The Kingdom of the Bears

by Michael Wallace

  “And as for being under your protection, it seems to me that if he was under your protection, you’d have told him to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Then don’t punish the boy for my mistake. Look at him. He’s just a cub.”

  “A cub who speaks like a man is old enough to taste the consequences of his words.”

  A badger pulled Aaron’s pack from his shoulder, and a second handed him a stave. His heart was pounding, but he saw no way out now, save the cowardly way of begging for his life, if even that would work. Without warning, Jarr lashed out with his staff. It was an exploratory blow, but Aaron only just had time to lift his weapon before the staff cracked him on the skull. A painful shock jolted through the wood and into his hands.

  “Come on then. Defend yourself!”

  Aaron circled the badger warily. He hefted the pole in his hands. It was not so uncomfortable as he’d supposed. As a boy growing up in the woods of Vermont, he’d spent many hours dueling with sticks. He’d also played baseball, and the staff was about the same width and heaviness as a bat.

  The staff lashed out again, quick as a striking snake. Aaron shied away, but the staff caught him a glancing blow across the temple that made him see stars. He staggered backwards and lifted a hand to his temple. He was surprised to see that there was no blood. The stars cleared from his vision and he looked up to see Jarr standing back a pace.

  “Here are the rules,” the badger said. “First–”

  “Hey,” Bethany put in from her place outside the circle. “That’s not fair. You should have told him the rules before you started beating on him.”

  “Be quiet, Bethany,” Aaron told her. “Let him talk.”

  He didn’t know the rules, but he was sure of one thing. They would never get the badgers’ help by whining about what was fair or not. Skunk and the bears seemed to understand this much. Once it had become settled that Aaron would fight the badger, they had given up trying to stop the fight and just stood beyond the circle, looking worried. He needed Bethany to do the same.

  Jarr nodded. “Right. The rules. First, you must stay within the circle. Second, you can use the staff or you can use claws or teeth, but nothing else. No rocks, no gravel thrown in someone’s eyes, or any dirty tricks like that.”

  “And when does the battle end?” Aaron asked. He was still keeping his distance. He didn’t want a second unexpected blow simply because he wasn’t paying attention.

  “It ends when you’re dead.”

  “Dead?” Bethany cried, in spite of Aaron’s warning.

  The badger chuckled at his own joke, if it could be called a joke. Aaron’s quivering knees certainly didn’t think so. “Nah, you won’t be dead. Most likely just bleeding and unconscious. Oh, or if you throw down your staff and yield, or get pushed out of the circle.”

  “So basically someone can give up whenever they are losing too badly or getting too badly hurt?”

  “Yeah, that would be the coward’s way out, if you want to take it.”

  Aaron forced himself to grin back at the badger. “I wasn’t talking about me. I was talking about you giving up.”

  Jarr threw back his head and laughed. “Well spoken, boy. Well spoken.”

  “Watch it,” Brumbles warned.

  The badger looked like he was enjoying a good joke, but really he was lifting his staff into striking position. Aaron only just raised his own in time to ward off a whirlwind attack. He staggered backwards, almost falling. He leaned out of the way and brought his own staff around, but the badger blocked his blow, weak as it was. The badger came at him again. The other badgers were cheering Jarr on, and the cheers were terrifying.

  “Throw him down, Jarr.”

  “Bury him, Jarr. Bury him.”

  “Tear his arms off.”

  Bethany joined her own voice to the din. “Come on, Aaron. You can do it!” Then, a shrill, “Look out!”

  Jarr came after him with a flurry of blows. High, low. At the head, swung at the knees, jabbed at the gut. He blocked one blow and then another. Another struck him hard on the shoulder. He fell to the ground, while the attack continued at full fury. He was no longer fighting to help the bears, but for his very life.

  “Look out, Aaron!”

  He was rolling one way and then the other, while the staff struck at the dirt and clipped an ear, leaving it ringing. It would have broken his nose, had he not just deflected it with his own staff. Somehow, he made it to his knees.

