“SooooOOoorrrennn” it called, louder than any human. Soren stopped in her tracks. Madrid called again,

“SooooOOOoorrenn” it called in a mock version of her mother’s call to her. She turned to the burning town of Cottonwood, smoke billowed out of everything. A figure strode out through the orange and smoldering air. His supple leather coat swelled behind him and the brim of his hat was caste just over his eyes. He strode leisurely towards her and Soren noticed the thunderclouds once again waiting just behind him. The clouds looked ready to burst with rain. Still, not a drop fell. Soren’s heart raced. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t force herself to turn and run. Beads of ashy sweat bubbled on her forehead as Madrid made his way towards her. As he got within fifty paces an odd compulsion came to Soren to once again grab the Ochre in her pocket. She thought she could hear Caracara from some far off corner of her mind, but it was distant and muffled and the current terror in front of her took all her focus. Still, she felt herself reaching into her pocket, feeling the warm gem.

The moment her hand clasped over the Ochre, Madrid halted his progress towards her.

“So.” He said, voice like shale falling from a mountain. Soren wasn’t sure what to do and hesitated. Madrid's steps crunched a bit closer as he continued the intervening silence. Finally he broke the silence, a scythe through wheat.

“So, I am prepared to make a deal with you Soren Pickett.” He looked down at the gem Soren was clutching in her hands.

“That gem,” then pointing back to the crowd behind Soren he said,

“for your family. Well, what’s left of them.” He grinned with his eyes and Soren saw all the malice in the world in that face. She saw her own rage reflected back at her in the dark eye sockets. The reflected fury quelled her own rage, replacing it with an alien sort of anger Soren didn’t understand. It was not her anger, not her emotion and somehow she understood that. She also understood this fire was Madrid's rage made manifest. As she stared into those incandescent eyes, a small voice in her whispered an incongruent feeling of compassion. It wasn’t Caracara and it took a moment for her to realize it was her own small voice, her own emotion.

She couldn't help feel a sense of compassion for any being carrying that much rage within them. That amount of rage would have immolated her on the spot if she'd tried to hold it. Her compassion against all that rage was like spitting into an inferno. Still, the heat and rage and fury did not envelope her. She clutched the gem of Ochre. It was pulsing slowly, but brighter than Soren had ever seen it. She was mildly surprised her own heart was no longer racing in terror. She looked at the stone and for an instant the Ochre had shown in the night like a lighthouse and Soren thought she could see something other than mirthless glee on Madrid’s face. She felt something other than rage from him, fear perhaps or shock. Then just as quickly, both were gone and she was again looking into the lightless depths in front of her. The rage instantly diminished and with it, the tornado of fire around them. The buildings burning around them, lit up the night.

“Why?” She called out, still looking at the Ochre,

“Why?” he parroted, but Soren continued,

“What do you want with my family? What do you want with the Ochre? Why kill so much? Why make the mounds? WHY!?” her rage had returned with her confusion. Madrid smirked and in his raspy high voice said,

“You have not the capacity to imagine the horrors I face every day. If you did, these trials you think I’ve put you through would pale. Your brother was at the right place, at the right time, just like he was supposed to be. Your friend, Tucks I believe, he too was right where he was supposed to be. The fowl, small willow trees and the fauns and decrepit wande-” he cut himself off pausing and sighed and looked up saying,

“I am simply the focal point this world pivots on. You think I’m doing this? I am a cog, just like you.” He paused and drew closer to Soren, now no more than ten feet away, she was paralyzed with fear and rage as he continued,

“Do you know what a rat is?” he asked conspiratorially. The change of subject forced Soren to consider the question. She immediately forgot any thought before, they didn’t have rats this far south but she had heard of the creatures. They brought disease and were of concern in the big cities, where thousands and thousands lived beneath the streets.

“Yes.” She said, Madrid continued,

“Nasty little things. They bite and scratch and eat anything, anything they can bite off or fit in their mouths. Do you know how they get rid of rats in the cities?” he asked.

“N-no” she said in a quavering voice and Madrid moved even closer to her.

“In the big cities” he gestured behind him,

“to the north, men have bred dogs to hunt the rats. They’ve made their dogs smaller and smaller to fit into the rat holes and cracks where they live. They’ve bred them to burrow into holes, digging and digging and digging until they finally find their prey. They’ve bred these dogs to do one thing and one thing only, find and kill rats.”

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“Oh.” Was all Soren could say. She tried to step back but was somehow unable to. To her surprise Madrid continued,

“Yes, ‘oh’ indeed. Now these men have been breeding these dogs for a long, long time. These dogs are everywhere, and now they do much more than simply hunt rats. What do you suppose those dogs think when say, a monk or a wealthy young woman purchases one to keep their laps warm in the cold winters? Are the dogs upset they no longer do what they’ve been bred to do? Some would see this easy, safe life as a boon to the dogs. Hunting rats is dangerous and the dogs can easily lose an eye or catch a disease from their prey. On the other hand, a life of sitting on a lap warming your owner on cold days, while relatively safe, provides little in the way of a meaningful life, especially for one that was bred for danger. On top of that, if a life of danger and fulfillment is better than a safe life of drudgery, who is to blame? The dog for not being grateful? The wealthy young woman who uses the dog for a purpose it wasn’t intended to? The men who bred the dogs in the first place?”

