New Skin

[Silas Hetherton]

It was difficult for the rat to focus his eyes in the dim light, but he squinted anyway, tracing each and every angled stroke of the letter?s familiar script:

...Those small moments ? they are all we have left of Artie now. Remember how he used to nibble holes through the middle of his bread and then look through them at us and laugh? How he used to call Heidi ?Bop?? and that child?s insatiable curiosity. He wanted to figure out how to do everything ? sew, cook, plow, plant, make candles, weave, and of course read (if only Heidi had such patience). And such a tender heart! Whether it was making a flower chain to cheer up his sister or listening to old Clarkson?s long, drawn-out tales, he seemed to know intuitively when a beast needed that extra caring gesture. It helps me to remember this especially as I am surrounded by so much selfishness. Sometimes kindness is your best weapon against suspicion and apathy. It is the least expected and most powerful response we can offer in the face of adversity.
Remember with me, my love, and his heart will see us through all of this.

Forever and always,
Jubilee

Silas refolded the worn parchment with trembling paws and concealed it once more inside a dust-filled crevice. Kindness. If only his son?s kindness had been enough. Silas felt a lump rise in his chest, threatening to choke him. He leaned against the hard rock wall and took several long, slow breaths. Here, kindness meant providing a swift and merciful death to one?s fellow prisoners, if Trainer Hapley?s words bore any merit.

The rat looked down the Drag, willing his vision to clear. Beasts of various species and builds came into focus, scratching, stretching, and pacing. All were fighters here. Even the one called Coward. Nearby, the tall rat, Hracken, leaned against the wall with confidence and ease, as though he belonged. Darby sat and played some sort of competitive chalk game with the mouse, Burl, laughing as he scratched a new line across the floor. On the other side of the divide, the ?cowardly? stoat, Komi, and the shrewd otterwife, Minerva, washed their faces, readying themselves for another hard day of training while a lean vixen snapped peevishly at a battle-scarred haremaid running through her own set of boxing exercises. Then Silas?s eyes rose up to the ceiling where the bat, Kali, hung like a gigantic mud-brown chrysalis. One wide, orange eye peeked out at him, blinking.

Well. Not all were fighters.

Silas sighed, gazing up at the flying fox, mouth pulling into a frown until she hid her face once more. Such an absurd, hair-brained creature. She wouldn?t last, he knew. Not long. Yet he would not take pleasure in seeing her die. It would be like watching the butchery of a child. A selfish child, true, but no less innocent. She reminded him a little of his bold, raucous daughter with her indominable, head-first demeanor. His thoughts grew distant and his eyes unfocused. 

He watched Heidi tearing through the fields of barley, laughing as he gave chase, her infectious joy transforming aggravation to warmth. He snatched her up, giggling and swinging her upside-down.

?Gotcha, you little imp! You heard your mother ? it?s to the tub with you!?

?No nooooooo! Don? wanna baaaaath!?

He tickled her, making her squeak and squeal in his arms.

The rat jumped as the portcullis lifted with a jolt, chains clanking.

Those who had been resting rose quickly to their feet, unwilling to give Hargorn an excuse to kick them, but the familiar whine of the outer gate and telltale tap shuffle tap of Hargorn?s footfalls never came. Silas looked at Hracken, then at Minerva and Komi who stepped through to gain a better view of the entryway.

?Don?t they usually let us out by now?? A sleepy Aldridge asked the question that was tickling all their minds.

?Something?s wrong,? Hracken propped his paws at his sides, then strode confidently through the scattered slaves and beds to the end of the long prison. Silas followed, keeping back a few paces. Surely they would respect ?The Kracken.?

?What seems to be the hold up, lads?? The tall rat leaned casually against the gate, addressing the ferret and fox guards who stood silently on the other side.

?Never you mind, rat,? the fox sneered. ?Gate opens when it opens.?

Hracken stepped back, lifting his paws in surrender and shrugged. ?Well, if you don?t know, you could just say you don?t know.? He snorted a short laugh and turned, heading back up the Drag when the ferret guard took the bait.

?Who says we don?t know nothin?? Crater?s on lockdown.?

The fox growled at his companion. ?Shut your gob, Stubs!?

?Lockdown for what?? Hracken challenged, crossing his arms.

The ferret looked from the rat to the fox and back to the rat. ?Somebeast vandalized the Hall o? Greats. Painted a big ?FTN? ?cross the?owww!?

The fox guard stomped the ferret?s foot. ?Shut it, you idjit!?

?What? ?E?ll find out eventually. They?ll all find out.? Stubs cradled his footpaw resentfully.

Silas waited halfway between the gate and the portcullis. Hracken gave him a nod, but kept walking until he was surrounded by the rest of the slaves milling down the center of the drag.

?Nire has put everything on lockdown after someone defaced the Hall of the Greats. So now we all get to sit on our laurels and wait.?

