The Mission Begins

by Kevin J. Fitzgerald

The King smiled and said, “The rest of you were too busy trying to offer something that only you had, as though it would be you who saved the kingdom through your own uniqueness. But the Lamb,” the King looked down upon the radiant Lamb and nodded. “He brought something which all of you had, but none of you were willing to offer. Something so simple . . . but highly costly.” The kindly King looked out at them all, and at last the chendrith began to understand. “Therefore,” the King said, “the Lamb will be given all the powers of the chendrith combined. And He will reign over you in a time of beauty and peace.”

  At the King’s words, and gazing upon the indisputable radiance of the Lamb Himself, the chendrith fell to their knees. Not in guilt or shame, but in acknowledgement that this Lamb who had once seemed so meek and lowly (but who now was so lordly and powerful) had, in His humility, done something none of them dared attempt. He was indeed worthy of their allegiance.

  From that day forward the Lamb ruled in wisdom, and justice, and harmony.

  But because the chendrith had each initially come forth to offer their talents, the King also set those chendrith in the sky to be remembered forever more.

  “And so, above us,” Frenjoo concluded, “we have—watching over us, as our protectors and guides—the great Grypha, and Renfu, and Yarbouta, and Looma, and all the other chendrith of that kingdom. And some say,” Frenjoo yawned, for the night was indeed far spent. “Some say. . . that when any great evil overtakes the chendrith today it is because of the Curse of Bane. But one day, the Lamb will return—this time with the strength of a lion, the wings of an eagle, and the service of an ox—to completely destroy Bane once and for all . . . and set the chendrith free forever.”

  With that, Frenjoo fell silent.

  The hay-room was quiet, save only for the slowed breathing of the three companions as they drifted to sleep.

  §

  Paladin started from the dream and woke to the quiet dark of the hay-room. Without realizing it he was up on all fours, ready to flee. For a moment he was disoriented, not remembering where he was. Then the events of recent days bled back into his mind as he saw the sleeping forms of Frenjoo and Rolo nearby.

  Sleep provided a sweet escape for a time.

  But then, even in sleep, troubled thoughts had come. And a dream, a dream he could not now remember, had bubbled from the subconscious to force him awake.

  Paladin hovered in the strange place between sleeping and waking, and wondered if all of this could actually be happening.

  Was he really setting off on some desperate quest? Or was it all some sort of crazy dream?

  Eventually, he lay back down. The hay-den was quiet and pleasant—the perfect environment for thoughts to stray into dreams. He noticed humorously that even in his sleep, Frenjoo’s leg twitched. When sleep eluded him, Paladin hopped to where the tunnel they had carved led out of the room. He stood by the opening, letting the cool night air drift from below and caress his face. It reminded him of life at Tanglewood so long ago.

  But the breeze also brought something else: Paladin heard sniffing and perhaps scratching a bit. There was a smell. He couldn’t quite place it, but knew he had smelled it before. The scent was masked by the strong odor of the hay itself. But, something was alerted to their apartment within the hay bales. He wondered if it was the fox he had seen earlier that day. A few moments later, Paladin shrank back from the tunnel opening and lay down in the hay. Their talk earlier had been of adventures and heroism. Now, in the wee small hours of the morning, Paladin’s mind turned to what risks lay ahead for them; what dangers, what unknown perils. The room seemed smaller and darker and much less safe.

  Paladin closed his eyes. Eventually sleep returned, but it was not as peaceful as it had been before. Broken and disjointed dreams troubled him, so that even when Frenjoo woke him several hours later, Paladin felt tired.

  Almost as if he had been running from something all night.

  CHAPTER 12

  “A Rude Awakening”

  In the morning, Paladin and Rolo contented themselves to make breakfast from the smorgasbord of hay all around them. Frenjoo, however, was a bit more particular about the menu. He was just about to explain exactly why a second excursion for food (like the one he made the night before) would be so virtuous, when, all of a sudden, there came without warning a most horrible lurching sound! Before any of them knew what was happening, the world around them began to shift and slide and seemed to melt. All their eyes, ears, and noses became almost completely blocked with hay dust. Instinctively, they scrambled. This was no calculated maneuver on their part; it was sheer survival!

