This Stranger, My Friend

Part II - Revelations

The grey-furred minotaur male laughed heartily. When he recovered, his deep, warm voice rang out, the sonorous accent hard to place to her untrained ears. Scottish? Whatever it was, he'd obviously worked hard to make sure it obscured none of his words. Instead, it just made his speech pleasantly musical.

"Oh, I'm sorry my dear! You must excuse me, it's just that you're the only one who's gotten it! Of course I know what my name means. And, after all, aren't I, the lord of this underworld, wearing a pair?"

Mikaela, unsettled, merely nodded, closely inspecting this, the first of her kind she'd seen. He was an older male, his slate fur gone hoary around his blunt muzzle and face. His short, thick horns were a darker grey, straight, and rounded at the tips as if from wear. His long, silvered hair was streaked with white and gathered back into a ponytail, his square form as powerfully built as her own. He wore a loincloth that dangled past his knees, made of dark leather and belted tight. He was only about a foot taller than she was, and he chuckled again as she returned her gaze to the merrily twinkling blue eyes.

"Now then! This is an interesting development. You should not exist, dear Vulcan. But, since you do, if you will permit me?"

He held out his hand, as if for a handshake. Mikaela automatically extended her own.

"I'm not called Vulcan."

He raised his brows as he clasped her hand, but did not shake it, and refused to relinquish his grip.

"No? I have heard you spoken of as The Forger."

Her own brow furrowed.

"I suppose. But Vulcan - that word, that name, has different meanings to some."

"Ah! You are a classical science fiction fan?"

A half-smile played about her lips, the first one in a long time. She raised her other hand in salute, fingers spread in a V. Her voice held an edge of flinty amusement.

"Oh, aye sir."

Cernunnos grinned, startling Mikaela. It was a true smile, not the human imitation most Unseelie tried to stick to, and she was uncomfortable with the display of sharp fangs it presented. Still smiling, he raised her hand to his muzzle, as if to kiss it.

"Then the joke is doubly sweet, and doubly appropriate."

His nostrils flared as he sniffed the back of her hand. Mikaela only had time to flatten her ears, expression thunderous, before he released her and stepped back. He raised his own hands in a calming gesture.

"Take it easy. No insult was meant, and certainly nothing more than to get better aquainted. You may of course, do the same."

Teeth bared, she gritted out the words, "No, thank you."

What was that all about?

Hesitation.

I figured it out later, much later, when the impulse first seized me. It has to do with how close to someone you are. One you would call friend, or family, that is the kind of person we would do that with. Only one you would feel comfortable with, trust. Again, it has to do with our sense of smell. I can scent you where you sit, or even track your passage here, but your personal scent is somewhat clouded. Many things fog it, and intertwine with it. The type of clothes, cologne or aftershave, recent activity or surroundings, all these contribute to the individual scent marker that means you. When he sniffed my hand, Cernunnos was merely trying to get my personal odor, the smell that was purely me, without those other factors. He was an excellent judge of people, knew what they'd mean to him on first meeting. Most in that Below thought it was a Talent. It might have been, at that. He was never wrong, including about me.

Mikaela tapped experimentally at the heat-softened metal rod. She'd become proficient at making daggers, but now she was trying a sword. The picture of how it should look was clear in her mind, but her hands were unsure. With some time and practice, she was sure her instincts would quickly improve her skill, the way they had before with the smaller blades. This, the cause of her new name, was something that still surprised her. Yet, the inherent ability gave her a release, a shelter from the situation she had been thrust into. The unfeeling focus on the work drove every other thought from her, until the fascination of learning her craft, the interplay between herself and the metal compromised her entire world.

Her tools and equipment were a legacy from the farrier who had given her a brief apprenticeship - a collection of implements bought, made, and stolen in the chaotic months spent in the Below she'd retreated to just after she changed. The farrier-turned-satyr had begun teaching her after he noticed the minotaur actually get up to watch him fix something. Like so many others, the beast-girl had been silent and unmoving, seeped in grief and horror. Only the Remade volunteers who forced them to eat and drink got any sort of reaction from those who'd become unresponsive, and that was little more than a grunt and a grudging opening of the mouth. For the minotaur to rise and walk over meant she had to be powerfully interested in what he was doing. So he'd begun teaching his silent pupil the basics, and gradually renewed her interest in life. With unnatural speed she'd progressed, and began speaking, helping, living.

"You'll need a skill to survive, m'girl, and that's what I've been giving ya. Now's the time to pick where you wanna go with it. Me? I'm a fix-it man. You? Your hands is taking you another place entirely. So I'll give you what you need to set yourself up somewheres. I can replace what I need, but you don't know the business like I do."

And he had. She had left when she was ready, to seek her family. Her world had shattered again, but this time she was strong enough to take what pieces she could and escape with them. Through the farrier, she arranged to buy a cart and horse with the money she'd been able to take from her savings. Then, in the times when Remade were still left alone on the streets, the minotaur packed her future and left, and the name given her whispered on ahead.

"You really do get absorbed in that, don't you?" Cernunnos commented from the doorway.

Mikaela grunted, and reluctantly looked up, allowing herself to slip back into the here and now.

"Vulcan, it's simply not healthy to work so long."

The female minotaur snorted. Cernunnos insisted on calling her Vulcan, no matter how many times she told him not to. Mikaela made sure that he was the only one, however, and everyone else referred to her by Forger, the name she had come with. She examined the sword, coming along well despite the errors, which she would not repeat on the next. But Cernunnos would not leave it alone.

"Do you realize how long you've been at this?"

She rumbled a sigh. The sword was nearly completed, and it had seemed just this morning she'd begun. Her nostrils flared. What was it, late afternoon?

"A few hours. Maybe six." It couldn't be any more than that.

"Try a day and a half."

Her ears swiveled forward in shock. The bull minotaur sighed.

"Vulcan, why don't you take a walk with me."

He held out a grey furred arm and smiled in a gallant gesture, tail flicking high in a questioning arc. Mikaela put away her tools and left her tiny workspace, confident that the small furnace would burn itself out. She wasn't a merchant, after all, just practicing a hobby. She declined the arm, but fell into step beside the other minotaur. They strolled through the subway tunnels, lit by anything that could be found - flashlights, candles, old lamps, strings of Christmas lights, and oildrums of burning newspapers. The city of cardboard, plastic, and wood sprawled where-ever there was space. The place was little more than a homeless camp, but everywhere there were Remade who nodded to Cernunnos, called out greetings. He was the shantytown mayor, the binding holding the community together.

He talked to people along the way, a kind word here, an open ear, there mediating a dispute. In between, he talked to her about himself, his observations of them both and the conclusions he'd reached. It was to be the first of many such walks.

"Why do you suppose we look so different?"

At her blank look, Cernunnos elaborated.

"Oh, overall, we are similar. But I was just wondering why, for instance, you have a different type of headgear."

He motioned to his own pair of short, thick horns, the dark grey surface ridged and bumpy. Their straight, dull length jutted to a rounded tip nearly as thick as the main body, and were almost truncated compared to the graceful sweep of the brown minotaur's. The uneven ends made Mikaela think they probably would have come to a point if Cernunnos had been younger when he changed.

"Whereas yours," he continued, a finger describing the arc and curve of her horns in the air, "are not only much longer, but lighter in color, have a smooth, polished exterior, and are quite sharp. They rather remind me of the pictures I've seen of those Spanish fighting bulls. But your face is not like that at all. Clean lines, broad face, long straight muzzle, almost rectangular, but dignified looking for all that. Oh now, don't bristle so. It's a good face, perfect for the serious and reserved thing you insist on being."

His own wide, heavy face and blunt, sloped muzzle always looked perpetually benign and genial, especially when his blue eyes were laughing, as now.

Mikaela raised a brow.

"I don't insist on being anything. I am, and that's all. As to the other, there are no carbon copies in any race, and no, I don't think we're distinct 'breeds' of minotaur. We're different because we're individuals."

He rolled his eyes roofward.

"What you need is to get your sense of humor back. Or did you ever have one?"

She shrugged and didn't reply. Cernunnos observed her for a little while, but his stubbornly quiet companion didn't seem to care if another word was spoken. Perfectly willing to fill the void, he decided that sharing his ideas couldn't hurt. She'd still be, as she put it.

"To be frank, I find you most interesting. I've never heard of a female minotaur, certainly not in the original myth."

Mikaela snorted.

"We are not incarnations of myth. None of us. Orks, goblins, ogres, the rest, none of them are evil or starving for human blood, and the elves are no more inscrutable than the gargoyles. And what about the animal morphs?"

"The legends about shape-changers. Weres. There are more, encompassing more animals than is commonly known. But you can't deny that some Remade do indeed have some of the traits ascribed to them by legend."

She rumbled, ears shifting uneasily.

"Coincidence."

He nodded, perfectly at ease.

"Most likely. Unless something like this has happened before."

What?

That was his theory. One of many. Why else all the parallels between old myth and present day? He firmly believed that in the ancient past, this sort of transformation had occurred. He thought what had happened to those ancient Remade was that superstition and human fear of the strange had led to our 'ancestors' being slaughtered, hunted as evil creatures. The victors write the history books Daniel, or in this case, the epics. Even though made out to be monsters and demons, evil to the extreme, Cernunnos was certain that humans hadn't recorded an entire fiction in those legends. And any survivors that escaped being hunted probably made sure no one could find them. The very rarity of minotaurs among the Remade of today made him think that the ancients could only get their hands on one, hence one myth for my kind.

But what about the other tales? The ones that came later? The games and novels that you were so interested in?

"I think that somewhere, a small group survived, or the individuals did, scattered. Aren't cows and bulls sacred in some religions, both ancient and modern? Maybe some minotaurs found places to live, even setting themselves up for comfortable existences, and like happens with beliefs when the years hide origins, that reverence is all that remains of their influence. There are as many stories about good fairies as bad ones, and elves are in tales across the world. They had to come from somewhere. So even when the band died out, maybe someone found their records, or they lived at peace with a community of humans in some isolated place. Stories would get told to those people and their descendents. Eventually, someone must have used that information as an idea, a writer, or an artist. Picasso's drawings and paintings of the minotaur were not without some sympathy."

Mikaela snorted, as she often found herself doing when Cernunnos brought up his favorite pet theory. He had to have been a scholar, a professor at some school. That was her opinion. Why else bother with such a notion? But he was stretching, even for him.

"Picasso used the minotaur as a symbol for himself, the baser nature of man, and the evils of indulgence. I can only remember two where the minotaur was treated with anything like sympathy."

His grey face creased in surprise, and he gave the brown-furred Mikaela a measuring look.

"You've had some education!"

Mostly, he talked and she just listened, as if humoring him. He got little to nothing in the way of responses save a grunt or a disbelieving noise.

"Yeah, I have. Was in my last year before all this happened."

Her voice was bitter, and for once, Cernunnos restrained his curiosity.

"I apologize. I meant no insult. I'm afraid I thought you were much younger."

At her glare, he grew flustered.

"Well it's not as if you say much! I've had to go on your physical form alone, and I can't even tell how old I am!"

"You were in your seventies when you were changed."

At that, his bovine jaw dropped.

"How on earth did you know that?"

"The marks of age made the transition with you. I've noticed that sometimes happens with older Remade. Your horns are worn. They and the whitening of your muzzle mean you're past your prime. The whitening of the fur on your face means you were getting old. Your hair is mostly silver, streaked with white, and thin compared with mine. So I figured sixty to eighty. Physically, however, you're very fit. The way you move, I imagine you enjoy feeling younger."

Cernunnos blinked rapidly.

"I think I'm fortunate minotaur old age is better than my human prime ever was, or you'd have given me a heart attack for sure. My dear, I think I owe you another apology. I have underestimated you in all ways."

Mikaela turned away.

"Maybe."

"Well, in that case, let's go outside. Since you're of age, I'll buy you a drink."

Mikaela chuckled.

"I never drank much of anything, but suddenly I've got a taste for... an ale."

She blinked in surprise. Her one memory of trying the beer-like substance was not pleasant. At her side, Cernunnos nodded in sympathy.

"I know. I never liked it before either."

The walks continued, and Cernunnos, with his all-encompassing conversation, gradually began to open the younger minotaur's eyes to outside events.

He just - talked?

He was very good at it.

I don't understand. What does he have to do with that, uh, armory you've got in there?

Maybe I could have left all that unsaid. When I started, it seemed important you understand the ties that he built between us. Well. I could have just been stalling, and not even realized it. He wasn't kidding when he said he found me fascinating. He was the one who turned my observations around and concluded that I hadn't even reached full growth yet.

You're joking. You're going to get bigger?

Maybe by a foot or so. My horns aren't full size yet either. At least, that's what he guessed. I can always hope he was wrong. The problem is, he wasn't wrong about much.

The blue eyes burned at her.

"There, now will you believe me?"

Both minotaurs crouched just outside one of the auxiliary entrances to Below. In the dark, humans were gathered, and the night breeze bore their scents upward to the roof of the Gate. Hatred and anger mingled in the threat of violence, searing her nose like vinegar fumes. Attacks on the residents of Below had been increasing, and the attackers getting bolder, no longer going masked or wearing strong perfumes to conceal their scent. Of course, in this Below, only the two minotaurs had a sense of smell that keen - all the other animal morphs had left, part of that group deemed acceptable by society. Scattered complaints of abusive treatment by officials and claims of recognizing some of the attackers had made Cernunnos suspicious, but he'd had no proof.

At Mikaela's signal, the pair retreated, loping off to join the others near a crumbling exit that had as yet gone undiscovered. Mikaela turned it over in her mind, still aghast. It was true! Her night vision, like all Remade who had recently been classified as Unseelie, was better than a cat's. She had been able to see the uniform and badge of the leader, who worked with another to keep the rest calm and organized. A deputy from the police, and a Relocation/Aid officer. The RA man was one she'd heard about but never dealt with, a background underling. Her position as Cernunnos' right hand meant she trafficked with the same smooth-talkers, the same men who she had believed were honest. She growled.

"Figureheads, the lot of them. Told things they believed so we would believe them. Pawns."

"Aye and that's even worse. They're victims, just as we'll be."

Mikaela snarled.

Cernunnos jerked his head around to look at her. Normally his friend was calm and skeptical, and tried to act utterly human. Despite his best efforts, she refused to use her tail or ears for expression unless startled, and disdained to even smile like their kind was made to. But that rigid control was gone. The dark-furred minotaur beside him had been made furious by hunger and betrayal, and the savageness of her anger struck an answering chord even he hadn't known was there. He was startled to find himself snarling as well. They slipped inside Below, and behind them, from downwind, another group of humans emerged from hiding.

The interior of Below was unchanged - the only tunnels were those that had been part of the subway, and the platform stations. It was a scavenged place, made of odds and ends, but now all it held was Unseelie. And they were hungry. Any money individuals had been able to hoard had run out, and the shelters had been filled with them, needing food. Unable to cope, many were turned away, or given reduced portions. Then the thieving had begun, and the exodus to the streets in a never-ending search. Finally, the city had put together an agency to help, appealing to the government for funds. The result was the Relocation and Aid Foundation, a city-run and supplied organization, with the bare minimum of federal support. The RA people had rounded up the Unseelie, carting them back to Below with promises of relief. At first, it worked. Food and medicine, clothes and blankets flowed. But as the city's reserves went down and taxes went up, the food began to trickle away. The stealing began again, and the RA suddenly became a police force. By now, no Unseelie could leave without permission, even to seek employment, and people had been getting half rations too long. Cernunnos had pleaded, threatened, and negotiated, all the while pointing out to his best friend and confidante the pattern that had slowly emerged, trapping them when they were weak. But until tonight, the whole idea had seemed ridiculous to Mikaela.

"It's back to back now, Vulcan, like in the pub."

Despite themselves, both minotaurs grinned at the memory of the brawl. They met the bulk of their people at the main platform. The plan was to stampede the Gates and scatter throughout the city. The foursome of armed guards at the chosen exits would be overwhelmed before they could harm anyone. But before they had even begun to disperse, the humans struck. Once the signal went out over radio, all exits suddenly were covered with huge steel slabs, swiftly bolted to the very concrete and stone of the Gates. Chaos erupted inside as panic-stricken Unseelie raced from one door to the next, pounding and screaming. Outside, once the metal lids were secure, RA workmen leisurely mixed and poured cement over them. The sounds of Below were muffled and then inaudible, and signs posted warned that the tunnels were unsafe, and had been filled.

In the gloom of Below, the elder minotaur watched the panic with cold eyes. Mikaela's breathing was harsh, and her voice threatened to turn to snarlings at any minute.

"The bastards sealed us in Cernunnos, they've sealed us in!"

"I had expected something, but not this. Never this!"

He turned to her, almost frantic.

"The reserves, the stores we've hidden, stolen, it won't last long! For all of us? Two months at most!"

Her bellow of rage managed to reach those who worked outside the nearest Gate, smoothing the cement and unrolling the caution tape. They hesitated a moment, then hurried with their tasks, somehow afraid, even though they knew they were perfectly safe.

"Bastards! You bastards!!"

My God, Mikaela...

