More days passed. Though unfed, my body sought to heal itself.
A day emerged where my trunk was upended. A paw drill put a hole near my pads next to the corner then another hole in the top corner. After which a hollowed-out bamboo stick was inserted and cold water rushed in to rain down my body only to exit out the hole at bottom. A good two minutes of this treatment allowed me to adjust my muzzle and sip down some of the liquid. The taste told me it was river water. Crisp air made it past the bamboo. Smells told me the city was far away. Wherever we were, it was around rivers and undeveloped land. Finally, unblocked voices made it to my ears. The accents told me our captors originated easterly from Furlton City.
The bamboo was removed and a cork was beaten into the holes. The sounds around me said the other trunks, possibly five others, were given the same treatment. This made it a good bet six of us were being taken somewhere for disposal. Why, of course, was the question. Murders within city limits were not uncommon. Perhaps our journey was simple self-preservation. No body. No murder investigation.
Within crowded confines without light, counting the days was difficult. After the sixth day, at an estimate, I must admit, I'd given up. The only bright spot in my predicament, or should I say ours, was that we weren't tossed into one of the many rivers or lakes we passed. This gave me small hope we were worth something to someone.
On the umpteenth day, a wolf warning-howl called my ears to attention. This howl was answered with more howls that grew closer. Our cart came to a halt. Someone patted the trunk above mine and orders were given to proceed. After a short time the cart stopped and our trunks were subjected to pounding by wooden objects, possibly to stir up the contents in each trunk. Possibly simply out of malice. More time passed in inactivity. Finally ropes were removed and the sound of trunks being unloaded came to my ears until it was my turn. Rocked around, I gathered my trunk was being carried some short distance until of a sudden, I was dropped. Locks were undone and the lid was thrown open.
Bright clear daylight stabbed me blind. Cool air swirled inside to chill my flesh. The trunk was pushed over and I tumbled out on to snow-covered ground. Unused muscles screamed as I sought to gain control of them. Thirsty and famished, if I could have seen, I'd have given an account for myself. However, rough paws grabbed hold and steel shackles were locked onto my wrists and ankles. I was able to make out only blurry images. A pole slid under the chains and I was hauled up off the ground like a suckling pig being readied for the fire pit. White images raised the pole over shoulders and after a few steps, the ends were settled in yokes on hundred eighty-four centimeter, {6'} poles.
Poked and prodded with paw-held poles, my vision adapted. To my surprise, I was surrounded by arctic wolves. Males and females. Their attire was simple animal skins around hips for all and around breasts for females. Bracelets and necklaces of teeth hung in varying numbers around wrists and necks. Ankle chains adorned some of the females on left legs, signifying they were married or spoken for. This sight sparked an old memory and I squinted to better see their left shoulders. Damn me, my mind said in surprise in seeing the tribal mark of an elongated triangle piercing three circles. They're my father's clan! I corrected myself after a thought, Or use to be. I'm certain my father's too old to hold that position. A shift of my head brought to view a Dalmatian. In fact, one I'd come across before…but where? After a moment of rolling the scent over with new drawn-in breaths I had it. The booth attendant at the Cat-A-Mite Museum. This was confirmed when I saw he still wore his Museum attire. As I'd run the air over my sensory centers to identify the Dalmatian, I knew Clair hung on a pole next to him. Beyond her I smelled an owl, and if my nose wasn't playing me falsely, she was the very owl I'd worked for before this fiasco concerning Mr. Sullivan started. Mrs. Wibert. Lastly in the line of stacked-up animals, I determined by the strength of her smell, was Joann.
Even across the distance, our eyes met. She looked as bad as I felt. Her ears perked slightly upon spotting me, but fell back to a jab at her side by a female arctic wolf.
“You want a lot for such scrawny fare,” a female told a city-dressed weasel.
The weasel, dressed in casual clothes, shrugged as if used to negotiations. “Even so, that's the price.” He gestured my way. “Besides, you'll get a right good festival out of that last one. I'm told that black wolf bested two polar bears and two other animals before he was overcome by numbers.”
