THE FROG AND THE GROG
by
Christopher Stasheff
Copyright 2010
The reeve howled, too, with pain, and clawed at the lump on his shoulder. It came off, it flew through the air, it struck a tree and fell—but it bounced back upright, crouching and growling, circling the reeve, looking for an opening.
It was hair, not fur, and long dirty fingernails, not claws. It was filthy, it was naked—but it was a man, a stripling, a boy. It was not a wolf.
The reeve cursed, pulling out his sword, and came for the wolf-boy.
Cadavan leapt straight into his path.
The reeve tripped and bawled in shock, waving his arms, striving for balance, falling—and the wolf-boy was on him, clawing at his face, snapping at his ears. The reeve fended him off with a leather wrist-guard.
Aelwyn pulled on his tunic as Musa calmly went about the reeve, taking his fallen sword and pulling the dagger from his belt. Then she said, "Are you ready to learn common sense now?"
"Get this beast off me!" the reeve bellowed.
"Here, boy! Here!" Aelwyn took a piece of dried beef from his pack and held it out to the wolf-boy. The creature backed away, growling.
Musa crouched down to the wolf-boy's level and spoke with a chorus of barks and yips. The lad turned to her, eyes wide. They were a startling blue in his leathery face. Patches of beard covered his cheeks. Musa yapped again, and the wolf-boy sat back on his haunches, head cocked to the side, trying to puzzle out what this strange creature could be.
"Up, now." Aelwyn held the reeve's sword in one hand, his dagger in the other. "Unless you want us to let the wolf have you, of course."
The reeve scrambled to his feet and found himself staring at the tip of his own blade. "Give that back!"
"I may be a fool," Aelwyn said, "but I'm not so big a fool as that."
The reeve stared past the sword at Aelwyn's eyes. "You wouldn't use it. You don't have the stomach for it."
"There's some truth in that," Aelwyn admitted. "I'd be sick to my stomach, I'm sure—after I stabbed you."
The reeve scowled, trying to stare him down, then admitted, "You might at that." He glanced at the wolf-boy, then looked again. "Why, it's not a wolf—it's a boy!"
"Maybe something of each?" Aelwyn guessed.
"Could be." The reeve took a bit of dried meat from his own pouch and crouched as he held it out. "Here, lad, come have a bite. No hard feelings, eh? After all, you didn't do me any damage, nor I you. Take a taste of the dried meat, now."
The wolf-boy looked from Musa to the reeve and back, confused by the double offer of food and the abrupt change in the reeve's tone.
"Yes, I know, you don't want to come that near." The reeve tossed the scrap of meat a yard away from the boy. "That's far enough, isn't it? Come have a bite!"
"You've seen one like him before?" Aelwyn asked softly.
"Not seen, but heard of them, and no reason to doubt that a kernel of truth lay beneath the tales." The reeve knelt motionless, eyes only on the boy. "I’m reeve of this shire, so all its people are in my care, him among them."
"Why did you attack me, if you care?"
"Because you're a threat to the good folk of the shire," the reeve said. "We have to have a king, you see, and a strong one, or the bandits will terrorize the villages and the barons will fight each other and, when they run out of soldiers, press the peasant boys into their armies and kill them off in their battles. If you speak against the king, you're a threat to everyone's peace."
"You truly believe what you say," Aelwyn marveled.
"As surely as there's ground beneath your feet." The reeve gazed at the wolf-boy as he crawled a few steps toward the scrap of meat, watching warily all the time, then a few more, then a dash to snatch up the tidbit in his teeth and a leap back against a tree to devour his prize in safety.
"So he won't come to the hand?" Musa tossed her scrap toward the boy, too. "Let him grow accustomed to us little by little."
The reeve nodded. "That's the way of it, lass."
"My name is Musa."
"And mine's Galben." The reeve gave her a nod. "Pleased to meet you."
"And I you, if you can so quickly turn to the care of one who attacked you."
Cadavan hopped up near the boy, albeit warily, and croaked at him. The wolf-boy turned to look into the frog's eyes, nodding a little as he chewed.
Aelwyn tensed to spring to his friend's defense. "How came he to be, do you think?"
"That great frog,” Musa asked, "or the boy?"
"The wolfkin, of course."
"The peasants will tell you tales of women who run with the pack," the reeve said, "or of men too ugly for any woman to want them—but that's rot. The folk who live near the forest are poor, that's all, and know they can't rear all the children they bear—so every so often, a sorrowing parent will take a babe deep into the forest and leave it for the beasts. Now and again, the wolves decide to rear one rather than eat it. Be sure, he's as human as you or me—but he'll never learn to behave like us. I've heard other tales."
