by Rick Johnson
“I understand,” Klemés said, putting his arm around the Horse’s shoulder.
“Well,” NeyMooz said, “we’re all in this together now, and there’s no helping it. The question is, what can be done? Come back to East o’Non with me, have breakfast, and we’ll figure out what to do.”
Returning to the settlement, the beasts set about refreshing themselves with Berries, Razor Mint Cheese, and Frozen Curry Creams; followed by Roasted Corn Fritters and Pike Sticks, Rubbed in Butter with a Turn of Ice Salt and Bort Spice. And, of course, there were more Berries and Frozen Cream to finish. Klemés enjoyed another mug of Hot Slapper, but Bem and her friends not so much.
When the meal was over, NeyMooz invited Bem, Klemés, and the others to his cabin. Thinking it best to hear what his visitors had to say first, he did not invite others from East o’Non to join them.
Bem quickly described what had happened at Tilk Duraow since her last visit to East o’Non. Klemés followed, saying that the safety of all known escape routes from Tilk Duraow was now doubtful.
“We’re hoping that you might know something that can help us,” Bem concluded. “Do you know any other routes out of here? It seems almost hopeless…”
“East o’Non has always been a world unto itself,” NeyMooz replied. “We’ve kept to ourselves and never wanted to be part of the feuding and terrors that other beasts call good living. We’ve never travelled far into the mountains or beyond. So I can’t add to what you’ve said…”
He paused, and shaking his head, continued. “I can’t add to what you’ve said—but I wouldn’t call your situation hopeless.”
Bem brightened. “What do you know that we don’t?”
“The river that runs through East o’Non runs two ways. With our gusher-canoes, it carries us upstream to the Curly Pike fishing waters. In that direction, it runs ice cold. But it also flows downstream from here, and runs so hot it steams at places. We never travel in that direction, so I can only tell you what tradition says about that.”
“Tell us!” Bem said excitedly, remembering what Tē’d’Tē had said about the river that once was the only way to enter or leave Tilk Duraow.
“Tradition says that our stream flowed through a lovely green valley in ancient times, but a ‘shower of boiling earth and flaming rock’ fell from the sky and buried half of it. That part of the river now runs deep underground.”
“Where does it go?” Klemés asked.
“One branch flows to the sea, and another flows to the very spot our people were born,” NeyMooz replied.
“Do you know where that is?” Klemés said.
“We come from the Open Wets,” the Horse said. “Before we came here, our folk lived by hunting Waggers—that’s a big lizard.”
“Pogwaggers!” Bem cried. “You’re Pogwaggers!”
“Yes, that’s how we used to be known,” NeyMooz laughed, “but we haven’t seen either Pogs or Waggers for a very long time.”
“So that’s it!” Bem said excitedly, “I knew there was something familiar about you, but I couldn’t figure out exactly what. But knowing you’re a Pogwagger makes it clear. The accent is a dead giveaway, although it’s faint compared to what I’m used to hearing. I know a lot of Pogwaggers, and the accent is unmistakable once you can place it!”
Seeing the puzzled looks of Klemés and the others, she explained. “The Pogwaggers are now scattered to the winds, but for generations they lived in the Open Wets of the Drownlands. They lived by catching Waggers—big lizards that feed on a certain tiny frog, known as Pogs. Waggers feed on the Pogs, and the Pogwaggers ate the Waggers and used their skin, claws, and teeth for lots of things. Then the Waggers disappeared and, without the lizards that were the basis of their life, they could no longer survive in the Open Wets. Now they roam here and there, trying to eke out a living however they can.”
“That’s the story all right,” NeyMooz said. “Once the Waggers began to disappear, some of us saw the danger earlier than others. My great-grandparents were far-sighted creatures and knew the life in the Open Wets could not last forever. They pulled up stakes and, with some of their neighbors, set out for new lands. They eventually ended up here and founded East o’Non. We’ve struggled to build an entirely new life in this place, and succeeded pretty well. It would be terrible to lose our place again.”
“What will you do if the miners come?” Bem asked.
