Entry #618036, added on 04-14-09 @ 6:15 pm EDT
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| Chapter Sixteen: Through the River and Over the Woods | Entry #618036 |
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 Sixteen: Through the River and Over the Woods
"I didn't like the looks of that forest, and as I stared at it I realized how my hate had objectified itself. I knew it because it was a part of me."
~Roger Zelazny
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Any other time and I would have been thrilled to go canoeing down the Brandywine River with Uncle Jim, even if my brother had to come along, but this day felt more like a consolation prize than a real adventure.
"Okay boys, paddle on the right side now," said Jim patiently as he tried to navigate the aluminum canoe down the winding river. We had lodged ourselves on sandbars eight times, almost overturned twice, and were now clumsily trying to get through a slightly rougher portion of the river.
"Harder! Paddle Harder!"
Uncle Jim was apparently concerned about thebig rock coming up on our left as we drifted down the river sideways. I half-heartedly dug a little deeper. What was the big deal? We all wore life-vests. If we tipped over, we'd float.
We just missed the big rock. Oh well.
I was really nursing a grudge at two things. First, Aunt Eva made us write letters to Old Man Perry (though that wasn't his first name and we had to call him "Mr. Eldredge" when we wrote) and send the really cool old paper dollar to him, along with the photo from 1908 and hickory leaf. It wasn't fair. The old guy was dying. Aunt Eva said he'd had a series of small strokes and wasn't eating any more. He was in some sort of nursing home. He wouldn't need that old silver certificate when he died, and apparently he didn't really know what was going on around him now. I found it. It should be mine.
Adding to my woes, Uncle Jim took me aside before we left for the canoe trip and had a "man-to-man" talk about giving that stupid Gargoyle back to Michael. I didn't admit anything. If Michael really wanted that gargoyle he could go find it himself, even though I was pretty sure he'd never ever find it. But Uncle Jim obviously wouldn't believe I had nothing to do with its disappearance, and after the talk I really didn't have any desire to go canoeing or anywhere else with him and my brother.
My mind had drifted again, and so had the canoe. I'd let my paddle drag in the water at an angle, and that worked against Uncle Jim's attempts to steer us away from the bank.
"Watch out!" he yelled.
Michael did. I didn't. I was looking back dully at Uncle Jim, who was pointing beyond me. This I did not see the branch that slammed into the back of my head.
I came to on a bed of leaves and under a canopy of branches. I saw Uncle Jim's face somewhere in-between.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"My head hurts," I said.
"I bandaged up your cut from the first aid kit," he calmly explained. "And I found some basil leaves out here. I'm going to crush them and let you smell the aroma. That will help your head."
Uncle Jim knew all kinds of scout remedies, so I believed him and did so. It helped just a little.
"Mike, get the canoe ready," he said, "and we'll row the couple of miles to the station. Tim can lay down in the canoe."
"Yup!" said Mike, and hurried off.
"Where are we?" I asked, sitting up. My head swam a little.
"In the woods near where you hit your head on that tree branch," Uncle Jim answered.
I shuddered. "Didn't you say there were snakes and - and Bobcats in these woods?"
"We'll be all right," he reassured me. "We'll get right back into the canoe. It's not like we'll be hiking through them."
Mike hurried back. His hands jerked and his face was all scrunched up.
"Uncle Jim? Something happened to the canoe!" he whined.
"What happened, Mike?" Uncle Jim's legendary patience was being put to the test.
"It...it just floated away!"
"Mike, we pulled it up on the bank a good way. Did you push it into the water?"
Mike's eyes darted back and forth. "I barely touched it!"
It was more than a two mile hike.
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I woke up chuckling. Mike and Kwotik had a fire going already, just twenty feet from the river and our unconventional watercraft, and so I decided to razz Michael about the dream.
"You barely touched it, eh? Yeah right," I said.
Michael looked at me quizzically. "What are you talking about?"
"The canoe! Back at the farm, you know, from last night's dream?"
Mike went back to slicing the goblinfart bread Kwotik had picked up the day before. He didn't answer.
"What's your problem?" I asked.
Michael threw down the bread and marched off into the forest.
Kwotik sighed.
"What's wrong with him?" I asked, and picked at some dried beef.
"He hasn't had any dreams about the Farm for a few days," Kwotik said. "He didn't want me to tell you."
"Oh," I said. That was strange. We dreamt about the farm every night and every nap.
"I wonder why," I wondered.
"It probably has something to do with those hallucinogenic lemons you two ate on the island, the ones that made you think you met Shozer in an outer space garden. It probably counteracted the hallucinogenic agent in the walnut that makes you guys think you are from another world." Kwotic held some slices of dark bread over the fire with a stick.
"I thought you decided we really were from a different world!" I said.
"Yeah, I'm re-thinking that," he mused. "Especially after your little escapades on the river."
"You're crazy," I said.
Kwotik looked at me gravely. "Well, that's one possibility."
"Hey!"
"I'm just saying," he sing-songed.
We told Kwotik most of the story, not all of it. We left out some of the conversation with Sophie right before we lay down to rest. Yes, I left that conversation out of this story too. She told us to keep it to ourselves and I've decided that applies to you too. Sorry, go talk to her yourself. But we lost Kwotik right at the point when we got hung up in the hedge. He was of the mind that everything after that was either make-believe or illusion.
"You'll believe just about anything to keep yourself from believing, won't you?" I asked, surprising myself that I sounded like Michael.
Kwotik threw down his stick. "Really, Tim, what makes more sense: That you slipped through a magical shrubbery to meet the gods of Elkwater, or that you were seeing things when you ate an hallucinogenic lemonesque, the properties of which are well established?"
He had a point.
"There really is such a thing as a 'lemonesque?'", I asked.
"Yessir. Did you notice that the stems were pink?"
"Not really," I said. "Maybe."
"It's a good thing you didn't eat them when they were overripe. They probably would have killed you," he said.
But it seemed so real. Heck, it was real.
"You're full of gophersnot," I said.
"One of us is," he readily admitted. "Here comes Mike. Shush on the dreams."
