Serial Stories from Mitch! New story finished! 4-5-05)

[Sejah Haversh]

Well, I've been reading a lot lately, and developing a lot of cultural history for Nehantish, and folklore, too. I decided that since I love myths and legends, I might as well write a few. So, I'm to try to write one ever week, or at least every other week, featuring N'duk the Hunter, one of Nehantish's biggest cultural heores.

I'll also try and get some sketches done to go along with the stories. If you could, please read through them and let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is appreciated.

<center>-*-*-*-

N'duk and the Clalice of the Angels</center>

Adorned in silk and bronze, two massive guards drew back the heavy curtain to the grand tent, each eying N’duk as he passed between them. The strong smell of jasmine and incense hung thick on the smoky air inside the cavernous awning, and the many tent posts were sheathed in silver and gold. Ornate rugs muffled his footfalls, and exotic furs and silken banners adorned the walls.
Bronze bowls filled with incensed oil flicked with flame, casting dancing shadows across the stranger’s frame. He was Setovian, a mongoose from the rocky western lands. Though he was still young, cords of muscle and sinew stood out benath his yellow fur, and the brown stripes in his back rippled over his broad shoulders. Around his waist he wore a belt of snake scale with a bronze serpent’s head as a buckle holding up a heavy, reddish cloth kilt, and a thick leather strap running over his shoulder suspended a bronze crescent sword on his back. The well-worn leather grip of its handle spoke of his skill with it, as did his large, calloused forepaws. Now and again the lamplight would gleam from a bronze armguard strapped to his thick left forearm, and glinted from the pink eyes of his species. Eyes that were sharp and attentive, much like his poise.

<center><img src=http://www.nehantish.com/Nduk-small.jpg></center>

“I was beginning to think you were not coming,” a sardonic voice called to him through the darkness of the tent. Seated upon a great mass of pillows and cushions, and surrounded muscular guards and beautiful young servant girls, was a fat mongoose swathed in fine clothing. His own pink eyes were half closed from thick folds of cellulite beneath them, and a permanently sagging brow above caused by years of scornful brooding in his younger days. Rings glittered on each finger of both his paws, and in one he held a jeweled goblet in a lazy grasp.
Dropping to one knee before the master of the tent, N’duk bowed his head in respect for the power his host held in the surrounding lands. “Your messenger gives poor direction,” he replied in a deep, firm voice.
“Ah, yes, I am looking into a replacement,” the resplendent mongoose groaned, rocking his goblet in his paw, enjoying the expensive sound it made when it came into contact with his rings. “You are shorter than I imagined. I was told you bordered on seven feet in height, but you appear to be only six.”
Looking back up, N’duk replied flatly, “I find my reputation is often exaggerated, but so far I have always been big enough for the job.”
“So I would presume. I am Sheikh Kadir Zoltan, and as you know, my benevolent rule covers these lands,” the older mongoose introduced himself, then reached up to straighten the silk wrappings of his turban.
“I am known as N’duk the hunter,” N’duk replied. “Your messenger mentioned a labor of great importance, and handsome pay for my services.”
The sheikh nodded slowly, then shifted in his seat, extending his goblet so that a female servant with an exquisite crystal carafe could fill it once more with rich, red wine. Lifting the cup to his lips, he drank with a slurp and then looked back to the foreign male before him. “To the East, in the rocky crags of the great canyons, is hidden a dark temple where evil magics are brewed by those passing themselves as followers of Garfife. You know of the outbreak of demons in the land, do you not?”
Though he had wrestled monsters and demons in the past, N’duk was never comfortable dealing with them, or foul magics. “I have heard word of it, but little else,” he replied with a curt nod, bidding the sheikh to elaborate.
“In that temple is hidden a chalice. It is responsible for the demon plague. You must go there and retrieve it, and bring it back to me. My priests can cleanse it, and possibly find a way to break the curse. You will be paid handsomely for your actions, that I assure you. All I ask is your help, and your silence afterward.”
Confused, the hunter inquired, “My silence?”
“Of course!” Kadir hissed. “Should agents of the great evil discover where their tool of darkness has been hidden, then surely they would come to claim it, destroying all that is in their path.” Shuddering, the wrinkled folds of his face jiggled. “No, you must tell nobeast your purpose, or speak of this after you return with the chalice.”
The sheikh’s explanation made sense to N’duk’s mind, and he nodded. “I will tell nobeast, my word is clad in iron.”
A dark smile spread across the sheik’s face, and his tail twitched beside him. “Good, now go, and do not be fooled by the dark forces’ lies, convincing as they may be. Bring me back the chalice, and you will be rewarded.”
Rising to a stand, the muscular male turned and padded back to the door, lifting a paw to shield his eyes from the blinding sun as he passed through the portal back onto desert sands once more. Behind him, one of the guards grunted, bidding him to move on.
The canyons the sheikh spoke of lay a great distance away, and even in the blistering midday sun, N’duk knew that there was little time to be wasted. Should the chalice truly be a source of demons, it had to be taken from those who used it to bring evil to the world, and cleansed by holy beasts. Demons were a wicked foe; large and strong, they thirst for battle and blood, destroying all they come across. Only by the efforts of those angels born to good parents blessed by Garfife, and the valor of common warriors had the demons been thus far kept in check, though their numbers were growing rapidly while the angelic population declined, many cut down in battle defending their families and villages.
On a few occasions, N’duk fought alongside angels, but even with their help, he barely emerged victorious over his dark foes. With an icy chill of fear gripping his heart, the Setovian prayed that he would not encounter one on his mission.

For many days and nights, he trekked across the rolling dunes of the great waste, the angry sun burning him by day, and the cruel moon freezing him by night. He survived off of small lizards that he would kill, and water from a skin at his side. N’duk desired little in the way of creature comforts, only a full belly, a quenched throat and a sharp blade at the ready in case of danger.
After nearly a week, the white sands broke into grasslands, and the hunter kept on watch for wild cats and dangerous snakes hidden in the sun-bleached stalks. His pace was brisk, yet not so fact that it would tire him. A nomadic life had kept him in shape, and he pressed on with little physical discomfort, though his mind was another story entirely.
N’duk could not shake a lingering smoke of worry that clouded his usually sharp mind. Tangling in affairs where unworldly powers were involved caused him great trepidation. Only the repeating reminder that he was working against the great evil kept him from abandoning the mission entirely. He had seen what carnage even a small band of demons had unleashed upon an unprotected town. Every male, female and child lay slaughtered, some stripped of their skins and butchered like animals. The livestock were grotesquely disfigured, and great fires turned once-proud homes to ash and rubble. Nothing had been spared, even the well in the center of the town had been poisoned and ran red with blood of villagers, and the town’s angel guardian’s body lay headless before it, his wings ripped from his body and shredded in a mess of bloodstained feathers around him.
N’duk’s paw went to the grip of his sword subconsciously as he recalled the gruesome sight, but he lowered it, the tight muscles of his arm relaxing as he pressed on.
Grasslands turned to low hills, then to rocky ground leading to a mass of jagged rock thrusting up from the earth like great teeth ready to shred any who dared pass through them. It was where he was headed, to the dark temple hidden somewhere within their twisting and turning passages, each fraught with their own dangers and perils. Wiping a crop of sweat from his heavy brow, N’duk began his ascent, though he kept a vigilant eye out for anything what might cause him grief. Many times he drew his sword and spun, ready for action, only to learn that nothing was there. Feeling foolish for his jumpiness, the mongoose pressed on, climbing paw over paw up steep Cliffside until he reached the crest and skidded down loose sand and gravel on the other side to its base in a deep canyon steeped in shadow from its high walls.
There the hunter did draw his crescent sword, and kept it drawn. An eerie force caused the fur on the nape of his neck to stand erect, and his heart quickened in his chest. With each step he took, he grew closer to whatever force lay hidden within the canyon’s labyrinth of passages. Whispering a prayer, he pressed on.
After many dead ends, and an impassable chasm, the hunter found himself before a large basin surrounded by rock walls that seemed to reach high enough to tear the clouds. In cast shadow, half-carved into the great rocky wall stood an ancient temple, built ages before his own birth, probably near the dawn of time. Its once mighty pillars hardly stood anymore, many broken or fallen, only a few left to support a crumbling frieze whose motifs had long ago been blasted away by sand-laden winds. Scattered about the basin floor were remnants of other, smaller structures, as well as much-damaged statues of heroic beasts whose identities were now known only to ghosts and Garfife.
Easing forward, N’duk found himself blasted by a stiff wind that suddenly ripped through the basin, and he wheeled about to defend against any form of attack, be it from beast or monster. Again, nothing was there but stone walls and scrub brush clinging to life in the shadowed, arid grounds. Taking a deep breath, he relaxed, cooling the hot blood flowing in his ready veins. Once more his attention returned to the temple, and even from the sight of it he could believe that something sinister dwelled within its walls.
With great caution, he approached until he stood at the foot of the dilapidated flight of granite stairs that led up to the massive, open doorway. N’duk’s paw tensed around the handle of his bronze blade, and he carefully stepped forward, ascending the stairway and peering into the main chambers of the temple. His pink eyes, narrowed in concentration, opened wide in disbelief of what he saw. There, before him lay an altar to Garfife, with the sacred pyre burning, and incense lamps lit and smoking on chains hung from the cracked and buckling ceiling. Warm, flickering light danced off the polished marble floor, and welcomed him inside. Momentarily, his warning was forgotten, and he lowered his sword and walked inside.
Immediately the words of the sheikh came back to him, and his steely muscles tensed much more. What he saw had to be a ruse, a clever ploy by agents of the great evil to trick him. Working his way inside, the hunter could not shake a sense of dread and paranoia. Great forces were at work around him, and the air buzzed as if with electricity from its power.
The main chamber branched off into several hallways, but N’duk chose the one with the most polished path before it from millennia of footpaws walking it. Surely it would lead him to the chalice, and to his great reward. N’duk had thought he would need to light a torch in order to guide his path, but he found that the way was already lit by small, glowing oil lamps, possibly fed by some great reservoir deep in the heart of the temple, and they had been burning forever.
He had little time to wonder, as when he passed through the hallway, he came to a great pair of wooden doors sheathed in gold and banded with heavy iron strappings coated in silver. The glare of the polished metals was nearly blinding and terrifying, but he felt compelled to press forward, reaching his left paw out to pull back the latch.
“Stop there!” a voice cried out from behind him.
N’duk spun, half-expecting to find some hideous creature, but saw only a well-built male stoat clad in bronze armor, and kilt and cape fitting to the territory brandishing a sword and shield, fire in his dark eyes.

<center><img src=http://www.nehantish.com/Aiimus-small.jpg></center>

“Go you no further,” the stoat warned N’duk, his stance aggressive, the shine from his shield reflecting the brilliant light from the doors back into the hunter’s face. “You will not desecrate this house!”
A wicked smile graced N’duk’s face, and the muscular mongoose adopted a fighting stance himself, inching toward the temple guard, no doubt an agent of the great evil, and possibly a practitioner of dark magics. Twirling his curved sword in his paw, N’duk gruffly spat, “Stand down, or I will send you to your master. I am here for the chalice, and I will leave with it, be you alive or dead when I do so.”
The stoat growled deep in his throat and shook his head. “You will do no such thing!” he roared, charging forward, his short, double-edged sword aimed for N’duk’s gullet.
The Setovian caught the attack with his own blade, turning it aside and then trying to take the guard’s head from his shoulders, only to find it connecting with the stoat’s shield instead. The pair traded blows, N’duk blocking and pushing with his armguard, and the stoat defending and slashing out with the edge of his round shield, as well as his sword. N’duk rarely found himself so evenly matched, and even as his burned red with rage, he found he could gain no quarter on his opponent. No doubt supernatural powers were granting the stoat great abilities in combat. The battle pushed its way back down the narrow hallway, and into the great main chamber, and each used the pillars and altar to their own advantage, dodging and eluding their adversary.

<center><img src=http://www.nehantish.com/Nduk-and-Aiimus-small.jpg></center>

“You cannot win!” the stoat called from behind a pillar, then swung out to connect with N’duk’s armguard. “I have defended this temple from greater evils than you! You have no chance here!”
Shoving him back, then dodging an unexpected thrust, the hunter replied, “Evils? Ha! It is you who pervert the name and glory of Garfife in attempt to deceive me! I will have that chalice, and it will be purified! Too long have you poisoned the world with its sickness!”
As if by some magic force, the stoat held up his shield and sword in a motion to cease fighting. His face was a mask of confusion, and his brown eyes looked deep into N’duk’s smoldering red ones. When he spoke, his voice was cautious, yet honest. “I decive you? Pervert Garfife’s name? Whoever told you this?!” He grew angry, and pointed his blade at the stripe-backed mongoose. “This is the house of the Creator! A most holy place! You desecrate his honor by accusing me this way! For what goal do you think the chalice is used here?”
N’duk stood, confused. The stoat’s face spoke of honest truth, but he could not help but feel that there still might be deceit behind his words. His crescent sword still held at the ready, he replied, “Do you speak honestly? Is this truly holy ground? I was told this was an imposter temple, and housed a chalice that caused the coming of demons. Tell me truthfully or die, I must know if I have been deceived.”
In an act of good faith, the stoat lowered his shield and sheathed his short sword. “Truly, this is a house of Garfife, and I am its guardian,” he said flatly. “A chalice does reside here, but it causes not the birth of demons, but angels. Any whom Garfife directs here and drinks from it shall have angelic offspring, though I fear its misuse in recent times.”
The light of the altar pyre seemed to glow bright as the stoat spoke, and N’duk came to realize that he was indeed in a place of great power, though not evil as he originally thought. Sheathing his own weapon, the hunter questioned further, “What form of misuse, and what could a beast do with the chalice should it be in his own possession?”
Shaking his head, the guardian of the temple stepped toward the hallway once more, and motioned for N’duk to follow. When they arrived at the great doors, the stoat pulled back the latch and pushed them in. From the heart of the chamber that lay beyond radiated a golden glow, and upon a stone block stood a beautiful chalice of purest gold, the likes of which N’duk had never before seen.
It was shaped as a nude angel, kneeling with his paws folded in prayer, the great feathered wings of his back pointed up and wrapped around the cup portion of the chalice, the base of his wings its stem. It was both beautiful and terrifying to look upon, for he knew it had not been fashioned by mortal paws, but by the Creator himself.

