Withûr We

by Matthew Bruce Alexander

  As the encampment disintegrated, as men fought with each other over freedom, loyalty and property, Gregory came to stand next to Alistair while the ex marine observed it all.

  “Your great anarchic society,” he declared with a hand extended over the chaos. “If only I had thought to warn you a million times all these years.”

  “Is that what’s to blame for this?” Alistair shot back. “Or is it the fault of people like Duke who won’t allow men the freedom they were born to? I don’t need to argue this with you anymore, Greg. You’re about to see what I’ve been talking about all these years.”

  Chapter 60

  In the center of the island, near where the hills rose to their highest point, there was a depression in the earth. About one square mile in area and in the shape of an irregular crescent, it was ringed by the peaks and ridges of the rugged terrain, and numerous trees stood as sentries round the body of water in the bowl. In the mornings the lake, ensconced in the earth and shielded from the low light on the horizon, produced a wispy fog that hovered over the waters, sheltered from the night breezes off the ocean, occasionally reaching out a tenuous appendage to caress the trees on the shore. When the sun rose high enough, it eradicated the vapors and warmed the hill tops and the cool air retreated to the shadows in the caves and under the trees.

  It was there, at the summit of the highest hill, at the inside nook of the crescent lake, that Alistair chose to build his command center. There the hill rose up fifty meters above the surface of the lake, ending abruptly in a cliff face plunging right to the water below. Elsewhere the ridges around the lake were elevated only a few meters and gently sloped down to the shore, but the location of the command center, nothing more impressive than a crude circular hut, sat as if atop a tower. From there he could see the entirety of the island and out to sea. To the north, past the hills rolling down to the sea and past the sea itself, there was a smudge of something on the horizon, something he knew was the main continent. Behind the shore were the mountains, their snow-topped peaks shining white by day and glowing a faint red by night.

  Also to the north was the main encampment of those still loyal to Odin. In the days following Alistair’s declaration, there was an exodus from the camps which had coalesced out of the surviving ships and their crews. In all, nearly six thousand men and women reached the island, settling into a dozen camps of several hundred each. After news of the rebellion spread, hundreds and hundreds of individuals set out, often congregating in small communities, occasionally going it alone. However, many stayed with Odin, camped on the northwest edge of the island. At night the many campfires and torches burning in the darkness around the encampment gave the impression of a small city. By day their distant, tiny forms moved like ants about the wide beach and forest where a large wall was still being erected. As of yet no company had issued forth for any purpose, but Alistair still eyed it warily, observing it for signs of imminent aggression.

  The hut he and his employees now called home was erected in a short span of time. With no currency circulating yet, he decided to charge labor hours or food. Many hundreds of the population of free men subscribed to his services, making it difficult to record and keep track of them. A pile of rough wood slats with carved notches, organized haphazardly outside the hut, served for their bookkeeping.

  The structure of the hut was, at its base, approximately thirty feet in diameter. Access to it was gained by one of three series of stairs comprised of four steps each. The base being raised above the ground, it was ideal for storage and their stock of weapons and food was kept inside. Benches and railing ran around the perimeter of the first story. There were no walls and the ceiling was eight feet above the floor, furnished with a table, some chairs and a desk. All business was conducted there. In the center of the room a spiral staircase wound up and around a central pillar, the supporting backbone of the edifice. This staircase led to the second floor, a less spacious place where Alistair and his warriors slept. It was furnished only with cots, and the central pillar and its stairs continued to the small third story, nothing more than a lookout booth seven feet in diameter. The entire structure was assembled with the rough-hewn logs and branches of the local forests, with the knobs and knots in the wood still to be smoothed out when the proper tools could be produced.

  For the most part, when the sun was up, the hut was empty. Gregory moved in with Alistair but spent most of his waking hours traveling from newborn hamlet to newborn hamlet, attending to the medical needs of the community. He never charged for his work, but accepted what was volunteered. Most of the men he treated paid something, even if it was only a token slice of hard bread. Layla went with him, acting as an aide and slowly learning the healing arts. Santiago, Ryan Wellesley and Taribo were too busy recording claims and recruiting new members to have time to relax at the hut, and Alistair himself was busiest of all. There were no serious conflicts for him to arbitrate, but he was constantly consulted and felt nearly overwhelmed with responsibility.

  Only Miklos occupied the hut, on the second floor where he lay in a cot with his head wrapped, moaning more loudly when he knew there was someone there to hear. When Alistair and Santiago announced their plans at Duke’s camp, Taribo and Miklos went to another nearby to spread the news. A similar fracas ensued and Miklos received a fierce knock to the cranium.

  For no reason other than that Alistair and his company took up residence there, several other abodes were erected, or were in the process of erection, nearby. One of them, a large and long structure still to be completed, housed a good number of women who, as a small minority, naturally were drawn to each other. Some of the men, the roughened and crude products of the gutters and penal systems of the scattered human colonies, took to calling it the Whore House, which never failed to elicit scathing looks from the displeased females. Layla and Giselle resided there now, and Gregory was assisting a few other men in its construction when Alistair returned from an assignment.

