“HaRed. My favorite son.”
HaRed blinked. He wasn’t Mother’s favorite. Runt was.
“Do you know why you were always my favorite? It’s because you are so much like me. I understand you. Never good enough. Never the oldest. Never the strongest. I’m sorry you must carry my weaknesses. But one day long ago I learned what really matters in life. Do you know what it is, HaRed?” Her eyes widened a moment and glistened as she smiled. “You do, don’t you? I can see it in you now.”
HaRed didn’t understand. He didn’t even know if anything mattered. But she seemed so sure, and she seemed to want him to be sure too. He nodded.
“I’m thirsty.”
“I’ll get you something.” He started to stand but she stopped him, gripping his arm weakly.
“It’s all right, HaRed. Tell Papa … and KahEesha. Tell JaRed …” She looked past him toward the ceiling. “Oh, HaRed, I hear his wings! Do you hear them?”
HaRed heard nothing, but he nodded anyway. “I hear them, Mother. He comes gently for you.”
“Tell JaRed—”
Then her breath spilled out and she said nothing more.
Chapter Eleven
GoRec
Shift. Look. Step.
“Tweener!”
Use your eyes, leetle one. Look! The Earth is dying, yes?
It was true. The Earth was dying. Shuddering under the impact of a weight larger than it could bear. Convulsing like some giant beast in the final moments of its life. Crumbling. Falling away beneath him. Collapsing into a perfect black hole of nothingness.
Shift—boom!
Look—boom!
Step—boom!
It rattled and shook, as though crushed under some monstrous weight. ElShua’s footsteps on the crust of the world.
Boom!
Or were they Wroth’s footsteps?
JaRed could not tell. He could not see through the dim fog of the vision. The only clear thing was the sense of weightlessness, of smallness, of having no firm grip on anything.
“Tweener!” A voice like the coming of doom fell from the sky.
Then, suddenly, JaRed could see. He couldn’t help but see. Towering above even the clouds, a giant rat, its mouth foaming pink, its eyes rolled back into its head until only the blood-veined white showed.
GoRec!
Shift—Boom!
“Tweener has come,” boomed the rat. Its voice battered JaRed’s ears, hammered at his brain.
It occurred to him that he did not have to fall into the black hole. Did not have to descend into the emptiness. Did not have to die with the world. He could just slip away. Disappear. Make himself invisible and flee into the Dark Forest.
And why not?
King SoSheth hates me. Horrid hates me. LaRish is dead. There’s nothing left for me here. Nothing left to live for. Nothing left to die for.
Why not run away?
A plan emerged. He would slide out through the Mud Gate just before dawn. He would weave his way past the rat siege lines. He would fade into the shadows of the trees and lose himself in the coolness of the wood. Even if one of the rat sentries saw him, he would not pursue him far. Not with the rest of Tira-Nor still to deal with. Besides, even if they wanted to, the rats could not catch him. They were too slow.
GoRec’s eyes rolled forward, revealing the black marble void that filled them. “And then what?” His voice echoed in the black, silent chamber. It rolled off the walls like water and hurled itself in waves against JaRed. Even as it subsided it lost none of its power. It scratched at his eyes, softer, though still insistent, searching. “And then what?”
Eh, leetle one? What would it be like in the Dark Forest without purpose? Without meaning?
“JaRed?”
He looked up into the blue haze of a glowstone shining somewhere in the distance down the tunnel. TaMir stood rimmed in light at the entrance, his enormous white body a shadowy silhouette.
JaRed remembered. He knelt on the dirt floor of his chamber in the officer’s section of the kingsguard He had come here to be alone, but had found he could not control his own thoughts. Slowly, a vast blanket of terror had settled around him, suffocating him, until peace had seemed nothing but a distant memory. Where are you?
Then the vision. So real. The Earth dying, and GoRec towering above the heavens.
TaMir cleared his throat. “And then what?”
JaRed blinked. “TaMir?”
“After you flee,” the seer said. “Then what will happen?”