<center><img src=http://www.nehantish.com/Chalice-small.jpg></center>

“Should you drink from it, you and your mate will conceive an angel,” the stoat repeated himself, reaching down and picking up the beautiful cup, dipping it in a tough of clear water dug into the stone table. “But should you pour it upon yourself, and defy Garfife’s instruction, you and your mate will bear a demon, and he will kill you when he is born.” With the tip of his paw, the stoat poured the water back from the cup into the tough.
“I am not allowed to witness the taking of the water, or tell beasts how to use it. They must decide from what their heart has been told. I tell you this for you were not sent here to drink from it, but to take it,” he explained, setting it back once more.
“But if the demon child can kill, then why would a beast wish to use it for himself?” N’duk pondered out loud.
“Because, if used properly, he may have a host of angelic offspring, and train them in his ways and thinking. Though they are often guardians and holders of His law, angels must learn values from their parents, like any other child.”
Things began to become clear to N’duk. He had been tricked, and could have possibly done far more damage than he could conceive in his limited imagination. Horrified by the possibilities, he shuddered and looked away from the chalice. “Let us get away from it before I am tempted by its power,” he pleaded, and forced himself out of the room, helping the stoat to lock the door once more.
“I owe you a great apology, guardian,” he said, his eyes having returned to their common pink hue. “I am N’duk the hunter, a Setovian. A sheikh had told me great lies about this place, and instructed me to take the chalice back to him. I can only imagine the horrors that his harem might have produced under its influence. He is a greedy beast, hungry for power and riches.”
Extending a paw, the stoat laid it on N’duk’s broad shoulder and nodded in understanding. “I understand you were innocent in this, only used as a pawn in his game. I am Aiimus, the temple guardian. Now that you know the truth, what will you do?”
A heavy sigh escaped N’duk’s lips as he mulled that question over for a long while. When it seemed as if it was too great a problem for his mind to figure out, he replied, “Should I not return, he will simply send another. I’ll take him a false chalice, and see if his motives are impure, or if he’s under the same spell I was. If his heart is as black as it seems, I believe you know what I will do.”
Aiimus smiled broadly and clapped N’duk’s shoulder. “I believe I do. Almost makes me wish I could accompany you. But I can at least assist you. In a temple known for its chalice, we found it wise to keep several copies around as decoys. Stay a while, dine with me, and I will give you one when you head out in the morning. Night is falling, and you will make little progress in the canyons under darkness.”
N’duk accepted the offer gratefully, and that night they dined on roast lamb, and fruits gathered from the temple’s garden. When the sun rose once more, Aiimus wished N’duk safe travel, and watched the mongoose disappear from sight around a bend in the canyon.

“It was hard to get, I had to kill a temple guard for it,” N’duk lied while sitting on a cushion before sheikh Kadir Zoltan, holding out the copy of the chalice. It was perfect in most every way, a faithful replica of the original. “I want double what you promised. I’m sure I’m cursed now, so I think that justifies my price.”
“Oh, I’m sure it does,” the sheikh replied gleefully as his beady, piggish eyes stared at the relic in his paws. “Mmm, you will get what is coming to you, and much more,” he carried on, not paying any attention to his hired help, his gaze locked on the chalice.
Suddenly, he snapped his head to the side and barked, “Servant! Water, now!”
When the young female arrived, he held out the chalice and let her pour into it. Raising the golden cup, the sheikh grinned wickedly, then drank greedily from it.
That was all the sign that N’duk needed. Instantly he was upon the sheikh, his blade drawn. With a mighty thrust, he stabbed the curved blade deep into the fat mongoose’s belly once, twice, and then a third time. As a pained scream bubbled up from the sheikh’s lips, the hunter pushed back and swung his blade, severing the evil mongoose’s head from its body.
After the first stab, the sheikh’s guards came running, swords and spears at the main. N’duk met them head on, taking one burly ferret through the side, and another down from the nose to the navel. His blade spun and his fists and feet flew, smashing blows to the flurry of guards, and hewing them down in a whirlwind of death. The sheikh had sought to take the power of Garfife into his own paws, and breed angels to his own end. Such arrogance and insubordination was unacceptable to N’duk, and he felt no remorse when fifteen guards, the sheikh, and two of the sheikh’s loyal servants lay dead and bloody at his feet.
A crimson wash had splattered over his own fur, and he had sustained injury as well, but N’duk still stood in one piece, and looked down at the gold chalice, now splattered with blood, on the ground. With a mighty stomp, he caved in the cup, and snapped the stem from the bowl. Even if it were a false replacement, he still wished to be sure it could not be used.
Wiping his blade on a silk pillow, the hunter sheathed it, then scooped up a pawful of sparkling jewels and stuffed them in the pouch on his belt. He had done his duty. He had gone to the temple, retrieved a chalice, and brought it back. Now he had been paid. Despite the blood on his fur, he walked casually from the tent, stepping out onto the white sand and never looking back He liked to imagine that the desert would open and swallow up the evil that still lingered on the site of the grand tent, or at least a few jackals or hyenas would have a good dinner.


<center>- End -</center>

[Ryla Relvinian]

*hands the stoat an entire bag of almonds*

Nicely done. :)

[Dasquian Belargic]

I agree -looks forward to more Story Time With Mitch- :D

[Kelt Simoson]

Lol good stuff man, like it.

:)

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Nice. :D Very good stuff.

[Kale]

I like it a lot! Nice, effective pacing, good introduction of both N'duk and Aiimus, and a fun atmosphere of mythology all around. Can't wait to read more adventures of N'duk!

[Mitch]

Okay, well, it's not an N'duk story, nor does it have illustrations yet, but it's one I finally wrote down. Hope you like it; it's not a real myth, but one I made up a week or two ago.

<center>The Dragon of Cathay</center>

When Garfife came to the people of Cathay, he asked them what they wanted. Their answer was a dragon. They had no idea what one was, but it sounded like a good idea. So, honoring his promise, Garfife weaved his paws and pulled smoke from the mists of the air, iron ore from deep within the earth, and breathed in intelligence and courage. Thus was born a dragon, long in body, with sharp teeth and claws, and eyes that shone with deep wisdom despite its fresh creation.

At first, the people of the tribe were dismayed, for the dragon was small, no longer than a male’s stride. But they trusted in their creator, and went about their lives, farming, taming animals, and raising their children. As their offspring grew, so did the dragon, not only in size, but in strength. He would help the woodcutters bear their loads back to their villages as the tribe grew in numbers, and he would light fires, or thaw icy roads in winter.

As his people expanded across the countryside, the dragon took it as his responsibility to grow as well, so that he might be large enough to keep watch over them all, never asking for anything in return.

Years passed, and great cities rose from the humble huts and tents of the original tribe. The dragon was proud of his people, and smiled upon all they had built, though he never asked for anything in return. But as he became content with his peaceful life, trouble began to brew to the West. Other tribes who had not been so promethean in their wishes became jealous of the tribe of Cathay, and plotted against her, and her people. Blades were forged, and armor for both beast and horse were readied. With great force they rode into the peaceful lands of Cathay, killing and plundering as they went.

When the dragon saw this, it angered him greatly, and he swooped his long body down from the sky, clawing at the invaders with his terrible claws, and gnashing them with his sharp teeth between great blasts of fire. Their swords and arrows could do little against his skin so well crafted by the great maker, and after days of struggle, the invading horde was turned back. But it was at a terrible price, and the dragon wept as he saw the destruction that had been wreaked on his people. From that day forward, he vowed to never rest as long as his people might be in danger, and for hundreds of years he continued to fight off invading armies, and settle disputes among his charges.

In that time, his people expanded even further, settling lands and strengthening their peaceful culture. So, to make sure they would still be safe, the dragon grew more, until he became so long that he had to wind over himself when turning about, and though his head might see daylight and warm sun, his tail could be drenched in a midnight thunderstorm elsewhere.

Finally, after two thousand years of honorable, faithful service to his people, the dragon began to feel old, and weak. No longer could he see all ends of his people’s empire with his powerful eyes, and his fire had lost its spark in a hard winter’s storm. As word of an invading army larger than any he had ever faced came to him, the dragon mustered all his strength to weave through the sky to see the army for himself. Surely the rumors were true, and for the first time in his life, the dragon was worried, for he knew he no longer had the strength to fight.

His mind clouded by fear, the dragon flew home, only to see his answer in the actions of a young child. There, on the banks of a stream, a little girl was building a wall of sand to keep the stream from running over its banks and flooding a small bed of flowers. With a great push of his remaining strength, the dragon stretched out his long body, and in his final act of service to his people, he laid down along the borders of the lands of Cathay, and in his last breath, he turned himself to stone, as all dragons do when they die. His body became a massive wall, and the spines of his back turned to ramparts along the walltop. So long was the wall, and so terribly thick and strong, that the horde of barbarians he had seen could not breach it, nor could they find a way around, and so they gave up, returning to their warlike clans and tumultuous lives. And so even in death, the dragon protected his people, and still does to this day.

[Mitch]

<center>Dust</center>

Dust. Dust and dead, stale air old as time itself became the acrid taste in N’duk’s mouth as he dropped the length of wood with which he had levered away the ancient stone which for millennia had stood sentry before the entrance of a long-forgotten tomb. The dry, musty blackness of a stone-cut passageway begged his entry, and the call was too irresistible to deny.

He was no grave robber—no, N’duk respected the dead as all his tribe did. From the dry hill-country of Setovia, he was far out of place among the canyon-realms; the place—it was said—that Garfife created the meerkats, an industrious race who quickly thrived and built themselves one of the greatest of the First Kingdoms. While N’duk was no meerkat, he could at least pass for one of their cousins. A banded mongoose, as were all in his tribe, he cut an intimidating figure. Standing taller than most males, though not of immensely great height, he was solidly built, muscles heavily packed about his broad frame. A dirty, sandy yellow was his fur, accented with dark, narrow stripes across his back, and a light chest whish seldom saw shirt of vest. About his waist was hung a heavy kilt of deep green and faded red hue girdled by a most curious belt. The buckle was patterned after the head of a serpent, cast in bronze, the fangs latching it to the belt, the breadth of width covered in bronze scales, continuing the serpentine motif. Save for a curved sword strapped across his back, N’duk wore little else, not needing it in the heat of the day.

The mongoose quickly found himself wishing he had dressed more heavily as the air quickly grew cold as he strode deeper into the dark passage. Dust was thick beneath his footpaws, muffling his steps we he went. His paw felt along the wall to guide him as his pink eyes became useless in the black depths. Fingers rubbed across rough-cut stone, then smoother, more skillfully cut walls before he began to feel figures in carved relief., but he could only guess at what images, be they beautiful or grotesque, were etched upon them.

Finally, his paw encountered a thing of metal, rough and pocked by age and tarnish, but still preserved well enough to that the Setovian mongoose could identify its likeness as he pulled it gratefully from its hanging place on the wall. It was a torch, and by blind groping and a sniff of its head, N’duk discovered that it still held oil in the many bronze tubes that made up its conical shape. Bearing it in one paw, N’duk drew his crescent sword with the other and bashed the base of its hilt against the flinty stone to gain a shower of sparks which at first drew only a dull flicker of life from the torch. With another blow the head burst into flame, causing him to hold it away and shield his eyes until they became better adjusted to the bright light in the darkness.

It was then that the mongoose began to realize the scope of the passage he had descended into. In the flickering torchlight, he could scarcely make out the heavy stone beams cris-crossing the ceiling, and then waved the torch about to gaze upon the rest of the chamber.

Dust covered everything in a fine spread, occluding the once-colorful mosaic floor beneath his footpaws. Heavy, spiral-fluted columns stood at regular intervals along the room’s length before they too became lost in the inky blackness. The carvings he had felt on the wall revealed little more than scenes of daily life to him. From its vast breadth and depth, N’duk concluded that the chamber must have been an indoor market of sorts; the merchant stalls and cart tracks having left permanent marks upon the floor. It was true, then. There truly had been a city-cavern in the depths of the most remote part of the canyons, and from its pristine, is not musty condition, the hunter afforded himself a smile as eh knew it must still hold things of great value, even if only to the doddering old priests and magistrates who had supplied him the clue to the cave mouth’s location. He as no grave robber, but an abandoned city was far from a grave in his mind’s eye.

