The Kitten and the Wolf Ch.7

The Kitten and the Wolf
Chapter Seven-Stories



“Why did Skjor call this job this one's trial?” Di'kana asked as Farkas led the way out of Whiterun; he hadn't even taken the time to eat once he was dressed, moving like he just wanted to get this over with and come back. They'd only made a brief stop, at her home, so she could pick up the helm she'd forgotten that morning and jam it onto her head, trying to ignore the pain as she did so. She was sure her shoulder would complain less in the heat of battle, assuming there was a battle to be had where they were going. Her ribs, on the other hand, were a constant ache whenever she took too deep a breath. That pain was one she just had to deal with... silently.

“I watch you to make sure you're honorable.” Farkas responded as they went through the gates; it looked to be another bright and clear day on the plains. “If you are honorable and strong, I can call you Sister... though I still like Kitten better.”

“You called this one Sister before.” Di'kana pointed out.

“Yeah, that's because I think you're gonna do well. You can tell a lot about a person after fighting them, y'know. The trial is really more about clearing up the doubts of others who haven't had the chance to trade blows with you just yet.” He took a fairly brisk pace on their way down the hill, ignoring the road completely once they got to the bottom and striking off cross-country. “I could tell when you hit me... you're just like the rest of us.”

“How so?” She asked, keeping pace but feeling her chest tighten for it. This was going to be a long trip. “...why did you join the Companions?”

“Me and Vilkas were raised that way. Something ugly happened when we were pups, and a man named Jergen saved us from it. We're the youngest members the Companions have ever seen; the Companions are our family.” He shrugged; no doubt there was plenty more baggage to that story, but to him that was the only part that mattered. “You'll hear stories like that from all the others; orphans, lost warriors, people looking for a different life, runaways... We all came to the Companions looking for three things; honor, glory, and family.” There was a beat of silence as he looked back at her, where she trailed a few steps behind him. “You're just another lost one like the rest of us, aren't you? Why did you wanna join?”

“It is a long story.” Di'kana answered; her left lung didn't want her to breathe. The ribs that laid over it didn't want to move to give it room to expand, but she forced it while trotting for a moment to get even with him again. “This one... many choices have been made for this one. Things happened that could not be fought, could not be changed. It's been...” She thought about it, “Almost two seasons. Half a year, not that it makes much difference in Skyrim. Born on the road, this one was no good at the merchant’s trade and trained instead to protect the caravan. There was also a fascination with herbs and alchemy. This one stopped to collect something, mountain flowers of all things... never run out of them now, there's so many in Skyrim. This one fell behind the others, and was lost.”

She paused; first to keep her breath and second because she wasn't sure just how much to say. Farkas wasn't interrupting her, but he wasn't really asking for more of the story either. He just watched her in her silence, waiting for her to decide if she was going to go on.

“There was a split in the road. There were no clues where the others had gone; the choice was a flip of a coin. Panicked, this one did not think about where the caravan had been going, check the direction... nothing. No, this one ran to catch up... and ran into a group of armed border guards, protecting a road into Skyrim. Imperials, looking for rebels in this country's war. This one was taken, along with a horse thief, and many Stormcloaks; straight to the headsman's block. In Helgen.”

“Helgen?” He finally spoke up. “Wasn't that place destroyed by--”

“A dragon.” She nodded. “Funny... this one owes her life to such a creature. The attack came just as this one's time was up. Tears were shed on that block; this one pined like a kitten for her family; cried out for mother and father with what were thought to be last words... and then they were not. There was a wish to go back, but the borders are closed and guarded. If there is any interest in the war, it is only in ending so that this one's family may be found.”

“So you are an orphan; for the time being anyway.”

“It is a big world.” She lamented, voicing the harsh reality she'd come to terms with a long time ago. “Only so much time can be spent waiting up for one lost kitten. They will have moved on, and Di'kana has no idea where they are going now. Traders in Skyrim, even Khajiit, know nothing of other merchants who are not their suppliers. This one must be an adult now, by right of solitude.” With that she lifted her head. Something about saying it out loud made her feel more determined than before. “A warrior proves adulthood by rite of combat. This one fights, therefore she is.”

