CHAPTER 20

HIDING OUT

Sometimes people just refuse to believe the truth.

It doesn’t matter what you say or what evidence you give, some folks just make up their mind before the conversation even starts.

It’s true, you can’t fix stupid.

…but in most instances, you can avoid it.

“Uuuunnngh.”

The first thing Wendell noticed when he gained consciousness, other than a splitting headache, was pressure.

“Woah there, kid. Hold still,” whispered Jan. Placing a firm hand on the hero’s body, the lumberjack pushed him down into the wagon.

“What’s…hey, let me up,” Wendell protested.

“Shhh,” hissed Silas, “you stay down until we’re far enough from town. People are watching.”

Ugh. Might as well run over my skull with the wagon while you’re at it.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Blinking a few times, Wendell peeked through his lids.

…and into a slobbery pink tongue.

“Eww! Phhht!” he spat, clenching his eyes tight once more. “Mouse!”

“Put a gag in his mouth,” growled Silas. “Seriously. Keep him quiet until we get further up into the forest!”

Several sets of hands pressed down on Wendell’s chest, holding him below the wall of the wagon.

“Why…,” Wendell started to say, but he was promptly cut off.

“Just relax, Wendell,” Bartleby whispered, “It’s okay. We’re getting you back to the farm. Just need to get away from the prying eyes of the village.”

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Relaxing his body, the weight of the hands on his chest eased.

The last thing Wendell remembered was standing in the grove of trees just after the alpha wolf took off into the forest.

We healed the wolf! Oh my goodness, we actually did it, Ithari!!

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Man did that ever hurt, though! Never felt that kind of pain…

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Does healing others always hurt?

No.

Then why did that happen?

Practice.

Wendell grunted. As amazing as healing was, if the cost was such pain, there would certainly be a strict limit as to how much Wendell would be willing to do.

So there’s a better way to heal, one that won’t hurt me so much?

Yes.

Good to know. Sign me up for THAT class.

“Alright folks,” Silas said in a normal tone, “I believe we are clear. You can let our young friend sit up.”

Hands went from holding him down to helping Wendell sit upright against the bottom of the delivery wagon.

It was still dark, the dim light of a lantern swaying on the end of a pole next to where Silas sat, reigns firmly in hand. Tam sat silently beside him, panting, while the two draft horses drudged on through the mud, pulling the long wagon up the hill.

Mouse lay snuggled at Wendell’s side.

Both Jan and Bartleby sat across from Wendell, grinning.

“What?” Wendell looked between them, confused. “What are you grinning at?”

The bard shrugged a shoulder, then pulled his lute case over his legs. “That was impressive.”

“What was impressive?”

“Wendell, you saved a little girl,” Jan replied, his own grin widening. “No thought to yourself. You ran into a dangerous situation and saved a child.”

With all the flashes of healing the canine, Wendell almost forgot why he’d rushed out into the night in the first place.

“Is she okay?” he asked.

“Perfectly fine,” replied Silas, “and shouting your praises, right along with her mother.” He took a long draw from his pipe, “Looks to me that you might have saved yourself as much as you did that child, boy.”

“What are you talking about? I mean, I’m glad the girl is okay now—that’s the point, right?”

Jan smiled, “Of course. But remember all the hostility you were getting at The Den?”

“How could I forget?”

“I wouldn’t expect too much opposition from here on out,” Bartleby cut in. “We ran back to give the child to her mother, and she was hysterical with appreciation. But that’s just the first part. Mouse here wouldn’t stay put. As soon as the woman did a once over to make sure her daughter was safe, he took off after you again.”

Jan leaned over and gave Mouse a vigorous scratch between the ears. “He found you on the ground, covered in blood. Some of the men got up the courage to follow us back into the forest after seeing the trappers all bloody themselves.”

Bartleby gave Jan a sideways glance, “Wanting to put the hurt on Wendell, no doubt.”

Wendell’s eyes popped open. “What?”

The gnome smirked. “I think they assumed you and your pets had done the damage to those thugs. If I could give an accurate guess, I’d say those men were looking for an excuse to hurt you back.”

