“Not another word.”
They kept going. And then, Aaron saw. They were not weasels, but boulders in the river. In fact, they didn’t even look particularly weasel-like, any more than they looked like children or bears. Darkness and fear had turned them into weasels. He let out a sigh of relief. They reached the first of the stones and he put a hand against its reassuring hardness. It was cool and slick with moss. He leaned his backpack against the stone and caught his breath.
Thank goodness. They’d somehow made it to the middle without being spotted. And he guessed that the near side would be the most heavily guarded. They might just make it.
And then the real weasels appeared.
They’d been lurking behind the largest of the rocks, the one Aaron had taken for a wolverine. There were six, two for each of them. The moon came out from behind the clouds, and he saw three more weasels, back on the river bank from which they’d come. There were even more on the far bank.
One of the weasels let out a low, sneering laugh. “Ah, I’m so glad it’s you. I thought I’d never get a chance for revenge.”
Aaron recognized that laugh. Half-Paw.
The companions said nothing, just kept pushing through the water. Surely, they didn’t mean to fight. There were too many of them.
“That’s right. Just keep coming this way.” He turned to the other weasels. “Kill the bear. Take the humans alive. Lord Garmley wants them for questioning.”
Still, the Merleys and Sheriff Brumbles waded forward. Their silent approach seemed to make some of the weasels nervous, and they glanced about, as if expecting to see the three joined by a larger group. They were not. When they’d closed to within about ten feet, Brumbles lunged for the nearest weasel.
It flew to one side, disappearing below the water. Its head bobbed up, but it was struggling and flopping downstream, approaching the edge of the fords, where the water grew deep, swift, and treacherous. At the last moment, it regained its footing. The other weasels cried out, and closed, daggers in hand. Brumbles swung with both paws, but the weasels ducked nimbly out of range, before thrusting in with their blades.
The children had their own worries. A weasel grabbed Bethany by the hair and dragged her down. Aaron faced a second, and he tried to wade past so he could help his sister. The weasel leaped onto his back. Clawed hands closed around his throat and its serpentine body wrapped around his chest. Hot breath hissed in his ear. “I’ll bite those ears off.”
The heavy weight on his back made Aaron loose his footing and fall. His head dunked under water and then he was back up, gasping for air. The weasel rolled on top of him and pushed him under again. Aaron felt a surge of panic. He was trying to keep his head above water, throw off the weasel, and keep the current from pushing him out of the fords and into the rapids, all at the same time.
Aaron came up again and took a gulp of air. He heard cries. A struggling body floated past him, but he couldn’t see if was human, bear, or weasel. He pried one of the weasel’s hands off his throat. He was on top, holding his enemy under, and then they were rolling over again, bouncing off rocks, struggling to their feet, and then falling over again. The weasel cursed and bit at his shoulder, but only caught his shirt. It lost its grip.
And then suddenly, the ground dropped away. Aaron grabbed the last rocks of the fords as his legs dangled in deep water. The current pulled hard. The weasel–cursing and writhing–seized his leg and tried to writhe its way back up and into the fords. Aaron kicked his legs.
The last kick dislodged the weasel, who went spinning away. But just as Aaron rid himself of his attacker, he lost his own grip and flew backwards into the current. It swept him downstream toward the rapids. Beyond the rapids lay the waterfall.
“Aaron!” It was Bethany. She was also struggling against the river
“Make for the far bank.” He saw another shape. Too big for a weasel.
“Grab hold.” It was Brumbles. Aaron and Bethany struggled to reach the bear, paddling hard for the other side, but the water swept them past just out of arm’s reach.
The current was strong, but the Merley kids spent every summer swimming in the Mad River. They’d been on the swim team before the accident. They made steady progress toward the other side, even as the rapids approached. Just as they hit the first swirling eddy, they reached the shallows on the far side. Brumbles landed himself just upstream and he crawled toward them.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Bethany said between gasps. “Would have been better if we’d been able to catch Brumbles and ride across.”
“I thought you said we would die if we were swept past the fords,” Aaron said to Brumbles. He managed a smile that was half relief, half pride that they’d made the other side.
