~ Chapter 27: The Predator Strait ~

Something was wrong in Lurren, Erasmus could feel it. To his soothers’ senses, it felt like bitterness and despair wafting above them, collecting like smoke in a house. He and Breeze walked, Fenton a few feet behind steering Marlough. Erasmus had Abigail snug in her sling on his back.

Lurren was the last town on their journey before reaching Astmoor. A medium-sized fishing and trade village, it was a long stretch of buildings built over layered hills on the Alavakian coast. The denizens of the area survived mostly off of fish and ferry-costs, bringing travellers over the Predator Strait – a small sliver of ocean that divided Astmoor from the mainland. Istren was the capital of Astmoor, and the home of the Unshakeable Emperor Kinborough. A smaller landing town was technically closer though, laying on the outskirts of the Astmoor coast. It was called Triad’s Grace, and it served as an auxiliary town to the huge bay Istren was nestled defensively into.

As the three crested a hill, Erasmus swallowed. Travellers on the road had claimed that on a clear day, a keen-eyed fellow could just make out Triad’s Grace through the hazy distance. Today it was easy.

Triad’s Grace was burning.

“This isn’t good.” Erasmus said, if only to break the awkward silence. Two weeks since they’d found Richeleau and Estrion, and things still hadn’t returned to normal. He couldn’t help himself from flinching when Breeze turned to him, from shuddering when the wolf touched his sword. Every night his dreams were filled with memories, of Niverron, of Nail, and of Breeze.

“Guess the Union beat us there.” Fenton said, sighing.

“The Union isn’t strong enough for a full-scale invasion.” Erasmus said. “This is something else.”

“Ain’t many other contenders for invasion. Take a look down there.” Breeze said, motioning down the hill. At the base of the gentle hill, a long oared ferryboat had docked at the wharf. As Erasmus watched, he saw burly men crying out orders, throwing about ropes and freight, and a few moments later a thick plank of wood fell between the ferry and the dock. The otter expected to see merchants, or maybe politicians or something. The men who limped and crawled and were carried off were soldiers, wearing Astmoor colours. “Damn it.” Breeze hissed.

“Those men...” Erasmus began. He spotted one, shaking from the first signs of plague, a bandage wrapped tight around his head. They were all maimed and mutilated, some burnt, some appearing dead. “What does it mean?”

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Breeze grunted, starting off again.

“I mean, what does it mean for us?” Erasmus asked. “If the Union has somehow invaded...”

“I thought they couldn’t invade?” Breeze hissed, glancing back. He gestured at Abigail. “Isn’t that what this is all about?”

“We should talk to those men.” Fenton said, dropping off the wagon and joining the other two. “They might be able to explain. Could be the whole city fell to plague, could be Union, could be somethin’ else.”

“Fuck.” Breeze growled, sagging back against a wall. He bent at the hips, massaging his knee. He was walking alright now, but he still had a limp, and Erasmus knew the wound pained him. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I think Fenton’s idea is good.” Erasmus said carefully. “We talk to the men coming off that boat, and see what it is exactly they’re fleeing.”

“And what about her?” Breeze asked, looking to the pup on Erasmus’s chest. The otter cocked an eyebrow questioningly. Breeze cleared his throat. “Won’t risk it again. Losing her.”

“They aren’t going to know who she is.” Erasmus said slowly, glancing to Fenton. “The only people who know about her existence, other than her mother, is Claude and Roland.”

“Fine.” Breeze said, pushing off the wall and making for the refugees. “Let’s go talk.”

Erasmus blinked, exchanged a look with Fenton, and then followed. The Doberman stayed with the horse, promising to keep an eye out.

Erasmus watched Breeze’s uneven gait from behind. He didn’t know what to do. He still felt things for Breeze, nothing would change that, but he was also terrified of the wolf. The person he’d seen choking Richeleau to death, the person that disembowelled Estrion – that hadn’t been some plague or trauma-induced persona. That was Breeze, he just hadn’t seen it before.

