The Marsh Mouse Sorcerer and The Order of Ki-San

By Skye Cooley

From the embers of collapsed human civilization, a decadent kingdom of sapient rabbits faces renewed threats of war from the religious fanatics of the feral North.

Promising a return of the Goddess Easter in exchange for the life of an embodied prophesy, the High Priesthood of the Cult of the Egg calls for the sacrifice of one of the Queen’s sons.

As conflict looms, the leader of an elite group of royal guards is sent to summon the mysterious mystic mouse at the edge of kingdom to the palace towers.

What begins as simple mission to escort an emissary soon transforms into the defining moment of a generation as trails in trust, friendship, magic, and manipulation are laid bare before a warring kingdom.

The technology of ancient Gods meets the foreign magic of a forgotten Hermetic Order in a fantasy adventure set on the edge of time that grapples with the powers of science and consciousness against the inspirations of spiritualism and sacrifice.

“To fight the demons without, one must first conquer those within.”

Initiation Rite, Order of Ki-San

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Aug 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886939910

Skye Cooley

Dr. Skye Cooley is a research professor at Oklahoma State University in the School of Media and Strategic Communications. He is also an avid practitioner of Ba Gua Zhang through Internal Arts International. A lover of all things mystic and esoteric, he has studied in and practiced a wide variety of religious and occult traditions that have informed his writing and life. He is particularly interested in the impacts of conscious intent on reality, and most importantly, in being a good father and husband.

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Part 1

The Mouse Who Fell from Heaven

Prelude

Whether by incident or design, we are all orphans in the great sea of Creation until we find ourselves.

– Initiation Rite, The Order of Ki-San

Cheese bits again. Believe it or not, a mouse can tire of cheese, especially these obscenely dry, square bits. Still, those red boxes-upon-boxes filled with squares of dusty, dry cheese were a gift from the Great Unknown, and even a mouse is smart enough to never question Providence.

But, he would trade all the boxes of red he had found for one morsel of soft, salty, white cheese, the kind with holes in it.

Chewing slowly, he sighed. What brought him to this place so far from home?

Home.

The sweet smell of evergreen pines wafted across his memory. The streaming waters, careening through the forest’s plentiful rivers and creeks until they collided with the peaceful waters of the Brack. Along the way, bustled and scurried the frog giants, the snake people, bugs that lit up the night and the ones that tried to bite. The birds and the squirrels, the deer, even the little plastic-folk who couldn’t talk (unless you knew their secrets), the mud and the puddles and the rain.

He found himself floating gently upward, nose tipped to inhale the gentle scent of falling rain. Who knew a mouse could levitate? But he was not far off the ground when his mind jolted, suddenly realizing there was no rain to smell. He crashed down, hard, on the floor of the oversized metal rectangle, with two doors, he called home.

The mouse was striking. About ten pounds, he stood on two strong legs, bare and pink down to his feet. His large, white ears were attentive, their soft pink undersides shining. Salt and pepper fur covered his face and body. His snout was long, but not overly so, with a reddish-brown, button-like nose twitching at its tip.

With silky, drooping white whiskers, thoughtful gray eyebrows, and coal black eyes, his was an altogether friendly face, though somewhat tired looking. His cares evident in the lines forming under his eyes and around his nose. The smooth spaces beneath his chin and lips were often stained orange from the dust of the cheese bits. He wore a black, rough-cut tunic with a clipped front collar and loose openings for his arms at the elbows. His black, flowing pants looked a bit like a net folded in on itself or a deflating balloon, with a large hole in the back accommodating his bare, pink tail. A tan hemp rope fit snugly around his waist, tied in a knot at the front to secure his pants and keep his tunic tucked in.

The chronicle of how he’d left the flowing waters of the Brack to wind up in the harsh Grasslands was legendary among the rabbits of the Fertile Kingdom. Indeed, his strangeness was, perhaps, the only thing the Hays and Briars agreed on these days.

Tension grew across the Kingdom these long cycles, as the abundant resources of days past, gifted by Providence as far as anyone could remember, became increasingly scarce. The raging fires in the north devoured crops and the surplus of past harvests.

Maybe there were just too many mouths to feed now—or maybe, too many paws had traded favors for keys to the storehouses.

