Shifters: Chapter One
Summary: Differences are what made them outcasts, but it’s those differences that also bring two outcasts together. Farel is released from a ten-year prison sentence and left to find his own way in a human-dominated world, a world that only sees shifters as criminals. So he heads to Nos Bathan, a name given to the White Forest by his people centuries before humans arrived. Now it is the largest city in the country, and the only place a shifter can go to disappear.
These days Sunny mostly avoids people, not only because of her natural introversion but because she’s learned that people are not kind to women like her, women born in bodies the world does not accept. With a disappointed father and few friends, Sunny retreats into her beloved books, losing herself in fantasy worlds where nothing is complicated. Her own adventure starts when she comes upon a homeless shifter named Farel, who has more secrets than words. They come from two completely separate worlds, yet together they learn that while bodies change, souls remain the same.
Includes: "Werewolves" (shifters), MtF transgender character, bigotry, violence, sexual misunderstandings, characters of color (Sunny is Asian, Farel could be considered generically indigenous) and lots and lots of angst
Does not Include: Alpha/beta/omega/faux pack dynamics. In case you’re like me and don’t read werewolf stories because of those, here’s one in which they don’t really apply. Heats come into play, but I’ve attempted to make them as realistic as possible.
Note: I do not profess myself to be a scholar on transgender issues, as I myself am cis. Please correct me if if I am misinformed about something. I’ve done research, but sometimes even that is not enough.
2nd Note: This whole story was conceived and written to the song The One that Got Away by the Civil Wars. Holy shit, I love that song. 8D The video is great too, and it inspired a lot of this story.
Click to viewChapter One
After ten years, Farel was a free man. Almost. Give it twenty more minutes and he’d be walking out of this prison. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut and his head down and they couldn’t find another reason to keep him here. He used to be bad at that sort of thing when he first arrived ten years ago, but he quickly learned that letting insults and provocation roll off of him was the fastest way to get out. Do as your told and you’re free, was a mantra he’d repeated so often in his head that the words came to him as easily as breathing. Live as a slave for ten years and be free for eighty. At least he’d never have to hear that bell again, the one that woke them at six-thirty in the morning every day, even weekends. Tomorrow he was going to sleep until two and then go fishing in a cold stream. It was the most exciting evening plan he’d had in a long time.
The door to the room opened and two guards walked in, one carrying the civilian clothing Farel had arrived in. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t fit him now, but he didn’t care. He took the clothes offered and waited for the guards to leave so he could dress. But they just stood there against the wall, watching him. They both gripped the pistols at their waist, as if expecting him to fuck up his one chance of freedom. There was nothing they could do to him today to take this from him. So he just unzipped his coveralls and began to unfold the clothing they’d brought. One of the guards, a woman with a gap between her front teeth, sneered as she watched. In Farel’s experience, women feared shifters, but after taising and beating the shifters in her care, Farel doubted this woman had any fear left. He heard she liked to sleep with her favorites. Luckily that had never been Farel. She was vaguely attractive, but Farel would never touch a woman again.
Farel ignored her and slipped into the rest of his clothing. It was tight, straining at the seams. He’d grown in both width and height since he’d arrived at this prison; he just hadn’t known how much. He couldn’t get his jeans zippered, so he just let them gape open, exposing the briefs that nearly cut off the circulation to his genitals. Not a dignified departure, but it was a departure. Do as you’re told and you’re free, he thought to himself.
The male guard stepped forward and gave Farel the small box of his various other belongings, just the keys to mother’s old truck and a wallet, which held nothing more than a few quarters and an expired drivers license. None of it was any good to him now, but he accepted them anyway, holding the wallet and keys in his hand since there was no room in his pockets.
The door opened again as the warden entered, a pale mustachioed man with a cheek full of tobacco. With a sigh of ennui, the warden pulled out a slip of paper and unfolded it, reading the top few lines.
“I, Warden of Mount Kenner Penitentiary, hereby release prisoner 564, Farel Brightwood from our jurisdiction. From this date he is granted all rights afforded to a citizen of the Republic of Bathan, including all the freedoms outlined in our Federal Declaration, Article four, section blah blah, whatever.” The warden folded the piece of paper again and handed it to Farel. “Time for you to leave, son.”
Farel took the document with a slight nod. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t be thanking me.” The warden narrowed his eyes, moving the wad of chew from one side of his mouth to the other. “You’ll be back.”
Farel didn’t reply, only nodded again because it seemed like the least controversial answer. Finally the warden stepped aside and motioned to the door. “You’ll be shown out.”
