by Rick Johnson
“Annie,” he called desperately, “haul up da rope! Haul me up!”
But Mol had other ideas. Impressed with the spontaneous showing of courage from her Dry Gulch friends, Mol had reserved her hatchets, in case they were really needed.
“Well,” she mused, “this is a perfect use for my skills.” As Broken Eye dangled in open space waiting for Annie to haul him up, Mol said, “Would all the Young’ins help me please? I’d like you all to carry torches and lanterns over to the rim of the cliff. Gather all the light you can there, I need to see the rope holding Broken Eye.”
The Young’ins scurried to the rim, carrying every type of torch and lantern they could find. The light bathed Broken Eye. Mol, who could still split a cactus needle at fifty paces, took careful aim on the rope.
“Annie, Annie, hurry up!” he howled piteously. He inched upward as Annie pulled on him with all her might.
Mol’s skills were still sharp, however. Her aim was sure, and Broken Eye dropped out of sight with a long, long howl.
Somewhere in the darkness above, Slasher Annie fell backwards as the weight was suddenly removed from the rope she had been pulling...
Caught in a Tangled Web
“YEEEEEEOOOOW!” Annie listened to the long, long howl that could only be one thing: Broken Eye falling through thin air. Somehow the rope had snapped or been cut.
“Well, I guess that’s the end of him,” Annie said to herself, not without some glee. “Poor old good-for-nobody. I hope he takes a nice big bounce! Now, I can finish the job and take the loot for myself! You stupid fool,” she thought, “if you had only listened to me and taken the longer route, you might still be around.”
Coiling the remaining length of rope over her shoulder, Slasher Annie began to descend the cliff again, this time moving horizontally to go around the outcrop.
After three hours of climbing, Annie had worked her way around the overhang and was nearing the base of the cliff. Moving especially quietly through the dark, Annie chose her moves carefully so as not to dislodge stones that might alert her intended prey. Navigating the rocky cliff was very treacherous in the pitch darkness, even for a Cougar. But Annie lost her balance and nearly pitched off the cliff into the raging river below, when a voice spoke to her unexpectedly out of the darkness!
“So, Annie, what took ya so long?” Broken Eye! The resilient old Cougar grinned up at Annie. A tree, rooted at an odd angle into a crack in the canyon wall, had caught the back of his pants in his desperate fall. The way in which his pants had snagged on the tree was very precarious. Broken Eye clutched the waist of his pants tightly to keep the snag from slipping off. This made it impossible for him to free himself from the branches. “Got’s some rope?” he asked.
Annie, startled by Broken Eye’s unexpected whisper, considered what to do.
“You old fool!” she whispered back angrily. “I should just leave you there to rot! If we hadn’t followed your idea, you wouldn’t be hanging there like that. I should let you be food for the Skull Buzzards.”
“Nay, Annie, ma girl...ya not goin’ ta leave old Broken Eye here,” the Cougar replied. “Ya know too well, that isht a long ways ta anywhere. Ya needs old Broken Eye. Ya’ll be food for ta Skull Buzzards by yourself!”
Slasher Annie sighed deeply within herself. What Broken Eye said was true. This wild, rough country would be very dangerous for her to challenge alone. Her chances were better with Broken Eye than without him.
Moving gingerly, Annie maneuvered so that she was lodged behind a boulder. She tied the rope securely around the boulder and lowered herself down to Broken Eye. Wrapping another rope around his middle, she knotted it and then pulled herself, paw-over-paw back up.
“All right, Broken Eye,” Annie whispered tersely, “as I pull you up, you should pull loose from the tree. If you have to, leave your pants behind.”
“Aye, aye, ma Annie girl,” Broken Eye said, “we’s knew ya weren’t a black-hearted dog! Always so lovin’ and concerned!”
