To Finish a Weasel's Tale

[Tooley Bostay]

Hey all! So for a while now, I've wanted to finish off Tooley's story as if he never got voted off. Hence... this!

I'm writing this more for my sake, since I think it's important for me to finish what I started. With that in mind, there will probably be some canon divergence. I'll do my best to respect the other characters and their canon actions, but I'm writing this strictly on my own, and I haven't coordinated with anyone else(save for some SPAGing by Chak, to whom I'm most grateful!). Just warning that there may be some rough spots here and there--apologies if I mess up any of your lovely characters, mates!

I'll be starting off right where Tooley's death post began, just rewriting it with this new direction in mind. Treading some old ground first, then we'll get to the new stuff! But enough of my yappin', let's get to the story!

[Tooley Bostay]

- Reborn -

The door slammed shut, sending a wild tremor crackling out over the office. It scurried along the walls like a mad beast, swinging several paintings askew, before hopping to Blade's paper-strewn desk and striking a candlestick over. As quick as it appeared, the tremor vanished, as if suddenly more interested in what lay beyond the great wooden doors.

Tooley didn't move. An uneasy silence settled upon the room, yet the little rat's words continued to buzz within his head over and again, like a gnat trapped in a cup.

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

He traced a tender circle around the depression in his head. "Yer wrong..." he mumbled, voice barely more than a breath. His paw began to tremble as he took several shaky steps forward, the carpet feeling like the grasping thick of a marsh or bog. He stumbled off onto the bare wood, numbly managing to raise a paw and catch himself against the wall.

Head limp, he stared blankly at the floor. The wood was so polished that he could almost see his reflection. His boots, frayed and caked with dust, were shamefully out of place.

Tooley shut his eyes. "Yer... wrong..." he repeated, but his voice cracked this time.

Because she was right. The mountain had changed her, and she was special now. Useful. He'd heard all the other pirates say as much during the supper breaks as they split grins and crooned nicknames that Tooley didn't understand. She was a proper pirate now. She had outgrown him. After all, he was just the idiot, and idiots didn't belong among gods and generals.

Tooley shuddered and looked up. He paused, staring at a painting of a grand galleon before him. Roaring waves crashed along the side of the vessel, but its black hull carved through the ocean like a blade. No crew were visible on-board, but the black flag fluttering atop the mast made its allegiance clear. This was a mighty pirate vessel, and its power and command were unmatched even by the sea herself.

Plink would be on that ship. Past the mere strokes of paint, he could practically see her running across the deck already. Like a ghost imposed upon the picture. She had a fancy envelope clutched in her paw as she hopped up the stairs leading to the helm, an eager smile plastered upon her face. As she approached the wheel, other ghosts materialized around her.

First was a burly beast, sinewy arms folded together as he evaluated the rat. After a moment, he tilted his head approvingly, plaited whiskers twitching. Tooley felt his chest burn at the sight of Chak, and at the whip tied at his side. His recent confrontation with Chak came faintly to mind, as did the otter's words of caution, but it was drowned out by another memory. It didn't matter that the Chak he saw was just a phantasm. Seeing the otter on the ship just proved that he was, and would always be, a murderer.

Plink moved past Chak, and nearly bumped into a well-dressed ferret. She jolted back as the beast turned and stared critically, one paw on her hip and the other resting upon the cutlass at her side. Tooley bit his lip at the sight of Ciera as he recalled the captain's last words - something about wars, conquests, and places he'd never heard of. He didn't understand everything she'd said, but at the center of it all was piracy. Always piracy.

And there, gripping the wheel of the ship with a confident stance and a crooked grin, was the beast at the center of piracy: Captain Blade.

Then, like a whisper brushing over his mind, a voice came, "Come dawn, she'll burn with the Fire God's blessin'."

Tooley jerked back from the painting, a sudden chill snaking its way up his spine. "No!" he shouted, punching the wall. The painting shook from the force and the vision of the beasts shattered.

He turned around, scanning the room desperately for something--anything he might be able to use. Slowly his eyes trailed up the golden hem and blood-red body of the Fire God's robes. It was a limp and utterly harmless thing, yet life seemed to play within those robes all the same--like a cask of spirits, just waiting to be cracked open.

Tooley took a deliberate step forward. The yawning maw of the sharp-fanged skull stared back at him almost threateningly, but he ignored it. As soon as he neared, he seized two pawfuls of scarlet and stared straight into the skull's dark sockets.

"I ain't gonna let ye 'urt 'er," he growled, then ripped the robes from the stand and bundled them into a tight ball. With his other paw he snatched the mask from its perch.

Without the Fire God, there could be no sacrifice.

His heart pounded against his chest as he scanned the room. The looming set of doors flickered dangerously in the dim candlelight, awaiting Blade's promised return.

Tooley forced his gaze away, and instead found himself staring at the candelabra set at the corner of Blade's desk. The dozen or so candles were almost halfway spent, tiny flames hungrily eating at the wax and wick. He noticed that one of the candles had fallen onto the table, its flame flickering ravenously at a parchment just out its reach.

He walked over, setting the skull down and picking up the stray candle. He gazed at the little flame, capable of so much destruction. Then he turned to the bundle in his other paw.

"Yer not gonna 'urt anyone else."

He gritted his teeth and moved the flame underneath the robes. The fire danced excitedly, eating away at a protective residue that coated the fabric. For all his power, for all his fear, the Fire God was just a simple change of clothes. In fact, any idiot could be the Fire God.

Tooley froze. His paw wavered as a few flicks of fire began to play at the fabric. Soon, the entire robe would ignite, bringing an end to at least a part of Captain Blade. This would be a victory for many of the beasts harmed under the pirate's rule. This needed to happen.

The fabric blackened, and gruesome images of a burning hare flared in the weasel's memory. There was no guarantee the strange-eyed natives would let Crue or any other beast free if their god simply didn't show up. No, they needed their god to tell them to stop.

Even if he was an idiot.

Tooley swung his paw back, quickly patting away the few embers that flickered in the fibers of the robe. He turned to face the Fire God's mask.

