“Are you looking for Odin?” the man asked them.
Alistair and Clyde shared a look.
“How did you know?” Clyde asked before Alistair could speak.
“You don’t have much time left,” the man said and walked towards them. “No time to go to Issicroy.” Upon reaching them, with his partner trailing uncertainly behind, he set the basket down and handed out some of the bread and fruit. “We will reduce our offering and say a prayer instead.”
“Thank you,” said Alistair as he took the fruit and flat, hard bread and put it in his saddlebag.
“Is Odin still in the same place?” Clyde asked, fishing.
“No, no, no. Of course not. Lord Issicroy wouldn’t permit it. But he’ll find you, I’m sure. If he knows you’re coming. If there is room left.” The man finished passing out half of his basket of food and looked at them in turn. “Do you have Right of Passage?”
Clyde shook his head. “I don’t suppose you can get it for us?”
The man chuckled. “I will say yet another prayer to bless you. We can always hope, right?”
“I never stop.”
The man waved goodbye and the silent woman diffidently nodded her head. They went to the man on the tree stump and, after setting the basket down, prostrated themselves and lay there unmoving and spread-eagle.
“Someone has got to tell me what is going on,” said Wellesley as he leaned across the gap between the horses and grabbed a pear from the bag on Clyde’s saddle. Gregory followed his example and devoured an apple with some of the hard bread.
“I’m not entirely sure,” said Alistair. “But it sounds like we might have some tough going in the mountains. And who is this Odin?”
“You know as much as I do,” said Clyde.
They left their two benefactors prostrated before the perplexing man on the tree stump. None of the three had moved by the time the foursome dipped below the hilltop.
Chapter 48
“It must be some kind of religion. The guy stays on that tree stump and people bring him food. He’s probably saying prayers or something.” Clyde Oliver Jones was gnawing on an apple as his thoughts came pouring out.
“Why the hell would someone give their food away?” asked Ryan with a skeptical tone. “What the hell do they get out of it?”
“Satisfaction,” Clyde replied without hesitation. “You’d be surprised what people will do if you throw in the prospect of a deity. You’d be surprised what you can get away with if they think you’re a Holy Man.”
Gregory directed a dark look at Clyde. “Most people have more needs than just physical ones.”
“Don’t I know it.”
The country they traversed was elevated above the plains. The land and air were clean, possessing a freshness that Aldra, with its neglected and filthy factories, lacked. This crispness became more apparent when the sun approached the western horizon and the warm air cooled.
They zigzagged through gullies and stream valleys where their view was restricted. At these times the only distant objects they saw were the peaks of the mountains. Occasionally they would ascend a hill and a more spacious vista opened before them, and from these points they would plan the next step of their trek before descending again to wiggle through the lower terrain. By the time the sun approached the mountain peaks, swimming in a pool of oranges and purples, they had ascended their fifth hill and caught sight of a lone traveler on the next one over. The man was traveling on foot, burdened by a large pack on his back and accompanied by a pair of goats. A large staff he held in his right hand, planted in the earth in front of him, but the next stride was not taken as he, motionless, regarded the foursome. Alistair finally waved to him and received a small and hesitant wave in return.
Nudging his horse into action, Alistair made for the man and Wellesley followed. They sank into the valley between the two hills and soon climbed to the summit of the next. The man was still there, his gaze not unfriendly but his stance defensive. He made no move to reach for the many weapons they now saw he carried about him, but he left both hands free. He was Caucasian with black hair, snow at the temples, and weathered, suntanned skin. He looked to be fifty though his body was still stout and he stood perfectly erect. His lineage was almost certainly Latin.
“Good evening to you,” Alistair called out after the two men appraised each other.
The man nodded. “How did you come by those horses?” he asked. His mild accent was Spanish of some sort but his command of English was deft and relaxed.
“How did you come by those goats?” Alistair deflected the question.
“You are new here, that is why I ask. It is strange you should be riding so soon, and by yourselves.”
“How do you know we are new?” asked Ryan, dubious.
“If for no other reason, because you have to ask. Are you passing through?”
“Somewhat aimlessly,” said Alistair. “We were pressed into service but our party
was attacked. We escaped on these horses. We have no idea what we are doing.”
The man shrugged and the pack slid from his back to the ground. “I suppose it is about time to make camp.” He nodded his head at their saddle bags. “We can share a meal.”
From his pack he produced a bit of rolled cloth and, unrolling it, produced a plank of wood and another stick about the thickness of his thumb. There was some dried grass as well, and the plank of wood had a depression on one side that was blackened like charcoal. He set some of the dried grass in the depression and set one end of the stick in as well. Then, by spinning the stick back and forth between his
hands, he created friction.
Approaching him, Alistair said, “I can handle this if you want to get everything else ready.”
