Disclaimers a' plenty: Alright people, you know the drill. Sonic The
Hedgehog and all related properties are owned my SEGA of America,
Archie Comic, DiC and God knows how many others. This story is just for
fun. So, don't get all wound up about it. Any original characters are
owned by myself or Blackbird, unless otherwise stated. If you can help
it, don't print this baby out, or sell it, DO NOT modify it, or do any
of that crazy stuff. That's not cool. Don't go there. If ya want to use
one of my characters, or any of that, you all know the score- gimme a
call, an email, whatever. Just let me know, right?
J. Wagner / Cap'n Chryssalid
[Copyright (c) 1999-2004, all rights reserved, you mess with my Fic, you get Messed up, etc… the usual.]
TO MY READERS:
I would like to apologize here and now for the lack of proper indentation. Even editing via the FFN 'QuickEdit' tool has been unable to reliably produce 'tab' type indents. Checking the FFN Homepage, I see that it has been abandoned by the general community. If, however, at a later date indentation becomes available on FFN, I will update past chapters back to what I consider to be the 'normal' format for reading.
Finally, let he state for those of you who have never read the original Cycle of Ages that it is highly recommended you go back and do so, as it fully precedes this work of fanfiction. Much reference will be made to the events of COA, and while background on what occured will be provided throughout this fanfiction, it will in no way be as extensive as you would get from reading the fiction in full.
For those who enjoy COA, or COA:NWO, I would also direct you to my deviant art account. All COA related art which I have made is archived there.
And now... on with the fic - - - -
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"There are several schools of thought on the nature of events."
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"Alright everyone! Let's get in place! Fifteen minutes to Showtime, people!"
Despite the frantic nature of the director's cue, the mood of those present was organized and disciplined. The room was checked for a fifth time, and the lighting was adjusted at the last minute, to give a 'little more shadow' once the actual work was underway. The bed and nearby medical instruments were all in place, but had been moved back and out of the way. They were all functional, but largely unnecessary. Over a nearby intercom, a voice interrupted the effort.
"Dr. Katz to Ward Room!" It was a friendly, if unwanted, female voice. "Paging Dr. Kats, you're needed in the Ward Room!"
The Director of the set stomped his foot at the interruption. "Andy! Damnit Andy! I told you to disconnect the comm.! What if it does off when we begin shooting?!"
"Sorry sir!" Another mobian, a brown furred one tailed fox, quickly apologized. He had a small store's worth of electronics and tools either strapped to his waist, in his vest, or at his workbench. Holding up his hands innocently, he slipped off to the side, and went back to work. The Director, however, was still tapping his foot nervously, and looking down at his wristwatch.
"Where are they?" He grumbled, and licked his too-dry lips. "She should be ready by now… She should be here…"
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"There are those who believe that the march of history follows in the footsteps of great leaders, and that without those leaders particular events at particular times would not occur."
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A few seconds later, the room's white doors swung open, and a female minx entered, escorted by two of the set crewmen. One was combing out the ends of her long peach colored hair, while the other was applying some sort of hair spray. She looked quite presentable, even in a plain white patient's shirt, and as she walked (somewhat unsteadily) over to the bed, the two attendants gave quick thumbs up to the Director, who just nodded and shook his palm, indicating his relative approval of their job.
"So far so good." He smirked, just a little, before seeing someone off to the side he recognized. "Henderson! Henderson!! What's wrong? Where's our little star?"
"Ah… there's a bit of a problem, chief." One of the Director's assistants, a mobian skunk, wrung his hands together and bit his lower lip. "The kid… er… made a bit of a mess…"
"What?" The Director shook his head in disgust. "Well get him cleaned up! Spotless, you hear me!! You have five minutes! Tops!"
"Yes sir. I know sir. Five minutes. No problem!" He, too, slinked off and disappeared behind two large teamsters moving a black wall-screen. Elsewhere in the room, different lights flipped on and off, and began testing their intensity. Taking calm breaths, the set Director sighed and took a seat in his chair, reassuring himself that things were on time and that there wouldn't be a delay.
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"A second school of thought holds that the individual is largely irrelevant, and that historic events occur as a result of greater social and economic trends."
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A young female squirrel brought a cup of coffee, and he took a long drink of the stuff. Fortunately, it was cheap and plentiful, not like when he had been younger, during the days of the Great War. Back then; even before the coffee growing provinces that exported to the Kingdom had fallen to the overlanders, it had been a relative luxury. Julian Kintobor, be he known as Robotnick or Eggman, however, had loved the stuff, and maintained stockpiles of the beans, and plantations for its growth, all for his personal use. Now, with him out of the picture, the crops and plantations had returned to Mobian control, and there was more coffee than ever before.
"Mmm…" Taking another sip, he silently admitted that it would be even better with a sprinkle of ginger. But that particular crop, illegal as it was, was far harder to get one's hands on. Nonetheless, coffee remained, for Mobians, a powerful stimulant, and it quickly lifted his spirits. Things were on time, pretty much. There wouldn't be a delay. They could still go live.
A few minutes later, a dark haired fox walked in, wearing a dress shirt, and approached the female minx lying in the bed. He, too, looked much more presentable after a few hours with the Twins. They had given him a trim, it looked like, and a partial 'makeover.' The shirt seemed a bit pretentious, as polls showed that most mobians males still preferred not to wear the things, but given who he was appearing opposite of it was appropriate.
"Lucky guy…" The Director whispered to himself, watching the husband and wife talk. He didn't know too much about the two of them, except that they had been the fortunate beneficiaries of chance. The male had fought in the Battle of Knothole, but escaped without any major wounds. The female had been a technician of some sort back in that city. She had been exempted from the conscription order during the battle there because of her delicate condition.
'Good for them,' he supposed, taking another sip of his coffee. 'A happy ending, from that whole mess. Too few of those, in real life.'
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"Lastly, a third school believes that all events are predetermined, preplanned, scripted even… by greater forces than we can comprehend."
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Finally, Henderson re-entered the room, followed by one of the Hospital nurses holding a bundle. They quickly handed it to the minx, who visibly brightened at the sight of her baby. Both parents hovered over their well-prepared child, talking to themselves and to him, occasionally making baby noises and nonsense words. While they were in place, the rest of the camera crew got everything set up, and all the lighting in order.
The King entered without fanfare.
Between heartbeats, the Director leapt to his feet, and approached the monarch, his head deeply bowed. Why had no one warned him? Why had no one said anything? Half panicked, babbling apologies and promises in equal measure, probably too fast to be heard, he hoped to assure the King that everything was in place, everything was in order, and that if there was anything he coulddoallthegreatkingneededwastospeakofit
Maximilian silenced him with but the raising of his gloved hand.
"Everything seems to be in place," the King said, simply.
Most of it was, but not all. Of course, the Director knew better than to contradict the King. Instead, he lifted his head for the sole purpose of bowing it again. "It is, my King."
"Very good. I am ready to address My people." Maximilian gestured to the entourage slowly entering the room behind him. "Have you met The Family?"
"No, sire. But I recognize them." The Director took a step back and bowed to the three individuals behind the King. The Queen he instantly recognized, replete in Royal vestments of purple and red. Like her husband the King, she preferred to dress the part of a true Royal. As the King wore his many orders, decorations, titles, medals and his great Crown, she wore jewels, ornaments, and finery.
Compared to the stately duo, their children were virtually threadbare. The younger of the two, the well-known Princess Sarah Alicia Acorn (often enough just "Sally") was particularly under-dressed. While the Director could appreciate that a female her age rarely wanted to conceal a nice figure behind layers of too-human garments, it struck him as somewhat risqué that she sported a relatively simple sapphire blue vest. From what he had seen before, however, she was dressing up at least a little for the occasion: a green collar, of the type that had recently come into style among females, and a similarly colored belt were not usual for her, as far as he knew.
Next to the Princess was the much more rarely seen Prince: one Elias Acorn. Unlike his sister, who quite obviously took after her mother in being predominantly chipmunk (the tail was a dead giveaway), it was more difficult to determine Elias' ancestry. Certainly, he did not look like the King who was his father. His muzzle too broad, his jaw too strongly set, his eyes just a bit too close together, only the heavy brows and bright blue eyes seemed to be the King's work. Still, in the traditional dress of the Favored Son and Prince, there could be no doubt.
Elias, however, seemed unnerved by the respectful bow of one of his loyal subjects, and quickly looked away towards the married couple in the middle of the room. He, too, was married – the Director knew – but to some woman of peasant stock. Rumor had it that they were raising a child, but no one seemed to know for sure whether the child was hers, or theirs. The Prince had renounced his obligation to the Golden Throne years ago, and his personal life was a jealously guarded State Secret.
Lastly, hanging back, an unclothed blue hedgehog stood, leaning against the wall. Noticing that the Director had seen him, Sonic nodded once, and went back to playing the part of disinterested observer. That was fine by the older Mobian. He had heard that the legendary Freedom Fighter wouldn't be present. Still, it was of little concern. If the King wished him to be in the production, then he would be. More likely, however, the blue hedgehog would not play a role in this first broadcast.
That would come later.
This was the King's time to shine. To affirm that the Freedom Fighter's victory was a victory won in His name, and for His Kingdom. Whether Sonic wanted a piece of it or not, no one really knew.
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"What then, what if… they were all three correct?"
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"My King…" the Director turned his attention back to the most important of the group, and gestured towards the small family already in the room. "Mr. And Mrs. Danrick."
"It is an honor, your majesty!" The fox quickly bowed when the King began to walk towards them. The female minx, still holding her child, also inclined her head.
"Now, now!" King Maximilian chuckled, and gestured for them to relax. "Let's have a look at this child, shall we? He's about to be famous, after all! Mr. Danrick, have you met my daughter? Sally! Elias!"
While the King engaged the couple, the Director backtracked, and hastily assembled his crew. Quickly interrogating them, he made sure everything was ready, and only then began to relax. Finding his coffee, he downed the last of it in one gulp, letting it born down his throat. He looked up at the intercom, but heard nothing. Behind him, machines began patching into the city communications grid, red lights turning green, one after another.
"Lights…" he said, softly. "Camera..."
"Sir." Henderson came up from behind, and put a hand on his shoulder. "We're ready."
The Director really smiled, finally, honestly.
"Action!"
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THE CYCLE OF AGES: A NEW WORLD ORDER
CHAPTER ONE:
And There Was Light
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Mobotropolis.
Two months after the Battle of Knothole.
