Chapter 13
The sea has gone black, they're knocking down the mountains, but it's alright.
"I was flying; you were just a speck on the ground,"
He awoke with these words repeating in his swollen head.
The sun had risen twice today, and the moon hadn't appeared since a few nights ago.
Aspenpaw had been flickering between sleep and awareness ever since the battle.
It might've been three days now, but he had never bothered to ask.
The longer he stayed here, the more his blood pumped, until he was sure it would come spilling out of every orifice if he remained.
There was never silence in his ears, between the rush of live blood and the memories of it spilt across the congested narrow-way.
The commune hadn't moved yet, and no messenger had been sent to set up communications with anybody else.
Apollo did most of the work, as she was the least injured among them, save for Aspenpaw and Roco.
Aspenpaw felt guilty for not pulling his weight, but every time he stood, an incessant shaking would begin in his muscles like death nerves.
Roco had told Apollo that he wasn't well enough to do work, but Aspenpaw assumed that it was his fault, that he was just pretending to be incapacitated so that he wouldn't have to labor himself out.
Aranyer was the only consistent support that Apollo had.
Deya tried to help from time to time, but, to Aspenpaw's knowledge, couldn't stand for very long, as whenever he fell away for a few moments, she would be somewhere else.
Rese also pushed herself to be useful, but her injuries were far worse and Roco, through Apollo, forced her to stay in her nest most of the time.
Aspenpaw still hadn't seen Ledivier move.
A dark part of him fantasized that she would die soon, and that the commune could move on to somewhere safer, somewhere far away from all the horrible thoughts and remnants that remained here, but he constantly pushed it away.
He did want to get away from here though,
"Could-Could you try to eat, p-please?" Aspenpaw was pulled from his memories by the voice and figure of Roco, a canary by her paws.
He hadn't eaten in a while. He simply hadn't been hungry,
"Alright," He responded in a weak voice.
Roco remained standing for an awkward moment, as if wrestling between words to say, but silence kept, and she went back her own way, leaving Aspenpaw to recall some memory of the prebattle.
The tawny she-cat had opened up at a point of decisive weakness, her fear overcoming her and whispering things that Aspenpaw could now only remember unintelligibly.
But she seemed to remember, and less than fear, there was just an uncomfortability when they met face to face.
He rested his head on the smooth, fog-colored, hollow ground, his nose only an inch from the dead bird, unable to find the motivation to take a single bite,
"Tom," A new voice entered his senses.
Before him swaggered the form of Apollo, mouth agape, a crook in her paw as she walked.
Aspenpaw wasn't even able to greet her before the leader presented him with an ultimatum, "I've thought to give you leave,"
The words hurled Aspenpaw like a hurricane, and he nearly retched in immediate reaction,
"Why?" He nearly shrieked, so that if it had been a private conversation before, suddenly the world was aware.
Apollo answered simply, though it was even more than Aspenpaw would have ever expected to get out of her,
"Because Jingo was right,"
Acornpaw was still out there; he had to believe that.
He needed something to believe in.
He couldn't fail now, all for his own faults.
Aspenpaw shouted as Apollo walked away,
"No, she wasn't! I'm not leaving!" Apollo looked back, but her expression was indecipherable,
"Shut up already, tom, yer out!" Rese shouted back at him, a deep, personal hatred in her eyes, "There aein't'ny reason why ya shoulda been here to begin with!"
Apollo had gone now.
Roco was the only other conscious cat up on the roof, but she had completely turned her back to the argument.
Fury rose in Aspenpaw, fear too, and he couldn't find a way to suitably express his emotions.
He raised a paw, and struck down on the neck of the canary, mashing its bones and organs.
A shard of bone caught in his paw, and he threw it down again, tears beginning to stream from his malnourished eyes.
Rese only got louder, "You aein't no victim, tom! Ya didn't get a splat of blood on ya, an' ya never will! You haven't got to deal with anythin' real in yer entire life!"
The bird was inedible pulp now, and some of Aspenpaw's own tears and blood from the cut contaminated it completely.
