“The Emperor’s brother, his guardian, his shugenja, and his betrothed, all lost in the desert far from their home,” Adisabah said, settling into his story. “Adisabah saw them, from the spires of its castle. It saw the ambition, the fear, the devotion, and the hatred painted on their souls and found this to be an interesting display. So Adisabah collected them.”

Katamari looked at the Rakshasa in surprise. “You… collected them?”
“Such was not unusual,” Adisabah replied. “It was a vain and capricious creature in those days, quite accustomed to its own superiority. It knew neither morals nor allegiances nor any limits upon its power. It collected these four souls and placed them in its castle, merely to… look upon them from time to time. Much as you might collect fish in a garden pond.”

“Fish do not practice maho,” Katamari replied.

“Neither did Otomo Jama, really,” Adisabah replied. “Yajinden and Jama both knew much of maho, this is true, but they did not practice it, not yet. The only one of the four who was Tainted then was Suru. Jama was intrigued by the power of maho, but did not wish for it to control him; until he could find a way to control it in turn he learned its ways but never drew upon its power. He forced Suru and others to use such dark arts in his stead, while he and Yajinden remained pure.”

“Then Suru was a fool,” Katamari said.

“It is not so simple as that,” Adisabah said. “These four… they bore bonds between them that it had never seen before, and has never seen since. Suru served Jama with all his heart and soul, accepting the others with equal fervor merely because Jama did. Tsugiko was a rare treasure – she loved Jama truly, shared the devotion Yajinden then still had for the Fortunes, and sympathized with the pain Suru endured in the name of his master. Yajinden worshipped Jama for his keen mind, trusted Suru as a brother, and viewed Tsugiko with a covetous eye that he would never admit to any, not even himself.”

“And Jama?” Katamari asked.

“That is the best part,” Adisabah said. “Jama despised them all, but he needed them all, so they were ever by his side.”
“Even Tsugiko, the one who was so devoted to him?” Katamari asked.

“Oh, Jama loved her,” Adisabah replied. “He also hated her. These things are not mutually exclusive.”

“I do not believe that is possible,” Katamari said firmly.

“That is why you are the Doomseeker, and I am a beast,” Adisabah replied. “At any rate, for these four it crafted a special spell, a prison that entertained Adisabah’s arrogant nature. So long as the four survived, all would remain healthy and strong. If Jama attempted to escape in any way, the spell would take his life but the others would be free. If any of the others escaped, they would be free, but the other three would die. If any one of them attacked one of the others, all four would perish. So bound by chains of their own devotion, Adisabah reasoned that an escape, while not impossible, would at the least be interesting – and remaining entertained is so important when one is immortal.”

“You are insane,” Katamari said.

“It was insane, this is true,” Adisabah replied. “It likes to think it has changed since then, but it is difficult to see one’s soul from inside it.”

“So how did they escape?” Katamari asked. “I assume that they did.”

Adisabah nodded. “Jama left his home, remember, seeking khadi lore. This he found, in my endless libraries. He did not learn enough to know how to remove his heart, but he learned of people and places where he could find the knowledge that he sought, he instantly made his escape.”

“How?” Katamari asked.

“He told Doji Tsugiko to take her own life,” Adisabah said, “and thus she did, and they were free. He never thought of her again, though others did.”

“He commanded his beloved to die?” Katamari asked, shocked.

“This is the jailer, Doomseeker,” Adisabah said. “A man who makes others love him and commands them to die without hesitation or remorse. This is the man you fight.”

Iuchi Katamari did not reply for a long moment. “Go on,” he finally said.

Adisabah smiled. “So Jama continued on his way to that most wonderful and wretched of all cities in this or any world – Medinaat-al-Salaam…”

The Nezumi looked at his reflection in the still water. Liquid black eyes gazed back at him from a sleek, handsome face covered in short tan fur. The fur around his cheeks was braided with beads, shiny bits of metal, and feathers. Well trimmed whiskers hung evenly on either side of his snout. He was every bit the image of a hale, healthy Nezumi – if a bit smaller than most. Even so, as the Nameseeker studied his image, he could not shake the feeling that something was slightly wrong.

