The Last Rememberer

Part Two


by
Rich Wulf


“You do not believe what you see in my memory, Master of the Void?” Ik’krt asked, looking up at Shiba Ningen intently as he snapped out of the trance. “Why?”

Ningen chuckled. “I did not realize my thoughts were so obvious,” he answered. “You have a keen eye, Ik’krt.”

“Rememberers must see all so that Yesterday will be remembered clearly,” the Nezumi said. “Answer my question. Why do you not believe me?”

“I mean no offense, Ik’krt,” Ningen said, “but I am only just beginning to learn the ways of your people. You say that the shaman, Te’tik’kir, asked you to venture alone into the heart of an enemy city and you eagerly agreed? I find it surprising. I had thought that your people had a greater sense of self-preservation.”

“You thought we were all cowards, you mean” the Nezumi corrected.

Ningen looked at the Ratling evenly. “Yes,” he admitted. “It has often been documented that Ratling warriors will flee from battle rather than face an enemy in honorable combat. Nezumi shy away from challenges. Is this not so? If I am wrong, then do not hesitate to correct me. It is the only way for me to learn the truth.”

“You are wrong, human,” Ik’krt said tersely. “You see Nezumi as cowards because your own human concept of courage is flawed. A Nezumi must think not of himself, but of the tribe. If a Nezumi dies in battle, who will feed his pups? If a Nezumi answers a challenge out of foolish pride and perishes, who will defend the warrens? We learned the price of arrogance many centuries ago, Shiba Ningen. Now we fight only when we must – but I assure you, when there is no other choice, we are a deadly enemy.”

Ningen gave a wry smile. “I have deeply shamed myself, it seems,” he said. “It seems quite obvious when you describe it that way. Please, Ik’krt, accept my apology. I did not mean to offer insult. You have given me much to think about. Nezumi courage is not so different, it seems, from the sort we Phoenix embrace.”

“No need for apology; many humans are ignorant of our ways,” Ik’krt said. “Your willingness to learn forgives much.”

“Tell me more of Te’tik’kir, the one who set you on your quest,” Ningen said, smoothly changing the subject. “The other Nezumi always speak of him with reverence, but I know very little about him other than that he led the Crippled Bone Tribe.”

“Shaman chieftains are very rare, but not surprising among the Crippled Bone,” Ik’krt answered. “The Crippled Bone are the most stubborn of Nezumi. Even when the old cities fell to Fu Leng, they refused to flee. They make their home in the deepest reaches of the Shadowlands, and though the darkness cannot corrupt them it has changed them. They are savage warriors, remorseless and relentless. Te’tik’kir was the strongest of them. My memories may paint him as harsh, but necessity made him so. He was a good, brave Nezumi, and all that he did was for the good of the One Tribe.”

“I have heard stories of Te’tik’kir fighting the Shadowlands that date back to the time of our Clan War,” Ningen said. “That is a long time to live, even for a human. I understand that you Nezumi live much briefer lives than we do.”

“It is only right that you live so long,” Ik’krt said with a gleam in his eye. “Humans waste so much more time than we do.”

“True enough,” Ningen answered, “but is it true? My own comrade, Isawa Taeruko, drew upon the spirits of earth to maintain youthful vigor even into her old age. Does Nezumi magic offer similar benefits? Or perhaps there was more than one Te’tik’kir?”

“Only one of that name, and perhaps we should be thankful,” Ik’krt replied with a short laugh. “Our shamans draw magic from the power of Name, the fiber that weaves all reality together. When a shaman dies, all he once was passes into Dream. He becomes Transcendent, bound to serve and protect the power of Name as well as the future of the Nezumi for all time. If a shaman is not ready to serve, his fellow Transcendent will forbid him from passing beyond the veil of death. He will remain alive until he is ready.”

“By all accounts Te’tik’kir was one of the Nezumi’s mightiest shamans,” Ningen said. “Why would he not be ready? Did he have some great destiny to fulfill, or perhaps some terrible crime to atone for?”

“Perhaps both, Ningen,” Ik’krt said. “I do not know, and if I did, who am I to judge such a Nezumi?”

“Another story for me to find,” Ningen said with a smile, “but another time. What of these Stained Paw you were sent to spy upon? A corrupted tribe?”

“Nezumi cannot be corrupted by the Shadowlands as humans can,” Ik’krt said, “but they can be seduced. The Stained Paw Tribe served the Dark Lord, Daigotsu. They willingly allied with the Tomorrow Chieftain and his allies, the Tsuno.”

