Kildar

by John Ringo

  "Don't," Mike said. "Don't breed for them, anymore, not much. But don't put them down. If I recall correctly, most of them are mine anyway. I'll pick up the tab for keeping them."

  "They are expensive to feed in winter," Genadi said, nervously.

  "They'll only last another, what? Ten years maximum?" Mike asked. "We'll get by. And there will be occasional uses for them, like this. Oh, the oxen you can stall and feed up and we'll slaughter. But not the horses. And not any of the oxen that people really think of as pets."

  "I don't think anyone thinks of the oxen as pets," Genadi said, darkly. "You have never had to deal with oxen."

  "Genadi, get one of the Keldara who is sharp at bargaining and finding things to help Meller find some gravelling equipment," Mike said, nodding in thought. "Try to get used. This whole thing is costing like the dickens."

  * * *

  After Meller and Genadi left in the latter's Expedition, Mike drove over to one of the nearby fields where teams were slowly picking rocks.

  "Kildar," Father Makanee said as Mike pulled up. He was in there with everyone else, lifting the rocks from the black earth, but he stopped and came over to Mike's vehicle, letting the rest get on with it. "It is good to see you. You are looking at the dam site?"

  "Meller has an idea how we can get started early," Mike said, watching the rock pickers for a minute. Even girls were out in the field, picking up small rocks, up to the size of a person's head, while the men lifted the larger ones. They stayed behind the tail of the pickup, lifting them from the ground and throwing them in, where other men moved them forward to a growing pile. There was a wagon or two out as well, since there were more pickers than trucks. "We might have it in by midsummer, God willing."

  "That would be good," the Keldara elder said. "What do you think?"

  The total expanse of fields that would be plowed was evident with the snow gone. There was at least a thousand acres and Mike wondered how they ever could have plowed and seeded it all with only horse-drawn plows. One day at a time, he guessed.

  "I think it's going to be a good year," Mike said, nodding, then getting out. "I'm not going to do this for long, but I think I should do it for a while."

  He could see Erkin, who wasn't up to his full growth, struggling with a boulder that was trapped by heavy soil. Mike bent and pulled at it along with the teen until the rock broke free and then helped him heave it into the truck.

  "Christ," he said. "I can't see doing this all day."

  "It is backbreaking," Erkin said, shaking his head. "The worst chore of the farm. But even with the new plows, we have to pick the rocks."

  With rocks that weren't so trapped, the pickers were working in a rhythm, some of them calling out a long series of syllables.

  "What is that?" Mike asked Erkin as he bent to pick up another rock. It was at least seventy pounds and he could lift it easily, but he could see that this would get wearing after a very short time.

  "The cry of the picker," Erkin said, shrugging. "It is what we always chant. Ah Syllio!" he called, bending for another rock then: "Casentay!" as he heaved it in the truck. "Ah Syllio!" he repeated as he bent for another. "It is the cry of the spring. When we harvest, there is another cry."

  "But what does it mean?" Mike asked.

  "Nothing," one of the older men answered. "It is just what we chant. It makes the time go by."

  Mike couldn't quite bring himself to join in, not all of the men were singing anyway, but he listened to it as he picked rocks and he found that the time did go by. The cry was hypnotic, sounding up from the fields in a regular rhythm as the chanters got in beat, echoing from the surrounding mountains.

  He had just heaved a huge stone into the truck when Erkin waved at him as he bent.

  "Time to break," Erkin said, waving at an approaching cart. "The women bring beer and food."

  "I could eat," Mike admitted, wiping sweat from his brow. The day was cool but he was sweating from the effort. He needed to get some of the trainers down here to learn what real work was. He was dogged by the hour or so he'd spent at this and the Keldara would be at it all day.

  "You need to pace yourself," the older Keldara told him. "If you tire, don't dip with every cry. Work to your body's pace, this is the only way to make it. And you don't lift well; use less back."

  "I'll keep that in mind," Mike said, grinning. "I guess I have a lot to learn."

  "It is good that you help, Kildar," the man said, nodding formally. "It shows that you care for the land, as a Kildar should. But you have other duties to attend to."

  "I'll stay for lunch," Mike said as the women began unloading from the cart. "Then I'll head back."

  The women of the Keldara were, as always, beautiful. But never so beautiful as when they were bringing beer. Most of them had buckets in their hands with beer packed in snow and Mike was as eager as anyone for some.

  As he stepped forward, though, he saw Katrina swinging a bucket in front of her, a pout on her face. He realized that there was a protocol to who got beer from whom, and for some reason Katrina was being, effectively, shunned.

  "So what did you do now, Katrina?" Mike asked, walking over to her and plucking one of the bottles from the bucket.

  "It wasn't my fault," Katrina said. "It was Vasya's!"

  "And who is Vasya?" Mike said, struggling to get the bottle open. They were old glass bottles sealed with wax and a cork and after trying to pull the cork out, he cut the wax with a folding knife then pulled the cork out with his teeth.

