17The Calling
A.N. Hello! I've had this story for quite awhile, and decided to start posting it in case anyone is interested in the continuation of The Searcher. This story won't make sense unless you read The Searcher first, which is my take on the origins of the war and my original characters. Occasionally, I'll use a quote from a song as a part of the narrative. The one in the prologue is from This Time Around by Hanson. Enjoy!
Prologue
It's getting colder in this ditch where I lie
A chilling wind whistled through the chinks in the stone wall, striking the emaciated youth straight to the bone. The young martian mouse was so used to it that he barely noticed his own shivering. The ragged strips of clothing that covered him did little to fend off the cold. His fingers scraped at the hard packed floor upon which he lay, and his body tensed as he coughed deep, wracking coughs.
I'm feeling older, and I'm wondering why
His eyes, which had long ago begun to blur, stared unfocused at the dark ceiling above him. His body convulsed as he coughed. A clot of liquid choked him, and, rolling over, he managed to spit the drops from his mouth where they landed bright red against the dark ground. He fell limply back so that he was flat on the ground and gasped for air. He was barely eighteen but he felt like he was eighty. The mere act of standing and lunging, a rash decision that caused him to wince when he remembered it, had taken its toll on him.
I heard they told her it was tell and live or die
Tears burned at the martian's eyes and he closed them, gritting his teeth. Oh, Ember…the only thing in his life that kept him going…kept him sane.
I didn't know her but I know why she lied
His fingers groped in the dirt until they rested over a thin, long piece of twine. He closed his fingers over it, holding the metal peace emblem that hung from the twine. It had broken off from her neck after they ripped her away…it was all that was left. Why didn't you just tell them the truth?
But he knew why. He only knew her for a short time, but he knew why she would never betray her people. She was as true as gold. Was he? Had they managed to break him?
I didn't know her…
Heavy footsteps echoed down the cold, narrow corridor. His insides jerked and he held his breath.
But I know why…
The sound of footsteps stopped and he managed to turn his head. He squinted into the dimness, trying to make out the large shape on the other side of the bars. He couldn't see the details but he didn't need details to tell him who was looming over him. A heavy stench that overpowered even the filth in his cell and on his fur filtered into his nostrils.
"Hey, is this the one?"
"Yeah, that's him. I don't think he's quite as docile as we thought.
"Easy to remedy."
…she died.
He closed his eyes.
Pain shot through his body as a boot drove into his ribs. His eyes flew open and his strangled cry echoed in his cell. He rolled to his side, clutching his ribs, only to be jerked onto his knees by his long, tangled hair. His scalp burned but he gritted his teeth, struggling not to cry out again.
"I hear you tried to attack one of our guards," a voice boomed close to his face. The mouse couldn't help but cough and was struck with such a force that he jerked to the side and would have fallen if the Plutarkian wasn't gripping onto his hair.
"Here we are removing garbage from your cell, and you have the nerve to try and attack one of us. Did you think you would actually win?" The fish laughed and flung the mouse against the wall. He gasped, the wind knocked out of him. "Look at you," the voice continued mockingly. "Nothing but a pile of bones. You can't even stand up straight. You wouldn't win against a Martian squirrel. I hope you learned your lesson…but in case you didn't…"
The mouse swallowed hard and cringed as the thick, scaly hand cupped his face and pulled his head forward. A cold band encircled his neck, and he heard the sounds of metal against metal. He sensed that the Plutarkian stepped back and began to slump sideways to the ground, weak from the beating. He gasped and choked as the short chain that attached the band around his neck to the wall pulled taut, pressing the metal against his windpipe. He scrambled back into sitting position, his shaking fingers touching the metal. Mocking laughter, coming from several Plutarkians, fell on his ears.
"Not too comfortable are we?" the fish smirked, shoving the mouse with his boot. "It seems that you've been getting too at ease in your humble cell. A few weeks like this should wise you up. I hear that it's quite difficult to reach your food that way too...if you can reach it at all." Harsh laughter rang out again, but he kept still, hoping they would think he was unconscious. Just as he thought they were about to leave, he felt the smelly presence close to his face again.
