"Heroes of Rodentia, Unite!" by Amy ´Insom´ Downum

                                          Heroes of Rodentia, Unite!

   Weasel stood upon the altar, head held high and white robes billowing around his knees in a high wind.

   “Your mission, grave peril it contains,” Muskrat recited, reading from a parchment scroll, “is to find the all-important Stone of No Importance and return it to the Church before the time of noon two weeks hence.”

   Muskrat peered at Weasel with beady eyes. “Do you accept, fearless knight of the Church?”

   Weasel bowed his head in an ostentatious display, sweeping plumed hat low. The wind caught his robes and threw them over his head. Cursing, Weasel forced them back down to cover the proper parts.

   Muskrat looked less than amused. “Then take with you this sword, a fine piece of steel that accompanied Sir Duck on his noble quest for cheaper pudding bowls. And take with you also this sock. May it be a weapon of great defense in your time of gravest need.”

   He presented the varmint knight with an old sock and a battered sword. Weasel regarded them with narrowed eyes. He bowed low, sheathing the old sword and placing the patched sock in his hip pack.

   “Fair travels, my son,” Muskrat granted, placing his palm to Weasel’s forehead in blessing.

   “Fear not, Muskrat, for I shall return before my time expires, in fist clutched the stone you so desire!” Weasel declared, standing tall and proud once more.

   With much ado he set forth on foot into the wild, armed with nothing more than a piece of steel and an old sock. The brave lad.

   Platypus dove head first into the trashcan. With much squealing and screaming she managed to wrest from the heinous pile of waste a half eaten apple core. She held her prize high, examining the supple curves and jagged edges by light of the afternoon sun.

   “Oh, fair apple!” she cried, pulling it snugly to her breast. “Long have I waited for this day when we shall be united as one!”

   With a flick of her wrist and a snap of her bill, the apple was no more. Satisfied, Platypus moved on, searching random piles of trash for her next course, such was the curse of the poor.

   When at last she had exhausted her food supply the plucky mammal found herself adrift in the forest beyond the slums, following a well-worn path through the trees. She began to hum, skipping as her gut swayed to and fro.

   All at once she found herself flat on her back, minute, webbed hands and feet waving frantically as she fought to right herself.

   “Terribly sorry!” Weasel apologized profusely, stooping to haul the plump creature to her feet.

   “Indeed!” Platypus chirped indignantly, dusting herself off. “Where were you going in such a hurry that you failed to notice me?”

   Weasel fixed Platypus with a narrowed stare. It had been, she, after all, who had rounded the bend at such velocity so as to knock him over, but he mustn’t be rude to a lady, and this was his opportunity to brag about his Church-appointed task.

   “I, fair lady, am off on an adventure of grand design, a task appointed to me by the Clergy and therefore an honour-worthy undertaking, filled with dangers unmatched by any this realm-“

   “I want to go!” Platypus shrieked, launching herself onto Weasel and refusing to release him even after Weasel threatened to behead her with his majestic sword.

   “Nay, fair lady!” he cried dramatically, twisting violently in her grip. “Tis too dangerous for a maiden such as your self to accompany me. Though I am a fearless and valiant knight worthy of high praise, I cannot protect you form such foul beasts as I am sure to encounter!”

   Platypus was undaunted. “O, great knight!” she pleaded, clinging to his robes like a bad bought of influenza, “Allow my presence in your honourable vicinity. I long for adventure, and surely you are a brave enough knight to protect me?”

   These words swelled Weasel’s ego like a balloon. He threw out his chest, eyes shining with praise.

   “Very well, fair lady,” he said, hands placed jauntily on his hips, plumed hat cocked low over one little eye. “You shall be my squire! But be warned, in time of battle you will not be spared!”

   “Then I shall die,” Platypus exclaimed, draping a hand over her eyes in sorrow. “But at least it shall be a worthy death!”

   “Indeed,” Weasel said. “But you shall have to carry your own weight!”

   And so they set off, Weasel and Platypus, two of the most unlikely heroes in the kingdom of Rodentia, off on a quest of epic proportions, a tale worthy of the halls of kings.

   The late afternoon sun waned over the mountains. “I’m tired!” Platypus whined, staggering along behind Weasel, who, despite his rigid appearance, was fatigued himself.

   “We cannot stop!” he panted, forcing himself higher up the mountain. Already the forest in which he had met Platypus had shrunk to a pinprick of green at the base of mount Sniffnsnort.

   “But my burden is far too heavy! My back aches as never before!” Platypus called ahead, sinking to her knees in agony.

