Sons of Destiny Prequel Series 003 - The Shifter (10 page)

"Still, a concussion can be serious. I'll probe you with my magics once we've tended to the more obvious wounds. I'd be more concerned if your eyes weren't dilating," she added, patting Kenyen on his uninjured shoulder. "As it is, let's make sure none of those scrapes get infected. Let's get you on your feet and drop your trousers."

Blushing, Kenyen obeyed, grunting in a show of pain as he stood. It didn't take long to remove the rest of his garments—technically Traver's clothes, not his—but when the Healer calmly unlaced and dropped his undertrousers as well, gesturing for her daughter to stoop and help him step out of the crumpled linen, it was all Kenyen could do to keep his altered shape. Particularly when he saw the younger woman's eyes widen, her head low enough to have a good view of his limp genitals.

Face red, Traver's betrothed quickly exchanged underdrawers for the cloth and bowl her mother passed her, accepting the ointment bottle Reina plucked from the crowded table. Pouring the contents into the bowl, she started bathing his legs. Kenyen wobbled, startled by the intimate touch. It was rare for a shifter to
need
tending by a Healer, once he or she grew into their powers.

He clung to his mental image of Traver Ys Ten, as much to keep himself unresponsive as to keep the appropriate shape. Knowing that this was another man's beloved made the intimacy level that much more awkward. Added on top was the instinctive urge to grow a protective, modesty-screening pelt, either of fur or feathers or scales,
something
to preserve his civilized dignity. But he couldn't, not when the real Traver certainly couldn't have done that.

It helped somewhat, in a bruise-stinging way, that her mother was doing the same thing up by his head and arms. His upper body bore the worse of his faked injuries, so it made sense for the Healer to tend those, and leave the rest to her daughter. The moment Solyn started patting near his upper thighs, however, Kenyen flinched involuntarily, shifting away from her and bumping his legs into the edge of the cot. His dignity was already in tatters; he did
not
need her gentle fingers tickling near
that
part of his anatomy, and he particularly didn't want her commenting on that ring the real Traver had insisted he wear.

"Enough—enough! Trust me,
that's
not injured."

Reina chuckled. "Clean off his backside, Daughter, then give him a blanket, help him to sit, and let him recover his dignity. I'll want to look at the swelling on his ankle, but it seems like that's the worst of the lower troubles—how many times did you hit your head, young man?" the Healer added in an exasperated voice, gingerly feeling her way across his shapeshifted locks. "Three times? Four?"

"I honestly don't remember. I'm sorry," he added, twitching a little as his purported betrothed scrubbed at his buttocks with her damp rag, then wrapped a strip of toweling cloth around his hips. Cheeks still flushed, she added a soft wool blanket from the foot of the cot, draping him from hips to feet in the lightweight wrap. Grateful, Kenyen sat back down.

The tension of the moment and his embarrassment kept him from reacting to her touches—she was quite attractive, in an understated way—but he was still grateful for the modesty shield. Nakedness on the Plains wasn't the same as nakedness anywhere else, something of which the warbands that headed outkingdom in search of mercenary work were well aware. Healers had to tend their patients' various needs, true, but that didn't mean casual nudity was acceptable, here.

The younger woman, Solyn, glanced up from time to time, her hazel eyes meeting his brown ones. A question lurked in her gaze, unspoken and unanswerable. As Zellan described the condition he had "found Traver in," she continued to work under her mother's direction, cleaning his scrapes, coating them with salve. Kenyen heard her hissing in sympathy when her mother had him stand, brace his dislocated shoulder against the wall, and push it back into its socket with a roll and a grunt. The grunt was manufactured; literally, a shifter couldn't dislocate anything for real unless they were very weak.

Healing was a matter of remembering how a body part should properly feel, and just shifting and reshifting until it felt whole and functioned right. The stronger the shifter, the faster they could heal. He wasn't his brother, who had more than a dozen shifts to his name, but Kenyen could have repaired a dislocated joint in just three or four shifts. Twenty or thirty would start to tire him, and up to fifty full shifts in a day would exhaust him, or twice as many minor shifts. However, the point wasn't to heal himself. The point was to fake his injuries enough that it would fool a Healer.