  The sun was low in the western sky and its intensity dulled, though the heat of the day, unopposed by any ocean breeze, still lingered in the air. Profusely sweating, Gregory, when he spotted Alistair, dropped a recently made pole onto the earth at his feet and drew his forearm across his brow, leaving a dark smudge behind. He breathed heavily as he strolled Alistair’s way, looking about himself at the progress of their newly born civilization with the air of satisfaction fatigue cannot subdue.

  “I haven’t seen you since breakfast,” said Gregory.

  “I haven’t eaten since then, either.”

  “Some of the men took some bread and meat from storage. There’s some left if you want.”

  Alistair abruptly stopped and drew himself up to his full height. “From storage?”

  Gregory hastily added, “I told them it was OK.”

  “I didn’t know it was your food to give away.”

  “Alistair…” Gregory sighed. “Listen, I thought since you had a lot of food saved—”

  “I had a lot of food saved for the coming weeks before any crops start to grow and we get sick of eating fish for every damn meal. Assuming we can catch any fish. You think this island came ready made to support several thousand people?” Alistair dumped his burden onto the ground where it landed with a punctuating thump.

  Gregory gritted his teeth for a moment but finally relaxed. “You and I have a different idea of what community means.”

  “We have a different idea of what property means,” snapped the ex marine and, grabbing the recently dumped burden, walked away. He spun back around. “It’s not that I have a problem with helping hungry people. Can you understand that?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I just don’t want people taking liberties with what is mine. If it’s my food, I should be the one to give it away. If I choose.”

  “I understand.”

  “That food was being saved for leaner times, which are coming quite soon. They get used to a free meal any time their stomachs growl and not only will they ea
t meals today meant for tomorrow, they won’t feel the urgency to till the soil or weave the fishing nets they ought to be.”

  “I get it, Alistair.”

  “How much goddamn time needs to be spent on the women’s lodging, by the way? Is this going to be a luxury hotel?”

  “The hotel—” Gregory shook his head. “The… the women’s lodge is almost done.”

  “What are the women doing right now?”

  Gregory, having come to the end of his patience, raised his voice and said, “They’re making the fishing nets you were just bitching about! Damn it, Alistair, eat a meal and come talk to me when you’re less grouchy.”

  Alistair and Gregory faced each other in silence for a moment, unheeding of the looks they were getting from the other men still working on the women’s lodge. Finally, Alistair spoke, his voice lower and his tone friendlier.

  “They say you want to build a chapel.”

  Gregory only nodded.

  “When are you going to start?”

  “I don’t know. Soon I hope.”

  “You have to eat.”

  “Obviously.”

  “You have to drink. To sleep. To clothe yourself. You have all sorts of needs, some of which might come before the chapel. I can’t decide for you what you need to do, and you can’t decide for me what I need to do.”

  With a long-suffering tone, Gregory asked, “What’s the moral of the story?”

  “The moral, Greg, is that I worked for that food and I continue to work for it. It was given to me by people who wanted what I am offering. Now, not only do I have to worry about meals again that much sooner, but a whole lot of time was spent making lodgings far in excess of what anyone else has. The climate is warm and the roof is already built; the girls would be just fine with what was built several days ago. The labor done here today was sustained by my food. Without this food, the men might have decided there were other priorities far more urgent than making the women’s bedrooms more comfortable. If the women wanted to work and save up food to pay for this construction, that’s their business. But no such saving was done. My savings were used instead, and now my plans have to change. Your chapel sounds like a nice idea, but you have to prioritize. Food and drink. Then shelter. Then clothing. Then… well, you decide.” Here Alistair lifted a hand to point at the lodge. “It is impossible to know whether this labor today was well spent because no one was forced to prioritize. With their own savings the women might have chosen something else to pay for instead.”

  “I won’t do it again.”

  “I know you won’t do it again, Gregory. I’m telling you this so you can understand me. My perspective.”

  “Maybe you might try to understand me some time. I don’t want to live like you. You know, for me a community is people sharing. People helping one another without charging for it.”

  “You can live however you like. But today you forced me to participate in your sharing when I didn’t want to. And now my stores are depleted.”

  Gregory slouched in wordless recognition of Alistair’s point. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think the food had much influence. Those guys are trying to be gallant to impress the women. They’d’ve done it on empty stomachs.”

  A chuckle broke free of Alistair’s lips despite himself. “That may be true,” he conceded.

  Before he could turn to go, Gregory said, “Layla wanted to talk to you about something important.”

  “She knows where to find me.”

  When he arrived at the hut, Alistair discovered Ryan Wellesley already there. His fellow Aldran was standing at the foot of the stairs and calling up to the second story.

  “The meal’s ready and it’s only going to get colder!”

  Alistair trudged up the steps to the first floor and dumped himself wearily into a wooden chair, wincing as a knob on the seat poked the back of his thigh.

  “Bring it up to me,” called a muffled voice, pathetic in its weakness.

