So my parents are about to move out of our old house and into a newer one, right, and we've been cleaning out the attic. Now, I'm not very good with attics for three reasons: height, heat, and cobwebs. I don't care if there are no spiders in them, I don't want to touch freaking cobwebs, right? So we got all the crap out of the attic and onto the ground and I went picking through it to find stuff. I found a whole bunch of hilarious books by such prestigious authors as Mickey Rooney and a lot on the JFK assassination, my Beanie Babies (it was a 90's thing, you see), and a 1/64th scale model of the Challenger shuttle, which is ripe with painful irony.
But the best thing by far was this ginormous stuffed alligator, which my parents had since before I was born. So I took him down, clean him off, sewed him and stuffed him again, and set out to show everyone how delightfully glorious and huggable he was. My mom now thinks I'm properly insane, my dad thinks it's stupid, and my brother laughed at me. The only one who appreciates it is Fwirl, who I picked up from school last Friday to go to the beach with, and she spent most of the ride hugging him.
Why am I telling you this, you may ask? I don't really know. XD
LegendaryHero - Well, you're just picky, aren't you? D: I swear one day, Legend, I'm totally gonna do three updates in one day just to PROVE YOU WRONG! HAHAHAAHAHAHAAHAHA. Oh, did it pass 50K? :O And yeah, it's gonna go to 100K. So I can have three of them on that page. :D
A fallen tree - Heehee~ Thankies!
Crowstorm - Yeah, but that caused all the aaaaaangst! XD
Kitro Kat - Heehee~ One of those annoying cheerful people? :P
Bubblewhisper - Hooo~ Cool penname! And I'm glad you like this fic! :D
And onto the story!
"This one," a soft voice murmured. "You say that she is strong?"
"Very," another voice assured him, but this one was recognizable: Snit.
Twist stayed very still at the bottom of the pit, eyes closed and motionless, praying that she wouldn't be noticed as awake. For the past day and a half, she'd laid in this pit that stank of fear and sickness. By the taste of the air, this one hadn't been used for awhile, but the thought of other cats lying down here, pressed to their bellies, was nauseating. If she'd had anything in her belly, she would have vomited again.
"She's not particularly tied to the Sliders," Snit went on. "She would make a good Claw."
For some reason, Twist imagined the last word as a name. The way that Snit said it was too reverent-sounding, it had to be.
The other cat made a noncommittal noise. "I will make that judgment."
She could imagine Snit dipping his head. "Of course, Master."
Master. Twist felt a surge of fear course through her veins. This has to be the Rogue. By the stars, I'm hearing the Rogue's voice. He's this close.
"Tell me, how many of them do you intend to keep alive?" the Rogue asked, his voice calm and level and…familiar. Twist couldn't place where she'd heard it before, but the thought nagged at the edge of her mind as the conversation went on.
"What use are they to us dead?"
"You are letting your affections for those cats get in the way of the reason I myself impressed in you."
"I'm not," Snit said quickly. "And I don't have any affection for them."
"Bronze told me this one taunted you with a name. Audrey. She is nobody?"
"Nobody," Snit affirmed.
The other cat didn't make another word on the subject. "And these others… Will Lucky come for them?"
"I don't know," Snit admitted, and Twist could hear that there was a new kind of speculative quality to his voice. "Lucky's fond of the Sliders, true, but he hasn't shown any particular attachment to any of them. River—the red tom—is the one that led this patrol over here to try and kill you. The others came with him because they didn't agree with Lucky. There was a huge fight about it."
"So these are the traitors." The Rogue's voice had an edge of something close to pleasure in it. "Excellent."
"They might disagree with him, but they won't betray Lucky," Snit warned.
"They might not," the Rogue agreed easily. "But I thought the same of you."
"I have always been one of the Claws," Snit argued hotly. "I will never be a Slider. Your concerns are for nothing."
"Of course, of course," the Rogue said distractedly. "Just remember that you are a highly valued member of this group. Never forget that."
"I won't." Snit's voice was quiet.
They left after that, their voices fading from the area, but Twist thought she could hear the dry rasp of thorns through fur as they went through the entrance tunnel.
In all the time she'd been here, she'd only ever heard them speak. This place was unbearably silent, cold and still, the only sounds coming from the raspy breathing of the cat in the pit next to her and the wind bending the brambles.
The pit itself was deep, maybe three or four times her height when she stretched onto her hindpaws, and looked utterly free of pawholds. She could see deep claw marks in the hard dirt walls from where others before her had tried to get free. Resting a paw on one of them, she shivered as the smell of blood blossomed from beneath her touch; this place was a horrible deathtrap.
