"So, I'm not quite the 'do-gooder' you thought me to be," concluded Anar.

"Well, if you had written all that out on paper and let me read it, I might have agreed with you," the sianae cocked her head playfully. "But I heard the tone with which you spoke."

"And what tone was that?"

"A drea-ary one," she drawled..

"Everything here is as dreary as can get. Even intrigues."

"Oh? And I thought every day brought fireworks... ending in a fatality."

"Fireworks aren't uncommon, but making them is pretty risky. The reality is much more boring. Firstly, we've got a whole army of bureaucrats calling themselves 'Guardians of the Cat's Essence' who spend their days and nights making sure that citizens' behavior corresponds to their social status. You're constantly being compared against a standard. The brightness of your shirts is scrutinized, and the angle of your bows measured, may the bastards get devoured by a mouse! Then there are the endless reports, on the basis of which a decision is rendered whether or not an individual merits a promotion or a demotion. Or being exiled to some backwater temple – to correct the flaws of their soul."

"And a more deserving candidate then assumes the vacation position."

"Right. Bribery, falsified reports, incrimination, slander – these are far deadlier than any local poisons or spells. Of course, you can also simply 'help' a competitor to fail some task. Again, our ideal subordinate is one who obeys his superior like the other's own tail, knows the Devout Cats Code front to back as it relates to their position. And Alasais forbid you show any initiative! Sometimes I think living in Rual would be easier without thinking at all. Simply memorize the Code and let it guide your behavior in every situation. Stimulus – reaction. Pure reflex. Everybody would be ecstatic with you... And, given time, you could take advantage to get whatever you desire."

"If only there was anything here to desire," Aniallu nodded understandingly.

"Right. The locals might spend years cherishing the hope that they may one day merit handing some priest a sacred rod. Or be afforded the privilege of scratching their ears in the queen's presence. Or become the superior of the brash bastard that stood one foot in front of them during the First Morning Ceremony. And they would stoop to any lows to make it happen. I've always felt kind of deranged around them. And with time, I really did begin losing my mind from sheer boredom.

"By the time Amialis realized that I wasn't going to jockey with Kor for power, I was already set with strong connections of my own, including those in the royal family. For my uncle, having an unambitious dolt like myself as an heir is very advantageous, so he mercifully turned a blind eye to my antics. I could throw a feast with my slaves, sleep through an important ceremony, even try to push through some kind of reform... which would turn out to be totally useless," Anar gave a pained frown. "He set his personal guard to stand watch over me; if Amialis were to try and mess with my memory again, it would inevitably be made public, and she would be ousted from Rual once again. So, her plains were ruined, though she's still within her power to keep me here. We're at a stalemate, a temporary ceasefire. And absolutely hopeless...

"But then, just as I've finally come to terms with my lot, you show up – the same race as us, perhaps even more Alae than we are, yet so utterly unlike us... unlike them. And just as deranged as me. To say that I'm baffled is to say nothing at all. Indeed, if Alasais herself were to come down from heaven, it would shock me less than when you spoke to me like... like an old friend. Listen," he checked himself, a blue blaze in his eyes, "You said that you help those like me to find a new home. Does that mean you're here for me?"

"To be honest, no," Aniallu pressed back her ears guiltily. "I want to clarify an episode from Rual's past that's not connected to you in any way. Or rather, I wanted to," she corrected herself hurriedly. "Now I want to figure out what happened to you. To understand how it could have happened right under our... my nose! And then, of course, to help you return to Briaellar. And make sure Amialis gets what's coming to her."

"If I wake up right now, I will drink a bowl of poison instead of my morning milk," declared Anar with frightening sincerity.

"You won't need to," Aniallu assured him. "There's only one problem: if you suddenly emerge in Briaellar, my presence here will be exposed, and my mission compromised. Of course, all that pales in comparison with all that you've had to endure, but I would really prefer not to let anyone down. Besides, if you're looking to stick it to Amialis, you're never going to get an opportunity quite like this one. All you need to do is help me with my... investigation."

A shadow of doubt crossed Anar's face, but Alu easily guessed his mind's direction.

"It is not my intention to use you, Anar!" she exclaimed. "If you prefer to stay out of this mess with the Curtain, I will still help you get out of here. The portal is behind that column, and we can use it right now. All I ask is that, in honor of our old friendship, you spend the next few weeks as a guest of Patriarch Selorn's, staying out of public eye. That way I won't lose my cover, and besides, some time with Selorn would do you good. He's a brilliant telepath, and if anyone can help you recover you memory, it's him."

