The Mistress of Spirits

[Nyika]

After the ordeals of the wilderness and having a proper bed to sleep in, it was not long before everybeast was asleep, save one. Nyika lay with eyes wide open, the contents of Goragula's letter she had filched from Noonahootin's discarded uniform burning a hole in her eyes. She could still read the words as she imagined their flowery script carved on the ceiling of the room. She did not know when she rose, only that her restlessness had become unbearable. Her skin was crawling, and her mind tossed and turned like a stick caught in an eddy.

Nyika had suspected the old toad was one of the main targets of the road collapse, and to know that he was summoned to Carrigul by letter was damning evidence that her theory was right. Who was this Ruark? What was his involvement? Nyika had to know.

Rising silently, careful not to disturb Zevka next to her, Nyika grabbed her cloak, pausing just long enough to take the Ballad of the Cutter from her pocket and place it on the table. If she came back, she would retrieve it. If she did not ? Poko would keep it safe. With one last check to see that Goragula's letter was in her possession, Nyika went to the door, sparing a moment to look once more at her companions. 

She turned her eyes first to Poko, watching the ferret jill sleep, thinking of all the ordeals and the slights between them. It seemed as though they had finally made amends, and the wildcat was grateful for that. She did not forget the way she had told Poko's mother they would take care of the ferret jill, but Nyika had made a mess of things for a good long while. It hadn't helped that Poko held such prejudices against her, but Nyika had been no saint, either. Still, ever since the encounter in the village when Nyika had knitted Risk's hat for her, a change had overcome their relationship. There would always be a piece of Nyika in that hat, and despite all the drama and hardships, the wildcat liked to think that Poko would think of her every once in a while.

Vanessa was whimpering in her bed, the brave otterlass clutching her stump of a paw close to her. Better to lose a paw than a life, even if that paw was everything that defined who she was. She would live past it; she would find a way. Vanessa always had a way of rising above the challenges presented before her, and Nyika had found herself looking up to her time and again. Even now, with so much at stake, she knew if the otter were in her position she would have made the same choice. It fill Nyika with strength, when she felt she had so little.

And then there was Zevka, who had done so much for her. She never knew if the pine marten had believed her in the end, but Nyika supposed it didn't matter, now. She wondered what Zevka would say to Mekad of his long-lost sister whom he would never meet. Would she say good things? That Nyika was kind and gentle, and wanted nothing more than to meet the brother she never had? Or would Zevka tell him how crazy she was, spending long hours into the night in the company of dead beasts? Would she tell him of the All-Mother's sacrifice, and the Cutter's Mark she had carved on her own body? Perhaps it was better this way. A tear slid down the wildcat's muzzle before she could brush it away with a hasty paw. Unstable as she was, who would ever want her?

Though Captain Noonahootin had his own quarters with Istvan, segregated from the females, Nyika found her thoughts drifting to him?the poor owl whose life had been shattered at the discovery of a single blue feather. It was clear who had betrayed them all, but still the question of why was unanswered. If she could find out, if Nyika could link the pieces, perhaps the great owl could live past this travesty. Pick up his life where he left it and return to his children, his family. It was all he had left, and it was all Nyika could offer him.

And Istvan ?there was just too much to say. Folding Goragula's letter back in her pocket, Nyika opened the door and left.

The otter priest was there in the hallway sitting with his back against the wall, playing with the blade of his knife as he drew imaginary lines on his arm. He turned his head as Nyika closed the door behind her, and she watched him, wondering if that was what she looked like when she did the same thing. No wonder everybeast thought her crazy.

"You can't sleep," she said. There was no use pretending he didn't see her, although it did throw a wrench in her plans.

"No," he said. "It seems you cannot, either."

"Aye," she said, moving closer to sit with him. She had to say her goodbyes. Taking a claw, she pushed the knife away. "You're sad."

"I am fine, actually. Never better." The otter tried offering a smile but Nyika frowned at the falsehood of it.

"Carrigul is not what you expected."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You've looked like you wanted to sick up ever since we arrived. Even though Carrigul has accepted the All-Mother and performs sacrifice in her name, you don't believe in their ways."

Istvan gritted his teeth. "How could I when their purpose involves torturing a beast for show? Sacrifice is meant to appease the one whom they have offended and return that offense to the All-Mother in penance. They have ignored the very essence of everything I stand for. They have strayed far from the path, and if I had known ? if I had known that Carrigul was about?"

"You could have led them back."

"Yes."

Nyika found herself skipping a breath as pain blossomed in her chest. Her heart ached for him. "None of us knew very much about Carrigul except that it is a place of isolation and secrecy. If you had known, would you truly have settled here?"

"Of course! All my life I have been shunned and ostracized by my beliefs. I ? I have never known a friend. If I had known Carrigul accepted the All-Mother, even though they have twisted the purpose of it, I would have moved in a heartbeat. I would have helped them, guided them. To live in a place where I was not spurned, but accepted?it's all anybeast ever wants."

Nyika's whiskers drooped. His words hit too close to the heart. "But you would have never met me," she tried, realizing the hypocrisy of her words even as she spoke them. She had been cruel to him, and yet he still held so much devotion. What right did she have to offer sympathy? "Your Mistress of Spirits, aye? What would have become of me?"

