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Chapter 41. We're Going Down

by Sybil

"Tada!" The blindfold was ripped off her face, though it didn't make a difference in this dark, sad excuse for a shack. She thrashed against her bonds, clenching the gag between her teeth.

"Now, now. Don't try to hurt yourself there." Despite the poor lighting, she could still see the faint outline of a beast pacing around her. He must've been enjoying the fact that she was in such a difficult position- tethered to the table with her head dangling over the edge. Despite this difficulty she managed to crane her head, glaring daggers at him.

"Please don't be mad at me," he said in an almost-reasonable voice. "I wouldn't do this if I didn't need to. I need my good blood, you see."

Think... Think, Sybil!

The marteness shook her head violently, her shouts suffocated by the cloth between her jaws. The lunatic's eyes went wide as he cupped a paw to his ear, leaning close to her nose. "I'm sorry. What was that? I'm afraid I can't hear you, no I can't."

"Mmmmmmmffff! Kmmmph!"

"Something important, you say?" He chuckled to himself as he tugged the gag from her mouth, allowing her to take a deep gulp of air before she explained as quickly as possible.

"Can't kill me. Poisoned. Sarkleyet. For Brandy. I-"

"Too fast, too fast," he tutted, clamping a firm paw over her snout. "Much too fast. Can't be good for your health, jabbering and all out of breath like that."

The captive shook her face free from his grip. "Yeah, you say that right b'fore ya kill me!" Her frown softened ever so slightly. "And 'sides, I got information you need."

"Information, you say? Oooh, ooh!" He pulled up moldy chair and leaned forward eagerly. "I just love a good secret, yes I do!"

"I know all about the Red Brandy," she lied. "I- I know everything there is to know 'bout it. Sarkleyet tol' me." The sable chortled snidely at that and she swore she heard her jaws clack against each other as she withheld a frustrated bark.

"I'm supposed to be finding it," she continued, her voice still shaking. In all her life of thieving, there was never a need to smoothen lies. She never had the time nor care to swindle anybeast face-to-face.

Instantly, Castille's face sparked with recognition. "Lovely Lady? The Lovely Lying Lady? Tsk. Pity. Thought you sounded prettier before." He began to pull the dusty cloth up over her mouth before she said one more thing.

"I am poisoned," she managed to mention, allowing her strained neck to relax so that her head dangled upside-down over the table. "That bastard Sarkleyet poisoned me. You want to drink poisoned blood?" she challenged. "Do ya?" She watched from her pathetic position as the sable stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"And I can tell yew all about the others," she added quickly. "You want the Red Brandy, don't you? You're going to have to get past them first a-."

"Liar," he interrupted in a high-pitched, scolding voice. "Lying traitor. You look healthy and seem fine. And to betray your friends? Tsk, young lady! Tsk, I say!"

"Yeah? Well I 'ave your proof! I've got antidotes in..." Curse you to Hellgates, stoat. If I get there 'fore you, I'm going to strangle you the moment you set paw.

"Yes?" Castille asked smugly, rotating his wrist in a gesture to continue.

"You wanna know about the others, right? I've got more'n enough information on that lousy bastard stoat."

"Not interested." He lifted his paw, a dagger delicately handled in his palm. "You can't trust liar's blood, you understand. Besides, a challenge is so much fun!" Even though all the blood was rushing to her head, she could could feel her face drain as she noticed a rusty old bucket right below her head.

"W-wait! Wait a second! No!" The marten curled her chin into her neck, kicking futilely against her bonds.

"Now, now," the killer hushed as he grabbed her ears and tugged downwards so that her throat was fully exposed. "You'll hardly feel a thing."

"No! PLEASE!"

There was a tiny nip at her throat.

Sybil stretched her jaws wide in a scream, but nothing came out. She couldn't hear anything except for the metallic drip-drip-drip-drip of the blood in bucket. It was all in dark snippets of shadow, turning her head and gasping like a fish out of water. Her throat felt cold. She tried to cry out for help. For the wolf, the stoat, the snake, the wolverine, and even for Momma and Papa.

No. Not like this. Not like this.

The marten had always thought her death over. It would've been easier to follow her parents to allow her life to go on. She always thought she'd die of old age or suicide; never in the hands of some deranged lunatic. No. She was far too smart to fall prey to something like that.

"Why can't we go home?" the girl whined. "Why did Momma have to go get a baby anyways? I don't like this shack. Why do we have to- ugh!" She toppled to the ground, clutching at the cheek her father had back-pawed.

"We live here and that's final," he roared, throwing his coat to the ground. The marten cringed, cowering away to a corner as he cursed profusely and paced the tiny little area. Sybil clutched her knees against her chest. He had been like this ever since Momma got sick. He tried to pay for her medicine and he lost their shop. They lost everything all because of a stupid whelp? Momma was dead, Papa was drunk, and her life was turned upside-down all because of one stupid, tiny little thing?

"But it's not fair!" The moment the last word left her mouth, she realized her father was unpacking a clay mug.

CRASH

She ducked down, shielding her head from a shower of debris before getting to her paws and bursting out the door. It's not my fault. It's not my fault. It's not my fault... That's right. It ain't my fault. She stopped running, glaring balefully at the pathetic little shack that was now their home. If Momma were here she'd know what to do. She'd tell me what to do.

Sybil's glassy eyes stared up at Castille as he cleaned his dagger, humming casually as he monitored his precious bucket. There must've been a noise, because his head jerked up, his lips curling to a smile as he brandished his dagger.

