Iron Sharpens Iron

[Istvan]

Istvan much preferred the company of vermin to woodlanders. It was easier to talk with beasts who were honest, or at least honest about their dishonesty. Vermin, at least in Yew, didn?t put on airs- they were at the bottom of a social hierarchy that barely recognized them, and they knew it. There was something refreshing about that perspective, especially when it was contrasted with the smug arrogance of most of the otter?s fellow Guardsbeasts. Not that Istvan had any illusions about the habits of vermin, but it was easier to teach a beast who knows nothing than one who believes they know everything.

Carrigul must have had either a more efficient Guard or more conscientious citizens than the vermin quarter of Yew, as Istvan saw no corpses lying openly in the streets, nor was he approached by a stranger with a knife and an empty purse. What the city did have, however, was an impressively bustling market district. Judging by the brightly colored variety of stalls and shops, traders must have come from all corners of the Mother?s creation to peddle their wares.

?It?s a shame that we need to save our money for food and bed,? remarked Zevka. ?How much do we have, anyway??

?Not very much, especially after Poko bought those clothes. Not that I'm complaining- I am thankful to finally have a decent coat.? The need for bandages had reduced Istvan?s Guard tunic to such a degree that it provided him next to no protection against the bitter cold, and if it were not for the group?s habit of sleeping in a pile while on the march he would likely have frozen to death.

She snickered. ?You have no idea how disappointed I was when I learned that you didn't intend to stroll through town shirtless.?

The pair paused to examine a stall?s selection of knives.?I?m not even going to dignify that with a response. My body was made for the service of the Mother, not display.?

?Suit yourself.?

?Where did the others go, anyway? It can?t take that long to find an inn.? The otter raised his head above the crowd as they continued walking, but could not locate his companions.

Zevka held up a scarf, narrowing her eyes at it critically. ?Nyika will be fine. Vanessa and Noo- Sigurd are there, nothing will happen to her.?

?I never mentioned Nyika?s name.?

?You didn?t have to. How does this look??

It was a plain scarf, a few shades darker red than the color of blood. It rather suited the pine marten, and Istvan said so.

"You flatter me."

"Very good choice, very good," said the stall's owner, a wizened rat. "Finest cloth. Reasonably priced. Seven coins."

"Are you trying to rob us? Asking for anything more than three is insulting," shot back Zevka.

"You wound me, madam! If I were to sell it for so low a price, my family would starve. For you, five coins."

"Four, and I know that I'll see it for half that at the next stall."

"Ah, you tempt me sorely! But however much I am bewitched by your beauty, my business cannot take such a loss."

Interested by the debate, Istvan turned directly at the rat for the first time, and when their eyes met a curious change came over the seller's face. His eyes widened, he shrank back, and he even bowed his head slightly.

"Oh, my apologies, sir! I didn't realize who you were. Please, I would be honored if you would purchase it for three coins."

"Three? But didn't you say-" began the perplexed otter.

"Two, then! No, take it for free! It is my pleasure. I am a good beast, see?"

The tattooed otter shrugged, and took the item. "Thank you for your generosity. The Mother will bless you."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you, sir."

"That was odd," he said to Zevka as she wound it around her neck.

"You think? You don?t have the most pleasant-looking face, but I've never seen a merchant afraid to bargain. It's almost unnatural. Ah, well. This is a nice scarf, so I'm not complaining. Try it on that jewelry stall next."

Istvan was about to reply, but then he noticed a familiar feathered shape amidst the thickening crowd. "I see Sigurd. Perhaps we should check if the others have finally managed to find some place that we can stay the night."

"You're as bad as a mother hen."

"I care deeply for the Mother's most blessed. I will not apologize for that."

The otter and marten attempted to shove their way through the throng of beasts, but made little progress.

"What's going on?" asked Zevka.

?New ?ere?? replied a ferret. ?It?s another one o? them executions. Some fool didn?t know when ta keep ?is mouth shut.?

?Surely the rulers of this city would not kill somebeast simply for speaking. That is an offense against a beast, not the Mother. It does not demand reparation in blood.?

She gave him a queer look. ?Really? Well, try tellin? that to them up there on the platform.?

Following the example of the rest of the crowd, Istvan turned his eyes towards the raised rectangular wooden construction in the center of the square. It was a simple structure, devoid of any ostentatious ornamentation. The otter approved of that, at least. Sacrifice was a necessary duty, not a spectacle.

