The mage woke with a throbbing pain in the back of his skull. This was far from unusual. He often started the day with various aches and pains of dubious origin. He'd just about gotten used to it by now. But this one was different. He knew exactly how he'd come by it.
Wizardmon sat upright and found himself in an unoccupied compartment. Not a trace of Floramon and her henchmen. His staff was resting on the opposite bench, and when he inspected it Wizardmon found no evidence of tampering. He could put his mind at ease in that regard. But what about Gatomon?
One glance out the window informed him that the train had come to a full stop; it was eerily quiet. Exiting the compartment, Wizardmon wandered down the empty corridor to the next car and found it unoccupied. As was the next, and the one after that. Crestfallen, Wizardmon considered that he may have been left behind. Not that he could blame Gatomon for doing so. She'd fed him, protected him, settled his travel accommodations and generally kept him alive. And in return he'd been thoroughly useless. He'd been unable even to fend off a lone Rookie.
When he reached the final passenger car, Wizardmon picked up the sound of muted voices from the conductor's compartment. The doors, warped along the middle from Goblimon's meddling, hadn't closed properly, leaving a fair sized gap between them. Wizardmon peered through and glimpsed Gatomon in conversation with the young Gazimon who'd boarded them.
"If there's anything I can do to repay you..."
The Gazimon was grinning nervously, wringing his paws.
Gatomon offered the barest facsimile of a smile.
"I'm sure Lord Myotismon will think of something."
"I—yes of course! Whatever you want!" The discomfort was all too plain in Gazimon's forced enthusiasm: jaws trembling, a muscle spasmed beneath one eye.
"What are you going to do with them?"
Following Gatomon's line of sight, Wizardmon spied the unmoving forms of Floramon and her underlings huddled in the corner, bound and gagged.
"That's for the authorities to decide." Something in his diction gave Wizardmon the suspicion that "the authorities" was code for something far more sinister. And probably illegal.
"Lucky them.'' Gatomon didn't bother to feign interest as she turned for the door. ''I'll be in touch."
Wizardmon withdrew to avoid being seen, planting himself in one of the passenger seats to feign innocence when Gatomon entered. She spotted him at once, eyes narrowed.
"Let's get moving. We've wasted enough time already." Her tone was unusually bitter. Wizardmon could only assume it had something to do with him. Again.
"Right..."
He followed her off the train. Tailing them was the Conductor, waving and bidding them safe travels.
"My best regards to Lord Myotismon!"
Gazimon seemed to have had tacked this on as an afterthought just before ducking out of view.
Myotismon.
That name was starting to rub Wizardmon the wrong way.
The train had brought them well into forest territory. While not the sort of environment he preferred, it was most definitely an improvement. The air was mercifully cooler here, and the shade abundant.
"By the way," said Gatomon, swatting a low hanging branch from her path, "you weren't talking in your sleep."
Wizardmon had ducked just in time to avoid being smacked by the recoiling foliage.
"Huh?"
"Last night on the train, you weren't talking in your sleep. Just thought you ought to know."
"Oh..."
Wizardmon thought back on his dream. His nightmares had become so frequent over the years that he scarcely heeded them. There was the occasional standout, but most were a recurring sequence of garbled memories, some more or less disturbing than others. Last night's been relatively tame.
"Does that happen often?"
Gatomon was looking back at him over her shoulder.
Wizardmon hesitated. He preferred not to answer, but knew silence would only betray him, and Gatomon could not be fooled by lies.
"I'm not sure, to be honest, but it's happened before. At least, that's what I've been told."
Gatomon had slowed her pace to match strides with him. There was something uncharacteristically sympathetic in the way her eyes softened.
"You have nightmares." She was not asking. Eyes darting forward, she quietly added, "I have them, too."
The walls were thinning again. Wizardmon considered that it might be pity masquerading as genuine sympathy, then scolded himself. Whatever the intention, he had no right to question her. In the span of a few short days Gatomon had shown him more compassion than he'd known in a lifetime; however austere her methods.
