74. Threads.

As Willag handed his cloak – which, magnificent as it was, could only hamper him in a fight – to Akkla, he noticed something about her. She did well maintaining a stoic façade and even fooled him for as long as he paid little attention, but now he could perceive, from the look in her eyes, subtle shifts in her posture, and her smell too, that constant rage, driving Akkla for several moons, was gone now. Replaced by what, fear, or perhaps dejection?

Willag made a step and hugged Akkla. "Worry not, sister. However strong the badger lass is, she has no experience of real battle. Methinks, I'm not old enough yet to be beaten by a beast who's not even a true warrior."

This was not what he intended to say. Surely Akkla, of all beasts, was hard enough to take instructions on what to do if he is to perish from battle wounds calmly. Or was she, given how she hugged him back and buried her face in his shoulder, like she did when they were still young?

"Now, enough." He gently pushed Akkla away. "It's the time for swordplay and for Badger Ruler's fall."

000000000000000

Leffel watched Willag and Akkla from a distance. So did Torbit, who stood next to her. He was not sure what he is doing here, among Axehounds' best and most renowned warriors, but nobeast questioned Leffel's choice of companions. Except Torbit himself. Certainly he couldn't have made a good impression on her, who saw him at his most pathetic, so what exactly she had in mind, being so friendly and open with him? Did she even told the truth about wishing for peace? She did not seem too perturbed that Willag opted for bloodshed, after all.

It was as if Leffel heard his thoughts. "Father is like a beast possessed today," she murmured into his ear. "He cannot hold back his rage any longer, my words bounced off him like pebbles off a shield."

"What can I do about yer father drivin' us all into bloodbath?"

Leffel looked around, checking if anybeast was showing undue interest in their quiet conversation. "Until arrows start flying, it is not war yet. Don't lose hope. Who knows what chance you or I can get?"

000000000000000

The two warriors stepped towards each other in the wide empty space of the sandy shore, between the two armies. Violet was protected by an armor of polished plates and a red-painted shield, her slim rapier replaced with a broader and heavier longsword, a heavy spear in her paw. Willag left the long-hafted battleaxe which served as the symbol of his power behind, and held a smaller throwing axe and a big green-painted shield in his paws, a broadsword on his belt.

There was no signal to start the fight. The otter and the badger circled each other for a couple dozens of breaths, then Willag raised his paw, as if he intended to throw his axe. Violet reacted immediately, hurling her spear with immense force that no shield or armor could have stopped, but the move was false. Willag swiftly ducked out of the way, letting the spear fly almost all the way to the sea, without touching him, and only after that, as Violet hastily started drawing her sword, threw his axe. The Badger Lady raised her shield to protect her head, but Willag put all the skill and cunning he had into this throw – the axe turned in the air as its handle struck the shield's rim, and its blade smacked Violet right on the helmet, stunning her momentarily. Before she regained her senses, Willag was upon her, his sword already in paw, chopping savagely. Shield and armor saved Violet from dying on the spot, but under the storm of strikes she could only back away, trying to protect herself. The upper part of her shield broke and flew away, Willag's blade only stopped by chainmail covering Violet's neck. Pain transformed into rage, she leaped back, dodging the next vicious slash, and swung her longsword. This time Willag would have been one slain if not for his shield, and even though he protected himself in time, the mighty blow nearly knocked him off balance. Splinters and sparks flew as the two warriors hammered each other with equal ferocity, slashing, slamming shield against shield, pushing, seeking opportunities for a lethal strike. Violet thought she saw one, when Willag's left paw dropped after a particularly heavy blow, as if the battered shield was too heavy for sore muscles, and turned her blade for a stab that could have easily pierced mail. But that was another ruse – Willag raised his shield to protect himself just as swiftly as before, and such was the force of Violet's thrust that her blade went right through the thick plank and got stuck. Violet pulled on the weapon, Willag on the shield, and then the otter slashed with his own blade, forcing the badger to release the sword hilt or lose her paw. With a yell, Willag threw the shield and Violet's sword piercing it far away, and slashed at her with two paws, putting all of his terrifying strength behind this strike.

But Violet was ready, and caught it on the heavy steel boss of her shield. Willag's broad blade split steel and wood, cleaving the already deformed shield in two and numbing Violet's left paw even despite being stopped by the armor plate covering it, but it too could not withstand such violent force and snapped in half. Violet may have lacked experience of real life-and-death battles, but she still had makings of a true warrior. She saw her opportunity, and pounced, catching Willag in an iron grip.

