Echoes Of Time

The brown-furred Jackal opened his eyes. The dim light of dawn cast light on the interior of his small quaint cabin. His new modest abode consisted of a stove, bed, table, wash basin, and a chest. It was much smaller than the rooms he used to sleep in. 

The jackal's ear twitched as he could hear the steady thunder off the coastline. He pulled back the covers, revealing his toned physique. As he eased himself out of his cot, the gray patches in his fur were revealed - gray patches from scars beneath. The young male then staggered to the basin and splashed water on his muzzle. 

Dressing quickly in his leggings, shirt, and a gambeson with a spear emblem, he belted on his short chopping sword and strung his bow. The jackal then shouldered his bow and quiver of arrows before he made his way outside into the foggy morning. He had duty that day with the Defense Force: the island's militia that passed for a military and also acted as police.    

After exiting his small home, the sea and the rest of the island stretched before him. The town itself was nestled on a hill. he made his way to the headquarters in the center of the town. The rest of the town seemed to be sleeping as the night patrol was leaving for their homes. 

Other beasts began to join the jackal, all wearing the same style of gambeson with the spear emblem as he. A male otter ran up and nudged the jackal.

"Morning Larkin," the otter yawned, trying to shake away his drowsiness. The otter was carrying a stout spear with a truncheon at his belt.

"Morning Doyle. What duty do we have today?" the jackal asked, rubbing the sleep out of his own eyes.

"Damned if I know, but I've heard whispers from the night patrol. Something happened last night - I just don't know what." 

At that moment, the doors to the headquarters flew open revealing a gray-muzzled wolf. Presently, the wolf began to read off the morning roll call to the gathered crowd in the morning mist.

"Rustle... Rustle?" the wolf shouted, sounding more like a donkey than an actual wolf. 

“Larkin, Brown?” the wolf called out next. Larkin walked to the front of the assembly, next to a few other beasts.

"Right... seems we're all accounted for. Larkin, Doyle, I need you two to go to house twelve-seventeen. The soldiers there will give you further details. Dismissed." the wolf said before returning into the headquarters. The two younger males began to make their way through the fog.

"What could have possibly happened?” Larkin asked. “Did a brawl get out of hand?"

Doyle twitched an ear as his tail twitched. "Come now, Larkin. Ever since you stepped off that ship from Daedalia you've proved you have a certain skillset." 

Larkin swiveled an ear back. "An investigation then?” he said, more so to himself. “Another robbery?" 

"It's about the time for some thieves to be making off with some things," Doyle added as he tightened his grip on the haft of his spear.

Larkin made his way down the foggy streets until he arrived at a small cottage.

A hare greeted the pair at the door. 

"About time you two showed up." the female hare grumbled. She looked at the jackal with a tilted ear and her nose twitched. "Your highness."

The jackal shook his head. "My name is Larkin."

The hare rolled her eyes at his request while Doyle folded his arms. 

"You know he hates that nickname, Mila." Someone had jokingly called Larkin 'Your Highness' due to his aristocratic manner of speaking, and the jackal hadn't taken kindly to it. 

"Whatever," Mila huffed. 

"Burglary?" Larkin asked, pointing to the house. 

"Worse," Mila replied gravely. 

Larkin and Doyle entered and soon the gravity of the crime hit them. It wasn't theft, it was murder: a violent and gruesome one.

Larkin clenched his fist and bit the inside of his cheek as he surveyed the house - it had been torn apart, as if a storm had hit it. 

A white hare in a dark dress lay dead on her side in an almost artistic pose, as if she were a small statue of snow on a bed of blood. Broken pottery lay scattered all around, mixing with the also-ubiquitous blood. 

The smell was sickening to Larkin. Doyle covered his mouth and nose and walked into another room while Larkin moved deeper in, trying his best not to disturb the scene. Larkin was now in a hallway with doors leading into each room. As he made his way past them he spotted something on the ground: a piece of a broken glass jar.

"She put up a fight," Doyle noted. 

"Yeah," Larkin grunted as he looked at the glass jar shard. "Where's the glass from?" Larkin asked, standing up as he pointed at the piece in his hand.

"This room right here," Mila replied as she gestured with an ear. "The jars had some sort of dust in them."

Larkin moved towards the doorway and spotted empty jars laying in a corner. He could tell what sort of room it was just by the sight of all the dried herbs hanging from various notches in the ceiling and a small alchemist’s worktable.

"I thought I recognized her," Larkin stated. "local apothecary." 

He looked back at the mutilated hare carcass and it swept over his senses like a dread chill. 

It wasn’t the body nor nature of her demise that had disturbed him - he'd seen plenty of death - but rather the emergence of memories that he wanted to forget. 

He had a sudden desire to take a long drink.

"Larkin, smell anything with that snout of yours?" Doyle asked solemnly.

Larking sighed and swiveled an ear back. "Nothing relevant: Too many scents."

"Figured," Doyle replied with a shrug.

Larkin turned his attention to the body of the dead hare. Her features were contorted and her mouth open in a silent scream, the scent of old blood was thick in the air. Larkin again pushed aside the ghosts of his past dragging at his consciousness. He knelt by the dead hare and looked for anything out of place. 

