CHAPTER VIII: THE SEEKER'S PATH
Author's Note: Yes, in this chapter you will finally figure out why I named this story this frickin weird title. Also, yes I've edited all my other content in this chapter, but besides grammar there weren't that many changes. However, there were some paragraph long insertions that I put in. If you want to check them out, here's what I mainly changed:
I added a paragraph in Cyan's scene in chapter five (Constellation of Survivors), instead of a magic door, Darion has to fight two bodyguards before entering the con-Clave and the lady's reaction is somewhat different in chapter six (Reunion on the Slopes), and a shrew makes a speech about Colonel Panias Urayling at his funeral in chapter seven (Scabiniel's New Slave). The rest were minor, sentence-long changes. Oh and also, there is a sort of nasty graphic description of an injured ferret, but don't worry I didn't describe it in a perverted way. One more thing: I know this chapter is split up a LOT, but it was the only way I could fit all the quick time-based plot turns. There's like nine different scenes in this.
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Joluff's body twisting in a spasm of pain and shock as the dagger duck into his neck cords, his eyes widening in disbelief…and grief as the realization struck him. It was over, lights out for him. Done. Gone. Never to return…
Lukas shook his head ferociously as the reminiscents of the past had come once again to haunt him. When he had first stabbed Joluff, he was more in shock at what he had done. Only a day ago, had he begun to understand the whole implication. Joluff was dead. His life was over. Though Lukas had never really liked the bully that much, he knew that Joluff had had friends and that he had had happy times devoid of alcohol and other addictive habits that could harm your organs. There had been beasts who liked him, he had had a best friend, Geoniyo, and Lukas had ended all his happiness.
Was there even an afterlife or had all the essence and soul and mind of Joluff been sucked away into a dark, deep abyss when he had killed him? He didn't know and now he realized that there had been beasts that had idolized him because of his strength and somewhat, in a gruff sort of way, handsome looks and there was so much to know about him that he had never known. Now he felt the other good beasts' resentment around him because of what he had done. It was like his brow was swathed in blood, a standing marker of who he was.
"'urry up, Lukas." Maliana swept past him, to take the lead, her cut clothes moving with her curves. Lukas shook himself out of his trance and fell back into the trudging monotone the group had fallen in. Since yesterday when they had first started their desert trek, things had, at first, been going fairly smoothly, but then it smoothed on in to a boring routine punctuated by bouts of dehydration and starvation, as they had very little food and water they could salvage from the recent battle. Lukas's throat was raw and rippled in jolts of pain every time he talked, while his stomach broadcasted grumbles and roars every few minutes. And it didn't help that he had to carry his part of Jarbell's body, as the wounded marten passed into unconsciousness every few minutes.
His reverie was interrupted by the assigned scout (Cyan) rushing back with his ears erected in an astounded expression, as he skidded to a stop in front of the crowd.
"Mah jolly fellows, this proud jack of a hare just found somethin' blinkin' interesting," he declared, with a paw over his chest in a comical pose.
"What is it, Cyan?" asked Devnam in a resigned, bored voice.
"Just follow me, sah, wot wot," exclaimed the hare in a jovial voice so contradictory of the other beasts' moods, "though it may dishearten the maids, so beware." He gave Mliana a sympathetic glance, which she turned in a contemptuous glare. As Lukas stomped through the sinking sand after the hare he heard Maliana mutter, "Couldn't he 'ust ah told us whe'e the blood' h$ll he's leading us?"
A minute later they all found out and stood in shocked silence at the horrid scene.
At their feet lay a horrible, bloody mess that had once been a beast. However, it had been mutilated beyond the wildest realms of nightmares, so badly that they could not even tell what race it was, or be sure of its sex. Its right arm had been inexpertly cut off, so that ridges of flesh still emerged from the socket that had been covered in a white cloth, which had changed color to a deep scarlet. A deep cut that started from its left thigh and worked up vertically to its ribs, oozing blood among broken bones that jutted out, covered in hideous, ruptured flesh blotted with damaged muscle. This scar was quite recent, but the ones on its face weren't.
The nose had been gnawed off by some reptilian creature to reveal split nostrils and a scabbed stump. The skin on both sides had been burnt so that it had crumbled off and the raw tissue had formed a sort of hideous, tawny scab that had blistered in the heat to form numerous pockmarks, while the rest of the scab had been crusted to a layer of red due to the blood that had oozed up from the flesh and mixed up with the film. Both ears had been reduced to ribbons of cartilage and tissue, which flopped down to its cheeks. The mouth had been slashed in a diagonal direction so its lips were split and the remaining, rotting teeth hung from the mutilated gums, suspended by a few fibers.
