Chapter 9 Berch to the Rescue

Morning appeared, as always, as the bearer of evil tidings. Whenever she awakened from an interval of genuine sleep, Delaney stepped straight from the homeostatic cocoon of blissful ignorance into the icy shower of awareness. She had but a split second of freedom from the curse she realized again who she was and where she was, and that nightmares were ot what one wakes up from, but what one wakes up to. The shock tended to wipe out whatever incremental progress in coping skills she had made the day.

Berch leaned on a stone mound, running his fingers through his slicked-back hair, scowling his crooked, flat-nosed scowl. Around him, rubble littered the endless sagebrush field, as if the high plain had been caught in a meteor shower.

“Guess what?” said Berch, without any preliminary greeting. “Our fearless leader is gone.”

Delaney stared vacantly at the empty land, as much moved by the news as if he had informed her that there was a sky above them. Like I’m supposed to care what happened to what’s his name.

“Unless the Razors snuck in here last night and picked him off, he’s just run off,” Berch continued. “Thrown us off like extra baggage on a sinking boat. Seems to be a nasty habit of his--dumping his friends.”

Seeing no response from Delaney, he continued his bitter monologue. “Yep, up and left us, like he did them other two.” He unfolded a waxy paper in which was wrapped a sort of cracker from Windglow’s stash. “Ran off in such a hurry he forgot his pack.

“Doesn’t surprise me a bit. You got to know who your friends are, Delaney. You got to know who’s going to stand by you in a pinch and who’s going to turn tail and run when they feel the heat. I got a feeling for these things. That Windglow, now, I had him pegged for a double-crossing, backstabbing, yellow-livered phony from the get-go.”

No response.

“Breakfast?” Berch asked, offering Delaney a handful of the largest crumbs he could find in a package of crackers. She accepted, without interest or thanks. In fact she resented food as an accomplice in keeping her alive in this hellhole. If only she could stop being hungry. Chewing slowly, she stood and walked around to stretch her stiff legs.

She stopped cold.

“Now what?” demanded Berch, as he followed her terror-stricken gaze. It was fixed upon a large wolf padding silently over the stone, straight up the ravine. The beast stared intently at her, head lowered. It moved deliberately, without stealth or hesitation, and made no attempt to disguise that it was coming for her.

The only predatory beasts Delaney had ever encountered had been behind secure bars or other zoo enclosure, or locked inside a television set. The sight of open ground between her and a very real wolf all but took the legs out from under her. The beast snapped its jaws, displaying lethal fangs. Fixing her with unblinking eyes, it drew nearer.

“Keep still and don’t make any sudden movements,” said Berch, softly, as he glided to her side. “Wild animals are as afraid of you as you are of them.”

But the wolf looked about as frightened as a rattlesnake closing in on a cornered field mouse.

“God Almighty, the thing must have rabies!” croaked Berch. He grabbed Delaney and pulled her behind a chest-high pile of rock.

The wolf stopped, perhaps 40 yards away. Black eyes, bright gold in the center, shifted their laser focus from Delaney to Berch. For a moment, Delaney dared hope the beast might give up the hunt and go in search of some smaller and less wary prey.

But then it resumed its bold, unhurried approach.

Shivering uncontrollably, Delaney broke away from that murderous stare and buried her face in her hands. She remembered reading a book about ancient Rome, that described the martyrs hearing the crunching of their own bones in the lion’s jaws. She hoped to God she could faint or die before it came to that.

Berch frantically gathered a handful of stones. Balancing them in his left hand, he rose up to challenge the wolf. “Beat it!” he shouted, hurling the largest of his rocks. The wolf stopped and gracefully ducked the missile. It blinked as a second skipped off its shoulder. For a moment, confusion flickered in the beasts eyes. Then, with a snarl and a shake of its shaggy head, it sprang forward.

Furiously, Berch hurled the rest of his ammunition. But nothing seemed to phase the wolf until, from point-blank range, Berch nailed the animal flush on the right foreleg. The wolf yelped, stumbled, retreated a step. Gingerly, it tested the limb, cocking its head toward the two. Then it turned to them again. With a low growl and a curl of the lip that bared its teeth, it limped forward.