"Before we leave, mousey, would you like to hear what we did to your little friend before we killed her?" The mouse drew in his breath sharply, and tried to raise his hands to his ears, but the Plutarkian's hands clamped down on his wrists, holding them still. Leaning forward he whispered words that caused him more pain than any physical punishment; words that, if he lived, would be forever branded on his mind. Finally, the Plutarkian straightened, and harsh laughter rang again before the cell door clanged shut and his tormentors strode clumsily away.
The mouse shifted his weight, trying to find a position that didn't hurt. He leaned his head back against the stone wall, tears trickling from his eyes and through his matted fur. Ember, oh Ember…the pain would last forever. The mouse took a few ragged breaths and instinctively began to build a wall around his mind, attempting to banish the horrifying images that the Plutarkian's cruel words created. He closed his eyes tighter and let his mind reach back into his past as it conjured up better times along with the faces of people who had been so dear, that were once so vivid. Faces floated in his mind's eye but they were vague and remote, from a joy filled life that was no longer his. His loved ones had probably joined the dead long ago. The realization brought him back to the present with a jolt, with an amplified awareness of the hopeless, broken state he was in now.
He couldn't move to see the moonlight that filtered in through a narrow crack near the ceiling, but he knew that it was there. A low sound rumbled in the distance, but he wasn't sure if it was an approaching storm or the sounds of battle. He drew a deep, rattling breath and closed his eyes again, begging for sleep.
Help me. Take me out of here. Usually, he let that plea run through his mind every night, and it was always directed toward his friends, as if willing them to come to free him. But he knew his time was up. No one would come.
This time, he directed the plea to his Maker.
Help me. Take me out of here. Let me die.
Vinnie opened his eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling. He sat up and groggily rubbed his hand over his face. As he did so, a hard object rolled over his face, and he jumped, gazing blankly at his hands. The white mouse sighed when he realized he had been clutching a certain stone pendant in his sleep, and leaned over to drop it safely in the metal box that was sitting close by. Straightening, he squinted at the clock, and when he saw that it was far too early to even consider getting up without getting a beating from his sleeping bros, he fell back on his cot.
Though it was the middle of the night, Vinnie went quickly from a bleary-eyed state to alertness. He blinked at the ceiling for awhile, waiting as fragments of the dream that had awoken him floated back into his mind's eye. When he began to fully recall it, he shifted restlessly, pushing it from his mind.
The effects of Karbunkle's mind trick had mostly ebbed as the chemicals left his body, but the damage had been done. Names and faces that he had long stifled had been brought to the surface, and had remained. A quiet moment, a lull in the conversation, a dream could bring a sudden rush of memories that flitted through his mind with startling suddenness and clarity.
That in itself was disquieting for a mouse who liked to keep his mind firmly in the present. The dreams—and nightmares-were another matter entirely. His nights had been flooded with dreams that were startlingly real. Often they were memories, but occasionally they involved friends he knew but in situations that were unfamiliar to him. Trips across the sands of Mars, fighting of raids on a base, moving from hideout to hideout, laughing over rations, screaming over bodies, all were a litany of glimpses into his lost friends' lives, as if glancing through a window. He described these dreams to his bros until Throttle began looking worried and started researching the effect of mind manipulating chemicals on martians.
He had stopped telling them.
That didn't mean the dreams went away. The face from tonight's dream swam into view and Vinnie squeezed his eyes shut, banishing the vision.
"Aw, he's too young to be in the war," Vinnie muttered, turning to his side. "It's just a stupid dream. Doesn't mean a thing. Too many hot dogs or something."
"Vinnie, shut up," Throttle mumbled from his cot. Vinnie sighed and settled back against his pillow. He lifted the purple pendant and studied the facets against the weak light of the moon, and then abruptly shoved it under his pillow. He shut his eyes, pushing the memories back to where they belonged. He couldn't get through each day by living in the past. That hadn't worked before, and it wouldn't work now.
He took a deep breath and tried to think of something boring to lull him to sleep. It worked quickly, for there were lots of things that the energetic mouse found boring.
When he woke up the next morning, he characteristically launched himself into a new day, and the dream was forgotten.
