Mouseheart

by Lisa Fiedler

  “Until when?” Firren prompted.

  “Never mind. Continue. Please.”

  “There is so much we do not know,” said Firren. “But I have always had a feeling. A hunch, you could say. That perhaps things then were not as they seemed.”

  “Is that so?” Sage cocked his head, his whiskers twitching. “Enlighten me.”

  “Early on in our crusade against Titus, Dodger had entertained the notion of going upland to recruit more forces.”

  Sage gave her a curious look. “So you believe a Mūs would willingly subject himself to the horrors of the Lighted World?”

  “Not ordinarily,” Firren clarified. “But he might, if the time came that the horrors of his own world left him no choice.”

  Sage blinked, allowing this to sink in. “Are you saying you believe he retreated upward, to live among the surface dwellers?”

  “It’s only a theory,” Firren admitted. “Or perhaps just a strong wish. But I propose that Dodger was not mortally wounded by that vile Atlantian officer. I propose that he feigned death as a means of escape. The only place he could go and be truly safe would have been upland to, as you call it, the Lighted World. There he could avoid Titus’s bounty hunters and also take opportunity to gather reinforcements.” A tiny smile flickered on her lips. “And maybe some other opportunities as well.”

  Sage considered her words carefully. “If that were the case, then where is this upland army and why has Dodger not returned to us?”

  “I honestly don’t know the answer to that,” said Firren with a sigh. “As I say, it is only a theory and a new one at that. I’ve only just come upon certain, shall we say, ‘evidence’ that leads me to believe Dodger may have lived long enough to sire a litter, thus making the prophecy of a Chosen One possible.”

  Elder Sage mulled this over, his expression unreadable. Finally he spoke, but it seemed as though he were talking only to himself. “So the stranger was speaking the truth . . .”

  “What stranger?” Again Firren’s curiosity was piqued. “Who spoke the truth?”

  Sage shook his head. “La Rocha’s prophecy gave us hope for an offspring of Dodger’s—a Chosen One—to come in glory and lead us as he did. But nowhere in the prophecy did La Rocha suggest that the child would hail from the upland.”

  “Well.” Firren allowed a small smile. “Maybe La Rocha was saving that as a surprise.”

  Sage clapped twice, and two more robed figures entered from behind the mechanical mountain.

  Sage introduced his brethren—Temperance and Christoph. They were, like Sage, advanced in age with an aura of quiet strength about them.

  Now the trio of council members put their hooded heads together and whispered for a long moment. From his place behind the Rangers, Hopper struggled to hear but couldn’t make out a word of it. Finally Sage stepped forward.

  “What exactly do you wish of us?” he asked Firren.

  “To continue the work that Dodger so bravely began. You know of the refugee camps beneath Atlantia. You know that in addition to innocent upland migrants, Titus would think nothing of capturing and sacrificing a Mūs.”

  Sacrifice? Hopper felt the word like a punch in the gut.

  “Yes, we know that,” Sage replied. “Which is why we instruct our citizens to remain here, behind the gray wall. Now only our scouts are allowed to venture out, to patrol or to scavenge for provisions.” His eyes clouded with regret. “And yes, a number of them have been lost to Titus.”

  “Well, if you are aware of the atrocities he is committing,” said Firren, her voice taking on a fiery tone, “then you are morally obligated to join with us in our efforts to put an end to it. To all of it! His reign of terror, his barbaric rituals . . .” Her body was quivering now with adrenaline and fervor. “My Rangers and I can’t defeat him on our own! With you as our allies we can raise a sizable and well-trained army. That is what Dodger wanted. You know this is true because he appealed to you, and I know you had, however reluctantly, begun the process of recruitment and training. But when he disappeared, you abandoned your efforts. Now the evil that Dodger so detested is worse than ever. Elder Sage, join forces with us. We must liberate the camps and destroy Titus. We must rise up against him, and we must do it now!”

  “No!”

  The Tribunal elders whirled at the sound of Hopper’s voice coming from behind the Rangers.

