Silversion

by Rick Johnson

  Calling out in a voice loud enough to command respect, but softened by the tears that filled his eyes, he said: “Yes, your anger is stronger than me. You have me outnumbered. You can easily overpower me. You can conquer me. If that is what you want, do it now. But that will not free you from the slavery you suffered. Blaming and fighting, as we are now, is the king of tyrants. It makes it impossible for smart and willing beasts such as ourselves to work together. That’s what keeps slaves in chains and tyrants in power. We’re either two thousand hands working together, or we’re just ourselves and those we can trust. And who might you trust, when we all fear and blame each other?”

  Klemés’s unexpected words halted the crowd and it fell silent. Looking face to face, he went on, “So take me if you want. You can do it. But it is only all for one, and one for all, that will make all of us free. Return to slavery and tyranny if you wish—which is where disunity will lead us. If you want better than that, act as if we are all in this together. That is how I see it, no matter what you choose to do now.”

  Jumping down from the table, he motioned to Bem, Helga and the others. “Come on,” he said, striding directly into what was now a silent, but still uncertain crowd. Going from beast to beast, he threw his arms around them and hugged them close, like a brother or sister. Helga and Bem followed his lead. The entirely unexpected action probably saved the day. The tension was shattered. Soon everyone had joined in, hugging, laughing, and backslapping.

  When Klemés judged the danger was past, he stepped away by himself, looking long and intently over the crowd again. Helga, Bem, and Christer joined him, and they stood quietly together for a few minutes. Then Klemés raised his eyes, as if looking beyond the fortress walls. “We all know the facts—there’s nothing but mountains upon mountains as far as the eye can see. Without the maps that Tē’d’Tē had, we’d be fools to try to move this many beasts up the Ice-Cutting Trail, as we’d planned. Even if we had a map, we can’t risk an ambush. What now?”

  “I think we need to get help from East o’Non,” Bem replied. “All the land routes away from Tilk Duraow are doubtful, at best. None of us knows anything about the mountains—not how to get through, not where we’d go, not what’s beyond them. We need better information than that. Otherwise, any plan is based purely on guesses. I suggest that Klemés and I go and talk to NeyMooz again. There may not be much he’s able or willing to do for us, but I think he’ll at least tell us what he knows about the terrain and possible routes out of here. We can be over there and back within a day. I think it’s worth the delay.”

  “I agree,” Helga said. “but Klemés should call for a few volunteers to go with you. It will be easier for beasts to support a plan they’ve had a part in making.”

  “Sounds good,” Christer said. “I’ll stay here and work with Migg to keep everyone fed and things stable while you’re gone.”

  “I like it,” Klemés said, with a smile. “Not too many volunteers, though—maybe three or four.”

  “Yes, three or four—for now,” Bem agreed. “We can add more when we get back with information. We should have maybe six or eight join us when we start working on a new plan. We made a mistake keeping too much to ourselves the first time.”

  “All right,” Christer said grimly, “it’d be best you travel at night. We don’t know what’s out there now. Could be lots of Skull Buzzards just waiting for us to try the trails. Be extremely careful. We can’t afford to lose you, too.”

  Looking from beast to beast, and seeing nods of agreement, Klemés once again mounted the table.

  “Hear me, my livelies!” he called out in his most determined voice. “I need three of the stoutest mock-dangers I can lay hands on! If you ain’t afraid of the wrong side of hell, stand forward! We’re going on a reconnisance mission, to see what’s what outside. I need three volunteers to steal through the night with me, to help break us out of here. We’ll be traveling by dark, without lights, to avoid trouble. I need unflinching, unsleeping, unflagging, undrooping bravery.”

  In an instant, more than twenty beasts stepped forward. Looking over the volunteers, Klemés called out again, “Now, mates, of the lively fire-eaters who volunteed, I need the most cunning, smart-thinking beasts among you to step forward.”

  Nine beasts stepped forward, and the the old Wood Cow chuckled with glee. “All right, then, mates,” he said, “I’m going to ask you some questions. Answer truthfully. If you answer, ‘No,’ step away from the group. Even if you’ve already stepped away from the main group, everytime you answer, ‘No,’ step away from whatever group you’re in. Is that understood?” The nine beasts nodded.

