The Overending Page 10

  “You found a way to escape Tilk Duraow?” Helga cried. “That’s tremendous! How did you do it?”

  “When I was a young beast, I was a Royal Climbing Lynx like you, I’ll wager,” Home said. “On one of my missions for the High One, I was assigned to guide a slave trader on a new route through the mountains. Borf raiders where harassing the High One’s slaving routes constantly, and they were trying to find a safer route. I never saw such a thing up close before, and what I observed confused me tremendously. Slavers ripped young beasts of every description from their homes and families; sending them off to Tilk Duraow as rock-breakers. But most of the beasts in the slaving party were pretty sad creatures themselves—hardly a one wasn’t missing a paw, or a leg, or an eye. Once they were “ruined for work” as the Hedgies called it, they were left to fend for themselves. Slavers were happy to give them work. Slaving captains cruised the streets looking for outcasts.”

  Bad Bone sat quietly while Home talked. He seemed to be gazing off at the horizon, hardly listening. “Have you ever heard of Stupid Frog Shallows?” he asked suddenly.

  The old Lynx stopped talking and looked intently at Bad Bone. “Now that’s interesting,” he said slowly, “that was going to be the next part of my story. What makes you interested in Stupid Frog Shallows?”

  “I’ve heard a few old stories about the place,” Bad Bone replied. “Seems that a relative of mine did some slave trading around there once.”

  “Well, well—,” Home said slowly. “So you’re giving me the compliment of claiming kinship?”

  “I’m saying that I had a relative who maybe traded slaves once at Stupid Frog Shallows,” Bad Bone replied.

  “Quite likely, actually, quite likely,” Home said. “As I was about to say before you laid claim to my family, years ago I was a guide for some slave traders. Although I never captured or held a slave myself, I did show them which way to go to avoid their enemies. I did walk as a free beast beside those who were in chains. I did know what was happening to them. So, if you accuse me of trading slaves, I’m at a bit of a disadvantage in denying it. Looks like you have got me on the charge.”

  “Looks or no looks,” Bad Bone said, “I don’t hold your past against you. I’m pretty sure you’re my great-grandfather—we’re family now. I’m more interested in what you’re doing now. Finish telling your story.” Bad Bone leaned back, listening silently, as Home picked up his story. There was something about what he had just learned that he had not yet fully digested, something that could bring him either to tears or shouts of joy. He was neither saddened to know his great-grandfather had been working with slave traders, nor happy to have found a long-lost relative.

  “Like I was saying,” Home continued, “I got mighty confused. I began to see that maybe loyalty to the High One was not my highest calling. So, I guided the slave trading caravan straight into Borf territory. I was the only one who knew the mountains, so no one realized I was leading them into trouble. Sure enough, a Borf raiding party hit the caravan one night like a whirlwind. In a few minutes, the traders were tangled up in Borf nets and the slaves were gone. At the first sign of the attack, I tried to slip away and escape. The slavers caught me, however, and I was badly whipped. He pulled back the neck of his shirt to reveal a portion of the scars he bore from the lashing. The slavers no longer trusted me as a guide, but because of my connections to the High One, they allowed me to do the cooking. They planned to let the High One deal with me as he thought fit when they returned.”

  “How did you ever get away?” Bad Bone asked.

  “Well, like I said, I was the cook. One day, I made some ‘special stew,’ with some crushed Pahema leaves in it. Those leaves have a substance in them that puts you to sleep. Within an hour of serving the stew, the entire camp was sound asleep. I lit out and made a clean escape.”

  “What happened then?” Helga said. “How did you learn about Tilk Duraow?”

  “It wasn’t that I learned about Tilk Duraow,” Home replied, “it learned about me. You see, everyone expected me to head off to some distant land. No one thought I would dare show my face around the High One’s business again. Where the High One is concerened, pretty much anyone is expendable. ‘Oh, that young Lynx is gone? Too bad, whose next?’—was pretty much the attitude. So, there was no hunt for me, no wanted posters, no looking out for me. In addition to that, I was a young Climbing Lynx with no reputation. Especially way up in the remote regions of the mountains, no one knew who I was—and no one cared, either.”

