Chapter Nine
"She's waking up..."
The words came as a distant buzz, more noticed than heard to Eleanor. Her brain told her to flutter her eyes open and, upon doing so, she realized she was still among the living.
She couldn't recall feeling any impact after that headlong tumble she took in the rain, couldn't remember that she finally stopped screaming somewhere before the end of her fall.
She took a moment to try to focus in on her surroundings. Drawing another deep breath, she tried again, with better results.
The room was dark, punctuated in spots with dim light from thin torches. It was wooden and very spartan, with orderly piles of dying, drying grass on the floor for beds and gourds or various sizes, shapes and makeshift functions, gathered in an illuminated corner.
Eleanor caught sight of a figure's near-silhouette moving towards her. Even in her weakened state, she could feel the adrenal rush of caution.
Upon second examination, the figure appeared diminutive, even to Eleanor. Then an odor struck her immediately. A scent like wet, cut grass that forced her to stop smelling so deeply, lest she get a headache for her troubles. After all she had been through previously, Eleanor could recognize the aroma of chlorophyll by now.
The figure's face looked inquisitively close to Eleanor's and Eleanor could finally see that it was the visage of a young Chipmunk girl.
The girl's face was noticeably painted with dark plant sap in wide, crude patterns, her hair was matted down with the same. Her exposed hands, arms, legs and feet were also splotched deep with the substance, caking in her fur. Even the ragged, paltry dress she wore was stained and saturated in sap, answering Eleanor's curiosity as to the origins of the smell and adding to the pungent, earthly scents in the air.
Eleanor felt the light pressure of small fingers stroking and massaging along her forehead and cheeks. The skin of her pelt felt something cool ooze its way past the hairs of her short coat and the scent of the chlorophyll grew stronger.
"Wha...What..." was all Eleanor could say to the unexpected face painting.
"Don't wash it off," the girl said calmly while she worked with a practiced hand. " They can't smell you with the sap on. You'll smell like them and they won't hurt you."
Eleanor began to focus. "They? The plant-creatures? How long have I been here? Where is here?"
From a lit corner of the room, Eleanor spotted a second figure, a youth, male, mixing a liquid in a bowl made from a gourd half. He tilted his head from his task to regard Eleanor in a convivial manner.
"Doom Island. At least, that's what our parents called this place before they disappeared," he explained.
"Do you know what happened to them?" Eleanor asked, sitting upright on her grass bed and hoping dearly that sap can be washed out of hair as the girl began working it deep into her blond strands from the gourd-bottle she had nearby.
Even in the low light, Eleanor could see the pain in his face. "No. They told us to stay here while they and the rest of the adults that escaped tried to find a way off the island," the boy said. He stopped stirring and walked over to her, carrying the gourd bowl. "Drink this. You'll feel better."
Eleanor settled into her drink, which was a fruit pulp concoction, and relaxed visibly. "Thank you. My name is Eleanor."
"Mine's Farrlan," the boy chirped in his pre-teen voice. "That's my baby sister, Pris."
"Hi!" the girl perked up as if meeting Eleanor for the first time.
"Hello, there," Eleanor replied with a smile. "How did you two find me?"
"We heard something moving through the trees pretty fast during that rainstorm a while ago," explained Farrlan, sitting cross-legged next to Eleanor's bed. "We couldn't go out until the rain stopped or it would wash off the sap, so when it finally stopped, we went out and saw you hanging in the vines outside our tree. You were pretty lucky."
Eleanor looked introspectively at that good fortune. "Yes, I was. Thank you both very much. I didn't think I was going to make from that prison up there. Are we in a tree?"
"Yep," said Pris, now working on Eleanor's arms. "Our parents left us here and we've been calling it home for a while now." Then she suddenly became somber. "They're not coming back though."
"I'm sorry, Pris," Eleanor commiserated to her and her brother. "It's this war. It's these plant-things. It's...crazy. It shouldn't happen. It shouldn't happen to you, most of all. We lost too much already. With me and Theodore..."
She stopped just short of revealing more than was important or relevant to that moment and to them. But seeing another set of orphans made so by so dire a circumstance, made her remember what she was losing or may have already lost, due to both this wretched Prince and I.T.O.. They didn't deserve this, she felt, and if Fate put her where she was now, to see that they escape this viper's nest of an island, then she, in all good conscience, could not abandon them. If it was the only thing she could on that world, she would see them safe among their people.
"I'm sorry," she resumed. "How long have you been here?"
