Mice much preferred their underground cities, secured by a myriad of booby traps and maze-like passages, guards, roundabouts, and double-backs, as well as the comfort of shadow and the occasional convenience of phosphorescent glowstones.
JaRed loved Tira-Nor.
He also hated it.
Its network of tunnels and burrows and greatchambers were safe. Warm in winter, cool in summer, its passages welcomed JaRed with arms of earth and clay. Its history embraced him with precepts grounded in the character of the Maker. Tira-Nor was, in more than name only, “a city of promise.” Tira-Nor was a city of destiny: huge and familiar and comforting. Tira-Nor was home.
But to JaRed it was suffocatingly small. For what part of the Commons hadn’t he explored a thousand times? Indeed, what part of the halls of the Families— which were forbidden to mice of the Commons—had he not slipped quietly into for the sheer thrill of defiance? Sometimes the city needed to be defied. And sometimes a mouse needed to feel he was more than the least, more than—as Horrid had dubbed him— “half a commoner.”
And yet he often wondered: did the promises of ElShua really apply to him? Did they apply to anyone? He didn’t know, and not knowing troubled him.
Tira-Nor protected the bodies of its lesser citizens. But what of their souls?
JaRed arrived above the northeastern corner of the city too late to use the Mud Gate. Only two entrances to the city would be open at this hour. The gate called Open was almost always available, except when heavy rains made its steep initial plunge treacherous. The Common Gate lay protected by a lump of overhanging rock that jutted from the earth just above it. Both holes stood well to the south and east and were considerably larger, having been built by the original architects of Tira-Nor, the prairie dogs who were driven out ages ago by TyMin and the Ancients.
JaRed chose the Common Gate. He scampered inside after whistling his approach for the guard. The tunnel’s smooth walls glimmered with reflected light from the moon, which stood balanced above the Dark Forest on one brilliant point.
To his surprise, Captain Blang of the kingsguard met him in the checkpoint. “Who is it?” Blang asked, sniffing at JaRed’s coat.
“JaRed, son of ReDemec the Red, of the Commons.”
“ReDemec has a son named JaRed?”
“Yes, sir.” JaRed felt his cheeks blush. “Runt.”
“Ah, yes! Now I remember.”
The words stung. JaRed supposed he should not have expected someone of Captain Blang’s rank to recognize him, but carrying the name Runt grew tiresome. Like lugging an extra tail in from the field after a long day.
Come to think of it, JaRed wondered why someone of Blang’s rank should be standing gate duty.
“How is your father?” Blang asked.
“Very well, sir. I will give him your compliments.”
“Do that, yes. What are you doing out so late? You’ve brought nothing back.”
As a member of the Commons, JaRed’s life and his labor belonged to the king. He was not a member of the Families, and it was his duty as a scavenger to bring back food for the storerooms.
In fact, JaRed had a single ripe mulberry stuffed in his cheek when he first felt the presence of Klogg and Scritch from a distance. But then, clumsily, he had swallowed it. He had been too startled to notice whether it even tasted good.
“Wait a moment. Runt. Yes. Someone was looking for you. Asked me to keep a whisker out. What was her name? Short and quiet. Rather cute, with a white patch on her left forepaw—”
“KahEesha,” JaRed said. “My sister.”
“Yes. KahEesha. Lovely thing. Asked if I would tell you to come home immediately. Something about a visitor. I can’t remember the rest. Say, is she married?”
“No, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“Hold on. You still haven’t answered my question. What were you doing out there?”
JaRed did not want to tell Captain Blang about the rats. Not yet, anyway. The story would just condemn him to more questions and more attention. This would make his brothers angry—especially Horrid. Afterward they would make his life more miserable than it already was.
Still, he must not think of himself. It was no trivial threat he had stumbled upon. Tira-Nor must be warned.
He felt, like a cold stirring in his bones, that news of the spies must reach the king. A sense of looming danger hung over him, and he could not be rid of it.
