The Ways of Rat are Unfathomable

The Ways of Rat are Unfathomable

Inspired by delirious dreams or by signs that they are meaningless to the profane, the goblin prophets lead their brethren by the thousands on feverish expeditions to carry out their god’s grand designs. Vulgar pillaging to some, the quests of the rats of No-Dan-Kar are nevertheless the testimony of a genuine and deeply felt faith.

We Were Starving to Death, Really

Life sure was tough that winter. All the troops had gone far to the east to fight the dwarves. They said that we had to take back the sacred caverns. So, Klûne was all full of pomp, with noble knights, the Ströhms and the militias, decorated with standards and even music. Ah, it was a beautiful sight alright, except that we were dying in the mangroves. My brats were sweeping the waters for roots and one little urchin went to meet Rat last year. Glanders of the swamps got the best of her. And glanders don't pardon nothing, plus it sure ain't a nice sight to see.

Without any real reasons them Kelts started attacking us in our mushroom villages and nobody came to help us. Us, the hicks of the bogs don't count for much. We were starving to death, really. I tried to knock up Bonnie to get us some extra hands, yet we wasn't going to hold out long. In the evenings we prayed for Rat to come an' help us out a bit, at least to be able to eat, and that he helps our emp'ror see that we needed him to think about us.

That's when Rat helped us. His chosen prophet came, all dressed in rags and bent over a bone that looked like a troll's an' he spoke to us about Rat who had freed us, and about us, that we were just like slaves in our little huts. Rats were running all around him and in his tattered shirt. For a whole week he sat in the village square and told stories about Rat. People came from far yonder to see him. Bonnie an' me, we also went when we could to pray to Rat. He looked at the sky, the mud and the mushrooms, but he never looked anyone in the eye. We realized that he was blind an' deaf an' that the rats were his eyes an' ears! Listening to him really made us happy. We finally counted for someone important.

By the end of the week we was more than a hundred and the marauders had come to join us. I felt proud 'cause I told myself "if them Kelts arrive we'll kick their butts." I didn't see any further than the end of my nose. The prophet kept on speaking an' told us of his life, how he had found the Great Rat's bones in a city an' how he had hidden for years to decipher the engravings on the rib bones. His name was Xherus an' he was a visionary. Now he had left the city an' he wanted to read us Rat's messages an' translate them for us. Since we didn't have no books, we didn't un'erstand what he was doin' here, so he explained it to us: the world be full of messages, you just had to listen.

Me, I was really struck by what he said an' I suddenly felt like a poet. I had a strange shiver and my hairs stood up straight. Even today I still aksk myself what got into me that day. I got up an' I said "Xherus, prophet, I feel like a poet." That really blew him away. He started walking sideways while going ring-a-ding with his little bell and he shouted "The Ninth Pump!" an' then fainted.

When he woke up he called me to him and said: "It's Rat who spoke through your mouth. Your words are the first ones I've heard with my own ears in ten years an' they have shown me the way. Misery ain't no fatality, not any more than hunger an' disease. Come with me an' together we'll go looking for the Ninth Pump of Rat to give birth to abundance. With it no land'll be able to resist the flood of our people an' you, you'll plough the furrows of the future in it."

But Tomorrow Would Be Better

So I left everything behind. Bonnie waved good-bye while crying. It broke my heart, but I still followed the prophet. That's the last time I saw Bonnie, an' since then it makes me sad when I think that maybe I lost her for nothing.

But tomorrow would be better. That's what we believed. Each one of us pictured the Ninth Pump in his own way: to some it was a shoe that could summon giants, to others it was a slipper of fertility. Me, I was smarter: if it was one of Rat's pumps, then it couldn't be a normal one; it had to be gigantic an' have nine toes. Xherus didn't tell us nothing and his silence made us come up with even wilder theories.

Our faith was giving us wings. In every village we passed through we recruited by the wagonload and didn't reject anyone. Xherus told us that God had given him new strength. Then rats were following us by the thousands an' he, he spoke to them all. He had become aware. We were one hekuva gang, with deserters from the militia, seasick filibusters, and villagers out for a good time.

