Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles)

by Dale B. Mattheis

“I was brought here by an earthquake, Gurthwin, not God. I do so wish that were not the case.”

  Rather than reply, Gurthwin suggested that Jeff put more wood on the fire. It had burned down quite far and required some nursing. Gurthwin waited patiently until Jeff had regained his composure.

  “Please tell me more of yourself.”

  “There is an event that has long cried out for understanding.” Jeff related the forest incident in which he met Gaereth.

  The tale startled Gurthwin at first. At the end he was slowly nodding. This common thread, he thought, must be understood. The Alarai are present on two worlds. I perceive this young man to be a binding force that promises to reveal the doom of both. Yet to what end? Good or evil?

  “I will think on this matter, Jeffrey, for I am troubled by the portent of your coming. While it is certain that Gaereth is of the Alarai, my heart tells me that much is yet to be revealed.”

  Some days later a sentinel raced into camp shouting that the scouting party had been sighted and was carrying wounded. Jeff ran from the stable and was invited to join Halric and Gurthwin when he puffed up to the meeting hall. He did a rapid head count as the troop streamed by and concluded that the sentinel had exaggerated.

  While each of the packhorses carried a warrior, neither of them appeared seriously wounded and they were calling out greetings as loudly as the rest. A few others had wounds, but they appeared to be of little consequence.

  “Let us converse,” Halric said to the expedition leader, and indicated to Jeff that he was welcome to join them.

  In the meeting hall, Halric set a foaming tankard in front of Gethric. “Will you tell us what transpired?”

  “We moved to the north with great care,” Gethric reported, draining half the tankard, “but saw no one for many days. Fearing surprise, a number of warriors were sent out to the east and west ahead of our advance. Those to the west were suddenly attacked. Outnumbered, they were obliged to fall back until reunited with the larger part of our force. Recalling our duty and mission, I urged our warriors to retreat south until pursuit was abandoned.”

  “They did obey?”

  Holding his right fist up, Gethric emptied his tankard with the other hand. Halric chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. Jeff chuckled as well, thinking that it must have been some kind of urging. What a bloodthirsty lot!

  Gethric continued his report from across the hall while getting a refill. “They left ample spoor, and by dint of careful effort we discovered their village. The news is not good, for all that was seen gave evidence of movement to the south. Understanding the import of this, we set out for Valholm apace.”

  Halric dismissed Gethric to a well-deserved meal and bed. The work of dissecting his report lay ahead for those remaining. By the wee hours they had agreed on a plan. The tribes involved were small, and they decided to establish an outpost a safe distance to the north that was larger than either. The outpost’s leader would be instructed to offer the olive branch of assistance with one hand, and the threat of destruction or starvation with the other.

  Four days later the outpost group departed, families included. When Jeff questioned Gurthwin about that fact, he shrugged.

  “Where a warrior goes to live, so does his family. If the warrior should fall, his family will die with him.”

  Over ensuing days Jeff became aware of an inner restlessness, a sense of unease that came to occupy every waking hour. Late one sunny afternoon he retreated to the stable corral and spent some time with Cynic. Trying to communicate might be a good way to divert his mind. Cynic just stared at him, which was irritating, and within minutes the familiar tension was back again.

  “It isn’t just that I’m uneasy. This thing really has its hooks into me. What could it be? Shit! I feel like I have to do something or I’m going to explode!”

  Jeff forgot the horse and paced back and forth in the corral until he had beaten a hard path. Try as he might, he could make no headway toward understanding. Clasping hands behind his back, Jeff picked up the pace but the tension did not abate. Completely fed up, he kicked a clump of dirt and sent it sailing.

  “I’ve never felt like this in my entire life! What is it about these people? They’re primitive, even brutal, but are so generous and open at the same time. You know exactly where they’re coming from minute to minute, and never have to worry about looking for a hidden meaning. God that’s great, and so are they.” Jeff shook his head violently. “Dammit, this is my home. I love these people! I can’t let anything happen to them.”

