The Kingdom of the Bears

by Michael Wallace

  “If he even exists,” Brumbles put in.

  “He exists. He has to exist.” She sounded quite determined and Brumbles didn’t press the issue. “Naturally, that should be you, Sheriff Brumbles. You know the land on the east side of the river.”

  “Not that well.” He tamped out his pipe onto his paw. “Been into the wild once or twice, but not far.”

  Brownia nodded as if she hadn’t heard his objection. “And the human cubs could help you talk to the king when you arrived.”

  “Right, and in the meanwhile they’d be the biggest bother you could imagine. Probably get themselves eaten by a grizzly or have their ears cut off by gnomes.”

  Aaron whispered to Bethany, “That doesn’t sound too pleasant, does it?”

  Bethany said, “I think Captain Brownia is right.” All eyes in the room turned to look at her. “We’re here for some reason and I don’t think we’re going back to Vermont until we find out what it is.”

  “No,” Brumbles said. “You should stay here with the Greencloaks where you’ll be safe.”

  Brownia shook her head. “It’ll hardly be safer here, Sheriff. We’ll be on the move, hunted and attacked at every turn. Garmley will want to deal with us as soon as possible. These cubs stay here and he’ll have their heads stuffed and mounted on his wall.”

  “That doesn’t sound too pleasant either,” Aaron observed.

  “So they must go with you,” Brownia continued. “To find Prestor’s lands and bring us help. It’s our only hope.”

  It was becoming clear that within the Kingdom of the Bears, the sheriff of the Eastlands–that would be Brumbles–answered to the captain of the Greencloaks: Brownia. And she was determined to search for King Prestor. But it was just as clear that Brumbles was convinced that such a search would be a fool’s errand.

  “At the very least, you must look for Dermot Strongpaw and Princess Sylvia. The king’s daughter, especially, will help us rally the kingdom.”

  “Hmph,” Brumbles said as he relit his pipe.

  “Good, then we’re agreed. We’ll discuss the details in the morning.”

  One of the Greencloaks pulled out a wooden flute and began to play. Another bear brought out an instrument, only longer and played downward, like a large recorder. Three other bears produced fifes and whistles of their own. It was a sad song they played, but beautiful, like the wind whistling through the autumn leaves as they are falling from the trees, promising a hard winter. There was longing in the songs. It was a lament for something that had been taken. Aaron looked over to see Bethany with tears in her eyes.

  And then the song changed to one of hope. It began softly, just a stirring, a hint of warmer weather. The long winter might yet end. The flowers might yet poke their heads through the snow.

  The music went on and on, sometimes with the bears joining their throaty voices in song, sometimes with only instruments. There were songs of great heroes, of a bard that could sing the birds down to sit on his paw, of a great bear who lived at the center of the earth in deep hibernation. His waking would signal the end of the world.

  Aaron listened as long as he could, his eyes growing heavier and heavier. At last he fell asleep, surrounded by sheepskin blankets and the warmth of the fire with the song of the bears in his ears. He dreamt that he was back in Vermont, checking in guests at the inn. Uncle Phil had decided to open the doors to animals, and all the guests were bears and badgers and foxes.

  He woke to find Bethany shaking him. “Hurry, you’ve slept in. It’s time to go.”

  He stood up, blinking. The place was a bustle of bears checking their gear, polishing war clubs, or trimming the feathers on arrows. Breakfast was a quick meal of last night’s bread, some cheese and apples, and oatmeal with milk and honey. The two groups parted ways almost at once. Captain Brownia and her Greencloaks turned south toward Woody Ridge, Brumbles and the children continued higher into the mountains.

  The going was tough at first. The terrain was steep. Massive ridges of granite split the skin of the mountain. The trees and brush grew thick, with no trail in sight. Their packs were heavy, and didn’t fit well, being made for bears and not children. They wondered if they would simply climb to the top of the mountain as they were doing. “There’s a trail further up,” Brumbles assured them.