“What do you see, Te’tik’kir?” asked a deep voice from deeper in the cave. “You find vision of the future or just stop-stop to admire your pretty fur?”

Te’tik’kir looked over his shoulder quickly, surprised at the sound of the voice. A massive silver Nezumi crouched by a fire at the far end of the cave. He wore tattered, piecemeal samurai armor, spoils collected over a long life in the Shadowlands. A metal tsuba covered one eye, but failed to cover the deep scar that bisected the Nezumi’s face. It took Te’tik’kir a moment to recognize him. This was Mat’tck, chieftain of the Crippled Bone, his greatest ally and perhaps only true friend. The other members of the tribe never truly understood Te’tik’kir, only truly valued him for his magic. Mat’tck was not like the others. He was cunning, brave, not afraid to make sacrifices for the future of the tribe. Of course, even Mat’tck sometimes did not go far enough. He thought to much of Today. Te’tik’kir always thought about Tomorrow. Most Nezumi thought of Tomorrow as death; Te’tik’kir saw greater potential than mere death in the future’s mysteries.

How strange, Te’tik’kir thought, that he should not have recognized his chieftain right away.

“You sick, Te’tik’kir?” Mat’tck asked, looking at his friend with a concerned twitch. “You no look well.”

“Fine, fine,” Te’tik’kir replied, shaking his head to clear his confusing thoughts. “Not enough time to rest. Need to return to dream, commune with Transcendent, find out safest path for tribe.”

“No time to rest-rest,” Mat’tck said. “Scouts say Terrors still follow-follow close behind. Need to keep moving.” The old chieftain sighed. “Need to keep running.”

“We will come back one day,” Te’tik’kir said, an eager light in his eyes. “Elemental Terrors can chase the Crippled Bone from their land, but the One Tribe can take-take it back, spit on Heaven’s Grave, and steal the Shadowlands back from Tomorrow.”

“We talk-talk about this many times, Te’tik’kir,” Mat’tck said, fixing his red eye on the shaman. “Even if all tribes band together, Heaven’s Grave dangerous place. Other tribes… Tattered Ear… Third Whisker… they are not warriors like Crippled Bone. I wonder-wonder if One Tribe is only a dream…”

“Only dream, yes,” Te’tik’kir replied, “but dreams are powerful things. Lesser tribes could be warriors again, like Crippled Bone… all they need is strong leader to unite them.”

“To conquer them you mean,” Mat’tck said.

“If need be, yes,” Te’tik’kir replied. “Loss of a few Nezumi nothing compared to strength of the One Tribe. I see-see it clear, Mat’tck.”

“Do you?” the chieftain asked. “I dream, like you dream, Te’tik’kir. I dream the One Tribe will return. I dream we will tear Fu Leng from Heaven’s Grave and hurl him back into sky where he was born. I dream Shadowlands will grow-grow green and lush and the Nezumi Empire be reborn from dream. But I will not build-build that Empire on the bones of Nezumi. I will let the Terrors kill us all before I raise a spear against my own kind.”

“The One Tribe will never be if we let ourselves die,” Te’tik’kir said bitterly.

“So we will die,” Mat’tck replied, though his voice was firm and strong. “And we die-die without fear, spitting in Tomorrow’s face. Our final battle will shake the heavens. The telling of the tale shall be heard from the Third Whisker Warrens to the Green-Green-White Forests. All shall know the strength of the Crippled Bone, and our Name be remembered forever. The other tribes will whisper our names, and their fear will run away. So will the One Tribe be born.”

Te’tik’kir opened his mouth to reply, but the words would not come. He could not think of a thing to say in reply to such a stirring speech…

“He is a fool,” the Dark Oracle of Earth replied.

