by LeRoy Clary
“You love learning big words and throwing them around, don’t you? Well, I think we don’t have a lot of choices. Down the river is the way we go. We can decide what to do about everything else, later.”
“Right.” Bender stuck his hand out for Tyler to shake, then continued, “It isn’t going to bother you to desert?”
“I never asked to be in the war. They came and took us from our homes, remember? Showed up and carried us away while telling us we were going to bring glory to Unity. They got five good years from us, so now we name our own fate.”
“I’m impressed,” Bender said. “You’re learning to express yourself well under my tutelage.”
Tyler smiled. “And your grasp of common sense is improving with my help.”
CHAPTER SIX
They woke early and packed. Tyler went to the dragon claws the ants were cleaning and found them almost finished. A little effort with his knife scraped off a few remaining tendons and the leftovers of stubborn hide and gristle. A little more work would have them ready to turn into monster-necklaces. He was still kneeling and examining them in the dawn light when he heard a soft woof behind.
His head spun, and his eyes found a large, lanky, brown dog looking at him from ten steps away. His hand went to his knife. The dog didn’t attack, and it didn’t retreat. It simply watched without displaying malicious intent, or friendliness. The dog’s coat was short and probably intended by the six old gods to be smooth, but it was not. It grew in lumpy patches, some bare and pink. A raw injury wept yellow fluid on its front shoulder. One eye was infected and red.
It may have been attracted by the nasty smell of the claws because it was hungry. “You hungry, boy?”
“What’d you say?” Bender called.
“Throw me a cracker. That dog is here again.”
Bender appeared from under the limp branches of the cedar and tossed a hard biscuit in the direction of the dog, but not too close. It bounced onto the path in front of it. The dog twisted violently and leaped to safety, racing away down the path and out of sight.
“Leave it,” Tyler said, talking about the food. “He’ll come back and find it.”
“I’m ready when you are,” Bender said.
“This is a whole new experience. After five years in the army, I’m sort of used to our life.”
Another trail took them along the edge of small hills in roughly the same direction as the river they no longer saw, but hoped was there. With luck, they were now beyond any patrols guarding area, and the riverbanks. The idea of being a deserter took over his mind. A hated deserter. The word was offensive. It tasted foul on his tongue. He’d always been taught to hate deserters, and he’d watched several punished in his years of service. It never was pleasant to observe, and it had often ended in death.
While their decision to run from the army had come quickly, that didn’t make it easier. The circumstances had dictated their actions, and if Bender was right, as he usually was in similar matters involving determining the future, the Unity Army faced certain doom. It probably had little chance of surviving another year. During that time, it would have few resources to chase two front-line troops who disappeared, but he felt sorry for the men who would remain—and die.
Bender, again leading the way, said, “Well, maybe we’ve become soft and allowed others to make decisions for us too long. Army life is not about doing what you want—it’s doing what you’re told every day, so you never have to think. I don’t know what’s to come of us, but keep in mind what will happen to us if we stay here. It will be worse. I guess what I’m saying is that instead of feeling sad, I’m optimistic, maybe even happy.”
“We should sing happy songs while we walk,” Tyler said, not bothering to keep the sarcastic tone from intruding.
“I’m not quite that optimistic. But one day, we may look back on this and wish we had sung a tune or two, but I’ll tell you what. If you sing, I may join in.”
“For good or bad, or both,” Tyler said, trying to match his friend’s mood. “But I’m not going to sing.”
“Why is it that you only sing when there are bottles of wine and women near you?”
Tyler trudged on, catching a glimpse of the dog racing ahead before answering. “Wine soothes my throat and makes my voice as smooth as honey on a warm day. The women appreciate that voice because they have ears more perceptive than men’s.”
Uncharacteristically, Bender didn’t respond or try to go one better. Tyler assumed he was also lost in his thoughts of deserting, and beyond. In the turmoil of the Queensland invasion, and the Unity Army pulling back across the river, there were probably dozens, maybe hundreds of soldiers who were captured or stranded in enemy territory. The confusion across the river must be intense. Officers would be trying to calm their troops and organize them, while also meeting with their superiors, trying to gather intelligence and devise battle plans.
All that turmoil translated into a lack of pursuit for the two of them. For now. That was the key. Tyler realized if Unity somehow managed to push Queensland back over the pass before he and Bender fled far enough away, they could be put to death by their own people. Tyler picked up the pace and forced Bender to speed up when he caught up with him.
Where are we going? That question kept returning, over and over. Downriver? What the hell did that even mean? It was not a destination, but a vague direction. He tried to recall any mention of the river downstream and found his mind vacant of anything useful, and there was little enough to wonder why he didn’t know more.
Tyler said, “Bender, what’s down the river? I mean, it must go somewhere, right? But what?”
“That’s funny you asked that. I was just thinking the same thing. The river flows away from us. But I don’t remember any stories of people returning from down there. None of the men in our unit that I can think of came from down there, at least none of them spoke of it.”
“You’re right. Wil came from the Commons, Tam from the Flashing Mountains, and Arnd from Timberline. I could go on, but the mutual factor is none came from the east because that’s Queensland, and none came from the south, which is downriver. All were recruited west and north, and not so many from the west now that I think of it.”
