Chapter 23

The Promised Land

Chris and Mrs. Brisby's jaws practically hit the floor. At this point, Chris wasn't sure how many more bombshells he could handle being dropped on him.

"So, when you mean slowing the aging process, do you mean… that you and the others here will age like my kind would?" Chris inquired, though he had a cogent feeling about the answer.

"In a way, yes," Nicodemus confirmed. "Apparently, the injections had given us all a much longer life span than even the scientists at NIMH had anticipated—that deduction was made when we appeared to have not been getting any older. The children, yes, but not the adults."

With a wave of his hand, Nicodemus indicated for Chris and Mrs. Brisby to switch their gazes back to the Spinner, and the device once more interweaved the subsequent events from the past, draining away the neon green and electricity.

"You can see why it would have been dreadful for Jonathan to tell you, Mrs. Brisby. Jonathan didn't want to be secretive, but he didn't know how to tell you, especially given you never had the injections. He loved you, but he could hardly stand the thought of not being able to grow old with you. It distressed him, and he thought how much more painful it would be for you."

The Spinner produced imagery of Mrs. Brisby serving her children their third meal of the day at their makeshift dining table. While she did, the family was waiting for Jonathan to come home. Unbeknownst to them, he was but was secretly staring at them desolately from the blind spot of their home's entryway, mostly at his dear, caring wife. Jonathan quietly heaved in a breath and shoved his hand through the fur on his head. Guilt gnawed at his stomach for having not yet spilled the truth about NIMH and the injections to his family, but how was he supposed to get across to them the complex and thorned truth of it all? He knew, though, that it would eventually be unveiled to them, and secrets always had a way of coming to light.

"Suffice it to say, he would have told you and the children eventually—I know he intended to. Indeed, you would have found out about it yourself; you would have seen it happening. It was hard for Jonathan to reveal the naked truth, so he kept putting it off, but it was too late by then."

It flicked to the farmhouse's kitchen in the middle of the device. Chris's Aunt Beth was making dinner when she heard Dragon's yowling demand to be let in for his dinner. After sternly telling the cat to wait and be patient, Chris's aunt scooped up Dragon's food bowl and fetched the kibbles. While prepping Dragon's meal, she was oblivious to the activity behind the cabinet.

A head carefully popped up from a perfectly round hole the Fitzgibbons family was unaware of, and it just happened to be Jonathan. He watched as Mrs. Fitzgibbons' feet shuffled in the kitchen, and as he did, he carefully wiggled out of the hole and was now entirely on the other side, not donning his attire or sheathed weapon so they didn't snag on anything. A hand shot up from the hole, gripping what the spotted gray-brown mouse needed: a packet containing the sleeping powder. Jonathan received it, and once he did, he stepped further away from the hole on silent feet to get close enough to where he could dash out from under the cabinet toward the food bowl and dump the contents of the packet into it before retreating to the hole.

Jonathan drew in a silent breath and then released it. He had done this many times before, but the odds were stacked against him again, and anything could happen. The mischief couldn't risk being exposed in the open, though, not while Dragon prowled the farmland. Thus, this was their best course of action for a safer environment—at least somewhat.

Jonathan cleared his head, leveling his focus ahead as he willed his heart to stop racing. He counted the seconds that passed, blocking the noise traveling around him and keeping his breaths at a quiet minimum. No matter what was to come, he wouldn't fail this life-or-death mission.

At that moment, Mrs. Fitzgibbons placed the food bowl on the ground, and after she did, she padded to the door to let in a hungry Dragon. With her back to Dragon's meal, Jonathan was off like a shot, not sparing a glance at his surroundings. His only focus was on his target. He bounded on top of the mountain of kibbles, and without missing a beat, he planted the sleeping powder in it and then quickly sprung off, making a few pieces fly out. He scurried back towards the hole and was halfway there.

Suddenly, Jonathan was shrouded in a large shadow, and he was like a deer caught in the headlights when Dragon was in his peripheral vision. The cat had launched himself at the spotted gray-brown mouse, paws and claws outstretched… and it was too late. Blood splattered the kitchen floor, and within seconds, Jonathan's life was taken.

Mrs. Brisby clapped a hand over her mouth, a gasp ripping from her throat. While she had read from Nicodemus's book of how Jonathan died, seeing how he did resulted in more affliction fracturing through her chest. She couldn't speak. Lips wobbling, tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as her ears were pinned against her head.