  "He's my cousin," Katrina said, shrugging. "I didn't start the fire!"

  "Not in the house, I hope," Mike said, sternly.

  "No, in the paddock," Katrina said. "He wanted to see if horse manure would burn . . ."

  "Was it dry?" Mike asked, wincing.

  "Yes," Katrina said with a sigh. "And it turns out it burns very well. We should use it for fuel!"

  "And your part in this was . . . ?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow.

  "I knew where there were some matches," Katrina said, her head bowed and face working to try to pout. "But I didn't light them!"

  "Hmmm," Mike mused, taking a sip of beer. "Let me ask one last question: How old is Vasya?"

  "Five," Katrina said in a very small voice.

  "And were you supposed to be watching him and keeping him out of trouble?" Mike asked.

  "But . . ."

  "But, but, but," Mike said, shaking his head. "But you bring me Mother Lenka's beer, and I don't believe anyone was harmed, so you are forgiven by the Kildar."

  "Thank you, Kildar!" Katrina said, her head coming up and her face shining.

  "Your mother and father on the other hand," Mike said, shaking his head. "They have to make their own decisions."

  "Oh," Katrina said, frowning prettily. "You're teasing me."

  "A bit," Mike said. "But since I'm talking to you nicely, everyone will know that you're forgiven by the Kildar and that will make them less likely to punish you. More. But you have to start to think."

  "I do," Katrina said. "All the time. Most of the time very fast and very well. But sometimes I get . . . strange."

  "Thoughts feel like they won't connect?" Mike asked, cautiously.

  "Yes, like they are running around like horses in spring," Katrina said. "Very many of them, but none make sense. I feel crazy at times like that. And sometimes I get very sad. Usually there's a reason, but sometimes there isn't any. I just don't want to do anything but sleep and mother gets very angry with me. They all call me lazy, then. I'm afraid I'm going to become like Aunt Anjelike. I don't think you've met her. She was very fun for a long time, my favorite aunt. Now she is . . . not right in the head."

  "Sounds like you need your meds adjusted," Mike said, smiling. "Have a beer."

  "They say I'm a witch," Katrina said, quietly, but smiling. "That I can be one, at least."

  "I've got a few friends that are witches," Mike said. "Back in the States. Most of them, admittedly, are nuts. But that's what medicati
on is for. And they have access to psychiatrists."

  "I see things," she said, looking around. "In my dreams. I told my mother just before you came that I had a dream of ice and a beautiful man who would be a great leader for us. She told me I was crazy, but here you are."

  "Well, there was snow," Mike said, smiling. "I suppose that counts for ice. But you screwed up on the beautiful part."

  "You are very beautiful, Kildar," the girl said, then ducked her head. "I am sorry I said that."

  "It . . . wasn't a good thing to say," Mike admitted. "You have your life and I have mine. I might be able to change yours, a bit, with everyone else's. But you need to be careful or you'll be in the position of being sent to town. I'll prevent that, but if you make enough trouble, your life will be hell. You know that."

  "Yes," Katrina said, quietly.

  "Go spread your beer around," Mike said. "I'm going to go put my empty in the cart and head back before I get you in trouble."

  "I will not get in trouble for talking to the Kildar," Katrina said, smiling at him shyly. "Not out here in public, anyway."

  "You just wait," Mike said, shaking his head.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mike pulled the Expedition to a stop as he heard the sound of a chainsaw going full blast.

  The spring thaw had passed and planting was well underway, with all seven tractors out on the fields breaking ground. The heavy tractor was drawing a single system that plowed, harrowed and planted while the other tractors were simply plowing. After plowing they would change to harrowing and planting devices.

  Normally there would have been at least ten plows going at this time with more teams harrowing and planting behind them. The tractors had freed up a good bit of manpower but so had other devices. As Mike made his way through the woods to the sound of the chainsaw, which was in an area he thought they weren't clearing, he saw one.

  The chainsaw turned out to be attached to a wooden device the Keldara had knocked together under the direction of Prael, the "other" engineer. They had the chainsaw attached vertically to a solid platform and were using it as a band saw to slice raw timber into planks. Most Keldara construction that used wood had been heavy timbers made by splitting and adzing logs. Using the field-expedient sawmill they could get dozens of planks where they had only gotten one thick timber before. And making that heavy timber would have taken a Keldara most of the day. As he watched, two of them used a swinging crane to lift a massive log into the sawmill and started cutting it up. In a few minutes', admittedly hard, work they had a thick timber member and a litter of planks. They stopped at that point, setting the thick member on a pile of similar ones, about eight by eights, and getting another large section of oak log.

  "Going good, huh?" Prael asked.

  Mike had heard him sneaking up even over the sound of the chainsaw and shrugged.

  "What, exactly, do we need all this lumber for?" Mike replied.