Against nearly any other opponent the fight would have been over then and there. Violet was long used to the fact that in sheer physical strength very few beasts could match, never mind surpass, her. Willag did not to be seem one of them, lacking in bulk and muscle. But whether his rage or the fact that Violet's left paw was deadened by his blow helped him, Willag grappled her right back, and Violet felt like she's trying to bend an inflexible metal rod. Then the otter pulled back his head and headbutted her right on the nose, their helmets clanging against each other. Once again Violet saw stars. By reflex she made half a step back, and for half a second Willag lost his balance. And then, with a mighty heave, Violet lifted Willag clean off the ground! The otter may have been as strong or almost as strong as her, but he was still much lighter. Yet Violet's head had not yet cleared after the hit just seconds ago. The otter struggled desperately, kicking the badger and slapping her with his rudder, and before Violet could do anything, she felt that she is falling. With one last effort, she turned the fall into a throw, hurling Willag over her head.

Both bodies, weighted by armor, hit the sand heavily, and both beasts needed a couple of seconds to recover, before they started rising. But Willag was the first to regain his wits. As Violet sat and turned towards him, he scooped a pawful of sand, and hurled it into her face, quite a bit getting past her helmet's visor. Shock and panic seized Violet, she instinctively tried to wipe sand from her eyes, her armored paw only scratching against the visor's steel. She did not see as Willag picked up his throwing axe that happened to be lying in the sand near the place he fell, took it in both paws and swung in a wide arc.

000000000000000

Suddenly, as Violet's back hit the ground, sand was gone from her eyes. So were pain and dizziness, and noise in her ears. She sat promptly, only to see her own armored back, frozen and unmoving, still trying to clear her eyes, with equally frozen Willag over her, his axe a few inches from her head. Stillness and quietness were overwhelming, and the sunlight was dimmer, as if midday suddenly turned to dusk. She looked around, and could see not a hint of movement, armies standing as still as their leaders, a couple of seagulls unmoving in the air.

"What is this?" she thought in fear and confusion.

"You can say that we are within a dream. Or on the border between your mind and things beyond time," a calm deep voice behind her broke the utter silence. Violet jumped to her paws and whirled to see that in space where no one was a moment before, a huge male badger now stood. Though his fur was graying, and his countenance was that of a beast in the autumn of his life, his shoulders remained broad, his back straight, and his dark eyes clear. In every sense of the world he made Violet feel herself like a child. He held a staff of polished wood that in his huge paw appeared as nothing more than a quaint walking stick. Even without that, Violet would have recognized the face from her visions.

"You are Russano the Wise. And I am about to die…"

"But you've believed that you and Willag are fated to kill each other."

Violet nodded.

"No, I'm not going to answer all your questions before you make them. Only two more. To make a point. And indeed, Willag the High Warchief of the Axehound clan is about to die as well. By the paw of your body."

"Even with the skull cracked, the body can keep living, for a moment," a deep but unmistakably female voice sounded from the right, just outside of Violet's field of vision, and she turned to face another badger, smaller than Russano, and wearing simple homespun clothes, just like him but still big enough and regal enough to make Violet feel small and insignificant. Age of the larger female was impossible to determine, and her eyes remained closed. "Enough time for one of us to take control. A spirit possessing a body that is not her own can do things impossible for a living, breathing creature."

"Lady Cregga?" This time Violet was not so sure.

"Yes, once upon a time I was called that."

"And yes," Russano spoke once again, "we're talking with you because we cannot possess your body against your will. Your will and heart, deep down, are set to resist us. Even on the brink of death. Though in your mind you, oftentimes, tell yourself otherwise. Now, you had questions to ask."

Despite her circumstances, that could shake anybeast, Violet felt a flash of anger. Legendary ancestors or not, she was as much of the Badger Ruler as them, and certainly she was not used to… being looked down upon? And did this strange place allowed them to get into her mind?

Russano the Wise smiled a gentle, sad smile. "I could have known your questions simply from standing behind your shoulder for your entire life. From seeing your struggles and your toils. But in truth I knew your questions from the moment I died."

"For us, who stand the invisible vigil over the Fire Mountain," Cregga said, in the tone Violet almost could call mournful, "time has no meaning. What we see, we see all at once. What we know, we always knew. What we do, we have already done."

Violet shuddered. "So, destiny rules everything, after all. I had no choice on my path to this."

