The two sat next to each other silently in the dark for a while. When Paladin found the courage to speak, he did not look up at Shepherd. “What happened to you, Shepherd?” he asked.
“Gunshot,” the dog answered, with a measured haste that suggested he knew the rabbit would ask about the limp. With a great sigh—as if some obligatory duty had been served, or if some large weight had been lifted from his shoulders—Shepherd lowered himself onto all fours. His large head hovered beside Paladin’s in the dark. The moonlight created shimmery pools of light in the dog’s deep brown eyes. Paladin was afforded his first real look at Shepherd. The dog’s face was old, tired, and haggard; but his eyes reflected a different kind of age. They were deep and wise—soulful—like a deep pool or an aged tree.
“Gunshot?” Paladin repeated. His head tilted to one side, not fully understanding what Shepherd was saying.
The dog was patient; he could tell the rabbit was working things out in his mind.
“It was a long time ago,” Shepherd said. “A long time.” He smiled. Shepherd liked the rabbit immensely. He felt an almost immediate compassion for him when they first brought him to the church and lay his wet, bedraggled body upon the straw. Shepherd thought the rabbit had looked so . . . pitiful. Shepherd found himself rooting for the small lapine to pull through. On top of that the rabbit had proven to be brave and stalwart in the face of many incredulous questions and remarks of the Utergei, in spite of all he had been through in recent days. There was no doubt in Shepherd’s mind that the rabbit was telling the truth.
Especially now that Spirit had spoken on the matter.
Shepherd looked at Paladin, who looked back with nose working innocently. The dog wondered what lay ahead for them all as his mind turned back to the conversation at hand. “Paladin,” Shepherd explained. “I’ve had dealings with the elahs myself in the past. I used to be known in their tongue as a ‘K-9’. I was employed by certain elahs to perform various duties, and help carry out certain tasks.”
“So . . . you once belonged to them?” Paladin asked. “You had a relationship, too?”
“Well . . .” Shepherd thought for a moment, understanding what Paladin was asking, and measuring his response carefully. He did not want to give the rabbit the wrong impression. “Not exactly. An . . . association might be a better way of putting it. It was nothing at all like what you have described as having with this . . . “Son” of yours. No.” He shook his head. “That is something entirely new to us—radical, even. Especially for those who have never had any dealings with the elahs themselves. And there are many like that here,” Shepherd added. “Be mindful of that, Paladin. For that is why your tale seems so strange to them. Your words tonight have introduced entirely new concepts and considerations to us all, and challenged our thinking by taking it in completely new directions.” The old dog paused and looked around, as if hearing a voice that no other could hear. “All of us, that is, with the exception of Spirit.” Shepherd grew somber and quiet..
Paladin sensed a hesitation in the dog’s words. It seemed as if Shepherd spoke with the cordial politeness of someone trying to be friendly to someone that they don’t really like at all (which could not be farther from the truth!). Or . . .
Paladin lowered his gaze.
Invariably, his eyes landed on Shepherd’s leg. Suddenly, like a synapse firing, Paladin jumped and blurted out, “One of them shot you! Didn’t they, Shepherd? One of the elahs?”
A few tired heads rose around the room at this outburst. Somewhere in the dark somebody shouted something.
“Sorry!” Paladin offered in a hushed, embarrassed response. He looked quickly at the dog’s face again, and repeated, “One of the elahs shot you, didn’t they, Shepherd?” Realizing how excited he sounded over something so obviously painful, Paladin quickly added: “I mean. . . I’m sorry, Shepherd.”
Shepherd smiled at the rabbit. He looked down his long snout approvingly and nodded. “It was a bad elahs,” Shepherd said.
“Ha! They’re all bad,” a gruff voice harrumphed behind them.
CHAPTER 6
“Having it Out”
Paladin knew the source before the small cobby body of Rolo trundled into view from the shadows. “Zat ees what I say,” Rolo barked in his thick accent. “Not a good one of them in the lot!”
Rolo looked at Paladin and Shepherd in the dim light. He lowered his eyes and kicked at a pebble, almost in the manner of a shy schoolboy. Paladin noticed that Rolo’s voice had lost some of its former edge. The guinea pig sounded less like someone trying to win a court case, and more like someone simply expressing his opinion—adamant though he may be.
