Past the Point of No Return

[Brooga Delfan]

It would have been nothing short of a lie to say that Brooga had not been utterly terrified the very moment she saw the silver wolf and heard her soft voice. The mole stood behind Tassle, wishing silently a thousand times that she had never set footpaw on this wicked island, and then a thousand times more that she had never seen a ship, let alone boarded one.

Brooga's gaze was fixed on Meena ? was that really her name? Could she have a name? Or perhaps she had misheard her , and she was not ?Meena,? but ?Mother.? Mother, that word that was so terrible now. That word should have meant hot Deeper'n'ever Pie and tight hugs and safety and comfort. That word should have brought to mind a gentle, homely face, covered in velvety fur so much like her own.

It meant nameless, deadly shadows and bones that ached with fear.

She squinted across the firelit room, trying in vain to see the wolf's face. Her eyesight was so poor. She had no chance, not in this flickering, heathen light.

Brooga's terror ebbed slightly, giving way to a strange desire to know the beast by whose paw she was likely to meet her end. Here. Now. One shuffling, silent step forward.

And then it came. A howl, filled with a word, a single word. The terror rushed, flooded back. The silver wolf rose up terrible, turned and her back was to the flames and she became a black silhouette. And the light danced against her eyes and her teeth.

?Oh, sweet, small, wicked things. What... what have you... done??

Her words were snarled. Her teeth were bared. And she stood ? tall, a dark goddess against the red firelight. Yes, a goddess, an angry goddess, and before her stood the two she could blame. She held a bow in one paw, a full quiver in the other, and there was death in her eyes.

Brooga had never heard a beast talk so slowly, letting each word speak a volume on its own before it faded murderously into the shadows.

?You will pay, you will pay with blood.?

And she was gone. Passing the way only a queen or a great lady can. For an instant shrew and mole stood wide eyed, silent, and still. And then a heroic light glowed in Tassle's eyes, and she began rushing forward, after the she-wolf.

?Come on, Brooga! We fight for freedom!?

And Brooga's terror was gone, or at least hidden. But its place was not taken by the heroism and wild bravery that was Tassle's.

Moles are strong creatures. Not brutishly strong like a badger. Not sleekly powerful like an otter. But steadfast, strong in will and hardly weak in body. And Brooga was nothing but an average, normal mole. Her strength had kept her alive on the slaver ship, and sane on this cursed island.

Tassle never made it more than the smallest pawful of steps before she found herself pushed against the wall and held there by Brooga's broad digging claws.

?No, Mizz Tassle. Oi won' 'ave it. Oi won' 'ave 'ee killin' 'eeself jus' becuz 'ee think 'ee c'n foight off that thurr monster wolfer.?

And even then the tears were welling in her eyes. She was scared ? there was no denying it now, and she never would have, even before. But still she didn't let Tassle move.

Shrieks and screams howled from the other room as the survivors, wolf and vermin and woodlander alike battled on terribly. Brooga felt a panicky fear pooling up, deep insider her, and spreading through her limbs until she was shaking from the tip of her velvet snout to the end of her tail.

And she almost let go.

But Tassle still fought against her, and if she let her go now, she would be letting her friend rush madly into Death's gaping maw. And somewhere, deep inside Brooga, deeper even than her ever growing terror, there was a tiny, growing spark of firm resolve.

?Brooga! Stop it, let me go! I can ? we've got to! It's now or never!?

But Brooga didn't let go. She had backed down when she had crossed Ulrick, days, or perhaps merely hours before. But not now.

?Oi said no, Mizz Tassle. 'Ee be no gudd 'tall if'n 'ee be dead'n. We don' foight t'day. Not naow.?

Tassle relaxed. Brooga dropped her arms hastily, and tried to ignore the shaking that took hold of her entire body. A pair of salty tears escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, soaking into her fur as they went, leaving damp trails behind them in the grime.

?Fine, Brooga. We don't fight now. But then what do we do??

Brooga looked up. ?Oi...?

The words ?don't know? hovered at the end of her tongue and almost rushed out. But they were wrong. She did know. Even just this once, she did know.

?We run. 'Ee wolfers bain't imposserble t' kill, an' we moight do't if'n we foind them alone, not t'gethurr.?

Brooga didn't smile. She was giving instructions to kill, a plan to kill. The wolves wanted to leave just as much as they did, perhaps more. Fates knew they had lost so much ? their home, friends, loved ones, just as every other beast who had been wrecked here. But they had lost more, as well. Meena, Mother sounded like she must have once been a great lady, or more. And now, here she was. A dark, twisted, abandoned queen of a death-filled island, bereft of everything, even her sanity.

And Brooga, even in the grip of that greatest of terrors, felt pity for her. Felt pity for poor Meena, who was just as much a victim of this terrible place as any other beast that had set paw in these tunnels and corridors.

Tassle's voice broke into her thoughts, and the mole shuddered, but she was listening.

?Well, then. It sounds as good as anything to me. Let's go get Roger and the rat.?

And so they went out into the blackness that was the tunnel once more. Brooga led the way, stepping carefully as the shadows rose up around them. She knew where they were going, and where they had to go, or at least where they might have to go. That was good enough for now. She even felt almost calm.

But that dream was shattered in an instant.

The howls and screams and clamor of battle had echoed through the caves and passages ? ghosts of warriors not yet dead. Obligo had heard them where he sat next to Roger, and the tunnels tricked him. The noises had danced through this passage and that, until nobeast could tell where they came from. But to that one terrified, pathetic rat, they had sounded like they came from behind him, through the corridors that Tassle had marched him through.

Terror is far too weak a word for the feeling that clawed at his heart and mind. He leaped up and ran, ran charging madly, blindly down the passageway he had refused to continue through so recently. And Roger followed him, shouting and yelling for the scrawny creature to stop.

And so it was that instead of retreating back into safety, into the tunnels away from the wolves and the fighting and the death, Brooga and Tassle found themselves running towards it. Roger was the only one left besides them. They couldn't let him die ? not for a beast like Obligo.

The cavern opened up before them. Wide, bloody, filled with the remains of more beasts than Brooga could, or wanted to, count. And there were the wolves. White and silver in a crazed dance with badger and rat, and the black lay dead on the floor. And it would only be a matter of minutes before all way decided, for better or for worse.