A Monk's Tail

by Kyle Spencer

  Shit.

  Josef gasps and reaches towards the maus.

  “Quickly! Give that to me! You must!” Before the exchange can be made a young fox kit in front of us turns around, happily munching away on a piece of walnut. Seeing what's in Susi’s paw his eyes grow wide and crumbles of walnut fall from his mouth.

  “Mommy! Mommy!” He points with a stubby little finger. “That maus gots the bad one!” His little voice carries through the crowd and elicits shocked gasps.

  Josef reaches for Susi again, but other paws get to her first. Before she can even scream she’s pulled down off my shoulders and carried over the heads of young and old alike, drifting towards Bart and the center stage. Beside me the shouts of Josef carry over the rising noise of the crowd.

  “No! No! Put her down! It was mine! It was mine, gods damn you! Please! Please just let me join my Clara and Cossette!” His words break down into desperate wails.

  “What kind of ass-backwards, jake-legged, fucked-up system of government is this?!” I shout above the din. “A lottery?! Seriously?!” I try to fight my way through but everyone closes around the central platform, forming a wall just as thick and impenetrable as the brambles that surround this fucking town.

  ***

  I’m thrown onto the platform with a sorrowful – yet very relieved – Mayor. He takes a knee besides me and whispers in my ear, “Please understand, it's the only way. And for what it's worth, I regret that it's you up here and not your monk friend.”

  I don't regret spitting in his face.

  Bart wipes the spit away with a silken maroon handkerchief and hops down off the platform. Now I'm alone with hundreds of eyes upon me. Silence overcomes the town again.

  Where's Bow? All I see are the unkind, stone faces of the people of Evershade. The monk is nowhere to be seen.

  Don't cry. You didn't cry when you were captured by some verdammt leopard warlord. You are not going to cry when some lowlife monk you hardly know abandons you to the whims of crazy forest villagers.

  …And now I'm crying. The faces don't change; still stone, still uncaring.

  No matter how hard I try the tears keep coming, but something on the wind stops the waterworks dead. An all-too-familiar sound. A whisper.

  It's back.

  All the villagers take a step back from the platform as the whispers draw closer. Terrified, I crouch down and pull my ears down over my eyes. In my new black world the whispering envelopes me, an ancient voice speaking an ancient language. It seems to physically pull me towards the wall of brambles and out into the dark woods.

  Wait...I actually am moving! I dare not uncover my eyes but I can feel the platform scraping along the earth. I hear the wall surrounding Evershade shift and snake apart like it did when we first entered, then close up behind me. The whispering is still there, but now another soft voice reaches my ears.

  “Open your eyes. It's okay.”

  It can't be.

  I open my eyes to a soft blue light that bathes the enormous trees around me. Quickly whipping around I'm greeted by a grinning Bow who sits calmly on the platform with his legs crossed. Leena glows a bright blue as her glass vial pulses with light. My arms wrap around the monk and I burst into tears again.

  “Oh Bow,” I cry, “I'm so sorry for calling you a lowlife.”

  “Huh? When was this?” A large paw pats my head reassuringly.

  “But how to you get here? I didn't see you in the crowd.”

  “Well, while it was pulling you away I skirted around everyone and leapt on the platform at the last second.”

  “What do you mean 'it'?”

  “Don't worry.” He holds me at arms length and brushes away a tear. “Right now we need to figure out a way to get back to the road. That's our best chance.”

  “And who says ye have a chance?” Something taunts from behind a tree. “Oi! Can ye believe the luck?”

  “Aye!” A chuckle from the left. “We've been spending the better part o’ the day trying to get into this bloody town, and then the town brings ye to us!” The two laugh, joined by a third on our right.

  Out of the shadows step three large cats – cait na bienne baring nothing but kilts, fangs, and runed zweihanders. Their eyes are shining blue mirrors in the light and they lick their fangs with giddy anticipation. As they inch closer Bow wraps his paws around me and draws me close to his chest. His heart is beating right in my ear.

