The Island of Whispers (7 page)

The tirade
stopped abruptly. The tenseness in Long Ears’ body disappeared, his
rage expelled with it.

‘
These feelings,’ he continued more softly. ‘I sense – I know –
that you share them; that you, too, are unhappy with the
underworld.’

Twisted Foot
was taken aback by the ferocity of the onslaught – not even Fat
One’s worst complaints had ever carried such hatred, such
bitterness – but the stark truth contained in Long Ears’ words also
unsettled him. It was true: he did have similar thoughts.

‘
All right,’ he said cautiously. ‘Even if I do ... share your
feelings ... what of it? It’s just nonsense to speak about leaving
here. The land across the water is nothing but ... a
dream.’

‘
No, comrade, it can be done!’ Long Ears was excited now. ‘Look
down there!’ His snout twitched furiously as he motioned to the
extreme point of the island. ‘From there to the giant’s foot is but
a short distance. We could swim –’

‘
Swim?’

‘
Yes, swim! Aren’t we told constantly that the founders of our
society swam to this place from a Two-Legs vessel? Surely we can do
the same to leave the place?’

‘
All right,’ Twisted Foot nodded again, although he was still
not convinced. ‘What then?’

‘
Then we climb up into the giant’s belly. I have seen the
Two-Legs do this often. I know it can be done. We climb up during
the darkness when the Two-Legs are gone from the giant. Then we
crawl along the straight belly until we reach its end.’

The two
Watchers now gazed up at the bridge. The sheer size of the
structure was intimidation enough for Twisted Foot.

‘
I don’t know,’ he said. ‘What about the creatures – the
Two-Legs creatures which rush through the giant? Won’t they be a
danger?’

‘
Yes, of course. But if we do the same as the Two-Legs and keep
well to the edge, I’m sure that we’ll be safe.

‘
I know that it can be done, comrade,’ Long Ears added
quickly.

Twisted Foot
stayed silent for some time. The plan was terrifying – but it could
succeed. A jumble of thoughts and questions filled his mind. He
tried to think clearly through the tangle. There had to be some
tangible benefit, some hard justification, for such a perilous
journey.

‘
This land across the water,’ he said at last. ‘What do you
know about it? What does it offer? Won’t there be many dangers over
there?’

Long Ears grew
excited again.

‘
You remember the stories told by the Chamberlain? The stories
about the land from which the forefathers came? Their land had
trees and grass; waters running down the sides of hills; lairs
built deep under soft earth; birds of all kinds and small Four-Legs
on which to feast. I think – I’m sure – that the land across the
water has all these things.’

‘
But the Two-Legs? Won’t there be many of them?’

‘
Perhaps, comrade. But the land is so vast. It can’t be too
difficult to find a place far from them.

‘
Think, Twisted Foot!’ Long Ears was insistent now. ‘No Rulers
or Protectors! No Selections! Mating when we desire it! Bird flesh
for the taking!’ The words were cajoling, persuasive.

Twisted Foot
had caught the excitement; many more questions were on the point of
tumbling from him – Who should undertake this journey? How would
they begin their new society? Who would lead them? – but Long Ears
was already giving the answers.

‘
There must be others in the lair – young Watchers like us –
who would be happily gone from here. I’m sure there would be little
effort to persuade them. We should go with our mates and our young
ones: we couldn’t form a strong society without them. But –’ Long
Ears stopped now. He needed to choose his next words with care. He
looked away from Twisted Foot and back to the far, twinkling
lights.

‘
Our flight from this place must be well planned,’ he said
eventually. ‘The venture is a dangerous one. We are doomed if the
Rulers suspect us; Long Snout will feed us to the Scavengers. Yes,
we need a careful plan. And we need someone – a brave and
intelligent warrior – to lead us. A leader who will decide our
steps and keep us from discovery.’

Long Ears
turned to stare directly at his companion.

‘
Twisted Foot, comrade,’ he spoke softly. ‘Will you lead
us?’

Transfixed,
Twisted Foot returned the stare. The excitement left him, ousted
suddenly by cold fear.

