A Fateful Day Dawns
On Clear Water’s Day, the greatest festival of the year, Hedgies rose early and put on their finest clothes. As soon as royal watchers saw the first beam of sunlight over the eastern mountains, a great chorus of trumpets sounded, announcing the start of the festival. Even before that, however, there was little sleep for anyone. The night before Clear Water’s Day wee beasts hardly slept a wink:
“Hurry up, Mama! All the Squint Buns will be gone before we even get a chance at them!”
“Now you just hold your ladle, you little whiff! The sun’s not even up yet! There’s no Squint Buns to be had yet—so you just hold your ladle and wait a bit.” And so it went in many homes long before dawn.
Even if some creature managed to sleep through the trumpets, he would surely be wakened by the ringing of every bell and chime in the realm which followed. In any case, once the sun peeked over the eastern mountains, and the trumpets sounded, and the bells rang, every creature poured into the streets. For the next twenty-four hours, every avenue thronged with revelers. Homes and public houses echoed with laughter and song. Dancing, contests of wile and strength, games, and carnivals continued around the clock. Rotter Wine and Frog’s Belch Ale flowed freely. And wee beasts devoured small, sweet Squint Buns—a holiday favorite—by the wagonload.
Work was suspended and Hedgies hardly slept. Grabbing naps now and then, eating on the run, barely stopping to change clothes, no one wanted to miss a single moment of the great annual party. Every street was garlanded with bright lights and spectacular streamers.
As the first rays of the sun shone over the eastern mountains, the trumpets and bells called attention to the critical moment when the first rays of morning sun touched the tip of Clear Water Peak. This eagerly anticipated moment—coming 20 minutes after the first sound of trumpets—was marked as archers let fly a volley of a thousand flaming arrows in a grand arc to signal the start of a great procession.
From every corner of every village and town, Hedgies thronged to attend the solemn ‘First Touch’ ceremony held in the village High Seat. Every town had such town halls, crowned by a soaring pinnacle of stone. At the precise moment the sun’s disk first touched the top of Clear Water Peak at sunrise, the archers’ volley of arrows signaled it was time to gather.
From all parts of town the various clans of Hedgies came, rank upon rank, becoming one mighty procession flowing into the High Seat. Coming out from their houses, flooding down the side streets and alleyways into many broad, straight avenues radiating out from the High Seat like the spokes of a wheel. By rank and class the Hedgies chose their particular avenue and made their way to the High Seat.
Innumerable colorful banners hung from every window, happy cart vendors threw fruit from their carts, and here and there wee beasts clung to the branches of trees calling out the names of friends as they passed. As more and more beasts joined the processions streaming toward the High Seat, they were crushed tightly into a richly pungent throng. Strong smells of sweat and breath mixed with odors of perfumed fur, smoldering herbs, and flaming pine oil torches. The intense energy of the different clan processions took on different forms as they moved down their distinctive avenues. Singing and sing-song howling, drums, rattles, bells, clapping and stomping—each procession found its own rhythm.
When the clan processions reached the High Seat, each entered one of the arched entrances that ringed the huge oval building. According to tradition, the first to enter were the Sky Elk, the personal representatives of the High One. Decked out in their ornately embroidered gold and scarlet robes, they matched the huge hall set lavishly with dazzling gold and scarlet tiles. Keepers of the stories of the Ancient Heroes and scholars of the heavens, the Sky Elk triumphantly raised their long ceremonial telescopes in sign of rank as they entered the hall. Hedgies tossed strips of colored cloth or string across the long telescopes as the Sky Elk passed, showing honor to these favorites of the High One. Following the Sky Elk came a long train of dignitaries: Glazier Dogs, Stone Ducks, Climbing Lynx, and so on from the highest classes down to the lowest ones.
As the Sky Elk passed through the great entrance doorway, guards on each side of the doorway dropped to one knee as a sign of respect for the High One, the king whose word was law. Appointed by the ‘First One and the Last One’ to rule over the Mountain Tops, the line of High Ones stretched into the misty past. By virtue of his rule over the Mountain Tops, the High One was believed to be the very mouthpiece of the Ancient Heroes. The High One, as King of all Hedgeland, appointed Keepers of the Light who ruled each class according to their work. From this principle of rank, the whole of Hedgie society was ordered.
The clan entrances led into a system of corkscrew ramps. The spiraling ramps allowed huge crowds to enter the High Seat quickly, while keeping the clans separated from each other by rank. Ascending in a series of long winding curves the ramps twined around and around without ever meeting. Walls of translucent stone lined the entrance ramps. Intricate images carved into the stone pulsed with weird, undulating patterns of light. Torchlight behind the translucent stone sent flashing tendrils of light that seemed to make the images move like living things.
As the grand procession filed into the cavernous center of the High Seat, the corkscrew entrance ramps fed the Hedgie clans into their particular level of seating. Each clan was accorded a seat of honor and distinction above the next lower in rank. Sloping steeply downward and away from the center of the Hall, the tiers of seats circled the center like a gigantic inverted cone. From the very center of the cone there rose a cylindrical stone stairway leading to a platform just below the top of the dome.
