Renhala

by Amy Joy Lutchen

  “We are a bit outnumbered, and we’re in their territory, Kailey,” states Gunthreon. “They have their own ways of doing things here. We cannot do a godforsaken thing.”

  Lupa sobs loudly, but tries to hold it back for Gunthreon’s sake. He hugs her and whispers in her ear. She wipes her tears from her face and turns to me.

  Memories instantly flood back. Defenseless and soon hopeless. It’s what he’s hoping for—I can sense it. My pleas only serve as satisfaction—satisfaction for the fact I broke. I held on for so long, after so much blood shed, but there’s always a breaking point. Humiliation can break one just as easily as immeasurable physical pain. I wonder if she broke.

  My monk’s spade burns my back, and I grab a hold of it and take it off, only set on finding the one responsible for her pain. No defensive moves this time, but a willingness to hunt—to track the very soul who took pleasure in the humiliation. I suddenly swell with confidence as I swear to avenge.

  As I march forward, I hear Gunthreon calling to me—his persuasion calling, calling me back—but I’m full of an unstoppable energy, even to him.

  Fannie steps in front of me, and says, “Calm down. She’s simply a mooncat who could have easily turned on you at any moment, Kailey. You hold no allegiance to them, so why defend her? Maybe she deserved—” she stops as she looks into my eyes, now realizing my motivation. Fannie steps aside.

  “Who is responsible for this?” I ask, as I scan the crowd, searching for anyone who might reply. No answer. “Who?” I grab my spade with both hands and try to control the anger that flows through me and into my weapon. Then, I walk to the beautiful creature that has been dismembered and hung from a tree in a hammock. I cut the hammock down, and Fannie helps me lay her on the ground gently.

  “Oh, Nayla,” I whimper. The loss of beauty makes me cry, and my tears glow as they streak my face. Her body is motionless as I touch the tender area where her legs were once attached, now sloppily sewn up with butcher’s twine.

  To make it worse, the legs are on giant skewers, dripping her blood into the fire pit below them. The cuts are fresh, and I turn to Fannie who has put her hand on Nayla’s brow, and Fannie’s eyes rise slightly. This is my clue there is a chance. Fannie rips a piece of her shirt and uses it as a tourniquet around one of Nayla’s legs where the stitches have ripped open.

  “This was done while she was still alive!” I exclaim as I bury my hands in Nayla’s slick fur and feel a slight electric current, and below that, her own energy, barely pulsing. I keep my hands on her and somehow, intuitively know that the current I sense is from her assaulter. I raise myself off the ground and send out my feeler toward the crowd; nothing coming back to me.

  Everyone is motionless, and silent, waiting for a response from us. It makes me so angry that I push the feeler out even further, and that’s when I feel it: a tiny response from an energy distancing itself in a hurry. As I embrace my find, as well as my knowledge of the power inside me, a small tear drips from eye, and I am no longer broken.

  I turn to Fannie. “Take care of her.”

  “Kailey, I can’t without them knowing. I’m sorry. I can lessen her pain, though.” She looks down at Nayla with compassion.

  I inhale and grab Fannie’s chin, gently, turning her head toward me. “Help her for those you couldn’t save in the past.”

  I take off running before Gunthreon or anyone can stop me. I run toward the familiar pulse, responding to my own energy. I never even see the rocks I sprint over or hear the hissing of the cats around me. My mission controls me, and I am bound to find the respondent. The feeling grows stronger, and I sense the presence of the one who owns the energy I seek. I approach a tree with a huge hole in the side—perfect for hiding.

  “Come out. I know you’re there,” I spit. My grip on my monk’s spade is as tight as I can make it, and I am prepared to use it. “I will give you a fair fight.” The sudden laughing I hear from the hole in the tree makes me shiver to my bones, but I hold tightly to my anger. “Come out so I can see your yellow belly before I kill you.”

  The laughing grows louder. A voice filled with immense power responds. “Who do you think you are? You are nothing but a child with a sharp toy. You do not even know how to use that spade, so why bother? Devoten is foolish for keeping you alive. You should have been the one in that damn cat’s place.”

