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

“Stand here!” one yelled at him. “No! Stand there!” another shouted “No! No, you knotheads! He goes over here!” Others tried to push and shove the confused Lynx this way or that. Some pulled him forward. Others pushed him back. All yelled at him in a frenzy!

What was going on? He was completely bewildered. The more they yelled conflicting commands, the angrier Bad Bone felt. With jabbering, screaming Jays all around him, shoving from all directions, Bad Bone wanted to strike out with his strong, muscular arms. He didn’t know which way to turn. He wanted to do his own screaming at the idiot Jays. But, once again, he worried that his mission would be lost if he opposed the Jays. So he reserved his strength and tried to wait out the torment.

But the bedlam did not lessen. The Jays continued to push and shove him this way and that, screeching at him to “Stand Here!” or “Stand There!” As time went on, he began to feel himself giving in to his anger and frustration. He once again began to twitch and tremble, as he struggled to keep his surging anger contained. Quivering uncontrollably, Bad Bone closed his eyes, trying to block out the chaos around him. He covered his face to keep the Jays from seeing the tears filling his eyes. Again, his knees began to buckle as he battled to hold himself together. He wanted more than anything to lash out at the Jays. To break their bones...to scatter them to the winds...to scream insults...“Can’t do it, can’t destroy the mission...,” he thought, feeling that his trembling knees must soon give way.

SHOOOSH! SWISH! SPLASH! SHOOSH! When exhaustion seemed about to overwhelm his self-control, a powerful spray of cold water was turned on him. Sputtering under the drenching, the tormented Lynx let out a long, resounding howl of near-maddened joy. The jabbering of the Jays stopped and the shock of the streaming water ended Bad Bone’s recent ordeal... “Arroooooowl! Arroooooowl!” his howls echoed through the air. Then another hose turned on him, and another, and another. Bad Bone’s howls were drowned out as high-pressure water hit him from all sides!

At last, the spraying stopped. Bad Bone dropped to the ground, completely exhausted, every ounce of strength gone. Shivering in the cool highlands air, he fell into a deep sleep. He had not undermined his mission, nor betrayed his pledge to his sovereign, nor dishonored his clan. He slept with surprising peace.

When he awoke, Bad Bone was seated, dried and neatly combed, in a fine suit of clothes, at a table set with beautiful silver plates, mugs, and tableware. Around the table was a magnificent meal of all manner of delicious foods. How did he get here? How long had he slept sitting upright in his chair? It could have been some time, he realized. The chair was comfortable and had arms and a back that easily supported someone sleeping.

“A creature might get on very well here, visitor,” a familiar voice said. It was the Jay he had first met as he entered the settlement. She was now sitting at the table with him. Still in her uniform, the top hat was sitting on the floor next to her chair. She motioned at the delightful spread of delicacies.

“It may not be a bad situation for some...” Bad Bone replied. He was about to go on with an angry complaint about the treatment he had received, but thinking better of it, continued in another vein. “...and the table certainly takes my attention, if it pleases your ladyship.”

“I hope you have brought appetite with you?” asked his host.

“If it pleases my lady,” Bad Bone replied, “I swear I have not eaten in a long time. I know not how long I have been here.”

“A bath seems to sharpen a creature’s appetite,” the Jay observed. “You may eat as much as you like.” Bad Bone attacked the food hungrily.

“You could get along very well here, visitor,” the Jay repeated. “You have done well. The Keeper of the Light is pleased. She feels that our blessed settlement has found a new citizen today, if he might wish a change...” She paused, seeing the question in Bad Bone’s eyes. “Yes, it is still today. You may be assured that you slept only a couple of hours. You have overcome our defenses with courage and perseverance. You have won our respect!”

“Overcome your defenses?” Bad Bone asked.

“Yes. Did you not feel more challenged, and perhaps more frightened, than ever before? Did you not feel the strongest desire you have ever felt to run away in terror? Were you not near to screaming at the torments you encountered? Did you not need more strength and courage than you realized you had?”

The powerful Lynx looked at the Jay with a flash of understanding on his face.

“Yes,” the Jay smiled, “what you experienced was our defensive system.” She gazed at him with admiration. “Few visitors ever visit our settlement. We are too remote. It is too dangerous to reach us. Only the very best climbers can come. Some, such as you, are sent by the High One on missions. Others have heard of our blessed community and wish to join it. Most, as you saw, are High Peaks Worthies who come to test themselves against the Desperate Ridges. Each is an arrogant fool. Each considers himself to be the most courageous climber that ever lived. Their pride inspires them to test themselves against the Desperate Ridges. Only a few ever reach our blessed place. We do not need a great defensive force. However, we deeply value our privacy, and do not wish to be disturbed. We do not want visitors loitering about uselessly. So, we do not welcome visitors warmly, as you noticed.” Leaning back in her chair, the Keeper of the Light turned her penetrating glance on Bad Bone.