“The miners will come, and we will fight them,” NeyMooz replied. “Our folk will consult and decide what to do, but I know these beasts—and they will not be driven out of their home again. I’m certain that we will stand and fight. Now that trouble is coming, we will prepare to meet them. The bigger question is what you will do. How can I help you?”
Klemés looked at Bem, then at the others from Tilk Duraow. They all nodded, signifying they would follow Klemés’s lead.
“We will follow the river down,” Klemés said. “Can you help us with boats?”
“There’s not enough time to build boats,” NeyMooz said. “I’ll loan you a gusher-canoe to take you to the Club Wolf landing under Tilk Duraow. That’s as far as I’ve ever gone downriver. We go there sometimes when the High One’s pleasure is to annoy us, by having his minions ask us stupid questions. Assuming the Club Wolves met the same fate as the Skull Buzzards at Tilk Duraow, which seems to be the case, you should be able to commandeer enough boats to take you downstream.”
“How will be get the gusher-canoe back to you?” Bem asked.
“A loan is a loan however long it takes to repay it,” the Horse replied. “I trust you.”
“You can count on that,” Bem replied. “You can count on that.”
Book Two
Silverpreen
No Trespassing Here
For a long time, Tē’d’Tē bounced along the rough trail, dragged by Pus and his group. Rock by rock, sharp stones and sand inflicted a thousand tiny cuts. The blanket wrapped around her head provided some cushioning, but gradually wore to tatters.
The scraping of her body across the ground, amplified by the bumping shock telegraphed through her bones, became a world in itself. The further they travelled, the more her brain became clouded. For a while, she struggled to keep her head raised above the ground to avoid the constant bumps, but at last her strength failed.
Reduced to a limp sack of flesh and bones being hauled along, she was near to fainting when her captors stopped. Her feet and legs, allowed to fall to the ground, felt all ‘pins and needles,’ as blood rushed into the long-starved tissue. For a few moments, Tē’d’Tē lay silently, gently moving parts of her aching body, checking for damage. Aside from aching muscles, painfully strained joints, and a pounding headache, she discovered she was not badly injured. “Oooo,” she thought, “not as bad as what those Skull Buzzard thugs did to me—took three weeks to heal from that.”
She was comparing her current experience with what had landed her in Tilk Duraow. Teaching music and sports in Rumper’s End, a village near Maev Astuté, she wasn’t a regular school teacher, since no one would hire her. And the kind of teaching she liked didn’t need a schoolhouse. Better without one, actually, she thought. A schoolhouse tied you down, and Tē’d’Tē liked to move around, stopping here and there for a few weeks, stirring things up. Then she’d move on. Sometimes she moved on a little quicker than she liked, when the High One’s thugs got too pushy.
That was the way it was when she was at Rumper’s End, just a few miles off the Climber’s Way. Climber’s Way was the road leading to the point where beasts started out on the sacred climb to Maev Astuté. Most citizens of Hedgelands completed the climb to Maev Astuté as an act of honor and duty to their homeland. Maev Astuté, the royal castle of the High One, ruler of all Hedgelands, had been constantly under construction since the first High Ones had begun the project centuries before. The purpose of the sacred climb was to keep the construction project supplied with stone, and to inspire loyalty to the High One.
In Kinshy, the ancient ton
gue of the first High Ones, the great castle was known as Maev Astuté (Our Crown). Many Hedgie commoners, however, called it Mae Vasuté (My Steps in Agony). The play on words was more than an odd coincidence. Rising like a jagged needle from the summit of Star’s Door Peak, Maev Astuté had a shadowed place in Hedgeland lore, as its commoner name suggested. Most Hedgies believed completing the sacred climb up to Maev Astuté bestowed honor and blessings on themselves and their family. Tē’d’Tē and others who hated the High One’s rule, however, saw the brutal ascent thousands of feet up a deadly, twisting stairway as the very foundation of the ancient tyranny.
Although few knew who Tē’d’Tē was in those days, the High One knew her name, and what she was doing. She was “that infernal singer” who taught wee Hedgies to sing and play Tosht. It wasn’t teaching young beasts to sing and play Tosht that eventually landed the Weasel in Tilk Duraow, however. It was what she taught the youngsters through songs and Tosht.
