Pawsgaard
A Guineawick Tale by Jon Thysell
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009-2012 Jon Thysell. Some Rights Reserved.
Pawsgaard: A Guineawick Tale by Jon Thysell is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 United States License. For more details visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/us/
Table of Contents
Thick white clouds blanketed the sky, blocking the hot noon sun. The walled mousetown bustled with twittering whiskers, bouncing tails, and the rapid chatter of hundreds of mice. Merchants shouted from the shade of their stalls; mothers ran errands with little ones circling their feet. A constant stream of farmers returned from the fields, marching in from the East Gate with carts overstuffed. All bore the smiles of a good day's work and the promise of a comfortable winter.
Harvest had come to Guineawick.
Among the sea of grey, brown, and black, strolled a single white mouse. She wore a bright orange sarong wrapped about her waist; a wicker basket swung from the crook of her arm.
"A'llo Hester!"
The white mouse raised a paw to her brow and looked back toward the square, searching for the greeting's source. She spotted a hamster in the shade of the smithy, waving a heavy hammer as if it were made of cork.
"Hello Hamma!" Hester said with a grin. She returned the wave, fanning her whiskers wide.
"You look mighty pretty in orange!" the blacksmith shouted.
Hester blushed, tail around her ankles, and adjusted her sarong. Why'd he have to go and say that?
The hamster reached down and wiped his sooty face on his even sootier apron. "Well, much prettier than me and me ol' apron!"
Hester laughed; she liked the old hamster. He understood what it meant to stick out. "Thank you Hamma! I'll see you later!"
"Goodbye Hester!"
They waved again, and Hamma returned to the fires of his forge. With a swing and a bang, he resumed shaping the shovel-head he'd left on the hot coals. Hester smiled and continued her walk away from the market.
Not long after she spotted a familiar silhouette on the hillside ahead: the figure had large round ears, and his back bent low to the ground. He pulled a cart twice his size; it was filled over with the long stalk reeds that grew by the riverbank. Hester picked up her pace, her tail bobbing happily behind her.
"Peaceful greetings, Jared," Hester said in the old tongue. The greeting sounded more like a refined cough than actual words.
The old mouse jumped, and with one ear cocked back began a mock search; he hunted high and low, left and right, staring through Hester as if she wasn't even there. Hester smiled.
"Peaceful greetings, Jared," she said again. Jared smiled and perked his ears.
"Oh, peaceful greetings, Hester," he said. "I wondered who it was. No one speaks the old tongue anymore, at least not with me." Hester rolled her eyes.
"What do you mean?" Hester asked. "I always do."
"Did, perhaps," Jared said. "I haven't seen nor heard from you for months. Too old to spend your summer with Jared?"
"No, I-" Jared's cart lurched back; his knees bent and his arms began to shake. Hester dropped her basket and grabbed the cart's handle. "Let me help you with that."
"No need, no need!" Jared said, and straightened his legs. "You may be too old, but I'm not! I won't be too old until I can't pull this here cart, and when I can't pull this here cart I'll be too old." Hester gave him a stern look. "Besides, look at my arms. You wouldn't want to get your pretty white fur all dirty, would you?"
Hester leaned away, her tail back around her ankles, and flattened down her fur. Jared frowned.
"Sorry little one," he said. Then with a tug he continued up the hill. Hester retrieved her basket and followed.
They reached the hill's crest and Hester stopped at the crossroads while Jared caught his breath. She stood on her tiptoes and taking a deep breath, she looked down over Guineawick. First to her right: the road west led down through the oldest neighborhoods in town, where the long established families, like hers, kept their manors. Past the town wall and the land rose again, up and up the great rock face of Mount Podge.
Town Hall stood to her left: the stone centerpiece of Guineawick. By far the largest building in all of town, it predated even Jared, who claimed to not remember a time before Town Hall existed. Past Town Hall the road led to the East Gate, beyond which lay the Greater Gardens, the heart of Guineawick farmland. Grand fields of grains, fruits, vegetables and nuts stretched all the way to Hodge River.
Hester took in another deep breath and returned her heels to the ground.
"Why were you in the market today?" she asked, her tail piqued. "You don't come in for another week."
Jared twitched his whiskers then scratched under his ear. "Had a funny feeling," he said finally. "That's all. Like something big was going to happen today." Hester's tail bobbed, but Jared shrugged. "And where were you headed today?"
"I almost forgot," Hester said, and then held up her basket. "I brought you a picnic!"
"A picnic?" Jared asked, and twitched his whiskers again. "Why didn't you say so? Let's get a move on!" With a small heave, he lifted up the cart handles, and pointing his pink nose south, continued onward.
The road curved around a block of houses then passed between some of Guineawick's older stone buildings. The hospital appeared up ahead, tall and stark with its recent coat of white-wash. A cadre of Nurses maintained the grounds, dutifully tending the dense herb garden that surrounded the building. As she walked by, Hester inhaled the deep perfume of the Lesser Gardens and smiled.
Soon after, the two arrived at a small house near the South Gate. A wood sign hung over doorway; it read "Jared's Burrow" in stiff, blocky lettering. Jared smiled, fanning out his grey whiskers.
"Ah, home at last," he said, and then with a heave, he pulled his cart around back. Hester waited for him in the street, swinging her basket and toying with her tail. Then Jared returned, wiping the dust from his paws. "Shall we?"
"Why do you have a sign?" Hester asked. "No one else I know has a sign over their front door. And it's not a proper burrow is it? Weren't burrows underground?"
Jared scratched the whiskers under his chin and pursed his lips. Then his milky little eyes met Hester's, black and widening.
"Sorry," Hester said, paw to her mouth. In her sudden curiosity she'd broken Jared's one rule: that their conversations be always in high-rodent. Jared snorted and twittered his whiskers, then went inside. Hester followed with her head hung low. Oops. How many times have you seen that sign anyway?
Jared disappeared down the hall, while Hester hurried to the kitchen, setting her basket down on the rough wood table before fetching plates from the cupboard. Jared returned with a large bowl of flowered water and they took turns washing their paws and faces.
"I see you haven't forgotten your way around my kitchen," Jared said, eyebrow raised.
