Nyikromancer in a Daydream

[Nyika]

"Nessa? Nessa!" the wildcat cried, but there was no answer. There had been noise muffled by the dirt, sounds of a skirmish or what would soon be. Shaking, Nyika turned to Goragula.

"Can't you dig through?" she asked, her voice pitched with nervous energy.

"They've departed," was Goragula's answer. "Besides, I do not wish to rejoin them. I have something to say to you, my little Grimalkin."

Nyika felt her hackles rise. She turned to paw feebly at the dirt, her only means of protection gone. A sad sense of resignation bore down on top of the wildcat, pressing a weight against her shoulders that had her hunching in the darkness. She knew what Goragula had to say. She knew this was where her life would end. One did not just rat out the land's most infamous merchant and live to tell about it. She could already feel the knife point at the base of her neck, but no, that was just his finger, pressing hard into her flesh.

When Goragula spoke next, his tone was quiet and deadly. "What do you know of me?"

Nyika cowered, her body shrinking in the darkness. What was it that Zevka had said? The first rule of self-defense is: It's better to escape than to fight if you don't have to. She could run if she was quick enough, but with Goragula hovering so close to her, Nyika was sure any sudden movement would have a knife planted between her shoulder blades. She should scream. How far had they gotten from the base of the tree? Far enough that Nyika was sure her shouts would go unanswered. Had Poko and Captain Noonahootin even lingered? A silent wail grew in her throat. How did she find herself alone with the toad? Why had she offered to go in the first place? Didn't she realize just how dangerous he could be?

Her paw tightened around the hilt of Risk's blade. If she was quick enough, she could slash at him and run away. Just retrace her steps, never mind all the side alleys and paths they had wandered. Her breath quickened in her throat. It was useless. What was she even thinking?

"Kill the toad."

The voice that whispered in her ear was hoarse and raspy and sent a different kind of chill than Goragula's touch down her spine. Nyika shivered, knowing its owner was squatting next to her, and for once she welcomed the darkness. She was growing nauseous of seeing the vole's ghastly image hovering around the toad, casting her glances when he knew she was watching.

"Cat got your tongue?" Goragula said. "It seemed so loose before."

"Kill the toad!"

"Shh!" Nyika hissed. Goragula was quiet, listening.

Rising, Nyika turned towards the toad, her paw flexing as it held the dagger in a sweat slicked grip. "As infamous as your name is in this land, you have few haunts, do you know that, Mr. Goragula?"

"You think I'm Goragula?"

"Aye."

The toad barked a laugh. "Then you really are crazy. Goragula is a rat."

"No," Nyika said, finding strength, though it didn't keep the tremor from her voice. "That's what you want us to believe."

"And what leads you to this conclusion?"

"Clarence."

She could not read any change in expression in the darkness, but she was sure the toad flinched at the name.

"Clarence?"

Nyika took a step backwards, just to put a little distance between them. "He had an ailing mother and a poor crop for the season. He borrowed some money to make ends meet, to ask for some herbs and tinctures. You killed her when he became late on his payments, to remove the distraction."

She remembered the day Clarence had come to her with his life in shambles, accusing her of a bad potion. Nyika had almost believed him. She couldn't remember if it had been horehound or hemlock she added to the concoction. A simple mistake like that could kill a beast, and Nyika was not that confident in herself to rule out the possibility. She could be rather absentminded at times, not to mention impressionable when a spirit wanted to play a cruel game. But then she saw the paw wrapped in a bandage, unraveling it to reveal a missing claw. With only a few questions she had him telling her everything he had done to ensure his mother would live. That included his dealings with Goragula.

"I don't know who you're talking about," the toad said.

Nyika continued. "He killed himself a day later. I know, because I went to his house and saw. He had slit his own throat."

"And that's how you've come to this conclusion? Through my 'haunts'?"

Nyika nodded, though she could not say why. The effect was lost in the darkness. Still, it made her feel better to think that she could still move her neck and it hadn't been snapped. "Aye. They are loud and wish you dead."

"Interesting," Goragula mused, but Nyika could discern nothing else from the word.