The moment Reina settled him back on the cot and laid her hands on his shoulders, pouring her magics into him in rhythmic, lyric murmurs... he sneezed. Repeatedly. Kenyen couldn't help it. Some shifters—himself, his brother, and his father included—could "feel" magic as if it were a tickle in the nose. Once he had reached puberty and his shifting abilities developed, he had rarely needed the spells of Family Tiger's Healer to fix his injuries, though he had accepted some of the herbal remedies for colds and such. Mages of any flavor just weren't common on the Plains.

"—Achoo!"
He sneezed one last time, grateful that her spell had finally stopped.

Taking away her hands, Reina eyed him warily. "I don't
sense
a cold lurking in the energies of your body... but those energies feel rather unusual. A bit higher than they should. I can't detect a fever, either, which might've explained it... Normally I'd just send you on home since you don't seem to have a concussion anymore, Traver, but I'd like you to stay here overnight for observation, just in case I'm missing something."

Rubbing at his nose, Kenyen nodded.

Reina nodded and turned to the doorway, where curious onlookers had lingered. "Alright, you lot, out you go! Zellan, you, too—ah, there you are, Tenaria; thank you for bringing him a fresh change of clothes. You can fuss over your boy for a little bit, but then he'll need to rest. Spells don't heal bodies purely on their own, you know. As soon as I'm done whipping up a milder pain posset, he'll need to drink it and lie down for a while. Solyn, will you go get him something to eat, then come keep an eye on him? Go get some of the pottage from the hearth pot and thin it into a light soup, in case his concussion is still lingering."

"Yes, Mother," she agreed, shifting away from the cot.

Bodies shuffled through the doorways. Kenyen found himself engulfed in a gentle but thorough hug while "his" mother fussed over what she thought was one of her sons. Guilt coursed through him as he accepted her attentions and resurged when she fussed over him when he lied to her about his memory problems. Stuck in this awkward position, Kenyen did his best to pretend to be the real Traver Ys Ten, one with touches of amnesia to hide his ignorance. The real one's life hung in the balance, after all.

Somewhere outside the Healer's sickroom, the shapeshifter named Zellan would be lurking, waiting to catch the least little slipup from him.

Four

There was something different about Traver Ys Ten. Solyn wasn't sure what, but she knew there was something different. Something in the way he had slept on the cot last night, curling up to use his own arm as his pillow instead of the one provided, and something in the way he moved. It was just... different.

More graceful,
she realized, walking with him down the path to his family's home. His other set of clothes had been cleaned and dried overnight, though they would need some mending. She carried them for him in a string bag slung over her shoulder, with the intent to show his mother what needed repairing. Traver couldn't ply needle and thread if his life depended on it, though he had plenty of other domestic skills.

Huh... yes, he's more graceful. He always stumbles a bit on those two steps, but he didn't this time.
Having given herself the task of helping him regain his fuzzy memories—a convenient excuse to try to get alone with him to ask him what had really happened—she had plenty of time to observe him. In a series of holding farms like the ones in the Nespah Valley, it was difficult to be alone for very long. Still, when they were out of earshot on the path, her ring did twist on her finger, indicating they were alone.

Changed or not, this
was
her friend Traver. He had reassured her two years ago that he had hidden his ring in a very unlikely spot, somewhere that no one would think to look and probably wouldn't find in a search. Solyn originally had guessed he had hidden it inside his mouth somewhere, which was the only place she could think of for it, but its actual location was nowhere near his mouth, as she had seen for herself yesterday. Tapping his shoulder, she stopped him on the age-worn stones of the path.

"Alright, Traver, we're alone enough for the moment," she murmured. They might not have anyone near them for several hundred body-lengths, but that didn't mean she wanted to shout and have her words echo off the terraces. "What
really
happened with the caravan?"

