Entry #507030, added on 07-25-07 @ 9:43 am EDT
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| Chapter Ten - Empty Nests Send Drones | Entry #507030 |
Elkwater's King
  | ID: 998876 (Rated: ASR)
Elkwater's King 
Two brothers follow a wary white German Shepherd to search for the King of a secret realm.
by Basilides   |
Chapter Ten - Empty Nests Send Drones
"I'm very brave generally, he went on in a low voice: only today I happen to have a headache."
~Lewis Carroll
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It was the middle of the night, and I thought I heard someone cough.
I'd been awake for several minutes because I had to go to the bathroom something terrible. But going to the bathroom meant crossing in front of the old "shed room" to get there, and two o'clock in the morning was just not the ideal time to be anywhere near that gaping cavern of creepiness. Not that I really believed that a witch lived in there, of course.
But the cough did sound kind of feminine.
And the throat-clearing.
Still, the fact that I'd downed five glasses of lemonade before bed meant something had to give. I slunk out of bed and crawled on the floor to the doorway. Mike was asleep and clueless, the jerk. And knowing him, only drastic measures would wake him up. I didn't really want to make that much noise.
A floorboard creaked under me.
I tell you, I nearly relieved myself right there, involuntarily. but after a few moments of continued silence, I pressed on.
At the doorway, I noticed a light was on down the hall to the right (not the direction of the bathroom). I heard papers shuffling. The light and sound came from the room where Aunt Eva kept her 40 years of Reader's Digests and jars of fruit preserves and pickled things.
I stood up. I didn't think that room was spooky at all.
I walked past the stairs and into the little room, where Aunt Eva was at the little sewing desk going through a stack of old papers.
"Aunt Eva?" I asked.
She jumped about to the ceiling and let out a most un-Aunt Eva like yelp, spilling papers everywhere. This, of course, startled me witless too. Fortunately, I have a bladder of iron.
"What in the world are you doing awake at this time of night?" Aunt Eva asked after recovering from her shock.
"I had to go to the bathroom and then I saw the light on," I said. "What are you looking at?"
"If you must know, I'm not so much looking at something as I am looking for something. These are old records from the Sunnydell Days. I remembered there was a folder of them in the Second Bedroom."
"Did you find Perry?" I asked, a little excited.
"No," she answered, "the records only go back to 1911, but I think I know why. Some of the receipts and ledger entries refer to repair of fire-damage. I think there was a fire early in 1911, and the fire might have destroyed most of the records before then."
"We'll never find him," I said.
"Don't be so sure. Sometimes, when things are at their darkest, help comes from an unexpected direction."
"And if we don't find him?" I asked. I was thinking about that silver certificate.
"We will," said Aunt Eva. "And speaking of darkness, it's late. Go to the bathroom if you haven't already and go to bed. Good night."
"Good night, I replied.
And after a moment: "Um, Aunt Eva?"
She jumped again, spilling the papers afresh and nearly falling our of her chair.
"It's a good thing I have a strong heart," she said. "What are you still doing here?"
"Uh, can I go to the bathroom downstairs?" I asked.
"Timmy, why would you go all the way downstairs to the bathroom when there is one just down the hall?"
"I...It's...Aunt Eva, I don't like the shed room."
"I thought you boys were over all that witch stuff when you were fooling around in the shed room a few weeks ago," she said.
"Um, no. I think all that made it worse."
Aunt Eva sighed. "All right, then. I'll have to resort to my anti-witch potion."
"Anti-witch potion?"
"Yes. How do you think I managed to convince Pat, David, Barbara, and your mother to use that bathroom when they were children?"
"What does it do?" I asked, curious and feeling increasing abdominal pressure. I began to dance a little.
"It scares witches," she said.
Aunt Eva rummaged around the various shelves of jarred preserves until she found what she wanted.
"There! Pickled rhubarb! Hold this tight and no witch will come anywhere near you. Just don't let the jar break, or it won't do you any good." She held out the jar to me.
I looked at it suspiciously. "How did you figure out how to make anti-witch potion in the first place?" I asked, not sure if I wanted to trust my life to a jar of pickled pink stalks.
Aunt Eva looked very solemn and furrowed her brows.
"God told me how," she said.
The relief was divine.
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When I woke up, it was in the dead of night. There was just enough moonlight to see all the "stuff" of the quest strewn here and there, left behind by the owners who were now wasp food.
Except for me. There was only me. I had a dandy message to bring King Warren, and I had an even dandier suspicion that this was all somehow my fault. Had I goaded Michael into doing something that broke the treaty? Was it when he broke their Sentinel? Or when he chopped down their flowers? Either way, he would have done neither if it were not for my poisonous words. The right thing to do would be to fess up to the King, admit my guilt, and take whatever punishment he gave like a man.
No, I'd much rather have spent the rest of my life as a fugitive. Maybe I could make it back to Ari, somehow.
First, though, I'd have to figure out how to survive in the wild. Then I'd have to get my bearings and determine which way was which. Then I'd have to avoid the King's people (which was just about everyone) until I could get to the Durshone Wall. Finding the same way I got out of that place would be the biggest challenge.
And my friends were dead. So was my brother. It was incredibly inconvenient timing on their part. And it made me feel...
My throat started to get all lumpy. My mouth twitched. Stupid world. Stupid overgrown bugs.
So nice of "Shozer" to step in and help out, too. Both the believer and the unbeliever met the same fate. I guessed it payed to ride the fence.
I wished I was back at the Farm dealing with my fear of the shed-room, as in the dream I just awoke from. I buried my head in my hands and wished that I could finally wake up from this long nightmare.
