The Earthkeepers

by Shawn Underhill

  “The humans fall down hills for fun?” said Timber the beaver.

  They don’t fall on purpose, I said.

  “They intend to glide down the hills for the pure fun of it,” Ginny explained. “Falling does happen, but it is never their intent.”

  “Haven’t they any trees to work with?” asked the beaver. “Working, building … Now that’s my idea of fun.”

  “If working is so much fun, why are you always such a grump?” asked Riley the fox. “Clearly the humans ski to compensate for their lack of speed and agility. They cannot run fast enough on their own, so they choose to glide down hills.”

  “You are correct, Riley,” Ginny said. Then, before the beaver could defend himself, she faced Maxwell the cat and said, “I’m surprised that you’re sharing the secrets of your humans with us. Thankful, but surprised.”

  “You expect doggish loyalty from me?” replied the cat. “I think not.”

  “I expected some level of defense, I suppose.”

  “They’ll get no defense from me. No, not after all those kissy faces they’ve made at me. Ugh. I mean my people no harm, but I mean them no special help either. They have much land and much money, and even so, they remain very stingy with the cat nip they offer me. If this meeting prevents them from taking control of this nice patch of land, they will not be harmed by the loss. I was invited here to speak the truth. That is all I’ve done. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “For your honesty, I thank you,” said Lobo. “Everyone here, I trust, shares that gratitude.”

  “Yes, thank you, thank you,” said many voices at once.

  “I must say,” remarked the cat, wearing a very proud expression, “a fellow could get used to this sort of respect. I’ve waited years for the humans to treat me with the regard I’m worthy of. Well, let me tell you, it hasn’t happened yet. Perhaps … I was not meant to be a housecat after all. Maybe … out here, in the wild, is where I truly belong.”

  “My friend, that is your decision to ponder in due time,” said Lobo. “For now we must proceed with our discussions. We are facing an issue of land—land that concerns each and every one of you personally. If we are not able to resolve this issue, this fine old-growth forest will be lost to you all.”

  ***

  Lobo and the wolves moved away from the pond and gathered at the base of the slope along the tree line. The lead wolf sat at the head of his company. The rest of us arranged ourselves comfortably in the open space. I knelt down and snuggled up with Ginny. Stomper lay down a few yards away from me, placing himself between me and Berrybottom bear. But by then the bear was barely conscious.

  “Can everyone hear me well?” asked Lobo.

  Everyone but Berrybottom and Bandit answered him yes.

  “Good, good,” said the wolf as he passed his gaze over the large gathering. His voice carried easily over the open space. He then took a minute to properly introduce the Outlaw Pack to the gathering. In a proud tone he called each wolf by name, giving them the chance to acknowledge our applause and greetings.

  There was Brutus and Fang, who were brothers. Then there was Shadow, a pitch black wolf with intense amber, almost red eyes. The smallest of them was a female called Cherokee, a very rare red wolf. Then there was Longjump, Sawtooth, Banff, Teton, and Lakota. And lastly there was proud Lamar, who happened to be one of Lobo’s own sons—now an Outlaw leader in training.

  “As you may or may not know,” Lobo said next, “I am not merely called Lobo. I am in fact a descendent of the most infamous wolf in the history of these lands between the oceans known as the Americas. Lobo the twelfth I am indeed. Every drop of my wild blood flows with purpose of my ancestors, and that purpose is to maintain the often strained relations between men and beasts. I traveled this country all my life doing so. Good creatures great and small, do I have your trust?”

  “You have it,” was our unanimous reply.

  “Now, Ethan,” he said, letting his gaze rest on me. “I must ask you to come forward. I have questions for you, and I ask that you answer them to the best of your abilities.”

  I stood up, feeling dozens and dozens of pairs of eyes on me. Then Ginny stepped out ahead of me.