I wasn't the only one obsessed with the Kelts. Others thought the same so we started moving toward the plains with our prophet following behind. He didn't say nothing no more an' we didn't know where to find the Pump. We just stupidly said "The Kelts have it, they just have to." That's how we ended up rushing into Kelt villages while screaming that we wanted our Pump back. We went totally crazy: sometimes we fought, sometimes we danced with them. We did just anything, hoping that it would please Rat an' that he would speak to the prophet.

In the ninth village, drunk on Kelt mead and prayers, we thought that it would be good to celebrate an' we raised a gigantic pole on which we stuck wish lists. We dictated them to the prophet an' he wrote them in the universal language of Rat, an alphabet that only he could read but which we all pretended to know. We added a few bells, trinkets and Kelt heads – at least those of the ones who had gotten on our nerves – to the pole. It looked really cool. So cool that we decided to take it with us. The prophet told us that we had made the figurehead of a fabulous ark and that the ark’s inhabitants was us. We didn't un'erstand nuthin', but it sounded serious so we all agreed.

Before we had the ark, we sang songs of the temples' choirs, we signed ourselves three or four times and we shook bells to make us feel religious, an' that was enough. But now, when we carried the figurehead, we realized that, like, it was a divine mission, an' not just pillaging to have fun with a bunch of friends. I hadn't left Bonnie an' the brats behind to just joke around.

That was the first step, the beginning of the predication.

The Predication

Xherus had found the inspiration he was looking for. He spoke all the time while rubbing his temples, and he sometimes shouted out formulas as loud as he could. We were really into it: in the middle of meals, we would start thinking about life, the gods or the world. We aksk ourselves questions like "why is there the sky?" or "what happens before life?" We aksk ourselves these things all the time, even the day when we slaughtered the fiannas of Danu's horde of vengeance. I also remember having aksk a minotaur that was charging me if he had already seen a horned hare, seeing that the day before the prophet had said that "life is like a horned hare: you can look for it but you won't find it," but I never found out if he had seen one or not because while he was thinking about it we were twelve to pounce on him and finish him off.

We was just a bunch of poor folks and we had decided that we wouldn't be like the others an' that we'd share everything an' not have a chief. At first it worked well, but then we thought that it would be really smart to give a bigger share of the loot to the most faithful members of our gang. The old system was: "you find some stuff, you run fast, an' it's yours." Then it became: "you find some stuff, the whole gang jumps on you and those who pretend to pray the hardest snatch it from you." Obviously, this didn't please the fastest runners among us. The biggest cheapskates suddenly became the most devout. They said that they got scarred by their prayers. To appear authentic, they crawled on the rocks or whipped their backs an' showed the others how scarred they were. We all tried to outdo each other; we wore the skin off our backs by flagellating ourselves an' we spent hours staring ecstatically at ferrets coming out of their burrows. Things really started to smell fishy.

The prophet was over-excited. We was running all over the place while shouting mysterious words into the air. He liked me a lot. I believe that he thought that I had been chosen by Rat and I got triple rations at every stop we made. We didn't find any signs of the Ninth Pump, but the prophet's efforts and the wonders that he performed were enough to give us confidence. He provided us with more an' more grub, summoned rats by the thousands, healed the sick an' banished bad spirits. We didn't fear nuthin' no more. Me, well fed an' close to Xherus, I thought less about the poorer members of the gang an' about my brothers in the bogs. In the end I believed that this was the life of a faithful and that this was the way things were. I had to appear to be as mad as the others, an' seeing that this was to my advantage, I didn't aksk myself any questions. It's funny that after having aksk myself thousands of questions I no longer doubted anything since I had all the answers.

On the Road to Reconquest!

One morning we decided to make a move. We held the ark's figurehead up high and tore our clothes. Xherus let out a terrifying cry and said: "Rat doesn't want to answer us because the priests have led his call astray. They have abandoned our temples to the enemies of our god. Rat doesn't want these iniquitous priests. My brothers, faith makes us strong, faith makes us invincible. Let's go to the temples of the Wall of Giants and take them back, one by one, from the arrogant people who have made them theirs! Rat will guide us and while we're at it we'll find the Ninth Pump!"

