Dividing the Darkside

The Hills of Nova Scotia

by: Lady Bast

Author's Note: Although not precisely true as such, this story is based on the many legends of lost gold associated with the Nova Scotian coastline. Although sources vary as to the reason the gold was scattered along the coast (by far the most popular myth involves pirate ships, particularly that of the notorious Captain Kidd, but the Mayans have a pretty good running as well), there is definitely a firm belief in lost treasure and a particular protocol which must be followed to retrieve it. Your average treasure hunt demands silence, a sacrifice, and the defeat of the guardian, the two former often accomplishing the latter.

The White Lady is only one of many forms of guardians and her manifestation, as well as her demands, vary. Though no one legend follows the events described below, all aspects of the White Lady's manifestation as well as her demands are well and truly part of the many legends of Nova Scotia.

"Wrawk, Slythe! The winds are too much even for the reinforced hull! We'll never make it back to Castle Plun-darr!"

"Then take her down, Vultureman, yes-s-s?" hissed the Reptilian commander. "We s-s-spotted land not far to the North. That should be sufficient until the s-s-storm blows-s over..."

The Avian Mutant wrestled with the controls as he managed to steer his newest invention toward the patch of green he had seen on the horizon. Indeed, the storm had been sudden and it worried him. Though the exploratory ship had been designed to withstand a wide variety of weather conditions, this particular squall was worse than anything he had imagined. "Caw! How are Monkian and Jackalman?" he said, more to break the tension than out of any real interest.

"Hoo hoo...just fine, Vultureman, but hurry up and land this thing! I think I heard some rivets starting to pop!"

"Wha...what?" yelped Jackalman in alarm. The brown-furred Mutant seemed to have a distinct fear of anything that was not his own warm den in Plun-darr.

"Hoo, I'm telling you, Jackalman...just listen!"

Vultureman didn't know if Monkian was serious or merely trying to get the jackal's goat. In truth, he didn't care. All he wanted was the land his creation in one piece and wait out the storm.

Spotting the steep cliffs which had originally caught his eye, Vultureman angled the ship downward, dipping below the jutting rock face. In the lee of the stone, the winds were less fierce and the Mutant was better able to control his flight though he was perilously close to the churning waters of the ocean.

Finally swooping back up above the ridge, Vultureman set the ship down near a grouping of stones. They did not offer much protection, but it was the best that they could hope for. Though the cliffs soared, their tops were bare of all but green grass.

"You could have at least found us s-some shelter, yes-s-s?" snarled Slythe as the ship was rocked slightly by the wind.

"Look around us, Slythe!" cawed the vulture. "There's nothing! The best we can do is sit it out. At least we'll have new territory to explore. Isn't that what you wanted?"

"I s-suppose," muttered Slythe. "It s-s-seems that your machine is a success-s."

"And there's room in the storage bays for samples and useful resources," said the vulture proudly.

"Nyahaha...maybe we'll find treasure!" exclaimed Jackalman.

"Rawk, don't be stupid!" scoffed Vultureman. "Although any new discoveries we make that can be used against the Thundercats will be a treasure."

"Huh, just ignore him and listen to the wind, Jackalman," snorted Monkian. "It sounds like singing."

Vultureman wanted to turn and tell the simian not to be a fool, but instead he paused to listen himself. The wind did indeed seem to be singing in the lost and sorrowful voice of a young woman.

With nothing else to do, Vultureman sat back and closed his eyes, listening to the sad song of the wind high on the northern cliffs.

"Wake up, Bird-brain, I'm not paying you to s-s-sleep!"

"You're not paying me at all, Slythe," grumbled Vultureman, careful to keep his commentary under his breath.

Monkian and Jackalman were already investigating their landing site, the empty, open landscape filling them with the sort of nameless dread always associated with the unknown. From the cliff's edge they could see for miles and miles out over the ocean, placid beneath a cool blue sky. The jagged coast fell away on either side of them while the view from behind consisted of green grass and rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Of civilization their was no sign save, in the distance, a discoloured band of paler green winding its way through the field...an ancient roadway all by reclaimed by nature. Eventually the alien chemicals would be cleansed by the soil and then even this tantalizing hint of past cultures would be gone.