“So Te’tik’kir sent you to probe the weaknesses of your enemy?” Ningen asked.

“Yes and no,” Ik’krt said. “I was sent because Te’tik’kir believed our war with the Stained Paw was over.”

“Over” Ningen asked.

“The Stained Paw were a peaceful tribe many Yesterdays ago,” Ik’krt said. “A plague struck their warrens. All their Rememberers died. The chief of the Stained Paw allied with Daigotsu to destroy humans, wipe you all out so that the Nezumi could claim your lands. With none to Remember your deeds, a Nezumi’s life means nothing. The Stained Paw had no history… no future.”

“A bleak fate,” Ningen said. “Somehow I sympathize. Their logic appears flawed, however. Would not other tribes remember them?”

Ik’krt nodded. “The Stained Paw believed the other tribes would not help them, not remember them. This is not true. There were some who reached out to the Stained Paw, made peaceful contact.” Ik’krt grew silent for a long moment. “There was a battle, a mighty battle, unknown to humans. If the truth were known, I fear it would harm my people.”

“I am here to understand,” Ningen said. “If we keep secrets from one another, how can I? I will not use the knowledge you give me foolishly.”

Ik’krt studied the Master of the Void warily, then nodded. “During the days before your newest chieftain, the third Toturi, took his throne the Stained Paw shamans prepared a terrible curse,” Ik’krt said. “They fashioned a satchel of plagued skulls that would be hurled into the Bay of Drowned Honor. The skulls would spread sickness and disease throughout your city of Ryoko Owari, leaving your warrens empty of life.”

Ningen’s face paled. “Their shamans are so powerful?”

“A shaman’s power is only limited by his willingness to use that power,” Ik’krt replied. “Fortunately the shamans of the Tattered Ear Tribe discovered the Stained Paw ritual. Heroes of the Tattered Ear moved to stop it. They knew that if the Stained Paw succeeded that only pain and misery would follow for all Nezumi, so they attacked the Stained Paw saboteurs ferociously… but they were too late.”

“Too late?” Ningen asked. “What do you mean? Ryoko Owari suffered no plague.”

“A mighty shaman of the Stained Paw escaped the Tattered Ear warriors,” Ik’krt said. “He moved into the heart of the Tattered Ear warren, shrouded by magic. When the Tattered Ear Nezumi found him, he had already altered the enchantment that suffused the skulls. With a single word, he could have slain the Tattered Ear.” Ik’krt’s long whiskers twitched. “Yet he did not. When he looked upon the frightened pups and elders, shame filled the shaman’s gaze. He drew the plagued magic of the skulls into himself, and perished there in the Tattered Ear Warrens.”

Silence filled the small cave as Ningen absorbed the tale.

“On that day, the Stained Paw remembered what it meant to be Nezumi,” Ik’krt said. “After that, they retreated deep into the Shadowlands. They continued to serve the Dark Lord as scouts, but seemed to have abandoned their mad quest to exterminate humans. Yet when Ikm’atch-tek appeared, the Stained Paw rallied to serve him. They began to attack the other tribes at his command. We did not know why.”

“And that is why Te’tik’kir sent you among them,” Ningen said. “To find the reason why the Stained Paw began to attack their own people.”

“You begin to understand,” Ik’krt answered.

“Show me the rest, Ik’krt,” Ningen asked softly.

“Very well, Master of the Void,” the Nezumi replied, closing his eyes as Ningen’s magic washed over him again.




Ik’krt had been watching the city for several days now. The Grasping Paw had taught him caution. A good scout was a prepared scout, and without knowing what he would face ahead his best option was to wait.

When Te’tik’kir told him that the Tomorrow Chieftain had restored one of the ancient Nezumi cities from the depths of Dream, he had expected to find broken, dusty ruins. What he saw instead surprised him. The city was large and vast, a bastion of order in the chaotic Shadowlands. Towers of strange red steel clawed at the sky. Silver walls protected the buildings within. Patrols of Stained Paw Nezumi and Tsuno Ravagers circled the outskirts at all times, keeping guard against the wild beasts of the Shadowlands as well as any prying Nezumi eyes. Several times Ik’krt had almost been discovered, but thus far he had always proven quicker than his seekers.

