“What do we—” began Miklos.
“Spread the word,” said Alistair. “All the subscribers agreed to serve as militiamen if the need arises. It looks like the need might arise.”
Miklos took one last bite and tossed the apple core outside the hut.
“And we’ll be sure to keep a lookout through the night,” added the owner of AS&A.
Not waiting for any further response, he climbed the stairs of the central pillar to the lookout perch. Night had arrived, preceding the rising of Srillium by a couple hours, leaving everything around them in darkness. In their camp at the top of the hill a few souls wandered about the dozen buildings in various stages of construction. Three torches had been lit and placed in the ground, and the trio of burning sticks provided a soft, orange light that cast fuzzy shadows in triplicate and left numerous dark corners, niches and alleyways. Beyond that was a sea of darkness infrequently interrupted by torches as the citizens of the newly sprung hamlets created some light to see by. Beyond the sea of dark was a city of torches directly to the north, partially hidden by leaves and branches swaying in the breeze, making the torches appear to flicker on and off. While the wind blew and the grasses and trees rustled and the waves lapped at the shore, the young Aldran stared at his enemies, not concentrating enough to form specific thoughts, but rather just contemplating the scene. Somewhere, in the sea of darkness, a giant messenger was moving, heading towards the city to the north where Odin waited.
Alistair leaned down and rested his chin on the rough wood of the lookout panels, wondering what Odin’s response would be.
Chapter 61
When Alistair awoke the next morning, it was with a profound sense of terror that constricted and threatened to drown him. Of his dreams he remembered nothing, but upon waking his parents were on his mind, and tucked away deep inside him he felt a little child ready to cry. Even his lower lip quivered and his breathing was ragged, but the sensation gripping and squeezing him faded by degrees until he mastered himself. His breathing relaxed and he was left only with the image of his father and mother, like a portrait, staring at him with sad smiles.
The morning air was cool and still. The overcast sky allowed a diffuse light through the open slats of the second floor walls. Somewhere a flock of birds was cawing. The rumbling snores of Miklos filled the cabin but roused none of the exhausted occupants. Taribo lay asleep in peaceful repose, his hands folded on his lower chest like a cadaver, and Wellesley, contorted into an odd tangle of limbs and half coming out of his cot, slept with an open maw that drooled onto the wood floor. Gregory and Santiago’s cots were empty.
Leaving the comparative comfort of his wool mattress, stuffed with grasses, and his thin blanket, also wool, Alistair lumbered down the stairs. Santiago, who had taken the last watch, was just coming up the steps from storage with a bit of bread and some half rotten bananas he deposited on the table. His breathing was labored and a sheen of sweat dampened his brow. With a nod to Alistair he sat down and pushed some of the food his way.
Also taking a seat, Alistair grabbed some bread and snapped off a corner. “Jogging?”
Santiago shook his head as he unwrapped a banana. “These things are going to rot, so we might as well eat them now. No, I was… the fire expired last night, so I restarted it.”
“They made it too big before.”
“I know. This one is smaller. I think we can keep it running without cutting down every tree in the area within a week. I, ah… I told Giselle she could work for us. I think we need another hand around here, someone to handle some administrative duties, organization. Unless you have an objection…”
Alistair shook his head. “That would probably be useful. Have her tend the fire for us and tell her to charge if anyone else wants to use it. And we need to get a water tub of our own and keep it filled. And clean. And we need a… contraption… I want to boil our water, let it evaporate, and then have it condense in another bucket. We can charge for that, too. Clean water.”
“I’ll mention these things to her.”
Alistair paused a moment, then, “Santiago, I’m going to make you an arbitrator. If you want.”
“A judge?”
“Whatever you want to call it. You seem to you know what I’m talking about.”
Santiago nodded. “I used to write for a number of publications. Libertad was the main one. A South American periodical… quarterly publication. That’s what made them exile me here.”