“But,” Wendell started to protest.

Jan held up a hand, “We arrived to find Mouse over your body. You were covered in blood—AND surrounded by wolf tracks. When I knelt beside you, I was worried. But when I pulled back the ripped cloth, I noticed you didn’t actually have any wounds.” Chuckling, “Every time one of the villagers tried to get closer to you, this guy,” tussling Mouses fur again, “let out a deep growl of warning. Only Bartleby and me could see the truth.”

“To everyone else, I was as wounded as the trappers,” Wendell caught on.

Jan nodded. “So I hefted your body over my shoulder, shouted at the men to clear me a path and we made our way back to the Den.”

Silas turned half-way round in the wooden seat, his own grin adding to the group. “When they got you back to the tavern, I claimed you as my official employee and insisted on getting you back to the farm to care for your,” he coughed then, “near-fatal wounds.”

The wagon rounded the bend, Silas’s farm poking out from the tree-line.

“No one questioned what happened?” Wendell asked curious.

“What could they do?” Bartleby replied, “Mouse wouldn’t let them near, Silas is one of the most respected members of the community, and while this was going on, I made sure the wagon was ready to roll.”

All three chuckled then.

“So what happens now?” Wendell asked.

“Well,” Silas started, another puff on his pipe, “we’ll need to keep you hidden, to play this up. People saw a lot of blood and you limp as a fish. You no longer have a connection with the wolves—at least for now. The village thinks you’re a victim like the rest of the fools who attacked the wolves.” Pondering, the woodcarver tapped the side of the wagon with his gnarled knuckles, “We best keep you out of sight for a fortnight on the farm.”

“Fortnight?” Wendell repeated. “How long is that again?”

Bartleby grinned, “Thats two weeks, bud.”

“Two weeks?!” Wendell choked. “Why so long?”

“This looked like serious wounds from a distance, young man,” Silas scolded. “If you don’t want to be discovered, we need to play this out. It only works to your advantage.”

“But two WEEKS?” He let out a big sigh, “What am I supposed to do until then?”

“Merchants are staying with us until their order is complete, so we’ll have to be mindful. Other than that, young Wendell, I will have plenty of work for you to do.” Large puffs of smoke trailed behind the old carver swaying in his seat. “Do a good job and I’m happy to tell folks in town that your wounds were not as bad as I thought they were. Ten day tops.”

Wendell sank down against the wagon wall, mumbling to himself.

“Look at it this way,” Silas added, “I think your reputation just got a clean slate.”

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Bartleby strummed his fingers on the lute case across his chest, “You’re now the hero of the village, Wendell.”

****

With a little creativity and misdirection, Silas kept the attention of his guests busy in the cabin. Jan pulled the wagon to the back of the barn, where Bartleby and Wendell hopped out and snuck up to the loft.

Mouse lumbered in behind them.

Not waiting for a candle to be lit, Wendell waved a hand, light appearing as a glowing orb on the opposite wall to their bunks.

“Gahh!” shouted Bartleby, ducking as a small bird shot down from the rafters, right at his face. “Evil bird! Evil bird!!” he cried, “Someone help meeeeEE!”

Dropping his lute case and waving his hands about frantically, the bard finally dove for the floor.

The ridge hound let out a few high-pitched huffs which sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Jan couldn’t resist laughing himself as the tiny creature took a turn around the room and then landed softly on the bed post right next to Wendell. “It’s a baby, Bartleby. Have courage, young bard!”

“It could be poisonous!” complained the gnome.

“Really,” snorted Jan. “A poisonous finch?”

“It could happen!”

Looking between the light hovering over the trunks and Wendell, Jan nodded in approval, “That really is a nice trick.”

Wendell plopped down on a lower bunk. “It’s becoming second nature. Though…”

The lumberjack walked past the cowering gnome and set his bag up on the table. “Though? …though what?”

“I’m just wondering how much trouble I’m still in. You found me in the forest and brought me back here, but someone knocked me out. I have no idea who it was. That means someone out there saw me doing magic.”

