by Peter Plasse
“Holy S-word, indeed,” said Cinnamon. “Oh well, no harm done. Don’t worry. We are out of reach up here. They can’t hurt us.”
Down below them on the forest floor the great beasts prowled nonstop. Brutus, the leader of the pack, called them all together, growling, “Meeting. Now.”
Grumbling all the while, the pack of seven nevertheless assembled in front of him. “Hey, hey, hey. Quiet. Look, I never wanted this job as pack leader. I was elected to the position, remember?”
“That’s because you’re the smartest and the strongest,” said Roly, the only chubby one of the group. “Not because you’re the best looking. That … would be me.” He stuck his nose in the air for emphasis. The rest of the pack laughed.
“Yeah, you wish,” said Stefen.
“That’s enough, now,” said Brutus. “I want some discussion about what we’re doing. We need to think about getting some food, and I mean some actual food, not like the would-be-snacks-for-one in the treetops up yonder. The pups are probably already starting to happen. Harvey, Dillon, I want you to head back south and try to hook up with any of the packs that are still left here in the woods. There has to be at least one that is not out hunting Trolls on the plains. Anyway, make contact and let us know what we’re supposed to be doing other than cooling our heels. Stefen, Michael, you both head due north and see what the situation is at The Gate. Maybe we’ll get lucky and a few of the Trolls that have the fortress flanked will wander in a little too close to the trees. One way or another, report back tomorrow.”
“Why do we have to go all the way to The Gate and back?” asked Michael. “Why can’t we stay here and keep an eye on the Human squirt and her pet?”
“Fine,” said Brutus, too tired and too hungry to ask him if this was a challenge. “You want to stay, stay. I’ll go. Who’s going with me?”
For the next several minutes the Wolves bickered amongst themselves. It was finally decided that they would remain together as a pack for one more day, roaming forth in pairs to scout for possible game. If they had not had any luck by sunup the following day, they would split up and try to make contact with one of the other packs they believed to be still in the woods with them.
“You know, we can’t eat her anyway,” said Roly.
“Eat who?” asked Brutus.
“The Human girl in the trees, of course.”
“And why is that?”
“Did you see what she’s wearing?”
“What is that?”
“A stone. A blood-red, heart-shaped gemstone.”
“No way,” said Brutus. He looked genuinely perplexed. “Are you certain?”
“One hundred and twenty percent,” said Roly. “On her neck on a fine gold chain.”
The rest of the pack gathered in close. This was huge news.
“It can’t be,” said Stefen. “She’s way too young.”
“Then what is she doing here?” asked Michael. “How did she get in here? And what of this cat that’s traveling with her? The prophecy doesn’t mention a cat.”
“Maybe she’s meant to live with us and grow up until she’s old enough to fulfill it,” offered Dillon.
“Maybe,” said Brutus. “Are you absolutely sure she’s wearing it?” he asked again.
“Uh-huh.”
“Who else has seen it?” asked Brutus.
Nobody spoke.
“Best looking and best eyesight,” laughed Roly. “I should definitely be the leader here.”
“Yeah, right,” said Michael. “You could never be the leader. You’re too fat. Isn’t there something in the prophecy … oh yes, I remember now, ‘We don’t take orders from fat guys.’”
“Good one,” howled Stefen, the rest laughing along at this good-natured teasing.
“Well, we know what we have to do,” said Brutus. Seven pairs of eyes stared at him. Nobody made a sound. All knew how important this might end up being. “We need to confirm that she’s wearing it. If it’s true, we need to keep her alive.”
“What about the cat?” asked Michael. “Can we at least eat the cat?”
“No,” replied Brutus. “The way I see it, the cat is key to our understanding of what is going on here. We need to see if she talks to it. If she does, then that, we all agree, is right out of the prophecy. So we keep them both alive. Do you think she’ll talk with us? That is the actual prophecy.”
“Would you talk to us, were you her, being as you just tried to tear her from the trees not ten minutes ago?” asked Roly.
“Yes, you’re probably right,” said Brutus. “Okay, then. We go where they go. Anybody else sees it, let the rest know at once.”