“Tell me,” Paladin probed. (He spoke without realizing he was going to!) “What exactly have you got against the elahs, Rolo? I genuinely want to know.”
Rolo waddled a short distance from them and sighed. He looked around the dark room; his tiny beret gave him the appearance of a great general surveying a sleeping encampment of troops before deployment. After a moment Rolo spoke, and his voice sounded older now. Graver. He sounded as though he spoke from some place deep within—a place he rarely let himself go. His voice was a strange mixture of bitter shame and extreme pride. To Paladin, it seemed as if they had tapped a direct line into the very soul of this guinea pig.
“I am one of the last of my kind, rabbit,” he said. “A true, free-born guinea pig. Do not ask me how I came to be in these woods, for . . . Je n’sais pas,” he shrugged. “I do not know. But,” he began, “I have heard. . .” Here, Rolo paused. He nodded, and repeated in a dreamy, faraway voice: “Oui . . . I have heard.” Over the next few moments, Rolo’s words seemed to crawl forth with tremendous effort. He spoke like someone harboring a terrible secret, but who sought someone—anyone!—who would listen sympathetically. It was a welcome change from his harsh demeanor earlier that night. Paladin felt himself softening at the guinea pig’s transparency:
“I have heard of the sheer numbers of those of my kind, Paladin—perhaps even those of my own ancestry—who were held prisoner under the tyrannical oppression of the elahs. What’s more,” he persisted, “I have heard of the terrible things inflicted upon them at the cruel hands of their masters.” Rolo approached and stationed himself directly in front of Paladin, gazing into the rabbit’s eyes. “Things zat no gentleman would ask me to repeat, and things zat I would never offair.”
“Now, where did you hear that?” Shepherd balked beside them.
“Zat is not zee point, doggie!” Rolo barked.
“Doggie?” Shepherd rose to his full, towering height.
“Now, hang on a second, Shepherd,” Paladin said, and stepped between the two of them. (Not that he would have been able to do anything to stop Shepherd from doing whatever he wanted to Rolo!) To his credit, the small guinea pig did not budge as the German shepherd loomed over him. He held his ground, locked in a gaze with the large dog.
“Look,” Paladin said, and turned to Rolo. “Just what is eating you? You’ve been at me all night. Whatever it is, why don’t you just come right out and say it?”
The guinea pig lowered his gaze from Shepherd and looked directly at Paladin. “All right,” he said. “I zink it is piteeful the way you side with this “Son” of yours, rabeet. You are a chendrith—free-born, as I am!—yet taken by one of them!” His small nostrils worked rapidly. The disdain in his voice was unmistakable.
“Found,” Paladin corrected him. “The Son found me.”
“Call it what you will!” Rolo hissed. “It is all zee same in the end! You seem to want to forget where you come from, rabbit, and stand in defense of this “Son” of yours. Don’t think for one instant, Paladin, zat zis “Son” of yours thought of you as anything more than a thing, a possession!”
“That’s not true,” Paladin cautioned. “The Son thought of me as His own.”
“How can you say zat?” Rolo pleaded. “Zay are not to be trusted! None of zem! Anyone who thinks differently is a fool, rabbit!” Saliva shot fr
om Rolo’s mouth; his voice took on a desperate tone. The scene gained quite a few stares from around the room.
Paladin tried to reason with Rolo. “You don’t know, Rolo. You don’t know because you’ve never had the relationship I had. If you had a relationship with the Son the way I have, you would think differently.”
“I know enough to . . .” But Rolo trailed off. He lowered his eyes and paced impatiently. There were a few moments of awkward silence.
Shepherd stood by, watching.
“What do you know?” Paladin asked, his head cocked slightly to one side.
Rolo didn’t answer. Instead, he glared at the rabbit. Paladin could see that Rolo’s eyes had narrowed and his breathing was rapid; the guinea pig was absolutely seething. Paladin thought he might be beginning to understand, and took an involuntary step towards Rolo. For once, the guinea pig didn’t meet his gaze. Paladin spoke softly, “It’s impossible for someone to divorce himself entirely from where he comes from, Rolo. Just as you suggest.” He paused, but added quietly, “No matter how hard he tries.” Paladin raised his eyebrows in an asking expression, as if to see if his words penetrated Rolo’s gruff exterior. When there was no answer, Paladin went on. His words seem to come from somewhere other than his own mouth. “You’re afraid . . . aren’t you, Rolo?”