  “Please, Lobo,” she said. “This is one of the many problems that has worried me. Ethan does not speak well with his mouth. There is something different about him that sets him apart from most humans. Others—the adult humans mostly—would call him things such as slow or dumb. By that they would suggest that he is unintelligent, but they would be very wrong. In truth, his mind is far more active than any human I’ve met. I cannot explain it more clearly than that. Please, it is something you must recognize for yourself before you question him.”

  “Come closer, Ethan,” said Lobo. “And you, Ginny, remain at his side if it calms your nerves and comforts the boy.”

  I stepped out from the crowd of watching animals and moved closer to Lobo. Ginny kept her shoulder glued to my side. Lobo stepped towards us.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

  No, I answered after a moment’s pause.

  He moved closer—so close that I could feel his warm breath on my cold face. With intense focus, the wolf that towered over Ginny gave me a thorough examination. He took long, slow breaths, and then stared deep into my eyes, looking at what, I couldn’t imagine. He stared silently for what felt like a long time, and then at last he stepped back, sat on his haunches, and instructed me to relax.

  “I agree with your assessment, Ginny,” he said. “There is something different about this boy. The humans might find fault with his lack of speech, but they would be wrong to assume this boy to be unintelligent.”

  Then why can’t I speak well? I asked him.

  “I might ask you the same question,” replied Lobo. “Are you unable to speak, or unwilling?”

  I … I don’t know.

  “I sense a swiftness of thought within you, Ethan. Your mind is indeed faster than many. Are the words too difficult for you to catch and form? Or have you simply given up trying?”

  “Please,” Ginny said. “Don’t be rough with him.”

  “It means nothing to me if this boy remains in his mind,” Lobo said. “He is clearly a gifted Earthkeeper. It is not unheard of for the gifted in some ways to be lacking other ways.”

  “You’ve seen this before?” Ginny asked.

  “I have.”

  “What can we do for him?”

  “Nothing,” said the wolf as he stared hard into my eyes. “We can do nothing.”

  “I. Hate. Talking,” I stammered. The words left my lips roughly and in a strained tone. Then I dropped my head to avoid his piercing stare.

  “Why?” asked the wolf.

  I don’t know, I told him. I just hate it. It takes so long to make the words sound right. And no matter how hard I try, it’s never as smooth as when I talk silently. I don’t like it.

  “I don’t deny your stance,” Lobo replied. “There is a difference in you. Because of the swiftness of your mind, to step outside of it surely feels like taking a step backward to you. But why would you despise your own voice, different as it may be? Because you compare your voice to the voices of others?”

  Yes, I answered. I lifted my eyes back up to meet his.

  “Indeed,” said the wolf. “But I bid you to look around yourself, young Earthkeeper. Observe the varied species of creatures present here tonight. These are but a small sampling of the many creatures that inhabit the larger world. Look upon their many shapes. Consider their many voices and ways of living. Does the moose speak as swiftly as the squirrel? Does the bear sound anything like the beaver?”

  I see, I told him after a brief glance around.

  “Do you?”

  They are all very different.

  “They are. And which of them, do you suppose, is ashamed of those differences? Which of the songbirds keep their songs only to themselves? Which of the strong animals is ashamed of his strength, or the swift of their swiftness, or the w
ise of their wisdom?”

  “None,” I said in a quiet voice.

  “None,” agreed Lobo.

  “With people it is not always so simple” Ginny said.

  “That I will give you,” said Lobo. “The relations of species are more complicated within their own circles. Your difficulty lies mostly there, does it not?”

  Yes, I agreed.

  “You are different from many humans, Ethan,” said the wolf. “I do not say that you are something less. Do you understand me?”

  I’m not sure.

  “What of your father?” he asked.

  What about him?

  “Does he live as most men live? Does he act as many men act? Does he hear only what all men hear? Or does he hear more?”

  ***

  Do you know my father? I asked.

  “No,” answered Lobo. “But someone dear to me once knew him. My own father, when he was a young learner, once met the boy that grew to be your father. Russell Dewfield is his name, son of Glenn Dewfield. He grew up in the same house you have grown in. He walked in these woods once and communed with the animals, as you have tonight.”

