The Heir of Delphi

[Nyika]

Tikora was an intimidating creature, that much was for certain. Nyika found herself trying hard not to fidget in her seat every time she glanced her way. It may have been the tattoos, or the piercings, or the fact that she was plagued with dead beasts that constantly prowled around her, snapping at her and any other who tried to get close. Nyika could see the way her servants flinched when they looked in her direction, and even Rikkareed had trouble keeping his composure when he had introduced her. Tikora seemed unaffected, or perhaps she could feel their presence and relished in it, knowing the lives she had taken and the steps she had made to assert her control.

The weasel sat straight backed in her chair, observing her dinner guests with an air of dominance and a critical gaze. Her haunts hovered behind her, wailing and screaming; it was all Nyika could do to shut them out and focus on the discussion at paw. What was it even about? She swiveled one ear forward, focusing on the intonation and pitch of Noonahootin's false accent. They were talking about the Kingdom of the Northern Skies?Nyika hadn't even known such a place existed?but the conversation betwixt Noonahootin and Cleite was rapid-fire, well-rehearsed, and smooth, as though they had spent their entire lives in this strange, fictional land. Nyika hoped nobeast would ask her opinion on the matter. She would never be able to keep up.

"Excuse me, Priestess?" Tikora said, her harsh voice cutting into the dead space following Noonahootin's latest tale. She paused to incline her head, expectant for an answer.

The wildcat seer's head snapped in her direction, catching the eye of every spirit that hovered around her, still wailing, still crying. Nyika winced. How could Tikora live with herself?

A pair of pinfeathers brushed her arm, bringing her back to the question at paw. "Nyika," she said, nodding. "Priestess Nyika, the Mistress of Spirits."

"Priestess Nyika." The weasel smiled, displaying rows of teeth too sharp to be natural. "You have yet to speak up about the Kingdom of the Northern Skies. As a fellow priestess and 'groundwalker', I am most curious on your thoughts."

Nyika froze, her mouth agape as the scope of Tikora's question settled on her. What would she say? What could she say? She knew nothing about the Kingdom of the Northern Skies, and if she made something up, it could contradict everything Noonahootin and Cleite had built. She had not been paying the utmost attention, not with Tikora's haunts screaming the whole time.

"Is something the matter, Priestess?" Tikora asked, her grin turning cocky and cruel.

Nyika was panting; she hadn't realized she was panting. She took a breath and answered. "This food is spicy."

"Ah, my apologies," Tikora said, then turned to one of her servants. "Could you please bring our priestess a glass of buttermilk and dandelion tea?"

When Tikora turned back to Nyika, the wildcat had an answer. "The Kingdom of the Northern Skies is a very wondrous place, elegant in its simplicity. However, there are few roads and travel can be difficult. Oftentimes I must traverse through the sky with my Duke or one of his kin, taking to the wings, as it were. It can be a rather harrowing experience, let me say."

The birds chuckled and Nyika smiled, thinking her answer had been a good one.

"And the All-Mother?" Tikora pressed. "I trust you are spreading her word there?"

"Indeed," It was Noonahootin who answered. "Mein Priestess has done a very gut thing teaching us of die All-Mother und her compassion und guidance."

"It can be difficult," Nyika said, placing a paw on the Duke's wing as she looked into his eyes, a blush rising to her muzzle at the mix of pride and fatherly affection held within them. "Birds cannot bleed as we do. One must be careful upon sacrifice, that not too much is spilt or risk a grievous injury."

"Interesting," Tikora said, sipping at her brandy. "I do apologize for the poor attendance. I was hoping for more guests to entertain you. However, it seems as though Beechton Valash has taken a special interest in your valet, and Ruark is recovering from a grievous injury he endured the night before."

"A grievous injury?" Cleite said, cocking his head.

Nyika was panicking, her paws gripping the edge of the tabletop as her claws drummed away her anxiety. Tikora had looked at her when she said it. She knew. Glancing back to the tattooed and pierced weasel, Nyika could feel her penetrating eyes on her, studying her, watching for a telltale sign. Nyika was sure she had already given it away.

