The Kingdom of the Bears

by Michael Wallace

  “It was salty,” the skunk said, as if that justified treating Aaron’s head like a giant ice-cream cone. “Can I have another taste?”

  “No! Go away.”

  The skunk gave a menacing arch to its tail. “I don’t like the tone of your voice.” It sounded pouty. “Very threatening. Not at all friendly.”

  Perhaps this wasn’t the best time to argue. He used his most polite voice. “I’m sorry. Don’t be angry.”

  “Hmmph. I have every right to be angry.”

  Someone stirred on the other side of the camp, then Brumbles’s gruff voice came from the darkness. “What is this? Who–oh, it’s you. What are you doing here?”

  “I might ask the same thing,” the skunk said. “I was just passing by, looking for something to eat, when I came upon your rather strange encampment. A bear and two...humans? How very strange indeed. Suspicious, even. Whatever are you up to?”

  “That’s none of your business. And if you don’t clear off, I’m going to give you a good thrashing.”

  “You’ll be sorry if you try.” She didn’t sound at all concerned by Brumbles’s threat. “Many people have tried to give me a thrashing. They only try it once. If the burning eyes don’t convince you, how about wearing the stench that makes people cough and pinch their noses for the next three weeks?”

  Aaron said to Brumbles, “I’m thinking that we’ll have a better chance at the fo–at the river, I mean, if we don’t reek of skunk spray.”

  Bethany was up now, and she gave a cry of delight as she saw the skunk in the moonlight. “Oh, how cute. A skunk.” But as she got closer, she wrinkled her nose at the smell. “Does it talk?”

  “Of course I talk. And I am not an it. I am a she.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bethany apologized. “What’s your name?”

  “Skunk.”

  Aaron said, “Skunk is what you are, not who you are.”

  “Excuse me, I am not telling you what your name is. Why are you trying to tell me mine?”

  Aaron said, “Okay, Skunk. But what if you meet other skunks? Do they just call you Skunk?”

  Of course. “I say, ‘hello, Skunk,’ and they say, ‘hi, there, Skunk,’ and then we go our separate ways. We don’t usually talk too long.” Skunk put a clawed hand to her mouth and whispered, “You didn’t hear it from me, but if you haven’t noticed, most skunks smell pretty bad. Me, I save all my smell for a good spray. Sometimes the bigger beasts need to be reminded of their manners.” She glanced at Brumbles. “If you know what I mean.”

  Bethany giggled.

  “Enough of this,” Brumbles growled. He was lighting a torch from the embers of the previous night’s cook fire. He held up the light to peer among the trees. Apparently satisfied that there were no further intruders, he turned back to the skunk. “You’ve said your piece. Now clear off. We’re busy.”

  Skunk gave a mischievous smile. “Yes, of course. Busy trying to cross the Alonus before Garmley finds you.”

  The children looked at Brumbles with alarm. His eyes narrowed and he hefted his club. “What do you know about that?”

  “Oh, not much. Just what I overheard last night. I couldn’t help but overhear. You were talking pretty loud.”

  “No we weren’t,” Aaron said. “We were purposefully keeping our voices down so that the weasels wouldn’t–”

  “Hush, boy,” Brumbles said. “This skunk might be an enemy, eh?”

  “An enemy?” Bethany protested. “But she’s so cute.”

  “Do you know what a skunk is?” Brumbles asked. “It’s a kind of a weasel. Yes, a weasel. This thing is a cousin of Garmley’s.”

  Skunk snorted. “A distant cousin.”

  “Still.”

  Bethany said, “Brumbles, you can’t punish her for that. After all, bears are related to raccoons, and they eat garbage!”

  The bear had nothing to say to that. Aaron answered for him. “It doesn’t matter. Brumbles is right. We don’t know who might be a spy in these parts.”

  “Oh, listen to yourself,” Bethany told him. “What parts? You don’t know anything about this place.”

  “I know enough to know that we’re in danger and that not everyone can be trusted. And if Brumbles says this skunk is a risk, I’m willing to take him at his word.”

  “Oh, come on. Look at her. That’s not a weasel face. Look how cute she is!”