The reason that I can't stay Below for more than a month or so without getting outside at least once, is that at one time, I had no choice. It was... terrible. We exhausted ourselves then, and the next difference between me and Cernunnos became even clearer. He had the knowledge to see things, patterns of behavior, patterns of thought. He had the wisdom of experiencing life, and he knew how to handle people, what to say and do. He was horrified by the RA's actions. He spent his time trying to think of ways out, of dealing with things as a human would. His plan called for me to craft tools to help us escape, and so I did. But I armed us too, as fast as I could, on my own authority, second only to his. The way everyone else seemed to expect it, and approve, rather surprised him. Despite his noises and advice about acting naturally to the form we wore, he was an old minotaur, come to his shape too late to change him that much. I think he honestly believed we would stick to his plan, that we'd be able to, no matter what happened.

The sound of the hammer rang throughout Below. All metal of any kind was taken to the enlarged smithy. Cannibalized train cars and hacked up rails went, bits of houses, parts of tools and personal possessions. But mostly the rails and the trains themselves served. Below was never short on metal. First, tools were made: shovels, picks, hammers and pins. They located maps, blueprints of the subway tunnels and surveys of the surrounding land that they'd gotten from the survey office when the Below was first established. The grey minotaur bared his teeth as he pinpointed the place where the ground and concrete was thinnest, the quickest way out he could find. Shifts of powerfully built, determined, malnourished, and frightened Unseelie began working their way past wood, metal, cement, rock, and soil. Anything that could burn, did. Black iron was forged on the anvil, steel melted and poured into quickly made, rough stone casts. The hammer was a constant sound, broken only by the brown minotaur's need for rest, which grew more and more frequent. The half rations they'd restricted themselves to would stave off the inevitable only a short time longer, and the pace they pushed themselves at used up more of their strength. Cernunnos encouraged his people and kept them busy, giving them hope and shoring up their confidence. Forger kept them angry and determined, hungry for justice and so unable to dwell on their fear.

They were unsure exactly how much time had passed. Days became meaningless in a world of constant dusk. Weeks? Surely. Months? About one and a half, as the diminishing food supply testified. And a weakening Forger crafted less weapons as she had to rest more often. No one else could arm them. One night, a parade of solemn Unseelie came to where she was laying, spent and starving, for she worked more than anyone. She watched each of those who came by set a portion of their food on her plate, until it was full again. Every day at the one meal this happened. Mikaela was too weak to protest, and with guilty resolve, ate and grew stronger. Before the second month was completed she'd made a dagger for every adult, swords and axes of various sizes and shapes. She'd made tridents, spears, and a small collection of shields, turning out what she could as fast as she could. If the blade could cut and would not break, it was finished. She armed every Unseelie still capable of lifting a weapon. The workers at the exit stopped as they reached topsoil, and poked a rod through a foot of earth before breaking through. They stopped, and they rested, eating the remainder of the supplies, drinking the last of their water.

The food riots began the next day.

You? You were in the riots?

Gently.

I led the riots Daniel.

Trolls in the front pushed out the remaining thin wall of dirt, and the ragged army coursed out into the daylight. The weak point they'd battered through was a landscaped hillock in the middle of downtown, ironically enough, right next to a sealed Gate. Gargoyles screamed into the air, daggers on their hips, spears in hand. Deprived of the room to stretch their wings, their number had been reduced by half, and these were delirious with freedom. As the landbound Unseelie spilled out of the earth, gaunt and blinking, the weapons they held glinted black in the sun. Humans fled as the forgotten Remade advanced on the nearest stores and restaurants, and took what they had been denied. They harmed no one, but passed out their plunder, especially to the small huddle of children surrounded by the gleaming shields of an elite phalanx. A lavaflow of Unseelie slid down the road, stripping food from the shelves and from tables, distributing it among themselves.

Thanks to the minotaurs' hearing and watchful gargoyle sentries, sirens and the sound of a helicopter warned them long before it would have a human mob. Activities ceased, and the Unseelie looked to their leaders. Cernunnos, a sword tucked under one arm and a loaf of bread in his hands, set both aside.

"Remember, peaceful. Keep the weapons handy, but don't raise them or do anything foolish. They'll have guns, and even the non-lethal ones will put us down with broken bones. We need the media to see us. Vulcan, I know you have some reservations. Go ahead with the precautions you told me about."

Mikaela nodded, and with curt motions sent the children and their protectors to hide in a nearby building. She split two groups off of the main and down opposite side streets to crouch, hidden. At her command gargoyles rose into the air and arrayed themselves on rooftops and the corners of buildings. Two signaled they had visual contact with the ranks waiting on the side streets, whose purpose was to escape and make sure the events here became known. Two gestures had been agreed upon: a raised open hand to send these fleeing the city if trouble arose, and a wing-wave to have them rejoin the main body if things went smoothly. The children and their guards crouched in the empty restaurant, a horned gargoyle peering outside to see what would happen. She had refused to join those in the sky because the small gaggle of frightened forms had become hers long ago. Those of many races that felt the same ringed the children with a shell of metal and defiance. Amid the shields and spears, wide eyes watched one of their adopted parents tense and whisper for readiness.

In the street, the Unseelie waited, their leader and his second at the front. The helicopter arrived first, and neither the gargoyles nor the hidden teams moved a muscle. The cops inside, seeing the main group waiting for them, unmoving and quiet, swept over their heads and hovered. The cars and sirens halted at the mouth of the boulevard as police and RA troops marched forward, clad in riot gear. In their ranks were mounted officers, and even normally clad patrolmen advanced. The Unseelie, weapons at their sides, made no move, no sound.

"Where are the cameras Cernunnos? I don't see any news vans, any radio 'copters. I don't like this. It stinks."

Suddenly the elder minotaur looked as if he felt his age.

"I agree. They must have control of the media."

Mikaela growled.

"No, more likely they're blocking them. Using the 'danger' as an excuse. They might have one or two under their finger, but that's it."

The hoary face turned towards her, a hint of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth.

"I never did ask. What were you studying in school?"

"You want to know now?!"

"Humor me."

The mass of humans halted, waiting for their own leaders to step forward.

"I was a history major."

"Ah, a student of the humanities. You wanted to be a teacher."

"Yeah. A college professor."

The smile turned sad.

"I know. That desire is gone. What you have become is much harder."

Her golden eyes fastened on his, searching that wise blue gaze for her answer. He knew her question. It was one he'd asked himself, and seen in her. Despite how close they had become, it was something she'd never had the courage to discuss.

Surely you know, you, who see so much. What am I supposed to be now?

A loudspeaker crackled to life, informing the Unseelie that a human named Thad Lopez would be approaching to hear their grievances, and the grey minotaur stepped forward to speak.

Demands were exchanged, and Cernunnos argued eloquently, despite the fact that most likely he was dealing with those who had imprisoned them. Behind the silent Mikaela, people grew tense, began muttering as the negotiations progressed, then turned ugly.

"No, damn you! Haven't you been listening? We will not go Below! After what you people did?"

Cernunnos touched the sword in his belt, more as a formality than anything else. He knew the unseen but doubtless present snipers would not hesitate if they thought he threatened the man. He'd be down before he could finish drawing it.

"Don't you understand? We will disband, peacefully, surrendering our weapons. We've not hurt or damaged anything as a sign of good faith. But we want investigations started, the RA disbanded. We want homes up here, we want those who sealed us in arrested, tried. This is America! We have rights! You can't starve us, lock us away to die, and think we'll meekly shuffle back into the hole so you can do the job right!"

Lopez, a large man with close-cropped hair, scowled at the minotaur.

"Not hurt or damaged? I doubt the store owners will see it that way. You people have stolen, looted, and are carrying lethal weapons. You're a pack of criminals, and you're lucky I offered to let you go back Below. Your accusations are unfounded-"

Cernunnos finally lost his temper. His formidable teeth flashed as his ears flattened.

"Unfounded?!! Criminals?!! Look at my people! Can you see their ribs? The sunken eyes, lax muscles? They're starving! What did you think they were going to do, head for the nearest soup kitchen? They'd have been turned away! Thanks to the RA, we can't even eat at the same places norm homeless do! What's next sir? Fountains that say "human only" and "Remade"? God! I thought that lesson had been learned a long time ago! Listen little man, we're not going back down there, but we are willing to listen to reason. I suggest you start coming up with some. Otherwise we'll stay here all night!"

Cernunnos moved forward and poked his finger in the hollow of the cops' shoulder, for once bringing his sheer size and strength into focus. His voice growled dangerously. The head negotiator was cool and experienced, but his backup was more nervous. Shots tore out, and Lopez swore profusely as the large beast-man staggered back, looking surprised as red bloomed from his chest. The human sprinted for the safety of his fellows.

"CERNUNNOS!!!"

The cry came from multiple throats, but only Mikaela dropped her battle-axe and ran to him. It was the only thing that saved her from a similar fate, and the now tense police force watched with trained wariness as she dropped to her knees beside the wounded minotaur. Ears flat, she showed her teeth as she dragged her friend and leader back to his own. The first few people closed around her in a circle, and every eye in the Unseelie crowd was turned to where the grey minotaur lay. No one heard the human cursing the other men for being trigger-happy. Lopez watched as the Unseelie all focused on their fallen leader, those in the back milling uncertainly. He prayed the Unseelie wasn't lethally wounded. What was a sure kill on a norm wasn't necessarily deadly to one of these people.

Cernunnos coughed, blood trickling from nose and mouth. Mikaela held him up, hoping to ease his breathing. He tried to speak, and she had to bring her head down close to hear him. Her amber eyes were bright with fear. He whispered something quickly, then sighed.

His heap lolled to the side, limp as the rest of his body. Mikaela closed her eyes in sudden grief.

Did - did you love him?

Not in that sense. He was in some ways like a father, a special combination of teacher and friend. To lose him was very hard. When he died, the truth about what I'd become surfaced. It was easy to 'play human' as he called it, during the time before, because I was truly repelled by the things he took for granted. He never had a problem accepting his new instincts. I'd been denying them. When they finally escaped - when I let them go - they overwhelmed me.

The violence?

Not for its own sake of course. The injustice alone was more than enough to set me and the others off.

But it was your decision.

Yes. And another of Cernunnos' observations was proven.

What was that?

Minotaurs like to fight.

Lopez felt his stomach sink as he saw every downward gaze snap up and stare fixedly at him and the people of the blockade. Without looking away, the rank in front stepped aside to show the brown minotaur gently setting the body of the grey one down. He watched as in an action purely human, the sable hand closed the lifeless blue eyes. The uncanny amber gaze found his, and the soft, choked voice was perfectly audible in the pregnant quiet.

"You killed him. Unprovoked. You tried to kill us and then you killed him."

The glimmering of unshed tears were unmistakable, as was the youthful femininity of the voice, made hoarse and tight with furious grief, and it shocked everyone. The Unseelie obviously were now looking to the young minotaur, a woman who had just watched someone she plainly cared for and followed shot down while negotiating peace.

Oh shit.

Orders to advance were barked from somewhere to the rear, from those who were supposedly in charge of the decisions. Lopez knew immediately it was a mistake. He tried to shout for his people to hold their positions, but it was too late. Plastic shields raised, mace, clubs, and non-lethal weapons primed, they marched ahead as a wall.

Mikaela gave herself to the rage, and roared. The sound carried all the fury and grief and frustration of the pent up months. The minotaur was echoed by those behind her, and she snatched up Cernunnos' jagged sword, brandishing it high in a clenched fist. Bellowing, she and the rest surged ahead. The gargoyles shrieked and roared their battle cries, swooping from above. The two relay scouts raised their spears and fists, then leaped into the air. The furious sound of Forger's voice thundering in the air and the unplanned signals prompted the two separate groups to circle around in a pincer. They burst through the supposedly secure but lightly manned barricades with little effort.

At the front, the charging Unseelie closed quickly, too quickly for the police to get off more than a few shots, randomly striking the front rank. The push forward had cost them precious room to maneuver, and the speed with which the oncoming tide moved didn't allow any recovery. The non-lethal guns went off, dropping more, but many of those got up again, winded and little else. The blows that would break a troll or an orks' bones only bruised an ogre's. Mikaela and the front line of larger Unseelie thrust as a wedge into the sea of blue and cream uniforms. At this range, the chemical weapons were near useless, and batons were only a nuisance to the ogres and trolls. Mikaela herself ripped the clear shields out of weaker human grips and threw them down. In close quarters her sword was useless except to batter shielded humans backwards, so she threw that down too, fighting bare-handed. As the wedge advanced and spread out, the smaller races sprang forward to fill the gaps, picking up the discarded shields and using them against the humans. But all took part, from the human-sized orks to the smaller goblins. Fey in all their varied forms grimly wove among the others. Whenever a human lost their weapon, an Unseelie retrieved it, passing it to the rear. The gargoyles mobbed the helicopter, forcing it to withdraw. Smoking, heavily damaged, it hobbled away to the triumphant cheers of the winged Unseelie. Now they turned their attention to the crowd, diving in strafing runs designed to throw the humans into chaos. They seized anything they could, even as the beleaguered task force found itself flanked, attacked from the rear by more thin and cinder-eyed Unseelie.

Mikaela had found a new way of fighting, quickly adopted by the ogres and trolls. When there was a human in front of her, she took their shield, then picked them up in one massive hand and threw them further back in their own ranks. Batons and clubs thudded against her body as she waded through the swarm, with little effect. She was focused on him, the one who had lured Cernunnos to his death. As they realized her target, loyal friends and colleagues of the human tried to intervene. They crowded her, throwing themselves bodily if they held no weapon. And as the massive Unseelie peeled them off, she looked in the eyes of the man, Lopez, and laughed.

Shudder.

You... you went crazy.

Sadness.

Battle mad, as in the hornworm cavern. But we had been weakened by the captivity. We had filled our bellies, but the strength we'd lost would be a long time in returning, even with proper food and supplies. When the opposition fell back and ran, we let them go. My group, the main body, didn't kill any norms in the main confrontation, though I was just as surprised to find that out as you are to hear it. We hurt many people badly, and we were hurt, Cernunnos only one of six Unseelie casualties. The human snipers had managed to get a few of us before we engaged the ground troops too closely for them to risk shooting. Our weapons were no good for such crowded conditions, so we ended up mostly stealing theirs. That's probably why none of the police died. Heaven knows, if there had been enough room for the melee we were prepared for, many norms would have died. Anyway, before I could reach Lopez, I was hit in the head with enough force to bring me down. One of the gargoyles had been felled by a beanbag gun, and wounded, he plummeted. Knocked us both out. The cops and the RA force were in shambles, small groups breaking off and running for it. I woke up long enough to blink the blood from my eyes and order the wounded of both sides seen to. Then I passed out again.

What happened next went a long way to exonerating the rioters. I remember hearing about it.

Yes. It was the fey who'd stopped to see to me. When she'd told me the enemy was routed and I gave her that garbled instruction, she went and organized everything.

The medical personnel blinked in surprise and trepidation. The gargoyles who'd summoned them into the danger zone had sworn they would have safe passage, but it still looked like a battlefield. The ambulances and fire-trucks spilled paramedics into the streets, where the scene was terrible, but unexpectedly organized. Triage had been set up, and as much first aid as possible had been given. Unseelie administered to the human victims as well as to their own, scrupulously avoiding any they thought they recognized, allowing others help those they might be tempted to let suffer. The fey who oversaw the lot told the medics to do what was needed, and if they required any sort of assistance, to ask. Izani was a woman of middle age, skin tinted a very pale blue. In place of hair was a fine, downy mass of yellow, feather-like quills, and her pronounced brow ridge gave her a scowling appearance. Her red eyes flickered at the gapes of shock.

"Well? Get to work! I used to be a doctor, I've done the hard stuff. Move it!"

And they did. The human wounded went to the hospital, as did the most serious cases from the Unseelie, one an unlucky gargoyle who'd managed to fall on The Forger's horned head. Izani asked for and received enough bandages and other supplies to see to those who had retreated with the main body of Unseelie to a more secure location. Many were unwilling to put themselves back in human hands after the events which inspired the revolt, and so waited for Izani's return to be treated. Forger was one of those, not through choice, but because she'd been hauled along by worried followers.

Gargoyles patrolled the skies as trolls and orks scouted the ground. With the retreat of official forces, the crowd swept through the city, looking for a likely place to stop and tend to their wounded. When they found such a place, they firmly evicted all norms and proceeded to fortify the trio of shops into a defensible position.

The buildings the Unseelie had commandeered were on both sides of the street. A grocery store, two restaurants, and a bar compromised the Unseelie base. The ogres who'd led the charge had been made comfortable in one restaurant, along with the others who'd been hurt the worst. Battered but functional Unseelie compromised the population of the diner, and the healthy who weren't helping with the wounded or patrolling the perimeter crowded the store.

In the dimly lit bar, Mikaela opened her eyes, head pounding unmercifully. She was propped up in a padded booth, the table having been torn out to make room. Izani's strangely rolling voice hissed in displeasure as she dabbed at a laceration on the minotaur's brow.

