23. Landfall.
This winter was going to be long and harsh, one of the longest and harshest in living memory, and, fittingly, it declared its coming from the north not with a gentle snowfall, but with a howling gale, that snapped branches, broke weaker trees, drove heavy waves and mercilessly beat any sort of warmth from hapless beasts, unlucky enough to be in the open.
Like the odd company of beasts caught amidst the billowing sea in the small longboat. They did not know, that the land they sought was far too close for any sailor's comfort in a storm. Neither did they know, that reaching the land before the next morning, regardless of the danger, was their only chance to live, for their vessel, weakened by relentless beating of waves, was about to start leaking catastrophically. They simply tried to hang for dear lives.
In two aspects fortune was on their side. The stretch of land that the wind carried them to was a soft, sandy beach, an uncommon sight for the northern coast, and their longboat, for all its flaws, had draft shallow enough to simply jump overboard, when its keel was touching the ground.
And yet, they almost perished. Everything happened very fast. One moment Tezza, who was the lookout, finally saw something in the dusk, as the longboat cleared a particularly dense snow flurry, and shouted: "Land!". And in the brief time Selvathy spent getting to the bow, seeing where they were driven, and then returning to the tiller, the land was within a stone's throw. It was too late to do anything, not that they could do much in the first place.
With a dreadful screak, the battered craft hit the sandy bed. The sail cracked and ripped, finally giving way, as might of the wind turned the longboat sideways, tossing its hapless passengers about.
"Jump!" Selvathy shouted. She knew what will happen if they are too slow – massive waves crashing on the beach will swiftly destroy the longboat, hammer its crew and drag them into the cold depths. "Jump overboard, get to the dry land! Swifter!"
Everybeast was indeed swift to follow her last command as the de-facto captain of their nameless vessel. Or almost everybeast. Smalltooth the stoat tried, but he hit his head pretty hard, and was too groggy to move swiftly. His move overboard was more of a drop, than a jump. And when the next big, icy wave hit, stunning everybeast for a moment, then rooting them in their places, as they dug their footclaws into the sand and tried to resist the mighty pull of receding water, Smalltooth was dragged back. The longboat's hull, stuck in the sand, saved him for a moment – but hitting it knocked out whatever wind still remained in him. He managed to grasp the board and hold his head above the water through sheer stubbornness.
Selvathy, still feeling responsibility for the others from the role she had to assume during the sea voyage, remained a step behind, to help anybeast, who might be unable to get out of the water with their own strength. She saw what happened to Smalltooth. But before she could decide whether to act or not, Kethra looked back for a second, and saw the stoat's peril. Without hesitation, the ferrermaid rushed to him.
That action would have been her death, if not for Selvathy. The otter could not leave Kethra to drown, doing what she should have done herself. And even with Selvathy's help, nearly drown she did. Two more big waves hit, before, by supreme effort, the otter managed to pull two other mustelids far enough out of the sea for the rest of the small company to run to them, and to help them reach the dry land. Smalltooth was barely conscious by that point, falling on all fours to vomit seawater as soon as they were safe, Kethra little better off.
Selvathy, with her warm and waterproof fur did not understand at first, that her efforts might have been just a futile gesture. Not only Kethra and Smalltooth, everybeast was thoroughly soaked – the furious icy wind was going to kill all but the otter as reliably as any blade, and not that much slower. Ewalt was the first to assess the situation:
"Get up, everybeast! We need to move, to find shelter!"
"In what direction?" Kethra wheezed.
"Inland!" Ewalt answered with confidence he did not feel. As far as he could see, the coast was featureless in every direction, shallow dunes, covered in now-dry grass and blanketed by snow, rising where he pointed. But in the absence of better bets...