From high above, the city looked like a giant crescent. The rise of the Perfect Defense Fortress Helios had removed a massive circular chunk of bedrock from the once vast metropolis, lifting it from foundations carved out millennia ago. All that was left was the outermost sections and the old abandoned suburbs. Now, where the main street and old capitol had once been, there was a massive Inner Bay, flooded by the cold waters of the naturally created Bay of Acorn. Just a mile or two outside of the remnants of the city, the River Acorn ended its long journey from the Felix Mountains to the open waters that flowed into the Great Southern Sea.
Much of the city infrastructure, however, was still intact. Communication and networking lines had been well maintained by the city's cruel master; indeed, Robotnick had done much to improve the city, in his pursuit of an efficient roboticized world. Over the last month and a half, mobians from across the realms of the Kingdom had flocked towards Mobotropolis to rebuilt and resume their lives. Many had no memory of the last seven years, having just recently been deroboticized and reunited with what remained of their families.
The pace of construction was rapid, and some of it very ad hoc. There was still little notion of an economy, and very little printed currency. In some places, people built homes with their own two hands, or with assistance from others who planned to become neighbors. In a way, Mobotropolis was a boomtown, with great tracts of valuable real estate waiting to be 'legally' claimed. Only in the last month had state organized construction crews and surveyors started demarcating areas of ownership, enterprise, and rebuilding. For the moment, however, work had paused. Everyone in the city, and in others like it nearby, knew the King was about to address the nation.
So they huddled around and under the large vid-screens that hung suspended from the tallest surviving buildings. The system dated back to the Great War, but it had been greatly improved upon in the war years. Despite the relative mindlessness of his preferred subjects, Robotnick loved the notion of his voice and face addressing an entire city at once. Workers paused, sitting on half finished girders and steel supports, while other mobians took their families and heavy blankets to sit near one of the towering monitors, awaiting the word of their King.
It began promptly at noon, Central Time.
"My fellow Mobians…"
The face of the King replaced the slowly spinning Seal of Acorns on screens across the city, and on smaller monitors across the country. He was a stately old gentleman in appearance, a ground squirrel who could trace his lineage back to the first Acorn, Xerxes the Golden, and the first King of the Second Dynasty, Marius II Alexander. His bushy white eyebrows and moustache, and his regal dress, gifted him an air of importance and authority no other Mobian could hope to match. Taking a step back from the camera, the King's family became visible behind him. Along with two others, once of which appeared to be in a medical bed.
"I remember all too well my last day in this great city," King Maximilian said, blue eyes stern. "I remember all too well the sting of betrayal that cast me from this great land, that I love, with all my heart and soul. My greatest fear was not for myself, or my life, but for the Kingdom. For this great Kingdom, which has stood so resolute for eight hundred years, and for its noble and steadfast citizens."
The King took a deep breath, before continuing. "We have all endured great hardship. We have all faced terrible trials. Many of us have felt the pain of losing loved ones. For this great land, we have shed our tears and our blood. Almost two months ago, Mobians from across the Kingdom, joined by our Dingo friends from Angel Island, and even Humans from the far side of the Felix Mountains, banded together – bled together, shed tears together, to ensure the liberation of our world from a fate worse than death, worse than slavery: extinction. Now, mindful of these great sacrifices, we have returned home. We have returned to our great city…."
The King's voice wavered for a second, as if wracked by emotion. "Know this, my loyal citizens: Mobotropolis has been wounded deeply, just as the Mobian people have been badly struck by the events of the last decade. But this city shall not die. This city will remain the capitol, and it shall remain the greatest of the world's wonders! We shall rebuild it, greater than before! Brighter than before! Taller than before! More majestic than before! This city shall grow, further west, until it straddles the River Acorn: once more Mobotropolis shall become the City of Lights and Dreams!"
Taking another step back, and to the side, he stood next to the fox and minx at the bed. Slowly, as if on cue, the Queen and the two royal siblings also approached, staying within the picture. The King held out his hands, and the minx handed him a swaddled babe.
"This…" The King held the child carefully, and faced the camera. "This is the future of Mobotropolis. Just two days ago, Mr. And Mrs. Danrick became the first family of Mobotropolis: their son, the first child born within the city in over five years. A sign of life. A sign of love. A sign of revitalization! The greatest gift any subject can give his or her King is proof of their love for the Kingdom, proof of their confidence in the future so many have given their lives for. Let this Kingdom know the laughter of children once more. Let this city know it, embrace it, live it!"
The King held up the child, who started to squirm a little. His eyes were still squinted closed, not simply because of the light, but because all Mobians were born blind. He looked unremarkable as far as vulpine babies went, except his fur was a very light shade of brownish, and his long tail was obviously destined to be more minx-like than fox-like. Lowering the child again, the King turned his head to address the parents.
"Have you thought of a name yet?" The King asked, already knowing the answer.
"We have!" The two said in near perfect unison. The parents looked at each other, before laughing (somewhat forcedly) and silently deciding on letting the male speak for them. The fox held out his arms, and the King handed over the child.
"We were thinking of naming him Miles," the father explained, cradling his son. "After the Hero of Knothole."
The King nodded in approval. There was a brief moment of silence, before he continued, facing the camera again. "No matter what has been taken from us, my loyal subjects, we have been given the future. We have been given a future that will be written by young Miles' small hands. This boy is only the first. Yesterday, a baby girl was delivered. Her parents named her Sally, after my daughter…"
"In the weeks and months to come," The King said, with absolute determination. "I know we will see many more children wake up to find a new and wonderful world awaiting them. It will not be an easy life. I will not tell you that the years to come will be ones of leisure and easy living. We must all work hard to restore the Kingdom to its place of glory. For our future. For our children. I expect the best from all of you, and I know I will not be disappointed. May the Source keep and guide you all, and may it bless the Eternal Kingdom of Acorn "
A second later, the feed terminated, replaced by the slowly spinning Seal of Acorns. Scrolling text under the digital coat of arms continued the description of other news events from across the country. In Mobotropolis, some cheered, while others just went back to work, talking amongst themselves. Thousands of miles away, however, far to the west and south…
"…I know I will not be disappointed. May the Source keep and guide you all, and may it bless the Eternal Kingdom of Acorn "
Hidden behind the back of a chair, a white-gloved hand reached out, touched a small 'x' in the corner of a table mounted monitor, and cut the video feed. A larger monitor, mounted on one of the room's walls, also turned black. Around the table at which the individual sat, eleven other Mobians, of differing breeds, both male and female, shifted uneasily in their seats. Most wore formal attire, and most were at least partially obscured by the low lighting of the room, which played off the many shelves of books and paintings that decorated the meeting hall.
"Our Majesty, the King…" A full, deep voice spoke first, from behind the back of the chair, at the head of the table. "Our Majesty, the Tyrant. We should act soon, gentlemen. You know how fickle the masses can be, and Maximilian is nothing if not a good showman."
"Once we begin this…" A skunk said from the shadows, nervously rubbing his fingers together. "We are committed. There is no turning back."
"What lies behind us, gentlemen, is something we would well remember," The deep voice answered. "This may well be the only opportunity we will have in our lifetimes to throw off the Royal jackboot… to be free… How can any male, any female, turn their back on the promise of freedom? Are we united? We are strong enough, but are we daring enough? I ask you: are we daring enough to ACT?"
A round of nods, and murmured words of approval ran up and down the table. Some seemed more enthusiastic about it than others, but all we at least in general agreement. One of them, a female rabbit, stood up and raised her arm, palm open and covering her heart. Then, her arm lashed out, fingers closed into a fist. "To the Revolution!"
"The Revolution!" Another stood, shaking his fist, and then making the same salute.
"Revolution!" And then another, and then another. "Freedom! Revolution!"
Within seconds, they were all on their feet, and the pact was sealed. Their head member was the last to stand, motioning for the others to lower their voices. "Then it will be so, my friends. It will be so. The Twelve have spoken, and the world shall heed our call to arms. A glorious new Republic shall be born, and like a phoenix, it shall rise out of the ashes of this corrupt Monarchy! There can be no freedom, no New World Order, so long as Royal Blood flows through the veins of would be tyrants!"
"Yes!" Another member chanted. "Yes! Down with tyrants! Down with the King!"
"Down with the King!" Another cheered. And another. "Down with the King! Down with the Royal Family!"
"Death! Death to the Royal Family!" Another yelled. "Glory to the Revolution!"
Looking around the room, at the diverse assembly of Mobians, the group's headman couldn't help but smile. 'A new world... A New World is what we shall build. Enjoy your time in the sun, Old King. Enjoy your fleeting moment of triumph; enjoy your success, built upon the backs of those patriots who died fighting your wars. Soon, it will all turn to bitter ashes in your mouth! Then the world will be purged of your taint… forever!!'
"Liberty!" He held out his hand, covering his heart, before clenching it into a fist. "Liberty or Death!!"
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It was good to see snow again.
By nature, Mobius was a somewhat cold planet – most of the forests it boasted were coniferous or deciduous, but rarely tropical. The three largest areas of continuous forest: the aptly named Great Forest astride the main continent of Mobius Major, the Northern Expanse in Kitsune territory, and the un-named forests of Overland, were all temperate to some degree. Only the hidden jungles of Mobius Minor, far to the southwest, and their much smaller cousins in and around the island of Downunda, proved the exception rather than the norm.
Tempest Na'Vidar did not care to visit such alien lands.
The Southern lands home to the Kingdom of Acorn and its peoples had been hot enough for him. It had rained frequently, and with vigor he had found disturbing. It rained in the northlands, naturally, especially in early spring and fall, but never very heavily. But now, seeing flakes of snow falling from the sky, and a cool wind blowing in from the north, Tempest felt more at home, and a little more at peace.
He had taken his time heading north, digesting his experiences of the last few months, and the conclusions he was to draw from them. Things had not turned out as he expected, and a part of him was apprehensive about how the Council of Elders would handle hearing that the Quest appointed to him had apparently failed. He was Ephor Anthal of Clan Vidar, the leader of one of the Seven Major Clans of Kitsune. He was one of the most skilled and powerful warriors of his generation, but though his physical skills were almost without peer, he knew quite well what the anger of an Elder could do. They were wise beyond their years (beyond their lifetimes, actually), and though he was immune to any sort of psionic retribution, a reprimand from them could cause him, and his Clan, to lose face in the eyes of the Assembly.
Like poor Clan Vidar needed that.
'Any more face lost, and the mindless berserkers of Kalahen will have cause to look down their snouts at us,' Tempest thought, bitterly. Then, he calmed. There was little reason to moan over that which he could not control. He would tell them the truth, as his honor demanded of him, and if the Elders condemned him for his failure, then so be it. He would survive, and do whatever was deemed necessary to regain their favor, but he sure as hell wasn't in a hurry to find out what that would entail.