Not far below, Breister was deeply worried about Helga. Why did he not hear something from her? If there was no signal by daybreak, Breister resolved to climb the cliff himself to look for his daughter. Having a boatload of household goods meant nothing to him without Helga. For a long time he played Helga’s pronghorn flute that she had left with him. She was teaching him to play it. As he stumbled over the notes in his imperfect practicing, sweet thoughts of her playing at the hearth back at home filled his mind. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
Later he tried to rest, but his sleep was troubled. All through the night, images of wild-faced cats chasing Helga disturbed his dreams. Unable to sleep, he sat on the ledge gazing out over the rushing river. Rocking forward and back in the traditional Wood Cow manner, he sang the ancient prayer songs calling on the Ancient Ones to help his beloved daughter in whatever danger she was facing.
As dawn began to break, Breister decided to cast another longing look up the cliffside to see if there was any sign of Helga. The last thing he saw before he pitched off the ledge into the river was two wild-faced cats springing at him out of the semi-darkness above his head. Becoming aware of their presence moments before they sprang at him, Breister had time to reach in his pocket and bring out his fishing line and swing it in defense. The force of the Cougars hitting Breister stopped the swing of his arm in mid-stroke. But it was enough. The sinker-weighted fishing line swung wildly around Broken Eye as he hit Breister. Wrapped in a tangled web of fishing line, Broken Eye and Breister sailed off the ledge. Bound tightly together, they struggled in the raging river until they disappeared under the crashing waves of the rapids, and were seen no more...
Slasher Annie could not believe her good fortune. “Mine! Mine! This time, for sure, it’s all mine!” she said to herself with glee as she looked at the fine boat and its cargo. “This will serve very nicely to set me up in a new life, far away!” she exulted. “Soon, I launch the boat and find my destiny. I’m free of this miserable life at last!”
Far above, Helga moaned in fitful unconsciousness. Her terrible wounds mercifully caused her to sleep deeply. In her dreams she saw herself walking and talking with the Ancient Ones. They motioned to her to come into their homes and be welcomed by the fireside of eternity. But each time they beckoned to her, the dreamy, distant notes of a flute disturbed her sleep. At last the dreams came no more and she slept.
Book Two
Reunited and Combined
Where It Came Out, No One Knew
As the morning sun rose above the mountains, Slasher Annie considered her good fortune. “A fine boat filled with worthy goods and enough fresh trout to last me several days. I don’t know where this river goes, but it doesn’t matter. When I find a place I want to stay, creatures won’t guess who I am. I’ll just be Annie, a respectable traveler. I’ll settle in and melt out of sight. I too can live by my wits.”
Feasting on the fresh trout that the unfortunate Breister had caught, Slasher Annie felt full in the belly for the first time in weeks. “Poor, poor, old Broken Eye,” Annie said mockingly. “He always had to be first in line. Putting yourself first is not always the best,” Annie laughed. “He was a bit too hasty this time...Sleep well, Broken Eye, don’t let the fish nibble your toes! Har, Har, Har!”
Pulling the last fish bone out of her mouth, Annie stepped into the boat and loosened the rope that secured it. Annie had never been on a boat before and knew nothing about sailing, but she was not worried. “If stupid Cows can sail, a Cougar can do it better! You stand here at the rudder and steer. I can do that.”
As soon as she loosened the rope, the boat was sucked into the raging current. Annie realized she had been a fool. She could not control the boat. No matter how she moved the rudder, the vessel spun wildly in the current, banging hard on massive rocks, filling with water, careening with dizzying speed down through huge cascades of water. Only the fact that the boat had been built with great sturdiness and fine wood kept Annie afloat. As she began to overcome
her initial panic, she realized that perhaps things would be OK. The craft was sturdy. Although it was hitting rocks with crashing power, the wooden hull was not splintering. Water rose above her ankles. Annie thought that perhaps if she bailed, she could keep it from rising enough to sink the boat. Battling her sickness, she bailed hard.
Her feverish work had little effect. For all the water she threw out, a greater amount poured in. At last, she could see it was hopeless. Knowing it would be suicide to abandon the boat, she settled down to wait and gather her strength to swim if she must. Either the vessel would eventually break apart on the rocks, fill to overflowing and go down—or perhaps she would reach calm water before either of these things happened. In any case, she needed to gain strength. There was nothing else to do.