  I am instantly overwhelmed with the feeling that I indeed do not know how to use my spade and that I am not worthy to hold it. I drop my weapon to the ground, but hold my ground firmly. “No matter who she was, no living creature deserves something like that,” I say, with a bit less confidence.

  The meeple steps out of the darkness of the tree hole and laughs at me. It sits on its haunches, pretending to sharpen its talon against the bark of a tree, breaking off huge chunks as it does so. It is then that I see a quick movement above us.

  “Oh, is this just too close to home, Kailey?” the meeple teases, smiling. “Are you seeking out revenge for your own misfortune, perhaps?” I swallow as I hold my tears back. I will not allow this miserable creature a chance to humiliate me. It’s clear it knows what happened to me, and I question how, but I’m choosing to fight, and fight with all I’ve got. I see movement once again from high above, and cannot wrap my mind around what I think I saw.

  “What? Praying that quickly? Come on, I gotta see you sweat first,” the meeple rambles, slowly taking a step forward. I see the movement again above us and interpret in my brain what’s going on. That damn woodsprite was right!

  Just as the meeple takes another step, ready to strike me while my spade is down, tree branches swoop down, pick up the meeple, twist its neck, and drop it to the ground as I stare in awe. I stand, motionless, not wanting to move an inch as the branches go back to simply swaying in the wind.

  There is no further threat, but there is a rustling of leaves that seems to be getting closer. I crouch to the ground, turning my head toward the sound, straining my ear to make sure I know exactly where it’s coming from. It is then that it appears, all disgusting and creepy: a deathman.

  It walks straight to the meeple, not paying me any attention as it picks up the carcass and stares at it, while kneeling. It lays the meeple back down and holds its hands a few inches above the creature, moving them back and forth, methodically, over the body. Slowly, a beautiful, round, iridescent specter escapes and hovers above the body. The deathman stares at the ball for a moment, then grabs it, puts it in its mouth, and swallows. It climbs to its feet, and before walking away, seems to wave at the tree in a neighborly sort of way.

  The deathman leaves, and I still stand motionless in front of the tree.

  I look up, waiting for more movement. “Umm... Thank you?”

  I turn around to start my walk back to the encampment, and hear a whisper that resembles the wind: “You’re welcome.” My walk quickly turns into a run.

  Chapter 40

  Proud

  As I head back to camp, thinking to myself that karma just scored, I remember Gunthreon’s words of the Higher Ones intervention with karma: I’m simply the beacon. In thinking that Neda surely must be involved, I intend to tell Gunthreon, when I suddenly realize camp’s much quieter than I remember it, so I approach with care. I hear Gunthreon’s voice above all noises, using his persuasion to calm the crowd. Fannie holds Nayla, and I whisper, “Is she gone?”

  “No, she’s still hanging on somehow, but I do not know for how long.” She pets her head gently.

  “Any idea why this was done?” I ask.

  “Both Gunthreon and Conner are working on it, but aren’t getting any concrete answers,” she replies, continuing to stroke Nayla’s head.

  “It was a meeple,” I state as Fannie’s head suddenly turns to look at me, “and it knew my name.”

  “Why would one be here, of all places?” she asks. I shrug. “Mooncats and meeples never mix well. Where did it run off too?”

  “It’s not running any longer. It’s dead,” I say. Fannie s
tares at me, looking a bit too shocked.

  “Not by my hands,” I say, disappointingly.

  “Maybe not by your hands, but you definitely had something to do with it.” Fannie answers.

  In looking over the crowd, I see someone heading toward us and realize it’s Bu. “Quick, take her into the forest and help her,” I plead. Fannie glares at me. “Please!”

  “You’re gonna be the death of me!” Fannie gets up and drags Nayla into the forest on a blanket while the mooncats stand and stare.

  Suddenly, a proud and exhilarated mass of energy approaches. I know instantly who it is behind me. “Kailey! Bu’s got something for you! Kailey will be happy!” Approaching, Bu holds out his hand, revealing my iPod. Cheeto is waddling after him.

  “Oh, Bu. Jenna broke it, so I left it.”

  “Kailey.” He shows me the iPod again. I see that the cords are wrapped and the iPod is on, so I put the earbuds in my ears and, sure enough, it works.

