GARUK

THE MANY SINS OF GARUK

An Agemonia story by Mike Pohjola

Listen to my story to tell it. And tell the story to teach it.

Deep in the bosom of the snow-bound Vorskal mountains rest the Veletian city-states, which proudly defy the ignisaurs who have conquered much of the coastline. The boryot who live there withstand the freezing weather better than any creature, save perhaps for the packs of snow togrels they herd. Like the snow togrels, the boryot are covered in thick, coarse hair, and sport magnificent antlers on their head and hooves in their feet.

Most boryot avoid the seven sins and aspire to the seven virtues as taught by the Church of the Reformed Hearth. Thou shalt share with others. Thou shalt speak the truth. Thou shalt be just. Thou shalt accept others as they are. Thou shalt be patient. Thou shalt ask only for thy need. Thou shalt be peaceful. Those who best reach these high goals and those who worst deviate from them are tattooed on their face for all Agemonia to see.

The city of Yaskow, carved inside a frozen mountain, is one of the pinnacles of this religion, where all boryot live in peace, harmony, and prosperity. There are no rich or poor boryot there, for all toil as much as they are able and receive as much as they need, as decreed by the skolders, who are the priests and priestesses of the Church of the Reformed Hearth and form the ruling council of all boryot cities.

One of these skolders is Bodyar of Yaskow. Perhaps her son, Garuk, would once become a skolder himself? Or a moss farmer like his black-haired papa Yutkov of Vortak? Or a traveling merchant like Dlavuk of Nowhere, a friend of the family who visits several times a year?

Perhaps he would become one of the cryomancers who channel Agemonia’s natural magic to heal and direct ice and snow? His papa had wanted to be a cryomancer when he was younger, but the skolders had chosen another line of work for him. Still, sometimes papa amused young Garuk by concentrating the water in the air into ice toys, or healed his wounds by cooling his blood.

No, such would not be Garuk’s destiny. And it all started with a piece of blackbread, a savory boryot staple baked with moss flour. One loaf of the bread was said to be enough to feed someone through the whole winter, both because it stored well and because it was so nutritious. To Garuk’s knowledge, that saying had not been put to the test for centuries.

He was a diligent student who learnt all the commandments by heart, who studied reading and writing, and who performed his domestic tasks dutifully. His hair was brown and long and his hoofs strong. His polite manners and innocent humor charmed children and adults alike. Everyone was sure this youth would become something special.

They were both right and wrong at the same time.

One harsh winter evening, Dlavuk of Nowhere had again arrived in Yaskow on The Eternal, the great monorail which connects Yaskow to the north and south. He had delivered his cargo containers full of dried fish and flour to the city warehouses where the stevedores would unload them and then load them again with runesilver and vevak, a hard cheese made of snow togrel milk. While Dlavuk’s guards unwound at the church public house where they received their portions of food and drink, he visited his friends Bodyar and Yutkov and their adolescent son Garuk.

All the houses in Yaskow were carved into the stone, typically one on top of another forming tall pillars of apartments. Many of them were meager in size, but as Bodyar was a skolder, it was deemed she needed space for hosting meetings and guests. One could say they lived more comfortably than others, but no one would accuse them of selfishness.

They ate a modest meal of blackbread and vevak, washed down with mountain beer, and then relaxed telling stories by the hearth. The boryot take storytelling very seriously and their stories always start the same way. Garuk loved listening to stories, he felt they could take him to far-away places and times, and he could live a thousand lives if he just heard enough stories.

Dlavuk’s short brown hair made him look bigger than he was and his eyes twinkled like cinders in the ash as he sat by the fire.

“Listen to my story to tell it,” Dlavuk said, “and tell the story to teach it. Before the boryot lived in Agemonia, there lived a people in Agemonia called the ancients. No one knows who they were or how they lived, but their legacy remains. From the ocean floor to the highest mountain peak, from the scorching Megeian Desert to the lush rainforests of the west, ruins of ages-old constructions speak of their deeds.

“This we have always known, and all the peoples remember the ancients in their own ways. Some of their magicanisms, such as The Eternal, still help us today. But while the warlocks of the Council of Eight tell us that many of the ruins had once been devices of the ancients, they have not been able to make any of them function. But now, all of a sudden, they have powered up all on their own!”

Young Garuk gasped at this piece of surprising news. Dlavuk grinned as he saw the effect his story had on his audience.

“It is true, and I have seen it with mine own eyes,” Dlavuk continued. “They hum with a low sound like the noise of a distant avalanche, and glow azure as the aurora. Some of them are self-watering gardens or teleporters or even weapons. But for most of them, no one knows their true use. And more of them are powering up every day. Some even fear the end of all Agemonia.”

“Well,” said Garuk’s mama Bodyar calmly. She was a kind woman with pale hair, long branching antlers, and blue eyes. “The church does not believe Agemonia is ending. If anything, this could be a good sign, indicating the return of the ancients.”

“Ours is not the only faith that teaches so,” Dlavuk said, “for in the west there is a new religion, The Cult of the Fifth Eye, who collects these devices of the ancients and studies them.”

“What is the Fifth Eye?”

“No one knows,” said Dlavuk, and took a sip of black beer. “You have listened to my story and now you can tell it to teach it.” That was the traditional ending to all boryot stories.

They sat together for a long time until it was mama’s turn to tell a story followed by papa’s. They talked about the church and the city, about heroic deeds of Velyuk the Old, exchanged news and gossip, discussed how well Garuk was doing at school, and joked about Dlavuk finding a partner and settling down. Garuk fell asleep by the fire listening to the soft murmur of the adults’ voices. In the morning he woke up in his own bed, wondering how he had got there.