   “I told you you’d have to carry your weight!” Weasel said angrily, retracing his steps down the mountain and hoisting Platypus to her tiny paddle feet.

   “Surely we can stop here, sir knight?” the aquatic mammal implored, tone a whine in the crisp mountain air.

   “Nay!” Weasel cried in anguish. “To the summit of mount Sniffnsnort we must climb! To seek the mighty sorcerer and his magical talents!”

   “Surely you jest!” Platypus wailed, sinking onto a rock. “We cannot possibly scale the mountain before night falls!”

   “We can, and we will,” Weasel insisted, hauling the fat Platypus to her feet once more. They began to toil once more, ever upwards at an alarming incline of steep rock and loose footing.

   “I shall surely perish,” Platypus protested, dragging her rear end up the mountain after Weasel’s backside. “If not at the claws of the elements then surely of lack of food! A whole two hours since my last meal! O, woe is me!”

   By the time the sun had skewered its self in the mountain spires Weasel and Platypus had reached the maw of an enormous cave. They sat for a moment and rested their weary limbs.

   “Who is this sorcerer of extraordinary talent whom we seek?” Platypus inquired, rubbing her duck feet tenderly.

   “Only the greatest, most powerful wizard of all ages!” Weasel proclaimed grandly. “None other than Bartholus the Terribly Incompetent!”

   Platypus gasped in awe and slid to the ground, gazing at Weasel with wide brown eyes. “Surely not!” she gaped. Before her Weasel bowed his plumed head.

   “Aye! Come, we shall seek him now, so that you may behold his wonder!” Weasel strode into the mouth of the cave and vanished. Platypus scrambled after him, jaw agape with wonder at what she saw.

   The cave was extremely fancy. Mountainous columns of rock jutted from the bare slate floor, lit only by what little light filtered through the entrance. Spires of mineral rock hung from the ceiling. The wizard even seemed to have his own indoor plumbing system, she noticed with awe, though there appeared to be a leak.

   “What manner of sorcerer is he, that he must dwell so deep within the earth?” Platypus whispered.

   “Only the most powerful ever to grace the kingdom of Rodentia,” Weasel whispered back, stepping over a pool of water. Platypus clung to his white robes in unease.

   All at once the ground began to quake beneath their feet. Platypus shrieked and flew sideways into Weasel, knocking him to the ground. A great ball of fire arose before them, spinning with dizzying rapidity in the confines of the cave.

   “Behold!” a terrible voice rang out, echoing like the bellow of a trumpet. “What bring ye to my cavern, mortal wonderers? What madness haunts your head that you would dare to trespass unbidden into the halls of magic and lore?”

   “I am Weasel, Knight of the Church of Rodentia, humble purveyor of justice and integrity! And this be my squire, Platypus of the Slums!”

   “Greeted, Sir Weasel!” the voice boomed, shaking the cavern like the fist of thunder. “What brings ye to my lair this late hour?”

   Weasel puffed himself up magnificently, throwing out his chest, as he was prone to do when his ego swelled to massive proportions. “I am here on a task appointed by none other than the Royal Clergy, a charge given to me as a sign of favour and gratitude for my many years of loyal service to the King! It is my undivided duty to obtain the pilfered Stone of No Importance and return it to the rightful hands of King Loogie.”

   The swirling vortex of fire burst with heat at this revelation. “Ah, the Stone of No Importance! This is very important! Why do ye seek my help, Sir Weasel?”

   “I have heard tale of your prowess of magical ability, Lord of the Wizards,” Weasel proclaimed, bowing low to the fireball before them. Platypus shrank against the far wall, terrified.

   “I come in search of your aid, for I fear I cannot to this task alone.” Weasel straightened, gazing at the fireball with awe and reverence.

   “Very well!” the Lord of the Wizards boomed, exploding with intense radiation. “My services are freely offered to the King and his knights. What can I do for ye?”

   “Well…” Weasel said, hesitating and scratching the back of his head as he searched for the right words. “It would help if I knew where the Stone was, for a start.”

   The massive fireball erupted into thunderous laughter. Weasel’s pride deflated. The hysterical laughter was cut short by a wheezing cough.

   “Ahem,” said the fireball, still hacking away. “I beg your forgiveness, Master Weasel. But in order to grant your query, you must present me with an object of value as payment for my troubles!”

   “Very well,” Weasel replied. He opened his hip pack and extracted form within the old, graying sock given to him by the Clergy and presented it to the wizard.

   “Ah!” The wizard cried, apparently very pleased. “The sock from his Highness’s royal foot! This is a most appeasing gift, Sir Weasel!”

