Wars of the Aoten

  Chapter XXIV

  After two days in the wastelands, Artur’s spirit felt much lifted by walking the forest again; the Melics only more so. In fact, Artur did not see the Melics much at all as they reacquainted themselves with the heights of their beloved trees. So he trudged along the spongy banks of the sprawling Alluvia with only the Bedoua.

  Krait stayed silent and inscrutable behind his mask, but Humus could not get over the amount of greenery beneath his feet. The water and mud gushed from the ground and up between his toes with every step. He made remark of these wonders constantly to his brothers, and while Ingle reacted often with an angry shrug, Humus could always count on an agreeable nod or word and much clicking from Mistral.

  Ingle, having enough of the nature lesson, sharply asked of Artur, “What’s over there?” He pointed to their right, the western edge of the wood.

  “Have you never seen?” asked Artur.

  “This land belongs to the Rufoux. Bedoua know better than to venture here.” He looked perturbed.

  “Well, great trees and standancrags fill up the forest. Deep pools of still water are scattered about, and the rumidonts run wild. The thylak hunt them down.”

  “Wild rumidonts? Do they look much different from our domesticates?”

  “Not really. Skinnier, I guess, and they run from people.”

  “What about the Aoten?”

  “Yes, their camp is in that part of the forest. We found them there.”

  “Is there anything more?”

  “Beyond the woods steaming black pools bubble out of the ground, but we will not go there. The scaled ones make their home there, and the deviltooth that devours men whole. Beyond that the mountains rise into the sky, where some claim a lunatic lives. He is called No-Ahn – “No one” to us – by those who think of him at all; but that’s all.”

  Ingle looked into the deep forest thoughtfully but said no more. Artur noted the slight clicking he now heard from Ingle, though his expression had not changed.

  Artur set a brisk pace for this part of the journey in spite of the sloppy ground underfoot, still easier for him than sand. The Bedoua’s strides remained unchanged and efficiently left groonits behind, but looked comical as they no longer needed to compensate for the unstable sands of their desert. They appeared like a ball rolling within a ball, their hips undulating as their feet paddled smoothly over the ground. Humus remained in constant wonder of the squishing moisture. Artur had no idea where the Melics had gone, but he reckoned they could find their way back by themselves. So it came as something as a surprise when a large hickory nut hit him squarely on the helmet.

  “What th’,” he said, looking up. He saw Theodoric, or Theodoric’s face, staring out of a sheet of leaves. He pointed desperately to the west, and his mouth appeared to be saying the words, “Get down.”

  Artur grabbed Ingle by the arm and looked suddenly toward the west. Ingle shook off his hand violently and began to complain. Artur clamped his hand over Ingle’s mouth and forced him to the ground. Krait immediately jumped to the aid of his fellow, but Artur’s great arms and mighty strength easily enwrapped him and Ingle both and pinned them to the ground. Mistral calmly went to the ground after understanding Artur’s silent commands, followed by Humus. His eyes showed the urgency of silence and nothing else, so much so that even Ingle calmed down and kept quiet.

  Over their restrained breathing they heard footsteps approaching, a multitude, so many that they could not count, and the sound of scraping. The clumsy, shuffling thudding mixed with heavy, strained, incoherent grunting. Artur took his armful of companions and rolled into some tall grasses.

  Only after further admonition to be quiet did Artur release his prisoners. His mouth formed the word “Aoten,” and together they peered through the long, dense blades. Not three or four kronyn from where they had lain, a troop of giants, all adults, marched past, dragging great trees that had died and fallen to Earth. They made for the River Alluvia and floated the huge logs, straddling them and stiffly paddling across — with much trouble — until they reached the opposite bank and headed on east.

  The band of travelers stood up and cautiously watched. “Where could they be going?” Artur said to himself.

  “The thylak hunts after picking the bones dry,” said a voice behind him.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” a startled Artur told Theodoric. He saw Picta behind, smiling at him.

  “Sorry. You mean speaking philosophy, or coming up behind you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I mean the Aoten are starving. Without the Rufoux crops, they have to find the next best thing. They will seek out the Raspar fields.”

  “Good enough for them.”

  “The Raspars do not know the success of Rufoux farmers, and their fields don’t grow as lush. River Gravidas does not bless the land like Alluvia. Raspar crops never amount to much more than wild plants they have discovered and tended.”

  “They’re welcome to them then. They’re welcome to all the Raspars they can eat as well.”

  “The Aoten will find the bones dry there, too,” said Theodoric. “They will be back. And when they get a taste of Raspar defenses, they will hurry back. The Rufoux stockade will no longer seem so intimidating to them then.”

  At a time not so long ago, Artur might have sneered at Theodoric’s warnings, but now, separated from his clan, he knew the best thing to do was walk. “Let’s go then,” he said.

  “Yes, let’s. Perhaps Pepin has had a dream,” and the Melics vaulted back into the trees.