There was a collective gasp from most of the beasts and Wayak turned on Cyan. "You were happy about this."
Cyan shrugged in a nonchalant manner. "Since all you clever sahs are so blinkin' moody all day and night long, I've learned to have a more positive outlook on life. Look," he said, gesturing to the pack lying by the beast, "the blighter, yes he's a male, has enough water and grub to keep us jolly in the tummy for a week!"
Wayne had to agree with the hare. "Well…you do have a point since he is already dead, and we might as well profit from this, since he surely didn't-"
"He's not dead," stated Kendall in a flat voice. "He still has a pulse."
Geoniyo hurried to the injured beast. "No he doesn't," he disagreed. "You can't feel anything at all."
Maliana joined the duo. "Yeah, he does, ye jus' don't have t'e same texture as we does. Mouses got t'ese frickin' pads on t'eir paws, and hares don't."
"He's not dead?"
Everybeast turned to Devnam, who had just spoken. He had a fierce gleam in his eyes, and said, "Good, because he was the best friend I ever knew, the only beast who truly understood me."
"Wot the h$ll are you talking about?" asked Jarbell disbelievingly as he stood up straight on the sand, where the beasts had left him so they could come closer to inspect the body. Nobody had noticed him as he had just awoken a few minutes ago. "We couldn't tell what gender he was and here you come and claim he's your best friend! Are you getting senile in your old age?"
Devnam glanced scornfully at Jarbell, but said in a much quieter voice, "His name is Malik. Fool of me to think that he had died all that time ago, we could have had so much time together."
Lukas's voice cackled in disdain at his enemy. "You really want Geoniyo, Cyan, and me to believe that foolhardy tale you told us about Malik and yourself? And even if it was true, how would you be able to tell in the conditions he is in!"
Devnam quietly walked up and held out Malik's left hand and showed them three large spots of purple on his paw pads. "Malik had these three purple spots since he was born. I think it was a sickness devoid of any ill effect besides these blemishes. And also," he continued, showing them Malik's right hind paw, "as you can see this foot bears seven claws, a characteristic known of only him." He turned at the gaping crowd before him and fell to his knees in a pleading frenzy and, unshed tears blurring his vision, begged, "Please friends, if you do this, I swear it will be the last thing I will ask of you that might hinder in any way." Tears now streaming down his cheeks, flattening down his whiskers and trickling past his jaw, he intoned once more, "Please…"
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Jarbell glanced up from the "surgery" operation AKA the dying body of Malik the ferret. "He doesn't have much time left," he announced, avoiding Devnam's gaze. "A few hours at best. This is almost as bad as that fool job that you two idiots-," a glare at Cyan and Geoniyo, "did on me; I'm still surprised my heart hasn't gone out yet!"
"A few hours," said Devnam sadly, his mouth moving as if he was savoring an exceptionally bad taste in his mouth, "I guess that will have to do. At least I'll have time to talk some time with him…that is if he ever awakes…"
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Darion stalked down the corridors in restless impatience. There was nothing he could do or look forward to until his stupid training ended. The lady would not let him engage in or create an activity, until she deemed him "trained".
And when would that happen? he wondered. He had certainly improved, but in the position he was in, there was hardly anything else to do besides improve…if you could call it improvement. In sword fighting, it now took ten seconds instead of five to disarm him or "kill" him. In archery, instead of hitting the target one time out of ten, he was now doing an average of three times out of ten. In chess, instead of taking five moves to lose, he was now taking nine. Whoop-de-do. He was a regular grand master now.
But he didn't really understand it. It was as if the Lady was an inhuman force that could not be bested in a single aspect of skill, any competition. Her looks, strength, speed, intellectual…she had all of them. Except maybe the skills to be a good teacher; Darion found his lessons dreary, especially since they were indulging into writing and reading (though Darion had been literate, he hardly knew anything else besides the crude forms of the language), mathematics (Darion had been able to count, but besides that…), history (who cared about some ancient guy, even if he was an evil genius warlord who held Redwall under siege for ten seasons and slaughtered good beasts in the thousands), science of nature (who cared if slugs were bisexual or some birds could exceed a hundred mph) , engineering and technology (like he would want to build a spyglass), and other stupid,-in Darion's opinion-idiotic subjects that didn't help you at all.
