“What’ll it be?”
“I’ll have an ale, please.”
“Ain’t you a bit young for ale?” asked the barkeeper.
“I’m served ale all the time,” responded Evercloud, forgetting where he was.
“Oh, really?” said the barkeeper. “That’s funny, cause I ain’t seen you in here before.” Now all the men at the bar had turned to look at Evercloud. He looked back at them, realizing that he might be too young to drink ale by human standards.
“Well, that’s because I haven’t been here before,” said Evercloud, trying to recover from his slip. “I meant that they serve me in Yorebrook. My name is John, John Ball.”
“From Yorebrook, eh?” said a man with a red beard, two seats down from Evercloud. “I got a sister in Yorebrook.” Then the man turned to the barkeeper. “Give him an ale, Gene. It ain’t gonna hurt him.”
The barkeeper shrugged his shoulders and turned around to the tap. He poured Evercloud a mug of ale and placed it down in front of him. “That’ll be three gold pieces, young man.”
Evercloud thanked him and handed over the money.
“So,” continued the man with the red beard. “Tell us news of Yorebrook, my boy. How goes it there?”
Evercloud took a sip of the ale and struggled to stop himself from spitting it out. That’s horrible, he thought. Bear ale was much finer than that which was brewed by men. Evercloud swallowed and answered the man.
“All is well in Yorebrook,” he said, nodding. “Nothing of any excitement to speak of…although,” Evercloud saw this as his first opportunity. “There have been rumors of a return of the Ancients…have there been such rumors here in Hendrick?”
The tavern went dead silent and all of its inhabitants now had their eyes pinned down on Evercloud. A sinking feeling worked its way into his stomach and he wondered if it were the ale. The man with the red beard pushed his stool away from the bar and stood up. He walked over to Evercloud and put a heavy hand upon his shoulder. Evercloud looked up at the man, who now had a very stern look upon his face, and swallowed hard.
“I highly doubt,” said the man with an edge in his voice, “that anyone in Yorebrook talks about Ancients, and I guarantee that no good person in this village does so either. So, friend from Yorebrook, why don’t you just tell us who you really are and what unholy place it is that you come from?”
At this moment, Evercloud desperately wished that Whiteclaw and Riverpaw were there. He slowly moved his hand down his side and felt the golden claw that he had concealed inside his baggy trousers. He knew that revealing the claw would mean the end of his inquiries in this village and ultimately, failure of his objective, but he was no longer sure that he was going to have a choice in the matter.
“There he is,” came a voice from across the tavern.
“I told you that waiting at the tavern was a good idea,” came another.
Two men walked over to Evercloud and the red-bearded man, and stood directly between them. The first man was tall and thin, with an olive complexion and large, dark eyes. He placed a hand on Evercloud’s shoulder. “There you are, cousin.”
“Been drinking again, have we?” said the other man as he put his hand on Evercloud’s other shoulder. He was of the same complexion as the taller man. In fact, they looked like brothers. However, this man was much shorter, had longer hair and had more handsome features. He turned to the red-bearded man. “Says some funny things when he drinks, doesn’t he?”
“Very creative imagination,” added the tall man. “Well, we better get you back to Uncle,” he said, turning to Evercloud. “Don’t want him to get angry.”
“Scary man when he’s angry,” said the short man, shaking his head at the red-bearded man. And with that, the two men grabbed Evercloud under the shoulders and ushered him out of the tavern.
“Who are you?” asked Evercloud once they were outside of the tavern. The two men didn’t stop walking and continued to usher Evercloud down the busy street.
“Keep your mouth shut and keep walking,” said the tall man.
Just then, the man with the red beard burst out of the doors of the tavern and hollered after them as they walked away.
“I don’t want to see him back here again!”
“Yes, Sir,” called the short man brightly. “Have a lovely day.” Then he muttered under his breath, “ugly bastard.”
After walking quite a distance away from the tavern, the men turned down a narrow alley between two houses and entered a side door at the end of the alley. The room was very dark, as there were no windows, and it seemed empty with the exception of a chair. However, there were a few candles lit that provided some light. The men sat Evercloud down in the chair and began asking him questions.
“All right,” said the tall man. “Who are you and why are you here?”
“My name is John Ball and I’m from Yorebrook–”
“Don’t play with me!” the tall man pointed his finger and shouted. “Do you think we’re stupid? Your pants don’t fit, you’ve recently shaved your head and you strike up conversation with strangers about things that could get a man killed. Another ten minutes and they would have had you up the stake as a heretic. Now, I’ll only ask you one more time, who are you?”
Evercloud didn’t know what to do. These men had seemingly helped him out of a precarious situation, but how could he be sure that he could trust them? He looked around the dark room. Only the tall man could be seen, hovering over him. He couldn’t see the short man any longer. What would Whiteclaw do? he thought.
“Well,” came the short man’s voice out of the darkness. “We’re waiting.”
“How do I know that I can trust you?” asked Evercloud.
“We just saved your life,” said the tall man.