Berch bent to scoop up more stones; the mesa was filled with them. Seeing the damage he was able to inflict on their attacker spurred Delaney into doing likewise. But before she could straighten up with her newly acquired ammunition, a baying exploded over the ridge. The wolf stopped in its tracks as a large pack bounded into view. Delaney had never seen a more grotesque collection of ribs, mud-caked fur, foaming black gums, crooked fangs and chewed-off ears. This is the end. We might be able to drive off a lone wolf but there is no way we can hold out against all of them.

The wolf glanced at the new arrivals and then leapt forward at Berch, who kept firing stones as fast as he could find them. The beast drew so close that Delaney could smell its foul breath. As the new arrivals raced in to join the kill, she fell to the ground screaming. With a horrific chorus of snarls and barking, the pack arrived and it was only then she became aware that it was not a wolfpack but a dogpack that had joined the fray.

The dogs nearly knocked over Berch in their eagerness to get at the wolf. Suddenly transformed from hunter to hunted, the wolf broke off and ran.

Berch’s bombardment had taken it. Hobbled by its injured leg, it did not get far before dogs began nipping at its heels. The wolf whirled around and sat back on its haunches, coiled to spring. Its face contorted in a mask of defiance, it sidestepped the first arrivals with an urgency it had not shown in avoiding Berch’s stones. It grabbed one dog’s neck in its jaws, shook it, and hurled the flailing beast at an onrushing foe. But another dog leapt onto the wolf’s back while half a dozen others charged from either side. Before long, the wolf fell and disappeared from view.

“That’s it! Bite his head off!” crowed Berch.

Several dogs flew out of the dusty pile, limp as rags, bearing witness to the wolf’s power. Before long, though, savage growls and piteous yelps gave way to a triumphant, throaty celebration.

“Nice work, doggies!” said a grinning Berch, rubbing the thin, gray beard he had grown since arriving in Rushbrook. “Ha, that was a near thing!”

Delaney, however, took no part in the celebration. Never had she witnessed, in person, creatures engaged in primal combat. The drawn-out spectacle of a living, breathing work of flesh and blood struggling to hold onto its existence against creatures determined to kill it left her shaken and sick to her stomach. Even though it was only a vicious, rabid wolf, she knew she would be haunted forever by the sight of the animal gasping for its final breath while being torn apart. Wolf or no wolf, the cruelty of nature stunned her.

“What happened? Is everyone all right?” cried Windglow, who suddenly appeared, dashing toward them with Puddles cradled in his armpit like a football. “I am sorry I was away. I thought I would explore that gully running out to the south and see if it might be the quickest way off this tableland. I had intended to be back before you awoke.”

“Sure, sure,” scoffed Berch. “To tell the truth, I thought we’d seen the last of you. Not that it would be any loss. As you can see, mister, we can take care of ourselves.”

“Hmmph! You gizzard soufflés couldn’t squash an ant with an anvil,” scoffed Puddles.

“Watch it, you smart-mouthed twerp!” said Berch, shaking his fist. “Just ask that wolf out there what happens to those that mess with Ron Berch.”

The dogs crowded around a bleeding carcass, tearing off bloody chunks of flesh and dragging the wolf’s heavy carcass through the dust while yapping over their victory. Delaney turned away and started to wretch, which did not surprise Berch one bit. He was stunned, however, to see that Windglow had a similar reaction. The Tishaaran’s face went absolutely white.

“That was a, that was a, a wolf?” he asked weakly.

“It was,” said Berch, swelling with pride. What a pansy! “He got close enough so’s I could count its whiskers.”

“What was it doing here?”

“Looking for an easy meal. Heh heh, turns out he’s the dinner.”

“I am most sorry. Really, truly, most horribly sorry,” babbled Windglow. His fingers trembled as they wiped his moist eyes. “So very, very sorry. Delaney, are you all right?"

“No congratulations or nothing,” sniffed Berch. “Fine. I’m not looking for medals. Just don’t ever say Berch doesn’t hold up his end of things.”

“Most cruelly, hideously, tragically, stupidly sorry,” said Windglow, whimpering, as he tended to Delaney.