A messenger soldier interrupted his train of thought. "Sir, the Lady quests to inform you that you now have a free rein at your command and at your soldiers."
Darion practically jumped in delight. Guiding the messenger by the shoulder he whispered,
"Ye have been very kind and ye make a very good 'ourier," the soldier stood up straighter, "so ah wish that you will tell all my 'aptains to herald their people 'ause-," Darion's eyes quivered with delight, "we're gonna have some blood and vinegar with that dratted otter holt, NORT I think they 'all themselves, that keeps on annoying us!"
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The fire blazed the beasts sitting around it in a warm, comforting glare as the severely wounded ferret in the middle stirred. Then he blinked his eyes open. There was a sharp intake of breath from all around as Malik stood on his knees, gasping for oxygen, as he could no longer breathe through his amputated nose.
It was the most macabre and ugly product of nature he had ever seen, Devnam had to admit to himself. Malik's chin stuck out as his slashed mouth attempted to grasp air. He turned his blazing, emerald eyes on them, gasping for breath between his words as his slashed mouth tried to twist in strange positions to form words.
"Who…are you?"
Devnam stood up among the waiting assembly and approached his long-time friend as a gleam of recognition came to the ferret's eyes. Devnam stared at the hideous shell that represented the kind soul and understanding personality that had once, long ago, been the ferret's appearance on the outside. But now lay a hideously tortured body at his feet. But could the inside feelings still be their pure form of friendship, love, courage, and belief…
They could.
"Devnam…my old friend…now I can die peacefully…knowing that I am in the presence…of good…souls…"
"Malik, don't die! You can't leave me, you're my best friend in the world and now that I have uncovered your presence, your life is being swept away. Oh, Malik," Devnam called, tears stinging his irises, "at least tell us how this predicament came to befall you…"
Malik stared with an expression of happiness and sadness, of contentment and wishes unfulfilled. "That is…the least I can do…for now…to have my story…live long after my…demise," the ferret paused his guttural speech and pronounced, "there are so many…things left to do…in the world…but lacking the time…I will let you beasts of good faith…and integrity, for you can be good inside…whether vermin or good beast…for vermin is not the…name of a race…but just an insult…that would stereotype…races' beasts…for no rational reason. But…I shall tell you my…tale and I can only hope that…you will continue to…keep its principles…in the light."
Not all the beasts had been moved by the speech-beasts like Maliana just sat the whole thing through with nary a feeling but a look of pleasant neutrality-but Devnam clasped his hands behind his back and bowed down to the wounded ferret muttering in a quiet voice that all could hear:
"We would be honored if you would bestow this duty upon us. But for now let us hear the tale of what happened since we last crossed paths."
And Devnam sat back to listen to an account of epic proportions weaved with the wily twists of Fate. He was pleased to hear that Malik had started off where he, himself had finished off in his tale to the hares of Salamandastron.
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Darion paced across the bulwark of wood that surrounded the fort addressing the two hundred regiment of elite warriors he had elected for the certain slaughter that lay ahead. He decided to give a short, rousing speech to enlighten the warriors in mild blood frenzy.
"Those petty NORT otters have annoyed us for too long! With their ridiculous philosophies, they believe themselves to be superior because of their principles on life! What an atrocity! You hear that, don't you! They believe us to be inferior, that they dominate the land! We'll show them who's the top when we'll have our weapons in their guts!" Cheering from the crowd emboldened Darion as on, as he shouted, "We WILL TERMINATE them ALL! RID the LAND of their disgusting TAINT! For those who be faint of heart stay behind, but for the brave warriors I know I have, follow me, as we lead those obnoxious stream dogs to their graves!" Unknown to the warriors before him, the NORT outnumbered them two to one and Darion had a reserve troop of one thousand warriors commanded by Captain Claw waiting in their wake for his call (the shriek of an eagle) which would signify danger of losing.
The constant stomping of two hundred pairs of feet brought up huge dust clouds that hovered at a noxious level above the dirt path that the elite troops were taking. Stopping near mounds of pine needles, they chopped off branches and ignited them with the fiery resources of flint and tinder. As the twilight hour began to settle above the forest they were walking in, the everyday woodland sounds started to cease and the soldiers made an effort to remain quiet as not to give their cover away since they were approaching the otters' holt.