“Why would you throw your life away so, Nezumi?” the Dark Oracle of Water finished.

The vision of Mat’tck faded, to be replaced with four oracles, standing in the depths of their volcano. The air was polluted with searing ash and acrid smoke. Bubbling lava scorched the earth in rivulets, emptying into pools of steaming muck. The four figures stood in the heart of the conflagration, unaffected and uncaring of the destruction their presence wrought. Te’tik’kir stood before them, spear held in both hands. Nezumi magic drew upon the power of Name, one’s sense of self as well as one’s ability to fulfill one’s greater purpose. When Te’tik’kir’s path was clear and focused, few other shamans could match his power. Today, in this place, the elements could do him no harm.

“You cannot kill me,” Te’tik’kir said.

“Burn, vermin” the Dark Oracle of Fire said.

Green flames washed over the Nameseeker, but he stood untouched within them.

“How?” the Dark Oracle of Earth asked.

“Your secrets easy to find-find for one who sees the depths of dream and nightmare,” Te’tik’kir replied. “I know your rules. I take no action against you, I pose you no threat. You cannot kill-kill me.”

“Yet,” the Dark Oracle of Air replied.

“Let me speak-speak, you will no wish to harm me,” the Nezumi said.

“Then speak,” the Dark Oracle of Water answered.

“The power of Name magic is strong,” Te’tik’kir said. “Stronger, even, then the elemental magic that binds you. Aid me, and you can be free.”

“How?” the Dark Oracle of Earth asked.

“I will unite the One Tribe, who once ruled all these lands,” Te’tik’kir said. “The humans cannot destroy Heaven’s Grave – they cannot come close without losing their Name to Fu Leng. But Nezumi… Nezumi are too strong for Fu Leng to take our Name away. With the One Tribe, we can destroy the demons. We can fight back the goblins. With the One Tribe, Nezumi can pry Fu Leng from his grave and throw-throw him back into the heavens. You will be free.”

The Dark Oracle of Air frowned. “Interesting. What do you ask of us, Nezumi?”

“Chieftain of Crippled Bone is wise and strong, but afraid to command other tribes as he should,” Te’tik’kir said. “Unleash your demons on Crippled Bone Tribe. Force us to march north, out of Shadowlands. Once we have lost our home, Mat’tck will see the truth. He will conquer the tribes, as is fitting one of his Name. One Tribe shall be reborn.”

“A desperate, but intriguing gambit,” the Dark Oracle of Fire replied.

“Then my time has come to ask one question, as is my right,” the Nezumi said. “Will it work? If we drive the Crippled Bone north, will the One Tribe be reborn? Will I live to see it?”

The Dark Oracle of Earth nodded. “Yes.”

“Then let the bargain be sealed,” Te’tik’kir said, bowing to the Oracles in the manner of a Rokugani.

When Te’tik’kir straightened once more, he stood in the center of a field of corpses. Fallen Nezumi warriors lay strewn in every direction. The shambling forms of horrid beasts, creatures built of solid stone hounded the fleeing survivors. He tried to summon his magic, to call upon a bolt of lightning to slay one of the beasts… the magic could not come. He had failed his people, failed his purpose. His Name was weak. Te’tik’kir felt the strength drain from his small body. He fell to his knees, clutching his spear in his hands. He had been a fool. A stupid, arrogant fool. His tribe had been right to shun him. And Mat’tck…

“Te’tik’kir,” whispered a hoarse voice.

The young shaman looked up hopefully at the sound of his chieftain’s voice. The hope left his eyes just as quickly. Mat’tck lay at the base of a large boulder, a stone shard piercing his body. One arm lay on the earth nearby, torn from its socket. The Terrors of Earth had not been merciful. Te’tik’kir ran to Mat’tck’s side, summoning his magic to numb his chieftain’s pain.

“I am sorry, chieftain,” Te’tik’kir whispered.

Mat’tck frowned. “Te’tik’kir…” the chieftain said, single eye staring desperately at his old friend. “Did we… did we shake the heavens?”

