He was growing increasingly nervous by the day. And though all those around him realized it, they voiced few of their concerns.

The signs, however, were difficult to mistake. Nowadays, Raj wouldn’t go unarmed for a moment, and spent a great deal of time and effort keeping track of where exactly Freak, Kochai, and Nasher were every minute of every hour of every day. The human also indulged in obsessive, repetitive activities, now and then—cleaning weapons that were already gleaming and polished, unloading and then reloading magazines, doing pushups and situps and crunches to keep fit.

Still, though—perhaps it was due to the gradual end of the Season of the Rains. Perhaps it was due to one or a few other of the nearly innumerable factors that affected life on the Sacred Mesa that caused these little oddities in Raj.

So, for the moment, Freak and Nasher decided to keep their unspoken fears just that—unspoken fears.

Things changed, however, one day, when Raj was looking down into a campfire, flicking around a balisong knife, brooding, preoccupied, as he often was these days.

“I think,” the human said in a tone that was more gravely and solemn than it had been just a week before, when Freak had passed his final test with flying colors, “we need to really prepare for your return, Scar.”

The li-tigon nodded; it was a reasonable sentiment. He said nothing, though, and allowed Raj to continue speaking. Perhaps unfairly, Freak expected more than silence and monosyllabic answers from the human-such conduct was his style, but Raj’s?

Still, though, after a moment passed, the boy said nothing. Deep brown eyes glimmering from the reflections of the dancing flames before him, he sat, still, silently—clearly, there were things on his mind that he wasn’t speaking about.

“Exactly… what do you mean, Raj, my dear boy?” Nasher prompted, smiling less than convincingly; he knew something was wrong.

Freak took note of the word “dear”—it was an honorific rarely heard from Nasher’s mouth. Clearly, the li-tigon and his great uncle shared similar suspicions.

“Nothing much,” the human said blandly, before continuing, as if reluctantly. “Just… a dry run to the Ganges… it may be wise. Also…” Raj said, before standing up, and shoving his rifle out of the way rather than unslinging it, “you should commit this symbol to memory.”

With the point of a knife, the human started to etch something into the ground. Freak and Nasher glanced at each another, rose, and peered over Raj’s shoulders as he sat back, checking to make sure he’d gotten it right.

“What does it mean?” Nasher asked after a moment. “Is it a signal, of some sort? Does it have some hokey spiritual significance?”

Making light of the situation wasn’t working. Raj was as sullen as ever. Though, he did answer.

“It is the logo of a certain company. This company does many things—you only need to worry about one of its functions, though. It ships produce from here, Hindustan, to the rest of the world. To do so, it may get as close as fifteen miles to—”

“The Land of the Spirits,” Freak finished. “I guessed as much.” Out loud, though, the li-tigon questioned in a tone that suggested he wasn’t sure he actually wanted to hear the answer, “But Raj… why are you asking me to memorize it? After all, you’ll be with until I’m on the boat. Every step of the way… that’s the wording you used. Have things changed?”

Diplomatic wording subtly encouraged the human to divulge whatever he was concealing. Smiling, lopsided, though, Raj saw through the tactic, and shook his head.

“No. Not at all,” he scoffed, “not at all…”

A moment passed. Wisely, Freak didn’t press his trainer, his friend, and, instead, rested at the human’s side, genuinely enjoying the company and proximity of another being, for once. Eyes shut, the li-tigon stoically waited, knowing that soon, Raj’s older, more familiar personality would return. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well…” the human murmured, eventually, in a tone so soft that it was almost drowned out by the soft crackles of the nearby fire, “I have… some reason…. Rumors, really—nothing verifiable… that my beloved brother is intent on reclaiming you.”

Freak felt a finger gently, purposefully tap him on the nose, and opened his eyes, considering.

“Shah, eh…”

Raj nodded, solemnly, before looking back into the fire. And though he was around three great friends, the human felt, and looked, incredibly lonely.

“Raj and Shah,” Freak said, “they mean the same thing, don’t they?... it makes sense. For your parents to name their twin boys like that. You never told us,” the li-tigon said delicately, softly, “what… drove you and him apart. You look alike, and you’re both deadly in a fight… what made you so good?” Freak asked. “And what made him… so bad?”

“Not just nature, Scar,” Raj answered after another moment, resting a hand on the li-tigon’s largish feline head, “Nurture.

“You see….” The human paused, taking in a deep breath, closing his eyes as if something was causing him great pain. “I… was not born in the best of health. Throughout my childhood—until very, very recently, in fact… I’ve been plagued with every injury, every disease… it’s not just a medical condition, I’m certain. I’m cursed with bad luck—or, rather… I was.

“My religious preferences—and other things,” Raj said, “differ from those of my parents, my family, my village… and, of course, my brother. You see, he’s their pride and joy.

“They never really treated me properly, in hindsight,” the boy shrugged, tugging, absently, at a loose clump of grass, “I often got the feeling that they wanted me gone; they wanted the inconvenience and embarrassment I posed to them eliminated. My grandfather was the worst—he was a big hunter, all about killing things—you know the type. Endlessly, he tried to toughen me up. I don’t want to say how…

“What’s important,” Raj said, “is you, Scar. And you, Nasher, and Asal…and, of course, Kochai, and the Dark One. I’m not so very different from any of you,” he explained, “I’m different, not just in appearance, but in my soul. I’m an outsider, and I’ve spent most of my life trying to change that before giving up and accepting it… and, now, embracing it.

“Asal, in fact, was the first sentient being ever to show me kindness. To this day, I’m not sure why—and you won’t get the details of how we met, before you ask,” Raj said, suddenly smiling, grinning at the hopeful expressions on Freak’s, Nasher’s, and now, Kochai’s face.

“But, as I was saying,” he continued, “Around you three, I feel… much, much better. Ah, I’m sorry for being so moody over the past few days,” Raj sighed, “but a number of things are concerning me. The end of the Season of the Rains means that Shah’s gang’s activity will be up, but that’s not all—police, military, rival gangs… within another two weeks, they’ll be swarming all over this land. By that time, Scar, you’ll be gone. You’ll have to be.

“That sounds reasonable,” the li-tigon said. “So… when will we make the practice run to the Ganges?”

“There’s no time like the present,” the human said coolly, looking back into the flames. “We’ll leave tonight.”

(If ya’ll guessed who Raj’s grandfather is/was… kudos to ya’ll.)

“I don’t see why you’ve had so much trouble exterminating him. He’s just one being, after all, and your land is a thousand times as hostile and violent to him as mine.”

“I couldn’t have foreseen any of it. He’s good—he adapts quickly, and is far, far more resilient than I could ever have expected. And don’t be so condescending, my friend. After all, I don’t have to do this favor for you.”

This was their second meeting, and it had been called hastily, after the one that had spoken first heard of his friend’s astounding failure to kill Freak. They were in the same darkened room as before, but this time, there was no table. No smokes. No luxuries at all. In fact, the tone of the meeting was confrontational—even hostile.

“Apologies,” the first one murmured, harshly. “But it’s absolutely vital that you kill him, and soon—I believe he’s going to come back, somehow. I don’t know how… but we can’t underestimate him anymore.”

“’We,’ eh…”

The second one grinned, humorlessly. He then fell silent, mulling things over.

“…Alright. I’ve armed a certain group that has good reason to hate him, and his little human friend. He’ll be overwhelmingly outgunned—chances of him surviving are slim.”

“Slim.”

“Yes. You should know this better than I do—with a being like this, there are no certainties.”

“What happens if he does survive, then?”

“Then he will be completely your problem, and none of mine. Hard times for our cause are ahead—I can’t spend so much time, effort, and assets on this one little being. It’s just not good business.”

“Good business, eh…”

“That’s right.”

A sigh was heard.

“You know, my friend… the reason our side rarely wins is because we’re so Goddamned… self-serving, and shortsighted. We have no camaraderie, and we are, essentially, cowards. But I’m not willing to call it quits and go into hiding—not yet, and not ever. This time,” he growled, “I’m going all out. Regardless of whether you take care of him or not.”

“Then I wish you not luck… but sense.”

The meeting was over; they both vanished seconds later. Nothing more needed to be said—if Freak was eliminated, he was eliminated. If he wasn’t, he wasn’t. Friendship is a fragile, fragile thing—but even more so if your end goal is complete, total, nonnegotiable world domination.

It was difficult for Freak to imagine that anything besides real fear was pressing Raj into acting so rashly. The human was calm, cold, conservative, and didn’t act quickly except for when circumstances demanded it—what circumstances were demanding such sudden action was a mystery to the li-tigon.

Raj was all out of little helpers, and explained that taking a vehicle into town would only attract attention and compromise them. They were going to make this journey on foot alone.

They’d all slept until about midnight—or, at least, the cats had. Raj had remained wide awake and worried, patrolling the edge of the Sacred Mesa, always armed, always ready to fight. A constant drizzle of rain provided cover, but it worked in two ways—Raj’s visibility was as decreased as anyone that might be watching.

It was a new moon that night. Any light that reached the group was refracted from the atmosphere itself, or simply from the dull glow of a port city—their destination. Crickets chirped, now and then, when they could find cover from the rain. But apart from that, it was silent.

Freak dozed off well after Nasher and Kochai did. His sleep wasn’t deep, it was transient and troubled, plagued with vague suspicions and a general sense of unease. When Raj ended it by merely approaching the li-tigon, he stood, immediately.

“Now?” he murmured, stretching.

Raj merely nodded, and proceeded to wake Kochai and Nasher. The tigress kitten was all smiles as was the norm; she didn’t seem to pick up on the nervousness of the adults—to her, this was just another adventure. Freak felt somewhat uplifted, but Raj didn’t—he just checked his rifle, then the numerous backup weapons he carried, and knelt to speak to the group in silence.

“I don’t want there to be any noise, at all. I have a contact in our destination—he’s been keeping track of things for me, recently, and it seems that my dear brother may have obtained support and funding from a larger, much more dangerous criminal operation. A few weeks ago, a great deal of hardware was stolen from a military convoy… night vision goggles, SMAWs, and new assault rifles. If Shah was responsible for that, which could easily be very true, I do not want to tangle with him on any terms but my own.”

“You have a friend at the port city… you never told us this before,” Freak mentioned, flexing his claws.

“It’s not something that you should be concerned about. He can’t offer direct assistance to you… or me, for that matter.”

The li-tigon turned away, peering out over the sprawling jungle below them. The odds were stacked against him and Raj—he didn’t understand why the human was unwilling to share what little assets were available.

“I’m sorry, Scar,” Raj said after a moment, “You must understand—he has many worries of his own right now. I had to call in a number of favors to get him to help me even this much. Your land isn’t the only one ruled by terror right now.”

Freak sighed, shortly, then nodded, if grimly.

“It’s alright. Then… shall we go?”

Raj nodded again. Then, as he started to move towards the hidden stairwell that led to the top of the Mesa, the cats fell in behind him. Nasher gave his daughter a serious glance, telling her that this wasn’t the time to play around. In response, Kochai put a digit to her lips, nodding, seriously, before peering around, suspiciously, scarcely straying two feet from her father.

Freak brought up the rear, and, as they left the Mesa and entered the forest itself, he was a bit surprised with himself—he’d done nothing but increase his lean muscular mass for at least a month, now. He was a quite large by any standards, but he was graceful as well.

“Maybe I learned a lesson… float like a… sting like a… …I wish I was more poetic.”

Here on the ground, under the slowly swaying, damp trees, it was dark, but Raj led the group surefootedly and without pause. He’d been wandering the jungles of Hindustan for most of his life, now, and didn’t need his eyes as much as most would—he could tell where he was by sheer experience. Maybe he’d get lost in a city, someday—but here, he’d never get lost.

He was holding his rifle close, right hand on the pistol grip, left hand on the forearm. Warily, he crept on, all of his senses on high alert. Though he was traveling with three beings whose physical senses far outstripped his, particularly at night, he saw things that they didn’t—he could piece together little irregularities far more quickly than they could, giving him a perceived precognitive ability. It was something that even Freak was unlikely to be able to pick up, no matter how much time he spent around the human.

Raj’s boots danced noiselessly across the damp ground. Something was wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but paused, slowing down, and lifted his PDA, bringing up a topographic map of the surrounding

“Ah…”

They were in a valley, it seemed, so slight and so gradually sloping that it was all but impossible to tell without advanced surveying equipment. This created a great conundrum for Raj—here, water movement bred thicker, larger trees and better cover, offering numerous distractions that might allow them to pass unnoticed. Of course, if they were found, they were at a severe disadvantage.