"This is s-s-some place you found for us, yes-s-s?" snorted Slythe. "It's as empty as Monkian's head! There aren't even primitives that we might be able to use as s-s-slaves!"

"Cawark? You can always get back in the Explorer and head further inland," insisted Vultureman. "I'm not the one who asked for the storm..."

Slythe had to concede that this was true. "Everyone back into the ship! We'll go a little further then head back to Cas-stle Plun-darr for refuelling... Jackalman! Stop sniffing your ass and get over here!"

"I was sniffing the air," sulked the jackal. "I couldn't find her scent."

"Hoo hoo...who's scent," asked Monkian surprised. "I don't see anyone!"

"That woman over there!" insisted Jackalman, gesturing toward the next land masse to jut forward from the coast. "At least...I think it's a woman. She's upwind, but she has no scent."

Pointed in the right direction, the other Mutants confirmed the jackal's find. The figure was indistinct, but moved like a female. "Hoo...I wonder where she came from," mused Monkian.

"I don't know," whined Jackalman. "I looked away for just a moment and then there she was!"

"It sounds like she's singing," cawed Vultureman. Indeed, her sorrowful voice rose on the wind, carrying with it disjointed bars of music.

"It hurts my ears!" complained the jackal.

"Enough chatter!" ordered Slythe in disgust. "We're going to inves-stigate. No...not in the Explorer!" he barked as the other Mutants turned to the ship. "We wouldn't want to spook a potential s-s-servant! We'll walk. Now get your lazy carcas-s-ses moving!"

The Mutants crouched below the final rise, gathering their courage. Their journey had taken them down a slope, putting the mysterious woman out of sight though her song still guided them. When it had stopped, they'd feared she'd vanished. But no, looking over the rise, Monkian confirmed that she was still there, pacing continually, defining a small but perfect square though the ground showed no evidence of her having passed there. At Slythe's command that it was time to act, the Mutants scrambled over the rise and confronted the mysterious woman.

Stepping forward and raising his axe, Slythe said, "Who are you and why are you here? Explain yours-self, yes-s-s?"

The woman turned toward him, black hair whipped into a frenzy by the wind. Her eyes were so dark that the iris and the pupil were as one. She was pale...so pale that it was nearly impossible to tell where her flesh ended and her flowing white dress began. She did not look at Slythe with fear; she did not look at him at all! Rather, she seemed to look through him to something in the distance and - seeing or not seeing this thing - she opened her pale pink mouth and sang:

Gold there lies beneath my feet,
The gold of plundered sea,
So harken to the words soft sung
Of the wailing Pirate Queen.

'The thieves will come from overseas,'
My husband has decreed.
'Not a word to speak 'til job is done
And satisfied their greed.

The blood of twins their hands must spill
And feed the rolling green.
And you will walk and wail for them
My faithless Pirate Queen.'

And so, I beg, please take the gold
And set my spirit free
From the hills of Nova Scotia
Where my husband murdered me.

Her song ended, the white-clad woman cried out mournfully and vanished right before their very eyes.

Jackalman yipped and leapt back, hunkering down as though he might succeed in sinking safely into the ground. "That was a gh-ghost!" he announced unnecessarily.

Though his reaction was less violent than the jackal's, it still took Slythe several moments to respond. "A ghos-s-st, yes-s-s," he hissed under his breath before venturing bravely forward to examine the spot which the woman had defined with her pacing. "A ghost who promises-s-s treasure! You might have been on to something, Jackalman..."

"Don't be stupid, Slythe," cawed Vultureman impatiently. "Even if she was a ghost, why would there be a treasure?"

"And why not?" the Reptilian demanded. "We don't have enough fuel to go much farther inland and I'm not going back to Plun-darr empty handed!"

"I thought ghosts were supposed to guard treasure, not give it away, hoo hoo HOO!" said Monkian almost reluctantly.

"Well this-s-s one's different," said Slythe unperturbed, moving away from the visitation site. As he did so, the woman reappeared, formed by a swirl of wind, and repeated her empty-eyed performance.

