Sleeping Beast Ch. 08

When it wasn't busy dreaming up luxurious dungeons he could build to house his headstrong lover, Nivid's mind battered him with horrible things that might happen to her as she pursued this foolish quest. Musings like this consumed more of his mind's time than Nivid had spent on anything in two decades, save the topic of the curse itself.

Once, to his horror, Nivid's newly uncertain mind dipped into the dungeon of his past, whipping through a dozen flickering, insubstantial images of women he'd fucked before Troi taught him the difference between that and making love. With his head stunned at last into horrified silence, an answer gradually sifted in through his confusion. In the same deep, vital corners that produced his desire to leap to Troi's defence, Nivid was distressed by his inability to protect her, and his mind, seeking sanctuary, had momentarily lit on the ease with which he'd released his seed into all those unknown vehicles of his past.

In the encompassing softness of his feather bed, he'd grimaced, closing his eyes and drawing Troi's sleeping form more closely into the sheltering, solid curve of his body. His frown faded with the comforting contact. Easy release was nothing compared to the gifts Troi had given him. He'd gladly suffer knives and fire for the opportunity to sleep with her warm scent filling his lungs and being absorbed into every cell of his mangled, mutated form. Living with uncertainty and a voluble mental voice were negligible inconveniences in comparison.

-- o --

As Troi led them in a wandering loop around the upper levels of the castle, Nivid eased the barrier he'd erected between himself and his brother. He'd been doing it more often in an effort to find out if Argus knew his sleeping mind had been intruding on Nivid's private time with Troi. It had happened twice the night before, the second time when he'd been woken by one of Troi's increasingly frequent nightmares.

After comforting her, Nivid had eased Troi back into restfulness by making love to her.

Just before Nivid came, grasped so erotically by his woman's body, Argus had invaded. This time, the sudden, unpleasant presence in Nivid's mind had been stronger, as though his brother were trying to wrest physical control away from him. Nivid didn't think that could happen unless he was at least half-dead, but it was a strange sensation, nonetheless, the squirmy tendrils of someone else's mind attempting to strangle his consciousness.

Thus far, Nivid's delicate, daytime explorations had yielded no answers to that question, but his impression that Argus' body was deteriorating had been confirmed by the fatigue permeating every corner of his brother's mind. The sensation went beyond mere discomfort, but the constant bubbling puddle of ire in his brother's belly was worse. Nivid retreated as quickly as he could without alerting Argus, rolling his shoulders in relief when he was free of the alien feeling. It had reminded him far too vividly of the uncontrollable rages he suffered during his changing years.

Since Nivid seldom thought in words, his feelings at that moment didn't manifest themselves as, "I'm happy Troitsa didn't know me back then," but as a series of images-- reactions she might have had-- followed by a rush of emotion so strong that Nivid, the most intimidating, indomitable creature on the southern steppes, couldn't stop a shudder from rocking his body.

None of his companions noticed, and fortunately he'd been more careful to keep his emotions hidden lately, letting Argus feel only the most benign ripples when their minds brushed together. He hoped it would help keep Vesa's burgeoning choler in check. Nivid controlled himself at the last moment, turning his snort of amusement into a subdued huff. Who would ever have guessed that someday he'd be the more rational brother?

Through all his thoughts and recollections, Nivid's eyes never rested. As they circled the upper levels of the castle, he scanned the area constantly for threat, while Troi pointed out the sort of items she wanted them to find. "It would need to be something unlikely to be discarded, difficult to destroy accidentally, and made of a susceptible substance. Not every material can hold magic. Stone will, but glass won't, for instance." Troi hesitated. "That's what my mother said, at least."

Talgut leaned toward an open door beyond Troi's shoulder, peering into the spare bed-chamber. "So, not clothing," he stated hopefully.

Troi smirked. Talgut clearly didn't want to swim through the stacks of fabric piled on every surface of the shadowy room. "Nyet. I've been sorting through the household linens to see what needs to be done; I've already been over every inch of the room." She closed the door, a small moue of disgust touching her lips as she recalled the collection of insects and rodent droppings she'd swept and swabbed away. "It was not nice."