  All their guesses would have come up empty at this point. None of them could have estimated, or imagined, exactly what was happening. It seemed to them as though the world simply collapsed around them! Their bearings became lost in the pandemonium; they could no longer tell which direction was up or down. The feeling was not unlike being submerged in extremely dark water, but unable to tell in which direction the surface lies (which, my friends, is a horrible feeling, indeed!).

  Frenjoo tunneled a few seconds in one direction, only to backtrack and start again in another. Paladin used his strong forepaws to dig a close, burrow-like run through the hay, only to come up against a metal wall that vibrated with a dreadful humming that threatened to drown out rational thought. In the midst of the chaos, Paladin sniffed at the metal: a sharp, acrid, rusty smell that, impossibly, cut through the world of hay. Paladin wrinkled his nose and recoiled. From faraway—perhaps somewhere below, or perhaps above!—Paladin could hear the voice of Rolo calling out. It was like the voice of a sea captain crying to his crew above the raging storm.

  Rolo was the only one among them who maintained his senses. He remained stationary within the hay, and simply carved out a small cavity in front of his face so he could breathe. Then, he waited. He wanted to get his bearings before simply starting off in any one direction. It did not take him long, however, to realize that his two companions had not been so level-headed. He called out for them, again remaining stationary so that they might be drawn to his voice. Although his exact words were unintelligible to the other two, his efforts proved worthy. Soon, the fuzzy head of Frenjoo poked out at him from within the hay.

  “What’s happening?” the squirrel panted frantically, then asked again, louder, “What’s happening?!”

  “I don’t know.” Rolo shrugged. “My guess is . . . something to do with the elahs.”

  “Elahs,” Frenjoo whispered. His eyes darted in every direction, as if at any moment one of the tall, two-footed man-creatures would rip back their cover of hay and reach in a terrible hand to snatch them up. Then, as if remembering something he had lost, Frenjoo looked at Rolo and blurted out, “Where’s the rabbit?”

  “I don’t know,” Rolo replied, biting his lip in thought. Rolo was a straightforward, no-nonsense kind of pig. He spoke his mind freely, even when not asked. He had no qualms admitting when he didn’t know something. Like now. The two looked at each for a moment, and then, without a word, they both began calling for Paladin.

  Paladin stared dumbly at the metal wall before him. He wondered what on earth it could mean. He couldn’t guess, but it did give him an idea. His first instinct had been to retreat the way he had come. But after a moment, he turned instead and began to burrow sideways through the hay along the metal wall, keeping it always on his right. He didn’t know exactly what it was, but reckoned that this wall was either the inside or the outside of some sort of elahs-peilo. It was artificial, whatever it was. Which meant that most likely it had an end somewhere. If not, he would eventually find his way back through this burrow he had already begun, and he would then know that he was going in circles. And, as his Da used to say, Paladin would jump off that bridge when he came to it.

  After a few moments of fruitless yelling for the rabbit, Rolo and Frenjoo fell silent. “What are we going to do?” Frenjoo asked hoarsely, and coughed. In spite of the loud thrumming that seemed to come from all a
round them, Rolo could still detect the quivering in the squirrel’s voice. Rolo was silent a moment, then said one word: “Spit.”

  The guinea pig’s answer was so blunt, so absurdly different from anything the squirrel had expected to hear, that it actually begged a laugh from him. “What?” he scoffed.

  Rather than repeat himself, Rolo simply demonstrated his own command. He spat, very slowly, letting a thin line of saliva drip from his mouth. When it finally fell from his lips, however, Frenjoo noticed that, oddly, the spittle fell up. Rather than dripping off the guinea pig’s chin, as it should, the line of saliva rose up and past his nose. Frenjoo narrowed his eyes and tilted his head sideways. He looked at Rolo for help.

  Noticing the curious look in his companion’s eyes Rolo wiped his nose, smiled, and said, “Down is up.” He quickly discerned that his statement had not helped his friend to understand in the slightest. Then, Rolo added very quickly, “We’re upside down, squirrel!” Without another word, Rolo turned himself around in the hay and began to tunnel.

