by Rick Johnson
“Yor did what?” Ola exclaimed. “Yor asked Mar to take to the Gateless Wolf ways?” Ola’s head was spinning. Such a thing had never been heard of before. A female following the way of the Gateless Wolf?
Seeing that Ola was speechless, Ord continued. “Calm yourself, Ola,” he said. “Keep listening! If you wonder at what I did, I hope you see how it might be possible to be even stronger on the path, even though I have left the path.” Ord paused, looking fondly at Ola, as if waiting for something.
Ola looked puzzled for a moment, then exploded: “Enigma!” he laughed. “Yor an old Gateless Wolf still!” Ola cried.
Ord told Ola that Mar-Marie had said that the Gateless Wolf path was not for her. “She said that the Gateless Wolf life was fine for me, but she wanted to do something that helped more folk than one traveler here or there.”
“Now, don’t get me wrong,” Mar chimed in from where she and Emil were preparing dinner, “What I actually told him was that wandering around helping creatures you happen to stumble over is fine, but what I wanted was to help the masses of creatures you know are in trouble without waiting to stumble over them!”
“And how are yor do’in that?” Ola asked.
“We’ve been farming here all these years,” Mar replied. “We’re about the only creatures out in this land, but a few other pioneers are beginning to come.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Ola responded.
“Oh, don’t be too glad of it,” Ord said. “Our whole service to the Gateless Wolf path depends on not too many people being around. We’d rather not have too many neighbors!”
“How does farm’in—here all by yorn lonesome—follow the Gateless Wolf path?” Ola asked.
“Well,” Ord replied slowly, looking to Mar to see how far he should go in his explanation. Seeing her nod, he went on, “Well, you see, Ola, we help slaves escape from the Hedgelands!”
“How?” Ola asked in astonishment.
“Ah! Well, that’s a long story,” Ord replied. “The sort of story where you end up hanging on the gallows if you happen to tell the wrong person.” He sipped some hot tea that Emil had poured for him, got up, and stood at the side of the fire, with his heavy paw on the mantel.
“Could I make a guess, I wonder?” Ola asked. Ord allowed as how Ola could guess all he wanted.
With his heart beating rapidly, Ola rose out of his chair, and walked over to where Mar-Marie’s broom rested in the corner of the room. Holding the broom like he had seen Mar do when she swept the path in front of their house, Ola began sweeping as he had seen Mar do earlier.
“Say, for instance,” Ola said slowly, as he continued the sweeping motion, “that a group of escaped slaves happen’in to be pass’in down yorn path under cover of darkness. Say they carry’in no lamps for fear of call’in eyes upon them. Say they are stumbl’in along in the dark and need’in a place of refuge. Say they find an unusually clean and smooth place in the path.” Ola paused, looking from Ord to Mar with excitement in his eyes. “Say that such an unusually clean and smooth spot in the path is a signal that yorn house is a safe-house for those same escaped slaves!”
Electrified looks passed between each person in the room. Ord smiled. “Well done, Ola!” he said. “You are now eligible to swing on the gallows with the rest of us.”
“Well, some honors depend on the company,” Ola laughed.
“Yes, Ola, dear friend, we’ve made a way for crowds of troubled creatures to find their way to safety. This is our lifework in the path of the Gateless Wolf!” Again he took both Ola’s paws in his own. Mar-Marie and Emil came over and joined with Ola and Ord. Ola’s eyes filled with tears as he realized the extreme danger these dear friends were surely in each day.
“Don’t you mind us, Ola,” Ord said, sensing his concern. “We’ve carried on these thirty years by ourselves and will carry on as long as we can. Don’t fear for us.”
“Is there no one else?” Ola asked.
“Oh, there be others, all right,” Mar replied. “But it’s that line we will not cross with you tonight. Too many count on our silence about them. We trust you completely,” Mar continued, “but even the most trusted of us make mistakes. The more people, the more possibility of mistake. We cannot risk it with you. At least not yet.”
A new thought suddenly occurred to Ola. The Coyote was missing. He had not seen a sign of PorNart-1604 or any of Mar and Ord’s children since he had arrived. “I thought yor had a Coyote guest,” Ola commented, “and some reputed children as well.”
