock. The wolf and I were the largest creatures in the menagerie. It stopped lunging at the bars but retreated to a far corner of its cage and kept growling while it watched me strain my fingers through the bars to reach for the bolt. No go. The thing was rusted stuck, my trembling fingers couldn't budge it. My throat was parched and swollen. The water in the dish looked fresh, probably melted snow. I drank it all; then shaking wildly, I curled up into a small ball in a corner of the cage, futilely trying to burrow into the straw for as much warmth as I could. They'd got me again, but why wasn't I guarded? Why was I shut in here? It didn't look as if I were going anywhere, but wouldn't they at least have someone watching me? What would they do with me? The wagon creaked and groaned on through the day and occasionally, I could catch snatches of Sathe voices from outside. When we finally stopped there was a long heart-pounding wait before the flap at the back was flung open. The wolf shrank back, snarling and I cowered back with an arm flung up against the half-blinding light. The Sathe who rocked the wagon as he clambered into the back of the wagon was a complete stranger, not wearing armour, just a pair of dirty breeches and a thick leather guard around his left wrist. From the wooden bucket he was carrying he pulled something that he tossed into the wolf's cage, then dipped his hand back into the bucket and threw a lump into mine. Raw meat. For a time I stared at it. I was starving. But raw meat?! I snatched it up, ripped a chunk off and forced it down. Cold and raw, juices trickling over my hands, like rubber in my mouth. The wolf had already devoured his meal and was snuffling around in case he'd missed anything when my stomach clenched violently. I doubled over and puked, bringing back up what'd just gone down, heaving until my stomach was empty and I was curled up in a retching, trembling ball. ****** "It looks ill, Ma'am," a rough voice grated. "It hasn't even tried to eat anything since it vomited everywhere." I lay quietly, staring dully at the Sathe who appeared beyond the bars of my cage. A female, decked in blue and dark green; a cloak and breeches. She stared at me, then turned to address someone behind her, "What have you been feeding it?" "Meat. It ate some, then was sick and has touched nothing since." Something sharp jabbed me and I tried to press further back into the unyielding iron. "Try something else," she said. "Try and keep it alive. Incredibly ugly thing. Have you ever heard of anything like it before?" "No. Never." "Saaaa," there was a long drawn-out hiss. "Neither have I. That rare. It is bound to be worth something then. Perhaps it prefers plants:berries and leaves." "But then it would not have touched the meat." "Huh! Depends how hungry it was. Bears eat both. Try it." She turned to leave. "Who are you?" I tried to say, my voice seizing in my swollen throat. The female's head snapped around to her companion. "What? Did you say. . . " I licked my lips and forced my mouth around the Sathe words. "Who are you?" "My Ancestors. . . " Sathe gaped at me. "It TALKS!" I struggled to sit up, finally propping my back against the bars and panting with the effort. "Who. . . who are you?" The female squatted before the cage, staring at me. "Can you understand us?" She didn't KNOW! My heart leapt. "You are not Gulf?" There were more faces appearing behind her, all staring at me. Again she looked me over, as if unable to believe what she was seeing. Slowly her ears went back and she hissed, "No, Eastern. What are you?" But I was just staring at her. "Eastern?" "Yes, Eastern!" "Ohjesus!" I buried my head in my hands and sobbed in sheer relief. "Answer me!" the female hissed. "What ARE you!" I looked at her, at her face, the anger and pure distaste in her eyes. I suddenly felt fear. "My n. . . name is Kelly. Please, let me out." "Let you out?!" she snorted incredulously. "Something like you must be worth a fortune!" "Wha . . ." My heart lurched into doubletime. "No! You cannot. . . " "But I can," she smiled. "Who did you escape from. Who was your previous owner? Ah, I can make a lot of profit from you and I do not intend to lose you!" I made a small noise, not really believing what I was hearing. "But. . . No owner. . . I am. . . I am not an. . . animal." "You smell like one! You stay in there." "No!" I lunged forward, grabbing at her through the bars. She was faster than anything has a right to be. Her sword jabbed my shoulder, drawing a stream of blood. I scrambled back with a yelp and clutched at the wound, panting. "Please. Do not do this. I am not. . . dangerous. . I am a friend to the Shirai. Please! You have my word I. . . I will stay!" Her muzzle wrinkled, baring white, pointed teeth and she ran her gaze over me, taking in the tattered and torn clothing, bandages across my chest and leg, the red marks on my wrists. . . "A friend to the Shirai you say," she sneered. "Not dangerous. . . Animal, you just tried to attack me. You have broken S'kasavienr's arm and the Shirai would never consort