The task of scouting the city was made more difficult by the eerie silence. Ik’krt had snuck through many human cities before. They were noisy, jumbled places. The random mistake while sneaking about was always easily discounted in the casual mayhem. This place was different. The Stained Paw Nezumi did not laugh or sing or gather to celebrate life with one another. They went about their patrols then returned silently to their meals and sleep. The Tsuno did not return to the city at all, but always disappeared without a trace when their patrols were complete. He needed to find some gap, some flaw in their regimented patrols that would allow him entrance. That opportunity came, surprisingly, from the Shadowlands itself.

Just as Ik’krt awakened from a brief nap, he heard a terrified outcry erupt from the east. He sat upright in the branches of the twisted tree where he had hidden himself, eyes scouring the darkness for some sign of what had occurred.

He saw a mammoth shape lurching toward the city walls, all meat and teeth and tentacles protruding from flabby, glistening blue flesh. It was an oni, and not one of the cunning, devious sort that often allied with the Dark Lord or conspired against him. This was a mindless beast that hurled itself into the Stained Paw patrols with an animal hunger. Ik’krt quickly realized that the more warriors would soon be dispatched to deal with the attacker, and that left him the opening he had been seeking. He scurried forth, stealing through the shadows and climbing over the city wall. There were few handholds in its smooth surface. Ik’krt suspected that it was sheer fear that one of the Stained Paw would look up and discover him carried him halfway to the top.

As the scout took his first look at the city’s depths, he was reminded of the ancient cities of the Naga. A city of sleepers, waiting for their destiny. What had happened to the Stained Paw? How had they become such lifeless, hopeless creatures? Had Ikm’atch-tek and the Tsuno used magic to rob them of their will?

Or was this merely what became of Nezumi who knew they would be forgotten?

A noise behind him quickly drew his attention. He spun swiftly, ducking under a swift blade as it parted the air above him. An auburn Nezumi in blood red armor lunged toward Ik’krt, hissing as her blade slashed at him a second time. Ik’krt drew a pair of bone knives from his belt and caught her sword between them. She snarled and twisted her superior weapon, shattering both his knives. The instant she did, Ik’krt fell flat, wrapped his tail about her leading ankle, and rolled. She fell backward with a crash and Ik’krt lunged, snatching his blade from her hand and holding it to her throat.

Ik’krt hesitated, staring into her dead black eyes. There was no fear, no anger, no hope. The voices of the Shadow Runners wailed in the depths of his memory. This was the fate of those whose tale remained untold. The Stained Paw were his enemies but Ik’krt could not help a deep sense of sympathy.

“Finish me, runner,” she hissed. “Tomorrow will find you even if I die.”

Ik’krt said nothing. He clubbed the warrior across the muzzle with the hilt of her own blade, knocking her unconscious. He dragged her to the shadows, using the straps of her own armor to tie and gag her. He knew he should kill her. There was no reason not to kill her. It was safer than leaving her behind where she might escape and summon help, but he could not bring himself to do it.

He would just have to hurry and find something Te’tik’kir could use before she awakened and escaped. He hurried through the darkness, stealing through the city toward the tower that stood at its heart.

A thunderous crash from Ik’krt’s right drew his attention. A creature the size of a horse was hurling itself against the wall of a nearby home. It was a flabby blue sack of flesh, a smaller version of the oni attacking the outer walls. It was surely the larger creature’s spawn, sent into the city to feed while its parent distracted the guards. Ik’krt stepped further into the darkness and hoped the beast had not yet seen him. The creature paid him no attention, tearing at the building ferociously. Terrified wails rose from within.

The creature had torn away one wall of the building, revealing the occupants within. A half dozen Nezumi pups sat huddled on a palette on the floor, shrieking in numb terror. Ik’krt heard the fearful reply of what must their parents, shouting across the streets as they rushed to defend their children. Their fear was the first emotion of any sort he had heard or seen from the Stained Paw, but their outcry was futile. They would not arrive in time.

Ik’krt knew that what he was about to do was extraordinarily foolish.

The scout lunged at the creature, slashing at its pallid flesh with his stolen blade. The spawn yelped in surprise and reared to defend itself, forgetting the helpless prey that lay before it. A heavy tentacle struck Ik’krt across the chest, hurling him across the street. The beast thundered down at him even as he rolled to his feet and darted forward, burying the sword in the depths of the creature’s gelatinous body. Ik’krt felt its many arms wrap around him and tighten. Ik’krt cursed himself. He had come all this way only to fail, only to die defending his enemy.

At least the voices in his memory were silent.