She stood staring at her paw for a moment longer before dropping it and stepping away. She circled back to the center of the pit and began her pacing again. Already, a track was wearing in the stony ground; it had already been there, but her worrying had aggravated it into a clear path.
Twist couldn't just lie around: she needed to move, to think.
Patience was the only option right now. Patience would help her win out over this one. She could do it: she just had to be calm about it all.
The grass at the top of her pit rustled, and she glanced up, fear rising in her chest. So much for being calm about it.
A head poked in, light pouring in around its ears; Twist winced at the harsh light.
"You're the she-cat? Lightfoot?" the voice demanded.
"N-no," she said. "I'm Twist."
The cat grunted in surprise, then retracted his head. The leaves were pushed back over the hole and Twist was left in shadow again.
What does he want with her? she wondered, returning to her pacing. Snit told them that Lightfoot wouldn't be of any use to them. They wouldn't kill her…would they?
Her belly yowled with hunger, nearly doubling her over. She hadn't eaten for nearly two days; her last meal had been a measly mouse she'd split with Declan the morning of the patrol's start.
Declan. She closed her eyes and imagined him, thick red-brown fur with those tan markings around his eyes. Even though it was stupid and selfish, Twist couldn't help wishing that he was here with her. Two days apart after being together for so long was painful, and her chest ached from it.
I wonder if he's looking for me, she thought, staring miserably down at the ground. I wonder if they've noticed we're gone. Will Lucky send out a search party for us?
That was the main question. Would Lucky decide the lives of six cats were worth the risk to his own?
Twist closed her eyes, forcing the thought from her mind, and continued pacing.
Time passed, agonizingly slow, before the leaves above parted again. Looking up, Twist watched as a long, thick vine snaked its way down into the pit.
"Climb up." It was not a request.
For a heartbeat, Twist thought about ignoring it, about curling her lips and hissing at the rogues—the Claws—but she held her tongue. Digging her claws into the vine, Twist began to wrestle her way up. Feeling her weight on the vine, whoever was outside pulled back and yanked her all the way up.
She scrabbled for the edge, digging her claws into the hard soil, and heaved herself onto land, panting.
The cat in front of her was another mud-covered cat. "Come with me," he said in a clipped voice. "Don't try to run."
Twist, chest still heaving for breath, demanded, "Where are you taking me?"
"For a walk. It would do us no good if you died." He led her not through the entrance, but a back tunnel that led up to a stone wall. There was a small opening at the bottom, looking more like the entrance to a rabbit's hole than a place for cats. The tom stopped by it, nodding to the two guards who stood sentry outside of it, and said, "Enter."
"In there?" Twist's eyes widened.
The tom growled in response, low and throaty, and Twist hurried to obey.
It wasn't dark inside like she had expected it to be, but filled with sunhigh light. It flooded over the floor, highlighting the dimples in the ground from clawmarks, and threw the tiny, bleached white bones of prey creatures into sharp relief.
"Twist!" It was River. He ran to her side, one of his cheeks crusted with dry blood. Pressing his nose into her shoulder, he mewed, "I was worried that they'd killed you! You kept your head down, I hope."
"I did." She returned River's gesture with a fondness that surprised even herself. "I've been in there for so long."
"Almost two days, yes." His yellow eyes were sympathetic. "They've been trying to starve us into talking. About the Sliders, Lucky, everything." Then his eyes hardened a bit. "We don't have to worry for that anymore. All our secrets are out."
"Snit," Twist spat, making his name a curse.
"Snit," River agreed in a hard voice. "I would have never expected him. Of all cats, Snit!"
Twist looked away, pelt ruffling. "What do we do now?"
"Eat. You look starved. Here, they gave me this rat this morning. It's bony and dry but it's good meat. Please, Twist, eat." He pushed the scrawny thing over to her, and Twist thought she'd never seen anything so delicious.
She bit into it, savoring the feeling of meat sliding into her empty belly. "Why are we here? What is this place? Where's everyone else?"
"I don't know. I was brought here earlier this morning. Flint was here—he's okay, don't get that look—but he told me things of his time in the pits." His eyes darkened. "Beck is dead."
Twist felt her heart stop. "Dead?" she echoed.
"The rogues killed him because he put up a fight. He was a strong cat—loud-mouthed and arrogant, but strong. He was brave." River's voice rumbled into a growl, and he looked away, gaze flinty. "They will pay for what they've done."
Twist had no soft affections for Beck, but they'd travelled together, fought together. And now he was gone… It was too much to take in. She shook her head. "What about the others? Gravel? Lightfoot?"
"I don't know. I haven't heard from Gravel."