Oh, Jonathan… She internally thought, vulnerably.

She recalled the last time she saw and spoke to her late husband. It was around nighttime, after they tucked their children into bed when Jonathan told her he'd be heading out for the night. His excuse was that Mr. Ages needed help with a project of his. Of course, Mrs. Brisby was concerned with him being outside late at night, but Jonathan rest assured her that he'd be okay and that he'd just spend the night at the worn-down harvest tractor the old mouse called his 'humble abode' and then be back in the morning before she knew it. Quashing her worries, Mrs. Brisby took his words for it. Then, the last thing her late husband did was lower his mouth to hers, capturing her lips for a heartbeat before pulling back and departing into the night.

"I love you," Jonathan had said, his final words to her.

Mrs. Brisby had reciprocated those words to him softly, her last words to him as well.

The field mouse felt a hand meet her shoulder, and her sapphire blue gaze collided with Chris's green ones, which were grass-colored. The tiny human thumbed a few tears of Mrs. Brisby's trickling down her cheeks away, sadness clouding his eyes. Still, with the heart of a gentleman, he wound his arms around her as if knowing she needed this, their silent communication having grown more potent and more understandable as any bond such as this would. A beat of silence passed, but then tears cascaded from Mrs. Brisby's eyes again. She buried her face in Chris's chest, not caring that his shirt was stained in sweat and smelled, and she could hear the pulsing rhythms of his heart, soothing her own.

Chris was the epitome of a good man, making her heart thump madly for him. She never would've predicted this would've happened, but even the heart alone had an arcane way of working.

Eventually, Mrs. Brisby was the first to break away from the embrace. She tilted her head to Chris, a thankful look in her eyes as she felt her entire body warm up like she was baking in the sun. It took all her willpower not to train her eyes on the tiny human's mouth, for all her thoughts might as well melt into a puddle. They were still in the presence of Nicodemus, and Mrs. Brisby's thoughts couldn't stray from the ongoing story nor from what she and Chris came here to do. For now, she sealed these feelings of hers in a container but intended to come back to them another time.

"Oh, I wish he had told me," Mrs. Brisby said with such longing as her eyes cast toward the ground. "Yes, I would have been numb with shock, but I wouldn't have minded and understood. This was out of his control, but I still would have loved him all the same as I do to this day. Young or old, that would not have mattered to me; he still would have been the Jonathan I knew and loved."

"That's very wise of you to say, Elizabeth," Chris said, his tone holding a great measure of reverence. "While I may not have gotten to know your late husband, I think he would've been relieved by your words and felt the same way."

A weak smile tugged at Mrs. Brisby's lips. He always seemed to know exactly what to say to her.

"Then, I can tell you, Mr. Fitzgibbons, that you would be correct," Nicodemus chimed in.

Mrs. Brisby suddenly thought of something, and her gaze glided to the rat leader. "About my children," she started hesitantly, "will they…?"

"Also, have longer lives? We don't know yet. We believe so, but our own children are not old enough to be certain." A pondering look was upon Nicodemus's face before he plowed on. "However, we do know they have the ability to learn. Reading and writing had come naturally to them, like walking and talking would."

Like my children, Mrs. Brisby realized, keeping that thought to herself.

In retrospect, the first day her late husband taught the children how to read and write, it did not take them long to grasp those two skills. This amazed her, as it took her some time to learn how to read a single word and write a single letter. However, it all made sense after Nicodemus's revelation, but that did not repulse Mrs. Brisby. She was proud to have birthed her talented kids and wouldn't have traded them for anyone else.

"I do have a question," Chris spoke up, directing his words at Nicodemus. "You mentioned the other day that the Great Owl is a dear comrade to you… How do you two know each other? It's hard not to notice that you two have similar features, but I imagine you and he aren't related. Are you two connected in some way, though?"

Mrs. Brisby, too, picked out that Nicodemus and the Great Owl coincidentally had the same features, and she had the same questions as Chris. Surely, there was a story behind that as well.

"Ah, I had a feeling that one of you would have asked something like that," Nicodemus responded, flourishing his hand to the Spinner once again, and on cue, imagery dug itself up from the neon green, ongoing electricity surfing through it while it lasted. "Let us delve back into the past."

