Kikuyu_Black_Paws

No of course not! I never suggested anything of the sort. I'm glad you shared your opinion with me.

Thank you Preprise for your honesty. I must say, your post made made me laugh. I've never been associated with teenage anxt or depression in any part of my life. I'm a generally chipper person. I could not supress a chuckle. And the observation that it was more of a rant than a finished piece, well, you would be absolutely and 100% correct. This was at about 7:50 in the morning, I was on a sour computer with a sleepy headache, and I had a test over which I wasn't exactly sure what it was about. And trust me, if you had my school computers, you'd want to rant too. But I thank you, and I'll try to stay away from the 'emo ranter' sort of type. Perhaps you should look at some of my other poems, if only to assure you that I'm not the kind of girl who sits in the corner and considers all the types of flaws that can be aimed at myself.

A Beatles song? I've never gotten that before!

Kikuyu stands on a wooden platform thirteen by thirteen feet raised five feet off of the ground and looks at her bare feet. Her hair hangs loosely around her face, and she is wearing an uncharacteristic bard blouse and skirt. The skirts edge has been cut off to free her ankles, and she wears black and white stockings beneath. A weaved cloth bodice gathers the excess material of the shirt to leave her torso free of motion. In her mind she runs over the happenings of the day and closes her eyes, a small smile on her lips. She recalls: the talk, the dance, the screams, the songs, the kiss...her mouth widens in a wry grin at that and she opens her blue-green-grey eyes, looking up at the trees that surround her. She is standing on a deserted faire ground, the floor heavily padded with sand and pine needles. The air is fresh with the scent of fallen rain and crushed cranberries from the harvest. Slowly she turns a small circle, the bells on her ankles chattering their musical sound. Her feet move fast, arched and sure, as she dances a small circle around herself, arms in the air. She looks at her feet, her secret smile hiding her feelings. A quick back turn over and she leaps into the air, her skirts flying, dancing quicker now. She imagines she is surrounded by eyes that would watch her, and she would dance for many of them. A wild yip that sounds much like a fox's cry bursts from her lips as she kicks one of her knives into the air. She catches it's flat side on her head and balances. With a final, sad yip she throws it into the air again and sheathes it. Dego is standing nearby, dressed in black and red, but also in a skirt and blouse and bodice. Teal is all around them, but they must leave. But here they are not Dego and Kiku. They are Fallen and Slack, and they may not stay. Slowly they leave the forest and slip back into their other bodies, leaving the silent watches behind. The teal dissipates into the forest, to be hidden until their next dance.

If lies were cat's you'd be a litter, That's what my mother said. But somehow I think she's wrong; If I had been a better liar...perhaps I wouldn't be dead. It started with the war you see, And the parachute, that's also key, But when I jumped into this jungle, It wasn't for a cup of tea. I was wounded, sure, but not too bad, A mangled leg and bloodied arm, No biggie, I thought, and looked around, To see I'd fallen into...a dundlyfowl farm. ??Ok, yeah I know, what's that doing here? But this is the truth, I swear! And they looked up at me with their beady eyes, And bared their sharp teeth...what inimical glares!!! So, what could I do, I pulled out my gun, Though what to do with it I can't believe, It's empty of any bullets, useless, as always, And I thought, that'd be a good time to leave. But they're bloodthirsty things, dundlyfowls, And they attacked me most brutally... What??? Wellllll, yeah it's hard to believe. OK OK! I'm lying, but how else was I to explain? This mangled leg and bloodied arm... OK, that didn't happen either, Nor was there a dundlyfowl farm. I jumped out of the plane and got blown home, Over the ocean about 1000 miles... No, that's not true either, Ok, I'm stuck here sorting files. -------- BWAHAHAHAHHA for random poems at 8:30 in the morning. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA next line: Do you want some grape juice?

Finally, the sequel you all...erm *cough*, well, some of you, have been waiting for!!! Sorry it took me so long. I hope some of you read it and post your opinions on how the story developed and concluded. And no, Live-Action-Butt-Kicking-Osma plushies are not for sale.