"I'm gonna save Miss Crue. An' yer gonna 'elp me."

Click.

Tooley jerked backwards, staring in horror as the door to the office swung open. In the few precious seconds he had, a jumble of orders crashed through his mind. He had to hide. He had to find a weapon. He should never have done this in the first place.

Tooley didn't move.

A weasel wearing a familiar leather apron stepped through the door first. Following behind him was a stoat with a scowl affixed to his face, muttering under his breath, "...make it quick, Rindclaw. Cap'n said t' keep--"

In an instant, the room went deathly still. The stoat blinked. Rindclaw gaped. Tooley felt a sudden surge of nervous energy twitch through his veins, and he held out the candle in his paw threateningly.

"S-stay where ye are!" He couldn't help the hitch in his voice, and settled for furrowing his brow as fiercely as he could at the pair.

Rindclaw was the first to find his voice. "What the devil are y'doin'?!"

"Doin' what I 'ave to!"

A curious expression colored Rindclaw's face--confusion, then fear. "Lad, look at yoreself! This ain't gonna solve anythin'!" He sucked in a breath, then stepped foward, arms spread amiably. "Now I'm sure there's a good explanation for all this. Y'jus' got scared and got yoreself carried away, right?"

Tooley cast a glance around him, searching for an escape route. There was the door leading to the badger pit, but that's where Plink had gone. It would just be trading two pirates for one. He turned back to the two to find that the stoat was finally stirring from his shock, a paw reaching for the cutlass at his side. Hearing the movement beside him, Rindclaw turned, shot a paw back at the stoat, and shook his head sharply. The stoat hesitated, then removed his paw with a grumble.

"Look, I heard a little bit 'bout what happened in th' docks." Rindclaw nodded towards the stoat. "Weren't yore fault, y'know that, right?" He took several more steps. He was almost halfway to Tooley now. "I'd say y'did th' right thing, in fact. So y'ain't gotta be afraid o' nothin'. So jus'... put that outfit down, an' I'll settle things with th' Cap'n, a'right? We're all friends 'ere, lad."

Tooley looked past Rindclaw, towards the open doorway that led back into the mountain. It was his only way out. But, then again... He gingerly brushed a paw up against his ear. He had no way to navigate through the mountain's many tunnels without his hat. All this time, he'd been doomed to fail before he'd even started.

"Please..." Rindclaw's voice was soft, uncharacteristically so for the blacksmith.

Tooley turned to see that he had stopped a few steps away. The blacksmith's attention, however, was focused on Tooley's stumped ear. Rindclaw took a shaky breath, paws curling tightly, and it was then that Tooley noticed the crumpled mess gripped in the blacksmith's paw. It was a ragged bundle of frayed fabric, chewed holes and a rainbow of colors dotting it all over. His hat.

A rush shot through Tooley's veins as an idea popped in his head. He nearly started at once, but paused when he locked eyes with Rindclaw. The beast's face was stricken with a fear that was all but spoken. The look was a foreign, strange thing upon the weasel's hardened features, but it was as genuine as the fear and broken hope Tooley had seen among several of the other beasts in the Dead Rock. The only difference was, this look was on the face of a pirate.

Tooley felt his hackles rise. He'd trusted pirates before.

"Yer all th' same..." he muttered. He looked at the candle held out in his paw, then at Rindclaw. His gaze hardened.

Never again.

Tooley opened his paw, and the candle fell. Almost instantly, there was a flare of orange. Tooley sprung back from the sudden heat to his side, eyes wide as he watched flame crawl across the carpet with surprising vigor.

"Bleedin' rotter!" the stoat screamed, charging forward. Stopping a safe distance from the flame, he scanned the room before throwing a glance back towards Rindclaw. "Put th' fire out or the whole place'll go up!"

The blacksmith didn't move, a look of horror plastered over his face.

Seeing that neither seemed to be paying him attention, Tooley dashed forward, snatching his hat from Rindclaw's grip and heading for the door. He passed the threshold just when a voice cried out from behind him, "Delner!"

Something shot through Tooley's chest. It was so sudden - so piercing - that his feet gave out from beneath him. Tooley crashed into the hard floor face first, and suddenly he was lost in a sea of images. A storm of places and people he didn't recognize crashed through his head, all roaring together louder than the most troubled, chaotic sea.

Before he could even react, the images vanished, and the din faded from his mind. Tooley flipped over onto his back and sucked in a lungful of air he didn't realize he needed. A hurried glance around him told him he was back in the Dead Rock, and the throbbing ache in his mouth told him he'd broken a tooth. He suddenly stopped, looked down, then frantically patted at his chest in search of the knife or arrow jutting out from him, covered in a telltale crimson sentence.

Tooley froze, chills coursing throughout his body. There was nothing.

"'Ey!" came a barking voice. Tooley's head shot up to see the stoat making a beeline for him, cutlass flashing at his side.

He had no time to think. Tooley saw the open door at his side, reared back a foot, and kicked. The heavy wood smashed into the stoat's snout, a spray of blood and a yelp following as the stoat crashed to the floor in a crumpled, moaning heap.

Tooley breathed hard, and found himself unable to look away from the twitching body--from the fountain of blood pouring from in-between the stoat's clutched paws.

"H-He was a pirate," he told himself, "just like the others. He deserved this."

Somehow, Tooley willed his body into action. He gathered up the robes piled beside him, flipped his cap onto his head, and glanced one last time into Blade's office. He hesitated.

Rindclaw hadn't moved. The look of horror was still on his face, but it wasn't because of the growing fire around him--he didn't even seem to notice it. He was just standing there, staring straight at Tooley with an unspoken plea in his eyes.

And in that moment, Tooley realized that Rindclaw, the pirate, was something more.

Tooley scrambled to his feet, nearly losing his balance as he spun on his heel and darted down the stairway. He wasn't sure how long he ran, or how far, but he didn't stop until the pounding in his chest became too much to bear. He slowed to a stop in a wide tunnel of cockled rock, found a shadowy corner, and pressed himself deep into the darkness. He felt stone behind him, and quickly slid down it until he was sitting in an awkward, hunched shape.