Cregga spoke, and this time there was a hint of anger in her voice, like the sound of distant thunder. "When you look at one of your history books, neither words on the page, nor deeds of the past can change. Does it mean that the heroes of old had no choice? When we look at your life, from the day you first squealed at your mother's breast, do we twist your paws, put thoughts in your head? When we presented you a choice of the futures, had you felt that your will is not your own?"

Violet's anger flashed again at these words, and made her straighten up. "You presented me a choice that wasn't a choice."

This time Russano answered her. "We knew what you will choose, but I swear by cold eternal, there was no need to see the future for that. If allowed to go back, with all the knowledge you have now, would you make a different choice, or only proceed with it differently, Violet Wildstripe, the Ruler of Salamandastron?"

"You did not warn me of dangers. You didn't help me until, well," she waved her paw in the direction of her frozen real body, descending axe inches from her head.

"You already know the reason why. A different path can bring different perils and different loss. You can't know whether they would have been worse." Russano sighed deeply. "Neither can we. I hope that your reason is true. As much, as the dead are capable of hope. But the reason we have shown you only what we have shown you is different. In your heart, Violet, has long lurked the fear that you are only a slave to destiny. And we, the dead Rulers of old, are its masters. That in the great tapestry of life you are a mere thread. And we are the weavers. But you are mistaking night for day. We are nothing but threads. What we know, we always knew. What we do, we have already done. The freedom to choose our path is one of the joys of being alive, which to us are only memories."

"Only memories," echoed him Cregga.

Not that Violet wasn't feeling fear before, but now it flooded her like an unstoppable tide, almost robbing her of all reason. "And I will join you in a moment, will I? Why? Why you… why ancestors did that to me, you, all of us? For what reason?"

Russano spoke calmly but firmly. "You know the answer. For duty. In life we protected goodbeasts from robbers of the sea and scum of the land. In death we do not rest to protect them from something worse. Look at me, Violet Wildstripe. Look at me, so I know that you're listening well."

Not immediately, but Violet collected herself enough to stop shaking visibly and stared Russano straight in the eyes. "Say what you have to. I'm listening."

"Good. I've said that we, the restless dead, are but threads. This is true in more than one way. None of the dead is more than a small part of the whole weave. What we see, we see all at once, but we don't see all. Not even close to that. The parts we, the Badger Rulers of old, see, the parts we are, can intersect. That's why both myself and Cregga are before you now. But no two among us are the same. What we saw in life was different, what we see in death is mostly different."

Russano paused, as if confirming that Violet gets the meaning his words, and then his expression became dark, his tone grave. "You know well enough, that we, guardians of Salamandastron, are not the only ghosts in existence. There are dead things that seek ruin and ill fortune for every living creature. Full of malice and hatred when they died, nothing but malice and hatred after they died. Shadows of Hellgates. Legends and histories do not tell much about them. As we understand in death, they are as timeless as we. But among us, as I said, each is a separate thread in the world's tapestry. At least this small degree of freedom is allowed to us. Among them each new evil specter appears to be merely an attachment to the central dark thread. And what a thread it is!"

Cregga continued for Russano, and her voice was full of barely contained wrath. "Long, long ago, in the times already forgotten before Bluestripe the Wild, Spearlady Gorse, Ceteruler the Just, and other Badger Rulers of time before the oldest of old legends, were born, in the age when giants walked the world and the Fire Mountain indeed belched fire, the master of Hellgates became the first, the oldest of all the restless dead. In that lost age he wrought evil and destruction that beasts living today can scarcely imagine, a nightmare of fire, madness, and blood, when night turned into day and day into night, and mothers devoured their own cubs. Giants perished, only a few bloodlines continuing long enough to be mentioned as legendary beasts in tales of ancient days. Badgers came within a hair's breadth of joining those who are no more, for vermin flooded the land, torturing and slaying as they please. In those days of horror, one creature, the Father of Badger Rulers, stood against the eldest ghost, pitting sorcery against sorcery where no honest weapon would have prevailed. The shadow of Hellgates was dispelled, and the vermin hordes it drove forward fell upon each other in blood frenzy. But the Father of Badger Rulers could not slay again what was already dead. The king of darkness only laughed, saying that he is the lord of fate and that destiny already ensured his victory, after a passage of time which means nothing to him. Woe to all! As their battle concluded, the Father of Badger Rulers peered into the enemy's mind and saw, that he was telling the truth!"

