Ik’krt closed his eyes and breathed deeply. In the darkness of the warren, the strange fruity odor of Te’tik’kir’s incense hung thick in the air. It seeped deep into the Rememberer’s body, causing his thoughts to blur. Ik’krt felt a deep sense of peace and unity with his surroundings – and then he was somewhere else.

He stood in the square of a vast city. The air overhead was a crystal blue. The sun burned bright and red in the sky. A thrumming beat filled the air, accompanied by the voices of many distant Nezumi raised in song. There was a scent here as well. It was difficult to place, a faded memory, but it made him feel at ease. Ik’krt did not realize where he was until he looked up and saw the tower of red steel that loomed beside him.

This was the city where Ikm’atch-tek had gathered the Stained Paw, the fortress from which he directed his war against the One Tribe. Instead of shadows and gloom, it was bathed in light. Instead of dreadful silence, there was hopeful music. He felt happy here, tempted to sing along with the other voices.

Then he noticed the other figures gathered around him. Many of them looked as surprised and awed as he did. Only Te’tik’kir, the ancient shaman, appeared completely nonplussed. Beside him, the wide red eyes of Kan’ok’ticheck, Chief of Chiefs, surveyed the city.

“What is this place?” Kan’ok’ticheck demanded. “What dream do you show us, Te’tik’kir?”

“This is the city that Ik’krt found in the Shadowlands,” the Nameseeker said, leaning on his staff as he strode toward the tower. “It was named Chitachtr-foo, the Brave Sunlit Warrens, as it stands in the Before Time.”

“Even the Tattered Ear Warrens are not so vast,” said Manithith, still staring at the enormous city. Though they could hear and smell many inhabitants, they saw no one.

“Truly glorious,” Kan’ok’ticheck said with a gleam in his eye. “Let this serve as an example. One day, the One Tribe will gather in a place even greater than this.”

“A noble dream, mighty Chief,” replied K’mee, the little Third Whisker shaman. “And this is quite an appropriate place to find a dream.”

“Are we asleep, Nameseeker?” Ik’krt asked Te’tik’kir.

“We are always asleep, Ik’krt,” Te’tik’kir said. “We always walk through Dream, in life and in death. Yet while we usually stand on the shores of slumbering I’thich, we now swim deep in the Land-of-Once-and-Forever-Name. I saw your memories of the Stained Paw city, and I wished to know if it was real.”

“Real?” Ik’krt asked. “I’ve been to the city, Te’tik’kir. Of course it is real. Do you not believe my story?”

“You misunderstand, Ik’krt,” K’mee said in a shrill voice. “Ikm’atch-tek claimed that he restored a city from Dream, out of our lost past. Te’tik’kir has seen the city in your memories, and they allowed him to look into I’thich. All things, living and dead, come from Dream. All things return there one day.”

“But nothing is lost to Dream forever,” Te’tik’kir added quietly.

K’mee nodded. “Dreams return when sought, or needed. If Ikm’atch-tek had lied about the city’s origins, we would have found nothing here. If he had told the truth, we should have found shadows, traces left behind when he removed the city...” “But we found the city itself,” Kan’ok’ticheck said. “It still remains here, in Dream. What does this mean?”

“The city where the Tomorrow Chieftain dwells was a copy,” Te’tik’kir said. “He has created a reflection of this lost city.”

“Tsuno magic,” Manithith said. “Their shamans rival those of the humans, the Naga, and the Ashalan. Perhaps they even rival our own.”

Te’tik’kir looked at the Tattered Ear shaman sharply. “Be wary of arrogance, Manithith,” he said.

The other shaman grinned. “Be wary of humorlessness, Te’tik’kir,” he countered. “But consider – the Tsuno are masters of deceit, and adept at journeying between the realms. It would be simple for them to borrow bits of other places and weave a city from memories.”

“If this Tomorrow Chieftain would lie about this city,” Kan’ok’ticheck mused, “then perhaps he lies about his strength. Perhaps it is time to face him, Te’tik’kir. Time to match your magic against his.”

“That would be rash,” K’mee said plaintively. “The Stained Paw and the Tsuno guard the Tomorrow Chieftain. Te’tik’kir cannot challenge Ikm’atch-tek without drawing their wrath.”

The Chief of Chiefs stared past K’mee, looking at Te’tik’kir patiently. “I have heard stories that the greatest of shamans can take away someone’s name,” Kan’ok’ticheck said. “The curse strips them out of all memory, leaves their deeds forgotten. Are the stories true?”

“If they are true, who would tell such stories?” Te’tik’kir asked. “None would remember them.”

