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Diplomacy Strikes The Bear Camp
This isn’t going well; I can feel it in my bladder.
“Where’s he off to?” Ursid bellows, sticking his chest out.
“How the frulk should I know?” Alpha helpfully hollers back at him.
Wolves snarl, bears roar and quick as a flash they’re all posturing for Armageddon Round Two.
“Shut up, you great load of prats!” I broadcast. “If you want to bite someone, bite the bird. Oh wait, you’re too late; he’s already flown.”
Somehow I manage to scramble out of the cart without breaking any bones or landing head first in a drift.
“Right, Prince Adamo, you and your bears move to my left. Alpha and wolves to my right.” I wave both arms as though pulling curtains, catching Curt’s grin breaking through his grimace, even as he complies. They might be snapping at each other as they pass but, miraculously, the wolves and bears separate into two furious batches.
“Now what, General Edi?” asks Dulcis, hands on hips, flinging her hair over her shoulder.
“How the frulk should I know?” I laugh. “But at least there’s no fur flying.”
Adamo guffaws. Ursid gives him a fatherly glare that has no effect at all.
Ursid grumbles, coughs loudly and peers at Alpha, “I gather you had no idea your eagle was a part of this?”
“He’s not part of this,” Alpha snarls. “Whatever this is. And his name is Wings.”
The wolves all howl in agreement.
“We’ve known him all our lives,” Curt interjects, in a far more conciliatory tone. “I would bet my life he’d never betray us.”
“Would you bet ours?” Ursid growls.
“You have to admit,” says Adamo, glancing at Dulcis, “flying off does sort of imply he’s guilty of something.”
He gets an agreeing chorus of bear rumbles for that observation.
“Perhaps he’s gone to see what the eagles are up to,” Dulcis replies.
Good point. Good for her.
“Well, we can’t just stand around,” I insist, my teeth chattering like a frenzied typewriter. “It’s freezing up here.”
“You’re always cold,” Curt mutters.
“You’re always mangy, but it is what it is.” I turn to Adamo. “Wolf Village is miles away. How close is your place?”
“There’s one camp that’s close,” Adamo replies, without hesitation. Ursid roars. “General, if we’re ever going to get to the truth of this, we have to let the past go, and we can start with a little trust.”
My cheer dies in my throat as Curt scowls at me. “What, you old wolf? He’s right.” I wave at Adamo. “Go on, lad.”
As the prince crosses the divide, alone, all the bears rumble and quiver. “Alpha, I’m inviting you to come to camp with us.”
He holds out his hand. Alpha stares for a brief moment, letting it hover in space, before grasping it firmly and replying, “We accept your invitation.”
“Seta and Gurgus?” Two younger bears pad towards Adamo. “Run ahead. Warn the camp we’re coming. The wolves are to be greeted as guests by command of their prince.”
The two messengers glance at each other, then peer at Ursid.
“You heard your prince,” Ursid bellows, making us all quiver.
They take off at a run, hulking limbs pounding into the trees and soon merging with the night.
“Please don’t make me regret this,” Adamo says, with a sigh.
“We won’t,” Dulcis replies. “We’re taking a chance too. You try and make me a prisoner and I’ll tear your throat out.”
“Good to know,” Adamo responds, in a fake high voice. He catches Alpha’s eye. “Your daughter’s scary.”
“You have no idea,” he mutters.
“Did I mention, I’m freezing?” I interject, stomping in the direction of the cart. “Can we go now?”
“Where are you going?” asks Curt, scowl fixed in place.
“Cart. Obviously.”
“I’m not pulling it.”
“Did I ask you to pull it? You’d be better off getting in it.”
All the wolves chorus a theatrical yowl. Alpha snorts.
“I think we should leave you here,” Curt snarls.
“I think we should feed you to a bear,” I growl straight back, looping one leg over the side of the cart.
Adamo pipes up, “Actually, we don’t eat other...”
“I know,” I yell at him, overbalance, grab for purchase on the slippery wood and land head first in the sweaty pile of clothes, now turned decidedly crispy with frost. Muffled guffaws greet me as I fight to extricate myself.
It’s Curt. I know it is. I will make him pay.
* * *
By the time I manage to get myself upright, head spinning from dizziness, two wolves in tandem have dragged the cart so far into the trees the view down the mountain is completely hidden. Thankfully, the snow has ceased to fall, leaving a starry sky to serenade a nervous troop of bears and wolves, wondering what the night might bring.
Over the backs of my new furry pilots, I spot Adamo and Dulcis, ginger bear and sleek wolf, padding side by side, kicking up the snow like playmates. Ursid and Alpha hover nearby, every muscle tensing as they run. It must be tough for both, products of a traitorous age, watching their charges together.
