by Rick Johnson
TrimWagg stopped for a moment, ducking his head under the warm water. Raising his head again and shaking the water out of his face, he continued, “Being a proud lot, Skull Buzzards will not go where they cannot feel superior or force others to be their subjects. If they do not already feel that they are in control, or cannot use force to get control, they will stay away. There are plenty of places where they already have power or can get it, without risking their precious pride.”
Looking across the beasts assembled around him, TrimWagg came to his point. “That’s where we come in. We can create a situation where the Skull Buzzards will feel completely unsure of what is going on. We can make them feel that they are not in control and that they do not know how to get in control. That will be too much for their sense of superiority to take. They would rather withdraw than risk being humiliated or shown to be inferior.”
Smiles and conversations shimmered across the crowd. TrimWagg smiled also. “Yes, beasts,” he said, “that’s the key. We can’t fight the Skull Buzzards with forces we don’t have, but we can overpower them with strengths we do have.” For the next hour, the community held council. Hearing more about the details of TrimWagg’s plan, they made decisions about how to handle the Buzzards. Everyone agreed that TrimWagg’s plan had good promise. When talk turned to how to deal with the Wrackshees that would follow the Skull Buzzards, little was said. Everyone knew that, if they failed to turn the Skull Buzzards back, the struggle would be lost, and there would be no need for a plan to deal with the Wrackshees. They must defeat the Skull Buzzards.
Another nagging question kept rising, for which none of the beasts had an answer. “What about the Skull Buzzards coming through the Everlost? What could be done for Mar-Marie and Ord?”
As the sun began sinking behind the mountains, Helga poked Emil in the ribs. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing to a large dark object floating across the horizon where the sun was dropping.
Peering at the object, Emil broke into hysterical laughter. “It’s PorNart! PorNart is coming in the balloon!” Emil howled. Dancing and swinging his arms, Emil ran from beast to beast, pulling them around in raucous dance steps, while he cried, “PorNart! PorNart is coming in the balloon!” Emil’s joy set the community ablaze with cheers of delight.
Sure enough, just as dusk fell, PorNart landed the balloon, now repaired and improved, in a field near the Great Hot Lake encampment.
“YAR! HALLOO!” Emil called to his friend as the balloon bounced to a stop. “Just couldn’t stand it without your ol’ friend carrying you around, eh? I knew you’d miss me,” he grinned, as PorNart climbed out of the balloon.
Emil and PorNart, being the only beasts at Great Hot Lake who had ever seen a balloon, let alone ridden in one, spent the rest of the evening explaining how balloons worked. They also were required to provide a full account of their earlier adventures in this particular balloon.
When the excitement had died down, and the camp began slowly sinking into darkness and slumber, one tent remained brightly lit. Home’s tent hosted a continuing conversation about plans for the upcoming operation. The plan was soon arranged.
“We will divide into two groups,” Home said. “One group, led by Emil, who knows the route, will head up the Lost Ways Crack to make things interesting for the Buzzards coming down from that direction. The other group will be led by Mar-Marie and Ord once everyone gets up in the Everlost, but PorNart will be in charge of getting our beasts up there. It will be fast, but will take several trips to transport everyone. Emil’s group will include all the Pogwaggers and Wood Cows. PorNart’s group will be everyone else, except me and Bad Bone. We will maintain the base here at Great Hot Lake.”
“How much time do you think we have?” Helga asked.
“Hard to say,” Home replied, “the Rock Raven scouts reported that the Wrackshees seem to be building some equipment to improve their slave transport routes. They think that if they defeat us, they will have an entire new avenue of slaving operations. Rumor is that they’re upgrading for that. If all these rumors are true, the Wrackshees have every reason to come at us, just as soon as the Skull Buzzards make it safe for them. Our scouts think we may have four weeks or so before the Skull Buzzards come at us. They want to send a crushing force against us, and it will take a while to gather it and supply it as they like. Skull Buzzards don’t move without a lot of gear and they will need specially-built boats to get all their stuff down the river. That gives us a slim window of time. We need several weeks to prepare our surprise for them. Once all is ready, they will strike—and fast. So, we don’t have time to waste.”
