Chapter 3, Part iv

(Graphic 3.5: It is early morning. We see the sunrise. River approaches a hut, opens the door-flap and sticks his head in. Aric and Burr are sound asleep, but Hector is sitting up in bed and scribbling in his journal.)

“Sorry, hold on, just writing down some stuff from yesterday...” he mumbled.

River just blinked and spoke as if nothing happened. “The togom wants the three of you awake. I'm going to help you pack your things.”

“Pack?” grumbled Aric, shading his eyes from the morning light. “What for? We just got here. Man, you Toves like to get up early.”

River looked coolly at Aric with his sky-blue eyes. “You can't stay here. You have a journey to take, and that journey has to start today. Don't worry, the togom will explain everything to you, but you really do have to get up right now. I've got some breakfast for you, if that's any incentive.”

“I'm awake,” said Burr suddenly, and threw off his blanket as he scrambled to his feet. Everyone laughed.

The three of them emerged from the hut, blinking in the gray morning light. A faint mist swathed the forest and clung to Hector's hair in tiny droplets. River talked as he led them through the trees. “So, did you sleep well?”

Hector nodded, but the other two just yawned.

“I see.”

“Um, River?” Hector piped up and took his journal from his bookbag. “I have a few questions for you...”

“Don't get him started, 'cause he'll never stop,” Aric warned, and winked in Hector's direction.

River laughed heartily. “Actually, I had some questions for you. I know you rescued my Lilly from that prison – for which I thank you again – but why did you follow her into the wilderness? Why didn't you just stay with your own people?”

Hector scratched his head. “Well... Simply put, I felt that something was about to happen, and I wanted to be part of it. I mean, like a story waiting to be written. I felt like I had to do something. I can't really explain it.”

River looked like he was about to start laughing, but then he realized that Hector was serious. “Oh. Um. That's very brave of you, sir librarian. And you, sword-wielder? What have you got to say for yourself? Why did you come to our humble Borogrove? And remind me of your name?”

“I'm Aric. I came for a very simple reason, my furry friend,” Aric said smoothly. They reached a cluster of five or six huts, where a few Toves were milling about, carrying things that looked like blankets and packages of what was possibly food to a wide, flat-topped stone in the middle of the clearing. “I am after a certain group of people. I am sworn to stop their evil purposes and defeat them.”

“The Mome Raths, I presume?” River concluded airily. “Very noble of you. And you, brother Tove? What is your name, and which tribe do you hail from?”

Burr looked nervous and small, his shoulders hunched, his tan clothes threadbare and tattered – in contrast to River, who was tall, well-built, well-dressed, and very likely handsome for a Tove – and mumbled, “I am Burr. I am from tribe Aztlav.”

River looked genuinely surprised for a moment, which surprised Hector, because he usually radiated confidence like a lighthouse. “The Aztlav tribe? Really?”

Burr shied from the question and didn't answer. He looked like he wished he hadn't spoken.

River huffed in amusement. “Aztlav... Wow. You must be far from home, little one.” Burr shrugged humbly. Then, appearing more conversational, River smirked and pounded his fists together. “Then you play Galum? I don't know much about the Aztlav tribe, but I do know they play Galum.”

The little brown Tove nodded in his soft-spoken way, but both River and Aric appeared considerably impressed. Hector's brain was exploding with questions about the Aztlav tribe and its strange sport Galum, but before he could speak, somebody approached River and spoke to him. “Ah,” River translated, “It looks like breakfast is ready. I hope you're not too hungry, because our harvest was somewhat scarce...” He pointed to the table-rock, where several skin mats lay with some orange roots placed on them.

“I'm fine with anything that's edible,” Aric declared, and immediately sat down and started gnawing on the tubers as if it were the most normal thing in the world to do so. Burr ravenously snapped up his portion with his sharp canine teeth. Sitting down on the frosty dirt, Hector tentatively nibbled on one of the stringy things. It wasn't too bad, just lacking in flavor. Halfway through his first one, he noticed that Burr was already done and was eying Hector's second root, so he handed it to him and the Tove devoured it with pleasure.

River laughed heartily. “Burr, it looks like you haven't eaten in days!”

“I haven't,” he answered so simply that it was impossible to doubt him. River's laughter dried up.

“Oh. You really are far from home.”

Burr shrugged again, and Aric didn't seem too surprised at the fact. Trying not to appear too conspicuous, Hector examined the little fuzzy Tove. What was so interesting about this Aztlav tribe, anyway? Who was this quiet stranger named Burr?

Suddenly, the deep, husky voice of the shaman rattled through the clearing with her exotic accent. She came storming into the area, sending the resident Toves scurrying for their huts with her intimidating presence. “You, males! Why are you still eating? You must come! It is time for explaining! River, you must bring them to the Gimble as soon as they are done.”

