Magus Star Rising
Chapter Eighteen

All are as the beasts. There are no differences.

SPIRIT DICTUM

A Buying Market

It had been easier than Kanoshon thought. At least up to this point. After taking a hired groundcar (he had had enough of flying!) to the Yharria, the Puman went to work, utilizing the tracking skills which made him a particularly unique employable commodity.

He walked most of the night, stopping only briefly to sleep at a Puman hostel. He had awakened even after so short a time refreshed and eager to continue with the hunt. The hostel clerk seemed wary of Kanoshon, but the man-cat reached out to this one of his own kind, paying him a little more than the usual fare. The hostels and the ones who ran them at least tried to help their fellow Pumans.

Not all who left the Puman Circle lost their way. Whoring and menial labor weren’t the only choices to be had.

The spoor he followed led him to the Outlander compound. Entering the ‘merchandise area’, he acted as casually as any sentient who had business here, despite the ugliness of such of an enterprise. He wore the hood of his cloak up to conceal his face. He controlled the outflow of his aura, turning it down so as not to, at least, alert the animals caged here

All he needed now, though, was information. He didn’t want to attract any more attention to himself than necessary.

Still, the conditions the poor beasts being sold had to suffer repulsed him. Most of them lived in small cramped cages amidst their own offal. The smell was intense. Flies, datters, and other garbage-lovers swarmed like small dark clouds. In his anger and disgust, Kanoshon’s control wavered just a little.

He allowed himself a small, sub-vocal growl of displeasure.

The compound consisted of a stone-walled courtyard within the area of the Yharria nearest the river Yabu and the market place. Rows of cages lined the large, otherwise empty, enclosure. A few potential customers browsed, admiring the animate merchandise.

Creatures from all over the western continent were represented here, for purchase as... well, Kanoshon didn’t even want to speculate. A Terran leopard, giant zentil hogs, several avian demerants, even an apen, were housed behind bars, waiting to be ‘liberated’ by the highest bidder. The apen glared at Kanoshon, baring its fangs, oddly docile as most of the animals appeared to be.

Drugged. These Outlanders are the true animals.

Kanoshon stared back at the hulking apen, knowing of all the wild beasts he might encounter, this one would be the deadliest, drugged or not. How had the Outlanders captured him?

No matter. If he could, he would free all the beasts, lock up their keepers, and throw away the keys.

He walked among the cages, picking up a different, specific scent intermingling with the overlaying thick stew of animal sweat, dirt, and dung. My prey has been here, he thought. The litha blade felt warm against his skin. But not recently.

At his request, the packet disc had come with three small data-tubes containing samples of his prey’s hair, clothing, and blood. The Puman’s sense of smell was so honed that even the small traces contained on those samples could be narrowed down and followed even moons later. He had imprinted the samples’ scents on his own sensory glands and tracked them here.

Three of the Outlanders present (Kanoshon counted four of them; the fourth attending to another buyer) eyed him cautiously, seeing his true form despite his hood. One Outlander carried one of their infamous shock-lances and fingered it as if expecting trouble. They were, after all, known for their control and subjugation of animals. Did they think this Puman, a very special animal in their eyes surely, would be a prize for them?

Think again.

Three of the Outlanders were Senitte, dressed in the traditional colorful Outlander garb--balloon pants, embroidered vests worn over blowsy, silken shirts, long head scarves, knee boots and cloth sash. The fourth was Terran, his specific Outlander tribal tattoo etched prominently on his left cheek, just like the others. Outlanders were a loosely organized group of many races, comprised of wanderers, free spirits, outcasts and criminals. Kanoshon had had run-ins with them before.

Most were reasonable and minded their own business but many were naturally born trouble-makers and all skirted the law whenever they could. The child slavers had been an extreme example.

At least I have never seen a Puman with their lot, he thought. And then something caused him to think again. The litha energy increased, the warmth of it causing him to concentrate on the compound as a whole.

He noticed a fifth Outlander standing away from the cages. Her job, for the rounded figure beneath the brightly colored clothes marked her as female, seemed to be the one who tended to the credit exchanges. She leaned on a staff, just watching, large money purses and credit disc dispensers set up on a table by her side.

She was Puman. Though the head scarf she wore wrapped veil-like around her face, Kanoshon knew instantly. Checking his anger and disbelief, he turned toward her. She backed up, looking towards her fellow Outlanders. She looked upset by the man-cat’s sudden approach, for she had recognized his species as well.

Before she could react further, Kanoshon reached his hand toward her and pulled the scarf back from her face.

She was young, perhaps thirty seasons. Once she may have been beautiful, by any sentient’s standard. But a large burn scar ran the down the length of one side of her face, obliterating fur and skin into a red mass of hard, ragged scar tissue. One good eye stared at him, reflecting fear and... shame?

“You are a long way from home, sister,” Kanoshon said softly.

“And so are you... dwanta.” Warrior. The traditional greeting. What had happened to her?

Her voice quivered slightly. She rocked back on her right foot as if Kanoshon’s very presence knocked her off-balance. But that wasn’t the only reason. Kanoshon realized she used the staff because she was lame.

This one has had a hard life, he thought, not unkindly. But that is no excuse. “Do you sell these poor beasts because you want to or because you are forced to?”

Her eye blinked rapidly, darting back and forth between Kanoshon and the Outlanders standing behind him. “What... what do you think? You see how I am.”

“I have seen worse. You still have a choice here. We all do.”

