Change on the Rise

[Sister Siroc]

Siroc sat next to a mass of cool coals, the wraith of her dead campfire, as a chill half-light crept its way onto the shrubland around her. She breathed steadily, letting the first timid sounds of morning bug and bird stir around her. They mingled with the snores of her sister, who still lay in their shared tent under the spell of last night's libations.

She closed her eyes and focused, forcing her mind to acknowledge every sensenation: the slight stiffness in her folded limbs, the earth below her that had cooled from the desert night, the smells and sounds and wind that rustled her veils. Then, one by one, she let those sensations pass on, and drifted back to her teachings.

Words that no one else will ever hear. Words that no one else will ever know.

Siroc's brows furrowed at that thought, and she gave her head a sharp shake.

No. Try to remember. The headmistress's last lesson. It was about how rain from the East was rare and special, because...

Images flashed behind her closed eyelids: Sagebrush laughing at a terrible joke so hard that - tipping over the last of the barrels in the cellar before she - pleading voices from the other side of -

Siroc cursed and kicked sand at the remains of the fire. She scrambled upright and stalked back to the tent.

"Preet, I'm going to see Kango."

"Mmmmrph."

Kango's retinue was a short hike up the road, and Siroc used the walk to clear her head. From here, the camp spread out over the dry plains, countless tents and tarps waving gently in the wind. But it was almost a bustling, living creature itself. Footpaths became arteries, ferrying inhabitants through winding thoroughfares. And like any living creature, it moved. Tents on the south side were being taken down and moved to the north edge, allowing the entire group to slowly, steadily, move its way away from the heart of the southlands.

"There must be a dozen towns' worth of beasts," she mused aloud.

Long before she hit the edge of the camp, her nose began to twitch. Woodfires, kept safely low and smoky, were the first scent to tickle her nose. Soon after, a sharper stench came: desperation. Thousands of beasts who were so battered down by fear and worry and tight spaces that they had a sharp, terrible scent of their own.

The smell of refugee camps.

Ever older memories threatened to surface, from the bad times before even the rebellion. Whole villages removed by the Gilas. Families torn asunder. Pens of sad, stinking creatures with nothing left.

She pulled her veils tighter and suppressed a shiver as she made her way along the path.

Soon, the occasional wanderer gave way to a crowd, to a throng, to a mass of beasts, as she passed through a makeshift market. Shoulder and haunch brushed from every side. She picked her way through, heading towards the largest tent in the center - to Kango.

She slid down her bangles, flashing her crimson wrist at the guards posted at the entrance to his abode, and they wordlessly let her pass.

It was bright inside, the mix of squalor and finery jarring as a dirt floor gave way to a rich woolen carpet and strong, light furniture. Trinkets and treasures were scattered about, no doubt recent gifts from the families outside, who were either looking to curry favor or show their gratitude.

"Siroc, my sister!" Kango called out to her.

He seemed ageless, full of vitality. The moon had cycled dozens of times since she last saw him, and where time had etched canyons into her features, he seemed polished even brighter. She stepped forward into his embrace, and he leaned down to touch his forehead to hers. She brushed back her veils and pressed scarred flesh against the velvety fur of his head, taking care to avoid the sharp points that protruded.

"It's been far too long, Chainbreaker."

"Please, you know you don't need to," he waved a paw at the mention of his title. He took a step back and looked at her garb. "Why are you still-

A sharp look silenced him, the question withering on his lips. "Ah, right. So, the Zephyrites were..."

She nodded at the query unspoken. "Yes. Were is probably the only way to describe them, now."

"And you?" He motioned to a low table. Siroc brushed her skirts to one side and sat down, tucking both footpaws to one side.

She rested her elbows on the tabletop and ran a paw over her forehead, pushing on the worry lines that seemed to sprout more readily of late. "I'll manage."

"I know sometimes, when you've been undercover for a while..."

"This wasn't my first scorp-fight, you know."

"I know," he said, his voice low, "but you never know when a mission will-"

"Can we," Siroc cut him off, exasperated, "can we just talk about something else."

"Sorry."

"So, Preet filled me in a little. How bad is it?"

"Bad. The clan leaders wouldn't have called me otherwise."

Siroc snorted. "Sure about that? Seems like they can barely tie their ponchos without the great Chainbreaker."

"Ugh," he replied, pulling a face, "I'm not going to say you're wrong, but this..."

Siroc leaned back and took in the tent around her, involuntarily pulling a face at the opulence that had been offered the leader of the south - ill-desired, if the way the offerings had been tucked into the corners were any indication. "Things had been getting a little lean back ho- back at the Abbey, but..." She let the end of her question trail off.

"Entire settlements are on the brink of starvation," Kango replied, "Wells drying out and our best interpreters aren't able to dowse new ones." He ticked off miseries on his paw. "The plains to the north are a tinderbox, they're so dry. The Sidewinder River is down to a trickle, which means most of the Skinned Ones clan has been forced to leave."

Siroc whistled. "Their entire spawning grounds..."

"Yes, all of them." Kango nodded. "The toads and other reptiles have never been the strongest of allies, but still. I wouldn't wish that on - well, maybe on a couple of beasts."

"Hellsteeth."

"It gets worse. I just got word that the Beastmasters have hit their limit."

"They're not the only ones," groused Siroc.

The Chainbreaker flopped into a cushion next to her. He rubbed at muscles made stiff from hours spent poring over maps and reports - she knew that ache all too well. "They can't slaughter any more of their herds without threatening their breeding lines."

