The Mission Begins Read online

  “Uh huh, uh huh,” the squirrel nodded excitedly. “L-long t-time ago. All b-better n-n-now.”

  “That’s highly debatable,” a voice chirped overhead. Something flickered out of the corner of Paladin’s eye. The air around him seemed to bustle with energy. A small, hyper bird darted around the darkened room.

  “And this,” Eiyra said, watching the bird, “is Dammidgie.”

  The bird flew and landed next to Paladin—hopping up and down excitedly, walking back and forth rapidly. The feathers were black and white; a tail bobbed incessantly. Paladin remembered seeing birds like this before. A wagtail, he thought to himself. And then, slower, putting it all together: Dammidgie. That’s his name.

  “What kind of… accident?” Paladin looked at the squirrel.

  “Electro… electro… electro…” Frenjoo stuttered with great effort.

  “Electrocution,” Dammidgie finished impatiently, muttering under his breath.

  Eiyra shook her head and explained: “Frenjoo was crossing a telephone wire during a thunderstorm.”

  “My m-m-mistake.” Frenjoo nodded quickly.

  “Lightning struck a tree nearby; one of the branches fell across the wire, shorted it out, and zzzzt! Gave Frenjoo the shock of his life.”

  Dammidgie laughed loudly. Eiyra glared at him.

  Frenjoo seemed unfazed.

  “Wow,” Paladin said. “What was that like?”

  “S-s-s-sting!” the squirrel stammered, fidgeting with his tail. It seemed a tremendous understatement. “It d-doesn’t affect me any m-m-more, though,” Frenjoo said. “No, no, no.” He shook his head.

  “Except,” Dammidgie added. He paused to make sure everyone was listening. “Every now and then Frenjoo can tell when a storm is coming.”

  “Or if a fence is electrified,” Eiyra added.

  “Yes!” Dammidgie agreed. “Better than any of us! Remember the time the group went out to raid Old Man Eubanks’ garden?”

  Frenjoo nodded fiercely.

  Dammidgie looked at Paladin and continued. “If Frenjoo hadn’t been with us, the entire group would have been shocked something awful! We didn’t even see the wire surrounding the garden. But, it was Frenjoo here who…” The bird paused and looked at Frenjoo, as if searching for the right word to describe what had happened. “It was Frenjoo who sensed the fence.”

  Frenjoo smiled and padded back and forth on his front paws.

  “Sting?” Paladin whispered. Listening to them talk made his head buzz all over again!

  Sensing this, Eiyra shooed the others away. They went reluctantly, looking back over their shoulders as they went, the way a child might upon seeing a circus attraction for the first time.

  Once they were alone, Eiyra asked Paladin, “Are you hungry at all?”

  “Thirsty,” Paladin croaked, and sat all the way up. He watched as she hopped across the room to where a small well-like structure was sunk in the corner of the room. He wondered what it was. The insides of his mouth shriveled at the sound of drawing water. Eiyra came back with a small cup and he drank. It was cold and good and wet, and nursed his dry throat. He sighed deeply.

  “Where am I?” he asked again.

  “Technically,” she said, taking the cup from him, “you’re in a lhirg drum. What the elahs used to call a church. It’s long been abandoned. Now, you’re at the estaclah of the Utergei.”

  Paladin looked at her as if she spoke a different language.

  “A great evil has come to the woods,” Eiyra whispered. She looked around, as if her words might conjure some bogeyman from out of the dark. “It threatens to come even further, Paladin. Loehs-Anneheg it is called by us.”

  Paladin strained to remember. He seemed to recall hearing these words before—once, long ago.

  “No one knows what it is,” she continued. “But we must uncover the truth. The Utergei has been summoned to discern what role the chendrith will play in this grave situation.”

  Eiyra’s voice was filled with sorrow; her face became long and drawn in the shadows.

  “Speaking of,” a voice broke in. Paladin jumped. Eiyra looked up as Dammidgie appeared from out of the shadows and hovered above them. “They’re getting ready to start, Eiyra. Agabus sent me to see how he was doing.” Dammidgie looked at Paladin. “They want to hear about him.”

