The Subterranean Rodentian Tales: by Andrea M. Welsh (best ereader for graphic novels .txt) 📖

a needle-like sting go across the side of his face, and the force behind it was enough to knock him over. Feeling the side of his own face, he realized he had been scratched. Turning around, he noticed another rat; something he had never seen before.

 

It was a black rat, slightly taller than Reformation, and the ears and snout somewhat larger than Reformation's. The rat was also longer and more scruffy, and had claw-like hands. Yet the body was not very muscley, and more feeble than Reformation, probably due to starvation.

 

Covering its snarling face was a mask made of yellowed sheet, torn and tattered from what could have been years. The eyes could be seen, as well as the ears, but the snout was completely covered. A pin held the make-shift mask in back, and blood was stained around the edges. The apparel of this creature was simple; a worn out grass-thatched shirt, rootwood sandals, and a beaten up alluminum necklace that portrayed a mythical beast known as a swallow holding a vine peice in its beak. In the rat's hand was an effete needle sword, dull and rusty from age.

 

 Reformation jumped up, alert and weary. He then realized it was attacking the family, not him. If anything, the rat was focused on the little mouse girl. Reformation didn't know what to do. He couldn't just stand there and watch it happen. On another note, Reformation couldn't fight. In fact, it was forbidden to become violent towards another even if in defense. His heart said otherwise. If he didn't fight, surely they would all be killed. They were all too far away to be heard or even noticed by the gaurds or other chipmunks, and it would be too long of a trip to get help.

 

Questioning his religion for the first time, Reformation jumped in between the rat and the family. It was just in time, too. The rat had tried to reach for the little girl, but instead grabbed Reformation's arm. This was the first time Reformation had ever been in a fight, and he knew not how to do so. Yet like a snake's instinct is to kill rodents, instinct on fighting filled him.

 

With a snarl, Reformation grabbed the rat's wrist from underneath where the rat had grabbed his arm, and twisted. Then, he pulled the rat close, and got a hold of its neck. Struggling to get free, the rat slashed its sword around. With one hand around the criminal's neck, and the other blocking the arm with the sword, Reformation tightened his grip as much as he could around his neck, and jerked hard.

 

Skin ripped, and the rat was taken aback. It wasn't enough damage to kill the rat, but it was a good start. Now Reformation had a weak spot to hit at. The rat kept a hand over its own neck, trying to stop the bleeding where fur had once been.

 

Being wary of the sword, Reformation ran at him, and tackled him, then held the sword to the rat's neck. His strength was coming in handy, as the rat was no match against him. He managed to slice the criminal's neck with its own hand, and the body fell limp.

 

Panting, Reformation slowly got up. blood covered his face and hands, making him look less civilized than what the mouse family knew was true. Looking at each other, the mice didn't know how to respond. They weren't scared of him, but at the same time, they were.

 

It wouldn't matter if they thanked him or not, because by now, the chipmunks and squirrels had noticed the commotion. Father Buckthorn looked at the dead rat, then Reformation who was covered in blood, then back at the body, and finally at the family.

 

"What happened here!?" screeched Father Buckthorn.

Chapter Three: Hanging by a Thread

 

"Arrest him!" chattered Father Buckthorn, raising his hand in the air.

 

The squirrels looked at each other in question.

 

"Sir, it appears he was defending the family." said Chester, walking over to the priest.

 

"Regardless, this is blasphemy. It's a known fact that violence is prohibited!" hissed the aged chipmunk.

 

His face wrinkled into a hateful stare as he turned back towards Reformation, who was waiting patiently for the argument to end.

 

Reformation looked over at the enraged priest."But sir, they would have surely been-"

 

"Hush, rat! I knew you would be a burden the first time I saw you. to think, a rat... such an unholy beast. I should have thrown you out for the snakes to eat a long time ago," he snapped, going on a rant. "You worthless ant... You are nothing. The only thing you're good for was the labor. Even then, you did a shoddy job. Your excuse is you can't see... Well, you can obviously see the food presented in front of you! It's time I do something that should have been done in the first place. It's time I-"

 

"But Father Buckthorn!" shouted a familiar voice.

 

it was none other than Goldenrod's, a silky and smooth voice that had been shaken shrill from sobs.

 

The rodents made way for her as she scurried up to Father Buckthorn's presence. Tears rolled down the ginger and white colored marking around her face, and her ears folded back loosely in despair. Holding one hand in another, anxiously rubbing.

 

"I don't want to hear it! You're the one who brought us this bastard rat in the first place. We hang him tomorrow, and that's final. Until then, I want him held in the squirrel den." declared Father Buckthorn, seething with hatred.

