Once upon a time, the mortals killed the Gods and destroyed the world.

Am I getting ahead of you?

I am sorry. After all, you know nothing about your broken world, do you, little one? All you know is the aftermath. All you know is the poisoned land and the empty despair that calls it home. Not how it came to be, or what your destiny is in it. You don’t even know the Gods or what it was like before. Perhaps I can begin there.

The world, Lustra, was beautiful once. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise. This ruined, pitted hulk of rock is nothing compared to what it used to be. Lustra sang. Lustra was pure. It had life and spirit and joy. And all of these flowed as freely as the mighty rivers and soaring winds, permeating the rocks and lush grasses to their core. It came about because of the Diaphon, the very life and soul of the planet. All things carry its spark. After the world, the Diaphon created the Gods. Mostly to make order out of its happy, inherent chaos, but also to protect the physical plane from it. Four Gods for four Realms, heavens that created a barrier between spirit and flesh. We rose out of The Diaphon’s essence, and you mortals have many old stories as to how that happened: Arista, the Forest Goddess, was born from a dew-laden seed to watch over her earth Realm of forest and glen. Bellatorix, the War God, charged out of the fire Realm to teach mortals of honor and courage. Caedes, the Blood Goddess, crawled from the water Realm and held counsel over the health and heart of creatures. Solune, the Light God, soared from the air Realm, born out of the moon, which cracked and left two slivers to hang in the sky.

And, unexpectedly, the remains of Solune’s birth energies created Evoco. The other Gods were alarmed, for suddenly there were four Realms and five Gods, but he laughed. The Diaphon let him call all Realms home, so he could move freely throughout all of them. He became the guide of spirits, who forever travel and need hope to guide them home.

All of the Gods had a hand in creating the races of your world. The cornyu, the single- horned healers; the cetacea, the singing whales; the lagom, the brave monkeys; the kynx, the mind cats; and your race, the ferin, the animal folk. These races carried a greater spark of the Diaphon than other creatures. The races were aware of themselves, they created, they laughed, and they cried. All of them flourished, learning, questing for a place in the world, and to know why they belonged in it. This curiosity ran strong in every race.

Most of all, in the ferin.

Chapter One: A Key in the Mines
2023 A.F. (After Fall)

“Nicodemus! Help me!”

Gilly jumped onto the pitiful pallet Nick rested upon, grabbing him around the waist.

Nick, a young wolf ferin, groaned, unwilling to banish the last remains of his dream to face his aching muscles, empty belly, and the hours of slaving in the mines that awaited. The dream had been beautiful, filling him with sorrowful images of glittering forms struck down, and he had known they were dying. But a great, leaping voice had spoken to him, filling him with joy even though he hadn’t been able to understand it. Maybe, if he held on long enough, it would come back ...

“Oh, Nick, please wake up!”

Nick sat up groggily, wiping his eyes as he put a paw on Gilly’s shaking shoulders.

“Gilly? What’s wrong? You’re all wet,” Nick picked Gilly up and cradled her against his
shoulder.

The little wildcat ferin had buried her face in his pure white fur, her ragged slave’s tunic soaking wet. Gilly’s tearful green eyes were one of the few bright spots in the dusty grey mines. Her whiskers quivered with teardrops. “Mucidus threw a bowl of water at me.”

Nick growled. The slaves had too little water without their slaver throwing it.

“He says I stole food, Nick! He’s gonna beat me!”

Nick sat down, cradling Gilly. “Mucidus is such a drunk he wouldn’t be able to tell the
difference if he ate our flatbread himself. Calm down. It’ll be all right.”

Gilly looked imploringly up at him. Only a few years into his adolescence, years of mining had made him strong. He was underweight, a little scrawny, and crouching for hours in the tunnels digging for ore had given him a stoop. Nick smiled and wiped away her grimy tears.“You’ll see. I won’t let him hurt you.”

