5: Harvest Moon

[Elias Heatherpaw]

The smell of honeyed ale and the promise of forgetfulness welcomed the patrons of the Crock o' Dawn to its evening festivities. Smoke wafted between the twin beams supporting the two-tier establishment, exchanged by a shrew and weasel casually puffing at their pipes. Jeers and cheers alike rose from a table that had sprouted a game of thimbles as beasts shed money from their paws. In one corner, a mouse begged her lover to stay the night. In the other, a table-dancing rat kicked mugs to the tune of an old horde marching song.

Elias didn't belong here. The few attentive eyes in the tavern slanted his way confirmed that fact, piercing through his travel-stained shirt as if it wasn't even there. He ignored the feeling and moved forward with his shoulders slumped, hoping the trudging-grifter act was enough to shake the attention of the locals.

Side-stepping a questionable puddle, Elias weaved his way through the mingling beasts and approached the ale-stained counter. A screw-faced rat stood behind the counter, digging a hangnail out with a butcher's knife. Elias' paw trembled against the metal in his pocket.

He recalled her voice then—distant, as it had been since the forest. Merely a memory.

"They're not scary, you're just being a ninny, Eli! Every beast is the same when it comes to money. First rule of bartering: never show them fear."

He pushed the memory aside before the sand-touched fur and cream-colored silk pulled him inside.

Leaning against the counter, shoulder twisted to hide his pocketed paw from the watching tavern, he asked, "D'you keep this place?"

An eyeball corkscrewed its way to focus on him. "Whazzat?"

"D'you own it?"

The rat chuckled, then winced as the knife dug too deep. "Why? Ya wannit?"

"I'm lookin' for a room." Then, slowly, he withdrew his paw and slid it across the counter.

The rat angled a curious eye as Elias tilted his paw up. The candlelight caught against a brass medallion, the shape of a mountain embossed in the center. Winding scrollwork spun around the edge, hooking at a point to spool out a blue ribbon—the mark of Bravery.

The rat looked up at him. And laughed. "Longears, whaddya think this is? The south?" A phlegm-filled wheeze escaped him. "Dunno why yer here, but ain't no law in the Nor—"

"I'm barterin' this, y'chuffin' sop!" Elias snapped, casting a wary eye to the crowd behind him. The rat's outburst appeared ignored in the merriment, and when he turned back, he found the rat rubbing his bloody claw against his chin.

"Barter, eh? Fer what?"

"A room."

" 'Ow long?"

"As bally-well long as I need it."

The rat snorted and snatched the medal up by the ribbon. Elias failed to suppress a wince. "This ain't gonna get me much at th' market."

"Be forceful with them," the memory came to him once more.

Elias grabbed a pawful of the rat's grime-covered jerkin and dragged him snout-to-snout. "Don't waste m'time, scratchtail. I've sent more'a you ta Hellgates than this building could hold."

The rat's lip curled, and he saw the grip on the butcher knife tighten.

"But not too forceful!"

Elias whispered an apology, let go of the jerkin, then tried again, "Good thing we aren't in the south. Money's th' war here, an' th' metal alone'd make you a month's wages."

He let the amount hang heavy in the air. The rat considered, twirling the medal under the scrutinizing eye of a barkeep. Then, with a nod, the bluff was sealed.

"I... serpose yer right. Coffers be a liddle light this past—"

"Bruno, ya blubberin' coincow!" came a shout from behind a half-open door in the back. "Tha Gates' takin' ya so laong?"

The rat spun, but Elias caught his collar. "This stays 'twixt us, or I will get it back, y'hear?"

Bruno ripped himself free and spat to the side. "Aye, aye, I 'ear ya." He stuffed the medal into his pocket before digging in a nearby drawer and tossing a key. "Top floor, fourth down. Don' make a fuss." He paused, then added, "An' you'll stay as long as I 'ballsy-well' say."

Elias accepted the key and hurried from the chaos of the bar. The sounds didn't fade as he climbed the steps, and the feeling of being watched only left when the latch to his room clattered into place.

Smoke slithered up through the floorboards, mothballs danced atop the burlap sheet of the single bed, and the one window in the room was simply a hole in the wall. But here, at least, the act could drop.

Elias slid his arms through the window and stared at the darkened port town. A shambling lamplighter weaved an uneven trail through Craylock's streets, points of light following in his wake. A single point drew his attention, flickering at the very edge of town. There, a great, towering rock rose above the weather-rotted rooftops. Not even the clustered buildings dared encroach too close to the rock, huddled at a fixed distance like a cautious crowd.

In the half-light, Elias saw pilgrims heading to and from the landmark. The Singing Stone's song had called them all, promising connection and reconciliation beyond the grave—a conduit to speak with loved-ones who had gone on to Dark Forest. He recalled one such pilgrim, years ago, telling him the tale on the beaches of Salamandastron, eyes alight with zeal.