"Before I had met the Great Owl, our colony thrived and grew to one hundred and fifteen as we built and finished our underground society. The children were taught all we knew. We also had plenty to eat, running water, electricity, et cetera. Our home stayed warm in the winter and cool in the summer. It was a comfortable, almost luxurious existence."

The Spinner brought forth the rats' living situation. The adults were split into factions to get work done, like working in the grain room, being on watch duty, gathering food, forging, and so forth. On the other hand, the children were in classes learning, studying, working on homework, or taking quizzes and tests like a human would in school or college. Whenever anyone had free time on their hands, they would usually do something for fun, like playing games, sewing, reading, singing, going on dates, and so on. Though it seemed the rats were enjoying their lives as they were, most couldn't get rid of the guilty conscience lingering on them for what they were still doing: stealing. Most of the rats didn't want to return to doing that, yet they were still doing just that…

"And yet all was not well. Yes, we were proud to have made what seemed impossible. Still, after the first burst of energy, the constructions, the digging of tunnels and rooms, et cetera, a feeling of discontent and culpability settled upon most of us like some creeping disease. We were reluctant to admit it at first. We tried to ignore the feeling and brush it under the rug by building more things that were not a necessity, like bigger rooms, fancier furniture, carpeted hallways, and the list goes on. But even then, it made most of us question whether this was even worth it—if continuing our ways would make us happy. But here we were, rats getting caught up in having more than we needed and displaying our thefts and crimes like trophies. The worst part was that even with our make-work projects, we didn't have enough to do. Our life was too easy, thus worrying not only me but most of the others as well."

In the middle of the device, many rats were seen in the main meeting chamber, discussing their current living situation and arguing about whether or not they should consider moving to a different location and starting anew where it would not involve theft. Many were in agreement, though, that they had to put an end to it, and their kleptomania would never be snuffed out unless they made better changes.

"Many meetings were held, extending over more than a year as we talked turkey, but we could barely come to an agreement without an argument unfolding. But most of the others acknowledged our problems as I did, and we figured out what to do about them as well as possible. There were many thoughts to consider, like our stroke of luck when we found the Toy Tinker's truck, possibly getting caught by someone like your family, Mr. Fitzgibbons, and so forth. We were stealing more than ever before—not only food but electricity and water. Even the air we breathed was drawn in by a pilfered fan, run by the current that wasn't ours.

"This, of course, made our life so easy that it seemed pointless. We did not have enough work to do because a thief's life is always based on somebody else's work. We worried about, conversed, and puzzled over all these things, but we could not find any facile answer because there was none… There was, however, a tough answer."

Nicodemus was now seen in the Spinner ambling through the spooky part of the woods on inaudible feet, needing some time to himself to think about the meetings and the options the mischief had as a whole. He was garbing a black cloak to conceal himself, mainly his eyes, as he used his staff for walking support. Trees towered over him, the canopies spreading above him like an umbrella, with the limbs gnarly and looking almost as if they'd swoop down at any moment and snatch up the rat leader, as skylight streamed between the leaves, pockmarking the forest floor.

It was all still… too still, for the matter. A flash of unease went through Nicodemus, especially with the aura of eeriness hanging over him like a guillotine. Even so, he willed himself to stay calm and that he'd be alright. Perhaps it would have been better that he'd had someone join him, but as long as he was cautious, surely nothing terrible would happen. What hasn't killed him yet has made him stronger after all.

"On one particular day, I took a stroll into the forest—I sometimes went alone or brought others along—and I soon felt the magic inside me, as if it were trying to tell me something, and it indeed was as it wanted me to approach a particular tree."

As Nicodemus was still on his walk, he suddenly felt the magic inside him tingling. The more steps he took, the more it increased to what felt like a pulse. Strange, it had never done that before. Testing something, Nicodemus took a few steps back. The beating slowly decreased. With the different directions he took, his magic either thrummed stronger or weakly, almost like a metal detector would… Did this mean that there was magic nearby? Then that meant that there was something or someone nearby with that.

Nicodemus had to contain his excitement. There was no telling what or who was within the area that had something to do with magic, and he proceeded with precaution, keeping his eyes peeled and straining his ears.