Moving up the gradual incline made them more visible, but taking the high ground would, of course, offer clear advantages if they had to fight.

“Is something wrong, Raj?” Nasher murmured, almost making the human jump, though his voice was so soft it was almost missed over the hushed whisper of a nearby stream.

“Nothing, Uncle,” the human replied. “But please, stay very close… and no more talking.”

The tiger nodded, and, though Raj couldn’t see it, knew that the tiger was complying. This wasn’t Nasher’s style—normally, he’d complain about the length of the journey, the undue precautions they were taking, the ache in his bones, or back… but not this time. He, too, felt that there was something out here to fear.

Basketball sneakers—Nikes, to be specific—didn’t really go with their clothes. Style, though, was one of the last things on their minds. Other concerns, namely, money, pride, power, and notoriety—these outranked respect for fashion.

“Are you sure this decision will be beneficial in the long term?” he asked, twirling a rosary with his left hand, adjusting his powerful, brand-new infrared goggles with the other. “Getting into bed with a man like that, I mean… I don’t know that it’s wise.”

“What’s done is done,” Shah replied coldly, “and I’m not interested in being questioned. I admit, that spook was creepy…” he shrugged, before shuddering, a little—their contact was far, far more than creepy.

The fact that they’d met in a slaughterhouse, the fact that Shah felt inexplicably nauseous, off-balance, and terrified around him… the fact that he couldn’t see the other man’s eyes, and the fact that, several times, he swore he saw the flash of vicious, foot-long fangs beneath the mask he wore….

Bah. Bah. He was just being silly; his memory was editing itself. There was nothing to complain about.

“Still. Becoming a branch of that group involves risk, yes; and, even if we achieve our goals, we’ll have to contribute to theirs, but I don’t mind it. Spending blood and money to do this noble act is justified—you should know this, of all people. You were my teacher, after all.”

“Be that as it may,” the older man said, smiling, a little, swapping his rosary for a handheld two-way radio, “I am, above all else, a practical man. There’s no wisdom in entering a relationship that might demand for us to fight, directly or indirectly, in places I can neither pronounce nor pretend to care about—especially when our own victory is far from guaranteed, and our franchisors, so to speak, are known to… liquidate… bad investments.”

“In that case, think of it as motivation,” Shah murmured, slowly starting to kneel. “And then, get into position. I’m firing the first shot. After that, everyone else can join in, but I don’t want to expose anyone to unnecessary risk.”

“I hear and obey, mighty sheikh,” the older man said smoothly. “I wonder, though—why on Earth is he leading three—no, two tigers and a… thing… towards the Ganges? For that matter… how is he doing it?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t give a damn about finding out,” Shah replied, donning a throat-mike set, peering to his belt to enter the encrypted channel his gang was using for radio communications. “I don’t need to understand my brother to kill him.”

“It would take another hour to circle around this field—it’s a bloody waste of time, and I want to get to the city ASAP. In fact, I’ve just decided that this is no longer a dry run. We’ll stay in the city… somehow. Feeding these three may be hard… …I suppose I could use them to help solve the overpopulation problem… Marvelous. Now I feel like a jackass for thinking like Shah.”

Raj dropped to knee, staring straight ahead. Noiselessly, Freak, Nasher, and the now sleeping Kochai formed up on his sides. They were at the very edge of a treeline, about to enter a wide swath of waist-high grass. And when I say grass, I hopefully don’t mean the kind that you keep on your lawn—I mean… grass.

Gripping his G3 with his left hand, the human raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes, and peered around.

Nothing. He saw nothing unusual—not even a single shadow, it seemed, was out of place.

Maybe that was what was annoying him.

Vaguely, Raj considered doing something radical, unexpected, unforeseeable—such as, for instance, razing the field in front of him to the ground. Of course, it would upset some rich farmer, somewhere, but who cared? As long as Raj covered his mouth with a handkerchief, he’d be fine—provided, of course, that felines weren’t capable of getting stoned… no, that wasn’t likely; they were mammals too.

“Kochai,” Raj said after a moment, not looking away from the field for a second, “pick a number between one and five.”

“Hmm…” the tigress kitten whispered, pacing around her father’s shins, for a moment, before sitting directly in front of the human, looking up at him. “I pick… pi.”

“That’ll do. Good decision,” the human said, glancing down at her, winking, for the briefest second.

“Alright,” he whispered, “we’ll be taking the scenic route—you see that pass, over there?” Raj asked, standing, nodding towards a distant but distinct convergence of two low but steep hills. “After we pass through, we only need to go due south, and then we’ll reach the city by this time tomorrow. I—”

Supersonic bullets have a very, very annoying tendency to strike their targets, followed, seconds later, by their reports.

That meant that Raj had a full second to freeze, stare at a nearby sapling that had been reduced to sawdust, before falling, as if knocked over by the booming roar of sound that signaled that they’d been found.

“No, no, I’m alright—GET TO COVER! NOW! NOW!”

Raj shoved Freak away as he got to his feet; he hadn’t been hit, but if they didn’t watch themselves, soon, they’d all be chewed up by the long streams of steelcores and tracers that suddenly blasted towards their position from at least a dozen locations.

The li-tigon didn’t nod, he just ran the second he was certain his friend was alright. Nasher had already grabbed his daughter and dived behind a tree, hugging the trunk to avoid gunfire. Freak took cover at another tree, and leaned out to speak to his great-uncle, when a bullet slashed across the spiked bark, very nearly taking a chunk of the li-tigon’s lip with it.

“How many?” Freak asked, as Nasher released his daughter to reply.

“I counted fifteen of them,” the tiger said thinly, “Did you see where they are?”

“Along the top of the mountains,” Freak said, having to speak rather loudly to be heard over the gunfire. “Raj! Get behind cover; what are you doing?”

A second later, though, the answer to the li-tigon’s question became apparent.

The human had dived into the Hindustani equivalent of a rosebush—it hurt like a motherfucker, but beat getting shot. From there, he’d reached to the small of his back and snapped up a 37mm flare pistol. Launching the bright projectile into the air, where it hung and would hang, for at least a few moments, Raj memorized the positions of his attackers as quickly as possible, even as they took cover.

Incoming fire let up. Foolishly, a man on a hill, several hundred yards away, continued to pound Raj’s general position with a steady stream of 7.62x54mmR bullets, fired from a PK machinegun. Raj ignored the shells blowing divots out of the ground all around him, and merely lifted his rifle, aimed, carefully, before snapping off a burst that put the gunner down.

“Let’s go,” the human said, voice easily audible in the unexpected lull of the battle. “Move between cover as quickly as possible; they can see our heat signatures. Don’t think about attacking them—if you need covering or suppressing fire, I’ll do what I can. But our objective is to get out—if we make it to the pass, we can escape. Understood? Alright… on my mark, then,” the human said, making eye contact with Freak, then Nasher, to ensure that he’d been heard, readying his rifle. “Go!”

Just as the felines left cover, Raj dived out of the bush, tearing jagged, shallow cuts into his face and hands and arms in the process. He landed on the ground on his belly, using his elbows for support, and started to fire short, cautious bursts, intending to gain a few seconds to move a few yards in—he didn’t have a great amount of ammunition with him.

His tactic worked, though—after snapping off six or seven shots, Raj got up and sprinted, sliding behind another tree just as the sloppily halted attack resumed again. He didn’t peek out of cover; he’d seen Freak and Nasher and Kochai move up farther, without getting hit.

Raj was about to fire again; he was leaning, just a little, the muzzle of his rifle out of cover. It was then that his dear brother fired again—and this time, he hit what he was shooting it.

“Gah!” Raj exclaimed suddenly, jumping back, hands held wide in surprise, as the G3KA4 shattered from his grip, broken beyond repair.

Things had gone from bad to worse in the space of that brief second. Of course, Raj had plenty of back-up weapons, including firearms, but his rifle was his best long-range defensive measure. The rest of his guns were pea-shooters compared to the .308 rounds the German-designed gun fired.

He surmised, correctly, that his brother was maintaining close communications with his gang. Fire shifted directly towards him, and another sniper shot cracked into the tree just next to his head—Shah was prioritizing; taking out the biggest threat first. After that, his operatives would circle around Freak, Nasher and Kochai, and capture or kill them, or both.

A number of contingencies passed through Raj’s mind—surrender and negotiation were some of them. He couldn’t take the moralistic high ground; not always, anyway. There were times for him, and others, when it was both prudent and necessary to negotiate with terrorists.

This, though, didn’t seem like one of those times. Shah wanted—and had wanted, for several years, now, his brother’s head, severed and served on a platter. What’s more, Raj had, essentially, nothing to offer—that is, nothing that he was willing to offer. He had few assets to his name, few contacts, few relationships, and, likely, none that Shah would value. And as for Freak, Nasher, and Kochai… they were entirely non-negotiable.

The only choice, then, was to fight back.

With a single, deft shove, Raj removed the pouches of extra G3 magazines he was carrying. He came up with a MAC-10/9; a simple, cheap, but surprisingly effective submachinegun, capable of hosing down an admittedly large target area with dozens and dozens of small-caliber bullets at a rate of over 1,000 rounds per minute.

Of course, he had to be careful to not burn through rounds too quickly. But by pressing the trigger every few seconds while he moved, Raj was able to both gain ground, to a degree, and deter enemy advance.

It couldn’t last, though. And everyone—Raj, the felines, Shah’s gang—knew it.

So, instead of wasting ammunition, the human quit firing—he’d wait until his enemies were actually within range to engage them. Until then, though, he had to keep moving.

And, oddly enough, such a tactic seemed to be working.

Up ahead, Raj saw Freak pause, turn, giving him a desperate look. Things were heating up, and if Shah had any RPGs or grenades, he’d be using them soon. So the human waved for Freak to move on—he’d catch up soon, after they got out of the valley.

The way the fight was going, though, was changing. Now, instead of pouring fire down on Raj and the felines from the mountainsides, Shah’s gang was moving out to cut them off at the distant pass, and engage them at medium range. Machinegunners continued to keep fire up, so Raj assumed that the ones coming down into the valley were armed with lighter weapons—probably carbines or rifles or shotguns.

Thinking for a second, Raj flipped open a Velcro pouch, and tossed a smoke grenade several dozen yards ahead of him. He waited, counting to five, and then moved, quickly—his brother had kept a good mark on him, and, the second he was out of cover, a bullet roared through the air, just behind him.

It was difficult for the human to see through the dense, white smoke, but it was even more difficult for his enemies to see—at least until someone, probably Shah, with infrared vision, started to guide their fire. Regardless—Raj was still a few seconds ahead of the dozens of rounds that chased after him.

Freak, Nasher and Kochai, it seemed, weren’t being specifically targeted—not yet, anyway. They picked up on that, quickly, and instead of darting from tree to tree, they ran directly towards the pass that would lead them to escape and safety.

Nasher was carrying his daughter by the scruff of her neck; Kochai couldn’t run fast enough on her own. Freak led his relatives, keeping his eyes open—and that paid off.

Suddenly, the li-tigon froze, and dove to the side, getting behind cover. Sensing danger, Nasher did the same, as Freak listened, lowering himself to the ground, preparing to attack or defend as necessary.

A second later, he jumped out, just at the right time. His right paw lashed out, striking the man’s head with a sickening crack, shattering several bones. The human was unconscious or worse before he hit the ground, but, just to be sure, Freak surgically but quickly inserted a tooth into the man’s neck, and ripped out his jugular. There was a reason for the li-tigon’s brutality—his enemy was carrying a Striker-12 revolver shotgun.

“There’s more of them,” Nasher said, bodily covering his daughter, just in case, “Two to the left; three to the right. They’re going to ambush him, Scar. We need to take them out, and quickly—see, the rest on the mountainside are moving to cut us off, a well.”

“Then we don’t have much time,” Freak said curtly. “I go this way, you go that way. Okay?”

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

“Then—go!”

Kochai stayed where she was; even the fearless tigress was smart enough to know that entering a battlefield like this was suicide, for her. Freak went right, Nasher went left. And a few screams, bites, roars, and other, more brutal acts of violence later, and Shah’s advance force was down.

