Still Standing

[Minerva]

There was a distinct quiet as two beasts- one a frail wildcat, the other a massive wearet- circled each other in the center of the arena. The sword shook in the wildcat's paws as he struggled to wield its weight and his opponent sneered, breaking the silence.

"Is this little whelp really a gladiator?" The beast twirled his own weapon with one paw before resting it on his broad shoulder. "Or is 'e a slave?"

Shouts of 'slave' rang out from the crowd in the stands above and the wearet grinned. "Aye. Tis wot I think too."

The cat gritted his teeth and charged forward, swinging the heavy sword left and right, up and down, and in every way he possibly could. There was no rhyme or reason to his strikes, and his opponent dodged away from them with ease. The one swing that came close to the wearet, he parried with his shield and sent the cat sprawling backwards to the dusty floor. The massive beast was upon him in an instant, slashing at him over and over with the blunt side of his sword until his opponent wailed and begged for mercy.

The wearet kicked the feeble beast's weapon away and towered over him, turning his sword in his paw to the other, sharpened, side. "That's eight times ya just died, slave, and ya know what they say about cats. Should the ninth be 'is last?" The crowd screamed their approval. Ignoring them, he looked away from his opponent and turned his head upwards towards the Podium where Nire Borean sat watching the show. "What say you, Nire? Do ya think these lovely beasts want t' see this whelp again?"

Nire accepted more wine from a slave and smirked. Taking a sip, he set his goblet to the side before rising to his feet. Slowly he raised his paw as his smile faded into a frown, and curled his thumb downward.

"Aye, I thought not."

The crowd roared as another beast's blood stained the sands of the arena.

From the viewing slits in the Drag, Minerva watched as blue-clad workers quickly appeared from trapdoors in the arena floor and dragged away the dead cat's corpse. Other beasts swept away the bloodied sand and recovered his fallen weapons, and, in only a few moments, the beast was forgotten and the floor was clear for the next combatant.

"Lovely ladies, gentlebeasts, why don't we give a round of applause for the powerful Hammerpaw!" Nire said, his high-pitched voice carrying through the entire arena with the help of a hollowed boar-bone horn.

The beast known as Hammerpaw gave a triumphant bow as the audience cheered and clapped.

Minerva narrowed her gaze at him.

Unlike most of the battles in the Exhibition that came before, the Culling was a much more straightforward affair. There were no rings of fire, no dancers, no spectacle. Only bloodshed.

The rules were simple. One by one, the newer gladiators in the Crater would be selected at random and brought forth- or dragged in one poor mouse's case-from the Drag and to the arena. There, they were allowed any two weapons of their choice before stepping into the ring to face off in a duel against the wearet Hammerpaw.

Nobeast ever won of course. Hammerpaw was an absolutely towering beast with broad shoulders and thick muscles, no doubt built over seasons of dedicated training, and, despite the near full armory of weapons available, he was proficient with nearly all of them. Worst of all the beast never seemed to tire and he danced around or blocked his opponents' swings just as easily now as he had the very first fight. The new slaves hardly stood a chance. How were they supposed to defeat a beast with no weaknesses?

It was after the third or fourth match when the other slaves around Minerva began to reach the same conclusion and, when their names were inevitably called and they were forced into the arena, many dropped to their knees before the wearet begging for their lives. Others tried to flee, but Hammerpaw would always catch them.

One foolish yet brave squirrel tried a different tact. Selecting a bow as one of his weapons, he turned it to where Nire sat in his podium but, before he even had the chance to loose his arrow, guards perched on watchtowers around the arena turned him into a hedgehog with their crossbows. Meanwhile, the lynx watched it all with a smile on his face.

One by one, they were dragged into the ring and, one by one, they were beaten, bruised, humiliated, and slaughtered. And when the match was done, Nire would decide their fate with a simple gesture of his paw. For the cowards, the broken, and the feeble, a thumbs down sealed their fate and told Hammerpaw to put them out of their misery. It was the beasts who bit and snapped, swung their weapons with purpose, showed no fear, and rose when they fell who received the rare thumbs up and limped out of the arena that day. It was the beasts who were still standing through it all who survived another day.

Minerva wondered how she would fare when her own name was called. The otterwife was certainly not weak. Seasons of farmwork made her naturally lean and toned but, like the other slaves around her watching, she knew she was no match for such a hulking creature. And, while she knew she could fight just as well as every other beast who managed to survive, would 'good enough' satisfy Nire, or did he expect more from the Monster of Mossflower Woods?

"Most importantly, I want to hear them chant your name."