"The fools. Hid you away to keep you safe. I'd even looked at the scraped knees to make sure they were dressed properly before someone thought to tell me you hadn't been tended to. And with a head injury yet! You could've had a concussion, gone into a coma, all manner of things."

The minotaur couldn't quite suppress her groan.

"You have a great way of instilling confidence Izani. I see your bedside manner is as good as ever."

"Shut up and hold still. That's a nasty cut above your eye, and you're lucky it doesn't require stitches."

The fey put a slice of gauze over the wound and began to wrap her patient's head with a thin strip to keep it in place. She nodded as the minotaur protested faintly.

"I know there's nothing wrong with the eye itself, but the position of the gash is very close, and you should keep it closed. I'll have to cover it all for right now."

Mikaela shifted uncomfortably.

"For now only, healer. I can't go into a fight half-blind."

Izani paused, sighed, then started cleaning a small cut on the beast-woman's cheek. Superficial as hell, but what a bleeder. Better get yourself ready. There'll be more.

Mikaela winced under the prodding fingers.

"How about a painkiller then? Feels like I took on a bus and got blindsided by a tank."

"Oh? Sore? Any trouble moving anything? Can you follow my fingers? Any place in particular hurt?"

"Everywhere! But mostly my head and neck."

"That would be Middee."

"Huh?"

"Middee. He's the one that fell on you. Even a head of solid rock like yours can't protect you entirely against Mythmaker knows how many pounds of adult gargoyle falling out of the sky."

A bit of a commotion started up, but Mikaela ignored it, concerned.

"Is he okay? Did I hurt him? Did my horns-?"

Izani pursed her lips, grabbing Mikaela's muzzle and turning her head to the side.

"He'll recover. One just punctured a wing, but the other caught him in the ribs. Ripped him pretty badly, but with care he should be back in the skies. He's among the group that I sent to the hospital."

The minotaur visibly hesitated before asking the next question.

"How many dead?"

"Them? None as far as I know, although it'll be a near thing with many. One paralyzed for sure. Us? Six, including Cernunnos."

One golden eye closed.

"Names."

Izani told her, and suddenly every muscle was tense, though the minotaur held very still. For the first time, it struck Izani just how young Forger was. With Cernunnos around as a steadying presence, it hadn't seemed odd to go to her. What she wasn't capable of handling would be taken to him, and her judgement had been impeccable. But now Izani was feeling distinctly uneasy. The clamor that had been steadily rising in the background got even louder as a small group of Unseelie approached, surrounding a lone human.

To the side, unnoticed, a tiny red light winked on.

Lopez stumbled again as one of the ork guards pushed him forward, unable to catch his balance quickly with his hands bound. The skin of his cheek was shiny and dark, mottled purple and beginning to swell. He limped slightly, but was otherwise unscathed. Now he looked at where the minotaur was reclining, head bandaged, another Unseelie cleaning the blood from her facial fur.

The largest of the three goblins also accompanying Lopez took the point. He, like the others, was ugly by norm standards - lantern jawed, with snaggle teeth and sharp canines jutting from his lower lip. He was squat, the tip of his peaked head only reaching up to the human's chest. The goblin's pale grey skin was thick and bumpy, and carried a hint of green, but his small stature was belied by the fact that he was just as muscular as an ork. His black hair was long, combed back behind his large ears, which came to a point more direct and less elegant than an elf's. He hooked large-knuckled hands in the belt of his leggings and rocked back on his heels as he grinned, a short sword at his side. His heavily clawed feet were bare, and yellow eyes with a vertical pupil widened with good humor.

"'Lo Forger. We've got something here that should make you feel better about sleeping through the action." He nodded over his shoulder, and Lopez was prodded into better light as the goblin continued.

"We saw you going for him when the gargoyle fell. Me and mine caught and hustled him off before he knew what hit him."

Lopez met the inhuman regard as evenly as he could. Around him, other shapes came closer, muttering as they began to recognize who he was. The fey stood back as Mikaela unfolded herself from the makeshift couch, and Lopez couldn't help but stare as the enclosed space brought home just how truly immense she was.

"Thank you Brangin."

Lopez's guards retired to the shadows, and now the grumbling in the wings gained in volume.

Mikaela paced around the captive, looking him over. He refused to move, staring fixedly ahead. She stopped behind him, snorted softly and beckoned the fey, "Izani, take care of him, will you?"

Then the minotaur leaned over to grasp his arms, her deep-toned voice sounding quietly in his ear.

"I'm cutting the ropes. I don't suggest trying anything. The building is surrounded and filled with very unhappy people. You try to escape, and they might not stop at recapture. Izani is our doctor. She'll treat your injuries. Behave."

The cold blade of Mikaela's dagger parted his bonds. Lopez massaged his wrists where the skin had been chafed and eyed the minotaur warily as she returned to her seat. The fey called Izani looked him over quickly, asking questions with professional detachment.

"I need some more water and an ice pack," she announced at large. To Lopez's astonishment, the minotaur rose and rummaged behind the bar, bringing what Izani had asked for. She handed the water over and gave him the towel-wrapped ice. He raised a brow, but placed it against his bruised cheek. "Why did you get it?"

She gave a low, rumbling sound, and swiveled her ears forward. He realized the noise was amused rather than threatening.

"Because I was closest."

Ask a simple question... Now though, objections began to be raised.

"Forger! What's the point of this? Kill him and get it over with!"

"Aye. Or let us if you haven't the stomach."

Ogres had spoken, but others agreed. Trolls and orks fingered their weapons while fey and goblins flexed their hands.

"Maybe I have something else in mind for him."

"Or maybe," growled an ogre who stepped forward, "You've lost your nerve. Without Cernunnos, you don't know what to do. He killed Cernunnos! His life is ours! If you can't handle it, go outside for a while. We know what to do."

Izani drew Lopez hurriedly back as Mikaela snarled and stalked forward. Her tail lashed as she faced the ogre. Don't make this a fight. I can't let you kill him. Back off on this. Her uncovered eye narrowed as her words belied her thoughts.

"Are you calling me a coward, Craig? Are you challenging my claim?"

Craig sneered.

"Yes! You have no right to make the decision! You were never more than a hanger-on, forever creeping along in his shadow!"

Damn you! Eye blazing with fury, Mikaela balled her hand into a fist and hauled off a classic right cross to the jaw. Craig grunted and staggered back against the wall. After blinking and rubbing his fanged jowls, he shook off an impact that would have killed a charging lion.

"You think rearranging my face will change anything?"

"I wouldn't bother. No one'd be able to tell anyhow," she spat.

With a guttural snarl, he lunged. Teeth bared, the minotaur was only too happy to close with him. The bright madness washed over her mind again, and she enjoyed every blow she landed. Craig tried stomping on her feet, and yelped in outraged pain as her unyielding hooves damaged him far worse for the effort. He snapped at her, trying to get his hand free on her blind side. She ducked her muzzle and headbutted him, the span of her horns safely passing to either side. He slowed, dazed. Few things were harder than an ogre's head, but a minotaur's thick skull was one of them. Mikaela grunted as the constant pain became even worse, bringing a wash of rationality. Mental note: Limit heavy impacts to cranium to one a day. Then all thought but pounding Craig into the dirt vanished.

Lopez watched the battle with increasing nervousness. The monsters were holding nothing back, and for the first time he realized just how much strength these people had at their command. The floor vibrated with the force of the blows being exchanged, and the thud of fists on flesh was louder and more solid than anything he'd ever witnessed. They weren't even completely healthy, and his bones ached just from being in the same room! As the fight continued, he shivered. The ogre was formidable, his attacks fierce, but there was something even more frightening about the minotaur, the way her movements became almost a dance, body flowing instinctively into the violence. Every lunge, every step, was an echo of the sinuous savagery of her expression - the velvet muzzle locked in a snarl, fangs that had never seemed more appropriate bared, and the brilliant amber flame of her exposed eye. The subtle motions of ears and tail, miniscule alterations in her expression made even the ogre stagger back, confused and intimidated. Shamed by the emotions, he pushed his opponent away.

"You haven't been in this Below since the beginning. You didn't know Cernunnos as long as most of us. Leave the human! You aren't really one of us, and you never will be! Cernunnos deserves better than to have you dishonor his memory by trying to take his place."

The minotaur moved so fast Craig had no time to block or counter. Locking her hands together, Mikaela stepped forward and brought them up in a quick, powerful blow that closed the ogre's mouth with a gruesome crunch, and sent him reeling backwards into the wall. He spat out teeth and blood, but he'd no sooner taken a breath than he was shoved back and held there by one outstretched hand. Her angry hiss was for his ears only, but as before, her words carried in the hush of expectation.

"He told me his name. Who knew him better?!"

The vise-like grip on his throat tightened, cutting off his wind. Craig's muddy orange eyes bulged as he began to panic. He swiped at the minotaur, but she had the advantage of reach. He clawed his own neck in an effort to free himself. The ogre sagged, muscles going slack, and he stared, real fear plain on his face. Growling low, Mikaela stepped closer, bringing her muzzle close, golden orb glittering coldly.

"Mi Dios," Lopez whispered, "Is she going to kill him?"

Izani, still gripping his arm, replied softly.

"Maybe. She's gone through a lot. I've never seen her this way. She doesn't get angry, much less - berserk! She's usually the restrained one!"

That frightened Lopez more than the minotaur's rage. If what these people had endured could turned an otherwise even-tempered woman into that! He shied away from thinking about what it would take. Despite what his superiors had said then, they did have a valid grievance. He shuddered. If even half of what the grey minotaur had told him was true...

Mikaela fought against the rage. You cannot kill him. You can't. Let go, let go, you have to let go he can't breathe- She growled again, this time at herself. The tiny voice was not worth listening to. What was worth paying attention to was how good it felt to throttle the life out of this enemy, this arrogant man who had insulted her honor, who had challenged her. She scowled, lips covering her fangs. No. This was not right. A sudden revulsion shivered through her, and Mikaela let the ogre slide to the floor, where he coughed and took a rattling breath, hand clutching his chest. Gathering the last of the fury, she swung around, tail slicing the air, and bellowed, "The human's life is mine! Anyone else disagree?"

Consenting murmurs swept the crowd. Mikaela glared.

"And only mine! You will not interfere! Izani, bring him here please."

Lopez was propelled forward again, and he walked stiffly to stand before the minotaur.

She did not look at him, but rather at the Unseelie gathered around.

"Now listen! His life is mine, and I give it back to him. Anyone who harms him will answer to me."

Denying roars burst from dozens of throats.

"SILENCE!" the minotaur thundered.

"But Forger! He killed Cernunnos!"

"He did not. I heard him, even if the rest of you weren't paying attention. He's a negotiator, he was listening, talking to Cernunnos! Sure, when he was killed, I blamed this man too, but I realize he did nothing. Some faceless, paranoid sniper charged with keeping him safe was the one. We'll never know who did it, if they were police or RA, man or woman. We might as well accept that now."

Her tone was harsh, and she settled back onto her abandoned seat. In the quiet, the Unseelie were forced to acknowledge the truth of her words. Some friends helped Craig to his feet and supported him as they departed for one of the other buildings. Most of the Unseelie followed them out. Izani left the human's side and began checking the minotaur.

"You've reopened the cut. The bandage is soaking through."

The goblin, Brangin, stepped up and leaned against the booth, not saying a word.

Izani's brow furrowed. "What else is hurting?"

Mikaela grunted, her reply curt.

"Head's worse now. He landed a few to the stomach, and worked my ribs over pretty good on my blind side. Hands're sore. Damn Craig."

She gazed steadily at Lopez.

"You've cost me a lot sir."

Brangin spoke up before the human could.

"How you figure?"

She snorted as Izani fiddled with the dressing over her eye.

"If it weren't for him, I wouldn't still be in this mess. The challenge would have come, and I could have stepped aside. I'm about as fit to make decisions as an ensign is to command a fleet. I'd've handed over Cernunnos' sword and the responsibility to someone who could handle it."

Brangin blinked in curiosity.

"And what exactly makes you think you can't?"

"Five names."

She shook her head.

"Five deaths on my conscience. Because I made a choice, they're no longer alive. That's not something I can live with easily. I don't want to be the one making the decisions like that. But because I couldn't let him die, I had to fight, and now I get to keep the whole blasted mess."

She turned again to Lopez, and this time her voice held no rancor, just weariness.

"Damn it, why couldn't you run away faster?"

Brangin chuckled. One corner of the minotaur's mouth quirked up. Her attention turned to him.

"Damn you Brangin, why'd you have to be so efficient? Now I have to figure out how to get him back to his own."

The goblin put on a wounded expression, spreading his arms wide.

"Me? What about you? You're the one went off and hammered Craig into next week."

Mikaela sighed. "Yeah, and damn me too."

Izani harrumphed. "I'm starting to feel left out."

That drew a laugh, then a grimace of pain from the minotaur. Lopez stood where he'd been left, at a loss. In the shadows, the small red light blinked off.

"By the way, this one," the goblin nodded at Lopez, "is not my only present. I also have someone else here who'd like to meet you. An ally."

"I really don't need another headache. The three I've got are more than sufficient."

Brangin waved someone forward.

"Oh, you'll like this one, trust me."

The human that stepped out was also surrounded by goblins, but protectively. He was of average height, and wore nondescript clothes. Under one arm was a video camera, and a large, bulky nylon bag was strapped to his back. He moved past his escort and reached out to Mikaela. His brown eyes were solemn.

"My name is Jake Guyor."

The minotaur shook his hand.

"You can call me Forger. Why are you here Mr. Guyor?"

He patted the video camera at his side and smiled without humor.

"I also noticed there was no media coverage of the riot. Very unusual, don't you agree? I'm trying to get into the cinematic arts, and was doing some shooting today by the supposedly filled tunnel to Below. Everything since you broke out I've recorded."

Mikaela's ears flickered.

"That's an awful long time to be taping. You must have run out of battery or film."

"Aspiring artist, remember? I carry plenty of extras, and spare no expense on my equipment, even if I live in a room with no furniture. I mean I got everything. Your people didn't seem inclined to bother me and let me wander where I pleased. You can even hear the meeting between your leader and him."

Lopez was indicated by a jerk of the chin. Mikaela looked hard at Guyor, tone cautious.

"What exactly do you want?"

He spread his arms, obviously surprised.

"To do what's right. The tapes are yours, to help you out, to prove your case."

Slowly, long out of practice, a true smile lit the minotaur's features. She rose and clasped the norm's hand with both of her own, unsure how to communicate the gratitude she felt.

"Mr. Guyor, you have just gone a long way to restoring my faith. Izani, don't you think we should have our friend here shown around, introduced, and explain what he's done?"

The fey was smiling too, and gave a mock bow.

"Won't you come this way Mr. Guyor?"

He chortled, but walked over.

"It's Jake. Just call me Jake."

As he, Izani, and the other goblins left, Mikaela looked at Brangin, who was grinning like a fool. Delighted, the minotaur threw back her head and laughed, flopping back down on the booth cushions, ignoring the pain.

"Brangin, I could kiss you! We may come out all right yet!"

"Yeah, just think. And you thought you couldn't handle it."

She chuckled again, but this time it was rueful.

"I can't. This was a gift, a good piece of luck, nothing more. Anyone in my position would do what I have, and probably found a way to handle Craig without losing their temper."

The goblin observed her thoughtfully.

"You think so?"

"I know it. Cernunnos was right. He called me Vulcan, remember? The best second and friend he could have, he said. We both knew I was meant to craft the lightning, not wield it."

Brangin scratched his chin absently as he moved to where he could stand guard over Lopez.

"Maybe not right now. It is rather soon."

Mikaela shook her head and leaned back. She needed to get some rest before events started moving again.

You're awfully quiet.

It's a lot to take in, Mikaela. You've been through so much...

Bitterness.

Don't pity me. I don't deserve any sympathy.

I can understand why you wouldn't want-

No. Not that I'm too proud, or can't accept it. I'm just not worthy of it.

The bar had refilled, and most everyone inside was taking the opportunity to relax, only a handful of Unseelie alertly watching Thad Lopez. He was slumped in another of the bar's stalls. He'd been denied nothing in the way of comfort, and was assured of his safety. It still rankled that he didn't have his freedom, but from all appearances that would also soon be rectified. In the meantime, he just had to sit tight and wait. He stifled another yawn and considered following the example of those around him. Thad's impromptu cell, just another table and booth across from the minotaur's, gave him a monotonous view of the sleeping beast-girl. Once he'd found out her actual age from a talkative guard, it had been hard for him to think of her as anything other than a kid. Although, heaven knows, at that age I considered myself anything but. As sleepiness tugged his eyelids further down, his thoughts wandered. Strange. Asleep, all her features were smooth, calm. Not peaceful - he thought it would be a very long time before she or anyone else here was at peace again - but quiet, without anger or pain or anything else to mar her expression. A tendril of stark white hair had drifted across her closed eye, and Thad was reminded of his youngest son, of going into his room at night and smoothing the tousled locks back, and kissing him goodnight. He'd always been amazed by the effect his touch could have on his children, soothing them even in their sleep from fitful dreams, or when they were ill. The bovine face looked almost gentle, and an impulse stirred to go and brush back her hair, give what comfort he could. It would have shocked him if he'd been aware of it, but instead, the urge faded into the softness of sleep, forgotten as if it had never been.