Was it you all along? Erasmus thought, following. He wanted to save Breeze from this, damn it, he would save Breeze from this. The wolf was trapped in an unending cycle without realising it, and eventually it was going to get him killed.

Unless Erasmus could rescue him.

A plan began to form. Erasmus knew what they had to do. They had to get out of this war. The hundred was never going to end, or if it did, the Union would just start another immediately after it. Breeze didn’t understand the history, the legacy of warfare. The world had grown fat on the wartime economy, and Ferrin had thousands of citizens who knew nothing but war. The greatest efforts in the world couldn’t pivot a whole society’s output that quickly.

This land is tainted red. The otter thought. And the only way to save ourselves, is to leave it behind. He gritted his teeth, following Breeze around to the side of the refugee camp. I’ll get you out.

The little area the men were being set up in wasn’t guarded. It looked like a freight yard that had been filled with tents and sickbeds. Breeze and Erasmus just walked right through, heads held high, as if they were supposed to be there.

“Breeze.” Ras called, and the wolf looked back. Erasmus waved for him to follow, then crept up to a small canvas tent at the right. As he approached, Erasmus could hear slight moans of pain from within, quiet mutterings, hissings. The sounds of a man in great pain. The broad bitter cloud in the air grew to a sharp point in his peripheral emotions, like a thorn, rubbing against his senses. He could feel this man’s anguish, the pain and insanity eating away at his mind.

He stepped in first, Breeze close behind. They had to shuffle awkwardly inside, there was very little room to move about. The soldier in question was a lithe brown fox. He laid on a coat, his clothing drenched in who-knew-what, the interior stinking of rot. He clutched an arm that ended at the elbow to his chest, the bandages old and soaked with blood.

“I didn’t... I didn’t want, I kept... I asked... please.” He whispered the words in hushed tones, as if talking to someone. His condition wasn’t immediately life-threatening, and so the young man had been pushed to a far tent and forgotten by the triage medics.

Erasmus knelt by his head, and Breeze waddled over, bearing down on him. Despite being a fox, he wore Astmoor colours, perhaps some kind of auxiliary unit?

“Can you hear me?” Breeze asked.

The fox started, blinking groggily. He licked his lips, looking between the two with a furrowed brow. “Are... are you there? I don’t.... I can’t...”

“We’re real.” Breeze confirmed. The fox reached his good paw, caked with dirt, up and flexed his fingers. Erasmus took the paw on a whim, squeezing back. The fox smiled, nodding slowly.

“What happened to the city?” Breeze growled, putting his weight on the bed. “Triad’s Grace, it’s on fire.”

“I... no, no-no-no, I won’t.” The fox whispered, shaking his head. “It just hurts so much. It hurts so much.”

Erasmus sighed. “We’re not going to get much--”

He was interrupted as Breeze reached down. With one big paw, he covered the fox’s mouth, and with the other he squeezed the stump. A muffled wail of pain was sent keening through Breeze’s paw, the fox kicking his legs and thrashing.

“Breeze!” Erasmus hissed, still squeezing the fox’s paw.

“What happened?!” The wolf growled. The fox continued to shake and thrash, crying into Breeze’s palm.

Erasmus stood, shoving Breeze back. The wolf wasn’t expecting it, and he rocked back, eyes wide with shock. As soon as his paw came free, the fox was racked with sobs and pleas. “What the hell is wrong with you?” The otter snapped.

“I...” Breeze stopped, as if only just seeing what was happening. “I thought...”

“No, you didn’t think.” Erasmus said, turning away. He knelt by the wounded soldier, again taking his seeking paw, their fingers interlacing. He laid his other paw on the man’s thigh, and started soothing.

“Hey, calm down.” Erasmus said, as he wheedled away the fear and panic. He felt his own heart rate pick up, his nervousness increase. He licked his lips, mouth running dry. He fought a shake that ran through himself. He pushed even more on the man, a dull throb starting up in the otter’s arm. Physical wounds were harder to soothe than negative emotions, but Erasmus betted that some relief was better than none. “Listen to me.”

