The Squirrel Squire, page 5
“If I can’t even get the Greatsword out of the floor, what chance do I have against Scratchclaw?”
The portrait of Sir Pattercloud seemed to be taunting him. Or maybe admonishing him. Puff, he could hear the knight say, I chose you for a reason.
“Well I’m still wondering what your reason is...” he said out loud.
The portrait held the same stone face that Pattercloud would often display in life. Puff sighed and closed his eyes. He needed to be honest with himself. He was afraid, but he also wanted to honor his mentor. It’s just a sword stuck in the floor, Puff told himself. That’s all it is. A sword. In a floor.
Puff opened his eyes. He took another deep breath and sighed. He took one last look up at the portrait and picked up the step stool. It would give him a little more leverage. Puff climbed the three short steps. He wrapped one paw around the hilt.
“It’s just a sword.”
Puff wrapped his other paw around the hilt, the bottom of the first pushed up against the top of the other.
“Stuck in the floor.”
He gritted his teeth, squatted down with both legs, and pulled hard with all his might.
His neck strained. His shoulders bunched. Puff leaned backwards and let out a grunt. He pushed with his legs. And just when he thought his paws might slip on the hilt, he felt the sword give a little. Puff rewrapped his paws around the handle and pulled again. His whole body pulled and pushed. It felt like every muscle in his body had tightened.
There was a moment when it felt as though nothing was happening, then Puff heard a sound similar to an axe being pulled from wood. Suddenly, the floor released its grip on Truthseeker. Puff, wanting to avoid an episode like before, immediately let go of the Greatsword, and it fell with a metallic thud.
His muscles burned and his hands throbbed from the effort, but the sword was free. He looked at it with disbelief. The words of Betty and Veronica echoed in his mind.
“You’ll know what you’re looking for when you find it.”
He started to understand. And, more importantly, he started to believe. Truthseeker had lived up to its name.
15
The Great Tree
The news had traveled quickly since yesterday. Sir Pattercloud was dead. Crowds of squirrels gathered around the Great Tree early this chilly morning, rubbing their paws together to warm up. A heavy melancholy hung over the gray squirrels, their champion passed and unable to defend the clan. The browns were equally quiet, having seen their champion die two days before.
The members of Clan Black in attendance were loud and angry. They got even louder when Scratchclaw arrived. Hoots and hollers filled the air. He was dressed from head to tail in his dark armor, a collection of rusty metal and pointed spikes. He thrust both arms up victoriously and his clan went crazy, sneering at the browns and grays. They could sense a victory was close at hand. Off to the side, Crinklehat and Rustleleaf, the elder of Clan Brown, had their heads together, poring over a book.
“You have no champion, Clan Gray,” yelled Scratchclaw. “By abandoning duty, I hereby lay claim as rightful winner of the Tournament of Oaks!” The crowd of black squirrels roared. One could sense an unease building among the browns and grays.
“You killed Pattercloud!” one gray squirrel shouted. A round of boos from Clan Black quickly drowned out the voice. A few fights broke out, claws and teeth flashing. Sensing the worsening situation, the two clan elders made their way to where Scratchclaw stood. Rustleleaf had the book tucked under his arm and Crinklehat, leaning on his twig staff, tried to settle things down.
“Clan Gray! Clan Brown!” he shouted. “Please control yourselves!” His commands were drowned out by the fights. A loud whistle cut through the din of voices.
“Listen up, you gaggle of rumormongering1 squirrels!” It was Blabberbit. “Be quiet and pay attention. Your future depends on it!”
Scratchclaw hissed as she approached.
“Put an acorn in it2, you mange-riddled beast. You’ve already had your chance to speak.”
No one could ever fault Blabberbit for not speaking her piece. Her loud voice certainly helped. Scratchclaw glared, but said nothing more. She turned to the mass of squirrels.
“Let Crinklehat address the gathering. You furry brats might learn something.”
The elder of Clan Gray cleared his throat and thanked Blabberbit, who retreated into the crowd.
