Doublesight (2 page)

Zimp plunged to the ground and landed in a patch of tall grass halfway down the valley. She shifted into human form, allowing the thoughts to rush into her mind. Planning and thinking were best done in human form. She needed a rest. This was one time where she wished she hadn't worn her red cloak. She removed it and tucked it under her arm while she hunkered down as close to the ground as she could. Turning back, she noticed no arrows bursting into the sky. A few of her clan still clung to tree branches, but from this distance she couldn't tell who they were.

“Zimp?” A voice came at her from within the grass behind her. She turned. Noot crawled into view. He wore a brown vest and brown shirt. His green pants had a patch of red spreading over them. He looked at it. “A scratch. I was so scared I had to shift before I stayed in crow image. I didn't know what was happening for a long while. I got hit in the middle of shifting, then landed in some underbrush and crawled out.”

“You crawled all the way down here?” Zimp said.

“No. I shifted back and flew part way.” He shook his head. And his hands were shaking. “I'm too scared to want to stay in crow image. I'd never come back.”

Noot had always been the more timid one in the clan. Zimp sat next to him. “We need to check on the others. Oro, especially.”

“What do you think happened?”

“Someone knew we were doublesight,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“I saw someone standing back from the archers. He was trying to stay hidden and I couldn't make out his facial features, but I know that's what happened. The villagers would never have known otherwise. They were human only. I saw no other doublesight while we were there.”

“He must have been hiding somewhere,” Noot said.

“Yes. But where? And why would another doublesight do that?” she said.

Noot must have been gaining his composure because he laughed. “We're not the most loved of the doublesight. Perhaps a longstanding enemy?”

Zimp smiled. “True.” She touched his leg. “Can you go with me?”

“I'm sure the others circled around and went into camp.” Surprise came to Noot's face. “Unless the villagers attacked there too. Do you sense anything?”

Zimp closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “No, it feels safe there.” She opened her eyes and looked into Noot's. “But I'm not really good at this yet. Not as good as…” She stopped. “Oh, to the Gods, to the Gods.”

“Zora.” Noot said.

Zimp reached out and held him, more for her benefit than for his. “She's dead, Noot. I held her hands as we fell. They killed her.”

Noot placed a hand over her head and let her rest against him. “Go ahead,” he said.

Zimp heard hooting coming from the hillside and the grove of trees where the archers had appeared. “They made their kill,” Zimp said.

“We'd better get to camp and check on everyone.”

Noot was right. Zimp pulled away and patted his shoulder. “Can you shift and fly?”

“It's not that bad. I'll be fine.” Noot cocked his head as his arms and legs shortened. His legs thinned into bird legs, his arms fattened into wings, all happening while his head squeezed into itself and his nose protruded and became a black beak.

Zimp followed suit and felt her bones shift and her body shrink. She became physically lighter and could feel the hollowness of her own bones as she changed. As crows they flew low over the tall grass in the valley. At the lifting fog, they rose up and went north where, a short distance off, they had made camp the night before.

Approaching camp, Zimp noticed guards had been set out. The camp remained safe. She and Noot journeyed forward and dived through the fog into camp. Seven wagons stood at various distances from one another along the river. Clansmen held guard everywhere. Zimp shifted into her human image, then searched the group for her grandmother.

Oro sat on a stool in the midst of the group.

Zimp rushed to her and bent down. She took Oro's hand and looked into the old woman's eyes.

“I know, my dear. They've already told me.” Oro touched Zimp's face with a wrinkled and shaking hand.

Zimp lowered her face into the old woman's lap. “What happened? Why didn't she see this? Why didn't I see it?”

Oro said nothing in response to Zimp's questions. She took a deep breath and placed both hands on Zimp's head.

“We'd better break camp,” the distinct voice of Arren said.

Zimp lifted her head and turned to face him.

He stood tall and lean. His arms were laced with muscle and he held a sword as though ready to fight any moment. He waited for Oro's approval.

The old woman pushed against Zimp's shoulder and rose to her feet. “Come, my dear. Arren is right. We must move on. The council will not meet without us.”

