Sacrifices
Author's Note: the following is a work of furry fiction. As such, it may contain acts of yiffery, two males in a relationship, vague references to the Renaissance, transformation and unresolved endings. If any of this is not suited to your tasted, click away and begone. Otherwise, read and enjoy.
Many thanks to the staff of Further Confusion '06 for letting me stretch my short-fiction legs.
Sacrifices ©MMVI Whyte Yoté
The soft sounds of gentle but insistent scratching at the door rousted Alain from the light slumber in which he had been so wonderfully wrapped. First to remind him of the waking world, besides the noise from outside, was the pesky draft behind the bed, right at the far corner of the tiny cottage that continually assaulted his exposed fur. This made for light sleep, and the slightest of noise could disturb even the deepest dream. But for the already-high strung weasel, tonight, there had been no dreams, while he waited.
Pulling the thick top-blanket around his narrow torso, Alain padded over the floor (fortunately he had gotten used to its perpetual lack of heat, even in summertime) and put an inquisitive ear to the thick wood. "Who's out there?" he called, trying to feign a strength not normally in his voice. His inquiry was answered only by more scratching. Satisfied, the weasel opened up to the severe winter outside.
The strong wind that had been blowing earlier, the same wind that had originally lulled Alain to sleep, was gone for the most part, replaced by snow falling thick on an already deeply-powdered ground. Directly in front of him, sitting on its haunches, was a black wolf with yellow eyes. A plain sight in his coloration, he was a rarity in his appearance at the front door of a civilized residence. Yet Alain merely stepped to the side and let the creature in.
"You're late," he said to the wolf, trying to mask relief with irritation. The feral creature didn't appear to have listened, having moved to the center of the woven rug covering a small portion of the earthen floor, its head lowered in concentration. As Alain watched from a safe distance, the wolf began to glow a dull green, seemingly gathering energy from the air around it. An unearthly heat filled the small space, and the feral lupine began to transform. For the sake of saving energy, the change was kept decidedly short, and within half a minute what had entered the cottage on four legs now stood, nude, on two. The wolf stretched his newly-erect body, cracked fresh joints, and promptly began shivering.
"C-could you get me something b-before I freeze to death, Alain?" he asked with the rudimentary slowness of an unused muzzle. The weasel complied, rushing to cover the wolf with his own blanket before gathering another from the bed. Alain admired creatures with the ability to summon Magick; he always had, and that's what had attracted him to the wolf first and foremost. His character had filled in the rest quite nicely. It was the wolf's Magick abilities that made him so important to the Resistance, after all; it was key to overthrowing the anarchic nobility currently sitting in-house.
"Sit down and warm up, Doane, and I'll fix you something warm." Doane nodded and moved to the small table they shared, gathering his blanket close. Alain set about stoking the dying embers to boil a little water, gathering a few fragrant leaves and berries in a sheep stomach, tying it closed and setting it in the water for tea. "What happened tonight? I thought the plans were finalized. Is something amiss?"
Doane sighed heavily as the room became lit, little by little, from the growing fire. "'Amiss' doesn't even come close. The coup is compromised. The royals know."
Alain started, turning to face the wolf with disbelief painting the various browns of his face. "How can that be? There's no way that could happen, unless one of your group was a traitor."
"No, all of our members are loyal," said Doane, his ears forward in truth. "It turns out a guard just happened to hear someone's drunk ramblings about a plan to overthrow the king, a good part of acting done too convincingly, and he quickly told all his highly-paid friends, who told His Royal Highness. Now our spies in the high houses tell us they're waiting for our strike, to decimate the lot of us. We have no choice but to indulge them and hope for the best." The weasel had been patient and quiet, monitoring the herbal tea's progress by scent as he listened to Doane's words, trying to keep his expression neutral as his stomach did cartwheels. This did not bode well. They had been hoping for an easy solution, but now...
The wolf seemed to withdraw inward, as if in contemplation of a problem more difficult than he had ever come across before. Scents of elderberry, mint and cinnamon, long-stored for months now, drifted from the fire to fill the modest house, giving it an inviting air that didn't match the conversation. Alain took a ceramic mug, filled it with steaming liquid, and gave it to the wolf, who sipped at it thankfully.
It's wonderful, Alain. You make the best teas." That was Doane, always with something positive to say in the face of adversity. The tea would make him come to his senses and think about things. Good food and drink had their own Magickal abilities, at times, and Alain was a master at both.
"Thank you. Honestly, though, I don't think it wise to do exactly what they expect you to do. Puts you at a disadvantage, like walking into a trap." The weasel put his paws into the wolf's larger ones, only to have Doane pull them back. Alain saw the white flash of bared fangs.
"That won't work!" he snapped. "We've been planning this coup for a year now, Alain! It's been too long in coming to just scrap it and start over." As he talked, his paws wrung together. He was nervous; didn't like talking about such worrisome things with his weasel. Continuing, his voice subdued, "It won't do any good making the kingdom of Caledonia, and the rest of this damn country, suffer for another year. There is too much riding on our success. For the good of the many." The bitterness there was unmistakable, but regret was nowhere to be sensed.
Alain winced at hearing the same old speech he'd heard so many times before. It was difficult enough worrying about Doane using his gifts for good. One spell, miscast or misplaced, could cost a life, but since the Resistance, mostly shape-shifters as well, were planning a multitude of strong castings at once, the chance of fatality was much greater. The worry must have been evident on his face, because Doane's eyes fell to his tea.
