Disclaimer:  The wonderful anime "Vision of Escaflowne" 
and all of its cast members are created and owned by 
Shouji Kawamori and Sunrise, Inc.  If only use names and 
characters in the most illegal sense possible; this is, 
after all, a fanfic.  Please don't sue me - I have no 
money to give you anyway!

*************

"Feuerfest"
	by Kotetsu

Part One:  An Invitation

*************



	Dawn broke over the jagged mountains in a firestorm 
of glaring golds and reds, blinding the careless eye that 
dared to attempt to watch the spectacle.  The sun, slow, 
groaning with its own fiery weight, struggled to climb 
the craggy black peaks that prevented it from 
illuminating the fertile valley below.

	All was quiet, peaceful, and serene in the early-
morning glow.

	All, that is, except for one rustic log cabin, 
nestled in the forest at the base of the mountains.

	“COYOTE!  HAAAAAAH!  I’LL TEACH YOU TO KILL OF *MY* 
CHICKENS!!!!!!!”

	A cacophony of squawking chickens, howling coyote, 
and screaming woman echoed across the valley.  The axe
whickered through the air, and the dull, splattering 
meaty thud abruptly ceased the coyote’s howls.  

	Orinda Muirne de Eowyn stood in the center of the 
small clearing surrounding the front of her cabin, 
watching her breath form clouds in the chilled early-
morning air, staring at the pair of corpses at her feet.  
The chicken that the coyote had killed and carried in its 
mouth; and the coyote itself, beheaded by her bloody axe.  
The remaining chickens in the yard squawked and scurried 
about in a panic.  But Orinda stood silently, pondering 
what to do with the dead coyote.

	<Take the pelt for a fur wrap.  The weather is 
getting colder.  And Lord knows when the next shipment of 
coal from the capital will arrive.  It may be forbidden 
to cut down these trees, but I’ve got to get a fire going 
somehow . . . the head!  I’ll burn the head, and there’ll 
be roast chicken for dinner tonight.>

	She turned her head for a moment, facing the trees 
surrounding her home.  “Damn endangered bluewoods!  If 
the Madoshi hadn’t labeled you as ‘important for the 
cause’, I’d cut down the whole lot of you.”  It was the 
same curse that she spat at the marked trees every 
morning.  And, as usual, it seemed to have no effect on 
the trees.  She was waiting for them to get angry, to 
snarl at her, to retaliate . . . But they stood, still, 
silent, and calm, marked by the Madoshi’s sensors and 
daring her to give into temptation and sink her axe into 
their wooden trunks.

	“Curse the Madoshi,” she muttered as she dragged the 
corpses inside her home.  The official announcement 
regarding the bluewood trees had been issued after she 
had cleared away her land and built her home; the Madoshi 
had granted her pardon for killing the trees that she 
had, but had forbidden her from cutting any more.  The 
sap of the rare bluewood tree was deemed necessary for 
some project or another.  The servants of the Madoshi 
came, occasionally, to tap the trees around Orinda’s 
home.  They were always very gentlemen-like, sending a 
formal letter of advance notice before they came to 
rudely to invade her quiet solitude.  But the Madoshi 
made no pretences of trusting the girl who lived alone in 
the woods - they had placed sensors on each and every one 
of the bluewood trees.  They said that the sensors were 
to monitor sap production and to periodically inject the 
trees with vitamins and minerals; but Orinda knew that 
the sensors also were part of an elaborate alarm system, 
one that would alert the Madoshi back at the capitol the 
moment that she so much as snapped a twig off one of the 
trees.

	“Lousy Madoshi,” she muttered under her breath as 
she kicked the coyote head into the fireplace and plopped 
down the two bloody corpses unceremoniously on the 
cleaning table.  She wiped off her bloody axe blade, then 
her bloody hands.  She was just about to begin cleaning 
and dressing the chicken when the hooting of an owl 
startled her.

	“Howie?”

	Howie swooped and fluttered through her open 
doorway, hooting and snapping at her, admonishing her for 
holding such a large cleaning knife while he was in the 
room.  To placate her messenger owl, Orinda carefully 
dropped the knife on the table, and then held out her 
hands, waiting patiently for Howie to deposit the 
morning’s mail into her open palms.

	Usually there was no mail at all; today, however, 
there was an embossed envelope sealed with the insignia 
of the Madoshi.

	Orinda swore under her breath as she flipped the 
envelope over in her hands and tore it open.  Howie, 
offended by her language, gave a disapproving hoot and 
fluttered back out the doorway.  

