The Mission Begins

by Kevin J. Fitzgerald

  “On what?” Paladin asked, and looked her way again.

  Eiyra met his gaze and spoke with great clarity and wisdom. “On how you define home.”

  §

  Later that morning Paladin, Frenjoo, and Rolo made their way down a path that followed the bank of the Emunah. Behind them, enshrouded by ivy and trees, the small church where the Utergei congregated was hardly recognizable. The entire Utergei assembled out front to see the travelers off. Paladin turned one last time to where the others watched them go. Watershine, Dammidgie, Eiyra, Shepherd, Limi, Agabus—they were all there. Their gazes were solemn, yet hopeful.

  “Sanctuary,” Paladin whispered to himself, recalling the elahs word he had first seen upon waking there. Over the past few days, he had come to understand just what that word means. Without meaning to, Paladin paused. Once again—and not for the last time—Paladin found himself wondering just what in the world he was doing here. For half a crazy moment he wanted to rush back and tell them they had gotten it wrong, that there was no Loehs-Anneheg. No evil lurking deep within the woods, that he didn’t know “the Word,” and that this whole thing was all some crazy mix-up! But when he saw their faces looking at him, he knew this was real. He knew they were counting on him.

  “Paladin.” Rolo’s voice brought him back. He looked and saw the guinea pig standing several yards away, his beret cocked to one side as usual. The sun was higher in the sky now, reflecting off the flowing current of the Emunah behind them. Stark branches overhead allowed some rays of light to penetrate. The forest floor was dotted here and there with patches of bright gold. A beautiful morning. Light glistened in Rolo’s black eyes; the guinea pig looked strong and alert. “We must go,” he said simply. At that, the guinea pig turned and headed down the trail they were on.

  Paladin followed reluctantly. It was strange to think of how united in purpose these two were—this guinea pig and rabbit, who had initially seemed so bent on disliking each other.

  Frenjoo was already far ahead, as was Nobo the skunk—their guide.

  Paladin glanced one last time at the Utergei, but mainly he looked for Eiyra. She stared at him, as well. As was the case earlier when they stood beside Dakota Lake, there seemed to be so much to say. But Paladin knew that he could not; for this was not the time. He needed to go. Paladin settled for a smile; Eiyra lifted a paw in return. Then, slowly, Paladin turned and went after the others.

  It was ingenious, electing Nobo to lead them out of the woods. For one thing, the skunk waddled with a singular determination, pausing only every now and then to make sure the others kept up. Paladin, Frenjoo, and Rolo pushed themselves to keep pace with him. For another thing, if there were any chendrith in the woods toying with the idea of stopping this troupe from going about their mission (which all of them found a particularly absurd notion), the smell of an approaching skunk would certainly clear their path! As Rolo was the one walking directly behind Nobo, his only hope was that their guide did not become suddenly alarmed or excited!

  They traveled quietly, with little conversation. There seemed to be a sense among them that no conversation was worthy of the moment. Paladin instead explored the woods with his eyes. He wrestled again with a strange feeling of nostalgia that he was most likely walking a route that he would never travel again—a lonely sort of feeling, a hollow feeling. Every now and then he thought he caught sight of a single wagtail high above, leaping from branch to branch, as if somehow monitoring their progress. Dammidgie, he thought. It lessened the lonely feeling. It was good to have companions.

  Within an hour the travelers reached the edge of the wood, and their journey began in earnest. The Emunah flowed beside them, a bright band of cold blue in a world of wintry brown. The Utergei and church—their hosts and haven for the past few days—already seemed long ago and far away. Before long the companions found themselves making their way through a golden field of wheat, always keeping within earshot of the river. Nobo led them as far as the edge of the woods, then bid them a hasty farewell and disappeared back into the shadows. He returned anxiously to the safety of the others. Paladin was sad to see him go.

  From then on, it was up to the trio to make do on their own.

  CHAPTER 9

  “An Evil Report”

  “Report,” a voice croaked.

  Dusk arrived; the inside of Skull Tower was like a tall, black vacuum. Cragpow’s single red eye glimmered like a blood moon from where he perched upon a stone outcropping above.

  “It is as you suspected,” Fane replied, lowering his eyes.

