9. Waves of Guilt

[Zandir Firesage]

He was being followed again.

Zandir sighed heavily. The tearful goodbyes were painful, even after he had explained his reason for leaving. His grandmother's glares were hard to bear. She was disappointed, but he could think of no other way to reconcile his feelings with his circumstances.

It would be much easier if they would just leave him be.

"Come out, Morton," he ordered. The snort of surprise behind him was much closer than he had expected, and he rounded on the hidden hedgehog. "Now," he growled.

A ball of spikes rolled onto the path and uncurled, the young creature blinking at the dead leaves and branches caught comically in his pins. He sat hunched over his fat belly. He looked contrite, but Zandir knew him well enough to catch the slight smirk.

"It's not amusing, Morton. I told you to return home."

"Aye, but I'm not very good at listenin', Sentinel. I thought ye knew that."

Zandir ground his teeth. Morton had never been so... clingy. Granted, Zandir had never left the Chosen Ones for an indeterminate time before.

"You didn't follow me last week," he tried, crossing his arms.

"Aye, but ye were only gone for two weeks." The cheeky glint disappeared, and Morton moved to a bowing position. "Please, Sentinel. All yer life, ye've served us, guarded us, and guided us. Now ye seek answers to questions the rest on us can't begin to understan'. I only want ta serve ye, t' make yer quest easier!"

Zandir shook his head. "This is not something that you can help with. I must wrestle this myself, and face our enemies!"

"Then," Morton paused, frowning, "What... what about... the treasure hunters!" He beamed "They'll still be comin' after us! And without th' Sentinel..."

"They'll be following me, soon enough," Zandir interrupted. "Now, go back to the caravan. Join your family, Chosen One." When Morton opened his snout to argue, Zandir snarled, "I command it!" He stabbed a paw back the way he had come.

Morton's head drooped, and Zandir felt a pang of guilt. He sternly quashed it, telling himself that he was protecting him.

He watched the fat hog fade into the distance before he continued on his way.

That night, he made his tenth campfire. His joy at sparking a pile of dry logs to life was as strong as the first time, but no replacement for his cooking skills. He managed to choke down the wild onions and sorrel he scorched.

The rustling in the dead leaves behind his scuffed-out sleeping spot drained his joy quickly.

With a growl, he leaped to his footpaws, spinning to face the encroaching hedgehog. "I ordered you," he began, then stopped.

Facing him were a young marten and a young mouse.

The marten seemed slightly unsure, having tensed at his movement. The young mouse looked like he was ready to fight.

"My apologies," Zandir said carefully, watching them. "I mistook you for somebeast else."

"Yeah?" the mouse said, continuing an argument that never began.

They stared at each other for a moment before Zandir turned back to the marten, his eyes flicking briefly to the mark on her brow. "Is there something you needed?"

"We saw your fire, good marten, and hoped to share in it for the night." The mouse straightened, putting pride in every line.

Zandir, impressed in spite of himself, replied, "The fire is yours. I fear I have nothing else to offer."

He sat back down on the cleared patch of ground he had roused from, carefully turning his back on the fire. He heard the two beasts slowly settle behind him.

"Where's your bedroll?" came the mouse's query. Cheeky bugger. Zandir suddenly wished Morton were there.

"I don't own one," he said, a smile in his voice.

"You burnt your dinner."

This mite was growing less amusing by the second. "Is there a purpose to your question?"

"We share a fire. Is it not customary to share of ourselves as well?" This was a female voice. The poorly suppressed excitement caused Zandir to turn to her, frowning slightly.

"I know nothing of that custom." He moved to turn back to the darkness, but the marten leaned forward. "I..." She stopped, then cleared her throat. "Tell me, what is that symbol on your brow?"

Zandir stopped a growl from slipping out. She dared to ask? The traders that came to the caravan asked, and were ignored. The hunters that came for the Burden asked, and died. At this thought he paused.

"Are you friend or foe?" he asked, puzzled.

They both stared at him, shocked. Finally, the marten ventured, "I... would like to be your friend. That rune, I have never seen it before. Is it new?"

Zandir scoffed. "Nay, 'tis very old. This is the symbol of the Sentinel, he who guards the..." he stopped, and corrected, "the treasure of the Chosen Ones." He watched for signs of recognition.

The marten merely nodded, while the mouse looked... bored? His ire rose.

"I am Mekai," the marten continued, stifling his biting remark. "I came to find..."

"Lady Marten, I care not what you do here. You are welcome to my fire, but you need not burden me with your tale." Thinking of the pack slumped next to his bed, he added. "I have enough Burdens of my own."

Her face fell, and she stared into the fire. "I'm a sable," she muttered mulishly.

Zandir turned to the mouse. "You, young mouse," he began.

"Lucan the Warrior, son of Anson the Warrior of Redwall Abbey, and I won't tell you of my marvelous quest to regain the lost sword of Martin the Warrior."

Zandir narrowed his eyes. "Charmed." He turned his back to them once again. "As before, you are welcome to my fire for the night."

"And kick us out at first light," Mekai, the "sable", muttered.

Zandir didn't bother to correct her, and settled once more to watch.