“Hmph. I didn’t know humans could swim so well. But anyway, you’ll have to gloat over your swimming skills later. Come on. We’re not safe here.”
“No. No, you’re not.”
The voice came from the darkness. Two weasels appeared from the brush, together with a wolverine. They were armed with knives. The wolverine held a torch. Shouts came from further up the river. More weasels on the way.
The three companions scrambled to their feet, but there was nowhere to go but return to the water and this close to the rapids it really would mean their death. With the weasels on higher ground and more on the way, fighting it out looked even worse.
“You boys give weasel-kind a bad name,” said a voice from the darkness. Both sides turned at the voice. A familiar black and white striped figure emerged from the darkness.
“If you know what’s good for you, skunk, you’ll turn around and pretend you never saw any of this,” one of the weasels said.
“No,” Skunk said in a casual voice, as if she were giving her opinion on the weather. Her tail was raised. “No, I don’t think I will. In fact, I think you should turn around and disappear. You’re clearly not wanted here.”
“I’m warning you, skunk. Stay out of this.”
“Or what? Or you’ll make some foolish charge and then I’ll be forced to teach you a lesson?”
Foolish charge is just what they did. One of the weasels sprang forward with a cry. Skunk wheeled on her front feet and delivered a blast. A cone of skunk spray caught the weasel in the face and sprayed over his companions behind him. A blow with a hammer wouldn’t have stopped the weasel more dead in his tracks. He threw down his knife and threw his hands to his face with a cry. The others cast aside knives and torches and coughed and spit. A foul stench filled Aaron’s mouth and nose, even though he’d been out of the path of Skunk’s attack. He tried to spit the taste from his mouth. Even Skunk turned up her nose.
“What are you waiting for?” Brumbles cried. More weasels were approaching from the north. “Let’s go!”
The companions turned and fled into the darkness, without pants and without shoes. Skunk ran with them. Behind, the sounds of pursuit.
Chapter Eight: Barefoot and Naked in the Wilderness
Brumbles led the flight from the river. This side of the Alonus was more hilly than the opposite bank, where the mountains had dropped off suddenly to form a narrow, forested plain. They found themselves in a ravine, scrambling up the hillside. Branches whipped at their bare legs. Stones cut their feet. Weasels gave chase, snarling curses and threats.
But Brumbles knew this area. He found a trail leading up the side of one hill and they reached the top while the weasels remained below, searching for footing along the incline. The companions descended into another ravine and up the other side. Brumbles veered north, and then east again, and then south. The sounds of pursuit gradually died away. They passed into a small valley and then Brumbles found a clearing and here they stopped to rest. The children sank to the ground with groans of relief. Brumbles inspected their scratches by the light of the moon. He deemed none of them serious.
“A total disaster,” Bethany said. “What are we going to do now?”
She looked ridiculous sitting there in shirt and jack
et and underwear, with no pants or shoes. Aaron imagined he looked no better. They’d had no chance to grow cold or notice bruises and scrapes as they’d fled. That changed in a hurry now that they’d stopped. What’s more, they were hungry and parched with thirst. They’d lost everything at the fords, so there was little to be done for any of it.
Brumbles fashioned crude shoes out of bark, which at least enabled them to go on. “The shoes won’t last long,” he said. “Better if your feet would just toughen up.”
Aaron said, “No way they’ll toughen enough to hike through these woods. Not without a lot of blood and blisters first.”
He grunted. “In that case, we’ll have to make more before we reach Silverleaf. With any luck, the village will still be free of weasels.”
“How far?” Aaron asked.
“To Silverleaf? Many miles.”
And if the village weren’t free of weasels, Aaron realized, then they were in serious trouble. No pants or shoes, no food or water, with weasels pursuing them...yes, serious trouble.
Aaron grew more worried by the mile. The bark shoes rapidly disintegrated on the hilly, stony terrain. His thirst grew and grew until his tongue felt like a dry rag. At last, Brumbles found a stream, and they took grateful rest, drinking until they were satisfied. Brumbles spent more time, now that he deemed them in safer surroundings, finding and fashioning new pairs of bark shoes to replace the old, tattered ones.