  “Have you ever sailed on a ship through the eye of a hurricane?” Klemés asked. Five beasts answered, ‘No,’ and stepped away from the group.

  “If I offered you the chance to be the map reader on this mission we’re about to take, would you accept?” Every beast answered, ‘Yes,’ except for three beasts among the group that had answered, ‘No,’ to the first question. Those three stepped away by themselves.

  Klemés’s eyes blazed with excitement. “Yar! That’ll be it!” he cried, motioning for the three beasts to step forward. “These three will go with me on the mission.”

  The rest of the volunteers, looking puzzled, melted back into the crowd. Before climbing down from the table, Klemés said, “I know my method may be confusing, so let me explain. All those who volunteered want to help our cause—I know that. For us to succeed, I need bravery, which all the volunteers have. But, I also need beasts with other essential qualities.

  “Any beast as says they have sailed through the eye of a hurricane is a liar—never been a ship that’s done it, so far as I ever heard. So, the first question told me which beasts tell the truth, even when the answer might go against their wants. I need beasts whose word I can count on.

  “Secondly, any beast as wants to be the map reader on this mission, isn’t thinking clearly. We’ll be moving in pitch darkness, won’t be using light, and don’t have maps anyway. So my question was intended to see who was quickest of mind about our mission.”

  He quickly explained the purpose of the mission to the entire group, promising that other volunteers would be needed to make plans based on what was learned. Although there were no wild cheers of enthusiasm, neither was there harsh disagreement with the idea. Pulling the three volunteers together with Bem and himself, plans were quickly made to leave for East o’Non as soon as deep darkness fell.

  Christer and Migg directed the necessary unpacking to once again take care of camping and cooking needs. Within an hour, cook fires whiffed tasty smells across the parade ground, and beasts lounged about, chatting and laughing.

  Around eight o’clock in the evening, seeing that all was going well, Klemés led his team into one of the escape tunnels, and they headed off to find NeyMooz. As soon as the group entered the tunnel, every beast fell completely silent. They were each left alone with their own awful imaginings about what might lay ahead.

  We Will Follow the River

  Being the only one who had visited East o’Non before, Bem was in the lead of the expedition. Before they emerged from the escape tunnel, they doused their lights. From there, the group proceeded stealthily, with neither light or sound. A sharp nose might have picked up the scent of sweating beasts toiling over weary miles, but other than that they passed without a sign. To increase security, the group took a different angle of approach to East o’Non than Bem had used before.

  Using an adqeduct crossing the chasm surrounding the fortress, they circled above the Offaluvia. Walking single file they crossed on top of the narrow water chute. If a beast needed any reminder of what awaited a slipped step, the distant roar supplied all that was necessary. Only a fool would use the aqueduct as a footbridge in daylight, so what must have crossed the minds of beasts crossing in deepest darkness?

  The dangerous crossing, however, had its rewards. The upward sloping aqueduct carried the travelers well up the mountainside ju
st beyond the chasm. Finding herself much higher in the terrain than when she had earlier traveled to East o’Non, Bem rejoiced that another trip through the Offaluvia could be avoided.

  Despite the rugged rocks and tangled brush, the tiny group passed a safe and secure night groping its way along. Stopping for neither food nor water, the stars were just turning pale before a rising sun, when Bem noticed familiar signs of habitation. Fields of green corn and turnips ran along what was now clearly a well-worn pathway. Proceeding down the path, they soon heard voices, and smelling smoke, soon found a pair of beasts cooking food over a fire. More cook fires became visible as they entered East o’Non.

  “Hallo!” Bem called.

  “What’s that?” a voice said. “Beasts wanting their breakfast already? At this hour?”

  “Not breakfast, unless we’re invited,” Bem replied, “but hoping you might invite us. We’ve been walking all night.”

  “Walking all night, you say,” asked one of the beasts, a short male Marmot, holding a gigantic spoon. Stepping toward Bem, and peering at her, the Marmot grinned. “You’re a trifle too familiar to refuse, I suppose,” he chuckled. “Seems you were here not long ago lickin’ your chops at my pot, unless my eyes have gone bad.”

  Although Bem did not remember meeting the Marmot, she said, “Thanking you for the welcome, friend. If you know me from before, you’ll remember where I’m from, but you’ll be wonderin’ what brings me back.”