***

The dream rolled in lazily, tinged with gold.

"You see the fish?" his cousin asked, bending over the pool he stood in.

A much younger Zandir watched him in awe as the older marten swept up a pawful of water, his rolled-up breeches darkening in the splash. "You missed!"

"But I reached," his cousin replied, showing him the gem he had grabbed instead.

"That's the..." Adult Zandir whispered, backing away.

"You have to reach, brother, or you and all you love will be destroyed."

Gold faded to red, the necklace dropped into the water, and the pink-embellished sash around the other's middle brightened. A warm paw descended on his shoulder.

"You may carry a burden, but it's easier to share it." A wink of a gold eye. "Perhaps I can help you with it."

Zandir woke abruptly to pre-dawn blackness.

He sat up carefully, rubbing his brow  A glance at his unwanted companions showed the sable curled around her own pack and the mouse loudly snoring under his. He breathed in deep, unnerved by his dream. He rose silently, gathering his pack. He moved to leave the radius of firelight, but stopped, struggling with a faint sense of guilt. After a moment, he jerkily opened his pack, took out the last two cheese-filled loaves he had been gifted by the Chosen Ones, and left them next to the snoring mouse. He glanced at the cloth wrapping his gift, embroidered with the familiar yellow rune, and grimaced. "My apologies," he muttered.

He was a league away when the sun peaked over the mountains behind him. The rays warmed his dark fur, and he sought water to wash the dust off, suddenly feeling grimy.

The river-fed lake he found was one he remembered visiting with the caravan several seasons ago, a blue crystal surrounded by tall trees. He knelt and splashed water in his face, gasping at the cold temperature.

The rippling water subsided, and Zandir stared at his own face. He touched his brow, tracing the Aegis Borne symbol that had faded slightly. A fanning cover with a dark space in the middle, and raised arms to support it.

Reluctantly, he pulled out the jar of burnt nut mash. Wrinkling his nose at the smell, he applied it to his brow once more. The paste stuck to his fur, and would leach the color from it, turning it yellow. "Wouldn't do for the Rooted Ones to forget who you are," he grumbled to himself, stowing the jar. "That mar... sable didn't even recognize it." He sat back on his heels, deflating a little. "What if they do not recognize who I am?" His paw inched toward the necklace that lay hidden underneath his tunic. "I guard, but I no longer protect. Who will I become?"

Hints of gold drifted before his mind's eye, and he remembered his strange dream of the night before.

He straightened, thinking hard. He hadn't seen his cousin in long seasons, especially since he had left the family behind to pursue his own path. "As I am now!" he blurted to the sunshine. A chill ruffled his fur on the back of his neck. "Was that dream..."

He shook his head. "No, I will simply enlist his help. Perhaps he can advise me how to take care of this." He kicked absently at his pack, just missing connecting with it. He didn't want to spill the nasty bleaching dye all over the contents, after all. "Those of the Heathered Fens might know where he currently travels." A smirk. "Aunt Moira will, for sure. A mother always knows."

***

     Several Days Later

The village Craylock was composed of stone and chaos. Zandir strode into town, and was immediately engulfed in an undulating crowd of beasts. They bumped, brushed past, and spat at him. The cries of arguments, shrieks of laughter, and babble of motley conversation combined with the hot smells of food and perfumes, making his head spin.

He gaped at it all in wonder.

He wandered up and down the streets for several hours, getting thoroughly lost and enjoying every moment of it. Even the stench of rotting food didn't deter him much. He was passing a noisy gathering house when a gnarly otter stumbled out of it and into him, reeking of alcohol. The collision caused him to drop his tankard.

"Oy!" the otter snarled, rounding on him. "That were my firs' slosh! I paid good coin fer that!"

Zandir, trying to wipe the ale off his tunic, glanced at the other beast. "My apologies," he said coolly. "I was not aware of your presence."

The otter bulled past his words. "I work 'ard on th' docks, unloadin' all that stuff they bring in! Wit' the stink an' the snooty cap'ns, don't I got a right ter git in a liddle relaxin'?" He stepped up to Zandir, topping him by at least two inches, his snout almost touching the symbol on Zandir's brow.

Zandir frowned. "You Rooted Ones are strange. If it's a matter of money..."

He interrupted himself to duck a backhand.

Ah, he thought. He's spoiling for a fight. He backed further into the street, then whirled to avoid the other beast's charge. "If it's relaxing you want, might I suggest..."

The otter charged again, and Zandir's patience snapped. If he wishes to fight...

He unsheathed his saber and snapped it out as the otter reached for him, and aimed for a quick slice to the throat, followed by a heart strike.

"No blood!" came an imperious order from the side. Zandir almost ignored it in his irritation, but with an imperceptible sigh, he reversed his blade and jammed it into the otter's stomach. When he doubled over, Zandir cracked his head with the pommel of the sword.

"Enough!" that voice sounded again. This time, Zandir was yanked back. Bristling at the rough treatment, he turned to an officious looking beast. The weasel let go of him, marching over to the otter and roughly standing him up. "That's another strike for you, Bleran! Ye know if ye're aching for bruises, ye c'n git 'em at the rings riverside!" He checked the back of his head, then slapped his shoulder. "One more, and it's the gaol for ye, bucko!"