It was a rough construction of dried dirt with assorted wood and a roof of branches intertwined with vines. It was balanced across the river, ingeniously constructed atop a dam, so thick logs made up the base.
The soldiers fell back in the shadows and quickly hid their torches in folds of cloth ad Darion quietly whispered their instructions,
"Ok, put our arrows on fire, or those who don't have arrows, spears, javelins, any other type of missile. You can even get a piece of wood on fire and fit it in a ling. On my word ready and release, then reload. We will fire on them twice by which time their pitiful home will probably be in flames. A lot will probably take to the water, being otters. Wait after them on the banks with a torch in one hand and a close combat weapon in the other.
"If you can't get at them, again-grab a hold of some missile and shoot them with it. Shoot twice to make sure they're dead. There will be a lot of those whoresons, so you will all have enough kill to satisfy you." Then Darion grinned feral-like, a scary appearance as his face was partly shadowed by darkness and the other half illuminated with a hallucination-like glow cast off by the torches. "There will be a lot of split blood today. Just make sure not too much is yours…"
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Rani leaned against the doorway, her paws sliding over the hardened dirt frame. The otter's whiskers moved in anticipation of the feast ahead…a feast to remember, if the smell was anything to go by. Her narrowed eyes scanned her fellow otters in an articulate view. Instead of viewing every otter by its appearance, she evaluated him or her by his or her own unique personality that she had familiarized herself with.
Rani was a unique otter herself, to say the least. To start off she was a pacifist, greatly differing from the majority of rowdy otters. Though she appreciated their sense of humor and fun, she hated their carefree opinion when it came to battle and violence. The world would be a much more peaceful and enjoyable place if not for violence. Many things provoked violence (all in Rani's opinion senseless reasons or pathetic excuses): revenge or personal grudges, racism or stereotyping, striking back, anger, boredom, love, religion…the list went on and on.
"Hey, Rani mate," greeted a particularly handsome male otter, "what's troubling that pretty face of yours so hard?" Rani blushed, as the otter continued, "Yah know it takes only fourteen muscles to smile, and sixty-four muscles to frown. Yah don't want to overexert yourself, do you?"
Rani smiled shyly at her friend. Her smile abruptly turned into a frown of angst and disbelief as the wall of the holt facing her burst into flames and toppled down onto the male otter. His scream of anguish was flushed out with a sizzle as the fire devoured his body. Other otters trapped under that wall echoed that same shriek of desperation as their death toll bell rang loud in their ears. Rani let out a gasp of terror as her dreams crumbled around her!
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"I pulled. …myself out of …the snow…or at least …I tried to, almost …overcome with fatigue…and stiffness as I was…at that moment. I managed to pull…most of myself…out at the moment, but…when I could pull…no more, I was still up in…snow to my mid-thighs. At that point, I blacked out…due to the pain and cold." Malik stared dreamily at the crackling fire and continued, warning, "What I will now account…I haven't seen…but have been informed of it…by the good vole that…saved me.
"Now this vole's name…was Jecko…and when he saw me…I was but some live…snow scarecrow, planted in with my feet. He…dug me out with his…war hammer and trusty axe…and then carried me on his back…to his camp. My thighs and down had been frozen…coated in a frosty white sheen…which soon melted by the fire…that Jecko started. My body was slowly…but surely thawed, until…nothing remained but a few…scattered drops of water on the tips of my fur.
"Though I was warmed quickly enough…my body was still stiff and limbs were…paralyzed. It took me a…few weeks to recover since I had been in the snow for…a few hours before Jecko had come along. After…I recovered, we spent some time just practicing wood lore and other seemingly mundane tasks…that I later learned were valued skills. Soon after…I became able to run and brawl, I began wondering what happened to you, Devnam…dear friend. I never found your remains, so Jecko and I set out south, since we were about as North as you can get…without freezing." As Malik began to talk of the adventures and misfortunes that had befallen them, his own memories wandered back into the far past, reliving those tales as he said them aloud.
"Hurr' up, Master Malik," called Jecko as they both tromped down the dirt path. They were going downhill at a pretty steep pace, so Malik was shocked but not heavily surprised, as Jecko seemed to trip and fall on the ground, rising up a mini dirt cloud.
