The Overending

by Rick Johnson

  General SlopChops made certain that the necessary preparations went forward rapidly. He wanted the glory of capturing the home base of the so-called rebels before other Skull Buzzard brazzens could gloat about crushing the anti-slaving operations on the river. “No, no,” he said to himself, “my brazzens will be first.”

  Thus it was that, on the last trip that PorNart made ferrying beasts from the Great Hot Lake to assist in the defense of Mar-Marie and Ord, he encounted Aviafias on the flight.

  Approaching the Drownlands, carrying ten other beasts with him in the balloon, PorNart nearly screamed when we saw fire spreading around Mar-Marie and Ord’s home. Straining to see what was happening, he saw Vultures swinging low over the house and dropping flaming torches. “One, two, three, four,” he counted aloud, making sure that he’d accounted for all the Vultures. “We’re going down,” he shouted to his passengers. “Not to worry, I’ll land us carefully, but, as soon as hit the ground, I want you all to start fighting those fires.”

  “What about the Vultures?” one of the passengers asked.

  “They’re out of torches, I can see that. They’ll head back to their base. I don’t think they’ll bother our landing.”

  Carefully reducing lift, PorNart piloted the balloon to a safe landing near Mar-Marie and Ord’s house. They and Angelana were already outside battling the blazes that were threatening their home.

  “What’s this all about, do you think?” PorNart asked as he swatted flames next to Ord.

  “They’re softening us up for the Skull Buzzard invasion,” Ord replied, his face dark.

  “You think they’ll be back?” PorNart said.

  “Yes, I imagine so,” Ord replied. “Obviously, they’re hoping to burn us out. They want us to give ourselves up or run into them trying to escape. If we stop these fires, they’ll be back with more torches.”

  “What can we do?” PorNart continued.

  “I don’t know,” Ord replied. “We never expected this. If they keep up this kind of attack, our only hope will be to escape through the Grand Deep.”

  “Which may be crawling with Wrackshees,” PorNart observed.

  “Yes, quite likely,” Ord agreed.

  “Now that they see you’re being reinforced,” PorNart said, panting as he worked, “they’ll be back soon. They’ll want to take us while our numbers are small. They won’t allow us to keep reinforcing. My guess is that the Aviafias will be back, in greater numbers, as soon as they can get organized.”

  “No, there’s no escaping this,” Ord replied, his facial fur scorched by the flames. “There’s too many of us to get out of here in the balloon, even if we wanted to. No, we made a plan, which has gone a bit wrong, but it’s still a good plan. And—the very success of their first attack may lead them back into our way of thinking. I don’t think the Buzzards will be able to resist coming after us.”

  Thanks to the determined effort of the newly arrived beasts from Great Hot Lake, the fires were soon put out. Although grass and trees still smoldered here and there, the danger to the house was past. While several beasts mopped up the remaining hot spots, Mar-Marie and Ord consulted with PorNart, Angelana, and S’Might.

  “Let’s take a lesson from what has just happened,” S’Might offered. “We have a balloon, but there’s no longer time to use it to get reinforcements. So, we launch our attack.”

  “What kind of attack?” Angelana asked.

  “Dung-Swill,” S’Might smiled. “I’ll fly above the Skull Buzzards and soak them down good!”

  “Can you get up high enough to get out of range of their archers?” Mar-Marie asked.

  “Of course,” PorNart laughed, “that’s the easy part. An arrow can’t fly very high going straight up. I can easily get about the range of arrows—and shooting arrows straight up is not what they teach archers anyway!”

  Working with a passion and speed matched to the emergency, they quickly outfitted the balloon with buckets, pots, and various other vessels, brimming with Dung-Swill.

  Despite offers to help him on the raid, PorNart steadfastly refused to accept other passengers. “I need all the Dung-Swill we can load,” he said, “every spare inch and every pound of weight I want for the Swill!”

  “Can you handle the stench without passing out?” Angelana asked, with true concern. “The entire purpose of that horrid stuff is to incapacitate any beast that gets doused with it!”

