It Is Said (Mathias Bootmaker and the Keepers of the Sandbox) (17 page)

They visited often. They brought their exiled infant food and supplies and every year at the time of his birth, a gift. They told him stories, played silent games and taught him everything they knew.
 

Well almost everything.

Their visits were always short. They stayed longer when they could.
 
It was all quite civil for the first few years, even a little longer than that. Then the child began to talk and ask questions.
 

At first, Mouse began to imitate the sounds of the forest and the creatures in it. Occasionally, his parents would find small piles of berries and nuts at their sleeping child’s side and animals nearby watching their every move.
 

Then the young Mouse began to imitate the sounds of his parent’s voices. He began to repeat their words to him and to each other.
 
Whether they came separately or together, they always spoke to him in calm reassuring tones. They spoke to each other in whispered calm and reassuring tones.

He began to think that they sounded frightened of being caught in the forest. Frightened of something they called the Fetcher. Frightened it was going to find them.

Mouse was confused, so he asked, “Why are you afraid?”

They never really answered him.

It was shortly after that when the sadness overtook his parents.
 
They came less and less, and on their last visit, they barely spoke at all. They came together and brought a great deal of food and supplies, but no gift. Mother knelt before him and spoke the last words Mouse felt he would ever hear her say.

“There is no need to fear the void up above,” she said in a soothing tone. “We believe it is where all questions and answers come from. It is neither good, nor bad. There is no need to fear the void around you. Learn from it. Make it your friend.”

She put her hands on his shoulders and drew him close to her. Mouse couldn’t really see her face, but even in this very dark place, he could see the sparkle in her eyes.

“Your father and I are doing what we think is best. We love you. Please forgive us.”

Mother never said another word as she kissed him on the forehead.
 
She cried quietly as she walked away. She never stopped crying after that. Father knelt before him and spoke the last words Mouse felt he would ever hear him say.
 

“Never go to the village, they will betray you,” he said in a stern but caring tone. “Never go to the castle, the thing we all fear most lives there. Always hide. Always run.”

It was on what Mouse believed to be the tenth year since his birth that his parents left him alone in the woods. There would be no more visits. There would be no more gifts. Then the mist came, and with it the fog, and the first tears.

There were many tears after that, but Mouse didn’t always cry.

He spent most of his time hiding and running in the forest. Practicing. Quietly. Silently. He would devise clever plans for hiding using the natural places all around him. He would run as fast as he could through the natural obstacle course all around him. But he never strayed too far from the clearing. He would stop where the sounds of the animals stopped.

That circle was getting smaller and smaller. Like a trap snapping shut very slowly.

Mouse was asleep at the exact time he turned eleven. He was having a dream. The forest was brilliant with light. Butterflies and birds filled the air around him. A great golden bird flew high above and a woman stood in the forest.

She was tall. Splendid. Her hair was long and black. Her green dress stretched to the horizon. The golden bird cried out as it landed on the top of her staff and the animals all followed her as she walked away.

Before she vanished, the woman turned and smiled at Mouse.

Mouse knew before his eyes had even finished opening that the woman and all the animals had left him alone in the woods.
 
Mouse called for days but they never came. It was not sadness that overtook them. It was fear. The Fetcher was finished in the village and had come to the woods. The woman in green had come to save the animals.

Mouse wondered if anyone was coming to save him.

He survived by using what he learned from the animals, so he never starved. He was never snatched because he always remembered what his father had told him.
 
The Fetcher would search and Mouse would hide. The Fetcher would chase and Mouse would run.

It was all quite civil for almost a year, even a little longer than that. Then Mouse turned twelve and the voices in the forest came to him. They came out of the fog, through the trees and up from under the rocks. Anguished voices searched the woods.

They shouted.

We are all trapped. Trapped in the castle.

They whispered.

We are all imprisoned. Imprisoned in the Academy Darke.

Mouse could not fight both the Fetcher and the sadness in the forest. Not like this.

He found a place to hide in the crook of a tree and there he pondered. He covered his ears to mask the voices while he thought. He closed his eyes to the darkness around him in order to find the darkness in his own mind.

His mother had told him there were answers in all that nothingness. He was trying to think of the proper question to ask when he began to see his mother’s eyes in his mind. He remembered the sparkle.

He remembered she told him not to be afraid.

Mouse turned thirteen when he decided enough was enough. It was time to go to the castle. In the hope that his parents would someday return for him, he left a note where they first left him.

 
Dearest Mother and Father,

I hear voices in the forest where you have hidden me and I can no longer abide them. The madness must be stopped and the sadness must be faced. I will travel to the castle to defeat the Fetcher and free the voices. If I am successful, I will return to this spot and wait for you. If I am not, know that I love you and I forgive you.