Muttering and grumbling ensued while Silas silently pondered the initials mentioned by Stubs. Someone touched his arm and he looked up at the familiar face of Darby.

?I don?t know about you, Silas, but I don?t think any of us will be happy sitting on our rudders for hours when we could be training.?

?With what? Blanket rolls? We don?t even have spoons in here.?

?Paw-to-paw fighting!? Darby started hopping around, fists raised playfully. Silas envied the young otter?s energy level. He had to work hard to stay in shape and keep his edge. Yet he was determined to keep up with the other gladiator. He had to.

Memories of getting into fights as a lad came back to him now as he raised his fists and checked his stance. Echoes of ?Heatherton?s a horde rat! Dumber than a door mat!? returned and the rat smiled at the childish taunt. If only wounded pride were his worst obstacle now. Other slaves made room as the two beasts began circling each other and throwing test punches. The otter had a definite advantage with height, keeping his torso just out of reach while his fists brushed Silas?s head fur. Silas smiled again as he dodged another swing and came up under Darby?s chin, pulling his punch at the last moment to merely clack the otter?s teeth together.

?Ah! Fair play! Let?s go again!? They boxed several more times with Silas ducking in with a surprise punch each time.

?How?d you learn to do that?? Darby asked when they broke for a drink.

?My father taught me some tricks to use against bullies when I was a pup. He was a mouse, so most beasts were bigger than him even as an adult.? Silas took a swig of cool water, then handed Darby the ladle.

?Your dad was a mouse?? Darby cocked his head to one side, accepting the drink.

?More or less. Adopted, of course. He taught me what it meant to be a father. What it meant to be a family.? Silas?s whiskers twitched and he looked down, an invisible weight returning to his shoulders.

Darby gave him a pat. ?I know how you feel. I have pups myself. Barely half a season ? a boy and a girl. I don?t suppose I?ll ever see them again.? The boisterous otter looked suddenly somber, and much older. ?It?s unlikely any of us will make it out, I suppose. But there are sympathetic beasts on the outside, I?ve heard, who are willing to help. Another rat once told me about the Family Trust Network. He asked me to pass on a message if he didn?t? make it, and, well? he didn?t make it.?

Silas could not stop the memory resurfacing of the monitor lizard cleaving the rat in two.

?How do they help??

Darby sighed and shrugged. ?They track down your family. Pass on messages. I?ve written my own, in fact. Burl?s been keeping it in a safe place.?

?Family Trust Network,? Silas repeated. Maybe they weren?t as alone and forgotten as he?d thought.


*********************************************

Around noon the gate finally opened. Silas started for the training grounds, but was quickly accosted by a grinning ferret who began babbling excitedly about vambraces, gussets and scales.

?Come! Come! You must try it on at once! I hope you will be as pleased as I am with the outcome!?

Silas finally recognized the tailor, Jiblet.

?Where?? The words had barely left his mouth when the ferret yanked him down an adjacent tunnel toward the area reserved for craftsbeasts.

?This way!? Jiblet exulted, practically dragging the rat along. They reached the tailor?s workshop which smelled strongly of ferret musk and death. ?Ever since the hide came back I?ve been working almost non-stop!?

?Hide?? Silas asked with a note of apprehension.

?Ta-daaaa!? Jiblet whisked away a sheet, revealing a Silas-sized mannequin clothed in armored layers of sand-colored snake skin.

?Is that...??

?The snake you defeated in your last match? Yes! Isn?t it brilliant! And there?s your sigil!? He pointed at the image emblazoned across the front which depicted two crossed sickle swords entwined by a snake?s body, head separated between the blades.

Silas?s mouth hung open, at a loss for words. ?Ahh. Uh...?

?Try it on! Go on! I?ll help!? The ferret began to remove Silas?s tunic and then his boots. Once the ferret started tugging at the belt around his breeches, however, Silas stopped him.

?If you don?t mind, Jiblet, I would like to do this part myself.?

The ferret laughed. ?Oh, of course. Sorry! There?s a screen over there in the corner. I?ll hand you the underlayer ? it?s just cotton. But I might help you to fit into the rest.?

Silas?s true concern was the viper fang he?d wrapped against the inside of one bandaged leg. He contemplated the hidden object. He would never be able to access the fang if he covered it up with the form-fitting undergarment. He might nip a hole, but he would have to do that later when Jiblet was not obsessing over every inch and detail. With resignation, Silas stretched the stocking-like breeches over the secret weapon.

Jiblet showed the rat how to buckle each piece of scaly armor and in what order until he was completely decked out in the sand-colored skin of his former foe. Silas shivered slightly when presented with a looking glass, but forced a smile.

?Looks great. Thank you.? He cleared his throat and ran a claw self-consciously around the inside of his collar, trapped once again in the snake?s tight embrace. ?But it?s just for the arena, right? I mean, I?m not going to be wearing it every day, am I?? At the hurt look on Jiblet?s face, he added, ?I wouldn?t want it to get damaged...?

