Iron Oxide

[Istvan]

Imminent death had never exerted considerable fear over Istvan, and even as the building filled with smoke and the temperature rose to incredible levels the otter could not find it in himself to be afraid. However, he could no longer think of returning to the Mother with quite the same joyful anticipation as he had about a week ago.

In short, Istvan wanted to live. It was a terrible thing to discover moments before he died.

He looked at Nyika, whose ears pressed flat against her head as she cradled the kit. Would some miracle save the Mistress of Spirits and the kit born of madness? The All-Mother had certainly protected both of them through more trials than anybeast deserved to endure.

"He's come for us," said the wildcat suddenly, her eyes wide as she stared at the corner of the building. Her tail had fluffed at an unseen presence. "He's finally come to collect us."

"Who?" asked Mekad.

"Death." It was a mere whisper.

"Death? What are you talking about, who's there?"

"It's Nyika's curse," Zevka explained. "Since we survived the road collapse, she believes that death has been following us, claiming us one by one."

"Well, I never signed up to be part of a curse!" Mekad yelled. "Help me with this door."

The otter and pine marten rushed to assist him. Clawing frantically at the base of the barrier, they tried in vain to lift it. However, whatever complex mechanisms kept the door locked were apparently still undamaged, and this time the group could not cheat their way through. Soon, the metal heated so much that despite wrapping their paws in cloaks they could not bear to touch it. Out of options, the three retreated back to where Nyika still stood.

?Well,? began the pine marten, pausing to emit a hacking cough, ?it?s been quite a journey. And there aren?t any other beasts on this earth with whom I would rather end it.?

?It has been a blessing and a pleasure,? replied Istvan. ?May the Mother grant each of us a good judgment.?

Mekad whipped his tail away from a flying ember before adding his piece. ?When Tikora?s goons were torturing me, I told myself that I couldn?t die without seeing Zevka one last time. At least I?ve kept my promise. And I?ve only known you two for a short time, but from what Zevka?s told me I feel honored to have met you.?

?Even knowing everybeast we would lose, even knowing we'd end up here, I would have still set out with you for Bayguard," said the marten. Mekad wiped his eyes, stepped over to her, and wrapped his arms around her for a long time before finally, reluctantly, releasing.

Finally, it was Nyika?s turn. ?You've been true friends to me. It's all I ever wanted." She bowed her head. "Thank you."

And then, with a terrible groan of metal on metal, the door began to move. Inch by inch it rose, slowly revealing the shining light of freedom without.

Zevka grabbed the paws of the two stunned males and pulled them towards the exit, and the trio forced their way through a cloud of choking smoke and bright flecks of fire, crawling on their bellies through the small gap. They collapsed on the rocky ground outside, tongues lolling from their mouths, coughing and rubbing their stinging eyes. When Istvan finally overcame the searing pain enough to look around, he noticed that their group was missing its two most blessed members.

He never stopped to think about it, never considered the possibility that perhaps the Mother intended for them to die now. Because while belief can move mountains, the heart can crush them into powder. And Istvan?s faith sprang from something far greater than a simple set of rules.

The otter took a deep breath, filling powerful lungs originally crafted by the All-Mother for a swimmer, now being used for an infinitely greater purpose, and plunged back into the inferno.

The situation had not improved since his escape; the structure was rapidly losing integrity, and flaming debris rained down from the roof and the resounding boom of exploding boilers shook the very ground under Istvan's paws. He whipped his head towards a horrible sound that was more wail than meow, and fought his way through the wall of sparks to where Nyika lay with her sacred charge, knocked down by a burning beam that also trapped her leg. She raised her head when she noticed him, and her eyes widened. You came back for me again? they seemed to ask.

Of course, he wanted to reply. You have fallen thrice into hellgates, and thrice I shall carry you back.

The otter wrapped his paws around the flaming wood and heaved with all his strength; fire danced perilously close to his fur, and he could feel blisters searing through the pads of his paws. But his efforts were not in vain, and the obstacle moved just enough for Nyika to pull herself free. Clutching her precious burden to her chest, she raced towards the exit, Istvan hot on her heels.

