Chapter 4

It had been the longest night Tarrin had ever had.

It was an eternity there, alone, in the dark, with nothing between him and the Cat but his willpower. Time had seemed to stop, and he had felt every second go by. He spent the night jumping at every little noise, huddled in that corner like a trapped mouse, so desperately wanting to talk to someone that he very nearly went to wake them up. But that would be giving in, and he knew that he had to learn how to fight it now, quickly, before it had the chance to overwhelm him. There wouldn't always be someone to talk to.

He'd finally managed to fall asleep sometime during the night, but it was no relief. As soon as he fell into slumber, he would have dreams. Terrifying dreams, vivid dreams, conveying a message and a set of sensations so base, so raw, so animalistic that even the surrealistic touch of the dream was enough to make him sit bolt upright and start a cold sweat. And the instant he awoke, the song of the Cat would be there, trying to lull him into complacency. He was glad of such an uncomfortable position, since it made it so easy for him to be awakened out of the dreams. The song of the Cat was much preferable to facing the dreams. He could fight the song, but the dreams, he had no defense against them. They touched him on a level that the song could not, and he could do nothing but wake up once they started. He was amazed that Walten had slept through it.

He'd been having one of those dreams, then was shocked awake by a combination of the dream and a sound in the next room. He'd never been so glad to hear a sound in his life. When he joined Faalken in the other room, neither of them said much of anything. Faalken could see just by looking at Tarrin's haggard face that it had been an easy night. The burly knight simply offered him a cup of water and let him sit quietly at the table. Faalken gently rapped at Dolanna's door, then sat down at the table with him.

Dolanna opened the door a few minutes later, stepping out wearing a simple brown silk dress. With one look, she seemed to take in the entire situation. She sat down in the chair to his right and put a cool hand to his forehead. "I can understand what it was like," she told him. "But it was necessary."

"What do you mean?"

"You had to be alone," she told him with compassion in her voice. "It may seem cruel to you, but you will end up alone at some point in your life. It was best for it to be now, while my spell holds the animal inside you in check."

He could understand her reasoning. Although it did seem a bit cold-blooded. She'd left him to face his fear alone, and while the logical part of his mind understood her reasoning, part of him was rather slighted by the callous treatment. He'd respected her before, but in a strange way, he realized that he absolutely depended on Dolanna now. Her calm demeanor and seemingly intuitive understanding of what he was going through gave him a source of strength from which to draw support.

"How do you know so much about what happened to me?" he asked impulsively.

"I, have studied this condition before. There are other Were-kin out there," she told him. "Were-wolves, Were-boars, Were-lions, Were-foxes, Were-bears, and many others that are more rare. Like Were-wolverines, Were-dogs, Were-rats, and your own kin, the Were-cats. I once studied the progression of the condition, which is called Lycanthropy, in an infected man who had been bitten by a Were-wolf. It was much different in his case, but I have seen enough parallels to understand in a general way what is happening to you."

"What causes it?" Tarrin asked. "Is it a disease?"

"No, young one, it is not," she told him gently. "The Were-kin are creatures of magic, Tarrin. There is a natural magic inside of you now that is linked to the cat. While it may not seem like much, it is this magical nature that gives you many of your powers, and it is also what makes you immune to the wounds of non-magical weapons, or ones not made of silver. The only non-magical things that can harm you are falls from heights, fire, and acid."

"Powers?" Tarrin asked.

"Were-kin can change their shape," she told him. "They can assume the form of the animal to which they are bonded. But I do recall hearing or reading that the Were-cats are different than the other Were-kin in that respect. There is something limited to you or makes you different than other Were-kin, so I will not even attempt to try to teach you to shapeshift until I am certain of what that difference is. The fact that your base, natural form, the one into which you transformed at the onset of the bite, was not a fully human form lends me to believe that it is a limitation more than a difference."

Tarrin swallowed that. Shapeshifting?

"There are other powers," she told him. "Inhuman strength like yours is a gift of your magical nature. And if I remember, you can regenerate wounds received from magic, falls, acid, and fire at an accelerated rate, and that you can even regenerate lost limbs. Only the injuries made from silver counter the magic that gives you power.

"But I digress. It is this inherent magic that causes the condition, Tarrin. The only thing missing from a human is that magical touch, that essense of magical energy and animal instincts. That is what is passed on through contact with body fluids. Once it is introduced into a human, he becomes a Were-creature of the same type that passed it to him. He gains all of the powers and vulnerabilities of the Were-kin, and he is Were in every aspect. He is as much Were as the one who bit him; there is no difference between a Were-kin who was born into it and one who was bitten."