“Captain Blang, if I tell you what happened to me, will you promise not to tell anyone but the king?”
Blang scowled. “I will make no such promise. But you will tell me what happened.”
JaRed sighed. Blang would not understand. He did not have JaRed’s brothers for family. “I suppose I must.”
Blang stared at him in a suffocating silence. When he finally spoke his voice sounded like water trickling from a drain. “I am the captain of the kingsguard. I’m not going to wait forever.”
“I was foraging near the Dark Forest,” JaRed said, “when I came across two rats. They were spying on us, and they talked of a Master.” JaRed shrugged. “I think Tira-Nor may be in danger.”
“Did they hurt you?”
“No.”
Blang flicked his tail and sniffed.
Jared could not tell whether Blang believed him. “May I go now?”
“One more question. Why don’t you want anyone else to know what happened to you?”
“It wouldn’t make sense to frighten everyone unnecessarily.” Which was true enough.
“Somehow I don’t think that’s the reason you demanded a promise from an officer in the kingsguard.”
JaRed felt his face blush again. “My brothers wouldn’t like me getting a lot of attention.”
Blang stared at him for another long moment. “I see.”
“You won’t tell them, will you?”
“No. But they may find out anyway. I believe the king will want to see you.”
JaRed’s stomach heaved. He could not think of anything he wanted less than to stand in front of King So-Sheth and describe his headlong flight from the two rats.
“We’ve known about the rats for some time now,” Captain Blang said. “Which is why I’m standing gate watch for the first time in six seasons. In the next day or two a runner from the kingsguard will come for you. Don’t be frightened. Just tell your story as clearly as you can. Perhaps your brothers will not find out.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In the meantime, give my regards to your sister, will you?”
Captain Blang stood alone just inside the gate-hole and stared blankly into the night. The air tasted of dust and heat. He listened, but the only sounds he heard came from memories a lifetime past and a universe distant.
Against the black moon-washed curtain of stars, a nightmare returned. Screams of mice. Cursing. Someone shrieking as though in intense pain.
That, too, had been a dry summer, had it not?
Then the familiar smell from ages ago: the one who loved him. A gentle touch. A calm voice speaking comfort. Shush. Be still. Father will protect us. But we must do as he says, go quickly and quietly. Can you do that? Of course you can. And Mother will come behind. The noise? It’s nothing, little one. Nothing at all. Nothing to concern you. Come now, and be strong.
Blang turned in the entrance, wondering at his own foolishness. No use thinking this way. Why go back? And yet his mind wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t turn to more practical matters.
He shook his head as though shaking off water after a cold swim.
Why, he wondered, were torments always born in litters? Earlier this summer the kingsguard had been decimated by an attack from two foxes—something unheard of in the history of the city. Then the drought had blown in like a hot wind from across the prairie, scorching the earth, destroying the grain, shriveling the wild berries of the Dark Forest upon which Tira-Nor depended for water. And now, the most menacing news of all: Blang’s past returned. Its hollow black mouth opened like the jaws of the grave. Daily
now his scouts returned grim-faced with words to make even the fiercest lose heart.
The rat army gathering to the west grew bold. They now sent spies to the very borders of Tira-Nor, where any scavenging Commoner could not fail to see them. Clearly the rat master—the one Blang’s scouts referred to as It—meant for his rat spies to be seen. It wanted the people of Tira-Nor to know rats were coming. It wanted them to be afraid. Truly, war could not be far off.
And when war came, how would the city survive? Tira-Nor had been savaged by enemies, drought, and sickness. Its kingsguard warriors numbered fewer than two hundred. Its militia boasted barely twice that. Its stores of food were already insufficient for a mild winter, let alone an outright siege.
What would the king do?
Blang thought of the rat master, the one called GoRec, and shuddered. His scouts told of a monster too terrible for the imagination. Larger and quicker than any rat they had ever seen. And Blang knew they were not exaggerating. Such things were possible. He had seen. He had heard. Once, long ago.
The memories piled upon him, unwelcomed, but Blang was powerless to stop them.