Cregga's fur bristled and her fists clenched as she was speaking, such was her rage. Russano continued for her, grimly but calmly. "The Father of Badger Rulers did not despair. His wisdom was unmatched in ages. He devoted the rest of his long, long life to searching for truths of destiny and death. He wanted to know what happens when a beast refuses to walk into the Dark Forest upon death, and remains tied to the world of living by magic. He came to believe that the restless dead, like I and Cregga, do not merely see threads of destiny, which existed before, and become them. Rather, as one of us perceives the weaves of destiny, a new thread forms where there was none. And nature of the ghost determines nature of the thread. The master of Hellgates was wicked from whiskers to tailtip when he died. He saw everything with the eyes of envy and ambition. And fates of the world were warped to reflect his wickedness. What he's done cannot be undone. Our foe thinks that his armor of fate is without chinks. But he may be wrong. What he sees, shall be. But he doesn't see everything. The Father of Badger Rulers believed that destinies brought into being by heroic dead, ghosts of noble and good creatures, can become a counterweight to his evil design. So, using sorcery even I scarcely comprehend, the Father of Badger Rulers forged great invisible chains that bind us, the ghosts of Salamandastron. His own son and daughter became the first of us."

Violet was silent for some time, digesting what she heard. Then she stared into Russano's eyes again. "But why you lie and keep secrets, even from the living Badger Rulers?"

Russano did not look away. "We did not lie to you. As for the reasons we kept secrets from you – one of them is the same reason you told Captain Aldwin only what he needed to know. There are more. We do not reveal anything of the far past or our nature to anybeast who is not about to die. Given that nature, I cannot say with certainty, but it appears that we're prohibited from doing so. I do not see the past before the moment my own death, I only glean bits and pieces from memories not my own. From what I see, I conclude that the Father of Badger Rulers felt strongly – we always should be shrouded in mystery."

"Is that so? And how… how then I can even trust anything you say now? How can I do what you tell me to?!"

Russano sighed. "You misunderstand."

He pointed with his wooden stick towards the slope of Salamadastron, painted red by the weird sunlight, and ranks of hares, frozen still there. Violet traced his gesture, and suddenly realized, that despite the great distance, she could see them as if she was standing right next to them, their faces caught expressing various degrees, of disbelief, shock, terror, stupefaction or rage. "Violet Wildstripe, you are given to pride and believing in what you want to be true. You hate the very idea of not being the sole maker of your destiny. But ultimately your heart is noble. You can reject us, saying to yourself that you cannot trust anything we say, if we can be compelled to keep the truth secret, or that we are deceived themselves, even if we tell you the full truth. You can let Willag simply kill you, and unleash his wrath on beasts, who trust you and admire you. You will not do so. I'm not talking with you for the sake of making you do what we need you to do. I'm talking with you for your own sake. You knew from the beginning, that becoming the Badger Lady of Salamandastron is not picking up a crown, but shouldering a heavy burden. You knew well in advance that this may mean guarding the mountain even after your death. You knew with certainty that one day you may learn of your unavoidable doom. You accepted all that. But still you harbor resentment and suspicion. Ask yourself why it is so."

Cregga continued for him. "Look at me, Lady Violet. Look at me! Do you think, do you honestly think that there is any sorcery or magic in this world that could have turned me, Cregga, who once was called Cregga Rose Eyes, into a villain, who schemes, and condemns others to suffer evils and dark fates she can prevent? You know, you know well that Salamadastron stands as one of the few bright islands in the dark sea of evil and savagery. Do you honestly think this could have happened despite us, its guardians since ages forgotten, hiding ill will or being puppets to evil all along?"

Violet lowered her head, and her voice was quiet and shaking as she answered. "I don't. I know, you're right. But I'm afraid, so afraid. Was knowing the day of my death for seasons, was leaving myself alone not enough? Now this? I'm sorry. I know this is…"

Violet did not notice when Cregga stepped forward and embraced her. For a moment she thought to resist, but did not. It was a very long time since somebeast bigger and stronger held her so gently.

"Some badgers," Cregga said softly, "know no fear, save for the first and thoughtless reaction to sudden danger and disaster. But even among badgers this is not a gift given to everyone. You did well fighting your fear for so long, and you did well admitting it. I won't lie to you that everything will be all right. But hope still remains, even for us, the dead…"

000000000000000

With an indescribable sound of breaking metal and crunching bone, Willag's axe slammed straight into forehead of Violet Wilstripe, a blow worthy of heroic tales. But though the badger should have been struck dead, her left paw moved like lightning, catching Willag by the wrist. Surprise held the High Warchief in place as much as Violet's muscle strength. By the time he even tried to jerk back his paw, the badger drew the thin chisel-pointed dagger from her belt with her right paw, and stabbed.

