Chapter 36
"Tolerance"
I never jumped space time under the influence of another creature before, so when I crossed the threshold of the two rocks at the end of the peak pass and appeared in a place other than what was in front of me, I lost my bearings. The same warping and shifting I normally experienced during a feint occurred, but since it was not of my own making, the teleportation left me disoriented and confused. I wondered if it was a side effect of the special effect places of power like the moon altar had on the world or if it was just the parting pranks of the nine tailed foxes. The Gate Keepers transported me to the mountainous forest just outside the ruins of the Lost Fortress.
The vegetation became sparse and thin leading up to the stronghold. Its stone walls rose out of the mountain with the memory of grand impressions. Most of its magnificence lay in ruins. Scars of ancient battles left a battered skeleton of a structure behind. Dried up ivy and other plants clung to the walls, rattling like ghostly chains when the bitter chill of winter blew by. I appeared alone in the thicker part of the forest. The foxes claimed the hounds were not far behind, but I had little confidence they would show up when and where I needed them.
"Don't worry," they claimed with such smug confidence I almost believed them. "A host of flaming champions follows in your wake."
Apparently my shadow was so long they had yet to catch up. I arrived before the Fire Lizards. They did not dabble in "fox magic" as they called it. Not when their grand wings offered just as valuable of gifts. The dragons left before I did, yet I stood at the gate of the enemy by myself. Luckily, summoning the leaders of power was a big enough affair on all fronts that no one dared miss such a historic moment. Not a creature noticed my arrival because there was not a soul in sight. I waited a few moments and glanced up at the sky. It remained empty. I had a feeling something like this would happen, so I was not surprised. I was not even frustrated by the foxes and their tricks anymore. And to think they were supposed to be much older than me.
Such puppy antics!
Putting up with their pranks was all I could do, so I trotted out of the forest up to the closest entrance. It was much more suspicious to remain outside in the day by myself than to follow the tracks leading to the proceedings within. Slinking inside away from the sun was what any creature of the dark would do. A multitude of scents wafted up from the ground as I ascended the steps into the atrium. Many creatures had passed through this way. I would likely find more at my destination. A few were closer than expected. A couple of Dark Crows and the occasional spider loitered in the ceiling. They looked at me, but I kept my head down like that of a straggler or scout delayed by the diligence of a feigned watch. The sentries paid me no mind. This was their fortress, and I, a single Mighty Hena, rough and ragged with the humility of an Omega.
Oh, my Omega.
The thought of him strengthened my disguise. It only helped that the pressure of my presence was drastically diminished. Out here in the day, on the tail of the most spiritually draining battle I ever fought and its subsequent night of second rate horror, my shadow was small, if not weak despite the foxes' pretty promises. It was better the dragons were not here because they might accidentally crush me underfoot. The scents grew stronger and separated into different species and emotions. There was excitement, tension, suspicion, and overall anticipation in the air. Traces of fear zipped by with the brief sting of electricity. Not only were there creatures of all kinds at this council, but of all constitutions as well. The most arrogant literally sprayed their status on the walls.
I followed the trail into a large open throne room. Tattered fabrics hung from the walls. Clerestory windows shed light down into the hall. A host of creatures lined the sides to create a path down the middle. I kept to the shadows in the back. There were bears and even more cats. Some spotted. A couple had clean coats. There was even a pair with stripes. Those two kept close together on a perch of rubble in the corner of the room, watching all within with wide peculiar eyes. Instinct warned me to stay out of their sight which meant they were able to distinguish and detect more than the others. They must be Witch Doctors. Manipulators of Spirit. Cats had none of their own at the price of their pride so they used taboo ways to manipulate it. It was one of the reasons their species acted the way they did consistently throughout all lands. They tainted their souls long, long ago. It was the curse of the cat.
Best to avoid them.
I slipped deeper into the crowd. More crows lined the ceiling. A couple of monkeys from the High North, round in body and covered in pale hair, kept them on their talons. There was not a single ghost in attendance. They were likely purified during the holocaust. If there were any other darkened creatures, they did not show themselves, probably because of the day or the bitter cold. There were less Mighty Hena than I expected. Maybe five, eight at most, all scattered around. They were very cautious of the others who were much bigger and stronger than they were. The cats purposefully sought them out and swatted at them for a bit of fun every chance they got.