Mother hiding him under a shiny silver rock with a hollow place, a perfect circle. Father standing up to first one, then two, then four rats. The monster appearing out of shadow and fire, its eyes like empty black pits. And Mother, her back to a wall of cinder, pleading …
He heard a low moaning sound, the wail of a frightened kit, and he realized the sound came from himself. Hot tears streaked down his cheeks. He stood alone in the night, ashamed of this terrible weakness.
Captain Blang, weeping! What would his lieutenants think?
But he could not stop, could not push the rage and helplessness beyond reach, could not crush it or whisk it away.
He knew why, just as he knew the dread he felt was not unfounded. A thought came, exploding into the present for the zillionth time: They are not two evils, but one. The monster of my memory and the rat master GoRec are the same rat!
But how could that be? It had happened so long ago. In a place so remote even LaRish had never heard of it.
Nausea rose in his belly, forcing him to lean against the wall for support. His legs felt suddenly and preposterously weak.
Still he wept.
The night air whispered across the prairie. A moth fluttered briefly into view and disappeared. Overhead, the night stars shivered like candles sputtering in a vast black wind. And Captain Blang stood there, not moving, simply staring into the looming darkness.
In that moment he knew. It could not be, and yet it was. The memory he’d hidden from had found him at last.
It is not rats we fight, but Lord Wroth himself. And in all of Tira-Nor, only I know what that means.
Chapter Two
The Calling of Runt
HaRed Son of ReDemec the Red was passionately lecturing his siblings—on the idiocy of forcing talented mice like himself to serve with common soldiers in the militia—when TaMir poked his white-furred face into the chamber from the tunnel.
The old fool cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”
Father looked up, a stunned expression crowding his face.
“Such an honor,” Mother said. “Please come in.”
“Yes, yes,” Father added quickly. “Come in.”
An old mouse carrying the weight of many seasons, TaMir lumbered into the family’s chamber, limping awkwardly on age-swollen joints.
Look at him, HaRed thought. Puffed up with selfimportance and the king’s raisins. He’s proud as a bumble bee and twice as fat!
But then, most of Tira-Nor’s citizens were proud and fat, though no one else seemed to notice. HaRed was constantly forced to scavenge next to mice who were not only his physical and intellectual inferiors, but were too stupid to realize it. As he often told himself in the field, this observation was not a matter of pride, but of honesty. The fact that HaRed really was smart, handsome, and athletic made pride unnecessary. No point in believing a lie.
“ReDemec,” TaMir said, “I hope I am not intruding.”
“Not at all. Just let me move this big lug of a son.” He bent over and shouted into his son’s ear. “KeeRed, wake up! We have a guest.”
KeeRed, the oldest of the ReDemec children, awoke drowsily. “That you, BeerGul?”
The twins, BeRed and MaRed, emerged from their sleeping chambers and stood sniffing at the far corner of the room.
“Children,” Father said, “I have the honor of introducing the Seer of Tira-Nor, Master TaMir of ElShua.”
A moment of uncomfortable silence passed as TaMir looked carefully at each of them. “Are these your sons?”
“Yes,” Mother said. “Our daughter, KahEesha, is here as well. The oldest son is KeeRed, then HaRed, then the twins, BeRed and MaRed—we call them Berry and Merry. And then—”
“Welcome, sir,” HaRed cut in before Mother could disgrace the family by mentioning Runt’s undignified existence. “We would be pleased to help you in any way.”
TaMir stared at him dispassionately, and KeeRed shot him a disgusted look. HaRed didn’t care. He could always twist things to his advantage. Most adults were pathetically stupid, and TaMir would be no different. All it took to control them was a little flattery, a few sirs and ma’ams, a scattered please and thank you. Do it right, and you could bite their tails one moment and have them thanking you for it the next. Wasn’t that how the king treated his soldiers? Wasn’t that how he treated the mice of the Commons? Give them a dark hole with their name on it and a dull job gathering nuts, and they’ll follow you for life. But not HaRed. HaRed was bound for better things, and he knew it.
