SPIRIT WALKER

Chapter 12: Terror is For Children (part 1 of 2)

Phylomon counseled Scandal on preparations for the journey and had him spend four extra days building a heavier axle for the wagon, fulfilling Chaa's prophesy that the party would not leave until eleven days after Chaa had ended his Spirit Walk.

The mayor's Dryad never returned to town.

Scandal's wagon was massive, large enough to hold both the barrel and supplies. Scandal purchased a swivel gun that Jenks was selling for scrap, and he mounted it on a platform on the front of his wagon, although the gun rode too low to shoot over the back of his mastodon. The Rough held many dangers—woolly rhinos, dire wolves, giant Mastodon Men, great horned dragons. Such animals would usually be frightened of a large party of humans and Pwi, and while frightened animals are seldom dangerous, the gun made Scandal feel more comfortable.

At sunrise on the day the party was to leave, Scandal came out of his inn to inspect his wagon, already loaded to the hilt, and stared—the swivel gun had been stolen.

"By God's flabby breasts!" Scandal shouted. "God rot the Starfarer's left testicle!" He climbed up on the wagon. He could not believe it—the gun weighed over two hundred pounds. He scanned the streets, searching for the thief, picturing someone struggling to drag the gun away. But the streets were empty. He heard only waves smacking the rocks below the inn.

Phylomon came from his room wearing a black Pwi breechcloth. "Did I hear you blaspheming my testicles?" he said mildly.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," Scandal shouted. "The gun has been stolen!"

Phylomon studied the wagon from beneath. "The thief greased those bolts to keep them quiet. They were newly bolted; he needn't have bothered."

Phylomon wandered down the road toward Pwi Town, studying the dust in the street, then ambled back north. "He took it this way—rested here."

Scandal hopped off the wagon, hitched up his sagging pants. Sure enough, there was a pockmark on the street where someone had rested the gun. Thirty feet away was another. The thief rounded a corner and the pockmarks came to an end; there was no sign of the gun.

"Shall we search the houses in this part of town?" Scandal asked.

Phylomon studied the ground. "The man who carried off your gun was at the end of his strength when he got here. Someone joined him. I doubt they hid it in town."

"But—but—how will we protect ourselves out there?"

Scandal glanced vaguely to the mountains. "I don't suppose this town has another gun we could purchase?"

"Just the town cannons," Scandal said, nodding down to the turrets behind the inn where the ten inchers guarded the entrance to the port.

"I'll look around," Phylomon said, and for the next two hours Scandal marveled to see Phylomon the Wise, Destroyer of Bashevgo, Master Woodsman and Scholar, spend his time peeking under woodpiles, poking his nose into abandoned sheds, and peering at the tracks on every path that left the road.

Tull and the other Pwi arrived later in the morning.

Ayuvah came bearing his war spear and a shield made of painted tyrannosaur hide stretched over a wooden frame. The big Pwi rode the back of a giant black ox. He wore a wooden headband with a single sword fern tucked under his hair so that it flowed out the back. Little Chaa walked beside the bull, and their kin followed behind.

Tull had tried to recruit other Pwi, but none dared go to Craal. Yet to Tull, the group seemed well balanced. Little Chaa was named for the magic crow, and even at a young age, Little Chaa was a gifted empath who often dreamed of what it was like to be a heron eating frogs in a marsh, or a rabbit living in fear. Because of his empathy, Little Chaa could call a wild crow to land on his arm if he saw one. Such empathy would lead the child to become a great Spirit Walker. But Ayuvah was named for the dire wolf, a creature noted for its ferocity and strength, its keen ability to hunt, and Ayuvah lived true to his promise. Of the Pwi on the trip, only Tull did not have an Animal Guide, and that rankled him.