Those That Return

Cats all around drop to their four feet, claws scrambling frantically to find purchase. In moments, the bustling village is gravely silent. A red spotlight washes over me, and I think it pauses before continuing it’s wild swing around the village.

I should find a place to hide too, I think but I find myself hesitating.

I’m reminded of another saying: curiosity killed the cat. Ah, but I have seven more, so that knowledge stifles my trepidation.

There’s a flicker of movement down a street. Another cat is going down a path that leads out of the village and towards the Second Gate. I crouch onto all four paws and follow with my belly skimming the ground, as if I can avoid the Second Gate’s crimson gaze. I stay in the shadows.

The cat runs quickly on his hind legs, two long daggers held in each paw extended behind him. He wears lightweight armor, a black leather cuirass stark against his sleek white fur. I notice his back leg, from paw to haunch, is covered in the iridescent black fur like the patch on my back— a warrior’s mark.

As I follow the rogue-looking cat, two others join him before we exit the village. One is another white cat, but she wears over-sized metal pauldrons and an intricately jeweled breastplate. If she has a warrior’s mark, it’s hidden by her more extensive armor. The other cat is a severely smoosh-faced Persian with a cream coat. His warrior’s marks look like black slashes along his face and across his orange eyes. The only item he carries is a beetle shaped lute strapped to his back.

I can’t hear what they say to each other, but I can tell by the way they move that they’re a well-practiced team. The armored cat takes the lead as they reach the village outskirts. She holds above her head a plain broadsword, but with a startling battle cry, the sword flashes as if stuck by lightning. Through green afterimages dancing in my vision, I see that she now holds a sword of impossible proportions. The smoking blade is longer than her from tip to tail. If the blade is heavy, she doesn’t show it as she maintains her lead in front of her teammates.

I do not follow them outside the village. I’ve clawed up the side of a tall cat house made of green twine and shaped to look like a cactus. From here, I watch that team and several others emerge onto the field surrounding the village and race towards the Second Gate.

Before the eyes of the Second Gate activated, I would say the day was a spring afternoon with barely a cloud in the sky. But now, the sky is black as pitch, and the only light source is the gate’s eyes. I look between the gate and teams of warriors, wondering what they were possibly going to fight.

And then I see what these warriors are up against.

At the base of Second Gate, the river seems to boil with oil. As the substance splashes on to the shore, it solidifies into vague cat-like shapes. They’re small, almost kitten-like, except they move across the land with terrible speed and their voices -their cries- are a maddening cacophony.

The armored white cat meets the horde first. She swings her impossible sword, carving a swathe through the mass of creatures. Where blade meets oily flesh, blue orbs of light appear. Unimpeded by the battle, the lights roll back into the river, through the boiling water, and disappear into the Second Gate.

What the sword did not cut, the rogue cat moves in with daggers jabbing and slashing. He did not cut as many of the black creatures as the armored cat, but he clears a space for her to bring her sword back around and unleash another devastating blow.

I do not understand the purpose of the Persian cat with the instrument. He stands farther back, well out of danger, and strums his lute. No, he isn’t playing yet, I realize. He’s tuning to instrument.

Up and down the river, teams fight the creatures. I see other flashes of light among the blue orbs that flow into the river.

Magic? I wonder. But why am I surprised? I chide myself. Have cats not always been treated as agents of the occult? Was that strange sword not a primer for the strangeness to come?

I merely observe, yet I feel the eyes of the Second Gate on me and my back twitches. My claws extend, my muscles tense, and yet—

I remain in the village. The oily, kitten-like creatures are easily defeated by the barrage of fighters. The group that I had stalked this far dispatched an impressive amount of them, and the other teams give them a wide berth for their destruction.

Now the eyes of the Second Gate dim and the sky lightens into a vibrant blue. The warriors slowly return to the village. The armored cat drags behind her the plain broadsword, cutting a channel through the field back towards my hiding place. Her teammates follow. She looks as if her armor is about to crush her, but she glances up and see me staring. Our eyes meet and she straightens her back, sheathing her sword into the scabbard slung across her back.

The rogue cat looks exhausted as well, but doesn’t seem to care about propriety as he drops to all four feet. “That’s three returns in five days,” he hisses. “This isn’t right. I swear it, something big is coming.”

I don’t wait to eavesdrop on any responses because other cats have seen me hiding, and they try and get my attention. I flee because I know if I stay, I’ll want to fight.

Did I not fight enough in my first life? Up until the Dark One nearly skinned my alive, I fought and fought. Did I not want a peaceful second life?

I suspect I know what I’ll ultimately decide, but, perhaps, I could give this second life a chance to be peaceful before I do what a Rotten Orange always does.

I race back towards the library, planning to locate the signpost that will point me in the direction of my new home.

On a whim, I decide to go in, unknowing that I’m about to meet a god.