FWFW 3 - 58

Bronwyn looked down at the nest of blankets and the furry, raggedly panting form within, and her heart tore. “Oh, Soft-fur! What’s happened to you?” She knelt and took the Urghat’s soft, hot hand, gently rubbing her thumb against the fur on the back of her knuckles and looking into her eyes. They were bleary and bloodshot, and her soft, yellow-brown irises were cloudy and obscured by pus-like fluid.

“Underclaw?” Soft-fur said in a scratchy voice, the black flesh of her lips barely parting beneath her damp, tan fur.

“It’s me, Soft-fur! I didn’t know you were so sick! I’m here to help you, okay? I’m going to help you get where you need to go.”

“The Energy, Underclaw, it’s so hot! It’s burning me. I have to get it out . . .” she rasped, her voice trailing off as she closed her eyes and let her head fall back into her furs.

“She can’t speak for long,” said Whitestar, reaching a large, clawed hand to Bronwyn’s shoulder. “You should let her sleep now.”

“She can’t last long like this!” Bronwyn said, standing up to face Whitestar.

“That’s right! Why do you think I’m pushing so hard to take back the Hollows? Each day, though, while we fight, I lose good Urghat. How many lives is Whitestar worth?”

“It’s not just about her life, though. You said the Energy she was building up needed to go into the Well in order to maintain your traditions!”

“That’s right, and that’s why I can keep my Urghat trying, despite our losses. Still, we’re not making progress as fast as we need to.” She gestured to Soft-fur’s fitful slumber and continued, “Come with me, and I’ll show you a map.”

Bronwyn leaned forward and gently squeezed Soft-fur’s paw again, then followed Whitestar out of the little room. Soft-fur was in one of six bedrooms with doors opening directly into the longhouse, and when they walked out, she saw Cal drinking and laughing with Ironhide and Shadoweye, a large steaming platter of meat between them. Whitestar didn’t spare them a glance, though, walking to the far end of the hall and through another wooden door.

When Bronwyn caught up to her, Whitestar was leaning over a large square table with a map spread over it. It was drawn in charcoal, but it was detailed enough and skillfully shaded in a way that gave depth to the page. Whitestar pointed to a square between some hills and said, “This is where we are.” Bronwyn nodded, and the Urghat drew one of her long nails from the square through a depiction of trees and then into the shadows of a deep gorge. “Here is the entrance to the Hollows. We have fought our way this far several times, but each time, we’re thrown back.”

“The trolls have fortifications?” Bronwyn asked.

“No, but the terrain favors defense, and they are savage and strong.”

“Hmm,” Bronwyn wanted to say something about the irony of hearing an Urghat call something else savage, but she held her tongue. She wasn’t in a mood for jokes after seeing Soft-fur. “How do they fight? Throw rocks? Jump out from behind trees?”

“They have burrows all along these hillsides, and when we push our way in, fighting off the ones in the trees, they come out and surround us. If we didn’t retreat, we’d be cut to pieces.”

“Have you killed any?”

“Yes! But they are hard to kill, Underclaw,” Whitestar said, smashing a fist into her palm in frustration, using Bronwyn’s title as a way to cover her annoyance, perhaps.

“I fought a troll once, and I agree, they are hard to kill. I have Energy that suits the purpose, though, and I think I’ll go out and take a look for myself. Would that be all right with you?”

“You may be stronger than they are, Bronwyn, but they are fierce and have numbers you wouldn’t expect. Don’t let them surround you.”

“Whitestar, I appreciate your concern, but if we’re going to figure this out in time to save Soft-fur, then I think I need to get a look at the problem. Will you keep Cal here and safe?”

“Yes, and I hope you bring back many troll teeth!” Whitestar held out a hand, and Bronwyn took it, wrapping her long, Fae-touched fingers around the strong, wiry hand of the Urghat, and she wondered if it was the first time two such bloodlines shook hands. She saw Whitestar’s eye narrow, and then her lips pulled back from her fangs, and she said, “I think I know what you’re thinking. You smell good, Underclaw, but not like meat I should eat. No, the fire is too hot with you, and I think my stomach knows better.”

“Good,” Bronwyn said, returning the smile. “I’ll be back soon, I hope.” She didn’t wait for a reply, just walked back out to the central hall and straight to the table where Cal and the others sat.

“Bronwyn,” Cal said, pointing to the platter of cooked meats. “Get yourself some of these ribs! They’re falling off the bone!”

“Maybe later, Cal. I’m going to go scout around these Hollows the Urghat are trying to move into. I’ll be back later or tomorrow, maybe.”

“Oh?” Cal asked, but then Ironhide scooted back the bench he was sharing with Cal and stood.

“We leave now, Underclaw?” He reached for the axe haft jutting up over his shoulder.

“Not we, you old softie. I need you to stay here and keep Cal and Soft-fur safe. I’m going to be moving in a way you can’t keep up with, old warrior. Can you accept that?”

“Aye,” he grumbled and sat. “I knew you’d outgrown my help, Underclaw, but if you say to fight, I’ll be there, and I’ll have my axe sharp.”

“Good. Shadoweye? Don’t let him sneak out after me.”

“I won’t, Underclaw. I’ll keep him too full of meat. He’s already behind by a full tankard, too.” She lifted her mug, and Ironhide’s eyes bulged out.

“That’s a lie, Underclaw! I’ve had just as many drinks as this welp!”