"Don't jus-st s-s-stand there!" ordered Slythe when she had vanished once again. "Find s-something to help us-s dig!"

After several hours had passed, the digging - most of which had been done by Monkian - still failed to reveal any signs of gold or other treasure despite the fact that Slythe had ordered the pit extended beyond the square described by the ghostly woman's pacing.

As for the apparition herself, she had repeated her appearance numerous times, following the same path - be it around, through, or over the heads of the Mutants - walking on ground or on air, but never faltering in step, ceasing her mournful song, or failing to send Jackalman quivering into the furthest corner of the hole.

"Hoo hoo...maybe someone found the treasure already," said Monkian glumly, resting against his shovel. He was tired and wanted to go home.

"Rawk! Maybe there is no treasure!" countered Vultureman in annoyance. He had already been exasperated with the others and the physical labour had done nothing to improve his mood.

"May-maybe we have to follow the song's instructions," said Jackalman nervously. The most superstitious among them, he was loathe to offer any suggestion that would keep them there even a moment longer, but the thought of treasure appealed to him too deeply for him to remain unheard.

"You might not be a complete idiot after all, Jackalman," Slythe "praised" him. "Now which one of you remembers what that woman was harping about?"

As if on cue, the ghost in white appeared, looked out to sea, and began her pacing. The Mutants waited and watched in a sort of horrified fascination as she described her square and began to sing:

Gold there lies beneath my feet,
The gold of plundered sea,
So harken to the words soft sung
Of the wailing Pirate Queen.

When she had gone, Slythe began to muse out loud. "Overseas-s, yes-s-s? Well we came over water to get here."

"Hoo...by the looks of things just about the only way to get here is over water," grumbled Monkian.

"'Not a word to s-s-speak 'til job is done,'" repeated Slythe, ignoring the simian's remark. "Think you boobs can pos-s-sibly keep your traps shut once we des-cide to look for treasure?"

"We've already dug the place up, Slythe, what good will keeping quiet do now?" scoffed Vultureman.

"Remind me to tie your beak shut," snorted the reptile. "That's what the third instruction will take care of."

"Blood of twins," squeaked Jackalman, trying to deny the implication. "But how are we...where will we?"

"Where do you think?" grinned the Reptilian.

"That's what I was afraid of," sighed Jackalman in resignation.

"Slythe," snapped Vultureman, "we have no proof that there even is a treasure. It's not worth fighting the Thundercats for...especially since most of our resources went into the Explorer."

"Look, Bird-brain, if I've learned anything dealing with Mumm-ra, it's-s that magic needs precis-s-se elements," hissed Slythe, grabbing Vultureman by the neck. "We tried it the easy way and found nothing. Besides, if we're fas-st enough, we can catch those little Thunderbrats-s-s unawares, cart them over here, and s-slit their throats-s before the others even know their precious-s kittens are gone. If we leave the bodies here, the Thundercats-s will never even know what happened to them."

Leaving no room for argument, Slythe ordered the Mutants back into the Explorer. In no time the silver ship had slowly risen off the rise and chosen a course for Castle Plun-darr. Plans would have to be made.

Below them, the mysterious woman in white continued her endless pacing, ghostly hair whipped by a memory of wind.

"Do you think if we follow those bees we'll find their hive?" mused Wilykit, stretched out in a deep patch of clover. The cool leaves were bliss after playing in the hot sun. "I like clover honey and we haven't had any in a long time!"

"Maybe, but I wouldn't touch it," announced Wilykat, slowly dissecting a clover flower. "I don't like getting stung. You can eat them, you know."

"Bees?" Wilykit wrinkled her nose.

"Um...those too. But I meant these," her brother explained, holding up his flower. "You could eat clover if you had to. Or wanted to. I think. Clover and...uh...dandelions."

"Are you sure," asked Wilykit sceptically.

"Yeah. The Unicorn Keepers even make wine out of them. Dandelions, I mean."

The female twin remained unconvinced. Wilykat was a veritable library of facts...not all of them accurate or even true. He retained an awesome amount of information, but seemed unable...or perhaps unwilling...to winnow the good from the bad. "Who'd want to eat dandelions," she scoffed, "or even clovers?"