These were thin and small Hena with shifty eyes and spooky temperaments. Classic traits of Echos and Omegas, traitors and cowards. The highest ranking of each group and species stood at the forefront of the council, closest to the decrepit carpet that led up to a large stone throne on a platform in the back. I came in from the very front of the hall, so it was hard to see past the others across the distance, but there were at least three different bear clans based on the shape and color and thickness of their rings. Each and every one of their eyes marked the prehistorically sized mountain cat reclining between the arms of the throne. He outweighed every cat in the hall, rivaling the bears in shear physicality. He panted lazily to show off his saber thick fangs.
Solid well shaped black spots adorned his coat, giving no illusion that his presence should ever fade into the background. The size of his paws could slap off half of my face in one swipe. His tail curled at unexpected intervals, thick and threatening like an extra limb. The tips of his claws poked out from the pads of his paws even when retracted. They pointed down to the object of his attention. A Doom Seer stood in front of him at the foot of the throne below the platform. With slightly shorter horns and a regally slim body, it was a female. The presence of which was rare, especially in the daylight amongst so many creatures. Female Seers barely showed themselves to males of their own kind. Their love was quick and cold and sharp.
"Naphtali," the Prince of Cats said, moving the proceedings or maybe even a trial forward. "You promised us victory."
"A prophetess promises nothing but the fulfillment of words already spoken through the voice of fate," Naphtali Doom Seer replied.
Her voice was smooth like the shiny night black fur on her face.
"I told you what I have seen. You hear, yet you do not listen, deafening yourself with impatience and doubt. What point is there repeating words ignored by arrogant and ignorant ears?"
The Prince of Cats tensed, irritated by the Seer's disrespectful implications, yet he was unwilling to offend the arts that led him to many a victory in the past. The Seer must be capable of great sight to instill such patience in a cat.
"Tell me again," he said, falling into a pattern he had no doubt hammered into habit. "What has become of the enemy?"
The Spirit about the Doom Seer changed as she tapped into her gifts, if only slightly. She, too, memorized this pattern of conversation and took no pleasure in reciting such unappreciated words.
"Bear country has fallen under the shadow of darkness and death," she exclaimed. "The Chariot Hounds have dispersed and drawn themselves thin. The altar burned with the flames of the otherworld. All of these things have come to pass."
The Prince of Cats reflexively smirked, lavishing in the news every time he heard it.
"Cats have the sight and yet he could not see the burning of Bear Mountain?" one of the bear clan heads sniggered a little too loudly.
The prince's smirk curled up into a snarl. He swatted at the bear with a sudden grip of his other paw on the throne. The bear flinched back with a grunt of a roar, but quickly fell in line again. The prince kept a tight chain on his subjects. No wonder bear country and the Pack of the Forests were struggling to hold the line.
"Yes, yes," the prince continued, quickly dismissing the bear's disruption now that his rank was re-established. He turned his attention on the Doom Seer and reclined once again. "But what of the ritual?"
He must not appear anxious even if his choice of words indicated otherwise.
"Wasn't a legion of ghosts supposed to climb the mountain, harvesting souls, so that they could descend behind enemy lines and wash what remained of the resistance into the valley for swift annihilation?"
He glanced around even though he expected nothing from his audience.
"Where are they? The night was deadly silent after the mountain burned. Not a single fight broke out. There wasn't even a signaling howl from the dogs on either side. Do we still have dogs? Anyway, this silence is eerie and unsettling. None could see the peak last night. It was shrouded from our sight."
"Is such a feeling not answer enough? Does it not indicate the weight of the shadow upon it?" Naphtali Doom Seer answered, but she was wiser than her predecessors and did not clutch onto her superiority so tightly. "If my answers are not enough, you shall receive them from the source."
She then turned around and looked straight at me even though I hid behind all of these creatures within the shadows at the beginning of the hall. It was as if we were the only ones on the face of the planet. There was no way she saw me physically. It must be because of the sight of Seers that she found me. Her piercing gaze led the way for others to follow and the Prince of Cats was just as sharp as his position would suggest despite the bear's jeering.