Stopping and turning politely at her touch, Kenyen resisted the urge to glance around. Struggling against the urge to blush, he carefully kept his face Traver-like. "I told you. All I can remember is my mount bucking, and bits of me tumbling down the hill. Of lying in the mud for a long time. And... and I can't remember which house is mine. I just know it's down this path somewhere."

He flopped his hands uselessly, taking the time now to look around and make sure they were alone. Bodies young and old were weeding the sinuous ranks of gardens arrayed along the winding, green hills, so very different from the flat, rolling fields of the Plains. Thin, low clouds rendered the sky a bright shade of humid gray, and the shrieking laughter of children echoed in the distance. No one seemed close enough, but it was too soon.

If he revealed himself now, even to Traver's beloved, Zellan would race off to the others, to send shifters after Kenyen himself, and probably to that shepherd's hut, to ensure that the real Traver would die. All he could do was morph his own sense of frustration and helplessness into the role he was constrained to play and hope it worked.

Solyn eyed her friend, who looked helpless and frustrated and earnest, and relented. Patting him on the shoulder, she turned him back down the hill. "It's the second one on the right. Just... do me a favor?"

"Anything," he promised quickly.

Taking a deep mental breath, she trusted her friend, and the presence of that hidden ring on his body. This
was
the real Traver. It had to be. "If you should remember
anything
about heading down to the Shifting Plains, or having suspicions about the identities of certain folk,
don't
talk about it to anyone but me... and only if I myself bring up the topic."

Kenyen nodded. He did so more from comprehension than agreement, though he did agree. Her words fit in with what little Traver had told him before that other shifter had found the young man. "I won't. Just, be patient with me. I
hate
feeling this way. I've lost so much, and there's nothing I can do to recover it. Nothing but time."

"Well, just don't go hitting yourself on the head again," Solyn ordered him. "That never helps to restore the memory loss and would probably only addle your wits even further." Teasingly, she reached out and rumpled his hair, pushing his head a little.

Unsure how the real Traver would react to that, Kenyen turned and swatted her hand away, not sure if she was playing or harassing. She grinned and teased him further, trying to tickle him on the arms, the ribs, the scalp, anywhere she could reach. Giving in, he grinned and fought back just as lightly. Fingers slapping, hands fluttering, arms tangling, they ended up in a half-hugging embrace, swaying a little for balance on the uneven stones lining the path.

Kenyen stilled. She was warm, smelled sweet, and felt very feminine in his arms. Very nice. Aware of her curves, but not very sure of the local customs on such things, he just held her.
Back home, this would be bordering on scandalous. We haven't traveled much among the Corredai, but I don't
think
this is outright scandalous. Except I'm holding another man's betrothed, and it would be absolutely wrong to take advantage of this moment.

Resting against him, Solyn could smell the liniment she and her mother had used on his bruises, a hint of male sweat, and something more. Something that made her breathe deeply. He felt warm and strong, and just a little... Frowning, she looked up at him. "Are you
taller
?"

Blushing, Kenyen quickly shook his head, then dipped his chin at the path. "No, I'm just standing on a higher bit of ground." Changing the subject before she could notice whether or not he actually was, he urged her along the now gently sloping path, shrinking his frame a tiny bit as he moved. "So, do I have to go back to doing chores right away, or do I get another couple of days to recuperate, first?"

"Mother said you aren't to do any heavy lifting for the next three days. But that doesn't mean you can get out of working," Solyn chided him. "Your brother was saying—Sellah, that is—that the leaves on the upper west terraces were in need of clipping tomorrow. I heard him through the kitchen window when I was getting your dinner last night. If you take it easy and make several trips with the net-cutters, that shouldn't be too heavy for you. The other choice is picking dark plums and red nanjeras, but you really shouldn't lift your left arm over your head for at least a few more days—you didn't hurt it just now, did you?"