*****
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.
07
"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?
08
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.<
br />
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.
09
"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.
10
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 he
r 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?
11
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.
"The mines went lean. There's nothing left but iron ore, and many a hamster's greed was too great to stay for so base a metal. As the miners left, so did the others: the squirrels returned to the forest, the rabbits back to the tundra. Fewer traders passed through town, and soon Guineawick scaled down to mouse proportions."
"Which makes things a wee bit difficult," Hamma shouted. He hiked up the yard to join them at the window. "What Jared says is true. Most of me kind left, but me own family stayed. Gold and silver are pretty, but there's no shame in working hard steel. Speaking of..."
With that, he raised Sven's shoulder guard in his paw. "This here is mighty fine armor, Pawsgaard. Exquisite."
Sven took the piece of curved metal and held it up for inspection. "Your own craft is amazing," he said. "It feels as good as new."
"It wasn't easy," Hamma said. "Must've been a nasty something that bent this."
"Sven's armor must have survived a ton of ferocious beasts," Aman said, arriving with a spear in his paw. "I'm sure that armor's saved your life a dozen times." Sven's ears went flat.
"It has," he said. Then his eyes met Jared's, if only for a moment.
Hester stared at them both. Something had thrashed Sven's armor, something much nastier than a weasel. Her eyes burned with curiosity, but a gaggle of childmice had arrived at Sven's feet, eager with questions. Hester pursed her lips; her questions would have to wait.
12
The evening brought rain, and the streets of Guineawick ran to mud. Hester lay in bed and stared out of her window. The wheels turned in her head; try as she might, she couldn't sleep.
She had to know.
Hester huffed and threw back the covers, then went to her closet for a cloak. A moment later she was in the hall, when she bumped into Toby.
"Where're you going?" he asked, and Hester shushed him.
"Nowhere," she whispered. "Go back to sleep."
"You're going to see Sven, take me with you."
"No Toby, go back to sleep."
"What's happening?" came another whisper in the dark.
"Go back to sleep, Zach," Hester said.
"Hester's going to see Sven," Toby said.
"Take us with you," Zach said.
"No."
"Take us with you, or we'll tell Mom
and Dad."
Hester gritted her teeth; they knew they had her. "Fine," she said. "Get your cloaks, and keep it quiet." Her brothers grinned and bounded back to their rooms.
The three siblings met outside, and Hester led them under the eaves, but they got wet anyway. When they reached the town square, they spotted a night patrol and hid while the Guardmice passed. They continued around the back of Hamma's house and arrived at the large window; it was open.
Sven lay writhing on the bed; the nightmares must have returned. They climbed in through the window, but Toby slipped and fell on the floor with a thump. The three mice froze and waited, but Sven didn't wake. Hester shot her brothers a mean face, and then tiptoed to Sven's bed, motioning for them to stay put.
Sven's whiskers twitched in the dark and he muttered broken phrases in high-rodent. "What's he saying?" Zach asked.
Hester shrugged and fetched a wet cloth. When she pressed the cool rag to Sven's forehead, the rabbit began spewing full sentences.
"They're everywhere, there's too many of them! Father, quick, we have to... no!" Hester listened in horror, thankful her brothers couldn't understand. The rain roared outside, and Sven began shouting. "Thoms! Everywhere! Killing everyone! I can't stop them, I can't..."
Without warning the rabbit bolted upright, his ears cocked toward the window. His eyes were still shut, yet he stretched out toward the pattering rain. Zach and Toby squealed, grabbed their tails, and ran out of the room.
"Father, I'm so sorry I failed you!" Sven groped toward the window, paddling his arms as if he were swimming. "Your marching, I can hear the marching. Warriors lost, calling to me!" Hester grabbed his shoulders and shook him violently.
"Wake up!" she shouted. Sven spun around and Hester tried to dodge his paws, but he knocked her down to the floor. The impact jarred him, and he awoke, blinking his eyes rapidly.
"What's going on?" he asked. Then he looked down at Hester. "Hester, what are you doing here? The warriors, where are they? I can still hear their marching."
"It's the rain Sven, it's just the rain!" Hester climbed up off the floor, shedding her wet cloak in the process. "What's wrong, tell me the truth! Tell me about the cats!"
"It's no use," Sven said. "They came on us in the night. They destroyed my clan, slaughtered my family. The souls of my brothers call to me, bid me join them in the afterlife. But I can't join them, not now, not like this! Not until I fulfill my quest! Not until I kill the cats that killed my family!"
Hester swallowed. "What happened down at the river?"
"I was hunting," Sven said. His eyes were glazed, his words slow. "For months I tracked down every cat responsible. I was on the trail of their leader, who led me here, to Guineawick." Hester gasped and fidgeted with her tail. "I fought him at the river, but he was too strong for me."
"Why didn't you tell us?" Hester asked, whiskers fanned and eyes wide.
"I told Argile," Sven said. "Your father promised that the Guard would help me after I recovered, that there was no need to start a panic. I gave my word to keep silent. Then he and Jared made up the story about the weasel."
"But then a weasel came," Hester said. How could he? Her father's lies had been validated by chance. She pushed away from the bed and ran to the window.
"Hester!" Sven called, but she was already gone. Her wet cloak still lay on the floor.