This is when the ground began to tremble under me.
I stood up, only to feel the earth swell slightly under my feet, and then a line of the sod swell in front of me for several feet. It came to a halt.
And something began to crawl up out of the ground. Something black. With antennae.
It was another wasp-thing. But a different kind of wasp-thing than before.
This creature seemed darker than the others, with dark legs (and only five of them), huge forelegs and incredibly large mandibles. It was missing one wing, and the remaining one lay flat against its back.
"I am not too late, then," it said,in a language different from the other Waskinde.
Dread came over me. Maybe I shouldn't have lain about in one place so long. Now it looked like something had arrived to finish me off.
I reached to grab my brother's sword (it was closer to me at the moment) and stood up, trying to remember everything Morning-Tamer had taught me. Not that he had taught me any bee-swatting techniques.
"Put away your black tooth, little dragonfly," said the Wasp. "I am too old to eat you even if I wanted to. And I do not want to eat you. I want to help you."
"Sure you do," I said. This language was pretty hard, since some of its nuances were expressed with scents and motions of the antennae, but I made what I hoped were the right sounds. "You just go back where you came from and leave me alone, if you really want to help."
"You speak with a lisp, you know," it said.
"Just go away," I said through clenched teeth.
"Don't you want to help your friends?" it asked.
My head spun. That could not be. "My friends are dead," I said with decreasing confidence. "Your friends stung them to death."
The black wasp finished extracting itself from the soil, revealing a very long abdomen and an unmistakable stinger.
"First, so that you know I am sincere, I will tell you my name from the egg: Ulnix. Second, those who attacked your party were not my friends," it said. "They are barely even relatives. They are of the Glitmit race - the Paper Shufflers as we Ajain like to say. They are our masters. But not all Paper Shufflers are so bad as they. The ones who harmed your friends are of the Tickler's Guild, and currently they rule the opinions of the dottering old Vespa, keeping her alive beyond the natural span. Call them friends of mine again and we may both find out if there is some fight left in these old appendages.
"But perhaps more important to you, your friends were not stung to death. There is no such thing, unless you are allergic I suppose. The sting of the Glitmits freezes the body but does not kill it. Their larvae (and ours) much prefer living meals."
"Not dead?" I asked, and a wild hope raced within me.
"Not yet. At least I hope not. There is yet time to save them," spoke the old insect.
"Why would you care?" I asked, still full of healthy suspicion.
"The Tickler's Guild has wanted to find an excuse for war with your King for a hundred years. They now appear to have found what they were looking for. But the first wave of fighters in such a war would be the Ajain, and I am not so sure our race would survive it. I'm not even sure the Glitmits would survive it. We are strong, true, but humans are clever - and there are many of you. The brains of the Tickler's Guild do not seem to have the capacity to grasp those facts.
"If the other dragonfly, the white beetle, and that funny spider with the long hair are fed to the Larvae, your King would march upon Waskindia, and we can spit my people goodbye. Plus there is another reason."
"What's that?" I asked.
"It is Shozer's will that we rescue your friends. What could be more important than that?"
And although I know as well as you do that wasps have no eyelids, I swear to you that Ulnix winked at me.
I'm not very proud of what happened next. A wave of fear and revulsion washed over me: fear of traveling to that nest of stinging monsters for any reason, and revulsion at the thought of traveling with the monster offering me his assistance. True, the thought of losing my companions had paralyzed me; but the thought of marching into Waskindia was terrible enough to put a little vigor into my bones.
I leveled my brother's sword at Ulnix's multi-faceted eyes.
"I'm not going in there. Leave," I said.
Ulnix seemed to hesitate before letting his antennae droop. "So be it," he wheezed. "I did not think I could detect much Chindiss about you," and he set about descending into his tunnel.
I stood my ground still, forgetting that his return path would take him directly under my legs. Apparently, he did not forget. In a few seconds, I felt a surge of earth under me and then a terrible pain in my backside. Ulnix had thrust his stinger up through the ground.
I whirled with my blade down, but Ulnix had already withdrawn. A numbness began to crawl up my extremities. The sword fell out of my hand. I tried to cry out but the words were unintelligible.
Ulnix's head popped out of the ground a few yards away. "I hope you are not too heavy," he said, "I'm so tired already."
That's the last I heard of anything for a while.
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Coming to my senses again wasn't much fun. At first, I didn't know what was going on. Everything was dark, the air smelt of silt and coriander, and the sounds of clicking and shuffling filled my ears. My head hurt, big time. As sensation came back to my body, I could feel that I was being restrained and carried in a jostling and extremely uncomfortable fashion. Something that felt hard as steel was wrapped around my body, holding my arms to my sides. Something else was restraining my legs.
When the numbness mostly left my legs, I tried kicking upwards. My foot connected with something bouncy.
A whistle of pain erupted from somewhere past my head, and the voice of Ulnix said, "That almost earned you another sting, little dragonfly. It is a reflexive response when my under-abdomen is prodded. Do it again and I won't stop myself."
As that information slowly processed in my pain-addled brain, I started to scream. The idea of being carried on the underside of a giant black wasp was just too much horror to bear.
"Shush! You'll wake the Glitmits just overhead!" cautioned Ulnix.
I didn't shush.
"Quiet or I will have to sting you again, and that will put the rescue in jeopardy!"
I shushed. Not because of the rescue, but because I really did not want to get stung again.
"Puth me ahwn," I said in a quieter tone.