“I hate to point this out to you,” Berch said to his wobbly mates, “but this is the wild, not tea time at the palace. Things kill and get killed out here; that’s the way nature works. If you have trouble with that, just keep repeating four simple words: ‘Better him than me.’ We’re all safe and that’s what matters. So long as you don’t pull that disappearing act again, Windglow, I’ll do you more than you deserve and won’t even mention this incident again.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Delaney refused any offers of assistance. After a few deep breaths, she straightened and seemed to be better, although she refused to look in the wolf’s direction again.

“We need to go. Now,” Windglow said, emptily, as if he no longer cared whether they moved or not. “All this noise is certain to attract attention.”

“Lead the way, then, if you can remember it,” said Berch, smugly. “Any other dangers around here that you’d like to warn us about? No one ever mentioned anything about wolves.”

“In my entire lifetime, no one has seen a single wolf in these mountains,” said Windglow, still very pasty.

“That’s what you said about the Raptors,” said Berch. “Either you’ve gotten lost or your information is way out of date. One way or the other it don’t do much to recommend you as a guide.”

“Excuse me,” said Windglow, fists clenched as he struggled mightily to control his emotions. “I am sorry I am such a poor guide. But the world is not as it was a short time ago, and I must confess the changes scare me half to death. There is an evil wind blowing through the realms. I should not wonder that the gates of hell have burst open and the Devil’s legions are enslaving the realmlands as we speak. Hurry now, and silence, please!”

* * * * * *

Having warned Roland of the danger they were in, Digtry appeared to dismiss it altogether. He donned an entirely new personality--cheerful and outgoing, even gabby. “Shall we begin?” he said, loudly. “Surprise our friends with a nice supper?”

Roland had never seen a backpack emptied with such meticulous care. Digtry removed and dusted each packet of food as if it were a rare artifact from an archeological dig. He then produced a small spoon and began measuring out each of several powdered ingredients, calling out, as he did so,“Get the apricots, would you? There’s a good fellow.”

Roland suspected Digtry had something on his mind other than supper, but could not guess what. He rummaged through all the packs without finding anything that remotely resembled apricots. Aware that he was not particularly adept at finding missing items, he double-checked each of the packs. “I can’t seem to find them,” he admitted at last.

“Yeah, Windglow has them.”

Roland blinked at him in disbelief. “Then why did you ask me to look for them?”

“What did you have better to do?”

Roland strongly suspected he had just been insulted or at the least taken for a fool. This guy was an odd duck and no mistake. He was such an elusive little man, laid back yet firmly in control, that he kept Roland totally off balance.

“I don’t appreciate busywork,” was as close as Roland could get to standing up for his rights.

“Maybe it’s an acquired taste.”

Roland gave up trying to make sense of Digtry. He glanced up toward the spring to see how the others were faring but could see no one. “When are the others coming back?”

“They aren’t.”

“What! Then could you please tell me what we’re doing?”

“Yes.”

When he said nothing more, Roland said, “Well?”

“I could but I won’t. Ignorance has its advantages.” Digtry tapped the last spoonful of powder into cloth pouch. He then fished around in his pack and pulled out what appeared to be a small tarp. One side was shiny silver.

“When I grab your hand, sprint down that way,” he whispered, shaking out the creases in the tarp. Roland started to nod until he contemplated the mountain slope that plunged to a valley floor that seemed at least a day away. The ground fell away at such a steep angle that the inside branches of the straightest evergreens rubbed against the hill. As it was facing the sun, it was less densely packed with trees than the other slopes, yet was liberally coated with slick, bronze needles.

Who are you kidding? I wouldn’t walk down that. Walk nothing, I might not climb down it. I’m sure not going to run down it. That clinched matters. Roland had to get away from this disturbed individual and find out where the others had gone.

Before he could act, however, Digtry swung the pouch in a wide arc over his head. Thick smoke billowed into the air. “Now!” said Digtry. As if on cue, a chorus of high-pitched shrieks split the air, and hawk-billed shadows sprang from the woods.