Michael sauntered back to the campsite with a stick about two feet long, which he was using to whack at tree trunks and low-hanging branches. He was dressed in the traveling clothes he wore on his "sojourn", not the green and gold Kingfinder outfit. He swore off wearing his colors, since he stuck to his claim to have sworn off Kingfinding. I still wore my own outfit, the teal and orange deftly sewn into the regular brown fabric.
"Sorry to leave like that. I had to pee." Michael did't meet my eyes.
"Well," I replied, "I'm sorry to have brought up my dream since Kwotik says you don't have them any more. Too bad."
Michael shot Kwotik an evil glare, who responded by shooting me an evil glare. I pretended not to see, and broke off another piece of bread.
Nobody said anything for a minute.
"Yeah, the dreams are gone," Michael finally announced. "Ever since I gave up being a Kingfinder, they're gone. I still have normal dreams, though - mostly about Elkwater. Last night I dreamt the Dibia was singing to me, singing a story about a raindrop that changed history."
"Yeah I can just picture that," mumbled Kwotik.
"What did his voice sound like?" I asked, curious in spite of myself.
"Like Dad's," he said, and I winced.
"That's stupid," I grumbled. "Dad can't sing anyway."
"Okaaaay," interrupted Kwotik. "Hey, the Eels are getting restless. We'd better pack up and get floating or we'll never get to wherever the Sha'voth we're going. Mike, help me clean up here. Tim, you shouldn't leave that piece of Roseluc's tree laying around like that - someone is going to step on it. Your sword and pack are hanging on that oak branch."
Yes, the secret was out about the shard, but so far Ari hadn't attempted to contact me since its existence became known. I worried about that, and didn't know if I could make up a convincing enough lie to keep Kwotic and Mike from finding out that I was in league with Elkwater's version of the antichrist (reformed, of course) when she decided to chat. But, I reasoned, if I kept it hidden away the risk would not be much greater than before.
Still, I wish they didn't know about it.
We wound our way down the Blue Pepper River for days and days, the tireless Eels propelling us with little instruction. If we needed a break, Michael would stick his head in the water and ask them to pull over. When we passed by the place where the King's River branched off to the south, Kwotik sighed wistfully. He really wanted to see the Blue Pepper Manor (or what he called "the Clockwork Castle"). But that apparently wasn't on the itinerary, and we let the Eels carry us along the river to the West.
We spent the time resting, listening to Kwotik's stories (though he refused to tell the second part of the story he began on the Carlerway), singing with the minguilin as accompaniment, and once even listening - open-mouthed - as Kwotik played a ditty on his new wasp-leg flute. The sound it produced was unlike anything I had ever heard. It brushed past my face like a breeze and gripped my spine like the hand of a violent surgeon. I don't think Kwotik expected it either. After his tune he put the flute away without a word and didn't offer to play it again for the rest of the journey. It was too beautiful for us.
During these days we spoke more of the journey's end. Everyone seemed ready for it. We were under the grave misconception that we'd already gone through the tough part and that the rest would be easier. Once the Eels dropped us off we'd simply find the King's Highway, work our way West, and show up at the Hidden Stream for the Ceremony of the Torc, which I guessed was when I would choose the next King. I already had a couple of ideas on the subject.
We might run into Cloud-Warrior before the end. I hoped not. He was so bossy. We might also run into the Dibia who according to Kwotik had ridden back to Ibn-Warna after our disappearance in the Ryemellow, seemingly unconcerned about our fate. The rest of the populace was pretty stressed while we were gone, though. Kwotik said that while we were hanging out on the island, folks were gearing up for the end of the world - or the Tempest of the Torc, which to them was the same thing. Thus their jubilation at our au natural return.
After a few days the forest thinned out and the banks of the Blue Pepper River began to narrow. The current moved more swiftly, and here and there a little whitewater made things interesting. The oaks gave way to apache pine and pinyon, the sawgrass to sagebrush, and the pimpernel to wild buckwheat. The land began to look a lot more like the landscape of the little canyon where Carrigan and I had rescued Arlestecor Jr. from becoming heyote poop. The air was dryer and crisper, the sky cloudless, and the amber rocks more rugged.
Once, a few hours after the river gently angled into a more southerly direction, the Eels made us stop dead in the water. I was dozing at the time and probably wouldn't have noticed had not Kwotik awakened me with a "Tim! You gotta wake up and see this!"
I blinked the sleep out of my eyes and looked over the rail of the HMS Buttsore, but at first I saw nothing. But then movement caught my eye on the north bank far ahead, and to my wonder a long line of massive brown creatures wound its way to the river. On the south bank, the creatures emerged from the river. Only then did I notice the hundreds of heads bobbing in the water ahead of us.
"Buffalo!" I exclaimed.
"Bison, actually," corrected my know-it-all brother.
"There must be thousands of them," said the awe-struck bard.
There were, and it was hours before the herd finished crossing. As we got moving again we saw them thundering away, paralleling the river for a few hundred yards before veering further south. They left a cloud of dust in their wake that settled on the river and obscured our vision for a while.
"What Verse is this?" I asked Michael, the resident cartographer.
Michael looked around - as if that could help him - and made a face. "I'm not sure," he said, "but I guess the area northwest of the river is Seven Tribes country, so we should be in either Parazelo, the Tenth Verse, or Eirene, the Eleventh. I'm not sure of our exact location."
We looked for any sign of Seven Tribesmen, but saw none on either water or land. Michael guessed that since the Blue Pepper River bordered their lands that they might not stray near it. I argued it shouldn't matter, since they were all still a part of the Kingdom of Elkwater. Michael shrugged.
"Why do you want so much to see one of those guys anyway?" he asked.
"I'm just curious!" I snapped, and became suddenly less curious.
"It was just a simple question," Michael complained.
"Having my every thought and motive questioned is rude and annoying," I growled, "so shut up and act like the servant you are."
I smiled inwardly as I braced for the explosion to come, and the redness in Mike's face assured me that things would take their normal course. But to my dismay, he merely clenched his fist and turned away with head bowed, as if...as if praying.
So I laughed out loud.