The female looked up and started my way. The weasel was a half-step behind, as was tradition for an animal of lower rank in the tribes. Behind him followed a red fox in work jeans and black-dyed cotton shirt. I squinted. Could it be? A long drawn whiff of the air caught his scent. Mr. Oscar Sullivan. After all this time, here you are safe and sound?
Beside him walked a tall arctic wolf with leather straps crisscrossing his muscular chest, signifying he was a guardian of the clan chief or wife. This had me looking at the female with more scrutiny. After a second I asked myself, Can it be? I narrowed my eyes to better see the female wolf over the glare off the surrounding snow and took in another long whiff as she approached. I realized who she had to be. Sassa? And she's wearing the head crown of Clan Mother.
My sister Sassa came over and eyed my muscle tone with a critical eye.
“Sassa!” I tried to push the words past my tightly-bound muzzle. “It's me!”
Sassa, of course, only heard “Mmm! Mm mm!” She briefly made eye contact before she felt the power in my leg muscles with a paw.
I shifted as best as I could to make better eye contact and kept calling her name. Had I not dyed my skin and fur black, she'd have recognized me. Hell, Sassa, you still should by my scent! I wanted to scream.
“He does seem to hold significant mass to give the hunters a good hunt.” Sassa stepped away and placed her paws in each other behind her back. She ignored my attempt to make myself plain and looked along the row of captives. “Something your people never deliver.” She rubbed her muzzle. “These others are worth the norm. Five seal skins each, though the jackrabbits are scrawny. The black wolf, however. Hmm…Tell you what. To encourage more such deliveries, I'll authorize ten skins alone for the black wolf.”
“That is most kind.” The weasel bowed low. “Indeed such may entice more animals such as he to be delivered.”
Sassa opened a leather bag at her waist and counted out thirty silver tokens and gave them over to the awaiting paws of the weasel. “See the quarter master. He'll pass over the skins for these.”
The weasel bowed again without words as Sassa waved him off. Two strong males and four females standing together near Joann were signaled over. “Make ready a feast tonight, for we dine on owl and dog.” She clapped her paws and walked off followed by Mr. Sullivan, setting in motion the de-feathering of Mrs. Wibert, after which would come the gutting of both animals before they'd be skewered and roasted over a pit.
Flashbacks of such events came vividly back into my mind. This had been my real reason for leaving the clan—the wanton cannibalism of other sentient animals. Although plainly a normal act of nature thousands of years ago, relived in sexual play between carnivores and herbivores these days, predation was now an abomination to most of the animal kingdom. Wide-eyed, I struggled with my shackles. I bounced my body around in hopes of breaking the pole above. A jab at my side and sharp words spoken by a male wolf to cease my activities were of no use, as I knew the animals about to be killed. As I grew ever more violent in my bid for freedom, the jabs shifted to a snap of his staff on my forehead.
“I said,” he growled loudly, “stop it!”
Though nowhere near full strength due to lack of food for days, I nonetheless snapped a challenging glare at the wolf.
The wolf snorted, understanding the look. “You've sprit, I'll grant you that. But your time to prove your skill and prowess is not now. If you want any chance at all, I'd suggest you quiet down.”
The muffled squawk from Mrs. Wibert reached my ears. I turned my head and saw the bearers lift her o
ff the yokes and carry her after the four females whose job it would be to strip her of every feather. Anger renewed its flame within the depths of my soul. Intelligence heightened. A look at the pole above me told of my futility in trying to break it by bouncing up and down. With a shift of my head I eyed the wolf still watching me. More bouncing would gain nothing. I told my instincts to still themselves. A way out to save Mrs. Wibert and the Dalmatian had to present itself.
The vast expanse of my mind ran a wayward path throughout my experience. A hard look at shackles, pole and yoke over and over finally revealed the error in my captivity. A look at my captor showed he still watched me, but his attention was not solely on me. Precious seconds were fast eluding me. Mrs. Wibert would soon be suffering the worst fate any bird could be subjected to. I had no time for delay.