  “Bu, you are so awesome!” I say. “How did you do it?”

  “Bu also made these for Jenna.” He shows me a mini set of earphones, made with tiny pieces of some kind of spongy organic material.

  “I don’t think she’ll even go near this thing, but it was very nice of you to think of her.”

  “Bu doesn’t want Jenna to be afraid of these things. They are not bad,” he says. He then realizes that something is going on around him. “What’s happening?” In a heartbeat, I see proud Bu disappear and nervous Bu reappear. He picks up Cheeto and starts caressing her head.

  “At least you aren’t afraid you’ll get something from her,” I say, as I smile warmheartedly at Cheeto.

  “Grebles don’t catch ceetchan diseases,” Bu comments.

  “Oh, great.”

  As I explain everything to Bu, Gunthreon returns, looking exhausted. He overhears that a meeple was the culprit. “That tested my limits,” he says. “At least everyone is going back to their business. We’ve got nothing—except a few comments on a ‘new reign,’ which means Michel. Why would a meeple be here? I wonder if Michel is aware of the situation. We must talk to him as soon as possible.” Gunthreon stares at me as though he wants to say something.

  “I tried, too, and got nada,” admits Conner as he approaches. He sits on a rock nearby and looks like he’s thinking too hard. He looks and feels worn out. I smile at him, warmly, and then notice a slight change in his energy—a sense of appreciation.

  A sudden crunching noise—sounding like sticks and leaves—from the forest alerts us that we must move. We all move as fast as we can without catching anyone’s attention. I lead, and we find Fannie and Nayla quickly.

  Nayla’s regenerated eyes are wide open, and she has her two front paws again. Ladimer, not Fannie, stands over her. They both stare west at a figure approaching slowly. No energy emanates from this creature, so instinctively, I yell, “Deathman!”

  Gunthreon yells, feverishly, “We must find out what happened! Get her underground! Lupa, did you pack that shovel?” Gunthreon shakes Lupa. “Lupa, get with me!” She then snaps out of it and hands him a shovel from her everything pack.

  Bu stares at Nayla, tears trickling out of his eyes, lighting up his face. Shovel in hand, Gunthreon turns to Bu. “Bu, she’ll be okay, but you have to help. Start digging!” Gunthreon has already started a hole, and Bu quickly joins in with his big hands. I take my monk’s spade and use the shovel-sided end.

  “Didn’t think you’d actually be using your blade for its original purpose, did you?” says Gunthreon with a smirk, grime on his face. I remember that this is what Gunthreon said the monks used the shovel spade for: to bury people. “We have to get her buried before it gets here.”

  The deathman moves ever so slowly, evidently seeing what we’re doing but not caring.

  “Just make sure you give me a large enough hole to breathe through,” requests Nayla, suddenly conscious and aware of the approaching deathman.

  “Oh, beautiful Nayla, be brave,” I say. She softly purrs.

  When our hole is big enough, Conner and Ladimer lift Nayla and put her in it. The deathman stops, but continues to stare. “Cover her with dirt, now!” shouts Gunthreon. He’s so busy throwing commands, and everyone else so busy throwing dirt, that only I notice that the deathman is staring at me.

  I want to say, “What?” but my better judgment tells me not to. The deathman continues staring as one of its fingers points up at me. Nobody else seems to notice.

  “She’s covered,” mumbles Conner, breathing heavily. The deathman turns to where Nayla is, looks down toward the newly covered hole, shrugs, and heads back in the direction from which it came. Ladimer, with closed eyes, has his hands in the ground, trying to heal Nayla while she’s buried.

  “I can’t tell if it’s gone.” I shiver and glance down at Cheeto, who grooms herself as if nothing else is going on around her. Jenna hides behind a rock.

  Gunthreon starts to brush the dirt off Nayla. “It’s gone. Come on.”

  Soon, Nayla is out, coughing up some dirt that got up her nose and in her mouth. Thanks to Ladimer, she is fully healed. “I thought so,” she says to Ladimer.

  He attempts to pull off her tourniquet, but Nayla keeps it on. “I’m going to keep it...as a reminder.”

  He nods, knowing exactly what she feels.

  “I put nothing past a mooncat’s nose,” states Ladimer. “Are you going to try and kill me now or later?” He asks it rather simply.