'Oh, but how Thandothane will laugh…'
The forest grew thicker over the next two days, and the sky softly flurried. Only a thin layer of snow, most of which was eager to melt and drip, coated the trees. The season was too young (and the location too southward) for it to stay in any one place and accumulate. It was a pity, in Tempest's opinion. This part of the Northern Expanse really seemed little different from the more northerly parts of the Great Forest, though there wasn't a broadleaf in sight.
That night, Tempest contented himself with catching a wild hare. It was small fare, but he was not in the lands of Clan Vidar, nor was he in land claimed by the Southerners of Mobius. From the smell, Tempest knew he was in Jel'Arah lands. So: no matter how tempting it was to go after more appropriate prey, he stayed his hand, and his claws, and did as Tradition dictated. It had also been tempting to return straight to his home in Clan Vidar, but a lingering paranoia towards southern Mobians compelled him to take a more circumspect route. It had been his intention all along to circle into Vidar through Jel'Arah.
Roasting his catch over a small fire, he licked his lips and upper and lower canines. Kitsune were not mobians of the Third Race, and they were far removed from those of the Second race that hid or denied their predatory heritage. A Kitsune could hardly deny his hunger for a fresh kill, even if he wanted to. That was something his former student, Miles, had learned all too well. Years ago, Tempest would have scoffed at the idea of eating food uncaught by Kitsune hands. Now, he was more…
Cultured? No: not exactly. It was the culture of the southern folk, not of the Kitsune. Still, he had done it. He had eaten food, southern food, of dubious origin, and lived to tell the tale. It remained amusing, however, that even a proud race like the dingo, preferred to disguise their food with plates and sauces and the like. He, like most Kitsune, did not have particularly well-developed taste buds, and as a consequence saw little need to dress up what was there simply to be devoured.
Was there really something… shameful about eating something where you caught it? Many southern Mobians seemed to think so. If they ate a type of meat, they didn't want it to look like it was, or had been, alive. How odd was that? Even after living among them, and coming to accommodate them, Tempest remained convinced that some of their 'Traditions' were quite nonsensical.
Taking the hare, still stuck with the spit, out of the fire, Tempest looked at it curiously for a few seconds. Many Mobians had un-sapient relatives in the animal kingdom. Even Kitsune had wild foxes, which prowled forests and plains looking for smaller, weaker, creatures to eat. Even overlanders and humans had their apes and monkeys here and there on Mobius. Perhaps it was this reminder of their past that kept many races of Mobius from seeing food as the Kitsune were want to – it reminded them of their own fragile mortality.
Shrugging, Tempest finished the small animal in two large bites, bones and all. A Kitsune's mouth was a machine of terrible power for anything on the receiving end of it. Tempest had been bitten before, in both ritual combat, and by kits. It has not been pleasant. Kitsune had strong jaws. The long canine teeth easily pierced flesh (Tempest knew from experience that even the tough hide and thick mane around a male's neck didn't prevent them from drawing blood) while the back teeth effortlessly broke through thick bones and snapped the strongest tendons.
The wild rabbit was no contest.
Throwing aside the burned wooden spit, Tempest dozed off under a large tree. He had a good idea of where he was, and during the night it was likely that those nearby would also find out just how close he had come to their camp. His dreams were a mixed bundle of memories. He saw Miles, and that hedgehog friend of his: Sonic. He saw a great rising pillar of light and fire, from the remains of the crashed Fortress Helios. And he saw Sally – Princess Acorn, he corrected himself – crying over a grave that held no body and no earthly remains. And then he saw, not for the first time in the last few weeks, himself and that same Princess Acorn. He had her in his arms… and her throat in his jaws.
And he knew that when that image entered his dreams, he squirmed uncomfortably where he slept. Soon, however, it was gone, replaced by memories of combat. That calmed him. Sometime in the night, be felt a mental signal to awake, but opted to ignore it. Several hours larger, he awoke – eyes open, and fully alert. For Kitsune, there was no period in between.
Next to him, and leaning against a tree, he saw a female kitsune in typical forest camouflage. She had her weapon still tied to her belt in collapsed form, and was dozing peacefully. Tempest made not a sound, as he slowly got to his feet. It was good to see a kitsune again, after all this time. The female, he gauged, was sixteen or so years in age, unmated, and not an un-attractive specimen ('Not bad at all, for a Jel'Arah,' he mentally commented). Her hair was what a human would have called red, but what the Kitsune referred to as 'flame,' and was tied into a long braid. It was a semi common trait among those of her Clan, but much rarer among those of Clan Vidar. Her fur was a nice shade of darker autumn red, and the tips of her tails were the standard white. Tempest was fortunate enough to have more exotic tip-fur: his was black.
With a lunge, he grabbed her by the shoulders, took her weapon arm (she holstered her weapon to her left, so it was easy enough to know which hand was dominant), and locked it behind her. She squawked in surprise, and instinctively tried to hit him with the back of her head, but ended up only hitting his shoulder and hurting herself. After continuing to struggle for a few seconds, she sighed and lowered her head.
"You have me, Ephor…"
"Eh?" Tempest raised an eyebrow at the comment, and let her go. "You know who I am?"
He left unsaid that he wouldn't have gone through the trouble of demonstrating dominance if he had known she had. It was implied, but expected to be fully understood. Most kitsune knew they were overmatched against an Ephor Anthal of any Clan, and so it was normal to forgo any sort of ritual dominance posturing or displays. Most just submitted. Traveling as most common kitsune do, however, Tempest expected he would have to first show his superiority to her, and then to whoever was the camp master of her village (or her mate, depending on which of them pressed the matter).
"Ephor Anthal Vidar." She said, in the kitsune language. He frowned. It was more respectful to tack on every prefix in a sentence making the phrase into 'Ephor Anthal Na' Vidar,' but this female was either cocky or annoyed at him, or too young and inexperienced to know any better than to use the familiar version of kitsune-go. Tempest let it slide. He was hardly the greatest stickler for protocol in the Assembly of Clans.
But others were.
"Thandothane would have had your throat for such short speak, woman," Tempest said, and frowned slightly. It was unlikely that she would ever run into him, but many Kitsune of Noble birth really would have taken her little over-familiarity as an insult. At her age, that could be a near mortal mistake.
"Maybe." The young female smirked. "But he's a Tukaido Snake. And I'd give him a scar or two before he killed me."
Tempest doubted that, but didn't feel like arguing. Besides, she was right about that first part. Thandothane was a snake in kitsune's skin.
"Take me to your camp, woman." He tacked on a 'huff' to the end of his command, drawing attention to the last word in the sentence. It was unbecoming for him to ask her name, given that she was far below him in the Kitsune hierarchy. This was a polite way to save face, but also prompt her to give him her name.
"I shall, Honorable Ephor." She lowered her head, and moved it to the left, exposing her throat. It was a posture of submission, which he took for granted. In the southlands, it was far more difficult to determine lines of loyalty. Among the kitsune it was easy: the weak submitted to the strong. Exposing one's neck, especially for a female, indicated recognition of dominance and a willingness to give up one's life.
Tempest, of course, didn't take her neck – a very literal phrase among the kitsune. No one ever actually 'took the neck' when it was offered. In that way, it was also a posture of safety. If in trouble, a lower ranked kitsune only had to submit and offer their neck, and they were practically guaranteed to escape with their lives. Only a blood-lusted Kalahen savage would take a submitting female's neck.
She headed to the northwest, and Tempest followed close behind her. He waited a few seconds in silence for her to give him her name. Most kitsune waited ten or twelve seconds into whatever task they had been ordered to do before making the statement to one of much higher standing.
"My name is Kae'Arah Se' Naza Na' Jel'Arah," she said, without flourish. To southerners, Tempest had heard, Kitsune names were obscenely long and complicated. To an extent that was rather true. Certainly, compared to most southerner names, Kitsune ones were quite long and intricate.
"Kae'Arah Se' Naza?" Tempest said the name, and thought it over a few seconds. "I recall that name from somewhere… but can't seem to put my claw on it."
"It is surely a coincidence, Ephor."
"Mmm…" Tempest mused. "Perhaps it is."
And left it at that.
Following the female, Tempest took time to enjoy the view, which in the Kitsune mindset included both sight and smell in equal measure. The forest was getting thicker and thicker (and thus more and more to his liking), and he could smell nearby game. His stomach softly rumbled at the thought. Kitsune, unfortunately, required a large amount of food to remain active. His appetite had shocked many in the southlands, and some had been rude enough to compare his eating habits to that annoying blue hedgehog hero of theirs. Even the boy had had the gall to say as much back in the first few days they'd known each other.
Of course, the other enjoyable thing about the view was Kae'Arah. He smelt her quite acutely, and was happy to be certain that she wasn't in season. Unlike with Sally – 'Princess Acorn,' he corrected himself again – he could know for sure with Kae'Arah. Sally, like all southern females, had had an odd seasonal scent that had confused his nose. Now, with a kitsune female, he could be sure. And, with her off her season, he could admire her without the risk of being interested in being mated to her.
He smirked, remembering how the concept and the phrase had confused southerners. It was quite simple, really. Unlike most mobians, Kitsune males and females only thought of being mated to one another (as in forming lasting familial attachments) during a female's season. Outside of that time, both genders were free to pursue and enjoy each other's company as desired (mating with, as opposed to being mated to). Or not to. Some females, Tempest had heard, had no interest at all in mating outside of their season. As a personal matter, Tempest was of a similar sort – he generally had little mating impulse, not since his Turan'Ha, but after so long among Third Racers and toothless Second Racers…
But thinking of that brought up another worry.
His unmated status itself was a cause for consternation. Clan Vidar had had enough problems with succession in the past, and he was only contributing to future squabbles. He was rather old for a Kitsune, well very nearly thirty years in age, and without an heir. Every year he put off making any sort of permanent mating arrangement, but soon… soon he wouldn't have any more time. It took between eleven and thirteen years for a kit to grow old enough to have his Turan'Ha, and it usually took another three years to complete their training as an heir or heiress. Even if he became mated to a female within the month, it would be almost fifteen years at the best before the child would sire kill him, and carry on his memories. By then, he'd be an old man of almost forty-four!
Engrossed in his thoughts, Tempest almost didn't notice the smells of a Kitsune camp until he got within a mile of it. But the delicious smell of roasting meat, no doubt being smoked to preserve it for another day, made his stomach rumble again – more loudly this time. In front of him, Kae'Arah's ears twitched, having heard the undignified sound, but she didn't acknowledge it, for which Tempest was grateful. It was Tradition for a Kitsune wandering another Clan's land to be hungry, even if he was an Ephor Anthal.