I turned my head to watch my watcher. When he looked away, I shifted my shoulders then pulled and pushed my arms. My right paw came down. The chain between right and left wrist forced my left paw up, whereby I grabbed the pole I hung from. Quick-like, I pulled myself up and took hold of the pole with my right paw. Like shimmying backward along a rope, my paws went over each other until my pads connected with the support pole and my knees bent. My guard chose that moment to look back. I locked my paws tightly to the pole I was holding and sprang into action.
His eyes grew in size as he watched my knees unbend at speed to catapult myself toward the other support pole, which freed the pole above right out of the yoke. A shift. Pads landed on the snow covered ground. Another shift in bearing and I swung the pole in righting myself. Though free of hanging suspended off the ground, I was still shackled by sixty-one centimeters, {2'} of chain links. This restricted my avenue of attack but not my velocity. The pole came down and so did my guard, though he was not out of the fight. With the upper paw and seconds to use, I tore at the muzzle and shouted with all the volume I could push through my throat.
“By right of birth, I call for a hearing!”
Unfortunately, my demand availed me nothing. I'd forgotten one very important fact. My dyed skin and fur still made me look like a black wolf, and that made my request null and void in the eyes of an arctic clan. If they looked closely, they'd see seven millimeters, {9/32”} of white fur sprouting underneath the black fur. Still it made no difference, as no one was looking.
After my outburst, two wolves tackled me from behind. The one in front, once I'd steadied up my footing, took up his spear and landed a solid blow on top of my forehead.
****
Chapter 12:
An Alpha's Right Scorned By Family
It was the wee hours of the morning before I stirred. That's not quite the right word. “Came to” is more to the truth. Bound from head to pads by rope to the pole about one meter {3'3”} off the snow-covered ground instead of hanging by chains, I rotated my head the little I could to ascertain if any guards were close at paw. Borne on the light breeze, scents aplenty made themselves known to me. Worst of these was charred wood mingled with flesh. The memory of yesterday's events told me of the unholy demise of Mrs. Wibert and the booth attendant from the Cat-A-Mite Museum. Although I'd had nothing to eat for days, bile came up into my throat, causing me to gag.
Only after I'd gained some control of my sensibilities did I remember Joann. Unable to turn my head and fearing the worst, yet hopeful, I expanded my lungs as far as the ropes would allow in a deep whiff. After three of these I caught Joann's scent mingle with her sister's. I gave thanks to the maker and relaxed.
For some hours I hung, all the while expecting the cook to walk over and select Joann or Clair for breakfast or the afternoon meal, but to my relief, the winds shifted and I caught the scent of cooked fish mixed with seal. By experience from my youth I knew such a catch would last out today and possible tomorrow.
Before noon, my ears perked up and swiveled around after I smelled Mr. Sullivan. Off to my left where Joann and Clair hung, I caught snippets of talk that mentioned rabbits. The talk grew closer until I could overhear them.
“…owe us much. The price of your release, for one thing.”
“Yes, yes, I quite understand. Yet your father gave me special permission to acquire items as needed—”
“My father,” Sassa cut in, “retired three years ago.”
“As it would appear,” Mr. Sullivan admitted.
“It's only my father's friendship with you that has saved your fur…this time.”
“And mere words to that effect can never bestow unto you my gratitude. Yet I still dare in asking this boon from you.”
“You're a likeable fox, Oscar. Even so, where are you going to come up with ten seal skins or the equivalent in trade to pay for them? It's obvious by how you arrived you're not welcome in your own home town.”
“Pshaw. Idiots. They've no idea the value of the discovery yet uncovered out there. Grant me two of your best trackers, along with supplies and these two jackrabbits, and I'll share the wealth of my discovery with your clan. I guaranty the gratuity will far surpass ten seal skins.”
“If I do this, what need do you have of the jackrabbits? They're scrawny and lack of long fur are bound to slow you down.”
“Yes, well, to that. I'd want, of course, to remain a few days to allow them time to regain proper strength. As for why I'd want them…since you availed yourself of the Dalmatian I asked for and you won't hear me out in granting me the black wolf—or any of your clan for that matter—these two will have to do in helping me with my discovery.”