Maybe, a rabbit Kingdom was never meant to last.

Or maybe, Queen Craith (praise be to the Briars and Her name) had become so accustomed to privilege that she had forgotten how to rule justly. Likewise, the Briars, after laying waste to most of the Hays’ territory, in a war few remembered or dare speak of, grew decadent behind their gated walls.

The fragile post-war peace of generations past seemed now to be unraveling. Nightly blazes ravaged the Grasslands in all directions, as far as one could see from the Kingdom’s Towers. The lakes and waterbeds of the Kingdom resembled steaming sweat more than water now, and with each passing cycle of the seasons, the expanding inferno crept ever nearer to the borders.

The rabbits and a few other stragglers, including the mouse, were the only known sapients; the few other nearby animals were little more than feral beasts.

The Hays themselves were not much better. They and the Dust Bunnies of the north had always seemed radical, irrational, and crude to the mouse. The Hays seemed especially so now, their impoverished clan clinging more and more desperately to the daily pronouncements of the Cult of the Egg. Some had even begun whispering of the need for sacrifices to usher in the Day of Easter and restore prosperity to the Kingdom. Mostly, it was just talk and everyone knew rabbits were prone to talk. Besides, they were only rabbits and wise enough to leave a stranger alone…even one who may have overstayed his welcome by taking shelter on the outskirts of their Kingdom.

He wasn’t entirely left alone, though. The restless rabbit youth watched him curiously over the turning days and nights of his ever-prolonging stay. Eventually, he became a teacher, of sorts, to young rabbits from both the Hays and Briars clans, as well as the occasional Dust Bunny (of whom there seemed a countless supply). For, despite being an outsider (and a mouse), he possessed skills they did not have; he knew the basics of both the fighting and magical arts, and although he was not particularly skilled at either, he was a fair enough actor to awe the young rabbits in demonstration.

Most of his students hoped to become bodyguards for wealthy Briars or, if they dared dream it, to serve in the rarefied Lagomorpha Guard for Queen Craith (praise be upon Her) and her immediate colony kin. Others just wanted to get a look at—and maybe even learn something from—the mouse who made light from dark and who could breathe life into the Plastics. Regardless of why they came, they spent their days with the mouse in training, turning circles upon circles against one another and slowly gaining in strength and skill.

The rectangle the mouse lived in was something like a box, dingy gray on the outside with ripples like corduroy along the sides. On the front were four long rods, two for each of the doors, with hinged corners and a small latch between them. Faded markings could be made out on the box’s side: [20 ft container, Standard].

Though unimpressive on the outside, when he and Airy first found themselves inside it, they discovered a technological treasure trove of gadgetry and yummies. Now, though the supplies were depleted and the parts that had made cool air and light no longer cooled nor lit, the mouse had devoted time and patience to turn the box into an organized home.

From the entrance to the right, three sets of racks were stacked three high in rows, each stack rising about a third of the way to the ceiling. The first set of three racks held cloaks, wrappings, and other clothes on the first level; gadgets, gizmos, and tools (organized, of course) on the second level, and on the third level, a collection of papers, Airy’s so-called batteries, and a host of little metal books that opened to display blank screens and buttons that, though not functional, Airy claimed were valuable.

The second set of racks included a modest washing space with a bowl, washing cloth, chamber pot, and small mirror on the first level; a store of clean water in stacked, plastic bottles on the second level, and a sleeping space with a tidy, green sleeping bag and a faded blue pillow on the third level.

The third set of racks, from top to bottom, held what was left of the assorted yummies, which, unfortunately, was mostly red boxes of cheesy bits. However, on the very bottom, tucked away next to the boxes, he carefully kept his most precious possession – a collection of books.

These were the books of the Gods or, at least, something like gods that had made the journey from there to here. The now-frayed volumes contained the history and practice of circle turning, trance-portation and magic, illustrating the motions and hand positions he devoted himself to learning while in the Grasslands.

To navigate the inner space of the container, he and Airy had hung knotted ropes across the rack tops, dangling them to the floor, so the mouse could climb from one to the other with ease. The racks filled about two-thirds of the box, leaving a small walkway at the left of the entrance to the back third, which the mouse maintained as an open living space for practical matters like training and eating.