Onward he pressed, lighting the occasional torch or lamp as to mark his path, though not so many as to use up their ancient oil, for he had no idea how long he would be in the depths of the underground city. Chamber upon chamber he entered, each similar to the first until he came to a crossroad; a pair of high-arched hallways leading in separate directions with no markings of what lay at either end. Scanning each carefully, and seeing no difference, N’duk chose the passage to his right, always choosing the right for often it was just as good as going left, and made his decision-making easier.

Carvings much like what he witnessed upon his entry lined the walls and seemed to flow easily over doorways as he passed. Where doors once hung not only their bronze or copper fittings remained, the wood long ago eaten by termites or other such insect life. Shops, homes, schools and meeting places, he passed them all without seeing any sign of life remaining in any of them. Whatever had happened countless ages ago to cause the city to become so barren was unknown, but he suspected it to be some great and terrible thing. The thought of a gang of thieves so obsessed with their work that they would even steal the refuse left by the former inhabitants was so absurd that it brought a chuckle to the hunter, and it echoed strangely in the blackness ahead.

Hours passed, and N’duk’s good humor faded. How far into the bowels of the city he had come he could only guess, and the farther he pressed, the danker the air became. Silently he cursed himself for not bringing food and drink to refresh himself, or heavier clothing to combat the chill of the underground air, but there was little good complaining could do for him then.

The oil in his lamp, while old, had burned well, but it could not last and soon began to flickering, threatening to gut and die. Frantic not to be left in the dark, N’duk scanned the walls for another, but came up empty. So absorbed in convincing himself that he was neither hungry nor cold had he been that he had forgotten to keep lighting the torches and urns of oil he passed. He could only watch with dread as the flame flickered and faded, slowly sputtering out with a slow, steady apology for leaving N’duk in the dark.

With a baneful curse, the hunter stuffed the extinguished torch into his wide belt, lest he find another source of oil, then let his left paw feel against the wall as he started off once more, wondering just how he would find what he was seeking if he were not able to see it.

His eyes useless, N’duk thought back to a night in a tavern two weeks prior where he barely had two coins to rub together, let along pay for a drink. From a corner, five wizened meerkats, two clothed in priests robes, and one bearing the seal of a local lord on his ring, approached him, and generously bade him to sit with them and order as much of whatever he could eat and drink. He should have been suspicious, but his hunger won out over logical thought and as he ravenously feasted on meat from the bone and quaffed strong wine, he listened as the meerkats told their tale.

They spoke of a city, one of the most ancient and grand the world had ever seen, hidden in the depths of the earth. IT was both a terrible and holy place, said to be of design inspired by Garfife himself. They droned on and on about the glory of their ancestors, and how formidable they had been in days long past. So engrossed in their own self-indulgence were they that N’duk had to interrupt and remind them that they wanted something of him.

In hushed tones, the elderly meerkats whispered to him of a legendary hero they once had, and a series of scrolls containing some of the words that Garfife had used when he created the world. So powerful were these words that they were locked away in a secret chamber, for should they fall into the paws of a sorcerer—whom N’duk reminded them were only normal beasts who either used trickery, or had been granted special privilege from Garfife—who knew of the evils they might unleash upon the world to suit their own whims. A small pouch containing many rare gems was laid on the table for him to inspect, and he was assured there would be a great deal more if he returned with the scrolls. With little else to do, and no current paying occupation to speak of at the moment, N’duk accepted the offer and the meerkats sealed the pact with a toast to his good luck.

Fat lot of good that had done him, N’duk mused to himself, now lost among the endless rooms and twisting corridors, the air growing more rank and dead as he pressed on, the rumble of his stomach, and the soft padding of his footpaws on the dusty floor were the only sounds that reached his ears. It was a dead place, this city, a shell of a once-powerful race, and should he not find his way again, it would most likely also become his tomb. His fingers had become raw and sore from tracing the walls, and his brain weary from not knowing how long he had spent in that eternal night. Finally, the hunter gave up, venting a sigh of frustration as he slumped down against the cold wall, laying his crescent sword across his knees as his eyes closed.

Dreams came to him. Dreams of strange and wonderful things. A soft, warm glow of peace emanated from the faces of all he saw as if they welcomed them into their time, back when the city thrived. Each chamber was lit with brilliant lamps, the walls sparkling with natural crystal deposits. So at ease was he that the hunter barely heard the noise of heavy, even footsteps approaching, and only sense danger when he felt hot breath upon his face.

Springing to life with the agility of a panther, N’duk scarcely escaped a massive blow that shattered the stone of the wall he had been sleeping against. His bronze sword swung wildly, connecting with naught but air, and he grunted hard as he felt the wind knocked from him when something heavy and sharp slammed against his side, throwing him to the floor. His ribs ran red with blood as he staggered to a stand, futilely trying to see what and were his attacker was in the infernal darkness. It was on him again in a matter of seconds, crushing the mongoose under its immense weight. The thing smelled of death and decay, and N’duk struggled to strike at it with his sword, only to have it batted from his paw like a child’s toy, the thing’s heavy claws slicing his arm as it struck. N’duk could feel the beast’s hot breath, and heard the gnashing of powerful jaws as it lifted him from the ground, apparently having a third set of appendages to rise up on. The Setovian scarcely avoided a vicious snap of the creature’s jaws, the thick, foaming saliva splattering across his cheek.

Wheezing for breath, N’duk began to see colorful explosions of stars as his brain cried out for oxygen, but the monster had him in a death grip and continued to squeeze, the mongoose’s ribs threatening to give way under the torturous pressure. With a strain that nearly that nearly pulled his shoulder from its socket, N’duk finally managed to wrest free, and with his free paw he seized the torch in his belt, and wielded it like a great dagger, driving the pointed base deep into what he believed to be the creature’s throat. When it did not drop, he wrenched his weapon free and stabbed again and again, the putrid smell of foul blood making him sick as the thing finally screamed out its death knell, the echo in the stone chamber nearly deafening N’duk, who all the while continued to plunge the bloodied end of his torch into the beast until it fell, dead, and he struggled out of its arms, gasping for breath.

Despite his victory over the foul monster, N’duk did not relax, instead crawling blindly, his paws swept the dust-laden floor until he found his sword once more, then struggled staggered to a stand and made a run for the next chamber. The smell of rank and decaying blood was thick in the musty air, and coupled with that terrible cry, N’duk knew that if there were more such creatures around they would be drawn to it like a moth to flame, and he wished to be nowhere near when that happened.

Running into walls, and coming upon dead ends, N’duk began to believe that he would never escape from the blackness alive. Still weak from lack of breath, and feeling his loss of blood begin to sap his strength, he pressed on more slowly, his sharp ears listening for whatever else might be hiding itself in the darkness.

At long last his paw, rough and sore from dragging along stone walls, came upon another torch, and he wasted no time in lighting it, thanking Garfife for the fortunate find.

When his pink eyes finally adjusted to the new light, he found he had blundered into a far older section of the city. Carvings on the walls were far less detailed, primitive in form and fashion, depicting great hunts, and scenes of early kings smiting their enemies. From the rough fashioning of the figures, N’duk saw clearly that the meerkats were not, in fact, created as artistic as they claimed they had been. Still, he had little time to play art critic. He was there for a purpose, and in the glow of his torchlight he continued his search, lighting any lamp or torch that he passed along the way, determined not to be caught unawares again.

His throat was parched, and the wounds to his torso and arm became caked with blood and the dust that was so thick in the air. Each hallway and corridor led him only to more halls or dead ends until he finally came upon a shallow, but very tall room flanked with mighty pillars. A pair of immense bronze doors, once brilliantly polished but now so tarnished with age that they were as dull as the rock walls around him, stood mounted into the far wall, a heavy bar hanging across them. Strange, for a portal so ornate why should it be locked from without? Unless—unless it was not designed to keep beasts out, but hold something inside. As he lit the two great bowls of oil within the room, N’duk could see in greater detail the figures which had been hammered upon the face of the incredible doors.

Priests, by the look of them, meerkat dress having changed little since the earliest of days, followed by throngs of slaves, some being sacrificed in terrible ways. How they had so quickly misunderstood what Garfife desired in the way of worship the mongoose could only guess.

His torch found home in a wall sconce, and his sword was slung across his back once more before N’duk stretched out his heavily muscled arms and addressed the bronze-sheathed timber bar which held the doors in place. It had been designed so that four beasts in unison would be needed to lift it cleanly out of place, bur N’duk remained undaunted. Placing his shoulders squarely beneath it, the hunter squatted with his back against the cold metal, then took a deep breath and shoved upwards with a mighty roar. Every muscle in his body stood out like steel cording, and his wounds re-opened under the stress. Behind closed lids, the pink eyes of his race flared red, and his temples hammered with pounding blood. As he felt the bar finally shift, his footpaws began to slip on the dust-laden floor, and he scrambled to keep his footing as the beam lifted higher. With a final, desperate push, N’duk felt as if the blood vessels in his breain were going to burst, but the bar slid free of its bracket, and he ducked flat against the doors as the heavy beam rolled over him, crashing onto the floor where it kicked up a choking cloud of dust so thick that at first he thought his lights had gone out.

Leaning back against the door in sheer exhaustion, the hunter stumbled as it began to swing inward. But when then would the bar have been on the outside? Snatching up his torch from the wall sconce, N’duk examined the fittings which had held the bar in place. There, they had been mounted over parts of scenes, bolted crudely on as if in great haste. No, the doorway had originally been barred from within after all.

Taking once last look, N’duk put shoulder to the door and pushed in, finding it much easier to shift than had been the bar. With cautious step, the Setovian mongoose crept inside, his pink eyes piercing the darkness. All was silent, save for the crackling of his torch. Inside the doors, the dust lay thicker across the floors than it had from without, and N’duk noticed other differences. Here there hung once-gaily colored tapestries, now worn and faded by age and marked with dry rot. Furniture stood by the walls, though some of it curiously upturned, and what appeared to have been a chair lay strewn in shattered pieces on the floor before him.

It was a small chamber, with another set of doors at the other end, though they had not been hung so sturdily, for one lay flat, the other leaning drunkenly on the one hinge still connected it to its frame. Upon the air that wafted into his nose came the thick smell of death and decay, and his pink eyes went wide as he peered past the doors to see why.

His torchlight flickered fast, as if it too were horrified by the ghastly scene before it. There, covering the floor of a cavernous chamber with a massive pyramidal platform at its center lay the scattered bones of hundreds, possibly thousands of meerkats. No one bone seemed to lie next to its brother, and some were splintered as if they were toothpicks, while others yet bore deep, horrific gouges and scars. Treading lightly as not to disturb their already unholy resting place, N’duk made his way an urn-like oil lamp, and with a careful touch of his torch, ignited it. The massive chamber burst into flame as id a great dragon breathed life into it. The urn had been connected to a series of channels, and once lit, a path of fire snaked around the pyramid and along the walls, turning night to day.

The torch fell from N’duk’s paw to clatter upon the stone floor strewn with bones as the incredible sight revealed itself to him in all its splendor and horror.

Shrieking cries bellowed, echoing from the walls and making the hunter cap his paws over his ears to protect them. Cast into the light, six creatures of like and form never meant for the world screamed in anger of their disturbed sleep, and charged at the hunter, terrible claws flashing in the fire’s glow. N’duk knew not what they were, but presumed them to be siblings of the beast he had fought in the darkness.

Knowing that much gave him slight comfort, for at least he knew they could be killed, but having barely survived his previous confrontation with one, how was he to handle six at once that could see him clearly. Oh—to hell with it.

His footpaws churned the dust on the floor, scattering dry bones as he made a dash for the steep staircase on the ancient monument. Instantly one of the things was upon him, but N’duk was ready. Lashing out with his crescent sword, N’duk caught the thing through its midsection, cutting it wide open and splattering thin, purple-black blood over the steps. It reeled back in agony, and the hunter wasted no time lopping its head free of its body with his return swing, and kicked the still-flailing body sown the steep slope.

Two more creatures advanced, both with skin the color of stained ivory in strange scales over their bodies hatched with marks of wicked triangular patterns like the rest of their kind. For millennia they had waited in their prison of darkness, and they hungered for fresh meat, as was evident in the foaming drool that poured from between jagged rows of teeth. The first leapt forward, bony talons extended, and raked at N’duk’s shoulders as it clung to him, snapping at his face as the mongoose strove to hold its throat back with his sword arm, using his other to rip its claws from his back. He could feel the hot blood spill from his wounds, but he had little time to care ad the other creature jumped at him as well, taking all three of them to the floor.

N’duk’s fall was broken by the smaller of the two, and his paw scraped along the ground until he seized a broken thigh-bone, and jammed the sharp end deep into the creature’s eye, driving it into its brain—if one even existed in that nightmare thing. The hunter scarcely had time to roll off his kill before the other jumped it, and he wheeled about to plunge the length o his bronze blade between its shoulder blades, piercing its heart, then wrenched it free to turn and look upon the three that remained, his eyes blazing red with fury.