“I see.” Some moments passed, then Sassa said, “Even if I grant this boon, it'd be for naught. No one's allowed out on the glacier. It's forbidden. Our ancestors made a pack to hunt the glacier for any trespassers.”
“I see. I take it there's no exception?”
“None.” Silence between the two lasted some minutes. “So, do you still wish to become indebted to us by freeing these jackrabbits?”
Oh come on, Oscar, indebt yourself, I found myself saying. I knew Joann would inform him who I was once freed. Even if he couldn't care less about me, at least she and her sister would escape the cooking pot. What was said next was lost to me when clan business interfered and the two walked off.
Stomach growling, thirst unabated, I found I could fall asleep once preparations for dinner came and no one took away Joann and Clair. Still, my dreams were not pleasant. I was immensely grateful when later that night Joann's paws touched my shoulder.
“Be still and quiet, love,” she whispered, “I'll have these ropes off you soon.” she told me later she managed to escape her own pole in the same manner I had, save she took it slowly and quietly. With the aid of her long incisors, Joann had the ropes around my head and legs off in no time. Those ropes around my torso she worked slower so I wouldn't inadvertently drop to the ground and possibly give warning of our escape.
On the ground, immensely grateful to be free of my bonds, Joann held the chains to her wrists and knelt, nuzzling my neck as she sought to meld into my body. Free of any restraints, I reciprocated her physical display of love by wrapping my arms around her and squeezing her tight. After a moment of this I relinquished my hold and pushed her away. She looked up into my eyes and quietly detached the muzzle around my head. Once that was gone, I stretched my jaw muscles a second before our lips once more met in expressive passion. Emotionally distraught, we took comfort in each other in that long kiss. Even so, I forced her to let go of my lips when I couldn't risk our dalliance any longer.
With freedom at paw, my mind ran down a maze of possibilities of what we should do. Countless of these were denied us because of our weakened physical state. The only plan that made any sense seemed idiotic. The worst of course was convincing Joann it was our best course.
“Braxton, no!” she whispered, her ears laid back behind her, voice filled with confusion and hurt.
“I know, I know.” I laid a paw along her jaw and rested my forehead on hers. She was crying as I explained, “Don't you see? Once our escape is discovered,
trackers will be out on our trail in no time. Even in top form, our chances would've been fifty-fifty they'd find us before we found a populated town or city. It's best this way. If I fail, with you still bound up next to Clair, you may still leave as Mr. Sullivan's helpers.”
She fell into me, her tears wet on my shoulder. “What if you're wrong…what if that fox doesn't take us? What if they won't give us to him? I'd rather risk a flight by night on the glacier and get lost with you than waiting it out here to be made into rabbit soup.”
I hated doing it, but I pushed her away so I could look into her beautiful gray eyes. “Joann, you need to be with your sister. The loss of her husband is devastating her soul yet you must be with her to lend strength, for she's carrying his litter.” She searched my eyes at this revelation. Sadly, I smiled and used a thumb to wipe away a tear. “I smelled her condition in her urine while we were locked away in the crates.”
An ear rose.”Oh, Braxton.”
“I know love, I know. Your sister has suffered much and shouldn't endure anymore trauma or she could lose the cub.”
“But should your plan fail—”
“Shhh…we're in no mental or physical shape to gain our freedom in blindly taking our chances out on the ice. The only option I see which has a snowball's chance in hell to work is this.” I laid my cheek on her soft hair. “Please, Joann. This way is best.”
After a time, she shifted and kissed my lips. “You best be right, my darling wolf, or I swear my spirit will haunt you to your dying day.”
We kissed for the last time. After that, with her help, I threaded the pole back through her restraints and hefted the pole back in place. Lastly, I retied the cloth around her mouth. I allowed my paw to linger on her face as tears ran out of both our eyes before I wiped away the wetness, set my shoulders back and put my mind on to the task at paw.
Braxton Snow P.I. (The Snow Adventures Book 1) Page 19