"I guess about a few weeks," said Farrlan. "We were all taken from our village of Fall Berry and then put on a large boat, I think."
"Yeah," added Pris, smearing more sap on her Eleanor's back. "Then we were taken to this really old and scary-looking tree somewhere on the island. It was huge. Just as big as Arbomagnus."
"What happened next?" Eleanor asked.
"Well, they put the kids in one big room and the adults in another, but then our parents and some adults cut up some of the plant-guards with some knives that they had hidden in their clothes and got us out before we were put in the room with the other kids," Pris said.
"The plant-guards' sap got all over the adults and when the plant-guards got back up to fight, it looked like they couldn't see the adults at all. But they could see us, though," said Farrlan. "The guards went for us, but they were cut down again by our parents, who figured out that the sap that covered them, made them invisible to the plant-creatures. They covered us with some of the sap and then we all snuck out of the giant tree."
"That's when they left you here? To look for a way to rescue the others?" Eleanor asked.
"Yeah," Farrlan replied, crestfallen. "They haven't come back after that. We've been holding on since."
Letting out a breath she just noticed holding, Eleanor slowly stood up and stretched, feeling her muscle strain warmly and her bones creak and pop with renewed movement. When she turned to face them again, her eyes shone with a determined light.
"I'm not going to let you die here," she said simply.
"What are you going to do, Eleanor?" Farrlan asked, concerned with what he and his sister were seeing in the older girl's manner.
She turned towards the opening in the side of the room that was the only entrance and exit of the children's home and listened to the alien birds that called to each other in the boughs and the leaves that whispered in the mild, wet breezes.
"I'm going to finish what your parents started, you guys," Eleanor said, her heart finding every scrap of reason to do this. Her family. Her friends. Her people. Theodore... So many reasons.
"I'm taking you home."
The carrac transport had become a fat dot in the noonday sky. To every soldier and singer who disembarked from the large flying ship with the choreen-drawn wagons bearing the Autumnal Guards' and the Warchanter Corps' provisions, it was a troubling turn of affairs. Primarily because they all were marching down a road that threaded a sparse chain of hamlets and cut through and cornered the coastal highlands two miles from wherever their destination happened to be.
The Warchanters, flanking behind the Guard like a mummer's parade, looked visually out of place alongside the more military, hard-edged soldiers and officers astride their armored war choreens.
Alvin and Brittany, in particular, seemed to stand out among even their Warchanter compatriots in their red and pink uniform variants as they marched protectively near David, who was dutifully keeping pace with the rest of the group.
Alvin was carrying a lyre-like instrument, plucking its strings to tune it on the march and appraising it and the situation with a sour, critical eye. Every time he looked at his instrument, called a gallyr, he felt a pang of misplaced guilt, as though he stole it from some museum of ancient musicology. He was used to far more advanced musical equipment.
He tried to put his situation in the same perspective as going to summer camp, with the hiking and possible singing, the great, if somewhat unfamiliar outdoors, and the camping and camaraderie. However, he, and he could safely assume, everyone else around him, was fairly sure that the fact that he was marching to fight and possible die was the one hiccup in an otherwise interesting outing.
"Boy, is this retro," Alvin griped, having a hard time listening to the strings change pitch to his tuning amidst the sounds of the march. "If this axe were any more Stone Age, it would be...an axe!" Glancing over to some Warchanters that quizzically heard him and were marching nearby, he said, "I'll say this, you guys take being unplugged waaay too seriously."
"Tell me about it," Brittany chimed in, brushing off the occasional dust that settled on her jerkin or stockings, dulling the colors. "I'm a singer. I'm a performer. I should be entertaining the troops, not marching right next to them in This 'Munk's Army." She began to fix her hair, more to keep her mind off of the moment than when the odd strand fell out place, which was becoming more commonplace as the march progressed. "It's bad enough being drafted and then having to ride in that flying Noah's Ark of a ship, but now, I'll be expected to sing without so much as a sound check or a dressing room. How barbaric."
The Choirmaster in charge of the Warchanter group there, was moving among his charge, maintaining their part of the procession and watching for trouble, when he appeared next to Alvin, possibly in response to Alvin's and Brittany's opinion-making.
Alvin, not noticing him, put his arm chummily around the shoulder of the closest Warchanter, who clearly thought that this youth was both troublesome and quite odd, and said mock-conspiratorially, "You know, she right. I mean, back where we come from, I was a star. People couldn't get enough of me." He then added as an afterthought, "Oh, and my brothers, too. I mean, like, hey, pal, how much are you guys getting paid for this because I would seriously review my contract when this is all over."