That was it. Finally! We set off in a long column filled with shots and singing. The squeaks of the faithful mingled with the noise of the bells to produce the sound that pleases Rat all along the road toward the Wall of Giants. And everywhere the Kelts fled before our tide.

When we arrived in front of the first temples, Rat's official priests were awaiting us. They preachified us, saying that we had to leave the temples to respect an agreement made by the former emperor. Us, we didn't give a damn about the old agreement; these temples were ours, after all!

The priest started getting all mixed up, rambling on about Kelts who had set up shops inside an' that the price of cheese would crash an' cause all kind of invasions. So we nailed two or three of them to the ark's figurehead to show them that we weren't kidding, an' then the others finally said that we were probably right after all: this figurehead truly was miraculous.

We used it to ram the temples' gates an', sloshing through whey and ewe cheese, we threw them Kelts out. They must've really hated us, them Kelts. Every time we conquered back a temple, all kind of rats joined us as a sign of our god's favor. I saw shrews, giant rats that were three meters tall, hamsters that were no bigger than my thumb, an' even lemmings that came to die. We declared that the rats had been sent by god and that killing a rat equaled killing a goblin. All day we filled the air with smoke using incense that we rolled in rat droppings or by burning whole blocks of dried rat turd carried by brats in bowls. The smell alone let us win battles without even having to get out our cleavers.

Temple after temple we became a true army. Two weeks later all the sites of the Wall of Giants had been taken back. The nights were constantly filled with the sound of chimes and the moans of the faithful who had stuffed themselves with the indigestible cheese of Avagddu. The fires of our gang could be seen burning on all the ridges. We were in control of the region. We were now important people.

We Were Important People

Our victories had attracted all kinds of goblins. Me, I didn't like the newcomers too much. They looked like conspirators to me. They whispered in the evenings around the campfires and the bells were rarely heard any more. There were loads of rumors being spread about the arrival of the Kelts or of the Ströhm guards, about whom we weren't sure if they'd rally us or slaughter us. When walking around the temples I passed groups of masked militiamen who I had never seen before. Once in a while small naphtha bombs exploded in some camp or another and the whispers became ever louder. In short, agitators had joined our gang, and agitate they sure did.

I was worried an' I decided to talk to Xherus about it. To make me feel better he told me that he had just informed the Emperor in Klûne, asking him to rally to the quest for the Ninth Pump. He was very proud of his idea, but I must admit that I didn't like it very much.

Two days later we heard the imperial march and the noble Ströhm knights arrived at the command of several officers of the N.B.A. (No-Dan-Kar Battle Academy) Nine heralds riding on giant rats opened the way for them. They sure made us feel like small fry! They headed straight to the temple where Xherus was praying an' they spoke with him for several hours. In the end they came out with the smiling prophet an' announced: "By order of Emperor lzothop your mission has been declared a 'holy quest of No-Dan-Kar.” We have been charged with ensuring Xherus the Visionary's security against agitating elements that have found refuge among you and to protect him from the dangers of the Rag'Narok during his divine mission of taking back the Ninth Pump from the scourge of our people. Also, from now on we will take care of communicating all of the prophet's words to this gathering of the faithful."

Xherus was waving his hand behind them, so we thought that everything was OK and obeyed.

After that the atmosphere changed a bit. The Emp’ror's soldiers were bombed night an' day by the agitators and lived holed up inside the temples. Us, we slept in the square with the rats an' we prayed Rat, hoping for a sign that would guide us to the Pump. We had completely razed the villages an' we had taken control of the Wall, yet Rat remained silent. Could we have been wrong?

A Circle Too Far

Maybe the Emperor thought that things had lasted long enough or maybe Rat is a practical joker. Whatever it is, after several tense weeks the heralds woke us up to deliver the prophet's words: the Wolfen were the ones who had the Ninth Pump an' they were keeping it in the Circle of Saag, a stone circle close to Môrn.