‘
Me?’ he squealed. ‘But – but I’m just a cripple. Not strong. I
couldn’t lead ...’ The words trailed off. The coldness seemed to
clutch at his insides, constricting his breathing.

‘
It’s not strength that we need, comrade.’ Vehemence and
insistence were back in Long Ears’ words. ‘It’s cunning and courage
and intelligence. You have all these qualities. More so than any of
us. You are our natural leader!’

Twisted Foot’s
heart thudded. Iciness was crawling through his bowels.

‘
I – I don’t know.’ The voice was weak, whispering. ‘I must
have time to think ...’

It was his
turn now to stare at the distant shoreline.

–
o –

–
Chapter Fourteen –

She moved
swiftly and lightly through the Common lair. The place was quiet,
deserted except for the guards outside the Scavengers’ dungeon. Her
passage seemed to have gone unobserved. When she reached the pool,
the Protectors at the foot of the entrance tunnel regarded her
silently, indifferently. She drank greedily from the pool, stopping
every few seconds to glance about. Only her lapping disturbed the
eerie stillness. She sensed danger. She knew that it was unsafe to
be here alone at this time. Her companions were all sleeping
soundly, exhausted after another night of furious copulation with
their mates. Her own mate was keeping the night watch above. She
had been thirsty and had crept out of the lair, not wishing to wake
any of the other she-rats. She would be away only a short time.

Shaking her
dripping muzzle, she glanced once more at the immobile Protectors
and then left the pool. The tunnel going back seemed longer, more
threatening. She quickened her pace. In the darkness of the Common
lair, she could see a darker shape moving towards her. Another dark
form came close behind the first. She stopped, crouching very low,
ready to spring away. Grave danger lurked in those forms. The trip
to the pool had been a terrible mistake, she realised. She should
have stayed safe in her nest, waited for the others to rise.

The first
Protector crept closer, sniffing her scent, until she could feel
the hotness of his breath.

‘
And where do you belong, pretty one?’ he asked. The tone was
light, but she recognised the menace in it.

She decided on
a bold approach. If she showed no fear, they might let her pass
unharmed.

‘
The lair of the Watchers,’ she replied defiantly.

‘
A Watcher, eh?’ The tone was mocking now. He had moved even
closer, his snout rubbing against her own as he spoke. ‘What about
some pleasure for a lonely warrior? After all, it is the time of
the mating.’

‘
But I have a mate already,’ she answered quickly. ‘Twisted
Foot,’ she added, the tremble in her voice belying the show of
boldness.

The sudden,
harsh guffaw made her start in terror. She spun round. A third
Protector had slid behind her.

‘
The cripple?’ he boomed and guffawed again.

The first
Protector spoke again. His body was pressed hard against her.

‘
What you need, pretty one, is a real warrior on your
back.’

She knew now
what they intended to do. At first, she attempted to leap away, but
the Protectors had her hemmed in. In desperation, she began to hiss
and snarl, lashing out with her bared teeth. The effort was futile.
Two of them gripped her head and neck in their powerful jaws. The
third pinned her down from the back. She squealed as his sharp
claws dug into her flesh. She felt his rough entry, his heaving
body and then the rush of his seed inside of her. He slid off with
a grunt, but the ordeal was not over. She struggled a second time
and a third time when the others leapt on her back in turn.

The Protectors
darted away from the still hissing she-rat. ‘We’ll be over here if
you want any more,’ one of them shouted from across the lair: the
final insult.

Whimpering,
hurting, the she-rat stumbled towards her own lair. One of her ears
was badly torn, and blood seeped from the deep scores along her
back. Her thoughts were bitter, vengeful. The pain would go, the
injuries would heal in time, but the memory of this shame, this
defilement, might never fade.

Small Face
slunk back to his nest. He was anxious that she should not see him.
He had watched her leave, had been concerned about her safety. He
had gone to the edge of the Common lair, waited for her to return.
Frightened, powerless to help, he had witnessed the rape. She had
fought back bravely. They had hurt her, just like the Scavengers
had hurt him. If he had gone to her assistance, the guards would
have brushed him aside, hurt him again. I’m not a coward, he
insisted, but he was ashamed of his weakness.

