Tumblebrutus Part One

Tumblebrutus - Part One

His head pounded. His mouth and throat were parched dry. His feet ached, cut and sore for a lack of consideration. His stomach groaned, having not eaten since three days past. His body was on the verge of collapse, having not rested in his dogged press onward since the funeral of Deuteronomy. His eyes gazed out from a battle-torn face which showed the man's sorrow, bleak and lifeless as they stared forward into nothing. They led his unsteady pace forward, never stopping, never slowing. Deuteronomy: the one kind he had the honor of serving beneath, the brave and fearless leader who had so confidently led his country into war. Wise, fair, brave, and always peaceful, Deuteronomy would not have allowed this war to commence without just reason. His death was mourned the country over, though not so much as by this one soldier. A king such as Deuteronomy deserved a better fate.

Tumblebrutus was a young Jellicle tom, barely into his twentieth year, and having been a mere soldier in the countless ranks of the Royal Guard no greatness was yet expected of him. His attire showed clearly his profession: a covering of light chain mail over which was donned the black tunic with the royal family's insignia, a brown cloak hanging down his back, nearly worn through leather shoes, and a thick belt with a silver buckle on which hung his one last possession: his sword. Yet even this was a poor sight to view in his present condition. Unwashed, torn from battle, Tumblebrutus was a mere remnant of the once youthful and energetic soldier who had so honorably fought for Felinera's defense. But having witnessed the king's murder, having been one of the few to survive the battle--more properly termed massacre--his fellow soldiers and guards had fought on the border between Felinera and the empire of the Pollicles, knowing that now the king's only son would be handed the task of defending his country would degrade even the most handsome of men. Nor was Tumblebrutus outrageously handsome to begin with. Gaunt enough for his age, his fur was a simple white with brown markings, not the least of which was a large brown patch over his left eye. Such was the unlikely hero.

Tumblebrutus scanned the landscape before him as well as his weary eyes were able. Nothing new greeted him. Peasants were fleeing to the West, hoping to escape the advancing Pollicle armies. They were all searching for the same thing: the safety of Pawprin. Tumblebrutus would have cried bitterly had he any reserves left for tears. After how he had seen his own regiment slaughtered by the fierce Pollicles and their methods, how could they think Pawprin would be any safer than a small wayside village when the majority of its army had been sent out to stop the Pollicles? How long could Pawprin possibly hold out with meager defenses against the dogs' savagery and brutal war methods? And with their numbers? The task to try and feed and house all these refugees along with its current citizens would not lighten the wartime pressures.

Tumblebrutus steered his unsteady walk away from the group, but it was a reluctant turn away. He could smell the food they carried, hear the slosh of water as it was carried across this bleak area. He could only yearn. His last meal had consisted of a handful of berries and some stale bread and cheese bargained off a poor farmer for the last precious thing he had owned: his horse. The faithful creature he had rescued after the massacre, and even if Tumblebrutus still possessed her it would have done little good. He would not kill her for food, and the lands he was traveling through now offered little to nothing in the way of sustenance. Deserts mixed with scattered swamps: it was this stretch of border that had so often kept invaders from making an attempt at Felinera. Not so easily deterred were the Pollicles.

The young soldier could scarcely believe what Felinera had become. Having been free from the madness of war for almost a century, the race of feline people who inhabited it were entirely unprepared for the sudden Pollicle attack from the East; the savage dogs who wanted to expand their growing empire over the cats' rich lands. The Jellicles rallied together quickly and were able to fight off the first few waves of Pollicles which came, all the while recruiting and training soldiers like Tumblebrutus for what Deuteronomy had known would be inevitable. But good military commanders at that time among the Jellicles were few and far between, and unused to war itself the feline soldiers were decimated. The Pollicles were too many and too well-versed in the art of killing.

In his worn state, Tumblebrutus hardly noticed the second group of fleeing peasants who happened by him until they were in range enough to spit on him. Spit they did. Like so many before they cursed and condemned him and all other soldiers like him simply for being soldiers. For not protecting their beloved land and people. One particular man of brown fur which was quickly graying and a stone-set scowl upon his features blocked Tumblebrutus's path with a cart drawn by two horses and backed by plenty more begrudged commoners.

"What are you doing here, oh great and noble warrior?" growled the man, venom dripping from his words. The young soldier sighed, having only been reminded of his purpose: why he was going the opposite direction of these refugees.

"I swore once to King Deuteronomy himself that I would defend Felinera and all that is hers to my very last breath. It is my intention to keep that oath."

The peasants laughed, and laughed loudly. The laughter was magnified even in Tumblebrutus's mind, echoing down the corridors of his consciousness to strike him deep and true. He had known they would laugh. All of them laughed. Loud, bitter, contemptuous laughter.