“Yes, my togom,” he said reverently, and bowed from the waist.

“Oh boy,” Hector exclaimed gleefully, and jumped to his feet to follow the shaman as she left the clearing.

The morning was crisp and cold, and Hector shivered as he followed the Tovish woman. She made her way to the tree with the Gimble wrapped around it, then stood there and stared furiously at it. Lilly was standing obediently at her side, and when she saw Hector she waved him over. He noticed that neither of them seemed to notice the morning chill.

“Hector! Good morning. Did you get enough sleep?”

“I got too much,” he complained with a grin. He wiggled his journal in the air. “Gotta write everything down, or I'll forget it.” Lilly smiled, but the smile was quickly replaced with her familiar frown of stress.

“You would make a good shaman,” she remarked.

“Thank you,” Hector replied brightly.

The shaman waved them into silence. “Children. I lament the lack of time. I must tell you some things before the other two get here. I do not know where they came from. I do not know why they slew the killing one. I do not know their motives. But they must be trusted.”

Lilly cocked her head with curiosity. “Are you certain, togom?”

She nodded gravely. “Yes. For they are the two that will join you on the Hunt and make it possible.”

Hector spied two figures in the misty distance. Aric and Burr made their way toward the Gimble tree with serious looks on their faces. The shaman stared at them wordlessly until they arrived. “Well,” said Aric with a shrug and a smirk. “We're here. What now?”

The shaman shook her head sadly, and the beads in her hair swung back and forth with a clatter. “There is so little time. I must talk quickly, and then you must talk and explain some things. Do you understand?” Aric and Burr glanced at each other, then nodded at her. “Good. Now I will talk and no one will make questions. I will start from the beginning.

“Many, many years ago, long before the humans arrived in the Wabe, when only Toves did roam the land, there was a creature called the Jabberwock. It was a creature born of the ancient powers that created the Wabe. It was a fearsome beast, full of power and hunger and rage. Some say it held inside itself the very anger of the earth. It held the power to destroy mountains and ravage forests. It grew so hungry that it would devour entire villages and destroy entire tribes. It was feared throughout all the Wabe, for none could stand in its way, and it threatened to destroy the world.

“With this, the Wabe gave Gyre to the Toves, so that they could defend themselves. They used this power to weaken the Jabberwock, but their power was not enough. Though the beast was defeated, because of its power it could not be slain.

“Then a certain Tove – Star by name, a wise togom – learned that there was a certain way to finally slay the Jabberwock, but it required that she put her own soul into the weapon that would do it. And so she forged the first and only sword ever created by Tove, and using a rite of the ancient magics she put her own soul and Gyre into it. It was called the vorpal sword. Another Tove, Mountain, took this vorpal blade and defeated the Jabberwock in a tremendous battle. The beast became dormant and ceased to destroy the world.”

Hector raised his hand. “But I have a question. Did Mountain actually kill the Jabberwock? Why did it just go dormant?”

The shaman shook her head. “He did not slay the Jabberwock at that time. We do not know why. Perhaps he was not able to do so. Perhaps the Jabberwock tricked him. But the Jabberwock fell asleep and has been asleep for hundreds of years.”

“And what of the vorpal sword?”

With her terrible eyes lingering on Hector, the shaman slowly lifted a clawed finger and pointed to the scabbard protruding from Aric's coat. Aric's face remained smooth, but he immediately wrapped his fingers around the golden hilt of the sword at his waist.

“He holds in his hand, even now, the vorpal blade.”

There was an awed silence as everybody looked at the mysterious sword. Aric made no move. His face became stony, but he said nothing.

The shaman continued. “You, Sword Bearer, are the one spoken of in the Gimble, as are the rest of you. You have an important task. For the Jabberwock has stirred from its slumber and, when it fully awakens, it will destroy the world unless it is stopped.”

Hector felt partly excited, but mostly his stomach felt like it was full of heavy stones. He looked around at the others.

(Graphic 3.6: We see the members of the group: Lilly is staring at the ground, introverted; Burr is playing with his fingers and is looking elsewhere; the shaman looks blankly at Aric; and Aric seems deep in thought. His hand is gripping the vorpal sword's hilt.)

“This is what I want you to explain to me,” said the shaman to Aric. “I do not ask at this time where you did get the vorpal sword. All I ask is this: will you do this thing? Will you slay the Jabberwock?”

Aric's eyes suddenly lit up, and he immediately looked the shaman in the eyes and nodded. “I will. That's what I've come here for.”

The shaman nodded, satisfied, then turned to Burr. He shifted uneasily under her gaze. “And you, young one. You have not come with the Sword Bearer by accident. You too have a part to play in the Hunt of the Jabberwock. You are strong and able. You have potential that you cannot yet see. Will you go along with him and defend him, as you have done in the night past?”