His chest was on fire. He sucked in large gasps of air, but it didn't seem to quell the burning, so instead he dug his claws into the fabric of the Fire God's outfit and hugged the bundle to his chest.

"It don't matter," he managed to huff between breaths, raking one paw across his head. Upon brushing the brim of his hat, he suddenly jerked back and tossed it aside as if it was a stray bug.

It landed on a rock just outside of his small nook, where the shadows and torchlight met. He turned away, and began to rummage through the robes until he saw off-white bone. He drew the mask up and pressed his forehead against it, willing his breathing to calm.

"I don' want t' remem'er this. I don' want t' remem'er this." Over and over, he repeated it until the choking fire began to die in his chest. Slowly, he pulled his head away from the mask until he was staring into its empty eyes. "Jus'... jus' 'elp me save Miss Crue," he whispered.

The Fire God didn't respond, but it didn't need to. Its presence alone was an affirmation of what he already knew. Saving Crue was what mattered. Everything else could wait. Everything else could be forgotten.

With a measure of trepidation, Tooley lifted up the mask and slid it carefully over his head. It was a cold thing. A distinct, acidic smell lingered in the sticky wax that coated the skull's every crevice. Despite this, it fit snugly on his head--comfortable.

Slowly, Tooley pushed himself up onto his feet. He unfurled the Fire God's robes and slipped a paw into one of the deep sleeves, and then another. He tied the front of the robe shut, then took a breath.

Then, as the Fire God, he stepped out from the shadows. He bent down and picked up his hat, careful not to poke any holes in the frail fabric as he searched for the fastest route out of the mountain. What mattered was saving Crue. Everything else could wait.