"They called for Lightfoot earlier today," Twist told him. "They thought she was me."
River looked startled. "You don't think they'd try to recruit her, do you?"
"Recruit?" The word was surprising. "Like get her to switch sides? Lightfoot wouldn't do that! She hates the Claws."
"Claws!" River echoed, eyes wide. "Is that what they call themselves?"
Twist's fur bristled and she looked away uneasily. "That's what I heard Snit say. To the Rogue."
And now River showed sharp white teeth. "The Rogue," he repeated softly. "He will pay for this!"
Suddenly, Twist was tired. She was tired of all the talk of bloodshed and revenge when it was obvious that there was no way getting out of this. The thought hit her, strong and hard, that she wasn't going to see the Sliders again, never to see grass or the clear sky or the gleam of friendship and camaraderie cats' eyes ever again. Her eyes closed. Never to see Declan again either.
There was a scuffle of movement at the entrance to this bright place, and a muddy rogue poked his head in. "You, tom," he said, voice dead and emotionless. "Out. Your time is up."
River set his jaw and nodded. Turning to Twist, he said, "Goodbye. Keep up hope, young'un. This isn't over."
Twist watched him leave, startled. It was almost as if he'd read her thoughts.
She waited eagerly for the next cat to come in—maybe it would be Gravel or Flint—but no one came after. A rogue came to collect her shortly after, and led her back to her pit.
"Can you jump?" His voice was younger but had the same guarded affectations that the others had.
Twist nodded dully, looking down into the dark pit. While she'd been gone, some cat had come and cleaned it—removing the stink of death and decay—and had even laid some moss for bedding. She frowned. "Who—?"
"No questions." The tom moved closer, making her shy away from his close proximity, and she leapt down into the pit, hitting the ground softly. She looked back up and saw the cat move away, leaving one corner of the leaf-cover untucked, allowing a small beam of sunshine to slant down into the dark pit.
Twist looked up into it, unblinking, wondering what had changed in those few tense moments with River. The moss behind her smelled fresh and clean, as did the rest of the pit, which had somehow been swept clean of dirt and dust. Small pawprints dimpled the ground here, and she pressed her nose to them, trying to trace the scent. They smelled nearly odorless, with just a hint of crushed grass; the cat that had laid this moss had gotten it right out of the woods.
She sat back, confused by this sudden turn of events. What were the Claws trying to do with her? Soften her up with soft moss and free time with her friends just so they could wheedle some information out of her? Anger rose hot in her throat, and for a moment she considered shredding the nest all around this awful prison but she didn't. Whatever was going on, making herself uncomfortable for the sake of some kit-like satisfaction wouldn't help her in the slightest.
So she curled on her rogue-made nest and rested her chin on her paws, staring at the dull, dark side of the pit, wondering what was going to happen to her next.
Twist must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew, the sunlight had dimmed overhead and something had fallen into the pit. For a moment, she was disoriented, expecting the warm scent of her box-nest back in the Warren until she remembered where she was: deep in the heart of enemy territory.
The thing that had dropped into the pit wasn't alive, she could tell, and the smell of warm blood was delicious. She hooked a paw around it, pulling it closer, and was rather delighted to realize it was a bird, full of good, fat meat. She bit into it at once, closing her eyes in bliss.
Then her eyes snapped open. She spit out the bird, her tongue curling in disgust as she felt the bitter, numbing tang of herbs coat her mouth.
Prying the bird's chest apart, she saw what she hadn't noticed before: sharp, serrated leaves mottled with dark coloration. And with a jolt of surprise, she realized she recognized this herb: sleepweed. Her mother had always given it to her whenever she wasn't feeling well; it made the entire body tired and made her paws feel like lead, helping her sleep.
But why would the Claws give her sleepweed?
So they can force me to answer questions, was her first thought, but why would they need her when they had Snit, who seemed more than willing to spy on the Sliders.
Because they want to move me somewhere, was the next, but they had already allowed her to climb up out of the pit to meet with River, for whatever hidden reason there was for that.
Then she was struck by another: So they can bring me somewhere they don't want me to be able to find.
Could that be it? Could the Claws be wanting to knock her out to take her someplace else? Somewhere she couldn't leave?
Twist stared down at the bird, and at the dark leaves that lined its ribs. They couldn't be trusted, she knew that as an obvious fact, but maybe…
Maybe she could play along and find out some new information.
Unsheathing her claws, she dug out the leaves from the prey, hiding them beneath the edge of her moss. She spread them out around the nest, hoping that their minty scent would be dulled by the grassy smell of the nest-stuff. Then she took several large bites of the bird—she winced against the slight taste of sleepweed, but she knew it wasn't enough to dull her senses.
