After fumbling to my foot, my other still clutching the field mouse, I hop a couple of times as I pump my weary wings. I barely catch the current and let it carry me as far as a high branch upon the tree I had fallen into. My left foot clutches the limb for dear life as my right raises the trembling snack to my beak.
“Wait. Please don’t eat me!” The little grey mouse squeaks much to my astonishment. My snacks normally did not talk, Perhaps I was much more tired than I imagined I was.
“You are food. I am hungry. It makes perfect sense for me to eat you.” Is my reply as I once again lift my leg to put the mouse in my beak.
“I’m scrawny. Not much of a meal here. Surely you want something with a bit more meat.” The little mouse says. Truly I am growing even more tired, if that is even possible, while listening to this little mouse try to con me out of eating it.
“Be that as it may, I am hungry and far too tired to hunt for anything better. You will just have to do mouse.” I point out.
“Squeaks!” The mouse squeaks.
I tilt my head. “Excuse me?”
“Squeaks. My name is Squeaks.” The mouse says in what sounds like little more to me than one unintelligible word.
“So?” I ask perplexed as to why this mouse is trying to tell me its life story when all I want is to make it a midnight snack.
“Weren’t you ever taught not to kill something that has a name? I’m Squeaks.” The mouse points out the bane to all predatory creatures. I force my talons to uncurl from around the mouse’s body and sigh.
“It would have been better for me if you had not told me your name you know. Run along now.” I say as I gently push the mouse toward the trunk of the tree.
“I have nowhere to go. I was actually out looking for a place to nest for the night when you found me. What’s your name?” The mouse rambles much to my disdain.
“Does it matter what my name is?” I ask.
The mouse nods. “Yes. I’d like us to be friends.”
I look at the mouse as those a few extra heads had sprouted from its tiny shoulders. “A mouse..Friends with an owl? It is no wonder that you have no home. The other mice must think you are completely out of your mind. My name is Brown Mist.” I do not know why I tell Squeaks my name. I must be a lot more tired than I had originally thought I was, but I had and so now he knew it.
“That’s an interesting name. How did you get it?” Squeaks is the most talkative mouse I have ever met and is already grating on my nerves.
With a sigh I answer. “My Master gave it to me. He is a wizard named Merle, named for some famous wizard back in the days of Avalon.”
“If you have a Master, what are you doing all the way out here? This forest isn’t kind to anyone, I imagine it’ll be harder on someone who’s had a sheltered life.” The mouse points out.
“I will be fine and I will find Merle and then I will never have to leave my roost again.” I state matter of fact before tucking my head in my wing, ending the conversation with Squeaks, who then opts to wedge himself under my wing to sleep.
Chapter Two
Squeaks refuses to leave my side. I do not care enough to ask why he would rather travel with someone who by all means should be his enemy, then to remain with his own people. The thought, however, niggles in the recesses of my mind almost constantly in the following days.
By the fourth day of flight, I finally break my own resolve. “Why are you insisting on coming with me and not remaining with the other mice? I am certain you would be much safer back there than anywhere I will take you.”
Squeaks sighs forlornly, as though he has known I would ask this very question sooner or later. “I’m an exile.”
Even though he cannot see my face, I quirk a brow more than a little confused by his statement. “An exile?”
“Yeah. Not wanted. They threw me away like a rotten egg” Squeaks explains as if I, an owl, have no concept of what the word exile meant.
I bite my tongue against the retort that bubbles just behind my clenched beak. After letting a few moments pass for me to regain my composure, I clear my throat. “Why were you exiled?”
It is Squeaks’ turn to fall silent. It seems I have erred in broaching this topic. “I am sorry. You do not have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable Squeaks.”
“No no, it’s okay Mist, really. It’s just hard to find the words to explain.” Squeaks starts.
I chuckle a bit in spite of myself. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning?” I suggest, a smile playing on my beak.
“I was never somebody.” Squeaks begins. “I was called a rat because I’m not as refined as the other. It was the same everywhere I went. I had no friends, I didn’t know my family. I don’t know what happened to my family. My eyes were barely open when they vanished. Maybe they thought I was destined to be a loser and just ditched me. I don’t know.” He sighs sadly and I cannot help but feel sorry for the small being.
“You do not have to continue if it is too hard on you.” I offer, my voice barely a whisper and I ponder if he has even heard my words over the rush of the wind.
I hear him take a deep breath. “It’s okay. I can do this.” He assures me, but even I know this possibly the hardest thing Squeaks has ever done in his life. Probably harder even than being alone for as long as he has been.
“I met this girl. Oh she was beautiful Mist, her fur was like moonlight and soft as silk. Her name was Bantam.” His voice takes on an awed quality.
“Wait. The girl mouse was named small? Really?” I cannot help but interrupt. I mean I understand that everything is given a name. I had been named Brown Mist because I was the fastest owl in the owlery and I’m brown, so I literally look like a brown blur, or a mist when I zip by. I cannot fathom why anyone would promote the small stature of their child when naming them.