Te’tik’kir bowed his head. A single tear ran down his snout and hung from his whiskers. “Yes, Mat’tck,” he said. “We did.”

Mat’tck sighed and his lips curled in a smile. His tail twitched a final time and his good eye fixed unseeing on the sky. Te’tik’kir buried his face him his paws, overcome with shame and guilt.

“All great leaders make a single mistake,” the Dark Oracle of Earth called out from behind him. “Mat’tck’s mistake was trusting you.”

Te’tik’kir looked up from where he crouched as the Oracle approached, surrounded by her stone demons. She looked down at Te’tik’kir with a mix of pity and disgust.

“I did not want this to happen,” Te’tik’kir said, sobbing.

“Idiot,” the Dark Oracle replied. “You are not the first mortal who believed he could use us against the Ninth Kami. You will not be the last. Your Crippled Bone Tribe will perish before this day has passed, and one more of Fu Leng’s enemies will fade into your Tomorrow.”

“Then kill me,” Te’tik’kir said, defeated.

“I will,” the Dark Oracle replied. “Once you have watched us exterminate your tribe. I promised you would live to see the One Tribe united and you will… one tribe, united in death.” The Dark Oracle of Earth extended one hand toward a fleeing Nezumi.

“Die,” she said, summoning her magic.

Nothing happened.

The Dark Oracle blinked, confused. Her Terrors shifted uneasily. The fleeing warrior looked back in terror, equally confused that he was still alive.

Te’tik’kir rose to his feet and turned to face her, anger blazing in his black eyes. He held his spear out defiantly. An aura of power swirled about him with quiet menace as the shaman drew upon his magic.

“No more Crippled Bone die today,” he snarled, his voice echoing with power. “I will burn a path into Tomorrow and carry you with me, Oracle!”

“Kill him!” the Dark Oracle said, gesturing at the shaman desperately.

Te’tik’kir brought his staff down on the ground with a thunderous crash. The Elemental Terrors screamed in agony as the shaman’s magic tore through their bodies, returning them to the earth that created them. The Dark Oracle remained unscathed, standing amid piles of rubble.

Their magic evenly matched, the Oracle slowly drew the katana from her hip and advanced toward the shaman. She cut the air with a neat slash, cutting his spear in two. Te’tik’kir tossed the broken halves aside before she finished her stroke and leapt upon her, shrieking like an animal.

The Dark Oracle of Earth crumbled in a fury of flashing teeth and savage claws.

Te’tik’kir awakened as he always did, sitting at the crest of a mountain, overlooking the Shadowlands. The world spread out in every direction before him, blasted plains, surging seas, jagged mountains reaching for the sky. He had only really been to this place once in his life, when he was only a pup. Overcome by the teasing and insults of his littermates he had snuck off alone and found himself here. It was here that he had first realized how big the world really was, bigger than the cloistered world of the tribe. Though the landscape was dead and polluted he could see beyond it, see the beautiful world that had existed here before Fu Leng fell from the sky and corrupted all.

He had only been here once, and the memory had remained. He could not truly say for certain where this place even was… such facts mattered little in I-thich, the Realm of Dreams. Here, all his brightest memories were as fresh as the day he found them, as were his deepest failures. The old Nezumi looked down at his paws, now creased with age. His once tan fur was not shot through with white.

“How much longer?” Te’tik’kir whispered to the empty air.

“Silly Nameseeker,” the spirits replied. Te’tik’kir could feel, if not see, their presence. They were the Transcendent, shaman like himself who had become powerful beings of pure dream, guiding and protecting the Nezumi race. “All your life you wished to live, to rule, to be remembered forever. You live twice as long as oldest Nezumi before you. You rule Crippled Bone, mightiest of the tribes. Your Name echoes through myth and legend. Is this not what you wanted?”

“It is not,” Te’tik’kir replied.