"Believe me, I'd like nothing better. You are heavy, as is your gear. But you won't be able to keep up with me in the Ajainways, and we are running out of time." Ulnix's voice seemed a bit weaker than I remembered at the Sentinels.
"How muj furjer?" I asked.
"Only a few hundred spans now, and then the real work begins I'm afraid. I hope I have the strength for it."
My head hurt too much to care about Ulnix's problems. Also, as the numbness left my limbs they began to experience severe cramping from the unorthodox ride. Just as the pain became almost too much to bear, Ulnix suddenly halted and eased me to the ground. I curled up in a ball.
"From here I will have to dig," explained Ulnix. "This tunnel is some twenty spans from where your friends are being held. I wish it were less, especially since I cannot risk a shallow tunnel for fear the sentries will see or feel the earth move. I will have to dig down and across, using some of the side chambers here to store the extra dirt. I will leave your black teeth and your gear next to you, in case I fail. Then you will have to make your way back as best you can. Your stile is still in your pocket, no?"
I didn't answer, and I didn't check.
Ulnix whistled in frustration and ambled off a little ways before making loud scraping sounds.
Blind as I was in the total darkness, the sounds of tunneling were proof enough that Ulnix's efforts were nothing short of heroic. Dust choked me as his speedy journeys back and forth to deposit earth kicked up sand and dirt. Over the next hour or so I tested my legs, felt the ceiling at only arms length over my head, and took stock of the provisions by feel. Ulnix had brought everything from the camp, including some of the firewood Kwotik had gathered.
I was munching on some flatbread from one of the packs when Ulnix unceremoniously gathered up all the stuff of the journey except for the sword I was wearing across my back (I had no way of telling whether it was mine or Michael's), the bread in my hand, and the stile in my pocket.
"Where are you going with that?" I asked, mouth full but numbness gone. My head still hurt, though.
"I've broken through to your friends and offered assistance, so I'm bringing it all to them. The other dragonfly asked about you. They are worried. They have a lot of Chindiss."
I stopped chewing. "What did you say to them?"
"I said you were safe, and that I would reunite you as soon as possible. You can surprise them in a minute. I'll be right back."
"Did you tell them I --"
"No, little dragonfly," said the Ajain, "I said nothing about our disagreement earlier. Tell them what you will."
I decided not to bring up my reluctance to assist in the rescue if I could help it. I waited for Ulnix to come back. In a few minutes, he did.
"They were happy to have their things back. Now, walk forward and I will guide you with my forelegs."
Stumbling in the dark, prodded by insect legs from behind, I made my way down the fresh tunnel Ulnix had made. We had gone perhaps a hundred feet before the tunnel suddenly veered straight up.
"I can't find a purchase to climb this!" I said.
"No matter; I will lift you," answered Ulnix, and he did. It made my butt hurt, since he was pushing me up right on the spot he had stung me. I'm sure it was on purpose.
I looked up to see a little light at the end of the tunnel, and breathed fresh air. My head popped out after maybe a twenty-foot climb, and there in the dim glow I saw a room with three familiar faces staring back at me in shock.
"Tim!" Michael shouted, and stood up from rummaging in one of the packs.
"The Ugly Bug works fast! Looks like I owe an apology!" Shouted Kwotik, who ran over to me and helped me out of the tunnel.
A weak bark came from somewhere off in the distance.
There were hugs all around, but a slap from Kwotik on my rump made me cry out.
"They got you too?" Michael asked.
"Yeah," I said.
"Sorry," said Kwotik, "My back is still sore as well, as is your brother's gut. But our good Knight of the Hidden Stream got the worst of it, I guess."
I looked at the walls around us, which were illuminated by strange insects that were glued to them. The glowing insects looked like grapefruit-sized fireflies with a steady glow. They struggled weakly. The walls themselves looked like canvas, and they rose to a peak at the ceiling. I wondered if our room looked like a teepee from the outside.
Cloud-Warrior hobbled over to me, and he was a mess. One ear was gone, his tail had been clipped halfway, and there were angry red scratches streaking across his white fur. His breath was labored.
"You should have escaped, Sneaky Bull," he growled. "Now the Quest is fully imperiled."
I knelt in front of him, and I felt a sob rising. "What have they done to you?"
The Knight's growl rose and he nipped at my nose, knocking me backwards. He came to stand over me, teeth bared. "Do not mistake me for some pet," he said. "Bury your pity-bone and save it for someone pitiful. Now answer me: why would you endanger the Quest by coming to this place?"
"Rescue," I whispered.
Cloud-Warrior stared at me for a full minute, weighing my answer, probably doubting it. But then he stepped away and barely whined, "Fool."
Kwotik helped me to my feet. "Should have warned you, sorry. Doggie has been overly sensitive since he awoke."
"It's ok," I said, noting that Michael and Ulnix were in deep conversation.
"What's he saying?" asked Kwotik.
I gave Kwotik my best look of puzzlement. "I thought you didn't believe we could speak every language or talk to animals," I said.
"Yeah, well, obviously there is some unfamiliar magic at work that makes it possible. This is the second wasp who has offered us help. I made something of a fool of myself trying to communicate with the first one until your brother set me straight. Anyway, it seems like a useful ability. You have any of that nut left for me to eat?"
"I'm afraid not."
Kwotik made a face. "Figures. Anyway, what's the Ugly Bug saying?"
"...while the Glitmit sleep. They cannot be roused at night except for war or emergency. By daylight you should be mostly through the passage."
"Then we are saved!" said my brother.
"No," sighed Ulnix. "Once daylight arrives, they will cut off your escape routes and find you in the tunnels. There is no time for a full escape unless you can divert their attention."