  Aaron said, “Huh? Who cares whether she’s got a cute face or a weasely one?”

  Problem was, they couldn’t just send her away. At the very least, Skunk had a big mouth. No doubt she’d blab whatever she’d seen to whomever she met. That could easily be Garmley or Half-Paw. But they couldn’t simply kill her, either. As far as he could tell, Skunk’s only crime had been licking the salt from Aaron’s head. And that wasn’t the work of a spy.

  Aaron said, “Tell us straight out, Skunk. Are you a friend of the weasels?”

  Skunk stuck out her tongue. “Blech! I hate them. Last time I was in the weasel lands, they tried to put me to work! Can you imagine that?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with work,” Brumbles said.

  “Sure, sunup to sundown digging stumps until your claws crack and your paws bleed. Stale bread at midday and so little water that your mouth feels like it’s stuffed with wool. Yes, I’m sure you bears will love working for Garmley now that he’s conquered the Kingdom of the Bears.”

  Brumbles growled, though whether at Skunk’s sass or at the thought of slaving for the weasel lord, it was hard to tell.

  “But no, I’m no friend–or spy!–of the weasels. Not too interested in getting involved in some wild scheme to beat the weasels, either. I might help you cross the fords. If you’re nice to me. I know where their scouts are hiding.”

  Aaron looked at the others, then back at Skunk. “Can I talk to my friends for a minute?”

  “Of course.”

  “Alone.”

  “Oh, sure. Alooone.” She turned with a flick of the tail and strolled about twenty feet away in the shadows.

  “You’d better whisper,” Brumbles said softly. “She’s got pretty good ears.”

  “What’s there to whisper about?” Bethany wanted to know. “Skunk said she’d help us cross the Fords of Nivum. We need to cross the Fords of Nivum. So why the secret conference?”

  “Because we’d be fools to trust her so easily,” Brumbles said, also talking in a rather loud voice. “So, no, I don’t see any need to discuss the matter, either. My mind is already made up.”

  “Not so fast,” Aaron said. He was whispering. “Don’t you think she’d be safer with us than on her own? What’s to keep her from wandering over to the next campsite she finds, licking their heads and then blabbing everything? Besides, maybe she’s telling the truth.”

  “Of course she’s telling the truth,” Bethany said. “You heard her. She doesn’t like Garmley. We should definitely bring her with us.”

  Brumbles said, “So both of you think we should bring the skunk?”

  Bethany gave a vigorous nod of the head. After a moment, Aaron followed, somewhat more reluctant. Brumbles didn’t look pleased. “I suppose we should keep her in sight, eh?”

  “Now that you’ve got that settled,” Skunk said, walking back well before things had been settled, “let me suggest that you pull up camp at once. There are weasels camping just up the hill from here. Maybe half a mile. They’ll probably see your torch.”

  Brumbles reared up with an alarmed expression on his face. “What? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  “You never asked. Now, do you have anything to eat? Preferably something salty, if you don’t mind.”

  #

  They moved quickly, but it still took almost half an hour to break camp and start their way down the hillside in the dark. And with Skunk asking every five minutes for something to eat, an exasperated Brumbles was forced to call a halt after a short hike just to shut her up with a couple of honey cakes. It wasn’t salty, but it satisfied her for the time
being. The smacking and the belches of pleasure coming from just behind him made Aaron’s own mouth water and his stomach rumble. Worse, he’d packed up his jacket and now he was cold. But Brumbles didn’t stop until they’d reached the river and the sun was brightening the sky to the east.

  The Alonus was not like the Mad River in Vermont. That was only properly a river during spring melt-off; the rest of the year it was more like an overgrown creek. The Alonus was both swift and deep and a good hundred yards to the far bank. No wonder they needed to reach the fords. Even a boat would be in danger of simply being swept downstream, tossed about as the river saw fit.

  A blanket of green pine coated the banks of the river. The pine filled the air with a sharp scent, which almost covered their stinky new friend. Skunk had taken an unfortunate position upwind of the other three.

  Brumbles said, “We should be safe here, provided we stay in the trees. And provided, of course,” he added with a sharp look at Skunk, “that there aren’t any more weasels lingering in these parts that you haven’t told us of. Let’s catch some breakfast.”