  I never knew that until earlier tonight, I told him.

  “It’s true,” Ginny said to me. “In the early days that you do not remember, when I was just a pup, your father heard my words, and spoke in turn with me. That is how I came to know him, and how I came to be a part of the family. But that was the last time he ever heard me that way.”

  Then what’s happened to him now? I asked. He wants to sell the inn and the land and send me off to school. How could that be?

  “That,” said Lobo, “is a question we all await an answer to. It is the question that has caused us all to gather here tonight. And as things now stand, it is a question that no one but you can ask him.”

  I stood there with my head spinning for a few seconds, trying to make sense of everything. Of course it was too much to make sense of in such a short time, and soon Ginny’s voice jolted me from my thoughts.

  “I do not know the reason for Russell’s changes,” Ginny said. “But I am well capable of explaining Ethan’s struggles. In regard to his difficulty with speech, his parents have taken him to special people known as doctors. Oh, but that wouldn’t mean anything to you, would it?”

  “I recognize the notion,” Lobo told her. “Remember, I have been taught to understand and interact with humans since the early days of my life. Only one such as yourself, who has lived alongside them always, could understand them better than I can.”

  “Then you can imagine the strain his parents are under, Lobo. To them, this is not only a problem of land, home and money. Their greatest concern is for Ethan. From their point of view, he is in need of a kind of help they believe is beyond their understanding. In a sense, their hands are being forced. Earlier this night, a decision was reached regarding Ethan’s future. His uncle—the man pushing Ethan’s parents to sell this land—has convinced Ethan’s parents to enroll him in a special school. To do that will require a complete change of life for the whole family.”

  What? I said in disbelief.

  “I’m sorry, Ethan,” Ginny said woefully. She could barely look at me as she spoke “I’m afraid it is the truth.”

  Uncle Chuck, I said with gritted teeth. He’s ruining everything.

  “Chuck Dewfield?” said Maxwell the cat.

  “That’s him,” Ginny answered.

  “It’s funny you should mention him. I’ve heard that name used a lot lately. Unpleasant man, he seems to be. He enters my house with his rolls of papers bearing pictures of little houses—condominiums, actually. I took a nap on said pictures and was scolded for doing so.”

  “So that’s his real plan,” Ginny growled. “Chuck’s working behind the back of his own brother to get control of the land so that your people can build on it.”

  “Sounds right,” said the cat. “But mind you, I have no idea how the building process actually goes. All I know is they do it and get very much money for it, and of course, I get no extra catnip.”

  “You’ve told us enough,” Ginny said. “That is the information we needed to understand it all.”

  “I’ll tell you what matters most,” shouted Bandit. “More houses mean more people! That’s the last thing we need around here.”

  Most of the animals began grumbling and muttering. Lobo nodded thoughtfully but said nothing just yet.

  “Hmm, this is all very strange to me,” Stomper said as he took a few lumbering steps closer to us. “Chucks or no Chucks, dewy fields or dry fields, I do not understand their relation to our problem. But one thing is strangest of all. I have heard a word mentioned that I do not recognize. School is that word. What, exactly, is a school? Hmm, and more so, why should my friend Ethan be burdened by it?”

  “Yes, yes, what’s a school?” asked several more voices at once.

  I turned around and looked up at Stomper. For the life of me I couldn’t begin to explain to a moose what a school was. Thankfully, Lobo spoke up to offer an explanation.

  “School,” he said, “is a relatively new concept in the long history of humans. It is not so much one specific thing, for there are many schools in many places. As you all know, the young of wild creatures learn to live in the world strictly from their parents, their herds, packs, and so on. From those basic lessons, instincts then take over, and lead you on your way. But young humans seldom follow such paths. They learn only a portion of their living skills from their parents. Instead, from the time they are old enough to walk well, they attend these meeting places—these schools—to learn, in theory, how to excel as humans.”

