A scowlrat's tale

by Little Owl (grinning_little_owl@yahoo.de)

Archive: MA
Category: Drama, Point of View, Qui/Obi
Disclaimer: Yes, the boys belong to George Lucas. But I'm sure, after the incident in this story he doesn't want them to come back to him.
Rating: PG-13
Warning: There's character death in here, and some people might abhor the narrator's species.
Summary: Sitting in the rain, a scowlrat tells a brown rat what has happened to its house.
Notes: Don't try to find the scowlrat in your encyclopedia. It's a creature of my universe. I invented it for the story "It's all Greek to me", and then a friend asked, how ugly exactly a scowlrat is. Well, you'll see. The motif, that a Jedi master can make his Padawan a knight without the Council in extraordinary situations was taken from "The Ceremony" by Glass Houses, a very sad story, but great.
Feedback: Yes, please.
Thanks to: Tem-ve for the beta. I changed the text a little bit after the beta. Therefore, all mistakes left are mine.

Don't you mock me.

Don't you dare mock me, brat!

My fur may be streaked with silver, but I'm still stronger than you will ever be. See my teeth?

Ah, these dampen your spirits, eh?

Well.

Of cause I'm scowling, I'm a scowlrat.

No. We don't glower all the time at other creatures.

Sometimes I'm relaxed, too.

I also know joy.

Knew it once, to be precise.

See the burning ashes over there?

Yes, that was a house.

My house.

Don't you snigger!

I can tell from your whiskers when you try to hide your grin, brown rat!

It was my house because I lived there alone for twenty years.

Surprised?

Well, we scowlrats get old, at least as old as those human beings who build us houses.

Is it worth the risk to live among humans? Are you joking?

Of course. Look at our own skinny form, your ragged pelt.

Have you ever seen something called a store-room, eh?

No, I didn't have one, because I lived alone here, but at least I don't sit around in wet holes in the fields, waiting for the next thunder shower to drown me!

Well, I didn't, until now...

What happened?

Well, let me tell you...

It started some days ago. One of the city council guys took two strangers to my house. I don't think he liked them. He was nervous, too polite, and left them soon.

I've never seen such humans before. They were pale, not so tanned like our Greeks here. Maybe they are mercenaries, I thought then, maybe father and son. The older, taller one was probably twice the age of the younger one.

Why mercenaries? Well, haven't you heard about the war the Spartans have waged on Athens? Well, you should pay attention to such news, brown rat. When the humans go to war and fight each other, they don't fight us. So their war times are good times for us. But take care to run away early enough when the humans of your city lose the fight. The other ones might burn down the city.

Which brings me back to the subject...

As I said, these two were strangers, and they had nothing better to do than to wreck my home. They tore away the boards from the windows, let all the cold air in. They took the old blankets off the former occupants' sleeping place and stuffed them in the fireplace. Did the same with all the wood shavings and dried grass I once carried into my home to make it comfortable.

Humans, ha!

What? What became of the former occupants?

Well, they died, twenty years ago, of the disease after the last war.

If you like to dig holes, try at the western side of the city wall and go on a sightseeing tour of the mass graves.

But let me tell you about these two who were my undoing, making me sit in the rain now. These leaves will protect us?

Dream on!

These two damned intruders burned all interior fittings I had. I peered out of a hole in the wall and watched as the smaller of them took a metal tube from his belt, and then there was, believe it or not, a flash of blue lightning at one end of the tube, burning all my properties to ashes.

I was frozen in horror.

Sorcery!

I thought I'd seen everything they can do to us, including these newly imported horror beasts from Egypt, these so-called 'cats'. Tsk, tsk, don't be stupid, just saying their names doesn't make them show up at once: Cat, cat, cat. And here's one tip for you, coward: These cats abhor water. In that respect we are safe now, and will die in peace of a cold.

Dying, yes...

