Renhala

by Amy Joy Lutchen

  Leon nods. “I understand,” he says. “He was one of your traveling companions—one of your pack. You’ll see him soon.”

  Lupa then sneaks a peek at me as she says, “Conner, you know that soulspeak of yours is absolutely spellbinding. You can whisper in my ear anytime.”

  Stick to the plan, Kailey. “How ‘bout you keep your comments to yourself, Lupa.”

  “How about you learn to share, my friend,” she taunts. I lurch forward as Conner holds me back.

  “Come on, girls, you mustn’t fight.” Gunthreon puts his hand on Lupa’s shoulder. “Let Ladimer’s last few hours be ones of peace.” Lupa and I exchange our best pre-girlfight faces.

  The artist steps aside. “Welcome to our ballroom,” says Leon, opening the door.

  The room beyond is the largest I have ever seen—big enough to hold at least a hundred elephants, if need be. There are circus acts everywhere, and mountains of food, with diligent servers working each table.

  One section of the room is decorated in black, and my eyes are drawn to the walls. An endless array of whips and chains and nameless items hang in neat rows, just within arm’s length of a rather large masked cat, who appears to be deciding which whip he wants to take down next.

  On a chair next to him, I see a human male sitting with his back to us—not Ladimer. Other cats stand around the man, clearly enjoying the show. When I turn to Gunthreon, he motions zipping his mouth shut.

  Jenna’s eyes focus on the several large, over-the-top-muscled cats standing at each entrance. The word “juggernaut” pops into my head. “Why the guards?” Jenna’s question is directed at Leon.

  “We wouldn’t want any unexpected visitors ruining our fun, now, would we?” responds Leon. This leaves an unpleasant feeling in my stomach.

  As Leon leads us around, I see a head table at the front of the room, with Michel seated in the middle and Nayla at his side. Her head is down, and I see a fresh wound near her ear.

  I sneak next to Gunthreon. “Did you see Nayla?” I ask. He nods. “Something is very wrong here.”

  “Glad we’re in agreement.”

  Leon leads us to the table closest to the head table. There are seats for each of us, and even a large, Bu-sized chair. Next to Jenna’s place seating, they have placed small pillows on the table for her to sit upon.

  As we planned, Gunthreon tells Leon that Lupa and I should be separated so that he may keep his sanity. Leon grins and whispers, “Of course. Please, make yourself comfortable, and your servers will be with you shortly. I hope you enjoyed the walk through our village. If you need me, I’ll be seated at the table over there, near the door.” Leon bows, then goes to join his table, but not without first sneaking me a wink.

  The numerous cats captivate us with their diversity and ability to eat large quantities of meat in single bites. For the moment, they all seem to be involved in their food, only sneaking brief peeks at us.

  Michel, however, is a different story. He is motionless, and his eyes are glued to us. Nayla briefly sneaks a glance in my direction. I risk a sly smile to her, hoping she recognizes it as a response to her need for help. She immediately looks down toward the table.

  Then, Michel stands up and reaches for a bell next to his plate. He rings it loudly and silence immediately fills the room. “Thank you, everyone, for joining in this celebration,” he says. “We have very special guests today, as you may see.” He holds out his paw in our direction, and the cats look quickly, then return their eyes to Michel. The tension in the room doesn’t match the expressions in the room and I sneak a glance at Gunthreon. I reach a feeler toward one cat in particular. As I dig into its energy layers, searching for something, it suddenly hisses at the cat nearest it. A guard tromps heavily to the table and both cats sink back into their seats. I quickly withdraw.

  Michel continues with his speech. “Please enjoy as much food as your bellies will take, and as much conversing as your mouths, and others’ ears, can take.” A handful of the cats laugh, while others clench their jaws in silence.

  “Lastly, as you may all know by now—I know how word travels fast—we have an extra-special guest, one with much history connected to our race. Each and every one of us has grown up with whispers of his name in our ears, and have been told numerous bedtime stories that brought us countless nightmares, but we must all thank him for the one gift he has given us: birth. He is truly a miraculous creature, and he deserves at least that.”