Istvan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Perhaps the All-Mother has greater plans for you than you consider. Just as she has greater plans for me."

"For you?"

Nyika shook her head, dismissing the thought. "Never mind. I have a task to perform tonight, and while I was hoping to go alone, I'm reconsidering."

"You want me to accompany you?"

"Aye. It will be a difficult task, and I am not sure if I will survive it, but it would be nice to have a companion. Somebeast to catch me if I fall."

"If your life is in danger, why must you do this?"

"Because ? I have to know."

"Know what?"

"Something," Nyika said, a surreptitious look on her face. "May I have my knife back? I'm going to need it."

The response was automatic. "No."

"Please, Istvan. You can trust me. This isn't a sacrifice."

The otter mumbled a response before retrieving Risk's dagger from his coat, passing it to the wildcat. He held on to it as she grabbed it.

"Promise me," he said, "that you won't use this on yourself."

"I promise," Nyika said. It was easy enough to make. Once Risk's knife was truly in her possession, she allowed a moment for the sense of exhilaration to pass, the power from holding such a lethal weapon that surged through her paw, up her arm, and throughout her entire body. She felt safe with it, as though nothing could harm her. Perhaps she really could do what she intended and come out alive.

She sheathed the knife at her belt, conscious of Istvan watching her. "Are you coming?" Nyika said as she rose, turning to offer a paw for Istvan to grab.

Together, they left the tavern. The streets were mostly empty of live beasts, though the dead still roamed in droves. Nyika was prepared, however, keeping her head alert and her tail slim as she wandered about the cobblestones, eyeing which ones she could walk through and which ones she had to sidestep to avoid. She was not perfect, however, and through Istvan's eyes he could see the way she occasionally hopped to one side or collided with a beast who hadn't been paying attention. Every once in a while she would stop and ask directions, though it was just as often for a beast to respond as there was not.

She wandered down side streets and side alleys until the living were no longer present and the dead were all that were left. The streets were dirtier as they progressed deeper into the city and Nyika had the vague sense of being followed, but when she turned her head it was only Istvan at her tail. He was watching her, and her hackles raised when she considered his blind trust. He had not once stopped to question their direction or if Nyika knew what she was doing. The wildcat wasn't sure how she would respond if asked. Still, it was something to command a beast with such undying devotion, and it unsettled her nerves to know Istvan held her in such high regard. 

It was at the doorsteps of an apothecary Nyika stopped, the sign hanging above the door depicting a cauldron and what looked like a fox's skull. The wildcat glanced back at Istvan, noticing the way he shifted on his footpaws and fingered his knife. Nyika frowned. She never should have asked him to come. Dealings with seers and apothecaries were probably blasphemies to the Mother, who cared for all beasts and held them in her protective bosom. She couldn't ask him to participate in her scheme.

"Stay here," Nyika said. Istvan tighted his grip on his knife, and Nyika shook her head, forgoing any argument. "I'll only be a moment."

Knocking on the door, Nyika waited for the quiet call of an elderly voice before she entered.

It was pitch black inside and Nyika stumbled, grunting as she collided with unseen objects as she felt her way around the shop. At the far wall were the cool stones of a hearth with a cauldron suspended over half burnt logs, and with a blind paw somehow Nyika found tinder and flint nearby. It took some work, but she managed to erect a small fire that cast a dim, flickering light in the shop. As she blew on it, allowing her fire to grow, her ears perked at the sound of a moaning wail.

"Get out! Get out!"

With her hackles raised, Nyika turned around, drawing back with a gasp as the corpse of an elderly vixen loomed over her screaming. The ghost's face was furious, contorted and frightening, with one eye black and the other a milky translucent white.

Held in terror and allowing her tail to double in size, Nyika waited for the wailing to cease before she spoke.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," Nyika said. "But I was wondering if you could help me."

The vixen frowned, cocking her head as she considered the wildcat before her. "Were you not scared?" She sounded disappointed.

"Oh, I was," Nyika said, nodding. "Very much so. But I have an urgent matter to attend to, and I'd rather not tarry too long."

Blowing an agitated huff, the ghost paced around her shop before stopping to wag a gnarled claw at the cat. "Do you know you're the first beast to come wandering in here and not run screaming right back out of it?"

"I'm sorry." A flush rose to her muzzle, even though she felt silly to be embarrassed. "I did not mean to offend. You're not the first ghost who has tried to scare me. How long has it been?"

"Only a few days," the vixen said, taking a seat at a table which held a crystal ball atop a tattered cloth. "You'd be surprised at the courage young ones have looking for a fright."

"You are well known in these parts, but most don't know you're dead." Nyika retrieved a lighting stick and lit some candles. "What were the circumstances?"

The vixen waved a dismissive paw. "Old age, dearie. Nothing to concern yourself with. You are a seer, yes?"

"Aye," Nyika said as she took a seat opposite her. The flickering candles had cast an unsettling mood where shadows were large and danced on the walls, the type of atmosphere where unnatural things were born out of the darkness. Nyika's eyes flitted around the shop, spying movement that shifted out of the corner of her gaze but ceased when she focused. "As are you, or were, that is."

The vixen grinned. "You have the second sight. And yet, you are nervous," she said, eyeing Nyika's fluffed tail and the way the wildcat shuddered.