What these humans wanted in my house, I don't know. They brought only small bags with them, no furniture, no amphoras of grain, no pots of fruits, nothing to eat except some small bars, wrapped in a strange material. They didn't seem to like them themselves, but they ate some of them, left the rest on the table. At last they took one of the old pots, boiled some dried herbs in it and drank that decoction. Well, I was pissed off. When humans come to your house they should at least bring something edible. No, not 'something', but lots of food! That's what they're good for.

The gods only know where these two barbarians came from. As I said, they commanded the lighnting and I understood why the council member took them to my house: They didn't want to have the wizards in town.

The sorcerers also had odd clothes, no sandals, but leather up to their knees, and their legs where totally covered, too. They didn't wear one tunic, but layers of them, and cloaks over those. Well, once they had burned all my furniture the smaller of them used the lightning to burn all the venerable layers of dust of the sleeping place, packed his cloak on the bed and made himself comfortable there.

I hated that fellow at once, but now, while his bones are burned to ashes over there, well, I feel a little sympathy for him. Don't laugh at me, scowlrats tend to get melancholy.

The older of the two had a box that emitted blue light as he opened it. He stared a long time into it and touched it a lot of times with a finger, as if he was afraid it would cease glowing if not touched. I don't know what this was good for, but he did it for hours, until the younger one started to complain and patted the bed at his side.

I went away when they undressed. Humans look disgusting when naked, the gods might know why they didn't give them any proper fur, but made them look that mangy. Maybe it's the gods' punishment for the humans' arrogance towards us.

I retreated into the wall, but had no rest, because these guys started to... well, mate. Another disgusting characteristic of humans, all that noise they make when they're doing it, and these two specialists did it for hours. So they where not father and son as I had thought when I'd first seen them.. The good thing was, they were sound asleep afterwards.

I waited an hour to be safe, then I left the hole and inspected what they carried with them.

No, no, I didn't dare touch that magic box.

I looked at those bars they'd eaten.

They were covered with a material I'd never seen before, but as I said, my teeth are sharp as razors, and what I found inside was worth the effort. I don't know why they disliked their food that much, it was of high quality, made of grain and fruits, considerably sweet. I liked it. I dragged one of these packages into the hole in the wall and had a feast.

Next day, they went away in the morning, but left their bags and cloaks. So they would return. I fetched another bar, snuggled into their cloaks on the bed. I wondered if they would return decently dressed like our Greeks here but they didn't. I however spent the day on the woollen fabric that was the same colour as my pelt had been in my younger years, feasting on their rations, scratching my fur from time to time and dozing through a long afternoon. I nearly didn't wake when they returned, and I escaped with a leap I hadn't thought I was still capable of.

The younger one complained with a loud "Eeew", but the older one laughed, patted the boy's shoulder and cleaned the crumbs and the packaging from their bed.

Then he sat down, stretched out his arms, the younger one snuggled up to him, and that mating began again, keeping me sleepless for hours.

I started to get used to the occupiers of my house, because they left early in the morning and returned two hours after sunset.

But on the forth day, the young one returned in the afternoon. I hastily hid myself, afraid he would use the lightning against me if he'd detect me.

But he didn't care. He sat on the bed and sighed. His form was slumped, he seemed to be totally exhausted. After a while he took off his shoes, snuggled into the cloaks and fell asleep.

His elder friend returned at the normal time. He looked at the young one with concern, woke him up and convinced him to drink some of the cooked herbs. Then he opened another box, took a small vial out of it and a attached a needle.

The younger man didn't fight as that thing was stabbed into his neck. He just sighed and dozed off again. The older one rubbed the place where the needle had left the skin with his finger for a while, murmuring soothing words, but there was fear in his eyes.

I took it for what it was: The young man was ill, severely ill.

Next morning his state seemed to be worse. His breath was laboured, his skin shone with sweat. The older one took more of the vials and I got a closer look at how they were used. There was a red liquid in them that was pressed through the needle into the flesh. It was intended to be a medicine somehow.

Fresh blood?

Yes maybe, however, it didn't help. The old man let him sleep then, kissed the boy's forehead and sighed.

Again he stared for hours into the magic box. He didn't leave the house that day.

