Part 3; Left or Right

[Marrow]

"Oneside, Oneside! Knights of the Claw business, Oneside, please!" The crowd arrayed around the checkpoint at the gate into Filigree Ward parted as best it could for the source of the order. Marrow followed behind Ashielf, watching the knight command the sea of refugees to part. More than a few derisive glares from the masses being inconvenienced again for the umpteenth time that day fell on the skunk, and he suddenly felt for all the world like an imposter to the privilege of skipping to the head of the line. Even so, he couldn't help but marvel at the authority the Squirrel carried in his voice. Absolute yet not aggressive. Like a mountain reminding you that it would not be moving, and you must, instead, trek over it, and probably perish.
 
A mountain, perhaps, like the one planted behind the checkpoint counter. A positively geographical badger sat hunched behind the woefully undersized table with a look of desperate boredom on her face. Upon seeing Ash, her countenance brightened slightly. "Please tell me you are here to be my relief.", her rumbling voice pleaded.

"you'd like that very much, I'd wager.", the squirrel teased with a villainous grin.

"I'd give every ounce of candied jerky I have in my possession."

Ash tapped his chin, feigning consideration. "Hmmmm, that is a tempting proposition. Rattler, what do you think?"

Marrow turned his back to avail himself of further scrutiny from the impatient crowd. "I suppose it would have to be curds for me."

Ash nodded. "That sounds pretty good actually. Any curds, Bea?"

"No one has curds. Who keeps curds around?"

"I would.", Marrow mumbled.

"You, Soul-farer. Maybe you'd take mercy on me and end my suffering by sending me to the afterlife?"

Marrow chuckled, appreciating the black humor. "I'm sorry, it doesn't quite work that way."

"Too bad, Bea. You're just ganna have to let us through and carry on."

The Badger huffed and set comically tiny quill to miniscule registry parchment. "That's one moronic no-good tree-rat aaaaaand?", she said expectantly.

"Oh uh, Marrow. I am called Ghostwalker."

Bea pulled a sarcastic face. "Ooooh, spooky. Well, Mr. Ghostjogger, since you are no help to me, you and this lay-about can kindly go boil your tails elsewhere and leave me to my misery."

Marrow looked to Ash who snuck an approving wink and impish grin.

"Just as well. My escort says what your skills in battle lack are more than made up for with your acumen in record keeping."

The squirrel had to nearly stuff his entire paw in his mouth to keep from laughing out loud as shocked indignation spoiled across the badger's face and Marrow suddenly became aware of just how vast her head was. The little quill snapped between two of her massive claws. The knight who had been standing guard just behind Bea snickered and the full weight of her foot paw on his own made him change his tone in a flash.

"Alrighty then, Ghostwalker, let's make our way so our friend here can get back to her work." Ash hurried Marrow along as the Badger leered a pair of smoldering holes into the skunk, disposing of another shattered quill and pulling out a fresh one.

Once beyond the gate house, Marrow stopped Ash. "I'm so sorry, my stupid mouth- "

Ash wiped a tear as he held his aching ribs. "Oh, she wants to pop your noggin like a muscadine. That was perfect!" The squirrel held up a paw and Marrow gave it a bewildered slap.

"But she's angry now. What do I – "

"Oh, don't worry, taking a black eye from Bea is sort of a rite of passage around here." Marrow looked horrified and the knight carried on as if the skunk weren't doomed. Ash took the Skunk's shoulder and pointed up a cobbled path choked with the bodies of too many beasts attempting to go about their business. "You should find everything you mentioned somewhere along that street. The perfumier can be hard to find though. It's tucked in back behind the Luthier and a bakery called Heather's Hearth that never has any damn breakfast cakes by the time I get down here in the morning. Anyway, go do what you do, and I'll meet you back here at this corner to go to dinner tonight. Sound good, spooky?"

Marrow scratched nervously at the back of his head. "About that. I won't be able to make it to dinner tonight."

Ash looked at the skunk who quickly averted his eyes toward the ground and raised a suspicious eyebrow. "Oh? Got some eerie business elsewhere?"

"Yes, actually. I must meet with my mentor before an audience with Kastor."

"An audience with Kastor, aye? Well color me impressed. I certainly wouldn't want to interfere with that.", the squirrel feigned. Marrow tried to hide the mixed look of guilt and disappointment in himself. "Tell you what, Ghostwalker; you take care of your boring stuff and if Kastor cancels on you then come on by. Can you get back to the place I pointed out on the way here?"

"Yes. The place In the Hearth ward with the tree."