JaRed swallowed and looked away. “I saw GoRec in a vision. His paws were crushing the life out of the whole world.”
TaMir sighed and shuffled into the room. “He would do that if he could.” He grimaced and put one paw to his lower back. He sat next to JaRed and leaned stiffly against the wall of the chamber, exhaling with a sound like the winter wind. “Perhaps that would happen were you to leave Tira-Nor to its own fate.”
“Perhaps?”
“Or perhaps Tira-Nor will fall no matter what you do. That is a possibility I have long considered. But I do not believe it. In my bones I believe you were born to make a difference.”
“But … you’re a seer. You already know the future.”
TaMir laughed, his voice rattling dryly in the cool stillness of the chamber. “I know very little. And what I do know comes from the past, not the future. Oh, yes, sometimes ElShua whispers a riddle in my ear. Once in a great while He may give me a hint about what will happen. But He does not tell me how. And the how, dear JaRed, is the thing that gives life color.”
JaRed shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
TaMir nodded slowly. “Neither do I. But then, in the end, understanding is not really all that important.”
“No?”
“No.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
TaMir’s brows furrowed. His eyes glimmered in the wispy light. An expression of sympathy etched his face. “What is it, JaRed?”
“What is what?”
“The thing that bothers you. It is more than fear of GoRec, or fear of death. You have wanted to ask me something. All night you have battled in your heart. I can see the pain of it written on your face. An unanswered question troubles you. Isn’t that why I am here? Ask it.”
JaRed swallowed. He felt grateful, but also afraid. For what if the answer were some deficiency in himself? What if the answer was worse than the question? “Why does ElShua seem so far away?” he asked, and the weight of it fell from him.
TaMir’s shoulders slumped, as though with grief, and he let out a long, slow breath.
JaRed wondered whether TaMir had fallen asleep, or was offended, or simply had no answer, because it was a long time before the seer spoke.
“Because,” TaMir said in a voice as far away as a dream, “he wants to trust you, JaRed. It is an opportunity. A chance to shine. Even Wroth can be forced to behave in ElShua’s presence. It is what one does in his absence that reveals one’s heart.” He reached over and patted JaRed’s paw. “When the time comes, I think you will discover he has never left you.”
“I’d like to believe that. It’s just …”
TaMir smiled. “Then I should like to tell you a story. Did you know you are not the first mouse to have been anointed king over Tira-Nor? No? Nor are you the first to feel unworthy of the calling.
“There was a mouse, some time ago, who was called to great things, much like you. He too faced a mighty army of rats. This mouse was given the opportunity of a lifetime: the chance to lean upon ElShua instead of himself. But when the whisper of the Maker came, and the king was told not to attack, but to wait … well, this mouse disobeyed. Instead of heeding ElShua’s command, he took the matter into his own paws. He attacked what he thought was a weakness in the rat line. Because ElShua seemed far off.”
“What happened?”
“Many mice died. The king was rejected, and another mouse was appointed in his place a few years later.”
“I
see.”
TaMir’s gaze flicked over to him. “Do you?”
JaRed cocked his head. “Well, yes. I mean, I think so. The king doubted and disobeyed. And he paid a very high price for not doing what he should have done.”
TaMir pursed his lips and nodded gently, as though unimpressed by JaRed’s answer. “Yes, yes. That is almost it. The king lived a long time, you see. He tried to forget, to pretend the responsibility of so many deaths lay with others. He blamed his advisors. His general. He even blamed ElShua.”
JaRed gasped.
“But that doesn’t work, does it?”
JaRed stared at the old mouse in disbelief, his mouth open.
“Ah,” said TaMir. “Now you see.”
“You’re talking about SoSheth,” JaRed blurted. “He is the king in your story.”
“Yes.”
“And I am the one who was chosen to take his place.”
TaMir nodded. “Yes. LaRish was the general. I, one of the advisors.”
They sat in silence for a long time, neither one speaking. It seemed, for a while, they had all the time in the world, that the only thing that mattered was to sit quietly and listen to the distant sounds of the kingsguard coming to life in the early moments before dawn.