with a reeking pile of filth such as you." With that she turned and jumped from the wagon. I saw Sathe had gathered behind the wagon where they were staring at me. "What are you gaping at!" the female snarled at them. "Move your tails! Go! Get out of here! There is work to do!" She turned to the Sathe with the leather wristguards. The gamekeeper, I realised with a hollow feeling. "I want that thing chained," she ordered. "Keep it alive, but do not let it out on any account." The gamekeeper looked at me. "But if it knows the Shirai. . . " "You do not believe that?! Look at it! Look at the marks on its wrists! It has been chained recently and I am willing to lay bets that it escaped from someone's collection. Perhaps even the Shirai's." "No," I croaked in disbelief. "No! I did. . ." "You shut it!" she snarled at me. "Keep it shut! We can always take your tongue!" Then she turned back to the gamekeeper: "You heard how anxious it was to learn if we were Eastern. It may be worth a fortune." The Sathe looked at me and I stared back in shock. "I know several collectors who would pay a great deal for a rare specimen like this." "No. . . " Later on, several of the Sathe opened the cage and forced me to lie face-down at sword point. I couldn't do anything while they fastened an iron collar around my neck and riveted it shut with hammers. When they withdrew I just stared at the heavy links of the chain running from my collar to the bars of the cage. "It is an animal," the female had said. "Keep it alive, but whatever you do, don't let it escape. If it even gets out of that cage I will have your hides for blankets!" ****** The shivering and fever got worse. They fed me pieces of raw meat or stale bread, ignoring my protests. At first I tried to force the meals down, but I just couldn't stomach it, there wasn't enough water and gradually I couldn't be bothered to make the effort to eat at all. I had to live with rotting food and the stink of my own wastes until they were cleaned away by a perfunctionary bucket of freezing water sloshed into my cage when someone got around to it. The days were hot and cold blurs of darkness and nauseating jolting and Sathe faces thrusting inedible food upon me. My leg throbbed in pain, the wound turning black and foul-smelling. My body kept trying to vomit, but there was nothing left. All I could do was lie there, staring dully at the bars, the wounds the collar had chafed in my neck stinging painfully. Noises of the animals chittering and squeaking merged with the dull pounding in my skull. Time stretched, melting with the misery until even that died into a drifting detachment. I was almost dead by the time the caravan reached Sand Circle. ****** Winter sunlight streamed in as the canvass flap across the back of the wagon was thrown aside. The Sathe soldier in blue and silver livery looked bored as he carried out his inspection of the wagon. His eyes travelled over me, to the wolf curled up and staring sullenly back at him, to the other cages, then back to me. He leaned closer, blinked in mild bemusement, his muzzle wrinkling at the stench from my cage, then took a scroll from its case at his belt and unrolled it. With widening eyes, he looked from the scroll to me then back to the scroll. I stared back without really seeing him. Then he was gone and I faded out again. The voices woke me up. The cage door hung open and Sathe leaned over me, their voices loud as they called to others, but their hands were gentle as they touched me. Anger set their ears back when they examined the black collar biting into my neck, then tools were working at the metal. "Careful! He's been burned." "Tortured you mean. . . By my mother's tits! Look at his leg!" "Ai. Bad." "I wouldn't keep my llama like this!" "Rot you, move! Out of the way!" Another face - familiar black fur - pushing others aside and freezing in shock. "Oh, my Ancestors. K'hy? K'hy Do not move! My Ancestors. Do not try to speak. You are safe now. Hear me? Safe. Rot it! Get him out of there!" I croaked something unintelligible and tried to touch her face. She caught my hands and clasped them in her own, then a blanket covered me; warmth after so long. When they lifted me onto a makeshift stretcher she stayed by me, stroking my face. I remember glimpses of blue sky and a sun that dazzled me, also a furious female Sathe being held by guards, her hide slashed and bleeding from marks left by raking claws. There was shouting, then a pause while several unfamiliar Sathe leaned over to stare down at me. One of them said something, then I was moved again. Indoors, carried through doors, up stairs, along corridors. In a bright room Sathe fussed over my leg and chest while the dark-furred female stroked my brow and calmed me during the pain. After that came the warmth and vague pleasure of a bath, hands with fur slicked down by water washing me then carefully rubbing me down with rough towels. There were the cool sheets of a bed against my bare skin, then the salty flavour of something hot forced between my lips. Hands held my mouth closed while I choked