Young Writers Society

Two days. Tulun cursed herself. It took two days for the Healers to get all the gatherers healed up or checked out.

Two days, and the Guards were ablaze. Ablaze in the blame game. Though she had managed to stay out of it, the black mouse knew that she was to blame for the injuries. She was at fault for all the Gatherers’ broken limbs, cuts, scrapes, and bruises. She, as a guard, was supposed to be on the watch for whenever the man was in the yard. She should have called out. Not talking with Shayn. So in the messy common room of the Guards’ Complex, Tulun Brighteyes was forced to watch everybody blame everybody else. And yet she was too afraid to tell the entire guild of fighting mice that she was responsible.

A logical reason, of course. Especially when she was about half the size of everyone else.

“Hey, Tulun!” someone called to her.

She raised a brow and stood up from her twig seat. “Yeah, Shayn?”

“Tyranos and Serica are looking for you. You know, Hazelwood’s trial,” he said, shrugging. “Not like Tyranos allows anyone else to go to council meetings,” he muttered.

“Come on, he allows Trill to come along.” Standing up, she socked him on the arm lightly. “And you’re just jealous.”

Shayn raised his brows. “I am not!”

“Jeaaaallloousss,” she teased.

Shayn raised his paws into fists. A sign that the discussion was over. “Just go over there and go to the stupid trial.”

Tulun nodded. “Thank you.” She exaggerated a bow, and then began to leave the complex. She looked around for her brother, the trainer of the Guards Guild. Nowhere to be found. Not in the tunnels, a winding expanse led around by the roots of the pines. The tamarack was the only entrance though. In May, it was mostly needle-less, and the bottom of it was surrounded by smooth yellow needles. They still could give a mouse a hole in their foot if they weren’t careful.

When she got out at the nook between two of the tamarack roots, she finally saw the white shape of Tyranos and the near-black one of Serica.

“So Hazelwood’s getting a trial?” Tulun asked, flicking her ears.

“Yeah. Good old Hazelwood,” Tyranos said. “Whatever for?” he asked sarcastically. “Treason? Who’d have known?”

Serica sighed. “Morlyle Hazelwood will be missed,” she breathed.

Tulun exchanged glances with Tulun, but both of the mice didn’t say anything.

They walked in silence for minutes, walking along the gravel road of the driveway. Tulun looked around, trying to remember if she had ever lived here when she was born. She wasn’t told by Tyranos for reasons she didn’t know.

She didn’t remember a thing. All she knew was her memories from four seasons old on.

“Er, Tyranos?” She broke the silence.

“Yes?” The giant of a mouse looked down at her. It was hard to believe they were related, let alone siblings.

“I don’t know half about what Hazelwood did. For example, the guards are all muttering stuff that they won’t let me hear about, and not just a tiny few. All of them. And it’s only after the Gatherers Complex lifted up.”

“First, you shouldn’t be so nosy.” Looking across the driveway, and twitching his ears, he started walking. “Next off. Yes, Hazelwood is the main cause of it. He went crazy soon as the complex was up. Started an entire ‘revolution’ over five minutes. Though there’s nobody up in arms yet.”

“Except the Guards. I’ve seen them. Trill included,” Tulun countered.

Curling his lip, Tyranos turned around. “She wouldn’t. I know her too well.”

Tulun didn’t respond to her older brother.

“I wouldn’t get mad about it, Tyranos,” Serica said. “Their sides are fair.”

“Like what?” Tyranos asked. “One’s utterly chaotic, and our side keeps things normal.”

Serica laughed. “Of course. I forgot that you’re… young. They don’t want the Gatherers Guild. Maybe all of them. But what they’re saying is that they should be able to train and live alongside another, instead of away. Though I do hold their ideals in a high regard, I’m too loyal to Highwhisker to head over to them.”

Even Tyranos didn’t say anything to the guild’s leader.

“It helps to be unbiased, Tyranos. When I retire, remember that.”

Tulun remembered whenever a Messenger mouse would come by and drop off supplies from the Gatherers Guild. They didn’t act like an old guild at all. They acted differently from the older guilds.

After a quick walk along the edges of the house, the group of three had made it to the rose bush. The wild roses were beginning to bloom in the sun, and the translucent petals reflected pink on the ground beneath them.

“Highwhisker got a messenger to tell the leaders where the Courtroom is, or as he likes to refer to it, the Court Burrow.” Serica tapped her paws along the edge of the white rough wall. It looked as if it was made of white stone and broken glass.

