David Wise - Tales of Ravenloft

Finally, more practical thoughts began to intrude.

Where was he? Was this world, wherever it was, nothing but jungle? Were there no people? No villages? No cities?

But the thought cheered rather than worried him. Villages and cities held only painful memories. It was Karg where he had gone to seek immortality, and where, to his everlasting regret, he had found it. It was in Karg and other cities of Darkon he had been forced to assume the form of the Beast and perform for his master, again and again.

Here in the jungle, there would be no vampire masters. No innocent victims to be tortured and killed for his master's idle amusement. Only others like the Beast, content in their mindlessness, never knowing —

A chill swept over him, moist and clammy, and everything was silence. It was as if every living creature within earshot had frozen, motionless, not even breathing.

Suddenly, his every sense was hyper-alert.

Something physically cold and damp brushed against his back.

Silently, he spun toward the touch.

And saw the Mists. For a fleeting instant, they swirled before him, and then they were gone.

A woman stood rigid in their place. She was young and beautiful and as hauntingly familiar as the land itself. Hair as black as night, sleek as —

He blinked the feline image of himself away before it could fully form. The sounds of the jungle returned.

"What is this place?" Her voice was a feral hiss. Her eyes narrowed as they focused on his face. "Who are you, and why have you brought me here? "

"My name is Urik von Kharkov," he said," and I did not bring you here. Beyond that, I know no more than you. And your name? "

"Malika. "Scowling, she looked around. "This is not Cormyr."

"Is it not? "

"You know it is not. "Even as she spoke, he knew it was the truth. But how —

"This Cormyr is your home?" The simple syllables felt strangely at home on his tongue.

She nodded suspiciously. "And yours? "

"Darkon."

She shook her head. "That is not a land I know. How do you come to be here?"

"The same as you, I would venture."

"You are not here of your own volition? "

"Not entirely. I wished to escape Darkon, but — "

"This is useless!" she snapped. She looked around. "Where is the nearest village? "

"There may not be any villages in this world."

"Do not be foolish. This is not the Great Desert. It is a forest, and all forests have an end to them."

"In your world, perhaps."

She laughed, but with a sudden edge of fear. "What foolishness is that? There is but one world. Even for sorcerers."

"I am no sorcerer."

"That is unfortunate. If you were, perhaps you could conjure up a meal. I had not eaten for near half a day when I was snatched here. "She pulled in a breath. "I suppose there's nothing for it, then, but to set out. You have no suggestions regarding direction? "

"None."

She was silent a moment, then shrugged and pointed at random. "There. That is as good as any, I imagine." Abruptly, she turned and strode away.

Before she had gone a dozen steps, a sound emerged from the dense thicket ahead of her. Not a growl, but still a sound from deep in some waiting creature's throat.

It was a sound Von Kharkov had heard a thousand times welling up from his own throat as the change had begun and his consciousness faded.

"Wait!" he called after her.

A dozen yards away, she paused and turned toward him, frowning. She seemed unaware of the sound. "You remembered something?"

Behind her, the sound grew louder, more like a growl. Even she heard it then.

She had just turned toward the sound when the tangle of brush and vines exploded and a massive, jet-black panther emerged, its coat sleek and untouched by the underbrush it had just come through. Its green slitted eyes were tinged with red.

"Stay still," Von Kharkov warned her.

His own eyes locked with those of the animal. Slowly, his motions as fluid as those of the Beast, he moved toward her. She seemed as frozen in place as the animal.

Finally he was at her side. His hand on her shoulder, he urged her to move behind him. Silently, she obeyed.

The panther's eyes remained fixed on his as it crouched, as if preparing to leap, the growl rumbling deeper in its throat with each movement Von Kharkov made.

He took a step forward.

And another.

The growl became a snarl, then a hiss. The animal slashed the air with its claws.

A hiss emerged, unbidden, from Von Kharkov's own throat. His eyes remained locked with those of the panther, and for a moment it was as if he and the animal were linked — even more closely than he and the Beast had been. For a moment, he saw himself through the other's eyes, saw the feral snarl on his own face, almost as dark as that of the panther, his eyes even more piercing, more unblinking.

And then it was over.

Abruptly, the animal's entire posture shifted, from one of menace to one of submission. It slumped and lowered its eyes. Then it turned and vanished the way it had come, but in silence.

But as it vanished, Von Kharkov felt the Beast within himself begin to stir.

"No!" A strangled cry ripped at his throat.

"What's wrong?" The woman's voice came to him from a great distance, even though, as he turned, he felt her hand upon his arm.

He shook his head violently. He couldn't speak. He dared not. In his mind, he heard the Beast snarl. What was happening? There had been no voice in his mind, no command that the Beast come forth! There had been only that brief, intense link, and the Hunger had begun to rise.

The Hunger had come upon him countless times before, but not like this, not without a command from his master! And here he had no master! It should not — could not be happening!

But it was!

But he could control it!

Here, without Dakovny or another like him commanding the Beast to come forth, he could stop it in its tracks, just as he had the panther! In Darken, knowing he could not disobey his master, he had never dared resist the transformation. He had invariably surrendered, abandoning both resistance and consciousness as if simply going to sleep. He had let the Beast assume control as his body began the change. Only when his human form returned had he awakened, his consciousness returning from whatever dark recess it had hidden itself in.

But now he would not retreat! He would not give in! He would fight, as he had fought — and beaten! — the panther.

Instead of letting his body drop to all fours when the transformation had barely begun, he held himself rigidly erect. But even as he did, he felt his body begin to change. His skin started to itch unbearably, then burn, and the fire went deeper and deeper until his very bones were aflame.

Had it always been like this? he wondered. Was this what he had blanked from his mind all those hundreds of times before? Or was this only the result of his resistance?

Why was it happening?

He lurched uncontrollably, his arms flailing the air for balance. The bones in his legs, still aflame, softened and shifted and bent and formed new joints. The flames concentrated in his hips, then, and his whole body bent forward, as if pressed by a gigantic hand.

And he fell.

Reflexively, his arms — now his forelegs — took the weight.

His whole body erupted in a new wave of agony, as if his flesh were being eaten from his bones with acid.

And then the flame engulfed his face, and the world melted and ran like candle wax as his eyes were transformed. When the fire faded and the world solidified again, the jungle shadows were no longer places of concealment. To the eyes of the Beast, they were bright as day.

Looking up, he saw Malika. Her eyes were wide in terror, yet she stood before him as if frozen. "Go! Run!" he tried to scream at her, but only a snarl of the Beast emerged.