  Indeed, after about an hour, they found it, but it was still steep, a deer trail, really. The sun was warm overhead as the trees thinned out and soon they were panting and sweating with the exertion. It was a long, hard morning. They stopped at a spring at the top of the pass, children sinking gratefully to the ground and shrugging off their packs. They were too tired to do anything but lie on the ground, panting, until finally, they climbed back up to get a drink and refill their canteens.

  Brumbles chuckled at their fatigue. “The hardest part is over, cubs. At least for now. We’ll have lunch here, then it’s downhill to the banks of the Alonus.”

  “And what then?” Aaron wanted to know. “Is there a bridge?”

  “Only at River’s Edge. And we’re staying far away from the city. No, we’re looking for the Fords of Nivum. It’s a wide, shallow stretch in the river where we can wade across on foot. If we’re lucky, Garmley’s men haven’t had a chance yet to take the fords.”

  “And if he has?” Aaron asked. “Will we turn back?”

  “Nowhere to turn now, is there?” Brumbles said.

  “Okay, then,” Aaron said, “But maybe there’s another way to cross the river.”

  “Nothing easy, I assure you,” Brumbles said. He sounded worried about the matter. “We’ll be in trouble if the fords are taken. Which is why we must go with all speed and haste.”

  They ate lunch and then, to their surprise, Brumbles curled up in the sun and closed his eyes. He was soon snoring. So much for all speed and haste, Aaron remarked. He took off his shoes and socks to rest his feet. But before he could get comfortable, Brumbles was rolling over again and putting on his pack. “Let’s go. Hurry.”

  Downhill made for an easier afternoon. Pine gave way to oak. Mountain brooks became streams, all rushing to meet the Alonus. By nightfall, they could hear the river, though they were still a good mile away yet. Brumbles foraged some berries and nuts which they mixed in with their provisions for a good meal. They pitched camp and the children lay down on their bedrolls and wrapped themselves in blankets, more tired than they could ever remember. Brumbles was asleep almost at once.

  Aaron was in that period of twilight when his thoughts were melting into dreams when Bethany said, “Are you still awake?”

  “Barely. What is it, Beth?”

  “I hate my life.”

  He frowned, more fully awake now. He propped himself on one elbow. “You mean living at the inn with Uncle Phil and B.B.?”

  “It just isn’t fair. Everything was so perfect before. School, the swim team, the sail boat. Do you remember all the bike rides in the Green Mountains with Mom and Dad?”

  Yes, he did. They were memories both sweet and bitter now, as they reminded him of happier days. “Or what about the family trip to England. Do you remember Dad trying to drive on the wrong side of the road?”

  She started to laugh, but then she stopped abruptly. “That was about the high point of my life. Everything has gone downhill since then.”

  “Beth, we’ve got to move on. There’s no way to go back.”

  “Move on to what? To our wonderful life with Uncle Phil and Bully Brad? He is so mean. He whispers in my ear all the time saying that I’m fat.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Yeah, sure. But it’s not fun to hear it all the time. And he comes into my room and reads my diary and then laughs at the stuff I’ve written. I’ve stopped writing in it.”

  He knew what she was talking about. With Aaron it was the physical bullying. Random punches in the arm, rubber bands snapped against the back of his neck, or the always-painful hands clapped over his ears. Oh, and his favorite, the obnoxious, “Name ten fruits!”

 
; “I’m sorry, Beth. I wish there was something I could do.”

  Bethany’s voice was bitter. “Well there’s nothing anyone can do. I even complained to Uncle Phil.”

  “You did?” Aaron had wondered once or twice if he should say anything to their uncle, but the man usually acted like they didn’t even exist. He was too caught up in his own problems, too busy running the inn by himself now that Aunt Karen wasn’t around. He barely even noticed Brad. The only thing he had time for was work and feeding the animals around the inn.

  “You know what he said?” Bethany asked. “He said that Brad was having a hard time. He was acting out because he lost his mother in the accident and we should be nice to him.”

  “Be nice to him? Because he’s having a hard time?” This just made Aaron mad. “Well it hasn’t exactly been a trip to Disney World for us, either.” He snorted. “Having a hard time. Hah. And that somehow gives him a license to be the world’s biggest jerk?”