The wolf spoke, "King Guillaume is insane, Alain. He's an insane megalomaniac bent on total domination of this Kingdom. He ousted Rondo. He killed Thormir as far as we can tell, because we still haven't found any sign. He made himself king, raised taxes, and set about making a monopoly of Caledonia. He bribes the guards and his royal entourage. Nothing but puppets, all of them, now. Is that the life you really want to live?"
"We can move," pleaded the weasel, trying for Doane's paws again, and he succeeded. Desperation hadn't been a part of the picture until now, when the life of the lupine he loved was very much at risk. Doane squeezed him tightly. He was begging now, but softly. It was like trying to melt ice with more ice. "We can get out of this wretched place and be done with it forever. We can finally have a life."
"You know as well as I we're too deeply involved to quit. Don't tell me you didn't realize the gravity of this until just now. The lives and livelihood of Caledonia depend on us. It's the eleventh hour, and we...we strike at dawn."
"I--Doane, no..." The wolf was not lying. Conviction bathed the room in its scent. This was not according to plan. Of course Alain knew the gravity of it all; he'd been living the gravity for almost a year up to now. The Resistance had been quick to form among the Magick elite, and recruiting was swift and plentiful. But now...all the plotting had gone afoul. Sacrifices were to be made in order to take the evil nobility by surprise, to kill Guillaume and replace him with someone more altruistic to the kingdom's needs instead of his own. But what would it accomplish by rushing into a trap they knew was there? "I think you should at least stay the night and gather your thoughts."
The look on the wolf's muzzle said it all. In fact, now that he saw closer into those mesmerizing yellow eyes, he could see they were slightly bloodshot, with the beginnings of wrinkles around them, his still-beautiful face beginning to fray at the edges. No one deserved such stress, but Doane brought it all upon himself, for the sake of others. That was the size of his heart, to a fault. For the first time Alain realized the wolf was not totally his, mateship or no. Doane belonged to his heart, too, and no amount of pleading from the weasel could dissuade a heart's true calling. Destiny was too strong a force, even for love.
"You know that's not my decision to make. Everyone thinks we're rattled by the news. If we strike just before dawn there is little chance anyone could get organized enough to stop the assassination of the king. Getting in is easy; getting out may be impossible. It may become a suicide mission." Doane remained still as he talked, trying to keep emotion from the words. Alain's stoic gaze was infinitely difficult to fake, and the smell of fear on him belied that gaze.
"I see," said the weasel, almost whispering. "Do you want more tea?" The wolf shook his shaggy head, ebony locks falling askew over his shoulders.
"I'm afraid I have to go now. We must discuss new strategies until dawn, with our plans dashed like this. Chances are I'll be on the front lines, with my casting experience. The shape-shifters have speed and agility on their side. Alain, I--I don't know if I'll be coming back."
"I know," said the weasel before he thought about it, which meant he had known about that eventuality in some form or another. At times, alone with his thoughts, it was inevitable. But accepting it was another matter entirely. And being forced to think about it now tore at his heart. "Sometimes I challenge the worth of my meeting you, wolf. I mean, us...we--" his paws pressed deep into that shaggy black chestfur-- "are not standard. That's why I love you so much. You take something abnormal and mold it till it's workable. You make me feel useful."
Doane waved him off. "Now is not the time to bring up the past, love. What about the future? I don't like you suffering under an evil rule, just like I don't like anyone suffering. My abilities call me to a duty that requires all of me. It may consume me. But if I succeed, things will be better for you. For all of us. You know there are risks. I have to do this." The lupine clutched his weasel's paws with a slight tremble. He was frightened deeply; Alain could feel Magick flowing through their auras, a great internal power storing energy for the battle to come. But he was smiling too.
"And I respect you all the more. You are the best thing to happen to me. You took me this far, and I intend to go to the ends of the earth with you. Even if the ends of the earth are approaching at this late hour. I suppose it's in God's paws."
"Yes, but which God?"
Alain smiled, hopeful. "Whichever God the current nobility happens to like," he said, and they both chuckled.
"Doane, please be careful." Tears threatened the edges of the weasel's vision, but he wouldn't let his mate see him weak like this. He smiled wider, and they flowed anyway. Doane quickly wiped them with soft pads and kissed his mate's forehead. They both knew it was all the reassurance Alain needed. "Sorry...thanks."
"Don't be."
"You had better get going. They're expecting you."
The wolf took his cue and stood, doffing the blanket once again. It wasn't such a big deal this time, as the boiling tea had warmed the cottage quite well in the last quarter-hour. His ebony fur glistened in the firelight, shiny with anticipation and latent power, and again Alain saw the same wolf who had caught his eye just a few years ago...a lifetime ago. It was that drive, that dedication to his craft and the willingness to use it nobly, that had made him the luckiest person in the world.
And now he had to let that go into the paws of Fate. For the greater good.
The weasel met Doane halfway to the door, and embraced him, even as the wolf began gathering energy for the transformation. Little green glowlights flitted and swirled around them ethereally; the air crackled minutely. "I l--" started Alain, but his declaration was interrupted by the touch of soft lips to his. They shared a simple kiss; Alain felt Doane's muzzle growing smaller even as the wolf broke away and shrank to the floor, unable to keep his balance. The weasel followed him down until he was again a mere wolf, panting in the warmth and seeming to smile a doggedly knowing smile.
"Do your best, wolf. I know you will. Come back to me." Alain buried his snout in the bushy pelt, memorizing the scent until the wolf began fidgeting nervously. He let go, and Doane merely trotted to the doorway, then took off running into the snow, a black blur disappearing amongst a sea of white. The weasel returned to bed, his mind surprisingly untroubled and found sleep once again, quickly, waiting for morning to deliver its absolution.
FIN
1/21-1/22/06