	Orinda pursed her lips as she read the letter 
silently.

		“Madam de Eowyn,
We hereby inform you of an envoy dispatched early this 
morning from the capital for the purpose of harvesting 
sap from the Emperor’s bluewood preserve.  Due to the 
unusual nature of this particular delivery of sap, we 
have been pressed to employ the services of those who 
would normally not bother with such a task.  We have word 
that there are bandits from Astoria lying in the 
mountain, waiting to raid our bluewood shipment as it 
returns to the capital.  Thus, appropriate measures to 
insure the safety and integrity of the shipment have been 
taken.  We do so hope that you do not mind the presence 
of guymelefs.  Our envoy should arrive by mid-morning.
		Sincere Regards,
				Lord Guraf.”

	Orinda’s brow furrowed.  <By midmorning?  But that’s 
right about now--> 

	Her thoughts were interrupted by a series of earth-
shaking thuds that caused her home to shake to its very 
foundations.

	“DAMMIT!”  Orinda swore as she marched out of her 
home, rolling up the sleeves of her fur coat, nostrils 
flaring in fury.

	The bastards had set their guymelefs down in a ring 
surrounding her home, barely fitting into the small 
clearing devoid of precious bluewood trees.  They were 
already climbing out of their monstrous contraptions.

	Dragonslayers.  Rotten luck.

	“YOU!!”  Orinda pointed to the soldier on her far 
right, the one who was furthest out of his seat and 
already climbing down the shoulder of his guymelef.  
“Hey, YOU!  WHOEVER SAID THAT YOU HAD PERMISSION TO LAND 
THOSE THINGS *INSIDE* THE FOREST?!”

	The Dragonslayer, looking painfully young, bored, 
and at the same time startled by Orinda’s shouting, 
responded in a clipped, curt voice.  “The Emperor himself 
gave us permission.  This is *his* forest.”

	“No, this is MY home,” Orinda corrected him.  “I 
give the Emperor his trees, but any scrap of earth 
without a tree growing in it is mine and mine alone.  
WHAT IN HELL GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TOO--”

	“Shut up, or I’ll burn your home to the ground.”

	The voice, icy cold and full of malice, sent an 
involuntary shiver down Orinda’s spine.  She turned to 
face its owner.

	There was one Dragonslayer who had already climbed 
all the way out of his machine, and was standing in front 
of it, both feet planted firmly on the ground, one hand 
on his slender hip, which was cocked in an unconscious 
gesture of arrogance.  No, scratch that, he wasn’t a 
Dragonslayer per se - Orinda could tell by his outfit 
that she was being addressed by the Captain of the 
Dragonslayers.  A captain who, despite the cold arrogance 
and calm assurance of his own authority and power that he 
radiated, was really no more than a mere boy.  Orinda 
judged him to be fifteen, sixteen at the oldest.

	How could a little twerp who had apparently hadn’t 
even gone through puberty yet DARE to threaten her like 
that?!

	Orinda’s eyes narrowed.  “What did you say?”

	“I said that if you don’t shut up, I’ll burn your 
house down.”

	“My home and my land are protected by the sanctity 
of the Madoshi,” she spat contemptuously.  As much as she 
hated to call upon the protection of the Madoshi, it 
seemed like the only choice available.  “I have the 
papers to prove it.  It’s a felony to vandalize any of my 
property.  You’re playing with fire, boy.  Even YOU have 
to answer to the Madoshi, and don’t think that I don’t 
know it.”

	There was a thin, quick collective gasp among the 
silent, watching Dragonslayers who had paused halfway out 
of their guymelefs, watching the confrontation with wide 
and frightened eyes.

	The boy-captain flushed a crimson red.  He snarled, 
baring his teeth.  “I’d be careful about accusations like 
that.  It seems to be as if YOU’RE the one playing with 
fire.”  His eye twitched.

	“Dilandau-sama!”  One of the Dragonslayers called 
out from across the clearing.  “Ignore the bitch!  Let’s 
just get the sap and get out of here!  We’ve got bandits 
to burn!”

	For a terrifying moment, the captain (apparently 
named Dilandau) fixed his unsteady gaze on the 
Dragonslayer, infuriated to be spoken to in such a way by 
an inferior soldier.  But, after a moment, the crimson 
flush subsided, and the twitching eyes steadied 
themselves.  “Tsk,” Dilandau made a disappointed click in 
his throat.  “It’s not worth it.  This assignment is too 
boring and worthless to risk getting in trouble.”  He 
caught Orinda’s eyes with his own.  “You’re lucky, this 
time.”