"You, dog!" he shouted. "You come from the altar? What news?"
I was still coated in so much battle fatigue that these darkened creatures thought me one of their own. They could not recognize me as an enemy. They knew not the face of a Mother. Especially not when the other Mighty Hena in the hall had unconsciously gravitated around me. They were all males. The females likely killed or coveted. They came to sit and stand around me in such a way one would think we were a pack. All in the hall joined these Hena in turning to look at me.
As disrespectful as the summons was, I had been called by name, so I stepped forward in no rush to meet their demands. At my moving, the other Hena shifted, suddenly realizing my absence and that the Hena they were next to were not necessarily comrades at all. One or two became confused, realizing something about them was missing. I stepped out into the empty portion of the hall that led up to the throne. I would have to walk all the way up if they were to hear me properly. With a quiet exhale, I continued just as slow and as casual as before.
I wondered if this was what Exile felt like when he walked in on Castle Rock. No, he was much prouder. My appearance was scraggly at best. My body thin with the leanness of the never ending winter hunt. Head humble. Tail level. Coat dry and dirty. I walked by myself, but the Spirit of the pack was still with me, stimulated by these young misguided Hena who reminded me of my pack. Of which, I did not miss as dearly as I expected in such a moment.
The many eyes that fell upon me drew suspicious of my identity as I approached. The Mighty Hena they were familiar with cowered under the attention of similar summons. I could redistribute the pressure of my presence, but I could not lie about it. As if triggered by their paranoia, my two Doom Seers from the moon altar finally materialized from the shadows of the crowd. They trotted up to flank me on either side. The tension throughout the hall relaxed. This council of the wicked recognized my escort. This was not the first meeting the foxes infiltrated. My hounds stopped sooner down the hallway than I did. They must have already established their silence.
The foxes would be too tempted to blow their cover otherwise. Especially if Ezekiel Doom Seer had been with them. I was on my own. The hounds tensed at the sight of Naphtali who remained at the bottom of the throne. I wonder if younger hounds had certain rules when in the presence of a Seer with greater sight. What history did Ezekiel, the hounds, and Naphtali share? Whatever it was, she did not pay them any attention. That black marble stare focused solely on me. I could tell Naphtali Doom Seer recognized what I was by the way the Spirit moved between us, but she said nothing. I stopped a little ways away from the throne. None expected me to get any closer. Distrust was a shared mediator between all in attendance.
"Speak, dog," an attending cat demanded when I continued to stand there silently. "Use what words you can. Our prophetess knows enough to complete the message even when it gets stuck between your oversized molars."
A chuckle rippled around the hall. It pushed the small collection of Mighty Hena together again. They thought me dumb and my teeth like a grazers. It was a dull jab as far as insults went. I heard so many course and brutish and vile things in so many different tongues that it was hard to tell what was a curse or not. Without the threatening aura of an ancient draconian tongue, it would not affect me at this point.
"Now!"
I glanced around. This council wanted to know what happened to their reinforcements and the ritual. An entire mountain burning in the middle of the night made quite the spectacle. I suppose I would answer them. I was not one to lie. Not even in the face of the enemy or if my cause depended on it. It was not the Mighty Hena way.
"The ritual is over," I said. "The blood moon passed. The altar, burned."
A moment slipped by before the Prince of Cats scoffed out a laugh.
"Just when you think a dog couldn't get any dumber," he commented, looking around at his fellow felines to indulge in a long standing prejudice.
He then looked back at me as if my ears were chewed off, my skin mangy, and eyes glassy.
"Yes, yes, we know that," he said, truly believing I was no more than a green tree worm. "But what came from it?"
"I did."
Another pause, this time, without a laugh.
"It's a miracle such a species survived this long," the prince tutted, "and to think we invited them to council."
Forced was more like it.
The prince rolled his head toward the Doom Seer and flexed a sharp set of claws her way.
"Naphtali, darling, can you please? I can't deal with this mutt."
