Timewalker

by Luke Norris

  Good, thought Oliver, they're listening, but I've got to keep momentum. He signaled Ponsy up to the front of the room to stand with him. The two drivers side by side were impressive.

  Both powerful, tall men, almost a head taller than most of the stocky highlanders.

  “Friends there is another story I want you to hear. Ponsy and I are from a nation that was affected by the lowlanders.” The assembly was taken back. Oliver had never talked about his past, and this was a revelation. “We can never return to our home because it has been devastated. It's gone. We don't have anything to return to. No wives and children. You are our family. One thing we do know is that we are soldiers. We can teach you to be soldiers.”

  “We can't listen to this!” Ab-Tahamil stood and thumped his fist on the tabletop. The window behind him framed his silhouette, the enormous ceremonial fur he wore cast its shadow across the table outlining a bear’s head where a human head should have been. “Oliver, I respect you. It is as you say that you have done much for us. But I see where you will take this meeting. Do not undo your good work by speaking words to provoke war against the lowlanders.”

  “We can't meet the lowlanders in open battle, it’s too dangerous,” agreed Ab-Jibil. “They are armed, they have swords, good bows, and armor, and they are growing. We're farmers.”

  “Aye! You are right to avoid conflict,” Oliver consented. “That attests your wisdom. But we know this new enemy, and they are not what you think. They will stop at nothing until you have nothing, and everything you have is destroyed,” Oliver sighed. “I foolishly thought that perhaps I had left the tyranny of the lowlanders behind, and could start a new life here. But I promise you that the story you heard from Kadir today is only the beginning, and if we don't unite and act, it will be at your doorstep, and it will be too late. The fact is my friends. It's already at your doorstep.”

  “I won't be led by any chieftain in this room!” said Ab-Bain in a matter of fact tone. The room started to come alive as chieftains began throwing accusations at each other.

  “What about weapons? Training?” asked Ab-Hajir. He had to raise his voice over the growing din. “Who will teach us? You?”

  Oliver held up his hand for silence. “That can all be learned. Yes, Ponsy and I will teach you.”

  “Ha! You mean to say that you are both soldiers. Not just soldiers, but you can train us to overcome the might of the lowlanders.”

  “Aye! That is what I'm telling you. But I will give you an option Ab-Hajir. Choose eight men right now to come up and take Ponsy and me to the ground. If you succeed, I'll stop talking right now.”

  “That's four against one!” Ab-Bain said, “the only thing you'll prove is that you bruise like the rest of us.”

  “So indulge me. Select eight men among yourselves and follow us outside to the square.” With that Oliver and Ponsy walked outside leaving a room full of uncertain chieftains. After several minutes they came out into the late afternoon sun. In the interests of equality between the chieftains, each had selected his champion. They formed something resembling a large ring as they surrounded the two drivers.

  Oliver recognized all of the men who had been selected for the exercise. They were all trusted men to their chiefs and some warriors. Oliver acknowledged them warmly.

  “Ok, your men can try anything you want to take us to the ground. If you manage that, I will stop this talk of fighting back, and you can let the lowlanders keep taking until you have nothing left. But, if your men cannot bring us down, then you will admit that Ponsy and I have things that we can teach you.”

  The chieftains had looks of amusement on their faces. “Well, at least today’s meeting will bring us some entertainment,” Ab-Hajir said.

  The men who stood forward to champion their village had for the most part been farmers all their lives, and although they didn't match the drivers in height, were stocky with the muscles of hard manual labor.

  As Darab stepped to Oliver, he went to place his hands on the driver’s shoulders. The movement lacked conviction and was almost apologetic. The highlander smiled as he did it. Oliver tapped the man’s hands away moving his weight to one side with no effort, the movement carried the subtleties of a grandmaster, but the crowd did not notice these. The other champions just stood watched to gauge Darab’s success.