  Michel motions to another juggernaut, who moves from his position at the door. The door opens, and two cats lead Ladimer into the room, holding his bound arms. He is naked, save for a newly acquired, and still bloody, snow leopard’s hide. My eyes widen and I immediately reach to him with my feeler, but Gunthreon shakes his head at me. I withdraw it, almost immediately.

  Ladimer does not seem to be hurt, and I feel relieved, until he lifts his head and reveals his once-beautiful face. There are deep, dark wells of purple skin under his eyes, and his mouth droops as though plagued by Bell’s palsy. His eyes tear, and it looks as though he has aged twenty years. My eyes well up, and I try my hardest to keep the tears inside. But when Ladimer looks at me, the pain inside my chest screams so loud I turn to Bu, who seems to have winced at the same time. My guilt for essentially sacrificing Ladimer forces me to gather my emotions and churn them into something usable. Determination. Determination to hold up long enough to continue with our plan.

  “Please seat him at our head table, near me,” requests Michel. Ladimer is pushed down into his chair with a mighty shove and slap to the face. Conner makes a slight move to stand, but Gunthreon stops his further movement with a head shake. Michel smiles at Ladimer. “Everyone, I am pleased to bring before you, your creator, our father, Ladimer the Giver.” He begins clapping, and it seems nobody knows what else to do but clap along with him. The clapping dies slowly, and Michel sits, whispering in Ladimer’s ear God only knows what, most likely bent on crushing Ladimer’s hopes. Ladimer’s eyes rise to Gunthreon, who stares back at him, giving him the slightest of nods. Ladimer then begins speaking to Michel, engaging him in some form of conversation, keeping his head down in mock submission. Michel eats it up.

  Our servers work our table quickly, bringing us numerous plates of food, but none of us seems able to even think about eating. After a dollop of what looks like mashed potatoes is thrown on his plate, Gunthreon turns to me and says, “Kailey, Conner and I are going to have a few ‘conversations’ with some guests, so you and everyone else just sit and go with the flow.” As a server walks by, he stands up and puts his arm around the cat. All I hear is, “I would highly recommend that you...” as they walk to the next table. Michel seems too caught up in his favorite guest even to notice what anyone else is doing.

  Jenna and Bu only sit, not touching the food on their plates. Jenna turns to Bu. “Let’s eat,” she says. “We don’t know when our next meal may be. This could even be our last.” Bu lifts his fork and starts nibbling on what seems to be brisket, more or less picking at the food, as a similar feeling of guilt as my own flows over him. He feels helpless.

  “We are going to get through this,” I whisper. “Just stick to the plan.” I then catch Lupa’s eyes, which watch Gunthreon’s every move. He nods toward her, and she at Conner. Conner walks toward Lupa and sits next to her, whispering something in her ear. She laughs loudly and then hugs Conner and kisses him lightly on the lips. She actually makes a bit of a scene, unbuttoning the top buttons of her shirt for air, as I turn red in the cheeks. She’s apparently an expert flirt. The cats around us begin to stare at them.

  I stand quickly from my chair and march toward Conner and Lupa.

  “Hands off, please,” I snarl at Lupa.

  “Oh, calm down, Kailey. You are so jealous all the time!” says Lupa, still smiling, with her arm around Conner.

  I tug her arm off of Conner and all the cats pull in a breath, simultaneously.

  Standing, and speaking in her most annoyed voice she barks, “You ar
e such a bitch, Kailey!”

  “You bring out the best in me, don’t you? Stop flaunting yourself in front of Conner!” Bu looks up from his brisket. Without warning, Lupa splashes her drink in my face. This shocks me, because I totally didn’t expect it, but I go with the flow, grabbing at her and pulling out the hair extension she put in for the occasion. A nearby cat’s mouth drops at the sight, spilling out food.

  “Stop it, stop it!” Michel yells, clearly annoyed. “You’re ruining the party!” Leon walks over to Michel and whispers something in his ear. “Kailey, why don’t you come up here and sit at the head table?” says Michel. “It’s clear you two need to be separated even further.”

  I hesitate. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I am so sorry for the disturbance. It’s just our Lupa here seems to not be able to keep her hands to herself.” Lupa lunges at me, but Bu grabs her and holds her back. “See?” I say.