“Now if only you could learn to talk like the rest of us, instead of going on in third person.”

Her eyes snapped back to him, feeling a glare coming on but letting it go. He wasn't allowing her to sulk in her memories; his words were mercy, not cruelty. “Given time, perhaps.” She paused, having to take her time to speak like the other people in Skyrim did. Her accent remained, as she was sure it would until the day she died, but she added, “I can speak like you do, when I slow down to think of it... It feels strange to me, but I can... Khajiit do not have many words for addressing ourselves; we switch to an outside perspective to make ourselves understood without using a word that we cannot equate to our own language.”

“Which means I'll probably have to tell the story when we get back.” He chuckled, offering her a smile.

“Story?”

“It's a mead hall, Kitten.” He pointed out. “Wuuthrad is for the glory of the Companions; when we get back everyone is going to want to share a drink or ten and hear how getting the blade piece went. We drink, we swap stories of battle and such, drink some more, sing like idiots, scrap a little bit, stories get told again with a bit of exaggeration... It can get pretty crazy, but that's stuff to think about on the way back home.” He gave another chuckle, shaking his head. “Not often I'm a better talker than my Sibling, though.”

She let off a faint growl; was there nothing the Companions wouldn't tease her over? Facing forward, she pushed herself to pick up the pace, ignoring the protests of her sore body.

Their destination laid at least two hour's travel ahead of them.

Dustman's Cairn.

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The cairn was similar to others that Di'kana had explored in the past; rocky walls, rough floors, dim lighting if any, and the distinct smell of bodies that had been preserved far beyond their time. She'd drawn her weapon the moment they got past the door, passing from the sunny Skyrim day to the dark and dank of the cairn. She didn't trust places like this; they were always full of draugr and often several other kinds of nasty things. Farkas had also brought his sword out, right behind her as he insisted she was to lead from here on in; it was her trail, after all.

There were stairs heading down directly after the door, and Di'kana stuck to the wall as her eyes adjusted to the limited light in the chamber beyond. The first chamber was largely empty, though there were several upright burial stones that had been wrenched open along its walls. The air, though it bore all the usual smells, did not seem as still as most crypts usually did. Those places were always stagnant, dusty, and Di'kana would get the distinct sense that she was in a place where no living creature had been for years.... she did not get that feeling with this place.

“Looks like someone's been digging here... and recently.” Farkas commented, looking around just as carefully and noting that there was a rough hole in the wall where a door would usually block the way onward. “Tread lightly...”

She nodded a little, making a quick search of the room for danger and possible alchemy reagents; if there was one upside to going through places of the dead it was the abundance of bone meal she'd find, as well as particular breeds of mushroom. At the same time she knew she wouldn't be carrying back a lot from this trip; just walking here had tried her out. With some dread she knew fully well that walking back would be an even greater pain.

Her cursory search found little of use, but something of interest; a draugr lay crumpled on the floor. It looked to have recently been stabbed. “This one thinks...” She said quietly, pushing the now permanently dead monster onto its back get a better look, “We may have been preceded.”

“Great...” Farkas muttered, sarcasm on his voice. “Let's keep moving, Sister.”

She nodded, going through the hole in the wall to another set of stairs that took them further underground. At their base was another dead draugr, causing Di'kana's tension to rise. There was a gallery ahead of them, a chamber where the walls had been carved with many crevices for the dead to rest in, where several more draugr laid crumpled on the floor. Had the information that had been given to the Companions been shared? And if so, was it an accident or on purpose? Such questions were for another time though; they would keep moving and find out the truth soon enough.

“Be careful around the burial stones.” Farkas mentioned, not wasting breath on the obvious worry that someone else had gotten here before them. “I don't want to have to haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back.”

“This one has not been carried since she was a kitten.” She responded, practically hissing the words and stopping short of entering the gallery. There were no clear lights ahead of them, but she could see... something had moved. Her hands wrung on her warhammer, seeking out details. Was that...? Yes, there was a draugr, up and walking around. Well, it was nice to know the cairn hadn't been completely cleared out... but that also meant it was time to grit her teeth and bear the worst of the leftover pain from her underarm and ribs.