The she-rat
crept into her nest and then curled up in a tight ball close to her
youngster. Poor Grey Eyes, he thought. So young, so pretty. She
will keep silent about her ordeal, lest Twisted Foot tries to take
revenge. The Protectors would surely kill him – and take pleasure
in it. Small Face shuddered. He, too, would say nothing. Twisted
Foot was a valued companion, a kind friend; his loss would be cruel
and tragic.

Grey Eyes was
sleeping now. Soft whimpers escaped from her trembling body. Small
Face felt sadness. He looked round the other nests. All was quiet,
serene. What a strange and brutal world we live in, he mused. Here
in the Watchers’ lair there is peace, order. Sharp Claws is a
respected and compassionate leader. There is a strong bond of
comradeship between all of the Watchers. Out there, though, it is
different: no compassion, no friendship. The Protectors roam the
underworld, killing, raping, maiming. The Hunters are no better;
they, too, are cold and cruel. The Rulers – the protected ones –
are even worse. They condone and encourage the brutality so long as
they are kept fed and warm. It is as if ... as if the Watchers are
not included in their society: a society apart, an inferior race to
be spurned and ridiculed like the Scavengers. Yes, a society apart,
he repeated the notion. But, alas, that is the sum of it. We can’t
change things; we can’t fight them. There is no escape. He felt
tired, helpless. No escape, he sighed and drifted into sleep.

–
o –

–
Chapter Fifteen –

The dreams
kept waking Twisted Foot. At first, there were bright, sharp images
of a clearing among the trees. He didn’t know where the clearing
was, only that it was far away, deep in the woodlands. The sun was
shining. They were basking in its warmth. Grey Eyes was there; and
young Soft-Mover, his jet-black coat glistening as he moved through
the tall grass. Fat One was dozing under a tree. His other
companions were in the clearing with their mates and young ones.
There was an aura about the place, a deep glow of happiness. It
seemed that if he reached out from his dream he could touch the
glow, let the warmth course through him. Then the shadows always
fell. Cold, dark images came to oust the brightness. The scenes
were blurred, frightening: Long Snout towering over the clearing,
the blood of newly born young congealed on his enormous fangs;
Neck-Snapper hissing and spitting death, green pus festering in his
ragged eyehole; Grey Eyes surrounded by snarling Protectors, her
small body lacerated and bleeding. The images of light and darkness
vied with each other, struggling for dominance, like a battle
between good and evil. The confusion of the tumult threatened to
overwhelm him. He had to break free from the dream, to awake,
shivering and miserable, in the empty nest. Anger and bitterness
greeted each awakening, building quickly to a helpless rage which
sent convulsions through his body, until it, too, was almost
unbearable. He had to close his eyes, to shut out the dark, violent
thoughts. Then the cycle of dreaming and waking began again.

It had been
like this since he returned from the watch to discover Grey Eyes’
plight. He had known instinctively what had occurred; he hadn’t
needed to ask. She was away now, being consoled by her companions.
His fellow Watchers had tried to commiserate with him, but he had
wanted to be alone, to nurse his wrath. Sleep eased the anguish;
his dreams subsumed it, but only to clear the way for another kind
of turmoil, the one created by his need to decide whether to set
off on the perilous journey to a new life or to stay here,
suffering the hardships and indignities of the present society. As
the dream conflict wore on, the shining images of the sun-warmed
clearing in the trees grew stronger, more appealing, more
attainable.

In his nest
close by, Long Ears also slept fitfully; dozing when Twisted Foot
closed his eyes, suddenly alert when Twisted Foot awoke, watching,
waiting for some sign. He recognised the torment in his companion’s
movements; he knew that the decision would come soon. He had bared
his thoughts to Twisted Foot, his plans for a new society. Twisted
Foot was the most able of the young Watchers; of that, Long Ears
was certain. He was clever, with an inner strength that transcended
his deformed body; the one who could lead them away from this
hostile place, their saviour. The others won’t take me seriously,
Long Ears told himself. I am too weak, too afraid. But they would
listen to Twisted Foot. They would follow him. Long Ears
concentrated his thoughts, willing Twisted Foot to wake, willing
him to decide.