All the next day we barely spoke to one another, and even Kwotik's jokes and stories did little to ease the tension. He'd given up trying to directly intervene in our lifelong enmity, saying once that "in less than nine years you two have managed to build up a lifetime's worth of deep-rooted hostility. I'll keep my hand out of that rattlesnake den, and thank you."
That next evening Mike spoke to the Eels, who announced that we were nearing the end of the journey on water. Whatever that meant. Presumably they would be dropping us off to find our own way on land. And the land was changing again, looking increasingly like the grassy plains around Ibn Warna. More streams fed into the river, and the current slowed as it widened. The banks were lined with sage and an orange-colored pimpernel, which made me think of the tiger lilies. Maybe we were heading back to Ibn Warna. The thought of Carrigan got my heart racing, in angry anxiety I think, and the thought of the Dibia rejoining us made me groan.
I expressed the latter worry to Kwotik, but he shrugged. "I doubt he's made it back to 'ole Egghead Central on horseback as quick as we've been traveling by river, even though we've been taking the long way around. Besides, he's not so bad. He's quiet, keeps to himself. Fits right in with this little company lately. And who knows if we are even going back to Ibn Warna? Don't worry about it."
We made camp near the southwest bank that night, in a little clearing only a dozen yards or so from the river. Campfire conversation was muted, Kwotik grumbling that traveling with the two of us was like having no audience at all. He made his bed and went to sleep in a huff. Mike silently settled in also, but I couldn't resist a parting shot.
"Pleasant dreams, or lack thereof," I said.
He said nothing.
I dreamt about going swimming in a deep section of the creek at the Farm, which was odd because we had never gone swimming in the creek before. There were eels, like the one I almost caught with my fishing pole, and probably poisonous snakes about too. But this day we were playing "Marco Polo" in deeper water, my tip-toes touching sand so I could poke my head above water without trading. "Marco Polo" is supposed to be played with eyes closed, but I kept peeking so I could win. Michael caught me the fourth time, starting one of our good old-fashioned arguments, like in the days before he met Shozer on the island. But then he dived under and I couldn't see him. A few seconds later I felt a hand wrap around my ankle and tugging. I was going to fall over, my head under water. I began to panic. "Moooooooom!" I wanted to shout, but only made bubbles.
I think I made a sound as I awoke. It was the middle of the night, and I could see everything but the stars, since the moons were so bright.
I still felt a hand wrapped around my ankle.
I sat up and looked at my feet, meeting the eyes of the monster that held me.
It was vaguely man-shaped, but with cold lidless dark eyes, scaly blue-green skin glinting in the moonlight, and a toothless mouth that looked as if it were missing a lower jaw. The webbed hand was cold and wet. The creature, whose eyes held my own transfixed, was cut and bleeding in many places, including at the throat.
My mouth opened, but I couldn't shout. I heard splashing in the distance, and I wondered if more of these creatures were on the way. I reached for my sword, or where I thought my sword was, but instead grabbed a handful of my clothing.
Catfish-man glanced at the bundle of clothes in my hand, and then loosened his grip. He raised a finger to his lack of lips and - in a very manlike way - said, "Shhhhhh." He then began to crawl toward my sleeping brother, his wet body gliding nearly soundlessly across the campsite. I saw more wounds on his body, and one of his webbed feet was mauled beyond recognition.
I looked at my clothing, wondering what about them made him lose interest in me. There was a lot of teal and orange showing.
He was very close to Michael. I supposed I ought to shout out a warning or something. Or...I could lay back down and pretend to sleep. Who would know?
Suddenly the distant splashing was accompanied by an ear-splitting whistling scream, and several things happened at once. Kwotik sprang up from sleep into a fighting crouch, quasrterstaff in hand, and after seeing the fishy interloper, cursed the mucous of gophers. Michael began to sit up and groped for his own sword. The scaly center of attention, for his part, abandoned stealth and launched himself at the still-prone figure of my brother, his hands around Michael's throat before my brother could locate his sword-handle.
"Anghuukkkk," choked Michael.
"Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!" shouted Kwotik, as he spun his quarterstaff and closed the distance between himself and the attacker.
"ssssssssssssssssssssssSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" hissed the monster.
My mouth was still open, but still wasn't making any sounds.
Kwotik's staff beat on the back of the monster, and I heard things break. The staff then whacked the side of his scaly head, and that made the creature loosen his death-grip and roll over. In a flash it was on its uninjured foot and, quick as lightning, grabbed Kwotik's staff and ripped it out of his hands before tossing it aside.
"Uh oh," said Kwotik.
From behind the monster came a sudden glint of dark metal, and an instant afterwards one of the monster's arms was lying on the ground. It let out a whistling scream not unlike the one that woke up the company, and turned to face Michael, who was holding his blackmetal sword with one hand and his own throat with another. He looked kind of wobbly. Kwotik used the distraction to dive for his quarterstaff, grabbed it mid-somersault, and was up and wielding before you could say 'troubador'.
The piscean assassin stood still for a moment, undecided as how to proceed, all the while bleeding profusely from its stump of an arm.
"C'mere, little fishy," sang Kwotik.
The monster hopped back a few steps on its good foot.
Kwotik reached down to his calf and produced a knife, which quick as an arrow soon found its way to the monster's midsection. The creature screamed again, and made a mad dash for the water, hopping and limping as fast as it could go.
Kwotik ran after, gaining ground but still a few yards behind when the creature dove into the river. Instantly there was a watery maelstrom of splashing and red froth.
"Eels!" shouted Michael.
Kwotik skidded to a halt at the water's edge, rotating his arms in an effort to keep his balance and keep from falling into the meat grinder below. He finally fell backwards onto the sandy bank, panting.
A few seconds later, the creatures head was thrown onto the bank a few inches from Kwotik's feet. Most of the flesh was gone from it. Most.
Kwotik raised an eyebrow. "OK, I guess interrogation is out of the question," he said.
As you might expect, we didn't get any sleep for the rest of the night. What I did get was a lot of ribbing and sarcasm for my lack of activity in the melee. Kwotik noted that I'd make a good supervisor. He even made up a song about the fight, in which Michael's bravery figured prominently. It was all right until he got to the line in which
Kingfinder Tim, observing the matter,
bravely refrained from loosing his bladder...
It kind of made me wish the fight had turned out differently.
