“Maybe we should have been a little quieter?” Gherant asked, in a whisper, frozen in place.
Taojhi just looked sideways at him. “A little late to be planning strategy.”
The bear was still young. But it was clearly beyond the cute and harmless stage of its growth.
“What do we do?” Gherant asked.
“Drop the honey and leave.”
“Noway,” Gherant hissed, defiantly refusing to relinquish his prize.
Taojhi just looked sideways at him, incredulous.
“What other ideas?” Gherant asked, “Don’t you have something that will… I don’t know… something?” he asked getting worried.
“You mean like a ‘bear go home’ spell? No,” she said. She knew his mind was racing, trying to think of some magic that he could use against the bear. They both knew his arsenal was limited, and she hoped he didn’t try anything. Especially nothing foolish, like fire- not in a forest. She was relieved when the magic showed no signs of fire or burning, as he quickly magicked up and threw some rocks at it. Not one of his better plans. And now the bear was annoyed as well as hungry.
“Run!” Taojhi cried out. And the two of them bolted down the slope at a dead run, Gherant holding tightly onto the flask that still seeped honey around the mouth.
The bear was startled by the sudden change, and took a moment to process what had just happened. So the two of them had a headstart of a couple of moments. But the bear put its nose up, sniffed the air, and knew which way its honey had fled, and took off after it.
They could hear crashing behind them, which told them how close the bear was getting.
“Drop the honey!” Taojhi yelled to Gherant as they raced down the hill.
“Noway!” he shouted back, defiant.
The two ran full out. Neither of them precisely terrified, but not wanting to find out what the bear had in mind- even as it was gaining on them.
They could clearly hear it running behind them, even the panting breath. So they knew that it was only a few strides back, and closing the distance between them.
“Drop the damned flask!” Taojhi cried out, a little more insistent now.
Gherant looked torn. But they never got the chance to find out what he would do. Distracted, he hit a root, and tripped. He went sprawling down, and rolled a few times before coming to a stop.
That was all the additional time the bear needed to catch up. It made a beeline for Gherant, who was down. But more importantly, he was the one in possession of the honey.
Gherant, still defiant, tried to wrest the honey away, in what became a comical wrestling match- one which Gherant was fated to lose. The bear sat on Gherant, grasping the soft leather flask.
The bear, brazen in its victory, ate its prize right there, perched comfortably on Gherant. He licked the flask thoroughly, until every drop of honey was removed. Gherant looked hopeful at that point. Taojhi thought maybe the bear would think the honey was all gone, and leave. She didn’t give the bear enough credit- either for intelligence or for determination.
It nuzzled the flask back and forth, and chewed at the soft leather. It didn’t take long, for the bear’s sharp teeth to put a few holes in the flask, and honey seeped out. A little bear-sound that could only be pure delight and victory, and the bear leaned back, on Gherant, as it worked on getting every last drop of honey out of the flask.
Taojhi waited nearby, squatting next to a tree, upwind. Watching. Waiting. Gherant looked at her, pleading silently ‘do something!” but she stayed back- amused and smug.
Finally, the bear finished, dropped the flask, and shuffled its way off of its quarry. Gherant, still suffering the indignity, sat up, grabbing the now empty and ruined flask, and threw it at the retreating bear, cursing at it.
The bear seemed to have the same exact understanding of the entire situation. They watched as it stopped, paw raised in mid-step, and looked back over its shoulder at Gherant.
It made its way back to Gherant with an expression that was clear to read. It sat on its haunches directly in front of Gherant and bellowed. Not a full blast attack bellow, but loud enough to be an undeniable scolding. Then the bear swiped at Gherant, just enough to knock him over, and Gherant rolled face down onto the ground. The bear sniffed Gherant, paws on his shoulders in a way that almost felt intentional.
Gherant had the very bad luck and timing to curse at the bear under his breath- bit of defiance was his own small refusal to sink into utter defeat.
The bear responded with a grunt of its own, and to make completely sure everyone understood the situation, the bear pissed all over Gherants back- completely soaking his clothes, before wandering back up the hill.