"And what does that -"

"Look at the whole picture, Siroc. Next season. No meat..."

"Oh, drown me in the dunes."

"Yeah."

"You don't really think-"

He let out a mirthless chuckle, "That the Curved Claws would start hunting other clanbeasts? And half the Denners and the Skinned Ones? Would you stand in front of a half-starved sand cat? Coyote? Monitor? Would you stake your family, or neighbors on it?"

Siroc felt her fur go on edge at the thought.

Kango continued, "Half the Southlands seem to think that we were better off under the Gilas-"

"Then they're fools!"

"Are they?" He rubbed the base of his antlers. "I fought - we fought - for this land for sixty moons, and as soon as we won it, it started to wither and die in our paws. Sometimes it feels as if the earth itself is rejecting us."

"Kango."

"I'm sorry," he said, rising back to his paws. She craned her neck to look up at him, seeing the old air of leadership settle back into place like a mantle. "I'm just tired is all."

"So, what's the plan? I can't imagine all my Brothers and Sisters were happy to break off their hunting to play shepherd to the crowd outside."

"Your imagination's not far off," Kango said. He walked over to a small set of shelves and began picking through the pots arranged there, popping seals and sniffing at the contents of each until he selected one. He brought it back over and unsealed it, releasing a sharp, tangy scent into the tent. "Pickled prickly pear?"

The corners of mouth turned up just a little at the wordplay, and she selected one, gently nibbling on it. A burst of sweet and salty flavors, with just a hint of heat worked their way across her palate.

Kango popped one in his mouth himself before continuing, "More than half of them declined my call for aid, claiming that their current work was more important."

"There's those that can't make the trip, too," Siroc said, "I'm willing to wager that some wouldn't leave parents or other kin behind."

Kango nodded. "That, too. In all there's not more than a pawful of Ringbeasts in this camp."

"Well, I'm here because Preet asked, but I have to say: any task that's not killing has a certain appeal to it."

His expression darkened, jaw set hard. "I never said that."

"What do you mean? We're just keeping a watch, and maybe stopping squabbles, right?"

"Hah!" Kango gave a bark like a parched vixen, barely a laugh at all, "Squabbles. Siroc, have you ever tried to keep several thousand beasts in line? We'll be lucky if half of them aren't at each other's throats before we reach land that's not choked by drought."

She frowned at his tone shift.

"And we have bigger problems besides. There's word that the woods aren't as empty as we once thought."

Her frown deepened. "So what are you saying, Kango?"

"I've fought too hard to keep these beasts alive and free. If some other beasts are in the only land we can live in, they'll either make space for us, or..."

Siroc's mouth went as dry as the air outside the tent, her tongue suddenly too-large, her words stumbling out. "I can- You mean you're- going to send us back to war?"

"I don't want to!" He said, too quick. "But if we have to fight for this new land, well..."

He was still talking, but Siroc's gaze was at the entrance, staring at the throngs that passed by. Dozens upon dozens of beasts who must've been as war-worn and weary as her.

"Sister!" Kango's fingers snapped in front of her face. She blinked once, and a vision of the headmistress flashed before her.

"Siroc!", he snapped, breaking her trance and earning her a squinted look from the hare.

"- again," she mumbled.

"What?"

"I said: you can't be asking us to do this again."

He stiffened. "I am asking only what's necessary."

"No." She shook her head, standing as well. "There has to be another way. How can we survive another..."

"Some of those beasts have only known conflict, Siroc. Their entire youth was spent at war. You think they long for a life spent scratching at soil that won't yield?" He placed a paw on her shoulder, and tried to offer a reassuring smile. "It's one last, great adventure for them."

"Then they're fools, too."

The smile vanished. "If you're not able to assist us..." He began.

"No!" Her reply was rushed. "No, I still can."

"Are you sure? If your last mission was too much, I'll ask Preetya to work alone."

"I'm sure. I had just-" She paused, collected herself a moment. "I had hoped for a quiet life by now."

"And we'll have one soon, I promise you." He gave her shoulder a squeeze. Siroc kept a blank face, suppressing a wince at the motion, which was at once reassuring and possessive. "For now, I'm asking you once more to lend your strength. We'll need someone to learn the lands ahead, and if there are beasts there, to help... persuade them."

"Persuade them?" Her voice came out shaky and unsure.

Kango looked her over once more, taking in the robes and veils of beasts he condemned as traitors that she still wore. "Don't play dumb, Siroc. It doesn't suit you." He stepped forward one step, looming tall over the Ringbeast. "You know what we'll have to do."

What we'll have to do, she thought, breaking her gaze from his, taking in the tent one last time. Sounding more like a conqueror than a chainbreaker.

Her eyes still averted, she nodded once, then turned to the exit.

"Siroc!"

She paused.

"Don't forget who you're bound to."

"My brothers and sisters," she paused a beat, before adding, "and we've always followed The Chainbreaker."

He grunted in assent.

"Until next time, Kango."

Her goodbye was too hasty, she knew, and when Preet finally made her way to report to Kango, he would likely tell the plover to keep an eye on her. But Siroc had to get outside, away from the royal hare and his grand plans. Away from the crowds and their reeking desperation. Away from the knowledge that too many of them would be raising arms once again.

There's barely a fraction of them fighters. If we're walking into a conflict then we're back to the old days of farmhands and workers taking up their tools in battle.

She dug a paw into the sandy ground. The earth here knew her, by blood and bone, by fur and whispered breath.

"Can't believe we're really leaving it," she muttered.