"I don't mind them so much anymore." Wizardmon lifted his staff to part the overgrowth that blocked their way and gestured for Gatomon to proceed. "After you."
There was a faint smile as the feline nodded in acknowledgment of his gesture.
"Thanks, Wizardmon."
Gatomon ducked through the clearing, then waited for him to follow, resuming her place at his side.
"How's your head by the way? I thought Goblimon might have cracked your skull like an egg."
"Still sore, but I'll manage." Though she could not see it, Wizardmon was smiling behind his cowI. "I might not look it but I'm quite the durable fellow."
"So you say...Just be careful. You can't count on me to save you every time."
"I know…"
The grip on his staff tightened. Wizardmon could not fathom how he'd gotten to be such a hapless weakling. Granted, he'd never been much for battle. His talents were for the arts of illusions and healing, the latter a skill he'd neglected in recent years. It was not to say that he couldn't fight. He knew enough of combat magic to defend himself, but he was no warrior mage. That would have to change.
"I still haven't properly thanked you." He said, "For yesterday."
He'd yet to properly thank her for anything. It chafed at his conscience.
"If there's anything I can do, I'd be more than willing."
Gatomon considered the offer in silence. She had stopped walking; her pale brow was tightly drawn.
"Anything?"
There was a faint plead in her tone that worried him. Still Wizardmon answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
Gatomon seemed to purse her lips, eyes darting to the ground.
"I want you to go."
"Gatomon..."
"I mean it. I want you gone." Her tone lacked the proper malice to be called bitter.
"But why?"
He had expected to be sent away eventually, either when he'd proven sufficiently useless, or else in a fit of frustration. This took him completely off guard.
"Because I don't want you to go where I'm going. You don't belong there."
Of course not. He didn't belong anywhere.
"Gatomon, where are you going?"
"It's north of here, in the mountains; the foulest place in the Digital World. You'd be eaten alive. Believe me...I've seen it happen."
Gatomon locked eyes with him again , her gaze had hardened.
"Only the strongest Digimon belong there."
"Like Myotismon?"
Gatomon winced so minutely he barely recognized it for what it was.
"Yes. It's his stronghold."
"And you live there?"
"My whole life."
"That Digimon you keep mentioning, Myotismon, he raised you?"
"I raised myself." Gatomon was starting to bristle. One ear downward, her delicate shoulders hitched ever so slightly. "Myotismon isn't the nurturing type."
"Who is he, exactly?"
"My master. And he's one of the most powerful Digimon alive. He rules this territory, but he'll have the whole continent before long."
"He's the reason people are afraid of you, isn't he?"
"Myotismon made me who I am, but I've found plenty of enemies without his help." There was a growing snarl in her voice. "If people fear me, it's because they know what I'm capable of. And if not, they know what he's capable off."
The mage still knew little about Gatomon and her master, but those bits and pieces he'd gleaned were starting to come together. They shaped the base forms of a stark and unpleasant picture.
"I understand...you don't want me to get involved."
"I never did, but you insisted. It was fine for a while. I actually..." She struggled to admit what came next, "I liked having you around. But you need to leave now. You're too soft. You'd never survive in my world."
"You're probably right. But I wouldn't be alive at all if you hadn't saved me, and you've done so more than once now. I told you I would pay my debts, and I have no intention of going back on that. I might not be much good in combat, but I have other skills. I can be useful."
"As canon fodder? That's what you'd be. If our enemies don't kill you, then the other soldiers will, and Myotismon won't bat an eyelash. He might kill you himself if you step out of line." Gatomon was shouting now, "Or on a whim if he's bored!"
"I'll just have to take the risk."
"It's not a risk, it's a certainty!"
"I don't care."
"You're an idiot. Or crazy."
"I think it's a bit of both."
Gatomon looked torn between a chuckle and a sob. Taking a moment to compose herself, she touched a paw to her temple and heaved a sigh of defeat.