The space had a high, open ceiling, and tiny candles now replaced the lit glass attached to what Airy had called lamps. The space was as homey as the mouse could make it, with a small rug in the center, a carved wooden walking stick propped in the corner, and a bench with mugs for tea tucked away in the opposite corner. Atop the bench sat another small container which, for a time created cool air inside the box, but now, was the mouse’s storage place for valuables.

Now, having fallen from his daydream onto the hard floor of the walkway next to the third set of racks (the ones with the cheese bits in the red boxes), the mouse picked himself up slowly and stretched his arms. Maybe it was because he hit his head in the fall, but suddenly the strangest thought came to him, What was his face like before he was born?

Before he could ponder an answer to such an odd question, or even, stop to wonder why he had thought it in the first place, the wind blew hard, clanging against the metal outside. The powerful gust sent whirling currents of air through the holes he and Airy had drilled into the box’s sides, whipping dust into a swirl.

The swirl sparked crimson in the candlelight and sent dust into the mouse’s ears and nose, assaulting him with the dregs of the drought-stricken, so-called Fertile Kingdom he now called home. The mouse sighed, resigned.

Just then, a sound turned his ear.

It was a distant sound, but a familiar one: the distinctive whirring of electronic wheels turning across the concrete. Airy was coming up the way.

Chapter I

Cooperation is Superior to Conflict; Common Causes both Unify and Assimilate. Yet Never Compromise Yourself to Work with Others.

– Verse 25, The Order of Ki-San

Marsh, MARSH! Marsh! The rusty electric voice crackled. Marsh!

Airy tipped his screen forward, extending it about four inches, and revved both front wheels to accelerate up the slight incline of the great concrete pathway leading to the mouse’s house.

In truth, he had grown accustomed to the tiles and plush carpets of the inner palace, where his knowledge of all the world (and beyond) was better appreciated than here on the fringes of the Kingdom. Duty called however, and besides, it would be good to see Marsh. He hadn’t seen his friend in quite a while.

Gaining speed, he had to admit he didn’t mind the chance to rev his motor now and again, and he knew the contingent of three Lagomorpha would keep him safe and well attended, should they run into unforeseen trouble.

Speaking of the Lagos, Airy noticed that even though they rode the prized Phantom Doodles of the Queen (Glory to Her always) and were outfitted with the best and lightest armor in the Kingdom, they struggled to keep pace when Airy’s motor was at full throttle. He basked in the moment, knowing he could outpace those great beasts of war and burden.

Marsh! he cracked again through his amplified speaker. The worn-out storage container was well in sight now, and Airy was sure the mouse could hear him. He slowed to a more dignified pace to allow the Lagos to catch up. The jingling of the interlaced metal chest and face plates of the phantoms reassured him that he had not outrun his protection.

While they’d intentionally passed around the automotive villages to avoid incurring the inevitable attention from trailing banditry or beggars, he still did not feel safe exposed on the concrete expanse.

Maybe-he’s-notta-home, shot off Errbuzz, the youngest of his companions, his speech slurred in a typical Fence Way tempo.

After three days’ ride to da fringe, he-a-better-be-home, quipped Commander Harriette. Now, get-back-up-to-da-Honor, and help-him-get-da mouse.

Harriette hated being on the fringe almost as much as Airy. The smell of smoke from the fires was close, and even the crags of grass peeking through the concrete seemed to be readying for a fight. She had heard that feral cats roamed the untamed grasses at the concrete’s edges, and deadly birds with razor talons were rumored to swoop down from above and disappear with even the best-trained warrior.

Harriette had gripped her flail the entire ride, not once holstering it. She gripped it tighter now. Though she was confident in the route they had taken, she was ever on alert. Out in the open, training and diligence meant little. A warrior’s advantage came from planning, the privilege of choosing when to engage and disengage the enemy. Acting as an emissary’s bodyguard, however, just made you an easy target.

All three riders had caught up to Airy, who was now directly in front of the storage container. Shielding the sun from her eyes with one paw, Harriette could see that one of the front doors was open. She tried to make out if the patio area, shaded by a dark green tarp drawn and staked from the top of the box to the ground, had any signs of movement. She, also, kept a keen eye on the ancient structures to the east. A smart rider or beast could be on them quickly from there, though they’d have to cross a large expanse of open concrete first.

