The Wilder World

by Jeff Hook

  Karugo grabbed one of the thicker, taller ones and started shimmying up.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Looking to see how far the bamboo forest goes.”

  He got above the leaves and felt the stalk sway. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea… but while he was here, he might as well look around.

  In the distance to the southeast, he could see the city. To the east was the ocean, and to the west he could see the mountain that dominated that side of the island. To the north, maybe a mile away, the bamboo forest turned into grassland. A herd of large horned animals grazed there, shimmering strangely in the light.

  “We’re close!” he announced, then shimmied down.

  As they walked, Hishano seemed deep in contemplation. Eventually he spoke. “Maybe different people need different environments. Under the crystal, all you did was make trouble. Now you’re risking your life to help a farmer.”

  “Well, yeah,” said Karugo, satisfied that Hishano finally understood. “It’s because my grandpa bred me to be a hero.”

  “So we just need to find the right environment for everyone and we save the world.”

  “That should be easy, right?”

  “Definitely,” agreed Hishano.

  “I wonder what the right environment is for that Knyn…”

  Hishano didn’t answer, however, because suddenly the earth started to shake.

  16

  Heist

  Ishū slipped into the minds of the nearby animals — the mice and the crox and the cats, because the bugs seemed to have even less consciousness than fish — and looked through their eyes, saw what they were seeing, heard their thoughts. He couldn’t affect anything while he was here, and he could only peek through one pair of eyes at a time, but it allowed him to have an amazing view of the city. If a crox was looking through a window, so was he. If a mouse was looking out of a hole in the wall, so was he. If a cat was perched atop a chimney, so was he. This ability to see through their eyes went for a radius of about half a mile, it seemed, but he could sense the presence and movement of animals for much farther.

  With this ability, surely he could find a way to make money. His initial plan had been to be a pest control agent, asking the animals to move to a different place for a month or so. However, that required more persuasive power than he seemed to possess — both with the animals and with the humans! If he did get lucky and make one group buy in to his plan, it was almost assured that the other group would disagree.

  He dove into the minds of the animals. They craved three things: safety, food, and mates. Safety he couldn’t guarantee. Becoming a mouse matchmaker was ridiculous. But food…. he could buy their favorite foods with some of his payment from helping Alfalfa and bribe them with that. He probably couldn’t bribe them to do something like stay away for a month, but for smaller tasks, where he could easily judge whether they’d been completed… yes, that could work.

  Now he just needed some task that would generate money.

  He drifted through the mouse and crox population until something caught his eye: the Knyn. She had money. Money that wasn’t really hers. Probably stored in a house, which was where mice were really good at going… and money seemed to be just the perfect size for mice to carry.

  He jumped between the eyes of the different mice, following the Knyn without asking for any favors or having any single animal trail her. Once she’d reached her house and gone in, he got to work. The mice hungrily pointed him to a specific sweetbread merchant whose products they swore by. The merchant himself had three stray cats hanging around, ones who had learned that being near this man often led to a tasty dinner of fresh rodent. After buying several loaves he found an alleyway near the Knyn’s house and began recruiting helpers.

  The talking man has sweetbread, he’s promised to give us some.

  Please tell us. We’ll do anything for that sweetbread.

  Yes, this would go very well.

  He described the idea of coins as best he could. It seemed that if he thought of an image, that image would transmit to the animals almost as well as a word, and an image of a coin was much easier than describing the concept of money to an animal. He barely understood it himself.

  Bring me these and you will get sweetbread. They are in the cat-human’s house. As he said ‘cat-human’ he sent the image of the Knyn, and thought of the path to her house.

  He could sense animals scurrying toward the Knyn’s house, converging. Most of them were mice. He could tell by the paths they took, slow and leisurely through the narrow insides of walls and then rushing quickly across open ground until reaching cover once again. There were also a few cats that joined in, happy to find easy hunting.

  Could the animals sense each other? It seemed that they had some sort of limited communication, at the very least the ability to speak with nearby animals of the same type.

  He singled out a nearby crox; it wouldn’t be involved in the quest that he’d given the mice — and, unintentionally, the cats.

  Can you talk with other animals?

  You are the speaking monster? it asked.

  You think us monsters?

  We huddle in the corners of your shells, dashing away from your sticks and your boots, avoiding your poisons and traps, hoping to catch the bugs that your sewage feeds. Most of you are capricious, powerful, and emit a hideous unintelligent babbling. What else would you call yourselves but monsters?

  Great. All he wanted was a bit of information, but the uncooperative crox was trying to entangle him in philosophy. So creatures like me are the only animals that do not speak?

  Yes, in the entire world. We once had different languages, but now all creatures except humans and the bugs they grow have learned to speak with each other… even if some use this power only for threats and other crudities.

  That was interesting. The entire world…. How big is the world?

  At least ten times as big as this monster habitat… it is a giant world with sky-reaching rocks, thin waters, stick forests, deep forests, watery mushy grounds, underground paths… from the never-ending waters to the never-ending waters, this world… wait, how do you not know the size of the world? Are you a child-monster?