In the dim light of the underground cell, they lay huddled upon thin pallets. The pale sunlight of a new dawn barely peneerated the gloom, illuminating the dozing forms of their fellow slaves. A yawn from Baia’s pallet made them both look up. The otter ferin scratched her belly.

“You’re setting yourself up for trouble, Nick. You know as well as I do she snitched something.”

Several of the other slaves nodded or murmured assent.

“Baia’s right. You’re always poking around in the food stores, Gilly,” Shaz, a grey wolf ferin stood up and stretched. He ran a paw over his scarred back, pale threads of bare skin standing out from his fur.

Gilly burst into fresh tears at the accusations. Nick glared at Shaz. “Maybe if Mucidus didn’t starve us all she wouldn’t have to, so I for one don’t blame her!”

“Right.” Baia grinned. “You’ll be slipping her your extra rations and fainting from hunger in the mines.”

Nick was about to reply when a shadow fell over him. Gilly gasped and clutched his fur as Mucidus stumbled down the stairs. The huge piebald rat ferin had lost the tip of his long pink tail in a fight ages ago. His barrel chest heaved, and a bundle of cloth trailed across his waist. He glared at them with sharp, glassy red eyes, smelling heavily of viskflame wine. Even Nick’s ears drooped when Mucidus raised his slaver’s wand and pointed it right at Gilly.“You were stealin’ again! Get up!” Mucidus snarled, baring crooked fangs. Nick stood up, placing Gilly behind him. Folding his arms, he tried his best to look brave as Mucidus advanced on him.

“She didn’t steal anything.”

“Oh?” Mucidus let the word out in a rotten belch, and Nick grimaced. “A whole stack of flatbread was next to my bed last night.” He stabbed a claw at Gilly. “I caught her upstairs finishin’ it off.”

The other slaves glared at Gilly. The flatbread had undoubtedly been their breakfast.

Nick stood his ground. “You can’t be sure it was her.”

Mucidus brought the point of his slaver’s wand in front of Nick’s muzzle. “You’re looking for a taste of this, you little upstart. Trying to play the knight again?”

Nick gulped. The wand only looked like a simple crop, but it hurt far worse. Mucidus always had the pain switch on his turned up high. Nick warily shook his head.

“Then get out of my way,” Mucidus growled.

Nick held his breath uncertainly, then blurted, “But you ate it!”

“What!?” Mucidus looked startled, then furious.

“I saw you,” Nick said accusingly. “You’re just trying to blame it on her. I watched you eat all the flatbread!”

“You sneakin’ little spy!” Mucidus snarled. “I’ll teach you not to put your nose where it doesn’t belong!”

He struck Nick on the nose with the wand. Stars burst before Nick’s vision, the pain staggering him against the wall. Mucidus lashed Nick’s shoulders mercilessly and he cowered to avoid the blows. Agony burst along Nick’s spine, running up his neck and into his head. Again and again Mucidus hit him, the slave wand magnifying the pain to unbearable intensity. Nick cried out a couple of times, but he did his best to keep his jaws firmly clenched. Yelling only excited Mucidus, who exhorted himself to greater efforts.

Mucidus gave Nick one last kick, panting. “I think you’ve had enough.”

Nick nodded, blood trickling from his back to the hard packed floor.

Mucidus whirled on the others, sitting in cowed silence. He swayed for a moment, and steadied himself against the wall, holding his head. “Now what was I doing?”

Baia, the otter ferin, spoke up. “The mines, sir. We have to get ready?”

“Oh, right. Well then, get ready! I’ll be back with the chains in a click!” He stomped back up the stairs.

“Nick!” Gilly squealed with remorse and jumped on Nick in a regretful hug. He yelped in pain.

“Oh!” Gilly let go. “Nick! I’m so sorry!”

“Get off of him, Gilly!” Baia said angrily, thrusting her back. She crouched next to Nick. “Nick, you’re such an idiot. You always have to do this, don’t you?”