E-B, go-round-left. Ja, go-round-rights, she snapped. The two Lagos split off on either flank of the container while she dismounted her phantom to approach the Honor.

Shall-a we’s-knock? she grinned over at Airy, who, lacking discernable arms, simply tilted his monitor slightly downward in appreciation of the joke.

Before she reached the door, out popped the bristling white ears and beady black eyes of an oversized rodent. Harriette was startled at first, expecting someone much smaller.

The fact that he stood as high as the tops of her ears made him appear initially threatening, though his face was gentle enough upon inspection and his clothes something like those belonging to a beggar. Certainly not a threat.

Apologies for the delay in getting to the door. I seem to have fallen and bumped my head. Actually, he paused, rubbed his aching forehead and twitched his whiskers, You must all be an illusion. Why else would you be here? He rubbed his eyes. Quick, Airy. Give me some cold cheese to convince me you’re real.

Airy was about to respond when Harriette, having now taken in the mouse fully and struck by her own disappointment, interjected a bit of soldierly seriousness to nudge Marsh back to the present.

Sir, we-da-riders-of-da-Lagomorpha-Guard, she motioned slightly down to the golden ear insignia on her chainmail. I’m herea-on-behalf-a-Queen-Craith (Peace on Her an’ the Fertile Kingdom) with-da-most-of-urgent-needs.

She paused and slowed her speech, a trait she had mastered from years of training her mind to the rhythm of her breath. In demonstration of tha urgency do bring and present tha Honorable Emissary of tha Fertile Kingdom, Knower of tha Known and of tha Unknown, Air Advanced Service Astrobot, to parley-a terms of yous commitment and service.

The honorable who? Marsh asked, whiskers twitching. My commitment and service? You’ve been in the heat too long, little rabbit. Airy, did you really come out all this way to bargain with me and not bring some cheese along?

The casually indignant dismissal shamed, rather than angered, Harriette, who had sacrificed much in the way of pleasant conversation and company to rise through the ranks of the Lagos. Though she had devoted her life to its service, the Lagomorpha Guard did not command the respect that it used to. The respect she expected. Such were the times.

Do you realize how much battery power it would require in order to keep cheese cold for the entirety of this journey? asked Airy with an upbeat electric snap.

You’ve changed your face, said the mouse to his friend. And so he had. Where once there had been an animated face in imitation of the Gods now flashed two donut-shaped white rings, flickering against an otherwise black screen. It suits you better, Marsh added, appreciating Airy’s prudent conservation of energy over pompous display.

It does the job. The eyes are the window to the soul, as they say. Marsh, may I introduce to you the Commander of the Lagomorpha Guard, Harriette of Fence Way, a most brave and competent warrior.

As Airy continued introductions, Marsh respectfully acknowledged the commander as she did the same. Meanwhile, the other two Lagos, Errbuzz and Ja-Dash, rounded back to the front on their phantoms.

We are here, as the Commander said, with great urgency, said Airy. Is there a place we can speak?

Permission ta dismount, Commander? Ja-Dash shouted over Airy’s question. Ma-harry-butt isa-killing me on-dis hound. He did not speak often, but when he did, it was with sincerity and color.

Hop to, said Harriette, nodding. Both E-B and Ja were noticeably relieved as they slid off the saddles of the large black dogs. The dogs themselves were panting and appreciative to be minus their riders, especially the one carrying the notoriously plump Ja-Dash.

The mouse surveyed his visitors. They looked ragged, anxious, and even somewhat frightened. It had been a while since he was around palace folk, though; maybe, he had just forgotten how they acted…so antsy and full of themselves always.

You can tie the big dogs under the shade. There’s water and a place for them to rest, said Marsh. Come around back and we’ll sit and talk about all this service and commitment you’ve signed me up for, Airy.

But may I remind you—and I have the paperwork inside to prove it—that on condition of turning on cool air for the Palace Tower suite for the Queen herself, which I did, and trained her lackies to maintain. Then, upon transference of deed, I was granted both this piece of living space and immunity from conscription to ALL services.

We’s would appreciate da rest, but-it-can’t-a-be-a-long-one, Harriette interjected, looking back at the Honor and then glancing round.