  “Listen good,” he whispers, “they want us alive. At least I hope they do. Either way, I don't think either of us wants to go back with them. So when I say so you pick a direction and just run. Don't look back. Don't stop. Just. Run. Understand?” I nod slowly, my heart beating faster than his. “Okay.” the light glints off their swords, making the runes etched in them seem to glow.

  “What are you going to do?” I whisper back. One monk against three hardened leopards doesn't seem like a fair – or even long – fight.

  “I'm pretty handy with my ironwood...fuck.”

  “You forgot your staff back in Evershade.”

  “I forgot my staff back in Evershade.” Bow sighs, “Oh well, I can still do enough to stall them. Get ready to run on the count of three.”

  “But Bow-”

  “One.” The three warriors are within swordstrike of the platform.

  “Two.” Bow firmly grabs my waist. I think he intends to throw me over their heads. I swear to gods, if he does…

  “Three!” Deafening thunder echoes through the forest as I'm flung in the air. So are the three cats. Their shocked and bewildered faces seem almost comical as they hang upside down. Long, shadowy tendrils are wrapped around their legs. Their confusion quickly turns to horror as they are whipped back and forth and like a shot pulled screaming into the blackness of the forest. I land with a thump that knocks the wind out of me as yowls of terror and pain are brought to an abrupt end with three successive snaps.

  Gruff paws nab the nape of my neck and hoist me onto sturdy shoulders.

  “Time to run. Time to run. Don’t look back.” Bow grunts as he hurdles a thick root. I jostled and bounce on his shoulder, following his order and keeping my eyes tightly shut. “Don’t look back. Don’t look ahead. Keep your eyes closed.”

  The only sounds in the forest now are the heavy breaths of the monk and his padded footfalls. Everything else is silence as he dashes through the blackness.

  Love and Mercy

  “Clever girl…”

  - Roman the Bandit Lord, moments before being impaled.

  The ragged fox takes a step back but wild desperation still glints in his eyes. He tries to look around behind me at his quarry but I stay in step with him, blocking his view. He tightens his grip on the rusty old greatsword in his paws. ‘Great’ might be too much of an overstatement; the blade is worn and chipped from years of carelessness. Still deadly though. Licking his parched, starving lips he feigns a lunge forward. Not taking the bait, I continue to brandish my glaive in his face. The polished steel glints and sparkles like a star in the sun-kissed woods. He stares at the tip of my blade, then at me. His bare chest heaves, his ribs trying to poke through his shabby brown fur.

  “Now,” He licks his lips again, “Now you just hands ‘im over to ol’ Farris and I’ll lets you on your way.” His eyes take on a bold determination as he slides his left foot back. A fighter’s stance, but one that had to be pulled from deep memory; his balance isn’t exactly centered and his right flank is too exposed. No problem. He sees me studying him and feigns again with a snarl. “You gives him to Farris now! Or I’ll give a call to Farris’ friends!” I don’t even try to hide my grin. Love will take care of his friends. Love conquers all.

  Farris waits one more moment before sending out a shrill whistle that disappears into the forest. No response. Even the birds stop their midday chorus. The fox’s smug expression decays to worry and his eyes quickly dart from side to side. They don’t pick up what mine do: a small glimmer by one of the larger oaks to the right of him.

&nbs
p; It’s time.

  Without warning I make a lunging strike at his back foot. With a slight yelp he parries with a backwards hop-turn to his left. In that instant a flash of dripping crimson streaks across the road and embeds itself into the small of Farris’ back. A thin spearpoint pokes out of the his stomach and he goggles down at it in gurgling shock. The rusty greatsword thumps to the ground beside him, followed shortly by the his crumpled body. Gazing up from the dead bandit I lock eyes with the most stunning cat I have ever seen. Simple, hand-stitched cloth armor covers her snow-white fur, or what would be snow-white if it weren't covered with blood.

  “Hello, Love.” I coo at her. She smiles and hefts her lance over her shoulder, sending flecks of blood flying across my breast and face. Typical. She walks up to me and gently tries to wipe the blood off my own armor, only instead she smears it all over my chest. I laugh. “Any excuse to touch my tits, huh?”