A fox ascended the steps. His forepaws were tied, and the end of the rope was held by a hooded figure following him. An armored pair, a rat and a weasel, stood on either side. The gleaming spears held in their paws served as a deterrent to any thought of escape. The hooded beast walked slowly to the center of the platform, bowed, and withdrew a knife from the folds of his cloak.

?We gather here today,? he intoned, ?for the punishment of a sinner. This beast which you see in front of you has dared to make public insult against our glorious High Priestess Tikora, most beloved of the All-Mother??

The otter felt as if he had been slapped across the face. No, worse than that. The sensation reminded him of when he had taken a cobblestone to the helmet while on riot duty, of the world shrinking to a tiny ringing vortex of pain and confusion. He turned to Zevka.

?Did he just-?

She didn?t answer him, only pointed back to the ceremony. When he looked, he received a second shock. The hooded beast had removed his hood. Underneath it was the rather ordinary face of a stoat, distorted as it was by anger and hate.

The face was ordinary, with one small exception.

Traced in red ink over his muzzle, reaching back to the neck, was an all-too-familiar pattern that was at once flames and blood and a horrible patchwork of scars.

Istvan could only watch as the tattooed beast raised his knife and plunged it into the back of the fox. Then, with a sickening sucking noise, he withdrew the blade and raised it again, this time sinking it into the sacrifice?s right arm, then the left. Then the sides, over and over again as the most sacred liquid squirted onto the platform, coating its surface in a shiny, slick sheen. And finally, when it seemed that the poor beast had no blood left to give, the stoat finally granted him the mercy of a quick slice on the neck. The carcass slumped face-first onto the platform with a dull thud.

?I- I think I need a moment,? the otter said to his companion. ?Make sure the others are okay. I?ll catch up, don?t worry.?

He almost thought, almost expected that she would tell him not to bother, but Zevka only nodded and strode away through the thinning gaggle of vermin.

***
Cities were good for some things, and one of those was that you could always find a place to be alone. Istvan ducked into the first dark shop he could find, and as he had hoped there were no customers and the proprietor was safely behind a desk. The otter leaned against a wall out of her field of vision, and took out his knife. He stared at his arm, newly bandaged from his sacrifice for Nyika?s little outing with Poko.

What was he supposed to do in this situation? The teachings of the last, the last true High Priestess held no provisions for anything of this sort. The faith was always united by absolute truth. This? barefaced heresy was not something his blood alone could atone for. He needed to know why this had happened. And more importantly, how such a group had escaped his notice. If only he had known, he could have joined it from its very inception, steered it on the path towards righteousness.

Of course, what was stopping him from doing so now?

?What?re ye doin? back there? I?m warnin? ye, if yer thinkin? of takin? anything ye?ll regret it.?

Apparently his lurking had attracted the attention of the wildcat shopkeeper, who approaching him with crossbow raised.

?Many apologies. I only needed a place to think for a moment. If I have unnerved you, could I perhaps make restitution by purchasing some of your wares??

She lowered the weapon, suddenly much more amicable. ?That would suit me fine. I don?t get a whole lotta customers. Too many bad associations these days. But ye look like ye wouldn?t mind.?

?What exactly is it you sell, might I ask??

?Tattoo supplies.?

?Oh. I would have expected that you would have at least business from those false ?priests.??

?Ha! Yer a brave one t?be talkin? like that, otter. The priests don?t pay, they take. In return, I?m not next up on th? choppin? block.?

Istvan shuddered as he recalled the scene in the square. It had been called a sacrifice, but the purpose of a sacrifice was not to torture the one whose blood was being offered, rather to appease the one whom they had offended.

It was not good to dwell on such things, however. He had a mission, and here was a chance to accomplish at least a small part of it.

?Do you have any white ink??

Yes, that was good. White, for her purity. To save a fallen faith, he would use a beacon of light.

***
When he exited the shop shortly afterward, several coins lighter and one jar heavier, he barely made it half a block before he was accosted by a familiar short figure in a long coat.

?There you are! I was lookin? all over for you, Inkface. The others are already at the inn.?

?Oh?? he asked. ?Did they manage to find a boarding house of good repute??

?No, but we did find a cheap one. And there's a bathhouse nearby, which you could really use. You?re starting to stink as bad as Nyika did,? replied Poko, wrinkling her nose. ?C?mon, I?ll lead you there.?