"Jecko," exclaimed Malik as he went over to his friend. However, instead of seeing a dusty, but good-natured vole rising to his feet and waving him off, he found a dead vole with an arrow sticking out of his chest.
"Don't move and paws off that weapon, or you're gonna end up like your little friendy here," spoke a voice from behind the cover of a willow tree. He was surprisingly well spoken, for a vermin. Malik slowly rose his paws off the hilt of his saber in a ruse of defeat…to clasp the saber seconds later and whirl to one side as the arrow streaked past him.
He sprinted to the tree, hoping that the sniper wouldn't be fast enough to reload. As he rounded the trunk he came face to face…with a mouse! The grim specimen had dirty clothes and a scar across the left eye. This, Malik, took in a fraction of a second as his saber cleaved through the loaded bow. The arrow backfired, slamming with the other equally deadly end into the mouse's stomach. Blood sprayed in a gush of red and the mouse sank down in pain, babbling off pathetically with tears streaming into his mouth.
"If the world is a stage," mused Malik, staring curiously at the mouse, "truly the roles have been reversed."
"Kind sir, please pull the arrow out," pleaded the mouse in a pathetic pose.
"If I pull the arrow out, it will only kill you," stated Malik coldly. The mouse whimpered. "But if you insist." And with that Malik killed the mouse.
"Days passed…and I walked on and on…my memories are a flash of…blank slides…for those days were fraught with hunger and thirst, fatigue and…lack of sleep. I was ambushed by a group of bandits…they were all under the leadership of a certain ferret…Darion, I think his name was.
"We passed beyond the lands of cold up in the north…me, a bedraggled slave among my miserable companions. It was a hard life…made even harder due to the lash of Darion's whip…I'll curse that craven ferret to my grave…which won't be long now," Malik managed a grim smile. "We went south and struck west, Darion's band growing all the time…along with his number of slaves. By the time we reached Salamandastron…Darion had about twenty scores of killers under his command…along with ninety slaves. Now that we were at the great fire mountain…Darion's purpose became clear. You see, even though Darion had accomplished a great many…evil things, he was still very young. When he had enslaved me he was naught but fourteen seasons old, barely out of childhood. Now…he was sixteen but a better fighter than just about anybody else in the army. He might have been strong and fast and clever…but he was certainly not wise. The prospect of so many warlords and vermin armies that had lost their…lives at the fire mountain-he gave it not a second thought.
"After that ensued the fiercest battle I've witnessed with this pair of old blinkers…and believe me, I've seen quite a few. It wasn't a war…since you could say it was all over in one large, fierce, and quite bloody epic of a battle. At that time…Salamandastron had quite a large army…one badger and slightly over eight hundred hares, and Darion had only about half that many. Now, Darion was rash all right…but he was certainly not insane. You see, the badger lord…Lord Grey, I believe his name is, wisely hid the bulk of his forces…displaying only bare four scores as his militia. Darion chose to attack by the cover of night…and then us slaves realized our true purpose, why Darion valued us so much that he collected us.
"He suspected that the badger had a counterattack up his sleeve…which he did. He had a squad of hares prepared to assault any intruders…coming up the mountain. Darion wasn't too sure about this one, so he had us slaves stand as a distraction, roped to the side of the mountain…to pose as if we were climbing up! While the hares sent boulders rolling in our direction…Darion and his soldiers cleverly passed up in to the mountain…and assaulted Lord Grey and his hares.
"The boulders came rolling in three tumbles…before the hares realized their deadly mistake. Five others and me…were the only ones to survive the onslaught and a lot of the scars…that I have acquired were because of that incident.
"Meanwhile, after the surprise had started to worn off, the tide…started to turn in the hares' favor, due to their number…and superior skill. Darion himself bore the title of six slain hares. However…the hares cleverly cornered the vermin army and finished vast amounts of them at their leisure. In fact…Darion and another score of his faithful followers were the only ones to escape! They scuttled down the mountainside and picked up the remaining slaves…the ones that were alive, that is.
"The pitiful remnants of the once-great army made camp in a secluded grove of trees. In the morning…Darion rashly sent a message to Lord Grey…challenging him to a one on one combat for the winner of the battle. The victor…would get the other leader's army…and the leader was to honorably surrender or die. By the time the combat was too begin…only me and one other slave had survived the night. The others had died from their severe wounds, which had turned out to be mortal…but this did not stop us from witnessing a most ferocious brawl…that took place in the early dregs of morning near the fire mountain…" Again Malik's eyes took on an omniscient tinge as he began to relive that memory, fully emblazoned in his mind.