Next morning, the old one left, but returned at noon with the healer of our city. The healer looked at the boy, touched his forehead and his wrists, did all the things the humans do, when caring for their sick. Then he removed the boy's clothes and exclaimed the name of one of their gods in shock.

I peered outside my hole and had a look at what had given him such an horror.

Oh, I had seen this before, you know. It had been exactly the same when the former occupants of my house died after the last war, one by one. First they lie down with fever for some days, then there are swellings at the sides of their necks, in their armpits and at the groin. These get bulbous, sometimes they break up, pus flows out and stinks like, well, the plague.

The healer didn't go away but ran and left the stranger behind without a medicine. So they hadn't found one in all those years.

Whether they die, you ask? Hey, where are you from? Oh, I forgot, a brown rat, yes you're too young to remember it. Yes, most of them die. If the abscess breaks up early enough, they have a small chance of surviving.

I don't know if the older one had any idea what he was confronted with. Surely not, otherwise he would have run away too. But maybe he knew and decided that it was too late for him to run away. He dressed the boy again, stuffed the cloaks around the trembling body, and then he opened the magic box again--and he spoke to it.

First I thought it was their kind of prayer, but then--believe it or not--came a small blue demon out of the box, talking to him!

Don't look at me this way! I'm not joking!

It was a small figure which hovered in blue light over the box.

No, there was no wine in my house! Never had been!

I didn't understand their language, I don't even have a clue what their names were, but I saw that the old man was somewhat reassured after the demon had spoken to him.

The demon faded and I was so stunned that I didn't duck fast enough to hide myself.

He was looking at me.

I stared at him.

His face became utterly sad, and he nodded.

Then he stood up and went to he boy, sat at his side, stroked his hair, murmuring a soothing litany.

Well, I was surprised. Of course I know that the humans believe us rats by superstition to be responsible for the plague, and I expected to be persecuted and killed. But he didn't. Maybe because was to tired to try.

One hour later there was some noise outside the cottage, hammer blows. The old man looked outside the window, and I had to climb up onto the roof. It was the town guard. They blocked the small path that leads to my house with that roadblock you see over there. Yes, now the soldiers are gone, but until yesterday they were here, always five at one shift. Oh, of course, they didn't come to the house. They didn't dare move even one step behind the roadblock.

Next day the movements of the older man were slow and laboured too. Nevertheless he got up and tried to follow his routine, cooking the herbs, waking up the boy, trying to give him something to drink. But the boy didn't react any more. He wasn't dead, I saw him breathe, but he didn't wake up, no pleading and no slap in the face could break his unconsciousness. The older man cried. Cradled the boy in his arms and sobbed until he fell asleep too.

Well, I felt bad at this state of affairs. You know, it's the gods' will. They decide who is caught by the demon of the plague and who is not. But I felt touched by his stubborn but futile attempts to help his young beloved.

The magic box screamed. I startled, but the humans didn't react. The box screamed again. The man had shut it. Maybe the demon wanted out. I began to tremble as it screamed louder and longer at the third try. Something horrible would happen if the demon was enraged. So I climbed off the wall.

No, not to make the demon stop screaming, are you mad?

No, I went to the men and bit the older one in the hand.

No, no blood, just to make him wake up.

Yes, of course I ran away as fast as I could! Do you think I wanted to be killed?

He threw lightning after me, but I escaped.

When I dared again to watch, he opened the box, and another demon talked to him, not as toad-like and big-eared as the first one, but of human shape.

The older man folded his now trembling hands, looked at the boy, swallowed hard and nodded.

The demon counted at her fingers. She seemed to give him some instructions.

He carried the magic box to the bed, so that the demon could watch what he was doing.

He fetched the other box that had once contained the vials, and took some strips out of it.

He undressed the boy.

The boy wasn't better. His skin showed patches of black, and at this stage it's too late to drive out the demon of plague by opening the abscesses.

Believe me, I saw enough of these attempts last time the plague came into our city, creeping from the port through the quarters of the poor to the suburbs, eventually up to here. This was a fine estate once, you know, the owners had money enough for good healers.