The next day the grown-ups went to work and Garuk to school and then they dined together again. Dlavuk asked for more bread and said he was hungry, but mama told him they had all had as much as they needed and they should not squander food.

“But I remain hungry,” Dlavuk said. “I am much bigger than you and will set out again tomorrow. I need to eat.”

“You have eaten,” said mama. She gave him a smile that was apologetic, compassionate, and final.

Dlavuk was not happy, but he said nothing. There was no storytelling that evening since Dlavuk had an early morning. They prayed by the hearth and went to sleep.

In his dreams, Garuk was overwhelmed by violent rage and animal instinct. He ran through the cold mountains on all fours, and saw a snow togrel grazing on the sprigs it had dug out from under the snow. Garuk bared his sharp claws and his long fangs, none of which he really possessed, and pounced on the poor beast. He tore at its neck, warm blood spraying everywhere, and while the togrel cried in pain and horror, Garuk ripped it to pieces. The white snow was covered in red, and as the snow togrel’s last breath escaped in a cloud of mist, Garuk looked upon himself. He was no longer a monster, he was a boryot boy, much younger than he really was. And he was covered in blood and entrails. What had he done? Then he noticed mama and papa, leaders and church officials, relatives and cryomancers, all standing in a circle around him, looking at him with accusing eyes. He knew he had committed a terrible sin, many sins, he was a sinner. And his sin was not just in what he had done, but in his very being, for deep inside he was a monster. This was a dream he saw almost every night.

Garuk woke up to the sound of his papa shouting.

“You are a thief! An abomination! A sinner!”

Garuk got out of bed, his thick hair protecting him from the freezing cold of the Veletian nights. His hooves clicked on the stone floor as he walked to the kitchen where papa and Dlavuk were arguing.

“It is just a piece of blackbread!” yelled Dlavuk defensively, still holding the half-eaten loaf in his hand.

“You were given according to your need!” papa yelled angrily, his long dark hair making him look as if a shadow had engulfed him. “By Velyuk, you lied and abused our hospitality!”

By now mama had also woken up, and joined Garuk. She held him fast to comfort him and then spoke with the commanding voice she often used in church. The fire in the hearth had already died, but the embers sprung to life as she spoke and glowed with great intensity.

“Dlavuk of Nowhere!” she boomed, “you are accused of the Sin of Greed! Come dawn, you will be judged under the auspices of the Church of the Reformed Hearth. Now, submit to be restrained.”

Seeing he was outnumbered and caught in the act, Dlavuk defiantly stuffed the blackbread in his mouth and then put his arms forward. Yutkov tied a rope around them and mama told Garuk to run to church to fetch some guards.

It was scary to run through the cold, dark streets alone, but Garuk steeled himself to the task. He soon returned with two large boryot wearing armor emblazoned with the emblems of the Reformed Hearth. The two guards dragged the fuming Dlavuk to jail for the rest of the night.

Garuk had watched Dlavuk being taken and it seemed like the man was struggling. Not against the guards, but against something else, as if he was holding back. Perhaps he was trying to keep his temper in check?

It took a long time for the family to calm down, especially since they had considered Dlavuk a friend. Even after most had gone back to sleep, Garuk could faintly hear mama and papa arguing about something, but could not make out the words.

The next morning in Peace Square, Yaskow’s central cavern, Dlavuk was to be sentenced. Many of the citizens had come early to see the trial. Mama and several other skolders passed sentence, standing beneath a huge statue of Velyuk the Old. Dlavuk of Nowhere was judged guilty of the Sin of Greed.

A venerable old skolder and his two apprentices, both middle-aged skolders, approached the culprit who was still held in place by the guards. One of the younger skolders opened a casket of runesilver knives and needles and voidbloom inks and the oldest took one of the knives. He shaved Dlavuk’s facial hair from where the tattoo would be made. The old skolder then dipped one of the needles in the ink and began tattooing Dlavuk’s face. Dlavuk flinched in pain, but clenched his teeth and managed to not scream out loud. The process took a good hour and many onlookers had to leave to go to work or school, but Garuk stayed there with his papa. When the old skolder was finished, the Tattoo of Greed was inked on Dlavuk’s face. It was one of the seven sins of the Church of the Reformed Hearth.

After the tattooing, the skolders exiled Dlavuk from Yaskow, forbidding him from ever returning. The guards escorted him out of Peace Square and toward The Eternal Station as he held his still-hurting face.

“I wanted you to see this,” said papa to Garuk, “so that you would always remember the fate of criminals. You are a good boy, Garuk, and I want you to stay that way.”

“I will, papa,” Garuk replied.

Afterwards, papa had to go to the moss farm and Garuk had to go to school. They said their goodbyes. Mama left the square with the other skolders. Many of the other kids had seen the trial and the punishment and it was all everyone talked about. His schoolmates were aware that Garuk’s family knew Dlavuk and wanted to ask him all sorts of questions, but Garuk felt ashamed for knowing a sinner like that and did not want to talk.

The principal of the school was an old female skolder from an order dedicated to teaching, her antlers tall and thin, her hair long and white. Before the school day was over she took Garuk aside and told him to go home to meet his mama.

The streets were nearly empty since most people were at work or school. The huts, houses, and apartment buildings carved inside the mountain were everywhere with winding roads and undulating staircases connecting them. There were several Churches of the Reformed Hearth in the city as well as the offices of the Circle of Eight and the Amethyst Order, statues of Velyuk the Old, some embassies, shops, an amphitheater, schools, factories, restaurants, warehouses, runesilver smelters and forges, and The Eternal Station. A foreigner would have wondered at the lack of palaces, but Garuk had never even seen one. They were the stuff of legends.

