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

“Yor did what?” Ola exclaimed. “Yor asked Mar to take to the Gateless Wolf ways?” Ola’s head was spinning. Such a thing had never been heard of before. A female following the way of the Gateless Wolf?

Seeing that Ola was speechless, Ord continued. “Calm yourself, Ola,” he said. “Keep listening! If you wonder at what I did, I hope you see how it might be possible to be even stronger on the path, even though I have left the path.” Ord paused, looking fondly at Ola, as if waiting for something.

Ola looked puzzled for a moment, then exploded: “Enigma!” he laughed. “Yor an old Gateless Wolf still!” Ola cried.

Ord told Ola that Mar-Marie had said that the Gateless Wolf path was not for her. “She said that the Gateless Wolf life was fine for me, but she wanted to do something that helped more folk than one traveler here or there.”

“Now, don’t get me wrong,” Mar chimed in from where she and Emil were preparing dinner, “What I actually told him was that wandering around helping creatures you happen to stumble over is fine, but what I wanted was to help the masses of creatures you know are in trouble without waiting to stumble over them!”

“And how are yor do’in that?” Ola asked.

“We’ve been farming here all these years,” Mar replied. “We’re about the only creatures out in this land, but a few other pioneers are beginning to come.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Ola responded.

“Oh, don’t be too glad of it,” Ord said. “Our whole service to the Gateless Wolf path depends on not too many people being around. We’d rather not have too many neighbors!”

“How does farm’in—here all by yorn lonesome—follow the Gateless Wolf path?” Ola asked.

“Well,” Ord replied slowly, looking to Mar to see how far he should go in his explanation. Seeing her nod, he went on, “Well, you see, Ola, we help slaves escape from the Hedgelands!”

“How?” Ola asked in astonishment.

“Ah! Well, that’s a long story,” Ord replied. “The sort of story where you end up hanging on the gallows if you happen to tell the wrong person.” He sipped some hot tea that Emil had poured for him, got up, and stood at the side of the fire, with his heavy paw on the mantel.

“Could I make a guess, I wonder?” Ola asked. Ord allowed as how Ola could guess all he wanted.

With his heart beating rapidly, Ola rose out of his chair, and walked over to where Mar-Marie’s broom rested in the corner of the room. Holding the broom like he had seen Mar do when she swept the path in front of their house, Ola began sweeping as he had seen Mar do earlier.

“Say, for instance,” Ola said slowly, as he continued the sweeping motion, “that a group of escaped slaves happen’in to be pass’in down yorn path under cover of darkness. Say they carry’in no lamps for fear of call’in eyes upon them. Say they are stumbl’in along in the dark and need’in a place of refuge. Say they find an unusually clean and smooth place in the path.” Ola paused, looking from Ord to Mar with excitement in his eyes. “Say that such an unusually clean and smooth spot in the path is a signal that yorn house is a safe-house for those same escaped slaves!”

Electrified looks passed between each person in the room. Ord smiled. “Well done, Ola!” he said. “You are now eligible to swing on the gallows with the rest of us.”

“Well, some honors depend on the company,” Ola laughed. 

“Yes, Ola, dear friend, we’ve made a way for crowds of troubled creatures to find their way to safety. This is our lifework in the path of the Gateless Wolf!” Again he took both Ola’s paws in his own. Mar-Marie and Emil came over and joined with Ola and Ord. Ola’s eyes filled with tears as he realized the extreme danger these dear friends were surely in each day.

“Don’t you mind us, Ola,” Ord said, sensing his concern. “We’ve carried on these thirty years by ourselves and will carry on as long as we can. Don’t fear for us.”

“Is there no one else?” Ola asked.

“Oh, there be others, all right,” Mar replied. “But it’s that line we will not cross with you tonight. Too many count on our silence about them. We trust you completely,” Mar continued, “but even the most trusted of us make mistakes. The more people, the more possibility of mistake. We cannot risk it with you. At least not yet.”

A new thought suddenly occurred to Ola. The Coyote was missing. He had not seen a sign of PorNart-1604 or any of Mar and Ord’s children since he had arrived. “I thought yor had a Coyote guest,” Ola commented, “and some reputed children as well.”

No one responded to the question, so Ola answered his own question. “Yorn don’t really have all those children. Those are yorn helpers. Creatures who lead the escapees along to freedom. PorNart-1604 is one of them.” Ola looked to Ord and Mar for confirmation.

“Close to the mark, Ola, but wide of the heart of the matter,” Mar smiled. “We do have children, but they are all grown. We are not young anymore. Yes, some lead those escaping to safety. Some have other reasons to be gone just now. Some live elsewhere. PorNart-1604 is not an escaped slave. Emil no doubt told you how he came to be here.” Mar paused, looking fondly at Ord. “We’re better people than when we came here. We’re better because of the creatures that have visited. We learn from each of them. PorNart-1604 is rebuilding the balloon. He thinks he can repair it and improve it. We hope to use it to carry on our work!”

“How do you mean?” Ola asked.

