The evening at the abbey ended with laughter and tears, some of both from Maera and Yozef. After leave-taking, they walked home, slowly for Maera’s sake.
“Are you sad to be leaving Abersford, Yozef?” asked Maera.
“I confess, more than I expected, and you know how reluctant I was at the idea. This is where I first adjusted to being cast on Caedellium. The Abersford area is ‘home’ more than any place I’ve ever lived, even more so than the three houses my family lived in where I grew up. By the end of the evening at the abbey, I already felt homesick and now am a little melancholy. While I know the feeling will pass, yes, it’s hard for me.”
“It’s hard for me also,” said Maera. “More than I expected, even though, in a sense, I’m moving back ‘home,’ but it’s the home of my childhood, not of our time together. Abersford was where we began our marriage, where we conceived our child, and where I felt I was involved in the daily lives of people, more than in Caernford, where I was the ‘hetman’s daughter.’ But I won’t lie, Yozef. As much as I’ll miss Abersford, our first home, and the people, part of me is drawn to Caernford. I’ll see my family again regularly, and I confess I miss being around the center of clan activities, where I attended boyermen meetings as father’s scribe, edited and made suggestions on his correspondence, and felt in the middle of where decisions were made. Not that I haven’t been more than busy here, what with involvement in Abersford affairs and helping you.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, holding hands, and both in their own ways and minds coming to terms with their lives’ new paths.
They had politely declined invitations for social occasions in Abersford, including a proposal by the town’s mayor to hold a major farewell event—their excuse being the press of time and preparations. However, most of the same guests of the mayor’s planned affair attended a night at the Snarling Graeko.
Carnigan laid down the law. “Forget it, Yozef. Kuwaith and I have already arranged the evening. The pub is reserved for that night, and everyone likely to want to be there has been invited.”
Yozef and Maera gave in, not wanting to dash the only social event Carnigan had ever been known to plan. They arrived, by carriage this time—Maera wouldn’t be drinking, but she wasn’t sure what Yozef’s condition would be later. Kuwaith, the Snarling Graeko owner, had outdone himself with the abundance of food and beer. Yozef never inquired who paid for the largesse.
Although the intent was to hold the event inside the pub, word spread widely. Most of the populace of Abersford showed up, and a spontaneous fair spilled into the streets, with the other pubs moving their night’s business to support the Snarling Graeko. It was a night to remember.
Two sixdays after their decision to move, a wagon convoy left Abersford, composed of a carriage for Maera and Yozef and two wagons of possessions. They took only what they couldn’t readily replace in Caernford, such as pieces of furniture made by Dyfeld Fuller, Filtin’s father and an excellent furniture maker, and their growing collection of books, mementos, and clothing. A fourth wagon contained gifts from individuals and families throughout the Abersford area, along with the few possessions of Balwis and Carnigan, who came with them and rode their own horses. Seabiscuit walked along, tied to a wagon, along with a carriage horse given by the Mertons.
They would live with Maera’s parents until workers finished a house of their own. Yozef groaned when informed of the initial arrangement, and it took time for him to explain the jokes among his people about married children returning to live with parents.
“Okay, Maera, it’s logical we live at the Keelan Manor until our new house is ready, but why don’t we use one of the guest cottages? That way we’d have more privacy.”
He hadn’t expected his question to gain much traction, and his prediction was correct.
“No,” said Maera in a tone implying that further discourse was useless. “My old quarters in the manor are more spacious than a cottage and more convenient to the rest of the manor and my family. I’m also sure we can arrange a workroom for you, where you can continue your writings and other planning.”
Yozef swallowed a feeble protest, recognizing the futility of mounting any counterattack.
After a long day’s journey, they reached Keelan Manor outside Caernford, as the last of the sun’s light faded behind the eastern mountains. Mared, Maera’s youngest sister, served as the lookout at the entrance to the manor’s drive and ran back to the manor to announce their impending arrival.
The Keelan family waited on the veranda, and the women engaged in an orgy of hugs and tears at Maera’s return and ooh’ed over her swelling. Maera proudly allowed strokes and pats. Even Culich beamed at his eldest daughter and enveloped her in his arms as soon as an opening appeared, although he ignored Maera’s offer to feel the location of his first grandchild.
Yozef, initially forgotten, was eventually recognized, first by Culich and then by the females of the Keelan family. The affection showered on him made him glow inside, even as he felt uncomfortable at more effusive demonstrations than he’d experienced in his own family.
They settled into Maera’s old rooms. Their clothing and a few belongings found places on shelves and in closets and chests, while staff unloaded the rest of their possessions into an older, seldom-used barn. By the third day, Yozef had appraised the progress in establishing new workshops and factories in Caernford. His concern that his workers’ families get proper accommodations and aid in finding permanent homes was assuaged, as Maera handled everything. She recruited the St. Tomo’s abbot to encourage the citizens of Caernford to make the newcomers feel welcome and do everything they could to help find housing, be it temporary or permanent.