The ferret dashed off, navigating the streets with easy self-confidence. Poko seemed as adapted to this environment as Vanessa was to the water and Noonahootin to the sky, and it was all Istvan could do to keep up. Thankfully, their destination was not far; he had no desire to be abandoned in this strange, heretical city.

?Next time,? he said when they arrived at the inn bearing the sign ?The Orange Weasel?, ?I am choosing the sleeping arrangements.?

The ferretmaid punched him in the arm. ?Don?t be so picky. They?ve got beds and food. What more do ya want??

?A door would probably be a start.?

Indeed, it had no front door, though scars in the woodwork indicated that this had not always been so. The otter chose not to speculate on the tale behind this. The rest of the exterior was in better condition, though that didn?t mean much. It appeared that somebeast had thrown a two-story building onto a much older stone foundation, and part of the original structure?s wall was integrated into the design. It at least looked solid and had a roof, which he supposed was all they really needed. Still, it would have been nice to spend the first night out of the wilderness in some minor comfort.

When he entered, Istvan made a beeline for the table occupied by his companions. They had saved a chair for him, something he could not ever recall happening before. Granted, the room was empty except for the group so it was a rather useless gesture, but one he appreciated nonetheless.

?Good to see that you?re finally back,? said Zevka as he sat down. He nodded in reply.

?So now that we?re all present, let?s get down to business,? announced Noonahootin. Thankfully, he seemed to have abandoned that ridiculous accent that he had been practicing on the road.

?Which is what, exactly?? asked Poko. ?I don?t see what?s stoppin? ya from takin? the first caravan back to Yew.?

Istvan almost winced. To be forced to leave his potential co-religionists so soon? That would not do. He had plans to carry out.

The Captain?s feathery breast swelled as he drew himself up to full height. ?Because as we have already discussed, the city is compromised. To return there so soon would invite death from the traitors who orchestrated this whole disaster. At least if we?re here, there is virtually no chance of anybeast recognizing us and we may stand some chance of cracking this nefarious conspiracy.?

?They?re holding Mekad somewhere here,? added Zevka, ?and I am not leaving until he?s free.?

?Somebeast here ordered thaise ermine tae kill mai faither. Ah intend to faind out exactly who, and give them what they daiserve.?

The tattooed otter noticed that Nyika was fiddling with something that crackled in her pocket and appeared about to speak, but never raised her voice. The Mistress of Spirits had her own reasons for staying, then. Interesting.

Noonahootin cleared his throat loudly, regaining their attention, and continued with his speech, ?As I was saying, we should devote our efforts towards gathering as much intelligence about this city as possible. They must have a reason for wanting to keep beasts out, and if I were a betting beast I would bet that reason would be something worth killing an entire caravan over. Just because it seems safe now does not mean that you should let your guard down.?

?It would probably be wise to switch inns every night,? put in Istvan. Poko stuck out her tongue at him.

Zevka nodded. ?Good idea.?

The owl bobbed his head in agreement as well. ?Does anybeast have any other pertinent suggestions? No? Then it seems this meeting is over, and we are free to indulge in whatever culinary fare this establishment has to offer.?

Everybeast but Istvan and Nyika rushed over to the counter, tipping over several chairs in their wake. It seemed that so long of an absence of civilization had dulled their manners somewhat. Not that the otter could blame them- he too could feel the claw of hunger gnawing at his stomach. But he had a calling that went beyond such physical concerns.

?Tell the others that I have an important duty to attend to,? he said to the wildcat as he rose from his chair.

?Where are you going?? she asked.

?I need to know about those so-called priests that are apparently running the city. Their sin screams to the All-Mother for reparation, yet I hold out hope that even now they can be saved.?

She stood up. ?Then I?m coming with you. I have my own inquiries to make.?

?I will not risk your life in this unfamiliar city! My duty is to keep you safe, Nyika. There is far too much danger from these heretics- imagine what would happen if they discovered the great power you possess??

?You?re not going alone,? she said. ?If something were to happen to you, I don?t want us to find about it when they haul you up on that platform. Spend some time worrying about yourself for once.?

Istvan sighed. On the one paw, he strongly disapproved of exposing the Divine Voice of the Voiceless to any risk whatsoever. But on the other, the thought of wandering through this strange, broken place with a companion was infinitely better than without. ?As you will it, then. But I must insist that you bolt at the first sign of trouble. Your life is worth far more than mine.?