The two adult felines converged back where Kochai was. Both their muzzles and paws were bloodied—they’d done their jobs, and well. This time, it was Freak who picked Kochai up; Nasher held his position to make sure that Raj knew where to find them.

The li-tigon moved on, though—the pass was within a few hundred yards, now. They were going to survive this, incredibly.

He wasn’t sure what made him pause, and turn. Flowery bursts of automatic gunfire chattered out from the mountainsides, still; he only realized that he’d heard the dull, low thunk of Shah’s rifle in hindsight.

Freezing, managing to see through and past a hundred yards of dense vines, foliage, trees, and war-torn jungle and field, Freak saw Raj pause, putting a hand to his gut… then fall.

“Kochai,” the li-tigon said, putting the kitten down, taking a second to ensure that she was unlikely to come under fire, “stay here; your father is on the way—hold on.”

She said something, then, that Freak never heard. The li-tigon was moving too fast, sprinting that quarter mile in about a minute flat. Vines and leaves simply fell apart as they collided with his powerful, robust form, reduced to julienned, green slivers that almost floated to the ground.

Freak passed Nasher—the tiger hadn’t noticed that Raj had been hit, he’d been pinned down, for a moment, by a distant PKM. As the li-tigon passed, he yelled at his great-uncle to get to Kochai; he’d take care of Raj.

Seconds later, Freak was close enough to see just how grievous the injury Raj had taken was. The li-tigon leaped over his human friend, dodging a trail of gunfire, and grabbed him with a paw, rather roughly, pulling him behind cover.

The human tried to speak, but Freak simply ignored him, cutting him off with a snarl, and worked, quickly, to get his bleeding under control. Holes were still being dug into the ground all around them by concentrated, thirty caliber gunfire, as well as the occasional booming roar of Shah’s sniper rifle.

“Have you ever heard of the saying,” Raj said, before coughing, blood flowing from his mouth, “fight fire… with fire…?”

“Yes,” Freak said, applying a great deal of pressure to the human’s chest, so much so that Raj could scarcely breathe, “but I don’t see how it’s relevant…”

The li-tigon’s voice cracked, slightly. If he pushed any harder, the human would, simply, be crushed. Yet… he was still bleeding profusely, both internally and externally. So Freak drew his paw back, and extended a claw, intending to slice Raj’s clothes open; perhaps if he got the bullet out… then, he froze.

“You see now?”

Raj wasn’t only wearing a shirt. He was wearing body armor, soft Kevlar that did nothing to stop the .50 caliber slug that his brother fired.

He was also wearing a suicide vest.

“I see,” Freak said, coldly—he quickly pressed himself against a tree, as a swath of bullets slashed just in front of him.

“I’m so sorry, Scar. You wouldn’t understand if I’d told you before, yes?... of course you wouldn’t. You don’t understand it now, and that’s not necessary.”

The li-tigon bristled, and didn’t turn to look at Raj. Still, the only thing keeping him where he was were the concentrated efforts of five or six machinegunners.

“Why didn’t you tell us? What made you take such extreme measures; it must have been something solid, something concrete…”

Raj shook his head, a motion Freak saw out of the corner of his eye.

“Not at all, actually. It’s just something that the Dark One told me, through Asal, a very, very long time ago. I can’t remember what it is right now; I’ve lost too much blood… it was something about trusting your instincts, or something…”

The human was rasping, now, struggling to speak. He turned to the side, lacking the energy to spit the blood that had collected in his mouth out, and, trembling, reached into a pocket, pulling out a small, wired detonator.

“Now,” Freak said, turning slowly, but not quite meeting Raj’s eyes, “I understand. …You’re sure… there’s no other way?”

The human shook his head. He would have said something, but had little energy left; he had to conserve it, he couldn’t speak—well, he could say at least a few words. He owed Freak that much.

“You need to go,” Raj mumbled, so that Freak had to listen, closely, taking his attention off the battle, “but before you do… I’m very grateful for your friendship. And… please tell Uncle and Kochai the same.”

“I will, Raj,” Freak said, finally meeting the human’s eyes, trying to keep focused on his goal of escaping, getting back to the Land of the Spirits, “and before I go… I’m very, very grateful for every gift you’ve given me... your knowledge, your time, and your friendship. So… thank you, Raj. Thank you.”

There was nothing left to say. And, for a moment, fire eased up; Shah’s operatives were going to move in to confirm the kill, it seemed—excellent. The end to Raj’s story would almost certainly clinch an unhindered escape for Freak, Nasher, and Kochai.

Freak left, running again, instantly, but not as fast as he just had. There was still much ground to cover, and he didn’t want to exhaust himself.

The li-tigon passed a certain part of the forest, did a double-take, then dived behind cover. Shah’s gang implemented two or three grenades several yards away, attempting to deter him from moving on, and, after the ringing in his ears subsided, Freak called out to Nasher.

“What are you doing? I told you to get to Kochai, why are you—”

Freak crept along the ground, for a moment, as a series of rapid bursts roared through the forest above him—a human shout of anger and fear was heard; at this range, Shah’s people needed to be careful of friendly fire.

He got to Nasher in time to haul the tiger into better cover, and see what could be done about the five or six cork-sized bullet holes in his upper ribcage. But before Freak had put his relative down, he could see that it wasn’t much. Already, Nasher was choking to death on his own blood, eyes rolling to the back of his head. His vitals had been hit…

Somehow, though, the tiger managed to speak, in a gurgling, terrible, throaty throne that hurt Freak to hear.

“Get… going… Kochai… take… to… Land… home… with you,” he murmured. “Here… nothing is… left… tell her… goodbye… and… I love her…”

The li-tigon didn’t attempt to stop the out-of-body sensation that was coming over him—he could not deal with the losses of both Nasher and Raj so quickly, so soon. He merely nodded, and, hardly realizing what he was doing, embraced his relative, set him down—tenderly—and shut his eyes.

Then, he was off.

Now, Freak started to pull himself back to reality. Occasionally, loud bursts of gunfire barreled through the jungle, but as the li-tigon left the nexus of the battle, they grew quiet, distorted. He seemed to have slipped past Shah’s gang, and by the time they realized that, he and Kochai would be long gone.

He was approaching where the tigress had been left, and felt a sudden prickle of concern—there was no way that she, too, had been killed or captured… was there?

Then, though, Kochai became visible, peeking out from behind a bush. She seemed relieved to see that Freak was back, but squeaked in surprise as the li-tigon lifted her, then tossed her onto his back—he had no intentions of stopping moving until they were in the city.

“Big brother, why are we going so quickly? Are Raj and Father coming up after us? Are they waiting for us up ahead?” she asked, peering into the distance, always hopeful, always happy.

Freak didn’t answer, for a moment. He’d dealt with the deaths of his mother and sister before he was a minute old—before he was able to comprehend what had happened. Kochai had been hit hard by Asal’s death… but she’d moved on. But then, Nasher was—or, rather, had been… her only remaining parent.

“No,” the li-tigon said softly, after a moment, “they’re…”

His voice trailed off; he couldn’t bring himself to say it explicitly, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much she needed to know. Shah’s gang seemed to notice them, at that moment, and Freak leaped to the side, then sprung off a tree, diving over a large, foreboding plant, getting out of view, as a stream of bullets followed him.

At last, they were out of the valley. Freak glanced over his shoulder, for a moment, watching the pass disappear behind him, then ran on. They’d escaped. But Raj and Nasher never would.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it, brother.”

“Yes… I suppose it has.”

A soft chuckled rolled through the group. Their leader strutted through the clearing, rifle slung carelessly over his back as he rubbed his hands together with glee—the tiger that had been shot was old and less shiny and sleek than the ideal specimen, but a quick visual check suggested that this one had visible Caspian ancestry, something that a collector in the West or an oil-rich Middle Eastern country would value greatly—but something that some activist scientist would like even more, and be willing to pay through the nose for.

"So, how’s your business, your job? I hear it’s very successful, yes? It’s bringing a lot of money in to our village. You’ve been making Mother and Father proud, haven’t you, Raj?”

Shah’s tone was mocking, but, at a deeper level, it was also outraged, angry, malicious. Raj took it in stride, though, after pausing, for a moment, accepting that, despite everything, he did feel guilty, very guilty, for being unable to accept the community he’d been born into.

“It’s going… quite… well,” Raj murmured, managing to sit up, somehow. “You see, my dear brother… I might not give much… in terms of assets. But I don’t… take honor, or safety, or anything… worth living for. I’m the worst son our parents have… with one exception.”

Shah’s eyes narrowed, but he shrugged, and stopped, looking down at his brother with genuine curiosity. He knelt, brow furrowed, before speaking.

“I still don’t understand, Raj. You’re not gaining anything by joining our fight—so, maybe you don’t agree with it 100%... why don’t you suck it up? No movement is without flaw. I admit, I don’t like getting into bed with… bigger powers,” he said ominously, “but some ends justify some means.”

“Very true,” Raj whispered. “Some ends… justify some means.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Raj laughed at that, sadly. Everything hurt, now—he wasn’t coughing up anymore blood, it had all either congealed along his throat, or most of his veins had already shut down.

“I have so many times in the past, Shah. Even if I say it again, now, what will change?”

Shah shrugged, and, in a clean, fluid motion, lifted his rifle, nudging his brother’s head with the muzzle.

“Humor me, and I’ll finish you quickly, instead of leaving you here to rot. Maybe I’ll even give you a proper funeral.”

Raj closed his eyes, and attempted to shake his head—but he had no energy.

“Some ends… justify no means…. at all.”

Shah laughed at that, loudly, and, a moment later, his gang joined in. A loud, sharp crack echoed through the trees, then, and, a second later, Shah spat on his brother’s reddened cheek.

“Insolent to the end, I see,” he sneered. “Ah, well. I’m glad to say that from tonight onwards, I won’t have to worry about you anymore, brother—good riddance. Now that the thorn in my side you posed is no more… heheh. I’m gonna rock this country. You can count on that.”

“Good luck to you, then,” Raj said, smiling in a bizarre fashion, eyes shut. “But Shah, I have one final thing to say—come here, please? I can’t speak very loudly…”

Shah blinked, paused, then rolled his eyes and complied. He might as well grant Raj his dying wish—he had, after all, granted his brother nothing else in life.

“Some ends…. Justify… some means,” Raj murmured, as the muscles in his arm started to twitch, oddly, as if he was trying to flex… a finger, or something. Perhaps he was attempting to make a rude gesture… but somehow, Shah didn’t think that was his style. So he leaned in, and listened closely.

“For instance…” Raj whispered, “killing you… justifies… suicide bombing…”

The roar was both audible and tangible, despite the thousands of yards and tons of thick vegetation that separated Freak and the smoking, smoldering crater where Raj had been until a moment ago. The li-tigon had jumped, a little, at the blast, turned back, saw the plume of thick, black smoke rise into the air in the shape of a giant mushroom that hauntingly danced through the air … then moved on, feeling a grim sense of relief. Raj’s suffering had ended, and, along with it, Shah, and the rest of his gang.

Kochai was still crying—he didn’t blame her. If it wasn’t for a life of death and violence, the li-tigon probably would have been in tears as well.

Walking along, he wondered if he really, truly felt sadness, sorrow, for what had just happened. Perhaps he was still numb, and emotion would set in later, but, for some reason, the li-tigon doubted it. Nasher and Raj had died honorably, doing what they believed in. They’d taken many enemies down with them, and Freak was alive to make sure that their efforts weren’t in vain. So, rather than focusing on how they’d died, Freak started to think about how they’d lived; the pranks they’d occasionally pulled on one another, the conversations they’d had, the acceptance they’d shown each another…

“Don’t be so sad, Kochai,” Freak said after a moment, softly, gently, yet, at the same time, firmly. “Raj and your father both died for many reasons. One of them was so that you, and me, would be able to live on—but not just live. They wanted us to live on in peace, and happiness—do you know what the last thing your father said was? The absolute last thing?”

“No,” the tigress sobbed, burying her face into Freak’s fur, “does it matter?”

“He wanted me to tell you that he always has, and always will love you,” the li-tigon said. He wasn’t lying—that was, no doubt, what Nasher wanted—it just wasn’t exactly what he’d said. “As for how much it matters, you should decide that for yourself. …But I think it matters. A lot.”

Slowly, Kochai stopped crying. She sniffled, a few times, then looked up.

“Really, big brother?”

“Yes,” Freak said, “and as for Raj… he said that he was very, very grateful to be your friend. Just like me.”