  “Ah, my friend,” PorNart said, his eyes twinkling, “that’s one bad thing from my escape from the High One which has some good in it. My nose got so frostbit, I no longer have a sense of smell!” Everyone had a good laugh, but the mood soon turned serious again.

  “I’ll come at them from their rear,” PorNart said. “I’m hoping that, by attacking them from the rear, I may be able to drive them into the Everlost.”

  Shaking hands all the way around, PorNart climbed into the balloon basket. “Let ’em go,” he called. Loosening the mooring ropes, the balloon shot into the sky. Gauging wind and adjusting his peddling and rudder accordingly, PorNart gained altitude and headed for the Skull Buzzard lines. Massed along the fringe of the Everlost, the main Buzzard positions were soon obvious.

  “Easy now, steady as she goes,” PorNart coached himself. “A little left rubber and a little faster on the peddle. There we go.” Coming in over the rear of the Skull Buzzard lines, he drew a massive crowd below. Most of the Buzzards had never seen a balloon before, and those who had did not know what to expect from it. They crowded in dense groups, pointing and hollering.

  “Perfect! Perfect!” PorNart howled with glee. “Let’s see, we’ll start with that nice bunch of Buzzards right…THERE!”

  Pulling the rope to flip the first group of containers, Dung-Swill rained down on the Buzzards below. A loud chorus of gasping and choking immediately arose. Laughing hysterically, PorNart pulled another rope, letting fly another shower of the Swill. More coughing and choking. Again he pulled a rope, sending another squall of Swill. In a few minutes, he had doused nearly the entire Skull Buzzard force, leaving them in torment and disarray.

  “All right, now, just one more pass and I’m out of Swill,” PorNart said with a chuckle, coming in for one last pass over the Buzzard lines. By now, all order and discipline was gone among the Buzzards below. Even the officers were doubled over hacking and wheezing. Seeing the balloon come in for another pass, a stampede began. Running, trampling over each other, the Buzzards broke for the Everlost, trying to hide in the towering grass and reeds. Even there, however, there was no relief from the debilitating stench that made their heads seem to explode and eyes bug out. Splashing and clawing through the dense grass, the Buzzard force quickly became, not a disciplined army making an orderly retreat, but a blindly escaping collection of individuals.

  In a normal retreat, the goal is to escape danger, not plunge headlong into it. In this case, however, PorNart’s strategy had worked exactly as planned, with the maddened rush of the Buzzards scattering them amidst the Everlost wilds.

  Seeing that his work was complete, PorNart waved a large green cloth he carried for the purpose of signaling. Seeing the sign, Angelana, waiting with Speed, patted the monstrous reptile on the head and said, “Go get ’em, Speed.”

  “ROOAAARRRR!” Speed’s bellowing would echo through the Drownlands for many hours.

  PorNart, feeling hugely pleased with his efforts, turned the rudder to steer back to Mar-Marie and Ord’s. He was just thinking about beginning his descent when he saw a squadron of Aviafias bearing down on him. Defenseless in the balloon, he decided the best course was to make a run for it, hoping, at least, to draw them away from his friends.

  Tilting the rudder to catch a favorable wind, PorNart threw fuel on the fire to take the balloon higher. As he had hoped, the Aviafias came after him. Rising higher and catching the wind, PorNart drew the Aviafias away from Mar-Marie and Ord, but was unable to gain enough speed to escape his pursuers. In short order, the Aviafias had him surrounded and were motioning
for him to take the balloon down. He was just about to follow that intent, when his knee nicked against the flicker-pole Helga had loaned him. Feeling the pole almost calling to him, he picked it up and began playing the pole. Ethereal, unearthly music resonated from the pole. The music seemed so indescribably beautiful that he forgot about flying the balloon, forgot about the Aviafias…

  The music intensified and over a period of minutes, the sky began to fill with birds of every description. Large and small, old and young, the sky blacked with such a massive flock of birds that the balloon disappeared from sight. The Aviafias, unable to continue normal air operations amidst the gargantuan flock, and affected themselves by the ancient tones of the flicker-pole, gave up their pursuit of the balloon. Allowing themselves to slip into the magical, amazing moment of community with the rest of their feathered breatheren, the Aviafias thought no more of PorNart that day.