  “I deserve it.” She grins wryly. I don’t ask how many of Farris’ ‘friends’ she dealt with in the woods. It doesn't matter if there were ten or ten dozen. Love conquers all.

  The butt-end of my glaive prods the mound of fur and blood on the road, rolling it over. Farris used to be a mercenary, much like us; his stance showed me that much. A few years ago he would have probably been a well-known one, with a steady flow of jobs and cash. Unfortunately, a while back the economy turned south and money dried up along with the work. Good mercs, such as Love and myself, were able to find employment elsewhere, mostly as bodyguards for well-to-do merchants. A few even took up monster-hunting. Others, like our dead Farris, turned to banditry to support themselves.

  “Did you...did you have to kill him?” A nasally voice pipes up from behind us. I wheel around to look at our ward: a portly mole dressed in finery fitting only the wealthiest - and laziest - of nobility. His squinty black eyes peer over large, gold-rimmed spectacles. Thick, polished claws clack nervously together. His fur seems to have lost some if its smoky charcoal color upon seeing the bloody ordeal that had unfolded before him.

  “Yes, yes we did.” Love saunters up to Spectacles - never ask for a client’s real name - and slams her spear into the dirt at his feet. “Now what we did to that poor soul over there – look at him – to that poor soul over there, is nothing, nothing, compared to what he and his friends would’ve done to the likes of you.” Spectacles recoils, but if he had known the stories that ripple through mercenary circles he would’ve downright fainted. Lurid tales bubble up in the corners of taverns, stories of bandits turning to wanton acts of depravity along the dark roads of the world. Love and I have heard many a whisper of cannibals, torture, and wolves in sheep’s...clothing. “You wanted protection.” Love pokes the mole’s rotund belly, causing it to jiggle. “You wanted the best.” Another poke, another jiggle. “Well, you got the best.”

  “Y-yes, well keep in mind that I paid quite a sum for ‘the best’!” Our benefactor retorts with an irritable huff.

  “But you didn’t pay enough to question our methods.” Love gives Spectacles a haughty turn and sashays back towards me. Gods, she is amazing. “Shall we continue onward?” She motions nonchalantly. Yes, yes we shall.

  “Y'know,” I say to Spectacles after walking for a ways, “there are safer roads to to our destination.”

  “Y-yes, that is true.” He keeps a trundling pace with us, closer now than before the ambush. “But there are no roads that are faster.”

  “Speed means nothing if your dead.” Love quips. How true.

  “Which is why I'm paying you.” Spectacles snorts. Also true. He takes another step and lets out a tiny panicked gasp. “Good heavens! Someone's up ahead.”

  Our weapons are drawn before the last word escapes his lips. We scan our surroundings; I take the left half, Love takes the right. After a brief search I hear a dissatisfied growl coming from Love. I know that sound. There's nothing out there, and that's no fun.

  “I see nothing.” Love speaks for both of us. Spectacles just shakes his head.

  “That's because they're around the next bend.”

  “How do you know –“

  “I can feel them.” He puts a clawed paw to the road. “Two of them. One only barely. The other is pretty heavy-footed. I guess that ‘the best’ should have known that much.” He stands up and gives the two of us a smug grin. I guess its true what they say about moles.

  They're assholes.

  Love pauses and turns to Spectacles with a sneer. “And why couldn't you feel that ambush just a bit ago?” He cowers under her glare. Heh. No one can stand up to the power of Love.

  “Well,” He clacks his claws together nervously, “I wasn't really paying attention. And my feet were hurting. And my glasses were fogging up. And –“ Love waves a dismissive paw.

  “Whatever. Just keep a sharper...paw out from now on.”

  We cautiously move forward, our weapons brandished. As we round the next corner we both stop in our tracks and our spears drop slightly. Love even let's out a little giggle. But as quickly as our guard drops it returns. Silently, Love skirts off into the woods. I cautiously step forward and shift my stance. Dazed purple eyes stare past my glaive into nothingness. These guys aren't a threat. And Love agrees. She saunters out of the woods behind them and shakes her head at me. No one else. I stand up out of my stance and plant my glaive hilt into the road.