For the last week since she was put in the Drag and separated from Fable, the lynx's words hardly seemed to leave Minerva's mind. What would he expect from her? More importantly, what would the crowd expect from her? And if what she gave didn't satisfy, who would suffer, her or her daughter?

Before any more tears could spill from her eyes at the thought, Minerva remembered the snide comment a guard had made to her when she was first let out of the confinement cages. "So this is what everybeast meant when they said the Monster has glowin' red eyes. Hahaaa!"

She scrubbed her paw over her face, knowing there wasn't any reason to cry anymore. Fable wasn't dead yet- the hare Kentigern had told her- and Adeen was doing all she could to search for her within the Crater. Like Nire said, if she wanted to save her daughter, it was time to play her part too, and that meant it was time to fight.

Minerva narrowed her gaze in concentration as Hammerpaw circled his next opponent. What was his weakness? Everybeast had a weakness surely. The otterwife's attentive eyes flitted over every tense of his muscles, every subtle motion in his steps, as she searched for the answer. His sword swing: perfect and controlled. His stance: light and balanced. His attention: always forward, always focused. Except... it wasn't.

As Minerva continued watching she began to recognize a pattern to his fights. First, Hammerpaw would step forward and circle his opponents to size them up. Often, he'd crack jokes or insults at the other beast, or address the crowd directly and ask what they thought of them. When the words finally broke the beast, they would usually charge forward angrily and the wearet would punish them when their inexperienced swings left them off balance or exposed, laughing and chuckling as he did. It was all to please the audience, or course.

It was a sound strategy, but, in the end, Hammerpaw was just as collared as the rest of them were, and it was Nire and the crowd who held the leash. Every move he made, every word that came from his mouth, was for them. He held the sword, but his paws were no longer his, and it was Nire's word alone that made him swing.

Minerva watched as the wearet stood over his defeated foe and grabbed them by the collar. He hoisted them up and then, as he had done in every match before, turned his head away from them and towards Nire.

The otter stroked the fishhook around her neck and smiled for the first time in days. She found his weakness.

"Excuse me. Ma'am?" A calloused paw was placed on her shoulder and she spun around in surprise.

It was a rat, the same one Minerva recognized as having been thrown into the Drag some days before with a nasty head wound. Despite the familiarity, she scowled and slapped away his paw.

"Don't touch me, vermin," she growled.

"I apologize," he whispered cautiously. "Are you Minerva?"

"Aye?" the otterwife answered. "What's it to ye?"

The rat looked both ways before reaching into his ragged vest and producing a scrap of parchment. "I was asked to deliver this to you. It's from a friend."

Distrusting the beast, she snatched the parchment away from him and stared at the words written upon it. Minerva was no learned beast by any means. She held her first spear before she opened her first book, but with the neat, serpentine scrawl, these were no doubt Adeen's words.

Minerva stared at the strange symbols, trying to make sense of them. If it was from Adeen, could she have found Fable? What if the news was more grave? The otterwife grimaced.

"Is something the matter, ma'am?"

The otter scowled at him. "No. Nothin's the bloody matter. Now leave me alone, vermin."

The rat frowned but said nothing, turning to leave. A pit opened in Minerva's gut as he departed. Vermin were impossible to trust - she was taught that at a young age. Yet Adeen trusted him enough to deliver a secret message, a message that still wasn't making any more sense than it had when she first started looking at it. The otterwife scowled.

"Wait!" she called and the rat paused in his tracks. Minerva shifted from side to side as a wave of embarrassment flooded over her. "I- I can't read. I never learned how," she explained to him quietly. Swallowing her pride in front of the vermin, she continued, "Can you? Err... can ye read it t' me? Please?"

The rat raised his brow and studied the otterwife for a moment before he begrudgingly accepted the parchment. "I've gone to tend the Lily, which grows in fertile soil," he read.

When he read the word 'lily', a small smile began to grow on Minerva's face as joyful tears welled in her eyes. Fable was safe somewhere in the Crater. Adeen had found her.

"Thank you," she said. Hastily, she wiped a sleeve across her face. "Thank ye fer bringin' me that message..."

"Silas," the rat provided.

"Silas." Minerva nodded, surprised at how normal it sounded. Most vermin names were always so grisly. "Thank ye, Silas. I needed it."

?Of course. I?m glad it helps. We all need to use whatever tips and tricks we can to survive out there.? He glanced up at the arena viewing slit, swallowing hard as another cheer ruptured from the blood-thirsty crowd.

Silas pressed the note back into her paw and turned to leave. Minerva watched the rat, wondering what she could possibly do to repay him for bringing her the news she had been longing for. Gasps from the slaves at the viewing windows reminded her of the Culling. "Silas," she called. The rat turned once more. "Yer name hasn't been called yet, has it?"