Taking a deep breath, Farel walked past the warden and through the door. Two more guards stepped in front of him and began to lead him down the hallway to the front door. It seemed to glow, like the gate to heaven always did in old movies. He imagined that a chorus would sing Hallelujah upon his exit, but the only sound that greeted him was the click of the lock disengaging. This would be the last time he’d ever hear that metallic clang of imprisonment, and it made all of his worries vanish for an instant.
Mount Kenner Penitentiary was nestled along the crests of the Southern Mounds mountain range, hidden deep within some of the last virgin forests standing in this part of the country. It had been a shifter territory four centuries ago, back before the humans arrived with their muskets and war cannons. Mount Kenner Penitentiary had always existed since then, in many different forms. When one crumbled and fell, the humans erected it again, bigger and colder and surrounded by enough wire and iron to justify the erection of more mines and coal plants, plants operated by more shifters. Work until you die, Farel’s father had always said. Then you’ll be free.
Except that Farel felt freedom now as he was moved across the yard and toward the front gate, which loomed over him like a gaping mouth with steel teeth. In front of that gate idled a large black van, its back doors swung wide open.
“In,” one of the guards said, so Farel went, squeezing himself into a bench seat along the side barely large enough to accommodate a human, let alone him. He managed and kept his mouth shut, training his eyes on the wall across from him. Another guard climbed into the passenger seat, and the van’s engine started.
It felt too easy. Ten years behind these walls and leaving was just as easy as a car ride. Farel briefly wondered if they were playing a trick, pretending to let him free only to circle back and drop him off at the back gate where they took the shifters destined for the chair.
Farel peered out the back door window, watching ancient oaks and pines rush past. The smell of them overwhelmed him, and he gulped it in like he would a plate of sirloin steak. He had spent his whole childhood living amongst trees like these, climbing their branches and catching the occasional coon that scrambled up in front of him. He had been one of the wild children, the ones who ran naked until they learned they shouldn’t, who neglected shoes and waded into shallow, muddy streams to catch catfish and scoured the damp, dark earth for wild mushrooms. As much as he loved this land, it was tainted by his imprisonment, so he turned away and went back to staring at the wall.
The van dropped him off at a deserted bus stop, the guards shrugging when he asked if a bus would ever actually come. They didn’t care, and Farel didn’t think anything of it. It was a normal interaction with these people, and he should be thankful they didn’t drag him into the woods to shoot him.
When the van drove away, he was left with the cacophony of the forest. Birds sang their carols, frogs croaked, and trees creaked in the breeze. It was the sort of chorus he had missed, and yet he felt so incredibly alone as he took it in. The last time he’d explored such woods, his siblings had been with him. Who knew where they were now. Not talking to him, that was for sure.
Farel wandered away from the bus stop and began to undress. It was a relief to escape the confines of his clothing, but his nerves buzzed with uncertainty. It had been ten years since he’d attempted to shift, despite trying several times.
Something in the food, Mungot had told him, his occasional cellmate, as bedding arrangements changed often. They give you some God forsaken chemical that changes you. Makes you one of them.
Mungot had been in the penitentiary for a decade longer than Farel, so Farel thought him simply paranoid. But perhaps he was right. All that Farel knew was that he had briefly tested the old trigger, just to see if he could do it. He would have been put in solitary for at least a week if the guards had caught him, but he had wanted to try.
Nothing had happened.
Farel was not one of those urban shifters. Growing up where he had, there hadn’t been humans for miles, and shifting amongst his siblings was common. It came naturally to him. When his trigger wouldn’t fire, he spent a night sobbing in his bed. He wasn’t proud of it, but his true form was like his hands, his organs, his senses. Without it, he was handicapped, a mucker- neither shifter nor human. He felt so ashamed he could barely speak to another man for two weeks.
Like all things, though, he grew used to mistreatment, and soon it became so mundane and normal that he didn’t even think about it anymore.
Farel crouched, digging his fingers into the earth. The smell of rotting leaves assaulted him as potato bugs crawled along his hand. Shaking them off, Farel took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and reached for the trigger he hadn’t touched in years.
Pain moved like fire across his limbs, so hot and fierce that he let out a loud yelp, then a low, agonized whine. He tried to scramble back into his cloaked form, but there was no stopping it. His true form crashed into him with the impact of a bullet, striking him in the center of his chest and exploding around him. He felt his bones crack, breaking and growing and reforming as if he’d been tossed into a trash compactor and then quartered by horses.
He was relatively sure he was going to die.
I have just been freed, he managed to think through the chaotic stew of torture being inflicted upon his body. I will not enjoy my freedom by dying.