But whatever great miracle that had raised the door had run its course, and the otter could see the doom of himself and his blessed companions approaching faster than they could run. Until suddenly, it stopped. Istvan blinked his good eye, thinking that his mind had betrayed him, but no: the Mistress?s brother stood in the opening, straining and staring wildly at them.

However, he?d bought them at most a few seconds; it was a heavy door, and Mekad could clearly not hold it much longer. Istvan grabbed his seer by the nape of her neck and flung her ahead of him into the light, then dived and slid the last few feet on his belly, tumbling again onto the gravel outside. A loud clang and a deep-pitched yelp behind him told him that the door had closed forever.

The otter lay on the ground for a few seconds, staring at the sky as his vision cleared of spots. A sharp pain in his side brought him back to his senses, as well as a familiar female voice shouting, ?Get up, you idiot! We have to get out of here!?

Istvan grasped Zevka?s proffered paw and lifted himself up, leaning on her as he followed the limping seer and her brother, praying that they could reach the safety of the city before the Mother vented her full rage upon the structure that had sought to bend her power to a madbeast?s will.

By the grace of one last blessing they made it, and the otter went down to his knees and began vomiting. His entire being, from his fur down into his lungs, was permeated by smoke. Nyika and Poko?s pipe-sharing experience was completely insignificant next to this, and the otter wondered if it would ever be possible for him to be fully cleansed.

After that unpleasant business, he looked up. The forge still stood, even as rupturing boilers ripped gaping holes in its side and flames danced merrily on the roof.

And then, with a great, terrible roar, there was nothing.

The forges of Carrigul, the dark machine that took the Mother?s creation and turned it into instruments of death, collapsed in on itself into a great cloud of smoke and ash and heat. A bright orange, bubbling liquid rose up over the remnants, flowing down the hill and slowly engulfing any buildings in its path. Istvan could imagine the screams of the beasts still trapped inside, and shuddered. Burning was a bloodless death, the worst he could possibly imagine. He would need to make many sacrifices later on.

And yet? the otter pulled himself up and looked around. Mekad, Zevka, Nyika, and the poor weaselbabe were all unharmed, though they all looked singed and the male wildcat was missing a large clump of fur on his tail.

?Poor thing! In this world for not even one day and she?s already had three near-death experiences! You?re quite the survivor, little one.?

Istvan listened to the Mistress of Spirits comforting her charge, and managed a smile. Even on this day of death, there was still life to celebrate.

?Hey?? Zevka looked around, her voice edged with worry. ?Where?s Poko??

?She escaped?? the otter replied, ?before the door opened??

The four looked at each other.

Nyika bowed her head, staring at the ground as if it held the answer to the unanswerable question. ?Oh.?

?She might have gotten out again. We have to go and look- we can?t just lose hope,? said her brother.

The pine marten suddenly grabbed Istvan?s arm and pointed with her other paw. A figure emerged from the smoke, walking slowly towards the party. The otter rubbed his good eye, trying to keep it open through the stinging pain. Was that the shape of a young ferret? Was this story truly going to end with the survival of the youngest member of their original party, without another body being added to the gruesome tally that had hung over their heads ever since Risk the Cutter walked off into the woods alone?

But as the beast stumbled closer, Istvan had to confront the inescapable truth. Just as the Mother gives, she also takes. Pyracantha Dewhurst, her smoke-blackened face cut by canals of tears into a pattern that was reminiscent of a color reversal of Istvan?s own ink, held in her paws an all-too-familiar purple coat.

Nobeast spoke for a moment, though Zevka sniffled audibly. Then the otter clenched his fists, and his eye narrowed.

?Where is Zander??

Zevka wiped her eyes and raised a cautionary paw. ?Don?t do anything rash, Istvan.?

?Don?t worry. Whatever offenses he has made against the Mother, I have no intention of forcing him into a reckoning now. I just need to know?? he coughed, spat out something black and slimy, wiped his mouth, then continued, ?if this was all worth it.?

?Tikora?s body,? spoke up Nyika suddenly. They all turned to look at her. ?He was bringing it to the palace. He?ll be there. And I?m coming with you.?

?We all are,? said Zevka. Mekad and even Dewhurst nodded assent. Istvan raised his eyebrows.