  Aaron had his staff by one end now, and he gripped it like a baseball bat while still on his knees. He swung around hard, just as Jarr was lifting his staff to crack him one on the skull. To his surprise, the blow caught the badger right across the ribs, and he fell with a surprised, “Oomph!”

  A hush fell over the badgers and they looked at each other in shock, as if unable to believe that someone had knocked over their champion. The bears, Skunk, and his sister cheered.

  Jarr was anything but finished. He was on his feet in an instant. There was a moment of blinking and a quick hand to his side. Aaron should have pressed his attack, but he was too busy gasping for air and shaking the ringing sound from his ears. He barely regained his feet before the badger was at him again.

  The first attack had been play. Aaron could see that now. The badger became deadly serious, now. His staff was a blur of feints and blows. He pummeled Aaron’s defenses, and when they were knocked aside, lay about Aaron’s shoulders and head. He felt like a stone dropped into water, spinning in dizzy circles toward the ground, which struck almost as hard as the badger.

  Aaron found himself staring at the sky. His head felt like it had exploded. He tasted blood. More trickled from a cut in his forehead. His shoulder hurt so badly that for a moment he thought it broken.

  Jarr the Stout stood over him, staff raised high above his head. Aaron’s own weapon lay to one side, splintered and worthless. “Do you yield?”

  Aaron had no choice. There was no fight left in him, though he desperately wanted to get up. He blinked his eyes shut in dismay. “I surrender.”

  He opened his eyes to see Jarr grinning down at him, paw outstretched. “Let me help you up, boy.”

  Aaron took the other’s help, yet still only just managed to regain his feet. His sister was at his side, holding him up. Brumbles came over to help. Aaron looked down at the ground, too ashamed to meet their eyes. Instead, he looked at the badger. “So that’s it, then,” Aaron said. “Will you at least let us leave in peace, without all these pitchforks and spears in our faces?”

  “What are you talking about, boy?” the badger demanded. “Look around you.”

  He did. The badgers had put down their weapons. One of them was escorting Princess Sylvia and Dermot into the village. Another was even giving Skunk cheese and biscuits, which she was devouring as if she hadn’t eaten in days.

  He turned back to Jarr, wanting some explanation. “But I lost the challenge.”

  Jarr snorted. “Hardly. You didn’t think the challenge was about defeating me, did you? Why, not even this big oaf could have done that.” He nodded toward Brumbles, who gave a harrumph in answer. “No offense, bear. I’m sure you’re strong enough in your own way, but you wouldn’t have lasted any longer than this boy against my quarterstaff.” He turned back to Aaron. “It wasn’t about winning or losing, boy, but how well you fought. You want us to throw in our lot with you? Fine, but I had to know if you would tuck your...er, tail...between your legs and run at the first sign of danger. You didn’t. That means you won, doesn’t it?”

  “Well yes, but...”

  “What’s your name, boy?”

  “His name is Aaron,” Bethany said quickly, with pride in her voice. “He’s my brother.”

  Aaron said, “Yes, it’s Aaron. And this is my sister Bethany. This is Brumbles, Sheriff of the Eastlands and those other two bears are Dermot Strongpaw, and his wife, Princess Sylvia. King Greatclaw’s daughter.” He pointed to Skunk, still eating as if she were on the verge of fainting from hunge
r. “Seems you know Skunk already.”

  “Yes, she’s come sniffing around these parts on more than one occasion. But enough of the introductions. Come on.”

  He turned on his heels and began to stride through the village, to a large tent among the tented burrows. Other badgers were scurrying this way and that, carrying firewood or baskets of onions and potatoes. The whole village was in motion.

  Aaron hurried after Jarr. His brother and sister followed, together with Brumbles. “Where are we going?” Brumbles asked.

  Jarr looked over his shoulder. “See those badgers, there and there?” He pointed to several badgers running along trails that snaked in different directions from the village hill. “They’ve gone to get the others. It’s time to gather the clans.”