  Shambling towards me is a firefox (in these parts?) and a tiny maus. Sap drips from their ears and bits of twig and leaves cling to their fur. It's no wonder Love giggled at them; they look absolutely ridiculous, like little cubs playing forest commando. Their eyes tell a different story though. The maus' are as wide and vacant as her companion's. A tiny paw clutches at the dirty robes of the...monk? I haven't come across too many monks in my travels but I do recognize prayer beads when I see them.

  Love walks up besides the maus and places a paw on her shoulder. The tiny thing squeaks and jumps away. I guess I can't blame her; soaked in dried blood and holding such a weapon Love makes quite the fearsome sight. Mmm...my Warrior Queen.

  No. No. Focus.

  First, find out where those two came from.

  The monk's purple eyes suddenly snap into focus. They dart between Love, myself, and our client. Then the drift off towards the tree line and refuse to move again.

  “W-wuh?” His voice is barely above whisper. “Where am I?”

  After a moment Love remembers that she just annihilated a group of savage bandits with weapons, and that a strange little maus covered in leaves isn't going to be a problem. In one swift motion she scoops the waif up in one paw and sits her up on her shoulder. She gives me a nod and starts of down the road. I take the hint and put my free arm under the monk’s shoulder – keeping a tight grip on my glaive – and begin to walk down the road with him. His eyes never leave the forest.

  “W-wait! Wait!” Spectacles waddles up beside me. His paws and claws waving sporadically. “We can't take them with us!”

  “And why not?” Love calls back.

  “B-but you can't do your job properly with these two in tow!”

  “Says who?” Love laughs.

  “I'm paying you to protect me! Not them!” The mole huffs and stamps his foot down, as if that was the be-all-end-all argument. Love turns around. Uh-oh. She briskly walks toward him. I don't even need to turn around to know what's going to happen. Love takes her spear, gives it a twirl or two, and hucks it at Spectacles, barely missing him and most likely taking off a bit of fur.

  “Eeek!” He shrieks in a much higher pitch than I expected.

  Now, she'll she'll tell him that we're the best in the business and if he ever questions our methods again we'll sell him to the next bandits we see. We might even get a rusty cutlass for him.

  “We,” There she goes, “are the best in the business. And if you ever, ever, question our methods again we'll sell you to the next bandits we see. Shit, we might even get a rusty dagger for you.” Dagger, huh? She switched it up this time. Spectacles says nothing.
>
  “So,” I turn to my new traveling buddy, who is still gazing at the trees like they're about to come alive or something, “What's your name? You and your maus friend seemed to have had quite the adventure.” Quite the adventure indeed. The fur around his wrists and ankles are matted with dried blood and his robes look they’ve been slashed and torn by some rabid beast.

  “Fucked-up government.” He mumbles, those purple eyes constantly scanning on the forest around us. “Stupid-ass mayor with his stupid-ass hat. Fucking ugly dumb necklace and stupid shitty…”

  Who is this guy? And what in Hel’s name happened to them?

  ***

  The Maus is light, so light that I forget she's there. And quiet too. For hours she's said nothing; unlike her partner. Weird monk (monks are the ones with those prayer beads, right?) kept mumbling about trees and such for a while, although now he's fallen silent as well. Eh, no matter. Just as long as that bastard mole is quiet I couldn't care less about the other two. I'm pretty sure Mercy feels that same way. We're always on the same wavelength like that.

  I turn to the little maus again and almost give her my best smile, but then think better of it. She is obviously in shock, and the last thing she needs to see is a blood-caked cat baring her teeth.

  But what did these two go through to end up in such a state? If it were bandits...well, if it were bandits the monk wouldn't be here anymore. Actually, this one on my shoulder probably wouldn't be here either. But if it wasn't bandits then what could it be…

  “Where are you from sweetie?” I ask in my softest voice. Mercy always says I have a lullaby voice, one that is sweeter than those Sirens she often reads about in her books. Now, I may not be able to sing sailors to their deaths (a skill I desperately wish I had in my youth) but apparently I can bring little mausen back to reality. The glaze over her hazel eyes slowly fades and she blinks at me. She searches around for her bearings and hesitantly points in the direction behind us.