The thin-furred ringleader slid down from his cart and stepped closer to the young soldier, his slitted golden eyes a piercing gaze as they roved over Tumblebrutus's bedraggled form. There was nothing to see that would prove the young man could carry out his promise. Probing gaze converting quickly to a piercing glare, the older tom glared back into Tumblebrutus's worn face, his sunken eyes. "Indeed, you look like the type of soldier that would frighten away the dogs. Frighten them directly to the point of conquering the known world, I might say!"

More laughter and more radiating hatred. Hate for his failure, hate for the audacity this young soldier had to show his face after what had happened at the Eastern Border. Tumblebrutus could feel the hatred upon him, wanting to stifle and choke him as much as each peasant felt that they should. That very thing seeming to be the older tom's intention, he shifted closer. Tumblebrutus knew what lay in store for him. A beating. Pulled down and shoved into the dirt at best. Killed at worse. Could that have been such a bad thing, Tumblebrutus wondered. After all, they had reasons to hate him so profoundly. But at the same time, the young man knew he could not be detained any further in his quest, and with a speed that betrayed his haggard appearance Tumblebrutus drew his sword and kept the surrounding Jellicles at bay, allowing no one within an arm's length.

"For all of our sakes," he spoke in his cracked and dry yet powerfully soft voice. "Move on."

There was much growling and hissing of muted protests, but the peasants did indeed move on, rather quickly and complacently as the soldier noticed. But even as Tumblebrutus sheathed his marred and worn sword he was overcome in a wave of guilt. It was a sadness that sank him deeper than the darkness he had ridden in since Deuteronomy's death. A soldier now was nothing to them. He was but a flea among their fur. All of Felinera was disgusted with him, with all the nation's soldiers. He had done what he thought he could and failed. Failed Felinera. Failed Deuteronomy.

The few huts and cottages he did pass in this barren strip of land were stripped of anything remotely useful. They were mere skeletons now, standing alone and dead among a deserted background. It looked as though the Pollicle army had already passed through here, ravaging everything they could to press on and leave nothing. In a sense, Tumblebrutus thought, perhaps they had. If Deuteronomy had been alive, the king he so devoted his life to, Tumblebrutus could have been stronger. He would have been able to endure the shouts, the laughs, the glares, the abuse, but not with Deuteronomy gone. It was not so much that he did not have faith in the king's son Munkustrap, but it was hard to believe in a king he had not served. He had not met or even fought for. For the first time in his young life, Tumblebrutus found himself feeling doubts about his oath to die for his land when it seemed soldiers died so ignominiously.

The ground reached for him, and not for the first time that day. Tumblebrutus steadied himself and wiped his brow with a ripped and torn cloak. The sun burned overhead, hot and unwavering, but Tumblebrutus would not allow himself to fall. To collapse this close, to leave his task unfinished, would be unforgivable in the eyes of Heaviside. If he was not yet already condemned for his failure, Heaviside would decide if he would have the change to redeem himself or not. He lifted his face to the bright sun, closing his eyes as he drew a slow breath. Everlasting Cat hear me. I have failed my people and my country. Allow me the strength and will to carry on. I beg of you... The young man waited for exhaustion to overtake him, for Heaviside to make its choice and strike him down, but he remained standing. He opened his eyes to the feeling of a warmth within him. A gentle warmth. A guiding love of unashamed felinity. His shaking hand touched his chest to feel the beat of his heart. Steady. Strong.

The pain in his mind and body eased. Heaviside had not abandoned him yet. His life still had a purpose, a meaning, a chance to put right what had gone wrong. The Everlasting Cat was watching over him, his savior. Thankyou... Though his body was worn beyond the limits of most young toms, his mind stripped of its last sense and will, Tumblebrutus smiled.

In the East lay his objective. Somewhere near the Eastern Border. Perhaps a week's journey, perhaps two days. It was in the East that lay a part of the advancing army of the Pollicles: a sizable portion of it commanded by one of the Pollicle Lord's most dangerous generals. Like a disease they had come from the conquered lands of their far-reaching empire, hungry to devour Felinera like the wolves they were. They pushed ever closer, unstoppable despite all the Jellicles' efforts, striving to reach Pawprin and the stronghold nucleus of Castle Jukard. After that very same portion of army had massacred the Jellicle forces at the Eastern Border, Tumblebrutus had run. Run for his life, being one of the decimated few who had gotten away with their lives. He ran towards Pawprin like all the others, but it was guilt that turned him around. Now his target lay back in the East: an entire Pollicle army. They would be forced to pass the desert and swamps to obtain passage into Felinera, he knew, just as he was doing now. In the dense humidity of the swamps they would be vulnerable. Perhaps in the swamps he would stand a chance.

