The Island of Whispers

by Brendan Gisby

  ‘I – I don’t know,’ he stammered at length.

  For the remainder of the watch, Twisted Foot focused his gaze on the terrain below, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the land across the estuary.

  – o –

  – Chapter Ten –

  It was Narrow Back who brought the news to the underworld. Breathless, his tongue hanging sideways from an open mouth, he came scampering through the Watchers’ lair in search of Sharp Claws.

  ‘The giant!’ he cried, his eyes wide with excitement. ‘The giant is awake!’

  Sharp Claws rose from his nest. He had woken immediately from a sound sleep. Despite his age, he looked bright and alert.

  ‘What is it, Watcher?’ he asked.

  Narrow Back scurried back and forward, impatient, agitated. ‘The giant,’ he repeated. ‘The giant in the water,’ he expanded, as if the elaboration told everything.

  ‘What about it?’ Sharp Claws said quietly. Narrow Back was easily aroused, not noted for his calm and intelligent thinking.

  The Watcher’s thin body shook with impatience. ‘The giant awakes!’ he exclaimed. ‘It – it glows brightly! It grows larger! Come! Hurry!’ The words gushed out in a torrent of excitement.

  Not waiting for a response, his tongue still lolling wildly, Narrow Back rushed out of the lair. With a sigh, Sharp Claws followed briskly behind him.

  Exhausted after a third daylight vigil, Twisted Foot peered drowsily at the departing figure of the Chief Watcher. He shifted slightly in the nest, careful not to disturb the young she-rat who pressed close to him, still fast asleep. Others in the lair were also peeking out from their nests. Some had already forsaken the warmth to confer in soft murmurs on the floor of the lair. Like them, Twisted Foot found it difficult to put any shape or substance to the cause of Narrow Back’s agitation. Together with Long Ears and Fat One, he had returned to the underworld in the early evening, leaving the skinny Watcher to take up the night post at the monastery. That was some time ago. It would be dark up there now. The hunting pack and its Watchers would be about their work.

  Twisted Foot yawned, dismissing the notion of joining the huddle on the floor. He was very tired. It had been another long day on the high ground. The rat-catcher had come back with his strangely coloured Four-Legs. He had been pleased with his examination of the traps and his search of the gun emplacement’s interior. Long Snout had also been pleased: smug was perhaps a better description. He had decreed that the Hunters should venture above ground again after an absence of two nights. Until Narrow Back’s noisy entrance, it seemed that life – above and below ground – had returned to normal.

  Twisted Foot yawned again. Whatever had upset Narrow Back would be explained soon enough, he decided. He burrowed his muzzle into the she-rat’s warm, soft belly. Soon, the rhythmic breathing of Watcher and mate was as one.

  ‘Look sharp, Watchers!’ The cry came like a crash of thunder in the stillness of the lair.

  Immediately, bodies spilled from the nests, heading quickly for the tunnel opening. Sharp Claws squatted there, grim-faced, blocking their progress. The two Watchers who had accompanied the hunting pack were on either side of him, their expressions equally grim.

  ‘Hold!’ Sharp Claws roared. ‘There will be no Assembly yet! But gather close to me, I have much news for you.’

  He moved into the centre of the lair, allowing the crowd to form round him. Even Small Face, still weak after his encounter with the slave-rats, left his nest to join the she-rats and youngsters at the back of the crowd. Excited murmurs filled the lair.

  Sharp Claws rose up on his hindquarters until his full height towered over the audience.

  ‘Quiet!’ he commanded. The buzz ceased abruptly.

  ‘Comrades,’ the old Watcher began, ‘a grave event has taken place on the world above, an event which threatens the existence of our society.’ He paused, giving the audience time to grasp the full weight of his words. He looked suddenly tired and sorrowful.