After a little more talk, the council broke up, and beasts moved toward sleep. Helga, however, was too excited to sleep. Wandering down toward the lake, she found PorNart rubbing oil on the wooden frame of the balloon.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said, watching PorNart carefully working the oil into the wood.
“Yes,” PorNart replied. “It is so magnificent. I never dreamed that I would ever be able to fly such a thing. I want it to work as magnificently as it is beautiful. It is so perfect when it flies.”
“Emil tells me you rebuilt the balloon virtually from scratch. That it was nothing but wreckage when you landed, and all the machinery to steer it had been lost. He says you did all the work yourself. That’s amazing!”
“Well, yes, that’s correct,” the Coyote replied. “Even the balloon fabric was pretty well torn up. But I’m a blacksmith by training and work well with my hands. Once I knew what design I wanted, it was not hard to remake the balloon.”
“I still think it’s amazing,” Helga said. She fell into silence watching PorNart, who was now adjusting the steering mechanism. She could see that he closed his eyes as if listening, then moved a screw a tiny bit. “You listen to the workings, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s the only way to get the adjustment perfect,” PorNart replied.
“I understand,” Helga said. As she watched PorNart with the balloon, she had been thinking how much he reminded her of her work with wood. He seemed to know his work, and do it, from deep inside. He seemed to work as if he understood each part of the balloon perfectly, as if it were within him.
“When you’re done, PorNart, I have something I want to show you,” Helga said.
“What is it?” the Coyote replied, with a surprised look. “I’m really finished here. Show me what you’ve got.”
“Come on,” Helga said. PorNart walked with her over to the cabin where she was staying. “Wait here just a minute,” she said, going inside. In a few moments, she returned with a long slender pole. Picking up a lantern, Helga walked off toward the lake. “Let’s go over and sit by the lake,” she said. “I’ll show you how to play.”
“Play what?” PorNart asked.
“A flicker-pole,” Helga replied. “Here, sit down and I’ll teach you.”
PorNart sat down on a log. Helga remained standing and began moving the flicker-pole in easy, looping motions. “We start very gently,” she said. “Learn to feel the pole as if it is part of your body—as if it’s an extension of yourself.”
“Yes,” PorNart replied, “that is how I feel flying the balloon. When I steer it, it’s like I am the balloon.”
“I know,” Helga said, “that’s why I’m showing you this.”
Gradually, from the gentle beginnings, Helga’s work with the pole became increasingly complex and rapid. Her arms moved gracefully, undulating, whirling, oscillating. The end of the pole becoming simply a blur of motion; a smear of wood splashing here and there. A whisper-like song began to sound. Softly singing the ancient prayer songs she knew by heart, she rocked forward and back, working the staff with an almost surreal power and intensity.
Then she stopped. Grinning at PorNart, she said, “When you’re learning or practicing, you can’t play more than about a minute at a time. The music that the flicker-pole generates will attract every bird for miles around. The Ancient Ones discove
red that the flicker-pole tones touched on some deep bird language. When the music sounds, a great conclave of birds gathers around the pole. Coming in peace, but coming in vast numbers, this amazing roosting of birds has been used by Wood Cows since ancient times as a means of defense and help. Even the most dangerous enemy does not want to be covered by hundreds and thousands of birds, however peaceful they are!”
“Are you serious?” PorNart asked with a bemused smile.
“Of course I’m serious,” Helga responded. “I’m showing you this because it is very serious business. I’ve used the flicker-pole to get me out of a number of tight places.”
“Why are you showing it to me?” PorNart wondered.
“Because I’m going to teach you to play this thing and then lend it to you for a while,” Helga said. “I want you to take it with you when you fly back to the Everlost. There’s really no set plan on how to deal with the Skull Buzzards up there. I think the flicker-pole might come in handy for you.”
“You mean use it on the Skull Buzzards?” PorNart smiled.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” Helga replied. “There’s many ways to use the flicker-pole. If you really know how to play it, you’ll have a sense when it can help you. I just worry about you going up there to face brazzens of Skull Buzzards with hardly a plan.”