"Good. Well, be careful and make sure you bring something for mama!" Ash began to walk back in the opposite direction when he stopped and called back over the crowd. "Oh, and Ghostwalker! Watch out for angry badgers!" he pointed just beyond Marrow and the skunk whirled around to find it badger free, Ash's laughter carrying over the din of busy streets.

The palate that colored the city was already being influenced by the tint of the afternoon sun as Marrow stood on the corner where the squirrel knight had left him before. To his left, the street led down to the gatehouse and past a walloping to dinner. To his right, up the path and through the gate to the ward called Duty, lay the entrance to the ambassadorial suites at the hall of the same name. A fitting name. The skunk adjusted his purchased items slung over his shoulder in a newly acquired bag as a grumpy old fox stomped by. He felt a pull in either direction. His heart pulsed and he swallowed dryly as he gazed back and forth. Marrow looked left, and the Ghostwalker looked right.

Across the street, a hare sweeping her storefront stooped to pick up a bit of refuse too large for her broom. When she straightened back up, her shadow cast upon the wall had shifted. Lengthened.

You think it will be any different once they know who you are? I am the only one that knows the real you and still lingers by your side.

The voice felt like frigid seafoam crackling in Marrow's ear. "You have no choice, Thorn. You remain at my will."

The voice shifted ears, from left to right.

Mmmm, true. Even still.

Marrow looked to the right again. "You're wrong. Gudra remains with me."

Because even he does not know you as I do.

"Even still.", growled Marrow as he turned and marched up toward the Hall.

There's a good Rattler.

As Marrow made his way into the next ward carrying a heart as heavy as the pack on his back, he could not help being awed by the sheer grandeur of the ward called Duty. Not since his first pilgrimage to the Ossuary in the far north had a place made such an impact. With its wide promenades and statues taller than the tallest dwelling in his own village, the young skunk was reminded of just how small he was in the grand movements of the larger world.

Finding his way into the ambassadorial complex, Marrow was stopped in his tracks by the sight of a mural that stretched the entire height and breadth of the wall it decorated. It depicted knights arrayed in victory after a massive battle. Bloodied feathers blew like leaves in the fall underfoot as the winged enemies retreated in silhouetted flight high into the background. The victor's cheers and weapons were raised toward a single figure, Kastor, holding aloft a banner, tattered and blood-stained but billowing in triumph, nonetheless. So enraptured was he that the staccato echo of paw step did not break his infatuation.

"Stirring, Isn't it?"

Marrow looked to his side to see the black mask of a racoon garbed in fine clothes that did little to hide the peak physique of a knight. Her vambraces, polished to a sheen, affirming her as such.

"What is this.", Marrow asked.

"This is a depiction of the victory at the battle of Gander Pointe. It is called 'Consolidation' because it was with this victory that the hissing hoard was finally crushed and driven out of the north for good, allowing Kastor to finally realize his vision of a united whitelands. A proud and terrible day."

Marrow touched the image of a fallen warrior. "We remember this day as well. It took every Bone Rattler alive nearly a moon cycle to cleanse that place of malignancy. We still feel it's scars."

The racoon studied the strange little spotted beast bedside her. "I assume you are here on business with the others of your order?"

"Yes. Elder Gudra, to be specific."

"He was expecting a guest. You must be the Ghostwalker."

Marrow sighed and nodded. "I am."

"I've heard that name you know. Curious you would choose such a woeful name. And from a nursery rhyme no less."

"I didn't choose it. I was branded with it."

The knight hesitated, remembering the tale and the lesson it taught; that the fear of death is often the source of one's most selfish choices and impulses and she wondered why he had the title. "Forgive me, sir. I did not mean to upset you."

"It's alright, you meant no harm."

The knight cleared her throat. "I can uh, take you to your grandfather if you wish."

"Oh, he's not- uh, Thank you. I would appreciate that."

With a curt bow, the knight bade him follow and he did so.

After many flights of stairs and at least three open balconies who's dizzying view nearly buckled Marrows knees, the sable ringed knight stopped before a heavy oak door. A sudden waft of blessing like that he carried for adorning thresholds hit his nose and all the comforting feelings of home rushed into his mind. He could not help the smile that crept across his face.

The knight stepped to the side and as he passed, she stopped him. "I have to ask; can you do all those things the Ghostwalker did? Like in the rhyme?"

"That could be one reason I carry the same name." His eyes met hers. "That, or I too betrayed and killed my closest loved one to cheat death."

A tense moment passed before Marrow relieved the tension with a weighted smirk.

"I can't believe it. That's amazing."

Marrow paused with his paw on the door.

"I'm sure it seems that way."

