| SORCEROUS SIGNALS |
| Written by Christine Lucas / Artwork by Holly Eddy |
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| The Cats of Silverhawk Wood |
“Steal not from the offerings to the Fanged Lord. Keterach favors hunters, not thieves. Those who have
felt his divine vengeance still stalk the desolate parts of hills and forests, and more so in the Silverhawk
Woods. Venture under its ancient firs, if you dare, and witness both his curse and blessing, intertwined
and irreversible.”
- Gods, Curses and Monsters, by Dran BirBoan, Elder of the Hermetic Order of the Woods
***
“I’m getting too old for this.”
Aurion wiped his sweaty face and sat on a fallen trunk. He should have stayed in the cave and spent the
night there. He checked his wounded thigh. That filthy ghoul had left a good imprint of its rotting teeth
on him. He squeezed the bloody flesh and something brownish-yellow popped out. Apparently, it had left
a tooth or two as well.
He grimaced, raised his lantern, and looked around for a safe place to camp. The steep heights of
Crone’s Leap darkened the starlit sky ahead, and he limped that way. His injuries needed tending.
Ghoul bites turned gangrenous very fast.
A hollow spot on the cliff wall provided enough shelter. Aurion started a small fire.
“That little thief will spit blood and bile, once I get my hands on her,” he mumbled, setting his cup over
the fire. He filled it with water, sprinkled a pinch of healing powder in it and stirred with a twig. The
marigold and rue would minimize the infection until he got back to town. He leaned back against the rock,
took a sip from his water skin and waited for the brew to boil.
He should have known better than to trust pretty women he met in taverns. But the map she had sold
him bore a little-known seal, and the runes around it were consistent with the Age of Fire.
“Greedy slut!” He tossed another pinch of powder into the brew. The tomb she had led him to housed
no sacred book—only a large ghoul infestation. He drove his fist into the moist ground. She’d pay for her
treachery with more than money. That would send a clear message to any thief aspiring to deceive a
necromancer again.
A twig snapped somewhere close and he peered into the darkness, seeking any possible threat. The
eerie silence in this forest unsettled him. Most creatures kept their distance from a necromancer, but
there were always nervous chirps or insect buzzing about. He rubbed his eyes. What had he read about
those woods? He recalled a vague mention of a myth about beasts dwelling there, but his tired mind
failed to recall anything more.
The brew was reduced to a thick paste now. Aurion tied his white hair back, removed the paste from the
fire and, hot as it was, spread it over his wound. His eyes watered at the burning pain, but he clenched
his jaws and continued. He placed a few clean leaves over it and secured it with a fresh dressing.
Another twig snapped, this one closer. His eyes narrowed, and his fingers closed around his dagger’s hilt.
“Who’s there?”
No one answered him; only the wind ruffled the foliage. How did that myth go? He recalled now it
involved the Fanged Lord and some sort of curse; but the details still evaded his grasp. He let out a long
breath. Perhaps his weary mind was playing tricks on him.
Then he saw her.
***
“In every corner of Lorêa you’ll find a myth of beast-men. Some are able to shift their forms, others
not. The villagers of the hills around the Firesisters Lakes speak of eel-men lurking in the shallows
around the hot springs. The goatherds of the Dragonbone Mountains swear they have lost animals to
hawk-men. The sailors of the North Coast sing about their encounters with shark-men. Rumors around
the Didonai River speak of reptilian humanoids, but no living soul has confirmed it.”
- Shapechangers: Myths and Facts, Archives of the Necromancers’ Guild
***
She crouched among the bushes a few paces away from him. Sand-colored fur covered her lithe body,
and a ragged cloth was wrapped around her loins. She seemed young—barely over fifteen winters old,
but with such creatures one could never know. Legend had it that, once cursed, their human bodies
stopped aging. Her face was almost human, save for the fur and pointy ears under a mass of tangled red
hair. She smiled at him, and Aurion pressed against the rock. Those fangs seemed very sharp.
His gaze darted around, seeking an escape route. Aurion recalled more details about the myth now, but
not how to get rid of such a creature. With his injured leg, he’d never outrun her.
She moved forward, her belly close to the ground, her amber eyes fixed on him, her pink tongue licking
her lips. And—merciful oblivion—was that a tail wagging at her rear? An arm’s length away from his feet,
she stopped and sat up, exposing her small breasts—all six of them. Aurion gulped, unsure of how to
feel. In his long life, he had known his share of women—living, dead and those in between. But he had
never met such a creature.