And just like that, I no longer existed. I was nothing but a worthless dog who could not speak without assistance. Whatever news I carried would be conveyed like the original prophecies of the Seers. Naphtali returned to the center of attention as she walked up to me. She was tall and slender and silky within her own shadow. It smelled of burning pine and nightshade which made for a pleasant aroma amongst so much musk and bloodlust. Unlike the fortress stone that surrounded us, her horns were smooth in texture and finish. Her armor fitted her body like true extensions of herself rather than trophies or decorations.
She was very beautiful by hound standards which also made her alluring to other species. I could see why the Prince of Cats favored her, especially if her prophecies were just as special as she was. Naphtali glanced from me to the other hounds. I could not see their reaction, but they were probably prepared to greet her gaze this time. Again, she saw the truth, recognized it, and ignored it. When did she first realize their secret? How long had she known and let them attend these briefings? Her Spirit was not like Damon or Ezekiel. It reminded me of the foxes, but with less tails.
Great. Now I was thinking like them.
"What hides beyond the veil?" Naphtali Doom Seer asked, because this was what the council truly wanted to know. "Who received the summons of the ritual?"
She picked her words carefully. Never asking if the ritual succeeded or not. It seemed not even the sight of Doom Seers could pierce the divide between the living and the dead, or at least, not any Seer still on this side of the dark in the shade of the light. Naphtali Doom Seer was no Soul Stealer. All in attendance knew that the blood moon ritual was supposed to summon a terrible power that would help them win the war and lead to overwhelming victory. But ghosts only shared their secrets with the dead.
These creatures, this darkened council, allied themselves with Soul Stealers and ghosts without understanding the true depth of their purpose. They had no idea that they almost killed themselves. If I told them who it was that prowled the other side, they might just realize their mistake. The truly enlightened might even recognize that I saved their lives along with everyone else's on the mountain range. I only knew the monster's name because it revealed itself during the ritual. But since it was done through the Spirit, I would be able to repeat it the same way. So I told them who it was they called upon.
"Giratina," I said, except I did not speak in the tongues of Hena.
My voice pounded and echoed with energy like dragon speech. Dust fell from the ceiling. Darkness surged from all corners of the hall. An electrified chill ran down the spine of all who heard it. I spoke an ancient language. One of Spirit like blessings and curses. It was not made by creatures. It was of the type Shaman and blood moon rituals were born from. Naphtali's eyes widened. Many a bear dropped their scowls. The Prince of Cats sat up a little straighter.
"How can you speak such tongues?" he demanded, aghast.
For what I did was no simple feat. This fortress had not heard such words in at least two thousand years.
"Who are you?"
It took a moment for my voice to recover. That single word stole all the breath from my lungs. A hacking gag cleared my throat. Oh, how I wished for the taste of poison compared to such a word.
"I am Mother," I finally croaked and the invocation soothed my throat.
I could not hide my identity or Spirit now. Those that could recognize such things suddenly saw me in new light. Hackles went up. Claws came out. The two striped cats shifted and whispered to each other. Finally, they realized I was an enemy.
"Not just any Mother," Naphtali suddenly added because the cats would not know the difference and would assume I was of the mountains. "But Mother of the Crescent Tribe."
"The grasslands?" The Prince of Cats translated.
He finally got up and hopped off of his throne. His large heavy paws clenched the edge of the platform. If he wanted to, he could probably leap clear over Naphtali Doom Seer's head and land behind me.
"The same Mother who killed off nearly the entire bloodline of the pride lands?"
Cats saw all Mighty Hena the same so they could not distinguish us by generation, only by rank. He spoke of Mothers past. Those that drove the cats and their prides out of the grasslands, or pride lands as they claimed it, before the Bone Wars. I killed many a cat in the war, but those were remnants. Omegas and Exiles trying to reclaim their lost empire. The prince looked at Naphtali. Still, he refused to see me. Maybe it was impossible for him.
"Ezekiel said she was dead."
"The only thing dead is your plot," I cut in because I was tired of being ignored. "Your assassins were easier to kill than kittens."
It may have been because he invoked the Spirit of my Mother, and Grandmother, and Great Grandmother and more, but I wanted to rekindle that bad blood and teach him the lesson all cats should learn of the Mighty Hena.
Our bite was much worse than our bark.
"Hashishin," some of the cats whispered in their royal tongue and I knew I broke a taboo.
