Tigfy slipped past the hospital room door, sensing a rising, bubbling fury inside. The color of the emotion betrayed anger from being forcibly restrained and from not understanding what was happening. A faint tinge of bewilderment at having survived tempered the blinding rage. Well. Definitely not Softskins. Move on.
Each emotion had its individual hue, reflected in flickers across her vision. Sometimes she wondered why others couldn’t see the flashes in her eyes when she used her power. It had taken persistence and training to distinguish the real world from the emotional backdrop that gave her various clues.
Her claws—wonderful, beloved little claws—slid out, delighting her with their white gleam. Nerves. She’d thought she’d lost them because of Raoul, but when Vipstana had woken her after the surgery, they were still there. Mother and brother had praised their sharpness so much, and the healer had explained how to keep them in perfect condition. Apparently, simply licking them clean wasn’t enough.
No matter. She would learn everything and regain lost control. The doctors’ sincerity, the past day’s turmoil, and the fear she’d experienced had knocked her off balance. And then there was that stupid attack. Why had she charged at Pierre out in the open? Strange, but Tigfy didn’t want to ambush him in some dark corner and slit his throat for humiliating her. No, she felt a desire to surpass that arrogant man, to defeat him in a fair fight and hear him admit defeat.
A man, hmm. Since when did I stop thinking of them as a different species? She hoped Vippi wasn’t angry that she’d slipped away. She wondered if the Softskins allowed friendly sparring. They probably did, otherwise why would Lucius have fought? But she needed to find out, lest she’d make a fool of herself again.
Next door. Tigfy pressed herself against it, sensing the anticipation of whoever was inside. Not just simple waiting, but a pleased, calculating scheming aimed at gaining some advantage. She’d felt that shade of thought before and memorized it. Excellent. At least Paarfu was all right. The old man had taught her to play cards and sometimes fed her, giving her dried meat for no reason.
Moving silently on all fours, Tigfy continued on, nervous about the lack of shadows and air vents. Not a single hiding spot. She’d never thought she’d miss the stench of blood and feces, yet here she was. Scanning the symbols on the doors, she finally spotted the number Satya had shown her and stopped, wondering how to open the damned thing. There were no locks she could pick with her claws. The narrow gap between door and frame was too tight.
What to do… Going back to ask the doctors for help would be humiliating after she’d so skillfully disappeared during their pointless chatter about nothing. Tigfy touched the metal, persistently searching for a way to open the passage. Suddenly the door slid aside, nearly making her roll into the room face-first in an undignified manner.
Rudrani, the blind Softskin, lay on a comfortable bed opposite the entrance, covered with a blanket. Beside her stood a nightstand and an unfamiliar machine with wires ending in adhesive patches. Some of those patches were stuck to the blind girl’s arms; the rest disappeared under her hospital gown. An elastic bandage hid her empty eye sockets, but the tissue inflammation had apparently subsided, returning her skin to its natural bronze hue. In Rudrani’s ears were purple oblong plugs, connected to nothing.
Tigfy’s mental perception caught serenity, shifting to pure, unadulterated terror, then gradually subsiding to ordinary surprise. She pressed her lips together. Rudrani was reliving it. It wasn’t right to leave her alone. Not now, not in the dark. Nightmares don’t disappear at the snap of a finger.
“Who’s there?” the Softskin asked, removing the objects from her ears and hurriedly inserting her translator with a trembling hand.
“Hi.” Tigfy leaned awkwardly against the wall, keeping her distance. “Can you understand me?”
“Yes. Who are you? Your voice sounds familiar.”
“We saw…” Damn! Wow, so clever! Go on, make more blind jokes! “I mean, we met in the dungeon before Draa saved you. I’m Tigfy. The one with have furry paws.”
“The singing woman?” Rudrani laughed a little nervously.
“More like a brat. I’m only nine and a half.” She furiously scratched her temple under her hat, blushing with shame. “They told me you didn’t get… they didn’t grow…” How can you grow organs? “…eyes because of me. I brought that filth to you. Didn’t think.”
“At least it didn’t hurt as much back then. Besides, you got us out of there. Consider me not pissed.”
“That was Draa. I was just underfoot.”
“Really? My cousins said he glared at us viciously, like he wanted to bite chunks out of us while we were changing.”
