image 32 image

TODAY OR TOMORROW?

Practicality stalled the choice to go on. Kale and her father couldn’t proceed without the cooperation of the ropmas. Without being deliberately obstinate, the ropmas threw up one obstacle after another. To them, the threat of Burner Stox and her army had already been removed, so there was plenty of time to do enjoyable things like eating and sleeping. Nothing Kale or her father said could change what the band of ropmas decided to do.

The villagers expected music and stories from the visiting o’rants. They provided dinner, a place to sleep, and breakfast in return.

“When will you take us to the valley of dragons?” Sir Kemry asked.

“Tomorrow,” each would answer when quizzed.

After inquiring of all the ropmas who seemed to share a loose leadership role, Sir Kemry shrugged and wandered over to sit on one of the crude benches clustered under a shade tree. He pulled out his flute, cocked an eyebrow at Kale, and whispered, “I hope they have a clear concept of tomorrow becoming today. Otherwise, we will have to go on without their guidance.”

“We could do that, couldn’t we? If we scanned their thoughts, we would get a picture of the path to the valley.”

“That’s doubtful. Their thought patterns are not orderly. Jumbled in with the course we should take would be memories of fishing spots and berry patches. It would be like trying to follow a map that had inserts of foreign countries with no explanation.”

“Oh.”

“We need Bug to guide us.”

Kale grinned. “Pretty humbling, isn’t it?”

Sir Kemry’s eyes twinkled. “Being dependent on these simple creatures? Yes, it is.”

He raised the flute to his lips and blew a brisk, cheerful melody. Metta flew to the bingham tree and sat in its branches while she sang her accompanying chirps. She looked like a giant purple flower set among a backdrop of dainty pink blossoms. Kale picked up the lyrics of the winsome ballad from her dragon and sang the words. The villagers ceased their activities and gathered around. The entertainment would have gone on indefinitely had it not been for growling stomachs.

Kale learned ropmas’ bellies produce a very loud complaint when empty too long. She also discovered their evening meal of stew was very tasty, although it could have benefited by a pinch of salt.

As the day ended, the village turned in for the night. Kale watched one ropma duck into the small door of his home. He came out with a sturdy stick, waved it in the air as if he were warning an invisible foe, then disappeared into his hut. Each ropma performed the same routine. Even the small children came out and repeated the little ritual with smaller sticks.

“What are they doing?” Kale asked Bug.

“Who?”

She pointed to two adolescents standing in front of their tent and threatening the sky with their sticks. “Them.”

“Say to night, ‘I have weapon.’”

“So your enemies see you are ready to defend your homes?”

Bug surveyed the mountains surrounding the valley. “Bad no come. Bug sleep.” His chin dropped to his chest. In the moonlight, tears glistened on his cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Bug?” As always, Kale surveyed the ropma’s mind as he spoke, to aid in interpreting what he meant. Frightened by the images she picked up, she turned to her father, wondering if he, too, saw the raid upon the settlement: fire, clubs battering terrorized ropmas, women and children fleeing, men slashed with long swords.

Bug sobbed, and Sir Kemry placed his hand on the ropma’s hairy shoulder. Kale saw his fingers tighten and relax, tighten and relax.

“We will face your enemy, Bug. Wulder willing, we will destroy them.”

Bug nodded and shuffled to a nearby hut. He motioned for Kale and Sir Kemry to follow.

Bug pointed at Kale’s father. “You sleep.” He pointed to the door.

With his back to the round opening, Sir Kemry raised his staff and shook it at the sky. His fierce expression must have impressed Bug. The ropma’s face lightened with hope. Kale’s father kissed her on the forehead, went down on his knees, and crawled into the hut.

Bug motioned Kale on. The next hut was to be hers. He offered her the stick he carried.

“No thank you, Bug. I have a weapon.” She drew her sword.

Bug looked at her empty hand.

“It’s invisible,” she explained.

Bug tilted his head, squinted his eyes, and obviously saw nothing.

“Watch.” Kale drew a circle in the dirt with the tip of her blade. She added two eyes, a nose, and a smile.

Bug reached for the space between her hand and the ground. Kale pulled the sword back just in time.

“No, Bug. It’s sharp. It would cut you.”

“Sleep!” commanded another voice. Rain stepped out of the shadows.

She brought Kale a big stick and pushed it into her free hand. The female ropma took the o’rant wizard by the shoulders, forced her to turn, bend, and enter the round opening.

“Lie down! Sleep!” she ordered.

From the dark confines of the hut, Kale answered, “Yes ma’am.”


image


In the morning, Kale tasted the breakfast gruel, expecting it to be as savory as the evening meal. She fought to keep from spitting out the lumpy, sticky mass of flavorless goo. She chewed with her eyes scrunched shut. The blob clung to her teeth, the roof of her mouth, and the insides of her cheeks. As she chewed, the gob developed a sour taste.

Her eyes watered. She felt a hand on her shoulder and heard her father say, “Drink this.”

She reached blindly for the offered cup and washed the gruel down. As the liquid mixed with the porridge, a sweet, nutty flavor covered the horrid aftertaste until her mouth felt fresh and her stomach full.

She opened her eyes and gazed into her father’s sympathetic face. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He winked.

“Think nothing of it.” He gestured to the communal table. “Try the bread. It’s safe. Don’t touch the green stuff in the wooden bowl.”