The two combatants circled each other, Darion with two sabers with jeweled pommels, one in each hand, and Lord Grey wielding a mighty spear of oak framed with shafts of steel. As a horn blared, the two enemies leapt at each other.
Grey gave a roar of "Eulalia" as he leapt above Darion with his spear poised to strike. However, Darion quickly sidestepped to one side and the spear whirled to a thud in a micro sand dune. Grey might have been stronger, but Darion had the speed.
The next turn, Darion struck, his sabers humming in his hand at the alacrity of his move as he jabbed at the badger's ribs. Two small streams of blood erupted from between two chains of steel in the badger lord's chain mail. Lord Grey howled with rage and truck down with his spear on top of Darion's head.
The steel helmet that Darion bore must have been extremely durable, for though it broke on the impact, it did not leave a single bump or cut on Darion's head, or even a throb of pain or hint of a headache in his nerve system. Somewhat surprised at his luck, he recovered and struck back at the badger before Grey could bring down the spear again. His sabers again cut at the sparse flesh exposed from behind the badger lord's chain mail. More blood spurted out to trickle down the badger's armor.
Darion ducked as the heavy spear swung at where his head had been fractions of a second ago. But this was merely a decoy as Grey hefted a large kick at Darion's gut, sending him blowing backwards. The ferret lay sprawled on the sand, but managed to regain himself in the nick of time, and rolled aside as Grey's spear thudded into the sand next to him.
But the badger had him and both of them knew it. Grey sent the swords flying out of Darrion's grip and picked him up by the collar. The two white and black, huge paws closed around the ferret's throat, choking him. Bile rose up his neck and his vision began to swim in a black phosphoresce.
Malik lay watching from a safe distance behind a tree. He didn't think he'd be much better off with Lord Grey and the hares, since they would regard him as an enemy. So, equipped with the bag alongside him, which was full of supplies he had stolen from his slavers, he was going to make a dash for it as soon as the fight was over.
"I thought for sure…that this was the end of Darion," Malik resumed his tale. "But…no. Seeing that their leader was in mortal danger…one vermin shot the badger with a bolt and the other hurled a javelin at him. These distractions…though not great enough to cause a badger lord real harm…kept him diverted long enough for Darion to escape his grasp…and run off with his band. Lord Grey, roaring with fury, threw himself at the rear of the band of vermin…bringing down three rats, a stoat, and a weasel with his bulk. He slammed in the ground, distorting the bodies of the vermin…but knocking his helm against a boulder. He lost consciousness. The hares pursued the vermin and I believe…they dwindled their umbers to Darion and five others before they lost track of them. I…took this opportunity to run off, into the desert…possibly the biggest mistake I ever did.
"Now that was three and a half seasons ago. For the first season…I got lost in all that blasted sand, wandering off and hence. I ran out of…supplies after the first few months and after that I became ill and lunatic. I…spent my time hallucinating, while numerous fevers struck me, making me go slowly but steadily insane.
"Then a fate worser than starvation, lack of water, or even insanity struck me. I believe…you have heard some rumors about the lizard clan that lives around here?" Malik stopped his narrative to glance at his audience who all nodded their heads, remembering Devnam's riddle. Malik paused, uncertain of the information he was about to divulge, but continued nevertheless:
"I could spend days…retelling my experience at the lizard camp, where I lived for two seasons. But since that is such a horrid memory…I will sum it all up in a few sentences. When I was their captive…they kept me well fed and watered. I soon learned that this was all part of their plan to fatten me up…so they could eat me. Yes, they are vicious cannibals. When they brought me near their cooking pot…I fought ferociously and managed to escape, but bearing these scars. I have wandered this blasted desert, until then…seeking who know what; but now that I am in the company of friends, I may…die peacefully."
There was a hushed silence among the camp, as the shadows lengthened their dimension and the leaping flame of the fire grew smaller. Then Devnam stepped forward and kneeled among his friend, his speech sounding through the site, while bittersweet tears sliced across the fur cresting his cheeks.
"My friend, you have gone through much, and fate has rarely been kind to you. But I hope you will die with a contented heart."
Malik stared grimly back at his friend and managed to lift the corners of his mouth up in a smile. "Devnam, I will die more than contented if everybody present…will manage to fulfill the legacy that I am leaving behind. This is even more important than the story of my life. What has kept me going through all those hardships was something that I fondly dubbed "The Seeker's Path".