I scan the pack for Curt and start to panic when I can’t find him amidst the paws and tails. A short yip has me peering over my shoulder, straight into his eyes. He guessed I was looking for him. That embarrassing thought drowns in a sea of concern when I notice how badly his back leg drags through the snow. His gaze swims with pain and those eyes narrow every time he glances at Adamo. Of all those around him, Curt has the most reason not to trust. I’ve been betrayed before; it leaves a constantly weeping scar.
I’m desperately racking my brain for the right words to make him take a rest, or at least slow down, when a chorus of growls echoes through the trees and my heartrate shoots skyward. Close behind the warning blast pads a long line of snarling bears, moving through the trees as one.
Ursid rises up on his back legs and thunders a reply, causing the line to halt and dip their heads. The General advances like a tank and fires a humungous roar straight down the ear of the nearest bear. Even I wince. When his eyes stop rolling around in his head like a pinball machine, the hapless bear shuffles backwards and shifts to the right, leaving his neighbour to make a mirror image manoeuvre, thus creating a gap in the defensive line.
Ursid bows his head and Adamo pads towards the opening. When the wolves stay rooted to the spot, fur bristling, the ginger prince tosses a quiet growl at Alpha.
It’s now or never.
Dulcis bounces her head into her father’s furry flank to spur him on and gets snapped at for her trouble. It works though; he shakes his coat, growls a couple of times, for good measure, and follows in Adamo’s wake. I’m proud of him and the entire pack. This can’t be easy. I can only pray their trust is rewarded.
The cart jolts forward, breaking me out of my reverie. I feel the need to stay on my feet, holding my ground like Boadicea as we trundle through the line of bears, their gaze boring into me. I can’t help but glance back at Curt, needing to feel him close by, but he’s already drawn up beside the cart, his laboured breath warming my clenched fingers.
We climb up a steep incline, watching Alpha disappear over the top, his wafting tail waving. As the cart approaches the summit, I reach out, resting my palm on Curt’s head.
What if I’m wrong to encourage this? What if death awaits my friends over this hill?
My guide wolves heave on the rope, whining from the strain as the terrain steepens. Powerful legs grip the snow and the cart tips at an acute angle, forcing me to lean forward and grab on with both hands to prevent falling. The cart rights itself, before rocking forward as we traverse the summit and head down the other side with a swift slide. My guide wolves scamper ahead, holding the rope clear of the runners as it picks up pace, until they can no longer keep up and lob the rope onto the cart with a shake of the head.
Curt’s plaintive howl follows me downhill as I flash past Dulcis, Alpha and a surprised Ursid and Adamo, who roar in unison.
“It’s no good roaring,” I holler, already leaving them floundering in my wake. “How do I stop this thing?”
Then it hits me. The only way I can slow the cart is with the brake at the front, necessitating a suicidal clamber over moving runners to reach the front seat.
I don’t think so.
I park my backside and peek over the edge, choosing to ride the out of control cart. It pops into the air as we bump over another drop, sending my stomach up my throat before the cart smacks back down into the snow.
Terror ramps up when I get a good look at what’s directly in my line of fire. The bears’ camp turns out to be exactly that: a great mass of multicoloured tents, popping up like a field of psychedelic mushrooms, interspersed with campfires, dotted just about everywhere. All of which is bad news for me, and them.
Despite the messengers sent by Adamo, a snarling welcoming committee of stunned bears stands waiting for their prince and a pack of wolves, not some grey haired old fart on a runaway cart. The whites of their shocked eyes shine through the darkness as I speed up to them, their maws opening wide to deliver an eardrum exploding chorus of warning roars. None of which does them the slightest good since I’m not stopping.
I whistle through the middle at such speed that a low flying paw swipe scrapes along the edge of the cart, gouging a tattoo of protest into the wood. A whimper follows behind; that unlucky bear sucking splinters out of his pad.
Thankfully, all the racket has brought sleepy bears out of their nice warm tents to check on the hullabaloo, just in time to whip cubs clear of the runners as I plough straight through the camp, collecting tents, rugs and bedding and hooking one sled beneath the front runner. Blinded by a ton of material dropping on my head, I don’t spot the tree before I crash straight into it, coming to a bone-shuddering stop. A brown, furry bear cub falls out of the tree, dropping into my lap with a terrified screech.
It’s just as well I’m cocooned in tents because junior flies into a fluffy panic and shreds everything in sight.
“It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you,” I coo, sidling a palm through ripped leather to pat him on the bonce.
