RAGE

Galen struggled to lift his eyelids. Light pierced him. His eyes snapped shut. He tried to move, but he lay on sharp gravel and each shift of position started a sharp pain or a dull ache. His hind legs were impossibly heavy with bruises. Moving his tongue around, he only found a mud taste that threatened to gag him.

A katydid suddenly started shrieking; Galen winced.

He lay still and let the events of the night before come back to him—the storm, Corrie arriving, Rafael missing, fighting with Victor—until he was left with two emotions: gratitude that he was still alive, and anger.

It was the anger at Victor that made Galen move, blinking lowered eyelids against the dull red sky and slowly shoving to his feet. Still, he did nothing but stand, moving nothing, except for the tottering he struggled to control until he found his balance. For long minutes he waited, letting the anger rebuild. He took a slow step. And another. Each step away from the pale gravel bar revealed a new ache. Anger filled his hollow core, inhabiting each movement, as he inched up the riverbank and away from the water.

He was overcome with pure rage. It limbered his limbs and he swung a few experimental punches; every muscle ached. It sharpened his vision until he saw the red sky was overtaken by a line of darkness moving across the sky’s dome. Fortunately, the dark sky of the east lay across the river and Galen was on the western riverbank. Eagles nested somewhere in the hills above him; that’s where he would find Victor.

Victor. At the name, anger sent another surge of energy through Galen. He would find him tonight, and they would finish their fight once and for all.

No. Galen had to find Corrie and Rafael.

He shook his head, trying to sort out what to do next, then had to pause while the dizziness passed. He considered his next steps carefully, but it was clear that he had to take care of Victor first. It wasn’t just revenge. The armadillos, his families and all the Colonies to the south; they must know why they had been forced northward. And Victor would never find the answer to that riddle because he wasn’t looking for it.

After Victor, Galen would backtrack to find Corrie and Rafael and together they would search for the Faralone Falls and the answers it held.

First, though, Galen had to care for his hurts. He arched his back, cracking the caked-on-mud. River water still churned, but on the down-river side of the gravel bar, he found a calm eddy. He splashed at the edge, cleaning off his armor, his feet, his ears, his eyelids. He felt spotless, reborn.

His stomach grumbled. With a tiny smile, he decided he might live if he could find some supper. For the next hour, he foraged, which allowed him to limp about and work out more kinks. His tail and nose ached horribly, but the pain in his legs began to ease. By the hour’s end, he moved easily.

A spangle of fireflies led Galen into the hills. He moved at a steady pace that he hoped he could maintain. The river had carried him so far downstream, he was past the highest cliffs. To reach them, his trail was a slope which rose and rose before him to the north-northwest. Though the slope’s steep pitch grew tedious to climb, it was manageable. Better, he thought, than trying to scale the cliffs. He wouldn’t have thought to come downstream to find an easier route, but he was glad his aching body had the easy way up. He only wished he knew where Victor was. And whether Corrie had found Rafael. Were they together? Were they waiting for him at the cedar tree? Wherever they were, his job was to concentrate on catching Victor before he reached the eagle’s nest.

As he ascended, damage from the storm grew more apparent. Broken limbs were strewn about, and jagged splinters were pale against the dark trunks. When they lay across the path, he clambered over, barely seeing them. Sometime after midnight, he looked up wearily to find the stars were very close. It was time to take his bearings.

The sharp-pointed crescent moon was just rising, revealing a clear sky. Galen was near the top of a ridge; above him, the waterfall constellation glittered. He climbed a bit more until he stood on a bare rock giving him a good view of the Ozarks. To the west, just beyond a valley, was another ridge line. Movement—a sudden shadow—made him look up. A dark form floated over the valley and disappeared over the far ridge.

An eagle? They rarely flew at night, but Galen was sure it was a bald eagle. This was it! Its nest must be nearby, exulted Galen. If he found the nest, he’d find Victor.

He quickly traversed the valley and came out, cautiously, on the next ridge. To his right, the ridge fell away sharply to a steep valley; on the valley’s other side, the ridge continued to run north as far as he could see. Far below, he thought water ran through the valley. He let his gaze follow the valley westward, but a thick forest and the dark night hid it from view. He debated whether to follow the valley’s edge or try finding the eagle’s nest. The ballad said eagles guarded the way to Faralone Falls. This was really it—maybe. But it could wait until Galen dealt with Victor and brought Corrie and Rafael here. He decided to look for the nest, sure that he’d find Victor near there.

Galen scrambled down the western slope and found himself in a heavily wooded area. A faint trail led through the oaks, hickories and pines. As the trail wandered around tree after tree, Galen grew more impatient. The slope gave way to a plateau. The undergrowth had thinned, so Galen raced eagerly. Suddenly, he came out of the trees and bare rock lay before him; beyond the rock, it dropped off, so only the valley below was visible.

Here, the cliff curved away to the left in a semicircle before continuing straight south, parallel to the opposite side of the valley. At the juncture of the semicircle and the straight cliff, another rock jutted out. On it was a dark clump, the eagle’s nest. With thumping heart, Galen searched the valley’s edge for a waterfall. Nothing. That didn’t mean it wasn’t here, though. It only meant he couldn’t see it from where he stood. Surely the Faralone Falls was here somewhere.

He turned.

A pale-armored armadillo was trotting toward him. Behind that armadillo was a smaller one. The small one was trying to step in front of a third. Rafael! He’d been found. And Corrie was beside him. And in front, the pale one, was Victor.

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