Tumblebrutus came upon the bodies just after passing a cottage set beside small stream. Five or six of them, discarded and stacked careless in front of the dark doorway. Victims of plague. The stench nearly overwhelmed the young man. Not only were the Pollicles masters at war, but the diseases they brought with them were harsh ones. Plagues and epidemics, as the solders lost on the battlefield the healers and physicians lost their own battle on the homefront. Tumblebrutus shivered. Better to die in battle than waste away from disease, his regiment commander had always said. A wise cat. Covering his muzzle with one edge of his torn, dirty cloak, Tumblebrutus moved on quickly. It was not surprising to a soldier that the plague victims' loved ones had left the poor souls behind to rot. In a time of war the living were more important. Now was a time to care for those who still breathed. The slain were in no hurry.

Daylight began to fade as the sun plunged down into its own death, and in that dim, gray sunset behind him Tumblebrutus entered a more populated region of huts as he neared the swamps. Unlike those of the sparse, grassland deserts these dwellings were more or less intact and whole. Almost untouched. A look inside would have revealed a more bitter truth, but Tumblebrutus did not approach them. Contaminated by plague, he passed by hurriedly. He could not rest in them even if they were safe. Time was precious for the young soldier. Every moment could very well be his last.

The swamp came into view just as the sun had disappeared over the flat horizon. Rising up like a hideous black monster out of the depths of the plains, its twisted and tangled trees were like grotesque, malformed limbs that reached up wailing to the sky, their draping moss and vines like wretched clothes for skeletons. This had always been a dreary part of Felinera; not like the forest-covered West of the kingdom, or the industrial coasts to the South, or the mountainous regions of the North. This place was dead and decaying. Yet Tumblebrutus first thought the swamp was just a trick of his mind, astonished that he had made it this far. That in itself was nothing short of miraculous. He pressed on, thanking Heaviside and again feeling that warmth near his heart.

The swamp was deathly silent. No birds, no ground creatures, not the faintest hint of a breeze. Only that sickly smell of decay that permeated all swamps, and the occasional drip of water. It was an encompassing silence, as thick as the swamp itself. A thing to be pushed through. Tumblebrutus reached down to grab tightly the hilt of his sword, but did not yet draw it. There was no evidence to suggest Pollicle activity within the swamp, not so much as a scent of the dogs. That feeling of decay hung heavy in the air, as though all life here had been driven away by it in order to make room for the Pollicles' arrival.

He pressed on. The night air was humid, but the dampness cooled his burning head. He would not look to either side of his lonely trudge, for all around him were suitable places to rest, to sleep. He could not afford rest or sleep. The pathway was thick and ridden with bogs but by no means impassable, thank Heaviside. Stones were jagged and slippery, torture to his aching feet. Vines and bushes all around him whipped and tore at his clothes and arms. The cool darkness tempted him with rest, but Tumblebrutus did not slow, even when the ground began to incline he did not falter until he reached the top of the ridge. The young white and brown tom paused, gazing over the treeline to the countless campfires below. Much more than he ever remembered.

So the Pollicles were camped here, after all. Mocking Felinera in all ways, they had settled for the night in a place where they could very easily have been trapped and defeated had there been any army to trap and defeat them. The dogs had the liberty to be confident, though this show of impudence and daring made the soldier's blood boil at the sight. But Tumblebrutus could now allow himself to grow careless from anger. He had to think. Plan, if he could.

At the break of dawn they would move on through the swamp and back onto the desert grasslands. From there it would not take long for them to reach Pawprin, as there was no resistance to defy them beyond Jukard's own walls. The battle, should it be able to be called that, would turn out even shorter than the one that had destroyed the Jellicle army. Once more Tumblebrutus wished Deuteronomy had survived rather than he. Deuteronomy would have somehow found a way to rally more soldiers, find help from allied kingdoms, and if all else failed find a way to destroy the Pollicles himself. He would have organized, thought, and planned. Tumblebrutus had only a few young, wild ideas and hope from Heaviside. That memory brought Tumblebrutus's hand to his chest once again. Taking a moment to withdraw his sword and stab it into the soft ground, the young soldier sank down to his knees in prayer.

They came just when he knew they would: right before dawn.

He had just put out the last of the fires. Now Tumblebrutus rested against a leaning tree, his sword drawn and ready as he watched the growing light. The fires had been surprisingly easy to build, as dead as the swamp was. Branches and even entire trees littered the ground amid the damp, piled moss and bushes. The fires were strong but quick to burn out in the damp, humid air. Perfect to suit the soldier's purposes.