Still walking fast, Bender answered, “Well, that’s understandable. The Drylands are to the west. Nobody can live there. And then farther west of the Drylands are the Empty-Lands. No water, no crops or animals or people.”
Tyler struggled to keep up while thinking. He abruptly said, “What’s beyond Empty Lands? I mean, if you kept going west?”
“I never thought of it. There must be something, but you can’t get there. Like I said, no water or food.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone crossing them.”
Bender said, “We’re thinking the same. Everyone we know came from one small kingdom. Those we fight against came from another. We’re bordered by mountains on one side and impassible desert on the other. I guess my first question is why do you insist on going down the river instead of the other way?”
“Because paddling up the river is too hard. Why fight the current? Besides, we sort of know what’s up there. Smaller rivers and streams that feed the Middling.” Tyler smirked although since Bender was ahead and he couldn’t see it. Still, it felt comfortable. Besting Bender always required a smirk at a minimum.
As clouds formed to the west, Bender said in a tone Tyler knew well, “Does the name Middling River suggest anything to you?”
“It must be named after someone because it sure isn’t small, or medium sized.”
“Are you sure?” Bender asked, the humor returning to his tone. “We know there are smaller rivers than the Middling, but maybe there are huge ones, so that’s why they named it Middling.”
Tyler said, “Or maybe there is as much above and below here, so this is the middle. Quiet. I think that village you mentioned is just up ahead and probably Queensland troops.”
“It is not. Stop trying to change the subject when I’m rig
ht about something.” Bender pulled up short, his body tensed.
Tyler automatically reached for the bow he’d left at camp, then for the knife at his hip. He slipped one strap of his backpack off while reaching for the other. A wild swing from a backpack would distract most charging opponents, or it might take them down if it hit them. He had also learned to use it as a shield. Protecting the egg inside didn’t enter his thoughts.
Bender spoke softly, “Come here.”
Tyler moved closer.
“Not you, Tyler. I’m talking to the dog.”
Tyler looked past Bender and found the same brown dog. Its foreleg was bleeding with a fresh wound, and as it sat on its haunches, the wounded leg was held high. Tyler moved past Bender without thought and knelt in front of the animal.
“Be careful,” Bender warned. “Strays bite.”
But Bender was not an animal lover like Tyler. If the dog bit him, so be it. He reached out and gave the dog a pat on its neck while talking quietly to it. The dog laid down on the path near a small stream and rolled onto its side, leaving the hurt leg held high in the air. Tyler gently examined the wound while also taking note of the stickers and briars in the matted fur, and the other injuries.
Tyler opened his pack and pulled his spare shirt out. His knife split the material, and he ripped it into strips. Two went to Bender. “Get these wet.”
Bender leaped to obey. Tyler reached for a sticker embedded where the leg joined the rib cage. A raw wound with little fur told of the dog trying to reach and extract it with his mouth. Tyler took hold of the barbed sticker and pulled quickly. The dog howled, and the exposed teeth slashed at Tyler’s arm, but paused an instant before tearing into it. Instead, the dog licked him.
Yellow puss ran from the wound, probably releasing built up pain and pressure. The dog sensed his help. Bender handed him the wet rags, and Tyler began cleaning the other wound on the same leg. He tied a strip of the shirt around it when he was done, expecting the dog to chew it off.
But the dog didn’t. Tyler moved from one injury to another, washing each. He found a wood sliver as long as his finger buried in the back of the dog’s neck and managed to pull it free without being bitten. Then he removed several stickers from the pads of its paws and washed each one, drawing soft whines and adoring looks from the dog. The fur turned yellow where he washed.
“Give him this,” Bender said, handing him one of the hard biscuits the army provided for times when other food couldn’t be located. They had little taste but were flat dough fried in animal fat. Some said they’d last for years.
Tyler didn’t know if he should soak it in water so the dog could chew the biscuit, but when he held it near his mouth, the dog took it and chewed, then sniffed his hands, as if looking for another. The dog had eaten as if it hadn’t eaten in days.
“Camp here for the night?” Bender asked, but there was little question in his tone.
Tyler nodded as he examined the dog for more stickers, briars, wounds, or injuries. Finished, he said, “This dog has been on its own for a long time, but it isn’t wild.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve never seen a feral dog that knows how to act around people. They’re never comfortable unless they’ve lived with people, at least when puppies.”
Bender gathered wood for a small fire. Both agreed they could finally risk it. A rock shelf almost as high as a man ran along the side of the hill, and he gathered large rocks and stacked them in a semi-circle at the base. He built the pit almost knee high, the flat, fist-sized rocks three and four deep at the bottom.
Tyler helped with the last of it, knowing well the intent. The deep fire pit would prevent people from seeing the light of the flames, which could be seen from half a day away on a clear night. There were no trees above to be lighted from underneath and glow like a beacon. And the layers of rocks would absorb heat from the coals and throw it off all night until morning.