"One of the Glitmit came here earlier, a young Waskinde by the name of Nitraub. He flew off to try to alert humans in the nearest city of our plight. Will that be enough of a diversion?" asked Michael.
"How close is the nearest human city?" asked the Ajain.
"I'm not sure," answered Michael, trying to remember. "At least a couple of days on foot."
"Not enough time, then. Even if Nitraub - may the Nest be nourished by his Chindiss forever - flies swiftly, the men will still have to march to us. By the time they get here, you will have been discovered and killed."
"What is this Chindiss, anyway?" I asked. My mind wasn't translating it for me.
Mike looked at me quizzically. "It means 'sacrificing of self for one's nest'," he said. "Why didn't you know that?"
Ulnix went on. "It is more likely that my friend Tritkil will succeed before Nitraub."
"What is he doing?" asked Michael.
"When I left to gather up the second dragonfly, Tritkil made for the Mudflats where all the Ajain were commanded by the queen to gather mud some days ago. Doubtless this was to keep us from interfering with your capture. I think the Tickler's Guild believes that by the time the Ajain return, war will be a foregone conclusion and we can do nothing but submit. But if Tritkil gets to the mudflats in time, I promise you that there will be rebellion in Waskindia!"
"What if we just wait here for your buddies, then?" asked Kwotik, once I translated for him.
"Tritkil is old, older than I am. He may not have strength to survive the journey. He left on that errand because he can still fly after a fashion, while I am the better burrower. And even if he makes it, at his speed he may not arrive until tomorrow afternoon. Waiting is not a good idea unless you wish to be eaten alive by the larvae," answered Ulnix. "The War Feeding is to take place tomorrow on the early side."
"Gophersnot," said Kwotik.
"Well then, what kind of diversion did you have in mind?" I asked.
"One of you must take the stile and travel to the borders of Waskindia through the tunnel," said Ulnix. And then this one must walk to the center from the outside, as if making an attempt to rescue the others. There can be no War Feeding while a stile is present in Waskindia - even the Ticklers cannot break this law without risking rebellion from the other Glitmit. Until the Glitmit can capture this one and deposit him outside our borders, the rest are safe. This may give the others enough time to escape through the tunnels."
"What if they just decide to kill the one with the stile?" asked Kwotik, and I translated.
"They will not do such a thing. The Tempest of the Torc will destroy Waskindia as easily as the rest of Elkwater. A Kingfinder must find the new King."
"Great for us you guys believe that nonsense too, then," mumbled the bard. I didn't translate that.
"But what guarantee of safety do we have if we make it out of the tunnels?" asked Michael. "Won't they just hunt us down?"
"Once you are past the Sentinels you will be safe," answered Ulnix. "No Waskinde can pass that border."
I cleared my throat.
Everyone looked at me.
"Um, I really hate to say this," I began, "but according to the Wasp that dropped off the stile to me, the Vespa no longer recognizes those borders. Something about the treaty being broken by our side."
There was silence for a good minute.
"Those are unfortunate tidings," clicked Ulnix.
"What a plan!" said the bard. "Run away only to get caught again! And two of the three Waskinde who are inclined to help us are off on wild goose chases! I love it! Listen here, Ugly Bug, what seasonings do the larvae prefer? 'Cause I can rub myself in basil or oregano, if that would make me more tasty."
"What does the spidery one say?" asked Ulnix.
"He is just expressing concern about our chances of escaping," said Michael.
"The chances do appear to be low," agreed Ulnix, "but they decrease with each flap that you delay. You should go now."
"Lead on," said Michael.
"I'm afraid I can't lead you," said Ulnix.
"What?" asked Mike and I in unison, followed by Kwotik after translation.
"I've expended my life energy with the digging. The last Benjirs are upon me. I will be gone in a few minutes."
"Why do you do this for us?" asked Kwotik in a reverent whisper.
"It is my way of honoring Shozer," said Ulnix.
Kwotik made a face. "Um, not to seem ungrateful or anything, but what does some human demigod have to do with the Waskinde?"
"If Shozer were no more than human, I would answer you that he has nothing to do with the Waskinde."
"Right," said the Bard, clearly unsatisfied.
"Is it because Shozer is full of Chindiss?" asked Michael with sudden insight.
Ulnix laughed, shuddering all over. "No, no. Shozer had Chandiss, not Chindiss."
"What's the difference?" I asked.
"Chandiss is the willingness to sacrifice oneself for the nest of one's enemies," he said. "Thus I too honor him." His words came slowly.
"Then you have failed," said Kwotik, and that made Ulnix perk up a little when my brother translated.
"How so?" asked the Ajain.
"Because we are your friends to the end of our lives," said the bard, and reached out a hand.
Ulnix touched his hand with the tip of an antenna, then slowly crawled down his vertical tunnel. I do not know if he made his way to some side passage or tunnel after that. I only know we never saw him again.
***************************************************************************************************
We didn't go through the tunnels nearly as quickly as Ulnix had gone. We did have light, since Kwotik had tucked one of the giant fireflies under his arm. We also had an easy time with directions, since Ulnix had left marks along the walls for our return journey. We were also lighter one length of rope and a stake, since we needed both to get down the vertical tunnel safely. We had to leave both behind.
Cloud-Warrior was the reason we didn't go faster. He had little strength and less stamina after his ordeal. In fact, he commanded us to leave him behind and then grew furious at our refusal. When he saw that the argument only delayed us, he found a reserve of strength within him and pushed forward bravely. But while we strode behind with with complaints to slow down, in truth we could have gone somewhat faster. I think he realized this, and the idea infuriated him further. But he had no strength to waste on wounded pride.
