Bones and History
Bones and History
(c) 1999, Wirewolf
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"Where are you taking me?"
The only answer she got was a harsh tug on the leash connected to the
leather collar around her neck. She stumbled and nearly fell. The dog
behind her laughed and pushed her, watching her try to keep her balance
with her arms tied across her back. The cat holding her leash hissed at the
other guard.
"Knock it off. I don't want to have to carry her if you break her legs."
"Shut up, Perrin," the dog groused. "I can have fun if I want."
With frightening speed the cat spun, grabbing her by her long, soft ears.
He pointed a finger in the dog's face, the needle-tipped claw out and
quivering. "Not on my watch you don't!"
Aneese gritted her teeth. It was impossible to suppress the whimper that
rose from her throat. Perrin was hurting her ears again. She heard the dog
growl threateningly and wished she could make herself disappear.
"If you don't-" said Perrin.
"You can't make-" bellowed the dog.
"I'll gut you like-" Perrin howled.
A shadow moved in front of the flickering torches that lined the stone
halls of the keep. Both guards fell silent instantly.
"What's going on here?" The voice was soft yet full of menace. The
dog whined quietly.
Aneese couldn't make out the new man's features, but he was obviously
canine. He was huge, possibly a wolf. His eyes glowed in the torch light.
She wondered if he would kill her.
"W-we f-found her," stammered Perrin.
The wolf's eyes bored into the cat's. "Really." Contempt and anger
were waging a war for control of his expression. Anger was winning.
The scent of fear filled the corridor, and she wasn't the only one
producing it. She unconsciously pressed against the cat, wanting
something between herself and the huge canine.
"Who are you?" The voice had lowered, a danger sign to anyone with
working ears.
"P-P-Perrin Bentear," the cat managed to say.
"Taukly Threetoes," whispered the dog.
A black furred hand, big enough to cover the top of her head, reached out.
Perrin didn't hesitate to place the leash in it.
"I'll mention your names."
The two lackeys had no trouble interpreting his dismissal. They made a
hasty and almost dignified retreat. The wolf said nothing more as he
pulled her leash. She followed quietly, terror building within her. This
wolf meant to kill her, she was sure. Maybe he would hunt her down for
sport, or break her with his bare hands. Whatever was in store for her, she
was certain he would be the last thing she ever saw. She tried to speak but
was able to get only a single word out.
"Please."
To her surprise, the wolf stopped. When he turned to stare at her with
eyes that reflected the molten fire of nearby torches, she felt her mouth go
dry. She tried again to talk to her captor.
"Where are you taking me?" She swallowed and forced herself to speak
above a whisper. "Are we going to see my family? Where's my mate?"
The wolf was silent and still. His long predatory face showed nothing of
what went on inside him. When he finally spoke, his voice was as
indifferent as his expression. "You're mate is accused of a crime against
Fauna. The Rasha will tell you."
Aneese trembled at his words. A crime against Fauna? What could her
mate have possibly done? He was only a farmer, like most folk in the
province. They paid their tributes as best they could, raised their two
daughters to be good citizens and obey the Rasha in all things. What
could the crime be? When she tried to ask, the wolf said nothing. He
only led her through the cold hallway to the Rasha's main chamber.
They stopped at an enormous wooden door carved with the likeness of
the Rasha. Actually, it was a likeness of all Rashas, past and current.
Lineage was power, and the holy Tigers had held that power for as long as
Fauna had existed. To be here was an honor.
Unless one was bound and accused before the Rasha.
The wolf placed his hand against the door. He looked at her,
considering. "Frightened, rabbit?" he rumbled. She looked up at him,
wondering if he could hear her heart pounding within her thin chest. She
nodded, unable to do more than that.
From a pocket of his thin leather vest, the wolf produced a vial. He
gazed at it, turned it around. Meeting her eyes, he said, "This will give
you courage." He unstoppered it, held it to her mouth. She hesitated, not
knowing why he would care if a poor farmer's mate was scared to meet
the Rasha. His eyes hardened, and he opened her lips and tipped her head
back. The thick, sickly sweet fluid burned its way to her stomach.