“That’s not wholly true,” Jan argued. “It could have been someone who just didn’t like you.”

“Someone who wanted revenge,” Bartleby added.

“Gee, thanks.”

“Or didn’t want to look at your questionable face anymore,” Jan chimed in with a smirk.

Wendell snorted, “Hey.”

“I mean you can’t assume that you’ve been seen doing magic. You don’t actually know that, do you?”

“He’s right, Wendell,” added Bartleby, getting up from the floor and giving the baby bird a wary glance. “The whole village wanted you harmed by the sounds of it in the tavern. So don’t assume the worse. At least not yet.”

Wendell lifted a finger to the bird perched near him. Without hesitation, the blue-feathered finch hopped onto his extended hand.

“Yet,” he added softly. Then “Look who’s feeling better.” Leaning closer he made soft kissing noises. “I’m so glad.”

Bobbing it’s head up and down in response, the tiny finch worked it’s way up Wendell’s sleeve and nestled against the collar of his shirt.

Awwwwww.

It was then Wendell noticed the string of empty bunks. “Hey, where are your brothers, Bartleby?”

“No clue.”

“If I’m going to be stuck up here for the next few days, I’d love to talk more with Feller.”

The gnome glanced around the room curiously. “Feller?”

Wendell nodded, “If it wasn’t for him, tonight would have ended differently. The Alpha wolf might have died, and those trappers…”

“Wait,” Bartleby cut him off, “you got close to those predators?” He choked, “Are…are you crazy? Beasts like those are dangerous!?”

Mouse responded with a deep rumble from his chest.

The gnome rolled his eyes, then placed a hand over his heart. Giving a shallow bow, “I apologize. That was thoughtless of me, Mouse. Present company excluded, of course.”

Satisfied, the big hound lowered his head and closed his eyes.

“The wolves aren’t the problem, Bartleby,” Wendell continued.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” snorted the gnome. “Wild, sharp fanged beasts that hunt within the forest aren’t the problem? I suppose politicians aren’t the problem in society either?”

Jan took a seat at the table, “Oh come on, you were the first one to see that shadow-thing next to the little girl. The alpha was fighting it, not trying to bite the girl.” But he hesitated then. “At least that’s what it looked like.”

“Ah-hah—that’s my point! There was every opportunity for the wolves to attack me, especially the alpha,” Wendell countered. “But they didn’t. And I was huddled up next to that wolf for a while. It didn’t even growl at me.”

The gnome looked up, shocked. “What?”

Wendell shrugged, “Not even once—and I pulled a bloody arrow from its hind leg.” The realization brought another question to mind. “Which makes me wonder if the mother of that little girl actually saw the wolves take off with her daughter? I mean, if we’re right, and I think we are…why would those wolves take a child and then defend her? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Silence fell over the room.

“Maybe the shadow thing was the good guy?” Bartleby answered.

Wendell rolled his eyes at the gnome, “I have a bloody shoulder to say otherwise. It stabbed me through my mägoweave when I tried to take off with the girl.”

Jan looked to the gnome, “Didn’t you say that a wizard created the ridge wolves to hunt dark creatures?”

“Demetrius the Grey,” Bartleby replied, “Yeah, but…I didn’t actually believe any of that garbage.” He looked between the two men, then added sheepishly, “Oh come on—don’t look at me like that! As a bard, you hear all SORTS of things that sound way too fantastical to be credible. I thought it was just a great story passed on by teachers trying to impress gullible students.”

“But when the shadow took off, the wolves followed it,” Wendell added.

“Except the alpha,” Jan replied.

Wendell nodded, “Because he was wounded, yeah. Which is why I healed him.”

“Wait,” Bartleby perked up, “You’re a healer? As in literally making boo-boos go away?”

Wendell grinned wide, “Thanks to your brother’s help. This little fellow on my shoulder was my first success. Mended his wing.”

The gnome waddled over to the table and slumped down into one of the chairs. “Wow,” he huffed. “It’s nice to see this part of the world is still somewhat normal.”