"No, not yet." Though he tried to hide it with a smile, the rat?s anxiety showed in small, jittery movements.

Despite being a vermin and the rumor that he had been an assassin, Minerva knew that Silas was inexperienced. She had seen him once before in the training grounds, working hard, but still covering basic blocks and parries. He wouldn't stand a chance in the arena, but perhaps she could give him the same hope he had given her. "Fight," she said simply. "I've been watchin' each match and Nire's killed everybeast who's begged or ran, or even trembled. Even if ye're terrified, don't show 'em that. Get up the second ye fall an' just keep swingin'. Ye might not be much of a fighter, Silas, but that doesn't mean you can't show 'em that ye have the potential t' be."

Silas nodded, and the otterwife noticed a faint glimmer in his eye that wasn't there before. "Right. I'll do that. Thank you." He started to leave again, then paused. "What about you? Has your name been called?

Minerva glanced back to the viewing windows and Nire's Podium. The lynx's paw hovered over the basket with the names of everybeast written inside, but, before he made a selection, he scanned through the crowd of slaves huddling by the slits. The cat's eyes met hers and a smile came to his lips.

"No, but I gotta feelin' it's next," Minerva said, caressing her fishhook. Hesitantly, she untied the cord from around her neck.

Nire selected one of the scraps of parchment and flipped it open. Whatever was actually written on it didn't matter, because the lynx immediately tossed it to the side and leaned towards his horn. "Next up is quite the repulsive fiend. The stuff of nightmares. It's The Monster of Mossflower Woods!"

"Good luck," Silas said as the crowd roared.

