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

lodged behind a boulder. She tied the rope securely around the boulder and lowered herself down to Broken Eye. Wrapping another rope around his middle, she knotted it and then pulled herself, paw-over-paw back up.

“All right, Broken Eye,” Annie whispered tersely, “as I pull you up, you should pull loose from the tree. If you have to, leave your pants behind.”

“Aye, aye, ma Annie girl,” Broken Eye said, “we’s knew ya weren’t a black-hearted dog! Always so lovin’ and concerned!”

Not far below, Breister was deeply worried about Helga. Why did he not hear something from her? If there was no signal by daybreak, Breister resolved to climb the cliff himself to look for his daughter. Having a boatload of household goods meant nothing to him without Helga. For a long time he played Helga’s pronghorn flute that she had left with him. She was teaching him to play it. As he stumbled over the notes in his imperfect practicing, sweet thoughts of her playing at the hearth back at home filled his mind. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

Later he tried to rest, but his sleep was troubled. All through the night, images of wild-faced cats chasing Helga disturbed his dreams. Unable to sleep, he sat on the ledge gazing out over the rushing river. Rocking forward and back in the traditional Wood Cow manner, he sang the ancient prayer songs calling on the Ancient Ones to help his beloved daughter in whatever danger she was facing.

As dawn began to break, Breister decided to cast another longing look up the cliffside to see if there was any sign of Helga. The last thing he saw before he pitched off the ledge into the river was two wild-faced cats springing at him out of the semi-darkness above his head. Becoming aware of their presence moments before they sprang at him, Breister had time to reach in his pocket and bring out his fishing line and swing it in defense. The force of the Cougars hitting Breister stopped the swing of his arm in mid-stroke. But it was enough. The sinker-weighted fishing line swung wildly around Broken Eye as he hit Breister. Wrapped in a tangled web of fishing line, Broken Eye and Breister sailed off the ledge. Bound tightly together, they struggled in the raging river until they disappeared under the crashing waves of the rapids, and were seen no more...

Slasher Annie could not believe her good fortune. “Mine! Mine! This time, for sure, it’s all mine!” she said to herself with glee as she looked at the fine boat and its cargo. “This will serve very nicely to set me up in a new life, far away!” she exulted. “Soon, I launch the boat and find my destiny. I’m free of this miserable life at last!”

Far above, Helga moaned in fitful unconsciousness. Her terrible wounds mercifully caused her to sleep deeply. In her dreams she saw herself walking and talking with the Ancient Ones. They motioned to her to come into their homes and be welcomed by the fireside of eternity. But each time they beckoned to her, the dreamy, distant notes of a flute disturbed her sleep. At last the dreams came no more and she slept.

 

Book Two

Reunited and Combined

Where It Came Out, No One Knew

As the morning sun rose above the mountains, Slasher Annie considered her good fortune. “A fine boat filled with worthy goods and enough fresh trout to last me several days. I don’t know where this river goes, but it doesn’t matter. When I find a place I want to stay, creatures won’t guess who I am. I’ll just be Annie, a respectable traveler. I’ll settle in and melt out of sight. I too can live by my wits.”

Feasting on the fresh trout that the unfortunate Breister had caught, Slasher Annie felt full in the belly for the first time in weeks. “Poor, poor, old Broken Eye,” Annie said mockingly. “He always had to be first in line. Putting yourself first is not always the best,” Annie laughed. “He was a bit too hasty this time...Sleep well, Broken Eye, don’t let the fish nibble your toes! Har, Har, Har!”

Pulling the last fish bone out of her mouth, Annie stepped into the boat and loosened the rope that secured it. Annie had never been on a boat before and knew nothing about sailing, but she was not worried. “If stupid Cows can sail, a Cougar can do it better! You stand here at the rudder and steer. I can do that.”

As soon as she loosened the rope, the boat was sucked into the raging current. Annie realized she had been a fool. She could not control the boat. No matter how she moved the rudder, the vessel spun wildly in the current, banging hard on massive rocks, filling with water, careening with dizzying speed down through huge cascades of water. Only the fact that the boat had been built with great sturdiness and fine wood kept Annie afloat. As she began to overcome her initial panic, she realized that perhaps things would be OK. The craft was sturdy. Although it was hitting rocks with crashing power, the wooden hull was not splintering. Water rose above her ankles. Annie thought that perhaps if she bailed, she could keep it from rising enough to sink the boat. Battling her sickness, she bailed hard.

Her feverish work had little effect. For all the water she threw out, a greater amount poured in. At last, she could see it was hopeless. Knowing it would be suicide to abandon the boat, she settled down to wait and gather her strength to swim if she must. Either the vessel would eventually break apart on the rocks, fill to overflowing and go down—or perhaps she would reach calm water before either of these things happened. In any case, she needed to gain strength. There was nothing else to do.