  Eiyra nodded. The wagtail flitted back out of the room, tweeting sharply. Paladin watched him. Then Frenjoo (who Paladin hadn’t even realized was still in the room) scrambled after the bird. Paladin looked at Eiyra. She smiled at Paladin when he asked, “What exactly did he mean by that?”

  CHAPTER 2

  “The Utergei”

  Paladin stood in the middle of a large gathering of different kinds of chendrith. The old church was lit well by the moonlight shining in through gaps in the ceiling overhead. The group stood in what obviously had been the main chamber of the ruined church building—the “sanctuary” Paladin had seen the sign for earlier. Paladin deduced he had been taken and laid in some adjoining room. The small plaque he had seen earlier upon waking was posted over what had once been the entranceway to this larger meeting hall. The ancient and decrepit building had been unused for some time. Large, gaping holes in the walls and floorboards allowed twisting vines to invade and transform the crumbling stone to an alien, organic-looking mass. Pews that had once supported the faithful few of this little country church now lay overturned and decaying from weather and exposure. Yellowing hymnbooks, from whose pages the congregation had belted out old-timey favorites like “Onward Christian Soldiers” and “It Is Well with My Soul” were little more than mildewed piles scattered here and there. A few broken panes of stained-glass remained in place, staring at the chendrith with frozen expressions. Rubbish lay piled in one corner, crowned with an old bathtub (this conveniently collected water during rainstorms, and provided a wonderful spot for the chendrith to drink or bathe). Nearby was only the hint of what had once been a large firepit. An old, stinking mattress had been ceremoniously shredded by the animals, leaving wet stuffing and rusty springs exposed from the interior like disgruntled innards. Cigarette butts, dented cans, and broken bottles littered the landscape; old newspapers flapped in the breeze like dying applause. On one wall, peeking out from a thick covering of kudzu vines, was what once must have been a grand display of graffiti. It was sad to think that this place which had once been the house of vibrant and heartfelt worship was little more than ruin and rubbish.

  For the Utergei, this type of forgotten and forsaken spot was perfect.

  No one knew how or when the place first came to be used by the Utergei, or who it was that started the Utergei, or even gave it that name (roughly translated, it means “Body”). There were all manner of chendrith gathered tonight: squirrels, chipmunks, raccoons, skunks. An old mother-possum stood shivering in one corner, her younglings clutched firmly to her back. Foxes, moles, groundhogs, mice. A variety of birds perched upon exposed rafters—among them, a wise old owl named Featherwing kept watch upon the outside borders. Rabbits, pheasant, turtles, toads. The bumblebee brothers buzzed in and out of one hole in a wall: Bigsby, Bugsby, and Bixby. Grimsby, the large and misshapen fourth, tried desperately to keep up with the rest, looking awkward and clumsy.

  The chendrith crowded the room, and shared an equality that Paladin never knew existed amongst such a diverse selection. There was only the slightest hint of any kind of bigotry, and there did not seem to be any one, specific leader. Paladin did observe that the ones who seemed to be in charge were an old goat named Agabus and a German Shepherd dog (appropriately named Shepherd). Paladin reasoned these two were in charge primarily because the gathered chendrith assembled in a broad circle, all except for Agabus and Shepherd, who stood in the middle. Agabus bore a stereotypical bell around his neck—one last reminder that he had once been kept on a farm, but long since nibbled his way to freedom. Shepherd looked only slightly out of place amongst the wild chendrith. When Paladin first caught sight of the large dog upon enteri
ng the room, his first instinct had been to run. It was Eirya who insisted that Shepherd was on their side. Paladin nervously crept out to meet them.

  The quiet Shepherd measured Paladin’s approach closely. The old dog stood still as stone. Agabus seemed a friendly enough bloke. A long, shaggy beard swayed from his chin as he talked. His words were of a deliberate nature—as one who measures his words carefully. Agabus introduced Paladin to the Utergei as “the one drawn from the water” by Spirit the day before. It sounded very dramatic, especially to Paladin. When the old goat finished, he stepped back and looked at the rabbit expectantly. Paladin, unsure of what was happening, simply looked at Agabus and waited for the next speaker to take over the meeting. What followed next were a few awkward moments of silence, broken only by the sound of someone clearing their throat toward the back of the room. Paladin soon realized that Agabus, Shepherd, and the others were all looking at him. It was only then that he understood, with something like dread, that they were waiting for him to tell his story.