Minerva only nodded.

~~~?~~~

"Right, you only get two weapons. Whichever two you want..." the blue-wearing ferret placed in charge of the armory began in a bored tone. As the vermin drilled on about the rules she already knew, Minerva blocked out his voice from her mind and searched along the walls of weapons until she came across a selection of spears.

A hefty one with a hard, oaken shaft dyed black as midnight caught her eye and she weighed it in her paws before giving it a few experimental jabs. It was medium weight with a wide, rounded head that tapered into a sharp point, similar to a garden spade. It felt familiar in Minerva's paws and she selected it without a second thought. Finally she chose a sling and a small pouch of stones.

"Are you all set?" the armorer asked, giving her a thin leather belt for her sling and pouch.

Minerva finished fastened it loosely around her waist and nodded in reply.

"Good, good." The ferret motioned for her to raise her arms and she hesitantly complied, standing sullenly as the beast patted her down with his paws. Finding nothing, he stepped towards the door and pulled it open. "Take a moment to catch your breath if you need it. Everybeast does."

Minerva followed his advice. She stared at the wicker cage in front of her and the sands below it for a few moments before closing her eyes and sucking in a breath. She released it and then stepped forward.

The door behind her shut and Minerva nearly lost her footing as the cage suddenly lurched forward and began to lower.


"Lovely ladies, gentlebeasts. I give you the dreaded... Monster of Mossflower Woods," Nire's voice rang out across the entire arena as the elevator reached the floor. If the lynx wanted a reaction, he didn't get one. There was no roar or any cheers from the crowd. A deafening and confused silence reigned over the spectators as the otterwife stepped out from the elevator and onto the bloodstained sand.

Minerva gazed around her, her eyes wide in awe at the sheer amount of beasts in the crowd who had come to watch Nire's sick game. There were vermin and woodlanders, and even some creatures the otter had never seen before, filling every seat. A wrinkled old hare turned up his nose at her. Two young beasts whispered in each other's ears. One maiden bounced a baby on her lap as children peeked out curiously from behind her skirts- Hellgates, there were children here. Children were going to watch this...

The otterwife looked down at the bloodied sand in disgust.

Children had already seen this.

Everywhere she looked, she saw the face of another bewildered creature staring back at her. And then, the entire arena filled with their laughter.

"Oy, Nire. Where's the Monster?" Hammerpaw's voice rose above the ruckus. He chortled. "Is it behind the otterwife?"

Nire smirked at the complaint before calling for silence with a wave of his paw. "No, no, this is indeed the Monster of Mossflower Woods, everybeast. She might not be what you imagined- she wasn't what I was imagining either- but this is the very creature who lurked in those dark woods, and we've captured her for your viewing pleasure. And let me tell you, she's something else. She killed six of the Iron Maiden's very best with nothing but her claws, teeth, and a stone! And the ravaged corpses that came before, well they didn't hang themselves, after all." He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his wine. "So, I'm sure she's going to give us quite the show. Isn't that right, Monster?"

Minerva could only nod.

Nire smiled at her. "Then the match will begin. Step forward."

The otterwife grabbed her spear and did as she was told, making her way to the center of the ring where Hammerpaw waited. The wearet still held a look of disbelief on his face as Minerva stopped a few taillengths in front him. "What's yer name, marm? Or is it just 'Monster'?" he asked.

Minerva said nothing to him, merely sticking her spear into the dirt and kneeling down. She rubbed sand on her paws to help her grip before taking the haft back in her paws, and staring her opponent down.

"Not much of a talker then, are ya?" Hammerpaw said. The beast began to circle and Minerva matched his pace, tracing the shape of their movements in the sand with her spearpoint. "Can't lie, Monster. I was expectin' a bit more. But, weren't we all?"

The crowd spoke in a chorus of, "Aye!"

"Ye've got a look in yer eye though," he said, gesturing absentmindedly with his sword. She narrowed her gaze at him. "Aye, that one. A dangerous look, like ye've got somethin' yer fightin' for. I've snuffed out a lot of those. So, tell me, Monster. What is it? Is there a Mr. Monster, perhaps? Haha."

Minerva didn't answer.

Furrowing his brow, Hammerpaw spoke again. "Or maybe it's a little Monster." Minerva grimaced, and the wearet smiled. "Aye that's it." His eyes left hers for a moment as he looked back towards the Podium and whispered in a low tone. "Ye know what Nire does t' all the little slaves whose parents get slain in the arena, right? I once heard stories in the Drag that he gives 'em t' the boars t' eat. Of course, I don't think that's true. Nah, I think he sells off all the little lads t' the northern mines. The lasses... he gives t' Hargorn."

Blood boiled in Minerva's veins as she remembered her conversation with Kentigern. Hammerpaw made a mocking gesture and the audience laughed.

These beasts were scum. All of them. Nix was right.

"Come on, Monster." Hammerpaw banged his shield with the flat of his sword. "Don't ya want t' save yer young 'un?"

The spear trembled in the otterwife's paws and she struggled not to leap at the wearet then and there, but she held back, reminding herself of the beast's strategy and knowing it would likely only get her killed. She breathed deeply, reciting the words of Adeen's hopeful message in her head to calm herself, until the laughter subsided.

Minerva continued circling with Hammerpaw, ignoring each of the beasts provocations until, finally, the beasts in the crowd began to shift in their seats. Children grew restless and bored. And finally, somebeast shouted from the stands.

"Oy, Hammerpaw, hurry up and beat this wench!"

"Aye! Show 'er what for!" another said.

The wearet frowned and then, as Minerva expected he would do, pleased the crowd. Hammerpaw roared and charged forward, holding his shield in front of his chest in case his opponent tried to stab him with her spear. The otterwife though, had different plans.

From the very moment they started circling Minerva had buried just the tip of her spearpoint into the sand. Hammerpaw, of course, didn't notice. He was far too occupied trying to provoke her or entertain the crowd. How was he supposed to know that, as they walked, the otterwife had slowly pressed her spearpoint deeper and deeper?

Minerva swung her spear then, using its head as a makeshift shovel to fling sand in front of her and directly into Hammerpaw's eyes. The crowd gasped.