He must have lied there on the ground for an hour, though he couldn’t tell. He’d lost consciousness twice, only to be woken by another round of agony. The third time he woke, it was to an acute headache but merely sore limbs.
It was odd, looking down at his true arms after spending ten years with the cloaked arms of humans. They were at least two feet longer, thick with corded muscle and covered in a dense layer of hair. His fingers had shortened, each tipped with a razor claw. His back legs were stumpy in comparison, though they were thick with the promise of power. He had grown twice his usual size, so it took a moment to orient himself with his new environment. Each step made his brain spin, so he took a moment to rest, sitting down on his haunches. The forest had gone eerily quiet, and he wondered if the animals could smell him. The scent of a shifter in his true form was twice as strong as a cloaked form, but maybe that was only true for shifters.
Speaking of shifters . . .
Farel lifted his nose into the air, trying to catch a foreign scent. But all he could smell was the penitentiary, a cesspool of too many shifters crammed into miniature cells and the burning of food barely fit for consumption. He wrinkled his nose and snorted. He’d be going in the opposite direction for sure.
Walking hurt, but he forced himself forward. Despite the pain raging through his body, his sense of smell was left unhindered. In the distance, he could smell coal and the heat of metal gliding on metal.
A train.
When he was eighteen, he could run faster than all of his siblings, probably the speed of a slow horse. Now when he tried it, his body seized up after two strides, and he collapsed into the mud and leaf litter of the forest floor. At this point, he could go faster in his cloaked form, but he wasn’t sure if he could shift back. Would it bring more pain? If he was this incapacitated as a human, he might as well let lie down and die. No one would miss him at least.
He gritted his teeth against such defeatist thoughts and pulled himself to a squat, resting his heavy front end on his long, burly arms. At this rate, he’d never catch the train. So maybe he should eat first.
Wincing, Farel began to limp to the closest stream. The sound of trickling water was barely audible, but he knew the woods better than most shifters. Perhaps they had planned on him dying out here. He wouldn’t put it past humans, as there was little they hated more than an ex-con shifter. He should have felt motivated to prove them wrong, but he didn’t really care about humans at the moment. He just wanted to eat something that didn’t taste like plastic.
It took an hour to reach the mountain stream, and it was just deep enough to sink his hands into. There would be no catfish to catch here, but perhaps he could find a water snake or crayfish under the rocks. He could catch crayfish even in his cloaked form, so he didn’t think he’d have difficulty now, as injured as he was.
This stream ran clear and cold, so the crayfish were large and plenty. While he almost always preferred his true form, he did miss the dexterity of his cloaked fingers. It was hard to tear off the crayfish’s claws before eating them, and he suffered several pinches before he found an efficient method. After consuming at least ten, he felt he had enough strength to continue toward the distant aroma of rusting steel and rotting wood. Any attempt to trot was met with flames of pain in his haunches and ribs, so he settled for a steady walk. He kept his nose to the air, because one never knew when some ignorant humans would stumble into his path. He didn’t know if he could cloak himself back, and he’d prefer not to go back to prison after having just left.
When the sun began to set along the horizon, Farel found the train tracks. They were old but not dilapidated, so they must still be used. He had no clue where the train was going, but he figured anywhere was better than here.
Farel took a nap in the long weeds that grew on either side of the tracks, knowing that the vibration of the earth would alert him to a train’s arrival.
*
By nightfall, Farel could manage a slow lope without passing out, and that was all he needed in order to catch up with the freight train that barreled past. He imagined all of the boxcars would be locked, so he scrambled up onto the roof and sat there, still clutching his clothes to his chest. He knew anyone would see him up here, at least when daylight rolled around. He had to cloak. If any of the locals saw him, they wouldn’t hesitate to grab their rifles. In back country like this, men still believed in tales of rabid werewolves and silver bullets.
Gritting his teeth, Farel pulled the trigger. It was not an immediate change and it failed to overwhelm him like his true form had, but he felt it creeping over him, raising his hair on end and pulling at his bones. The pain came too, but it did not burn him. Instead it swallowed him in a chilled fog of confusion, and he curled up in a ball to protect himself. He had difficulty concentrating on anything, and for a moment he thought he might roll off the boxcar, even though he sat in the center. He grew so dizzy that he had to close his eyes.
When he opened them, he was looking down at much thinner, paler arms. So his trigger was not broken. That was good to know. As much as he preferred his true form, it was not practical for traveling.
Without his true coat, the cool breeze whipping around him made him shiver. He slipped into his clothes, though they did not help much. He ducked low to avoid air resistance, then wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the chill. The rhythmic clicking of the train tracks and the rocking of the car beneath him helped him drift into a gentle sleep, one that was not plagued by the usual nightmares.
