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

two Skull Buzzards to hunt the Monopole down and return him for punishment. Rumor had it that the slave traders in Port Newolf also were so furious over the Monopole’s recent role in the loss of a large and valuable lot of slaves that they were also after the Colonel with torches and swords. Even the High One was whispered to have denounced his brother over the losses he had caused.  The young Wolf instantly understood why the Monopole might be traveling in abandoned country seeking a place to hide out.

Quickly forming a plan in his mind, the Wolf stuck his head through a rear window of the house and said, “Well, well, dear Colonel, what brings you out to my place? I don’t get much company, so having you show up, why, I’m astonished at the honor you pay me!”

Falling backward in surprise, Colonel Snart stammered out a reply: “Why, no, dear beast! You’ve got the wrong beast! You’ve made a mistake! I’m a simple peddler, new to the area, whose trying to find his way across the mountains. I was just stopping a moment to rest and then I’ll be on my way—don’t mean to trouble you at all.”

“Why, it’s sure enough Colonel Snart,” the young Wolf replied with a laugh. “Would it be possible that I’d mistake him? Do you really think so? Why, such a picture I have of you nearly getting snip-snap-gulped by that monitor a few days ago! Why, how would I forget such a figure as that—even not considering the unkind words the Colonel spoke against me! No, I don’t reckon I’m mistaken who my visitor is!”

“Then you’re a fool in full flower!” the Monopole replied. “And a rude, disgusting clod to boot!”

“Not I,” the Wolf replied with a smile. “I’m a farmer, but I have nothing to do with flowers. I raise clover and honeybees—trying to bring these hills back to life. And, if you’d look, I’m rebuilding this house you complain at so wildly. Land and house are abandoned and free—which doesn’t look foolish to me.”

“I still call you an empty-brained slug!” the Monopole snarled, picking up his pack to leave.

“Well,” the Wolf replied, “since you aren’t Colonel Snart, let’s go back to where I came in and try again. I don’t want us to part with bad feelings. That’s not the way my Memm taught me to be towards strangers.”

“Bah! Just let me out of here!” the Monopole said. “I’ve got a long way to go and the best thing you could do is just to let me get going on my way.”

“Be my guest,” the Wolf replied, “I’m certainly not holdin’ you up. But, my Memm would want me to offer you a kindly suggestion—a bit of apology for mistakin’ you for someone else.”

“Bah! So what’s the grand wisdom you want to give me?”

“Just that you’ll save yourself a cold overnight in the mountains if you take the shortcut through Haz’ben Gulch—that’s the trail following that creek just up ahead there. Take the trail left, follow the creek, and your journey through the mountains will be done faster than you expected.”

Without saying more, Colonel Snart threw his satchel over his shoulder, climbed back out of the ruined house, and walked off down the road.

The young Wolf watched as the Colonel walked down the road. Seeing that the Monopole took his suggestion and turned down the path at Haz’ben Gulch, a broad smile spread across his face. Returning to his work, he muttered happily to himself.

“Right sorry, Memm, if I was not completely honest with that fellow. You taught me right, and I did make a kindly suggestion to a ‘lost traveler,’ as you’d want. I really was truthful that taking the shortcut down the Gulch would shorten his journey and avoid a cold night in the mountains. Now, yes, that is because I knew he’d be nabbed by the bounty hunter—but, nevertheless, I was truthful in the strict sense of things. Why, I wasn’t required to tell him that the Wild-Vile Cat and the Skull Buzzards were here looking for him a while ago—or that I sent them down there to set up camp along the creek. They was already figurin’ he might be comin’ up this way—and, well, it is a nice place to camp. And, bless you, Memm, I also just figured that you really would want me to introduce that fellow to the bounty hunter. Seems like something you’d have wanted. Now, I think I’d better get on with my work, Memm, before I start imagining the tracker beasts jumping the Colonel and then him later up there breaking rock at Tilk Duraow. That would be too much fun on a day when there’s work to be done!”

 

Epilogue

As the Sweet Ice bowls emptied on the evening of Helga’s return to the Rounds, not a single Roundie was absent. Sharing the Sweet Ice together expressed the soul of the Roundie community, and on this special night that spirit was especially strong.

A gentle evening breeze rustled through the cottonwood leaves as the Roundies settled down in happy, full-bellied contentment to listen to Holy Speak storytellers, as was traditional on occasions of great import. The Gather Round itself seemed too constraining for such a joyous occasion, and the storytelling occurred in the cottonwood grove just beyond the Commons. As the Roundies gathered, Ayatama Cornnello played her little accordion and began to sing while Rostom, her brother, played his fiddle. The happy music seemed to send sparkling ripples across the Deep Springs River, echoing off the hills; then falling into silence when Bernice Saysoso, the most elder Holy Speak storyteller at the Rounds, stood up and raised her hand.

“Dear friends,” she began, “as the last sunlight gleams from the far side of the hills, leaving us for another day, we gather to honor our own spark of light that has returned to us. Helga, who left the Rounds some years ago as an apprentice carpenter, has returned—this time with her parents—and tonight we celebrate her presence once more among us.

