When The Lights Go Up, You'll Understand...

[Eliza Lacrimosa]

Oh Hellgates, Hellgates, Hellgates, Hellgates...

Eliza sprinted into the darkened tunnels, trying frantically to outrun the insanity. Swords were clanging, vermin were shouting, slaves were screaming?

The pine marten?s paws slapped against the cold stone, their dull smack underscoring her shrill heartbeat.

Get away. She had to get away.

Darkness swallowed the light from the opening. Eliza dashed headlong into the gloom, trying to navigate by touch. The walls felt gritty and rough to her trembling touch, like solidified sand. Eliza smiled. There was something strangely reassuring in the solidity of it. Suddenly, the stone slipped away from her. The pine marten groped about, trying to get some bearings. Her paw groped about, finding nothing. She stepped forward, still feeling around. Her paw encountered something... soft. Something hairy. It snarled.

Eliza shrieked as an invisible form crashed into her, bulling her back against the wall. Claws encircled her throat, crushing her windpipe. She struggled, gurgling, trying to scramble away. The phantom refused to yield, pinning her to the hewn rock. With the last of her oxygen, the pine marten screamed, kicking blindly at the invisible marauder. It rasped an unintelligible curse, loosening its grasp ever so slightly. Hot breath hissed in her ear.

Claws bared, she struck for the source of the breath. She connected, gouging into warm flesh.

??ellga?es!? snarled a disembodied voice.

Eliza took full advantage of the distraction. Kicking away from the wall, she caught the phantom off balance and wrested herself away, dropping to the floor. Eliza pushed off, bolting for the tunnel entrance.

Her assailant growled and gave chase, heavy footpaws thundering in the blackness behind her. The phantom assailant?s breathing was ragged, labored.

Just as the first rays of sunlight kissed her face, Eliza?s footpaw was snagged, tripping her. She gasped, trying to wrench it away. The figure wheezed another harsh curse.

?Marten! ?s me!? The voice was faint and gravelly, but recognizeable.

Eliza?s fog of fear and rage melted into one of hostile confusion. ?Captain??

?Aye.?

Eliza recoiled as the fox dragged himself into the light. Matukhana?s face was disgusting! The mutinous dormouse had slashed his lower jaw to the bone. Blood and saliva pooled on the edge of the fox?s ravaged lip, dripping from a flap of shredded skin.

?Wha? you lookin? at, marten?? The corsair snarled. ?Huh??

Eliza gulped. ?Your face. It?s??

Matukhana spat. ?It?s nothin?.?

A wry grimace curled Eliza?s lip.

?I said, it?s nothin?,? the Captain growled. ?Faces don?t get things done. I could be uglier?n you an? it wouldn?t mean a whelk t?me.?

Eliza?s paws clenched. ?What? How dare you!?

She still had the knife. It was tucked away, but it would take only an instant to draw it. She could grab it, plunge it to the hilt into his stupid malevolent face, finish the job the dormouse had started.

What am I thinking? He?s the Captain! He?s the only one that can take me home!

But, her better judgment countermanded, will he? He?s a brigand, a life-long vagabond and criminal. How can he ever be expected to keep his word?

Her paw closed on the handle. ?If you ever talk about my face again, I?ll-?

Matukhana struck her, sending the knife clattering away into the darkness.

The pine marten gasped, clutching her cheek. He had slapped her!

?You?ll do what? Attack me? Think y?can kill me, huh?? the brute growled. ?I?m the Captain, you little wench! Without me, you?re dead. Don?t you forget that.? Matukhana stabbed a claw at her. ?An? if you ever even think of pullin? that little minnow-sticker agin, I?ll carve off the rest of your face an? make ye eat it! Savvy??

Eliza gulped, still holding her stinging face.

?Savvy?? the fox thundered.

?Yes,? Eliza whispered. Her voice cracked slightly.

?Yes, what??

?Yes, Captain.?

?Good. Now, there?s two things I need: a weapon, and somethin? t?wipe the blood offa me face. Get those for me, then you can run away an? hide like the cowardly little piece of flotsam ye are.? 

?Fine,? Eliza glowered, protests burning in her throat. One humiliating slap, and now she had been cowed into running errands like a servant. How pathetic.

No. It?s not pathetic, she told herself, trudging angrily towards the light. It?s survival.

Fortuitously, some early casualties of the battle lay near the cave entrance. The pine marten glanced about furtively. The fighting appeared to have moved on, so she scrambled down to the bodies. A sword which hadn?t been raised quickly enough to prevent a slashed throat lay in the sand. Eliza picked it up. The thing was rusted and unwieldy, but it was probably good enough for Matukhana. 

Right, now to find something resembling a bandage.

The sword?s former owner had nothing but a tunic, which was heavily crusted with sand and blood. Not going to touch that, thanks. Eliza moved on to the next carcass.

This one had been one of Venril?s group. The unfortunate beast?s pack lay beside him, spilling its contents into the dust. Eliza fished a wrinkled bandanna from amidst the debris, grimacing down at the corpse. A cracked javelin protruded from the center of the ferret?s green tunic.

Judging by a long bloody smear in the sand, this one had died slowly. His face was a contorted mask of agony.

There were more, at least a score of them. Some were savages, some were corsairs, some of them were slaves who had finally been set free. They were all different, and they were all the same, united in death.

Everybeast around her was dying: the party guests; the shipwreck victims; the slaves who?d fallen during the trek to the Oasis. More had fallen in the initial skirmishes, then the rockslides, and the freakish attack on the cave-dwellers.

They were the lucky ones, off in their respective Dark Forests. She had to contend with the panic, the terror, the crushing weight of her own survival.

She was on her own. Her appointed protector was dead, according to Damask. Whether from his wounds from fighting that... that horrible thing, or cut down by some stupid parasitic woodlander, she didn?t know. But he was gone, and Eliza was alone. No more Slug-guard.

No - she corrected herself - no more ?Rath.?

Eliza smiled mirthlessly at the recollection. Rath. What a silly name. I don?t even know why I remember it. Funny. I?ve never remembered the names of any other servant.

That, said the voice in her head, is because Rath wasn?t really a servant. He died defending you. No servant, no matter how loyal, would ever do that. You should remember that sacrifice. You owe him that much.

She did. And she was... sorry. Sorry for getting him killed, sorry for insulting him and threatening him and treating him like a pet.

Sorry that she had never had the chance to thank him properly. He?d saved her life and had received in payment a hesitant hug and a lukewarm thank-you. She hadn?t even said goodbye.

She hadn?t said goodbye to Damask, either.

The robin was dead, probably. At least, he?d looked awfully dead, crushed into a pathetic heap of feathers by the roiling waterfall. Her fault, probably, for shouting at him. No, she decided. Not my fault.

She hadn?t thrown the slingstone, she hadn?t caused him to fly into the cascade. She wasn?t sorry for that; wasn?t even sorry that he was dead, for that matter. She wasn?t sorry for leading him on, because the robin had approached her first. Males, after all, were like bumblebees: droning little idiots who visit delicate flowers for a little while, and leave when they?d had their fill.

She had nothing to be sorry for. And, somehow, that was what made her sorry.

Clutching her spoils, Eliza headed back to the cave. She would give Matukhana his supplies, and then she would run and hide in the darkness, and then? What?

She didn?t know. She didn?t know what to do. There was no plan this time, no fantastic scheme to solve everything. There was simply her, lost and alone in the world, trying to keep from screaming.