“You came here like most visitors, convinced that you were extraordinarily courageous. You thought that no one could beat you at anything. All visitors who come here believe that they are strong and brave. But...they have never had to face themselves as their own worst enemy! That is our defense! We make each visitor battle themselves. We want only the most worthy visitors to stay. Only those who can overcome themselves. Most fail in this test. You, however, have done well.”

Bad Bone sat quietly, considering what the Jay had said. He now understood what had happened to him, except for one thing. “If it pleases your ladyship,” Bad Bone asked, “who were the furred creatures standing in line behind the inn?”

“Ah,” the Jay replied, “those are the creatures who are afraid to face themselves. They failed in the first trial and desired to run away, but found they had nowhere to run. Realizing that they could not overcome themselves, they gave way before the fear and weakness that lived within them. Although they climbed up here full of prideful assurance, they no longer have the courage and confidence to climb back down. These contemptible beasts now wait at the back of the inn for scraps from this table each day. They are no trouble to us. They think only of the deliverer they hope will come and rescue them. Such is the nature of most furred creatures,” she concluded contemptuously.

Bad Bone looked at the Jay with horror.

“No, no,” she laughed. “They are not prisoners. They might leave anytime they wish. But they await some bold creature to rescue them. Alas, there are few such creatures among the furred ones. But, there are the rare ones...Someday, a truly heroic climber will come to our settlement and overcome our defenses. He will receive our offer to stay with contempt and desire to lead these poor, frightened fools back down the mountain to their old life below. Perhaps you are that peerless climber...perhaps not. We shall see. You may have a delightful life here in our blessed settlement, or you may lead the poor fools back down the mountain. Or, you may decide to leave them as they are.  We shall see. We shall see.”

A Fateful Day Dawns

On Clear Water’s Day, the greatest festival of the year, Hedgies rose early and put on their finest clothes. As soon as royal watchers saw the first beam of sunlight over the eastern mountains, a great chorus of trumpets sounded, announcing the start of the festival. Even before that, however, there was little sleep for anyone. The night before Clear Water’s Day wee beasts hardly slept a wink:

“Hurry up, Mama! All the Squint Buns will be gone before we even get a chance at them!”

“Now you just hold your ladle, you little whiff! The sun’s not even up yet! There’s no Squint Buns to be had yet—so you just hold your ladle and wait a bit.” And so it went in many homes long before dawn.

Even if some creature managed to sleep through the trumpets, he would surely be wakened by the ringing of every bell and chime in the realm which followed. In any case, once the sun peeked over the eastern mountains, and the trumpets sounded, and the bells rang, every creature poured into the streets. For the next twenty-four hours, every avenue thronged with revelers. Homes and public houses echoed with laughter and song. Dancing, contests of wile and strength, games, and carnivals continued around the clock. Rotter Wine and Frog’s Belch Ale flowed freely. And wee beasts devoured small, sweet Squint Buns—a holiday favorite—by the wagonload.

Work was suspended and Hedgies hardly slept. Grabbing naps now and then, eating on the run, barely stopping to change clothes, no one wanted to miss a single moment of the great annual party. Every street was garlanded with bright lights and spectacular streamers.

As the first rays of the sun shone over the eastern mountains, the trumpets and bells called attention to the critical moment when the first rays of morning sun touched the tip of Clear Water Peak. This eagerly anticipated moment—coming 20 minutes after the first sound of trumpets—was marked as archers let fly a volley of a thousand flaming arrows in a grand arc to signal the start of a great procession.

From every corner of every village and town, Hedgies thronged to attend the solemn ‘First Touch’ ceremony held in the village High Seat. Every town had such town halls, crowned by a soaring pinnacle of stone. At the precise moment the sun’s disk first touched the top of Clear Water Peak at sunrise, the archers’ volley of arrows signaled it was time to gather.

From all parts of town the various clans of Hedgies came, rank upon rank, becoming one mighty procession flowing into the High Seat. Coming out from their houses, flooding down the side streets and alleyways into many broad, straight avenues radiating out from the High Seat like the spokes of a wheel. By rank and class the Hedgies chose their particular avenue and made their way to the High Seat.

Innumerable colorful banners hung from every window, happy cart vendors threw fruit from their carts, and here and there wee beasts clung to the branches of trees calling out the names of friends as they passed. As more and more beasts joined the processions streaming toward the High Seat, they were crushed tightly into a richly pungent throng. Strong smells of sweat and breath mixed with odors of perfumed fur, smoldering herbs, and flaming pine oil torches.  The intense energy of the different clan processions took on different forms as they moved down their distinctive avenues. Singing and sing-song howling, drums, rattles, bells, clapping and stomping—each procession found its own rhythm.

When the clan processions reached the High Seat, each