“It's the council that has us moving in such a large group. If it wasn't for them, this wouldn't have happened,” Zimp said. “If you had gone to the council meeting alone as always, you wouldn't be detected.”

Oro shook her head. “We chose to enter the village in force. Perhaps that was the mistake. A small band could have gone in.”

“You don't seem to care about Zora. What about what happened?”

Oro turned to Arren. “Prepare to move.” She turned back to Zimp. “Have you thought that perhaps Zora volunteered to leave this plane of existence?”

Zimp opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

Oro nodded and reached for Zimp's hand. “Help me back to the wagon.”

2

THE AIR HAD CHILLED with the humidity of early morning. The trees dripped with dew in the low fog of the forest. Silence broke, disrupted by the soft paws of thylacines pattering back home in the dark. Brok loved it when the family went out together. And an early morning return meant a hearty breakfast and a short, sound sleep for a few hours. Bringing up the rear, Brok could hardly see his father ahead of them.

Fremlin stepped into the clearing and shape-shifted into his human image to unlock the door to the family cabin. He smelled something unusual just before he shifted, but lost the scent. Lina, Brok's mother, was next, and his brothers and sisters followed her. They shifted more slowly into human form and joked while following Lina and Fremlin into the clearing. A night of fun and play brought them home later than usual.

Fremlin fumbled with the door for a moment as though it were stuck. Then it suddenly slammed open. A massive man wider than the door itself jutted across the threshold, knocking Fremlin to the ground. His sword high over his shoulder, the man leaned toward Fremlin and swung, removing Fremlin's head in one stroke. Brok heard the cracking neck bones and the gurgle of blood.

Lina screamed and turned, ushering the others back into the woods.

Brok's sister Keena, swung around but arched her back and fell forward, a dagger in her back. Rem stumbled and kneeled to the ground near her, a dagger protruding from his neck.

Lina hesitated so that she could help her children. Her body doubled and crouched toward the ground. Her hands shifted into paws and her legs bent, molding into the legs of a thylacine, one of the most ancient of the doublesight, half wolf and half mountain lion. She scurried while shifting, her gaping jaws letting out a loud, warning growl.

Three more men came from around the cabin. Two of them rushed Lina, swinging their swords violently as they approached. She collapsed, her back severed.

Brok, his younger brother Therin and youngest sister Breel, shifted and ran into the woods. Brok led, but the three of them halted long enough to look back as Lina went down completely. Brok noticed Therin's body jolt with the blow to his mother's back, and two subsequent blows to her head and body.

Brok and Breel continued into the woods, but Therin stood motionless.

Breel barked to get his attention. Something was wrong.

Brok turned to go back and motioned for Breel to go on. He sprinted to Therin as the men rushed closer. Brok bit into Therin's tailbone and dragged him backwards.

Therin growled and yelped, but turned and ran after his brother.

It was easy to gain distance from the men once the thylacines were in beast image.

The three marsupials ran deep into the woods. They ducked under and through brush, leaped over fallen trees, and swerved so that they would look as though they disappeared within the fog. There was a meeting place near a hollowed tree where they had all planned to meet if anything were to ever go wrong. They would regroup there.

Brok panted with fear. The images of his father, mother, and siblings flashed through his mind. Their human forms helped to keep him conscious of his true form. Instinct had forced them to run.

At the hollowed log deep in the Brendern Forest, Brok took his time shifting into human form. On his knees, breathing heavily, he spit into the crisp leaves in front of him. He could see Breel and Therin in his peripheral vision. Neither shifted.

Rays of sunlight filtered through the thinned canopy of trees. The fog had become transparent as it burned off. The black trunks of
trees held onto the night for as long as they could, even as the leaves turned brilliant with color.

Brok stood and rubbed the back of his head and neck. “Shift, you two. We need to plan.” He waited a moment. They were both still panting.

Breel arched her back as though shifting was painful.

Brok ran to her to make sure she hadn't been cut or stabbed. He saw nothing. A small sound like a whimper escaped her mouth. Drool slid from her canines. Her legs shifted first, always her choice since she was small. Then her torso changed shape and finally her head. Breel fell into Brok's arms and cried.

He held her. There was no use in telling her that everything was all right or that they'd be fine. He knew better. His family had been murdered and the three of them would most likely be hunted down.