  Still not comprehending completely, but sure that Rolo was on to something, Frenjoo followed without a word. He was overwhelmed with gratitude for the pig’s sensibility and calm nature, and admired him. “But what about Paladin?” Frenjoo asked shortly.

  “We have to trust that the rabbit is finding his own way,” Rolo said, still digging. “Or,” he added to himself more quietly, “that he has already met with some other fate.”

  After a few moments of hot, dusty digging, Frenjoo saw bright, warm sunlight ahead, just past Rolo’s cobby little body. Before long, the two of them were pulling themselves out—like weary sailors emerging after months of tour from the belly of a dark, cramped submarine—onto a hay surface to see trees whizzing past on both sides. The vibrating noise was louder in the open now, and they were struck with the unnatural stench of petrol and exhaust.

  “I knew it!” Rolo barked. “The elahs!” He helped Frenjoo out of the hole they had just dug, and looked around, quickly assessing their situation. They were situated atop a huge mound of hay that had apparently been scooped up by some sort of mans-thing. From what he could observe, the mans-thing was fitted with a large, jointed bucket-like arm in front which it used to carry the hay. They were now perched atop a pile of hay that the bucket-arm had deposited into some kind of receptacle that was being pulled behind the mans-thing. And my, how it rattled and shook! The large vehicle itself went steaming along through a large, open field in the bright sunshine of early morning, belching out thick, black smoke behind it. It flew over their heads, looking ominous and evil, like the smoke of a dragon.

  Frenjoo looked up and followed the smoke with his eyes as it trailed behind them. Far back in the distance, at the end of two darker tracks of disturbed green that had been cut through the dimmer field of still-fresh, dew-covered grass, Frenjoo could make out the stack of haybales in which they had passed the night. It disappeared slowly in the distance now, no more than a disturbed shape on the horizon.

  In the opposite direction, up in front of them, and seated within a small glass case—seated somehow within the very belly of the mans-thing itself—Rolo could see one of the elahs. The elahs’ back was to them, and its hands worked back and forth rapidly. The hay they rode upon jostled this way and that as the mans-thing trundled along noisily, grunting and groaning like a huge metal dinosaur. Of course, all of this takes time to write down, but Rolo and Frenjoo took it all in within seconds, and then turned to look at each other.

  “Come on!” Rolo shouted, waving for Frenjoo to follow.

  Slowly, they worked their way across the hay mound, stopping from time to time to catch their balance. Before long they stood at the very edge of the hay itself, looking down upon the dewy ground far below. It seemed an awfully long distance away! And it seemed to be moving by really fast.

  Frenjoo whistled upon seeing it.

  Without hesitation, however, Rolo said matter-of-factly, “We’ve got to jump.”

  “W-w-what?” Frenjoo protested. “What do you mean. . .” He swallowed, and then finished, “. . .jump?”

  The guinea pig looked at the squirrel for a moment, quite frustrated, then said, “What do you think I mean, Frenjoo? We can’t stay here. There’s no telling where we’ll end up! We’ve got to jump now if we’re going to retain any sense at all of where we are!”

  “But-But-But. . .” the frightened squirrel stuttered.

  “But nothing!” Rolo cut him off. Without another word, he leaned forward and shoved the squirrel. Frenjoo cried as he fell but, being a squirrel, he hit the ground running. Literally. Rolo had anticipated this, and smiled. His main concern had been that Frenjoo would become over-excited and end up running in the wrong direction—in other words, under the mans-thing. But he was delighted to see that Frenjoo darted away from it—Whatever it was.

  Soon enough, Frenjoo caught up and scampered alongside the mans-thing, between it and a nearby fence. The squirrel looked up at Rolo teetering on the edge of the hay, and cried out, “Come on! Come on, Rolo! It’s not that bad after all!”

  “Easy for you to say,” Rolo muttered, and then added quickly, “You squirrel!”

  From where Frenjoo was, he only saw Rolo nod in his usual fashion, and wave a hand.