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As far as mice went, Dornal was a tough one, with seemingly endless energy and an independent streak a mile wide. Neither dangers not difficulties of living in wilderness scared him. With his wife, Wincey, and two mouselings, he left the valley of his birth and turned his steps south, to the dune country. Upon finding an abandoned, wrecked house in a hollow between three dunes, with a small spring of clear, tasty water nearby, he decided to settle there. The house, half-submerged in the ground, leaving only its thatch roof visible, was well-hidden from prying eyes. That it wasn't hidden well enough to protect its previous residents did not discourage Dornal. Skilled in many crafts, he repaired the house, so it was warm in the winter and dry in the summer. The land around was unsuited for farming, and a field of grain meant an extra risk of unwanted attention anyway, but the forest not so far away inland produces enough nuts, berries, mushrooms and edible roots, while by going an even shorter distance in an opposite direction he could reach the sea, with its plentiful fishing.
After six seasons of living alone with his family, which now increased to five children, Dornal was rightfully pleased with himself. They had good shelter, simple but plentiful food, enough driftwood to keep the house warm in winter, and, in his opinion, more safety than before. The only thing lacking was good company. Those few woodlanders he encountered when foraging in the forest seemed quite shifty, and lived too far away.
Unbeknownst to Dornal, plenty of company was about to force themselves on him.
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The shipwreck survivors might have walked right past Dornal's house, leaving it to the left of them, concealed behind a dunetop. Almost all them were too busy forcing themselves to move their paws to spot sparse signs, that betrayed presence of an inhabited dwelling nearby, and Selvathy, the only one who still felt well, was no experienced scout. And she was busy lending her shoulder to Smalltooth, who was in the worst condition at all.
Strangely, it was Smalltooth, who saved everybeast. After sneezing loudly, he drew in cold air… and a scent, very faint, too faint to be recognized by most beasts. A jolt of final, desperate energy ran through the stoat's body:
"Smoke! I smell smoke!" Leaving Selvathy behind, he ran blindly against the wind's direction, stumbling, falling on all fours, crawling in the snow, and rising again.
Ewalt, also instantly reinvigorated by the unexpected hope, scaled the dune before Smalltooth was halfway up. Dornal's house now more resembled a snowdrift, than a building – if not for its smoke hole that Ewalt's sharp eyes could not miss.
Dornal was not sure if he heard something outside, above the howling of the wind. After a look at Wincey, nursing their youngest son, he decided that it is better to be safe, than sorry, and reached for a barbed-tipped spear, that he never had to use for anything but harpooning bigger fish over the seasons spent in the dune country.
The house door was just a simple half of a wooden log, roughly cut to fit the doorway and draped with mats to keep warmth in – things like metal hinges were an unthinkable luxury out here. So it offered no resistance whatsoever to the creatures outside.
There was just one reason, why nothing irreversible happened, when the door flew aside, and everybeast within the house – or at least those who were old enough to walk – jumped from their benches. Ewalt was first in the doorway, and even though he looked just like a desperate and dangerous creature he was, Dornal hesitated to strike at a fellow mouse.
"Who you…" then he saw a big fox walking into his house next, and his paw rose for a throw before he could form any conscious thought.
"Wait!" Ewalt and Rowanbloom, who just pushed past Suran with unexpected strength, shouted in unison.
Miraculously, Dornal indeed stayed his paw. Although, maybe that had more to do with him spotting more beasts beyond the door and instinctively realizing, that he stands no real chance against that many. Most of his family bunched together behind him, the younger daughter and twin sons wailing in terror. Only his eldest daughter, Lynne, was big and mature enough to grab a long kitchen knife and rush to stand with her father. But what use was a girl, who saw a real foe for the first time in her life, against what looked like a band of experienced killers?
"We mean you no harm!" Rowanbloom was trying to look as unthreatening as possible, which is hard when you're backed by more and more armed beasts entering the house. "We're just a few shipwrecked travelers, who need shelter and warmth. Please, let us rest here, and we'll leave as soon as we can!"
Dornal gripped the spear so tight, that his claws scratched the hard, polished wood. True, the squirrel didn't look like a slave, and the mouse, as well as other woodlanders, he could now see, were armed – but they still were together with vermin!
"No harm? You look like robbers!" Dornal blurted out, as his gaze raced from one intruder to another.
"That's because we bloody rob beasts!" Suran stepped forward, and pointed his sword at him. The fox was rash even at the best of times, now, frozen, hungry and weary, he had no patience for pleasantries. "Listen, mice, you have a choice..."
