Page 6 of Tiger's Trek
Iriko was completely accustomed to opening his eyes and seeing nothing, so most mornings he didn’t bother trying to understand the world through vision. Instead, he’d honed his other senses, or rather, the abilities the tiger inside afforded him. He typically just listened to all the sounds around him—the scuffling of rodents under the snow, the cry of birds of prey far overhead, or the snorting of larger animals he might hunt for breakfast.
Then he might wrinkle his nose and taste the air or let his fingers touch the tiny particles brought to him on the wind. Finally, he’d use his nose. He’d always believed scent to be the most powerful tool an animal possessed—other than teeth and claws, of course. Many times he’d study the village dogs and watch how they’d use their noses to search for prey that burrowed deep inside the snow.
But Iriko had learned through experience that wasn’t the case at all for a tiger. Touch and hearing were what a tiger depended on the most, not their noses, though, to be fair, his sense of smell was incredibly keen now. Much more advanced than when he’d been simply human. His heightened senses and exceptional strength were the reasons he was still alive.
It was the tiger who’d blinded him. His mother might have believed Iriko’s disability was due to his being an outcast from his people, or the result of some sort of curse related to the death of his sister, but that wasn’t the reason. Well, at least not in an immediate sense. Iriko could see just fine for many years after he left his home.
No. He knew his eyesight had been taken by the animal caged within. It was desperate to escape the human prison he’d locked it in. Each time Iriko had felt the pull to change, he’d resisted. It was difficult at first. Nearly impossible, in fact. But over time it became easier, until, for a while, he’d thought he tamed the beast.
Then the tiger began haunting his dreams. It wasn’t frightening at first. He couldn’t even see the monster, only sensed its presence in the dark shadows at the edge of sleep. Iriko then began napping in short bursts, practicing dream defenses, but the tiger was clever. When the boy created mental images of thickly laced huts with no doors, the tiger pierced it with wicked claws, not entering but leaving the quivering young man with no misunderstanding that he could cross the threshold whenever he liked.
If the boy created a dream where he sat inside a ring of blazing fire, then the tiger leaped up onto the highest tree branch and looked down on him from the shadows with glacier-blue eyes that glowed in the dark. Iriko knew the tiger could leap over the flames and devour him if it chose. It teased him, lounging in the branches until he went mad and dared the beast to come and take him. The tiger only yawned, rolled over, and slept. The boy never could.
Sometimes Iriko tried conjuring a weapon, aiming it at the beast’s heart, but he could almost hear the snort of laughter as it slunk through the bushes, evading him easily. When he tried to ignore the tiger, turning his back to it and keeping his eyes tightly shut, the monster actually sat down beside or behind him, pressed its back against him, and made a sort of chuffing sound. Once it even licked him. Iriko thought it was probably tasting him in anticipation.
Still, Iriko fought. Years passed, and as they did, the tiger became more and more aggressive. It began pacing and snarling in irritation. Iriko told it to just leave, that it didn’t belong to him, that it had all been a mistake, but the tiger came to him again and again, night after night, roaring, demanding he acknowledge its presence.
He tried to build walls between them, but it did no good. Every mental barrier, every door he slammed in his dreams, crashed down with the swipe of a heavy paw. This continued month after month, and year after year. Each night the tiger stalked him, challenged him, broke down whatever barrier he constructed, until at last Iriko lay prone at its feet as the cat breathed hot, fetid breath across his face.
There it stood waiting—watching him, studying him, trying to break him—but Iriko was nothing if not stubborn. He’d rather die. And the tiger knew it. When Iriko didn’t flinch before the massive jaws, the beast roared and went into a frenzy, raking sharp claws on either side of Iriko. Still frustrated, it tore apart everything in the dream until there was nothing left but bits and pieces of shadow and dust.
Then one day the attacks ceased. The tiger was quiet. That was the day Iriko opened his eyes and saw nothing.
