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Call of the Beakon

By Susan Bowman

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Chapter One
Punk – A Bucktooth Mole

Twenty black mole eyes blinked in the dingy light of a musty underground tunnel. The moles’ jabbering bounced off dirt walls as ten long-clawed animals pressed together like a pack of hungry rats. Tiny, sharp teeth crunched on squirming grubs as stories of crazy diggers and falling ceilings started the new day. They were one digging crew out of many, and Punk would have joined any one of them.
“Wrap it up, you stinky bug eaters.” The rugged voice boomed from the mole they called Boss. “The Naysay Tunnels won’t dig themselves.”
The mole crew gulped their breakfasts and stood at attention. Boss Mole paced in front, inspected the line of workers, and barked orders. Same drill, different day.
Punk crouched in the shadows, scootching forward every so often, and watching for the smallest hint of an invitation. Spiteful sideways sneers told him he was seen but certainly not welcome.
“Ignore that bucktooth mole,” Boss Mole demanded of his crew.
It stung Punk every time. Inching backward, he faded into the darkness, moving alongside a line of ants carrying leaf bits back to their queen.
Punk’s long claws left drag marks on the dirt floor as he shuffled along. He entered Naysay’s Common Area, taking in the large umbrella-shaped room with its six connecting tunnels running deep and twisting into the earth. His usual spot lay empty, and he waddled over. Sitting down, he pushed his backside against the damp clay wall. He shivered when the chill creeped through his fur, while his mood oozed the same gray tone as the dull light spilling through the circular ceiling opening just above his head. Cool, fresh air poured through the hole, carrying with it the smell of rain.
I wish somebody would talk to me. He gave the wide room a once-over. Loneliness slumped his shoulders and a funk pressed his chest.
Across the room, another group of moles hung out known as the Dirty Diggers Gang. These guys were the meanest of the means, the grungiest of the grungy, the thuggiest of the thugs, with their leader, Nasty, the worst of the worst. Yet, Punk’s greatest desire was a come on over wave from any one of them.
A flash of white light zinged through the tunnel’s roof entrance, filling the Common Area with a blazing whiteness that blinded Punk. One sharp crack followed, then the rumble of a deep, thundering boom vibrated the ground under his large paws. A mousy squeak escaped Punk, and every Dirty Digger heard him. Slowly turning, the gang aimed their teasing, snarly faces at the startled mole.
“Afraid of a little storm?” Nasty sneered.
They all laughed. Their hoots bounced off the walls and settled inside Punk’s heart. He hated when that happened.
“What’s that?” Punk looked away from their taunts, toward the ceiling hole. “Something’s happening in the Up World.” Rustling and the thump, thump of footsteps echoed through from the place of the light. Someone spoke, and Punk stepped closer to listen.
“NO! King, wait!” Raindrops muffled the flute-like voice.
“Momma Beakon.” The man answered, slow and calm.
“I need to know my baby will be okay.”
“You know I love your darling.” Compassion filled the man’s comforting words. Something about this man, something Punk couldn’t explain, caused him to stretch closer, stepping toward the place of the light.
“But why this one? Why not someone else’s?” The flute voice cracked on the last word. Silence followed, long enough for the rain’s plink plunk to turn into rat-a-tat-tat.
“Momma Beakon?” The man’s voice lifted.
Twenty pink mole noses tilted upward, and angry, beady eyes focused on the mole hole. Grunts of displeasure and the stomping of clawed feet filled the Common Area when the man spoke. He’s the enemy. Nasty told them so.
“This is My plan. You know it’s for good.” The man’s shuffling brought Him closer to the tunnel entrance, and the Dirty Diggers bunched tighter.
“I can’t let go.” She answered with a broken whisper.
“Do you trust Me?” The simple question nestled in Punk’s heart, as if directed at him.
“You know I do. It’s just…”
“I know, little Momma. This is hard. Please don’t worry. I’ll be watching the whole time.”
Burbling water gurgled from far away, then grew close. Moles stepped back as dirt from the mole mound above splattered onto the Common Area floor, and a small stream poured over the edge like a tiny waterfall. A marble-sized bird egg fell with the overflow, landing with a light thud on the soft dirt. It tumbled across the floor and came to a slow, rocking halt, inches from Punk’s pointed claws.
“What is it?” Punk’s long nose quivered while searching for the scent of the bird egg.
“Bite it, I dare ya.” Nasty’s glossy fur gleamed like polished black stone, except where a lightning bolt scar zigzagged from his shoulder to the middle of his back. The scar gave witness to his earned position as leader of the Dirty Diggers Mole Gang, a title won after a not-so-long-ago fight between father and son. They called the battle legendary and left the new gang leader with big paw prints to fill. Nasty reflected his dad, mirroring his most spiteful parts. But his mom was another story. Her kindness and spunk left a void in the Naysay Tunnels now that she was gone.
“But…but I don’t know what it is.” Punk tried to hide the whine in his voice.
“Scared?” Nasty’s upper lip lifted in a one-sided smile, showing his needle teeth.
“I ain’t scared,” Punk huffed, trying to impress the onlookers, and enjoying the attention a little. He opened his mouth to chomp on the mysterious new arrival. This is it. They’ll let me join the Dirty Diggers now.
