3. Omen

[Antonia St. Myra]

The spring sky ran alive with starlight.

Embers glittered and popped in a nest of deep-charred wood and found stone. The last two Sisters of Blackridge sat across from each other, mired in the nothing noises of the night.

"You've never known what to say at times like this." Lucille Ragin spoke, breath pluming white as her paws danced around a deck of cards. "But there's nobeast else to fill in the gaps today, hm?"

The challenge was direct enough to set Antonia on her back paw. "I wouldn't know about that," she mustered. "A hot meal, a warm camp, a good friend and starlight. Not much left to say until tomorrow."

"I suppose so. Craylock at last." Lucille squared her deck. "I get my little house back."

"And we turf your inheritance-stealing brothers out on their sorry tails."

Lucille laughed. "Aye! And you get your freedom." The rat drew a card, examined it, nodded.  "Four long seasons of fighting for us." Again. "Winning our lives back, one by one." Again.

The straw-brown mouse stared into embers. "It's been worth it, you know? Every day of it. I wouldn't change a beat."

"We all owe you our thanks. Far more than we have given so far. So I have a gift for you. Nothing special." Lucille brought her paws around behind her head and untied something.

Antonia took it, and tilted it this way and that to glimpse what it might be. "This isn't one of those things you keep saying the cards tell you to do, is it?"

The rat chuckled. "Yes, it is. Indulge me for once, you stubborn creature. It's... for when you need to remember."

A coin, hole punched through the middle, threaded on a long leather cord. Antonia had seen it around Lucille's neck every now and then over the course of their adventures. She looked at the rat, digging for answers but finding only that mostly-smile.

She caved and tied the cord around her own neck, and tucked the coin away safe.

"Thank you."



Craylock was not a clean place. Mud spattered every which way from the trail into town, scattered with beasts hauling sacks and pawcarts of goods to and fro. They carved a path shoulder-to-shoulder through the patchwork hubbub, Antonia's paw straying to a hilt at her belt whenever it seemed they might be separated. The trail gained paving stones - rough, mislaid, but stone nonetheless, somewhere under the mud. The shacks and sheds of lean-to scrapwood and hanging canvas yielded to structures with more heft - timber beams and plaster now, and hanging shop signs every now and again.

Lucille disappeared under one of the signs and Antonia followed her inside. The rat cut a line straight through the shop, to a dressmaker's mannequin sporting a waistcoat of deep, shimmering cardinal blue.

"Do you know," the rat said dreamily, "I'm quite certain that this is your size."

A moment of bustle later and Antonia found herself clad in the same waistcoat and slightly disoriented.

"Yes. This one." Lucille nodded with a satisfied smile. "You look spectacular."

"You know you don't have to do this."

"Rubbish!" Lucille grinned, brushed something off the mouse's shoulder. "It's a parting gift, after all. It's... for when you need to be seen."



It took five streets and a nearly-upset cart of strangely shaped fruit before Antonia caught up to Lucille again. The rat led through backstreets and alleyways as they talked.

Antonia had some difficulty keeping her lip from curling. "Is this really the way to your townhouse? Because, ah, forgive me... but this town doesn't look like it has decent houses, let alone decent neighbourhoods."

Another backstreet. Three stoats caught in the middle of a game of dice had the decency to look embarrassed about it, to shy away as Antonia's paw landed firmly on her hilt.

"Oh, it has a few." Lucille slowed for just a moment. She seemed to check the entrance to another nondescript alleyway before forging down it.

"Aye, and where's yours?"

"Hmm. It isn't."

Antonia stopped dead. "What?"

Lucille turned about on the spot, grinning wide. "I lied."

"I don't..." Antonia stared at her. "Why?"

"Because you need purpose. Because I have seen Antonia St. Myra without an enemy to fight and she lives wholly in my nightmares. Because you helped, and you put every bit of your strength into the helping. Every one of us, you were there. You got us all to what we wanted - and now it's my turn to do something for you, to give you a purpose and an enemy to keep you occupied, to keep you out of my nightmares. Here. Your third and final gift."

She took a card from her jerkin and held it out. Antonia took it in her paw, turned it over, and stared at the symbol. It looked, if she squinted at it in the right way, something like a bird.

"It's... for when you need to understand."

"I don't get to understand now?"

Lucille chuckled. "Of course not. That's how faith works. For now, you trust me. And then sometime later, perhaps days, perhaps weeks, you find out."

"You're talking like this is goodbye."

"Because it is. This is the last place. We say goodbye here, and we never see each other again, but that's okay. Because things work out as they should. Because you find one last enemy, greater than all the others and worthy of every ounce of your strength. And then you find purpose. And then you find peace."

A moment of quiet between them. Antonia opened her mouth but no words came.

"Now go." The rat's voice husked with unshed tears. "Live well, be strong, fight hard."

Antonia swallowed hard, nodded, turned about and walked away.

Lucille Ragin closed her eyes and waited.



The skitter of claws, and the press of sharp metal against Lucille's throat.

"Shouldn't ever be alone in places like this. Stay quiet an' gimme all yer belongin's, an' I'll let yer live."

"But we both know that's a lie."

A rough chuckle, and the velvet shred of whetted iron through flesh.

The slump and crumple of a body hitting ground.

The shuck and shuffle of practiced paws disentangling a corpse from its belt pouch and haversack.

And later, when the thug judged it safe to check his new-stolen possessions, the rustle of a letter unfolding - and a quiet shriek.



Mister Brogan,

Your favourite colour is pink. You just tell everybeast it's purple to avoid embarrassment.

Now then.

I write to thank you for killing me swiftly. I could not have tolerated a slow death, or losing a limb some interminable time before the end.

In my pouch you will find seventeen silver coins; enough to pay off your debts. In my haversack, a clean jerkin, trews, a hat, and a letter of recommendation. Go to the port and ask for Captain Novak of the Heathered Fen. He will give you an honest job.

Go now. Do not look back. Do not play dice; you are not lucky enough for them. Work hard. Serve with honor. Choose well from here on out and I promise that you will die old and surrounded by family. Stay on your current path and die within the season.