  #

  Thirty badgers from the Red Clay Clan arrived first, faces streaked with the reddish soil that was their name. The Ash Clan sent its representatives next, twenty badgers with staves, their fur gray on black rather than white. Next came the Moon Clan and their close relatives, the Sacred Pool Clan. They were smaller in numbers, together fewer than the Red Clays. Finally came a score of badgers from the Midnight Clan, their fur almost completely black, with just a hint of white along the jowls. And of course, there was Jarr the Stout’s own White Stone Clan, who numbered as many as the other clans put together, what with every member of the village in attendance.

  It was midnight before the last badgers arrived and the Merley children were practically fainting with hunger. All the better to enjoy the feast, Jarr had assured them when he saw them eyeing the vast stock of provisions being carried to the bonfire circle. There were dried apples and plums, together with enormous bowls filled with blackberries and gooseberries. There were wheels of cheese, and fresh bread whose scent filled the air from one end of the village to the other. The Red Clay Clan brought pheasant and quail, lined neatly on long sticks, each holding more than a dozen birds. These they roasted in pits, heaped over with hot coals. Other clans added onions, potatoes, carrots, and garlic. Skunk set out to pilfer some food, but returned a few minutes later, disappointed. “Too heavily guarded,” she said.

  At last, the feast began. Aaron’s eyes bugged at the huge platter of food pushed in front of him. It was like the first, second, and third helpings of Thanksgiving dinner all served up at once. He tore into the food, together with a hundred other hungry people, and was surprised to see how quickly he cleared a widening hole on his plate. Brumbles sat on his right side with a plate about three times the size of Aaron’s, and by the time Aaron looked up from his own meal to catch his breath, the bear had already cleaned and refilled his plate. Some time later, badgers, bears, and humans alike began to push plates away from them with a series of groans, belches, and contented grunts.

  Meanwhile, Jarr the Stout of the White Stone Clan led a procession from the village to the feasting circle. They used ropes to drag a chunk of white granite with them. Jarr climbed atop the white granite. “I am Jarr of the White Stone Clan. We go to war. Who is with me?”

  Aaron was surprised by this. No speech, just a proclamation and a request.

  The chieftain of the Sacred Pool clan stood. “Why should we join our tooth and claw to yours? What have we to gain by throwing in with these outlanders?” He sounded angry and there were so many others nodding or growling, that Aaron thought it would fall apart at once. There might even be bloodshed.

  Jarr said, “Because if we don’t, it will be our turn next. We must fight now, while we have allies.”

  Much to Aaron’s surprise, the chieftain of the Sacred Pool clan approached with a flask of water, which he poured onto the white stone upon which Jarr stood. “I join the waters of our sacred pool to your white stone, and our teeth and claws to yours. Let us smite the weasel lord!”

  There were a few cheers, but many badgers still looked undecided or openly hostile. Next to rise was the chieftain of the Moon Clan, allies of the Sacred Pool clan.

  He said, “The bears have never fought for the badgers. When did they ever come to help us fight Garmley’s,” and here he spat to the ground, as if the very name of the weasel lord left a foul taste in his mouth, “from the weasels’ tyranny?”

  Jarr lifted his paw. “The weasels will turn on us next. You know that. They will finish off the bears and then they will stake claim to our lands. We have a season or two left, no more.”

  With this, the chieftain of the Moon Clan approached, removing a chain from around his neck with a pendant in the shape of a crescent moon. He placed the chain and pendant upon the white granite, still wet from the Sacred Pool Clan’s dousing. There was another cheer, louder this time. The rest, however, sat in silence.

  Aaron understood. It was not so easy convincing these badgers as he’d supposed. The first to speak were the easiest swayed. They were already almost decided. The others had not yet decided.

  “It is not enough,” said a gray badger from the Ash Clan. “Why not make our stand here, instead of marching north, where Garmley is stronger?”

  Jarr answered. “Bears will join us if we march north. We will gain strength.”

  “Easy to say, now. Maybe the bears will wait, and do nothing. Better a slave under Garmley, they may think, than free and dead. Let the badgers spill their blood. Sure, why not? We have nothing to lose by badgers and weasels fighting. We’ll see how the war plays out.” He nodded, then added, “Yes, I could see the bears thinking just that.”