 

Despite Goldenrod's desperate sniffles and pleas, the squirrels sullenly took Reformation back to the squirrel's den. They weren't happy about this either, as they valued his work and admired his jollity; a rare quality in this day and age.

 

As flamelight turned the walls a dim gold, the squirrels waited for Father Buckthorn to pass by. It was then they untied the vine from his wrists, since they trusted him. Rubbing his wrists, Reformation silently thanked them. One of them pushed a small cup of moonshine towards him.

 

"Oh, I can't drink." said Reformation, sniffing the cup.

 

"It's not like it matters anymore, after all, you're a wolf's head. " stated the same squirrel who pushed it towards him.

 

Reformation considered this for a moment. After all, it was rather tempting. The squirrels seemed to have a good time whenever they imbibe this liquid, and laughed a lot. The scent of sugar mixed with the pungent yet strangely satisfying aroma of whiskey caused his taste buds to water. He felt his whiskers tingle with excitement as he brought it closer to his mouth.

 

Wait, what was he doing? Was he allowing himself to be seduced by a sin? Maybe he was just another dirty rat, like everyone thought. Would that mean he would become a scelusan? Reformation set the cup back down. It wasn't worth risking his afterlife over.

 

Chester lit himself an onion leaf cigarette as the white rat had a battle in his head, debating whether or not he should drink the moonshine. The putrid smell filled the air, and Reformation covered his snout. Chester stared at his cigarette, and seemed to be pondering about something. Curious, Reformation chimed in.

 

"If you don't mind me asking, what are you thinking about?" asked Reformation.

 

Chester didn't take his eyes off of the cigarette.

 

"Do you know where onions are grown?" finally asked Chester, rolling the strong scented stick in his fingers.

 

"What does that have to do with anything?" questioned Reformation.

 

Chester blew another puff of smoke, patiently waiting for Reformation to get the hint.

 

"Just answer my question, and you'll see why."

 

Puzzled, Reformation did as he was told.

 

Reformation sighed, and said, "I don't know, to be honest."

 

"Mice," answered Chester. "Mice are masters of aguculture, and mass produce food for all parts of the tunnel systems."

 

Reformation politely waited for him to explain what he meant by this statement. After all, he only knew life with the chipmunks. Besides, Chester had a plan as it seemed.

 

"Up north from here, about a day's trip, there is a kingdom called Bonríonae. There are plenty of farmers there who wouldn't mind a helping hand. After all, a vast majority of them are potato farmers. And let's face it—Blondie, pour me a glass of the moon's poison— those vegatables are huge. I'm sure they'd value a strong worker like you. Just stay there until—Thank you.— you decide what to do with your life." 

 

"What about the fact that I'm a rat?" asked Reformation.

 

"Farmers are humble folks. They wouldn't care if you were a rattle snake so long as you do as your told and work honestly. Just be polite, as you always are, and everything will be fine." answered Chester.

 

Reformation nodded. While he had tremendous guilt for what he had done, survival was essential. This trip was dangerous, but not as dangerous as staying behind to be hung like a garment out to dry. It would also be pretty lonely, not knowing anyone there.

 

"Will I see you again?" asked Reformation.

 

"Probably not, but it'll be okay. Just remember; somewhere out there, no matter how far away, is a group that has more faith in you than a burrowing owl has in their own wings. Keep that in mind when you're loosing hope."said Chester with a smile. "Well, let's not all sit here talking about it until hanging time; we need to get you out of here."

 

Chester motioned for Reformation to follow. Obediently, the white rat scurried behind him. Chester then used a hand jesture to tell him to stop, then once again, follow. This continued until they were past the Lignolity chain system, and out of earshot of everybody.

 

The safety of the site was left, and sounds of insects could be heard in the distance. Now out of range of light, Reformation had to rely on the rest of his senses to move. He was almost as blind as a bat as it was; relying on his senses was just a part of life. Still, it was an eerie feeling to be so far away.

 

"Remember; keep going North. That's all you have to do." whispered Chester, patting him on the back.

 

Reformation hesitated upon leaving.

 

"Godspeed." said Reformation as he walked away slowly, looking back at his best friend.

 

"Godspeed, as well!" repeated Chester, who was fading away into the darkness of the lonely tunnels.

 

Reformation then sighed. keep going north. keep going north.

 

Chapter Four: Roads Untraveled

He turned his back to the familiarity, and began heading down the tunnel.

 

keep going north.

 

The soil felt foreign as he continued to walk, crumbly and soft like sand. These walls were unfamiliar, and