Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles)

by Dale B. Mattheis

  “Soon they will be here—angry, hungry, lusting for battle. But they will never forget how we smote them. They are many, mighty and would take all our lands. Listen well, my brothers and sisters, for on your honor, your valor, this mighty battle turns. If we fight as Alemanni, victory will be ours. If we fight one another, we will die in our thousands. We will die, and the Salchek will take your lands and children, your husbands and wives, fathers and mothers.”

  Jeff waited until the angry rumbling subsided. “Hearken to my words and remember what has been spoken.” He took a deep breath and cried out, “The Song of Life! We are one! Let it never be broken!” Holding his arms out in supplication, Jeff bowed his head.

  The silence lasted only a heartbeat before a thunderous roar broke out on a scale that set the porch to shivering. Many warriors were weeping anew, but many more bellowed war cries and pounded spear hafts on shields. It was quite late before order was established and the beer kegs rolled out.

  The encampment was quiet next morning as mass hangovers were carefully nursed. The party had set new standards of comparison. Jeff had spent most of the evening speaking with chieftains in the meeting hall and was spared that agony. Mellia, Therkan’s mother, had also sought him out, giving Jeff the opportunity to introduce her to Gurthwin. It had been an evening to remember.

  Now, inside the meeting hall, Jeff took a quiet breakfast with Gaereth. Sipping coffee, they pondered the effect of the Telling.

  “If that speech of yours last night doesn’t pull these folks together, nothing will. It was extremely moving, Jeff. Your use of music, and especially the Song of Life, was inspired.”

  “Don’t know where the idea to use music came from, just glad it did.” He swung a kettle out from the fireplace with a metal hook. “One thing for sure, though, Therkan and Silfin made the difference.” Jeff held his mug up. “Need a refill?”

  Smiling reflectively, Gaereth shook his head in response. “Farnil is some kind of woman.”

  Jeff dipped out enough coffee to keep him going and rejoined Gaereth. “Has it been many years since you’ve paired up?”

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “To a degree, but considering how few Alarai are left it’s not hard to deduce that you’ve been on your own for a long time.”

  “So very many years, Jeff.” Gaereth abruptly got up. “Think I will have a splash.”

  Let it go, boyo, Jeff thought. That degree of loneliness should not be exposed. He set his voice to carry across the room.

  “You’re right about the importance of last night, though. That was my best shot at getting them to work together. We have to assemble a tribal congress while that speech is still fresh in their minds and before some squabble breaks out. Have to put them to work devising a common battle song, unit colors, and so on.”

  Gaereth snapped his fingers and hurried toward the door. “Brought that stuff all this way then forgot it. Be right back.”

  Puzzled and intrigued, Jeff nursed his coffee until Gaereth returned carrying an old leather bag. He spread its contents on the table one by one. Enjoying himself hugely, Gaereth gave a package to Jeff.

  Feeling like it was Christmas, he unwrapped it. Tucked away inside were three small, fat books. The first one he picked up was labeled, Handbook of Obstetrics and Gynecology, the second, Handbook of Surgery, the last, Handbook of Orthopedics.

  “I spent some agonizing hours picking out those three, I can tell you. The mass we can carry during transport is limited if you want to arrive in one piece, yet I knew how great your need would be for hard medical information.” Gaereth shook his head ruefully. “You can’t imagine how many libraries and bookstores I searched, how many war stories I listened to in medical hangouts while deciding what to bring.”

  Turning one of the volumes over in his hands, Jeff knew he was holding treasure beyond anything that existed on Aketti—knowledge. The books represented an enormous endowment.

  “Carl is going to go nuts, you know. Hell, I’m going nuts right now. You could not have picked better gifts.”

  Gaereth smiled with pleasure at Jeff’s reaction. Leafing through the books, they discussed the impact such information would have. When he felt the time was right, Gaereth pushed another package in front of Jeff.

  It was heavy for its size. Jeff was stunned when he saw what was inside. Speechless, he could only stroke the cool blackness of the holstered Ruger 9mm automatic and fondle the spare magazines that were with it. He pulled the last of the paper away to discover four boxes of ammunition and a holster.