The shouting woke everyone. The door was flung open and a gargoyle leaped into the room, keening, her wings spread, looking as bloody and furious as if the fighting had just ended. She wailed for Cernunnos, looking about wildly. Thad and Jake jerked upright, and saw others doing the same. The minotaur's nostrils flared and her eye widened at the condition of the normally mild and soft-spoken woman.

"Zephyr! What are you doing here? Why aren't you out of the city?"

The garnet-skinned gargoyle fastened onto Mikaela's voice like a hound, leaping for the shocked minotaur. Zephyr's dusky pink wing-leather was tattered, her black hair in disarray and blood streaming from multiple wounds, including a few of what could only be bullet holes. She clutched Mikaela's worn shirt, her long, slender tail writhing. Her message was delivered in a chilling wail.

"Forger! They got the children!"

Stunned silence, then a rumble of outrage built. Mikaela grabbed the smaller woman by the shoulders.

"What happened?"

Zephyr calmed and described how they'd begun hustling the small band of youngsters out of the area once the fighting began, and had to go to ground almost immediately because a separate patrol of RA troops had been sneaking up on the main body of Unseelie. They had been spotted coming out of a building, and spent dangerous hours hiding from the systematic search, safety denied them even in the sewers.

"With only two adult gargoyles, Valkyrie and me, there was no way to fly the children to safety, and though two of the kids had wings, even they couldn't escape. They just don't have the endurance or experience to get very far!"

Unable to elude the pursuit, the guards had desperately sought a defensible position. Zephyr's wings shivered.

"We found an alley with a narrow mouth and figured it was our best bet. We knew they had superior numbers, and we didn't want them to be able to get behind us. Valkyrie had the kids hide in a sunken stairwell, to protect them from getting involved in the fight. The norms found us, but only attacked with hand weapons like clubs, bats, pipes, and knives. We did our best, and with the shields you made, it looked for a while like we'd be able to hold them off. It was a stalemate. They couldn't get past our barricade, but we didn't dare break the line to finish the jobs we started. They'd get a bit bloody, then send in the next wave while the first recovered. Then they all gathered and rushed, this time using guns, nets, gas bombs. They'd been playing with us."

She swallowed.

"They must have thought I was dead when I went down. It didn't matter, the gas and my wounds kept me from even moving. Valkyrie was the last. She took half of them with her, fighting even after being shot, and her wings torn to shreds, horns broken from the beating. I couldn't move, even when I saw them herding the children into one of those awful vans. I tried Forger, but I just couldn't move. I'm so sorry..."

Zephyr's voice faltered as the tears came, and Forger wrapped the older woman in a comforting hug, letting the gargoyle sob against her chest.

Anguish and horror combined with wrath made the minotaur's face contort.

"Get everyone who's able together. We're going hunting. We will find those pieces of scum and get our kids back. After all, we've got a hostage to trade."

She looked at Lopez, who did not like his sudden change in status in the least.

Now who's being quiet?

It's not easy, dredging up memories. I may have buried them, but that doesn't mean I've made peace with them.

Pause.

What happened with the kids?

RA fanatics. The group that went after them was comprised of those who wanted to kill us, who had enjoyed taking part in the scattered assaults on Unseelie. Their plan was to flank us, like we had the police and RA troops at the front. When they saw the children, they focused on them as a symbol of their fear, assuming, like most do, that we'd been giving birth to the young Unseelie, instead of realizing the obvious truth. They also went after them because bigots are inherently cowards, selecting those as victims who are alone or weak, vulnerable. They got more than they bargained for though. Valkyrie, the leader, cost them more than they'd thought. She fought, and she killed. The others did too. In the end, only numbers and guns gave them the advantage, and the way some Unseelie are built, it takes a lot of bullets to kill them. Minotaurs and orks, internally, are arranged much like norms. That's why Cernunnos died. But gargoyles, they're built different enough that unless you know where to shoot, the only sure kill is a head shot. When you're panicking though, you don't really think about that sort of thing.

Valkyrie had adopted a lot of the children then?

Oh, she was one of the favorites, no doubt. Her heart was as great as her courage. She and her husband - well, they weren't married, but they might as well have been - had adopted many of the kids. He was one of the ones who died underground. But everyone Below took time with the young. The children had lost as much, or more, than anyone. We all cared and looked out for them. Even me.

But, when I met Taylor, you said that the kids are left to fend for themselves, that they actually die.

They do. Our numbers have grown since that early time, and it was a small Below to begin with. Now Belows are cities in themselves, instead of large but tightly knit communities where most everyone knows each other by name. There are no benevolent leaders like Cernunnos anymore, though people do what they can. There, orphaned or abandoned Unseelie became everyone's son or daughter, and often the child simply chose you. It was a joy, giving us a sense of being connected, of being loved, of family. We needed them as much as they needed us.

You sound like you know the feeling.

I was beginning to. Humans make connections. They reach out to each other, form relationships. They need it as assuredly as they need air. Former humans are no different.

It was at times like these Mikaela envied the gargoyles. Not only did their wings carry them into the air, and over inconvenient obstacles, but they moved with speed on the ground too, transferring easily from four legs to two or vice versa.

They'd tracked the RA norms to their hole, and Unseelie hurtled along empty streets, the other norms obeying the police and staying inside. There had been no thought, no plan. Emotion was what pushed them out, and no one had a clear idea of what they were going to do beyond get their children back.

Mikaela was not thinking either. She had torn the bandage from her head, needing two eyes for the running and all her senses as well. Fear of even more loss chewed at her, and pictures flashed across her eyes.

The first time she'd seen the fey child had been before the Remade were split into factions, one welcome above ground and one not. Though small, and all of eight, the little girl had been determinedly clinging to a pipe on the roof of a tunnel. Delicate, batlike wings beat at those who tried to reach her, light showing the wing leather swirled with patterns of green, violet, blue, and red, like a butterfly. Unwilling to risk injury to the immature and fragile membranes, those underneath were trying to coax her down. She was having none of it. Wearing only a dirty pair of shorts, The girl wailed, flattening long, rabbitlike ears, longhaired tail curling close to her legs. She was dusted with golden fur, skin of an equal shade quite visible beneath the thin coat. It thickened on her head where hair used to be, becoming an impressive thatch of longer fur that was light brown in color. Her hands appeared normal, except that the fingers were thin and rather elongated, and at the moment, spidered over the pipe in a defiant grip. Her four-toed feet scrabbled at the pipe's sides. Like a goblin's, each toe ended in a thick, straight talon that quickly tapered to a blunted point. Those digits were also extended, with an extra joint that would allow her to stand tiptoe with the claws still flat on the ground. Good for defense, but useless for trying to hold on to a slick surface. She wailed again, turning her head, and the curious minotaur got a look at her face. It was vaguely lapine, with a bifurcated upper lip and small muzzle. Her nose resembled that of a seal, with the nostrils two slits that could open and close at will. Her eyes were larger, and shone a clear purple, like pale amethyst.

The small crowd of adults beneath the pipe looked over as Mikaela chuckled.

"Forger! A little help here?"

The otter morph smiled wryly, his whiskers fanning as he explained.

"One of the older children found her above, lying near a dumpster. She was pretty listless, but we got some food into her and cleaned her up. She fell asleep and we left her alone to rest. Obviously, she's awake and alert now, and won't budge from the pipe. Mythmaker alone knows how she got up there. You're taller than most everyone here, so would you mind?"

Mikaela had been unable to keep the mirth from her voice as she moved to the otter-man's side.

"I suppose, but I don't know how much help I'll- oof!"

The minute she'd begun speaking, the girl's head had whipped around, sparkling eyes fastening on the minotaur. Without a second thought, she'd leaped from her perch, wings spreading. Half-falling, half gliding, the young fey had reached with hands and feet to grab at the minotaur's neck and chest, wings flapping to awkwardly pull herself up before impact. Nevertheless, the force was enough to make Mikaela take a step back to regain her balance, hands automatically going up to support the unexpected burden. The minotaur gaped down at the child in her arms, and everyone else stared at her. The girl happily made a steady, musical trilling, rather like what would result if cats taught birds to purr.

Arno, the otter morph, had laughed and clapped the astonished minotaur on the back.

"Congrats Forger. You've been adopted. Good luck."

The others also began to disburse, grinning. Everyone knew how much Forger just loved kids. She, like everyone, would occasionally watch the youngest members of Below, but after a few hours would pass the responsibility on, for the kids' sake as well as for her own.

"Arno! Where are you going? Here!"

He held up his sleek-furred arms.

"Oh no. She's all yours. She hasn't been like that with anyone else. She likes you. Face it my friend, you've been chosen."

He churrred to the little fey, who had nudged her head into the hollow of Mikaela's neck. The minotaur's amber eyes got even wider, and her tone desperate.

"But... but... I don't even like children!"

Arno's blunt muzzle widened in a grin, his perpetually friendly brown eyes dancing with contained laughter.

"Well, this one likes you. Bye now."

Mikaela had been left holding the bag - and the girl, while everyone quickly found other places to be.

You're laughing at me.

Sorry. I couldn't help it. I know you.

Don't be sorry. I'm glad after listening to all of this you can still laugh.

I'm relieved it wasn't all bad.

No, it wasn't. Like I said, life goes on. We start over as many times as it takes.

Remade?

People.

Tell me a little more about the girl.

Yes. I need a break as well. Well, when I went to him, Cernunnos was no help at all. He laughed like the rest, like you were, and found a reason to disappear for a while. Everyone pretty much stayed clear of me. She wouldn't let me out of sight for two weeks, followed me everywhere and set up a racket like you wouldn't believe if I tried to leave her with anyone. She even slept next to me. No matter how many times I put her back in the bed I'd gotten for her, every morning I'd wake up with her curled up by my side. She exhausted me, and I finally gave up, let her follow me and sleep where she wanted. She was fascinated with my hair and tail, and it was easier to let her braid my tail-tip then to be constantly flicking it out of her grasp.

I'm surprised you tolerated it.

I couldn't leave her. She wouldn't speak. We tried to get her to write her name for us, or anything that we might use to find out who she was, if she had relatives who were Remade. We always did that with the kids we found.

And you got to care about her, as well as Cernunnos.

I was rebuilding a life, and creating a family. If Cernunnos was like a father, she became a little sister. I had been silent too, and when the pain is such that you can't speak, that's when you need someone the most. If she had chosen me, what else could I do but be there?

The mahogany-furred minotaur was slumped at a rough wooden table. Her ears never stopped twitching, a sure sign that The Forger had reached her limits and surrendered, just a bare week after the fey child had attached herself to the younger minotaur's hip. Cernunnos knew Forger never allowed herself to use either tail, ears, or teeth to indicate her emotions, instead relying on voice, stance, and approximations of human facial expressions. Stubborn woman. You're not human anymore, so why use human masks? The darling fey that had become her faithful companion was sitting beside her, leaning against her side. The child's startlingly long, thin fingers were busy plaiting yet another of the small neat braids that now compromised half of Mikaela's white tail tuft. With a smile, the grey minotaur sat down across from his friend.

"So, what do we call her?" he said, nodding to the busy fey.

"She still hasn't spoken."

Cernunnos raised his brows.

"So?"

Mikaela stared at him as if he was addled.

"And she refuses to write her name. We don't know it."

He sighed.

"Vulcan, you're not going to find out her real name. But we can't keep calling her your shadow. Give her an identity, or she's going to remain just a part of you."

"I can't name her!"

"Whyever not?"

For the first time since he'd met her, the brown minotaur stammered, tripping over her words.

"It's not, I mean it wouldn't be, can't you... I just... I'm not the one who should!"

Cernunnos got to his hooves and shrugged.

"Well, if not you, then who? You're the one she cares about, she's become your responsibility. And I can't think of anyone who could come up with a more appropriate name."

He had left then, leaving a dismayed Mikaela to look down into the suddenly expectant face of the rabbit-eared young fey. The minotaur stroked the top of the girl's head, smoothing the longish brown fur that had taken the place of hair.

"I'll think of something," Mikaela promised.

The girl snuggled close to the minotaur's warm side, content.

The next day, when the young woman awoke, the girl was waiting eagerly, wings fluttering in excitement. True to her word, Mikaela had hit upon a name that she thought was right, and explained her reasons for the choice, asking if the girl thought it would do. The enthusiastic smile and hug made her chuckle, and they walked along, making sure everyone had occasion to know. When Cernunnos came along, he grinned and made it a point to ask the child. For the first time since her arrival, she piped up on her own.

"Th'ay-Lee!"

Surprised yet again, not only by the girl but by her guardian, he looked at Mikaela. She merely shrugged, took Th'ay-Lee's hand and walked away. Behind them, Cernunnos grinned.

"As befitting as your own name! I knew it all along."

He gave her a salute that she never saw, and went on his way, still chuckling.

Th'ay-Lee slowly started to leave my side and go with others after the second week. She made friends, and started speaking. She told us about her parent's abandoning her, and how on the streets people kept stealing whatever food she managed to scrape up, and just plain threatened her otherwise. Th'ay-Lee stayed with me for about a month, but eventually I lost her to a gargoyle couple who had gathered a large number of kids of all races.

She left you alone?

She found herself a family, a complete one, with mother, father, sisters and brothers. I wasn't about to begrudge her that. Besides, we still saw each other. It's not like she cut off all contact. I still found my tail-tip in braids often enough. But I was a temporary solution. Someone asked her once why she'd fastened on me. Th'ay-Lee said that she figured that no one would be brave enough to try and take her away from me, but that my face looked nice. I reminded her of a stuffed animal she used to have, a cow. Yes, that was most everyone's reaction. But you don't have to laugh quite so hard.

Mikaela?

Hmmm? What?

You got very distant for a minute.

Sigh.

The thing about memories is that they're all connected. One inevitably leads to another. I've come around again to where I left off.

The kidnapping.

Yes. And the near complete loss of any humanity I still possessed.

Mikaela and the others hunkered down, trying to see into the building without being seen. She tried to shake off the snatches of memory that kept flickering in her mind's eye. Behind her, someone whispered about the possibility of waiting till dark and sneaking in. Then a single scream, undeniably from a young throat, reached outside from the bowels of the RA safehouse.

Lopez found himself grabbed roughly by the collar and half dragged up to the small courtyard where two RA men stood sentry. The minotaur held him up in one hand, where he dangled uncomfortably. Behind her, he caught glimpses of the grim-faced Unseelie who had accompanied them, as well as other, smaller groups who hurried to surround the building.

"We have the negotiator. He's one of yours, and if you want him back alive, hand over our children."

One of the sentries ran inside, while the other pointed his gun and didn't move. Mikaela sneered at him and set Lopez back on his feet.

"Put away your gun. If we wanted, we'd swarm the gate and you'd be dead."

The man paled, but pressed his lips together and lowered the barrel.

When the group of men came out, only three were armed with powerful semi-automatic guns. They took up corner positions, weapons aimed at the crowd, not particularly worried. The gate was narrow enough that if the freaks decided to charge, they could pick them off easily, especially since all the creatures had were swords and axes. The humans looked at each other with knowing smirks.

The apparent head of all this was a man in his thirties, with dark blond hair and flat brown eyes. He wore a variation of the cream RA jumpsuit that Mikaela had never seen, the panels of dark blue and red lending it a decidedly military air. A fancy utility belt rode on his hips, with all manner of interesting things clipped to it. The minotaur's eyes narrowed as he approached. He swaggered, like a street tough who hadn't yet met his match, and the look on his face alternated from dangerous hatred to superior disdain.

"I promised that you wouldn't be killed, but for God's sake, play your part!"

The frantic hiss from the minotaur was disguised as a curt order as she pushed Lopez roughly forward, an impassive Brangin on his other side. The uniformed man watched as they drew nearer. When they were just inside the gates, he stopped them.

"That's far enough, monsters. What do you want?"

Mikaela flattened her ears and snarled, tail curiously still.

"Give us back our children or he dies."

Once more Lopez found himself lifted into the air, and this time she shook him hard. One of the men standing next to the leader leaned over and whispered into his ear.

"Mr. Parven, that's the police negotiator, I'm sure of it. We can't let those stinking animals hurt a norm!"

But the man just waved him off and stepped forward. Mikaela signaled for Brangin to take Lopez back to where the others waited, and walked forward to meet him.

"You harm him in the smallest way and we kill them all. Now, what guarantee do we have that once the trade is concluded you won't attack?"

Mikaela clenched her teeth.

"I'll give you my word. We're only here for the kids. When we have them back safe, we'll leave."

Parven snorted scornfully.

"That's not enough. I need certain assurances."

"Then you will have to deal with me. I am the only one who can give you any 'assurances'. It was me who kept him alive and whole even when the others wanted to kill him. They all listen to me, and I keep my word. If I swear that we will not attack once our children are returned unharmed, then you can be damned sure we won't!"

"Is that so?"

Parven's face took on a speculative look, and he dared to circle the beast before him, looking it over curiously. Mikaela bristled, but remained where she was, turning her head to the side so she could track the detestable human.

