The Furred Reich (17 page)

That was a tough question. What did he want? Food? A place to settle down for good? A way back home? Affections of another curious furred woman? That was always nice.

“Ah, just to say hello. But if you offer any bread I certainly wouldn’t refuse. I haven’t seen anyone in four days. Just came out of the forest.”

An elderly woman, probably the boy’s grandmother, emerged from some basement cavern into the hut.

“A human? Where did you escape from?”

“Um, Ostia.”

“Ostia? Any news from there?”

“Well, ah, the Foxen tried to enslave me and I had to blow a hole in the city wall to escape. Other than that, no news.”

“Hmpf. Make yourself useful and help me cut these sticks so I can finish making this soup.”

“Umm, alright…”

He pulled out a pocket knife and began cutting away at the twigs on the table. The boy occasionally peeked out from the basement cavern, but as Hans turned around the boy would always scamper away. While he was working, the woman tossed Hans some spare scraps of bread.

The door soon opened and a grown couple walked in, maybe a husband and a wife. Like the others, they were also clothed, not to mention taken aback by the sudden presence of a heavily-armed human.

“Hallo I am just vis—”

The male pulled Hans into the light to get a better look at him, but then laughed and gave Hans a friendly tap on the shoulder.

“He’s a warrior of some kind,” the grandma said, “But I really don’t know what.”

“Maybe he’s one of those travelers from the other world,” the young wife said after looking Hans over.

“The other world?”

Well, he was from another world, after all.

“Yeah,” the husband said, “up by Balaton Springs some strange beings appear out of nowhere sometimes. It’s probably magic. We don’t understand it at all.”

“Give the human some milk, he’s the only reason dinner’s ready so soon.” The grandma interjected.

The potato and carrot soup was modest but satisfying; the best meal he’d had in awhile. The milk made it even more filling. The boy joined them for the meal too, staring at Hans but saying nothing.

When Hans asked to stay overnight he was denied; there wasn’t enough space, but they did show him where the hay was outside. Then he asked the wife again about ‘Balaton Spring.’

“Oh, hehe. You might find someone there but I don’t recommend it. Nobody goes there these days because of the wolfie problems.”

“’Wolfie problems?’”

“Yes,” the husband said. “They’ve been coming down from the north more and more lately. They’re hunting game and hares in Balaton. Not good.”

“Is that the same place the other-worlders come to?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, would you mind if I went up there myself?”

“Just follow the footpath further and it will take you there. We won’t give you to any slavers, but please don’t stay around long. You’ll just attract too much outside attention.”

So that was how it was. Maybe if Hans took care of their “wolfie problem,” he could carve out a spot to live next to the rabbits without bothering them. These rabbits seemed friendly enough, and they’d likely make nice neighbors.

Hakenkreuz

It looked like rain was coming. Hans stared up at the dark blue clouds as they glided over the cultivated swath of land he stood upon. He’d been clanking his way up the lonely footpath for less than an hour, but already the forest encroached upon the oat and barley fields. Soon it would swallow them whole.

Lighting cracked out from the sky and sent Hans dashing for the dark cover of the woods. A wind-bent sign told him Balaton Springs lay ahead.

The scent of alkaline and hot water greeted Hans when he stepped into this particular forest. That must have been the ground-fed springs. Despite the rain, he followed his nose and wound up facing a pond. Heat radiating from the water enveloped him. Steam rose from the clear surface. He set up his bivouac not far from the spring. When he was done, he stripped naked and sat in the hot water while the storm made its way over him.

He could definitely get used to bathing here every day, at least until he got to the bottom of “the travelers” that apparently showed up here. The idea lingered in his mind that the ‘the travelers’ might be people like him who wound up here. Or maybe they wouldn’t even appear. As long as there was food around to eat, Hans was no longer in a rush to go anywhere.

He stared off into the treeline at the other end of the pond. No ‘wolfie problems’ came out at him yet, and Hans hoped things would stay that way.

His stomach growling again, Hans got out, dressed, ate the last of his hazelnuts and set out to forage before the sun set. Feeding one man on the move was easier than feeding hundreds. His eyes scanned the ground for berries or nuts. Hans followed the lake until he heard churning rapids ahead of him. A river fed water into the lake.

