In the Beginning
Part III




"It is your science which has changed her thus," said a familiar voice. "My... sorcery is not meant for these things." The caged girl stirred as the voice invaded dreaming thought and the muddy darkness of greenish eyes appeared between slit lids. The two men standing before the cage were fuzzy shadows and she froze as one of those shadows leaned suddenly down to study her more closely.

"Of course it is," the second shadow-voice responded, and she flinched back with a quiet, hoarse whimper. "Science has never disappointed me." Ignoring the small creature's motion, the man reached between the bars of the cage, thumbing an eyelid back and shining a small light into one of her eyes. She mewled in pain as he did so and, after a brief moment of study, he withdrew his hand.

"She is still hypersensitive to touch," the first shadow-voice observed. This was the voice she heard when the cage door opened, when food and water were put in. The hands belonging to that voice had never touched her. "Sound doesn't seem to bother her as much as before, but I wonder..."

"What?" The second man's brisk tones broke the thoughtful ramblings of the other. "You wonder what?"

"Her eyesight. I don't think she's seeing very well. She didn't react to your motion until you'd actually touched her."

"Good. She's learning her master. Soon, she'll learn more quickly."

"I wouldn't bet on it, Sonder. This one will tear you to shreds the moment you open the cage -- she'd be trying now, I'm willing to bet, if it weren't for the binding spells I put in place." There was a growl from the scientist as the sorcerer spoke; in the cage, murky green eyes shut while the discussion raged on, growing increasingly heated.

Their dialogue became nothing more than a dull, distant murmur; they had the same, or similar, arguments every time they paired in observation or experimentation. Sometimes she understood the words; today, she did not. It didn't matter that they were only shadow-voices now; she'd seen them before, and would never forget the sight. Every detail of their features was committed to her memory -- one large and muscular, with a shock of flame-red hair and dirty crimson robes; the other no less tall but half the weight, with long, graying hair and soft eyes. During the first moments of that painful audio-hypersensitivity, she'd committed their heartbeats to memory. No, their experiments had not, as they thought, eased that sensitivity - she'd gotten used to it.

But she would never get used to this murky eyesight. She had no concept of the passage of days since the last experiment. Her world was one of bright, fluorescent light gleaming off the endless white tile and sterile steel. No darkness ever suggested the passage of day into night; and her sleep, drug-induced, left her more confused and disoriented upon awakening. The perfection of senses that had once been her birthright was a muddled mess. It wasn't bad enough her fur was gone, leaving her skin a covering of searing pain over muscles and bones -- no, they had to ruin her eyes as well.


Sensing a lull in the never-ending argument she reached a hand out, panting against the pain inherent in every movement, and curled her fingers around the cold shaft of one steel bar. Raw nerve endings screamed, shooting wires of white-blue pain up her arm, lighting her body with fire. She whimpered, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as that panting breath resumed. Lips. They felt.. swollen. Bruised. Her tongue - rough, dry - screamed over the raw surfaces, and she immediately regretted that move.

"Sonder." The voice was thin and dry; she relaxed forward at its softness, only to cringe away from the bars when the retreating form of the other swam fuzzily back into view. "Her grip is improving."

The one named Sonder merely grunted, too absorbed in his study to otherwise reply. A shadow flitted close to her face as he reached one meat-slab of a hand between the bars. "She must be adjusting to her limbs," he said. "Finally." She curled her lips back and hissed.

"Yes," came the reedy hiss from the sorcerer. "You did a fine job manipulating her..." he paused, and Sonder finished the sentence.

"DNA, Amharus." Sonder's voice was deep and resonating; despite the hiss that had just crossed her lips, she found it soothing, almost hypnotizing (like the eyes of a snake, some long-forgotten and unstirred instinct suggested.) His fingers ghosted a touch across her knuckles and she tightened her grip reflexively, nostrils flaring with the effort as she pressed itching fingertips against the cold steel. "There, kitten," Sonder crooned, and his attempt at a calming tone twisted her stomach. Sonder chuckled and she withdrew her hand, pushing herself into the far corner of the cage. "We should work on her eyes today, old man, if you think they need it," Sonder announced. "She's ready for more."

"She's hardly had a week since the last, Sonder," Amharus objected, "and look at her -- she's dehydrated."

"She's well enough." The wave of a hand with which Sonder dismissed Amharus's concerns was nothing more than a distant blur to the caged girl.

"I don't-"

"I didn't ask you what you do or don't, Amharus. We work on her eyes today." There was a long moment of silence before Amharus gave in, nodding slowly and turning to the cage. He began to murmur quietly and for the girl in the cage, the world went blessedly dark.


[to continue]




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[INCARNATIONS]
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