"You don't believe me?" she asked, failing to hide her unease. If he didn't buy her tale then she had no power over him, and there would be no reason for him to keep her alive.

"Should I?"

He was moving. When once he spoke before her, now his voice echoed off to the side. Nyika's ears swiveled, trying to pinpoint his location, searching for any clue as to his whereabouts. There was a sound of dirt shifting, a slight shuffle of feet.

"To the left," the ghostly voice told her.

Nyika pivoted, and some instinctual feeling had her bringing Risk's dagger to the level of her neck. Goragula's knife chinked against hers, forcing her to step back shaking against the wall. She felt cold steel part her fur, pressing hard against her throat. So this was where she was going to die. What a fool she had been; doubly so. Once when she removed his mask, and twice when she sought to venture beneath the earth in his company. She took a deep breath, preparing herself, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

"Kill the toad!" Clarence wailed.

"I'm sorry," Nyika whispered.

The pressure stopped. Goragula had hesitated.

"Do you fear death, Grimalkin?" he asked.

As long as Nyika had lived she had known Death, walking beside him as he reaped the souls of the world. Whenever he had come across a particularly stubborn soul she would aid him, soothing their woes and leading them to the Gate set before them. It was her gift to the world to provide balance in the afterlife. The dead had no place amongst the living, despite their desires. What she said to Istvan was true. Death was her companion, though she had not chosen him as her ally.

"No," she said, but her throat was dry and nothing came out. She tried again. "No."

"You're trembling."

"I fear you."

The knife blade left her throat, but not without leaving a mark. Nyika let loose a breath of air she had not realized she was holding as her paw went to her neck. He had spared her. She felt she needed to explain herself.

"Death ? is my friend. I could never fear him, not the one beast who has never abandoned me."

"You are an interesting creature. Has anybeast ever told you that?"

"All the time."

"Kill the damn toad!"

"Will you shut up!" Nyika yelled, turning her head to address the third in their company.

"I beg your pardon?" Goragula said.

The wildcat put her head in her paws. "Not you. I'm sorry. I told you they are loud, and they wish you dead. Clarence is the loudest of them all."

"I don't know this Clarence you speak of." He sounded annoyed, but still a little too quick in his denial.

Either way, Nyika waved a paw in dismissal. "It doesn't matter. He is ghastly, and I don't like looking at him. And his throat is slit so his voice is raspy and hard to listen to."

"He wants you to kill me."

"Aye."

"Will you?" There was a trace of amusement in his voice.

"Do you think I could if I tried?"

"No. I should tell you about the mole I skinned down here, how he begged for mercy before I granted his last wish."

Skinned. It was horrific. The thought had memories shifting through her mind of a butchered mole who had joined a place in Goragula's collection of haunts.

"Yes," she said. "He's been lingering, too. You're pretty cruel."

"It gets the job done. He was the one who told me his kin caused the collapse."

"Well, try to learn how to extract your information in a less gruesome manner."

She could hear his tongue flicker, a shudder passing through her as he licked the blade clean of her blood.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Nyika wasn't sure he would. So where did they stand? She had not expected the toad to spare her so easily. Were the others as merciful? She had dared not get close to Poko, only when she had been bid, and she had noticed a change in attitude from the ferret jill that she wasn't entirely sure was for the better. Her relationship with Zevka had been shaken to the core?another mistake like that and the pine marten was sure to leave her behind. And Risk ? poor Risk. She wondered if things had been different, if she had left him alone, if he wouldn't have been so reckless. Another death to add to her list. Despite all she tried, Nyika was constantly reminded that she could not save all.

"Let us depart," Goragula said, shattering Nyika from her thoughts.

"Aye," she said, though she wasn't happy about it. The idea of traveling alone with the toad was not on Nyika's top list of things to do before she died, but she had been making changes and arrangements since birth. Together they resumed the search, using paws and whiskers to guide them, until the wildcat noticed a faint trace of smoke lingering in the air.

"Do you smell that?" she said.

Goragula hesitated. "Smoke," he confirmed.

"I think it's coming from up ahead."