"And, no," she continued, leading the party into another dim chamber, "not fabric, unless it's been sewn into the form of a living creature. Any religious items, anything made of metal or wood, or stone, like I said. Jasper, lead, jade, gems, natural crystals, all those are suitable for binding spells. If an object is small enough to move, leave it in the hallway outside the room. I'll check everything later tonight."

Her instructions tapered to a weak finish as she approached the end of the list in her head. "Jewelry, maybe coins . . . ."

All of the men were quiet as they searched their memories for items matching her criteria.

"Oh, also," Troi remarked, lifting her eyebrows and one delicate finger, "there's a stone from Karjalan-- people call it 'black slate'-- that is especially attractive to magic, I have heard."

Her voice drifted off again, and she looked silently at one man after another until her attention landed on Argus. She studied him in silence.

Nivid tensed.

"We can't automatically assume the power emanates from an object, though." Troi amended with an almost-imperceptible lift of her shoulders. "There may not be a talisman. We have to act as though the witch or sorcerer who originally put the curse on your family is lingering nearby, aiding its ongoing existence."

"Khristos," Argus muttered scornfully, "I think one of us might have noticed a wizard walking the halls of the castle, Troi."

Nivid hit him with a hard mental shove and Argus winced, unable to meet his brother's glare.

Talgut and Troi exchanged a look, missing the sibling byplay. "You Russians are always so literal," Troi retorted mildly. "He-- or she-- wouldn't be in his own skin-- he'd be using the body of another."

Argus' face showed his surprise more plainly than Nivid's, but there was a pause while they both considered the implications of her statement.

Talgut raised one eyebrow and interjected, "Kind of like Argus."

Argus glared, his mind momentarily torn from Troi's statement.

Ignoring them, she went on. "My mother said almost all witches have a familiar, or at least a favorite animal they can inhabit temporarily, and most people are susceptible to possession by spirits or demons."

"Most people?" Nivid stopped abruptly in the center of the room, his eyes meeting hers. "Us?"

This time the shocked stares included Talgut's.

With one word, they'd recognized their vulnerability. Not only did they lack the knowledge or experience to fight an attack from without, they might not be aware of an attack from within. Troi shifted, her glance flitting uneasily among the men who looked to her for an answer. Her shrug wasn't reassuring, nor was the head shake which followed.

"It is possible," she allowed. Again, her feet moved restlessly. "I don't know."

One by one, they met each other's eyes. For the moment, even Argus' hostility gave way to concern. Nivid felt the difference as a distant echo of his own response.

Ingrained superstitions aside, the Denovas had always been pragmatic people, not given to flights of fancy. Even after the results of the curse became clear, their focus was on finding a practical solution to its tangible symptoms. They prayed, of course, but as far as the brothers knew, their parents had never considered consulting a practitioner of the dark arts in order to reverse the work of the original spell-caster. Sorcerers, ghosts, demons . . . these had no place in their daily lives. The fact that Talgut and Troi so easily took her fantastic statements to be facts-- and not even impressive ones-- was far outside Argus and Nivid's realm of experience.

Into the extended silence, Talgut huffed an answer. "Doesn't matter, though, does it?"

The group's attention turned to him.

"If there's no way to tell, there's nothing to be done." He nodded at Troi. "You do everything you'd do anyways. Ward the castle, make charms . . . we'll help however we can." He stared thoughtfully from Argus to Nivid and back to Troi. "Besides, if one of us balks at your requests, I guess that would answer any questions."

None of them shifted in the silence that followed Talgut's final, dark pronouncement.

Troi broke the building wall of tension with a sigh. "You're right. There is nothing I would do differently. So . . ." Palm up, she gestured to the members of their circle. "Mayhap we should confide in each other individually, an anecdote by which we can recognize one another. If one of us were overtaken thereafter--"

She stopped. From their expressions, she knew the others had recognized the flaw in her reasoning.

If any one of their group was already, at this moment, a party to sorcery or possession, a successfully answered prompt a week hence would be meaningless. She could speak with Argus this very instant and never realize she was revealing her deepest secret to a malevolent spirit. She couldn't really, truly trust anyone not to betray or sabotage her plans.

Nivid watched Troi pull herself together for tenth time today.

