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Chapter 34. 21 to Win
by Aras
"Stop squirming," Rea commanded, disregarding the indignant sniff Antonio gave her
How far could a beast walk into the woods? Half-way. Easily solved.
Walk halfway into the woods? Easily done. Right?
Wrong. This was not the bloody woods. Wood, as a matter of fact, played a very small part in this horrible emerald kaleidoscope. Hostile, razor-like plants thrived everywhere, choking off any attempt at easy passage. Needles and spines had caught Aras' fur in a thousand different places, introducing a new sting every time the wolverine altered his posture.
Worse than the plants, though, was the humidity. The moisture-laden air clung to Aras like a damp cloak, and Aras continually felt as though he was gasping for breath in a rainstorm. Even the dank cell at Camp Amrock hadn't achieved this level of wretchedness.
Camp Amrock. Even thinking about it brought bile to his throat. Most of Aras' life was nothing but zephyrs of the stolen past, but everything since awakening in jail was his to keep. Aras could never forget that miserable scumhole. Not even if he tried.
They thought he was sleeping. Fools. His eyes were open just that miniscule fraction, taking in every detail, formulating a plan of escape. But for now, he lay still. One of the hares was watching. "Braithewaite!" boomed an imperious voice. "Close that bloomin' flap!" The rusty slit scraped closed. "Sorry, Sarge." "'Sorry, Sarge." That's all you've got t'say, 'Sorry, Sarge?'" "Sorry, Sarge." Aras winced. Stupidity like Braithewaite's actually hurt to listen to. Solemn seconds ticked by. "Say, Sarge?" The beleaguered officer sighed. "What is it?" "I don't get it, Sarge. The lads were jawing about it at the mess, about how they think it's a wolverine we've caught. Padilla said she knows, 'cause he read about in the olden days when there was a wolverine came to Mossflower with a bunch of flesh-eatin' vermin." "That wasn't a question, Private." "Well, so what if jolly ol' beasts eat meat? All sorts of vermin types're known to munch down birds and fish. Matter of fact, I'm rather partial to bally old woodpigeon eggs m'self, sah." Aras had been wondering this himself. The wolverine strained his ears for the Sergeant's answer. "Braithewaite, birds and fish is one thing. It's not murder, killing a fish. They haven't got brains, most of 'em, don't even rightly know you've done it, wot. But wolverines, them was murderous savages, slaughterin' intelligent beasts, like you and me, just t'keep themselves going. There's a special place at Hellgates reserved for beasts depraved like that. " "Pity. This one doesn't seem all that bad, really." Condemnation chilled the senior hare's voice. "Don't waste your pity on that one, Braithewaite. Not after what he's done. Beasts like that are pure evil, killing's all they know. Besides, we don't really know it's a wolverine yet. We'll have to wait on Salamandastron for confirmation." "T'think we might be peepin' at a real live wolverine. Awfully surreal, huh, Sarge?" "Yes, Braithewaite. Very surreal." The conversation ended there. When night fell, Aras scraped at the bolts harder than ever. Surreal. That was a good word for this whole situation. "Ridiculous" was almost a better fit, but that would imply a possibility of levity. These circumstances were not funny. They couldn't even be said to be tragically funny... "Hearken, earthwalkers!" Silisk emerged from a maze of fronds. "Did you locate the tree, Silisk?" Antonio queried. The adder rose up, her tongue flicking pleasurably. "Indeed, yon three-seasons fox lies not far ahead. Our destination is nearly at coil." "Don't you mean, 'at paw?'" Silisk glared venomously at Thalliv. Antonio brusquely took charge of the situation. "I strongly suggest that we remain alert and on guard. There is no way of knowing what we may encounter." The ermine turned to face Thalliv. "I suggest you ready your crossbow." Aras internally rolled his eyes as the group pushed forward. What a joke. If we get into a scuffle, he'll be too busy widdling his breeches to actually fire the thing. Sarkleyet might as well have given it to Silisk. Emerging from the brush, the party found themselves in the midst of a small clearing. Devoid of the verdant filter, sunlight poured into the open space, illuminating the magnificent object of their quest... "A damn old stump?" Sybil demanded. The marteness had remarkable intuition when it came to noticing the bloody obvious. A damn stump it was. Old, too. No mistaking that. The gnarled trunk looked as though it had weathered several lifetimes' worth of seasons. Strangely, a slender sapling appeared to be growing up from a split in the wood. "Not just any damned stump, Miss Sybil." Antonio stroked his chin. "This tree may well be the answer to our riddle." Thalliv was confused, and said so. "Didn't the riddle say something about a fox and head?" "I'm not sure I understand either," Aras admitted. These foreign trees bore no resemblance to either creature. Until this point, he had mentally envisioned the fox and hundred-seasons-old head as a rather awkward statue. "Then I suggest you both pay attention whilst I explain," huffed Antonio. "Observe," the ermine proclaimed, crossing over to the mossy stump. "This aged trunk is from a golden pine. That gives us the hundread-seasons head portion. Now," Antonio lectured, "This young shoot is from a tree known as the Dogwood. 