The female hare Mila folded her arms and tilted her ears at the young male. "It's a shame what happened. She was good."

Larkin looked up from his search at the dead hare, his muzzle parting and ears tilting down. He turned his attention to the ground near her. 

"Hey, is this new?"

Doyle walked up next to him with a furrowed brow and folded arms. The male otter's dark brown eyes scanned the room. He rubbed the end of his spear with his thumb. 

"Is what new, Larkin?"

There, clutched in the hare's stiff paw, was a tiny, blue, crystalline object. It seemed so out of place amongst the mess and gore that it stood out.

"This," Larkin said, pointing.

The hare's stiff fingers held the shard of crystal in her paw so tight it was embedded into her palm. 

"Matches the color of that shard you found. Think she was using some sort of glass container to defend herself?" Doyle suggested as he turned the glass shard around in his paw.

Larkin frowned as he stared at the small fragment. "Maybe."

Doyle's tail thumped against the floor. "Is that enough for your little trick?" 

Larkin sighed, "Maybe, maybe, not. I'll give it a try. Archeomancy is difficult, and I was never the best student." 

The jackal took the shard in his paws and concentrated, then started drawing sigils in the air that burned straight out of the jackal’s claws. It was like writing a mathematical equation, and after a few moments, voices from the past spoke to him.

A pleasant female voice. "I hope the poultice will work for you." 

"Thank you!" said another voice.

Larkin sighed. 

Nothing relevant to the murder, just an ordinary interaction. He sighed and focused, blocking out Doyle's inquisitive stare and Mila's scowl. After more concentration, the jackal saw flashes of the crystal bowl being used in alchemical practices, standard things. Then he saw it being carried in a paw and slammed into a dark figure’s head - the sturdy material finally shattering as it made contact, The hood the intruder was wearing ripped and Larkin saw a gray canid ear and muzzle. 

Then the visions faded. 

“Our perpetrator is a canine. Gray fur colors.” 

“Lots of canines living on this island,” Mila huffed. 

Larkin stood up. “How many are currently nursing head wounds?” 

Doyle nodded. “We’ll check around - see if any healers have seen a canine with a head wound.”  

Larkin and the otter took their leave of the gruesome crime scene. After a short walk down the main road, the two entered the marketplace, which was unusually quiet. The otter bought a pair of fish crackers from an opossum and handed one to Larkin.

“Here. Maybe if you eat and relax we can put the pieces together easier.” 

The jackal nodded as he sat against a partially ruined brick wall and took a bite from the fishy wafer. The otter looked at his partner, as he set his spear beside the wall. 

“Can’t figure you out some days, Larkin.”  

Larkin twitched an ear. “What are you on about, Doyle?”

“You just showed up one day. Can shoot a bow and swing a sword. Can read and write... quite a combination of skills. Then there’s that archeo-whatever thing you do. You say you’re not good at it but to us it’s...” The otter sighed and smiled. “Why aren’t you back on the Southern continent? In Daedalia? I’d think they’d need you more than this bit of dirt.”

Larkin sighed. “Are you accusing me of something, partner?” 

The otter shook his head. “No, I just don’t understand. Daedalia defeated the Sh’ra and beat back the Tyrians. Now the Tyrians have turned on each other while Daedalia is recovering.” 

Larkin looked away. “I lost a lot back... home... and there were events that made me question if what I did was right.”

“So you are running?” Doyle prodded.

“I’m taking some time to reevaluate myself. I’m not sure if I’ll return. My mother did something similar, you know? She reinvented herself, and I am doing the same, but with different circumstances.”

Larkin looked away and dabbed at his eyes, some nights he would wake and feel a comforting presence, but he didn’t know who it was that was comforting him. 

How long had it been since he left? It seemed only yesterday that the war ended. He still could smell the burning ships of the Tyrians stuck on the sandbar. The ache in his arm from cutting down the invaders. The pang of loss. 

Friends gone. Family... gone.   

“I... kind of get it,” Doyle said. “Reinventing yourself? Making yourself your own male, separate from your family? I totally understand.” 

Larkin nodded. “Thanks, Doyle. You’re a good friend.” 

The otter patted the jackal’s shoulder. “Hey, let’s get back to the task, right?” 

Larkin stood up. “Let’s go talk to the healers.”  

The otter and jackal made their way down the road and entered the first healer they came to, a female skunk. 

"Gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

"We're looking for a canine with a head injury," Doyle grunted.

"Not really the type of people I deal with, but I've heard of a wolf being treated this morning with a head injury." The skunk pointed in the direction of another building. "You can check with that shrew doctor."

The otter nodded his thanks and led his friend to the other doctor. Another canid was waiting for treatment when the duo arrived. The doctor, an old shrew, was examining a coyote with a headwound. 

"Hey! What's the big idea barging in here?" the shrew growled. 

"How long has he been here?" Larkin demanded, pointing a claw at the coyote.

"Out!" the shrew snapped.

"This coyote might be a murderer. He fits the description we got." Doyle stated.

"What?" the shrew asked. 

