If you like this fic, thank @raphcrow and @thegoldensoundtwice for convincing me to post it...
FF.net, AO3, DA
“Foolish mortal.”
Rose ignored the warning and continued in her walk around the cage. She found herself rather amazed that the villagers of Noonvale had created such a sturdy confinement so quickly, or perhaps more surprised that the creature inside hadn’t broken out yet. It was a demon, after all, a creature of strange and unspeakable magiks. She stopped by the cage door, staring into it’s eyes again. A beautiful clear gray, rimmed with the red of new blood. How could such a dark creature have such beautiful eyes?
“Foolish mortal, they’ll think you’ve gone soft on me if you keep hanging around.”
The voice was strange, far higher than anything she’d expected. It must have been very young when it was turned. Perhaps that would explain it’s small size. She’d never seen any full-grown rat, magik or not, so small. Or perhaps it wasn’t a rat.
“What are you?” she asked.
The thing in the cage gave her a thin smile. “You already know what I am, otherwise you wouldn’t have locked me up.”
Rose spluttered for a moment, trying to think of what to say. “I mean, what were you? Before you changed?” she managed.
The thing snorted, glaring at her. It’s eyes had gone hard as ice. “I was a mouse, if you must know.”
A mouse? But her father had told her that only vermin could be changed, that only they possessed the necessary darkness to call upon such forbidden powers. She looked the thing over again. It, no, it was most definitely a he. He was thin, still covered in blood from the bludgeoning he’d received from the villagers, and no taller than Rose herself. She felt an unexpected surge of pity for him. What could possibly have happened to change such an young creature into a demon?
“If you want to stare, please do so quietly,” he said.
Rose covered her mouth, her ears growing hot as she realized she’d been thinking out loud. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.
He snorted again. “What for?”
“I,” what was she sorry for anyways? Certainly not that her parents and brother had been killed by a demon. She pictured the creature that had killed them, long and dark,with sharp fangs that tore mercilessly at her family’s throats. A small whimper escaped from her throat as she pictured the horrible scene. But that demon had not been this one. She would have remembered the eyes. “I’m sorry you were locked up for something that was not your fault.”
He didn’t snort at her this time. His countenance even seemed to soften for a moment. Then he was frowning again as he grumbled, “Foolish mortal. Foolish, foolish mortal.”
Rose found herself glaring back at him, paws on hips as she grumbled right back at him. “And what’s so wrong for feeling sorry? You know the villagers want to kill you, don’t you?”
This time he actually laughed, a sad, hollow sound that faded far too quickly. “Everyone wants to kill me, little maid.”
“Little maid? And just how old are you, sir?” Rose stamped a footpaw down indignantly.
This seemed to catch him by surprise, and he took a moment to answer. “11 seasons.”
Only 11? She was older by a full season, although she wasn’t going to tell him that. “How does an 11-season-old mouse become entangled with a demon?”
“You think I’m serving him?” His voice had gained a sharp edge to it, much like the sword he’d carried into the village. “I’ve been tracking him for three seasons now.”
“And what are you going to do when you catch him?” The demon who had killed her parents was sure to be far older than this one, what in the name of fur and feathers did he think he could do to it?
“I’m going to kill him.”
Rose stepped back at the ferocity in his voice. He smiled at her, a horrid, thin thing with too many teeth showing.
“Does that bother you, little maid? The idea of killing a killer.”
“N-no!” she stuttered. Surely he was messing with her, playing tricks on her mind. But she looked at those silver-gray eyes again, mesmerized by the cold certainty in them. He was not joking. Her paw strayed toward the latch, he made no move to touch her. She paused, watching him watch her. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but the red around his eyes seemed less intense. He was thin, almost painfully so, and the villagers had overwhelmed him easily. Only 11 seasons old. The thought played through her mind.
“They’ll kill you if you let me go,” he said.
Rose shook herself. Did she really want to do this? She looked at his eyes again, somewhere, hidden deep beneath the surface, she saw a flicker of something. A memory, perhaps, or a wish that would never be fulfilled, a dream that now held only pain and sadness. She bit her lip. “But they’ll kill you if I don’t,” she whispered. She lifted the latch, moving swiftly around to the back of the cage and crouched down, covering her head with her paws. She’d really done it now.