  “Come on try and take me down!” Oliver ordered. He pulled his cotton tunic off, and Ponsy removed his leather vest. There were audible gasps from the observers. Many had not seen the drivers bare-chested, and the visible battle scars that covered their upper bodies, especially Ponsy's, were alarming. Suddenly another piece of the two men's mysterious history seemed to fall into place for the chieftains.

  “Come on! Really try!” Oliver demanded.

  Darab made a more desperate grab at Oliver which he deflected in a similar way to the first. Darab sprung. Oliver used the man’s momentum to draw the leading hand toward himself and then twisted around to roll the highlander smoothly over his shoulder. He would have crashed into the ground and probably broken his back, had Oliver not held him up to stop the impact.

  “You’re not trying!” Oliver said. His remark was met by a charge from Darab. Oliver deflected it as though he was swatting a fly. Soon Darab was springing around like a frog trying to get a hold of Oliver, only to be thrown aside or deflected. This brought jeers and laughter from the onlookers.

  “Come on!” Oliver taunted. “A simple task of putting us on the ground…” He had Darab’s arm in a lock, with apparently no effort, after again throwing him in a judo-style maneuver. “And all eight of you are incapable.”

  Two more highlanders came forward, at the beckoning of their chieftains. Oliver threw one on the ground and caught the second in a complex hand-lock, then proceeded to use him as a human shield against the others. The highlander let out small grunts of pain and was forced to jog wherever Oliver led his hand, like a puppet. More laughter erupted from the chieftains.

  “Try punching us!” Ponsy suggested, “you can do anything.” He was having the same success as Oliver. Bodies of the highlanders were being flung to the ground around the two drivers. Soon the intensity of the attacks increased as the friendliness of the highlanders turned to embarrassment and determination.

  Blows started coming in, and Oliver felt a peculiar sensation as he focused on avoiding them. Although the intensity of the attacks had increased, the arms of his opponents didn't seem to move any quicker, if anything they appeared slightly slower. And the noise around him of laughter from chieftains, or the men’s grunting in front of him as they hit the ground, was becoming deeper and more drawn out like a record being slowed down. Why are they moving slower? Yes, the movements of the highlanders was definitely slower there could be no doubt now. Is it them, or is there something wrong with me?

  The next blow that came from one of the highlanders appeared to be coming at the speed of somebody practicing tai chi. Like one of the pensioners doing exercise in the park in Christchurch. As astonished as Oliver was by this new sensation his driver instinct latched onto this new advantage, and he quickly dispatched the last attempts of the highlanders. He shook his head as if to clear the strange sensation. Sure enough, as he focused on the talking and noises around him, things began to resume to normality. Sounds speed up and rose to their natural pitch.

  There was a pile of bodies around Ponsy and Oliver, groaning and complaining for somebody to get off them, or that ‘it hadn't been fair because their attacks had been interfered with’. Oliver and Ponsy helped them to their feet, slapping them warmly on the shoulder to indicate no hard feelings.

  “There is a way you could have beaten Ponsy and me!” Oliver addressed the champions who were dusting themselves off, but he spoke so all the chieftains could hear him. “Yes we have training, and we are good soldiers, but there was a way you could have taken us down!” They waited expectantly, “but I knew you wouldn't do it, so our victory was assured.”

  “My attacks were being foiled by thi
s lot,” complained one of the dusty men. “I nearly had you, Ponsy, one time.”

  Ponsy's deep laugh cut across the objections and excuses of the others. “No, you never nearly had me, but this confirms the point Cougar will make.”

  “Yes, it does confirm my point!” Oliver said. “You all attacked me like individuals. All I had to do was deflect small individual attacks, which lacked any cohesiveness. It may have looked like we were fighting eight men, but really we were fighting individuals each with the strength of only one man. The way you could have overcome us is if you had made a coordinated attack together. Then Ponsy and I would truly find ourselves fighting eight men.” He turned to the chieftains. “Each of you are strong, and your clans are strong, but the lowlanders perceive each clan as an individual. That makes you weak, easy to keep you under their foot and oppressed. Tactics and unity will allow you to beat them and stop their dreadful raids. We can teach you these things.”