  “Titus is not a villain—” Hopper began, but one of Firren’s soldiers quickly clapped a paw over his mouth.

  “You have to join us!” Firren cried, her voice filled with passion. “That was Dodger’s wish.”

  “How do you know that?” Christoph demanded.

  “Because I fought side by side with him. Dodger was your trusted leader. And he understood that Titus was a monster who must be stopped. His greatest goal was to put an end to the tyranny!”

  Hopper was trembling now. Rise up against Titus and Atlantia? It was unthinkable.

  The elders again retreated to their circle and whispered among themselves. From what Hopper could see, it appeared that Temperance was nodding emphatically, but Christoph shook his head in opposition. Finally Sage turned back to the visitors.

  “I am sorry, Firren. We must think of our Mūs citizens. A rebellion against Titus and Felina would endanger us all. Especially without one so worthy as Dodger to lead us.”

  “And what if there were one as worthy as Dodger to lead? Would you agree to help us then?”

  The council members exchanged veiled glances. It seemed to Hopper that they knew something they weren’t sharing with Firren, as though they were keeping a secret.

  With a deep breath Firren motioned to the two Rangers who had been concealing Hopper. Without hesitation they stepped aside, revealing Hopper to the Tribunal.

  Sage reacted with a visible jolt. His eyes locked on Hopper’s with an expression that was a charged blend of excitement, amazement, and reverence.

  Hopper felt a jolt of his own. This was something. The sense of connection, of belonging, of purpose. But he had to fight it. His loyalty was to Zucker; according to Titus, he was the promise of Atlantia’s future. He didn’t want to feel connected to the emperor’s enemies. The other council members looked as moved by the sight of Hopper as Sage did.

  “Another one!” Temperance breathed.

  “He, too, bears the mark,” said Christoph.

  “Another one?” Firren frowned. “He, too . . . ? What do you mean?”

  But Elder Sage was walking slowly toward Hopper with his arms outstretched. When he reached Hopper, he bowed, then cupped Hopper’s face in one trembling paw.

  “You,” he whispered. “You.”

  Hopper swallowed hard.

  “It seems we have received an even greater gift than has been foretold to us,” Christoph observed.

  “It is a miracle that blesses us twice over,” agreed Temperance.

  A very baffled Hopper glanced at Firren, whose brow was knit. She seemed as confused as he was, on the verge of asking a question, when from behind the locomotive’s pile of cranks and dials there emerged a fourth robed figure.

  All eyes turned to watch this stranger approach Hopper. The hood cast a deep shadow, so no face was visible. But there was something in the stranger’s carriage that seemed eerily familiar to Hopper.

  “Well, well, well,” came a voice from inside the hood. “Look what the rat dragged in.”

  Then the hood was flung back, and Hopper felt his heart flip over in his chest.

  “Pinkie!”

  There she was. White circle, wounded ear. A near mirror image of Hopper.

  Except, of course, for the fact that she was dressed in a golden robe.

  Hopper felt a rush of brotherly joy. “Pinkie!” he cried again. “You’re alive! You’re all right! And . . . you’re a Tribunal Council member?”

  “I’m the Chosen One, you idiot,” she said in her icy way. “Although now it seems I’m half of the Chosen Two.”

  “Again with the ‘Chosen’
nonsense?” Hopper was exasperated. He turned imploringly to the members of the Tribunal. “I’m not the Chosen anything. We were five minutes away from being some snake’s breakfast when we escaped. I don’t understand what it is you think you see in us.”

  Before the Tribunal could respond, Firren grabbed Hopper’s arm and jerked him forward. “Honored members of the Mūs Tribunal Council, she’s not the Chosen One. I respectfully present to you the true Chosen One. Dodger’s son.”

  chapter seventeen

  HOPPER WAS VAGUELY AWARE of Sage explaining to Firren how Pinkie had wandered up to the gray wall weeks ago, exhausted and nearly starved to death. The presence of the white marking had so shocked the sentry on duty that he’d immediately summoned the council. They had then covertly transported Pinkie to the engine, where they nursed her back to health and argued among themselves whether or not she was the Chosen One of La Rocha’s prophecy.