An hour or so later, Michael saw something missing from Kwotik's gear. "Hey, where's the stewpot?" he asked.
"I left it behind," answered the Bard.
"Why?" I asked, lamenting the loss of a meal of hot soup should we escape. "It wasn't that heavy!"
"No," said Kwotik, "but I prepared a little second diversion for our winged friends."
"Is that what took you so long?" asked Michael. "I thought you were trying to figure a way to salvage the rope."
"No, I set a little firebomb. I happened to have a little pack of magic firepowder which will ignite if Goric acid interacts with it. I took the acid from its glass vial (it won't eat away glass) and dropped it in the stewpot , which I left over the firepowder pack. The acid should eat through the metal in the pot in three or four hours. I set it near one of the walls of the room. Hopefully, that stuff they build out of is combustible."
"That's cool!" I yelled, and hope surged within me.
"Don't get too excited," cautioned Kwotik. A lot could go wrong, and even if everything goes right, they could still easily catch us. But it can't do us any harm."
Some time later we came to a stopping place marked differently by Ulnix. There was an opening in the ceiling.
"This is where Ulnix wanted one of us to start walking toward the Nest with the stile, as a diversion," said the Bard. "I'm afraid there is only one logical choice."
"I will go," said Cloud-Warrior.
"If the dog is volunteering, Mike, tell him he'd get us all killed. He won't even slow them down. They won't hesitate to kill him because they know he is no Kingfinder. Also, that will clue them in to our escape if they don't know already - they captured him once before. For that last reason neither you nor I can do this. It has to be Tim."
"No," I said.
"Tim," said Kwotik gravely, "I know you showed incredible bravery by coming back to rescue us. But now you have to leave us. We may not make it alive at the end of the day, but with the stile in your hand, you will. If the worst happens to us, you at least will know you did your best to save us. So enough with the bravery nonsense. The way that just happens to be the safest for you is our best chance of making it through alive."
I hadn't really thought of it that way. I wasn't trying to be brave, of course. I thought the diversion was the most dangerous job. But Kwotik was right: it was the safest for me.
"I guess you're right," I said. "It doesn't seem fair to the rest of you, but o.k."
I know. I was such a slimeball.
Michael hugged me then, which was awful, and Kwotik shook my hand. Cloud-Warrior had words for me.
"Don't fail Elkwater, Sneaky Bull. Find the King," he growled.
"Good luck to you too," I said.
"Wait until daybreak to climb out," said Kwotik. "That should give us enough of a head start in case they find the entrance to this tunnel right away. If we don't hook up right away, look for us in Horst! If we survive, we will make for that city. Fare well, brave little Kingfinder."
I watched them recede down the tunnel, left only with my own sword, a single pack of provisions, and the teal-and-orange clothes on my back. It was dark again. A little moonlight shone through the hole above me, but it was only the Bold Moon. The other two must have been over the Kindred Lands.
The hole leading aboveground was not far above me. Reaching, I could easily pull myself up, especially if I threw my pack up first. I sat down in a little alcove near the opening, and waited for daylight.
When morning did break I told myself it was just the moon getting brighter. When I could no longer deny the sun I stood under the opening and looked up. Golden compass-flowers greeted me. I took a few deep breaths, then tossed my pack up the hole. I lifted myself up, half-expecting to see angry wasp-faces staring back at me.
But there were no Waskinde, either Glitmit or Ajain, anywhere to be seen. Not that I could see very far. The compass-flower stalks crowded together like a forest. A rabbit hopped out from between a couple, and we startled each other into retreat. Well, I only ran a few steps, but it was enough to make me wonder which direction I ought to be taking. Looking up, I could just see the mountains that encompassed the valley to the East and West. So walking with them at my sides would take me North or South. North led to escape from Waskindia, but I was supposed to be walking South to the main Nests. That was the plan anyway. In the end, I ignored the Sun in my reckoning and headed in one of the two possible directions, expecting it to be South as planned but hoping it was North and to safety.
I soon discovered that lots of creatures other than the Waskinde lived among the compass-flowers. Aside from the skittish rabbits, there was the occasional big fuzzy spider (about hand-sized) that poked its head out of a hole. Hummingbirds abounded, though what nectar they found in the big seedy flowers, I couldn't imagine. I nearly stepped on a black snake at one point, but it swiftly slithered away from me. The chirping I heard all around me was from well-hidden finches which managed to find purchase on the stalks. I caught a glimpse of one or two, green or golden-colored like the compass-flowers.
I also saw plenty of regular-sized wasps and bees, as well as ants, butterflies, and insects I didn't recognize. From time to time I'd run across a patch of weeds and wild grass, where the compass-flowers did not grow, and these areas most abounded with the rabbits.
After a while, I stopped worrying so much about running into the Waskinde and began to worry a little about finding my way out. Other than the glimpse of mountains above me and to my right and left, there were no features of the land to help me keep my bearings. I toyed with the idea of heading to one of the mountains. It might take me out of the way, but at least I'd be out of the compass-flowers and could get a good look at where I was supposed to be going.
On the other hand, I'd probably stand out like a sore thumb on the mountain.
Right about the time I'd decided to abandon the idea of hiking to one of the mountains, I became quite sure of the direction I was headed. A column of smoke rose in the sky in front of me.
Kwotik's diversion. It looked like Waskinde walls were combustible after all. I smiled. I stopped.
