The furry captive awoke to the rattling of his cage, the iron bars vibrating against his back, his teeth chattering in the cold.
Scattering the last wisps of his dream, something about a woman's voice singing in a strange language, that disturbed something deep in him. And the taste of pepper exploding on his tongue before the dream dissolved.He curled tighter into himself, round ears flattening against his skull.
The noise continued to assault him. Not just the cage's rattle now, but the distant shouts of his captors, the creak of wagon wheels on frozen earth.His ears twitched as he raised his hands to cover them, though it did little to help.
"Quiet," he hissed under his breath. These men had no respect for a prisoner's sleep.
A squeak of annoyance slipped past his lips as he peered out from under the tattered rag that poorly covered his cage. The cloth was brown and rotten, stained with old piss and the sour tang of feces. It offered no shelter from the harsh light outside. Worse, it reeked of old sweat,not his own, but the stink of the men who'd probably been thrown in here before him.
The wagon groaned as it lurched over frozen ruts, the ropes holding his cage frayed from days of travel. One good jerk, and the whole thing might collapse of the wagon. Outside, twin suns glared through the ragged fabric, casting jagged shadows across his fur.
He blinked against the glare, struggling to make out the scenery. Trees and snow stretched endlessly, like a world of white.
Had he ever seen snow before....?maybe he had. His memories were shaky.
His earliest recollection was waking outdoors, surrounded by a sea of white. Then came the rough hands dragging him away, into the cage, and then confinement. No explanations, no demands, just iron and now hunger.
He strained to remember more. Fragments of a dark place, the scent of damp earth, the sound of something snarling in the shadows.
Fleeing from monstrous things or was he chasing them? Clarity eluded him.
Shaking his head, he was thankful that at least he could recall his name. Femi. And he knew, from the snow and the twin suns overhead, that he didn't belong here.
Still drowsy, he blinked, shielding his stinging eyes as he shivered in the cage's corner, but he tried to stay quiet, because drawing attention now, while so disoriented, would be foolish.
Soon, his wagon joined others, forming a caravan that stretched ahead like a serpent, wagons creaking, men barking orders in their guttural tongue. They'd been traveling forever, it seemed.
"Where are they taking me? What do they want?"
He suspected nothing good. All he could do was wait.
---
"Four Days Later"
Four days passed, and still, he waited.
Memories resurfaced in fragments, like shards of broken glass, sharp, disjointed, cutting when grasped too tightly. The duel with the skeleton. The way its hollow eyes had gleamed with unnatural light. Glimpses of his past life. But the details remained maddeningly out of reach. The harder he grasped, the faster they slipped away.
Lying in the cage, Femi was bombarded by sensations, a woman's sweet voice humming a lullaby, he almost recognized, and the spicy kick of bell pepper, the juicy tomatoes, eye watering onions, and the curry powder.
O sweet curry powder.
Leaving his tongue, wanting more and bay leaves,yes the kind from home, the kind that burned and soothed at once. His head throbbed with the effort.
"Why did I eat that food?" Femi groaned, regret souring his voice. "I knew it was too good to be true".
"Never eat food in dreams," a familiar voice echoed in his mind. Whose voice? A brother's? A mentor's? Gone before he could place it.
Frustration, anger, and self-reproach churned inside him.
"My enemies have succeeded."
Rolling in the cage, his lamentations grew louder. The men outside ignored him. He was just cargo to them.
After a while, he forced himself to calm down with a sigh.
"At least I remember some of it."
Then a realization. "Wait. My hand."
Femi stared at his right hand. Memories crashed over him, the fight, the skeleton's blade flashing, the searing pain as his hand... Yet here it was, still attached and whole. The claws unchanged, the brown fur unmarked.
"How?" he whispered. "Did I bargain with... Mammy Water?"
His eyes widened. No memory of a deal, no terms recalled. Yet his hand was restored.
Unease prickled his skin. Had he pledged something unknowingly? What price awaited him?
But relief drowned the fear. "I don't even care," he muttered. "Having my hand back is enough."
The wagon lurched, tossing him against the bars. His snout smacked metal. "Kpakam!" he hissed.
Femi's agitation slowly subsided as he rubbed his nose, attempting to calm himself. His gaze drifted outside the cage.