  Stunned by what he had said, Jeff stood stock-still and let the fact sink in that not only did he love them, but they also loved him. He had become a part of them, and they of him.

  “I haven’t felt this good since leaving the farm!”

  Taking a seat on an old stump, the evening meal forgotten, he wondered at the feeling of wholeness he was experiencing. Jeff reveled in it for a period before turning his thoughts back to the sense of urgency. Without even trying, the answer jumped out at him.

  “So that’s what it’s all about! It has to be the South. Something is heading our way, and it isn’t good. I’ve got to find out what’s going on. I can almost feel the threat.”

  Jeff jumped to his feet only to find himself nose to snout with Cynic, who was favoring him with an intent cyan eye. Set against a gray and silver hide, the effect was strikingly beautiful.

  “Well, what?”

  His stomach was growling for attention and Jeff turned to leave. Clear as a bell, a thought bloomed in his mind.

  “Are you always so tardy in discovering your mind?”

  Thunderstruck, Jeff spun around. “I have attempted to speak with you for weeks! Have you no manners, or are you simply slow?”

  Chagrined not at all, Cynic responded with a touch of caustic humor. “I had nothing to say.”

  Speechless at such a classic rejoinder, Jeff broke out in gales of laughter.

  “I must accompany you, you know. On such a journey there must be someone who has common sense. Besides, plowing with stupid creatures that cannot even pass the time of day grows more difficult by the hour. Soon I must turn and savage the beasts from spite alone.”

  Cynic’s acid comment was about to set Jeff off again when he recalled the time. “You and I have much to discuss, bucko, but I must put the nosebag on or die of hunger.”

  Having made up his mind to head south, Jeff broke the news to Halric and Gurthwin that evening. They raised such strenuous objections that Jeff finally had to interrupt to get a word in edgewise.

  “With tribes to the north on the move, can we afford to believe that no threat may visit Valholm from the south simply because for many years it has not? How long would this people endure, caught between such forces unprepared? May we ignore the stories of Iron-shirt invaders, knowing they were not defeated? Yet there is more. My very spirit calls out in warning. I have never felt such compelling force, and am persuaded that if gods exist they even now move me to discover our peril. I must go. Do you understand this?”

  Gurthwin examined the passionate conviction on Jeff’s face and dismissed the objections he had lined up to present.

  “You will journey south, for what you relate persuades me that it is your destiny to do so. Were you to remain, the future of this land would be dark.” Gurthwin’s expression grew severe. “Never doubt the gods’ presence and interest, Jeffrey. I have shared your memories of Earth, but be assured that this land is not abandoned to the written word and its manifold interpretation by self-serving mortals. Anyone who acts on such presumption faces peril beyond belief.” Gurthwin glanced at Halric. “Let us consider what must be done.”

  Halric examined Gurthwin’s expression and simply nodded agreement.

  While Jeff and Gurthwin debated alternative plans, Halric seemed to be mulling something over and eventually broke in.

  “Of a summer when the sun hangs at its highest point in the sky, we are accustomed to undertaking a trek to the meeting of two
rivers far to the south. There we join in moot with kinsmen to renew friendships and, perchance, arrange betrothals. If threat is discovered to the south, many tribes may be so advised at one meeting.”

  Halric’s idea was quickly adopted. The time until the tribes got together was short, but summer solstice didn’t occur until what sounded like late July on Earth. After the meeting broke up Jeff started compiling a list. There were a lot of things to do before he could leave. Finding a horse was at the top of his list and only one came to mind.

  There wasn’t much sleep that night and he was at the stables when the plowing crew showed up. Those who had taken to farming were uneasy about giving up one of their draft animals. Cynic could be a handful, but he was also smart. The matter was quickly arranged when Gurthwin made his wishes known.

  Cynic had never been ridden and the ether fairly boiled as they worked out whether, in fact, Jeff was going to ride at all. Then there was the question of who was going to be in charge of the expedition. More than once, Jeff felt sure it was not going to be him. Within several days, however, Cynic allowed Jeff to mount and responded to knee pressure with little training. Now it was time to find a saddle.