The wolf rapped lightly on the door, twice, before pushing it open.
Aneese looked up again at the wolf before they entered the Rasha's huge
chamber. "Who are you?"
The wolf was staring into the Rasha's chamber, veiled hunger lighting
his face for an instant. Without looking at her, he replied, "I am called
Groustch. I am the Rasha's Second." He walked into the chamber,
pulling her with him.
Even in her frightened state, the opulence of the room stunned her.
Being a farmer's mate had given her no cause to imagine such splendor
existed. Beautiful embroideries graced the harsh stone walls while thick
rugs lay underfoot. Ornate furniture of polished wood stood along the
walls like sentinels.
At the far end of the room, dominating the scene, was the throne. It was
enormous, carved with fanciful creatures she had never seen. Heavy
purple cloth hung from the sides. Arcs of the material were held up over
the throne to form a canopy. It cast shadows over the throne's occupant.
She quailed at the sight of the Rasha. It wasn't his physical size, which
outstripped even Groustch's impressive bulk, that unraveled her. It wasn't
the voluminous purple robe that covered him from neckfur to feet. It
wasn't even the deadly compliment of curved scythes that lightly raked one
worn armrest of the intimidating throne.
Aneese found herself devastated by the sight of the Rasha's face. His
broad muzzle, full of unseen teeth, lifted. Eyes, like the wolf's, reflected
the room's flickering light. Where the canine's were molten gold, the
Tiger's were a dim, bloody red. She barely registered the bands of black,
orange and white fur that framed those eyes, that face. The Rasha's thick
multitude of long whiskers twitched slightly. Her knees weakened at that
tiny movement.
"Aneese Stillwater, Ta Felidae," the wolf announced. The Rasha's ears
quivered at the sound.
He moved. It was like the avalanche that had buried her village during
her childhood. He approached her with a certain inexorableness. The
robe briefly parted in front as he stood, showing more mutely striped
fur. One leg, then the other pierced the robe as he stepped forward. Wide,
heavy feet, their claws showing their tips, padded silently over the floor
rugs.
Groustch took a single step back as the Rasha stood before her. Aneese
didn't start trembling until the Rasha spoke.
"Do you know why you are here?" His voice was deeper than the wolf's,
more forceful, more brutal. It was also soft, silken as a lover's voice. She
could never have imagined such a voice.
The only sound from her was the rapid wash of her panicked breath. She
couldn't tear her eyes from his face. She feared him too much to look
away. All she could do was shake her head minutely.
He stood, towering over her. He lifted a hand to her neck, the rough pads
of his fingers rasping over the leather of her collar. He twisted her neck
slowly until her head was pointed at a small table with gilt edges. She
gasped, partly at the increasing pain, partly at what she saw on that table.
It was one of the skulls Billis had found while plowing their field. The
discovery had puzzled them. No creature in all Fauna had such a head.
The rounded skull had no discernable muzzle, square, flat teeth and a
much higher forehead that any decent being could claim. Her mate had
put the skulls in a sack and left them in the tiny feed shed behind their
rough brick cottage.
The Rasha held her neck tighter, bringing his thin black lips close to her
shivering ear. "Do you know..." He squeezed harder, bringing tears of
pain and terror to her eyes. "...what that is?" He shook her once, hard.
"Do you?!"
Fear robbed her of any reply she could have made. The mighty Rasha
had cut off her air. She could feel her pulse pushing weakly against his
thick fingers as her vision started to go gray at the edges. She tried to
shake her head, to answer the Rasha. She could only squirm helplessly.
"Yoomuns!" the Tiger whispered fiercely, his breath burning the furless
cup of her ear. He released her and she collapsed to the soft, expensive
rug. She dimly saw his robe swirl like purple water as he moved back to
his throne.