If you wanna be a beast with heart and soul,
You can’t do it nowhere, no how, no way,
‘Cept by pushin’ all the nonsense outta your head,
Faster than the High One can stuff it back in.
Seeing young beasts of all different Hedgie clans all mixed up together, playing Tosht like one beast was just as good as the other, wailing subversive songs at the top of their lungs—well, it just wouldn’t do. One morning Tē’d’Tē found herself surrounded by more Skull Buzzards than she had strength to resist, and within a month she was crossing the Bridge of No Return, condemned to the Granite Hulks. “I would have landed here sooner,” she told her fellow prisoners with a chuckle, “but those Skull Buzzards rearranged my bones so badly when they took me, that it took them three weeks to figure out how to get them back together so I could work.”
Despite the pain she had suffered then, she laughed at the memory. “HA-WOO-HOO-HAY!” she chuckled. It was all just too silly—thinking that a few broken bones were going to stop her or change her ways. “WOO-HOO-HEE-HAY!” Nothing could break her. The stupid swagger-priggs! She’d given them all more than they bargained for, even after they’d sent her to the Granite Hulks. And she wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot. “HA-WOO-HOO-HAY!”
“What are you laughing at?” Pus demanded, coming over and putting his foot on the Weasel’s chest.
“Just thinking how fine a ride you’ve given me,” Tē’d’Tē replied, with a smile. “Why, I’ve never had the pleasure of fine beasts laboring along for miles on my behalf! Never been pulled along like that, I’ll assure you! Mighty nice of you—always had to walk myself before. Entirely new experience to rest up while you get pulled along. HA-WOO-HOO-HAY!”
“Hist! Be quiet!” Pus snarled. “You’re walkin’ now, so don’t be a swillin’ your words so fancy. Stand up.”
Tē’d’Tē jumped quickly to her feet, ignoring the pain, and leaving no impression of weakness.
“Take the blanket off of her,” Pus directed, “but watch your grip on the chains. Keep hold of her. We don’t want any tricks.”
“We’re leavin’ this trail now,” Pus said. “Beyond that valley down there, the silver flows down from the mountains just like water. Stick a cup in the water and catch as much as you want!”
“Ho-o-ow do-o-o-o y-o-ou kno-o-ow that?” asked Beez, a sneering, squinty-eyed Skunk with a crooked mouth and a voice that rattled like beans in a cup.
“Because I heard the guards talkin’ about silver runnin’ like water beyond the Brimstone Grass Valley, and there’s brimstone grass a-plenty in that valley below us. Can’t you smell it? It’s those patches of bluish grass along the river. When the sun shines hot, it turns red and smells like brimstone. We just go through that valley and we’re rich.”
The rugged ridge they had been following offered no easy way to the valley floor. Pointing out a slight track through the rocks, Pus led the group along a narrow ledge above the river that seemed to lead down to the valley. Unfortunately, it was a bad choice, and after climbing over rocks for two hours, they were no closer to the valley. Pus, cursing the unfortunate shortcut that had “betrayed him,” was about to start the group back the way it had come, when Tē’d’Tē spoke up.
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Pus,” she began, “but I see you seem a bit confused. If the silver is in the mountains beyond the valley, why not keep going as we are? The track is rough but it’s heading straight for those mountains you’re so fond of.”
“Because, you dunder-dolt, the guards said you go through the Brimstone Grass Valley to get there. So, we’re going through the valley! Isn’t that the most obvious thing?”
“All right,” Tē’d’Tē replied with a bemused smile, “you’re the boss. I’m just a simple Weasel asking silly questions.”
Retracing their steps, the party at last found a rugged precipice offering a way down—if they were not afraid of a twenty-foot jump to a ledge below. From the ledge, it looked to be an easy walk to the bottom. Fear and greed both have a powerful impact on the mind, and both were working hard on Pus. Scared to death of jumping off the precipice, he was also nearly wild with desire to get to the valley. Buckling under the combined weight of fear and greed, he ordered Tē’d’Tē to be released. “Remove the chunk-chains,” he said, “we need them to lower ourselves down.” Giving the Weasel a dark look, he spat at her. “One mistake by you—one sideways look I don’t like—and I’ll throw you off the edge.”