When they got closer, Tempest saw that the female of the head family had decided to welcome him. She looked very much like his current companion and escort, but with slightly more prominently red tipped ears. It took a few seconds for him to make the connection, and when he did he mentally kicked himself for not doing so sooner.
"Honorable Ephor Anthal Na'Vidar…" Kae'Arah took a step to the side, to stand next to the other female. He noted with some pleasure that she used the full honorific. "I present you with the worthy kitsune charged with the humble defense of Camp Amma-Arah: Our Campmaster and Head Female. … My mother, Kae-Uhl Se' Venn Na' Vidar, mate to Kamahl-Uhl Se' Naza Na' Jel'Arah."
"I greet you. Your warrior did well to track and find me," Tempest said, formally, excluding: 'Not as well as she should have, but well enough to matter.' Instead he finished by saying, "A non-kitsune wouldn't have lived long enough to make note of her impatience."
Kae'Arah rolled her eyes. If she had thought Tempest wouldn't make note of the fact that she had been caught asleep, instead of alert and with a blade to his throat, she was sorely mistaken. He had deliberately slept late to see if his escort would end up dozing off herself. Most kitsune awoke at the same time, and it was rude to wake up a kitsune trespasser, but Tradition dictated that a sentry wait for the other kitsune to have his or her rest before being questioned, in the chance that they were exhausted from a long night's travel. Kae'Arah had obviously expected him to be up at sunrise, and then fallen sound asleep with he didn't.
It was a mistake he had never made at her age.
But, of course, he wasn't female and had never been sent out to investigate intruding kitsunes. That was woman's work. By Tradition, it was Female kitsune who guarded the camps, and defended them from intruders. It was the role of males to attack, and females to defend. It had been that was for thousands of years, and would remain that way for thousands more.
"My daughter still has much to learn before she may attempt the Kul'dah." Kae-Uhl inclined her head in parental reproach before looking at her daughter out of the corner of her eyes. "Kae'Arah shall prove her competence to the honorable Ephor by being his Auxiliary for his say here. Is this satisfactory?"
Tempest looked at the older female, as if to ask, 'What are you up to?'
But he agreed. He had no explicit reason to ask for another. "This is acceptable to me. She shall be my Auxiliary."
It was, as with everything, Tradition not to ask the female (or male) who had to perform that function. Standing between the two older kitsune, but outside of the conversation, Kae'Arah sighed, but smiled a little, too.
"Let this camp offer you a meal, Honorable Ephor," Kae-uhl continued. Offering a meal, at any time, was again: Tradition. It allowed a hungry kitsune to eat without having to ask for it, thus allowing him or her to save face, even though both parties knew that the reason a kitsune would be hungry in the first place was also because Tradition forbid them to hunt most types of prey in the lands of another Clan.
"I shall gratefully accept such an offering," Tempest returned, with a little more gentility than was technically required.
Kae-Uhl smiled, accepting the added measure of cordiality. "Your Auxiliary shall gladly retrieve it for you."
"I shall present it to you in the guest quarters, Ephor," Kae'Arah interjected into the conversation, with a little too much eagerness, even as her tone remained polite. She turned on her heels, and walked off, twin tails waving back and forth vigorously – and defiantly.
"Quite a little fire starter you've got there, Kae." Tempest smiled, and spoke more casually now that the two were alone. "I didn't recognize the name with an 'Arah stuck on the end."
"Tradition." Kae-Uhl said, simply. Tempest nodded. That one word was enough. It was the Tradition of the Jel'Arah Clan (though none of the others) to tack on a suffix to the birth name of every member: 'Arah, if unmated. –Uhl if mated. Kae had been just that: Kae Se' Venn Na' Vidar, back when he had known her. She'd ended up mated to a Jel'Arah male, and had adopted the 'Uhl suffix when she moved to his camp. The rest of her name remained the same: unlike with many southern mobians, kitsune females retained their Family and Clan names. The child's Family name was decided by the stronger of their two parents (almost always the male), and the Clan by the place of their birth (when both parents were from different Clans, the one who left to live in the other's Clan surrenders his or her obligation to pass on a Clan name).
She started to walk. It was also Tradition to show a guest around the circumference of the camp at which he or she was staying, both as a display of trust, and as a display of defensive preparedness. Tempest followed her, and appraised the camp half-heartedly as they talked.
"It's been years, Kae – I had heard you mated into the Naza Family from Chara, and that you were visiting, but that was while I was out training with Master Urun Na' Fa'Rah." Tempest pondered how long for a few seconds. "What? Seven years ago? Eight? Yes: Chara was only eleven, going through her own Turan'Ha. "
"Seven years, Tempest." Kae-Uhl left out the honorific 'Ephor' and used his first name. They were familiar enough, however, that she didn't need permission to do so, but she quickly gauged his expression regardless. Then, assured that he was not offended, she continued. "And the last time I saw you in the flesh was nine years before that. You've gotten bigger."
Tempest grunted in response. "Broader, if not taller, Kae. When we last met, I had the size to take you, but not enough training."
She smiled wistfully. "I broke one of your fingers."
"Woman – you hurt my pride more than my hand," Tempest said, seriously. Then, after a pause, the female Kae-Uhl began to laugh, and Tempest joined her. Sixteen years ago, he had been a young male of twelve years going through his Turan'Ha. The rut had done more than increase his physical size; it had filled his head with delusions of invincibility. Like his peers, he had gone about challenging and Claiming females, but as one of the more ambitious boys, he had ventured out of his relative age bracket. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he had gone unmated while so many of his age-mates had found females for themselves.
During that time, Kae Se' Venn Na' Vidar had been an available female of fifteen years, having had her Turan'Ha two years previous. She had been waiting for a worthy male, and Tempest had thought himself up to the challenge of Claiming her. Certainly, at the time, he felt strong enough to do the job. He had exploded in size to the point where he outweighed her, and out muscled her, by a fair margin. The first time he tried, she had simply beaten him up. The second time, she left him hanging upside down from a tree. The third, she broke his left pinky finger. He gave up after the fourth attempt.
"Infuriating woman!" Tempest said, between laughs. "You'd have been better off giving into me! Knowing you, you'd be running the Assembly by now if you had!"
"I'm not so sure, Tempest… you didn't really try and improve yourself until after I taught you that you wouldn't just have things your way by default. I knew it then, and I know it now. I would have been remiss to just give into your tenaciousness, and let you have what you technically didn't deserve." Kae looked at him slyly. "But I did think about it… once or twice."
"Only once or twice?" He teased. Then, he remembered something he had been curious about earlier. "How did you know I was coming, Kae? You couldn't have smelled me this far off. I wasn't making pains to hide myself, but I wasn't advertising either."
"Feh!" Kae-Uhl scoffed, as kitsune often did. "I heard from another of our scouts that you passed by here on your way south. She mentioned to me that night that the Ephor Anthal of Clan Vidar had passed through our land in too much of a hurry to stop for the night. Apparently, you had enough spare time to conceal your own camp by passing through our lands, but not enough to stay and ask of our hospitality."
He accepted her reproach gracefully, inclining his head slightly, but – of course – not offering his neck. "For that, I apologize. To you, your mate, and this camp."
"We will allow you to make it up to us. Tonight, you shall tell us of your adventures… at least as much as you think the Elders would allow, if they were the ones who sent you on this Quest." Kae nodded. "Of course they were the ones. Who else, what else, would compel a mighty Ephor Anthal of the Assembly of Clans to run?"
"You joke, but you speak truth." Tempest shook his head sadly. "I will be happy to spin a yarn, Kae. I can't speak to the quality of it, but I'm sure I'll come up with something."
"I'm sure you'll come up with something. Tonight. In the mean time, your Auxiliary will care for you. No offense intended, Honorable Ephor, but you smell of the southlands. And your hair…"
"I am aware of my appearance and my smell." Tempest cut her off, crossly. Kae-Uhl frowned at him, but stopped in front of a small hut with a thatched roof – the camp's guest quarters.
"Males," She said, exasperatedly. "Left to yourselves, you'd remain as sticky and tangled as the day you were spawned."
"You sleep next to what: a male shaped rock?" Tempest laughed, and so did his female host. Eventually, they both calmed, and Kae-Uhl motioned to the hut next to them.
"Go easier on my heiress than on me, Honorably Ephor. She's only played the role of Auxiliary once before. That male ended up with a bloody nose." The female then added, "She is a fine warrior. More skilled than I was at her age. But she has never truly been challenged. She is… often inattentive."
Tempest nodded his understanding. "I shall see you later today, Kae. And I look forward to seeing the male who finally managed to get his teeth into you."
"Kamahl-Uhl is a reasonable kitsune… for a male. He will not challenge or offend you, Ephor. He has, however, never hosted one of your status, and nor I think has his father or grandfather, for whom he carries memories. I expect he will be rather nervous."
"Tell him this," Tempest said, and turned to head into the hut. "An Ephor Anthal is just a name. He need not fear it, only the kitsune who comes bearing it, and even then not in every instance. I'm as easy going an Ephor as he'll ever meet."
"I'll get the point across, Tempest." Kae-Uhl responded smoothly, and took her leave. Tempest heard her walk off, and entered the hut, pushing aside the flap covering the entrance. Like all kitsune dwellings, it was extremely simple and Spartan compared to the homes of southern mobians, despite being rather much larger. The bed was hand woven linen, and made for virtually any kitsune's size, making it large enough to accommodate even a human or overlander. There was also a torch for light, a few weapons propped up against a wall, and a small wooden shelf that, he knew, contained a very special case. Inside that case were the written records detailing who had stayed as a guest of the camp, for how long, and at what point in time. It was entirely likely that records in that case went back four or five thousand years, if not more.
At that thought, the continuity and stability of the Kitsune, as a race, filled him with pride. The southern races of Mobius had long histories, but much of it was lost to the ravages of time. Life in the south changed dramatically and radically at a mind-boggling pace. Civilizations, like the mighty Kingdom of Acorn, came and went in the blink of an eye, or the flashing of claws. Without a strong sense of guiding Traditions, they were left to whimsy and spur of the moment decision-making.
Inhaling deeply, Tempest also smelled food.
'Finally!' he mentally rejoiced, and sat down, legs crossed, in the center of the hut. Kae'Arah was there as well, presenting the object of his immediate desire: a steaming bowl of thick soup in a stone bowl. Like everything else, the presentation of the meal to the guest of the camp was determined by ancient Traditions – a soup, of some variety or another, was always made available. It was a broth if the guest was in poor health; a thicker confection if he or she was simply half-starved.
"Your meal, Honorable Ephor." Kae'Arah handed him a thick-handled spoon, and a Traditional drink of bitter tea. "I have ordered the males to prepare the strongest drink available for tonight."
