Initiation of a Journey

CHAPTER III: Initiation of a Journey.

(Measure a man's strength with a ruler.)

In which a long and tiresome journey commences with absolutely no bickering whatsoever.

After leaping out of the palace and unfortunately not dying when they crashed onto the ground, Mercyhale and Hasslevain found themselves utterly and unfailably lost. They hadn’t landed exactly where they’d come from; they’d fallen horrifically through a canopy of trees and tumbled down into a forest.

“Ugh,” said Mercyhale. He’d landed on his back, and it seemed too much trouble to get up. Hasslevain bounded over to him, having miraculously survived despite his scrawny appearance, and batted Mercyhale on the eye.

“Get up, Sir Mercyprone,” said Hasslevain. “The princess is waiting!”

“Gah!” said Merychale. “You blinded me.”

“You have two eyes, my good sir.”

“Ah, I do.” Mercyhale rubbed his eye, which was starting to bleed. It had to be bleeding, for it felt wet, and there were certainly no tears coming out of the Knight’s eye. He got up and looked around. He took a few steps to get a greater sense of their surroundings, then tripped on a root and found himself eating a patch of moss.

Hasslevain cackled like the evil little creature he was. Mercyhale got up with great dignity and attempted to scrub himself free of dirt, to little effect. A horrible thought occurred to him that he might look just as dirty and pitiful as Hasslevain now, and he banished the thought to the outer realms of his mind.

“Well?” he said with a sniff. “You intelligent little Dog, where to?”

“My dear sir, that’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said all day,” said Hasslevain. “Follow me, and I will surely lead you to the Princess Honeysense.”

They went along, Mercyhale trying not to think about how his eye was stinging, and his nose was stinging, and his back was stinging. “If you know very well where the Princess is,” he said, to distract himself, “then why were you waiting around to find me?”

“Of course, I knew you would be the most capable Knight,” said Hasslevain. “And the Princess deserves only the very best Knight to save her. Otherwise, something horrible could occur in a showdown with the Wizard.”

“There’ll be a showdown?” Mercyhale said, becoming concerned.

“Of course! An epic duel, with clashing swords and great peril. I will be in the sidelines, of course, with the Princess, cheering you on. We shall hope you don’t die, but if you do I promise to take very good care of your widow.”

“We won’t get married!” Mercyhale kicked a stick towards Hasslevain, who jumped over it with startling agility.

“It would be the honorable thing to do, my good sir,” said Hasslevain. “Elsewise, you’ll have a noble Princess in your debt for ever more, and that won’t do, will it?”

“Not unless her family pays me handsomely.”

“You will surely be paid as handsome as you are.”

Mercyhale wasn’t quite sure whether this was meant to be a compliment, but as he was already feeling rather bruised, he decided to not let his ego take another hit.

They went on in silence for a long time—or rather, Mercyhale did. Hasslevain appeared to have no shortage of energy and rambled on and on of something or the other. He had no shortage of eyes too, it seemed.

“ . . . And you, my dear sir?” said Hasslevain. “What say you of this beautiful place?”

“There are too many trees,” Mercyhale grumbled.

“’Tis a forest, dear sir,” said Hasslevain. “It has many trees.”

“Thank you for your wisdom.”

“I am a beacon of wisdom,” said Hasslevain. “What more wise words would you like me to espouse? Are you in need of wisdom regarding your teeth? I believe your mother did terribly in cleaning your teeth as a child; have you looked into a mirror recently? It would do you well to smile without your teeth. Though I have yet to see your smile, so you should focus instead on grimacing without your teeth.”

“You horrid creature! Have you only terrible things to say?”

“I have told you many good things before,” said Hasslevain. “Shall I flatter you once more? Perhaps I should—”

“You may flatter me with your mouth closed,” said Mercyhale.

“Very well, my dear sir,” Hasslevain said, proceeding to keep his mouth open and spew endless words, which after a while Mercyhale no longer heard, for it all blended into the background. He tried to concentrate on his breathing and the trees around them. There were far too many trees.

Hasslevain began to pant and stutter as they continued on. “Sir Journeyhale, I am getting rather tired.”

“Perhaps you should save your breath by not talking,” Mercyhale advised rather wisely.

“You have very good advice,” Hasslevain said. “You are as wise as me. Perhaps more. Have you more wisdom for me? I think I am in need of such good advice. I make many mistakes, you see.”

Mercyhale was quite tempted to become Sir Angryhale, but he took a deep breath and stopped in the path. “I have some advice for you: be quiet or you may be muzzled.”