And by the time he was done, he'd have already forgotten.

~~~

"They're at it again."

Driftpaw glanced up from his tankard, raising a brow towards the rat standing at the edge of the cave's yawning entrance. "More survivors, Barb?" he grumbled, licking off the stale ale from his soaked whiskers.

Barbtooth shook his head. "Nay. Don't seem t' be too many beasts out there. Ain't making as much a racket, neither." The moonlight caught the rat's signature serrated teeth as he gave a roguish grin. "Not that I'm complainin'."

Setting his tankard on a flat rock to his side, Driftpaw pushed himself up onto his feet and strode over to join the rat at the entrance. Far in the distance, a dozen lights flickered in a slow procession. He narrowed his keen, fox eyes, spying out the shadowed forms of beasts shuffling against the surrounding darkness. Their number was far smaller than usual. For one, Driftpaw could only see two beasts at the front that had the distinct hobble of having their arms tied, but even the mongooses seemed fewer. That, and it was quiet. No booming drums. No rhythmic howls. Nothing.

Driftpaw crossed his arms, orange tail flicking the dust beneath him. "Odd." He looked over to his fellow watchbeast. "Didn't give us any heads up?"

Barbtooth spat out a gob of saliva and shrugged. "Ain't seen no beast come this ways." He turned, eyes slit shiftily. "Why? Y' think summat's 'appenin'?"

Before Driftpaw could answer, a pair of footsteps drew his attention. He spun around to see a figure bathed in red emerge from the darkness of the Dead Rock. Driftpaw stared at the skull covering the beast's head, and at the dark eye sockets that gazed perpetually forward. He couldn't help but shiver. He'd seen the Fire God several times before, but even knowing the identity of the beast beneath didn't lessen the frightening look of the outfit. In fact, were it not for the fuzzy chin jutting out from the skull, he'd be half convinced that Captain Blade truly did turn into a god.

Driftpaw glanced at his partner, who offered him a questioning expression, before stepping forward to greet the Fire God. "Here a bit early, Captain? Mongooses haven't even started the ritual yet."

The Fire God showed no signs of slowing. Driftpaw cleared his throat, stepping along the approaching beast's path in case he hadn't been seen at first. "Yer welcome t' wait here with us 'til they give the signal."

Driftpaw held out a amiable paw towards the small stock of provisions ducked to the side of the cave. As soon as the Fire God neared him, Driftpaw felt a paw strike him in the chest. The blow wasn't particularly strong, but it was enough to send him stumbling back. He stared as the Fire God wordlessly marched out into the moonlit wastes, robes whisking dust into the air behind him.

Several moments passed before Barbtooth muttered lowly, "What's got under 'is skin?"

"Dunno." Driftpaw turned, stepping back into the cave and plucking up his half-empty tankard. He took a quick swig, smacking his lips and letting the ale settle on his tongue before speaking, "But yer right. Somethin's happenin'."

[Tooley Bostay]

- Never Again -

"Tomorrow, we sacrifice!"

The words hung over the village like sorcery. Crue couldn't move. It was as if the world had suddenly frozen in time.

Distantly, like through a looking glass, Crue studied the faces of the mongooses gathered around. Their eyes still had the crust of sleep, and several of the younger mongooses - clinging to their parents' sides - looked about ready to collapse upon the dirt below.

She recognized so many of them. She gathered food with these beasts. Learned from them. Healed them. The look of betrayal that marked their faces pierced like steel.

A sharp sound broke through her thoughts, and she saw Shuga snap his fingers. A shuddering tide of red began stalking towards her--beasts cloaked in crimson robes and decorated with bone gimcracks.

Crue felt air rush through her lungs. "Dekeft!"

She spun on her heel only to find another wave of red approaching her from behind. She bit back the urge to panic and turned to Dekeft. A fire burned in the mongoose's eyes. He wasn't even paying attention to the priests; he was just staring at Shuga. He reached down and drew a dagger from his snakeskin belt.

Alarm shot through her mind. Desperate or not, they were outnumbered tenfold at the least. There was no way--

Thump.

Crue stared at the dagger lying by Dekeft's feet, then watched as he slipped his spear from over his shoulder. He held it out with both paws, then let it fall to join the dagger in the dust.

Crue gaped at him. "Dekeft, what are you--"

Something grabbed her arm. Crue whirled around instinctively, her elbow connecting with flesh. There was a cry of pain, and the grip on her arm loosened. She hopped back from three of the priests who had walked a little faster than the others. She spared one last glance at Dekeft. His fiery gaze hadn't left Shuga, but he didn't seem to notice her or the trouble they were in.

A paw swiped for her tail. She ducked back, frantically searching for an escape. A sliver in-between two of the priests caught her eye, and she dove forward. They yelped in surprise, but she had already squeezed her head through. Then her chest. Then a jolt jerked her to a halt--claws biting at her fur and clothing, ripping pawfuls free.

Crue bit down hard, dug her feet into the dusty ground, and shoved herself forward. She managed to pull a foot free, kicked the other into the stomach of a priest, then saw movement in front of her. She looked up into the scowling face of Shuga, noticing the gnarled end of the staff a moment too late.

Pain shot through her jaw, and a shuddering numbness coursed through her body. The priests were on her at once, slamming her into the dirt. Chittering orders buzzed above as something coarse was tied around her paws immediately. She squinted out of her eye not currently pressed against the ground, but the world was a red-tinted blur. The side of her head pulsed with pain, and she could taste blood. She struggled to free a paw to test the wound as dread began to roil within her. How close had Shuga struck her eye? Was it ruined for good?

"Get di beastah up!"

Her arms were seized before she could touch her temple, and she was yanked both from her thoughts and the ground. It was too fast, and for a moment, it took everything Crue had not to empty her stomach right there.

"Di beastah runs! Ees t'es not guilt nuffa you?"

Crue recognized Shuga's raspy tone. She lifted her head up slowly, blinking open her good eye. Shuga stood inches from Laika, chest puffed out as a claw gestured vividly back towards Crue. The Second Atilak stood cross-armed, her face an emotionless mask against Shuga's dramatics. Behind her was a small throng of mongooses, most adorned with various trophies they'd gathered on hunts. Hunts probably led by Dekeft.

Laika looked past Shuga, locking eyes with Crue. It was now or never.

"He's lying!" Crue blurted out, her voice surprisingly harsh and strained. Crue resisted the urge to diagnose what damage might had been done to her throat, instead focusing squarely on Laika and the mongooses around her. "The Fire God is using you! He's not even a god, he's just a ferret named Captain Blade!"

"Silence her!" Shuga shrieked, gesturing wildly at one of the red-robed priests. Laika remained expressionless, but doubt - and even anger - colored the faces of the mongooses behind her.

"Dekeft's seen it too. Trust him if you don't trust me!" Crue saw the priest approach her, a thick cloth ready in his paw. "Blade has my friends captured in the mountain, and I need your help!"

The priest shoved the gag towards her, but Crue ducked her head to the side. "Please! He's going to kill--"

Rough fabric swallowed the rest of her words. She bit against the gag, trying to choke out a final plea, but could only manage muffled cries.

"Said nuffa!" Shuga cried, stomping over to Crue. His motions were noticeably exaggerated for the crowd, but the way his face twisted with fury was real enough to send a chill down Crue's back. For a moment, he just stared at her. His paw twitched near a ceremonial dagger at his side.

Then he straightened up. The fury fell from his eyes, and a smile played at the corner of his lips. He drew in a breath and turned around.

"Dis beastah... she speekuh venom! She tries to poison di minds ef all monkoozers!" He walked with an almost whimsical beat to his step, and wagged a finger at his side."Ahhh, but beastah forget t'et monkoozers die to no venom. She be like te snekk, sneekah in te shadows with teet full ef lies. Maybe beastah also forget tet we keelah te snekks!"

A small cheer of "ayah!" rose from one side of the mongooses--Shuga's supporters, no doubt. Crue looked to Dekeft, but found that he too had been gagged by the priests. Shuga glanced over his shoulder, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. That was when Crue realized what he was doing, and that it was working.

For the first time, fear - true fear - slithered its way into her heart.

She fought against the grip of her captors and bit down harder against the gag, but it was a futile effort. She was going to die here. And it wasn't just her, all the others would die as well. Robert, Frederick, every poor beast in that mountain...

"En who was eet who helpah di monkoozers keelah te snekks? Keefted us vet weapons frommah hees own home?" He drew his dagger out to slice the air above. "Fiyah Gott!"

That earned him another cheer. There were more mongooses cheering than last time.

"But..."

The voices died instantly, and Shuga looked up. A younger mongoose standing behind Laika shifted slightly, eyes downcast.

Shuga tapped the tip of the dagger against one of his claws. "You hef sometink to say, Teppa?"

Teppa chewed at his lip for a moment, then straightened up. "Crue hes been good tik monkoozers. My paw hurt after bad hunt. She tekk my paw en see evil inside, en mekk te evil go away." He waved his paw and wiggled his fingers. "Paw hurts no more."

Crue felt her eyes water, despite the painfully incorrect idea of how medicine worked. One of these mongooses was willing to stand up for her, and that meant everything.

Shuga leaned forward against his staff, eyes slit like a viper. "Even di evil spirits ken appear like friends. Maybe beastah tekk away one curse en put worse curse on you?"

Teppa considered this, studying his formerly-injured paw before nodding. "Beastah may be evil spirit."

Crue felt her heart sink.

"But she go into mountain en come back vet Dekeft. He ees great warrior, and monkoozers greastest atilak, ayah!"

This prompted a cheer from all the mongooses behind Laika, as well as several others scattered around.

Shuga's nose twitched in irritation, then he let out a long sigh and shook his head.. "Ees why I hope te Fiyah Gott ees merciful to our First Atilak. Di greatest among us, en even he ees led astray by beastah's false visions en lies!"

He cast a paw back to gesture in her direction. "Tekk good look at beastah! You hev seen her act like monkoozer, eat monkoozer foott en wear monkoozer clothes, but she ees no monkoozer! Her fur ees not monkoozer fur! Her eyes not monkoozer eyes! Ayah!"

A cheer from the crowd. There was even a throaty growl from a nearby mongoose. Crue looked to Dekeft, but with the gag on as well, he was about as useless as she was. Their only hope had been Dekeft's supporters making a stand for him, but Dekeft wasn't Shuga's real target--she was.

Shuga turned and stomped over to her. "En when I look et her," Shuga said, tilting his head and squinting, "di Fiyah Gott shows me sometink more!" He suddenly bent down, scooped a handful of dirt up and slung it at her.

Crue turned her head away, but a moment too late. She blinked furiously at the dust in her eyes as Shuga continued.

"Dis no beastah! Not even a spirit! She ees demon! Aya~ah!"

Crue coughed, glaring furiously at Shuga through the haze. "As if!"

Several of the mongooses jeered, and Crue felt more dust thrown upon her. Then she heard a gasping sound, followed by a thud. The jeers stopped, and the village went silent.

Crue blinked quickly. Past the tears caused by the dust, she saw that Shuga had fallen to the ground, completely still. For the first time in her career, she desperately wished a beast had a heart attack.

Shuga stirred. One of the priests hurried to his side, but he waved him off. He jabbed his staff into the earth, and ever-so slowly began to pull himself up onto his feet. Every mongoose stared wide eyed, holding their breath until he spoke.

"Di Fiyah Gott..." he began, voice dry, "spoke to me en a vision. He knows te danger of t'is demon to monkoozers." He faced her, his dark eyes narrowed. "He said no sacrifice tomorrow."

Crue tried to pull away. One last futile effort to flee from the words she knew were coming. The priests held her still, and she saw the shadow of a smile cross Shuga's face.

"Sacrifice, tonight!"

