Trashwater went

  to find his littermate. He wasn't much older than a pup, but the Great

  Mother had come to rely on them as emissaries. She sent them across the

  city, through the sewers, delivering her messages, communicating her

  will.

  Trashwater

  searched in his sibling's common places - the piles of refuse where the

  bigger beasts and humans never lived, the safe places for their kind.

  The rats didn't fear the other creatures, but they did avoid them. Of

  course, no greater creatures lived than the rats. They exceeded all

  other creatures in sheer numbers, with the possible exception of

  roaches. But no one of worth considered roaches more than an occasional

  snack.

  Trashwater

  found his brother resting on a savory pile of refuse in the sewers. The

  humans kept a feeding place above where they would trade bits of metal

  and paper for food. Trashwater thought this was a delicious custom and

  loved it because they threw so much away.

  "Curbdirt," he said, "thou wilt grow fat if thou keepest eating the human food."

  "Quiet, brother!" said Curbdirt. "I

  do not need advice from thee. Thou art filthy. Go and clean thyself.

  Find thy namesake and be baptized so thou dost not stink of clean."

  His

  brother was right; he had spent too much time in the clean water. It

  had been raining. His fragrant trash-stink had long since washed off.

  Still, he did not appreciate a lecture from his younger brother, even if

  he was only moments older.

  "Silence," said Trashwater. "The Great Mother calls us again. This time we must reveal ourselves to a human."

  "What?" said Curbdirt. "We have never spoken to a human. The Great Mother wishes this? Thou dost not jest?"

  "I speak true, my brother. The Great Mother has called us. She wishes us to visit a human and summon the human to Her presence."

  "Very well, brother. Where do we find this human?"

  The

  two rats made their way through the city via the sewers. The rats made

  their way cautiously. There had been trouble there in recent days.

  Humans invaded with their filthy magic and turned the rats they found

  into monstrosities. Then, suddenly, it stopped. The undead rats and the

  other beasts the humans raised all died at once. The rat council had, at

  the time, banned travel through the sewers. The elders now said the

  disturbance was gone and the sewers were safe again.

  The

  rats ate what humans discarded and made their pups in the sewers where

  humans and big animals would not go. So the rats were grudgingly

  grateful, though humans killed them whenever they could. It was a

  symbiotic relationship, at best.

  The

  rats knew they owed their existence in the city to the trash humans

  left behind and the sewage they dumped. A few brave explorers found

  lives in buildings humans had abandoned. Often, these places were so

  cramped the great Rat Kings were born. Their powers kept the rats safe

  for generations, so again the rats owed their power and safety to the

  humans. But they still despised them. The humans did not do these things

  for them. They trapped rats, and they tortured rats, and they killed

  rats, and they poisoned rats. But they did have delicious trash.

  The rat brothers made their way across the city to the place the Great Mother indicated.

  They

  came up through a sewer grate to the back of the building. It was easy

  to find a hole. Rats had made their way into this building before. They

  were familiar with this neighborhood. There were many humans living

  piled atop each other here. Where there were many humans, there would be

  many rats eating the trash they left behind, hiding in the walls,

  waiting to whisper secrets humans would never understand.

  It

  was early morning. The sun hadn't quite peeked down through the clouds.

  The sky was starting to take on the pink hue of early morning. Rats

  were nocturnal by nature, but they didn't mind the dawn.

  The

  Great Mother told them where to find the one they sought. She would

  have black fur upon her head, only one eye, and stink of the cleanliness

  of humans more than others, but less than some.

  They

  found her sleeping, wearing the clothes humans wore

  during the daytime. Next to the bed, there was a stinking bottle of

  fire-water the rats hated. Trashwater never understood the appeal. It

  burned the tongue. In a glass bowl, still smoldering, lay one of the

  smoking sticks the humans loved. The lunatics breathed the smoke.

  Trashwater never understood half the things humans did. But they learned

  of them from stories and from the rat kings and from the Great Council

  of Rats. All the rats made a practice of knowing human ways, the better

  to find trash. They still found humans mystical and perverse.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  "Let me wake her." Curbdirt whispered. "She

  is summoned by the Great Mother, and we should show her due respect. I

  worry thy hatred of humans will come through in thy voice. This one hath

  not spoken to rats. We must be careful diplomats."

  Trashwater nodded. He watched his brother creep up to the bedside and climb on top of her bed.

  "Wake, human," said Curbdirt. "And be summoned!"

  Rats

  did not speak to each other often. They relied on their bodies and

  their scent to tell their stories. They didn't need many words.

  Mimicking human speech was a gift granted by the Great Mother for this

  task.