"You are female then? I assume so from your voice," he said suddenly.

Mikaela growled.

"Yes."

His lip curled as he came back around to face her.

"Most contemptible excuse for a woman I've ever seen, even over some of them."

He nodded at the ogres among her people. Mikaela didn't bother replying and concentrated on trying to maintain a bland expression, though all she really wanted to do was take the norm in one hand and squeeze the smug arrogance out of him.

"So, they all obey you, eh? Just how complete is your control? Do they follow you because of loyalty? Friendship? Respect? Are those human principles part of your make-up, or are you just the biggest dog in the pack?"

"What does it matter? Are you going to trade or do we kill the man?"

Parven measured her with his coldly flat eyes, then nodded to one of his henchmen, who disappeared into the building.

"It seems to me," Parven said in a conversational tone, "That this is a bit unfair. After all, we have eleven hostages. You just have one. Hardly an equitable exchange. So instead, why don't you give me a demonstration of your willingness to cooperate. You say they will abide by your word, very well. Now show me that you have the restraint to keep your promises. Kneel."

The minotaur was startled.

"What?"

The doors behind Parven opened. In the crush of even more RA soldiers, no children were visible, but a frightened whimpering was audible. Parven smiled, and it was a twisted thing indeed, entirely too full of anticipation.

"You will kneel before me, or the rest of my captives will share the fate of this one."

A gunshot rang out, and Mikaela flinched, dread and shock spreading across her face. The body of a young ork was thrown to the pavement and left to fall bonelessly to the bottom of the steps. The gathered Unseelie roared in outrage, but Mikaela flung a hand back, commanding a halt to the advance. They did so, but now their eyes were murderous. Parven raised a brow mockingly.

"Impressive. Now, unless you want the others to share that one's fate, kneel."

"All right! Just leave the children alone," rasped the minotaur.

Mikaela lowered herself to her knees, settling back, hands resting on her thighs, tail curled close to her body. Even in that position, the top of her head was level with Parven's chin. He gloated openly now, again circling her slowly.

"You things make me ill. Couldn't stay were you belonged, oh no. Always wanting more, when we've been generous enough to let you live. If it had been up to me, you and all your subhuman kind would have been shot. None of this pandering. Government aid indeed. Too much money and time has been wasted on you mutants, when it could be helping pure humans who deserve it!"

He must have seen the angry derision in her eyes, for Parven suddenly became enraged. His fist whacked into Mikaela's snout from the side, snapping her muzzle to the left.

"Look down! Eyes on my feet, where they should be!"

Without comment, Mikaela cast her gaze to the ground, trying not to show just how much the lucky blow had hurt. The human's fist had torn something in her sensitive nose, and the blood began to seep from a corner of one nostril. She made no effort to staunch the flow or wipe it away, riding out the wave of agony while Parven continued his verbal attack, occasionally lashing out with a kick or punch on tougher parts of her body, more easily ignored. Above the increasing hostility Mikaela struggled to control, she was getting worried. He's losing it. He's already killed out of hand - she violently repressed the guilt, anguish and rage that the ork's murder had unleashed - and I don't know if he'll let the others go. It's taking too long! He's crazy! If he had any intention of trading, he'd have done it by now! Unnoticed by the frothing Parven and the RA soldiers, her tail quickly described an arc behind her back before whisking again to the safety of her side. It calmed some of the Unseelie, who waited, eyes glittering. When the time comes, attack with lethal force.

"You disgust me with your pretenses. What did you do to gain their obedience? Fight like the animals you resemble? Or maybe it's more basic than that. Are you the alpha female of your little pack? The only one allowed to mate? Now that the bull is dead, is that how you gained control?"

That son of a bitch. Mikaela, you don't need to-

Stop! If I don't tell you now, I'll never be able to. Parven wasn't the only beast there that day! What I did... just, let me finish.

On the roof of the opposite building, Jake fought the urge to retch, then struggled against the impulse to go and strangle the repulsive man himself. Instead, through the lens of his camera, he focused on the minotaur called Forger, who knelt, head bowed, with all the seeming calm of a Buddha. Let the little man have his tantrum, her posture seemed to say, I have a purpose and won't be distracted. Jake gritted his teeth, incensed.

"She's a lot more human than you are, you bastard. I hope you rot in hell. Soon!"

The gargoyles who had brought him glanced at their norm benefactor, who was unaware that he'd spoken. They could only rustle their wings in agreement. Down on the ground, Parven's harangue continued.

"Bad enough to let the half-humans wander among us, but your kind is an insult to the species. And you're breeding."

Parven sputtered angrily, frenetic spots of color burning on his cheeks.

"There is no way the human race is going to be supplanted by mongrels. I won't let it! You're a blight!"

This time she wiped off the saliva when he spit in her face. When no other abuse was forthcoming, the minotaur slowly and deliberately got to her hooves, alien eyes boring into his.

"I think I have demonstrated my restraint. We should make the trade now, so we don't have to inflict our presence on you any longer. Now, I trust, our children will be returned to us."

Mikaela's voice was quiet, controlled, and nothing about her stance or countenance indicated just how infuriated she was.

"Very well. Hand over the human."

Parven waved to his men, half of which entered the building, presumably to fetch the Unseelie youngsters. Mikaela's eyes flickered suspiciously.

"We'll send him when we see the kids."

"No. Give him to us now, or we kill the ones who are left."

Mikaela snarled, but motioned for Brangin to release Lopez. She'd already seen just how eager this one was to slaughter. As Thad Lopez passed the minotaur, he looked up at her. She gave him a bare nod, acknowledging the antipathy for the 'rescuers' in his eyes that was undoubtedly visible in her own. Lopez was hustled inside while the tension grew.

Later, it would be debated on whether Parven had only wanted to draw out the mental torment of his adversary, or if he actually thought he was in a secure enough position to indulge his hatred. After all, he and his men had the guns, and the compound only had one way in. It was one of those senseless things that people afterward shook their heads over in disbelief and horror.

The minotaur stiffened when the second corpse was thrown down beside the first, and after the third, her tail seemed to lash uncontrollably. By the time the number of bodies had reached four, the gargoyles arrayed on the surrounding roofs had launched and were holding daggers ready overhead. The ranks of Unseelie inched closer, growling loudly to draw the rifle-holders' attention.

Mikaela's hands were balled into fists, and every muscle quivered. The urge to quickly silence the frothing human had gone - in its place, a thick, angry feeling bubbled up from deep inside, coating her heart, rising in her throat. She did not want to merely kill him. She wanted to slowly break bones, mash organs to an excruciating and unrecognizable pulp, flay skin from muscle, and she wanted it to be a long, long time before he died, his remains indistinguishable from carrion. At that moment, the minotaur hated, and a red mist crept slowly around the edges of her vision.

When the sixth corpse, a familiar golden face, was flung down onto the heap, amethyst eyes grey with death and, like the others, riddled with wounds that spoke of torture, words and reason deserted the minotaur. She roared once more, and in an instant her people acted. The front rank, again used as a screen, dropped, revealing Unseelie clutching stolen police weapons, including beanbag guns already aimed and leveled. They fired even as the RA men suddenly found themselves unable to shoot their rifles and pistols, daggers buried in hands and arms. The humans turned to flee for the safety of their building.

Parven leaped backwards, and the blow that would have broken his neck only wound up crushing his windpipe. As he faltered towards the doorway, unable to even scream his terror, a hand clamped down on his wrist, the strength in those fingers mashing his limb into bloody meat. Fangs ripped into flesh, bones snapped and ground under incredible pressure, and when he was almost to the point where further pain would have made no difference, two golden eyes filled his view. Parven saw his death coming as the minotaur tilted her head, and he managed to push a scream past his damaged throat before one long curved horn impaled him.

Jake turned his face away, though he left the camera rolling. For a moment, he cursed the impulse that had made him ask two gargoyles to carry him along after the Unseelie band had left. Pale and a bit shaky, he made himself look back. The battle had been carried into the RA compound, but The Forger remained outside, back turned on the grisly scene she'd authored. The small body of a child lay cradled in her arms, and though she didn't weep, there was no mistaking the grief on her bloodspattered face, or in her voice as she threw back her head and howled.

There were in fact five children still alive. They had been beaten, and badly frightened, but they still lived. Apparently, Parven was going to release them only after all the dead ones had been rolled out where we could see them. Lopez was unharmed, my word and his own actions protected him. He'd taken advantage of the situation, freed the kids once inside the hall, and holed up in the basement with them. They were clinging to him when our people broke in. Not everyone in the building was killed, but many were. We lost three more to gunshots in close quarters, and when we returned to our commandeered bar, I handed over Cernunnos' sword to Brangin, my axe to Izani, and took my place among the others. Along with Jake and Lopez, they dealt with the police and the media, securing amnesty for the rioters. They even went so far as to get Jake agree to mask me in whatever footage was shown on TV. Since some of the police themselves had been involved, the people we were dealing with were upper echelon, even FBI. We were pardoned, and though most Unseelie left that Below, Izani and Brangin and some others stayed, to rebuild. There's even a monument to Cernunnos and the 'spirit of peace'. I left long before that, just after we turned in our weapons to be destroyed. But I took the hatred with me. That's when I became The Forger in truth. I traveled to another Below, and began making weapons for those who needed protection from human attacks. I sold to those who could afford it, but really all I ever charged for was enough to cover materials. A few times even that couldn't support me, and so I dug tunnels. I honed my skill, and found out about the magic I had. The designs, the runes I etch into the blades, have power. I can make a sword that will give off light in darkness, or make it so that only the owner can wield it. With the rune-magic and the hammer, I can make a weapon that will balance perfectly in your hand, or a throwing dagger that's sure to hit point first, no matter how you toss it. My swords will not break, my axes have no need of sharpening, and my knives can't be used against their owners. It was with these I armed Below-dwellers. At first I didn't pay attention whom I sold to, then the attacks on innocent people began. I didn't care. What if some norms got hurt who didn't deserve it? Had Th'ay-Lee deserved a painful death? Had the others? As long as nothing like that could happen again, I had no concerns. I walked where I wished and sold weapons, mostly daggers and knives, to whomever wanted them. All the while I descended even deeper into bitterness over Th'ay-Lee's death. I saw poverty rampant and the injustices continue. Seven months after Mythmaker came, I shunned human company and had not tried to reach one of my former friends since being sealed in that ill-fated Below. A war was being waged with hate groups on either side, and innocents continued to get caught in the middle. Finally, I became a target, as the one who supplied Unseelie with the means to fight. Bigots are fools, and during my time as one I was no different, ignoring not only the suffering of human victims but the Remade ones as well. The violence was not limited to norms, but turned against our own people. Petty thugs and thieves suddenly targeted the smaller and weaker Remade. Eventually, the innocents got angry, and formed a cooperative force, like a neighborhood watch. They were mostly peaceful, but every group has hard-liners, splinters who don't think the real problem is being addressed, or dealt with properly.

Forger gazed impassively at the mixed gathering of norms and Remade that confronted her. They had accosted the minotaur on the street outside a factory, where she habitually went to pawn the metal scraps generated in her smithy. Though she could have reused them, she needed the aboveworld money to buy groceries. She refused to touch the stuff given to Belows from newly created government aid agencies. Her experience in the food riots had left the brown-furred minotaur less than trusting, even if the new system was so full of checks and balances it was a wonder anything was accomplished.

The norms, a man and two women, were looking at her with varying degrees of censure, the mildest of which was stern disapproval. The Remade included both groups, Unseelie and Fair Ones. One of these was a human mage, and Forger took a moment to closely look at him. He seemed like any other normal human, but the wand tipped with crystal on his belt, and the way his hand hovered near it as her scrutiny was noted, gave him away as a strong magic user. Completing the group was a centaur and a wolf morph, who stood beside two fey and a gargoyle. Her instincts told her that only the gargoyle knew anything at all about who she was, for he was decidedly polite in his greeting, while the others were barely civil if not outright hostile. Forger snorted softly at the motley assembly.

The gargoyle, who'd called himself Glider, tried first.

"We represent concerned citizens of all races. We'd like to discuss the possibility of you limiting your sale of weapons-"

"What he means is that we're here to tell you it's gotta stop," interrupted Cape flatly. The black pelted wolf-man glared, his yellow hunter's eyes fixed aggressively on the minotaur.

"Indeed," said the centaur, "Because of you, several humans have been put in the hospital."

Forger raised a brow. "I have attacked no one."

"We're not saying that. But because weapons you made have fallen into the wrong hands, people are being hurt who don't deserve it. If indeed anyone does."

Forger's expression didn't change, and neither did her cold tone.

"People who don't deserve it are hurt every day. Weapons made by someone fall into the wrong hands every other week, yet I somehow doubt you have spoken to them."

Now the norms spoke up, one on the heels of the other.

"Listen, we understand that some Unseelie have been the targets of violence, but you can't go around selling knives to anyone who wants one! People are getting hurt! Can't you understand that?"

"If anyone dies, it'll be on your head. You make the knives, you put them in violent hands. We don't want trouble, but if you don't stop, we'll damn well make sure you do."

The minotaur spared the angry norms a glance, then flicked an ear, dismissing them. Affronted, they turned various shades of red and began to sputter. The man got belligerent.

"Maybe you'd prefer we go to the police then? Don't you need a license to sell that kind of thing? If you're in jail then you sure won't be doing any business. Fancy being clapped in cuffs?"

Forger snorted, the scorn in her voice making the norm get even more enraged.

"Cops. Go ahead and try."

The canid reached out to calm the man.

"Unfortunately, she has a point. The police can do little in Below, and unless they can catch her above, not to mention put some proof together, they can't do anything. On the other hand, I could get a few packmates together, maybe have a little hunt." Cape's voice had turned silky, and he began to stalk the minotaur, who steadfastly ignored him. "Maybe we could show this cud-chewer the consequences of her actions. A little taste of what it feels like to have a predator after you, to know the prey's fear, the fear these people have had to deal with. You've had it soft, minotaur. Maybe what you need is a taste of what you sell."

Cape leaped suddenly. A flurry of blurred movement and the wolf morph found himself pinned to the side of the building by one sable arm, facing the bared fangs of the minotaur. He whined, tail creeping between his hindpaws, mind furiously denying what his eyes were telling him. She's a morph, like me, shouldn't have fangs, shouldn't have a hunter's instincts, shouldn't have that dangerous quality about her! Her form's based on a cow, for cripes-sake, a cow! A grass-eating, placid, slow, dull-witted, cow! The others protested the handling of their friend, but dared not try and interfere.

"This 'cud-chewer' is a much more dangerous predator than you, little dog. As a morph, you above all should know the shape is not the fact. Don't presume to hunt me. As for having it soft," the hand on his throat tightened, "Don't lecture me, Fair One. You have no idea what you speak of."

She glared at the mage and stallion, challenging them to claim they understood.

"Once our kind was split, you and those like you were welcome here. You had sunlight, fresh air, sky, freedom. Clothes for you were manufactured, sold. You did not have to beg for scraps. I am not saying your lives were easy. Living above has its difficulties and hardships. We face them as well, when we actually are allowed to spend any time here. But we have problems of our own that you never shared."

Forger threw the struggling wolf-man at the centaur's hooves. When the Fair Ones could not meet her eyes, she dismissed them as well. Now the three Unseelie took her attention.

"Well? You started, then let these others trample over you. So? I'm listening."

Glider gave her a careful bow.

"Forger, please. There is no need for this. I know you were in the food riots-"

The gasps from the humans and sudden chagrin on the faces of the Fair Ones went disregarded.

"-and so understand the why. But your gifts are no longer being used to protect. Remade use them against Remade, and then they attack those no more worthy of it than you were. That's why we came to ask, to show you that cooperation is possible."

Forger looked at the gargoyle and the silent fey, and her voice gentled.

"I will do something," then her words regained their steel, "But I will not stop. You say you are here in the spirit of cooperation, of understanding. But they ran right over you Glider, and gave neither apology nor consideration. When you planned this, did you try and explain why you didn't think this would work? I thought so. Didn't listen then either, did they? I've been insulted, attacked, threatened, and harassed. I have heard nothing, seen nothing, which changes my mind. When you've taught them, come back and we'll talk again. Until then, my opinion of both remains the same."

Without another look at the norms, the minotaur inclined her head politely to the Unseelie, nodded acknowledgment to the Fair Ones, and went on her way.

Glider sighed, wings slumping. One of the fey put a comforting hand on his shoulder. The mage swore.

"That went well. Glider, we should have paid more attention to what you were saying."

"The food riots... damn," said the man softly.

But Cape and one of the norm women looked at each other, and understood. Their companions may have lost their nerve, but there was still a job to do, and if necessary, only they would see it was done.

The minotaur, once safely back in her smithy beneath the earth, sat down and closed her eyes, concentrating on her particular brand of magic. She didn't know why or how the ability worked, all she knew was that it was there. She hadn't sold even so much as a carving blade before perfecting one particular rune-spell, and every weapon she made had the mark hidden in the ornate designs that were etched on the blade itself. Now she sought that particular shape in her mind, willing it to respond. Slowly, the symbol in her mind began to change color, as if it were a piece of metal she'd set on hot coals. She poured her strength into the image, but it was sluggish, going the range from black to red to pale, burning orange as Forger strained. When she finally opened her eyes, on every single weapon in her shop the symbol glowed with a steady, dark yellow.