“You would,” Kan’ok’ticheck answered, looking at each of the shamans. K’mee’s eyes widened in shock. Manithith curiously studied the cracks in the street.

“The stories are true enough,” Te’tik’kir admitted, “but what you ask is difficult.”

“If you took the Tomorrow Chieftain’s name,” Kan’ok’ticheck asked, “Would the Stained Paw have never joined him?”

Manithith and K’mee gasped, shocked by the suggestion. Te’tik’kir looked at the Chief calmly. “Even more difficult,” Te’tik’kir said. “To take away an enemy’s Name is painful, and shamans have powerful names. Many have died attempting to take a name that was beyond their power. There is great risk, and it may make things worse. Memories always flood in to fill the void. Another may rise to replace him.”

“The last time he spoke to you, it was through a vision,” Kan’ok’ticheck said. “He fears you, Te’tik’kir. There must be a reason. I believe you are strong enough to defeat him. Perhaps he believes you cannot die.”

“Rumors of my immortality are overstated,” Te’tik’kir said. “He is a coward; that is all. He avoided me because he wished to test our strength.”

“And in all the time since, he has not challenged you directly, Te’tik’kir,” Kan’ok’ticheck said. “He fears you. Let us end this.”

Te’tik’kir closed his eyes. After several minutes of silent thought, he nodded.

“Te’tik’kir, do you truly plan to fight?” K’mee squeaked. “To spill another Nezumi’s blood is a deed worthy only of those with weak names. We must find another way!”

“The humans do not endure those who walk with darkness,” Kan’ok’ticheck said. “When such traitors arise, they carve them out and seal the wound with fire. Why are we afraid to be as strong?”

Te’tik’kir gestured vaguely. K’mee, Manithith, and the Chief all vanished. Only Ik’krt and Te’tik’kir remained.

“Where?” Ik’krt asked.

“They have awakened,” the shaman explained.

“They will not take being dismissed lightly,” Ik’krt said.

Te’tik’kir shrugged. “In I’thich, time flows as we will it to flow. We will awaken when they do. I wish to speak to you, Ik’krt, - and you alone.”

Ik’krt scowled. “About the Tsuno’s lies,” he said. “You did not tell Kan’ok’ticheck what Nintai told me.”

“I did not,” the shaman agreed.

The landscape around them blurred. Seconds later, they stood in the center of a rolling plain. The wind rushed past them, pushing the long grass in a frantic dance. Far in the distance, the shapes of large golden cats galloped across the horizon. Though the creatures were large and powerful, Ik’krt felt only peace when he looked upon them. One stopped, rearing up on its hind legs to look at them. It studied Ik’krt with golden eyes, shining with ancient wisdom. Its lip curled in a smile and it continued on its way.

“Who are they?” Ik’krt asked, astonished.

“They are the kitsu,” Te’tik’kir said. “As they once were...”

Ik’krt began to ask what had happened to them, but events began to move more rapidly, as they often did in dreams. The pride of kitsu halted, looking fearfully past Ik’krt and Te’tik’kir. The earth began to tremble. Ik’krt looked behind him and saw a city in the distance, a vast metropolis made of shimmering green and violet crystal. A blast of air knocked Ik’krt on his back, followed by a wave of heat, followed by an explosive crash so tremendous that it left only a keening wail in Ik’krt’s sensitive ears. The Rememberer struggled to rise as the energies tore at his body, blackening the grass and singeing his fur. Te’tik’kir stood nearby, watching as waves of destruction washed out from the distant city. The Nameseeker was impassive and unaffected; not even his tattered cloak moved in the searing winds. The shaman looked down at Ik’krt with a patient smile.

Ik’krt realized that he felt no pain. He rose, the winds no longer burning his flesh. The city at the heart of the maelstrom remained unharmed, though the world around it was torn asunder.

“Is this the Terrible Day?” Ik’krt asked. “Is this the day the Dark Kami fell and made Heaven’s Grave?”

“No,” Te’tik’kir said. “This is not the end of the Before Time. The Nezumi were not the first race to be destroyed by arrogance.” The shaman’s eyes gleamed. “Nor will we be the last. Watch.”

Time moved swiftly again, and Ik’krt watched as the land began to repair itself. He saw the kitsu emerge from the city, along with other creatures – the crow-like kenku, massive trolls, and other creatures he did not recognize. He watched as they led a hunt across the plains, seeking those who had unleashed the chaos that had ravaged the world. Ik’krt followed them, weightless, formless, riding the dream. He saw them confront a pride of renegade kitsu in a secluded valley. Ik’krt and Te’tik’kir now stood among the renegades, watching as the hunters blocked all avenues of escape. He watched the cornered kitsu cry out in defiance against their brethren. Ik’krt did not understand the words, but the tone was clear, denouncing the honor and courage of the hunters. The hunters ignored the accusations and spoke words of ancient magic, unleashing a shimmering web over the valley.