“No, nothing like that! Draa is as reliable as a rock. That idiot would sooner burst than hurt the weak," Tigfy assured her. She sat on the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. “My world changed suddenly these last few days. Can you imagine, they told me that we and you will now live in peace. It’s difficult to accept this turn of events.”
“A few days ago, I thought all Malformed were ruthless cannibals,” Rudrani remarked.
“You probably still do.”
“Well… I won’t deny it.” The blind girl smiled. “But I never thought my own people could stoop to kidnapping children and trying to feed us to the monsters to save their skins. I was sure there were, you know, certain lines no one would cross. I’m not how to feel about that now.”
“Hey, your father brought a whole army to save you.” Tigfy left out the fact that he’d been shot. That stayed between her and Pierre. “There’s your answer. Assholes will asshole. Value real men!”
“I suppose so,” Rudrani laughed.
“Listen, do you know why our people were even fighting?” Tigfy asked the question that had been bothering her. She wanted to understand why the Softskin guards had wanted to stretch her on an iron grate and roast her. “Here we are, talking calmly.”
“The priests would tell it’s because you’re unholy creatures causing mutations with your presence, seduce honest men and women into perversion, and steal children from their cradles.”
“And how many children did Pierre steal?”
“You know uncle?”
“We’ve crossed paths. He gifted me a hat. And he owes me a cusack. Still waiting. How many?”
“None. But he did get his face beaten in sometimes for chasing girls.”
“Ha! I knew he was a bastard! He’s also a lecherous freak!”
“Girls don’t mind when their suitors prove their passion through a brawl,” Rudrani smiled. “From what I know, quite a while ago your chieftain sent a delegation to discuss trade relations. The Marva clan, to which I belong, was very small back then; we didn’t have the right to attend meetings, let alone vote, so don’t expect anything beyond rumors and hearsay. The offer was rejected, a fight broke out, someone got bitten, and the envoys were shot. Since then, our people have kept their distance.”
“And the invasions?”
“Ventures by smaller clans. Ambitious groups had their minds clouded by tales of untold riches in your lands, and they decided to take them. Few returned.” The Softskin shrugged. “The Marva clan gained a lot of territory as a result, absorbing rivals, enriching itself, and growing in numbers.”
“Smart.” The Malformed propped her chin on her paws, elbows on her knees. “So we fought and hated our neighbors for essentially nothing, and now foreigners came, kicked our asses, and got everything without effort.”
She held back the bitter irony that wanted to burst out. She felt like crying. Mother and brother couldn’t escape from Raoul because Softskins killed Malformed just as readily as Malformed tore apart outsiders. Both groups were no better than Insectoids. No, worse! She’d never seen Insectoids tormenting their own kind. Even drones were repaired, not devoured.
What was it all for? Tigfy closed her eyes, trying to master her surging emotions. Stupid things happen. Even on the scale of nations. She wouldn’t make such mistakes. Her friend had shown genuine resolve. She wouldn’t be left behind.
“You know… this conflict is a steaming pile of shit,” Rudrani said.
“Stinking and disgusting.”
“Fuck the war. I have a favor to ask, if you don’t mind. Mind purring that song for me? The one you sang to us? You have a wonderful voice.”
“Oh, don’t lie,” the girl rolled her red-and-green eyes. She stood up and cleared her throat. “My voice is too shrill. Ugly, high-pitched. Nothing like Vyfka’s or Draa’s. They have real growls and rasps—music to the ears! But since you asked…”
Tigfy meowed, performing the only song she knew, pouring into it not the irritation that had filled her, but relief and joy at gaining freedom, at a blurry but opportunity-filled future, and at shedding the burden that had weighed on her since birth. They had won. Even if her family was gone, the bastard responsible hadn’t broken her or Draa. The suffocating darkness of fate had been torn apart, and the girl sang clearly, putting all her strength into it and enjoying herself.
Rudrani listened. The mental flow coming from the blind girl changed, taking on a blue hue, and Tigfy spun around, too late noticing two approaching external sources. A rough, calloused hand grabbed her by the neck, tightening on her collar.
“What are you doing here, abomination?!”
“Dad!”
****
“I give up,” Nakula leaned back in his seat, moving the belt buckle several notches for more room.
“She’s… still going, isn’t she?” Rudrani asked incredulously.
“Don’t pretend, you hear the smacking.”
