The Alae female was standing by the column that she'd crashed into when Anar had pushed her away, rubbing her bruised side absently. She didn't even seem to notice the lacerations on her face.
She was petite, with the same bronze skin as him, dark-haired and blue-eyed. There was nothing about the stranger's appearance that gave away her social status: no markings or symbols on her clothes, no jewelry,no weapons. On her wide belt hung a soft purse, out of which peeked out the longed ringed trunk of a bottle with sanctified milk. Her dark pants boasted long streaks of dust, evidently from her wiping her dirty fingers on them. The tip of her nose was likewise laden with dust...
Her hairstyle was equally unrevealing – some locks were woven into two braids that hung over her forehead, passed under her ears and joined in a thick braid with the rest, combed neatly back. The stranger stuck the braid into her belt casually, but it still reached all the way to her knees, dangling behind her like a second tail. A hairdo so pointedly simple could only be worn by a priestess of the lowest rank, whereas the intense glow of her eyes revealed their owner's exceptionally powerful Cat's spirit. Someone like her would hardly dawdle among the statue wipers and temple cat belly-scratchers.
She, on the other hand, clearly recognized him, and was now peering into his face with what seemed like... hope? Her mute question seemed palpable: was everything others said about him true? Or was his entire life, his entire image of free thinker and reformer, nothing but a clever trap for dissenters, and now, ablaze with righteous anger, he would attempt to slay the violator of the local taboos? That look made Anar's heart skip a beat, for he himself had spent many long years searching the faces of his tribesfolk for the subtlest hints of discontent – a secret, inner indignation over the status quo here in Rual.
He had desperately sought others who were fed up as he was with this endless, senseless fussing over the stern and indifferent statues of Alasais; sick and tired of the unbearably dull sermons about the importance of reverence for the jealous goddess and unbending fealty to her order; appalled by a life that was overregulated to the last gesture and permeated with worship for the religious elite. The entire city was little more than an appendage to the temples... And to the endless intrigues and retelling of scary stories about the outside world, which was society's only form of entertainment. It was the very definition of tedium – rotten and inescapable, reeking of envy, hatred, sycophancy and arrogance. But, alas, he hadn't found a single kindred spirit in over three hundred years of searching.
And now, all of a sudden you fall out of the sky, Ms. Dusty Nose, Anar thought skeptically.
"Pass my admiration to Amialis," he spoke slowly, with emphasis. "This time she'd managed to strike a nerve. They gave you a topnotch face. And you're clearly a wonderful actress – to say so much with just one look, having never actually felt anything that your face is depicting... What exquisite facade! If not for all of her other agents, I would have fallen for it hook, line and sinker."
The stranger's eyebrows arched quizzically, though she didn't limit her reaction to that.
"And how many predecessors were there before me?" she asked without a hint of fear, but with a kind of empathetic curiosity.
"Nine. Only with your other colleagues she made the point to accentuate their... seductive elements."
"Ah, so I'm not pretty enough? Rats!"
"But now, evidently, mother is betting on your rich inner world, unappreciated in our cruel Rual," continued Anar, ignoring her mockery. "Which is pretty clever, actually, at least in my case. I wonder what took her so long to figure out the reason for her previous failures."
"And what is that reason?"
"She's too used to playing by the book, presuming that all Alae are alike, suffer from the same weaknesses, and want the same things. And her agents are exactly the same: blind and deaf on both ears. If only they were also mute... Now, I won't pretend that my time with some of them wasn't pleasant, at least until they would attempt their pathetic maneuvers."
"'It pains me to see Kor, that wretch, sitting on your throne, pushing you around,'" Anar mimicked one of his admirers masterfully. "Alas, pride isn't my soft spot. I'm glad mother finally figured it out."
"No kidding," the stranger crinkled her nose; her calmness was mystifying. "So, what is my plan, then?"
"Well, you would start by telling me how disgusted you are with the Rual way of life. For instance, how you consider slavery to be a terrible injustice. That's why you lured Kad here, isn't it? To show me that you can treat a slave with respect? And that statue next to him – did you really allow him to indulge in art? A brilliant move! Did Amialis think of it, or was it your idea?"
"Mine," the stranger replied softly. "Your friend is very talented."
"Friend?! O Great Alasais, what a word!" Anar burst out laughing. "Tell me, does your tongue ache when you force yourself to speak of a slave in that way?"