It was their noses that guided them to the storeroom of stolen supplies where Risk had opened bottle after bottle of alcohol in his search for the most flammable he could find. The acrid stench overwhelmed Nyika's senses, causing her to wince as she rooted through clothing, food, and bottles. But what to do with them all? She didn't even know what she was looking for.

"Matches," Goragula's voice rumbled.

Between the two of them they crafted a torch, dousing the cloth in alcohol and tying it tight to a discarded bindle stick. Goragula held it aloft.

"Gather up the food and clothing," he said. "We should take them back to camp."

Nyika shook her head. "Risk came through here; I can smell him."

"Risk is dead."

"He may not be."

Goragula raised furless brows. "You'll kill yourself for his sake?"

The wildcat nodded. "He killed himself for ours."

"So be it."

They tarried long enough to root for supplies and by they time they were finished it was a successful pillage. Nyika had found a bag of medical supplies, and they had stuffed blankets, spare clothing, and food in sacks to carry with them.

"We need alcohol," the cat said once the essentials had been gathered. She began sticking her nose in bottles to determine the highest grain.

"For another night of carousing?" Goragula's tone was sneering.

Nyika sneered back. "For disinfectant. I saw Captain Noonahootin. He used the last of his stock on Gashrock."

"How presumptuous of me."

There were only three bottles worth salvaging, which Nyika stuck in the sack of clothing to prevent them from breaking. Satisfied with herself, she turned to the toad, blinking as he held out a familiar crystal ball.

"I believe this is yours," he said.

"Aye." Nyika shuffled on her feet, arranging the sacks to a more comfortable position. "Do you want it?"

Goragula looked surprised. "You don't?"

The wildcat pursed her lips, wondering what he was getting at. What they could use a crystal ball for was beyond her. Perhaps they could use it to light fires. "No."

"Why?"

"It's just glass. Nothing but extra weight. Keep it if you want; I have no use for it."

She watched him as he lifted the orb, admiring its shape and flawless design, watching his expression become lost in the reflection of flickering torchlight. If she didn't know any better, she could have sworn that his visage took on the image of Vulpuz himself. Her lips spread in a grin.

"You're superstitious," she said.

"Mind your manners," Goragula snapped, glaring at her. The fox demon faded from his slitted eyes. Nyika's grin grew wider.

"Don't lie," she said coyly.

"Are you real?" the toad asked.

"What?"

"I asked if you were real. A real seer."

Her grin faded to a scowl. "Of course I'm real."

Goragula gave a short laugh. "I've met plenty of fakes who said the same thing."

Nyika raised her head, peering down her nose at him. "Tell me what you see in that crystal ball, Greenfleck. Do you sense magic in it? Does it hold your breath, cradling your heart? What need do I have of some prop to focus my power? Your haunts bear down on you, waiting for one false slip, and then they'll descend. You may not notice them, you may not care, but they're there, and I can see the way their soulless eyes glisten, wetting their lips for the time you pass from this world."

The amusement in his eyes faded into a deathly glare.

"Do not underestimate me, merchant." She opened her paw, bidding him. "My crystal ball, please."

He held it just out of reach. "You'd better watch your tongue, Grimalkin. One nasty twist of fate and you'll get strung up as a witch or burnt at the stake. I've seen both."

"You forget who I fear." Stepping forward, she retrieved the ball from his hand and placed it in her haversack, wrapping a blanket around its perfect surface.

"I did not say you would die."

A shudder passed down her back, fluffing her tail at his threat.

"Let's go," Goragula said. "There is nothing more we can salvage, and I grow weary of your company."

With that Nyika and Goragula ventured forth into the tunnels, following Risk's destructive path into the kitchens. It was here that Nyika realized they had reached the place where Risk had begun his massacre. A soft red glow emanated from all around them, dulled by the mounds of soil that had been tossed atop burning embers. They were in the larders, now, Nyika knew by the overbearing stench of burnt grains and alcohol. Her eyes adjusted as she stood at the threshold, the thick shadows of the room taking form from the light of Goragula's torch. It was hot, too, like a furnace. Her body shivered from the remnants of her unfortunate dip in the icy lake the day before.