"I'm sorry, I know I haven't been around lately," Hester said. "How's the harvest?"
"It's a good year for everyone." Jared sat and fingered the basket. "What did you bring today?"
"Nothing special." Hester opened the basket and produced a loaf of bread, a blackberry, and an unshelled peanut. Jared grinned and licked his lips.
"It's marvelous," he said. "Well what're we waiting for?" Hester sat and broke the loaf in two. They ate in silence, avoiding each other's eyes. Finally, Jared spoke.
"Have you decided?" he asked. Hester's tail hooked the chair. Had she really expected him not to ask?
"I don't know," she said.
"You'll find something." Jared reached for the peanut and split off half. "There's no rush."
"Tell that to my father," Hester said, and Jared chuckled. "He's been on my tail all summer. School's over. You have to contribute to society now, Hester; you have to pick a place. It's all he talks about." The old mouse chuckled again.
"It's only because he cares," Jared said. Hester rolled her eyes and took her peanut half.
"What's with the smile?" Hester asked.
"Oh, nothing," Jared said. He paused to scratch his chin. "It's not the same, you know, not having you around. I miss our chats. I miss the extra paws down at the river."
"I miss your lessons," Hester said. "But I miss your stories more. Tell me a story, Jared. Tell me a story about Hodge and Podge." Jared laughed.
"But you know them better than I do," he said.
"Maybe," Hester said. "But I like it when you tell them." Jared sighed.
"Perhaps another-"
A flash passed over Hester's eyes, and just as quickly she snatched the blackberry from the open basket. Jared's nose followed the upheld fruit with keen interest.
"I see..." Jared licked his lips. "So that's how it's going to be?"
Hester smiled wide, revealing her fore-teeth. Food never failed to loosen her old mentor's tongue. She waved the berry under her nose and exaggerated inhaling its sweet scent.
"Alright, you win," Jared said. "Give me-"
A swift sharp knock at the door interrupted Jared; Hester jumped up in her seat. A moment later the front door opened, and in marched a young mouse sporting a Guard's cape.
"Hester, I thought I'd find you here-"
Jared stood and interrupted the Guardmouse with a wild wave of his arms.
"Hold on a minute!" Jared said. "Have you no respect, boy? You can't just barge into the Jared's Burrow!" Hester covered her mouth and tried to stifle her laughter. "What's your name?"
"It's me, sir," the Guardmouse said. "Aman." He stood tail in paw, his back against the wall. He lowered his head, pushing the edges of his rather large fore-teeth against his brown fur.
"Aman?" Jared rocked back on his heels and scratched his ear. "You hardly reached my waist last I saw you. But no, I do recall someone going on and on about you more recently." Hester stopped laughing, her eyes wide. He wouldn't dare.
She jumped from her seat before Jared could continue; the blackberry bounced free onto the table. "What's going on Aman?" she asked. "What's the big commotion?"
Aman eyed Jared, and then cleared his throat. "It's Zach and Toby; they found something by the river!"
Hester's heart dropped into her stomach. She'd told her brothers to stay in town; she was supposed to be watching them. If they were down by the river-
Hester imagined their mother, arms waving and spewing flames.
"What did you say they found?" Jared asked. He picked up the fallen blackberry and smiled.
"A rabbit!" Aman said. "A real live rabbit!" Hester stared wide-eyed at Jared as she tried to digest Aman's words. A rabbit? It couldn't be...
"Come on," Aman said. "The Guard is going to bring it through the North Gate!"
Jared put down the blackberry and stared at the floor. "Hmmm... something about today..." Then he laughed and slapped his knee. "Well what're we waiting for?"
A crowd had formed in the town square. Tails bobbed and ears perked as the curious townsmice strained to see over one another.
"Did you hear?"
"I know, a rabbit right?"
"Impossible, rabbits don't even exist!"
Hester, Jared, and Aman arrived with the latest wave of twittering whiskers. They shuffled into the square, and Aman spotted a small clearing up ahead. A matronly grey-fur stood in its center; she wore an elegant burgundy wrap and appeared to be scanning the crowd.
"Don't look now," Aman whispered. Hester's eyes widened at the sight of her mother, and she ducked behind Aman's cape. The grey-fur glanced in their direction, and Jared caught her attention with a wave.
"Rizo!" he shouted. "Over here!"
"What're you doing?" Hester asked.
The crowd split before Rizo, who marched straight toward the three mice. Jared moved to greet her.
"Peaceful greetings-"
"Where's Hester?" Rizo asked. Then seeing her daughter: "Hester, where are the boys?"
Hester opened her mouth, but the trump, trump, march of Guardmice interrupted her confession. A company approached, a grizzled grey-fur at their head; his broach marked him Captain of the Guard.
"Stand to, everyone!" he shouted with a flourish of his broad cape. "Clear the square!"
"Captain says clear the square!" another Guardmouse shouted. "Clear the square! Clear the square!" The Guardmice used their bows as mock rails to pressure the crowd back.
Hester stumbled backward with the press of townsmice and nearly tripped over her tail, but Aman caught her from behind. She blushed and smiled her thanks.
Her mother however, had already taken the initiative, squeezing her way through the crowd. "Out of my way!" she shouted. "Let me pass!"
Meanwhile, Jared had, with surprising alacrity, clamored up onto the edge of the nearest stone flower box. He hooked his tail on the post of a market stall and leaned over the other mice, his eyes alert and his enormous ears cocked straight ahead.
A silhouette grew under the arch of the North Gate as a small procession entered town. Half a dozen Guardmice resolved from the shadows with Hamma the hamster in the lead; together they dragged in a large mass on a hastily fashioned gurney. Hamma revealed chipped fore-teeth with every heave as they pulled.
Then came a sudden and deep voice from the crowd.
"Now what do we have here?"
The crowd quieted to whispers. A tall black mouse wearing a bright teal sash approached, and was let to pass the Guard's barricade. He strode straight up to the gurney and leaned in over the brownish green mass. The mayor-regent pursed his lips and raised his grey-tuft eyebrow.
"Captain Essl," he said. "Report, if you please." The grey-fur offered a sharp salute.