Startled, Roland fell backward. Just before he tumbled out of control, Digtry shot out of the smoke. With his cape flapping in one arm, he hooked Roland around the waist with the other and dove headfirst down the slope. Roland fell heavily on his back with Digtry on top of him as howls and squalls echoed all around. But instead of tumbling in a ball, the two shot down the mountain on Digtry’s tarp as if it were a toboggan.

“Feet up, arms in!” ordered Digtry, with a white-knuckled grip on the tarp beneath them. Already they were sliding too fast for comfort. Clutching Digtry’s shoulders in a death grip, Roland blindly tried to do what he was told.

They rocketed down the slope, gaining speed over the slick pine needles. Only once did they wobble in their downhill plunge. The force of even so slight a course adjustment nearly whiplashed Roland off the tarp. One leg dragged the ground for an instant and whacked a stump with such force that he thought his shin was broken.

Roland froze in a clench-jawed trance. He could not see where they were going. In his peripheral vision, rocks, fallen trunks, and rocks and debris of all descriptions burst in and out of view faster than he could flinch. He couldn’t see where they were going, only where they had been. As they hurtled through a series of shallow gullies, his stomach flew into his throat. He clung yet more tightly to Digtry, vaguely aware that he was strangling him.

Finally, they sailed over a ledge, high into the air. They bounced once, the impact with the ground jarring the wind out of Roland. Another bounce, even higher. He lost his grip on Digtry, tumbled head over heels, and slammed into a wall of water that knocked him woozy.

He had a vague sense of being underwater but no clear notion of direction to the surface. With surprising strength for one so small, Digtry hauled him out of a reed-filled pond and into some rushes. When Roland caught his breath and finally convinced himself that the throbbing in his shins was only a deep bruise rather than a cracked bone, he stared at Digtry in disbelief.

“You are insane! Certifiably insane!”

“That would explain a lot,” said Digtry. He slogged back into the pond and retrieved his tarp.

“What is that, like a magic carpet?” Roland asked, wringing out his shirt.

The question exposed the first crack he had seen Digtry’s imperturbable nature. “Magic? It’s a very straightforward combination of gravity, topography, and friction coefficients. What has any of that to do with magic? And it’s a tarp, not a carpet!”

“But, but how could you control it at that speed?” marveled Roland.

“Oh, coordination is considered magic now?” grumped Digtry. “Well, all right, coordination and luck. Actually, there wasn’t that much coordination involved, either.”

He pointed to the sky, which was beginning to darken under the shade of hundreds of gliding Raxxars. “They don’t give up easily.”

The sight jolted Roland back to reality. “But what about, you know--her? We left them up there at the mercy of those creatures!” As he asked the question, it struck him as odd that he named the greasy female and not Windglow. Berch, of course, could fall in front of a bus for all he cared.

“The Raxxars divided their force,” explained Digtry, as they hobbled off along a rugged river valley. “One group tailed us while the main force lay in ambush further on. I’m betting the trackers stayed with us and let our friends pass to the spring, knowing the main force was waiting in ambush for them. I told Windglow to hide. Given the Raxxars’ blood lust, the ruckus we raised should have flushed the main force into joining the feeding frenzy. In the smoke and confusion, they may have missed our friends.” He shrugged. "At least that's the theory."

It sounded iffy to Roland. But after Digtry’s performance on the slope, he felt in no position to question the guy. “If you had told me we were going to blast straight down the mountain on some magic cape, I never would have done it.”

“Ignorance has its advantages,” repeated Digtry. “Let’s move.”

“I feel like a scrambled egg,” said Roland as he limped along on his sore shin behind Digtry, who was also hobbling. “What happened to you? Did you sprain your ankle?”

“Twisted it.”

“What about your neck?” Several cuts on Digtry’s throat had drawn blood.

“You have a grip like a lobster,” said Digtry.

“I did that?!” exclaimed Roland, blushing. “Hey, I’m really sorry. I-”

“Apology accepted.”

Shivering as the cool evening breeze cut through their wet clothes, they ran along a river bottom. Even though his shin throbbed and he ached in places that had never ached before, Roland felt wonderfully alive. What a ride! He could hardly wait to rejoin the others and tell them about it.