How he survived, the mongoose could never understand. They fought like demons, their mind solely focused on the destruction of all that lived. Splashes of his red blood were answered by the sickly purple-black of their own as the chamber became their playground of death. It took all N’duk’s skill as a fighter to wield his blade well enough to fend off three at once, and when it was torn from his grip, he used the iron strength of his bare paws to rip and rend at the creatures, even tearing out one of their throats in his feral rage.

When it was over, N’duk stood victorious, but only barely so. His body was torn and punctured, and ragged breath ripped at his dry throat. Blood dripped from his muzzle, his nose broken again which added to a count he had long ago lost track of. Gingerly he took up his sword, wiping the thin blood from it on the hem of his kilt, and surveyed the scene to see if any more such devils lay in wait for him.

There was nothing. Nothing but air thick with the dust that had been kicked up during the desperate brawl and the twisted corpses of the strange beasts. Only then, his tightly strung nerves relaxing, did N’duk take a closer look at what anomalies of the world had attacked him. They lay not as a normal beast would lie in death, but instead appears torn and crumpled as discarded paper. Crouching beside one, he let his paw run over the large-scaled skin, feeling its rough, yet intentionally smoothed surface. Strange, it was uncannily familiar, and the hue reminded him of—N’duk’s heart raced as he rolled the creature onto its stomach and stared, mouth agape, at its back

Paper. They were not clad in skin or scale, but armored by paper long ago given life, and the patterns they sported were not simply spots as a leopard bears, but writing, the ancient hatchscript of the earliest of days.

They were all the same, and what he had taken for granted as blood was none other than ink, the same ink that bore them. A feeling of pity overcame the mighty hunter. The beasts he slew had no intention of coming into existence. They were the scrolls that the meerkats had spoken of, the ones containing the words Garfife had used ti create the world. So powerful were they that could not be confined on paper, but came to life, though without meaning or direction, becoming monsters. Saddened by the revelation, N’duk ran his paw over its back once more only to feel the thing become light and brittle, then crumble under his touch.

The paper flaked and scattered while the thing’s bones returned to the innocuous wooden spindle and handles that had originally borne the spine of the scroll. When he glanced back at the others, he saw no more beasts, but other scrolls ruined by time.



Bandaged and scarred, N’duk strode purposefully down the streets of the village, the hot sun beating wickedly down upon him, and the ancient box he carried. A hush fell over passers-by, and all watched as the stranger turned into one of the village’s taverns. In a back corner, obsessed with a game of chance involving ivory dice, the cluster of old meerkats played amongst themselves until a dark shadow loomed over them.

One of them, the wrinkled old one in priests’ robes looked up, his dark eyes flashing. “Hunter, you have returned!” he exclaimed, his gnarled paws rubbing together as he stated at the chest, seeming to care nothing for the injuries his retainer had withstood.

“My fee,” N’duk replied, his heavy paws firmly placed over the lid of the chest.
The old meerkat waved his paw at one of his companions. “Yes, yes, pay the brute, Aanorus,” he croaked, and the youngest among them withdrew a leather pouch heavy with gems and gold coin, handing it to the mongoose.

“Now, open it so that we may see for ourselves the glory of our ancestors and race!” the old one commanded.

Wordlessly, N’duk complied, unclasping the latch and opened the wooden case before sliding t before him. The wizened meerkat, his face transfixed by maniacal glee, let his trembling paws into the box and withdrew a scroll. The black fire in his eyes flared brightest then, and he laughed, “Witness, mongoose, that we meerkats were blessed with the words of creation! With this our race shall rise once more and—no! No!”

His triumphant boasting turned to ash-faced horror as the scroll crumbled in his paws. Frantically he grabbed for another, then another, all of them withering away under his slightest touch. “No!” he cried, “This cannot be! You tricked me!” But when he raised his head, N’duk was gone, leaving him with an antique chest containing what once was the greatest power on the face of the world, but was now only dust.

[Lilaena De'Ville]

*claps* :D I love it, this new story.

[Mitch]

Ahh, an adoring public. =)

[Lilaena De'Ville]

yes, one. :p I really liked the symbolism - always important in myth writing. :)

[Mitch]

This is the first half of a two-part story, the other half should be coming in a day or two. Please let me know what you think, even though this one is not the full story this time.

---

<center>The Withered Hand, Part One</center>

The wooden box dropped unceremoniously onto the table before N’duk, upsetting his cup of bitter wine.

“My money,” demanded the haggard otter who stood before him.

From beneath heavy brows, N’duk’s pink irises bored straight into those of his deliveryman, and he fished a few tarnished silver coins from his purse, then cast them onto the floor at the otter’s feet. “I said to be careful with it,” N’duk growled. “Now, take your pay and go.”

He waited while the otter snatched up his pay, and watched him make a hasty retreat from the seaside bar into the dark night outside. Pulling closer the flickering candle that burned on the edge of his table, N’duk inspected his purchase. The box was old, and its make was indeterminable. The rough wood was faded, dry and warped from a long life in the salty sea air; the hinges and latch caked in flaking rust. How long it had gone forgotten he could only imagine.

Ever cautious, the hunter glanced back over his shoulder before drawing a slim-bladed bronze knife and pried against the latch. The rusted lock snapped, as did one of the hinges, and he scarcely had it open before slamming the lid shut once more, a noxious stench causing his nose to wrinkle and his stomach turn in disgust. With a huff of breath, N’duk blew out his candle and stood, tucking the box under a heavy arm and hurried from the tavern to seek the solitude of a back alley he had noticed earlier along the waterfront.

Far from home, N’duk stood out as a lion among housecats in the seaside town. Tall and broad-shouldered, the mongoose rivaled Myknosian statues in physique, and dark stripes broke the sandy yellow of his fur along his back beneath his leather armor. A bronze-scaled serpentine belt girdled his waist, supporting both his rough-knit kilt and a crescent sword, his upper half bare save for his armor; there was little need for more in the sultry climate.

Powerful strides carried him to his hiding place, and he held a paw over his nose and mouth as he opened the box once more, protecting him against the nauseating funk trapped so long within the confines of the small coffin. And a coffin it was. There, nestled in the long-rotten remains of fine silk lay a twisted and gnarled forepaw, a hand severed halfway at the forearm. Though it appeared that no care had been taken to preserve it, the skin remained intact, drawn over bones and tendon like tight leather, the fur still gleaming dully in is dead luster. Only the water fat seemed missing, and a curious copper chain lay wrapped about the thing at the wrist, green from age and oxidation.

Gingerly, N’duk took hold of the chain’s end and lifted it, the hand rolling over and over as the chain unspooled until it hung from the length of copper as a sort of grim fishing lure. Slowly the hand spun, the kinks in its ancient chain unworking themselves until it came to a stop. Out of some morbid sense of humor, N’duk gave it another spin, and watched as it came to rest pointing the same way as it had before. A third spin yielded the same result, and even when he turned his own body, the hand remained pointing in the same direction—to the sea.

When he heard the story years before, N’duk passed it off as merely another myth, but there it was, the hand of a beast long dead that knew a terrible secret. Reeling the hand in on its chain, N’duk returned it through his belt and headed to the docks to find out the truth for himself.

--

Legends spoke of a time long past, and of the first god Garfife granted powers to—an ancient king, leader of the first of the otters. Seafaring by nature, they settled upon a series of islands far beyond the horizon, and there they thrived in their paradise until their numbers outgrew their land, and wars broke out over the limited islands. Their king, a young, yet wise beast named Jamus, saw the peoples of his nation suffering and dying, and he fell to his knees, begging Garfife for the power to save them. The Creator took pity on him, and without thinking, he caused a heavy gold ring to appear on the middle finger of Jamus’s left paw, a large disc of polished lapis, the ultramarine stone, set at its center.

Jamus rose to his feet, feeling the power course from the ring through his body, and with naught but an act of will, he called the waters surrounding his island nation to rise up, creating walls of frothing, white-capped brine that nearly blocked out the sun. Terrified by the great walls of unnatural water, his citizens ceased their warfare and fell on their faces, afraid.

The king’s voice cut like the bell through the sudden silence, reaching as far as his furthest subject as he commanded, “Stop! Can you not see what you are doing? We hurt only ourselves with such foolish butchery. Throw down your weapons, I will grant us a solution.” No sooner has he ceased speaking than the walls fell back into the ocean, and the earth began to rumble, then shook furiously. Jamus raised his paws as even his own body trembled, and peaks of stone shot forth from the depths, soon filling into another, massive island. Immense waves washed over the jagged stone, carrying with them mud and silt from the ocean’s floor, building a stable, fertile landmass atop the base of rock.

His subjects watched in awe as their king created for them hope for a greater civilization, and swarms of small boats raced across the still-crashing breakers to stake claims upon the fresh land. Jamus, seeing his efforts lead to hope and not more warfare collapsed upon the floor of his high tower, mind reeling at the sheer power he found in his possession, fingers rubbing over the blue studding his ring.

Under Jamus’s rule, the island civilization found peace once more as it expanded, and the king was praised for more than he ever had been as just their leader. While he had honest beast and humble ruler before, their flattery developed in him a vain streak that had not been there before. At first he requested a temple be erected in his honor, then statues and grand squares. His subjects did as he asked willingly at first, but as his demands became more elaborate, and his self-indulgences more blasphemous, they grew frustrated. But they learned quickly that their king had become absorbed in his own power, and that they became little more than pawns in his command. Fearing his workers would escape, Jamus went as far as to raise a wall of ocean that encircled his nation, forbidding them exit, or contact with the outside world.

Two score years passed in such fashion, a once robust and hearty civilization reduced to captive slaves serving a god they once knew to be a normal beast such as themselves, though such talk was considered treason, and the god-king Jamus had spies everywhere. Should word of rebellion come up, even in the quietest of whispers, it would reach his ears, and those who were suspected to be plotting against him found themselves crushed and drowned beneath Jamus’s living water.

Finally there came a day that a servant boy, not quite a man, became their savior. Delivering food to the god-king, the youth acted quickly and stole the ring from his finger, then ran, eluding the palace guards long enough to hide it before he was dragged back before the enraged Jamus, who demanded that he be beaten and tortured until he divulged the location of the ring, but the boy would not yield it. Furious, and poisoned by years of such great power, the god-king ordered the youth executed, his body hung in pieces from chains along the palace wall as warning to those who might plot against him.

It was too late, however, for as the ring slipped from the god-king’s finger, the walls which had made the islands a prison fell. Jamus watched as his citizens, even his most trusted spies and guards, fled the once idyllic kingdom in search of freedom elsewhere. Falling back into his throne, Jamus hung his head in shame for his foolishness, foolishness only realized once his power had been taken away. The god-king died that night, the last living beast upon the island chain he had helped to create.

--

Were it not for the withered hand dangling from its copper chain, pointing ever in the same direction as his light boat skimmed over moonlit waters, N’duk would have written the story off as utter fiction. But there was no denying it, the hand pointed deliberately, seeking out that which had cost the hand’s owner his life.

Through days and nights, N’duk sailed alone, eating fish he could catch, and drinking water from a round pottery bowl. The seas remained calm, and the wind strong, buffeting him along at fair pace, one paw constantly on the tiller, the other holding the sail taught, and the hunter slept only when exhaustion came over him.

How far he had sailed from the Western coast he could not tell, and there seemed no end to the ocean that lay before him until a dark speck appeared on the horizon. Checking its lay against the direction of those bony fingers, N’duk grew hope that he had spotted his destination. Another speck, and then another came into view, and slowly they grew larger until they loomed as mountains of lifeless rock and dry, dead grasslands before him. Even the skies above lost their cheery hue, fading to a dull, lifeless gray over the dead lands. Skillfully avoiding the reefs, N’duk brought his small craft in to moor at an ancient stone dock, and cast his mooring rope about a block to secure it.

The creak of seagoing timber, and the lapping of waves upon the beaten shore were the only sounds that reached his ears as the mongoose stepped from his boat, the hand suspended from its chain in his paw. For the first time since he laid eyes on it, the gnarled talons flexed and straightened, then turned about as if searching for something. It was a gristly sight, seeing the dead reanimated, but in his travels N’duk had seen things far more terrifying. After much debate, the hand finally settled upon a direction, and N’duk heeded its command, climbing up the harbor steps to a long-abandoned city street lined on both sides by ruins of homes and businesses.

It led him through the silent streets, past crumbling and defaced statues, and through alleys until the hunter arrived at the foot of the palace steps, its thick walls still standing as an impenetrable barrier. Swinging on its chain, the withered hand urged him forward, pointing to the heavy, ironbound wooden gates, the hinges long rusted into place. Where he merely meant to test the ancient, sea-weathered wood with his shoulder, it crumbled to dust under his touch, and the mongoose pressed on.

Daedaline logos remained etched upon each pillar and wall that he passed, the stonework of the otter civilization even in its infancy impressive, but N’duk was not there for the artwork, nor was his mute companion on its copper leash. Were it not for the hand’s intimate knowledge with the palace’s labyrinthine design, the mongoose would have surely been lost in endless passages and mysterious stairwells that seemed to spiral off in directions he would rather not explore alone.