	“ ‘Lucky’ in a relative sense,” Orinda muttered 
under her breath.  And she stood, hands on her hips, 
glowering, as she watched the Dragonslayers go about 
their business.  She knew exactly how much they wanted 
her to retreat back into her home and leave them alone, 
but she would give them no such pleasure.  

	Scrambling across the clearing in their cumbersome 
armor, the Dragonslayers dragged hoses and pointed flukes 
toward the outermost tree trunks.  They punched some sort 
of code into the sensors on the tree to disable the 
alarms; then, using the hilts of their swords, they drove 
the flukes into the trees and hooked up the hoses, 
waiting as the sap was slowly pumped through the rubber 
lines and into the waiting vats that were strapped to the 
back of each guymelef.

	There was a moment of awkward silence as the 
Dragonslayers stood waiting, unable to do anything until 
the sap stopped flowing, wanting Orinda to return to her 
cabin.

	Orinda didn’t budge.

	Finally, with a mutual shrug, the Dragonslayers 
decided to ignore Orinda’s presence and began conversing 
among themselves.  

	“They’ll be waiting behind the first big pass--”

	“We can burn them right and quick, or slow and 
painful-like--”

	“Dilandau-sama will go for slow and painful-like.  
More smoke that way.  More flames.”

	“She’s a gutsy wench, give her that--”

	“Did you hear her voice?  She’s got the rural 
accent, but no the dialect.  Must be educated.”

	“How’d she get permission to live in this forest 
anyway?”

	“Ah, I can’t wait ‘till this is over.  They’ll be a 
new shipment of liquor at the Vione when we get back.”

	“Hey, Migel - you betting on the fight tonight?”

	“Sure.  Wish I could see it live.  Guess I’ll have 
to settle for broadcast in the Vione’s lounge.  But I’ve 
got an inkling . . . I never bet unless I’ve got an 
inkling.”

	Tiring of listening to the idle conversation of 
bored soldiers and half-witted speculations about 
herself, Orinda focused her keen ears on the most 
interesting pair of soldiers, the two who were quietly 
conversing on the far side of the clearing.  It sounded 
as if the boy-captain was giving the soldier who had 
spoken out a harsh berating.

	“Gatti, have I warned you before about speaking to 
me like that in public?”

	“Yes, Dilandau-sama.  You have.”

	“And you STILL haven’t learned your lesson.”

	“I--”

	The slap echoed across the clearing.  The other 
Dragonslayers flinched, but pretended not to notice.

	Orinda had already pieced together the real mission 
of these young boys.  Every two or three months, an 
envoys of carriages arrived in her woods and tapped the 
bluewood trees for sap, and then returned to the capital 
with their cargo.  For the past year, she had heard 
reports on the radio that the bluewood sap had been 
stolen by bandits from Astoria.  The bandits waited in 
the mountain pass that separated Orinda’s forest from the 
capitol of Zaibach.  They let the carriages pass through 
toward the forest without revealing their presence; when 
they carriages returned through the path loaded with sap, 
the bandits ambushed them.

	Orinda knew enough about the Madoshi to know that 
they hated anybody who messed with their plans.  They not 
only wanted to stop the bandits, but teach them a lesson 
that they would never forget.  Or a lesson that they 
wouldn’t live through, whichever worked out best.  Opting 
for the latter option, the Madoshi had dispatched this 
restless and virulent young commander and his guymelefs 
to collect the sap.  The guymelefs could fly *around* the 
mountain peaks to reach the forest, and then surprise the 
waiting bandits on their way back to the capital.

	“Is she just going to stand there all day?!” one of 
the Dragonslayers whispered nervously, not even realizing 
that Orinda could hear him.

	Orinda, for her part, was also getting bored, but 
she was also angry at the Dragonslayer’s arrogance and 
impudence.  It was time to cause some trouble . . . And 
she was very good at causing trouble.  Licking her lips, 
she began to march toward the large red guymelef that the 
boy-captain had emerged from.  She marched right up to 
its gargantuan metal foot, and then, with a snarl of 
anger, she kicked it.

	Hard.

	The loud metal clang echoed up and down the 
guymelef's body.

	“Um . . . Ma’am?  I think you’d better stop that,” 
one of the Dragonslayers demurred.