After she'd swallowed the bites, she pushed the bird away and curled in the nest, closing her eyes. In case anyone was watching her, just out of sight, she yawned widely, curling her tongue and letting her whiskers bristle.
Even though she hadn't meant to fall asleep again, she did. It felt like her eyes had only been closed for a heartbeat or two before the leaves overhead rustled again.
The urge to open her eyes was overwhelming but she didn't. Keeping her ears relaxed was even more difficult, even as she heard a cat land next to her. It padded up on soft paws, and touched its nose to her muzzle, in a gesture that was far too intimate for her liking, but she could do nothing about it.
"She's out," the cat said softly, and it was a young male voice. "I can smell it on her breath." The cat dug his paws under Twist's belly and heaved her out of the nest, setting her down gently.
"Grab her and let's get this moving. We don't want him to be kept waiting."
Could they be talking about the Rogue again? Twist didn't, and she didn't like the idea of it.
Strong jaws caught her by the scruff and lifted her like a kit, and then she was swinging upwards, pulled along by the cat as he climbed the vine.
The air was fresher as the cat dragged her up and over the edge of the pit, setting her down for a moment to allow the other cat—the one with the deeper voice—pick her up again. She could feel that this cat must be larger, because when he lifted his chin, her paws didn't even brush the ground.
"Let's go," the smaller cat said, his voice tense, and they set off.
Twist felt the snag of brambles through her fur but didn't say anything. She was afraid to even breathe too loudly, less she alert the cat carrying her.
As they walked, the smaller cat kept up a steady stream of chatter. "I mean, what does the Master want with these she-cats? This one is too young for kit-bearing and the other is too wild to make a mate for anything but a dog fox."
"Perhaps he desires female Claws," the cat carrying Twist rumbled through his mouthful of fur. "A she-cat trained in killing is more vicious than a tom any day."
The other grumbled in disagreement. "I could take a she-cat. I'd best one in a fight."
Laughing, the carrier said, "That's doubtful, my friend. I doubt you could take on a rabbit; they're about your size, aren't they?"
"Oh, yes, ha ha, Sparrow. Let's all have a good long laugh. There's a reason they call me the Shredder!"
"For reasons other than the fact that you're insistent on that name?"
The Shredder harrumphed again and said nothing more.
Twist fought the urge to roll her eyes. Clearly idiots thrived in every gang.
"I remember your real name," Sparrow continued. "Let me see… Wasn't it Daffodil?"
"No!" The Shredder's voice was filled with horror. "No, it wasn't!"
"It was," Sparrow argued, relish in his voice. "It was. I remember."
"That was my slave name!" the Shredder spat. "I'm free now! Free to serve the Master! Free to serve the Claws!"
"Yes," Sparrow murmured. "Free indeed."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I mean, if you're serving the Master, doesn't that mean you're a slave?"
"No! It means you're brave! He'll lead us into wars for honor and respect! It'll be glorious!"
"Mm." Sparrow fell silent as he stepped around something—a fallen log or a stone—his steps light and controlled, not like the Shredder's wild trampling.
The simple noncommittal hum gave Twist hope: maybe cats here weren't happy with the Rogue's dealings. Maybe they would side with Lucky and go with the Sliders. Her heart beat again.
They walked a little more, with the Shredder continuing his kit-like bounding. Twist kept hearing little puffs of sand raising as he pounced onto the ground, probably worrying at with his teeth, tail flicking. She could imagine it in her mind—the Shredder looked a lot like her little favorite, Streak—and let a little satisfied purr rumble in her throat before she stopped herself right there, blood freezing in her veins.
Are you a moron? The thought crashed through her mind endlessly, and she couldn't believe herself. Of all the stupid things to do, surely purring in the presence of the enemy topped the list! She could have just given her position away—
"Did you hear that, Sparrow?" The Shredder's playfully arrogant tone was gone. He seemed all tension now, like a tightly stretched vine, and he asked, "I thought I heard a sound."
Please, please, please, Twist prayed. Please let them ignore it.
Sparrow made a grunting sound. Twist knew that the large tom had heard her, she knew it without a shred of doubt. It was only a second left before he would tell the smaller cat and then she'd be dead.
She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the deathblow.
"I didn't hear anything," Sparrow said, his voice indignant. "You're losing it, Daffodil."
"It's the Shredder!" the other cat spat, immediately losing track of the argument.
"Why does it have to be the Shredder? Why can't it just be Shredder?"
"The the is not optional! It makes the whole deal! Adding a the to a name just makes everything cooler. Like, the Sparrow. Doesn't that sound cooler?"