"Stop what you're doing, blaggard!"

"A guest!" the sable said brightly, waving his blade in the air. "Drinks are on me!"

"Get your disgusting self away from her this instant!"

Castille grinned, parrying an attack from the stoat. There was a struggle, but she couldn't see from her angle. Instead she found herself staring at an empty ceiling, the dark room echoing with the strike of metal; she could even feel the table shuddering and making her head sway as they continued to clash.

"Leave them alone!" Sybil blinked at the new voice. It sounded familiar. So irritating. The wolf?

"And that's my cue to leave," came Castille's voice.

Suddenly the table shifted as Antonio's back collided into it. She erupted in a pathetic coughing fit, bubbles of red dribbling down from her neck. The stoat turned to her, his eyes widening at her condition.

"Miss Sybil..." He bared his jaws and snapped his attention back to the retreating creature and running after him. "Miss Rea, please tend to Miss Sybil. I am going after that bloody, cowardly wretch."

"Sybil! Sybil!" Something large and blurry obstructed her view. Her head was lifted up and her body was moved so that her head could rest on the table. "Sybil, hang in there! Hang in there!"

Hang...

Sybil didn't come until three days later and it was already the middle of the night. She had to admit, she handled herself decently in the streets- much better than she thought she would, but when her coins ran out she knew she had to come home. The marten knew Papa would be mad at her for stealing his money, and her paw faltered at the rusty doorknob. But then she remembered when he went to buy some cabbages and took her entire coinbox without asking. Her resolve returned, she shoved the door open.

The place was pitch as black and terribly quiet. Sybil stood at the doorway, trembling as her eyes traveled from the rickety floorboards, to the toppled chair, to her father's dangling footpaws.

"Is she alright?" How typical. A stupid question from a stupid beast. If she had the strength, she would have slapped that Thalliv twit.

"Hang in there, Sybil! He's gone," the wolf said. "You're safe now. Antonio's got him on the run and we'll catch him so he can't hurt you anymore."

The marten's chest heaved harder and harder as her gasps grew weaker and weaker. The wolf stopped fumbling through her medicine pack and covered her eyes with a massive paw.

"There is naught else we can do except to end her pain." Sybil clenched her fists. Even with the darkness overcoming her vision, the marten could see the coiled figure beside her head, the slitted pupils staring intently at her. Already thinking about killin' me, filthy worm? So this is it? And that freak called me a traitor...

"No. We can't. I can fix her," the wolf insisted, her eyes watering. "I can."

"Foolish prattle." Despite the words, there was no harshness in the snake's voice. "Thou hast a kind heart, earthwalker, but there is naught but suffering left for this one. Best to end it now, and quickly."

"No, no," the wolf said with a stuttering breath, shaking her head and staring at the hopeless cause before her. "We abandoned the cat. We can't do the same to her."

"She's dying, no matter what you try. It's the least we can do." Sybil tilted her head slightly, her half-closed eyes looking up at the blurry shape of the wolverine standing over her.

"S-Sybil, I'm so sorry. I can't help you anymore," the wolf said, leaning closer and raising a trembling blade, only to falter when Sybil managed to draw one more tired, shallow breath. Oh, get it over with, wolf. I'm done for.

"I can't," she said, as if reading her thoughts. "I can't do this. I can't do this," Rea sobbed, dropping the knife to the table as she clutched the marten's warm paws. The wolf raised another paw as if she was going to stroke Sybil's head comfortingly, only she held back, afraid that doing so would inflict more pain.

"If you can't do it, then allow me," a voice rumbled from above. Sybil could only watch through darkening eyes and painful sips of breath as the wolverine bent slightly over her body, grasping her head between his massive paws.

...eight, nine, ten...

The girl leaned over the bridge, screwing her eyes shut as she hoped gravity would take over. But nothing happened. Her paw still clutched at the wooden beam. She breathed out, steam breezing through her clenched teeth and into the snowy night air.

One more time, she told herself as she swung back, preparing for another attempt. This time on the count of five. If nobeast tries t' stop me, I do it. For real this time.

One. Momma and Papa are gone. They left me behind.

Two. It's winter. It's too cold and I'm sick of stealing pennies for bread.

Three... She paused, staring at a ferret that bustled right by her.

Four. I'm standing here in the cold'n'all alone. Nobeast sees me... nothing cares.

Five.

Sybil swung forward, trying to pry her claws off the wooden beam, but she couldn't do it. She just couldn't do it. She didn't have the spine. Slowly, she pulled herself back in, her shoulders slumped as she stared down at the lazy black water below.

It wouldn't be so bad, would it? She licked her lips and shook her head, jamming her paws in her hole-ridden jacket as she walked off the bridge, the wind tugging playfully at her thin scarf.

That was a mistake. She should've jumped.

It would've been so much easier than growing up all alone in squalor. She would have never had to watch that smug rat Brull get promoted while cooped up in a jail cell. And most of all, she would have never arrived on this island.

If she knew this was how it was going to end, she would have jumped. She would have forced herself to fall into that black, sluggish, freezing river.

Sybil took another slow breath. Everything felt light, as if she could suddenly float in the cooling air. It felt almost like falling asleep.

At least, it would've been like that if the wolf wasn't latched onto her paw and making such a fuss.

It's not so bad...

She gave Rea's paw a tiny little squeeze before she let go.

"I'm sorry," the wolverine intoned.

Snap.

end of week three.