“How much further?” Bethany asked shortly.
“Three more hills. We’ll stop here for the rest of the night.” Brumbles turned to Skunk. “This might be a good place to part ways. Unless, that is, if you’re coming with us. Are you?”
“That depends. Any good food in Silverleaf? Because I’m only coming along for the food.”
Bethany said, “Oh, no. You’re not fooling us. You didn’t have to come back. You saved our lives.”
“What? That? Nah, that was nothing. It was a pleasure, really. I did it for fun. Nasty weasels deserve a little stink in the face now and then.”
“Whatever your motives,” Brumbles said. “You’re welcome to come with us if you’d like.” Aaron heard admiration in the bear’s voice.
Skunk considered. “I’ll go as far as Silverleaf. We’ll see from there. But what about tonight?”
“Tonight will be long and cold.”
“Yes, but what about food?”
“No food,” Brumbles said with a shake of the head.
“Hmmph.” She curled up a short distance from the others and promptly fell asleep. Like her cousins back in Vermont, Skunk was nocturnal, and would no doubt wake some time before daybreak to take the food matter into her own hands.
Meanwhile, the others hunkered down to wait out the night. The children huddled close to Brumbles for warmth. He was a warm, dark bulk, throat rumbling like a motor as he settled into sleep.
When morning came, they kept on toward Silverleaf, though stomachs were empty and feet blistered. Bethany’s legs looked worse than Aaron’s, and her big toenail had split open and was oozing. Every step came with a limp. They reached the village in late afternoon. Finally. It was little more than a hamlet. Twenty farm houses, a shop, a blacksmith. They found the village inn, a place called the Honey House, where Brumbles convinced the owner that their business was urgent and they needed free food and lodging. Oh, and clothing for the children, of course. Soon, they were dressed like bears.
The children were a curiosity. So was the Sheriff of the Eastlands, come with news of the fall of River’s Edge. By the time Aaron and Bethany were changed and sitting at a table, every bear in Silverleaf had gathered in the dining hall of the Honey House. The bears were polite until a lame shepherd bear with a crutch and grizzled white fur on his jaw arrived, at which point it was deemed that everyone had arrived. They’d seen smoke rising to the northwest, but had received no word. What had happened?
The silence deepened and faces grew long as Brumbles delivered the grim tidings. By the time he finished, some in the room were quietly weeping. Others stared into their drinks. For a long time, there was no sound but the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the shuffling of paws on the stone floor.
The innkeeper said, “So that’s it. The kingdom has fallen. King Greatclaw taken captive. How many days until the weasels come to Silverleaf? How long before we must bow to the weasel lord?”
Brumbles growled. “There will be no bowing. Silverleaf will not fall. Neither will Onion Hill or the Vales. The Apple Valley and Southbottom face attack, but even there, Captain Brownia is raising a force of Greencloaks.”
“But I thought you said Garmley had already taken the Fords of Nivum.” Worried murmurs sounded through the crowd. The fords were not far distant from Silverleaf.
“He’ll be too busy fighting in the west to move in strength across the river. Not yet. In the meanwhile, we can gather the bears to our banner. Mount our attack and retake the city. Free the king.”
Shakes of the head greeted this plan. More murmurs. The innkeeper–he seemed to be a prominent bear in this village–seemed to speak for all, when he said, “What can we hope to do when even River’s Edge–even the king!–couldn’t hold back the weasel lord?”
“That’s right,” someone else said. “It’s inevitable. We should surrender. Avoid more bloodshed.”
“What kind of life is that?” Brumbles asked in a disgusted voice. “Slaves of the weasel lord?”
“Better the whip than the sword.” More mutters, this time of agreement, followed the innkeeper’s words.
Aaron couldn’t take any more of this kind of talk. “You can’t seriously consider just giving up. I know we’re strangers in this land, but I’ve seen great things from the bears.”