"What would happen if that magic was taken away?" he asked.

"Nothing could take it away," she told him. "It is infused into every fiber of your being, and it is now as integral and necessary as your blood, or heart, or bones. If it truly was removed from you, you would die."

"I've heard stories about Were-wolves," Tarrin said thoughtfully. "They all say that they change into beasts at the full moon, but father always scoffed at them. He said he'd met one or two in his life, and they were nothing like that."

"He is correct. Were-wolves are urbane, polite fellows with a highly defined sense of propriety. Being part animal, Tarrin, Were-creatures tend to act much as their animal counterparts act, just in a human way. Were-rats are rapacious, greedy, and unreliable. Were-bears are methodical and careful, and Were-wolves are very organized and structured."

"What about, the Were-cats?" he forced himself to say the word.

"There is very little written or known about them," she said, pursing her lips. "They are the rarest of all the Were-kin, and I have never heard of a Sorcerer or scholar finding one to learn about them. The other Were-kin hold a rather low opinion of them, for some reason," she said, giving him a curious look. "Those that know of them at all, that is."

"It seems like the hand of Karas was at work when you were chosen for this assignment," Faalken noted to Dolanna. "Blind luck put the boy in the hands of someone that could help him."

"Yes, it does seem fortunate that I was sent," she mused. "To think that I nearly rejected the request. I am glad that I did not."

"I am too," Tarrin said sincerely and fervently.

Dolanna smiled and put a hand on the back of his. "With luck and hope, tonight will not be as bad," she told him. "You must still spend it alone, but as we travel, I will teach you ways to center your thinking so that you can put the instincts aside in your mind enough to rest. They are the same techniques we teach our novices in order to wield the power of Sorcery," she told him. "As you become accustomed to the cat inside your mind and as you become skilled with the centering and concentration skills I will teach you, let us hope that it solves your problem. And it will give you a head start in your studies at the Tower."

"Dolanna, I've been meaning to ask," Faalken said, "what are we going to do about travelling? Tarrin kind of stands out now."

"I have already taken that into account," she said. "I cannot create an illusion that will last all day, so I instructed Arren to have a robe made for Tarrin that will cover him. It will have a hood on it and oversized sleeves, so that he may hide his most striking features. I also had him alter Tarrin's saddle so that his feet will fit in the stirrups."

"I'll get the young pups out of bed," Faalken said. "We have a long way to go today."

Tarrin looked at his hand, more like a hand-paw than a hand, wondering at Dolanna's words. He could only really be hurt by fire, acid, magic, silver, or falling from a height. But that didn't make much sense. "Why can I be hurt from falling?" he asked.

"There is a simple concept behind it, Tarrin, one that I should explain. Now that I think of it, it is something of which you should definitely be aware. To put it more specifically, you can only be harmed by magic, silver, or weapons of nature."

"Weapons of nature?"

"Is fire not a part of nature?" she asked.

"Yes, but--"

"Does it not injure?"

"Yes."

"Acid may be made by man, but it is still a natural compound, existing in nature. Does it not also burn when touched?"

He started to understand. "So falling off a cliff results in a very natural impact with the ground," he concluded.

"Exactly. You should also be wary of true weapons of nature. A falling tree will hurt you just as quickly as it would me, and if someone hit you with a rock picked up off the ground, then it would result in a real injury. But of these lesser forms, none can kill you. You regenerate too quickly for that to happen. The only weapons of nature that can kill you are fire, acid, falling...or maybe getting impaled on a tree branch., or getting caught in an avalanche or rockslide."

"I'll remember that," he told her. "You said that I have magic inside me," he said, his mind starting to explore the possibilities.

"Yes."

"Doesn't that make me a magical weapon?" he asked, holding up his hand-paw and extending his claws. "I do have these, you know, and they are weapons."

She smiled broadly at him. "You are most clever, Tarrin. Yes, it does. Being a magical creature, you have the power to injure those creatures like yourself that can only be harmed by magic. But, there is a drawback to that," she warned. "You are a magical creature, and that lends itself to certain...vulnerabilities concerning magic. The largest is that a ward set up to repel magic will not allow you to cross it," she told him. "You cannot very well just leave your magic on the other side."

