Chapter 3: Mousehood

Reepicheep clung to the scaly body with his legs and feet, as the fish ferociously tried to buck him off. The silver-green scales of the cold-blooded animal were slippery, making it difficult to find a hold on it. Icy-cold water soaked Reepicheep through as he tried to find a place to hold fast.

With a splash the fish was underwater again, wriggling wildly. Reepicheep held his breath and tried to move fluently with his steed's incessant squirming. At last his left forepaw had a sure hold on the scales, but now his lungs began to cry out for air.

Thinking quickly, Reepicheep used his right paw to grab and tear off a long strand of an underwater weed. It was thick and cord-like. Reepicheep lassoed the fish's head with his makeshift rope and jerked upward. The fish instantly responded to the tug and headed up.

The fish broke the surface of the water and splashed there for a few brief seconds; but that was enough time for Reepicheep to get the fish in the noose of his real rope, which had been coiled around his shoulder until now. The Mouse now had full steering control of the cold-blooded water animal. After guiding it into an enclosed pool where it couldn't escape, Reepicheep dismounted the fish. It began thrashing again with force that could knock a Mouse senseless. Avoiding the blows, Reepicheep swam to the shore.

Nearly everyone in the tribe was gathered on the shore. They all cheered for Reepicheep. "That was amazing!" raved the Chief. "You harnessed that fish in less than five minutes! Truly, young squire, you are a Mouse to be reckoned with!"

"My thanks to you," replied Reepicheep with a bow. He looked through all the faces of the crowd, searching for his father.

Greenathreep came through the Mouse mob with a gentle smile raising his battered old whiskers. He looked more elderly than he really was. Peepiceek, one of the orphans, also approached with Geeniveek at his side. All three Mice praised Reepicheep's performance, but Greenathreep's soft words meant the most.

"Your mother would be proud," he said, patting his son's shoulder.

"I hope so," Reepicheep sighed, squinting with the glare of the sun. Distracted, he looked over at Geeniveek, who was enjoying the cool breeze as it sifted through her fur. "Madame," said Reepicheep eloquently, "would you favor me by sitting beside me during the meal?"

"Pardon me," Peepiceek interrupted; "aren't you going to invite your closest companion to a seat nigh your own?" He and Reepicheep had become the best of friends.

"The three of us shall sit together," Geeniveek settled it.

Meanwhile the Chief was clapping Greenathreep on the back and saying, "I hope today's banquet is marvelous, cook1 Your son is a brilliant warrior! Imagine graduating three years prior to the traditional Mousehood age!"

Greenathreep didn't try to mask the sadness on his face. At first he wondered of he should say anything; his soft, deep voice would be barely audible above the chattering crowd. After a second's hesitation, Father said, "Chief, I hope for your sake that Reepicheep will be a fine warrior." He frowned. "But I hope, for his sake, that he won't."

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

The significance of Reepicheep's fish-riding was such that now, according to tradition, he was considered a grown Mouse. Now that he had graduated he eligible to begin training as a warrior. A banquet was held that night in his honor.

Father and the cooks had prepared a real feast, including fresh barriers, corn, nuts, grains, and bread from the grains. There were also plenty of steamed beans and greens, and lush, cool salads dripping with golden honey as dressing. The most rare and delicious treat of all was the cheese, which had been painstakingly aged by the culinary Mice.

Reepicheep, Geeniveek, and Peepiceek sat at a private booth cut into the corner of the banqueting hall. All the other tables, made of smooth granite, were crowded with celebratory Mice. "I can't believe you actually graduated three years early!" Geeniveek said to Reepicheep. "I wonder if Peepiceek and I could do the same."

Peepiceek was a thin Mouse with a pleasant face and laidback manner. He laughed softly and said, "I doubt that any of us could surpass Reepicheep."

"It does not matter to me when either of you graduate, be it thirteen or thirty," said Reepicheep sincerely. "You shall always be held in high regard by your true companions."

Peepiceek smiled gratefully. "You know," he said shyly, "your father is right. I think any mother would be proud to call you her son. You ought to be proud of yourself, too."