  Ab-Tahamil from the bear clan in the east stepped forward. “What I saw you two men do today against all our men is something I will not forget. And I have my suspicions that even if these men had made a coordinated attack, they would have had a hard time to overcome you.” He held up his hand to stall Oliver's objection. “But, I see the wisdom in your words. We need to be united to have any chance against this new threat in the south. Though I would unite, I would not bow to another clan leader. But, I would accept you both as outside leaders. You truly are remarkable men. I'm not sure if what I saw today answered questions I had about your past or raised a hundred more.” He shook his head.

  Ab-Bain stepped forward. “Aye! Well spoken Ab-Tahamil. I would accept you also Oliver to help us and teach us how to fight and be soldiers...to lead us. But how do we know that you will not teach some clans more than others? How can we be sure you do not favor one over the other? We know Ponsy's wife is Hajir. Will Hajir get more attention?”

  Ponsy stood forward “Aye, Ayla is of the Hajir, but her clan is safer when we are united. She is in more danger if the clan tries to stand alone. The knowledge and training we give will be equal.”

  “Have I not treated you equally until now?” Oliver asked. “I have, and will continue to do so. But you will select acolytes who will travel with me, to ensure this, and take the knowledge to all the tribes, from the biggest to the smallest.”

  Ab-Siyara took a step into the circle of men. “When I first received refugees from my southern border tribes it was Ab-Jibil that brought them to me. He treated them like his own sons and daughters, although they were sons and daughters of Siyara. Maybe we are entering a new age where we can unite together. After the actions of Ab-Jibil to my clan, I will also take a first step, and accept you Oliver as a leader.”

  One by one the chieftains all agreed.

  30. Skirmish

  “Sir, it's the same raiding party!” The highlander spoke in hushed tones. In the dark, his silhouette outlined the Highland tundra that he had attached to his clothing.

  Camouflage had been an important part of Oliver and Ponsy's training, invaluable for the militia-style attacks they had been launching in response to the raids.

  “They have camped up against the river like you said they would,” the spy reported. “They have two sentries watching the river. They don't expect us to cross there.”

  And rightly so, thought Oliver, it would be suicidal, the river is far too dangerous in the middle here. The light reed canoes Oliver's party used were not suited for rough water. But that didn't matter. They had crossed several leagues further upstream.

  “What's the river like near the enemy bank?” Oliver asked.

  “Sluggish and flat along the bank but forty meters or so out it becomes turbulent.”

  “Captain!” Oliver addressed the Tahamil highlander. “You know where the prisoners are in the enemy camp! Be certain your archers don't shoot there! Remember to douse the fires first and then stick to the plan and wait for our signal!”

  “Aye Oliver! Let’s bring our boys home!”

  Oliver smiled in the dark. To him speaking of other clan members as if they were his own, was something simply unheard of six months earlier. Their assault squad consisted of Tahamil, Jarif and Bain clan members and the prisoners they were freeing were allegedly Nasir. The months of joint assaults had helped them come to realize their strength as unified highlanders.

  “With the number of sentries they have around the front of their perimeter, that's where they are expecting an attack to come from.”

  “Good!” replied Oliver, “did you get a more accurate count of their numbers?”

  “Our initial count was correct. One hundred and ninety. All cavalry.”

  “Their horses are useless in the dark. How are they transporting the prisoners?” They can't well tow a cart on this terrain.

  “They make them run behind the horses!”

  Cruel bastards! Not tomorrow they won't! vowed Oliver. “Ok gentlemen, the water is cold let’s get this done quickly!” He had split the assault into two fronts. The land-based unit, fifty-five men, led by the Tahamil captain, all wore the heavy foliage to break the silhouette and help them blend seamlessly into the landscape. Oliver's unit of thirty men would approach from the water.

  “Remember men, go no further than twenty meters from the bank or the current will overwhelm you and wash you away. And the signal is one click to stop, two clicks for the archers to take down the sentries, and four clicks for the fake charge. I want as much noise as possible when I sound the four clicks! Horns, weapons and yelling.”