"It's a rabbit, sir, and he's hurt pretty bad. We found him-" Two high-pitched voices interrupted him.
"Hey, you didn't find him, we did!" Then two little boys, one black, one grey, ran out from behind the gurney. "Dad, he was laying down by Hodge River-"
"Zach? Toby? What were you two doing-" However the mayor-regent was interrupted himself by Rizo, who had finally made her way through the crowd and barricade.
"Argile, what's going on?" Rizo ran to her husband's side, then, seeing their sons, hunched down to their level, poking and prodding at their fur. "Are you alright, were you hurt? What were you two doing by the river? Where was your sister?"
Everyone turned to Hester, but her eyes were fixed upon the gurney. It wasn't possible. Her parents tried to get her attention, but she walked right past them. The figure was covered in a massive green and brown cloak, which rose and fell with hoarse, ragged breaths. Hester's heart pounded in her ears.
She reached up a single paw and pulled off the cover.
The townsmice gasped: the rabbit was at least eight times as large as Hamma. He wore magnificent plates of metal armor, though it was dented and tarnished all over. A Guardmouse stood nearby, carrying the broken remains of a spear and a large metal helmet with a smashed crest.
"It's a real rabbit," Hester whispered. But it was more than that. She stared at the unconscious body, and her heart beat ever faster. For under the stains of dirt and grass and blood, the rabbit's fur was as white as snow.
As white as her very own.
Hester paced back and forth behind Town Hall with her arms crossed over her chest. Her father had called the Town Council for an emergency session; she could hear the chatter of the audience inside. Argile's voice sounded high over their squabbles: clear and cool, urging the townsmice to remain calm.
For the first time in her life Hester actually wanted to attend, but her mother wouldn't hear of it. She needed to be punished for shirking her responsibilities earlier. Hester paced again, and then stopped to glare at the small nursery attached to the rear of the building. Babysitting.
Just great.
"Heya Hester," Aman said. He crossed the street toward her, his cape aflutter behind him. Hester blushed and patted down her fur.
"You don't have to do this you know," she said. Aman shrugged.
"Oh, I don't mind." Hester smiled and waited while he opened the door. "It's just babysitting." Hester curled her nose.
Right, just babysitting.
Then she entered, with Aman a step behind her. She had expected a mob of youngsters running amok; to her surprise they all sat in a circle on the floor around her brothers.
Zach and Toby regaled the others with the story of finding the rabbit. They hunched down from the table, and in low voices explained how they had snuck up on the great white beast. Hester rolled her eyes; someone's been rehearsing.
"We tried to lift him up," Zach said. "But he was too wide and kept flopping out of our paws. So I said to Toby: 'We better ask the Guard for help.'" Tails bobbed to a chorus of oohs and aahs.
"That's not what happened!" Aman shouted. The youngsters jumped, and Aman squeezed his way up to face the brothers. "The captain said you two came running through the gate screaming like you'd had your tails cut off." Then Aman turned to their audience. "Don't listen to these two." Zach and Toby stammered and stuttered and waved their paws.
"You'd be screaming too if you saw it when it was still awake!" Zach said. "Its eyes were red and it breathed fire!" The youngest in the nursery shivered and clutched at their tails.
"Rabbits don't breathe fire," Hester said.
"What do you know?" Toby asked. "You weren't there. You've never seen a rabbit before."
"True," Hester said. "But Jared has, and he's told me all about them. Don't any of you know anything about rabbits?"
The childmice shrugged and shook their heads. Hester sighed, then climbed up onto the table, shooing her brothers back to the floor. Zach and Toby flashed their tongues before finally settling down.
"Rabbits are good," Hester said. "Just like mice, hamsters, and squirrels. It's just been a long time since anyone's seen one."
"What are squirrels?" a tiny girl asked, but she was hushed by the group. Hester continued.
"Rabbits are fierce warriors from the north, where it snows year-round and there are all kinds of monsters, like weasels and foxes. Sometimes, they even run into cats." Some of the little ones gasped and Hester grinned. "It was Hodge who first went north to find the rabbits-"
"Hodge?" a boy asked. "You mean like Hodge River?"
"Of course," Hester said. "Don't tell me you haven't heard of the brothers Hodge and Podge either?" Her audience shook their heads again.
"Okay," Hester said, then took a deep breath. "Shall I tell you all the legend of Hodge and Podge, and how they founded Guineawick?" Everyone nodded leaned in closer; even Zach and Toby couldn't resist the story's pull.
"A long time ago, mice lived in burrows underground to keep safe from monsters and there lived twin brothers named Hodge and Podge. They were brave and tough, and loved to leave their burrow and explore. One day, when they were still babies, their mother found them outside, playing with the body of a snake they'd killed."
Mouths gaped and fore-teeth shone; fear of snakes had been drilled into their tiny skulls since before they could walk. It took a dozen of the toughest Guardmice to bring down a snake. Hester smiled her whiskers wide.
"When they were older, Hodge and Podge decided that they'd had enough of living underground. So one autumn they set out to build a safe haven where mice could live aboveground. The other mice thought they were crazy, so they set out alone. Their adventures led them here, where the mountain met the river, and they decided that this was the perfect place to build Guineawick."
"Why is the river called Hodge and the mountain Podge?" a mouse asked. "Why not the other way around?"
"That's a good question," Hester said. "You see, Hodge and Podge knew they couldn't build Guineawick all by themselves, so they decided to split up and find help. Podge had heard rumors of mines high in the mountains, and even though he was slightly younger than his brother, he volunteered to climb the dangerous rocks in search of the hamsters. He found them, and they agreed to build Guineawick on the condition that hamsters could live there too."
"And Hodge?" Aman asked.
Hester smiled at him. She'd probably told him the legend of Hodge and Podge at least a million times growing up.
"Hodge knew that the hamsters would need protection until the town was finished," Hester said. "So he followed the river north, far past the forest to the frozen tundra, the home of the rabbits." Many youngsters' cheeks puffed as they held their breath.
