Silversion

by Rick Johnson

  The effort to dislodge the vent left his paws seared with pain. Closing his eyes and grinding his teeth together, he stealed himself for a final task—pulling himself through the vent.

  It took about ten minutes to get himself through. His height worked to good advantage, but the bulk of his body was nearly too great to fit through the small vent. When he had succeeded in working his way through, he jumped the fifteen feet to the floor below and lay panting on the cold stone. His burned paws and arms were now covered with blood, the blistered skin having been scraped and ripped by the ordeal.

  With pain flooding his brain, ThunderUp did not notice another creature quietly approaching. When a shadow suddenly fell across him, he instantly rolled to the side and leaped to his feet. Whipping out his snug, ready for a fight if necessary, his eyes swept the hallway where he had landed. No creature was visible. “Show yourself!” he snarled. “Come out an’ fight like you’re somethin’ worth seein’!” Swiveling and twisting, ThunderUp’s eyes darted to every shadow and nook, searching for his adversary.

  Without a sound, there was a sudden flutter, and a rope dropped around ThunderUp’s neck from somewhere above. In an instant, a noose pulled so tight around his throat that he couldn’t breath. Gasping and choking, he dropped his snug, and pulled violently at the rope. While he was thus occupied, a Wolf dropped to the floor in front of him, picked up the fallen snug, and holding it at the ready, said: “Stand still, beast! If you’re a friend, I will free you—if foe, I’ll run this lance through your rotten gut! Now, who are you?”

  ThunderUp stopped struggling, although his fingers kept tugging at the rope as he balanced on his tip-toes, gasping for breath. “Just a humble Shark Lugger—Wheeze-Wheeze-Gasp—tryin’ to—Wheeze-Wheeze—stop those rebels—Wheeze-Gasp—if you’re one o’ them—Wheeze-Wheeze—ya might’s well run me though—Wheeze-Gasp-Gasp—cuz you’ll regret it otherwise—Wheeze-Wheeze-Gasp—“

  In a moment, the Wolf released the rope, which he had rigged from the ceiling as a trap when he heard ThunderUp trying to break in through the vent.

  “Sorry, beast, I meant no harm,” the Wolf said. “But one can’t be too careful right now—didn’t know if you were one of those wild-heads that’s taken the place over, or not.”

  “No lasting damage done,” ThunderUp replied, rubbing his neck and breathing deeply. “Where’d you learn that nice trick?”

  “Military training—it’s something we learned to even up the odds if you find you’re outnumbered. You certainly made me think I was outnumbered.” The Wolf held out his paw, “Snart’s the name, Colonel Snart. I’m trying to escape from those crazy beasts. I gather you might have something similar in mind?”

  “Not exactly,” ThunderUp said. “I don’t want to escape, but stop what they’re doing.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible at this point,” Colonel Snart said. “By luck or cleverness, they caught the guard down. The Skull Buzzards have been chewed to bits. No beast can stop them now. I’m here getting supplies. I’ve got to slip out of here immediately and go for help. They’re going to seal the place up soon—the only hope is to get out while they’re feasting. Once they seal the entrances, no one will be able to get out or in.”

  “You seem to know more about their plans that I’d expect,” ThunderUp asked suspiciously.

  “I was a politicial prisoner here,” the Wolf responded. “Seems I had a slight misunderstanding with the High One. But I’m a loyal subject and didn’t deserve to be here. The crazies don’t know that, however—they saw me just like all the other slaves—and they spoke freely of their plans in front of me. So I know what they plan to do.”

  “Tell me about that,” ThunderUp said with a smile. “I’d like to know what their plans are. You can run off and warn the High One if you want, but I’m staying here. If I know what their plans are, I promise you, their plans won’t go so well. Belonga doesn’t work like that.” He gave his cap a tug, as if for emphasis. ’Nuf said.

  Speak Truth and Fear Nothing

  Two days after the opening of the Tilk Duraow cell-blocks, preparations for the move out of the fortress were complete. Klemés had created a schedule for moving all the former captives out through the escape routes. Tē’d’Tē had already been through to the outside on a scouting mission. She identified a safe place to set up a temporary camp to receive the escapees as they emerged from the fortress. Bem Madsour took up a post on one of the high watchtowers, keeping an eye on the approaches to the Bridge of No Return with a spyglass.