"Your shop is unnerving," Nyika responded.

"Oh?"

She nodded. "You have summoned many spirits here."

The vixen's grin widened, displaying a mouth of missing teeth and rotted gums. Her good eye flickered while the other one, white and milky, continued to stare unblinking at Nyika.

"Perceptive." The vixen sounded pleased. "I let them come and go as they please. They do not bother me."

"You are fortunate to have such pleasant haunts," Nyika said, a trace of bitterness on her tongue. She bit the inside of her lip as her eyes continued to survey the dwelling. Now that she had addressed them, they did not seem to want to hide any longer. "Even in death, you hold control over them?"

Again, the vixen waved the question away. "You are not here to talk about spirits."

"No, I suppose I'm not," Nyika said, annoyed to be dismissed so; she tried not to show it, but her tail did twitch. "I need a substantial amount of Root of Valerian. As much as you have, to be honest. Enough to put an entire tavern to sleep."

The vixen raised her brows, nodding. "You'll find it on the shelf over there." She indicated with a paw to a wall that held a multitude of small bottles and vials.

Rising from her seat, Nyika made her way over to them, her paw rummaging for the tincture she needed. Her muzzle adopted a frown.

"These aren't labeled," she whined.

"They're the ones with the purple markings."

Nyika hesitated before pulling one and sniffing at it, wrinkling her nose at the strong scent of alcohol. What did Root of Valerian smell like? This bottle smelled simply like a generic tincture. 

"Are you certain?" the wildcat asked, furrowing her brow.

"Yes, yes."

With a shrug, Nyika began stuffing her bag with every one of the vials she could find. When her bag had increased considerably in weight, she turned to the vixen and bowed in thanks.

"Will you be all right by yourself here?" she asked.

"Of course! Don't concern yourself with me. I'll be just fine. Go on, take care of yourself. I'll be listening to the winds for you."

"Thank you," Nyika said, granting the vixen a final gracious smile before she departed.

"Did you get what you were seeking?" Istvan asked as she emerged from the shop.

"Aye," Nyika said, hefting the bag of tinctures on her shoulder.

They continued on their way, reaching the main streets. Nyika had settled to some degree, her tail half the size than it had been as she led Istvan to the tavern that she had learned in her search for information, The Rusty Bucket.

"Come," Nyika said as she walked past the entrance, going down a side alley next to the tavern. "Risk!" she hissed.

"Aye," the ferret called, rubbing his eyes as he rose from the boxes and barrels amid the alleyway.

"How have things been?" Nyika asked.

"Just fine." Risk sounded irritable. "I don't know why you dragged me away from the bathhouses to keep watch over a silly tavern. It's just a tavern. No different from any other."

Ignoring his mood, Nyika turned to Istvan.

"Can you lift me?"

It took a moment for the otter to realize that Nyika was speaking to him. When he pointed at himself and Nyika nodded her head, Istvan put his paws together, allowing Nyika to step upon them before sending her skyward to grab ahold of a window sill. Peeking through, Nyika could see the kitchen, the friar busy at work as he prepared woodpigeons, soups, salads, and all other manner of tavern fare.

"Over here," Nyika said, dropping to the ground and scooting over a few sills. When Istvan lifted her back up, she could see the door to the cellar with the friar's back to her. This was it. No turning back now.

"Wait here," she whispered to Istvan. "If trouble happens, make the sound of a crow."

Istvan frowned. "I can't do that," he whispered back.

Nyika pouted. "Then?" She paused to think. "Do nothing."

The last thing she heard was Risk telling "Inkface" that he had found a brothel he might be interested in before she slipped through the window, keeping her bag of tinctures close. They still rattled, however, and the wildcat was forced to shuffle her way behind a bag of flour as the friar turned his head at the noise.

Her heart was beating a mile a minute as the friar turned back to the stoves while tavern maids began to bustle through the door, retrieving orders and sending more. It was during a lull in activity that Nyika slinked to the cellar door, where she found herself in the company of a multitude of ale barrels. She knew her time was short and she made good use of it, opening each cask and pouring her tinctures in the ale until she had none left.

Her exit was not as easy as her entrance. Sitting at the top of the cellar stairs, she waited until she was sure the kitchen was free of creatures and the friar was once more absorbed in his work, then she slinked back to her bags of flour, waiting for the opportune moment?though she was not entirely sure what the opportune moment would look like. So instead, she waited until her nerves had calmed before climbing atop the bags and leaping to another sill.

She never knew if the friar saw her, leaping down into Istvan's waiting arms the moment she had climbed out the window. Motioning him and Risk to follow, she darted further into the alleys where they sat and hunkered down for a spell.

"Am I to know the meaning behind this venture?" Istvan asked, casting her a curious look.

Nyika considered for an instant on telling him, but the gravity of her actions was too much for her to share. If he knew, it could all unravel. She needed him ignorant, to play his part as she expected him; anything else was too dangerous and volatile. So she diverted the conversation.

"Why did you bleed for me when I smoked with Poko?"

"I told you before, dirtying the essence of the Mother is a grave insult to her and the beasts around you. You most especially, you who can speak to those passed."

"Your Mistress of Spirits," Nyika murmured. "Am I not allowed simple pleasures? Something to help me cope with the world around me?"