You are safe here, Commander. There are nothing but Dust Bunnies in those buildings to the east, and the fields are full of flowers and bees, said the mouse, as he headed toward the door of the container. I’ll get some snacks for us. Airy, I assume, has his power boxes to charge?

Harriette motioned to E-B, who began unpacking something from his phantom’s saddle. After yous get the-Honor-a-chargin, make-sure my-Dassy-gets-plenty-o-water. She patted her phantom and headed to the back of the container.

The sun was cresting toward the western half of the sky as Harriette walked to the back and chose a backless barrel stool facing the fields at the circular wooden table. This was the farthest she had ever ventured north, the literal edge of her empire. Sure enough, she saw the bees, flowers, and open grass the mouse had mentioned.

It was more comforting than she imagined the concrete wasteland behind her could possibly be. Even the smell of the smoke seemed more distant here; somehow, masked as it were, by these fragrant flowers.

E-B and Ja attended to the phantoms, taking off their armor and saddles and wiping them down with cool water, while the cord running from Airy’s power box to his chest flickered a little green light accompanied by a quiet humming.

The peace of it all was interrupted by a crunching, smacking sound coming from behind them, along with the sloshing of water and the clacking of soft-stone cups.

"How can he be the Knower of the Known and the Unknown?" Marsh posited to no one in particular, as he made his way toward the table, walking past the phantoms and their servicemen under the tarp.

What’s-dat? asked Harriette.

"You called Air—the Honorable Astrobot—you called him the Knower of the Known and the Unknown. How can he know what is unknown?" The mouse crunched loudly on whatever was in his mouth after finishing the question.

Harriette wrinkled her nose for a moment.

‘To know that we know what we know, and to know that we do not know what we do not know—that is true knowledge’, chimed Airy, before Harriette could start her contemplation in earnest. She clapped her paws together in amusement at the Honor’s quick response.

The Gods, I presume? asked the mouse rhetorically, as he placed a red box on the table, wiped a strange orange powder from his lips, and began pouring lukewarm tea for himself and Harriette into large, slightly chipped serving mugs, artifacts from the time before.

Indeed, responded Airy.

Marsh snapped a leg on an oddly round, short, plastic chair with his tail, flipping the back to face the front of the table, then proceeded to sit in one appreciably smooth motion.

His hands folded over the chair back, his eyes and nose tipped toward the red box in the center of the table. So, shall I show you the paper that says, ‘No Conscription, No Services’? he asked the Commander.

She seemed not to notice the question, perhaps knowing he had not asked it for her benefit. Her chocolate brown fur glittered in the setting sun. A white streak, running from the ashen chainmail at her neck to her mouth, matched the white fur rings around her eyes, which were themselves somewhat lost in the sunset. She cut a handsome figure by anyone’s account.

"Technically, we restored conditioned air to the Palace Tower suite, Airy’s electric voice chimed. I am rather certain you could not have figured out the generators without my assistance."

And I am rather certain the paper was issued after the work was complete and in the transference of assumed property, so what does it matter who did what beforehand? You’re the one who chose palace life, not I. Though I have forgotten much, by Grace I have not yet forgotten my purpose.

The mouse turned his head toward the Commander so quickly that she instinctually locked her amber eyes on him. Well, Commander ‘Service and Commitment,’ may I show you my papers?

Yous-papers-do-nota-matta to me; da Queen is da Queen, she responded, adding more slowly. Yous have been summoned.

So, you’re saying you serve a liar? Marsh retorted.

Easy, Airy interjected. It is easier than this. There is no conscription. The Queen wishes to speak with you, and it is urgent.

Do you know the story of the beautiful wild carrot? Marsh asked, again to no one in particular.

Without waiting for a response, he continued. "The beautiful carrot wished so much to be noticed by the young princesses that walked by her home. She spent all her time sprouting her stalk, making it shiny and as green as could be. Day after day, she waited and waited.

And one day, sure enough, one of the princesses noticed her shiny stalk. The princess plucked the carrot up and plopped it in her basket. The carrot was so happy! So, so happy. She could not wait to wear a dress, attend palace balls, and play all the games the princesses played. She fantasized about it all the way to the palace. When they arrived at the palace, do you know what happened to that beautiful carrot?