Helga worked with PorNart for another couple of hours. A brief period of teaching, then a break, then a brief period of practice. PorNart was a fast learner, and soon Helga was no longer teaching, but simply affirming his rapidly increasing skill. When she felt that he had mastered the flicker-pole enough to play it without assistance, she called it a night. “Bedtime,” she said, “you head to the Everlost first thing in the morning, and the rest of us move out soon after.”
PorNart carefully rested the flicker-pole over his shoulder as they walked back to the settlement. “Thank you, Helga, for teaching me about the flicker-pole,” he said. “Whether I need it for help or not, it’s beautiful to know how to play it.”
“Don’t get too philosophic on me,” Helga laughed. “I’m only letting you borrow it because I think it might save that hide of yours sometime. If you only wanted to make music, I’d keep it myself.”
Shadow Furies
As dawn broke across the Great Hot Lake, Helga was up early. Despite the short night’s sleep, she was at the balloon before PorNart arrived, eager to help him prepare the vessel. When he arrived, PorNart showed Helga how to stoke the fire that filled the balloon with hot air.
“One of the things I changed when I rebuilt the balloon,” PorNart explained, “is the way it is inflated. The original system that the High One designed is too complicated for the kind of flying I do now. Contained fire is the way to go.”
Once the balloon was inflated, they ran out a boarding ramp from the basket to make loading easier. With little fanfare, the first group of beasts and gear was loaded. Stoking the fire, PorNart yelled, “Loose the mooring ropes!” Like a lovely moon rising in the sky, the balloon rose swiftly. Helga watched PorNart peddling to steer the balloon. Within a few minutes, it lifted over the nearest hills and was lost to view.
“Wood Cows and Pogwaggers!” Emil called, “We’re moving out in half an hour.”
“Well, now it’s my turn,” Helga thought as she gathered her things. She wondered if TrimWagg’s plan would work. She was prepared to give her all and knew that her mother, father, and brother were of the same mind. Yet, the task seemed immense—far more than a few Wood Cows and a small band of Pogwaggers could manage. “Carve 400 standing trees? In four weeks?” Helga did wonder if they could succeed in such a task. “If we had just a few more beasts to help us, maybe then…”
“Maybe then, what?” said a voice behind her. Whirling around, Helga let out a wild holler, “CHRISTER! YOU LAZY BONES! DECIDED TO GET OUT OF BED AND HELP, DID YOU?” About her own age, Christer was Helga’s friend. Back home, they had become friends and often hung out together.
“Well, I’d have come to the party earlier,” Christer replied, “but I wasn’t invited. In fact, seems like no one was invited. You just lit out on your own without telling anyone. So, don’t accuse me of being lazy! I followed you, just as soon as I learned you were gone again. Seriously, Helga, you really need to get over this disappearing thing.”
“Sorry, Christer,” Helga replied, “but sometimes things need to be done, and I’m afraid telling people will only slow me down.”
“Whatever,” Christer said. “Looks like we’re heading out. What’s up?”
“There’s a bad lot of Skull Buzzards—several brazzens’ worth—coming at us to wipe out the anti-slaving operations that run through here. We’re going to try to head them off with a guard of Shadow Furies.”
“Shadow Furies?” Christer asked.
“There’s a narrows up the river from here a ways, where the forest comes all the way down to the river. The trees and brush are so thick that sunlight never reaches the river there. It’s always a place of gloomy half-light and shadows. We’re going to carve hundreds of the trees along the river with hideous faces and grotesque creatures. When the Skull Buzzards arrive, they’ll have a welcome such as they’d never expect! Our Shadow Furies will leer at them as far as they can see.”
In a short time, the Wood Cows and Pogwaggers loaded their small fleet and set off across the Great Hot Lake. Paddling steadily, they reached the far side of the lake and made a start up the Lost Ways Crack by late afternoon. Time being of the essence, they continued their journey, proceeding by torchlight, until the river became a tangle of rugged rapids.