Hasslevain blinked at him. Then he looked around dramatically. “Oh, we’re in a clearing! There are less trees here, my dear sir. Nothing to agitate you further. We should stop here,” Hasslevain said, “before it gets too dark.” He paused, glancing at Mercyhale. “Have you the strength to build a tent?”

“Of course I do,” huffed Mercyhale. He supposed stopping wouldn’t hurt, especially if it would get Hasslevian to shut up. And it was getting rather dark and cold. He set to work with the tent. His confidence quickly waned, however, once he began collecting large sticks to built a suitable structure with. At once the stinging in his face and body returned, and feeling rather like a crippled old man, he trudged about, drawing lines in the dirt as he dragged sticks around.

To make matters worse, hunger crept in as the moon crept out. Trouble was, Hasslevain was curled up on top of Mercyhale’s bag where the food was, watching the Knight do all the hard work.

“Sir Envyhale, stop looking my way; you’re making me blush,” said Hasslevain.

Mercyhale had the urge to take one of the particularly large sticks and bludgeon Hasslevain over the head with it. He had to pause, close his eyes, and take a deep breath, filling his lungs with the rich dust of the air. He coughed, and Hasslevain laughed again.

“Sir Dustinhale, won’t you hurry things up a bit?” he said. “I’m getting very tired here and would love a nice little tent to settle in.”

“You little Dog, have you ever met a stick?” said Mercyhale, angrily leaning sticks upon each other.

“I have met many sticks, and they are very kind and personable,” said Hasslevain.

“Perhaps you would like to meet an angry stick.”

“Have you ever met an angry dog?” said Hasslevain.

“I have met only an annoying dog.”

“Was he very pretty?”

“Uglier than a pile of sticks.” Mercyhale scoffed. “Perhaps as pretty as a dead rat, though that would only come from the mouth of a very generous person.”

“Am I that beautiful dog?”

“I have met no beautiful dog.”

“Sir Mercyhale, your flattery is overwhelming,” Hasslevain said. “I shall reward you with some bread.” He hopped off the bag and opened it, sticking his nose in to rummage around.

“Please remove your wet nose from the bread—”

Hasslevain emerged from the depths of the bag with a piece of bread in his mouth. He skittered over to Mercyhale, knocking into the trembling structure of sticks. It collapsed in a heap along with Mercyhale’s tower of patience.

“Ah,” said Hasslevain, the bread falling from his mouth into a particularly dirty patch of dirt.

Mercyhale felt rather faint. He was unsure whether it was from the physical fatigue of building a shelter or the mental fatigue of existing beside Hasslevain. “Bread,” he said. His mind must have been scrambled from the exhaustion.

“Of course, my dear sir!” Hasslevain exclaimed. “Anything for you!” He picked up the bread again, then spat it out. “Agh, dirt!” He picked it up yet again, a delightful grimace on his ugly face, and brought it over to Mercyhale. Mercyhale must have suffered either brain damage from the earlier fall or heat stroke from the insufferable sun, for he sat down heavily and opened up his hand. Hasslevain dropped the wet, dirty piece of bread into it.

Mercyhale looked down at the bread. It was soppy, the spots of dirt looking like mold crawling from the utter depths of the innards. He curled his hand into a fist, and the bread made wet, squishy noises. “Disgusting!” Mercyhale said, and threw the bread as hard as he could into the distance. It hit a tree and bounced back towards him.

Mercyhale lay down on the ground. He had the crippling desire to curl up like a shrimp and weep, but as it was he had only the strength to stare up into the sky and let the sun burn holes into his eyeballs. Hasslevain had gone back to the bag of food, and Mercyhale could hear him rummaging through it again. He pulled out another piece of bread and brought it over to Mercyhale, this time dropping the bread on his face.

“Hurry up!” said Hasslevain, patting Mercyhale on the cheek with one paw. “Eat this and get up. Build the godforsaken structure already or we’ll never have a place to sleep! I’ll get the firewood, you lazy, lazy creature.”

Hasslevain ran off. Mercyhale was struck with the delightful thought that if he got up, he too could run away, far, far away from Hasslevain and never look back. They would never see each other again. How beautiful that would be.

He picked the bread up off his face. It was not as soppy as the other one, and there were no specks of dirt on it. He ate it.

Feeling marginally better, Mercyhale sat up and looked at the pile of sticks on the ground. He sighed. He had better get to work.

As Mercyhale went along picking up the pieces of his broken structure and pride, Hasslevain darted back in and out of the scene, discarding smaller sticks in a pile. He made sure to stay clear of the shelter, which Mercyhale was grateful for, because if Hasslevain had knocked it over again he might just have given up on everything.