"So have I," Musa said, "of women who tried to tame such as he. They never learn to talk, can't learn to love. With a great deal of attention, they can learn to walk upright and even wear clothes—but they never learn the ways of living in towns and never lose their love of the woods. If you let them loose, they go right back to the forest."
"That's mortal women," Aelwyn said, "but you're a teaching spirit. Can you tame him, genius?"
"Tame him, no," Musa said. "I might, though, teach him enough to accompany us." She spoke in yips and barks.
The boy sprang back in alarm.
Musa yapped again.
The boy stayed, listening, then sat on his heels, hands touching the ground in front of him, and cocked his head to the side, lips pursing in imitation of a muzzle.
"The frog has already assured him we're friends," Musa told them.
"How could he do that?" Aelwyn asked. "I can't understand a single croak!"
"Each kind of beast has a language of its own," Musa said, "very simple, with perhaps a dozen words, but a language nonetheless—and some of them understand another species' terms." She glanced at Cadavan and admitted, "He does seem to be an unusually intelligent frog."
"So he has told the boy we're friends," Galben said, "and you've assured him we're his kind?"
Musa nodded. "He finds it difficult to believe, but I've pointed out that he doesn't have a tail, and neither do we—also that he is more comfortable going about on two legs, as we do. He doesn't like that, but he acknowledges it."
"He won't attack us, then." Galben tossed another scrap of meat, a little closer to himself than to the boy. Cautiously, the semi-wolf stepped toward it and sniffed. "No, you won't try to bite, will you, lad?"
"I won't either," Aelwyn said.
"That's another matter." Galben turned to him with a scowl. "If your words endanger the king's peace, you'll have to live in the gaol. Can I trust you to stop talking against him?"
"Stop talking against a usurper? No."
Galben stood up, dark and menacing again.
"Think," Aelwyn said. "Usurpers breed rebellions—they always do, because the other lords say, 'Well, my claim is as good as his—why don't I take the throne?' Only the true king can prevent them."
"The true king's not ten years old yet!"
"But he had a good regent."
"Had," Galben said. "He's dead now."
"Killed by the usurper's right-hand man," Aelwyn said, "and now he means to prevent other lords rising against him by starting a war with Azure—keep them occupied fighting foreign lords, not him."
"It's not the king who destroyed the lords’ hall!"
"No, but he's taking advantage of it, isn't he? Or do you think the minstrels started singing of the villainy of Azureans by themselves?"
"Of course." Galben's scowl darkened even further. "Why wouldn't they?"
"It's possible," Aelwyn admitted. "I've had a song come into my head unbidden often enough, and sometimes from hearing news that angered or delighted me. I haven't sung it to an audience that very day, though—I've worked it over for a few days, polished it, making sure it says what I feel. This minstrel, if we're to believe what he says, is singing of deeds that happened yesterday. How did he learn so quickly?"
"From other minstrels." But Galben's frown lightened a little. "Word of the fall of the Lords’ Hall would run like wildfire."
Aelwyn shook his head. "The teller has to carry the tale to the listener, so news can't travel faster than a man can walk."
"He could run."
"Only if his purpose is to carry the news, and it never is, save for the king's heralds. Ordinary singers go about their business, and some of it is travelling—but the travelers don't run, they walk."
"You mean that the only way a minstrel could learn of something that happened yesterday, would be if a messenger on horseback rode to tell him." Galben's voice was still menacing, but no longer quite so certain.
"Someone had to send that word." Aelwyn nodded. "If not the king, then someone else who wants to see Ustared at war with Azure."
"You don't know this," Galben protested. "You're guessing."
"You can call it guessing." Aelwyn nodded. "It's clear to me and was in an instant."
"Clear that you should betray your king?"
"Oh, I've always been loyal to my king," Aelwyn said, "even though he was only ten."
Galben turned away, face thunderous.
The wolf-boy swallowed and looked up, then gave a demanding yip.
"Done with that tidbit?" Aelwyn turned back to him and caught up his pack, rummaging in it for more dried beef.
"That wolf-boy is not the king's fault," Galben said, his back still turned. "His parents abandoned him ten years ago at least, probably twelve.” He turned to glare at Aelwyn. If they were poor, lay that at the old king's doorstep."
“I wasn’t trying to lay it at anyone’s,” Aelwyn answered, “but it does make me wonder why you sought me out.”