  General SlopChops read the dispatches sent to him by his junior officers in the field with mounting distress:

  Drownlands Frontier, 2.49.160:9th

  Arrived & took positions as planned. Good food, drink, music for troops—a little advance celebration helps morale. Up to now, all intelligence confirms tiny rebel force—if it can be called that. Will easily crush them without wrinkling our uniforms.

  Lt. Mollover

  Drownlands Frontier, 2.49.161:21st

  Aviafia flight over rebel compound successful in the main. Many fires started. Soon after, rebel airship appeared, dropped putrid chemicals on all troops. Troops so incapacitated that I was forced to pull most back.

  Lt. Mollover

  Drownlands Frontier, 2.49.161:24th

  Sent few troops still able to operate to scout enemy positions. They encountered monstrous reptile, heavy casualities. Stragglers lost in swamp trying to get back to our lines. They encountered rebel defenders led by armless Rabbit. Kickboxing rebels bloodied our troops badly and our troops fled in great confusion. Our total operation casualties were quite severe: 425, incapacitating nausea, severe headaches, bulging eyes; 73, debilitating terror and shakes; 10, bitten-off arms, legs, feet; 12, broken bones, concussions. 25 Aviafias charged with dereliction of duty. I am of the opinion that the rebels have dealt us a complete and utter defeat.

  Lt. Mollover

  General SlopChops turned pale as he reviewed the utter destruction of the brazzens deployed in the Everlost campaign, and the complete dereliction of duty by the Aviafias. It was all too much for a Skull Buzzard General to stand. Laying the report aside, General SlopChops put on civilian clothing, slipped out of headquarters and within an hour, was bound for Port Newolf, planning to book passage on a sea-going ship to parts unknown.

  On the Road to Tilk Duraow

  Helga, Emil, and Christer stood mute on the cliff, gazing down at the water gushing out of what had once been SnowFire. Emil, tears streaming down his cheeks, said nothing for a long time. His sister and friend simply put their arms around him and tried to offer comfort.

  “It’s over,” Emil said at last. “The SLOPS is done, finished. We may have beaten the Skull Buzzards, but we’ll never run escaped slaves through here again. We win, but we lose.”

  “Isn’t there another route that can be used?” Helga asked.

  “It’s not just the route,” Emil sighed. “We don’t know what happened. Apparently there was some kind of massive explosion or quake that broke open an underground river or something. How much of the cave system is destroyed or flooded? Did it wipe out the passages from Mar-Marie and Ord’s house? We don’t know any of that. Looks pretty bad to me.”

  “Well, bad is not bad, if you know what I mean,” Helga declared.

  “No, I have no idea what you mean,” Emil snorted. “Bad is not bad? Come on. Really?”

  “Just because something breaks doesn’t mean there’s no way for work to continue,” Helga said. “If work stopped every time a tool broke, precious little work would get done.”

  “So, what do you suggest?” Christer asked.

  “We continue on the SLOPS return route. When we get to Mar-Marie and Ord’s, we see what’s what and make a plan with them.”

  “Uh, that’s where we’re already headed, Helga,” Christer said.

  “Yes, and I mean we get going, rather than stand here and waste time,” Helga said, ready to explode.

  Winning the argument, Helga took the lead and they walked along silently for perhaps an hour. Topping a steep rise, they were surprised to see a long line of beasts coming toward them. Peering carefully at the approaching group, Helga took off running to meet them, laughing and yelling. “Bem! Bem Madsoor! You’re a sight for sore eyes!”

  “Helga! Christer! What are you doing here?” Bem asked, beaming.

  “What are you doing here? That’s the question!” Helga laughed. “You’re supposed to be sailing across the sea now. What are you doing here?”

  “That’s a long story,” Bem replied. “As I suppose your tale is a long one as well. For now, I’m just trying to help these beleaguered beasts to safety.”

  “Where did you find them?” Helga asked.