When she had gotten her breath back, she tried to sit up. It was difficult
with her arms tied behind her. She was surprised when Groustch moved
closer to slide a hand under her shoulder to help her up. Still panting, she
looked at the ruler of all Fauna. The Rasha was staring at her from the
darkened depths of his throne. She looked to Groustch, but that one only
gazed at her with his continued indifference. The silence was thick and
heavy.
"But," came her small voice. She turned her pleading eyes to the Tiger.
"But- but yoomuns are just..." She swallowed, unsure if she was
committing an act of disrespect by uttering contrary words to him. "I
thought they were just pretend, like gobbles and snatchers. There aren't
any real...any real yoomuns." She shuddered at the word.
Yoomuns. They were story creatures; Demons supposedly driven out by
Fauna before time began. They were portrayed as destroyers of all
creation. Their dark, foul presence was said to be enough to kill whole
villages.
"Do you doubt me?" His growl threatened to stop her heart. She shut
her eyes and shook her head emphatically. "Oh, no, Ta Felidae," she
squeaked. "You're the wisest of Fauna."
"Do you doubt your eyes?" He pointed with a lethal claw to the cursed
skull.
"No, Ta Felidae," she breathed. She felt a burning in her stomach, like a
candle that had been swallowed alight.
The creak of Groustch's leather vest, the faint scratch of the Rasha's
claws on his armrest were the only sounds to accompany her shuddering
breath. She ached to ask what fate was decreed for her and her family.
She dared not.
The Rasha picked up a nearby silver goblet and drank its contents
swiftly. He didn't notice the subtle shift of his Second's eyes. "Do you
know of the sacred texts of the First?"
Her wet, brown eyes opened but stayed resolutely on the rug beneath her.
She shook her head again, her aching ears flopping gently.
"They are the testaments of those who came before us, those who
brought life to the land. They are the commandments to all Fauna, that
we may survive and flourish." The Rasha's voice had dropped to a cough
of thunder muted by mountains.
Aneese struggled to hear his words. Her concentration was being drawn
by the building fire within her. It was spreading out from her gut into her
limbs, up and down her spine.
"The texts have guided the Rasha for all time. They are the law, and the
law is clear." The holy Tiger drew himself up, leaning forward. "They
tell all Fauna that knowledge of yoomuns is forbidden. Those who hold
such knowledge must be destroyed for the good of all Fauna."
She stared openly at the Rasha, an offense in itself. A chill in her heart
grew, fighting with the fire that seemed to be consuming her from the
inside. "Billis?" she whispered.
"He and your offspring are dead. The texts demanded it."
The brittle knife of ice that had pierced her heart shrank, eaten away by
the flames. She felt numb, as though the war raging through her insides
belonged to someone else. She wasn't sure what she thought, what she
felt. She wasn't sure of anything except her sweet Billis was dead. Killed,
no doubt, by the Rasha. Or perhaps his Second.
Aneese was a gentle creature. She loved easily and clung fiercely to
those she cared for. Hate was foreign to her. Yet as she tasted the ashes
of the Rasha's judgement, she felt something new. She hurt, it was true.
She had known hurt before, was familiar with its sharp bite. This was
different. It was born in the flare of heat consuming her from inside.
The fire, she realized in a sudden stroke, was Groustch's doing, the
potion he had given her. It was affecting her, changing her, making her
feel something she had never felt in her short life.
The Rasha stepped down from his throne again, circling her. She
watched him approach.
She hated him.
It shocked her, to think such a thing. She had always been a good
citizen, done her duty.
She loathed him.
She closed her eyes, fear circling her heart as the Tiger did her body.
The Rasha ruled Fauna, he had to be obeyed.
She would...
Her eyes snapped open.
...kill him.
"Second, leave us." The Rasha's voice was harsh, tight. The wolf
moved out of the Tiger's sight.