Mercenary He stood on the deck of the ship, cleaning the planking of moss, salt-scum, and mud tracked in from the port. Every now and then he’d glance up under his hat, his youthful, feminine face thin from poor food and little of it. Thin, long lips pressed together as his blue-grey-green eyes swept the port, searching, always searching. “Oi, cabin boy!” a harsh voice snarled. The boy looked up just in time to receive a face-full of scummy water as one of the men slammed his foot into his bucket, flooding his cleaned decking and soaking his only pair of clothing. “You missed a spot!” Raucous laughter rang hotly in the boy’s ears as he wiped his face off, biting his lips to keep from saying something stupid. Cheeks burning, he grabbed his scrub brush and began again, blinking back hot, frustrated tears. Four days, he thought. Four days and not a word, sight, or sound. Is she even alive? Will I ever know? At these awful, heart-wrenching thoughts the boy paused, eyes shut tight with pain. Physical agony he could handle. Humiliation and slavery as well. But these past four days had been an agony of hopes and minutes ticking by into long spent hours of watching the port. In less than a week they would be making their way out into the high seas. Leaving her behind. For a moment the boy put his hand to his chest and considered the weapons hidden there, the long knives laid flat against his sternum and back. With all the clothing he wore, it did well to disguise their existence, and that of another secret he held dear to his heart. He scratched dark brown hair with red-gold highlights coiled up under his hat. On the one occasion when a single lock of this long hair had fallen out from under his tri-corner hat, his cover had been nearly blown. Only the hasty lie that his mother had made him promise to never cut it on her death bed had saved him. However, there were some who were still suspicious: that man being one of them. He and his cronies made it their mission to make his life miserable, from day one. The cabin boy smiled grimly to himself and ran the back of his wrist across his eyes. Their time would come. When his twin came... More agonized worries flushed through his body like a wave of heat, pushing from his core. A sharp pain pulsed from his belly and he coiled in on himself, putting a hand to his stomach. The sheet of rules, yellowed from age and wear, lay under his shirt as well, and he knew the words there as if they were emblazoned upon the deck before him. Too long without a shift, or too many in a short time, will result in deterioration and, eventually, death. Death is only the extreme case of neglect and/or misuse; it lies a long way off, but even a few days can bring long-lasting harm. The boy closed his eyes and sighed. Suddenly the sun blazing pink against his eyelids grew dark gold as a shadow was cast over him. Gazing up and shielding his eyes from the sun’s glare, the boy looked up into the first mate’s weathered glare. “Captain wants to see ye, boy.” The boy gave a weary sigh and stood up, brushing off his clothes with soggy hands. Without a word he followed the first mate back to the captain’s quarters. The captain looked up as he entered, slight and small next to the first mate’s broad-shouldered, six-foot bulk. “Ah, the cabin boy. Your name is Fallen, am I correct?” Fallen nodded slowly, his eyes hooded and wary. The captain turned back to scratching with his quill at some uninteresting piece of parchment. “There has been a change in plans,” he said. “We were going to postpone our departure until the first day of summer, six days hence, but the tides are not with us. We shall have to leave tomorrow.” “T-tomorrow!” Fallen choked. The captain smiled. “Ah, he speaks! Yes, tomorrow.” “And...and this concerns me, why, sir?” Fallen whispered, not trusting his voice to remain calm. “Well, my first mate here has seen you watching the port. Are you, perhaps, waiting for someone? You know we will not keep you aboard without your desire. If you wish to leave and seek out the one you are watching for, by all means, feel free.” Fallen looked at the floor beneath his feet, felt his hands shaking as he curled them into fists. “No,” he whispered. “I’ll stay aboard.” The captain watched the boy before him for a moment more. “As you wish. You may return to your cabin to prepare.” Fallen nodded and turned on his heel, moving out into the deep halls of the ship, his mind awhirl with trouble. He dared not think of what would happen if his twin did not come...if they left and they had not been reunited... He sank against the wall and pulled his hat off, and long locks of hair hanging almost to his waist revealed his true nature. Fallen wept quietly, wiping tears from her face. She had not cried since her time with the Rogue, not a week ago. It already seemed years and years away. She now wished she could go back, if only to be with her twin again. Cheshire’s face swam before her gaze and she hugged herself, sobbing softly. The little bright bauble in her chest that glowed inside when her sister was near was dark and cool, untouched and aching. “Well, well, what’s this?” Fallen looked up and scrabbled for her hat, realizing she had let her guard down at the worst possible time. Two sailors, two of the men who distrusted her and had decided to rid the ship of her, stood blocking the hallway. The man at the front leered at her. “Looky lads,” he snarled. “The little cabin boy is actually a little cabin girl! I don’t think that’s allowed.” His mate behind him pulled at his collar, smiling nastily. “It’s hot down here, isn’t it?” “Aye,” the leader agreed, advancing on Fallen. “Too hot for our little cabin boy to be wearing all those clothes. As ship mates we should help him out.” Fallen felt cold fury and fear rush through her body as she took a step back. Her blades were in easy reach, but if she killed them then her identity would be either revealed or she would be labeled a murderer. Too bad you already are one, a sardonic voice muttered at the back of her skull. Fallen turned to run but hands closed on her shoulders as the third crony appeared behind her. “Here, mate,” he leered. “Let me help you!” His hands tore at her first layer of clothing, ripping the arm of her shirt off. Fallen’s knife was in her hand before any of them could blink. She was about to use it, too, when a harsh voice echoed through the close hallway. “What’s all this!?” The three sailors turned slowly to see a very, very, very tall man glowering at them. Behind him were four others, cloaked for traveling and carrying bags. “Nothing, sir,” the leader said. “We were just helping our little friend here. We’ll get out of your way now.” “I dinnae think ye were helping her,” one of the men said coldly, his highland accent thickening his enraged tone. “How about we help you,” another said, and he brushed his shoulder-length blonde hair out of his eyes, staring each one down. “N-no sirs,” the leader said, backing away from Fallen. “We’ll just be going.” The three sailors fled, leaving the cabin boy shivering in the hallway, her left arm bared up to the shoulder. Without a word she snapped her dagger back into its sheath on her back and turned away before the men could see her tears or her fear. “Hold on, lass,” one of the men said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She flinched in spite of herself and glared up at him distrustfully. He was the tall one, with brown hair swept back from his brow and warm brown eyes. “You’re shaking.” “I’m fine,” Fallen said stiffly. She picked up her hat and coiled her hair into place, ramming the cap onto her head. “If you’ll just excuse me, I need to go change.” “No, I’m afraid that won’t do,” the man with blonde hair growled. “We have to report this to the captain and have them trussed up properly. Fallen shivered. “He can’t know I’m a...” “A girl?” the tall one asked, smiling. “I’m afraid there’s no hiding that now. Come, we’ll take you to him.” Fallen felt very small surrounded by the three tall men. Each was six feet at least, and the tallest among them was probably well over that. She was barely over five feet herself, and she had already hit her growth spurt. From five feet to five foot two, she made a very easy target to hide. The captain looked up again from his work as the three men entered his cabin. “Ah, the bards, I hope you find your trip comfortable. I thought my first mate had already directed you to your rooms—” he broke off as his eyes fell on the girl in their midst. “Is that...isn’t that our cabin boy?” The men stepped away from her and the captain nearly choked. “A girl!” he hissed. “Young lady, please cover yourself!” At first Fallen did not understand. Then one of the men plunked his cloak over her, covering her single bared shoulder. Fallen blinked. She had been stripped down to much less for training, and they found this offensive? She felt as if she were in a totally different world. “Now,” the captain sighed. “Would someone please explain?” “It seems,” one of the bards said, “that your cabin boy is actually a girl. No helping that, it happens all the time. But while we were on our way to our rooms, we saw three of your men attacking her, attempting to do who knows what. I highly suggest you have them punished.” “String ‘em up!” the highland bard snarled. “No man ought to be attackin’ women.” The captain tapped his forehead and sighed again. “They will be punished. As for you,” he said, turning his eyes to the girl before him, “I suppose I have no choice but to let you stay. Obviously you have no where else to go if you disguised yourself to get aboard this ship.” “Captain! Captain!” The captain swore under his breath. “What now?” he asked exasperatedly. The door burst open to reveal a tall young woman, the first mate standing bewildered behind her. Her long wavy brown hair, streaked with red, hung well to her waist. She wore sleek brown slacks, high boots, three belts hung with weapons, and a neat vest that hugged her shape. Her wild, blue-green-grey eyes flashed from under long lashes as she stood there, cheeks flushed. She looked vaguely familiar, and yet startlingly different. For a moment she stood there, her eyes fixed on Fallen. With a yelp Fallen ran to her, and they embraced so tightly that for a moment the captain, first mate, and three bards stared in utter confusion. “Now what is going on!?” the captain roared, reaching the end of his patience. Fallen and the unknown girl released each other, and the uninvited guest plunked down on the floor unceremoniously. “You explain, Fallen,” the girl sighed as she yanked on her boots. “I’m much too busy.” Fallen could not stop grinning. “This is my twin sister, Che—” “Slack,” the girl interrupted. She stood up again, leaving her boots on the ground. All company blinked. Instead of a tall girl, they saw an identical match to the cabin girl, except that her hair was a tad curlier and her eyes calmer. “Weren’t you just...” the tallest bard began. “Fake boots,” the girl said cheerfully. “Very handy, made me about four inches taller!” “There’s two of them!” the captain blustered. “Aye,” the first mate sighed. “We’ll never tell them apart.” Slack cleared her throat and tugged on her sister’s arm. “If I may, Captain, could I steal my sister away? We have much catching up to do...” The captain looked between the girls and smiled. “So she was the one you were waiting for,” he muttered to himself. “By all means, go. Goodness knows how long you’ve been kept waiting.” The twins exited the cabin in silence, keeping carefully away from each other. The bewildered captain, first mate, and trio of bards watched them silently and with much scratching of heads. Cheshire and Mouse sat in the small cabin that the former cabin boy had called his own for near a week. They knelt cross-legged, staring at each other without speaking. Silent comprehension went through them, and each trembled from the remains of beliefs that the other was dead. Another moment and they were pressed forehead to forehead, tears streaming silently down their cheeks. I thought you were dead! So did I, Cheshire said silently. What took you so long? When we were first separated, I went ten miles down the coast searching for you. It was only after I heard a rumor about the Rogue’s men farther up that I turned about. I had to inquire at every ship for you. I’m sorry I was late. No, Mouse hiccupped softly. You came just in time. I thought...I thought I’d lost you. So did I, Cheshire repeated. So did I. The sun glittered and reflected in the lapping waves like firelight in a many-faceted jewel. Above, the sky was flawless save for in the east direct ahead, where huge boiling clouds grew and simmered, smiling down at them with wicked intent and plans for one of the biggest storms on record. A seagull shrieked as it wheeled above the masts, its black tipped wings tilting as it rode the heat waves rising from the deck. At the rail, Cheshire stood barefoot, drinking in the sunshine. After three weeks aboard the ship, smelling nothing but salt and fish, the faint hint of earth and leaves and something spicy was a fresh scent on the wind. Beneath the rumbling of the clouds far in the distance, a tiny shimmer of green on the horizon bade welcome to the ship. The seagull gave another wail before darting down in front of the ship, flapping its wings hard as it made for its home ahead. Cheshire let her hair down from its strict horsetail high on her head, the brown curls flapping in the headwind. She smiled as it curled and tickled around her neck and ears teasingly, sweeping her hair up and around. The dark blue kimono she wore smelled of spicy teas and a strange herbal soap that the doctor had used to wash his hands and arms with before examining a patient. Cheshire lifted her wrist and smelled the cloth, closing her eyes. Her heart ached with longing for her friends: the silent, elegant, mysterious Ikasaa, the beautiful, witty, roguish Krio. Mouse appeared beside her silently, wearing the clothing that Krio had given her especially for her shifting. It was tightly woven in dark green cloth, and as soft as silk to the touch. Her own hair was pulled up as Cheshire’s had been, in a high horsetail with tiny tendrils too short hanging around her face. “We’re almost there,” she whispered. Cheshire pushed a lock of hair from her eyes and smiled quietly to herself. “Ikasaa said that his family lived in the east...what do you think it will be like?” Mouse shrugged. “Lots of people dressed like you and plenty of places to drink tea.” Cheshire grinned. “I think I’ll like it.” “Do you think there will be a Rogue there?” Mouse asked softly. Cheshire’s smile faded. “There’s no doubt about it. But...at least we won’t be enslaved by him. Perhaps...we could do scut work, you know; never kill anyone.” Mouse stared at the ocean. “It’s all we know how to do. We’ll find Ikasaa’s relatives and see if we can stay with them. Maybe they have a business we could help with...but if that fails we’ll have to go back to the Rogue.” Her brow darkened in fury. “But not as before,” she whispered. Cheshire closed her eyes, tilting her head up to the sun, which for so long had been a symbol of failure during her time as a rogue. “Never as before,” she breathed. The little row boat ground to a halt on the silver-stoned beach. For a moment Cheshire sat stock still, staring up at the tall green mountains. Here and there a blossoming cherry tree, in vibrant, delicate maroons and pinks, spread its wonder on the mountainsides. A waterfall roared faintly in the distance, its mist appearing around the cleft of one of the mountains, turning rainbow and iridescent in the faint sunlight. The huge, threatening clouds from before rumbled deep in their throats, glaring down upon the newcomers to the shore, warning them away. It’s so strange, Cheshire thought. She stepped out of the row boat and looked about her. That this is where Ikasaa came from...the land feels just like him. So exotic and strange and dangerous. It feels...Cheshire closed her eyes and shuddered as a cold wind buffeted her face. It feels like a storm. A firm hand clutched her elbow as she swayed. “Easy lass,” the highland bard murmured, pushing her gently onto her center of balance. “It’s hard to get your sea legs at first.” Cheshire shivered again and looked at the ground. “It wasn’t that.” The bard frowned before letting her go, eyeing her curiously. “You have a story behind you.” Cheshire looked at him fiercely, her blue-grey-green eyes flat cold. “It’s in the past,” she said stonily. “It needs to stay there.” The bard raised his brows and shrugged. “All right then, lass.” Mouse appeared beside her as the bard trudged back to retrieve his and his companions’ luggage. “What’s the matter?” she whispered. Cheshire shrugged. “I don’t know,” she breathed. “I felt...I felt like we were being watched.” Almost as if to prove the fact, she scanned the beach around them. Just where the cliffs began to rise, a willow tree stirred and a cherry tree let its leaves fall in the wind, but there was no sign of anyone. “I guess it was just a feeling.” Mouse watched her sister carefully. “Neither of us just have ‘feelings’. You know that.” Cheshire rubbed her arms, frowning, and without even knowing it her hand touched her stomach where a long hidden scar tracked its way across her abdomen. Mouse’s brow furrowed as she read into this gesture that even Cheshire did not feel, but she said nothing. “We’ll just have to keep our wits about us,” Cheshire said. “Until we locate Ikasaa’s relatives.” “Yes,” Mouse agreed. “That should do it.” Though deep inside of them, neither believed it. Their old selves began to tug at their clever disguises, pulling back the scarlet embroidery on their sleeves, yanking at memories of hidden instincts and dangerous thoughts. A hand touched the stony beach where the boats had come in. Now it was all quiet, and only the scars etched into the stone marked their passing. A pair of tiny boot prints dug deeply into the stone. It was this the weathered hand rested upon, touching the prints reverently, tenderly. The fingers curled around a stone and pressed, the tendons popping until the stone had been ground to dust. Dressed in normal traveling clothes, but with tiny red bars embroidered onto his sleeves, the man followed the path with his eyes, up towards the mountains. A tiny smirk twitched his lips and his rough, lined face crinkled slightly. His bright green eyes flashed from behind long, black, lank hair. He spit on the ground and walked away, back into the shadows of the trees, back to the willow in which he had been hiding hours before to watch the arrival of the minstrels, crew, and strange twins. As he went, several knives caught the light with a flash before he slipped silkily into invisibility. Cheshire stared in awe as they crested the hill to gaze down at the village below. After about half an hour walking through wilderness, the crew had come upon a worn path carved directly into the mountains and forest. There, a man wearing a broad cone-shaped hat that made Cheshire’s skin crawl, leaned against a pair of fat donkeys that snuffled in his hands for treats. The man lifted the hat, revealing hair dark as ebony and pulled back into a long horsetail that trailed well below his waist line. He was dressed in a cream jacket and black slacks. He smiled, and something in his smile rang vaguely of Ikasaa; perhaps the faint lifting of the corners of his lips...perhaps the glow in his black eyes. “Welcome,” he said. “Please follow me. The village is not two miles away.” He loaded the luggage into the cart and clucked the donkeys on. With faint grumblings they pulled the cart up the track, their long ears leading the way. The man walked at their head, murmuring encouragement and the occasional praise, keeping his eyes on the road and off of his customers. Now they were at the crest of the hill, looking down into the village that they had spoken of. Again she shivered as she looked at it. The commoners’ huts were well taken care of, and each had a small plot for either a vegetable garden or a chicken coop. To the north the fields stretched wide, pale green with the buds of rice. An orchard filled the fields to the east. The west and south were occupied by mountains and a river. Heads covered by the popular broad cone hats were bent at work, either in the fields or fishing in the river. Women cared for children or gardened near their homes. A field of golden grasses was filled by young men holding wooden swords and long bows, practicing their martial arts, archery, and swordsmanship. “And there is the Rogue’s palace,” the young man said proudly, gazing down at the village. For a moment Cheshire stood stunned. At the center of the village stood a high, angular palace with slanting beams and colorful paintings. Cheshire swayed again on her feet, dazed. “That...that’s the Rogues palace?” “Yes,” the man said simply. “We are very proud of our Rogue. He protects us.” Cheshire swallowed, unable to comprehend how any Rogue could invoke pride in his people, or protect instead of harm. However, she was not given time to think, for they were on their way again, closer to the very thing Cheshire and Mouse had been running from. They crossed through the village with a few stares; they were not hostile, merely curious. The great doors of the palace opened to them after they climbed many steps. The common crew and the luggage made their way for their quarters, joking and laughing. The captain, first mate, bards, and twins made their way to a formal waiting room to clean up. The men were about to begin stripping when two elegant females stepped into the room, dressed in beautiful black and violet bamboo printed kimonos. They scolded in musical voices, shooing the men out of the room. It was only then that they remembered that two girls were in their midst, red-faced with their hands clapped across their eyes. The half-dressed men said not a word as they were shoved out. The women poured a large, hot bath and erected a long paper screen for the girls. After the twins were settled neatly into the bath, they let the men back in to the far side of the room, but only so far. They were not allowed within ten feet of the screen. As the girls bathed, the women went through their things to find them fresh clothes. They clucked over travel-stained shirts and bustled them away to who knew where, and practically cried with envy and admiration over Cheshire’s two kimonos. They buried their faces in the cloth and inhaled, their eyes wide and astonished as they looked at the girls. A faint smile touched their lips, knowing, and they put the kimonos aside. Suddenly they went still, staring at the clothing that was stuffed unceremoniously at the bottom of their bag. One of the women reached a tentative hand inside and began to pull out a black shirt with red bands on the sleeves... “NO!” Mouse shrieked, lunging half out of the tub and almost causing herself a great embarrassment had Cheshire not been in the way and the sides of the tub so high. The men all jumped on the other side of the room and the woman dropped the shirt sleeve guiltily, staring wide-eyed at Mouse as if she were some wild woman from the mountains. They hurriedly grabbed the dirty things and disappeared, leaving the bag and the kimonos. “Plagues,” one of the bards breathed. “What was that for, whichever one of you that was?” Mouse huddled down in the water and blew bubbles at herself, silent and brooding, her thoughts hidden even from Cheshire. After a few more minutes, the women appeared again, holding huge fluffy towels. The one Mouse had shouted at did not look her in the eyes as she held the towel out, obviously chagrined and unhappy. Mouse, once she was firmly wrapped in her towel, touched her shoulder softly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. The woman looked up at her and gave a faint, nervous smile, and nodded. The other woman clucked at them and made the girls sit, and began combing out their long, slick hair that had turned as dark as an otter’s skin in the wet. Once their hair was mostly dry and already beginning to curl on itself, the women helped Cheshire into the scarlet kimono. A borrowed kimono of dark forest green printed in cream dragons was pulled over Mouse’s bewildered and complaining head, but they would not take no for an answer. The bath and the screen were taken away, as was their bag, leaving the two girls dressed in their elegant kimonos, their hair falling softly about their shoulders, in front of six stunned and staring men. Blushes flared to both of their cheeks and immediately Mouse delved into herself, staring at the ground. Cheshire stared boldly back at the men, ignoring her flushed cheeks, not realizing that they and the red kimono only made her eyes appear bluer than they actually were. One of the bards coughed and looked hastily away. “Well what do you know,” he said. “They actually are girls!” Before Cheshire could come up with a clever retort, a young man dressed elegantly himself appeared at a door. “You will be seen now. Please follow me.” The crew was led into a large dining hall where floor cushions and servants were placed at convenient intervals. All over the walls, long, many-legged dragons curled their way through flowers and bamboo, their fierce eyes and wide smiling mouths blossoming fire and petals. At the far end, sitting on a couch and drinking tea, was a man who looked very familiar. “Introducing the Captain of the Starwind and his First Mate Jeffreys. The four bards of Alvon. The twins Cheshire and Fallen.” All of the crew started and looked at the girls, who stared gaping at the announcer. Their faces paled and they immediately began analyzing the room for weapons, escapes, and possible vantage points. “How did he know?” Mouse whispered, feeling all of the blood drain from her upper half and pool uncomfortably in her fingers and toes. “Please, do not be alarmed my dears,” the man on the couch stood. He was dressed in a long simple kimono of black. His hair was cut around his earlobes, and his eyes...were violet. “My nephew sent word of your approach nigh on three weeks ago.” “Cheshire? Mouse?” one of the bards muttered. “I thought they were Slack and Fallen?” “Obviously they aren’t,” the first mate muttered, his eyes flat. “We did it for our own protection,” Mouse said softly. “You don’t understand.” “No,” the man in the kimono said. “I believe you are right about that. However, I might. After all, my nephew has been under his reign longer than your imprisonment was, if less harsh.” “And you are?” the Captain asked in his bold way. “I was under the impression that this was the Rogue’s palace and that we were meeting the Rogue.” The man smiled, again sending a shock of familiarity through the girls. Now that they knew they were looking at Ikasaa’s uncle, the little smirk that the doctor had graced them with so often was unmistakable. “I’m afraid the Rogue is away on business. I am here in his stead, his personal doctor.” “B-buisness?” Cheshire choked. “Rogues don’t go on buisness!” The man looked gravely at her. “Yours may not have, my dear, but ours does.” One of the servants bowed low from behind the man. “Introducing Kei-Roh-Kei, the Doctor of Amishori.” The doctor smiled. “You may call me Keiroh.” Cheshire was leaning her arms against the wall of the stone balcony outside of the room she and Mouse shared when shouts attracted her attention. Young boys and girls were running after a trio of horsemen. The people in the fields were standing up and waving, their faces stretched into smiles and laughs. Cheshire shaded her eyes as she peered into the sun to see the face of the ones who were riding up. “What is it?” Mouse’s voice echoed from inside. Cheshire lowered her hand slowly as the words the people were shouting came to her ears. “It’s the Rogue.” He was thin. That was the first thing Cheshire noticed about him. Whether from poor diet or just a high metabolism, the Rogue of Amishori was extremely thin, as well as tall. Cheshire was again reminded of Ikasaa and his mysterious smile. However, this man did not look anything like Ikasaa or his uncle Keiroh. The Rogue had long dark hair pulled into an intricate knot at the back of his head, the tail end falling down to the lower part of his back. Two long locks of hair framed his narrow and elegant angular face, his large eyes as dark as obsidian. When he blinked, his long dark lashes were visible against his skin. His mouth was long and thin, set in a non-expression of disinterest. However his eyes...his eyes held all of his emotions. He wore a black, sleeveless shirt with a high throat. Dark leggings clad his long legs and dark slippers made his feet as soundless as a cat in the forest. The only remarkable thing about his apparel was a tiny sapphire stone set in a choker around his neck. Cheshire felt her heart beating hard in her chest. She could practically feel Mouse’s heart hammering away beside her. According to the wishes of the Rogue, Cheshire and Mouse had been asked to dress in their rogue apparel, much to their chagrin and fear; but then, who could argue with the Rogue. Their long hair hung around their grim faces, spreading along their backs. The black shirts with the red bands and leggings now stretched across their shoulders, fitting like gloves to their masters’ hands. They both wore identical dark blue tunics that Ikasaa had made for them. Their weapons they had left upstairs. The Rogue greeted Kei-Roh-Kei first, his smile wide and gracious. Then he turned to the captain and his first mate, and to the bards beside them, nodding to them in turn. Finally and lastly, he turned to the twins. For a long time he stared at them, his large dark eyes unmoving as he took in their appearance, savoring their presence. Cheshire knew she was trembling. For a moment she saw Kathyr in this man’s eyes—a potential trap that neither she nor her sister would escape from without harm. The Rogue strode silently up to them, towering high over them by at least a foot. Slowly he sank to his knee and bowed his head. He took their hands in his own and lowered his head over them. “Welcome,” he whispered. “From one rogue to another.” The bards glanced at each other, their eyebrows raised in shock and surprise. Everywhere they went they knew of rogues—their prowess with all things secretive and every style of fighting was legendary. Now the two girls whom they had thought they knew so well...were not the people they knew at all. The Rogue stood, giving their hands a final squeeze. “I know what you have been through to get here,” he said. “And I commend you for your strength and bravery.” Cheshire swallowed, suddenly realizing who this man reminded her of. Was she forced to face every ghost of her past?! “I am sorry for you loss,” she whispered. “Were you close?” The Rogue closed his eyes without a word. “As you are to your other half, as I was to my younger brother and sister. I do not blame you for their death, so long ago. They died at the hands of the Rogue, and no other.” Cheshire closed her eyes and felt her trembling stop. “Thank you,” she whispered. The Rogue touched her chin. “Things are different here than what you are used to,” he said. “I am no tyrant to abuse my subjects. Now, if you will please join me for tea, we can talk...” “What are these for?” Mouse looked up as one of the bards appeared next to her, touching one of the red bands on her arm. Her jaw tightened and she looked at the cup of tea she was holding. Without hesitation, she downed the scalding, sweet liquid in one gulp. The bard winced. “That bad, is it?” Mouse felt a shiver run through her as the hot liquid slammed into her stomach...or, what would have been her stomach had she kept hers past teenage years. “There’s a reason we buried out past behind us,” Mouse said. “It’s not pleasant, and it’s dirtier than a pirate’s feet.” The bard shrugged. “I’ve done some things I’m not proud of—” he began. Mouse turned to him, her eyes expressionless. “Each one of those strips belongs to someone. Someone we killed. They’re ‘honor bands’. Rogues receive them after every completed mission—in our case, murders.” The bard stared at Mouse’s white face as she turned away and grabbed another cup of the potent tea. “As you said,” he murmured. “It’s behind you now. While you may not forget, it’s forgiven.” Mouse shrugged and sniffed as her nose ran from the heat of the spiced tea. “I know,” she muttered. “But it’s not so easy to forgive yourself.” Cheshire sat on her balcony scraping a whet stone along the long edge of her curving katana, the starry night sky bright above her. Nearby a lantern flickered, casting its lively shadows along her arms, painting the sword red and gold. She sighed and shook out her hair, removing the tie that held it away from her face; she turned and looked up at the stars. Suddenly a shadow moved away from the general dance of the flames in the corner of her eye. “Cheshire,” a rough, dark voice whispered. Cheshire spun around, her teeth bared and her sword resting gently but firmly against the throat of the man behind her. He grinned, his white teeth flashing in the firelight. She knew those laughing green eyes all too well, and he placed his own hand on the blade at his hip. “Don't play, Cheshire,” he said again in his permanent whisper. He drew off his hood, his long black hair sparkling bluely in the starlight. “I only want to talk.” “My eye,” Cheshire snarled. “When have you ever wanted to talk?” He drew something from behind him and Cheshire froze, her blade etching a small line of blood along his neck. It was a long bamboo pole. The girl’s memory raced back to him, garbed in a sleeveless vest and slacks, holding that pole and laughing. Cheshire and Mouse, dressed in identical training garb, their shins and backs covered in blue-black bruises. Some of them bled. Cheshire’s grip on her blade tightened. "What do you want?" The man stared fondly at the stick in his hands. “The Rouge is not pleased with your disappearance,” he whispered. “He has orders for your death. However, I do not want to see such fine fighters die. I've grown fond of you, Cheshire, you and your sister. Come back and I will ensure that your punishment will not be great. You will get to live; both of you. Come back, for old time's sake.” Cheshire drew back, her sword held easily between herself and him. “I'd die first,” she hissed. “Which is why I'm not concerned with assassins of any type. Not even you, Osma.” Osma laughed and shook his head patronizingly as if answering to a little child. Suddenly he lunged forward, the bamboo pole rapping hard against her hands, shins, and ribs. Cheshire fell back, attempting to parry, but he had always been faster. The end of the stick slammed into her stomach and she doubled over. Blows rained down upon her back and head. Crying out, Cheshire lurched forward, discarding her katana and grabbing him around the middle. Osma grunted as they crashed over, but he easily kicked her off. He was bleeding on his arm where she had cut him with her sharpened, cat-like nails, and Cheshire was suffering a long scratch along her brow, as well as a black eye and a trickle of blood oozing from her nose. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, glancing at the red smear in annoyance. She breathed raggedly, cataloguing the bruises along her body. Bad. He hit hard, as he always had. Osma circled the girl slowly, amusement lining his craggy, scarred face. “Not bad, considering you've been away so long. Once you are back we'll remedy your bad habits. We can't have you making such mistakes under the Rogue's orders.” “Are you dim?” Cheshire snarled. “I'm not going back!” Osma clucked his tongue and shook his head again. “What a pity. You obviously didn't understand that I wasn't taking no for an answer.” He lunged forward again, catching her across the throat with a hard blow that took away her voice. Now Cheshire couldn't scream for help. Osma’s knee found her stomach, forcing the girl to her knees. Cheshire clutched her throat, eyes streaming, her sword lying forgotten somewhere nearby. Osma circled her, tapping her head with his pole. “Weak. We have much work to do.” He bent and grabbed the girl’s wrists, wrenching them behind her. He swiftly began to bind her hands. “Now, once we have you nicely packaged up and off to the Rogue, your sister will follow.” “No!” Cheshire croaked, struggling weakly. Osma pushed her forward, and Cheshire collapsed onto the deck, pulling at the binding on her hands. The rogue turned the young girl onto her side and took her chin in his hands so that she was forced to stare at him. “Oh yes,” he whispered, his emerald eyes glittering madly. “She will come. You know it, so let's just skip the endearments and pretend we already went through with this.” His eyes scanned Cheshire’s bloodied, tear-streaked face, and he touched the blood on her chin from the fall. “You will thank me for this.” Cheshire screamed with all she had, using one of her wrist daggers to slice through the bindings. Osma laughed and swore at the same time. “I knew there was more to you,” he growled. “Atta girl!” But now heavy footfalls were coming their way. Cheshire grinned crookedly at him. “You've got nowhere to run!” she gasped. Osma only laughed and darted into the shadows. Immediately Cheshire lost all sense of his location, whirling about futilely. No one was as good as he at shadow-dancing, the famed art of the Rogue. Not even the Rogue was as good. Two slender, dark-haired guards appeared at the balcony door. In a single glance they took in the blood and torn lashings. Not five minutes later Cheshire was sitting in a chair, stripped down to her vest with her leggings rolled up to the knees. Keiroh went over the cuts and bruises spread out along her arms and legs, shaking his head in bewilderment. “It’s remarkable,” he muttered. “Each one was deliberately placed to inflict the most pain...” He dabbed Cheshire’s eye with a cloth soaked in something vinegary and she winced. Fallen stood nearby, her face drawn and white. The twins’ eyes met in silent acknowledgement and Mouse’s jaw tightened at the same time her shoulders slumped. The captain shook his head. "One issue after another," he growled. "Now who was this who attacked you?" Cheshire wiped blood from her nose and took the proffered napkin to dab at the cut on her forehead. “His name is Osma. He works for the Rogue, and when Fallen and I were little, he killed our parents. Instead of killing us, he took us into the service of the Rogue. We ran away just recently. Apparently Osma doesn't want to lose his pride and joy.” Cheshire snorted. “He wouldn't take no for an answer, hence those.” She gestured to the broken bindings on the table. Mouse lowered her eyes. “He won't be easy to find. He is a master of disguises and hiding.” The Rogue stood up, his black eyes sparkling in the lantern light. “You forget, young mistresses, that you are among the rogue of this land now. We are able to smell a rat in our midst. I swear to you that you will be protected.” The Rogue put a hand on the long sword strapped to his hip. “However, if you have a score to settle with this man, I will have to make you wait. You may deal with him after we have him in custody, if you are willing.” Cheshire felt her face crumble into a deathly scowl that she had seen in the mirror so often after training with Osma as she washed away the blood. "Oh yes," she said softly. "So willing." Cheshire sat facing her sister on the large bed they shared, legs folded crosswise. She still held a pack of hot herbs to her face, covering half of her scowling visage while the other lay in the shadow of her loose hair. In detail she described the conversation she'd had with Osma, spitting the occasional bloody mouthful into a cloth on her lap. “That's the only way he can catch us,” Cheshire said bitterly. “If he catches me, he knows you'll follow. I know you'll follow. You know you'll follow.” “I hate being predictable,” Mouse grumbled. Cheshire grinned. "If I were you, I'd follow." “So the only solution,” Mouse said, working it over in her mind, “is to stick together. Osma knows everything about us...he could take us down without hesitation or effort.” “That was made apparent long ago,” Cheshire said, leaning her aching back against the wall. “And even now he could be watching.” “Don't give me any more nightmares that I already will have," Mouse said, looking around at the shadows. Unconsciously her hands grew scaly and the fingernails sharpened, curling into a nervous ball of razor sharp weapons. “If we get taken back...” “You won't,” a voice said from the doorway. The twins looked up in surprise to see the Rogue leaning in the doorway. “We were never informally introduced before,” he said in his calm voice. “I am Ea. You need not fear this rogue. We have eyes everywhere. We will catch him.” Mouse bowed from the waist down. “Thank you, Ea. We really do appreciate it. But...Osma is different. He...well lets just that normal eyes can’t see him.” Ea did not seem perturbed. “My family has long had abnormal eyes in its lineage. That should not be a problem.” Cheshire immediately thought of Ikasaa with his scarlet eye, searching her when she was ill and seeing her every thought when she was hurting inside. “I know what you mean,” she muttered. “I have no doubt that you do,” Ea smiled. “By the way, Keiroh told me to give this to you. It’s supposed to help you sleep.” Cheshire took the packet of powder and poured it into a glass of water by her bed. In one gulp she downed the liquid, grimacing. Ea raised his eyebrows. “I’m impressed. Even I gag at the stuff.” Mouse sighed and placed her chin glumly into her hands. “Things were just looking up too...” “Better start looking back,” Cheshire growled. “He'll attack from behind.” Immediately Cheshire wished she was back awake. She saw herself, her child self, huddled in the corner of a dark, damp cell. She stared feverishly forward, her hair lank and wet, hanging into her eyes. She was dressed in all black, but blood could be seen scabbing on one of her shins, and long bruises striped her arms. She rocked back and forth to herself, absolutely silent. “Up! Up now!” Suddenly the door opened, casting a bright light into the dim cell. Cheshire winced and looked up as a dark, imposing figure placed itself in the light. Green eyes flashed at her in amusement. “Come now, my little Cheshire cat. You can't hide in there all day. It's your turn.” Cheshire stood up numbly, not looking him in the eyes. She was so little, not more than four and a half feet. He took her shoulders and steered her out of the room, down torch-lit halls, and into a larger room filled with dummies and weapons. “Start stretching,” he commanded, his gravelly voice echoing off of the eaves of the room. “I won't be having you tear any muscles like last week.” Obediently Cheshire sat on the ground and leaned over her legs, touching her forehead to her knees. Pain lanced through her calves and thighs, but she ignored it. She could feel him hovering over her. If she even twitched before a full two minutes had passed, she would be hit sharply across the shoulders and forced to start over. In two minutes she took a new stance. After nearly an hour, stretching every muscle in her body, he said it was enough and tossed Cheshire her small bamboo stick. The training started: little four foot Cheshire against very big six foot him. And as usual, she was brutally driven into the dust. After training he let her eat in the meager kitchen and then led me to the library. Her sister was sitting in one of the chairs, just soaking in the softness. She jumped as we walked in. Osma's face darkened with anger. “I do not see you studying,” he said softly, and his grip around his bamboo pole tightened. The girl received two sharp smacks from his weapon, bruising her shins again, and a heavy book was placed in her arms. Osma shoved Cheshire toward the same book. “Help each other,” he said. “A thief cannot be uninformed about his world. Next week we meet the Rogue, and he will be testing you. Do not disappoint me.” He left the room, leaving them standing silently. The image faded and was replaced by Kathyr’s face, his black eyes lined by his arching sapphire tattoos. Behind him was Ukia, the teardrops along her cheeks and brow glistening like blood. Cheshire saw his fateful hand reach out and point at her sister, and suddenly he seemed to grow in size. Mouse was pinned to the ground beneath his claw-like nail and she writhed there, dying slowly. Cheshire screamed. Cheshire stirred uneasily in her sleep as the images faded, but the taint of the Rogue made the rest of her sleep unpleasant. She may not have stayed up all night fretting, but even in sleep she could not escape him. Next to her, her sister stirred as well, and together the twins bit their lips for the fear and hatred of Osma. Mouse shifted in her dark sleep of nightmare and nearly fell off of the bed, starting herself into wakefulness. Pulling herself back on balance, she rubbed her eyes and looked around at the shadows blearily. All was silent in the ship, except for the waves beating softly on the sides. A flicker of movement caught her eye in the hall and she sucked in air sharply. Mouse poked her sister in the head, hard enough to wake her, but the medication was working its magic, keeping her oblivious to all noise and bludgeoning that Mouse could hiss into her ears. Mouse looked back out after failed attempts to rouse her, eyes wide in the dark to try and see if what she had discerned was real. Her eyes and ears strained for anything, anything at all. Too late she heard and saw what was behind her. A gloved hand gripped her by the mouth tightly, pulling her back into the tight embrace of the darkness. Mouse screamed, but the fingers over her face pressed cruelly: she’d have bruises for a week. A breath of air tickled her neck. “It's been too long, little Mouse,” Osma breathed, pressing the fingers of his other hand into her neck, threatening to crush her windpipe. “Once there was a time where you could almost detect my movements. You've regressed even further than your sister...” Mouse moaned softly, struggling against his arms, trying to push herself away from his chest. “Still....you are, in a way, more slippery than she. I can't very well cage a mouse that can get through the bars. Your abilities have always posed a challenge for me. So, once more, the game of chase is begun. I'll be expecting you very soon.” The hand on her mouth moved away, and though she tried again to yell, the fingers that suffocated her prevented any sound. She was just wondering what he was doing with his other hand when it came into her field of vision, holding a crystal vial that Mouse recognized all too well. “You remember this?” Osma hissed. “Oh yes, I had to use this once or twice when you grew too hard to control. It should work even now, better than before. And by the time you awaken, I will be far away, as will your sister. You know where to find us, little Mouse.” Mouse clamped her jaws shut, scrabbling with her feet in an effort to crush his toes or kick his shins. But, Osma being so much taller than her, simply lifted her off the floor. He shoved his fingers into her mouth, prying her jaw open just enough to force the vial between her teeth. The bitter liquid rushed down her throat and into her system. It burned violently all the way down. No voice could possibly have shouted her pain. Mouse’s legs drew up to her chest in agony, which was soon followed by a wave of numbness. Osma let go, letting her fall to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Mouse tried to warn Cheshire, to get the attention of someone, but a feeble breath of air was all that left her mouth. Osma stepped over her, leaving her where she lay. Before she lost consciousness, Mouse saw him stand next to her sister, look her fully in the eye, and smile. Cheshire was only faintly aware of someone picking her up. She groaned in her sleep and batted the air before her face. A hand gripped her wrist and a voice whispered nothingness into her ear, words she couldn't understand. But the voice registered. Osma. Cheshire’s eyes snapped open as her rage dashed away all residue of the pain medicine that Ea had brought her. They were out on the balcony and her arms were bound up to the elbows, her legs bound to the knees. Osma supported her knees with one arm, her back with another, a satisfied smile on his face. “Osma!” Cheshire croaked in the smallest whisper. Again, he had done something to her voice to keep her from crying out. Slick him. “You festering, dung-eating, monstrous...” He made shushing noises, soft, but they rang over her own feeble voice easily. “Endearments mean nothing now, little Cheshire. I told you to skip them. Your sister will be coming, and soon, but not before I have you safely back at our little home.” He stood next to the wall. Cheshire tried to move, but her muscles were unresponsive. Osma propped her legs against the wall and pulled out two crystal vials she recognized. Both were empty of their former contents: drugs he had specially brewed to knock out the twins’ most dangerous assets—Cheshire’s muscles and Fallen's shape-shifting. “You monster!" Cheshire squeaked. “I'll kill you, I swear I will, I'll make suffer—” Osma laughed again and shook his head. “Hush now, Cheshire. Don't make things more difficult for you than they already are.” He tilted her head to look at him, his fingers on the back of her neck where the skull joined the rest of the body. “When you awake we will be home.” His fingers pressed on those well known pressure points on the back of the girl’s neck and she swam into absolute nothing. Mouse floated above herself, watching the hours tick by as her body lay helpless, cold, eyes glazed over in what seemed like death. Perhaps she had died....perhaps Osma has drugged her too heavily and had sent her spirit soaring away. Oh, how she wished he had. Movement registered in her mind. Sounds echoed down the corridor of haze. Mouse’s eyes, though open, were seeing nothing. The clouds of shadow, though, were gradually falling away, and she became aware of colors, then shapes, then faces. Their room was filled, crammed with shouting guards and crew members. The captain was yelling at no one in particular while the first mate stood darkly with Ea in the corner, their black eyes dark with hatred and fury. The bards paced the perimeter of the room. Mouse vaguely heard something about the guards around their room...drugged...dead...A guard knelt before her, waving one of his hands in front of her unseeing eyes, which suddenly sent all these images in a flash of information to her brain. Fingers around her wrist and on either side of her face were cool centers for focus. Keiroh’s smell, of incense and bitter medicines, hovered nearby. A finger-tip brushed her eyelashes, receiving no response. A nail dug into the ticklish spot in her hip—nothing. “Her senses are dead,” Keiroh’s voice swirled sickeningly above her. “But she is not. She will be waking up presently, in fact.” Mouse sat up suddenly with a terrible heave, gasping for air and blinking to fight the tears that came to her dry eyes. Keiroh’s arm helped her sit up as she clutched her chest which had been still for so long. “What happened?” they all wanted to know, voicing their concern in a thousand different movements and looks. Only Keiroh spoke though, a blessed thing, for her ears were ringing painfully from the after affects of the drug. All was dizzy and the only thing she could remember was a vial.... It clicked. Mouse lurched to her feet with a strangled yell and headed for the door. But the drugs that Osma had forced into her were not all the way gone, and her legs simply buckled, dumping her unceremoniously on the floor. She cried out as needles tap danced up her arms and calves, bringing life back into them even though she could not use them. Multiple hands lifted Mouse into the air, carrying her back to lie on the bed. Keiroh leaned over her, his eyes fixed on Mouse’s own frantically fleeting gaze. “Mouse,” he said. “Listen to me. You have to calm down and tell us what happened.” Mouse opened her mouth to speak and her throat flamed with agony. She closed her eyes and screamed for all she was worth on the inside. Keiroh flinched slightly and closed his eyes as if he heard the screams, and gently touched the ugly red bruises on her throat and the pain stopped, her voice coming through at last. “Osma!” she cried. “He's taken Cheshire! I have to get to her, he'll kill her without me, she'll die do you understand?” Tears were streaming down her cheeks. I’ve lost her again, she thought lifelessly. I’ve lost her... This time Mouse knew her muscles would hold, and she leaped from the bed, ducking through arms as she practically flew through the room and onto the balcony. Overhead the clouds were dumping their contents heavily into the village, the rain washing away all blood that had stained the stones from Cheshire’s previous fight. Mouse looked around feverishly, half expecting to see Osma there with Cheshire in his arms, just now leaving the palace. But she knew that it had been several hours since he had gone, perhaps a whole day. It was hard to tell what time of day it was now with the storm. Mouse screamed into the wind, feeling it rip her voice away on a violent flurry of air. She knew the others had followed her out, were watching her. She didn't care. Her energy was gone, her sister was gone, and with her Mouse’s heart. Without a heart, a changeling cannot keep control. It was the first law. An overpowering scent of rain blew through the already saturated air, knocking rain drops askew in their trajectory towards the ground. Mouse’s body began to twist and tremble, limbs lengthening and shortening, hair turning into rippling spikes and shuddering scales. She grew taller, her skin turned the color of coal, and her eyes flamed white. Mouse could feel their fear: Keiroh’s astonishment, the captain’s horror, the bards’ surprise, the guards’ apprehension, Ea’s sorrow; a thousand feelings all pooled into one overwhelming mix of fear. She had become a monster, she knew, and she couldn't stop it. She stood before them, the transformation complete, a completely different person. Through the spines that layered her back and shoulders, through the midnight hair that whipped about her in the wind, Mouse turned and looked at the forest. The tail that curled about her clawed feet lashed in anger, and her wings were itching to catch the wind, to take her far away. She didn’t know there could be this much pain, this much anger in one body. It pulsed through her, swirling in her middle, pumping like acid through her veins. Mouse saw from the corner of her eye Ea approaching with uncertain steps, rain soaked like the rest of them. His hand touched her shoulder and the shifter turned to look him in the face. “I need to find my sister,” she whispered over the storm. She was forced to her knees with a cry of pain. Needles scrambled across her arms and legs, and Osma's knee pressed against her upper back, forcing her over into a half bow. The dark eyes of Kathyr stared down at the girl with disgust and ill-humor. “Cheshire,” he said. “We've looked hard for you.” Cheshire looked up at him with eyes of venom and a smile that dripped hatred to the floor. She refused to say anything. I will not become like you, she though viciously. I will not! Kathyr laughed and shook his head. “Osma here has convinced me not to kill you. He thinks you're still of use. Convince me, Cheshire. Are you of use?” Cheshire eyed Kathyr up and down, her smile fixed into place. After a moment of silence she spat contemptuously on the floor at Kathyr’s feet. Kathyr laughed again, richly and full. “Osma, take her to the dungeons. See if you can't whip a little gratefulness into this whelp.” Osma hefted Cheshire to her feet, her hands still bound. One of his hands on the back of her neck, he pushed the girl ahead of him into the dungeons. The screams of other unfortunate offenders of the Rogue filled her ears as Osma chained her hands to the wall and took a whip. “I'm sorry, Cheshire. It's for your own good.” The whip fell across her shoulders, lacerating not only her shirt but her skin as well. Cheshire grunted and stumbled against the wall as the blows began to rain heavily against her. She felt blood run on her back and closed her eyes against the pain. Hurry Fallen. Finally, she opened her mouth and screamed with the pain, tears spilling down her cheeks as she wailed like she had as a child. The blows continued to beat down upon her. Hurry. Cheshire sat with her arms chained above her head, her back bloody and covered in cuts and welts, but she was too weak to move to give the wounds relief from the wall. In front of her, sitting on a stool, was Osma, peeling a large orange. The smell of the fruit filled the entire room, mingling with the smell of blood and sweat. Cheshire stared firmly at the cell’s corner, but her stomach growled loudly and she cursed her weakness. Osma shook his head and sighed. “If I had known that when I trained endurance into you I was also giving you your wild stubbornness, I would have left that a little to itself.” Cheshire coughed at him with a half-smile. “All of our traits came from you Osma—that's right. Keep thinking that.” Osma cocked his head to one side. “Would you have rather died along with your parents?” Only a solemn six years old at the time, Cheshire probably wouldn't have cared much. But she had to be thankful for him for that. He had given her her life. It was a crummy, painful life, but it was hers, and she was not about to give up! “Just leave me alone,” she whispered. “You won't break me. You yourself trained me to be stubborn, as you say. Just...go.” Osma shrugged and went back to his orange, placing a piece in his mouth. He watched the girl before him as he ate and Cheshire tilted her head to the side so that she wouldn't have to look at him. He grinned at her, his wicked green eyes glittering from behind his hair. “I await your sister's arrival with great anticipation,” he said. “We can truly be a family again.” “If you say we were ever a family one more time I will kill you slower than I'd planned,” Cheshire snapped. “We were your slaves. I remember the bruises all too well!” “I've taught you to survive, haven't I?" he hissed. “You should be grateful.” Cheshire lowered her chin to rest on her collar bone, too weary to fight anymore. Osma took the gesture as a sign of defeat, and with a satisfied grunt, he stood and left the room, tossing the rest of the orange onto the floor just beyond her reach. Cheshire cast him a final venomous glare as the door closed behind him, blocking out the light all except for the tiny square of light split by the iron bars. Cheshire blinked as the light from the hall spilled across her eyes again. A man with long dark hair and tan skin stood in the doorway and looked her up and down, a smile pushing at the corners of his mouth. Cheshire inched away as recognition sifted slowly through her pain-fogged mind: he was one of the twins she and her sister had given a beating on their first day at the Rogue. He was the one Cheshire had fought with. He stalked closer and she drew her knees up defensively, eyeing him warily. He shook his head, a hand on his sword hilt. “You've grown up, haven't you,” he growled. “Not such the favorite now, are you” Suddenly he lashed out, kicking Cheshire in the side, viciously. Cheshire cried out, curling up. Her back scraped cruelly against the wall and tears started to her eyes. He laughed and kicked her again. “That's enough Katon.” His twin walked in, his face lined with the darkness that comes of being a thief. “It is not honorable to kick a worthy opponent when they are down.” “Don't tell me what to do,” Katon growled sullenly, but he drew away from the girl. His brother looked down at Cheshire and shook his head. “I suppose even if you're the strongest, it doesn't make you the smartest. Why did you run?” Cheshire stared up at him levelly. “I was tired of having my life run by people who don't care whether I live or die,” she said, surprisingly calm for the pain in her body. “I wanted my own life.” “Some life,” Katon spat, gesturing at the cell. With a final kick at her bare foot he turned and left. His brother watched him with cold eyes. “Try not to die,” he said offhandedly. “The guild could use you and your sister again.” Cheshire laughed and shook her head. “Weren’t you just listening? I'll die before coming back.” He shrugged. “People change. There are plenty of reasons for you to stay.” “And what might one of those be?” Cheshire asked sarcastically. He shrugged again and left, leaving her question unanswered, leaving it to be answered by her fear and pain and hunger and despair. The darkness settled in on the lonely girl again and she sat there, hurting, crying, curling inward like a tiny moth that has been skewered to a wall. She had just fallen asleep when the door creaked open again and someone grabbed her by the back of the neck. Cheshire started awake, blinded by the sudden light, to smell something like orange hanging to the clothes of the person next to her. “Osma,” Cheshire muttered. He unchained her wrists and hauled her to her feet, pulling one of her arms across his shoulders. Cheshire’s legs screamed with agony. After a single step her weight sagged, leaving her dependent upon his strength. She felt depressingly weak and small. Osma brought her to one of the outdoor decks, high above the tree-line. There a table covered in a white cloth awaited her. Remembering, Cheshire lay down on the table on her stomach and waited. Osma sat in a chair nearby, listening to the sound of rain falling through the leaves and staring at the crows that flew between the branches. Cheshire kept her eyes fixed on the great green trees around them, inhaling the clean air deeply. They did not wait long. A man dressed in a white coat with clean hands entered from the wide sliding doors of the upper rooms. A nurse walked with him, holding several cloths across her forearm and carrying a large bowl filled with yellow-ish liquid. Cheshire eyed it wearily and rested her forehead on her arms. The man picked apart the remains of the shirt from her back and shook his head. The skin and muscle were a mess of twisted flaps and torn ridges. He poked the lacerations here and there, causing some of her bared muscles to twitch, but she kept silent. He soaked the cloths in the disgusting liquid and laid them across her back, ignoring Cheshire’s stifled groans of pain. Once her back was fully covered in white linen soaked in the vinegary mixture, they left and let the girl ooze. Osma pulled his chair in front of his pupil. “Want to come back yet?” “Do you think I'm in the mood to answer the same question with the same answer?” Cheshire snapped back in a muffled tone. She was busy biting the inside of her arm as the yellow liquid seeped into her cuts and stung like fire. Osma held silent for a few moments and then the sliding doors opened again. Osma looked up in mild surprise as Kathyr strode regally through the doors to stand by Cheshire’s head, looking down on her with curiosity. Cheshire did not see him right away, but she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Slowly she turned her head to look up at the Rogue with one eye, the rest of her face hidden by arm and long locks. Osma sat tensely, waiting for the outcome of an unpredictable and dangerous situation. “Have you changed your mind?” the Rogue asked casually, inspecting his nails with a disinterested eye. His gaze flicked back to the girl to calculate her response, his long eyebrows arching cynically. “Do you think so?” she muttered. “No,” he answered truthfully, pulling up a chair and sitting next to her with crossed legs. “But I expect you to think it over. You'll never get anywhere like this: you will join again, whether you like it or not. At the moment we're just trying to convince you to stay of your own free will.” “And you're doing a great job of it,” she heaved back, moving restlessly beneath her pain. “Keep up the good work and you might just get me to sign a member's card.” Kathyr shook his head with a small smirk. “Your wit is legendry,” he commented. “If you hold to that maybe you'll survive these long nights ahead. Your state of comfort does not look good.” He poked at her back with one of his fingers, hard, and despite herself Cheshire cried out, tears running down her face. Osma stiffened but said nothing, staring pointedly out at the trees. “Beatings are only the first step of persuasion.” Kathyr stood and whirled away, his body guards following. Cheshire clenched her teeth so tightly they creaked, and she banged her head gently against the table as the doctor came to change the bandages and replace them with new, freshly stinging ones. She wanted to die, but she knew that she didn't want it badly enough yet. Kathyr and Osma would show her that all too soon. Cheshire screamed, so loudly she thought the entire keep could hear her voice echoing in a cacophony of agony. She gripped the sides of her head with her hands, ruffling her hair. Her nails dug into her skin, causing blood to stream in tiny rivers down her face and neck into her clothing, and she staggered back and forth with shrieks of rage and pain and sorrow. Writhing and arching, she was unable to escape the black glittering walls of magic that crackled and laughed around her. Osma and Kathyr watched, a smile stretching across Kathyr's pale face. Osma showed no expression, but his eyes calculated and took in every detail of the girl’s torture. The Rogue's personal mage stood smirking nearby, his hand upheld, leaking the black fire that made the traitor’s prison. Cheshire wailed, tears mixing with blood as she roared, her eyes bright white with the strain of her fey magic battling against the dark magic surrounding her. Her face warped and twisted, and she scrunched her eyes up in agony. Suddenly she went silent, standing quietly in the circlet of fire, her glittering eyes blank as she stared forward. The blood running down her face gave her a demonic cast, an unnerving intensity that made the magician’s blood run cold, and his spell faltered slightly. Kathyr made a gesture and the black fires slowed, then dripped away from the girl. Cheshire sank to the ground on her knees, still silent, as if she had fallen unconscious standing up. The surrounding court was pressed against the walls, watching in breathless horror and respect. Kathyr rested a finger against his chin. “So then, Cheshire. No one is coming to get you. You will die here if you do not break like the pet that you are.” Cheshire shrieked into sudden action, sharp ears and a lashing tail bursting from her body. She roared so loudly that the stones shook and her muscles bunched, preparing to drive her forward to slash open his laughing face. The black fire leapt up again at a snap from Kathyr’s fingers, halting the girl’s transformation from human to lynx part way and dissolving her into screaming agony yet again. The period of torture was shorter this time. Kathyr shook his head and eyed her hunched and trembling form. “Why not just give in?” he asked. “It would be easy. Leave all your doubts behind: here you will have a home and people who really care about you.” Cheshire crossed her arms over her chest, shuddering and shivering as her muscles spasmodically twitched and jerked from too much pain in too short a time. It seemed so easy, so tempting to give in. No more pain, no more suffering. You can fight again, you can negotiate...he won’t make you kill anymore, you won’t be afraid anymore... You won’t see Mouse anymore. Cheshire gave a shuddering gasp as she realized she had been falling, giving in to her pain and fear. She cast a singular glare at Kathyr before she closed her eyes and sighted. At her silence Kathyr shrugged and the black fire descended again. Cheshire did not make a sound as the pain enveloped her body. She stayed detached from it, holding it in, waiting for the break. When she returned to her body she was lying on her side, bleeding where she had scratched herself across her arms in an effort not to scream. Osma was standing slightly forward, his face contorted in rage, but he had stopped himself suddenly. Cheshire stared at him blankly, her mouth hanging open. “If you torture her to insanity she will be no use to me,” he snapped, his eyes still fixed on her face. “Can't you find another way?” Kathyr's eyes flashed at him. “There is no other way,” he hissed. “If she loses her wits because of it, then so be it, but I will see her break!” His eyes returned to me. “She is nothing more than a feral cat that I wish to tame. She is a pet to the Rogue.” Cheshire shuddered and closed her eyes, giving up, wanting to die. Then suddenly... Mouse stood in the doorway of the court, eyes blazing, the outlines of her image shimmering as if her very skin were blazing hot. The scent of rain was again permeating ever scrap of air and those in the court who stood nearest her. From behind her a large group of people appeared. Cheshire blinked as she saw two dozen rogue with long dark hair and obsidian eyes spread into a wing behind Mouse, their long weapons and throwing stars held ready. Close beside Mouse was a man with long black hair pulled into a high horse-tail, his black eyes watching Kathyr intently. On her twin’s other side was Ikasaa...no, not Ikasaa...Keiroh. Again Cheshire blinked and tried to make sense of what was going on. Osma and Kathyr stared, the court of Rogues scrambling away to create a free area between them and us. Osma's face released some of its anger when he looked at me, a small smile curling the edges of his paper face. Kathyr merely looked far more unpleasant than before. “And so the mouse drags itself back to its hole,” the Rogue sneered, turning fully around to face me. “And you brought friends to die. Very, very well.” “You’re the one who needs to be worrying about that, Kathyr,” Mouse snapped, her body twisting in and out of shapes with her rage. She stared at her twin with a mixture of horror and fear. Cheshire was staring lazily at them all without an ounce of recognition in her half-open eyes. Blood streamed from her head, matting her hair and bloodying her face. She was covered in the red life-fluid and Mouse could hear Keiroh cursing behind her as he stared at the damaged girl. Is she even sane anymore? Mouse wondered, and she felt such fear and rage at the thought spear into her throat that she nearly cried out. The fear swiftly turned to burning, agonizing pain. It filled her throat and mouth, smoking and streaming off her shoulders. “As for you, Osma...” Mouse’s eyes shifted blankly to the man at the Rogue's side. “I hope Cheshire kills you slowly. She's your battle.” “Kathyr,” Mouse snarled, her voice now resonating with the power that was pouring out of her, “You are my battle.” Cheshire saw her sister burst in through the doors. She saw the group behind her, but her heart could not find the strength to leap. She stared with dull eyes as Mouse’s gaze flickered to her and away with a flash of rage. Then, without warning, Osma was bending beside her, holding a long blade against the artery in her throat. Mouse froze, staring at her twin, and Cheshire could see her opposing desires--to kill Kathyr and to free her sister--fighting each other frantically. I am causing her grief again, Cheshire thought blankly. She glanced at Osma, seeing the determination in his eyes. He did not want to lose either of the girl prodigies that he had raised. That was for certain. Cheshire blinked and sighed. In a single swift moment she had reached into one of Osma’s pockets behind her and grabbed a strangling line. Osma's knife darted from reflex, slashing at her neck, but Cheshire ducked down, missing most of his cut. She flipped her line upwards, catching it behind Osma’s head and pulling down, flipping him over her shoulders. Osma was on his feet in seconds, drawing his two famous knives. Their black metal flashed wickedly in the light and he shook his head sadly at the weary girl before him. “Don't fight me, Cheshire. You know you can't win.” Cheshire caught the long katana, her favorite weapon, that one of the Amishori rogue tossed to her. “I'll take you down with me, at least,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming. In the corner of her eye she saw Mouse lunge at Kathyr, roaring, and the rest of rogues sped into action, smashing into the loyal court on the perimeter. A small smile tainting her lips, Cheshire moved into the paces she knew with Osma, their battle whirling swiftly out of hand into a full-scale frenzy. And for a moment, it was fine being back in the place of nightmares, fighting her most hated enemy. All of her pain, the hidden grief for her parents, the agony of broken bones and torn muscles, the blood and sweat: all of it pointed to this one moment. Again the small smirk slid across her mouth, and she saw it register in Osma’s eyes as a quiet glimmer of something she had never seen before in his emerald gaze—respect. Mouse’s eyes were only for Kathyr. Like an animal she pursued him with no fear for her