   “Then you shall tell me where the Stone lies?” Weasel prompted as the fireball engulfed the sock in a tongue of claret flames.

   “Aye, I shall,” the wizard said. “But first I must convert into my true form.”

   Weasel threw himself upon the wet stone floor. Platypus whimpered, trying desperately to cover her eyes with stubby little hands.

   “No, please, sir!” Weasel begged, groveling as if before the most supreme of beings, as the wizard undoubtedly was. “I beg of you, anything but that!”

   “Silence!” the fireball roared, tremors of ire vibrating through the cavern. “I shall do as I wish!”

   The bright ball of fire began to glow white-hot, revolving and twisting as serpentine tendrils began to form a round body and sharp, pointed legs before the cowering pair.

   Weasel threw his gaze to the ground as the wizard became too vivid to behold. A blast of heat scorched the rodent’s chocolate hued hair, singing his plumed hat.

   Weasel and Platypus rose, searching uneasily for the wizard’s vanished form. “Where has he gone?” Platypus whispered, glancing around as if expecting to see the wizard jump out of nowhere and call jest.

   Weasel opened his mouth to reply when he was cut short by a tiny, squeaky voice down near his toes.

   “Down here, fools!” the voice called. Weasel and Platypus crouched low, overcome by fits of convulsive terror by what they saw.

   The Lord of the Wizards stood before them now in the form of a dung beetle, even more terrible and menacing as before. “Behold my greatest guise!” he squeaked, waving a pair of spiny black legs. Platypus cowered behind Weasel, who groveled before the dung beetle respectfully.

   “Behold, Bartholus the Terribly Incompetent!”

   “Are you entirely sure this is the right way?” panted Weasel the following afternoon. “We’ve been traveling for miles on end, and though I hate to question you, I feel-“

   “For a mammal,” Bartholus squeaked, “you feel far too much!” Weasel hung his head, ashamed. They had been traveling for nearly four hours now, and though the wizard assured them that this was indeed the path they needed to tread, Weasel was having his fair share of doubts.

   “First we must cross the Weavenwobble Bridge over the chasm of Achoo,” Bartholus had declared that dawn. “From there, we follow the path through hostile native territory, through the Crumbling Cavern and into the village of Pukesford at the base of Plague Mountain.”

   “And where is the stone?” Weasel had asked as Platypus blundered around behind him, trying in vain to break camp.

   “You shall see,” Bartholus had replied vaguely, and left not another moment of discussion open to the Stone.

   They now marched single file through dense woodland groves blanketed with ferns taller even than the strapping Weasel. Said mammal strode boldly at the fore of the procession, the Lord of Wizards riding on his shoulder and Platypus ambling in the rear, dragging a pile of knotted canvas.

   Above them butterflies fluttered and birds sang. Platypus’ stomach growled insistently. “I need food!” she protested several minutes later when her comrades made no move to stop.

   “Hush!” the wizard cried. “Look yonder!” For before them the forest cleared and the ground butted into thin air, dropping steeply down into a gorge deep enough to swallow the Kingdom of Rodentia in one gulp. Spanning across the gaping chasm of Achoo ran two strips of rope no more than a foot apart. Narrow, rotting boards ran between them.

   Platypus’ eyes bulged. Weasel however, refused to be daunted. A challenge! he scoffed mentally. I could walk across that blindfolded.

   “Make haste!” Bartholus commanded in a piping squeak. Weasel realized he had stilled at the edge of the bridge and flushed crimson with embarrassment. “We must gain the Cavern before nightfall; the forest on the other side is brimming with the vilest of inhabitants.” At this, Platypus whimpered, but Weasel inflated like a fur covered balloon.

   “They dare not ensnare us whilst I have my sword at hand!” he declared pompously, unsheathing the decrepit old sword and brandishing it as if he wielded Excalibur.

   He felt a sharp prick in his shoulder and put his weapon away. “On with you!” reprimanded the wizard. “I did not offer my aid to time-wasters and lollygaggers, move!”

   At once Weasel set bold foot upon the groaning timbers, paper thin, of Weavenwobble Bridge. Slowly, cautiously, and all the while more afeared of letting his cowardice show than the decaying support beneath him, he scooted along. The bottom of Achoo chasm was consumed in darkness. He turned one beady black eye over his shoulder to find one of their number amiss: Platypus hovered uncertainly at the edge of the bridge, too afraid to cross. A muscle twitched in Weasel’s jaw.

   “Come, fair lady!” he called to her, trying and failing to sound encouraging. “You heard the Lord of all Wizards; we must reach the Cavern by dusk! Already the hour wheedles later, we can’t afford to delay!”