Yet despite the scent of blood that lingered in the air like a rotten aftertaste in one's mouth, there was no evidence of the death she had expected. Mounds of dirt lay in deep piles with broken and charred tables scattered about the room. There were no moles, though, nor was there Risk. They must have collected their dead, stifled the fires and left them to smolder. Hopefully the ferret was still alive somewhere.

As they continued past the dining hall Nyika lost all sense of her surroundings, Goragula becoming a vague shape that traveled next to her. Though death hung in the air no haunts had lingered, for which she was thankful, releasing her fear that they may block her way. Risk was nearby?she could still smell him. She pressed on.

Leaving the smoke behind her, Nyika's whiskers twitched at the scent of familiar blood. Her heart leapt in her chest as she approached a large concave mound of dirt piled the wall. The unmistakable odor of Risk permeated through, his rancid wound still fresh in her mind from the night before. She pressed her paw against the soil, feeling it shift, realizing how loosely packed it was. They must have caved him in.

"He's here," she said to Goragula.

"Nyika."

The wildcat froze. It was not the toad who had spoken.

It was a familiar voice, one that had always been there to provide comfort and solace during her most troubling times, but there was something different about it. It had become hoarse and gravelly, like rubbing sandpaper over a dirt road. Nyika's heart quickened in her chest, igniting a spark of rage that flared from within. It was all she could to do keep her focus on the task at paw.

"Risk is in there, isn't he?"

"Yes," Nyika said, twisting around to glare at the apparition before her. It was a wildcat in her middle years, her color pattern strikingly similar to Nyika's own, but when once she was pretty and alluring, now her fur was old and grayed, a ghostly shell of her former self. Her eyes no longer held the light of wisdom and guidance, but were white and milky and terrifying. A red stain spread on her tattered dress from her split gut, ripped open by the same blade Nyika wore at her waist. The young seer held herself, quelling her rolling stomach that had threatened her to retch. The apparition was ghastly, and Nyika regretted turning around to address her.

"Hello, Mum," she spat.

"You're angry."

"Why shouldn't I be!" Nyika shouted, forgetting her place, forgetting where she was and who she was with and the danger she was in.

"I was only trying?"

"Trying to what?" Nyika snapped, cutting her off. "To protect me? From what? Knowing my mother was a whore? That you condemned my death before I had even left the womb? It's a hard price to pay when you're found accomplice to a crime you never committed."

"He saved you," her mother said. Nyika's fur bristled at the audacity of her words.

"He abandoned me."

"He loved you!"

"He left me!" Nyika was screaming now. "He left me with the foxes, and he left me to go off and die a hero's death." She was pacing about the corridor, flecks of spittle slinging from her mouth. Goragula's torchlight had disappeared, casting them in darkness but her mother remained bright and lucid as ever. "Some champion! He didn't want me. As soon as he found out who I was he packed his things and left." She shook her head, her pacing slowed. Tears stung her eyes. "Why didn't he want me, Mum?"

"Come here, kitten," her mother said, opening her arms. For an instant her gruesome appearance changed, and she was once more the beautiful, tender wildcat mother Nyika had always remembered. Nyika came forward, wiping her tears as she allowed her mother to wrap her arms about her as they sat together on the ground. "I know you're mad, and you have every right to be, but you must see that Risk was protecting you. What do you think happened when they found me, dead and cut open with no kitten nearby? They hunted him. Why do you think he gave you to the vixens' care? Who better than to keep quiet than a pack of rambling gypsies?"

Nyika opened her mouth, ready to bark some response, but there was nothing to say.

"Now look what he has done," her mother continued, stroking her head. "He has sacrificed himself to eradicate the very force that threatens your life. These moles will kill you, they have tried time and again. Never once has Risk thought of himself; only you."

Nyika sniffed as she curled against her mother, her rage melting into an overwhelming feeling of shame and embarrassment. Despite how angry she had been, despite how much she had wanted her mother to be wrong, she knew she was right. Risk had saved her, twice now, and if he had abandoned her in the process it was for her own well-being. The ferret had simply run out of choices.