  Jeff scouted the entire village but came up empty-handed. He considered riding bareback but discarded the idea unless there was no alternative. From what he had learned the moot grounds were far south and the city of Rugen, his ultimate goal, quite a bit farther still. In fact, Gurthwin had no idea how far south Rugen was. It was going to be a long trip and he needed to carry supplies. He talked with the village tanner about the problem.

  The elderly man pulled at his beard for a period then hurried to a nearby storage hut.

  Hardly daring to hope, Jeff followed along and helped him dig through a pile of leather gear that had accumulated over the years. The gaffer abruptly let out a snort of triumph. The scrofulous thing he pulled out deflated Jeff’s hopes in an instant. Taking a closer look, he saw that it resembled a western saddle. Its shape wasn’t the problem. The cinch strap was so cracked as to be useless, one stirrup was missing, and the leather was covered with a fuzzy crop of green mold.

  The tanner took Jeff’s arm and led him from the hut with a confident smile. “Return late on the morrow.”

  Showing up as directed, Jeff stared in disbelief at the now gleaming saddle. “I am overcome,” he blurted, fingering the new, intricately tooled cinch strap. In addition to fabricating a new cinch strap, the tanner had replaced both stirrups. “Such beautiful work.”

  The gaffer was delighted at Jeff’s response and helped him lug it over to the stables. It wasn’t that late, but Jeff decided to wait until the next day before introducing Cynic to the saddle. He felt an ominous foreboding that suggested he had best get a good night’s rest.

  When he stepped into the stable next day, there was no doubt in Jeff’s mind that Cynic had figured out what was going on. Eyes fastened on the saddle, Cynic projected such a strong mixture of apprehension and profound disgust that Jeff knew he was in for it.

  “I have agreed to carry you, must you now torment me?”

  “This does not look good,” Jeff muttered, studying his mount. “The saddle will not harm you, and offers a better seat to insure comfort on a long day’s journey.” He held up a saddle pad. “This device will give protection.”

  Cynic was not deceived for a second. “Comfort for whom? My back already aches, anticipating its wounds. I will not consent to such an indignity!”

  “Now look here, a lot of work has gone into this.” Jeff unlatched the gate to Cynic’s stall. “How about working with me for a change instead of fighting every suggestion? The saddle is not only for my comfort. It will also assist in carrying food for both of us. You’re just going to have to bear up, like it or not.”

  “That we shall see!”

  Thrusting by Jeff, Cynic thundered out of the stable. He put his rump to the corral fence, reared high and shrilled defiance. Villagers came running and shouted to attract the attention of others along the way. Perched on the corral fence or hunkered down, they began a round of spirited wagering.

  Saddle in hand, Jeff advanced on Cynic. Although concentrating on Cynic, he overheard the betting and winced at the going odds. He managed to get the pad in place, but Cynic immediately pivoted and knocked him on his rear end. Picking himself up, Jeff dusted off his jeans and advanced with grim determination dragging the saddle. Cynic reared again and bolted to the opposite side of the corral.

  Villagers crowded the corral fence until it was on the verge of collapse and cheered one or the other, depending on their wagers. Cynic pranced, crow-hopped and bucked his way around the enclosure for over an hour, knocking Jeff to the ground on several more occasions. The last time he landed flat on his back and the breath whooshed out of his lungs.

  On his feet and still fighting for air, Jeff ignored the saddle. He walked over to confront Cynic, his nose a bare inch from the horse’s snout.

  “Okay, that’s it. You have a choice. Do you want to go with me or not? Either you let me put the saddle on your back or you’ll be pulling a plow from now on. Make up your mind, and do it now!”

  The crowd silently took it all in. As often happened during such confrontations, Jeff had forgotten himself and spoken out loud as well as telepathically.

  Cynic figured he had Jeff on the ropes and ready for the canvas, but was forced to consider his alternatives. He despised plowing with every fiber of his being and could hardly wait to leave the village.

  “If I must be tormented by plow or saddle, place the saddle. If I am thus wounded, be assured you will walk.”