Brok turned his head and saw that Therin had not shifted. “Therin. Shift.”

Therin sat on his haunches and cocked his head.

Brok teared up. “Therin?”

Breel pushed from Brok and leaned toward her little brother. “Oh, no,” she said.

Brok grabbed Therin by the fur and shook him. “Therin,” he yelled. “Therin.” Hearing their human name was the strongest pull to return doublesight to their human form, but it wasn't working. Therin was young and nervous. He had always been the most vulnerable and Lina had been over protective of him because of it. So now, Brok feared the worst.

Breel slapped Therin across the jowls and yelled his name. “Shift,” she said. “Shift, Therin, shift.”

Therin turned to leave.

Brok grabbed hold of the fur along Therin's back and pulled him into a sitting position. He knew the signs. Still holding his brother, Brok sat back and stretched his legs outward. He dragged Therin onto his lap and held him.

Breel reached out and stroked her brother's head. “Why did this happen?”

“I don't know.” Brok answered both questions at once—about Therin's permanent beast image and about the murder of his family.
He reached one arm across Breel's back. “We've got to hide somewhere for the day so we can sleep.”

“There's nowhere to go,” she said.

“Dad always felt this was safe enough.” He looked around the area. A mound of leaves and dirt rose a few hundred feet from them. He nodded.

Breel stood up and ran to it. “The hollow log's over here.”

Brok strolled over to her side. Therin followed obediently and nudged Brok's leg once he stopped. Brok reached down and scratched his brother's neck. “We'll have to shift and sleep that way.”

“I've never done that before,” Breel said. Her eyes were wet and her brown hair hung in tangles near her shoulders. Her shirt matched the black striped coloring of her thylacine image, but her pants were brown like her hair.

“If you wake up disoriented, shift to human form for a few minutes to get your bearings. Don't stay that way long though; your skin can't handle the ant and spider bites like your beast image can.” He raised his eyebrows. “Okay to do this?”

Breel pushed her lips together so that they looked like a straight line across her face. She nodded, but didn't look all that convincing to Brok. Then she burst into tears again.

He reached for her, but she waved him away. “This will be difficult,” she said.

“I know.” He scratched Therin's head and looked up at Breel. “It already is.” As the oldest sibling, Brok had been trained to fend for the family. Just recently Fremlin had indicated that he felt there was reason to feel unsafe, even though their whole lives had been fine up until then. He told Brok only a few days ago, “The doublesight are not trusted and have been under siege more than normal lately. None of the villages know we're doublesight, but we must be more cautious than ever.” Fremlin had told his son that they were lucky to live in the Brendern Forest near Stilth Alshore because the Three Princes of Crell who ruled Stilth Alshore were friends to the doublesight. Brok wondered how true that was now. Had things changed?

He and Breel trudged over the rise and shifted into their beast images. Brok made sure that Therin scooted into the log between
them. Before crawling in he looked around to get his bearings. Which trees lay to the north? If they had to leave in the night, he needed to know in which direction to run first.

Brok curled his tail close to his body and put his nose near Therin. He could feel the log shudder a moment and knew that Breel's sadness would make sleeping difficult for her. He let himself mourn, mentally, as much as possible without dragging him back into his human image. The doublesight were once revered, even worshipped. Why they had become feared was a mystery to him. “History,” his father had told him. “Where instinct drives the decisions for beasts, fear drives decisions for humans.” But his family had hurt no one. They kept to themselves.

The images of Fremlin being beheaded and then of Lina being sliced flashed through Brok's mind and he felt himself begin to shift. He pushed the images from his head. Strange that those same experiences would cause enough fear in Therin to keep him in beast image.

3

SCOUTS RETURNED WITH NEWS of the dead. The village archers were gone, returned to their village. Crow clan members were sent to retrieve their wounded brothers. All morning the camp rushed into activity. The sunshine warmed the gravel shore of the Lorensak. Horses whinnied as they were tacked up and harnessed to the wagons. Footfalls crunched against stone. Voices rose to a low murmur over the rushing sound of the river. Each wagon endured a rigorous check for sturdiness in expectation of rough travel.