The Twyning (3 page)

— They are as nothing. They are as dust.

For an instant, King Tzuriel seemed to lose track of what he was saying. Then he raised his weary eyes to the stone ceiling over his head.

— Above us, there is change. We have information from the Court of Spies that those who have the power to harm us will not hesitate to do so. It is important that we understand that power, that we stare it in the face.

The king paused now for so long that Quell, the most senior courtier, moved closer, ready to remind his friend and monarch what should be said.

— I shall name it now, as my last act as king. It is . . . humankind.

The sharp scent of fear filled the hollow. Had the approach of death turned the king’s mind? It was accepted that the greatest danger that faced the kingdom should be known but never ever named. Giving it a name gave the enemy strength.

— Humankind. — Tzuriel looked around. — Let us not cower from the word. Too often we think in fear of the evil that struts and stalks the world above. It is, we tell ourselves, the enemy. That is all we think we need to know. It is not. The enemy is . . . human. They fear us. We fear them. Yet, in many ways, we depend upon their kind. They provide us with our food. Their habitations and burial grounds give us shelter. We need them, citizens. Perhaps they need us. If we live our lives, they will one day learn to live theirs.

The king twitched, as if the pain within him had twisted like a torturer’s blade.

— Please. — The revelation was growing stronger now. — I address you as a warrior who has seen too much fighting. Live your lives in peace.

The king paused. Breathing, it seemed, was difficult. He moved forward toward the steps. His legs weak, he almost fell upon the oak raft. No one moved to help him now. Kingship was falling from his shoulders.

Old and alone, he faced death.

In the water around the raft, the young warrior rats looked toward Quell. The old courtier, the king’s most faithful friend, cast one final look at Tzuriel, and then turned and limped away. Those who had been holding the raft retreated, letting it go. The king gently drifted away.

Tzuriel slipped from the raft into the water. Proud to the last, he swam rather than drifted toward the archway, where the river disappeared into the darkness beyond.

For a few strokes, all that Tzuriel would have heard was the ripple of water, the rasp of his own breath, but then, through the whiteness, came the sound that he had last heard on the day he had become king and his predecessor, Calix, had departed. The kingdom was keening.

He closed his eyes and swam, allowing the dark water to direct him. It was almost over. He was going home.

. . . goes on and on.

For a moment, the doctor looks scared.

Then, recovering himself, he murmurs, “Interesting,” and scrambles down the bank.

By the time he has reached the water, the sound has faded into the night.

I hear a noise coming from the place where the river emerges from under the ground. A movement in the dark water.

I click my teeth and point.

A ripple. It is a creature, swimming slowly.

I hear the doctor whisper, “What the deuce . . . ?”

It might have been an otter or a dog, but it is a rat. I have come across many rats around the town, but this is the largest I have seen.

The rat swims toward the doctor. For a moment, it seems to rest its chin on the bank, then hauls itself out of the water.

On land, it lies down. Its flanks are heaving from the effort.

The rat is dying.

It stands unsteadily. Walking stiffly, more like a hedgehog than a rat, it crosses the towpath.

There is loose earth by the path. It begins to burrow feebly.

The doctor grips his walking stick more tightly in his right hand.

Slowly, he approaches the rat.

. . . and I had been warned of that.

There would be a sense of loneliness, Alpa had told me, of having been abandoned by someone dearer than a parent. But then, I had also heard, there would be celebration and hope for the future as a new king was proclaimed.

Here is the truth: I felt not the slightest stirring of joy. It seemed wrong to me, the way the kingdom had deserted our king, left Tzuriel alone to face death.

In the Great Hollow, attention had returned to the Rock of State. Quell, the revered courtier whose coat was now almost white with age, was explaining how the Court of Governance had debated as to who should succeed Tzuriel, weighing several issues. The candidates. The moment in history. The kingdom and its needs. There was silence in the hollow. It was as if King Tzuriel had never existed, as if only the future mattered. I felt, not for the last time in my life, out of step with other rats.

What did tradition matter at this moment when a great king was dying alone? How could citizens behave as if Tzuriel had been but a name in the past?

Across the Great Hollow, there was movement behind the Rock of State. Quell was welcoming forward the kingdom’s most famous warrior to a surge of acclamation. Grizzlard. As he stepped past Quell and onto the Rock of State, I realized that there was to be a revelation.

Another revelation.

I was restless. There had been enough revealing. More than enough. What did the court, the Great Hollow, the mighty process of government, matter when my king was facing death?

I wondered where Tzuriel would be now. Would he have found a place to die, pawed a small cradle of earth in which to await the end? It seemed a cold and lonely way to depart the world.

As I thought, I noticed something. Along the ledge, above where a small stream issued into the river, a small crack in the brickwork was visible.

I glanced in the direction of Alpa. My captain’s eyes were fixed on Grizzlard as he started his revelation to the kingdom. I moved backward, slowly down the ledge until the dock of my tail touched the gap in the wall.

From where I was, I could now see that light from the world above seemed to stab the dark earth beyond the Great Hollow.