“Hello?” The fox said, suddenly sounding much more lucid. Erasmus could feel the jaws of plague on his mind, snapping away at the edges of his thoughts. It wasn’t a real infection he was feeling, just a phantom copy caused by the soothing, but it was the same kind of sensation – a disquieting sense of unease and unreality. It would only get worse for the fox though. In a week he wouldn’t be able to tell time, words would swim for him, he’d mistake peoples’ identities, and see those from his childhood moving around him. Shadows would stalk him, living memories of violence and bloodshed. He’d be filled with rage, and then sadness, and then despair. He’d want to kill himself. He’d think he was some kind of messiah. He’d see bugs burrowing beneath his skin, swarming under him, and he’d scratch them until he bled, and then keep going. All the while he’d soil himself and bleed, until the medics called it as too far gone and burned him. It was a terrible way to die.

Will we ever be rid of this? Erasmus wondered. Scholars and weirmothers alike claimed the madness plague was born of the hundred-year war. They said the sheer amount of death and violence from a century of warfare had unleashed this pseudo-magical sickness on the world. Priests claimed it was a punishment from the Triumvirate, no doubt Astmoor had their own superstitions. Nobody knew for certain. But would ending the war put a cork in the bottle? Was it that simple? I don’t think so.

“Hello, friend.” Erasmus said softly to the fox. “What’s your name?”

“I... I...” The man struggled, his maw opening and closing several times, as if he couldn’t quite recall the exact syllables. “I am Terosha.” He spoke in Union common, matching Erasmus. His accent was harsh and clipped, but he was definitely comprehendible.

“Terosha, I am Erasmus. I’m soothing you, so you can feel a moment of peace.”

“Thank you.” Terosha whispered, tears welling in his eyes. “It was so bad. You don’t know. So bad. I never thought it would come this far.”

Erasmus nodded, examining the man. He paused, was man the right descriptor?

“Terosha... how old are you?”

“I’m nineteen, sir.” The fox said, but he looked quickly away, and Erasmus felt the spike of panic in the fox’s chest.

“I’m not here to court martial a wounded man.” He said. “How old?”

“Sixteen.”

Erasmus cursed. Barely more than a boy.

“Is that what the Emperor has resorted to? Enlisting children?” Breeze growled, and as he spoke Erasmus felt the pit of woe in Terosha eclipse his own ability.

“Breeze, can you please shut up?” The otter said testily. He paused, turning back to the boy. He waited while Terosha composed himself, feeling the dread settled into a more manageable form of anxiety.

“You’re not Astmooran.” The fox mewled.

“No, we’re not.” Erasmus admitted, smiling. “Tell me. What happened in the city, how did you become so injured?”

“I...” Terosha’s head lolled back, and he let out a deep exhale. “I was at Triad’s Grace. It was dawn. We didn’t expect them. They... they came up from the southern bay, over the rocks, not from the sea. Savages, madmen. Wolves and bears.”

That doesn’t sound like the Union. Erasmus thought. Of course, the Ferrin military employed soldiers of all walks, but nobody would look at their ranks and think them an army made primarily of wolves and bears.

“They told us Nurjan had fallen. The Union killed him, took back their city.”

Erasmus blinked. “They took back Niverron?” He glanced back to Breeze, who had gone very still. If the Union really had killed Nurjan, the momentum of such a victory might have been enough to send them across the Maw and into Astmoor.

“How?” Erasmus asked Terosha, squeezing harder on his paw. “Do you know how they took the city back?”

“A new army.” Terosha said. “Savages. Madmen. They just... that’s what they’re saying, too strong. They’ve taken Triad’s Grace, took it easy.” The fox stopped, sniffling. “Our temples. The Infinite’s church... they burned the cathedral. I saw it, as we sailed away, I saw it burning. Why would they do that?”

“It’s alright.” Erasmus said, tapping his thigh. So these soldiers had been stationed at Triad’s Grace. He assumed the Emperor had pulled back the majority of his forces to Istren, pulled back his best wolves too no doubt, preparing the capital for an extended siege. It suddenly made sense that the boy was a fox – he was simply a reserve unit, called up to guard the walls of his town because somebody had to. The otter felt a stab of anger. Kinborough had been shaken. He’d left this boy and his friends to die, and in their panic they fled to Alavakia.

