Frozenmoon - Chapter 1

Fleck sat down by a dimming fire, closing his eyes. He tried to sleep as hard as he could, but the sounds from the Court Burrow always jerked him awake at the last second. He opened his eyes and turned back to the Court Burrow, half-expecting there to be plain darkness and silence at it. There most certainly wasn’t.

The light on the other side of the

It was like a dim humming in his ears. However Nera beside him didn’t hear it was beyond him. “Nera?” he asked, looking down at the grey mouse. He put a paw to his scarred ears, wondering whether or not to see what was going on.

Nera didn’t stir.

Fleck took a look back at the Court Burrow, squinting at the warm glare of light coming through the window. He got up onto his paws.

“Are you awake?” He lowered his ears to block out the whirring from the Court Burrow. Nope. He was going to head back to the Gatherers complex.

She didn’t even move her tail to show she was asleep.

“Wha-” Fleck knelt onto his paws and touched Nera’s side. He didn’t check for warmth, but the steady rise and fall of her torso.

“Thank the Great Hawk,” he whispered to himself at the feeling of his paws rising with Nera’s side. He ruffled the younger mouse’s fur lightly and stood up.

With a glance at the moon, he stood up and walked away towards the complex.

He stood at the white stone wall of the house, nearly shaking with the vibrations coming from the house.

Somehow, over the whirs and the vibrations, Fleck caught a voice. “They’re still working down there. And thanks.”

“I’m sorry for the losses,” the familiar voice of Silas rang.

Fleck took a few steps backwards to the Court Burrow. He peeked his head over and felt a blast of cold air, whisking his brown fur behind him. He caught a glimpse of a dark grey mouse but had a pitch black face.

The cold air was a welcome difference compared to a July night, where even then it could be overly warm outside.

He turned around, darting back behind the wall. Maybe Silas and the other mouse didn’t see him.

“Did you…” Silas paused. “Did you find a way to turn the fan off, Ariak?”

Fleck heard a soft scuffling of paws. “No. But we’ve got to leave. Sunwhisker might…”

The sound of wood creaking ever-so quietly hit Fleck’s ears, and the mouse ducked like he was hiding in a clump of grass.

“Rozalin,” Silas stuttered.

Fleck felt his fur bristle at the thought of Rozalin, however hard he tried to fight it.

“Silas,” Rozalin said evenly.

Immediately, images of Highwhisker came to him. The memories of when Highwhisker gave the glass shard to him, when Highwhisker showed him the Blacksmiths’ complex with a tear in his eye… All of it gone because of Rozalin.

“I’m so sorry, Sunwhisker. It’s just that-” the other mouse, Ariak, stopped. “With the men doing hawk knows what down there-”

“You’re living outdoors, like a real mouse?” Roz cut in.

“No. We just need help from you, the healers, someone!” she squeaked.

Fleck looked over the corner just enough so that he could see Rozalin step forward. “And you’ve heard my terms.”

Ariak looked like she could kill Rozalin. “My Guild is dying down there and you only care about where we live?”

“If you won’t live outside, then you aren’t part of Wolf Plains.”

Silas began to say something but trail off suddenly.

“Silas, you were saying?” The blonde mouse stepped toward the semicircle.

“Rozalin, you used to be friends with Ketani-”

“Don’t bring that mouse up!” Rozalin curled her lip. “I’m not his shadow.”

Fleck stepped back.

“Please, Rozalin. If you could even ask the Guards. Ketani would’ve helped.”

This time Rozalin waited for Ariak to finish, her nose held up proudly. Yet her claws dug into her paws. She lashed her tail angrily, seething. “I am not the ‘Whisker Highwhisker was. Leave.”

“Wha- I-”

“You heard me. I asked you oh-so-nicely not to compare me to that… toad, and then you just disrespect my name and title with it!” Roz nearly had to shout as the whirring got louder. She looked tired and unkempt, her green eyes wild.

“I’ve had enough of your Guild. Do nothing for us, and yet you still want our help. You’re no better than the man’s pet,” Roz growled. “Leave. You have until sunrise.”

Ariak looked in any direction, looking for something to say. As she looked in Fleck’s direction, he ducked back behind the wall. Hopefully he wasn’t seen.

Fleck heard a creaking sound. He just turned his head around the corner to see a hollow cylinder whizzing down a line, with the dark mouse on it.

He looked into the Court Burrow for a split second and saw Silas trained on him, worry on it for a split second.

Fleck turned back to the white quartz wall, trying hard to keep still. Did Rozalin see him?

Fleck waited for Rozalin to say something.

“Silas.” Fleck cringed at Rozalin, half-expecting it to be his own name. “I didn’t think that you, of all mice-”

“Wait, I can explain.”