He was making a horrid sound, like the choked wail of a fox caught in a trap, a sound he had heard once before on a frosted night at the edge of what he knew of the world at that time.
He had never been castigated before, not like this.
A parade of paw steps sounded from the hole in the roof, and though Aspenpaw swung his head back and forth a couple inches above the ground, he saw the distinctively patterned white pelt of Deya storm into the scene.
She framed herself between the two cats, though not close enough to give Aspenpaw solace as he continued to whimper, thinking again of Acornpaw, how he would react, if Aspenpaw could have ever managed to cry like this in front of him,
"Don' start with me, Deya! You know I'm right, an' you aein't gonna get nothin' more from me!" Rese was still shouting, as if she simply couldn't control her voice.
Deya suddenly seemed just as angry as the cat she shouted at, "I don't care, you crone! You ought to kill yourself and leave some space in Ra'in for the cats who deserve it!"
Rese had already turned her back and was adjusting herself on her nest.
Deya backed up and her pelt pressed Aspenpaw's.
She felt as hot as the sun, but only because Aspenpaw felt so cold everywhere but in his face, which still choked and drained with tears, though the sounds were getting quieter now.
He lifted his head up and saw Deya searching from cat to cat with her eyes.
Aranyer and Apollo were now joined at the edge, "Apollo!" She shouted expectantly, but the white she-cat offered no reaction.
When nobody moved, Deya made a final decree, "Everybody here is insane!"
Another day passed. The tension continued rising.
Aspenpaw hadn't slept a single moment, too afraid of seeing his brother if he did.
Even without rest, however, that specter still haunted him, telling him the same thing that Deya had said to Rese the day before; he didn't deserve to live.
Deya hadn't been around.
She spent most of her time away from the makeship camp, and when she did return, there was a distraught look on her face for only a few minutes, and then she would disappear once again.
Nobody had spoken a word of yesterday's events, and the reconstruction and healing of the commune continued on.
Aspenpaw wondered if this was just how war was, that even once the battle's over, the fighting doesn't stop.
He had thought further about the things that Rese had berated him with.
She was right; he was no warrior, not to anybody, and he would never have the strength and courage to fight for what he believed in.
Apollo's order for him to leave hadn't been reinforced yet, so Aspenpaw stayed on the rooftop and wallowed, afraid that if he went out for a while, there would be nobody when he came back.
Ledivier was still inactive, and with Aranyer the only cat at the elevation, sleeping with heavy breaths, Aspenpaw felt completely alone.
He looked over the parapet down at the slaughter-place.
It was as empty as any other narrow-way in the city.
Most of the bones had been carried away by scavengers, and in the night, some twolegs had come and washed the place down, cleansing it of the scent that Aspenpaw had gotten used to at this point.
Its absence only served to remind him further.
Across the way, Aranyer began to twitch in a nightmare, kicking out and thrashing her tail.
Mumbles came from her sore throat, and Aspenpaw reckoned that she must be dreaming of the battle.
He couldn't pull his eyes away from her for a delirious moment, and decided that, even if they conspired to abandon him, Aspenpaw had to get away from the commune for a while.
His paws moved before his mind and fell halfway down the steps, where he stayed for a moment in contemplation before moving on.
It was strange to walk on solid ground, no fear of falling from here, almost peaceful, like the open air should be.
Aspenpaw turned the corner and looked out into the world beyond the city's edge.
Dead grass until the horizon, fitted with dark trees all in a row, bowing to the cloud-enhanced sky when the wind blew.
He strode out across the thunderpath, hardly a fear of the seldom traveled deathtrap.
His mind was in a haze, like a great dream had become him, motioning through the waters of his perception.
The wind was sweet over the barren land, whisking away some of the pounding heat from the sun.
Aspenpaw looked to that giant in the sky, so perfectly circular and unseeable, and he felt the tension in his bones rise like mold, drawing back his fur so that the back-turned wind couldn't rest it again.
He cowered here, snarling at the sun and wishing that he hadn't smashed that canary.
A textureless wind blew, and Aspenpaw gained a strange feeling; he felt like he was falling.