“Well, let’s just say it’s a very long walk from the Hedgelands,” Ord said with a wink. “PorNart-1604 is up in the hills for a time. He’s building a workshop and forge to make new parts.” Mar put a finger to her husband’s lips.

“No more just now, Ord. We’ve trusted this new friend with a great deal tonight. Let us see how it goes on for a while. Caution is necessary.”

So saying, the talk on this subject ended for the night, with conversation moving on to happier topics. All told jokes and laughed until their jaws hurt. Gradually the night slipped away. Ola was thoughtful. He resolved to stay with Mar and Ord for a time to see what other new things he might learn.

Welcome, Woonyak!

“AYYYIEEEE!” Breister was surprised to hear the long scream coming from his mouth. He was supposed to be drowned, dead, submerged in a watery grave. Yet he was aware that he was screaming. “AYYYIEEEE! YAAAAHHHHH!” He was tumbling, falling, spinning head over heels, falling, falling, screaming...

How long he fell he did not know. It seemed like a very long time, yet could not have been very long. The river poured through a massive hole in the rock—the whirlpool leading into a tunnel through the rock that sent the surging river deep underground. The rock tunnel opened out into a huge underground cavern, spilling and spraying the watery flow out of an opening at the top. The water fell from the high ceiling of the cavern like a waterfall. The cascade of water fell from such a height that, by the time it landed in the lake, it was dispersed into mist and a powerful rain-like downpour.

KERSPLOOSH! With a tremendous splash, the burly Wood Cow plunged into the cold water of the lake. In the pitch-blackness, Breister’s eyes were so useless that it was as if he had lost his sight. From the sound, he sensed he was in a huge cavern. How far underground he was he could not guess.

The lake was deep enough that Breister could not touch the bottom. Exhausted, deeply chilled by his long exposure to the frigid waters, and struggling against despair, Breister paddled out of the direct fall of the water. Gasping for breath, he was grateful that there seemed to be no strong current in the lake to fight. He floated quietly, sculling only enough to stay afloat, catching his breath for the first time since the Cougar had attacked him. Breister did not know where he was, but he was deeply grateful to simply be able to rest.

“Ahhh, to rest...beautiful rest...sweet, blissful rest,” he thought. “So tired, so very, very tired...can’t move my arms and legs...so tired...too tired...need to rest...” The fight against the Cougar, the brutal pounding by the water and rocks in the river, the lung-ripping, gasping struggle to breathe, the numbing cold of the water—all this punishment had left him limp with fatigue. His strength ebbing away, Breister lapsed into unconsciousness. As the muscles of his neck relaxed, his face pitched forward into the water. The biting cold of the water had no effect in reviving him, but rather dragged him deeper into icy rest.

“Hunjah! Woonyak!” Breister heard the strange words as if they came to him from a far away place. They seemed friendly and inviting. He turned to look in the direction of the voice and found that his eyes were closed. Forcing them to open against a powerful desire to sleep, Breister saw a frightful-looking Sheep bending over him. The Sheep wore the hair around her head close-cropped, and had brightly-colored designs swirling around her eyes and ears. She was robed in an intricately embroidered caftan, which emphasized her startling appearance. Fantastic animals leaped and pranced in the designs and a large, many-colored bird with two sets of wings clutched a sun in its talons. Sharp bone needles held her clothing together, and long curling bone hooks, painted with stripes, were laced through her cheeks.

Was this another wild hallucination? It did not seem terrifying. Breister’s confused thoughts struggled to make sense of it, but could not, and he lapsed back into sleep.

Awaking some time later, Breister found himself lying on a pallet of soft feathers. Several brilliant shafts of sunlight cut long, sloping beams through the semi-darkness. He realized that he was no longer wet. Somehow, a soft, bright green sheet of cloth that wrapped across his body and tied at the shoulder had replaced his wet clothes, toga-style.

“Hunjah!” The apparent greeting announced the reappearance of the strange Sheep, accompanied by a servant, who brought a steaming drink to Breister. He gulped the hot beverage greedily. A sharp, but not unpleasant, spicy sweetness had a stimulating effect, making him feel refreshed and warmed after his long immersion in the frigid water.

“Hunjah!” the strange Sheep repeated, kneeling down by Breister. “We welcome you, Woonyak,” she continued. “It has been a long time since we have had such a great Woonyak among us. Hunjah!”

“Excuse me, friend,” Breister replied, “but I don’t understand you. Why do you call me Woonyak?” Breister was very grateful for his apparent rescue and the care that the friendly Sheep was showing him, but he was also curious.

The Sheep looked kindly at Breister. “You are a ‘fallen one’—a Woonyak in our tongue—one who has fallen through the OmpotoWoo. You would say it was the ‘Great Tear’ or ‘Place Where the World is Torn.’ Few of your kind have ever fallen. It is an honor and privilege that you came to us. Hunjah!”

“There are more of you?” Breister burst out excitedly. He realized how much he wished to know. There were others? Who were they? Where was he?

“I am WooZan, chief of the WooSheep. I pulled you from the OmpotoWoo and brought you here. I thought you were dead when I found you. I brought you to the Golden