She was silent, for a moment, thinking to herself. They were in a dark, quiet, misty part of the forest, now, dominated by stout trees, sudden ponds, and a bizarre sense of serenity at this hour. There was a strangely spiritual feel about the area; Kochai and Freak both felt as if someone had taken a blanket and wrapped it around them, protecting them, at least temporarily, from the cold, harsh world outside.

“I’m still sad,” Kochai said quietly, resting her chin on Freak’s shoulder blade, “but not very. I hope I was a good friend to Raj, and a good daughter to Father… and I hope I’m a good friend to you, big brother. I hope I am.”

The li-tigon was silent; he just walked along, listening to the quiet sounds of the forest, and the even more quiet sounds of Kochai on his back, slowly but surely falling asleep.

“Don’t worry, Kochai. You are.”

They didn’t quite go to the city nonstop. Kochai woke a few hours before noon, as Freak still plodded along, almost zombielike. The tigress insisted that he take a break, and a nap; she’d keep an eye on things. Perhaps against his better judgment, the li-tigon conceded, and awoke to find that, predictably, Kochai was missing. She turned up again within a few moments, of course—with a small fawn in tow.

The rest of the day was spent walking; this time, Freak didn’t carry the tigress. She was still a very young cub, of course, but his “parenting” style was harsh—the best lessons were those that were self-taught, in his opinion.

Very quickly, Freak started to notice changes in the environment, as they neared the city. The air was thicker here, hotter—it carried in it a thousand scents that Freak never would, and never could, completely understand. Fortunately, there was still plenty of cover—several times, the li-tigon had to stop, take cover, indicating for Kochai to do the same, as groups of men on foot or in vehicles passed, never closer than a hundred or so yards.

Then, though, they hit a problem.

“Kochai,” Freak said, standing erect, brow furrowed, as he looked out over the landscape ahead of him, “please climb that tree… tell me what we’re looking at.”

The tigress snapped off a sharp salute, stylishly, before complying. Freak was perched on a cliff overlooking a sheer, thousand-foot drop—there was an almost dangerous lack of cover here, but the li-tigon wasn’t too worried. Within a second he and Kochai could disappear, if need be.

“Oh, this, big brother? This is the city! What did you expect it to look like?”

“Less depressing,” Freak thought without answering.

Kochai was on a leafless branch—on its very frail, wobbling tip, in fact, to get a better view of the landscape below them.

It was almost sunset, now. Directly in front of the two felines, the Sun hung, temporarily, just above the horizon. Radiating shades of peach, purple, pink, orange, due to the thick, almost noxious haze in the air, it did almost nothing to take away from the miles and miles of slums below.

Houses and businesses mashed together, all but unrecognizable from one another. Children played in streets and parks where garbage was blatantly more common than grass or even relatively clean dirt. Freak understood little of this, though. All he knew was that when he looked at this expanse of neighborhood, he felt a chronic lack of hope emanating from it.

“Millions of people live here,” Freak said, looking for any conceivable way to reach the wide, rapid river that cut the town in two. “Thousands of people separate us from our goal—it’s too much to hope that we’ll be able to get to the Ganges, when necessary to board the ship. For that matter… we won’t even know when it’s time to go. At this distance, I won’t be able to see the symbol on it when it arrives…”

“Don’t worry big brother—woops!” Kochai said, as she bounded towards the li-tigon, making his heart freeze when she almost fell, plunging to an early death. “The city is big. It’s not all like this—see, all we have to do is follow the river. There are many places next to it where there are none, or, at least, less, people. Don’t be so sad. We’ll find something, right?”

Her optimism was infectious. Of course, Freak wasn’t exactly likely to give up, merely because the odds were stacked against him, but normally, he would have just shrugged, and grimly gotten to work at the task at hand. Now, though, he actually smiled, and felt a sense of hope for himself, for the future—he would find a way to get onto the ship, and then, back to the Land of the Spirits.

“Alright, Kochai. We’ll play it your way—”

“Play? So, this is a game? How do I win?” the tigress asked, suddenly focused, ears flattened, as she lowered herself to the ground, ready to tear off to whatever objective Freak would set.

“Calm down, calm down,” the li-tigon said. “…In fact, yes, Kochai, it’s a game. To win it, you have to stay here, and not move a muscle until I return—”

“Nice try, big brother, but it’ll be best if we split up and search for possibilities—all right, then at least let me come with you, yes? I don’t want to be here, all alone, bored, worried… cold, tired, and hungry…” the young tigress said, looking up at Freak with big, green eyes, and a trembling, pouting lip.

“Cold. Brilliant,” Freak said coolly. “Hindustan is as hot as my homeland, and far more humid… …but, alright.”

“Yippee! I’ll see you later then—we’ll meet here in six hours, yes? Yes. Goodbye, big br—”

“Not so fast,” the li-tigon said, pouncing, using a paw to bar Kochai from a speedy escape. “We’re not splitting up; it’s too dangerous. Besides, I need you, Kochai—you can climb things that I can’t, and you know things that I don’t. Even if it takes a little longer to find a good place to reach the river, it’s all right—we have time.”

“Alright, big brother,” the tigress sighed, pouting until she saw, from Freak’s total lack of reaction, that such a tactic wouldn’t work. Kochai saluted in a resigned manner, then thought to herself for a moment—this was what her parents had taught her to do, after all—stop and think when possible. This was a strategy that both Freak and Raj had agreed with and emphasized, during their altogether short time on the Sacred Mesa.

To test just how sharp Kochai was, and to ensure that there wasn’t anything he wasn’t taking into consideration, Freak decided to give the tigress a little quiz, so to speak.

“What are our objectives?” Freak asked.

“First, we must find a safe way to get to the Ganges. After that, we must find a place to stay, one that allows us to see to the river so that we know which ship to get on…”

“Go on,” the li-tigon prompted. “What concerns are there, specifically, for our objectives?”

“Many,” Kochai replied, biting her lip. “We cannot be seen by any humans, big brother—or, any sentient or nonsentient animals that might tell them. We have to find water that’s safe to drink… but I am not so worried about food. Any time we want, we can go into the jungle, yes? There’s plenty of food these days, since the Season of the Rains is ending.”

“Good… I’m impressed,” the li-tigon said emotionlessly, “however…”

“The trip to your homeland will take some time, big brother,” Kochai said, “so, we’ll have to carry extra food with us… we’ll have to take it onto the ship also… and water, too, because we cannot drink water from the ocean—that’s what Mother told me a long time ago, I think.”

“She’s right,” Freak said. “Now, tell me, Kochai—what advantages do we have?”

“Not so many… Shah’s gang won’t bother us anymore. We don’t have any determined enemies, and no one knows that we’re here… no one knows what we’re going to do, also. That means that we have… I don’t remember what it’s called, big brother,” Kochai said sadly, “it is… a substance, a compound, or something… of…”

“The element of surprise,” Freak said, “yes.”

“The element of surprise,” Kochai repeated. “It’s a good advantage, but, big brother, I don’t know if it’s enough. Just because no one will specifically go against us, that we know of… I don’t know, big brother. Raj was supposed to be here and guide us, every step of the way—oh,” the tigress paused, as if she’d suddenly realized something, “when the ship comes… there will be no more us… right, big brother? This is my home, after all, and I can’t survive the journey; I can’t swim fifteen miles… I’m too small. Besides, Father would want me to stay behind and make sure that our bloodline goes on, just as it’s supposed to.”

“Actually, no,” Freak said, looking back at the city, as if trying to discern something from its chaotic, jumbled lack of organization, “there’s nothing left for you here.”

That sounded cold.

“He wants you to come with me, back to the Land of the Spirits—and, Kochai… little sister… don’t tell me that you don’t want to. How many times have you asked me to tell you stories about everyone that lives there?”

“Not so many,” the tigress said, hardly containing her excitement. “Oh, I cannot wait—I have never met another female before, besides Mother—I’ll have so many new friends, yes? I hope they like me… oh, no, I’m so nervous, big brother—ah… you have never called me little sister, before… I am touched.”

Freak lips were upturned, but not much. There were many things more eloquent beings would have said there, but he just reached out, placed a paw on the kitten’s head, and then, started down the steep, rocky hill, making his way to the city’s outskirts.

“Don’t worry, Kochai. Everybody loves you.”

Midnight in this part of the city was not what one with any semblance of common sense would call a good time to be out. Over the past month or two, ten people had been assaulted on four different occasions. Burglaries and muggings were startlingly commonplace, especially this time of year—before harvests started to come in, there always was a slight shortage of food. But with the exploding population of the city, this year, such a problem would be aggravated—and greatly.

That’s why, after dark, when police went home, gangs ruled the streets.

Imagine, if you will, being in an alley, minding—or doing—your own business, facing the street—a simple, two-way road comprised of packed dirt and gravel. Things would be quiet, of course, at this hour, and the glow of the middle and upper class parts of the city would do you little good, due to the multistory, jam-packed flats scattered throughout this part of town. Maybe you’d be carrying a cigarette, or a pen, or maybe even a cheap, Chinese-made knife, but certainly—certainly not food. Because if you were carrying food at this hour, you’d be inviting danger.

From the distance, perhaps two blocks away, you’d hear your first warning. At first, it might seem innocent and commonplace enough—a few barks, maybe a howl, or two—I mean, there are dogs all over the world, why should this particular city be an exception?

Then, though, you’d start to feel fear, or, at least, concern—at least, if you had common sense. After all, the way a soft, scampering sound would approach, pause, then pick up again; just as a flash of movement would flick past where the alley met the road… would be downright creepy.

For a minute, you’d neither see nor hear anything, and, maybe, assume that you were going to be left alone.

That’s exactly when they’d attack.

You would have no chance to fight back at all, there would be far too many of them, and they had all the advantages—you would be cornered, without an obvious escape route, without a weapon in your hands. Within a second, they’d be all over you, tackling you to the ground, holding you while they relieved you of your food. Then, another second later, they’d be gone, just as you might start to scream for help. You’d get up, dazed, dirty, maybe a little injured, and then wonder, for a moment—what the Hell just happened?

“This is a delicate situation.”

“We can’t take too much food, or they’ll get upset, and kill us all. But, we need more food than they’re willing to let us have.”

“Bastian—are there any signs, any at all, that the rest of our kind are doing well enough to share?”

“No. None.”

“Then… are they weaker than us? Do we have a chance at defeating any in combat?”

“Not likely. We can only barely hold our borders as it is… offense, right now, isn’t wise.”

A half dozen of the leaders were holding a meeting; they did this biweekly or more frequently, as required. Some of them were wearing bandanas, some favored headbands, but their attire was all emblazoned, invariably, with their pack’s symbol—a black background with a single, diagonal white stripe.

“Hmm. As I said… it’s a delicate situation.”

The leader was the oldest of them all, and slight of stature. His fur was long and rather wild, gray with black splotches, giving him an aptly rough appearance. The others, many of whom were related to him, if distantly, were invariably dark-furred—even those that were born light had been dirtied up by a life without cleanliness.

They were organized in a vacant lot; this was their de facto headquarters, their base of operations. Setting a paw to his mouth, the leader bowed his head, for a moment, pondering.

“Are there any favors we have that we can call in—any friends that might be willing to help us? At least, have any of our children found humans to take them in?”

The rest of the leaders shook their heads—save for one, who paused, for a moment, before stepping forward.

“Maybe… there is, perhaps, something…”

“Yes, what is it, Eton? Come along, boy, spit it out; we’re desperate here.”

“Well, I was just thinking,” the younger stray said, frowning. “The Non-Aggression Pact we made when I was just a cub… maybe, we can trade intelligence with a big cat, in exchange for food, or something…”

“You think that’s a viable path… well, if you do, then you’re more hopeful than I am,” the leader sighed, shaking his head. “We haven’t met a big cat for years—the last one, I think, was before I became leader, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, come to think of it. But Atlas—the Pact is still in effect, right? Perhaps, to the southeast… the city thins out, there’s no food there, nothing; the jungle has started to reclaim what the humans haven’t maintained. It’s possible that there’s a cat there, or near there—and if that’s so, we can barter information on the other packs’ movements, the humans’ habits…”

The leader thought, for another moment, then shrugged.