It was awfully quiet. Where had the finches gone?
Suddenly I did hear a sound, a whirring I knew only too well. I removed my stile from my pocket and held it up in the air with my left hand, and unsheathed my sword and held it up in the air with my right. A dozen Waskinde (the Glitmitsort) came into view, encircling me. I definitely got unfriendly vibes from them.
"You are not one of the captured ones," said one. "Tell us where they are."
"Tell you where they are?" I answered, trying to sound bemused. "I was on my way to try to rescue them! Don't tell me you have lost track of your prisoners already!"
One of the creatures drifted down to face me, pushing aside the stalks of compass-flowers. It had that powerful licorice smell.
"Listen to me, you foul puppet of the human king: we know you were aided by a traitor, and that you and your companions took the Ajainways under Waskindia. Apparently you separated recently. Where did you leave them?"
"I dunno. It was sometime early last night, in a tunnel. I needed some fresh air."
The Waskinde drew nearer, and I could hear his mandibles snap. "Did you set the fire that consumes our offspring?" he asked.
My sword was getting heavy, blackmetal thuough it was. "No," I said.
"Then who? The other kingfinder? The stick-wielder?"
"It was the traitor," I said.
A yellow leg lashed out and hit me behind the kneecaps, sending me to the ground.
"Zitizak!" shouted one of the hovering Waskinde. The creature confronting me ignored him.
"You lie," he said. "Even an Ajain would not burn his own children. Nor do any but the Poskop know the secret of fire, and they are no traitors to the Vespa. I say it was you, and that is why you return to the Nests - to see the handiwork of your destruction! For this, no stile is any protection."
"But it wasn't me!" I shouted, now really afraid. "It was Kwotik, the Bard! The stick-wielder, as you say! I tried to stop him! I am only returning to the Nests to divert you so they could escape. And you might catch them! I left them just a couple of hours ago. They were headed for the Sentinels. Don't hurt me!"
Now that my betrayal was complete, Zitizak sent forth scents of disgust. "This one has no Chindiss at all," he said. "It is a favor to both our kinds to kill him."
"You mustn't!" shouted the same Waskinde that had spoken up earlier. "Remember the law! We must return him to the Sentinels."
"So we will. Vokkodok! Gather the Tenth Wing for a flight to the Sentinels. We have prisoners to kill."
The one called Vokkodok whistled with dismay. "The Tenth Wing fights the blaze, Stingmaster Zitizak."
"Not any more. Tell them to leave it to the others. Send word to the Ajain on the mudflats, also. Let them return to fight the fire."
"The Nests will be destroyed by then, Zitizak!" cried out the first outspoken Waskinde.
"The next voice that questions my orders shall be drowned in the sea!" shouted the Stingmaster. Fly!"
Vokkodok sped off in the direction of the smoke. Zitizak said, "The Tenth Wing will catch up with us. Let us see if we can find these escapees ourselves. With that, Zitizak grabbed me by the shoulders and hovered into the air. By the time I considered using my sword, we were already high up. I wasn't in the mood for suicide.
We sped over the compass-flowers at an alarming rate. Zitizak, burdened as he was, strayed behind. Six others, a wing-guard I suppose, kept near us. But the other four sped ahead, and by the time we could see the grassy fields beyond the borders of Waskindia they were specks in the distance.
The specks plunged.
"Found!" whistled Zitizak, and the grip on my shoulders clenched. I nearly dropped both stile and sword. I could barely feel my hands at all.
"It seems we caught your friends at a lucky time," said my captor. "Perhaps you will see some of them being dismembered. But in any case, the law says I cannot kill you; instead I must drop you off at the Sentinels. Still, I believe the law is a living document, fluid in its interpretation. In this case I will drop you off at a sufficient height to give the ground an opportunity to kill you, if it so desires."
"No!" I shouted. I looked around to see if one of the other Waskinde would object. That one who spoke up earlier must have gone up ahead. There's never a legal conservative around when you need one.
Several things happened at once when we got close enough to see the fray. The four Vanguard had indeed found my companions just as they must have exited Ulnix's tunnel by the Sentinel's: that is where the battle was taking place. Kwotik was holding off two with a quarterstaff that looked more like a propeller as it sang through the air. Mike was fending off a third attacker with studied jabs and thrusts, nearly slicing its stinger off when the Waskinde got a little careless. Cloud-Warrior, meanwhile, had his opponent on the ground, tearing at the creatures head as he danced back and forth to elude the arching stinger. But just as Zitizak's wing-guard prepared to enter the melee, he bid them stay. Something was happening at the forest's edge.
A band of about twenty men on horseback was led by a single Glitmit Waskinde. The men were lightly armed, but all had bows and arrows. The foremost man lifted what looked like a hunting horn to his lips, and a clear hunting call rang out through the valley. A deep-voiced shout came from the men as they swiftly descended on the Sentinels: "For the Kingfinders! For the Kingfinders and the Kingdom!"
"It's Nitraub!" I shouted. "He found help!" The Waskinde around me paid no heed.
Zitizak directed his wingwasps to attack the oncoming cavalry, perhaps to delay them and give the others a chance to kill the prisoners. Zitizak too sped towards them, perhaps intending to fling me upon them like a missile. But half the men halted their steeds and took aim at the sky, loosing arrows as soon as we were within range. A couple of men found their marks on two of the other Waskinde, but they barely slowed. One man, the blower of the horn, happened to hit Zitizak in the middle of his right eye. The grip on my shoulders loosened, and a shrill whitlse of pain and despair emitted from the Stingmaster. Together, we tumbled out of the sky. Two of the wingmen came back to steady Zitizak, but he was dead or nearly so, and the two wingmen were quickly pierced with several arrows.