The sky clouded red and the grass became suddenly slick with blood. The hunters vanished but the renegades remained. The kitsu looked upon one another in silent horror as they realized what had happened. This was not their home. This was another realm, a realm of punishment, a realm of slaughter.

The years sped by, and Ik’krt saw the violent nature of the bloody new world seep into the kitsu renegades. Their bodies became bent and twisted. Smooth shells replaced soft fur. Curving steel horns replaced majestic manes.

“Tsuno,” Ik’krt whispered.

“Now you know where they came from,” Te’tik’kir said. “What they are. The one who tortured you, Nintai, was once among the strongest of the kitsu.” Ik’krt looked at the shaman. “But why did you show me this?” Te’tik’kir asked. “They are our enemies today. Why does yesterday matter?”

“Strange,” Te’tik’kir answered. “You were very concerned with Yesterday when you came to me. Now it does not matter?”

Ik’krt scowled as he struggled to find a response. Speaking to the Nameseeker was horribly frustrating as a rule, and the confusing nature of I’thich was making this no easier.

“Yesterday is gone, Rememberer,” Te’tik’kir said, “What has happened does not matter – unless we allow it to matter… unless we need it to matter. It makes no difference if the Tsuno created us as they say, or if the human gods created us, or if the Ashalan and Naga created us, or if we created ourselves,” the old shaman’s whiskers twitched, as if laughing at an unspoken joke, “We are here now. Take the parts of Yesterday that make us strong. Leave the rest; we can only carry so much. Run on, and keep running, before Tomorrow comes.”

“We should not fight the Stained Paw,” Ik’krt said softly. “Nezumi should not kill Nezumi.”

“Our enemy has turned us against ourselves,” Te’tik’kir answered, “but we will learn from the Tsuno’s example. I will see the true One Tribe, for at least one day.”

“Do you think we can defeat the Tomorrow Chieftain?” Ik’krt asked.

“We will see,” Te’tik’ kir. “Run fast, Shadow Runner, and keep your shadow close to the Chief of Chiefs…”

And then the Realm of Dreams faded, and Ik’krt found himself sitting in a damp cave surrounded by other groggy Nezumi.

The Nameseeker was not among them.

The Chief of Chiefs was a fearsome sight to behold. He wore the blood red armor of a Scorpion samurai, a suit worn given to him by the Tattered Ear. His helm was a white demon skull, a gift from his own Green-Green-White Tribe. His sword was a sleek steel weapon, a treasure of the Grasping Paw’s Shining Hoard. Talismans of feather and crystal dangled from his shoulders, crafted by the shamans of the Third Whisker. From his back flapped a brilliant silken back banner, painted by Chipped Tooth artisans. Wicked metal hooks were strapped to the end of his tail and to each foot, fierce weapons only the Crippled Bone could devise. Looking upon the Chief of Chiefs, Ik’krt mused that Kan’ok’ticheck did not merely lead the One Tribe – he was the One Tribe.

Kan’ok’ticheck lifted his katana and unleashed a bloodcurdling cry as the Nezumi warriors rushed toward the walls of the city. The Crippled Bone scouts had led the armies of the One Tribe within sight of Chitatchtr-foo. Seeing no easy approach beyond that point, Kan’ok’ticheck simply ordered a charge.

Ik’krt ran beside the Chief of Chiefs. He risked one glance behind to see the rest of the armies, but that was all. Swarms of Nezumi warriors boiled out of the rocks and crevasses, washing over the blasted earth. Ik’krt had to charge the walls as fast as he could, fearing that if he slowed, those following would run over him.

Dark figures gathered atop the silver walls, watching the advancing army. When the One Tribe drew close, a shower of black arrows erupted from the city. The red towers that stood upon the walls coughed, and searing beams of sickly green light vomited from within. The Soultwister magic turned flesh to ash, melted bone, and boiled steel. Entire packs fell before they reached the wall, leaving nothing behind but ash and memory. The Nezumi continued to charge.

When they neared the gates, Kan’ok’ticheck uttered a sharp command. The bulk of the army stopped instantly. A squad of Nezumi hurried forward from the ranks, holding tar-smeared shields above their heads. Arrows pelted harmlessly off the shields. A lazy green beam scoured the group from one of the towers, but only boiled the tar away. The shields now gleamed with bright jade fire, protecting against the Tsuno’s corrupted magic.