“I have come looking for someone,” TaMir said. “ElShua sent me.”
These last three words hung in the air, heavy and ominous, inspiring only silence.
HaRed wondered if the seer had come for him. Everyone knew TaMir had no apprentice. Who better than HaRed to take the position?
He turned the idea over in his mind like a rock under which he might find something of interest. The more he considered the idea, the more plausible it seemed. Was it really so unlikely that a mouse of HaRed’s talents would eventually be noticed by a seer, especially if that seer was looking for a mouse of quality?
Of course, HaRed didn’t really believe all that nonsense about the Ancients. The old legends and traditions were just stories for fools concocted by those in power to keep the city under control. No one with the brains of a peanut took the name ElShua seriously.
This thought gave HaRed a sense of importance, for it meant he was in the know. Others might be witless enough to believe in invisible beings, but not HaRed. He saw through the words, the formality, the bluster. He knew TaMir didn’t really believe in ElShua, though the seer breathed the Name often enough. No wonder! Fear of the Name kept TaMir kept in power, protected his position as second- or third-highest mouse in the kingdom.
And now he had come to pass on that legacy!
At last, HaRed thought. A way out of the Commons.
“Are these all of your sons?” TaMir asked.
“There is another,” Mother said. “He should have come home by now. His name is—”
“Runt,” HaRed said quickly. He made his voice sound polite, but the word sound bad. Runt. The least. The smallest. Runt the dirty. Runt the stupid. Runt the fool. All these meanings HaRed thrust into the one syllable. The force of his spite was so strong even Mother noticed it. They all noticed it. How could they not? But when they looked at him, HaRed neither apologized nor sneered. He kept his face blank. He had said nothing wrong. Everyone called JaRed Runt. Just as everyone called him Horrid.
TaMir stared for a long time, then said, very quietly, “Perhaps I have made a mistake. But I should like to see this one called … Runt.” He said the word exactly as HaRed had. Only now the similarity came as an insult. The word thudded into HaRed’s dignity like an arrow striking wood.
HaRed felt his face flush. Perhaps TaMir was not as stupid as he had imagined.
“KahEesha,” Mother said. “Go find JaRed. Tell him to come home right away.”
JaRed left Captain Blang and took the southward passage that would lead past the Wind Gate and eventually to home. The air cooled as the passage sloped downward, and when the mundane smell of dry earth filled his nostrils he felt himself relax. Sometimes he wanted to leave Tira-Nor forever, wanted it more than anything, even more than he wanted not to be small anymore. But just now the city’s smooth, cool familiarity greeted him like an old friend.
KahEesha met JaRed at the second turn nearest home. The ReDemec family chambers—a comfortable space with separate sleeping holes for JaRed’s parents and each of his five siblings—stood in the southwest section of the Commons some distance from the Common Gate.
“Oh, thank goodness you’re back,” KahEesha said, her voice too loud in the stillness. Her coat shone dully in the light of a glimmering glowstone. “Mother has been so worried. Where have you been?”
“I’ll tell you later. What’s wrong?”
“TaMir is waiting in our chambers. He came to Father over an hour ago, saying he was looking for a certain mouse.”
“What does the Seer want?”
“Don’t know for sure,” she whispered. She stopped abruptly. They had been moving down the tunnel side by side, but now she turned to look at him in the nearblackness. She put one paw over his, as though in warning. “But I think he wants you.”
“Me?”
“I think he’s come for an apprentice.”
All of Tira-Nor knew the chalk-white old seer had never trained an assistant. His knowledge of ElShua’s magic would die with him if he did not choose a pupil soon.
But choosing JaRed made no sense. JaRed was too small to be considered for such a high office. Besides, seers were born white. Though he did bear the single white shock of fur on his forehead, JaRed was otherwise gray as dust, and even less inspiring.
Runt the Brave: Bravery in the Midst of a Bully Society (Legends of Tira-Nor) Page 2