Michael suggested that I could make up for my...er...inactivity by submersing myself with the Eels and finding out what the heck happened and what these creatures were. I reasoned that in their pumped-up state, the Eels might attack me first and ask questions later, stile or no stile, and besides the water was bloody. In the end, after sunrise, Michael went to chat with our tough little propellers. He was gone for quite a few minutes, and Kwotik began to get nervous, peering in at the water's edge.
"I think I see him," he whispered, "or at least his hair. Wait a minute - here he comes!"
"Why are you whispering?" I asked.
Michael ascended from the water as the breathing-eel fell off his face. He climbed up on the bank, dripping and coughing a bit.
"Well?" I asked.
"Give him a minute," said Kwotik, producing a blanket and dry clothes.
"It's all right," said Mike. "The Eels don't know what those things were either. They'd never seen them before."
"Things? Plural?" queried the Bard.
"Yeah, there were two of them. One of them managed to make it onto the bank - that's the one who attacked us. They killed the other one, though they lost four of their own in the process. A couple are badly hurt too."
"Great," said Kwotik, "so we don't know if they were random predators or if they were sent by parties unknown to kill us. Did you find out anything else?"
"I asked if they interrogated either of them, and they didn't. But the first one they killed yelled out a word a couple of times before they finished him off. He shouted, 'Gleed!'"
"Gleed?" I asked, and I felt weak. I remembered that kid back at Ibn Warna named Gleed who knew about Ari and told me he was going to help me out. I wondered if it was a coincidence.
"What does that translate to?" asked Kwotik.
"Nothing, I think," said Michael. "Maybe it isn't even a word."
"Probably it means 'crap' or 'mommy' in fish-monster lingo. All right, thanks for trying."
"We are going to travel more slowly now, since several of them have died," said Mike.
"Yeah," said Kwotik, not sounding sorry. "I guess I should feel bad about that."
"Yes you should," replied Michael.
"He still feels bad about the bugs, and he doesn't have any guilt left over," I quipped. But it was the wrong thing to say. Kwotik didn't speak to me for the rest of the morning.
I just kept digging myself in deeper. But I didn't care. I had allies.
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As the sun began to set that evening, and we were dreading the idea of setting up camp that night, we ran into some old friends.
Early evening colors of crimson and jade crept over the western horizon and played upon the soft ripples all around us. The few nimbus clouds, ringed with golden light, regarded us like celestial spectators, blocking a little of the light shining forth from their sunset-world. We had come to a more occupied realm, and our passing surprised more than one fisherman and more than a few sheep or cattle grazing on the eastern bank.
In the midst of all the prizmatic, pastoral beauty, about a dozen longboats appeared in front of us. As we approached them, I recognized several figures among the occupants as folk from Ibn Warna: Alexander, the Dibia, and - yes - even Carrigan!
Then - was that barking? Cloud-Warrior, that one-eared, half-tailed self-important mutt was barking imperiously. And maybe a bit joyously.
We passed among the longboats, which then turned and followed us. Maybe the Eels were going to have a bit of fun and make them all chase us. Even with a pared-down propulsion system, Eelpower was faster than manpower. For a while, there was something of a chase, and as the longboats lagged behind the shouts of happy greeting began to take on the sound of alarm. Just as Michael was getting ready to dip his face in the water and ask our swimming friends to pull over, the HMS Buttsore, having now fully lived up to its name, stopped dead in the water, not even flowing with the current. The rowers of the longboats were not amused as they had first to backpedal hard to keep from passing us by and then to keep themselves stationary in the current.
"Well come, Kingfinders," intoned Alexander. He stood and smiled, his red robes billowing in the wind.
Cloud-Warrior sprang from his boat, easily covering the two yard between to land squarely among us. He trotted up to me and nosed me, saying, "Good job bringing back your brother, Sneaky Bull."
He nosed Michael and said, "I thought you were going to be Eel chum, Angry Bull." Mike reflexively reached out a hand to pet Cloud-Warrior's head and I waited for the inevitable snap of the jaws, but Cloud-Warrior only regarded him solemnly - and was that a slight tail-wag?
He then nosed Kwotik and growled, "You need a bath, string-plucker."
"What'd he say?" asked Kwotik.
Before I could answer, Michael called out "He said good to see you again."
"Awwwww, well right back atcha, doggie." But Kwotik did not attempt to pat Vis Cloud-Warrior's head.
In moments we were all walking down the pier of a fishing village. Michael said his good-byes to the Eels, and Kwotik was in deep discussion with Alexander about the monsters who attacked us. Carrigan gave Michael a big bear-hug, and the two of them carried on as if I didn't even exist. In fact, other than Cloud-Warrior's initial greeting, no one even seemed to acknowledge my presence. I was the Kingfinder, the one who is supposed to prevent them all from dying in the Tempest of the Torc, and yet everyone seemed to regard me as some sort of afterthought.
I swore to myself that I'd make those attitudes change.
Then someone was walking right next to me. The Dibia. Great.
You have met Shozer, he signed.
"I...I had a funny dream about him, anyway," I said.
Not a dream.
"Whatever," I said and walked away.
Arrangements had been made for us to stay at the little village that night and the next. Cloud-Warrior explained that the reunion was to be short-lived, and two days hence our canine knight would be guiding me, Michael, and Kwotik through the final stage of our journey. I hoped that I could eat and rest until we set off, but my hopes were vanquished. Lots of people demanded a bit of my time. Alexander got a fair amount of it.
A visitor from the Seven Tribes also insisted on an audience: meeting him really did pique my interest. I was talking to Kwotik over a bowl of clam soup when Alexander brought him to me. The man's name was Akaini, and he raised his forearm across his bronzed face with a slight nod of his shaven head. The clink of many rings piercing his skin accompanied the lifting of his head again, and he studied me with dark eyes. He wore silken wrappings of rainbow colors, and a knife was strapped to his right calf. His feet were bare.
Little was said in that meeting. Akaini studied me carefully as if I were being examined for admission into a school, and it made me uncomfortable as I spoke of the journey and some of our adventures. The Tribesman expressed disappointment that I would not be traveling through the lands of his people, wished me well, and excused himself after only a few minutes. When he left, my heart was pounding and a chill ran down my spine.