  When Pinkie was well enough to speak, she told them she was from a far-off land called Petshop, which was utterly unheard of to the Tribunal. Ultimately they determined from her description of this foreign place that she had come to them from the upland. As far as they were concerned, this fact put a significant crimp in the likelihood of her being Dodger’s offspring, the one they had so long awaited. But as there was no denying the marking of white fur, they had decided to keep her hidden here in the train engine until they could determine the truth.

  Now they were beside themselves with joy over the fact that they had received a matched pair of Chosen Ones. Joy and confusion.

  As thrilled and relieved as Hopper was to have found his sister, he was finding it hard to stay focused. When Christoph called him forth to receive a golden robe of his own, Hopper didn’t even realize he’d been addressed.

  Firren gave Hopper a firm nudge in the elder’s direction, but he could barely get his paws to work.

  “Wait,” he said. “Please. I need a minute to think about this.”

  Firren gave him a curt nod, and Hopper closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts to swirl.

  Dodger’s son. He was Dodger’s son.

  Dodger. Hero of the Mūs. His father.

  And Pinkie’s father too, of course, and Pup’s.

  So what did that make Hopper? He had moments of anger, but he believed himself to be good and fair and peace-loving. And who could be sweeter and more innocent than Pup? How could he and his brother be any of those things with Dodger’s Mūs blood coursing through their veins?

  Although it certainly explained a lot about Pinkie.

  Now Christoph was slipping the elegant robe over Hopper’s head; he placed his arms into the wide sleeves and felt the sweep of the embellished fabric swish around his legs.

  Hopper’s head swam. Zucker had known his father. Known him, fought with him, and, according to Firren, betrayed him. But Hopper refused to believe that. Zucker was loyal, even if he did give his father misinformation about Firren. That was probably nothing more than a simple mistake. Firren was a liar! She was thirsty for power and would do anything to get it.

  Hopper knew the sanctity of Atlantia must be defended at all costs, and he would do everything he could to see it done.

  As Temperance stepped forward to adjust the hood around Hopper’s shoulders, Hopper made a silent vow.

  He would escape Firren. He would get back to Atlantia and warn Zucker of her infernal plot. He would tell Captain Polhemus and First Lieutenant Garfield that the Mūs were now aligned with the Rangers and that the Romanus army should mobilize at once.

  If need be, he would go directly to Titus himself and reveal Firren’s plan.

  For the first time in his life, Hopper was ready to fight.

  Pinkie had changed out of her golden robe. She was dressed like a warrior now, in britches of rough cloth, and a thickly padded leather jerkin.

  In addition, someone had given Hopper’s sister a dagger.

  To Hopper, who knew her best, that was unsettling indeed.

  It was while Firren and the Tribunal Council worked out the details of their agreement and Hopper found himself waiting alone in the shadow of the metal mountain that Pinkie turned to face him.

  A wave of brotherly affection rolled over Hopper, a connection that seemed to sing in his blood. Despite their tendency to argue, and Pinkie’s constant bullying, she was family. Now more than ever he understood the importance of that, and he couldn’t wait to tell her that Pup was not only alive but safe in the refugee camp.

  At least he had been the last time Hopper had seen him. But Firren’s raid may have changed that. A stab of fear shot through Hopper’s chest. Pup. Where was he now? Was he safe? Had the fire . . . ?

  He shook his head to dispel the thought.

  But what he couldn’t ignore was that Pinkie, with the help of this powerful and determined band of mice, was preparing to attack the camp again. Who knew what would become of poor little Pup if Firren’s next raid succeeded?

  As his sister stared at him, Hopper felt a surge of hope—maybe if he explained about Pup, he could get Pinkie to help him sabotage the rebel plan to destroy the camp.

  She was crossing the floor of the engine room now.

  His heart thudded. He would ask for her assistance, beg if he had to. They would work together as they had in that cardboard box. Oh, how long ago that seemed now! But they were still family. For better or for worse, they were the children of a mighty leader. Surely they had victory in them.

