The Second Heartbeat

[Kentrith Hapley]

It was the most beautiful day the north had seen all summer. The gentle breeze strummed the branches, causing the leaves to shush soothingly, while songbirds darted back and forth across the clearing. As if in deliberate mockery, a beam of sunshine filtered straight to the small cottage in the middle of the clearing. Kentrith stood at the door of the cottage, frozen in place. He raised a paw several times to rap, but couldn?t quite make himself do it. The tranquil, sunshiny day was not helping his mood.

Nothing seemed to help that anymore.

A lark chirping in the branch hanging over his head seemed to urge him on. He glared at the impudent bird, arguing silently with it. ?Fine,? he ground out, steeling his nerve. He knocked sharply several times, knowing the occupant would ignore it otherwise.

The door flew open, revealing a stooped fox, with wrinkled clothes and an irritated grimace on his face. Kentrith was shocked at how much older he looked. Spectacles perched on top of the nose, while the muzzle had several wrinkles.

?Who is it?? he asked grumpily. ?What do you want??

Kentrith couldn?t say anything past the lump in his throat. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the crusty creature before him harrumphed and slammed the door.

Naturally, Kentrith thought. Frustration now fueling him, he pounded on the door. ?Bothan, you ingrate, let me in!? He almost smacked him in the muzzle when the door whipped open again.

?How do you know my name?? Bothan barked, eyes now narrowed. A knife appeared from somewhere in the severely patched trousers, and was waved haphazardly before Kentrith?s nose. ?Who are you??

?Brother,? Kentrith faltered, clasping his paw over the other?s, stilling the wobbling knife. ?Don?t you know me?? He looked down at the dirty clothes he wore, much like the ones he had worn the last time he visited. Perhaps even the same ones. His ears tipped in embarrassment.

Bothan eyed him up and down, squinting. ?I don?t?? His ears pinned back as his weak eyes widened. ?Kentrith??

Kentrith half-smiled. ?Aye.? He released the other?s paw, stepped back, and waited, dread weighting his limbs.

Bothan huffed. ?Well, don?t stand there, get inside.? He backed into the gloomy cottage, waving Kentrith on.

After a moment, Kentrith followed him in.

The cottage had changed even less than his older brother. While dark, it practically repelled dust, lined with spotless shelves holding jars, while twine stretched here and there, holding a forest of drying herbs. Three chairs and a massive wooden table comprised the furniture.A quick peek into the storeroom showed a dessicated wheel of cheese, a small sack of wrinkly potatoes, and a moldy loaf of bread.

At least he?s eating, Kentrith thought wryly. Fresh guilt caused him to swallow, and turn his attention to his brother

Bothan waved him to a chair, then shambled over to the ever-present tea-pot. He didn?t bother asking if Kentrith wanted any, he simply poured water into it and hung it over the fire. He snatched two earthen cups from a cupboard, which held a plate and one more cup. He pulled jars down and tipped the contents into the two cups, and stripped a leaf or two from hanks of dried herbs brushing his ears. Kentrith watched this ritual, and cleared his throat, his attention caught by the last cup. ?So?. How is Horath??

Bothan snorted, his back still turned. ?Haven?t heard from him for?.? He paused, and Kentrith could hear the frown he must be wearing. ?Well, several years, anyway.?

?What happened??

The herbalist moved the teapot off of the fire, carefully pouring boiling water into each cup. ?He wouldn?t tell me much. He stopped by briefly to give me supplies, mentioned that he might be out of touch for a while, and dashed away.? Bothan stirred the cups, sighing. ?It was much quicker than his usual visit.?

Kentrith frowned. ?I wonder what frightened him so,? he murmured.