Nick winced, laughing weakly through his bloody nose. “I took a chance. Did you see the look on his face? It wasn’t Gilly. He ate the flatbread!”

“Well, either way,” Baia said, “We’re all going hungry this morning. And that’s not funny at all.”

“I’m sorry!” Gilly said. She hesitated to touch him for fear of causing more pain. “Nick, I’m so sorry!”

Baia glared at Gilly. “You knew he would get hit! You should have taken the beating!”

“You steal, Gilly. Everyone knows it,” Shaz growled. The grey wolf gave her a scornful look. “Even if you didn’t this time, you shoulda taken the beating.”

Gilly’s whiskers trembled, and her eyes filled with tears.

“No,” Nick grimaced and sat up. “Leave her alone. I’m all right.”

“You sure don’t look it,” Baia said in disgust. “Why do you stand up for her? I know she’s new, but she has to learn.”

“We have to look out for each other,” Nick gasped. He put a paw on a bleeding welt in his side.

“Gilly using you as a shield isn’t us looking out for each other,” Baia retorted.

Nick’s reply was cut short by Mucidus’ return. He held a length of jangling chain. “All right, my little coin-makers! Line up.”

All seven of the slaves had manacles on their left paws. Mucidus attached the running chain to all of them. He pushed Nick roughly into place, making his injuries buzz with pain.

“I didn’t steal, Nick,” Gilly whispered. “I swear I didn’t, not this time!”

“I know,” Nick whispered back. “I believe you.”

Gilly hugged carefully him around the middle, managing a ragged purr. Mucidus led the way out of the cell, swaying haphazardly. A new day had just begun; the
grey dawn brightened to shades of tired blue. Each of the slave cells was a pit dug into the earth, their tops covered with wooden slats and canvases. Campfires smoldered near the entrance of each one, and slave-drivers hurried around their pallets, fetching slaves, rations, and Gate papers.

Nick drank in the barren sky. The slave area was open and flat, so it wasn’t hard to see, but once they entered the streets of Nyrn, the buildings swallowed it up.
The capital city of the kingdom of Udannir, Nyrn was the second largest city in the entire continent of Chosk. Nestled in the cracks of blasted, empty plains, Nyrn’s impressive buildings of adobe and wood could be seen a full days’ travel away. Nick remembered the first time he had seen the walls of the city, brought on a slave wagon to be sold. Back then he had been naive enough to think the sky went on forever. He sighed as he lost sight of it. Nyrn smoked from
factory pipes, coughed gouts of smoke, and churned night and day. A thick haze hung in clouds over the busy streets. The nearer to the mines, the worse the city got.

The narrow, cobbled streets wound like pale threads between the stained, adobe walls. The acrid smell of smoke and oil rode the wind, mingling with the endless buzz of talk and chatter. The filthy streets spilled trash under the crowds of noisy ferin. Sometimes, Nick found himself hungry enough to find the stench appetizing. Any number of them might have been swept away if not for the running chain. Ferin of every shape and size hurried past them; a wolf merchant shouted his wares, a deer peasant struggled with several of her crying children, and guards of Nyrn patrolled the throngs of citizens, breaking up fights or yelling orders. Crests glittered on their chests, a stag’s head supporting the cityscape against a field of red and gold. Every now and then Nick caught a glimpse of the giant brass Sentinels, each topped by a lookout.

Gilly stumbled against Nick as a goat ferin grabbed the running chain. She grinned at Baia. “You’re a strong one, my dear. Come here, let me look at you.”

Mucidus whirled. “Get away from her, you filthy hag! She’s mine!” He smacked her face with the wand, and she shrieked, fleeing in a flurry of rags.

Mucidus checked the slave line to make sure everything was in order before delivering a reproving slap to Baia’s head. He pushed on through the crowd, the line stumbling behind him.

“Stars above, I hate him,” Baia rubbed her head angrily.

“It’s probably best we got away from her,” Nick said. “I bet she was a Dealer.”