  Fluttering wings and murmuring, throaty voices swirling in the dark. Cragpow hopped from his perch and came to Fane. For a moment, the huge raven looked into Cragpow’s gaze. Then he lowered his eyes again, without knowing completely why.

  “Are you sure, Fane?” Cragpow pressed.

  “I am certain,” Fane answered, stepping aside.

  From the shadows behind him a small, misshapen bumblebee emerged.

  “Aaaah,” Cragpow smiled. “Foulbrood. How nice to see you again. So,” he said as he paced away from them and turned, “the reports are true?”

  “Yezzzzzzz,” Foulbrood buzzed, and plopped before Cragpow. He regarded the great bird with awe. Foulbrood hated the Utergei. Despised them. He wanted them stopped. For the Utergei looked upon this one they knew as “Grimsby” as a spectacle—like a freak from a carnival sideshow. It wasn’t the bumblebee’s fault he had ingested the Paenibacillus spore-bacterium as a larva. His entire hive had been infected. Somehow, he had survived past the cell-state (though on some days, he wished he had perished with the others). When his hive was burned to stop the spread of the infection, Foulbrood escaped. Cragpow had found him and shown uncharacteristic pity. Perhaps it was because the abominable bird identified with the deformed bee, knowing he wouldn’t survive on his own. More likely, it was because, even back then, the bird suspected the gross and hunchbacked bee could be turned and used as a spy. Whatever reason, Foulbrood was incredibly loyal to Cragpow, and looked upon the evil bird with tremendous respect.

  “You’ve done well, little friend,” Cragpow whispered.

  Cragpow picked at a piece of carrion brought in by one of the scouts. He turned to Fane. “Have you any counsel on the matter, raven?”

  Fane was surprised. Cragpow rarely asked for input from the others. He hesitated a moment, then said, “I suggest we take them as they cross the foothills, sir.”

  Cragpow swallowed a piece of raw flesh. “You sound as though you’ve thought this through.”

  Fane nodded. “I have. The terrain will be harsh and unfamiliar to them. They are not used to such places. It will tire and slow them. Surprise will be on our side. Especially at night.”

  Cragpow said nothing. He cawed and pecked at a magpie that tried to snatch a piece of carrion. The magpie fluttered away and offered a stuttering cry. It echoed through the tower. Cragpow swooped to his perch and looked down at Fane. “You give wise counsel, friend. Take Glyde, Blackskull, and some of the others to the woods of Ballivor and wait for them along the foothills. See to this plan of yours.”

  “So be it,” Fane bowed quietly. He turned to go, but from the darkness behind him Cragpow’s voice stopped him.

  “Fane,” he said, “bring back a good report.”

  Fane turned to see Cragpow’s single red eye trained on him in the darkness. The interior of the tower exploded with eager cries of Cragpow’s army. “Yes,” Fane nodded. “I will.” Then Fane flew from the tower, grateful to leave the presence of Cragpow. Several others followed. Fane led them westward toward the looming, grey foothills. There, they would wait.

  Back in the quiet tower, Cragpow spoke. “Foulbrood. Come closer, little friend. I have special work for you.”

  With great effort, Foulbrood lifted his deformed body and buzzed through the dark to his awaiting bird chieftain.

  “First,” Cragpow said, “tell me more about this rabbit.”

  Foulbrood smiled, and Cragpow began to la
ugh.

  CHAPTER 10

  “The First Night’s Rest”

  “We’ll stop here for tonight.” Rolo plopped down at the foot of a tall stack of hay bales, exhausted. The setting sun cast long shadows over the tired trio. They groaned loudly, out of breath after pushing along harder than any of them ever had before. None of them did the pushing, necessarily; there was simply an urgency to their mission that drove them.

  For the first time since the adventure began, Paladin was beginning to enjoy being out in the wild again. The air was clean and fresh. Despite being physically tired, inwardly he felt invigorated. He stretched out now in the shadow of the tall hay bales with his legs behind him and nibbled at a blade of grass, content. Even Frenjoo vacillated between utterly exhausted and completely satisfied—perhaps the way a farmer will at the end of a hard day of harvesting.