No one responded to the question, so Ola answered his own question. “Yorn don’t really have all those children. Those are yorn helpers. Creatures who lead the escapees along to freedom. PorNart-1604 is one of them.” Ola looked to Ord and Mar for confirmation.
“Close to the mark, Ola, but wide of the heart of the matter,” Mar smiled. “We do have children, but they are all grown. We are not young anymore. Yes, some lead those escaping to safety. Some have other reasons to be gone just now. Some live elsewhere. PorNart-1604 is not an escaped slave. Emil no doubt told you how he came to be here.” Mar paused, looking fondly at Ord. “We’re better people than when we came here. We’re better because of the creatures that have visited. We learn from each of them. PorNart-1604 is rebuilding the balloon. He thinks he can repair it and improve it. We hope to use it to carry on our work!”
“How do you mean?” Ola asked.
“Well, let’s just say it’s a very long walk from the Hedgelands,” Ord said with a wink. “PorNart-1604 is up in the hills for a time. He’s building a workshop and forge to make new parts.” Mar put a finger to her husband’s lips.
“No more just now, Ord. We’ve trusted this new friend with a great deal tonight. Let us see how it goes on for a while. Caution is necessary.”
So saying, the talk on this subject ended for the night, with conversation moving on to happier topics. All told jokes and laughed until their jaws hurt. Gradually the night slipped away. Ola was thoughtful. He resolved to stay with Mar and Ord for a time to see what other new things he might learn.
Welcome, Woonyak!
“AYYYIEEEE!” Breister was surprised to hear the long scream coming from his mouth. He was supposed to be drowned, dead, submerged in a watery grave. Yet he was aware that he was screaming. “AYYYIEEEE! YAAAAHHHHH!” He was tumbling, falling, spinning head over heels, falling, falling, screaming...
How long he fell he did not know. It seemed like a very long time, yet could not have been very long. The river poured through a massive hole in the rock—the whirlpool leading into a tunnel through the rock that sent the surging river deep underground. The rock tunnel opened out into a huge underground cavern, spilling and spraying the watery flow out of an opening at the top. The water fell from the high ceiling of the cavern like a waterfall. The cascade of water fell from such a height that, by the time it landed in the lake, it was dispersed into mist and a powerful rain-like downpour.
KERSPLOOSH! With a tremendous splash, the burly Wood Cow plunged into the cold water of the lake. In the pitch-blackness, Breister’s eyes were so useless that it was as if he had lost his sight. From the sound, he sensed he was in a huge cavern. How far underground he was he could not guess.
The lake was deep enough that Breister could not touch the bottom. Exhausted, deeply chilled by his long exposure to the frigid waters, and struggling against despair, Breister paddled out of the direct fall of the water. Gasping for breath, he was grateful that there seemed to be no strong current in the lake to fight. He floated quietly, sculling only enough to stay afloat, catching his breath for the first time since the Cougar had attacked him. Breister did not know where he was, but he was deeply grateful to simply be able to rest.
“Ahhh, to rest...beautiful rest...sweet, blissful rest,” he thought. “So tired, so very, very tired...can’t move my arms and legs...so tired...too tired...need to rest...” The fight against the Cougar, the brutal pounding by the water and rocks in the river, the lung-ripping, gas
ping struggle to breathe, the numbing cold of the water—all this punishment had left him limp with fatigue. His strength ebbing away, Breister lapsed into unconsciousness. As the muscles of his neck relaxed, his face pitched forward into the water. The biting cold of the water had no effect in reviving him, but rather dragged him deeper into icy rest.
“Hunjah! Woonyak!” Breister heard the strange words as if they came to him from a far away place. They seemed friendly and inviting. He turned to look in the direction of the voice and found that his eyes were closed. Forcing them to open against a powerful desire to sleep, Breister saw a frightful-looking Sheep bending over him. The Sheep wore the hair around her head close-cropped, and had brightly-colored designs swirling around her eyes and ears. She was robed in an intricately embroidered caftan, which emphasized her startling appearance. Fantastic animals leaped and pranced in the designs and a large, many-colored bird with two sets of wings clutched a sun in its talons. Sharp bone needles held her clothing together, and long curling bone hooks, painted with stripes, were laced through her cheeks.