  “I can’t. You may have a death warrant on your head, but you saved my hide. We are definitely even.”

  Gunthreon moves in quickly, while she’s still in the talking mood. “Nayla, you have to tell—,” but he doesn’t have time to finish, because a band of cats suddenly springs upon our party and circles us. Michel brings up the rear.

  “My dear Nayla, what is going on?” asks Michel. She puts her head down. “Many mouths have brought to my ears news of a tragedy. I seek the tragedy and find nothing but a dirty cat.” He turns to Ladimer with a devilish grin, his mouth still open. “And a dirty fool!” Several cats move toward Ladimer, and we all grab our weapons—Conner first—ready to defend Ladimer, as well as ourselves. Gunthreon begins to open his mouth to talk.

  Ladimer throws up his hands in our direction. “Do not defend me. I must go with them. Rules are rules, after all. There will be no more bloodshed on my behalf.”

  “But Ladimer,” groans Gunthreon, his face creased with worry.

  “Let it be, my friend,” Ladimer responds. Gunthreon takes a step back.

  I turn to Gunthreon and whisper, “What’s going on?”

  “Just listen to Ladimer.”

  “We will take Ladimer and Nayla,” barks Michel, authoritatively. “These tragedies, however, will not stop our party, so please be prompt tonight, and my deepest apologies for these little unfortunate events.”

  Two rather burly cats reach out to take Ladimer’s hands. In the briefest of moments, Ladimer’s palm brushes against one of the cat’s paws. The cat convulses, then falls to the ground, motionless. Ladimer puts up his now free hands and says, “Oops. So sorry. Accident.”

  “Fabian! Nolan!” Michel yells. Two more cats emerge, these carrying gloves and spears. Ladimer allows them to approach as he puts his hands behind his back. They bind his hands and cover them with the gloves. The cats lead him away, and Nayla follows without a word. She turns her head back, and I see a small shake of her head. Michel nudges her along with his muzzle. They all leave as we stand, dumbfounded.

  I hate being in the dark, in more ways than one. “I’ll ask again,” I say. “What is going on?”

  Gunthreon, speaking forlornly, replies, “Well, long ago, when Ladimer was new at his powers, he kind of made a stupid mistake.”

  “And that would be?”

  “He created the first mooncat.”

  My jaw drops as I stand, looking in the direction in which Ladimer left, remembering our conversation about making Bu human.

  “I’ll exp
lain, but after we clean up. Let’s go,” says Gunthreon.

  Chapter 41

  High

  It’s near midnight and we are all as well-groomed as possible, thanks to a warm freshwater creek where we rinse off the cats’ scents, and Lupa’s endless supply of grooming products from her endless bag.

  I think about Ladimer as I finish scrubbing up.

  “Why would the mooncats be mad at Ladimer for creating them?” I query. “I’d think they would revel in the fact they get to meet him. But, wait, how old is Ladimer really?”

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” He stops combing his hair and sits on the nearest rock. “The reason they are so mad, I believe, is that Ladimer did it on a whim, for the sheer pleasure of a pixie who had a fascination with cats and wanted to see the extent of Ladimer’s powers. So she coerced him although his subconscious told him how bad an idea it was. Ladimer had drunk too much mead that evening, and the devil on his shoulder won,” says Gunthreon, very solemnly. “He melded a lonely human traveler and one of the pixie’s cats into one being: the first mooncat. It was laughed at wherever it traveled, for it couldn’t figure out the simplest things, like holding a cup. Ladimer tried to help, but the creature was elusive, and eventually disappeared.” He pauses. “Wouldn’t you be a little angry if you were considered a joke?”

  “That’s quite the grudge to hold for so long,” I respond. “They seem a proud race, so why would they pass that from generation to generation? And what’s the deal with pixies? You all talk as though they are dangerous.”

  “Just remember pride can fog the conscience. And speaking of consciences, pixies have none, only an unyielding power over all things male.” Gunthreon looks to Lupa, who just shakes her head from side to side, showing her disgust in the matter.

  I still don’t understand what’s so special about them. “So you’re sure the mooncats will not kill Ladimer before we get there?”