Sipping the tea. Tempest allowed himself a happy sigh. Pointing the utensil at his Auxiliary, he smiled broadly. "Let me tell you this, Kae'Arah Se' Naza. After so long in the company of Southerners, it is good to be Home!"
J. Wagner / Cap'n Chryssalid
[Copyright (c) 1999-2004, all rights reserved, you mess with my Fic, you get Messed up, etc… the usual.]
TO MY READERS:
I would like to apologize here and now for the lack of proper indentation. Even editing via the FFN 'QuickEdit' tool has been unable to reliably produce 'tab' type indents. Checking the FFN Homepage, I see that it has been abandoned by the general community. If, however, at a later date indentation becomes available on FFN, I will update past chapters back to what I consider to be the 'normal' format for reading.
Finally, let he state for those of you who have never read the original Cycle of Ages that it is highly recommended you go back and do so, as it fully precedes this work of fanfiction. Much reference will be made to the events of COA, and while background on what occured will be provided throughout this fanfiction, it will in no way be as extensive as you would get from reading the fiction in full.
For those who enjoy COA, or COA:NWO, I would also direct you to my deviant art account. All COA related art which I have made is archived there.
And now... on with the fic - - - -
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"There are several schools of thought on the nature of events."
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"Alright everyone! Let's get in place! Fifteen minutes to Showtime, people!"
Despite the frantic nature of the director's cue, the mood of those present was organized and disciplined. The room was checked for a fifth time, and the lighting was adjusted at the last minute, to give a 'little more shadow' once the actual work was underway. The bed and nearby medical instruments were all in place, but had been moved back and out of the way. They were all functional, but largely unnecessary. Over a nearby intercom, a voice interrupted the effort.
"Dr. Katz to Ward Room!" It was a friendly, if unwanted, female voice. "Paging Dr. Kats, you're needed in the Ward Room!"
The Director of the set stomped his foot at the interruption. "Andy! Damnit Andy! I told you to disconnect the comm.! What if it does off when we begin shooting?!"
"Sorry sir!" Another mobian, a brown furred one tailed fox, quickly apologized. He had a small store's worth of electronics and tools either strapped to his waist, in his vest, or at his workbench. Holding up his hands innocently, he slipped off to the side, and went back to work. The Director, however, was still tapping his foot nervously, and looking down at his wristwatch.
"Where are they?" He grumbled, and licked his too-dry lips. "She should be ready by now… She should be here…"
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"There are those who believe that the march of history follows in the footsteps of great leaders, and that without those leaders particular events at particular times would not occur."
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A few seconds later, the room's white doors swung open, and a female minx entered, escorted by two of the set crewmen. One was combing out the ends of her long peach colored hair, while the other was applying some sort of hair spray. She looked quite presentable, even in a plain white patient's shirt, and as she walked (somewhat unsteadily) over to the bed, the two attendants gave quick thumbs up to the Director, who just nodded and shook his palm, indicating his relative approval of their job.
"So far so good." He smirked, just a little, before seeing someone off to the side he recognized. "Henderson! Henderson!! What's wrong? Where's our little star?"
"Ah… there's a bit of a problem, chief." One of the Director's assistants, a mobian skunk, wrung his hands together and bit his lower lip. "The kid… er… made a bit of a mess…"
"What?" The Director shook his head in disgust. "Well get him cleaned up! Spotless, you hear me!! You have five minutes! Tops!"
"Yes sir. I know sir. Five minutes. No problem!" He, too, slinked off and disappeared behind two large teamsters moving a black wall-screen. Elsewhere in the room, different lights flipped on and off, and began testing their intensity. Taking calm breaths, the set Director sighed and took a seat in his chair, reassuring himself that things were on time and that there wouldn't be a delay.
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"A second school of thought holds that the individual is largely irrelevant, and that historic events occur as a result of greater social and economic trends."
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A young female squirrel brought a cup of coffee, and he took a long drink of the stuff. Fortunately, it was cheap and plentiful, not like when he had been younger, during the days of the Great War. Back then; even before the coffee growing provinces that exported to the Kingdom had fallen to the overlanders, it had been a relative luxury. Julian Kintobor, be he known as Robotnick or Eggman, however, had loved the stuff, and maintained stockpiles of the beans, and plantations for its growth, all for his personal use. Now, with him out of the picture, the crops and plantations had returned to Mobian control, and there was more coffee than ever before.
"Mmm…" Taking another sip, he silently admitted that it would be even better with a sprinkle of ginger. But that particular crop, illegal as it was, was far harder to get one's hands on. Nonetheless, coffee remained, for Mobians, a powerful stimulant, and it quickly lifted his spirits. Things were on time, pretty much. There wouldn't be a delay. They could still go live.
A few minutes later, a dark haired fox walked in, wearing a dress shirt, and approached the female minx lying in the bed. He, too, looked much more presentable after a few hours with the Twins. They had given him a trim, it looked like, and a partial 'makeover.' The shirt seemed a bit pretentious, as polls showed that most mobians males still preferred not to wear the things, but given who he was appearing opposite of it was appropriate.
"Lucky guy…" The Director whispered to himself, watching the husband and wife talk. He didn't know too much about the two of them, except that they had been the fortunate beneficiaries of chance. The male had fought in the Battle of Knothole, but escaped without any major wounds. The female had been a technician of some sort back in that city. She had been exempted from the conscription order during the battle there because of her delicate condition.
'Good for them,' he supposed, taking another sip of his coffee. 'A happy ending, from that whole mess. Too few of those, in real life.'
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"Lastly, a third school believes that all events are predetermined, preplanned, scripted even… by greater forces than we can comprehend."
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Finally, Henderson re-entered the room, followed by one of the Hospital nurses holding a bundle. They quickly handed it to the minx, who visibly brightened at the sight of her baby. Both parents hovered over their well-prepared child, talking to themselves and to him, occasionally making baby noises and nonsense words. While they were in place, the rest of the camera crew got everything set up, and all the lighting in order.
The King entered without fanfare.
Between heartbeats, the Director leapt to his feet, and approached the monarch, his head deeply bowed. Why had no one warned him? Why had no one said anything? Half panicked, babbling apologies and promises in equal measure, probably too fast to be heard, he hoped to assure the King that everything was in place, everything was in order, and that if there was anything he coulddoallthegreatkingneededwastospeakofit
Maximilian silenced him with but the raising of his gloved hand.
"Everything seems to be in place," the King said, simply.
Most of it was, but not all. Of course, the Director knew better than to contradict the King. Instead, he lifted his head for the sole purpose of bowing it again. "It is, my King."
"Very good. I am ready to address My people." Maximilian gestured to the entourage slowly entering the room behind him. "Have you met The Family?"
"No, sire. But I recognize them." The Director took a step back and bowed to the three individuals behind the King. The Queen he instantly recognized, replete in Royal vestments of purple and red. Like her husband the King, she preferred to dress the part of a true Royal. As the King wore his many orders, decorations, titles, medals and his great Crown, she wore jewels, ornaments, and finery.
Compared to the stately duo, their children were virtually threadbare. The younger of the two, the well-known Princess Sarah Alicia Acorn (often enough just "Sally") was particularly under-dressed. While the Director could appreciate that a female her age rarely wanted to conceal a nice figure behind layers of too-human garments, it struck him as somewhat risqué that she sported a relatively simple sapphire blue vest. From what he had seen before, however, she was dressing up at least a little for the occasion: a green collar, of the type that had recently come into style among females, and a similarly colored belt were not usual for her, as far as he knew.
Next to the Princess was the much more rarely seen Prince: one Elias Acorn. Unlike his sister, who quite obviously took after her mother in being predominantly chipmunk (the tail was a dead giveaway), it was more difficult to determine Elias' ancestry. Certainly, he did not look like the King who was his father. His muzzle too broad, his jaw too strongly set, his eyes just a bit too close together, only the heavy brows and bright blue eyes seemed to be the King's work. Still, in the traditional dress of the Favored Son and Prince, there could be no doubt.
Elias, however, seemed unnerved by the respectful bow of one of his loyal subjects, and quickly looked away towards the married couple in the middle of the room. He, too, was married – the Director knew – but to some woman of peasant stock. Rumor had it that they were raising a child, but no one seemed to know for sure whether the child was hers, or theirs. The Prince had renounced his obligation to the Golden Throne years ago, and his personal life was a jealously guarded State Secret.
Lastly, hanging back, an unclothed blue hedgehog stood, leaning against the wall. Noticing that the Director had seen him, Sonic nodded once, and went back to playing the part of disinterested observer. That was fine by the older Mobian. He had heard that the legendary Freedom Fighter wouldn't be present. Still, it was of little concern. If the King wished him to be in the production, then he would be. More likely, however, the blue hedgehog would not play a role in this first broadcast.
That would come later.
This was the King's time to shine. To affirm that the Freedom Fighter's victory was a victory won in His name, and for His Kingdom. Whether Sonic wanted a piece of it or not, no one really knew.
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"What then, what if… they were all three correct?"
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"My King…" the Director turned his attention back to the most important of the group, and gestured towards the small family already in the room. "Mr. And Mrs. Danrick."
"It is an honor, your majesty!" The fox quickly bowed when the King began to walk towards them. The female minx, still holding her child, also inclined her head.
"Now, now!" King Maximilian chuckled, and gestured for them to relax. "Let's have a look at this child, shall we? He's about to be famous, after all! Mr. Danrick, have you met my daughter? Sally! Elias!"
While the King engaged the couple, the Director backtracked, and hastily assembled his crew. Quickly interrogating them, he made sure everything was ready, and only then began to relax. Finding his coffee, he downed the last of it in one gulp, letting it born down his throat. He looked up at the intercom, but heard nothing. Behind him, machines began patching into the city communications grid, red lights turning green, one after another.
"Lights…" he said, softly. "Camera..."
"Sir." Henderson came up from behind, and put a hand on his shoulder. "We're ready."
The Director really smiled, finally, honestly.
"Action!"
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THE CYCLE OF AGES: A NEW WORLD ORDER
CHAPTER ONE:
And There Was Light
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Mobotropolis.
Two months after the Battle of Knothole.
From high above, the city looked like a giant crescent. The rise of the Perfect Defense Fortress Helios had removed a massive circular chunk of bedrock from the once vast metropolis, lifting it from foundations carved out millennia ago. All that was left was the outermost sections and the old abandoned suburbs. Now, where the main street and old capitol had once been, there was a massive Inner Bay, flooded by the cold waters of the naturally created Bay of Acorn. Just a mile or two outside of the remnants of the city, the River Acorn ended its long journey from the Felix Mountains to the open waters that flowed into the Great Southern Sea.