Big mistake.
The loudest roar I’ve ever had the misfortune to hear shakes snow from the tree branches and nearly causes an avalanche. They must have heard that on another planet. If I thought General Ursid was scary, he’s got nothing on the gigantic grizzly pounding straight for me, murder written all over its face, teeth the size of a sabre toothed tiger, covered in strings of vibrating spit.
Right behind the pounding predator, I spot Ursid and Adamo hammering down the hill, followed by a mass of sprinting wolves and bears. None of them will get here in time to save me. Despite knees turning to jelly, I try and fight my way out of the cart, but there’s no chance of me beating that roaring juggernaut in a straight race. I do the only thing I can think of and it’s not singing YMCA. I grab the spitting cub by the scruff of his neck and lob him straight at Grizzly.
The brakes go on in a whirling dervish of limb and claw, and a tsunami wave of snow and dirt sprays me from head to toe. I wipe mud out of my eyes to see wailing Junior firmly clamped to a heaving chest that’s barely inches from my face. Since freezing to the spot is hardly difficult, and my best bet to avoid mauling, I glance down at exposed nether regions for confirmation of my guess.
Yep, Grizzly’s a she and, judging from the snuggling and whimpering, she’s Mama Bear. Thankfully, a flying mass of ginger fur announces Adamo’s arrival on the scene and I don’t even complain when his forehead nuts me in the chest, knocking me flat and all the air out of my lungs. At least his mass stands as a wall between me and enraged Mama.
One good roar from her prince achieves nothing at all, except an equally thundering response. Adamo rachets it up a notch and gets right in her face, squidging junior between them. A massive paw lands on her shoulder from behind and Ursid rumbles quietly in her ear. That seems to do the trick as she shuffles back a few paces and drops to all fours, leaving the fluff ball to clamber on her back.
A chorus of growls echo from all over the camp as the wolves pad through the cart’s demolition path, keeping a tight pack behind Alpha and Dulcis. Curt brings up the rear, not because he’s keeping rear guard, but because he’s completely drop down, drag out exhausted. How he’s staying upright on those juddering legs, I don’t know.
Adamo changes into his human form, the ginger ninja yelling, “As you have been told, these are my guests. Any bear who harms one of them will answer to me. The Alpha and his daughter will now change to prove they mean no harm.”
Dulcis changes immediately, without so much as a second thought, but Alpha’s wolf puffs out a steamy breath, rumbles and flexes his front claws.
His beloved daughter knees him in the side and hisses, “Stop it, Daddy. Right now.”
His lips draw back in a snarl that remains on his face, even after the change. He sticks out a hand and yanks me to my feet.
“Great diplomatic entrance,” Alpha says, barely glancing at me.
“At least I’ve got clothes on,” I reply, eyes fixed on the fidgeting bears. Mama Bear may have ceased growling, but I can’t say the same for an equally feisty group milling about behind, one of whom bounds up beside her, before manifesting a scrawny teen with long, straggly hair who reminds me of a Japanese horror film.
“Where’s my daddy?” she hollers straight at Alpha, sporting the scowl to rival all scowls between dangling locks.
“No idea,” he stutters.
Curt finally wobbles up beside me, his heaving breath sounding like a broken down water pump. He peers at me, whines, staggers two steps sideways and lays down with a resounding thwack.
“I know how you feel,” I mutter, brushing soggy dirt off my coat.
“On behalf of my father and our wolf pack,” Dulcis begins, in a voice that reminds me of Margaret Thatcher, “I thank you for allowing us to come to your camp. We are aware of the risks posed by all and pledge ourselves to a peaceful meeting.” She stares straight at the vampire teen. “The wolves have not taken your missing bears and I believe your prince when he tells me that you don’t have our wolves. We’re here to discover our next move, together.”
Well, that’s a flaming good speech for a seventeen year old girl, I have to say. Judging by the look on her father’s face, he thinks so too. Adamo carries his own stunned expression, but I suspect that has more to do with their current nudity.
“Thank you, Alpha Daughter,” the prince replies. “Perhaps we should all change and dress.”
Another great idea. Firstly, because they’re less likely to have a murderous free for all without claws and teeth and secondly, because it’s cold and they all look stupid. I lean inside the shattered cart and shuffle through the boot and trouser tornado until I spot Curt’s bundle. By the time I drop back to earth, he’s changed into my grey haired misery, naked backside frozen to the ice. I jam his first jumper over his sweaty head and help him find the elusive armholes. His trousers are his own business, despite the grunts and whines.
Whilst a hoard of chilly wolves descend on the scattered clothes, I watch a group of bearmen drag their broken tents out from under the cart. It might be best to leave them to it. I can’t be too popular right now.