When he got home, he saw his mama sitting slumped by the fire. She raised her head and Garuk could immediately see her blonde facial hair was wet with tears.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” Garuk asked, rushing to her.

“Listen to my story to tell it,” she managed to say through sobs, “and tell the story to teach it. Most peoples on Agemonia were created by aiun, a powerful force of good. But not us. We boryot were created by the aox, an evil power which also created the demons of the Breach. We were born monsters.”

“Mama, what are you talking about?” Garuk asked, but she continued.

“Our eyes glowed crimson as we ate the flesh of other creatures, tearing at them with our deadly fangs and claws. We were monsters.”

Garuk’s dream imagery flashed in his head.

“But the ancients, the chosen of aiun, saved us from that fate, and made us the good boryot you see today. We do not kill for pleasure, we do not eat flesh, we are selfless and kind. Most of us. There is a terrible affliction which appears very rarely. Some cursed boryot turn into these monsters and wreak havoc among their neighbors. You have listened to my story and now you can tell it to teach it.”

“Mama, that is but a story. Like the abominations in the mountains.”

“No, Garuk,” mama said. “It is true. And Dlavuk is one of them. Today he transformed into an abomination and attacked your papa.”

Garuk stared at her in shock. He tried to ask questions, but no voice came from his mouth. He knew what mama would say next. And when she said it, he could not believe it.

“He killed your papa. I was there. I saw it. Your papa is dead.”

But Garuk was no longer listening. He was not there, not at home, not in Yaskow, not even in his own body. He was not in that time anymore, just drifting somewhere else. Perhaps he was the wind in the mountains, or the fire slowly consuming the logs in the hearth, or The Eternal traveling with immense speed on its one track through the snow, or the bright stars above in the darkness of the winter nights.

Something was holding Garuk’s arms wide. He could not move them, no matter how hard he pulled. He was out in the cold, the sun reflecting off the snow, almost blindingly bright. Something warmed his side. People were talking around him. He could taste blood in his mouth. His sides were hurting.

“He’s coming to!” spoke a gruff, alien voice, like nothing Garuk had ever heard before.

“Hello, young man,” said Dlavuk smoothly, whom he could now see standing right in front of him. Dlavuk was bandaged in several places. “You thought you could kill me?”

Garuk had no idea what was going on, but apparently Dlavuk could tell because he continued, “let me clue you in. Listen to my story to tell it. And tell the story to teach it. You turned into a flesh-eating abomination, ran through Yaskow, found me, and attacked me. And I have to say, you put up quite a fight. Well done. If you were bigger, you might have bested me. Nevertheless, soon after I had restrained you, my friends here helped us escape. And here we are. You have listened to my story and now you can tell it to teach it.”

Garuk took a look at Dlavuk’s friends who were holding his arms. Their faces had no hair and their horns were short and sharp. They had gilded armor lined with fur. He had seen pictures of the ignisaurs who had invaded the Veletian coastline and realized he had been captured by the enemy. Which meant Dlavuk was working with them. Giant warm mushrooms had melted the snow here, and the light was not coming from the snow but from them.

“Sun be ever warm for you,” one of the ignisaurs growled through gritted teeth. Her voice was guttural and strange and her breath smelled of sulfur.

“These are marauders of the House of Seven-Lightnings,” Dlavuk explained. “Business associates of mine in the south.”

Garuk was trying to wrap his mind around all of this. Dlavuk was working with the enemy? Garuk himself had turned into a monster? He had attacked Dlavuk? Dlavuk had spared Garuk’s life? And now they were both on the run?

“What do you intend to do with me?” Garuk asked.

“Well, you cannot go back. Why not come with me?”

“Dlavuk, you killed my papa. You should return to Yaskow and face the punishment for your crimes.”

“One tattoo is enough, thank you very much,” Dlavuk said. “Besides, you are not really responsible for what happens when you have changed, as you well know.”

“No, I do not! This is all new to me.”

“This was your first change?” asked Dlavuk appraisingly.

“Yes!”

“Then I have much to teach you.”

“By Velyuk, you should be tattooed and working in a penal colony.”

“Many things should be different in this world,” Dlavuk said, “and we do what we can to change them. But since you already tried to kill me, I would say you should face the same punishment.”

“But you are an abomination!”

“Then so are you.”

Dlavuk nodded at the ignisaurs, who released their grasp of Garuk’s hairy arms. He looked around and realized he was many miles from Yaskow at a place called The Shining, where giant mushrooms radiated warmth and light, even at night. This part of the mountain side was deserted while most others were filled with mines or moss farms. But he knew a snowship route ran somewhere nearby and he could probably find his way home.

If he ran, he could easily lose the ignisaurs who were unaccustomed to the snow. They were shivering right now, putting on thick mittens and standing close to the warm mushrooms. But Dlavuk might still catch him. There might be people in the mountains, too. Togrelherds or guards or cryomancers. Someone might see them and call for help. And if Dlavuk caught Garuk, the murderer might kill him, too. Wait a minute… Dlavuk had caught him.

“Why did you not kill me?” Garuk asked.

“Why would I kill you? I like you,” Dlavuk said.

“You killed my papa.”

“Not this again,” said Dlavuk, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I killed Yutkov. Get over it.”

Garuk could not take it. He rushed at Dlavuk and the man fell backwards into the snow. Garuk stabbed him in his face tattoo with his own knife, and then ran before the ignisaurs could lay their claws on him.

Little clouds of powder snow puffed in the air with every step as he ran for the ridge of the nearest slope. His heavy breath wetted his thin beard and mustache and froze into little icicles.

When Garuk reached the ridge, he turned to look back. To his surprise, Dlavuk and the ignisaurs were not pursuing him. Dlavuk was holding his wounded face and the others were calmly putting on robes of azure and yellow.

