by Peter Plasse
“Okay, these two countries basically wrap around Ravenwild like this,” she made a sweeping motion with her paws, like a gigantic doughnut. “In other words, Ravenwild is basically surrounded. Now, there are two other large parts of this world that are not part of any of the three countries. One is some huge tract of land to the north that nobody can enter, because nobody who does so survives.” She put a dot with one paw at the top of her imaginary doughnut. “I forget the name, but it doesn’t matter because we will never be going there. The second is where we are, in these Agden Woods. This is to the south.” She put another dot with her paw. “Nobody goes in here either. Same reason. Now nobody seemed to know why it is that you can’t go into this place in the north, something about it being spelled or something, but it’s pretty clear why nobody enters this place.” She paused as if not wanting to go on.
Jacqueline waited, chewing furiously at her bottom lip.
“You ought not to do that,” said Cinnamon. “Your mother has told you it’s why your lips are always chapped.”
“Don’t change the subject,” said Jacqueline.
“Yes, of course. Well, the reason nobody enters these woods is they are the home of the most feared creatures of this world. The Agden Wolves.”
She paused again. “You see, these Wolves are not ordinary wolves. First of all, they are about three times the size of an ordinary wolf, meaning one of them can take down the largest unarmed Troll, who would be about one and a half times the size of a Human. But secondly, and most importantly, they eat Trolls. And they are known to eat Humans … and Dwarves … and undoubtedly, cats.”
Jacqueline’s eyes grew wide, and she looked like she was going to cry again. Cinnamon noticed this and hopped back into her lap.
She purred loudly. “Nobody mentioned cats, actually … ”
There was another pause as Jacqueline thought this all over.
“What else did you learn?” she asked.
“A few more things, child, but we will certainly have time to discuss them as we go. Right now, we need to get you something to drink. What we are going to do is get as close to the stream as we can by staying in the trees. Then you will lower yourself down. To do that, you will use the vines that seem to be everywhere in these woods. That way, we can get you some water, and perhaps some berries or fruit. We won’t be staying here, that is the only certainty.”
Together, they surveyed the forest treescape. Cinnamon indicated with a wave of her paw the approximate direction in which they needed to head. By a series of downward then upward climbs, and multiple changes of direction, they were able to move steadily, if slowly, the way they wanted to go.
At the stopping point of a particularly difficult impasse in their climb through the treetops, Cinnamon remarked, “Jacqueline, you need to know that you will be able to speak to most of the animals we encounter along the way, specifically, those with fur and those with feathers. Not that this will make you in any way safe from them, in case they happen to want to eat you, or me. But you will not be able to communicate with any of the animals that have neither of these. These would include, of course, reptiles, amphibians … and fish, I suppose.”
She thought this over, and having no immediate question, concentrated instead on finding a suitable pathway to water. She was now terribly thirsty and starting to feel a little bit dizzy.
In about half an hour more they arrived at the spot where she could make her descent. By now they had realized that talking was not in their best interest, sounds carrying as they do in the forest, so they had spoken very little and only then in hushed whispers. She indicated by pointing that she was ready. When Cinnamon nodded in response, Jacqueline grabbed a particularly thick vine, one that descended all the way to the forest floor, and slowly inched down. Her downward climb proved fairly easy, despite her weakened condition, and within a few minutes she was kneeling beside the stream. She drank her fill and smiled upwards. Cinnamon waved a paw at her while she watched carefully to detect any sign of approaching danger. To her surprise, and delight, there was a great abundance of what she figured might be edible berries, and she found some small trees that were loaded with a fruit that resembled the figs that her mother brought home from the store for the Christmas holidays. She filled her pockets until they were spilling over and started back up the vine she had climbed down. Before she did that, however, she took out her heart-shaped gemstone and gave it a kiss. She was thinking of her mother and father, and it was an unconscious act.
Going back up proved to be more difficult than going down, but after a few false starts, she was soon seated upon one of the great tree’s expansive branches and sampling the berries and fruits that she had picked.
“Now, dear child, you can’t go eating them like that,” Cinnamon scolded her. “Please spit out what you have in your mouth right now.”
Jacqueline obeyed without hesitation.
“What you need to do is approach this scientifically. We have no idea if any of these fruits are safe to eat, and some might be poisonous, even deadly poisonous. The way you need to do it is to eat a tiny bit, say, one berry, from only one kind, and wait a while. If that doesn’t bother you, you can eat a little more, say, two berries. And so on. If you make it up to many berries, and you don’t get sick, you can then figure that that kind of berry is safe. Make sense?”
“But Cinnamon,” she whispered. “I’m really hungry, and everything tastes so good. How will I ever be able to do it that way?”
“It’s the only way,” Cinnamon whispered back. “And I will be right here to help with your willpower.”
Fortunately, all the fruits and berries that Jacqueline had gathered were not only delicious, but she developed no bad symptoms, so they made a mental note about the ones she had sampled.