  Home paused for a moment and rose to his feet. “It’s time to get out of the water,” he announced. “We’ll be boiled like potatoes if we stay longer. Now, we’ll go up in the grass and lie in the sun for a while. When we’re dry, we eat.” Most of the beasts followed Home out on the grassy bank and flopped down to relax and enjoy the warmth of the early morning sun. A few wandered back to the huts to prepare breakfast.

  Home, Helga, and Bad Bone sat in a small circle. When they were settled, Home began again. “One day, I was having some Pike Bacon and Turtle EggOver at an inn up in the mountains when I heard something that caught my fancy. Tilk Duraow was looking for climbing beasts to map out new areas to expand the rock quarry. I jumped at the chance and got hired. To make a long story short, I learned every inch of Tilk Duraow—to this day, I probably have the entire place memorized better than any other beast.” Smiling, he chuckled, “As you can imagine, a beast like me might have learned where slaves might be able to leak out of that place. And, for some reason, slaves have been leaking out of Tilk Duraow ever since!”

  Bad Bone leaped to his feet, grabbed Home and slapped him on the back several times. “Grandfather Home! Grandfather Home! I’m so very happy to meet you!” Bad Bone’s enthusiasm carried him wildly dancing around like a beast gone mad.

  The outburst surprised Home, but he thanked Bad Bone for welcoming him warmly into the family. “Yes, we’re in the same family,” he said, “and I’m glad to be in it with you. But, even if that’s news to us, it’s not news to the Ancients. When I was up climbing all over the Granite Hulks, sometimes barely hanging on by a single claw, I thought about the Ancients often. I knew that the only thing that kept me from falling was that tiny spark inside that makes me see things for what they really are. When you’re hanging by a claw, you’d better be clear in your thinking and see the rocks as they really are—otherwise, you’re a dead beast. Anyway, I came to think about other things and see Tilk Duraow for what it really is.”

  “And what is it really?” Bad Bone asked.

  “See all beasts as the Ancients see them, and you will see Tilk Duraow for what it really is,” Home replied.

  “You mean that all beasts—even slaves—think and dream. Is that what you mean?” Bad Bone said.

  “Yes,” Home replied. “You’re here because you want to find a lost friend. All of the other beasts here with me want exactly the same thing. Every slave that comes down here from Tilk Duraow wants the same thing. Now, you want to find your friend. That means you want the same as every other beast here. So, how can we help?”

  “We’re looking for a Wood Cow named Emil,” Helga said. “We heard a rumor that he might be helping slaves escape down the Lost Ways Crack.”

  “Emil!” Home laughed. “Why, sure I know Emil. He began running boats down the river to my place a few weeks back. Every two weeks he brings a group down from SnowFire. They rest up here for a few days and then I see them the rest of the way to sea.”

  “There’s trouble coming, I’m afraid,” Bad Bone said. “We came here because the High One has discovered the route of the escaping slaves. He’s sending Skull Buzzards into the Grand Deep and the Lost Ways Crack to clean out the anti-slaving operations.”

  “We’re discovered? The High One knows?” Home breathed.

  “That’s what it appears,” Helga replied. “We came as fast as we could to warn Emil—and his friends.”

  “Whatever the High One wants of us,” Home said, “and whatever
we mean to give him back, depends on one thing—a good breakfast! Come, come! Let’s eat, and then we can see what plotting and planning may be in order.”

  While they were talking, tables were spread where the community gathered for its meals. A good Turtle Roast was placed on each table, surrounded by Honey-Peppered Catfish, Pickled Tortoise Legs, Berry-Chocked Ice Cakes, Flame-Seared Honey Whisps, and several kinds of Morning Tarts. Despite Helga and Bad Bone’s earlier sense of urgency, the morning slipped away pleasantly enough, concluding with a bit of a nap for the weary travelers.

  Pogwagger’s Last Stand

  Willmast’s Bow, the season’s most prominent constellation, was bright in the night sky when Helbara rose from a fitful night’s sleep. It was her character to rise early in the pre-dawn hours each day, but on she had not slept well the night of Helga and Bad Bone’s departure. Although she had no idea about what her daughter had done the previous evening, something about the feel of things kept her rest unsettled. Rising in the pre-dawn darkness, she went into Sareth and Elbin’s kitchen and brewed the day’s first kettle of Bison coffee. When she reached for her mug to pour some coffee, she noticed Helga’s farewell note rolled up and sticking from it.