  Aaron forced himself to calm down, and reached into the dark until he found his sister’s hand. He gave it a squeeze. “We’ll figure something out.”

  Problem was, he didn’t know what could be done other than confronting both Uncle Phil and Brad. And he didn’t think that would come out very well. Aaron leaned back and closed his eyes. The same sleep that had been so near just a few minutes earlier was nowhere to be found. In spite of his exhaustion, it took him some time to settle down enough to fall asleep.

  Aaron woke during the night, a heavy, hot breathing in his ear. Something was licking the top of his head. “Mmm, this one’s tasty,” the thing whispered. “Yes, quite tasty.”

  He sat up in horror, a hand slapped to the top of his head to see if it was still there. Two eyes stared at him from the darkness.

  Chapter Five: The Weasel Lord

  The Weasel Lord sat upon the Oaken Throne and wished he were bigger. The throne was built for a bear. Even the arm-rests were so high he could barely see over them. Snark–loyal, trusted Snark, who would sink his teeth into his own mother’s neck if Garmley asked him to–had suggested he destroy the old thing. King Greatclaw had been shorn of his fur and was rotting in a cell below the manor. No need for it anymore.

  But he couldn’t get rid of the throne so easily. It was a symbol of power, and he needed that symbol while he was consolidating his control. But it was simply too big for a weasel. So he planned a trick. He would have a second throne made, identical in appearance, but smaller. One that fit a weasel.

  But for now, Garmley felt the size of a blind, naked kit as he surveyed the great hall. Dozens of weasels, wolverines, foxes, ferrets, and mink needed his attention. There were even a few bears, those with no loyalty to the old king, who saw which way the war was turning and wanted to be on the side of the winner. Most of the news coming to him that morning was bad. Battles raged in every corner of the kingdom, as individual towns and even farms put up a struggle against the weasels or staged revolts in those towns he’d already taken. There was even trouble to the south, in weasel lands, where the badger clans were causing trouble.

  One of the animals, a ferret with a white face and a patch over one eye, pushed his way through the crowd. He jabbed his blade into the bottom of any creature that didn’t move quickly enough, and backhanded a black mink that gave him a snarl. The mink flew out of the way with a curse, but didn’t stand to challenge the ferret. Garmley smiled.

  The ferret approached the throne, sheathing his dagger. “Your imperial highness.”

  Garmley laughed. “None of that, Snark. That’s for the little people.”

  Snark gave him a toothy smile. “True, very true. I knew you when you were just a slave, as we all were, the old band. There are what, five of us left?”

  Was it only five? There had been fourteen when they’d killed the human circus master and fled the far kingdoms for these lands. Two had died in the escape, another three in a battle with pirates crossing the sea. One, Garmley had killed himself, when it became clear that there was a rival for power. Two had died during the battles with the foxes and badgers. The last, old Briscut, had simply disappeared into the woods one day and was never heard from again.

  Garmley did not like to be reminded of his days as a slave. It put him in a bad mood. “What news do you bring from the south?”

  Snark nodded. “We have forty weasels marching on the Apple Valley. They’ve taken plunder and put a number of farms to the torch. Bears are fleeing or surrendering as we come upon them. Little fight there. More trouble in the hill towns. Some Greencloaks escaped and are causing trouble. More fighting at the Fords of Nivum.” He hesitated. “But the biggest unpleasantness happened south along the highway to Woody Ridge and Hilldale.”

  Garmley didn’t like the sound of that. “What is it?”

  Snark said, “You remember that Youd went south to hold the highway?”

  Garmley nodded. Youd was one of the five of the old band. He’d lost half a paw in the battle with the pirates all those years ago. Ruthless in battle, and cunning, he’d been the one to devise the attack on River’s Edge that had taken the city and captured the bear king. The morning after the attack, Youd had moved south with a small band, planning to set up a roadblock on the highway, thinking to trap the Greencloaks as they fled the city or rushed to its defense. Barring that, he would ensnare any travelers or merchants unwary enough to use the road.