Much of the city infrastructure, however, was still intact. Communication and networking lines had been well maintained by the city's cruel master; indeed, Robotnick had done much to improve the city, in his pursuit of an efficient roboticized world. Over the last month and a half, mobians from across the realms of the Kingdom had flocked towards Mobotropolis to rebuilt and resume their lives. Many had no memory of the last seven years, having just recently been deroboticized and reunited with what remained of their families.
The pace of construction was rapid, and some of it very ad hoc. There was still little notion of an economy, and very little printed currency. In some places, people built homes with their own two hands, or with assistance from others who planned to become neighbors. In a way, Mobotropolis was a boomtown, with great tracts of valuable real estate waiting to be 'legally' claimed. Only in the last month had state organized construction crews and surveyors started demarcating areas of ownership, enterprise, and rebuilding. For the moment, however, work had paused. Everyone in the city, and in others like it nearby, knew the King was about to address the nation.
So they huddled around and under the large vid-screens that hung suspended from the tallest surviving buildings. The system dated back to the Great War, but it had been greatly improved upon in the war years. Despite the relative mindlessness of his preferred subjects, Robotnick loved the notion of his voice and face addressing an entire city at once. Workers paused, sitting on half finished girders and steel supports, while other mobians took their families and heavy blankets to sit near one of the towering monitors, awaiting the word of their King.
It began promptly at noon, Central Time.
"My fellow Mobians…"
The face of the King replaced the slowly spinning Seal of Acorns on screens across the city, and on smaller monitors across the country. He was a stately old gentleman in appearance, a ground squirrel who could trace his lineage back to the first Acorn, Xerxes the Golden, and the first King of the Second Dynasty, Marius II Alexander. His bushy white eyebrows and moustache, and his regal dress, gifted him an air of importance and authority no other Mobian could hope to match. Taking a step back from the camera, the King's family became visible behind him. Along with two others, once of which appeared to be in a medical bed.
"I remember all too well my last day in this great city," King Maximilian said, blue eyes stern. "I remember all too well the sting of betrayal that cast me from this great land, that I love, with all my heart and soul. My greatest fear was not for myself, or my life, but for the Kingdom. For this great Kingdom, which has stood so resolute for eight hundred years, and for its noble and steadfast citizens."
The King took a deep breath, before continuing. "We have all endured great hardship. We have all faced terrible trials. Many of us have felt the pain of losing loved ones. For this great land, we have shed our tears and our blood. Almost two months ago, Mobians from across the Kingdom, joined by our Dingo friends from Angel Island, and even Humans from the far side of the Felix Mountains, banded together – bled together, shed tears together, to ensure the liberation of our world from a fate worse than death, worse than slavery: extinction. Now, mindful of these great sacrifices, we have returned home. We have returned to our great city…."
The King's voice wavered for a second, as if wracked by emotion. "Know this, my loyal citizens: Mobotropolis has been wounded deeply, just as the Mobian people have been badly struck by the events of the last decade. But this city shall not die. This city will remain the capitol, and it shall remain the greatest of the world's wonders! We shall rebuild it, greater than before! Brighter than before! Taller than before! More majestic than before! This city shall grow, further west, until it straddles the River Acorn: once more Mobotropolis shall become the City of Lights and Dreams!"
Taking another step back, and to the side, he stood next to the fox and minx at the bed. Slowly, as if on cue, the Queen and the two royal siblings also approached, staying within the picture. The King held out his hands, and the minx handed him a swaddled babe.
"This…" The King held the child carefully, and faced the camera. "This is the future of Mobotropolis. Just two days ago, Mr. And Mrs. Danrick became the first family of Mobotropolis: their son, the first child born within the city in over five years. A sign of life. A sign of love. A sign of revitalization! The greatest gift any subject can give his or her King is proof of their love for the Kingdom, proof of their confidence in the future so many have given their lives for. Let this Kingdom know the laughter of children once more. Let this city know it, embrace it, live it!"
The King held up the child, who started to squirm a little. His eyes were still squinted closed, not simply because of the light, but because all Mobians were born blind. He looked unremarkable as far as vulpine babies went, except his fur was a very light shade of brownish, and his long tail was obviously destined to be more minx-like than fox-like. Lowering the child again, the King turned his head to address the parents.
"Have you thought of a name yet?" The King asked, already knowing the answer.
"We have!" The two said in near perfect unison. The parents looked at each other, before laughing (somewhat forcedly) and silently deciding on letting the male speak for them. The fox held out his arms, and the King handed over the child.
"We were thinking of naming him Miles," the father explained, cradling his son. "After the Hero of Knothole."
The King nodded in approval. There was a brief moment of silence, before he continued, facing the camera again. "No matter what has been taken from us, my loyal subjects, we have been given the future. We have been given a future that will be written by young Miles' small hands. This boy is only the first. Yesterday, a baby girl was delivered. Her parents named her Sally, after my daughter…"
"In the weeks and months to come," The King said, with absolute determination. "I know we will see many more children wake up to find a new and wonderful world awaiting them. It will not be an easy life. I will not tell you that the years to come will be ones of leisure and easy living. We must all work hard to restore the Kingdom to its place of glory. For our future. For our children. I expect the best from all of you, and I know I will not be disappointed. May the Source keep and guide you all, and may it bless the Eternal Kingdom of Acorn "
A second later, the feed terminated, replaced by the slowly spinning Seal of Acorns. Scrolling text under the digital coat of arms continued the description of other news events from across the country. In Mobotropolis, some cheered, while others just went back to work, talking amongst themselves. Thousands of miles away, however, far to the west and south…
"…I know I will not be disappointed. May the Source keep and guide you all, and may it bless the Eternal Kingdom of Acorn "
Hidden behind the back of a chair, a white-gloved hand reached out, touched a small 'x' in the corner of a table mounted monitor, and cut the video feed. A larger monitor, mounted on one of the room's walls, also turned black. Around the table at which the individual sat, eleven other Mobians, of differing breeds, both male and female, shifted uneasily in their seats. Most wore formal attire, and most were at least partially obscured by the low lighting of the room, which played off the many shelves of books and paintings that decorated the meeting hall.
"Our Majesty, the King…" A full, deep voice spoke first, from behind the back of the chair, at the head of the table. "Our Majesty, the Tyrant. We should act soon, gentlemen. You know how fickle the masses can be, and Maximilian is nothing if not a good showman."
"Once we begin this…" A skunk said from the shadows, nervously rubbing his fingers together. "We are committed. There is no turning back."
"What lies behind us, gentlemen, is something we would well remember," The deep voice answered. "This may well be the only opportunity we will have in our lifetimes to throw off the Royal jackboot… to be free… How can any male, any female, turn their back on the promise of freedom? Are we united? We are strong enough, but are we daring enough? I ask you: are we daring enough to ACT?"
A round of nods, and murmured words of approval ran up and down the table. Some seemed more enthusiastic about it than others, but all we at least in general agreement. One of them, a female rabbit, stood up and raised her arm, palm open and covering her heart. Then, her arm lashed out, fingers closed into a fist. "To the Revolution!"
"The Revolution!" Another stood, shaking his fist, and then making the same salute.
"Revolution!" And then another, and then another. "Freedom! Revolution!"
Within seconds, they were all on their feet, and the pact was sealed. Their head member was the last to stand, motioning for the others to lower their voices. "Then it will be so, my friends. It will be so. The Twelve have spoken, and the world shall heed our call to arms. A glorious new Republic shall be born, and like a phoenix, it shall rise out of the ashes of this corrupt Monarchy! There can be no freedom, no New World Order, so long as Royal Blood flows through the veins of would be tyrants!"
"Yes!" Another member chanted. "Yes! Down with tyrants! Down with the King!"
"Down with the King!" Another cheered. And another. "Down with the King! Down with the Royal Family!"
"Death! Death to the Royal Family!" Another yelled. "Glory to the Revolution!"
Looking around the room, at the diverse assembly of Mobians, the group's headman couldn't help but smile. 'A new world... A New World is what we shall build. Enjoy your time in the sun, Old King. Enjoy your fleeting moment of triumph; enjoy your success, built upon the backs of those patriots who died fighting your wars. Soon, it will all turn to bitter ashes in your mouth! Then the world will be purged of your taint… forever!!'
"Liberty!" He held out his hand, covering his heart, before clenching it into a fist. "Liberty or Death!!"
-----
It was good to see snow again.
By nature, Mobius was a somewhat cold planet – most of the forests it boasted were coniferous or deciduous, but rarely tropical. The three largest areas of continuous forest: the aptly named Great Forest astride the main continent of Mobius Major, the Northern Expanse in Kitsune territory, and the un-named forests of Overland, were all temperate to some degree. Only the hidden jungles of Mobius Minor, far to the southwest, and their much smaller cousins in and around the island of Downunda, proved the exception rather than the norm.
Tempest Na'Vidar did not care to visit such alien lands.
The Southern lands home to the Kingdom of Acorn and its peoples had been hot enough for him. It had rained frequently, and with vigor he had found disturbing. It rained in the northlands, naturally, especially in early spring and fall, but never very heavily. But now, seeing flakes of snow falling from the sky, and a cool wind blowing in from the north, Tempest felt more at home, and a little more at peace.
He had taken his time heading north, digesting his experiences of the last few months, and the conclusions he was to draw from them. Things had not turned out as he expected, and a part of him was apprehensive about how the Council of Elders would handle hearing that the Quest appointed to him had apparently failed. He was Ephor Anthal of Clan Vidar, the leader of one of the Seven Major Clans of Kitsune. He was one of the most skilled and powerful warriors of his generation, but though his physical skills were almost without peer, he knew quite well what the anger of an Elder could do. They were wise beyond their years (beyond their lifetimes, actually), and though he was immune to any sort of psionic retribution, a reprimand from them could cause him, and his Clan, to lose face in the eyes of the Assembly.
Like poor Clan Vidar needed that.
'Any more face lost, and the mindless berserkers of Kalahen will have cause to look down their snouts at us,' Tempest thought, bitterly. Then, he calmed. There was little reason to moan over that which he could not control. He would tell them the truth, as his honor demanded of him, and if the Elders condemned him for his failure, then so be it. He would survive, and do whatever was deemed necessary to regain their favor, but he sure as hell wasn't in a hurry to find out what that would entail.
'Oh, but how Thandothane will laugh…'
The forest grew thicker over the next two days, and the sky softly flurried. Only a thin layer of snow, most of which was eager to melt and drip, coated the trees. The season was too young (and the location too southward) for it to stay in any one place and accumulate. It was a pity, in Tempest's opinion. This part of the Northern Expanse really seemed little different from the more northerly parts of the Great Forest, though there wasn't a broadleaf in sight.