  Ryan shared a look with Alistair and shook his head. In his hand he held a rough tablet of wood with a couple strips of dried beef, recently heated, and a hunk of hard, unleavened bread. He dropped the makeshift plate on the table at the center of the room.

  “It’s down on the table when you’re ready,” Ryan called up. He was answered by a moan.

  Leaning back in the chair, Alistair laid his head back and rested his eyes, feeling the evening breeze as it blew through the open first floor of the hut, stirring the hairs on his arms and causing the slightest of tickles.

  “Is there anything left?” Alistair asked.

  “I’ll grab you something,” Ryan promised and exited the hut.

  Outside, the brook running from the lake down the side of the hill softly babbled, and waves lapped at the shore. The watery sounds caressed his ear and nearly had him asleep when the labored steps of Miklos as he came down the stairs interrupted. Ryan was just returning with another two tablets of bread and meat. The three converged on the table to eat, Ryan and Alistair side by side across from Miklos. The warrior with the Greek appellation, hunched over his meal, ate with the delicacy of a starving wolf, and the food loudly swished and swirled in his mouth while his jaws pumped away at it. Alistair took little note, but Ryan, in disgust, was finally moved to drop his hunk of bread on the table.

  “Holy shit, could you shut up?”

  Miklos managed no more response than a quick glance from under his brow, his face still bent down over his food. “This isn’t black tie,” he mumbled before he shoveled the last strip of beef into his mouth and devoured it with the same racket.

  Ryan took another bite of bread and soldiered on for a moment or two before he rose from his seat and grabbed the last bits of food in his hand. “I’m not going to eat my meal next to this,” he declared and stomped out of the hut.

  “Should have brought my meal upstairs.”

  “I think tomorrow you’ll be with Taribo,” said Alistair. “He’s going to scout the south side of the island. You’ll be gone all day.”

  Miklos did not reply and a moment later the topic was forgotten as Ryan was replaced with Layla who came and sat next to Alistair. She was wearing the same outfit she wore every day since he first saw her, but now it was showing the smudges and fraying of hard labor, as was her tanned skin.

  “Greg said I could talk to you about something.”

  “Walk with me to the well,” said Alistair, wiping the crumbs from his hands and rising from his chair.

  The well was a wooden tub salvaged from one of the ships. It held no more than twenty gallons of water when full, which it was not at the moment. Alistair stood over it and cursed.

  “This is exactly the kind of shit I am talking about.”

  Layla shrank away from Alistair. “Greg said you were grumpy tonight.”

  Sighing, Alistair grabbed the two-gallon bucket next to the tub and began to descend the hill to refill it at the brook below.

  “We’ve got too many people on top of the hill far away from the water and no one wants to take responsibility to refill the bucket,” he said to her as she hustled to keep up with his long legs.

  “They have as much right to live at the top of the hill as you do.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about. Everyone insists on having a goddamn community bucket, but because everybody shares the bucket, no one takes responsibility for it, and it needs to be refilled.”

  “I think they like being next to you. Some people feel safer being close to you and Taribo and the guys.”

  “Whoever took the bucket from the boat, or took it from the camp – or whatever – should have just kept it for themselves. Anyone who wanted to use it could pay for the water, and if it wasn’t worth paying for, they could live closer to the lake shore. That would regulate how many people would crowd onto the hilltop. As it is now, with a free bucket, no one wants to invest in increasing our water supply at the top of the hill. And no one wants to refill the goddamn bucket either. But everybody an
d their goddamn brother wants to move to the top of the hill.”

  “You want to charge for a bucket of water? Are you going to charge us for breathing next?”

  “Oh, Christ! Never mind. Did you want to talk to me about something?”

  “Yes I did.” Layla nodded once and swallowed, on the verge of embarking on business she considered important and doing her best to adopt a serious demeanor though she moved downhill at an uncomfortable pace. “The women have had a meeting and we decided we wanted to get a law passed. How exactly does that work in this system?”

  “You have to get Parliament to pass it.”

  “We don’t have a Parliament.”

  “What was that?”

  “We don’t have a Parliament.”

  Alistair stopped walking. “Come again?”

  “We… don’t… have… a… Parliament,” she reiterated, bewildered.

  “Layla, that’s the sweetest music I ever heard.” With that pronouncement, Alistair was again setting a fast pace down the hillside.

  “So how does a law get passed?” she demanded, hustling to keep the big man within earshot.

  “It doesn’t.”

  “What do you mean, ‘it doesn’t’?” Her breathing was becoming labored. “You have to have a way to pass laws.”

  “Do you mean Laws with a capital L, or laws with a small l?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Politicians pass laws, small l, and there will be none of those here. Laws, capital L, are discovered, not created, not passed. There is no way to pass a law without a parliament or a king or a dictator, which we won’t have. I have offered to enforce Laws, capital L, the ones which have been discovered. These all boil down to not initiating aggression against anyone. Aggression can be murder, rape, theft… assault, fraud… fraud is a type of theft… that’s about it. Sometimes the particulars can be tricky, but the basic Laws were passed by Nature, or Gaia, or God, or Allah – whichever one you choose to believe in. There is nothing else to pass.”