Progress on the house impressed Yozef and didn’t need his attention. The day after they arrived in Caernford, he and Maera visited the construction site, only a half-mile from Keelan Manor. They met the lead builder, went over the plans for the house, and made adjustments for their specific needs and wants. Culich had picked out the location before the wedding, and basic preparatory work had begun before the Kolskos made the decision to move. The builder said the hetman had placed the house as a priority, and the builder had pulled in workers from other projects. He estimated completion in one month. They gave him the go-ahead, and in another sixday the site went from staking out the house’s position to progress on the roof trusses.
Three small cottages were included in the construction plans, one to be used by Carnigan and Balwis. Carnigan also had accommodations at St. Tomo’s, and Balwis, somewhere in Caernford. The two shared duties with Wyfor Kales, so that one or more of them remained near Yozef and Maera at all times, along with their other duties, such as helping train Keelan men.
With all of the activity, Yozef shunted aside thoughts of Abersford, except for feeling occasional regret in his few idle moments. Yozef and Maera ate meals with her family in the manor, and the warm familial setting was welcomed by her and appreciated by him.
With the house plan out of mind, Yozef returned his focus to various projects, especially those on weapons. He had to return to Abersford to check on progress, oversee packing, and, in some cases, alleviate his worry about workers burning or blowing up buildings, themselves, or others. However, before he could leave to return to Abersford, Hetman Keelan once again changed Yozef’s plans.
He and Maera had just arrived back at the manor after visiting the site of their new home. Yozef felt so encouraged by the progress, he reflected with satisfaction that they wouldn’t have to live with the in-laws any longer than the six sixdays of an Anyar month. His mood changed when Culich called him into a private meeting.
CHAPTER 13: “YOU POOR BASTARDS”
Being asked to come to Culich’s office was not one of Yozef’s favorite experiences. This day was no exception.
“Yozef, while you were looking at the house site, I received confirmation an All-Clan Conclave is called for two sixdays from today in Orosz City. All the clans coming to aid Moreland v
oted for the conclave call, as did enough other clans to require mandatory attendance by all hetmen. This conclave is crucial for what we do next against the Narthani. Every hetman will bring his main advisors. Naturally, Vortig Luwis and Pedr Kennrick will come with me. I also want you there for advice and Denes Vegga, because he has been at the front of fights against the Narthani. In addition, Denes has adopted suggestions from you, perhaps faster than others might have.”
Yozef wanted to object that he was in the middle of the move to Caernford and needed to get back to Abersford, but he felt stuck. Whether or not he knew what he was doing or had any business giving military or political advice, Culich, Maera, and the others expected it of him.
He stood looking at his father-in-law for several moments, silent while he considered and discarded arguments against going as immaterial or fruitless. His most cogent reservations related to who he really was and where he came from, neither of which he could voice.
Do I have any business giving advice? No, but so what? I’ve done it before, at St. Sidryn’s and Moreland City, and it worked out, which I strongly believe was due to luck. On the other hand, might I actually have useful things to contribute? What if even with my abysmal lack of qualifications, I’m still the best the Caedelli have?
Through his mind flashed an old movie, a bad one he’d seen on TV. Richard Burton played the jaded owner of a small hotel in Haiti when the people are terrorized by Papa Doc Duvalier’s secret police, the Tonton Macoute. Alec Guinness played a British army ex-major in Haiti on business. Both characters fall afoul of the secret police, with Guinness being killed and Burton taking refuge with a small band of freedom fighters who mistake him for the major. The movie ends with Burton standing in front of eight bedraggled French-speaking Haitian men, who expect expert military advice from a British officer. In English, Burton starts his first address to his “troops” with “You . . . poor . . . bastards.” That was what Yozef felt tempted to say.
Oh, these people are poor bastards, if defeating the Narthani depends on me!
They were by no means a stupid people. Well, not all of them anyway. The Moreland and Eywell hetmen surely would have fallen into that category. Certainly not Culich, Maera, Denes, Cadwulf, and many others. And they didn’t lack for bravery. Even the stupid Morelanders showed that by their willingness to charge the Narthani, an incredibly dumb tactic.
Culich waited patiently for Yozef’s response. The hetman had learned from Maera and his own observations that rushing Yozef while he remained in deep thought was futile. A part of Culich’s mind wondered whether the rumors were true. Did God whisper in the man’s ear? And in case God did, why interrupt?
“Sorry, Culich, could you give me a moment?”
Yozef didn’t wait for an answer. He turned his back on the hetman and walked to a garden window. Culich sat and waited.
As always seemed to be the case on Caedellium, flowers bloomed outside the window. Yozef noticed the coralin vine blossoms just opening. In another sixday, their aroma would reach for hundreds of yards. Below the vines, in partial shade, Yozef saw what looked like pansies with black faces against yellow, blue, and maroon petals. He experienced a brief memory of Earth until a flock of small green and purple murvors landed on and around a birdbath. The distraction gone, his mind came back to the moment.
The Conclave. I have to go. And who’s to say what I should or shouldn’t say to the clans? Despite myself, I have to be there to argue against ill-advised actions that even I can see. I have to do it for myself and Maera and all the others. Those I know and all the other Caedelli.