Elias withdrew the final medallion from his pocket. The golden seal of the Badgerlord shimmered proudly, while a ribbon of brilliant red marked it with particular pedigree: the Medal of Loyalty.

Crooked bodies and bloodied faces brought his reminiscing short. He shoved the medallion back in his pocket with a sharp breath. They were tools, nothing more – there to be snatched by ferrybeasts and innkeeps like a dibbun's plaything.

Elias rubbed the locket hidden beneath his shirt. She'd been silent since that night in the forest, and the silence carried him all the way to this lawless world of gold and greed. If there were no answers here, if there was nothing to find but grief and insanity...

Elias gripped the locket harder. "Be with me."

Kneeling in the center of the room, Elias waited. He waited for the pilgrims to leave, for the Stone to call, and the dark to deepen.

And it did.

*****

The trees died a long time ago. They knew that now. The knowing brought them up from the cracked ground—naked white fingers grasping for the dying sun.

And the sun waited.

At once and unbidden, shadow spilled over the trees like ink. A wooden moan shook the land, roiling against the dark touch.

The shadow collected, gathered, deepened into the heart of the dead wood, then in a motion: unfurled.

Atop the center tree stood a bird, wings spread wide and eyes full of challenge against the dying sun.

And the bird did not wait.

She flew.

*****

Elias woke with a start, aware of the hard floor beneath and the cramped walls around. A cage. He'd been found. He hadn't run far enough, fast enough—

The smell of cheap ale and secondhand smoke brought him short, piercing through the groggy haze in his mind. Spread on his back, Elias sighed. Sleep? On a night like this? The journey must have taken a greater toll on him than he realized.

Elias inhaled the foul concoction to give him strength, then pulled himself up to the window. A deeper darkness settled over Craylock. The oil had run dry in several of the lamps, and gone were the meandering citizens and pilgrims.

Drawing upon his scout training, Elias exited his room, locked the door, and pawed his way through the slumbering tavern. The stairs creaked as he entered the main floor, echoing forlornly in the empty tavern. Only a wayward wisp remained of the evening's merriment.

Leaving the sullen tavern behind, Elias made his way onto the ruddy streets of Craylock, feet falling along a path he'd memorized long before entering the tavern.

The warm air draped over the town like a still sheet, oddly stale and tasteless. He avoided the touch of the remaining lamps, the hairs at the nape of his neck twitching with some formless omen—the feeling of being watched, or something else to which he couldn't put words. And sooner than he wanted, he stood before it.

The Singing Stone stood seven meters tall, a towering rectangle of rock. A patchwork puzzle of runic shapes channeled over the time-weathered surface, blackened by some dye or soot. A smooth indent spun around the base of the Stone, where uncountable paws had touched it over the years. In the travel-hardened dirt around the Stone, hollow stalls spread circular, empty of baubles and free from the crooning of swindling merchants.

Elias stood alone under the wavering light of a single lamp. He didn't breathe as he took his first step. He heard his heart beat as he knelt by the Stone, paw trembling upwards.

The Stone was cold, almost unnaturally-so. The omen upon his neck had faded, smothered and muted by something unseen. Elias traced the shape of one of the runes. He wondered if an incantation was needed, or a string of words, like some of the seers of old.

One paw pressed deep into the Stone, and the other clutching his locket, he spoke, "J-Jasmine... are you there?"

Hearing nothing over his own throbbing, he shut his eyes.

"I'm here, darling. I've crossed mountains, rivers, deserts... I've given up everything, but by th' stars, I'm here."

He waited. Nothing.

"Jasmine, I heard you," he said through gritted teeth. "Y'spoke ta me. I... I know it. If it's me – my fault - then show me. Anything, please—jus' a sign that you're there!" He slammed his fist into the Stone. "I cannot lose you as well! Hell's teeth, I will not—I will not!"

The silence remained resolute. Throat burning, Elias grinded his forehead against the rock as tears splattered the mud beneath him.

"Please..." he begged. "Please don't leave me."

His sobs rang in the empty meadow. Slowly, his paw fell, striking his pocket. He pulled his Medal of Loyalty out, its gold smeared by his blurred vision. The tears grew hot, tracing down his chin and joining the growing anger in his chest.

With a broken cry, Elias threw the medal out into the dark meadow.

Standing up, he squared his shoulders and sniffed the tears away. He turned, gazing down the path that led either back to the tavern, or down to the docks. He pictured the black, shimmering waves, and the deafening silence they held within them.

Elias stepped towards the path. If Jasmine could not be with him, then he would be with her.

"She can't hear you."

The voice caught Elias like an arrow. He spun to see a young sable stood beside the Singing Stone. She didn't look at him, her attention focused on the Stone.

"It was never meant to be like this," she said softly, caressing a paw down the side of the Stone. "It..." She tilted her head. "It doesn't even know what it is, anymore."