The otter muttered under his breath, and the weasel shoved him off. He turned on Zandir, rather intimidating in his black uniform. A shield-shaped sigil stuck to his shoulder, showing a lock backed by wavy lines. "And you, what were ye thinkin', drawin' steel in the street?"

Zandir sheathed his saber calmly. "Is that not allowed here?"

"No, it ain't allowed here! Ye backwoods outsiders, y' should learn the rules afore you come 'ere! No drawin' blades, no blood, an' fightin's not allowed outside o' the rings!"

He clamped a paw on Zandir's shoulder. Zandir dipped out from under it. "Why are you touching me? Beasts are so casual about touch here."

"Don't resist arrest, boyo." The weasel placed a paw on the long black stick stuck through his belt, muscles bunching in his neck.

Zandir drew himself up, bewildered and growing angry. "I did him no lasting harm! Surely," he sucked in a breath, working to rein in his temper, "surely there is something that I could do!"

The weasel relaxed slowly. "Aye, there might," he said, a sly smile turning up his lips.

They stood there for a long moment. Finally, the weasel said, "Well?"

"Well?" Zandir repeated. "What must I do?"

The weasel stared at him for a long moment, then snorted. "Fine. I'll be generous. I could take ye to the gaol, ye'd stand before the magistrate, and be given a fine. I could shorten the process a bit."

Zandir was ready to stab him in his frustration. "What does that mean?"

"Coin, ye numbskull, coin!"

Zandir blinked. "Money? Why do you..."

"Look, ye either give me the coin, or go to the gaol."

Zandir huffed, his temper returned. "I don't know what this jayl is, but I only have three..."

"That'll be enough." The weasel went to swipe at his bag, but Zandir caught him in an iron paw. He remembered this from watching the Chosen Ones barter over their dyes and embroidered clothes.

"Surely the fine is not that dear. I can give you the silver coin." He did not mention the two gold, and made sure to hide them as he fished out the promised coin.

He started to hold it out, then paused. "Might I ask for your help?"

Another snort. "On top of what I'm already givin' ye?"

"Surely directions would be a small enough favor. I am searching for my cousin's ship."

He went on his way, with instructions, less coin, and much grumpier than before. His path took him past a bustling open market. It seemed even more crowded than the entrance to this detestable town. So many beasts touched him, he almost didn't notice when a familiar small figure stumbled into him full tilt.

"Hey!" Lucan-the-Warrior protested. He started to topple, but Zandir caught him by the neck of his shirt, and lifted him upright. "What was that for?"

"My apologies," Zandir said wearily. "This place holds far too many beasts, and I find it difficult to navigate. I trust you are not hurt?"

"You? Hurt me?" The young mouse looked indignant, but was interrupted by the arrival of Mekai and several others.

"This is going so well!" she crowed to Lucan. "I've found a good portion of the Warriors needed, and..." Her gaze pinned Zandir to the cobbles beneath his footpaws, and he stood frozen as she pounced on him. "And here's another! Your cloth! Your cloth! And, your symbol! It's more golden than it was!" She yanked on his paw, touching him. "You see? You are the golden arrow! I wasn't sure before, but now I know!"

Zandir stiffened, his paws clenching at the contact. A hare, standing slightly back, saw the movement, and placed a paw on his saber warningly. Zandir breathed deeply.

"Miss Sable, Mekai. I don't know what you are speaking of, nor do I need to. I have told you, I am unable to help you with your quest."

"Yeah," the mouse piped up, rubbing his neck where his shirt had dug in. "We don't need this stinky old marten. We need a boat, somethin' that can get us to that wolverine..."

Zandir twitched, stunned at the coincidence. The three other beasts with Mekai, mouse, hare, and hooded fox, turned to him as one, and he silently berated himself. They were far too observant. He stared down at Mekai, with the rune on her head, and the frightened look in her eyes that she was not quite able to hide. Guilt pricked him again. "I might be able to help with that," he offered reluctantly.

After hearing his words, Mekai refused to let him go on his own. After a brief exchange, he agreed to let her accompany him, and they made their way to the docks.

It had been many seasons since Zandir had seen the ocean, and he was captivated momentarily by the rising and falling as wave after wave gently lapped at the shore. Mekai's questioning sound brought him out of the reverie, and he searched the vessels tethered to the piers for one that bore no name.

Marching down the wooden planks, he drew up to a fox who was mid-bellow. "I'm tellin' yeh, it ain't enough! Harlan should be back any minute, then we'll have everybeast we..."

"My apologies for interrupting," Zandir broke in, not bothering to sound sorry at all. "I seek the captain of this... fine vessel." He glanced at the boat, inexperienced in the craftsmanship of such things. "Is he available?"

The fox eyed him with a hard gaze before saying, "Nah, he's not here. He's gone up to see his ol' captain, at th' fancy house."

"Well enough," Zandir told him. "Please direct me to this place. And if Captain Novak returns, please inform him that his cousin searches for him."