# Bones and History Author: Wirewolf Tags: M/F, NC, Rabbit, Rape, Tiger, Violence Bones and History (c) 1999, Wirewolf \*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* "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 It may be downloaded and printed only with copyright information intact. It may not be distributed without author's permission. 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