Mercenary- The Revised Edition

[Kikuyu_Black_Paws]

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. Three 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 three 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.”

 

 

 

The shivering waifs of the street sat in dark, grimy allies, shivering under the morning chill and the eerie fog that rolled in from the sea. Their ragged clothes, tattered and stained after varying years of wear, did nothing to ward off the coldness. Dew settled bleakly on their shaking heads and shoulders, sucking the limited warmth from their tiny limbs. Inevitably, a little corpse would be found by dawn of the next day.

 

As the street children cleared out of their little nests in search of food, a taller, older child appeared from the darkest corner. Unlike the other orphans, she was well dressed and even carried a bandolier of knives under the blanket she wore curled around her shoulders—more for disguise than warmth. She scanned the outlying street with weary eyes, blue-green-grey eyes that had seen more than her years dictated.

 

With a small sigh the girl placed the blanket on a nest, a small present for an exhausted return. Without looking back she stepped out of the ally and into the large street.

 

Patrol men and soldiers of the Crown on horseback were the busiest this early in the morning. The street lenders who often gave food to the homeless children were lighting the lamps in the morn dark. The sun would rise, but the fog covered the light and would probably conceal it all day. A few vendors began setting out their stalls for market, diligent despite the weather.

 

The girl turned and made her way down the street, turned left, right, then left again to step out at the docks. She felt a tiny shiver of hope struggle against her despondency. Today...it would be today...

 

The comforting slosh of the waves and the creak of line and tackle vibrated in the air as she walked down the docks slowly, her strange eyes fixed on the ships above her. A lonely gull cried, its voice muffled in the fog. Ahead, the docks stretched for miles—the largest port in the world, she had been told. At her slow, searching pace, it would take her a week and a half to cover this ground, seeking steadily. She had come a ten miles north already, a task of two long, cold days.

 

A sense tingled in the girl’s fingers and she slipped casually into a nook, her eyes on the street. She knew that feeling of a killer nearby, the quiet concentration and solemn intensity. Only this time it had not been her own she had felt.

 

Three tall men stepped into sight, caped in black and dark blue. The girl’s eyes narrowed—from them, then, had come the silent warning. She stood not five feet away...

 

“What do you think?” one of the men said softly.

 

His companion to the right, a hawkish man with dark skin, shifted anxiously. “No clues and no sign or hear of them,” he replied, sweeping the ground with uncanny green eyes. “Almost like they disappeared.”

 

“They haven’t left,” the man on the left said coldly, running a scarred hand through hair bleached pale blonde. “We’ve been watching the ships too closely.”

 

“What about the shifting?” the man on the right asked anxiously. “Couldn’t they just fly over?”

 

The center man folded his arms in determination. The hidden girl stifled a gasp with her hand, her eyes wide with horror. Red ribbons were sewn up and down the sleeves of the man’s long black shirt. A pair of sleek flintlocks hung at his hips, and what looked like a hatchet was stowed in his boot. The man’s face turned as he smelled the air like a predator searching for blood on the air. “I would have known it,” he whispered, and as he turned his head the girl saw that he was blind.

 

She slid back carefully and turned about, heading back the way she had come. She had been traveling in the wrong direction this entire time! The Rogue’s men were proof enough of that.

 

The girl put a hand to her arm and felt the hidden, ridged ribbons of red that were sewn there. She felt a surge of pain in her chest and clutched it. The longing for the one she sought, she hadn’t seen her in what felt like forever.

 

Taking a wide circle around the three rogues, the girl advanced quickly down the docks. By afternoon she would travel that which had taken her two days to search. In the warmer part of the southern docks she would find a disguise and her lost one.

 

 

The girl shifted uneasily in her sleep, tucked in an ally far from the one she had slept in the previous night. Her face crunched into a deep frown of worry. She turned onto her side and stretched out her hands, and she almost seemed about to awake.

 

A cat scampered away into the dark as the girl rolled into a tin can, knocking it over with a clatter. Still she did not awake.