  Bears, the children learned, are excellent companions if one is hungry. In short order, Brumbles found a patch of wild strawberries and sniffed out some wild mushrooms, carrots, and onions. He filled a sack which he handed to Aaron, then waded into the shallows where he promptly fished out a half a dozen trout. Not to be outdone, Skunk found a rotting log filled with wood grubs, which she and Brumbles scarfed down like so many slimy Cheetos. The Merley kids politely declined their share. They were not that hungry.

  Back where they’d left their gear, Brumbles fried up the trout with the foraged vegetables. It was delicious. They ate the berries last, then kicked dirt over the fire, loaded their packs, and set out for the fords. Bellies filled and the sun warming the air, the party was in better spirits. Almost, Aaron could pretend they were out for a morning stroll, instead of marching to confront a pack of vicious weasels.

  They heard the Fords of Nivum long before they came into view. It was a spot where the river flattened out only a few feet deep, and the river roared like a waterfall as it forced itself over the shallows. Immense boulders, gouged from the earth by long-melted glaciers, dotted the riverbank and jutted like fists from the middle of the river.

  A road came from River’s Edge to the north, right up to the banks of the Alonus, where it stopped. The road continued on the other side. There was a ferry for when the water was too high, but it was beached at the moment. There were a few buildings on either bank, but there no signs of life.

  Brumbles positioned them behind one of the boulders, a hundred feet or so from the road. It was a good spot. Trees and brush kept them hidden from view.

  Skunk said, “There will be at least a half dozen weasels on either side. But I came through yesterday and they were rather...careless, you might say. I sat outside their window for a good hour just after dusk, listening. See that building with the thatch roof?”

  The bear nodded. “It’s the ferry master’s house.”

  “The ferry master?” Aaron asked.

  “The ferry master charges a toll to use the ferry and collects the king’s tax from river traffic.”

  Skunk said, “Some of these tolls and taxes are stored away in his cellar. It is well-stocked with all manner of jams, honeys, wine, fruits, and nuts. Naturally, the weasels have set up camp there. Last night they were so busy enjoying the ferry master’s larder that they didn’t patrol more than twenty feet from the house. The weasels on the other side waded over at dusk to enjoy the party.”

  “Leaving the other side completely unguarded,” Aaron observed, “and this side not much better.”

  Brumbles said, “Our course is set, then. Wait until dark and then slip across, eh? Come on. We’ll wait out the day from the safety of the trees.”

  But just then, there was a shout from the buildings at the ferry crossing. Several weasels came from the ferry master’s house. Aaron feared that they’d been discovered, but the object of their attention proved to be a boat moving downstream from the direction of River’s Edge.

  “You there!” someone on the boat shouted. “Throw us a rope.”

  The boat was moving so quickly as it approached the shallows, that although its weasels were rowing furiously, it looked as though it would sweep downstream and be lost to sight. At the last minute, someone onboard caught the rope and the weasels on shore dragged it in. The weasels in the ferry master’s house stood in sloppy ranks, some rubbing their heads. They were paying the price for the previous night’s gluttony. The newcomers’ leader started ordering them around. Aaron counted the band with dismay. There were fifteen in all. Probably more on the far bank. Something about the lead weasel, the one shouting orders, looked familiar. Then Aaron saw the missing fingers on his right paw.

  “Half-Paw,” Aaron said, feeling a knot of despair. It was the weasel from the King’s Road. Any hopes of slipping across vanished in an instant. Garmley had sent Half-Paw to hold the fords. Now what?

  Skunk looked thoughtful. “Hmm. Well, can’t say I didn’t try. I guess I’ll be going now.”

  “You can’t leave now!” Bethany said in a sharp whisper.

  “I’m sorry. I can and I must. Far too dangerous. I don’t suppose you have any snacks for the road. No? Good day, then.” With that, she disappeared into the trees.

  Aaron looked to Brumbles. The bear gave a grim shake of the head. “Nothing to do but go ahead with the plan. We’ll wait here until nightfall and then try to slip across. Goodness knows we’ll probably be caught, what with that devil leading them, but we’ve got to try.”