After some time, his magic soon led him to a large, rotted tree that creaked in the wind, seemingly on the verge of splintering and meeting its fate on the forest floor. It was an ancient trunk that much was certain, but what lay within it was a mystery… a mystery that Nicodemus was willing to solve. He slipped his staff within the sheath he personally made on his back in case he ever needed his hands for something and now was that time. The rat hoisted himself up on the tree, ascended, and could feel brittle bark smothering his hands and feet. Though he wasn't young anymore, Nicodemus could still climb objects, and you certainly can't teach an old dog—rat in this case—new tricks.

Soon, his magic was pulling him toward a hollow yawning before him, and he went to perch on the tree's limb leading to it. He dusted off his hands before unsheathing his staff, staring into the hollow. Cobwebs hung above like tattered streamers, drifting in the wind that whistled from outside. It also felt frigid inside, and everything smelled strongly of dust. Chills spidered down Nicodemus's spine, not only because of the temperature but also because there was an intimidating and preternatural ambiance to this hollow… but that wouldn't stop him from casting about in the darkness of it.

Nicodemus called up his magic and hovered his hand near the head of the staff, and it was soon aglow in gold, lighting the rat's face. After doing that, he made his way inside, following a path to the bowels of the trunk.

"At the time, I had no idea what I was getting into, but going inside could've been the death of me; however, that was far from it. I soon met the Great Owl, and it began my acquaintance with him."

As Nicodemus ventured further within, he surveyed his surroundings. It looked more like a cave than a rotted tree, with cobwebs strewn about, bones and pellets cluttering the ground and ledges, and the walls blotched with mold. It was not a pretty sight to behold. What also didn't help was the drop-off Nicodemus had to skirt past, along with the insects and arachnids that blended well in the darkness, flitted about, or were waiting for an opportunity to arise to possibly try and devour the rat—which would never happen.

His magic beat more vehemently, indicating that he was getting closer, until it suddenly began to gyrate at the highest rate there was when he came to a particular spot. Was this it? He didn't see anything that stood out, though…

A barely audible breath was then heard.

Nicodemus's fur stood on end, his grip on his staff tightening, knuckles white. He felt a large presence behind him.

A pair of eyes then snapped open, glowing golden and illuminating him. Nicodemus whirled around, only for the light from his staff and his eyes to fall on the creature before him: a great horned owl. The owl's head was at an unnatural angle, and it soon slowly twisted back into place—as how a head should look on the shoulders—the neck cracking. Nicodemus immediately felt sick to his stomach, doing all he could to stave off the bile that wished to geyser out of him.

The great horned owl then ruffled its plumage, which was overlaid with cobwebs, before taking a few steps forward, bringing his head down, and studying the intruder of his home. His eyes narrowed slightly, though it was hard to decipher the emotion that now plastered his face.

Nicodemus swallowed the lump in his throat. Was the owl planning on consuming him? Whatever the case, the rat stood his ground, back steeled. He wouldn't let this great horned owl make him wilt to his knees and beg to be spared. Nicodemus pulled back the hood of his cloak and aimed his eyes directly at the latter's, showing that he wouldn't let the prospect of what would come intimidate him.

Upon seeing Nicodemus's face, the great horned owl's demeanor faintly changed just from how his eyes rounded a little, and it didn't take long for the rat leader to guess why. Nicodemus took in the owl's appearance and realized that they didn't look that much different… like they were products of the same thing.

The magic had wanted Nicodemus to seek out this great-looking owl.

"As you know, the Great Owl is not particularly friendly to anyone, for he prefers the comfort and isolation of his home, but when he saw my face and I spoke about my life at NIMH with the others, our escape and so on, it piqued his interest. Though he did not say so, I believe he had already been aware of us and our activities from the air in the evenings."

Nicodemus told his tale of everything that happened in the past with his colony to the Great Owl. As he did, the owl listened carefully, never once interrupting, and only spoke when the rat leader paused his word-vomiting after finishing a part of his story. The Great Owl didn't seem to mind hearing the story and seemed invested in it, even if it was hard to read on his face.

"I had learned that the Great Owl, too, meditated, and he had been granted the abilities he now has, but they are confidential. Albeit, I digress. I told him about our predicament and my ideas for solving it, and it was he who told me about Thorn Valley, also known as the Promised Land—he knew every tree, trail, and stone. The owl told me that he had never seen a human being near it in all the years he had been flying."