His shadow fell across her, he stood so close she could have reached out and touched him. Surely this was the end. “Foolish mortal.”
By the time she looked up, he was gone.
Martin sat up suddenly, sword out in defence against whatever being had made the sound that wakened him. A butterfly landed on the ground next to him, innocently fluttering its wings. He groaned and fell back, allowing himself to curl deeper into the forest floor. Sensitive hearing was not something he’d bargained on when he gained his powers. Neither was sensitive smell. He sat up again, sniffing the air. Something, or someone, was nearby, and they were bleeding heavily. He stood and stretched leisurely. Whatever it was, he could take his time getting there. His hunger was mostly sated from his hunt the night before, but there was always room for a little extra.
The closer he got, the more he could distinguish from the scent. The thing that was bleeding was either still alive, or else very recently dead, the blood still smelled fresh. The tang of copper filled his senses, and a red film was cast over his sight. But he had no need for sight when his nose and ears worked so perfectly. He was not prepared for the sight that greeted him as he came through the trees.
It was the maid from the village, the one who had chosen to free him. She bled from a dozen places, her smock barely held together by a few threads it had been cut so many times. One of her legs was obviously broken, and she lay curled in a ball among the ferns, breathing shallowly.
Martin stared at her passively, unsure of what to do. Instinct told him to feed before the blood became spoiled, but somehow that didn’t seem right. The maid had saved his life, after all, was he truly so dead to the world that he would ignore that kindness in her time of need?
As he stood pondering, he heard a soft whimper. Kneeling down, he forced her head up. One pretty hazel eye looked at him, bright with fever, the other was sealed shut by blood. She did not have long left to live. It was a miracle she’d survived this long.
She must have realized he was there, because her cracked lips opened in a hoarse whisper, “Water. Please.”
The gentle voice pierced through the red cloud surrounding him. How could one mortal have such an effect? “Foolish mortal,” Martin murmured. “I told you they would kill you.”
She gave him a lopsided smile. One of her teeth had been knocked out, another broken. “I remember,” she slurred. She reached out with a bloodspattered paw, but it fell long before she reached him. Absentmindedly, he turned her so that she lay on her back. Her stomach was exposed now, a gaping mess of mangled flesh.
“How are you still alive?” The question left him before he could stop it, his curiosity getting the better of him.
It was a long moment before she replied. “You’re going after that monster, right?” He nodded, not entirely sure she could see him. She closed her good eye and smiled. “Good. Give him a message for me, please?” He nodded again, mystified that she had stayed alive for so long just to tell him this. “Tell him that Laterose of Noonvale will haunt him for all of eternity, even into death.”
Martin had thought that mortals couldn’t surprise him anymore. Apparently he’d thought wrong. “You came all this way, just to say that?”
“Yes,” came the faint whisper.
For the first time in a long time, Martin felt sorrow. He looked at the maid stretched out before him, covered in her own blood, smiling at the thought of haunting her enemy until she drove him mad. Pity, she would have made a decent traveling companion. She was certainly stubborn enough to put up with him. A thought struck him, and he asked, “Do you want to live?”
Laterose said nothing at first, and for a moment he thought she’d died while he was thinking. Then she sucked in a breath of air and hissed out, “Of course I want to live.”
“Even if you could never lead a normal life again?”
Her one good eye was open again, staring at him with a cold calmness. “I would gladly give up my dreadfully boring life to hunt down that monster.”
Martin grinned, it was the answer he’d been looking for. “Good. Then you must drink what I give you, no matter how vile it seems.” It took only a quick nip with his teeth for the blood to flow freely across his palm. The wound would heal up quickly enough after the meal from the night before. He had no cup with him, so he forced Laterose’s jaws open and placed his paw between them. She struggled for a moment, then swallowed. Martin felt the drain immediately as a part of his powers transferred into the new host. He would stay like that until the transition had finished, then he would need to hunt again. What a bother, having to feed two mouths instead of one, but it was too late to turn back.
It took three days for Laterose to heal. In that time, Martin hunted for food and searched for the trail of his enemy. His newly turned companion didn’t speak much, only once to ask him to call her Rose instead of Laterose.
