Poisonous Fox

A lot of things happened at once. Were it not for my enhanced hearing, I likely would have missed a lot of it. But between my genius and my hearing, I was able to infer a lot… of what was happening, for lack of a better term.

In short, it appeared one of the scouts had returned with dire news. The guards were responding as they found appropriate, and I learned much from my observations. For one, I continued studying Lieutenant Muleater, for her character appeared far more mercurial than I would have otherwise expected. In some instances, she appeared merry and lighthearted, but in others, she acted cross and threatening. I was certain I could identify a pattern, if I–

I cut my own musings short. There were more important things to focus on, currently. Such as my escape.

“Sweords on me!” Muleater shouted at the same time. “Strayls, find your vantages!”

Sir Kate headed towards Muleater with a determined step, but she was intercepted by Gregory.

“What’s going on?” Gregory asked, his voice shaky with fear.

“Don’t know,” Sir Kate said, already stepping around him. “But I’m about to find out. You remember what to do if we get attacked?” Kate almost sounded concerned, but mostly impatient. I had long since wondered why Gregory sought Kate out for friendship, and I had long since concluded that he was infatuated with the girl. It seemed that the feelings were largely unreturned.

“Not really?” Gregory said, chuckling nervously. “Nobody ever really went over what–”

“-Just stick with the other civies,” Kate cut him off. “It’ll be fine.” She never stopped moving during that entire conversation, and she left him behind without pausing.

He was left staring after her, with a confused expression. The caravan master walked by him and clapped him on his shoulder before drawing him towards where the meohrs had been led.

The meohrs, who I had also heard called ‘mules,’ were set in a circumference perimeter inside the outer ring made by the wagons. The rest of the non-combatants awaited within the inner perimeter formed by the meohrs–it appeared the meohrs were a last form of defense, or a distraction, should attackers breach the wagons.

Things grew too hectic for me to pick up on individual conversations, but two guards with crossbows were setting up on top of wagons, while the rest of the guards stood with Muleater, near the mules. It occurred to me that her last name might not have been a coincidence. Though none of the ‘mules’ looked particularly concerned around her.

Issen hissed, “Switch with me, Larissen.” He crawled over, coughing only once, as he went to the outside wall of the wagon, facing the wastes.

“That–that’s the direction they may come from!” Larissen protested. “Surely this one should take the most dangerous position…”

At the same time, Kissen protested as well, “Brother! Not with that poor health. Please be reasonable.”

Issen snarled, collapsing halfway atop of myself and Kissen, but mostly landing on the side of the cage facing the wastes. “This is because of my ill health!” he said.

“But the eldest deserves–” Larissen began to protest.

“-If this one is eldest then listen to him!” Issen hissed. The argument left Issen exhausted, coughing wetly, and producing a wet smear on his fur.

“All the more reason not to switch…” Kissen grumbled, though the protestations were dying down as the humans prepared themselves for combat.

Issen finished crawling over us, curling in upon himself, between Kissen and I, and the wastes.

“Probably for naught, anyways…” Larissen grumbled under his breath. “No mikuya travel these lands.”

“Perhaps,” Kissen said half heartedly, still watching Issen with much concern.

Minutes passed in terse silence, with minute fluctuations in the scent. It would oscillate in strength without correlating to the wind, which either meant the sources were moving, or that the emissions were variable. The scent itself changed as well, though the changes were always subtle. As I focused on them, I noticed that same headache reforming, along with a splitting headache.

However, my ‘Marks,’ or rather tattoos, failed to change, unlike previous times I had been oppressed by headaches.

“This one wonders when the humans will grow bored,” Larissen said, chuffing as he watched the humans stand guard with weapons ready. “This one wonders if their swords will rust first.”

He sounded impatient, but I assumed it was his way of easing his nerves.

Kissen growled and swiped his shoulder. Her attack lacked strength, but her claws still left faint trails of blood. It did not appear the start of aggression, but rather that of chiding.