Casting a weary glance over his shoulder, the adrenaline started pumping again as fast as a flood.
A figure walked down the side of the thunderpath, bearing no defining scent and with steps as light as a water strider,
"Who are you?" Aspenpaw shouted down the way, certainly loud enough for the cats on the rooftop to hear, a tremble and a threat laiden in his voice.
The stranger moved closer, keeping the same pace, and just before Aspenpaw would shout again, a calm, quiet voice came, though one rougher than the tone may indicate,
"Just a rolling stone," The stranger swayed as he slowed at a respectable distance.
He was thin, and just a couple furs taller than Aspenpaw,
"What do you want?" Aspenpaw interrogated him, overcompensating to make his voice threatening against the intense fear that he was caught in,
"I haven't asked you for anything," The stranger's tone was friendly but off-putting; Aspenpaw couldn't discern his allegiances or motives immediately, "I won't be here long, if that's what you worry about. I'm heading a ways down the road still,"
"Well then get going!" Aspenpaw barked,
"Battle's got you shaken," The stranger stated plainly, instantly paralyzing Aspenpaw with fear, "It's still strong in the air,"
Aspenpaw let out an involuntary squeak, terrified at why this foreigner knew of the battle.
He couldn't smell the blood anymore, and the wind blew yet away from the scene anyhow.
The stranger had no accent that Aspenpaw had heard in the city, which only befuddled him further.
He didn't open his mouth again, and he didn't sheath his claws, hoping for somebody to notice the two of them standing out here and intervene on his behalf,
"Come here, away from the sun," The stranger offered endearingly, "Else raise your paws like fists to god and pluck it from the sky. Come, let me see your shape,"
For a long moment, Aspenpaw didn't move, and he hardly breathed.
Slowly, he wrestled a paw from the dry earth, and though he hated to do as this stranger told him, in this standstill, Aspenpaw could only urge to be alone once more.
He kept the same distance between them, but rotated so that their eyes could finally meet, "You're just a kit,"
Aspenpaw felt rage brew in his bones as the words entered his ears, the same words that every cat had said to him.
He wasn't a kit; he didn't need any sympathy,
"Shut up! Get out of here or I'll kill you!"
The stranger was unperturbed.
Aspenpaw was mortified.
He had never threatened somebody like that before.
Did he really have that kind of hate in him?
Excuse after excuse had been attempted to forgive himself of Acornpaw's murder in some way, to shed guilt somewhere else, but maybe it had really just been his own hatred that had caused him to snuff out his brother's life,
"Sit down, man, I'll hear out what you need to say," Aspenpaw's eyes were dissociated, and he thought he was hallucinating.
Man. That was Rustheart's word, the one that he explained to every cat he met, "It means friend, man,"
Though he had sworn that he would never cry again, never cripple his time with bouts of anguish, the tears came all the same, so fast and hot,
"I don' wan-I don't wanna cry," Aspenpaw tried to plead with somebody to make it stop, to give him back his solace.
The stranger padded forward and Aspenpaw swung a feeble paw to defend himself, toppling over in his blindness.
The stranger laid beside him,
"You can cry, there's no shame in it, not when there's so much goin' on,"
Aspenpaw cried into the dry dirt, some falling between cracks and producing the faint smell of petrichor, while some landed on flat ground, sticking there as the earth refused to absorb the rainfall.
This place was truly dead.
As Aspenpaw focused on the ground, blotting out every thought that invaded his head, the stranger rumbled in his throat, turning to a dark hum, and he formed the words of an old, quiet song, with a tender voice that was carried by the wind,
"The air was dense
Birds flew from the fence
It's only a moment until the clouds cry
There's no dream in the sky
No questions to hide
But the sound of pounding on the street
Sweep me off my feet
Take me from the fleet
Lay me down and let me cower in the grass
As I lay, my senses are clear
The ground, it floods with rainfall
My body raises and calms with its will
But through the trees I hear somebody call
'Hey there, my friend
We'll meet in the end,'
And the world comes crashing down
Can you hear the sound?