wellbeing, slashing with claws, biting with fangs, kicking with her powerful hind legs. He danced away, sustaining minor damage, inflicting heavy wounds on the shifter. Silver blood splashed to the ground in thick puddles, making the floor slick and treacherous. Mouse lashed out at Kathyr's blade hand in raw anger, ignoring the lancing pain that wrenched down her forearm as she flung his sword from his grasp. A splash of silver blood on the ground told her that she was seriously injured, but at such and opportune time Mouse was not holding back. With a fierce scream she pinned him to the wall, her enormous, clawed foot pressing into his chest, leaning her monstrous face in close to his. His face lit up with a final wild smirk just before she let the sharpened points of her claws slide across his heart. The Rogue slumped to the ground, eyes glassy in death. Mouse turned to see her sister disarm Osma and kick him to the ground. “Come on!” she screamed, tears streaming from her eyes. “You're not even trying!” “If I was,” he said softly, “you'd be beaten. There is nothing I can do anymore. The Rogue has fallen. It seems I was too harsh with you....” “You did not mold me like a craft of your own,” Cheshire snarled, resting her blade against his cheek. “You did not form me from the dirt. I am my own person. Yes, you bred hate into me, Osma. But I myself turned it into action.” Osma smiled softly. “That's my girl.” The blade whirled through the air and Osma slumped to the ground. A moment of silence made the air thrum as the few standing thieves fled, leaving the twins staring at each other, breathing hard from the battle. A few shaky steps led Mouse to her sister's side, the transformation melting away completely as she walked. Then she was running, gripping her twin tightly as they embraced. “Never again,” Mouse growled into Cheshire’s ear. “You're never leaving my sight again.” A single tall man heaved himself stumbling from the wreckage and every hand went to weapon as he looked about the room. Blood stained his clothing and face, but it was not his own, for there was not a scratch on him. He strode right up to Cheshire, ignoring the band of warriors that slowly circled him. Cheshire stared up at him: he was tall, nearly six feet in height, with brown hair trimmed short around his forehead and hazel eyes. A small scar twisted his lips, distorting his smile, and his hooked nose gave him a hawkish look that she had seen on many a king's noble face. It was odd in this bloody, gruesome place. The man stuck out one of his hands boldly. “I am Ronan. It will take a long time to rebuild the Court of the Rogue the way it should be, but it shall be done.” Cheshire cast a curious glare over him. “And you're to be the new Rogue?” Ronan grinned at me and scratched his head. “A world without a Rogue is no world at all. But I promise you’ll receive no trouble from us. You are free—no Rogue in his right mind would ever hold another against his, or in this case her, will. However, if you would like to join the new Rogue, I'd be happy to have you.” Cheshire shook her head. “Not on your life.” Ronan shrugged and heaved a small sigh. “I was expecting you to say that. Then you’re free to go.” He bowed slightly, stepping aside. “I believe you can find your own way out. I have cleaning to do.” Cheshire turned back after a few steps. “Do you have followers?” The new Rogue grinned again. “Oh aye, some of them you know. I too have a pair of twins on my side, but they'll bear no grudges against you. Feel free to drop in any time.” He strode to the edge of the throne room and disappeared out of one of the many secret doors. Cheshire could not find it in her to laugh. Everything in her shook and she leaned to one side wearily. Almost as soon as she did so she screamed in pain. Mouse leaned into her from the other side and grimaced. “I saw that one coming,” she whispered. “When you were fighting Osma you turned your ankle—badly. And he took advantage of that and slashed at it. I thought you had noticed, but...” Cheshire did not look down. “Does anyone have a crutch?” she whispered. “Here,” one of the rogue came forward and handed her his fighting staff. “Where do you aim to walk with it?” Cheshire started to limp away. “I’m going to take a look around the lower rooms. There’re some things I need to close up in this whole case.” Cheshire limped through the dungeon-like halls, staring blearily around her as the rogues of Amishori trampled down the remaining opposition and settled those willing for peace. All around her bodies littered the floor of those who had fought alongside their wicked Rogue to the death. Prisoners were being sprung from the cages and laid out in the halls, their chained limbs massaged back into usage. Their cries of pain echoed eerily through the underground network as rogues rushed back and forth with bandages and strong medicines. The sound of splintering wood and a wild shout drew Cheshire to a room further down the hall. The door had been thrust rudely open, and two former prisoners by the look of their clothing were standing in the doorway. One of the prisoners nursed a long, thin cut across his cheek that bled sluggishly. “Curse you!” he snarled. “Wait ‘till I get my hands on you!” “That would be unwise,” a smooth, familiar voice remarked quietly, as if merely commenting on the time of day or the type of stone that was used in the walls. “No matter what you try, I will not let you harm a sick man.” Cheshire hobbled into the room, pushing past the startled prisoners. They turned on her with sneering faces, but immediately quieted when they saw her face. Every rogue, in favor or not, had heard about the twins with the blue-green-grey eyes. Cheshire’s mouth fell open in surprise and amazement as she faced the defending man. Ikasaa stood in front of a bandaged rogue lying on a medical table. His kimono was ripped where the men had first tried to grab him, his pale chest lying bare and his dark leggings smudged with dirt. In one of his hands was a long scalpel and his eyes, red and violet, were narrowed with dark intent in an expression that Cheshire had never seen before. Behind her pleasure at seeing her friend again, she felt a chill of unease and fear. His hair was a little longer and more ragged than Cheshire remembered. As Cheshire stumbled into view, Ikasaa’s mouth opened into a silent ‘O’ of shock. A strange flash from his red eye made the girl waver, but she smiled as she stumbled towards him. “Ikasaa!” The doctor caught her by the arms as she fell, helping her to a chair. “Cheshire! How did you get here?” “I’ve been here for a little while, actually.” Ikasaa bent down to Cheshire’s feet, removing her blood-encrusted boot with a small frown on his face. “It is odd that I did not hear. But then, I have not heard much for a while.” Cheshire gasped with pain as the leather slid from her ankle. The snapped bone and torn muscle beneath her lacerated flesh screamed at the slightest touch, and she immediately felt woozy. “What happened?” she asked in a whisper. She faintly felt Ikasaa press two cool fingers against her throat, and her pulse became loud in her ears, strange and erratic, fluttering like a bird. “When you left, the Rogue took me here. He knew I had sent you to my relatives, so he wanted to keep a close eye on me.” A small, bitter smile twitched over the doctor’s lips. “He isn’t the most gracious host. However, it seems I am in the right place at the right time.” He peeled back Cheshire’s steadily drooping lids, looking deep into her eyes. “Stay awake!” he ordered firmly. “You cannot sleep yet. Tell me what has happened to you.” As the doctor moved back down to her ankle, Cheshire gripped the arm of the chair and stared firmly at the ceiling. “Osma followed us east. He kidnapped me while we were there. The Rogue of your people’s land helped my sister return and overthrow Kathyr.” For a moment Ikasaa paused. “Kathyr is dead?” “Yes,” Cheshire gasped as pain zapped up her leg again. “As is Osma!” She felt a single tear course down her cheek and drip from her chin onto Ikasaa’s hand. The doctor wiped the tear track from her cheek gently and picked up his small bag. Inside he found a needle in a package and a bottle of pain-killer. He filled the syringe and took Cheshire’s wrist, injecting the peace-giving drug into her vein. “Sleep now, Cheshire. We will talk more when you wake.” This time Cheshire had no choice but to listen and obey as the drug covered the pain and then her mind, letting her drift off into nonsensical peace. Cheshire did not know how much time had passed when she woke. But when she opened her eyes, she was in fresh, clean clothes. Her face had been washed, her hair combed, and her ankle firmly bandaged and splinted. She felt the tiny, rough pinches of stitching under her skin. She was sitting in what appeared to be a cozy living room, complete with animal-skin rug and a roaring fireplace. Around her, in other equally comfy looking chairs, were Mouse, Ikasaa, the new Rogue, the Rogue of Amishori, and Keiroh. Cheshire blinked as she stared at uncle and nephew sitting next to each other—they were practically identical, save for the lines around Keiroh’s eyes and their kimonos. Ikasaa had trimmed his hair and washed up, dressed in a fresh new kimono and leggings. His eyes glittered when he noticed her stirring. “I see you have chosen at last to join us.” “H-how long?” Cheshire croaked. Her throat was incredibly dry. “Three days, and don’t do it again,” Mouse said huffily from Cheshire’s right. Cheshire slowly craned her head to look at her twin. In her peripheral vision she saw the doctor get up and take a small cup from a tray. “I-I didn’t do anything...” she mumbled hoarsely. “Drink this,” Ikasaa said, putting his hand under her chin and tilting the cup against her lips. “It will help.” Cheshire swallowed the mixture without complaint. While it had the bitter aftertaste of medicine, it was spicy and sweet, and best of all it was warm. It seemed to glide down her throat, leaving a tingling patch of healing in its wake. “Thank you,” Cheshire whispered, her throat much relieved. “That is better.” Ikasaa smiled again, his eyes crinkling in mirth. “And when have I ever led you astray?” Cheshire could not help but smile, and she settled back into her seat as Ikasaa took his own seat again to her left, his eyes never leaving her as he calculated her condition with his unerring scarlet eye. “Here,” Mouse said, and she laid something in Cheshire’s lap. Cheshire looked down at the bandolier of knives Mouse had given her. The hilts were made of obsidian and the daggers were polished black stone, perfectly balanced, unbreakable, legendary. “They’re for you to have.” Cheshire touched the dark handles silently. She felt the power of hundreds of deaths crackle across her skin, and she flinched, but she silently bent the power to her will. “There are many memories in these blades,” she muttered. “Use them well,” Ikasaa said softly. “They will not let you down if you do.” Cheshire snoozed gently, curled up like a cat in her chair. Her cheek rested gently on her hand, her hair falling over the cushions. Someone entered the room. Cheshire slumbered on; unaware that someone was stepping silently towards her, the footsteps muffled on the carpet. A hand reached down and brushed a lock of Cheshire’s hair. The fingers touched her cheek, ever so slightly... Cheshire was up in a flash, standing on one leg, a blade from her wrist hilt against the man’s throat. Her balance wavered and a jar on a table crashed over and shattered on the ground. The young man did not seem unduly surprised, but he was startled. A grimace flashed across Cheshire’s face as she glanced at the pottery shards on the ground. Ikasaa and Keiroh appeared in the room behind the man, their eyes apprehensive. Mouse awoke with a jerk from her side of the room and stood up with a startled, half-conscious sniffle. Once Mouse was asleep, it took much to wake her and she glanced blearily between Cheshire and the unknown man. “Forgive me,” the boy, for he was only about Cheshire’s age, “for being so bold.” He glanced at Keiroh and Ikasaa, shame flushing his cheeks and he glanced at the floor. “I-I should have asked to see you when you were awake...” “Indeed,” Ikasaa said tersely. “My patient needs as much rest as she can get. You can undo precious time with a single misguided action.” “Of course,” the young man stuttered again. “But...I had to speak to you.” He met Cheshire’s blue-grey-green eyes with his own pale blue ones. Among his people, such a set of eyes was rare and it added to his beauty. His hair was long about his face and shorn short at the back, sticking up at odd ends. It looked soft to the touch. “About what?” Cheshire asked tiredly. She just wanted to go back to sleep. “You are not safe here.” Cheshire said not a word. She was rocked to her very core, so startled it did not seem possible. She stood with her eyes wide and her mouth half open. Behind the man, Keiroh looked silently at the ground, a small half-frown upon his features. His hair fell across his scarlet eye and he drifted into silent contemplation. “There are rumors that there are men from your land who are hiring assassins, or kidnapping them as the need might go. They know you are here.” Cheshire sheathed her knife with a snap. She did not know what to say. “I...I...” Cheshire glanced at Ikasaa for a mere second, and his eyes whipped up to meet hers. Behind his long, obsidian hair, Cheshire saw a glimmer of his scarlet eyes. Cheshire turned and fled, ignoring her protesting leg, only half-healed. Shouts erupted from behind her, but as Mouse and Keiroh leapt after her, Ikasaa stood silently in the room, his long kimono swaying with the tiny breeze from the window. As usual, his scarlet eye had seen everything. Cheshire sat quietly against a tree, her face hidden by her hair. In her hands she held a tiny cherry blossom, gazing at it under partly closed eyes. A barely perceptible footstep caused Cheshire to raise her eyes. Mouse had found her, her eyes fixed and quiet. Without a word she settled herself next to Cheshire and flicked a leaf. “It’s time to go again, isn’t it?” Cheshire lowered her eyes and nodded. Mouse blew out through her lips and sighed. “I did not think it would be easy for us to find life somewhere happy. Why did you run like that, though?” Cheshire turned her head away to hide her tears. “No reason,” she said huskily. That wasn’t fooling Mouse. “You’re not ready to go, are you?” Another footstep interrupted them. Cheshire did not look up. She knew who it was. Ikasaa folded his legs gently under him as he settled into the leaves. “You’re leg is bleeding,” he said calmly. Cheshire sniffed and scrubbed her eyes, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. She brushed the locks of hair that had fallen loose from her horse-tail behind her ear and put her fingers against her brow, gazing at her leg. The bandage was red. Ikasaa was reaching into his pouch for fresh bandages when Cheshire cut him off. “It’s fine!” she snapped. Mouse gaped and Ikasaa made no move. Slowly he looked up at Cheshire. “May I ask what is wrong? Your leg does not seem to be bothering you.” Cheshire bit her lip so hard that she shook, but she could not look at Ikasaa. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “you were only trying to help, I shouldn’t have...” “My dear, it has already departed from my mind.” Cheshire nodded and stared at her knees as Ikasaa rewrapped her ankle. Her shoulders shook silently. Ikasaa gripped her foot gently. “Cheshire,” he whispered. “This is not goodbye. Even with the Rogue himself between us, we could not be parted for long. I will see you again. This is not a large land, but it is tortuous so that those who are not native will soon be lost. If you keep moving, they will lose track of you soon. A year or so and it will be as if you never existed. You will find your way back to this place.” Cheshire nodded and sniffed again. She pulled herself to her feet and wiped the last of her tears away. “I just want a home,” she whispered. Ikasaa took her chin and smiled at her. “You will soon,” he said. “Just a little longer. Be patient, little rogue.” Cheshire hiccupped a laugh. Mouse took her hand and they walked out of the forest, back towards the home that would have to wait. This looks like a good spot,” Cheshire said, stopping among the grove of redwoods and cherries. “Very nice,” Mouse mused, her eyes taking in the silent roof of branches over head, the carpet of dark leaves and mosses, and the two conveniently cupped beds made from roots turning up the soil. The owner of these roots arched majestically into the sky, wider around than either Cheshire or Mouse, or even a score other rogues, could reach. The two girls settled into the camp silently and efficiently, placing their packs inside the root-beds, setting a smokeless fire and cooking the rabbits they had caught earlier in the morning. The meat was soft and tender, filling their stomachs and easing their careful watch until they were both fast asleep. After a week out in the wild, they were comfortable with their routine. Their fire went out as dusk fell silently over the trees, bringing forth the wheeling stars and the huge moon. In this land, the moon looked closer than it really was, a large silver eye watching them from overhead. Mouse awoke suddenly as very gentle footsteps came crunching through the leaves. Holding very still, she listened hard. To her horror, it wasn’t one pair of feet she heard, but many; too many to count. With a single touch Mouse awoke her sister. The twins lay motionless, listening quietly. They both nearly jumped from their skins as a fire was lit not too far away from them, then another, and another! An entire band of young men had circled around them, consuming their own, unseen camp in their own much larger one. They looked much like a band of gypsies, with colorful scarves and headbands and glittering gold and silver piercings. One young man, a lean youth with long arms and legs, wore a sleeveless black vest that was laced in the front, his skin gleaming in the moonlight. On both of his biceps were golden clasps, as well as on his wrists, and gold looped earrings hung from his ears. Bone piercings flashed from their position on his cheekbone, tiny red dots of paint touched to their tips. His long black hair was pulled back into a horsetail, and it appeared he had lashed a fox’s tail around his waist with a red sash, giving him the appearance of fey blood. The tail jerked back and forth as he walked, its appearance both enchanting and lively. The loose black slacks he wore were tucked into his high boots. Lacings along his boots held scraps of cloth, small daggers, even a bit of lace which he touched from time to time as if to ensure that it was still there. Cheshire and Mouse glanced at each other, unsure of what to do. They tensed as the man with the fox tail strode towards them. He paused, sniffing the air, eyeing the trees around him, including the one under which Cheshire and Mouse were waiting. With a shrug, he took another step forward. There is nothing so ungraceful as a very long-limbed man falling over, especially when he is falling over another very long-limbed person, much less two. The man went down with a small grunt of surprise, quickly becoming entangled with the two girls who were lying there. “Oy!” a man yelled as he saw his mate go down. Immediately a score of the men had circled the place where their man had fallen, endless torches bringing light to the humiliating image. “What are you doing here in our camp?” one of the men spat. Cheshire bristled. “We were here first. If you had looked more carefully, you would have found that you had circled us in. We could have been enemies for all you know!” “And how do we know you are not?” another of the men growled, handling a very sharp dagger meaningfully. “Easy boys,” the tangled man laughed. “They are quite right; we are the ones at wrong here.” The man touched his forehead as he sought to stand. “My apologies madams for this very rude intrusion.” In a flash Cheshire had one of her knives against the man’s chest. “And how do we know you are not a threat?” she whispered. “We are tired and wary; I am afraid we have no room for mistakes.” The man held his hands out. “Very well then.” He gave a very subtle flick of his fingers. At first the men around him looked surprised, some crestfallen, and others even alarmed. “Do it now!” the man snapped. Cheshire tensed, her grip on the knife tight. Very slowly, the men surrounding the girls backed up, sheathing their weapons and returning to their fires. Cheshire watched them go. “Now then,” the man said. “I have no weapons on my person. They are all back at my place of rest. Will you let me go? You must come from a very fearsome place indeed if you cannot trust us to leave you alone.” Cheshire’s smile was crooked. “You have no idea,” she said, but she sheathed her own weapon. The man frowned as he looked between them, his thoughts putting two and two together quickly. “Ahhh,” he whispered. “I have heard of you.” Mouse turned from scanning the sullen men in the distance to look at their guest. “We have not heard of you. What is this band?” The man smiled. “We’re mercenaries. We hire our sword out to the lord who needs extra fighters. It’s good money, and it keeps us on the road. We’re all wanderers at heart.” “Gypsies,” Cheshire said. The man shrugged. “As you like.” “And your name?” Mouse inquired, her eyes pits of wary, emerald fire in the darkness that shrouded her face. The embers from her shifters core deep in her chest shifted and crackled through her gaze. Beside her, her sister’s eyes were a steely, flashing grey, reflecting the light like a cat’s in the night. The man concealed a shudder with a yawn, stretching his arms. “Uyuki. Of the mountains. Your names I do not know, but your reputation is well rehearsed among these trees. You are legends to some, and ghosts to others. It is even said,” he whispered, leaning forward, “that some mothers threaten their children to sleep with your names.” “If you do not know our names,” Cheshire purred, “how can what you say be true?” The man shrugged. “Your names are not unknown to all. I just can’t remember them.” Mouse laughed. “You may return to your fire if you wish, Uyuki.” Uyuki’s eyes flashed in turn. “On the contrary,” he said. “I will stay with you to ensure your safety. While my men are not bloodthirsty or wicked, they are distrustful, and we have fallen on difficult times. They would not hesitate to protect their own.” Mouse shrugged and turned on her side. “As you wish. I am going to go back to bed.” Cheshire was buzzing with energy. “I’ll stay awake,” she whispered. Her eyes fixed on the dark gaze of the man sitting close to her. One of her hands wrapped around the obsidian-hilted daggers she had taken from her worst enemy. She would be ready. Mouse woke as her sister touched her arm. The first rays of dawn had pierced through the trees. Around them the mercenaries were preparing to leave. It was a solemn, quiet thing. Dew dripped off of the leaves and blades of grass as they shifted among them. Not far off, Uyuki was playing quietly on a tiny, ethereal flute, his eyes far away. Cheshire and Mouse stood as well, their shoulder sacks never unpacked. As the mercenaries left the glade, the twins followed them. Uyuki fell back to walk with them as the group exited the trees. He held a horn in one of his hands. Looking at it, Cheshire did a quick calculation in her mind. “It does make me wonder,” she said, “how a single score of vagabond mercenaries can be of any use to any army?” Uyuki laughed and put the horn to his lips. He blew on it three times. They continued walking. The trees rustled on either side of them, the wind howling eerily through the branches. Cheshire shivered suddenly and pushed an errant lock of hair out of her eyes. Beside her, Mouse watched in quiet amazement as the trees came alive. From the woods came men, armed and clothed in ragged gypsy cloth and weapons and jewelry like the mercenaries the girls were with. They trotted easily from the trees to join the band in the center. Men left and right joked and laughed as friends were rejoined. Now the single score of vagabond mercenaries numbered just over five score. Cheshire ignored the roguish grin Uyuki cast her way, keeping her gaze aloof. Neither she nor Mouse spotted any women among the band and she and her sister shared a glance as a group of men suddenly grew closer to them. “Oy, Uyu, what’s this? Did you pick up a couple of gals to keep us warm at night?” “Hey Uyu you know you owe me a favor, introduce me to the pretty lasses!” “Uyu, did the girls get so tired of your nagging for marriage that you had to kidnap some of them to take with you?” Cheshire’s face went pale and her eyes glittered icily in the morning light. Beneath her traveling cloak she put a hand on one of her daggers. Uyuki eyed her expression mildly. “Easy boys, I don’t think our lasses like to be teased. Besides, if I lent them to you they might break you, even if they were mine to lend.” “What?” they outraged. “You mean they’ve joined the troupe? Now, Uyu, you know tha’s not allowed!!!” “Easy boys,” Uyuki laughed. “They haven’t joined the troupe. They’re travelers and fellow warriors. We stumbled over them last night and so they’ve deigned to grace us with their presence a little longer.” A tall young man, well over six feet, perhaps just under seven feet, leaned an elbow on Cheshire’s shoulder. He had long blood-red hair pulled into loose braids at the bottoms of his locks of hair. He wore a sleeveless top. His biceps and forearms were covered in bracers and gold cuffs. A pair of blue-violet eyes flashed down at her. “Fellow warrior, heh? I’d like to see these little squirts take their share of real men. Wherever they came from, the men are probably about the same size.” Cheshire brushed his arm off of her shoulder coldly. The man laughed and his mates punched him on the arm. The walking slowly ground to a halt as heads turned to watch the fray. In a moment Cheshire stood stock still in front of the tall man. Without a word she reached up and loosed the clasp on her cloak, letting it fall to the ground. Her close fitting dark blue clothing with tiny stitches of silver were her best fighting clothes, specially made by Krio to Ikasaa’s designs. A cat’s paw was cleverly stitched into the left shoulder. Over her chest, as always, was her bandolier of obsidian knives. A strange, small, openmouthed smile curled across her lips. Mouse felt a tiny surge of power shiver up her arms, a tendril from her sister’s growing, icy irritation. She reached out to put a hand on her sister’s shoulder, but a tiny force of fey energy gently pushed her hand away. “Easy now,” Uyuki murmured, but he made no effort to stop her. The tall man looked a little unnerved at the litheness of his opponent and the neatness of her weapons, but Uyuki’s blank stare would not let him back down. Rolling his eyes to fake his ease, he pulled a slender staff of stone from strapped to his long back. Cheshire’s smile widened, showing her tongue. She licked her lips expectantly and shivered. It was not even seen. The men around the girls roared in surprise as the girl disappeared and was suddenly crouching on the offender’s chest, two knives pressed against his throat. Cheshire cocked her head to the side, her wild smile gone. “I have no time to prove myself every time someone questions my size. My sister and I come from the western lands, where the Rogue raised us from mere babes. Despite the young age, I remember every year of that torture. Yes, the men there were on average small. But the Rogue himself? He was your size. And my sister took him down. I don’t want to hear another word about this, understand?” Cheshire did not wait for his answer. “I’m going to let you up now, and you can go lick your wounds at the back of the group.” Cheshire hopped nimbly from his chest and the man slowly got to his feet, a wry grin on his face. He glanced at Uyuki and the man shrugged. Slowly the red-haired man trudged to the back of the group, laughing softly to himself. Uyuki scanned the men with his eyes. “You heard her. Better be careful or she and her sister will be sending you to the back of the crowd.” The laughter was abundant but sincere. The stride towards the inner lands resumed. “I do believe we have two new mistresses to keep us in check,” a mild voice commented somewhere in the middle. Mouse glanced in that direction, but could not determine whether the speaker was a middle aged man with silver hair or a young man with black eyes and blue-black hair. The man with the silver hair winked at her with a small smile, but the boy with black hair did not even look her way. He stared resolutely ahead. The ground shook. Mouse woke in silence. The air was dead, the birds gone quiet. And the ground shook. Mouse touched Cheshire, who woke immediately and froze, her face pressed to the ground. Definite trembling. Mouse rose swiftly and stepped over the bodies of sleeping men to reach Uyuki. She nudged him and he woke groggily. “What is—” he stopped as he felt the trembling. For a moment the mercenary stayed absolutely still and listened. Then he was up in a flash, kicking men left and right. “UP!” he bellowed. “Up now, we have to move!!!” As the men began to feel the shaking, they moved faster than Cheshire or Mouse had seen them. “What is it?” Cheshire asked. Uyuki was stuffing his blanket into his backpack. “Stampede!” “What?” “No time! Just run!!” In less than two minutes the entire mercenary band was running through the forest, disregarding any precautions of stealth. The shaking was growing worse now, causing the very air to thrum, and it made Cheshire’s jaws rattle. Mouse paused, thrusting her fingers into the ground. “They’re like elk, only...they’re huge! They’re coming fast!” “Us faster would be nicer!” a mercenary said, yanking her from the ground and pushing her on. “If they catch us, get behind a tree. You might live.” Cheshire and Mouse, white with the unknown terror they could not fight, ran on, breathless. The sounds of destruction from behind them made them turn and look. A huge tidal wave of fur and horn was approaching, tearing the forest apart. Uyuki swore. “Into the plain!” he screamed. The huge band of mercenaries swerved, exiting the forest to run into the long, narrow plain that split the forest in half. Cheshire looked in the opposite direction they were running and nearly felt her jaw drop to the ground. The huge stampede spread across the plain and into the other side of the forest. “Holy—” Uyuki yanked on her arm. “Faster running, less talking!” He turned his head to yell up the ranks. “Frath, what’s our position?” “Less than a mile from the cave! If we can get there we’ll be safe!” Cheshire and Mouse ran for all they were worth. The herd was gaining on them, but the ground was beginning to rise. On the side of the forest they saw a large cave dipping down into the earth. Uyuki pushed his men in, staying out until each one had gone in. A man tripped, his ankle twisted on an unseen rock. Mouse grabbed him, swelling her muscles to bodily throw him into the cave. Uyuki jumped in just behind them, and a huge, brown-furred creature struck the place where he had been standing mere moments before. Suddenly the sun was blocked out and the cave shook with noise of striking hooves, bellowing; dust covered the cowering mercenaries, some screamed to shout out the noise of the stampede. And then it was over. Silence. Cheshire found herself lying next to Uyuki. “Well,” she breathed. “That was an adventure.” Mouse gasped for breath. “I do believe,” she wheezed, “I liked it!” Cheshire stuck out her hand. “You just gained two new mercenaries, Uyuki.” Uyuki stared at them like they were mad. “After nearly being trampled by a stampeding herd of elk?” Cheshire grinned. “It’ll keep us on our toes until we can go home.” “Home?” Uyuki said. “Where’s home?” “Where we’ll be when this is over.” Uyuki shrugged and stuck out his hand. “As you wish then. I’ll expect you to work hard, though. My men earn their bread and money.” Cheshire’s eyes glittered and Mouse licked her teeth. “Don’t worry about that,” she said. “We know how to work hard.” It was dark. And it was raining. Cheshire and Mouse stood silently in the rain, feeling it wash over their battle-worn bodies. For three years they had wandered with the Mercenaries, taking part in endless battles, earning their gold by selling their swords. But it was time. The rain poured through their hair, into their ears and noses and mouths, drenching their eyelashes and clothes. Lightning crackled in the sky, and Cheshire wiped her eyes. “We’re right back where we started thirteen years ago,” she muttered. “Right at the beginning,” Mouse said. “Down to the rain and everything.” “Home,” Cheshire said with a tiny tremor in her voice. “Do you think...it’ll ever feel the same again?” “Never,” Mouse said. “But we can always try.” The twins walked up the pathway, under cover of night, unseen by the guards, and knocked on the great door. A door-guard opened the hatch and peered out at them. “Who are you?” he snarled. “Slopping about at this time of night in this weather is very suspicious!” “Which is why,” Cheshire said coldly, “we would very much like to get out of it! Is there a man by the name of Ikasaa still here? We’re friends of his and we need to see him right away. It’s urgent!” The man grumbled, eyeing them. “Alright then,” he said. “But one wrong move and you’re gutted. The doctor is highly protected here!” Cheshire and Mouse glanced at each other, their eyebrows twitching. Protected? Since when has Ikasaa ever needed protection?! Cheshire and Mouse dripped quietly on the wooden floor of the warm hall, their clothes steaming and chilling on their bodies. Cheshire shivered. Mouse sneezed. “What kind of hospitality is this, that my guests are left to catch cold in the hall?” Cheshire grinned as she caught sight of a tall man in a long kimono, his hair hanging around his shoulders now, a gold chain of rank dangling from his neck. A single scarlet eye scanned them, a violet eye greeted them. A twitch of a smile warmed them. “Ikasaa,” Cheshire said softly, and she rushed forward to give her old friend a hug. His face had not changed a bit, no sign of age. Mouse sauntered up, a small smile on her face as she drank in the peace. Ikasaa looked up at her with a smile. “There is someone here who would like to see you,” he said. “We were just talking about you, too. He will be very pleased.” Mouse frowned. “Who?” Ikasaa beckoned for them to follow and led them upstairs to a room. “A bath and a change of clothes first. And some food. You have journeyed far, and greetings can wait until you are comfortable.” Two long tunics and soft, black slacks lay on the large, freshly made bed. A bath steamed in the corner, and steaming plates of food sat on a table nearby. Cheshire smiled. “Did you know we were returning tonight?” she whispered. Ikasaa chuckled, a little embarrassed. “No,” he admitted. “I have had this room prepared every night for three years. I wanted to be prepared in the case of your arrival.” Cheshire smiled and closed her eyes. “Thank you, Ikasaa.” The doctor smiled and bowed out of the room. “I will fetch you when you are ready.” Cheshire and Mouse, overwhelmed after a hot bath, hot meal, and warm, dry clothes waiting for them, followed Ikasaa down a long corridor and into a reading room. A very tall man stood at the end of the room, staring out a large window. Long pale hair hung in jagged locks around his back, and his home-stitched clothing stretched as he lengthened his torso to peer further into the black of the rain-soaked night. “You know,” the man said in a familiar voice, not turning around. “This reminds me of the night when the girls were first found. If only—” he turned around and froze, his large eyes fixed on the girls behind Ikasaa. “Krio!” Mouse cried, rushing forward. Krio fell back against the window, stunned, a hand against his eyes and he hugged Mouse and wept for joy. “Cruel,” he chuckled through his sobs. “You could have at least mentioned!” Mouse looked back at the doctor whom he was addressing and grinned. “Wicked!” she laughed. Krio’s face had added a few lines, around his mouth and on his brow, but he looked the same. He plucked at the tunic on Mouse’s shoulder. “Sewed that,” he whispered, “nigh on eight years ago.” He smiled slightly. “Still fits.” Ikasaa turned to Mouse and Cheshire, a smile spreading his pale face. “Welcome home.”