"Hodge knew the rabbits only by their fierce reputation. They lived in the harsh cold, and had to defend their homes constantly. Especially, against cats." The little ones gasped; some played nervously with their tails, others held onto their neighbors. Hester flashed a wicked grin. "Cats, the most ferocious of monsters. Feared by all rodents, but especially mice, for cats love the taste of mice most-"
At that moment, the door slammed open, which sent the children into chaos; they squeaked and squealed and scrambled over one another, diving behind and under the furniture. A sturdy looking Guardmouse entered the nursery.
"Hester?" he asked. Hester stood up from behind the table where she had fallen.
"Yes?"
"Your presence is required before the council," the Guardmouse said. He glanced over the cowering youngsters, and then faced Aman. "Straighten this place out."
Hester met Aman's eyes. He smiled at her, and she would have felt embarrassed if she wasn't already so nervous. This can't be good.
Then she followed the Guardmouse outside.
Hester heard elevated voices from within Town Hall. The Guardmouse gestured for her to enter and the hall went silent as soon as she crossed the threshold. Hester swallowed, and then walked up the aisle between the rows of wood chairs. Stay calm, you can do this. Hester fought down the tickle in her belly; fought the urge to grab her tail or fix her fur.
Her father stood on stage behind the podium and she quickly scanned the crowd to avoid his stare. The important mice were all present. Family heads with their wives and eldest children. Shop-owners and merchants. Dr. Cotton representing the hospital, and the many guild leaders. Hester searched for a friendly face and found Hamma up on stage. She'd nearly forgotten his recent election to the Town Council.
The hamster flashed her a smile; something wasn't right. She looked to Jared, also on stage, who smiled as well. Then her father spoke, forcing Hester to meet his eyes.
"Hester, do you know why you're here?" Argile asked. She saw through his calm image, sensed the flagging confidence beneath. It must have been a rough meeting.
"No," Hester said.
"The council has decided to take in the rabbit until he is able to leave Guineawick on his own strength." Hester listened carefully for the bad news. "Hamma has been kind enough to offer a room for the rabbit, given the lack of a suitably sized space elsewhere." Dr. Cotton grunted from the far side of the room.
"Being the most knowledgeable about rabbits, Jared has been charged with caring for our guest," Argile said. "He has requested an assistant-"
"I still object," Dr. Cotton said. The greying brown-fur crossed his arms on his chest. "There's no basis for discrediting the talents of my medical staff." The group of Nurses around him nodded their agreement. Argile ran a paw down his chin.
"Again, your objection has been noted." He looked again to Hester; her eyes were wide, her paws trembled. "Hester, Jared has requested your help."
Hester's tail perked and she looked to Jared; the old mouse nodded once in confirmation. No mention of not watching her brothers, no formal punishment. This wasn't supposed to happen! Hester fought to keep her tail from bobbing. Not this! Anything but this!
"Yes," she said after a deep breath. "I mean, I'll be happy to help Jared."
"Good, then that settles things," Argile said. Dr. Cotton turned on his heel and marched toward the door, his Nurses in tow. Argile sighed. "Well, then unless we have any other business tonight, I call this meeting adjourned."
With that, the townsmice broke into low whispers as they stood from their seats and started to shuffle out of the hall. Hester's mother passed by; she shot a stern glance at her daughter, but Hester didn't notice. She did however notice her father whispering something into Captain Essl's ear.
"Snap to!" Jared said, and Hester jumped. "Come now, let's get to work. I expect it'll be a long night."
Hester nodded and followed him out the door. It was already dark out; the townsmice lit torches and soon the crowd dispersed for home. Hester followed Jared north back toward the town square. After trailing behind for a bit, she scurried up beside him.
"What happened in there?" she asked.
Jared cocked an ear and responded without looking back. "Politics, politics," he said. "Nothing for you to worry about, not now at any rate."
Hester ran ahead and blocked the old mouse's way. "I want to know what's going on," she said, arms crossed. Her whiskers fanned out as she stared Jared down. "Why did you pick me to help you? Why are we even taking care of the rabbit?" Had she really just asked that?
Jared sighed. "Hester... if Dr. Cotton wasn't so blatantly ambitious, I'm sure the rabbit would have been safeguarded to the hospital's care. But he tried to bully the council by whipping up some nonsense about contagious rabbit diseases. He just wanted a leg up on your father, but Argile played his paw well and calmed everyone down. He's quite good at that, well, among mayor-regents that is."
"So the rabbit isn't dangerous?" Hester asked.
"I'm sure he's dangerous," Jared said. He stepped around Hester and continued toward the smithy. "But probably not to us, and especially not as he is now." Hester turned and hurried after him.
"You still haven't answered my question. Why pick me?"
"Child, you've got a good head on your shoulders," Jared said. "I know, I helped put it there. And even if Cotton wasn't after a spot on the council, the hospital was built long after the larger rodents left Guineawick. There simply isn't a room large enough to hold a rabbit. Hamma's house will better serve our purpose. And here we are."
Hamma's house stood tall behind his smithy; both buildings were strong and sturdy, the product of the best hamster-craft the town had known. Both had stood since the founding of Guineawick.
Jared rapped his paw on the door. A bump, bump, shuffle, sounded inside, and then the door opened to Hamma's bright, chip-toothed smile. "Come in, come in," he said. Jared gestured for Hester to enter first.
"And those Nurses are too chatty besides," Jared said as she passed inside.
A flicker in black and white.
The rabbit's eyes flutter, then snap open. Screams echo in the distance, faint and illusory. He stretches out, but finds the bed empty. He rolls out from the covers and strains to see in the darkness. Another scream.
He stands up, only to drop back to the floor; the smoke waters his eyes and scorches his nose.
The burrow is burning.
He pulls the blankets over his head to quell his coughing. Where are the children? He calls out, but the hot air chokes his lungs. He crawls toward the door, and onto...
Snow?
The air outside is crisp, the sun bright in the sky. The children roll and play in the fresh powder. His wife serves him a bowl of hot carrot soup; he downs it with one paw and holds her with the other. Something is wrong. Wasn't he just inside...?
The front door swings open, and he crawls out into the night. Fires dot the neighborhood. Where are the children? The screams are louder now, but there's something else, something deeper. A rumble like water over rocks.
The sound reminds him of childhood visits to the Southern Bend. A chill passes through him, and he can't hear anything. A neighbor darts across the field, then disappears under a crash of white...