"Yes," Tikora said, swishing her brandy, her tone conversational and pleasant. "Somebeast had managed to kill his entire tavern with poisoned ale casks, and whoever had done it left him with the letter N carved on his body. Priestess, what did you say your name was again?"

The world receded away from the wildcat, filling her with the sensation of falling as she found herself pulled into an isolated room. There was no sense of time or thought, her vision blurred and an ocean of noise washing over her. She turned her head and the world shifted, settling on the weasel and focusing on her bright eyes, her cruel, disarming smile, the way she held her brandy aloft, her arm propped up on the table. Nyika could see her claws wrapped around the glass, a mark of crimson beneath their sharp points that contrasted with the amber liquid.

It was a trap, the whole thing was a trap. She remembered the way Rikkareed had addressed Noonahootin by his stage name, giving the formal invitation offered by the High Priestess Tikora. They had spent no more than a single night in the city yet the owl's false face had gained such recognition to catch the eye of the High Priestess herself?Noonahootin had done nothing to garner such widespread attention. And what was more, Rikkareed had been waiting in the square, waiting for them to arrive, as though he expected them. Nyika's claws stopped drumming, digging into the woodwork of the table. Where had Poko gone? The ferret had heard the rumours, was there a bounty, too? Had she turned them in to collect? But no, Rikkareed had addressed Duke Sigurd von Metzger. If Nyika thought the ferret had it in her to sell her life to the headsbeast, she knew Poko would not do the same to Noonahootin.

It had to have been a tavernbeast. Nyika cursed; they were fools to think they could hold a conversation in a bustling tavern without eavesdropping ears. It was over now. There was no use in continuing to play the game. Tikora had them cornered, and the only thing left to do was fight.

"What did you do with Istvan?" Nyika said, her voice trembling as she tried to control her distress, her panic and fear morphing into an unbridled rage. That blood beneath Tikora's claws?Nyika knew whose it was now?the unavoidable business the weasel had been attending to, it all made sense.

"Your priest?" Tikora said, dropping all signs of hospitality. "I put him in his place. He insulted the High Priestess, and such crimes do not go unpunished."

"What did you do with him?" Nyika repeated.

"Oh he's still alive, if that's what you mean. You should learn to ask more specific questions."

Still alive. Nyika closed her eyes, breathing a sigh of relief.

"He won't be come morning, though. The execution's been scheduled. I hope to have you there to watch."

"Vhat," Noonahootin sputtered. "Vhat is the meaning of this?"

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with, Captain," Tikora said, dropping her smile in favor of a glare.

The old owl's eyes went wide, the blood draining from his face at the title Tikora had addressed him.

"I ? um ? I believe you mean Duke," Cleite said softly, trying to save it.

"I meant what I said." Tikora gave a mocking bow. "Captain Noonahootin of the Yew Guard, it is an honor to find myself in your presence. Your son, Cleite, and his family have been such a pleasure."

"You knew," Nyika said. "You knew the whole time."

"Did you think me a fool?"

"I had hoped," Nyika muttered, looking away.

"Guards," Tikora shouted. Several of the servants drew back their cloaks, revealing crossbows which they pointed at the owls. Their design was familiar, the same design the ermines had in the temple. "Take the Captain and his kin to the cells. I will deal with them in due time."

Captain Noonahootin reared up, flapping his wings and causing several of the guards to step back in alarm. Others were cocking their bows, aiming deadly points at his huge body; he was not a target they would miss. They would kill him, and he would go down fighting as he had always dreamed. He would kill himself if it meant a chance to save those most precious to him. Cleite and Breda had huddled over their children, who, oblivious to the danger, oohed and awed as they watched the great grey bird screech and clap his wings.

The wildcat watched as he hunched his shoulders, readying himself to take off towards the nearest guard and thusly end his life. Nyika felt herself moving, her limbs acting of their own accord as she climbed atop the table, both paws coming up to grip Noonahootin's beak and holding him fast. Their foreheads touched, their eyes locking; his pupils had dilated, shifting back and forth in fear and anger and panic. She held his gaze for what seemed an eternity, her own never wavering, until his breath calmed and his feathers smoothed.