In case anyone is wondering, this is based off of last year. At my school there were a couple of rapid, close together suicides, and one of them was my older sister's good friend. It hurt a lot. I'm involved in a club called Voices, and we publish a Literary Magazine every year, and that year there was a tribute to the girl my sister knew. I wrote this after reading through those again.

I never knew your person I only knew your face How elegant that picture Each image filled with grace I used to pause in wonder And sigh “How beautiful,” And every time I would forget That this faery girl was real. I never even knew you I only saw your face How elegant those pictures Each image filled with grace My sister used to tell me About your floor-length hair And I would sigh in envy And forget without a care. I never knew your feelings I only knew your face How elegant that picture Each image filled with grace. And then a sudden tragedy I sat at home alone Until the one who’s strongest Came home and sat right down. The thing that scared me most that night Was not the loss so true But the havoc that it wreaked in us Even me, not knowing you. I watched my sister, always strong As she dissolved into tears And sobbing brokenheartedly, That was my greatest fear. I didn’t know how to fix it This pain that cut so deep I tore her heart open so wide I could see nearly every beat. And even though I never knew you I knew the loss was felt And tears leaked from my own soul From sorrow, pain, and guilt. Why could I not help her to mend? Why could I only watch? As my strongest sister melted Her tears without a staunch. I never even knew you I only knew your face But each image was so beautiful Each picture filled with grace. We don’t know how to stop these things Or even how to mend But deep inside we all know We will see you again. No longer will I not know you No longer just your face I will get to know your person Because of endless grace.

The brink, like a precipice of death, Wind blows about, laughing and pointing, Look at those fools, it laughs, The spirits who ride the air laugh too, They will follow us soon, they sneer, Their black horses toss their heads, And manes of wind flick back and forth, Bells ring on the air, Their golden eyes watch, laugh, hate, And wait, for the new dead to come their way. Narrowed eyes, beating heart, Watch the light glimmer here, Reflecting off the point of a spear, The point of a sword, reflecting fear. Row on row set up to slaughter, Bashing together in a discordance, A ballet of death, a waltze of pain, All in this ironic dance. A single warrior steps out of line, His eyes are hidden by his exotic helmet, Ribbons tied with bells fall from the low rim, Ribbons tied to every limb, He jingles as he walks, a lilting, song of death, Dressed in light green, with flowing clothes, He looks like a war-bent prince, A small, smooth smile can be seen along his lips, As he pulls forth his long-bow, As tall as two children head to toe, And sets an arrow to its string, He pulls it back, sets it to the air, And looses, He steps back and shoots the arrow high, Up and up, and then down, to pierce the ground, Another smile and the warriors on either side fly. Sword on sword, the screech of metal, Screech of pain and defeat, The screech of birds in the air, Awaiting their fresh-killed meat. The single warrior in green watches, The wind ruffles his princely robes, Light glimmers off his armor, He is surrounded by the crows. Now he removes his helmet, His long black flowing hair, as perfect as silk, As black as obsidian, falling about his hips, The wind flutters through it, Lifting a lock here, there, Brushing it off of his shoulders, He walks among the dead, no survivors, The crows follow, flying around him, One alights upon his shoulder, Surveys the slaughter, The man pulls forth a perfectly white fan and holds it aloft, The light glitters from the knife ribs and the cloth, The birds descend, and feed, The man smiles, his golden eyes reflecting death, Reflecting the laughter of the wind as they greet, Those who have swelled their ranks, The new Riders of the Wind.

Yeah, if I thought my mind was mush then.... Well let's not go into it. The mind of a crashed Kikuyu is not a good thing. + (aka lack of sleep) =

Sitting here, my fingers slip on the keys, Though they are as sticky as frozen gummy bears, These pathetic school keyboards, The mouse takes half a minute to travel across the screen, These pathetic school mouses, And the screen flickers in and out of focus, These pathetic school computers. And here I sit, my head nodding, Attempting a little ditty of some...strange...sort, Not really making any sense, Not really trying... I have a history test today, I wonder what it's on, Something to do with the War of 1812, Which I know took place in 1812, or so... ...maybe... So I think I'll go find a place to sleep, If I don't get dragged away to class first, To take that history test on the War of Not-Really-1812... ...maybe...

*slow evil laugh* Bawa ha ha ha.....

Thanks Wyvern. I'll fix that right away. And by the way, you might want to warn Silver Wind to get a fire proof lense and drink about ten espressos before hand. She doesn't want to be lured into sleep as well.

The dark forest loomed eerily behind me, wreathed in great sashes of mist that rose from the steaming ground. Before me the sun was setting in a huge conglomeration of fire and ash, painting its colors of farewell across the sky. Above, the moon glimmered hastily as night greedily vied for space in the heavens. In a flash of final flame, the sun disappeared and darkness settled over the land. Off the cliffs upon which I stood, the ocean thundered and crashed in the sudden silence that heralded the clamor of night. I opened my eyes and let the tiny light of the stars glimmer and reflect in my gaze, turning them into tiny pools of gold. I felt a wind pick up, hesitant at first, mirroring my tentative reach. I pressed my toes to the very edge, curling them bare over the stones, and threw back my head. A howl of wind surged up my body, blowing my hair up into the air like a great dark blossom. It thrashed and curled and twisted about me, forming a wild, invisible barrier against the world. I let it lift my arms and I stood on tip-toe over the precipice, my arms flung above me. A high, piercing noise erupted from my throat, not quite like a song, and not quite like a cry. It swelled and burst forth into a scream that sang high above the trees. Leaves flew down into the ocean as my scream startled the bushes, and from its neslted place, a black fox raised its head wearily and looked at the dark figure on the world's pinnacle. My scream dwindled and I settled, the wind stirring beneath my feet, tamed. For the rest of the night I stood at the ocean's edge, my eyes golden pools of star.

The fire flickers on the stone, Of the bordering grey hearth, A power flutters coolly there, Not of wind or earth. Dream's dusty weight settles on me, And lures me into sleep, There the fire masters me, And tells me not to weep. It flutters all about me, red and cruel and gold, Whispering the darkest, Of secrets never told. I feel such terror in its grasp, But it shushes my growing fear, A burning finger brushes down, And incinerates a tear. My eyes glow gold with its sparks and whirls, As it tickles and chuckles about, With malicious intent, its will is bent, But I know not what about. No more will I see that hearth, Or sleep in my comfy chair, No more will I feel anyone but fire, Stroke my burning hair. My eyes are flame, my mouth is flame, My heart and lungs are too, And pools of liquid fire pulse, Through burning veins so true. And soon I am a part of it, No memories my own, We're off to find another one, To join us in our roam. .....The glowing eyes stare out of coals, They burn low in a hearth, They watch the young boy that sitteth there, And chuckle with cruel mirth. A smoking hand that reaches out, Clasps his hands quite tight, And 'fore he screams, he's among dreams, And whisked into the night.

Very nice Silver Wind. I seem to be seeing your name more and more often amid this area of the keep . And I must say I am never disappointed! All of your work is entertaining and soulful. This piece particularly touched me. I can't wait to read more!!!

"Ice Tea, please," the girl sighed wearily as she slumped into a booth. She wore all dark clothing with a tiny fox engraving hanging on a chain around her neck. Exhausted, she put her head into her hands, trying to block out the world, trying to forget that she was a fugitive on the run. Trying to forget that she was hunted far and wide. Trying to forget everything. The tea was placed in front of her with an endearing lemon brightening the ensemble. The girl stared at it from over her crossed fingers and became lost in the shard of yellow; that tiny flicker of color swamped across her thoughts, turning the terror there yellow, the blood yellow, the death yellow. She swallowed a hefty gulp of the tea at this next thought, her hands shaking and spilling much of the tea onto the table in front of her. She slammed the cup down and slid back, again covering her eyes with a trembling hand. She jumped with a small moan: her hands were pitch black. Hastily she hid them under the table and glanced about the restaurant with terrified eyes. No one had seen. She looked at her hands again: normal skin color, pale and ghostly, gave her cause to sigh with relief. Someone slid into the seat across from her. The girl dared not look up, knew she had been found at last; and, of all places, in a Joe's BBQ. "It's been a long time finding you." The girl looked up into the golden gilded eyes of the young man across from her. He was maybe a year older than herself, with ruffled black hair standing up in odd directions. Odd to think that this young man was here for her; for her death. "It's been a long time running," she whispered back. "I'm tired of running." "So are we all, sometimes," he said, inspecting pristine nails critically. "The lack of fellowship, the terror, the ghostly despair of the hunted. But at least you have a purpose: you provide a duty for the hunter. The thrill of the hunt, of the scent of your prey, the frantic searching and chasing," the young man's eyes glittered with wild, malicious joy. "You would have to experience it to understand." "Yes," she said. "I suppose I would." "Of course, you need not to feel shame. You who were such a prominent hunter for so long; it is to be expected that you would forget the ecstacy of the hunt, so strong like a drug. I suppose you broke yourself of the addiction. But of course then you understand why we do this dance of death." The girl downed the rest of her tea and set the glass in the puddle of spilled drink on the table. She stared at it for a moment, knowing that any second the man would take her by the arm and lead her outside where he would silently and efficiently put a blade between her ribs, or perhaps a gun to her temple. It did not matter; she knew he would kill he with the respect of one to his fellow hunter. No maiming or torture before death for her. It was a death not to be feared. But deep in her heart she knew she was not yet ready to die. No, the hunt was not yet over. A spark filled the dull blankness of her eyes and she looked up at the golden, fevered glare of the young man before her. "I do understand," she breathed, her fingertips dangling in the small puddle of tea. In a flash she had flung droplets of the sweet tea into his gaze, the extract of lemon stinging his tender eyes and causing him to flinch back. He swore loudly as she bolted from the booth, slamming through the doors. There was a forest just behind the bar, which was why she had chosen it. She could lose even the best hunter in the trees; this was her element. She would find a den to hold out in. Putting a yet again blackened hand to the fox emblem at her throat, the girl ducked down into the branches. The young man burst from the restaurant, his eyes livid as he looked at the trees. The yipping of a fox far away laughed at him, and he spat on the ground with a crooked smile. Shouldering a long bag onto his arm, he set out with long strides into the trees, an inhuman, fevered light to his golden eyes. The hunt continued. ----------------------------- ~Dummies ~Pen ~Keys ~August

Day 1 of my Captivity: My cell is 5 feet by 6 feet, and nearly twenty feet high. That is because it is directly under the tower, where they carry out their methods of torture. I can hear those poor unfortunate's screams day and night, their wailings and blabbering. I wish I could find a bit of wax to clog my ears, and I even considered ripping my shirt to plug my ears with, but I changed my mind. I will need this shirt when winter comes, should I live that long. There is a little window high in the wall that spills a tiny square of light down onto my little cell. Every now and then I can hear the wind howling outside of the cell and I feel such a longing for open spaces again. The plasma that they call food is delivered once a day. I do not touch it, no matter how hungry I am. I would rather die of starvation than of disease from whatever they put in those bowls. The bars of the door are so close together that no bi-pedal or quadruped could hope to pass through. If only I were a lynx, then I could squeeze through. But I am not a lynx. It is my fortune that I have been placed here due to a strange condition of mine. I have no feeling for pain. While I can indeed feel touch and sensations like the wind against my cheek and the touch of a hand, I cannot feel any discomfort. When the Finders of the tower discovered this, they promptly placed me below the tower to be undone by sound alone. And it is nearly working. Day 3 of my Captivity: There is a man here called Monk. It is not his real name, and I know for a certain fact that he is no religious man in any sense of the word. He comes and sits in front of my cell cross-legged every day and watches me, searching for a weakness. He has a lean, hawkish face with large dark eyes that catch every detail of my behavior. A small crescent scar carves through the flesh under his left eye, and his long dark hair is swept back from his crown to settle dispassionately across his shoulders. He is like a granite man, a person of stone. Nothing moves him. I have never seen him smile or frown, or show any concern whatsoever. He is an untraceable man. And as a servant of the Tracer, he has quickly risen to the top due to this very fact. He watches me to see the progress of the screams on my mental condition, but he shouldn't bother. I was able to ignore them after the fifth hour on the second night. Day 7 of my Captivity: I saw the most terrible thing today. Monk smiled. A man came to him while he was sitting there, and we were staring at each other. The messenger whispered something in Monk's ear, and he cocked his head to the side to listen. I could not hear what was passed, as a sudden cacophony of screams covered my hearing, but I saw the messenger glance at me, so I knew that it involved my person in some way. And then Monk smiled. The corners of his lips twitched into a crooked, sneering grin, and his eyes turned to dark pools of ice encrusted stone. I felt the cold from those eyes travel through my body to freeze my life blood and stop my heart. I pray never to see anything ever so terrifying. He stood and left me then. I believe these are my last hours. I might not write again. Day 8 of my Captivity: I will die this day. The Tracer has discovered my true name. He now has complete power over me, and I will be powerless to stop him. They will take me up to the tower to the Naming Room and there they will milk me of any and all information I possess, useful or not, for their pleasure. I have contemplated killing myself so that the secrets of my people might remain secrets, but they have placed me in an entirely suicide-proof room. Alas, even if I had the means, I have not the courage, and I despise my own disgusting fear. Even if I had the chance I would not be able to do the deed. Monk told me that I should be honored. The Tracer himself will be at my Naming to take pleasure as Monk wrings my last thought and dream from my mind. I feel only sick and horrified with fear. I can hear their footsteps and see their flickering shadows on the wall in the light of the torches. So I will freely tell you my true name. Remember it when my 5 foot by 6 foot cell lies empty yet again. Remember it when my mind is stripped from me and my last thoughts are laughed and pooled over by the Tracer. Remember my numb nerves and the screams I witnessed below the tower. Remember me as Mardr --------------------------------------- Moon Suspenders Sheepish Dawn

I feel the pain deep in my chest, Filling my lungs with blood, I lie on the ground and stare at the stars, My life fluid pounds like a flood. They've never looked so bright before, The stars in the sky, I mean, This is the last time I'll see them, Or admire their blue-ish gleam. A tear trickles down my face, And pools into my ear, It makes a roaring, scratchy noise, Such a tiny little tear. The wound is fire that blossoms, There, right over my heart, And I wonder if it will bloom tonight, Before my life departs. I see it grow and twist and twine, It glows with embers and flames, And the rose unfolds its petals, And weeps tears of blood and blame. A cringing tendril reaches out, To touch the stars above, And one by one the petals fall, Scorned by the harshest love. The breathing in the forest slows, My enemy is near, But in my direst hour now, I can feel no fear. He looms over me with a grinning mouth, And blazing eyes of light, With a silent promise that he will take me, Once I've departed the night. With my final breath I blow a kiss, To the trees that were my home, To the children left around the hearth, To my husband now all alone. And the claws of my enemy close around, And bear me into the wild, Tonight my death will become the life, Of another hungering child. ...The man watched sadly as the hawk flew off, A dead, bedraggled fox in tow, And he watched and waited through the night, Till the sparkling moon sank low.

Five Minute Poem Here I am at school again, That pit of sad despair, Where teachers leap from hidden rooms, And chain you to a chair. They force learning down your throat, Whether you like it or not, And here at this particular school, Even in winter it's hot!!! Does this attest to it's nature, Of a flaming world below? But as we're stuck here every day, I guess we'll never know. So I am stuck in school today, Writing this very post, I'm so tired that images float, Like butter over toast. Before I crash into drooling stupor, Of the learning that consumes me, I leave this little ditty here, For all to read and see. The bells have wrung, or nearly so, I think it's near the time, When I shall have to suffer, And end this senseless rhyme.

I'm currently working on the next part of the story, so yes, it will continue. What happens in said sequel remains to be revealed. Thank you for the criticisms: I will definitely work them into the next section. Also, on Osma's feelings towards the girls, it's sort of mixed. He views them almost as trophies to his work- he considers that their incredible fighting skills are his own accomplishment. He's fond of them, but not in a fatherly or brotherly way. That too will be expanded upon in the sequel. Till then, and thank you! Kikuyu

I really liked this. The vague riddles were a refreshing use of brain cells long since forgotten over the dreary summer days. I can't wait to read more of your thoughts!!