 
Your Son

Not long after that Mouse arrived at the doors of the Academy Darke and knocked. He boldly came out of the woods. He walked across the bridge whistling a joyful, yet melancholy little tune.

He walked past the buildings and structures of the long ago abandoned Exchange. He made sure to make his presence known every step of the way. He walked up the set of stone steps to the big wooden doors, and then he knocked.

There was no answer to his first attempt so he knocked again. The response he got was not what he expected.

At first there was nothing but the sound of the wind circling the castle and the waves gently washing up against the shoreline. Then there was a series of powerful and violent explosions. Three in a row. One immediately behind the other as the land bridge, and all the other buildings and structures slid down the rock tower and into the sea, leaving him standing on a small ledge of steps with the big wooden doors to his back.

 
Mouse stood quite still as rubble rained down everywhere. He stood there resolutely, as he heard the massive chunks of debris crash to the water below. Then he waited a little longer until there was nothing but the sound of the wind and the waves.

Then he knocked again.

From behind the imposing doors, he heard the slide of a large metal bolt. When the doors opened, he laid his eyes directly on the thing everyone feared most.

The Fetcher was standing in the center of the entrance chamber to the Academy Darke. He raised his gloved hand and beckoned the young man to join him. Mouse stepped through the doorway and towards the cunning cat, to his shrewd mouse. Then he stopped, turned and closed the doors to the Darke, imprisoning himself as he slid the bolt home.

Hundreds of candles lit the room. The chamber was a vast and open space with vaulted ceilings. Mouse recognized the floor beneath his feet. It was in the pattern of a gaming board. Black and white squares opposed themselves in the distinctive scheme that is always the foundation of conflict and strategy.

There were two players on the board and each waited to see who would move first.

The Fetcher pointed to a small table next to him. On it was an open book. Next to the book was an ink bottle. A quill pen lay between them. With a gesture of the Fetchers hand, the quill pen lifted into the air and dipped itself into the ink bottle. It then moved towards the open pages of the book. It stopped there.

Mouse stepped towards his first assignment in the Darke. He took the pen in hand and signed his name in the book. His was the last. He dropped the pen onto the page and turned to face the Fetcher again. He stood in profile to the boy and did not move a muscle or make a sound.

Without turning away from the Fetcher, Mouse picked up the ink bottle and slowly spilled its contents onto the floor.

“There’ll be no others coming,” he said as the last of the ink dripped to the floor.

The hooded caped figure remained still and silent. Mouse dropped the bottle and the Fetcher let it shatter on the floor. As it did, the light went out of the room. As the void settled around them, Mouse could hear the cat beginning to laugh.

The Fetcher knew the legend of the boy called Mouse, he was after all, a significant player in it. The Fetcher knew a great many things. It was quite possible, he thought, that he knew everything there was to know. He knew he was tired of knowing.

He knew he was tired of this place and all the pathetic people in it. He knew it was just a matter of time now and then he would be able to destroy the creature that created and enslaved him.

But he was growing tired of waiting.

When Mouse first arrived at the academy, the Fetcher allowed him to enroll like every other child. He put him in with the general student population. He knew there would be trouble and that Oracle would create a circular corridor of cells to house a handful of special troublemakers. Fourteen of them to be precise.

One hundred cells had been created.

The Fetcher knew from the beginning that there were eighty-six too many.

As the Fetcher escorted the boy down the torch lit corridor of cells for the second time since his arrival, he was surprised by his thoughts. He had grown to respect this boy.

The first time he was made a prisoner, it was over a minor thing. He had imagined the taste of branchberries. When he appeared, the boy admitted it and stood his ground. The Fetcher respected his bravery and appreciated the fact that on both occasions the boy did not have to be dragged away, or tied up for kicking, or gagged for screaming.

He never told the head monster about the boy’s first imprisonment. It had to be done to set things in motion. He never told him the boy had been wandering free for a very long time. The creature in charge didn’t care about the details. The creature didn’t know that this boy, and the pretty little blonde girl that became his friend in the Darke, would become keys to his downfall.

The creature didn’t know as much as it thought it did. The Fetcher enjoyed keeping It ignorant.

This was all part of the Fetcher’s plan. But the Fetcher knew that it wasn’t really his plan at all. This was all a series of events that were unfolding and everyone had their part to play.

The Fetcher’s role was to rule while Oracle reigned and to make sure that nothing stopped the inevitable conclusion, the end of this world and the death of Oracle Darke.

So Mouse had for the first time, once again, been sentenced to become a prisoner of one, destined to spend the rest of his time in the Darke alone in a small cell with no other contact until he has learned his lesson, submitted to the reality of his situation and abandoned all hope of ever using his imagination again.