“My goodness, what are they talking about down there?” asked Jacqueline.
“I haven’t been listening.”
“Maybe we should be. They’re probably talking about us.”
“Whatever makes you say that, my dear? No, they’re probably talking about where they can get some food. Wolves need lots of food.”
“They sure are big, aren’t they Cinnamon?”
She chortled softly. “It’s probably our only competitive advantage, that. Our size. They couldn’t care much about us as food.”
“Mmmm,” said Jacqueline. “I’m going to see if I can hear what they’re saying.”
“Now don’t you fall, dearest,” said Cinnamon. “I’ve had about enough excitement for one day.”
Slowly, Jacqueline worked her way down through the tangle and leaf of their treetop hideaway. Being careful to not disturb the dense growth so they wouldn’t hear her approach, she slid her way along the giant tree limb. It was easily big enough to walk on, but she chose the safer method, crawling her way to where it intersected another branch, onto which she eased herself. Dropping down to all fours, she repeated the process until she arrived at a spot directly above them, where they continued to talk. She calmed her breathing and found she could hear them clearly, if faintly, as they chatted one with the other on the forest floor below.
“I’m telling you, Michael, it has to be her. She is wearing that stone thing. That heart-shaped stone thing. And she’s wearing it around her neck on a fine gold chain, like it says in Prophecy.
“I’m telling you, I listened to my mother and grandmother tell me those Prophecy stories hundreds of times as a pup growing up when the elders spoke at the gatherings, and I’m not kidding, it’s got to be her.”
“It can’t be,” said Harvey, “She’s way too young. This Human girl is, at most, ten to twelve years old, and Prophecy clearly states, ‘A young maiden, on the verge of womanhood,’ or something like that. This is not the one that the prophecy tells us will come. And it also says that ‘She will appear in the great reaches of the Ravenwild forests … ’ We are in the south, the south, of Inam'Ra, remember? So she, whoever she is, is not, I repeat not, the one the prophecy names as the redeemer, or liberator, or savior, or however it went.
“And by the way, what the actual girl named in Prophecy will want, and will have, is the end of this terrible persecution of the races at the hands of Leopold Malance Venomisis, and a righting of all the things that have gone so horribly wrong on our world since his grandfather became the Emperor. And it will all happen because of her.”
“And doesn’t it say something about her saving the world if she herself is first saved?” asked Michael.
All remembered words to that effect having been spoken to them by their elders when they were growing up.
There was a long pause as all considered the solemnity of all of this.
“Hey,” said Roly, “What about this? Maybe we are the ones that are supposed to save her. Like Brutus said. Maybe she’s meant to live with us until she’s old enough to do whatever it is that she’s meant to do.
“Anyway, it goes without saying that we need to keep her alive. She needs to be taken care of if it turns out that she is the one … ”
“Well however it turns out,” interrupted Franklin, “I feel hope. Hope that was broken the day the T
rolls came to rule over the Gnomes. Maybe someday that can be made right. What happened then was a terrible wrong. We’ve never had a problem with either the Ravenwilders or the Gnomes. They leave us alone, we leave them alone. But the Trolls, if they succeed in the elimination of all of the Humans, Elves, and Dwarves, will surely come after us next. No question.”
“Amen to that,” the others agreed.
Roly went to stand watch and to check on the progress of the other four who had been out trying to take down an Agden buck, or boar. It would be good to have some fresh meat. Harvey and Michael lay down for a nap and Franklin kept an eye on the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of these two strangest of strange visitors to their forest. Jacqueline noiselessly made her way back, hidden by the leafy canopy, to Cinnamon, who napped contentedly in the crook of one of the huge limbs. Not wanting to disturb her, she sat and fiddled with her backpack.
After her brief catnap was ended, Cinnamon awoke to find her staring out into the treetops in front of her. “Good morning,” she offered. “Hey, are you all right there?”
Jacqueline turned her gaze towards the cat. “Good morning,” she returned. “I have some unbelievable news.”