She didn't give herself time to think about it; she sprinted forward into the darkness, though it didn't seem so dark to her, and lifted her warhammer up to smash down on the undead skeleton.

Pulling up hurt more than swinging down, but both motions caused stabs of pain. That didn't matter; she'd dropped one draugr to find three more in the darkness, all zeroing in on where their comrade had just fallen. The noises they made were her cue as to which one was closer, stepping and turning to swing and smash.

Farkas was right behind her; she could have sworn he could see just as well as she could because he attacked with just as much precision, letting out a short cry before a solid crunch came from his target, followed by the sound of the dry bag of bones and skin falling to the floor in a heap as he rounded into a second motion and a stop-thrust. He had turned around before that was even over with, a fifth adversary stepping out from a crevice in the wall just in time to run directly into his blade.

The melee was over in seconds, leaving the both of them in the dimness and listening for anything else moving about in the many spaces of the gallery.

While there was no sound, Di'kana felt as if she were being watched. She turned, leading the way to search for the next passage to continue on. There were some candles in other parts of the gallery, but most of them had burned down through their wax, their lights either dim or gone. Stepping quickly, another corridor of stairs looked to be leading them even deeper to a more decrepit part of the cairn. A column of stone and shifted into the middle of the space, and the next set of candles was several yards ahead, leaving shadows in the middle.

The stone hall eventually leveled out, leading to a table surrounded by embalming tools and wraps; things used to prepare the dead for their unlife many years ago. Di'kana didn't even take the time to inspect it; no matter how many of these places she went through she would never want to spend more time than she had to thinking about what was done to preserve the bodies in such a way. According to her, the dead should have been allowed to rot in the ground like all other animals, not prepped and boxed up in stone.

“Not a fan?” Farkas asked as he saw a shudder pass through her, following the passage to the right where it opened up into a large chamber.

“No.” She answered shortly. “This one is not. Preserving the dead is a sick practice; bury or burn them, but why save bodies? For what reason?”

“So they can get up and try to kill us, centuries later?” He asked, making a sarcastic point.

She shook her head. “Leave this one in the woods somewhere, like any other creature.” With that she turned her attention forward again; the area they had just entered was a wide circle with a high ceiling that they currently stood close to. There was a small wooden platform split in two along the edge, stone stairs carved into the middle space leading down to the lower floor. Two throne-like chairs were built into a platform against the wall, another dead draugr on the floor next to them. Coming down the stairs she could see one passage was blocked off by iron bars, no doubt the way forward, and a switch set back into a well-lit alcove.

Farkas departed from her side, taking a look at the rest of the room and seeming not to notice the switch she'd seen in mere seconds of being on-level with it. Glancing at him, she shrugged and moved straight ahead to go throw it. The less time she had to spend in this place, the better.

Getting there, it was less an alcove and more a small room behind a choke-point. There were a few tables with potions that she quickly snatched up, as well as more embalming tools lying around that she grimaced at and ignored. Then, once she was sure she'd grabbed everything she wanted, she put down her warhammer to pull the lever.

She heard a metal grating move. In fact, she heard two. Turning around, she found the room she'd entered was now sealed off in the same way the passage forward had been. Iron bars now stood between her and the rest of the room. She grabbed them, shock and fear running through her; she didn't do well with containment. She didn't shout; instead her active mind went into lock and she left of a more bestial yowl.

“What the--?!” She heard Farkas before she saw him, running over to see what happened. His voice did some to ameliorate the beast she became when fear claimed her, simply staring at him instead of lashing out. Still, any concern he might have had was replaced with entertainment at her predicament. “Now look what you've gotten yourself into.” He teased, wearing a smirk.

“This one does not find it funny.” She snarled, yanking at the bars with her hands. Small places did not usually bother her, but once they were sealed up she felt the need to thrash around and get out as soon as possible. It made her want to panic for some reason, as if that would help her.

