A Messenger from Nephelokokkygia

The Molten Moat of Cheese

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.