"Now this won't take a long time to tell. I had a vision after Jecko retrieved me out of the avalanche. I have had…many of the same visions before and it is what has kept me going on and on.
"Now I know that you have all heard of Martin the Warrior, but he…did not come to me in the vision. You know who did? Many of you…have not heard of him. He died after a young life…he did not die an honorable death, betrayed and slaughtered by his crew. That's right…he spent most of his time at sea. He was killed by a monitor lizard and his minions. His name was…Romsca.
"Now he came to me in that vision and pointed out two black lines going in opposite directions and said 'There are only two paths you can take-The Seeker's Path and The Life Path. The Life Path is normal life…as many beasts wish it, with wars, quests, tragedies, love, etc. The Seeker's Path is where you will try to unite…the turmoil, the rift, and the fraught line between two sects of races. Those are the…mice, otter, squirrels, badgers, shrews, moles and their kind, which are…dubbed 'good beasts'. Then there are foxes, rats, stoats, ferrets, weasels and their kind which are dubbed 'vermin. These are the usual standards set by 'good beasts'. But the truth…is that they, or we, should I say, were not born evil, but made evil by the…concepts that 'good beasts' have placed in us. Vermin is not the name for a race; it is an insult that has been stereotyped…upon us from our early, early predecessors. Sure there are evil vermin, but there are also good vermin and evil good beasts. Unfortunately…there are much more evil vermin than good vermin since that has been our culture, our belief, our standards, since…we were born. Your job is to stop that stereotyping and judge us as individuals'
"Now, I believe every word he said to me…and I think you should to. Keep this belief alive in you, so you will make a difference in the land of the living." And with that, Malik gave a final shudder and kneeled over, stone dead. A flood of blood spurted from his mouth to encase him in a puddle.
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Author's Note: Now that chapter is actually more important than you think, though it took me about two weeks to write, since that scene with Malik's tale took way more than I expected. Now, I hope that wasn't too boring since with all the stories an d stuff, but there were a lot of material; covered in this chapter. But next chapter, it will liven up and you will see the outcome of the battle between the holt and Darion's army. Oh, and the other thing that I am working on besides this story is The Purple Lightsaber and you can check it out if you want too. One last note-you might have noticed that I put in less '…' because, frankly, I was getting tired of them. And I bet you were too.
Agent D: Hmm, well yes it's it going to be a war-fraught relationship but I'll have to say that there will be some "secret love crap" as you refer to it. Hope it won't be that annoying! So, I'm really pissing my pants to see how the whole Dyris/Cameron thing in Orphen turns out!
Grubswiper: Yo, what happened to A Dibbun's Party? Anyways, thanks for the review, short and sweet like always, eh?
Narfgirl: Yeah, but Darion doesn't really want to defeat the Lady, since she's her commander and all. Thanks for your review again, you rock!
Avelblue: Um, well first-I'd like to give you a huge THANKS for pointing out all that stuff and all, though, as you might have noticed, I haven't taken all your advice. Some I just think are better the way they are, no offense. Anyways, to your first review/reply: yes, maybe I haven't put it across to you yet, but I WANT Devanm to be sort of "cardboardy". I mean, since this is actually not a lack of personality, it is a unique personality when comparing him with characters that do have personality, at least that's what I think. And with the Maliana thing, well she isn't exactly into it, she was just traveling with the band for some time and went through all that religious-type stuff so she would fit in, cause all she really wanted to was get out of the desert with some company and protection, even though she is highly competent.
I mainly skimmed over your advice on chapter eight, cause I didn't really get it, but I ma going to be doing heavy editing in the story later on-this was just a sort of light editing to fix some immediate issues. And with the 'aroused' issue…dude, you know that the most common definition of aroused is 'awakened, alerted' stuff like that not wanting to have sex. And since nobody else complained about that, I'm juts gonna keep tit the way it is.
Mr. Nice Guy, The Flamer, and Jack: Hey where were Nice Guy and Flamer? Oh well, nice to see you back and in action. I seriously hope that my rating isn't cause of your sickness! Anyhow, I know I've brought this up, but I still think it would be pretty cool, if you got an account, even if not to write you'd have the option of doing signed reviews, C2 communities, favorites, a profile and all that stuff. Just an idea.