The fox suddenly went silent, as something hard and sharp poked his back.
"You too have a choice," Ewalt spoke quietly, but everybeast heard him. "Do you want to keep your kidneys?"
Had Ewalt pulled something like this back on Ergaph, a fight probably would have erupted immediately. But after many days of being stuck with each other in one boat, mutual hostility either flares into burning hate, or grows dimmer, as vestiges of camaraderie form. The latter was the case for most of the beasts here. Vermin and woodlanders, instantly remembering who they are, backed away from each, grasped for their weapons, but no one struck immediately.
"Enough! Stop, all of you!" Kethra roared, before Rowanbloom could think of anything to say. She certainly had one quality of a proper warlady – loud and powerful voice, well-suited for shouting orders over the din of battle. And not only the Ergaph survivors, but Dornal and Lynne as well, stood still, frozen by the force of her command.
The ferretmaid rubbed her forehead, as she stepped forward, to stand between Dornal's family and her own crew. Ewalt and Rowanbloom were more cunning than her, so could these wretched woodlanders not force her to think, for once?
"Look at us. Don't you see, we're fresh from the seasons-forsaken sea. We're travelers, not bandits. Give us your hospitality, even for this one night, and I swear, no harm will come to you or your family from my beasts."
Dornal was relieved to see that the woodlanders part of the band that just invaded his house is apparently on his side. And, to think of it, all those beasts indeed looked like they just crawled out of the water. Even against his better judgment, the mouse felt the urge to help these suffering creatures. Yet mistrust of vermin was ingrained deeply in him, and every look at the big fox reinforced it.
"You swear?"
Dornal almost stabbed Kethra, when she reached for a knife on her belt, a small curved blade, meant more for utility, than for any possible use in battle. If she noticed his reaction, she did not back away. Letting her battleaxe fall on the mat-covered floor, she drew the knife with her left paw, and clutched its blade with her right. Half the beasts in the room gasped, when the ferretmaid pulled the blade forcefully. Blood flowed freely on iced-over jerkin, as she placed the wounded palm against the left side of her chest.
"On the blood of my kin, and on my own heart, I swear!"
For a second, there was silence. Then Dornal put aside his spear, deliberately slowly, to avoid following Kethra's bad example and making a move that could be mistaken for an attack by a nervous beast, and bowed his head:
"Then you all are my guests. But, by the claw, close the door, before you chill out the whole dwelling!"
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Dornal and Wincey were so starved for company, that once their initial fear was allayed, they could not force themselves to be cold and suspicious with their guests, even if more than half of the guests were vermin. They put more wood in the fireplace, and laid the table – or, to be more precise, the woven dunegrass rug, that served as the table – generously. By good fortune in the warm seasons, their larder was full enough to feed extra nine beasts for a few days, without immediately threatening their own survival.
For beasts who spent a better part of a moon on food that would be considered dry, if most of it wasn't actually wet and molding, the simple offerings of sea and forest, from smoked fish to mushroom soup, seemed a feast worthy of kings.
"Try this – my best raspberry preserve!" Wincey placed a sizeable pot before Ewalt. "Will help you to get a little less thin, don't you think?"
"I'm afraid, that I'm not a beast who'd like to get fat, but thanks for your kindness!" Ewalt tried to smile in return. The unblinking stare of Suran, who sat right against him, made his expression stiffer, than he wanted.
"Such gratitude." Suran said quietly and venomously after the mousewife moved to other guests. "I expected you to spare a bit more of it to a beast who saved your life, and gave you a weapon, you know. But, I guess, asking our great mouse warrior to not point that weapon at his buddies' poor kidneys, is asking too much."
Several beasts, including Rowanloom, turned their heads in his direction, clearly worried. Ewalt took a few breaths, and answered as calmly as possible:
"Wise beasts said, that if your… your comrade is about to do something bad, then your duty is to correct him, not to encourage him."
"So," Suran's lips curled in mock surprise, "we're comrades now? Who'd think!"
"Cut it off, both of you." Kethra' voice carried a trace of a threatening growl. And – perhaps because this evening she played the role of the leader far better than either of them could hope to – the fox and the mouse did cut it off.
