by Rick Johnson
Then, suddenly, they were plunged into sickening darkness. The sun disappeared and dim shadows came to life. Hideous monsters gapped, snapped, and leered at the Buzzards from the gloom. Wailing cries began, as if these grotesque creatures were calling the Buzzards to die among them. Moaning and screeching made the shadows encompassing the Commander come alive in his imagination. A hundred times he was certain that a monstrous figure was trying to seize him. Some of the screaming was the real terror of his own troops being ground against the rocks. Whatever the mission had been, it was over. Now, the only thought in every Buzzard’s mind was escape. Yet, even escape seemed out of the Buzzards’ control. The end came as no one could imagine. The Skull Buzzard Commander, his boat sheered in half on the razor-sharp teeth of the dragon Helga and Christer had carved, clinging to the coils of a monstrous snake, sobbed for help.
Watching from the heights and from behind boulders, the joy among the Wood Cows and Pogwaggers was subdued. Their plan had succeeded, far better than expected. But the sense of victory was little stronger than pity at the Buzzards’ plight. Perhaps half of the Skull Buzzards had been seriously injured or drowned. Many of the boats had been capsized or wrecked. Yet, despite their pitiable circumstances, their most urgent desire remained to escape, to leave the hideous Furies behind. Even Buzzards with broken bones splashed as best they could through the shallows, pulling on rocks, pushing themselves against anything available to move backward, away from the horror. The Buzzards fled upstream helter-skelter, from whence they had so recently come. Dragging their wounded and pushing them aboard the remaining boats, the Buzzards poled their fleet against the ferocious current.
The Wood Cows and Pogwaggers observed the retreat for several hours. Only when the struggling Skull Buzzards were at last out of sight did they relax their alert.
“They’ve been completely crushed. Isn’t it amazing how such a powerful military force comes to be pitied in the end?” Christer observed, sitting with Helga on the riverbank.
“Believe an idle tale—like your own superiority over other beasts—and someday beasts will put you to the proof,” Helga replied. “If the Overending ever comes, it will be on the wings of such idle tales as that.”
The End of SnowFire
The defeat of the Skull Buzzards at the Acute Angles did not set the Wood Cows and Pogwaggers completely at ease. Everyone realized that the Buzzards might regroup. The Wrackshee horde was also still a possible threat. And, even if the Lost Ways Crack saw no more of the High One’s minions, there was still real danger to Mar-Marie and Ord’s operation in the Drownlands.
At a council of the Wood Cows and Pogwaggers, Helga proposed a plan. “There’s nothing more we can do here. We can rely on the Rock Ravens to keep us informed about the Buzzard retreat and warn us if they regroup, which we doubt they will do.” Helga began. “But we need to see the end of things in this beginning we have made. We need to think about Mar-Marie and Ord. We need to think about the Wrackshee horde that’s still upriver somewhere. If we think this is over—that we’re safe without finishing the job—that’s just an idle fancy.”
“What are you proposing?” Helbara asked.
“Emil knows the SLOPS route. We’ll follow Angelana on the SLOPS return route back to Mar-Marie and Ord’s. Along the way, we’ll see what we can learn. When we get to Mar-Marie and Ord’s, we’ll send word back to the Great Hot Lake with any news we’ve gathered. The rest of you head back to Home’s place and if PorNart reports you’re needed, you can send additional help to Mar-Marie and Ord.”
“That’s a sensible plan,” Helbara said, feeling pride at her daughter’s courageous proposal.
“Hear! Hear!” the council agreed in unison. The plan now settled, in the morning the camp was broken up, farewells said, and the different parties set out.
Emil, Helga, and Christer took the boat belonging to SLOPS and began poling themselves up river. “Once we get to the return track, we’ll store the boat,” Emil said. “The return track takes a secret route up the cliffside. Since it’s used infrequently, there’s just a cable attached to a steep path. You essentially pull yourself up by the cable.”