~~~

The day her sister died, Crue made two promises to herself: that she would never again heed spirits, potions, and false hopes in matters of healing, and that she would save the next one.

When she studied at Redwall many years later, she had focused on those two promises, devouring every scrap of practical medical knowledge like a starved beggar. It was there, after seasons of paws-on study, that she finally felt she knew enough to do some good in the world. Until the accident, that is.

She still remembered the day the door to the infirmary slammed open. Every healer turned to stare as a throng of beasts rushed in the limp body of a dormouse. His name was Jonathan. He'd grown up in Redwall all his life. He'd met a nice girl named Eliza and asked her to marry him. He was the talk of Redwall for days, always trotting about with an oafish, glowing grin that he wore like a badge of honor.

She could hardly see any of that beast under all the blood.

He'd fallen from a shed onto a rusted stake and split his chest open. Crue had never heard so many beasts scream for help at once, and even some of the veteran healers seemed stunned at the sight. The most senior medics ushered out the abbey beasts and went to work immediately.

Jonathan died that day, and Crue promised herself that she would save the next one.

So she learned more. Common ailments like the cold or a stomachache became something she laughed at, and she quickly became desensitized to the many bruises and gashes that careless sailorbeasts approached her with. She wanted more, and working aboard the Zephyr was just the chance she had been waiting for.

Then the island happened. She was stranded, lost, but by some miracle she had found other survivors. It had afforded her a moment of comfort - she wasn't alone in this wilderness - but perhaps she had been too comfortable. She hadn't even heard the trap, just saw everyone rush to Minstrel's twitching body. There was nothing to do. She'd told herself as much every day that followed. There was simply nothing she could have done.

But she would save the next one.

"Movah!"

A paw struck her between her shoulder blades. Crue quickened her pace, but her posture remained slumped.

Besides the shuffle of feet against the dusty ground, the world was silent. Upon hearing Shuga's declaration, several of the more eager mongooses had rushed off to grab their drums, but Laika had quickly stepped in to forbid it. It was uncharted territory for a mongoose to be sacrificed alongside outsiders, and so no music or song would accompany their march to the altar.

Crue found herself missing the celebration. Drum beats and ululations would at least distract her from her wandering thoughts.

A chill swept along her side, and she failed to stop a shiver from spiraling up her body. She focused her mind, trying to think of anything warm.

The cauldron in Crema's tent. She'd left a dandelion broth to brew over a fire that morning after several of the mongooses had complained about what sounded like heartburn. Had she forgotten to put out the fire before--

She stopped the thought with a dry, mirthless chuckle. A time like this, and the first thing she thought of was leaving a fire going. How stupid.

Robert's face. The image hit her without warning, but there was that warm, shining smile of his. It hadn't taken a day after they first set off that she noticed just how often the hedgehog smiled. He would trot across the deck, a grin and hearty laugh ready for any of the dozens of sailors surrounding him. She'd avoided everyone back then - it was her nature - but she avoided him in particular. Only a silly beast who didn't realize how serious their journey was could be so jovial. Strangely enough, he was probably one of the few beasts who knew exactly how serious their journey was, and ever since that day when her stock began to go missing, he'd been there to help, to encourage, and through it all, to smile.

What a world of difference that one smile would make, if she could see it now.

His family wouldn't ever see it again, she realized. How long would they wait before they found out his fate? Would they ever know? How long before they gave up hope of him ever returning?

What about her own family? Would her parents even consider that she could be dead? She'd tried to make time in her travels to send them letters, but as of late that had become a rare thing. She couldn't remember when she had last seen them. Five seasons, maybe seven? Maybe more. Too long, whatever it was. She could have made time to visit. Father had even said there was need for a healer in town.

"Stay for a season or two," he had said, "just to rest your feet."

But that had been too simple, too easy. "Crue Sarish" was nothing, but she was going to make that name mean something. Prove to the world that... that...  She wasn't sure, exactly. She wasn't sure if she ever had known. That she was good at what she did? That the frailties of the body merely took a diligent-enough mind to mend? That she could save someone else's sister?

A sound drew her from her thoughts. She at first thought it had just been the whisper of wind, but soon it began to pick up, and she heard voices. Steadily, the voices grew, and she saw the mouths of the red-robed mongooses surrounding her move in unison.

"Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah..."