"You think?!" Anar spun sharply around to the sianae, as the map covering him rustled resentfully.

"Selorn has done more with less," said the sianae, arching her torso to snatch the far end of the parchment. The map was no cheek, after all – its holes might weren't so easily mended.

"And how much will that cost me?"

"Nothing. Except perhaps the right to be the prosecution's witness at your mother's trial," Aniallu narrowed her eyes slyly.

"Her trial?"

"Uh-huh. He's been itching to make an example of someone. And I can't imagine a better case to express his mordacity!"

"Forgive me for doubting your words. This might seem wild to you, but nobody has ever offered me help without some ulterior motive. And I do mean never. It's just not done here."

"Forget it!" Aniallu dismissed him with the wave of folded map. "You've got nothing to apologize for, least of all to me. You have the full right to hate me for allowing you to rot here for three hundred years. Though I doubt you could hate me more than I already hate myself."

"The other thing that's not done here is admitting your mistakes. Any one of my older relatives would gladly kill me to conceal their blunder."

"Especially a blunder of this magnitude," echoed Alu. "But I'm not your relative, praise Alasais, so I can indulge in public self-criticism to my heart's content."

"You mentioned something about a mess with the Curtain?"

"Agadar Academy, your former institution, hired me to investigate something related to it."

"But why? Why investigate something you already know more about than anybody else?"

"That's the thing – I don't know. I'm not the omniscient Punishing Claw of legend, remember?"

"Why are they interested in the Curtain anyway? To learn how it works? So as to attack Rual?" said Anar, suddenly alerted.

"Of course not. I was hired by totally harmless historians. They've long been tormented by the question of whether the... transformation of the local fauna was an unexpected side effect of the Curtain's magic or part of His Holiness Agir IX's careful plan? Naturally, the descendants of those who had been forced to leave their homes as a result are especially itching to get to the bottom of the matter."

Anar perked up his ears – never had the thought entered his mind that the beasts perpetually multiplying and devouring each other outside the walls of his city had appeared by the grace of the Liberator. But now that it had, it was a curious thought indeed.

"But if Agir really did commit a... crime before the creatures of the neighboring lands, he must have done it with the connivance of Alasais. But if you and your 'harmless historians' make everything public, you will betray the goddess won't escape retribution!" Anar warned Aniallu with a sudden realization.

"You with your retribution! Alasais herself isn't thrilled about what had happened here. She had hoped that the priests' madness wouldn't stoop this far... Now, that doesn't mean that I intend to tell the historians the whole truth. No point poking at an old wound, better to let it heal. Especially since House an Rual – your fellow tribe living in Briaellar – have long since paid restitution to all the victims."

"They care about some non-Alae?" asked Anar in disbelief.

"Yes. Although I think their main prerogative was distancing themselves from their Rual brothers and sisters."

"Nobody likes us!" he clicked his teeth ironically.

"Alas!" tal sianae simply spread her arms in response.

***

Even though, as they were parting, Anar had requested a day to think over her offer, Alu didn't doubt for a second that he would agree to help her. As if a walking hairball of curiosity like him would pass on the opportunity! she chuckled to herself, watching him leave.

Once alone, the first thing Aniallu did was shift into panther form and lick herself clean. Bit by bit, the day's tension was receding. She stretched out on her sleeping bag – black against black. Her smooth hide shone far brighter than even precious l'aerra fur.

"Thank the gods no one has yet thought of making sleeping bags out of Alae. Or coats for ever-frosty elven maidens."

Aniallu turned onto her back and wiggled her paws playfully, as if waving away pestering thoughts of her recent encounter. Better she think of... elven maidens!

"Elven maidens come in two forms," purred the "Punishing Claw" lazily, trying to chase away a vision with ears of gold, so sweet yet so bitter at the same time. "The first kind, dwelling in Elaan and Liddarean, are haughty and refined to the bone, and loyal to Lajnaen to the tips of their ears... Living statues. Cold like toads in twilight. Their beauty is so flawless that... that your brain's convolutions straighten just by looking at them! Oh, and the magic of Light! It imbues them from within and, their faces radiating so brightly it's blinding," (the vision adorned itself with eyes that shimmered with three different colors). Aniallu grumbled, "Bright enough to serve as streelights!" She turned on her side and continued her ethnopsychological musings, "The other kind of elven maidens – the Agshelli kind, first and foremost! – are more like evergreen bouquets, every flower's bell seeping dew in which sunlight and moonlight join, splashing together as one. Some are like an armful of nonchallant yet super-cute field flowers; others are like bundles of white lilies bound with a silky ribbon. Pinch a lock of their hair between your fingertips, and you can almost smell the tart, fresh aroma, like a ground mint leaf or a juniper twig... And here's the odd part: nearly all are immortal, but when you look at them you can't help but remember that flowers are meant to wilt, and leaves to fall. And then a sense of lightness, sadness and serenity washes over you."