“Ya, her name was Bantam because she was the smallest, daintiest, prettiest mouse of any I’d ever seen! Anyway, the first time I saw her, I was done for. She was like poison. I had to be near her. I had to touch her!” I feel Squeaks shiver upon my back and cock my brow again.
“Go on.” I prompt when it seems he has apparently drifted off into his own thoughts.
“Anyway, we spent all our time together. It was love at first sniff. I was head over heels for her and her with me..Or so I thought. One day I woke up and she was just gone. She wasn’t in the nest or anywhere she’d normally go. She’d simply abandoned me like everyone else had. Rumors started spreading around and soon Bruno, he’s the leader of my nest, he came and said they’d found a pile of bones and some tufts of silver fur. They were sure it was Bantam. I felt my heart crumble into nothing. She was my everything and now she was gone and I’d never see her again. “Squeaks said. The sorrow in his voice causes my heart to skip a beat. We lost altitude for a moment.
My own voice wavers as I say “I am sorry Squeaks. That must have been rough on you.”
“That was just the beginning of my troubles. I had thought I’d heard all the bad there was to tell, but then Bruno said many had said they’d seen me lead Bantam out where they found the bones. They said because I was the last that saw her, that I had to be the one that killed her.” His voice breaks then. I hear it plain as day. It was as though his very soul wailed over the accusation.
My heart breaks for my tiny new friend. “But you did not kill her did you?” I ask knowingly.
“Goddess no! I’d never hurt her Mist! She was my everything. My very breath! How I’m still alive to tell this is beyond me. Bruno cast me from the nest after he accused me. He said I was a danger to everyone there. I wasn’t too torn up about it, they never liked me anyway. As I ran, I vowed I’d find a way to right this wrong. That I would find whoever killed her and ‘d make them pay.” Squeaks finishes. His voice holds an odd fire to it.
“And you will Squeaks. I promise I will help you any way I can once I find my wizard.” I swear to the mouse. The fact that he should be digesting in my stomach, a thought that has fled long ago
. This little mouse was my friend. Aside from my wizard, Squeaks was the only friend I have ever had.
Squeaks let out a small gasp. “You mean it Mist? You’ll help me?”
The excitement that buzzes and weave through his words make me chuckle as I reply. “Of course I will help Squeaks. After all it is what friends do.”
Chapter Three
A few days after my admission of friendship and vow to help, we are forced to land. I had hoped that we would be able to fly this day. We are so close to my destination that I can taste the necromancer on my tongue. It is not to be so. I will not reach the necromancer this day as thick clouds, dark as onyx cover the skies.
The storm is unnatural. I will swear as long as I breathe that the storm is designed to kill me. The lightening as it begins to crisscross the sky seems to come directly at me no matter where I fly. I maneuver rather gracefully around each pillar of electricity as it zeroes in on me. I feel as though someone has stuck a big target on my wings that only the lightening can see. I must have dodged twenty bolts of lightning before I see a bright flash of light appear before my eyes, followed by a burning sensation in my right wing. Then I am falling.
I flex my wings and flap erratically as I try in vain to regain my rhythm and composure. This action only aids my plummet to the pine needle littering ground below. I feel my body begin to spiral, hear Squeaks frantically squeak as he grips my neck feathers. Another bolt of lightning took advantage of my uncontrolled predicament and strikes me in the back. My nerves feel as though they are on fire. Stars burst before my eyes. I no longer hear Squeaks’ petrified cries, nor do I hear the whoosh of the wind as I spiral out of control. As blackness envelopes me, my last conscious thought is Let Squeaks be all right.
Chapter Four
I have no idea how long I was unconscious. I just know every fiber of my being hurt when I regain my sense of self. I slowly gather my legs under me and stand up. I stumble for a few minutes as the world spins in and out of focus before my disoriented face.
When I feel steady enough to move, I turn my head scanning for any sign of Squeaks. Completing my three hundred and sixty degree head spin, I realize my friend was nowhere to be seen.
I wince as I try to stretch my right wing out. I understand, it is broken, in more than one place as well. I l try to fold it neatly to my side, but the appendage simply hangs uselessly, the tips of my once mocha feathers, now drag along the floor in a distasteful shade of black.
Lifting my good wing, I bring it to my beak and call out. “Squeaks? Squeaks where are you?” There is no answer. Panic and fear wrap themselves around my very core as every horrible scenario runs through my head. I begin to walk, hobble really, in search of him.
Having no concept of time, I have no idea how long I wander aimlessly through the forest. I heave a sigh and take in my surroundings. This span of the forest is dead. The trees bare no fruit, nor nut, not even leaves. They almost look sinister in their barrenness. My mind races. If Squeaks is out here somewhere, he must be terrified. I note the lack of sound. The normal sounds of a forest are absent. There are no birds singing some pointless song to the sun, no sounds of scurrying squirrels, not even the sound of larger animals. It is almost as if the forest is waiting in anticipation for something to happen.
