When Saleem ak-Menad was very young, his father had told him, with his customary spitting upon the ground that always reminded Saleem of an Ugthanki, that there were only two types of people in the world he could not trust; gods, and women.

"Both'll try to control you," he had said, "your lives, your destiny… and there ain't a damn thing you can do about it."

Of course, the latter part of that advice had probably come from his father's less-than-civil divorce from Saleem's mother and had been studiously disregarded ever since he had taken to the silk industry and found his most prominent customers to be women. Business was business, Saleem had always said, and people were people, and he was not inclined to think anything of anyone so long as they paid.

Gods, on the other hand…

Well. Gods were gods, and they never paid.

It was this philosophy he held in mind when Ullek fell and refugees flooded Sophanem. The survivors took to building quite quickly, making them an important fixture of Sophanem. Menaphite nativists refused to do business with the survivors, however (sorcerers, they called them, evidently referring to the clay Golems Ullek had used in its defense), leaving Saleem with a new crowd of customers used to luxury and the finer things in life and little to no competition.

Caught up in his newfound prosperity and considering moving to a house by the southern ocean, Saleem could not be blamed for thinking nothing in particular of one customer in particular, a conspicuously pregnant Menaphite woman who turned up at his shop one day.

"Do you have any red silk?" she rasped quietly. Saleem gave her his most generous smile.

"Of course, my lady," he said. "How much would you like?"

"Three square feet," she replied. "I only need it for a small project. You see, I am meeting a… friend later, and I want to look my best."

"Certainly," the merchant replied, cutting the cloth carefully. "Where is your friend?" he asked casually.

"Beyond the city wall, to the north," the woman replied, and then winced as though it was physically painful to surrender the location.

Saleem frowned, ceasing for a moment in his work. "The north?" he asked. "It is none of my business, but… there is a war going on."

"Yes," the woman acknowledged.

"Nobody is safe outside of these walls," Saleem said. "As far as I know, we are the last bastion of civilization in the world." He shivered upon saying these words; he knew it may well be true, but the thought still made him uneasy.

The woman merely smiled. "I appreciate your concern," she said. Saleem stared at her for a while longer before he remembered himself and returned to cutting the silk.

"As long as you're certain," he said nonchalantly, handing her the finished square.

"I am very sure," was her reply. After examining the cloth, she reached into her pocket and dropped several gold coins onto the table. Saleem leaned over the counter to examine them. The coins gleamed in the sunlight as though they were freshly minted.

"Have a nice…" Saleem began, before hearing the shop door close abruptly. Through the window, he could see the woman walking quickly down the street before she vanished from sight behind the wall.

"…day," he finished absurdly to the empty room. Shrugging, he gathered the coin. The woman had paid exactly, and as usual, he put his customer and her strange plans to go north out of his mind.

Gods and women, his father's shade reminded him, and for a strange moment Saleem felt as though he had not only been dealing with the latter.

…

Around Enakhra the air itself felt parched. She tried her best to ignore it and keep her eyes shut and her mind clear. She had taken to meditating in the past century, and so far it had kept her already fraying sanity from getting any worse. In the corner of the room, Akthanakos stood, watching her.

She had to stop calling him Akthanakos. It was just weird.

"I bet you miss this," she said out loud. "I bet you miss being able to just… do things. Meditate, or not meditate." She didn't know why she was talking to him, or even really what she was saying, but it was good to talk every now and then. If she didn't use her voice, or her mind, she would have wasted away a long time ago.

The bone guard did not react, simply blinked its beady eyes.

"Stop looking at me," she said. Akthanakos complied, turning silently around to face the wall.

For a few moments, she stared at his back. That was even weirder.

"Fine," she said. "Look at me." The bone guard swiveled around once again.

Enakhra closed her eyes again, and tried to clear her mind. She tried to calm herself by thinking of Zamorak, but stopped when thoughts of him had the exact opposite effect.

"Talk to me," she said. "Anything. I'd take even your stupid voice over… this."

The bone guard was silent. Enakhra felt her hands clench into fists.

"Talk to me!" she screamed, getting up onto unsteady legs. Darkness crept at the corner of her eyes before retreating. "I am your master, and you will talk to me!"

Akthanakos' small, expressionless eyes could not convey hatred, but she knew it was there, burning inside of him. For an instant she wished that she could free him, just so they could get into a proper fight. He had always been stronger than her, though, and would probably kill her, especially after she'd missed so many Rituals.

No, I'm supposed to think of reasons why I shouldn't free him.

Whatever would have happened, the deep, ancient noise of the temple doors opening stopped it. She froze as she heard it echoing through the narrow chambers. It was most definitely a Mahjarrat; she could not possibly mistake the power she felt coming from the visitor. Possibilities rushed through her mind in quick succession.

Zemouregal? A Zarosian, come to finish me off and free Akthanakos?

Zamorak?

Not Zamorak. It couldn't be Zamorak.

Unless it was.