Then he saw what the lapines had warned him about. A gray-furred wolf lay flat on the muddy river bank. Its fur was madded and it crawled fruitlessly on its elbows to get further from the water.

Hans slid carefully down to the riverbank. As he got closer the wolf snarled at him and bared its teeth.

“Easy there, Kamerad…”

“Stay away!” The hurt wolf looked up. Its right eye was swollen shut.

Hans felt more than a little sorry for the fallen canine. Besides, whatever did this to the wolf could do even worse to himself.

“Who did this to you?”

“I said back away!”

“I’m going to get you out.”

The wolf snarled and swatted at Hans again, trying vainly to crawl away from him.

“Come on. Just hold still.”

It looked up distrustfully at the human. Hans reached down, shifted the wolf’s paws and lifted him up on his back. The beaten wolf flinched and snarled at Hans from atop his back.

“Let me go,” he coughed out.

With a deep breath Hans carried the him up the steep incline, almost falling back-first onto the river bank as he did. The wolf was heavier than most humans, but Hans had done this many times. By the time he got back to camp, the night was turning pitch black. Hans set the wolf down just outside his bivouac.

“Just lay there, alright?” Hans said, setting up a fire pit with sticks and twigs.

The wolf looked into Hans’ eyes for a moment, then lowered his muzzle.

“A human,” he grunted quietly. “Where are you headed, human?”

“Nowhere, really,” Hans said, lighting a match and kindling a fire. The wolf shook its head, as if Hans had given him a wrong answer.

“Do you have anything to eat…”

Hans opened up his mess tin. There wasn’t much left in there. He reached in and broke off a small slab of the dried meat from Deltia.

“It’s not much, but—” Hans leaned over slowly to give him a slab.

The wolf took a small, careful bite of it, then sat back and stared at the human. The fire danced upwards and illuminated both of their faces.

“A human escaping this far west. You must have been through hell,” the wolf finally said.

“Yeah. I have.”

“Must have come a long way, too…” the wolf mused.

“You could say that,” Hans smiled.

“Yes, well. You’d better keep going. They’ll be here soon enough.”

“I see…”

Who was ‘they?’ Hans didn’t want to show he was ignorant on this, lest the wolf begin to wonder.

“Actually. I was hoping to stay here.”

“You can’t. Grimeskins will be here soon. They chased me down the river.”

So he was talking about the ‘Grimeskins.’ They didn’t sound very friendly.

“Where should I go, you think?”

“Flee straight west. To the edge of the world if you have to. The Grimeskins will kill you in no time,” the young wolf winced in pain as he spoke.

“That where you’re going?”

He shook his head.

“Me? No. I’m going to the forest wolves. I’ll fight and die there, that’s all.”

“What if I went to the forest wolves, too?”

Kasha raised an eyebrow at the human, as if Hans had dropped in from another planet. Deciding to quickly change the subject before Kasha became yet more suspicious, Hans stretched and got up from his seat.

“If you don’t mind I’m going to sleep,” Hans said. “You should stay here. You’re in no shape to run.”

“…I know…” he sighed.

“Oh, and sorry. What was your name again?”

“You may call me Kasha,” the wolf answered.

Qok

Hex bit his lip as he departed the reception room. He’d had enough of the arrogant emperor Jiroft and his slights. One way or another Jiroft would regret the tone he used today. The monsters were coming to depose Jiroft soon enough. Good riddance.

Xusa, the capital of Ahuran, was just as it looked when Hex was much younger. Beyond the manicured green sprawl of the palace grounds, columns of tall lime-rock buildings lined the wide streets like giant offerings. From a distance, orchards and fields struggled in the semi-arid soil until a wall of white-capped mountains stopped everything.

An ox-drawn cart sat outside Hex’s residence early that morning.

“This cart headed to Port Jasra?”

An avian face whipped around at the sound of Hex’s voice.

“Woah! That really you, Hex?”

“It is, but I don’t recognize you.”

“Oh I knew you looked familiar! Last time you was here I took you and your family down to Giraz and the Gulf. I bet you don’t even remember this face.”

“I don’t, sorry, but I do remember that trip fondly.”

“Don’t you remember that time you fell asleep at the table and your face fell into the bean soup?”