The stream of distracting thoughts was drying up. Aniallu turned on the other side and shifted from a magnificent panther back to a bewildered-looking young woman with cat ears. The sense of guilt and dissatisfaction with herself kept her from truly relishing the moment. Even if there were plenty of points that she might use to justify herself.

Still fresh in her memory was that evening three hundred years ago when fate had crossed her path with Anar an Saei. She had derived great pleasure from ousting Amialis from the Academy, the former queen's tail lashing like an enraged snake eager to snap at the hand holding it, and even more from reporting her success to Rector Agadar, and then, of course, to Anar himself. But then... not even a few hours went by before that pleasure was spoiled. As she prepared for sleep, turning over the events of that incredible day, savoring the especially pleasing moments, to her horror Aniallu suddenly realized that everything she'd done for Anar was textbook tal sianae intervention in someone else's fate. She had appeared in his life at precisely the moment when his environment was about to force him to go against his soul's nature – not without Tialianna's help, no doubt!

Shrinking under her blanket, Aniallu froze in anticipation of the euphoria abating, ready to plunge back into the abyss of deep and dragging darkness, where every gasp for breath was a struggle and the heart was always on the brink of tempestuous, maniacal beating, as if from unbearable heat or horror, or something even heavier and more agonizing which made death seem like sweet escape from the pain. The state was a familiar one, always succeeding the sweet altruistic oblivion brought on by her inner serpent awakening; as the delusion wore off and she gradually regained her true self, she felt a crippling sense of helplessness and despair for betraying her inner cat. But there was another fear that trumped even that: to see Anar with new and sober eyes, and to be disappointed with him – to sense in him the alien nature that she so often felt in many of the creatures she'd rescued. At that moment she saw him as the living embodiment of everything she loved and cherished most about the Alae, what she herself aspired to and could never quite achieve, too wearied by her inner struggle. More than anything Aniallu wanted to preserve this intoxicating illusion, for its demise would be just too crushing. That was why, three hundred years ago, she hastened to leave the Academy – for fear of seeing Anar.

She later recalled that wonderful evening in Agadar's office, when, sitting with the professor, the hero of the day and his two best friends, they celebrated their small victory. A serene calm swept over her then. Aniallu inhaled the musky scent of brushwood mixed with the heady aroma of blackberry soup, her bare foot petting absently the cheat-sheet golem, Rascal, dozing by the fireplace. Its paper sides rustles, bristling with hundreds of tubes, ribbons and pleats; its eyes – revealing rows of tiny amber letters when put under a light – twinkled peacefully on the canine snout as it purred answers to the Magical Hygiene midterm. But Alu paid the golem's murmuring no mind, focusing instead on the take of three youths and their first Adventure with a capital A. Dazed from the honor bestowed upon them by the rector, the three friends stumbled over one another in recounting how they had managed to break their favorite teacher out of an Elaan prison.

When Agadar himself, despite his considerable authority and reach, eschewed direct action, this trio decided that they would knock the rescue mission out of the park. Upon sneaking into his personal library, avoiding a whole lot of traps, they stole several books from there – ancient Harnian[1] tomes with sonorous glass pages and letters that resembled tongues of flame. By some miracle the friends were able to translate from the dead Hoa dialect and learn the location of the underground city of Ichtern, which had disappeared back in the War of Fire, ostensibly devoured by the earth. After waiting for a vacation from classes, the trio set out to find the ancient Flame's Eye, a dangerous artifact capable of summoning ar'shant'taash – the most powerful Harnian weapon – from liare knows where. Born of living flame, this sentient creature was so mighty that the Harnianites, who had allowed their madness to spill over into declaring war upon all of Naeria, held out nearly a week in their capital of Hoa against the united siege forces of all the races. It could be controlled only by one with enormous attainment in fire magic, and extraordinary willpower besides.