But while the fox seemed to forget the whole incident swiftly enough, and soon was joking, laughing and loudly complimenting Wincey's food, Ewalt remained sulky, eating mechanically. Rowanbloom was the only one to notice it. Others, even Selvathy, were too busy enjoying warm house and warm food, not thinking much of others, much less of their moods. Then again, Rowanbloom also had more time to interact with Ewalt, than any living beast. But in the house, whose builders had not even the faintest idea of privacy and separate rooms for its inhabitants, there was no opportunity to ask the mouse warrior face to face, what is bothering him. Not even when all food was eaten, fire in the fireplace dimmed, wicker lamps were extinguished, and the whole unusual gathering of beasts went to sleep. Rowanbloom arranged her bedding next to Ewalt's, but whatever her intentions were, sleep claimed her exhausted body and mind as soon as she hit the straw.
Then, seemingly a moment later, somebeast's elbow hit her ear, knocking her back into wakefulness.
"I'm sorry," whispered Ewalt, to whose aimless tossing and turning she owed the hit, when he saw, that the squirrel raised her head.
"Oh, it is nothing. But what's up with you?" Unless Rowanbloom's senses deceived her, the two of them were the only ones awake.
"Can't sleep." The mouse warrior whispered, staring at the roof.
"When you led me across Ergaph, you always were asleep as soon as you closed your eyes, even with foes within a hour's walk on all sides. Is something bothering you?"
"You can say so."
"Maybe you can tell me what it is? Ewalt, I'm your friend, after all."
Ewalt remained silent for so long, that Rowanbloom interpreted that as a refusal, and was surprised, when he finally spoke:
"The real reason I was so fast to point my blade at Suran? He said aloud what I was thinking. I walked into this house, not intending to take "no" for an answer from the host, whomever he might be. I've allied myself with vermin, and then I've decided to use vermin for my fight, and now my thoughts are that of a vermin. What's up with me, indeed…"
Rowanbloom found Ewalt's paw in the dark and held it in her own. "Whatever your thoughts may be, your actions were that of a goodbeast. I heard, that all warriors feel fear, the brave ones just reject it. And like that, even goodbeasts are still tempted towards self-serving, evil actions. They just reject the temptation, like you did. And nowadays, I wonder if those we call vermin…"
Ewalt pulled his paw free. "Vermin are vermin, even if we walk the same path for a time. Don't you dare to trust them. I… never mind. Sleep now."
The mouse warrior turned away from Rowanbloom, showing her that the whispered conversation is over. The squirrel watched his still form for a time, wondering if he's drifting to the land of dreams quietly now, or just pretending to. Sleep claimed her again, before she was able to decide.
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The next morning was clear, and bright, and cold, very cold. The thick carpet of snow, shining in the bright sunlight, covered the land, beach, dune and forest alike – a picturesque landscape to look upon from a window of a warm and sound house, a dispiriting one for those who had to travel it.
A mile and a half further inland from Dornal's house, on a gnarled branch of an old and stubborn tree, overlooking the coast, a snow-covered figure, that looked like a frozen corpse of a big bird suddenly moved. Great wings flapped, turning from white to shining black, as snow fell off them. With one powerful push, the bird took into the air. She flew in a big semicircle, over the house, now almost completely buried in the snow, but still recognizable from the air, over small figures crawling about, clearing snow that blocked its exit, over the ice-covered broken mast, still sticking from the shallows, marking the longboat's wreck. All appeared to be happening just as she saw in memories that were not hers. The pebble destined to trigger an avalanche has fallen.
Author's notes: After deciding to reread The Rogue Crew and refresh my memory on certain things, I've realized, that distances involved in the book are about an order of magnitude smaller, that those I assumed when planning this fic. Oh well. Too late to go back now. With all respect to Mr. Jacques, sometimes he tended to make his geography way too miniaturized for the numbers and dangers involved anyway.
And while I'm at writing author's notes again, I'd like to extend my thanks for everyone who read, liked and reviewed my fic. Your interest is much appreciated.