"Follow me," she whispered to the bone guard.

…

Whoever Enakhra had expected, it was not this one.

"Enakhra?" Palkeera called, stumbling her way almost comically through the hallways. Enakhra hid in the shadows, a distance further into the temple. Enakhra almost laughed when she saw the crude Zamorakian symbol that had been sewn onto the breast of Palkeera's robes. "Akthanakos?"

The Mahjarrat was obviously pregnant, which did not truly surprise Enakhra. Of all of the female Mahjarrat, most long since passed into the void, she seemed the most likely to "settle down". If Enakhra was feeling cynical, and she usually was, she might speculate just how Zemouregal had gotten her to agree. If she was feeling bitter, and she was rarely not, she might suspect that no agreement had been necessary.

"I know you can hear me," Palkeera said. She leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. "Please answer me. I need your help."

Enakhra shook her head in astonishment. She had not said a word to Palkeera since the Second Age. She had always found the other Mahjarrat to be too bookish and plain, and suspected Palkeera knew that. Why would she come here? Enakhra wondered how best to expel her from the temple. She was too weak to attempt force, and she was terrible at persuasion by self-admission.

Talk to her. See what she wants. Then send her on her way. The voices in her head always had the best ideas.

With a deep breath, Enakhra committed herself to gods-knew-what and stepped from the darkness.

She kept her hood pulled up over her head, even though she knew Palkeera could see her well enough. A fire smoldered in her palm just bright enough to catch the other Mahjarrat's eye. She smiled, trying to go for the "psychopath with nothing to lose" angle and rather thought she had gotten it down pat.

"Thank the gods," Palkeera gasped, eyes fixed fearfully on Enakhra, but with a touch of hope in them, too. "I need your-"

"Help, I know," Enakhra responded.

Palkeera paused for a moment at this, then pressed on. "Where's Akthanakos?"

"Why?" Enakhra asked bitingly.

"I-" Palkeera looked pained. "I thought, since-" she swallowed. "Thought you two were…" She crossed her fingers hesitantly.

Enakhra spat upon the ground. "Him and I? Mother Mah, no!"

"Don't say that name!" Palkeera hissed. The hallway itself seemed to darken, though that could have been Enakhra's imagination. "I only thought, since you both have been here for a very long time…"

"Yes, I understand," Enakhra said. "There's no need to repeat that vile thought." She extinguished the flame with a clench of her fist and relaxed her stance slightly. "You should know my heart belongs only to Zamorak."

"Of course." Palkeera seemed to gain a new confidence. "I see you have noticed by my emblem I share your sentiment."

"I was unaware Saleem ak-Menad did religious symbols," Enakhra replied coolly.

Palkeera did not know how to respond.

"Look, Palkeera," Enakhra began.

"I'm pregnant," Palkeera blurted.

Enakhra raised an eyebrow. "Gosh, really? I would never have guessed. Tell me, is there some kind of war on? I've heard noises outside, you see."

Palkeera took a deep breath, eyes screwed shut. When she opened them, Enakhra could swear they were back in the Second Age, when she and Zamorak toured the empire looking for those he could trust to help him with his rebellion, and Palkeera had given her the same look and told her that she would never betray the Empty Lord. It was a look of pure fear, and full of the knowledge that Palkeera had nowhere else to go but where she was.

I'm sorry, the look said. This is all I have.

"I am wounded, Enakhra," Palkeera said. "A ripper demon, two fortnights ago. It caught me by the northern pass, and I managed to kill it, but not without… this." She lifted her robe around her leg, revealing a long, jagged scar running from her leg, up her thigh, and curling around her distended stomach.

"It's infected," Enakhra said dumbly. The skin around the wound was swollen and starkly red.

"I know," Palkeera said. "This is why I need your help."

Enakhra shook her head. "Palkeera, this is..." The word was difficult to say, even though she couldn't have cared less about what happened to Palkeera until now.

"Yes," Palkeera said simply. "My days on this world are numbered, and I need your help to ensure that my child's are not."

Enakhra noticed that she was still shaking her head. She let it slow to a halt. Carefully, she placed her hand on Palkeera's stomach, right where the scar carved its jagged path. She withdrew as though she had touched acid after a few moments.

"Your child will not survive," Enakhra said abruptly.

"He will if you help me," Palkeera replied.

"Why should I help you?" Enakhra felt like sitting down. Thousands of years of seclusion, and Palkeera thought she could draw her out with the promise of saving her wretched spawn? What did she care if they all died?

"The father abandoned us," Palkeera said, "and I think you know what it feels like to be abandoned as well."

Enakhra's anger rose. She had not seen Zamorak in millennia, but she was not about to let anyone slander his name. "I was not abandoned. I wasn't worthy. I made an error of judgement, and I am being rightfully punished for it. Once I am once again worthy Zamorak will come for me."

"Is that what he told you?" Palkeera asked gently.