Tugging at the chain, the hand begged to be set free, and against his better judgment, N’duk released it, letting it fall to the floor where it perched upon those bony fingertips, standing as an arachnid erect, stumbling about before it gained its balance. Gaining its bearings once more, the hand shot off down the corridor with N’duk hard-pressed to keep up until it arrived at a pile of rubble blocking the base of a stairwell. Tapping at it with a fingertip, the animated paw ordered N’duk to clear the way so that it may pass through. Bending his back to the task, N’duk strained his steel-cord muscles as he hauled boulders and cut bricks alike to the side of the hallway until a suitable passage had been cleared.

The hand urged him onward, and through twisting passages he followed. Then, suddenly as it had come to life, the hand stopped, knuckles staring directly at a blank wall. N’duk scratched his head, puzzled, then let his paws roam over the wall’s cool surface until one brick shifted under his touch. With his knife, the hunter dug out old, crumbling mortar until he could grasp the loose stone, and he carefully pulled it out, his pink eyes wide at what glinted at him from behind it.

A sudden, piercing pain to his ankle broke him of his wonder, and the mongoose jumped back, looking down to see his footpaw bleeding, the hand having grasped him hard and dug into his flesh before being kicked free. Stunned, he watched it make a dash for the wall, climbing the rough stone for the hole, but before it could reach the ring, N’duk snatched out, seizing the heavy gold ring in his own paw. The hand leapt at him from the wall and grasped his wrist hard. It felt as if a bear had clamped its jaws about his arm, and N’duk dropped the ring as if it were a hot stone, shrieking in agony over the unnatural pain. Immediately the hand released its hold and dropped to the floor, stabbing its middle finger through its center to don it, then scuttled faster than N’duk’s eye could follow back the way they had come.

His pain forgotten in the realization of what had happened, the hunter bolted after it, scarcely clearing his passage to see the hand dash up a flight of stairs that spiraled toward the highest tower. N’duk’s footpaws beat the stone beneath him, scattering clouds of dust and cracking ancient slate steps as his flew up the stairwell after the living dead thing.

Throat ragged, N’duk crested the top step in time to see the hand leap into the waiting lap of a beast long dead, seated upon a stone throne overlooking the island chain. Its skin, like that of the hand, was stretched over bone, mummified by the sea air, and the left hand was missing! What a fool he had been, it was not the hand of the youth who sought to point out the ring once the god-king was dead, it was the god-king himself seeking its power from beyond the grave!

As bone touched bone, a ghastly sucking of air roared from the corpse’s mouth as it grotesquely grew to life once more. Flesh dead for millennia stirred and swelled, the leathery skin becoming soft once more, and the hand rejoined its master as the god-king rose from his throne, holding the ring before N’duk defiantly. N’duk’s paw immediately flew to the handle of his sword as he realized just what he had done.

~*~*~*~

End Part One

[Lilaena De'Ville]

Excellent! I was completely fooled. Can't wait for part two, or for the illustrated book version to come out. ;)

[Mitch]

<center>The Withered Hand - Part II</center>

A hideous laughter cackled from the dry and constricted throat of the god-king, and as if by pulling moisture from the air itself, his withered and shriveled body swelled once more with life. His fur, before a sickly thin gray blossomed into a thick, lustrous coat of sleek, dark brown, and the previously hollow eye sockets sparkled with fresh eyes brilliant blue as the stone in his ring. Before N’duk stood no feeble old otter as he should have been after so long a reign, but a beast in his prime, the great ring having revived him to his fullest glory.

Robes of silk flowed over his form, restored as was his body, and a row of gleaming teeth smiled at N’duk dangerously. “Thank you, my servant,” Setoris spoke, his voice enough to shake the already unstable tower, “for freeing me at last, and recovering what is rightfully mine.”

N’duk stepped back, neither turning to run, nor mounting an assault. His knuckles white about the grip of his sword, the hunter eyed the god-king as he played a dangerous game. “It is my duty to serve, should your senses be about you and you not be a demon beneath that skin,” he answered.

Setoris, wary of his savior, but convinced that only a loyal supporter would bring him to life once more, and return his ring, waved his paw, and a column of water rose from the sea, shooting ever skyward. “Is that not proof enough?” the otter dismissed his suspicion. “Garfife deemed me worthy of such power, who are mortals to question it? Now, come, I have a kingdom to reclaim.” A snap of his fingers brought the column to a halt, and it broke where it stood, thundering back down to the frothing ocean’s surface.

The level of power Setoris wielded did not pale in comparison to what the legends had spoken of, and N’duk’s game of deception became far more treacherous than he cared for. Still, it was best to play it safe while in the audience of such a beast, and he fell to a knee, bowing before the god-king. “Forgive me for doubting you, lord,” the mongoose spoke the words he knew Setoris wished to hear.

“It is forgotten,” spoke the otter, peering out his window to the dead land. “Where is your army? Where is my tribute? Have you come alone, has all the world forgotten me so quickly?” he asked, aghast at what he saw.

“Much has changed since you ruled, my lord,” N’duk answered. “And a great deal of time has passed. Your line saw its end over two thousand years ago, and you have been relegated to a role only as a myth, a beast many believe never existed.”

Injured by the harsh reality, Setoris clenched his paw and gazed upon his ring, a dark fire burning in his eyes. “I cared for them. I kept them from war, from famine and gave them land on which to live. And for all that I have done, they have forgotten me?” the words growled in his throat. Like a serpent, Setoris snapped his head to the side, eyes locking on N’duk. “And not even a member of my own race came to my aid, but a foreigner? You will be rewarded, but only after my vengeance is had. What is your name, mongoose?”

Rising to a stand, N’duk proudly replied, “I am known as N’duk, the hunter. I hail from Setovia.”

“Setovia?” the god-king balked. “What business has a Setovian with my empire?”

“Should a ruler question the interests of a vassal who has just brought him back from the grave?” N’duk responded in challenge, his pink eyes meeting the glowing blue of his adversary.

Setoris raised a paw to accuse the mongoose, but then let it wave away, dismissing the question. “It is little matter. For your bravery, your people will be spared my wrath. But others must suffer.”

The god-king was mad, N’duk was convinced of it. Such power was not meant for any man, and the otter had commanded it for forty years, and now again, drawn to the terrible might the ring wielded. Though from how the ring brought a corpse to life, N’duk doubted any attack with his sword against Setoris would have any effect, and his paw slid free from its handle. Legend said that the youth stole the god-king’s ring somehow, and that only furthered his belief that physical harm could not bring the crazed ruler down.

“As you say, it shall be,” N’duk paid him lip-service, following Setoris as the otter left the high tower and down the spiraling staircase to a landing that overlooked the chain of once-beautiful islands.

The blue-eyed god-king raised his arms, and with them the ocean lifted, towering cliffs of seawater surrounding them. “Who shall be first, N’duk?” he demanded. “Where is it that my people fled to when they abandoned me? You say I no longer know this world, so you will be my guide.”

N’duk grinned darkly at the thought of seeking revenge on many of his old adversaries, but Setoris spoke of a destruction that could wipe countries from the face of the world. Thinking quickly, N’duk pointed a heavily muscled arm to the West, “There, to the continent of Golsetaal. There reigns a king who commands much of the world, and would have no others before him. Strike them first; show them you have no mercy.” It was a ruse, there was no landmass to the West as far as N’duk knew, and he prayed that the god-king would fall for it.

“Swear you this?” Setoris barked, “Swear you that land truly does exist, and that it affects the world?”

“Yes!” answered N’duk wholeheartedly, “I swear it.”

“Then it will be so,” the otter spoke, and threw his arms forward. The towers of water hurtled forth in a tidal wave the likes of which the world had never before seen. Its path reflected in his eyes, Setoris grinned gleefully, expecting to witness it crash upon the shores of a great empire, and destroy those who would stand in his way. But in his sight-beyond-sight, no land came to him, and his tsunami collapsed under itself, but not before the extend of N’duk’s treachery was exposed.

While Setoris engaged himself in revenge, N’duk had stolen up behind him, and suddenly seized the otter’s wrist before trying to wrench the golden ring from his finger. The otter responded with supernatural speed and strength, casting N’duk like a rag doll across the landing and into a pillar, cracking the ancient stone. Not since his battle with the serpent of Algernon had he been thrown so hard, and the hunter thanked his creator that no bones had been broken.

Barely had he time to right himself before the god-king was upon him again, delivering a blow that scarcely missed N’duk’s head, but shattered the column behind him.

“Traitor!” Setoris roared. “You came not to resurrect me, but to steal that which is mine!” Another punishing swing was leveled at the mongoose’s head, but N’duk deflected it, then leapt backwards to gain distance between the otter and himself.

“You would murder innocent beasts, and pervert the power which Garfife granted you!” he shouted in return. “I came to see that your ring should never again threaten a single life.”

The floor beneath them shook as a deep rumbling sounded from the stairwell. Setoris’s eyes blazed with blue fire as he raised an upturned paw. “You should worry less about others, and more about yourself,” he said.

A glance over his shoulder caused N’duk to lurch forward. The ocean was rushing up to meet him, and scarcely could he draw a breath before it was upon him, enveloping him in its cold, watery arms. Through the ripples, he could see Setoris laughing at him, though he could not make out the words he spoke. The water ceased after N’duk, holding him in a supernatural aquarium. No matter how hard he tried, he could not escape it, his strokes taking him nowhere. His temples pounded as the air in his lungs burned away, and a final, desperate surge through the unnatural water caused him to empty his breath, escaping in large bubbles before Setoris waved his paw, causing the water to lose shape, dropping N’duk to the stone floor as it broke and washed away.

Heaving for breath, the hunter choked on the water in his lungs before Setoris nudged him in the ribs with his footpaw, rolling the mongoose over onto his back. “Fool, you think you could overcome a god?” Setoris mocked N’duk’s efforts.

While lying on his stomach, N’duk let one of his paws wrap around the handle of his knife, and as he rolled over, his arm swung out, driving the blade deep into Setoris’s shin. The otter howled in pain, pain that N’duk knew he was at least capable of feeling now, and stooped to pull the knife from his leg. Again, N’duk tried to seize the ring, and was rewarded only with a kick that sent him over the ledge, crashing down to the stone floor of the square below.

Riding a swell of water under his command, Setoris followed, the knife gone from his leg and the wound healed almost instantly. The water shifted from beneath his feet to swell up around N’duk as he stood, holding him up to his neck as the god-king smirked, caressing the ring on his finger.

“I will not be denied again,” Setoris addressed his prisoner. “I will show them all, show them that I was given this power not just to protect, but to control them.”

Struggling to keep his head above the swirling column of living water, N’duk spat contemptuously, “And how many will you kill if they don’t go along?”

The water squeezed in around N’duk’s body like a vise, Setoris clenching his fist. “As many as it takes,” he said coldly. “Starting with you.” Spreading his fingers, the otter held his palm to N’duk and forced the waters over his head, leaving the mongoose treading water in a sphere of levitating ocean, unable to break through any surface.

The hunter fought with all his might, forcing powerful strokes until his muscles burned, but it was no use. Of all the ways he imagined dying, drowning had never been one of them, though there seemed no escape from a watery grave, unnatural as it was. At least until he witnessed Setoris’s face change, the confident smirk gave way to concern, then horror as his hand turned, fingers outstretched toward his face, and his right paw clamped down hard upon the left wrist. Even with his incredible strength, the otter found himself failing to stop his hand from reaching nearer and nearer his throat. The look of absolute terror upon the god-king’s face would be forever etched upon N’duk’s mind as he witnessed the hand, the hand which had led him to the island, and to the ring, squeeze hard upon Setoris’s throat, and the otter fell to his knees, blue eyes bulging. N’duk’s own body screamed for air in the same manner the god-king wished for it, but soon it was over. Before he blacked out, N’duk swore he saw the hand dig harder into the otter’s throat, and the once-powerful beast crumpled to the stone floor, dead.

--

Hammers pounded in his brain as N’duk choked and spat up seawater. He found himself facedown in a great, shallow pool upon the floor of the square, and his pink eyes immediately darted to the body that lay next to him. There, gnarled hand still clutching the otter’s throat, lay the corpse of King Setoris. Crawling to his side, N’duk pried away the hand and pulled the heavy ring from its finger, then looked closer at the paw still locked in it death-grip. There, halfway down the forearm the fur changed, it was not Setoris’s hand after all, but that of the youth. Somehow, from beyond the grave that nameless boy had led N’duk to the ring, and then exacted his own vengeance on the beast who had him so brutally killed.

With the ring removed, the god-ling’s body shriveled and decayed once more, leaving no sign that it had been alive and well only minutes before. In his paw, the hand broke free of its body, and N’duk contemplated the withered, gnarled thing before finally casting it away. Punishment had been served, neither the king or the servant had any business left in the mortal world, each of them now had to answer to Garfife for their lives.

Seawater cascaded down his fur as the hunter stood, cold in the evening air. In his paw he held a ring, a heavy, golden ring with the bluest of stones set in its center. It looked his size, very comfortable. Perhaps he should put it on, just to try it? No! N’duk shook his head, resisting the ring’s temptation, and he cast it onto the barren stone floor of the square. Still it called to him. He could not simply leave it, lest some other beast find it, and the world be threatened again. No, he had made a promise to Garfife, and he was going to keep it.