The minotaur sighed. She hadn't thought she'd made so many things. Her early experiments had shown that lighting the symbol on one knife had been no trouble, a dozen required a second or two of focus, and larger numbers not very much more. Forger got up to start working on the stock she already had access to, and was shocked when she fell hard to her knees, sweating with the onslaught of vertigo and the refusal of her legs to bear her. Her arms and legs trembled, the strength gone, and her eyes shot to the clock. Three hours! Surely I haven't given out that many weapons! Yet... what was she doing other than crafting at the forge? Nothing beyond surviving. And when was the last time she had actually slept two nights in a row, instead of letting her new endurance and the strange absorption that metalworking always brought carry her until she was exhausted? No, there had to be some other explanation. Maybe the range? Still trying to puzzle the problem out, the minotaur slipped to the floor, unconscious.

Above, in the city, Cape and his human friends, Luisa and Joseph Farro, met with others from their group, both human and Remade, who would not accept the failure of the first attempt to rid the streets of the hated knives that kept finding the backs of family and friends. No Unseelie appeared, although a few had been approached. The first of many such meetings held at the Farro house, most of the time was spent in heated condemnation of the minotaur who was the source of the arms.

Hidden on the staircase, the Farro's young son Robbie, listened wide-eyed. He too became a faithful attendant at the meetings.

I recovered fairly quickly from the temporary weakness, and resumed my life as it had been. I was warned that some people might be planning something, probably by one of the Unseelie who they'd tried to get to join them. But between the sudden return of all my customers demanding to know why their blades were suddenly a lightbulb, and the time and work I had to put in to changing them, I forgot. I had to stop selling for a while, just to make the alterations to already finished pieces. I had to hurry, because once the rune had been activated, I needed to work on it within three weeks, or the blade would disintegrate. Fortunately, all I had to do was etch an extra glyph somewhere in the metal, and tie the magic to it. But the long and short of it was that I was not expecting an attack. After all, I'd just expended a massive effort to correct an oversight. The rune I'd placed on the blades was a very close cousin to the one that would ensure they were brought to me. If even a drop of Remade blood was shed by the blade, the metal would corrode and decay before a second drop ever touched them. I thought it was a good solution. An untrustworthy Unseelie who attacked one of his own or a Fair One would suddenly find himself without a weapon. Indeed, I got many complaints in the weeks after, from Unseelie whose daggers had just crumbled into little black flakes for no reason at all! Since I knew they were lying even without scenting, I questioned them until I got the truth.

Questioned?

Cough.

Maybe too mild a term. It soon became well known that I could sniff out a liar, and that I detested them. By the time I got the chance to go above again, even my emergency stores were gone, and I needed to buy food quickly if I was to avoid government handouts. They must have been ready for weeks, just waiting for me to poke my nose outside. It was dark before I'd completed my business in the factory, and I was on my way to the store when I noticed the first of them. It was Cape and his ilk, trying to be stealthy hunters, slithering in the shadows and along parallel streets. They kept to the side and behind me, so I knew they must have had help up ahead.

Forger's nostrils flared as she breathed deep. She was careful to gradually slow her stride, and let her eyes slip into the infrared spectrum. The patterns of heat were always disturbing, and the asphalt and concrete was still dissipating the day's accumulated warmth, but now the shapes of her followers were clear, as was the trap they had set ahead. She stopped dead with a snarl. Even she would be hard pressed to fight so many, especially in the open where they could mob her. And out here, no one would help or even call the authorities. She'd picked the Gate in this area for regular use precisely because of the way the norms shrank back from any contact, neither friendly or hostile, just wary. Left alone and content to stay that way.

Realizing she'd tipped off her pursuers, the minotaur darted down a side-street. One of the wolf morphs was there, but her heat-sensing eyes saw clearly the waves emanating from where he hid behind a dumpster, and a well placed fist interrupted his leap. By the time he shook it off, his fellows had already passed him by.

Forger could move shockingly fast for someone of her size and bulk, but she knew that the wolf-people could go faster if they went to all fours. Her lip curled. A pack of morphs she could handle just fine, but dared not stop to do so and allow their backup to arrive. She shifted her eyes back to the visible light range. With her enemies behind her, the minotaur knew her naturally keen night vision would serve better, and the glow of her eyes would give her position away if she hid. She only wished it were as easy to quiet the noise of her hoofbeats. The steady, rapid tok tok of her tread was an audible trail she didn't have time to silence. But, since stealth was out of the question, the minotaur bent all her energy to flight.

I think... if I take a right up ahead, and I'll be on my way to another Gate. If I get out of this, I'll memorize every Gate location there is!

Behind her, the Fair Ones set up a howling that floated through the chill air. After a bare minute, she knew these weren't hunt-signals, but intended to frighten and herd her in a certain direction. Unfortunately, she realized that she was already running in it, towards whatever else they had planned. Cursing, she altered her course, heading deeper into unfamiliar territory. Now she could hear the pat and scrape of claws as the canids finally made up the ground they'd lost. Forger refused to give them the satisfaction of turning around to see how much of a lead she still retained, and resisted the urge to tilt her own muzzle skyward and bay, showing them exactly what a frightening call in the night truly was. She'd only made the sound once, and had seen human faces pale in fear, and Remade curse and fall away.

Her backwards canted ears picked up the damp, eager panting amid the triumphant yips, and the soft tap of paw pads beneath the scrabble of nails. Forger ducked down an open ended byway, gathered herself without slowing, and vaulted high into the air, reaching for the blackened steel of the fire-escape. By human standards, the leap was awe-inspiring, for the minotaur's hands closed around the first floor railing, hooves catching on the metal lip of the grid floor, bypassing the ladder that an athletic norm would've had to jump to reach. But as far as Remade went, any gargoyle or animal morph could span that with ease, plus some. Forger had just transferred her grip to the bars of the next level when the canids caught up to her.

The minotaur's face creased in anger as the first of the wolf-men bounded up, wrapping arms and legs around Forger's thick neck and torso, white teeth snapping.

"Get her down! Quick! Everyone!"

The cry was obeyed, and Forger grunted as an impact heralded the arrival of yet another wolf morph. Tendons pulled tight, standing out in arms and neck as the weight dragging at her increased, more canids piling on. Another, and another, until all six were clinging to her back and each other. Eyes shut, teeth bared in a determined grimace, arms quivering from the effort, it wasn't the minotaur who gave in, but the weakened metal bars she clung to. With a groan and shriek, they broke loose and bent, sending Forger and her burden falling to the hard asphalt below. One morph managed to push away in time, and another twisted to the side in midair, but didn't get entirely clear as they crashed down. Though cushioned by the other bodies beneath hers, even Forger was stunned by the impact, and the one more fortunate wolf-man lay on his side where he'd landed hard.

Sounds of pain and feeble stirrings broke through her daze, and the minotaur rolled off the canids hastily, knowing that her considerable mass could finish what the fall had started. She looked at the tangle of bodies, her hands clenched, fingers digging painfully into her palms as she tried to decide whether she should check for serious injury or take the opportunity and run. Three pairs of eyes made helpless watched the battle storm briefly across the minotaur's face, then Forger started moving bodies and checking for injuries. As expected, those on the bottom had taken the worst of it. The low, rumbling voice murmured quietly to itself.

"Broken bones, bruises, ah this is bad. Crushed but alive. Damn."

Two of the better off canids, one a woman, sat up and glared at the minotaur. She matched them until they dropped their gazes, defeated. Forger's tone, once more hard and scathing, whipped them where they lay.

"Mighty hunters! Let's hope your friends will stay their hand long enough to listen to me, or this one is dead, and the other soon after!"

She took a step over a prone form, and one of the morphs reached out a hand.

"Wait! There should be a handset, a radio, on one of them. You can call them, they'll get help sooner."

Forger searched and found the thing, then gave it to the wolf-woman.

"Use it. If you have that you don't need me, and I'm leaving before your friends get here."

A swish of her long tail and the minotaur was gone. After calling for help, the canid gave her comrades the direction Forger had fled.

They betrayed you?

They were never on my side. But true, they weren't going to let a little thing like decency get in their way. I never knew the whole of the circumstances, but what I heard later allowed me to piece some things together. The leaders of this hunt were Cape and two norms, and they planned everything at the humans' home. What they didn't know was that their son, a boy named Robbie, had been hiding, listening to the words and plans. He was around ten or twelve, I think. He started his own conspiracy with the young humans and adopted Remade of those who came to his house late at night. There weren't many, however one was a centaur colt, no older than the human, but big for his age. Although the vigilantes thought their children safe under a sitter's watchful eye, Robbie had convinced his friend to spirit him away to join the adults when the time came. They'd been practicing it under the auspices of play. Who could object to familiar games where little boys track and shoot the outlaws in their imaginations? No one gives kids enough credit, you know. They hear things, and plot, and sometimes their plans work because they're underestimated. None of the others were able to break away, but those two did. Where Robbie got the gun, I can't imagine, but he'd been thoroughly indoctrinated by his eavesdropping, and had poisoned the rest of his band against me as well. There is no middle ground with children. You're either a Good Guy or a Bad Guy, deserving of the worship or loathing connected with each. It's a terrible thing when they learn differently.

Robbie held the walkie-talkie close to his ear, listening. Beside him, nervously holding a metal box and a flashlight, was the young centaur. He bit his lower lip and canted his head to the side, pointed ears straining to hear. The buckskin colt's short, black tail whisked apprehensively, and he stamped one obsidian hoof with impatience.

"Well?"

"Shh! Quiet Nab! Wait, they're sayin' somethin'."

The boys' eyes widened as they listened to the frantic call for help, and looked at each other as they heard the minotaur's course given. The slight, tow-haired human scrambled up onto his friend's tan, furred back, holding on with slight legs and arms as the half-horse cantered.

"C'mon Nab, hurry! You heard what the monster did to Cape and his packmates. We gotta help!"

"Hang on Robbie! I'm not that good at this yet! I gotta think hard to make the magic work."

"Sorry."

Nab mumbled under his breath as he ran, trying to use his yet untrained ability to locate other Remade, especially his foster-father.

"Got it! This way!"

The high-pitched clatter of young hooves echoed in the empty streets as they sped towards the battle. Their small noise went unnoticed when they arrived, however, because the fight was in full swing. Hesitating, unsure of themselves now that they were actually here, Robbie nevertheless opened the box and fumbled with unfamiliar cartridges. Though the gun he'd borrowed from his dad was kept unloaded in a locked chest, he'd long known where the key was kept. And what else would stop the monster?

The group of norms and Remade had trapped the minotaur in a small, shabby park. Forger had her back against the corner formed by a sagging chain-link fence, and was busy holding off a crowd of irate humans armed with pipes, lengths of wood, crowbars, and anything else that could be used to beat someone senseless. She did this by grabbing the one who got closest, plucking their club from their hand and using the unfortunate norm to swat away the others, her stolen cudgel menacing those on her exposed side. The Fair Ones held back until the norms found out for themselves just how difficult it would be for them to score unaided against Unseelie strength. When the humans fell back, panting and angry, the Remade moved forward. A goat-legged faun tossed her hair back, dainty yet sharp horns curving from her temples.

"Where is your dagger Forger? Your sword? Rather odd for you to be walking about unarmed, isn't it?

Forger's answer was curt.

"I never go armed. I may decide to change that policy."

Elves tightened the circle. Incredibly agile and swift, they would be harder to deal with than the humans. Their eyes were hard, their voices blending as they moved, so she couldn't tell who spoke.

"Because of you, I've lost a friend."

"Your weapons put my daughter in the hospital."

"I found one of your damn knives at my throat one night."

Forger flattened her ears.

"So you seek revenge on me? I've attacked no one."

This time a chorus answered her, "You're responsible!"

The minotaur made a rude gesture.

"Stop fooling yourself."

I'd forgotten your - knack - for diplomacy. As I recall you used to talk your way out of trouble on a regular basis. Cole used to comment on it, remember? 'Put Mikaela in the ring with any boxer and she'll have him so confused and put down he'll doubt he even knows how to hit a punching bag.'

Wistful.

Oh, I still talk all right. Sometimes it even works. But I'd lost all my patience. I was telling them how I saw it, how it was. Somehow, my less peaceable instincts have taken away some of that skill. And the fact that I can now pound that boxer into next week means I'm not depending solely on my wits. It also means that my opponents are less willing to take the time to listen. The stronger always feel they can let the weaker talk, then beat the tar out of them. With equals or a superior force, people tend to act quicker, lest they give away an advantage. And I was getting angry. With me, that's all it really takes anymore.

A graceful, bronze pelted rat-woman swayed dangerously between the darting elves. She bared her teeth and joined the taunting, most definitely not suffering the same physical ambiguousness as the beleaguered minotaur.

"If you're what passes for a female, I can see why your kind are so rare. Poor thing, are you frustrated?"

Stiffening, Forger pinned the rat morph with a glare.

"You sound like someone I fought in the riots."

Shame made the woman look away, faltering. A centaur stallion with leopard appaloosa hide shoved forward.

"You have no right! The weapons you make only bring grief to the innocent. Just because something bad happened to you in the riots doesn't give you license to ruin our lives!"

"Hypocrite! What do you call what you're doing now?"

He reared, bellowing angrily, but before he could move in the others leaped. His bulk couldn't fit in the crowded corner, and he pranced with frustrated wrath, black tail whipping the air. Forger was harder pressed this time - the Fair Ones moved as a team, and were able to land quite a few telling blows before she pushed them back. But as they quickly slipped away, the minotaur realized her mistake. Two large, solid hooves lashed out, the white forelegs striking with intent to cripple, and the power to do so. Forger dodged, but one caught her in the shoulder, throwing her back against the mesh fence with enough force to rattle the line of posts. The minotaur grimaced as her right arm numbed and hung useless at her side, collarbone hurting fiercely. Then the centaur was rearing over her, murderous hooves primed to trample. Forger rolled away as he came down, and before he could rise again, she hauled off with her hind legs. The double impact of her own sharp, cloven hooves and forceful kick on the equine limb had the stallion rearing and shouting again, this time in agony. He twisted away to land awkwardly, three-legged, one forehoof held clear of the ground, bleeding from cuts and dangling limply.

Forger was still slumped against the wire fence, cradling her arm and breathing heavily, trying to call up strength enough to rise. Above everything a young voice shrilled in panic.

"DAD!!"

Before anyone quite knew how they got there, Nab and Robbie had galloped past the crowd, the young centaur sliding to a stop before the stallion who'd adopted him. Robbie slithered from the colt's back and ran towards the downed minotaur. Trembling with the pure outrage of a youth who's seen friends hurt, he leveled the heavy gun at Forger's chest. His parents gasped.

"Robbie!"

The boy stuttered, furious.

"You hurt Nab's dad! And Cape and Jennaa! You're the one... the one..." unable to come up with anything, he fell back on what he'd heard at many of the meetings, stumbling a little over the unknown words.

"You gotta be stopped for everyone's good. You're a amoral, irresponsible, cold-blooded 'bomination, and you give all Remade a bad name! People are dying 'cause a you! We'll stop you if no one else will!"

Forger raised a brow and looked at the humans, who were white with shock.

"My, starting them young. But already such an accomplished parrot."

"Shut up! I'll kill you!"

The amber eyes were surprisingly steady as they focused on the small hands gripping her death.

"Not like that you won't."

The boy's hazel eyes broiled with fury and hatred, and his arms trembled. Forger brushed back her white forelock and slowly reached out, grasping the gun's barrel. She drew it and Robbie closer, until the cold metal rested between her horns.

"There. That'll kill me sure. No reflexes or delay when I could reach out and return the favor before I go. My skull's pretty thick, so the bullet probably won't create a mess by blowing the back of my head out. Quick, clean. Make everyone here happy, and get back at me for all the hurt I caused your friends. Of course, you'll have to live with killing me, but that shouldn't be too hard. I'm not really a person. I'm just the enemy. I don't have a name, just a label. Monster. And monsters are bad, evil."

"Robbie, put the gun down, sweetheart," his mother's voice whispered.

"Oh, come on now. Sure, killing is wrong, but this is a different situation entirely. This is for vengeance, after all. Your grip is slipping Robbie, tighten it back up. There you go. Wouldn't want to miss your chance to be a hero."

The boy's father glared at the hapless minotaur, his words soft and harsh.

"You bastard."

Forger chuckled, shocking everyone, and her eyes lost their focus as events and people from the recent past played through her mind.

"That's what I called the humans who buried us alive, when they slapped the metal sheets over the Gates, bolting them in. They poured concrete over that, so nobody would hear us calling out, but even over the screams, I was told my shouts could be heard in the furthest tunnel. Funny. Never thought I'd hear a human calling me that. But I suppose it's only fair. I called your kind worse when I saw Th'ay-Lee's body tossed down like so much garbage." The golden hide was crisscrossed with wounds that had bled, but now just glistened, and her beautiful wings were broken and torn. One leg flopped at an unnatural angle, and the once laughing amethyst eyes were as drained of color as of life...