It was on the morning of the fourth day that Martin went to collect a canteen of water for their journey. It was the only form of supplies they would carry. The monster had gotten a head start, and they would need to travel light and fast to catch him. Martin capped the canteen and growled at his own reflection in the stream. The monster, Badrang Martin reminded himself, had taken Martin’s family and left him for dead. Now he’d taken Rose’s family as well. It was time someone put an end to the slaughter.
He wondered idly what his new companion’s magik would be. Would it be something useful? Something that could be used against Badrang when they caught him? As much as he hated to admit it, Martin was not yet strong enough to confront Badrang on his own.
Rose was seated with her back against a tree when he reached her. Her eyes were closed, and to the casual observer she looked like a simple maid napping in the forest. But Martin was no casual observer. Even without trying he could feel the power that now pulsed through her veins. Her eyes, when she opened them, would have the same red ring as his own. Other than that, however, there was no noticeable difference in her appearance. She opened one hazel eye to look at him as he slung the canteen onto his belt.
“Time to move out,” he said.
Rose opened both eyes and stood. “How long do you think it will take to catch up with it?”
Martin stood rooted in place as the honey-sweet voice rippled through the air. A shiver ran down his spine, and it seemed that the very light shifted with the sound. He had to shake himself before he could speak properly again. His own voice sounded harsh and his tongue felt unwieldy in his mouth. He ignored her query. “Tell me, Rose, did you sing often in your village?”
She seemed surprised by such a mundane question. “Yes,” the honeyed voice washed over him again and he could practically feel her confusion, “I loved singing. My mother taught me. Why?”
Martin shuddered again, then gave Rose a smile that he knew showed too much of his teeth for comfort. “Best practice your trade on someone else, little siren, if you want to catch your family’s killer in a timely fashion.” He took off into the woods, Rose following after him several moments later.
“I’m a siren?” He heard her whisper to herself. The wave of power was not nearly so overpowering in the softer tone, and he found that a simple twitch of his ears was enough to shake off the effects. This was certainly going to be an interesting journey.
Any creature that met Bogfoot the rat and Embertail the fox soon had no doubt in their mind that they were a pair of foul creatures. Theft, extortion, murder. The vile pair had remorselessly committed every evil act a creature was capable of and yet still found ways to add to their notoriety. The vermin were making their way through the woodlands, searching for some new prey to torment.
“I’m gettin’ ‘ungry, Ember,” Bogfoot grunted to the fox. “Wheres we get some vittles?” Bogfoot was a creature of few words, largely due to his dim mental faculties, but also to his preference to express himself with the spiked club he carried.
“Patience, Boggy,” Embertail replied, “There’s bound to be some lone woodlander nearby, and they always have their homes filled with all sorts of goodies.” Embertail licked at his teeth as he thought about the food he would find. He was just as hungry as Bogfoot, but the fox knew he wouldn’t get far if he listened to his stomach more than his head, and his head told him he needed Bogfoot. Embertail may have had brains, but he was weak compared to other creatures his size. Bogfoot was useful when muscle was needed.
Embertail pawed at the dagger stored in the waistband of his kilt, hoping he’d be able to use it that day.
Around midday, the pair entered a large clearing after following a well-worn trail through the underbrush. They were half-way across when Embertail’s keen eyes spotted someone at the other end. He held out his paw to silently stop his partner and pointed toward the unidentified creature.
Bogfoot untied the club from his belt and weighed it in his paws. Embertail rolled his eyes.
“A little subtlety would be better here, Boggy,” Embertail told his associate. “A single creature will not possess an abundance of food, but I’m sure some precise persuasion will incline him to reveal where some might be.”
Bogfoot thought for a moment. “Wha?” he asked dully.
Embertail huffed. Bogfoot tried his patience at times, but that was the price of an unquestioning minion. “We get them. Force them to take us to where there’s lots of food. Got it?”
Bogfoot nodded. “No clubbin’?”
“Not right now. Maybe later.”
When Embertail and Bogfoot got closer, the identity of the creature became clearer: Mouse. Female. Young.
Remaining silent, the vermin drew closer. Surprising her would give them the advantage.