  It’s a terribly dull place, I told Stomper. You would never want to go there.

  “Hmm, terrible?” he said. “How so? Is it barren, with no foraging to enjoy?”

  It’s very barren, I told him. There are no trees and no grass inside the buildings. Well, I guess you could say there are trees—at least they used to be trees. The desks are usually made of wood. We have to sit at these desks most of the day. And the adults there don’t let you say what you want, think what you want, or eat when you want. And if you’re like me, and like to keep your thoughts to yourself, they don’t like that at all.

  “Good grief,” said Prowler. “You sit around all day? Please tell me there’s at least some play time allowed?”

  Hardly any, I said. We sit still at our desks most of the day.

  “You cannot move about freely?” asked Stomper.

  Not really, I said.

  “What do the humans talk about at school?” asked Twitch. “Acorns?”

  All kinds of things, I answered. But much of it is uninteresting. Not so much acorns as things like math.

  “M-m-math?” said Stomper. “What, hmm, is a math?”

  It’s counting to start with, I said. Adding and subtracting. The point of it is to learn how to count money, so that when we’re older we can hopefully get more of it.

  “Well, I like to count and keep track of a stash as much as any squirrel,” said Twitch. “But I can’t see the point in counting anything that isn’t a potential meal. What a terrible waste of one’s time and energy!”

  “It goes beyond all than that,” Lobo explained. “The institution of school is, by all accounts, a well-intended venture. But as with many things done by humans, what begins as something good and helpful can easily become spoiled, burdensome, and troublesome. Because most humans of this day have lost touch with the way their ancestors lived, they do not know how to proceed comfortably in the world. Even something as natural as the upbringing of their own young is confusing to them. For this reason schools were created to reduce the burden, entrusting the education of the human young to a select few strangers, who themselves were raised in the same, disconnected way. They are not taught necessarily what they need to know, but what others believe that they should know.”

  “No sense,” said Talon the owl. “Woo-hoo, it makes no sense!”

  “They make no se
nse to us,” said Lobo, “because we wild creatures have been changed very little by time. The humans, however, have undergone great changes. They once lived in similar terms as we do, but now, as you see, they live much differently. In the oldest stories—the stories our parents still share with us in our earliest days—when the human beings first entered the stories of the world, there was no need for Earthkeepers, because there was a common language shared between us all, and a common life shared side by side. We do not know every reason for the changes that occurred, only that they did occur. As time passed, many of them began to turn away from the sensible ways of living simply and gladly. Since then, as their ambitions have increased, so their complications in life have greatly increased, in comparison to the way a tiny shoot grows into a massive tree. Now, in these times, there is much confusion among them. They do not, in most cases, realize that they are misdirecting their children, teaching them many of the wrong lessons, while leaving out many of the best. This is because they have forgotten the older ways, in favor of other, lesser ways of living.”

  For the next few moments there was a noisy round of hot debate between the animals regarding school and its merits. Stomper stood up to survey all the animals and better hear their opinions. Some thought it merely strange and somewhat distasteful, while others thought it downright evil. I looked at Ginny and tried to imagine what our lives might become like if my parents really did sell the inn and move us away to be closer to some special school. I didn’t like any of the thoughts that were passing through my mind.

  “Hmm-hoom,” groaned Stomper as all other voices began to hush. He faced Lobo and said, “School is, most of us agree, not a good place, as far as we are concerned. Nor is it a good place for one such as Ethan, who speaks silently to us. But what can be done, hmm? Ethan is small, and cannot defend himself. Therefore, I will pledge myself to stand between he and any who oppose his freedom. So, if school be brave enough to face me, let it do so, or run from my presence. I will lower my head, stomp my hoof, and challenge it openly.” Here he gave a deep snort as he scratched his hoof in the earth. “I only need be shown the place to find it,” he continued. “I am ready and willing to defend my friend. No one will remove him from his homeland, or make him sit idly on broken trees, if I have anything to say about it. M-hmm.”