Alistair said nothing but eyed Santiago with curiosity, not prompting him to speak but not cutting him off either.
“We thought we were stronger than we were. We felt too safe. We put too much confidence in other people. Too much confidence in the strength of ideas.” He directed his gaze at Alistair for the first time. “We challenged the authority of the Emperor.” Popping a bit of bread in his mouth, he spoke around his chewing with a casual tone, as if the message were of no moment, “A lesson to be learned for us here, perhaps.”
They ate their rotten bananas and hard bread in silence until Ryan Wellesley awoke a few minutes later and half tumbled down the stairs. He sat next to Alistair, eyed the few crumbs left from breakfast, and with a groan got back up to grab some food of his own. He returned a minute later with bread and a hunk of cheese and plopped down in a stool next to the table.
“We need to build a barn for Miklos,” he grumbled. “I’m not kidding. It took me half the night to fall asleep with that swine snoring like a damn asshole.”
“Eat bananas today,” was Santiago’s response. “They are going to rot soon.”
“I’ll eat bananas if you make him sleep downstairs.”
Without looking up from the tabletop, Alistair mumbled, “He can sleep downstairs from now on. Make it easier on everybody else.”
The sound of feet falling on wooden steps alerted him to the approach of another, and he turned to see Giselle, a hesitant look on her face, walking into the hut. She stopped at the edge, hands folded in front of her. Her comparatively finer clothing from Issicroy was gone, replaced by rough animal skins that covered her from knees to shoulders.
“Fix yourself some breakfast,” Alistair grunted. “You’re hired.”
She nodded and allowed herself a smile, recognizing the sincerity in the gruff welcome. A short time later she was sitting at the table with them and Taribo, the next to wander downstairs. They took up a hushed conversation among themselves, and as the overcast day grew lighter there was movement in the young village with its buildings planted helter-skelter about the hut. Someone chopped wood like a drumbeat to mark the rhythm of labor. More percussion joined in as the scuff sounds of tools hoeing the dirt joined the wood chopping, and elsewhere timber groaned as it was bent to the will of workers who made necessarily primitive homes without the benefit of nails.
This sort of workers’ symphony was what Alistair listened to as he, having told his men to stay close to camp that day, took up his perch in the top floor of the hut and kept his eyes fixed on the stretch of land to the north. The day was becoming a humid one, with the featureless clouds above blanketing the land, almost smothering it. The sea beyond Odin’s camp was smooth and blue, with none of the white caps a wind might have brought, and so the humidity was permitted to hang in the air, causing beads of sweat to form and trickle down his body.
After Miklos finally rose and breakfasted, after those on the first floor dispersed, Alistair heard someone climbing the stairs. He guessed it was Giselle by the weight of the steps, and moments later was proved correct as her head rose above the floor of the lookout booth. She gave him a swift smile and sat across from him, facing south.
“Could you scoot to the side a bit? I need to see to the north.”
She smoothly complied, moving around ninety degrees until she sat on the east side.
“Are you sure this isn’t going to tip over?” she asked, not particularly interested in an answer but looking for a way to start a conversation. Alistair smiled softly but said nothing
. Having tested her voice, she took a deeper breath and said, “I talked to Layla last night.” She studied Alistair, waiting for a response but saw nothing other than a slight narrowing of the eyes. “She’s rather set on her course. I thought I should… maybe…”
Alistair glanced at her, moving only his eyes. She had never approached anything so gently before, at least not that he had ever seen.
“Is La Triste your maiden name, or your married name?” he asked, returning his unwavering gaze to the north.
“Neither,” she replied after a pause. After a second pause she added, “I took that name the day my husband was murdered.”
She spoke frankly though reluctantly, and he turned to her, giving her his full attention, but she had nothing else to say.
“What is your real last name?”
“My real last name is La Triste. The name I carried before will never be spoken again.”
She waited for him to continue with an almost defiant expression, her head held high and her back straight, almost like a witness being cross examined. Most would have ceased interrogating her at that point, but Alistair, having taken a similar vow before, was intrigued.