Then the creature shuddered and fell limp, its body deflating with an obscene sigh as it died. Ik’krt wrenched himself free of its grasp and stood, looking for the quickest way into the darkness. Instead, he saw a dozen Stained Paw warriors and three Tsuno standing in a circle around him, their steel blades at the ready. The enemy Nezumi advanced toward him, forming a tight circle while one hurried aside to calm the terrified pups. Fighting would do no good now. Ik’krt laid down his sword, holding out his paws in surrender. Ik’krt could see fear in their eyes now, but when they realized their pups were safe that fear changed to something else.

Respect?

“Mohan, kill the intruder,” one of the Tsuno said to the creature standing to its right.

But as Tsuno Mohan stepped forward, the Stained Paw warriors turned, standing in a ring around Ik’krt. Ik’krt saw fear again, but this time the Tsuno’s eyes.

“Wait, Mohan,” the first Tsuno said nervously. “Perhaps this one might have information of interest. Bring him to Nintai and the Tomorrow Chieftain. They will decide his fate.”

The Stained Paw stepped aside. Ik’krt winced as the Tsuno loomed over him, its foul breath washing over his face.

“Come, little spy,” Mohan said. “Let us meet your chief.”


 
            The following days were a blur of agony and confusion. The Tsuno brought him to the tower where he faced their leader - a remorseless Soultwister by the name of Nintai. With a single word, Nintai robbed Ik’krt of his strength, leaving him a shuddering shell, wracked with pain. For days the Tsuno worked his magic upon Ik’krt, searing his body and his soul, leaving him unable to even scream.

            At one point in the process Ik’krt gathered the strength to whisper. He looked up into the Tsuno’s eyes and said “Why?”

            The Tsuno cackled, surprised by even that small rebellion. “Because such is our right,” it replied. “You failed us. We would make you strong again.”

Ik’krt stared blankly at the monstrous horned creature, not comprehending its meaning.

“And that saddens me most of all, Ik’krt,” the Tsuno said. “Even the Rememberers have forgotten their creators.”

“No,” Ik’krt moaned quietly. “The Naga created the Nezumi. We were animals when they found us… and while they slept, we learned…”

“That is not true, Ik’krt,” the Tsuno said. “The Naga were usurpers. We created this world, and they stole it from us. We were too weak to oppose them, so we created pawns… simple creatures, eager servants… we called them Nezumi.”

Ik’krt said nothing, only stared at the Tsuno in silent defiance.

“You do not believe me, but surely you must wonder,” Nintai said. “Is it not curious that of all the intelligent races who walk the mortal realm, only the Nezumi have no gods? Only the Ratlings cannot recall their true creators? We planted the seeds of conquest within you, Ik’krt. Cunning, ambition, and righteous vengeance. Your ancestors subtly plotted the downfall of the Naga, leading them into the accursed slumber that even today they cannot escape. You then built a new empire for the glory of your creators. Sadly that empire was destroyed before we could return to collect the fruits of your labor.”

“Lies,” Ik’krt whispered hoarsely. “Fu Leng destroyed the Nezumi empire. If we are your creations, then why would you ally with his Dark Lord?”

“Why should we show you any loyalty, Ik’krt?” Nintai asked. “You failed us. Fu Leng is stronger, and he means us no harm. We shall stand beside him so long as it profits us.” The Tsuno’s mouth curled into a wicked smile. “You do not believe me, and I would not believe me in your place. Yet you cannot deny the evidence. You, like your creators, defy the control of the Shadowlands. You, like your creators, know the power of dream and wield magic forged of pure will against your foes. You, like your creators, recognize that true courage is born only from the preservation of your own kind. The Nezumi are the sons and daughters of the Tsuno, Rememberer.”

“Why tell me all of this?” Ik’krt asked.

“Because I cannot kill you,” Nintai said. “Not yet. Though you are a spy, the Stained Paw would look poorly upon the death of a Nezumi who saved their pups from a demon. This is the next best way to defeat you. I have planted this truth in your mind, and you will carry it to the One Tribe. You do not believe me – but Te’tik’kir will. He will recognize the Nezumi for what they truly are, and realize that you cannot fight us. The Nezumi believe they race against Tomorrow, because they believe Tomorrow is death. The truth is far simpler, Ik’krt. Tomorrow is not death.”

Searing pain lanced through Ik’krt’s head. His vision blurred, and when it cleared again he found himself kneeling in the dust, huddled outside the walls of the ancient city.

“We are Tomorrow, Rememberer,” the Tsuno laughed in Ik’krt’s mind.