He stands at attention, his brother erect at his side. The chief paces before the line, resuming his inspection. An old memory, but he can still hear that terrible rumble...
Fires crackle in his ears, and his eyes widen. Not water over rocks, not a rumble at all. It's purring. Spear! Where's his spear?
Shadows coalesce around him, and he drops to all fours, teeth bared. He smells blood on the wind; the screams are distant no longer. He lunges toward the nearest shadow, but then it's gone.
The purr turns to laughter.
He cries out his clan's battle-song, surprised to hear it echo back. There are others!
He lunges toward another shadow and bites hard. Shadow becomes cat, howling in pain. He dodges a massive paw and rolls into a snow drift. The warrior-song echoes overhead, and he sees his father charge into the monster. They collide and roll in the snow. Cat pins rabbit. No!
He jumps to his father's aid, and together they manage to fell the beast. Celebration is cut short: other skirmishes erupt around them. For the clan!
Then he sees her, off in the clearing, herding their children away, and his heart jumps for joy. Go my love, keep running. Go!
No!
They can't see what lies ahead. The cats are falling, but not fast enough, not as fast as the clan. His father flies past and into a tree, falling hard. This can't be!
He dashes toward the field, and his brother sidles up beside him. When the cat drops in their path, they leap together into the flurry of fur and teeth and claws. Darkness.
He opens his eyes; the dead cat presses heavy on his chest, fixing him to the ground. His brother lays dead, throat torn open, fresh red on the snow. He looks to the clearing and scans for his wife and children, but it's too late, he can't help them.
A beast descends upon them, and he can't look away.
He hears the cry of his father, the cry of his family, of the warriors, of his clan. They cry out to him and he can't answer. He can only cry.
*****
Hester sat in the darkness and pressed a cold compress on the rabbit's forehead. Jared's eyes had long since closed; he slept hunched forward in the chair on the far wall. The rabbit's fever needed to break soon. Hester refreshed the compress. Maybe she should get Dr. Cotton.
The rabbit sweat and shivered and mumbled strange noises on the bed. Then suddenly his eyes opened and Hester froze. He stared up into her eyes, then out through the large window behind her. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest.
"Can you see them?" he asked in the old tongue. Hester's heart beat even faster. "Can you hear my brothers? They march on without me." Hester shook her head rapidly. The rabbit reached a paw toward the window, then winced and grasped at his side. He blinked his eyes and stared out the window again.
"Is that real glass?" he asked.
He passed out before Hester could answer.
Clang. Blang. Hiss.
Sunshine blinded the rabbit; he blinked his eyes rapidly as they adjusted to the bright. His body burned and his head throbbed, but he tried to sit up.
Clang. Blang. Bong. Hiss.
Pain spidered out from his side, and he lay back down. White bandages covered his arm, shoulder, and ribs, bound tight, matting down his fur. He coughed, and winced at the spasm of pain.
"Water," he said, but no response. The room was sparsely furnished, just a couple of chairs and a nightstand. A large window dominated the far wall. He turned on his side, gritted his teeth, and scanned the room for his arms and armor. He saw them discarded in the far corner and his heart dropped.
He turned off his side and stopped; a fair-furred mouse had entered the room and their eyes met. She froze in the doorway, her breath short and rapid. Had he seen her before? They stared at one another in silence, until eventually his eyes wandered to the bowl and compress in her paw.
"Water," he said. "Please." The mouse's eyes grew wider. He pointed toward the pitcher on the nightstand. She nodded and hurried to pour him a fresh bowl. His whiskers flattened as he gulped down the cool water, and the mouse put a paw to his forehead. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," the mouse said, and his eyes brightened. He rabbit grasped at her shoulder and she froze.
"You understand me?" he asked. "It's been so long-" The mouse pulled away and rushed toward the door. "Wait! Don't go, please."
"I'm not," she said. "I mean, I should go and get Jared."
"Forgive me," the rabbit said. "I did not mean to startle you, but you have startled me. If you must go mouse-maiden, please, your name first."
"Hester," she said, and then blushed. He closed his eyes and exhaled.
"Thank you, Hester. I owe you my life."
"I didn't really-"
"You pulled me through the night," he said. "I shall always remember that."
Hester grabbed at her tail. "I'll get Jared; he'll have so many questions." She started to leave, but then turned back to face him. "What's your name?"
He tried his best to sit upright. "My name is Sven Pawsgaard, son of Sig..." He stopped and smiled. "Sven, call me Sven."
Hester smiled back and left. Sven shut his eyes, and when they opened Hester had already returned with another mouse, the Jared. His ears were large, and he was most certainly very old.
"Peaceful greetings, Sven," the Jared said.
Sven bowed his head as best as he could. "Peaceful greetings, though I know naught but your title."
The Jared grinned and bowed his head. "It's been so long since anyone has made the distinction," he said. "Call me Jared as others do, it's no matter to me; I can't remember my own name anyway." Sven laughed.
"Jared it is then," he said. He liked the old mouse already. "I am Sven Pawsgaard."
"But surely you deserve a more complete introduction," Jared said. "A noble rabbit such as you must surely give his name proper." Sven nodded and cleared his throat.
"I am Sven Pawsgaard, son of Sig, son of Edgar, son of Erick." Jared bowed.
"Welcome to Guineawick," he said. "Now I'm sure the mayor-regent will want to hear your tale. Hester, would you go get your father?" Jared snapped to catch her attention. "And some food?" Hester blinked and nodded.
"Yes of course," she said, and then she was gone.
*****
Hester stopped outside and leaned against Hamma's front door. The blacksmith's hammer rung out from around the corner.
Sven Pawsgaard.
She hurried past the smithy, straight into a gaggle of curious childmice. Their curious tails waved like reeds in the wind.
"What's he like?"
"Is he awake?"
"Can he really breathe fire?"
Hester flared her whiskers; she didn't have time for this. She ran through the square, and started up the hill toward her family's manor. What was all that about Jared not knowing his own name?
When she arrived home she entered quickly and called for her father.
"What is it Hester?" Argile asked.
"Sven, err, the rabbit, he's awake," she said. She paused to catch her breath. "Jared said to come get you."