  ‘For many days, we have watched the Two-Legs busy themselves on the giant which looks down on our world. The purpose of their activity is now known to us. Lit by countless fires along the length of its great body, the giant began to glow in the darkness. After a while, its brightness filled the sky, turning the darkness of our world into light. Such was the brightness that every rock, every stone, every piece of ground glowed like the giant. The Hunters and the brave Watchers with them were forced to conceal themselves. The white birds were also startled by the brightness, and many of them flew from their roosts. Even when darkness returned to the giant a short time ago, the few remaining birds proved too restless for the Hunters to make their kills.’

  Sharp Claws’ expression grew grim again.

  ‘Comrades,’ he continued, ‘we do not know why the Two-Legs caused this evil. We do not know if they will cause it again. We fear that they will. At this moment, the elders of the Inner Circle are considering what steps should be taken to protect our society from this grave threat. The Assembly will be called when they have decided. Remain in the lair until that time.’

  Long after Sharp Claws had departed to await the emergence of the elders, many of the Watchers remained huddled together, discussing the news and its implications. At their centre was Narrow Back, who had returned, still wide-eyed, from the night watch to tell and re-tell the story of the awakening giant. The story grew more elaborate with each re-telling.

  ‘There was another strange event up there,’ Narrow Back mentioned at one point. He paused for effect, scanning the faces of his companions.

  ‘It was some time after Sharp Claws left me to report to the Chamberlain. I decided to creep down to the place where the rocks narrow and reach out to the water. You know the place I mean. I wanted to take a closer look at the giant’s fires, you see. As I got nearer, though, I could see that a familiar figure had reached the place before me.’

  He stopped again, this time waiting for a response.

  ‘Get on with it, Narrow Back!’ boomed Fat One. ‘Tell us who you saw.’

  ‘It was Broken Tail,’ he whispered. ‘The Chief Protector.’

  There were looks of puzzlement among the audience.

  ‘The thing is, you see,’ he continued rapidly, ‘the mystery is, I – I don’t know where he came from. I’m sure – absolutely certain – that he didn’t come up the tunnel. Then he disappeared, just vanished.’

  There were further looks of puzzlement.

  ‘A mystery,’ said Narrow Back. ‘A real mystery.’

  Something – a faint memory, a blurred image – nudged Twisted Foot’s thoughts. He tried hard, but the image wouldn’t focus.

  – o –

  – Chapter Eleven –

  The tremors travelled down from the high ground, spreading through the underworld and causing dust to fall from the roof of the Common lair. The occupants of the other lairs became still: a thousand pairs of slit eyes looked upwards. A faint rumble came in the wake of the tremors. The disturbance stopped briefly and then began again, the tremors renewed, stronger, the distant whirr grown to a deep whine. Youngsters abandoned their games, rushing back to their mothers’ sides. Protectors at the pool looked up, startled, from their lapping. Hordes of Scavengers surged towards the tunnel of their lair, panic in their actions. In the lair of the Inner Circle, the elders broke off from their debate, fear in their eyes. Long Snout seethed with anger. ‘Two-Legs!’ He spat out the word.

  On the world above, the two brightly clad young men had returned to complete their business. They occupied the crest of the island, now confident that the threat of rats had been eradicated. The heavy drill operated by one of them bit through the rock with a jarring screech, a rush of dust and sparks marking its path. The other man hammered metal tubes into the holes made by the drill. Soon, a shiny frame began to take shape.

  In the course of the men’s work, more visitors arrived on the island. One of them installed an electrical circuit, while the others unloaded about a doz
en large cartons and then proceeded to fill the upright tubes with the contents of the cartons. Their final tasks were to seal the tubes and to cover and secure the frame with sheets of strong polythene.

  The time taken to erect and prime the contraption lasted four hours. By mid-afternoon, all of the visitors had gone from the island.

  The Assembly was called at long last. He-rats streamed into the Common lair. Many were shocked and jittery, the continual pounding from above having taken its toll. The Protectors outside the Scavengers’ lair rested uneasily after prolonged efforts to keep the rioting slaves at bay. As they stepped up to the platform, the members of the Inner Circle also looked uneasy. This would be no ordinary Assembly. There would be no stirring words to fortify the hearts of the Outer Circle; no great feast of bird flesh ahead for the bellies of the Rulers.