Reepicheep leaned against the back of the booth and sighed. "I am proud, Peepiceek. Even on such a day as this—such a grievous day—I can think of my mother with a bit more peace than before."

Geeniveek shrugged her slender shoulders. "What is so grievous about this day?"

Peepiceek stared at the Chief's daughter in surprise, and Reepicheep's gaze fell to the floor. He looked disappointed and a little hurt.

Suddenly Geeniveek remembered what today was. "Reepicheep!" she said concernedly. "I apologize most profusely! How could I forget? One year ago today—"

"My mother," Reepicheep said quietly. He stood up and quickly bow2ed. "Will you excuse me…? I think I am in need of some fresh air."

Greenathreep watched his son leave the room as he wiped a plate off in the kitchen doorway. He bowed his head sorrowfully, but thought it was best to leave Reepicheep alone.

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

Reepicheep sat alone on a low tree branch, his feet and tail dangling off. The stars above gave a wistful light to the landscape. The wind's breath rocked the treetops, creating a deep, sad, whirring roar.

"You shouldn't be up here all alone." Rhevercheek, the black-furred leader of the Mice, scampered up the tree. He stood on the branch, leaning casually against the truck. "I know you're not a child anymore, but you would do well to let someone know before you wander off."

Reepicheep did not reply.

The Chief let his casual manner disperse, giving way to a serious expression. "…Is it your mother?"

The young Mouse did not make eye contact, but his ears pricked up in the Chief's direction. "Sir, I wish to know exactly what happened that day…the day she died. I wish every detail disclosed."

Rhevercheek's solemn brow knitted in puzzlement. "Didn't you father ever explain?"

"I did not want him to explain. I wished to pretend that the battle with the Humans never took place in reality." The young turned his head to look at the Chief. "Things have changed. I'm old enough to know. Tell me all about it, of your courtesy."

The Chief seemed reluctant, but he consented. "Peepiceek and his siblings and parents lived right by the River Rush. Humans came through and began felling the trees for lumber…and amidst the chaos, Peepiceek's home was destroyed. By Aslan's grace the young ones escaped, but the parents were killed. Your mother and I set out to guide the young Mice back here. Sarclaw the Wolf was helping."

"Yes, and then you were observed by the Humans," Reepicheep said hurriedly. "I am aware of that. If the Humans don't even believe in our existence, what reason did they have to attack you? I know my history, sir—five hundred years after the Kings and Queens vanished, Telmar made war on us. Fifty years later they succeeded in completely overtaking the country. They have been in control now for seven and a half centuries. Do they still hate us so much not to let a small company pass through?"

Rhevercheek raised the bushy line of white fur above his eye. "So you've been reading up on history, have you? I wondered what you were doing in the library lately. When you were younger, you never showed an interest in such things. You were always out on adventures, never the scholarly type. Are you aware of the fact that the Telmarines—the Humans—went to great lengths to destroy all Narnians? Less than ten individuals for each species survived. We were declared extinct, and the Telmarines never returned to the woods except to destroy."

Reepicheep swallowed this information with effort. "Well then," he said, "I repeat my question. Why should they attack when, for all they know, we might have just been normal, oversized rats? If they did suspect that we were Narnians, and they're as fearful as you say, then it would be wise for them to run instead of challenging us."

At this point Rhevercheek breathed a troubled sigh. "They did run, Reepicheep."

"What? Then how—?"

"We attacked them. We could not permit them to escape alive, and inform other men of our whereabouts. I realize that this is difficult to understand, but we Mice are some of the last heroes standing. Most Narnians live completely in hiding; they don't fight for their freedom, or even defend themselves, like we do. Your mother was shielding the orphaned Mice when the Human soldier gave a lethal strike with his sword. She died heroically."

"Our fight certainly comes with costs," Reepicheep replied somewhat bitterly. "Chief, will we ever be free?"

"Trust in Alsan," answered the military Mouse, "and trust in what you know in your deepest self."

"In my deepest self…" Reepicheep mused. He was awake long into the night, thinking about the Chief's words.