“Then you have gained wisdom, Te’tik’kir,” the spirits replied. “The Dark Oracles promised you would live to see the One Tribe, for they foretold the destruction of the Crippled Bone. In the end, your Name was strong enough to alter the fate they foresaw, yet their promise holds you to the mortal realm. Soon, that promise will be fulfilled. You will take your place among us.”

Te’tik’kir looked up, his ancient eyes lighting with a flicker of long-forgotten hope. “The One Tribe?” he asked. “I will live to see it?”

“Awaken, Te’tik’kir,” the spirits replied, and as the dream world faded the old shaman almost felt he sensed a strange sadness in their voices.

The Meeting Place was silent today. The Nezumi warriors who stood guard here were nervous, watchful. Only Te’tik’kir seemed unconcerned, kneeling in meditation by the fire.

“This is foolishness,” Kan’ok’ticheck growled, pacing the earth near the shaman’s meager fire. “We should go from this place. Tsuno march with Dark Lord. They cannot be trusted.”

“Tsuno are not of the Shadowlands,” Te’tik’kir replied, not opening his eyes. “They are older than Heaven’s Grave.”

“What difference does that make?” Kan’ok’ticheck retorted. “Taint is Taint. If you march with Taint, you are enemy of all Nezumi. That is all we need to know.”

“Would you condemn the Stained Paw as well?” Te’tik’kir asked.

“Yes,” Kan’ok’ticheck said fiercely.

Te’tik’kir opened his eyes and looked up sadly at the large white Ratling. “The Stained Paw are not evil, Kan’ok’ticheck.”
“They stand-stand with Dark Lord,” Kan’ok’ticheck said.

“Because their Rememberers die,” Te’tik’kir said. “Because they lose memory of Yesterday they lose hope for today. We should help them.”

“Too late to help them,” Kan’ok’ticheck replied flatly. “Obviously the tribes agree. They make me Chief of Chiefs, ally behind me to wipe out Stained Paw. Even your own tribe, Crippled Bone, say that Stained Paw should die.”

Te’tik’kir scowled and returned his attention to the fire. Kan’ok’ticheck was a brilliant leader and a wise chieftain. Five of the most powerful tribes, Tattered Ear, Third Whisker, Green-Green-White, Chipped Tooth, and even his own Crippled Bone had allied, naming him Chief of Chiefs in this very place. Under other circumstances, the event would have inspired Te’tik’kir, rekindled his hope that the One Tribe might be reborn. This alliance, however, had a single purpose – to destroy the Stained Paw. Te’tik’kir was eventually forced to agree, or risk losing his position in his tribe. It was a decision that did not sit well with the old shaman. He knew better than most how a desperate situation could force one to make foolish decisions. He could not abandon hope that somehow the Stained Paw might yet be saved.

The message from the Tsuno only created even greater controversy. It arrived in dream, appearing simultaneously in the minds of shamans from every clan (save the Green-Green-White, who had no shamans). Such was not unusual for the Tsuno, whose mastery of the dream realm was rivaled only by the Nezumi. The Tsuno claimed that Daigotsu was no more, that a new master, Iuchiban, had seized command of the Shadowlands.

The Tsuno, ever hateful of humans, did not trust this new Dark Lord. Instead, they offered an alliance to the Nezumi. Together, they could gauge this Iuchiban’s strength. Once the new Dark Lord had wiped out the human Empire, Tsuno and Nezumi could stand as one and cast him down as well, retaking Rokugan for their own.

The idea of turning against the humans, disturbingly enough, had not been met with as much resistance as Te’tik’kir had expected. Many Nezumi only expressed regret that their friends in the Crab Clan would suffer, and hoped that some bargain might be made to find a place for them in the new Empire. Most of those who argued against the alliance only did so out of a natural distrust of the Tsuno, rather than any misgivings about destroying the humans.