Wendell laughed, “Normal? You think intelligent wolves tracking animated, blood-thirsty shadows in a mountain village is normal?”

Bartleby raised a single brow, “I would say it’s quite on the dull side, in fact. My young friend, I’ve been all over this world and I can say with one hundred percent accuracy that Andilain, as a kingdom, is the most boring place you will ever find.”

Jan scoffed, “Boring? Compared to what?!”

The gnome leaned forward and laced his fingers together, setting his elbows squarely on the table. “Compared to more than a hundred intelligent species who are capable of speech and social interaction, more than six thousand, four hundred rare plants you can’t even find on Humär, more than twelve thousand recorded variations of magic being used by human, animal, and plantlife, AND I will add—this human population is the least magical of any in existence…out of choice.”

Jan blinked.

“Woah,” Wendell added, sitting erect.

“That’s just for starters,” the gnome continued. “I have personally watched King Robert III try to encourage this population to embrace aspects of life that the rest of the world already embraces, specifically magic. Yet he’s fought by the Lords and Ladies of the courts. Those of the lowest classes fear what they don’t understand, but they also refuse to educate themselves so they could understand. Just beyond the borders of this kingdom is a hidden survey station, set up with permission from King Robert III and King Borislav of Ambaserre.”

“What?!?” stammered Jan.

“Here me out,” Bartleby replied calmly. “A station was built, just under the lip of Dragon’s Chasm to study both the environment of the region, which is poisonous to our kind. Yet by working together, gnomes, Kutollum, and even Humans have learned to study dragons themselves. Letters from my cousin said that to date, they have discovered and studied 487 different breeds of dragons…while inventing methods which allow them to descend into those very same poison mists.”

Turning in his chair to face Wendell, “So when I see someone like you, Wendell, perform magic—and learn that you have potential to do dynamic magic, I feel…hope. Because the great mountains surrounding this land which prevent the world from invading Andilain are the same barriers that keep the perspectives and awareness of the people from escaping.”

The lumberjack slumped back into his chair. “Well I feel kicked.”

Wendell cocked his head to the side, “Why?”

“Did you not hear what just came form his mouth?”

Wendell rolled his eyes “It’s only a perspective, Jan.”

The gnome opened his mouth to protest, but Wendell lifted a hand.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, Bartleby. I’ve traveled a bit myself. Not nearly as much as you, but enough to know you’re probably more right than not. My point here is we, as humans, have an opportunity to grow and stretch and make more of ourselves.” He looked at Jan, “Why does this have to be a criticism and not a wake up call to be something more?”

Bartleby grinned. “Nice attitude.”

“Well it’s true. As far as I’m concerned, there was nothing you said that I considered unkind or demeaning. It’s what you’ve observed personally and I can’t fault that. But for all I know, the people of Andilain choose to live their lives in the way they do because they don’t want more of the world around them. I can’t fault that either. But what I can do is speak for myself and only myself, which is—awesome, there’s more for me to discover and learn about?” He gave both men a big grin, “Sign me up.”

Jan chuckled. “When you put it that way…”

“I just did!”

“Alright, alright. But plants, using magic?”

The gnome raised his index finger, “Correction: plants that are magic, to be exact.”

“Fine. As long as the trees aren’t are going to hit me back when I show up with my ax…”

The gnome cringed. “We’ll talk.”

Jan gulped.

Wendell on the other hand, couldn’t stop grinning to himself. Wow. A whole world out there, waiting to be explored, discovered, and learned about? The feeling of excitement made his chest swell. I’m starting to like this mantle after all. Its has some perks I didn’t consider.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

“So where do you think Feller might be, Bartleby?” Wendell prodded.

“Good question. Might be in the cabin with Silas, but my guess is he’s out on an exercise run.”

“Exercise run?” Jan frowned in disbelief.

“That’s my guess.”

“With our wolf problem out there?”

Wendell shook his head in disbelief, “That guy is fanatical about running.”