"Why do you feel you need to cope? What is so horrid that requires you to shield yourself from the Mother's grace?"

"You don't know," Nyika muttered, putting her head in her arm and looking away from him. She sighed. "It can be frightening, at times, when a haunt wishes not to cooperate or ? be nice. Do you realize," she said, looking back at him, "the dead never rest?"

Istvan was quiet.

"That's why I have trouble sleeping at night."

They sat there in awkward silence until Nyika was sure enough time had passed for the tinctures to have settled and the ale casks to have been tapped. Then, bidding the otter to follow her, she went to the front of the tavern and ambled through the door as though nothing was amiss.

It was a bustling establishment as one would expect from a creature who held as much power and influence as Goragula did in Yew. Ale flowed freely, and there was rousing noise and animated characters that only a tavern consisting of vermin could offer. Nyika hoped they had not yet fully quenched their thirsts.

The tavern keeper was a hulking rat, overlooking his patrons with a watchful eye in the event things got too rowdy, but still mindful enough to send winks and smiles to his maids as they passed by. As Nyika approached him, his expression turned sour at the sight of what he considered a suspicious, hooded wildcat.

Nyika leaned over the bar, bidding him close. "I need to see Ruark."

The tavern keeper scoffed at her. "An' wot business d'ye have with Ruark?"

"Goragula sent me," Nyika replied.

She watched as his frown deepened before he beckoned her with a claw, but when Istvan made to follow, Nyika motioned him to stay?she needed him here, in the common area. The tavern keeper led her to a private room where he knocked three times, then two, until a voice called for him to enter.

The room was bright with candles flickering and lanterns glowing. Nyika's eyes darted around, taking note of the desks and barkcloth arranged in piles of immaculate organization. Notes on his debts, she thought, trying hard not to frown beneath her hood. An old rat sat at a table with two younger rats standing at either side, and behind him, a number of haunts, the same kind that had followed Goragula. Victims of his underhanded dealings, those who had seen his face and knew him. She noticed there were more following him than had followed Goragula, but what it meant, she was uncertain. Either he had been at the business longer, or he was more careless in who saw his face. They noticed her looking at them, as well as Risk at her side. When they started murmuring, she turned back to the eldest rat, doing her best to ignore them.

The old rat's whiskers twitched as the tavern keeper whispered in his ear, his muzzle adopting a scowl when he looked at Nyika before he waved her away. "I have no business with this wildcat. If Goragula couldn't deign to come hisself, then I won't deign to speak with her."

"Goragula is dead," Nyika said as she approached the table, pressing the toad's letter on the surface and sliding it to Ruark.

Ruark narrowed his eyes, reading the script before turning to his companions and motioning them away. He waited until he and Nyika were alone and the door was closed before he spoke.

"So you bring me news," he murmured.

"Aye," Nyika said, taking a seat though she had not been asked. Ruark's scowl deepened. "I accompanied him along the trek. Got into some nasty business along the way."

Resting his chin on steepled claws, the rat glared. "Tell me about it."

Nyika bared her teeth in a false smile. "Aren't you going to order me a drink?"

"Cheeky wench," Ruark said, but he still rose from his seat. However, instead of going to the common area and ordering ale as Nyika had hoped, the rat went to a corner of the room and pulled out his own private bottle of amber liquid.

Nyika's heart sunk to the pit of her stomach, forming a lump in her throat she had to swallow around. If he didn't drink the tampered ale, he would not be groggy enough for Nyika to make her escape once the more heinous topics of conversation were breached. Her tail swished, worrisome thoughts entering her head as she wondered if she had not quite thought this through as well as she had hoped. She still had the common area, though. That was more important. She could escape Ruark, but not an entire tavern out for her blood. The fur at the base of her neck settled as she reassured herself that things were still going according to plan.

When Ruark poured two glasses and passed one to Nyika, however, the wildcat did not drink, waiting for the rat to take a sip of his own before she said in a calm voice, "May I have your glass?" 

Ruark grinned, a wide, frightening grin that fluffed Nyika's tail as they exchanged glasses. Nyika took a sip, but she noticed he did not.

"So tell me what happened," Ruark said, adopting a conversational tone. "I'm always up for a tale. Was always jealous of ol' Goragula's."

"Goragula didn't have a tail. He was a toad, remember?"

"Aye." Ruark nodded, playing with his glass. "That he was. How did he croak, iffen ye pardon the expression?"

"There was a road collapse along the mountain pass. A few of us survived, but there were other dangers that threatened our livelihood."

"Such as?"

"Moles, and an owl."

Ruark nodded, his expression thoughtful. None of this information seemed to faze him. Nyika continued.

"Goragula was killed by the owl. A great snowy, who also took down Captain Noonahootin of the Yew Guard. I'm the only one who made it through."

Ruark's whiskers shook, the corners of his muzzle twitching in a smile. He knew, and wasn't surprised. As a matter of fact, Nyika would say Ruark was pleased. She took a sip to calm her nerves, biting back a hiss as the alcohol burned a path down her throat. When she placed the glass back on the table, half the liquid was gone.

"You ordered the collapse." It was brazen and daring, but Nyika said it before she could stop herself.

Ruark scowled. "Bold words for a kitten still wet behind the ears. What's your proof?"