“Where did they get this new army?” Erasmus asked. “Has Alavakia entered the war? Or even Lyskirk? Do you know? Did you hear any rumours?”

“No, I don’t. They just... I don’t know.” The boy was losing consciousness. He was completely exhausted.

“I do.” Breeze said, from behind. Erasmus turned to glare, but the wolf had already left the tent.

Triumvirate damn that man. Erasmus thought. He looked back at Terosha, wishing he could do something. He had nothing to give, nothing to spare. Soothing was only a temporary fix, a patch put on to hide the pain. It didn’t cure anything.

He dug beneath the man’s bed, finding a small – and perhaps forgotten – roll of bandage. With some soft words, he undid the fox’s wound. Erasmus flinched as he saw aching red veins, pus leaking freely, the bone still exposed. If the plague didn’t kill Terosha, this wound soon would. Still, a small bit of kindness might help ease his anguish, and so the otter put a brave face on and began to wrap the wound again. Terosha laid there quietly, and nodded his thanks when it was done.

“I’m sorry this happened to you.” Erasmus whispered, pulling away. As he stood to leave, Terosha’s paw shot out, grabbing his wrist with fervent energy.

“Wait. Wait.” The boy gasped, swallowing. “Please. Tell my mother she was right. Tell her I didn’t... please tell her she was right.”

Erasmus paused, then nodded. “I... will.”

Placid calm swam across the fox’s face, and he fell back, eyes glazing over listlessly as he relaxed back in the cot.

With a stab of guilt, Erasmus followed after Breeze.

~ X ~

Dawn broke. Erasmus crawled from his tent, hefting Abigail in his arms. It felt good to have her back, he couldn’t deny that. Somehow, the pup felt... right, in his arms. He smiled. Cold touched his edges, and he blinked at the blurry grey morning. They’d made camp on a hill overlooking Lurren, the grass dewy and wet beneath his feet. The morning sun felt nice on his fur, and Erasmus took a moment to drink it in.

Moving groggily, Erasmus changed the pup, and set to find her some food. He instead came across Breeze, sitting on a log overlooking the strait, his reclaimed sword balanced on his knees. The wolf worked at polishing it, wiping oil down the face, rhythmic in the work.

They hadn’t really talked after the visit with Terosha. They met back with Fenton and found the spot for camp, and by the time Erasmus got Abigail to settle, Breeze was asleep.

Erasmus had been hoping that Terosha would say something to shake some awareness into Breeze. He’d hoped that the wolf would see the pointlessness of going to Istren now. The Union would win the war, and if they didn’t, the losses would be so severe that Astmoor surely would. Ferrin had invaded Astmoor, no pup would stop that.

Instead, the wolf seemed more committed than ever. His paws worked methodically, his eyes locked on the horizon, morning mist obscuring the black hole that was left of Triad’s Grace.

“Breeze.” Erasmus said, stopping just behind him. Abigail must be hungry, but this was important. Erasmus soothed her, letting the pup fall into a gentle nap in his arms.

“It’s Slaugh.” Breeze said.

“What?” Erasmus glanced around them. They were alone on the hill.

Breeze looked back once, sighed, then returned his gaze to the front. “Slaugh Morningbreaker. He’d always talked about unifying the Madlands. Claimed that he’d used the Union to do it too, force them to legitimise him as a monarch. Plan was to help them win the hundred.” The wolf paused. “That was ten years ago. Guess he finally did it.”

Erasmus’ legs hurt but he didn’t want to sit. “What’s he like?”

“A tyrant.” Breeze said quickly. “He finds what people want and he exploits it. Pushes them, pulls them, like a pup with a pet feral. He’s a cruel man. He’s... the reason for all this. The things I did. The Witchborn. The man I was back then... he raised that man. Created him. Indulged him.”

Erasmus frowned. “But you don’t have to be that person anymore. You aren’t that person anymore.”

“As long as Slaugh is alive, I always will be.”