"Don't worry," she murmured. "All is not lost. I can do this." How, she did not know. She still had a few tricks up her sleeve. She could still use the All-Mother against Tikora, maybe convince her to let them go once Nyika told the weasel of her haunts. Frighten her into servitude. Fear was a compelling beast, and one Nyika was all too familiar with.

Noonahootin blinked and sighed, settling his wings to his sides. Nyika pulled his beak towards her, nuzzling her face against his.

"I cannot stand idly by," Noonahootin said, distress and worry breaking his composure.

"Trust me," she said, once more pressing her forehead against his.

Then she turned to Tikora. "High Priestess," she said, her voice full and authoritative. "You have lost touch with the All-Mother. Repent, and let my comrades go."

Tikora scoffed. "Don't give me the same lecture that otter did, or you might risk offending me. That is unwise."

Nyika's fur bristled. "You dare challenge the Mistress of Spirits?"

"I do. In Carrigul, we practice my faith. It would behoove you to do the same. Guards, take them away."

Nyika blinked, taken aback, realizing the disastrous situation before her. Tikora didn't believe. She had just been using the All-Mother to her advantage. The wildcat could only watch as the guards marched the owls towards the cells, Noonahootin and Cleite's heads held high while Aislin and Belenus whimpered beneath the protective wing of their mother. There was nothing Nyika could do. WIthout the All-Mother, there was nothing.

"Not you," Tikora commanded, stopping Nyika from following. "I have other plans for you. Come." She beckoned with a claw.

Good, good. If Nyika didn't have a cell, there was still a chance she could turn things around. There was still a chance to save Noonahootin and his family, still a chance to free Istvan. Zevka had disappeared?hopefully her meeting with Beechton Valash went well. Tikora seemed to have forgotten her, else she had more confidence in Beechton than was due. Nyika followed, her confidence growing as their original plan shifted and tossed inside her head into new avenues and possibilities.

They entered a room filled with extravagance, the stonework carved in impressive shapes designed to catch the eye, and a large carved woodwork desk rested in the center of the room. Off to the side was an embroidered couch, which Tikora took a moment to sprawl in comfort over the thick cushions. Her voluminous robes draped over the side, and she placed her paws on her rotund belly, too rotund to simply be called plump.

Nyika stood in the center of the room, watching her, her sight flicking down to the blood still damp and shining on the stone floor. There was so much of it, and she knew, somehow, it was Istvan's.

"You've been expecting us," Nyika announced.

"Are you so surprised? You take me for granted, Priestess."

It was hard to focus. Tikora's haunts were still there, still wailing and screaming and causing a din. How could Nyika be so blind? All the signs had been there. Clever Nyika, outwitted and outmatched.

"How?" she wanted to say, but she could not bring herself to ask the question. Would it have mattered? If she knew, would she be able to live with herself? Overlooking such details, condemning her friends to death. It would have been no better for them to have died in the collapse. In the end, Carrigul would have won.

Her head was swimming, the wailing of Tikora's haunts drowning out her senses. The weasel was speaking, but Nyika could not hear. it was too much?it was all too much. Nyika put her head in her paws, shaking, trying to shut out all noise, trying to clear her head. What was she supposed to do?

"Listen."

It was Risk, speaking softly in her ear. At his command, she obeyed, her ears swiveling forward, focusing on the haunts and the ruckus they were making. They were trying to tell her something?she realized it now?as far back as the dinner party. She had ignored them, but now she listened.

"Aster," the wildcat said, looking up from her paws at Tikora.

Tikora raised her brows. "I beg your pardon?"

"Lord Aster told you when he found out there were survivors. You've been waiting for us to arrive."

The weasel smiled, once more baring her fangs. Nyika continued.

"You knew Captain Noonahootin was father to Cleite. Aster told you so. He would know, because anyone who's listened to Noonahootin has heard him prattle on about his family. You arranged this meeting with Cleite. You've been entertaining him for days, waiting for the Captain to make his appearance in Carrigul. You were going to use him. Once Cleite learned his father was in your clutches, he would do anything to set him free. Even place an entire Court in your paws."

Nyika paused, thinking. It all made sense. Everything was in alignment.