"You wanted to control the markets of Yew." She had thought about it, long and hard, ever since she had first read the letter summoning Goragula to Carrigul by word of an old friend. What stake did Ruark have in all this? What could he benefit from Goragula's death? When she learned of his operations in Carrigul, how he was the same type of legend that Goragula was in Yew, it all clicked into place.

"I'm right," she said. And she was, if the way Ruark narrowed his eyes and clutched his glass in a vice-like grip was any indicator.

"Aye," he confirmed.

There was noise coming from the common area?wailing, and screaming. Through the door, Nyika could vaguely hear the sound of a multitude of beasts retching. What was going on out there? They should all be getting drowsy from the tinctures she had poured in their drinks. Ruark heard it, too, his ears perking, his eyes narrowing.

"Wot did ye do?" Ruark snarled, baring his fangs at her.

It was too late, now. She answered his question by splashing the rest of the spirit in his face, glass and all. Ruark recoiled, sputtering, and with a surge of strength born of desperation Nyika upended the table, throwing it against the old rat and pinning him beneath it. There was not much of a struggle as the keen edge of Risk's blade came to rest against the sagging skin of Ruark's throat.

"I never should have underestimated you," he spat.

"The Yew Guard," Nyika said, panting with fear and exertion. She pressed the blade harder against his throat. She had to know. "What's their involvement?"

"Had t' protect me charge some'ow," he said. "Goragula wouldn't have made the journey this time o' year without some assurance 'e could make th' trip."

"But there's something more," Nyika said, unwilling to accept such a simple answer.

"Aye. What better way to whittle down th' Guard than to send half o' them t' die from by accident?"

"So there's war involved," she murmured, wondering the reasoning behind it. Noonahootin would know. He could connect it to Aster and Carrigul. Suddenly her purpose was even greater. She had to make it out alive to tell him.

She had everything?everyone's role. The merchants, the Yew Guard, but there was one last piece she needed to fit into place.

"And Dewhurst was there to guide the way," she said. It all made sense, all wrapped up in a nice little box with a pretty little bow on top. "After all, give the Guard a beast to protect from bandits on the road, and you've got a reason to send them to their deaths."

Ruark gave her a cold smile. "Clever beast."

"So they were pawns. Nothing more than pawns."

A rage grew inside Nyika, one she could not smother, but she was not finished. She had to control herself?had to stop herself from slitting his throat right then and there. There was only one question left.

"Zevka Blackbriar received a letter from Mekad Mayvery. Who forced his paw?"

"And why should I tell you?"

Nyika pressed the blade hard against his neck, hard enough to draw blood.

"I'll slit your throat and leave you to die," she growled.

Ruark sneered at her. "You'll never make it out alive."

"Neither will you."

They stood at an impasse until finally the rat muttered the name under his breath. "Beechton Valash."

It was all she needed. With a quick jerking motion, she slammed the hilt of Risk's knife against the rat's temple as hard as she could, knocking him unconscious.

She had to leave, to escape. It was only a matter of time before somebeast came barging in, wondering what all the noise was, but as Ruark lay there unmoving and Nyika thought of the way they had deceived Zevka and the Guard and Pyracantha and how they had sent so many to their deaths?Risk, Gashrock, Poko's parents?. It had been Nyika's greatest desire to join Dewhurst's Players as their seer and fortune teller, to live in a community that would not look down on her or take her for granted. She would have been loved ? she would have felt loved. Something she had never felt before. She would have had family?a family that cared for her?but Ruark, in his own personal machinations, had crushed all her hopes and dreams. She could not simply leave him unpunished.

"Cut him," Risk said, and Ruark's haunts joined him.

"The Cutter's Mark!"

"Give him the Cutter's Mark!"

Nyika knew not what possessed her when she dragged Ruark from under the table, taking Risk's blade and pressing the sharp steel against his face.

"No," Risk said. "Your own."

Nyika paused, then moved the knife to his right forearm and began dragging the blade to the shoulder, then diagonally down his chest, and then up his neck to his ear. Ruark moaned in pain, but Nyika did not stop. Blood was everywhere.

When she was finished, Nyika stood, admiring the crude "N" she had carved on his body. Wiping the blade clean, she left him alone to bleed.

Returning to the common area, the wildcat was in shock to find the entire tavern in shambles; beasts were rolling about the floor, vomiting, trying to stay in their seats. Some had scattered, more were dead. Istvan strolled about them, his blade red and dripping as he drew the knife across their throats. Nyika stood in horror.

"Istvan. What are you doing?" she breathed.

The otter turned to her, a solemn look on his face. "The All-Mother has passed judgment tonight. I warned them of the dangers of alcohol, and do you see? It has killed them."

"No," Nyika said. "They were supposed to be asleep. I put Valerian Root in the barrels. They're supposed to be asleep!"

She shook her head, the wound in her neck opening as pain lanced down her throat. She relished it, using it to focus while her mind panicked. What had she grabbed in the shop? What was it the vixen had given her? These beasts, these symptoms ? had it been hemlock? Wolfsbane?

"What have I done?" she whispered. And before Istvan could stop her, she fled the tavern.