  Jeff cleared his throat several times before finding his voice. “Gaereth this is, this is….”

  Unable to express himself, he lapsed into excited silence. Opening a box of cartridges, Jeff loaded a magazine and inserted it into the weapon’s butt after seating the rounds with a few taps on his palm. Leaving the chamber empty, he slid the weapon into the holster and buckled it on while Gaereth beamed pleasure.

  “I took a chance on that fourth box of ammunition. I knew you had a revolver with you but wasn’t sure of its caliber, so I took the middle ground and brought .38 specials. Hope it was a good choice.”

  “They’ll work fine. I left the .357 with Carl back in Rugen—he’ll appreciate a good reserve. Have to get these to him before things hit the fan.” Jeff noticed an odd shaped packet he had missed peeking from the paper. He picked it up with a puzzled expression on his face.

  “Now what could this be?”

  “Rare magic, my boy,” Gaereth retorted with a big wink.

  “Son of a gun,” Jeff breathed when the contents were exposed. “Wow. Some kind of magic!” He held up a slender black tube. “Ball point pens. This blows me away!”

  “The foundation of society, wouldn’t you say?”

  “You got that right,” Jeff laughed. “How I have wished for even one of these suckers, and you brought five! This calls for a celebration.”

  He dipped two mugs of beer out of a cask and set one down in front of Gaereth. Jeff uncapped one of the pens and drew satisfying curlicues on a scrap of parchment.

  “Getting back to what we were talking about earlier, I want to avoid pitched battles out in the open where Salchek cavalry and chariots can cut them up. The Alemanni are at their best fighting in hand-to-hand brawls.”

  “Chariots? That’s a new development since the last invasion. This is not good news.”

  “You got that right. Have to stay clear of them. What I would like to do is move down by Rugen with about a third of our force some night early on, pound them good, then retire north as if in retreat. If we can suck them into the woods, we won’t have to worry about the chariots. Which reminds me—did you hear anything from our wolf-brothers on your way here?”

  Gaereth grinned. “The chief comedian, you mean?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “One of these days I’m going to get the last word with that wolf,” Gaereth said under his breath. “Anyway, it seems that pack you ran across way up north has stirred up a lot of concern. Balthazar thought we might expect three or four packs to head our way soon.”

  “Now there’s some good news.” Jeff got to his feet. “Let’s find some lunch, then I’ve got to contact Carl.”

  Locating Carl proved to be more difficult than Jeff had anticipated. There was an unusual amount of background noise in the city. It took some time to identify Carl’s thought pattern. Gaereth listened in.

  “Carl, got something you need to look at up here that’s worth a trip. How about swinging by?”

  “Jeff, my boy, I am up to my ears. Sure it can’t wait?”

  “I think I can say with complete objectivity, that if you don’t come you may never forgive yourself.”

  Gaereth and Jeff could feel Carl’s struggle as his thoughts flashed through a long list of responsibilities. As Jeff knew it would, curiosity won out.

  “You got it, bucko. I’ll be up later this afternoon and stay the night.”

  “You’re not going to belie
ve this, Carl. See you later.”

  Jeff knew his last comment would drive Carl wild with speculation. They were chatting about it a few minutes later when Jeff’s hand happened to brush the hilt of his sword. He stood up to draw the weapon, and handed it to Gaereth.

  “Can you tell me anything about it? I have no idea how long it was in our family before it was given to me. Grandpa said it’s over two hundred years old. There’s something about it that keeps nagging at me.” Jeff described what had happened the night before he left on his camping trip.

  Gaereth listened intently, all the while turning the saber over in his hands and stroking the blade. When Jeff was done with the story, Gaereth did not respond for some time. Sitting motionless, his gaze seemed to have wandered light years away. A deep sadness, perhaps longing, permeated his features. Sighing deeply, shaking his head, Gaereth looked up.

  “I’m not sure, but this saber might have belonged to my father.”