and gagged and finally swallowed and then the fever hit me again. ****** I awoke with a gasp in almost complete darkness. Sweat beaded on my face and body, the clammy cotton sheets adhering to my skin. For several minutes I just lay there, gasping and listening to my heart settling down to a regular pulse. The dream was already fading back into the recesses of my mind, but it still left me shaking. Flashes - barely remembered glimpses of pain, bars and blades, hate and claws. . . I let out a shuddering sigh, finally taking a breath and looking around. Blackness, the faint glow of a dying fire. The only door was delineated by the thin spread of light shining through from the other side. The sanded floorboards were cool and smooth under my bare feet as I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, grabbing for the side of the bed as my legs buckled beneath me. I rested, examining my wounds. My upper thigh was heavily bandaged and was throbbing angrily. My ruined nipple was scabbed over and looked absolutely terrible, but seemed clean. I grimaced and rested a few seconds, then tried again. This time I made it to the door, but even that exhausted me. I had to lean against the frame as I fumbled with the latch. The door swung open with a squeal of misaligned hinges and I squinted into glow of the lantern on the wall opposite. A long corridor panelled in a dark wood, rugs on the floor and paintings on the walls. Closed doorways flanked either side of the passage while at one end it finished in a latticed window - dark outside - and at the other in the blank wall of a T- junction. I made it three-quarters of the way to the junction before I had to rest, slumped against a panel beside a portrait of a Sathe noble with a condescending gaze. A Sathe carrying a tray and decked out in the simple kilt of a servant turned into the corridor, saw me and jerked back with a startled bark. The tray hit the floor with a crash and a rattle as several bowls rolled to a standstill, their contents staining a rug brown. For a second he just gaped at me while I watched him nervously. He was a stranger, and recently I had had some bad experiences with strange Sathe. When he closed his mouth and came towards me, I flinched away. "Hai, no." He stopped, setting his face in what he must have hoped was a reassuring expression. "You should not be out here," he said in the same kind of tone one might use on a child. A couple of paces away from me he stopped, held out his hand, then drew it back again. "Can you understand?" he asked, unsure of himself. "You must go back to your room." "No," I shook my head. "Where is Tahr?" "Your room, please!" "Fuck off, runt !" I pushed past him and lurched off down the corridor, reeling against walls. The domicile scurried after, futilely pleading that I return to my quarters, that he would send Remae to me. Sathe appeared in doorways, stepping back as I passed. Finally several soldiers in the livery of the Eastern Realm burst into the corridor in front of me. I snarled at them, sweat running down my face, and they started to crouch, their hands going for their swords. "No, do not hurt him!" the servant yelled. "Hurt HIM?!" one of the guards snarled. "He was not the one I was worried about!" However they left their swords and claws sheathed and began to move in on me. I only struggled briefly, futilely. I could scarcely stand. What hope did I have against armed troopers? I gave in, letting them half-walk, half-carry me back to my room. I lay limply on the bed and simply stared at the ceiling while a fire was laid and lit and guards stared at me. I could feel the traces of fever burning in my body; just dying embers, an echo of the heat that had raged and stormed through my dreams. When the door opened again, I turned my head to see the moving blackness that was Remae enter. Her eyes flared briefly in my direction before she turned to the guards. There was a brief exchange with several references to yours truly, then the troopers bowed and left. Remae snagged a chair and brought it over to my bedside, sitting down and leaning forward with hands clasped on her knees. There was a pause. "How are you feeling?" she finally asked. I lolled my head over to see her better. "Where is Tahr?" Her ears matted, "Still in Mainport. A messenger has been dispatched." "Uhhh?" I looked around. "I thought this was Mainport." Her hand waved as she waved a negative. "No, Sand Circle. Mainport is six days away. The trappers who found you brought you here." I closed my eyes and grimaced. It was a haze. "Trappers?" "You do not remember?" I tried. "There were Sathe and. . . and a cage. Only pieces. . . I am sorry." Remae leaned back into the chair and steepled her hands, her chin resting on two fingers. It almost looked as if she were praying and that might have been funny at another place, another time. "There's no need to be, K'hy. Their intention was to take you to Mainport, to sell you, but I doubt that you would have survived the journey." She reached out and took my arm. Her stubby thumb and forefinger were able