Helga: Out of Hedgelands, Rick Johnson [suggested reading txt] 📗

Helga: Out of Hedgelands

 

 

 

By the same author:

The Overending

Silversion

Willowers

Dragons: The Untold Story

 

 

 

Helga: Out of Hedgelands

 

 

 

WOOD COW CHRONICLES

VOLUME ONE

 

  

 

 

 

 

Rick Johnson

 

 

 

 

Dedicated to Helga’s #1 fan:

“Snethboodt matav lis mavert trooven!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Text Copyright © 2015 Rick Johnson

All rights reserved

Images used under license from Shutterstock.com

 

Shaken and Scattered

In the End, the Beginning

Bad Storm Breakin’

Broken Across the Rocks

The Order Disturbed

A Mission Accepted

Desperate Ridges

A Fateful Day Dawns

The Wood Cows Expelled

Bad Bone Bound for Glory

Last Night at O’Fallon’s Bluff

Milky Joe

“You can’t stay here, weevils!”

The Only Possibility

“My life, I am a Borf!”

Beyond the High One’s Reach

Casting the Dead Beast’s Eye

Lost Hiker’s Delusion

Night Above the River

Broken Eye and Slasher Annie

Cut Up Badly

Broken Eye Plunges

Caught in a Tangled Web

Reunited and Combined

Where It Came Out, No One Knew

Eating Grubs and Beetles

The Power of Enigma

King Stuppy’s Trading Post

A Certain Cantankerous Wood Cow

No Jokes About Cougars

Bad to Worse for Breister

The Mountain Moves But Stands Still

“Listen to the Place Inside You”

Toward the Bone Forest

In the Path of the Gateless Wolf

Welcome, Woonyak!

Slasher Annie Meets WooZan

In the Bone Forest

WooSheep Bottoms

Annie and Breister’s Search

JanWoo-Corriboo Knows Things

We’re Getting Out of Here!

Sailing the Ocean of Dreams

Close on the Trail

An Unbroken Circle of Friends

Stupid Frog Shallows

Annie’s Story

A Parting of Ways

Reunited

The Woonyaks Return

WooPeace Airlift

New Scenes for Toshty’s Painting

Shipwrecked Sea-beasts

Tokens of Unseen Realms

Wrackshees at the Outer Rings

Into the Voi-Nil

Ice Fall Narrows

Bem Madsoor Introduces Herself

Crossports Slizzer

Between Drowning and Drowned

So There Are Beasts In This Waste!

Christer’s Plan

Scrodder’s Tattoo

Sn’aker Turncoats

A Prime Lot of Butter

A Likely Tilk Duraow Runner

Cargo for the Butter Dock

Join the Crew of the Daring Dream

A Dragonwacker’s Work

A Rebel, an Untamed One

Godgie Stomp

Reginald to the Rescue

Too Much Slug Beer

Wicked’s Cove

Borf Raiders

Dragon-Conjurer

The End for Sabre Tusk

Helga and Breister Reunited

Helbara Freed

Let the Future Be as It Will

Bem Madsoor In Command

A Memorable Feast

Epilogue

Special Feature: Caravan Dragons

Special Feature: The Maggon Dragon

 

 

Book One

Shaken and Scattered

 

 

Book Two

Reunited and Combined

 

 

Book Three

Tokens of Unseen Realms

 

 

 

Book One

Shaken and Scattered

In the End, the Beginning

Since times long past, Wrackshee slavers stole beasts away into the High One’s slavery. Except for the one they missed. Beyond the Forever End, that five-year-old escapee—saved by her mother’s sacrifice—was rescued by Roundies and found a new home with them. In future centuries, the ancient story of her miraculous escape and early years in the Rounds would be overshadowed by what came after. An accidental meeting at age twelve, leading her back to her original homeland in the Hedgelands and her long-lost father. And at age fifteen, her exile from the Hedgelands, launching her into a leading role in the unraveling of the age-old tyranny of the High Ones...

The Drownlands wharf, shrouded in one of its legendary fogs, swirled with activity in the first pale light of dawn. Fish oil lanterns cast a faint, but serviceable, glow through the fog. Swarms of boats and canoes rocked and swayed on mooring ropes along the docks. Odors of musty canvas and damp wood mingled with pungent smells of fish, crayfish, and frogs being unloaded from fishing boats. Traders haggled with peddlers or bet their luck against cardsharps. Coins rattled in the tin cups of vendors hawking frog-fritters and hot Stinger Cider.

On the landside of the wharf, galley beasts in the station house scurried about making breakfast for dockworkers and wayfarers. The aroma of frying catfish, simmering beans and baking cornbread attracted sweaty dock laborers, whooping and hollering as they collapsed into chairs around tables to take a break. A crude Otter ferry pilot, little used to niceties and finery, lifted his bowl and dribbled the last of his corn mush into his mouth, licking the bowl out with a loud slurping. Wiping his mouth on his coat sleeve, the Otter looked wildly about for a galley beast to bring him more food. Banging his bowl on the table, he roared, “Yawp! Yo, Hollos! Where’s ma fish on’a plank? Where’s ma muff and crusts? Raise me some Tabasco and galley cheer! Ha! The bell will be tollin’ for me afore I’m full, at this rate. Yo, Hollos! Jump it over here!”