Rogue It was raining outside. The lightning flickered brightly against the dark windows, thunder rumbling and echoing off of the mountains around the little house. Inside father sat at his chair, reading an old tome. His glasses were perched on the tip of his long nose, his serene, wide mouth stretched into a little non-smile of contentment. The reddish brown hair that he had passed on to his daughters flopped over his forehead, cut short around his ears and neck. He stirred, his flowing white shirt rippling with shadows. Rocking gently in her rocking chair, mother sewed, mending twice handed down clothing for her children. Despite their low funds, her forehead was relaxed, her almond-shaped, brown eyes calm and warm, glistening like honey in the firelight. She brushed a lock of obsidian curls away from her pale face, her skin like the beams of the moon. She glanced at her husband, her full-lipped mouth curling with affection before she turned back to her work. The twin girls sat on the floor, playing with their tiny stuffed animals. Only six in age, they were small still, thin and short for all that their legs and arms were long. Their curling, red-brown hair had just a touch of black in it from their mother, their skin as pale as hers. Their straight noses came from their father, as did their blue-green-grey eyes, which would play tricks on occasion, switching between colors according to the girls’ moods. Their lips were pink and full, their long lashes black and curling against their cheeks. Long fingered, tiny hands held the dolls gently as they played in silence, glancing out the window at the storm when the lightning lit up the yard like day. They were each fascinated by the storm: the one with curlier hair and more stubborn mouth was entranced by the thrashing winds and booming thunder; the one with the stranger eyes and shorter hair was mystified by the brewing dark and the tearing lightning. In the offset of a flash of light, as the thunder growled through the house, shaking the pottery and opening the curlier-haired girl’s eyes wide, something thumped in the house. It went unheard by the family below. A creak of a footstep on the stair brought the twin girls’ eyes up to stare in wonder at the dark cloaked man who stood there. The father shot to his feet, the mother knocked her sewing out of her lap as she lunged for the girls, but it was too late. A knife each thudded into their chests, piercing their hearts. They fell to the ground, their blood pooling beneath them, staining the wood. The twins stared at their parents, uncomprehending, trembling with fear. The man moved forward, eyeing the two victims of his murder, and then he looked at the twin girls, confusion flickering across his features. The twins stared at his emerald green eyes, glittering in the flashing firelight. His hair, twisted and stringy from the rain that came in sheets outside, was black and highlighted with gold at his temples. It was cut raggedly around his shoulders, as if a knife, not scissors, had done the job. His skin was as pale as one who sees the sunlight rarely, and his face, though scarred in many places, was handsome and strong. He wore entirely black; knives were strapped to his chest and legs, their obsidian stone hilts glittering between the folds of his tattered, mud-stained cloak. He cursed slightly, looking at them, frowning, and then he moved to their parents. His steps drew him closer to the girls, but they dared not move, hoping he would not see them. He turned their parents over and pulled his knives from their chests, wiping them on the shirts that their mother had been knitting, and he thrust the blades back into their assigned sheathes. Then he turned to the girls. “Should I kill you now, as a mercy, or should I leave you here to die on your own?” he mused. It was impossible to tell if he was talking to himself or asking them personally, so they kept quiet, only half comprehending what he said. Their minds were in shock, and their eyes kept straying to the wide, glassy eyes of their deceased parents. The man sighed and shook his head, a small, bitter smile curling his lips. “Do you have names?” He crouched before them, eyeing their faces in turn. Still the girls kept silent, staring up at him with their wide blue-green-grey eyes. The one with the stranger eyes quivered. The one with the curlier hair trembled. The man cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head to one side. “No? Are you nameless?” He shook his head and cursed again, staring out the window. “Fine then. You’ll come with me.” He took them each by an arm and pulled them to their feet. Numbly they followed, their eyes drifting back to their parents before the living room door closed and the man smuggled them out into the night. They walked until they could not walk any more and the girls fell exhausted onto the muddy forest floor. Cursing, the man heaved the one with stranger eyes onto his back, lifting the girl with curlier hair into his arms. With one arm supporting each, he continued his path through the woods. “Just as well,” he muttered to himself. “I can’t have you remembering the way back once morning comes and you decide that you’d rather not stay with the murderer of your parents.” He drifted into silence, continuing along the dark wood path that was not a path at all, the bright eyes of woodland fowl and foe watching him as he passed, until he came to a stone house. Small and rotting on the outside, it was not appealing to the wanderer’s eye, and passed up as a resting place on all but a few occasions, giving the murderer his peace. Beneath the ground it was a labyrinth of wealthy furnishing and dwelling, a comfortable home for a lonely rogue. Into this the man descended, carrying the girls deep into the depths of the earth. At his hall of rooms he entered the first door and laid the girl he was carrying in his arms on the bed, covering her rain-soaked body with the large quilt that lay on the small cot. Though he did not keep guests, he had these rooms available for his assignments that required hostages. He exited the room and locked the door behind him, moving down the hall with the other girl still on his back. At the last door he entered the room and repeated the motions, covering the girl with a quilt as he laid her on the bed, and locking the door as he left. Stowing the keys back into his deepest pocket, he traversed across the maze to his own room to change and to sleep. * * * * “Up! Up now!” The twin with the curlier hair jerked from sleep and stared blankly around the room she was in. This was not the room she shared with her sister...that was not her mother’s kind voice waking her from sleep. When she did not move, the door opened and a man came through, dressed in simple dark clothing: a sleeveless shirt and leather slacks, his dark hair pulled back into a rough horse-tail. This was not her father, and she whimpered in fear as she pulled back from him. Then her memories of the night before slammed into her so hard it left her panting. With a wild scream she lurched from bed and charged at him. The man was so surprised by her violent behavior that he barely grabbed her arm, wrenching her to a halt, but she bit his hand viciously and wriggled away. He yelped and swore, charging after her. She had reached the end of the hall when he caught her by the hair. She cried out in pain as she was wrenched to a halt, staggering to her knees. The man placed a broad palm on the back of her neck, lifting her up and shaking her like a bad kitten, and he laughed. “Slippery little one, aren’t you?” he chuckled. “Are you like a little cat, my little Cheshire?” The girl whimpered, clutching at his wrist as she tried to ease the pressure on her skin, but he did not let go. He pulled a pair of keys from his belt and put a silver one in the lock of the door they had stopped in front of, the last one on the hall. As the door swung open, the girl saw her twin sitting on the bed with her legs curled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She turned and stared at them blankly, shivering. The man grinned and dragged the girl he had named Cheshire in with him as he gripped her twin by the arm and pulled her out of the room. “Come now, it is time to get up. I have already named your sister with the day, and there is much else to be done; for instance, a name for you, eh?” He looked down at the girl, but she did not look at him and would not say a word. “Quiet, aren’t you? You’re a little more mousey than your sister. There, that’s the name: Mouse. See how much we can accomplish in just a few moments, and there are many moments in the day.” He led them through the halls and through more doors, more twists and turns than they could imagine, but they would learn swiftly. Through a sliding cloth door and there was a kitchen before them, or what appeared to be a kitchen. The man sat them down on two stools at the table and moved to the cupboards that nestled against the wall. The little Mouse looked at her twin and they stared at each other in silent comprehension, sharing their fear and emotional pain at the sudden upheaval in their lives. The man plunked two bowls in front of them and set about making porridge with raisins and nuts. When it was ready he spooned the hot mush into their bowls and gave them a slice of bread each along with a glass of fruit juice. “I eat simply myself, so it’s lucky for you that I took on the job rather than one of the others, say, Thor, for example. He lives on meat and wine alone, and I do believe that is not the food for...four year olds?” he guessed. Cheshire did not take her eyes from her bowl as she mumbled. “I’m sorry what was that?” the man asked politely. The girl did not repeat what she had said, only lowered her head so that her hair fell in front of her face. The man gripped her chin firmly and forced her to look at him, his green eyes fixed on her own mottled gaze. “What did you say?” he repeated. “We’re six,” the little girl said huskily. “Six then,” the man conceded. “Alright. You’re rather small for your age, but how would I judge? I have had no dealings with children since I was one, and I would not relive that for the world. I am Osma, a servant of the Rogue; thief, bounty-hunter, mercenary, and assassin for hire.” “Why did you kill our parents?” Mouse whispered, her wide eyes staring at the man before her. Osma fixed her with a long stare, pursing his lips as he thought about the question. “The Rogue’s orders,” he said simply. “Your parents were wanted among our people, and so I took on the job to eliminate them. I had no idea that you were a part of the problem.” He glanced between the two of them. “Eat. We will decide what to do after that.” The girls pushed at their food, unnerved by the gaze of the man before them, but finally they brought themselves to take a few mouthfuls. Though they left most of the porridge in their bowls, and did not touch the bread, Osma seemed satisfied. He made them drink the juice in their cups, and as they did so by sips at a time, he ate the rest of their porridge and bread. After that he placed the dishes in a small sink and beckoned them to follow him. Osma led them out of the house into the forest. Sunlight transformed the dark, storm-ridden trees into tall giants of green. A deer stared at them from between the trees before running off into the green. Ferns pushed their new budlings through the moist dirt, surrounded by purple and yellow and white flowers. Great vines draped between trees, and the only sound in the forest was the rustle of the wind, the dripping of dew from the trees, and the music of bird chatter. They came to a clearing near a waterfall. Osma cut two short sticks from a tree and tossed them to the girls. They caught them uneasily, fumbling with the wood and looking up at him nervously. Osma held a long staff of his own, his of black, curling, engraved wood. “We begin your tutelage now. Hold up your staffs like this.” He held his own lengthwise across his chest, and, after an uncertain glance at each other, the girls did likewise. Osma advanced on them and adjusted the positions of their hands and feet. “Alright then,” he said. “We’ll start with the basics. This is a high block.” He thrust his staff over his head. “And a low block.” His staff came down around his waist. “Easy enough. Now, Mouse, you hit, and Cheshire you block. High and low. Mouse, this is how you hit from high and low.” Mouse shook her head wildly. “I’m not going to hit my sister!” Osma took her shoulder. “You won’t if she blocks correctly.” Mouse had only shook her head a few times when Osma picked her up and threw her into the pool of water under the falls. The assassin pulled her out again, putting her back in front of her pale-faced sister. “I’ll suffer no dispute,” Osma growled, the beginning of anger giving his voice an edge. “You will learn to do this.” Cheshire felt fury fill her. “Stop picking on her!” Osma slapped her, the girl’s head flinging to the side. The man’s handprint stood out on her cheek and when she turned back on him her eyes were chips of blue ice, despite the fact that they were filled with tears. She turned on her heel and ran swiftly into the woods. Osma groaned and turned on Mouse. “Stay here,” he snarled, “or I won’t ensure that you’ll ever see her again!” Mouse stood riveted to the spot as the man disappeared into the woods. Cheshire was good at hiding, but Osma was even better at tracking. He found her within the half-hour and dragged her from her hiding spot. She struggled and shrieked, but he only pulled her back to the clearing. “Running will do you no good,” he said curtly, his wrath appeased. “The forest is miles and miles wide, and I know my way around it. You do not. If you do as I say, we’ll get along. Do not try to run away again or you’ll be punished for it. I don’t have time to run after weepy girls.” Mouse was crying silently, but she did as Osma said as he showed her how to hit and block. Soon she and Cheshire were moving back and forth. Osma sat back and watched until Mouse’s clothing was dry, and then he switched them: Cheshire hitting, Mouse blocking. They continued until Mouse’s hair was dry and they were both panting, their stomachs growling. Osma set a meal of cheese, bread, and grapes in front of them, and they ate ravenously, if slowly, watching the man in front of them warily. He was grinning. “We have accomplished much today. Not only have you learned the foundations of combat, but I have also discovered how to get you to eat. It has been a good day indeed.” When they had finished eating Osma led them back to the house and then showed them to a small bathhouse that was attached to the kitchen. In it was a hot spring that bubbled up into a pool set deep in the rock. Towels and soap were placed on the edge of the steaming water. Osma pushed them into the room. “I’ll expect you to clean yourselves thoroughly. If I have to do it for you, I’ll do it with a broom, and I will not be happy about it.” He shut the door firmly. The girls listened as his footsteps receded down the hall, and only after several minutes of tense waiting did they undress and jump into the pool. They scrubbed wordlessly and then swam around a little, clearing their thoughts. When Osma knocked firmly on the door, they jumped. “That’s not a pool in there,” his voice came through the wood. “Hurry up!” The girls got out of the water immediately and dried off, putting on their clothing. When they came out Osma grimaced as he looked at their dirty clothing. “We’ll have to get you some more suitable garb,” he said to himself. “That’ll be tomorrow.” They ate a quiet dinner in the kitchen, Osma drinking from a bottle of what the girls guessed to be alcohol of some kind, and when Cheshire raised a timid question about it, he laughed. “You’re smart, for all that you’re small,” was what he said, but he did not tell them what kind of liquor it was. He locked them in their rooms early, leaving them to nurse their aching muscles of the day and contemplate their predicament. Tomorrow they would face new and stranger circumstances. Where were they going to get new clothes? Osma woke them early, taking them out into the woods just as dawn was turning the forest grey. They were still rubbing their eyes and yawning as they trekked through trees, leaning against each other as they followed Osma’s brisk pace. As the sun was beginning to grow hot and the twins’ feet were beginning to ache, they came to a tall tower. Osma rapped smartly on the door and immediately it burst open. A tall man in a flowing white shirt and neat black slacks stared down at them from golden eyes, his blond hair cut about his earlobes. “Osma. This is a surprise. What brings you so far this way?” Osma jerked his head at the girls behind him. “I need suitable rogue clothing for them: training, field work, and causal wear. All they have right now is the clothes on their back.” The man looked down at the girls and stared at their faces for a long, long, long time. Cheshire and Mouse stared back at him, shifting on their feet, nervous and unhappy. Then the man smiled and beckoned them to come in. “Come, come, we can get this over with quickly.” Osma nodded and Cheshire and Mouse followed the strange man into the tower. Inside it was filled with clothes. The walls were spiraling racks and shelves filled with clothes. A small rustle of cloth from above made the girls turn their heads. A tall shadow disappeared quickly from the stairs, but not before they caught a flash of a black and red robe. The man before them caught the direction of their gaze and grinned. “Don’t worry about the doctor; he doesn’t come down unless he’s on a call. In fact he hasn’t come down in the past decade.” The man bustled about, pulling this and that down, and then, to the twins’ greatest surprise, he stretched up about five stories, his torso lengthening easily. When he circled the main core of the tower several times, coiling around the stone like a snake, Mouse gasped softly. Osma chuckled from behind them. Quickly the man had a conglomeration of clothing at their feet. Several pairs of everything were inspected by Osma’s quick eyes: two pairs plus extra of black clothing, black slacks, shirt, soft shoes, gloves, arm and leg net, masks, and head cloths; two pairs plus extra of sleeveless white shirts, liquid-like black shorts, two coils of hand and shin wrapping cloth, two scarlet sashes; two pairs plus extra of long, soft pants with deep pockets, even longer shirts cut up the side to the hip, and dark blue slippers. A basket was filled with underclothes. The man bowed low over the abundance and grinned at the girls. They stared with wide eyes. They had never worn anything nice and new before; all of their clothes had been mended, taken in, over and over again until they were worn through. “How much?” Osma demanded. The man cast his eyes over the pile and bowed his head. “Ten silver pieces.” Osma’s eyes flashed. “That would only cover half,” he said suspiciously. The man straightened. “It’s a special today. All unobtrusive, unannounced twin girls are one for two.” The man bowed and took a hand of either twin, bending his forehead over them, his eyes twinkling mischievously. Osma rolled his eyes and made a swift gesture of impatience. Immediately the man bundled the clothing up into another basket, covering both baskets with an oiled cloth, in case of rain in the unsteady mountains. “Safe journey,” he called as they left, his torso stretching ever so slightly to follow them to the door. Cheshire slammed her shoulders against the dark wall, gasping with fear, her eyes wide as she stared at darkness. She dared not pant loudly or cry out; it would be a deadly mistake. Her eyes roved slowly over her cell, taking in every detail as she let her breath out slowly and quietly. She closed her eyes as the trembling and the slow tears came, and soon she was shaking with suppressed grief. Her dreams had again been disturbed by the glassy, staring eyes of her bleeding parents. Their blood had seeped across the floor, more blood than there should have been, until it had swallowed up her sister and all the furnishings. She was swimming in a sea of blood, coughing and choking on it, until it drowned her slowly and dissolved her bones and flesh. She did not notice when dawn came. She lay in a fevered heap on her bed. At the first glimmering of the sun, Osma rapped on her door with his customary “Up! Up now!” She did not respond. She couldn’t. Osma opened the door with a frown. They had come to an agreement and a steady routine. He called, she answered, no questions asked. When he saw her pale and shivering on her cot, hollow-eyed and rubbing her hands along her arms incessantly, he said not a word. He closed the door again and disappeared. Moments later he brought a huge quilt which he wrapped around her, picking her up in his arms much like he had the first night they had met. Cheshire buried her head in the quilt, silent sobs making her shake. Osma brought her down twisting halls and through many sliding doors. Finally they came to a great set of oak doors, which he pushed in. Inside was a lavish suite, presumably Osma’s own rooms. He set her gently on the bed and piled the blankets on her, then disappeared again. He returned with soup and Mouse. Mouse sat on Cheshire’s feet, staring wordlessly at her twin sister as Osma forced some soup into her mouth. She only stared at the ceiling, and by the way the quilts moved, they could both tell she was still rubbing her arms, over and over again. Osma frowned and glanced at Mouse, who glanced nervously back at him. Then the rogue left the room. The pot of soup he left in Mouse’s care, ordering her to keep feeding Cheshire whenever she was awake, forcing her if need be. Around midday Osma returned to see Mouse asleep next to her sister, their heads nestled together. For the first time it seemed that Cheshire was breathing easily. Osma touched the girls’ hair, again frowning. Then he bent and picked up the soup pot, still mostly full, disappearing into the depths of his labyrinth. Cheshire woke several times in the middle of the night, screaming, crying out. Osma crashed through the door each time, dressed in simple soft black clothing, obviously his night wear, his face drawn and concerned. But Mouse was there, soothing her sister back to sleep, holding her hands down so she could not rub her arms. And each time she would drift back into sleep and that would be the end of it. Osma drifted back out of the way and Mouse fell asleep again next to her sister. Cheshire woke, her eyes glistening as dawn crept through one of the large windows in front of her. This was not her cell. She glanced over and saw Mouse beside her. She was hot. She sat up, pushing the quilts off and glanced around. Weapons and drapes in scarlet and gold adorned the walls, giving it a definitely royal look, and yet, with the bolt holes and tricks she spotted as well, it was obvious it was a thief’s home. She got up quietly, not wanting to disturb her sister. The new clothes, her long tunic and pants, along with her slippers, helped her to move slowly. When she opened the door she almost stepped on Osma. The rogue was sleeping across the doorway, a long knife clutched in one hand. He jerked awake as her feet gouged into his back and he looked sleepily up at her. “I’m hungry,” she whispered, her hands clasped in front of her. Osma gave a wry grin. “Good,” he said. “Wake your sister.” Osma fried the girls honey cakes for breakfast, a strange treat that neither had known the rogue could make. Once their plates were filled, Osma braced his hands on the table and looked at them. “You will no longer live in the rooms that you have currently occupied. I have a new place for you. You will move your things once you are finished.” Cheshire and Mouse glanced at each other, but Osma did not seem to notice their surprise as he cleaned from breakfast. “You will also start cooking your own meals,” he said, “and cleaning from them. You will bathe regularly and I will write up your training schedules. Any misses in these schedules, unless they are due to sickness or injury, will be punished. Am I understood?” He turned to glare down at the girls. They nodded silently. Osma smiled. “Good then,” he said. “In a month we’ll be seeing the Rogue, and I want you to be marginally prepared. Now, go get your things.” Osma led them to a room not far from his own. It was much like the room they had previously spent the night in, save that it was garbed in blue and silver. Osma closed the door behind them to let them settle and the girls stared at each other. Once their clothing was packed away in one of the dressers, they retreated to the nook closet and sat close together, talking through the day until night came. * * * * The court of the Rogue was much like Osma’s own home. It was disguised as a ruined cottage with a labyrinth of twisting halls and dungeons and court rooms below the ground. Osma was bowed in respectfully, curious glances following the girls that trailed behind him in their rogue clothes. Tall men and women lined the halls, talking or tending their weapons. All were dressed for practical reasons, all were armed heavily. They eyed the rogue who passed through the halls with crooked smiles, some with loathing, some with respect. They were coming upon a dead end with a set of gilded oak doors when a short young woman pressed herself in front of them. She was a head shorter than Osma, but that did nothing to diminish the fire in her eyes. Her skin was pale from one who does not see the sun often. Her hair was much like that of the twins’: dark brown with bright red-gold highlights. Her silvery-blue eyes surveyed them cynically. Her lids were tattooed with a thin line, and as they watched the line changed colors. On her cheekbones were tattooed grey teardrops, and she wore tiny silver loops in her ears. She wore a black shirt and slacks, over which was a long dark grey tunic, slit up the sides to the hips. A dark blue sash pulled it tight around her slender waist. She wore no shoes, but a silvery ankle bracelet chattered with dozens of tiny little bells as she shifted her weight. A long, slightly curving katana was strapped across her back, and from the tiny uneven marks in her tunic it was wise to assume that she had knives stowed there too. Fingerless gloves covered her hands, and a head scarf was wrapped around her throat. She grinned a small smile at Osma, who stiffened as he stopped in front of her. “Ukia,” he muttered. “Nice to see you too, Osma,” she said softly in reply. Her eyes flickered to the girls beside him. “Who’re your friends?” Osma rolled his shoulders in a pretence of getting rid of tight muscles, but Cheshire could see the signs of his growing anger. In the past month she had grown to trust Osma almost as much as she had grown to hate him. Bruises still striped her arms, legs, and back from her many punishments for her lack of progress. Osma probably knew that she held back, probably knew about her private practices. She wouldn’t tell him, but she loved fighting. She loved being able to wield the knives, swords, and staffs that Osma placed in her hands. She loved fighting with her hands and feet and learning to fight with the things around her. She loved knowing that no one would ever hurt the ones she loved, ever again. As she thought this, Cheshire glanced at her twin sister. She would be sure that Osma would never hurt her. Osma was talking again and Cheshire snapped back to attention. “- daughters of the Esmond people,” he growled at Ukia. Ukia’s eyes flashed. “Poor things,” she muttered. “You killed them anyway?” “What else was I to do?” he snarled. “I don’t go against orders on every other whim.” There was a deadly hint there that that was exactly what Ukia did. The woman smiled icily. “Just remember, Osma: they are not tools. They are living children, and they deserve respect as well as proper care. If I hear one word...” “As if you’ve ever,” Osma snapped, and shoved past her. Ukia gripped Mouse’s shoulder as she went by, forcing her to stop. Cheshire moved onto the balls of her feet, her eyes crackling. She saw Mouse move into the proper stance as well, her fists shaking as she turned to look up at the woman. “Easy, child,” Ukia said. “I don’t aim to hurt you. I just want you to know that if Osma here gives you any grief, I’ll be here to take him down a notch or two.” She released Mouse and stepped back. Osma rolled his eyes, but the woman only grinned at him before disappearing down a side hall. Osma gripped the twins by the arms and pushed them forward. The great oak doors before them slowly opened, revealing the Court of the Rogue within. The hall was about fifty feet long and gilded with different metals so that the torches settled in sconces made the walls flicker and fade deceptively. All along the hall, the elite of the Rogue’s force stood or sat; they were the personal body guard to their king. Weapons of all kinds, from short throwing daggers to long pikes with curving blades to bows with poisonous darts; no rogue was without their favorite killing device, their tools of the trade. Curtains hung across different parts of the wall, presumably hiding places or secret corridors for more rogue. As the three entered, all eyes turned to them; all speaking turned to a low murmur, and finally stopped. Silence pressed on Mouse’s ears so tightly that she fidgeted just to hear the sound of her feet against the stone floor. Her eyes strayed to the end of the hall, where the Rogue sat. Sprawling on a great oaken chair was the Rogue himself. He was a thin man with long arms and legs, slender hands with quick fingers that had served him well with lock-picks. His hair was bleached silver and cut about his earlobes. Long braids hung alongside his left cheek and behind his right ear, tied with black leather. His eyes were black, with sapphire tattoos arching under his lids and across his cheeks. Charcoal stained his thin lips, and one of his eyebrows arched as he grinned. Swinging one of his legs idly, he propped his chin on a fist. “Brought me some knew bodyguards Osma?” Laughter spattered along the hall as Osma strode forward, his grip on the twins’ arms tightening. He stopped ten feet from his ruler and bent into a brief bow. “My lord, these are the daughters of the Esmond people.” Silence again flattened the sound of the hall, and even the Rogue frowned. Every eye was fixed on the two girls, the only survivors to their parents, the legendry Esmonds who had single handedly taken down the last Rogue and diminished much of his court to bring about the revolutionary change that was required. The current, silver-haired Rogue had brutally ordered their murder to prevent them from doing the same to him if they ever felt the need. Now their last gift to the world stood here before him. The Rogue stood and slowly came down the steps to stare at them, his cold, hatchet-face calm as he looked from first one to the other. He took their chins in his hands and tilted their gazes towards him, glancing back and forth. He felt both of them tremble in his grip, saw the rage sparkling in Cheshire’s eyes, and the quiet control in Mouse’s. A flicker of a smile darted along his lips and he let them go, stepping back. At nearly six and a half feet, they just came to his waist. “You found them during your duty?” he questioned. “Yes, lord Kathyr. I was unsure of what to do at first, but I thought that training them to our ways would benefit us more than their death.” The conversation shocked Cheshire. She had never before really understood how close to death they had come- how close they were right now. New fury patterned darkness in her eyes as she realized that the man before them had undoubtedly sent out the order for the killing of their parents. A quick glance at Mouse revealed that she understood the change. Their eyes were bright blue. Kathyr laughed as he noticed this. “Careful, Osma. I think you have two wildcats on your hands.” Osma laughed himself and put a hand on Cheshire’s head, ignoring her flinch. “This one, at least, has shown those signs. Her name is Cheshire. This one over here is Mouse.” “Does she get that for size or for brains?” one of the Rogue along the wall called out, and laughter erupted in the court again. Mouse stiffened under Osma’s hand and stared resolutely at the walls in front of her. Osma turned on the speaker, a lanky young man with red hair stuck up on all ends. “Speaking of which,” he said nastily, “perhaps you should ask her yourself. She could certainly lend you some and still have more wits than you do.” Mouse lowered her eyes, stung a little by the tone in Osma’s voice, but chilled even more by his complement. The rogues now were laughing at their fellow, their attention straying from the two girls at the center. “How old are they?” Kathyr asked, his arms folded across his chest. Cheshire’s quick eyes caught the wrinkle of his clothing at his shoulder. It was not only Ukia who wore a bandoleer of knives in easy reach. “Six, as they’ve told me,” Osma said. “I’ve had them for a little over a month now.” “You’ve been training them all this time?” “Yes.” Kathyr clapped his hands together with a laugh. “Then let’s see what they’ve got. You there,” he pointed to the red-haired upstart from before, “come and test your wits against some six year-olds.” The red-haired rogue laughed and stepped forward, swinging a knife by a loop attached to its end. Mouse backed up, her eyes wide. “No,” she whispered. “We can’t fight him!” She glanced at Cheshire, whose own eyes were wide with sudden apprehension. Osma placed his hands against their back and pressed them forward. “Yes you can,” he said. “If you can’t beat the likes of him then you can’t do anything.” Mouse still shook her head. “You said...” She was cut off by Osma’s hand hitting her. His backhand slung her to the ground, cracking her head sharply against the stone where she lay dazed, her mouth bleeding sluggishly. Osma hauled her sharply up again so that her feet did not touch the floor. He seemed ready to put her back on the ground, but a wild shriek dragged his attention away from the dazed girl. Cheshire was charging at him, her eyes vivid with rage. An explosion of action shot through the court. Rogues leapt from the walls to converge on the girl, weapons flying into hands and grips. It was a mistake. Cheshire kicked the first rogue she met in the chest, grabbing the dropped weapon in nimble hands. Her rage fueling her muscles, she was stronger than she ever had been, faster as well, and proceeded to drive the rogues away from her and closer to Osma. Suddenly her concentration shifted and she whirled around, confusing and surprising the defenders of the court. It took them almost a second to realize that the wildcat was now heading for Kathyr. In the world of rogues, time, and life, is measured in seconds. They needn’t have worried. Kathyr slid around the six year-old’s attacks and disarmed her easily, landing her on the floor with a hard kick to her thigh. The muscle gave way and she slammed into the stone. The Rogue kicked her weapon from her grip and placed his boot under her chin, stretching her neck out. A long blade appeared so suddenly in his hand it seemed to have come from nowhere, and he placed its edge along the major vein in her neck. All motion stopped. Osma slowly put Mouse down, the twin staring wide-eyed at her sister on the ground, a tiny layer of skin separating her from death. Cheshire stared slit-eyed up at Kathyr’s confident smile, breathing hard from her exertions. Kathyr turned to look at the rogues surrounding him. “I don’t feel so safe,” he told them cheerily, but his eyes were like ice. “If you can be overcome by a mere child, what would I be left to when a real assassin came here?” The silence stretched as all of the guards watched in strained disbelief, waiting for the breaking of the Rogue’s temper. Kathyr only laughed and shook his head, kneeling down before Cheshire. Still holding the blade to her throat, he put a hand behind her head, gripping her hair tightly as he stared down at her with a large grin. A tiny line of blood appeared on her throat that turned to a tiny trickle, and then a small, steady stream as he pressed with his blade; she swallowed against his sword, her eyes narrowed, cleverly covering up her wild fear with rage. The Rogue tilted his head to one side. “Osma,” he called. “I suppose I cannot punish you for training them so adequately in a single month’s time. When their training is fully complete, bring them again, and we will see what further damage they can wreak.” His sword still held firmly against Cheshire’s throat, Kathyr stood up, dragging the twin by her hair along with him. He forced her on her tiptoes, sending a glare about the room. “All of you rogues in here are dismissed as my body guards. I will have to see if I can find even one of my subjects who is not overcome by babes with daggers.” He bent close to Cheshire, his breath tickling her ear as she stared stiffly forward. “And you,” he whispered. “Next time, I’ll kill you, no matter how much Osma values you.” He shoved her down the stairs, where Osma caught her by the back of the neck. With a short bow, Osma turned and left, taking his child prodigies with him. Kathyr’s laughter rang hollowly in Cheshire’s ears just before the doors closed behind them. As soon as they were out in the hall, Osma pulled a small bottle from his pouch. Wordlessly he poured some of the brown liquid contained within on his fingers and smeared it across Cheshire’s throat wound. Even more deftly, he wrapped linen straps around her neck to stem the bleeding so that she would not slowly die. When she swayed, her face pale from blood loss, someone handed her a sweet cake. Cheshire looked up to see Ukia, her eyes grim. “Sugar when your blood is low,” she said. “It keeps your blood-sugar up and can keep you going.” She glared at Osma, glancing between Cheshire’s bloody throat and Mouse’s split lip, a long bruise forming on her cheek. “What did you do to them?” she hissed. Osma shrugged. “That one’s was her own doing,” he said, gesturing at Mouse. “My little wild cat here attacked the Rogue himself.” Ukia’s eyes widened. “And she got through?” Osma smiled as he nodded, putting a hand on Cheshire’s shoulder. “After only a month of training.” Ukia looked down at Cheshire and noted the barely contained rage lined with a thin veil of tears. “I’d be careful Osma,” she said. “If you don’t treat them right, this one here might just kill you.” Osma laughed. He laughed long and hard as they walked away from the thief, and each rang loudly in Cheshire’s ears. Mouse stayed silent, but her thoughts remained in a swirl of private vendetta against the Rogue. All she could see was the blade against Cheshire’s throat, the blood running from it. She had never wanted to kill anyone in her life, not even Osma. But for the Rogue, she would make a special exception. “Again.” Mouse panted heavily, bruises covering her legs and arms and shoulders. It was storming, but that did not stop Osma’s training. Her refusal to fight at the Court of the Rogue had earned her an ongoing session of private tutelage, most of it either in the heat of the day or at the darkest part of the night, and always when the weather was bad. Her legs were currently looped over a firm cord strung between two trees, the rest of her body hanging upside down. From there she was blocking Osma’s attacks, despite the fact that rain was streaming into her nose, mouth, eyes, and ears. Thunder slammed through the air so frequently that everything was a mess of noise and light and sky and rain, with Osma’s black body flickering here and there. Sometimes she blocked him, sometimes she didn’t. She yelped as another hard smack rapped across her ribs, and she doubled up, tears streaming from her eyes to mix with the rain. “Straighten out,” Osma snapped. “You don’t fight curled up in a little ball. Ignore the storm. If you’re constantly confused by the elements then you will die on your first mission. Watch for me now...” Mouse let herself hang down again and closed her eyes, gasping, her staff held firmly in front of her. She could hear nothing, and see nothing with her eyes opened. It had only occurred to her half an hour ago that by closing her eyes she concentrated easier on the tiny sounds that Osma made before he struck. Now her ears strained for it through the sounds of rushing wind and water. A creak of leather and the whistling of something other than the wind- there! She brought her staff around to block her face and heard the solid crack of wood against wood. “Good!” Osma yelled above the storm. Mouse felt sick- if she had let that one through, she could have ended up with a broken nose or a mouthful of broken teeth. Her teeth chattering, she held her staff ready again, listening. Her concentration was skewed from her apprehension, and the next blow landed firmly on her knuckles. She cried out and almost dropped her staff, which would have resulted in a firm beating, but she held onto it at the last moment. She felt blood streaming from split skin and swallowed her sobs. “NO!” Osma screamed, his rage floating through her pain. Another blow landed on her stomach in punishment and she coughed up rain water, her eyes shut tightly in agony. “Concentrate!” Still trembling, Mouse let herself hang and just drift, ignoring the sound of rain, the sound of her blood splattering to the ground. She cracked her eyes open and saw a large fork of lightning shoot upwards to hit the ground somewhere far away. Then the storm floated away and all she heard was Osma, circling around behind her. She turned at just the right moment, her staff twirling sideways to block his overhand strike that would surely have made her drop from the rope. Osma stuck again, and again, and again, all in different areas, but Mouse blocked them all, her eyes shut. She didn’t know when she lost consciousness, but she knew that she hadn’t let any of Osma’s strikes in again. She woke up in her bed, her hands bandaged and a bowl of hot soup on a table beside her cot. Sitting up, she groaned. Everything hurt. Even turning her head hurt. Slowly, she spooned soup into her mouth. It was daylight, and Cheshire was not in the room. She was probably in training herself. Mouse winced and started to stretch out her muscles. She had a feeling that, though her private sessions were not over, it would never again be situated during a storm. Cheshire pulled her chest level with the metal bar over and over again, dangling six feet above the ground, screaming with each pull. Osma watched calmly from below. “Now hold your legs straight in front of you,” he called. Cheshire paused to catch her breath, her arms a field of fire. Then she lifted her legs straight in front of her and began again. Now her legs, stomach, and arms screamed at her, and she screamed with them, letting off pain and anger. She would not quit, and she would not let Osma have the satisfaction of beating her for a failure. After 100 more pull-ups, Osma put up the ladder so she could come down. “Good,” he said. “You’re improving.” They spent an hour more sparring with staffs, wooden swords and daggers, even with their bare hands and feet. When Cheshire was panting and lined slightly with sweat, Osma deemed them through. Without another word he pointed to the six-by-six foot pit of wooden poles. The poles were placed upright, spread apart by about a quarter of a foot each, their flat heads easy enough to stand on if you had perfect balance. Cheshire slowly moved out to stand in the center of the pit, facing Osma, her eyes fixed on his own. She wobbled slightly as the poles shifted under her, but she did not move. In a flash Osma moved, a knife flying from his hands. Cheshire whirled away, her feet dancing on the poles as she moved. A foot slipped, and with a cry she crumpled, hitting herself on several poles. Gripping with her hands and feet, she slowly pushed herself up to stand again. Osma watched her calmly. “We’ll keep doing this until you get it right,” he said calmly. Cheshire clenched her hands into fists and glared at him, waiting. When the next knife came she was ready. Even when one zipped at her knees she jumped over it easily, and landed on the poles without slipping. Osma nodded. “Good.” He turned away as if to move to the next exercise, but turned on the last second, another dagger flying at her. Cheshire, her guard down, did not twirl to the side in time, and the blade sliced across her belly. She barely had time to shriek when Osma was upon her, dragging her off of the poles and slamming her to the ground as he pressed his hands against her wound. “Stupid girl!” he hissed into her pale face. “Never assume you are safe! Never let your guard down!” Swearing, a broad hand still pressed to her belly, he picked her up and raced into the house. Mouse was in the kitchen when they sped through, and she cried out as she saw blood spreading down Osma’s shirt, originated