  Rolo felt his stomach tighten. He hated heights; always had. And, whereas Frenjoo, being a squirrel, was used to making long jumps like this, having grown up around trees his whole life, Rolo was a guinea pig: an animal not exactly known for acrobatic prowess. Thinking this very thing, Rolo leaned forward, trying to gauge the distance to the ground. Then, he looked ahead, trying to see if he could spy a particularly soft-looking patch of grass along the fence line. There seemed to be one approaching, so Rolo readied himself. But all of a sudden, the entire mans-thing bounced dramatically, and Rolo went flying! The guinea pig squealed in terror as he flew comically through the air.

  Frenjoo watched in astonishment as Rolo landed violently with a thud some feet away.

  The breath was knocked from Rolo’s body, and he saw stars.

  Within moments Frenjoo was bent over him, pawing him repeatedly, like some kind of emotionally-dependent paramedic. “Are you okay, Rolo? Are you okay?” He asked over and over. “That was quite a fall you took. Why didn’t you just jump like you told me to? Huh?” Slowly, Frenjoo helped Rolo to his feet, and the guinea pig shook his head, trying to collect his wits.

  His beret had come off mid-flight and he spied it nearby. As he slowly stumbled toward it to retrieve it, something caught his eye, and his wits returned at full force. “Zut alors!” he cried.

  “Do what?” Frenjoo asked.

  “Zee rabbit!” Rolo exclaimed, and looked at Frenjoo. Before waiting for a response, Rolo said it again, and pointed. “Zee rabbit! Paladin!” Without another word, the guinea pig reaffixed his small beret and took off as fast as his little feet would carry him after the tractor (which is, of course, what they had been on).

  Still a bit confused, Frenjoo followed after Rolo at a moderate pace, since the guinea pig could travel nowhere near as fast as he could. But, when Frenjoo saw what the guinea pig had spied, he eventually tore past him in the direction of the tractor. For there, teetering on the edge of the hay scoop, silhouetted against the pale grey of early morning sky, was Paladin, his long ears flattened out behind him. Rolo and Frenjoo ran with all their might through the thick, damp grass, but the mans-thing pulled out steadily ahead. And still, there was no sign of Paladin jumping. Rolo quickly was out of breath and his side began to cramp. His pace slowed. “Keep going,” he cried to Frenjoo. And the squirrel pressed on.

  Finally, just as the mans-thing was rounding a bend at the foot of a small slope in the field, Rolo and Frenjoo saw Paladin leap from the tractor and land with a roll in the grass. The mans-thing did not slow, and continued on, taking no more notice of its three former stowaways. Their adventure with it was over, and soon, the “it” was little more than a slowly dying mechanical sound disappearing in the distan
ce.

  By the time Rolo and Frenjoo reached Paladin, they were relieved to see that he was up and licking himself and checking for bruises and such. He paused and looked as he saw them both coming. “Never a dull moment?” he quipped good-naturedly, and smiled. “I suppose we should say “good morning” then.”

  Tired and breathless, the companions had a good laugh about this as the tractor vanished into the mist of the early morning field.

  They found a good patch of thick grass to nibble upon (they felt they deserved it, especially since they had never “officially” had breakfast). Once again, Frenjoo tried to like the grass, but eventually decided to gnaw at one of the wooden fence posts nearby.

  “All right then,” Paladin said when they had finished. “Everyone all right?”

  “Fine,” Rolo said in a tone that indicated he thought anything but that.

  Frenjoo didn’t notice, but Paladin looked at the guinea pig questioningly.

  “It’s just that,” Rolo began, “we’ve completely lost our bearings, mes amies. We have no clue whatsoever of which direction to go.”

  The three of them fell silent a moment and stood in the warmth of the rising sun. The bugs were just awakening to the warmth themselves, and the field began to buzz and click in different places. The smell of petrol and exhaust finally dissipated, and the field became a lovely mixture of scents in the morning air. Nearby, a scarecrow had drawn a few residents who cawed ritually.

  “Not good,” Paladin said, and swallowed a last mouthful of grass. Again, there was silence between them, and the three of them listened to the quiet hush of a breeze rustling through the boughs of nearby trees.

  It was Frenjoo who spoke suddenly. “Why not ask him?” he pointed.

  The other two turned to see where Frenjoo was pointing.

  Rolo let out a small gasp. For there they saw—across the adjoining field, perched upon a low branch of a tree along the edge of a small wood—a single white Dove. It seemed to take no notice of them.