She ran through streets and side alleys, never looking back, never seeing if Istvan or anybeast else was following her. It was a nightmare, it was all a nightmare. Soon she'd wake and find herself in bed at the tavern, Zevka shaking her and her body in a cold sweat, but nothing terrible would have ever transpired. The beasts at the Rusty Bucket would still be alive, and Ruark would not have her own Cutter's Mark engraved on his body. What had she been thinking? Was she mad? She had made an enemy of the most feared creature in Carrigul, and now that Goragula was dead, possibly all of Mossflower. He would not leave her alone. He would not dismiss her actions so easily. She had endangered herself, and she had endangered the group. They would all die because of her idiocy. She had to leave, she had to hide, but where could she go?

It was at the doorsteps of the apothecary Nyika stopped running, her rage building at the source of where everything had gone wrong. Her mind relinquished control, and just like at the campfire after she had fallen in the water hole where Vanessa and Istvan had attempted to fish, Nyika could only watch herself as she swung the door wide and started screaming.

"You tricked me!" she screeched. "You tricked me!"

The candles had burned low and the fire was reaching embers in the hearth, but Nyika could see that the vixen had not moved from her seat at the table, a wicked smile on her face as she watched the wildcat stamp around in her shop.

"Did everything go according to plan?" she said in an infuriatingly calm voice.

"What did you give me?" Nyika howled, her paw swiping at the bottles on the shelving. Glass shattered, spilling tinctures all over the floor. "What was it? Hemlock? Wolfsbane? Tell me!"

"Wolfsbane," she said, continuing to watch Nyika tear apart her shop. She seemed not to care.

"I wanted Valerian! I told you that!"

"You told me you wanted enough to put an entire tavern to sleep. I did not have that much Valerian, so I gave you the next best thing."

"The next best thing?" Nyika's eyes were wide in disbelief. It was enough to stop her rampage. "How is wolfsbane the next best thing!"

"They're asleep, my dear. Are they not?"

"A sleep they'll never wake! How could you do this to me? I trusted you!"

"You should learn to know which beasts you can trust and which you cannot."

"I've killed them. I've killed them all." Tears were streaming down the wildcat's face. "Why would you do this?"

"I'm a haunt," the vixen said simply. "It's in my nature. You of all beasts should know that."

The answer, so simple and so cruel, was too much for her. Taking the crystal ball at the table, Nyika threw it as hard as she could at the cauldron. Glass shards went everywhere, but still, the vixen did not lose her smile.

"You had a choice!" Nyika cried. "You could have helped me! But you didn't. You were too concerned over yourself?to extend your trickery past the door of your shop. They'll kill me. They'll hunt me down, me and my friends. Why?"

"What they do with you is not my concern. You've helped me, dearie, helped me live beyond my own life. What can I do here but frighten the youths that dare to enter my shop? But you?. What better way to affect the living than to help a beast kill an entire tavern of drunkards?"

"I'll set fire to your shop," Nyika said, taking a candle and holding it aloft. "You'll have nothing left, then."

At last the vixen dropped her smile. "Don't do that." Her voice was threatening and her muzzle sneered into a scowl. "I won't let you."

"Try," Nyika said, and stooped to place the flame of the candle in the spilt alcohol of the broken tinctures. The grade was high, and a tiny fire erupted in the shop, growing as the flames spread slowly across the floor.

"Fool," the vixen hissed. "I am not the only spirit who resides here."

They came at Nyika then, ferrets, stoats, rats, and weasels?spirits that the vixen had summoned?coming through the walls to accost the wildcat, intercepting her as she tried to make her exit. Nyika stumbled back, raising her paw as they swiped at her, in her mind knowing these had been vicious killers that their families had asked to speak with. The vixen had kept them.

Through the corner of her eye she could see Risk retaliating, fighting back as he tried to reach her side but there were too many. He was overwhelmed, held back as the rest continued to attack her. Her ears were filled with the sound of the vixen's cackling as Nyika's paw went into a pouch at her side, filled with the first thing she had bought when she had the chance. With Risk screaming her name, she spun in a circle, dropping a ring of salt that surrounded her. The attacks ceased and Nyika hunkered into a small ball, rocking back and forth as she watched the haunts stalk her, unable to pass beyond her barrier.

The vixen was still cackling, louder now that Nyika's small fire had died, unable to keep itself alive. Nyika pulled at her ears, willing the vixen to stop, willing the spectres that continued to stalk her would just depart and leave her alone.

"Please let me go," Nyika whimpered.

"I think not, my dear," the vixen said. "You've upset me a great deal."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." Her voice was a bare whisper. "I didn't mean to."

"Nyika?"

"Istvan!" Nyika shouted, her heart leaping at the sound of the otter's voice. "Don't come in!"

Ignoring her, Istvan entered the shop, his eyes wide at the destruction he saw from the cat's tantrum. "What happened in here?"

"Come into the circle," the wildcat pleaded, fearing that the spirits would turn to him now they had somebeast to assail. Despite her fears, they paid him no mind, and he passed easily through their ranks into the salted circle where Nyika was huddled. 

"What is the matter?" he asked, bending down to sit with her. "What happened in the tavern?"

"I've done a grievous thing," she said, and before she could stop herself she had thrown herself against him, clutching him tight as she erupted into inconsolable sobs.