Bothan?s snort this time was nearly a guffaw. ?Three days later an enraged clan of weasels showed up, demanding his head. Apparently, he had sold them my nerve tea, the one to relax a beast enough to sleep, which I might add they desperately needed, if their agitation was any indication of their normal tendencies.? An amorphous lump of sugar was added to each cup, and stirred in. ?He had neglected to ask about sensitivities to certain plants. Their chief expired from lack of air, due to a sensitivity to chamomile.? He turned his head to meet Kentrith?s eyes, a hint of humor in his own. ?They were understandably displeased.?

Kentrith laughed out loud. ?Of course! He always did take after Mother the most!?

Bothan?s humor vanished, and the spoons were snapped to the table rather forcefully. ?At least he didn?t get himself killed,? he ground out.

Kentrith was quiet for a long moment. His anger at their mother had faded long ago. Obviously Bothan?s hadn?t. ?Well, perhaps he will be back, after the furor has died down.? He was slightly disappointed, having hoped to see Horath as well.

At last, a steaming, fragrant cup was handed to him, and Bothan grumpily pulled up his own chair. ?Drink it,? he ordered. ?It will help with the ache in your joints and ear.? His eyes flicked briefly to Kentrith, then away. ?Or what?s left of it.?

Shaking his head, Kentrith gulped at the scalding brew. Bothan would get testy if he waited for it to cool. ?How did you guess?? Bothan?s gifts with herbs had bordered on the supernatural. After another painful gulp, he added, ?Thank you.?

Bothan slumped across from Kentrith, nursing his own cup. ?It wasn?t that hard,? he retorted, his voice sharp with disdain. ?Missing ear, multiple scars on your arms, I can see where your wrist has been broken at least twice, and your tail had a strip skinned off.?

Kentrith looked behind at the afflicted appendage, then chuckled. ?Yes, the fur never did grow back quite right.?

There was silence for several moments, as Kentrith fidgeted, unsure where to go from there. Bothan finally sighed, and said, ?It seems to be an age since you visited my little hut, here. Much longer than Horath. How long has it been, exactly??

?I?m not sure,? Kentrith temporized. After another second, he finally admitted, ?Twelve years.?

?Hmph. Not imagining it, then,? was all Bothan said. He heaved a sigh, then looked up. ?It took you twelve years to see me, and it?s obvious you?ve been through quite a bit.? His normally dreamy eyes seemed to pierce Kentrith. ?Why are you here now??

Kentrith sighed, then carefully set the cup down on the table next to him. ?Can?t I visit my brother??

Bothan merely raised a skeptical brow. Kentrith snorted, then admitted, ?I felt? guilty, about not seeing you for so long.?

?And??

He glared at Bothan. ?I?m not sure I?ll be back,? he ground out. ?I might?. I have to try.? He stuttered to a stop, unable to form the words he needed to make his brother understand.

Silence rang through the simple cottage. Bothan placed his cup next to Kentrith?s with deliberation, then stood and started pulling more jars and herbs down.

Kentrith rose slowly, and shuffled over to the table where the pile of ingredients was growing. ?What are you doing?? he finally asked.

?Making up a kit,? was the short reply.

?Bothan,? Kentrith pleaded, but his brother interrupted.

?I don?t know where you?ve been for the last several years,? the usually mild-mannered herbalist barked, scraping green bits into his mortar. ?I don?t know what struggles you?ve been through, although I?m sure there are more than are evidenced by your scars. But if my little brother is going to face difficulties, then by Hell Gates, he?s going to go prepared!? The emphatic jabs with the pestle stilled. ?Then at least you?ll have something to remember me by.?

Kentrith stared at the small cloth sacks that slowly filled with powders, pastes, and vials. ?I?ll run out,? he protested, weakly.

Bothan looked up with a small smile. ?Then you?ll have to come back and get more.?

He quickly tied up the little sacks and arranged them in a satchel. For several moments, he stared at it, then turned to Kentrith, a strange look on his face. Hesitantly he asked, ?What? else would you like me to add??