“What’s a Dealer?” Gilly piped up.

“Hush,” Baia said. “Don’t talk about them. They take slaves for work in bed.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Gilly said.

Baia rolled her eyes.

“We’re almost there,” Mucidus said cheerfully.

The Gate towered overhead, ribbed with metal spikes and studs. Slave lines waited for admittance, as the merchant owners of the mines checked Gate papers and discussed quotas with the slavers. Captives crammed up against one another, dank with the smell of sweat, while their owners pressed to get their lines through first. Over either side of the lines and overhead, guards in uniforms stained with oil and dirt kept vigil. Sentinels behind them stood proudly, dangerously.

The brass, serpentine bodies of the Machina rose up from four knifed legs. Two razor sharp forelegs folded like switchblades against the riveted chests. A guard sat on the curving shoulders in a small leather saddle, resting against the high back. Two guns gleamed on either side of the saddle. Seeing Sentinels always made
Nick’s hackles bristle; the Machina performed public executions and caught runaways. At rest, the huge bladed Machina looked like they prayed to the King.

Nick held Gilly close and repressed a sigh. He had come to the mines nearly every day for five winters. The sight of the Gates robbed his heart of joy every time. He wished, with a fierce, desperate ache, that some morning some creature would see the wrong in them walking in shackles. To shout “what are these little ones doing in chains?” and throw the fetters loose. But no one could see them; slaves were invisible, as common a sight in Nyrn as the Sentinels.

A huge and rare vein of conthrocite running underneath Nyrn’s expansive complex had been discovered just recently. Conthrocite, or cita, as it was called, was a useful and long burning fuel, much coveted to fuel Machina and light the night. While Nyrn had once been rich for its farming district, the discovery of the mines made it a booming industry. Frantic peasants flocked to the city in hopes of work, but the King had a love for cheap labor. Mining permits would only be given with approval, and while the paid workers waited frantically, the slave lines toiled.

“Hail the Gates,” Mucidus saluted clumsily when he reached the front of the line.

A tired looking stag ferin ran a paw over his face. “Grace of the King upon you, Mucidus. How many do you have today?"

“Seven,” Mucidus said. “Same as last time.”

“Are they all branded?”

Mucidus’ face fell. “Branded?”

“New edict of the King,” a ram ferin with stern grey eyes said, rifling through Mucidus’ papers. “Every slave is to be branded with the seal of Nyrn. We’re officially at war with Jammasu. His Majesty wants no slaves smuggled out or sold out of the country. They might end up working for the other side.”

“Well ... not all of them are branded,” Mucidus said..

Nick unconsciously traced the bright pink scar on his left paw, an arrow above a star. He had received his years ago, when he had first been brought to the slave markets.“We’ll check them all,” the stag nodded and stepped forward. He tapped the shoulder of each slave, pulling their left paw out. “The two wolf ferin, branded. Otter, not branded. Wildcat, not branded. Two mouse ferin, not branded. Weasel, branded.”

Four not branded, Baia and Gilly among them. Nick put a paw on Baia’s shoulder. The otter ferin looked stricken, and Gilly began to sob.

“You’ll have to do them today,” the ram scribbled something on Mucidus’ papers.

“All four!?” Mucidus squawked. “I’ve got a quota! I can’t meet it with four injured
slaves!”

“It’s the King’s orders,” the ram shrugged.

The stag stroked his chin. “Well, how about we do one each morning? That way you’ll only have one injured on your paws each day.”

“Says you,” Mucidus grumped. “The brands don’t heal easily and you know it. But if it’s the best I can do ...”

“Head to the right,” the ram handed Mucidus’ Gate papers back. “And don’t try and slip in,” he glared at Mucidus. “We’ve doubled our Sentinels duty to put a stop to that.”