The siege pack continued running, hurrying toward the city gates. Another beam lanced the shields, more focused and urgent. The jade cracked this time, but held. A third beam struck the shields, and a fourth. The spells were focused and direct, radiating pure rage. One shield burst under the fourth beam. The warrior beneath it screamed the name of his tribe as his body was torn into ashes and scattered.

Then, as one, every member of the siege pack lowered their shield. Between them, they bore a stretcher bearing Manithith and three shamans sitting cross-legged in meditation. Before the enemy could fire again, the shamans finished the spell they had been casting and rose. They screamed, a sound that pierced the air. The shamans poured themselves into their spell, wild energies suffusing the enemy city. The gates shuddered like a heat mirage. The shining metal wavered, cracked, and then burst on the wind like a flock of steel butterflies. The shamans crumpled limp on the earth.

“Are they alive?” Ik’krt said, turning to the Chief.

“Fight, Ik’krt,” Kan’ok’ticheck replied. “Gather tales later.” He ordered the army to charge.

The Stained Paw scrambled to line the gates, but were unprepared for the speed with which the One Tribe had shattered their defenses. Kan’ok’ticheck and his warriors hammered into their meager defense, overwhelming it in moments.

“Take their weapons and what armor you can,” the Chief commanded, gesturing to the superior steel the Stained paw wielded.

The warriors obeyed without question, quickly distributing the relics of the past. Kan’ok’ticheck’s personal guard were already among the best equipped Nezumi of the One Tribe, and with every Stained Paw that fell, the advantage their superior equipment offered faded.

A metallic howl echoed from deeper in the city. Ik’krt saw the larger forms of Tsuno galloping on all fours to meet them. There were not many of the creatures, but each of them was a match for several of the smaller Nezumi. The One Tribe began to fall back, avoiding the Tsuno and engaging only the Stained Paw warriors. Ik’krt became lodged in a pack of retreating bushi bearing a wounded comrade to safety.

Kan’ok’ticheck charged the nearest Tsuno, dodging aside as its heavy blade struck the ground. The chief scurried up the Tsuno’s arm and onto its shoulders. He plunged his sword into the side of the Tsuno’s head just beneath the horn and twisted, eliciting a primordial cry of pain as the beast toppled.

“One Tribe, to me!” Kan’ok’ticheck shouted.

Ik’krt disengaged himself from the pack and rushed toward the Chief. Two more Tsuno charged Kan’ok’ticheck with spears raised. The Chief of Chiefs pulled his sword free and danced to the right while keeping his eyes on the left enemy. When their spear points closed for an instant, Kan’ok’ticheck leapt. His tail coiled, tangling the shafts together as his weight bore them down. One Tsuno dropped his weapon; the other fell in a tangle with both spears. Kan’ok’ticheck leapt upon that one, burying both rear claws in its throat. The other Tsuno lunged bare handed. Kan’ok’ticheck moved with surprising grace, turning his back to the Tsuno, seizing its horns with both hands, and hurling it off its feet. He spun as he did so, lashing his tail claw across the creature’s face with a wet ripping sound. It punched him in the side with one massive spiked fist as it thrashed about in pain.

“One Tribe, to me!” Kan’ok’ticheck repeated.

A half dozen more Tsuno now gathered to face the Chief. Kan’ok’ticheck’s red eyes narrowed, as one stepped between the Nezumi and his lost sword. Blood trickled from the corner of Kan’ok’ticheck’s mouth. His breath came unevenly. Kan’ok’ticheck was exhausted, injured, but he would not show weakness here. The Tsuno gathered, eager to kill the Chief before the other Nezumi followed his example.

Ik’krt acted before any of them noticed, moving with the speed of an expert thief. He scurried between the legs of the nearest Tsuno and tossed Kan’ok’ticheck’s sword into the air.

The Chief of Chiefs caught the blade in one paw and howled at the sky.

“ONE TRIBE! TO ME!”

This time his warriors echoed his cry and charged to defend their chief from the Tsuno. They fought as fiercely as he, cutting down Tsuno and Stained Paw Nezumi alike. Ik’krt exulted in the battle, and soon found himself fighting as well. He could not bring himself to attack his fellow Nezumi, but he gladly helped fight the wicked Tsuno.

Yet after a while, Ik’krt could find no more Tsuno. A red haze fell over his vision and he looked desperately for any other enemies. Another Nezumi charged him. Ik’krt gladly lifted his sword to meet the charge. A mournful cry filled his skull and the blade toppled from his hands. Ik’krt barely dodged his enemy’s weapon as his sight cleared.