Emil called a halt. “We’ll camp here for the night and portage around the rapids at daybreak,” he directed.
They set up camp on a red sandy beach, but they had hardly landed when a fierce wind kicked up. Howling down the canyon with such force that they could not build campfires or set up tents, the wind forced them to take shelter behind boulders. Fine, red sand flew everywhere, stinging unprotected eyes and scouring skin. Instead of the warm meal they had imagined, the unhappy beasts dined on gritty, cold food, and huddled together beneath blankets clutched tightly against the clawing wind. No one slept. The following morning, the warmth of the sun drove the wind in the opposite direction, and calm returned. One by one, the band of miserable creatures dug out from the crust of sand covering everything.
“There’s never been a wind like that reported in the canyon,” TrimWagg observed.
“Not in the canyon, perhaps, but ‘red wind in the canyon’ is a common saying,” Helga replied. “I’ve heard it all my life. Haven’t you heard things like, ‘A red wind in the canyon on you, you wicked beast!’ and such?”
“Yes,” TrimWagg said, “but that’s just a saying. I meant that no one’s actually seen a red wind in this canyon before, so far as I’ve heard.”
“Well, it may be just a saying,” Helga said, “but it was no joke when I heard it growing up. Ask my parents about it if you don’t believe me. When I was coming up, we used to hear tales about where that saying comes from. It goes back to the ancient times when beasts didn’t like the building of Maev Astuté and the sacred climb and all that, but couldn’t speak openly about that. Every beast knew that ‘red wind in the canyon’ meant a curse on the High One and his Maev Astuté building project. Legend said that when the Overending came, it would come on a red wind in the canyon.”
“The Overending?” TrimWagg asked. “I’ve never heard of that. What is it?”
“Never heard of the Overending!” Helga exclaimed. “For a beast that’s been deep in trouble with the High One’s minions, I can’t believe you’ve never heard of the Overending! Where have you been?”
“I just don’t know about it, that’s all,” TrimWagg replied. “The Hedgelands is a big place and lots of beasts never make it out of their local valley between the mountains. I’ve been pretty busy just keeping the Pogwaggers out of slavery in my own little corner of the world. So give my ear some rest on this, please.”
“All
right, sorry,” Helga replied. “I just hope that someday a red wind on the canyon actually will blow in the High One’s direction, that’s all. I want him to know that, when wee beasts are hungry and in slavery, fear and trembling are concealed in his wealth.”
TrimWagg smiled at his Wood Cow friend. “I understand. We all hope for that.” He put his arm around Helga’s shoulder. “We saw a red wind in the canyon with our own eyes,” he said. “If that’s an omen, or not, I have no idea, but we saw it with our own eyes. Now we’ve got work to do.”
Moving among the beasts cleaning sand from themselves and their packs, Emil said, “We’ll take time enough to build fires and have a proper breakfast. We may be exhausted, but we’ll not be starved for decent victuals as well!”
With a bit of effort to gather driftwood, campfires were soon burning and good cheer returned. The lack of sleep was soon forgotten as piping hot coffee, scrambled turtle eggs, and lizard bacon flew from the pots and skillets.
“The next time we camp,” Emil said, “will be at the Acute Angless. We begin our work just below there. At the Acute Angless, the river turns sharply—nearly back upon itself. That, plus the rapids, makes it one of the most treacherous stretches of the river. It takes a brave and experienced river-beast to take that bend in the river safely, without crashing on the rocks or capsizing. Beasts who have never run a river before will have their first taste of the fear that keeps most beasts on land. Skull Buzzards aren’t river-beasts. We’ll take advantage of that fact. Even if they make the turn without disaster, the immense power of a river they cannot control may unsettle them a bit. It is our task to completely unhinge them in the next stretch of river.”
For most of the day, the small fleet paddled up the river without incident. Now and then, it took hard work to make headway against the current but for the most part, things went along smoothly. When the paddling was easier, there was plenty of joking and splashing of water on each other. Around mid-afternoon, Emil signaled a halt. The canyon at this point became almost a tunnel, with the dense trees and brush hanging over the river, one side nearly touching the other.