to close around my forearm. "It is nothing I would wish to remember. You were nothing but bones with a little flesh attached. You still are. That little walk you took will not help. You must rest. . . " There was an interruption then as the door opened and a servant entered with a tray. Remae waited until he had placed it upon a table and left, then the Marshal rose and poured water from a jug into a strangely wrought cup: all lopsided with swirls and bulges in the glass. She picked up a small sachet and looked at me. "This is to help you sleep. It is tasteless and quite safe for you; we have been using it to quell the dreams you have been having." I drew back slightly into the cushions. More drugs. "Do you really think I need it?" "Yes." I sighed: "Very well." With a delicate claw she tore sachet open and poured a powdery substance into the water, stirred it slowly with a swizzle stick. I cautiously sniffed the concoction, then while Remae propped my shoulders up, I drank. She was right, there was absolutely no taste and the water was the best thing I'd felt in ages. "It will take a short time to work," she said as she laid the glass aside. I lay back and waited for my awareness to start to fade. After a while: "K'hy?" "Hmmph?" I mumbled, already floating away on warm waves. "Can you forgive us? For everything Sathe have done to you, can you forgive us?" "I will work on it," I said, then smiled and fumbled after her hand. She hesitated, then clasped it: just lightly at first. The Marshal of the Eastern Realm held my hand and watched me until I slept again. ****** Thri ai Hast, lord of the Hast clan sat at the head of the table. A young, slightly-built male Sathe. Red breeches went well with his reddish-brown fur and a distinctive white fur blaize marked his chest fur over his sternum, if that's what you call it on a Sathe. Beside him, his mate was a female who looked young. . well, no older than Tahr, with fawn-coloured fur, dark stripes on her forearms, blue breeches. In each ear she bore a single, silver ring. Opposite, Remae was a black, muscular figure innocuously sipping delicately at her spouted wine goblet. The room wasn't the large hall where banquets and meals were held to impress visiting nobility, it was a more informal place. Dark wooden panels and a few tapestrys lined the walls while a pine table dominated the centre of the room. A fireplace set in one wall blazed fiercely, keeping the room and the food set on an iron grid before it, warm. Neither of the nobles seemed to know what to make of me. There was no doubt that they'd had plently of time to study me while I slept. I had a hazy recollection of the Clan Lord's female standing over me, hastily pulling her hand away from the scars on my chest as I opened my eyes. What had she been thinking? Disgust? fear? perhaps sympathy? And now they watched me again. The small amount of meat on the platter before me had been specially overcooked, tasting fantastic to me, but the looks upon the faces of the Sathe as they ate their own almost- raw fare made it obvious that they wondered how I could eat the charred stuff. Of course they asked me what I was, where I was from, how I came here. So - once again - I told my story. It was starting to become a litany, but what the hell; it was great for breaking the ice. Eventually the conversation worked its way on through the smalltalk to the point where Remae explained what had happened after my abduction: "We did not know what had happened when you disappeared, K'hy." Remae paused to rip a gobbet of meat from the haunch she held in both hands, then continued with juices matting the fur around her mouth. "Tahr went ordered immediate searches of the town, the Citadel, and the countryside. Messengers were sent to all the nearby towns to alert the garrisons. "At first we did not know what had happened to you. They said you'd gone and we didn't know if you had decided to leave us of your own will or had been taken by force, but when we found traces of thamil in your quarters the Shirai went berserk. She ordered a massive search of all towns and roads between Mainport and the western borders." "Excuse me, Marshal," Thri looked slightly puzzled. "Thamil? What relevance does that have?" Remae looked at me before answering. "From what I have been told, it does not affect him as it does us. To him it is a powerful soporific. That is why we have been using a derivative of it to help him sleep." "Thamil?" Thri repeated, looking at me. "Why?" I shrugged. "I am not entirely sure. I. . . work differently from you. Things like thamil have different effects on me. Not so pleasant." The Sathe still looked bewildered. Their nobility used thamil as humans used designer drugs or used to use expensive tobacco; how could it be dangerous to anyone? That was the point when the conversation turned to human vices and pleasures. Awkward and somewhat embarrassing to me, filled with entertaining titbits for the Sathe. It was some time later before it wound its way back to the present situation. "Remae, how long have I been gone?" "Two and