Timewalker

by Luke Norris

  “I fought on your planet!” Ponsy was struggling to remember. “My planet was different again. We lived in great canyons. The seasons were long, each one lasting an entire one of your years. In winter the plateaus became an icy wasteland, and in summer an arid desert. But, in the stable climate of the canyons, the planet bloomed with life.” He smiled at the memory. “Upon the plateaus the giant Shaya trees, which had their roots deep in the earth, would survive the trials of the harsh seasons as baron trunks, only to bloom with the most wonderful flowers in between.”

  Ponsy had tears in his eyes. “My planet is destroyed though, that much I remember. The scientists on my planet sent exploration probes into space, and I remember the excitement when we received an answer.” He shook his head. “Then the strange wars began, and…” Oliver could see the pain in Ponsy's face as he recalled the horrific things he had been made to do as a driver.

  “That wasn't you!” Oliver put his hand on the big man’s shoulder. Ponsy's small features were contorted in grief. “Those things we were forced to do, that wasn't really us.” He looked at Ponsy. “There’s more!” Oliver said. “Lego, Toro, and I had devised a plan to overthrow the captors on the ship, but we were interrupted as they came into orbit around this planet. “I woke up like you on the riverbank, but quickly realized this was no ordinary mission for a driver. What's more, our captors are among us! That's why Lego and Toro made sure I was on that craft. My friends on the mothership sabotaged the landing craft, so the second-stagers are trapped, planetside, just like us.”

  Ponsy was aghast. “You mean the pirates responsible for destroying my world and making me a slave were in our party from the landing site?”

  “The four that left and went south, they were the remaining ones.”

  “Remaining ones?”

  “I didn't know their identities, and it took some time to uncover them. I put a stake through the heart of Cass, he was a mercenary with them. Jerome killed their Sergeant Costa. It was only by some divine chance that I overheard them on my sickbed and the final members of the second-stagers were revealed to me. That's how I know their ranks. I think Drake, the quiet one, is a driver like us, but he’s dangerous, not right in the head. It’s all too late now though, they have slipped through my grasp.”

  A bond developed between the two drivers that was unique. The two men who had been through horrors of war that only they could understand, and they were probably the only two first-stagers in the universe that knew the truth.

  They picked up the long harvesting blades and waded through the muddy ankle-deep water of the terrace towards their allotted corner. The morning breeze had a fresh bite to it higher up on the domed terrace hills. Knee-high reed crop had been planted in rows, and Oliver let the panicles brush his fingers as he walked, considering his new lease on life.

  After the pirates had left for the Lowlands, it had been a week before Oliver had the strength to leave his bed for any long period of time. Eventually, he did get better. At first, even a short walk through the village was exhausting, but day by day his excursions became longer. The fresh air and sun worked wonders with his recovery just as Zawej, Tahat's wife, had predicted. Even though his appetite had returned and he had filled out considerably over the last month, he still looked ropy and thin walking beside the muscular figure of Ponsy.

  Oliver noticed that as his recovery quickened that there was an expectancy of him to earn his keep and help with work as his health allowed. Tahat's family had made him a semi-permanent member of the family. He had been given lodging in their house, in the same room where he had spent a month in bed lapsing between delirium and coma. He had been happy to be able to repay the family. He did small jobs around the village, and then after the third, week he was able to accompany Ponsy to help with the harvest.

  “I'm going with Tahat to Ab-Hajir's village tomorrow,” Oliver told Ponsy, “he is taking the broken field plow to the smithery there, and there are a few changes I want to suggest. Are you coming?”

  “No, I’ll help get the rest of this crop in.” Ponsy was stripped to the waist, wearing only the tanned leather pants that stopped just below his knees leaving his feet bare. “Besides, I think I'd be missed here.” His laugh was deep and infectious.

  “I envy you, you know, Ponsy!”

  “I’m sure you'll find a little bird here too Cougar,” he winked. He'd preferred calling Oliver his driver name ever since he heard the story of Lego learning to talk.