Kwotik snorted. "That was almost as fun as talking with the Dibia. Are you going to eat that piece of bread?"
Yes, Kwotik had a way of redirecting my attention to the important things in life.
During our respiteI hardly spoke at all with Carrigan - she spent most of her time with my brother. But at dinner the second night she whispered, "I think about Arlestecor all the time." I jerked my head in agreement but said nothing, since I felt a shyness about the subject. 'How is the little fellow getting along?' I almost asked, but decided not to: Carrigan probably wouldn't know anyway.
Later, as the embers died down from the fire the villagers had made outside, we four intrepid travelers sat down to discuss strategy with Alexander, who had some advice for us.
"If you plan to visit the Blackmetal foundries, the quickest way would be to cut across the Yarbor Forest to the Bowl of Tanis," he said. "From there you can descend into the valley and then trek back up the Witten paths on the steep side of the Bowl to the Eastern side of the Elk Ranges just a little north of the Roth Wood. You will have to go north quite a few miles from there to get to the Hidden Stream, though."
"No," barked Cloud-Warrior, with Michael translating, "I no longer trust the wolves of Yarbor Forest, and I'm not bringing the two bulls anywhere near the Roth Wood if I can help it. There are rumors of foul-smelling things creeping out of the Western Wilds to dwell there."
Alexander shook his head. "Woodsmen gossip, surely. Shozer set an impenetrable barrier on the western border after the Durshone Wars."
"Kwotik got through the "impenetrable barrier" on the eastern side of Elkwater," I chimed in.
"True enough," conceded the Elder of Ibn Warna. "Then you would have to backtrack to the northern edge of Arlazexi lands, climb down the Bowl, and climb up again on this side to return."
"That would take too long," growled Cloud-Warrior.
"Why can't you take whatever route the miners and foundry workers usually take to get in and out of the valley?" asked Kwotik.
"They travel in large groups through the Yarbor Forest," Alexander explained.
"Then we could ask for an escort," Michael suggested.
Alexander shook his head. "That would violate the meros, remember? The four of you must travel alone. But I can't think of any alternate route to the foundries."
"We will have to skip it," declared Cloud-Warrior.
"We seem to be skipping a lot," grumbled Kwotik under his breath.
Alexander heard him. "Yes, things have not gone as planned, good bard. But as much as they are missing, the Kingfinders have been to Waskindia, Meadowlea, the islands of the Ryemellow, and the realm of the Eels. It would seem a hand other than ours sets their itinerary."
"Kingfinder," said Michael quietly.
"Excuse me?" asked Alexander.
Michael shifted uncomfortably on the rock he sat on. "You said Kingfinders, plural. There is only one Kingfinder now, and anyway I never saw Meadowlea."
Alexander looked sad and worn as he answered, "Yes, that is true Michael, Thank you."
He looked back at Cloud-Warrior. "Then you will make a straight path to the Hidden Stream? You will still have to go through the Yarbor Forest."
"Yes," answered the shepherd, "but if we walk along the ridge we will go above the forest, and will have more warning if wolves decide to attack."
"Wolves are unlikely to attack a party of four even if they are starving," said Kwotik.
"The hearts of these wolves are abandoning their nature," Cloud-Warrior explained.
"What could be worse than the nature of a wolf?" Kwotik chuckled.
"Some of them have taken on human tendencies."
A chill ran down my spine. That was the second time in one day. Sheesh.
******************************************************************
We left with fanfare. Muted, solemn fanfare. Drummers and tiger lilies must have been imported from Ibn Warna because the fishing villagers lined a good fifty feet of our path with tiger lily petals, and several drummers played softly and dirge-like as we prepared to go. Everyone from the fishing village came out to see us off: Alexander and Carrigan stood at the front.
"Fare very well," intoned Alexander, looking straight at me.
"Thanks," I replied. "Last leg of the journey." Well, I had to say something.
"Do you have your stile?" he asked. I think it was a ceremonial question.
"Yep, right here," I said as I pulled it out of my pocket. The shard of lightning glass came out with it and tumbled to the ground. It didn't break - it's fall was broken by tiger lily petals.
"That looks oddly familiar," said Alexander, no longer sounding so ceremonial.
"A gift from Roseluc," I explained as I hastily re-pocketed it.
"That's quite a gift," he said. "Be careful with it: even Roseluc cannot know all its powers."
"I'll be careful." And at that moment I wondered when I'd get to speak with Ari again.
Meanwhile, Michael had been undergoing some kind of internal struggle, one which suddenly resolved as he strode directly toward Carrigan, unsheathed his sword from the sheath at his back, and knelt before her, holding out the blade horizontally in both hands.
"Accept my service, my lady, and I will be ever grateful," said Michael, his head bowed.
Carrigan stared at him open-mouthed.
"No, Michael," said Alexander in a gentle voice. "This cannot be. Rise and sheath your sword."
"Not until my lady speaks."
"Oh, get up you silly fool!" shouted Carrigan, suddenly finding her voice. "I won't accept anything of the kind!"
"Please," said my brother, head still bowed.
"Rise, my friend," said Alexander, stooping. "No one is allowed to accept an offer of mesh from a Kingfinder, and certainly not by a Kingfinder's sword. Even if she wants, Carrigan cannot."
"I am not a Kingfinder any more, and so this is not a Kingfinder's sword. I'm not getting up until she either accepts me or rejects me."
Carrigan looked stricken. Alexander put his hand on Michael's shoulder. "Do not torture her so - she has no desire to reject you, son. Rise."
"No," said Michael.
Suddenly Carrigan grabbed a fishing spear from a villager and knelt in front of Michael, the spear extended in the same way he held the sword.
"If you think I'm going to be your lady or anyone else's, then I think the Eels didn't let enough air get to your brain. I reject your offer of mesh, but I would very much like to extend my lifelong and sincere friendship."
With those words Carrigan placed the spear in Michael's palms while putting her own hands under spear and sword, their hands touching. Michael slowly looked up to meet her piercing gaze.
"OK," he said.
I turned to Kwotik, who was smiling. I was not smiling. "I think I'm gonna puke," I whispered.