  “I thought you were bandits, come to rob my pot,” the Marmot chuckled. “Robbed me once, and come to rob me again’s what I figure you want.”

  “If there’s anything worth stealin’,” Bem laughed. “Got any more of that Crumbled Pike Pie I ate last time?”

  “Since I’m inviting you to breakfast, I won’t accuse you of stealing,” the Marmot returned. “But we won’t be feedin’ you for another hour, either.”

  “Where can we find NeyMooz?” Bem asked. “We need to consult with him.”

  “At this hour, he’ll be up on the Bleaks above the village,” the Marmot answered. “He goes up there to think and watch the sunrise.”

  “Would he rather not be disturbed?” Klemés wondered.

  “Depends on whether you bring him another cup of Hot Slapper or not,” the Marmot chuckled. “By now, his Slapper will either be cold or he’ll have drunk it all. Take him another mug of Hot Slapper, and he’ll not be bothered by you heading up on the Bleaks after him.”

  “Hot Slapper?” Bem asked.

  “It’s NeyMooz’s favorite morning beverage,” the Marmot replied. “Seven parts fartart berry juice, three parts tomato juice, and the rest chili sauce. He drinks it boiling hot, or he says it’s not worth bothering with.” She winked at Bem. “Take a fresh mug up to NeyMooz and he’ll be glad you did.”

  The Marmot poured out a mug of Hot Slapper, carefully wrapping it in corn husks to hold the heat. He pointed to a low hill nearby. “Just over that hill you’ll find a path,” he said, “that’s a shortcut up to the Bleaks. It’s steep, but it’s the speediest way to get there. You don’t want the Slapper to get cold.”

  The shortcut trail led upward through huge brown rocks, split into numerous standing slices of stone, with barely inches between them. It looked like a gigantic loaf of bread. As they climbed, a biting wind tore at their clothes, casting up bursts of sand that stung their faces and eyes.

  “No wonder they call this the Bleaks,” Bem thought. “Why didn’t we wait to see NeyMooz at breakfast?” Her complaining was cut short, however, by a booming voice.

  “And a fine thing it is to see an old friend returning so soon!” Startled, Bem looked up and found NeyMooz standing atop one of the slices of stone.

  “You’re surprised to find me in such a place, eh?” the Horse laughed. “A fine place for strangers, it is!” Leaping across the top of the stones, NeyMooz was soon standing beside them.

  “The Bleaks are like a miser,” he said, as if excusing the bad behavior of a friend. “It clutches its wealth deep inside its ragged clothes, and warns strangers off with its wild ways and scowling wind.” He laughed. “But there’s nowhere you’ll see a more beautiful sunrise than up in the Bleaks.”

  “Well, it didn’t scare us off,” Klemés said, with a twinkle. “We’re glad we came. Here, we’ve got some Hot Slapper for you.”

  Taking the mug of Slapper, the Horse smiled and took a long, slow pull on the hot beverage. His eyes closed, then opened wide. Turning pink for an instant, they cleared, and he winked five times. Then he wheezed, slapped his chest hard, and burped loudly.

  “Ah-Ah-Away!” the Horse laughed. “That’s a glorious bit of Slapper you brought me! Tastes like sweet mud set on fire—just the way I like it! If it don’t make you slap your chest hard enough to get a good burp, it ain’t worth drinking. But that’s a fine mug of Slapper, it is!” He looked at his visitors with surprise, as if he’d forgotten they were there. “Oh, sorry, spots! Now, what brings you up in the Bleaks this fine morning?”

  “We need your help,” Bem began, “since I was here a few days ago, we’ve taken control of Tilk Duraow and freed the slaves…”

  NeyMooz startled, his eyes blazing, and cut Bem off, “WHAT KIND OF BLUNDER-MUDDLES ARE YOU? BRAINS FULL OF SPIT? THAT’S THE WORST BIT OF DOLT-SKULLERY I EVER HEARD!”

  Although Bem and Klemés tried to calm the raving Horse, NeyMooz kept up his ranting for a full ten minutes. Then he slumped down against a rock and emptied the mug of Slapper in a single gulp. For a few moments, he sat dejectedly, eyes downcast. But the fiery drink gradually had its effect, magnified by the immense amount NeyMooz had tossed down his unsuspecting gullet in one go. Breaking into a violent spasm of choking and wheezing, his face contorted, and copious tears flowed down his cheeks. After some minutes, he slapped himself hard on the chest several times, and let out the longest, deepest burp Bem had ever heard.