  "Every time we take a look around there's another project," Prael said, pouting slightly at not having surprised the Kildar. The word had apparently gotten around that he was a sneak specialist and the various trainers had been trying to surprise him on a daily basis. It never worked, but they kept trying. "The planks are mostly for forms for the dam, but I'm also going to use them to build a couple of wooden bridges over the Keldara River so they don't have to keep using the fords. Then there's repairs to the buildings, forms for bunkers, all sorts of things. The only thing we need more than lumber is concrete."

  "How's that coming along?" Mike asked, walking back through the woods to his Expedition.

  "We've got material coming out of our ears," Prael said. "The gravel pit is working well. We've been using the horses for sand mining on the river so we've got plenty of that. And there was a big delivery the other day of cement. The big bottleneck is mixing; we've got two small gas-powered mixers and after that we're down to doing it by hand. But we're not going to be really slowed by it for another week; that's when Meller thinks he'll be done working out the foundations of the dam."

  "Get a concrete truck?" Mike asked. "Rent one or get a contractor if we can find one?"

  "Might be a good idea," Prael admitted. "It'll make building the bunkers easier, too."

  "I'll look into it," Mike said, getting back in the SUV. "Have fun. And, by the way, if you try to miss every little leaf you're never going to learn."

  He decided to skip the dam workings for the time being, heading over to the range area. It was at the north end of the valley, right up against the range of tree covered mountains at that end, and was coming along nicely. There was a pistol and sub-gun range installed already, with another for pop-ups underway to the side. The last range, the farthest to the east, was for long-range rifle. That one used heavy metal targets and had been laid out but wasn't being worked on yet.

  He followed the graveled road up to the end of the range under construction and waved at Praz as he arrived. The rifle instructor waved back, then walked over to the Expedition after a word to the Keldara doing the pop-up installation.

  "How long?" Mike asked.

  "Another week for the basic installation," Praz said. "A couple of days for the long-distance range."

  "Need more bodies?" Mike asked. "Meller won't need half his bodies in a couple of days when they get finished on the foundations."

  "I'm good," the rifleman admitted. "More people would just require more supervision. If I get some people I'd like Killjoy and he's working on bunkers."

  "The basic bunker installation is going to be done pretty soon," Mike said, frowning. "If you get slowed down, talk to the colonel and he'll shift some people your way." Mike looked around and smiled. "A decent range will be nice for a change."

  "Well, this one will be pretty decent," Praz admitted.

  "Onward and upward," Mike said, waving back to the valley. "Gotta go check on the dam."

  He made his way back down to the south, passing one of the plowers on the way and returning a wave, until he reached the small valley chosen for the hydro dam.

  The trees and brush had been cleared out from the base of the defile and most of the dirt dug away to reveal bedrock. On both edges of the defile a narrow trail had been graded and blasted up the hill to positions over where the dam was going to go in. As he pulled up, the fifty or so Keldara who had been doing pick and shovel work were making their way into the open and getting behind the backhoe that, so far, had been their only major equipment.

  "Hold up here, Kildar," one of the Keldara said, walking over to the Expedition as Mike pulled up. "Sergeant Meller is about to set off a charge."

  "Works," Mike said, shutting down the SUV and getting out. "How big, you know?"

  "Small," the Keldara said. "Getting rid of a cell of rock. A big stone, really. It's in the way for getting to the rock on the south side. Once it's out of the way we can finish leveling the foundation. He thinks it will take more than one blast, though."

  "Hey, Kildar!" Meller said, coming around the edge of the defile. Where the trees and scrub had been was an area of rock that was mostly flat until it hit the slope. The small stream now ran down a narrow rock channel. "Hang on a second," he yelled again, holding up an electronic detonation device. "FIRE IN THE HOLE!"

  There was a sharp crack and a blast of dust in the defile and Meller looked up and around.

  "The sky didn't fall!" he caroled, walking back into the valley before the dust had even settled.

  "Got to go," the Keldara said, hurrying in that direction.

  Two of the farm trucks roared to life pulling forward, Keldara swarming on the back for the short ride, with the backhoe following more slowly.

  Mike pulled forward as well, driving the Expedition actually into the stream to avoid the line of Keldara and bumping up the streambed until he could see the center of the workings. The dirt had been dug out and rocks blown down to create a fairly broad level area. He could see the final obstacle they were working on, an irregularly shaped boulder about the size of
the Expedition, which had been cracked on one side and nudged out from the wall of the valley. The remaining mass was about the size of the Expedition; the portion that had been blasted off was about the size of a Volkswagen and now lay strewn around the workings.

  "Hey, Kildar," Meller yelled as Mike pulled up. The Keldara had already set to work lifting smaller rocks into the back of the trucks as the backhoe moved into position to lift the heavier material.

  "How's it going?" Mike asked, getting out of the Expedition.

  "Pretty good," Meller admitted. "There's no problem with the position and the Keldara are the hardest workers I've ever met. Once we get this rock out of the way and level out the position we'll start making forms. After that we'll pour the foundations and the main weir. It'll take about two weeks for that to set enough to start work on the rest."