As they wound their way up a trailless ridge, Digtry studied Roland curiously. “Why were the Brookings after you? And what are you doing in our world in the first place? The two must be related.”

“I don’t have a clue what I’m doing here,” said Roland.

“Three of you appear,” said Digtry, deep in thought. “At different intervals. In close proximity. Why? What is the connection between you and Berch and what’s her name?”

“None that I know of,” said Roland.

“She came first. To Rushbrook. Right in the city. Maybe 20 miles from the island. Berch arrives next, roughly halfway between Rushbrook and the island. Then you land right on the island. That much is easy: the island is the key.”

“Not necessarily,” said Roland. “By your logic, it could be a progression from Rushbrook. First, she lands dead-on, then Berch further out, then me. Rushbrook could be the focus.”

“No,” said Digtry. “She lands in Rushbrook; they let her go. They let Berch go. Reluctantly, but still . . . You land on the island; they go berserk. Where’s the focus?”

Roland had to concede the point. He was beginning to get the impression that arguing with Digtry was a waste of time. Not because Digtry was stubborn, but because he always seemed to be right. “I guess trespassing is a hanging offense to Mr. Devil Throat.”

“There’s a sense of urgency here. Not that this Devil-throat ought to kill you or even wants to. He needs to kill you.”

Roland did not want to think about that.

Digtry stared at him as if trying to see through his skin. “If he needs you dead, then the issue is not what you did. It’s what you’re going to do. . .”

“I’m not going to do anything except get as far away as possible.”

“. . .or what you know. . .”

“I don’t know anything.”Roland wondered bitterly if he had ever made a more accurate statement in his life.

“ . . . or what he thinks you know,” persisted Digtry.

“It’s all a misunderstanding. If people would just stop jumping to conclusions and listen for a change.”

“Tell me what you saw. Everything. From the time the fire first appeared.”

Under Digtry’s aggressive grilling, Roland remembered several details that had slipped his mind, including the vision of himself carrying an ancient book, and the ineffectual nature of the flames. When he had wrung every detail out of Roland that he could, Digtry turned and, without another word, accelerated his pace up a rocky incline. Roland was growing frustrated at this habit of abruptly ending any exchange of words before it could turn into an actual conversation. Digtry could interrogate and he could parcel out information on a need-to-know basis, but conversation did not seem to be part of his repertoire.

Nonetheless, Roland sprinted to catch him and asked, “Did anything I said help?”

“Yes.”

“What, for instance?”

When Digtry offered nothing, Roland pressed on, “Do the Raxxars have anything to do with what happened on the island?”

“Good question.”

“Come on!” begged Roland. “I’m the one marked for death. I think I have a right to know what is going on!”

“I’m working on that. You’ve given me some ideas. Right now, all I know is that once they determined you were crossing the realm bound, orders went out from Rushbrook to stop you at all costs before you reached Tishaara.”

“How did Rushbrook know I was headed to Tishaara?”

Digtry shot him a pained look. “Who are you traveling with?”

“Okay, okay. Windglow. Tell me again, why are you involved in this?”

“Ehiloru asked me to check on you.”

“So you checked. Now what?”

“I decided to help you get to Tishaara.”

“Why?” Roland persisted.

“Because you won’t make it without me.”

“No, I mean, what’s it to you whether I make it or not? You don’t even know me.”

“Secrets bother me. If conspirators want you dead, by default, I don’t. At least ‘til I know what is going on.”

The motive did not strike Roland as particularly compassionate. Nonetheless, the assurance that this clever little man was going out of his way to keep him alive was the most welcome news he had heard since entering the realms.

“Or I could just leave you to the Raxxars and go see the island for myself.”

What? So now this guy’s going to abandon me? What about--

All of a sudden Roland took a deep breath. This guy’s just jerking me around. That’s his warped sense of humor. He was glad he had not voiced his panic. Unless of course, Digtry was serious. Man, it was hard to tell with this guy.

“They’ve got that island locked up tighter than a safe,” said Roland. “You would never get close to it.”

Digtry raised an eyebrow slightly as if to say, “Care to bet on that?” Then he turned and stepped up the pace.