  Jeff’s face revealed his astonishment. “Your father? This is his sword?”

  “Maybe.” Gaereth lovingly caressed the blade. “Too much time has passed to be certain.”

  Gaereth’s expression was so poignantly sad that Jeff’s heart went out to him. “Why didn’t you inherit it?”

  “I was quite young when we were separated by war. I never saw my father again.”

  “I am so sorry, Gaereth. How old were you? It must have been a terrible loss for you and your mother.”

  “They fought together, Jeffrey. They were both killed.”

  Silence settled on the room as Jeff tried to comprehend the magnitude of Gaereth’s loss. So many years alone. No, he corrected himself, so many centuries alone. All the while surrounded by normal people whose comparatively short life spans would make close attachments an agony as they rapidly grew older and died. Jeff searched for words to convey his deep sympathy, but found none that came close.

  “It’s been hard for you.”

  The compassion in Jeff’s voice led Gaereth to brush a hand across his eyes. There was only one tear, but it was the first in untold years.

  “So much has been lost.”

  After a pause to collect himself, Gaereth said in a soft voice, “The forests, Jeffrey. If only you could have seen the forests of Gaul and experienced the joy our people possessed before the Romans came. I will never forget the music, the dancing; how many of us there were.”

  Plopping down on a bench, Jeff stared at Gaereth as if he were seeing a ghost. “Just how old are you, Grandfather?”

  “I hate that word, old.”

  “Sorry, it was a poor choice.” Jeff had to smile at Gaereth’s expression. “Let me put it this way: what was the year of your birth.”

  “I’m not sure. Calendars haven’t been around that long.”

  “No,” Jeff said dryly, “only since 46 BC, nearly 2000 years, and a lot farther back than that in China.”

  “In terms of human history that span amounts to nothing. We did not keep track of time in the sense that modern peoples do.” Gaereth looked directly at Jeff, and said, “I will not play word games with you, Grandson. My people, your people, have always been technologically sophisticated, although not in the gadget sense of America. Given some time I could probably hang a number on the year of my birth based on the Julian Calendar, but I’m not going to. Not now.”

  “Okay, I won’t press the issue.” Jeff folded his arms and sat back. “How about some hints?”

  “Our family always has been a stubborn lot,” Gaereth replied with an amused chuckle. “All right, I’m comfortable with giving you a general frame of reference.”

  Gaereth rubbed his chin, wrinkled his forehead, shifted in his seat, and eventually resorted to counting on his fingers.

  “Whoa. It’s been awhile since I tried to figure this out,” he murmured. “Has it really been that long?” When he put his fingers away and looked up, Gaereth’s expression was impossible for Jeff to interpret.

  “I was no longer a youth when I led a contingent of Alarai in the running battle to slow down Hannibal. When the time is right, we will search backward from there so you may learn your full heritage.”

  “Hannibal?” Jeff stared at Gaereth as if he were seeing a ghost. “The Hannibal of Carthage?”

  “Yes.”

  “My God. You’ve lived at least 1,700 years. Hannibal crossed the Alps in the first part of the third century, first millennium. You must have seen Rome at the peak of its expansion!”

  “Let’s just say I experienced Rome at its peak. If you lived in Gaul, Hannibal was simply the greater of two evils at that moment in history. That was a time when there was no winning for losing.”

  Jeff jumped to his feet, didn’t know what to do with himself, and sat down again.

  “Shit. This really has me pumped. Rome! And you must have had some contact with the Greeks when they were dominant.”

  “Yes I did, and they were an arrogant lot. Although Americans think pretty highly of themselves, Greeks of that period put them to shame. Maybe a lesson there somewhere. Now settle down, Grandson. Run around the block or something.”

  “If there was a block to run around, I think I would!” Jeff let his breath out in a whuff of air. “Okay, now how did you ever locate my family? The European Diaspora went on for centuries.”

  “Because I only lost contact during the Napoleonic Wars, and I had to if I wanted to remain sane. How many wars do you imagine our people have been through, Jeff? How many wars can one family go through without being wiped out?”