  “If such occurs, I shall willingly do so. Now hold still. Please! I know this is difficult to accept. I would never ask this of you if it were not important.”

  Jeff finally got the job done and convinced Cynic to accept a hackamore. After venting more of his spleen, Cynic was ready to burn off some energy. He and Jeff spent the balance of the day in the surrounding country getting used to the new lash-up and letting tempers cool. A round of belly laughs greeted Jeff’s hobbling entrance at evening meal, although some sympathetic soul did thrust a tankard of beer into his hand.

  Having completed preparations to leave, this was also to be Jeff’s last shared meal for some time. The tanner had cooperated with a leatherworking friend to construct beautifully tooled saddlebags, and they were presented to Jeff with due ceremony and speeches. Halric also gave a speech as did Gurthwin, each one calling for another round of beer. When it was over, Jeff was reeling from the beer and misty-eyed from the general affection heaped on his head.

  He woke up next morning with a throbbing headache and had to saddle Cynic in careful steps. The saddlebags proved difficult to attach, and Jeff asked the tanner for a hand. While he and a few friends worked with the saddlebags, Jeff secured his saber under the left stirrup. When the saddlebags were tied into place, Jeff was forced to remind his reluctant mount that much of the weight resulted from grain.

  The entire village turned out and it took the better part of an hour to make his farewells. Mounting up, Jeff leaned down from the saddle to grasp hands with Halric and Gurthwin one more time. Turning Cynic’s head south, they were soon lost to sight.

  Chapter Seven

  Camelot

  Jeff flipped the compass open. From what Halric and Gurthwin had said, Jeff knew he ought to run into a large lake by heading due south. The lake’s discharge river, he had been told, would lead to the moot grounds. Sighting along the compass, Jeff wondered how many miles they had left to go. Extending the line suggested by the compass, Jeff picked out a towering evergreen some miles away and snapped it shut.

  Cynic had heard the sound so often that he knew it was time to move on, and did so. Jeff put the compass away, and thought, I don’t really know if we are heading due south. Sun rises in the east and sets in the west, but who knows how much magnetic deviation and variation there is? Shrugging philosophically, Jeff clucked to Cynic and he moved into a canter.

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nbsp; Pushing south under mostly sunny skies, they enjoyed increasingly balmy temperatures. Brief but occasionally violent thunderstorms passed from time to time, wild flowers bloomed in every open space, and meadow grass was lush. They encountered many deer, grouse, rabbits and other small game. While setting up camp one evening it became apparent there were also much larger animals about. Standing next to a tree, Jeff whistled amazement.

  “That sucker has to be bigger than a Kodiak!”

  Reaching as high as he could, Jeff was still several feet shy of touching the top of claw marks gouged deep in the bark. Shaking his head at the implications, Jeff decided to go over his bow one more time. He checked the bowstring, wasn’t satisfied and replaced it with a spare, pulled the bow to full draw several times, and minutely examined the arrows.

  “It’s ready,” he finally decided, “not that it will do one damn bit of good if we run across something like that.”

  Upon arrival at Valholm, Jeff had been exposed to much rough humor when village archers saw what he was using for a bow. Taking him in hand they pointed out trees that provided the best material for bows, and showed him how to cut and cure carefully selected pieces of wood. When he recurved the ends of the bow using an improvised steam bath, they argued fiercely against such heresy.

  Jeff shrugged it off and proceeded to laminate the central portion of the bow with thin strips of wood using a combination of animal glue and tightly wound gut. At that point his mentors walked off in disgust. Disgust aside, when the finished product outranged their best efforts by at least fifty yards, Jeff noticed more than one warrior sneaking off into the woods in search of new bow material.

  Tanned nut brown from constant exposure to the sun, Jeff’s complexion continued to darken as days passed. He wore the Northman’s calf-high boots laced over jeans. A wool shirt and leather vest topped by a floppy hat added the final touch. Sitting easily in the saddle, bow held ready on his lap, he flipped the compass open for what seemed the hundredth time and took a bearing. He snapped it shut with an impatient twitch of his wrist.