  Long Snout dominated the centre of the platform, as cold and grave as ever.

  ‘Comrades of the Secret World!’ he began solemnly: there had been no need to call for silence. ‘These latest intrusions by the Two-Legs have confirmed our worst fears. The threat is upon us. For the first time in many Cycles, our society faces discovery. Remember, comrades, with discovery comes destruction. But discovery may yet be avoided if we are careful, if we are more vigilant and disciplined.’

  The Chamberlain scoured the tense faces below him.

  ‘Yes, comrades, harsh measures will be needed to preserve our secrecy.’

  He turned to his left and then to his right, each time regarding the Rulers who crouched close to him. Some were older and more gnarled than Long Snout himself. Finally, he swivelled round to look directly at White Muzzle.

  ‘The King-rat and the elders have decided what measures will be taken,’ he announced, turning back to the Outer Circle. ‘As of this day, the Cold Cycle will begin! The hunting packs will cease! Mating may commence!’

  A faint murmur rose up from his audience. Many in the Outer Circle relaxed visibly.

  ‘Understand this, comrades!’ Long Snout snapped. ‘The Cold Cycle will last as long as the threat to our world remains. That may be a long time – much longer than has been experienced for many generations. During that time, we must be sparing with our food supply. We must control our numbers carefully.’

  The audience was suddenly silent again.

  ‘During that time, there will be Selections – frequent Selections. We have decreed that none will be exempt from them. The Selections will be complete!’

  Long afterwards, in the quiet of the Watchers’ lair, Twisted Foot was roused gently by Small Face.

  ‘Twisted Foot,’ his tiny companion whispered. ‘What did Long Snout mean when he said that the Selections would be complete?’

  An eerie voice came from the nest next to them.

  ‘It means, comrade,’ said Long Ears, ‘that for as long as they decree we shall keep on breeding our young for the mouths of the Rulers.

  ‘Just like the Scavengers do for us,’ he added.

  Twisted Foot’s heart jumped. Again, it was as if Long Ears had been listening to his innermost thoughts.

  – o –

  Part Two:

  The Plot

  – Chapter Twelve –

  Some called it the Eighth Wonder of the World; they were struck by its imposing splendour and majesty. Some were more impressed by the mechanics; a great feat of human ingenuity, an engineering miracle, they enthused. The statistics held others in awe: the many tons of steel which clothed its vast structure; the countless rivets which fixed the steel in place; the endless gallons of paint which kept corrosion at bay. A rare few found ugliness in the colossus: a rich man’s folly, a vanity, it had broken men’s backs in the making, had sent not a few plummeting to their deaths. To admirers and denigrators alike, though, the old bridge was a daily familiarity, a fixture unconcerned with the passage of time or mortal lives, a constant in a world of change and turmoil.

  For a hundred years, the Forth Railway Bridge had straddled the banks of the estuary, a permanent bond between the ancient burgh of Queensferry to the south and its identically named neighbour across the river. A century of sunrises had woken the giant, beginning afresh its sovereignty of the landscape. Across the decades, it had looked down imperiously on the ebbs and flows of human development: unflinching in 1939 when the Luftwaffe came so very close to success; indifferent to the demise of the sturdy steam locomotives which had crawled, chugging and panting, through its massive belly; still defiant in 1964 when a rival road bridge sprang up on its horizon: a sleek, modern pretender to its vast kingdom. Now, in 1990, its centennial year, the old monarch remained aloof from the rush of activity along its mighty arches.

  To celebrate the centenary of the bridge, the communities on both sides of the Firth of Forth had united to organise a series of local events. From March through to early October, there had been, among other activities, exhibitions, concerts and open-air plays. But the major events were reserved for the last day of the celebrations on Sunday, October 14PthP, the anniversary of the bridge’s official opening. A million spectators would converge on North and South Queensferry that day. Above the estuary, there would be air displays and parachute demonstrations. In the towns, pipe bands and street performers would entertain the crowds. At night, the beams from powerful searchlights would split the sky above the bridge, just as they had done during the anxious War years. For the climax of the celebration, the giant silhouette of the bridge would be seen against a backdrop of cascading rainbows from a spectacular fireworks display. In the midst of this splendour, a switch would be thrown to inaugurate the permanent floodlighting of the bridge, its final birthday tribute.