The waters being drowned
With a bleeding heart that I met once in my life
As I lay, my senses are clear
The ground, it floods with rainfall
My body raises and calms with its will
But the clouds are just a memory now
The rain is gone
The wind drags on
But at least the ground is well fed"
The stranger finished his song in a whisper, getting quieter and quieter the calmer that Aspenpaw became.
He had stopped crying now, but his nose ran quickly and his paws caused tremors in the eluvium below.
His head was turned away, angry and upset, but the story that the song had told was trapped with him.
It hardly made any sense, but it arose a comforting feeling in his body, more than he thought sympathy would ever do for him.
He ventured a glance to the singer, and felt a deep embarrassment as their eyes met.
He didn't want anybody to see him like this anymore, "I'll be gone soon, you can say anything you need to,"
"I'm just having a bad day," Aspenpaw lied.
The stranger was right that there would be no risk to telling him anything if they were never going to see each other again, but it seemed impossible to tell any sort of truth now, not after so long.
It scared him to talk about it all.
After a few quiet moments to breathe, a pair of cats approached from the thunderpath, Apollo and Deya.
Somebody must have spotted him talking with the stranger, or heard him wailing from up on the roof,
"What's this?" Apollo asked open-endedly as she came to stillness.
The stranger stood to meet her eyes, "I hope not to cause a stir. I'm only traveling through,"
"From to where?"
"I come from an old dream. I'm going to meet somebody I have interest in,"
As the two spoke, Aspenpaw felt his gaze drift to Deya.
She glanced at him once or twice but looked especially anxious in the moment and kept her attention to the stranger,
"How long will you stay here?" Apollo was asking,
"If you'll have me, I may stay a couple of nights,"
Apollo nodded at the suggestion.
Aspenpaw was taken aback, her sudden hospitality, not only to a stranger, but to a tom, condradicted everything he felt he knew about the leader.
He blinked and Apollo had turned around, leading the stranger away in the direction of their current camp.
Aspenpaw was completely baffled.
It had taken so many arguments and subtle social tests for him to be accepted into the commune, and the stranger was able to ignore it all.
Deya stayed behind and together they watched as the space before them grew empty again; she didn't seem disturbed at all by the events, so Aspenpaw felt the need to ask, his voice still shaky from his fits, "Why did she, let him, stay?"
Deya answered, still mostly looking straight forward, "The gods come down and disguise themselves as cats sometimes, so we've hafta take in any stranger who passes by,"
Her voice was deep and distant.
Aspenpaw hadn't even heard her speak in the last couple of days.
He tried to catch her eye, recalling the night they had spent together and wanting to come to the same kind of understanding now that they had then.
She turned to look with a glow in her whites and she opened her mouth, hesitating to speak for a few moments, "Are you okay?"
"What? Yeah," Aspenpaw feigned ignorance, suddenly feeling a spike of fear pierce his throat,
"Your eyes are red," Aspenpaw started to turn away in shame, but Deya placed herself where he turned and laid her body next to his,
"I'm sorry I snapped the other day. I'm sure that was unpleasant," She gave a quick smile, but it faded fast.
Aspenpaw wanted to shout that she shouldn't be apologizing, but the thought just quickened his heart.
He didn't want to say the wrong thing, so he just said nothing, "It'll all be better when we get outta here. Ledivier woke up this morning, so we should be off in just a couple days!"
Aspenpaw could only hear mocking in her voice, the voice spoken to a kit, but he gave a soft smile back nonetheless, knowing that she was being genuine despite what his mind told him,
"I'm sorry I've been no use lately," He didn't know why it was specifically Deya that he was apologizing to, but Aspenpaw felt the need just to say some of the things on his mind, just what the stranger had offered,
"No, you got me through a very tough night, don't be apologizing to me. All this war's hard stuff for everyone,"
Aspenpaw didn't want to argue with her anymore.
He finally took some initiative and rested his weary head on Deya's shoulder.
Her only response was to lean in closer as Aspenpaw shut his eyes, breathing in the calm moment.
Until I write again,
-Gojira