Struggling to keep her nauseous stomach under control and feeling dizzy and disoriented, Annie crouched in the bottom of the boat. Her eyes were closed in a grimace of discomfort as her stomach sloshed as tumultuously as the river around her. At last, unable to control her seasickness any longer, Annie grabbed the gunwale and, leaning over the side, violently spewed her recent breakfast into the river. Gasping and wheezing, the miserable Cougar hung weakly over the side.
Feeling less and less in control of her wits, Slasher Annie limply raised her head to identify a new sound. Her distracted mind, at first, thought it was seeing things. A wide sandy beach was just ahead! The boat was no longer pitching violently. The water, although still moving swiftly, was no longer tormented by rapids. If she could just get to the beach she would be safe!
Finding new life, Slasher Annie picked up an oar and began to row with all her strength. Yet, no matter how strongly she rowed, she was not able to close the distance. And the more she tried to reach the beach, the more she observed what was on it. Skull Buzzards! Dozens of the large evil-looking birds were perched on the sandy bank or circling overhead. Some were picking over the bones of a carcass. One Skull Buzzard caught her attention in particular. He was strutting around, sporting a battered red tricorne hat on his head!
Feeling a growing sense of inevitable doom, Slasher Annie stopped rowing. Sitting listlessly, she once again let the current carry her as it would. An increasingly loud SHHLUUURRSH pulled her attention to a monstrous whirlpool that was slowly, inevitably drawing her towards it. She did not resist. Sitting motionless, her mouth open, tongue hanging out, drool dripped down the front of her coarse cotton coat. Her closed eyes no longer watched as the yawning whirlpool pulled her vessel toward its depths. Slasher Annie had lost consciousness—her brain shut down by terror—long before the craft was smashed to a zillion pieces as it was sucked into the vortex. Pulling the entire river underground, the whirlpool let nothing escape, except for luckless creatures that were picked out of the water by Skull Buzzards before they reached the eye of the whirlpool. After that, not even a Skull Buzzard was strong enough to pull something out of the current. Not even mist escaped into the sky from where the river plunged deep underground. Where it came out again, no one knew.
Eating Grubs and Beetles
The brilliant morning sun was insistent, stirring Helga from her sleep. She winced immediately—pain shot through every inch of her body. Her shoulders, legs and back felt like burning coals were buried in them. Slowly, she tested her movement. Pain and more pain. She could not move her legs, and one of her arms seemed useless.
Remembering what had occurred, she looked around to see if her attackers were still present. No one could be seen. She remembered vaguely that she had seen them going over the side of the cliff during a brief fit of wakefulness.
“Papa!” she thought solemnly. Then her sense of practical courage went to work. “Well, I’m no good to Papa now. If the All allows, the Ancient Ones will assist him. I’ve got to see to my wounds.” Helga realized that there was nothing she could do for her father now. She must place her focus on protecting and healing herself.
Unable to stand on her mangled legs, and weak from her wounds, Helga dragged herself toward some nearby bushes. The ground was damp around them and inching a little further, Helga found a trickle of water. Somewhat further on, she also found some Raven berries. Filling one of her pockets with the fruit and soaking a piece of torn cloth in water, she struggled back to her pack.
She greedily stuffed the fruits in her mouth and soon her mouth was stained with purple juice. Using the piece of water-soaked cloth, Helga cleaned her wounds as best she could. Using some of the birdwood leaves that she always carried rolled up in her leggings for emergencies, she packed leaves and mud on the worst of her injuries. Birdwood poltice was known for its healing properties. The soothing effect strengthened Helga to drag her belongings over into a shady spot.
By the time she had done these things, Helga was exhausted. Terribly weak and with only one of her arms and legs working, every activity drained her energy. Finding a few pieces of rock crackers in her pocket, Helga lay down, sucking on the rock crackers while she rested. “Well, I’ll just rest a while until the heat of the day passes. Then we’ll see.” Pulling her wide-brimmed hat over her eyes, she slipped into a peaceful doze.