N’duk looked about, finally selecting a building stone that appeared heavy enough for his purposes, yet not so large that he could not lift it. Bending his powerful frame to the task, the mongoose hefted the stone block, carried it to where the ring lay, and let it fall. A thunderclap split the sky as the stone in the ring shattered, and the gold twisted and bent. When at last he removed the stone, what remained was no longer of any value, save for its mineral sake, and even that was not enough to warrant taking with him. Picking up the scarred, flattened item, N’duk cocked his arm and hurled it into the sea, the soft plink of splashing water signaling the end of a power that never should have been granted.

His stomach growled, and the hunter looked to the sky, noting that only a few hours of daylight remained. Still, he headed to his small ship, released it from its moorings, and set sail back to the mainland, sparing no look back as he went.

[Arya Ravenwing]

i was completely fooled again! Excellent storytelling, I liked it lots.

[Mitch]

Glad you like it. Coming soon, another multi-parter, "The Jewel of Yalena."

Or maybe "Demoran's Tree" if I get hung up on something.

[Mitch]

<centerThe Jewel of Yalena, Part I</center>

The golden towers of Aman Sunatan reflected softly the ember glow of the setting sun as it sank beyond the glittering horizon. Beneath the twin spires, merchants closed their stands, and shop owners bolted their doors while bars, taverns and other houses of the night opened theirs.

Amidst the smoke of lamps and kitchen fires, and the boisterous voices of workers and merchants, N’duk reclined on a row of cushions as a beautiful vixen ran her paw over his muscular chest. He had forsaken his sword and shoulder belt, leaving them upstairs, along with his bronze armguard for the remainder of the evening, having deemed them unnecessary in such personable company. A cup of wine loosely hung in the grip of his left paw, while his right lightly traced over the vixen’s arm. The mongoose’s thoughts could not have been further from the outside world until the door of the tavern was thrown in and several large city guards burst through.

Throughout the room, swords and daggers were drawn, for half the tavern’s clientele were wanted by the law for one reason or another, but it quickly became apparent that they were there for only one beast. One of the guards, armed with a short spear, scanned the room, his eyes locking on N’duk.

“That’s him!” he shouted, rallying the other soldiers to him. “That’s the one! Take him!”

N’duk recognized the guardsman as the same beast who had harassed him over lingering too long about the base of the towers that morning. The hunter sprang to his feet, and reached over his shoulder to draw his crescent sword, only to remember that it currently resided elsewhere. At his feet, the vixen clung to his leg, her eyes wide with fear, but he simply pushed her aside, his muscles standing out in cords as he prepared to take on the troop of guards.

“For what crime am I accused?” he barked sharply, his fists clenched before him.
The guardsman sneered and leveled his spear at N’duk’s throat. “Murder most foul. You were spotted running from the house of Lady Yalena, and her servants found her dead, her throat cut and clothes torn, only minutes later. A chest of gems lay upended, its contents scattered.

“I had nothing to do with it!” N’duk snarled. “I visited her, yes, but she was in perfect health when I left her,” he defended himself, then snapped his arm out at lightning speed, snatching the shaft of the guardsman’s spear just below the blade, then wrenched it from its owner. With a mighty shove, he slammed the butt into the guardsman’s chest and knocked him to the floor before wheeling the short stabbing spear about and aiming the blade at the wheezing guard’s throat.

Instantly, the rest of the guard were upon N’duk, clubbing him with spear hafts and short clubs. N’duk fought back valiantly, using his stolen polearm in every way possible. The muscles of his arms rippled in the lamplight as he wielded it as a quarterstaff to block, and dealt out vicious blows with both ends. One guard, a jackal who had only been with the force a mere week, reeled back, clutching his face, blood pouring from between his fingers as he screamed. A slash from the blade of N’duk’s spear had blinded him, and he stumbled out of the fray, terrified and shrieking.

As skilled as he was, and trained in fierce battle, N’duk still found his defense crumbling in the tight quarters of the tavern, and outnumbered so badly. A solid blow to the back of his skull put him out, and the mongoose slumped to the floor in a heap. The guardsman delivered a solid kick to his side just to make sure that N’duk was indeed subdued before he looked to the rest of his troop. “Chain him, and take him to the dungeon. I will handle the legal proceedings,” he commanded, and then made his way over to the young jackal clutching his torn face. “Do not fret,” the guardsman told him in a soothing voice, then drew a dagger from his belt and plunged it deep deep between his ribs, piercing his heart.

Ripping the blade back out, the guardsman looked at the rest of his troop, and the shocked denizens of the tavern. “The mongoose did it, you all saw. He showed no mercy, and attacked us first.”

With no interference from the patrons, the guards chained N’duk’s wrists and ankles, before dragging him from the premises and hauling him onto an awaiting cart, the body of the jackal thrown on next. A few coins were pressed into the tavern-keeper’s paw as compensation for the interruption, as well as for his silence. With the clack of iron-shod horse hooves on the stone street, the guards hauled their burden back to the high-walled fortress in the heart of the city.

--

When N’duk awoke, he was cold, and could see little. His head throbbed as if it had doubled in size without his skull growing to fit. When his pink eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could tell that he was in a prison of some sort, and his attempts to pull away from the wall revealed that his arms were chained to iron rings anchored into the heavy stones. Through a high, barred window he could make out the twinkle of stars, and a shaft of moonlight streamed down to the floor beside him.

He was naked, save for a loincloth, and across from him a skeleton of a beaver hung from the ceiling by manacles around the bony wrists. For whatever purpose he had been incarcerated, N’duk felt as if he was destined for a similar fate.

Hours later, his headache dulled, and his thick arms were sore, wrists raw and bleeding from his strain against his iron bonds. Silently he cursed himself for having not been properly armed in the tavern, but soon his sharp mind moved onto his current predicament. Only one door stood visible in all the walls, and it was heavily studded and banded with iron, the lone window far too high to reach, even if he should be free of his chains. With a heavy sigh, N’duk resigned himself to his fate, and leaned back against his wall, eyes closing. Should an opportunity to escape arise, he would need his strength to fight his way out of wherever he was being held.

--

The angry groan of poorly kept hinges roused him again, and the hunter looked to the door to see a messenger boy in full court trappings step through the threshold, visibly shaking. Clearing his throat, the young genet squeaked, “Criminal, the Regent Elandett summons you to appear before him.” Swallowing as N’duk glared at him, the ringtailed messenger quickly continued, “Should you display any form of rebellion, you will be killed. That is all.” Like the ground beneath his footpaws was aflame, the boy turned and dashed out of the room, replaced by two large badgers, one bearing a key, the other a heavy sword.

N’duk was marched from the dungeon and through several corridors and courtyards until he found himself in a great, gleaming room. Its ceilings were high and vaulted, the arches studded with crystal and semi-precious stones, and the floors polished marble, off-white swirled with a deep brown. Pillars were sculpted in the shape of beautiful females of many species, and their clothing gilt with gold leaf. At the head of the chamber sat a pair of great thrones beneath a massive rosette window of stained glass the likes of which N’duk had never seen.

“Is this the murderer?” a voice called from one of the thrones, his visage hidden behind the piercing, multicolored glare of light blazing through the large window.
“It is him,” a guardsman replied.

“Make him kneel,” the voice instructed, but no matter how hard the badgers tried, they could not force N’duk to his knees. “How dare you stand so insolent in my presence!” the voice roared. “Who do you think you are to be so arrogant before me, you who killed my sister!”

His body as tense as a panther ready to strike, N’duk stared ahead, regardless of the blinding light in his eyes. His paws, chained before him, balled into fists as he replied, “I am known as N’duk, the hunter, and I do not kneel for I have committed no crime.”

“My sister lies dead and shamed and you have committed no crime?” the voice snarled. “I have it on word that you were seen fleeing from her home, and then attacked my guards when they came upon you drinking away your spoils in a tavern.”

N’duk growled deep in his throat as he said, “It is true that I came and went from her home, and that I did drink last night on coin that she provided, but she drew breath in good health when I left, and our meeting was one of pleasant conversation. Unless you have further proof, I demand you let me go!”

A creak of wood and the soft movement of cloth sounded from the throne, and a silhouette walked forward through the glare, coming face to face with N’duk. The speaker was a ferret, tall and regal, fine clothing draping his narrow frame, and a heavy gold ring on one of his black paws. He gazed into N’duk’s hard eyes, and after a long silence, he said, “You tell the truth, I see it in you.” Stepping back into the glare, the ferret continued, “But still, somebeast must pay for this crime, and it is better to find you guilty than to show my guards incompetent. Arrange a public execution and cut off his head, have it displayed on a post between the towers.”

N’duk surged forward, his eyes instantly flashing from pink to red, and he strained against his badger captors. “I am innocent!” he bellowed. “You will pay for this!”

Turning back to face him once more, the ferret shook his head and replied, “I am sorry for you, but my judgment is final. Guards, take him away.”

“No!” a powerful voice echoed through the chamber, and all eyes turned to see the vizier, a wizened fisher whose fur had gone all but white with age. Leaning heavily upon a knotted and twisted staff, he approached the center of the great room and shook his stave at the ferret. “Elandett, you fool, can you not see what stands before you?” He reprimanded the regent. “You are too quick to anger.”

The ferret snarled and pointed a finger at his vizier, shouting, “My sister—“

“Is dead, I know,” the fisher cut him off. “And you know that this is not the beast who did it, but he cannot be proven innocent. Why not use him?”

Nonplussed, Elandett cocked an eyebrow at his vizier. “To what end? I pay you to provide me with counsel, not be cryptic, Noroo.”

The wrinkles on his ancient face multiplied as the fisher smiled. “To find Yalena’s killer, of course, and to retrieve what was entrusted to her.”

Elandett parted his thin mustache with a gloved paw as he looked over the half-naked mongoose, eying N’duk warily. “Surely you jest. Look at him, ruffian to the core, even if he is innocent of this crime, he would leave and never return should we turn him loose.”

A wave of his staff brought Elandett’s attention back to the old fisher in his red robes. “Ruffian, barbarian, soldier or minstrel, it makes no difference. Unlike your father, you forget my powers. He is a hardy beast, apparently a wanderer, probably a good tracker,” he said, looking N’duk over. “Tell me, prisoner, what would you do with your freedom if it was granted to you?”

For the first time since his forced entrance into the majestic hall, N’duk smiled. “Knock in the skull of your captain of the guard, for starters, then probably head along my way,” he replied.

“See! He is nothing but a brute, no common decency,” Elandett threw his paw in the air in disgust. “What is the point of this farce?”

“The point,” Noroo scolded the regent. “Is that he is a beast with pride. Now he stands accused of murder, rape and thievery. To prove his innocence, we must turn him loose to find the true killer.”

“Turn him loose?” Balked Elandett. “You heard him yourself, he would leave to never return, honor means little to his kind.”

Heaving himself forward, still in the grasp of the badgers, N’duk roared, “What know you of honor? You, who would kill an innocent beast and let the murderer of your sister go free!”

The words stung Elandett deeply, and his dark brown eyes narrowed as he regarded his captive. “For even that tone I could have you beheaded, but my vizier sees something I do not. Carry on Noroo, but get to your point quickly, my patience with this mongrel wears thin.”

Leaning upon his staff, the fisher explained his plan. “We will set this beast free, arm him, clothe him and give him food, as well as a horse from your stables. Then, he will have ten days in which to find Yalena’s killer, and recover that which has been stolen.”

“What?” the ferret choked in disbelief. “In ten days he could be halfway to Cathay by horseback!”

“And on the eleventh day he would be dead,” the vizier dismissed his ruler’s objection, drawing from his sleeve a length of golden cord, and stepped up to N’duk. “Kneel,” he commanded.

Knowing that the old fisher was his best chance for escape, N’duk did as he was told, and the old beast wrapped the cord around his neck. It was not a cord as much as it was a flexible length of gold, fashioned as a serpent. Noroo closed the thing’s mouth over its tail, and through life of its own, it swallowed its tail until it was sung around the mongoose’s neck. Speaking a few words in a language long dead, the vizier then turned to explain his actions to his master.

“Each day, this necklace shall consume more and more of its own tail, constricting ever tighter around its wearer’s neck. And, after sundown of the tenth day, it will have pulled in so tight that he will suffocate, unless I speak the words of its release.”

Nodding in approval, the ferret began to agree with the plan. “So be it,” he concurred. “Guards, supply him with what he will need, and a horse we might spare. But be thrifty, he will only need them for a short while. Ruffian, if you should find my sister’s murderer, you will go free. If not, I believe you understand the consequences. Now, get him from my sight.”

Drug from the throne room, N’duk found himself dressed in old uniform, and armed with a short sword pitted with rust, and a small, dented shield. A bag of hearty travel rations and a waterskin hung from the saddle horn of a bay stallion which had been outfitted for him, and the palace guard saw him to the gate, where he was given a crude map of the city and surrounding areas.

Fat lot of good it would do him, he had been the prime suspect, and had no idea where to begin searching. Still, the band around his neck was a constant reminder of his limited timeframe, and he goaded his horse on, carrying him into the city streets in search of answers.