  “Ha, no it's not for that reason,” Oliver said, “and I sure as hell don't envy your looks. It's that you're free...in your mind! How can you know the truth and be content?”

  “We have a saying where I come from,” Ponsy replied, “vengeance is deadliest to the heart that holds it.” We've been given a gift here Cougar. We were delivered from our destroyed worlds and brought here. We can live again my friend. I have decided not to let vengeance eat into the time I have left.”

  Oliver smiled, but the sentiment didn't sit the same in his heart. “The fact that we survived, doesn't that give us some of the burden of responsibility? Not just for us but all those drivers still in space on the…”

  “Yes, but the pirates are gone!” Ponsy snapped. “They left over a month ago, to who knows where. I doubt we'll ever see them again.” His tone told Oliver the subject was closed, but he had uncovered buried emotion in the man, and he felt reconciled to know it was the same emotion that he felt.

  The journey to the Hajir village took them southeast. Narrow well-worn trails adorned the bare grassy foothills like spiderwebs, and there was a track along every ridge. The main road they followed now sat below the ridge line and was protected from the prevailing wind.

  “It's less than half a day’s walk with the mules,” Tahat grunted. He stopped to adjust the pack on one of the ponies.

  He had loaded three beasts of burden with grain for Ab-Hajir to take to the low-landers and a fourth horse was towing a small cart with the broken plow. It was a large workhorse, so the animal had no trouble hauling the awkward weight of the apparatus.

  The sun had still not reached its zenith as Oliver and Tahat rolled into the village. It became clear as they neared the outskirts that this settlement was much larger than Tahat's small mountain village. They had been passing farms with plowed fields and grazing livestock for half the morning. Oliver only noticed a few of the stone bunker style homes like Tahat's village, most were wooden buildings. They were unpainted and varied in color from rich yellows and browns of freshly hewn trees to the gray weather-stained timbers of older dwellings. The buildings had bowed ridges on the roofs which reminded Oliver of an upside-down boat hull.

  “Tahat you old rogue! May you be blessed under the shadow of the mountain!”

  Tahat grinned at the three men approaching. “That's Ab-Hajir, with the eye patch.” He told Oliver.

  A stocky, broad-shouldered man with black hair pulled back over his head and tied in a ponytail, came strutting up to them. He had a brown leather patch over one eye. To his left, a stocky boy, of about thirteen, stood up, and on his right a tall, wiry figure with a long greying beard.

  “You look even uglier than I remember!” Ab-Hajir exclaimed, he placed his hands on Tahat's shoulders and held his gaze with his one working eye.

  “Looks like your only good eye is failing too!” Tahat grinned. “Good to see you old friend! Daja!” He turned to the stocky boy. “You are your father’s son, but I don't know where you inherited your good looks from. The girls must be swooning now.” The boy grinned at Tahat.

  Ab-Hajir turned squarely to inspect Oliver, “and you must be the visitor from over the mountain!” Ab-Hajir raised a disbelieving eyebrow at Tahat.

  “Be blessed under the shadow Ab-Hajir!” Oliver had learned some of the greetings, and this seemed to impress the clan leader.

  “Take the grain to the storerooms and tell your mother to prepare the guest room for these two!” Daja and the older man obeyed, leading the Ponies away.

 
; “Tell me, old friend, what of the alliance with Jibil clan?” Tahat asked.

  “Ab Jibil has had my daughter four months now, and she still hasn't conceived. But I have a feeling that even if she doesn't become pregnant in the first year, the alliance will hold. Kara is only sixteen and still as thin as a stick, she has to grow those hips before she can have a baby. But there is another reason. I think Ab-Jibil is fond of her, so he may keep the marriage even if she is unable to conceive before the next summer.”

  Ab-Hajir stroked his plaited beard and chuckled, “good luck to him I say, she is a fiery girl.”