  “No more than one or two. Europe was devastated for several generations following World War II. ”

  “Then what about eleven or twelve wars?”

  “That’s how many you’ve been through?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you….” Jeff stared at Gaereth in consternation. “It doesn’t seem possible that you survived.”

  “There have been times when I wished I had not. As a people we were destroyed. Your family is all that remains to me in direct line of descent. It took ten years of sorting through genealogical records across a good share of central Europe before I was able to trace their path of emigration to Odessa, and from there to America.”

  “I can’t imagine what it must have been like.”

  “It was all I had left to hold onto, Jeff. You are indeed my grandson through your mother’s line, and a sword much like this one was described in several records. Regardless of who it once belonged to, this saber was forged in what is now Poland by Alarai artisans, using techniques and technology that are to this day unknown on Earth. Tell me—have you ever nicked the edge or had to sharpen it?”

  “Not even a scratch, and I touch up the edge for my own benefit not from need.”

  “There you have it,” Gaereth replied with satisfaction. “You will never dull, notch or break this blade, Grandson, and it will never rust.”

  Standing up, he pushed the saber’s point deep into a thick beam and slowly flexed the blade. When it was nearly bent double, Jeff leaped to his feet.

  “Stop! That’s not a foil!”

  “You need to know what you have, Jeffrey. I would never do this to an ordinary saber. Or this.” Gaereth released the haft, and the sword snapped straight with an audible hum.

  “That scrollwork on the blade? It’s not only decorative.” Gaereth carefully examined Jeff’s face. “Do you want to take the final step with this sword?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “While I understand nothing of the technology, I do understand that each sword was designed for a specific person’s stature, reach, and so on.”

  “That was common practice from the Middle Ages on,” Jeff said with a shrug.

  “Yes it was, but Alarai artisans took it several steps farther.” Gaereth frowned. “Damn, how do I describe it? Look, each sword was tuned not only to stature, but in some manner also to the individual’s personality. There are words of passage on every Alarai blade that permit it to be reassigned. I ha
ve no idea how it works, only that it does—maybe harmonics. The sword is imperishable, humans and Alarai are not.”

  “I want to take the final step and have the sword reassigned to me, Gaereth. There is nothing I would like better.”

  The excited and determined look on Jeff’s face underscored his words, but Gaereth hesitated.

  “It’s a serious commitment. The words of passage cannot be revoked unless the sword is voluntarily given to someone else. Should there be a conflict between your behavior and what this saber stands for, it could mean your death. Are you sure?”

  Sobered by the severe tone of Gaereth’s voice, Jeff thought it over again. “I have never been more serious about anything in my life, Grandfather.”

  Pulling the saber from the beam with easy strength, Gaereth said, “Hold your hands out. Now, rest the blade on your left, grasp the hilt with your right.”

  When Jeff had done so, Gaereth closely examined the scrollwork, muttering under his breath as he read it over several times. When he spoke, Gaereth’s voice was pitched so low that it seemed to vibrate in the air.

  “Berold am I called, hear my creed. Honor in truth, justice in honor.” Gaereth spoke again, but this time the words shattered into Jeff’s mind. “Regeth et mora, num sella egath.”

  A singing tremor worked up Jeff’s arms and through his body until his entire being was saturated with ancient power.

  “I am so happy for you,” Gaereth said with great emotion. “Now it is truly yours. Jeffrey, my grandson.”

  Shivering violently, Jeff whispered, “What is the power I feel, Grandfather? Is this, then, magic?”

  Gaereth smiled softly and shook his head. “No, not as earth legend reports it. No lightning bolts, no humming or singing. Berold is now forged to what you are, to your mind, body and skill. Never forget Berold’s creed, Jeff. I do not understand the power, only that it is compelling. I must also tell you that only time will reveal the full import of your joining. Whoever this sword was forged for, it became yours in part many years ago and will not be left behind. It was you who put it on that pile of camping gear, even though you don’t remember it. You couldn’t have left it if you wanted to.”