"No, it doesn't. But you were telling me about how I intend to... seduce you. By all means, continue," she asked, and for some reason Anar couldn't refuse her.
"We would talk for hours and hours, astounded by all that we have in common: our views, fears, hopes and dreams. Gradually our meetings would turn romantic. In the interludes between sessions of intimacy we would dream together of how Rual would be different if we were in power. Slaves would be granted their freedom, the city guard would singe the tails of bureaucrats and grafters, and would start actually investigating murders among the aristocracy. The priests' influence would diminish. And... and then..."
"... And then, naturally, we would arrive at the mutual conclusion that the only thing standing in the way of our noble plans is your uncle Kor," the stranger picked up excitedly, as if she were the one exposing somebody, instead of being pushed to the wall. "And then we would grudgingly accept the only possible solution: to remove this sole obstacle on the path to universal happiness. You would ascend the throne, Amialis would become queen-mother, and... There's just one thing I don't understand: how does she intend to keep you from ruling as you see fit?"
"You know her methods as well as I do," shrugged Anar. "She would proclaim that I became possessed by some demon, and would begin to rule in my name."
"What about me?" the stranger squeaked coyly.
"You..." Anar sized her down. "That same demon would probably whisper in my ear one night to slit throat of my darling spouse and queen – you. Whereupon I would get locked up in some temple. For entertainment purposes, obviously."
"Brrr! That doesn't make me want to be your spouse and queen!" the stranger shivered. And then asked, "What if I was sent not by Amialis, but by Kor himself? What if he had nosed out her plans and had decided to obtain evidence of your conspiracy?"
"And who told you that I'm going to let you leave here?" Anar inquired slyly. "You're charming, to be sure, but don't overplay your hand. Although... I admit, this time you and Amialis have managed to pull the right strings. It won't be easy to kill you. Should I deem it necessary."
Anar wasn't lying. He would be hard-pressed to recall all the times he had resorted to using his claws, but this was the first time he felt... conflicted about it. He shot another glance at the stranger's mutilated cheek... only to discover that the wounds had stopped bleeding. In fact, they were radiating blue light and skinning over along the edges! Anar let out a soft, flabbergasted hiss. This was impossible! Who was this woman that Alasais had endowed her with the ability to heal the unhealable? The goddess' confidant, her Cla... No, better that the thought didn't cross his mind.
The stranger touched the wounds with her fingers, as if she had just noticed them. Her gaze grew meditative, then bemused, her cheeks flushed... Not a minute went by that her copper skin was once more perfectly smooth.
Anar's eyes fell on his own hand: there was no blood, no stripped skin under his fingernails. He felt the daze dissipate at once, and chastised himself mentally for his gullibility. He then glanced at the stranger with renewed interest – what a fool she had made of him! To her credit, the illusions she'd created were nothing short of perfection. There were two in all: one to make him believe that he had torn up her cheek, the other to drive him into stupor from the sight of her magically healing wounds. The cat was a clever one, to be sure, but why wasn't she using this chance to flee?
Before Anar could reflect on his question, Kad leaped out from behind him and, belly sliding along the smooth slabs, prostrated himself before the stranger.
"Lady Aniallu, don't kill my master!" implored the half-elf, clutching her ankles.
"Kill him?" she echoed, clearly bewildered by the slave's dramatic entrance.
"Kill me? And how would she pull that off, huh?" Anar wondered in unison. What yarns had she spun to the slave that he was now afraid for the prince's life? Besides his royal relatives, who else did the heir to the Rual throne have to fear? Aside from Alasais herself?
"She is tal sianae!" gushed the slave, glancing back at his master. "She need only wish, and... poof!" His eyes bulged with horror, and he immediately resumed the previous position, nose buried in the soft leather. But Anar had noted that his servant's face didn't look especially frightened.
"And don't bewitch him either!" said the half-elf brazenly, in an almost tantrumy tone, more demanding than askin. The "fallen" tal sianae responded by bending forward and softly knocking on his back with a bent finger.
"I wasn't planning on it. Calm down, will you, and let go off my paw!"
The slave muttered something distrustfully, fidgeting and leaving his cheek dangerously close to her claws. He looked awfully like a spoiled pet, his conviction firm that his charm would mitigate the most brazen of pranks. No matter how well Anar treated him, this was far and above anything he could achieve. Only a truly extraordinary talent could have allowed the slave to get out of hand like that in such a short time frame.