"Is that so? Well I best be off then," he said. "Rizo, where's my hat?"
"Jared also said to send food," Hester said, and her father nodded. Rizo entered from the kitchen with his hat.
"I'll make up a basket," Rizo said. "Hester, come help me."
Hester read her glare and decided not to argue. They went into the kitchen and prepared a lunch basket with fruits, vegetables, and bread. But as Hester carried the basket toward the door, Rizo stopped her.
"Your father can carry it just fine," she said.
"But-"
"No buts, you've got chores to do."
"I just-"
"Your father will have business to attend to and you've done your part." Hester frowned. Still in hot water.
Argile kissed them both on the cheek and left with the basket.
"Now go get changed and help me with the cleaning," Rizo said.
Hester went up to her room, but all she could think of was Sven's white fur, and those deep black eyes.
"His name is Sven Pawsgaard," Argile said from behind the podium. "And he was attacked by a weasel near the Hodge."
Concerned murmurs wafted through the crowd. Hester sat next to Aman in the crowded Town Hall; it seemed that everyone who could show up, had. She looked to Jared, sitting with the council on stage, but his expression was not the confirmation she had expected. Something was fishy.
"I've already spoken with Captain Essl," Argile said, and he acknowledged the old Guardmouse to his left. "There's nothing to worry about, the harvest will continue as normal. The Guard has handled more than their fair share of weasels, and this one won't cause us any trouble."
"What about this rabbit?" someone asked. "I thought rabbits were supposed to be great warriors? What if it's some kind of super-weasel?" The hall roared with chatter.
"Please, please," Argile said, and he waved them quiet. "I think we're all mature enough to not believe in rabbit-tales." Some of the mice laughed and snickered. "Nonetheless, while I have the utmost confidence in the Guard, there will be extra duty shifts until the weasel is found and killed."
"What about the rabbit itself?" another mouse asked. "Are you sure he's to be trusted?"
Hester's whiskers flared. How dare they? She started to stand, but stopped when Aman grabbed her paw. She looked to him and then to Jared, who averted his eyes. Something fishy was definitely going on.
"My dear townsmice," her father said. "There's nothing to be concerned about; Sven is not a threat. Isn't that so, Jared?" The mice all turned their attention to the old mouse.
Jared coughed and stood, clasping his paws together. "The rabbit poses no threat to us," he said. "He's merely a lone traveler, far, far from home." He smiled and twittered his whiskers. "This is a time to celebrate, to find ancient allies we once thought lost still live-"
"Exactly," Argile said. "I understand that you all have concerns and questions, but I assure you that there's nothing to worry about. Sven has been severely traumatized by his ordeal, and just needs to be left alone." He stopped to stare at Dr. Cotton. "With the best hospitality Guineawick has to offer. I give you my word."
The meeting soon adjourned, and as the townsmice shuffled out, Hester turned to Aman. "I know something's not right."
"Why? What makes you say that?" Aman asked.
"I just know," Hester said. "I know my father, and I know Jared, and I know when they're hiding something." She spotted Jared in the crowd and grabbed Aman's paw. "Come on!"
Jared greeted them in the common tongue. "Quite an evening."
"Jared, what's going on?" Hester asked. Jared sighed and took the two aside.
"Your father doesn't think that Sven is completely rational," he said. He held up his paw to deflect Hester's protest. "The rabbit has been through quite an ordeal, and feverish claims must be taken as such. Your father's right, there's no need to panic. A weasel caught Sven by surprise, nothing the Guard can't handle. Now, I must be going."
Hester scrunched her brow after he left. Why didn't she believe him?
Several days had passed since the meeting, and Sven had recovered quite rapidly. He was still bedridden, but he grew stronger every day. Hester, Jared, and Aman kept him company, while little by little he learned about the mice of Guineawick.
The persistent gaggle of curious childmice had worked its way up from the town square to the small clearing just outside Sven's window. They sat and shouted questions, which Sven tried to answer with his limited command of low-rodent. When he couldn't understand the questions, or find the right words to answer them, he'd turn to Jared or Hester for help translating.
"What's it like up north?" a young childmouse asked. Sven laughed.
"Very cold and very white," Sven answered for the fiftieth time.
"Are there mice up north? What do they look like?"
"Yes, there are mice, and they're white like me!"
Jared translated the next question, while Hester busied herself rinsing out a rag. She stopped and looked down at her own white fur; there were others out there, other white mice like her. How much easier her life would have been, if she'd known that as a child. Everyone else matched their families but her; Zach had their father's black fur, Toby their mother's grey. Knowing there were others might have saved her from a lot of teasing.
Hester shook her head and turned to Aman. The Guardmouse sat in the corner with a small book in his paws. He had never teased her about her unique coloring. She smiled and called over to him. "How's the studying going?" she asked in the old tongue.
Aman stared at her for a moment while he worked out what she had said. Jared claimed that the common tongue, or low-rodent, was but a bastardization of high-rodent: the original language of all mice. Hester had spent her summers at Jared's side, and he had taught her the language; until now, she had no one in town to speak it with but Jared.
"The studying is going well," Aman said. Hester's smile flashed her teeth; Aman was more than just a cape and a sword then. Of course, he wasn't the only one in town with a sudden interest in learning the old tongue.
Aman wasn't the only one embracing change; Hester had practically moved in at Hamma's. She slept in the chair at Sven's bedside, only returning home in the evening to rush through her chores. She had hardly traded a dozen words with her parents since the weasel announcement, though she could hear them whispering sometimes.
They were leery of Sven, despite their apparent courteousness toward him. One night Hester overheard them arguing about someone named Tom. She wondered who they could be talking about; there weren't any Toms of any consequence in Guineawick.
She didn't have time to worry about it. The nights at Sven's bedside were long: the nightmares had continued, and Hester could do nothing but sit ready with a compress. When asked, Sven claimed he couldn't remember what the dreams were about.
But by the end of the week, Sven was ready to get out of bed.
"Are you sure?" Hester asked. Aman brought him a wood pole, and the rabbit tested his weight on it.
"This will do fine, Aman," Sven said. His low-rodent was rough, but improving. He struggled to his feet.