I’m taking a few tentative steps towards a blazing camp fire, when I spot General Ursid heading across the camp, still very much in his bear form. My heartrate shoots sky high whilst my menopausal bladder kicks in, big time. Please, no more betrayals or fights.
He stops to lean his back against a tree, rubbing up and down in a delightful scratching session, when a chorus of barks, grunts and roars echoes through the night air and a stampede of fluff hurtles around the side of a tent, smacking into the general and swarming all over him.
Ursid lets out a thundering growl, maw wide open, teeth juddering in the wind. The pack of tiny bear cubs, hanging off his limbs, back and ears, do their best to imitate him in the cutest display of toddler machismo I’ve ever seen. I understand why Adamo holds such affection for the iron general.
Seeing as everyone is busy, I manage to sidle up to the nearest campfire and proceed to roast my frozen fingers, letting out a sigh of satisfaction. A fully dressed Curt arrives at my elbow, swaying on the spot until I lean into his side, propping him up.
“You look terrible,” I tell him.
“Thanks.” Even his voice trembles. “I feel worse than I look.”
“We have to get you some rest.”
“This camp is small, compared to the ones further up the mountain,” Adamo tells Dulcis as they wander past, her newly covered arm tucked into his.
Curt mutters something inaudible under his breath. Nothing nice, I’m sure. Alpha follows the couple with a face like a stewed prune. Curt’s mutterings morph into an amused snort.
“Hush,” I insist.
“Do you live in caves up there?” Dulcis asks, waving a gloved finger in the air.
“Sometimes,” Adamo replies, “to shelter if there’s a storm, but they’re mouldy and covered in a thick green slime that stinks. Ursid tells me the caves weren’t so bad when he was a cub. You wouldn’t want to be in one now. We’ve got used to tents and, besides, it’s easier to pack up and move with the seasons.”
A distinct groan, channelled down the side of my neck, forces me to pipe up. “Your Highness, Curt needs to rest. Is there somewhere we can go to get him warm?”
Pride enables my wolfie to stand upright, but his right knee buckles under the strain and Alpha catches him on the way down.
“The main tents are warm,” Adamo replies. “Follow me.”
* * *
Thankfully, the larger tent, covered in sewn leather panels, turns out to be fabulously warm, mainly because there’s a fire blazing in the centre. The billowing material lining the tent, dyed a soothing shade of burgundy red, feels woollen to my itching fingers. A mass of embroidered rugs, pillows and cushions surround the flames, resting on interlocked planks of wood. A nearby red, blue and black patterned carpet cries out to my bruised old body and I’m happily shuffling in that direction when I notice Curt, eyeing a thickly piled rug with longing. He stays on his feet, until yours truly figures out he can’t bend his knees without collapsing.
I sidle back and slip my fingers through his. Painfully tired eyes meet mine, sending my heartrate back into the danger zone.
“Let me help you,” I whisper.
“Down you go,” announces a deep voice and his grip is ripped from mine as Alpha lifts Curt clean off his feet and lowers him onto the rug. It’s effective, but hardly comforting to his brother’s wounded sensibilities. Luckily, the tent flaps fly open and trays of piping hot stew provide a welcoming sight and smell. Curt and I sit back to back, propping each other up, the only sounds being satisfied slurping and chewing. Soon lounging men and women, squeezed into the nice warm tent, bellies full, strain to keep their eyes open.
“How’s the ear?” I ask Curt, poking a finger at the cut.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry.”
Adamo and his now human general pick their way through the packed tent. Adamo sits next to Dulcis, directly facing her father, waiting for Ursid to park his huge backside in a tiny gap before proceeding to debate their mutual situation.
Curt gently presses on my back and we shuffle around to insert ourselves into the discussion.
“If a swarm of eagles flew off with your wolves,” Adamo begins, getting straight to the point, “they probably took our bears as well. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Alpha replies.
“Could they have gone rogue?” Dulcis asks.
“I doubt it,” says Alpha, with a sniff. “They’re too tight with the snakes. Always have been.”
Adamo leans forward. “Then we’re saying it’s the snakes who have our people.”
Anguis’ handsome face pops into my mind. The idea of him being a villain is a painful one. It’s amazing how good looks and charm can play havoc with a woman’s good sense. Well, this woman, anyway. I can’t speak for the rest of you.
“Let me get this straight,” Ursid rumbles. “We are accusing the snakes of treachery, abduction and probably murder.”
“More specifically, King Serpen and that oily ambassador of his.”
Thank you, Curt, that remark was hardly helpful.