That night, Tempest contented himself with catching a wild hare. It was small fare, but he was not in the lands of Clan Vidar, nor was he in land claimed by the Southerners of Mobius. From the smell, Tempest knew he was in Jel'Arah lands. So: no matter how tempting it was to go after more appropriate prey, he stayed his hand, and his claws, and did as Tradition dictated. It had also been tempting to return straight to his home in Clan Vidar, but a lingering paranoia towards southern Mobians compelled him to take a more circumspect route. It had been his intention all along to circle into Vidar through Jel'Arah.
Roasting his catch over a small fire, he licked his lips and upper and lower canines. Kitsune were not mobians of the Third Race, and they were far removed from those of the Second race that hid or denied their predatory heritage. A Kitsune could hardly deny his hunger for a fresh kill, even if he wanted to. That was something his former student, Miles, had learned all too well. Years ago, Tempest would have scoffed at the idea of eating food uncaught by Kitsune hands. Now, he was more…
Cultured? No: not exactly. It was the culture of the southern folk, not of the Kitsune. Still, he had done it. He had eaten food, southern food, of dubious origin, and lived to tell the tale. It remained amusing, however, that even a proud race like the dingo, preferred to disguise their food with plates and sauces and the like. He, like most Kitsune, did not have particularly well-developed taste buds, and as a consequence saw little need to dress up what was there simply to be devoured.
Was there really something… shameful about eating something where you caught it? Many southern Mobians seemed to think so. If they ate a type of meat, they didn't want it to look like it was, or had been, alive. How odd was that? Even after living among them, and coming to accommodate them, Tempest remained convinced that some of their 'Traditions' were quite nonsensical.
Taking the hare, still stuck with the spit, out of the fire, Tempest looked at it curiously for a few seconds. Many Mobians had un-sapient relatives in the animal kingdom. Even Kitsune had wild foxes, which prowled forests and plains looking for smaller, weaker, creatures to eat. Even overlanders and humans had their apes and monkeys here and there on Mobius. Perhaps it was this reminder of their past that kept many races of Mobius from seeing food as the Kitsune were want to – it reminded them of their own fragile mortality.
Shrugging, Tempest finished the small animal in two large bites, bones and all. A Kitsune's mouth was a machine of terrible power for anything on the receiving end of it. Tempest had been bitten before, in both ritual combat, and by kits. It has not been pleasant. Kitsune had strong jaws. The long canine teeth easily pierced flesh (Tempest knew from experience that even the tough hide and thick mane around a male's neck didn't prevent them from drawing blood) while the back teeth effortlessly broke through thick bones and snapped the strongest tendons.
The wild rabbit was no contest.
Throwing aside the burned wooden spit, Tempest dozed off under a large tree. He had a good idea of where he was, and during the night it was likely that those nearby would also find out just how close he had come to their camp. His dreams were a mixed bundle of memories. He saw Miles, and that hedgehog friend of his: Sonic. He saw a great rising pillar of light and fire, from the remains of the crashed Fortress Helios. And he saw Sally – Princess Acorn, he corrected himself – crying over a grave that held no body and no earthly remains. And then he saw, not for the first time in the last few weeks, himself and that same Princess Acorn. He had her in his arms… and her throat in his jaws.
And he knew that when that image entered his dreams, he squirmed uncomfortably where he slept. Soon, however, it was gone, replaced by memories of combat. That calmed him. Sometime in the night, be felt a mental signal to awake, but opted to ignore it. Several hours larger, he awoke – eyes open, and fully alert. For Kitsune, there was no period in between.
Next to him, and leaning against a tree, he saw a female kitsune in typical forest camouflage. She had her weapon still tied to her belt in collapsed form, and was dozing peacefully. Tempest made not a sound, as he slowly got to his feet. It was good to see a kitsune again, after all this time. The female, he gauged, was sixteen or so years in age, unmated, and not an un-attractive specimen ('Not bad at all, for a Jel'Arah,' he mentally commented). Her hair was what a human would have called red, but what the Kitsune referred to as 'flame,' and was tied into a long braid. It was a semi common trait among those of her Clan, but much rarer among those of Clan Vidar. Her fur was a nice shade of darker autumn red, and the tips of her tails were the standard white. Tempest was fortunate enough to have more exotic tip-fur: his was black.
With a lunge, he grabbed her by the shoulders, took her weapon arm (she holstered her weapon to her left, so it was easy enough to know which hand was dominant), and locked it behind her. She squawked in surprise, and instinctively tried to hit him with the back of her head, but ended up only hitting his shoulder and hurting herself. After continuing to struggle for a few seconds, she sighed and lowered her head.
"You have me, Ephor…"
"Eh?" Tempest raised an eyebrow at the comment, and let her go. "You know who I am?"
He left unsaid that he wouldn't have gone through the trouble of demonstrating dominance if he had known she had. It was implied, but expected to be fully understood. Most kitsune knew they were overmatched against an Ephor Anthal of any Clan, and so it was normal to forgo any sort of ritual dominance posturing or displays. Most just submitted. Traveling as most common kitsune do, however, Tempest expected he would have to first show his superiority to her, and then to whoever was the camp master of her village (or her mate, depending on which of them pressed the matter).
"Ephor Anthal Vidar." She said, in the kitsune language. He frowned. It was more respectful to tack on every prefix in a sentence making the phrase into 'Ephor Anthal Na' Vidar,' but this female was either cocky or annoyed at him, or too young and inexperienced to know any better than to use the familiar version of kitsune-go. Tempest let it slide. He was hardly the greatest stickler for protocol in the Assembly of Clans.
But others were.
"Thandothane would have had your throat for such short speak, woman," Tempest said, and frowned slightly. It was unlikely that she would ever run into him, but many Kitsune of Noble birth really would have taken her little over-familiarity as an insult. At her age, that could be a near mortal mistake.
"Maybe." The young female smirked. "But he's a Tukaido Snake. And I'd give him a scar or two before he killed me."
Tempest doubted that, but didn't feel like arguing. Besides, she was right about that first part. Thandothane was a snake in kitsune's skin.
"Take me to your camp, woman." He tacked on a 'huff' to the end of his command, drawing attention to the last word in the sentence. It was unbecoming for him to ask her name, given that she was far below him in the Kitsune hierarchy. This was a polite way to save face, but also prompt her to give him her name.
"I shall, Honorable Ephor." She lowered her head, and moved it to the left, exposing her throat. It was a posture of submission, which he took for granted. In the southlands, it was far more difficult to determine lines of loyalty. Among the kitsune it was easy: the weak submitted to the strong. Exposing one's neck, especially for a female, indicated recognition of dominance and a willingness to give up one's life.
Tempest, of course, didn't take her neck – a very literal phrase among the kitsune. No one ever actually 'took the neck' when it was offered. In that way, it was also a posture of safety. If in trouble, a lower ranked kitsune only had to submit and offer their neck, and they were practically guaranteed to escape with their lives. Only a blood-lusted Kalahen savage would take a submitting female's neck.
She headed to the northwest, and Tempest followed close behind her. He waited a few seconds in silence for her to give him her name. Most kitsune waited ten or twelve seconds into whatever task they had been ordered to do before making the statement to one of much higher standing.
"My name is Kae'Arah Se' Naza Na' Jel'Arah," she said, without flourish. To southerners, Tempest had heard, Kitsune names were obscenely long and complicated. To an extent that was rather true. Certainly, compared to most southerner names, Kitsune ones were quite long and intricate.
"Kae'Arah Se' Naza?" Tempest said the name, and thought it over a few seconds. "I recall that name from somewhere… but can't seem to put my claw on it."
"It is surely a coincidence, Ephor."
"Mmm…" Tempest mused. "Perhaps it is."
And left it at that.
Following the female, Tempest took time to enjoy the view, which in the Kitsune mindset included both sight and smell in equal measure. The forest was getting thicker and thicker (and thus more and more to his liking), and he could smell nearby game. His stomach softly rumbled at the thought. Kitsune, unfortunately, required a large amount of food to remain active. His appetite had shocked many in the southlands, and some had been rude enough to compare his eating habits to that annoying blue hedgehog hero of theirs. Even the boy had had the gall to say as much back in the first few days they'd known each other.
Of course, the other enjoyable thing about the view was Kae'Arah. He smelt her quite acutely, and was happy to be certain that she wasn't in season. Unlike with Sally – 'Princess Acorn,' he corrected himself again – he could know for sure with Kae'Arah. Sally, like all southern females, had had an odd seasonal scent that had confused his nose. Now, with a kitsune female, he could be sure. And, with her off her season, he could admire her without the risk of being interested in being mated to her.
He smirked, remembering how the concept and the phrase had confused southerners. It was quite simple, really. Unlike most mobians, Kitsune males and females only thought of being mated to one another (as in forming lasting familial attachments) during a female's season. Outside of that time, both genders were free to pursue and enjoy each other's company as desired (mating with, as opposed to being mated to). Or not to. Some females, Tempest had heard, had no interest at all in mating outside of their season. As a personal matter, Tempest was of a similar sort – he generally had little mating impulse, not since his Turan'Ha, but after so long among Third Racers and toothless Second Racers…
But thinking of that brought up another worry.
His unmated status itself was a cause for consternation. Clan Vidar had had enough problems with succession in the past, and he was only contributing to future squabbles. He was rather old for a Kitsune, well very nearly thirty years in age, and without an heir. Every year he put off making any sort of permanent mating arrangement, but soon… soon he wouldn't have any more time. It took between eleven and thirteen years for a kit to grow old enough to have his Turan'Ha, and it usually took another three years to complete their training as an heir or heiress. Even if he became mated to a female within the month, it would be almost fifteen years at the best before the child would sire kill him, and carry on his memories. By then, he'd be an old man of almost forty-four!
Engrossed in his thoughts, Tempest almost didn't notice the smells of a Kitsune camp until he got within a mile of it. But the delicious smell of roasting meat, no doubt being smoked to preserve it for another day, made his stomach rumble again – more loudly this time. In front of him, Kae'Arah's ears twitched, having heard the undignified sound, but she didn't acknowledge it, for which Tempest was grateful. It was Tradition for a Kitsune wandering another Clan's land to be hungry, even if he was an Ephor Anthal.
When they got closer, Tempest saw that the female of the head family had decided to welcome him. She looked very much like his current companion and escort, but with slightly more prominently red tipped ears. It took a few seconds for him to make the connection, and when he did he mentally kicked himself for not doing so sooner.