********

Kentrith?s path through the city of Northvale was riddled with vendors, milling customers, and memories. Undulating  masses moved around him, flowing with the lifeblood of the river port. His favorite herb shop had been replaced by a clothes merchant (the herbs were never as good as Bothan?s, but had sufficed when the need arose). Curios, keepsakes, and match posters flew off the counter as fast as the shopkeeper slapped them down. The pie hawker seemed older, but just as persistent. He called out as Kentrith passed.

?It?s the Crane! The Crane has returned!?

?Will we see you in the ring again?? called the leather worker, Harbin.

Kentrith merely nodded to both, trying to keep the dread from showing on his face. Every step he took toward the Crater seemed to drag a little more, his stomach sliding closer to his footpaws. The smell of metal, oil, and working beasts swirled in his nostrils, causing his lip to curl, and his ears crept closer to his skull, despite his efforts to seem nonchalant. His first view of the gate to the Crater caused his breathing to stutter, and he came to halt. He stared up at the simple oak portals, trying to get his emotions under control. ?You?re stronger than this,? he muttered to himself. ?They thought they had broken you. You are not broken. You can do this.?

Slowly, he tamed his rebelling body, taking deep breaths to slow his heart and stop the shaking in his limbs. He forced an uptilt to his mouth, so that he wouldn?t look unhappy, and perked his ears, forcing them to stay upright. Out of habit, he touched the ragged edge of the remnants of his left ear, feeling the hardened tissue where the blade had sliced through, catching as it always did on the gnarl where he?d had to lance it to release the discharge from infection.

Shaking himself out of the reverie, he strode to the bell-pull at the side of the door. A deep, ringing note reverberated through the street around him, and he could feel the curious glances of the other beasts around him. As the doors groaned open, he wondered if those who volunteered were rare or not. There had been more slaves in the ring than free when he had been here last.

Two beasts in blue stood in the now open doorway. They carried spears and identical sneers. The ferret stepped forward and lifted his spear menacingly. ?A volunteer, eh?? he grunted, baring his sharp teeth. ?Well, you?ve missed the parade!?

Clearing his throat, Kentrith tried, ?Been quite a few volunteers??

The female rat had stepped up, level with her partner. She laughed. ?I?ll say,? she grinned. ?The fame of this place has been spreading! Many beasts want to test their mettle!?

Kentrith couldn?t argue with that. ?I need to speak with Nire,? he interjected, hoping that this painful detour into small talk would be cut off by a change in subject.

The rat only laughed harder. ?See Nire? Are you insane?? She bent almost double with hilarity, guffawing in loud brays. Frowning, the ferret pounded her on the back to enable better breathing, and finished for her, ?Nire is a very busy, very IMPORTANT beast. He can?t be bothered to see every fighter that walks through the door.?

?Look here!? Kentrith barked, suddenly fed up. He grabbed the spear close to the head, and jerked. When the shocked ferret stumbled closer, Kentrith wrapped his paw in the shirt and yanked him up. The hapless soldier?s footpaws dangled, not quite touching the ground. Kentrith snapped, ?I don?t have any patience for your lies. He doesn?t have time, you say? He will make time! You will take me to the lounge, then you will tell Nire that Kentrith Hapley is back.? He pressed his snout against the ferret?s terrified face and snarled, ?Need me to repeat anything??

The ferret shook his head jerkily, and Kentrith dropped him to the dust.

*****

He didn?t have to wait very long. He had barely sat down on one of the padded benches in the front chamber when four soldiers arrived. They were much more alert than the two at the gate had been, and Kentrith didn?t waste time with questions. He hastily joined them, and they slipped into formation as they marched down the passageway, two stationed behind his back. They moved down the hall, their pawsteps brisk and unflinching.

They stopped at a plain wooden door, which one soldier knocked upon. Being told to enter, he opened the door and waved Kentrith in alone.

He glanced around the room. The same shabby rug lay on the floor, if a little shabbier. There were several more paintings on the walls, and smoking torches had been replaced with glass-paned lanterns. Chairs lined the left hand wall, while the massive table in the middle of the room displayed the usual confusion of maps, messages, and advertisements. The window that looked down upon the training grounds had new shutters, of a different design than he remembered, with slats that slanted slightly.