For a long time, the tiger lay dormant, allowing Iriko to use the cat’s power, but asking nothing in return beyond his vision. Then recently the beast had begun to stir once more. In the last few months, Iriko’s dreams had been haunted again. First it was the roar, then the shadow. One that grew brighter until Iriko understood he was once again seeing, but not through his own eyes. This time he was the monster in his dreams. Iriko didn’t try to put up barriers. He knew what was coming.
The tiger would soon appear again. It would ask, and the answer would be the same. There was nothing that would make Iriko give in. The young man knew it was only a matter of time before he lost something else. Something important. But Iriko didn’t care. He was ready to die. He deserved it. After all, why should he get to live when his sister didn’t?
At least in his dreams he could see. He almost looked forward to them. It had been years since he’d seen the sun or the rise of the moon on the snow—that is, until he saw the world again through the eyes of the others.
He knew they were coming before they arrived. The tigers visited his dreams. His tiger met theirs. Iriko watched them play together. They greeted one another. They seemed happy. He almost felt happy watching them. His tiger paced, but not in anger. It anticipated their arrival. The air changed. The tiger didn’t push Iriko to shift. Not anymore. But the young man felt its desperation. It wanted, needed, to be with the others.
When Iriko joined them, it felt right. Not only for the tiger but for himself. For a while, the tiger was at peace. Then, the last night, it pushed in again, harder than he ever had before. Sweat broke out on Iriko’s forehead. He almost changed. The tiger roared, and Iriko knew there would be another reckoning. More than his eyesight would be taken this time.
Then he woke, and all seemed well, until they entered the shaman’s cave and drank the elixir. He knew something was wrong when he couldn’t taste anything. For just a moment, before sleep overcame him, he thought the tiger had taken his sense of taste. Iriko thought that was a punishment for both of them and decided it was something he could live with if it meant walking on two legs. Then sleep came, and he gave in to the dreamworld.
But the tiger didn’t come to him in his dreams this time. Iriko listened. His ears worked. He could still hear the scuffling of rodents. In fact, he could even hear the chittering of their young as they cried for the warmth of their mother when she scurried out of their den. He let out a breath. The exhale was deep and heavy. It sounded different. It felt different. The air on his skin felt... strange, as did the ground beneath him. He shifted.Whoa. That’s... definitely new.
Iriko’s sense of balance was off. His body wasn’t right.No. It can’t be. But a part of him knew it was.Please. No.No!
Curling his upper lip, he inhaled, and scents hit the roof of his mouth, tickling his brain with information. The fresh, crisp tang of rain on mildewing leaves told him it was late fall. A sharp, sickly, musty odor implied a small animal had recently died nearby. The blood was old and made his stomach turn. He heard something move below, and the new scents translated for him. Two humans—one he knew, one he didn’t. A bird landed nearby, and seeing him, it took off screeching, causing a flock of others to soar. He attempted to stand and confirmed his suspicions. He was in a tree.
For a moment, he teetered precariously, clinging to the branch and having absolutely no idea how he’d gotten there or how high up he was. Then instinct kicked in. He dug in his claws and used his tail for balance and found a place where he could drape his body comfortably until he could figure out what to do next. In the meantime... he roared.
Nik and Stacia woke to the roar of a tiger, and both of them assumed it was Veru. Nik came to attention immediately, shouting the tsarevna’s name as he ran headlong into the trees. Stacia groaned and rolled over. “Just let me sleep a bit longer, will you, Veru?”
It’s not Veru, a voice in her mind said.
Stacia blinked, rubbed her eyes, and sat up, looking around, confused. “Who said that?”
I did. And who are you?
“What do you mean who am I? Who are you? Are you playing at invisible again, Nik? I don’t think it’s funny.”
It’s so strange. I think... I think I’m seeing from your eyes. But that can’t be!Are you... are you Stacia?
Just then Nik returned. “I don’t see Veru anywhere. Is she here somewhere?” Then his eyes widened. He reached down and plucked Stacia to her feet. “Hold on! You’re yourself again! How did you do it? What happened? When did it happen? Is Veru with you? Veru? Veru!”
“No, Nik. Veru’s not here. I don’t know how it happened. But... but I think Iriko is talking to me.”
