Lanceheim by Tim Davys Page B

musings.
    Ten or so meters ahead, to the right of the path, was a wounded stuffed animal, a badger, and he was whimperingas though he had already landed in hell. His entire body was torn, and in some places the tears were so large that I could see the cotton inside, despite the fact that I was standing some distance away. He had heard us coming, and his whimpering was in reality a cry for help.
    I stopped where I was and simply stared. I was young and inexperienced, and what I felt was fear. My impulse was to turn around and run away. I am being brutally frank, but that is the least you have the right to expect of me. I was simply scared to death.
    As I stood there, considering this cowardly retreat, Maximilian forced his way past me on the narrow path and hurried over to the badger. I was astounded to say the least, because I had managed to forget that Maximilian was even there.
    Before I could say or do anything, he turned around and said, “Water. The badger must have water.”
    Then I heard. The moanings that the dirty, torn stuffed animal was forcing out were unhesitating variations on this very word: “Water.”
    In Maximilian’s eyes was a force I had never seen before, and that made me even more confused.
    I looked around. How far had we really gone? The forest around us consisted mostly of fir trees, and it was difficult to glimpse the sky between the dense treetops. To my surprise I realized that the sun had already started to go down, which meant that we must have wandered for more than two hours due east. There was no water here.
    I shook my head.
    â€œThere’s no water here,” I replied stupidly. “What’s happened to him?”
    I asked as if Maximilian were an interpreter between me and the badger. Maximilian did not seem to have heard what I said.
    â€œHe needs water,” he repeated. “Help out.”
    Maximilian went over to the badger, taking one of his arms and putting it around his own neck. I hurried over and did the same thing, on the other side. The badger was hanging between us as if we intended to dry him in the wind.
    â€œThat way,” said Maximilian.
    Afterward I wondered why I didn’t react, why I didn’t refuse. It would have been natural, I knew the forests better than Maximilian—there was no water in the direction in which he wanted to go. But I kept silent and, without asking, did as I had been told.
    We walked quickly, with the badger between us. He was no longer mumbling; he had used the little strength he had, and I doubted that he was even conscious. The fear had not released its hold on me, and perhaps that was why I simply continued to walk. I had no idea where we were going.
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    No one knows how far east the mountain range that we call Pal extends. No one has gone to its end and come back again. What is no more than a hill within Lanceheim becomes a ridge at the city limits and first forms what might be called a small mountain a few hundred meters south of Das Vorschutz. Twenty or thirty kilometers into the forest, the mountain rises so high that it takes a whole day of climbing to make it over to the other side.
    Together Maximilian and I hauled the badger straight toward the mountain. My mental recollection was that the cliffs at the pine forest rose both abruptly and steeply, but because Maximilian seemed so single-minded, I thought perhaps there was a crevice, a ravine that I did not know about. And what if there was also a mountain spring, a natural well that I had not heard about? We were walking at a rapid pace. The badger hanging between us rattled unpleasantly when he breathed, and even worse, this rattling was coming at longer and longer intervals.
    Soon I saw the cliffs. And just as I thought, the mountain rose like a wall before us. It was impossible to climb. Despite the fact that Maximilian must have seen this too, he did not slow his pace. On the contrary, he seemed to walk a little faster, as if now he was