Elias scrubbed a sleeve across his eyes and regarded the sable cautiously. "What do y'mean?"

"All the runes." The sable gestured. "They're... wrong. There's no harmony to them, or purpose. It's just noise, but so loud I can't hear anything..." She turned. He noticed first the terrible scar marring one side of her face, then the marking inscribed upon her forehead. "Don't give up hope, sir. Not all magic is false."

She moved to leave when another voice spoke up, "Miss Mekai!" A young mouse, hunched under a large travel sack and half-hidden in a ripped habit, hopped beside the sable and waved something in his paw. "I found something really—" he trailed off upon seeing Elias, then looked at the object in his paw again.

Slowly, he walked up to Elias and held out his paw. "This is yours, isn't it?"

His Medal of Loyalty lay in the boy's paw, fresh mud caking half of it.

Elias sighed. "It was."

The mouse pursed his lips and tapped his toes. "Well... I think it'd look good on you. You shouldn't throw away something like this—it means you're a warrior and a good beast!" Suddenly, he reached up and pinned the medal onto Elias' shirt.

Elias staggered backwards, the lamp light washing over him as he regarded the cockeyed medal, haphazardly sagging just above his stomach. An objection primed in his throat before he heard a gasp. The sable – Mekai – ran up to him, staring at the medal then squinting up into Elias' eyes.

"You're a soldier, aren't you?"

Elias' fur rippled. Not with the return of the omen; it was something more. A great weight seemed to hum around the young sable, loud enough that he could almost hear it.

"I-I am," he said, before he even realized it.

The mouse gasped. "Like from the Long Patrol?"

"No no, Lucan, look!" Mekai said to the mouse, pointing at the ribbon. "It's him! It's the red arrow!"

Elias stepped away from the pair, paws raised. "I'm sorry, m'gel, I don't know what you're—"

"My home is under attack by a great beast of prophecy," Mekai said. "I had a vision that ten warriors would be found in the North that would save my home. You: you're one of them!"

Her massive smile and genuine joy held Elias in place. She reached to touch the ribbon, and he noticed a symbol dyed onto the fur of her paw, like a tree without its leaves, dead and old. He froze, gaze drifting up to the symbol on her forehead: a tribal marking of a bird with its wings spread.

"...this beast that threatens you. Who is he?" he asked.

Her smile vanished. "He's called the Suneater."

"A dying sun..." Elias muttered to himself. "You... y'know about real magic then?"

Mekai offered a shy smile. "Real magic brought me to you."

"Then you can help me." Elias paw reached for his locket, and Mekai noticed the ring on his finger. "You can help me talk with her again?"

Her answer was brought short by her furrowed brow. She considered, then said, "I... I know someone who can, yes." She straightened herself. "Please... help save my home, and I promise I'll do everything I can to help you."

Elias looked at Mekai, then the young mouse, taking in their hopeful stares before looking at the path to the docks. His stance hardened, and he felt a familiar rush of purpose course through his tired limbs.

"If you're just comin' inta town," Elias said, "then you'll need a place t' stay, wot."

"Ahh! I knew it! You are a Long Patrol hare!" Lucan yipped, eyes wide.

"That would be wonderful, sir!" Mekai said.

"It's Elias," he noted, then in a lower tone added, "And keep that t' yourself, son..."

The three of them worked their way back to the Crock o' Dawn's waiting doors. As Elias opened it, he found himself staring at the large frame of the establishment's rat landlady, arms tightly folded against her nightgown.

"Insultin' an' threatenin' me husband, were ya? An' then payin' 'im off wit' this?" She wagged his blue-ribbon medallion. "Well, I'll 'ave ya knaow tha' we got a good relationship, open-communicatin', and Bruno's a loyal sap tha' tells me when summit' ain't right wit'—"

"Harrumph!" Elias cleared his throat with militaristic vigor. The landlady paused, lips pursed suspiciously. " 'Course, marm, I didn't realize it's a family establishment."

He fished into his pocket and produced his Medal of Loyalty, holding it out.

"I should think this will cover any mishaps, eh? P'haps even a larger room t' accommodate my friends?"

Her eyes widened at the gold, and she snatched it in a motion. She scrubbed a digit at the mud, then spun around and shuffled her way to the counter, where she produced a key.

"Three beds, eighth door on th' right." She dropped it into his paw and gestured for his own key, which he returned. She regarded the three a final time, lips smacking in scrutiny. "Jus' keep yer chin dry, an' I waon' throw ya out!"

She meandered to the back of the tavern, and the slam of a door punctuated her departure.

"Mister," Lucan spoke up, "why'd you do that?"

"Didn't need it anymore, son." He gestured for them to follow. "C'mon, then. I think we all could use some rest."

Soon, Jasmine, he thought as he climbed the stairs once more. We'll be together soon.