Young Writers Society

Highwhisker watched from behind a corner as Serica tapped on the window. His side ached dully, but he ignored it, half-listening to Serica and half-listening to the sounds around him. Hopefully nobody was near.

“I’m sorry, Ariak, for disturbing you.”

“No, it’s alright. I was guarding the gondola anyways.” She shook her head.

“Well, is anyone in the complex?” The moon shone high in the sky, hanging over the mice’s heads.

“Only me, Cheri, and Palla.”

Highwhisker checked behind him, crouching behind a brick at the sight of Rozalin. He didn’t know who to trust, now. Serica and Raven seemed to be the only mice that he could.

“Well, I was wondering if I could use a glowstick.” She leaned in and whispered something in Ariak’s ears. Highwhisker couldn’t hear it, but Ariak leaned back and nodded.

“I understand. If you want, I could keep an eye on the ‘Whisker’s quarters.” Ariak flicked her head to the shelf. Ariak looked outside the court Burrow, meeting Ketani’s eyes for a moment. It’s safe, you know,” she whispered. “Come out.”

Highwhisker nodded and held his spear carefully as he walked closer to Ariak. “I don’t know who to trust anymore.” He stepped down the ramp, cringing at the final step and its shock.

“I’m one of them. And I’m sorry about the satchels,” Ariak said. “I’ll grab you the glowstick. But you’ll need to write in your quarters. Okay?”

Highwhisker nodded. He held his spear low.

“Then go. If we’re found with you- Just go.”

Highwhisker stepped toward the shelf, unable to help a glance behind his shoulder. “Thank you, Serica and Ariak.” He pushed the shelf aside and walked in. He quickly pulled it in from behind, and stopped. Nobody was in the Court Burrow, thank the great Hawk.

Highwhisker waited a moment. In a few moments, Ariak opened the shelf and pushed a violet glowstick. “There. I’ll make sure nobody goes in there.”

“Thank you, Ariak.” Highwhisker laid his glow stick down, and then leaped on only one end of it. If it were to last until morning it’d be best to crack it one inch at a time.

At the top of the staircase, in the new night, Sir Ketani Highwhisker began writing what could very well be his final note.

***

Tyranos yawned in the dawn sunlight, looking at his sister on the other side of the tent. She slept soundly, but not for much longer. As soon as he got out of the cotton that Edvard put in the tents, he heard the clacking of stones.

“Wake up, mice!” Edvard called. He had a knack for loud noises, didn’t he? Tyranos glared, pulling his ears down to cover them. It didn’t work. Damn guard ears.

“Eat your feet instead,” Tyranos muttered, walking out of the woven grass tent, Tulun following closely behind.

Edvard glared with his bright green eyes and stomped over to Tyranos. “Time to get moving, alright? If you weren’t awake by now…”

“We were getting up anyways, Edvard. Don’t need to be such a-” Tyranos stopped as he got a look at Tulun’s half-tail. It stopped bleeding, but the part where it had been severed swelled to nearly twice its size, making her tail look like a club.

“Something’s wrong with her, Edvard. I mean, her tail.”

“I know exactly what you mean, Tyranos. Lena taught me a bit about healing,” Edvard said slowly, casting a glance at Tulun, “but I don’t remember anything. Sure the Hoof Spots squirrels would.” Edvard lifted his satchel over his shoulders nonchalantly. “Though, if you want Tulun to be healed, we’ll just have to get there faster.”

Tyranos nearly jumped Edvard right there. He couldn’t just toy with a mouse’s life for motivation! “You toad,” he growled, “You probably know how to he heal her. She must have taught you something!” He grabbed him by the scruff and dug his claws into it as he lifted the blond mouse in the air.

Edvard glared at Tyranos. “You kill me, and even if I did remember anything, you’d leave Tulun to die, Frozen mouse.”

Tyranos dropped Edvard to the ground and growled. As much as he hated admitting it, Edvard had a point. “You start walking then. I’ll get Tulun ready to leave.”

Edvard seemed not to care, but with the intensity of his glare, Edvard had an extra kick in his step. Edvard was also scared of him. If Tyranos were leader, they’d rest for another day. But Tyranos wasn’t leader.

Tulun seemed to tired to walk any more. “Edvard, I’ll carry Tulun,” Tyranos said.

“I can carry myself,” she yawned.