“Which edge?” Tē’d’Tē shot back, smiling. “Give me a choice of edges, and I wouldn’t mind.”
“Listen here, Weasel,” Pus snarled, “so you’ve called my bluff—I’m no killer, but I don’t mind leaving you in some situation that makes you very uneasy. I’ll put up with your cheeky comments, but no tricks or you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
Using the chunk-chains, they descended to the ledge safely. Once there, the group picked its way down through rocks and scrubby brush. Nearing the bottom, they passed under a rocky overhang. Pus, who was in the lead, apparently tripped a hidden wire. Several large pots dropped from above, spilling dozens of snakes onto the group. A birdcage also dropped, releasing a flock of ravens, that flew off, cawing loudly.
Although they later learned that the snakes weren’t poisonous, they had the same effect: panic and bedlam. All order broke in the group, and they tumbled over each other trying to flee. Ending up in a screaming pile of tangled arms and legs, they slowly untangled themselves. Regaining their senses, they picked their way through dozens of writhing snakes, and resumed their hike to the valley. As they rounded the last bit of canyon wall, and stepped onto the valley floor, a small, well-built stone structure came into view. At the edge of the river, it was perched on a slight rise, commanding a view of the entire valley. A Bison stood atop the structure, sweeping the valley with a spyglass.
Tē’d’Tē instantly knew they were in trouble. The boobytrap of snakes and ravens was obviously set as a security measure, and it had done its job sounding an alert. A group of immense, heavily-armed Bison poured out of the stone building. Running to confront Pus’s group, they quickly surrounded the intruders. It was clear from their stern icy faces, that they were not making a friendly visit. Dressed in identical, finely tailored sky-blue linen coats and trousers, they sported shaved heads, and precisely trimmed moustaches and goatees. Each carried a good supply of fearsome three-bladed snugs in shoulder-slung bandoliers.
“Come with us,” the leader said, motioning with his snug for Pus and the others to move along. The Bison’s extremely crooked nose—obviously broken numerous times—was as convincing as the snug in showing he meant business. That, and the tangled mat of scars that ran like a braid from his left ear across his nose.
“I’m cussed if I’m goin’ anywhere with you,” Pus said. “I don’t owe you nothin’ and I ain’t done nothin’ to you. Leave us alone.”
“We’ll be the experts on who stays and who goes,” the Bison replied coldly. “And you’re coming with us.” The other Bison closed the circle around P
us’s group threateningly.
“Well, if that’s the way you are,” Pus replied. “We’ll just turn around and go back the way we came. We don’t need to stay here and cause you trouble.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” the Bison said. “You won’t be leaving.”
“I’m tellin’ you, we’re gettin’ out of here,” Pus insisted. He made no attempt to challenge the Bison surrounding him, however. He knew the Bison held all the cards.
“Do you own this place, or something? Are we trespassing? Is that it?” Pus asked.
“Owner One controls everything around here,” the Bison replied. “There is no trespassing. Those who enter, are simply not allowed to leave. It’s up to Owner One what happens here—and to you.”
Brimstone Grass Ranch
The Bison guided the captives to the stone structure, which served as the base of operations for the guards. Before they reached the guardhouse, the Bison on the roof used a large mirror to signal for backup. An answering signal appeared, and soon a coach, pulled by a team of monitor-dragons, was racing down the valley toward them.
Twenty minutes later, the large elegant coach arrived. Pulling up, the six-dragon team hissed and clawed the air, sending deadly drool flying like rain, snapping at anything that came near. Tē’d’Tē had noticed the speeding coach raised no dust as it flew across the valley, surmising correctly that a paved road served the guardhouse. Thus, the dazzling coach arrived without so much as a smudge on its sparkling finish and silver ornaments. In addition to the Wolf dragon-wacker, the coach was attended by three additional Bison guards.