"Go to him," her mother said, her voice soft and soothing, the way Nyika had always remembered it, the same voice that had provided solace and comfort to the frightening world around her. Nyika nodded, and then she found herself alone and curled against the tunnel wall.

Heaving a heavy sigh, the wildcat seer picked herself up and turned once more to the loosely packed soil that barred her path. A tunnel had been made, but Nyika hadn't remembered it being there before. She shook her head. Now was not the time to ruminant over such mysteries.

She did not find it odd to discover light in the small room she found herself in. All her attention was focused on the ferret laying prone on the ground. For once Risk was alone?none of his haunts present?and a lump formed in Nyika's throat realizing why they had departed. She would offer a prayer, spill his blood. Isn't that what Istvan would have wanted? Put Risk at peace once and for all, but as she placed a paw over his chest she felt it rise ever so slightly, ever so slowly.

"Risk," she said. He was so cold.

"Risk," she said again, her breath catching.

The ferret gave no response.

Stifling her tears, Nyika removed the knife from her belt, the blade singing in her paw. She looked down at Risk, admiring him, feeling sorry for all those rotten emotions she had harbored against him. What was it like to be in his footpaws? What was it like to kill her mother, to rip her apart and extract a dead kitten from the womb? What was it like to find that kitten had survived, to care for it, keeping her by his side as they hunted him for three long years? That was when Vera said they received her, when she was three years old. He had never watched her grow, never knew the adolescent wildcat who she had become. Despite what she had wanted to believe, he had never forgotten her. He had kept the knife, after all.

"Hey, hey, hey, rainy face. Hey, proud warrior." A lump caught in her throat. "Let the sun come ? come out, you big ? you big bad h-hordesbeast. You know ?champion," she whispered, choking on her tears, "we ? we a-all have per ? permission ? t-t' make ? mis ? mis ? mis ?"

She couldn't finish.

Taking the dagger in her paw, Nyika drew the blade across his throat. Risk's blood pooled beside them.

"What are you doing?" Goragula's gravelly voice rumbled beside her.

Nyika sniffed, pressing her paw against her eyes to quell the tears as she turned to the toad. How long had he been standing there? She had forgotten him.

"I wanted him to have a peaceful death," she stammered, trying to offer an explanation.

"He was already dead."

"He was breathing."

"No, he wasn't."

The words shocked her, shaking the wildcat to her core.

"I've said this before, but you're an odd one, do you know that?"

Nyika shuddered, placing her head against Risk's body. "Yes."

"Do you agree?"

A fiery rage grew inside her at his words. What did he mean by that? Was he mocking her?

"Do you remember a squirrel by the name of Arenn? He had a wife about to bear child," she said.

There was no change in expression, no flinch. Nyika might as well have been talking about the weather.

She continued. "She was going to have a girl."

Nyika allowed a moment to let that sink in. A girl, just like her. And just like her, she had been condemned to death before she was even born. How terrible must it have been for the mother to know her life would end, that her child would never see the light of day? Was it anything like what her own mother had experienced? Nyika's paw tightened on the hilt of her dagger, her rage hotter than fire, more suffocating than smoke.

"Kill the toad," Clarence said in her ear.

"Will you leave it alone!" Nyika shrieked. "I'm not doing it!"

"Your vole friend, I wager?" Goragula was not amused.

Nyika's ears perked at his slip. She had not named Clarence as a vole. Still, she let it slide. "He is irritating me."

The toad nodded. "Why did you find it necessary to tell me what some wretch had in her womb?"

Nyika sighed, toying with the flap of Risk's slit throat. "I just thought you might like to know," she said, her voice bitter and resigned.

"Well, if you are finished making peace with yourself and your champion?" The word oozed with derision. "?I suggest we continue on our way, lest we find ourselves in the company of our enemies."

There was nothing else to do. Rising, Nyika led the way out of the small cave-in, dragging her foot paws as they continued to wander blindly through the tunnels. She had gone no more than a few paces before the sounds of a scuffle echoed through the passageways.

"Listen," Nyika said, holding out a paw. "Do you hear that?"