“Wanting to be healthy isn’t fanatical, Wendell.” Bartleby paused, ‘But he does run a lot.” Hoping down from the chair, the gnome walked casually to his lute case, picked it up from the floor and set it on his bunk. “Speaking of running, I wonder if Silas could use some professional help entertaining his guests? I’ll see if Feller is with them and send him up.”

With that, the gnome left.

“I like Bartleby,” Wendell said under his breath.

“Aye. I like them all,” replied Jan. “Good, thoughtful brothers. Very helpful, too. Rue especially. A rude client  wanted to go back on his contract during delivery. I didn’t want to come back empty handed and disappoint Silas, but the man just wouldn’t keep his word.”

Wendell sat forward on the bunk, “So what happened?”

“Rue came out of The Den where my wagon was being unloaded. He’d been negotiating a deal for his brother with Old Mayson and saw my conversation getting heated. He stepped in and within minutes, I was being paid full contract price.” Jan scratched his head in disbelief. “Just like that.”

Wendell chuckled, “What did Rue say?”

The lumberjack smirked, “He told the merchant that King Robert III would be very interested to know that his most respected and honored wood artisan was being abused and taken advantage of by dishonest merchants. Especially by name.”

Wendell’s mouth dropped wide open, “He said that?!?”

Jan laughed then, “He just stood there, grinning, waiting for the merchant to pay me. Right then and there.” Shaking his head, “It was so comical to see a gnome, with zero fear, waiting for a man six times his size to obey. It was priceless.”

Wendell couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow. That’s…not my experience with gnomes. Generally they fear humans!”

“Who fears humans?” Feller replied, strutting into the room, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. “You’re all a bunch of softies…”

Wendell stood up quickly, startling the bird on his shoulder. “Feller!’

The gnome waved the cloth in the air and bowed from his hips, “In the flesh.”

“You missed it!” Wendell said excitedly, “I healed a ridge wolf!!”

Feller’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously?”

Nodding, “Seriously.”

Sprinting across the room, the gnome leapt into the air and gave Wendell a flying high-five, “WHO’S THE MÄGO!!”

Wendell met the hand with a powerful slap, “I AM!!” Then more seriously, “Oh, but I’m seriously wounded though…”

The gnome screeched to a halt, checking Wendell up and down.

“You…don’t look hurt.”

Wendell glanced at Jan, then nodded soberly, “Oh, but I am. Near death, I think.” He looked to Jan, “Am I near death?”

The lumberjack nodded, “Sadly, I believe you are. That was a lot of blood Mouse found on you, so I’m not sure you’re going to survive those wounds. I’m sorry Wendell.”

Right on key, the canine let out a mighty yawn.

“WHAAA…?!?” screeched Feller. Grabbing Wendell, he spun the hero round, checking his person from head to toe. Confused, he stepped back, frowning. “But,…I don’t see any wounds.”

“That’s because the village THINKS I have wounds, and we need to let them think I have wounds,” Wendell winked.

“So they’ll think highly of Wendell,” Jan added.

The gnome looked between them, one eyebrow raised so high it looked like it was trying to climb off his forehead. “Riiiiight.”

Wendell gave the gnome a consolation pat on the shoulder. “The whole thing was a setup, Feller. I got clocked on the back of the head and knocked out.”

“But you’re okay.”

Wendell nodded, “Yup. But before I was, I took blood from a healed ridge wolf and rubbed it all over myself so I would look wounded if anyone got close to me.”

“Because you didn’t want anyone to help you, even though you were actually hurt.”

Wendell nodded again, “Exactly. When Mouse and Jan found me, they brought my body to Silas, who claimed me, tossed me in the back of a wagon and smuggled me back to the farm.”

Feller’s head slowly tilted to one side. “Because that would make everyone think you were hurt, which you were, but you didn’t want them to get near you, to help you.”

Wendell grinned, “That way, I can hide out for a few days so everyone will think that I’m still hurt.”

“But you never were,” Feller added.

Wendell beamed, “Exactly.”

Feller scratched his head in complete confusion, “Makes perfect sense.”