Still, the brief respite from our speedy descent is probably what saved my life. I should have thanked them.
It still really hurt when we hit the ground, or rather on the grassy bank of a little stream. The tall grasses also cushioned my fall.
Head spinning, I looked up to see Nitraub colliding with another Waskinde mid-air, each stinging furiously at the other. Two of the Waskinde had men and horses down. A third was struggling on the ground, pierced through with many arrows. In a moment, the other two Waskinde were taking arrows from seven of the remaining 8 men who had not gone up ahead. Nitraub had lost his battle and lay still upon the ground, but the Waskinde who had beaten him was nearly spent, and only two arrows finally ended his struggles.
The horn-blower ran to me and kneeled. He was fair-haired but ruddy, with a three-day growth of blonde beard.
"By my word, Kingfinder, I shot that arrow before I thought about what I was doing. It is my fault if you are injured!"
"No, no. I'm all right," I answered. "The thing was going to kill me by dropping me, so you did good. What is your name?"
"I am Purdris, a Counselor of Horst, and it was my hunting party that was accosted by the Waskinde who led us here. We arrived as fast as we could! I suppose these are yours?"
Purdis handed me the sword and stile that must have fallen from my hands.
"Thank you. And you arrived just in time! But how did you know what Nitraub wanted?"
"Was that the brave creatures name? It brought us a scrap of green-and-yellow cloth, your brother's colors. We knew the journey brought you to Waskindia about this time, and so we knew some trouble must have been in the making. But with your leave, I must join my men to finish off the foe!"
"Looks like they've been finished off already," I said. The fighting had ceased. Kwotik, my brother, and Could-Warrior had escaped unscathed it seemed. All the Waskinde were dead or dying. Four men and three horses were dead, not only stung but lashed severely with the sharp limbs of the Waskinde. Two other men were injured."
I found my feet and walked the two hundred yards or so over to Kwotik, who was examining the Glitmit he had killed without the aid of arrows.
"Good to see you," I said.
"Yeah, hey, would you shop off the leg here and here. Watch out for the joint. Leave that dark brown spot intact."
"What?"
"Just please do it," said Kwotik.
So I did.
"Hey, what are you guys doing?" asked my ever-inquisitive sibling, unfortunately uninjured.
"Hey, you can cut one too - on this one Cloud-Warrior mauled. This leg, but between these joints. Not the dark spot."
"It is my prey," growled Cloud-Warrior.
"He says it's his," I translated, just to see if Kwotik really believed I couls talk to him.
The Bard looked at me, then at the dog. "Uh, ok, ask him if I can have this part of one leg. Please."
I did so, and Cloud-Warrior barked. "He deigns to speak with me, does he? Very well, he may have it as a reward. Besides, I know what he is after, and I do not disapprove."
"What is he after?" I asked.
"Music."
"What--"
"Excuse me sirs and Vis Cloud-Warrior," said Purdris, "But I think we ought to be going, in case others are following these traitorous vermin."
Others? Oh wow, I had completely forgotten. Others.
"There's something I forgot to tell you guys," I said.
At that moment the sound of a whirring wind enveloped us and the sky grew dark. We looked to the sky in unison. A dark line approached from the near horizon. A dark line comprised of hundreds and hundreds of furious Waskinde, fresh from watching their children roasted.
"Something called the Tenth Wing is headed our way," I finished. Everyone looked at me, and then we ran.
"Get the Questmembers on horses, now!" shouted Purdris to his men. "Talaniwa and Yardlit, escort them to the forest at all speed! The rest of you, stand your ground! Don't waste a single arrow! It is your life's purpose to delay as many of these attackers as you can for as long as you can! The life of the Kingfinders - and thus your friends and loved ones, depends upon it! When all is done, we shall be on the other side of those mountains. We shall earn the nods of the Star-Riders of Soranou today!"
I faintly heard his last words trailing off as I rode a fast dun stallion to the edge of the wood. I imagined the fear of those hapless hunters turned 'defenders of the kingdom' by a cruel twist of fate. But the hearty shout of the men betrayed no fear.
"I guess the men of Horst are made of stern stuff!" Shouted Kwotik. "Worthy of a song, at least!"
I saw Kwotik to my left, and my brother a little beyond him. The other two riders rode slightly behind us.
"The men are stern," shouted Talaniwa, a tall man dark-haired and bronze skinned. "But so is Vis Cloud-Warrior!"
Michael and I looked at each other.
"Loner!" Michael shouted, and whirled his black mare around.
"Get back here, Michael!" shouted Kwotik to no avail. "Michael! I said get-- oh {i]gophersnot! Kwotik also turned around.
Talaniwa and Yardlit looked at one another, smiled, and turned around as well.
All of them galloping full speed into certain death. The idiots.
A contingent of Waskinde suddenly burst forth from the forest ahead. They had circled around from the main, slow-moving body of the Tenth Wing and had been waiting in ambush. But seeing their quarry turn around they figured they had been spotted, so they rushed forth to crush us in a vespic anvil.
Obviously, I turned quickly to join the brave warriors I'd recently left behind.
When I arrived, the men shook my hands and encouraged me to be stout. Kwotik looked around at the slowly approaching army of wasps from the south and the swiftly approaching contingent from the north. He smiled.
"Never thought it would all end this way," he said. "Guess I'll never get a chance to use these legs," he sadly said as he looked down at the recently-chopped Waskinde parts he had stuffed in his pack. "But I can still compose. As long as my brain can think and lips can move, I'll die with a song from the heart."