Yozef turned back to Culich. “Of course, Hetman, I’ll come and offer whatever I can.”
“Bring what you wrote about—what you remember of military operations,” said Culich.
Oh, shit! I haven’t finished it, Yozef moaned to himself.
When the hetman had pressed him to recognize and accept his responsibility to give advice, if he had it, Yozef had said he would write up sayings of famous theorists of military campaigns. In fact, on Earth, he had read only the single most well-known writings of Jomini, Clausewitz, and Sun Tzu. He hadn’t studied any of them as well as he did texts for his classes but only perused them more casually, so he could pretend to be knowledgeable with other video gamesters. As a consequence of his less-intense study, his enhanced memory could dredge up only fragments, instead of whole pages and chapters, the way he could with chemistry and other science texts. Of the three writers’ works, he liked Clausewitz’s the most, though Jomini’s offered more practical, detailed advice. Sun Tzu’s was duplicative, as might be expected, because common principles would naturally occur to different writers, even if they’d lived millennia and thousands of miles apart. However, Sun Tzu’s work required the most summarizing, because Yozef thought the Chinese writer sounded too much like Yoda, the Jedi Master.
Although Yozef couldn’t remember whole pages from the three writers, he could recall versions of “bullet points,” pithy summaries of major principles. If nothing else, this might help the Caedelli leaders avoid the most egregious errors and get them to think, instead of emotionally reacting. After witnessing the Moreland and Eywell behavior at Moreland City, Yozef feared that too many of the clan leaders didn’t appreciate that cold logic during battle surpassed emotions or delusions of honor and glory.
“Of course, you’ll go with Father to the All-Clan Conclave,” Maera said to Yozef that evening, when Culich announced the upcoming trip at the Keelan family evening meal.
“Naturally,” replied Yozef, when what he wanted to say was, “As if I have any choice.”
Yozef excused himself as early as he could after the meal and retired to Maera’s old quarters, where he had set up a temporary work area comprising a small desk, two six-foot bookcases that partly walled off the area from the rest of the sitting room, and lamps and writing materials. As he concentrated, oblivious, Maera’s hand on his shoulder startled him, and he jumped.
“Sorry, Yozef, I thought you heard me come in. What are you working on?”
“The summary of what I remember about tactics and strategy, as I mentioned that your father asked me to write. I’ve worked on it off and on, but now he’s asked me to have something ready when we leave for the conclave in eight days. I have forty or fifty pages of notes, but it’s all disjointed, so I’m trying to boil it down to major points. I hope I don’t mislead anyone who reads it into thinking they know anything about military theory.”
“I’m sure you’ll do fine, and it’ll be helpful.”
Yozef grunted, conveying his lack of conviction at her reassurance. “What I’m trying to do is summarize everything I remember in a list of short statements. I’m afraid it’s disorganized, duplicative, and contradictory in places, since I’m pulling pieces from different sources I can remember. I’m not sure if the clan leaders reading this will be helped or confused. However, I’m about finished doing the best I can.”
“Can I read what you have?” asked Maera.
Yozef sighed, sat back in his chair, and handed three sheets of paper to Maera. She settled into a cushioned armchair next to a kerosene lamp and turned up the flame.
Looking at the title, she asked, “On War? That’s the title? What’s this word war?”
“Remember the last sixday when I asked you about Caedelli words for fighting and conflicts?” said Yozef.
“Yes, and you said there was a word missing from Caedelli, although certain words in other languages matched the word you were looking for.”
That day, Yozef couldn’t recall an appropriate word from his knowledge of Caedelli. Maera confirmed words that connoted fights, feuds, vendettas, battles, skirmishes, conflict, and more, though none that he believed were appropriate for fighting on a scale that might soon happen on Caedellium. Only when Maera described words from Narthani, Fuomi, and Landolin that seemed appropriate for “war” did Yozef realize Caedelli lacked an exact word.
“We need a word to describe what the clans
face,” said Yozef, “and I doubt the people here would want to use a Narthani word or even one from another realm. I’ve chosen to use the word from my language, English. The word is war, a prolonged military conflict between peoples or realms, where the outcome is total victory or defeat.”
While Yozef’s definition wasn’t strictly accurate, he decided the clans needed to come to a frame of mind consistent with the level of threat they faced. He couldn’t judge the Narthani depth of commitment toward the subjugation of Caedellium, but the clans needed to prepare for the worst.
Maera set down the sheets. “Explain it to me clearly, Yozef. What is war?”
“I’ll define the word with the example of the Narthani against all the peoples of Caedellium. The Narthani intend to turn Caedellium into part of their empire and convert the people into Narthani, whether they want to be or not. Those who resist will be killed or enslaved. Every surviving Caedelli will live and serve at the will of the Narthani. Within a few generations, all memory of the history and language of the island will disappear. If the clans and the people of Caedellium want to prevent this, they must commit themselves to use every possible means and make every conceivable sacrifice to fight the Narthani. The Narthani are waging war on Caedellium, and the clans and people must wage war on the Narthani, at least those here on the island.”
Heavier Than a Mountain (Destiny's Crucible Book 3) Page 16