Outside, the road was rutted. The horses galloped onward, their pace doing nothing to smooth the turbulent journey.
Their galloping was bad enough, but add their, thick, steaming, reeking, droppings and you have a constant headache.
"Did these horses eat beans?" he grumbled, rubbing his snout, his whiskers twitching.
Defeated, he sprawled on the cage's floor, stewing in misery.
Days dragged on.
---
For endless days, he'd done nothing but sit, sleep, and stare at the unchanging ice-covered trees. Sometimes, he pretended he was in a mansion with AC and drinking Bobo, sweet, cold, bobo the way it used to be before.
The delusion only broke when they fed him lumpy, bitter potatoes that sat like stones in his belly or when he relieved himself over the wagon's edge, grimacing at the indignity.
He needed out. His muscles ached from inactivity, his skin itchy with confinement.
"So this is how a prisoner feels," he muttered.
Footsteps approached. A man passed by, his breath reeking of something sour his eyes avoiding Femi's cage.
Occasionally, the men's deep voices reached him. He'd picked up a few words..."dold," "cell," "dager", but their rapid, guttural speech remained mostly nonsense to him.
Then, two men began to argue nearby, their tones sharp with worry. Curious femi peeked out.
One tall and thin, the other short, stood agitated, eyes darting toward the horizon, voices too loud for their proximity. Their posture screamed "we'll bolt any second."
Femi's stomach tightened. Their fear was glaring, and that also made him afraid, he was at their mercy until they freed him or sold him. By now, he was sure they meant to sell him, like a goat at Kpansia market, haggled over by women with greedy eyes.
He sighed. "Let it be nothing."
Suddenly, the wagon halted. Not unusual, but this time, shouts erupted as boots pounded snow. A hulking armored man sprinted past, yanking on his helmet.
"Please, don't let this be a fight," Femi prayed.
What danger could be lurking in these woods? Bandits? Beasts? Worse?
"Please let me not be near an evil forest. I don't have the strength to fight a witch," Femi lamented to himself.
A horn blared, and then chaos. Screams. War cries. Drum-like thumps shaking the ground.
Femi tensed, scrambling to see. He rattled the cage, but some cargo blocked his view.
Minutes passed in a cacophony of clashing metal, roars, and howls. Some cries triumphant, others agonized.
An explosion rocked the caravan. Hot wind whipped the rag and cargo off his cage. The wagon shuddered. Femi flinched, then froze.
His view was clear now.
Just as he'd feared, a ring of caravan guards in metal armor fought back-to-back against hulking green-skinned humanoids clad in ragged hides. The attackers swarmed like ants.
"Are those Hulks."
Unfortunately, the question remained unanswered, as the fighting continued, and at the center of the were the explosion happened, a crater smoldered, surrounded by charred green bodies. Before it stood a plump man in grey robes, staff raised.
Arrows streaked toward him.
"Kuros—manipulate
Invisible force deflected the arrows. The man aimed his staff at the nearest foes.
"Kill the weaver!" someone bellowed.
As green men charged, the weaver chanted again:
"Kuros—manipulate
Flames lanced from his staff. The attackers became living torches, their shrieks like vengeful spirits as they fell.
The weaver smirked, raising his staff once more..
An arrow punched through the back of his skull.
He dropped.
The green men cheered. The caravan's defenders faltered. Women screamed as the hulking brutes cut down the last guards.
Femi's pulse hammered. I need to escape.
The horses shrieked, jostling the wagon. Femi slammed into the bars, his snout throbbing. "Damn it!"
Outside, the green men looted corpses. One yanked a woman up by her hair, her dress stained with blood.
"Quit screaming, or Goruk eats you," he snarled. "Boss wants the women."She continued cry until his slap silenced her, then he hauled her away.
Femi muttered prayers, wondering how he'd ended up in this nightmare.
The battle sounds faded, living only dying moans and guttural voices remained.
Then footsteps.
The rag tore away. Femi looked up into a green face, feminine, probably, with high cheekbones and a sharpness to her gaze.She had dark hair and a long brown cloak. Her green eyes gleamed under the twin suns.
The green female stared down at him in surprise
"Ahh, a ratling,"she said, nose wrinkling.
Femi let out a defeated sigh. "Of course, my enemies have finally succeeded."