Fleck thought quickly and made a few rustling steps in the grassy dirt.

“We’ll talk about this later.” Rozalin stepped backwards and Fleck heard the sound of small claws scratching on wood.

As Fleck stepped stiffly around the white wall and down the small sloping dirt to get into the Court Burrow, he tried to fake a yawn.

Rozalin narrowed her eyes and Fleck fought the urge to do it right back.

“I was just…” Silas glanced at an angry Rozalin. “just looking for you.”

Fleck didn’t know whether Silas was lying or not but Fleck wouldn’t ask. “You were?”

“Yes. I was.” Silas motioned for Fleck to sit closer and then looked at Rozalin. “Can we talk alone?”

“Not in the Court Burrow,” was Roz’s stiff reply.

Silas sighed, and then stopped. For good reason too, especially considering how Rozalin solved her problems over the past season of leadership. “Well, I asked you to deliver a scroll to Highwhisker. Right before you left, right?”

Fleck nodded slowly, his eyes trained on Rozalin’s blonde bristled fur. “I remember.” Nearly being killed by his trainer wasn’t something he’d forget easily.

“Well, on that scroll…”

Rozalin raised a brow, but didn’t say anything.

“Alright, I haven’t asked anybody to be trainer for a reason.”

Because Silas wanted to give the trainees a break.

“Because I was waiting for you…” Silas pointed to Fleck, choosing his words carefully. “To grow up. And you have, so I’m asking you to be trainer,” he said quickly.

Fleck stood there for a second. Nera was trainer, and she was only fifteen seasons. What did he mean by grow up? What did he… “Wait. Train?” Fleck cast a glance to Rozalin, who blinked slowly.

“Yes, train. I’ve wanted you to be trainer forever.”

Rozalin’s mouth twitched, and her eyes blazed. Fleck felt his ears lowering. He was afraid of her, especially after what happened to Highwhisker. And if Sunwhisker knew that Fleck had any sort of power at all…

“I can’t!” he said, raising a paw to his scarred chest. He remembered Rozalin’s words when he came back from that expedition; I don’t know who gave you that wound, but if you wreck this for me, I promise I won’t be near as clumsy.

“The trainees aren’t going to get training from anyone else,” Silas persisted.

“Then they aren’t getting trained at all.” Fleck stood still, digging his hind paws into the dirt.

Silas looked up at the Court Burrow’s wood ceiling and swore beneath his breath. “Highwhisker would want you to.”

Fleck stood up taller, eyes meeting with the Gathering leader. “I’m not Highwhisker’s shadow.” He shrunk in his fur at the surprised glare that Silas gave him. It took a split second to remember that Sunwhisker said the same thing, and worse, it was to exile what must’ve been Silas’ friend. “I’m my own mouse.”

Silas gave a mortified look to Rozalin, but it didn’t seem that Wolf Plains’ governess didn’t notice it.

“Alright. I’ll do it,” Fleck finally said. “But only because somebody’s got to train them.”

Silas nodded, black eyes alight in thanks.

Rozalin curled her lip ever-so-slightly, and Fleck took a step back. “Well, I guess I’ll be headed back then?”

Silas took a look back, but stood still. “Sure, Fleck. I’ll stay back.” He cast an angry glare at Roz, and new that the scat would be hitting the fan. Hopefully not literally. Fleck took steps back and left the brightly lit burrow. It took moments for his eyes to adjust to the July night sky, but he still could navigate by the scent of wild roses blooming.

His tail lashed furiously. A job he wasn't ready for, being forced to do it because he felt guilty for Highwhisker… what was next?

***

Archer snuck into the trainer’s office, keeping a green gaze directly on the sleeping mouse. It was different. Instead of the usual meticulous cleaning that Edvard did, it was scattered with leaves, grass, and needles. The blond mouse had to watch his step just to cross it.

What would his father say? If Archer hated it, Edvard probably would too.

Wincing as he opened up the cardboard closet, he took a glance into it. The armours that Edvard wanted to show them the day he left were still there. Why Archer didn’t bother to take them until then was a mystery. He reached into a woven straw basket, trying as hard as he could to stop it from rustling as it was pulled through the cardboard.

He put a paw into it slowly, reaching for Edvard’s floatcoat. It was never used, except maybe once when Edvard made the mistake of sailing with his mother. He remembered Edvard telling him that story, where he fell off the boat so many times Rica himself had to tell him to come back to shore.

Archer noticed the thread, made so that it was nearly silken, with pine cones so closely placed together that they would fall off his body before it’d break. Just like his father said.

He pulled the floatcoat from the basket, lowering his ears at the sound of pine grating against cardboard. He fought the urge to swear.

He turned to look at the trainer, Tarin, sleeping in her bed. She stirred in her bed until she faced Archer directly.