Then he realized to his horror that the Nezumi he had attacked was no Stained Paw at all, but a Tattered Ear warrior. Ik’krt scrambled nimbly up the side of a building, escaping the maddened Nezumi’s next swing. The Tattered Ear gave a bestial scream and stumbled off, looking for anything else to attack.

Ik’krt looked around in confusion. Nezumi now fought Nezumi without any order or reason. The One Tribe had turned on one another. The Stained Paw fought everything in sight as well, shrieking like animals. The Tsuno were gone, even the dead. Kan’ok’ticheck now knelt in the center of a bloody courtyard, the corpses of Nezumi warriors scattered everywhere around him. His sword lay forgotten on the earth. His red eyes stared blankly at nothing. A white Nezumi loomed over the dazed chief, studying Kan’ok’ticheck with a speculative eye.

Ik’krt recognized Ikm’atch-tek, the Tomorrow Chieftain.

“Stand away from the Chief!” Ik’krt roared, rushing between Kan’ok’ticheck and the shaman.

“Chief?” the Tomorrow Chieftain answered, looking at Ik’krt with an amazed expression as he circled slowly closer. “There is only one Chief, Ik’krt. Me.”

“What have you done to him?” Ik’krt demanded. “What have you done to all of us?”

“A Rememberer,” Ikm’atch-tek said in a bored voice as he pointed his staff at the Rememberer. “Your type has always been trouble.”

A bolt of flame boiled out of the staff toward Ik’krt. The Rememberer winced as he prepared for the worst, but death did not come. Ik’krt’s shadow twisted beneath him, disengaging from the ground and forming into a familiar figure.

Te’tik’kir dismissed the Tomorrow Chieftain’s spell with an angry wave.

“The Nameseeker.” Ikm’atch-tek chuckled. “Have you come to take my name?”

“I cannot take from you that which was never yours, shadow,” Te’tik’kir said.

“Hiding behind a Rememberer?” Ikm’atch-tek taunted.

“I hide behind him to find the one who hides behind you,” Te’tik’kir replied. Te’tik’kir hissed. The air rippled and Ikm’atch-tek was thrown backward into a metal wall. The Tomorrow Chieftain grunted in pain, slid down, and lay still.

Tsuno Nintai rose from Ikm’atch-tek’s shadow, glaring at the Nameseeker with faint respect. Ik’krt felt waves of anger well up from within himself, urging him to strike out at the Tsuno for his lies. The voices in his memory cried out against them, urging him to wait, be calm, and resist the rising bloodlust.

“Listen to them, Ik’krt,” Te’tik’kir said softly as he advanced toward the Tsuno. “Grasp your memories tightly. Listen to the voices. They will protect us in this place.”

“What has happened, Te’tik’kir?” Ik’krt asked.

“This city was a trap,” Te’tik’kir said. “We are in the Realm of Slaughter now.”

“So much easier to shred the veil between worlds here in the Shadowlands,” Nintai said. The Soultwister watched Te’tik’kir warily. “So much pain here. So much denied potential. The kansen were quite willing to help me build this place, when I told them its purpose.”

“To turn the Nezumi against one another?” Te’tik’kir asked. “To take the Stained Paw and the One Tribe to the Realm of Slaughter and let their anger transform them into the beasts you believe them to be?”

“The beasts you were intended to be,” Nintai corrected. He looked at Ik’krt and sighed. “Memory is such a complication. The perfect slave needs no memories. No attachments. You were made to only remember what was required. I cannot imagine how your Rememberers came about. Perhaps some idiot Naga took pity on you, or one of the human Kami.”

“Or perhaps we advanced beyond your expectations,” Te’tik’kir said. “Or perhaps your belief that you created us is incorrect.”

The Tsuno laughed. “Perhaps,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. The Tsuno you killed will rise again. The Nezumi who wait for your return will fall before Kan’ok’ticheck’s army or join us as well. Your One Tribe is mine.”

Ik’krt moved toward Kan’ok’ticheck, hoping to rouse the Chief to his senses. What happened next was so quick he barely saw it. Tsuno Nintai was beside him, open claws slashing at his throat. Then Te’tik’kir was there as well, blocking the attack with his spear. The weapon slashed across the Tsuno’s hide, but the metal sparked and cracked. The Tsuno punched the Nameseeker solidly in the abdomen, seized the shoulder of his robes, and slammed him into the earth. Te’tik’kir rolled to his feet, driving a staggering kick into the Tsuno’s knee as he did.