  “If worries were years,” she thought ruefully, “Helga would see that I lived a very long life!” Although she was proud of her daughter’s fearlessness and courage, and happy to know that there was some possible good news of Emil, she was furious about being left behind.

  “What am I, to have been through so much danger and hardship with her, and now can’t go with her?” When Breister awoke and came out to her some minutes later, she confessed to a touch of anger at her daughter’s impulsive charging off into the night. “Without so much as a, ‘Don’t wait up!’ or “Oh, by the way, I’ll send word if I get killed!’” she stormed.

  “Don’t fear,” her husband said, “there’s no harm in being a little slow to follow her.” Breister chuckled at Helbara’s startled look. “Yes, I’m well aware that you’re not mad at her for what she’s done—you’re mad because she’s ahead of you! If you knew what Helga knows, you’d have blown out of this place so fast folks would think the weather had changed. Why, trees would be bending over and dust clouds flying, you’d be moving so fast!”

  Helbara burst out laughing, knocking her husband on the head playfully. “So, Dr. Silly, who’s so wise in knowing what ails me—what’s your prescription?”

  “Well, if my patient had a lick of good sense,” Breister replied, “I’d say, ‘What are you doing still standing around here complaining?’ But, since you clearly would rather moan and complain about being left behind, I guess the good Dr. Silly, as you call him, will have to order you to get moving. Oh, one more thing, Dr. Silly’s remedy includes the instruction that you be attended by a competent Physician at all times—which, of course, is me.”

  “By the Ancients!” Helbara exclaimed. “I surely am sorry that I said anything—even jokingly—about you being a Doctor! I’ll take your diagnosis and treatment, but this is the end of your career as a medical beast! Now, let’s discuss how we can best follow Helga’s track. But, we, at least, will wait here long enough to say ‘Goodbye’ to Sareth and Elbin.” For the next half-hour, Helbara and Breister rapidly made plans as they sat on the porch watching the sun come up.

  When Sareth and Elbin joined them, Helbara showed them Helga’s note. “So, our dear daughter wants us to be left out of her current plan,” she began. “But, for Breister and I, that is asking too much. All of my mother’s instincts tell me that there is much more to this than finding her brother. She would not have left in such haste, without a word to any of us, unless she feared that any delay might be deadly. Helga fairly ran out of here last night. We will be slower, but follow.”

  “Now, here we go,” Breister added. “We can’t lose another minute.”

  So it went that the two Wood Cows said ‘Goodbye’ to their dear friends and hosts. Sareth, of course, would not hear of them leaving without proper provisions. Filling their pockets with some of her best Freckled Cheese, Bison Bread, Catfish Jerky, and Pretty Plum Fritters, they left heavily laden.

  The last sight of the moon faded away before the strength of the rising sun as Breister and Helbara left the Rounds. They hurried along through lanes, across meadows, and down bare tracks, always heading toward the sea. In the beginning, it was easy to discover and follow Helga’s tracks. An overnight shower, leaving the ground soft, made it apparent which footprints were fresh. “That will be Helga,” Helbara said, “not wanting to be seen by beasts she knows, she’ll not take the main roads.” Seeing a second set of tracks exactly following Helga’s steps gave Breister comfort. “At least she hasn’t taken on her task alone,” he added.

  As they continued, however, the tracks led them across a field of broken rocks, and the trail became faint. Leaving the rocky shale behind and entering the surrounding forest, they lost the trail completely. Yet broken twigs and ruffled forest debris told of beasts passing before them. If not a firm set of tracks to follow, it was still something to provide direction. Perhaps Helga had gone this direction—or, perhaps not. In any case, it was their only clue about which way to proceed. Pushing onward, they walked through the forest, following what they took to be signs of beasts passing before them.

  It was not long after that when Breister and Helbara began to feel that they were not alone.

