James Galloway - The Tower of Sorcery

"'Ere now," the man chuckled in an evil voice. "The mouse thinks 'e's a lion, 'e does."

The man took a step towards him, but he did not move. It occurred to Tarrin that if they made a racket, Tomas the merchant would investigate, and he would walk in unarmed against a man with a knife. His life would be in very real danger. And since he had been in the form of the cat for so long, simply changing form to deal with the bandit didn't occur to him; changing form was something he didn't even think of anymore without working himself up to it. Tarrin knew he was no match for a human, not as a cat, but he absolutely could not let the man get by him. The life of his little mother depended on it.

In desperation, Tarrin suddenly felt something drawing in , filling him with a seething life that almost set his blood on fire. A fuzzy image of fire came to him, fire roaring from the hands of a pretty brown-haired girl, even as the world around him seemed to be overlaid with impressions of glowing strings crisscrossing the room. The sensation of drawing in moved those strings, causing them to draw towards him, until little pieces of them flew out and entered him.

That image of fire seemed to weave itself from his imagination and into reality. A red-hot tongue of flame lashed from him, simply materializing in front of the defensive cat, and it roared at the man. It washed over him, singing his hair and setting small licks of fire to his clothes before flashing out of existence nearly as quickly as it appeared. The man cried out and dropped the knife, staggering back towards the door. Angry red welts were already forming on his face, and the skin on his hand had an almost liquid consistency from its immersion in Tarrin's fire. "It's a devil-cat!" he cried, then he turned and fled out the door.

Tarrin suddenly felt too weak to move. It was as if all his strength was sucked out of him with that fire. He wilted to the floor as a suddenly concerned Tomas charged around the corner, holding a rapier in his hand. Tarrin was surprised that Tomas held it with a cool familiarity that told him that the man knew how to use it.

"Shadow!" he called in sudden concern, kneeling by the exhausted Tarrin and putting a gentle hand on his back. "Are you hurt, boy?" he asked, his eyes staying on the door.

"What's the matter, Tomas?" Janine the wife called, coming up behind him.

"The kitchen door is open," he said. "I think someone tried to sneak in, but it looks like Shadow here startled them."

Strong hands picked him up, and Janine cradled Tarrin to her breast, her free hand checking him for injuries. Despite his exhaustion, he meowed plaintively to her, and put his head against her shoulder. "There's a knife on the floor," Janine said.

"I think Shadow attacked the man," Tomas the merchant chuckled. "He must have been up on a counter, and leaped at him when he came in. That's a good cat," he said with a laugh, petting him gently.

"He knows who feeds him," Janine said with a laugh.

Tomas looked out the door, then closed it, reset the latch, and then locked it. Then he picked up the knife. "It's still warm," he noticed. "I think I'll have a talk with Deris about leaving the kitchen door unlocked when he's not in the room," Tomas the merchant said.

"Be easy on him, Tomas," Janine the wife said. "I'm certain that it was an accident. He's usually very careful."

They took him back to the living room, where Tarrin spent most of his night on Janine's lap. He was very frightened, frightened of what had just happened, so he clung to the woman like a child clinging to its mother. Janine, a bit startled that Tarrin would show her so much affection, stroked and soothed him the way only a mother could, easing him from the death-grip his claws had on her and coaxing him into simply laying on her lap.

He had used Sorcery. And just like his sister, it had been raw, uncontrolled, an attack made in desperation. That changed everything. It was the reason he had fled from Jesmind in the first place, and he realized that, until he learned how to control it, that he would not be safe, nor would others be safe around him. He could have easily set fire to the house, or killed himself with his ignorance. He knew then that he had to leave, and very soon. He had to go back to the Tower, go back to the only place that could help him control his power, and he had to go before it happened again. Next time, he may not be so lucky, and he knew it. He had to accept his responsiblities, stop hiding from them.

It was time to grow up.

Tarrin had been solitary all the next day. It hurt Janette a little bit, but Tomas the merchant and Janine the wife figured that he was still a bit shook up over his encounter in the kitchen. What he was doing was making a decision, one that didn't come lightly to him, and he needed time by himself in order to reach it.

That night, after everyone was asleep, Tarrin padded up into Janette's room. He looked at the darling little girl, all snug in her covers and with a cute little expression on her face. How he was going to miss her.

After a few moments of concentration, Tarrin changed form.

The realignment of his thinking was quite profound. After so much time in his cat form, with the cat in control, it was unusual to have to think through the cat's distraction in order to form thoughts. The cat accepted the reversal of roles graciously, returning to its place in the corner of his mind. And when it returned, Tarrin bade it farewell as a brother, not in relief that it was gone. The time in his cat form had allowed him to come to a deeper understanding of his cat instincts, and though he still feared what he may do someday when he was in a rage, at least he could face that future with at least some hope that he could prevent anything as horrible as what he nearly did to his mother from happening.

He knelt by her bed, putting a paw on her shoulder. "Janette," he called softly. "Janette, wake up. I need to talk to you."

The little girl opened her dark eyes. Though he was a stranger, Janette did not scream or look up at him in fear. The light of the moons and the Skybands filled her room with enough light for her to see his face, and though he was unknown to her, his gentle way of waking her seemed to allay any fear and replace it with curiosity. "Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm your cat," he said with a smile.

"You are not," she said indignantly.

"Yes, little mother, I am," he told her, cupping her cheek in his huge paw. "Well, I'm not really a cat. Not just a cat. Here, let me show you." He stood up and stepped back from her.

"You're not wearing any clothes," she remarked.

"I know," he shrugged. "I don't have any. Now watch." He changed form for her, and saw her eyes widen and heard her gasp. Then he changed back, and returned to his spot beside her bed. "See?"

"You're not a girl," she accused. Tarrin marvelled at her innocent way, at how she could so easily accept what would have been earth-shattering to an adult. Children were very adapatable.

Tarrin laughed. "No, I'm not a girl," he agreed.

"If you're not a cat, why were you a cat? Why stay here? Don't you have a home?"

"Well, it gets complicated, little mother," he smiled, stroking her hair. "You see, I was lost. I was lost, and very frightened, and very sad, and I didn't know what to do. I was so afraid that I didn't want to go on living. And then a little girl fished me out of a bush," he said, tapping the end of her nose with his fingertip. "You saved me, Janette. If you wouldn't have found, me, I would have died. Here, with you, I found my way again, little mother." He cupped her cheek again, his paw almost swallowing her face up. "I can't ever thank you enough, Janette. You showed me how to live again."

Her eyes welled up with tears. "You're going to go away, aren't you?"