"You would if you had to," sulked Wilykat.

"Well eat one then, if you're so smart!"

Unable to stand his sister's taunting, the male twin popped a clover flower into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully.

"How's it taste?" prompted Wilykit watching him with intense curiosity.

Wilykat swallowed. "Um...flowery," he replied sheepishly. "I can't think of any other description. Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I'm waiting to see if you're gonna die," Wilykit told him matter-of-factly.

"I'm not going to die!"

"You sure?"

"Yes!"

"Too bad," said Wilykit in an off-hand fashion, her humour as barbed as ever.

"Clovers aren't poisonous," her brother insisted, but quietly, as though she was not the one who needed convincing. He flopped down on his back beside his sister who lay stretched out on her belly, head pillowed on her arms. Bored with tormenting her brother, she closed her eyes and simply enjoyed the heat of the sun and the sweet smell of the clover.

A little too sweet perhaps. The scent suddenly became so cloying that she was forced to sit up. Even that didn't help as the heady odour made her eyes water before dissipating as quickly as it had come though her chest burned with its memory. Wilykat sat up and sneezed. The heavy scent had bothered him as well.

"I didn't think clovers could smell so strong," said Wilykit, wrinkling her nose.

"Me neither," her brother agreed. "Y'know...I'm not feeling so good..."

"See? You shouldn't've eaten that clover." Wilykit was feeling a little odd herself, but was loathe to admit it.

"S'not that...more...dizzy..." mumbled Wilykat, rubbing at his left eye. He slumped over with a soft moan.

"Kat?" whimpered Wilykit sleepily. Her vision blurred as she turned toward her brother, her head as heavy as a lead weight. In a moment she too was unconscious in the field of green clover.

"Nice job, Vultureman...one of your formulas-s actually worked," Slythe praised the Avian reluctantly.

"It won't keep them out for long," cawed the vulture.

"Monkian, Jackalman, tie them up and put them in the Explorer, yes-s-s?" ordered the Reptilian. "On s-second thought, gag them too. I'm not sure if the rule of s-s-silence applies to victims as well as treasure hunters, but why take chans-ces? Besides, this -sway we won't have to lis-sten to their yowling."

Working quickly and with the twins' own lariats, the two Mutants bound the children hand and foot - wrists tied off behind their backs - and jammed scraps of cloth into their mouths, securing them with longer strips of linen. Then the kittens were unceremoniously dumped into the Explorer's storage compartment.

"Hoo...all done, Slythe," said Monkian nervously. "Now can we hurry and get this done? I have a bad feeling about this..."

"Nyahaha...and the less time I have to stay near that ghost the better," whined Jackalman.

"Alright, you cowards...no more talking, yes-s-s? Once we are prepared, the treasure hunt is-s-s officially on and not one makes a s-sound," declared Slythe. "Even if this does-sn't work, at the very least we'll be rid of thes-se two Thunderbrats-s-s. Now put your gags on!"

Mindful of the risk of accidental speech, the Mutants had decided to take precautions. Jackalman and Vultureman shut their muzzle and beak respectively using strips of soft linen tied securely around them. Monkian and Slythe submitted to more conventional gags, stuffing their mouths with dampened cloth and securing it in place.

Silence established, the treasure hunt had officially begun. The Mutants climbed into the Explorer and flew off toward those distant cliffs and their ghostly guardian.

"Snarf snarf...has anyone seen Wilykit and Wilykat," asked Snarf worriedly as he entered the control room. "It's getting late and they promised to be home before dark."

"I doubt that their interpretation of 'dark' is the same as yours," said Panthro good-naturedly as the viewscreen displayed a deep blue, but certainly not dark, sky. "Don't worry so much...the twins will be fine. They have their communicators and the Mutants have been quiet lately."

"Mrrr...that's why I'm worried!" protested Snarf. "We're due!"

"If it will make you feel any better, Snarf," said Lion-o from one of the smaller terminals, "I can try to spot them with the Sword of Omens."

"Would you, Lion-o?" said the Snarf, eyes lighting up. "I just want to know that they're safe!"

Lion-o smiled indulgently and lifted his weapon. "Sword of Omens," he intoned, "give me Sight Beyond Sight! Show me Wilykit and Wilykat..."