As they moved upriver, evidence of the Skull Buzzard retreat was everywhere: discarded equipment and additional smashed boats. There was no sign of the Buzzards themselves, however. They reached the return route late in the evening and stored the boat in a hidden cave reserved for the purpose. Emil had a good laugh allowing the others to search fruitlessly for the climbing cable, before pointing out its location. Cleverly concealed in a long snaking crevice, the climbing cable did not take a direct route upward, but meandered with the crevice. The result was that, as beasts climbed using the cable, they had to reach into the crevice, past their elbows, to grasp it.
“Amazing!” Christer exclaimed. “No one would dream you could climb this cliff!”
“Exactly,” Emil grinned.
With dusk falling, they pulled themselves up the cable. Emil was the last to go, using a leafy brush to smooth away all evidence of their activity before he ascended. When all had safely reached the clifftop, camp was pitched. “No fire. No light,” Emil instructed. “Although we’re shielded from sight, any light or glow will attract attention in the darkness.”
Throughout the next day, they proceeded along the top of the cliffs, following the river. Once again, they camped as they had the previous evening. Just as dawn was breaking on the following morning, they all awoke with a start. The ground was rumbling and vibrating beneath them! Within moments, the shaking stopped and the ground felt normal, as if nothing had happened.
“What was that?” Christer exclaimed, “an earthquake?”
“Maybe,” Emil replied, “but it didn’t seem strong enough for a quake.”
“An underground explosion, perhaps?” Helga said. “Is there mining around here that uses explosives?”
“Not that I know of,” Emil replied. “Could be, though.”
Thinking nothing more of the strange occurrence, the party quickly ate their cold breakfast. As they were beginning their journey once again, Emil cried out, “Look at that!” Pointing down at the river, Emil called attention to a rumbling flood surging down the river valley. A wild and tangled mass of muddy water and debris flowed in a torrent, covering everything above the normal water line. Swirling amidst the debris was the remnants of the Skull Buzzard force, scattered in the torrent, once again struggling to survive.
“By the Ancient Ones!” Emil breathed. “How much more can they take?”
“They were already defeated,” Helga observed. “Many of them may not make it out of the river this time. Whoever is left will never return to their duty posts. They would be hung either for incompetence or treason. The High One would put up with neither. Whoever survives is now an outlaw in the High One’s eyes. They will want to get as far away as possible, as fast as they can.”
“But they will have to go through the Great Hot Lake to get away,” Christer said.
“No,” Emil replied, “they won’t do that. They would have to go back through the Acute Angles and the Shadow Furies to get there. There’s no way they would go back through there. They’ll be trapped in the upper river valley for now.” He paused, images of his own encounter with the Skull Buzzards on the sacred climb racing through his mind. “Pity them, although they have never pitied others. The Rif Cats and Weasel Slits will harass them to within an inch of their lives. If they ever find their way out, they will come out broken and hollow-eyed, running for their lives, the rest of their lives.”
“Or, perhaps, they will change their lives completely,” Christer said quietly. “Even though the Buzzard attack had to be resisted, it’s hard for me to think they’re down there now, struggling to survive, with no hope. That’s the worst of all.”
“If only the High One and the Wrackshees and their buddies had such humane sentiments,” Helga snorted.
They were all quiet for a few minutes as they watched the rampaging river. “Emil,”
she continued, gazing down at the flooding river, “where did all this water come from so suddenly? There’s not a cloud in the sky, anywhere.”
“Puzzling, isn’t it?” Emil replied. “Flash floods do happen on this river, but there would be storm clouds somewhere, off in the distance, at least. Very curious.”
“Maybe it’s related to the ground tremors we felt,” Christer offered.
“You may have something there,” Emil replied, his face turning pale. He began running along the clifftop as fast as he could move. Helga and Christer hurried after him, trying to keep up. For nearly an hour, Emil kept up the blistering pace. Not speaking. Not explaining. Just running for all he was worth. Helga and Christer stayed with him, but dared not even gasp out questions.