Marrow continued through the door as the knight watched, unsure of what to make of the Ghostwalker.

Marrow knew that he needed to see Gudra but didn't know just how much so until the moment he entered.

The skunk's senses were immediately flooded with the familiarity of home, for the little apartment had been set with all the trappings of a skunk's dwelling. A pair of sleeping hammocks strung in the corner, hung opposite a mobile of heirlooms that swayed gently by the window. A pot of yaupon tea steamed amidst a collection of hot rocks in the little corner cook-hearth.

The room was also adorned with the trappings of a Bone Rattler dwelling. A faint waft of ointment mixed with the nutty richness of the tea. To one side of the hammock sat a chest. A patterned poncho lay across its top, covered with the carefully arranged regalia of one of his own order: The pouch containing a Rattler's ceremonial scrimshawed bone, incense, a jug of blessing and, for this specific Rattler, the head-dress of an Elder of the Choir. For this wasn't just any skunk's apartment nor just any Rattler's apartment. This was Gudra's apartment.
Marrow smiled with relief. There, sitting at a little table by the cook-hearth, was his old friend. The Elder sat, as he so often did, with bone in one paw and scribe in the other, carving away.

The apprentice stood for a moment, watching his mentor's work. Though the old skunk grew slower as his stripes widened, his paws never aged. They moved over the surface of the bone like a warm breeze over meadow grasses, gently coaxing the bone to yield its stories and accept their record. All the while humming ancient sacred harmonies in the dual-voiced way of the Rattler.

The Elder's ear twitched, and the humming stopped. "Are you going to just stand there or are you going to come and give an old Rattle-bones a hug?"

Before the silvered skunk could stand, his pupil had already dashed over and scooped him into a deep hug.

"Marrow, my kun! It is good to see your speckled face. Please sit. Mind those clay tablets though. They are on lease from Kastor's own collection. Ancient Mole records that may give us a lead on the first Ghostwalker. Marrow carefully moved them to the table and flopped into the chair.

"You wouldn't believe how good it is to see you, old friend. The weeks have felt more like seasons."
Gudra made his way over to the teapot and Marrow melted further into the chair, taking in the sounds and smells and letting it all wash over him.

The old skunk wafted the top of the pot and added a bit of sassafras root. "The weeks have seemed like mere days to me for how busy I've been, heh."

Marrow noticed the sizable collection of parchment and curio set on the table amidst the clay tablets and began thumbing through.

"First, though, I want to hear about your time." The old skunk sat across from his pupil with the teapot and poured them each a cup. "I'm sure there is much to tell."

Marrow took a deep breath. "There is. We found that pack of Icewalkers that went missing."

"Good news."

"I was the only one who could speak with them, so not so good. There was one who lingered, however. The warming is consistent even as far as the frozen sea."

The old sage nodded and sipped gingerly. "The rest of our order have been reporting more and more souls inadvertently drowning. Even those spirits who should pass on unabated are becoming malicious. It's as though they are... blocked somehow. Did the lingering pass without trouble."

"Fortunately. He understood and accepted well enough. It's just..."

Gudra sensed a familiar tone in his ward.

"You had to tell his children."

"A young cub, Hopi. She was... four, five seasons at the most."

Gudra listened.

"When I saw her, she smiled, unaware that I was about to ruin her life."

Gudra listened.

"I couldn't do it."

The sage looked into his young charge's tired eyes.

"If it weren't for a kind-hearted alpha stepping in I... I don't know what I would have done."

Gudra placed a silvered paw upon Marrow's.

"Ours is not an enviable place in the world."

"But it is important," Marrow recited.

Gudra squeezed his paw, knowing the words rang hollow.

"I saw her in my dreams. I saw her swept away by dark water over and over. If it weren't for Tho- er, the nightmares, her entire village would have met the same fate as her father.

Gudra's chair creaked as he sat back. "It's a good thing you heeded your visions, then."

Marrow eyed a small shadow cast from his cup by flickering candlelight upon the table.

"Yeah."

Marrow wanted to change the subject.

"I have something for you, Gudra."

The old skunk's countenance lifted at Marrow's effort and the prospect of a gift.

"That same alpha, a white wolf named Bahto, gave me these."

Marrow handed his mentor a well-worn, waxed parchment envelope and the elder accepted the little package like a kit on its birthday. Just breaking the seal sent an herbal effervescence up into the room that nearly took his breath away.

"As I dance and sing. Real howler sweets!" The old skunk reached in for one of the little amber lumps and popped it into his mouth. With the first breath he coughed, nearly spitting out the candied lozengelosinge. "Oh my. These are about the strongest howlers I've ever tasted.", he strained to say as he used his sleeve to dab moisture from his eyes and nose which were already beginning to run.

