Chapter 25: The Molten Moat of Cheese

“It is carried by fleas in rabbits’ ears,” said the Black Rabbit. “They pass from the ears of a sick rabbit to those of his companions. But El-ahrairah, you have no ears…”

--Richard Adams, Watership Down

…Not counting themselves. Grace, Goldtalon, Bennu, Schrodinger, Diana, and Fox were prisoners. There exists little doubt in that regard, what with the steel handcuffs. Some were even muzzled, though no rabbit wanted to get near Goltalon’s beak. Movements were limited to what Mr. Aitvaras commanded, but their noses worked on their own. The first impression of Mooncry was its odor.

Grace suddenly wished the Astral version of the moon could be as airless as its physical counterpart, if only for a few moments. True, the moldy cheese smell was not deadly like the Aniwye’s spray, but it came from every direction. There was no safe place to breath. The Ambrosius Institute was once the closest she had gotten to seeing a castle. Approaching the real thing brought no wonder. Only a wrinkled nose.

Mr. Aitvaras prodded them across a cheddar drawbridge above a moat of melted pepper jack. Poignant spice wafted from the boiling river. Grace’s vision was impaired by steam. She became terrified of falling in. A rabbit rammed her from behind, and she kept moving. Mighty tank treads reverberated about the fortress grounds while she and her friends were marched down a hall of gouda.

“Bad,” muttered Diana, “bad, bad, a…”

A pebble in Fox’s halo just happened to fall on Diana, shutting her up. Iron bindings made the older girl sick, but awake again.

“Psst,” Schrodinger whispered through gritted fangs. “We’ve got the second-to-last ingredient. ‘Peace from the rheum of Death’s brother (Beyond 32 grains, Life’s 3rd becomes all) must mean sleeping sand! Right under my claws.”

“How’ll I collect it without them noticing.” Grace, too, whispered. “Them” viewed her friends with beady, suspicious, but above all sharp eyes. “Anyway, they’ll probably take my bag.”

“I doubt Ostara herself would know the significance of what we have,” Bennu whispered out the side of his beak. “But watch Aitvaras.”

The demon was at the head of the line, preening his new suit. In distance alone, the walk to the throne room was not especially long. It certainly felt like an eternity before two bands of trumpet-playing rabbits announced their arrival to the being called “the Easter Bunny.”

In Grace’s household, Easter was for “churching,” whether attending her mother’s or Grandmam’s congregations. Still, she had seen that, come spring, bunnies would be plastered on greeting cards. Chocolate facsimiles would be mass produced. Eggs were hidden in neighborhood greenery on Sunday for other children, even though it had nothing to do with Jesus.

The reality behind the holiday commercialization was a figure so aggressively adorable it simply was not fair. The rabbit sitting on the round, white throne was so obviously nonthreatening, Grace’s mind at once set to doubting the notion she was bent on enslaving the world. Talk of the goddess’s evil deeds must be rumors, or simply mistaken. After all, Bennu and Schrodinger never actually met Ostara. How, then, would they know for certain she was behind all the monsters they had been forced to face?

A hand unconsciously moved to pet the bunny. But it, along with Grace’s other hand, was manacled behind her back. She turned to either side, seeing her friends pushed in a line: Goldtalon on her left, Schrodinger on her right, followed by Bennu, Diana, and, on the far right, Fox. All were made to face the throne.

In large part, the spontaneous fascination with Ostara related to her eyes. Light shined in them like a sunrise hitting dew. The irises held every shade of green from the glorious stage in the seasons where winter finally surrendered to spring: bright grass recently sprung up; dark leaves rustling in the breeze. Perish the possibility those eyes should swell with a shower of tears! That would surely send Grace into a sympathetic storm of depression.

Unlike the silver moon rabbits, Ostara’s fur was gold. Not like the metal, more like wheat or corn, mixed with earthy sienna tones. What is more, she smelled like cut grass, haybales, tulips in bloom, hot chocolate, and, somehow, even a bit like the perfume Grace’s mother wore on rare occasions.

Mr. Aitvaras stepped up to Ostara’s seat (which looked more solid than a cloud, but less than a cotton ball), removing a scroll from his pocket. Unlike the gold one suspended from his neck, it was parchment. “Erhemm,” he read, “I come here to propose a treaty between the birds of Nephelokokkygia and you, most excellent lepus, or lapine, or…”

“Oh-my-me, shut up Aitvaras,” Ostara drawled. “What do I need a treaty for? Hello, I’m about to take over the world! My flying tanks are nearly complete. Soon they’ll sow spores across the Earth, controlling anything with a brain more developed than yours. Which should include…um, just about everyone! When I inevitably reign over the birds, I’ll plunder whatever I want of theirs. No treaty required.” She turned her attention to a jar of candy set on her armrest. No one in the room was offered any.