Was this another wild hallucination? It did not seem terrifying. Breister’s confused thoughts struggled to make sense of it, but could not, and he lapsed back into sleep.
Awaking some time later, Breister found himself lying on a pallet of soft feathers. Several brilliant shafts of sunlight cut long, sloping beams through the semi-darkness. He realized that he was no longer wet. Somehow, a soft, bright green sheet of cloth that wrapped across his body and tied at the shoulder had replaced his wet clothes, toga-style.
“Hunjah!” The apparent greeting announced the reappearance of the strange Sheep, accompanied by a servant, who brought a steaming drink to Breister. He gulped the hot beverage greedily. A sharp, but not unpleasant, spicy sweetness had a stimulating effect, making him feel refreshed and warmed after his long immersion in the frigid water.
“Hunjah!” the strange Sheep repeated, kneeling down by Breister. “We welcome you, Woonyak,” she continued. “It has been a long time since we have had such a great Woonyak among us. Hunjah!”
“Excuse me, friend,” Breister replied, “but I don’t understand you. Why do you call me Woonyak?” Breister was very grateful for his apparent rescue and the care that the friendly Sheep was showing him, but he was also curious.
The Sheep looked kindly at Breister. “You are a ‘fallen one’—a Woonyak in our tongue—one who has fallen through the OmpotoWoo. You would say it was the ‘Great Tear’ or ‘Place Where the World is Torn.’ Few of your kind have ever fallen. It is an honor and privilege that you came to us. Hunjah!”
“There are more of you?” Breister burst out excitedly. He realized how much he wished to know. There were others? Who were they? Where was he?
“I am WooZan, chief of the WooSheep. I pulled you from the OmpotoWoo and brought you here. I thought you were dead when I found you. I brought you to the Golden Grotto to heal and recover. Hunjah!” Sweeping her extended arm with royal dignity, she drew Breister’s gaze around the large cavern where he found himself. Light streamed through skylights—variously sized jagged openings in the rock—scattered across the high vault of the grotto. A wondrous, ethereal lutescence sparkled here and there with a deep golden glitter as the light played on the mineral formations. The effect was otherworldly, unlike anything Breister had ever seen. The sparkling glitter...Was it real gold? He wondered without speaking.
“No, it is not what you call ‘real gold’...” WooZan commented, smiling at Breister. “You are surprised that I read your thoughts?” she continued. “Woonyaks are all the same. They think that what they call ‘real gold’ is so dear and precious that they think only of that,” WooZan said shaking her head. “This Golden Grotto sparkles with the light from above that gives its loveliness to the simple, plain rocks of the Grotto. Without the light, the rocks are very simple and humble. Yet see what glory they gain from the light!”
Breister looked about in astonishment. Far above their heads, the cavern had several openings to the outside. Shafts of sunlight beamed into the cavern through the ragged holes in the rock. He had never seen, or imagined, such a thing. The cavern, far underground, was open to the world outside! Breister felt a surge of delirious happiness course through him. He could escape the underground! He could search for Helga!
“You are thinking about the other world,” WooZan observed. “Your eyes are fixed on the LuteWoo, and you are thinking about escape.” Breister looked at WooZan with surprise. She had once again seemed to read his thoughts.
“No, I do not read thoughts,” WooZan said. “You think because I know what you are thinking, that I can see inside your mind. No. No. I only know the feelings that you feel so well that I need not be told what they are. Since the first day of the WooSheep, our folk have known these feelings. No Woonyak that has joined the WooSheep over the ages has ever had a different thought than you. I know exactly what to expect from you. Hunjah!”
Breister looked at the WooSheep chieftain with curiosity. “There are many Woonyaks?” he asked.
“Yes, but it is still a great occasion for us when a Woonyak comes,” WooZan replied. “Over a thousand, thousand lifetimes, there is time for many Woonyaks and each one brings something new to the WooSheep. Their coming is a great event among our folk. The first of our people were Woonyaks. Our stories tell about them. And the fall of each Woonyak is a great event—a renewal of our story and our people. There will be a story about you, also. As you become an elder among the WooSheep your story will be honored, it will be drawn on the walls of the Deep Caves, where all our great stories are recorded. You will be buried there also...your story will be with you forever.”