“That’s right,” Bethany said. “The Greencloaks are ready to fight! We are, too. We’ve fought the weasels twice. If we can do it, so can you.”
“And Brumbles here fought tooth and claw with a wolverine. And got the best of him,” Aaron added. A slight exaggeration; it had been more of a stalemate, but still, they’d been greatly outnumbered at the time. They’d left one weasel dead and escaped Half-Paw and his murderous band not once, but twice.
Bethany said, “And the bears aren’t alone. They have friends.”
It was this last bit that got everyone’s attention. No doubt she had meant the children and perhaps Skunk, who’d been largely ignored. But murmurs of, “King Prestor!” and, “The humans are coming!” made their way through the hall.
Brumbles lifted a paw, “It has been six weeks since my brother and Princess Sylvia passed through Silverleaf to search for King Prestor. Even now, they may be marching in our support with an army of humans.”
“But what of these human cubs?” the innkeeper asked.
“We’re off to make sure the king helps,” Aaron answered quickly. He knew what they were thinking when he said this, and felt guilty at the hope in their faces. But he couldn’t bear to admit the truth and kill their hope. And maybe it wasn’t a lie, he told himself. If this King Prestor existed, surely he would see their need and send help.
“Now,” Brumbles said. “Will you not give us food and drink? We are tired from our battles and from our journeys. And we have many miles left to walk before we reach Prestor’s lands.”
Bears scurried into motion. The innkeeper put half of them to work and booted the other half from his inn. “Either help, pay for some supper, or get out of the way,” he growled.
Within minutes, the innkeeper was feeding them hazelnut bread slathered with honey butter, followed by roast trout, cooked in garlic and butter and topped with almonds. Bear, skunk, and human dug into the food as if they hadn’t eaten in days.
“What a gloomy bunch,” Skunk said, licking crumbs from her whiskers.
Very true. Aaron had seen the same lack of hope in the two bears they’d rescued from Half-Paw. “Why don’t they stand up and fight?”
“We’ve suffered many disappointments over the years,” Brumbles said as he pushed hi
s empty plate away then lit a pipe. “Many years ago, we lived all the way to Prestor’s lands, to the great city of Shar Lah, where great palaces grew. A bear served on Prestor’s right hand.” He took a puff.
Someone in the corner played a wooden flute, a larger, deeper-voiced version of the kind played in Captain Brownia’s hidden tower. The music was beautiful, but sad. It reminded Aaron of the songs of those same Greencloaks.
“Do you hear that?” Brumbles asked. “It’s not the song of the fall of River’s Edge, though it serves well enough for that. It’s a song of sorrow for our past days of greatness. We’ve suffered so much and for so long. The Great Winter. The lost war against the grizzly bears. The year without a summer. Our people are just a shadow of what they once were. Is it any wonder that they surrender so easily?”
The old shepherd bear with the crutch made his way to their table. He gestured to an empty chair and asked if he could join them.
“Of course,” Brumbles said, rising to his feet to help with the chair. “What can we do for you, old fellow?”
The old bear took a seat and set his crutch to one side. “I may be old, but I’ve got the sharpest ears in these hills. Comes from years of listening for the bleating of lost sheep. I overheard your talk about the wars with the grizzlies. My grandpappy was a survivor of those wars. He saw the fall of many great warriors. Great cities fell.”
The bear stroked the white hairs on his chin. “When I was a cub, we used to laugh at the bears who remembered the war with the grizzlies. Bunch of old worriers. What did any of that have to do with us? And then, when I was ten, came the year without a summer. Frost came from the north, and even snow once in June. Crops died. The apple trees never blossomed. Even the bees deserted their hives for warmer lands. There was famine. Bears turned wild and disappeared into the wilderness. Many died.” He gave a shake of his head. “These defeats are why so many refuse to have cubs, even to this day. It is cruel to bring life into a world so filled with death and uncertainty. Each year there seem to be fewer cubs. Some say we’re a dying people, and cursed. The weasels, they say, have come to finish us off once and for all.”
The Kingdom of the Bears Page 6