Goragula lifted his head. "It seems they have found our friends."

The wildcat's eyes went wide. She could hear Vanessa's highland threats mingled with the tremulous sounds of a thousand moles. What could they do? They couldn't very well just rush off into battle. By the sound of it, there were too many moles, all their "burr hurrs" and "oi gums"  drowning out the shouts and yells of her companions. Her mind raced, trying to think of a plan, a distraction. Anything would do. A terrible idea struck her.

"Back in here," Nyika said, ushering the toad where Risk lay fallen.

Once there, her order was succinct. "Skin him."

Goragula looked at her twice. "Excuse me?"

"Skin him!" Did he need an explanation? The ferret was too heavy to carry themselves, loaded down with supplies as they were. "He's not needing it, and we do!"

Whatever it was Nyika had planned, Goragula seemed to abandon wanting any and all knowledge. Raising the knife in his hand, he said, "As you wish, Grimalkin," and set to his grisly task.

It was a shoddy job, poorly done in haste, but it would serve her purposes. Once enough of Risk's flesh had been stripped from his body Nyika slung it over her shoulder, grabbed Goragula's torch, and bolted down the passageway, the stench of blood and fur and fire trailing in her wake. She did not know how far she ran until they ran into her.

"Nyika!" Vanessa shouted.

"Get behind me!" the wildcat commanded. Beyond them were scores of moles giving chase, wielding all manner of crude weaponry: torches, pitchforks, knives, and daggers to name a few.

She didn't have much time, but here she was. Nyika was in her element. Everything she had been training for built for this moment. Here she could steal the scene, make Gashrock proud of her. Show the rat what she was capable of. No more would Nyika be just the terrified seer sneaking around at night gathering information to make an authentic telling for Dewhurst and his players. Gashrock would see, and she'd love it. She'd beg to reform the troupe, and Nyika would be the greatest seer the circus had ever seen.

Tossing Risk's skin and her sacks to the ground, Nyika rummaged through her wares of alcohol, pulling out the strongest she could find and filling her mouth with the bitter liquid. Hoisting the torch aloft, she sprayed the alcohol as hard as she could, fire blooming from her mouth and singing her brow and whiskers. The moles hesitated, some shielding their eyes. She had their attention.

"Fire burn and brimstone bake,
Vulpuz open up thy Gates!
From his wrath thou won't be saved,
Return the ferret from the grave!"

Nyika had never prided herself on her improvisation, but she had to admit her chant was not half bad. Casting her torch on the ground, Nyika hurled the bottle of alcohol after it, fire erupting in a brilliant pillar of light. Past the blinding flames she could see the moles cower in terror. She needed to be quick, while they were distracted. Crouching down, Nyika threw Risk's skin over her body, his broken maw resting atop her head. Blood and gore clung to her, settling in her fur and sending a shudder down her back. The smell was overpowering. Through the bile rising in her throat Nyika stood, suppressing the urge to vomit as she snarled and hissed and growled in the best Risk impression she could muster.

"Hey, that's not half bad," Risk said next to her.

"Burr hurr, 'ee's backen!"

"Gurrt 'eavens!"

" 'E wurr deaden! Hoi seens it wit' moi ownen oiyes!"

"Eeeeee!!!"

It definitely had the effect she wanted. The moles scattered, trampling over each other in a frantic attempt to escape the monster that had decimated their ranks now risen from the grave. There was a rumble, and dirt exploded all around her.

When at last the dust had settled, Nyika found herself alone, fire in front of her and darkness behind. With no adrenaline surging through her veins, the smell of Risk's flesh enveloped her, causing her to retch and empty the contents of her stomach on the ground. It smelled a little better after that.

"Ha! Did you see them scatter? What a load of yellow-gutted trouser-less fools! Nobeast can face the wrath of Risk the Cutter, livin' or dead!"

Nyika turned her head to the side, saliva and bile dripping from her mouth. The wildcat blanched. It had been gibberish, an act, but there Risk was standing next to her, flexing his muscles and kissing his biceps. Whatever she said, whatever she had done, she had truly summoned Risk from the brink of Hellgates.