Light is danger, as every rat knows, but something drove me on, backward along the narrow ledge. Afraid that turning would draw attention to me from the rats below, I edged toward the opening, pressing my body against it, feeling the cold brickwork scraping my skin. I pushed harder. Then, when only the front half of my body can have been visible in the hollow, something unexpected happened.

The earth beneath my hind legs crumbled. Suddenly I was falling downward, my legs scrabbling for purchase on the sides of the narrow gap until, with a splash that would have been heard by many in the Great Hollow, I plunged into the water.

Surfacing moments later, I found myself gazing back through the low arch under which, not long before, Tzuriel had swum. I saw the river’s course through the hollow, citizens flanking it on each side, so caught up in the occasion that many of them had let their tails hang in the cold water.

There was no going back. For a young ratling such as myself to be in the river at any time is forbidden; to be there on a day such as this could only mean a one-way visit to the Court of Correction. I felt the tug of the current beneath my belly as it pulled me away from the throng.

I turned and swam slowly, not knowing where the water would lead.

I had been swimming for only a minute or two when I saw the source of the light ahead. The river was taking me toward the dangers of the world above.

I emerged under the brightly shining moon, the mist of my breath skimming the water before me as I swam. There was a ditch close to where the river issued from its underground course. I scrambled onto the dry land.

Immediately I felt the trem, stronger than that of a dog or fox. The enemy. Looking upward, I saw two humans, an adult and a younger one, standing on the bank.

The larger human was carrying a stick in his hand. As I watched, he raised the stick and stood, motionless, just long enough for me to see a sight that has remained scarred in my memory to this day.

The stick fell, stabbing downward.

I heard the scream. I was some fifty lengths from the scene, but where I stood in horror an acrid whiff of terror reached my nostrils.

The small human moved closer and I saw now that he was holding a cage. He reached for the shape held under the cleft stick of the larger man, then lifted a writhing body. It was my king.

The adult human gave a shout of cruel laughter, said something to the child, and stared into the prison for a while. Then, whistling softly, he began walking away from me, down the path.

The child followed, the cage containing my king and the ruler of all the rats in the kingdom swinging from his left hand.

At moments of extreme danger, a deep calm descends upon us. We see what is happening to us as if from afar, yet allow our instincts, the blood memory of thousands of years, to guide us to safety. A rat is never calmer than when alone and facing death.

It was my body, my history, that sent me hurtling into the darkness of a crack in the bridge wall behind me. I plunged downward away from the dangerous light, along the touch-path, which, worn by the pelts, teeth, and feet of countless generations of citizens, requires no sight or even smell.

Pausing briefly in a rest, I caught my breath. I seemed to be in the ruins of an old human burial place. Amid the rubble before me, the white of a long leg bone glowed in the darkness.

To be truthful, the remains of a dead human have no more importance to me than a piece of flint. Alive, you are dangerous. Dead, you are food. When only your bones and teeth remain, your corpse is merely part of the earth.

I looked downward and wondered, without too much alarm, which direction would lead me back to the Great Hollow. As I waited, I became aware of a distant sensation, not more than a tickle, in the base of my skull.

Revelation.

I listened. There was no doubting it; the tones of Grizzlard, low, droning, solemn, and dull, could be heard within my brain. I moved out of the rest, down a passage, and with every length, Grizzlard’s revealing became clearer.

Following a track along the base of the wall, I reached a crevice through which the smell of life indicated that I had reached an entrance to the Great Hollow. I pushed. The wall was soft. I was pressing against flesh.

I pushed harder. The body blocking my passage moved slightly to reveal the dark, irritated eyes of a young warrior rat, looking over his muscular shoulder. I knew I had to be brave.

— I have urgent news.

The warrior’s response was to turn his back to me.

I tried again.

— It is important that I am let through.

The warrior revealed to another large rat that was beside him. I noticed that their backs were shaking with amusement.

No ratling in its right mind will press a point when dealing with young warriors. The Court of Warriors is second only to the Court of Correction when it comes to cruelty. Its members pride themselves on neither asking nor responding to questions. They communicate one way to those that annoy them. With their teeth.

But then, I was not born to be sensible. I nudged the rump once more, and revealed.

— King Tzuriel has been captured.

At first it seemed as if even this revelation would not penetrate the warriors’ brains, but after a few seconds, they glanced at one another and shuffled apart, allowing me to move between them.

— What was that? — one of them asked.

I stood on my hind legs, peering toward the Rock of State.

— It’s the king . . . in the world above —

But, at that moment, attention within the hollow shifted to what was happening before them.

Grizzlard’s bold, honest, tedious revelation seemed to be drawing to a close.

— I shall say again what I have said before. In the event of my winning the noble prize of kingship through the support of you, the inhabitants of this great kingdom, I shall be proud, pleased, and honored to continue down the path of peace trodden with such dignity by our great and beloved ruler Tzuriel.

— To this end — Grizzlard actually raised his right paw toward the congregation — I humbly place my person at the disposal of the kingdom.