Kell's Legend

animals.
    Vashell touched his own wounded side. His eyes narrowed. “You’ll pay for that.”
    “Too long I have heard your pretty words,” said Anu, her voice quiet, eyes lowered. “You don’tunderstand, do you, poor Vashell? That which alienated me from the rest of the vachine, that which made you call me impure, outcast, illegal, is twisted, reversed, for I was bred by my father to be a superior vachine, an advanced vachine lifeform…not addicted to your blood-oil concoctions…but independent of your controlling Watchmaker and Engineer pseudo-religious culture. Is that why you fear me so? Because you know I am special?”
    “Kradek-ka is Heretic!” spat Vashell. “That is why he must help us; and then die.”
    “He seeks to improve our race using clockwork science,” said Anu.
    “He seeks to overthrow the Engineers,” snapped Vashell, the edge of pain making his words come out fast.
    “And the irony! Your Blood Refineries are breaking down; without him, you cannot fix them. You will revert to old savagery; old ways.”
    “Shut up and die.” He snarled and leapt, and this time Anu stood rock still, eyes fixed on him, sunlight glinting from her silver fangs…at the last, split second, she twisted, and his claws slashed past her throat; his fangs slammed for her artery but she was moving, rolling away, to come up with her own claws extended, a curious calm on her face as Vashell growled, and they circled, and he leapt again with a scream of anger and Anu swayed, faster than a blur, and slammed a blow which removed Vashell’s face. The skin came off in Anu’s claws, removed like a mask, to leave him stood, muscle-masked skull gaping at her in utter disbelief. His face was now a red, pulsing orbfrom hairline to jaw, and Anu stood up straight, holding his face in her hands, watching his blood drip to the floor and he glanced up, eyes full of pain, eyes full of staggered understanding…
    “That’s for betraying me,” she whispered.
    With a growl, he launched at her and she delivered a side-kick to his chest, knocking him back, then leapt high, coming down with both claws extended to slam Vashell to the ground. She landed, kneeling atop his chest, claws locked around his throat.
    “Don’t kill me,” he said, and she looked down at his new, bloody, destroyed face.
    “Why not?”
    His claws flexed behind her, and without moving her own vachine claws slammed out, cutting them from his fingers, then again to his other hand. Vashell howled in fresh agony, blood-oil spurting from all ten mangled stumps, and Anu leant close to him, mastery flooding her, along with a cold metallic hate. She leaned forward, and her fangs sank into his throat, and he writhed for a while, legs kicking, clawless hands slapping at her in an attempt to dislodge this vachine parasite from feeding. She appreciated the irony of reversal as he screamed and struggled, flapping uselessly, weakly, and Anu finally pulled away, her mouth wearing a beard of blood-oil, and she smiled down at him, reached down, and with a savage wrench, plucked out his fangs.
    Anu sat on the jetty, kicking her legs, as Alloria approached to crouch beside her. Tentatively, the woman’s hand touched Anu’s shoulder and sheturned, their eyes meeting, Anu’s face coated in slick blood. Some way off, Vashell lay, curled into a ball, weeping salt tears onto the open muscles of his face.
    “Are you in pain?”
    “No.” Anu shook her head, forced a smile. “Come. We must leave this place. It will attract more soldiers like moths to a lantern.” She stood, stretched, and her fangs slid away. She walked over to Vashell with Alloria trailing her, uncertain, her green eyes filled with a curious mix of fear and wonder.
    “Wait,” said Queen Alloria.
    “Yes?”
    “Where am I? What am I doing here?”
    “This is the Silva Valley—where the vachine live.”
    “I have never…heard of such a place. And yet we are in the mountains, yes? The Black Pike Mountains?”
    “Yes. In their heart.”
    “I thought the Black Pikes were impassable. That is what the people of Falanor believe.”
    Anu shook her head. “Many of your, shall we say respectable citizens, think like that. But there is a roaring blood trade by Blacklippers. They have no morals. They have no…empathy. No fear.”
    “What is a Blacklipper?”
    “The Halfway People. Illegal to the vachine of Silva Valley, and ostracised by the good men and women of Falanor. They are your illegals, your