Nevertheless, the old man tried. He stroked the boy's forehead and said something with determination like a spell. Then he took the tool--I believe it to be an arm actually--they make the lightning with, called only a small bolt of lightning to come and tried to cut or burn the swellings. It stank. But the lightning left clean red flesh behind. The man covered the wounds with strips of white material that showed a red surface when he unfolded them.

The demon of the box said something to him, and he nodded with an exhausted cough, bowed to the demon. The demon bowed, too, and disappeared.

The man raised his hand, seeing the blood in his palm and moaned in defeat. Yes, the demon of the plague was on him, too, and obviously he tried to remember how long it had been until his young companion wasn't capable any more of caring for himself.

Despite his efforts to heal, the boy died during the night. The old man was awake, don't ask me how he made it, but he was strong enough to fight the demon of disease for so long. The boy woke up at the end. Sometimes, they get clear for a while, then they fade finally.

He smiled at his older friend, grabbed his hand, kissed it as if he wanted to thank him for the good care. But there was death in his tired features, and the older man saw it too. Don't ask me why, but they were some kind of sorcerers, as I told you. Only unable to ban the plague.

He kissed his boy and the young one sighed and make a remark with a sad smile. Yes, he too knew what was awaiting him.

The old man nodded. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, and his skin glistened wet as the took that lightning tool.

I cowered in my hole, my hair standing on end. Yes I knew he would do the boy a favour to end it fast. I had seen him using this thing like a knife when he performed that surgery.

But he didn't stab the boy with it, he just cut the odd braid that the young one had behind his right ear. The boy smiled, then he closed his eyes and after some minutes his breath stopped with a rough sob.

The old man cried. He embraced the boy, rocked him, kissed him and cried his heart out.

I retired to the roof.

It always makes me sad to see them dying eventually.

And now the old man would die, too, because what had held him upright was gone.

I focussed on watching the soldiers with their torches at the barrier.

The torches were not only to keep the travellers away. The guards would wait for some days after the last sound came out of my house, and then they would burn it with everything, everybody inside like they had done with the manor house, the barn and the stables of this estate, leaving only the shepherd's cottage untouched by accidence.

At dawn the... demons came. Or maybe the gods. Don't ask me what they were. A thing, I tell you, a thing like I have never seen before and pray I will never see again descended from the sky, came down with a roar and steam and fire at its feet.

Ah, you've seen that thing, too?

But you don't have an idea was it was, do you?

No? Too bad, but I'm impressed that you made the long way down here to have a closer look at this.

Did you see them? ... Well, I guess they were humans, too, but such clothes I've never seen. From head to toe covered in a shiny kind of yellow leather. They wore helmets, masks out of glass, I have no idea how they could breathe under them.

The soldiers ran away.

The masked ones went into my house. They carried two stretchers which them, but it seemed to me that these stretchers moved by themselves.

I was too afraid to go inside at first, but when they stayed for a while, I wanted to see what was going on.

So I climbed down the roof, hid between the joists.

They had put the older man on one of the stretchers, covered his face with a mask, stuck needles into his arms, connected to some small bags full of fluid. Then they carried him away. The second stretcher followed empty, and I tell you, believe it or not--these things were not carried, they flew!

When the masked ones returned, they moved heavy boxes into my house. They gathered for a moment at the dead boy's bed, stood there in silence watching him. Then they became busy again, opened the boxes and covered all in a stinking liquid so nasty that I never want to breathe such an acrid smell again.

When they left my house, I left it too, and came up here, luckily.

After that 'thing' was in the air again, it spat one flash of lightning into my house, and you see now what's left behind. I never believed the massive basalt stones of the foundation could burn, but they did.

Yes, this was my home for twenty years, and there's nothing more to tell about it.

What?

Might the plague kill us rats too, you ask?

Of course it does, stupid!

Why not me?

Well, I was one of those lucky bastards who survived it once. As cruel as the demon of the plague is, it doesn't hit you a second time.

What about you?

Well, don't return to your family for the next month, and if you start to feel sick meanwhile, hide somewhere where nobody will find your cadaver.

-- end --