The man hesitated a moment but nodded and left Alistair to get the fire started. By the time the stranger stuck two thigh high sticks in the ground, laid another through their forked ends and laid out a crude metal pot and some equally crude and smaller metal bowls, Alistair’s brow was sweating. When the man unwrapped some salted meat and sliced a couple potatoes, he was breathing heavy. When some kindling and a log were finally placed on the ground underneath the stick structure and the pot, filled with water, hung from the horizontal stick, he finally produced some smoke in the depression. He gently blew and the dried grass began to burn. This grass was dumped onto the dried grass interspersed with the kindling and the fire spread. He continued creating the friction and more and more grass was lit and added to the kindling. Finally, the log caught fire. From there it was a matter of waiting for the water to heat. When it did, their new companion dumped the meat and potatoes in and sat watching the stew, occasionally stirring, while the others licked their chops. By the time the meal was ready and served in the separate bowls, night was in full possession of the sky and Srillium once again dominated.
“How are your forearms?” asked Greg of Alistair.
After a slurp from his bowl of stew, the big marine replied, “It was a good workout.”
“Makes you appreciate matches,” Ryan sullenly said as he stared into the fire.
Alistair turned his gaze on their companion, who had said nothing since the preparation began. “Is it taboo to ask where a man is from?”
The man shook his head as he ate. “You can ask where he’s from. Don’t ask why he’s here.”
When it was apparent he was not going to offer more, Alistair continued, “Where are you from?”
“Argentina.”
“I’m from Australia,” offered Clyde with a cheerful tone.
“Where you’re from matters very little here,” said the man, almost as an admonishment. Having finished his stew, he set the bowl down to tuck into his hard bread. “Since you are going to ask, my name is Santiago. I am on my way to market. You do not have Right of Passage and I am unwilling to sponsor you, so you cannot come with me much farther.”
“What should we do?” asked Ryan.
“Make a life. I would suggest avoiding the territory of t
he tribe you stole the horses from. Your main concern will be food. I am a shepherd and farmer. Most people are if they’re not warriors. I am subject to no chieftain; if you survive long enough you might try for your independence.”
“We’re independent now,” Alistair pointed out.
“I hope it lasts.”
“Can you tell us a bit about the planet?” asked Greg. “The situation, the politics… anything? Religion?”
“We saw someone on a hovercraft speeding across the plains the other day,” said Alistair.
Santiago leaned back until he was lying with his head on his pack. He bit off another chunk of the hard bread and contemplated Srillium in the sky. “This moon produces enough food for a few, yet each year a million more souls are dumped here. The new ones are separated into those who will be useful alive and those who will be useful as a meal. The tribes have a truce near the stone towers where the prisoners are offloaded. They pick from among them.
“The stone towers are the only permanent structures permitted. That hovercraft you saw was Gaian. There is a sect of them here in a forest to the north. They patrol and destroy any buildings they find. The Gaians are charged with guarding the planet and they keep man from dominating it.
“Just southwest of here is a river coming from a lake in the mountains. In the cliffs around the river is Issicroy, one of the few cities here. It is a city built in the caves, and the Lord of Issicroy is higher than any tribal chief. Farther south, on the coast, is Ansacroy, a city on the cliffs facing the ocean. Lords Ansacroy and Issicroy rule because the Gaians permit it. Much of their patrol work is delegated to the Lords, and they rule so long as they please the Gaians. To enter the area around Issicroy and Ansacroy you must have Right of Passage.”
“And you have it?” asked Greg.
“To Issicroy. Ansacroy has never concerned me.”
“Who is Odin?” asked Clyde.
This query immediately drew a sharp look from Santiago. “How do you know of Odin?”
“Does it matter?”
Santiago shifted uneasily. “Odin is a tribal chief. He is taking his tribe across the sea to an island.”
“Why does this man inspire awe from some, make you uneasy, and why would Lord Issicroy be hunting him?” asked Alistair.
Santiago ran his bread around the inside of his bowl and took a bite. “Odin has promised a free island. He has spent two years preaching it. Issicroy and Ansacroy won’t allow it. If they can find him they’ll kill him. If not… Odin is nearly ready to set out. They say.”
“And you packed everything that was important to you in that pack and are going to go along,” guessed Greg. This earned him another sharp look from Santiago.
Popping his last chunk of bread into his mouth, the Argentinean laced his fingers behind his head and said, “I was surprised I still had it in me to care. I am ancient by the standards of this damn moon. God made me big and strong, but Time undoes the Lord’s work. In another five, maybe ten years I will be dead anyway. Odin’s plan is a fool’s mission; he’ll never make it to the island. But I spend every day growing food so I can eat it. Then I sleep so I can grow some more the next day, and that’s about it. I’ll trade ten years of that for a fool’s hope. At least there is the excitement of the journey, and when we die during it I’ll pass from this universe.”
“What’s so important about the island?” asked Ryan.
Free from pressure,” Santiago replied. “No new prisoners are abandoned there, no tribes war across it, no city Lords oppress it. No one needs to die to feed another.”
“What about the Gaians?” asked Greg.
“With any luck, Odin will sail to the island and Issicroy will only hear of it later. The Gaians might not care enough to find out. As long as no buildings are constructed I don’t see why they should.”
“Will you take us to Odin? Can we come with you?” asked Alistair, a restrained intensity evident in his voice.