a half weeks now." What? God, how long had they kept me drugged? Everything had been so chaotic, I'd lost all track. How long had it been since the trappers had found me? Since the fire? "Do you think they will be all right?" I asked quietly. Thri looked away while Remae stared into her goblet, swirled the wine inside. "We will not know until the patrol returns. . . It will depend upon the Gulf troops," Thri answered. I swallowed hard to choke back the lump forming in my throat. "K'hy," Remae said, I looked at her and saw her expression was gentle and a little sad, "We will not be able to wait for the patrol." "Yeah , I know." I sighed. "Please, if you will excuse me." "Of course," Thri said. "Do you need help?" Remae asked. I shook my head. The marshall cocked her head, watching me shuffle out on my walking stick. The room was simple, wooden panelling, a shuttered window, a few pieces of furniture and of course the circular bed in the centre of the room. The only light came from the fire that had been laid so the room would be a comfortable temperature for me. Even so, I sat with my legs crossed in the middle of the bed, the blankets pulled up around my shoulders like a shawl. In my mind I ran over what I had done. . . what I could have done. I should've realised what would happen to the family. With me gone, the bastards would have had no further use for them when they moved out. . . They were alien, I was alien, but that family had set light to their own home to help me. At what cost to themselves. . . ? The door squeaked slightly as it swung open. I looked up, startled. Remae stepped into the room, one hand holding the door. She was almost invisible in the dim light, her dark fur blurring in with the shadows, but her eyes burned like green coals. "Are you all right?" "Yes, I am fine," I forced a smile. "Did you want something?" "I was just checking on you. Tahr would have my pelt if anything. . . " She trailed off then with a gentle hiss. She closed the door and came to stand by the edge of the bed. "K'hy, I noticed it downstairs. What is wrong?" The glowing embers of the fire shone through her fur, outlining her in flickering orange. "Do you want to talk?" "What makes you think there is something the matter?" She snorted. "I have stood here and watched you scream as you lived the emotions of your dreams: fear, pain, hatred, love, pleasure. . . I think I have known you long enough to be able to read your moods. I can tell when something is bothering you. Do you want to talk?" "No," I shuddered. "Please, just leave me alone." It just washed over me: I couldn't face the. . . the ALIEN in front of me. I was scared and alone in a world where I was a pawn in a game I only half understood. All I wanted to do was curl up and wait till it went away. She ducked her head. "All right, then. As you wish." She walked back to the door and placed one hand on the latch. "They would have killed them anyway. Do not blame it on yourself. . . Good sleep, K'hy." The door's hinges screamed like a comment behind her. ****** The cellars of the Keep were cold, dark. They reeked of urine and something less tangible. Fear? Beneath my feet the steps were damp and slimy, as were all things down here. The stones of the walls leaked moisture and lichen abounded in these dank corridors and stairs. It was a screaming contrast to the culture of the panelled and ornate hallways upstairs. A textbook dungeon. The torch of the Sathe guard in front of me began to gutter and he paused to pull another pair from a rust- encrusted iron sconce in the wall. The wood sputtered and smoked into life and the guard continued down the passage that was an inch deep in opaque water. "Here," he finally said, stopping at a heavy door barred by a wooden beam. He started to open it, then hesitated, tipping his head and asking, "Are you sure?" "Just open it," I snapped, nerves making me touchy. He shrugged then removed the beam and stood it aside while he pulled the door open. Warped from the moisture, it stuck halfway. The fetid stench that wafted out of that hole was indescribable, had me dry- retching. The cell was tiny: two metres by two, and not tall enough for me to stand upright. I held the torch up, squinting past the flame to make sense of the cell's shadows. It was the only light, without it the cell would've been a black, wet, reeking hole. Opposite, in a niche carved into the damp stone wall, the lone occupant was shielding her eyes from the sudden light, blinking, dazzled. Then she made a small, strangled noise. "N. . . No. . . No," she choked. "Guard. . . GUARDS!" The rough stone walls seemed to swallow her cry. Even so, the guard outside must have heard her, but he didn't respond. Oh Jeeze, she was a pathetic sight: There were dark scratches down her muzzle, one of her ears was ripped and torn, her fur was filthy and plastered to her skin by water and dirt, and she had obviously not been eating. Rust-stained manacles around her wrists were chained to an iron loop in the wall. They rattled as she held her hands out as if trying to push me away "GUARD!" she screamed again, then her eyes seemed to glaze, refusing to focus on me. "Go. . . Go. . Get out, get outgetoutgetoutgetout. . . " she was panting wildly. I held the torch out to the side as I approached her, sidestepping a puddle in the centre of the cell. She shrank away, as if she were trying to ooze into the cracks in the wall, covering her head with her arms. I crouched down in front of her. "I am not going to hurt you," I said, then waited for some kind of response. Nothing: she just huddled there, trembling. "Look," I continued. "I just want to ask you something. . Hey!" She gave no indication that she'd even heard me. "Please, listen to me! Either after or before you. . found me, did you see anyone else? Another convoy? Just some Sathe? Anyone?" In the silence afterwards I heard the guard outside cough, water drip from the ceiling. She didn't answer. After everything she'd done to me, almost killed me. . . Damnation! I was going to get something! That anger lent me strength to seize her mane and twist her around to face me. She mewed and tried to hiss, then started panting again, staring at me with fascinated terror. "Fuck it! Listen to me!" I yelled into her face, shaking her. She started chittering uncontrollably. With that my strength deserted me. My head reeled and I lurched back away from her, breathing hard from the exertion. No. . . I wasn't going to collapse, not here. The whites of her eyes were showing as she stared, teeth glinting. This was something I'd never seen in a Sathe before. "Get away from me," she moaned. "Tell me," I replied. "Did you see anyone?" "No!" she tried to bury her head again, then raised it, looking anywhere but at me and her words turned to a babble, "No! I. . . There was a caravan. Going the other way. In a hurry. I did not see. . . " "They had a cub with them?" "I did not see! I DID NOT SEE!"" "How do I know?" She moaned. The torch flickered in a draft, the smoke staining the ceiling black and stinging my eyes. I blinked, weighing up the female huddled there. She buried her head again, trembling violently. Scared. Too scared to lie? How was I supposed to tell? She'd never shown the slightest compassion or mercy toward me; what was to say she was being honest with me now? "You are sure." "I do not know." The voice was so small, tiny in the stillness of the dungeon. I stood there for some time, watching her. She stared back, breathing fast and shallow with the white of that third eyelid partially eclipsing her eyes, glittering technicolour with the torchlight. Moisture dripped and glittered in the dimness. The guard coughed again. Finally, I nodded, slowly and told her, "I am going to believe you, but let me tell you: if I find I have been lied to, I will be back. You understand that?" She just stared at me, huddling in on herself. Closer, and I caught the sharp smell hanging over the general miasma: the stink of fresh urine. It stopped me in my tracks and I was sure she wasn't lying and that her terror was genuine. That feeling, to have someone so petrified of you they lost control of themselves; it's not pleasant to learn you're a deepest and darkest nightmare come to life. It hurt with the pain I feel when cubs run from me in fright. My tongue failed me. I did the first thing I could think of, unbuttoning my cloak and draping it over her. I waited awkwardly for a few seconds while she just. . . just stared at me, at my chest, as though looking right through me. With goosebumps breaking out on my skin I left that reeking little hole. The guard stared at me and I ignored him. He didn't say anything and there was a hollow thud as he dropped the bar back into place across the door. I could imagine her curling up in a small ball on the icy stone as the darkness closed in around her. It was a long, cold walk back up from those depths. Remae intercepted me on the ground floor as I came past the guards. She took one look and whipped her own cloak off, throwing it about my shoulders. "Rot you, you fool! By the Plagues! Why did you go down there? And you gave her your cloak, didn't you?" I didn't bother answering, just pushed past her and started off down the hall. She caught me before I'd gone five steps, hooking claws into my sleeves and pulling me up short, pushing me against a wall to snarl up at me. "Shave you, K'hy! What were you doing down there?!" I shrugged. "Looking for answers." Her head drew back. "Did you find them?" I looked at the floor: "No." She hissed softly and disengaged her claws from the folds of the sleeve, then turned to chase after the guard who'd let me down there. "Remae." She turned. "Let her go." "Who?" She blinked. "The one down below?" "Yeah," I nodded. "Let her go." She cocked her head and frowned, furrows wrinkling the velvet of her muzzle. "What? Why?" "What laws has she broken?" Remae stopped with her mouth hanging open, surprise at my question turning to a level stare, as if she were trying to see what was going on in my head. "K'hy, you must understand. Laws are dictated from ages past; they can be difficult. When a person is