“I just can’t believe it. Anyone else would have burst!”
“Breaking bread with a Malformed. Truly, even Ravager cannot save our souls now,” the hulking Raghunath touched his forehead, right shoulder, then left shoulder, and finally his navel. “The Abyss awaits us.”
“We ate potatoes.”
“Ah, then sin will surely pass us by,” the clan’s high battle priest nodded.
Tigfy paid them no attention, furiously snorting as she devoured the most delicious meat. The Marva people had brought their personal rations aboard the ship as gifts to the Iternians, but those had been rejected for being too fatty. After resolving the misunderstanding with Nakula—who had initially mistaken her for a predatory beast hunting his daughter—the Softskins threw a feast.
A pair of guards lingered on the horizon but, to Tigfy’s relief, left after confirming there was no violence. Nakula knew far more about the local technology than she did. He simply slammed his fist against the wall of the room, and the smooth metal extended a comfortable seat. She repeated the gesture, summoning a second seat, and poked at the chair’s fabric. Where could fabric come from inside metal? Not that she was complaining.
The clan leader’s bodyguard brought a stone slab walking on four stone legs, with a hollow holding a trough and drinks. Trickles of crushed pebbles swirled around the priest’s muscular arms—Raghunath, he introduced himself. He immediately dubbed Tigfy an unholy carrion-eater and then promptly asked if she wanted alcohol. Strange, yet the man’s open sincerity and warmth of thoughts made her like him. He joked, didn’t treat her as an enemy, and explained the floating stones as part of his power.
Interesting as it was, Tigfy’s attention was fixed on slices of beef with potatoes soaked in a fiery sauce. Her eyes watered, but tearing herself away from the steaming dish was impossible. Washing it down with beer, she stuffed her belly, belching and amazing the Marva elders with her immunity to intoxication. Ha, beer was nothing compared to the toxic waste of the Nest in terms of potency! But it tasted far better.
Their bloodthirsty neighbors’ food turned out to be better than the Iternians’ precisely because of its wrongness. Fatty, juicy, overspiced… Balance was entirely absent, and that was delightful, reminding her of familiar fare. During the meal, Tigfy learned many new things.
It turned out, the clans had no outsiders. Pierre wasn’t related to Rudrani by blood. But any man or woman, apart from parents, was considered her uncle or aunt. Thus, shameful behavior by one fell on the whole tribe, and vice versa. Such closeness made life easier for orphans, except for the unlucky ones afflicted by mutation.
Spiritual life played a huge role in the Softskins’ existence. They all believed in the Spirits—a religion that had come from the Wolf Tribe. Long ago, Ravager, an avatar of the gods, had saved them from death by kicking an erupting volcano back into the earth. Tigfy thought the story was a lie. No one could be that strong.
The persecution of mutants had hardened the clans against them. The priesthood split into two branches: the peaceful, who performed ceremonies, guided the flock, helped with work, and explored the other world through meditation under the scorching sun; and the militant, who served as chieftains’ bodyguards, inspired soldiers with deeds and speeches, and were responsible for retrieving the fallen. Raghunath belonged to the latter.
Like politicians, the priesthood was not unified. Belching after downing vodka, Raghunath explained the inhuman appearance of the Wolf Tribe. If so, how could the persecution of mutants be justified? But most priests considered Wolfkins a separate species. Hoping for clarification, Raghunath had made a pilgrimage to the Ravaged Lands eight years ago, eating only mushroom bread and spending thirty nights in prayer, until the great shadow honored him with her presence, silently set him on the true path, and granted him the power to manipulate minerals. Since then, he had returned, preaching tolerance toward the altered.
Nakula advised the enraptured Tigfy not to trust empty boasts. Raghunath had simply been lucky to survive an encounter with the Glow, nothing more. The heat had given him hallucinations. After thinking it over, Tigfy admitted the truth of his statement.
If gods existed, why didn’t they answer prayers?
Regardless of the reason, the priest surprised her. Rudrani’s father had given her a knife, and the blind girl deftly drew it from its sheath, twirling it in her hand without any fear of cutting herself. The blade literally blurred in her hands, flashing and flying between her palms. The girl’s thoughts grew confident and grateful as she hid the weapon in her sleeve, promising to teach Tigfy a few tricks.
At these words, Nakula’s emotions turned putrid green, but he didn’t voice his disapproval.