Garuk ran down the slope to a snowy valley in which he found a path that led between some ridges to another valley where he happened upon one of the pillars on which the Eternal’s monorail rested. There was slightly less snow under the track and he followed it home.

The Mouth was the main gateway to the city and guards were posted on both sides of it. Outside The Mouth were avalanche walls, both physical and cryomantic, and tents where nomads lived when they visited Yaskow. Some had brought their snow togrels with them. 

“Welcome to Yaskow,” said one of the guards. “State your name and purpose here.”

“I am Garuk of Yaskow, son of the skolder Bodyar of Yaskow, and I am a citizen here.”

This was a routine exchange and the guards should have let him in without delay. Instead the guards looked at each other, and one of them ran inside. The others told Garuk to wait there. He did, and soon more guards ran out to join them. They surrounded Garuk and pointed at him with their spears.

“Garuk of Yaskow! You are accused of being an abomination! Come dawn, you will be judged under the auspices of the Church of the Reformed Hearth. Submit to be restrained.”

He did so, and the guards escorted him to a cell. It was a small, cold hole cut into the side of the mountain. Someone had scratched the symbol of the Reformed Hearth into one of the stone walls.

As Garuk sat on the cold cell floor clutching his knees, he tried to understand what was happening. What was his crime? Being the way he was? Being different? He had not asked to be that way. He was not even sure he was an abomination. He had had dreams of being a beast, sure. And Dlavuk had told him he was. But maybe he had lied? And the guards had believed Dlavuk for some reason? Perhaps they were bribed by the ignisaurs?

The bottom line was, Garuk could not be an abomination. He was the son of a skolder, after all. A good student. He had lived his life following the seven virtues and had never sinned. No, it simply was not true. He was normal.

The night was dark and freezing, and Garuk kept drifting in and out of sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he saw himself transformed into the abomination, and when he opened his eyes he could not be sure what he was as everything was pitch black.

When dawn finally came, the guards took him to Peace Square where the skolders were waiting for him. Among them, his mama.

As mama looked at Garuk, her face exhibited feelings of judgment, pity, remorse, and guilt. She hesitated, but eventually approached Garuk.

“Oh, Velyuk, mama! You have to help me,” Garuk said. “I am not an abomination. And I know Dlavuk was working with ignisaurs as a spy!”

Mama hushed him. “Dlavuk was a loyal friend when he was younger. He and I…” She was going to say something but then stopped herself. “Anyway, something changed in him. I never understood what it was until I saw him turn into the monster.”

“But I am no monster!”

“I wish it were so, Garuk, my son. None of us wished for this to happen nor could have predicted it. Have you tried not changing? Tried to hold it in? Have you tried to not be an abomination?”

“I do not know what is causing it nor how to stop it.”

“I am sorry, my son. You should have killed Dlavuk when you had the chance. Go in peace,” she said, which was the customary farewell.

Mama turned her back and joined the other skolders. She then spoke with a voice loud enough for all to hear.

“Garuk of Yaskow,” she bellowed, “you stand accused of being an abomination. Several witnesses have seen you change. Unlike most changed, you have not committed the Sin of Violence. Not yet. Nevertheless, you are an abomination in the eyes of the Church and will be tattooed as such. Thereafter you will spend your life in exile. From henceforth you will bear the name Garuk the Cursed and you must leave Yaskow immediately after the tattooing. So has it been decreed under the auspices of the Church of the Reformed Hearth.”

After passing sentence, mama looked him straight in the eye, her eyes cold as if their fire had gone out. There was no pity anymore, only judgment. Then Garuk saw a solitary tear fall down her unmoving face.

The old skolder moved in to tattoo his face. It hurt. But not as much as his own mama passing the sentence.

The guards did not let him go home to pack his belongings. Instead, he was given a bag with blackbread and vevak, and a flask of mountain beer, and shoved out the Mouth of the City. A cruel north wind blew snow in his eyes but eased the throbbing on his forehead a little.

Garuk had no idea where he would go. No idea what to do. No idea but one. He must confront Dlavuk and kill him.

But where could Garuk find Dlavuk? Was the abominable murderer still here? Or at the Shining? He had also been banished from Yaskow, and as he was traveling with ignisaurs he would probably have gone to the south. The Eternal ran from north to south, but Yaskow was certainly the largest of the stops on its way. Perhaps they managed to disguise themselves and catch a ride to Shuvak-by-the-Cube, the end station? Or perhaps they drove sleds pulled by snow togrels, or had a snowship or some magical means of transport? Garuk the Cursed had no such possibilities.

He began walking south under the tracks of The Eternal. There was slightly less snow there and at least you could be sure there was sturdy rock under the snow. There were even paths for most of the way as nomads used the same route to herd their snow togrels.

He walked, and he walked. When the tracks entered a tunnel, he walked in the dark and cramped tunnel. When they went past a moss farm, he tried to avoid the farmers eyes and kept walking. When they crossed a valley on tall pillars, he descended into the vale and climbed the slope up the other side. When The Eternal whooshed above him, he shielded his ears with his hands, and felt its draft deep in his bones from the small cloud of cold air and snow that followed the Eternal wherever it went.

The sun had set and Garuk could no longer see properly. He was cold and hungry and his legs were sore from all the walking. He had expected to run into a small town or a nomadic tent village or a cryomancer’s hut, but he had seen no houses of any kind for hours. He had learned in school that some tribes north of the Vorskals made houses of snow. It was supposed to insulate them from the cold, somehow. But this snow was too cold to make snowballs out of, and he had no idea what to do for a roof.