  The morning the escape operation was to begin, the weather was terrible—which was a good thing. Heavy rains and thick clouds engulfed the fortress, masking the activity as the first escapees moved out. Each beast in the first group moved into line to follow Tē’d’Tē into one of the available escape passages. As they moved into the passage, they were checked off a list, issued a ration of roast shark and water, and given a blanket. The departure went smoothly, the first group disappeared into the dark passageway as calmly as if they were walking across an open sunny field.

  Appearances aside, everyone was frightened. Veterans of Tilk Duraow had no illusions that their former captors would simply forget about them. No one imagined the High One would take the destruction of Tilk Duraow lightly. They had experienced the long-practiced cruelty of the High One’s minions, heard the clanking stutter of cell doors closing day after day, seen too many of their friends die without a blink of a Skull Buzzard’s eye. But they showed no fear outwardly. Checking their blanket and rations, they moved out. It was better not to think about what might happen.

  Klemés, in particular, was worried. Wanting to make absolutely sure that no one was inadvertently left behind, he had checked and double-checked the list of freed prisoners. Time and again, he went through the list, each time coming to the same conclusion: one prisoner was missing. Somehow they had lost track of one of the freed slaves. How had it happened? Given the desperate hope of the escapees to safely escape slavery, and the knowledge that the fortress would be forever sealed when the last escapee was outside, only one explanation made sense to Klemés. One of the prisoners did not want to leave—or at least not as part of the main group. Why?

  That question alone was enough to trouble the old Wood Cow, but there was another worrying element to be considered. The missing beast had been a political prisoner—the estranged brother of the High One. Klemés did not know what to make of these facts, but he did not like it. Carefully considering the situation, Klemés decided to share the news with his closest collaborators, but to keep the news quiet otherwise. Everyone was already on edge. They all agreed it would be foolish to add more uncertainty and fear to the mix. But the fact remained, a beast who knew their plans, for some reason, did not want to be with them. That was at least unsettling, and perhaps terrifying.

  When the first escapees reached the trail outside the fortress, Tē’d’Tē instantly became concerned. As the group arrived, several immediately fell off by themselves and began talking in secret. They glanced at Tē’d’Tē, as if keeping an eye on her.

  “What are you talking about?” Tē’d’Tē asked, walking over to the group.

  “None of your business,” a broad-shouldered Raccoon—known as Pus—snarled. The Raccoon, once massive in size, after years of near starvation and hard work, was now starkly thin, with great folds of skin hanging limply from his still oversized frame. Despite his thin appearance, however, there was nothing weak about him. Years of brutal, dangerous labor had hardened his muscles and fine-tuned his hatred of anyone who tried to control him. “Or, rather, if we decide it is your business, we’ll tell you about it when we please,” he continued. “We’re not staying with your plans. We’ve got our own plans.”

  “Sweet Ella!” Tē’d’Tē exploded. “Your own plans! Do you think you can just up and leave? Where would you go? How would you survive? Unless I miss my guess, you don’t know anything about this country—why, you’ll be dead or captured by Skull Buzzards in no
time!”

  “That’s fine talk,” Pus replied. “But bein’ as how I ain’t been free in near twenty years, and never been in charge of my own life even a’fore that, why I’ll take my chances just now!”

  “Ke-Mar! Yuttttt!” the other beasts huddled around Pus yelled. “We’re with Pus,” they cried.

  Tē’d’Tē was worried. Not only would these fool beasts likely be heading into extreme danger, but they could endanger the entire escape plan for everyone else.

  “Sweet Ella! Do you even know where you are?” Tē’d’Tē asked. “I’ve seen the maps for this area, and it’s not easy to find the way. These mountains are deadly. There’s only a few passable trails. If you don’t know the trails, you’ll never find your way through. There’s mile-deep crevasses in the rock that run so far, not even the maps show where they end. There’s ice-cliffs that have to be scaled, tremor-fields where the ground constantly shakes under your feet and rattles huge boulders loose. There are sandstorms so thick they can bury you in minutes—I can go on. It’s suicide to head off by yourselves without a map.”