"That makes sense," he reasoned.

"Well, we must be getting ready to leave," she told him. "We can continue our discussion on the road. Let me lower the ward protecting the room. You should go get your things together, and make sure that nothing was left behind."

"Alright," Tarrin said.

Walten was getting dressed when Tarrin came back into the room. He was sandy-eyed and bleary; Walten was not a morning person. Tarrin checked his packs, and realized that all of his trousers had been altered already, and also that his boots were not here. Just as well, he reasoned. He couldn't wear them now anyway. He took that opportunity to put on clean clothes and wash up a bit, fighting a bit with the trousers to get his fingers on that little button in the back that sealed his tail into that little hole made for it. This was the second time he'd done it, and it took less than half the time the second time around. He pulled a clean shirt over his head and laced it up, then packed all his things away as he made sure that he had it all. His bow and staff were in the corner. He picked up the bow, then looked at his hands. There was no way he could shoot it like this. The tips of his claws were right there, and they could hit and cut the bowstring. "Walten, I...I can't use this anymore," he said, holding up the bow. "Would you like to have it?"

"I, guess," he said slowly. "I'll just keep it for you, in case you want it back, alright?"

"Alright," Tarrin said.

Tiella was sitting at the table when they left the room, and the door outside was open. Tarrin could see one guard standing at the door, but he could smell three others. Faalken's scent was still strong in the room, but it was obvious that he'd left. Dolanna was in the other room; he could hear her moving around. Not long after Walten came out of the room, three servents brought in large platters with breakfast, and that lured Dolanna and Tiella out of the bedroom. Tarrin had learned from yesterday how careful he had to be, else he would bite his tongue while he ate. And with teeth like his, that was not a pleasant experience. He managed to work through breakfast, then was handed a plain brown robe by Dolanna when he pushed his plate away. Although if fit, it was not comfortable. The hood pressed down on his ears in an irritating manner, and he had to keep his tail tucked in to keep it from bulging out the back of the robe.

"It won't look half as bad when you're on the horse," Faalken assured him.

"I hope not. I look deformed like this."

"Tuck your hands in," Dolanna told him, and he pushed his hands into the sleeves. They totally concealed them. "The only problem is your feet, but they will be partially in the stirrups. With the black fur on them, they will appear as boots. It will do." She sat back down at the desk, writing something on a piece of parchment. "I doubt that Duke Arren is awake, so I will write him a letter of gratitude, and when I am done, we will depart. I wish to reach Skeleton Rock by sunset, so we have a day of hard travel ahead of us."

Outside for the first time since the change, Tarrin was assaulted on all sides by sounds and smells that almost overwhelmed him. What was merely unpleasant before was a powerful stench now, the smell of man, his waste, and his sweat assaulting Tarrin's nose like a hammer. He realized that it was the background from inside the castle magnified a thousand fold. He choked briefly after stepping out the door of the keep, then went into a fit of coughing and sneezing.

"What's the matter?" Walten asked in sincere concern.

"Do all cities smell like this?" he demanded indignantly. "I think I'm going to vomit!"

"It should lessen after a while," Dolanna told him.

"I hope so," he said, putting the back of his hand over his nose and letting the smell of his fur cover the stink of the city.

Hands brought the horses around, and Tarrin realized that they may have a problem. Horses could smell too, and he wasn't sure if they'd take him as a predator or not. His scent was not the same as a human.

He approached his horse slowly and gently, letting it get his scent a little at a time. The horse began to whinny slightly and started to fidget. Reaching out one hand, Tarrin placed it on the bridge of the horse's nose, stroking it reassuringly. The horse looked at him curiously, realizing that he was the one that had the strange smell, but Tarrin's careful gentle touch had eased the horse's primary fear. "Yes, it's me," he told the horse with a smile as it suddenly nuzzled him.

"I see that that will not be a problem," Dolanna said.

"Not with this horse," he corrected. "They don't know my smell, so how they see me depends on how I act when I come up to them." Tarrin packed his saddle with his gear, sliding his staff into the saddleskirt, then carefully mounted the horse. The horse was still a bit nervous, and the other horses were beginning to get skittish, but a gentle pat on the neck and a few soothing words calmed the horse down again.

"Put up your hood, Tarrin," Dolanna ordered as she climbed into the saddle. Walten was ordered to take the pack horses, and Tiella pulled herself up with Faalken's assistance.