Forger couldn't control the shiver that ran through her, and it snapped her back to the present.

"Well, go on. Pull the trigger. Get it over with."

I can't believe it! Don't you think that was a huge risk? What if your bit of reverse psychology didn't work? He might have actually killed you!

Daniel, you don't understand. I wasn't playing for my life, I never had any doubt that that boy would shoot. It never occurred to me to try and talk him out of it. He hated me for no real reason except that his parents did. I fully expected to die that night, and my only thought was that I'd been right to do what I could to arm my kind. My words were more for the benefit of the Fair Ones than Robbie or the humans. I expected no better than murder at the norms' hands, and was hoping my death would show the Remade watching that they couldn't be trusted. During that time of my life, if by some miracle I'd been changed back, I would have probably hated myself, too. That's how blinded I was.

"What? Oh, that's just blood. Don't worry about it. Scratches. Don't look if it bothers you, though you'll have to see more after you fire."

The minotaur dismissed her other injuries, then sighed, and looked at the ground. She didn't want the last thing she'd see to be a human. The barrel wavered against her furred skin.

Robbie couldn't remember feeling so bad. Tears prickled in his confused brown eyes. He didn't know what to do now. A moment ago it had seemed so clear. She was hurting people, she was the mastermind, the lead criminal. But it was wrong to kill. He knew that, everyone knew that. Even on TV the good guys hated to kill the villains, only did it if they had to defend themselves. But the minotaur wasn't doing that, wasn't attacking, she was just laying there, all beat up and hurt. They'd gone after her, and planned it as carefully as any bank robber. Who was the bad guy? This wasn't exciting or adventurous, there was no fun like he'd thought. This was frightening.

The gun clattered to the asphalt as Robbie dropped it, throwing his arms around the minotaur's thick neck, crying into her fur like a toddler who'd kicked his dog for no reason and was immediately sorry. Forger let him do so, as resigned and patient as the unthinking dog would have been, until the cold, brittle dam of old rage and denied grief finally crumbled inside, and she put her head down, letting the first tears of a minotaur and a lost human girl mingle with the boy's.

I have since come to appreciate the irony that it took a child to pull me out of the downward spiral I was in, when it was the death of another that pushed me over the edge. Getting back the ability to cry was a great comfort.

You hadn't been able to?

At first, I was too shocked. Right after I changed, I was in denial, like many were. When I finally started to break out of it, and live again, I refused to cry. It was admitting weakness, and there was no use to do so, it wouldn't change anything. I soon became busy just trying to adjust and survive. When Cernunnos was killed, it was the closest I'd come to actually weeping, but though I could feel them welling up, none actually fell. And when the sorrow was burned away by the sudden fury, so were they. By the time Th'ay-Lee was taken from me, I couldn't call up tears anymore. I tried. There's no real release in wailing, but it was all I could do, sit there and howl until my guts ached.

Softly.

Mikaela...

Blink.

Started going off didn't I? Sorry. Got too wrapped up in memory, forgot I was talking out loud. Anyhow, after that, I made the effort to regain control of my instincts and emotions, to go back to the way I'd been before. That's when I found out just how changed I was, when I could see and feel the difference in my thoughts and attitudes. Oh, I succeeded to a degree, but nowhere near what I'd previously had. I packed up all my equipment, but couldn't bring myself to destroy it. There was still the urge inside me, even if I had no purpose, to craft weapons, to hone the skill I had even further. I was good at what I did, and took pleasure in metalworking. So I sent my tools into storage, where I expected them to stay. I never planned to pick them up again. I left that Below and started travelling, seeking out the remainder of my former friends. I visited each one, going from one city to the next, staying in various undergrounds. Everywhere I went, they'd heard of me. I was constantly asked for weapons, begged, even offered bribes. Unseelie everywhere are being hassled, attacked, even in Below itself. The Gate Guardians will occasionally be overwhelmed, and humans go hunting in the shallow tunnels, doing what harm they can and leaving before we can get organized. This Below is no exception. Forger became a name I hated. I tried many times to change it, call myself something else, but I'm too well known. Like I said, being a female minotaur that moves around isn't exactly ideal for keeping a low profile. Below becomes a prison, a torment, when the one thing everyone wants from you, you dare not give. But it's also an escape. I lose myself down here, everything left that's Mikaela gets forgotten, pushed aside. I need to reconcile what I was with what I am. It's not easy. I try, but it's still a fight. Sometimes I wonder if it's even possible.

Part III - Verdict

"Then what on earth are you doing here, making the things that caused you so much trouble? That could mean a repeat of what occurred before!"

Mikaela winced, eyes still on her clasped hands.

"No. That'll never happen again. I've put new runes on the blades. Each one is tied to their owner so it can't be resold, and will glow if it spills Remade blood. It takes a sworn Enforcer to make the light go away. Even if they use it against other Unseelie and ditch the blade, when it's found I can connect it to the person. We have our own version of police too. Unfortunately, we also have our share of thieves and muggers, but now smaller Remade can defend themselves. I haven't warded the blades against norm blood, but I've made it so they can't be taken out of Below. As soon as they're beneath open sky, they rot away. Now, at least, Below is safer, even if aboveground is as dangerous as ever. And I make sure and ask what they want the knife for. I can tell if the reason they give is the truth or not."

For the first time in hours, silence settled over the stone chamber, underlined by the sound of the rippling water. The minotaur was tired, chilled to the bone, and felt utterly drained. Her broad shoulders were slumped, arms limp in her lap.

Daniel also was tired, but the blanket thrown around his shoulders had protected him from the coolness of the room. He brushed uneven strands of light brown hair out of his eyes.

"You still haven't answered my question. Why are you making weapons again?"

Mikaela stirred, but the intense honesty of the moment was still heavy on her.

"I needed the money. The chamber and tunnels where you'll be working needed to be specially outfitted, and the owner refused to sell unless I made him a dagger. I'd tried to keep who wanted the place quiet, because I knew that would happen, but he found out. The 'rent' for the place would have been more than I could afford, even if I worked digging every day. I had to buy it outright. I couldn't let him blackmail me. Once that started... So I compromised. I agreed to open a shop and sell blades again. He could buy one if he chose, and he would give me a fair price in stones for the tunnels. He agreed. I did not tell him about the modifications I made to all of my weapons. He's not an ethical man. But my title to your workspace is free and clear, no matter what happens with him and his blade. It took about half of what I'd gotten from my time in the work gangs just to set this place up, and by the time it was ready, I didn't have enough anymore for your space. This time I didn't give away knives, or allow charity cases. If someone wants a dagger, they have to be willing and able to pay for it. With the stones from my sales and orders, I secured the passages you wanted."

Mikaela took a deep breath and stared at the floor, one hand reaching back under the curtain of white hair and rubbing absently along her nape. This small gesture, more than anything else, brought home the fact that the incredible tale he'd heard was still too close for her to speak of easily. Daniel knew from long experience that she only did that when thinking hard, in a situation that was truly uncomfortable. She was apparently unable to bring herself to look him in the eye, and he realized she was waiting for his reaction.

Daniel shook his head. He knew his own limits, and the snarl of roiling emotions was too much for him to try and say anything now. Reflexively, he rose, casting the blanket aside. The minotaur jumped, startled, and scrambled to her hooves, tail writhing in unconscious echo of her inner thoughts. He gazed into her anxious face, chewing his lip. Finally, he shrugged helplessly.

"I just don't know Mika. I need time to sort this all out, to think."

His tone was almost a plea for understanding, for patience. Mikaela nodded.

"Of course. You were right, it's a lot to take in. I'll walk you to the Gate."

Daniel turned and made for the doorway, the minotaur following behind. He'd forgotten about the temperature of the other room, and when he crossed the threshold, the heat slammed into him. He reeled back, unbalanced from the shock.

"What the-!"

His remark was bitten off as he impacted with the large and heavily muscled form behind him, jarring the breath from his chest. Mikaela's sable hands grabbed his shoulders, steadying him.

"Daniel? Are you okay? What is it?"

As soon as he steadied himself, the massive hands released him quickly, and he felt the minotaur retreat a few steps as he turned.

"I'm all right! The heat just... surprised me. Why is it so hot out there?!"

Mikaela blinked at him, then answered hesitatingly, as if it should have been obvious.

"The forge is in there, as is the hearth and the smelting oven."

Daniel shook his head, brown hair flopping.

"No, I mean why is it so hot out there, but until I actually leave this room, it's cool. I can't even feel the heat when I'm standing in front of the entrance. It was the same when I walked past the curtain at the main passage. The sound, the heat, nothing was getting past that room. Why?"

Comprehension lit the amber eyes. She moved forward, one hand touching the rough stone of the doorway.

"Look here. See these tiles?"

Daniel squinted and looked closer. Set into the rock were raised, diamond shaped pieces of what looked like jet, carved intricately, hollowed and containing a smaller version of the outer case. He could see that the second one also held an even smaller piece of stone, carved as well.

"Those are called wards. They hold protective magic, and come in varying strengths. All the ones here I had made specifically to keep noise and heat out, and keep the cool in. There are wards in the water to keep it clean, fresh and circulating, because I quench my work in the part that extends into the smithy, and get cleaned up in here. I made it all one connected tank instead of buying wards for two separate pools."

One corner of her bovine mouth turned up in wry self-deprecation.

"I don't usually use it to dive into. I really do use doors. The curtain you passed through at the front I also had specially made. It guards my privacy, instead of affording everyone who passes a good view of me at work. It also acts like a ward, keeping the heat and noise from escaping to bother the neighbors."

"More magic huh? Yours?"

Mikaela shook her head.

"Said I had to buy them, remember? As far as Talents go, I have a very weak one, specific only to one thing. As far as that one thing goes, however, nobody has been able to match me."

They hurriedly crossed the sweltering chamber, and he sighed in relief as they entered the corridor. The ferret-woman was there, bristling with surprise.

"Oh, Journey? Thank you, but I won't be coming back for a few days. Spell-block the doorway and put the word out that the shop's closed, will you please?"

The Fair One bobbed her head, evidently still dazed. The two friends continued on their way.

Daniel knew he was only making small talk as the minotaur accompanied him through Below to the Gate, but she seemed just as relieved not to have to deal with heavier topics. When they reached the stairwell, Mikaela hesitated.

"When do you think you'll come back?"

Pale amusement stirred inside him. She was trying very hard not to say the if, even silently. He gave her a weary smile.

"Maybe in a few days. I'll let you know."

The tall human turned and walked off into the dark, the scattering of stars in the small patch of visible sky smaller echoes of the city lights. Mikaela watched him go. By letting Daniel be the one to initiate further contact, she hoped to give him the time and space he needed to sort himself out.

The minotaur swung around and made for her tiny lair, unwilling to think about lights, and the life that was as out of reach as the stars. It hurt too much to remember the time before, but it was nearly as painful to recall events after Mythmaker, and she'd done a lot of that today. Mikaela entered the cramped stone walls of her home and collapsed onto the sparse cushions, too worn out to do more than fall into an exhausted sleep, despite the fact that she was very cold. Neither the brief time in the smithy nor the trip to the Gate had been able to drive away the chill from sitting wet in the cool-room, and her thin bedding was doing even less than usual to protect against the numbing stone and still air. Curled tight in a vain attempt to generate warmth, Mikaela shivered and surrendered to dreams.

Daniel kicked at his blankets and stared in the dark, brooding. It's a good thing I have the weekend ahead. If this had happened during the week, I'd be no good for classes. A sudden burst of anger made him clench his fists. Damn her! Why'd she dump this on me? I have a life! It's not as if I don't have worries of my own! As soon as the thought had formed, he recognized the irrationality of it, and the guilt arose. How selfish can you get? At least I still have a life. She's got nothing but loss on all sides. He shuddered as the image of gaunt, empty-eyed Unseelie, buried alive, spread across his imagination. They would have frozen in disbelief and confusion when the metal plugs went up, slamming against the doorways. The panic would've taken hold after those with keener senses figured out that cement was being poured on the other side. Screaming and angry shouts, desperate pounding on the blocked Gates would have been all there was to hear as they realized the horror of being trapped underground, walled in, left to starve... He squeezed his eyes shut and turned over on a suddenly knotted stomach. I would've gone mad too. He had heard of the food riots, of course. With an oft-malfunctioning second rate TV, he hardly ever got to watch the news, so had never actually seen any of the infamous video footage, but he'd read articles in the paper, and the more politically minded of his friends had tried to discuss it with him over e-mail. The campus itself had been buzzing shortly afterwards, and the Remade students had gotten bolder with the shift in attitudes.

I can understand why she fought, I really can. But this, making daggers, arming people, there are other ways of handling things dammit! The anger resurfaced. And then to lay it on me! I never asked her to do anything like that on my account. I never would have agreed to it. Never! A swift wave of nausea at the thought of being connected with anything he'd seen in the smithy swept through him. There's only one reason for a dagger, like there's only one reason for a gun. Intent only matters when there's someone holding it. More than anything else, it was her sudden fascination with making weapons that disturbed him. Even her new predilection for fighting wasn't as unsettling as that. After all, what she'd been through could change anyone that way.

He scowled in the darkness. No it's not. At least be honest with yourself. He'd been ashamed of his reaction upon seeing her that first few minutes in the smithy. I wish I knew what my expression was like. Did I let my feelings show? Could she see what I was thinking? And why had it surprised him so much? It wasn't as though the shirt she always wore could hide the fact. It was too small to begin with, tight over her muscles, not baggy or concealing, despite the way it had clearly been altered to the limit to fit better. But oh, the look on her face... Daniel pressed his cheek into the pillow and groaned. He'd become familiar enough with her altered features to interpret that much. I'll bet my thoughts were as obvious as day. No wonder she ran, especially after all the grief she's taken. Remorse crushed him against the mattress as he remembered again the moment when the powerfully built minotaur had sat hunched across the water, the nearly imperceptible quivering in her legs the only indication of the effort it took to stand and turn, gathering the shreds of her dignity to face him. He'd wounded her deeply.

He was still arguing with himself, swinging from resentment to sympathy and back, when sleep reached out and wiped away thought.

Daniel threw himself into his homework and studies, furiously reading, writing, and memorizing. The intense periods of concentration were interrupted with more sessions of pacing, muttering to himself, and gazing out the window than he wanted to admit. He woke on Monday fully expecting to be completely useless to his lab partners. But to his relief, the work went smoothly, and he was able to pull his weight.

His final class of the day always relaxed him, and today was no different. As he stretched out his legs on the grass, settling his sketch book, he could feel the tension slip away, loosening his muscles, the sun's warmth seeping pleasantly into his back. Daniel sighed and looked around. The campus was beautiful in itself, and the instructor took his students out to various places he thought held good subject matter. But they were free to draw anything, as long as they incorporated one object present into the picture. The students were scattered, ranged in many positions and directions, but there was always a loose huddle as something was eye-catching enough to become the popular choice. Daniel and a small group of others settled at different angles to the moss-covered rockpile at the edge of a broad, grassy area, their oversize drawing pads laying flat on the green, or conveniently propped up on knees.

Daniel had roughed in the outline, and was starting to add detail. He preferred to work with pencil, then, if he liked what he'd done, go over or make a copy in the medium he thought suited the picture best. Daniel had the uncanny and enviable ability to look at something, whether a model or a passing happenstance, and capture it with his mind's eye in all the varied detail of real life. Even if the scene changed, he could hold up the memory and work from that. Now his fingers twitched, looping up to begin a figure sitting on the topmost boulder. The delicate silhouette of batlike wings appeared first, then the face, with its wide, almost canine muzzle creased in a sheepish grin. Next he drew the gangly, thin frame, arms braced on either side, four-toed, pawlike feet stretched out to rest against the next fall of rocks. Then came shadows and highlights, even creases in the pair of shorts the figure wore. When he was done, Taylor sat there, black hair blown forward by an invisible breeze.

"Mischievous little guy."

Daniel started as his instructor's voice sounded behind his shoulder. He looked up at the short, stocky Asian man. Black eyes shone beneath the silvered, close cropped hair, and echoed the smile that twitched at the grayed mustache.

"You were so absorbed, you didn't hear me dismiss the class. Want to put that in the studio?"

Daniel scrambled up.

"Oh, sorry Mr. Chenn. Yes, I do."

The older man nodded amiably and started walking back to the arts building. Daniel snatched at his pencils and hurried to catch up to the rest of his class. As he stowed his sketch pad and other supplies in his locker, Daniel realized he was ready. Slinging his backpack over one shoulder, he wandered out into the sunshine and headed for the Gate.

He stopped just inside the entrance, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim. A low snarling issued from the shadows, but a sigh and weary voice overrode it.

"Cut it out Mugwump. It's the minotaur's friend."

A troll stepped out where the human could see him, and the other, an ork, shuffled back further into the shadows, grumbling. Daniel looked closer as the ram-horned troll advanced.

"We've met, haven't we?"

The troll gave a slight bow, short tail flicking.

"I spoke with you and The Forger the first time you came."

