Ghost of the Caves

Stats

Name: Valdearg Varedi
Nickname: None
Gender: Male
Age: 42
Species: Hissi

Sire: Teas Varedi
Dam: Entura Varedi
Friends: None
Love: Jyakiia

Color: Charcoal grey and dark red
Height: Six feet when reared up
Length: Twenty-seven feet from nose to tail tip
Weight: Four hundred pounds

Specialties: Singing
Status: Singing to avoid the world
Reference:

Feel the heat

Watch it destroy you

And as the fire seared my skin, I could think only of Kasseri.

I was a successful actor and talented singer. I was happily married and madly in love. I was a prominent member of society and active in charity work.

I was affluent. I was respected. I was envied.

I had everything I ever wanted.

One night tore it all away.

It was the third party within the week. I always hated the things—they never amounted to more than bigwigs showing off their wealth, all under the guise of providing for charity. Money was nice, but the real volunteer work was always done with your own two hands. But these guys did not understand that. They only thought of warding off the press with fancy dinners, two hundred dollars a plate, the proceeds going to one charity or another.

Personally, I would much rather have been home with my wife and our two children. I should have said no to the stupid invite, but the organizer, a kougra by the name of Burton Clous, had insisted. He said I would be sorry if I did not come, which really boiled down to he would make the next few weeks rather uncomfortable if I did not show my face.

I'm so glad you could make it, Valdearg. I turned from the buffet table to see none other than Mr. Clous himself. I inclined my head respectfully, gesturing with one charcoal grey wing to the hustle and bustle of the party around us.

I would not miss it. You do know how to throw an excellent party, Burton. Burton chuckled.

Oh, don't be so proper, Valdearg. I know you'd rather be home, playing with your kids or whatever it is that you do.

Well, it is movie night, I grumbled, trying to hide my discontent behind a sip of water. At this, Burton laughed out loud, clapping me on the back with a large paw. I coughed, choking on the water I had been in the process of swallowing.

You're one lucky hissi, you know that? Go on, Valdearg. Go home to your family. I won't keep you here any longer. I smiled, my first real one for the night.

Thank you, Burton. It means a lot to me. I owe you one.

Yes, you do. And you know I won't forget it.

I dipped my head in a brief bow and took my leave, snaking through the crowd as quickly as possible.

The cool night air brushed over my scales like the touch of a lover. It was a welcome relief from the warmth within the party atmosphere. I always felt claustrophobic in those situations, like there wasn't enough air to breathe. The city was fairly quiet that night; in the house behind me, I could hear the dull roar of a hundred mouths, but out here, there was only the distant sound of passing cars and the susurrus of my scales as I slithered across the concrete.

The way home was not long, so I declined the bellhop's offer of a taxi and made my own way, taking side streets and shortcuts whenever possible. And as often happened when I was alone, my thoughts turned to my family.

My Kasseri and I had been married for seven glorious years, and each one of those years had its share of hardships, like the death of our first several clutches of eggs in the second and third years, or the threats on her life from a nutjob fan only a year ago. But they had also had their share of happiness, like the births of our daughter and son, Nikki and Daven. Nikki was bright, curious, and a ray of joy. Daven was more secluded, but proud and insightful. The two were practically inseparable. They were the reason that Kasseri was home instead of by my side; she always refused to hire babysitters.

Kasseri, bless her, was so protective of her babies. She treated those children like they were miracles. Which, I suppose, they were. Kasseri, beautiful and kind-hearted as she was, had the odds stacked against her as a mother. She would follow the doctor's orders to the letter, and still her body would reject the eggs growing within her, laying them before they were ready. The too-soft shells would sag and burst, destroying the life within. They all died in the same tragic fashion, until Nikki and Daven. Those two were determined to live.

It was then that I rounded the corner to my street, and I knew immediately that something was wrong. There was a crowd standing in front of my house, and they were staring at something, pointing and gasping. Worried, I rushed forward, only to see just what they all were watching.