“No worries.” He assured, coming a little closer to put a hand over one of hers. It seemed he could tell what the shock of being suddenly trapped was doing to her. “Just sit tight. I'll go find the release.”

Her response was little more than a feral growl; something else had just shocked her right back into her animal mind-set. Her nose and ears had given her the first hint that they were not alone, and the rest was revealed to her eyes only moments after. Farkas turned around as he realized it too, seeing several people, both men and women, run in from the passage that had just opened. They were all armed with what appeared to be silver weapons, ranging from daggers to great-swords. Anywhere from eight to ten of them, they were quick to make a circle around Farkas and trap him against the wall.

Di'kana watched with her teeth bared, the additional threat driving her to a point where she thought of her talons before she thought of her warhammer, still leaning against the wall by the switch she'd thrown. Sadly, there was nothing she could do about this situation. She was trapped, unable to help her partner, and helpless herself.

“It's time to die, dog.” One of the men among them taunted. Farkas backed up against the bars that Di'kana was trapped behind. Surprised by the development, but he hadn't raised his sword.

In fact, he'd dropped it. The action was enough to bring back a few of Di'kana's neurons, wondering what in the world he was doing. Glancing down she saw that he'd reached one hand across himself to the side of his armor, expertly undoing the straps that kept breastplate and backplate tight to his body. She didn't get it; why was he trying to take off his armor?

“Help.” He muttered, hardly audible. “I'd rather not ruin this set.”

“We knew you'd be coming here.” One of the women among them said, the circle drawing in slowly. It seemed they were all confident that they had their prey cornered, willing to take their time and prod at him. Di'kana, still not exactly sure what was happening, did as Farkas told her and reached through the bars to loosen the straps on his other side, hidden as he let his arm back down. In mere seconds the armor for his torso was loose, the fact that his arms were at his sides being the only thing holding it on.

“Your mistake, Companion.” Another said as Di'kana moved on to his gauntlets since she could reach them and saw no reason not to. He apparently thought it important, and she didn't think now was the right time to ask questions. She worked on every leather strap she could reach as quickly as she could without accidentally slicing them.

“Which one is that?” Yet another asked.

“Doesn't matter.” The first one to speak answered back. “He wears the armor, he dies.”

Armor? Farkas's didn't look that fancy... who were these people?

“Killing you will make an excellent story.” The man who questioned Farkas's identity looked at him again, grinning with blood lust.

“None of you will be alive to tell it.” Farkas answered. His voice seemed even rougher than usual as he stepped away from the bars, shedding of almost all the armor on his upper body in a few quick motions. It was incredible how quickly he freed himself of his clothes, but something else was happening at the same time that explained the whole reason behind it.

Di'kana backed away from the bars that kept her caged in as she realized that Farkas was changing shape. His already broad frame was growing larger and taller, the skin darkening and dark fur rising up and out of his skin. His boots, which he hadn't been able to remove in the short time allowed, were ruined as the transformation forced any suggestion of humanity away. Muscles bulged and broke any leather straps that had been left on, a tail grew from the base of his spine and raised up for balance as he bent forward, and dangerous claws grew out from simple human nails.

The transformation had taken seconds or less, but Di'kana knew she'd be replaying the scene in her head for hours at the least.

She'd just watched Farkas transform into a beast. A wolf. A wild creature that roared at its hunters and dispatched them with terrifying speed and finesse, fangs and claws rending flesh and dropping bodies faster than their blades could flash out to strike him. She wasn't sure what had taken longer; the transformation or killing them all. Either way both events had been short and violent. He stood tall over the bodies, sniffing the air before turning and looking behind himself.

She stared, oddly thankful for the bars at that moment. His eyes focused on her, bright yellow with the transformation and full of that burning energy she'd seen in him before. Blood was smeared over his maw, and she wasn't sure just how human he was at that moment. Why was he staring at her? Did he even know who she was, who he was? Or was he nothing but a killer, let loose from his mortal form for a few moments of insanity?

He turned from her, running off and out of her sight to where his attackers had come from.

Not sure of what else to do, she fell down to the floor and waited.