Snarf waited anxiously as Lion-o peered through the psychic vehicle that was the Eye of Thundera. He knew he was being silly...the twins had always pushed the boundaries of their curfew...but he couldn't help worrying about them.

And this is why his heart dropped like a stone when Lion-o paled beneath his tawny fur. "WHERE!" the young lord cried in desperation. "TELL ME WHERE!" But the Eye must have gone dark for he lowered the sword and looked bewildered.

"What's wrong, Lion-o?" said Snarf in a small voice.

"The Mutants..." whispered Lion-o dumbfounded. "The Mutants have them...but not at Castle Plun-darr..."

"WHAT?!?" roared Panthro.

"They're in a flying machine...the Sword can't tell me where they're heading," explained the lion. "We've got to get them back, Panthro! Is there any way to track them?"

"If it's a new machine, I don't know where to start," replied Panthro, sobering. "I suppose I could try a sector sweep to see if I can pick anything up. Did the sword give you any landmarks?"

Lion-o shrugged helplessly. "Water," he said. "Lots of water."

Panthro swore. "Seventy percent of this blasted planet must be water!"

"Maybe Cheetara can sense them," offered Snarf.

"It might be our only choice," agreed Lion-o reluctantly. "Panthro, start the sweep...I'll talk to Cheetara."

"Water..." Cheetara moaned softly, stretched out on a small cot. "There is water everywhere." The cheetah's body convulsed under the strain of receiving and sorting through so many images.

Tell me something I don't know, thought Lion-o viciously, but he said nothing. Cheetara could not control the flood of information which assaulted her senses every time she opened her mind to them.

"Water," croaked the cheetah again, "and an island. Once part of the land, it stands alone now. The cliffs...ahhh..."

Cheetara's back arched so sharply that Lion-o suddenly feared for her.

"The cliffs are jagged rocks and green...and green..." cried Cheetara feverishly. Tygra, who had been silently monitoring her vital signs, stood, alarmed as her pulse raced. "The green...white in the North Wind...and the island!...the new/old island...in the North...in the hills of the North where gold...the gold..the hills!" screamed Cheetara, thrashing violently. And suddenly she broke into disjointed song:

'The blood of twins their hands must spill
And feed the rolling green
And you will walk and wait for them
My faithless Pirate Queen.'

And so, I beg, please take the gold
And set my spirit free
From the hills of Nova Scotia
Where my husband murdered me.

"The kittens!" the cheetah wailed, snapping out of her trance and grabbing the front of Lion-o's uniform. "They're going to kill the kittens!"

And then, exhausted from her efforts, she collapsed into the arms of her lord.

The Explorer sped over the waves, making good time. The Mutants could see the crust of land floating on the water. it was still some distance away, but they caught each others' eyes and mimed their congratulations. They had nearly reached their goal and there was no sign of pursuit from the Thundercats.

Clouds gathered on the horizon...it was going to be a rainy night.

"I wish Cheetara had not insisted on coming along," Lion-o confided to Panthro quietly from his place in the front seat of the Feliner. In the back, Cheetara sat in a semi-doze, monitored and comforted by Tygra.

"She's as worried as the rest of us, Lion-o," said Panthro gruffly. "Any sign of that ship, Snarf?"

Seated at Cheetara's usual workstation, the furry animal made a noise of discontent. "Nothing, Panthro," he said mournfully, "but I think I'm picking up land masses to the northwest. If you want to fly over them, you'll have to adjust your course six...no, nine degrees."

Panthro complied ad the Feliner swept over the miles and miles of water toward the accumulating storm clouds. On the horizon, they could just barely make out a ridge of greyish green which could have been an island coast.

"Why can't we find them?" murmured Lion-o. "If that's our destination, why can't we pick up the Mutants' ship? Could it have some kind of cloaking device?"

"Maybe, but I doubt it," shrugged Panthro. The nonchalant gesture belied his tension and set jaw. "We're scanning for flying machines..."

"So?"

"So they could have already landed," said the panther bleakly.

The Feliner flew on.