“Technically… you are right. …Is everyone absolutely—and I mean absolutely—certain that they have no idea how to live on for another few weeks?... anyone. Anyone…? No… alright,” Atlas said, turning back to Eton. “You’re in charge of this little mission, then—take your subordinates and scout the region out; Saoul, you’ll have to pull double-duty, my friend, and cover for Eton. As for the rest of you—halve your daytime patrols, and increase your nighttime patrols by 50%--the other packs are, surely, almost as desperate as we are, and it’s not likely that they’ll risk an attack by day; police presence is higher than I can remember it ever being. I want at least one spotter keeping track of the Northern Alliance at all times; they may be our greatest adversaries right now.”

A pause.

“All right… I know this year is difficult for us, but we’ve been through worse—I’m sure we’ll pull through.”

For a moment, a few of the pack leaders looked skeptical, but then, as they thought, they realized that it was quite true—they had been through other tough situations, this would be no different.

Atlas grinned, a little, and drew himself up.

“Then, let’s fare each another well… one, two, three, JKT!”

The final word was chanted, almost shouted, by the rest of the group, so that, for a second, it resonated through the neighborhood. The meaning of their pack’s name was lost in the pages of time; it had existed for generations and generations, well beyond living memory. What was important, though, was the emotion and loyalty associated with the name—rejuvenated with a fresh dose of hope, the leaders scattered, prepared for another few days of tough work.

Atlas was left alone; his direct subordinates would be completely fine without him indefinitely—he had as much time as he wanted.

Pacing, for a moment, he was consumed by his thoughts. His pack would survive, no doubt, but how would it survive? Would they have to take the risk of increasing raids on butcher shops and slaughterhouses? Would they have to declare war on a rival pack? Or, somehow, was their future tied with that of a big cat?

“Big brother, are you noticing this, or is it just me?” Kochai asked, leading the way, by a few yards; close enough for Freak to keep an eye on her, but far enough to give her a sense of independence.

The li-tigon looked up, for a moment, away from the worryingly close neighborhoods’ edge, and tilted his head several degrees.

“Noticing…”

“The city is not so much here,” the tigress said. “There are fewer buildings, and it looks like most of them aren’t being used. If we keep going like this, then we could find a good place to stay.”

“Excellent,” Freak said emotionlessly, “but we’re not going to commit to any one location today, or even within the next two days. We don’t know enough about the city, and how it’s used—don’t worry, though. I’ll plan some escape routes, places to hide, alternate shelters… that’s another concern. We have to be able to see to the river, to tell when the ship’s coming—but unless we get very, very lucky, if we look to the river, someone on the other side will be able to look back. Unless…” he paused, waiting to see if Kochai would be able to think of a solution to the slight dilemma.

“Ah… most of the humans’ buildings have small holes,” Kochai said, “for seeing out. If we uproot a plant and put it… against the wall… we should be able to peek out without being seen so easily. Yes?” she asked, looking at Freak hopefully.

“Very good, Kochai, very good,” the li-tigon said with a slight smile. “Your parents would be proud.”

That thought made him feel guilty, for a moment. But looking at the kitten in front of him, one would hardly guess that she’d lost both of her parents so recently, in such quick succession—it was, all at once, a phenomenon that was astounding and disheartening. It was incredible that such a small cub could move on so quickly, and it was repugnant that natural selection had created a being so capable of dealing with the loss of a parent.

All at once, Freak stopped in his tracks. He raised his snout, a little, and sniffed, twice, eyes narrowing.

“Kochai.”

“Yes, big br—”

“Get down. Don’t move.”

The young tigress could tell from the seriousness in Freak’s voice that this wasn’t the time to play around. Without nodding, she complied, taking cover next to a bush, lowering herself, claws half-extended as she tried to follow Freak’s gaze, to see what he was looking at…

For his part, Freak wasn’t entirely sure whether to get down and back away, or go on the offensive and attack. He ended up in a half-crouch, reasonably hidden from view by a tuft of thick, wavy grass—his claws was fully extended; for a moment, it seemed, he was leaning heavily towards a preemptive strike.

Slowly, though, the danger passed. Reluctantly, Freak stood, again, peering after the threat… then glanced to Kochai. All was clear.

“What was it, big brother?” the tigress asked in a low, cautious tone, slinking over to the li-tigon’s side, just as she’d previously done with her father. “Was it another hunter of some kind?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Freak replied, still cautious, for a moment, before glancing down and giving Kochai a comforting smile. “It was a dog of some sort—you know what dogs are, right?”

“Somewhat,” Kochai acknowledged. “I haven’t met any, but Mother always used to say that they were different from us, but worthy of respect.

“She was right, for the most part. But that one—that one was looking for something,” Freak said suspiciously, “I don’t trust it, I—”

“You do not trust anything, big brother,” Kochai giggled, rubbing the li-tigon’s shin. “Please, don’t be so uptight—oh, he’s so skinny; I would bet that he was only looking for food!... why would a dog be looking for us, anyway?” the tigress asked. “There is no reason to do so, and it is a dangerous job anyway—any tiger could tear a lone dog apart.”

Freak bit back a variant of his usual, “I’m not a lion,’ response, and instead, paused, then shrugged.

“I’m not sure,” he said, “it’s just something Raj said… what was it, what was it…”

“Ah, yes. Dogs are man’s best friend.”

“Big brother, I’m hunnnnnngry,” Kochai mewled. “Please, let me go for a hunt? I promise I’ll be extra, extra careful!”

“Not happening,” the li-tigon replied. He didn’t so much as bat an eyebrow as the young tigress whined, pouting, nuzzling his forelegs affectionately. “You know that it’s too dangerous. Just be a little patient—I’ll go hunting for us both in a few hours; and I’ll find water, too. I just want to be as sure as possible that you won’t be found when I’m gone—you memorized the escape routes, right?... repeat them to me.”

“Ohh… the first is that I am to go up there,” Kochai said, jerking her head in a specific direction, “and then, I am to leave through the window, into the plains, and then go on to our rendezvous point. In the second, I am to climb up that mountainside and go through the forest at the top, and then go to our rendezvous point. And in the last one, big brother, I am to go through there,” she said, nodding in another specific direction, “and then, I am to sneak through the hilly area over there, and then, go to the rendezvous point.”

“Which is?”

“Five miles northwest of here, at the tallest tree in the valley next to the tallest mountain nearest to the cliff,” Kochai said perfectly. “Yes?”

“Good. You’re a very smart little kitten; you know that, Kochai?” Freak said, pausing, before tentatively reaching out, meaning to rub her under the chin. “I haven’t lived very long, but in my life, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as young as you, and as smart as you. Except, perhaps, one…”

“Don’t be so shy, big brother,” the tigress said, walking into Freak’s paw, covering it with sisterly affection. “I do not know why you hesitate to touch me so; we have been through a lot together, yes? And, if things go according to plan, we shall go through much more together, yes?”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I’m just not used to things like this. My cubhood wasn’t like yours.”

Kochai nodded; she knew better than to ask Freak what his cubhood was like—she had, before, and had been turned down in a manner that suggested that, perhaps, she didn’t actually want to know. Instead, the tigress kitten walked to his side, slumped over, and then paused.

“Who was it…” she said, “that is as young as me, and as… smart as me?” she blushed, embarrassed by the praise.

“Was,” Freak corrected, “was. She’d be… much older than you, now. Not an adult, yet… but not a cub anymore. I can’t imagine how smart she’d be, or how powerful—I’m talking about Uvuli,” the li-tigon clarified—but, for some reason, Kochai already seemed to have realized who was talking about, and nodded, in an understanding, knowing manner.

“Hm,” the li-tigon grinned. “Did I ever tell you… she helped me, and my relatives, take down the most powerful assassination corps in our homeland? She was fearless—well, almost. No one has a brain but no fear,” the li-tigon said harshly, “she had courage… but sense, and caution. …I’m glad that we didn’t turn out to be enemies. I’m glad to count her among my friends.”

This was odd. For some reason, Freak felt not only a lack of restraint; his life had warned him, time and again, against the dangers of giving out information but for on a need-to-know basis—but he felt a need to talk, not just about his childhood and his life, but how it related to Uvuli.

“It’s odd,” he said, “that things turned out this way. Our first interaction, after all…”

“What was it?” Kochai asked, canting her head, pausing, before grinning a little. “Allow me to guess… you gave her a flower in exchange for some favor… or, perhaps, big brother, you found her alone, lost, and decided to bring her back to her parents?”

“What? No,” Freak said, utterly bewildered, missing the nature of the tigress’s assumptions entirely. “In fact… …well, I took her hostage.”

The answer Kochai had expected was nothing like that. The tigress’s eyes went wide in surprise, then curiosity, as she tilted her head.

“What? How? Why? You said that she was your friend! Please, tell me the story, big brother? I’m old enough now, pleeeeeeeeeease?”

“I took her hostage because she was an infant; I did it out of self-preservation; she wasn’t my friend when it happened… …and…. Alright.”

That, too, was an unexpected answer. Kochai gasped, softly, but otherwise kept silent, waiting for the li-tigon to began. When he spoke, it was in a soft, somber tone—a thoughtful tone.

“You’re young, but you’ve been through a lot, and you’ll have to go through a lot more before you find peace in your life. There are things you need to hear and understand—things that most other cubs—most other beings—never will. First, let me be clear,” Freak said, “I am not going to tell you everything about everything—this isn’t negotiable. There are, after all, some things… many things… that I’ve experienced, and done… that no one needs to hear.”

A pause.

“But I won’t tell you any lies. I won’t… lighten what I’ve done, or darken what my enemies have done. I’ll tell you the truth; or, at least, the truth as I see it. If that’s good enough…” his voice trailed off.

Kochai nodded, solemnly. For once, she wasn’t smiling—and, strangely, that comforted Freak; it told him that she had the ability to be serious, when prudent. So, the li-tigon paused again, took in a deep breath, and let it out slowly, before speaking, again.

“Alright, then, Kochai… this is the story of my life. This is my story… the story of the freak.”

You’ve read it. You know. It’s not a lullaby; it’s not something you want to put a kid to sleep to.

It turned out to be, though, what Kochai fell asleep to that night, just as the moon started to rise and a blanket of stars coated the sky, almost unseen by a thick layer of smog and pollution and noise.

The building they were in had two windows; one faced to the west, one to the south—if Freak were to rear up to his hind legs, setting his forepaws on the dusty, cracked windowsill, he would have gotten a striking view of the Ganges River at sunset. Now, though, he just looked to the right, watching, with a strange sense of tranquility, as the Sun began to kiss the horizon.

At some point in his story—he hadn’t noticed it happening at all—Kochai had circled around in front of him and rested in front of his chest. His forelegs had wrapped around her, protectively, so that now, the tigress kitten was curled up, sleeping deeply, smiling to herself, totally relaxed.

Freak stretched, for a moment, without moving much—then he got up, slowly, so as to not disturb Kochai. He yawned, widely, and then paused, thinking—there were many things that had to be done, and soon.

“If we haven’t been bothered yet… it’s quite likely that we won’t be noticed this entire visit. Regardless…”

Freak was outside, by now, looking around for something. He walked to a nearby bush, severed it at the base with a precision bite, then carried it, and placed it in the simple, cement hut’s doorway. Using a paw to rub his face, for a second, he nodded—the plant was covered in thorns, and would offer a good deterrence to forced entry, at least for a moment—if something did come, Kochai would have that many more seconds to escape.

She’d be asleep for another few hours at least, Freak knew, and even if she awoke, she’d either wait for him where she was, or trek up to the rendezvous point—after all, he’d explicitly told her, earlier in the day, that if they were ever separated, either go back to where they’d last been together, if possible; and, if not, head to another preset location and wait.

Freak glanced over his shoulder at her, for a second, before leaving, heading away from the river. Things were going surprisingly well—their shelter was only about a hundred yards from the shore, and they’d easily be able to see anything that passed, including their ship. Perfect.

So, now, the li-tigon’s main objectives were existential: food, and water. A brief foray into the rough, sloping forests outside of city limits suggested that the former would be easily found—within fifteen or twenty minutes of searching, Freak not only came across several game and scent trails, but sighted one or two deer.

Water, though, was the problem.

At night, to be sure, Freak would check the major river in the city, to see if it was safe to drink; but he strongly doubted it. Earlier, he’d seen several rotting bovine carcasses floating downstream, and the smell coming off the river itself wasn’t overpowering… but it certainly cast a doubtful shadow over the li-tigon’s mind.