"Hush man: we're witnessing the stuff of legend here," the bard replied.
Ugh.
After a mile of walking the drumbeats faded into the sounds of the fields and forests. Summer was getting on. The day was hot, but the evening before held just the faintest whisper of the coming Autumn. There were few flowers along our path except for the odd patch of buttercups or Queen Anne's lace. We passed a field of corn, and the stalks were high though the ears were not yet ripe; but it was the last field before the path became overgrown with nettles and chicory weed, and the open sky gave way to a mass of trees. We found the East-West ridge Cloud-Warrior referred to the night before, and we scrambled up the side with a little difficulty. We were twenty minutes climbing, and I could see why wolves would have trouble surprising us from our vantage atop the rocky high road.
From the top, we could see trees below on either side. Little besides weeds and shrubs grew on the rocky ridge.
"I feel like I'm on parade up here for anything in the forest that cares to watch," grumbled Kwotik.
"Watching us will be much easier than surprising us," answered Cloud-Warrior. Kwotik snorted at my translation.
Michael was unusually quiet for several hours. Kwotik tried cheering him up with a wisecrack or two, but he remained dour and impenetrable.
"Mikey's in lo-ove" I sang, because I couldn't help myself.
"I am not", he snapped.
I unsheathed my sword and held it out vertically before Michael. "Accept my service, my lady, and I will be ever grateful," I mocked.
Michael snatched my sword and threw it to the ground.
"Shut up!" he shouted.
"Cease!" Cloud-Warrior barked.
But I was on a roll. "Oh, my lady rejected me!" I wailed, and lay prostrate on the ground.
"I said shut up!" my brother yelled, an urgency to his tone.
"Hey hey," interrupted Kwotik. "Tell you what: if you will get up and pick up your sword, Tim; and if you will keep your head from popping off your neck like a volcanic eruption, Mike, then I will give you part two of that story I told you right before we got to the Carlerway."
"Must you?" whined Cloud-Warrior.
"Might as well" I said, getting up.
"Whatever," said Michael, turning away.
"Such an enthusiastic audience," said Kwotik with a smirk, "but a true denizen of Hollenwaith cannot be deterred,"
Kwotik took out his wasp-leg flute and played a sprightly tune. The sound mesmerized me, and when it was over we were all standing and staring at him, Cloud-Warrior included. Even the birds had stopped chirping. Kwotik was also transfixed by the sound, and when the flute departed from his lips he took a moment to regain composure. He cleared his throat.
"That's the song which arose from this story. It is called "the Tennik Creek Contest", named after the watercourse by which Klayde the Shining and Mat-Fearstun Swamp-Riddler endured their epic struggle. Here, I will tell it as we walk - no use just standing around:
After Klayde left the presence of his beloved Haline Dreamdaughter, and the palace of the Crizal disappeared over the horizon, his countenance began to alternate between guilt over his betrayal of his friend and resolve to win the heart of his true love. At times he rode with the utmost speed so that the deed could be over sooner; and then suddenly he would plod forward in order to delay the coming melee. While he was yet a long way from the home of Mat-Fearston, Klayde happened upon an old man with a long grey beard walking through the wood. As a matter of fact, our hero nearly ran the old man over, and had to pull up on his formidable steed - the stallion with the eyes of brushed obsidian - so as not to trample the poor fellow. Since the Shining Warrior was kind of heart, he dismounted and asked if the elderly and wizened one was injured.
"No, son; injured I am not. I am only very hungry and very thirsty, having journeyed a great distance with neither food nor drink. Might you spare a morsel or two for an old man?"
Klayde drew his formidable brows together in thought. He brought with him only a single waterskin and enough dried meat and bread to sustain him through his mission. If he shared his food and drink, he might have less strength to fight the foe he must defeat in order to win the heart of his beloved. But the kindness of his hear prevailed, and he brought forth what provisions he had from the saddlebags of his formidable steed, the mount with the mane of gold.
"Old father," he said, "my provisions are meager, but you are welcome to what I have."
The bearded old man ate the provisions with relish, finishing every crumb of bread and drinking every drop of water before he said, "Son, you are the first person to do righteously by me for a long time; and I would also like to help you if it is in my power. I can tell that a heavy burden weighs upon your heart: tell me all and I will do for you what I can."
Klayde the Shining doubted very much that this feeble old man could assist him in his quest, but out of politeness he explained his predicament. As he spoke the old man nodded knowingly, and when he finished speaking the man leaned against a tree and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them there was a glint beneath his bushy brows.
"Son," he said, "I have heard of Mat-Fearston and that he is a good and brave-hearted soul. I know Crizal who calls himself King of the Forest better than most, and he has the heart of an adder. But if you love the maiden truly, I know such things will matter little. So I shall tell you how you may save your honor and also win the heart of your beloved. When you meet your friend-become-foe, ask him to devise a challenge for which life and death are at steak. Follow the rules of the challenge to the letter, and you will have both fulfilled your mission and will get a chance to marry your love."
Klayde did not see how the old man's advice could help him, since to be victorious he would still have to kill his friend, but he thanked him and mounted his formidable steed, that horse with fiery nostrils, and rode off into destiny.
When he arrived at Mat-Fearstun's home the next day, the Shining One was tired and hungry and thirsty. However, he was determined to complete his task. He pulled rein on his formidable steed - the equine wonder with the gallop like thunder - and drew his horn, giving it a powerful blast.
For a moment nothing stirred about the little wooden cabin that served at the Swamp-Riddler's home. All was still except for the smoke that rose from the chimney and the chickens that wandered about the yard. But soon the door swung open and out walked a portly but kind-faced woman wiping her hands on a towel.
"Who is making all this rack-- why, Klayde! Good to see you friend! Supper will be ready in half an hour and I've just enough for the three of us. Hitch your horse - a formidable creature that one is - and come inside to wash up."
Klayde's face burned with shame, for Mat-Fearstun's wife Belinda was like a sister to him, and it was his duty to make her a widow this day.
"Nay, woman, but let your husband come forth for I must speak with him," answered Klayde without looking her in the eye.