The words seeped into the air and lingered like an omen, and the chill in the air seemed to deepen. Crue peered over the shoulders of the priests in front of her, and suddenly she couldn't breathe.

The altar to the Fire God lay before them. The two stone spires stood in the middle--waiting, watching. A pair of rusted manacles attached to either of them twisted slightly in the wind, restless without some beast's wrists clamped in their grip.

One of the priests pulled her up towards the altar. Crue didn't resist as they walked up the stone stairway, or as they locked the manacles tight around her wrists. It was only here that she realized she'd been lying to herself all along.

The truth was, Crue Sarish couldn't save anyone.

[Tooley Bostay]

- To Err is Mortal -

The altar was pristine. The contrast was striking enough that a casual observer might even forget its purpose. No pools of blood or blistered corpses marred the face of the wide, semi-circle stone. Instead, its silvery surface seemed to glow against the surrounding torchlight.

Nothing could hide the smell, however. Faint, as if carried by the wind, but its presence was constant, and only grew more noticeable over time. The acrid, coppery tinge found in every breath, the bloated air that was more tasted than smelled. Then there were the things that couldn't be scrubbed clean-- the burgundy-colored pockmarks scarring deep into the silver stone, the faded circle of soot staining the center, the knobs of fur and flesh melded into the inside of the iron shackles.

Many, many beasts had died here.

Crue winced at the manacles biting into her wrists. She eyed the taut, three-link chains hooked high to two pillars on either side of her. The pillars were pushed out further than where her heels were bound, forcing her to lean forward in a bowing position. It was masterfully designed, if one wanted to cause just enough pain and discomfort to heighten a beast's already pulsing fear.

"Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah..."

She looked at the mongooses gathered in front of the altar. The red-robed priests continued their beckoning chant, and some of the other mongooses picked it up as well. Those were the mongooses whose faces were twisted with anger and expectation; this was the demon beast that had nearly led them astray, after all! Crue wondered if they expected her to burn different than all the others.

The other mongooses looked upon her with a mixture of fear and sorrow. Whether or not they believed she was a demon, there was an earnest sadness in their faces. They didn't want this, but none seemed ready to make a move.

Then there was Dekeft. He was tied to one of the many smaller pillars that littered the grounds in front of the altar. His face showed none of the fear that beat within Crue's own heart, but his eyes still held the same fiery intensity as they did back in the village.

Why? It was the only thing she could think whenever she saw him. Why didn't he fight back? Why didn't he try to save himself? Save her? Why do nothing? Could it be that he knew something she didn't?

She eyed Laika, who stood several paces away from Dekeft. With Dekeft deposed, she inherited all of his responsibilities, but more importantly, his authority. Perhaps that was it. Dekeft knew to keep silent, and Laika would be able to convince Shuga to spare him. Crue would die, but the mongooses would keep their beloved chief, and Laika her husband.

It only made sense. She'd dragged them into this, forcing them to see a world they never asked for and asking them to fight a battle that wasn't theirs. No matter how much she wished things had turned out differently, Crue found she couldn't blame them. They would at least survive.

A shuffling sound drew her attention away, and she turned to see Shuga mounting the steps to the altar. He smiled at her as he drew near, lips curling to match the satisfied twinkle in his eyes. With clinical indifference, he examined the various restraints holding her back.

"Do you beleef in te gotts, beastah?" he asked, tilting his head down to check the shackles around her ankles.

Crue glared at him in silence. He stood back up, resting a paw atop the pommel of his ceremonial dagger, claws brushing a metal key that hung beside it. He met her glare and chuckled.

"You vet do well to beg t'em fo mercy," Shuga whispered before turning and walking out to the edge of the altar. The chanting, for the first time, began to grow louder, but Shuga silenced them with a swipe of his paw. "T'is not time fo celahbrettions!" he bellowed.

The chanting stopped, and the world fell quiet. The mongooses glanced at each other. Then, the slow tapping of Shuga's staff against the stone filled the emptiness as he paced the edge of the altar.

"We shoul' not takuh pride in t'is," he began, voice barely loud enough to be heard. He pointed back at Crue. "T'is not a keeft fo Fiyah Gott. T'is... t'is our failure. Di monkoozers are t'e Fiyah Gott's chosen, vet we were blind, tekking a demon into our midst!"

Shuga bent over, shaking his head morosely as the mongooses chittered softly to one another. Then he straightened up, stamping his staff upon the altar loudly.

"Vet di Fiyah Gott givuh mercy! He hes opened our eyes, en not abandoned us to our blindness!" He spread his arms out to the crowd. "T'is ees keeft fo monkoozers, tik remind us ovah hees powah en blessing! Ayah!"

A chorus of "ayah!" rang out from the mongooses. Shuga turned to face Crue, and the chanting began once again.

"Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah..."

He began to walk towards her, reaching into the folds of his robe and producing a small pouch.

"Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah."

Shuga flipped the pouch over, pouring a generous amount of a black, glittering powder into his waiting paw. He stopped in front of her, raising his paw above her head. She tried to jerk her head away, but only succeeded in moving just a few inches to the side. Shuga opened his paw, and the dust fell.

"Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah, Fiyah Koddah!"

She felt the dust sift and settle into her fur. The chanting was almost drowned out by the throbbing beat of her heart. Crue forced herself to stare back at Shuga. If she was going to die, she wouldn't give him the joy of knowing how terrified she was.

Shuga pulled two rocks from his robes. The torchlight behind cast him into a fire-lined shadow.

"Fo Fiyah Gott."

Her arms trembled against her restraints. She tried to stop them, but her body was numb and distant. Shuga raised up the rocks.

"STOP!"

The voice crackled out from the darkness like thunder. And the world stopped. The chanting faded into nothing, and Shuga stood frozen with the rocks raised above him. Slowly, he turned his head in the direction the voice had come. Crue followed his gaze, staring at the dark corner of the altar where the torchlight didn't reach.