Then her eyes fluttered open.

Maybe her eyes hadn’t adjusted. Archer didn’t dare move, knowing what happened when the Tailors found a thief.

But Archer wasn’t a thief. He was just taking back what was his.

Finally, his heart stopped racing as Tani closed her eyes.

He stuffed the floatcoat, slipping from his paws, into his satchel.

He turned back at the cluttered room and tried as hard as he could so that he didn’t fall over the scattered items on the office floor.

He started to run on his toes, lowering his head with the tunnel’s ceiling. He tripped on hay, and caught himself by veering into a room.

And he found himself in the trainee dorms.

Archer bit his lip and held his satchel close, looking at his old bed at the end of the room.

He sighed in relief that all the trainees were asleep.

The blond mouse pulled the steel wool armour out and ran his paws over it. How he missed him.

Archer realized that he’d never had the guts to go into Edvard’s room, let alone steal from it.

But then again, we was doing it for his father, right?

Archer felt his paw scratch over waxy charcoal. He lifted his paw immediately, but stopped. He’d smudged the small E that Edvard kept on anything he’d made.

He sighed, raising his ears.

He felt a paw on his shoulder. “Archer?” The voice sounded so familiar…

“Archer, you’re being stupid. Edvard’s dead.” But his killer wasn’t. He remembered seeing Tyranos outside of the city, just the night after Fleck told Archer that Tyranos was dead. He brushed the paw off of his shoulder. “Go away, Lanin.”

It wasn’t Lanin. When Archer tried brushing the paw away, he felt a breeze of cold air on his paws. But he felt the paw on his shoulder like it was any real mouse.

He turned his head and looked up. He stared for not even a second as he recognized the face, a near reflection of him; Edvard. “I thought you were dead!” he said, smiling.

“Quite the way to greet your father,” Edvard smiled, blinking both green eyes. “It’s been a while since I’ve been in here though.”

Archer smiled. Edvard could have only been the best father. He reached into his satchel without a second thought. “I’ve got this.”

“You aren’t going sailing, are you?” he asked. “Just make sure you don’t have my waterlegs too. That is, none.” The ghostly Edvard sat down on Archer’s bed, not even flattening out a spot on the moss.

Archer didn’t answer. He didn’t want to say anything else. This wasn’t like Edvard at all. Edvard would’ve flattened the moss, he wouldn’t have put his paws on Archer’s shoulder, and he definitely wouldn’t be joking. Memories of right before Edvard left for the last time came to his mind. He was nearly going to get beat before he was saved by that messenger mouse.

This wasn’t Edvard. “No. I’m not going sailing,” he said stiffly. “I was just going to sleep.”

The fake Edvard replied with the same steely tone. “So you’re just going to sleep the dawn away?” Somehow, Archer felt more relieved at this Edvard, the cold one that always ordered Archer around. It was more like the old Edvard.

“Yes.” Archer leaned onto the moss and shut his eyes tightly. “Just go away.”

He heard the annoyed sigh of Edvard, and then the sound of the ghost saying, “Just remember me and how I died.”

Archer nearly opened his eyes, but he just willed himself to not respond. He was just a figment of his imagination.

He heard the footsteps of the ghost, grinding against the hay and rustling in his ears.

He stood for a second, and then the realization of the mistake he made hit him. He burst out from his moss bed and ran to the doorway. That could be the only chance of ever seeing his father that he’d ever get. “Wait! Edvard!”

Nobody was there.

Archer leaned against the hay walls in defeat. The ghost left. He told the ghost to leave.

“Just remember me,” he whispered, remembering Edvard’s words.

“Archer?” He stiffened as he felt another paw on his shoulder. The voice was far more familiar now, though.

“Yes Lanin?” He looked down at the dark paw.

The tricolour smiled. “Are you okay?”

Archer leaned into the wall fully, imagining that Edvard’s ghost could still be there. He remembered seeing Tyranos, injured and badly beaten. But if Tyranos was anything like his sister, that was to say hardier than a rock, then Tyranos was still alive out there. “Frozenmoon’s army,” he whispered.

Lanin shook him, the thirteen season old shaking her head. “Bad dream?”

Archer was about to reply yes before he thought. Tyranos was still alive. Edvard was reminding him of that. He remembered when he swore to kill Tyranos to avenge Edvard.

“No, Lanin. It was a good dream,” he smiled grimly.

“Then I can go back to sleep?” she smiled, lighting up the black patches on her cheeks.

“Sure.” He patted her on the back. “I’m not going back to sleep any time soon.” He looked down the tunnel at the trainer’s office. He’d probably need more things from there. Maybe he’d go to the Blacksmiths.

Against Tyranos, Archer would definitely need a weapon.