In the end, it was agreed that only with more information could a decision could be made, and that an opportunity to learn more about the mysterious Tsuno could not be missed. As the strongest of all shamans, Te’tik’kir was the natural choice for a representative. Kan’ok’ticheck demanded to accompany him, as de facto leader of the Nezumi tribes. Te’tik’kir wondered if that was the chief’s true motivation, or he had just come along to make certain Te’tik’kir did not show undue compassion to the former Dark Lord’s allies. It was a shame Kan’ok’ticheck distrusted him so. He was a cunning, resourceful, and charismatic leader, the likes of which the old shaman had not seen since Mat’tck.

Perhaps, Te’tik’kir thought wryly, it was to Kan’ok’ticheck’s credit that he did not trust him.

Te’tik’kir looked up from the fire, his black eyes piercing the darkness. “They are coming,” he said simply. “Be ready.”

The scouts crouching in the shadows looked from the shaman to their chief with doubt in their eyes. Kan’ok’ticheck just scowled and gestured in curt annoyance. The chief might argue with Te’tik’kir in matters of politics, but he was wise enough not to dispute the power of his magic.

The air rippled in the center of the Meeting Place, and the hideous form of a Tsuno wove itself from nothing. It was dressed in overlapping plates of jagged steel armor, leaving only its horned head exposed. Beside it stood a stooped figure in thick robes, face obscured by a wide straw hat. It held a long spear in one hand, similar to the one Te’tik’kir bore.

“I am Sochi,” the Tsuno said in Rokugani, its voice surprisingly calm and clear. “You are the Nameseeker?”

“I am,” Te’tik’kir replied, replying in the human language.

“Where is Tsuno Nintai?” Kan’ok’ticheck demanded suspiciously, speaking to Te’tik’kir in the Nezumi tongue. “The Soultwister arranges this meeting then fails to appear?”

The Tsuno’s red eyes fixed on the chieftain, then returned to Te’tik’kir. “Your servants are ill-trained, shaman,” it said, also speaking in Nezumi.

“Kan’ok’ticheck is not my servant,” Te’tik’kir replied, now speaking in his native tongue. “He is the Chief of Chiefs, leader of five tribes.”

The Tsuno snorted derisively. “Those without magic lead you?” he replied. “You are a race of children.”

Kan’ok’ticheck sneered, but did not rise to the Tsuno’s bait.

“Forgive them, Sochi,” the cloaked figure said. “My people have forgotten a great deal about that which once made us great.” He pulled his straw hat away, revealing a rodentine face with ghost white fur.

“A Nezumi,” Kan’ok’ticheck said. “Stained Paw, no doubt.”

“No, Chief of Chiefs, I am not Stained Paw,” the Nezumi replied. “I am Ikm'atch-tek, of the One Tribe.”

“There is no One Tribe,” Te’tik’kir said.

“There will be,” Ikm’atch-tek replied.

“You have strange name, ‘Tomorrow-Chieftain,’” Kan’ok’ticheck said.

“That I do,” Ikm’atch-tek answered. “By your tradition a shaman rarely leads his tribe, though there are always exceptions,” he nodded toward Te’tik’kir, “and by your tradition Tomorrow is synonymous with death, a word of bad Name. But not all your traditions are mine. Forgive me for contacting you in so peculiar a manner, but since our meeting, the Tsuno have been eager to aid me in any way they could.”

“Who are you?” Te’tik’kir asked.

Ikm’atch-tek smiled faintly. “I am no Rememberer,” he said, “yet this tale is one that is well known to me, and will aid you in accepting who I am. Many ages ago, Five Races crafted this realm from nothing. The civilization these Five Races built crumbled, due to their own short-sightedness, and in time others came to replace them. Among these were the Naga and our own race, the Nezumi.

“In those days we were a rough and primitive creature, no better than animals. The Naga used us as food and as beasts of burden and, in time, forgot about us. We slowly learned from the legacy they left behind and, when the ogres came to dominate, we took our place as their servants. But the ogres underestimated us, and in time we conquered their civilization from within. The Nezumi Empire ruled these lands for centuries, before Fu Leng fell from heaven.”