?What?? she asked. ?You think after all we?ve been through I?m just going to let you wander off??

?I would have thought you?d be anxious to get out of this cursed city.?

?You?re not the only one who needs to know, Istvan. If it means staying in Carrigul a little longer to get them, then so be it.?

The otter bowed his head. ?Thank you all, truly. I am honored by your presence. Now, let?s go get some answers.?

***

As Nyika had predicted, the weasel possessing those answers stood in front of the grand, ostentatious palace, a few meters away from the body of its former ruler, which Zander had dumped on the ground without so much as a tablecloth to cover it. He was talking to a fox in Carrigul Guard armor, but waved that beast away when he noticed the group approaching. Flax, who had apparently stayed behind, hurried up to rejoin Dewhurst.

?I suppose I should be thanking you,? said the weasel. ?You?ve been quite useful, in your own rather destructive way. And Miss Dewhurst, I do apologize for the incident earlier, but it did eventually work out to our advantage, and you and Flax managed to escape-?

He was cut off by the vixen?s fist slamming into his badly bandaged snout.

?Owowow!?

?Don?t even think that makes us even,? said Dewhurst. ?I have no patience for traitors.?

Zander scratched the back of his neck. ?Well, I suppose I deserved that. Would it help my standing at all if I told you lot what you just did??

?Destroyed the forges of Carrigul? at a price,? replied Zevka. Istvan noticed that she was shaking, and slipped his paw into hers. Her claws dug into his burned pads painfully, but at least she seemed calmer. ?Yes, we know.?

?Heh, heh. More than that, Miss Marten. I understand that your activities released a fair amount of lava that we were using to power the forges, and that lava has utterly obliterated the city armory. Yes, by one brilliant, insane maneuver you managed to completely cripple Carrigul?s military power and any hope of recovering it.?

Zevka managed a grin. ?Risk would be proud.?

?He is,? said Nyika. The pine marten winced and curled her tail close to her body.

?Now, I believe you have something that belongs to me.? The weasel reached towards the babe clutched in the wildcat?s arms, and she recoiled and hissed. Istvan stepped in front of the Mistress and her charge and fixed Zander with a stony glare. He raised his eyebrows.

?Am I to be denied my own daughter? I would hate to have to kill you all, and you don?t look like you?re in much shape to be fighting right now.?

?Give me assurance that you will not treat her as you claim your mate would,? replied the otter.

Zander spat. ?Like you?re in any position to be acting like you?re better than me. I know what you priests do; I?ve spent enough time around Tikora for that.?

Zevka both put her paw on Istvan?s shoulder, and he managed to resist the urge to repeat Dewhurst?s treatment of the weasel tenfold.

?I am nothing like those heretics your mate presumably scraped out of a prison gutter. I am Istvan, last true priest of the All-Mother, and I will not give this pure child up unto one such as you, who so easily turns on his companions.?

Zander inclined his head towards Tikora?s body. ?You?re really calling something that came out of that innocent? Like as not I?ll be hard-pressed to make sure she doesn?t follow in her mother?s pawsteps.?

?Explain that to me,? cut in Flax. ?What did Tikora aim to accomplish with this city? Take over Yew? Create some kind of vermin kingdom??

?Oh, more or less, though she thought in far more grandiose terms than that. Carrigul was a means to an end, but it was also a prototype. Tikora lived in Yew for quite a few seasons when she was young, and I think that might be where she got some of her madness from. You don?t live long in the alleyways there if you?re soft-hearted. And the Guards there don?t give a rat?s tail what happens to you if you?re not a woodlander.?

Istvan stared intensely down and scuffed his boots in the dirt.

?And so she wanted justice for us, I think,? continued the weasel. ?You?ve all heard the stories; woodlanders always win, vermin always lose. She dreamed of a world where we got our fair share. I can?t disagree with that, however much I hated that witch.?

He shrugged. ?I guess there aren?t any bad dreams, really. Just bad methods.?

Zevka tapped her chin. ?You know, that dream doesn?t have to die with Tikora. The city itself is still intact, and-?

She was interrupted by the sound of two paws slowly slapping together. A dark figure slowly limped into view, flanked by many healthier-looking armored ones.