  Snark said, “Some bears fell upon them, killed one, and drove Youd away.”

  “The bears only killed one? We can live with that loss.” He was relieved, having expected worse.

  Snark continued, “But more than that...” He hesitated. “More than that, there were humans with the bears.”

  Garmley’s gut clenched with fear. A pair of weasels were approaching the throne, but he glared at them. “Out, all of you!”

  They backed away in the face of his anger. Within moments, the great hall was emptying as word spread that Garmley was in a foul mood. The hall was left empty with an unpleasant echo as the last boots trod across the floor and the door banged shut.

  The weasel lord turned back to Snark. When he spoke, his voice was calm and deadly. “Humans? Tell me, Snark, what do you make of this? Have they come back for us?”

  They’d killed many men in their escape so many years past. Garmley had always wondered, feared, in the back of his mind, that the humans would come for vengeance. He half feared such an attack, half welcomed it as a means of killing more of the hated humans. Nine years of slavery had burned that hatred into his soul.

  “Perhaps,” Snark said. “But these were not fighting men. They were only children.”

  “Children? Are you sure?” That was indeed strange.

  “That’s what Half-Paw said. And there’s something else. We captured a bear from Woody Ridge this morning some distance to the south. He said something about help coming from the lands of King Prestor.”

  Garmley had heard about this Prestor. Bear legend had it that a human king with magical powers had first given bears–and other animals, for that matter–the power of speech. Garmley didn’t believe it. Who, then, had given humans the ability to speak? Or were they the only ones capable of teaching themselves? But that didn’t mean there wasn’t really a kingdom of humans to the northeast, or that they might come with aid for the bears, especially if the bears promised something in return.

  “True or not, there is only one way the humans could send aid. The river.”

  Snark nodded. “And that means the Fords of Nivum. They won’t be able to move men or supplies across the Alonus without taking the fords. Well, I have a dozen weasels and three wolverines moving south along the river right now. We’ll take the fords by midday.”

  Garmley thought about it and then shook his head. “Not enough.” Problem was, he couldn’t send more men from River’s Edge. Two more days before the rest of his army finished their march up the Apple Valley to the city; until then, he was vulnerable. But he had to hold the fords.

  “Is Youd i
n the city?”

  “He is.”

  “Then send Half-Paw. He’ll know how to hold the fords.”

  “As you wish.” He didn’t sound entirely pleased. Snark and Youd were jealous rivals. If anything ever happened to the Weasel Lord, the two would be at each other’s throats at once.

  Garmley got up from the Oaken Throne. His back ached. He strode to the doors of the great hall and pushed them open. The ferret followed him outside. Fires still smoldered here and there in the city. There were few bears in the streets, mostly just overturned carts, broken doors, rubbish, and here and there a weasel or mink. He’d been here before, in disguise, plotting his attack. The streets had been a bustle then, markets crowded. Goods had flowed up and down the river on boats; it carried nothing but water now. Well, all that would change. It would bustle again, but this time after his own fashion.

  Snark hurried to find Youd. Meanwhile, a wolverine and two weasels dragged a bear into the road, chained and gagged. It cowered in fear as the weasels started in with their whips.

  Garmley smiled. Excellent. Fear would keep the bears under control. Soon, the last of his enemies would see the inevitable and surrender. Nobody would stand in his way.

  Chapter Six: A Visitor in the Dark

  The eyes were watching Aaron from the darkness. He shivered at the memory of that voice in his ear. Yes, quite tasty, it had said. He shook his head to clear it of sleep, remembering slowly where he was and what had happened in the last two days.

  As his eyes focused, the moonlight filtered through the branches and revealed more of the creature. It had a furry face, a black body, and a long, bushy tail, with a white stripe down its back. A skunk.

  Relief flooded through him. It was a delicate situation, staring a skunk in the face, but compared to a weasel or a wolverine, facing a skunk was almost a relief.

  He reached a hand to the top of his head. It was damp. “You were licking my head.”