They waved goodbye to their companions and walked out of the tavern. The abrupt change in lighting at first made the otter assume that it was much later in the evening than he had previously thought, but a quick examination of the sky proved that the setting sun was only covered up by a large, billowing cloud. Of course. Such clouds seemed to constantly hang over Carrigul, though the streets revealed no trace of snow or rain more recent than elsewhere in the valley.

?So, where to?? asked Nyika.

?Much as I am loath to admit it, our best source of information is probably the common ale-house. The blood-poison has a habit of loosening beasts? tongues, and may reduce the stranglehold that the fear of unjust punishment has placed on them.?

?I suppose a drink would be too much to ask for, then. I?m parched.?

She shrank from his glare. ?Joking.?

?That is nothing to joke about. The consumption of alcohol can only bring ruin to your soul, body, and those around you. The sooner you learn this, the better.?

***

The sight of so many heads pointed his way after Istvan burst through the door of the first tavern took him back to his preaching days, before the simple acquisition of a blue cloak had given him duties which left little time for such activities. In the heat of the moment and awash with memories, the otter brandished his knife and declared, ?All ye who writhe in the mire of your own sins, repent and be saved, or suffer the Mother?s judgment!?

The drinkers froze for a moment, incredulous, until a rat in the back piped up, ??ey, yer lookin? fer Rorrick ?ere? ?e?s been badmouthin? ye priests all evenin?.?

?Ye traitorous bastard!? shouted a ferret, swinging a chair at the rat. He ducked, and it instead felled a weasel, who got up, pulled out a knife, and jumped at the ferret. Within a few seconds the whole scene dissolved into a senseless orgy of violence. Istvan realized that he wasn?t going to be getting any useful information here, and backed quickly out of the room.

?Well, that could have gone better,? he said to Nyika as the pair walked down the street in search of another pattern.

?You think?? She cocked her head. ?Risk?s impressed. Says that even he?s never managed to start a barfight that fast.?

?Not a feat I am proud of, I assure you. At least the blood of many sinners shall surely be spilled, though I would have expected them to be more respectful.?

?I think the problem is you. They fear priests and the All-Mother, that much is obvious, but that is not the same as reverence.?

Istvan shrugged. ?I cannot very well erase the markings on my face, nor would I ever choose to. What would you have me do to be less off-putting??

The wildcat turned to look at him. ?Remember at the beginning of this journey, how Zevka thought you were a bloodthirsty maniac? She feels very differently now, and your face hasn?t changed.?

?True, but I do not anticipate spending days wandering the wilderness with these beasts. In any case, Zevka is? special.?

?That?s not my point!? She threw her good paw up in the air. ?What changed is that you stopped treating us like you were on a pulpit. Just, drop the whole priest act for once. It won?t ruin your chances of salvation, and you may find that beasts think you more pleasant company.?

Istvan?s face cycled through a range of emotions before finally settling on ?distressed.? ?But I am a priest! How am I supposed to deny this? Without my duty to the All-Mother, what am I??

Nyika stopped, waved her claw under his nose, and spoke, ?What are you? Let me tell you. You?re the beast who stood up to Risk to protect Zevka, despite your hatred for each other then. You?re the beast who jumped into the lake to get us food when you knew that you would probably drown. You?re the beast who went down into the tunnel after the moles without a second thought, fought against the owl, who found me alone in that temple, bandaged me, and saved me. I never saw the All-Mother any of those times, but I saw you, Istvan. You?re more than some words and a knife, and I just wish you would recognize that.?

The otter blinked back tears, embraced the wildcat, and then stood up straight. ?Nyika? you?re right. You?re so very right, and I?m sorry. But I have my duty, just as you have yours. I cannot and will not cast aside everything that I am so easily? However, nor will I let this group down. There are many forms of priesthood besides the one that we saw in the square this morning, and perhaps it would be good to remind these beasts of that.?

***

Istvan entered the tavern quietly, slipping between tables until he found one with a single unoccupied chair. He sat down, and greeted the stoat across from him. The beast only nodded in return, but his eyebrows raised when he saw the otter?s tattoos.

?Don?t worry, I?m not looking for an excuse to spill your blood across the floor. I only serve the truth of the All-Mother.?

The stoat swallowed his drink, then narrowed his eyes at him. ?Yeah? Then wot are ye ?ere for, then? Th? only truth o? th? Mother we get told about around ?ere is that anybeast who disagrees with ?em is next in line on th? altar.?