"Noonahootin was never meant to die. The harfang was to bring him here."

"You impress me," Tikora said, delight and pleasure mixed with cruelty alight in her eyes. "You are a clever beast, but I am cleverer."

Nyika hesitated. "You don't wish to kill me?"

"No, I don't. Isn't that something? I love killing beasts, but you, you're different," Tikora mused.

The answer was unexpected. "Why?"

"I'll have you know I was pleased with what you did with Ruark, despite the idiocy of it. The old rat was getting a little too big for his britches, claiming to own Carrigul through his control over the markets." Tikora's pleased demeanor vanished, a scowl twisting her muzzle. "Nobeast owns Carrigul but me! So yes, I needed something to put him in his place. Reaffirm that he was beneath me and not above. I had plotted, oh, how I plotted, but you, you come here and in the span of a single night you have him frightened like a kit being told the ghost of Cluny the Scourge would take him away if he didn't eat his vegetables. You, my priestess, are my Scourge. I will keep you by my side, and when Ruark gains confidence I will remind him that I have tamed the beast who gave him his mark. The Cutter's Mark, yes? That's what it is?"

Nyika nodded. "Aye."

"I thought so. The infamous Risk and his legendary Cutter's Mark. Are you a copycat?" She sniggered at her own joke.

"I am his heir," Nyika said.

"His heir?"

"Aye."

Tikora got up and marched over to the wildcat. The left side of Nyika's face exploded in pain, Tikora's claws scoring deep marks and reopening old wounds.

"Don't lie to me."

Nyika hissed, baring her fangs. "It's true."

Tikora peered down her nose. "Prove it, then."

"He gave me his Cutter's Mark to claim me as his own," Nyika said, turning her head to the side, displaying the crude scars that surrounded her left eye, traveling down her neck. She pulled her bodice low to display the mark down her chest, and then down her left arm.

"It's on backwards," Tikora sneered.

"Of course. To put it on the right side would claim me nothing more than a slave or a beast who had wronged him. I was his daughter; he pulled me from the womb of an assassination job and reared me as his own. That is why it is on backwards. To set me apart. To make me different."

"I think you are lying, and that you gave yourself this mark because you wanted to be famous like him. Unless Risk the Cutter comes through that door and tells me himself, you are nothing more than a fake."

"Risk is dead."

"How convenient."

"He gave me this," Nyika said, removing Risk's blade and presenting it before the weasel. Tikora's eyes went wide.

"That's?"

"Risk the Cutter's blade. He gave it to me in death. He stands by me, always at my side." Her gaze flickered to the left, where Risk was standing with arms crossed and a scowl on his face. He nodded his head, and Nyika turned back to Tikora. "Just as your haunts stand by you."

Tikora narrowed her eyes.

"Why do you think they call me the Mistress of Spirits? I can see the dead. You built this city on a thousand corpses; they roam the streets constantly, morning and night. They never rest. You may think that you have control, that you've frightened the beasts within these walls into following your perverted sense of the All-Mother, but the truth is they are made uneasy by the hauntings this city holds. Their discontent is driven by the restless spirits who helped build this city. One day they will rise up against you, and those haunts closest to you will hold you hostage, torturing you until they see fit to send you begging at Vulpuz's feet. Repent and shed your blood for their sake. Only then will you be at peace."

It was when Nyika found herself on the floor that she figured she had crossed a line. Tikora's fists fell relentlessly on the hapless wildcat, kicking and scratching while the weasel screamed curses and obscenities until her throat was sore and she was too tired to go on. Nyika took it all, her blood mixing with that of Istvan's as she waited until the rain of blows would stop. At one point it seemed it never would.

"That's what you get for crossing me," Tikora spat. "Don't let it happen again."

It was all Nyika could do to find the strength to push herself off the ground. "I scared you, didn't I?"

"You angered me. Tell me why I shouldn't kill you."