At last, the structure was complete. Hasslevain was still off, looking for sticks. The quiet was a comfort. He ought to eat all the bread and get to sleep quickly before Hasslevain came back—if he ever did, that was. Mercyhale hoped he never did.

Before he could do anything, though, Hasslevain came bounding back with a new bundle of sticks. “It’s complete!” he announced upon seeing the structure, and the sticks tumbled out of his mouth onto the pile he had collected. “Why have you not built a fire yet?”

“How can I, when they are all damp with your slobber?” Mercyhale said.

“You are a very picky person, my dear sir, do you know?” said Hasslevain.

“You are a very annoying dog,” Mercyhale said crossly.

Hasslevain huffed and began to kick the sticks around, making a mess. Mercyhale watched him do so for a moment.

“Give me the matches, then,” Hasslevain said. “I'll do it myself!”

“I’d like to see you try!” Mercyhale scoffed, picking the bag up from the ground and looking inside for the matches, which he found in their box and tossed at Hasslevain’s scrawny feet. He slung the bag over his shoulder so Hasslevain could not reach it.

Hasslevain glared at Mercyhale, who was very surprised to learn that he knew what a dog’s glare looked like. Then the little Dog set to work trying to open the box of matches.

Mercyhale stayed there a moment to watch him suffer. Before he reached a point of schadenfreude beyond recovery, he turned and entered the shelter he had built, with no small amount of pride. He hung the bag up on a stick so it dangled above the ground at an unreasonable height, then spread out the blankets he had brought along. He considered just going to bed, but Hasslevain was making horrible noises in his struggle, and Mercyhale was beginning to feel a little cold and hungry himself, so he went back out to where Hasslevain had managed to spill the matches all out onto the ground.

“Get away, you stupid creature!” said Mercyhale. “I will do it.”

“What a good and helpful Knight you are, my dear Mercysnail!” said Hasslevain, gleefully bounding out of the way.

“I am not a Snail!” said Mercyhale, bending to pick up all the stray matches.

“What?” Hasslevain sounded astonished. “Then are you a Whale?”

“I am a Hale!”

“Hail?”

“Yes, Hale.”

“It is very disagreeable when it hails,” said Hasslevain. “I am not sure I want to be around you any more.”

Mercyhale had not wanted to be around Hasslevain ever, but he was much too courteous to ever say so, so he said instead, “You are very disagreeable all the time.”

“I agree, I am very agreeable all the time!”

Mercyhale was unsure if Hasslevain’s hearing was selective or just terrible. Or perhaps his tongue was all tied, which made his speech muddled from his true thoughts. The match sparked suddenly, and he jumped at the sound and flash of light. The match fell from his fingers and went out on the grass.

“Oh, wonderful!” said Hasslevain, batting the match. “You really are so helpful, my dear sir.”

Mercyhale snatched the match off the ground and struck it once more on the matchbox. Fire sprung from the tip, and Mercyhale silently rejoiced while Hasslevain noisily did so.

Mercyhale bent and lit the kindling. Slowly, the fire took hold, and soon, at last, a fire was burning. Hasslevain flopped onto his side, and for a moment Mercyhale though he had passed out, or died, but no—he was breathing still, merely lounging on the ground like a boor.

But Mercyhale was feeling rather tired himself, and he sat down beside the fire, across from Hasslevain. For a moment, they both sat there in silence. Mercyhale had not known such peace as this since he had met Hasslevain earlier than morning, which by now felt a century away. This was not so bad, really.

Then Hasslevain said, “My dear sir Merryhale, I’m feeling rather hungry.”

“How unfortunate,” said Mercyhale.

“It truly is, and you would be such an honorable knight if you could bring me some bread.”

“Mm,” said Mercyhale. The fire really was warm. It was very nice. He might fall asleep now. It was getting late, after all.

“It would merely be returning the favor,” said Hasslevain.

Neither of them moved.

Mercyhale thought back on the day and realized that Hasslevain, despite having been right on top of the bread the entire time, had not gone to eat, had not even opened the bag except to bring Mercyhale some soggy bread.

He supposed it would be returning the favor. Mercyhale got up reluctantly and went over to the little structure he had built. He brought out two pieces of bread and brought them back to the fire. Hasslevain had shut his eyes. Perhaps he had fallen asleep. He didn’t move as Mercyhale bent and warmed the bread over the fire. When he felt it was sufficiently warm, he tossed one piece over to Hasslevain. It bounced off the Dog’s head.