Tulun stepped on a thorn that had fallen from the rose bush and hopped on one hind paw for a moment, grinding her teeth so she didn’t swear vigorously.

“Easy there, Tul.” Tyranos wiggled his ears playfully.

“You shut up. If your paw was impaled by a…” she stuttered, looking for the right word. “A tail-length thorn…”

“Whose tail?” Tyranos tapped his hind paw to hers, and she kicked his leg back.

“My tail,” she replied dryly.

“Then I don’t understand,” Tyranos said, chuckling.

Tulun and Tyranos were both cuffed over the ears by Serica. “Calm down. You’re acting like a bunch of hoppers. Especially now that we’re at the Court Burrow.

Tulun looked in, and her eyes widened. The room was dirty and dusty, but the basic setup was there. She stood frozen as she looked around at the burrow. Two mice were crawling out of the window pane, where a gap was visible. “Isn’t this the library?” she asked, looking around. The dust was piled up in swirls, but it led up to the semicircle of wooden block stairs, and the top of the circle, was the top seat, which held Highwhisker behind it. Subconsciously, Tulun began to walk up to the third step up the Semicircle. She looked down at the centre of the circle, where any mouse that was on trial was standing. She imagined what Morlyle Hazelwood, a mouse that had endured so much for Wolf Plains, would be standing. Guess he finally snapped.

Sir Highwhisker looked at the group of mice, Tulun included. He raised his glass spear, tapping on the top of a wooden block in front of him. It was cut off from the man, nearly two seasons ago. “Attendance check, before we start the trial. Say your Guild’s name, leaders.”

It started with the Sewing Guild. “Tailors,” a grey mouse with blue eyes said. Behind him was a blond mouse who glared everyone down as though he was the leader of the guild, and not Rica. Typical Edvard.

“Guards,” Serica said behind her.

“Blacksmiths,” A white mouse named Pyrill said. He and another mouse, who looked like he had equal authority, sat on the opposite side of the Guards. Of course, there was one mouse who was always chosen to come along for a meeting.

“Healers.”

“Messengers are here, sir,” a grey and black mouse named Argenta said.

“Scavengers,” a nearly black mouse with a pure black mask said, but her eyes were trained on the Gatherering leader, Silas.

“Burrowers,” Funnily enough, Rozalin Sunhide was the only mouse she could remeember from when she was young. And only in dim images.

“Gatherers!” a young mouse called.

Apparently Tulun wasn’t the only one who turned her head and blinked at him.

“Silas has a cold. Can’t talk,” he stuttered, lowering his ears. He was a dark sandy brown, and admittedly, kinda cute. She waved a paw at him with only her little finger raised, a sign among Guards for respect or greetings.

Sir Highwhisker nodded, looking down at everyone. “It’s nice to see everyone’s here on time. Now. Let the meeting of Morlyle Hazelwood begin.”

Surprisingly, it was Trill who brought in Hazelwood, who showed no signs of struggle at all, though Trill looked as though he had fought, and fought hard. Grass bindings on his forepaws, Hazelwood stood at the pedestal, absolutely silent. He just stood there and blinked, ready for the trial to begin. In his eyes though, was such a blazing hatred that surprised even Tulun. Hazelwood then grinned, and spoke. “And I agree, Highwhisker. Let the trial begin.”

***

A quick wave of a little finger could be seen, but he couldn’t identify the source. He searched the crowd, but didn’t find anybody. He knew little about Guard terminology, but whenever he had done a good job in training, Hazelwood would wave his little finger at him. He always had a proud look on his face. Far different from the mouse in front of him.

Silas tapped Fleck on the shoulder, and pointed him to the session. It was funny how he could admonish even when he can’t talk.

Fleck gazed at the black-eyed mouse on the pedestal in the centre of the room. He saw the way the mouse was turning his head to look at everyone, eyes glinting malevolently. Yet he never said anything. Far, far different.

“The meeting has come to order. Morlyle Hazelwood has been charged for treason against the ‘Whisker. This isn’t to decide if he is guilty or not. This is to decide his sentence. Usually it’d be death, but if the council chooses against that, it will be retirement and detainment.” Highwhisker breathed in, as if this was difficult for him. “Hazelwood will be arguing for his life in this case. He’ll give you reasons to live, and we’ll decide whether he is worthy of life.” Highwhisker tried to breathe in, but choked a little bit. “Oh, he should have been retired before this,” he murmured under is breath, and Fleck strained to get it.