My home was burning.

Valdearg! There you are! one of the onlookers cried, I vaguely recognized him as a neighbor. The fire truck is on the way. It's a good thing you weren't inside. He frowned. Where's Kasseri?

Ice seemed to slide down my throat and take a grip on my heart. No. Nonononononono. No!

I turned and looked up at the building.

Kasseri! The scream tore itself from my throat. I don't think I ever moved so fast in my life. A couple of the onlookers tried to reach to pull me back, but I was already gone, barreling down the front door.

Smoke. There was smoke everywhere. I couldn't see. My lungs burned. Ducking down, I called again.

Kasseri!

This time, I heard a faint reply coming from the second floor.

Kasseri! I coughed, choking on the black soot that filled every breath. Kasseri! I raced up the stairs and came face to face with the fire. It filled the hallway, climbing the walls like a living thing, dancing and popping. The heat was unbearable; I could feel it searing my skin. But I could also see something else.

Down at the end of the hallway, huddled in a doorway, was Kasseri, her back to the fire, her wings covering the two children, protecting them from the flames.

Kasseri! There was a loud creaking, as if the house itself were moaning in pain. I dodged the flames, making it halfway down the hallway before another loud creak stopped me in my tracks, lest I cause the floor to give way. Kasseri, come on! We have to get out of here! She looked back over her shoulder, her green eyes wide with fright, and slowly shook her head. The house moaned again. Kasseri, it will all be fine, come on! Again, she shook her head, this time turning so that I could see the children huddling beneath her wings.

Only they weren't huddling.

My mind froze as I stared at the lifeless bodies of our children. I couldn't take my eyes from them. Kasseri, I whispered. Kasseri. Come on. It was a plea, now. But as I tore my eyes from the sight that threatened to freeze my blood in my veins, I saw her shake her head for a third time.

Before I could say anything else, the roof caved in with a final groan. I watched her body collapse beneath the burning debris.

No! I rushed forward, oblivious to the protests of the floor beneath my weight. I was mere feet away when it gave way, and my world was lost in burning rain.

I must have lost consciousness briefly, because I awoke to a fiery pain, the likes of which I had never before experienced. I was looking up at the sky through the hole that my weight had made in the second floor. I couldn't move my body—it was pinned beneath a mass of roof. But it was the right side of my body—my wing and my face—that had me screaming in agony. I was pressed against a piece of flaming rubble, and I could feel the fire eating away at my flesh. The scream tore at my already searing lungs and echoed off the walls of what was once my home, but was now a tomb.

From a distance, I thought I heard shouts, and then someone was pulling me away from the rubble, prying my body from the flames that were destroying it. My screams became hoarse, my voice completely shot from the smoke and the pain. My rescuer dragged me outside, where paramedics were waiting to load me into an ambulance.

As they closed the doors to send me to the hospital, I lost consciousness.

My last thoughts were of Kasseri.

The public pitied me. They cried for me, for my loss. My room in the hospital was filled with flowers from well-wishers. The doctors said my life hinged on the next few days. I had broken several ribs and a couple of the bones in my left wing, but the severe burns that covered my right side threatened me the most. There was a strong chance that my burns would get infected, and if that was the case, death was likely. I heard it all through the haze of pain, both physical and emotional. I had lost everything.

Time passed. I had no idea how long.

The burns got infected.

Whatever skin was left sloughed away. I lost my right eye.

And by some twisted, sick miracle, I lived.

When the pain finally ebbed enough that I came out of my state of insanity, I was able to look in a mirror.

The right side of my face was gone, eaten down to the bone. There was a dark hole where my eye should have been; it glared back at me, soulless and empty. My right wing, too, was nothing but bone and ligaments. Each movement hurt as air passed over the exposed ivory and aggravated the few nerve endings that remained.