“I don’t think so, Tulun.” He brushed some dust off of his fur and picked Tulun up. He swung both Tyranos and Tuluns’ satchels from the ground and put them over his head, hanging like the sling-necklace he’d left at Wolf Plains. The same one that killed Trill. He began running in front of Edvard, yet behind Fleck.

He looked back at the camp and sighed. One more day of walking, one more day of Tulun’s wound getting worse.

***

Hex tapped on the shelf, casting a look at Damma. She pushed her fur down and blinked. “I don’t wanna do this.”

“Oh come on. You heard what Trill would do, right?” The idea of never training again seemed like a great idea.

“What’re you doing?” A sharp voice stopped Hex in his tracks.

Hex whipped around, scratching his forelegs. “We weren’t doing anything! Honest!” He averted his jay-blue eyes unconsciously.

The dark grey mouse shook her head. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that,” she said, an incredulous look on her face.

“Well, Silas wanted us to get something for him. He sent a note over a few days ago…” He trailed off. They were supposed to find how bad Highwhisker was and show it to Rozalin. Though why would Trill want that?

“That’s it.” Damma stepped in front of Hex.

The mouse with a black mask covering her face blinked. She almost looked like a gatherer, just far lest dusty. And she smelled different. “Well, I suppose you’re just hoppers. But don’t tell anybody if you see something in there. Okay?”

Hex lifted his brows. Why would something be in there? “Can you help, miss?” He grunted, trying to nudge the shelf to the side.

Damma tried doing it with him, but the shelf barely inched.

The mouse smiled, and pushed it aside. “Long as you promise not to tell.”

Hex looked into the nearly black tunnel that was the ‘Whiskers’ quarters. “Alright. We promise.” As his eyes adjusted, a dim shape began to appear in the darkness lit by only a fading, glowing, stick. It was laying down, its chest rising and falling.

“Thank you,” the mouse said. Then she disappeared behind a giant window-ey thing.

Hex blinked in the musty-smelling room and looked back at the Court Burrow lit by the sunrise. His eyes adjusted fully, and he saw Sir Highwhisker sleeping on the ground, clutching a leaf in his paws. His paws were smudged black with charcoal. As he remembered last night’s council meeting, Hex’s mind began to race. He had to tell! Sir Highwhisker killed someone!

But he promised. Darnit.

Hex waved Damma in, and didn’t even thank the near-black mouse. He crouched down to Highwhisker and looked at the scroll. Above Highwhisker’s head was a shelf, with nearly no leaves on it. They looked old, yellow-brown, and faded. Did ‘Whiskers even know how to write? Hex didn’t, so he just grabbed the entire pile, all of them signed with the same ‘H’ with two lines above them. Highwhisker. Funny.

He took a look at the scroll in Highwhisker’s paw, a fresh green-ish leaf. He reached down and grabbed it, stuffing it in his satchel filled with collected rocks. The leaves jutted out of the satchel, but Hex didn’t notice. He waved his head to Damma and started running out of the Court Burrow. He hopped up one step, two steps, medium grey fur illuminated golden with the sun.

“Come on!” He started running down the grass. “You go and tell Trill, I’ll give this to the Burrower lady.” He smiled, running off into the grass for the Burrowers’ complex.

He jumped into the air, the small, blue-grey mouse only making it an inch from the ground. “Mission accomplished!”

***

Rozalin hung her head in the empty complex. Well, not entirely empty. Larx sat next to her on the railings, eyeing her paws. “It’s alright, Rozalin. You did your best.”

Roz whipped her head up. “You’re wrong, Larx. I didn’t stop anything. And all because Highwhisker didn’t…” she growled. Highwhisker caused it, the mice were scared of what would happen if they all weren’t together. Even a group of fifty mice were scared. And all because Highwhisker killed Hazelwood.

She calmed down, her mind whirring. She shouldn’t have told Highwhisker to kill Hazelwood. But he was going to do it anyways.

Larx sat there silently, looking around the room. “At least the complex is calmer now. Especially the staircase.

Roz shrugged. She couldn’t care less about the complex. The blonde had it all memorized. The stairway to the top of the complex, the way some planks smelled like gas, it was all known.

Yet Larx was right. The complex was silent, save for both the mice’s breathing.

And it all tied back to Highwhisker and their fear of him. Maybe it was their hatred of him. There were no mice in her Guild because of it.

They had reason. It was Highwhisker’s mission that crippled Zekarie. He was the first to make a beeline for the exit, without even listening to Roz try and keep them back.