"Wizardmon…" Her voice was gentle now, "I can't stop you if you decide otherwise, but there's something you must understand. Once you've joined Myotismon's army, it's forever. The moment you set foot in that castle you'll become his property. Everything you do from then on will be at his fancy. If he wants you to jump, you jump. If he wants you to eat the dirt beneath your feet, you had better eat that dirt. And if he wants you to kill, you kill."
Gatomon allowed time for it to sink in. Her eyes, wide and baleful, were fixed on his.
"Do you understand?"
Wizardmon held her gaze for a few moments, then looked down at her paws, bawled into fists at her sides. He had no doubt that she was being sincere.
"Wizardmon. I need to know that you understand."
"I do." He answered. "But I haven't changed my mind."
"Think it over. We won't make it to the castle before nightfall either way. Until then, think very carefully about you want your future to look like. If you want to spend the rest of your life as a slave, then so be it. It's your choice. Make it a good one."
The conversation ended there. Gatomon turned her back to him and carried on, quickly out pacing him. From there onward, they traveled in silence until Wizardmon could stand it no longer. He managed to drum up scattered conversation about the wild tangle of their surroundings. Gatomon spoke matter of factly and with particular emphasis on those roots and herbs with toxic attributes. Many of which, she explained, had been unknown to the ecosystem before Myotismon's arrival. They had been sewn by his own hand; selections from his personal garden. They proliferated, supplanting much of the natural flora with thorns, oozing fungi, and other monstrous things. He'd deemed the land an unsuitable pace without them.
"Look here."
Gatomon pointed out a particular bloom; corpse blue with long, downward curling petals and a pitch black stem. Despite its fearsome thorns, Wizardmon thought it eerily beautiful.
"We call that one splendorvile. Never touch it. Don't even go near it. Just the prick of its thorn will kill you. Painfully."
"That's a shame." Said Wizardmon genuinely, admiring it from a safe distance.
"Enough gawking" Gatomon turned on her heel and hurried onward. "it's getting late and we need to find shelter before nightfall."
"What happens at nightfall?"
"Something you don't want to be around for."
They found shelter in one of the scarce-disturbed grottos at the foot of the mountain. Near invisible behind a curtain of weeds and vines, Wizardmon might have gone past it had Gatomon not pointed it out. It was a way station, one of her many secret dens scattered throughout the mountain.
"For emergencies." She said. "Or when I need time to myself."
Within was a deep space with moist, undulating walls, and a low hanging ceiling. The air was thick with the stench of earth and ancient moss. From the mouth of the cave and inward flowed a lazy current of water that terminated in a circular pool. Though easily more than an Ogremon's height deep toward the center, the water was clear as glass.
Gatomon strode to the edge of the pool and crouched down to drink.
"It's perfectly clean, if that's what you're wondering." Said Gatomon as she caught him staring.
"Hmm? Oh no, that's not—never mind."
"What?"
"It's nothing."
Wizardmon fidgeted, turning to feign interest in an etching on the wall. He canted his head to the side, trying to decide whether the image was meant to be of a flower or a star. It was too crude a depiction to tell. He traced a finger along one of its grooves and wondered if Gatomon had been its maker.
A splash echoed through the chamber, drawing Wizardmon's attention back to the pool. Gatomon was now washing her face. Her gloves had been put aside, revealing her delicate white paws. Wizardmon marveled at at just how small they were. Then he noticed the scars. Angry pink gashes marred the pristine white sheen of her coat.
The mage averted his eyes and resisted the temptation to stare. Curiosity nagged at the fringes of his mind, but he suppressed it. A Digimon's scars were her business alone.
"I think I'll gather some firewood. Before it gets too dark." He said, heading toward the mouth of the cave.
"Already done" said Gatomon, pulling on her gloves.
She moved deeper into the cave, tracing a claw lightly along the wall. She was searching for something. When it was found she uttered a soft ''aha'' and pressed both paws against the stone. The cave rattled with an echo of stone grinding on stone as a section of the wall opened. Wordlessly, Gatomon slipped into the aperture and out of view.