“Your husband died here or on Arcabel?”
“He came with me here. He survived for less than ten minutes before some… He was slaughtered and… eaten.” She allowed no tears to form in her eyes. “Like all women I was kept alive for other purposes. My husband was eaten. I may have eaten part of him. I ate some meat before I knew what it was… it may have been him. I may have eaten my own husband.” Her voice as she told the story was still bewildered after so many years. “I think I was your age when I came here, about ten years ago. Do you remember the Martian War for Independence?”
“Yes. On Aldra they’re called the Martian Uprisings. Which one?”
“The third Uprising. I was exiled two years after the Martians were defeated.”
The announcement had exactly the effect Giselle anticipated: Alistair’s stoic exterior crumbled into a visage of incredulity and his lips parted as his jaw fell open.
“That was… about fifty-five years? How…?”
Giselle shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. Maybe we were put in storage and someone forgot about us. Maybe the paperwork got lost in some bureau. Whatever the reason, we spent decades in hibernation, but of course I didn’t know it when I first arrived. Later on I found out how long I was out. They must have fed us nutrition while we slept or we would have starved long before arriving.” She looked him directly in the eyes. “I have lived for about thirty-two Earth years, but I was born maybe ninety years ago. You and I should never have met. I should have finished my life on Arcabel and died about… well, right about now.
“Instead I’m here. I was tasty enough to be kept as the private concubine of a chief. I suppose it could have been worse. When he died, I was passed to the next one, and finally I was sold to Issicroy and lived as a whore until he got a good sample and liked it. I became a concubine again, one of his favorites. And when Layla came I prevailed on him to take her as a concubine so she would never have to be a whore. She was young. Too young to be with any man, but this is Srillium. She’s aware of what I did for her… I think she feels guilty because she got off easier than so many others. And now she wants to make up for it. She’s doing this for me, Alistair. That’s why she wants to outlaw prostitution.”
“And what do you want?”
Giselle stared off into space for a moment. “I want some type of friendly resolution.”
“People tell me I am too hard; that I don’t consider feelings. It’s not true, but I don’t give feelings more weight than they ought to have. I appreciate you explaining Layla’s perspective, but Layla’s problems are Layla’s problems. I am not going to do that to people, to jail them, fine them, punish them… whatever… because Layla feels guilty about what you did for her. She can take all the votes she likes as often as she wants, but I will not allow anyone purchasing my protection to be punished for prostitution. It simply will not happen. And on another level, I think prostitution is exactly what we need. Last thing we want is several thousand horny men with nothing but each other and a few goats.”
Giselle’s face split into a grin for just a moment. “You need the magical power of pussy.”
Alistair blushed. “Maybe you can tell her you don’t need her to do this for you.”
“I’m not entirely sure I disagree with her. Prostitution is slavery.”
“Not here it isn’t.”
Before anything more could be said, Alistair stood up, his head nearly slamming against the thatched roof. He lingered only for a moment before, Giselle forgotten, he was spiraling down the stairs to the bottom floor. Giselle, startled, peered out at where he had been watching, finally spotting a group of men traveling over the land between them and Odin’s camp. Though she had difficulty distinguishing detail over the distance, she thought she saw a flag tied to the end of a pole.
***
Six men came bearing a flag to plant in the earth. Five men came to meet them. As the second group arrived, they closed ranks with Alistair at the front, backed by Ryan Wellesley, Taribo Mpala, Miklos Papadopolous and Santiago Escobar de León. Arrayed in two straight lines awaiting them were the other six, only three of whom Alistair recognized. At the center of the group stood a tall, slender man with hair of a soft golden color. In thick waves it fell down his back, and his beard, streaked with white, fell to his belly. His aging limbs were yet muscular, though his skin bore traces of every ravage life on Srillium had hurled at it. Armed and armored, he looked like he came from some Norse tale, and by his bearing and confident, commanding gaze Alistair guessed him to be Odin.