  “When one’s been in Tilk Duraow as long as I was, you learn things,” Pus replied. “You hear things. Listen long enough and you hear guards talking when they think you don’t hear—but you do!” Pus cried with fierce excitement. Now his eyes took on a wild fire as he continued, “There’s silver in those mountains! There’s places it’s in the water—in the air—silver is everywhere, just for the taking! Silver is so plentiful that beasts have their clothes made out of it! They even have their teeth taken out and replaced with silver ones!”

  “Great Sweet and Wicked Ella!” Tē’d’Tē whistled, “Do you actually believe that?”

  “It don’t matter if I do, or I don’t,” the Raccoon said. “I’ve been a prisoner these twenty years—’afore that I worked as a Neurrdler—never heard of that, have ya? Well, that’s a beast as dives into the lakes that exist in certain bat caves—water’s as is mostly dissolved bat droppings—to pull up Nuerrdle Clusters. Those are precious stones only found in bat cave water. They’re worth a thousand times their weight in gold. But what’s a Nuerrdler paid? Food and a place to live—nothing else. Nuerrdlers are picked from just born babes as was abandoned or orphaned, then we’re raised up to nuerrdle and never know anything else—and not trained or learned to do anything else. What kinda life is that, I asks ya?”

  “No life at all,” Tē’d’Tē answered quietly.

  “So, when this beast one day sees a chance to escape, he’s outta there like a shot. But there’s no way a Nuerrdler can pass as anything but a Nuerrdler in the outside world—the smell we pick up from the bat caves just clings to us and ya can’t get rid of it for years.” Pus laughed darkly. “That’s the only good thing about being tossed in Tilk Duraow—the smell was gone after the first ten years.”

  “Getting caught landed you in Tilk Duraow, I reckon?” Tē’d’Tē asked.

  “Not just getting caught,” Pus replied. “It was the fact I ripped up some of those who captured me pretty bad before they took me.”

  “That would do it,” Tē’d’Tē observed.

  “No, not exactly,” Pus said. “What really did it was throwing my chair at the fancy dandy judge—hit him square in the face and ruined his fancy dandy chin. Now, that will get you thrown in to Tilk Duraow with a sentence of forever and a month.” The Raccoon laughed, the wild fire now seeping from his eyes into his voice. “So’s ya see, it don’t really matter if I believe it or not—if I gets the silver, I’m up, and if I don’t, I’m no further down.”

  “You’re still fools to try this without a map,” Tē’d’Tē said.

  Pus’ss only reply was a nod to other beasts standing behind Tē’d’Tē. In an instant a flurry of chunk-chains were wrapped around the Weasel, immobilizing her completely. Chunk-chains were used in the stone cutting on the Granite Hulks. The chain links were covered with small hooks that allowed them to catch easily on rocks and cracks. Now, the more Tē’d’Tē struggled, the deeper the hooks embedded themselves in her clothes. At last she gave up the struggle.

  “What do you want,” Tē’d’Tē demanded.

  “You claim we’re fools to head into the mountains with out a map,” Pus replied. “You’ve got the knowledge, so we’re taking you with us.”

  “But what about the others?” Tē’d’Tē exclaimed. “I’ve got the maps—I’m the only one that knows how they can get out of here safely!”

  “I’ve survived all my life just on my wits,” Pus said. “If they ain’t yet learned to do that, it’s high time.” Looking at Tē’d’Tē, he snarled. “Now, you’ve got two ways to go with us—you can walk, or we’ll drag you by your ankles.”

  Desperately calculating what she could do, Tē’d’Tē realized her best course, for now, was to play along. Getting herself killed would not help her friends and Pus would still get the maps. If she went along, she might be able to escape. Shrugging her shoulders in a feigned sign of submission, she said, “Alright, you win. I’ll walk.”

  Motioning for the chains to be disentangled from Tē’d’Tē’s legs, Pus directed, “Take the chains off her legs, but leave them around her arms and upper body. I can see this beast is beaten, but not tamed.”

  Tē’d’Tē spat in the Raccoon’s direction. “I’m not beaten either, Stink-Beast! Whatever you smelled like from the bat caves, it’s worse now.”