"Risk," Nyika said. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Aren't I? Ahh, forgot you could see ghosts ? I been hauntin' the moles! It's a lark. Death's great! Hey, fancy dressin', is that my pelt? Greenphlegm got back at me for his rat, eh? The old goober. He's a jolly old licorice, ain't he."

"I like licorice," Nyika retorted, then shook her head, repeating herself. "You're not supposed to be here!"

"Ah, leave me alone. I'm stayin' as long as I want. I don't hurt no more and I get to watch Zevka undress without being scolded. It's great."

Nyika gave him a frosty glare.

Risk shuffled his feet. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll turn around when you do."

"Hoo-eee!" Vanessa's voice reverberated off the walls, interrupting the unexpected reunion. "Ne'er had I seen somethin' like that in all me days! Nyika! Ye're a real bonnie lass, ye know that?" The highland otter padded up to the stricken wildcat.

It was Zevka who spoke next. "Don't tell me. Is that??"

"Risk?" Istvan's voice was incredulous.

"Nay! It's Nyika th' Cutter is who that is!" Vanessa said. She gave a brawny slap on Nyika's back, and the wildcat could feel the fat settle deeper into her fur.

"He's all over me," Nyika said, crouched and shivering. What had she done? What had gone through her head? She was disgusting.

"You ?" Zevka hesitated.

Nyika wondered what she had to say, hopeful for any encouraging words. "Saved us!" "Were great!" Her mind flitted through the possibilities. Anything to lessen the impact of her horrendous actions.

"Stink." Gashrock finished.

"Aye," Zevka said, bringing a paw to her nose and turning away.

Nyika gave a silent wail inside.

"We should leave," Goragula muttered behind them. "As brilliant as the Grimalkin's scheme was, the moles will regroup in time. We should take the advantage while we have it." Despite the toad's deadpan tone, there was a hint of admiration that surfaced.

"He's right," Zevka said. "Come on." She looked as though she were about to help Nyika rise, then remembered what she was covered in and decided instead to pick up the discarded sacks by their feet.

"We'll retrace our steps," Goragula said. "It's a clear path from where we last got separated. The base of the tree should still be open."

"Is it noo?" Vanessa blinked. "We ran intae blockage after blockage. Are ye sure th' path is clear?"

"Aye," Nyika said, wiling herself to stand. Her knees buckled. Zevka bent to help her, then let go and retched off to the side. "The moles were after you two. I don't think they knew we were here."

"Let's get going then," Istvan said. "Before they gather their courage. May the All-Mother keep their wills at bay."

"Nyika?" Zevka said, lingering for a minute as the rest of them began running back the way the wildcat and toad had come. "You may wish to discard that." She indicated Risk's skin.

Nyika nodded, casting aside her second set of fur. Seeing his body flop on the ground like that, half his head lolling at an unnatural angle, sent a pang of sadness through her. Slick with blood and gore, Nyika ran a paw through her headfur, grabbing globules of fat and slinging them to the ground in a stomach wrenching splat. Once again Risk the Cutter had spared her from death. How many lives did she have left? Five? Four? Three of them she owed to Risk alone, maybe more.

Her ears swiveled at the sound of a cry. "Wait," she said.

Zevka turned around.

Moving past the dying flames, Nyika went to where the moles had panicked. A few had been left behind, buried in dirt from the frantic cave-in. One was alive. It was a child, no more than a few seasons, curled against the legs of his parents and crying softly.

"Hello?" Nyika said, approaching with cautious steps.

"Nyika!" Zevka hissed. "Get back here!"

The molebabe sniffed, wiping dirty claws against his snout. "Is 'ee gurt moonster gone?"

"Aye," Nyika said, ignoring Zevka's growls to leave him be. "He's gone. What's your name?"

"Gypsumfur," the molebabe said.

"Come with me," Nyika said, extending a paw.

Gypsumfur hesitated. " 'Ee smell turrible."

The wildcat smiled. "I know."

Taking his paw, Nyika led him away from the ghostly apparitions that lingered behind.