“For…forgive me, mistress.” Mr. Aitvaras began stuttering. Grace had never seen the demon like this. “I have more to off…er.” He held up Ridil weakly. The sword was snatched from his hands by a scruffy rabbit with a peg-leg.

“That’s not yours to offer,” Bennu said to Mr. Aitvaras. “Or yours to take.” He glared at Ostara. “That goes for the stolen eggs, too!”

The Easter Bunny bared her buckteeth. Her spring-green eyes distracted from how brown, crooked, and cavity-filled they were. A diet consisting solely of sweets had long besieged any extra molars desperately growing to replace the old teeth. “I admit my preference for poaching goes a bit…beyond most’s interests.” Ostara sucked in air. “But really, I’m the true victim of egg snatchers. They drive species to extinction, sure, but I hurt, too! Financially. This is not a cheap hobby. Don’t I deserve compassion?”

“No,” stated Fox. “I’ll admit you’re cute, but what good’s cute ever done? All my friends are ugly…or weird, and I smash any mirror I see. So what? Maybe you collect eggs ’cause you think they’re pretty, and don’t care where they had to be stolen from. That’s just selfish!”

The cuffed hands behind Fox’s back balled into fists. Multiple boulders of luminescent moon rock appeared in the air above Ostara. Even the smallest was larger than Fox. She could not direct them manually while bound, but she could count on gravity.

Ostara did not even bother looking up. When a boulder was an inch above the tip of one fuzzy ear, she snapped. The boulders shattered into a rain of sugar-coated gumdrops. Goldtalon bent down to eat the closest of the scattered candies, but chains kept him from reaching it.

Ostara speared a nail through a gumdrop and sighed. “Really child? Even if you managed to crush me beneath those pitiful pebbles, I’m immortal.”

“So was the Djieien.” Grace nudged Goldtalon. His neck was straining beyond what seemed safe.

“Another mere mortal compared to me.” Ostara inspected her nails. “Grimalkins only get nine incarnations. Phoenixes rely on the same tired ritual every half-millennium. I have no such limitations. Wait…did you say ‘was’ when speaking about the Djieien?”

“I put its heart back in its body with my powers!” Grace tried for mad laughter, but could not match anything the villains (or even Fox) were capable of. She did not mention it was only Ridil that made it possible to defeat the Djieien. Not when Ostara’s minion had it. “My friends and I beat the Aniwye, too.”

“That counts only the lowest among us egg snatchers,” dismissed Mr. Aitvaras. He tried composing himself, wiping away stains on his white suit.

“Well, my dad did kick you into the gutter for setting my family’s church on fire.” As Grace said it, the peg-legged rabbit faked an attempt to stifle a snicker. His laugh came out louder for the effort. Ostara smiled at her. A warm feeling drizzled over Grace.

“Suppose I’ll have to turn off your powers if you refuse to play nice,” Ostara said to Fox in a pouty tone that, from anyone else, would be considered obnoxious. She snapped again. It looked like a weight had been lifted from Fox. Not knowing how to handle that, her limbs drooped like overcooked noodles.

“Erm, the prisoners might prove of some use,” Mr. Aitvaras spoke up after some effort. “The phoenix and griffin’s body parts are obviously magical. I’ll grant two of the humans aren’t worth that much…but the little one’s an augur, which I’m willing to trade.” Before getting to the Sandman nest, he had resumed his human disguise. Now, his face was the same foul fowl that invaded Nephelokokkygia.

“An augur?” Ostara leaned forward. (If you have ever sat on a waterbed, you have some notion of the rippling made by her marshmallow chair.) “Those haven’t been seen since, like, ancient Rome. Well worth adding to my collection. But you’ll have to prove it, Aitvaras.”

Mr. Aitvaras fiddled with the scroll around his neck. The paper one was torn up and thrown on the floor. He circled to where Grace was held. The fire in his sockets burned blue. He leaned in so they were nose-to-beak and asked “Where are your Jack O’ Lanterns now?”

Tears involuntarily sprang into Grace’s eyes. Since getting through the Place of Dead Dreams, any time her mind wandered it went back to her Grandmam. The woman who taught her to read, and other practical subjects like elves and changelings. Halloween had been the last time they practiced a family tradition together. Grace could act brave when she had the lantern’s light to keep demons away. She was not sure she could act brave now.

