The world seemed to tilt.
A slab the size of a kitchen table had broken loose beneath Buckwheat’s hooves. As it crumbled forward, he struggled for footing to no avail. Her hip slammed into the ground. Buckwheat slid toward Lars headfirst, with Josie’s foot trapped in a stirrup.
“Watch out!” she tried to warn Lars, but there was nothing he could do. She felt Buckwheat slam into Bolt. Imagining Lars being crushed between them filled her with horror. Oh, god, please let him survive!
The rocks slid mercilessly beneath her back as Buckwheat’s weight pulled her down the mountainside, shredding her army jacket to the chainmail beneath. Horse and rider gathered speed as they headed straight for the rapids. Josie’s screams mixed with the roar of the water. Momentum carried them over the edge of the cliffs the river had cut in the mountain rift like a kid off the end of a slide. She and Buckwheat hovered high above the water for a split second, just before they plummeted.
It felt like smacking pavement.
The current gripped her body and zipped her down the river. Not knowing how to swim, staying with the horse was her only chance—that was if he didn’t kick her to death first.
She pawed at the water in a frantic effort to keep her head above the surface. Call upon the charisma! But she had never been able to call upon its strength except by accident, during some kind of crisis.
“Don’t fail me now, charisma!” she glubbed.
Using the saddle horn to pull her head and shoulders out of the water, she struggled to get her tangled foot out of the stirrup. The saddle was slipping under Buckwheat’s belly, pulling her beneath the surface again.
I can do this, she told herself, fighting the panic. Open the Excito Fortitudo.
Picturing a valve next to her heart opening, and energy pouring into it, spreading through her veins, she realized that power had been building behind it like water against a dam, brought on by the threat to her life. Warmth flowed through her chest into her limbs. As the gateway within opened wider, not only did she feel oddly empowered, her mind had never been so clear.
With a single kick, she ripped the stirrup from the leather. Clinging to the horse’s mane, she managed to fling an arm out of the water, grab onto a wad of Buckwheat’s mane, and pull her head above the surface. Her belongings, including Riddle of Steel in its watertight freezer bag, were floating away down the river. The horse shook his head, snorting water out of his nose. Her grip loosened. She clawed at him, her only lifeline, but he slipped away. Never had she felt more defeated than the moment she watched Buckwheat pull himself onto a muddy bank without her.
Her eyes caught a glimpse of a black ball bobbing along in the distance. An arm came up out of the water. Wait, it was someone’s head.
“L-Lars!”
She tried to yell out his name again, but all she managed was a glub, glup, blup as river water splashed into her mouth. Where they would end up, was anybody’s guess.
Chapter Twelve
(Michael Penn)
Most council meetings centered on city planning. Josie’s mother, Veronica Albright, usually took over the whole affair, which was okay with me. I didn’t have a lot to contribute anyway. Years ago, just after the plague, but before the last remnants of humanity moved underground, she had lived down the road from my adoptive parents, Red the First and Elizabeth. I was a child then, while she was a grown-up. The years that had transformed me into a graying middle-aged man had barely touched Veronica. Although she was nearly seventy, her face was that of a thirty-five-year-old. So were her energy levels, but emotionally she related more to the old folks. To this day Veronica remained best pals with my mother.
Whenever I saw her, I thought of her youngest daughter and the Red Squad. Only a handful of people knew the true reason behind their departure. Red was keeping it a secret to avoid raising hopes only to dash them. That the squad had gone in search of the missing half of the Blood Map was high on the list of speculation, but like any true politician, Red refused to confirm or deny anything. After a while, people moved on to other topics, such as the completion of the port and the Western Alliance’s continued threats against our choice of real estate. In the meantime, we kept building a city.
The day the first wave of Bulwark craftsman arrived, all of Galatia came out to meet them. The new arrivals were taken by surprise by the cheering crowds lining the street, proffering food and handshakes. Despite their gruff exteriors, Mother had read in their thoughts that they were totally loving the attention. Once our guest laborers settled into their temporary camp, the Bulwarks became a regular sight around Galatia. They weren’t the friendly sort, but they worked hard to finish the port and took great pride in their work.
In turn, Red paid them well, and the word spread, attracting some of the best craftsman Future Earth had to offer, along with the riffraff and the slackers. Most of the dead weight drifted away of their own accord, but sometimes they needed a shove out of town, which made it clear that Galatia needed to establish visible law enforcement. The problem was that our police chief and many of his officers had died in the evacuation from the bunker, leaving us lacking in qualified law enforcement personnel.
My brother Barrett’s position as head of the recycling plant, essential in a self-sustaining underground facility, was obsolete here, but during his ten years on Future Earth as leader of his own settlement, he had earned a new skill set. Some argued that such a man deserved to be in a position of authority. Organized, dedicated, physically strong and knowledgeable about this age we had landed in—the council voted Barrett in as head of the police department. Lars’s father, Dr. Simon Steelsun, was vehemently opposed, but he was in the minority.