  “Shut up and get moving,” Pus growled. “We’re moving out of sight. Then you can show us the maps and tell us what you know about these mountains.”

  As the group began to move out, the beasts’ attention fell away from Tē’d’Tē for a moment, and the chains briefly slackened in her captors’ paws. Seizing the fleeting opportunity, Tē’d’Tē gave a mighty leap up the side of the nearby stone wall. Hitting the wall as high as she could before her captors yanked her back, she slid down the wall, the chunk-chain hooks scraping a mass of tangled lines in the rock.

  “Curse you, Weasel!” Pus snapped.

  “It’s rude to leave one’s friends, without a farewell,” Tē’d’Tē replied. “When my friends see those scratches, they’ll know exactly what they mean. They’ll know that they’ve been crossed by a traitor so empty of sense, he’s like a nose that drips no snot, just bugs!”

  “Bind her legs again!” Pus commanded. “Wrap her head with blankets to shut her up. You had your chance to walk, but now we drag you by your ankles.”

  Pushing Tē’d’Tē to the ground, her captors quickly wrapped chunk-chains around her legs. As her head was being covered with blankets, she yelled at the top of her lungs, “SPEAK TRUTH AND FEAR NOTHING!”

  Forever-Fire

  ThunderUp and Colonel Snart spent the rest of the evening talking about the best ways to thwart the rebellion that had taken over Tilk Duraow. Finding the Derrorem Spike completely unguarded, they carefully investigated the supplies stored there. Oaksave, a pain-relieving salve, and bandages were found to comfort ThunderUp’s painful paws and arms. Colonel Snart also identified a number of items that could be used to disrupt the rebels’ plans.

  “There is no point in trying to attack the rebels now,” Snart said. “Although we could create panic and confusion, we’d fail to stop such a large rebellion here. It’s better to allow them to leave the fortress and ambush them in the mountains. I know their route, and there are places where a carefully laid ambush will cut their plan to shreds.”

  “That’s great, Colonel!” ThunderUp grinned. “With your military experience, and my strength, we’ll smash ’em to bits!”

  “It’ll be your operation, my friend,” the Colonel replied. “I’ll show you what to do, but you can carry out the ambush yourself. I need to get to the High One with a warning of what is happening—it’s clear this is part of a larger rebellion. We can’t stop that ourselves. The High One needs to know immediately. We’ll leave as soon as we pick up a few items. I’ll show you how to plan an ambush, then I’ll go to the High One. It will take them days to prepare to
leave—by that time, you’ll be ready for them.”

  “Are you sure I can do this by myself?” ThunderUp asked, with pride in his voice. “Me? ThunderUp? I can take down this rebellion by myself?”

  “Do you believe in Belonga?” the Wolf asked.

  “Completely!” ThunderUp growled.

  “Are you strong and brave?” Colonel Snart asked.

  “You know my story, what’dya think?” the Badger retorted.

  “Then, using what I’ll show you, you can take them down,” Snart said, clapping ThunderUp on the shoulder. “Why, you’re the most loyal beast I ever saw or heard of! If any beast can do this work, you can!”

  “All right then, I’ll take ’em down!” ThunderUp chuckled. “They’re done for—I’ll beat ’em lower than their butt can sit,” he laughed.

  Colonel Snart smiled and laughed too, but not for the same reasons. “This idiot Belonga beast creeps me out,” the Wolf thought. “But he’s useful. He can succeed or not, so far as I care. What matters is that he may succeed far enough, that the disaster here at Tilk Duraow becomes even more notorious. Tilk Duraow not only falls, but there are unfortunate events in the mountains that close an important road. Oh dear, my brother will have so much more trouble on his hands.” Colonel Snart’s smiling laughter was genuine, but not for the reason ThunderUp thought.

  In truth, all the while he had been talking with ThunderUp, the Colonel had been hatching his own plot. Let the slaves escape Tilk Duraow—and get away or not. He could teach ThunderUp to create a device that, if used at the proper point in the trail, would close an important route to the sea for months. So long as the rebellion succeeded in effectively destroying Tilk Duraow, and ThunderUp succeeded in closing down the trail, criticism of the High One would grow. Those within his advisors who were beginning to oppose him would be strengthened. Another disastrous setback for his brother would be perfect.