"So odd that's your favorite candy. I couldn't finish mine."

Gudra closed his eyes and drew in a slow, deep breath as though it were his first.

"You know the wolves say when you eat a howler, you feel the wild mountain wind in your lungs." He took another breath and coughed unceremoniously, his pupil laughing. "I've always admired beasts so tough even their sweets demand fortitude. Thank you so much," he said, sucking happily at his little treat. "I'm guessing the rest of that is another care package for your mother?", he asked, noticing the new bag. Peering in he saw several boxes of various sizes and a dozen hanks of yarn.

"Oh yes. Will you see it gets to her?"

"As always." Gudra took the bag and set it aside.

"Oh, one last thing!". Gudra watched the young Rattler produce a slim, ribbon wrapped box with a red wax seal from a pocket. "Be careful with this one Gudra. It's very delicate."

Gudra whistled as he carefully accepted the little box, recognizing the seal and catching a waft of its contents.

"How is she, by the way?"

"Oh, I think she's doing fine. It's a good thing you bought her more yarn. She's been knitting again, and she was nearly out when I visited. Look, she made these mittens." Gudra pulled the red and white striped paw hand warmers from a little shelf and tossed them to Marrow. "I'm told she even let your aunt take her foraging a few times."

Marrow's smile hung heavy. "Good."

Gudra placed a steaming cup before his ward and gripped his shoulder. "It always brings her a ray of sunshine to get these. She'll love it all, kun." His pupil nodded. "Now drink up. This place isn't as well insulated as an Ice Walker lodge. Speaking of which, tell me more about your wolf friends."

Marrow pulled at his ear awkwardly.

"I'm actually one for three on that at least."

"Oh?" Gudra said with a knowing chuckle.

"Yeah. And I think there is a badger looking to turn me into cranberry paste now."

Gudra laughed. "Well, you're nothing if not consistent, Marrow."

"I've had better luck with non-wolves though." Marrow began counting off on his claws. "There's Koga; She helped me when a wolf threatened to eat my heart while I watched. Then there is Marunae of the Great Family. She's the knight who listened to me and orchestrated the rescue of that village. You made the armor heirlooms for her grandfather seasons back. She taught me how to not get my tail completely jerked in a knot and I told her I would have you relay the story on the scrimshaw of her armor. Unfortunately, she only had a portion on her vambraces, but I made a rubbing. Here, have a look." Marrow handed his mentor a parchment and the old skunk gave it a once over.

"Ohoho yeees, I remember this piece. A lovely bunch of tundra hares. Very early story. One of my first in fact. Marunae, Marunae... I wonder if that's the little leveret that kept running away from bath time in the buff when I visited. Her mother kept yelling Maru! Maru! Hehe. Father said she shed like a dead pine every spring. Odenall I think his name was."

Marrow would have to remember that one.

"Then there's Ashielf. Another knight and friend of Marunae's. I'm not sure if he counts yet. He invited me to dinner with Marunae at their house, but he also made me think teasing a badger wouldn't make her want to eat my face."

Gudra brightened up as only a parent whose kit was finally playing with their creche-mates would.

"Dinner, aye?"

Marrow waggled a paw.

"Oooh no you don't Gudra. We have to prepare to go before Kastor. I don't have time."

"But Marro-"

"Please Gudra. Let it go."

Gudra sighed.

Marrow changed the subject.

"Were you able to finish the Whistle?"

Gudra frowned, disappointed Marrow wouldn't discuss his plans further, but the old skunk acquiesced.

"I did indeed. Just put the finishing touches on it as you came in." He reached for the little piece he had been working on when Marrow had come in and handed it to the young skunk. "Importance aside I am quite proud of this piece."

Marrow turned the little amalgam of tiny, carved bones in his paw. Its constituent parts gave it an oddly muscular, almost organic shape. More like organ than bone.

"It took me forever to acquire that many orioles ear bones. But, if that flight-song we heard is right, this is how it must be done."

The scrimshaw that was covered its few, delicate surfaces was of black-bodied birds all in flight. The gaps between morphed as the pattern went along until the black of Gudra's marks became the dark spaces between white-bodied birds.

"I hope this one works. If it does, can you imagine? Being able to return a drowned soul to their former selves to cross over as they should?" There was palpable excitement in the old Bone Rattler's voice.

Marrow eyed the cup's little shadow, dancing on the table in candlelight again.

"Yeah, I can."