“See that?” Mr. Aitvaras loudly asked the room. “You couldn’t understand my question. It was in the secret language of birds. To her, however, every language sounds the same. She didn’t even realize I was speaking something other than English.” He turned his blazing gaze to Bennu. “You understood. Right, neighbor? Well, former neighbor.”

“Not clear what you mean.” Bennu tilted his head sideways, his pearly eyes wide. “Was that Pig Latin or something? Didn’t sound like bird-speak to me, nope.”

“What about you?” Mr. Aitvaras moved on to Goldtalon. “You may have cat ears, but there’s a bird brain in there. Did I just communicate in the secret language of birds?”

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“Yes,” Goldtalon answered impassively.

“Fine.” Ostara kicked back. Her head rested on one arm of her throne while her feet crossed on the other. “I believe this girl’s an augur.”

“What’s my commission for scouting the brat?” Mr. Aitvaras rubbed his hands together so fast friction would have flayed off skin if he was not already fireproof.

“Your commission is I don’t kill you here and now.” Ostara answered in the same upbeat tone she apparently used for all occasions.

“That’s…not fair.” Mr. Aitvaras’ blue flames burnt out. Only dull embers cooled in his sockets.

“More than generous, I think. It was my army driving my tanks that actually brought these prisoners here. You just happened to be present.” With a flip of her paw, Ostara had a cadre of guards escort Mr. Aitvaras out of the throne room. Others marched in, taking places between the hall’s high windows.

Ostara gazed at each of the captured companions in turn. “It’s not like I hate phoenixes, griffins…or really any birds, reptiles, or platypuses. Platypi? Can never remember the plural. I love, cherish, respect them, even! But what right do they have to their young? Because the eggs co-incid-ent-ally dropped from their cloacae? If so, why not simply lay more?”

“Those are families!” yelled Bennu. Though his wings were chained behind his back, and his feet similarly, he clearly intended to rush the throne.

Ostara inspected her long nails. “Let’s not forget the common practice among birds where they raid other nests and feast on the eggs therein. Nature outdid herself producing the cuckoo—the negligent mother leaves her eggs in the nest of another species. The moment they’re hatched, a baby cuckoo instinctively pushes the true offspring out of the tree, to freeze or starve below while the oblivious mother feeds the invading hatchling like it was her own. How’s what I do any crueler? You think you can do better than nature?”

“Yes.” Bennu’s voice shifted from outraged to terse. “That’s why we have civilization, because beings can be better than their basest nature. Nephelokokkygia banished the cuckoos from its city years ago for breaking our laws.”

“Besides,” said Schrodinger. His chain muzzle caused him to slur slightly, “when you have to compare the suffering you inflict to a parasite, that’s how you know you lack the moral high ground. Cats are carnivores. We know nature can prove vicious. But decent predators only kill out of hunger, or self-defense. Why does a plant-eating rabbit need with eggs? You’re a disgrace to the House of Van. If my lady Freya could see her kinswoman moving about in the shape of a rodent, she’d disown you! She died with her family at Ragnarök, protecting the cosmos, with only cats to maintain her legacy!”

Ostara yawned. “Not everyone had a stake in that tiff between the Houses of Bor and Laufey. I was the only nature god to realize before it was too late. Spotted a cozy warren here, took an early retirement. The reason I’ve stayed in Mooncry so long is not cowardice, as you imply, it’s simply that I rather enjoy sitting on my marshmallow throne. I haven’t risen from it because it’s JUST. THAT. COMFORTABLE. I’ve had enough gold to contract egg snatchers to do my work on Earth. But sadly, that period of leisure has come to an end.”

Ostara stopped to smile right at Grace. The girl was sure nobody since the beginning of the universe ever received such a look of pure affection. “In my plan to free the world from the perils of choice, I’ll still need collaborators. Otherwise, things’ll turn pretty dull fast. Don’t think I’ll accept the common rabble, though!”

Ostara’s glance wavered between Diana and Fox. She granted them no bucktoothed smile. “True, they have their place.” The rabbit stood on her head. “Why, they get to live to serve my greatness! The suggestible part’s the easiest thing about Radixomniummalorum bokor. All creatures secretly love being bossed around. Once we perfect the fungus so the infected only follow my direct commands, that nasty side effect where heads go ‘ka-boom’ should stop.” Upside-down, she shrugged. “Probably.”

“You’ve received the new batch of spores this morning, boss,” said the peg-legged rabbit. “Or, maybe this afternoon. It’s hard to tell time when it’s always dark…which wasn’t a problem till you set us this holiday schedule, with no overtime.” He wrenched Ridil between his dirty paws before starting over. “Anyway, now you can test them out on some new subjects. I mean…if you think that’s a good idea.”