Later, able to sleep only fitfully, Helga considered the situation. She did not know exactly where she was. Somewhere in the Don’ot Stumb Mountains, she knew. From the higher vantage point she now had at the top of the cliff, she could see that the mountains went on and on. Somewhere, though, she knew the mountains ended to the east. With her mobility so limited, she could not see as much as she wished, but she knew her hope lay in the direction of the rising sun. “We began this journey with our faces set toward the new day,” Helga thought grimly, “and we will not leave that hope behind. I think not of the past, but of the future. No matter what may have happened to Papa, I cannot live in the past and in fear. I will live in hope and for the future. This was our pledge when we left the Hedgelands, and I will not turn from our decision.” Helga felt that, even if she were not to see her father again, this was the choice he would also make in such circumstances.
From that time on, Helga moved toward the east. Each day, for the next month, Helga dragged herself toward the rising sun. To conserve energy and water, she traveled only a few hours in the morning and a few hours just before and after sunset, when it was cool but there was enough light to see the way. Little by little, each day Helga’s wounds improved. As she changed the mud and birdwood leaves dressing each day, she saw injuries that looked less ugly and she was freer from pain. But the deep damage was done. Her legs would not work fully and she had trouble controlling the use of one of her arms. Nevertheless, little by little, Helga learned to make the best of her arms.
Day after day, she half-crawled and pulled herself over the rough terrain. Living mostly on wild cherries and berries, Helga was gradually able to forage more widely as she gained strength. Sometimes she would find the carcasses of large pike and trout that eagles had caught but had only partially eaten. Making a small fire with her flint and some dried grass; she would roast the fish and hungrily feast on it.
As the days wore on and Helga steadily gained strength, she was able to increase her rate of travel. Each day now, she covered what she guessed was more than a mile. Her improved rate of progress, however, was still far too slow. Her clothes were quickly falling into tatters and the night temperatures were cold. She knew that she would have to do something else.
On the 14th day after the attack, Helga decided that she must try to stand. Using a tree to pull herself upright, excruciating pain shot through her legs. Gritting her teeth, she held on. Feeling dizzy and with tears filling her eyes, she tried desperately to maintain her balance. “DO NOT PASS OUT, HELGA! DO NOT PASS OUT! CALL ON THE ANCIENT ONES!” she commanded herself silently. Gradually, several minutes of shakiness passed. Helga’s legs were painful but, clinging to the tree, she found that she could steady herself.
Feeling greatly encouraged by her brief experiment, Helga slumped back to the ground. She realized that with the help of some support, she could learn
to hobble. It might be painful, but at least she would make better progress. She had to be out of the mountains by winter or perish. Even without the onset of winter, the risks were great. Her best hope was to go on and find some kind of settlement. Surely the lands before her were not completely uninhabited.
Despite her grim prospects, she felt strangely happy. “The pain is not enough to stop me,” she thought happily. “I was afraid that my legs would not hold me up, but I can hobble along. By the power of the Ancients, I think I can get through this...” Helga leaned back against a tree and began to consider her next move.
She planned to use her flicker-pole as a walking stick, but thought her progress would be faster if she could make a comfortable armrest for it. By the end of the day, she had located a sturdy scrub oak branch. She used a large rock as sandpaper to fashion a detachable armrest piece that attached to the flicker-pole, so she could use it more easily as a crutch. Helga picked this particular branch because it looked strong and had a curiously pleasant sound coming from one of its gnarled curves. Helga, in all her years as a Wood Cow, had never heard such a sweet, but unusual, tone in a piece of wood. It sounded like it would make a very comfortable crutch. Now her flicker-pole could be used both as a staff and as a crutch. Helga found that with this additional help, she could now make perhaps two miles a day. Still not great, but better.
She wondered if she would ever find help. How could she possibly survive in the wilderness like this? Although her wounds had gradually healed, she was losing weight from lack of proper food. The little food she could locate was mostly fruits and roots and sometimes a bit of scavenged fish. Lately, there had been no fish and she was reduced to turning over rocks and rotting logs to find grubs and beetles. When she found nice, fat grubs, she squashed them and squeezed the slippery goo through a piece of cloth, straining it. This she mixed with pollen she collected to make a paste. Adding some cherry juice made the taste palatable. Although it was surprisingly nutritious, she continued to lose weight and spent more time each day gathering food. It took a lot of grubs, pollen, and fruit to make enough paste to feed her. How long could she continue?