The coyote shifted his eyes, meeting Larkin's with a guilty gaze. Larkin held his gaze. 

“What happened to your head?” 

“I tripped.” the coyote replied his ears twitching, Larkin noted one of them was cut. His eyes seemed weary.  

“I will write a letter of protest if you don’t get out of here!” The shrew warned. 

Larkin snorted, “Did you enjoy it? You didn't stop at just one stab.”

The coyote shifted. “I—” 

With a sudden flash he was off the table and clutching the shrew, who squeaked in fear. The coyote grabbed a surgical knife from a nearby tray and pressed it against the shrew’s throat. 

Doyle leveled his spear as Larkin went for his bow. 

“Don’t even try with that bow or I’ll cut his throat!” 

Larkin’s ears flattened. “Like you did with that hare last night?” 

The coyote swallowed. “I didn’t mean to! It was just a burglary! I broke into the place I thought would be the easiest to get into and steal from, but she put up a fight and — and I panicked!”  

Doyle spoke. “Look, pal. Just let the shrew go. You don’t want to kill anyone else do you?” 

The coyote’s eyes shifted from the otter to the jackal, Larkin nudged Doyle. With a breath Doyle tossed his spear up as Larkin snatched it from the air and hurled it for the coyote’s exposed shoulder. The spear wasn’t meant for throwing, but the head grazed the suspect’s shoulder. 

Snarling, the murderer dropped his hostage and ran out a back door of the office.

“Get after him!” Doyle shouted as he recovered his spear, but Larkin was already on it, his blade drawn as he chased after the coyote. Larkin could see the suspect running ahead of him, making his way into the marketplace which - luckily - was still mostly empty. 

“Just give it up!” Larkin ordered. 

The coyote refused as he tossed a barrel between himself and Larkin as he darted down an alleyway. Larkin chased after him, he could see the coyote trying to open a door.

With a frustrated growl, the canine slammed his shoulder into it, opening it with a crash. The coyote disappeared into the darkened interior, the door swinging open behind him. 

Larkin cautiously peered through the doorway of what seemed to be an abandoned workshop of some kind: A desk sat in one corner and a table in another. There were some shuffling sounds that caught Larkin's ears.

Larkin found the coyote trying to lift himself out of a window. Larkin grabbed the coyote and threw him to the ground. Larkin sheathed his blade as he grabbed the coyote and slammed his head against the ground. 

Larkin snarled. "Tell me you're proud! Tell me you enjoyed killing!"

"It was self defense!" the coyote argued, struggling under the jackal.

"It's not self defense when you go into a person's home and rob them!" Larkin grunted as he slammed the coyotes head against the ground over and over. 

"I panicked! She just kept moving and I kept stabbing!" 

Larkin slammed the coyotes head down again. 

"Larkin!" Doyle pried the jackal off.

The jackal took a step back. the coyote whimpered and backed into a corner. Larkin was panting and baring his fangs in the direction of the coyote, who cowered in a corner.

"You've done your job, Larkin," Doyle sighed.

The otter walked over to the coyote, who whimpered and begged to be spared.

Doyle grabbed the coyote and dragged him to the front of the building and into the waiting arms of a guard. 

Larkin was fuming. 

"It's over, Larkin - he'll pay."

Larkin didn't say anything as he stood glumly by. After the culprit was arrested the two stood outside headquarters. Doyle spoke.

"What was that back there Larkin?"

"He murdered an innocent." Larkin stated simply.

"What did you think you were going to prove by beating his head against the floor?"

Larkin sighed. "I don't know Doyle, I've just had some ghosts of the past come back to me today, I thought that I would be past those sorts of emotions."

The otter patted his back. "There is a darkness about you, isn't there Larkin?"

Larkin took a breath. "I lost a lot to the war, things that would scar anyone. My own sister was executed right in front of me." Larkin shook his head. "Someone once told me darkness leaves a mark on us."

Doyle's expression softened and he hugged his friend. "I understand. Losing your loved ones... I'm sorry. Let's just go celebrate and try to forget about this?"

Larkin nodded. 

They enjoyed the good drinks before Larkin made his way back to his quaint hut.

The dreams were coming to him, the murders in Daedalia. 

The heart-wrenching truth of the one responsible. 

Trying to pull her out of the dark path. 

The dark embrace of Veilwinter magics. 

His father dying. 

His sister executed. 

Losing control and killing. 

The war. 

The stench of blood and smoke. 

More loss, but a victory... with a high price. 

Too high. 

It felt like they he'd lost even though they had won.  

The jackal awoke with a start, his fur was matted with sweat. He shook as he tried to forget all the terrible things he'd seen and done. He stared into the darkness, then he felt it again. The comforting touch of someone that loved him. 

"Velope? Mother? Orphea? Papa? Todd? Selthia? Gray?" He named the names that were near and dear to him. 

The next morning at roll call, Larkin was ordered to ‘take some time off’ and made his way to the docks to fish. It was noon when the jackal looked up and swiveled an ear back at what he saw.

A vixen in dark robes was standing next to him, she gave an elegant bow to the jackal. 

“Your highness? It is time you returned.”