The darkness moved. Like a black curtain, the night rippled, and the outline of a figure began to emerge into the torchlight. Red. It was the first thing Crue saw. The figure was bathed in it--so deep a crimson that it made Shuga's robes look like ash in comparison. His face was shrouded beneath a serpent's skull, patterns etched into it that shimmered against the torchlight. The smell of death that permeated the altar thickened at the figure's mere presence.

The Fire God had arrived, and he was walking straight towards her.

Terror crashed against her, and Crue's resolve cracked. She yanked against her chains, but the manacles only cut deeper into her flesh. The gag around her mouth suddenly felt like a noose, choking her breaths and leaving only her mind to scream out, Run. Run! RUN!

The Fire God neared, outstretching a paw. Shuga stumbled back as if silently commanded, leaving nothing between Crue and the crimson figure. She shut her eyes, and waited for the pain.

Something grabbed at her wrist and tugged. Metal scraped and groaned, but beyond the pressure on her wrist, no pain came. Hesitantly, Crue cracked open her uninjured eye.

The Fire God stood before her, both paws clutching the manacle enclosed around her wrist. He pulled and heaved at the fetter, but it remained affixed to the pillar. Under his ghastly mask, she could hear his breaths grow strained, but still he tugged at the chain.

"Vet are you doing?" Shuga snapped, rushing forward.

The Fire God turned around, raising himself to his full height. With the snake skull perched atop his head, he stood a full head taller than Shuga. He pointed back to Crue and growled, "Let 'er go."

Crue and Shuga both gaped at him, and a stretch of silence lingered between the three. Then Shuga shook his head, his face darkening. "Chk-ka! You dreenkah te deep wine again, fool!" He reached out to grab the Fire God.

As soon as Shuga's claws brushed the Fire God's arm, there was a blur of a crimson and a spongy cracking sound. Crue gaped as Shuga hit the ground on his back, blood oozing from his snout.

"Don't yew touch me!" the Fire God bellowed. "I am a god, an' yew obey me!" He leaned down, grabbed Shuga and yanked him up so that their snouts were nearly touching. "Now let 'er go."

Shuga didn't respond. He just stared into the dark sockets of the snake skull, eyes wide but unfocused. With a frustrated growl, the Fire God dropped him back to the altar's stone. Shuga reached an unsteady paw up to his bleeding snout as the Fire God stepped over him.

Crue watched the Fire God walk to the edge of the altar. The initial terror of his appearance faded, and he was no longer a god, just a costumed tyrant named Captain Blade. A tyrant calling for her release.

She considered Shuga's comment, and suddenly the slurred, exaggerated pirate dialect made sense. A new fear then settled upon her--her fate hinged upon the whims of a very drunk beast.

The Fire God held up his arms to the mongooses watching. "Do ye know who I am?"

It was more a challenge than a question. The mongooses stared with a strange mixture of reverence and fear. The priests, meanwhile, glanced at each other in confusion.

"Ayah, I do!"

Several mongooses stepped aside to make way for the speaker. Laika strode forward to face the Fire God, though all eyes had shifted to look at her.

"You not like te ot'er gotts," she said, bowing low. "We monkoozers all know dis. You te gott we see, te gott ef te mountain, who came after di grounds shook en di sky thunder."

The other mongooses cheered, but Crue noticed that Shuga's priests were silent. They shuffled from their positions, slowly heading in Laika's direction. Crue looked back at Laika, furrowing her brow.

What are you doing?

"You command di torches en our paws, en di sun en te sky!" Laika continued, raising her spear for emphasis.

Most of the priests had moved to form a loose circle around Laika. If they wanted, they could pounce on her at any moment. Laika either didn't notice the growing threat, or didn't care. She didn't seem to mind that all the eyes of the priests - and mongooses alike - were focused on her.

"You strongah t'en di mountain, en t'ees weapons are hair fromah your head. You are di eemortal gott, en no beastah can stand up tik you! T'at ees why di monkoozers servah you!"

The mongooses all around cried out "ayah!" and the priests took a step back from Laika. The Fire God stood taller, stretching his arms out.

"Then I command ye: let Miss Crue go!"

Crue's fur stood on end, and her eyes widened. Like a veil parting, she noticed things that had passed her at first. The droop of the Fire God's shoulders. The way the robe sagged at his sides. The lack of the swaggering arrogance. The voice that reminded her of someone else.

T-Tooley?!

"E-eempostah!"

Shuga rose from the stone, supporting himself by his staff. His snout still bled, but his eyes burned intensely. He jabbed a finger towards Tooley.

"Dis ees not te Fiyah Gott! He ees false gott! Called by te demon to--"

A shadow leapt from the darkness and crashed into Shuga. Before any beast could breathe, steel flashed against torchlight and there was a wet, tearing sound. Something hot flicked against Crue's cheek as Shuga's body fell backwards. He crashed against the altar's surface, head twisting towards Crue. A deep, red gash was carved through the priest's neck, and blood was already pooling around his body.

Crue looked up, and froze. She cast a glance toward the pillar on the altar grounds, but it was empty. Of course it was empty.

Dekeft dropped the hunting knife in his paw. It clattered atop the altar, scattering flecks of blood across the silver stone.

The priests overcame their shock first. They shouted orders to each other, rushing towards the stairs. They had all positioned themselves near Laika, however, and were on the far side of the altar away from the stairs. Away, also, from where Dekeft was tied to the pillar.

Laika speaking out had been no accident.

"Hakkaa-aaa!" a shout erupted from the crowd.

A mongoose suddenly leapt upon one of priests, stabbing a knife into his chest repeatedly. The pair hit the dirt and all at once, chaos erupted. The altar exploded into a din of shouts and battle cries. Red robes swirled within the wild waves of thrashing limbs, while spears flashed against the torchlight to ward off approaching attackers.

"Eef you are a gott..." Dekeft began, reaching down to pick up one of the rocks from Shuga's paws. He tested its weight, then looked up at Tooley. "...T'en you won't bleed."

Crue felt a new terror grip her body. Suddenly, all of Dekeft's actions made sense--why he hadn't fought back, why he'd been silent the entire time. It had never been about Shuga. Beasts could be replaced. Gods were eternal. And what better way to kill the idea of a god than to show its followers the body?

