Read Online The Island of Whispers by Brendan Gisby - Free Book Online

back to his nest. He was anxious that she should not see him.
He had watched her leave, had been concerned about her safety. He
had gone to the edge of the Common lair, waited for her to return.
Frightened, powerless to help, he had witnessed the rape. She had
fought back bravely. They had hurt her, just like the Scavengers
had hurt him. If he had gone to her assistance, the guards would
have brushed him aside, hurt him again. I’m not a coward, he
insisted, but he was ashamed of his weakness.
    The she-rat
crept into her nest and then curled up in a tight ball close to her
youngster. Poor Grey Eyes, he thought. So young, so pretty. She
will keep silent about her ordeal, lest Twisted Foot tries to take
revenge. The Protectors would surely kill him – and take pleasure
in it. Small Face shuddered. He, too, would say nothing. Twisted
Foot was a valued companion, a kind friend; his loss would be cruel
and tragic.
    Grey Eyes was
sleeping now. Soft whimpers escaped from her trembling body. Small
Face felt sadness. He looked round the other nests. All was quiet,
serene. What a strange and brutal world we live in, he mused. Here
in the Watchers’ lair there is peace, order. Sharp Claws is a
respected and compassionate leader. There is a strong bond of
comradeship between all of the Watchers. Out there, though, it is
different: no compassion, no friendship. The Protectors roam the
underworld, killing, raping, maiming. The Hunters are no better;
they, too, are cold and cruel. The Rulers – the protected ones –
are even worse. They condone and encourage the brutality so long as
they are kept fed and warm. It is as if ... as if the Watchers are
not included in their society: a society apart, an inferior race to
be spurned and ridiculed like the Scavengers. Yes, a society apart,
he repeated the notion. But, alas, that is the sum of it. We can’t
change things; we can’t fight them. There is no escape. He felt
tired, helpless. No escape, he sighed and drifted into sleep.
     
    – o –

– Chapter Fifteen –
     
    The dreams
kept waking Twisted Foot. At first, there were bright, sharp images
of a clearing among the trees. He didn’t know where the clearing
was, only that it was far away, deep in the woodlands. The sun was
shining. They were basking in its warmth. Grey Eyes was there; and
young Soft-Mover, his jet-black coat glistening as he moved through
the tall grass. Fat One was dozing under a tree. His other
companions were in the clearing with their mates and young ones.
There was an aura about the place, a deep glow of happiness. It
seemed that if he reached out from his dream he could touch the
glow, let the warmth course through him. Then the shadows always
fell. Cold, dark images came to oust the brightness. The scenes
were blurred, frightening: Long Snout towering over the clearing,
the blood of newly born young congealed on his enormous fangs;
Neck-Snapper hissing and spitting death, green pus festering in his
ragged eyehole; Grey Eyes surrounded by snarling Protectors, her
small body lacerated and bleeding. The images of light and darkness
vied with each other, struggling for dominance, like a battle
between good and evil. The confusion of the tumult threatened to
overwhelm him. He had to break free from the dream, to awake,
shivering and miserable, in the empty nest. Anger and bitterness
greeted each awakening, building quickly to a helpless rage which
sent convulsions through his body, until it, too, was almost
unbearable. He had to close his eyes, to shut out the dark, violent
thoughts. Then the cycle of dreaming and waking began again.
    It had been
like this since he returned from the watch to discover Grey Eyes’
plight. He had known instinctively what had occurred; he hadn’t
needed to ask. She was away now, being consoled by her companions.
His fellow Watchers had tried to commiserate with him, but he had
wanted to be alone, to nurse his wrath. Sleep eased the anguish;
his dreams subsumed it, but only to clear