"Gah!" Hammerpaw stumbled backwards and clawed at his eyes.

Minerva knew not to approach a blinded warrior. Instinctively they would usually swipe in front of them with their weapons to protect themselves, and Hammerpaw did just that. The otterwife instead began to run and put as much distance between herself and the wearet as she possibly could.

A dribble of blood dripped from her muzzle and she wiped it away quickly with her sleeve. She stabbed her spear securely into the sand, and then reached for her sling.

Hammerpaw recovered just as Minerva loosed her first stone towards his head, and his shield paw snapped up just in time to block what could have been a fatal shot.

"Clever trick, marm. I'll give ya that," the wearet said, blocking another shot from the otterwife. He stepped forward slowly, keeping his shield in front of him and blocking the stones as they were fired. "But clever tricks don't matter if ya can't fight."

Knowin' how t' fight don't matter if ya can't kill.

Minerva threw her sling to the side and grabbed her spear before charging forward. She would be exposed, she knew, but even as the wearet raised his sword to strike, she didn't care. This wasn't a real arena match, the otterwife knew. In the end, it was still training. It was a test. Which was why Hammerpaw's weapon was still blunted on one side.

The blunted sword struck her on the arm and, had it been sharp, Minerva knew she likely would have lost it. The blow stung nonetheless and she had to stop herself from crying out and dropping her spear. But the pain was worth it. Hammerpaw was now exposed, and the otterwife's grip tightened on the haft of the weapon as she spun towards him and lashed out with it. 

The wearet leapt away, but not quick enough, and yelped as the blade cut slightly into his side. The crowd grew silent.

Hammerpaw panted as thin threads of blood dripped from the scratch. Smiling, he looked to Minerva. "Looks like I've been wounded. Ye know what I get to do now...?"

Nobeast had even touched the wearet so far. For once, Minerva had no idea what Hammerpaw would do.

"I get t' wound ye back."

Hammerpaw turned the sword over in his paw to the other, deadly, side and rushed forward before Minerva could even react. Her eyes wide in sudden fright, she raised the haft of her spear and barely blocked the wearet's first strike. The beast recovered quickly and swung from another direction, and then another, and the otterwife struggled to keep up as she tried to protect herself.

In the end, Hammerpaw's strength and speed proved to be too much for Minerva to handle and he eventually batted the spear away with his shield and broke through her guard. The otterwife tried to pry his claws away as he seized her roughly by the collar and put his sword at her neck

"Ye know, I was expectin' more from you, Monster. With all those bodies hangin' in yer woods, I was expectin' ferocity, not just dirty tricks and gambles. What'd ye do, stab 'em all in the back when they weren't lookin'?" The beasts in the audience laughed along with the wearet.

Minerva stayed quiet.

"Still not talkin', eh?" Hammerpaw said. "Well, it's no matter. I'll get'cha t' scream at the very least. Ain't that right, Nire?"

And then the beast did what the otterwife had been waiting for and predictably turned his head.

In the one week Minerva had been in the Crater, Nire had chained her, collared her, humiliated her, and worst of all, threatened her daughter, all so she would play his sick, sick game. But, while the lynx forced her to play the game, that didn't mean she had to play by the rules. Because when Minerva first stepped into the arena, it hadn't been with two weapons...

It had been with three.

Minerva spat out her fishhook from her bleeding mouth and into her paw, and buried it deep in Hammerpaw's eye.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" The wearet's agonized scream echoed through the arena.

Minerva fell roughly on her back in the sand as her opponent let go of her and stumbled backwards, clutching at his face in pain. The otterwife instinctively rolled to the side as he stabbed down blindly with his sword where she had been only moments before.

Blindly, the wearet swung his sword around him, but Minerva kept low on her stomach away from danger. She unfastened her belt before looping it around his footpaws, then yanked as hard as she could. Hammerpaw stumbled and then fell roughly into the dirt.

Before he could get up, Minerva was already running to her fallen spear. Grasping it in both paws, she charged back at the beast as he struggled back to his knees. She leapt into the air and landed on Hammerpaw's exposed back, the momentum from her jump pushing her opponent face first back into the dirt. Then the otterwife raised her spear and drove it into his spine.

She stabbed him again. And again. And again. One time for every beast he killed before her, until Hammerpaw was almost unrecognizable and stopped moving. When she was finished, she panted heavily, and tossed her spear to the side.

The arena had grown silent. All around her, beasts- whether in the stands or the Drag- stared at Minerva in shock as she plucked the fishhook from the slain Hammerpaw's eye and tied it back to the cord around her neck. Blood trickled from her mouth from where the sharp point cut and prodded her during the battle, and she looked around her at the shocked crowd before baring her bloodied teeth at them.

"My name is Minerva," she said as she looked through the crowd of audience and slaves alike, "and I am the Monster of Mossflower Woods. That beast Hammerpaw was right. I do have a young 'un, a daughter, that Nire stole from me. She's my life. I love her... and nothin' will stop me from savin' her. To anybeast who dares try and stop me, I leave Hammerpaw here as yer only warnin'. Because if ye dare stand between me and her... Fates help ye."

And then the crowd roared.

"MON-STER! MON-STER. MON-STER!" the audience chanted, their collected voices rising up and echoing throughout the arena to the point where the walls nearly shook.

Minerva smiled and looked up towards Nire in his Podium. The lynx was leaned as far forward in his chair as he could be and a wide, surprised smile was curled upon his face as the chant continued to echo throughout the Crater. A large beaver nudged him, angrily pointing to her before holding out three claws to the cat. Nire's expression faltered for a moment in realization, and he sighed and nodded.

Only a moment later, there was a sting in the back of her neck and Minerva blinked in surprise before stumbling in her steps. The familiar feeling of the world growing distant returned to her vision, but it seemed weaker than before. The arena tilted and churned, but the waves weren't as choppy. Minerva shook her head and took another step.

Another dart hit her, and it was then that Minerva fell forward into the sand and everything went black.