Briskly, she opened the door of another unused room, directing her troops. "I'll be tying ward sprigs for the windows and doors of your chambers, so if you three would begin searching for anything your parents--" a flick of her eyes acknowledged Talgut as outsider, "-- may have brought from Abo, in particular, but Arkhangelsk, too . . . Idols, of course, figurines, statues, dolls, anything in amber or ivory, especially. Or lapis . . .."

-- o --

After bidding her knights off in different directions, Troi returned to the kitchen where she'd already begun assembling her ingredients. Fortunately the mountains surrounding her new home were thick with sheep, so she'd had no trouble pulling rich tufts of wool from briars and branches on the steeper slopes of the mountain. Beeswax, small branches of birch and ash, which weren't as good as linden, but would have to suffice. She hesitated, running down yet another list in her head.

What else?

Her slim fingers sorted miscellaneous elements into equal stacks as her mind continued to weave an uneven tapestry of plans. Throughout, Troi was conscious of the fact she still had the most important part of the castle to protect-- its inhabitants. She didn't want to worsen the Denova's situation, allow herself or Talgut to be smitten by a similar fate, or worst of all, get someone killed.

She was tempted to send Talgut away just to keep him safe, but Talgut's laughing comment, bandied about in jest by all of them ever since he uttered the words, was as accurate as his assessment of their current situation: everyone must play a part for her plans to succeed. Troi hoped their darkest fears were baseless, that none of the men in her new family had already been sullied by the hidden hand of dark magic.

Over the next two days, as Troi's warding work continued, the unspoken suspicions returned to haunt her thoughts. As she snipped a few hairs from Nivid's shaggy head to include in the amulets she was making to protect each member of her family, she noted a raw groove in the outside spiral of his right horn. When asked, Nivid said Talgut had nicked him accidentally with the edge of a shovel as they worked outside earlier in the month.

Troi said nothing, but her stomach clenched unpleasantly. Livestock were important to all nomadic peoples. Depending on the tribe, the fur and horn of cattle, horses, goats, or camels were included in many shamanic and healing rituals. Having a person's hair gave a holy man power to help-- or harm-- that person, and Troi imagined horn would be more powerful than hair, maybe even more powerful than knowing a person's true name. Had Talgut purposely nicked Nivid's horn to gain an advantage for himself or an accomplice?

She didn't mention her concern to the others, but she began to examine Talgut's actions in a new light. What about that missing chicken, for instance? What if it wasn't been a chicken at all? Some Russians said witches took shelter in chicken-legged huts or even changed from human to hut and back again. Was that related? Had Talgut's third chicken been the familiar of a witch, or the witch herself?

Eventually, Troi shook off the frightening thoughts, much as she'd pushed aside the possibility of Nivid being affected in that way. Whether it would be possible for Argus or Nivid to be individually possessed or guilty of housing an evil spirit without the other being aware of it, Troi didn't know. She had a few skills and a smattering of knowledge, but no inborn magic. She didn't think loving him would blind her, but watching Nivid's every move with a question in her heart . . . she simply couldn't think that way. She'd drive herself to distraction with such notions and, in any case, Troi's intuition said he wasn't party to anything of the sort.

Besides, there was nothing she could do if one of them was already affected: a demon's magic would easily defeat her paltry store of spells. Fortunately, keeping evil spirits out of a room which didn't belong to them wasn't nearly as difficult as driving them from a body they'd already seized. She warded her family's individual bedchambers and sewed amulets into their everyday clothing, a painstaking, necessary, and necessarily secret task.

Meanwhile, Nivid, Argus, and Talgut searched the castle, bringing item after item to her attention, and repaying Troi in kind for the many questions she'd asked them. Most of the objects they found were innocuous-- a pair of flowery silver candlestick holders, a filigreed brooch encrusted with glass emeralds, a pair of embroidered slippers-- but many others required her to spend time examining, cleansing, or even destroying them. But Troi didn't see anything that spoke definitively to her of power or possession.

The closest they'd come was a tapestry in the tower's second-level study, a scene in which a warrior romanced a woman who reminded Argus of his mother, wearing a sapphire ring which Nivid said resembled the one she had worn. The information led to a more exacting search of the master's chambers, where Troi noticed a miniature showing Suvi Denova wearing what may have been the same ring. It was difficult to tell for sure-- Suvi's fingers were partially hidden in the fur of a small white dog in her lap-- but Troi smudged the tapestry and temporarily banished it to storage in Zamok Denova's old, abandoned keep. Though they never found the ring, the search moved on.