Aneese trembled violently. It was no longer fear that drove her. It was
fury. Billis was dead, her children were dead. They had died because of
some old bones and the creature before her. The bones could not be
blamed. Their owners were dead, yoomun or not. The Rasha, she
realized in another sudden flash, was singly responsible. He had destroyed
her mate, her daughters, and now her.
She didn't know how, but she would see the Rasha die. She struggled
against the leather straps holding her arms behind her. They held. The
Tiger moved closer, passed in front of her. The fire lashed out.
Aneese looked up at the face of Fauna's greatest predator. "Coward!"
she shrieked.
The Rasha recoiled as though struck. Blinking, he stared at the
transformed rabbit. This pathetic, useless creature spoke to him in such a
way? Not possible.
"Killer of helpless children!" Aneese took a single step forward,
mindless of her captivity. "Eater of dung!"
The shock of the moment passed, and the Rasha snarled. This animal,
this insignificant beast was squealing at him, spitting deathly insults. His
claws leapt out. He would teach the piping rabbit who held the power.
He grabbed her by the shoulders, lifted her up. The blazing rage within
her shown brightly in her eyes, but he cared nothing for that.
"You are mine!" he roared. "You are nothing to me!"
He held her close against his hips. The heat of his own anger had fired
his lust, and he meant to quench that flame before he extinguished hers.
Aneese had no clothes, seldom wore any except blankets in the deepest
winter months. His robe parted again, this time forced open by the spear
of flesh between his striped legs. He pushed her down onto himself,
though he wasn't hard enough to actually gain entry to her. The brush of
her squirming body against his sex was thrilling to him. He ignored her
hate-filled eyes, her spite-filled mouth. He rubbed himself with her body,
taking pleasure in her angry cries.
She felt the fur of her belly getting wet, and knew well what the Tiger
intended. She howled her disgust. "Motherless worm!" she cried. "You
lie with pigs! You mate with monkeys!"
His lust spiraled upward, filling him with demands. He rubbed himself
harder against her, bringing new cries and slurs. He felt himself
capitulating to his bestial tendencies. Soon, rubbing was not enough. He
looked down, shifting himself and her, aiming to take her with a single,
deft stroke.
Aneese saw his intentions and twisted for all she was worth. It was
useless. She tried, instead, to bring her legs up, to kick at him. Her legs
were well muscled and powerful. If she could get enough room to aim at
him she might hurt him before he could take her.
The Rasha had dealt with rabbits before. He knew their puny strengths
and waited for her to make the move he expected. When she lifted her
legs to kick him, he drove into her mercilessly. His aim was practiced and
true. She screamed as his barbed penis wrenched its way into her, tearing
her. He pushed down harder, and she threw her head back, mouth open,
unable to make any more sound.
A rumbling sound worked its way into her ears. Dimly, she recognized
the thrum of the Tiger's purr as he lifted her. She felt the spines of his sex
dig into the walls of her womb. Pain whited out her vision. Her anger
was unabated, unable to escape. The pain seemed only to feed her fury.
She sucked in a breath to curse him again, but could only shout hoarsely
when the Rasha rammed his scalding hot shaft back into her. Her legs had
shifted unwittingly around the Tiger's waist. She tried again to draw them
up enough to kick him. He merely lifted her again, his barbs drawing
blood from her vagina.
The rabbit stopped struggling after a time, and the Rasha was able to
enjoy the tight warmth she offered her master. Her small form seemed to
lose all strength. She only lay there in his grip, limp and quiet. It didn't
matter to him. All he cared about was reaching his peak. He tightened his
muscles and thrust into her harder than before, eliciting only a strained
grunt from his subject. He could feel his testicles drawing up, preparing.
He closed his eyes, straining. His mouth opened, his pale yellow teeth
exposed as his black lips drew back. A hiss worked its way from his
mouth, followed by a full-throated roar.
He thrust once more as his body fired his essence into the dangling
rabbit. He felt exultant, triumphant. He also felt unnaturally exhausted.
His strength seemed to have fled him, perhaps to take residence in his
victim. He staggered, suddenly finding it difficult to hold the silent rabbit
off the ground.