The best he could do was to use a track pillar as one wall and pile lumps of snow to make other walls. It certainly would not make him warm but perhaps it would shelter him from the wind. It was already dark and the aurora were dancing in the sky, their purple and green luminescence reflected off the snow. Garuk ate his provisions, wrapped himself in his meager clothes, and tried to sleep.

He again dreamt of being an abomination, hunting small animals in the snow and eating their flesh. Agemonia’s two moons shone bright above him and he howled at them.

When he awoke, he was cold, but not hungry. The snow walls of his little fortress had been broken and there was a peculiar rusty smell. Almost like blood. Was he bleeding? Not really, but there was blood in his hands. Just not his own. And more in his whiskers. Oh, Velyuk… He looked around and saw huge hoofprints in the snow, as if a ravenous monster had broken out of the snow hut and run around the hills. So, it was true. He was an abomination. He truly deserved to be an outcast. Alone forever.

He must have hunted for food while changed. Eating flesh was wrong, of course, but it did keep the hunger away. He realized he was veering further and further away from the wisdom of Velyuk the Old and the Church of the Reformed Hearth. But what did it matter? No matter what kind of life he lived, he would be an abomination forever.

He had heard stories of the abominations who wandered the frozen peaks of the Vorskals, hunting snow togrels and even boryot. Would he end up like them? If he kept walking in the snow, probably. Who knew, perhaps those stories were, indeed, based on previous changers just like him. But if he wanted to track down Dlavuk, he could not succumb to his abominable side for good. Not yet, at least.

He had to get south first. If he kept on walking, perhaps he would permanently turn into an abomination. He had to hold on to his boryot side. He would not walk, he would take the Eternal to Shuvak-by-the-Cube.

The Eternal ran every morning from north to south, and back north every afternoon from Shuvak-by-the-Cube via Yaskow. It moved at immense speeds, but slowed down a little at turns. Garuk had climbed on top of a fell where the monorail track was almost level with the ground before it made a turn to go around a taller mountain. He should be able to jump on board between the train cars.

The pale winter sun shone low from behind him as he watched the nearing train. It was bright red and was followed by a white cloud of snow. Garuk had to estimate the width of the cars so that he could stand right next to The Eternal without being hit by it.

When the train slowed for the turn, he sought for a place to jump on. Then he saw one of the cargo cars had a side door that was slightly ajar. He had no time to ponder. Instead, he leapt at the door and managed to grab a handle. The fast-moving train jerked him to the side and suddenly Garuk was dangling from its roof off the side of a mountain, going at horrible speed and holding on for dear life. Oh, Velyuk! His grip was slipping and certain death awaited him below.

That was when the door slid open and friendly hands pulled him inside the cargo wagon. Garuk climbed in and lay on the floor, panting.

Crates of vevak and ice were stacked on top of each other in the cargo car. A small nomad woman was there, too, strange amulets hanging from her antlers, and a face tattooed with several sins. It was she who had helped Garuk in.

“I wish you peace,” she said.

“I come in peace,” Garuk replied, when he had caught his breath.

“First time?” she said smiling. “That is what I thought. The best place to jump onboard is near the stations. Out here, the Eternal runs much too fast. But a young man like you should be able to get a ticket, no problem.”

“I was exiled,” he admitted.

“Ah yes,I see your tattoo,” she said. “I would hide it from now on, if I were you.”

Boryot antlers did not easily allow the wearing of  hoods, they were too big for that. But Garuk started to rip pieces of cloth in the car to find some way to cover his forehead.

“I do not recognize your tattoo. Perhaps you do not believe in the teachings of Velyuk the Old. Perhaps you are one of them demon worshipers or you follow the teachings of the Orthodox Hearth, or that new western religion who venerates the ruins of the ancients. Or maybe you simply lost your religion altogether.”

“I believe in the Reformed Hearth,” Garuk told her.

“It matters little to me,” she said. “But since you are in exile, you had better find a way to support yourself. Shuvak-by-the-Cube is a small town and you cannot hide in there. Velek is the biggest boryot city, and nobody will look twice at a stranger, tattooed or not.”

“I’m looking for Dlavuk of Nowhere. Do you know him?”

“I do not.”

“He was traveling with some ignisaur soldiers.”

“Out here? That is surprising. They rarely venture outside of the occupied territories.”

“So I will not find them in Velek?”

“Probably not. You will need to make your way all the way to the southern coast, to Gorskow or Sholek. Maybe Port Agura.”

Shuvak-by-the-Cube was the end station and that was where they had to get off. A small mid-way town that had sprung up around the strange floating cube which was the Eternal’s true end station. The meaning of the massive cube was lost in time, but everyone in Shuvak said it was made by the ancients. The shimmering white cube rotated slowly around its own axis, and quietly hummed.

The woman, Luktar of Vortak, told Garuk to go in peace, and went about her way. Garuk, his face hidden, was left in the strange town all alone. Stevedores unloaded cargo from The Eternal and then transported it to the local warehouses or to the snowships and caravans going to Velek.

Garuk approached the caravans that consisted of dozens of snow togrels, each pulling a sled. He asked the caravan master if he could travel with them for free, but could not think of a reason why the church might need that. The caravan master wanted to see his face, but he refused. Since Garuk had no skills either, the caravan master denied his request. Garuk would have to stay in Shuvak-by-the-Cube or make the walk on his own.

That evening he was so hungry he stole a piece of blackbread from a bakery. As he was munching on the mossy goodness in a back alley, he realized this was exactly the crime Dlavuk had committed, the Sin of Greed. That had started this whole thing. He broke into an empty warehouse and slept there. Blessedly, he had no dreams that night.