  “Who’s there?” Breister called, seeing that Helbara was also looking about. It was not so much a sound as a feeling that caused them to look up. “By the Ancients!” Helbara breathed. A veritable army of fearsome beasts surrounded them, about twenty feet above their heads! Startled, the Wood Cows stepped closer together in a defensive posture. Gradually, the sunlight playing through the trees showed them an army, not of living beasts, but of fantastic creatures carved on tree trunks far above their heads. Hideous lizards and frogs—some with wings, some with multiple heads, others breathing fire or eating stars—seemed to come alive as sunlight shimmered across them.

  “Amazing woodcarving,” Breister said. “The beasts who did this have talents I would like to learn.”

  “And they’ve done it with living trees,” Helbara observed. “The trees have accepted this adornment or their natures would be distressed. This much carving would kill a normal tree. That the trees live and thrive with this amazing carving on them means that whoever has done it listens to the wood in a very powerful way.”

  “Even Wood Cows can’t do this,” Breister agreed. “In our style, we use the wood in peace, and ask for the wood’s understanding of our purpose, but the tree still must die for us to do our work. These carvers have learned something truly beautiful.”

  The words had hardly escaped his mouth when a rustling sound gave both Wood Cows a start.

  “What’s that! Who’s there?” Breister cried, as the rustling turned into the determined crunch-crunch-crunch of many footsteps.

  “Bammit!” replied a friendly voice. “Welcome to the Last Stand!” A group of about a fifty Coyotes, Foxes, and Wolverines walked up. “My name is TrimWagg,” said the Coyote who was first to reach Helga and Breister. “We’re Pogwaggers, and you’re standing in a place we call the Pogwagger’s Last Stand. You’re welcome to be here, and we’re glad to meet you.” TrimWagg’s broad smile showed pearly white teeth, and his wavy hair was cut crisp and even. His beard was cut short on the chin like the other male Pogwaggers’, but luxurious sideburns curled up past his ears. His clothes, although common in function, were elegant in form: thistle-linen shirt, yellow-tanned snake leather trousers, and solid tortoise-skin boots. He carried a rolled sleeping mat and pack on his back. A round knit cap covered the crown of his head and a long carving knife hung from his belt.

  “It’s not often we have visitors,” he said, extending a paw to Breister, and another to Helbara. “In fact, you’re the first to find our secret place. What brings you here?”

  “We’re seeking our daughter, who we believe came this way,
” Helbara replied.

  “The young Wood Cow travelling with a Lynx?” TrimWagg asked.

  “Yes, that’s probably her,” Helbara said excitedly. “You have seen her?”

  “No, we haven’t seen her,” TrimWagg replied, “but we did receive word from some friends across the ridge that they had such visitors. A great danger is making itself in the mountains now, and our friend at the Great Hot Lake sent warning to us. Your daughter and her friend are there. Just when you arrived, we were about to leave for the Great Hot Lake. We must go there to consult our friends and decide what to do about the great danger. The Great Hot Lake is about two days walking from here. You’re welcome to go with us.”

  “What kind of great danger are you talking about?” Breister asked.

  “For many years,” TrimWagg said, “the suffering has been increasing for all the beasts. Some of that suffering has only affected one clan or another. For example, we PogWaggers used to have a fruitful and happy life, but now our whole way of life is gone—destroyed. Our clan is scattered to the winds. Everyone scurries about trying to find a new life. Most live scrap to mouth now. This forest is the last refuge of the few of us that refuse to be driven from our homeland. We’ve taken our home into this forest. We’re making our Last Stand here. The carvings of the Power Lizards and Life Frogs protect us and remind us of the true sources of our power and life. Other clans are troubled by the slaving that now is spreading everywhere. No one is safe. And now it is said that the High One has been deeply angered by the increasing number of escaping slaves. He is preparing to send his Skull Buzzards to stamp out those helping the slaves to escape. All of these problems, together, are what I called the great danger. No one clan can save itself alone. We can’t handle a single threat, without meeting all the threats together. Even we, here at our refuge in this remote forest, are not safe. There is no longer any place to run or hide. It must be ‘One for All, and All for One’ or it will be ‘Nothing for Anyone.’”