Flanking Odin was Duke, on his right, and another younger man on his left. Duke was positively dwarfed by Odin’s stature while the other, of Oriental heritage with a head that, save for the length of hair allowed to grow from the top and, bound, spill down his back, was bald. Behind these three were three others, one of them being Caleb with two more whom Alistair had never seen. Caleb towered over the others, even Odin, from his position in the back.
When Alistair’s group pulled to within twenty feet, he halted and Odin addressed him.
“I am Odin,” he confirmed in a gravelly voice, “of Tirius. My captains are Duke, of Earth, and Wei Bai, of Earth. Caleb I believe you already know, and he comes with two of his men.” Odin’s accent was Mandarin, incongruous with his Nordic appearance.
“I am Alistair Ashley. I come with Taribo, Miklos, Santiago and Ryan Wellesley. Taribo and Santiago are from Earth, Ryan and I from Aldra, and Miklos is from Arcabel.”
“Well met.”
“Well met. I was given an ominous message yesterday by your… champion he called himself.”
“There are men hiding under your protection who owe their loyalty to me. You owe your loyalty to me, as I believe you swore an oath. I demand you fulfill your oath. If not, my hand will be forced.”
“If you wish to press a claim, you may of course present your case in my court. For a fee. There are a few thousand men and women here who are not impressed with your oath and do not consider it binding. Like I said, if you want to press your case…”
“An oath is an oath. An oath is always binding,” Odin growled, his eyes narrowing.
“You are welcome to present your case in court.”
“Are you aware of what awaits you if you persist?”
“I have a fair idea of what you would like to do, but I don’t think you’re idiot enough to try it. You want to rule a kingdom, but half the population does not wish to be ruled. I’m guessing another large chunk is kept in your camp by nothing more than fear, and given the right opportunity they’ll bolt to live free like the others. I have a feeling you are frightened by this as well, or you would not be parlaying with me right now. Even if you could win, you’d be fighting against men defending their free lives. They will fight to the last man; this is no idle boast. At best you’d b
e left with a couple hundred men, an empty island and that much more death on your conscience. And all the time you spent eradicating us is time you should have spent planting crops. It would take you months to kill us off, and by then you’d starve. If you’re fool enough to engage us, say goodbye to your kingdom, and likely your life. But if you will consent to leave us be – and we will naturally return that favor – you can be free too. I will sell you my police and arbitration services. If you want, you can work for me.”
Odin said nothing, but he did not glower in anger. He even seemed a little tired, which condition he expressed with a long sigh.
“This moon is a testament to what men will do when they are not governed,” said Odin, not looking at Alistair but gazing out over the land, as if trying to take in the entirety of Srillium he spoke of. “My goal was peace, to unite people under one government, to have one last chance to…” Odin’s voice cracked and he stopped speaking.
“We do not need to unite under one government to be peaceful,” was Alistair’s gentle rebuke. “You may rule anyone who consents to be ruled by you. But out here, away from your camp, we live by a different creed. I do not rule; I offer services, services you are used to being handled by a government. But there is nothing about law or protection that suggests it must be monopolized.”
“And yet, you monopolize, just as I do.”
“Not true. Anyone who wishes may offer these services, and for all I know others are setting up their own companies right now. Out here, away from your camp, every relationship must be voluntarily agreed to by both sides. I can work for you, you can work for me, we can trade, we can leave each other alone… every man is master of his own fate. This has always been man’s dream, at least for himself, but it has also been his dream to take the liberty of those around him. But every once in a while, for a brief interval, a group of people manage to be free. It happened in Ireland for a thousand years; it happened in Iceland for almost four hundred. It happened in the American West and it happened on Kaldis for a long time. Every colony experienced it to varying degrees and time periods, especially in their early years. Now it is going to happen here, at least if we make the right decisions.”
Withûr We Page 59