Half-a-score of paces away, Embertail’s ears perked up. The mousemaid was singing to herself. Her voice was…intoxicating. Listening to her was like soaking in a river on a hot day and sitting by a fire on a cold night, at the same time. It felt like heat was welling up inside of him. He was relaxed and confident. The rest of the world seemed to fade as he continued to slowly step toward the mousemaid until his footpaws came to a halt on their own accord.
Rising, the mousemaid turned around to face Bogfoot and Embertail. “Hello there,” she said, her voice just as hypnotic as her song. “How do you do?”
“Very well, thank you,” Embertail replied cordially. He paused and shook his head, trying to clear the fog that and gathered. What was he doing? He needed to focus.
“What’s a little treat like you doing out here alone?” he looked at the basked the mousemaid carried. “Picking berries for your mama?”
“Indeed I am,” she said sweetly. “Mama makes the most delicious blackberry pies. Though I’m afraid I’ve picked too many berries. Would you gentlebeasts like to have some?”
“Certainly,” Embertail agreed reflexively, the fog filling his mind again as his voice answered on its own, “and maybe afterward we can help with the pie-making.”
“That would be lovely.”
The mousemaid shook the dust and dirt from her dress and stepped toward the fox and the rat with a graceful stride and gentle smile that would have seduced Vulpuz himself. She held the basket out toward them.
“Here you go. Have as many as you like. There are plenty.” She ran a paw down Embertail’s bare chest. “Handsome and strong creatures like yourself need to keep your strength up.”
Embertail shuddered as he felt her claws trailing down his hide. He sampled one of the berries and found it to be the sweetest thing he had ever eaten, as sweet as the mouse’s voice.
Bogfoot and Embertail eagerly dug into the basket of berries, taking a pawful of berries each. After they had each had a few, the mouse placed the basked onto the grass.
“Would you be so kind as to watch my basket for me? All those berries will make you thirsty, so I’ll go get some water from the stream.”
Embertail nodded between mouthfuls and watched as the mousemaid strode away. The berries were so good. He had to have more.
The mousemaid left the clearing and stopped behind a tree and waited. The berries had not been any simple blackberry. A few of them could be used to stop pains, but the pawfuls the vermin were scarfing down…well, they weren’t called graveberries for nothing. In another few minutes, they would fall into a sleep they would never wake up from, ready to be fed upon. The poison running through their veins was of no concern to the mousemaid; no poison could kill a demon.
A second mouse quietly dropped from the tree to stand beside the first, his impact made no sound and barely disturbed the grass. “I love watching you hunt, Rose,” Martin said to her as he smelled the breeze, searching for the scent of the vermins’ blood. “But I still prefer a chase.”
“If you’d prefer, I’ll take them both and you can find one for yourself,” Rose whispered as she nuzzled Martin’s neck, sneaking in an occasional gentle nibble.
“Ha, don’t you know better than to take food from a hungry animal?”
“I think I’ve tamed this animal…or can you resist my voice?”
“I can escape from your influence, yes,” Martin said, “but I could never resist your voice.”
“Flatterer,” Rose teased. “Dinner should be ready by now. You want the fox or the rat?”
“I’ll take whichever you don’t.”
Both vermin were lying dead on the ground, still grasping the berries that had been slowly killing them.
“I’ll admit,” Martin said, “it is rather nice when prey comes to you. Would they have eaten these if you hadn’t suggested it?”
“No, they had their minds on other things.”
“What do they see when you…enthrall them?”
“They still see everything as it is,” Rose smiled, “but their entire focus is on me and listening to what I say. They become highly susceptible to to my commands. They’ll believe anything I say.”
“Would you ever use that on me?” Martin asked as he sat next to the fox, relieving the corpse of the knife in his kilt.
“No,” Rose reached down and massaged Martin’s shoulders. “You’re much more fun when you’re unpredictable.”
Thanks to @raphcrow and @thegoldensoundtwice for encouraging me to post this rather than just letting it sit on google docs getting dusty... besides... it's the perfect time of year
It was dark when he stirred from his hiding spot. Bladgut prefered it that way. Darkness meant no burning sun to hurt his eyes, and no busybodies searching around battlegrounds for loved ones. He could return to his master’s army without fear of being caught out in the open. All he had to do was follow the trail of magik, then by the next morning he’d surely be back safe and sound amongst the horde. It was a routine he’d performed many times before; hide underground when the fighting gets bad only to emerge later and rejoin the others. There were always enough new recruits that he could easily slip in unnoticed.