“Some might say that the story Helga has to tell is too fantastic to be true. Let us rely on our own ancient wisdom and draw what assurance we seek from it. The spirit of The All within each of us can discern a truthful account of things we did not previously know how to hear. This is the teaching of the Holy Speak and the belief of the ancient generations...What if our dear Helga has found something new? What if? This is the story we have for you tonight.”

Amidst the deepening shadows, cedar oil lamps were lit and cast a soft yellow light across the expectant crowd. Many questions lay hidden within Helga’s mind and heart as she prepared to speak. Where to begin? How to tell a story that had so many beginnings?

As the children to gather around her, Helga picked up Alvo Merrybuck, a wee Prairie Dog babe. “Mampy-Helg!” Alvo wailed loudly, “Start at the beginning! Tell about how you came to the Roundies! Start there!”

Giving the little Prairie Dog a ruffle on the head, Helga smiled, “Not this time, Alvo, that will have to be another day...But you’ll like what I’ve got to tell tonight, anyway. Do you like explosions? And Grizzly Bear trackers going after bandits?” Helga winked at Toshty and Annie who were seated together at the front of the crowd.

“Ooooo! Yes!” Alvo squealed. “Tell about that!” Helga held the little babe close. “Well, you little scamp, if you would just quiet down a bit so a body could talk...Why, I’ll get started!”

Turning to the assembled Roundies, and casting a fond look toward Helbara, Breister, Christer, and BorMane, Helga began her tale. Stooping to pick up some sand, she let the grains sift back to the ground in a falling stream of particles catching firelight. “Stories are like that sparkling rain of sand,” she began. “There are many stories and I don’t know them all. Tonight I only have time to tell you a few—like the few grains of sand that remain behind, clinging to me.”

 

 

Special Feature: Caravan Dragons

 

 

The Wood Cow Chronicles include several kinds of Dragons in the storyline. The most common type, the RingaGelani, is introduced in the first volume, and appears in every other volume in the series.

Caravan Dragons: The RingaGelani

Coloration: Photoactive coloring. Green over most of the body in sunshine, with color changing to blue-green in less intense light. Deep blue eyes.

Caravan Dragons are capable of sustaining respectable, but not blistering, speeds over long distances, while pulling heavy loads. There are several Dragon species that combine these characteristics, but the RingaGelani is the one most commonly found in caravan service.

The RingaGelani is more a steady work-dragon than a flashy speedster. Towing up to thirty times its own weight in caravan wagons almost effortlessly, this high-powered Dragon is versatile, reliable, and nearly indestructible. It has been known to survive avalanches, lightning strikes, tornados, and forest fires with only minor scratches. Except in cases where the caravan was disabled by broken wheels or similar delays, no caravan pulled by RingaGelanis has ever arrived late at a destination.

The power of a RingaGelani as a caravan Dragon is obvious as soon as the wagons are hitched up. It’s not a high-speed hot-clawing beast, but it can still rip from standing still to top speed in under ten seconds. Put a team of perfectly matched RingaGelanis at the front of a caravan on anything like a decent road and they’ll deliver the most fragile cargo in perfect condition, on time, every time.

Like most of the other caravan Dragons, with a RingaGelani, great performance isn’t the same thing as great manners. Extremely ill-tempered and rebellious, these Dragons snarl and hiss so much that it leaves uninitiated passengers numb with fright. If they’ve been fed a steady diet of shark meat—which they intensely dislike—they’re prone to snap at anyone getting too near. Since shark meat is cheap, the common practice of Dragon Bosses is to make it the standard ration for caravan Dragons. Yet the mix of bad temperament and poor food makes for an uneasy relationship between RingaGelanis and their masters.

In short, the RingaGelani is powerful, fast enough, and probably the only Dragon that will scare the pants off of you just by the way it looks at you. That, and the fact that a team of these beasts makes enough racket—the rumbling in their throats is the worst—to make your body vibrate. But you’ve got to love these hard-working caravan Dragons. Being strong enough to pull a caravan through an avalanche doesn’t come without costs. If you’re going to die anyway, why not drive a high-powered team of bad-attitude RingaGelanis like a maniac over some of the worst roads you can find? It’s an adrenaline rush no hot-clawing Dragon can provide. Trust in this: the RingaGelanis will get the caravan there, even if you don’t make it.

 

Special Feature: The Maggon Dragon

 

 

As has long been known, scientifically speaking, the Maggon Dragon is not a species of Dragon, but rather, something entirely different. More closely related to crocodiles than to actual Dragons, the Maggon has no close physical relationship to Dragons, and none of the social and cultural habits that generally characterize Dragons.

Having now made that clarification, let us move to BorMane’s account. Some years after his encounter with the Maggon Dragon, BorMane, in response to persistent requests, told the complete story of his actions on that day. The following is an account of BorMane’s words, as reported in the Norder Bay newspaper of the day.

The Maggon was a Dragon more likely to catch and eat beasts that tried to trap it,