Wizardmon hurried after her and discovered the entrance to small hidden chamber. Within was a modest horde of crates and barrels; Gatomon was busy rifling through one of them.
''What is all this?'' Wizardmon asked.
Gatomon emerged from the crate, bringing along armfuls of chopped wood.
''Just some supplies. I've been stocking up over the years.''
''Some?"
Wizardmon had scanned the room and found just about everything a Digimon of the outdoors could need. Tools and first aid supplies, blankets and pillows (albeit threadbare), firewood of course, and most importantly food rations. Ignoring the complaints of his stomach, Wizardmon tore his eyes from a particularly tempting jar of pickled peaches. They were not his to touch.
"By the looks of it, you could last a whole winter in here.'' He said.
''I'd prefer it didn't come to that, but you never know. Life has a funny way of throwing unpleasant surprises at you.''
Wizardmon couldn't help but wonder if he numbered among those unpleasant surprises.
''That's very resourceful of you.''
''In my line of work, being resourceful is a must."
Gatomon added two jars of preserves to her load, then proceeded to the main chamber. Wizardmon offered his assistance, but was staunchly rejected.
"You can't count on anyone to look after you but yourself.'' Said the feline. Stopping a suitable distance from the edge of the pool, she knelt and arranged a base for their fire.
''It doesn't have to be that way anymore." Said Wizardmon, kneeling beside her. He gestured for her to stand back, then flicked his wrist and gave spark to the fire.
"You and I could look after eachother.''
''You really are naive." Gatomon tossed him one of the jars she'd brought out, keeping the other for herself. "Sorry to disappoint you, but if you do join Myotismon's army—and I sincerely hope you aren't idiot enough to do so—then you'll be on your own."
Now seated across from him, she glowered over the crackling flames.
"I'm an officer, I'll have duties to attend to. But you? You'll be stuck with the rest of the grunts. You'll have to live by their rules, and if they single you out as a weakling, they'll be on you like flies on a carcass. Is that what you want?''
Wizardmon bowed his head and watched the wood blacken and curl as it burned.
''I want to be of use to you.''
''Well you can't."
Gatomon broke the seal on her jar and began helping herself to its contents.
"You're a weakling." She said, then slurped down a mouthful of pink slush that looked and smelled suspiciously like fish guts. "You can't even stand up for yourself, let alone fend off an enemy. How on earth could you be of use to me?''
Wizardmon opened his own jar and nearly gagged at the pungent odor of salted fish. However starved he was, he had no intention of putting that foul business in his body.
''I know I'm not much use as a fighter, but I do know magic. I can heal, too. A soldier needs a medic, don't they?''
The feline grimace, looking genuinely confounded.
"You're really bent on this, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Sleep on it. Picture the rest of your life as a waking nightmare, and then sleep on it. Maybe a good rest will fix whatever's gone wrong with your brain."
Having inhaled her share of the meal, Gatomon now licked the dregs from her claws.
Wizardmon smiled at her behind his cowl.
"I wouldn't count on it."
By the look on her face, Gatomon must have wanted very much to smack him, but he was mercifully out of reach.
"Eat your food then. If you still plan on being a soldier when morning comes...well, let's just say you'll be needing the energy."
Wizardmon shuddered. He considered asking for something more palatable, but could not bring himself to trample her hospitality. He brought the jar to his lips and the stench alone brought him close to heaving. Just be done with it, he thought to himself. Steeling his nerves, Wizardmon tipped his head back and swallowed as much of the offal as he could manage before gagging. Which wasn't much.
Over the sound of his own retching, Wizardmon heard a snicker from Gatomon.
''Pace yourself.'' The cat chortled, ''You've got a long way to go and it only gets worse from here.''
''I'll—'' Wizardmon heaved again, then continued in a strained voice. ''I'll manage.''
Gatomon watched, shaking her head as the mage doggedly refused to surrender and went back for a second helping. More gags followed; Wizardmon lurched, suppressing a groan of sheer anguish, then took another mouthful.