Rolo didn’t respond immediately. For the first time, he hesitated slightly. When he finally did speak, it was masked behind a chuckle. But not a comfortable sort of chuckle; it was a forced, nervous sound. “Afraid?” he asked. “Afraid of what?”
“Slavery,” Paladin said simply.
“Ha!” Rolo snorted. He paused and muttered, “None of zem will ever take me!”
Shepherd watched and listened, intrigued.
“I don’t mean future slavery, Rolo,” Paladin said. He paced the room, now his turn to sound like someone from a courtroom. “You say you don’t know how you ended up in these woods, right, Rolo? You’ve referred to yourself as ‘free-born’ on more than one occasion.”
“I am!” the guinea pig decried.
“I think you’re a little proud of that fact.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Rolo protested.
“I’d say even a little protective,” Paladin pressed, and stepped towards Rolo. The two of them locked eyes with each other. “I don’t think you’re afraid of the future, Rolo,” Paladin whispered. “I think it’s something in your past.”
“Stop,” Rolo said.
“Something you yourself aren’t even sure of . . .”
“Paladin!” Rolo shouted.
“Something you’ve been fighting your whole life to shake free of . . .”
“Enough!”
“The possibility that you’re descended from slavery!”
Rolo lunged at Paladin and throttled his neck.
Shepherd stepped forward, growling.
Paladin saw tears welling in Rolo’s eyes, but the guinea pig made no attempt to actually hurt him. It was as though—somewhere deep inside—Rolo knew the rabbit’s words were true, that he needed to hear this. Perhaps part of him had been wanting to hear it.
“And in that regard,” Paladin croaked weakly, “you and I, Rolo . . . we’re exactly the same.” Paladin took hold of Rolo’s small wrists. “That’s why you’ve had it in for me ever since I got here, isn’t it? I’m a reminder to you of the past you’ve been trying to escape.” The guinea pig looked into Paladin’s eyes. Paladin felt Rolo’s grip loosen a bit. “Honestly,” Paladin said. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone quite as afraid as you, Rolo.”
Rolo breathed heavily, but did nothing more than stare at Paladin. “You and I, rabbit,” he said finally, “we are not zee same. We are very, very different!” With great effort, the guinea pig released his grip on Paladin and stepped away. “Very different,” he whispered again.
Just before Rolo vanished into the darkness, Paladin spoke again. “There’s something you don’t understand, Rolo.” His words were enough to halt the guinea pig, though Rolo did not turn to face him. Paladin noticed that Rolo’s head cocked slightly, listening. “Not all ownership is slavery,” Paladin said simply.
The two stood silent a moment. Then Rolo turned and said coldly to the rabbit, “You may well swallow those words before all zis is over, rabbit!” With that Rolo turned, and disappeared quietly into the shadows.
Paladin watched him go, muttering to himself, “We’ll see.”
“Bitterness,” Shepherd broke the silence. “A root that takes a long time to dig out. Oftentimes, it springs up and defiles many.” Paladin looked at Shepherd as the wise old dog continued. “Do not let yourself fall prey to judging Rolo in the same manner he has judged you, Paladin. For both your characters are yet to be tested.”
“What are you talking about, Shepherd?”
“I admit not knowing this “Son” of yours, Paladin,” Shepherd said. “But all of us have been affected—in one way or another—by the greater elahs.” Paladin found himself admiring the dog, and wondered that he could have ever been afraid or intimidated by him. Shepherd, as if sensing Paladin’s thoughts, lowered himself into a prone position and looked into Paladin’s face. His breath was warm on Paladin’s fur. “As will our futures,” he nodded. “That is why the Utergei is here.”
“What do you mean?” Paladin asked.
“The deep evil has come into the woods.”
“The Loehs-Anneheg,” Paladin whispered. “What is it, Shepherd?”