Kale nodded and went to pick up a small round loaf of bread, no bigger than her palm and as hard as a rock. Two small ropmas sat on a boulder under a tree, sucking on the end of their bread. Kale scraped her front teeth over the smaller end of her roll and tasted a honey-sweet surprise.

Her father smiled and leaned close to her ear. “I thought you would like it. The bread lasts for hours, and if you tire of the delicacy, you can always use it to render someone unconscious by knocking him on the head with it.”

Bug and his family ate under a tree close by.

Sir Kemry tilted his head in their direction. “I think I’ll go ask when we’re leaving. I may find out that today is the tomorrow from yesterday, or tomorrow is still a day away.”

Kale could easily hear her father’s exchange with Bug.

“Good morning, Bug, Rain.” He smiled and patted the head of a small child sitting in her mother’s lap. “When do we leave to go to the valley of dragons?”

“Now,” said Bug and continued to chew.

Sir Kemry beamed. “Fine, Kale and I will get ready to go.”

Bug nodded, tipped his bowl, slurped up the contents, then smacked his lips.

An hour later, Kale and her father sat in the commons and watched Bug unhurriedly do his chores.

“‘Now’ doesn’t mean now,” said Sir Kemry.

“I hope it means today,” said Kale.

Kale and her dragons entertained the youngest ropmas. Each new activity distracted the older ropmas. They stopped working and came to observe the antics of the visitor. Sir Kemry sidled up to her after she finished acting out a children’s story with puppets stored in a hollow of her cape.

“You’d best find something to do that doesn’t draw attention to yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because Bug and the others will never finish their work, and we will be stuck here another day.”

Kale and her father then attempted to blend in with the community. They spent time mingling with the ropmas and making friends, gleaning tidbits of information, and helping with the simple chores.

Two hours later, Bug had finished his chores, played with his children, and started more chores.

“Do you think Bug is procrastinating?” asked Kale when she passed her father.

“I doubt he would know the word or understand the concept, but he might be doing it out of some innate instinct of self-preservation.”

“What can we do?”

“Let’s go talk to him.”

They approached Bug as he wove together sturdy weed stems. Kale puzzled over what he was making and came up with no answer.

“Bug,” Sir Kemry spoke firmly. “We must go now.”

Bug nodded. “We go now.” He continued working.

Sir Kemry pondered the busy ropma. “Ah!” he said. He patted Kale on the back. “Not to worry, dear. “Now” means today. We shouldn’t have to wait much longer.”

After the noon meal, which was more like breakfast than the wonderful stew they had had the night before, Bug kissed his wife and children, and said, “We go.”

For a moment it appeared that one of his older bas would come along. The young man pleaded, but Bug would not allow it.

“So they do argue,” said Kale as she observed the interchange.

“The Tomes say, ‘Water moves the rock until the rock stops the dam.’”

“I never understood that one and never remembered to ask when I was with someone who might tell me.”

“You can figure it out for yourself if you understand that plug is another word for ‘stop.’”

“I had figured that out. I still don’t get it.”

“A force in nature affects what surrounds it. Since another force is also affecting its surroundings, there will, at times, be conflict.” He looked at her face. “Here’s another one. ‘The weed and the oat want the same ground.’ Neither the weed nor the oat is evil, but they need the same thing. Thus, conflict.”

Bug walked past them, and they fell into step behind him.

“Why,” asked Kale, “can’t Wulder just say in plain language some of the things that are ‘hidden’ in the Tomes?”

“Because the high races learn better when they struggle to wrap their minds around a concept. ‘Hard lessons are best learned.’”

“I’ve heard Bardon quote that principle.”

“A child learns not to touch a hot rock beside the fire, not because he heard his parent say, ‘Don’t touch,’ but because there are tears in his eyes and a blister on his finger. Hopefully, he also learns to listen to his parents’ admonitions.”

“Why do I so quickly grow tired of talk like this?”

Sir Kemry threw back his head and laughed. “Because you are one of the high races. You wish to be in charge, and the principles point out that you are not. You chafe against hearing proof of your own weakness, and therefore avoid it, much like Bug avoided beginning this trip. Self-preservation. In his case, he hoped to preserve his life. In your case, you hope to preserve your self, your autonomy.”

Kale hunched her shoulders and relaxed them, sighing.

“The odd thing, my dear,” said her father, “is that once one has ceased trying to protect self, one finds one’s self in a very comfortable position.”

“Where?” asked Kale.

“In Wulder’s care.”

They walked for hours, following a trail Kale could barely make out. At the top of a ridge, Bug stopped and pointed.

“There.”

Across a small, dismal valley, an encampment stood at the opening of a canyon. Bisonbeck tents lined up in rows. Perhaps two dozen warriors dwelled in the outpost.

“You go there. Bug go home.” He turned to leave.

“But you said you would take us to the valley.”

Bug nodded in his usual, jerky style. “Becks, gorge, valley.” He waved his hand in the direction of the camp. “Bug no go.”

He marched off, and neither Kale nor her father tried to stop him.

Sir Kemry sat on the ground and leaned against a large boulder under a shade tree. “Time for a respite.”

“Are we going to go on?” Kale knew the answer. They would make sure they were connected to Wulder by the simple task of resting and refreshing.

“Yes, but not now.” He shielded his eyes against the setting sun and studied the small stronghold that blocked their way. He lowered his hand, placing it in his lap. “Yes, later. Impossible tasks always look easier after a nap and some tea.”