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*****

(H/** 07/23/2013)

There was a long silence after Brother Fenimore's question. After all, it might have been a mere rhetorical device.

["Myself, mine heart bleeds. Have you forgotten the tongue of ancestors and kin?"]

["It is true that I, myself, have not. True for telling that I, myself, have pondered how to address you, for you are not blood to mine."]

["Do you have a warrant to arrest me, little brother?"]

["I, myself, will carry out the duties that are my burden in the time and fashion that I, myself, shall choose."]

["Perhaps you require assistance in formulating the charges? True for telling, there are three counts of assault upon the body..."]

["It is true that there are only two."]

["I, myself, deny the truth and accuracy of what you relate. You have not found the third fur I have struck."]

["Have you struck a fur in the Vestry, then?"]

["It is true that I, myself, have done so. Pray no further interruptions, while I relate to you the catalogue of the crimes of myself. Further to what I have related is an assault upon a royal officer. Then there is, true for telling, theft."]

At this, Brother Fenimore smiled, and patted the Casket upon which he sat.

["Know the truth of what I, myself, tell you, that myself is sitting upon in the more or less of twenty pounds of the rock used by the worshipers of Fuma."]

["And you are not a worshiper of Fuma?"]

["It is true, little brother, that I, myself, am no longer a worshiper of the goddess known as Fuma."]

["And yet, you are wearing the habit of Her servants. And furthermore, you are resident in Her shelter."]

["You speak truth, little brother."]

["And is that not the speaking of falsehoods, and not the living of falsehoods additionally?"]

Brother Fenimore lifted his muzzle and gave a disdainful sniff. ["True for telling it is highly convenient that the usurpers of Albric Tor -- nay, stay your paw, I shall return to the subject I have just related -- the rule that the usurpers of Albric Tor have promulgated, and have enforced lo these many years. A sweet chain, wrought of the flowers of the field, but a chain binding one nonetheless."]

["Know that I, myself, express disagreement with you."]

["If you like, little brother. To resume: I, myself, feel no guilt in turning the instruments of the worship of a false goddess against her adherents. I, myself, serve a greater truth. The truth of which I, myself, speak trumps the false truth imposed by the usurper Thorwald."]

["Usurpation requires a force to be usurped."]

["True for telling. Stand still, little brother -- I, myself, see you inching closer and desire thee approach no further. Gramercy, little brother. Now. What is the homeland we share?"]

["Elfhame."]

["Elfhame. The home of the Elves. It is from OUR valleys, OUR forests, OUR hearths that the Elven race sprang. It is WE who tamed fire, WE who first planted the flowering plant and tree, and WE, WE who first realized the great forces that could be harnessed by the will and Talent of a fur."]

Brother Fenimore rose to his hooves, leaned on the Casket with one paw, and struck his chest for emphasis with each shouted word.

["Such is legend. I, myself, heard this as a fawn upon my hearth."]

My interlocutor frowned and pointed a shaking finger at me.

["It is the deliberate smudging of the truth to call what occurred in the Long Ago by the comely name "legend." Legend! The furs who walked Elfhame, who ploughed its fields, who fell in love and gave birth to families, they were not mythical beasts, but FLESH AND BLOOD!"]

["I, myself, certainly believe the blood. Witness your blood from your antler-stumps."]

He ignored that one and continued with his history lesson. Or what was, at least, history in his own mind. ["Know that it is true that the furs of Elfhame were lovers of peace! Living in harmony not only with the Great Forces of Nature, but with others! Even those not Blessed with Gifts. It was WE, the furs of Elfhame, who taught the others of Faerie to harness the Great Forces."]

["In the Long Ago."]

["In the Long Ago. Until the Coming of the Skunks."]

Here, the whitetail buck straightened up, and began to shout, clenching his fists.

["They rode forth from these hills, the hills of Albric Tor. Bearing in one paw the sword or fire-brand. Bearing in the other paw the holy symbols of their goddess, the goddess they called Fuma."]

A glare. ["Came they to the Vale of Elfhame. Without pity, without sense of old or young, cripple or hale fur in the prime of life, the Coming of the Skunks brought death. The places of worship were pulled down, the stocks of food stolen. And yet you, little brother, wish to arrest I, myself, for the theft of a box full of gas-bearing rocks?"]

["It is true, that you speak of ancient history, past many generations."]

A sneer. ["Think you so, little brother? Yes, the Coming of the Skunks to the Vale of Elfhame is many, many generations past. But the crimes of those that worship Fuma did not cease when the last of the native holy symbols was sprayed upon and trampled in the mire. Know, KNOW that it is true that for years uncounted, the furs of the Vale have been squandered, USED like beasts of burden, for the pride and glory of the Skunks of Albric Tor."]

A pounding of the lid of the Casket. ["Is it not true, little brother, that you have seen the memorial to our kin in their "Hall of Ancestors?!"] The name was screamed out with spittle. ["Hall of Ancestors," indeed, as if they truly cared for the thousands of mine and your kin that have fallen in the name of Fuma and Albric Tor! Blood sacrifices to their goddess! And for what? WHAT?"]

He pointed a finger at me. ["Deny the truth of what I, myself, say: that the fountain of our blood, our spirit today is forlorn, trampled, silent and abandoned, because of the Skunks, and their goddess. Do you deny it?"]

["I, myself, deny your argument."]

There was a long pause after this, and Brother Fenimore dropped his voice to a hush. ["Tragic and heart-breaking it is to hear such words, little brother. You have had your mind poisoned beyond hope of redemption?"]

I gripped my short-staff, and stared right back in his crazed eyes. ["Know the truth of what I, myself, say, perjurer. The heart of myself is placed and always will be placed within the paws of Fuma, to deal with as She sees fit. I, myself, care not for your wild tales, proceeding from a fever-oppressed brain."]