Now the anger was personal. "Don't you talk to me as if I am a child. I know who I am, and I know what I want, and it is not to help you!"

In an instant, Enakhra was smoke. She turned-such as it was-and sped through the hallways. Her bone guard, or Akthanakos, or whatever, waiting just beyond the corner, got on all fours to follow her. She heard Palkeera call from behind her, but did not bother to listen.

Finally she reached the center of her temple. She assumed her natural form once again as she collapsed on to her knees, thoughts roiling.

She screamed, of anger, or sadness, or some undiscovered emotion that only she possessed. Her bone guard finally reached her, and stood at attention in its usual place.

How terribly she missed Freneskae. Life was simpler there, when the Mahjarrat could do as they pleased without being swept up into the wars of others. Their society had grown great under the constant fire and warfare. Here, however… here, Mahjarrat could expect others to help them just by asking. Here, they expected others to care, as if their stupid problems were hers.

The bone guard shifted, drawing Enakhra's wrathful attention to it. Oh, how she hated Akthanakos. He personified this world; slothful and indulgent, obediant and servile.

"This is your fault!" she yelled at it. "This-" her fists slammed into the ground, gouts of flame rising around them. "Is-" again, this time the flames rose higher. "All-" the flames gleamed in the dim light, and they were the color of Zamorak. "Your-" she felt herself growing faint as the flames consumed ever more power. The walls began to crack. "…fault." She finished wearily, realizing how much power her tantrum had taken up. Her knuckles felt bruised, but her sleeves were still intact.

"I hate you," she murmured, lying down almost involuntarily onto the sandy floor. "I will never stop hating you." Darkness tugged at the corner of her vision. "The day I stop hating you…" she whispered. The sentiment was never finished.

…

Enakhra opened her eyes. She was still on the floor, and the bone guard stood in its appointed position. It had not moved since she collapsed. Fat lot of good you are, she thought, irritated.

"Awake?" Palkeera asked, with a small smile on her face.

Enakhra struggled to her feet. Darkness threatened to overwhelm her, and she crashed to the floor, panting. "You should stay there for now," Palkeera said. "You consumed a lot of energy."

Enakhra stared at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling. "Why did you come back?" she asked weakly.

"You sounded like you were in trouble." Palkeera produced a small square piece of bread, which she handed to the other Mahjarrat. "It's not much, but it might help."

Enakhra ate, appraising her benefactor. For the first time, she noticed how Palkeera shivered when she inhaled, and how much paler she was when compared to herself.

"Who was it?" Enakhra asked, of the million questions in her head.

Palkeera just smiled sadly. "It doesn't matter now," she said.

"Why are you helping me?"

"I think I'd like you to live, whether you help me or not."

"Why?"

Palkeera laughed, but stopped and grimaced when it became too much. "Does there have to be a reason?"

Enakhra propped herself up on her elbows. "Of course there has to be a reason. You don't just… give up your bread and your time and whatever else when you'd be better served taking care of yourself."

Palkeera hesitated. "Would you die for Zamorak?" she asked.

"Of course," Enakhra replied instantly.

"Why?"

"I love him," Enakhra said heatedly.

"And I love my child," Palkeera said. "If I could, if I were allowed it, I would die a thousand deaths if it would make his life easier."

Enakhra searched for the words. Palkeera watched her attentively, seemingly somnolent. Enakhra knew better.

"I will help you," Enakhra said. "If you tell me one thing."

Palkeera did not speak, only continued to watch.

"You were so afraid when you came here," Enakhra said. "And now you're… calm. Even though you're about to die."

Palkeera considered for a moment. "I think the only reason I am calm is because I am about to die," she said. "The only moment where I was truly afraid was when I thought you were going to let my child die… and I know you are not so cruel."

"Try me," Enakhra said, and for a moment she was herself again, the imprisoner of Akthanakos and the former right hand of Zamorak before she shamed herself with useless acts of frivolity. "Where are we going?"

"The Ritual site," Palkeera said. "We have a long journey ahead of us."

Enakhra snapped her fingers, and the bone guard was at her side. "Can't lose sight of you," she told him. She turned to Palkeera. "I won't question our destination for now," she said, "but let me lodge my formal opinion that it is a very strange destination."

"Noted," Palkeera said. "I need you to trust me, at least at present."

"I don't," Enakhra said, "but I can give you the benefit of the doubt… at present."

Palkeera smiled. "Good enough. Can you get up on your own?"

"Of course," Enakhra said temperamentally, clinging to the bone guard and leaning on it perhaps more heavily than she needed to as she hauled herself to her feet. She felt slightly unsteady, but knew she could walk.

Palkeera nodded. Without another word, she turned and began to limp towards the exit, Enakhra and the bone guard ghosting silently in tow.

Woo! Road trip!

Honestly, I love Enakhra. I think she's one of my favorite characters of the game, and she's up there with my favorite characters of all time. She's a very complex person, I think.

Anyway. Read and review? :3