Bender used his flint to spark the tinder, then kept the fire small and only used the driest wood to prevent the smoke from being seen or smelled. He had cut a leafy branch of a thick bush and used it to fan the rising smoke, dispersing what little of it to see, and hopefully any scent. Of course, they both knew that a nearby roving patrol might smell the smoke, but they would have to be very close and Bender and Tyler were prepared to run.
As darkness fell, they increased the size of the wood on the fire. Tyler found himself moving his bedroll away from the pit because it started to throw off too much heat. Later he’d move closer to it as the night grew chilly, and the fire died down.
Bender said, “Tomorrow we should reach the village. I’m trying to decide what we should do. Steal a boat or try to pay for one.”
“Stealing means nobody will know we were there, which is good.”
“Paying means we don’t cheat a poor farmer out of a boat or have him and his friends chase us with pitchforks.”
“Since when does cheating bother you?” Tyler was thinking of the many Blocks games he’d watched Bender play.
“Hey, that’s different. Most of the men in those games tried to cheat me as hard as I cheated them. I was just better at it.” He flashed the grin that usually indicated he’d won an argument with Tyler.
But Tyler had more to say. “The thing is, if we buy a boat, maybe we can buy food and even clothing. These uniforms are distinct and will tell everyone we’re deserters.”
Bender nodded as he tossed more wood on the fire and watched it with hypnotic attention. The gathering darkness didn’t need the smoke fanned anymore, and he tossed the branch away. “We certainly have enough money to last a while, and you’re right. The sooner we shed these uniforms, the better.”
“People are going to ask who we are, where we’re going, and why. Just human nature. We need a story to tell.”
“Right again. I can’t say you’re as smart as me yet, but I’ll compliment you and say you’re learning from me quickly. I must be a hell of a teacher. Any ideas on a story?”
Ignoring the teasing, Tyler said, “Let’s work on building one now. If we enter the village in the morning without something to tell them, we’ll look like fools.”
“We’ll look like deserters, no matter what. I say we more or less tell the truth until we’re past the village. Tell them our side is losing the war, and we’re getting out. Queensland is taking over. The people there will already know that because of rumors, so two of us deserting just makes us smarter than those staying behind to die or go to prison.”
Tyler agreed. “Okay, now for the story after we leave here? We need a reason to go down the river, something simple and believable. And something not easy to check on.”
Bender considered for just a second and smiled. “We need a scribe if the village has one, or the use of a quill and parchment. We pay him to write a letter addressed to us, or to one of us. No, to both of us. We say that we’re brothers from Anders, or Tangle, or even Gypsum, and the letter is from our mother. Pa died, and the taxman is trying to take our farm because there’s nobody to plant the winter grain to pay the taxes.”
“I’ve never heard of those places.”
“Of course not, I just made them up. We carry the letter in an oilskin wallet to protect it and show it to anyone who wants to see it.” Bender gave a sharp nod of his head that said he was finished.
“Most people can’t read,” Tyler said, stating the fact simply to annoy him.
“But they do recognize writing, paper, and oilskin. Plus, if we’re so willing to show it, that alone makes it seem real. Most will believe that we wouldn’t lie when we don’t know if they can read or not.”
Tyler had to give Bender credit for his dishonesty and didn’t ask what happened if they could read. Bender did know how to spin a lie in a believable manner, and a letter made it seem a fact. “When they ask us why we don’t know the name of the town we’re going to, and they know all the names of places on the river that they do because they have traveled up and down the river m
any times, what do we say?”
“They’re not on the river, stupid. All those towns I mentioned are inland, some many days from the river, in a great valley. We’re just taking a shortcut. Our Mama needs us on the farm right away to plant winter wheat, turnips, and carrots.”
“Anders sounds like a nice place. Rolling hills and easy to plow in the black dirt around there,” Tyler added detail to the tale.
“Unlike most, we use two mules to plow, so we can also use them for other things like pulling the hay wagon and riding into town, even though Anders isn’t much of a town, just a few stores and an inn where they make a poor excuse for ale.”
Tyler chuckled, “I never did like oxen, anyhow. Too slow for me, for both plowing and pulling wagons. And you’re right; they don’t like riders. I’ve ridden on them a few times, and they’re so wide it feels like you’re going to split in half from your crotch to your shoulders.”
Bender turned from the fire and looked at Tyler in mock anger. “I knew that was you that did it. Old man Jenson is probably still spitting nails trying to find out who stole his ox and rode it to Anders. I suppose you were going there to visit my girl behind my back?”
“Alice was mine, and you know it. She just pretended to like you.”
“All this time and you never admitted your guilt with her. You knew I was going there to see her.” Bender’s voice rose near the end, and it didn’t sound like mock anger anymore.
“I got to her house first because I took the ox across Badger Mountain, and then we went for a nice, long walk and picnic along the Blue Lake.”
“While I got blamed for stealing Jenson’s ox.”
Tyler said, “I guess it’s time for a full confession. I told them I’d seen you riding it so you wouldn’t interrupt the picnic with our girl.”
Bender settled back and watched the flames for a while. “Finally,” he said as if the incident had actually occurred, rather than in their imagination. But it was the kind of story and detail that sold a story. He said, “Well played.”