Erasmus felt his stomach plummet. He nearly dropped the sleeping Abigail in shock.

Won’t this ever end? He thought, blinking away the sting of tears. He hated it, he hated how powerless he felt.

“One more, Ras.” Breeze growled. “Fuck the Emperor, and the hundred, I don’t care about that. One more fight, and then this can end.”

“No.”

“What?” Breeze looked back again, and Erasmus felt himself wilt slightly. How had he not realised how terrifying this man could be?

“Richeleau. Estrion. That was supposed to be the end, the last bit of... this. After that it was just straight to Istren. He can just leave, right now. We can turn around and run somewhere free of war.”

“Slaugh changes things.”

“No, he doesn’t!” Erasmus felt his voice raise, and he stepped back, breathing heavily. Breeze sheathed his sword, standing awkwardly and regarding the otter. “Breeze, the war is fucking over! Can’t you see that? The Union won, what are going to accomplish by taking Abigail into Istren? We’ll just get sucked into another siege, and we aren’t lucky enough to make it out of a second. Estrion and Richeleau were supposed to be the end, you said it was the end.”

“But he...”

“And what happens after him?” Erasmus demanded, unable to decide whether he should keep looking at Breeze, or look away. “What happens when you decide that some old enemy from the north needs killing? Or when Slaugh’s son or loyal friend decides he’s going to avenge his father’s assassination? That’s how this works. Can’t you see? We’ve been through so much, and every time we kill someone, it just means we have to kill somebody else. First Niverron, then Nail, then Richeleau.”

“Ras.” Breeze said softly, eyes downcast. “That man is responsible for all the misery in my life. All the violent and evil things I’ve done are because of him. And he’s right there, he’s so close. If he’s still breathing, I’ll never be able to shed this part of myself.”

“That isn’t how this works.” Erasmus said. He knew what they had to do. But he didn’t want to do it, he couldn’t. “This all feels so inevitable. Like I always knew it would happen. I wanted to save you.”

“I don’t understand.” Breeze frowned at him. “This is the end. I swear it. All this shit began with Slaugh, and it’ll end with him too. It’s all his fault.”

Erasmus couldn’t think straight. His eyes were running tears, and he sniffed them back. “No Breeze. It’s just you. There’s no Witchborn controlling you, no Slaugh out there stoking some fire. It’s just you. I feel so stupid. When we left Hieron I thought I was getting away from men like Claude Morgan, but I just exchanged one for another.”

“What do you want?” Breeze asked. His voice sounded on the edge of crying himself, though his face was dry.

“I want you to stop.” Erasmus said. “I...” Could he really do this? He loved Breeze. He wanted to save him, to be with him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Breeze said, coming closer. He reached a paw out, but Erasmus pulled away. “Ras...”

“It isn’t enough though.” The otter said. “Can you? Can you leave all this, right now? Let Slaugh and the Union and the Emperor all kill each other?”

Breeze inhaled sharply, and Erasmus saw his grip on the sword tighten. “I can try.”

“You never will.” Erasmus whispered, he wanted to laugh. It was so unfair. “Fenton and I talked last night. We’re leaving, Breeze. Neither of us want to go and help you die.”

“I won’t.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Breeze’s gaze flicked to Abigail, still napping in Erasmus’s arms. “And you’re taking her too?”

“She doesn’t deserve this kind of life.”

Breeze hardened slightly, and he stepped forward. An arrow slammed into the dirt, right between his feet. Erasmus glanced back, saw Fenton standing a few feet behind, bow in paw.

“Would you gut me too?” Erasmus asked.

Breeze crumpled. He fell back on the log, wiping at his eyes, shaking his head. “No. No, I’d never hurt you Ras. I just... don’t you see? Don’t you understand?”

“I wish you’d listened to me, Breeze. We’re going.” Erasmus said. It felt like such a poor, pathetic end to everything they’d suffered. It felt so pointless. “I love you, probably always will. But please, don’t try to find us.”

And Breeze stood there on the hill, Triad’s Grace burning far behind him, hard eyes watching as the man he loved slowly walked away.