Cursing, Mucidus stomped over to a large crowd on the right. Other lines awaited entrance to a wide barn. Most of the slaves within them sobbed or looked stunned. Drivers argued with tired and burned-out branders. Thin cries of terror and agony echoed within. The dark of the barn glowed red from the cita smoldering in iron stoves. Nick could tell the place was a Machina repair shop converted for the day’s necessities. It reeked with the terrible stench of
burned hair and flesh.

Mucidus showed the nearest brander, a weasel ferin, his stamp. “Can we make this quick?” he groused.

“All right then,” the brander picked up an iron and thrust it into the coals. “Which one?”

Mucidus turned on his line with a wicked grin. He grabbed Gilly around the wrist. “This one.”

He didn’t bother to unhook her from the running line. He dragged her forward and the
others were forced to follow.

The brander held up the tip of the iron. The arrow-and-star symbol of Nyrn glowed fiercely on the end of it. “Left paw out.”

“NO!” Gilly shrieked. She leapt up, wailing, “No please don’t please I’ll be good, I swear!”

“Get down!” Mucidus snarled. He lifted her up, but he was overcome by the force of her panic. Gilly raked him with her claws, kicked, and bit. Her screams attracted the attention of the whole barn. Slaves peeked around, and even drivers craned their necks for a good look.

“If you can’t hold her still I can’t brand her,” the weasel said moodily, as though this was
a great waste of his time.

“I’ll quiet her down,” Mucidus said savagely, raising his wand.

“No, wait!” Nick jumped up. “Stop, Mucidus, I’ll quiet her!”

Mucidus glared at him furiously before throwing Gilly down. “You’d better be quick!”

Nick knelt and gathered Gilly into his arms.

“Don’t let them do it, Nick,” she sobbed. “I haven’t done anything wrong, please, tell them not to do it!”

“Gilly,” Nick said softly. “I can’t. It has to be done.”

“No ....” Gilly moaned into his tunic.

“It’ll be over quick, I promise,” Nick said. He lifted her chin so she was looking at him. “You can hold my hand and squeeze as tight as you want. It’ll hurt, but Mucidus will hit you if you don’t, and that will hurt a lot worse.”

Gilly hiccupped.

“Hurry up!” Mucidus snapped.

“All right,” Nick said. “We’re ready. Let me hold onto her.”

“Left paw down, palm up,” the brander said. Gilly didn’t move. Nick slowly took her paw and set it on a wooden slab. The brander snapped Gilly’s manacle securely to the block. He retrieved the brand and without warning thrust it into her outstretched palm.

Gilly screamed and tried to pull backwards, but the manacle caught. Her scream rose to a shriek. Some of the slaves clapped paws over their ears. The brander pulled the iron free. The smell made Nick’s stomach roll.

The brander released Gilly. “Next!” he called.

Gilly fell down, cradling her injured hand.

“I’m sorry, Gilly,” Nick said, kneeling by her. He tore a strip from his tunic and bound her palm. Then he pulled her to him, hugging her tightly as she wept helplessly into his ruff.

“It hurts so b-bad, Nick ...”

“Get going,” Mucidus gave the line a yank. He shook his wand at Gilly. “And don’t shirk your duties just because your paw hurts! Or I’ll make every other part of you hurt!”He led the way to the mines.

Nick carried Gilly, nuzzling her and feeling sick with guilt. He had wanted to rage and snarl, break his chains and fling them into the faces of the brander. Instead he’d stood there like a block of wood. Why hadn’t he done something more?

Baia looked pale. Nick tried to give her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. It’s not as bad as it looks ... really.”

Baia smiled sadly. “Right.”

“Come on, Gilly was pretty brave, don’t you think?” Nick jostled his burden gently.

“Oh, definitely,” Baia said, in attempt at brevity. “That took a lot of guts, Gilly.”

Gilly sniffed, and the mines swallowed them up.