The rowdy Otter, howling and hollering to be served, flicked out a sharp skinning knife and sent it flying across the room. THWANNG! The blade buried itself in the timber just above the galley door. “Yawp! Yo, Hollos! That’ll be a kindly request for ma galley cheer! Ho! Ho! Ho!” Galley beasts dashed under the quivering blade, rattling plates and bowls as they scrambled to bring him his breakfast.

But the Drownlands wharf—the frontier gateway between the rough Drownlands wilderness and the tidy settlements of the Rounds—was a place of mixing and transitions of many kinds. Not all were rubes and roughnecks. At a quiet table in the corner of the room, a party of travelers calmly finished breakfast and left to catch the running-wagon that was about to leave the station.

Just outside, Livery Rats scrambled to prepare the Drownlands Weekly for departure. Travelers loaded quickly as burly Dock Squirrels tossed bags and trunks into the rooftop luggage rack. As soon as the baggage was loaded, the Weekly rolled away from the station with creaking timbers and rattling brass, its freshly serviced wheels smelling strongly of snake grease.

Bouncing along the bare track leading away from the Drownlands station, the Weekly rumbled through the sparsely settled frontier of the Rounds. Except for the Weekly and a few cargo wagons, the bone-jarring road was little used. A river of mud when it rained and a dust-choked washboard of ruts in the dry season, the many stones in the Cutoff road gave its only predictable surface.

Three of the passengers in the Weekly on this particular spring day were creatures we will hear much about in this account of former days. There was a strongly muscled young Wood Cow with soft, thick hair and a lively face. Dressed after the manner of her clan—long barkweave jacket and leggings, lizardskin boots, forest green linen shirt—Helga dozed fitfully, her head lolling against the jostling headboard. Although exhausted by her long journey, a smile played across her face. The sound of the rumbling wagon assured her that she was, indeed, coming back to the Rounds after a three year absence.

Helga’s father, called Breister, bounced and swayed beside her. He had strong proportions, but was somewhat short for a Wood Cow, being barely taller than his daughter. His broad-brimmed hat, tilted forward, hid his face somewhat. The bushy beard and long tangled hair flowing over his shoulders somehow seemed to amplify the keen, proud look in his eyes. Peering out from under his hat brim, he watched the countryside passing outside the window.

Leaning against Breister sat a powerfully built female Wood Cow. Fine lines and strong features gave her face a handsome look and ample hair spilled out from under her hat. Her eyes were astonishingly black, like polished obsidian, but with red flecks sparkling within them. A spirit of pugnacious determination seemed to be written everywhere in her manner, even as a kindly smile betrayed the softness of her heart. This was Helbara, Helga’s mother.

As the running-wagon proceeded, little by little Breister noticed more and more creatures gathering, lining the road on both sides. Farmers, laborers, shopkeepers, peddlers and traders, old and young—Roundies of every size and age crowded the roadways, surging around the running-wagon, shouting their welcome to Helga.

“He-ho, Helga! Mampta-He-O! Jurrah!”

On every side, there were cheers and shouts of greeting. Knowing that news of Helga’s exploits had likely preceded them, Breister had expected a warm welcome for Helga, but nothing like this.

“What’s going on?” Helga asked, blinking sleep from her eyes.

“Look!” Helbara pointed. “In the name of the Ancients, see what’s happening.”

The running-wagon gradually came to a stop amidst the immense crowd surging around it, blocking the road. Dismounting, Helga climbed to the top of the luggage rack where she could see her friends more fully. Taking off her wide-brimmed hat, she waved it high over her head in greeting. As her eyes scanned across the welcoming crowd, she caught sight of old friends. Memories of her earlier life in the Rounds flashed through her mind...

There was Mianney Mayoyo; her two pet lizards perched on her shoulder. A tough and wild-eyed River Cat, Mianney lived alone in a shack perched high on poles in the Deep Springs River. Thought to be half-savage, with strange-smelling smokes always drifting from her cabin, some avoided Mianney. But despite her fierce appearance and hermit-like ways, many called her a healer. To Helga she was a savior. Ten years before, Mianney had wakened in the middle of the night to the loud shouts of two Trapper Dogs. They had found five-year-old Helga, sobbing and lost, thrashing through the shallows near Mianney’s shack.

Standing behind Mianney was Picaroo “Pickles” DiArdo—one of the Trapper Dogs that had pulled Helga from the river that night ten years before. It was almost surprising for Helga to see him standing in the crowd. Pickles nearly lived