Nameseeker and Soultwister each summoned their magic at the same time, sparkling white fire and sickly green energy mixing in a chaotic display. Ik’krt concentrated on the voices, memory of his tribe, memories of the Before Time that Te’tik’kir had shown him, even memories of the Stained Paw Nezumi who had spared his life the last time he infiltrated the city. He focused on the memories, hoping they would lend Te’tik’kir the strength he needed to resist the madness of this place and defeat Nintai. Soutwister and Nameseeker struck at one another with spell and claw for minutes. Ik’krt winced from the heat and cold that radiated from them. Both combatants trembled with the effort of the battle. Their fur and flesh smoked from the injuries they had sustained. Finally, the Nezumi fell, slumping suddenly to his knees then falling face down on the stone.

“Te’tik’kir!” Ik’krt shouted.

The Rememberer charged at Nintai, drawing his sword and holding it high. The Tsuno turned and backhanded the Rememberer, sending him sprawling on the road. In that moment of distraction Te’tik’kir rose and drove a short knife into the Tsuno’s chest. The Tsuno looked down at the wound, pushed the Nameseeker away, and laughed. He drew the dagger out of the wound lazily and dropped it on the ground. His laughter only stopped when he saw the glowing yellow energy that seeped from the wound, twisting through the air toward Te’tik’kir’s mouth in the shape of mysterious symbols. The Nameseeker was chanting frantically, appearing to swallow the symbols and spit out new ones that floated back toward the Tsuno.

“What have you done, beast?” the Soultwister demanded.

“Yesterday is gone, unless we allow it to matter,” Te’tik’kir mumbled. “You have forgotten what you were, Nintai. My curse will remind you.”

The Tsuno cackled. “You think you have the strength to take my name?”

“No,” Te’tik’kir said, “but I can restore it.”

Te’tik’kir began chanting again. Realization of the Nameseeker’s intent dawned in Nintai’s eyes, to be replaced with horror. He spoke a spell of his own, and Te’tik’kir burst into flames.

The Nameseeker continued chanting, oblivious to the pain.

Nintai screamed. He lifted Te’tik’kir’s flaming body high, driving it into the stones heavily.

The Nameseeker did not stop chanting, ignoring the terrible damage.

Nintai looked about desperately, seeking any avenue of escape and finding none. The yellow energies that flowed from his chest to the Nameseeker’s mouth were now wrapping about his limbs, encircling his body. He spoke another spell, unleashing a bolt of scorching flame at the prone Te’tik’kir.

He continued chanting, defying death itself.

The Tsuno shrieked, a sound of terrible agony, and crumpled to his knees, pounding Te’tik’kir’s fallen body with his fists. Nintai’s body warped and twisted. Te’tik’kir’s voice began to fade, but even as it did, the Tsuno’s metallic voice was replaced with a lion’s roar.

Ik’krt rose and lunged toward Nintai, slashing with his sword. Nintai turned with the same speed as before, but this time he merely seized Ik’krt’s wrist. His horns were gone, replaced with an ebony mane. The metal plates that covered his flesh were now sleek fur. His golden eyes were anguished.

“A kitsu?” Ik’krt mumbled.

“A kitsu who remembers countless centuries of depravity, violence, and sin,” Nintai said in a deep, bitter voice. He looked down at the battered body of Te’tik’kir and shuddered. “Your friend was a cruel Nezumi. Death would be more welcome than this.”

Nintai released Ik’krt’s arm. The Rememberer backed away and hurried to Kan’ok’ticheck’s side. The Chief was still blank and unresponsive.

“Rise, Chief of Chiefs,” Nintai said, not looking back at them.

Kan’ok’ticheck’s eyes cleared. He peered up at Ik’krt in confusion, then at Nintai. The metal howls of Tsuno began to echo throughout the city again.

“What did you do?” Kan’ok’ticheck growled.

“I have helped your fellow Nezumi to remember,” he said. “The One Tribe are no longer possessed with thoughts of slaughter. The Stained Paw have recovered as well, and now know how the Tsuno manipulated them.” He looked over his shoulder, fixing a golden eye upon the Chief. “Now my brothers come for me.”

“So we fight,” Kan’ok’ticheck replied.

Nintai laughed. “The Tsuno are stronger than you realize, Chief,” he said. “Before they sent only squads, just enough to corral the Stained Paw and keep the shadow chief I created under control. They will send armies now… but they will come for me first, for they have also sensed I am no longer one of them.”

The earth began to tremble. The clouded sky overhead churned a sickly yellow. Bright blue lightning flashed overhead.

