-Chapter Six-
There was a clatter of metal on stone as Scar chucked her sword out of her hand. She had not been happy to hear that Jett had to help her train, and at first she had resisted.
"No! I won't!" She had shouted in his face. But he had retaliated.
"Do you think I like this any more than you do? I do not want to be hear either, but I am, because I think of someone other than myself!" He cried. Scar was silent. "Now pick up that sword, and at least pretend like you want to learn something!"
So she had reluctantly allowed herself to be taught. But Jett wasn't an ideal teacher. He would snap at her for holding the blade wrong, would exasperatedly demonstrate a move and then yell if she didn't imitate it perfectly right the first time, or even chuck a bucket full of water on her head while she was distracted and carving obscene words on the stone street instead of practicing like she was supposed to be doing, which he had done just now.
"Hey!" She gasped, soaked from head to toe in freezing water. "What the hell was that for?"
"Do you think all of Regalia want to see those words on their street?" He scratched them out, fuming. "You are supposed to be practicing! And next time it won't be just water; it will be shrimp and cream sauce!"
Scar would have resisted, but truthfully she wouldn't put it past Jett to actually come through with his threat, and she wasn't in the mood to be showered in cream sauce. Plus, she was soaking wet. So she just tossed her sword on the ground and stormed inside the house to change.
"Sandwich help you, Scar, what happened?" Jett's mom Hilva looked shocked to see her dripping wet. The thirteen-year-old wanted to say something along the lines of 'Your imbecile of a son thinks it's so funny to dump things on my head when I'm not looking.' But she was not a squealer; she never had been.
"Nothing." She settled on that response, and then thundered up the stairs and replaced her soaked clothing.
There was nothing she could do about her hair, though; it was still sopping wet. So, for the first time since she had come here, she took the leather band Hilva had given her and tied it back, into a long silver blonde ponytail down her back.
Five minutes later, the teen found herself on the streets of the human city, heading for Scythe's wall hideout. She didn't know why, or how, but it had become impulsive for her to go to see the big gray rat whenever she was troubled.
She stormed right through the hidden crevice, ready to rant as intensely as possible to the only soul in this entire city who would even bother to listen.
"Scythe! I have to—" But her voice was cut off as she saw the rat emerge from the shadows. It was not Scythe; definitely not.
This rat was the complete opposite of Scythe; he had a pitch black pelt and he was painfully thin; but muscular at the same time. His teeth were bared in a grimace and, growling, he crouched low on both legs, swishing his long, powerful tail back and forth and looking as if he would love to pounce and sink his teeth into the unlucky human who had just entered the hidden tunnel chamber.
Now, Scythe may have been a tough fighter, but by the look of this rat, by the strong way he held himself that so suggested authority, Scar was sure her friend had nothing on him.
And then there were his teeth. They protruded out of his mouth down near his chin, and they looked sharper than any blade the Regalian blacksmiths could ever construct. They were no longer just gnawer teeth; they were weapons in their own right.
Scar's thoughts raced. She would have no chance taking on this rat with her bare hands; he was far different than rats she had found while living with Silvertail. And even if she had her sword and hadn't tossed it aside back at the house, she could not use it well enough to stand a fighting chance.
She hurriedly felt at her belt. Yes! She had a small dagger. That was her best hope, because she could use her physical strength and still have more than just a fist on her side.
She was on top of the rat in seconds, wanting to get in the first blow before he could. But he was ready for her, and immediately swerved to the side. She rolled over a few feet and gave a swift, hard kick to his vulnerable underbelly. He didn't seem affected, though, so she quickly rolled out of reach of his tail before he could send it whacking her way.
Ouch! She was thrown to the side painfully against the wall. She gave a sharp intake of breath at the sudden pain in her back, but didn't have time to dwell on it. The rat was coming closer to her.
At top speed, she ran past him, swiping her knife against his shoulder as she did .It didn't seem to affect him, though. It only made him angrier, and he reared up with a colossal growl and had the much smaller human girl pinned down in mere seconds.
Helplessly, as she felt his claws digging into her shoulders and his foul breath wafting down on her face, she aimed one last time with her dagger, into his foreleg. It didn't get in very deep, though, before he whacked it out of her hands and sent it flying off to the side of the tunnel. Warm, sticky gnawer blood splattered her face, and it was all Scar could do not to retch at the scent.
"You should think before attacking someone, you pitiful excuse for a human," the rat hissed, his voice hostile and his fangs bared right in her face. "How do you know I was going to attack you in the first place? Now, because of your insolent actions you've got yourself an unnecessary injury."
Scar scowled, despite the pain in her back. "Please, don't tell me you weren't going to attack me. It was kind of obvious; by the way you were ready to pounce."
The sleek black pelted rat shook his head tantalizingly. "Actually, if you'll believe it, I wasn't going to attack you at all."
"I don't know if I will believe it."
Scar thought she caught a smirk on his face. He spoke again. "You've got spirit, human."
The thirteen-year-old rolled her eyes. "I doubt that will help me against you."
This time the gnawer chuckled darkly. "No. That it won't." He did not let his grip on her shoulders slack for a second. "But, like I said, I wasn't aiming to kill you.
"Now," he began, pulling his head away a bit from its close proximity to her angered face. "I suppose you should tell me how you know the language of Gnawer."
Brief surprise flashed across Scar's face; she hadn't realized she had been speaking to the rat in his own language until now. She froze, her mind frantically trying to come up with some explanation.
"Er, I…uh, I just…That's not…"
But the rat shook his head. "Save it. I know why, Scar. You're little friend Scythe squealed on everything.
For a second Scar was blinded by pain, pain that Scythe had betrayed her and told her secrets to this rat. And then she realized what he had said. He knew her name. So Scythe had given that away as well. Oh, why had she ever trusted him? She should have known that trust only led to disastrous consequences. Hence her experiences with Silvertail.
"Anyway," The ebony rat began, "I'm Fang." He bared his teeth for emphasis, as if showing her the reason he was given his name. But Scar could care less what her captor was called.
"What have you done with Scythe?" Beside the apparent betrayal, the girl still felt like she had to defend her friend and find out what had happened to him.
Fang gave an evil looking smirk. "A place where you, nor his precious mate, can find him."
The blinding pain came back, though this time it was not for herself but for Scythe. Perhaps he had been tortured into betraying her. Perhaps he hadn't intended to reveal all the secrets she had confided in him. It was rather hard to think of that big gray rat being tortured by this one, but she had already seen what Fang could do when it came to battle.
She was about to open her mouth to shout in defiance, but at that moment he raked his claws against her face; not hard, but enough to draw blood.
"Get out of here! Now!"
Scar didn't need telling twice. She jumped up and charged out. "I'll find him!" she called, though not looking back. "I'll find him! You'll see, you idiot rat!"
And this time she meant it.