 

Her mouth turned downwards and she began to pant heavily as if running. “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me. Wait...don’t leave me. Don’t leave me, Mouse!”

 

The girl sat up with a small scream, her breath steaming in the air. Cheshire pushed her hands against her eyes and cried, her shuddering sobs loud in her ears and in the ally.

 

“Is anyone down there?” a voice called. Cheshire looked up sharply as the warm glow of a lantern approached. She got to her feet and melted away.

 

The street guard turned the corner and searched the nooks of the ally with his lantern. There was no one there. “Blasted cats,” he grumbled to himself, and wandered back to his post. The ally cats watched him with flashing, iridescent eyes, but one blue-green-grey pair turned away with disinterest.

 

 

 

Fallen felt very small surrounded by the four 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, “obviously, 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 off 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 four bards watched them silently and with much scratching of heads.

 

 

 

Slack and Fallen, Cheshire and Mouse in disguise, 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 up the coast searching for you. It was only after I saw 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.

 

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 rid of 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 squeezed, 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 Rogue’s 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 strolled 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 shook their heads 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 laughed 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 Mouse.”

 

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 yakata 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 yakata 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 straight locks of hair framed his narrow and elegant, angular face, his large eyes as dark as obsidian. When he blinked, his dark lashes were visible against his skin. His mouth was wide 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 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 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 understood and categorized 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 her voice away. 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 balcony, 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. “Good 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-dance, 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 than 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 say 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 her to the library. Her sister was sitting in one of the chairs, just soaking in the softness. She jumped as they 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 grew 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'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 choked. “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. “That’s right—all of our traits came from you Osma. 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 silenced.

 

At her quiet 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 her. “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 the intruders. Osma's face released some of its anger when he looked at Mouse, 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 her. “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.”

 

 

 

Without warning, Osma was bending beside Cheshire, 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 two of his 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, which 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 leapt forward or danced around, 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 an 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.”

 

Cheshire shrieked and moved. 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 her 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 stumped 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 yakata 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 yakatas. Ikasaa had trimmed his hair and washed up, dressed in a fresh new yakata 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 glided 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. “Where are we?” Cheshire asked, glancing around her. The room was completely unfamiliar.

 

“Back in the East,” Keiroh said. “You slept through the entire journey.”

 

“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, said, “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, Ikasaa 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. 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 eye.

 

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 yakata 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 of 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 wary eyes pits of 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 Cheshire 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.”

 

 

 

Mouse scowled at the fat man on the throne. He rolled a gold coin tantalizingly across his fingers, eyeing Uyuki and the young women at his side. “I will pay you well,” he said. “Food will not be provided, nor any supplies your men might need. I expect you to be fully equipped by yourselves. The rate will be ten gold dratmas for every man, every week. And, of course, a little something special for the ladies.” He winked grossly at Mouse, and her glare deepened. Cheshire shifted, keeping her frown on the inside.

 

Uyuki bowed at the hips. “Of course, how could I refuse such a generous offer,” he said smoothly, softly. “You have my sword, lord. And my men’s with mine.”

 

The man made a conceding hand gesture. “Then I will see you on the battlefield.”

 

It was a dismissal, if a polite one. Uyuki turned, his hand on his curving blade. Cheshire and Mouse trotted after him.

 

Mouse did not release her glare. “Stupid fat slob,” she grumbled. “Why are we taking this job? We’ve received three times that pay for less work and better care.”

 

Uyuki kept his eyes forward. “The land is growing peaceful. Soon there will be no more need for the Mercenary. We must take the jobs we can get.”

 

“Still. I just...”

 

“Just what?”

 

“I just don’t like him!” Mouse snapped, her hair crackling with fey power. A tiny dark slash appeared on her cheekbone and her eye glittered a different non-color. Upon seeing Cheshire’s grin, though, she blushed and calmed. “He’s no good.”