Surely, though, there was water elsewhere. After all, humans had to drink—this Freak knew. To be fair, he hadn’t exactly seen any humans more than a mile out of city limits, or so—and even then, they were usually just children playing. He hadn’t found anyone searching for water, so he had to assume that they had some stable source of it, somewhere—and, in time, with patience, the li-tigon would find it. He was sure of it.

“Those are our orders?”

“Well, yes,” Eton said. “Don’t be so upset. It’ll be a nice change from the status quo.”

“B-but this is ridiculous!... I have a better idea for a mission; it’s more likely to be successful.”

“Well… alright, let’s hear it.”

“I submit that we search for a needle in a haystack in a coalmine.”

“Funny,” Eton replied, “but I’m being serious.”

There was a pause. The eight other dogs that had gathered, abandoning their posts, temporarily, fell silent—Eton wasn’t joking… things, then, must have been a lot worse than what they were perceived to be.

“No lie?”

“No lie.”

“So… run this by me again,” the shrewd, somewhat obnoxious young male said. “We’re supposed to reconnoiter in the southeast… looking for big cats—tigers?”

“That’ it,” Eton said. “Any questions?”

“Yeah, yeah, question, question…”

“What are we supposed to do if we find one?”

She woke up alone, and, for a moment, she was a little startled, a little concerned. But despite her age, or lack thereof, she wasn’t too fussed after a moment or two.

Standing up, yawning widely, Kochai glanced outside—it was late, perhaps ten o’clock at night. Freak was nowhere to be seen, and, judging by the scent trail he’d left behind, he hadn’t been around for a few hours.

“Big brother is probably getting something nice for me to eat, right now. So… I’ll do as he said… even though I would like nothing more than to go exploring right now!... I am sure that no one is out; no one will notice me, I am very small, I might as well—no! No. I have to listen to big brother. If I leave, he’ll be disappointed. But… it’s so boring here!”

Kochai paced, for a moment, searching for something to do.

She was unsuccessful.

Sighing, the kitten slumped over, licking her paws for a moment. Her options were severely limited; the four walls of the house she was in didn’t exactly allow for a great deal of motion…

“Not much room…”

Kochai sat up, as an idea started to take hold in her mind.

“It has been some time since anyone has trained with me. I will lose my edge if I go without practice much longer. When big brother returns, I’ll ask him for some suggestions. Until then,” the kitten said, before extending her claws in a flash, smiling sweetly, “I am on my own.”

There was little noise and little discernable disturbance of the air as Kochai sprung into action, slashing at unseen enemies, dodging and blocking their attacks, springing off of walls and even the ceiling when necessary, jumping up onto the storage platform a full six feet off the ground to give her leg muscles power workouts.

Totally focused on her practice, she was sweating within minutes, listening only to the dull beat of her heart in her chest. The abandoned shack she was in was surprisingly secure, but, of course, such security could easily, easily be completely, totally, utterly, false…

“Sh, sh… wait…”

They were traveling in a rough phalanx formation, with a one or two yard spread. Such a tactic was good in that it offered the ability to both attack and defend without a second’s notice—and, of course, it was ideal for balancing stealth with the safety of numbers with the ability to notice as much as possible.

At Eton’s word, though, they all complied, and froze. Trotting along at a respectable rate, they’d made good time over the past few hours, and signs were mixed—on the one hand, there was, to be sure, a lack of dog and human activity. On the other, though, the nearest food sources robust enough to support a big cat were several miles away, in the forest—if there was a big cat in the vicinity, what were the odds he or she would stay near the city? What was there to be gained by staying so close to a congregation of apex predators’ most deadly and determined of enemies?

And yet…

Yet…

Stray dogs had evolved over the generations to scratch life out of the city; off the refuse and the trash and the occasional appreciation and even generosity of humans. Their bodies and skill sets reflected that—invariably, they were rail thin yet muscled, sharp-eyed, owners of conservative, slow metabolisms, and short yet viciously sharp and powerful teeth. They were built for explosively short fights at any time at any location, provided that it was in the city—that is, at close range.

As such, they weren’t naturally gifted with eyesight that was of any use at long distance.

Still, though—maybe—maybe—bah. No. No luck.

“Hey,” Eton whispered, “the rest of you… are you smelling it, too? Just nod or shake your heads…”

He looked over his shoulder, and, indeed, saw the many gestures of affirmation. Turning back forward, Eton thought for a moment. He and his subordinates held the high ground that preceded the old, abandoned southeastern quadrant of the city; they were peering down at it from a gradual cliff. At first glance, one might think that nothing, nothing at all, was unusual or strange.

However, the dogs didn’t use their eyes at this distance—they used their noses. And their powerful senses of scent were all tingling, just then, telling them that there was certainly a feline below, somewhere—and it wasn’t a domesticated housecat. Probably.

“Alright,” Eton said, “from now on, we won’t speak. Paw signals only—understood?”

The group nodded, saluting briefly—then, they waited for new orders. Eton paused, for a second, before holding a fisted paw parallel to the ground, then outstretching his digits and moving his appendage in a slight arc—spread out and advance.

Descending the cliff without making any noise was difficult and slow going, but certainly possible—and the fact that the scent of the feline had grown stronger suggested that they hadn’t been noticed. Perfect.

They were slinking through the streets, now, alert, ready for action. This wasn’t a very safe part of town at all; though there was no known rival gang activity and no real human presence, it was commonly accepted that the outskirts were where “shady” business transactions went down. Rumors even suggested that a deal between a… goatherd, really, and a mysterious, powerful figure had involved loyalty… and a massive shipment of stolen arms. For the most part, figures unscrupulous enough to go around here meant no harm to dogs—but, sometimes, there were those who wanted to take no chances.

The city was absolutely huge, and this particular chunk of it was nothing to sneeze at, either. The dogs had silently picked their way through several hundred yards of broken, crumbling buildings and several likely snake and lizard hideouts without incident, but their luck couldn’t last forever. The fur on the back of Eton’s neck was tingling—he wanted to leave as soon as possible… and yet, he had to find the source of this scent…

Eton held up a fisted paw; this time, it was perpendicular to the ground. After his subordinates stopped in their tracks, he held up one digit, and made a few brief circles with it: rally up.

After they converged, he spoke in a very quiet town, mostly to the ground, so his voice wouldn’t be likely to reach anyone it wasn’t meant to.

“You two, stay here, so that nothing nasty sneaks up on us,” he murmured, nodding at a pair of identical twins with white splotched necks. “The rest… let’s hug the edge of the buildings, near the shoreline. Stay on your toes; watch out for enemy presence, snakes, lizards, and unfriendly humans. I think we’re heading farther southeast… if anyone sees what we’re looking for, they should signal a halt, and we should all take cover. We’re only here to reconnoiter, remember.”

There was a general nod of assent. So, after another moment, Eton and his pack moved out again, minus the two he’d allocated to stay behind. They gradually made their way to the left until they were buffered from the sudden shoreline by only fences or a few yards of space. Picking their way through the dystopian habitat, they couldn’t help but realize that their noses were leading them on ever more surely.

Eton was still leading. After about two hundred yards, though, he slowed down, then held up an unfisted paw—hold up. He looked ahead, far ahead, then sighed to himself. At such a distance, his vision gave him little more than a dull blur—he couldn’t see a thing.

He held up two digits, then pointed off to the right. Instantly, the two strays in the rightmost part of the formation broke off and moved, silently, to the right, taking cover next to an old fruit stand, looking back at him for further orders. Eton formed his paw into a knife-like shape, then jabbed forward, twice, directly where he was looking—eyes forward.

With his left paw, now, Eton made a wide, sweeping motion—peel left, move up. After the rest of the pack did so, he took the lead again, held up an unfisted paw perpendicular to the ground, then lowered it so that it was parallel—get down.

Perfect—now, everyone was well hidden and positioned to defend, if need be. So, Eton could take a slight risk and move in for a closer look...

Tensely, he moved past his subordinates, making sure that he was in sight of at least one of them at all times—just in case. Now, even the abandoned houses were thinning out as the terrain grew rocky, rough, unwelcoming—but, ahead, there was an old, abandoned hut, or shack, or something—and that was exactly where the feline’s scent, if his nose was telling the truth, was coming from.

Eton didn’t dare get closer than a hundred yards; he didn’t dare hop over an old, barbed-wire fence intertwined with grasses and thick plantlife—doing so was akin to inviting an attack. He peeked his head through, though, slightly, and used all of his senses to their fullest degree…

Then, he nodded to himself, and pulled back, still keeping his eyes on the building ahead of him, until he was with his pack again. Making the signal to group up and pull back, he didn’t lower his guard until they were out of the old section of the city.

“Did you see it, E?” one of his comrades asked, curious. “Is there really a big cat here, in the city?”

The pack leader looked away, for a moment. Aside from the constant din of the city, emanating specifically from its famous red light districts and their night lives across the river, and the soft, rhythmic pulse of waves breaking on the shore, it was relatively quiet, save for the practical whir of all the little cogs in Eton’s mind working.

“I’m not… entirely certain,” he said, finally. “It’s been a very, very long time since I’ve scented a big cat for sure. But it’s hard for me to imagine what else it could be… and I did see… something,” Eton admitted, “something… that’s all.”

“Regardless… we’ve done our job. It’s time to get home and tell Atlas… he’s our leader, after all. He’ll know what to do.”

“Man, I hope so,” one of the strays said as they fell in behind Eton, “because if he can’t figure out how to turn things around, and fast… this year won’t be a good one for us. At all.”

“I’ve certainly learned a lot,” Freak thought to himself, sarcastically, “a lot of nothing…”

“…That’s not entirely true. I’m certain that the humans get water from inside their homes—that doesn’t do me any good, because breaking in to a house is a good way to get overwhelmed and killed, or, at least, run out of the city. I need another way to get water, and soon… I haven’t drank anything since morning; I’m very thirsty…”

At least Kochai would be all right, the li-tigon reflected; the bodies of younger felines conserved water far more efficiently than his did. Still, he needed water, and he needed it soon.

Maybe it was time to take a little risk

A half-hour later, Freak was dragging along a freshly slain deer. He’d eaten the most perishable parts of it, but that was all; he wasn’t particularly hungry. Kochai, however, was, and, after all, they needed to find a way to somehow preserve meat for their trip—this carcass could give them much-needed practice.

He was just entering the dilapidated, abandoned section of town when he paused, and set his kill down. About a yard in front of him was a stream of slowly trickling water—it wasn’t crystal clear and quickly moving, as ideal drinking water was, but still… it was probably… probably safe.

Freak had lived through countless thousands of words of the worst attacks the Lion Sheikh can conceive. So, even given the relatively slim possibility that he might be poisoned by this water… he wasn’t going to die. Probably.

The li-tigon was rationalizing, and he knew it—the second he’d come across that water, he knew he was going to drink it. It wasn’t putrid or otherwise blatantly undrinkable, so thirst drove him to make a decision that was less than ideal.

He crouched in front of the stream, and, within a moment, had lapped up just enough water to take the edge off his thirst, and no more—but after a pause, he decided to sate the needs of his body for a little longer than was absolutely necessary, and drank another few fluid ounces. After all, he felt perfectly fine—this water wasn’t poisoned. No way.

Standing, feeling satisfied with himself, Freak retrieved his kill and made his way into town. He walked down the street almost grandly—he felt good, for some reason, very good. Smiling as he carried the deer in his jaws, the li-tigon felt a bizarre urge—he wanted to sing, to dance, to announce to the world just how great his life was.

Giddily, Freak walked directly through the perimeter defense he’d set up. The noise of his entry woke Kochai up instantly—she stood with a gasp of surprise, but relaxed as she saw that it was just Freak. Then, though, the kitten blinked, and canted her head.

“Wh… whazzamatter, Kochai?” Freak asked, before pausing, and blinking, several times—as he recalled, Kochai’s fur was white with blank stripes, not tie-dyed. And since when did she shapeshift in that ridiculous manner? When had she grown wings, for that matter? “Heheh… heheheheheh… whatchu lookin’ at… it’s just me… heheheh…”

“Big brother?” she asked, after a moment. “Are you… feeling alright?”

“Mm? Oh, yeah, Hell yeah,” Freak said. “I just feel like walking on my forepaws, y’know?”

Kochai had never, ever seen or imagined that a big cat could do an accurate approximation of such a human action. She was seriously confused, now, and a little scared—as she looked into Freak’s eyes, she could see his pupils dilating strangely. Something was up.