Struggling to keep her nauseous stomach under control and feeling dizzy and disoriented, Annie crouched in the bottom of the boat. Her eyes were closed in a grimace of discomfort as her stomach sloshed as tumultuously as the river around her. At last, unable to control her seasickness any longer, Annie grabbed the gunwale and, leaning over the side, violently spewed her recent breakfast into the river. Gasping and wheezing, the miserable Cougar hung weakly over the side.

Feeling less and less in control of her wits, Slasher Annie limply raised her head to identify a new sound. Her distracted mind, at first, thought it was seeing things. A wide sandy beach was just ahead! The boat was no longer pitching violently. The water, although still moving swiftly, was no longer tormented by rapids. If she could just get to the beach she would be safe!

Finding new life, Slasher Annie picked up an oar and began to row with all her strength. Yet, no matter how strongly she rowed, she was not able to close the distance. And the more she tried to reach the beach, the more she observed what was on it. Skull Buzzards! Dozens of the large evil-looking birds were perched on the sandy bank or circling overhead. Some were picking over the bones of a carcass. One Skull Buzzard caught her attention in particular. He was strutting around, sporting a battered red tricorne hat on his head!

Feeling a growing sense of inevitable doom, Slasher Annie stopped rowing. Sitting listlessly, she once again let the current carry her as it would. An increasingly loud SHHLUUURRSH pulled her attention to a monstrous whirlpool that was slowly, inevitably drawing her towards it. She did not resist. Sitting motionless, her mouth open, tongue hanging out, drool dripped down the front of her coarse cotton coat. Her closed eyes no longer watched as the yawning whirlpool pulled her vessel toward its depths. Slasher Annie had lost consciousness—her brain shut down by terror—long before the craft was smashed to a zillion pieces as it was sucked into the vortex. Pulling the entire river underground, the whirlpool let nothing escape, except for luckless creatures that were picked out of the water by Skull Buzzards before they reached the eye of the whirlpool. After that, not even a Skull Buzzard was strong enough to pull something out of the current. Not even mist escaped into the sky from where the river plunged deep underground. Where it came out again, no one knew.

 

Eating Grubs and Beetles

The brilliant morning sun was insistent, stirring Helga from her sleep. She winced immediately—pain shot through every inch of her body. Her shoulders, legs and back felt like burning coals were buried in them. Slowly, she tested her movement. Pain and more pain. She could not move her legs, and one of her arms seemed useless.

Remembering what had occurred, she looked around to see if her attackers were still present. No one could be seen. She remembered vaguely that she had seen them going over the side of the cliff during a brief fit of wakefulness.

“Papa!” she thought solemnly. Then her sense of practical courage went to work. “Well, I’m no good to Papa now. If the All allows, the Ancient Ones will assist him. I’ve got to see to my wounds.” Helga realized that there was nothing she could do for her father now. She must place her focus on protecting and healing herself.

Unable to stand on her mangled legs, and weak from her wounds, Helga dragged herself toward some nearby bushes. The ground was damp around them and inching a little further, Helga found a trickle of water. Somewhat further on, she also found some Raven berries. Filling one of her pockets with the fruit and soaking a piece of torn cloth in water, she struggled back to her pack.

She greedily stuffed the fruits in her mouth and soon her mouth was stained with purple juice. Using the piece of water-soaked cloth, Helga cleaned her wounds as best she could. Using some of the birdwood leaves that she always carried rolled up in her leggings for emergencies, she packed leaves and mud on the worst of her injuries. Birdwood poultice was known for its healing properties. The soothing effect strengthened Helga to drag her belongings over into a shady spot.

By the time she had done these things, Helga was exhausted. Terribly weak and with only one of her arms and legs working, every activity drained her energy. Finding a few pieces of rock crackers in her pocket, Helga lay down, sucking on the rock crackers while she rested. “Well, I’ll just rest a while until the heat of the day passes. Then we’ll see.” Pulling her wide-brimmed hat over her eyes, she slipped into a peaceful doze.

Later, able to sleep only fitfully, Helga considered the situation. She did not know exactly where she was. Somewhere in the Don’ot Stumb Mountains, she knew. From the higher vantage point she now had at the top of the cliff, she could see that the mountains went on and on. Somewhere, though, she knew the mountains ended to the east. With her mobility so limited, she could not see as much as she wished, but she knew her hope lay in the direction of the rising sun. “We began this journey with our faces set toward the new day,” Helga thought grimly, “and we will not leave that hope behind. I think not of the past, but of the future. No matter what may have happened to Papa, I cannot live in the past and in fear. I will live in hope and for the future. This was our pledge when we left the Hedgelands, and I will not turn from our decision.” Helga felt that, even if she were not to see her