“We know this already,” Kan’ok’ticheck said.

“Do you?” Ikm’atch-tek asked. “Were you there? I was.”

“Impossible,” Te’tik’kir snapped. “What you say happen forever yesterday ago.”

“Impossible, Te’tik’kir?” Ikm’atch-tek asked. “Is it so difficult to believe that a shaman who has forced his own destiny astray might be forced to live until he has redeemed himself? Is my tale so strange to you?”

“Maybe not so strange,” Te’tik’kir replied, “but if what you say true, where have you been? Why wait to reveal yourself?”

“When Fu Leng fell, I used my magic to save what I could,” Ikm’atch-tek replied. “I moved my home and my tribe to I-thich, but my magic erupted beyond my control, and we were unable to return. There, lost in an eternal realm of nightmares beyond even the reach of the Transcendent, I watched my brethren wither and die from hopelessness, unable to return home again. I was beyond hope myself, when Nintai and his order finally discovered me.”

“The Tsuno,” Kan’ok’ticheck said, eyeing Sochi warily.

Ikm’atch-tek nodded. “Sochi, leave us, my friend,” Ikm’atch-tek said. “Clearly your presence here is only disturbing the skittish.”

The Tsuno nodded, retreating into the shadows.

Ikm’atch-tek waited a long moment before continuing, as if making certain the Tsuno was gone. “Surely you have heard the tales of old Nezumi ruins returning from nothing, appearing spontaneously as if from dream? This is all my doing. I have found other places, like my own home, relics of the old Nezumi civilization. They will be the home of the One Tribe. Once the humans have been exterminated, we can move into their homes and cities as well. The Tsuno are more than eager to aid us in this endeavor; they have much to gain here as well.”

“We will not ally with the Tsuno,” Kan’ok’ticheck said.

Ikm’atch-tek shrugged. “You are irrelevant,” he said. “You are a warrior, a mere servant. It is magic that has forever determined the destiny of our people, thus Te’tik’kir’s opinion is the only one that matters. Will you aid us, Te’tik’kir? Will you see the One Tribe restored?”
“The humans are our allies,” Te’tik’kir replied. “The Tsuno will betray you, as they betrayed their Dark Lord. What you offer comes at too great a cost.”

Ikm’atch-tek frowned. “Pity,” he replied. “You carry a great deal of influence among these barbaric throwbacks. Your Name is powerful. Weighed with mine, we could determine the future of our race. Weighed against me… well, something must be done.”
Te’tik’kir’s hands tightened on his spear. Beside him, Kan’ok’ticheck tensed. “Is this a challenge?” he asked.

“A test,” Ikm’atch-tek replied. “I do not know the extent of your power, Te’tik’kir, and as we know all power comes from Name. So I shall test the strength of yours. As we speak the Stained Paw, armed with weapons from my lost empire and accompanied by Nintai’s Soultwisters, have ambushed your tribe, the Crippled Bone. As we speak, Sochi’s Ravagers have surrounded this place, prepared to murder the Chief of Chiefs and his followers. With your magic you could race to your people, save them from my Stained Paw, or you could save the only Nezumi who can lead the tribes against me.”

“Or I could destroy you,” Te’tik’kir replied. The shaman lifted his spear in the air and a bolt of white lightning erupted from the sky, striking Ikm’atch-tek where he stood.

The Tomorrow Chieftain remained where he was standing, though the smoke and dust roiled through his image. “That was never an option, Te’tik’kir,” he replied. “I was never here. Now make your choice, Nameseeker.”

The Tomorrow Chieftain faded away among the metallic war cries of the advancing Tsuno.

“What will you do, Nameseeker?” Kan’ok’ticheck asked Te’tik’kir grimly.

The shaman did not say a word, but held his spear ready, standing back-to-back with Kan’ok’ticheck as the Tsuno advanced.

Thunder echoed above, and blood rained from the sky.