?That is what I want to know about. These? heretics who have put themselves in charge of this city. Where did they come from? Who taught them this corruption??

?An? ye expect me t? tell ye? Ye can?t ?ide yer face, mate, though I ain?t never ?eard of a woodlander priest before this.?

?You?re telling me that they would deny somebeast entry into the service of the Mother based on their species?? Istvan?s paw clenched. Was there one fundamental teaching that these beasts had not seen fit to blacken beyond recognition?

?Aye. They say us vermin are th? most bloody by nature, and so we?re more attuned to th? Mother? I?m judgin? by yer face that that ain?t what you know.?

?Yes? You could say that. I don?t think I have ever heard of a group more deserving of the Mother?s judgment before. Their very existence is an insult to her truth.?

The stoat tipped his mug back and drained it before continuing, ?Yer an odd one. Fine, I?ll tell ye about th? priests. Ain?t like it?s a big secret, anyway. They?re th? ones who started th? city. Well, Tikora did an? they followed her.?

?Tikora?? The name filled Istvan with memories of the hate-filled stoat intoning the ?sins? of the doomed fox, and he felt the mist of rage stealing into his mind. ?The one they falsely call High Priestess??

?Yes, indeed? Oh, ye really don?t like that, do ye? Heh. She runs pretty much everythin? in th? city. Priests, guards, merchants, steel mills? she?s got ?em all wrapped around ?er claw one way or another. Hates woodlanders, or so they say.?

?One last question: where does she keep herself? I would very much like to have some? words with this one who calls herself Priestess.?

?Ah, I can see that look in yer eye. This is goin? t? be interestin?. She keeps where she lives a secret, fer obvious reasons, but fer th? day-t?day business she?s got a building over on th? sunny side, biggest one in town. Once yet get outta th? clouds, ye can?t miss it.?

?Thank you, you?ve been immensely helpful. Here, accept your meal on my compliments.? He withdrew a few coins from his bag and slid them to the stoat before standing up. ?Though I would warn you against the consumption of any alcohol. Such things poison the living essence of the All-Mother within you.?

?I?ll take that under advisement, thankee,? said the beast, grinning and swallowing another mug in one swig.

Istvan scanned the room for Nyika, and after a few panicked moments located her conversing with some rough-looking beasts. He tried to get her attention, but she pointed towards the tavern door and signaled him to wait.

After a time she returned and they visited another tavern, and another, until the sun was setting low in the skies, and light filtered through the clouds. Despite Istvan's inquiries it was always the same name. Tikora, Tikora, Tikora. The High Priestess. And each time Istvan felt his curiosity bubble. Who was she? How did she come to the faith, and how had she commanded a city under name of the All-Mother? But more importantly, and more distressing, how had she strayed from the path?

It was the last building, when the candles were beginning to light that Istvan decided he had learned all he could. Nyika was busying herself speaking to more ruffians, still motioning him to wait as she retrieved her own answers to her own questions.

So wait he did, leaning against the wall of the building and watching the sun set through the clouds. As with all of the Mother?s creation, it was a great blessing, and one that shone on sinners and saints alike.

?So, that?s how you get to the Rusty Bucket? Thank you very much, and here?s something for your trouble.?

He heard a clinking of coins, and shortly afterward his companion emerged, looking thankfully unharmed.

?Were your inquiries successful?? he asked.

?Very much so.? She turned to address what appeared to be empty space. ?You heard those directions too, right? I need you to go there and wait for me; I?ll be along soon.?

The pair started on their way back to The Orange Ferret, walking through the dusky streets looking for all the world like a kit and her overlarge shadow. Presently, Istvan?s curiosity led him to ask, ?What exactly were you conversing with those beasts about? I hope you?re not putting yourself in any danger.?

?It?s just some unfinished business,? she replied. ?An account that needs settling, perhaps you could say.? The wildcat laughed hollowly.

?If it is some kind of obligation, I would gladly-?

?No,? she cut him off, ?This is something I must do myself.?

?Be that as it may, I will always stand beside you.?

?When you say that, I can almost believe it? Thank you.?

Belief, that was what it all came down to, thought Istvan as they passed glowing windows and sleeping beggars. Here was his salvation. He would show them the truth, and they would believe.

This was his mission, and the Mother had given him the tool to accomplish it. The Mistress of Spirits? but she was not a tool, was she? Not like him. Would he trade her for the belief of every beast in Carrigul? No, he supposed not.

Some things were more important.