  It should be noted here that very few animals don’t like stories. Most of them consider stories to be of extremely high value, perhaps even necessary. Since they have no written languages of their own (like we do) to pass on their histories, and must rely solely upon this practice, I daresay they are correct in this thinking. It is an appreciation instilled within them from the time they are very young. Most regard it as a form of art.

  Paladin, of course, knew this. And so, what followed were a few moments of uncomfortable silence as Paladin collected his thoughts. A time during which Frenjoo stood wringing his tail and padding back and forth nervously on his hind feet. But Paladin soon began his remarkable tale (of which you have been reading up to this point) of being found by the Son, taken in to live with him, becoming separated from him, the back of the truck, and the accident which followed. It was a fine tale, recounted by Paladin in the grandest chendrith fashion. The Utergei listened patiently. This was done not so much for entertainment purposes, but more for what we might call educational purposes. Respectfully, chendrith will not interrupt when another of them is doing the shoukaye (or “the tell”), as they call it, with silly or distracting questions the way we might. This is viewed by all as quite rude and immature. They will listen to the end, and then, at that point—like a flood—the questions will come.

  But when Paladin finished his tell, there were no questions at all. There was only a long, uncharacteristic silence. Even Paladin, who had not always been a wild chendrith as they, sensed this. He sighed deeply, and shifted back and forth uneasily. He looked at them all, but they seemed only to stare back at him with eyes that conveyed little more than vague mistrust. From the rear of the circle somewhere, Paladin’s acute hearing picked up distinct whispering—even a few giggles.

  They don’t believe me, he thought, looking at them. No, he corrected himself. They don’t know what to think. On the heels of that came another thought. Can I really blame them?

  When at last the silence was broken, Paladin’s thoughts proved true. The things which the Utergei said were not so much questions—as is usually the case—but comments; assessments, to be more accurate. Some of the “older guard” stood like judges; shoulders high and noses in the air, shaking their heads in disapproving murmurs. They could not get their heads around the fact that “this lapine” as they called him (rather disdainfully, I might add) had spent so much time in the captivity of an elahs. Each of their statements (which revealed their obvious disgust) was met with nodding agreement from the rest of the crowd. It became painfully obvious that the general opinion of the crowd was one of suspicion of Paladin rather than acceptance.

  On the other hand, some of the younger ones seemed enthralled by Paladin’s description of how the D-Men kidnapped him.

  Agabus kept quiet throughout the entire account, looking around the room, gauging the reactions, the way an old Indian chief might sit and listen as his tribe discusses an imminent situation. Paladin saw that even Eirya and Frenjoo looked on with eyes that betrayed that they were overwhelmed by his tale. With a growing sense of displacement, Paladin looked at them all—their different kinds of eyes, their varying whiskers and snouts, their large and small ears, their long or short tails, their stout little bodies, or tall, elongated frames—and tried to imagine what it would be like to be in their place. He began to feel extremely small and insignificant in a large and unfamiliar world. Whisperings invaded his ears, but he couldn’t quite be sure if it was only his imagination:

  “Who is he, anyhow?”

  “A lapine?”

  “How on earth did he end up here?”

  “A domesticated rabbit amongst wild chendrith?”

  “Indeed!”

  Comments tap-danced through his head. The room spun for a moment or two. Latent exhaustion and pain caused Paladin to hold his tongue (he didn’t know what to say anyhow!). He lowered his head and closed his eyes. The voices swelled around and within him.

  Eiyra pitied Paladin—this young nuad, the he-rabbit stranger. He had been through so much! She felt a wave of compassion and wanted to go to him, but resisted. She did not know how the others, especially Agabus, would react when so little was known about him.

  Paladin, meanwhile, felt more alone than ever, despite the fact that he was surrounded by a roomful of chendrith.