  “That would be well if the alliance holds, none of the other clans would attack us while we are united. Peace in the region would be welcome,” Tahat said.

  “Aye, that it would! I have no desire to lose a second son.”

  The conversation continued as they led the large draft-horse towing the plow to the smithy.

  25. Blacksmith

  The smithery was a large open front building. It faced the black mountains to avoid the full frontal of the prevailing south-west wind. A short, broad-shouldered man came out to meet Oliver. He was grinning, and his top lip was shaven clean leaving only the long grey-speckled beard, plaited in typical Hajir fashion.

  “Maadin,” the man introduced himself as he removed his leather gloves. “You don't look like a lowlander! Have you got the iron?”

  “I'm not a lowlander,” Oliver replied, “I have come with Tahat. I live with his people but came from over the mountains.”

  Maadin burst into laughter and called one of the young smiths over to hear Oliver. But when Oliver patiently waited, they became confused at his joke.

  “Well, if you don't want to tell us who you are that's your business. As long as you're with Tahat, then you are welcome here,” he strutted to the wobbly cart behind the draft horse. “Plow broke?”

  “There are a few changes I want to make,” Oliver said. He had seen the farmer plowing in Tahat's village, and he was plowing the correct way, across the hill, using two big draught horses. Every time he got to the end plowing he had to go in a big circle because the plow was only facing one way.

  “We had something similar on my farm,” Oliver said. This was true, although he used the tractor to do the plowing on the farm in Southland, his grandfather had had an old kick plow in the shed.

  He spent the afternoon with Maadin in the smithery explaining the alterations to the man who was very skeptical. The old blacksmith was in a perpetually good mood.

  “So, my friend, did you fly over the mountain with metal wings?” He burst out laughing at his own joke. Apart from the goading, Oliver found Maadin open minded and enjoyed spending time with him. Around the work area and hanging from the rafters were Maadin’s half-finished experiments and projects which half the time the blacksmith himself didn't know what purpose they would serve.

  Oliver was learning how the smithery worked. He discovered that the wrought iron was acquired from the Lowlands and they had to trade for it. They only had two small forges in the workshop, and Maadin didn't know himself where the actual iron came from.

  “Ah, that is alchemy,” Oliver said, using the English word.

  “What is this Alchemy?”

  “It is the magic of getting metal from rock.”

  Maadin regarded Oliver, his brow furrowed in a disbelieving frown. Then shook his head with his big grin and went back to the forge. “Ha! Man from over the mountain, you have strange stories.”

  “Maadin, where do you think the lowlanders get their iron from?”

  “They keep this thing a secret from us, but I think it must come from the sea because we don't have the sea here.”

  “It comes from the earth! And, the hills around here are rich with iron ore! It’s right underneath you, that's the red-orange color of the rocks, you just need temperature to extract it. If you had a furnace here, you could make your own.” This basic metallurgy was taught in high school, but as Oliver looked around the workshop, he realized that basic technologies he took for granted every day on Earth still hadn't been invented here.

  They still crushed grain using animals because they didn't have cogs or windmills. They hadn't invented thread for bolts or lids. It dawned on Oliver that a myriad of possibilities were yet to be introduced to make the life of these clan folk easier.

  The next two days Oliver spent almost entirely in the smithery with Maadin. He developed an affection for the old blacksmith and his jovial manner. The alterations to the old plow took longer because it was a new design and he had to explain every component to the blacksmith.

  It had more than sparked the curiosity of the two younger smiths, and they often came over to watch as each new component was attached. By the time it was finished and trundled to the nearest field for testing, it attracted a small crowd of onlookers. They all walked beside the two draft horses as they made their way across the paddock towing the plow. When it got to the end, instead of walking in a large circle to turn around, Oliver simply kicked the plow over, then turned the horses around and started in the opposite direction. For several seconds there was silence, then sudden applause and laughter. It was clear that they thought it was a fantastic invention. More villagers filtered around to see this new way of plowing. By the end of the day, the small paddock had been plowed many times over, and Oliver was the favorite of the day.