“Oh, I understand, big brother,” the kitten said, managing to smile, brushing aside her worry for a moment. “Why are you feeling so good? Did you eat or drink anything nice? A good meal always makes me very happy.”

She was good—this question didn’t sound interrogatory, but its purpose was just that.

“Oh yeah, oh yeah,” Freak said, falling down with a thud, “I drank some realllllllllllllllllll good water. Heheheh… hey, let’s play tag, Kochai… I’m it!”

The li-tigon dropped down, and despite his state of mind, Kochai was worried—he was still big and strong and fast and built to kill, and the look in his eye was unsettlingly predatory. And yet…

“Okay, big brother,” the kitten smiled, “just… let me prepare, please. Just a moment…” Kochai backed up, looking behind her, and positioned herself a clear inch from the wall. “Okay, big brother. Any time you’re ready.”

“I hope this works… and I hope he doesn’t get hurt very badly…”

“A’right, Kochai… ready… set… go!”

Freak lunged, moving in for an all-out pounce. Kochai managed to dive to the side, though, and in his state, Freak had neither the presence of mind to change direction or somehow stop. He sailed on, through the air, before he met the wall—headfirst.

The entire building shook, but Freak dropped, unconscious. As the dust settled, Kochai moved in, wary, for a moment—but after checking the li-tigon’s vitals, she was satisfied that he wasn’t seriously injured. He might have a nasty bump on his head for a few days, but that was all.

“Okay… big brother is sick. I don’t know exactly how… he said he drank some water, so I suppose that it wasn’t clean. That’s all right, all he has to do is drink clean water for a few days. I can give him some medicinal plants to speed things up—oh no…”

“There is no clean water here that I know of, and I have not seen any useful plants for some time…”

In an instant, Kochai’s optimism had changed into dejectedness. Freak was out cold and would remain so for some time—and when he awoke, he’d probably be sick; he had the classic symptoms of drinking bad water. At least Kochai wouldn’t go to sleep on an empty stomach, but that was of little comfort. As she knelt next to the deer and began to feed, the young tigress wondered… would they really be able to survive in the city until the ship came? And when it did… would they really be able to survive the journey to the Land of the Spirits?

Though not even the most friendly, tolerant humans could offer their canine friends food, they could, and did, routinely offer water and shelter in exchange for companionship and some security. It was a symbiotic relationship, and one that allowed Atlas and Eton to meet outside a juice bar after hours. They were standing side by side, drinking water from cheap plastic bowls—life was still hard for strays, of course, but their lots were better than those of their forefathers. At least these days, the humans had clean water provided to them by their government and market, and enough of it to share.

“So, let me get this straight…” the older dog said, after a moment, “you are 99% certain that you scented a big cat, and that slight margin of error exists because you can’t crosscheck what you smelled. You saw, or thought you saw… say it again?”

“Either a very, very, very large housecat,” Eton replied, “or a very, very small and strangely colored tiger.”

“It was alone?”

“I think so. I didn’t get close, of course… but… I do think that I smelled another cat. I can’t be certain, and I certainly didn’t see another one.”

“Mm.”

“All in all, a delicate situation.”

“Very true, very true,” Atlas murmured.

“We live longer than felines,” the leader said, after a moment of thought. “Much longer, in fact. The Non-Aggression Pact we made… well, it was created in a different time, in a different world; it’s almost out of living memory.”

“Yes,” Eton said, before pausing, feeling a bizarre chill, “but what’s your point, Atlas? Surely you’re not—”

“Some ends justify some means,” the leader shrugged, “and there’s no purpose in being a moralistically flawless being if you end up getting your entire family killed for it.”

“So, you’re saying…”

“That’s right,” Atlas said, turning to fix an incredibly cold, pragmatic gaze on his subcommander. “We’re going to break the Pact.”

“That’s… a bold maneuver.”

“The times call for such maneuvers.”

“No,” Eton shook his head, “what I’m saying is that we don’t know enough to really, definitively act—not yet. I assume you want to turn the big cat, or cats, in, right? Gain trust, respect, maybe funding as a sort of security force?”

“Could be,” Atlas said, “I can’t say for sure what we might get by handing them over to the humans. All I know is that they’ll appreciate it.”

“Which is better than nothing,” Eton agreed, “but we still don’t know—for instance, why is there a big cat presence in the city, after so many years of absence?”

Atlas was silent.

“Maybe we can offer them something—maybe they can give us something in return, even more valuable than what the humans can. Who knows?... I don’t care if we end up breaking the Pact,” Eton shrugged, lying through his teeth, “but we shouldn’t do so hastily. Let’s calm down… we don’t have the time or manpower to set up a distant sentry like that; it’s an invitation to attack. What we should do—I’m saying, me, you, perhaps a few others… hear me out on this. But we should talk to the cats.”

Atlas didn’t react to that. His expression was unreadable, and when he spoke, it was in an utterly flat, though slightly intrigued tone.

“Go on.”

“We can barter for food, somehow—even if we’re not successful, we can threaten to turn them in. After all, they must be here for a good reason, right? Otherwise, they’d just be in the jungle; city life is risky for their kind, and we know for a fact that cats are not going to be encroaching further towards human territory due to overpopulation.”

It was true. Even among strays, it was a well-known fact that big cat numbers had plummeted in the last few generations.

“What if you’re wrong?” Atlas said. “What if they’re just passing through, or sating their curiosity, or what have you? Unless we go in nearly full strength—which isn’t an option—they could kill us all easily, and be gone before anyone even notices, much less has a chance to react.”

Eton didn’t answer. He just looked at his leader for a moment; the purposeful, stubborn look in his eyes told Atlas all he needed to know.

“You’re serious.”

“It isn’t ideal,” Eton admitted, “but it is possible. And Atlas—if it means that our pack has a better chance of living, thriving… you won’t say no. At least… you’ll allow me to go. Alone, if no one volunteers.”

“I should killed you for this,” Atlas growled—for a crazy second, Eton felt legitimately concerned; had he gone too far?

“Unfortunately, there are JKT agreements and traditions to be considered; execution for something like this is unacceptable. So, yes, Eton,” he said grudgingly, “we’ll both go to talk to the cats. But if things go bad… well, let’s just say that the Non-Aggression Pact isn’t the only… stupid, obsolete tradition that will be…. Broken.”

Freak awoke with a splitting headache, but that wasn’t all. He felt horribly, dangerously ill; his stomach churned and he couldn’t help but groan as he attempted to stand on trembling, quavering legs.

He was unsuccessful.

Slumping over messily, the li-tigon struggled to remember where he was, what he was doing. A few blurred images eventually pieced themselves together in his mind—the last thing he recalled was heading back to Kochai, with a fresh kill… he’d stopped to drink some water… and from then on out, his memory was blank.

“A thousand curses,” he thought. “Just my luck… the water must have caused this. I’m going to be sick for at least… a day, I think… …where’s Kochai?”

Freak forced his eyes to focus, just a little, as he looked around. It seemed that his hearing was muffled, and, after a moment of pressing his senses to work properly, he realized that Kochai was, in fact, within a few feet of him, and trying to get his attention.

“Big brother? Big brother?” she said repeatedly, patiently, yet worried. “Please tell me if you can hear me, yes, big brother?”

“H… hello… Kochai,” Freak managed to groan, “I… hear you…”

“Oh, thank God,” the tigress kitten said, instantly relieved. “I am so glad to see you are awake. You’re still feeling bad, yes, big brother? I’m sorry… but I don’t know what I can do,” she admitted—she didn’t yet have the tact, perhaps, to take into account the fact that she might have done Freak a few favors by giving him a minute or so to get his bearings again. “I do not know where to get clean water, or any medicinal plants… I think that it would maybe be best to let whatever you have… run its course.”

The li-tigon tried to answer, ended up mrowling, moaning, incoherently, and simply nodded, shutting his eyes. He needed many things, just then, but out of them, he could only have rest, it seemed. So, hoping that Kochai would understand, he curled up, a little… then paused, opened an eye at her, and nodded at the space in front of him invitingly.

She was, of course, only too happy to accept. But even as Kochai pressed herself against the li-tigon’s warm, powerful form, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. In this building, this simple shack, they were grievously, desperately vulnerable. Freak couldn’t run, couldn’t fight—and she was just a cub, still, and, therefore, helpless on her own. If something happened… their chances for even mere survival were not high.

“Everyone’s been given the appropriate orders,” Atlas sighed, “so… let’s go.”

Eton nodded, and followed his leader closely, eyes alert. It wasn’t often that the aging stray left the safety of JKT’s inner territories—he wasn’t the fighter he had once been, and, therefore, a great target for enemy packs. Taking out Atlas would cripple the JKTs greatly, and in such desperate times, might even end up destroying the pack, and many of its members.

It was, of course, relatively unlikely that an enemy pack had managed to place an assassin, or even a spotter, in a position that would put Atlas in any significant danger then. Investigating the southeast quadrant of the city was unprecedented—sending the notorious JKT leader out with one bodyguard was beyond that.

“You know, back when I was a cub, things weren’t like this,” he said. “Sure, life was tough, but life was certain. It’s a changing world, Eton—and never forget that. Whoever succeeds me as leader won’t have to be the best at any one thing, in any one way—JKT needs a leader that can respond, react, and manage a variety of overlapping problems and issues that are unprecedented. We need a leader that’s always ready to deal with a crisis, or what might be a crisis.”

“I agree,” the younger stray said, as they picked their way down the hill, nearing the abandoned part of their hometown. “We need someone that leads by example, not with an iron fist or a closed mind. We can’t have a reactionary, or someone that can’t give up tradition, when necessary—we need someone that will respect our values and principles… except in the gravest of circumstances.”

Atlas just grunted, noncommittally, and Eton took that as an order to shut up. After all, they were within the general area of the felines, now, and silence would pay off, bigtime.

Suddenly, though the stray leader grinned, rather audibly. Rolling his eyes, he turned to Eton halfway and spoke in a scoffing, yet very impressed tone.

“Are you seriously this blind? Perhaps I’ve made a mistake in my analysis. Perhaps I should rethink my decision.”

Eton was, understandably, confused. So he waited, for a moment, before speaking in a tentative, curious tone—he made sure, of course, that he was paying attention to his surroundings.

“I’m… not sure I know what you’re talking about, Atlas. Have I done something wrong?”

“No!” the leader said, loudly, before laughing. “I’m talking about you! You’re my successor. Don’t worry, I’ve gone through all the formalities. Everyone approves… you’re the leader, effective when I die or resign. I suppose now’s not the best time to tell you this,” Atlas mentioned, rubbing his chin with a thoughtful digit. “This gives you a very interesting conflict of interest, just now.”

For a moment, Eton was speechless.

“You’re… serious?”

“Oh yes, oh yes,” the older stray said gravely. “There’s no dodging this one, my friend. Like it or not, the burden of leading the JKT pack is—or, rather, will be—on your shoulders. It’s a tough job,” Atlas shrugged, before smiling, “but, in my opinion, it’s worth it.”

Some would have spoken, then, detailing their gratitude, making promises, but, most of all, forgetting where they were, what they were doing. Not Eton, however. He just stowed his excitement, professionally, nodded, and gruffly said, “I’ll find that out for myself someday, Atlas. Until then… let’s focus on the task at hand. We can’t get too distracted right now.”

“Spoken like a true leader,” the JKT leader said. “Now, let’s see if our little city really is home to apex predators.”

There was still plenty of meat left, so food was probably the one thing that Kochai and Freak didn’t have to worry about.

Their other major problem, though, hadn’t been solved. They still needed to find a way to pack food and water for the trip to the Land of the Spirits, and with Freak still quite sick from water poisoning, it would probably be some time before the li-tigon could address that issue properly.

Just then, though, neither feline was really worrying about their situation. It served no purpose—they had no use for an excess of stress, and instead, decided to nap now, while they could. Kochai had managed to get the li-tigon to eat at least a few bites of dear; he’d need some energy to fight off whatever bacteria his body was fighting, after all. Apart from that, though, the tigress had nothing to do.

Rather than goof off or lay around, though, she showed a surprising amount of discipline and responsibility—she went out for patrols, despite Freak’s protests, and spent a great deal of time licking his kill, coating it with her antiseptic saliva. It wasn’t a glamorous solution, but it worked… albeit not well enough to be used to preserve food for the long, ship voyage to the Land of the Spirits.