He opened his eyes. Before him, the rabbit hung in his grasp. She was
staring at him with white hot rage. He was unconcerned about her. What
confused him was seeing Groustch standing behind her, staring at him
indifferently. Such an invasion of the Rasha's privacy was outside his
Second's nature. What made less sense was that the wolf was holding the
rabbit's bound arms.
When Groustch said quietly, "Take him. He's yours," he suddenly
understood. It was treachery, and he was unprepared.
The wolf tore violently at the straps binding the Aneese's arms, shredding
them effortlessly. With her arms free, she was able to grasp the thick fur
of the Rasha's sides. Her blunt claws couldn't hurt him, but they helped
her dig into the Tiger's pelt for a solid grip. She pulled up with all her
strength and was able to finally get her legs in front of her. But she didn't
try to kick the Tiger. Instead she planted her bare feet on his thighs. She
launched herself at him, pulling up with her arms and pushing powerfully
with her legs. She opened her mouth, the two sharp chisel-edged teeth in
front aimed for his throat. As his blood-engorged penis ripped one final
time from her body, her muzzle slammed into his throat and her jaws
clamped shut on his larynx. Her brown eyes were hard as stone as she felt
her jaws close, crushing the Rasha's windpipe.
Stunned by the abrupt turn of events and weakened inexplicably by
his efforts to rape the rabbit, the Rasha was momentarily unable to defend
himself. Instincts are strong in Fauna's folk, though, and he quickly raked
two sets of razor-needles down her back. He felt her quiver under the
assault, but her jaws only squeezed harder. His lungs were already
starting to burn for lack of air. He raked her again, desperately trying to
rid himself of the small mammal with its teeth locked in his throat. His
mouth opened and he inhaled sharply, but nothing happened. He was
suffocating. He gripped her head in both hands and pulled. That only
succeeded in damaging his larynx further and sending unimaginable pain
through him. Eyes wide, he glanced at Groustch. The wolf only stood,
out of reach, watching the spectacle with keen interest.
The Tiger knew, then, that his Second was responsible. His eyes flicked
to the goblet. The water had no doubt been tainted by the lupine's hand.
It escaped him why the wolf would abandon years of loyalty and his
blood-oath to do this thing to him. He would ask him before he personally
executed him. If he lived that long.
The room was losing its edges as he started to fade. He finally put both
hands around the rabbit's neck and squeezed as hard as he could, intent on
breaking her. His strength had diminished, however, and the bones would
not break. He continued squeezing, hoping to bring the very death she
intended for him. Her breath whistled twice, then ceased. He had her. If
only he could outlast her.
Groustch watched, concerned that the Rasha, with his enormous lungs
and powerful hands, would finish the rabbit before she could destroy him.
He wanted nothing more than to help her, to break the Tiger's hold on her
neck. He knew he could do no such thing, not without endangering
himself and his continued service to the next Rasha. He listened closely,
waiting to see which would stop breathing first.
******************
There were wonderful smells around the room. Bread and wine, flowers
and incense. Voices, soft and kind, mingled with the scents.
She opened her eyes to sunlight. The rays streamed through a high
window, lighting up dust motes that danced a tiny, stately waltz. She
stared at the swirling display, unable to understand how they moved or
what they meant. One of the voices came near.
"Aneese Stillwater. Can you hear me?"
It was Groustch. The wolf moved into the sunbeam. It lit all the fine
hairs on his arms and head, surrounding him with a finely jagged halo. It
was so beautiful, she thought she might cry.
The large canine knelt by her cot and touched her cheek. "Do you
remember me?" His voice was so concerned, his touch so gentle. She
wondered if perhaps this wolf was, in fact, someone else, someone who
had not delivered her into the lair of her family's murderer.
"Aneese?" Groustch sounded worried.
She tried to speak, but her words were only a harsh croak. Fire burst
from her throat, the agony of her struggle revisiting her.