"I swear on Alasais' whiskers, I will not harm your master!" vowed Aniallu.
The slave gave a sigh of relief, and even cracked a smile, letting go off her foot.
"Now, Kad, what made you believe that she is the Punishing Claw, Bane of Apostates?" Anar asked of his slave, looking Aniallu straight in the eye. "Are Alasais' Shadows known for falling from the ceiling like ripe pears, or roaming dungeons and chatting up slaves?"
"You saw what happened to the wounds made by your claws!" replied the half-elf without turning an eyelash.
"That was an illusion."
"Oh? Then why isn't there a trace of magic?"
"Because the illusion was masterfully applied. My mother had assigned fine tutors to your new friend."
The slave made no further objections, but looked up to Aniallu for support.
"That sounds flattering, but, alas, I'm not that skilled in weaving illusions," she said. "As for Amialis, she and I aren't on particularly friendly terms. If she did assign anyone to me, I would bet it's assassins, not tutors."
"So now you're tal sianae, eh?" asked Anar derisively. "Do you really expect me to believe that? Even if my slave had swallowed your yarn whole!"
"Not 'now,' simply tal sianae. And I'm sorry if my unremarkable appearance has shaken your faith in the almighty Alasais," Aniallu grunted. She paused, hesitating. "I think... I think there's only one reliable way to ascertain the truth. Give me your hand."
Anar realized that he was about to do one of the most reckless things he'd ever done, but he couldn't resist the temptation of watching this "Punishing Claw" attempt to wriggle her way out of this situation. He stepped up to Aniallu and held out his hand. Taking his wrist delicately, Alu paused for a few seconds, then exhaled and dragged her claws lengthwise his entire forearm – from the elbow to the backside of his hand.
"This time you're sure it's not an illusion, aye?" she asked softly. Anar nodded, jaw clenched with pain.
They froze opposite one another. Fidgeting down on the floor was Kad, too awed to stand, craning his neck not to miss even a single detail of the strange scene. Much like his master, tal sianae peered intently at the lengthy wounds, as if herself unsure what might happen next.
As to what did end up happening, Anar could never have anticipated it.
The scratches stopped bleeding almost instantly. The pain melted away under waves of sweet languor that spread through his arm like a warm healing balm. Anar felt an uncontrollable urge to find a ball of yarn, curl up with it, and, purring like a kitten, play, play, play to his heart's content. Aniallu's sleeping bag would be perfect for this purpose... as would her hip, were she to assume her feline form. He just needed to bandage his arm first... Anar shut his eyes, forgetting all about danger as he savored the vision; when he opened them, grudgingly, he saw that his wounds were skinning over. There was no blue luminescence this time – they were simply closing up, like some monstrous flowers after sunset.
Anar gave Aniallu a befuddled stare. There was a comically abashed look to her, as if she had been able to see through his plans concerning her inviting hip. She shot him a quick furtive glance, pursed her lips and cleaved the air with a steady palm just above his arm.
A blue light poured from the wounds... And that was when Anar realized with a staggering certainty that he was looking not at a foolhardy trickster, not at his mother's spy pretending to be tal sianae in her fright, but a very real Alasais' Shadow. He remembered all those priests' stories about the indescribable feeling that overtook them during a sacrament whenever Alasais chose to favor them with her gaze, brushing their trembling souls with her divine power. Nobody could ever explain the feeling in a coherent manner, and different accounts often contradicted one another. There was only one thing they all agreed on: once felt, this divine breath couldn't be mistaken for anything else.
And it was really so. Only in Anar's case, he wasn't "filled with righteous pride for being among Her children, the blessed feline kin," didn't "dissolve in Her radiant might," didn't "sense the power to vanquish Her enemies." Rather, Anar felt a profound aching joy, as if finding a long-lost friend... or a long-lost love that he'd been pining after for all eternity. One who viewed the world with the same eyes. Who would roar with laughter alongside him at the balderdash spewed by lickspittling priests with their shaved ears, and mourn the fact that gifted Rual youth were wasting their lives boning on prayers and plotting against their peers. No, Alasais didn't come down to him from heaven. Rather, she suddenly awoke inside his own soul; she was part of him, and at the same time something infinitely greater, more precious and purposeful – something without which life had no meaning.