------

End Part I

[Lilaena De'Ville]

:D

Where's the "to be continued" part that comes next? I love the premise and the beginning. :)

[Mitch]

The Jewel of Yalena has given me a ltitle trouble, so in the meantime I have composed part one of a much more light-hearted N'duk story entitled, "Two Arphraxans." Please let me know what you think of it.

---

<center>Two Arphraxans

Part I</center>

N’duk tapped his cup, fiercely out of place among his surroundings. Scented oil burned in guilt sconces, illuminating the fantastic chamber the wandering hunter found himself in. Square-edged pillars along the walls separated elaborate frescoes, and the mosaiced floor lay all but hidden beneath mounds of plush, ornate rugs and expensive furniture. Were he there under any pretense but business, many of the smaller, gem-set items would have found their way onto his person, but at the moment he was a guest, and he filled his ruby-studded cup once more with the rich, dark wine his host had provided for him.

For an hour he waited, sitting clad in his kilt, alone in the great room, unaware that from behind a wicker screen in the wall he was being spied upon by two sets of eyes.
“And I say it is him!” hissed a voice to his hidden companion.

“But how could that be him?” contested the other in a whisper. “I was told he bordered on seven feet tall; clearly he is no more than six.”

“When have you ever seen a beast seven feet tall? Besides, he matches the rest of the description, and he answered your messenger called him by name,” the first pointed out.

“Well, that is true. Still, if he is a master thief, why hasn’t he rooted through that room yet? All he’s done is just sit there and fill his belly from your table?” argued the second.

“When you offer a beast a prize worth more than all the treasures in the temple of Hussur, of what value are a few trinkets? Now, come, Marax, we have waited long enough. It is time we introduced ourselves.”

Minutes later, a servant pulled back a long tapestry covering a hidden side door to reveal two males; a tall, somberly dressed mink, and next to him a short, robust muskrat still adjusting his belt around his middle as if he had just finished a run. N’duk turned to examine the pair, subtly noting the angle of the sun to see how much time had passed.

“Good wine,” the hunter greeted them with a compliment, raising his cup.

“Ah, thank you,” the mink replied. “Imported from the vineyards of southern Merequan.”

“I thought you said that was that cheap Gnollan stuff,” the muskrat hissed to his friend out the side of his mouth.

“It is,” the somber mink answered, “but he doesn’t have to know that.” Clasping his paws, he spoke again, addressing his guest, “Thank you for accepting our offer, N’duk the Hunter, my apologies for our tardy entrance; we were… detained by business mattes.”

The mongoose at the table waved his paw, dismissing his apology. “Not a problem, saved me from buying dinner. Now, which of you is who?”

Stepping forward, the tall mink spoke in a tone nearly as understated as his simple, unadorned clothing. “I am Droll, and this is my neighbor, Marax,” he indicated to the squat, portly muskrat to his right.

“I live next door,” Marax added in his gruff, yet friendly voice.

“So one would imagine if I told them you were my neighbor,” muttered the mink, irritated. Composing himself again quickly, Droll continued his address to N’duk, “I am sure you are aware of our more light-fingered talents-“

“Best thieves in the world,” Marax butted in.

Rolling his eyes, Droll carried on, “And for some time we have been without known equal. That is, until we heard that the vault of Theminokles had been emptied overnight. I must admit you have me quite jealous, N’duk. But, even still, I believe myself to be a better thief and burglar than yourself. My companion, however, thinks you to be better than I, but himself to be the best.”

“Stole his sheets off his bed while he was sleeping on it,” the muskrat boasted, a smile beaming on his face, thumbs looped into his gaily colored silken belt. “Stole his nightshirt right off him, too. He was tight steamed about that one, I’ll tell you!”

Droll cleared his throat, silencing his loudmouthed partner. “As I was saying, it has come to pass that we cannot agree on who is the most talented, so we have arranged a small contest to decide. That is where you come in, Mr. Hunter.”

“I have to decide?” the mongoose asked, raising one of his heavy brows. “You certainly have promised me quite a prize to simply be the judge in your little popularity contest.”

Marax grunted, glancing up at Droll before he filled N’duk in on their proposed plan. “You are not so much going to be a judge, Setovian, but a participant in a contest we have devised. In recent time, you are the only beast who has come to our attention that rivals our skills. So, naturally the only way to find out who is the best is to have some sort of a competition.”

Placing a paw on his friend’s shoulder, the mink stepped forward. “The three of us go after the same item. Whoever gets it first, wins,” he announced.

A thick finger circled the rim of N’duk’s cup as the mongoose mulled over the idea. Silence reigned in the lavish parlor before he finally answered, “And what should I gain should one of you happen to beat me to the prize? You both claim to be the best, after all, and I am only a modest hunter.”

“Surely too modest,” Droll insisted. “But cautious nonetheless. Very well, when you fail you will be paid you sword’s weight in silver and given another meal before you leave us.”

“My sword’s weight in gold, or no deal,” N’duk upped the terms, his tone giving little room for argument. “Now, what bauble have you picked out for your game?”
A broad smile warmed Marax’s features, and he puffed out his chest as he answered, “The Princess of Arphraxad.”

N’duk shot the muskrat a bewildered look. “The princess? I thought you said you were thieves, not kidnappers.”

Droll’s thin, dry chuckle disarmed N’duk’s confusion. “No, my dear boy,” he spoke. “The Princess of Arphraxad is not a girl, but a jewel; a ruby the size of a man’s fist.”

“It is housed in the temple of Molodan, and guarded by the warrior priests of that order, as well as by hired guards and an array of enchanted traps and barriers. It is said to house Molodan’s soul, and whoever should possess it would possess the god’s power himself,” Marax explained, glad to beat his friend to it.

“Interesting,” came N’duk’s reply, his fingertips drumming the tabletop. “I’m sure the pair of you have already staked out the temple grounds, and cased your plans, so it would be unfair if we were to begin our challenge tonight.”

“See, I told you he was a smart one,” Marax jibed Droll while nudging him in the ribs with an elbow.

Droll, annoyed at his neighbor’s comment, only cleared his throat again before responding. “Of course we did not intend on beginning tonight,” he said cordially. “In honor of your relative infamiliarity with our target, we will allow you two days preparation before our little wager begins.

N’duk cocked an eyebrow, then finished the remainder of the wine in his cup. The pair were up to something, and he knew it. But blast him if he would back down from a challenge.

“You mentioned a wager just now,” spoke the mongoose. “Before you called it a contest, meaning something with a prize, but nothing demanded of the losers.”

The somber mink drummed his fingertips together as he nodes slowly. “Naturally,” he said, “as with any contest bearing a prize so large for the victor, there must also be a penalty for the loser.”

“Whoever wins gets the gem,” Marax piped up. “But, whoever does the worst takes the fall.”

“So you see,” Droll retook control of the conversation, “We each take great faith in our abilities, for should the law convict us of even one burglary, they would punish us for all transgressions they also believed were our doing—even those they have no proof against us for.

“You, however, being an outsider and having nobeast in this city to lobby on your behalf, would be dealt a punishment equal to or greater than what would be sentenced against us.”

It was dangerous gamble indeed. The pair knew far more about the temple and its security than he could ever hope to learn in a mere two days, and thievery was their occupation where he merely sidelined in it when necessary. Blame it on the wine, their slick talking or his own stubborn pride, N’duk accepted their challenge. After all, he had made greater wagers on hands of cards.

The three sealed their bet over a toast, and N’duk bid them a good night before departing on his way to the temple of Molokan, a grandiose marble structure near the city’s center, barely overshadowed by the spires and domed roves of the emperor’s palace.

The city guard, garbed in leather and light plate, cast suspicious glanced at the foreign mongoose as he staggered down the cobbled streets. N’duk had apparently enjoyed too much of Droll’s wine, and he kicked himself mentally for ruining any chances of surveillance that night. He would simply draw too much attention to himself staggering about drunk there, so instead he paid homage to a different shrine. One that offered further drink, food, music, pretty faces and pleasant company.



“What did I tell you?” Marax bragged to his neighbor, cuffing him in the arm lightly. “As stupid as he is big.”

Droll peered back around the corner of the alleyway. They had discreetly followed N’duk to spy on him and gage his skills, but wound up learning nothing. “Careful what you say, Marax,” the mink replied. “You thought he was bigger than he ended up being, too.”

The muskrat scowled and snapped, “And just what’s that supposed to mean?”
Supressing a chuckle, Droll shook his head. “You’ll understand when you’re older, Marax.

Choking on an indignant cough, the portly muskrat stabbed a meaty paw into Droll’s chest. “I’m only a year younger than you are, you dolt!” he spat, then crossed his thick arms over his chest. “And that’s only because you were born a year before I was.”

Passing up a sharp, biting reply in favor of one that would help save their rather treacherous friendship, Droll sighed and patted Marax on the shoulder. “A crime I shall never forgive my mother for, I assure you. Now, come, we still have matters to attend to, if you remember. After all, this whole dramatic ordeal was your idea in the first place.”

Appeased, and the moment’s transgression quickly forgotten, Marax smiled once more, his broad face lighting up as he accompanied Droll back to their homes. “And see how well it’s all working out so far?” he asked gleefully. “You should really listen to me more often.”

Rolling his eyes as he went, the somber mink muttered, “As if I had any choice but to hear you.”

<center>End part I</center>

[Mitch]

<center>The Jewel of Yalena, Part II</center>

N’duk was barred inspection of Yalena’s living quarters, the city guard recognized him and threatened to throw him in prison once more should he try and interfere. The last thing he needed was to be in further trouble with the authorities, so after paying his respects to her body, which lay in a nearby temple on the altar, covered by a sheet of pale gossamer, he turned his horse about and headed to the seedier side of town. If there was news to be had about the murder of a noble, or expensive goods to be fenced, it would be there.

Nothing. Nothing but rumors and gossip, none of which seemed to have basis in any form other than personal grudges and wild speculation. There were a handful that pegged N’duk as the killer, but as he now appeared dressed in an old city guard uniform, the possibility that he was the murderer was all but ruled out. A few swore to having seen a female assassin in hood and veil fleeing from the house minutes before the body was discovered, but N’duk had little faith that a female could do a job so thorough that only a male would be detained for the crime. Besides, the only female assassin he knew of would be nowhere near Aman Sunatan that time of year. No, there was no information to be had in the city whatsoever, and the Setovian mongoose was left with little more than he knew of Yalena from their infrequent visits.

--

It had been in the pass of Haesan that they first met. He was en route to the jungles of the east when he came across a caravan under attack. N’duk’s motives were far from noble as he charged into the fray on horseback, bronze sword gleaming in the sun. The band of marauders had been small, though skilled enough to strike down most all of the remaining guards before he could arrive. Should he slay the handful remaining, N’duk stood to make a tidy profit from the spoils.

Blood and dust filled the air as he fought like a madbeast against the raiders first, in case he should slay them all before the last of the guards fell he might get a legitimate reward. His plan became moot, however, as a hyena dressed in desert robes sank his spearblade between the ribs of the final guard. The bandit’s victory was shortlived as he found himself toppling headless to the ground, N’duk’s sword bloodied further from the execution. What remained of the bandits turned on him, and the mongoose toppled to the sandy ground as he felt his horse crumple beneath him, brought down by two thrown spears. Flashes of golden bronze and crimson blood sparkled in the fray that ensued, but when the dust finally settled, only N’duk remained standing, though torn and bloodied as he was.

Heart beating in his temples, the Setovian’s breathing ragged over his dry throat, and he dropped his blade to snatch up a wineskin from which he drank greedily, dark wine splashing of his face as he quaffed his fill. The wineskin fell with a splatter as his head spun to the side. There, amidst a bundle of Cathayan silks lay a female, still alive.

“Come out, they are all dead,” N’duk called to her, having little fear of any female in those days.

The form moved, scared eyes peering about before she stood, brushing herself off, trying not to look at the horror about her. She was a ferret, and young, not much more than eighteen. Golden earrings, necklaces and bracelets marked her as a noble, though of what land N’duk could not concern. This had been her caravan, and these her guards. Were she not so beautiful, N’duk would have been quite cross at the prospect of losing what other riches might have been traveling with her.

“Have you a name, girl?” he asked, stooping to pick up his sword and wipe it clean on the back of a fallen guard.

“Yalena,” she spoke distantly, a paw reaching up to cover her mouth as she surveyed fallen friends and servants.

“They fought valiantly, you can ask no more of them,” said the mongoose flatly. “But these are not the only bandits in these parts. Gather what you need and we will be off, I will take you as far as the next town.”

The ferret lass looked at him, shocked. “But what of my servants, and my company? We cannot simply leave them like this!”

N’duk tugged at a strap of a saddle on a mare that had survived the massacre. “They’re dead, what do they care anymore how they are left. Either they speak with Garfife or lurk in the shadows with Garamond, whichever was their lot.” A cursory check of the saddlebags netted the mongoose a grin; they were loaded with silver coin. Heaving himself up into the saddle with ease, he led his mount to Yalena’s side and outstretched an arm. “Come, ride with me, or join the dead here. You are used to a soft life, and could never survive in the wild.”