  Blinking several times, the Horse wiped the tears from his eyes and smiled at the beasts gathered anxiously around him. “Now, as I was saying,” he said, his voice low and wheezing, “excuse me if I repeat my opinion. You’re a bunch of blasted, puff-brained idiots! Take over Tilk Duraow, you say? Free the slaves? And now what, I ask you? I’ll tell you what—calamity and ruin for all of us! Yes, for all of us! It’s the end of East o’Non, just as it’s disaster for you! There’ll soon be Skull Buzzards and Club Wolves swarming all over us. Smart beasts you think you are, but you’re no better than a sack of fools!”

  “We may be a sack of fools, and sorry for that,” Klemés replied. “But what’s done is done, and there’s no place to run. Either we come to you for help, or you’ll soon be looking to us. We’re in this together now and no helping it. We may have been lax in planning—but that’s usually the case when desperate beasts see a fleeting chance to better themselves. I apologize for that, and that’s the truth, but I’m not sorry we did it. Can’t shatter a prison without scattering some stones.”

  NeyMooz said nothing for a time, sitting quietly, twitching, rubbing his throat. At last he spoke in a more nearly normal voice. “I’m going to tell you a story,” the Horse began. “I want you to imagine a wee beast, much like myself when I was younger—for, indeed, it was me. That wee beast wandered these Bleaks as if he was called here, and he must have been, since no others from East o’Non ever thought the Bleaks worth their time. What drew him to the Bleaks was the beauty he found there. Yes—beauty—like the miser’s treasure I told you about earlier. Come with me and I’ll show you the miser’s treasure that the wee beast found.”

  Standing up, NeyMooz motioned for Klemés and the others to follow. He led them further up the trail to a point where the slices of rock ended. Where the last one had cracked and tumbled into a pile of rubble, he scrambled up the jumble of rocks. Leading the group to the top of the pile, he showed them how to step onto the top of the slices of stone. Once there, they moved back along the top, leaping slice to slice.

  As they walked, NeyMooz resumed his story. “When a young b
east begins to ramble the Bleaks, rummaging around, looking in every corner, he might chance to find things, don’t you think?” He looked at Klemés, waiting for an answer.

  “Aye,” the Wood Cow replied.

  “And poking around everywhere, the wee beast becomes curious about a certain spot.” Stopping, he pointed to the stone beneath his feet. “He finds that at a special place atop this particular piece of stone, the morning sunrise is especially beautiful. When the sun rises just high enough for its rays to shine past the stone, striking the wall behind and below—for a few moments, the face of the wall glistens and sparkles. When the sun rises higher, the sparkles disappear, but for a few moments, the wee beast thinks there is nothing on earth more beautiful.” The Horse paused, remembering the happy discovery so many years ago.

  “And you’ve been coming here every morning ever since, haven’t you?” Bem asked.

  “Yes, of course,” NeyMooz replied, smiling. “Once I saw it, I never wanted to miss it again.”

  “It’s a lovely story,” Klemés said, “but that’s not why you brought us here, is it?”

  “No,” the Horse agreed. “I brought you here because you need to know why the mountain sparkles in the sun—silver, a thick vein of pure silver.”

  “You’re sure?” Bem exclaimed.

  “I’m positive,” NeyMooz said. “They wouldn’t be mining it if I was wrong.”

  “Mining it!” Klemés exploded. “How do you know it’s being mined?”

  “Lately, sometimes when I’m up here, the ground trembles and I hear muffled rumbling. I put my ear to the silver vein and heard unmistakable sounds of blasting and digging. It’s definitely mining.”

  “And what does that have to do with us?” Bem asked.

  “It’s only a matter of time before the miners break through the mountain here. They’ll follow the seam of silver and it’ll lead them here. In a few weeks or months, East o’Non’s peace will be gone, no matter what you have done. I realize my rage was against the inevitable fact that our way of life is doomed—whether it’s by you or the miners. How could something so peaceful, so lovely, so beautiful be gone—what have we ever done to deserve such a fate? We’ve done everything possible to stay to ourselves.”