“Does it hurt?” JaRed whispered finally, his voice as thin as the light beyond the door.
“Does what hurt?” TaMir asked. “Dying?”
“No. Growing old.”
TaMir’s lips pursed. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly. At last he said, “It is the memories that hurt the most.” He reached down with one paw and rubbed the swollen mound of his left knee. “But in the end, you either enter ElShua’s garden wounded, or you do not enter it at all.”
“Well, mouse,” GoRec called from above. His voice boomed in the underground chambers, echoing like thunder in the gray haze. “Have you changed your mind?”
HaRed waited in silence, the words piercing his heart. Even here in the Great Hall, GoRec’s voice could be clearly heard, resounding down the long tunnel that led from the Common Gate. Here, surrounded by what seemed half the Commons, HaRed felt utterly alone. He did not know—or would not admit—what bothered him. He reached up with one paw and picked at the long scabs on his cheek, as though by removing them he could remove the scars from his soul.
The mice of the Commons waited. Everyone knew what was happening. Runt of the kingsguard—Runt the Brave, some had called him—was about to be killed by the monster rat, GoRec. Then Tira-Nor’s kingsguard and militia would spill from their positions and attack in force while the females and kits fled toward the Dark Forest from the five easternmost gates. This was SoSheth’s plan.
Not a good plan, but what choice did they have? There wasn’t enough water for Tira-Nor to hold out any longer.
HaRed swallowed the lump in his throat. It would serve the little waste-of-air right, really. But this spite somehow came reluctantly. Runt the brave? he thought. No, not him!
HaRed tried to work up enough saliva in his throat for a good spit, but failed.
Yes. JaRed was brave.
HaRed marveled that he had allowed himself to admit such a thought.
The Great Hall stank of too many mice. Too much sweat, too much anxiety, too much thirst.
He took a long pull of the heavy air and licked his lips. His tongue felt like sand. Everything was drying out. Leaking moisture into the dry autumn air.
Even his hatred for JaRed was draining away. It poured from his heart like blood from an old wound.
Old. And self-inflicted.
HaRed swallowed again, but the thirst would not leave him. How long would it take for JaRed to die? HaRed was not in a position to see the fight. He would not even see JaRed leaving the city. His brother would be going out from the West Gate any moment. HaRed expected to hear jeers from the rats.
The silence lingered. HaRed shifted his weight from one side to another. He had been posted to the militia here in the Great Hall along with several hundred other sudden-soldiers who now stood in hushed expectation. He did not mind their company. It seemed fitting, somehow, though he wished he could have spent his last day with one of the mice from the quickresponse squads who had been sacrificed for a day of freedom.
My brother is about to die.
HaRed tried again to swallow. The knot in his throat seemed larger now, more demanding.
And I will die too.
But HaRed was Mother’s favorite. She’d said so. And there was no denying the expression of love on her face just before she died. “Tell JaRed.” she had said.
Tell him what?
A sound like rain erupted from the tunnel, the sound of cheering from the Ur’Lugh up above.
“Runt’s gone out,” someone said, as though it were not obvious.
From a few lengths away, a different mouse said, “Well, one less mouse to drink our water.”
Something inside HaRed shattered at the impact of those words. His hatred exploded like black ice under a sledge.
My brother is about to die.
A fury he had never known erupted in his heart, and he wheeled about suddenly, causing those around him to shrink back. “Who said that?”
Silence.
“Who said that!” he shrieked.
The mice nearest him backed away, leaving him in a growing circle of emptiness.
“Answer me, coward!”
HaRed son of ReDemec the Red looked from face to face, his eyes wild, his throat hoarse, his cheek running with blood from a freshly peeled scab. But the lump in his throat was gone, driven out by the force of his anger.
“JaRed is my brother!” The Great Hall echoed with his rage. “Show yourself. I’ll rip you apart piece by piece!”
But no one answered him.
Captain Blang put one paw on JaRed’s shoulder and whispered in his ear.