?Oh, very nice. I must thank you for taking care of that madbeast for me, and her abominable factory. Killing is such a crude way of dealing with things, don?t you think? Though it does have its uses...?

The beast stepped into better light, and Nyika gasped and shrunk back. It wasn?t an intimidating-looking sight, to be sure. An old rat, wrapped in bandages, wheezing as he spoke, barely holding himself upright. Then it dawned on Istvan.

?You?re Ruark, aren?t you??

He grinned, showing two rows of missing and yellowed teeth. ?Yes, the one-time partner of your former associate Goragula. Another little difficulty that you solved for me, I might add. Given your track record I may have to consider employing you beasts. Except, of course, for your molly companion.?

He clearly had cause to hate her, that much was obvious. What had Nyika been thinking? Making them so powerful an enemy, and in such a brutal manner. Did the depths of her soul really contain such darkness that she could do this to another beast and feel no remorse?

Of course. She did it to herself, after all.

The otter clenched his fists, dearly wishing that he still had his knife. ?Lay one paw on Nyika??

?And you?re not getting it back,? finished Zevka, stepping up to his side. Mekad joined her, as did Dewhurst and Flax. Zander did his best to slide off to one side inconspicuously.

?So be it. Your group has a tendency to beat the odds in paw-to-paw combat, so I?m not going to leave any room for uncertainty here.?

Ruark raised his paw, and the soldiers behind him notched arrows to bowstrings. Istvan looked back at the child still clutched in Nyika?s arms, which had not produced so much as a squeak since they escaped the foundry. Was that normal for kits? Or had this one just been exposed to so much death in such a short time that the world had ceased to terrify it?

?Give the kit to Zander,? ordered the otter.

The wildcat?s head jerked up. ?What??

?It is of his blood, and I will not consign one so pure and young to die for our mistakes.?

The weasel stepped forward and claimed his kit from her, though Istvan noticed that her claws took a while to detach from the swaddling cloths. Zander muttered a brief ?Thank you,? then sidled off to one side. Ruark, to his credit, made no objection to the exchange.

?I suppose we?ve already said our last words,? commented Mekad. ?Everything since then was just a delay.?

?Ruark,? said Istvan. ?I beg of you, take only my life, and allow my companions to live. Do with them what you wish, but there has been? far too much blood on my paws for me to be able to go to a peaceful rest without at least attempting to fill the ultimate duty of my vocation.?

?You woodlanders. Always so irritatingly gallant to the very end. The gall of you, trying to deny my my rightful revenge without offering anything in exchange.? The rat raised his paw, and the archers pulled back their strings.

The otter tried to position himself as much in front of his companions as possible, desperately casting his eye about the scene, praying that the All-Mother had arranged for one last, impossible miracle for this battered, bloody group. 

Then the solution came to him: if he charged at Ruark, he might be able to startle all the soldiers into shooting him and buy the others enough time to escape. Istvan moved his paw back slightly, preparing himself for one last burst of speed. In his mind he offered one last prayer, for the beast who needed it most.

And then the sun disappeared.

Without warning, the entire scene was shrouded in shadow and inundated by a primal, terrifying screech that Istvan could not but associate with a blue uniform, but magnified a hundredfold. Owls, dozens of them, circled overhead. For a moment the otter?s instincts took over, and he barely resisted the urge to run for cover.

Ruark proved to be not so iron-willed, and he broke and began hobbling towards the safety of the palace. But it was not the Mother?s will that he cheat death a second time; a long-eared owl swooped gracefully out of the sky and grabbed him in its powerful talons. The rat?s screams carried over the stunned land-bound crowd as his captor landed on the roof of the palace, then opened its beak and ripped off a chunk of his flesh.

The screams went up in pitch, and one of the guards began vomiting as the owl continued its grisly feast. Soon all that remained of the old rat was a barely-visible smear on the roof of the palace.

Zander recovered from shock first, and composed himself enough to swagger in front of the soldiers.

?What are you idiots doing standing around?? he barked. ?Your boss is dead! Throw down your weapons unless you want to end up like him.?