"Because I can use the All-Mother to my advantage, too." The wildcat stood on wobbly legs, blinking back tears as she ignored the pain. Her face was on fire. "Look at you. A few choice words and now you're threatening my death." Nyika barked a derisive laugh, just to hammer the point home. "I may have frightened Ruark, but I am a priestess, or I have the tattoos of one. What if word got around that it was a priestess who had made sacrifice on Ruark's body because he had strayed from the path? Not even the wealthiest or most powerful is beyond the All-Mother's judgment. Beyond yours. I've heard them mock you?in the streets, in the taverns. After what I've done with Ruark, they won't anymore. They will fear and respect you." She looked at Tikora's round belly, the way she continued to fondle the bulge with such tenderness and loving devotion. It was a gamble, but the seer had to take it. "They will love you."

The weasel froze as Nyika's words settled on her, as she considered the possibility.

"Do you see now the potential I can give you?"

"This mark, Risk's," Tikora said, taking Nyika's muzzle in a paw and forcing her head to the side, gazing upon her scars. "It wasn't a sacrifice?"

"No."

"That's not what I've been told."

"That's because it's what I've led you to believe. Istvan was the one who gave me the tattoos. I fooled him. He may be steadfast in the All-Mother's faith, but he can be incredibly dense and shortsighted."

"You used him?"

"He is a wonderful tool. He loves me. I can make him love you."

Tikora laughed. "I think not. He and I had a bit of a disagreement." She looked at the blood on the ground.

"Give him time and he will come around. Twist his faith to your design and he will. He did for me."

Tikora frowned. "You want him free."

"He would be an asset."

"And the Captain? I saw the way you looked at him. There's genuine affection there."

"Then I've fooled you, too. Do with him what you will. I only joined the caravan because I was hired to make the trip." Nyika could afford to keep him locked up. Death was not set for him, not yet. Tikora needed him alive to use him against Cleite.

A vicious grin spread across the weasel's lips. "You are something, wildcat, do you know that?"

"I am a seer," Nyika said, bowing her head. "I am well-trained in the art of trickery. But I have a gift, as well."

"Tell me more." Once more Tikora left Nyika standing in the middle of the room to lounge on the couch.

"What I said was true. I can see the dead. They tell me things. They told me about Aster. What else do they have to say?" Her ears perked, listening. "Ahh, you tortured him, didn't you? Maimed his wing, but there's something more." Her thoughts went back to earlier in the night, Noonahootin's words drifting through her head. "What do you hold over him that he would give an entire city into your paws?"

She thought of Cleite then. It was Tikora's intent to use Noonahootin against him, his own father. Had it been the same with Aster?

"Which one of his kin is she using against him?" Her question was not directed at Tikora, but to her haunts, the same haunts who had already told her so much. They answered, and Nyika smiled. "Ahh, his mother. Chicks do love their mothers, don't they?"

Tikora was casting her an odd look. "You are clever," she said. She paused then, thinking, her paws rubbing her belly with affection. "I can use you, your cleverness. Have you ever been advisor to a warlord, wildcat? You are young, but you have your wits about you. What do you say?"

Nyika inclined her head. "If my High Priestess will have me."

"Good. Follow me," Tikora said, leading Nyika to another room. The wildcat followed.

It was Tikora's bedchamber. The room had the same elegance as her receiving room, only more lavish and extravagant. A marvelous canopy bed took up most of the space, and gilded mirrors adorned every side. Taking her paw, Tikora dragged the wildcat to the opposite side of the room where a gold collar and chain hung from the wall.

"You will be my pet," Tikora said, giggling as she unlocked the collar and placed it around Nyika's neck.

A chill ran down the wildcat's spine as the clasp locked, the cold, heavy weight snug against her fur. Tikora paused, gazing into her eyes. Nyika could have sworn she saw a certain light of happiness within the weasel's own.

Risk was bristling, angry and foul.

"Don't do this," he growled. "You're not her slave."

"Don't worry," Nyika murmured, glancing at him. "It's what I want."

Tikora cocked her head. "Risk?" she asked.

Nyika nodded.

"Good. Let him see what I have made of his heir."

"I'll rip your heart out while you sleep! If it takes me a hundred seasons!" Risk screamed as he loomed over the weasel, fangs bared and muscles bulging. Tikora continued to stare at Nyika, seeming lost in her thoughts.