“You’re in a testy mood today, Tecciztecatl.” Ostara sighed, then said “Okay, I’m bored anyway. Novel entertainment so rarely walks into Mooncry—willing or otherwise.” She reached in a crevice under a marshmallow cushion. Her paw came out holding some round, hairy green objects, a little smaller than acorns.

The spores to the Root of All Evil did not seem like much fuss. Then again, diseases were invisible to the naked eye. Director Ambrosius had an envelope’s worth of spores, and that was enough to infect all the birds used for experiments, and at least three human agents.

The rabbit goddess stood from her throne, and immediately fell over. “Cut me some slack!” she yelled at no one in particular. “I’ve been sitting so long, my legs atrophied. Don’t just stand there!”

The rabbit with a peg-leg—Tecciztecatl—helped pull Ostara off the ground, righting her footing. She walked unsteadily to the line of prisoners. She stopped before the grimalkin. “Let’s see who the real coward is, Schrodinger Freyasson.”

“Okay.” Schrodinger did a fair job enunciating through his muzzle. “But I don’t know where you keep the mirrors in this house.”

“Like, you realize I’m about to turn you into a zombie? How about begging for mercy? Look, I’ll even ungag you!” Ostara only delegated. She refused to take the muzzle from Schrodinger’s mouth herself.

“A cat,” said Schrodinger, “does not beg. It’s why we’re different from dogs. If you think spores worry me, I ask—in the history of all worlds—has anyone managed to tell a feline what to do and had it comply without first considering the soundness of said request? Bring all the spores you have in this rotten excuse for a castle. I’ll consume each and every one. I’m the only true carnivore in this room, not like these others.” He nodded to either side of him. “You know what danger I pose. Least, your jackalopes did when I ripped out their throats! Your spores or your flesh. Either way, I’ll gladly receive a meal.”

Ostara chuckled. “A glutton for punishment, then. Wonder if your friends can so easily sup and imbibe at the table of pain? Let’s see them stand the greatest of tortures!”

Her idea of torture turned out to be chopping everyone’s ears off. “That way, you’ll never hear music, or warm rain in spring, or autumn leaves rustling. You’ll never listen to servants praising your greatness, or foes who irritate you crying for compassion as you laugh because you have none. How unfortunate that, alone of all birds, griffins possess ears. No more hearing your prey, little freak.”

She boldly marched up to Goldtalon. Hardly “little”, the griffin towered over the rabbit. Even a mass of chains barely restrained his muscular limbs.

“Only problem is the firebird.” Ostara tsk-tsked. “He doesn’t have any ears. I suppose I can pluck out his eyes or shatter his beak.”

“Anything but the wing,” cried Bennu. “I can’t do that twice in one year.”

“If I were to torture someone,” said Schrodinger. “That is, if I were the sort that tortures—it takes a special cowardice to hurt helpless creatures—I’d leave my victim’s ears alone. The famous aphorism is simply not true: words hurt worse than sticks and stones. As a librarian, I know better than anyone why language should be used responsibly, instead of for insults, lies, or shaming. Bring out sticks and stones anyway, you cotton-tailed rat. You can cut off my ears. But I warn you, out of my naturally courteous manner, it would only be a reward to never again be afflicted by your stupid, vapid giggling.”

“But Freyasson, I don’t need sticks and stones.” Ostara blew her pawful of spores right in Schrodinger’s face. The green glow always present to some degree in his vision dimmed. The goddess had a brown cavity grin.

The companions looked on as spores worked their way into his mouth, nose, and ears. He tried holding his breath, but the zombifying agents did not disperse in the air. He fell choking to the ground. Rabbit guards hoisted him up. The tabby was fully unshackled, but did not move to strike his enemies. Instead, Schrodinger moved erratically, spasming in Grace’s direction.

Grace kneeled down just as he dug both front claws into her shoulder! While the unexpected attack would not draw blood through her layers of clothes, it nevertheless shocked her. Automatically, she checked the shoulder. Bits of gold sand, too small for others to notice, were now embedded in the fibers of her ripped jacket. The seventh ingredient.

“Now: follow my orders.” Ostara’s voice came coated with smugness. “I command you, hop in the air!” Not only did Schrodinger hop, so did Goldtalon. The Easter Bunny never specified who needed to follow her order.

“Oh, isn’t that sweet,” Ostara clapped while stumbling backwards into her marshmallow throne. “The griffin copies everything his half-cousin does! Must’ve imprinted on him. Dance, you two!”