Having licked the trough clean, Tigfy wiped herself with the offered napkins.
“You’re sure you’re not hungry?” she asked.
“A bit of a belated question, isn’t it?” Rudrani giggled.
“Maybe. I enjoyed it. A lot,” Tigfy offered by way of excuse.
“Tomorrow we will treat you again, spawn of the devil,” Raghunath promised. “Though your soul is beyond salvation, perhaps we may protect the innocent by accustoming you to animal meat.”
“I also eat insects.”
“The depth of your depravity is immeasurable.” Raghunath raised his arms, and the crushed stones swirled around them in streams.
“Come back tomorrow,” Rudrani asked. “I’ll introduce you to my cousins.”
“I’ve already met Satya.”
“Poor thing, right? She always thinks she’s the most cowardly among us, yet in any dire hour she is the bravest and smartest among us.”
“Tell her that.”
“It’s… somehow embarrassing to say out loud… Ah, to hell with it, she deserves praise. And more! I’ll yap her ear off until she gets how wonderful she is!”
“And she will get everything she’s deserved.” Nakula stood up. “Tonight I’ll sleep in your room, Rudi. Need anything, just shout.”
“You must have a lot to do…” the girl stammered.
Her thoughts shifted to relief, love, and hope that he would brush aside her objections.
“Eh, nothing that can’t be done later. My brothers are in charge of our people’s journey to the camps. If I interfere, their pride will suffer. Let them have their fun; we don’t need Iterna’s help for a simple trip across the desert. Let’s go, Tigfy. I’ll walk you out. Guard Rudi, Raghunath,” Nakula said over his shoulder, placing a hand on the Malformed’s shoulder.
“I will gladly share with her the wisdom granted to me by Ravager. Have I told you about the night of passion I spent with a hundred beauties in the glorious city of Balach, child?” The four-legged stone table split into many small pebbles that wove into dusty arcs constantly orbiting the priest. The dishes and bottles remained floating on a thin stone sheet.
“Don’t believe any of his ravings!” Nakula almost forcibly dragged Tigfy outside.
She didn’t resist, watching the putrid green radiation of his thoughts. Not dangerous. Flecks of calm gray and irritable orange joined his feelings. The Softskin leader was hesitating… That wasn’t quite the right term. Nakula reminded her of a confident fighter, ready for anything, who would rather fall than yield. He was thinking how best to proceed with some decision.
The question was, what decision exactly? Clearly not suddenly stabbing her in the neck. Nakula was too relaxed: left hand on her shoulder, the other’s fingers on his belt. Not a position from which to draw a weapon easily. Perhaps poison in his jacket?
“The Marva clan is in your debt. I thank you… Tigfy.” Nakula ground out through his teeth, hissing her name.
She smiled, instantly warming to him. An honest hater was far preferable to a deceitful smooth-talker. His grip shifted to her neck. Did he plan to strangle her? A Normie without metal hide couldn’t hope to succeed. Tigfy would easily break his fingers.
“If you require money, food, help—come to me. But stay away from my daughter, understood, you disgusting freak?” He stood before her, jabbing a thumb into her chest.
Tigfy froze for a moment. Not out of fear for herself, but for Rudrani. Could this mountain of muscle be like Raoul? She reached out to his mind, slipping into his conflicting thoughts, and was relieved to find no lust for anyone except Nakula’s wives—and even there, lust gave way to genuine passion and tenderness. Reading thoughts made a lump rise in her throat. The skill didn’t come easily to her. Nothing like the chieftain. A good, loyal, responsible father. No need to butcher him.
But it wasn’t for him to decide things in her life. Rudrani had called Tigfy, and only Rudrani had the right to tell her to leave. Maybe the Malformed’s new acquaintance needed support.
“I heard you,” Tigfy said, promising nothing. “I need to use the toilet.”
“Fine, we’ll ask someone how to get there…”
“Tch, I thought you knew everything here, but it turns out you’re just as lost as me,” she added in a teasing tone.
“I know more than you’ll ever will, mangy rug.”
“Someone’s touchy,” Tigfy smirked.
She liked Nakula. He passed the simple test she’d set for him, not abandoning her to the Iternian guards after her request. Definitely a proper parent. His daughter was lucky.
Of course, that didn’t mean she would obey him or tolerate his outbursts. She was done being a coward.