He thought back to this morning when, leaving home, he bid an unceremonious farewell and flicked the nose of her old statue – dark brown, crouching predatorily with a face twisted in a grimace of such bitter malice that it looked wrinkled, like that of an ancient crone. Anar had felt not an ounce of reverence for the goddess. Moreover, he had doubted her very existence. That had been that morning... But now? How could he feel kinship with this monster, mad with envy and mistrust? Why did she suddenly seem so beautiful to him? And Aniallu? How could the terrible Alasais have a Shadow – her Punishing Claw – with the eyes of a sincere and sagely child? The goddess' image suddenly split, as two versions of Alasais presented themselves to Anar. Every stone in Rual advocated vehemently for the first, while his own Cat's Spirit vouched for the second. Had he gone mad?
The pause lingered. Realizing that she was still holding his hand, the sianae released her fingers and, as if abashed, commenced with entirely unnecessary explanations.
"And the reason why there's nothing under your claws is that this body has been enchanted with a spell that destroys anything that detaches from it – from shed fur to severed limbs. Wherever I go, nobody must know that I was there. Cause if some trap cuts me like a ribbon or roasts me alive, your priests will be racking their brains trying to figure out the origin of the barbeque. Actually, it was one of those things up above that had caused me to fall off the wall and on your head. It reacts to rises in temperature and magic. All at once. I had to smear myself from head to toe with this slimy disgusting cream that conceals body heat. Then my fingers slipped, and..."
Anar was hardly even listening. Everything that was happening was so unbelievable – unexpected, preposterous! – that his thoughts were hopelessly muddled. He came to only after Aniallu had broken short her soliloquy and asked, frowning:
"Look, Anar. I'm sorry, but do you really not recognize me? Or is it that you don't want to? Are you simply unwilling to come to grips with your shameful non-Rual past?"
"I have never seen Your Mighty Claw," Anar squeezed out with notes of offense in his voice, now even more befuddled. "Since when does my kind get to behold yours, if only once in our lives – right before death?"
"Native Rualites think that way, sure," shrugged tal sianae. "But you of all cats should understand the roots of that yarn."
Alas, Anar understood not at all, but he didn't think it wise to argue with a Punishing Claw.
"Have you seen me before?" he asked instead.
"Yes, but long ago. You were a teenager back then. But seriously, Anar, cut it out already. Three hundred years may be a long time, but I doubt you could have forgotten us fighting and winning you back from your mother. Even if your memory is a sieve!"
"My mother had done something to anger tal sianae? Then how is she still alive?" whispered Anar, stunned beyond belief.
"Very funny," Alu muttered sourly. "I see you're taking your role as the heir to the Rual throne very seriously."
"Such was the will of Alasais."
"Anar, I don't understand. Ten minutes ago you were telling me how you couldn't stand the Rual way of life, but now you're acting like some fanatical buffoon with the Devout Code between his ears!"
"As if I have a choice," Anar snapped, then kept on, unable to hold back any longer. "As if it's up to me what to say, where to live and what to remember!"
Aniallu opened her mouth, then shut it without saying anything. She turned pale as her eyes widened with a terrifying realization. Forgetting himself in fear that she might pass out, Anar stepped up to the Alae, ready to catch her.
"Your mother... your memory?!" babbled the mighty Alasais' Shadow, grabbing on to his arm.
"Apparently so. Her Holiness Amialis was remarkably merciful toward her son, doing all she could to turn him into a proper member of the Rual society, his mind uncrippled by the terrible ghosts of his past," said Anar, venom dripping from his every word, making Aniallu shudder. "What she did tell me was that my life outside of Rual was so loathsome that my Cat's Spirit had suppressed all memories of those years. I'm surprised that Your Mighty Claw didn't know this," he gave Aniallu a defiant look.
"If my mighty claw knew, your father would be a widower," said Alu with complete seriousness, unflinching. Anar suddenly felt uneasy about his outburst.
Tal sianae lowered her eyes, her face frozen still, but he still felt with every fiber of his skin the storm of emotions – compassion, anger, remorse – that his words had caused. Such emotions couldn't possibly belong to a Punishing Claw from ancient legends. But then, didn't Aniallu herself just dismiss the Punishing Claw fable as a yarn? Once more Anar wondered if this was all but a mad dream. But if it was, it was a ravishing madness.
"Anar, I don't know what to say, where to begin," muttered Aniallu, rubbing her face nervously. "As I understand it, you weren't a model believer, and now you think that I was sent here to kill you?"