“What?” Larissen asked, annoyed, rubbing at the scratches.

“Impatient for more slavery, or impatient for battle?” she asked him, inferring that it was he himself who was bored.

“Neither,” Larissen scoffed. “Impatient to watch the Furless suffer. Impatient for your Kitten to aid in our escape.”

I was surprised to hear him speak of my upcoming plans to escape, especially as I had yet to vocalize them. But then, perhaps some of my preparations had not gone unnoticed. We did share tight confines, I justified.

I was about to respond, when Muleater's voice rang out an alarm.

“East, South-East!” Muleater shouted. “Call ‘em as you see ‘em!”

The ‘sweords’ as Muleater called them headed in the opposite direction of the prison-cart, so our vision was limited. They passed between two wagons, and one of them shouted. There was a meaty thunk. There was a twang and a clank as a crossbow fired and was reloaded.

“How many?!” a man shouted, I thought it might have been Ken.

“Too many!” Muleater shouted. Followed by, “Aim for the flowers atop their heads!”

All three Kaiva siblings were engrossed with watching the battle. Having heard the advice, Larissen scoffed, “Fools.”

I glanced his way questioningly, but it was Kissen who answered. “The flowers are often decorative, not purposeful.”

“Fire or alchemics, not crossbows,” Larissen added. “Aim for the flowers–” he mocked “-dumb Qari.”

The mikuya, also known as the wyrkwik, and also known as the jungleborn (my headache had yet to improve), appeared as animated plant matter, or vine infested creatures. I was eager to see one up close, while I was in an appropriate state of mind.

I went to move forward and to the side, so that I could get a better view of the fight, or where the crossbowmen were at least, but Kissen pulled me back with an arm around my side.

“Do not take risks needlessly,” Kissen reprimanded me. I was thankful that she chose not to use her claws while scolding me. But perhaps, her abuse was reserved for her brother.

As she pulled me back, I did resist slightly. “Is it really a risk, though?” I asked. “Either the humans will win, or, or they will not. I don’t see how these open bars will offer much protection if they lose. They could almost reach through and grab us. Even with Larissen and Issen on the sides.”

Despite the poor attempts at chivalry from the brothers, I had no misconceptions about our safety here. Anyone could reach in with a sword or stick even and hit us. We were vulnerable so long as we stayed in the cage.

“Do these ones have an alternative?” Larissen asked. “Do not mock us for the decisions these ones can choose. There is little else left.”

He must have caught onto my disdain for his and Issen’s protective measures. But while he might have asked that question rhetorically, I did, in fact, have an alternative to propose.

“Escape,” I said. “That’s what we–these ones–should focus on. This cage offers no protection.”

“Not that this one disagrees,” Kissen said, “But who could these ones escape this cage?”

That was a good question, and one I had been wondering myself.

I no longer had my lockpicks since they were in my jacket. But the night before, I had managed to collect a piece of thin scrap metal that had fallen onto the road, perhaps an old nail that had vibrated loose from a wagon long ago. The metal itself had been rusted, but thin enough that I could work it with my claws by tracing over them again and again. It was a far cry from my own set, but it was usable in a pinch.

The question now, was one of timing.

A cry of pain sounded from combat happening on the far side of the wagons. I tried to match the voice to the guards I knew. It might have been Joel Warson, but it was hard to tell.

From the center of the wagons, one of the merchants whimpered, while others spoke in hushed tones. But not the Alchemist Charson.

“If these guards cannot defend us, then why did we hire them!” Charson demanded angrily, speaking to no one in particular. Those next to him made some distance, as though worried he would draw the ire of the enemy with his voice. And he might have, for as much as I knew. The mikuya were still largely creatures unknown. “Oh don’t give me that!” He scolded those nearby. “I could have dealt with the threat easily by now.”

“Then why don’t you?” one of the drivers asked.

“Why should I?” Charson asked testily. “Do you know how much alchemicals cost? Would you want to reimburse me for it?”