Among the first dignitaries to enter the High Seat were individuals being accorded special honors. At the very head of the order of dignitaries was a Glazier Dog by the name of FoRoar-2036. Head held high with pride, he marched smartly into the High Seat, receiving honors for his recent history-making completion of the sacred climb.
FoRoar loved the pageantry of the ‘First Touch’ ceremonies—the pungent smell of incense, the brightly-colored tunics worn by differing clans, the stirring music from the gigantic choir, and the solemn chanting of the Keepers of the Light. He reveled in every bit of the pomp and pageantry. Not to a small extent, he was also pleased to be surrounded by the most distinguished and powerful creatures of the Hedgelands. He had brought the highest honor on himself and his clan. In one of the seating areas reserved for honored guests, his mother wept with pride. His sacrifice for the homeland had been worth it.
FoRoar-2036 let his eyes play across the magnificent translucent carvings that covered the walls of the entrance concourse as he entered the High Seat. The carvings flickered in weird, undulating patterns of light. Yet, whatever the pattern, the carvings captured every bit of light as if it were flame—seeming to pulse with life before FoRoar’s sight. His heart beat more rapidly. All the heroic scenes in the majestic story of the Hedgies were recorded in these masterpieces. Each told of the great events and famous heroes in the days when the world was young.
Foremost in FoRoar’s mind today was the carving honoring Clear Water. It showed Clear Water coming at a time when the creatures were dying from a terrible, unknown disease. An intricate design portrayed Clear Water as a visionary healer who saw that travelers were carrying disease into the Hedgelands. Images depicted him turning travelers away and not letting them come again.
To prevent deadly diseases from ever again being brought in from outside, travel was forbidden. A great hedgewall—the Forever End—was planted, and for over a thousand years, it was extended, year-by-year. Trunks and branches of hedge trees were carefully woven together as they grew. It became a ‘living wall’ impossible to penetrate. The great Hedge ran for thousands of miles—a vast enclosure surrounding the Hedgelands. Once it was completed, travel beyond the Hedge almost completely ceased. FoRoar-2036 honored the work of the forefathers who had so wisely protected the creatures.
“Hear and listen, all Hedgelanders! Hear and listen!” The cry of the Sky Elk herald brought FoRoar-2036 out of his reflections. The ceremony was about to begin.
“Today,” the herald went on, “we mark a beautiful milestone in the sun’s walk through the heavens. As the sun touches Clear Water Peak, that Ancient Hero’s spirit is at home on earth, reminding us of his teachings. Through this annual renewal, the world again is given the gift of rebirth. As the sun moves through all the ‘First Touch’ Days, each of the gifts of creation is renewed.”
Then a great blare of trumpets jarred him back to attention. The herald had finished his speech and the Keepers of the Light, representing all ranks, chanted the ancient verse of loyalty to the High One. Kneeling in front of all those assembled, the Keepers of the Light affirmed their loyalty to the High One:
When lofty First One, king of the Mountains,
and Last One, king of the Creatures,
Who rules all that is, Gave the Mountain Tops
to the firstborn of the High One, He made Great Peace,
When the Mountains quit their shaking,
and the Creatures stood and spoke it was so.
When in the midst of the Mountains the creatures
became One in the High One’s Law,
The First One and the Last One
made Mountains and Creatures one,
So the High One rules,
As long as the sun touches the High One’s realm,
He enlightens the Creatures.
What Light we have is from Him,
and any Light we find,
We keep solely by His grace.
When the chant was complete, the Sky Elk’s Keeper of the Light rose to read the High One’s annual Royal Proclamation.
A hush fell over the vast hall. All eyes were fixed on the Sky Elk’s Keeper of the Light as he slowly and majestically mounted to the high speaker’s platform. No one spoke. Once the Keeper of the Light had begun his climb to the place of honor, it was considered an insult against the High One to speak before the High One’s proclamation had been read. The high platform was silhouetted from above by a large starburst of deep red glass tiles illuminated by the only opening to outside light. Unlike the undulating multicolored shimmer of the torchlit entrance ramps, the platform—and whoever stood there—was surrounded by a blazing red glow. The cone arrangement of the tiers of seats placed every beast in a position to look up at the platform—silhouetting the speaker on the platform in the red starburst. It was a stunning sight.
As the Keeper of the Light ascended toward the platform, an organ—used only on this annual occasion—began playing. The high curving ceiling of the High Seat amplified the organ notes into an astonishing musical thunder. The sound rose to an eerie roar as the Keeper of the Light reached the platform. It rattled candleholders, shook doors, and every beast present felt the vibration in his or her chest. The overall effect of music, pageantry, crowding, and light was both mesmerizing and terrifying.
This year there was a special feeling of mystery in the air that had never been present before. Whispers and mutterings said the High One’s proclamation would be like no other year. Confused and conflicting rumors flew that for the first time in Hedgelands history, the High One had recalled his proclamation! In the days since the unheard of attack by a rebellious Wood Cow, the High One had been silent. Rumors said that Fropperdaft VIII was preparing some great and drastic punishment for the Wood Cows. But there had been no message or sign of any kind from the royal sovereign. The rumor that the annual proclamation had been recalled was ominous.