The man was right. These men didn’t know Evercloud, yet they had helped him. Besides, there wasn’t much alternative unless Evercloud wanted to fight them.
“My name is Evercloud and I am from the Kingdom on Gray Mountain.”
“You think this is funny, don’t you?” The short man was beginning to become irritated. He stepped forward into the dim candlelight and Evercloud could now see the large knife that he held in his hand. “This is not a game.”
Evercloud was now beginning to get frightened. He again placed his hand upon the claw concealed in his trousers and prepared himself for what he might have to do.
“Please,” he said. “I’m not lying. I swear it. I come from the Kingdom on Gray Mountain.”
“There is no Kingdom on Gray Mountain!” yelled the short man.
“There is!” pleaded Evercloud. “The Kingdom of Bears.”
“You come from a kingdom of bears?” chuckled the tall man as he turned to the short man. “Maybe this one is a drunkard.”
“I’m not drunk!” yelled Evercloud. “I was abandoned in the forests around Gray Mountain when I was a small child. The bears took me in and raised me as their own. I am now on a quest to find the Ancients and stop the Great Tyrant.”
The short man paused and looked at Evercloud with a genuine curiosity. “Where did you learn of the Ancients and the Great Tyrant?”
“My family told me of them, just recently.”
“So, when you say your family, you mean bears?”
“Yes,” said Evercloud defiantly. “They are my family.”
The short man shook his head and turned to the tall man who shrugged.
“Okay,” said the short man. “You say that your uncle and cousin, who are bears, are on this quest with you. Then where are they?”
“They are waiting for me outside of the village.”
“If that is true,” said the tall man. “Then you will take us to them.”
• • •
Twenty armored men walked out of the village of Hendrick, holding wooden shields on one arm and spears in the other. They marched two by two as their leader called out cadence, as if they had been trained to put on a show rather than to fight. Whiteclaw and Riverpaw l
ay low to the ground, behind a group of trees, as the officers walked past.
“You remember the plan?”
“Yes, Father.”
“We are only trying to keep them occupied. Do not kill unless it is completely necessary. Do you understand me?” Riverpaw did not answer. “Riverpaw, do you understand me?”
“Yes, Father.”
“All right, on my mark, make the first pass.”
Whiteclaw lifted his arm and Riverpaw prepared himself to run, waiting for the signal. He could feel his muscles tense in his anger. He could not so easily forget what men had done to his father. He was reminded every time that he looked at his face. The anger boiled inside of him and fueled him with adrenaline and determination. He clenched his jaw and waited.
Whiteclaw dropped his paw to the ground and Riverpaw was off. He circled behind the group of men and then came at them where they were blind. With all of their calls and clinking armor, the officers never heard the bear coming. Riverpaw barreled into the group, knocking six of them to the ground. Hearing the commotion, the rest of the group spun around to find Riverpaw having already retreated to a safe distance.
Just then, a booming roar came from the other direction. The officers turned back around to find that Whiteclaw had cut their path off to the north. They were caught in between the bears.
The men formed a tight circle and raised their shields and spears.
“All right, men,” yelled a large man with a twitching mustache. “Grip your spears tight and prepare to defend yourselves.”
Whiteclaw let out another roar and the bears began to circle the men, moving counterclockwise, keeping their distance.
“Hold tight, men!” yelled the mustache. “They are preparing to charge.”
But they were not. They continued to circle the men, and every once in a while, Whiteclaw would roar and the bears would rest, holding their positions. Whiteclaw would roar again and the bears would begin to circle the men, moving in the other direction. Things continued in this way for hours and then, one of the officers spoke up.
“Sir, I don’t believe that the bears are going to charge.”
The twitching mustache rolled his eyes. “Good work, officer. Your powers of observation are an unbelievable asset.”
“What should we do now, Sir?”
“Do nothing. Allow them to make the first move. We have the advantage. They will most likely run away after a time.”
“What if they are waiting for other bears, Sir?”
The twitching mustache hadn’t thought of that. Was that possible? Could bears be that intelligent? The odds, right now, were well in his favor, ten men to each bear. But with each new bear that might show up, their odds would plummet drastically. Could they afford to wait around? He would have to make the first move.
“All right, men! Stay close to each other and begin moving slowly back toward the village. Stay on guard!”
Whiteclaw saw the men moving and knew that it was time for phase two. He reared up on his hind legs and roared into the air twice. Riverpaw took the cue and he and Whiteclaw ran from their positions back to the trees.
“Hold formation and move slowly!” cried the mustache. “They may return.”
And return they did. The bears came running with a felled tree, balanced on the back of their necks. They stopped almost ten yards from the men and dropped the tree. Then, lifting it together, they reared on their hind legs and heaved the tree at the men. The men did not know how to react and the tree struck them, knocking them to the ground. Before they could move, the bears were upon them, not attacking the men, but attacking their weapons. Not an entire minute had passed and every spear that the men had carried lay shattered on the ground. Twenty men stood, huddled behind their shields, confused and afraid, as two large bears barred their way back to the village.