Sheriff Barrett Fade immediately appointed a deputy—our other brother, Bryce. Over the next few weeks they interviewed dozens of men and women interested in law enforcement postitions. In a months time, Galatia had twelve officers in its new police department. Fortunately, they didn’t have a lot to do beyond crowd control during Red’s weekly public meetings.
Their toughest assignment so far had been dealing with our foreign guests. Though taciturn with those not of their own race, the Bulwarks loved to party with their own kind. Sheriff Barrett and his officers were sometimes called late at night to ask them to tone down it down. There were a few tense incidents, but for the most part, the new Chief of Police handled the Bulwarks beautifully.
Outside of our borders, the western kingdoms were in the throes of a down economy, so craftsmen from all over the West were trickling into our new nation, eager for work, each with their own area of expertise. Bulwarks on foundation and masonry. Deermas at woodworking, and when it came to large wagon loads of lumber, they could out-pull the horses when needed.
As for the Commoners, they were willing to work any job, and blended in well with the Galatians. I talked to them about anything and everything, but Red reminded me in private to stay on guard, saying that they’d report everything they had seen and heard to their leaders upon returning to their homelands. Some of the humanoids seemed genuinely sad about our inevitable loss of the lands we claimed, but most didn’t care about the politics of Galatia, or our future, as long as they got paid.
How considerate of them.
During the council meetings, I usually sat in the back taking the minutes, trying hard not to yawn, but today’s was one of the more interesting ones. New city blueprints were up on the wall, complete with a individual plots in the outlying farming district. One farm had the name Michael Penn written over it in elegant looping black ink. I had never owned land before. Knowing a piece of this Earth was reserved especially for me filled me with unexpected emotion. Unable to cry, my body made up for it by quivering with joy.
A few minutes later into the meeting, considering my charisma was acceleration of plant growth in and out of season, the council decided that my fields should be the first cleared and planted. Seeds had been rescued from the bunker fire and I was already thinking about adding indigenous crops as well. B
ut right now, Red was discussing his intent to design the city center around the Mouth of God.
“Building near a sinkhole is ludicrous,” Professor Sweet voiced his opinion and many agreed with him.
“It’s not a sinkhole,” Red pointed out.
“It’s probably not a sinkhole,” Sheriff Barrett retorted. “The engineers and geologist aren’t sure what it is, though. What if it gets bigger and starts swallowing up the city?”
“As I see it, the best-case scenario is that we build a fence around it and charge tourists a buck a head to stare down the pit,” Simon joined in. “The worst-case scenario—the hole expands and destroys the capital. But so what? For us Galatians, apocalyptic scenarios are just another day at the office.” The room erupted with laughter, breaking the tension, but Simon wasn’t finished. “Mayor Wakeland’s vision has gotten us this far. What would be ludicrous is to stop believing in him now—when everything he predicted is on the verge of becoming reality.”
The vote was cast, and Red’s proposal to make the Mouth of God the heart of the city squeaked through by three votes. The new sheriff in town said it symbolized how Galatia was circling the drain. His words worried me, but I continued to place my faith in Red.
..............................
Sheriff Barrett was walking the grounds with the Bulwark lead contractor. He was using a laptop to show him some blue prints. It was Vernoica’s laptop, I recognized it by the picture of New York City’s skyline she had on its case. As the city’s financial manager, she had most of the plans and budgets stored there.
“Nothing is to be built inside this perimeter; all this blank space around the mouth is reserved for the mayor’s purpose, to be revealed at a later date.” Sheriff Barrett explained to the Bulwark contractor, while he sent me a look of disdain. He was pissed that Red hadn’t let him in on the secret purpose for all of the blank space. I was a little peeved to be kept in the dark as well. “Word is that the grindstones we ordered for the flour mills are on their way up the river, so work on the housing district while you can. Since food production is high priority, everything else will stop until we get the grindstones set in place.”
I leaned over the computer with interest as Barrett went over the concept of sewer lines with the fascinated Bulwark. The Bulwarks thought municipal sewage removal and treatment systems were ludicrous, but we’d held so many meetings about it that they’d quit questioning our plans, and simply carried them out to our engineers’ specifications.
“In order to maintain sanitation, the proposed sewer lines, which may just be a fantasy at this stage in the game, will go here,” Barrett told the Bulwark. “The structural engineering team is still ironing out the details. Housing districts one and two just need interior trim, right?” The Bulwark nodded. “The Deerma framing team can begin work in district three. Are you with me so far?”
“Yuh,” replied the Bulwark.
Barrett handed him the paper version of the plans. “If you have any questions, come see me before you dig. By the way, has the rumor about Blanche Steelsun being a sorceress died down among your workers?”
“Nuh,” the Bulwark said, shaking his head. “But I’ve convinced my workers to stay, so long as she stays her distance, and you keep the money flowing our way.”
..............................