The reeve tried to stare him down, then admitted, "A mountebank told me about you, and I sent some soldiers, but you sent them howling back, so I came to see for myself."
Aelwyn frowned. "I've done nothing wrong, except sing songs the villagers liked better than his."
"Yes, but you spoke against the king, didn't you? Or at least, said he was a liar."
"No—I only told the truth."
"Which makes His Majesty's words sound like falsehoods."
"Perhaps," Aelwyn said, "but he's a false king."
"True or false, he is the king," the reeve said.
Ned blinked. Could he really be hearing this? A reeve was a king's officer, after all. Could he really not care which king he served?
The reeve said. "Otherwise, the barons would be forever fighting to see which can seize the throne. That’s clear as can be.”
“Yes, I know.” Aelwyn smiled. “I said something of the sort myself. Quite clear indeed.”
"Clear that you should betray your king?"
"Oh, I've always been loyal to my king," Aelwyn said, "even though he was only ten."
Galben turned away, face thunderous.
"Judge the song by the dance it brings,” the minstrel said. “Word of a try at blowing up the Lords’ House with those gunpowder casks made all the barons clamor in Viburnum's favor. Remember, the minstrels knew of the border raids as soon as their ambassador said the word 'army.' Someone wanted to see us go to war.”
Ned's heart glowed. Never would he forget this minstrel's loyalty.
The wolf-boy swallowed and looked up, then gave a demanding yip.
"Done with that tidbit?" Aelwyn turned back to him and caught up his pack, rummaging in it for more dried beef.
"We have to have a king,” Galben said, “one who’s strong enough to hold his throne.”
“Strong enough?” Aelwyn asked. “Or sly enough?”
Musa had found another bit of meat, and the wolf-boy leaped to it—only a few feet from her. As he chewed, she spoke to him in yips and barks.
Galben turned and glowered at the boy. Aelwyn saw the look on his face and kept his silence.
"If you're really of a mind to lay that minstrel's anger at the king's doorstep," Galben said, "then go with me to the King's Town and say it to his face!"
Aelwyn stared, taken aback.
Musa said, "He wasn't blaming the king, only saying it wasn't Azure's guilt."
"That's so," said Aelwyn, "but if you think I haven't the courage to tell it to the king, I have to prove you wrong, do I not?"
Musa groaned.
* * *
They'd gone a mile down the road when Cadavan, peering out from under the flap of Aelwyn's pack and saw the wolf-boy following them. "Tagalong," he croaked. "Tagalong."
"What say, old fellow?" Aelwyn asked.
"He's trying to tell you that the wolf-boy is following us," Musa explained.
Galben looked back over his shoulder. "So he is. Wants more of your dried beef, I'd guess."
"That," Musa conceded, "but I’ve also persuaded him he's really a human, not a wolf."
Galben nodded. "Not that hard to believe, once you take a look at us—though I notice he's still running on all fours."
The boy was leaping, gathering his legs in a crouch, then launching himself into the air and catching himself on his hands as he bent his legs up to leap again.
"Like me," Cadavan croaked, "like me."
Sure enough, the boy's mode of travel looked more like a frog's than a wolf's.
"Not exactly trying for speed, is he?" Aelwyn asked.
"He does seem to be taking his time," Musa agreed.
Seeing them watch him, the wolf-boy sat on his heels, waiting.
"Let's go back to our travels before the boy takes alarm and flees us," Galben said.
They all turned to resume their journey.
"Before you teach him to walk upright," Galben said to Musa, "you might want to persuade him to wear clothes."
"Do you really think it necessary?" Musa glanced back, then shrugged. "If you say so. Humans do have odd prejudices."
"We do," Aelwyn acknowledged, "and we're attracting enough attention as it is. I can imagine what would happen if I introduced my friends at the end of one of my songs."
"Introduce," Musa said, musing. "Yes, we will have to find a name for him, won't we?"
"A human name," Aelwyn agreed.
"'Shaggy' might be fitting," Galben said.
"But a bit of a handicap toward making friends," Aelwyn said.
"'Canis Lupus,' perhaps," Musa suggested, "the Latin for 'wolf.'"
Aelwyn pursed his lips, then shook his head. “No one would know what it means.”
Musa’s eye gleamed. “I could teach them.”
“Take too long.” Galben shook his head.
"Rover?" Ned offered. "Aren’t we all roving now?"
"True," Musa said, "but it would sound odd. Perhaps something more commonplace—say, Joseph? Or George?”