Er, Miss Sunhide?” a voice squeaked to her. Roz turned around with Larx, fur bristled. There was a mouse barely older than seven seasons. He was medium dark blue-grey with a darker brindled back. “I’ve got something for you. I didn’t read anything, promise.” The young mouse reached into his satchel with a grain of wheat embroidered on it, and lifted out a stack of leaf scrolls. He put it on Rozalin’s lap, and skittered off and out of the empty complex, his paw steps echoing through it.

She lifted her nose. The mouse smelled like grain, grass, and clover. He must have been a Gathering mouse before.

She sighed, sifting through old and yellow scrolls. They all had useless information on them, until Roz caught sight of a fresh green leaf. Its sides were crumpled as though somebody had held them a bit too tight, and the charcoal markings were crisp and clear.

She sighed, lifting the scroll up to unroll it. It was large, odd for a note from Highwhisker. But sure enough, his signature was there. An H with two lines at the top.

Sir Ketani Highwhisker

End of May, 2014 in human years

The world is a dangerous place, a series of tables turning on everyone. The Guilds I trusted most for support, help, and information have turned on me. The rebellion is strong, full of these mice’s strong minds, but with horrible motives. What would killing me do? I still have heirs, friends. I ask myself that question all too much now.

I have sent out a mission, to bring back ground squirrels from Hoof Spots. But if you’re reading this, you know better. You know I’m a coward sending his heirs out to save their hides. When I die, more than likely before they come back, I would want Flekkanos Smallsnout to rise to the position of Governor. He’s the youngest, most level-headed, and I feel in my bones that he’d carry on the ’Whisker legacy.

If he is dead, then Edvard Redwillow. He reminds me of myself, with unending sense of responsibility, though he is too merciless in what he does.

This mission might turn disastrous, and if Edvard and Flekkanos both die, then Tyranos Brighteyes. I fear the Frozenmoon blood in him, but hope that if Wolf Plain falls to his leadership, he will defend it with tooth and claw.

If the males die, then comes Tulun Brighteyes. The laws say females could never be ‘Whisker unless they challenge the ‘Whisker to the death and win.

If all else fails, then Rozalin Sunhide will take my position.

Rozalin needed no more. She glared at the leaf, throwing it down to the ground. “Highwhisker,” she seethed. That was why she didn’t see Edvard at the Council meeting. He was off on some fake mission!

She stood up from the wooden bench and called out to Larx. “We have business to tend with.” Anger burned in her veins. If anything, Highwhisker destroyed her life. Stabbed her with an invisible knife for as long as she would take it. Well, Rozalin wouldn’t take it anymore. That was the last straw. Send a bunch of mice off to keep them alive? What could possibly make her mad about that. She stalked to her office, and turned in through the branch-filled doorway.

She wanted nothing to do with Highwhisker, except his name. She reached beneath the wooden block table into a secret compartment. She pulled out her rapier, the needle-like blade unused since Hoof Spots. Well, it was going to get used again. She looked at the embroidered signs of stones, signifying she was a Burrower. She put the end of the rapier beneath the grass seams and pulled up, the grass ribbon on the rapier’s hilt trailing behind her.

Sword fighting was an elaborate dance, she used to joke with Ketani, why not make it feel so? That was why she tied the ribbon on.

She twirled the grass strings around her fingers, waiting until they held tight. She then held the hilt with one paw, keeping the sword still. She tore the ribbon from the hilt, leaving the iron with a simple moss hilt that helped keep her paws dry when she fought.

She held the ribbons in her paw, and lifted her rapier while lifting the sword up. She wasn’t a Burrower anymore. Nor was she Guildless. She was some muddled spot in-between, hating every thought of Highwhisker, yet refusing to give up her chances of leadership for something so insecure and dangerous as the Guildless.

“Come on, Larx. We’re headed to the Guildless complex.” She ran down the halls, hiding her rapier in her satchel, now with no Guild Sign on it. She dipped and picked up the scroll. She’d need to tell somebody about the mission. She was sending a mission of her own.

She ran down the wooden ramp that led from the Burrowers’ entrance to the ground and hopped off onto the melting ice. She turned around, he satchel swinging at her side.

Roz’d take leadership of Wolf Plains, but she’d have to make sure that the heirs didn’t come back alive. Then Highwhisker would be ripe for the picking.