The dank tunnels cut roughly through the black confines underground. Lines of amberelectric lanterns hung every few feet, casting pale circles of flaxen light in the narrow darkness. The steady clicking and clanking of chains and tools echoed eerily up and down the tunnels. Every now and then a cry of discovery or pain would sound. The grey soil of the walls broke here and there, exposing large chunks of shiny black cita. Splinters of it littered the tunnel floor, cracking and snapping underpaw.

“Ah, here we are,” Mucidus stooped into a wide tunnel. “Home sweet home. Get me lots of cita today, my sweetlings.” He bared his teeth in a grin. His line knew all too well what would happen if they didn’t meet their quota.

The slaves descended into the tunnel. Mucidus could rarely afford tools, so everyone had thick calluses on their paws from weeks of prying and digging. Nick was grateful that it was spring. In winter the clay-like soil got rock hard, cutting paws and breaking tools. Cita crumbled easily underpaw, but the dust coated everything and made it hard to breathe.

“Now then,” Nick grunted, setting Gilly down, “You just sit here. I’ll dig for you today. Baia, is the rat gone?”

“Yep,” Baia said, ducking back into the tunnel. “He’s struck up a conversation with the driver to the right of us.”

“Start a story, Nick,” Shaz called, manacled at the end of the line. The others brightened.

“Yeah, a story.”

“Go on, make it good.”

Nick smiled. To entertain themselves and while away the long hours of wearying work, the slaves made up long epic stories as a game. Nick’s imagination prompted enthusiasm for it.

“A story, huh?” Nick crouched and pried loose a piece of cita. “Let’s see ... I’m walking through a forest. There’s sunshine and a nice warm breeze. It’s just rained so everything is really green. The air is clear and there’s plenty of room to run.”

“Oooh ... wonderful,” Baia sighed.

“I’ve brought everyone with me,” Nick said. “Baia, you’re up ahead, in the river, swimming.”

Baia grinned her appreciation.

“Where am I?” Gilly asked, cradling her paw.

“Up in the trees,” Nick said matter-of-factly.

“In the trees? Why?”

“You’re talking with them,” Nick replied. Gilly laughed with delight.

“And me?” Shaz asked. He tossed a chip of cita onto the growing pile.

“You’re walking with me,” Nick said. “We’re knights, of course, so we’ve got our
swords out, ready for trouble.”

Shaz nodded his approval.

“But suddenly,” Nick pried a rock out of the wall, “something jumps out of the trees! What is it?”

“I’ll take it from here,” Baia piped up. “I know what it is. It’s an Abnepos!”

A delighted gasp went up from the slaves.

“Abnepos?” Gilly piped up again.

“Don’t interrupt,” Baia said. “It’s an Abnepos, a god-beast! It’s beautiful, with a pure
white coat and eyes like the moon!”

“A pure white coat, like Nick’s,” Gilly tugged Nick’s tail.

Nick grinned and shushed her.

Baia ignored Gilly. “It’s got a horn like a cornyu, and it stands on all fours. Its’ hooves
are silver, and the mane and tail blow like a banner in the wind!”

Caught up in the story, the slaves forgot their weariness. The walls of the mines seemed to melt away, and for a time they saw themselves in the lush forest Nick had described, standing before the awesome creature Baia created. They each took turns telling the story, taking themselves on adventures. They collected quite a pile of cita, prying the substance out in rough slabs while they battled bandits and rescued a village from invaders. Mucidus showed up often, cruising the line with a cold eye and ready wand, but that only paused the tale. They made a game out of watching for him, and gave their villains undeniable features of the rat slaver.

“Keep your chatter down,” Mucidus snapped, suspicious of their smothered giggles. “And no escapin’. If any of you so much as stick a nose out of this tunnel I’ll flay the skin from your bones!”

After several hours the game lost some of its luster. Many of the slaves were thirsty, but the spirit remained. Nick crouched at the furthest end of the tunnel, listening to the story continue. His wounds from earlier were paining him, and weariness tugged at his limbs. Cita dust made his cuts sting, and he pawed it from his eyes. The story reminded him of his dream, and his mind wandered back to it. Had he been dreaming of the dead Gods? What had the voice been trying to tell him, anyway?