"It's all right," her lupine benefactor assured her. "You've been attended
by a healer. Your wounds were serious, but not life threatening. Your
voice will return in time."
He sat on a nearby stool, an imposing creature made harmless by
drawing his legs under him and staring at her with quiet distress. He sat
by her for some time before he spoke again.
"Aneese, I'm sorry." He seemed ready to say more, but held his tongue
when a young cat entered the room. The newcomer's ears twitched at the
sight of the awakened rabbit.
"Oh, she's back with us!" The feline moved back towards the door. "I'll
get the healer."
"Wait," Groustch commanded him gently. "I wish to speak to her first.
Give us a few minutes."
The feline bowed. "Of course," he replied and disappeared.
Turning back to her, he placed his large hand over her much smaller one.
"I want you to know. It's important for you to understand. Very
important." His hand gripped hers carefully.
She marveled at how numb she felt. The death of her beloved Billis, her
daughters; it seemed to lose their potency when compared to this urgent
wolf. It puzzled her.
"The yoomuns." He hesitated. "You must tell them. Tell everyone you
see about them. Make them understand they are real." He frowned.
"Were real. They were evil and destructive and killed everything. And
now..."
His eyes widened. It frightened her, seeing him so earnest, so scared.
"Now we're becoming like them. Just like them." He looked down at
his hand, covering hers. It had started to tremble. "It started with the
Rashas. The power, the control over others. And now it's spreading.
There's been fighting, deaths over stupid things like trading prices, whole
clans killing one another." He looked her in the eye, squeezed her hand
briefly. "We're walking the same path they did. It's in the texts."
Aneese was confused. Why was Groustch telling her these things? Why
would he betray the Rasha and the Fauna and the texts themselves? What
did he truly want, truly expect from her?
He leaned closer, lowered his voice. He gave her one of her answers.
"The Rasha was wrong about the texts. The passage reads, 'No creature
shall be allowed to exist who has the essence of the yoomuns within.'
But it doesn't mean to kill those who know about the yoomuns." He
paused, letting the words sink in. "It means we must destroy those who
act like the yoomuns." His voice lowered, his eyes widened. "The Rashas
have been treading that doomed path. Their time must end. History must
not repeat itself."
Her head swirled and spun at the thought. Destroy the Rashas? How
could one injured rabbit do such an impossible thing?
Groustch stared at her for a time, as though waiting for an answer.
Eventually, the wolf pushed the stool aside and laid a warm hand on her
forehead. "You're safe here. The Rasha is dead, and his successor has
been told you are also dead. Rest, heal. We will talk later." He watched
her a moment longer, then turned and left.
Once the sun-gilt wolf was gone, there were only the dust motes to keep
her company. She watched them move without pattern, wondering what it
would be like to exist with such aimless grace.
Of a sudden, she wished she were nothing more than a speck of dust, free
to float in a sunbeam. She didn't want to be a part of a world where rulers
killed unjustly and loved ones vanished because of old words and older
bones. Mostly she didn't want to live with the burden of warning all of
Fauna about the yoomuns. How could she? She was only a farmer's
mate, a simple rabbit born to a simple life.
Billis. Beautiful, kind Billis. She ached for his company, his voice. She
could picture his face, his oddly lopsided smile. Her throat tightened
painfully and her eyes watered. He had not done anything to deserve such
a pointless death.
"What do I do?" she silently implored her mate's ghost. "What can I do?"
Groustch's words suddenly came back to her. 'History must not repeat
itself.' She envisioned all the things that had happened to her, the sad
events that had brought her to this point. What if it happened again?
What if creatures, unknowable in form and thought, stumbled across her
own skull in some distant time to come? Would those creatures be killed
as Billis had been? Would they be left, alone and injured, deprived of all
they held dear?
Could she allow that? Could she let her bones and her history destroy
others?
Watching the sunlit motes, she imagined she could not.
**************************
This text is (c) 1999, Wirewolf
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