I would really, really like to think at that moment there was a brief flaring of the Elf-light in the vast chamber. The fact that I may not have been imagining it totally came from the fact that Brother Fenimore shifted his eyes from left to right, before grinning nastily at me.

["Say you so, little brother? Say you so? Then I, myself, shall be sure that you see ALL of the little plan that I, myself, have for your goddess."]

["Would it not behoove you, perjurer, to murder those above us?"]

["Hah! Your words, little brother, show that you have an ignorance-clouded mind. Posit: I, myself, use the rocks in this box to kill the bloated wreck that is your master, and the false prophet in white, and the host of gibbering fools in brown. Perhaps I even bring down the building above us. What then? There are other skunks, other masons, other fools to mouth prayers."]

There was a nasty smile. ["The researches, little brother, that I, myself, have conducted suggest another path. Is it not true that the source of the legitimacy of the Skunks of Albric Tor is here? Here, where yourself and myself stand?']

I didn't answer that question. Even if I remembered what the Marshal had translated from that ancient book. The betting was good that Brother Fenimore had seen, while cataloguing the books of the Cathedral Library, similar books of a similar vintage. It might have well sent a fragile mind over the edge, with lurid fantasies of injustice.

["You know the truth of what I, myself, relate, little brother. Why else would there not be a ward upon the mouth of the crypt, wrought long ago by mephit paws to preserve their secret, in the event of failure? It is amusing, is it not, that I, myself, have hoist the Skunks by their own petard? The clever little puzzle of their chapel. Does it not speak to their food-and-wine sotted brains that no fur could figure it out, but I, myself?"]

["You speak the breath of an unfeed lawyer; pompous gibberish. How else am I, myself, down here?"]

He ignored that little dig. ["Ah, little brother, you doubt there is failure, failure of their goddess? Consider: the first of those who worshiped the volcano goddess, they asserted their right because it was they, and only they, who could interpret for simple souls the hissing of gas within the rocks. And when they breathed deep of the vapours, their crazed ranting was seen as wisdom. And it was this so-called wisdom that was spread throughout Faerie to the detriment of those who would peacefully worship in other modes. Now: thee may think that I, myself, am mad. Posit that I, myself, AM mad. What of it? Examine yourself, little brother. Breathe. Breathe deep of the air of this chamber. Fill your lungs!"]

I did, and got a nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was indeed here, where the Goddess was said to dwell, but I was not raving, I heard no escaping gas, and the smell of sulfur was indeed faint.

["Behold, I shout the truth! The so-called goddess Fuma lies upon her death-bed! It is I, myself, who shall deal the final blow to her. And when she perishes, so shall perish the legitimacy of the Skunks of Albric Tor and their mighty works. Soon, all shall collapse and grow dark, even as they did to our people! And YOU, YOU shall witness this! In the end, the Skunks of Albric Tor chose ironically: they have chosen YOU to watch your own kin, from your own homeland, revenge himself. In the name of all of Elfhame who have died, crushed beneath the footpads of the Skunks of Albric Tor, I, myself, avenge you!"]

With that, he kicked open the casket with his hooves, pulled out a large flask of liquid with one paw, and with a fluid motion of another paw accompanied by an incantation in Elfhamian, brought forth a greenish fire.

The act of kicking open the casket gave me the only opportunity that I had: it both placed him somewhat off-balance, and spilled the some of the rocks of the casket into a pile.

I closed my eyes and put my faith in Fuma as to what I was about to do.

I took two bounds forward, tucked one hoof under my body, and slid hard into the Casket. As I did so, I thrust my short-staff blindly forward, as hard as I could.

The Casket itself slammed into Brother Fenimore's shins, and completed the act of losing balance, an act hastened by his attempt to evade the staff-thrust. He fell to the stone floor of the bridge with a crash accompanied by the musical tinkle of a glass bottle shattering.

I almost followed the Casket over the edge of the bridge. I had a brief vision of the box scattering its contents into the blue light, before it dropped out of sight. I dropped the staff, and grabbed with both paws on the edge of the stone, with my hooves dangling I don't know how high above the ground level. I certainly didn't hear the Casket hit.

What I did hear was a piercing, echoing scream. I lifted myself up just enough to see what might literally have been described as an unholy sight.

The bottle of liquid that Brother Fenimore had been holding was almost certainly Reagent, or something similar. It must have soaked the rocks when it fell, dripping, from the broken vessel. And there was, as I related, the natural fire cradled within one of his paws.

Brother Fenimore, from the jagged roots of his hacked-off antlers, to the very tips of his hooves, was covered in a fiercely burning fire. I think his last, conscious act might have been to turn toward me. And in the blue flames, you could pick out, very easily, a pair of maddened red eyes and a red tongue screaming betrayal.

The whitetail buck lurched toward me, arms outstretched as if to embrace me. But there, life failed him, and he toppled over the edge of the stone bridge. Resisting my fears, I looked over my shoulder to follow the sight of his fire-drenched form falling through the abyss, until it fell out of sight.

Breathing heavily, and with my arms (metaphorically) on fire from hanging onto the precipice, I hauled myself over the edge, and rolled to where I had dropped my staff. Re-holstering my staff in its sling, I rested on all fours, panting like my feral kin. I took long, gulping breaths of air to try to calm my nerves.

It wasn't until my heart rate had slowed down slightly that I realized something very odd. Well, actually, two things.

One, it was a lot brighter in the cavern that it had been just a few minutes previously.

Two, I was gulping in large quantities of sulfur-laden air, and my head was starting to spin.