“Oh, uh. You were there for that?”

“Sure was,” the avian laughed. “Name’s Qok. Nice to see you all grown up, though I wish it were under better terms.”

“How’d you manage to come so far in all this chaos?” Qok asked.

“Had some help all along the way. One thing I’ve learned is that there are a lot of good people out there. Even during hard times like these.”

The oxcart kicked off and shuffled along the main streets. Families and other travelers hopped aboard the cart. At some point Qok picked up some empty wooden casks which carried the distinct aroma of Berrywine.

By sunrise they were in the outskirts of Xusa, headed south and west toward the cooler vineyard country. Hex kicked his shoes up and relaxed as the sun rose. There was still a very long way to go, but this part of the journey would be safe and smooth. A nice change of pace from the previous weeks.

The slow, bumpy ride took them through a valley of wheat fields, and he could sometimes hear the grasses blowing against each other in the wind. He saw farmers with brimmed hats wading through the fields to collect the harvest before the frosts arrived. That day the cart stopped only twice, and sleep came easier than usual when the sky got dark. Most of the passengers, children included, had fallen asleep. By sunrise the landscape had changed again. Hex saw tiny vineyards passing by them, and felt the cool, mild air on his fur.

That afternoon they came to a scheduled stop. Hex recognized the town as Zarekord, a mishmash of narrow streets that spilled out past an ancient city wall into the cool meadows and orchards. Most of the other passengers disembarked in the town and made their ways home. Hex and Qok stayed at a travelers’ house at the edge of a Berrywine vineyard.

“Ya know I thought you would stay with us in Xusa. It’s much safer here, you know.” Qok said to him as they both got off the cart and put the oxen into a barn.

“I know. But. My younger brother lives in a safe location further west. I’m going to collect him.”

“Oh…” the old bird mused.

“Is that why you’re doing down to—”

“Yes. And its a ways even after that.”

“Where? Deltia?”

“No it’s, well, I can’t say where it is but it’s not Deltia.”

“I see. Well. If I can help you at all beyond Jasra just let me know.”

“I appreciate your help, Qok.”

Vaterland

“Kasha?”

A wet wind blew over Hans’ tent. He woke up and looked around to see that Kasha was gone. Gusts of wind were broken only by the pines. An overcast sky greeted the Landser when he stepped out of his tent and folded it up. Kasha must have been in quite a rush to get away from the ‘Grimeskins,’ whatever those were. If Kasha was right, then this region was no place to call home.

In silence he marched, or just trudged, his way out of Balaton woods and back to the rabbit huts which squeezed together on the glade. No one was outside today, and the door was shut.

Hans stopped for a moment but then gave the door a soft knock. There was no answer, so he knocked once more.

“Oh, who is it?”

The old woman’s familiar voice barked out.

“Ah, it’s just me. Hans.”

The elderly lapine opened the door and scowled at him.

“What is it this time?”

“Um. May I come in? It’s quite cold today.”

“Yes, yes. So’d you see any wolves?”

Hans entered and sat down on the wooden floor. The boy again emerged from the room, staring at Hans, but this time the young lapine came out when he saw the human.

“In fact I did speak to one. I found him down by the river. He was trying to flee because some army is coming this way. Called them ‘Grimeskins.’”

“Hmm. So why did you come back?”

“To warn you, of course. The wolf told me these Grimeskins do terrible things. He says they’re coming this way and will be here soon.”

“Hmm. Well, let them come.”

“What—why?”

“We’ve had invaders before. We’ll have them again. They’ll come, they’ll go, we’ll stay. Though you should probably leave. There’s no space you if these ‘Grimeskins’ come.”

He sat there looked up at the old lady. She was right, of course. Hans needed to go back west to find a home. The lapines were nice enough to help him, so the least he could do was warn them.

“Here.” The woman got up, opened a cupboard and gave Hans a scrolled parchment.

“I can tell you’re one of the travelers from the other world. We won’t be needing this.”

Hans unfurled the scroll and stared transfixed at it. It was a map of their world, with Deltia clearly marked on the south shore of a sea, and Ostia on the North Continent side. Toward the bottom he saw the Velt, and could guess which route he’d taken northward to Deltia, and then beyond into the much wilder North Continent.