He held her until she had calmed, pushing back her hood and frowning at what he saw. "Nyika, what did you do?" Retrieving a piece of cloth from her bag, he began dabbing at the fresh scratches on her face, all given by the spirits the vixen had sent to torment her. The wound around her left eye had opened, and when he was done the cloth was a deep red. Only now did Nyika realize how much it all stung.

"I came here for Valerian Root," she said between her tears. "To put the tavern to sleep. I ? I had tampered with the ale casks. I just wanted to make them drowsy, sleepy, so that when I found out from Ruark what his involvement was, we could leave. Easy in, easy out. That was the plan."

"Ruark?" The otter hesitated, remembering the name on Goragula's letter. "His involvement in what?"

"The road collapse. He ordered it, or had a paw in it. It's all a conspiracy. I found out. He told me himself."

"What did you find?"

"He sent a letter to Goragula asking for his aid in Carrigul, but he knew Goragula wouldn't make the trip alone, so ? so they set up a huge scheme. Hired the Guard to accompany Dewhurst, who was to guide the way. Aster ordered it, that's why he pressed so hard. With the Guard behind the Players, the merchants would have somebeast to protect them along the route. That's why Goragula went, that's why we all went. Dewhurst was just a pawn. We were all pawns."

Istvan sat back, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Why?"

"For Carrigul to prepare for war. With Goragula dead, the markets in Yew will collapse, and without the markets, the Guard will crumble. Carrigul is planning for war, and Yew will be unable to fight back."

"We need to tell Captain Noonahootin of this right away." Standing, the otter tried to lift Nyika off the ground, but she would not budge.

"I can't go," she whispered. "Oh Istvan, I didn't tell you. When I came here to get Valerian, the vixen tricked me. She gave me wolfsbane. Wolfsbane!" She spat the word and the vixen sniggered. Nyika shook her head. "I killed an entire tavern tonight, and what's worse, I left Ruark alive, with ? with?"

Istvan sat back down. "With what?" Through it all, his voice was still calm and comforting. A rock for which Nyika could stand on.

"With the Cutter's Mark."

That broke his composure. "Risk's?" he said, flabbergasted.

"No. My own."

"Your own?" Istvan put a paw to his brow, shaking his head. "The beasts in the tavern. You killed them? You are certain?"

Her voice was a whisper. "Yes."

"Oh, Nyika ?what am I going to do with you?"

"I'm sorry," she said, once more clinging to him, holding him tight. "I'm so sorry."

"I must atone," the otter said, removing his knife and placing it at his wrist.

Nyika shook her head. "No amount of blood can atone for what I've done tonight."

"It can," Istvan said, looking at Nyika with solemn eyes. "Or have you forgotten everything I've preached? No matter the consequences of one's actions, all the Mother desires is an offering of her lifeblood in return."

"Istvan, no," she said, putting her paw on the knife and pushing it away. "You don't understand. This is my fault, my sin. It should be my blood. Don't kill yourself for my sake. Let me bleed, please."

"I will not. You have been much too generous in your sacrifices. It is you who do not understand."

"Then do it for me," she said, putting the hilt of Risk's knife in his paw. Then she removed her sling and bandage and offered him her arm, still healing from her sacrifice at the temple gates. "Show me how."

Istvan blinked his eyes, but still took the blade. Placing it against her flesh, he said a prayer. Nyika bit her lip, preparing for the sting, preparing to feel the cold blade go deep into her flesh and drag itself up the length of her arm, but all she felt was a slight pinch and then it was over.

"It is finished," Istvan said.

"Wait, what?"

She looked at her arm, seeing the fresh mark and the small pool of blood that ran through her fur to drip once, twice, three times on the wooden floor. Then Istvan rewrapped her arm.

The wildcat was incredulous. "That's it?"

"I said before," Istvan said as he bowed, "you do not understand the nature of sacrifice."

"But ? but I killed so many. I endangered our lives! What will happen when Ruark recovers? He will be out in force, craving our blood. I've doomed us all."

"And we will deal with that when the time comes, but for now, the All-Mother holds us in her favor."

Nyika traced the line Istvan cut on her arm with a claw, but even now she could not remember where it was. "I didn't know?"

"But do you now?"

She nodded.

"Good," Istvan said, passing her back Risk's knife. The wildcat took it, cocking her head at the unexpected action.

"Let us go," he said. "I could not remember where this place was, and it took me longer than I had hoped to find you. If we return to the tavern, we still might be able to get a few hours of rest before dawn. Then we shall tell the others."

"I can't," Nyika said, shaking her head. "The vixen is still here, and her spirits ? you can't see them, but they are waiting for me to leave this circle. They want me dead."

"Why?"

"I tried setting fire to her shop," she said with a grimace on her face.

"Is there anything we can do?"

Nyika thought, her gaze going over each of them as they glared at her. Singling one out, she spoke to him. "You, what's your name?"

Blinking his eyes, he looked behind him to see if Nyika had addressed somebeast else. "Grombit," he said.

"What is your grievance?" she asked him.

Grombit cast his eyes to the ceiling, a paw going behind his head to rub at the fur. "Ahh, killed me Pah over an argument."

"How did you get here?"

"Me Mah asked this 'un t' ? ahh ? bring me back. T' talk to me."

Nyika nodded. "What did she have to say?"

"Oh she jist wanted t' yell and scream a bit more, tha's all. Ye know, cause she's th' one that poisoned me in th' first place." He laughed. "Guess she wasn't through wit' me after she was through wit' me."