“Rustleleaf and I have consulted the Great Book of Lore. It makes a provision for just such an occurrence.”
The Clan Brown elder squirrel stepped forward, opening the book for Crinklehat to read. The old squirrel fumbled with his spectacles, hooking the ends of his glasses behind his ears. He began to read slowly.
“If, by their absence, a champion shall forfeit their battle at the Tournament of Oaks either by death, abandonment or dereliction of duty, then their clan shall have an opportunity to name a new champion if one such squirrel volunteers.” The words hung heavy in the air. Crinklehat cleared his throat again. “Do we have such a volunteer from Clan Gray?”
Squirrels of all colors looked around wondering who might be so brave. No one came forward. An evil grin spread across Scratchclaw’s face.
“Do we have a volunteer?” asked Crinklehat again. Not a single gray squirrel spoke up or took a step forward.
“Cowards,” said Nibs under her breath.
Then murmurs began to spread. There was movement at the back of the crowd. Squirrels began moving out of the way as someone pushed their way forward. The throng of bodies separated and out from the crowd emerged an undersized gray.
“It’s Puff!” exclaimed Tinderbug, elbowing Nibs in the side excitedly. Then the snickering began.
Sir Pattercloud’s helmet sat atop Puff’s head, leaning awkwardly. It was much too big. He pulled Truthseeker behind him, the Greatsword of Clan Gray dragging on the ground. Puff wore his spider silk practice armor. Compared to Scratchclaw, he looked small and comical.
“I shall fight for Clan Gray,” announced Puff, his voice sounding meek.
Scratchclaw burst out laughing, quickly followed by the members of Clan Black.
“This? This is who shall fight me? This wee little thing?”
Puff swallowed heavily. “I am the squire to Sir Pattercloud, Knight Champion of Clan Gray,” said Puff, his voice wavering, but rising, “and I claim my rightful place as the new champion.”
Members of Clan Black continued to laugh while the other squirrels exchanged doubt-ridden mutterings. Crinklehat approached Puff, shuffling forward with his twigstaff amongst all the chatter and noise. The old, gray squirrel leaned over and spoke into Puff’s ear.
“You don’t have to fight, young squire. We could delay the tournament. Look for another champion…”
Puff looked up at Crinklehat. He could see concern in the old squirrel’s eyes. And doubt. For a moment, Puff was tempted.
“I am here to represent my clan. I am here for Sir Pattercloud.”
“You don’t have to do this,” the old squirrel implored.
Puff said only two more words.
“I do.”
Crinklehat exchanged a nervous glance with Rustleleaf.
“Now, now,” said Rustleleaf, addressing the crowd after he and Crinklehat had talked, “we have decided, since there’s only one volunteer, and unless there are any objections, that Puff may indeed accept the mantle of Knight Champion of Clan Gray.”
“He’s gonna get killed!” someone shouted, to more laughter.
“Enough!” said Crinklehat, agitated. “Not one gray squirrel raised a voice to volunteer besides Puff. Not one. So out of respect, I advise you to kindly remain silent and not embarrass the legacy of Clan Gray further!”
Crinklehat’s angry outburst quieted the crowd. Scratchclaw’s eyes narrowed, as he looked Puff up and down.
“You are foolish, little one” said the lanky squirrel, “but if this is the destiny you choose, so be it.”
Scratchclaw unsheathed his wicked, two-pawed sword.
“I accept the challenge.”
16
Duel
Puff, with much effort, raised the Greatsword of Clan Gray defiantly. But he lacked the strength to hold it upright. The end of Truthseeker swayed, then dipped back slowly towards the ground. For members of Clan Brown and Gray, it was agonizing to watch. A cacophony1 of hoots and hollers erupted.
“You can’t even hold a sword!” chided Scratchclaw, his yellowed teeth accenting his evil grin. “If you cannot fight, you must yield!” the black squirrel insisted.
“I will not,” said Puff against his better judgment, his voice cracking. His voice was drowned out by mocking laughter from the crowd of black squirrels.
“What was that?” asked Scratchclaw again.
