Miraculous: Tales of the Unknown (13 page)

“
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.