The hardest part was getting him in and out of the room. Despite its origins, Guineawick had been fitted primarily for mice. Thankfully Hamma's home was of the original stone architecture, and that the window was large enough to serve Sven's purpose.
His exit drew a crowd of laughing childmice, and when he was out Zach and Toby bounded up to him. Hester rolled her eyes; they'd been begging her all week to see Sven, and now that he was out they had their chance.
"We're the ones that found you!" Zach said, his tail high behind him. "Me and Toby, we found you down by the river!" The two grinned wide, showing their narrow fore-teeth.
Sven smiled back, and after a pause, responded back in low-rodent. "I owe you two a great debt." Their eyes gleamed; their friends regarded them with awe. "Just as I owe your sister here."
"But she didn't find you," Toby whined. "We did!" Sven laughed and smiled at Hester. She blushed.
Then she and Aman took Sven on his first tour of the town.
"It's come, it's come!" Sven turned his head toward the distant shouts. "The weasel's come, run!" The rabbit's ears perked and his eyes locked with Jared's. Hester stood in the doorway balancing a tray of fruit on her palm.
"What's going on?" she asked. Sven rocked himself upright and kicked off the covers.
"My spear, my armor!" he shouted, and Hester hurried to the bed to help him stand. "Where are they?" Sven looked to the far corner; his armor lay bent and unattended, his helmet still bore its smashed crest. His spear leaned against the wall, and had fared little better: its haft remained snapped in two. It would have to do.
Jared pushed the window open, and before Hester knew what was happening, Sven jumped through the opening with the broken spear clenched firmly in his teeth. The rabbit landed outside and darted off toward the screaming, with Hester and Jared hurrying to follow.
A stream of frantic townsmice flowed in from the Greater Gardens, and Hester fought her way through them. Up ahead she saw Sven and several cloaked Guardmice heading for the town wall, but the East Gate was nearly choked shut by the fleeing farmers. No way Sven would fit-
To Hester's astonishment, Sven sidestepped the problem. Or rather, jumped over it. When a clear path opened before him, the rabbit dashed forward, and with a mighty push from his legs, leaped up high into the sky. The outer wall stood as tall as a dozen mice stacked tip to tail, but Sven cleared it completely, and disappeared over the other side.
Eventually the crowd thinned enough for Hester and Jared to pass through the gate and head toward the fields. Guardmice passed in the opposite direction, dragging the wounded back into town. Hester spotted Sven, Aman, and a dozen more Guardmice on a hillock far in the distance.
Then she saw the weasel; it stood its ground with its back to the river. Hester didn't stop running.
She couldn't remember the last time a weasel had threatened Guineawick, and curiosity edged out her fear. She stopped a hill away and dropped down to the grass; a moment later Jared lay at her side.
"Look!" Jared said. "Why doesn't he run?"
The Guard had formed a wide semi-circle around the beast, with Sven standing behind them. The weasel bared his sharp teeth; coarse fur prickled on his arched back. Then he began barking, chattering, and hopping about on all fours.
"The weasel's war-dance," Jared said. "Why risk a fight? He doesn't stand a chance." Hester saw why: she could make out a figure huddling behind the monster. Then she saw the burgundy wrap and her heart dropped.
The figure was her mother.
"Mom!" Hester shouted. She tried to stand, but Jared stopped her.
Some of the Guardmice drew bows and fired at the weasel, but its mad hopping made it too difficult to hit. Where was Aman? Hester scanned the mice through her tears, but couldn't see him. Where had he run off to? For that matter, where was Sven?
The weasel had stopped dancing, and to Hester's horror, lifted Rizo up with his teeth. Her poor mother swung helplessly from its jaws, and the beast began to backpedal, looking for an exit. Jared grasped Hester's shoulders, and she bit her fist to stifle a scream.
Please, someone save her.
A call echoed through the air, and as if on cue the Guardmice dropped to the ground. Hester saw a white blur emerge from the far side of the hill; Sven leaped toward the beast, broken spear in paw. Aman rode upon his back, and together they charged the monster at incredible speed. The weasel reared up, and Sven cried out as he tackled the beast.
Aman jumped at the last possible moment and caught Rizo as she fell from the weasel's grasp. The two mice rolled to safety, while Sven and the weasel wrestled in the dust, nipping and clawing at one another. With each exchange of blows their struggle took them closer and closer toward the gurgling water of the Hodge.
"Sven, the river!" Hester shouted.
Sven nodded and grit his teeth. The weasel had him pinned on his back, and his side ached in pain. Blood flowed freely from the weasel's bites, staining his fur and seeping into the soil. Got to end this. He felt around for some leverage, when his paw touched the shaft of his spear.
With a smile then a cry, he plunged the point into the weasel's stomach. Then he kicked with all his might, sending the monster flying overhead and into the raging water. The weasel clawed desperately at the waves, the spearhead still lodged in its belly. Then with a final cry, it disappeared under the current.
Sven sighed and fell unconscious.
Drums sounded and the mice cheered in time; the weasel was dead, and all was well again.
In celebration of the beast's defeat, Argile had declared an early start to the Harvest Festival. The townsmice gladly replaced their tools with the instruments of celebration. Food was hastily prepared, and the distillery unsealed its casks.
The mice sung and danced and ate and drank. The Guard strutted as kings of the town; they'd gotten in their licks even before Sven's daring rescue. There had been a few injuries but not a single mouse had been lost in the attack. The names of Sven and Aman were on everyone's lips. All were in a joyous mood, and the town's apprehensions about the rabbit had seemingly melted away.
Hester leaned against a merchant's stall with her eyes on Sven. The rabbit sat alone and away from the other revelers. Then she felt a tap on her shoulder.
"What's wrong?" Aman asked. He offered a blueberry, which she accepted.
"It's Sven," she said. "Something's bothering him." She rapped her nails on the berry. "Come on," she said, and grabbing Aman's paw she led him toward the sullen rabbit.
"Sven?" she asked. "Are you alright?" She offered the blueberry to him, but Sven declined with a raised paw. "Why aren't you celebrating with the others?"
"Thank you Hester, but I'm not in the mood to celebrate," Sven said. "Go and have fun. Don't let my melancholy spread."