She reached out to touch his boot, but pulled back her hand halfway there.
The tingling in his nostrils reminded him of her feline part. He rubbed his nose to stifle the threatening
sneeze, fearing that any sudden sounds and movements would break the fragile truce. But, sooner or
later, he’d sneeze. Cats always had that effect on him. And the damned critters seemed to know. They
always followed him around and rubbed against him when he least expected them.
She sat quietly now, licking the fur of her left forearm, glancing at him at every other lick. Was her
species sentient? If so, perhaps he could reason with her?
He cleared his throat. “Hello?”
She stopped grooming, her eyes now dark and wide. Her tail lashed back and forth faster.
That can’t be good. “Can you speak?”
She nodded, the hint of a smile curling her lips.
“I’m Aurion.” He patted his chest, then waved to her. “Do you have a name?”
“K-Kayla.”
Her voice was hoarse, as though she hadn’t spoken in a long time. She reached out to him and this time
touched his boot. Clawed hands traced the curve of his ankle and sent shivers all the way up to his
spine. Mostly out of reflex, he pulled his foot away and grimaced at the sharp pain in his wound.
“Kayla offended?” Bewilderment clouded her gaze, and her lower lip trembled.
Curses, he had hurt her. He thought fast. Perhaps he could talk his way out of her dinner plans. Flattery
worked well with all females of any state or species, as far as he knew.
“You didn’t offend me, Kayla, just startled me. I have never seen anyone like you before.”
She lowered her head, but not before he saw her smile.
“How old are you?”
She looked away, as though trying to remember. “Many moons.” She shrugged.
“What did you do to, er, get this?”
“Stole god’s food.” Her clawed fingers traced circles on the dirt. “Was sixteen then. Many, many moons
ago.”
His fists clenched. She was just a kid then! What kind of god punishes hungry children? Death, his own
lord, dreaded though he was, treated everyone equally. Cats excluded, of course—lucky fleabags with
nine lives.
“I’m sorry, Kayla. Isn’t there a cure?”
She looked right at him. “What for?”
“Don’t you want to be human again?”
She giggled. “Why?”
A gust of wind blew her hair back, and she looked up. He followed her gaze. The sickle moon had just
appeared over the edge of the cliff. When he looked back down, she had a huge grin on her face.
“Kayla, wait!”
He had barely finished the words when she lunged at him. He rolled sideways to evade her, but she was
faster. She pinned him on the ground, her face a breath away from his.
Holy aconite! She was much stronger than he had thought at first. No matter how hard he struggled, he
couldn’t shake her off.
“I’m not good for you! I’m old, and there’s not much meat on my bones!”
She licked him, her coarse tongue trailing from his cheek down to his neck.
“I’ve used too many potions and elixirs in my life! I won’t taste good!”
She stopped licking him and rose. He dared a glance, and found her grinning. And purring.
“Won’t eat you, silly.”
He gulped. “What do you want then?”
She purred louder. Her hand released his arm and groped his crotch.
“Make kittens!”
***
“During the waxing moon preceding the Spring Equinox, the cat-people of the Silverhawk Wood assume
semi-human form and seek a mate. Sometimes they’ll mate outside their kin, to strengthen their pride
with warrior blood. Rumors speak of unfortunate hunters lured into the woods by exotic women, and
never seen again. At least, not in one piece.”
- Shapechangers: Myths and Facts, Archives of the Necromancers’ Guild
***
“You want what?” With one hand free, he managed to shake her off. Kicking the ground, he retreated
until his back pressed against the rock. His wound sent fiery jolts of pain up his spine and he still felt her
claws digging through his pants.
“Must mate. You good warrior.” She grasped his calf.
“How do you know that?”
“Saw you in cave with dead things.” She nodded. “Want kittens strong to kill dead things too.”
She had watched him fight the ghouls? And thought him a strong warrior? Aurion pushed back the warm
sensation in his gut. Flattered though he was, he recalled reading that the cat-women killed their mates
afterwards. He’d rather pass.
“Kayla, I’m sure you’re a great, er, person.” He cleared his throat. “But I can’t be your mate.”
“Kayla no good for you?” Her shoulders slumped. She passed her hand through her tangled hair, and
tucked a long strand behind her pointy ear. “Kayla clean, grooms every day.” She nodded repeatedly.