  His men nodded in the dark as the attached their heavy rock filled sacks on their belts to allow them to walk along the riverbed and entered the water. They made a final check of the rope connection to the man in front, to ensure they wouldn't be separated under the water, then produced the long hollow reed tubes and inserted them in their mouths. One by one they became completely submerged apart from the snorkel protruding from the dark swirling surface.

  The sentry dropped the water flask on the ground and stood up and stretched. He needed to get the blood flowing to stop him dropping off to sleep on his watch. The punishment for falling to sleep during sentry duty could technically mean death, but realistically would be a flogging. He smiled. It didn't matter though, as far as he was concerned being put on watch duty at the river was his second stroke of luck. His first lucky break had been to be assigned to the press gangs. A monotonous job of rounding up yellow eyes for the Naharain army. Sure, it meant riding through this shitty rugged tussock they called the Highlands, but that meant being away from the front line, and thus avoiding a probable death.

  There were reports that some of these jumped up peasants were attacking the press gangs. Of course, no group of barbarians would be any real threat to nearly two hundred cavalry, but there was always the risk one could get in a lucky shot.

  His second stroke of luck was that he was on sentry duty at the back of the camp, against the river. The safest place in the camp. Any attack from here would be impossible. The river was wide, dangerous in the middle and it was night time, making an approach from this side unthinkable. He huffed a chuckle as he walked to the water’s edge, and undid his belt buckle to relieve himself. Sure I'm a coward, he admitted it freely. Better that than a dead hero. I can go back to my family when this farce of a campaign is over.

  The sluggish swirl of the dark water helped him relax, and as his bladder opened. He let out an audible sigh of relief as he watched the unusual line of bobbing reeds dancing fifteen meters away in the current.

  Oliver slipped the top of his head back under the surface, like a crocodile identifying its prey, leaving hardly a ripple. The men were in position. His body was starting to feel numb from the cold. They had been walking along the riverbed completely submerged for what felt like hours, but in reality was only about twenty-five minutes. He banged the two rocks together under the surface of the river. The sound traveled easily along the column of thirty men. Click click.

&
nbsp; The sentry finished relieving himself and was turning back when something stopped him. The dark water ten feet away began to take on an unusual convex shape. The swell seemed to rise in slow motion from the surface, synthesizing into a humanoid shape, a river demon, with algae and weed clinging to its humanlike form, water droplets flung in a wide arc from the figure, reflecting the red and yellow glow from the campfire on the shore. The image before him that had appeared from the river’s surface was so unexpected and terrifying that he stood mesmerized, struck dumb with shock. He stood there motionless trying to assimilate the scene that had just played out. No sound escaped his lips when the arrow passed through his throat, severing his spinal cord at the neck.

  Oliver ran hunched over, followed quietly by his men, up the bank to where the two dead sentries lay. They both had arrows in their throats. He doused the fire with water bucket the sentries had and then threw sand on the embers. There was only a thin crescent from the small moon in the sky, and once the fire was extinguished the darkness swallowed them. He took out the small whistle, the skeletal throat passage of the Highland owl. He blew through it mimicking the birds call flawlessly, and then again.

  “That's Oliver's signal,” whispered the Tahamil, captain to the runners. “Gods protect you. Ok, go!” He pushed them one by one toward the camp. They nodded, their faces painted black with the red tussock grass attached to their helmets and shoulders. They leaped over the dead sentries at their feet, both with their throat’s cut. They sprinted as fast as they were able, holding the water sacks.

  We are just ten men! Gods help them find their way through. I hope Oliver's plan works, he thought.

  The runners heaved the water sacks onto the watch fires then onto the small cooking fires. Shouts of alarm went up from the lowlanders that were still awake as their camp fell into darkness. The Tahamil captain put the battle horn to his lips, and let a low note reverberate across the lowlanders camp, which was quickly descending into chaos. As an answer to the horn call, highlander war cries erupted from all around the camp and from the runners in their midst.