Behind the table, facing the door, stood Nire. He hadn?t changed much, either. A few more gray hairs dotted his muzzle, but his tufted ears still retained their dark-furred edges, and his fur remained as groomed as ever. His clothes were new, with trousers, a clean white shirt with embroidered swords at the cuffs and collar, and a blue vest.

Well, at least his first fight wouldn?t be public.

Nire looked up from the message he had been reading, and smiled slightly, allowing a teasing glimpse of fang. ?Kentrith, my old friend. This is certainly a surprise.?

His eyes flicked briefly over Kentrith, taking in his thinner stature, scruffy fur, and worn clothes. Embarrassed, Kentrith clasped his paws behind his back and sternly ordered his footpaws to stay still. Nire smirked again, then continued, ?I do believe you swore you would never step footpaw back in the arena, or Northvale for that matter.? He lost the smirk, his amber eyes crystallizing as he examined Kentrith. ?What brings you back?? The hint of menace sent a thrill through Kentrith.

He straightened, and cleared his throat. ?I?? he coughed, then swallowed, looking down at the floor. Breathing deep, he looked up again, forcing out, ?I couldn?t find another place for me.? He twisted his paws behind his back, fidgeting. ?This place, this?work, is what I?m good for.? He tilted his head, trying not to tremble. ?I missed it.? He kept his breathing even and his gaze pinned on Nire.

The lynx smiled, then dropped the message on the table. He came over, and clapped a paw on Kentrith?s shoulder. ?I hoped you would see it that way. You were one of the best, I?ll admit. I can?t wait to see you in action again!? He grinned even wider, and added, ?Should we arrange a bout, for old time?s sake? Just to refresh your memory. I have another potential volunteer who should see how it works.?

Kentrith felt his lungs release, and he spread a wide smile over his own muzzle. The relief that flooded him aided in widening the smile he forced. He had never been the best liar. ?Of course,? he replied, mentally fortifying himself for the ordeal to come. A match to test his worth as a contestant was no surprise.

Nire clapped his shoulder again, and then made shooing motions at the door. ?We?ll discuss your position after the fight. I don?t need another healer,? here he winked, ?but I imagine we could use you as a trainer. Many of the slaves will need more instruction.?

As he waved Kentrith out the door, the fox glanced back at him, suddenly nervous. The lynx was still smiling, but there was a hint of suspicion there too. Kentrith would have to watch his step carefully.

His escort waited for him outside the office. They quickly ushered him to the armory and waited impassively while Kentrith searched the wall for the weapon he knew best. He had already secured the other to his right wrist. Spotting it displayed on the wall, he pulled it down, irritation flaring. Kentrith studied the ax he now held in his paws, unchanged since he had thrown it down in the arena that last time. The head, at least, had been ground and polished, with no nick or mar to the bright metal. The haft, however was chipped and dirty, the cord threaded through the end fraying. If he made it out of this fight, he would have to replace it. He shook his head. Had Nire placed it as a trophy to Kentrith?s fighting career? Typical, he thought with a silent sneer.

The beasts in blue took him to a wicker cage that hung above the arena, and gestured him in. The worn planks that formed the floor of the cage were familiar, and a shudder ran through him as the flood of memories tried to take over. He gripped the ax handle tighter, then grabbed one bar of the cage as it jittered, then began to lower. Creaking ropes lowered the cage, and he was able to peer down at the sands approaching. The arena, the center of his life for six seasons, whether healing it?s victims, or creating them.

A rush of adrenaline was followed by sickening disgust. How could the thought of harming another creature still excite him?

The opposite side of the cage lifted. He stepped onto the sand, skirting humps and drifts until he reached the middle. A wave of noise crested over him, and he knew that, if not full, the stands held several excited spectators. Of course, he thought sourly. Trust Nire to drum up an audience in a matter of moments.