from Cheshire’s body. She hobbled quickly after, ignoring her protesting body as she followed them to the infirmary. Osma lay Cheshire down on a table. Cursing again, Osma grabbed several towels and pushed them against the wound. He pulled Mouse over to him. “Keep this on her, I’ll be back as soon as I can!” Osma raced from the room. He did not come back alone. Mouse was trembling and the towels were soaked in blood when the rogue appeared with a strange man behind him. He was tall and slender, clothed in a long robe of some exotic sort. It was printed in black and red, and the sleeves were long, covering his hands. His face was very pale, his lips thin and expressive, and his hair was black, cut about his jaw-line. His eyes did not seem particularly worried or interested. One was violet- the other was red. Mouse stiffened as he approached, but when he raised a hand to gently push her aside, she complied without complaint. His hands were long and slender, as were his nails. He carefully picked up the cloths from Cheshire’s stomach, revealing her slashed and bloodied shirt. The girl groaned and gripped his wrists with bloody hands, her eyes wild as she screamed at him. The man only gave her a tiny smile, merely the lifting of the corners of his lips. He pulled away from her and reached into a bag he had brought. From it he pulled a bottle and a needle. He filled the syringe and then gripped Cheshire’s wrist tightly as he pushed the needle into her vein, squeezing its entire contents into her bloodstream. Cheshire’s eyes fluttered and she fell back, motionless. The man eyed Osma reproachfully. “You did not drug her before you came to get me? That was not wise- she has been suffering for a long time.” Osma bared his teeth. “I don’t have anything.” “You should,” the man said softly. “I could give you some.” He peeled back Cheshire’s shirt, frowning over the wound quietly. It was long, stretching from side to side, and it still bled sluggishly. It was not deep enough to bare her innards, but the knife had sliced neatly through muscle. Mouse moaned and backed away. The man sighed and shook his head. “Such trauma for a child,” he said softly, touching the wound with the tips of his fingers. He reached into his bag and drew out a long needle and a spool of silver thread. As he threaded the needle he talked, his eyes intent upon his job. “This is a special kind of thread that will help the wound heal without unnecessary scarring. It will also prevent infection of any kind.” He stuck the needle into Cheshire’s flesh and began to pull the wound shut with methodical, tiny stitches. “And how did this happen?” Osma rolled his eyes. “Training. She let her guard down and didn’t dodge the blade.” “You mean to tell me that you were actually throwing knives at the child?” The man paused from his work to look at the rogue in mild surprise. To distract from the question, Osma turned to Mouse, who was holding the bloody towels tightly. “You can throw those away,” he told her. She silently complied, dropping them in the trash bin. The man finished stitching the wound and tied a knot in the thread, snipping off the excess with a tiny knife. He inspected the wound closely, pulling ever so gently at the stitching. “Hmm,” he mused. “It will hold.” He took a jar of a pale paste and gently painted it over the wound, slathering it on thick. Then with Osma to hold her up, he wrapped a long, continuous strip of linen around and around her torso, covering the stitches completely. The man sighed as he washed his hands, his back turned as Osma and Mouse changed Cheshire’s clothes into her night things. He tilted his head up to stare at the ceiling. “I hope you do not have so many plans to see me in the future,” he said. “Try to keep the knife wounds to a minimum, at least?” When they were finished he turned around and gathered his things. He stopped in front of Mouse before he left, his eyes fixed on her own. “Do not let her move around for quite a while. The wound will need dressing every morning and evening.” He placed the jar of balm in her hands. “Put this on the wound. Osma will have fresh bandages for her. You will have to be very careful- in the first few days the slightest touch will bring her tremendous agony, more than the actual wound first inflicted. Osma will also have a medicine for her against the pain, and to help her sleep. What I gave her should keep her asleep for the rest of the night, but should she wake, food and drink should not be given to her, not until the day after tomorrow.” He clasped Mouse’s hands tightly for a moment, staring at her. “I trust we will be seeing each other again soon enough.” He disappeared through the doorway. Osma leaned against the wall and covered his face with a groan. “This sets us back,” he growled. “But don’t think you’re off.” He glanced at Mouse. “Change of schedule. Afternoon practices: mornings and evenings will be spent tending her.” He jerked his head in Cheshire’s direction but shook his head. “I suppose the cut is punishment enough,” he growled. Carefully he picked her up and carried her to her room. Every morning and evening Osma changed the dressings on Cheshire’s stomach. She cried every time, the wound so tender that even the barest touch made her stomach roil. Mouse’s training continued, including the pole pit. Learning from Cheshire’s mistake, she never let her guard down, even when Osma was walking her indoors. In about a month Cheshire’s wound had healed enough that she could get up without complete agony and bend about. In another week the stitches were out, leaving a long pinkish-white scar across her belly. Osma trained her relentlessly on the pit, aiming for her stomach and throat especially, but he never hit her again. She fell plenty of times, especially during her first few weeks of recuperation, but the pole pit had been conquered. * * * * Cheshire wrapped her arms and shins with protective tape for training, her eyes as hard as flint. Next to her Mouse did the same, pulling her long hair out of the way. At ten years of age, they were vastly different than they were four years prior, and their abilities had increased dramatically. They had both grown to five feet, and their muscles stood out in their slender arms and legs. As they had grown they had made many trips to the clothier wizard in the tower, his swift smile and glittering eyes making Cheshire feel safe like no one else save her sister could. Mouse, while still retaining her personality, had finally proved to Osma that she would obey him in the case of another fight. Her private sessions had stopped, and now they took Osma on each day together. Cheshire, meanwhile, had grown colder and quieter to all around her save her twin. Her hatred for Osma festered. The scar across her stomach had turned silvery white, and while she had gained several other scars over the past four years, none of them had been inflicted by Osma’s blades. Now she pulled her hair up out of her eyes in a high horse-tail. Mouse watched her, waiting. Together they walked out of their room and to the training compound. Osma was waiting. The four years had done little to change him, save that his face was more weathered, and a tiny thread of white had appeared next to his temples. A new scar down the bridge of his nose made Cheshire smile to herself anew. During a training session two years ago she had gotten so close, her knife slicing down his nose to leave the scar that was there now. Osma had not been dumb to her attempt at killing him, and had beaten her soundly for it, but he had also laughed. His ‘little wild cat’ had only grown wilder with the years, as had his quiet mouse. The two were an unstoppable team. Osma set them to their stretches in silence. He paced back and forth, swinging his long fighting pole in his hands. After the hour of their stretching was done, and their muscles were fluid and relaxed, Osma turned to them. “Tomorrow we go to the Court of the Rogue. Your training, under my hand at least, is finished.” Cheshire and Mouse stared at him, saying nothing. Though Cheshire was feeling deliciously rebellious, she had to pick her timing to nettle Osma. The rogue continued. “You have fully mastered staff, hand, knife, and sword fighting of all kinds in all situations more thoroughly than most of the rogue at the Court. Tomorrow you will show your prowess to the Rogue himself.” Cheshire pounced. “Oh yes,” she said sarcastically. “Because that was such a great idea last time.” She still had a tiny white scar on her throat from that experience. Osma turned to look at her with that expression that told her she knew what was coming. She had sensed his nervousness and irritation walking in the door. She had just earned herself a beating. Osma pointed at the ground and Cheshire gave a wry grin, folding her arms across her chest. Mouse stared at her in shock, her eyes asking her silently if she were absolutely insane. Osma moved so quickly that Cheshire could barely react, but the four years she had acquired under his care had proved useful. Her bare foot came up to meet his hand, dodging back out of the way. She dodged his strikes with pole and fist, laughing, until his feet swept under her own from nowhere and she crashed onto her back. His staff slammed into her stomach, leaving her breathless. He kicked her in the side, flipping her over onto her stomach, and began to hit her with his staff repeatedly. Cheshire took the beating quietly without any noise. The blows hurt, and Osma was hitting her shoulders harder than usual, but she had endured worse before. When Osma had finished venting his spleen, Cheshire began to get up, but Osma kicked her back down. A knife pressed behind her ear. Cheshire froze- this she had not thought of. “Playing with me is not wise, Cheshire,” he hissed. “Especially not now. Cutting off your ear would not keep you from fighting tomorrow, eh?” Cheshire stared at the wall, fighting down an urge to turn and spit in his face, and surely earn the loss of both her ears. Instead she got to her knees and bowed her head, a sign of supplication that had become a custom when they were beaten. Osma pulled away, leaving a tiny line of blood under her ear. After he had walked to the other side of the room, Cheshire slowly, achingly stood up and dusted herself off. Osma tossed his staff away and shook out his arms. “Both of you attack me. Tomorrow you will probably be facing two opponents. I am worth any four of those in there, so if you can come anywhere close to beating me, you will be fine.” Cheshire and Mouse glanced at each other. Mouse shrugged, and then they spun into action. The Court of the Rogue was no different to Mouse. She stared lazily about her as they strode towards the gilded oak doors. The rogues who lined these walls watched them silently this time. Ukia was there, and when she peeked a sweet cake held ready at Cheshire, it was all she could do not to laugh bitterly. The doors opened and silence reigned. Kathyr was just as Cheshire remembered, sprawling on his throne, watching them with dark, amused eyes. His gaze settled on Cheshire and away again with a grin full of warning. “Osma, bringing in your Rats finally?” he called, using the term for initiate rogues. Osma bowed. “Yes my lord.” Kathyr groaned as he stood, feigning weariness sprung from boredom. “Well, I suppose we should take a look at them.” He strode down his steps, just as he had last time. Osma backed away as Kathyr circled the girls, noting their gain in height, muscle, and steel. He poked Mouse in the shoulders, but she did not spare him a glance. The Rogue paused beside Cheshire and touched her throat, just where the long white scar was. Cheshire’s eyes turned to glare at him and he laughed before he walked away. “They’re stronger than before,” he conceded, “which is what worries me.” Laughter erupted from the surrounding body guards, disbelieving laughter. They all knew the story of the crazy girls who had taken down the inner court. “What is your wish for them, Kathyr?” Osma asked. Kathyr sighed and glanced along his force. “Those two,” he said, pointing to two young men, obviously twins. Mouse glanced over the men, cool surprise telling her that they could beat these two. They were tall, slender, and tan of skin. Their hair hung in long dark wings along the sides of their faces and they grinned as they pulled out fighting knives. Cheshire and Mouse pounced in perfect synchronization, and in mere moments they had the young men on the floor, disarmed. Both held knives to their throats. Mouse stood up almost immediately, letting her vanquished rogue stumble away casting her a hate-filled glare. Cheshire did not stand up. She crouched there, holding the dagger against the young man’s throat. Osma slowly moved in and pulled her up by the shoulders. She came with him slowly, swaying, and then glanced up at him. Her gaze was confused and weary, like an old woman’s. She lowered her head so that the other rogues could not see the tears leak down her face. When Osma wiped them away, so deftly that no one saw except Mouse, her twin noticed that Cheshire, for all her hatred of the man, did not stiffen. Kathyr was laughing. “Very good. I do believe you’ve raised our new best fighters. I expect them to be doing work within the week. I will send you the available missions along with your own.” Osma bowed them out and left. It was only then that Mouse felt a dull ache in her abdomen. Mouse took a walk in the woods with Cheshire. It was evening, the sun just beginning to set behind the trees. “Why did you needle him like that yesterday?” Mouse asked her, rubbing her stomach absently. Cheshire shrugged and didn’t look at her twin. “I felt like getting at him.” She kicked a stone. “I sort of knew he’d be bringing us back there.” Mouse shivered and shrugged in turn. “What are we going to do about it?” she muttered. Then a strange thought came to her. “Do you remember our parents?” Cheshire nodded. “Yes. I mostly remember their murder. I dreamed about it enough so that I can’t forget. But you want to know something funny? I can’t remember any name other than the ones Osma gave us. I can only think of you as Mouse, and myself as Cheshire.” Mouse nodded. “It’s the same for me...” she broke off, groaning, and her grip on her stomach tightened. “What is it?” her sister asked worriedly. Mouse was panting, her eyes wide with terror. “I...I don’t know...” then she screamed and fell over, her body jerking. She got on her hands and knees and then vomited. Her body shimmered and flickered, and then she was throwing up blood. Cheshire ran towards the house, her eyes wide and hysterical. But, just as she had seen her parents die, she was calm outside. She burst into Osma’s rooms and nearly got her head cut off. He was standing bare-chested with one of his swords half drawn when he saw her. “What?” he said, seeing the panic in her eyes. “Mouse is dying!” Cheshire cried. Without a word Osma raced out of the door, gripping her wrist in one of his hands. They found Mouse lying still in the forest. A bloody mess lay nearby, all of her innards in a disgusting pile. Under her shirt her torso glittered with tiny green lights, as if they were being reflected from within. Osma stared in a mixture of surprise and horror. “She’s not dying,” he assured Cheshire. They brought Mouse back to the house and lay her in bed. Almost as soon as her skin hit blankets, Cheshire cried out and clutched her head. “You too?” Osma asked, but Cheshire shook her head. “Mouse’s stomach hurt before hand...my head...” she fell to her knees and Osma picked her up, putting her under the covers as well. Osma shook his head and stared between them. “Fey blood,” he muttered. With a sigh he left, closing the door behind him. Later that night he reappeared and looked down at them. Cheshire looked to be pretty normal, but some Fey workings were going on in her small body. Mouse was another story. Her skin had turned charcoal, her hair black and longer than it was before- really long. Her eyes fluttered in her sleep, and beneath her lids Osma could see that her eyes glowed white. Dragon horns were protruding from her forehead, and a tail was looped out from under the covers. Her body had lengthened and thinned, leaving her looking stretched out. Her girlish features had warped, leaving her wild and animal-like. Osma swore again under his breath and left. He returned with the doctor. He had, again, graciously descended from his incense-filled dwelling place with the clothier, in the uppermost part of the tower. The man leaned over the girls, his jaw-length black hair falling in front of his eyes. The long-lashed orbs, one violet, one maroon, seemed unsurprised by the changeling before him. His gaze flickered over her and moved to her sister. When he had seen all he needed, he turned back to Osma. “We seem to see more and more of each other lately. There was a time when we only met every decade or so, and now I have seen you twice in a small space of four years.” His lips twitched, but he turned back to the girls. “The small one...did she have periods of abdominal pain before hand?” Osma shrugged ruefully. “Not that she told me,” he growled. “And after? What did she do before she fell unconscious?” Osma hesitated and made a face. “She-” “Vomited up her digestive system?” the man said mildly. Osma’s face turned slightly pale. “Yes.” The man gave a tiny smile, the corners of his lips lifting as he turned back to look down at the girls. “It is quite natural. She is a shape-shifter. This is the first stage. By morning she will be quite normal, or, as normal as any shape-shifter can be.” His eyes strayed, and he closed his violet eye, letting the scarlet orb rest on Cheshire. “The other one is a little more complicated. She is not a shape-shifter, therefore her powers of the Fey will be greatly less than her sister’s, making it more difficult to delve through her system and discover her hidden source.” The man’s lips parted slightly as he looked at her, placing a long-nailed finger over his mouth. For quite a while he stood in silence, sometimes glancing back at Mouse. The man walked around the bed to stand beside Cheshire. “My eyes do not seem to be adequate enough for these subtle changes.” He looked up at Osma, his eyes lazily questioning the rogue. “If I may?” Osma nodded, his eyes fixed on the tall man before him. “But watch yourself,” he warned. The man smiled again. “But of course.” He pulled back the covers at Cheshire’s feet and touched the soul of her left foot. Osma shivered, unsure of what any of this had to do with her health. The man trailed a long nail up her foot, receiving a twitch in response. “Her brain patterns are still active,” he said. “That is good.” He covered her feet back up and then placed his hands on her stomach, pressing gently. He rested his ear against her belly, listening intently. “No power core- definitely not a shape-shifter.” He lifted her shirt and looked at the thin but long silver scar on her abdomen and traced his fingers along it. “Good- her sister seems to have done exactly as I said. It healed perfectly.” He knelt and closed his eyes, placing one of his hands on Cheshire’s forehead, the other over her heart. He stayed motionless, a small frown settling over his brow. Osma waited patiently, sometimes shifting his weight, but other than that soft noise and Mouse’s soft breathing the room was absolutely silent. And then another twitch of the lips that served as the doctor’s smile. He opened his eyes, cupping the girl’s cheek with one of his long-fingered hands. He looked up under his lashes at Osma, his other hand still resting over Cheshire’s slowly beating heart. “Of course. They are twins, after all. This child will be able to alter her appearance ever so slightly as to make her unrecognizable to anyone who has known her before. Once learned, she will be a master of any disguise.” He felt her pulse and his smile faded slightly, his fingers pressing under her jaw and collar-bone. “Her heartbeat is disjointed. There is a triple beat instead of a double- she will have to be careful in the next coming days until it steadies out.” The man stood and brushed off his robe. “I do believe that answers all of your questions?” Osma nodded sharply and the man started to walk towards the door. Osma blinked and suddenly he was standing beside the rogue, his fingers pressed against the major vein in Osma’s neck. The rogue started violently but did not move, glaring at the man as he smiled blithely at him. “Perhaps you should eat something,” he said smoothly. “Your color is a little off and I do believe your heart rate is up as well.” His lips twitched. “Perhaps the day’s trials have worn on you a little.” Osma turned to watch the man walk down the hall and disappear from the house, and he shuddered in spite of himself. Cheshire woke slowly. She turned and saw Mouse waking as well. For a few silent moments they watched each other, searching for changes. “How do you feel?” Cheshire whispered. “My insides are buzzing,” Mouse whispered. “What happened?” Cheshire shook her head. “I don’t know. I fell just after you.” “I had the doctor who took care of your cut four years ago come and inspect you.” Osma entered the room, leaning against the doorframe. “He has special eyes for these cases.” Cheshire felt her skin chill. She had had strange dreams of a red eye, and hands on her face and feet and heart. It had felt as if...as if someone had been searching her soul. She remembered the man and his strange smile, for all the few moments she had seen him before he had drugged her. “And?” Osma smiled. “You’re both fine, if not normal. It explains much, in any case, of why you and your parents were so strong. You have Fey blood somewhere.” He turned to Mouse. “You are a shape-shifter, and apparently your traumatic experience was your final ‘coming of age’. You can now shift forms, anything at all, at will. The doctor had me promise to give this to you.” Osma handed Mouse an envelope. “You can read it later. “Cheshire, you are not a shape-shifter, not really. Apparently you can change small things about your features, but nothing more. It will be a great help for disguises and such. The doctor told me to tell you to take it easy- your heart rate is irregular for now, and if you overwork yourself you could have a heart attack.” Osma reached into his tunic and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Your first missions are here. I’ll trust you to go about them efficiently and carefully. If you try to run off for any obscure reasons I’ll come find you. It’ll be easy.” He put the papers on the bed and left. It was raining heavily around the fortress. The guards patrolling the walls and ground-level perimeter were miserable and lax. They huddled under eaves and stared wretchedly at the rain coming down in sheets. Two pairs of glittering eyes watched from the trees, timing the lightning. As thunder slammed across the sky, making the earth shudder and the air crackle, they splashed across the wet ground towards the walls. Because of the rain, there were no torches. Because the rain, just like good, highland rain should, was falling slightly angled, there were no lanterns. The world was a mess of darkness and wet. They reached the wall and one of the shadows, in mid step, heaved with a small noise of exertion. A large net flew upwards, hooking on the spikes that lined the wall to keep others out. They began to climb, their nimble hands and feet scaling up the shifting net easily. Once at the top, the one who had thrown the net placed her hands under the other’s feet, heaving her over the spikes with a small flip. The other reached back to help her partner up after her. They were in. The wall was ten feet across, lucky for them. They stuck to the inside corner, closer to the shadows that the lights from within cast as they flickered over the wall’s edges. Guards talking quietly to each other did not notice as they slunk by. They had no sound, no scent, and no visible bodies to track. They entered a storage closet and shut the door, locking it firmly. The light inside illumined them just enough so that they could see each other. Clothed entirely in black, with soft cloths over their hair and faces, they were exactly the same height and build. Their blue-green-grey eyes glittered in the firelight as they carried on a silent conversation, gesturing with their hands or just getting across their meaning with arched brows and narrowed eyes. After a few minutes of quiet proposals they donned their disguises. They silently pulled of their masks and head scarves. The one with the longer, curlier hair donned an acrobat’s outfit of scarlet and purple. Blinking hard, she made herself appear slightly older and disguised her muscles to make herself look more comely and less of a warrior. Meanwhile her sister slowly melted into her new form, wavering a few times from lack of practice. She turned herself into a large black lion with blue-green-grey eyes. The acrobat tied a scarlet collar around the lion’s neck and led her out of the storage closet. A glance back and forth proved the all clear and they strode confidently down the hall towards the main dining area. After several days of watching, they had found the pattern that the target often stayed up all night, entertained by acrobats and dancing girls, accompanied by beautiful women and fine wines. This would be the perfect opportunity to take care of him. The guards glanced at them once and opened the doors lazily. The hall was mostly empty- a quiet night for the lord of the place. He sat on a large pile of cushions, practically covered in serving wenches who fluttered at him. Cheshire had to hide her look of disgust, but Mouse gave a small growl easily. The noise brought the attention of the lord to them, and Cheshire felt chills run up her spine as he eyed her. “Well what’s this?” he asked. “I did not call for any acrobats tonight.” Cheshire bowed low. “A gift from the lord across the river,” she whispered in the proper servitude of a slave. “He sends me to entertain you this night.” “And so you shall,” he chuckled, and he waved the other girls away. They cast Cheshire glances of loathing, and Cheshire stared back at them calmly, loathing of her own deep in her chest that these women actually preferred this man’s lustful company. Cheshire catalogued his face quickly. He wasn’t bad looking, but soft living had added a few pounds to his once regal features, and Cheshire could only think of him as repulsive. “Come here, child,” he called, and Cheshire strode forward, her lion padding behind her quietly. She stopped a few feet in front of him and waited while the man looked her up and down. “Come closer and look up. I would like to see your face.” Cheshire took a few more steps until she was right in front of him, shivering, and she looked up at him. He started at the cold look in her eyes and mistook her shivering of disgust for fear. “Do not be afraid, child,” he said. He looked at the bandolier of knives slung about her hips. “Are you a knife thrower?” Cheshire bowed again. “If my lord pleases,” she said. “My lion catches them without hurting herself.” “Well then proceed,” the man chuckled. “If you please me I may just have something for you in return.” Cheshire turned away to hide her revulsion and unsheathed three daggers. Mouse backed away, her eyes fixed on her ‘mistress’. They had practiced this until perfection. Mouse caught the first three knives, and soon the blades were flying so quickly that the man did not even see when Cheshire’s hand flew in a different direction and the knife buried itself in his chest. He tumbled backwards with a sharp cry. A troop of guards burst into the room, followed by the gaggle of wailing girls. The guards spread out, confusion turning them in their steps. Neither the knife thrower or her lion were to be found. Cheshire and Mouse took refuge in the trees, splitting a meager meal of bread and dried meat between them. Cheshire took a long, thin rope from one of her rucksacks and slid the thick ring onto it. She pressed it over one of her knuckles and stared at its scarlet surface, fingering it quietly. “You’re not regretting what we did back there?” Cheshire looked up at her twin, her eyes distant. She fingered the ring before tying the rope and sliding it over her head, tucking the ring under her shirt. “No,” she said coldly. “We had the evidence against him that he was a murderer and a thief, not to mention a favorite customer in the girl slave trade.” She wrapped her blankets around her and lay down, her brow furrowed. The crackling of the fire did not hide the noises her sister made as she lay down beside her. Cheshire looked up at the stars between the trees. “But it makes me wonder...what will happen when they’re innocent?” Her sister did not answer. The question lay silent on their lips as they watched the stars, and gradually, fell asleep. The smoke was still fading from their fire when they woke. Between the trees the sun was turning the dark sky pale grey as dawn crept towards the heavens. The last twinkling stars winked at them as they packed their blankets in their small backpacks and kicked dirt and stones over their fire. Cheshire drew one of her knives and marked a cat and a mouse on a nearby tree, underlining it twice and adding two adjoining star marks. Mouse glanced at it and smiled softly. They exited the trees and started over the rocky hills and peaks. To their left the sky turned rosy and pale orange like a dove’s breast. Purple began to clump in the clouds, and then the sun burst forth in a barrage of light and color. The twins paused to watch, their faces licked by a flaming kaleidoscope. Around them the birds began to sing and the rustle of mammals in the undergrowth disturbed the stillness as the earth began to come alive. A breeze tickled through the leaves of an aspen, sending them spinning on their stems, a rustling music that made both girls smile. They strode over the crests of hills that were built like dunes, through ruinous watches from the old kingdom. A brook bubbled across their path near noon, and they paused to bathe their feet and drink, dousing their hair against the rising heat. Cheshire took off her headband and soaked it, wrapping it around her forehead to let the cool water trickle down her neck and shoulders. With a last handful of the sweet water, they stood and strode off again, their swift feet finding the hidden paths through the wilderness. They skipped lunch as the sun arched high above them, their eyes fixed on the destination that lay ahead. Though she did not want to admit it, Cheshire looked forward to seeing the billowing underground arches of the court of the Rogue, and Osma’s chiseled face. A single glance between them and Cheshire knew that, as always, her thoughts were shared by the single person who understood her best. They met no one on the road until late afternoon as they reached the woods that they were familiar with. A young man in peasant’s clothing pulled a cart of goods along the road, followed by a young girl with long black hair. His own black hair was pulled back into a long horsetail that hung down past his shoulders, and wide cone-shaped hats of reeds protected their faces from the sun. They looked up once as the twins passed, their obsidian eyes connecting with their own blue-green-grey gazes. For a mere moment they looked at one another, and Mouse was vaguely reminded of the doctor who had come to tend them. They had the same noses, the same teasing mouths. Then they looked away and the connection was lost. Each went their way without a word. The light was failing fast as they entered the quiet of the giant trees. The soft pine needles and fallen leaves made no noises beneath their feet. Red and black squirrels watched them pass, nuts held in tiny withered paws, paws like an old man’s hands. A hawk cried and an owl hooted testily as his time grew closer. A mouse rustled through the undergrowth in alarm and fell silent again. The tips of the tower in which the clothier and the doctor dwelled showed through the trees, and it was with mild interest that Cheshire noted cart tracks coming and going up the path that led to their little home. Neither said a word for fear to break the untainted silence around them. The huge boulder with half of a face carved in it, lightly dusted with lichen and moss, appeared through the trees. Cheshire and Mouse stopped beside it as the last of the sun’s rays disappeared beneath the horizon. They clung in gold splendor to the leaves and trunks of the trees, before going out as suddenly as a lit candle in a wind. Then night settled quietly and closely around them. The owl from before hooted again, and the sound of his claws scratching on the bark as he took off shocked through the tree they leaned against. The face in the dark watched them quietly. Both Cheshire and Mouse touched the rock as they strode past, a sign for the watchers they could not see but sensed. A sighing wind rustled past them, carrying the subtle scent of sweat and leather and greased bowstrings. Cheshire glanced up at a tree with a tiny smile, knowing that the watcher who sat there would be unnerved by her ability to sense him in the dark, and moved on. The little moldering house appeared, as usual sitting in a pool of moonlight where the trees had left a gap. They walked down the stairs into the depths below, unhindered by the guards. The great doors to the court opened and they moved forward, ignoring the stares of shock from all around. Money was passed, and it was with a little amusement that the twins realized they had been bet upon, but whether the bets had been on their success in the mission or their very survival was not clear. Kathyr stood, his mouth drawn into a wide grin. Ukia sat on the stairs beside his chair and her mouth curled into a tiny grin, the black teardrops under her eyes crinkling. She caught their eyes and nodded as Kathyr moved down the stairs to them. “You lived after all,” he said jovially. “I guess I owe you money, Osma.” Cheshire looked up to see their guardian standing in a corner like a great black crow. The flicker of a smile flew across his lips, but he did not move from his place. Kathyr beckoned two elderly crones forward. “Do you have the proof?” Cheshire took the rope from around her neck and held the ring forward. Kathyr laughed and clapped his hands together. “That’s good enough for me! The ribbons!” The elderly women moved forward and grabbed each girl by their left arm. Cheshire flinched and frowned, but said nothing as a strip of red cloth was attached to her black shirt with several swift, strong stitches. The women backed away when their job was complete, leaving the two girls with their first honor bands. “Your first kill. Each kill will be charted and then rewarded with red bands. Congratulations, Gemini,” Kathyr said, using the name of the star-constellation of the twins with a slight twist to his lips. Cheshire glanced around her. “Why have I never seen these on any other rogue?” Kathyr beckoned Osma forward. “We do not always wear them openly,” he said. Osma pulled back his cloak, revealing the black arm to his shirt, which, Cheshire realized in surprise, they had never seen before. More red bands than they could count were stitched there. “Soon you too will have as many,” Kathyr grinned. “Now, your next mission...” “They just got back!” Ukia protested. The Rogue turned on her in surprise. “That matters why? Look at them—as glowing and healthy as any young girls should be. Obviously field work complements them, and we have news just in from one of our contacts.” Ukia glowered but said no more. Kathyr turned back to the twins and held forth a slip of paper. On it were two names- Kouramaru and Tsukimi. “They are traveling south. With them they have numbered goods that they have no right to. The one who gave them such objects will be punished, but it is your job to apprehend these two and bring them back here for our judgement. If they die in the process—” Kathyr shrugged. “Make sure you bring back their cargo. You have one day to restock your bags and rest before you set off.” Cheshire and Mouse bowed. Before she forgot, Cheshire held out the ring again. Kathyr eyed her with amusement. “You are allowed to keep the tokens from your kills.” Cheshire shrugged. “I don’t want it.” Kathyr hummed to himself before taking the ring. “Very well then.” He turned his back on them, a firm dismissal. The twins turned and walked calmly to the large wooden doors. When they reached the door, Cheshire glanced back. A sharp jolt of shock ran through her as she saw Kathyr pulling Ukia into a corner, holding her so close that they could have been glued together. His arms curled around her, but as his lips touched her neck, the doors closed. Cheshire jerked herself back from her astonishment and stumbled after her sister. One of the guards, a lithe young woman in grey, laughed at her expression. “Don’t look so shocked,” she giggled slyly. “Didn’t you know? Kathyr’s known for having a different lover each season. No woman would turn him down.” Cheshire stiffened. “I didn’t think Ukia liked him.” The woman laughed again and leaned on her pike. “What’s not to like?” she said brazenly. “It’s hard to get a good man down here, and he always promotes the ones he chooses, not to mention protects them.” Her male companion raked the twins with his eyes brazenly. “Who knows,” he said. “Maybe when you’re older he’ll take you two under his wing. He’s not picky about numbers.” Cheshire gave her iciest glare to the man and he stopped smiling, shifting uneasily. “I don’t think so,” she hissed acidly. The woman rogue shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Not wise, youngling. You’ll just make an enemy of him. But after you make a few enemies you can’t fight off with that glare, you’ll go running to him. He’s good at making people go away in return for a little cuddliness.” Mouse sneered at the woman. “And I suppose you would know?” The woman grinned but did not answer the question. “Let’s just say that Ukia’s very lucky.” Cheshire and Mouse did not wait the day’s rest they were given. At dawn they set off south, their long traveling cloaks fluttering behind them as they took their path at a swift trot. A herd of russet elk leapt together from their grazing place as the girls passed, running with long-legged bounds. Their bugles echoed off of the stone cliffs, calling back and forth eerily long after they had disappeared with thundering hooves into the trees. A thundering waterfall sprayed its mist over them as they picked their way down a naturally carved stairway in the cliff-face. Kingfishers with gleaming emerald and sapphire feathers darted up and down out of the waters, silver, wriggling fish clutched tightly in their beaks. They walked along the huge river in silence. Shadows across the shore were ignored, even when the golden eyes of wolves appraised them calmly. At midday they sat at the base of a long smooth rock that protruded out over the water. Bread and freshly caught fish provided an excellent meal as they joked in their quiet way. Panting breath and softly padding feet made them turn their heads. A silvery wolf with patches of russet stood on the very tip of the rock, having leapt from the other side. His long scarlet tongue hung down between his white teeth as he panted in the heat, staring at them with a golden eye and a pale blue one. Cheshire tossed him some fish, smiling as he pranced playfully away from it, ducking his head between his paws before he caught it up in his jaws. Mist had begun to creep up the banks, allowing the wolf pack to appear as if by magic behind their leader. Two fat pups with soft fur ran lickety-split out of the mist, rolling over themselves and bumping into the two girls. With yelps of alarm they scrambled back, the nannies of the camp letting out little growls of warning. Cheshire tore up more fish and tossed it to them. Soon the pack had surrounded them, coming up and sniffing them from head to shoulder, taking their hands gently between teeth and shoving with their heads. They frolicked and yelped, turning circles around them in their joy. A branch snapped behind them and the wolves scattered, disappearing back into the mist and the other bank of the river. Cheshire and Mouse turned to see the young man and girl whom they had first met on the road stepping behind them. The young man, his cone-shaped hat still in place, held a dagger in one hand. He stood straight. “I thought they might harm you.” Cheshire glanced between them. “No. Wolves are not malicious at heart.” “They’re just usually hungry,” Mouse said. The man grunted and sheathed his dagger. His sister approached cautiously, a basket in her arms. The cart they had seen the man pulling was nowhere to be seen. They spread an embroidered blanket on the stone. “May we join you?” Cheshire glanced at Mouse. “We were not planning to stay long...” “We will not keep you,” the man said. “But perhaps we can just share this picnic area for the time.” Mouse nodded. The man smiled briefly and sat upon the blanket, his sister settling gracefully beside him. She took bread and fruits from the basket. “So,” the man said. “What brings you out to the wilds?” Cheshire shrugged, tossing a lock of hair out of her eyes. Her cloak shifted, revealing the newly stitched red ribbon. The man froze, staring at it, and his sister pretended not to notice, but a new sense of fear hung about her as she moved, like a skittish bird. “I see you work for the Rogue,” the man said slowly. “Why?” Cheshire asked testily. “Do you have something to fear?” Mouse cast her sister a warning glare, but she did not look at him. The man gazed back at her calmly, a hint of steel in his eyes. “No.” They stared at each other for a few tense moments. Then Cheshire grinned. “Alright then. You have nothing to fear from us.” The man smiled then. “Good. What are your names?” Cheshire hesitated. “I’m Cheshire,” she said quietly, as if afraid others outside their circle would hear. “Mouse,” her twin replied. The man smiled. “Good names,” he said. “I am Kouramaru. This is my sister, Tsukimi.” The twins hid their shock and alarm as they had been trained, smiling graciously and sharing their meal with the ones they were supposed to capture and bring back for Kathyr’s pleasure. Nothing more was said about the Rogue during their lunch together, and quickly the twins departed, leaving the two behind. They had not gone half a mile when Mouse rounded on Cheshire, her face pale with worry. “That was them,” she whispered, her brow furrowed with worry. Cheshire shifted nervously. “We could always go back, and explain to them—just tell them we need whatever it is they have back. We can tell Kathyr that we lost them, or that they fell into the river.” Mouse shivered. “But it would be a lie!” “So?” Cheshire snorted. “He lives by lies!” Mouse crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you think we should go back and escort them to a safe town, to ensure their arrival alive?” Cheshire stared at the trees for a moment. “I think that would be wise, else Kathyr might just take it into his own hands to have them murdered.” Kouramaru and Tsukimi were happy to see Cheshire and Mouse appear beside them. “We thought it would be wise to travel together,” Mouse said honestly. “The forest is an unforgiving place for two junior rogues as much as it is for two lonely travelers.” A sun shower forced them hastily into the midst of a redwood grove. In seconds they were soaked through, their hair hanging in wet strands. One of the trees, a giant oak, was so large in diameter that the four, laughing in amazement, could not reach all the way around it with clasped hands. The fallen needles from hundreds of winters blanketed the ground making a cushion as soft as any bed the twins had had. As the sun was setting, Tsukimi hung up a line for their clothing. She and her brother changed into dry clothing behind their cart. Both wore comfortable clothing much like the twins’ night clothes. Tsukimi looked beautiful in a dark blue tunic with glittering gold and steel blue embroidery around the edges, her legs swallowed in voluminous black slacks. Her brother wore scarlet with black and silver dragons stitched around the edges, his own slacks muddy brown. The twins steamed at the farther edge of the grove, talking silently. Tsukimi came up to them and pushed clothing into their hands and held up a sheet to hide behind. For a moment both girls were confused, looking at the clothing in their hands. Tsukimi nodded impatiently. “I have to dry your clothing. You will smell more distinctively in clothing that has dried on your bodies.” Cheshire shrugged and stood. “Sound reasonable to me.” Tsukimi held the sheet higher as the twins stripped down into their underclothes. “Oh!” Cheshire glanced up in surprise as Tsukimi gasped. The girl was blushing and she looked away quickly. “Y-you’re hurt,” she said softly. Cheshire looked down at the many bruises that covered