Wilykit and Wilykat awoke to cold, inky darkness, their arms and legs immobile, mouths dry and sour tasting from the gags. Though they had lain side by side, the rough journey had separated them , the compartment just large enough to leave a hand's breadth between their bodies. Thinking herself alone, Wilykit managed a thin, frightened whine.

It was answered by her brother's muffled sound of surprise. She could not scent him in this place of oil, fuel, and dampness, but she knew by his voice that he was close. There was a scuffling sound and then he was beside her, sighing in relief as she faintly mewled and tried to rest her head on his shoulder. It was an awkward position, but it brought her comfort. Wilykat must have felt the same for he lays his own head against hers.

There was no speaking, no words of solace, between them yet Wilykit understood by her twin's squirming that he was trying to loose his hands. Encouraged by this unexpected display of determination, Wilykit too fought against her bindings. With all their flexibility, what were a couple of knots to them? All they needed was time.

It was then that the Explorer began its descent.

Their bonds had barely loosened when the compartment opened and Slythe, gagged as securely as either twin, peered down at them. With violent hand gestures, he made his intentions clear: the kittens were to be removed and brought...somewhere.

Well they would not go without a fight!

Wilykat was the first to be dragged from the storage bay. Pressed against his sister, he effectively blocked her from their reach. As soon as he was clear of the compartment and unlikely to harm his twin, Wilykat squirmed and thrashed, making himself so difficult to carry that he was quickly dropped to the ground, the impact stunning him momentarily.

Monkian wasted no time in catching hold of the boy while he was still, watching Slythe and Jackalman as they hauled Wilykit out of the compartment. She too squirmed and kicked out with both legs, going so far so the head butt Jackalman in the lower jaw, stunning herself even as she sent him reeling, a pitiful whine escaping from his gagged muzzle.

By now, Wilykat was starting to struggle again. Monkian would have gladly cuffed him, but the kitten was slung over his shoulder, head against his back. Vultureman had used the last of his knockout gas just to capture them and Slythe would not let anyone knock the little wretches out physically in case one of them should be accidentally killed. Slythe didn't really think it would matter if the twins died of blood loss or if the blood came from a corpse with a broken neck, but why take chances? In any event, none of these precautions were helping anyone now. Fed up with the boy's squirming, Monkian dropped him on the ground and motioned that they should free the kitten's legs.

Let the little bastards walk to their doom.

Slythe gave a nod and the kittens' legs were cut loose. Nevertheless, they refused to cooperate, sitting or going limp when the Mutants made any attempt to get them to move or even stand. For a moment the Mutants were at a loss...without their voices to threaten, they could not make the kittens walk.

Then Vultureman found a long, thin stick.

Poking Wilykat in the back to get his attention, the vulture waited until the boy's red-amber eyes were on him before drawing the switch back and slapping it across the shoulders of the unsuspecting Wilykit.

The girl made a high-pitched sound like a muffled squeal and cringed away from Vultureman. The assault had not broken the skin and had not had enough impact to damage her, but certainly a red welt was forming beneath her fur. Wilykat's eyes were wide with horror and the Avian took this opportunity to point out the pit to him before bringing the switch down across Wilykit's back once more, catching both her arms as well. Wilykit tried to swallow her whine - the attack was not so unexpected this time - but it filtered through her gag as Vultureman brought the thin branch down across her legs.

Wilykat stumbled to his feet. The message was clear: for every step he did not take, his sister would be whipped.

But this took care of only one child. Unable to find a similar stick, Jackalman opted for a shorter, blunter piece of wood. He gave Wilykit a little kick and when she looked up at him, her eyes full of hate and fear, he pointed to the pit and then to her brother. Then he stepped up behind the boy and struck him sharply on the shoulder.

The blow would not have broken bone, but it was strong enough to make Wilykat stumble. The area would surely bruise. What's more, Vultureman deemed his misstep a delay and whipped Wilykit again.

Unable to stand seeing her brother punished despite his obedience, Wilykit managed to get to her feet and, resigned to the fact that the pit was her eventual destination, walked quietly and without protest toward the gaping hole.

The clouds opened up and there came a gentle rain.