“Might be expensive,” the driver said, “but beats getting killed.”

Charson sniffed derisively at the driver. “If it’s you doing it? Then hardly.”

“Gentlemen!” The caravan master, Manny Stillson, came between them. “I am sure that Apprentice Alchemist Charson will do his utmost if required. Just as I’m sure that my employees will conduct themselves appropriately–”

The driver scoffed. Charson did not appear persuaded, and crossed his arms while scowling in the direction of the fight.

Another cry of pain came from the combat. The acrid scent on the air developed a sweet hint for several seconds, before returning to the aggressive bitter notes.

“There’s too many!” Ken’s voice shouted, from the other side of the wagons. I could not see what was happening, but I could infer.

“Fall back!” Muleater ordered. Less guards filtered back between the gaps in the wagons than had gone out in the first place. “Take the gaps. Watch below! Strayls, keep ‘em from flanking!”

Among the survivors, there was Sir Kate, Ken, and a few others. I failed to see Joel. I could not help but wonder if the mikuya had gotten him. Then another cry sounded, from a crossbowman on the crates near or side.

“They’re coming around!” a strayl shouted. There was a twang as his crossbow shot off. He must have missed; the bolt skidded off rocks and clattered along the ground. “Need some sweords here!”

A green head poked through a gap in the wagons near the crossbowman who had missed. A cat, the size of a jaguar, prowled into the clearing. It was covered in clovers and vines, and what flesh it had appeared gray and mottled, mixed with small fibrous roots seemingly holding it all together. Its eyes had been replaced with green orbs flickering like flames inside its head. White and pink flowers had sprouted from its neck and torso, almost a floral mane. The way it languorously entered the clearing, it was making its challenge to the guard clear.

Another twang. The opposite strayl let loose a bolt. It whizzed through the clearing, over the heads of the mules, and slammed through the beast’s shoulder. Sap oozed from where the bolt embedded, and the cat recoiled slightly, but otherwise failed to react.

While the strayl across from us was focused on the cat, a large green snout pushed up and over the far side of the wagon where he was perched. I opened my mouth, almost to shout a warning, but then I remembered that these were my captors, and my teeth clicked together. A paw reached over the crates and swiped the strayl.

He screamed and rolled. He tried shooting back at the bear, and maybe he hit it, maybe not, but either way, the bear kept on coming. A paw hooked its claws into the man’s midsection and hauled him off the crates, back towards the farside, near where the ‘sweords’ had abandoned the fight.

Sir Kate came running towards the moss-lion, almost seeming to flash through the air at supernatural speeds. I found it hard to follow her, just barely catching her afterimage as she pushed through the mules and engaged the beast.

Her sword lashed out just as the moss-lion pounced. She feinted into a side pass.

The moss-lion kept going. Gray sap flew out in a trail as she danced by. The moss-tiger landed and turned, its injured side hanging lower. It opened its maw, looking as if it was miming a roar, but no sound came out.

That acrid stench wafted off the beast, almost visible as a putrid cloud; strangely I felt myself longing to help the creature.

But Sir Kate found no pity for the creature, making every step flow into the next, like a flowing river, graceful yet inevitable.

While Sir Kate continued her butchery, the rest of the guards were failing to stem the mikuya tide. Creatures, some gnolls, some rodents, all composed of seemingly rotten flesh and vines, poured in through the gaps in the wagons, and for the rodents, under the wagons, and began harrying the mules. Strangely, they did not murder the mules. But they did hamstring them. The meohrs bellowed piteously, yet collapsing upon the ground passively and offering no resistance.

Then, the first of the mikuya reached the civies cowering at the center of the camp.

Loudest among these was Alchemist Charson.

“Incompetence!” he shouted. He was hidden behind the collapsing meohrs, so I had no way to see what he did. But I felt the results. A wave of dry heat pushed over me, and one of the wagons caught flame.