 

Uyuki slung an arm around Mouse’s shoulders. “You’ll see. He’s not all that bad. Besides, with us this war will be over in less than a week. We’ll be gone before the men start to smell.”

 

Cheshire kept her face completely serious. “Funny,” she said. “I thought that was all the time.”

 

Uyuki lunged for her, trying to grab her in a head lock. Cheshire danced away, a wicked glint in her eyes. “Careful,” she said. “I scratch!”

 

Uyuki shook his head tiredly. “No one knows that more than I do, little cat,” he said with a sigh. “I have the scratches to prove it.”

 

The girl sniffed. “None of them were very deep, you baby.”

 

They entered the barracks of the 100 odd men. Cheshire was completely comfortable with the stinky, messy, rioting group after traveling and fighting with them for so many weeks she had lost count. It felt good to be part of something willingly.

 

Of course there were the usual cat calls and teasing of the day, the only entertainment some of the men got. Cheshire grinned and slapped a few heads, but lightly. Mouse was still too huffy to mess with them.

 

Cheshire and Mouse sat down in the corner they shared while Uyuki described the conditions of war to the men. They unbuckled the harnesses of their weapons and removed their boots, stretching out against their cots. Cheshire ran a hand through her hair and closed her eyes, taking luxury in the feeling of fingers against her scalp.

 

Suddenly another hand joined hers in scratching her scalp. Cheshire looked around at the silvery haired man she had first seen on their march across the forest. His name was Ytak. She smiled up at the friendly, sarcastic warrior. “Hello.”

 

“So what did blubber guts have to say to the lowly mercenaries?” Ytak asked, a light in his eyes.

 

“Not much,” Cheshire drawled, her eyes half closed as he scratched her head. “He’s extremely flirtatious, for one.”

 

“Just like me.”

 

Cheshire grunted. “Yes, but he’s disgusting about it. Maybe it was just because he’s fat.”

 

“Woe to the obese, for they will never give the cat a scratch behind the ears and hear her purr.”

 

“Better believe it,” Cheshire said with a laugh, sitting up. “But you be careful too, Ytak. I’m a fickle cat, as ready to scratch the petting hand as to purr for it.”

 

Ytak made a mournful face. “Forever to be lonely, that’s the life for me.”

 

Cheshire slapped him on the knee with a grin. Uyuki appeared. “There’s been a change in plans,” he said, his face solemn. “We go to fight now.”

 

“Right now?” Mouse asked, grabbing her boots.

 

“Yes. Right now. Apparently our lord’s enemies have decided to make the first move, and quickly. They stand a mile from here, northwest.”

 

 

 

Cheshire scanned the group of warriors standing across the field. They were a desperate looking bunch, ill fed and scared. In comparison to the soldiers of the wealthy lord on the hill, Cheshire wondered at all why he had hired mercenaries. “Sir...”

 

“Don’t worry, Cheshire,” Uyuki said. “These are just a distraction. I’ve seen them many times—the sickest, weakest members of an army put up front to be what’s called a ‘pity line’. I’ve seen entire wars stopped over a single row of woe begotten foxes.”

 

Cheshire shifted, feeling a little better. “Can they fight?”

 

Uyuki laughed. “Oh how they can fight,” was his only answer.

 

Cheshire grinned and drew two of her obsidian knives. “Well then,” she said. “I suppose I won’t be entirely bored.”

 

Ytak appeared from behind. “Like birds with their feathers plucked,” he intoned. “Are you eager for the hunt, Mistress Cat?”

 

Cheshire arched her back and purred, a low rumbling in her chest that she had found herself doing unconsciously whenever completely happy or comfortable. “That I am.”

 

Mouse sniffed, shrugging out of her long, curving blade. She swung it idly. “Should I bother with fey, this time?”

 

Uyuki shook his head. “No need to tire yourself out over vagabonds.”

 

Mouse grinned, the first sign of cheerfulness since her indignity over the fat lord. “Well then,” she said. “Let’s go a-hunting!”

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 yakata, 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 ready 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.”