Here's the next chapter! Sorry so much for the long break; had things to do and chores are being a butt. My next fanfiction is coming up! Stay tuned for FireDancers; Embers' Dawn!


The Lord of the Whiskers


Chapter 7; Elsewhere

Sarucat, the once-good-now-evil White Persian Cat, stands over the Black Feline Sorcery Squeaky Ball Magic Thing, his paws cupping over the massive eye.

"The power of Isencat is at your command, Sourbone, Lord of the Earth," he whispers, so quietly it is almost to himself. He is almost filled with fear as dark moaning fills the air. Amidst the harsh, guttural words, the voice of Sarucat emerges.

"Build me an army worth of the Junkyard."

Sarucat seats himself on his throne, obviously ended with the tête-à-tête with Sourbone. His Stray Overseer approaches. He bows his head and slips his crooked, shabby tail between his hind legs.

"What orders from the Junkyard, my Lord?" he murmurs humbly. "What does the Eye command?" Sarucat pauses, then rises from his throne and takes his staff in his tail.

"We have work to do."

Gandalfur, unaccompanied completely, lies unconscious on a cold obsidian floor. His ears twitch, and he wakes to the sound of ripping and tearing. Sitting on his hind paws, his tail curled in front of his front paws, he quickly grooms his face. He looks around, and he is stunned to see himself stranded on the summit of Orthanc. He is marooned on the tiny, flat peak, surrounded on all sides by a sheer five hundred foot drop. Another whispering wail rends the air. The shabby-looking gray Persian Cat crosses quickly to the edge and peers down. He gasps in horror and lifts his paw to his mouth.

One of the beautiful Isencat trees is being ripped from the ground by the Strays. He looks on in terror as Strays hack into the trunk with axes. He slumps down on the black obsidian, realizing that he is helpless to stop them.

Sarucat, looking out into the dark night, stands in the gentle rain, which seems to bring hope to the imprisoned gray Persian Cat on top of Orthanc. The Stray overseer sidles over to him, axe in paw, sweating with extertion.

"The trees are strong, my Lord. Their roots go deep," he pants.

"Rip them all down," Sarucat meows darkly. The overseer snickers evilly and slides away. More and more trees are being hauled down and killed… as Gandalfur looks on in helpless despair. He rests his furry gray head on his front paws and curls his tail on top of his face. The rain has stopped, but he is damp and cold. The only company he has on the top of the tower is the stars, which peek from under a cloud that will soon disappear. Gandalfur feels lonelier than he has ever felt in his life.

The tower of Isencat glooms in the moonlight. A single sparrow flies over and stops for a rest on top of the Isencat wall. He looks, and he sees once beautiful gardens that are now a pitted wasteland, with smoke and fire billowing out. His black beady eyes close for a moment, and he sings a song of mourning for his fellow member of nature.

Strange guttural chants echo up from deep underground, from numerous tunnels and vent holes that litter the forecourt of Orthanc. On top of the tower, a single moth flutters by, like a bright yellow squeaky toy among black ones. It seems to glow as it flies near Gandalfur, who lies slumped against the wall at the very top of Orthanc. He looks weak and frail, and is seemingly asleep. The little moth flutters close to him, and his paws suddenly snap out at lightning speed, snatching to moth. He brings his paws close to his face and opens them. The moth sits in the center of his paws as he softly mews strange words in a foreign tongue. The moth looks at the shabby old cat, on the face of it, listening. Gandalfur watches and almost smiles as the moth suddenly flutters away. It flies on, looking down at the rutted inhospitable surroundings, and stares straight into a fiery red tunnel.

It is night in the caverns of Isencat. The dead trees are fed into roaring furnaces, and molten metal pours into casts. Red hot metal is beaten by sweating Stray blacksmiths. Armor and weapons are forged from the great furnaces. Sarucat strides among the Strays and stands looking on a new born Furuk-hai as it escapes its birthing membrane. This is Furtz, who rises up to stand before his master. Sarucat smiles, pleased with his new underling.

End Chapter 7