"Shh," Nyika hushed, trying to calm the dead ferret. He was upsetting Tikora's haunts.

"You have green eyes," Tikora said, a paw coming up to brush the wildcat seer's muzzle. A look of shock came across her features. "Are you a Greeneyes?"

"Excuse me?" Nyika said, nervousness and discomfort pitching her tone.

"Greeneyes! The Great Wildcat Family from the North! Lord Verdauga, Ungatt Trunn, and King Mortspear! They are your ancestors, are they not?"

"A lot of cats have green eyes," Nyika said sheepishly.

"Nonsense," Tikora said, locking the adjoining bracelet to the wall. "You are mine now, my Scourge, seer, and advisor. Greeneyes, the Heir of Risk the Cutter, and my Mistress of Spirits. I see why Istvan holds you in such high regard. On the morrow I will present you before all of Carrigul. Istvan ? I shall wait. If you can turn him like you said, then I may yet keep him alive. Now, go to sleep. This night has been exciting, and I have grown exhausted from the day's events. If you please me, I may even let you use the bed."

Nyika bowed to hide her trembling. "My High Priestess is most gracious."

"Yes." Tikora smiled. "I am, aren't I?"

They turned their heads in unison as the sound of knocking came at the door?Nyika hopeful and Tikora annoyed.

"High Priestess Tikora?" It was Rikkareed, his voice hesitant and quiet in the spacious chamber.

Tikora scowled at the interruption. "What is it?" she barked.

The weasel entered and winced. "Beechton Valash is unaccounted for, as well as the pine marten valet, Thetsa."

"He has probably taken her to his bedchamber," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Do not disturb them, as you should not be disturbing me."

"He has not," he said, eyeing Nyika as she busied herself by studying the make and strength of the chain that held her.

Tikora looked to the ceiling of the room in exasperation. "Then he wishes for privacy, or the allure of a dirty tavern. Why are you bothering me?"

"High Priestess, his receiving chamber smells of blood."

A frown came across the female weasel's muzzle, and in an instant she had removed the bracelet from the wall and attached it to her wrist.

"Come, pet," she said, dragging Nyika with her.

They entered the room where Beechton Valash and Zevka had spoken in, Nyika learning along the way that a stoat guard had also disappeared without notice. Rikkareed's claim was true?the entire room reeked of blood. The wildcat wrinkled her nose in distaste, shutting her eyes and shuddering. It had been like walking into a wall.

"His rug is missing," Tikora observed.

The three of them stood quiet, all looking for any sign of a struggle or where the odor may be originating. Nyika scanned the room, settling on a box where Beechton Valash and a burly stoat sat, the former with his head in his paws and the latter kicking his foot paws.

"What do you see, Mistress of Spirits?" Tikora asked, noticing the seer's rapt attention.

"They're right there." Nyika pointed to the box, realizing it was just large enough for a beast or two to fit inside.

"Where?" Rikkareed said, following her line of sight. He moved his head to better look. "I don't see anything."

"They're inside," Nyika said, aware of Tikora studying her.

The female weasel moved to the box, Nyika trailing in her wake. Her paws touched the nails embedded in the woodwork, some too deep, others not deep enough; wood was dented where the hammer had missed. All in all, a shoddy job done in panic and haste.

"Remove the lid," Tikora commanded. Rikkareed obeyed.

When they uncovered the bodies of the fox and the stoat, Tikora took no time to hesitate.

"Find her. She's still in the palace; she can't have gone far. Nobeast leaves until she is found."

Rikkareed nodded and left, and once more Nyika found herself alone with the High Priestess.

"Let us hope for your sake she is found."

Nyika pouted, offended at Tikora's statement. "If I wanted her to escape I wouldn't have pointed out the bodies."

"True," Tikora said, pondering. "True." Then she grinned. "It seems our night has not yet ended. Come, pet. I want to see the look on her face when she is discovered."

Nyika could only follow as the weasel led her away, thoughts of Zevka and the hope that she had made it out alive gripping her heart. She had secured Istvan's fate, and Noonahootin and his family were safe for the time being. Nyika was not so sure she had the power to keep Zevka alive as well.