Finally, Emil’s pace slowed. He stopped and walked over to the edge of the cliff and looked down. Helga and Christer joined him. Far below, an immense gusher of water was shooting out of the side of the canyon. Tears filled Emil’s eyes, and he buried his face in Helga’s shoulder. “SnowFire—that’s SnowFire, Angelana’s home,” he sobbed. “It’s gone…”
Mar-Marie’s Plan
When Angelana parted from Emil to carry the warning to Mar-Marie and Ord, she did not take the usual SLOPS return route. She realized that the coming trouble with the Wrackshees and Skull Buzzards would make every aspect of the SLOPS operation unsafe. She knew she would have to abandon SnowFire, at least for the time being. Until the situation became clear, all of the normal SLOPS bases and routes would be too dangerous to use.
“I need to decommission SnowFire for now,” she sighed. How she loved the place! But, SLOPS was even more important. Everything about SLOPS, and anything precious to herself, had to be removed. Returning to SnowFire, she gathered all her records relating to SLOPS, and packed her own keepsakes in her pack. As she picked up her grandmother’s skull to pack it, she recalled the only other time when she had come through SnowFire on a SLOPS return, rather than use the normal return route. Remembering that journey, she held the precious remembrance of her grandmother close as she recalled the moment, the very minute—nay, the very instant—that Grandmother Angelana had died.
~ ~ ~
Those were the days when Grandmother Angelana was training her to be a SLOPS Mar, she recalled. They were staying overnight at SnowFire, held up by miserable weather on the river. Angelana was sleeping peacefully, when her grandmother suddenly cried out, “NO! NOT HERE! NOT NOW!”
Angelana leaped to her grandmother’s side, finding her weak and gasping for breath. “It is now,” she breathed, giving Angelana a peaceful smile. “The Ancient Ones say it is now…they don’t take commands from me…” And then, she was gone. Grandmother Angelana was dead. With two dozen freed slaves waiting for the weather to clear so they get down the river, Angelana had little time to grieve. But Grandmother Angelana’s most sublime reward, came from the hands of the very escaped slaves she had given her life to free.
Among the Gateless Wolves, as was Grandmother Angelana and Ord’s persuasion, passing from life was seen as passing into the light. In the way of the Gateless Wolves, Grandmother Angelana had long made it known that, when she passed, she would have nothing to do with darkness. “No burying. No sticking me away anywhere that’s dark,” she declared, in her characteristic good-natured ranting. “Lay me out in the sunshine and let me be.”
The most remarkable feature of the entire Lost Ways Crack was an amazing finger of rock rising several hundred feet above the river. The river flowed around it on all sides. Looking like a piece of the cliff that got lost, or went off by itself, the tower had no connection to the rest of the canyon. With the help of every beast in her party of refugees, Grandmother Angelana was laid to rest on the very pinnacle of the tower. But even though everyone knew Grandmother Angelana’s thoughts about dying, none of them were prepared for the written note she left with Ord. The note left instructions for some particular steps she wanted taken with her remains. It was that note that, some months later, sent Angelana on a very moving personal pilgrimage to her grandmother’s resting place. When she returned, she had Grandmother Angelana’s skull with her.
~ ~ ~
Gathering her pack, Angelana left SnowFire once again, returning to the normal SLOPS return route. Within two days, she was back with Mar-Marie and Ord, and they immediately began discussing how to deal with the approaching crisis. Little did Angelana realize that Snowfire would soon be obliterated in the flooding waters created by the explosion in the Shèttings.
As Mar-Marie, Ord, Angelana, and S’Might discussed the anticipated onslaught of the Skull Buzzard brazzens, their planning quickly focused on two things: Speed and Dung-Swill. “The four of us are nothing against brazzens of Buzzards,” Mar-Marie observed. “But, our greatest strength is that the Skull Buzzards have never been seriously challenged. No one even remembers when any beasts really tried to take them on. Despite being cruel, they are actually just over-blown bullies who won’t know what to do if they have a real fight on their hands. Cruelty is the lazy way bullies show their power. We’re not lazy and have real power. We have the power of over-whelming surprise and knowing what we’re up against. The Skull Buzzards are completely unaware of what they are up against. They won’t know what to do with us.”