“I. Will. Not. Yield.” repeated Puff in the loudest voice he could muster, which he felt still wasn’t loud enough. It was nothing like Sir Pattercloud’s.
Scratchclaw shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said dismissively.
Day two of the Tournament of Oaks hadn’t officially started, but without warning or hesitation, Scratchclaw swung his sword viciously at Puff’s head. Surprised, Puff dropped the Greatsword and stumbled backwards, trying to keep himself alive. Most of the squirrels in attendance let out a collective gasp. Scratchclaw laughed wildly.
“You will not survive this, you tiny, pathetic thing!” The Darkblade made a deadly arc through the air and Puff did the only thing he could—he ducked out of the way and ran for his life.
Scratchclaw advanced. Puff was a quick little squirrel, but he was no match for his opponent’s weapon and grim determination. The black squirrel feinted left, then stabbed the Darkblade ruthlessly forward. Puff dodged, but the sword caught him in the side. Nibs and Tinderbug covered their eyes. The strike drew blood. Puff touched his side and winced.
“Yield!” shouted Scratchclaw to cheers from Clan Black.
Sir Pattercloud’s helmet wobbled as Puff resolutely shook his head no, even though he couldn’t fight Scratchclaw. Not with the Greatsword of Clan Gray. It was too heavy. Puff knew he needed a plan before it was too late for him, for Clan Gray, and for the memory of Sir Pattercloud.
Scratchclaw stood before him in all his vileness, the Great Tree rising behind him in all its grandeur. It was an odd contrast. It also gave Puff an idea.
The Darkblade came for him again, a harrowing overhead blow that Puff narrowly avoided. The leader of Clan Black had put so much effort into the attack, his Greatsword stuck into the packed earth of the tournament grounds. Puff, realizing the sword was stuck much like Truthseeker had been earlier, seized on the opportunity. He took off Sir Pattercloud’s helmet and threw it at a surprised Scratchclaw as he ran past.
“Where are you going?” demanded Scratchclaw as he raged, attempting to free the Darkblade. “Come back and fight me like a real squirrel!”
Puff had no such intention. He ran straight for the trunk of the Great Tree and scampered halfway up.
“I don’t think you can catch me,” taunted Puff.
Scratchclaw was livid. His eyes burned.
“What did you say, you foul-mouthed little vermin?”
There were echoes of laughter amongst brown and gray squirrels.
“You heard me, you big dumb-dumb!”
Scratchclaw seethed. He yanked the Darkblade from the ground and barreled after Puff, unhinged.
Nibs turned to Tinderbug.
“What’s Puff doing?” asked the chipmunk.
“I don’t know,” said Tinderbug nervously, “but he’s using the only weapon he has left—his mouth.”
17
Up
The multi-colored bark of the Great Tree was cool to the touch as Puff climbed upwards. Scratchclaw snarled and bellowed an obscenity after him from below. The black squirrel sheathed the Darkblade and scaled the tree. Unlike Puff, his movements were made awkward by the weight of his bulky armor.
Puff touched his side gingerly, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. His fur was matted with dried blood, his skin tender. With Scratchclaw close behind, there was only one place on Puff’s mind. He headed to the limb of the tree that represented no current clans.
The leaves began to thin, then cease entirely. The fourth limb of the great tree was barren. No squirrel was certain what had happened, but oracles had supplied various theories. Disease. A Curse. The loss of Clan Red. Whatever the answer was, life had lost its hold here. The limb was dead.
There was the sound of claws on wood behind him. Puff turned. The black squirrel, his breathing labored, stood a short distance away. Scratchclaw bared his stained teeth and slowly unsheathed the Darkblade. Puff backed up. The leader of Clan Black advanced menacingly.
“This isn’t going to end well for you.”
“Like how it did for Sir Pattercloud?” challenged Puff.
“I don’t waste my breath on the dead,” spat Scratchclaw.
The leader of Clan Black pressed forward. Puff backed up further along the limb that had now narrowed to become a branch and kept his distance. They were up very high now, almost near the top of the tree. Puff could feel emotions welling up. His lips quivered as he tried to maintain his composure.