It wasn’t until he was deep in the forest, struggling through underbrush and weeds that he realized something wasn’t right. His master never went anywhere without his horde, and yet there was little evidence of anybeast passing through. Surely his master had not abandoned the horde. The farther he traveled, the more Bladgut felt that something was not right, and he was certain his master must be close by. The scent of wild magiks surrounded him now even thicker than it had lain on the battlefield, almost as tangible as the moonlight filtering through the trees above. He struggled through the underbrush, panic welling up inside him. And then suddenly it was over.
He had emerged into a small clearing, filled with gentle moonlight. A small waterfall fed a crystal pool on the other edge of the space, and the ground was carpeted with thick grass. Bladgut blinked. Curled in the grass at the edge of the water lay a mousemaid, fast asleep. She was a pretty little thing, sleeping there without a care in the world.
She must be under a charm, Bladgut decided, for how else could she sleep cloaked in such dense magik. His master must have set a trap to catch fresh food. He laughed with relief at the thought. Of course, that was why the trail had not been wide. His master had left a trap full of magik, that must have been why it overpowered the real trail. All Bladgut had to do now was continue down the path, which he was sure started again on the other side of the clearing, until he found where his master had rejoined the horde. He was halfway across the clearing when the mousemaid stirred in her sleep. He glanced at her. If she was caught in his master’s trap then trying to do anything to her was clearly out of the question, but perhaps a simple look wouldn’t hurt. It would certainly be something to brag about when he returned to camp. He turned toward the mousemaid.
“The next step you take will be your last.”
Bladgut stopped in his tracks as the voice echoed around the clearing, reverberating off the magik in the air. He looked beyond the maid to the edge of the pool where the shadows fell thick at the forest’s edge. His mouth ran dry.
Two eyes the color of blood stared out at him from the deep shadows. The creature moved and a stray sliver of moonlight glinted off metal.
Bladgut swallowed hard. He was not sure who the creature was, but he was certain that this was not his master. He tried to speak, but found that his tongue no longer worked.
The creature stepped closer until he stood above the maid. It was a mouse of average height and stocky build. His eyes, set into a hollow face, took on an eerie glow in the moonlight. He stood over the maid with sword drawn, silently daring Bladgut to make a sound.
Bladgut sobbed pitifully. It was not his master’s trail he had been following. This mouse reeked of wild magik, as did his sword, across the blade of which ran a line of runes so ancient they could no longer be read. The blade was easily as long as the mouse was tall, yet he carried it in a single paw as though it were a mere feather
The mouse sighed, lifting his sword and testing the edge against a paw pad. He glanced at Bladgut before looking down at the maid. “Do us both a favor,” he said, his voice quiet but commanding, “Try not to scream to loudly. I’d hate for you to wake her up before she’s ready.”
Bladgut sobbed again, tears streaming down his face as his searched desperately for a way out. There was none.
The mouse sighed again, this time rolling his eyes in Bladgut’s direction. “Well rat, are you going to stand there all night?”
Bladget turned and ran. He did not get far.
Martin walked over to the carcass of the slain rat and carefully removed the demon charm that still hung around the remains of its neck. He stared at it for a moment, mildly amused that the rat had carried such a useless thing for protection. It took only a moment to crush the stone to bits, and another moment longer to repair the small amount of damage done to his shielding charm. With the spell firmly back in place, Martin returned to his spot at the forest’s edge to continue watching for intruders. He was tired from the battle, and a wound in his side was begining to itch terribly, but he would not leave his post while his lady slept. He would wait for her to wake before sleeping, and then they would carry on until they found their next battle.
As he settled back into the cool darkness once more, Martin hoped that the next battle would offer a more talented foe, or at least something better than the last lot. Master of Darkness indeed. The fox couldn’t have had more than two score followers with him, and he was no master of any kind. Martin glanced once more at the carcass of the rat and allowed himself a hollow laugh. How the ninny had mistaken the residue of Martin and Rose’s trail for that of his master, Martin would never know. But as annoying as the rat had been, he’d be useful too. Rose did enjoy having a snack ready to go when she woke up, after all.
