He snarled, “Look –”
“Ecko, ease down before you strain something,” Karine told him. “The Bard’s gone to sort out a place for you to sleep – a space of your own for as long as you need it. And I’m here – we’re both here – to help you. This is The Wanderer, and you’ve landed on your feet, well and truly. If you’d calm down for two ticks, you’d realise that.”
He glared at her. “Don’t fucking patronise me.” The moonlight gave her hair a bright brown shine. She was exceptionally pretty, but he could never think like that, never go there, never again.
“Oh all right, enough,” she said. There was an edge of irritation in her voice. “No one’s going to stop you leaving, if that’s what you really want. But you need to understand, acclimatise. And let’s face it – where better than the pub?” She flashed him a grin. “Where else can you explore without having to sleep in ribbon-town inns; eat the best damned food in the Varchinde without having to hunt it yourself? Where else can you find every luxury traded by tithehall and marketplace? Where else can you see something new every morning? You stay here, Ecko, you’ll see the whole world – and the road-pirates won’t pick on you and the beasties of the deeper plains won’t think you’re lunch.” She winked at him. “And you’ll get to drink in your local every night.”
“Answer the fucking question.”
Karine said, “He told you – he’s the cook.”
Kale’s core temperature jumped again, it seemed to flare like rage, almost like Ecko’s adrenaline. Ecko snorted. “So – what – you cook dinner with your fiery temper?”
That made them exchange a glance; something passed between them that Ecko couldn’t begin to fathom. His adrenals shivered again and he found himself on the balls of his feet. He’d touched something – but if they didn’t fucking cough this shit up, whatever it was, then he was outta here.
He’d take his chances.
The cook shrugged, seemed almost resigned. his shoulders slumped further, then he said, “Will you trust us if I do?”
“Sure.” Ecko glared, tasted stew, swallowed.
Kale nodded, slowly.
“Please understand,” he said, “that I was born like this. When I was younger, it was a jest, a game. And then I got older, and it wasn’t funny any more. I won’t hurt you, but...”
Born like this...
The heat started in Kale’s skull, in the back of his neck, ran like liquid fire into his face and down his spine. Patchy fur burned his skin as it spread. His shoulders hunched, his face twisted around his elongating teeth. His arms gnarled, strengthened, his toes and fingers knotted and claws tore through his flesh. His knees bent inside out and he crouched forwards, the end of his lengthening spine burst from his back, lashing furiously.
There was a snarl that sounded like pain.
The transition took seconds. Then a feral, savage thing with asymmetrical green eyes and fangs as long as knives bubbled pure hate into Ecko’s face.
Holy fucking shit!
Despite himself, Ecko was retreating. His adrenaline shrieked but he didn’t know whether to scream, puke, run like fuck or kick the thing’s head clean out the fucking window.
What the hell..?
And then it was gone and Kale was standing there, scratching at his neck where fur had melted into skin. He was shuddering violently, steadying himself on the wall. He said, “Pain is a stern teacher.”
The phrase was a like a friend.
A stern teacher.
Ecko knew... knew what that meant, how it felt...
But Kale was still speaking. “If you ever need to stop me, you need white metal. It upsets the balance of the beast in my blood – the wounds don’t heal.”
Karine said softly, “Kale came here to find help, Ecko. And we can help you too –”
“Just wait... wait.” Inundated with impossibility, swamped by everything that was happening around him, Ecko’d backed right up to the wall. “What’re you, some kinda werewolf? With those moons? How the fuck does that – ?”
“It’s not the moons,” Kale said. “The beast... gets away from me. I came here to find help, to learn control before...” His expression twisted, but not with anger. “I suppose we’re all crazed, in our own ways.”
Karine said gently, “Believe it or not, you’re among friends.”
Ecko said, his mind still reeling, “Shit, this place is a fucking loony bin.”
She grinned. “Kale’s a beast. I’m a political outcast – small matter of an – ah – admirer I really didn’t want to marry. Sera, downstairs, is a Games Champion – he killed nine opponents in a bout he was told to lose. Silfe’s a runaway. Everyone here has a history.”
“I feel so much better.”
“Look, we’ll leave you in peace for a bit longer,” Karine said. “You’ve got a lot take in. I’ll go see how the Bard is doing with your room. In the meantime –” she went to lay a hand on his arm, but he backed up “– trust us. Whatever else happens from this point on, this can be your home. If you want it.”
* * *
Ecko’s room was high under the vaulted beams and looked like something off some medieval film set. The wood was warm and rich – floor, beams, an old table and bench. There was leather on the seat coverings and pale, wax candles. Wooden shutters covered the window and an old rug covered the floor. Between the beams, the walls were brickwork, decorated with old pictures, and with hooks where the Bard had taken down his “souvenirs”.
Half enchanted and half scathing, he checked it for hiding places, verified and listed his equipment, swung himself onto a beam and waited.
As soon as this place settled down, he was gonna get some fucking bearings, case it from penthouse to basement. He needed understanding, needed to know what was out there. And he needed equipment. Currency. Weapons. Food. Maps. Kit to flee with – or to build a cache.
Too many surprises. He wasn’t being caught with his kacks down again.
Carefully draping the folds and curves of his cloak, he dissolved silently into the room’s darkness.
And he waited.
* * *
It was warm.
Locked into his stealth position, he remained still as the building slowly softened into silence around him. He heard doors opening and closing, voices laughing outside. After a while, feet moved up and down the creaking stairs and Ecko labelled them mentally – the implacable stamp that had to be Sera, Karine quick and light footed, Kale unhurried. The Bard’s boots were easy to identify – though heavier than he might have guessed.
Upstairs, doors banged. One by one, the tavern’s staff returned to their rooms and settled for the night.
As the quiet swelled, his throat started to close with rising pressure. He began to doubt, pointless fears dancing at the corners of his awareness. Am I dreaming? Am I fucking dead? He told himself it didn’t matter either way – he was here and he’d better just get on with it.
Food. Weapons.
Understanding.
The doubts laughed at him again, in the darkness they sounded like Eliza, like Lugan. Chances of successful adjustment increasing: 34.74%
Would he even recognise what he needed? He was lost, betrayed, naked in the field once more. He was missing the cornerstones of his existence. No plastics, no metal. No communication, no information. No drugs, no pharmaceuticals. No branding, no packaging, no labels. Where did they get clean water? Where did they go to the john?