A surge of rage rose within me as I stared down my reflection. What had I done that life would be so unfair? The half of me that was missing was rooted deeper than the bone that shone white in the artificial light of the hospital. My Kasseri, my Nikki, my Daven. My everything. They were gone.

A great howl of hate and anger and pain built in my chest, and I released it as tears streamed from my one good eye. I lashed out with my wing of bone, striking the mirror again and again, oblivious to the pain that shot up my spine, because it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. The mirror shattered, raining silver pieces of glass around me. Each broken piece taunted me as it fell, spinning through the air. A thousand monsters glared back at me.

I lost all public support after that day. The people had been ready to mourn Valdearg, the compassionate and talented actor, but they were not prepared for this half-being, this monster that took Valdearg's place. For a while, I tried to make some semblance of recovery, tried to pick up the pieces of my old life, but the pain quickly became too great.

And so, with nothing holding me back, I left.

The Ghost emerges

How long must I wander?

If I have learned one thing, it is that everything ends.

It took me a while before I found a place where I could go that I wasn't harassed by people thinking I was a monster.

Outside of the city where I had made my fame, no one knew me. That was a bit of a shock, but it was but a drop of feeling in the ocean that was my overwhelming despair. I started out in the small towns, trying to make an honest living for myself with whatever work I could find. One or two people would take pity on the miserable creature I was, giving me a roof over my head and an odd job with which to pay my way. But misfortune seemed to follow me.

Whenever a child got sick, or a business would fail, or—most especially—a fire would break out, whispers would start. Rumors drifting through the town like a plague, people avoiding me. The whispers would grow to accusations. Discontent. I had the evil eye on me, they would say. I had sold my soul to the devil, said others, and that was why I could live with such horrible disfigurement.

I learned to move on when the whispers started. I didn't want to bring the fury of a mob down onto the heads of the people who were kind enough to take me into their homes. I moved from town to town, then from town to village, and finally, I stopped going around people altogether. I stuck to the remote areas and taught myself to hunt. It was a far cry from the luxury I had been used to, but at least people would no longer glare at me, hate me. It was a very hungry and lonely few years.

I wandered far enough that I no longer knew where I was. I had ended up near a mountain range. It was when I was moving through these mountains that I found the cave. It was really more a network of caves, but at its heart, there was a very large, unoccupied cavern. By the smells of the place, nothing had set foot there in years, although some of the outer caves showed signs of recent activity. In this cavern, I set up my new home. I was tired of wandering. The years of travel had taken a toll on my weary soul. I was still in constant pain from the exposed nerve endings—the doctors had said there was nothing they could do about that—but I had learned to deal with it for the most part. It was the pain in my heart with which I could not cope.

So I built my little home in the center of a mountain. Sometimes I think I fully intended to die there. But my body kept on living, tying me to the world that had nothing for me.

I found that there was a village at the base of the mountain in which I lived. A very primitive and superstitious people made their home there. They, too, scavenged the mountain for what sustenance it could provide, so I suppose it was inevitable that we would meet. Apparently, I had been picking off goats from their herds without even realizing it. They thought I was some sort of phantom, a malevolent apparition sent by their gods to torment them. I admit that I did nothing to change that belief.

It was easier to have them think me a ghost. It meant they kept their distance, and they even sent me tributes from time to time. Maybe they expected that if they pleased me, I could send a message to a higher power and somehow ease their hardships. I did what I could for the first few problems they brought to me—I chased off a mountain lion and found a few lost goats. I offered guidance when I could. In return, they kept me fed and gave me enough to furnish my cave. Instead of sleeping on the cold, bone-aching stone, I slept on a bed of furs. I had candles instead of crude torches.

But like everything in my life, it came to an end.

The problems the villagers brought to me escalated. They were no longer petty disputes, but wars to temper. Things that were not within the power of a disfigured charlatan pretending to be a ghost. The villagers became angry. Down at the base of the mountain, where their voices could not reach me, the whispers started.

They hired a bounty hunter.