  “Up here now!” Michel has a juggernaut add an empty seat at his table, right in-between Michel and Ladimer—thank karma. Gunthreon believed Michel would want me near, to admire my feistiness closely. “Sorry, everyone,” he says. “We seem to have the ‘catfight’ under control.” Michel laughs, generating nervous laughter throughout the crowd.

  “Yes, sir,” I say. I grab my bag and walk up front. On the way, I steal a glance at Gunthreon, and he seems satisfied. I needed to get the closest I could to Ladimer, and we couldn’t have gotten any better an option than this.

  I brush Ladimer’s shoulder as we pass. He feels my energy near him and tries to lean in for more. As soon as I am seated, I reach under the table and grab his leg. He shudders and I already feel my energy flowing to him. I see his excitement revealed in manly fashion, and he adjusts his hide.

  “Everyone, continue on please.” Michel then turns to me, touching my shoulder, softly, and whispering to me, “I’ll allow you to converse with your friend. He hasn’t much time left. But after, your attention must be mine.” Michel then sees Gunthreon walking around. Curious, he gets up and walks in his direction.

  I whisper to Ladimer, “What did they do to you?”

  “They called in a shaman.” Ladimer’s voice is raspy. “He tried to drain me of my power. Pretty ironic, eh? The torturer tortured by the tortured. Another little setback created by karma. See why I can’t ever make a mistake like that again?”

  “I see that. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Kailey. Everything happens for a reason.”

  “Did they really drain you of your power?” I ask. “Is that even possible? What can I do?” My powers sense nothing from him—no vibration, no movement, no layers of emotion whatsoever. I only feel as though he’s running on empty.

  Ladimer gathers enough strength to smile mischievously at me, making my blood pump a little faster.

  “Within reason, of course,” I murmur, giving him a stern look, attempting to disregard the increase in heart rate.

  “I’m too weak to do anything, so a little kickstart might start me up. Too bad Michel can’t tell if he needs to watch us or Gunthreon,” he says, watching Michel. “Skin-to-skin contact is best for me.” I look to his face and the lack of energy sickens me.

  I close my eyes and imagine our kiss above Greer, but my nerves won’t settle, because I’m too afraid as Michel eyes our table after seating Gunthreon. My eyes settle on Conner, who sits patiently, moving around food on his plate with his fork. He looks up to me, knowing what my goal is—clearly not liking it—but willing to do what is necessary to save lives.

  “Only do what you’re comfortable with, Kailey,” responds Ladimer.

  Conner turns his gaze away from me and I then bend over near Ladimer and put my hand over my mouth, like I am whispering to him, but in fact I gently kiss his ear. I smell his sweat. He takes in a quick breath and I feel a spark of power from within him. I kiss him again and exhale in his ear, slowly. He shudders and suddenly his energy flows, warm and fluid. As I feel it reaching to me, my eyes widen at the sudden heat of his desire—hot and unquenched. I want to give in and allow his energy to engulf me.

  He looks up and the need in his eyes is relentless.

  He wants me, badly, and I long for the touch of his magic, but know what I must do. “Keep your face down,” I say to him, seemingly breaking the frenzy rising in him.

  “Okay,” he grunts, suddenly looking down. “That was good. Very good.” His energy feels restored and even overflowing.

  I leave him and sneak over to Nayla. “Nayla, are you hurt bad?”

  “No, just a little cut,” she responds. “Kailey, you need to get out of here and soon. Michel is—,”

  “Michel is what?” Michel leans over the table, bringing his face close to ours. “Nayla, you wouldn’t be spilling any secrets, now, would you?” Nayla sinks lower in her chair, and Michel’s energy spews conceit, making my anger flare. He’s cocky, and holds no fear of what his actions may spark.

  I give Michel a glare that could kill. “She was only telling me you plan on cutting off Ladimer’s head with a sword!” I say. Ladimer looks up, then quickly puts his head back down. I feel certain that Michel won’t think of the door carving.

  “Nayla. You did give our secret up! No dessert for you,” says Michel. “Well, since the surprise is ruined, I suppose we must simply continue. Guards!” Two juggernauts come at Michel’s command. “Fetch me my lovely one, please.”