By their slowed movements the young tom knew the Pollicles had found the fire remnants. Sniffing the sites and growling to each other in their strange, barking speech, he heard their heavy movements through the dense brush. His fires had been messy and bunched together, just enough to lend some truth to the lies he had prepared: that an entire Jellicle army awaited their foes within the swamp.

Tumblebrutus heard the deep growl of a wolfish throat. He saw the mottled brown fur of a Pollicle emerge from the morning fog beside the very tree he leaned behind. The cat tensed, whispering a quick prayer to Heaviside before he lashed out with all his Jellicle senses and abilities. His sword was a blur, slicing through the width of the dog's neck before the vile creature had the chance to die. As though reduced to stone the Pollicle's body tumbled forward to the ground, not moving as his head thumped beside it. As silent as swift as his ancestors who inhabited the trees of Felinera, the Jellicle soldier darted from his hiding place.

Tumblebrutus did not stop until he was some distance from where he had killed the Pollicle: a being in every way identical to the Jellicles save for their ancestry came from those of canines, not felines. Again, just as before, he pushed himself beside a tree and waited. His gray, brown, and black outfit would have been camouflage enough in the early morning swamp, but with its rips and tears and muddy gore stains the Jellicle was for the most part invisible. The stench of the swamp and lack of wind would do well to disguise his scent. He waited, though he could not for long. His vision was already growing blurry.

The next trio of scouts who had the unfortunate luck to come near were all women. His first blow took the closest of the two. The third had time to draw breath and nothing more before she joined them. Sheathing his bloodied sword, Tumblebrutus dragged them quickly out of view, his young and trained strength making short work of the job. He remained with the corpses for as long as he deemed it safe before moving on to his third-most likely final-position. He dared not take any longer. Now his head was beginning to pound.

Slipping behind yet another suitable tree, the white and brown tom found himself leaning heavily against it to catch his breath. The Pollicles were ready for him now. The bodies of their fallen comrades had alerted the dogs to a threat, so no longer did they try to prowl through the brush. From the sounds Tumblebrutus estimated at least five, two within striking distance. He readjusted his grip on his sword, blinking in a desperate attempt to clear his vision, all in vain. His hands still shook unsteadily. He could hear the breathing of the Pollicles as though they were bearing down upon him. The first to pass him made the mistake of looking the other way as he slid by. Tumblebrutus's sword repeated the same grisly work, although his speed was considerably slowed. Barking in agony as he died, the Pollicle fell, the cat's sword still embedded in his throat.

Weaponless, Tumblebrutus's skill and blessings nevertheless remained with him. Stunned by the sight of his companion falling dead, the second Pollicle was the target of the cat's attack before he could cry out himself. The two struggled fiercely upon the ground, a Pollicle's bulk no match for the speed of a Jellicle's claws and agility. Only the cat's exhaustion evened the struggle. There were barks from all around, male and female. A patrol had arrived for the scouts. Tumblebrutus was torn away from his adversary who remained curled and whimpering on the ground, clutching his gashed face in pain. In a continuous struggle Tumblebrutus was able to land his new captor a fierce kick in the stomach, knocking the dog back a number of paces. A few claw swipes more and Tumblebrutus found his arms pinned behind him, the Pollicles forcing him down on his knees. A growl, a snarl, and one especially burly Pollicle slammed his fist across the cat's face. Then there was the sound of a sword being drawn, but another bark and unfamiliar words to the young soldier's ears preceded the sound of it being sheathed again. And, as he expected, Tumblebrutus found himself being taken prisoner.

Two male Pollicles, their fangs bared in anger at this cat, held him tight while a female bound his hands behind him, then chained his feet into iron shackles so he could not walk alone. His cloak was torn from his neck and a leather collar clipped around his throat, nearly choking Tumblebrutus as he tried to yeowl against it. The Jellicle soldier stumbled as he was forced up, but the Pollicles shoved him to his feet. Tumblebrutus did not cry out, for the blows they rang upon him failed to hurt much more.

The group marched him back to their camp, and though Tumblebrutus could not understand their barking, growling speech, it seemed they were worried. Concerned about the large band of soldiers lurking somewhere in the woods, no doubt. Having faced one soldier who, despite his appearance, was readily capable of talking on a group of six Pollicles, they were in no hurry to meet up with any more of these Jellicles. Some elite force, perhaps, sent by the new king to avenge his father's murder. Furthermore, this prisoner must have contained information of some sort, otherwise the Jellicle would not still be alive. They should be only too glad to kill him.

At some point during the march Tumblebrutus could feel himself ready to give out. He could hold on no longer. His head was bursting, his body suddenly unbearably hot. He could not coordinate his movements, not even see what was happening around him. Mercifully, Heaviside decided to make the entire world go black.