“Hey!” The same driver from previous shouted, voice laden with panic. He was facing towards Charson. While I was unsure what the driver’s motives were, they were apparently not to Charson’s liking.

Charson held a vial overhead, causing the driver to stumble back, trip, and land in the loving embrace of a mikuya.

The driver thrashed and screamed as the creature fell upon him. It avoiding killing the driver, but instead slashed ligaments to disable, before dragging the screaming pleading crying driver back beyond the encirclement.

Meanwhile, Charson threw the vial. It glinted through the air, caught the light and shone an opaque orange, before crashing down on the ground besides the driver and gnoll.

Orange gas expanded out from the broken vial in a hiss, soon becoming a cloud, surrounding the driver and creature alike. The driver’s screams intensified before ceasing. The cloud grew a bit further, reaching the edge of the wagon that I suspected held my jacket. The wind dispersed the cloud some, but not by much. The gas acted heavier than it appeared.

“Regroup with the civies!” Muleater shouted, bringing Ken with her as she drew closer to the middle, striking down every creature that came close. Sir Kate finished dismantling the moss-lion and headed towards the center as well. Moans of pain, cries, and sobs sounded throughout the clearing.

It was a complete rout.

The wind shifted, and the heavy cloud began rolling towards us and several mules. A few wisps of the orange gas wafted onto the closest meohr, causing its distressed and pained moans to increase in volume before coming to a ragged conclusion.

It was not just a complete rout, it was chaos, and that fog seemed the worst of all.

“I think it’s time to go,” I said, breaking myself and the Kaiva from the reverie. We had been idling, watching the conflict previously. But with the chaos, and with that fog spreading out, the time for observation had come to an end. I pulled away from Kissen and approached the front of the cage, towards the locked gate.

“The problem is the same as before!” Larissen said. “How?”

I pulled the crude lockpick and torque I had made by bending and carving the rusty nail.

Larisse scoffed at my makeshift lockpick. “This one has doubts,” he said.

Rather than pointing out his lack of constructive criticism, I tuned him out, getting to work on the lock.

Meanwhile, Kissen was watching the orange smoke crawl across the ground, almost forming fingers as it brushed against wood and the fallen. The mikuya avoided it, giving the fighters in the center a secure side they could put their backs against. I even heard Muleater demanding the Apprentice Alchemist to use more of whatever that gaseous Geneva violation was.

“The keys to our collars, though?” Kissen asked. The humans had failed to leash us prior to the encounter, but our collars remained in place, and mine in particular had sealed away my Talents and Blessings. So it made sense that she asked that. But… no, I did not have the key to the collars, unfortunately. I avoided answering verbally, still struggling to make the shoddy lockpick work.

The lock itself was not overly complicated, thank mother, but the angle was awkward as I had to reach around and pick it blind. The pins were heavy and loose, and the torque was a bit too thin and risked stripping the sides of the lock. If the torque came loose, then the pins would fall back out and I would have to start over.

Forty-three seconds. That was how long it took me to unlock it, at least once the Kaiva stopped distracting me. The time was not my personal best, but I felt there were justifiably extenuating circumstances.

The padlock clanked open, I twisted it off, and the gate swung open. I jumped down and motioned for the others to follow.

“Impressive,” Larissen said as he and his sister helped Issen to the exit and then to step off the platform.

“Keep it down,” I mouthed, hardly a whisper. I knew the cats could hear me.

Now that we were out in the open, any of the mikuya could come across us. We needed to get distance between us and this mess, and preferably without alerting any potential enemies along the way.

“But the key?” Larissen demanded. “It is required! These ones cannot leave with the collars!”

At least he had kept his voice down when he spoke. I doubted anyone would have heard him over the sobbing panic and pain happening within twenty yards of us.

“There is no time,” I said. The chaos had begun to get to me. “We can try to find it, but…” I waved off towards the melee, and towards the horrific alchemical fog. “...how?”