*
One could never truly understand the size of a country until forced to travel it by foot. After riding the train all day, Farel slipped off before it reached the approaching factory, which was perhaps the train’s destination. He vanished into the nearby brush and kept to the forest, which was less dense now. That meant civilization, and it was exactly what Farel wanted to avoid.
His shoes no longer fit right, so he threw them away and continued barefoot, just as he had as a child. The soles of his feet weren’t as tough as they used to be, so by early evening, his skin was cracked and bleeding. But he kept walking until he came upon another stream, this one muddier and warmer than the last. Perhaps he could find some catfish here.
Tossing off his clothes, he waded into the stream until he was waist-deep. Underneath some fallen logs, he tested the bottom of the stream floor with his feet, poking until he came upon a nested hole.
Taking a deep breath, Farel ducked under the water and slipped his arm into the hole until he was forearm-deep. Moments later, something clamped down, digging into his skin with prickly teeth like sandpaper. Grinning, Farel burst from the water, wrestling the twisting catfish until he was able to grasp it under the gills, and secure a firm grip. The fish’s teeth had rubbed the skin on his forearm raw, but Farel thought nothing of it. He let it twist and flop until he splashed up onto the bank, which was where he found a sharp rock to kill it with. After it stopped thrashing, he tore the head from its body and began to eat the meat from within. It had been a long time since he’d had fresh catfish, and the taste of it assaulted him with poignant memories from his free years as a child, noodling for catfish and then feasting on the meat before its body even stopped twitching. It would be nice if he were able to gut the thing first, but he hadn’t anything with him save his wallet and clothes.
Suddenly his nose picked up the scent of something human. Swallowing what he could of the catfish, he scrambled to dress himself and get away. His body was still sore and slow, and he cursed himself for even shifting in the first place.
By the time he was dressed and moving, he caught a flash of pink in the distance. The vibrancy of it made him pause, so he crouched and watched the figure approach. He had worried it might be a hunting party, but it was a little human girl, wailing and shouting “MOM!” between her wracking sobs. There was no doubt the little human girl was lost.
Farel frowned and considered leaving the girl to wander. Weren’t humans fond of the phrase “survival of the fittest”? He couldn’t risk his freedom for some stupid girl who couldn’t find her way around a small chunk of woods. Why, his mother would have strapped his hide if he made such a fuss at her age, lost or not. And he would have deserved it.
He stood and began walking away, but then he starting doubting himself. Humans were weak, and they were prone to emotional bursts. Their children were even worse. Was human nature the girl’s fault? She couldn’t be blamed for the faults of her race, at least not at her age. But if he were caught with her . . . well. They’d throw his ass back in jail and never let him out again.
Sighing, Farel turned around and began his trek to the girl, whose pink backpack was like a target across her back. She was lucky there was nothing more dangerous than shifters in these woods or else she’d be dead before even he could reach her.
“Hey!” Farel called to her.
The girl twisted around. She had to be six, maybe seven, her face swollen and red from crying. For a moment she seemed terrified, but she calmed upon seeing him. She must be too far away for her to see his eyes, though of course any smart girl would be able to identify him by his sheer size and breadth, not to mention the thick body hair that was common to his race.
She began to trot over to him in pink rubber boots, the plastic bracelets on her wrists tinkling like bells. Finally she stopped a few strides away and said, “I lost my mommy! Can you help me find her?”
Stupid girl, trusting him so easily. He could be anyone-a murderer, a thief, a rapist. Instead of chastising her, he nodded.
“I can help you find her.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a weak smile, tears still trickling down her cheeks. A part of him softened, so prison must not have stamped out every compassionate cell in his body.
“How did you lose her?”
“I don’t know. I was running ahead of her and then I looked back and I couldn’t find her and I was calling but she never answered.” She started sobbing again and only stopped when Farel bent down to her level.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”
She shook her head, wiping away her tears with the butt of her palm. “I’m okay. Just scared.” Her eyes grew suddenly. “You’re a shifter, aren’t you?”
Farel stiffened but answered cordially, “Yes.”
“Mommy says never to talk to shifters.”
“Your mom is a wise woman.”
“She says they’re dangerous.” The girl looked him over, wary. “You don’t seem that dangerous.”
“You don’t know me that well.”
“I’ve never really talked to one before. Are all your eyes like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like a dog’s?”