She looked at his paw as if it were a serpent ready to strike, but knew the truth behind his blunt words. Her dainty paw took his, and she found herself hauled up with ease, her rescuer apparently stronger than they imagined.

It took the better part of a week to locate the next village, due much in part to a sandstorm that kept them pinned down in a small cave for three days. Having naught else to do, they talked, and learned much of each other. N’duk, a rough, uncivilized hunter, and Yalena, a pampered, educated lady found themselves become unlikely friends, though N’duk would attribute much of it to her stunning beauty which often kept him speechless as she recited poetry or sang to him. When the pair finally arrived in the next village, N’duk forced their parting to be brief, lest he admit he had feelings for her. Yalena rewarded him with the saddlebags of silver, and could only watch as he rode out of town.

Since then, they had met on occasion, whenever one happened to be in the are of the other, but their meetings had always been brief, and often stifled by the presence of servants or politicians, not to mention her long-standing engagement to another male.

--

The silver was long ago spent, and N’duk had nothing to show for it, not even a clue as to who murdered Yalena. Whoever it was, he would die a slow, and painful death, but not before N’duk forced that infernal vizier to remove the choker from his neck. Garfife, how he hated magic.

As day turned to night, N’duk grew frustrated with his lack of leads, and knew that if he could not return with the culprit within ten days, he would die for a crime he didn’t commit. Unless, of course, he could find somebeast else to take the necklace off! Of course, why hadn’t he thought of it before? There were bound to be others that knew of such enchantments and could reverse them, he would simply go to them. Tugging at the reigns of his steed, the Setovian pulled it about and headed toward the city’s main gate and rode north, for there was little to the south but wasteland for two weeks journey.

Low hills gave way to rocky canyons that spilled into grassland and sparse forest. As each day passed, N’duk felt his serpentine collar consume more of its tail, tightening around his thick neck. But for every village he encountered, there seemed to be nobeast who could help him. By the sixth day he began to worry, and on the eighth the mongoose’s heart sank for he knew his chances of returning to Aman Sunatan to beg for mercy and life were now impossible, even if his pride should permit it. He was locked in a vise, and it burned his soul to know that somewhere a murderer roamed free while he was condemned to death.

The act of breathing became a painful affair on the morning of the ninth day. Wearily his horse plodded along, a pace to match the hunter’s spirit. He should have stayed with her, if not back then in the village, at least in her palatial home. Had he remained but a few hours more he could have protected her. So lost was he in hindsight that N’duk had not bothered to look ahead and notice he was approaching a small village, the one where he had left Yalena those years ago. When he looked up he decided it was fitting that he should die there where he left her alone. She had asked him to take her all the way to her brother’s home in the great city, but he had refused, not willing to take orders from anyone. How foolish he had been back then.

At least he would make the best of it, with food, drink and company before that accursed band crushed his throat. Hitching his steed before the village’s tavern, the foreign mongoose pushed inside to take a seat at a nearby table. A serving girl brought him sour wine and crusty bread, the best the tavern had to offer. It was truly a poor town, and when N’duk spotted a glint of gold and ruby on the serving girl’s finger, his strong paw snatched her arm and yanked her close.

Wrenching the ring from her finger, he barked, “Where did you get this?” When she made no reply, he twisted her arm sharply, his pink eyes dangerously flecking red. “Tell me, girl!”

Choking on a sob, the girl cried, “She gave it to me! I swear it, I didn’t steal it, honest!”

Jerking her arm again, N’duk pressed, “She?”

The young maiden nodded vigorously as she strained to ease the pressure on her arm. “Yes, the ferret lady, two days ago. She came on a horse, wearing hood and veil, I know not who she was. She ordered food and drink, and paid with that ring. She said I should wear it always.”

The girl knew no more; N’duk could see it in her eyes. Gently he let go, and looked back at the ring. It sparkled with flawless quality, and he knew on whose finger it once belonged. Stuffing it into a pocket on his tunic, the mongoose rose and swigged down the last of his wine. “You will get it back, if you can tell me where this female went.”

Clutching her sore wrist to her breast and rubbing it gently, the girl replied, “To the West, through the canyons, I presume. I don’t know, after she gave me that ring, she left.”

“Thank you, girl, I will be back later to pay for my food and drink,” N’duk said curtly, offering no further explanation for his rash behavior before bolting through the doors and mounting his steed once more, spurring it off at a gallop in the direction the serving girl had indicated.

Few hours of daylight remained as he drove on, fighting for each strangled breath. He knew he would die before the stars shone fully above him, but should that hooded female be the same one who was seen running from Yalena’s home, he would at least serve justice before falling himself. What he had passed off as wild rumor had to have been the truth, for there was no other explaination of how Yalena’s ring had wound up on the finger of a barmaid.

Foam flecked the horse’s mouth as he pushed on into the mouth of the canyons, hooves beating over rough stone one moment only to churn soft, silent sand the next. N’duk’s knuckles burned white, his grip on the reigns so hard. Like tiger chasing gazelle, the hunter’s ferocity drove him on, his pink eyes scanning every fall of land for signs of hoof or footprints. But under the mongoose’s savage drive, the stallion could not keep up. It was an older steed, having his recent rears relegated to pulling carts of supplies and bearing watchmen on patrols purely for show. While the adventure made him feel like a young stallion again, his heart hammered in his chest, and finally gave out under the strain.

N’duk found himself flung from the saddle as the horse stumbled to a crash, and he rolled twice over the stony floor before coming to a stop. Garfife, how his ears rang, he must have struck his head. When he stopped seeing double, only a cursory glance at his mount was needed to tell him what had happened, and another look back at the horizon showed the sun slowly sinking toward the horizon. Paws tugged at the necklace that choked him, but as before, it would not budge. Swallowing hard, the mongoose picked himself up and looked to the canyon ahead. He would not give up without a fight, and with his horse fallen, he continued his pursuit on foot.

Powerful legs carried him over the canyon floor, following the occasional hoofprint that had been left here and there. Somebeast had come through recently, and he was willing to bet his last few hours it was that female the serving girl had spoken of.
The tracks led to a cave, and N’duk’s heart lurched when he saw just what cave it was. The same one he and Yalena had spent time in during the sandstorm. Drawing his short sword, the hunter approached stealthily, peering into the darkness. Nothing, moved, but he could smell the recently burned oil of a lamp, as well as sweat-stained cloth. Somebeast was inside, he knew it.

Muscles tensed as he crept slowly into the cave mouth, and he used the natural rock to hide his presence. There, deeper in the cave, shone a dim light, and a silhouette of a seated beast could be seen before it. In the background, a horse whinnied, and the seated form bolted upright, a slim blade visible in paw. There was no turning back, for if he did, N’duk would die without knowing the truth. Sucking down a harsh breath, the mongoose charged into the cave toward the figure, only to be blinded as the lamp’s screen was removed and it reflected light fully into his eyes.

Holding up a paw to shield himself from the bright light, N’duk could make out a hooded and veiled female coming at him, and he raised his sword to strike her down, but was frozen as she spoke his name.

“N’duk!” she cried out, holding her paws up in defense. “Wait! Do not strike!”

Squinting against the glare, the hunter lowered his sword, but did not put it away. “And why should I not,” he growled, “You were seen leaving the home of a murdered lady, and her ring I found on a girl in the next town. I will deliver vengance before I die this day.”

The female dropped her sword and reached up to tear the veil from her face and pull back her hood.

N’duk’s blade clattered to the floor as his mouth hung agape. “No,” he gasped, “You’re dead, I saw it with my own eyes. What manner of demon are you?”

Before him stood Yalena, and she stepped closer, laying her gentle paws on his chest before hugging him tightly. “I am no demon, N’duk, my love. Please, do not be angry with me.”

The hunter was baffled, but in a sense relieved that Yalena had apparently not perished after all. Strong paws wrapped around her back to hold her, but his breathing was cut short by another cinch of his cursed necklace. Letting go, he stepped back and wheezed, “But how? I saw your body, yet you live?”

Yalena put a paw to her mouth when she saw the thing around his neck. “By Thara,” she gasped, “How long do you have?”

“Half an hour,” N’duk guessed, “But at least I die knowing you still live. But how?”

The ferret maiden turned back to the canvas pack by her lamp and from it withdrew a small pouch. Turning back to N’duk, she opened it, letting a spherical, transparent purple gem the size of a large plum spill out into her paw. In its highly polished surface was reflected everything in the cave, everything except her. N’duk stared at it, but had no idea what it meant.

“Trust me, N’duk,” she said, pressing the jewel into his palm and closing her paw over it. “You will understand everything in a moment.”

Before he could question her, N’duk felt himself enveloped in a piercing lavendar light. It seemed to eminate from the jewel with such heat that he felt as if his paw engulfed in flame. Jaws clenched in agony, the mongoose held on, the gentle look in Yalena’s face enough to keep him from ripping his paw away. Then everything went black.

When he awoke, N’duk felt cold, and looked down to see he was naked. Immediately his eyes shot back to Yalena and—himself? The hunter blinked and rubbed his eyes, but when he looked again, there he was, lying next to Yalena, his head in her lap, also coming awake.

“Be still, both of you,” the ferret said in calming voice. “This is the work of the jewel, you will understand soon.”

The clothed N’duk wheezed for breath in her lap, clawing at the necklace. Her paw stroked his cheek, trying to calm him, but to little avail. As if there were still only one of him, she explained, “While I do not know where it came from, or what powers it, that stone has the ability to duplicate anything, or anyone, but only once. I could not save you from that collar, N’duk, so I made a copy of you. You will die, but at the same time you will live, just as I have done.”

“How do you mean,” the naked N’duk asked, paws making himself decent.

“I am sorry, so terribly sorry, my love, but I planned this. All of it,” confessed the ferret. “After you left, I duplicated myself, then killed my other form before making it look like a burglary and running off. I knew you would be blamed, and sent to find my killer, and eventually wind up here, with me.”

“And what of me?” N’duk asked, fighting for breath as he felt the collar bite down more. “Am I to die?”

Yalena bent over and kissed him softly on the lips, then replied, “Yes, but you will still live on. Your copy is not some new beast, but simply you again. You are both each other, despite how it appears now. I am sorry for your pain, but there was no other way.”

A strangled sob escaped N’duk’s lips as he felt his windpipe crushed, and he looked up longingly at Yalena’s soft, beautiful face before his pink eyes glassed over and his head lolled to the side.

“Is he,” asked the other N’duk, “Am I…?”

“Dead?” Yalena asked his question for him. “Yes, he is gone, and you are your only self again. Please, get dressed.”

Her back turned to him, N’duk crept over to his own body, studying it for a long time. Never before had he seen himself with such clarity; it was a sight that no man should ever be subjected to. But while it seemed grossly impossible to see himself dead, the thought of stealing his own clothes from himself brought a dark smile to his face. N’duk took enough to cover himself comfortably, but hadn’t the heart to let his body go to the grave naked. And, out of sick fascination, he tried to remove the necklace, but it was held fast to the cooling body’s neck.

When he was dressed once more, N’duk lifted the body and carried it to a deeper part of the cave where he lay himself down on a slab that would serve as his tomb. Strange, with the effects of the jewel he wondered if he was the first beast to ever bury himself, but he dwelled little on the subject, simply glad to still be alive in some sense.
“It is done,” he said, returning to Yalena, who had removed her desert robes and lay by the lamp in her more courtly attire. She cradled the jewel in her paws, finding its reflections mysterious as it saw right through her.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” she confessed. “But I knew of no other way we could be married.”

N’duk’s step faltered, and he cast a suspicious glance at her. “Married?”

The lady looked up to him, her dark eyes softly sparkling. “Yes, they believe us both dead now, and so I am free of my engagement and you won’t be suspect of anything. Finally, we are free to be with each other.”

The hunter’s face hardened, and he stood instead of seating himself near her. “No,” was all he replied.

“No?” asked Yalena, worry in her voice, worry that was quickly replaced by anger. “What do you mean, ‘no?’ I have given up everything to be with you, I died for you!”

N’duk’s stony visage was unforgiving as he spat, “You died no more than I have. But you had a choice in your own death, and then went as far as to plan mine.”
“But I love you!” she cried out.

“And you are engaged to another male—a duke! Tell yourself you have died, but you still live! You belong to another, Yalena, we cannot be together this way. I could have loved you once, but not after this.”

Her love shattered, hatred and anger took its place as Yalena stood and ran at N’duk, pounding her delicate fists against his thick chest, crying and calling him all manner of names. N’duk stood and took the beating, and helped her back to the floor when she had cried herself out. “I am sorry, Yalena,” he said softly to her. “But you knew your duty to your fiancé even back when we first met. I must go back to Aman Sunatan and tell your brother you yet live, and I will have an escort guard sent to come get you. But, please, do not kill yourself again. This world could not stand losing a beauty like yours more than once.”

With a soft kiss to her paw, N’duk stood and turned to leave the cave, Yalena sobbing in realization of the truth, and how foolish she had been. The night sky was full overhead, and for the first time in ten days, N’duk breathed easily as he walked beneath them.

<center> The End

<img src=http://www.nehantish.com/Yalena-clothing-1.jpg>
</center>

-----------------------

Well, as usual, let me know what you think. Part one is up there somewhere, so make sure you read it first.