The men looked out at the bears that stood roughly twenty yards from them, wondering what this meant. Why were they not being attacked? One of the men whispered to the twitching mustache that was now twitching most nervously.
“What is happening?”
The mustache shook his head; beady eyes darting from one bear to the other. “I don’t know. Just give me some time.”
Time was exactly what the bears wanted and it continued to pass as the two groups stood in standoff. The sun crept across the sky and was now beginning to turn a vibrant orange as it headed for the horizon. We’ve almost finished, thought Whiteclaw. This was easy.
But the twitching mustache had been thinking and as he watched the sun begin to set, a panic had come over him. These were not normal bears. Maybe they weren’t bears at all. Maybe they were witches, disguised as bears. What did they want? Why had they destroyed their weapons but not killed them? The sun is setting and soon it will be dark. Maybe they are waiting for the dark?
The twitching mustache couldn’t take it any longer. He picked up a broken spear and screamed, charging the bears with it in his hand. His men looked on in horror as the mustache got closer to the bears. Like a flash of lightning, Riverpaw knocked the man to the ground, pinning him under his giant paw.
“Riverpaw. It is time. Let us go,” said Whiteclaw, but Riverpaw did not respond. He lowered his head to the twitching mustache and gnashed his teeth. The man cried out, terrified. “Riverpaw!” yelled Whiteclaw.
“Why is the bear talking?” whimpered the mustache, talking to himself.
Riverpaw removed his paw with one final snarl and ran off to his father. The bears ran along the stream, leaving the men alive but shaken, having to wonder for the rest of their lives, what in the world had happened to them.
“I thought you were going to kill that man,” said Whiteclaw as he and Riverpaw ran.
“I refuse to become the monster that they think I am.”
Whiteclaw grinned. “You’re going to be a fine bear, Riverpaw.”
Chapter 18: The Family Floyd
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said the tall man as he and the short man stood with Evercloud by the stream, watching two large bears come lumbering toward them.
“Put the knife on him,” whispered the short man to the tall man.
The tall man grabbed Evercloud and held the knife to his throat. “You make the bears play nice and we’ll play nice, got it?”
Whiteclaw and Riverpaw stopped just a few yards short of Evercloud and the men. They saw the knife, up to Evercloud’s throat, and they both began to growl.
“It’s okay,” said Evercloud to the bears. “They just want to be sure that they can trust you. Speak to them.” Whiteclaw shook his head very slightly at Evercloud, not wanting to give away that bears could speak or even understand speech. “Really, it’s okay. They helped me in the village. They’re just protecting themselves.”
“Take the knife away from his throat or I’ll crush your heads,” said Riverpaw to the men.
Whiteclaw spun on his son. “What are you doing?”
For a moment, everything was silent. The two men were wide-eyed in amazement. Then they began to whisper to each other.
“The bears are talking, right?”
“Yes, the bears are talking.”
“They’re going to kill us.”
“Say something to them, would you?”
“Um,” started the tall man. “We mean you no harm…nor your friend here. Um…are we correct in assuming that you are friends to those who search for the Ancients and reject the Great Tyrant?”
This time Whiteclaw spoke, however reluctantly. “I don’t know. Are we correct in assuming that you will not do anything that will force us to kill you?”
The short man came up behind the tall man and whispered into his ear. “Tell him yes.”
The tall man spoke, “Yes.”
“Then, yes,” said Whiteclaw.
“So what do we do now?” asked the tall man, obviously unsettled by the events that were taking place.
“Well, first,” said Whiteclaw. “I suggest that you remove the knife from Evercloud’s
neck and tell us who you are.”
The tall man looked over at the knife he was holding to Evercloud’s neck and this seemed to bring him back to his senses. “Oh, sorry,” he said, lowering the knife. “We trust you’ll understand that was just a precaution. Never really intended to…er…my name is Ben Floyd, and this,” as he pointed to the short man, “is my brother, Tomas. Our family has been worshipping the Ancients for generations and has always harbored the belief that they have not left us. We have made it our mission to do what we can to find them.”
“So that’s why you helped me in the tavern,” said Evercloud.
“Yes,” said Tomas. “And we apologize for not believing your story, Evercloud, but you have to understand that we must be very careful. It is not safe to worship the Ancients in the world in which we live.”
Evercloud nodded and then Whiteclaw began to speak. “I am Whiteclaw and this is my son, Riverpaw. We come from the Kingdom on Gray Mountain and we, along with Evercloud, have also accepted a mission to find the Ancients, if indeed they still exist.”
“Oh, they exist,” chimed Tomas.
“We have heard only rumors,” said Whiteclaw. “Do you have any proof or do you speak from belief?”
“Well,” said Ben, “I think it would be best if you followed us to our home. There is much we can explain.”
“We appreciate the invitation, Ben Floyd, but my son and I cannot just walk into a village of men.”
“Oh, we don’t live in the village,” said Tomas.
“Please,” beckoned Ben, “follow me.”
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