“I like them both,” said Aelwyn. “Why not ‘Joseph George’?”
Galben shook his head. "Too big a name for a boy. How about 'Jojo' for short?"
“Jojo.” Aelwyn rolled the word around his tongue, then nodded. “It suits him, though I can’t say why.”
“It’s small, with room to grow,” Galben said.
So, Ned realized, was he.
Debating cheerfully over a name for their newest recruit, they went on down the road.
* * *
In midafternoon, Cadavan recognized an oak tree with a split trunk as it went past him, and the huge boulder with crevices that made it seem like a frowning face.
"Stop here! Stop here!" he croaked.
Aelwyn stopped. "Does the frog want his freedom for a bit?"
"You got it. You got it." Cadavan said.
"He says you're right, and he would like to step down," Musa interpreted.
"Well, then, have a hop, old thing." Aelwyn put down the backpack and opened the flap.
Cadavan sprang out, leaping down the road in huge bounds.
"Where is he going?" Galben asked.
"I don't know," Aelwyn said, "but he seems to have a purpose. We'd better follow—don't want the chap to end as dinner for a fox, do we?"
The wolf-boy pulled back as he saw Cadavan hopping straight toward him with the others following close behind, but before he could take alarm, Cadavan turned off the road to hop down an overgrown and scarcely-visible trackway. He was almost out of sight as his companions came to the end of the path—just in time to see a flash of russet as a wildcat sprang out of the underbrush to catch the frog in its mouth.
"Put him down!" Aelwyn shouted, and led the charge—but JoJo the wolf-boy passed them all, ducking under branches and hurdling bushes in a way none of them could match. In a minute, he had caught the wildcat by the neck and lifted it high.
The feline screamed, letting go of the frog, and twisted to try to rake the boy with its claws—but JoJo held it at arm's length, and it could only flail. He barked at Cadavan, and the frog hopped away into the underbrush. Then JoJo threw the wildcat as far as he could. It spat and turned to spring at him—then saw the three coming quickly behind him and changed its mind, dodging away into the underbrush.
"Thanksalot. Thanksalot," Cadavan croaked from the protection of a thicket.
"Well done, lad." Musa held out her hands. "Are you hurt?"
"I see blood," Galben said.
The boy licked at a scratch, backing away from them.
"Shall I bandage it?" Musa asked.
JoJo looked up, puzzled. Musa stripped some leaves from a nearby branch and pressed them to her forearm. JoJo stared.
"No need, really," Galben said. "It's just a scratch."
Musa nodded. "He'll learn to understand the notion of healing—and I hope he won't find the need of it first."
"Good guy. Good guy." Cadavan opined.
"The frog thinks highly of you," Musa told JoJo.
The boy grinned, tongue lolling out and panting.
This time Ned recognized the feeling that welled up—it was jealousy. After all, he could have saved the frog too, couldn't he?
Not as well as the wolf-boy, he had to admit.
"Yes, well, you've a great deal indeed to teach him, haven't you?" Galben said, then turned to the frog. "And where in this forest were you bound?"
"Cottage. Cottage," Cadavan said.
“I believe a friend of his lives nearby,” Musa translated, “in a little house.”
"Wherever it is, go ahead," Aelwyn said, "but not too fast, all right? Give your friends a chance to keep up with you."
Chastened, Cadavan hopped away down the path, but much more slowly. Musa eyed his scratch closely but saw only a few drops of blood from the wildcat's teeth.
Cadavan followed the path as it turned—and there, in a clearing, sat a thatched cottage, warm and welcoming in the patched sunlight that came through the forest ceiling. About it, gardens spread—herbs on one side, flowers all about the house itself, and berry bushes on the other.
"What a lovely hideaway," Musa said.
"There are weeds in that garden," Galben noted.
Indeed, the gardens were choked with weeds, so much so that if it hadn't been for the brightness of the flowers, they might not have been recognizable as gardens at all. The windows were shuttered.
"Who lives here?" Aelwyn wondered.
"Nobody, at a guess," Galben said, "though from the look of it, someone did, and not that long ago, either."
Cadavan gave a forlorn croak and hopped on up the path to the door, on which was tacked a parchment.
"A message!" Musa exclaimed.
"The writing's faded," Aelwyn said. "It's been here through the winter's snows and not a few rainstorms."
Faded it was, but Cadavan could read it still:
I have gone to the royal castle, to serve as tutor to the young king. If your need is great enough, you may follow me and ask for
Monahare
Cadavan stared at the words, feeling as though the ground had dropped out from under him.
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