taken against their will there is no. . . " "Would I be considered a person by your laws?" Her mouth snapped shut. A tic twitched at her jaw. I nodded slowly, my legs feeling rubbery. I'd thought as much; When it came down to the crunch, I wasn't a person. I swallowed bile and began to turn to head back to my rooms and the promise of warmth there, pausing to say again to the Marshal, "Remae, let her go." ****** Morninglight; the white landscape bathed in that crisp light and shadow that is the early morning. The blue vault of the sky was of a hue that made it appear almost solid, the airy clouds across the horizon cloaking mountain peaks in mist. Cocooned in furs I was bundled into the back of a wagon hitched to a pair of bison encrusted in sparkling ice-crystals, steam snorting from their nostrils. The iron-bound wheels of the wagons and hooves of the llamas clattered and skidded on the ice- coated cobbles as the small caravan wound its way out of the town and across the whitewashed landscape. It didn't take me long to realise I was getting the bird in the gilded cage treatment. The wagon was comfortable; luxurious by Sathe standards with padded benches, cushions, warm furs and sheets; all obviously put there with me in mind. But there were also the guards, two of them, one male the other female. I know they were there for my own protection, but I was sick of being watched over. The pair were stony-silent as we put the town behind us, both of them avoiding my eyes. At midday the caravan paused to rest the animals and let the riders stretch their legs, however I was lucky to be able to talk Remae into letting me out of the wagon. Well, 'talk' isn't exactly the right word; rant would be better. She gave way to my anger looking more than a little surprised. ****** I lay dozing, half-in half-out of sleep, suffused with that warm glow that comes after eating. There was the rocking, lurching movement of the wagon that I'd almost learned to ignore, the rumbling and fingernail- on-blackboard screech of badly greased axles that I hadn't, and the soft sibilants of Sathe talking. About me. "If you have something to say about me," I said, "why do you not simply ask me. Instead of whispering behind my back." I stretched and rolled over to see them staring at me." Well? you were talking about me?" The looked embarassed. "Saaa! Yes. . . Sir," the female began, then looked to the male. "Sir," he took over, "are you the one all the madness has been about?" "Madness?" "Sir. . . most of the Citadel troops are searching for you. . . also the militia of a dozen towns. You must be important to someone." "Oh. That." "There were rumours around Mainport that the Shirai had herself a fearsome creature. . . you do not look so fearsome." "That would depend upon the mood I am in," I grinned back at him and they both stiffened at the sight of my teeth. "Sorry, that is how I smile," I apologised. They still looked pensive. Of course they asked what I was. I gave my usual answer. "Your name is H'ey?" "Kelly," I corrected. "It has a 'K'." "K'hy." They tried, but their pronunciations still missed the palatal ells, transforming my name into a cough with a hiss in its train. "Strange name," the female said. "Yes," I sighed. No point in disputing that. Here - to alien ears - it is a weird name. The male was called Chirthi, and the female. . . "R'Raschhhh. . . " I broke off, almost choking on the tongue- twister. "No. . . R'R'Rhasct, it is easy," she said and repeated her name, enunciating. It sounded like a cat being deep fried. My efforts to get the pronunciation of her name correct had them in hysterics; a pair of armed cats hissing their heads off with laughter. But eventually they took mercy on me, letting me call her Rhasct. Even though - to Sathe - it was a totally different name, I could at least pronounce it. I wondered how they would cope with a name like 'Elizabeth'. They confessed they had been 'volunteered' by their superiors to be my guard, but it seems they had the last laugh. It was a cushy job, I wasn't too unpleasant, and they got to ride in comfort and warmth. They couldn't understand why I wrapped so many blankets around myself. They taught me to play Thsaa, a game in which small, flattened sticks with various dotted patterns on them were used in place of cards. The object of the game was to get several sets of various different patterns. The sets you had to collect were determined by the first hand you were dealt. You could dispose of sticks and pick up new ones. The first to get the necessary hand was the winner. It was a simple game and helped pass the time. When we stopped for the night, I once again had a guard with me when I had to relieve myself. Sleeping arrangements stuck me in the wagon with my guards, both the Sathe taking it in shifts to keep watch. I huddled under my piles of sheets and furs, unable to sleep, watching Rhasct's silhouette perched at the front of the wagon. In the dark I felt a furry arm bump against my back as its owner rolled over in his sleep. What a crazy universe. Human Memoirs Part 2 Section D