	Orinda drew back her foot and kicked again.

	“HEY!”  The boy-captain threw down his fluke and 
began marching toward her.  “WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU 
THINK YOU’RE DOING?!”

	“I’m protesting.”  She kicked the guymelef again.

	“STOP IT---!”

	Ignoring him, Orinda drew back her foot for another 
kick.  But she never made it.  The boy-captain grabbed 
her shoulder, wrenched her body toward him, and slammed 
her back against the metal giant.

	The boy-captain, Dilandau, pressed his contorted, 
angry face against hers.  “What in hell gives you the 
right to kick my guymelef?”

	“This is my land.  You’re trespassing.”

	“I’m on the authority of the Madoshi.  I guess they 
were right about you - you are uncooperative.”

	“The Madoshi told you that?”

	“It’s the truth.  You’re a damn old crazy woman who 
lives alone in the woods.  You have no right to yell at 
me, or kick my guymelef, or even stare at me!  YOU HAVE 
NO RIGHT!”

	Orinda flinched against the spittle that flew in her 
face.  “You want to talk to me about rights?!  I’m not 
old, and I’m not crazy.  I’m not living on this land by 
choice, but it IS my land, and so help me God, I won’t 
allow an arrogant little pre-pubescent boy like you to 
trample it with his damn guymelef.  Go ask your Madoshi.  
They know all about it.”

	“Hey - Just who in hell do you think you are?!”  The 
boy’s eyes still twitched dangerously, but his voice had 
fallen a notch.  There was a strange expression swimming 
across his ruby irises.  Orinda could tell that he was 
examining her curiously, as if she were a bizarre new 
specimen of vermin.  And she knew exactly why, too - the 
boy was not used to other people who were not afraid of 
him.

	“Who AM I?”  Orinda laughed.  “I am Orinda Muirne de 
Eowyn, you little fool, and I’d advise that you let me go 
before yourself into some *real* trouble.”

	A collective gasp of astonishment issued from the 
Dragonslayers, who had abandoned their flukes and hoses 
and were gathered around in a ring around the pair at the 
foot of the Guymelef.  But the boy-captain, for his part, 
looked perplexed.  

	“Er . . . who?”

	“Muirne de Eowyn!”  One of the Dragonslayers, the 
one that Orinda’s eavesdropping had allowed her to 
identify as Chesta, gasped again.  “Dilandau-sama, she’s 
dangerous!  She’s crazy!”

	Orinda burst forth with her best insane cackle.  To 
her great amusement, all of the Dragonslayers nervously 
jumped backward a step.  But, unfortunately, the boy-
captain did not loosen his grip on her shoulders.  He 
turned his head to face on of his soldiers and spat out 
an order.

	“Gatti - report!”

	“Sir!”  Gatti snapped to attention.  “de Eowyn, 
Orinda Muirne - scholar and researcher, founded the 
Physics Library in the capital city, owned and maintained 
the library for years, then one night burnt it down to 
the ground.  Turned herself into the authorities the 
morning after the fire.  Labeled as mentally unstable and 
jailed.  Released on state-granted pardon and recruited 
by the Madoshi; exiled after one year in their service.  
Current residence is unkow--  . . . . Well, I guess we 
know now.”

	The boy-captain turned his face back toward Orinda, 
a serene grin spreading across his face.  “A-a-a-ah . . . 
So, you like to burn things, huh?  How would you like 
YOUR house burned down?”

	“Is that a threat?”

	“It’s an invitation.”

	“I’d like to see you try.  If as much as one spark 
touches these trees, the Madoshi will have your head on a 
platter.”

	The grin faded, and the captain’s face contorted 
into a mass of sheer hatred.  “I’ll snap your neck,” he 
growled.

	“Again, I’m under the protection of the Madoshi.  
You can’t hurt me.”

	But the captain’s hands, mercifully free of the 
restraints of logic and reasoning, began to close around 
her neck.  Slowly.  Forcefully.  The face flushed red, 
and lips snarled, and the irises shrank to hate-filled 
points swimming in the captain’s vast white eyeballs.

	Orinda gasped as she felt his fingers closing around 
her neck.  <No . . . He wouldn’t . . . No soldier would 
*dare* disobey the Madoshi . . . Oh, no.  This one must 
be crazy.  That would explain it.  Oh, no.>

	“Dilandau-sama!!!!!”

	The protests of the Dragonslayers roared throughout 
the clearing.  But they were ignored.