“It may be difficult, but what will be our chances with these, Kitten?” Kissen asked, flicking her collar, then my own. “The wilderness is not friendly, even less so to those crippled.”

“The key was probably with the guards,” I said, trying to reason with them. “Which means somewhere in there.” I pointed once more at the gas cloud. “We won’t be able to stick around to find it.”

Though, they did have a point. I would very much like my collar removed as well. It was just a matter of impossible logistics.

Issen coughed and exchanged a look with his siblings. An unspoken communication. One that I was not privy to.

“No,” Kissen hissed.

These cats were going to get us caught by the maybe hostile but certainly not harmless mikuya. And if not that, the humans. And if not that, the alchemical gas!

“This sickness–” Issen coughed again, wetter this time. The air quality might have been irritating his throat “-kills. Just as your daughter. All here know it.”

Except for me, I did not know it, nor exactly what his sickness was. But I did know one thing, if these Kaiva were going to stand around chatting, then there was something I needed to get. I crouched and snuck around the outside of the prison wagon, well outside of the fog as I started making my way around the perimeter.

Kissen caught up with me. “Kitten,” she said, a warning in her voice.

I paused, looking over my shoulder and holding her eye. She glanced back to where she had left her brothers then back at me. She finally sighed, “Be careful,” she finished, before heading back to where she left them.

“Will do,” I mouthed, more to myself than her.

I had cleared the prison wagon, when a moss-meohr came around from the opposite side, looking over the crates and almost sniffing. Or pantomiming sniffing. From what I had seen so far, I doubted these creatures required breathing.

To my left, between the prison wagon and the next wagon in the circle, there was a gap, and through that gap I could see naught through the cloud of orange fog. I did see plenty of evidence of its passage though, from the corroded wood and melted drippings on the ground. It was nasty stuff.

The wagon ahead was the one that was interesting to me, and the wagon ahead of that had the moss-bear. I ignored it for now, instead running along the wagon I was interested in, and then finding the chest with the guard’s markings.

The chest was lodged tightly between a crate and the front wall of the wagon. While I could not be certain what I wanted was in there, I had a strong suspicion it was. Unfortunately, I could not open it without freeing it. I grabbed a handle on my side and pulled as hard as I could.

It scraped along the wood for half an inch tops, before getting stopped by friction. I pulled again. This time I got it to move a quarter of an inch. On a third try, I failed to budge it. It was jammed in, stuck. I almost let my anger get the best of me, but I needed to think this through.

On one side, was an immobile wooden wall that extended a yard above the wagon floor. On the other side, three crates had been set side by side, with two more stacked on top of that. Since there was no way I could move the wagon wall, then I would need to move the crates. I jumped up the side of the wagon. From the height, I saw a blood smear on the crates where a strayl had been, emphasis on the past tense. From the vantage, I could also see over parts of the orange fog. All of the mules had fallen, along with most of the drivers. Several merchants huddled around Charson, offering him their life savings to save them. Even Charson looked grim, though I could only see half his face with his mask on.

Sir Kate and Muleater were fighting off another wave of mikuya, and judging by the corpses around them, this was not the first wave they had stopped. After Sir Kate finished slaying a moss-bear, she looked up and her eyes met mine. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened to yell something, before Muleater reprimanded her and redirected her attention back towards the mikuya continuing their assault.

I ducked back down, just in case one of them had a ranged weapon, and I started pushing the crates off. The top crates went over the side easily. The bottom ones were wedged tight. This was continuing to grow more and more frustrating! I looked around for anything I could use for leverage, when the moss-bear snuffled up to the wagon beside me. While standing on all fours, it was tall enough that its head was on level with the crates.

It looked at me. And I got a look at it. Maybe too good of a look.