  Oliver noticed Maadin watching the plow deep in thought. “You don't like it?” he asked the blacksmith.

  Maadin turned to Oliver scrutinizing, “I thought you told funny stories my friend from over the mountain, but it seems you were telling truths. Is it really true that we have iron all around us in the earth?”

  Oliver saw respect in the penetrating yellow eyes of the old blacksmith. “Yes, it is true my friend! The soil and rock here are made from different things. One of those things is the iron that you trade to get from the lowlanders, but to separate the iron, you have to burn away everything else. You need a special fire that is very very hot for this. I have not taken iron from the rock myself, but I know it can be done. We will need to build a furnace from clay, and coal, we need lots of coal.”

  Oliver decided to stay a while with Ab-Hajir and help Maadin in the smithery. He farewelled Tahat, gave his well wishes to Zawej and promised to come back soon. When the villagers heard Oliver had agreed to stay and help Maadin in the smithery, the old blacksmith suddenly had several new applicants for apprenticeships. It seemed the popularity of the trade had jumped overnight.

  “We could use the extra hands to build the furnaces you know,” Oliver said.

  “I don't know, what will we do when there is no work for them?” Maadin stroked his beard.

  “There will be work! I have a plan, but we will need all the workers we can get.”

  “You know I like new ideas, but there is simply not the demand. We repair and make farming tools.”

  “I have been watching the way you draw water from the ground, that method does work, but it is slow and difficult.”

  “There is no other way to do this?” exclaimed Maadin, but his eyes stayed on Oliver expectantly.

  “My people over the mountains have another way. We use the power of the wind. Let me build a small model to show you how it works.”

  That night Oliver sat with Maadin showing him diagrams and wooden components of the cam system on the back of a wind turbine pump.

  “It's so simple but wonderful,” remarked Maadin, “why have we not thought of this before. There is always wind here. We even build our houses to cut the wind.”

  “I know this thing,” Oliver laughed. He realized the upside-down hull shaped roofs were angled to slice through the prevailing wind. “We can build many of these for different purposes. You can even crush grain like this instead of using animals, but you need a big one for that.”

  “You have these over the mountain?”

  “Bigger than you can imagine,” Oliver pictured the wind farms in Southland where the enormous e
lectric turbines could be seen for miles, “but we started from something like this.” Oliver stared at the rudimentary components, lost in thoughts of planet Earth.

  “Every village will want one,” Maadin paused, “if this works like you say it will.”

  “Aye, it will!” Oliver snapped out of his daze. “We will need help though to build those furnaces. Make sure you take on those new boys at the smithy, we'll get them building tomorrow. Come, my friend, we've burned enough candles tonight.”

  Eager faces watched the small hole at the bottom of the tall clay cylinder furnace. It glowed yellow and red. The intense heat radiating from the small aperture threatened to remove any facial hair, a fact Maadin seemed to be well aware of. He watched over Oliver's shoulder stroking his beard in fascination as a molten yellow liquid started bubbling out the bottom.

  “That’s only slag,” Oliver said. Sweat poured off his face as he inspected the runoff. He had explained to them on the first failed attempt that different metals will melt at different temperatures and all the waste products would melt first. “Keep pumping those bellows!” He ordered.

  The two young boys on either side had sweat dripping from their faces as they worked the bellows up and down, driving air into the furnace.

  I hope it works this time. The first attempt had resulted in what Oliver thought was an iron bloom about the size of a large rock, but upon hitting it with the hammer, it disintegrated. He had put the failure down to the temperature being too low, and had installed another set of bellows to keep air pumping into the furnace heart to get it hot enough. The truth was Oliver wasn't sure, he had never done this, only discussed it in theory. He knew his credibility was riding on this working now, and he didn't want to give up his newfound privilege in the blacksmith shop.