  “They’re from a huge Wrackshee camp in the caves below,” Bem explained. “There’s too much to tell right now, but there was a huge explosion—don’t know exactly what damage was done, but probably destroyed the Wrackshee camp and flooded all the caves down there. We just got out ahead of it.”

  “So that’s what happened,” Helga said looking at Emil and Christer. “You say the Wrackshee camp was destroyed?”

  “Well, I don’t know, but the entire area blew up and flooded. It would be a lucky beast to have survived that.” Despite what sounded like good news to Helga, Bem looked worried.

  “The Wrackshees are out of the picture,” Bem said, “but I’ve got nearly two hundred beasts here who need food, water, and a safe way to get to freedom. I don’t know anything about this area. How am I going to help them?”

  Helga looked at Emil, the one who knew the area best. “That’s not going to be easy,” Emil replied. “The route through the caves is gone. The river is going to be impassable until the flooding stops—if it ever does. There’s still brazzens of Skull Buzzards between us and Mar-Marie and Ord’s. Those are the only three routes I know. We might have had a chance slipping by the Skull Buzzard brazzens with just the three of us, but not with more than two hundred.”

  “So, you’re telling me there’s no way out of here for these poor beasts?” Bem said. “I didn’t bring them this far to let them die of hunger or be taken captive again. That’s not the way I do business.”

  “That’s not the way we do business, either,” Helga declared. “Think Emil! Think! Isn’t there some other way to get these beasts to safety?”

  “Yes, there is,” Emil replied, “but you’re not going to like it.”

  “Try me,” Helga said, smiling. “I like lots of things.”

  “Then we follow the slaving route,” Emil said. “The only other way out of here is to follow the exact path that the slavers use. That route runs up to the Granite Hulks at Tilk Duraow. With the Wrackshee camp destroyed, they may have halted the slaving caravans for a time. If the routes are unused, we might be able to slip through while everyone is busy elsewhere.”

  “But, then what?” Helga asked.

  “Home says that on the backside of the Tilk Duraow fortress, there’s an area called the Offaluvia. It’s essentially the place where they throw all their garbage and send all the other nasty waste from the place. The garbage dump is there. All the sewage flows out there. The smoke from all the fires and machines blows out that way. Because it’s such a nasty place, it’s a vast ‘No Beast’s Land’ that no one pays any attention to. It’s a perfect place to hide. If we can just get into the Offaluvia, we can melt away through it and they’ll never catch us.”

  “Which way do we go?” Christer asked.

  “I think we head up that ridge line ahead,” Emil said, pointing.

  Christer looked at Emil, giving him an anno
yed look. “You think? You think we should go that way? That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence.”

  “Look,” Emil said, “all I know is what I’ve picked up listening to Home tell stories about his time in Tilk Duraow. He gave good descriptions of the route and a lot about the layout of the place, but I’ve never actually been there, so cut me some slack. From what Home said, that ridge will take us to the Bridge of No Return. That bridge is the only way to get across the chasm surrounding Tilk Duraow. It’s called the Bridge of No Return because beasts sent to Tilk Duraow generally never leave the place. The trick for us is to get over the bridge and keep going.” He gave his friends a serious look. “We cross the bridge at night, no lights, not a sound. Bem—you speak to each of the refugees—make it clear that there can be not a single sound.”

  Moving with stealth, the long column wound its way along the ridge Emil had indicated. Upon reaching the approach to the Bridge of No Return, Emil called a halt. Leading the group into a brush-shrouded ravine under the bridge approach, he said, “We’ll take cover here and wait until night is far along.” As the group waited, hungry and cold, Emil looked at Helga. “Do you think that Great-Grandfather Klemés is at Tilk Duraow,” he asked.

  “What makes you say that?” Helga asked, surprised. “I thought he was lost at sea.”

  “So did I,” Emil replied. “Now I’m not so sure. Angelana seems certain that he’s in prison there.”

  “You mean that we’re walking right past the place, and Great-Grandfather Klemés might be breaking rock there? And we just waltz on by?” Helga exclaimed.