  Hopper closed his eyes and returned to the memory—the heartbeat, the proud posture, those kind and gentle eyes—it didn’t seem possible that his father would willingly endanger those helpless rodents who were the wards of Atlantia.

  But it was so.

  Again Hopper shook off the image and set his mind on the moment at hand. He would explain all about Firren’s lies and Titus’s good works to Pinkie, and she would understand. Together they would defeat the rebels and the Mūs. Or perhaps as the Chosen Ones they could make the Mūs see that there was no reason to wage war with Titus. Maybe they could persuade them to change their ways.

  Pinkie now stood directly in front of him.

  He was about to open his mouth and tell her his plan, but she narrowed her eyes and spat at his feet.

  “You’ve ruined everything,” she growled. “Again.”

  “What? No! I—”

  “Mother is gone because of you. Pup is gone because of you,” she said. “And I was the Chosen One. I was the one who would lead them. But now . . . I’ll be forced to share my leadership with a sniveling weakling! This mission is doomed already, Hopper. And it’s all your fault.”

  “You don’t understand!” His voice was desperate. “Firren is a liar. What she said about Zucker is wrong. He found Pup! The prince led me right to him, and guess what! Pup is safe and unharmed, being cared for in one of those camps!”

  Pinkie’s paw went to the handle of her dagger, and Hopper gasped.

  “Listen to me, brother. You will say nothing. The Mūs have agreed to follow Firren and attack this Atlantia you love so much. So it shall be. . . .”

  Her claws curled around the dagger’s hilt.

  Hopper gulped. She was threatening him! His own sister! What had happened to her down here? She’d always been tough. Mean, even. But deadly?

  She turned and stomped away to where Firren and her Rangers, along with the council members and several Mūs military officers, were huddled around a long, rough-hewn table; a large metal chest sat upon it.

  Grimly Hopper joined the others at the table.

  “We have agreed to join with the Rangers,” said Sage, “but before we embark on this quest, we must consult the Sacred Book. It may shed light on this quandary of having two Chosen Ones in our midst and remove any doubt as to who will lead us.” He looked from Pinkie to Hopper, then nodded to Christoph, who unlocked the metal chest. Temperance reverently lifted a sheaf of yellowed pages out of it and spread them carefully across the surface of the table.

  “These pages
have been in the possession of the Mūs for ages,” Temperance explained. “They contain not only the writings of our forefathers but also antiquated texts of unknown origins. We believe these have been delivered to us over the decades by many an anonymous hand, none of which even La Rocha can name. We have endeavored to interpret these scrolls and books and leaflets, but many remain a mystery to us.”

  Firren looked interested and impressed. She reached out and cautiously lifted a brittle page from the collection.

  Christoph took the page from Firren and turned it over.

  “Here are the prophetic words of La Rocha, transcribed soon after we lost Dodger.” He cleared his throat and read aloud:

  “. . . There shall appear One who will lead them

  Small of stature but brave of heart

  Only He can destroy what evil did start

  Innocence tempered with wisdom shall guide Him in His quest

  His bearing may be gentle, but it is courage He wears best

  A marking of white shall bear the proof

  That He alone brings purity of vision

  Exalt and hail Him!

  For He, the child of brave Dodger, shall lead our noble mission . . .”

  The engine room went perfectly silent as all eyes turned to Pinkie. But in the next moment Sage’s voice broke the silence.

  “ ‘He alone brings purity of vision,’ ” he repeated. He turned his wise face to Hopper and nodded. “This prophecy states clearly that the Chosen One shall be of the male persuasion.”

  Pinkie let out a furious snort. “That is ridiculous. Sexist and chauvinistic and just plain wrong. I have more guts and zeal in the tip of my tail than Hopper has in his whole chubby little body!”

  But Temperance shook her head. “Sage is correct. The Sacred Book proclaims it thus. ‘Exalt and hail Him.’ ”

  Hopper took the page and read it to himself. Indeed, the prophecy described the Chosen One as gentle. Pinkie was the complete opposite of gentle. But it also predicted this leader would be brave of heart.