  With seven days still remaining, the preparations for the finale were well advanced. The logistics needed to cope with the expected influx of sightseers to the area had been worked out carefully. On the following Sunday, the local communities would be sealed off from normal traffic; temporary car parks on their outskirts had been designated for incoming motorists. Special trains would disgorge other visitors on either side of the bridge, but, for the first time in a hundred years, no trains would cross the bridge that day. After weeks of intensive work, the floodlighting was in place. A trial switch-on during the previous week had been successful. Now, the contractors were busy securing the miles of cable that had been threaded through the intricate arches of the bridge.

  Some concern had arisen about the arrangements for the fireworks display. The organisers intended to mount the display from Inchgarvie, the small island close to the foot of the bridge’s central arch. The fireworks would be stored on the island and set off by remote control from a safe vantage point. These plans were put in jeopardy, however, when it was discovered that the island was inhabited by rats. At first, there were reports of a huge colony of the creatures. Later, though, the local pest control expert advised the organisers that the scare was unfounded. In his view, Inchgarvie was incapable of sustaining a sizeable population of rats. His search of the island had revealed only a handful of stray ‘visitors’, and these had been swiftly exterminated. The fireworks extravaganza could go ahead as planned.

  – o –

  – Chapter Thirteen –

  The two youngsters wrestled in a corner of the lair. There was much grunting and growling and scratching as they rolled over on the hard ground. Little puffs of dust were thrown up by the impact of their squirming bodies. Jaws open and fangs showing, each tried to gain purchase on the other’s throat. Both were almost fully grown, their grappling more in earnest than in play. A sudden lunge by one of the youngsters sent his opponent sprawling backwards. Another lunge, and needle-like teeth sank momentarily into soft, exposed flesh, bringing the contest to an end. The loser uttered a sharp squeal of pain and then scrambled up and fled from the scene. With a great show of pride, the victor shook the dust from his fur and licked his fangs before strutting triumphantly back to the nest.

  Twisted Foot nudged the youngster affectionately. This was his only son. Lithe, sleek and perfe
ctly formed, he would reach his first full Cycle soon, ready to join the ranks of the Watchers. Sharp Claws would name him then. Soft-Mover, thought Twisted Foot; that name best described the youngster’s sharpness and agility. Soft-Mover was a good name for a Watcher; it signified stealth and cunning. There was no hint of mockery in it, unlike the names that he and many of his companions had been given. Yes, Soft-Mover was a good name; a suitable name for a Hunter, perhaps. If the youngster proved his abilities, he might one day be accepted into the Hunters’ lair. That would be a proud moment.

  His prowess having been acknowledged by his father’s nuzzling, the youngster now leapt away and began to creep along the neighbouring nests in search of another challenge. As he watched his son go, poignant memories of the last Cold Cycle returned to Twisted Foot. His mate had provided him with three sons and a daughter, all healthy and well-formed, his first offspring. The subsequent Selection had been particularly cruel, though, depriving him of all but one of the brood. The other young ones, although unblemished, had been wrenched away by Broken Tail and his thugs. There had been no cause, no justification. It had been a bitter blow, but in time he had come to accept the disappointment, to reconcile the indiscriminate and brutal nature of the process with the needs of the society. He had looked forward to the next Cold Cycle, to the next brood, and to another opportunity to raise strong and intelligent youngsters like Soft-Mover. Now, however, that dream had also been wrenched away by the Chamberlain’s cruel proclamation.

  The Cold Cycle is upon us, Twisted Foot thought ruefully, but it brings scant enjoyment while the threat of the Selections hangs over the lair. Even our mating has lost its pleasure. He recalled the words that Long Ears had spoken. Yes, he agreed, our breeding now has but one purpose: to fill the bellies of the Rulers. The image of Long Ears lingered in his mind, growing stronger, more solid.