"No," Sparrow huffed. "It sounds stupid."
Twist let the breath she'd been holding in out through her nose softly. Her heart hammering in her chest, she couldn't help but wonder why Sparrow hadn't told his friend. The two seemed close—at least, as far as gangmates go—but why wouldn't he tell him?
Maybe he didn't hear you, the little voice in the back of her mind suggested.
Maybe, she found herself agreeing. Maybe.
"Where did he want this one again?" Now the Shredder spoke again, sounding confused.
"Close to the place," Sparrow said evasively. In the pause after his words, Twist wondered what they'd said without speaking. "So he can meet with her."
"She couldn't be the one he was talking about!" the Shredder hissed. "She can't be! She's a Slider!"
"Shut up, you moron!" Sparrow growled.
"Why?" he challenged. "She's out, isn't she?"
"Just shut up. You don't want anyone hearing all the rubbish you spew." He dropped Twist onto the ground; under her fur, she could feel that it was sandy and loose, and close by, she could hear the trickling of water.
"Here?" The Shredder sounded surprised.
"I'll take her the rest of the way. You get back to base."
He huffed. "I think that the Master asked me to help you."
"You want to go in there?" Sparrow laughed. "You wouldn't last!"
The Shredder made a sharp sound of indignation. "Whatever. If you get in trouble—"
"I won't," Sparrow said, smugly. "I'm marked, remember?"
Making a noise of disbelief, the Shredder seemed to accept this. "You were lucky to be marked. It's only because of your mother."
"You're just jealous that you aren't marked."
"I am not!" The Shredder let out a low growl before already stomping away. "Goodbye, Sparrow," he hissed.
Sparrow chuckled. "Goodbye, Daffodil!"
Twist heard the other cat's yowl of resentment.
Sparrow laughed again, softly under his breath, and asked, "Isn't he a riot?" There was a moment's pause in which Twist lay on the ground, motionless, and then Sparrow said, "You know, just for future reference, when you're faking being asleep, try not to hold your breath."
Twist opened her eyes. "I knew you noticed." Then she blinked.
Sparrow was a large dark brown tom, though not smudged with mud like the others. His eyes glowed two different colors, like Snit's: one blue and one yellow.
"You shouldn't have tried to defy the Master," he said.
"He's not my master!" she spat, trying to get to her paws but sinking back down when she noticed the thick sludge she was lying in. She snapped her head around the place; it was a narrow alleyway made of rushes, their heads bobbing along the slight breeze, and it was sandy to touch, save for the grassy place she was laying. "Where are we?" she asked, confused.
Sparrow looked at her, head to one side. "Like I'd tell you that. Please."
"Then why are you speaking to me now?" she hissed.
Now he looked genuinely surprised. "Why?"
"Yeah. Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Stepping lightly around her and stopping just past her shoulder so she had to turn her head to watch him, he flicked his tail and looked at her. Then he said, looking at her sidelong, "You knew what that plant was."
Twist bared her teeth at him. "So what?" she asked, between licking her paws clean of the grassy mud that plastered her fur; the bitter taste made her tongue curl.
Sparrow didn't answer. His eyes narrowed slightly. "You have to come with me."
"To where?" Then it struck her. "I could run away right now and you couldn't catch me."
He laughed. "Try it. Really. I'd love to see you try. Cats have tried before." His eyes slanted sideways at her. "They didn't get far."
Twist gritted her teeth.
"Don't make me chase you," he said, sighing. "It would work better if you just came of your own accord. The Master's already going to be angry with me."
"My heart bleeds for you."
"Mm. Snit was right."
Snit. Twist's blood boiled at the sound of the name, but she didn't say anything.
Sparrow was circling her again. "You are smart," he admitted. "But not smart enough, I don't think."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked angrily.
His expression turned a little more delighted. "You didn't notice, huh? Guess you really are from the mountains."
Twist's heart jolted with shock. "H-how did…did you know…" Her tongue felt thick and fuzzy then, and her head swam. Sparrow's form wavered in and out of focus. She tried to get to her paws but Sparrow gently pushed her back down.
"This is our sleepweed," he said, his voice thick and distorted as if Twist had moss in her ears. "Goodnight, Twist."
I wrote half this chapter one day and just finished it up today, so sorry if it feels a little out-of-whack. Also, ABNA's in full-swing now, so expect me to be whining about it a lot. About all the waiting until the first round, then the second, not to mention authors reading the pieces, and OH GOD ABNA OH GOD. -flails-
-takes deep breath-
-smiles-
I'm good! :D
You know what to do!
R&R~
Shadow