  The

  human's eye shot open and she screamed. She flailed her arms and pushed

  her body away from Curbdirt. She struck out with her feet, trying to

  kick him off the bed.

  "Wait, human! We have been sent to thee by the Great Mother," said Curbdirt.

  A flailing kick managed to knock him off the bed. This was when Trashwater decided to speak up.

  "Human, please stop."

  The human turned her eye towards him and put her hand to her head, rubbing her temple.

  "God damn it, talking rats. What the hell do you want?" she asked through gritted teeth.

  "We have been sent to summon thee," said Curbdirt, who had managed to climb back up onto the bed.

  "Okay, sure. Where have I been summoned to? And by who?"

  "The Great Mother summons thee," said Trashwater.

  "The Spirit of the World summons thee," said Curbdirt.

  The

  woman closed her eye and reached a hand up to her head, wiping sweat

  and hair away. She grabbed one of the stinking smoking sticks. She

  brought fire up to her face and inhaled the rancid smoke.

  "Okay. Sure."

  "I'm not going in the fucking sewer again," Sam told the rats. They had suggested following her to their Great Mother.

  Sam

  wasn't surprised by the talking rats. She knew she wasn't

  hallucinating. Ever since her visit to the sewers, she couldn't get

  drunk anymore. Sam lamented her loss. She had trouble getting to sleep

  without a stiff drink. When she woke up, her hands shook.

  She

  decided to go see what the summons was about. Because it's not like

  talking rats came every day. And these rats were so polite. They didn't

  even shit on her sheets.

  The

  rats told her their Great Mother had summoned her to the dump. She

  didn't know if she was going to be meeting a giant rat or what a Great

  Mother could be. This was too interesting to stay in bed. If she sat

  around at home all day, she'd try to drink and it wouldn't work. She'd

  get a little drunk, and it would fade. She wondered if this was a

  residual effect of the Elixir of Life.

  She

  hoped it would fucking wear off soon. A respectable drink got her

  through most of her days. Still, she appreciated how she didn't want to

  throw up in the mornings.

  The rats offered to accompany her to the dump, or the Great Paradise, as they called it. The best neighborhood in the city.

  "It is the home of the Rat Council,"

  said her new friend, Trashwater, which she thought was a perfect name

  for a rat. She'd learned the rats were brothers. Curbdirt was less

  talkative. He stared at her and she couldn't interpret his rat

  expression. At least she thought the quiet one was Curbdirt and the

  other one was Trashwater. It was possible she had gotten them confused.

  She couldn't tell them apart.

  Sam

  wondered how the rats had gotten past Rex who still slept near the

  radiator in Sam's office. Sam wouldn't let the zombie dog share her bed.

  She tried to give the dog back but Missy and her mother were gone. She

  hadn't had time to investigate that problem.

  Sam

  hailed a cab and made her way to the dump. It was autumn and the air

  was cool. She thought the winter would be cold this year. The cold

  always made the stone in her eye socket hurt. She wore a black overcoat

  and gloves. The pockets of her coat were filled with talking rats.

  Her

  recent visit to the sewers had taught her to dress for the weather. In

  her line of work she could never tell where she'd end up. Better to

  overdress than be caught without.

  "This

  way, human, to the Great Mother," Trashwater said, sticking his head

  out of her pocket. "Thou wilt find her in the center of the refuse."

  Sam

  walked through the mountains of trash. The dump was in the southeastern

  part of the city. It was in an industrial section with warehouses and

  docks, accessible from almost any part of the city except where the rich

  folk lived. She walked past broken cars, ruined appliances, children's

  toys, bits of paper, all the things humans left behind.

  She

  found it almost peaceful. There was no one else here. Whoever the Great

  Mother was must not want her audience witnessed. Sam came to the center

  of the dump. She saw a clearing amid piles of trash, circular,

  surrounded by frames of cars and bathtubs overturned. In the center of

  the clearing lay part of a mannequin. Only a face, as if someone had

  discarded a Halloween mask.

  The rats jumped from her pockets. They went to the center of this room, bowed their heads, stood on their hind legs, and said, "Oh Great Mother, we present to thee Samantha Fontaine. The human thou hast requested."

  Sam

  watched, fascinated, as the small plastic mask floated up, its eyes

  opened. As the mask rose, bits of trash swirled around it. In some

  places, wires formed hair, broken porcelain formed the

  skull. Broken plumbing became the bone for an arm, wrapped in

  newspaper which served as skin. Strands of rubber formed muscle until,

  standing before her, was the sculpture of a woman made of trash. She had

  no legs. Instead, the trash formed a long gown. She smiled and inclined her head towards Sam.

  "Welcome, Samantha. I am the Spirit of the City."