her back and sides from training and Osma’s wrath. For a moment she touched the long scar across her belly. “No,” she said. “It’s alright.” Tsukimi’s face disappeared beneath the cloth without saying anything else, and Cheshire didn’t think the girl believed her. When they joined Kouramaru at the fire, he looked up at them in surprise. Cheshire stood dressed in a dark violet tunic with gold and obsidian embroidery; the slacks were cream. Mouse scuffed her feet, blushing, in a pale blue tunic with lilac and pale green unicorns fleeting about the edges, the slacks around her legs a muted grey. Tsukimi had, to their bewildered submission, combed their wet hair until it shone, and now it hung in slender curls about their pale faces. Kouramaru bowed, hiding a small smile under his hand. “Who knew the Rogue could hold captive such wild beauties?” Cheshire blushed in surprise and sat down on a clean rock. “We’ll make sure we get these back to you once our own clothing is cleaned. Tsukimi held up her hands. “No. They are a gift. Keep them.” “So what brings you through these trees?” Mouse asked offhandedly. Tsukimi and Kouramaru glanced at each other. “We know the Rogue sent you,” the brother said softly. Cheshire looked up at him. “What is it he doesn’t want you to have?” Kouramaru hesitated. Then, with a sigh, he stood and reached into the cart, pulling out a large sack. From it he pulled three bolts of shimmering cloth. Cheshire suppressed a gasp at its strangeness. “Our uncle, Ikasaa, and his companion, Krio, created these. Our uncle applied medicinal magic to the cloth that Krio wove. The Rogue is in their business, but he grows greedy. He does not want them doing business with anyone other than himself and his subjects. Our uncle smuggled these for our mother. She is very ill. It is the best he can do, since he cannot leave the forest.” Cheshire and Mouse looked at each other. “We were not ordered to kill you,” Mouse said. “We were simply ordered to bring you and the items of question back. However...” “We are going to forego our orders,” Cheshire said grimly. “This is a foolish and unworthy errand. I’m sure Kathyr can do without.” Tsukimi smiled, but the smile slipped from Cheshire’s own face as she saw the shadows behind her twitch. The attacker from the trees moved in the same instant as she, but he was closer. A knife slammed into Kouramaru’s chest, sending him reeling. A stain darker than his tunic began to spread across his body, the leaves under him glistening. Tsukimi did not scream but leapt to her feet, the cloth clutched to her chest. Her pale face and wide, terrified eyes swam before Cheshire’s gaze as she drew her own dagger. The attacker leapt from the trees, and a cynical, twisted grin that she did not recognize splashed into the light. The rogue slammed into Tsukimi with his shoulder, forcing her off her course and straight into Cheshire. The girl cried out as she stumbled against Cheshire, and then she went still. Cheshire pulled back, her mind blank as Tsukimi’s blood rushed in a warm stream over her hands. It was everywhere, staining her tunic and slacks. It covered her blade and the bolts of cloth that Tsukimi slowly let drop. With a slow sigh, she crumpled to her knees and the ground. Mouse was yelling somewhere in the background, her own blade stained with the blood of the unknown rogue. Cheshire stared at her scarlet hands, her eyes straining with tears. Without knowing, she turned and ran into the trees. Mouse found her later half lying in the stream, the blood partially washed from her face and hands. It still clung to her in scarlet streaks along her cheeks and tunic. Mouse woke her and led her back to the cart. Slowly, they began their journey home. The doctor was waiting for them outside the tower when they arrived, pulling the cart after them. He did not smile or joke, but helped the twins bury brother and sister underneath two weeping cherry trees. He took the bloodied bolts of cloth and placed them on a bench in front of the tower before turning to the girls. “What has happened is not your fault,” he said softly. “I can tell by your faces that you did not kill them.” Cheshire flinched, staring at the ground. “I killed Tsukimi,” she whispered. “He pushed her, and she fell...I was holding the blade...” Ikasaa gripped her chin and forced Cheshire to look at him. “The tool was in your hands,” he said softly, “but the action was the murderer’s alone. Do you need me to prescribe you some calming tea?” Cheshire started to shake her head but Mouse interrupted her. “That would be best,” she whispered. “She won’t sleep for days as it is.” The doctor beckoned them inside where he set about crushing leaves and dried berries, pouring the contents into a silk bag. The clothier, Krio, was sewing, his long legs stretched before him. He did not look up as they entered, but finished off his last few stitches. Biting the end of the thread off with his teeth, he tied an invisible knot and stood, approaching the girls. “These are for you,” he whispered, pushing the jackets into their hands. “They will keep you warm in the coming winter.” Cheshire hugged the soft coat close and nodded her thanks, her hair falling into her eyes. The clothier touched the stain on the shoulder of her tunic. “Bring these to me and I will get the stains out,” he said. Ikasaa brought the bag of tea grain and handed it to Mouse. “Before she sleeps,” he said. “And make sure she takes it—no spitting it out in the sink.” Mouse bowed and thanked them, tugging her half-conscious sister out the door and down the path towards the Rogue’s quarters. Kathyr laughed. “I see your beginners luck was fleeting,” he said, eyeing their strained faces. “Where is the cloth?” “We returned it to its maker,” Mouse said dully. “You double-crossed us.” Kathyr leapt to his feet, his face twisting in rage. “Only after you double-crossed me!” he snarled. “And you killed the rogue I sent to keep an eye on you!” He calmed quickly, holding forth twin dragon necklaces. “Theirs,” he snarled. “For you to keep.” He threw them on the ground in front of the twins. Mouse bent and picked them up, her hands trembling. She looked back at Kathyr, hate brewing in her eyes, and without knowing it she transformed a little. Wings poked from her shoulders, and her skin turned grey. Kathyr did not twitch, but he watched her cautiously, his eyes narrowed. Without bowing, Mouse turned and led Cheshire out of the room. Osma gave a brief nod to Kathyr from where he stood in a corner and followed them to escort them home. It wasn’t till later that Cheshire realized she had not seen Ukia. It wasn’t until Mouse reminded her, handing her the dragon necklace, that it was their birthday. They were now eleven. * * * * “He’s too strong,” Mouse whispered. “I know. We can’t break free until we’re older.” “How long do you think?” “I don’t know,” Cheshire said. “We can wait.” * * * * “I want you to find a way to control her,” Kathyr said, looking down at Osma. “Drugs, poisons, chains, anything. Just do it.” “Her sister proves valuable in the way of blackmail,” Osma said. “As long as I have her under the leash...” “And when you don’t?” the Rogue snapped. “Find a better way! And do it fast! We can’t have wild shifters rampaging around the court!” “Yes sir.” Cheshire lay with her legs propped over the back of the chair, her head dangling towards the ground. She watched as Krio walked across the floor—the ceiling to her—and as Ikasaa mixed herbs. Mouse played with a stack of cards nearby, sitting cross-legged on a pile of laundry. Ikasaa poured the herbs into a bubbling pot and stirred. Licking the spoon, he gave one of his half-smiles. “It’s finished.” Cheshire somersaulted out of the chair as Mouse placed the cards down with a snap. Krio glanced over his shoulder nonchalantly, hooking tunics on their hangers. “Is it edible?” “No, I poisoned it. You’ll die if you eat it.” Ikasaa filled four bowls with noodles and then ladled the thick soup over it. He placed them on the floor in front of the cushions that served as their seats. Cheshire lay on her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows, scratching at a cut on her arm. Mouse flicked her in the ear and she stopped. Krio sighed and shook his head. “I never get any work done when you two come over,” he joked. “But I can’t complain, seeing as how this is the only time he comes down from his hut. It’s usually me cooking for the two of us.” Ikasaa’s red eye glinted wickedly. “That is why I continued to let them come over.” Cheshire and Mouse laughed, digging their forks into the tasty mixture. They ate in silence, as was customary at their little gatherings. Cheshire leaned her head on her arms when her bowl was half empty, as she always did. Ikasaa raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, his hair falling over one eye. “You did not finish,” he said, as he always did. Cheshire shrugged without looking up. Ikasaa did not say anything more but finished his own meal. When all of the bowls, saving Cheshire’s, were empty, he stood smoothly and took them to the kitchen where he began to clean up. “Come, Mouse,” Krio said. “Show me how you play that game of yours.” Cheshire sat up and watched them for a while. A soft touch of fingers on her shoulder made her turn. Ikasaa took her elbow. “Let us talk in private.” He led her up to the top of the tower. Cheshire counted 148 steps, her eyes fixed on the shifting kimono of the man before her. The stairs led to a door, which opened to a single long hall lined with rooms. They passed every door until the end of the hall. Here a door was framed by windows. They were very high up. From the sight in the windows, there was not two feet of wall at this part of the tower. As Ikasaa opened the door, Cheshire gasped. Instead of empty air, there was another room. It was dimly lit and painted scarlet. Incense burned in a corner, scented faintly of cinnamon. Candles burned along the shelves, and pottery painted with dragons sat delicately on cabinet tops. Ikasaa motioned for Cheshire to take a seat on one of the couches and settled himself across from her. “What bothers you?” he asked simply. Cheshire blinked. “I don’t understand.” “You never finish your meals. You are quiet and sad. To put it quite simply, I have never, ever seen you happy. Your sister finds refuge here with us, for the short times we spend together, but not you. Why is that?” Cheshire looked down at her hands, at her long fingers tipped in nails cut short and painted dark blue. She had done it out of defiance, for her nails glittered at the tiniest light. On missions, staying hidden in the shadows was key to living, but she wore no gloves over her fingers to hide the color. She curled her hands into fists. “Mouse—bottles up her pain. She uses it to aid power to transform, or she tells me about it when it grows too heavy. I...I can’t do that.” Cheshire looked up at the doctor, willing him to understand, but he stared back at her without blinking. Behind the curtain of black hair, his red eye almost looked gold. “I can’t hide it away,” she said. “Whatever I’m feeling is with me all the time.” “Ahhh,” Ikasaa said. “You give in to your depressions, your hurts.” “No, that’s not what I meant—” “Perhaps what you need to learn is not how to bottle your pain, but how to banish it,” the man said. “It is another kind of battle entirely. You cannot throw it out of you the way Mouse does, so you must fight it on the inside. You will find this is easier to do than you think—now that you know how to do it.” * * * * “Happy Birthday!” Krio roared, flourishing a giant cake with little icing-drawn figures on the top. Mouse squinted and hid a snort. They were both wearing black clothing and had goofy smiles on their faces. Cheshire looked at them solemnly. “Lovely art, Krio! I’m impressed.” “Yes,” Ikasaa said, hiding his lips behind his hand, “a fair likeness!” Krio sniffed and set the cake on the table. “Well, it’s delicious if not pretty.” Ikasaa smiled and fetched four bowls, slicing hefty pieces of cake and letting them fall into the platters. Cheshire took a bite and rolled her eyes. “You’re right! It is delicious!” “I made it with your favorite flavors!” Krio said proudly, his eyes flashing as he grinned. “Lemon, almond, vanilla—” Ikasaa appeared with two slender packages wrapped in parchment. Someone had painted elegant dragons and vines across the paper. He handed one each to the girls. “It isn’t much,” he said, “but I think you’ll like it.” Cheshire and Mouse opened the paper carefully, eager not to harm the beautiful paintings. Inside were bright yellow tunics with orange and red stitching around the sleeves, neck, and shoulders. A little flame was embroidered on the right arm. It came with a scarlet sash. Beneath the shirts were light-weight travel blankets as soft as rabbits’ fur. Cheshire laughed and held up the tunic. “Osma will freak out when he sees these.” Mouse’s eyes glimmered. “You think?” Immediately she pulled the tunic over her head. “It brings out your eyes beautifully,” Ikasaa complimented. “Thank you,” Mouse said, grinning. Krio leaned back on his forearms. “I still can’t believe you’re sixteen!” he exclaimed. “The years pass so quickly.” Cheshire and Mouse looked at each other. They were surprised too. The refuge they had discovered with Krio and Ikasaa had saved them from perpetual depression. Not only were they older, but they were far different. As happens with all girls at some point in their lives, they had grown a few inches up, and had ‘shaped out’, as Osma had said awkwardly when they had asked him about the changes in their lives. Cheshire’s hand snuck to her left sleeve and felt the ridges there. Not only had they grown in size, but they had grown in skill. From one ribbon to three, to five, to ten; now both sleeves were covered in ribbons, much like Osma’s. However, instead of acting jealous or angry, he was proud beyond recognition, and, at times, even happy. Cheshire pulled her tunic on like her sister, grinning. Yes, this would make Osma tear at his hair, but they weren’t little girls anymore, and they weren’t on a mission. They didn’t have to wear black all the time. The sun was beginning to set when Cheshire and Mouse left, wearing their presents proudly, the blankets tucked into the boxes they carried at their sides. “What are those?” They looked up in surprise upon entering the training field. Osma was out late, and staring at them with a dumbfounded expression. Mouse thrust her chin out. “Presents,” she said. “And don’t worry, we aren’t about to wear them while bidding the next target hello.” “Unless you want us to,” Cheshire put in slyly. “It might catch them off guard.” “A new tactic,” Osma said dryly. “Genius. I bow to your superior knowledge.” Cheshire and Mouse shrugged at the same time. Osma merely shook his head. “We’re to the Court tomorrow. We leave at dawn.” He strode away from them and disappeared into the trees. Cheshire and Mouse glanced at each other apprehensively. They hadn’t been to the Court in at least two years—Kathyr had always sent their missions by letter. That he wanted to see them now, the day after their sixteenth...did not bode well. “Don’t worry,” Mouse said. “It’s probably just a mission that’s harder than the others. We’re older now. He’ll probably want to gloat over it and insult us before hand.” Cheshire ran a hand over her neck without thinking, feeling the tiny scar there. She desperately hoped her sister was right. The first rogue they saw was Ukia. She jumped down from a tree on the edge of the field where the abandoned hut marked Rogue quarters. She grinned at the twins and sniffed at Osma. “It’s good to see you two again,” she said. “You’ve grown so much!” She cast an eye over their gold tunics and hid a laugh. Cheshire and Mouse smiled. “What have you been up to lately, Ukia?” Mouse asked. Ukia shrugged. “A little of this and that. I’m Kathyr’s body guard now—apparently none of the louts in the court are up to his standards.” The twins glanced at each other. “Then—” “I’m fine,” she said, her smile cooling a little. It was common knowledge that Kathyr had grown tired of Ukia and had moved on to another. Unfortunately Ukia did not fill the position of seasonal lover easily, and had told Kathyr what she thought of him in front of the entire court. The fact that she was still alive and his bodyguard even told of the fact that he still felt for her. “You two keep your chins up,” Ukia said, winking. “I’ll be in shortly.” New faces as well as old heralded them upon entering the court. Their golden tunics were laughed at, sneered at, but the black shirts that showed underneath with the many red ribbons were looked upon silently. Ukia was true to her word. She stood easily beside Kathyr’s chair, grinning at them. Kathyr was much the same, his sardonic gaze full of wit and a hidden joke. He leapt to his feet when he saw them, laughing. “Well, if it isn’t the identical wonders and their puppet master. And now sixteen on top of it.” They stopped in front of his throne as Kathyr descended the three stairs to stand in front of them. He bent a little to be eye-to-eye with them. “How does it feel to enter the realm of adults?” he chuckled. Cheshire raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Mouse picked at her teeth and yawned. “About the same.” Osma stiffened slightly at their lack of respect, his eyes raking the backs of their heads. He placed his hands on their shoulders, his fingers digging in meaningfully. Kathyr leaned back. “Oh ho! Gaining a little sarcasm, are we?” He snapped his fingers and a rogue brought forward a piece of paper. “This is your new mission,” he said. “It’s a training mission, for higher level rogues, but I believe you’ll find it...entertaining.” He handed Osma the paper, his eyes fixed on the twins. “I’ll see you afterwards.” “Exactly what is this mission?” Ikasaa asked ruefully, staring down at the paper in his hands as Krio fled back and forth grabbing clothes. “All it has is a pair of names and a place.” “Well,” Cheshire said grimly. “We’re supposed to kill them. I don’t know who they are, or what they’ve done, but Osma assured us that they were not only a threat to the Rogue but to the village nearby their house...” “Hmmmm...” Ikasaa didn’t seem convinced. “How can you be sure...?” “Osma has no cause to lie to us,” Mouse said softly, looking down at her hands. “He never has in the past—what cause would he have to start now?” “Here,” Krio said breathlessly. He held forth their knapsacks. “Cloth for warmth, to keep you cool, even to hide you if need be.” He bit his lip and pulled them into an embrace. “This will be different than what you are used to,” he whispered to them. “They will throw the hardest things at you.” He gave them a final squeeze and pulled away, rushing into the back of the room to ‘find some more shirts’. Ikasaa looked after him for a moment before turning to the two girls. He handed them a small leaf-wrapped package. “Oils for wounds,” he said solemnly. “And medicines for sickness. You may not be going far, but Krio is right when he says that it will be hard. You do not know what they have lying in wait for you.” Cheshire and Mouse bowed low. Ikasaa bowed in turn. He then kissed them each on the forehead and sent them out the door into the forest. “Are they gone?” Krio’s voice echoed from the back of the tower. “I swear,” Ikasaa said dryly. “You are the worst at saying goodbye. They’ll be back—they are stronger than anyone gives them credit.” Krio appeared from the shadows and stood beside the doctor to stare out at the trees. “I hope you are right.” The day was bright and beautiful, and it wasn’t long before Cheshire and Mouse were out of the trees. Mouse looked down at the paper in her hands. “Southshire district. By the Thundering Falls, in the middle of wolf territory.” She looked up in surprise. “Why, we’ve been there before, when...” she dropped off as memories took her. Cheshire’s lips turned white as she pressed them together and she narrowed her eyes. “If we can...can we skirt that place?” Mouse blinked. “Of course. We can take the deer trail...” Cheshire nodded stiffly and sighed, rolling her shoulders to set the sack more comfortably on her back. “Well then!” she said more brightly. “Let’s be off.” They followed the river, moving smoothly through its swaying reeds and rocky border. Great winged birds with white feathers and scarlet plumes sweeping from their tails took lazily to the air, whistling at them. A toad croaked a complaint nearby before splashing into the water with a loud plop. They stopped for a brief lunch on a half-sunken log, kicking their toes in the water. Afternoon brought lancing rain and sodden thunder. They took shelter in the approaching trees. “We’re close,” Mouse yelled over the sound of rain hitting leaves. “A few more miles, maybe. We’ll be there by nightfall.” Cheshire felt a shiver run down her spine. “Is it just me, or does something feel wrong?” Mouse looked up at the sky. “It’s very familiar. But what can we do now? I say we move on. If we don’t like what we see when we get there, we can turn back and head south, away from the Rogue.” Cheshire nodded. “I like that idea.” The house stood upon a little hill, shrouded in willows and cherries. Candle light flickered in the windows. Cheshire and Mouse climbed up a drain to reach the roof. The windows were unlocked, and they slipped in easily, timing their descent with the thudding thunder. The stairs were straight and led directly to the living room, where noises echoed off of the high eaves. Cheshire peaked the tiniest bit around the wall. Turning back to her sister, she nodded, pointing at her eyes and the opposite wall. They were turned away, unable to see hidden attackers. She held up three fingers, counting down. Thunder exploded in the night and they burst around the edge, knives flying. The woman was dead before she could stand, but Mouse’s blade went askew for some unknown reason, merely slicing through the man’s shoulder instead of piercing his heart. He screamed in pain, seeing his dead wife, and charged at them. Mouse lurched forward to grapple with him, teeth bared, killing him swiftly to end it. Cheshire was sweating though she had done no hard work. Mouse cleaned her knife and wiped her forehead. “Well,” she said softly. “That’s that.” “Mama?” Cheshire froze and turned, her eyes wide. Two little girls were peeking from under the table, their doll horses forgotten as they stared at their dead parents on the ground with uncomprehending gazes. Their fiery red hair caught the candle light like blood, their wide, identical violet eyes glittering like an animal’s in the night. One had her hand tucked into her mouth; the other stared up at them without a word, her mouth slightly open. They were twins. They looked no more than six. Mouse stumbled back. “No,” she whispered, dropping her knife. A wail burst from Cheshire’s mouth that she could not control and she fell to her knees, tears streaming from her eyes. Her hands shook and she grabbed handfuls of her hair as she screamed. Mouse closed her eyes and shook, putting her face in her hands. Cheshire felt as if her chest would burst. She wanted to claw into the wood of the wall, of the doorframe, to run far, far away. She staggered to her feet and ran from the house, her sister following blindly. She did not notice that she was soaked, or that she was stumbling back in the direction of the river, until she plunged feet first into the shallows. There she stopped, trembling and crying. She turned her head upwards, the rain hitting her eyes and making her squint. She could not see for the tears and rain in her eyes. A hand touched her shoulder, helped her to her feet. She had not realized that she had fallen again, the water rushing around her hips. Mouse put her shoulder against hers, pulling her from the water. A sudden burst of memory rushed into Cheshire’s mind. “Osma,” she croaked. She stumbled to her feet. “I’ll kill him! Osma!” “Cheshire, no!” Cheshire did not listen. She turned and ran, following the river as she sprinted north, to the Rogue, to Osma. Her sister appeared beside her, running grimly, dark tendrils of smoke peeling off of her shoulders—just as it did when she was hurt most, or angry. They covered the distance—roughly 17 miles—just as dawn was coloring the sky blood red. Cheshire did not see it. She did not look at the farmers taking their long-horned cows out to pasture, their many-layered, many-colored clothing glinting like jewels in the dawn sun. She did not care that she was a rogue, running along the road where anyone could see. She did not care. Mouse ran steadily beside her, unblinking. She felt a deep pain in her chest where Osma’s betrayal and the stares of the children had pierced her. A part of her was missing, and she knew the only person who could possibly put it back was her twin, who was raging up the road ahead of her. She blinked back tears as her body gave another painful throb and ran on. Her sister needed her now. They reached the forest, heedless of noise. However, when they reached the track that led to the tower, Mouse pulled Cheshire off course. “We need to go see them,” she said sternly. “Before we find Osma.” Cheshire allowed her sister to pull her to the tower where they rang the bell. It was answered immediately, and Ikasaa did not need to ask. He immediately let them in, catching Cheshire as she collapsed. Krio appeared with blankets and fresh clothing. Ikasaa helped Cheshire into a private room, where the girls changed clothes wordlessly. Krio wrapped them in thick blankets and sat them down on cushions while Ikasaa brewed tea. Cheshire swallowed hard, staring at nothing in particular as tears washed her cheeks again. A cup of steaming tea was pushed into her hands. She tried to hand it back, but Ikasaa grabbed her face roughly in two hands, his eyes fearsome and his lips drawn tight. “You are very dehydrated,” he said softly. “And you are wearied. If you do not drink this, I will have to force it down your throat, understand?” Cheshire sipped at the tea, glancing at Ikasaa and blinking. She had never seen the doctor anything than calm and cool. Now he was pale, and his hands shook slightly. She had never seen him scared. Krio sat before them, watching every bite that entered their mouths and nodding silently. When they had finished eating and drinking, Ikasaa sat before them beside Krio. “Now,” he said. “Tell us what happened.” Cheshire curled in on herself, putting her arms over her head and hiccupping. “Mouse,” Krio said, catching the girl’s eyes in his own. Mouse nodded and swallowed. “They had children,” she whispered. “Twin girls, no more than six...just like we were when Osma killed our parents. It’s...it’s some sort of cruel joke. They’re trying to break us, and...and I think...” she glanced at Cheshire. “They won’t have broken your sister this way,” Ikasaa said, his eyes on the girl in question. “I have tended to her many times, slit belly included. This would not destroy the girl I know.” Cheshire froze and peeked between her fingers and locks of tear-soaked hair. With a final hiccup and a sigh she uncurled, wiping her face. A faint smile touched the corners of the doctor’s mouth. “There now,” he said. “That’s better.” Mouse shivered. “One thing is for sure; we are not going back to Osma.” Cheshire’s eyes took on a steely hue. “Oh, we are,” she whispered. “But I’m going to kill him, as I should have years ago.” Mouse looked at her in horror. “You aren’t strong enough!” she insisted. “He’ll crush you.” Cheshire turned on her twin defiantly. “So?” she said, her voice rising. “He’s hurt me plenty of times in the past! Why would this be any different? He’s killed so many people, Mouse! He killed our parents, and now we’ve done the same to someone else! I’ll never—never forgive myself for that. And I certainly won’t forgive him! I hate him!” “Cheshire.” Cheshire looked up at Ikasaa. The doctor held up a finger. “Vengeance is a more deadly poison than any I have ever known,” he said. “I would highly advise you to throw it aside now. If you want to start a new life, go and do so. Returning to Osma now to exact vengeance would not be wise. It would sell you into a slavery that you could not escape from.” “Ikasaa’s right,” Krio said. “Osma has the upper hand. He knows everything about you; you know next to nothing about him, despite living with him for the past decade. He could destroy you.” Mouse looked at her hands. “He doesn’t know everything about us. My shifting is a wild card—I can do anything with it. That could help us.” Ikasaa shrugged. “That could give you the element of surprise. But think on what I’ve said: Kathyr wanted you to come back. He knew you would be horrified, enraged, at what you’ve done. No doubt he has some ideas of holding you. The Rogue will not give up a fighting force such as you two so easily.” Cheshire put her head in her hands and shuddered. “What do you propose we do?” she whispered. Ikasaa folded his hands together. “I have a cousin, living in the islands of the eastern lands. Take a ship there, or anywhere you please. If you stay in this land, the Rogue will find arms long enough to reach you. Across the sea, he has no power. Other Rogues, having no knowledge of you, will be in command, and no Rogue will ally with another, for any reason. Take a ship and find a new life.” Mouse’s eyes filled with tears. “But what about you?” she whispered. “You’ve been our only friends for all these years. How could we leave you behind?” Krio smiled sadly. “You must. It will not be easy, on any of us. But I would rather have the chance of never seeing you again, but knowing you are alive and happy, than to see you remain caged here.” Ikasaa stood. “Let’s pack your things. Cheshire, I have something for you. Come with me.” Krio took Mouse aside as Ikasaa led Cheshire upstairs yet again. This time they entered his personal quarters. Ikasaa threw a large wardrobe wide, its elegantly carved redwood doors glittering in the lamp light. From inside he unhooked two long kimonos. One had a base of dark blue; silver lilies curled up the side, and tiny gold tassels dangled at the throat. The second was dark maroon with gold bamboo embroidered on the sleeves. Up the waist a white phoenix burst into flames and looked so alive it appeared attempting to fly free. The two robes were in her favorite colors. Cheshire gasped. “No, I couldn’t!” Ikasaa shushed her by holding up a hand. “You don’t have much,” he said softly. “Take them—they will help you in the end.” Cheshire put her hands on the soft robes and blinked back tears. She knew the cloth would shrink to fit her much tinier height, just as Krio had designed it. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.” Ikasaa smiled. “I thank you, Cheshire. I hope we meet again someday.” Cheshire bowed, and Ikasaa bowed in turn. Then, without controlling herself, Cheshire hugged the doctor. He stood a little stunned, and then put his arms around her shoulders. After a moment they returned downstairs. It seemed as if Krio and Mouse had undergone a similar painful goodbye. Something bulged in Mouse’s pack, and Cheshire put the two kimonos gently in her pack as well. “What will you decide?” Krio asked. Cheshire looked up at the ceiling. “We will go to the sea,” she said softly. “You’re right. I don’t want Osma to control one more part of me—not even my anger. We’ll go west.” The two men stood with them at the door, hesitating, driving off the last moment together. Then, the twins took deep breaths, and walked for the last time down the path to the tower. For the last time, the doctor closed the door before they reached the end. He turned away and took the stairs to his quiet refuge. Krio stood silently for a moment, sniffed, and then began to sew busily. Cheshire and Mouse made their way back along the path towards the road. Before the exited the trees, Mouse stopped them. “Wait,” she said. “We should change out of these clothes.” Cheshire blinked. “Yeah,” she agreed. They put their packs on the ground. Cheshire bent to undo the ties on the sack and heard a faint whistling noise. Mouse cried out and Cheshire leapt to her feet. Her twin was on the ground, a trickle of blood on her neck. Her eyes dropped an in seconds she was out cold. A dart lay on the ground nearby. Crunching footsteps made Cheshire turn and she saw Osma coming through the woods towards her, stowing a dart pipe in his belt. Rage made her gaze turn red, but she didn’t move. “What did you do to her?” she whispered. “Drugged her,” Osma replied. “And there’s no chance of her shifting out of it. It’s a very special brew just for shifters, and specially for her height and weight.” He held up a second dart. “I have one especially for you too, sweetheart, but only if you misbehave.” “You knew what we were going into,” Cheshire hissed. “Why did you do it?” “I didn’t,” Osma pointed out, his eyes flashing. “Kathyr did. However, I did approve. Kathyr wants you to report back now. Wherever are you going?” “Away!” Cheshire snarled. “Far away from you!” Osma shook his head and clucked his tongue. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “You still have obligations to fulfill.” Cheshire screamed and leapt at him, her hands outstretched, ready to throttle him barehanded. In a flash Osma had the pipe out again, and the dart thudded into Cheshire’s arm. She fell to the groun as her entire side went numb, and then her vision went black. Mouse slowly awakened in a cell. Cheshire lay still beside her. Their packs were on the ground not far away, behind bars. Why was that? No, wait. They were behind bars, not their bags. A guard paced outside their cell, glancing at them every now and then. When he saw Mouse’s eyes open, he rushed out of sight. Mouse got to her knees slowly and groaned, holding her head. Drugs...why hadn’t she shifted out of it? She crawled over to her sister and shook her gently. Cheshire groaned, but did not open her eyes. “I see you are awake now.” Mouse turned to see Kathyr and Osma. The Rogue crossed his arms and smiled grimly. “Wakey wakey, little shifter.” Mouse tried to speak but her voice came out in a croak. She grimaced and crouched down, swallowing and trying again. “What do you want?” “Want?” Kathyr said in surprise. “You two of course. You’re powerful. Osma did a masterful job of training you. A decade of work, and you think I’m going to let it simply walk away? And Osma has grown attached to you, despite himself. No, you are going to stay right here.” Mouse turned her eyes to Osma. “Cheshire hates you,” she whispered. “She wanted to kill you when she first discovered the children. And now I see why. You’re a monster.” Osma shrugged. “An effective one, then. You two are my pride and joy, Mouse. I do not want to see you go.” He turned and left the room. Kathyr grinned down at them. “I’ll leave one of your friends to keep you company. Perhaps you’ll change your mind voluntarily. If that does nothing, well, that’s what chains are for.” He left as well. The door opened a few moments later, and Ukia entered, her brow furrowed. She sat on the ground in front of their cell. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know how you feel.” “No,” Mouse said. “You don’t.” She grimaced and held her head again. “I’ll get you some tea,” Ukia said sadly, and she left. Mouse watched her go. She stood unsteadily and pulled Cheshire onto her shoulders, morphing underneath her. The huge gargoyle took a deep breath. “Sorry, Ukia,” she whispered. “Freedom is better.” With a huge pulse of her wings, Mouse sent the grate flying. In two claws she took the rucksacks and slung them around her neck. Shouts came from down the hall. “Not much time,” Mouse muttered to herself. Then a reckless part of her grinned. She crept through the door and into the hall, bottling herself up. The tightness of the hall made her look even huger. The first rogues came around the corner and screamed, falling over each other to get away. Mouse let out a thundering bellow that made the stones creak. Sheltering Cheshire with her wings, she thrust upwards, tearing through stone, mortar, and dirt. She heard screams beneath her, felt a burning pain in her leg, and pushed harder, up through the forest floor, and into open air. Blood was running down her thigh, but she morphed and healed it. Rogues were pouring out of the little cottage not fifty feet away and charging her. Mouse saw Osma appear, his dart gun in hand, his eyes fixed on her. A small smile curled his lips as he raised the pipe and put it to his lips. “Too late!” Mouse shot into the air, pumping her wings hard. A shriek of fury erupted below her, from Kathyr’s lips. A glance back showed that Osma was watching her go calmly, if a little sadly. The smile remained—he did not seem to think that this was the end of it. Mouse turned her head forward and beat her wings hard, flying with the current of wind, her eyes fixed on the sea far, far away. They landed in the first city by the sea with a port. Cheshire was awake, and they were hungry. Swiftly they changed into their golden tunics, not having time to change their shirts or slacks. The red rogue bands on their arms still flickered open for every eye to see, but there was no helping that now. Mouse rented a small room at an inn. “Are we safe here?” Cheshire asked. Mouse shrugged. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I flew as fast as I could. No one could have caught up with us.” Cheshire rubbed her arms and nodded. “I know, but...” She shrugged. “Just a feeling, I guess.” Mouse stuffed their sacks under the cabinet, in easy reach. “We’ll take turns,” she said. “I’ll watch first—” “No!” Cheshire said firmly. “You’ve been flying since we left, who knows how far. You need to sleep. I’ll watch.” Mouse did not argue. Her eyelids were drooping, and she smiled faintly as she lay back on the bed. Cheshire patted her foot and sat next to her, her eyes on the window and the door. It was around the fourth watch of the city when a flicker at the window caught Cheshire’s eyes. Someone had just slid by it. Cheshire grabbed the rucksacks and gently shook Mouse awake. Mouse blinked and gazed at her curiously. Cheshire pointed at the window and drew a finger across her throat. “We’ll leave by the door,” she whispered. “They’ll not expect that.” Mouse nodded and got sleepily to her feet. They shouldered their sacks and opened the door slowly. Cheshire glanced into the hall. So far so good. Stepping quietly, so as not to awaken any other patrons to the good inn, they made their way out and into the streets. There were very few people about, the lanterns along the streets flickering. A man leaned against one of the light posts, a paper in his hands. Cheshire glanced at him. He was wearing a long coat—she didn’t think the one crawling on the roof would be wearing a long coat to get tangled up in. Cheshire led the way to the docks. It would be a good idea to stay close to the boats when dawn came. Mouse patted her face gently to awaken herself. In a few moments, both were wide eyed and careful, padding gently down the nearly deserted streets. Cheshire didn’t notice until they were a few blocks from the inn that the man in the long coat was following behind them. “Incoming,” Cheshire whispered, not looking behind her. Mouse did not look either. “Which side?” “Left.” Cheshire quickened her pace ever so slightly. The man quickened his behind them. Mouse’s eyes flickered along the storefronts. “When I say,” she whispered. “We take a side ally. We run as fast as we can. Ready?” “Ready.” They walked a few moments in silence. When they reached a patch of darkness where the lamplights did not cover the cobbled streets, Mouse pushed Cheshire hard in the arm. Swiftly they darted into an ally, running full out. They heard a curse behind them and clattering footsteps, more than one pair. Cheshire panted with fear, her hand tightly entwined with Mouse’s. No matter what, she would not let go. A man burst from the darkness in front of them, a blade glittering in his hands. Mouse cried out, dragging Cheshire in a spontaneous direction out of his reach. They turned and swerved, in and out of the allies so quickly that soon they did not know what direction they were going. Still the footsteps echoed behind them. Another man threw himself across them, bringing them all tumbling to the ground. Rough hands grabbed Cheshire’s neck and arm. Cheshire found the hand on her arm and bit hard, feeling blood in her mouth. The man screamed shrilly and let go, jumping back. A knife leapt to Cheshire’s own hand, and she saw that next to her Mouse had done the same. They still held onto each other, their grips so tight that the blood was rushing from their fingers. Three more men appeared from the ally, surrounding them on all sides. “She bit me!” one of them exclaimed, shaking blood from his fingers. “The little swine will get it for that!” “We were ordered to keep them alive!” one of them snapped. “Kathyr wants them as untouched as possible.” “Yeah, yeah,” the man snarled back. “They’re too skinny for my taste anyway.” “Now,” one of them said. “Come peacefully and we’ll ensure that Johnston there doesn’t find you in the night.” Cheshire glanced at Mouse. She nodded silently, and her hand flashed in a blur. A knife thudded into the man she had bitten, and his scream was cut off as he fell to the ground, dead. The other men swore, jumping away from their fallen comrade. “Alright then,” the one in front snarled. “You asked for it!” The men leapt forward, two on Mouse’s side, one on Cheshire’s. Cheshire kicked up hard, catching the man under the chin and forcing him back. He coughed, but his dagger flashed out in the dark, catching Cheshire on the arm. She cried out and leapt back, bumping into Mouse. Mouse parried the men’s knives, panting as she sought to keep up with their two blades to her one. One grabbed her arm, prying the knife from her fingers, and wrenching on her. Cheshire screamed, feeling Mouse’s hand slip in her own. “Go!” Mouse screamed. “Go, I’ll find you!” Cheshire slashed out with her knife, cutting into her own victim’s chest. “No!” “GO!” Mouse’s hand was wrenched from Cheshire’s grip, and she leapt to the side into an ally, sobs catching in her throat. The man fighting her cursed and followed. Cheshire turned back and flung her knife. It sank up to the hilt in the man’s neck. He sank back slowly, collapsing onto the ground. For a moment Cheshire stood still. Then she ran back to the main ally. Mouse and her two attackers were not there. Cheshire clutched her arms and lowered her head. After a few moments she collected her knives and stowed them. Without a word, she made her way through the labyrinth of ally-ways to the sea. Mouse gasped as she ran, her last pursuer close behind her. She had no more knives, no more weapons. Her best hope was to find the sea. She burst out into the streets and heard the crash of waves. Turning, she ran, her feet smashing on the stone street. The man crashed into a pile of boxes behind her, cursing vagrantly. “Oi, what are you up to!” a voice cried. Mouse flinched and glanced behind her, her steps slowing. A man in a uniform had grabbed her pursuer, throwing him into the light. “What are you chasing after girls, eh? What’s your name?” When the man remained silent, the man gripped him by the neck of his coat. “I think we’ll have a little chat downtown, what do you say, laddybuck?” “You don’t understand,” the man said angrily. “She’s a thief! She has something of mine!” “We’ll see about that.” The constable turned towards the girl, but she was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging, he pulled the man down the street. Mouse stumbled up to a well-dressed man, disguised as a boy. “Please sir,” she said. “I’m looking for passage west. Could you take me on?” The man looked down at her and sniffed. “We’re needing a cabin-boy. Get aboard. What’s yer name?” Mouse faltered. “Ah—Fallen. My name’s Fallen.” The man grunted and jerked his thumb towards the ship. Mouse nodded her thanks and scrambled up the board that led to the deck. Sailors bustled around her, carrying boxes of exotic goods. A parrot squawked nearby, and the strong smell of spices and fish made her sneeze. She turned out to look at the docks. Her sister would find her. Soon; her sister would find her. Cheshire stood before the docks, her eyes fixed on the boats. Dawn was creeping over the horizon, and the shipyard was coming to life. A man walked nearby, slate and pencil in hand. “What’s your name, miss?” he asked politely. “Company policy.” Cheshire bit her tongue. “Slack,” she replied. “My name is Slack.” She smiled grimly to herself. Her sister would be nearby. Any moment now she would see her near one of the ships. She would find her. She would hunt down her twin with her last breath. Slowly, she made her way along the dock, her eyes on the ships.

Thanks so much! I only just found out, what, two weeks later? Ha ha...erm..*cough* Anyway, I'm very happy and extremely honored. Thank you again. ~Kikuyu