"Honorable Ephor Anthal Na'Vidar…" Kae'Arah took a step to the side, to stand next to the other female. He noted with some pleasure that she used the full honorific. "I present you with the worthy kitsune charged with the humble defense of Camp Amma-Arah: Our Campmaster and Head Female. … My mother, Kae-Uhl Se' Venn Na' Vidar, mate to Kamahl-Uhl Se' Naza Na' Jel'Arah."
"I greet you. Your warrior did well to track and find me," Tempest said, formally, excluding: 'Not as well as she should have, but well enough to matter.' Instead he finished by saying, "A non-kitsune wouldn't have lived long enough to make note of her impatience."
Kae'Arah rolled her eyes. If she had thought Tempest wouldn't make note of the fact that she had been caught asleep, instead of alert and with a blade to his throat, she was sorely mistaken. He had deliberately slept late to see if his escort would end up dozing off herself. Most kitsune awoke at the same time, and it was rude to wake up a kitsune trespasser, but Tradition dictated that a sentry wait for the other kitsune to have his or her rest before being questioned, in the chance that they were exhausted from a long night's travel. Kae'Arah had obviously expected him to be up at sunrise, and then fallen sound asleep with he didn't.
It was a mistake he had never made at her age.
But, of course, he wasn't female and had never been sent out to investigate intruding kitsunes. That was woman's work. By Tradition, it was Female kitsune who guarded the camps, and defended them from intruders. It was the role of males to attack, and females to defend. It had been that was for thousands of years, and would remain that way for thousands more.
"My daughter still has much to learn before she may attempt the Kul'dah." Kae-Uhl inclined her head in parental reproach before looking at her daughter out of the corner of her eyes. "Kae'Arah shall prove her competence to the honorable Ephor by being his Auxiliary for his say here. Is this satisfactory?"
Tempest looked at the older female, as if to ask, 'What are you up to?'
But he agreed. He had no explicit reason to ask for another. "This is acceptable to me. She shall be my Auxiliary."
It was, as with everything, Tradition not to ask the female (or male) who had to perform that function. Standing between the two older kitsune, but outside of the conversation, Kae'Arah sighed, but smiled a little, too.
"Let this camp offer you a meal, Honorable Ephor," Kae-uhl continued. Offering a meal, at any time, was again: Tradition. It allowed a hungry kitsune to eat without having to ask for it, thus allowing him or her to save face, even though both parties knew that the reason a kitsune would be hungry in the first place was also because Tradition forbid them to hunt most types of prey in the lands of another Clan.
"I shall gratefully accept such an offering," Tempest returned, with a little more gentility than was technically required.
Kae-Uhl smiled, accepting the added measure of cordiality. "Your Auxiliary shall gladly retrieve it for you."
"I shall present it to you in the guest quarters, Ephor," Kae'Arah interjected into the conversation, with a little too much eagerness, even as her tone remained polite. She turned on her heels, and walked off, twin tails waving back and forth vigorously – and defiantly.
"Quite a little fire starter you've got there, Kae." Tempest smiled, and spoke more casually now that the two were alone. "I didn't recognize the name with an 'Arah stuck on the end."
"Tradition." Kae-Uhl said, simply. Tempest nodded. That one word was enough. It was the Tradition of the Jel'Arah Clan (though none of the others) to tack on a suffix to the birth name of every member: 'Arah, if unmated. –Uhl if mated. Kae had been just that: Kae Se' Venn Na' Vidar, back when he had known her. She'd ended up mated to a Jel'Arah male, and had adopted the 'Uhl suffix when she moved to his camp. The rest of her name remained the same: unlike with many southern mobians, kitsune females retained their Family and Clan names. The child's Family name was decided by the stronger of their two parents (almost always the male), and the Clan by the place of their birth (when both parents were from different Clans, the one who left to live in the other's Clan surrenders his or her obligation to pass on a Clan name).
She started to walk. It was also Tradition to show a guest around the circumference of the camp at which he or she was staying, both as a display of trust, and as a display of defensive preparedness. Tempest followed her, and appraised the camp half-heartedly as they talked.
"It's been years, Kae – I had heard you mated into the Naza Family from Chara, and that you were visiting, but that was while I was out training with Master Urun Na' Fa'Rah." Tempest pondered how long for a few seconds. "What? Seven years ago? Eight? Yes: Chara was only eleven, going through her own Turan'Ha. "
"Seven years, Tempest." Kae-Uhl left out the honorific 'Ephor' and used his first name. They were familiar enough, however, that she didn't need permission to do so, but she quickly gauged his expression regardless. Then, assured that he was not offended, she continued. "And the last time I saw you in the flesh was nine years before that. You've gotten bigger."
Tempest grunted in response. "Broader, if not taller, Kae. When we last met, I had the size to take you, but not enough training."
She smiled wistfully. "I broke one of your fingers."
"Woman – you hurt my pride more than my hand," Tempest said, seriously. Then, after a pause, the female Kae-Uhl began to laugh, and Tempest joined her. Sixteen years ago, he had been a young male of twelve years going through his Turan'Ha. The rut had done more than increase his physical size; it had filled his head with delusions of invincibility. Like his peers, he had gone about challenging and Claiming females, but as one of the more ambitious boys, he had ventured out of his relative age bracket. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he had gone unmated while so many of his age-mates had found females for themselves.
During that time, Kae Se' Venn Na' Vidar had been an available female of fifteen years, having had her Turan'Ha two years previous. She had been waiting for a worthy male, and Tempest had thought himself up to the challenge of Claiming her. Certainly, at the time, he felt strong enough to do the job. He had exploded in size to the point where he outweighed her, and out muscled her, by a fair margin. The first time he tried, she had simply beaten him up. The second time, she left him hanging upside down from a tree. The third, she broke his left pinky finger. He gave up after the fourth attempt.
"Infuriating woman!" Tempest said, between laughs. "You'd have been better off giving into me! Knowing you, you'd be running the Assembly by now if you had!"
"I'm not so sure, Tempest… you didn't really try and improve yourself until after I taught you that you wouldn't just have things your way by default. I knew it then, and I know it now. I would have been remiss to just give into your tenaciousness, and let you have what you technically didn't deserve." Kae looked at him slyly. "But I did think about it… once or twice."
"Only once or twice?" He teased. Then, he remembered something he had been curious about earlier. "How did you know I was coming, Kae? You couldn't have smelled me this far off. I wasn't making pains to hide myself, but I wasn't advertising either."
"Feh!" Kae-Uhl scoffed, as kitsune often did. "I heard from another of our scouts that you passed by here on your way south. She mentioned to me that night that the Ephor Anthal of Clan Vidar had passed through our land in too much of a hurry to stop for the night. Apparently, you had enough spare time to conceal your own camp by passing through our lands, but not enough to stay and ask of our hospitality."
He accepted her reproach gracefully, inclining his head slightly, but – of course – not offering his neck. "For that, I apologize. To you, your mate, and this camp."
"We will allow you to make it up to us. Tonight, you shall tell us of your adventures… at least as much as you think the Elders would allow, if they were the ones who sent you on this Quest." Kae nodded. "Of course they were the ones. Who else, what else, would compel a mighty Ephor Anthal of the Assembly of Clans to run?"
"You joke, but you speak truth." Tempest shook his head sadly. "I will be happy to spin a yarn, Kae. I can't speak to the quality of it, but I'm sure I'll come up with something."
"I'm sure you'll come up with something. Tonight. In the mean time, your Auxiliary will care for you. No offense intended, Honorable Ephor, but you smell of the southlands. And your hair…"
"I am aware of my appearance and my smell." Tempest cut her off, crossly. Kae-Uhl frowned at him, but stopped in front of a small hut with a thatched roof – the camp's guest quarters.
"Males," She said, exasperatedly. "Left to yourselves, you'd remain as sticky and tangled as the day you were spawned."
"You sleep next to what: a male shaped rock?" Tempest laughed, and so did his female host. Eventually, they both calmed, and Kae-Uhl motioned to the hut next to them.
"Go easier on my heiress than on me, Honorably Ephor. She's only played the role of Auxiliary once before. That male ended up with a bloody nose." The female then added, "She is a fine warrior. More skilled than I was at her age. But she has never truly been challenged. She is… often inattentive."
Tempest nodded his understanding. "I shall see you later today, Kae. And I look forward to seeing the male who finally managed to get his teeth into you."
"Kamahl-Uhl is a reasonable kitsune… for a male. He will not challenge or offend you, Ephor. He has, however, never hosted one of your status, and nor I think has his father or grandfather, for whom he carries memories. I expect he will be rather nervous."
"Tell him this," Tempest said, and turned to head into the hut. "An Ephor Anthal is just a name. He need not fear it, only the kitsune who comes bearing it, and even then not in every instance. I'm as easy going an Ephor as he'll ever meet."
"I'll get the point across, Tempest." Kae-Uhl responded smoothly, and took her leave. Tempest heard her walk off, and entered the hut, pushing aside the flap covering the entrance. Like all kitsune dwellings, it was extremely simple and Spartan compared to the homes of southern mobians, despite being rather much larger. The bed was hand woven linen, and made for virtually any kitsune's size, making it large enough to accommodate even a human or overlander. There was also a torch for light, a few weapons propped up against a wall, and a small wooden shelf that, he knew, contained a very special case. Inside that case were the written records detailing who had stayed as a guest of the camp, for how long, and at what point in time. It was entirely likely that records in that case went back four or five thousand years, if not more.
At that thought, the continuity and stability of the Kitsune, as a race, filled him with pride. The southern races of Mobius had long histories, but much of it was lost to the ravages of time. Life in the south changed dramatically and radically at a mind-boggling pace. Civilizations, like the mighty Kingdom of Acorn, came and went in the blink of an eye, or the flashing of claws. Without a strong sense of guiding Traditions, they were left to whimsy and spur of the moment decision-making.
Inhaling deeply, Tempest also smelled food.
'Finally!' he mentally rejoiced, and sat down, legs crossed, in the center of the hut. Kae'Arah was there as well, presenting the object of his immediate desire: a steaming bowl of thick soup in a stone bowl. Like everything else, the presentation of the meal to the guest of the camp was determined by ancient Traditions – a soup, of some variety or another, was always made available. It was a broth if the guest was in poor health; a thicker confection if he or she was simply half-starved.
"Your meal, Honorable Ephor." Kae'Arah handed him a thick-handled spoon, and a Traditional drink of bitter tea. "I have ordered the males to prepare the strongest drink available for tonight."
Sipping the tea. Tempest allowed himself a happy sigh. Pointing the utensil at his Auxiliary, he smiled broadly. "Let me tell you this, Kae'Arah Se' Naza. After so long in the company of Southerners, it is good to be Home!"