'Dog' is an informal term occasionally used to refer to vulpine species. So, there you have it." "That sapling is a three-seasons-old 'fox' tree. It's sitting on the 'head' of a hundred-seasons-old tree," Rea explained to a still-befuddled Thalliv. Aras cast a dubious glance at the stump. "Well, then, if this tree's the answer to the riddle, what exactly are we supposed to do with it?" Everybeast stared pensively at the thing. Apart from the dogwood shoot, there was absolutely nothing to distinguish it from any other stump. Aras watched impassively as Rea knelt down and began closely examining the wood. Antonio was hovering about, trying to find his own solution. Silisk basked approvingly on his shoulders. With a sigh, the wolverine stumped off to the far edge of the clearing. This solution was a stab in the dark, at best. And even if it wasn't, best to leave the trees to those who knew them. Dropping his haversack, Aras settled down against a fallen trunk to watch the investigations unfold. Finding nothing obvious about the stump itself, Rea and Thalliv had begun scraping at the ground near its roots. Antonio and Silisk hovered nearby, supervising closely. Beneath the folds of his tunic, the wolverine's stomach growled irritably. Choosing to skip breakfast was proving to be a serious mistake. He snagged the pack with a claw and dragged it forward. Perhaps he could force himself to manage one of the bread rolls. If the others ate such things regularly, they couldn't possibly be that bad. As Aras' paw clasped around a spongy lump, he suddenly realized the effect that swamp mud and two days of perpetual sweating could have on a porous baked good. The nuts still looked good, though, so he sampled a few. They tasted distinctly like dirt. Behind him, one of the bushes rustled. Aras whirled, claws bared. Silence. An eternity later, the bush moved once more, swayed by the currents of jungle breeze. A small clump of bread pulp dropped from his claws. Aras felt like an idiot. Perhaps he was an idiot. Perhaps they all were. We could have saved him. We could have saved the stupid cat, but we were all too panicked to get our act together. There was one of Castille, and six of us. Seven. There were six now, but there had been seven, then. Dirano was dead. Dead, or dying slowly. Some of the more irrational beasts were probably clinging to the last shred of uncertainty, but, in the pit of his stomach, Aras knew the truth. Beasts who set traps and spill blood down the air shaft aren't the type to take prisoners. When blood was spilled, it was for keeps. Something about the way Dirano had been taken bothered Aras tremendously. It wasn't grief that Dirano had been the one to die. Aras hadn't liked the cat. Hellgates, he hadn't liked the cat. Dirano had been loathsome at best. Not even the charitable veil of ignorance traditionally thrown upon the dead could sufficiently cloud that. No, what pierced Aras to the core was the fact that it could have been literally any one of them. Under slightly different circumstances, Aras could have been first up those stairs. He would be the one who'd lost his life so that a group of relative strangers could acquire a box and some papers. And they would have run out all the same, leaving him alone to deal with the disembodied menace. That was a highly disturbing notion. However, in the perfect, rosy little world that Antonio had constructed, such a scenario would not occur again. Thanks be to the almighty contract. After all, what craven cur could possibly dare to run, or in some cases, slither, away and leave the others to die, after they had signed a little piece of paper saying that they wouldn't? Aras had to swallow a bitter laugh every time he thought of it. For somebeast so educated, the ermine had an astonishing lack of practical intelligence. In the heat of the moment, loyalties and signatures counted for nothing. Anybeast would throw any other beast in front of the horde if it increased the odds of their own survival; that was a fundamental fact of life. As his attention wandered from the attempts between weasel and wolf to unearth some clue from the stump, Aras noticed that he wasn't the only one who'd opted out of the investigations. Sybil had scaled a leaning tree trunk, and was watching the proceedings with mild disinterest. Probably wants to relate every juicy detail to Sarkleyet when we return. Aras scrounged a few more nuts from the sodden pack, and tossed one into his mouth. Crushing it to bits with his teeth, the wolverine tried not to focus on the taste. An idea was beginning to take form in his mind. He rolled the chunks around with his tongue, trying to shape things together. If Sybil could watch the stump from the trees, who was to say that somebeast else couldn't? Or, rather, wasn't doing so already? As he popped a second nut into his mouth, Aras scanned the trees in his peripheral vision. Nothing stood out amongst the jumbled shadows. It wasn't surprising, really. If Nevyeer or any of his cronies were watching the clearing, they weren't going to be obvious about it. The wolverine meandered over to the excavation site, and nudged Antonio. "I have a suspicion." "Very well. Enlighten me, Master Ikaras." "Enlighten us, Master Ikaras," Silisk amended. Aras paused grimly under the snake's unblinking gaze. He would have preferred to keep things private. No point in pressing the issue, though. Especially if he was wrong. "Well, what if the stump is a false clue?" "Pardon me?" "Well, Nevyeer was suffering from paranoia, right? If Silisk knew about this place, odds are most of the jungle does too. Why would he use it to hide a clue for his assistants if there was a risk that someone else could find it?" Silisk seemed to rankle at his mention of her name, and flicked her tail irritably. "Earthwalkers are naught but foolish bags of flesh! Who can fathom their ignorant choices?" "Granted, and that may well be the case," Aras replied soothingly. "But, this clearing can be spied on from anywhere in the surrounding area. What if Nevyeer had arranged it so that anybeast who tried to follow him would come here? That way, when the assistant showed up, Nevyeer could verify whether or not he'd been followed, and have him escorted from here. And if the wrong party showed up, they would assume they'd found a dead end, and continue looking elsewhere." Antonio nodded slowly. "That would be... plausible." Aras could sense the word "but" looming on the horizon well before the ermine's lips had formed it. "But you must admit that your theory significantly strains credulity, Master Ikaras. For a start, Nevyeer would be required to post an omnipresent guard to ensure the success of such a venture. It would seem highly unwise for him to waste his limited resources in such a fashion." "Good point," Aras sighed. On the other side of the stump, Rea stiffened. "Do you hear that?" the wolf hissed. There was no doubting the wolf's revelation this time. A shuffling, crunching sound began to echo around the clearing. Aras asked the question on everybeast's lips. "Castille?" Rea shook her head. "Definitely more than one. It sounds like an army!" There was a metallic ring as Antonio withdrew his hatchet and headed for the tree line. "Then perhaps we shall extend them a friendly salute."