Over by the tree, Taojhi was clearly laughing hysterically to herself.
Gherant just laid there, and then looked up to be sure that the bear was truly gone this time, Gherant roused himself, brushing leaves and dirt off of himself.
“By the nine hells! Why didn’t you SHOOT the damned thing!” he yelled, but only loud enough for the two of them.
Taojhi blinked at him. “It was clear that no real harm was intended, and you brought it on yourself” she said as simply as if any child should have known. “It only wanted the honey. Obviously.” The unspoken words hung in the air. But every time she opened her mouth to speak, she burst into another round of sniggering.
She helped him gather his gear and put things back in order, before heading the rest of the way down the mountain- this time at a more leisurely pace. She made a subtle attempt to keep a distance between them; the smell of urine on him was strong and rank.
Neither of them spoke: Gherant still recovering his pride, and Taojhi knowing she would only end up laughing at him again.
Partway down, she commented, “One of the primary lessons of magic? Have a plan.”
Gherant nodded. Taojhi hoped he had learned his lesson. But she also knew her cousin, too well, to imagine this would be the end of their escapades.
“Well, there are still the small jars buried in the packs. So I still get to decide on desert, at least”
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More about TJ
TJ’s life experience is broad as well as deep. From making swords, to training horses, and even a fully initiated practicing shaman. As a writer, she draws on all of her past experiences to create rich and diverse worlds. Her world, of Chanmyr blends fantasy, magic, and deeper social issues. And she loves goats!
http://tjmuir.com, to find more stories and updates on latest writing- and see pictures of her goats!
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AVAILABLE JULY 2016
Jedda had the purse in his hand. He was just about to turn away when a hand grabbed him by the wrist, stopping him in his tracks. The grip held him firmly, and all attempts to twist himself free- failed. The hand that grabbed him was much larger than his own. And it belonged to a very well dressed, clean and elegant man. Cold sweat beaded on the back of his neck, as he froze. He was both terrified and truly surprised. How had he gotten caught? He never got caught.
Jedda didn’t know what might happen to a boy caught stealing from a So’Har. Did they hang people for that? He really didn’t know. He had heard horror stories- but he presumed most of those were the kind of tales that always circulated through the back alleys and hidey-holes. People told stories, especially to young children and newcomers, stories to scare them, and also to serve as cautions, warnings.
“You’re very good,” The well-dressed man said, towering over him. Jedda looked up at the man through straggly red-blond hair tangled and messy. He stood frozen, like a rabbit before the hawk, not even daring to blink.
“Where are you from, boy?” the man asked. Still silent, a tiny quiver, barely a twitch, of the deep fear he felt. The
man shook him by the collar, holding him firmly- but trying not to make contact with the very unwashed boy he had in his grip. “Where do you live? Speak up! Don’t press my patience.”
“Below the canals,” Jedda spit out, trying to tell enough to satisfy the man, but vague enough not to give away any of his friends, or the little hiding-hole that had been his home for several years now.
The man nodded, as though his suspicions were confirmed. He looked Jedda up and down, taking in some level of information, or weighing a decision. Jedda felt that his fate was, literally, in this man’s hands, in this very moment.
“You survive on the streets?” he asked.
Jedda nodded in reply, a bare flicker of movement.
“You don’t normally get caught, do you?”
Jedda shook his head, a tiny motion, no.
“Just a bit ‘lucky,’ at your street skills?”
Another nod.
“And you’re very good at moving around, and going unnoticed?”
Jedda nodded again, wondering how this strange man knew him so well. The two sides of his mind raced, chasing down the aspects of the question. Did the man know him? And, why would he, a homeless, fatherless half-breed, be of any interest to this wealthy, powerful man.
“Now. If I were of a mind, I could sit you in a hot kettle of fish,” the man noted, eyes narrowing.
And look for The Chanmyr Chronicles: Book1 coming Fall 2016
Poking the Bear Page 2