“Whoa there, WooZan...Now, wait just a minute!” Breister protested. “You may know the Woonyaks you have seen in the past, but I’m a different case. I’m not staying here. I’m leaving to find my daughter. You’ve been very kind to me and I’m very grateful to you for saving my life, but—”
“—but you have seen the LuteWoo, and you think you can escape from this world?” As before, it was less a question, than a statement of fact.
“That’s exactly right,” Breister replied. “I’m getting out of here, just as soon as I learn the way.”
“No one leaves the WooSheep, friend,” WooZan said quietly.
“What do you mean?” Breister said, feeling a new sense of anxiety.
“There is no way out,” the WooSheep explained. “There is no way to leave here. There are only the OmpotoWoo, which gives us our way of living, and the LuteWoo which reminds us of the promise of the afterlife.”
“But the LuteWoo is open to the outside!” Breister exclaimed. “Surely there is a way—”
“To climb out of this world?” WooZan completed the sentence. “See how well I know your feelings? All Woonyaks think exactly alike. Hunjah! There is no way out. But there is the promise of the life to come.”
Breister’s mind was reeling. Could it be true? Was he condemned to live here to the end of his days?
Breister sank into thoughtful silence. After a short time WooZan observed, “You are thinking that I must be wrong—that there must be a way to leave this world. Am I right?”
“Yes! Yes! That’s exactly right!” Breister exploded. “You think you are so smart. You think you can sit there and know what I am thinking. Well, you’re wrong! I’m getting out of here, and you can think whatever you want about that!”
“It’s not what I want to think, friend; it is the reality of things. Our stories tell that ages ago, the folk we now know as the WooSheep lived in the high, high mountains. We were simple Planting Sheep and happy with our life. But a time of great sickness came over that land and our folk became very sick. Many died. At last, the sickness was so great that our chiefs said it was best to leave our homes. Many of us loaded our belongings onto boats and tried to float down the river. Many died in the rapids. Many more fell through the OmpotoWoo and lived. Those became the WooSheep.”
Breister was sil
ent for a long time. WooZan honored this silence. After some time, Breister said, “Why can’t we ascend through the LuteWoo? Has anyone tried?”
“The LuteWoo is the home of the Fire Beetles,” WooZan responded. “The Fire Beetles excrete an acid that covers their bodies. Touch it and your skin burns like fire for days. Over the thousands of years the Fire Beetles have lived there, the small bit of the acid clinging to their feet has gradually dissolved the rock, making the natural skylights above our heads. That, and the fact there is no way to reach the openings, makes it impossible to leave, even should one want to go. Hunjah!”
“Should one want to?” Breister repeated. “Why would one not want to leave?” Breister asked incredulously.
“Woonyaks are all the same,” WooZan observed again. “A Woonyak falls through the OmpotoWoo and, if they survive, they have been so near death that they have seen the end of their lives before them. Then, those that survive eventually find their way into the Golden Grotto, where they can, at last, get out of the water. As you have seen, the Golden Grotto is incredibly beautiful, even otherworldly. The combination of magnificent beauty and the joy of simple survival gives Woonyaks the sense of having been saved by a miracle. Is that not what you, yourself, believe?”
Breister had to admit that he did have some of that feeling. The despair of being utterly lost, the struggle against the river, the fearsome whirlpool and the certainty of death, the long fall into the darkness not knowing what might be at the bottom, the sense of immediate, inevitable doom...all this created an almost insane sense of release when one did not die.
“Surely your survival was a miracle, yes? Isn’t that what you believe?” WooZan spoke softly, yet with an unsettling conviction. Breister did not know exactly what to think about the WooSheep chieftain.
“You have been delivered by the Great Power, saved from extinction,” WooZan continued. “When Woonyaks see the LuteWoo they think of escape. Then they learn that there is no escape and they rage against that. Then they gradually realize that there truly is no escape and they come to love the life of the WooSheep. They come to the Golden Grotto and worship the Great Power that saved them. They find peace in the promise of the afterlife here. The WooSheep have all that is needed. All Woonyaks come to see this. They learn that they have no further need for the other world. WooSheep do not even believe they can reach the other world before death. All Woonyaks come to see this. Hunjah!”