"We work with the military, young 'munk," the officious voice of the Choirmaster said from behind him. Alvin glanced at him and saw how the Chipmunk unabashedly looked down his muzzle at him. At that moment, Alvin knew he didn't like him.
Brittany quickly stepped in deftly when she saw the silent challenges being given between the two of them. "Working with the military, huh? I guess it's cheaper than booking a band," she quipped in her best Groucho Marx, drawing some of The Choirmaster's ire to her.
The Choirmaster looked over to David, clearly flustered. "Master Seville, would you kindly keep your children in line? The three of you have been given your assigned song sheets earlier today. I trust that you've memorized them in practice." He then stiffened with an air of pride that looked as rehearsed as it looked exaggerated. "We must all serve with our voices, with the utmost conviction."
David slowed down and went over to the two teens. "Okay, you two, settle down," he told them with well-worn patience. Looking over to the Choirmaster, he added, "Don't worry, sir. We're all professionals here. We can even handle last-minute song changes. That happens all the time where we come from-"
"Master Seville," the Choirmaster interjected, with such undisguised condescension that it oozed from every word like raw tar from the ground. "I have already been told of you and your children's exploits from the other world. Please do keep in mind that this not your...Earth...and this is not some village minstrel review. This is an arm of the military. Outside of your abilities to sing and/or play music, your acumen will not be needed. That is why I am here."
Then the Choirmaster, without another word on the subject, turned heal and marched off to oversee another area of his group, leaving David, Alvin and Brittany feeling like they had just been trampled by every foot in the march.
"Sure. Sorry," David said in a hurt, angry tone, more to himself than to the officious snob who he knew wasn't listening.
"'This an arm of the military,'" Brittany mocked snidely.
"Yeah?" Alvin said to his father. "He keeps talking to you like that and I'll break his arm."
"That's okay, you two," said David. Although he, himself, would love nothing better that to see that stuff shirt get his comeuppance, fighting or ill will in the ranks wasn't going to see them through this. They had to keep it and themselves together. Soon, there wouldn't be enough free time.
He took out some of the song sheets from the pouch he wore on his shoulder that all singers were given on the field and read through them with an experienced eye. "Let's just concentrate on our jobs while we're here. Hmm, I've been going over these songs and they're not that bad."
"Spoken like a true manager, Dave," said Brittany with a wan, sarcastic smile.
"You plan on representing the Warchanters as the next hot group?" added Alvin.
David held up his hands in a mock-halting manner. "Oh, no. Being manager of the two of you is plenty on my plate, thanks, but I can see where you get your musical talent from. It comes pretty easy with Chipmunks."
Alvin puffed his chest out and seemed to carry himself with an even cockier air than usual. "Well, yeah, it's true. We do have the gift of music in us." He then glanced competitively over to Brittany and said, "Some more than others."
Brittany, catching both the glance and the challenge, didn't miss a beat as she laughed it off with practiced noblesse oblige. "Now, Alvin, let's not go there. Too many painful memories. For you, that is. After the spanking you got from me and the girls in Greece, I'm surprised you'd want another in front of these good people here. You've got enough to worry about."
Alvin was not outdone. He simply favored her his own easy, dismissive chuckle and parried. "Surely you jest, Miss Amateur Hour. It was me and my brothers who had to reacquaint you three to the fine art of rockin' that time." He then smiled and stopped to think of something he had just said. "Amateur Hour. That's a good one."
"Ham-ateur Hour, you mean. Don't you know that behind every great Chipmunk is an even better Chipette?" Brittany scoffed.
"Yeah. Way behind." he countered.
"Jerk!" she hissed.
"Brat!" he shouted.
"Wannabe!"
"No-talent!"
"Toad!"
"Slug!
"Okay, you two!" David chirped, exasperated as he got between the two of them and wondered if maybe marching up ahead with the military wouldn't be more peaceful.
Up ahead of the Autumnal Guards' part of the processional, which preceded the Warchanters, the commanding officer of the company, a bearded male with a paunch that his uniform and armor hid as well as could expected to, scanned the surrounding hills beyond the road they traveled atop his war choreen. His combination spyglass/compass revealed no surprise ambushes from plant life with sinister natures as he ran both ETA's and tactics in his head. The fact that the last village they past was still inhabited by Chipmunks and not ransacked so close to where they were going, relieved him deeply.