Marsh, again, looked into Harriette’s amber eyes. Any guesses what happened to the carrot, Commander?

Yous have been summoned, she repeated.

The High Priest of the Cult of the Egg has been calling for a sapient sacrifice to stop the fires and bring back the treasures of the Gods. Surely even you have heard this? Airy interjected.

Even the Dust Bunnies of the wild have heard about this nonsense, the mouse replied hastily. It’s nothing new. The Fertile Kingdom was built on the backs of fanatic lunatics. What of them? The High Priesthood has no power.

"The priest has called for the sacrifice of ChippN," said Airy, with as much gravity as his electronic voice could convey.

Who? responded Marsh dryly.

Oh my. Is your memory truly that bad, Marsh? His irritation was obvious. ChippN of the Queen’s colony. You may recall our initial encounter if you but tried. He was instrumental in our gaining an audience with the Royal Palace in the first place. Might I add, he assumed an immense risk because of your interventions.

Hmmm, yes. ChippN. They all look the same to me, Marsh said. Still, who cares? It’s just talk.

"ChippN is the Queen’s thirty-third son. Thirty-third. And through her seventh litter. The Cult has read deep meaning in these numbers. The priest has set his eye on ChippN, and it is no longer just talk. It has become incredibly serious." Airy expanded his electronic eyes and then shrunk them to their original size for effect.

"It seems to me that the High Priest has made himself a target. All of you wasted your time coming here. Wait, he said, suddenly suspecting the real motive behind this visit. Do you fools want—do you expect me to kill the priest? Is that what this is? Are you here to hire me as an assassin, Airy?"

Airy’s electronic eyes blinked.

Why? Marsh demanded. Because I trained a few deluded Dusty Bunnies? The mouse looked angry now, though he held his body with composure as he rose from his chair.

Harriette shifted her eyes to locate E-B and Ja. Though within eyesight, they seemed locked in a conversation of their own.

Or, do you plan on sacrificing me in the rabbit’s place, Airy?

The request relates to none of your implications, Marsh, he said. None at all.

Then what? I owe no service to anyone, Airy, said the mouse. You know as well as I—

Suddenly, a sound like thunder cracked and sizzled through the air. Harriette’s highly trained ears tracked the source of the sound as horizontal and of an incredibly high velocity.

She pivoted from the barrel in a flash, taking three great leaps toward the thunder before realizing just how distant its origin must have been. She ducked low behind a pile of square stones, stacked with some unknown intention eons ago.

Marsh flipped the table, managing to unplug Airy in the process. Rolling the table for cover, he moved them both directly behind the container.

Harriette glanced over her right shoulder toward the shade. Ja-Dash lay motionless in a pool of red, having rolled halfway from under the green tarp. Two of the phantoms, bolting their collars, sprinted south for the main road.

Chapter II

There are No Enduring Lessons in Either Victory or Defeat.

– Verse 23, The Order of Ki-San

Calma-down, yous hairy of-da-hairy Monster! Ja-Dash beckoned to Dassy as the large phantom shook the water from her body to, quite intentionally, douse E-B, Ja, and the other two phantoms. Water sprayed everywhere in a great mist and, if a dog could laugh, she looked as if she were chuckling a bit in admiration of herself. Afterward, she licked and playfully pawed at Ja. He was an easy mark and, unable to resist a good joke, reached into the saddle bags to throw her and the other dogs a treat. It had been a long ride for all of them.

Sit-yous-beasts, here come da-Good Good! he laughed to himself as he tore open a tightly-packed, clear sack of jerky, tossing each dog a piece.

I-heard-from Irontail CottonFist dat-da-mouse knowa-da-magic of-da-Gods, said E-B, as he laid back against one of the saddles on the ground and wiped the water from his face.

Aint no Gris-Gris-fool, only tricks, Ja-knows dis right, said Ja-Dash as he sniffed the jerky in disapproval and then quickly sealed it. How dem beasts eat dis-I-never-know.

But Irontail is da real-real, Ja. I seena-him-fight; yous, too.

Ja nodded, as he began untangling the leashes of his and E-B’s phantoms, which had become helplessly raveled together during the ruckus for the jerky.

"Dang des beasts.