“I will contain them as long as possible,” Nintai said. “I made this city, and I can unmake it. I will unravel it around them, distract them with unleashed memories. Run from this place swiftly, sons of the One Tribe, for as soon as you pass the walls you will return to your own realm. You do not wish to be here when my spell runs its course. I intend to drag this place deep into Dream, where even the Tsuno cannot escape.”

“You killed Te’tik’kir,” Kan’ok’ticheck said grimly, weighing his sword in his hand.

“Te’tik’kir gave his life to give me back my soul,” Nintai replied, looking down at the shaman’s corpse. “If you intend to negate that sacrifice before I can help your tribe escape, then do so. We can atone for the sins of your people and mine as we all die here together.” Nintai looked back at Kan’ok’ticheck firmly. “What say you, Chief of Chiefs?”

Kan’ok’ticheck scowled bitterly. “Will you die here, Nintai?” he asked.

“Unlikely,” Nintai answered. “I cannot fight them all, but I may escape if your tribe moves quickly.”

“Then do your best to survive,” Kan’ok’ticheck said. “Do not rob me of my vengeance.”

“Very well,” the kitsu answered. “Now run, please.”

Ik’krt and Kan’ok’ticheck dashed away through the streets of the city. The roars of Tsuno continued, many more than before, drawing ever closer. Kan’ok’ticheck shouted the retreat as he ran, and heard it echoed by his surviving officers. Many Stained Paw soldiers fled as well, running beside the One Tribe warriors. Ik’krt thought he caught a glimpse of a Stained Paw bushi carefully carrying an injured Third Whisker shaman in his arms, but the bushi was gone before he was certain.

The city continued to shake around them. Buildings uncoiled as if spun from spools of thread and toppled into the sky. The earth beneath their feet shifted from hard stone to soft clay to shimmering glass by the moment. Ik’krt felt the same strange, detached feeling that had seeped into his mind in the Realm of Dreams. Between the confusion and the shaking it was all he could do to keep a steady footing, much less escape. Ik’krt fell and Kan’ok’ticheck stopped, extending a hand to help the Rememberer to his feet.

Then a blast of fire struck the Chief of Chiefs, hurling him over a pile of rubble. Ik’krt whirled to see Ikm’atch-tek glaring at him with a manic grin. Gleaming sparks and milky shadows wove about his limbs. His form was misshapen and twisted, becoming more bestial by the moment. Already the horns of a Tsuno curved from his skull and his feet twisted into hooves.

“Tomorrow comes for the One Tribe,” Ikm’atch-tek said in a pained voice. He unleashed another blast off fire from one hand.

Ik’krt leapt aside, narrowly dodging the spell. Nearby, a building rolled up like a sheaf of paper then snapped taut again with a resounding crack. The shaman drove one hoof heavily down upon the earth and a shockwave rolled toward Ik’krt, throwing him into a wall.

“What are you?” Ik’krt asked in a pained voice. “Was there ever a Nezumi named Ikm’atch-tek?”

The Tomorrow Chieftain sneered. “Why should I tell you?” he said. “Soon you will die and be lost to Dream, forever.”

Ik’krt looked up at the Tomorrow Chieftain unafraid. Perhaps he would die, but at least he had fought well this time. He had not failed the One Tribe as he failed the Shadow Runners. As he thought of his tribe, translucent figures appeared and surrounded Ikm’atch-tek. The ghostly Nezumi crowded at the Tomorrow Chieftain, blocking his vision and crying out in mournful voices. Ik’krt recognized the faces of his former chief, his brother, his mother, his mate. They cried out in defiance as the Tomorrow Chieftain sought to kill their Rememberer.

“Ghosts, begone,” Ikm’atch-tek snapped as he stepped back out of the cloud and directly onto the Chief of Chief’s waiting katana.

Ikm’atch-tek had enough time to gasp in pain as Kan’ok’ticheck withdrew the blade and struck the head from the Tomorrow Chieftain’s shoulders. The ghostly pack of Nezumi faded away again, each staring longingly at Ik’krt as they vanished.

“It is as Te’tik’kir always said,” the Chief of Chiefs said. “Nothing is lost to Dream forever.”

Ik’krt said nothing, still stunned by the vision. He recovered enough to keep running.

Ik’krt looked up. The visions the Phoenix had summoned were fading away. Shiba Ningen stared into the distance, his eyes glazed. After several moments, the Phoenix blinked.

“Are you well?” Ik’krt asked quietly.

“Simply disoriented,” Ningen replied. “Visions within visions within memories. Such an experience leaves one uncertain exactly what is real and what is not. The magic your people practices is quite intriguing. There are many differences from my own.”