The moss-meohr looked like it might have been a grizzly at some point, but not anymore. It had no fur. What skin was showing was gray with splotches of black and a waxy yellow. Tendrils and vines weaved in and out of its skin, forming a mesh of plant growth. Where it had several sores, miniature, almost microscopic tendrils, writhed around and grabbed each other, pinching the flesh shut. Its teeth looked metallic. Its gums green and yellow. It did not seem to breathe. Its eyes were missing, instead its eye sockets were filled with orbs of sickly flame. The only redeeming part of this creature was the large pink rose flower sprouting from its forehead.

It chuffed. I might not have needed to breathe, but it appeared that it still could choose to do so.

Without any other way to respond, I waved at it, tentatively.

It chuffed again. It pushed its gigantic snout into my waist, pushing me back against the crate so that I landed on my rear.

Not aggressive, but far too close for comfort. It refused to back off though. It put its front paws on the edge of the wagon and lifted its head up and over me. It looked down at me. Yellow acrid sweet green–my head hurt, ached, the migraine was coming back.

The moss-meohr was still looking down at me. I was out of options. Its teeth were the size of my thumb. My ears lay flat against my skull. It waited. For what, I did not know. But it looked heavy, strong, and perhaps non-aggressive, at least towards me, for whatever reason.

Going out on a limb, I reached up and patted the side of its head. It leaned into my hand, just a bit.

“Mind helping me out?” I asked. I felt something else going on, the scent of smell and the feeling of color shifted just slightly, and I could almost, just almost, understand something more, like an object hovering just beyond the edge of my awareness and taunting me from my peripherals.

It pulled back and continued staring.

I got those strange scent feelings again, though they were difficult to interpret. The creature seemed confused? I was uncertain.

How to convey something more complicated. I rolled back down, off the wagon, and grabbed the chest by the side, pulling at it again.

The moss-meohr made an unclear sound, clicking its jaws.

“A little help pulling this loose?” I asked.

It chuffed, then nudged me to the side with its snout, before reaching over with its claws and shoving them into the top of the chest, as though it were butter. The moss-meohr scraped it along the bottom of the wagon before shoving the crates less than an inch to the side to gain some clearance, before pulling the chest up off the wagon. As it was traveling over the side, it broke open, dropping several items, but most importantly my clothes and jacket.

“Thanks!” I said, before quickly getting dressed.

I could have grabbed them and run back to the cats, but then I would get stuck holding an awkward arm load while we navigated treacherous terrain. I decided that taking an extra minute to get changed would be a minimal additional risk. While I was getting dressed, the moss-meohr ambled off, back the way it came. As soon as it left, Kissen and Larrissen ran over. I noticed immediately that they were missing their collars, and missing Issen as well.

Kissen held the artificed key in her hand, she approached as I finished sliding my cargo pants on. I threw on my tattered tank top next.

“Issen?” I asked.

Kissen shook her head sadly. “My brother insisted on retrieving this key. His sacrifice will always be in my thoughts.”

Larissen bowed his head in respect for two seconds.

Kissen brought the key up to my own collar and clicked it open.

My collar dropped to the ground.

A revitalizing wave of strength and energy swept through me. My migraine decreased, my muscles felt fuller, my skin tighter. The air thicker, tastier. My fur, lusher. The world became clear, though I could not put my finger on any single sense. Everything improved. I… I had not realized how much I had been relying upon my marks. Even my hunger had dissipated some.

While I would have taken time to marvel, we were pressed for time. I holstered my knife on my thigh. I quickly donned my leather jacket.

Kissen observed my clothing with a curious expression before shaking her head. “The mikuya overwhelm the furless, and soon danger will give chase. Is Kitten ready to depart?”

I climbed back to my feet and nodded. We started heading directly away from the wagons, running. Me on two feet, and the Kaiva on all fours. I was able to keep up with them, but just barely, and even then I could not know for sure they were running as fast as they could. I realized though, that by running on all fours, they presented a smaller profile on the horizon, and against my own reservations, I joined them running on all fours, picking up the pace until I was passing them.

As I passed Kissen, she said, “Did my eyes deceive, or did Kitten make friends with a mikuya?”