“Squeaks!” My call is frantic. I know I must find him before nightfall. While there are no animals that thrive for the sun, I am positive there are owls and other predators of the night lurking, waiting, for the moon to rise so they can hunt.
As dusk begins to claim the world, I heard pitiful squeaks. The cries sound tired and pained. I hobble closer to the sound and I swear, everything ceased to be, as my amber gaze beholds the scene in front of me. I hear my heart pound in my ears. The pounding is so fierce it feels as though my heart will tear from my very chest at any second.
The hawk is massive, possibly the biggest one I have ever seen, and pinned beneath his foot is poor Squeaks! I let my eyes scan around to see if I will have anything else to contend with. My gaze returns to the scene, then get caught in Squeaks’ frightened pools. I lift my paw to my beak signaling him to give no sign that I am here and quietly make my way behind the tawny feathered hawk.
I wince as a small twig snaps under my foot. I try to recover but have no time to as the hawk wheels on me with a malicious glint to his beady eyes.
“Well, well, well, wot ‘ave we ‘ere?” He asks in a strange accent I cannot place.
I round my shoulders, a vain attempt to show the bravado that does not exist. “Let him go hawk and I will not have to sharpen my talons on you!” I am impressed at how little my voice wavers as I speak those words.
The hawk grins and roughly uncoils his talons from around Squeaks. I watch as the small mouse bounces a few times before coming to rest, unmoving, beside a group of dead leaves and twigs.
“An’ ‘oo be you ta tell me wot ta do wit’ me lunch li’l owl?” The hawk asks as he takes slow, deliberate steps toward me.
I am strangely unfazed by this show of dominance and stand up taller. “I am Brown Mist, Familiar of the Wizard Merle. You had best leave before he comes and turns you into a worm for the crows!” I pray beyond hope that the bluff is not an obvious one.
Luck. However, was never on my side as the hawk responds. “You mean tha po’ ol’ chad wot lock’d in the dak magician’s tow’r? ‘E ain’ helpin’ no one any time soon lil’ owl. Why don’ you be a right ol’ chap an’ leave me ta my snack now.”
Anger boils under my feathers. There is no way I am going to leave Squeaks to die! My body seems to come alive and act without my brain’s knowledge. Before I am aware of what is going on, I find myself hovering in the air above the hawk. My broken wing screams in protest, but if I never flew again, the knowledge that Squeaks would live to see another day has more than compensated for that. I raise my feet and extend my toes so all my talons point out. Then I do possibly the stupidest thing any owl has ever done… I adjust my wings and speed at the hawk, claws first.
The world tumbles head over tail feathers as I lock onto the hawk, and he onto me. We roll around on the ground clawing and pecking. My inner voice calls me every name it can think of as I feel his powerful beak hit home on my body over and over. He is not unscathed by no means, my own talons clawing, scratching, and ripping with each opening he leaves open.
Suddenly, the hawk is still. I know it was nothing I had done. I am half molted, like a plucked chicken ready for the pot, covered in blood both his and my own, and I am trapped under his bulk. I draw my feet up laying them on the hawk’s gut and push up and to the left, knocking the bird off of me. That is when I see it, a small stick, skewered in the hawk’s left eye.
Squeaks scrambles out from beneath the hawk. He is breathing heavy and seems just a little dazed. “Sorry it took so long for me to help you out Mist.” He says sheepishly.
I cannot help but laugh before exhaustion and my injuries engulf me in the sweet embrace of unconsciousness once again.
Chapter Five
It takes us a few days to recuperate from the hawk incident. My wing is still not fully healed, I doubt I will ever fly properly again, but at least I can fly at all. Squeaks is as chipper as can be. I only wish he had some other mice he could tell the tale of his heroics to.
The moon rises full the night I get my first glimpse of the twisted black tower. I shiver, not from the cold, as I take in every inch of the tower locking it in my memory.
“We need a plan Mist. We can’t just go storming in there. He’s probably got traps set up everywhere.” Squeaks pointed out.
I shake my head. “He’s a necromancer. They are cocky and arrogant by nature. They do not believe anyone can best them in anything. But you are right. I do not intend to just fly in and demand Merle be released.”
This seems to satisfy Squeaks and no more was said on the matter as we draw close enough to see every minute detail. Stone gargoyles flank the corners and balconies of the tower. They make no movement, their eyes
hold a strange red glow.
I dip out of the currents and land behind a large charred tree. “We will need to split up. If I get too close to the gargoyles they will tear me to shreds.”
“They’re statues Mist. They can’t hurt you.” Squeaks states as if I have lost every ounce of sanity I have.
I shake my head. “No. Their eyes have an otherworldly light to them. They are puppets of the necromancer. I am almost certain they were once flesh and blood before the necromancer got to them.”
“Gargoyles..Alive? Mist, I may just be a simple field mouse, but I think I’d know if gargoyles had ever really existed.” Squeaks says with a small chuckle to his voice.
I sigh in exasperation. “Not as they are. Necromancers deal with the dead. They manipulate things to their will. I think each gargoyle was once many animals.”
Miraculous: Tales of the Unknown Page 10