“And what might that be?”
She related to her the conversation that she had only this minute overheard between the Wolves on the forest floor below. “My, but that is astounding,” she said. “And you are sure that they were unaware that you were above them?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Hmmm. I wonder if they even know, or suspect for that matter, that we can understand them. This is certainly a turn of events. Maybe we are about to catch bit of a break.”
“I hope so,” said Jacqueline. “I sure hope so.”
“This,” said Forrester, “is called Burnfast. “It’s a very light wood to begin with, but that’s not what makes it burn with no smoke. It burns this way because the wood fiber contains oil, so, like a candle that burns the wax that surrounds the wick, it burns smokeless. Not that this is a huge deal to a Troll, because we would mostly just as soon eat our meat raw, but to you Humans it is decidedly the only way to cook your food, or warm your toes, in hostile territory without getting caught.”
Orie flipped the roast over and asked, “But what about the actual smell of the meat itself cooking? Might that not alert our enemies to our presence?”
“It might,” said Forrester, “But the smell of wood smoke travels a lot farther than the smell of the meat itself, especially if it’s cooked slowly. It’s not perfect, but it is better. Look, the way you recognize it is by its snow-white appearance, and the distinctive shape of the leaves. It’s either that, or get used to eating your meat raw.”
After they had finished their quick meal, they moved out slowly. Orie still found it hard to believe that Forrester could move noiselessly, as large as he was.
They had covered a few miles when his giant friend held up an arm in warning. Orie moved in close, and Forrester whispered, “The next several miles will be patrolled heavily by Gnomes. Mostly, they will be interested in keeping on the move, because they are all returning to their homes in Vultura to settle down for the winter, but we definitely don’t want to get caught now. They would rather dispatch us quickly than not, anything to avoid slowing them down. No noise.”
Orie nodded his acknowledgment.
By nightfall they had made it past the danger zone.
“How much farther?” asked Orie as they bed-down.
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
Exhausted, he fell asleep. His dreams were one horrible nightmare after another. He awoke with a start to find Forrester missing. He rolled out of his bedroll and rubbed his arms. He was fairly freezing. “Good,” he thought. “Cold to me, colder for the Gnomes.”
He sat up slowly and surveyed his surroundings. They had slept in a stand of small hardwoods. He spied some Burnfast and smiled a dour smile. He wondered how everybody was doing and checked one of the maps, spreading it out with clumsy fingers in front of him on the forest floor. He saw that Gracie and Ryan were now well to the west, having crossed the border into Ravenwild. “Keep moving,” he murmured. “Keep moving.”
He noticed that his dot was there, as was that of Forrester, presently a hundred yards to the northwest. He made a mental note to ask Forrester about this odd disappearance of his dot when the opportunity presented itself. He could see that his mother and father hadn’t moved, nor had Jacqueline, but Stephanie looked like she had made it all the way to the Ravenwild border, far to the north. “Good for you, Steph’,” he thought. He was surprised that she had covered as much ground as quickly as she had.
He put the maps carefully back in his pack and pulled out some of the roast, on which he chewed, snacking as well on an assortment of berries that he found growing within the confines of their hideout. Taking a pull from the waterskin, he jumped when Forrester appeared out of nowhere at his side.
“You have to tell me how you do that,” he said.
“All in good time, young Orie, all in good time. For now, we walk. I have scouted extensively to our north, and it looks to be clear that way. The Gnomes have only one thought on their minds: Getting home before they literally freeze to death. Meanwhile, the Trolls have pushed on way to our northwest to bolster the occupying forces in Ravenwild, meaning we need to take advantage of our situation and make our own final push to the home of my friend. She will be the whole key to the success or failure of our rescuing your sisters and your friends. And some other things that need tidying up on Inam'Ra. Have you eaten?”
“I have.”
“I thought as much. Very well, we walk. We should have no trouble.”
“I wish I could be as certain,” thought Orie.
Forrester’s advance scouting paid off nicely, and they arrived shortly after the noon hour, which Forrester announced quietly in a small stand of fruit trees while they were supplementing the last of their meat with these sweet gifts of nature.