The only problem was, Dekeft was going to kill the wrong god.

Crue shoved herself against her chains, screaming against the gag for him to stop, but the muffled shouts were lost in the noise of the battle beyond.

Tooley seemed lost. He glanced back at the battle unfolding just over the ledge of the altar, then at the approaching mongoose. "What are ye doin'?"

Dekeft said nothing.

Tooley reared himself up to his full height, which was at best equal in stature to the warrior. "I command ye t' stop! I am yer god, beast!"

"No gott ef mine."

Then Dekeft attacked. His arm lashed out in a high swing, which Tooley barely managed to duck. Tooley spun around to level a punch towards the hunter, but Dekeft side-stepped it easily. In a quick motion, he grabbed a pawful of the scarlet robe and slung Tooley forward.

Tooley collapsed backwards, an arm's length from Shuga's body. He shook his head, stunned, as Dekeft advanced upon him slowly. Recovering, Tooley snarled and threw himself back at the hunter. A swift kick to the gut sent him back to the floor, and this time, the mongoose descended upon him.

Dekeft said nothing as the first strike fell, the rock cracking against the skull mask. Over and over, the rock fell. Tooley roared as his head jerked against every blow. He clawed at Dekeft, leaving bloody stripes across his shoulders and chest, but the hunter didn't even seem to notice.

One blow cratered the mask with a loud snap. Dekeft stopped his assault, reaching for the lip of the mask and leaning down.

"Now, showah di monkoozers you true face, ayah!"

He ripped the cracked and splintered mask free, tossing it to the side. He raised the rock in his paw, then froze.

Tooley stared up at Dekeft. Blood streaked across half of his face, and several bone fragments from the mask jutted out from his check and forehead. He was breathing hard, and his eyes blazed in fury.

Dekeft slowly looked up at Crue, his brow furrowing.

"Your... friend?"

Crue nodded vigorously, heaving a sigh of relief. Confusion riddled his face, but Dekeft nodded, lowering his arm and relaxing his grip on Tooley.

Suddenly, Tooley lurched to the side, grabbing the dagger at Shuga's belt and slamming it into Dekeft.

"NO!"

The word blasted through her mind so loud she was sure not even the gag had stopped it.

Dekeft fell limply onto his side, paws hovering around the dagger lodged in his gut. He looked up at Crue questioningly, his face twitching with pain. There wasn't an accusation in his eyes, just a longing "why?"

She found herself asking the same thing.

Crue felt something pulling at her wrist, and she turned to see Tooley insert Shuga's key into the manacle. With a twist, it popped free, and her arm fell down by her side. She reached up for the gag around her mouth while Tooley bent down to unlock the shackles around her feet.

As she worked with the knot, she continued to stare at Dekeft. Watched his pained expression grow weaker, his eyes droop.

There was a click, and she felt the pressure fade from her heel.

Forgetting the knot, she clawed at the fabric, ignoring the cuts she was inflicting on herself. She felt the fabric fray, and with a sharp tug snapped the gag free.

Another click. Her other foot was free.

With the gag off, she found herself just as speechless. He was going to die. She was going to lose another one.

The final click. She felt her wrist fall free, and she charged forward, dropping to Dekeft's side. She drew in a breath, blinked away the burning at the back of her eyes, and reached to pry his paws away from the dagger.

A paw looped itself around her arm and pulled her up onto her feet, away from Dekeft.

"C'mon, we gotta go!" shouted Tooley, muffled by the shouts of battle behind them.

"Tooley, stop!" Crue pulled back, turning to face Tooley. "I can't leave him!"

Tooley glanced at Dekeft, then snarled. "'E's jus' one o' them! 'E deserved this!"

Crue pulled her arm free and stared at him. At his eyes. She only noticed it now, but they were different. The softness, the curiosity, the determined sparkle that shined past his often-addled face--they were all gone. These eyes were calloused and cold, and she found she didn't recognize this beast.

What happened to you?

Crue heard a shout, and turned to see several mongooses heading towards the stairway. In fact, many eyes were directed at them, and at Dekeft's fallen form.

She looked back at Tooley. "Go."

The hardness of the weasel's face faltered. "W-what?"

She gripped his shoulders and shook him hard. "You need to go!"

He flinched from her touch, taking a step back. His head began to shake, and she noticed then that he was gripping the cracked skull mask between his paws. "No... No, this ain't 'appenin'. Don't ye leave me too..."

The mongooses were almost at the stairs now. She recognized Laika, leading two other hunters.

"I will find you later." She shoved him backwards. "Now go!"

Hurt clouded the weasel's features. He hugged the skull to his chest, then turned and rushed off into the darkness.

Shortly afterwards, Laika and the two hunters stepped up onto the altar.

"Laika!" Crue called, running to her.

The Second Atilak made a circle motion in the air, then two quick pointing gestures. One of the mongooses at her side nodded, then sprung forward past Crue. Crue turned to shout for him to stop, but only saw the tips of his tail disappear into the darkness. Gritting her teeth, she knew there was nothing more she could do for Tooley.

Turning back, she intercepted Laika with a paw. "Where is my bag?"

The huntress regarded her flatly as if silently challenging her. She tried to push past, but Crue held on tighter.

"Laika, Dekeft is dying. There's a chance to save him, but I need my tools."

Laika looked at her husband sprawled across the altar, brow twitching. She turned to the mongoose by her side, snapping off an order so fast that Crue didn't even understand it.

"Thank you," Crue said, letting go of Laika and following her to Dekeft's side.

Laika bent down, pulling one of Dekeft's paws away from the dagger. Crue managed to keep her reaction to a wince, but Laika growled loudly.

"Eef you ken save mi mungo," Laika said, focusing on Crue out of the corner of her eye, "t'en I will keef you anyt'ing."

Crue met her gaze and nodded. She returned her gaze to Dekeft, steeling her nerves.

This one, she would save. And then she would save all the others.