  Chapter Seven: Fight at the Fords

  It was dark. They’d spent an unpleasant day waiting in the woods, waiting for night to come, waiting to make the sprint across in the dark, waiting to be captured by the enemies guarding the river. Too much waiting. It had set their nerves on edge and made them snap at each other over the smallest things. Finally, they’d just lapsed into silence. Waiting.

  But at last the moment had come. Brumbles whispered. “Once we get to the riverbank, don’t say a word. If you are seen, don’t cry out, just make for the opposite shore. Avoid getting into a fight.”

  “Seems simple enough,” Aaron said.

  “And whatever you do, don’t lose your footing,” Brumbles continued.

  “You mean fall?” Bethany asked.

  “Right. Don’t fall. If you lose your footing and get swept out of the fords, you will die.”

  Aaron didn’t like the matter-of-fact way Brumbles had said this last bit. Not, you may die, or, you’re at risk of drowning, but, you will die. “No way to swim to shore?”

  “Not in this current. You’d never get to the other side in time. Half mile downstream, the Alonus passes through a tumble of rocks. If you don’t bash your brains in on the rocks, the waterfall at the end of the rapids will certainly kill you.”

  “Nice,” Aaron said, grimly.

  “Well, look on the bright side, eh?” Brumbles said.

  Bethany said, “There’s a bright side? With weasels hunting us and a deadly waterfall if we fall?” Her voice was high and frightened and Aaron had to shush her.

  “Sure, there’s a bright side,” Aaron said. He was doubtful, but Bethany sounded on the verge of panic and he had to say something. “The weasels aren’t expecting us.”

  “Hopefully,” Brumbles agreed. “And what’s more, the current is just as dangerous for the weasels as it is to us. Remember that. Come on.”

  They crept from tree to tree, stopping when they neared the riverbank, a hundred feet upriver of the ferry master’s old house. Lamps blazed from the open windows, with voices inside. They were arguing over a dice game. Aaron was not fooled. He knew there would be weasels roaming the banks, watching for them. Perhaps if Half-Paw had not arrived...well, there was no sense wishing for that now.

  They took off their shoes and threw them in their backpacks, together with their pants. Brumbles had said they’d be more s
ure-footed if they were barefoot, like a bear, and that they’d make less noise on the far bank without wet pants slapping together. Bethany wasn’t happy about taking off her pants, but Aaron reminded her that it was dark.

  Brumbles gave a nod and they ducked low and ran for the water. Quietly, they slipped in. It was ice cold. The children let out gasps, quickly stifled. The current tugged at their ankles. Slippery moss on the stones underneath their feet provided treacherous footing. Slowly at first, but gaining in confidence, they crossed.

  They’d gone almost halfway across when Aaron hesitated. There was a cluster of shadows in the middle of the river. The enemy was waiting for them. But Brumbles had ordered silence, and the other two kept pushing across toward the other side. He had nothing to do but keep going. The shadows stayed perfectly still, and he realized that Brumbles and his sister simply hadn’t seen them.

  This isn’t a story.

  The words came so clearly to Aaron’s mind that he almost said them aloud. This was not a story. It was not a fun little romp in the woods, meeting funny talking animals and exploring new lands without danger. He didn’t know for what purpose they’d come, but it was real, and so were the dangers. It was life and death. Brumbles had killed that weasel on the road. It had laid there, twisted, eyes open and unblinking. Aaron had felt no sorrow for the nasty little beast, just relief. Relief and fear. Relief that it had been a weasel who had died, fear because it might have been one of them. Next time it might be. This was next time.

  He hadn’t had time to be afraid the first time they’d faced the weasels, but now he had too much time. His heart was pounding and he was wobbly-legged at just the moment when he needed to be sure-footed. And his tongue was frozen. He couldn’t talk, yet he had to, and the weasels were just standing still, waiting for them, and nobody else could see them. He had to say something.

  But Bethany broke the tension first. “Brumbles!” she cried.

  He whipped his head around and put a paw to his lips and urged them forward.

  Aaron found his tongue now that Bethany had spoken. “But there are weasels in the river. Right there!”