  Michel hands one of the guards a key as he moves closer to the crowd, and the guard heads toward a lovely armoire that seems to be made of solid gold. The key fits perfectly into the lock, and as it is turned, the armoire plays a beautiful tinkling song, like a giant music box. The doors slowly open, and a long drawer extends outward. The guard reaches in and removes a shining, tri-colored metal sword, far more beautiful than the piece of furniture that sheltered it. The crowd murmurs, and the guard’s eyes become clouded as he holds the sword—the most magnificent sword in the world. It shines brilliantly, and I feel a need to get closer to examine the workmanship.

  “Guard!” Michel, impatient, snaps the guard—and me—out of our twilight. “You wouldn’t want to suffer the same fate as our guest, now, would you?” Awakening from the fog covering him, the guard shakes his head and marches toward Michel, sword far away from his body. Michel takes the sword quickly in his paw and grins a grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat.

  He motions for the guards to take Ladimer and bring him forward. They grab Ladimer, who, again, puts up no resistance. My heart pounds, and I pray this does not end badly. Michel stands proudly before the crowd, demanding all eyes.

  Nayla leans in my direction, whispering, “If you are going to make a move, let’s pray you do it soon.” Her eyes meet mine.

  Michel puffs up his chest. “It is finally here: the time we have all been waiting for.” But when I see a particularly scrawny cat roll his eyes at Michel’s words, it’s clear that not all of the mooncats are in league with Michel. I scan the crowd and see several cats fidgeting in their seat and shaking their heads. Some are even crying. Evidently, they follow him strictly because he’s their alpha male. Hopefully, that will make Gunthreon’s job easier. “We have before us Ladimer, head bowed in submission, ready to give his life to us—his children.” Michel grinds his teeth as he speaks; whether it is from his impatience to get the matter over with, or excessive elation, I cannot tell. “By taking your life, we shall no longer be laughing stock.”

  He stands over Ladimer, sword at his side. Then, suddenly, he turns to Gunthreon, who sits besides Lupa. “Oh, how rude of me. Gunthreon, we never even discussed your request. You must excuse my actions. I have become too involved in my conquest.” He laughs. “You and your party came here not only to hand over this idiot, but to seek knowledge of our missing Neda, is this right?”

  Gunthreon nods. “Yes, Michel.”

  Michel laughs as would a lunatic. I feel I am not alone in my fear of what this cat may do. “I must say, honestly, that I have heard nothing, and that I actually do not give a damn!”
Gunthreon’s shoulders slump slightly, but he recovers quickly, aware that action awaits.

  Michel walks slowly toward Gunthreon’s table. “Do you not notice all the luxuries around you?” he grumbles. “Do you think that Neda would give us anything of this value? That Neda would give a damn about our race? That Neda would care what happens to you?!” Michel screams this at Gunthreon, looming over him. Gunthreon sits motionless.

  “I thought so. Well, for your information—that is what you came for—we have decided that the other side is much more fun. And I’ve invited a few more friends to share the occasion with! They’ve been waiting so patiently since you arrived.” The Cheshire Cat appears again. As Michel raises both his arms, I feel the mass of energy approaching the doors. Quickly, I yell for Gunthreon.

  In an instant, several meeples and grebles burst through all doors, weapons in hand, running toward my friends. Bu is the quickest to respond, and as a meeple runs toward Jenna—who stands firmly, her knife unsheathed before her—he lifts it in the air and throws it against the nearest wall, knocking it unconscious. As the other cats run around like chickens with their heads cut off, I see Gunthreon’s mouth moving, and I hear his words in my head clear as day. He calls for all cats to fight back.

  As I watch Bu, I see a gross, slimy creature sneaking up behind him. Before I can yell to him, I see a black cat jump on top of the creature as Bu turns around.

  “Haren?” Bu says, standing, shocked.

  The cat who he thinks is Haren stops and stares at Bu. A moment is shared between them as they lock eyes. Bu, saddened, frowns, and Haren then takes off, chasing a smaller meeple, but not before taking one last look at Bu.

  Various cats draw serving utensils and knives, and try their best to attack the intruders. Some even pick up the priceless vases from their tables and whip them overhead. A greble holds Conner in a headlock, attempting to choke the life out of him, but instantly, Conner’s own blade is out, stabbing at its arm.

  My monk’s spade glows brightly in my hands, and I search the crowd for Michel. I find him back at his table, standing over Ladimer.