Belinda marched up to the mounted Shining One and threw the hand towel on his face. The formidable steed with teeth like white iron flinched and stepped back a pace or two. "Woman, is it? You get yourself down from that perch and march right into the kitchen, little boy, or I'll drag you down myself! The husband will be along presently but is...indisposed at the moment."
Not wanting to slay the wife of his foe, Klayde did as Belinda asked, and in a few moments was sitting at the table with clean hands and a ferocious appetite, stomach growling at the smell of roasting meat and mushrooms. He tried distract himself by thinking of the way Haline Dreamdaughter's neck curved just above the shoulder. He was starting to have some success when Mat-Fearstun came booming and bounding into the kitchen with joyous laughter.
Klayde stood to address his foe but before he could speak was gathered in a giant bear-hug by the good-natured Swamp-Riddler, and it was some time before he could speak.
"Klayde! It has been ages! What brings you here, friend?" boomed Mat-Fearstun as he pulled up a chair and motioned for the Shining One to sit.
Klayde remained standing. "I have come to kill you, old friend. Do not try to dissuade me, as this geas has been placed upon me by the only girl I will ever love."
The Swamp-Riddler didn't bat an eye. "Belinda! Our man Klayde has a girlfriend!"
"About time," came the reply from another room.
"What is she like?" asked the man of the house. "Do I know her?"
"That-- that is of no consequence," declared Klayde, who was getting more flustered by the moment. "I must challenge you to the death 'ere another moment passes!"
"Are you sure she's the right girl for you if she wants you to kill your best friend?" asked Fearstun as he stroked his black beard.
With a sigh Klayde sat down and told his friend the whole story, of his meeting Haline by chance in the wood, of his search for her, and of Crizal's proposal.
"Hmm", said the master of the River Folk after pondering a moment. Then, "Hmmmm."
"I must get this over with," Klayde said with a breaking voice.
"It seems to me that there is more to this than meets the eye, if I know that weasel Crizal," replied the Swamp-Riddler, "but be that as it may, you made a vow and your honor dictates that you do everything in your power to fulfill it."
"I'm glad you understand, old friend."
"So how do we do this? Assasination? Duel? Flip you for it?"
The Shining One remembered the words of the old man in the forest and answered, "Mat, I would like you to come up with a challenge, and whichever one of us fails agrees to be killed by the other."
Mat-Fearstun's face brightened. "Really?"
"Uh...yes," answered Klayde, who was discomfited at the Swamp-Riddler's enthusiasm.
"Good then. We need to walk about ten minutes." "Belinda!" he shouted, "I'm off with Klayde to fight to the death!"
"Dinner's ready in less than half an hour!" came the reply.
"I should just make it!" he shouted back.
"Don't come to the table all dirty and bloody though!"
"I'll wash up again!" he shouted. Then, in a whisper to Klayde as he led him out the door, "Women," he said with rolling eyes.
As they walked the king of the River Folk spoke of mutual friends and married life, and inquired after Klayde's mother and sisters. Klayde answered gruffly, holding back sobs and trying to stay focused on his mission. In moments they arrived at Tennit Creek where it nearly joins the old Ten Hen Riverbed, just next to the massive Sherrif's Oak, an old tree that was once used for hanging criminals.
"We're here," announced Mat-Fearstun.
Klayde the Shining drew his sword. "I'm ready," he said.
"Oh you won't need your sword just yet, not until it is time to kill me should I fail the challenge. But get your cunning and strength ready."
"All right," said Klayde as he sheathed his sword. "What is the challenge?"
"I will present three simple tasks to you," explained Fearstun, "and if you complete all three you win. If you do not complete the three tasks as I request, then I will have a go at completing them. If I complete them, then I win. If I fail, then you win by default, even though you were unable to complete them."
Klayde started to scratch his head when he remembered that he was wearing a helmet. So he settled for tapping his helmet. "But this gives me two ways to win and you only one way to win. That seems hardly fair to you."
"Well, I'm always thinking of other people," said the River King.
"All right, I accept. What is the first challenge?"
Mat-Fearstun led Klayde to the lip of the ravine overlooking the dry riverbed. "The first challenge is to jump all the way across this dry riverbed, starting at this spot, to the lip of the ravine at the other side."
"That's over sixty feet!" shouted Klayde. "No man can jump that far!"
"Well, that's the challenge," answered the Swamp-Riddler. "Don't you think you should at least try?"
Klayde removed his armor and stood at the lip of the ravine. It was not far down so he did not think Mat-Fearstun was trying to trick him into injuring himself. He bent his knees for a mighty jump and leaped a great distance, but well short of the other side of the riverbed. When he returned to Mat-Fearstun he shook his head sadly. "You should not have made this challenge," he said, "because I know I can jump much farther than you from our competitions in the old days, and so you too will fail this challenge."
"We shall see. In the meantime, come hither to the creek for the second challenge."
Mat-Fearstun bent down to dip his hand in the cool waters of Tennit Creek. "This water passes at the rate of twenty-three gallons per second, and it is pure and clean. Your second challenge is to drink up this creek."
Klayde was incredulous. "Drink it up? I am indeed thirsty, but there are thousands of gallons of water in this creek. No man can do that!"
"Nevertheless."
Klayde sighed, but looked for a place downstream where the creek was narrow. He went there and placed his heroic mouth just so and attempted to imbibe all the water he could. His effort was amazing, and he swallowed more water in those few moments than any normal man could. But in the end, he could not drink another drop - and the water yet flowed.
Klayde sloshed over to his foe. "Mat," he said, "I know I can drink more than you from our competition days. If I failed, then you too shall fail, and by the terms of the challenge this means you will lose. Why have you chosen such impossible things?"
"We shall see whether or not I can succeed at these challenges. But in any case, the third task awaits...come with me to the Sheriff's Oak."
Mat-Fearstun placed a hand on the huge tree. "This oak has been here for two hundred years or more, and it is as strong as it has ever been. The third challenge is to knock down the tree...with a single bare hand."