“So, if we’re right,” says Adamo, glancing at his general, “to get our people back – if they’re still alive – we’d have to face the might of the Snake Empire. Even if we join both packs together, can we do that?”
Alpha interlocks his fingers and puffs out a sigh. Whatever he’s about to say, isn’t going to be good.
“If our people are alive... If they’re held anywhere... It’s most likely the castle.”
The resounding silence and the sudden stiffening of Curt’s back against mine tells me all I want to know. I ask anyway.
“What about the castle?”
Curt half turns to answer, clutching at his damaged hip. “The castle’s at the mountain summit and it’s steep, icy and cold. Very, very cold.”
“I didn’t think snakes like the cold,” say I, remembering a snippet of a wildlife show.
“They don’t,” Curt agrees. “But winters have got much worse over the years. The castle was built centuries ago.”
“You’ve been there?”
“No. I saw it from a distance, once. When my father left me up there as a test.”
“Test of what?”
“Test of how mean he could be,” Alpha replies in his brother’s stead.
“I got home.” Curt scratches his shoulder for something to do with nervous fingers.
“Days later,” his brother qualifies. “On your own. Frozen and starving.”
Yeesh. It sounds like training to be Alpha wasn’t much fun.
“Couldn’t you change into your wolf?” I ask.
“I did,” Curt replies. “For as long as I could, but I can’t stay changed for too long.”
“Or?”
“Or my body does it for me, without my control. Anyway, I only got a glimpse of the castle,” says Curt. “It’s not pretty.”
“I’ve been inside.”
All faces turn to the general.
“I was only a cub, but I remember going. Serpen’s grandfather called a meet with the princes of all the bear packs and I went with my father, who was the general.”
“Runs in the family,” I remark, with a smile.
“It was freezing outside and not much better inside. All that cold rock.” Ursid grumbles and shivers. “Hundreds of rooms on multiple levels, snake guards everywhere. But that’s not the problem.”
“What is?” I venture.
“The castle’s built into the rock face. It’s not easy, but we could climb up there. The real problem is the outer wall. It’s huge and has never been breached.”
“Has anyone tried?” Doesn’t hurt to ask.
“Not for generations. And that was a massacre.”
“So brute force won’t do it,” I conclude. “We’ll have to use brains over brawn.”
Ursid’s sigh and Curt’s snort overlap. Alpha looses a brief laugh in response.
“Yes. Well. Perhaps we should get some sleep,” offers Adamo, with a throat clearing cough. “Thinking needs rest and daylight.”
It doesn’t, actually, but I get his point; everyone looks baggy eyed, banged up and exhausted, especially Curt.
“We’ll all sleep as human,” Alpha announces. “As a matter of trust.”
“Thank you,” Adamo replies. “The bears shall do likewise, except for the cubs, who are all waiting on you, General.”
“Grrr.”
Ursid’s comic growl makes me smile.
“Gray, Irna and Del, you’re on guard duty,” Alpha announces.
Two men and a woman wrap their coats around them and head outside the tent, which strikes me as a direct contradiction to the whole idea of trust. My gaze wanders to Adamo and Ursid, expecting them to object, but they don’t react at all.
I must look concerned because Curt leans back and whispers in my ear, “Guards are expected whenever any pack’s away from their home.” He nods at the others, squeezing into any space they can find and curling into sleep. “I should have taken guards with me, but I trusted their word,” he mutters, grimacing at the pain radiating from his hip.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper back. I can’t think of anything else to say.
Dulcis and Adamo step over my legs on the way to the tent opening, wishing each other goodnight. Well, he managed to step on my toes, but I’ll let that go, all things considered. They’re now standing in the snow, doing the teen angst shuffle, juggling an onslaught of hormones. I almost envy them. I’m contemplating whether this post menopausal woman could still dredge up a few hormones, given the right circumstances, when I catch Curt’s eye and feel my face turning bright red. I’m saved by General Ursid, of all people.
He kneels beside Curt, surprising us both. “What happened to you was wrong and I’m sorry for it.” A huge, hairy hand waves in front of Curt and, to his credit, he doesn’t hesitate to shake it. Ursid grunts as he’s about to rise, but Curt clamps his hand on the general’s arm.
“After I was mauled, when I fled, I saw a young bear through the trees, waiting in the dark. I know he saw me, but he didn’t raise the alarm. His silence saved my life.”
Ursid holds Curt’s gaze. “You still had to drag yourself down the mountain with that injury. I thought you might die anyway, but you were strong.” He rises and taps his hand on Curt’s shoulder. “You still are.”
And with that, he leaves us to each other.