He looked up at the box that hung halfway down the wall, separated from the rest of the seats by intricately carved railings. He could make out several figures standing in the box. One had pointed ears, undoubtedly Nire, and was crowded by several beasts with flashing jewelry and brightly colored clothes. Kentrith's lip curled. Vultures, the lot of them.

He raised his ax in a salute, which was returned by the lynx, then with roaring shouts ringing in his ears, he turned to face the other side of the arena. Another cage was being lowered, this one carrying his opponent. As the door slid up and the hulking beast stepped out, he gulped, then cursed inwardly at Nire.

He had pitted him against Direbeast.

The huge badger snarled menacingly, his crazed, red-tinged eyes pinned on Kentrith. Without a preliminary salute, or any warning, the massive scarred creature charged forward. His steps moved erratically, causing him to weave across the sand. The spear, however, aimed dead for Kentrith?s gut. Quickly, the fox swiped his ax across, knocking the spear to the side. He spun towards the badger?s off hand, ducking to evade a paw-swipe. Skittering back, he scuffed his footpaws in the sand. No pitfalls or abnormalities to trip him yet. Direbeast, unfazed by Kentrith?s dodge, whipped his spear around. He began a series of jabs, aiming for legs, arms, and torso. Kentrith redirected most, blocking with the ax in his left paw. He deflected with his open right.

Kentrith began to panic slightly. It had been at least five years since he had fought anyone. Drawing the pain-crazed monster of the arena first thing did not bode well. He had to end the fight quickly, or he would be worn down.

And stabbed to death. Strong motivation indeed.

Slipping the haft of the ax through his paw until he grasped the end, he grabbed the spear with the other, catching the edge of the blade. Gritting his teeth, he jerked the spear up and toward him. The huge beast was only slightly off balance, but it was enough. Kentrith swung the ax at a footpaw, catching the top of the black-furred appendage.

Direbeast bellowed, and yanked hard at the trapped spear. Kentrith didn?t fight for it, and the badger staggered back. Kentrith moved in grimly, and swept the spear up. Clasping the ax with both paws, he struck for the legs. Once. Twice. The beast was down now, but still snarling, jabbing with the spear. Kentrith hopped over one of the jabs, and swung the ax again, slicing the forearm and severing the main tendon.

Down went the spear, but still Direbeast struggled. It reached for the spear, growling still. The grating rumble was hoarser, but the tone hadn?t changed. It finally clicked.

Horror, indignation, and remorse flooded through him. He felt like spitting, or screaming?.

Habit took over. Throwing his arms out, he tilted his head back, a mournful cry bursting out. ?Why?!? he wailed, his pitch rising and voice cracking. He snapped his gaze to Nire, narrowing his eyes as the lynx, smirking, made some comments to the older hare standing beside him. He had done this on purpose! Enraged, he swung the ax in a circle and cast it behind him, timing the release so that the blade bit the sand.

Cries of ?The Crane! The Crane has returned!? rang in his ears as he stalked over to the creature. It whined and thrashed, still reaching for the fallen weapon. Horror caused his joints to lock, but the paw changed directions, straining for him, and he had to move. Forcing his paws not to shake, he flicked his right wrist. His folding scalpel slid to his paw, and with another snick, he opened it. He knelt by the prone, writhing creature and quickly slid the small blade into his neck.

He heard the roar of the crowd as if from a distance as he stared at the pitiful pile of fur, muscle, and scar tissue. Many of the ridges and rippled skin left from a long ago fire were inflamed, testifying to the agony of the maddened beast. Memories of treating those same scars, of hours spent over salves and teas to ease the great beast?s torment seemed to throb in his very bones, clashing with the tide of adulation from the stands. The throbbing grew stronger, in cadence with his heartbeat.

With gritted teeth, he tamped down on the memories that pulsed in discordance with the cheering crowd, crushing it until the healer was smothered. He could not be a healer now, may never be again.

The Crane had returned.