   When still Platypus seemed ambivalent, he tried again. “If you don’t hie your ponderous backside across this Bridge, you will be left as fodder for the foxes!” As soon as the last syllable parted his tongue, Weasel knew he had spoken too soon. From within the afternoon shadows poured a number of armed echidnas.

   They surrounded Platypus, squeaking and snuffling to one another in their foul, sinister tongue. This was apparently Weasel’s moment to shine. “Stand off, you knaves!” he bellowed, doubling back across the swaying bridge and fighting to keep his balance as he withdrew his sword. “Stand off, I say!”

   The echidna tribe squealed at the sight of the sword and brandished their weapons: crudely made flint knives and leather slings. Weasel eyed them with beady black wells of pompous dignity. He dare not back down from a challenge. Not when a fair maiden was at stake!

   “Here is your last chance,” he cried. “If you do not back down now, I will be forced to – OOF!” A stone from a sling hit him square in the stomach, cutting his bravery short. Another stone smacked him hard in the chest, and yet another stung his knee.

   Weasel conjured his war face and readied himself for battle. But instead of charging into glorious, chivalric warfare hand to hand, the cowards proceeded to pelt him with stones. Stones! The mere thought of it stung Weasel’s pride more than his body.

   Wielding his sword, he rushed forward, only to be driven back as a spear lodged its self firmly in the ground at his feet. The sharp sting of flung stones drove him all the way back to the Bridge, where he tottered precariously on the precipice to certain doom.

   One stone sent a smarting reverberation through his sword, sending Weasel’s aim awry. He heard the dry sound of shredding twine behind him, but made no note of it until he heard Bartholus the Terribly Incompetent yelling, “The Bridge, you fool! Be careful or you’ll hack off the other rope!”

   Taking note of his blunder with only a slight flush of humiliation, Weasel pushed to gain ground on the echidnas that were now dragging a whimpering Platypus into the shadows of the forest. “Halt!” he shouted, but in vain. Platypus vanished, and with her the last of their attackers.

   Howling like a wolf in fury, Weasel flung his useless and battered sword away, paying little attention to where it ended up. That was, until a familiar ripping sound reached his small ears. Spinning in a billow of white robes, he turned just in time to watch the Weavenwobble Bridge part company with the cliff side and tumble into the abyss below. He stood in horrid disbelief, eyes wide, mouth agape, until a dark voice brought back to him his abject shame.

   “Nice going, Sir Knight.”

   Weasel sat dejectedly upon a felled tree, head in his hands and deep in thought. Bartholus was still clinging to his shoulder with prickly beetle’s feet. Presently, Weasel felt an unbidden tick of annoyance.

   “Why didn’t you aid me?” he demanded of Bartholus, and immediately felt the pinch of the wizard’s mandibles against his neck.

   “I promised my aid in finding the All Important Stone of No Importance, and nothing more.”

   Weasel stiffened but controlled his ire. “That you did,” he conceded, “but now we are short one, and I have failed to save a damsel in distress! That is the worst disgrace a Knight of the Clergy such as myself can have burned upon his good name!”

   The Lord of All Wizards regarded Weasel with multiple, fractured eyes. “You must rescue her, then,” he replied at length during which a stiff silence fell. Weasel looked shocked.

   “All by my lonesome, against that bethorned tribe of monsters?” he protested. “That would surely be termed suicide!” And just to further the ire glowering in Weasel’s breast, the wizard remained silent. Weasel ground his teeth. So this was the help he had bought, was it? And to think, he had paid for this silent treatment with a sock! The sock, to make matters worse; the sock from his Royal Majesty’s foot, worth more than a hippopotamus’ weight in gold!

   Stewing silently in his own misery, Weasel sat. Overhead, the sky began to turn from fair blue to rosy wine and apricot hues. He was prodded from his self induced despair by a sharp pinch in his ear.

   “Dusk approaches,” was all the wizard had to say. Weasel stood irritably and gathered up his sword. He had hardly the time to ponder Bartholus’ incompetence when inspiration struck him in the face like an echidna’s stone.

   “Pukesford!” he cried, making the wizard jump. “My cousin, Mongoose, lives in Pukesford! With his aid, I can gather an army and return to rescue Platypus!”

   “Ah, now that is brilliant thinking, Sir Weasel!” Bartholus squeaked. Weasel noted a peculiar hint of sarcasm in his voice. “But there is still one problem you must solve.” With one clawed foot, he reached up, grasped Weasel by the ear, and turned his head towards Achoo Chasm. “You destroyed the bridge.”