  The journey had been uneventful so far. They marched across the same type of ground most of the day; a wheat field. One brief adventure took place when they tried to save time by cutting across a marsh where the Emunah jutted inland in a small, boggy tributary. Paladin and Frenjoo had wanted to find dryer land.

  “We can always make our way back to the river once we’re on the other side of the marsh,” Paladin reasoned.

  “And exactly how will we know for sure when we’re on the other side?” Rolo postulated. “What will ensure that we won’t encounter another marsh?” The guinea pig looked at the rabbit and squirrel defiantly. Neither could answer his questions, and so he went on. “There is no guarantee we won’t spend all day looking for dryer passage, only in the end to realize zat zis marsh extends zee entire width of zis field! No, no, no.” Rolo shook his head, as if selling himself on his own logic. “We will cross zee marsh. It will save us time.” And with that, he started across the marsh.

  Paladin and Frenjoo reluctantly followed. It was Frenjoo who complained the most. His progress was slow. He would take a step, stop, lift his foot, and shake it off before setting it back into the mud again. This went on for what seemed like hours. All went fine until about halfway across the marsh, when Rolo slipped into a particularly swampy section and started to sink. Paladin and Frenjoo splashed to him as best they could—mindful not to set foot into the same section! They struggled to bend a few of the taller stalks of grass into a makeshift lifeline. Rolo squealed the entire time, like a stuck pig! There was little time to panic as a large shape suddenly swooped from the sky above and snatched Rolo from the mud. Paladin and Frenjoo fell back, horrified, certain their small companion was the helpless victim of a late-afternoon predator—a peregrine falcon, perhaps!

  When they realized the large shape was in fact Featherwing the owl, they actually cheered!

  Rolo fought and kicked, certain the owl’s talons would shred him to ribbons.

  “Quit your squirming!” Featherwing objected. He made one large, graceful arc and carefully set Rolo down beside the others. The owl flew away without a single word, deliberate and silent. Paladin took it as a sign of tremendous wisdom.

  As they watched Featherwing soar into the sky, Rolo muttered, “I wonder why he doesn’t just carry us where we need to go.”

  “I wonder where exactly we do need to go,” Frenjoo quipped.

  Paladin said nothing. He watched the owl flying peacefully and then noticed another movement in the sky. He rose up onto his hind legs. His ears shot up, and he strained to see into the distance.

  “What is it?” Rolo asked. His eyes followed the rabbit’s gaze. “What do you see?”

  “I’m not sure,” Paladin said. “I think it was . . .”

  “Think it was what?” Rolo demanded.

  “I think it was a dove.” Paladin looked at them expectantly.

  “Spirit?” Frenjoo exclaimed. “W-where did you see him?” The squirrel jumped to his feet.

  “There!” Paladin pointed. “Flying toward that stack of hay bales.”

  Without a moment to spare, Rolo stood up as though nothing had happened and brushed himself off. “Well, that’s it then,” he said. “We make for those hay bales.” He started off without another word.

  “B-b-but,” Frenjoo called after him.

  “B-b-but what?” Rolo demanded. He faced the others. His annoyance was obvious. Frenjoo shrunk from the guinea pig. In fairness, it should be stated that Rolo was still getting over quite a fright. He was even feeling a little embarrassed (though he would never admit it) at the way he had squealed in front of the other two.

  Frenjoo finally said, “It’s j-just that . . . going in that direction will take us away from the Emunah. And Agabus said—”

  “Agabus said, Agabus said,” Rolo mocked, rolling his eyes.

  “Frenjoo’s right,” Paladin cut in. He sounded more levelheaded than the other two. The guinea pig and squirrel looked at him. Seeing their stares, Paladin added quickly, “For whatever it’s worth.”

  “Now, look here,” Rolo said, stepping towards Paladin. “Didn’t Agabus also say that Spirit would guide us?” He looked between them as Paladin and Frenjoo exchanged a glance. When they didn’t answer, Rolo let out a sigh. “All right then.” He nodded. “Let’s go.” He started toward the hay bales again.

  “But why would Spirit lead us away from the Emunah?” Frenjoo piped up again.