“What do you mean, we’re there?” asked Orie. “Looks like the middle of nowhere to me.”
“As I thought many years ago,” said Forrester, thinking, “Isn’t it peculiar how history tends to repeat itself.”
They waited for a few minutes. Nothing happened, prompting Orie to ask, “What do we do now?”
Forrester folded his great arms on his chest and settled down with his back to a small tree, which bent noticeably under his weight. “We wait.”
“Wait for what?”
Forester didn’t answer him, but drifted off into a light slumber. Orie, meanwhile, grew restless and decided to do a little exploring. How could they just sit and wait? It gnawed at him like an old hound dog gnaws at a bone. He made his way to the rim of the slight depression in the forest floor in which they had stopped and surveyed the landscape in front of him. It was gratefully devoid of anything that appeared threatening. He turned back to rejoin his sleeping friend and observed that he was gone. But more than that, the small clearing had completely changed. The trees were also gone, and he now stood on the edge of a great field, completely open and exposed to whatever prying eyes might be out there. Quickly, he dove to the ground, hoping to at least take whatever cover he could in the lush grasses that grew everywhere.
For a brief moment he thought he had gotten confused as to where he had gone, but when he thought about it some more, he realized he had not really gone anywhere except within the small, temporary resting spot in amongst some trees, and he had eaten some fruit. He was on the verge of panic when he heard Forrester laughing uproariously. “He’s gone insane,” thought Orie. He glanced skyward and watched him approach.
“Come on,” he hollered. “Up with you. Don’t worry. Nobody can hear us in here. Not even if they wanted to.”
Orie slowly got to his feet. Directly across from where they stood, about a half-mile across the field, was a farm, complete with a smallish central house that was made entirely of the flat stone that seemed to be everywhere, which had also been used to divide
the grassy areas off into parcels, about an acre to the lot. He saw a stone well, a barn with attached chicken coop, and several outbuildings. All looked weathered, although in general good repair. The lawn about the buildings could have definitely used a trim, but there was tidiness about the place that pleased the eye, mostly the lack of clutter. Sleds and equipment were all stacked or leaned trimly against the wall of the barn well under the eaves. There was order here.
He looked back at Forrester, who wore a broad smile. “It’s okay right now, lad,” he said. “We are safe here. For the moment, we do not exist in the sense that we cannot be detected on the fair planet of Inam'Ra. It shall only be a brief stay. But while we’re here, there will be no one except us, and my friend Cirrhus of course.”
He loped across the field to the farmhouse, his great strides covering the distance in a matter of a minute or two, calling, “Cirrhus, my wonderful friend, it has been too long, way too long, way, way too long,” his voice disappearing as he bolted through the front door.
Orie was left to his own thoughts as he walked the rest of the way to the house. He saw several varieties of winter crops. Evidence of the harvest of the summer crops was everywhere as well, but he hardly paid any of this any mind as he was still trying to figure out how they had gone from hiding out from Gnomes in a semi-forest setting to a farmhouse on the plains with not a tree in sight.
Behind the house was a spectacular view. The land fell away for thousands of feet in a great series of canyons and gorges, with dozens of lakes, ponds, and rivulets at the base. Such was the vertical descent, clouds actually hung below the horizon. The effect was dizzying.
Letting out a small “whoa” of surprise, he walked back around to the front door, which he pushed open cautiously. “Forrester,” he called out softly. Hearing no response, he stepped inside, feeling the goosebumps mount. “Forrester?” he called out again. Still nothing.
The same order to things apparent on the outside was mirrored on the inside. All of the interior walls were covered with maps, murals, and artwork and such, and were bordered all the way around by shelving that held assorted knickknacks. The floors were a highly polished blonde wood that looked to have been swept in the last hour. He crossed through the small receiving foyer to the larger windows that occupied the entire back of the house. From inside, the view was more mesmerizing. Not quite knowing what he should do, he merely stood and admired it until Forrester was suddenly at his side. This time he did not start. This time he had heard his approach.