“Hah! Cal, why don’t you sing them some drinking songs? I’ll see you all later,” Bronwyn said, turning to stride toward the doors. She was out before any of them could voice more concerns, and that was how she wanted it. She didn’t have a plan, exactly, but she knew she had to get an eye on the Hollows and the trolls protecting them. She couldn’t wait because seeing Soft-fur like that had nearly broken her. The little, innocent Urghat had never fought or killed anything in her life. She’d been abused from the moment she and her brother had been taken by Goretusk.

The Urghat in the camp regarded her warily as she passed by, but none of them said a word until she strode through the gates leading to the narrow valley where the Hollows lay. “Trolls that way, Underclaw,” the wiry, red-furred female Urghat said.

“Yeah, I know.” Bronwyn kept walking, and the Urghat moved aside.

“I saw you fight Ironhide. It was right what you did for him—let him swear to ya,” the Urghat said in her scratchy, thick voice.

“Oh? Yeah, he’s a good man, Ironhide. He’s in camp now; if you know him, you should go say hello.” Bronwyn slowed to look at the leather-clad woman. She had a patch over one eye and several long scars on her elongated snout.

“He is? I would like to see him!”

“He’s in Whitestar’s longhouse. I’m sure he’ll be there all evening because he’s already drinking.”

“Har!” the Urghat barked. “I’ll visit him soon. Thanks, Underclaw.”

“Yep.” Bronwyn waved and continued her steady, long-legged pace downslope into the narrow valley. As she moved past the clearing and into the stunted but heavily leafed trees, she saw the path the Urghat had been clearing and the thousands of stumps they’d left behind in their efforts to thin out the dark forest. One tree stood out from the others, though. It was taller and broader, by far, than the trees around it, and its bark was dark and smooth. Its long branches extended out, forming a canopy that blotted out the sun and creating a clearing of sorts around its thick, straight trunk. When Bronwyn saw the leaves hanging from those branches, how their blue-white coloring was segmented by their blood-red veins, she heard a voice, deep in her spirit, that said, “Umbrilak.”

“How do I know what you’re called?” she asked as she walked toward the mighty old tree. No voice answered her, but when she grew near the tree and felt the depth of the Energy within it, she knew it was something special. She reached up a palm and rested it on the smooth, dark bark and caught her breath at the sensation of buzzing, stinging electricity under her palm. A moment later, with a strange, wet, ripping sound, the bark parted beneath her skin, and a narrow, deep tunnel lined in the dark wood of the Umbrilak opened before her.

“Wow,” Bronwyn said, looking into the deep tunnel. It was far deeper than the tree's diameter, and she knew some sort of dimensional magic was at play. She wondered if she dared enter the tunnel to see where it led when a lilting, distant voice echoed up out of it.

“Daughter,” the voice said, “come into the Umbrilak. I must speak with you.”

“Queen Aestasia?” Bronwyn’s voice was trepidatious, almost whispering as though to avoid anyone hearing her. She glanced over her shoulder, suddenly worried that she was being ambushed, but nothing stirred in the thinned-out grove.

“Come, daughter,” the queen’s voice said again, and Bronwyn felt the familiar compulsion in her gut and knew it really was the queen. She sighed and walked into the Umbrilak. She’d taken a few steps into the woody interior when she heard the same wet, stretching sound, and when she looked over her shoulder, she saw that the opening had closed.

“Lady?” Bronwyn said, walking forward into the wooden tunnel.

“Just a bit further, daughter, you’re almost here,” said the Queen’s voice, this time much stronger and closer. Bronwyn strode more confidently, and soon, a more expansive space opened before her, and she stepped into a high, round chamber, roughly walled with the wood of the Umbrilak, but higher, with diffuse sunlight, somehow filtering in from above. Queen Aestasia sat on a chair of Umbrilak roots, her legs crossed and her silken, yellow gown falling away from their perfect, pale flesh.

“I’m sorry to pull you away like this, Bronwyn, my child. I have news that is urgent beyond measure, and I had to guide you to me.”

“You guided me to that tree? I thought I stumbled upon it.”

“Did you not feel a desperate urge to travel in its direction?” The queen asked with a sly half smile.

“Yes, but I had good reason!”

“The urge was from me, but the motivation was from you. The best sorts of compulsions.”

“I’d love to talk to you about that!” Bronwyn said, some mettle entering her voice. “You drove me away from Olivia at the worst possible time!”

“I’m sorry, daughter, but at that time, I felt the need to help Cal, and his Urghat friend was of incredible importance.” The queen uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, her glittering crystal crown brilliantly reflecting the sunlight coming from above.

“At that time?” Bronwyn asked, noting the way the queen qualified her words.

“That’s why you’re here now, Bronwyn. Something has changed, and I fear I must ask you to abandon this quest. We cannot allow the Urghat to drive the trolls forth from the Hollows.” She stood as she spoke and took a step toward Bronwyn, reaching out her hands, her eyes reflecting the pain she knew her words would cause.

“That’s bullshit!” Bronwyn said, the words coming unbidden. “I’m sorry, but Soft-fur is dying! You swore you’d never make me do something that caused me pain in my heart! If I don’t help Soft-fur, I’ll never be able to live with myself!”

“Daughter,” the queen said, resting her warm, powerful hands on Bronwyn’s shoulders. “How proud I am of you! I watch your progress, and my heart sings. Do you think I would ask this of you if it weren’t the only way to spare you something worse? Believe me; your heart is the only thing driving this change of plans.”

“My heart?” Bronwyn asked, wondering at the strange way the queen had emphasized the word.

“Your heart, daughter. Olivia.” The queen pulled Bronwyn into her then, pressing her tightly in a hug that would have brought comfort if not for the panic racing through Bronwyn’s mind.