Ik’krt shrugged. “I am no shugenja or shaman,” he said. “I only remember what I have seen. Do you know what you wished to know now? Is that why you ended the vision?”

“I believe I have learned what I wished to know,” he said. “Except for two things. What became of the Stained Paw?”

“They were deeply shamed by the Tsuno betrayal,” Ik’krt said. “They turned their back upon the Dark Lord and ventured deep into the Shadowlands, where they wait for Kan’ok’ticheck to call upon them. They have no past. No future. It will not be long, I think, before they are no more.”

“A sad fate,” Ningen said thoughtfully.

“Some say it is no less than they deserve,” Ik’krt said, “but I pity them. What was the other thing you wished to know?”

Ningen looked at Ik’krt sharply. “Why did you come here to hide?”

“I came here to think, not to hide,” Ik’krt said.

“To think about what?”

“Many things,” Ik’krt answered. “Did Nintai lie? Did the Tsuno truly create the Nezumi? Did we really poison the Naga’s sleep? Was Ikm’atch-tek nothing more than Soultwister magic? If he was really a Nezumi of old were we all like him once? I have found no answers.” Ik’krt fell silent for a while. “And I think of the Stained Paw. They went mad because their Rememberers died. I wonder if the Tsuno were responsible for that… how long did they plot against us? What else are they planning?”

“Your heart cannot find such answers while your mind interferes,” Ningen said with a laugh. “Answers will come in time. For now, I suggest continuing to seek your destiny.”

“My destiny?” Ik’krt said. “And what destiny is that? I know now I cannot return to being a thief. My tribe is dead. Te’tik’kir is dead. I am the last Shadow Runner, the last Rememberer. I carry my tribe with me, and they are watching me. I must do something worthy.”

“And sitting in this cave is worthy, then?” Ningen asked.

“No,” Ik’krt said wearily. “It is not, and I know it is not. But what else is there for me? A Rememberer is expected to remain with his tribe forever. No one needs a failed Rememberer.”

“No one?” Ningen asked. The Master of the Void chuckled softly.

Ik’krt’s eyes widened at the simplicity of it all.

Deep in the Shadowlands, a Stained Paw warrior lashed another scrap of carapace to a bent bamboo pole. She stepped back, wiping her paws on her auburn fur. It was not a perfect roof, but it would keep the rain out of the warrens until summer came. Then the tribe could move north to hunt outside the Shadowlands for a while and find proper materials. The winter would be difficult, especially without the allies they had come to rely upon, but the Stained Paw would survive. After that… she refused to think about after that. To think about Tomorrow was pointless. There was no future but to survive.

The crunch of gravel drew her attention instantly. The warrior whirled to face whatever approached, but lowered her guard when she saw it was a Nezumi, draped in a thick traveler’s cloak. Nezumi did not fight Nezumi. Not anymore.

“These are Stained Paw warrens,” she warned him. “I warn you because most Nezumi would rather sleep on the bare earth than in our home, but you are welcome if you wish to stay, stranger.”

“I thank you,” the Nezumi said, “but I am no stranger. We have met before. I am Ik'krt. What is your name?”

“Kiii,” she answered stiffly.

“Once,” the stranger answered, “Many yesterdays ago, there was a warrior named Kiii. One night, while on guard, she met a foolish thief. Their duel was mighty, but she fell. She was so brave that she did not beg for her life, and the thief was impressed, so he spared her. She repaid him by demanding that he be spared when the Tsuno later captured him, but this is only the start of the tale.”

“You are the spy who attacked me,” she hissed, darting forward and pulling his hood aside to reveal a coat of white and black fur. “The one who helped the Chief of Chiefs defeat the Tsuno. Why do you come here? Your Chief has our promise. Can you not leave us to our shame?”

“No,” he said. “I owe your people a great debt, Kiii. If not for you, Nintai would have killed me.”

“So you mock us, by speaking to me as a Rememberer?” she asked. “All of our Rememberers are dead.”

“You are a tribe without a Rememberer,” Ik’krt said, walking past her quietly on his way toward the warrens. “I am a Rememberer without a tribe.”

Kiii watched him silently, unwilling to believe. Was it possible? For one Rememberer to tell the tales of a whole tribe would be difficult… but it was much better than nothing.

“What is your name?” she heard him ask an old scout. A small group of pups had already gathered around the stranger’s feet. They looked up in quiet awe as Ik’krt listened to the old Nezumi’s story, memorizing every word.

And for the first time in many yesterdays, Kiii felt a sense of hope.