“First,” she smiled, “they know nothing about Speed. He’s our secret weapon. Why, when we turn him loose on the Buzzards, they’ll be lucky to get out with all their legs, let alone their lives. Secondly, I’ve got this concoction I call Dung-Swill that I mix up to keep the beetles and other pests out of my rose garden. It makes the little critters so disoriented that they walk around in circles and fall off the plants. It’s so incredibly stinky that I only mix small batches, but I think a super-batch is in order for these bigger pests that are bothering us! We’ll mix up enough Dung-Swill to soak down the lot of them—and, PorNart can deliver it from the balloon!”
After everyone had agreed to the plans, Angelana looked thoughtful for a time. Finally, she said, “I think we’re overlooking a couple of other resources we have.” Turning toward S’Might, she continued, “No one on earth can use their feet like S’Might. When the beasts start arriving from the Great Hot Lake, I think S’Might should teach them how to use their feet like he does. They may not be as good as him, or as agile, but if the Buzzards get through our defenses, we’ll fight them in a way they’ll never expect.”
“That’s brilliant!” Ord said with delight. “What’s the other thing you said we forgot?”
“The Everlost,” Angelana replied. “My guess is that, once we unleash Speed on them, the brazzens will break apart and scatter. As you know, once you lose your way in the Everlost, you’re in trouble. If we can get the Buzzards scattered in that wilderness of grass, the mosquitos and mud-rippers will chew them to pieces.”
“Not to mention Speed,” Ord chuckled. “I expect he’d be willing to depart from his fish-only diet if chomping on some Skull Buzzard legs helped the cause!”
“Well, we’d best not laugh too hard just yet,” Mar-Marie said quietly. “We’ve got work to do.”
Setting up a huge pot over an open fire outside, Mar-Marie began cooking a monstrous batch of Dung-Swill. The ghastly-smelling stuff was a mixture of every putrid substance available. Throwing all the rotten garbage, offal, and malodorous substances at hand into the pot, she stirred as it bubbled. Shortly, a reeking stench seized every nose in the area. “My Gor and Pizzle!” Ord exclaimed, his eyes watering. “My head feels like it’s about to explode! Is that stuff about ready?”
“Ready?” Mar-Marie said innocently. “No, it’s not ready and you know it’s not, you silly beast. It won’t be ready until I let it sit in the sun for several days, then it will be ready. Good Dung-Swill needs to fester and putrify to reach full strength.”
General SlopChops Departs
The High One was well aware where the root of his troubles was. Although his forces must stop the anti-slaving routes down the Lost Way River and crush the troublesome
beasts running them, the nerve center of those operations lay elsewhere. Sparrow Snoops had provided pretty conclusive intelligence that the center of the operations against the slave routes was in the Everlost. Well-concealed in that vast wilderness, a small number of outlaws and rebels planned the operations against his slaving operations.
“A mere handful of beasts!” the High One fumed. His troubles caused by such a puny lot! It was infuriating. “Let them see what a few brazzens of Skull Buzzards will do to their little foolishness,” he declared. “I want those beasts arrested and breaking rock at Tilk Duraow.”
The Skull Buzzard brazzens assigned to invade the Everlost had, perhaps, the most capable Skull Buzzard commander of all. General SlopChops, although ‘old school’ military, was never one to simply follow the path of past success. He studied each campaign carefully, fitting strategy and tactics to the circumstances. He immediately realized that the Everlost would be a difficult place to operate. “You see,” he said, instructing his junior officers, “it’s nothing but water and impenetrable grass. If we get into that, we’ll be lost. We must find an avenue of attack that keeps us out of the Everlost itself.”
He looked over his officers. “Do any of you see how that could be done?” His officers studied the maps for some time, but none of them could see a way to reach their target without going through the Everlost.
“Aviafias!” General SlopChops said, grinning wickedly. “We’ll send in Aviafias to attack first. They’ll swoop in, drop torches around the rebel base and set the area on fire. We’ll smoke them out. If the fire doesn’t get them, they’ll run straight into our clutches, trying to escape.” Aviafias, the aerial Vulture troops of the High One, used mostly to provide security around Maev Astuté, were seldom used in military operations. But, when they were, their appearance in the skies inspired terror.