  There’s more to the world than this island, little frog.

  Little frog? I’ll have you know—

  The conversation was interrupted when one of the mice squeaked a question: is this a coin?

  Ishū’s heart leapt with anticipation. He peeked through the mouse’s eyes and saw a wondrous scene. The room was dimly lit; there were no windows here and one lamp was the sole source of illumination. The mouse was on a desk. Aside from the lamp, the desk was littered with ink-stained papers and half-written missives, dominated by a passed-out Knyn (ten minutes home and already asleep?), and scattered with coins.

  Yes! he thought excitedly. Those are coins! You’ll get a chunk of sweetbread for each coin you bring me!

  It was so beautiful that Ishū almost started crying. There were dozens of mezcops all across the desk, and those were good, but then there were a few mezsil… get just a few of those and all their worries would be over.

  Silver ones get a huge chunk of sweetbread, he told his rodent minions.

  The mouse he’d spoken to was one of the first to reach the desk, but hundreds of others crawled across the floor en masse, becoming a moving money-fetching carpet. The mouse attempted to grab multiple silver coins, but he was only able to get one.

  That’s okay. I have lots of sweetbread.

  The mouse seemed satisfied and grabbed the one, then jumped down from the desk, tucking and rolling to protect himself and keep hold of the coin.

  That was when the madness began.

  The other mice quickly realized there weren’t enough silver coins for all of them, and a gang of four converged on the first mouse. He tried to dart through them, but one rammed him, knocking the coin loose. Two others grabbed it and dashed off… but then a small but quick mouse slipped between them and took
the coin away from them… but then it collapsed under the weight after only a few steps. The gang of four bit at the thief and proceeded with the coin... before being intercepted by a gang of five.

  Every silver coin became the center of a vicious brawl. There simply weren’t enough to go around.

  Many mice were smart and satisfied themselves with a mezcop. Those mostly stayed away from the violence. Others searched the side rooms of the house, their efforts fruitless except for one cupboard which contained a couple mezsil.

  Fights broke out around those mezsil as well, and it only got worse as more mice poured into the house.

  Don’t fight! I have plenty of sweetbread!

  They ignored him and continued fighting.

  Then the Knyn woke up. She shrieked, leaping on top of her chair to get away from the hundreds of mice fighting tooth and nail on her floor. That wasn’t enough to save her… a mouse had already taken a flying leap from the desk, grasping a mezcop, and rammed straight into the Knyn’s leg and bounced off.

  She must have realized that it was her money they were running off with, because she quickly went from frightened and shrieking to angry. She pounded across the floor and grabbed a broom, then started wielding it, furiously smashing it against the floor.

  The fights broke up, the current possessor of each mezsil being declared the winner, and the mice horde started running out of the house.

  Nearly half of them had some sort of coin! Ishū might end up with double what he needed! It would be especially sweet that the money the Knyn stole from Seth had been stolen in turn from her.

  Sweetbread is waiting, he said. Come safe.

  The Knyn stood solidly in front of a locked metal box, broom in both hands, angry and crying. What was in that box?

  Maybe next time he could figure that out, if he felt like it. He didn’t really need to, though — he would have plenty after this, and he could spend the rest of their time here just talking with the animals, exploring, or helping Seth. It gave him a nice peaceful feeling thinking of that.

  The way back out, however, was harder than the way in. Cats had gathered, pouncing at their slower-than-usual prey, ending lives with a single swipe. They went through the mice indiscriminately, killing them with hungry, wicked grins.

  As sad as that made Ishū, at least other mice were coming in and grabbing the mezsil and some of the mezcop that got dropped.

  But cats weren’t the only predators around.

  Villagers saw the money and they got a strange lustful glow in their eye. Every human, it seemed, wanted money. And while most wouldn’t hurt another human for it, they had no problem hurting mice.

  Hands twice as big as the average mouse reached down to snatch away coins. Feet stomped and kicked, knocking away mice and coins alike. Some got down on their hands and knees, laying an arm on the ground and trying to block the path of the money-carrying mice; sometimes the mice would run over or around it, but sometimes the human swung the arm and successfully separated mouse from coin.

  You lied, a mouse accused him. You got us to find the coin, then sent the other humans so you wouldn’t have to give us sweetbread.

  No! I’ve never met them before, and I didn’t know they would do this!

  Human boys and girls ran away from the scene, gleefully holding up one or two mezcops. Several hungry-looking men were more tenacious, pocketing each coin and then going after more, hunting down individual mice.

  By now all the mezsil were gone.

  This was a massacre.

  A few mice with mezcop had gotten away into the walls of buildings and made it to him, depositing their goods. Ishū gave them large chunks of sweetbread as a pitiful recompense for their dead and injured brethren.

  Fourteen mezcop. The sweetbread had cost eight.

  He looked through the eyes of a dying mouse and saw dozens like it. Dozens were dead and just as many were going that way soon. A cat appeared and bared its claws right before the connection cut off, giving Ishū a sharp nasty headache.