  “What’s more,” said a badger from the Red Clays. “Even if we defeat Garmley, won’t he just retreat to his stronghold on Stone Hill? He’ll be that much closer when he strikes out again, and you can bet that he won’t forget how the badgers marched against him. And where will the bears be then? Will they come to our aid?” The badger snorted. “Not likely.”

  There were angry mutters and Aaron could see that Jarr’s first answer had not given most of them reason to join. He could even see hesitation among the Moon and Sacred Pool Clans, who had already pledged their support.

  Jarr nodded. “But the bears do send help. There are these three and their allies.” He indicated the children and Skunk.

  “What good are they? We need an army of bears, or men on horseback from this King Prestor we always hear the bears talk about. Where are they?”

  Jarr was quiet, but Brumbles set down his pipe and rose to his feet. He moved into the light of the fire. Jarr the Stout stood back and let him speak. “It is true that we have no army. Even King Prestor will not help us now. We have seen his castles and cities in the wilderness. Nothing but ruins. What other hope do we have? There may be some Greencloaks to the north who will come to our aid, but really, we are all that remains of our once-proud kingdom.” His jaw clenched as if he were thinking not just of River’s Edge, but of the glory of Shar La.

  And then he growled. “It is our shame that we did not stand by your side before, but our honor that we come to you now. Our friendship may come late, but it will last.” He touched a paw to the stone at his belt. “I swear by the Sky Stone that we will fight not just for bear lands, but for the badgers, as well. We will fight for all creatures who wish to throw off the chains of the weasel lord.”

  There was silence. The decision hung in the air, ready to fall either way. Brumbles had pushed, but the undecided badgers had stiffened, Aaron could see. Already, the coals that Brumbles had stirred began to dim. They would not burst into flame without something more.

  Aaron rose to his feet. “You don’t just have the promise of the bears. You have our promise as well. We may not add an army to your ranks. We don’t have war machines or magic weapons. But someone brought us from our world to this one. What possible reason would that serve, except to fight Garmley?” He took a breath, deciding how much more to say. “I fought a test of strength against the chieftain of the White Stone Clan. I didn’t win, but I won his respect. I promise, if you give us the chance, we will win yours as well. We’ll do what it takes to defeat the weasel lord, even if it means our own
lives.”

  He sat down. Bethany leaned in to whisper, “Let’s hope it doesn’t actually come down to our lives.”

  “Did I say the wrong thing?” he asked her.

  “Of course not. It’s just that...well, remember what I said about the stories where things turn out badly? I’m scared. That’s what it comes down to. There is going to be a big battle. Lots of people will die. What’s going to happen to us?”

  “We’re going to stick together,” Aaron said. “Whatever happens, happens, but I have hope that things will turn out for the best. Surely someone didn’t just bring us here to die, did they?”

  The badgers continued their animated discussion, paying the children no attention. They were able to continue their quiet conversation on the side.

  “Who is this someone you keep talking about?” Bethany asked.

  Aaron remembered his bear dream. “The spirit of King Prestor.”

  “Hmm. I hope so,” she said. “And I hope he won’t mind that I took these.”

  She pulled something out of her pocket. In her hand were two stones, each about the size of a marble. They glowed blood red, reflecting and amplifying the firelight.

  Aaron was shocked. “Put those away before someone sees them. Wait. Here, give me one.”

  He took one of the stones. She returned the other one to her pocket. The stone was warm in his hand, as if it had been in the fire. And it was throbbing, like something living.

  “Where did you get this?” he wanted to know.

  She leaned in so nobody could overhear. “Shar La. I waited until the bears looked away, then chipped off these pieces from the Sky Stone with the hilt of my dagger.”

  “But they’re so smooth,” Aaron said. “Did you polish them?”

  “No, they just came off that way. It was almost like they were meant to break off.” Bethany shook her head. “The weird thing is, I’m not sure why I did it. It happened before I could even thing about it, like it was the right thing to do.”