"Are your wounds bothering you?" Hester asked, and she checked his bandages.
"Oh now, not here," a voice said from behind them. The three turned around to see Rizo with an entourage of Guineawick elites. She leaned on a crutch, but still kept her head held high.
"Mom," Hester said. "How's your ankle?"
"I'll manage," she said, then turned to Sven. "I wanted to thank you Mr. Pawsgaard; I misjudged you. And I thank you as well, Aman." She bowed with some difficulty. "I owe you two my life."
Aman beamed and puffed out his chest; Sven stared deep into the mouse's eyes. "Your thanks are unnecessary madam," Sven said. "I only did what was right." Rizo looked away and smoothed down her fur.
"Yes, of course" she said. "Well, please, enjoy the festivities." With that, she and her followers left, their tails swaying gracefully behind them.
Hester scrunched her nose. Something important had passed unsaid, but she had failed to read her mother's face. Something was going on. She turned to confront Sven, but realized he'd left as well. "Aman-" The Guardmouse looked lost in thought, probably still riding on her mother's praise. Or in his eyes, the praise of the mayor-regent's wife. Hester flared her whiskers and twitched her tail.
"Aman!" she said.
"Sorry Hester," Aman said. She nodded toward Sven, and paw in paw, the two went after him.
They found the rabbit near Hamma's smithy; the hamster had cornered him against the side wall. He held a pitcher of berry-wine in one paw, and had dark purple stains on his face.
"It's all me fault," Hamma cried, and he grabbed at Sven's fur. Sven winced slightly and put a paw on the hamster's broad shoulder.
"Do not blame yourself master-smith," Sven said. "It is my shame that I let my arms sit broken and collecting dust."
"I should've fixed 'em sooner," Hamma said.
"They're only tools."
"Such fine tools!" Hamma cried into Sven's fur, then pulled back and stood resolute. "I give you me word: on me honor, I shall restore your arms and armor! I shall forge masterpieces!"
Hamma stormed off before Sven could respond. After he was gone, Hester spoke.
"What's going on Sven?" she asked. "I know my mom-"
Sven held up his paw. "Do not worry Hester, this does not concern you." With that, he turned and left again. Hester turned to Aman, but a group of childmice had encircled him, begging him to recount the battle with the weasel. The children pulled him back toward the party, and Hester was left alone.
"Something's definitely not right," she said quietly, and crossed her arms.
"Very perceptive," said a voice from the shadows. Out stepped Dr. Cotton, a glass of berry-wine in his paw.
"You startled me," Hester said after catching her breath. "What were you doing-?"
"Just enjoying the evening's festivities," Cotton said. He raised an eyebrow and sipped from his glass. "It seems our honored guest is troubled; I trust his wounds are well taken care of?"
"I can handle it," Hester said. "I know what I'm doing."
"No doubt," Cotton said, and then he drank from his glass again. "I do hope that's the last we see of weasels. My Nurses have their paws quite full down at the hospital."
"I'm sure," Hester said. What did he want?
"Anyway, I'm sure that whatever, what's the word... contention? Yes, I'm sure that whatever contention there is between Sven and your father will resolve itself eventually. Your father is a good mouse."
"What're you talking about?" Hester asked. "What contention?"
"I'm sure it's nothing," Cotton said. "I overheard them arguing earlier is all. Something about a 'thom' I think. Jared was there, I'm sure he'd know." Hester moved to interject, but Cotton ignored her. "No matter, I should get back to the hospital. Do enjoy the evening, Hester." With that, Dr. Cotton returned to the shadows.
Hester's mind was ablaze; something was definitely going on. But thoms? That was a high-rodent word. Her parents had argued that one night about a Tom; had they meant thom? It was certainly possible, as neither of her parents spoke high-rodent, and the inflection was subtle.
But why would they be arguing about cats?
The excitement died down some days later, and the townsmice returned to the harvest. Hester herself spent less time around Hamma's, opting to participate in the fieldwork. It felt good to work the earth with her paws, and gave her precious time to think.
But today she decided it was time for digging of another kind. She sat with Jared on the windowsill of Sven's room, and watched while the rabbit instructed Aman and some others in the fine art of spear fighting. Generations of Guardmice had wielded the sword and bow; the spear was considered too crude and primitive a weapon. After seeing Sven in action however, many were eager to study under him, and the warrior-rabbit was only too happy to oblige.
Hamma's hammer banged in the background. Now was as good a time as any. Hester produced a berry from her basket and turned to Jared. Sound casual.
"What did you mean before?" she asked, and palmed the berry. "When Sven first came to Guineawick, you said you couldn't remember your name."
"That?" Jared asked. His eye caught sight of the food, which set his whiskers atwitter. He leaned forward and twitched his nose. "Oh, it's nothing really."
"He said he knew you only by title." Hester held the berry to her mouth, and then feigned surprise. "Oh I'm sorry, did you want some?" She broke the berry in two and passed half to Jared. He smiled and took a bite.
"I'm surprised you hadn't figured it out before," Jared said. "Break down the root, jare."
"'Jare' is 'to know'," Hester said. "Knower?"
"Close, it's an old high-rodent word for scholar." Jared took another bite. "It's also an old title. The Jared of a community was its historian and teacher."
"Then your name..."
"After a while I got used to being called Jared, so I took it as my name. I've been the Jared of Guineawick for longer than, well, longer than I care to remember at any rate."
Hester nodded. Jared had been a fixture of the town for a very long time. In fact, her father once told her that his father, her grandfather, had spent his childhood summers studying with Jared, who was an old mouse even back then. To think, she'd spent every summer at his side, and not asked before.
Sven returned to the windowsill and drank a bowl of water. He wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled at Hester.
"I am curious," he said. "I have heard a little about the history of this place, but I am confused. What happened to all the other rodents?" Jared smiled and wiped his paws on his leg.
"Guineawick was a marvel in its heyday," he said. "The hamsters' mining brought rodents far and wide in search of priceless treasures. Gold, silver, and precious jewels were big business, and Guineawick attracted not just hamsters and mice, but squirrels and even rabbits."
"What happened?" Sven asked.
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