He realized he had to get a job, but since he knew no skolders, there was no one to explain why he needed one. There was a small, black, bird-like creature living in Shuvak whom Garuk assumed was a quothian. He had heard of them, but had never met one. Perhaps she would not be bound by the laws of the Church.

“Greetings to the living,” the quothian crowed.

“I wish you peace,” Garuk replied. “I am looking for work.”

“No offense, but you’re not the biggest boryot I’ve seen,” she said. “Can you carry heavy bags and protect me in a fight?”

“Of course,” Garuk lied. Another sin.

“The name’s Pilvi. I can’t pay you much.”

“I will settle for food and lodging,” Garuk said.

Pilvi agreed to give Garuk work. She mostly ate eggs and mushroom milk, and Garuk learned to tolerate them as well. The work was delivering small parcels to Pilvi’s boryot customers in Shuvak and nearby villages. Garuk never asked what was in them, but all the customers had very dreamy eyes and were clearly not giving their all to the community. This had to be some kind of addictive poison, one more sin in Garuk’s growing list.

At times, local guards ransacked Pilvi’s storage and Garuk had to help her hide the drugs.

When Pilvi ran out of dream eggs, she and Garuk joined a caravan that was headed for Velek. When they were attacked by a pack of hungry shulves, the boryot guards protected the merchants, the passengers, and the goods. The shulves had bristly gray fur and skulls for heads, as shulves do.

One shulf managed to break through and Garuk had to fight it off with his bare claws. He half wished he could have changed into an abomination, but did not. Instead he managed to focus his cryomantic energies like his papa had shown him, and concentrate the cold air into a sharp icicle in his hand. He stabbed the shulf with it many times until it ran away in fear. One of the guards shot it with her bow. Violence was a sin, too, but perhaps his papa would have been proud of his skills.

In Velek they lived with a group of quothians, all Pilvi’s associates. In the city there were also walking stone-men, a few ignisaurs, and a slender nihteegri with sleek gray fur and a long tail. A few of them were working for the Amethyst Order or the Council of Eight, others were merchants or researchers or magicians. Sometimes one could see nomadic boryot or even followers of the Orthodox Hearth, a minority not tolerated almost anywhere else.

According to Pilvi, there were also agents of The Shroud in the city, a mysterious organization of thieves and assassins. They hid their identities by wearing veils and robes of azure and yellow, which made Garuk think of Dlavuk. He and the ignisaurs must have been working for the Shroud. Whether the quothians were associated with the Shroud or some smaller criminal group, Garuk was not sure.

Yaskow was a big city, but Velek was something else. The cold metropolis was named after Velyuk the Old himself. It was built in and on top of several mountains, connected by tunnels and bridges, with magnificent churches, squares, museums, libraries, towers, and colleges. Velek was firmly protected from ignisaur invaders by cryomancy, but in the Diplomatic Quarter there were embassies of the Megeian Empire along with Benem, Zheebul, and the other major powers of Agemonia. By day the city was illuminated with mirrors and sunlight, by night with colorful agura lamps that hung almost everywhere.

Moonsilver was mined in the mountains and smelted and forged into bars of runesilver at Yaskow as well as several other places. The bars were then transported here to Velek where they were forged into fine ornaments, weapons, and armor, the most durable and expensive in all of Agemonia, and only made be boryot. Runesilver weaponry was only given to the boryot soldiers the church considered most in need of them, of course.

While most of Velek’s economy was based on the edicts of the Church, each citizen getting what they need and giving what they were able, the foreigners also sold strange goods not available elsewhere in Veletia: Quothian silk, Megeian gold, papyrus, and cactus wine, carved agurian stone goblets, pattangan castanets, and Benemite herbs and cookies. The Amethyst Order operated stores for jewelry. The wealthy could dine in pattangan or benemite restaurants or drink in nihteegri brothels.

Garuk had no foreign money to buy any of these foreign luxuries, but over the months and years he spent in the underworld of Velek, he managed to steal most of them at one point or another. He learned how to survive, how to operate with criminals, and how to keep his quothian employers happy. Sometimes he would escort Pilvi or the others to Shuvak or some other town to sell dream eggs, and they would spend some weeks there before returning. Fights occasionally broke out with guards or other drug gangs or beasts, but Garuk always managed to protect Pilvi.

One day they were traveling the road to the west of Velek on their way to pick up a shipment from Heartwood. They came upon a burning snowship. Its sails were on fire and the sounds of battle could be heard on deck. Near the mast was a pulsating hole in the sky, and from the darkness on the other side, winged creatures flew out, some landing on the ship. Pilvi warned their group to stay clear, but the creatures noticed them and jumped off the ship, their feet melting the snow into vapor. The monsters had a varying collection of tentacles, horns, spikes, mandibles, and claws.

The quothians tried to tame the horrible creatures or perform some kind of scary death magic, but it was not enough. Garuk realized he could not beat them without help, so he forced himself to turn into the abomination. He ripped the monsters to little pieces and feasted on their leathery wings and fleshy mandibles.

When he came to, he had been bound in a sled by the quothians. He was covered in blood and entrails. This time however, he could remember most of what he had done as an abomination.

“What the World Egg was that?” asked Pilvi, who sat wrapped in furs in a small sled next to his.

“There is something I have not told you,” Garuk admitted. He had changed a few times in Velek but never when anyone had seen him.

“I thought I smelled aox around you. I just thought you were secretly smoking blood powder. But you have a magical power,” Pilvi said and shrugged. “You just need to learn to control it.” She was not afraid or disgusted.

“Please, do not tell the boryot,” Garuk pleaded.

“Why?”

“They think I am an aox demon.”