This statement was immediately followed by the clanging of metal hitting the ground, and some owls landed around the guards, their menacing claws and curved beaks daring any of them to so much as move. Ruark?s killer, who seemed to be the leader, remained on the roof of the palace, staring intently at something below.

Istvan raised his eyebrows. ?You were not so willing to stand by us but a moment ago. Is your allegiance always determined by strength??

?I want to live, priest. I defy you to find fault in that,? replied the weasel.

?That would be a very easy task-?

Nyika interrupted him by stepping forward with her arms outstretched towards the precious bundle in Zander?s arms. ?Give her back.?

?You?ve quite a nerve. What makes you think you have any right??

The wildcat came even closer to the weasel, thrusting her mutilated face as close to his as possible- not very, given the discrepancy in height.

?I snatched her from the claws of death and breathed life into her. What greater claim could you ask for??

Istvan reached between the two and carefully pulled them apart, though Nyika?s paws still clutched at the kit?s wrappings.

?Zander,? he asked, ?do you have any objection to her caring for this kit? Do you think that you could perform the essential duties of fatherhood, the most blessed vocation for all-?

?Oh, shut up already,? he said, shoving his daughter into the wildcat?s arms. ?Here. Take her. I don?t know what to do with these things anyway. Just promise me? you won?t let her end up like her mother. I don?t know if I could do that. I can only hope that you?ll be better.?

A loud hoot from above alerted Istvan that the long-eared owl had left the roof, and presently its talons clacked on the ground next to the group. Now that he had a closer look at it, the otter noticed something strangely familiar about its bloodstained features, and dim memories conjured up a feeling of intense pain in his missing eye.

?Oh Cleite, thank the fates you?ve returned!? said Zevka. Istvan?s brain clicked into place- of course, this was the Captain?s son. He?d certainly heard the name before, and recalled a dark, miserable cell, a feeling of crushing despair, a familiar booming voice, and another face peering out through iron bars.

?Just in the nick of time, it appears,? the owl replied. ?I only wish I could have gotten here sooner??

His golden eyes roved over the grisly object still impaled on the fortress walls.

Istvan scratched his arm. ?You could not have prevented it; it happened but moments after you escaped. He died a hero, as befitted his life. And you can rest assured that those responsible have received their due.?

Cleite shifted his focus to Tikora?s body, nodded, then twisted his head around to look at the otter, who was then reminded of the Captain?s habit of terrifying new recruits with the unique skills the Mother had given his species. ?Thank you, Corporal. He always did say he wanted to die in battle, so at least he got his wish.?

Hearing his old rank shocked Istvan more than he expected; it sounded almost foreign to his ears now. Truth be told, he hadn?t missed it. There was something suffocating embedded in that simple word that he had not noticed before, and he realized that whatever the future held for him, it would not involve a career in the Yew Guard.

?So, now what?? asked Zevka. ?Is it finally over??

?I?m certainly not stopping you from leaving,? said Zander as he attempted to edge away from Cleite in as nonthreatening a manner as possible. ?I?m sure that you all have lives and families to get back to.?

As one beast the group grimaced and looked down at their footpaws.

The pine marten scratched her chin. ?You know, it couldn?t hurt to stay around a bit longer? what?s going to happen to the city, anyway??

The weasel shrugged. ?Don?t know. Don?t care. Tikora got what was coming to her, and I don?t want to stay in her city any longer than I have to.?

?So nobeast?s going to be in charge? Everything could degenerate into a bloody power struggle that could destroy the markets and trade routes that made Carrigul an economically important city, not to mention the homes and livelihoods of all the beasts who moved here??

?Well, when you put it that way-?

Mekad held up a paw. ?Quiet. She?s thinking.?

Suddenly, Zevka grabbed the wildcat by his shoulders excitedly. ?Mekad! Remember why we ran off to Stekpo?s fortress in the first place??

?You remember, I was hoping that I?d end up inheriting- oh fates, Zev, you can?t be serious.?

?I have never been more serious in my life.? She turned to Cleite and pulled her friend along with her. ?I present to you Mekad Mayvery, son of a lord, educated at Stevat Academy, and about as soft-hearted as you could ask for in a vermin. I couldn?t think of another beast I would rather have in charge of this city, and I hope that you agree to support him.?