The existence of clandestine hunters for hire were supposed to be a secret among cats. An accepted unofficial practice until it was brought to light. If it was, the contract holder became an object of ridicule for being too cowardly to battle. And here, a ratty old dog called out the shadows by name. The Prince of Cats snarled, clenching the stone, tail whipping behind him, his worries of failure in bear country coming into humiliating and unforgiving light.
Finally, I had his attention.
I bared my teeth and snarled right back, lowering my shoulders and raising my hips with my hackles. Naphtali cleared away without a second thought.
"Show me your bite dog!" the Prince of Cats roared, "and we'll see whose fangs are bigger!"
The spirit of battle flared with the intensity of the sun, crashing and blinding as my five flaming champions answered his challenge. One flew in from behind the arches of the vaulted ceiling above the throne. Two knocked through the clerestory windows on the left. Another on the right, scattering crows and spiders and monkeys. Sumar flew in from a hole in the ceiling at the front of the hall, kicking dust and stone and dried leaves down below. As soon as they landed on the upper arches and pillars and walls, they stretched out their necks with thunderous battle cries. Fire screamed with their words in a waterfall of flame that splashed down into the throne room all around me. Their plasmic jets of fire drew burning curtains between us.
Tapestries went aflame. Dry debris spontaneously ignited in the heat. I held very still as chaos erupted in the hall, winking lightly when a burst of bright light tossed a wave of heat my way. No creature present was immune to the most destructive element of them all, so they fled, or at least, tried to. Burning lines of tar marked the touch of the dragons' flamethrowers. Walls of fire raced across the room, disappearing and reappearing with every breath. In the fever of battle, creature turned on creature, especially when three of the dragons dropped down into the hall, cracking the stones beneath them and rattling the bones of the fortress. They laughed and roared and chased after the strongest creature they could find. Fire Lizards were natural born Berserkers and could not contain their drive to fight and conquer until their wings fell off.
The stronger the opponent, the better.
Several fights broke out simultaneously between the dragons and other species. Whether because of panic, primal instinct, revenge, or a long awaited coupe, only the fighters could tell. I looked around, far too comfortable amidst the flames that could consume me just as easily as any other. There were so many moving bodies, it was hard to tell who was where doing what. All of the Doom Seers were gone. Most of the cats cleared out. A few of the bears stepped up to meet the challenge. They were the only ones big and brutish enough to take on a dragon. Others went for easier prey.
One of the Ring Bears cornered a Mighty Hena next to a line of burning tar. He swiped at the Hena to get it out of the way so that he could make his escape. Whereas the flames were too big for a Mighty Hena to manage, a bear might be able to withstand them with enough desperation. With a dragon close by at his back, the bear did not want to risk facing the flames at their source. The much smaller Hena was trapped between being burned or skinned alive. This troubled Hena was not of my pack, but I thought of the one with the grey paw in the riverlands who did not know any better until I showed him the way. The Mighty Hena were the lowest ranked in this council. How many were just trying to survive the shadow of war that had fallen over them?
Before I knew it, my paws were in motion, taking me to him. I could not stand idle when I saw a Mighty Hena in trouble. No matter where he came from or what he had done, he did not deserve to die alone this way. No Mighty Hena should. The bear's arm swung down. I leapt up and diverted the strike with a clamp of my jaws on his paw. An electrified jolt of pain exploded across my mouth. My wounds from the holocaust had no time to heal.
I had no time to whine about it either.
The bear was far slower than the Royal Guard. Skinner too. My weight dragged him into a stumble, but he was still a bear and swatted at me. I released him before the blow could land. When my gums rubbed against his hair and hide, it hurt so bad I thought my teeth ripped out and were still in the bear's flesh when we separated. With my poison burnt up at the altar, it was a clean bite, and with my jaws too damaged to clamp down properly, no bones were crushed. I could not end the fight in a single strike. A quick dart brought me back to the Hena. He was too stunned by my interference to run away while the bear was distracted. When those claws turned our way again, I growled, showing my teeth no matter how much they burned and stung and pained me. Bristling and lengthening my tail would better protect us, but I risked catching them on fire in the nearby flames. The Ring Bear stretched out both arms. Five claws for each of us.