For several seconds both armies remained totally silent, as the two beasts remained standing, Violet on one knee, Willag's axe still stuck in her head, Willag before her, the long dagger buried in his chest to the hilt, right against the heart. But neither unbreakable willpower, nor even powers of the dead could stave off mortal injuries for long. The foes swayed, and both fell, limply and lifelessly.

000000000000000

"Sound the attack!" Lieutenant Ranseur shouted right at Brigadier Greyfield's face. Though the Brigadier could feel spittle on his fur, he did not blink and did not back down.

"An orders is an order! Even if our Lady is dead, her command still stands. I will not order the Long Patrol to attack, and if you try to do so over my head, you will be the first Patroller in a hundred of seasons, guilty of insubordination on the field of battle. Then I will have to enact your punishment myself."

Other officers, who rushed to Greyfield, as to the highest ranking hare around grumbled in displeasure, but none contradicted him out loud. Only Ranseur was not yet done. "If only Aldwin was here, a hare with bloomin' red blood, not water in his veins!"

"Aldwin is a mere Captain of scouts, not the Long Patrol's commander. He would only give orders to the Long Patrol over my dead body. And in any case he's not here!"

000000000000000

Moans, cries and howls on the opposite side betrayed more dismay and indecision than rage. Warriors of lesser tribes and subservient creatures looked towards the center, where the main mass of otters from the Axehound clan itself stood. Had Willag been slain alone, these otters would have been pumping themselves for battle now, trying to banish fear struck into their hearts by the terrible omen with overflowing wrath. For death, at least in a battle where their home and cubs were not at stake, meant little to these fierce and savage warriors, and honor meant much, and none of them wanted to be remembered as an otter who left their great Warchief unavenged. But as it appeared, Willag has dispatched his slayer as well, himself taking revenge for himself, and nobeast could say that his death was an unworthy end for the great warlord, for nobeast could remember any other creature slaying a Badger Ruler in one-on-one combat. That left enough room to ponder what a terrible outcome for the yet-unstarted battle the death of both chieftains prophesied.

Many of the Axehound warriors in turn looked to Akkla, but Akkla appeared as if she was about to enter the Dark Forest right behind her brother, on one knee, clinging to her spear planted in the sand to avoid falling completely, unable to speak. Then Leffel stepped into the open space and turned towards the ranks.

"As the oldest living child of High Warchief Willag, I, Leffel Axehound, is the chieftain now! And I command you to sheathe your swords and unstring your bows! There will be no battle today!"

Most otters did not find themselves too strongly inclined to disagree. But one burly and armed to the teeth warrior stepped forward boldly, striding right up to Leffel. Two more followed him with some reluctance. "Are you saying to leave your own father, and Heddin, my old friend, unavenged? Be you Willag's daughter, or an otterqueen from the legends, I, Rannat, will not stand for this!"

"Hey, you!" somebeast cried out from behind, just as Rannat extended his paw towards Leffel. The three otters turned their heads just in time to see Torbit leaping at them. Rannat cursed and reached for his sword, as Torbit knocked one of his comrades to the ground and grappled with the other. He forgot about Leffel, and though unlike her father and aunt she was no mailed warrior, she still had a fine dagger on her belt. With the speed that would not have ashamed Willag, she moved behind Rannat and in a moment the point of that dagger was pressed against his unprotected lower jaw.

"I'm no otterqueen of legends," she said loud enough for everybeast to hear. "I cannot beat you fair and square, and then help you to your paws, so we can laugh together and become friends. I can prove that I'm the true daughter of Willag Axehound only by killing you! Shall I?"

The whole crowd looked at them. Even Torbit stopped fighting with the second of Rannat's comrades stopped.

"Heh. Daughter of Willag Axehound, indeed. You're the Warchief now, ain't you? So you can do with me as you please."

Leffel thought briefly, lowered her dagger and stepped back. "Then obey me as your Warchief. Command retreat. And you, Torbit, get Aunt Akkla to our tent, get the healers, make sure she rests, I've already lost enough family."

To keldor314: I'm afraid that while I can, as can be seen from this chapter, turn the setting's metaphysics upside down, I do not directly contradict important facts established in canon, and impossibility of escaping a prophesied fate is one of them. As for Akkla, she has fallen victim to interpreting a very vague prophecy that is applicable to at least one other pair of characters and said very little in any case (as you can see at the end of Chapter 45) as unambiguously promising success to herself.

Also, I'd like to mention that while I'm not exactly the most reliable poster of chapters, this fic is practically finished. Only a few more key scenes are still in limbo.