But Troi was enthralled by the group of family miniatures, and returned several times to study the tiny paintings. In their current forms, Nivid and Argus bore no resemblance to their parents, of course, nor did their mother-- Suvi-- look much like her fair-haired sister-- their aunt Pilvi. Suvi and her husband were both dark-haired and exotic‑looking. As a matter of fact, Troi thought, they looked a little like her own parents. She swallowed painfully and turned her attention back to the gold-framed pictures.

She was surprised to realize she wouldn't recognize either Argus or Nivid from their childhood portraits. With Nivid, it was understandable, but the dark-eyed, sharp-featured, eight-year-old Argus had nothing in common with Nivid or the fair, hazel-eyed man she saw every day. The fact was disconcerting to her. It was the first time Troi really felt the impact of Argus having "borrowed" the body of another human being. She had to wonder how much more strange the situation felt to Argus and Nivid themselves, at least in the beginning.

Distracted and not thinking of his currently dour persona, Troi murmured something about it to Argus as he escorted her to the room he'd been searching.

When Argus snapped that he certainly hoped he bore no resemblance to his brother-- his life was miserable enough as it stood-- Troi's feet stuttered to a halt in the wide, cool corridor, her hands fisting at her sides. She bit down on her back teeth, her eyes narrowing fruitlessly to filter out the hazy red mist obscuring her vision. She didn't sense Argus stop or turn toward her, nor could she hear his quiet questioning prompt over the rushing of hot blood in her ears.

Her eyes closed, her mouth opened, and she shrieked.

Every living thing in the castle froze in the shadow of her scream.

When Troi's eyes popped open, her sight had returned, and fire burned from the alert sable eyes. With one step, she brought her body within a foot of Argus', but no hormonal urges assaulted her this time. She was consumed with fierce and gratifying anger. She'd been attributing her friend's mood to the pain of a broken arm and an envious heart, and she'd tried to be patient with both, but she was thoroughly sick of his attitude. His sarcastic remarks never seemed to affect Nivid, but even back when they'd been simple observations about his brother's beastly nature, Troi hadn't liked the superior tone of Argus' comments. Nivid no more deserved the curse than Argus did: he just happened to be the one cast in the role of villain. She meant to tell Argus every bit of that and more, come hell or high water. She poked him viciously in the chest, opened her mouth, and was swept off her feet.

Hell and high water had arrived simultaneously.

How did he do that?

Troi's mouth hung open, her fury replaced with shock as she clung to her lover's strong shoulders.

Nivid was the tallest, widest person she'd ever seen, and he had blocky, bone-hard hooves in place of feet. How could he possibly be so stealthy? Not a single sound had reached her ears in the moments between screaming and being swept off her feet with the sudden violence of a thunderstorm. A hairy, harmless thunderstorm with arms of steel, which held her gently aloft as he ascended the tower stairs in a swift spiral, plunking her down in the middle of their bed.

"What--? How--?"

She was no longer angry, and Nivid's mild eyes said he wasn't either, which made her precipitous arrival her all the more surprising.

"What--?" Troi began again, but she lost all sense of the question's purpose when Nivid whisked away his loincloth and clambered onto the bed beside her.

-- o --

Nivid slid down to lie beside her, tugging on Troi's hand until she was pressed against him, one heavy thigh draped across her legs and most of her body within easy reach.

Instead of leaping into battles in her defense as he longed to do, Nivid been using his body in a different way. He was doing his best to ease her burden by soothing her with touch and gesture and the mere fact of his presence, the same way she'd bettered his life. Whenever she lay awake staring into the shadows above his bed, he focused on exciting rather than soothing her with his touch, because Nivid's instincts screamed that sating Troi's body would also calm her mind.

After coercing Troi into fingering herself for their mutual, mirrored pleasure, Nivid had succeeded in nagging her into caressing herself one other time he made love to her. This time, her resistance was much easier to demolish, because she'd noted his reaction to the first.