Daniel brightened, and inclined his head.

"Guardian of the Gate, I greet you."

The troll chuckled, pleased. He was usually teamed with the moody and sullen Gatekeepers, to keep them in line, and the ritual courtesy was gratifying after a long shift of glares and terse words.

"Welcome to Below, Daniel. You may call me Bulwark. There's a message here for you."

"A message?"

Bulwark led him to a small room in the rear of the platform area. The ork was there, and she gave both men a dirty look before moving to the furthest corner and studiously ignoring Daniel's presence. The troll pulled a box down from a shelf, fished out the lonely scrap of paper inside, and handed it over. It was addressed to Daniel, the word 'human' in parenthesis under his name, and in Mikaela's handwriting was scrawled 'from Forger'. He started to open it, but Bulwark nodded his head, hinting they should exit the room before the human read the note. Confused but amenable, Daniel did so.

His brow furrowed as he read the hasty note, dated the day after she'd escorted him out of Below.

Daniel,
If you're reading this, I'm glad you decided to come see me. Unfortunately, I've come down with the flu or something - feel awful. What I get for sitting in the cool-down room with wet fur, I suppose. As soon as I'm better, I'll go topside and pay you a visit, provided this note is gone from the message-box. Do not come down alone again. Trust me, a minotaur with a head cold is not a pretty sight.

Mikaela

Daniel's mouth quirked up in an amused smile.

"Sick huh?" he murmured.

Bulwark, overhearing, grunted.

"Aye. But it may not be as light as she obviously made of it."

The human looked up, gaze sharpening.

"What do you mean?"

The older man shifted, running a hand over his thatch of short, hoary hair.

"All Below is whispering that The Forger is ill. Come back in an hour, and bring a heavy blanket. My shift is over then, and I'll take you down. Look, I'm not trying to worry you, but she'll need the blanket, and a friend's visit would probably cheer her up. I know she wouldn't want you to risk yourself again, and you don't know where to go, so I'll take you."

Daniel blinked and looked closely up into Bulwark's eyes, pitch black and inscrutable.

"Why? Why are you helping me?"

The troll shrugged.

"This is a small thing. A kindness."

"But why?

Bulwark scratched his chest thoughtfully.

"First, understand that this is a simple favor, simple courtesy, rather like running an errand for a friend. As to why I even thought of it, well, I owe her. My whole family was transformed by Mythmaker. The only one who has survived other than me, is my son, an ork. She saved his life in the tunnels. She's a person of good character, and you are her friend. You cared enough to brave Below alone to see her. Why shouldn't I help you?"

Daniel shrugged in return, acknowledging the point.

"In an hour, you said?"

Bulwark nodded.

"In an hour."

Empty-handed except for the blanket thrown over his shoulders, Daniel again descended the stairs of the Gate.

"Bulwark?"

"I'm here. Ready?"

Daniel followed his hulking guide through the twisting passages and wider chambers that dotted the path like beads, emerging in the great cavern and getting lifted down to the floor. They made their way through the crowds to the far end, and Daniel was jostled roughly a few times by aggressive Unseelie who only backed off after Bulwark made it clear the human was with him. Daniel tensed as the baleful looks and low growls continued. This was worse than the time he'd come alone, and he really didn't want to think about what would've happened if the protective troll wasn't there.

"Where are we headed?" And how long will it take to get there?

"The Grottos. Not far now."

They left the main part of the cavern behind, and the walls became narrower, rougher. The light strings were fewer here, and in worse shape, with more than a few bulbs either broken or burned out. The steep sides were pocked with dark holes no bigger than the average ork, and a great many were even smaller. Ledges jutted out on each level, but knotted cables and rope ladders had to be used to reach the thin, cramped stone lip of each dark entrance. The largest and only lit cave was the first one, an office of sorts. A crude, hand-lettered sign that leaned against the wall read, "The Grottos - Pay inside".

There was very little activity. A fey yawned and climbed up to a niche to disappear within, and a goblin rubbed sleep from his eyes before lowering himself to floor level. A chorus of soft and loud snores, harsh wheezing, and other sleepy noises pervaded the air.

"What is this place?"

Bulwark grunted.

"Somewhere to sleep, somewhere to live. Those waiting for newly carved tunnels to open up will stay here, or those traveling from one Below to the next who don't plan on staying here long. People who can't or don't want to pay for a furnished chamber or give a landlord rent will come here - once you've paid your shot the place is yours until you decide to leave. Since most of the traffic is transitory, the owners can afford it, even if some of them decide to stay on permanently."

They moved on, past rows and columns of the dark mouths, the walls growing closer and closer together, the light strings ever more dilapidated, until they were finally replaced by guttering lanterns. Here the air was still, hushed, the shadows' jumping the only sign of life. It figures, Daniel thought, that she'd pick the creepiest, most deserted spot in the entire place. Then he saw a young ork hustling towards them. The brawny, dark-haired Unseelie was dressed in torn jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt, the laces of his dirty white sneakers flopping. He was near Daniel's height and about the same age, though much more heavily muscled. His grey eyes lightened with relief as he grimaced, oversize canines becoming even more visible.

"Pop! Good, you're here! I couldn't keep chasing them off by myself."

Bulwark's fleshy, buffalo-like ears lifted in alarm, and he quickened his pace.

"How long have they been there Mark?"

"Since before me. Just starting to try and crowd the doorway now."

The human trotted to keep up, frowning.

"It's bad then, isn't it?"

Bulwark turned from his son at the resentful, accusing note in Daniel's voice. He looked hard at the norm.

"Forger wouldn't have lied to you on purpose Daniel. It's not in her nature. She may not have realized just how quickly even a simple cold can worsen here. It takes a lot to make an Unseelie sick, but once done, the conditions of Below can make it serious. She didn't look too bad when I saw her, but where she dens...? It could have gotten worse. No one's seen her leave the area of her lair since she gave me that message for you, and I've known enough who die of treatable ailments because no one checked on them."

Mark nodded and shifted his stance so he could look up at his father, jogging to keep pace with the larger man.

"In Forger's case, they're all scared to. She was roaring somethin' fierce anytime someone tried to approach the place. 'Course, it's safer for her that way. That's kept back the scavengers. Mythmaker knows, I wasn't having any luck. I think I mighta done more harm than good, Pop. They didn't get really bold until I started chasin' 'em off."

Daniel broke in.

"What do you mean, scavengers?"

Bulwark pulled one side of his mouth up in disgust, baring one thick, rounded fang.

"Thieves who prey on the sick, dying, or dead. Scum. Sometimes they'll even 'help along' a helpless Unseelie who doesn't die fast enough. They're usually of the smaller races - people who went insane with the change, or who are criminals anyway. The larger Unseelie who take that path usually haunt the tunnels, where their size can be used as a weapon."

The troll shook his head, curling ram's horns sweeping heavily from side to side.

"The Enforcers have their hands full in Below proper and dealing with the tunnel stalkers. They can't do more than an occasional rounding up of the scavenger packs."

Now Daniel was able to make out their goal, a large, irregularly shaped cavelet at floor level. Small, dark figures flickered about the entrance, soft voices whispering and chattering. They darted about quickly, always moving and never staying in the wavering light long enough for Daniel to get more than a vague idea of their race or appearance. A sizzling hiss of anger rose from unseen throats as the trio closed in, and the scavengers backed off into other shadows. They didn't go very far however, and occasionally light glinted, reflections from pipe clubs and knives that were little more than sharpened metal bits wrapped in rags.

As they reached the cave's mouth, the two Unseelie paused, then looked at the human. Daniel blinked back.

"Well?"

Bulwark gestured rather weakly to the waiting darkness.

"Someone has to go in."

They don't want to face her either, he realized. Digging in his pocket for the small penlight he'd brought, he stepped hesitantly into the dark, the other hand guiding him along the wall. What the hell has she been doing down here? Why won't anyone even approach-

A low rumble was his only warning, like the onset of an earthquake. A roar - there was really no other word for the sound - erupted from the blackness ahead, of such force and volume that it made him stumble backwards into the supporting grasp of the waiting Unseelie.

"Holy-!" He'd been told about the noise, by Mikaela herself, but hearing about and actually being subjected to it were very different. Daniel pushed off of the steadying hands and marched into the cave, not wanting to reveal just how watery his muscles suddenly felt. Ignoring the buzzing in his ears, Daniel opened his mouth and hollered into the short passage he found himself in, irritation clear in his tone.

"Mikaela, I swear, if you want to deafen me, you're on the right track!"

There was a shocked pause, and then a response so soft it almost made him laugh.

"Daniel?"

The human grunted as he felt his way along the corridor, still trying to fumble his light on. The blackness was starting to make him very uncomfortable so far underground.

"Yeah, and before you jump all over me, I did not come down by myself, I didn't ignore your letter, and this wasn't even originally my idea. Bulwark thought you could use some cheering up, and I happened to agree. Visiting a sick friend may be clich�, but it doesn't hurt anyone, so just skip the lecture for me and don't blame the Guardian!"

He collided with the end of the hallway, penlight clattering from his hand to the stone floor. He cursed and lowered himself gingerly to his knees, groping in the pitch dark. The silence from Mikaela lengthened, but as his fingers finally closed around the miniature flashlight, she spoke again, making him turn to the left though he couldn't yet see her.

"I'm glad you're here."

Her voice was slow and thick, and the quiet admission made him hurry to flick on the light. The small beam played about the tiny, rough hewn chamber, bare except for the cushions she lay on, before finding the prone form. Daniel dropped to a crouch at the minotaur's side. She shivered uncontrollably, and that horrified him the most. There was something almost obscene about such a powerful and strong figure being reduced in such a way. Her amber eyes, though lucid, were glassy and watering, damp tracks darkening her facial fur. The mahogany pelt, usually glossy, had dulled and was lank, rumpled. Her stark, white hair was equally listless, braid disheveled and tail-tip snarled. The minotaur let her head drop back down on her forearms weakly, and Daniel threw the blanket over her. Mikaela's eyes closed, and she whispered her thanks.

Her shivering lessened, though remained constant.

"Can you walk?"

The minotaur opened her eyes slowly and blinked a few times.

"What?"

"Can you walk, or will you need Bulwark's help?"

One hand brushed over her face, pushing back the tangled forelock from aching eyes. A vague feeling of frustration grew as her thoughts moved, sluggish as her blood and the slow thump of her heart.

"Why?"

"Mikaela! We have to get you out of here! You're sick, this is no place for you to be. You can't stay in this, this hole in the ground."

The minotaur let a growl escape.

"It's my hole in the ground. What's the matter with it?"

"It's damp, cold, dark, isolated, cramped, crawling with scavengers outside, and no room service. Aside from that, it's lovely, now let's go."

The bovine lips fluttered in a laugh too faint to hear.

"Go where Daniel? There's nowhere Below I'd be safe from the scavengers, no one who can spare the time and stone to watch over me. Even those friends I've made need all their energy to look to their own survival. I thank you for the blanket, it'll keep me warm. As for the scavengers, I can handle those lurking cowards just fine."

"Damn you and your stubborn pride! Can't you just once admit you need help? Or has your skull become so thick you've lost all common sense?! If-" he took a deep breath to calm himself before going on in a more reasonable tone.

"Look, can we do something for once without having a fight?"

Mikaela was in no condition to argue, and even she knew it. The minotaur surrendered with a sigh.

"Yes."

She rolled to her side and sat up. It shocked Mikaela when she fell, and thinking only that her balance was off, she lurched up and crumpled three times before comprehending.

"My knee keeps giving."

The wonder, surprise, and hint of indignation that echoed in the soft words settled over her features as well. She blinked and frowned, offended at her body's betrayal.

"That's never happened before. Not even right after Mythmaker came."

Daniel had watched, incapable of helping, as Mikaela stumbled like a newborn colt, unable to get her footing.

"Wait for minute. Maybe your legs just aren't with you yet. I'll be right back."

The minotaur nodded dazedly as he left her. Outside the short passage, the human and two Unseelie had a hurried conference.

"We need gargoyles to lift her, and I'll need you two to help her walk. She'll have to stay with you until she's better."

The Unseelie shifted uncomfortably. Finally, Mark spoke.

"She can't. Our place is small, and we barely fit into it as it is. Besides, we can't watch over Forger during the day, and the scavengers will get in." He grimaced. "They're everywhere."

"Well, where can she go? She needs to be warm and looked after! I'll bet she hasn't eaten since she went down. She's not taking care of herself." Daniel brightened as he suddenly remembered.

"Wait, aren't there doctors Below, of a sort? Can we get her healed?"

Bulwark shook his head.

"There are limits to the healers' gifts. They can make whole any wound, but if something is wrong inside on that small a level, a virus, bacteria, a cancer, or whatever, they are powerless. We have no proper doctors in this Below. Medications are hard to come by, and even harder to get unless you're rich with stone."

The troll's expression brightened.

"Does she have enough stone? We couldn't afford any meds, but she's got a shop. If she's been saving instead of getting a better lair, maybe...?"

"You go get the gargoyles. Umm, see if Morrow and Heft are available. I really don't want to take any chances with strangers right now. I'll go ask and keep her company till you get back. One of you is staying, though, right?" The shadows were alive at the edges of his vision.

Bulwark nodded reassuringly, and motioned to his son to go. The young ork trotted away. Daniel returned to the cavelet to find Mikaela on her hooves, walking the circumference of the small chamber, swaying unsteadily.

"You were right. They just weren't with me yet."

With every step, the minotaur's balance improved, though the stumbling persisted. Daniel chewed his lip as he watched her progress.

"Mika, do you have enough money, or, uh, stone, to buy medicine?"

"No. I've just begun to make a profit. All I had has been going to pay off the debt of getting your spot equipped and the smithy built."

"Damn. I thought as much, but I was hoping."

He watched his friend move around, the tremors still shuddering through her, though she clasped the blanket close around broad, furred shoulders. Bulwark's voice echoed from the cavelet's mouth.

"Daniel, Mark's back."

The human scrambled back out to the other Unseelie. He frowned when he saw the ork was alone.

"Where are the gargoyles?"

Mark blinked.

"Waiting out in the cavern. They can't come here, Daniel. Long story and we haven't got the time." He shifted his attention to his father, "We've got to hurry. The Irlk tribe is gathering, and where those ogres are, others who feel the same are too. We may have a fight."

The short glance of the two Unseelie told Daniel what the cause of any fight would be. He opened his mouth, but the rumbling voice of the minotaur made them all turn.

"Irlk? The ogres are going to have more than they can handle if they try anything. We'll have to stay together at all costs. If they're already here, we can't risk a two-part escape. Bulwark, can you and your son handle the aftermath, or are you coming with us? Mark, how far will we have to go to reach the gargoyles?"

The minotaur leaned heavily against the rock of her doorway, blanket clasped cloak-like about her shoulders. She didn't look well at all. Yet, as the troll and his son jumped to answer and turned to Mikaela, who listened with an air of authority, Daniel was forced to the realization that his friend was a power in her own right. In this world she was a wounded general, and enemies smelled the blood. Her face was serious, too-bright eyes shadowed with thought. She nodded curtly, then outlined a plan, and the others listened, prepared to obey. Daniel found himself in the center, Bulwark at point, Mark to the right, and Mikaela at his left flank, ready to move up or fall behind to cover his back. In this formation, the quartet moved back along the dim floor of the Grottos. Once more, hissing and skittering noises raced in the shadows to each side, but nothing emerged to challenge the foursome, and the scavengers were left behind as the party reached the populated sections.

They drew stares, and Daniel didn't at all like the way some Unseelie surveyed his group, pulling back. Everywhere was a watchfulness and silent breath of expectation, a pause, like spectators at a building on fire.

The space around them grew, a widening circle, and from behind came a snort. Mikaela's voice was soft.

"Just past that stone marker, and the gargoyles can lift us right off the ground. We get past that, and you'll be safe. They won't dare touch the fliers."

Indeed, the two gargoyles hovered, wings beating against the still air, anxiousness written across each face. Below them, a wall of Unseelie rippled forward, creating a barrier. Large and small, fey, goblin, ork, troll, and the hulking, tall figures of ogres, dotting the shifting crowd like dark pillars.

The tiny phalanx kept moving, even as Bulwark curled hairy fists and switched his ropy tail, growling in his deep, resounding voice.

"Stand aside please, and let us pass."

Jeering began, and one of the leading ogres bared his uneven teeth in a smirk.

"Hand over the norm, troll, and we'll let you'n the ork go. An' mebbe just take a few ribs from the cow."

Bulwark drew in a breath to respond, but the quiet voice from the rear pre-empted it.

"No use. Charge."

The troll and his son leaped forward as their small party closed ranks. Bulwark used his fists and body to slam aside the smaller Unseelie, plowing through the crowd. Surprised, many fell back, giving way. They hadn't expected the offensive to come from their prey. Ogre voices lifted in frustrated roars as their large shapes waded forward against the press of shorter races.

Daniel found himself in the eye of a shifting, angry storm of faces and movement. Bulwark's wide back filled his view.

To be continued...

This Stranger, My Friend - Part II (c) AKS 2002 [email protected]

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