Mercyhale sat and nibbled on his own piece of bread.

Hasslevain got up slowly and picked up the bread with his mouth. He glanced at Mercyhale with an expression Mercyhale could not decipher. Not that it was particularly easy to decipher dog expressions in general, anyway.

“Eat, you ungrateful thing,” said Mercyhale.

Hasslevain just stared at Mercyhale some more. He didn’t speak; the bread would fall from his mouth if he did. Then he ran over to the structure and disappeared inside.

Mercyhale didn’t mind the solitude; it was long-overdue. He sat there for a long time and finished his bread.

—

When Mercyhale entered the infallible structure built from his own fingers, he was met with a horrific sight: Hasslevain (who would be quite horrific on his own), gnawing away at his piece of bread as if he did not know how to use his mouth. The bread kept falling out, half-chewed and soggy and spotted with dirt. He was so caught up in trying to finish his food that he didn’t even notice Mercyhale still bent at the mouth of the structure, gaping at him.

When Hasslevain finally managed to finish the bread after a long period of suffering and struggling, he looked up and froze upon seeing Mercyhale.

“Your ineptitude in every facet of life is most fascinating,” Mercyhale said, after they had stared each other for a long while.

“I live to fascinate you, my dear sir,” said Hasslevain.

Mercyhale gave him a disgusted look. “I am going to bed,” he declared.

“Where's the bed?” Hasslevain looked around dramatically.

“I am going to sleep.”

“Then I shall sleep with you.”

“You will do no such thing!” said Mercyhale, aghast. “There is hardly enough space for both of us in here.”

“That is a fault with your architectural prowess, I’m afraid,” Hasslevain said. “You come in and lie down so we can see how much space there truly is.” He scurried into a corner as Mercyhale reluctantly entered, going over to the bag still hanging high up and fetching the blanket. He laid it onto the ground, then laid himself on one end, stretching out his legs. He grabbed the other end of the blanket and folded it over him so he was all wrapped up in its warmth. Hasslevain bounded over to him. “Let me in, my dear sir.”

Mercyhale stayed put. It was very warm in the blanket. He would be falling asleep very well tonight. He had not been afforded such a warm blanket when he’d been traveling without the hassle of Hasslevain. Perhaps this would make the journey worth it. He closed his eyes.

Hasslevain pawed him weakly. “I want a blanket too. You’re already wearing clothes.”

“You have fur, you foolish dog.”

“You have skin, you selfish knight.”

Mercyhale cracked his eyes open and glared at Hasslevain. “My skin is very delicate. It connot bear even the moonlight. Go by and sleep near the ashes if you so wish! It is hardly even cold.”

“Then let me have the blanket,” Hasslevain said, frowning in the strange way that dogs did. Mercyhale closed his eyes again. Hasslevain did not speak again, and Mercyhale was about ready to drift off when something began tugging at the blanket. His eyes shot open to find Hasslevain pulling it with his teeth, trying to loosen it and find a way inside the cocoon Mercyhale had made for himself.

“On whose sake have you decided to do such a horrid thing!” Mercyhale exclaimed, snapping upright. “Leave me alone!”

“For my poor, shivering bones’ sake, my dear sir!” said Hasslevain. The blanket fell out of his mouth as he spoke, and Mercyhale snatched it back, trying to scoot away from the Dog.

Hasslevain did not go after Mercyhale, giving him a wounded look. Mercyhale glared at him coldly. Hasslevain did appear to be trembling, though Mercyhale was too, out of rage. Mercyhale flopped back onto the ground and shut his eyes.

There was no sound from Hasslevain for a long while. Mercyhale wondered if he really had gone out to sleep by the fire. He started to open his eyes again, then heard a quiet shuffling, followed by soft tappings on the ground.

“You selfish knight,” Hasslevain whispered, sounding very near by, though it did not sound as if he wanted or intended Mercyhale to hear. Mercyhale waited for him to pull at the blanket again.

But he did not. Instead, Mercyhale felt a strange tickling at the side of his neck and head. He cracked one eye open to find that Hasslevain had curled up by Mercyhale’s head, limbs and tail tucked beneath him. His eyes were closed.

Mercyhale was astonished that Hasslevain had actually gone to sleep without further annoyances. He felt a tiny twinge of guilt. But then, Hasslevain had made his choice. Had he been any more of a disturbance perhaps Mercyhale would have conceded out of pure fury, but as it was, he had won, and there was no use giving up his victory now.

Mercyhale closed his eyes. Hasslevain’s fur was going to be tickling him all night. But at least it was a little warm.