They were not enough.
Another growl rumbled to life as a different Mighty Hena stalked up to the bear in a low crouch, ready to leap. The markings on his head were so long that the points came below his eyes. Suddenly, there were three of us. We positioned ourselves equally around the bear. The first regained his composure and joined in the chorus of snarls. A lone Hena was easy prey. Two, a challenge. Three made a pack and its Spirit was irresistible. It drew in two more of us who saw our teamwork and felt its calling. The bear's chances of winning decreased dramatically. He spotted the nearest gap and ran for it. Two Hena tried to stop him. I quickly snapped at them in reprimand. They would only get themselves killed. One snapped back, but these Hena only knew the desperate protections of the submissive. He knew not the technique and confidence and refinement of leadership as I did.
I knocked into him, lunging with a snap and turn of my teeth, placing my head next to his. This lesson in posture and intent and challenge set him right. In an instant, order came between all of us, established by the discipline of the hierarchy of the pack and the innate comradery of battle. The bear escaped, but the Spirit of the pack now flowed in full force between us. As lesser Hena, it was in their nature to not only follow it, but embrace it and find purpose. The pack was the pack whether their intentions were righteous, self-serving, or darkened. It was what brought them comfort and direction and purpose. Mighty Hena needed a hunt, not chaotic combat, and these four Hena looked at me to lead it. The Spirit compelled me to give it to them.
And I had the perfect target.
If there was one who must not survive this slaughter, it was the Prince of Cats. The only one with enough power and influence and gall to order the assassination of My Cub's mother, Queen Bear. I was tied to bear country now. They had become a part of my pack. Queen Bear would be avenged. As all mothers should be.
I whirled around, following the Spirit, and caught a glimpse of the prince fleeing into the shadows. My best informants. I sprinted after him. The rest of my newly formed pack followed. We dodged through streams of flame and clashing bodies into a side corridor that was oddly quiet with mayhem so close by. The prince ran for the outside. He meant to escape up the mountain through the forest. I cut through a courtyard, eyes always tracking his movements, nose picking up where the fortress and its layout blocked the view.
Scents were much clearer out here. The others picked up the trail, but it was when we cleared the stone and ran into the woods that they finally caught sight of our target. Matching both senses, they were finally able to focus their violence. They knew little, if nothing of bear country, but they did know what it was like to live under the tyranny of a cat. They saw their opportunity to satisfy the grudges between our species and the speed of our hunt increased. So did our numbers. Having seen our charge out of the fortress, two other Mighty Hena joined the hunt, if only to enact their own revenge against the demeaning authority of the cats. These Hena rallied around me on all sides. Some took the lead to show off their speed and endurance and skill. They built rank right before my very eyes, establishing their place among one another based on ability, grit, and determination.
Leaders and followers. Fighters and supporters. They all swelled with confidence now that we were together. Other creatures fled the fortress. Dragons chased many. Their shadows rushed by overhead. The trees provided cover from their flamethrowers, so they started spitting fireballs instead. Trees exploded into fiery bursts under the meteor shower. The ground shook with their impact. Dirt sprayed across our path. The constant barrage of thunderous battle cries made it sound like a violent summer storm. One of the dragons spotted our hunt overhead and began following it. Its shadow grew bigger and darker as it pulled ahead of us. The temperature warmed with his overheating berserker temperament.
The dragons were in full battle mode now, thoroughly warmed up after crashing the council. We were gaining ground, but the temperature suddenly spiked. The deafening battle cry our last warning. I alerted the pack of the danger, especially those at the head of the hunt. They quickly dispersed as an explosion signaled the dragon's landing. Snow and dark dirt blew out into the woods. An earthquake shuddered beneath us. It rocked the cat and several Hena off of their paws. I stumbled.
It was Sumar.
He swung out his tail and pumped his wings in threatening posture. The prince scrambled to his paws and sprinted towards a nearby stone tower. He did not even look back. The coward. Sumar chased him with flame. When that proved too slow, he laughed and pounded his wings, batting us Hena down again as he took off to continue the pursuit. I stayed where I was. There was no point in following him. This was a dragon hunt now and Sumar would settle for nothing less than conquering a crown.