“I say we stay right here tonight,” whispered Jacqueline as she sprawled out on the huge branch. “That way, tomorrow, we can gather enough food for a few days and then move on. Where are we going, anyway?”
“Well, according to this raccoon-looking thing I spoke with yesterday, we want to try to make it to a place known as ‘The Gate’. It’s a Human/Dwarf/Elf occupied fortress at the southernmost tip of Ravenwild. If we can make it there, there’s a pretty good chance that we can find our family.”
“How far is it?” asked Jacqueline. “I mean, how long will it take to get there?”
“That I can’t say,” said Cinnamon, “But however long it takes, we will have each other for company. Now, you need to take a nap, and I need to go catch something for me to fill my belly with. You stay right here. Do not get out of the tree for any reason, all right?”
“I promise,” she said. “I am sleepy.”
She yawned and curled up. Within seconds she was sleeping, and Cinnamon slid silently away to catch something and ease the growling in her tummy.
Jared took Diana’s hand as they helped each other across a particularly nasty stretch of whitewater in a mountain stream. More than once they almost slipped, and Jared found himself wishing that they were not running for their lives, that this was a regular day and they were on an outing. Then they could have laughed as they slogged and slipped their way along. Still, several times during the crossing she smiled at him, sharing the humor in the slips and near-falls, and every time she did he thought his heart was going to stop beating.
They made the opposite shore and each released the other’s grip. In the shadows of a small clearing in which they stopped, Diana asked, “Where are we going, anyway?”
Jared chuckled. He pointed with his finger in the direction opposite of that
from which they had come. “Thataway.”
He offered up a grin. She returned it.
“I’m serious. Is there a plan? For right now, I mean?”
“Well, I don’t know? My life has been pretty much spent for years in the same place. What are your thoughts? You know, like, where do you think we should be going?”
“Well, starting with the obvious, we clearly ne
ed to put as much distance as we can between the Gnomes and ourselves to avoid capture, or worse. Beyond that I figure it’s all about what direction we head out in and, more than that, why.”
“Please continue.”
“Well, safety is to the south, and west of course, but not too far west or we’ll find ourselves in Gnome country. If we could make it to Belcourt we would probably be a lot safer than we are now.” She paused as she gathered her thoughts. “The problem lies in that there is a fairly large band of Gnomes running freely about deep into Ravenwild, and despite the fact that we are way up in the northern highlands, it’s still a very bad sign. It probably means that the Gnome and Troll forces are at the gates of the city and trying, as they have always tried, to take it.”
“Doesn’t sound like we want to arrive there only to find the city is surrounded; Way too big a chance that we would get caught. More troops, more Gnomes and Trolls to catch us.”
Each thought for a few moments.
“How about this,” he said. “Theory: The thinnest concentration of Troll and Gnome soldiers will be right at the edge of the Slovan Plains. Therefore, the best chance we have of surviving the next few weeks while we sort this all out is to head southeast and camp right at the edge of the plains.”
“But that’s putting us much farther away from the conflict,” she said.
“Yes, but it all depends on your primary mission. If the primary mission is defense of the motherland, then we are probably, no, undoubtedly duty bound to return to Belcourt and pitch in to help the defending troops. Provided, of course, that we could reach the defending troops, which I don’t think we’d be able to do. But if it is staying alive for a while so we can study on a way to really have an impact on dealing with the Gnome and Troll threat, then we need to head away from the fighting. I want to contribute something more than my rather weak, not to mention unskilled, sword arm.”
“It sounds like you might have an idea or two,” she said.
“Or two,” he said.
They made their way steadily southeast. They hiked hard for the rest of the day without speaking, stopping only to drink from the occasional stream or rivulet and to relieve themselves. That evening they shared a bed in the softness of pine needles. Daring not a campfire, and having no flints to start one with anyway, they were in each other’s arms a little after sundown, having settled in for the night.
“Tell me of your books,” she said softly.
“Ah, my books,” he said. “I hardly know where to start. Hmmm. Okay, this then.
“As I already told you, I inherited them with the passing of my father. They were all incredibly old, having been left over and passed down generation to generation from the time of the Great War. That would make them thousands of years old, wouldn’t it? He dedicated his entire life to hunting them down. He also cleaned them, restored them, and preserved them.
“They were labors not without great risk because, as you undoubtedly know, the written word in book form was highly illegal. I’m sure that is the case today. Something about those in the highest position of authority feeling at some point in time that books were somehow causative of the Great War. I always found that odd. As if by the simple act of binding a set of writings together you somehow changed their very essence into something evil. The government certainly has written documents, as does the military to some degree. It just never made sense to me.
“At any rate, when I left home as a young man, these were the only things I took with me, aside from an assortment of good stout knives, the family axes, and some cookware.
“The books saved me. They were the reason I was able to not only survive, but to build the things I built. They were full of so much … ”
His voice broke suddenly.
Diana put a hand on his arm, saying softly, “You will rewrite them someday, Jared. You now have a goal. We will survive this, in large part thanks to your father’s lifelong work, and you’ll write them again. I’m sure of it.”