“I’ll start first,” Hazelwood said. “Ask me any question you want. I’ll answer truthfully.”

A blond mouse, who he recognized as Edvard Redwillow, the Trainer of the Sewing Guild, spoke up. “Morlyle, I remember when we were friends back during the days of…” Edvard was silenced by a quick glare from Highwhisker. “The old days. Why have you changed so much? Gone absolutely insane?”

Hazelwood chuckled, and Fleck recoiled. “I simply changed because I embraced something that I’d always known. And I wouldn’t call it madness.” He stopped laughing. “I would call it enlightenment. For too long I have lived under the cowardly reign of you, Sir Highwhisker,” Hazelwood said, then paused. “I read a passage somewhere, the only time I ever went into the house. The nail sticking up must be whacked down. And I suppose that is exactly what you’ve done. Gone for peace and keeping the criminal safe when we need to beat down the nail sticking out. But it seems I’m the nail now. And Highwhisker won’t really beat me down.” Hazelwood said. “I know you too well.” Hazelwood smirked.

Highwhisker didn’t respond, just continued to stare down at the mouse, no emotion on his face. Fleck stood still, wondering what his father would do. He began to open his mouth but Hazelwood whirled around to meet him.

“Why haven’t you been graduated yet? Simple, Fleck. I want to see Highwhisker suffer for all he has done. And you were the most convenient means. If you suffer, he does.”

Fleck didn’t even say anything, but now looked down at the mouse who taught him everything he knew with anger. “I don’t believe you,” he mouthed, and it seemed Hazelwood heard it. It just wasn’t plausible. No mouse could be that… bad.

“And I don’t blame you, raised by cowards and stuck in a Guild you didn’t even mean to be in. What would your parents say, if in Eversun or Frozenmoon?”

The mice looked around at each other, and Fleck glared right down at Hazelwood, understanding exactly what it meant. He was just wondering whether or not to tell Hazelwood he was wrong. His parents could only be in Eversun, a heaven for mice. He caught the gaze of a dark black mouse, with bright blue eyes. She was small, but certainly looked older than a Trainee. She shrugged, as if to ask what Frozenmoon could mean to the elder mice. The mouse behind her, a giant white one, looked across the room as though he knew more about Frozenmoon than any of the others. It was just the mice’s version of the human hell, so why would what must be the Guild’s trainer be so worried about it?

Breathing in, Fleck decided to say exactly what he was thinking. “Are you saying my parents weren’t worthy of Eversun?”

Highwhisker stood up. “That will be enough, Flekkanos.” He must have been trying to avoid the subject. “Do you have any reason that you’ll want to live, Morlyle? If you have nothing more to say, the council will vote now. Say ‘Aye’ if you favour Hazelwood to live, and ‘Nay’ if you wish for him to die by the next dawn.” He spoke the ceremonious words so calmly that it unsettled Fleck.

“Nay,” was the near unanimous reply.

Behind him, he saw Silas mouth, ‘Aye.’

“Aye,” Fleck said. Hazelwood didn’t need to die. It didn’t feel right, especially because Hazelwood had taught Fleck wisdoms that even Highwhisker didn’t.

Hazelwood chuckled, right at Fleck. Fleck narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t doing this because Hazelwood was a good character. “Highwhisker, it seems the Gathering Guild actually wants to keep me around. Maybe I’ll live for another week, unless you want to break the laws once more.” He raised his brows and curled his lips, obscuring the dark brown patch on his nose.

Fleck met eyes with Highwhisker, and instead of meeting disapproving eyes, he met grateful ones, but there was no smile on the chestnut mouse’s face.

“Yes. That’s true,” Highwhisker sighed. He paused for a moment, his eyes deep pools of ice-cold. “Serica and Trill. Could you take Morlyle to the birdhouse? Next, you and Hjerral can keep guard of him. Understood, Trill?”

The dark grey mouse nodded. She had a dark patch on her nose too, Fleck noticed.

“Silas, you can graduate Flekkanos at any time. And you’ll need a new trainer.”

Silas nodded, and Fleck spoke what was probably on their minds. “And the complex?”

“The wild rose bush,” Highwhisker replied promptly. Highwhisker reached for his glass spear, and tapped it on the wood block. “Meeting dismissed.”