The Inner Circle: The Knowing Read Online Free PDF Page B

more importantly, why did he want her to?
     
    *
     
    He clutched the bark beneath his talons. He squeezed
it until he felt his claws pop through the surface. He was so
angry. He was so sad. What had he done to that poor animal? The elf
owl watched the strange beings from his place in the highest branch
of a nearby tree, his vision not at all hindered by the dark.
    The violent memories were beginning to fade. They
always did so rather quickly. The owl was never able to remember
all the lives he’d taken as his other self. The memories would
fade, but the memories of the memories never did. He couldn’t
remember the killing, but he knew what he’d done. He knew he’d
extinguished life--not for nourishment, but for pleasure. His other
self relished the kill. The evil inside of him fed on ruthless
destruction. It thirsted . . . he thirsted. In that form, no
greater pleasure could there be found than to rip the heads from
other souls and watch their blood pour out. Sometimes he bathed in
it. It was delicious.
    On returning to his smaller self, he was forced to
live with the guilt of what he’d done.
    The elf owl watched the strange animals as they
gathered their belongings and packed them atop larger, four-legged
animals. He’d never encountered anything like them. They were
strange and beautiful. And when they communicated, the sounds they
made were infinitely more complex than those of any animal he’d met
previously. They spoke with gestures, facial expressions, and the
audible sounds generated through their mouths. Indeed, they were
complex beings.
    There’d been a short time during which the elf owl
had attempted to live with others of his kind. He’d found a female
once and she’d expressed such fear of him that it took a long time
to get close. When he was finally able to approach her, he’d
discovered her inability to connect with him in any meaningful
way.
    For a long time, the bird observed other animals,
but they were unable or unwilling to interact with him. They ate
and mated. They reproduced and raised families. Some killed for
food. Others ate grass or leaves. The creatures he’d met
undoubtedly formed some rudimentary kind of affection for one
another, but the elf owl could never ease his feelings of
isolation. No matter how he tried to fit in, he was too unlike the
others to do so successfully. This tiny world that appeased the
creatures of the woods left him feeling completely and utterly
alone.
    The owl flittered from tree-top to tree-top,
following the animals he’d attacked earlier. After how close he’d
come to killing them, he knew that he didn’t deserve their company,
but his curiosity got the better of him. Too long he’d endured
without stimulation and refused to allow this opportunity to slip
from his grasp. An embarrassed part of him danced for joy at the
prospect of companionship. Perhaps these animals would be able to
communicate with him. Perhaps they would share their ways with him.
Perhaps they wouldn’t. But just maybe . . . maybe they’d let him be
their friend. He so wanted a friend.
     
    *
     
    They’d been riding for a long time and Seteal’s
lower back hadn’t waited long to start complaining. The fact that
it had drizzled all night didn’t help either. She rubbed her hands
vigorously. The landscape to the west remained shrouded in
darkness, but Seteal knew the area well enough to determine that
Elmsville was only a few miles away. Her father would ordinarily be
up reading the Holy Tome over breakfast.
    Few people read the Tome anymore and even fewer
placed any real value in its writings, but Gifn had always
believed--or, perhaps, chosen to believe--that the ancient texts
were the true word of Maker. Seteal gazed at the woodlands to the
east where a gentle morning glow filtered through the branches of
hundreds of naked trees.
    Exhaustion would’ve long ago driven Seteal to beg
for respite, had she not been so determined to show no weakness.
The three of them had walked