Chenga

Changeling

Wind and snow swirled against the shuttered windows of the wooden hut.  All but buried in the drifting snow, the hut stood at the Pass of Korim.  Few travellers came through at this time of year and only Karrack Korim remained.  He sat by the fire and took a swig from his jar of fire brandy.  A warm feeling flowed down his throat and into his stomach.  Absent-mindedly, he stroked the thick fur of his dog, Wolf.

The dog looked just as his name implied.  More karg wolf than dog, the creature was eight feet from rear to snout and stood four feet at the shoulder.  In the dark winter months he made good company for Karrack Korim.

Wolf rose from the floor and sniffed the air.  In his throat there began a rumbling growl.

'What's that boy... ya smell sommut?'  Karrack Korim rose from his warm fireside chair and reached for the double-headed axe that hung over the mantlepiece.

Wolf padded to the door and let out a deep howl.  Korim moved to the door and lifted the latch.  A gust of wind blew the door open and snow swirled into the room.  Wolf moved slowly into the doorway and scented the air.

The grey-white swirling blackness erupted into a flurry of motion.  Korim saw the axes flashing in the torchlight and huge hulking black figures filled the doorway.  Wolf made ready to spring, but was beaten back by a tide of dark bodies that swarmed around him.  One axe blow severed Wolf's snout and in the next instant, axe blows landed on every side of the dog.  The giant dog slumped to the floor without a sound, but was pushed into the room, as the Peytahns entered.

Korim stood his ground, axe in hand.  'Ya bastards!'

'Trader, have any other Peytahns passed this way?'  A tall Peytahn looked to the wiley old man.

'Go out and have a sniff fer yerselves, ya murderin' bastards.  I've been shut in fer three days... no idea who's gone by: but nobody would be mad enough to be out there in this storm.'  Korim stood, axe in hand, waiting to see what the Peytahns' next move would be.

The sound of heavy footfalls came from the doorway and four more Peytahns entered.  It was Gamesh and his three wives.

'Gamesh, the old man knows nothing of who has been through the pass.'  The tall Peytahn relayed the information to his clan leader.

'No matter.  We will hold the pass and await Karsh.  He will come this way.  Kira... the old human, we will have need of him.'  Gamesh raised his hand and flicked a gloved finger toward the old trader.  Karrack Korim tensed, unsure of what the Peytahn clan leader meant to do.  He looked at the female, who smiled at him, baring her long canines.  She was a fine looking woman.  Slowly she approached the old man.

'And what would ya be wantin' frum me, missy?'  Korim still held tight to his axe.

'What say you we start with a kiss?'  Again the Peytahn woman smiled.  Korim wondered what kind of game the Peytahns were playing.  Korim sniffed and smelt a strange scent.  The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he felt a rush of blood through his veins.

'I've heard tell of you Peytahn missies, but what would you want with an old fella like me?'  The wiley old fox was wondering if he might yet come out of this alive.

Kirani moved steadily toward the old man, until she was inches from him.  Korim's axe touched the woman's midriff.  Korim looked down at the axe.  Kirani raised her clawed index finger and touched the old man's chin.  He raised his head and looked up into her eyes.  The smell of her scent was overpowering.  Korim felt younger than he had in many a long year.

'How about we start with just one kiss?'  The Peytahn woman lowered her head and brushed her lips gently against the lips of the old man.  Korim's eyes closed and his lips parted.  And that was all it took.  A shot of pain hit the roof of his mouth and he slumped to the floor, motionless, but still conscious.  He was shocked, but a feeling of exhiliration still coursed through him and he felt a stirring in his being that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

Kirani turned to Gamesh.

'Finish what you have started, he needs to be one with us.'

Kirani knelt above the old man and lowered her face to his.

Gamesh moved past his wife and the old man, and walked towards the stairs to the upper floor.  Gamesh's tall lieutenant, Guriarl, followed behind his clan leader.

'Guriarl, post sentries and change them every hour.  I want news as soon as Karsh's men arrive.  set up base here, I'll be upstairs and see if you can do something about that bloody dog.'

Gamesh strode up the stairs and the rest of the clan sensed that he wanted to be alone.

At the top of the stairs was the door to Korim's private quarters.  Gamesh opened the door and entered a darkened room.  A small fire burnt in a grate and gave a little light.  On the mantle was a taper and an oil lamp.  Gamesh lit the taper from the fire and used it to light the lamp.  In the corner of the room was a small bed.  Gamesh sat down and removed his snow-covered cloak, gloves and boots.

He stretched out his arms and looked down at his hands.  The hair that had once covered the backs of his hands was gone.  A small mirror sat on the mantle.  Gamesh grabbed the mirror and looked into it.  His beard had grown sparse and the tattoos were fading.  In truth, he felt as though he himself was fading away to nothing.  Gamesh noticed, too, that several scars had disappeared.  He struggled to remember what scars had been there and where they had come from.  He was losing the sense of just who he was.

Gamesh raised his hands to his chest.  The once taught muscles felt softer and less powerful.  Oh, Kamora, where was this going to end.  He looked down at his chest and saw, too, that the hair there had started to grow less.  The scent of the female was now stronger upon him.  His own true scent was becoming unfamiliar to him.  Was he still a Peytahn?  Was he still Gamesh?

He looked again in the mirror.  He remembered where his brother Garak had caught him with an axe, when they had been practicing, as children.  He remembered the scar across his forehead.  The memory flooded back, and he watched, as the old scar returned to his face.  He looked at his hands and thought of the hair that had once been there.  In the light from the lamp, he watched, as the hair began to grow anew, where it had grown before.

Gamesh felt tired... deep down tired, to the point of exhaustion.  Trying to hold onto his sense of himself was becoming harder, but he knew he had to hold on.  What had happened to him could be a blessing or a curse.  The choice was his.  All he could do was fight... and fighting was something that he had done for his whole life.

The door creaked open and Gamesh jumped up with a start.  In the doorway stood the dog, Wolf.  It padded its way slowly towards Gamesh and nuzzled its snout into him.  Gamesh smiled.  He sniffed the animal, that was more karg wolf than dog.  There again was the scent of that phantom woman, mixed with that of the dog.  He remembered passing the blood stained corpse of the dog just moments ago, yet here it was... now whole.  He patted the thick furry flanks of the dog and was about to tell it to lay down, yet, without a word being said, the creature lowered itself to the ground.  Gamesh smiled once more.  Gift or curse... the choice was his.