After the students took possession of the stone, Anar an Saei – a mere fifth year student of the Academy – was able to submit the fireborn beast to his will and bid it to help their teacher. Taash easily crushed the castle that was the hapless wizard's prison to dust, then gathered the captive in and delivered him to the Tanae city of Serpent's Eye safe and sound. Thereafter, submissive to the Flame's Eye, Taash turned up at the Agadar Academy (where Anar and friends had already braved the rector's feigned wrath), promenaded through the courtyard at night, then through the building itself (burning a few rugs and tapestries as it passed), and entered into the bedroom of Amialis' son at the very moment that Anar was trying to tear the Flame's Eye from the floor, as it had suddenly become impossibly heavy. Tash then turned into a trickle of flame and seeped into the stone, which crumbled to ash that very instant.

In handling a creature next to which he was like a candle before a bonfire, Anar had surpassed his teacher's wildest expectations. However, when his mother arrived to take him out of the Academy, without Tash at his side Anar proved unable to best the mighty Amialis on his own.

And that's when I entered the scene, Aniallu thought to herself then bitterly.

Just as today, the moment she had realized that Anar had needed her, the deep-seated fear swept over the sianae like an icy wave. Only this time it had rushed back immediately after. She had seen with full certainty that she hadn't been wrong about Anar, not even in the slightest. She felt terribly ashamed for her doubts, for, having lured none other than his slave here, she never did muster up the courage to question Kad about his master.

Aniallu was itching to correct her mistake and make amends (if amends of this magnitude could even be made). Desperate to lighten the burden upon her heart, she decided to share Anar's story with Selorn that very day – for the patriarch to already start making arrangements for Amialis' son's return to Briaellar, as well as her own exile from that same Briaellar.

But, alas, this time Alu's plans weren't destined to be realized...

***

The moment the sianae stepped on the rug in her bedroom, the portal behind her flared up with a crimson glow, then burst into large sparks that rained down, crackling suspiciously, as the portal's disc collapsed as if made of oil paper. Aniallu sprung back from the hillock of ash and tried opening it again, but failed. The words of the spell echoed and drowned in the dusk-filled silence, as the flame of a match flares and dies when used to light damp tinder. There's your famous dragon durability! Alu muttered to herself perplexedly.

Not a sound was heard in the room, aside from the draft susurrating to a few pungent lime wisps, but the sianae's senses were tingling, distressed, somewhere in the back of her mind. It was a familiar sensation, like stumbling into a trap that informed the owner of your unwanted presence. No sirens were blaring, no guards were stampeding in the hall, but you could still feel with every fiber of your tail that you've been made, and it was time to beat a retreat. As she scanned all the familiar objects, Aniallu just couldn't fathom what had brought about this feeling of unrest.

Glimpsing a movement behind her, Alu spun on her heels and found herself inches away from Matriarch Meori. The Anaeis' face was drawn with vexation and fear. The Supreme Feeler grabbed Aniallu's hand and, ignoring all objections, dragged her down the stairwell and into a closet with a furious, under-the-breath hissing along the lines of, "I knew she wouldn't listen!" Shoving aside a crate of ribbons, the matriarch stopped before a rack with a dozen hanging outfits and began ripping the hangers off, hurling them to the floor. Then, stepping onto the pile of clothes unceremoniously, she kicked at one of the wheels on the rack, which shook and instantly transformed into the frame of an abstract living picture, the space between studding filled with blue-and-orange glow. Meori was about to push Aniallu into the opened portal, but the sianae let out her claws and dug her heels in with all her might.

"At least tell me where that leads to?!"

"Back to Rual. Hurry up and jump in. You must never come back here again, do you hear me?!" the Anaeis hissed angrily.

"Not before you explain – "

"No explanations," Meori shook her head. "Leave the city while you still can, and don't come back. Answer your calling and forget about us. I tell you this as an Anaeis and as a mother whose son has just barely escaped death. Yes, I know who was behind it. No, I'm not going to tell you. If I do, it will only result in many more casualties... All you'll get is this: he wants you to remain in the city, which is why you must not be here. Get out at once!"

With an agile shift of the torso, she gave Aniallu's shoulder a push with a force surprising for her frame, and made no scruples about tripping her up. The sianae dove like a fish into the portal, which closed shut behind her at once.

"Sometimes you can't help but wish you were the Punishing Claw of legend. Some creatures are just begging for proper punishing!" Alasais' Shadow exclaimed heatedly, nursing her bruised body and ego as she rose off the floor.

____________________

[1] Harnianites – "Children of Fire," one of Enhiarg's races. Judging by the Harnianites' affinity for the element, their secret creator must have been some kind of Nae of Fire – "secret" because no one had ever heard of such a creature. Before the War of Fire, Harnianites used to live throughout Enhiarg, though their capital city was still deemed to be Hoa, erected in the Fiery Desert. The Harnianites suffered near universal extermination in the war.