Burr, as mute as ever, visibly swallowed, but his dark green eyes were firm as he nodded at the togom.

Next she turned to Lilly, and her demeanor melted with affection. “Lilly. My dear Lilly. All of your life you have been prepared for this time. I remember when your fathers brought you to me as a pup. I have raised you as best as I could. You have much knowledge which will open pathways for your companions and for yourself, allowing for your victory over the forces of darkness. But you must be strong. Will you accompany the Sword Bearer and his Guardian as a Guide?”

Lilly forced herself to look the togom in the face, and she forced her limp shoulders to be straight. She had tears in her eyes, but Hector wasn't entirely sure why. “Y-Yes, togom... I will. I will make you proud.”

The shaman smiled. “I am already proud of you, my daughter. And so, we find the pieces of fate coming together.” She spread her tattooed arms wide to encompass them all. “You are the servants of light and goodness. You will protect life and joy. You must stay together, both in body and in heart. Do not let the Mome Raths stop you, for they desire to awaken the Jabberwock and enslave it. You must be swift, for they will be swift as well. Let nothing stop you. The Wabe's blessings be upon you. I have had River prepare you some provisions for your journey; here he comes now.” She pointed toward the approaching River, who was accompanied by several others who carried the rolled-up packs.

“Now you must go,” she declared, and extended her arm toward the east, where the sun shone brilliantly through the trees and over the stone bridge like an adventure just beyond the horizon. “Go and slay the Jabberwock!”

Hector felt a wonderful swelling feeling inside his chest, a sort of courage that filled him to bursting. He felt like he could take on the Jabberwock all by himself! But... something was missing. He was about to follow the others, who were eagerly chatting amongst themselves as they took the packs from the Toves – River was alone with Lilly, touching noses again, and Aric was unfolding what looked like a map – but he lingered by the Gimble tree with the hopes of getting a word in with the shaman.

As soon as they were out of earshot, he turned to her. “Um, excuse me, Mrs. Shaman, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I had another question. You called Aric the Sword Bearer, and Burr the Guardian, and Lilly the Guide, but... aren't I one of the destined ones as well? Aren't I part of the quest? The Gimble said there would be four, right?” He wondered for a moment if there had been a mistake, if that fourth person was actually River. The man seemed very strong, talented, brave and charismatic, a perfect addition to the Jabberwock-slaying team.

“Actually, Hictar, I wished to speak with you,” said the shaman quietly. She beckoned him toward the Gimble tree, then pointed surreptitiously to a certain spot in the unintelligible text. “Do you see this? Where these three circles come together? This represents one of the four of you. He is called the Beamish One. He is the most important of all. Without him the quest will fail.” She took a moment to simply look at Hector; he just couldn't get over those huge, gold-colored eyes. What was she trying to say? “Do you see, Hictar? Someone must record this quest. Someone must make a memory of how Aric will slay the Jabberwock. In this way we will all remember, humans and Toves alike, these heroic deeds, and we shall ever more teach our children to love the humans, and the humans to love the Toves, and it will help us to cut off the Mome Raths so they will not gain any more power. Do you understand?”

“So...” Hector reasoned. “...You want me to go with them to chronicle the quest? To write about how Aric, Lilly and Burr will slay the Jabberwock?”

The shaman cocked her head carefully. “Are you disappointed with your task? It is ever so important. Future generations will praise your name.”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged, “I guess. No, I'm not complaining. It's the thing I've always dreamed of! Going on a daring adventure, slaying an evil monster, maybe saving a princess or two along the way! These are the things I've only dared to read about, and now I get to go and take part in it myself!” He found himself grinning. “I couldn't have asked for a more exciting role! The Official Chronicler. I'm gonna need more pencils. And maybe another journal.”

The shaman smiled in a matriarchal way, then gently pushed him away. “Go, then. Go to your friends. Write of them. You will see that I am right.”

“Thank you so much! I'll be back someday, I promise!” Hector laughed as he bounded away. His heavy heart felt light again.

*

(Graphic 3.7: The shaman watches as Hector runs to catch up with the others. River appears at her side, watching Hector as well.)

“He's not really going with them just to record things, is he?” asked River.

“No,” replied the shaman.

“And Aric isn't the Beamish One, is he?”

“No. He is not.”

“So why did you hint that Aric was the One?”

The shaman's eyes didn't leave the four fated souls as they crossed the stone bridge, laden with bags of supplies. “So that Hictar would stay close to him.”

River said nothing for a moment. “I don't understand.”

She squinted into the sun. “I said that without the Beamish One, the Hunt would not be completed. I did not lie. Without Hictar, the others will fail.”