The ferret brightened. ?Oh no, don?t you worry about that. It?s meant to weather the wear and tear of regular use. You wouldn?t want to fight in something you?re not used to, after all. And don?t you worry about damage. I can fix anything ? and I will fix it to be stronger too!?

?It?ll make me really... stand out.? Silas dreaded the looks of the other slaves when he reappeared in this getup.

?You bet!? Jiblet crowed. ?Beasts will notice when the Reaper walks in the room!?

?Wonderful.? Silas thought bitterly.

?Speaking of which, I hear you haven?t taken Mr. Timberfell up on his offer of a drink yet??

?Not much of a chance, I?m afraid. I try to train every moment I?m able.? Silas removed the helmet and studied the sand-colored scaling.

?Well let?s go then! No better time than today to celebrate!?

Silas reluctantly followed the proud tailor through the tunnels and halls, wincing every time Jiblet flagged down another beast to show him off to. Eventually they reached the Crater Lake Tavern, where a crowd offered a round of applause the moment he stepped through the door. The rat had never felt so awkward. They were hailing a character more than anything ? one piece in a gory game of strategy and luck. Mostly luck, in his case. The tavern was populated largely by volunteers and staff, with the occasional glimpse of a metal collar.

Jiblet smacked a paw against the bar addressing the bartender. ?Plockette, my fine fellow! Pour my friend the Reaper here a drink!? He leaned in, adding, ?I believe his sponsor, Mr. Blasio Timberfell, left a note to accept charges??

?Aye, the Reaper gets a bottle on the beaver. Congratulations.?

A hollow, steady clapping resonated from a nearby table where a vole sat before a tankard the size of his head. ?Congratulations indeed... on being the new battle buddy for the arena?s biggest codpiece. Quite an accomplishment when he has nothing to fill it with but blubber.? The vole took a long swig, smacking his lips with a satisfied ?Ah!? before launching into further insults. ?Bet it makes you feel extra special and snuggly warm with that bulky bloke tucking you in at night, eh? So many privileges you must enjoy now, being Blasio?s pet. Extra gravy on your eggs? A personalized aspen-carved set of friendship beads? Some slaptail in the closet?? The vole waggled his eyebrows at the rat.

Silas bristled, but found himself oddly constricted. He could not admit he hated Blasio. Not here. Not now. Maintaining the beaver?s favor would enable him to get close. Close enough to sink that fang deep into his greasy gut. Silas?s paws clenched into fists.

Jiblet glanced quickly at Silas before shooting the vole a stern glare. ?Hey now, that?s just plain rude!?

?Plain rude? That?s unfortunate. I was actually going for excoriatingly rude or penetratingly rude. I?ll have to remedy that immediately.? The vole lifted his tankard at Silas once more. ?I wish you two the most intimate of relations. May you be the squeak he feels compelled to oil. May your performance in the arena match your performance in private. May your love grow and bloom like swamp algae...?

?Enough.? Silas stood, slamming the bottle against the counter so hard it cracked. Red wine spurted out and spread in a slow puddle across the counter.

The vole laughed. ?Oh, touched a nerve, did I, Reaper? Eager to keep your illicit sewing a secret??

Silas lunged, but a large, dark paw reached out, seizing his fist. ?Whoa, easy there, spitfire.?

The rat turned on the new beast, freezing in astonishment.

?Speaky here has a tongue not many are immune to, and I can assure you, you are not the only one who would like to see him suffer.?

Blasio Timberfell loomed over Silas, holding his arm in a forceful, but gentle grip.

?Save it for the arena, though. Starting a fight in a public place like this will only bring you harm, even if you win.?

Silas twitched, staring up at the face he had only ever seen from a distance or in paintings. The face that had haunted his every dream and vision for the last two seasons.

Blasio whistled through his thick, orange teeth and a pair of guards swooped in, escorting the protesting vole out of the tavern. He then dropped the rat?s paw and looked him up and down with satisfaction.

?Good work, Jibs. I knew I could trust you to get it right.? The ferret at the bar grinned broadly, puffing out his chest.

The viper fang pressed against Silas?s leg, so close, yet out of reach beneath a thick-skinned greave. Silas?s eyes flitted to the bar, searching for the glass bottle, a knife, a cork screw ? anything that might work as a weapon. But the bartop was clear as the bartender mopped up the spill.

Blasio gave Silas one last pat on the shoulder. ?I?m counting on you, Reaper. Do me proud.? He signaled the bar tender. ?Give him a new drink, would you, Plock?? He winked at the seething rat. ?Something to mellow him out.?

He ruffled Silas?s headfur and the rat had to consciously stop himself from sinking his teeth into the thick paw.

?Save it for the arena,? Blasio repeated, and walked out.