He didn't turn and he didn't lower his telescope until he addressed the maker of the sound of clawed choreen feet behind him and to the side. "How are the knights, Tirran?" he asked.
Tirran, the second-in-command, rode his choreen to the side of his commander and blew out a sigh that sounded more frustrated than sympathetic as he reported. "As well as to be expected, considering you ordered the carrac crew to drop us off in the middle of nowhere, Commander Noven."
"Mm-huh," intoned Noven, seemingly distracted by some momentary calculation is his mind. Then he asked in a private voice, "Think we should have stayed on board until it dropped us off at our destination, Tirran?"
"Begging your pardon, sir, but why are we here?" Tirran asked, trying not to carry his voice to the other officers and soldiers behind them and trying not to sound as insubordinate as he was starting to fear. "I wasn't told much about this before we left and I figured you'd tell me when you felt it was the right time."
Noven looked ahead, to the road and what was probably waiting for them. He no longer looked as though he were in the middle of something. He just felt tired and, yes, he would admit it, worried somewhat.
"Yes, I know. It was all very last-minute. I debated with myself whether to tell you on board the ship or out here in the field. Now is a good enough time, I believe," he said evenly.
His second-in-command felt slightly pensive over that admission. Whatever it was, it must have been a grave matter for his commander not to apprise him of it sooner. "What is it, sir? What's going on?"
The company commander turned around and looked at both Guardsmunks and Warchanters for a solemn moment, then turned back to speak to Tirran.
"We need the stealth of ground movement to aid us," Noven said, matter-of-factly.
"Sir?"
"There is a reason a large force like ours is out here now," the commander explained. "We have to reestablish control of an abandoned outpost in a critically strategic location near here, bolster our defenses from there and wait for forces from I.T.O. to come and reinforce us before the enemy can strike decisively."
"Then I suppose our using the reserve troops is out of the question?"
Noven gave a wan smile. "I'm afraid so, Tirran. We have to fortify our positions out there with what forces we can free up for it."
"Very well, sir," Tirran conceded thoughtfully. "But why to an outpost, away from the more populated areas like Arbomagnus or Blessed Bough? From what I've heard, that's where the bulk of our forces are being stationed."
"Because we need those soldiers to be there if we fail to slow down, weaken or outright stop the enemy out here on the periphery. We're the first line of defense for our people now, thanks to the Prince."
Tirran looked quizzical. "Sir?"
"Our spies tell us that the Prince's forces have been steadily weakening our defensive positions out here by taking out our outposts farthest away from Arbomagnus and the rest of the interior of the country. The coastal outpost we're heading towards was hit recently and our spies say that no other outposts have been attacked after that one," Noven related to him.
The look on Tirran's face seemed to tell his commander that the implications came upon him like a smothering shroud. "Then...if there's a lull in the attacks, it could mean that the enemy is ready for a massive offensive soon."
"Correct," Noven said, sounding more like an instructor than a commander. "If this is so, then judging from where all the outposts were attacked, the push could very well come from the coast, maybe even where we'll be when we reach our outpost."
Feeling as though he officially knew far too much for his own good, Tirran sighed again. "You know, sir, we could have just flown there directly in the carrac transport," he said glumly.
"True, but I didn't want to take a chance of us being caught by any Fern-flyer ambushes on route so close to the sites of the attacks," Noven said. "We're vulnerable in the air. Down here, with our strength of numbers, we can defend ourselves better while we travel overland."
"I understand, sir. Shall I tell the Warchanters to sing us a marching song to pick our pace up a bit?"
Noven glanced back at all the souls he commanded with a sober eye and told Tirran, "Not yet. I'll have to address everyone on this mission first."
"Sir, maybe we shouldn't tell them anything just yet," Tirran fretted. Though he believed that the Chipmunks under Noven's command were capable, seasoned and patriotic enough, he was also pragmatic enough to see scenarios ranging from low morale to panic attacks to mutinous, even murderous, desertion run through his mind, too. "Until we've arrived at the outpost, at least. No sense in making them anxious and all."
Noven seemed to consider, then said, "No. They all swore an oath of service and defense for our people. I can't spare their feelings when they have their duty to perform, and I wouldn't be fair to them if I didn't tell them why we all may shed blood this day."
"I-Yes, sir. I understand," the second-in-command said to him, the weight of that honorable, martial logic wrapping around his heart and mind like the armor he was clad in.
Noven healed his choreen around to face the march and raised his hand, signaling them all to stop. As one, the entire crowd's attention focused on him, curious as to the unexpected halt.