Nyika smiled at his jest. "And you," she said, turning to another. "What's your story?"

And so Nyika spoke to all of them, discovering their manner of death and why they hadn't passed their Gate. Her suspicion was correct. They were all killers, and had all been summoned by the vixen who kept them in her clutches, growing an army of haunts though Nyika did not know why. Perhaps to keep her company in the afterlife.

Then she told them about the All-Mother and her infinite forgiveness. Istvan was even gracious enough to join her, correcting her when she was mistaken or misguided, though Nyika could tell the otter felt a little unnerved speaking to beasts he could not see. Still, he did his best, even if she had to direct his face with a paw when he was answering a question asked.

When it came to sacrifice, that was when they began scoffing at her.

" 'Ow can we shed blood when we got no blood t' shed?" one spat.

"We can shed for you," Nyika said.

"I can shed for you," Istvan corrected, then he continued, picking up on the reason of Nyika's declaration. "One can offer sacrifice in another's stead. I have done it countless times for those less willing or able."

"An' if ye shed this blood, our sins will be forgiven? In th' ? in th' name o' the All-Mother?"

Nyika turned to Istvan before she realized he hadn't heard. "Oh, yes," she said, a blush rising to her muzzle.

"Arright, I'll do it. Can ye forgive my sins? I didn't mean t' kill me pah. Well, I did, but if I could do it again I wouldn't, I don't think."

"Istvan," Nyika said, turning to the otter. "Would you be willing to sacrifice for the sake of these poor beasts here?"

Istvan bowed his head. "Of course."

"This has gone on long enough!" the vixen shouted, rising from her seat and making her way over to the gathering. "Your story is very interesting, but I won't let you bleed in my shop. Not for the sake of these scoundrels! They're here for a reason. They're killers and villains. Vermins. That's what they call us, aye? That's what he calls us!" She pointed an accusing claw at Istvan.

"I have never known Istvan to call a creature a vermin," Nyika said. She turned to the vixen and narrowed her eyes. "What are your transgressions? Why do you linger?" She paused. "How many have you killed?"

"Countless," the vixen said, a certain ring of pride in her voice. "I've served warlords, young one, ordering the deaths of hundreds of woodlanders, and enslaving the rest. I've poisoned their drinks to make room for new ones?younger and with more ambition to rise within their ranks."

Nyika furrowed her brow. "Then why settle here, of all places?"

"Things got a little testy." The vixen shrugged. "I had to leave to save my own skin. A new start in a new city seemed just the thing."

The wildcat nodded. "And now you're afraid of Vulpuz, and you kept these beasts for company."

"Aye."

"I cannot help you," Nyika said as she closed her eyes. "Only offer forgiveness in the name of the All-Mother."

"You think a made up creature like that can forgive this old vixen's sins?"

"If she can forgive my own," Nyika said, opening her eyes and looking straight at the vixen. "Aye."

The vixen scoffed and sat back down, crossing her arms and glaring at her. Nyika frowned. She never could convince everybeast.

"Are we ready?" Istvan said. His knife was settled at the base of his arm.
They all watched as he drew a knew cut along many, all watched as the blood pooled to the surface and drip harmlessly on the floor.

And one by one they departed, vanishing before Nyika's eyes until all that were left was herself, Istvan, Risk, and the vixen.

"Are you sure you wish to stay?" Nyika asked the apothecary.

"You've taken all my friends," she cried. "Who will keep me company? Who will I talk to?"

"They wanted to leave," Nyika said. Though there was a frown on her muzzle, a wave of sympathy overtook her. "You held them against their will."

"You took them from me. Go on, leave. Leave me alone, all by myself. I deserve it, don't I?"

There was nothing she could do. Rising, Nyika took Istvan's paw and left the shop, Risk trailing behind them.

"Let's go back," the wildcat said, a sad expression on her face with whiskers low and ears pinned back. Nyika could hear the vixen's cries as she mourned for her lost companions.

When they reached the inn, Istvan took her aside, requesting a private room for only a few minutes. The tavern keeper smirked and Istvan rolled his eyes at his lewd comments, but soon Nyika found herself alone with the otter, wondering what the meaning behind it was.

"I got you a gift," Istvan said, displaying the jar of white ink he had purchased in the market.

Nyika's tail swished when she saw what it was. "This is for me?"

"Yes, if you wish it. I had known for a long time, with your ability to speak to the dead, but what happened in the apothecary shop was unlike anything I had ever seen. You ? you've saved beasts from beyond the grave."

"Your Mistress of Spirits," Nyika murmured, remembering the line she had said at the start of the night. "You wish to tattoo me."

Istvan nodded. "If you desire it."

The wildcat had always considered herself as a sort of reaper, standing alongside Death as he took the lives of ailing or wounded beasts. She had done her part as best she could, but there were always stubborn haunts, always a beast that refused to pass their Gate. Even now with the All-Mother behind her she had still failed, but the seer knew why. The vixen was afraid, afraid and lonely. Nyika could try again tomorrow. Give her time to heal, and she would come around eventually.

"Aye," Nyika said, removing her hood and sitting on the bed. "I will be your Mistress of Spirits."

She just hoped Poko wouldn't start calling her "Inkface."