It was raining harder now. The white woman walked her set pattern, step by step by step, sometimes chanting sometimes not. The Mutants stopped a respectful distance away from the ghost. The twins stared at the image with terrible fascination, their eyes widening with fright when they realized their intended fate. Each tried to console his or her own self with thoughts of rescue, but - no fools they - they also continued to work at their bonds, disguising their squirms as childish discomfort.

Finally, Slythe seemed to tire of delays. He glanced at the twins and made his choice on a moment. Handing his axe to Jackalman, he drew his dagger and grabbed Wilykit by the arm. She tried to resist him, but the reptile was strong and he hauled her to the edge of the pit where he forced her to her knees.

Panicked, Wilykit couldn't help her attempt to scream in the hopes that someone...anyone...would interpret her weak little meeps as a cry for help. Angered by the noise which might possibly jeopardize his mission, Slythe slashed the girl's cheek just above the gag. Wilykit squawked once and fell into silence as the brought red line bloomed across her face, the force of the attack spraying droplets of blood through the image of the walking lady and into the pit where they mingled with the rain and mud.

That is where the rest of me will go, thought Wilykit incoherently before Slythe bent her forward over the hole and, grabbing a fistful of hair, yanked her head back to slit her throat.

But that vicious cut was never made. Instead she heard the muffled grunts of surprise and alarm from the Mutants behind her and felt a terrible wrenching as Slythe stumbled forward and into the pit, pulling out a hank of her hair as he did so. Hunched over her knees as she was, her centre of gravity was low and she did not overbalance and topple into the hole but looked up instead to see what was happening.

Slythe wrestled in the pit with a frantic, mud-caked creature recognizable as her brother only by the snatched of bright stripes which occasionally flashed through his coating of mud. Wilykit surmised that he must have freed his hands and - taking advantage of that moment when the other Mutants, thinking him secure, watched Slythe with rapt attention - bolted from his captors, tackling the Reptilian before the wretched Mutant could harm his sister further.

Wilykat's size and strength were a disadvantage, true, but his sheer momentum had obviously made up for those particular shortcomings. Even now he fought Slythe, not with strength, but with cunning. Catching the Mutant in holds that were encumbering but difficult to break loose from. Slythe grunted what might have been Plundarian curses and tried to grab the young Thundercat who clung like a burr, sharp nails trying desperately to find a weak spot in the scaly hide of his opponent.

But he could not last.

Wilykit managed to stumble to her feet and scurry out of reach just as Monkian and Vultureman came to their sense and lunged for her, but she had little time to ponder the matter. She used the few moments it took for the Mutants to reorient themselves to work at the bonds at her wrists, then she was running again. The ground was slick from the rain, but Wilykit took some consolation in the fact that it could not be helping the Mutants much either and she was far nimbler than they, hands tied or not. Still, it took several more narrow evasions before she could slip her hands free of the cords which bound them. And as she did so, she heard the familiar purr of the Feliner's engines over the howl of the winds.

Knowing that they would never hear not see her, Wilykit snatched at her belt, managing to grab three pellets and throw them in the approaching ship's general direction. Flash. Flash. Flash. She hoped that the signal would be enough.

But her action had cost her precious moments. Before she could even think of hiding or attempting to remove her gag, Wilykit was snatched right up off the ground by Monkian. Oh, she fought as before, but exhausted now and trembling from the cold rain, Wilykit was no match for the Simian who hauled her to the mouth of the pit and threw her to the ground, stunning her. Then he yanked her violently up into a position better suited for sacrifice while Vultureman cast about for Slythe's discarded dagger. it was certain that the Mutants had heard the Thundercats approaching as well and were not wasting any time. In fact, it seemed that the Feliner was closer now and Vultureman's search grew frantic. The delay allowed Wilykit the time to take in her surroundings.

It was then that she saw Jackalman and realized why he hadn't pursued her.

Slythe's strength and weight had finally been put to some use and he pinned the struggling Wilykat down in the mud. Just above them, Jackalman stood, axe raised, waiting for a clear shot. Wilykit saw her brother pause for breath, saw Slythe pull back slightly, saw the blade come down...