"Soldiers and singers, I have to relate to you now the nature of this mission and where we are ultimately going," Noven said in a high yet commanding voice. "We have been left here on purpose to travel overland to an outpost to take over its operation and prepare for a possible offensive by the Prince's armies. I.T.O.'s SecuriMunk forces will rendezvous with us soon after we establish command of the base and help us in the battle, so we won't be alone out there."
The consternation was expected, but he continued, determined to finish quickly so as to resume the march. Time was flowing away from them all, the schedule was already tight.
"All right, people. Form up and let's move out!" Noven then turned back to the road ahead and began to ride on slowly without another word.
"Warchanters!" Tirran called out towards the rear. "A song to raise our feet and our spirits, please? We have far to go."
"Aye, sir!" the Choirmaster called back. He then turned to the musicians and singers as the Guard began to pull away from them in degrees to follow their commander.
"I guess we're on," said Alvin as he and Brittany ran the songs they learned in their heads. And again, the Choirmaster appeared behind them.
"Indeed you are. The both of you," he said with an obvious plan in mind.
"What?" Alvin, Brittany and David said in unison.
"Oh, yes, Master Seville." he said. "Since young master Alvin and Miss Brittany are such wonderful singers in their world, then they could certainly grace our poor group with their talents. Or, at the very least, give the Guard a good laugh to lighten their spirits. What say you?"
David could see that although his son and Brittany were momentarily taken aback by this new arrangement, he knew that they were just what he said earlier, professionals. And this could be the perfect way to take the wind out of the sails of the Choirmaster but good.
David turned to Alvin and Brittany, gave a deeply confident grin that clearly shown his new rodent dental work, and said to them, "Blow 'em away, guys."
"All right!" chirped Brittany as she and Alvin trotted off to the head of the Warchanters group and engaged in a quick discussion over song choice.
After a few moments, Alvin turned to the rest of the Warchanters, the Choirmaster, in particular, and declared, "Where Peaceful Waters Flow, okay? Hit it!"
Then Alvin and Brittany began to follow the Autumnal Guard, the swell of the musicians freeing a slow, steady, upbeat melody from their instruments which, the two had to admit, sounded much fuller and richer in their compatriots' practiced hands.
Singers and musicians alike began to walk in time to the beat behind the two teens as the parade of Guardsmunks and Warchanters marched by a small hamlet, its inhabitants enjoying the proud sight of their defenders walking by as much as they were enjoying the song and music that floated clearly in their wake.
Alvin:
Restless hearts, it has been a long time,
Out here on the journey, for a glimpse of paradise,
Brittany:
It's getting hard to find a place to go,
Alvin and Brittany:
Where peaceful waters flow;
Brittany:
I took a walk past the old Saxon well,
Down by the cathedral I heard the chapel bell,
And joined the people singing for a way to go,
Where peaceful waters flow;
Alvin, David and The Warchanters (Chorus):
And if you don't know by now, you'll never will,
Brittany (Chorus):
Only love can find the door,
Alvin, David and The Warchanters (Chorus):
If you can see it now, it's in your hands,
Brittany (Chorus):
Only love can reach the shore to Heaven,
Alvin:(Glancing at Brittany)
Always, she is standing by my side,
She's my inspiration, and she's my battle cry,
And in her arms is the only place I know,
Where peaceful waters flow;
Brittany, David and The Warchanters (Chorus):
And if you don't know by now, you'll never will,
Alvin (Chorus):
Only love can find the door,
Brittany, David and The Warchanters (Chorus):
If you can see it now, it's in your hands,
Alvin (Chorus):
Only love can reach the shore, forevermore,
Alvin, Brittany, David and The Warchanters (Chorus):
Where peaceful waters flow...
Alvin and Brittany:
Doo-do-do-do (8x)
(Simultaneously)
David and The Warchanters:
Ahhhhhhh...ah-ah...ah-ahhhhh-ah (8x)
The parade of soldier and singer eventually began to recede in the dusty distance, the strains of the happy music and song continuing to echo away like the end of a pleasant dream, until the road was, at last, silent and lonely once again.
It made Alvin, Brittany, David, the other Warchanters, and, yes, even the stuffy Choirmaster, glow from within to know that they, in their own way, contributed the war effort. Igniting the passions of patriots, weaving the warm threads of love and home, and, for the villagers they passed, perhaps never even to be heard from again, a brief stroke of hope and light that colored every heart it touched in these uncertain days ahead.