She nestled deep into his embracing arms.
“I love you, Jared,” she said suddenly. She hugged him fiercely. “No matter what happens, know this. I know it doesn’t compare to the love that your father felt for you, and I know that it doesn’t hold a candle to the passion he felt for his life’s work, trying as he did to salvage something from the old world, and the old ways, so that our races might benefit from it but, still, I love you. And I always will.”
They fell asleep in each other's arms. He knew they should be taking turns standing watch to keep on the lookout for the enemies he knew were all around them, but this moment was at once the saddest and happiest moment he had ever had, and he decided that he needed the happiness right now. Even more than safety, he needed her warmth, her caring, her love.
They awoke in the morning refreshed, if hungry.
“Good morning,” he said gently. “Hey, wake up sleepy head.”
“Not yet,” she said, hugging him closer. “I want to hold you for a few more minutes.”
After a few minutes had passed, they rousted about.
“Well, the bad news is we have no food, but the good news is it’s nearing harvest time, which means there should be things to eat along the way,” he said cheerily. “The only thing that ultimately matters, of course, is to avoid capture, and we are in no hurry whatsoever. As long as we keep off the main trails and travel silently, we should be fine.”
“I am at your command,” she said, flashing him that magical smile that always made his heart skip a beat. “Have we decided that the plan is in place, and we are headed directly into the monster’s mouth?”
“I think it best,” he said. “For now, anyway. Do you agree? After all, I think, you being a princess and all, that I have to defer to your wishes.” He returned her smile.
She thought about it for a few moments. “I do. For now.
“I know you’re working on something in that gallant head of yours that is beyond merely staying alive. But let’s get moving. We need to find something to eat. I’m starving.”
By noon they had covered around ten miles. They foraged much of the way, dining on the various fruits, berries, nuts, and ground tubers that were in season, and while certainly not filling, they definitely served to quell the pangs of hunger that both were feeling. They saw no sign of any enemy troops, and in the late afternoon, Jared called a halt to their travels. He had picked out a particularly dense thicket in which they would camp for the night.
“Why are we stopping here?” she asked.
“Watch, and learn.” He approached a large gray tree. “This,” he said, pointing to it with his knife, “is a Barnagad poplar. It was named centuries ago after somebody named Barnagad. It is perhaps the most important tree in the forest. It is neither rare nor common. But what is most assuredly not common about it is the inner surface of the bark.”
He began to strip away a section of it, making vertical cuts. When he was satisfied with his initial incisions, he found a protruding tendril and started to pull on it. It stripped away cleanly to the top of his initial cut, leaving him holding a perfect string about six feet long. “Feel this,” he invited her. “Try and break it.”
She took it from him and did as he said. Pulling as hard as she could she could not make it break.
“Now,” he said, “We tie a few sections of these together. Then we whittle a hook, not from this tree but from a branch of that one over there. That’s a rock maple, the toughest wood in the realm. Then we dig up some bait, and bingo, we catch ourselves some dinner. These nuts and berries will only go so far. We need something called protein, or we will starve to death while we get fat.”
“The books?” she asked.
He smiled. “The books.”
Several hours later they returned to their lair for the night with a stringer of fat trout and a peculiar armload of wood, white as snow and without a blemish on the bark.
“Now this,” he said, “is a bit more rare. This is Burnfast. Most city folks don’
t know about Burnfast, but it’s the only wood in the forest that burns with absolutely no smoke. The wood is impregnated with a sap that burns hot as demon-fire. I will not have my lady eating raw fish. I’ll get the fire started and ask you to tend the fish while I fashion some rabbit snares. We may as well have some variety to our fare.”
“Well, aren’t you quite full of yourself.” She laughed quietly.
He grinned, and busied himself with cutting off slivers of the Burnfast. “Now the point is to keep the slivers small, and you need to make a very large pile in advance. That way you won’t run out. If the pieces are too big, they will make smoke, and we might find ourselves with uninvited guests.”
“How are you going to get it started?” she asked.
“With these,” he said, pulling out several flints that he held up.
She took over the carving, and he started to fashion snares from the strings he had harvested from the tree and woven into stout lines. “You know,” he said, “You can literally eat the paste from the inner surface of the bark of the Barnagad Poplar tree. Not only does it have a little nutritional value, it has medicinal properties. It’s a pain reliever, and it works against fevers. And, lastly, you can apply a poultice of it to a wound to stop bleeding. It’s a remarkable tree, really.”
“And you learned all of this from your father’s books?” she asked, happily cutting away.
“Not too thick with those shavings, now,” he cautioned gently, then, “I did.”
After a while he spoke again. “There was so much in them. So much I didn’t understand, although I had committed many of them to memory word for word. I always wished for someone with whom to discuss all the things that I had read over the years. Fascinating things. Practical things like we’re using right now. Simple things. And complex things. Things of Science. Things of Prophecy, and things of Magic.”