The owl?s bushy eyebrows arched, an impressive sight. ?Very bold of you to suggest such a thing, Miss Zevka. But it also sounds like the best way to minimize damages, and I think it would be to everybeast?s benefit for Carrigul to remain intact. Especially those merchants in Yew- their markets have been growing rather stagnant of late, and some earnest competition might reinvigorate them.?

He threw his wings over the pair?s shoulders. ?Come with me, you-hoo two. We have much to discuss.?

Nyika and Istvan watched them walk through the doors of the palace, while behind them the other owls herded away the remainder of the soldiers. Soon the scene was deserted but for the seer, her priest, and a dead weasel.

Istvan spoke first. ?I think that I could get used to life here as well. There are many beasts here ripe to hear the truth of the Mother- I just need to eradicate certain erroneous beliefs first. Ah, those false priests will soon face their appointed judgment...?

He turned to the wildcat, who looked less than enthused at the idea. ?But of course, should you choose to leave this place, I will follow without hesitation.?

She sighed. ?No? I think I will stay here, for a while at least. Freya needs to be cared for, and I can?t leave her.?

?Oh, you have chosen a name??

?Yes?? she clutched the cloth-wrapped bundle closer to her chest, and it emitted a small squeak. ?It?s my mother?s.?

Ah. Istvan noticed that the wildcat?s eyes darted for an instant to a certain empty space, and barely resisted the urge to glare.

?You know, if you wish to be free of him, I will gladly offer sacrifice-?

?No! ...No thank you. He?s family.?

The otter stepped over to Nyika and embraced her. ?We are your family, my Mistress of Spirits, my friend, my kitten, my Nyika. He is nothing more than an echo of sins long past, and it is far past his appointed time on this earth. Remember who found you in the temple, and why you needed to be found.?

?Oh, Istvan?? the rest of the reply disappeared under a hail of sobs, to which the newly christened Freya added her voice.

The otter let her tears soak into the burned, bloody, ripped shoulder of his coat for a while before finally letting her go. He found a somewhat clean corner of his sleeve, and wiped her face dry. That face, with its pure white designs covering but not erasing the horrifying wounds beneath, which over the past week had come to mean more to him than he had thought possible.

He sniffed loudly, then gestured at the kit. ?You should probably take her inside and find a wet nurse. It can?t be good for her out in the cold like this. I?ll catch up soon.?

She hurried up the steps and through the doors of the palace, and then he was all alone, but for a ripped, bloody body.

Istvan squatted down and turned Tikora?s face to the side. The damage he had done had not been erased by Aster?s savagery, and glass still glittered among the red of exposed flesh.

What was he, when it all came down to it: a priest, or a murderer? As the rest of the group had begun to think of him more as the first, he could not help the nagging feeling that the second had an element of truth to it. And now, here was the damning evidence.

Yet? Tikora was an evil beast, one who had slaughtered her own children and sought the enslavement or murder of countless more. Could he thus justify his actions?

He got up, walked over to the pile of weapons left by the soldiers, and picked up a knife. He returned to the corpse, pulled his left sleeve back and held his arm over the body, and slowly dragged the blade through the innumerable scars left by his previous sacrifices. They had been deserved. This one hadn?t, and that made it all the more important.

His blood slowly swelled out of the cut, dripping onto the body and mixing with Tikora?s own precious crimson. And Istvan prayed, as he watched the vermilion droplets fall. He prayed for those who hadn?t survived, for those who did, but most of all he prayed for himself.

The potential for life at the head of a flock of believers stretched before him, and as he looked at the weasel?s maimed face, with its lines of red ink sliced to ribbons at his paws, he wondered if he could be equal to the burden.

But if not him, then who else?

Istvan stood up and looked at the sky, where he was greeted by thousands of tiny white flakes floating down on him. It was winter, the season of death. A time for debts to be paid, and spirits to be purified.

The otter smiled, rolled his sleeve back down, and started up the path towards the palace. There was still much work to be done, for which the past week had been but a prequel.

The life of Istvan, priest of the All-Mother, ward of the Mistress of Spirits, retired Corporal of the Yew Guard, and father to a weaselmaid born in blood and anointed by fire, had only just begun.