“And suddenly the Abnepos bows to me, and I jump on it’s back. It takes off into the air
with me, and I’m flying-”

“Why do you get to fly?”

“Because I’m the one telling the story, Gilly!”

Nick felt a piece of cita underneath a thin layer of earth. He dug at it, making the hole bigger. It was oddly shaped, like a rectangle. Nick caught one corner and pried it loose. A small part of the wall gave way, dumping dirt down on him. He found himself holding a large object.

Not a piece of cita, but a box.

Nick let his breath out slowly. He looked up at the others, who were paying him no attention. Nick inspected the box further.

Once made of wood, the box was eaten away and little more then splinters. Mysterious etchings marked the tarnished brass corners. The lid depicted a decaying bas relief, of some sort of marvelous creature leaping through clouds. It felt peculiar, almost familiar. Nick touched the broken hasp on the box, finding it strangely warm. He undid the hasp and pulled back the lid.

A beautiful bronze key lay on a dusty, decrepit bed of red velvet. The loop was composed of three sickle moon shapes turned in on one another, the points meeting around a perfectly faceted green gem. Lines carved into the shaft of the aberrant object inscribed precise glyphs. The intricate head of the key bared delicate spidery teeth on both sides of the tip, inlaid with curious chips of metal.

Nick stared in amazement for a moment, and then reached to pick it up. A cold shock ran through him. Power thrummed inside his core. A cortex of energy
flowed into him, piercing his brain with tendrils of icy might. Fiery green currents raced around him, shuddering and forcing themselves into a grid that mapped the world in black and emerald. The huge, inexorable face of something darkly ancient turned to look at him. Far away, he heard a snatch of muttered song, a guttural, soulless tongue calling out to him with equal plea and ruthless demand. The bitterness stabbed, bristling his mane and forming his muzzle into an instinctive snarl. The blood roared in his ears, and he felt his mind wrench away from the distant dirge.

“Nick, are you all right?”

He jumped, dropping the key. Baia had a concerned paw on his shoulder. Her expression turned quizzical when she saw the key. “What’s that?”
“I ... I found it,” Nick panted. He picked up the box and showed it to her.

“Hmmm,” Baia said. She shrugged. “It must have been buried here. A long time ago.”

“Yes, two thousand years.”

Baia raised an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

Nick put a paw to his mouth. “I ... I don’t know. It just ... I felt it.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“I ...,” Nick gazed at the key. It lay innocently on the ground, the lights from the tunnel outside winking on its burnished sides. Nick felt a flat evil emanating from the object. “Baia, we can’t let Mucidus find this.”

She looked pensive. “If you hide it, and he finds it, he’ll beat you bad.”

“I know but ... I’ll keep it hidden. Just don’t say anything to him, all right? Or to anybody.”

“All right,” Baia shrugged.

Nick smiled thinly, feeling transparent. He lifted up the box. “Here. Give it to Mucidus. Tell him there wasn’t anything in it.”

“You know he’ll search us even if I do. He’s suspicious.”

“I know. I’ll be careful. And once he finds nothing unusual on any of us he’ll reward you. You know the rules. Anything unusual of value found, the finder gets rewarded.”

“It’s probably just extra flatbread,” Baia grimaced. But then she smiled. “Thanks Nick. Better hide the key. I’ll take it to him in a minute.”

She crawled away. Nick sat staring at the key, afraid to touch it. What would it do if he picked it up again? He dreaded to think. He reluctantly took a deep breath and picked it up. Nothing happened. The key lay in his palm, oddly heavy and perfectly cool. Nick glanced around to make sure no one else had seen him. The rest of the line was involved in arguing over the story. He sighed and tucked it into his tunic. He would transfer it to his sleeve when Mucidus searched him.

The rat was never very thorough in his searches anyway.