By the custom of ages, Weasel Couriers delivered the High One’s proclamation to the Keepers of the Light in every village several days in advance of Clear Water’s Day. This allowed the Keepers of the Light to know what the proclamation contained and be prepared to implement its message. As always, Weasel Couriers had delivered the proclamation to each Keeper of the Light. But, three days after the proclamation was delivered, the unprecedented attack by the rebel Wood Cow occurred.
The attack shocked and alarmed Fropperdaft to his very core. Such rebellion could not be condoned. The Wood Cows had always been problems. Long ago, the Wood Cows first got into trouble with the High Ones because of their great love for trees. Trouble and hard feelings arose between Wood Cows and the High Ones because the Wood Cows defended trees from rude treatment or abuse. Most Hedgies considered things growing from the earth to be unclean and contemptible. Since trees had the deepest roots into the earth, they were treated the worst. But Wood Cows, from time immemorial, had refused to burn wood in fires. And they built with wood as if it were a holy act. Wood Cows always invited a tree to become a chair or a table or a building. They would never simply go out and cut a tree down. This was a deep affront to the teachings of the High Ones, but it was not the worst of the Wood Cow offenses.
Wood Cows said that they could hear the voices of trees—that the trees talked to them. Many of the Hedgies, especially from the ruling classes, made jokes about the Wood Cows talking to the trees. Wisecracks abounded.
But, at the same time, everyone, including the High Ones, knew that the Wood Cows were the best carpenters and wood-workers around. Their work was flawless. The wood they used to make tables and chairs was renowned for its quality and beauty. Their workmanship was second to none. They were masters of the woodworking craft.
“How can you expect a tree to give you its best wood, if you do not ask it for help first?” the Wood Cows said. “First invite the tree to help you, and if it agrees, it will give you its very best wood. Self-sacrifice is a noble, essential part of the order of things, but it cannot be forced or taken—self-sacrifice must be freely given. When it is freely given, it bestows the greatest beauty on its purpose. So it is with trees also. Why do you wonder when the wood has cracks and splits? If you treat the tree rudely, this is what you will always get. Listen to the trees and see what beauty lies within them, then invite them to help you. Beauty awaits in that direction only.” Such Wood Cow ‘superstitions’ filled generations of High Ones with fury.
No one knew exactly what the Wood Cows heard when they listened to the trees. “If you have a heart for the trees, and treat them as your friend, they will speak in your ear like a clanging bell!” the Wood Cows said. But the High Ones did not like to hear such things.
To allow such thought would undo the entire order of things. All the highest and best gifts came from above, never from the lower realms. As Fropperdaft VIII considered the case of the rebellious Wood Cow, he saw that it was not just a single case of foolish rebellion that had to be addressed. The entire life and society of the Wood Cows was a threat to the Hedgelands. “Yes,” Fropperdaft said to himself as he contemplated what he would do, “this is not a problem of just one simpleton Wood Cow...the whole worthless lot of them are lazy, superstitious troublemakers.”
Respect for the trees prevented the Wood Cows from participating in community activities such as the annual Willow Bonfire that gave honor to the High One on his birthday. Nor did they participate in the ‘sacred climb’—believing it to be injustice in the service of tyranny. Their insistence on inviting the trees to work with them in making a table or chair meant that sometimes it took days for a Wood Cow carpenter to hear a response from a tree. This greatly slowed down any project they did. “Bah, Sharant!” Fropperdaft spat out the curse. “How dare they suggest that trees—the lowest of the low—have voices! They wish us to believe that trees can speak! Bah, Sharant! It will not be tolerated!”
The High One feared that Wood Cow ideas would ultimately lead to great trouble. “It is unthinkable! The only voice from the Unspeaking Realm is from the Mountain Tops. And the only voice from the Mountain Tops is that of the High One. It can be no other way.” The suggestion that the Wood Cows heard other voices from the Unspeaking Realm infuriated the High Ones throughout the long ages of the dynasty. As a result, the Hedgies regarded Wood Cows as evil troublemakers.
The age-old condemnation effectively made the Wood Cows social outcasts. Denied all rights to own property within Hedgeland towns, the Wood Cows went off by themselves to live in settlements around O’Fallon’s Bluff. There they engaged in woodcrafts in the traditional manner, earning a meager living—they could do nothing else. Ostracized and set apart, for long ages this had been sufficient to the High Ones’ purpose. Over the generations, myth and ignorance led to prejudices that turned the Hedgelanders more and more against the Wood Cows. They could neither buy, nor sell, goods at a fair price. Having no rights in Hedgeland society, the Wood Cows carried on their simple life virtually unseen and uncared about by the Hedgies.
But all this changed with the attack by the rebellious Wood Cow. They had always been accused of being troublemakers, but they had never actually created any trouble. The successful attack and escape of the rebel, however, changed that.
Thus, on that fateful Clear Water’s Day which had such significance for Helga’s story, the long-held prejudice against the Wood Cows brought an event that would forever change the history, not just of the Wood Cows, but also of the Hedgeland itself, and have grave implications for other creatures yet unknown to them.