I didn't feel too good about this whole Wolfen circle thing, but I had already gone so far... What did I have left to lose? The Ströhm army swore that they would help us in our mission and that didn't make me very happy. I had heard too many stories about what they did to agitators.

On the road to Môrn the goblins of the villages we passed through cheered us on, but the Ströhms prevented them from joining us. We're all gonna die, I thought, we're all gonna die. With this idea stuck in my head, we neared the great forest and we met our first Wolfen at its edge. Their hunters harassed us. We wanted a massive direct battle to be able to submerge them, yet they didn't give us the opportunity to do so. We entered the forest of gigantic trees, filled with fear, and marched on for days. We almost thought that the Wolfen were all hunters since we didn't see any others. We started becoming more sure of ourselves again.

We would reach Sâag the next day. And that's when we understood. Everything. The Ströhms left us smack in the middle of the forest within a few hours march from the stone circle. That was their plan: to send us to the Wolfen that they finish us off.

Us, we comforted Xherus who they had abandoned on an old stump. We prayed together an' decided to go for it anyways. We was gonna go all the way. We hollered, "To the Ninth Pump!" an' we charged toward the circle. There, it was no longer the hunters that were awaiting us. It looked like the whole army of Môrn was there. I can't remember the battle. Every time I think about it, I see a flood of red, dead goblins everywhere, guts and tears, but I just can't tell what happened.

I'll never forget what then happened. Xherus ran, all alone, towards the middle of the circle and he returned with a gigantic horn shaped like a pear. The horn was attached to a bellows that was heaving with a hoarse noise. The Pump. The Ninth Pump of Rat. It wasn't a shoe but a gigantic pump, like the naphtha pumps but with this horn attached to it. It REALLY was in the Circle of Sâag! The Wolfen couldn't believe it. It looked like they didn't even know that it was there.

I can still see what then happened in slow motion: the huge wolves running toward Xherus, the prophet pumping like a madman and grabbing the horn... and then that sound. The noise of the end of the world. A noise so loud that it rattled your bones. The Wolfen scattered in all directions and we grabbed them by the fur to get outta there as fast as possible. We hid in the trees and some even ripped off their ears to prevent themselves from hearing the noise. Xherus squeezed the Pump while bursting into laughter. The worst, when I think about it, was that all it reminded me of was the sound of a whoopee cushion, the "fart" that makes brats giggle... except that here it went "FAAAAARRRT."

Back in the village there are some who have been terrorized by snakes. They shake all over when they hear a hiss. Me, it's "farts": if some joker comes by with a horn he can send me hidin' under my bed in tears, and I'm sure there are some Wolfen that became like me. That thought comforts me. I think about them with their fancy killer names like "great predator of destruction" and I can see them again running off like rabbits because of the prophet, MY prophet, and all I can say is "Thank you Xherus, thank you Rat."

Ever since then I no longer fight, I no longer go on quests for god, yet I have remained faithful to our original dream. I take care of the temple in our village with Gouzon, who replaced my Bonnie, and every night I again hear the Pump's horrible "FART" and I weep like a brat.

The "9" is Alive

Of all the superstitions bound to the cult of Rat, the one concerning the number "9" is the strongest one. The goblins thus make the distinction between "dead" numbers and the nine, the only "living" number. As a consequence, they try to gather nine copies of everything that they consider to be important: cult objects, brats, clothing and other belongings. To give credit to their way of seeing things, it is troubling to observe that that the ninth part of a whole is systematically hard to obtain: the ninth brat is hard to conceive, the ninth bell disappears, etc. The goblins have naturally deduced that the 9 only intervenes whenever it feels like it, at its own initiative. On the other hand, the lucky owner of nine of anything is seen as a chosen one marked by the most auspicious sign. So, the fact of getting a 9 in a game of luck is a sure sign of an upcoming victory, and the goblins who get it shout "The nine is alive!" to rejoice in advance in their future success.

This superstition is the origin of an ancient struggle between the clergy of Rat and the Brotherhood of the Red Cannonballs, an organization dependent on the N.B.A. which forbids the deployment of nine cannonballs in the same squad for security reasons.