“I wish I knew,” the dog sighed. “We have all sensed it to some degree, Paladin. To some it is smells, or distant sounds. To others, it is changes in the wind blowing through the treetops or grass verges. To still others, it is something about the water; something elusive. But none of us know exactly what it is.” Shepherd looked at Paladin. Featherwing hooted loudly in the treetops overhead. “It is a dreadful thing to know that an enemy is real and has drawn near, Paladin. Indeed, all chendrith have sensed that at some point in time or another! But it is another thing entirely to be unable to see that enemy, or hear it, or touch it, or name it, or give any kind of physical form to it at all. For then, you are left to your own imagination. And that is perhaps the worst kind of nightmare of all!”
A shudder ran down Paladin’s spine. Perhaps it was because, at Shepherd’s suggestion, a hundred-and-one subconscious monsters leapt for joy in the rabbit’s tired mind.
“In some ways,” Shepherd continued. “Your shoukaye tonight answered a lot of our questions. It at least attached a physical name to the Loehs-Anneheg. Which, in some ways, may be the very beginning of giving this nameless evil some form and identification.” Shepherd paused and looked around. “S.I.N.,” he muttered. “Whatever that is.”
“But what is to be done?” Paladin whispered. His voice seemed small and helpless compared to the weightier words of Shepherd’s.
“So many questions.” Shepherd smiled. “It’s refreshing to have one so young and full of energy around! As far as what’s to be done,” Shepherd sighed, as if mulling the proposition over in his mind. He looked at Paladin, quite excited, and said, “Why, sleep, I think! Tomorrow, Spirit will tell us what to do.” With that, Shepherd winked. He turned from Paladin and limped to an unoccupied corner of the room. He turned in circles a moment, as if searching for that absolute perfect sleep position, then lay his tired frame on the ground. He sighed deeply, then closed his eyes and slept.
Paladin stared after the dog a moment, listening to the quiet of the room and the familiar night-sounds of the chendray beyond. Eventually, Paladin lay down himself. But, try though he might, it was a long time before sleep ever visited Paladin.
CHAPTER 7
“An Unlikely Band”
“Friend-chendrith,” Agabus started. His voice boomed. He waited for the mutterings and chatterings, tweeterings and twitcherings, snifflings, snufflings, hootings and flutterings to die out, and for the estaclah to commence. The morning dawned bright and frosty, but the collective warmth of the chendrith crowded into the ru
ins of the old church meeting hall more than compensated for this.
Paladin had passed the morning feeding outside with Watershine, Eiyra, and a few other rabbits from Firhouse warrene. Frenjoo had gone with them, along with Dammidgie. Though hardly anyone had spoken it had been a lovely time, a serene sort of celebrating friendship through partaking of a meal together. Paladin had returned to the old church, feeling refreshed and calm. Now, however, he was nervous and edgy. But he had no idea exactly why.
Shepherd sat nearby. The large dog’s breath plumed in the morning air, curling about his head and face in a solemn look. Though silent, Paladin sensed the dog was ready to speak if necessary.
“It has been decided what must be done,” Agabus continued. “A small team must be sent out into the chendray to find and infiltrate the Loehs-Anneheg.”
A gasp went up from the crowd; the chorus of animal sounds began again. Paladin surveyed the crowd with anticipation. Frenjoo leaned close and quipped, “I wonder who they got to volunteer for that?”
Rolo overheard and harrumphed: “Let me at ‘em!”
“I am glad that you feel that way, master pig.” Agabus turned his attention toward Rolo. The goat’s voice once again quieted the crowd. Rolo, who was only slightly surprised that the old goat heard his remark, looked at Agabus confidently. “For you are going,” the goat finished, and smiled.
Myriad approvals burst from the Utergei, and a few standing close to Rolo patted him on the back in congratulations. In all honesty, this was really done more out of relief by those who discovered they would not be going! Paladin couldn’t help but notice the tiniest look of shock and unease pass over the guinea pig’s face, however. In that instant, Rolo seemed more real and accessible to Paladin. But it was only for a moment. Then the guinea pig’s confidence returned, and he asked loudly, so that he could be heard above the din of the crowd, “And if I am being sent on this mission, friend Agabus . . . tell me, who will be my companions?”
The Mission Begins Page 4