	“You . . .” he snarled.  “I’ll teach you to fear me 
. . .”

	Seeing that there was no option left, Orinda made 
her final choice.

	Because both of the boy-captain’s hands were 
grasping and twisting her neck, Orinda’s arms were able 
to move freely.  So she swung her fists back, and she 
punched.  On fist collided with the captain’s stomach, 
and another with his shoulder.

	Instantly, the pressure from her neck was released.

	The captain gasped and stumbled backward, wheeling 
his arms to maintain balance.  Orinda cracked her 
knuckles together once, twice, then placed her hands on 
her hips and stood her ground in front of the guymelef, 
glowering at the surprised boy, daring him to attack her 
again.

	Predictably, he did.

	With a wordless roar of rage and fury, the captain 
drew his sword and charged the two or three steps that 
separated him from his adversary.

	Orinda took one step to the right.

	The captain smashed into the foot of his own 
guymelef, cracking his chin and chest firmly against the 
reinforced metal.

	The Dragonslayers looked on with abject horror.

	“Ow,” said the captain.  

	He slowly backed away from the guymelef, rubbing his 
chin, muttering “ow ow ow ow ow . . .”

	Orinda stood at his side, watching him.  He glanced 
upward, meeting her eyes.  A mutual wave of hatred passed 
between them.

	<No,>  She told him with her eyes.  <No, I’m still 
not afraid of you.  And I never will be.  You’re nothing 
more than a common bully.  You think that a sword and a 
guymelef allow you to push people around, to impose your 
will upon them, to burn them and murder them.  But you’re 
just a thug.  I’ve seen your type before, plenty of 
times.  You’re just a common thug.>

	The captain, for his part, rubbed his chin and 
glared at her.

	A moment passed, then another moment.

	In the forest, all was silent.  And tense.  One 
could reach out and touch the tension in the air.

	And, finally, the silence was broken.

	The boy-captain threw back his head and laughed.

	“Good show.  Good show!”  He stepped toward Orinda.  
“But I will have to make you pay for that.  Eventually.  
I’ll come back someday, and burn down your home while you 
sleep.  Fair enough?”

	“Eh?”  Orinda was taken back by the sudden change of 
mood.  She had prepared herself for another attack, and 
had actually been looking forward to punching the boy 
again.  That was why she had started kicking the guymelef 
in the first place - if there was one thing that Orinda 
still enjoyed, it was beating and bashing authority 
figures.

	“I said I’ll come back someday and kill you.  What, 
are you deaf?  Now get out of my way.”  The captain 
pushed her aside as he marched back toward the trees.

	The Dragonslayers stood rooted in place, jaws 
hanging open, gaping stupidly.

	Realizing that nobody was following him, the captain 
whirled and snarled at his men.  “Hurry up, you fools!  
If we don’t get a move on quickly, the bandits will grow 
suspicious and will leave the pass!”

	The Dragonslayers scrambled back toward the trees.

	Orinda turned around slowly, observing everything 
that was happening in the clearing.  She could tell 
instantly that her fun was over for the day.  Ah, too 
bad.  It had been great entertainment while it lasted.  
She would look forward to the return of the boy-captain, 
she decided.  It would be fun to punch him again.

	Smiling contentedly, Orinda Muirne de Eowyn strode 
across the clearing and back into her home.  She shut the 
door behind her and returned to cleaning the chicken.  
She was so absorbed in her bloody work that she barely 
noticed the thunderous roar of the guymelef engines as 
her uninvited guests left her woods with their load of 
sap, bound toward a more . . . welcoming . . . home east 
of the great mountain range.

	“Boy-captain, boy-captain,” she sang to herself as 
she gutted the chicken.  “Dilandau.  Was that his name?  
What an awful name.  What an awful age.”

	<You’re not that much older yourself, Orinda.>

	“Shut up, brain.  I didn’t ask you.  And besides, I 
can guarantee that I’m years wiser than that little 
brat.”

	<Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.>

	“How do you mean?”

	<He’s the captain of the Dragonslayers.  You have 
just made a very, very dangerous enemy.>

	“I know.  That’s why I did it.  I get bored, living 
out here all by myself.  It’s high time that we stirred 
up some more excitement, don’t you think so, brain?”  
Suddenly, Orinda grimaced.  “Listen to me.  I’m talking 
to myself.  Ah, well, at least there’s one thing that I 
have in common with that twerp.

	“I guess we’re both insane.”





			-- End Part One --