Farel tried to fight down the anger. She was just a child. She couldn’t know how offensive shifters found that “dog” comparison, couldn’t realize how he’d spent his whole life being called “mutt” and “dog” and “wolf” by ignorant humans who clung to their purses and guns whenever he drifted near. “Yes, all of our eyes are like this.”
“Can you see okay?”
“I can see better than you.”
“Oh. Can you run faster than us? I read that too.”
“Yes.” Farel stood, and he must have towered over her enough to make her slightly fearful. She took a few steps back but showed no signs of running. “Do you have anything your mother has touched in that backpack of yours?” he asked.
“I have the lunch she made me.” She pulled off her backpack and dug inside of it, picking out a water bottle, a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich wrapped in cellophane, and a cookie. “And there’s my jacket.” She gestured to her windbreaker.
“Let me see the windbreaker.”
The girl shrugged out of it and held it aloft for him to take. The jacket smelled strongly of the little girl, but there was a hint of vanilla moisturizer, probably from the hands of the mother. It was a relatively strong scent, so when he lifted his nose into the air, he had little trouble finding it.
“This way,” Farel said, pointing north.
The girl packed up her lunch again, shrugged back into her windbreaker and began following him up the hill, occasionally struggling with briar bushes that caught her clothes and rocks that rose up to trip her. Farel had to keep himself from rolling his eyes at her ineptitude.
“Why don’t you have shoes?” the girl asked, her voice steady as her tears stopping running.
“I don’t need them.”
“Are you some kind of wild man? Do you live in the woods?”
“No.”
“Why are you down here?”
“Catching fish.”
“Where’s your pole?”
“I don’t need a pole.”
“Then how do you catch them?”
Farel turned, briefly grabbing her shoulder before letting go. She didn’t look intimidated by the contact, but one could never be too careful.
“We must be quiet. There are bears in the woods.”
The girl scrunched up her face. “I’ve never seen no bears.”
Farel just lifted a finger to his lips. Of course, no black bears would be interested in pursuing them, but he was sick of her questions and wanted to travel in silence. What he didn’t expect was for the girl to take his hand as they walked, using him to balance as she hopped over rocks and around sprawling sticker bushes.
“My name is Katie,” the girl said finally. “What’s your name?”
“It’s not important.” Farel paused, lifting his head higher in hopes of getting a better scent. When he came upon it, he charged ahead, Katie trotting beside him.
“Can you really smell my mom?” Katie asked in awe.
“Yes.”
“That’s cool. My dog can’t even do that.”
“Katie.” Farel stopped and looked down at her. “Do not compare me to your dog. Please.”
“But it’s true!”
“I am not an animal.”
“Then how do you smell so good?”
“I don’t know. Why do some humans have blue eyes while others have brown? It is how they are.”
Katie didn’t look satisfied at that answer, but she must have seen Farel’s stern expression, because she bowed her head and said nothing as they continued their walk.
Finally, in the distance, Farel heard someone calling Katie’s name. He looked to Katie, but she showed no sign of hearing it. Of course. Human hearing was not the finest.
“I hear her,” Farel said.
“You hear Mommy?” the girl asked breathlessly.
“Yes, she’s calling for you. A little further is all.”
“Why can’t I hear her?”
Farel didn’t answer, only surged forward. Katie had some trouble keeping up, but her hand tightened in his until they reached a spot where Katie could agree that they were both hearing her mother’s voice.
“I will have to leave you now,” Farel said.
“Why?”
“Because your mother will not want you speaking to strangers, let alone shifters.”
“But she’ll be glad you found me!”
Farel laughed humorlessly, then bent down to look her in the eye. “When you speak to her, tell her you found your way back on your own. I’d prefer it no one knew about me here.”
“Why not?”
“I am best left alone.”
Katie looked like she was about to argue, but after a few seconds, she sighed and nodded. Then she pulled off her backpack and dug through its contents. When she withdrew her hand, she was holding the sandwich.
“Here. You look hungry.”
“You should keep it.”
“No I want you to have it.”
“Kat-”
“Take it!” She thrust it at him, frowning with the determination of a man on death row.
With a sigh, Farel reached out and took the sandwich with a nod of thanks.
“I think Mommy’s wrong,” the girl said. “Shifters aren’t so dangerous.”
Farel gave her a ghost of a smile before standing and darting away. Behind him, he heard Katie calling for her mother, then the cry of relief as the two were reunited. He looked down at the sandwich in his hand before unwrapping it and dumping its contents on the ground. He’d let the ants gorge themselves on it and find some trash can elsewhere where he could rid himself of the cellophane. Or maybe he’d keep it as a reminder of the occasional kindness of human children. Even if said children were too naïve to know that shifters only ate meat.
Chapter Two