Steph Bennion - Paw-Prints of the Gods

This novel is entirelya work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed init are the work of the authors imagination. Any resemblance toactual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirelycoincidental.

Paw-Prints of the Gods is a sequel to the novel Hollow Moon. You donot need to have read the earlier work to enjoy this latest story, for anysalient plot devices are reintroduced and explained wherever necessary. If youwish to read Hollow Moon and the associated short stories (and I hope youdo), the ebooks are available from all major online stockists.

The author would liketo thank Karen for friendship, wine and invaluable help inproof-reading Paw-Prints of the Gods; Victor for the frontcover artwork; and of course Sarah, who despite all evidence to thecontrary, still keeps me sane in this big, bad city.

THE CABIN WAS DARK,its inhabitants sound asleep. No one saw the burly yet stealthyfigure as he stole through the door, plucked a bag from the floorand quickly retreated.

Outside, in thesweltering heat of the dome, the thief withdrew a touch-screenslate from the bag and switched it on. The scan of their latestdiscovery was in the list of recent items, but upon looking at theimage of the strange carvings he saw the slates owner hadsuperimposed twelve lines of text that were all-too familiar:

The Falsafahprophecy, murmured the thief. He switched off the slate anddropped it back into the bag. This is one damn fool student whoknows too much.

RAVANA OPENED HER EYESand stared groggily at the grey shapes at the foot of her bed. Thenurses never seemed to stop moving, but it was a silent balletdevoid of all personality and warmth. Yet the rest of hersurroundings were no more inspiring, with the only attempt tobrighten the white-walled windowless room being the pot of wiltingflowers upon her bedside table. Now she was awake Ravana felt theneed to make her own presence felt, but when she opened her mouthto speak she found herself lost for words, her mind sinking beneatha weight both heavy and cold as if a wet blanket had been drapedover her thoughts.

The thinner of thehazy blurs moved closer and presented Ravana with a small glass ofwater and the customary daily cluster of brightly-colouredtablets.

Your medication, shesnapped. Her English was tainted by a harsh Indian accent. SeeingRavana hesitate, she thrust her hand closer and frowned.

We must make you wellagain! her portly colleague added merrily. She spoke with asweeter Asian twist, which she then ruined by smashing her fistagainst an innocent spider upon the wall. You must take them. Theywill make you big and strong!

Big and strong?retorted her colleague. Or do you mean fat and butch likeyou?

Lets not getpersonal, Sister Lilith! Were all professionals here.

Theres only oneprofessional here, my dear Jizo, grumbled Lilith. Still holdingout the glass and tablets, she pointedly looked towards the mirroron the nearby wall and regarded her own reflection. And Imlooking at her right now.

Ravana hesitantly tookthe tablets from the nurses grasp, popped them into her mouth andwashed them down with a gulp of water. The reassuring words of Jizowere hard to accept when the nurse herself stood licking bits ofspider from her hand. The few hours Ravana was awake each daypassed by in an unchanging haze, with the same dull migraineclouding her thoughts and the same ache gripping her muscles andbones as she lay upon the bed. Every morning, if it was indeedmorning, saw a fixed routine of waking, taking medication, a tripto the bathroom, then the interview room and back to bed. It couldalmost be the exact same day, replayed over and over again in herhead. Even the bickering of the nurses and the conversations in theinterview room continued to go over the same ground. She had noidea how many days had passed since her arrival, for how and whenshe got here was part of the gap in her mind where memories hadonce been.

Her eyes rememberedhow to focus and the nurse-shaped blobs resolved into twomiddle-aged Indian women wearing nun-like grey habits andheadscarves. Ravana vaguely recalled being told that she was insome sort of church-run hospice, for reasons not fully understoodbut something to do with not having enough money or the rightinsurance to be taken to the city hospital. Nurse Lilith hadcommented on more than one occasion that being ill away from yourhome world was a risky business in the late twenty-third century.Lilith now waited to take Ravana to the washroom, as she did everymorning, though at the moment appeared to be more interested inwhatever it was on the computer touch-screen slate in her hands. Asfar as Ravana could tell it was the same nurses she saw every day.Although their faces were far from memorable, the mean-spiritedsquabbling was a constant theme.

Time to rise, Jizotold her, interrupting her thoughts.

Ravana pulled back thethermal blanket, heaved herself out of bed and cringed as herweight fell heavily upon her weak right arm. She was getting moretired by the day, her hair felt dirty and lank against her face andshe was desperately in need of a bath. She was dressed as always ina green smock that would never win any awards for fashion.Shuffling over to the wall mirror, she scrutinised her reflection.A bleary, drawn face stared back; she looked as bad as she felt andcertainly a lot older than her sixteen years. The scar on the rightside of her face lay vivid against her pale brown skin, the strangesilver lines that faintly followed the crevices of the damagedtissue more apparent than ever. With a sigh, she pushed aside amatted length of black hair and turned as Lilith approached.

Breakfast? askedRavana, weakly. She always awoke feeling hungry.

Later, Lilithreplied, looking as if she did not care less. Follow me.

The nurse led herthrough the door and down a familiar white-walled corridor to thewashroom, then waited outside while Ravana relieved herself in thecramped toilet and splashed a little water on her face to wakeherself up. Every bare-footed step was painful and her musclesthrobbed with the effort of moving bones that felt like fracturedlumps of iron.

By the time Ravanaemerged from the washroom, she was exhausted and ready to return toher room. The nurse instead led her in the opposite direction, pastdozens of other blank doors until they reached one standing open.The routine was so familiar that Ravana did not wait for Lilithssignal before stepping inside. The nurse did not follow but closedthe door carefully behind her.

As Ravanas gaze fellupon the two figures seated behind the desk, a flicker of bothrecognition and panic flashed through her thoughts and then fellback into the recesses of her clouded mind. It happened every time,then moments later the figures returned to being nothing more thangrey shapes, wearing their habitual hooded cloaks that left theirfeatures in shadow. Both had the same curious halting andscreeching voice she had decided sounded male. From previousmeetings, the only way she had managed to tell them apart was bythe motifs embroidered in silver thread upon the red sashes theywore around their shoulders and waists. One had tiny lions upon thescarlet fabric, while the other had stylised symbols of an archerready to unleash an arrow. The nurses referred to them as themonks, which was as good a description as any.