The ambushers from the north slowed, and the mass of Waskinde in front of us began to change shape so that the sides curved in, encircling us. The whirring was accompaniment to Kwotik's rising voice.
'Neath Tunnybroll's watchful and merciless gaze
in a wild green field before golden petals,
a few bold huntsmen are fated to raise
defiant voices to prove their mettle.
The sky grows ochre with cavalry vast,
a winged legion of Nature unleashed;
perhaps to wreak vengeance for sins that are past,
extending beyond the Sentinels' reach...
About fifty Waskinde broke from the circle to slowly descend upon us. They reeked of anger and malice.
Two blackmetal swords in the hands of mere boys
a dog who believes he's a Knight of the King;
Arrows twanged at the approaching Waskinde. Some of them found their mark. But just as the arrows were loosed, a second line of Waskind came screaming through the first: fast moving dive-bombers with stingers thrust to the front. The archers barely had time to nock new arrows.
and a Bard who a simple piece of Nature employs
join the huntsmen to rise up and sing:
The second, fast wave of Waskinde collided with us just as the second volley of arrows left the bows. The arrows did little good. I stepped aside just in time as one of the Glitmit stung the earth instead. Michael decapitated it for me. That's what I was about to do. The world was a maelstrom of wing and sting for several minutes. After a while, I began to swing my sword wildly, often as not connecting with something hard. Then, just as suddenly, it ceased.
Michael and I were unscathed. Cloud-Warrior was tearing apart another victim. Even in his weakness, he was a terrible foe. Kwotik seemed a little dizzy and his face was gashed, but he winked at me. Only six men, including Purdris, were standing. Yardlit was down.
Eleven new Waskinde corpses littered the valley.
"They're coming again!" shouted Purdris. "This time have your knives or swords ready after the first volley. We can stand another wave!"
There was no cheer this time.
Goodbye Earth and Sky, and goodbye to the Sea,
goodbye stolen pleasures, goodbye wage of pain;
farewell to whomever wove the fate for me
to bear the bittersweetness of loving Hollenwain.
"You changed your meter," I shouted to Kwotik, trying to be heard above the whir of death approaching. Somehow, there at the end, fear did leave me. I cared more about Kwotik's poetic consistency than the gory demise that would soon be mine.
Kwotik stumbled. his eyes were glazed.
"Purdris!" I called.
"What is it, lad?" he asked as he stood beside me.
"Something is wrong with Kwotik. He won't answer me."
To Purdis' credit, he did not find anything incongruous in checking on the mental state of a foreign Bard for a nine-year-old while the next wave of Waskinde began to descend upon us. He walked over to Kwotik and shook him by the shoulder.
"I'm aright," slurred Kwotik in the Elkwater tongue. "I'm not in need of any astronomy."
"He means assistance!" I yelled. "Assistance" and "astronomy" sound alike in the language of Elkwater.
"Sure you aren't," said Purdris. Then, "Here, why don't you give me that stick and take my sword. You'll have a better chance with it."
"N-No! I'm sapphire trained in the rolling-pin!" the Bard managed.
Quarterstaff and rolling-pin do not sound alike in the language of Elkwater.
"Something's definitely wrong!" I shouted.
Kwotik slumped over, and Purdris barely caught him in time. He looked up to see the slow-approaching Waskinde.
"Fire!" he shouted at his five bowmen.
"Ah this is no good," said Purdris. "He's been stung twice. He's fading now, and that's probably for the best. Lay down now, good Bard, and I'll be dead before any of these bugs have at you again."
"I...must see..."
"I'm not going to be standing over your head, man!" quipped Purdris. "You'll see the end when it comes if you can keep your eyes open."
Another dark cloud approached, this time from the mountains to the East. The outer ring of let out a great noise, but what they said I could not discern. They turned as if in salute to the oncoming cloud.
"Just when you thought it couldn't get worse," sighed Purdris.
The slow-moving Waskinde were overtaken by the swift wave of stingers, and some fifty of them descended upon us. The huntsmen had their blades ready. Cloud-Warrior let out a great howl.
Then came a sound as of a thousand bamboo trees crashing into one another at a hundred miles an hour. Great black things intercepted the descending Waskinde with terrific speed, smashing them to the ground: great black things that looked a lot like Ulnix, only not so old and decrepit.
The Ajain had come.
Not only did they crash into the wave of attackers, but also into the entire Tenth Wing. If the Tenth Wing had its hundreds, the Ajain were in the thousands. Mercilessly they crashed into the Glitmit ring and overwhelmed it by sheer numbers and surprise. It took two or three Ajain to kill one Glitmit, but the black Waskinde had those two or three to spare and more.
The huntsmen found their cheer.
Purdris leaned down to Kwotik. "Did you see that, Bard? Did you see what just happened?"
"Yes," Kwotik replied. But he sounded unhappy.
"It is the song of a lifetime, man! Saved from bugs by more bugs, but you wouldn't put it exactly that way. Why aren't you smiling? Are your lips so numb?" Purdris could hardly contain himself.
"It's just...I prayed to Shozer to intervene, just now. You know, just to prove it's all a fake, here at the end. But instead it's just more trouble." Kwotik was genuinely distressed.
Purdris laughed, a great bellow that shook his whole body. "I'm sorry for your loss, my dear Troubador!"
I joined in the laughter, and so did Michael. So did the Earth and Sky.
CHAPTER END |
© Copyright 2007 Basilides (UN: basilides at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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