Schrodinger shuffled aimlessly about the hall. Goldtalon did much the same, fitting the bare minimum of “dancing.” It is unlikely that the addition of music would have improved their random jerking. They could not coordinate. Both creature’s eyes were uncomprehending.

Ostara giggled. “The griffin’s a persistent copycat. If I don’t taxidermy him, he might make a good jester. Put more feeling into it—Schrodinger!” The grimalkin followed the last instruction, springing into the air and hitting a cheese wall made hard after centuries of aging. If it caused him pain, it did not show. He continued slamming into walls. Goldtalon, meanwhile, ‘danced’ the same as before.

“Oh, oh, oh, how exciting!” Ostara tilted her head down, clasping her paws. Her friendly gaze (at least it once appeared so to Grace) turned intense. “We have a second spore-infectee!”

“That’s not true,” exclaimed Grace. Seeing the Easter Bunny staring at her friends so darkly shook her out of a trance. “He’s just young.”

“Impressionable,” added Diana.

“Where would any of us find spores before now?” Fox asked with a great deal of scoffing. “We just saw, they’re only in your couch cushions.”

“Let’s test that.” Ostara slapped her paws together. “As I’m sure you’ll love, Tecciztecatl. I command you—kill yourself!” Schrodinger and Goldtalon shuffled randomly about the throne room. Apparently, the order needed to be more specific. Ostara looked about curiously to find a good way to kill a cat. “Jump out that window into the cheese moat! Don’t swim or try to eat your way out. Just drown.”

The rabbit guards standing before the window Ostara gestured to shoved each other to get out of the way.

“Stop where you are!” yelled Grace. “Both of you. Don’t go any closer!” Goldtalon stopped in his tracks, but Schrodinger continued edging to the window directly overlooking the broiling pepper jack river. It was true, then. The new spores made it so victims only followed Ostara’s orders.

“Nice try, augur,” Ostara said in the sing-song tone of nursery rhymes. “But I’ll cut you a break. Griffin: it’s fine if you stay in place. In fact, remain still for the foreseeable future, no matter what anyone else might order. You’ve got magical claws to snip and feathers to pluck. The same goes for you, phoenix!” She winked at Bennu. “I’ve no use for the poor pussycat, however.”

“You can’t…” began Grace.

She, Diana, and Fox all struggled in their chains, trying to get in their friend’s way before he could leap out. Their handcuffs and restraints held, making it even more frustrating that zombie Schrodinger’s movements were so slow.

As instructed, Goldtalon stood like a statue. All felt impotent, except Bennu. Fetters on his wings and legs turned red with heat until they melted. The slag did the phoenix little harm. His plumage had gone completely black. “I’ll pull him up before he drowns!” is what he meant to say. It came out so fast it sounded like “Apmupbfredrz.”

A flash of black flame blinded the guards coming to block him. The messenger was fast as thought. Unfortunately, Schrodinger (probably for the first time in his existence) was not thinking. When the phoenix passed the windowsill, the tabby’s body had already been lost among the pepper jack. Bennu dived into the bubbling moat nonetheless. The spices did not burn his eyes, but the barely-liquid matter was so opaque, he did not know which ways were up or down. He barely made it back through the window. Other than a coating of steaming dairy, Bennu carried nothing.

Unlike with Chiaroscuro, there were no opportunity for a funeral, a memorial, even a wake. The companion’s enemies were not that compassionate. Grace’s tears matched Diana’s on her best days—which were actually the squonk’s worst days. Diana had no tears left, but crumpled to her knees. Fox said she felt like one of her stones, but did not disappear somewhere else, however much she wished to. She and Diana held onto each other. (Given the chains, it was more like they awkwardly leaned against each other.) Even zombified, Goldtalon wept. Nobody ordered him not to.

The worst reaction was from Bennu. Speeding to the river just a feathersbreadth too late to rescue his unlikely friend, then having to come back empty-taloned had snuffed his internal fires. Color drained from his plumage. Not even white, but the blankness of the Limbus Threshold.

“There, there,” Ostara made a spectacular failure at sounding consoling. “I know you’re a widdle upset to consider a place among my exceptional people, augur. How about you cool off in a cell awhile with your girl friends? If you don’t wind up drained of blood in there, we can chat more. I have plenty of time, unlike those losers at Ragnarök. Remember: I can do to your griffin what I just did to your kitty-cat. Toodle-oo!”

Ostara waved goodbye as Grace, Diana, and Fox were pushed down a hall of bleu cheese. Bennu’s melted chains needed replacements. He did not bother struggling against the guards. Goldtalon was lost in trying to eat gumdrops off the ground.