“Kayla good hunter too. Killed boar once. Can catch fish. Kittens will not starve.”
He sighed. “I’m sure you’ll be a great mother, but I’d rather live.”
Her jaw dropped, and then she giggled. “Won’t kill you, silly.”
“You won’t?”
Before he could even blink, she darted forward and straddled him in one fluid move. She pinned him
against the rock, her body heat too close, her purring oddly exhilarating. Clawed fingers sought his belt
buckle. Her breath brushed against his ear.
“Kill you and waste good seed? Great warrior makes strong kittens again.” She untied his hair, brought a
long white strand to her nose and sniffed it. “Kittens with white fur, like yours. White cats make great
leaders.”
Aurion felt lightheaded, and the tingling in his nose waxed. If she wasn’t going to kill him, he might as
well humor her. She nibbled the curve of his neck and he gasped at the pleasure spiced with pain. Three
pairs of nipples brushed against him, a new and enticing sensation. Not bad—not bad at all.
“Fine, then.” He pulled her closer, and stroked the soft fur on her back.
She purred louder and tore his shirt open, lowering her teasing tongue to his chest. He rubbed his nose
harder, only to find cat hair clinging on his fingers and his nostrils. He could not stop it now. He sneezed,
not once or twice, but five times in a row. Kayla jumped back with a hiss.
Once the fit ended, he saw her crouched a few paces away, measuring him from head to toe.
“You ill?”
He sneezed again. “No, it’s your fur. Cat fur always makes me sneeze.”
She tilted her head, her tail twitching back and forth.
He dried his eyes. Great. Now she’ll think I am defective and dump me. Or kill me.
She scratched her ear. “Less fur, less sneeze?”
“I-I suppose so. Why?”
Kayla closed her eyes, threw her head back and folded her arms over her chest. Her fur glowed golden in
the moonlight, and a low, guttural sound escaped her throat. A ripple ran down her form, a change in
the fabric of existence. Panting, she fixed her amber gaze at him.
“Better?”
Only then did Aurion notice the change: she looked more human now. She still had her tail, but her ears
were smaller, and her fur was shorter and finer.
He offered her his hand. “Let’s find out.”
She leapt on him with a loud purr. Her lips pressed against his, her still coarse tongue explored his
mouth and her fangs, smaller but noticeable scraped the inside of his lips. When she pulled back,
panting, the tingling in his nose had returned, but less demanding.
“Better?”
He grinned. “Better. But if you expect white-furred kittens, Kayla, I must warn you that it’s the
prolonged exposure to elixirs and…”
She pressed a clawed finger on his lips. “No talk. Make kittens.”
He frowned, loss now darkening his lust. “Will I ever get to see them, Kayla? Will they know me as their
father?”
“Perhaps.” She licked the tip of his nose. “Come back and find out.”
He grinned. “ Perhaps I will.” He pulled her close and spoke no more—only moaned.
And sneezed, once or twice.
***
Four months after the Spring Equinox, the forest was in full bloom. A big mountain cat dragged her
freshly killed prey through the woods, until she reached a clearing outside the dark entrance of a cave.
Tired, she put her trophy down and mewed in a low voice. After the third calling, two cubs, sand-colored
like their mother, came out of the cave.
Sniffing the scent of blood in the air, they approached the dead goat carefully. One of them nudged it
with her paw and pulled back, watching closely the carcass for any movement. They repeated the same
ritual a few more times under their mother's watchful gaze. When they were certain it wasn’t dangerous,
they approached to taste flesh for the first time. As the two cubs dug their teeth into their lunch, their
mother walked to the cave entrance.
She sat down and mewed softly again. After the third calling, her last cub came out of the darkness.
Unlike his sisters, this one was completely white. He blinked twice in the sunlight and looked around,
confused. His mother leaned closer and licked the drowsy face. Awake now, the albino cub stood on his
hind legs and tried to reach his mother's face with his forepaws. But as his face came closer to the
cream-colored fur, he sneezed and fell back, white belly up. He sneezed again, then shook his head and
sniffed the air. Aware now of the smell of fresh blood, the white cub ran to join his sisters.
His mother settled down and rested her head on her front paws, content, her thoughts on the mate she
had let walk away. Perhaps one day he’d come back to see his offspring. She purred. And, hopefully,
make more.
Kittens. With white fur, like yours.
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