Imagery of Thorn Valley, aka the Promised Land, was spun out in the middle of the device, and it was exactly how you'd imagine it. The valley was tucked away from the furthest reaches of humankind, surrounded by thorny thickets and mountains. Still, in the heart of it all was the land filled with promises: mighty trees, fat shrubs, ponds and lakes that were as clear as glass, an abundance of grown food ladening the respective owners that gave life to them, beautiful wildflowers, forbye animals roaming or swimming freely.

It was perfect, a place where the mischief of NIMH wouldn't have to worry about the humans or steal from them and could just be themselves. There was no doubt about it that this could be their home sweet home. They could finally settle somewhere safe and not live in fear. They could finally be as free as the animals that were living there.

It finally seemed to be the saga's conclusion as the Spinner shut down, and everything in the middle of it waned. Even so, Chris and Mrs. Brisby's craving for answers had been fulfilled.

The Promised Land… Chris mused, and then his eyes lit with cognizance. The rats singing back at the docks must have been singing about Thorn Valley. That makes much more sense.

"And that is how we began working out the Plan," Nicodemus said, finishing the story.

Chris and Mrs. Brisby slid their gazes to each other briefly but then brought their eyes to their gifts—Chris had attached his sheathed sword to the waist of his jeans while Nicodemus had proceeded with his narration of the past. These were a symbol of not only Nicodemus's and his mischief's brilliant minds but also their kindness, and there was without a shadow of a doubt that with their big brains and considerateness, they'd be able to help move the Brisby home to the lee of the stone.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Mrs. Brisby gratefully said, "for everything. I'll never forget this nor what you and your colony are willing to do for me and my children."

Chris nodded in agreement and then went ahead to say, "Yes, thank you. This was truly quite an experience for me." He rubbed his neck as he felt guilt then come over him. "Admittedly, I had misjudged you all at first… but after what you told us, I feel I can better understand you and the others here and why you did what you did. I respect not only your Plan but also you and your colony. My words might not be enough to convey that, but I hope–"

"It is quite alright, Mr. Fitzgibbons," Nicodemus spoke, gently breaking off Chris's sentence. "You had never known about our backstory, so you had no way of knowing until now. Even if you had misjudged, it does not define you as a bad person. If you were a bad person, you wouldn't have listened to my story, would've shamed us entirely, no matter what we said and did, and would've tried to exterminate us. But you never did, and that is something a decent living being can do. Listen, understand, and learn. That is how we can mature the older we get."

Chris never considered that but didn't question it because it made sense. Perhaps he was growing wiser; he just didn't give himself enough credit. Either way, it had been a pleasure for Chris to meet the rats of NIMH, including Nicodemus.

A knock sounded at the door. It creaked open, revealing Justin at the doorway. "Nicodemus?" He called out. "Everything is prepared, and the boats are ready and waiting. We can leave at any time."

"Good," Nicodemus replied.

"No–no–no!" Chris burst out, saying out of nowhere.

Mrs. Brisby, Justin, and Nicodemus's eyes landed on him, and they saw that he looked panicked about something as he patted at his jean jacket and gazed inside the pockets.

"Chris?" Mrs. Brisby asked, concern lacing her voice.

"My pocket knife and flashlight, they're gone! They're not on me!"

Chris thought that he was going crazy when he felt that his jacket seemed lighter, but he didn't think much of it earlier as all his sole attention had been on the meeting and Nicodemus's story. But now he figured out why that was because his flashlight and pocket knife were not where they should be. He could've sworn he crammed them into the pockets! So where were they?!

"Don't worry, Chris," Justin assured the tiny human, "we'll go find them. They might've accidentally slipped out of your pockets somewhere, so they can't be that far."

A bit of relief washed over Chris. Yeah, that's probably it; maybe that's why they weren't in his pockets. Surely they're anywhere by now, right? All Chris could do was cling to gossamer threads of hope, and maybe, just maybe, they'll turn up somewhere. He could live without the flashlight, but the pocket knife his father gifted him? He couldn't afford to lose it. It meant too much to him.

Jenner waited for Sullivan to arrive at the agreed-upon corridor within a few hours. It was barely used so they wouldn't draw unwanted attention and make themselves look suspicious. However, Sullivan was running five minutes later, which rubbed Jenner the wrong way.