The egg wobbled, startling Punk. He sprang backward and stumbled over a rock.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, ouch!” His front claws waved in wide circles, and he landed flat, legs straight up like a dead stink bug.
“You ain’t ready to join the Dirty Diggers.” Nasty straddled Punk, his grub breath traveling through the millimeters between the two. “You might never be.” He hissed, stepping off Punk.
Punk lay wilted with embarrassment. Ergh, he righted himself. Why did he even try? They wouldn’t let him join the Dirty Diggers Gang today, same as yesterday and the days before.
With a nod from Nasty, six Dirty Diggers sprinted. Each nosedived into separate tunnels attached to the Common Area, heading deeper into the earth to broadcast about the odd thing that arrived from the Up. Before long, the room filled with a swarm of gawking eyes as the tiny egg lay quiet. Nasty broke through the mass of moles and stood next to the cream-colored, oblong intruder. He puffed out his chest, his army of Dirty Diggers close by at full attention.
One of the Dirty Diggers stepped closer for a sniff. “What is it?”
Nasty circled the egg, poking it with his nose. “Not sure yet.”
“Um, excuse me.” A she-mole sauntered through the crowd. Her fur shimmered from hours of grooming, and her eyes glowed like amber. She moved forward with the only manicured claws in Naysay. A corner of her mouth slanted upward in a haughty half smile while moles’ heads turned and followed her as she passed by.
Nasty’s scowl softened at the arrival of the beautiful Miss Chinwag. He took five small steps closer to her, aiming stink-eye warning shots at any other mole who may have the same idea.
The egg began to sway in a lullaby rhythm. The shell’s center cracked full circle, then fell away as a sleepy creature, glistening with egg goop, slipped out with a sloppy flop.
“That’s disgusting,” said a Dirty Digger. “Ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m going to throw up!” Another Dirty Digger covered his mouth while running from the room.
The thing looked like a bug-eyed, slimy alien. Blinking wide, its big eyes nearly filled its face, and the toothless, pointed mouth opened and closed in silent screams.
“Punk fainted!” The words came through muffled, as if in Punk’s dream.
“Dang it!” Punk’s left eye cracked open as the onlookers’ snickers landed on him. He sprang up like a startled grasshopper.
“Unbelievable!” Nasty elbowed a comrade who stood next to him.
“What do we do with it?” Miss Chinwag sniffled and scratched her nose as her eyes grew glassy. Ah-Choo! “That thing made me sneeze.” She pointed at the baby.
“I’ll take it!” Punk wormed himself through the moles, raising a paw high in the air. For sure, this time, they’ll make me a Dirty Digger.
“Now, aren’t you a brave mole?” Miss Chinwag moseyed over to Punk. Reaching out a shiny claw, she stroked his cheek.
Nasty snapped toward Punk. “You better watch it.” His eyes fired flames at the mole, but even that couldn’t stop a smile from creeping across Punk’s face.
“Help me out!” Punk ignored Nasty and talked directly to Miss Chinwag.
“Who, me?” Miss Chinwag scrunched her nose. “But The Diggers will see.” A flash of worry crossed her face.
“Yes, please.” Punk stepped close to the newborn and crouched down. “Push him up onto my back.”
Miss Chinwag scanned the room. “Should I?” she mumbled quietly under her breath. Judging eyes watched her, and she hesitated. “Just this once.” Her words hissed in anger. She slid her nose under the baby’s feet, plunking the creature onto Punk’s back with a careless flip.
“Ahem,” Punk gave a hero’s wave. “I got this. You all don’t have to worry. It’s under control.”
The bird clung to Punk with both skinny feet, his tiny nails scratching Punk’s skin underneath brown fur. They exited the Common Area through the third tunnel portal, walking around dripping water and under spider webs. At last, they settled inside Punk’s newly dug pocket den—a small, hollowed-out room off a Naysay Tunnel.
“You’re going to like it here.” Punk stood in the center of the room.
The baby’s head swiveled. Eyes wide, he searched the space. Punk crouched and rolled to one side, and the baby’s wings flapped uselessly as the bird slid off his back, landing on the dirt floor. Walking over to his neatly stacked bug pile, Punk grabbed a grub and plunked down while he chewed.
“What should I call you?” He scratched his chin. “I had a friend once. He came from the Up, same as you. Nicest toad I ever met.” His face drooped. “I’ll never forget those bulgy eyes. He told me all about birds. And now here you are. Anyway, he died.” A familiar tightness squeezed his chest. “I was supposed to feed him.”
Clutching another bug, Punk pointed it at the baby bird. “The toad’s name was Duane. It’s what I’ll call you.”
Humming, Punk ground the grub into specks and laid the food next to the exhausted bird. A black spider crept across the floor, and Duane keeled over, letting out a frightened cheep!
“Shoo,” Punk waved his paw at the spider, and it skittered away on its spindly legs. He used a sharp claw to draw a picture of a grub on the pocket den wall. “This will be my reminder to feed you.” Satisfied, he laid down next to Duane. With careful snout scoots, he inched the baby closer, snuggling him into his fur. “What a day. I’ll bet those Dirty Diggers scared you. Don’t worry, little guy. I’ll protect you.”
And thus began the weirdest friendship in Naysay history.

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