“Really?” JaRed said. Morning light from the West Gate burned brightly in the mouth of the tunnel. He could smell the rats outside, waiting.
“Yes. I asked her yesterday. I’d like you to attend.”
“All right.”
King SoSheth nosed into the crowded guard room with JoHanan and the royal escort. Both wore a heavy coat of oil. “Well, JaRed, are you ready?”
“Yes, Majesty.”
“You honor us by your courage.”
“Thank you, Majesty.”
King SoSheth smiled thinly.
JoHanan came closer. “How’s the shoulder? Any better?”
“I can manage.”
“JaRed,” JoHanan said, his voice soft, “are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Resentment flooded through him. It was irrational, he knew. JoHanan cared about him. Really and truly cared. And yet they all assumed he was about to die. Had they no hope? No faith?
“What do you think?” His voice rose as he spoke. “Do you really believe a sewage-eating rat can stand against the people of ElShua? We were given Tira-Nor. We have a covenant with the Maker. Who is this baldtailed servant of Wroth?”
The others in the room looked around uncomfortably, and JaRed saw his words had not helped them at all. He saw the truth on their faces.
They don’t believe. Not really. They think we are alone. They think the universe is an accident. They think GoRec will win and all of us will be dead by tomorrow.
Yet his words had affected himself.
If I die, then life is pointless anyway, for it will mean that all I believe is a lie: ElShua, Tira-Nor, the Garden Beyond. Nothing will have mattered.
So I would rather die with purpose than live with despair.
He padded out of the crowded guardroom and up the tunnel, followed closely by the king and Captain Blang.
“JaRed,” Blang said.
JaRed turned.
“I watched LaRish fight that monster. After he raises up, he usually strikes from the left.” Captain Blang moved his head from side to side in demonstration. “Right-left-right, then a left strike.” He shrugged. “I just tho
ught you should know.”
JaRed nodded, then took the last few steps alone, dragging the ten-penny nail behind him. The other mice did not speak, though each no doubt wondered what he intended to do with the iron stick.
JaRed stepped forward and stood blinking in the wide-open sunlight of morning.
JaRed knew the death match would be a game to GoRec, just as watching JaRed drag LaRish’s body had been a game to him. True to his word, though probably not because of it, the rat had ordered the Ur’Lugh into a wide semicircle behind him. It was to be, as promised, “a fair fight.”
As JaRed stepped forward, a scowl crept slowly over GoRec’s face. “Where is your champion? When is he coming?”
In the brightness of the prairie, the full magnitude of his own vulnerability struck JaRed like a fist. He had nowhere to hide now. His ability to conceal himself would do him no good here. For the first time in his life, all attention was focused on him. He could not blend into the greenery or fade into the background.
Yet wasn’t this what he had always wanted? To be noticed? To be considered important? To matter?
I’ve been a fool. Esteem won’t make me great. It is only another snake in a dark tunnel waiting to devour me.
A shadow passed across the sun, and JaRed looked up into the cloudless sky. A hawk circled there, too far away to be distinct.
Hawks don’t cast shadows at that distance. He thrust the thought from his mind. It didn’t matter now.
“I am the champion of Tira-Nor,” he said.
After a short pause, the Ur’Lugh jeered. They pointed, clapped one another’s backs, and shook their heads in disbelief. Their derision fell like rain.
JaRed drew himself up and inched closer. Truly, GoRec the rat was huge.
The shadow passed again, and JaRed looked up. The rats did not seem to notice, which struck JaRed as odd.
A cold shiver raced down his spine as he stared heavenward. The bird circling overhead was no hawk. It was an owl. It slid through the sky as silent as the wind, its snow-white wings spread in a graceful halfmoon. Gliding closer.
It has come for me. And perhaps for many others.
He stood staring at it, speechless, wondering again where the presence of ElShua had gone, wondering why he felt nothing but a cold tingle at his spine, as though death were clutching at him, rising from the earth with icy fingers.
Runt the Brave: Bravery in the Midst of a Bully Society (Legends of Tira-Nor) Page 13