“Dark is the fate of all who bargain with demons, but you boryot have always been too scared of them. I just saw you take on a whole group of demons. And with enough power, demons can be controlled and sent back to the shadowlands. Some people are born with gifts they can only truly know when they kill the mother from whom they inherited it.”

“My mama is not an abomination,” said Garuk. “And I cannot control my changes.”

“Then we must’ve been very lucky,” smirked Pilvi.

Garuk realized she was right. He had controlled it. Or willed it to happen, at least. And he remembered some of it. He had lost control eventually and had not been able to turn back, but he had decided to change and he had changed. What had Dlavuk told him years ago? That he could teach him? Was this what he had meant?

Pilvi had also said something about killing his mama. For quothians, males had no value, but what if he had inherited the changing from his papa? Or his papa’s parents? They were all dead now, he could not ask them about it nor kill them, even if he wanted to. That path was closed forever.

Two days later a group of boryot ambushed him in the street. Some of them had the Sin of Violence tattooed on their face. Others bore the emblems of church guards or were employed by the Amethyst Order. All of them were muscular and armed.

“I wish you peace,” one of them said as he purposely bumped into Garuk.

“I come in peace,” Garuk replied, as he tried to back off.

“We are looking for an abomination,” said another one.

“Show your forehead,” demanded a third.

Garuk pulled his head covering lower as he looked for a way out. The road was lined with tall buildings on all sides. There were more ruffians approaching from behind him. There was a stained-glass window near him leading to an apartment and he jumped through it. A boryot child screamed in horror as shards of colored glass flew around the room.

As Garuk ran through the apartment to the door, some of the ruffians climbed in through the window. One of them stopped to console the child while the others ran after him.

Garuk made it to the door and opened it, only to find a boryot soldier there with a raised club. That was the last thing he remembered.

When he came to, he was in the middle of a glacier somewhere, his head bare. Not this again, he thought. Clearly, one of the quothians had talked. He could never return to Velek, he knew. But what should he do?

Then he saw the remains of a bloody boryot corpse lying on the ice. He must have dragged it here and eaten it. Was it one of the hoodlums who attacked him in Velek? The corpse was lying on its belly so he turned it with his hoof. Then he saw its face. It was Luktar of Vortak, the woman he had met on the train, years ago. He had killed her! But why?

Why? Because he could not control himself. The abomination was a danger to all. Once he had killed Dlavuk, he would kill himself in order to rid Agemonia of all abominations once and for all.

He had no provisions or equipment, but now he knew what to do. He turned into an abomination to make his way south, toward the sun. When he was hungry, he hunted. When it got dark, he found a cave to rest in. If they were occupied by shulves or furry bleezards, he fought them for shelter. Sometimes he would win, sometimes he would lose.

Days followed one another, and Garuk lived as a beast among beasts. As winter turned to summer and summer back to winter, he barely remembered his name anymore. He had found a nice cave with massive agura crystals by the entrance, killed and eaten the bleezards that inhabited it, and had built himself a nest. Shulves knew better than to approach the cave. If nomads or miners happened to go near the cave, they heard his tremulous howls and quickly fled. He was the monster of the bone cave.

One night he was eating the flesh on a still withering boryot soldier. She cried for help, but he barely understood the words. But when his claws accidentally pulled out a piece of azure and yellow veil, he remembered something. The Shroud. Dlavuk. It all came back to him.

The look on the soldier’s face turned from pain and fear into astonishment. Garuk realized he had changed into a boryot again. He did not feel the need for blood nor the desire to hunt. The woman, bloody pieces missing from her arm and belly, did her best to scramble out.

Garuk asked her something but no words came out. He realized he had not spoken a real word in years. He was dressed in rags and the hair on the top of his head had fallen out. Was this the life that he wanted? Or should he be content living the life of an animal? To retire in a cave and howl with the shulves?

“I wish you peace,” the soldier said weakly.

“I… come in… peace,” Garuk growled, pieces of her skin still stuck in his teeth.

The soldier moved slowly toward the exit.

“Dlavuk,” Garuk said.

“What?”

“Dlavuk… of Nowhere. Do you… know him? He is… in the Shroud. Like you.”

The woman looked at her bewildered. “We do not make introductions.”

“He has the Sin of Greed tattooed on his face. And he has… a scar. Here.” Garuk drew a finger across his face.

“Oh. I have seen him. In the south.” The woman was almost at the cave door. “In Gorskow.”

Gorskow was a city in ignisaur-occupied part of Veletia, Garuk remembered. He paid no attention to the wounded soldier as she fled her cave. Garuk remembered his mission again: to rid Agemonia of abominations. Dlavuk would be the first. He would hunt him down and then all the other abominations.

Garuk started to pace on all fours to what he thought might be the south. Then he remembered he was a boryot and stood up to walk only on his hoofs. It was difficult at first, but slowly it came back to him.

He walked until he saw an abandoned moonsilver mine and spent the night inside it. An old road led to the mine and he followed it until he found a bigger road, one where caravans traveled. He would not approach other boryot, not yet, but he found a group of travelers and stalked them, hidden by the forest of giant mushrooms. The mushrooms were warm and there was no snow here. Here and there, there was also hay, flowers, and even trees.

At night Garuk would sneak into the travelers’ camp and steal some food and then return to the mushroom forest. He had gotten used to much colder weather and had no problem sleeping outside here.

After a few days of travel, he climbed a fungal hill and saw something strange: the land gave way and there was only water. Sunlight glistened off the waves.

He saw something else, too, boryot soldiers were guarding the street and the mushroom forests on both sides. And behind them on the street, just beyond arrow reach, ignisaur soldiers in gilded armor stood guard. Approaching on the road meant being subject to searching and questioning and possibly imprisonment by either group.