“You did something to him. I know it!”
“Poor, pathetic little squirrel. Your feeble attempt to defend the honor of your clan and your deceased champion is for naught. It ends here. It ends now.”
Scratchclaw lunged and Puff jumped back. The Darkblade arced through the air. It moved fast, whistling as it swung past, barely missing Puff’s face.
“We have lived too long in the shadow of the grays,” said Scratchclaw. “We are the ones who liberated the clans from Clan Red all those years ago. Not you. Not the browns. We deserve to be champions. We deserve to lead.”
Puff risked a glance behind him. The branch continued to thin. He and Scratchclaw were nearing the end of the fourth limb.
“No one as twisted as you should win,” yelled Puff. “I won’t let you!”
Scratchclaw laughed. It was an evil, smug, belittling outburst. The black squirrel drew the Darkblade back and swung. At the last second, Puff moved. Instead of striking Puff, the sword came down on the branch with a loud crunch. The wood, old and dry, chipped away.
“You won’t let me win?” Scratchclaw questioned, incredulous. “That is rich. You can do nothing, and shall be forgotten just like that silly old fool Pattercloud.”
He brought the Darkblade down a second time. And again Puff dodged. It hit with a loud crack. Let it hit one more time, Puff thought to himself. He felt rage and hurt building inside him. After the sword came down a third time, Puff launched himself at Scratchclaw, his small paws trying to get at the black squirrel’s eyes through his helmet. Surprised, the leader of Clan Black took a step back and lifted the Darkblade in defense. He tried to shake Puff off, but his foot slipped and he lost his balance. Scratchclaw fell forward, taking Puff with him. They landed in a heap on the weakened branch. There was another crack, this one louder.
The Darkblade was wedged uncomfortably between the two and it cut painfully into Puff. Scratchclaw attempted to push the young squirrel away, but the rotted wood underneath them made another loud pop. Then it snapped and gave way.
Scratchclaw panicked and let go of his Greatsword, reaching wildly for something to hold onto. Alas, there was nothing.
He and Puff fell.
18
Down
The crowd of squirrels was held in a rapturous silence, necks craned up trying to catch a glimpse of what transpired above them. Nibs, the lone chipmunk among them, had an even tougher time seeing. There was commotion in the Great Tree, but it was hard to see.
“Can you make out anything?” asked Tinderbug, her voice on edge.
“I’m half as tall as you,” replied Nibs, while standing on her tippy paws.
The leaves rustled. Something moved. A broken branch crashed downwards. Then, a body fell.
Every squirrel in attendance gasped. It seemed to happen in slow motion. Arms and legs kicking, Scratchclaw plummeted to the ground. Tumbling after him was the Darkblade. End over end the Greatsword fell, following the black squirrel down. Scratchclaw landed hard, his armor making an awful jingle as he hit. Then, he was impaled1 by the falling blade.
Some looked away. No one cheered.
Puff’s muscles burned. He hung precariously from a broken branch, holding on with only a single paw. The only obvious thing keeping the branch from completely snapping was his light weight. Below him, sprawled on the ground was Scratchclaw, the Darkblade plunged up to its hilt into the squirrel’s chest. Puff swallowed hard and tried to focus his thoughts.
He was slowly losing his grip. He tried to reach up with his other paw but lacked the strength since his side was hurt. The young squire just dangled there helplessly.
“You’re not going to give up now, are you?” asked a voice.
Puff, his muscles straining, looked up. Standing at the edge of the broken branch was Blabberbit.
“Please. I’m going to fall,” pleaded Puff.
“No, you’re not,” replied Blabberbit, matter of factly.
Puff’s muscles begged to differ.
“You ran out yesterday before I could give you any of the good news,” continued Blabberbit, her crooked old whiskers accentuating her disapproval.
Puff wasn’t sure this was the best moment for a lecture.
“It’s quite simple, really. You can’t die, because the acorns indicated you can’t.”
“Can we talk about this later?”
“No. It’s important right now. You are destined to survive.”