  I’m sorry, he said mournfully. I’m so sorry.

  The surviving animals dispersed, the mice cursing the lying, meddling human, the cats thanking him, and the crox feeling more amused than anything.

  He slumped in the alleyway, fully prepared to mope and berate himself for several hours. However, he noticed something strange, even stranger than the scramble for coins that he’d induced in the mice. This was a panic, starting far north past the farm but spreading quickly. Masses of animals charging at high speed. He couldn’t tell at this distance, but it felt as if they were moving far faster than the mice.

  He got up and dusted himself off, glad of the distraction.

  Moping could wait.

  17

  Herd Instinct

  It started off with a small rumbling, like a large stone being dragged nearby. However, there were no stones in sight, and the rumbling only grew louder until the ground nearly shook.

  “I heard about something like this once!” said Hishano excitedly. “A ground-shaking happened during the leadership of Iwa the Sturdy. That’s why he encouraged the Tandoku to develop better materials and building techniques.”

  “How does that help us?”

  “If the town gets hurt by all this we can help them rebuild! Then they’ll give us lots of money and we can save our island!” The history they’d learned might have been false, or at least embellished, but it wasn’t useless.

  What was that flickering in the distance? It seemed to get closer as the rumbling sound increased in volume.

  It was a horde of strange horned animals, each of them a pale grey four-legged beast who seemed to fade in and out of existence.

  “How are they running through these bamboo stalks?” asked Karugo.

  Hishano saw that they seemed to come fully into existence when in an empty spot, then turn into a translucent shadow of themselves when running through thin bamboo. They still avoided the larger stalks, but those were few and far between. “Ghost buffalo!” he shouted.

  “What?”

  “Farmer Seth mentioned ghost buffalo… these must be them!”

  They were getting closer, but Hishano wasn’t scared. They weren’t hurting the bamboo they ran through, so why would they hurt him? The herd was charging straight for him. The lead buffalo had a brown droopy beard when he wasn’t ghosting, large panicked eyes, and two strong and curvy horns headed straight Hishano’s way.

  They collided and Hishano was smashed backward into a nearby piece of bamboo.

  What?

  The leader of the herd seemed almost as surprised as he was, since Hishano had somehow stopped his progress, but he quickly moved on in order to avoid getting trampled.

  Hishano turned to investigate, but then he was hit from behind by another ghost buffalo. This time his flying body wasn’t stopped by a bamboo stalk, so right after he slammed into the ground the creature’s hooves trampled him, crushing some of his favorite bones and internal organs.

  He was dizzy and his body didn’t seem to hang together quite right as he picked himself up from the ground. His right arm didn’t react precisely as he would like, and holding himself up was a challenge. He needed time to heal. A couple seconds, at least.

  But the next buffalo came at him. This one he dodged, the sudden motion sending a terrible crack through his spine as he fell back down to the earth.

  He could no longer move his legs. That could take minutes to heal. Did he have minutes? Was this where he finally learned the limits of his power? He grabbed the nearest bamboo stalk and tried to pull himself up, but with his legs paralyzed and his right arm not working properly it was hopeless. He had only gotten a foot or two up when another ghost buffalo slammed into him, crushing his left arm between tree and buffalo. The dizzy buffalo moved on, leaving an almost completely incapacitated Hishano.

  This was it.

  He was going to die here.

  That was when he saw the flame.

  ——

  Karug
o saw the herd pass by, barely missing him even as the lead buffalo slammed into Hishano.

  Then he saw Hishano get hit again and again, taking damage that would have killed a normal person at least once by now — probably twice. He had to do something.

  He lit himself on fire and stepped into the herd.

  It was a risk, but one not without merit. Every animal, so far, had hated being too close to flames. He was betting that these ghost buffalo were no different.

  The first one was close, the surprised buffalo barely swerving to get away, but swerve it did.

  Karugo touched the bamboo as he went, leaving a trail of fire. Each step took courage; catching the bamboo on fire ensured his safety for a time, but stepping forward — as he inevitably must do — put him in danger once again. He walked upstream into the herd, so he would end up in front of Hishano. Horns came perilously close to him, sending him rolling to dodge. Ivory death sliced through where he had been mere moments before.

  Finally he got out in front of Hishano. He lit up the bamboo as a warning to the buffalo, creating a burning V that diverted them away from his friend and created a safety zone that would last as long as the fire. Together they were going to find the perfect place for everyone in the world, and they couldn’t do that if one of them was dead.

  Hishano was in bad shape. Worse than anything he’d seen since the fight with Jack and Freddy. The bleeding wounds closed up first, but there was deeper damage, stuff that couldn’t be solved in an instant.

  Karugo’s hands shook as he extinguished his own flames and pulled the healing potion out of his bag. If he let Hishano have it, then if he got hurt he was as good as dead. Why had they only gotten one? They’d brought ten Haverwort, hadn’t they? Surely that deserved at least two potions. But that was in the past, something to improve for next time. He put the bottle to Hishano’s lips and encouraged him to sip, eyes glancing dangerously away from the oncoming buffalo.