Klayde's eyes widened. The Shining One might have been the strongest man alive at that time, except perhaps for Colrag Slackjaw of the Hundred Surprises, but he knew he could not topple that huge tree with his bare hand. Nevertheless, he put his left hand behind his back and placed his right hand under the strongest low branch, and he heaved and pushed with all his might. The tree may have moved a fraction of an inch, and for a moment it seemed that the thick branch might give way, but in the end the Shining One fell to the ground in exhaustion.
"Ah, you failed," said Mat-Fearstun sympathetically.
"But Mat, this is an impossible task. And now, unless you accomplish all three, I must kill you. And you must not rely on our friendship - my love for Haline is so strong that I can think of nothing else. I will indeed kill you, unless you have planned some trickery to kill me first.
"My dear Klayde, I assure you that I will adhere to the rules. Now let me go essay that riverbed."
"You could never jump all the way across, Mat."
The Swamp-Riddler stood at the edge of the ravine and looked at his friend. "Well, I may as well try." And he jumped, but only about two feet. Then he jumped again. And again. And again. In fact, in about twenty-eight jumps he had jumped all the way across the dry riverbed.
Klayde was astonished. "Why, I never thought of that! This is where your cunning surely overcomes my strength. Very well, you have succeeded in the first task. But you can never drink up that creek, my friend."
"You may well be right, Klayde. Where was I when I gave the creek challenge? Here? Very well." And Mat-Fearstun walked about five steps upstream before dipping a cupped hand in the water and taking a single sip. "Ahhhh," he said and wiped his mouth.
"You drank...up the stream..." mused Klayde.
"Success number two!" agreed Fearston. "But now to the grand and final challenge - knocking down the tree!"
"With a single hand," reminded Klayde.
"Of course."
"A bare hand...and not the kind of bear that lives in the woods!" said Klayde with a burst of insight.
"Ah, you are too clever for me, O Shining One. But though you have found me out, I must nevertheless do my best."
And Mat-Fearstun raised his hand, then with his knuckles rapped on the tree from the top of his reach to the very base of the trunk, leaving the tree very much intact...but also thoroughly "knocked down".
"You knocked...down the tree," whispered Klayde the Shining.
"It would seem so," replied the victor.
"Well."
"Yes."
The great Klayde, with a heavy heart, fell to his knees and closed his eyes. "Let is be a clean stroke, for the sake of our friendship," he said.
Mat-Fearstun stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I seem to have forgotten something."
Klayde opened one eye. "What?"
"My sword. And although I'm pretty strong, lookin' at the size of that neck of yours I don't think I can break it with my bare hands."
"Oh. You can use my sword then." And Klayde helpfully drew it and handed it to Mat-Fearstun, resuming his death-pose.
The King of the River Folk lifted the sword, then lowered it. "I can't kill you with your own sword. That's bad luck, and I can't afford any bad luck."
Klayde sighed and gathered his things. "I guess I'll just have to go to your house and let you kill me there, since your own sword is there...right?"
"Yes, that's where I left it."
They had walked only a few steps when Mat-Fearstun said, "Oh wait!"
"What?"
"I can't do that! The last time I killed someone around the house Belinda had a fit! She was cleaning for months and still claims to smell the stench of death."
"Oh," said Klayde. "Then you can get your sword and come back here and kill me?"
"Aren't you full of helpful suggestions!" admired the Swamp-Riddler. "But by then I'll be late for dinner for sure, and Belinda will kill me, which is hardly a victory."
"Oh." Klayde tried to tap his helmet, and remembered he had taken it off. He scratched his head instead. "Then what do we do?"
"I'm afraid we'll just have to call it a draw."
"I'm really sorry," said the Shining One.
"It's the way these things go sometimes," answered Fearstun.
"But how can I live, now that I can never have my love?"
"Who says you can't have your love?"
"Well," reasoned Klayde, "I was supposed to kill you, and I didn't."
"You can hardly be blamed for lack of trying," answered his friend, "since, after all, you were on the losing end of a life and death contest."
"But...I'm alive..."
"Due to unforseen circumstances beyond your control, technical difficulties and all."
"But...if I go back and you aren't dead..."
"Yes, that's a poser. But I think better after a meal. Are you up to a bowl of hunter's stew? I picked some fantastic mushrooms this morning."
And so Klayde the Shining One and Mat-Fearstun Swamp-Riddler made it back just as Belinda was setting supper on the table, lucky for them.
"That's it?" exclaimed Michael.
"You didn't like it?" asked Kwotik, looking hurt.
"Yes, but...what happens after that?"
"After that," said Kwotik, "Klayde the Shining was up half the night peeing."
"No, no...I mean...did he get his love...did Klayde marry Haline eventually?"
"He's saving part three for another time," I explained.
"No, I'm not," said Kwotik. "There's no part three...at least not originally. Some presumptuous little snit wrote a "part three" about fifty years ago, all about how the two raised an army of river folk to storm Crizal's fortress and win Haline's hand...I don't know, it wasn't worth remembering. This is the way the story should end."
"It's not satisfying," I said. "It leaves loose ends. No resolution."
"That's real life, kid - there's no resolution there either."
"Yes there is," said Michael.
"Oh don't get started!" Kwotik kicked a rock off the ridge.
"There's a bigger story than any of us can see," Mike went on, "and maybe it doesn't get resolved in our lifetimes or the way we want it to, but there's an Author behind it all and it all makes sense to Him."
"Yeah," said the bard, "there are times I feel like I'm in a story myself. But tell me this: where did the Author come from? Another Author?"
"Maybe," said Mike, "But ultimately there has to be an Author without an Author, someone who started all the authors and all the stories."
"That's not logical," said Kwotik.
"Sure it is," said Michael.
"No it isn't."
"Yes it is."
"Hey Tim, why don't you go back to making fun of Mike and Carrigan?"
"This is more fun," I said.
"Stop," barked Cloud-Warrior.
"Ah, we're just teasing," Michael said.
"No, I mean stop walking," he explained.
"Why?"
"Look ahead."
The sun was halfway through its downward descent, partly blinding my view. The air was humid and cicadas were beginning to fill the air with their song. Forest mists were already forming over the treetops, and a flock of crows crossed between me and the sun as I strained to see ahead. And then I saw it, standing alone atop the ridge several hundred yards ahead: a wolf.
(Chapter End) |
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