Gudra took the little whistle and placed it into a stiff, leather pouch and handed it back. Marrow slipped it into his packet and continued shuffling through the parchments on the table until he came upon a familiar one. Half warning, half wanted post.

"Did they ever find the ole firebug once she disappeared?"

Gudra picked up the page and grunted.

"No. The choir haven't seen her in the fur since she left that day, but the young ones whisper in their hammocks. They sneak out at night talking of one dressed in fire who speaks of conflagration. We've even had other Singers leave and take up her torch."

Marrow's frustration shown on his face as he whispered a recitation under his breath.

"And in the evening, Ghostwalker chose and finally combusted. Forever making into ash the heart her sister trusted."

The old sage recognized the familiar verse of the Ghostwalker nursery rhyme all skunks learn as kits.

"Speak your mind, kun."

"It isn't fair, "Marrow growled. He stood and attempted to pace off the building tension in his chest.
Gudra listened.

"It isn't fair that I'm cursed with these gifts and am forced to give my whole self to the world while she goes off lighting fires and turning things upside down, and who is chained to the name Ghostwalker? Me!"

The young Rattler stood in a huff and stomped to the window. The bone mobile clattered as he bumped it inadvertently and batted it away in frustration.

Gudra sat quietly, his paws folded, and a warm smile tight across his lips, as he always did. Marrow knew this without having to look. He knew if he turned around, Gudra's empathetic way would melt his frustrations as always. He was grateful to have been instructed – no, raised by the silvery elder. Of all the members of the Choir that hove over little Marrow the night his destiny was to be decided, it was Gudra alone who saw something in him and placed his, even then, greying paws on the little skunk's tear-soaked cheeks and promised that he would always be by his side. Marrow was grateful.

He was grateful but he did not want to turn around yet. This time, the old feelings that cycled through the young Rattler's heart felt hotter. Heavier somehow.

"Marrow?" The old sage bade gently. Marrow remained where he stood and, of course, Gudra understood exactly what his young ward needed. The old skunk stood with a rheumatic grunt and went over to a little trunk, who's top echoed its own arthritic protest as he opened it. Marrow snuck a side-eyed glance as his old tutor produced a cylindrical blue haberdasher's box. "Now this dinner of yours. Do you have something to wear?"

Marrow looked down at his drab travel clothes and scuffed, mud-stained boots. "I-look, it doesn't matter, I can't go. We have to go before Kastor at Nightfall."

Gudra scoffed as he removed the box's top. "And you'd see the most venerated among us in those? I could never allow it! You'd shame what life remains in this old husk of mine. You're going to that dinner."

Marrow turned, wringing his paws. "Bu – I... I don't want to."

"Nonsense. You'll go to that dinner if I have to bless you to sleep and drag your unconscious carcass there myself."

Gudra maneuvered the young skunk in front of a tall mirror.

"But... what will I say, I-"

"Nothing, this hat will do all the talking for you!" From behind, Gudra crowned Marrow in the puffiest mustard yellow hat he had ever seen. Its form billowed out and back over the brim. The polished amber stone at its marquee was accented with what had to be the largest feather marrow had ever seen, dyed, as it was, a most ostentatious purple.

"You think this is better than mud-caked boots? I look like a pastry baked and sold in a comfort district."

"Nonsense! You look every bit the dashing youth."

"Maybe if it were back when those tablets were written."

Gudra planted his paws akimbo. "Well what other option do you have?"

Marrow slid the Marshmellowey hat off and sunk back into his chair. "I could not go." His head sunk as he piddled with the amber.

Gudra crossed his arms and watched the top of his crestfallen friend's head for a moment. "Yes. You could not go." Marrow looked up. "You could not go, and we could carry on as we have for years, bearing the tragedies and pain of others." Gudra took his own seat again. "But there will always be another tragedy. And another and another and another. You were invited to dinner, not the Ghostwalker." Gudra leaned over and poked the young skunk in the chest for emphasis. "You. Marrow."

Marrow blinked as he grappled with the perceived gravity of what he was considering, taking a deep breath. "OK."

"yes?"

"Yes, I'll go. I'll go to dinner!", he declared to no audience in particular.

"Tremendous.", said Gudra with a clap. "Leave all this to me. I'll take care of things here. And don't worry about the audience with Kastor. I'll tell the Chief..."

"What? What will you tell him?"

"I said don't worry about it, didn't I? That is business for me and the Ghostwalker and all I see here is a criminally sophisticated looking skunk that is late for dinner. Now get!"

Marrow hurried out of his mentor's apartment. A look of pensive excitement smeared across his dappled face.