She laughed then, a nervous laugh though tinged with a sad, mocking tone. “Do I? Not all of us came through the Action as confident as you, dwanta. I do what I can.”

“As an Outlander? You are unique indeed.”

“They took me in, no questions asked. I am grateful for that. My own family abandoned me. Who are you to judge?”

She has courage, Kanoshon thought. Not many would stand up to him like this. But her last remark rankled the man-cat. He sensed she didn’t tell the whole truth. Kanoshon nodded. “Believe it or not, I am your friend. And I cannot believe you would be so abandoned.”

Or not mistreated by these Outlanders.

Anger flashed in the she-cat’s eye. Still the tone in her voice wasn’t entirely convincing. “Someday, perhaps, I will tell you my story. Then maybe you will understand.”

“I would like to hear that. But not here. Not even in the Yharria. You are Puman. You are better than this. You will tell me your story in the highlands as you were born to do.”

A slight inrush of air. Kanoshon turned to see two of the other Outlanders approaching. “Our business is animals, gentle sir,” the Terran said. “Not our fems.”

The other was more aggressive. Or stupid. “This ‘un botherin’ you, Finora?”

“Please leave me,” Finora said to Kanoshon, her voice suddenly pleading. “There will be trouble.”

They do abuse her.

At that moment, the other two Outlanders appeared, each accompanied by a huge tor-dog. The animals strained at their leashes and, upon seeing Kanoshon, began barking, their fangs bared.

Kanoshon placed his body between Finora and the dogs. A hybrid of indigenous and off-world stock, tor-dogs were normally smaller and more even-tempered than the two facing him. These were obviously bred to be guard animals like the ones he encountered in the village of Hamon. These were pure white, rising waist-high, and well-muscled. Their heads were shorn of the wiry hair associated with their breed and their pointed ears had been cut and shaped.

But their long fangs and talons caught Kanoshon’s eyes. Fearsome creatures. Though unnaturally so and much larger than the ones at Hamon. He held his fighting staff at the ready, just in case.

He glared at the barking dogs, turning up his aural-projection. A low rumble emanated from deep in his throat as he growled sub-vocally.

The dogs began to waver. They looked from side to side, confused. Whimpering, they stopped their aggressive stance and backed off, tails between their legs, trying to hide behind their masters.

The Outlanders looked at Kanoshon, their eyes wide in surprise.

“My business is with Finora alone,” Kanoshon said, directing his comments to the foursome. He made sure he bared his own fangs at the same time. “This is a private matter and none of your concern.”

“It is all right,” Finora said to her comrades. “Go. Go.”

As the four Outlanders reluctantly retreated to their business, Kanoshon turned his attention again to the fallen she-cat behind him.

“Dwanta,” Finora began. “You are indeed powerful. But, I beg you, say your peace and go. I have it hard enough here.”

Kanoshon nodded. He searched the ruined face. They will not beat her again. “Agreed. I want you to look at this.” He reached into his inside cloak pocket and pulled out a lasepic. He had developed it from the airship’s data disk reader using the information his Ahnkan contact had provided. Sometimes the old tried-but-true method of inquiry worked just as well when hunting. “Have you seen this Senitte?”

She looked quickly at him and then down at the pic. Her brow, what was left of it, furrowed in thought. “Ye... yes,” she said finally, her face lighting up in recognition. “He... he has been here once or twice. He purchased some hennits, I think. And a zentil hog. I remember because...” Finora paused as she raised her eyes to Kanoshon. “He was like you in some ways. He too possessed power. Hard to forget.”

“Did you converse with him? Did he say where he might be going?”

Finora shook her head. “No. Not really. He seemed more to talk to himself than to me. I mean, it was as if I were nothing to him.” She looked away as if trying to remember. “He did mention a bar in the Yharria.”

“Do you remember the name of the bar?”

She nodded. “Yes. It had a funny name. I was not familiar with it but I think it was something Terran--Atomic Bar. Something like that. Yes, Atomic Bar and Grill. With the owner’s name before it, I think, but that I cannot remember.”

This prey is confident, Kanoshon thought. To walk about so unconcerned.

Finora continued, as if this conversation with one of her own kind, however strange, was one she wanted to prolong. “He seemed happy about something. The hennits and hog were going to be used for some special purpose. He did not say what but he did say he was going to the bar to celebrate something. I do not know what.”

Kanoshon nodded. It would be enough. He put the lasepic back in his pocket and withdrew some other articles. He placed a piece of paper and some credit discs in a small leather pouch and tied it shut. He grasped Finora’s wrist and placed the pouch in her hand, hiding his action from the Outlanders’ curious eyes. “This contains the comm number of one who can help her. Her name is Denelle. She works in the Yharria as a seeress, but that is not her true line-of-work.”

“A seeress?” A slight tone of disbelief underlined Finora’s voice. “Can she not help you with your search? Surely one who is a seeress can divine the one you seek.”

If only it were that easy. Denelle did not approve of Kanoshon’s ‘work’ as a mercenary. Though she accepted the occasional lost soul he referred to her, she would not assist him in any of his hunts. “In such a matter, her powers would be ineffective. Contact her. She can help you with another kind of magic.”

Finora shook her head. “What do you mean? Help me with what?”

“To regain that which was lost to you. Tell her Kanoshon told you to come to her. Do you hear? Kanoshon. Do this as soon as you can and tell no one. Make some excuse to these Outlander scut.”

Kanoshon turned and walked toward the compound’s door. He glanced back once to see Finora looking at him, her hand clenched tightly around the bag.

If only I could help them all, he thought and walked out of the compound.