Sianim 01 - Masques

were the ones that represented shapeshifters as a “powerful, possibly mythic race” whose main hobby seemed to be eating innocent young children who lost themselves in the woods.
    “If I were one of a powerful, possibly mythic race,” muttered Aralorn, “I wouldn’t be bothering with eating children. I’d go after pompous asses who sit around passing judgment on things they know nothing about.”
    “Me, too,” agreed Wolf mildly without looking up. Evidently the reading he was doing was more interesting than hers, because even his grumpiness had faded. “Do you have someone in mind?”
    “She’s been dead for years . . . centuries, I think.”
    “Ah,” he said, turning a page. “I don’t eat things that have been dead too long. Bad for even the wolf’s digestion.”
    She snorted and kept reading. Aralorn learned that shapeshifters could only be killed by silver, garlic, or wolfsbane. “And all this time I’ve been worried about things like arrows, swords, and knives,” she told Wolf. “Silly me. I’d better get rid of my silver-handled dagger—it would kill me to touch the grip.”
    He grunted.
    The author of her book was also under the mistaken impression that shapeshifters could take the shape of only one animal. She devoted a section to horrific tales of shapeshifter wolves, lions, and bears. Mice, Aralorn supposed, were too mundane—and unlikely to eat children.
    She shared bits and pieces of the better wolf tales with Wolf, as he waded through a volume on pig training. He responded by telling her how to train a pig to count, open gates, and fetch. Pigs were also useful for predicting earthquakes. Iveress had helpfully included three spells to start earthquakes.
    Aralorn laughed and returned to her reading. At the end of the book, the author included stories “which my research has proven to be merely folktales” to entertain her readers. After glancing through the first couple, Aralorn decided that the thing that distinguished truth from folktale was whether or not the shapeshifters were evil villains. Most of the tales were ones she’d heard before. Most, but not all.
    She read the final story, then thoughtfully closed the book and glanced curiously around the room. Nothing was moving that shouldn’t be. Wolf had set the pig book aside and was sorting through a pile near his chair.
    “Once long ago, between this time and that, there was a woman cursed by a wizard when she was young, for laughing at his bald head.” She didn’t need to use the book to help her memory, but kept her eyes on Wolf. “She was married, and her first child was born dead. Her husband died in an unfortunate accident while she gave birth to her second, a daughter. When she was three, it became apparent to one and all that the second child bore a curse worse than death—she was an empath. Upon that discovery, her mother killed herself.”
    “A useless thing to do,” murmured Wolf, pulling a book out of the pile and setting it before him. He made no move to open it. “You’d have gone hunting for the wizard.”
    Aralorn raised her eyebrow, and said coolly. “I’m not finished.”
    He smiled and lifted both hands peaceably. “No offense meant, storyteller.”
    “The girl child was taken to a house outside the village and cared for as best the villagers could. Her empathic nature meant that none of them could get too close without causing her pain.”
    “I thought your book was about shapeshifters,” Wolf said, when Aralorn paused too long.
    She nodded. “She grew up and learned to glean herbs from the woods to pay for her keep. When she was sixteen, a passing shapeshifter saw her. He took to following her around in the guise of a crow or squirrel. But whatever shape he took, she knew him.”
    Wolf’s eyes grew reserved. “Indeed?”
    Aralorn frowned at him. “This isn’t about you and me—and you would have found me the first time though if you’d thought about looking for someone who didn’t look like me.”
    He looked away. She decided to ignore him and continued with the story.
    “She knew when he fell in love with her, too. And he was able to guard his touch so she could bear it. When the villagers came to her home, he was her invisible guardian. She loved him and was happy.
    “Once a month, the shapeshifter returned to his village to assure his people that he was well. They were not happy with his choice, and eventually his mother decided to solve the problem herself. She saw to it