Garuk kept to the shade of the mushrooms and managed to sneak past the boryot soldiers at night and then ambush one of the Megeian patrols. He turned into an abomination and killed them all. Whether it was a sin or not, he no longer cared. Their blue blood tasted sweeter than red boryot blood.

On the next days he saw his fellow boryot in chains, toiling in the fields or the mines, whipped by ignisaurs masters. And he saw ignisaur priestesses in golden masks conducting horrible ceremonies to the Burning Sun, their false god. Something of his childhood was brought back to him as he remembered having learnt of foreign religions at school. How wrong they had seemed then. How meaningless all religion seemed now to one who had lived as an animal for so long.

He stole an ignisaur robe and put it on when he walked into Gorskow at night, his head again covered. Unlike many boryot cities, it was not built inside a mountain but on the coast. It had once been a prosperous port from where boryot could spread the wisdom of the Church of the Reformed Hearth to all harbors in Agemonia. Now it was ruled by ignisaurs, and boryot were subject to their cruel rule. Churches had been converted into Solar Temples, statues of Velyuk the Old had been toppled, and ignisaurs laughed noisily in the streets, drunk on cactus wine.

In more dimly lit quarters, the boryot still lived, some of them having willingly pledged themselves to Megeia’s service, others harboring resistance. It mattered little to Garuk. He was no freedom warrior. He wanted Dlavuk.

Garuk had figured out Dlavuk was a member of the Shroud and asking around low-lives, both boryot and ignisaur, he soon found out where one should definitely not go. At the harbor there was a tavern called the Shade and Snow which The Shroud kept as their headquarters. The crime gang seemed to have some sort of truce with the Megeians and they kept out of each other’s ways.

Garuk found a good spot for spying on the Shade and Snow at a dockyard behind a Sunshine Fleet junk that was waiting to be repaired. He spent many days and nights there, observing the comings and goings of the tavern, only leaving to steal something to eat and drink. He could not be sure he had seen Dlavuk, but any of the veiled boryot could have been him. There were also smaller veiled figures who might have been quothians or even nihteegri.

He was munching on a piece of blackbread with kevak and sliced vegetables and making his plans when a shadow fell on him.

“I wish you peace, Garuk the Cursed!” said a familiar voice. Garuk turned and saw Dlavuk of Nowhere.

There was no time to wait. Garuk turned into an abomination. Dlavuk did the same. Sea birds took flight as the two monsters lunged at each other’s throats.

Dlavuk was strong, but so was Garuk now. Having lived so long as an abomination, he was more used to that form than his boryot self. He roared and grabbed Dlavuk’s chest, ready to tear his heart out.

Dlavuk was armored and trained, and although they both managed to wound each other terribly, it was Dlavuk of Nowhere who finally managed to lift Garuk in the air and push him against the stone pier with devastating force. Dlavuk looked into his eyes and Garuk could feel his animal instincts subside as he turned back into a boryot. How did that happen?

He could not move, but he could watch and listen. He saw Dlavuk turn back into a boryot, obviously of his own will. Most of his brown hair had turned gray and there were several new tattoos on his face. The scar from where young Garuk had stabbed him still showed between the tattoos.

“Come with me to Benem, Garuk,” Dlavuk said. “Our curse cannot be removed, but it can be controlled. I would teach you.”

“You… are… a… monster,” Garuk managed to growl.

 “That is certainly what Bodyar and Yutkov thought,” Dlavuk said. “That was why I had to kill Yutkov. But I do not wish to kill you. I would rather you become like me.” 

“Never!” replied Garuk, struggling to get free.

“You think I killed your papa,” Dlavuk continued. “I did not. Not your real papa. And you wonder why I kept visiting your family year after year. And you wonder where you inherited your curse.”

What was Dlavuk telling him? It was a lie. It had to be. He would not be the child of a murderer! Of an abomination!

“Think about it,” Dlavuk said. “You do not even look like Yutkov.”

“No!” was all Garuk managed to say.

“We are abominations, my son, but it is not a curse. It is a blessing. The church is too blind to see it. We are stronger and fiercer than any other boryot and we have immense magic at our hands. There are others like us out there, too. Sail with me to Benem. We will learn control and gain power there. If we joined forces, why, we could even throw out the invaders and bring in a new age of freedom for all boryot! We would no longer be called abominations, but the first of a new breed, the ruling class.”

By Velyuk, thought Garuk, Dlavuk really thought he was better than other boryot because of his curse.

“You are mad,” Garuk said. “I would rather die than see you become ruler.”

“I am sad to hear this, my son,” Dlavuk said. He turned into an abomination again, beat Garuk senseless, and threw his corpse into the cold water.

Sinking to the bottom, Garuk could not breathe and could barely even move. What kind of papa would kill his own son? Focusing his anger, he managed to concentrate enough that he could make the water colder and create a patch of ice under himself. The ice floated to the surface, taking him with it.

He paddled the ice raft to a pier and climbed onto it where he spewed blood and salt water and gasped for air. Wet and weak, Garuk disguised himself and skulked into the shadows before anyone would see him. Perhaps some already had? He did not want to be exiled again. Although perhaps ignisaurs would not care.

He had not thought of his parents for years. Only that he would need to avenge his papa. No matter what Dlavuk said, he was not his papa. But if he was, killing him might let Garuk control his changes. Was that why mama had wished he had killed Dlavuk?

The next morning he went to the harbor and found a Benemite sailing ship in need of a strong deckhand. They were transporting furs and runesilver to a far-away city called Ambergate. Garuk had never known the sea before, but with the salty wind in his coarse beard, he was one step closer to Benem and once again tracking down Dlavuk and, this time, killing him.

You have listened to my story and now you can tell it to teach it.