Kochai was splayed out directly on top of the li-tigon, lightly dozing. Her chin was on her forepaws, upraised from his chest by a few inches, giving her a slight vantage point—not that it did much good. It was, after all, her nose that woke her up.

The kitten neither stretched nor yawned as she stood. Nose twitching insistently, she looked this way, then that, then ducked, peering over Freak’s form—they were safe… for the moment.

“Big brother… wake up,” she whispered, still peering outside, “please, please, wake up…” She started to bat at him with her paw, headbutting him several times—this was, after all, an emergency.

Eventually, Freak responded, and opened an eye. He moaned before speaking in a low, laborious tone.

“What is it, Kochai…” he murmured. “Why did you get me up… I was having a nice dream…”

“Were you really, big brother?” the tigress asked. “Please, tell me about it, yes—I mean, it’s an emergency. There are dogs coming… not so many of them, I think. But they’re coming directly this way, big brother.”

“Did you see them?” the li-tigon asked, attempting to stand.

“No,” Kochai replied, “I smelled them. I did not want to go outside—they might have set up a spotter.”

“Good girl,” Freak said, as approvingly as he could. “Smart. How much time do you think we have until they get here?”

“Not very long. A few moments…”

“That’ll do. Now…” the li-tigon rasped, “get up there, and hide, understood? Don’t come out until it’s safe or necessary to do so.”

Kochai nodded, and, after peering up and adjusting her position, leaped up into the storage area, a simple series of thin logs supported by metal girders. She ducked behind an old jute sack, shifted until she could see what was going on a little better, then stopped moving.

Calmly, Freak stepped outside. He certainly wasn’t feeling his best, but for at least a few minutes, he’d be able to stand, walk, and, if need be, fight or run. Wind ruffled the li-tigon’s mane, a little, and carried with it, indeed, the scent of two approaching strays.

And then, a second later, they came into view.

They were walking side by side, perhaps a yard or so apart. Traveling slowly so as to appear less threatening, Freak could see their eyes flit from him to the shack behind him, to the surrounding area—they were preparing to run, just in case he attacked.

The li-tigon kept his face blank and expressionless, even as a thousand thoughts crossed through his mind every second. Who were these dogs, what did they want, why were there only two of them visible; if there were more, where were they, and, most importantly, just how big of a threat to him and Kochai did they pose?

Freak found that merely standing didn’t take a great deal of effort—that was lucky. Displaying his sickness was a form of weakness—it might embolden the dogs to do things they might otherwise not dare to.

Now, they were only about ten yards away—they’d spread out, a little, and now were on opposite sides of the street that led to Freak’s shack. Freak shook dust kicked up by breeze caused by the nearby river, for a second, then looked, curiously, from the older dog to the younger one. They were trying to figure things out still, obviously—he couldn’t blame them, but they were the ones that had approached him. If they had anything to say, Freak thought, they’d say it, and soon.

As it turned out, it was Atlas that spoke first, in a calm, cordial tone, meeting Freak’s eyes the entire time.

“On behalf of my pack, the JKT, and all other dogs who find their homes on the coast of the Ganges, the most powerful river in Hindustan… welcome, stranger. Welcome to our city.”

Choosing his words carefully, Freak proceeded to respond. He remembered what he’d learned about etiquette in this part of the world from Nasher and Raj, and knew that cutting to the chase wasn’t wise.

“I respectfully and humbly accept your welcome, kind sir. Please allow me to introduce myself—my name is—Scar. I am… a visitor to your city.”

“And Hindustan,” Freak thought, but didn’t say—information, after all, was a valuable commodity. Instead, he waited for the dog to respond, and now that he’d given his name, the ball was in the stray’s court, so to speak.

“A visitor, eh…” Atlas thought to himself, examining every inch of the cat in front of him—he could tell that Freak wasn’t a tiger, of course, but didn’t voice it. Not yet, anyway.

“I am the leader of my pack, the JKT… my name is Atlas. Scar, eh?... you should be aware of some of the… hazards… in this city. Water…” the stray leader shook his head, “isn’t good to drink, unless you know what you’re doing.”

Did Freak detect a hint of humor in the stray’s voice? After all, though he was doing what he could to hide his dizziness and general lack of health, he felt certain that something about him—the way he stood, the way he blinked excessively to try to control the way his eyes seemed to become unfocused all to quickly, or perhaps some subtle tinge to his scent that the dog’s powerful nose could detect—made it clear that he wasn’t feeling his best.

“Your advice is appreciated,” Freak replied flawlessly, “as is your concern.”

A pause.

Then, the li-tigon’s lip twitched. Careful, beating-around-the-bush negotiation was not his forte.

“Tell me,” he said, not quite forcefully, but assertively, “what are you doing here? You came directly to me, though this part of the city isn’t your pack’s territory. Why?”

Atlas took a moment to answer; it wasn’t that he didn’t know exactly what to say, he was just considering how to say it. From what he could tell, Freak wasn’t going to do anything rash—perhaps, though, meeting force with force wasn’t a good idea at that point.

“Simple,” Atlas replied, “you’re a big cat. Now, let me explain what that means.”

A pause.

“Your kind haven’t been in or near the city for a very, very long time. Many of your generations, in fact. And we dogs know that hunters and poachers are taking a heavy toll on your numbers—so, you see, it’s something of a surprise, a treat, to see a living big cat in the flesh,” the leader said, somewhat proudly.

“That’s all?” the li-tigon asked. “You came here to see me… literally. That’s it?”

This time, it was Eton that spoke up. Unlike many would have, he didn’t dig at the ground with a paw, didn’t look away—he remained assertive yet respectful, just like Atlas.

“We wish to barter with you,” the younger stray said. “We can offer many things… but we’re only interested in food. Meat… are you interested in trading?”

Freak was silent for a moment. Then, he backed into his shack, disappearing for a moment, before reappearing, pulling out what remained of the deer he’d killed two days before. As he did, he paid careful attention to the strays’ body language—and he was glad that he did. Though they hid it well, or tried to, there was no denying that they were extremely interested in what he had to offer. Freak, it seemed, had major leverage.

“There’s still a few pounds of good meat left on it,” the li-tigon said, “and if you need more, I can get it… in a day or so. For now… this is enough.”

It wasn’t a question.

Atlas and Eton both nodded, still hiding their relief well.

“So… a half-eaten, days-old deer. For this, we can’t give you much.”

“Acceptable,” Freak shrugged. “All I want is water—clean, drinkable water, or knowledge of how to get it—and your word that you’ll keep my existence secret. That means, no telling the humans, no telling other packs, or other animals at all. Is that agreeable to you?”

The strays shared a glance, then looked back to Freak. Nodded.

“We’ll be back later with the water. Expect two gallons… no more. For now.”

“All right,” Freak said, “so…”

He pushed the carcass forward with a paw, several yards. Then, he stood his ground, and waited for the strays to come and take it. The li-tigon wanted to see just how scared of him they were, because fear was respect—however, if they feared him too much, or too little, they might decide that it was best to go to the humans.

Freak kept his appearance relaxed, passive; his claws were sheathed and his muscles were unclenched. Still, though, it took Eton a few seconds to pause, before slowly, carefully stalking forward, taking the carcass in his jaws, and pulling it backwards, always keeping his eyes on the li-tigon.

“Later?” Freak asked, once Eton had pulled the carcass away to a safe distance.

“Later,” Atlas affirmed. “And we’ll look forward to more meat two days from now…?”

“I’ll see what can be done,” the li-tigon shrugged. “It depends on the quality of the water you provide, of course… among other things.”

The strays knew better than to meddle. They just nodded, and were about to leave, when Atlas took a risk—a calculated risk, of course.

“I assume you’ll be here for some time, Scar?”

“Not too long,” Freak replied curtly—the deal had been made. What was the stray leader doing? What did he hope to accomplish?

“Regardless,” Atlas said, waving a paw dismissively, “you’ll be here long enough, I hope, to create a… mutually profitable relationship with JKT, right?”

“That depends on your definition of a mutually profitable relationship,” Freak said coldly. The old, instinctive mistrust that he’d largely suppressed over the past months was rearing its ugly head again—the li-tigon felt the fur on the back of his neck stand on end, as well as the almost irresistible temptation to extend his claws.

“Not a friendship,” the stray said coolly, “but an alliance, of sorts. We both need each another, yes? So, our part in this relationship will be to keep our ears open for anything that could affect you. Your part will be, of course, to provide meat… and, also, to inform us of enemy pack movement. When you can.”

“That doesn’t sound like much,” Freak thought, “and I don’t see how lying would benefit him…”

“Alright,” the li-tigon nodded, “Atlas… we’ll be allies. For some time.”

“Yes,” the stray leader said, raising a paw in farewell, before helping Eton carry off the kill, “for some time.”

Freak only allowed himself to stumble back inside when he saw the strays climb up the gradual hill that led to the old section of the city. Though he certainly didn’t feel up to strenuous physical activity, he was surprised to note that he did feel a good deal better than he had mere hours ago.

Looking up, taking a second to shake the dust out of his fur and mane, the li-tigon said, “Alright, Kochai… come down.”

She complied instantly, but, thankfully, didn’t pounce on Freak. Rather, she gracefully landed in front of him, and peeked out a window, watching as the strays vanished into their pack’s territory.

“Good job, big brother! Your negotiations skills are very good. Perhaps, some day, you shall be your homeland’s foreign ambassador, yes?”

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Freak rolled his eyes, grinning, despite himself. “I’m not really cut out for politics. That’s what beings like my cousin and his family exist for.”

“You can never know for sure, yes?” Kochai said. “Perhaps in your later years, or something like that. Until then, I think that you will be… a warrior when necessary. But otherwise, I think that you will be a family man, big brother.”

“We’ll find out someday,” Freak shrugged, “someday. And what about, Kochai? What do you think your fate is, in my homeland?”

“I am going to live with the lionesses, of course, and have lots and lots of fun,” she said, sighing in anticipation. “Perhaps, I will sometimes go off on my own. But I like being around other people. It’s more fun, and it will give me more opportunities to nap.”

“You’re going to fit in,” the li-tigon mentioned, as he slumped over again. “I’m still not feeling very well, Kochai… why don’t you keep a lookout, and wake me up when the dogs come back?”

“Of course, big brother,” she replied, snapping off a sharp salute. “I will be very observant, nothing will distract me. Nothing at all.”

The second meeting with the strays went smoothly. In fact, it went so smoothly that Freak introduced Kochai—it wasn’t exactly a smart decision, but still. If the JKT pack was in an alliance with him, they had a reason to know whose company he was keeping.

As the days wore on, Freak and Kochai found that they had a great deal of time—hunting around the city was almost too easy, and that meant that they had an excess of meat. Of course, the JKT appreciated that; the dogs were fatter than they’d ever been this time of year—their enemies couldn’t figure out the source of their prosperity, and, of course, didn’t dare attack the clan. In fact, for the first time in a few years, JKT felt certain that it hadn’t been stretched too thin—their pups weren’t even up for adoption, anymore.

They delivered water daily, and brought meat back to their territory on the return trip. Apart from exercising, Freak and Kochai spent a lot of time and effort trying to find out how to preserve meat. They ran experiments with control groups; they tested a variety of methods… but none worked; at least, none worked well enough to be of any use on the trip.

Worry started to set in as the days wore on. Ships were always traversing the length of the Ganges, so Kochai and Freak had plenty of false alarms—and though they laughed, every time they realized that their ship had yet to arrive, they couldn’t help but feel a chill—after all, they weren’t ready for their trip. They could pack some meat, but no water… it seemed that they’d be reduced to starving, for the most part, and drinking any fresh water that condensed on the ship, if possible.

One afternoon, just before sunset, after a full day of training and failed attempts at preserving meat, Freak was sitting, calmly, in his shack, meditating. Kochai was doing the same, or trying too—she was just too young to really, truly concentrate, but she was getting there quickly, under Freak’s tutelage. Her thoughts were focused, mostly, on her parents, and Raj, and how much she missed them—but also how happy she was to have known them, and how much they’d helped her grow into what she had become. Apart from that, she found herself looking forward to the Land of the Spirits… if only she and Freak could get there. Tail lashing, a little, it was obvious she hadn’t completely delved into lower consciousness, not yet—it also meant that she was the first to react, when—

(What I have planned next is not something I think you will foresee. Read Chapter 11 of My Name before continuing in Freak, I think… until next time, then, this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction… see you soon.)