  Finally, through all the suppositions swirling in his head, slicing the mounting tensions of the room, a tiny voice peeped:

  “Is what the rabbit has spoken of the Loehs-Anneheg?” Silence fell upon the room. The voice belonged to Limi, a small she-robin. She hopped inside the circle of chendrith and looked around at everyone anxiously. “Can it be?” she persisted. “Is this what we have all been wondering? Is what the rabbit has spoken of the answer to the great evil at the edge of the wood? Threatening to ensnare us, and take us all hostage!?” Limi’s voice rose to a high-pitched, panicky sort of sound that proved to be like the first few pebbles of an avalanche. The room exploded into an argument, discussion, and debate of the worst kind! By “worst” I mean that, as each of the animals’ emotions became heated, as they all became more and more passionate in their various opinions, they each reverted to their own individual tongues, forsaking the common tongue of the chendrith. What resulted was a cacophony of the worst kind! I daresay if there had been any human campers in the woods nearby the ruins of the old church that night, who knows what strange things they might have thought over such a ruckus being made!

  This went on for some time.

  Paladin stayed where he was, staring at the gathering of chendrith arguing back and forth. He found himself overwhelmed by it all, longing for the quiet into which he had awakened in the dark room earlier—something which seemed so long ago! To his amazement, neither Agabus nor Shepherd made any attempt to quell the group’s fiery interactions. In this way, they allowed everyone to get whatever they wanted off their chests. That way, when it came time for them to address the Utergei, it would hopefully be calm and quiet. The approach usually worked.

  Paladin, on the other hand, laid back his ears away from the noise.

  The poor little rabbit didn’t know what else to do. Nor that his story would have caused such an uproar!

  CHAPTER 3

  “Rolo”

  “All right, all right, all right!” a gruff voice rose above the others.

  The din of the crowd subsided. Paladin rose and noticed something of a commotion within the circle, just to his left. The darkness stirred, and murmurs worked their way through the assembly.

  “Let me through,” the voice insisted. The circle of the Utergei parted to let a small figure step into the clearing beside Paladin. Paladin at once recognized the chendra as a guinea pig (he had seen pictures before). The guinea pig’s name was Rolo.

  Paladin smiled in surprise. Rolo, however, did not. Rolo looked at Paladin doubtfully. The guinea pig was covered in black fur, which made him difficult to see in the early light of extreme dawn. Paladin could make out there
were two unusual tufts of hair beneath the guinea pig’s nose that looked rather like a moustache. Atop his head, a small beret was cocked to one side. Whenever he spoke he did so with a thick, French accent. Rolo’s eyes stood out in the pale light; eyes that were deep and honest—but hard. Eyes that immediately announced he would not be taken in by foolish, simple tales. Rolo circled Paladin as he spoke. “Zat ees quat some tale, rabbit.” (Although, when he spoke, it came out as “rabbeet”)

  Rolo turned and faced the crowd. “But before we start making assumptions zat zee events zee rabbit has detailed for us are in any way connected to the Loehs-Anneheg I, for one, would like to know why we should sit just here and… take hees word for eet?”

  Rolo paused dramatically and stared at the Utergei, searching their eyes. If Paladin had been familiar with it at all, he would have found the guinea pig’s manner to be similar to a prosecutor in a courtroom. “After all,” Rolo went on, looking at Paladin again and moving closer towards him. His eyes narrowed, and his accent became more pronounced than ever, “’Ow do we eevan know zat ee ees telleeng zee truth?!”

  As Rolo finished, he moved so close to Paladin that his moustache actually tickled the rabbit’s whiskers. Paladin fought hard against the urge to laugh out loud. The guinea pig’s accent was so ridiculously thick that it sounded put on. It was difficult to take him seriously. But Paladin could tell from the look in his eyes, and from the way the rest of the Utergei listened to his words, that the small, stern guinea pig was being very serious indeed.

  “How do we know zat ziss… lapine,” Rolo snorted, rolling his eyes, “can even be trusted? Can somebody please answer me zat?”

  “Why would he lie, Rolo?” Eiyra asked, breaking the silence. Rolo spun to look at her.

  “Yes, what would he gain?” another voice added. It was Limi, the robin.

  “What indeed, cherie,” Rolo look at her, undaunted. “Zat is zee question. How about food, for one?” he said louder. “Or shelter? Perhaps a mate?” He paused and raised shrewd eyes to meet Eiyra’s. She held her gaze against his.