Santiago sighed. “Why have you been brought to this planet?”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to ask,” Clyde interjected.
“A rebellion,” Alistair said. “Ryan and I were fighting our government. Greg got caught treating some of the injured rebels. We three are from Aldra; Clyde is mum on the subject.”
“Fighting your government?” Santiago considered Alistair with a frank gaze, then stared for a time at Srillium, his hands still behind his head. “It’s possible Odin will find you useful.” He was quiet a moment longer before he closed his eyes. “Yes, I will take you.”
Chapter 49
The next morning, Santiago declined to ride horseback. Alistair proposed a rotation among them but the Argentinean declined. He did consent to loading his gear on the horses, however, and any fears Alistair had about him tiring and slowing them down were allayed as Santiago’s trim and fit legs carried him over the terrain with no signs of tiring.
A warm breeze brought dark clouds from the ocean, and by midday the sky was overcast and the heat – not oppressive but, for the three Arcarians, on the mild side of uncomfortable – grew more humid. Not long after, a balmy rain fell and they were thoroughly drenched. Clyde advised them to dismount and proceed on foot rather than allow the soaked saddles to rub raw the horses’ skin.
As they plodded along the increasingly soggy ground, the streams they passed swelled and the rain fell harder. There was little wind to drive it into their faces, but falling straight down it almost felt like a waterfall. Alistair was surprised at how long and fierce the storm turned out to be. When they paused underneath a large willow to have a cold lunch, Wellesley plopped on the ground next to him and Alistair knew right away there was something gnawing at him.
“Something you guys said has been bothering me,” he announced after a moment or two. When Alistair did not respond he continued, “What do children have to do with developing society? You said they neutered the women to keep people from building a civilization. I would think that without kids people would be freer.”
“People with children save more and spend less than people without. They put away money today for their children to use tomorrow.”
Ryan shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. How can the economy grow if no one is spending money? Without children civilization would grow faster.” He followed this confident pronouncement with a less sure, “Wouldn’t it?”
“Spending satisfies your desires for the moment. Saving your money is the same thing as forgoing your consumption for now. If you consume less, less effort is needed for satisfying your present desires and more effort can be put into investing which leads to more growth tomorrow.”
Still unconvinced, Ryan shook his head. “Then why was everyone back home… why did the government always try to get us to spend when the economy was bad?”
“Ryan, I have very little understanding of why other people do anything.”
Wellesley frowned and fidgeted for a bit, almost as if Alistair placed a burr next to his skin, but he said nothing more. Neither noticed the thoughtful look Santiago gave Alistair.
***
The rain proceeding unabated, the men were obliged to continue their trek in it. By this time, the valley floors had turned into bogs and the group traced their path higher on the sides of the hills. The terrain grew ever more elevated as they neared the mountains but the air remained warmish, though after so much soaking they felt a mild chill despite it. They walked with their heads down, taking the beating of the rain drops on the backs of their heads. After an indeterminable length of time spent wading into the downpour, Alistair spotted something as he scanned the hillsides.
“We’re being approached by riders,” he said, his voice half a yell so he could be heard.
Santiago immediately halted and looked up. After a few moments peering in the general direction of Alistair’s gaze, he said, “Your eyesight is good.”
“There are five on horseback. Headed our way.”
“It’s nothing to worry about. Just border g
uards from Issicroy. We’ll keep going until they get here.”
When the horsemen reached them they took the slope above and reined in their horses when they closed to within twenty feet. They were some of the most impressive specimens Alistair had yet seen, well muscled, large and imposing, obviously well fed. One of the horsemen rode in front of the others, a man perhaps a few years older than Alistair with clearly expressed West African features on a wide face and his hair formed into dreadlocks. Like his four companions, he had the marks of battle scattered about his body.
“Traveling with friends, Santi?” he asked. His musical accent was also West African.
“They’re coming with me to Issicroy,” Santiago answered. Both their voices were raised over the cacophony of rain drops.
“What’s their purpose?”
“We don’t have to answer that and you’re not supposed to ask. I’m sponsoring their visit.”
“I’m sorry my friend, that’s no longer true,” replied the black man and he dismounted. The other riders did the same while their leader approached the group. His manner was pleasant, unlike the men behind him who only glowered, and his approach was unthreatening. His speech was unhurried and musical, and he lingered on certain syllables as if tasting them. “Lord Issicroy, Gaia protect him, is concerned about the number of people being sponsored recently. It coincides with the rumors about Odin.” Having reached Santiago, the man held out his hand and they gripped forearms. “You yourself have never sponsored anyone before.”
“We recently arrived,” Clyde interrupted. “Santiago offered to help us out. Said we might be able to settle in somewhere. My name’s Clyde.”
A warm and pleasant smile on his face, Clyde extended his hand and the other accepted his grasp.
“I am Taribo. Who are your friends?”
Turning to point them out, Clyde responded, “The big one’s Alistair. Ryan’s that one and Greg is in the back. Greg’s a doctor.”
Taribo nodded appreciatively. “Doctors are always welcome in Issicroy. Alistair will no doubt be an item of interest.”
Withûr We Page 46