What is taking so long? He cerebrally grumbled. So help me, I will not hesitate to–

Sullivan's frame appeared finally, and Jenner's face contorted with irritation. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were about to bail out of this."

"No–no," Sullivan tried reassuring the former. "I wasn't. I just lost track of time. I'm sorry, Jenner. I was trying to be careful. Surely you can understand that."

Jenner hummed, taking note of Sullivan's body language, and he appeared to be apprehensive, perhaps by what they were doing. That could be a problem, and Jenner decided he would need to keep an eye on him. You could never be too sure of who your true allies were.

"Well, did he have anything that could work in our favor?" Jenner pressed, changing the subject to what they were meant to focus on.

"All I got were these," Sullivan responded, and he gave the taller rat two objects.

Jenner examined the items Sullivan could grab from the tiny human's jacket. The first item was a flashlight, and the second was a pocket knife with the tiny human's first and last name engraved on it. Jenner handed the flashlight back to Sullivan, and then his eyes poured over the pocket knife again. He found himself pivoting the blade out of its shell. It was perfect for cutting something… like rope.

A malicious smile broke across Jenner's face, and an ominous chuckle escaped him. "This is perfect," He stated, more to himself than to his partner in crime.

"Jenner?" Sullivan uttered in a somewhat nervous tone.

Jenner twirled the pocket knife between his fingers, flaunting it in a way. "I am sure you know by now how the Brisby house will be moved."

"Well… yes, almost everyone does by now since Justin and Arthur announced it." Sullivan scrutinized Jenner's face like a puzzle that needed to be solved. "What are you plotting now?"

It was then that Jenner finally gazed back at the burly rat. "The Brisby house is a large cement block." He grazed a claw across the pocket blade. "In the moving, what if it should fall?"

Sullivan's eyes bugged at that. "An accident?"

"Of course. Cut the lines, and the weight of it will crush Nicodemus's bones." To emphasize his point, Jenner slashed the air with the pocket blade, making the burly rat flinch. "And the best part? When someone stumbles upon this weapon, they'll immediately infer that the Fitzgibbons boy did it, especially when his name just so happens to be carved on it."

The burly rat swallowed. "But Jenner, will killing Nicodemus and framing the Fitzgibbons boy be worth it? What if–"

"You dare question me?" Jenner harshly said, baring his teeth with a feral look. He griped Sullivan's shirt and pressed the pocket blade tip against his neck, and a gasp came out of the burly rat. "If we wish to stay here, we get rid of the root of the problem. As long as Nicodemus is alive, the Plan lives. You do want to stay here, right?" He deepened the tip of the blade a little more into Sullivan's neck, and a thin river of blood oozed down.

In response to that threat, Sullivan winced.

"Trust me, it will all be worth it in the end. Unless, of course, you, too, will be giving me problems."

There was a beat of unbearable silence, but Sullivan eventually yielded and weakly said, "I want to stay…"

The answer pleased Jenner. "Good." He released his hold on Sullivan's shirt and retracted the pocket knife. "Now, clean yourself up." Jenner raked his tongue across the flat part of the blade, the salty and metallic blood of Sullivan's coating that said organ. "Tonight, we will make history."

A/N- And that, my friends, wraps up Nicodemus's story! Long it was, but hey, Chris and Mrs. Brisby now have the answers they wanted. But, uh oh, Jenner is still going through with the scheme, and he now has Chris's items! Whatever will happen next? Well, you'll find out soon in the following chapters, but I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and I will catch you all later in chapter 24!

Reviews:

ric castle: It's okay, but I knew you were referring to Jenner. Thank you, but Jonathan didn't forge the Thunder Blade; it was a blacksmith that forged it ^^

Lelouch-Strife: Cool, but let's try not to call anyone in this story idiots, okay? ^w^

Fan Boy 101: Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it! We will undoubtedly get to more of the good stuff soon enough!

STG96: Good guess, but like this chapter explained, he, too, meditated like Nicodemus, and that's how he got his glowing eyes as well ;)

godzillafan1: Most certainly, my friend, and now we have another one here, lol. And yeah, I'm glad to have explained the stuff here that was never explained in the movie, for sure :D