Soren was at a complete lack of words. She had no idea what to think or say. Yet she felt a strange unease about the question. She had a feeling there was no correct answer. She was beginning to think Madrid was toying with her. He smiled that humorless smile and took a step back, studying Soren. A man ran past with a bucket of water not looking at either of them. No one spoke, for a moment then she her nerves got the better of her.

“What does any of that matter?” She said with acidity in her voice. Madrid tapped his lower lip thoughtfully before responding.

“Hhmmm, well for the dogs, probably a great deal.” He said coolly. “For you and I, perhaps nothing. But consider this; just like those men, the gods have bred us for a higher purpose. Lets say I killed you and denied you that purpose, is it my fault for having stopped your purpose? Or is it the gods fault for breeding you into that purpose in the first place?” Soren’s heart turned over with terror at the ease he spoke of killing her. He spoke as if it were a forgone conclusion, an inevitability that just hadn’t found the right moment yet.

“Fine” She heard herself mutter in a voice she was horrified to realize was her own. “Take the gem.” She thrust the pulsing light out towards him. Yet Madrid did not reach for it. The impulse to go up and kneel before the man grew and grew and Soren fought it with all her will. They simply stood there for a long moment. Soren’s face grew contorted with effort. Finally, Madrid lifted his hat and looked Soren directly in the eyes and scoffed. A smirk appeared again on his lips. Soren made one last effort to remain on her feet before she finally hurled the Ochre as hard as she could at Madrid. He chuckled and lazily caught the gem as it zipped past his head. The nonchalance of his movements terrified Soren and she paled before finally being able to step back. She felt exactly the same yet knew somehow she'd done something irrevocable.

“L-leave me and my family alone.” She said, fighting back the horror of what she’d just done. What he'd made her do, she corrected herself. She refused to take responsibility when Madrid threatened he only people left in this world she loved, threats she knew he make good on with ease. Still chuckling Madrid looked at the Ochre with a dark passion, the stone didn’t pulse and its pale green now looked ruddy and feverish. After a moment he slowly looked up at Soren,

“Aahhh, yes well. Half of that was part of the deal. I’ll leave your family alone. They won’t be harmed by me. Unfortunately, the deal was for your family, not you. You, I’m afraid are going to have to come with me.” Numb terror gripped Soren. ‘Idiot!’ she thought, she should have chosen her words more carefully. Though somewhere in her mind she knew it probably wouldn't have mattered. Well she was most certainly not going with Madrid anywhere. If he wanted her dead he could kill her right here and now.

“I’m not going anywhere with you” she said, Madrid just smiled and looked back down at the pale green gem in his hand.

She was glad her mother and father weren’t there. At least they would be ok, she thought. If only she had a chance to say goodbye. They were probably looking frantically through the crowd right now. The thought of their worried looks broke her heart. It wouldn’t be long before they came back and found her here dead in the ashy street and that thought hurt even more. Soren remembered, just for a moment her own loss.

Her brother, Tucks, the normal life she should have had, it all burst from the geometric prison in her mind, the memory and emotion swam through her mind. The pain and agony of loss washed over her like the ocean of Enki. No amount of heat, rage or terror could touch her here. If she could jus- Soren broke her train of thought and looked up. She had felt a cold touch on her arm, then another and another. The gray prism in her mind snapped shut again. All around her the soft patter of rain began to fall. Madrid, who had begun striding up to Soren paused and he too looked up. His face involuntarily winced as a drop splashed just under his eye, he looked back at Soren and there was something more than ambivalence in the look.

“what are you doing girl? Stop NOW!” he said,

“I’m not doing anything!” Soren said. Madrid froze, head cocked to the side as if he was hearing something far off in the distance Soren could not.

“This is not over Soren Pickett. I will find you again. I will stop you.” His arm reached out to Soren’s neck, desperately trying to clasp around her, he shook with exertion then lowered his arm and growled with rage. His face immediately turned, and the bemused grin was painted across his face again. His eyes were no longer sunken shadows in a gaunt face. They were red, as red as the sun Ahriman. He turned then and began strolling towards the still burning town of Cottonwood. The inferno immediately began to die down. The rain already quenching many of the buildings and the smoke obscured the world around Soren. The rain she knew was much more than just rain. As the fire was much more than fire. The fire had been a thing of rage made manifest. The rain was a thing of Sorrow made manifest. As Madrid walked into the smoke, he casually threw the Ochre up in the air and caught it as if it were a worthless rock he’d found amusing. Soren could hear him whistling a lullaby her mother used to sing to her as a baby. Just before he got to the wall of smoke that was now Cottonwood Madrid called over his shoulder,

“See you later Soren.” and with that he walked into the smoke and was gone.