Her wail was thin and muffled by her gag, but its cadence matched the spray of blood as it spattered against the walls of the pit, running in rivulets to the bottom even as the Feliner could be heard descending...descending. Vultureman raised Slythe's dagger triumphantly, but Wilykit no longer cared. She had lost all of her strength to fight.

Yet fate had other plans for her and Vultureman's advance was halted by a faint gleam as lightning lit the sky. Ingots and doubloons seemed to rise from the pit as the rain swept away the mud that surrounded them. Slythe looked at the still body beneath him and back up at the female kitten in confusion, but he was not one to question his good fortune.

After all, the Thundercats were coming.

He motioned to the other Mutants who scrambled down the sides of the hole to snatch up as much of the treasure as they could carry. They would never be able to grab it all...the entire floor of the pit gleamed with gold and the Feliner was landing, but they would take all they could hold which, considering the strength of Monkian and Slythe, was a fair haul nonetheless. So absorbed were they in their task that they took no notice of the White Lady who stood on the air above them, arms thrown wide, chanting:

"The blood is spilled, the gold is yours,
My spirit can fly free
From the hills of Nova Scotia
Where my husband murdered me!"

Wilykit, stunned by the spectacle, touched her wounded cheek as she heard the Feliner settle a little ways behind her and watched the Mutants scramble out of the pit, laden with treasure, and bolt for their ship. Slythe may not have understood, but she did. Spilled...not killed, she thought dully, Spilled...not killed.

Not killed.

Sensed returning to her, she tore at her gag until it came away in her hands. "WILYKAT!" she shrieked, stumbling down the side of the pit even as the Thundercats leapt to the rain-slick grass behind her...even as the Mutant Explorer was lifting off...even as the last of the treasure was sinking back into the mud, unclaimed...perhaps frightened by the sound of her voice.

"Whu...Wilykat," sobbed Wilykit, collapsing beside her motionless twin. Too bad, her memory taunted her, that's just too bad...

The mud was soft...the axe hadn't cut cleanly. Wilykat's head lay at an impossible angle and Wilykit couldn't help straightening it as though flesh would knit to flesh, vessels to vessels, and when he sill did not move, a piercing wail escaped her, fading into great sobs as she bent over the body of her brother, face buried in her hands. This was how the Thundercats found her, kneeling in the blood and muck as a fortune in gold sank away beneath her.

The Mutants made it back to Castle Plun-darr in one piece despite the raging storm. The treasure that they had managed to rescue was not as grand as they would have liked, but it was more than some of them had ever expected and did not disappear once their gags were removed and they felt free to speak again.

In addition, the Thundercats did not seem interested in retaliation. Indeed, as time went on, Slythe grew thankful that they had not been forced to slay the second child for her mourning prevented the blood feud which would surely have ensued if both twins had been killed. As it stood, the Thunderians seemed less vigilant than they had been. Perhaps the one death had dispirited them...

Whatever the reason, Slythe was not one to question his good fortune.

The White Lady vanished shortly after her final song and was never seen nor heard from again. The remaining treasure has yet to be found though sailors and explorers both agree that some nights a white figure can be seen pacing a particular bluff. Most would say that it is a wild-eyed child so caked with mud and grime that its sex is undetermined and though the figure is silenced with a gag of rough linen, once can hear, if one listens carefully, a harsh and whispered song:

Lying far beneath my feet,
The shining pirate gold;
A fortune in fine trinkets
For which my life was sold.

Come along from overseas.
Speak no words or sighs.
Bring a Mutant, cut its throat,
And take its thankless eyes.

Plant them here beneath my feet,
Beside the raging sea,
For I would have them look upon
The fate they've left for me.

The gold you see will be your own.
Come, set my spirit free
From the hills of Nova Scotia
Where the Mutants murdered me.

"The Hills of Nova Scotia" © 2000, A.C. Smith (aka Lady Bast). No one may copy or redistribute this story - in part or in whole - or add it to a webpage - personal or commercial - without the express permission of Lady Bast. This story may, however, be printed out or downloaded for personal use, provided that all notices (such as this one) remain intact. Lady Bast reserves the right to reprint or redistribute this story as she sees fit. Send comments to Lady Bast.