  “I don’t know!” Rolo barked. “Perhaps he knows we need shelter for the night and those hay bales will do the trick. I just know we’re supposed to follow Spirit, and Paladin says he saw Spirit flying in that direction.” He pointed. “Right, rabbit?” When Paladin didn’t answer, Rolo looked at him and added, “That is . . . if you’re sure it was Spirit.”

  Paladin swallowed, and sensed the weight of the moment resting upon him. It was a feeling he wasn’t accustomed to—one he didn’t like very much. “I’m . . . pretty sure,” he said truthfully. He looked in the direction of the hay bales again.

  Now it was Rolo and Frenjoo who exchanged the glance. “Well, either way I’m pretty sure we need shelter for the night,” Rolo quipped. “And those hay bales look as good a spot as any.” He looked at his companions. “Look, mates. We’re tired, we’re hungry, and it’ll be getting dark soon. We won’t be far from the river, and we can always make our way back down here in the morning. Let’s just head off, shall we?”

  In the end that’s exactly what they did.

  From time to time they caught small field mice staring at them as they trundled along. Or grasshoppers. At one point Paladin spotted a fox in the distance, marking their progress. It didn’t seem intent on interfering and, as Paladin was certain the news would alarm Frenjoo, he didn’t to mention it to the others. Perhaps word of their mission was spreading throughout the entire chendray, and the fox had simply come to see the ones who had been sent on this journey. Whatever the case the fox wore a quiet, melancholic expression.

  By early evening the hay bales loomed nearer. They cooled themselves now in their shade. Though the air had been fresh, the sun shone brilliantly all afternoon and the temperature had risen. Ladybugs buzzed lazily about them; the scent of daphnes was strong.

  “It will be cold tonight,” Rolo grumbled.

  Paladin looked up. He had fallen into a half-doze as they relaxed. He sat up, fully awake now, and stretched. Frenjoo looked exhausted.

  “We’ll need to make some burrows in this hay,” Rolo said, and immediately got up to start working on his own suggestion. He dug into the side of the bottom-most hay bale.

  Paladin and Frenjoo looked at each other a moment, and then stared at the wiggling rump of Rolo disappearing into the hay. Despite his best efforts, Paladin found himself genuinely admiring the guinea pig. Rolo was indefatigable. Paladin decided he was definitely glad the guinea pig had been sent along with them.

  “Come on, Frenjoo,” Paladin said, and stood to help Frenjoo to his feet. The squirrel groaned. Together they set about helping the guinea pig to hollow out some shelter in the hay bales for the night.

  §

  By nightfall, the three of
them were nestled deep within the bales of hay. They carved out a long tunnel that went directly inward and then steeply up to avoid the cold night winds. The tunnel ended in a sort of cabin, large enough to allow them room to stretch out comfortably, but small enough to harbor their body heat. In the end, it was Paladin who offered the most insight into how to construct the hay-den, as he was the one most accustomed to “burrow life.” As night wore on, the room became quite snug.

  Paladin and Rolo were just putting on the finishing touches when Frenjoo went out to scavenge for the night. He returned with all kinds of goodies for them to recover their strength. For himself, this was mainly an assortment of nuts. But for Paladin and Rolo, the squirrel brought back some fresh clover, dandelion, even a few bits of stale cracker and carrot he found at a site where some elahs must have picnicked recently. Of course, if any of them wanted they could simply pluck a piece of hay from the walls of the burrow and snack upon it. What a marvelous feast! Before long, the three of them were laughing and telling stories like long-time childhood friends.

  Most of their stories were predictions of how they thought the rest of their adventures would go—how they would rescue the captive chendrith and be animal heroes remembered in fables and songs. They talked about these things the way someone will who doesn’t quite realize the severity of a situation; or perhaps someone who does and tries to forget for a time. Their laughter was longer and louder than usual, and mostly at things that weren’t that funny. It was a moment for them to enjoy the company of others at a time when the possibility of losing this type of opportunity in the future was all too real.

  As the night grew long their conversations waned, and they stared around the room with glassy eyes.

  “Tell us the Tale of the Lamb, Frenjoo,” Rolo said, and drew a piece of hay from the wall and nibbled at it. Paladin looked up, as if wakened from a dream.