(Michael Penn)
News of the superb quality of Galatian jewelry had spread across the land. These were the pieces I had collected as a boy, built by modern craftsman with centuries of experience, many precision cut by lasers. Couriers for kings and queens arrived with gold, silver and promises of goods in exchange for coveted pieces. Red wasn’t naïve, though. He knew the couriers’ secondary purpose was to report back to their employers on the city’s progress. The whole world seemed to be watching, waiting, and wondering if one of the kingdoms, in a move independent from the Alliance, would attack Galatia for its treasure.
Red often pressed me about my charismatic visions, wanting to know if I had inside information about any upcoming attacks. All I knew was that blood would flow—but where, when, whose, how much, I didn’t know.
While all of this was going on, the docks were expanded to accommodate all the imports. According to the Regalans, there weren’t any towns upstream from Galatia worth mentioning, just a loose collection of primitive villages. Nonetheless, Red sent a party to explore the region and they came back verifying the Regalans’ claims. Having money to spend endeared Galatia to the wealthy merchants downstream in the heavily populated cities downstream, enough so that they were willing to ferry anything we asked for upstream, some of it inconveniently bulky. However, true to his bunker roots, Red’s goal was to make Galatia as self-sufficient as possible. We wanted to grow our own food, grind our own grain, mill our own lumber, and forge our own weapons.
The facilities were drawn up in the blueprint, the supplies ordered, and there were plenty of workers to go around. For a while, there were more non-Galatians in Galatia than Galatians, a fact that worried both the mayor and the sheriff. But another winter was on its way, and many Galatians were still living in tents, so what choice did we have?
They mayor had also made a large trade for weapons, because the issue of First Rights hung in the air like the blade of a guillotine over Galatia’s neck. The arms dealer didn’t want his name to get out, so everything was done on the down-low. After the transaction was complete, Red and I sat in his temporary office tent to discuss the future.
“My humanoid advisors tell me that the other nations are just biding their time,” Red explained to me across his new office desk. “They are letting us go to the expense of building the city, and when it’s complete, they plan to swoop in and take it from us.”
“Then why do we keep building?” I asked.
“Because the pillar of fire led us here,” Red said. “This is our home.”
“But how are we going to defend it?”
“The power resides in the golden breath of God, which rises above the mouth, day and night, calling my name. But not just mine—the many. With the rising of his angelic army, we will prevail.”
I didn’t understand his words, and was too befuddled to form a question, so I said nothing.
Chapter Thirteen
Three Months Later
My family’s house, a red Cape Cod with white trim that I designed myself, was almost complete and I couldn’t be prouder. The well had been dug. Any spare time I had, which was damn little, I spent on the finishing touches like shutters, cupboards, and elevated beds for the family. The Penn House, as we liked to call it, sat a mile outside of the city. I had already worn a trail between my house and the city.
A group of skilled Commoners showed me how to farm with the tools available in this world—no big machinery like I was accustomed to in the bunker. But before long I had a magnificent garden going and was increasing field capacity every day. My willingness to share the bounty meant there was no shortage of volunteers to help me with the planting and harvests. Thanks to the gift God had given me, the community was already enjoying my first crop of corn, beans, muskmelon, and various varieties of lettuce. The apple trees I had planted would not produce fruit this season or next, but the saplings in the orchard looked healthy and strong.
I was most excited about the pumpkins.
We weren’t able to justify the space needed to grow them in the bunker. I hadn’t seen one since I was a boy living in Hewego. Mother promised to make me a pie. I couldn’t wait for my children to get a taste of true pumpkin. When Bryce stopped by for a visit, we hung out on the front porch swing and daydreamed about pie.
“Pumpkins were the first fruits I touched with charisma. Wait a second— is a pumpkin a fruit or a vegetable?”
“Hell if I know.” Bryce laughed. “I sure missed you the last ten years, Mike.”
“I missed you, too.” A question had been percolating at the back of my mind for a while. Among us brothers, there was no need for formality, so I just blurted
it out. “Simon Steelsun can be pretty intense, but overall he’s a peaceable fellow; why is he so hostile toward Magus? And he doesn’t seem too fond of Barrett either. Did something happen between them? Is that why he left your settlement? Bad blood?”
“I’m sure that was a big factor. It’s a long story, but no big deal, really.”
“I would like to hear it.”
“Simon’s narrow-minded ways created friction.”
“The good doctor—narrow-minded?” I said. “That’s difficult to believe.”
“What if I told you the laws of physics have changed, brother? What if I told your there’s more to this world than meets the eye?”
“Are you forgetting our Christian roots? Of course there are many unseen things.”
“I’m not talking about the things of heaven. I’m talking about an unseen river of raw power.”
“You mean the charisma.”
He shook his head. “I mean magic.”
I busted out laughing.
“You said that so serious. I almost believed you.”
“I am deadly serious, brother.”
“You mean like spells, potions, and witches on broomsticks?”
“The first two, yes. The latter—not that I’ve seen.”
I scratched my beard. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll give me a chance to prove it.”
“Uh,” I had been totally unprepared for this conversation and the ensuing proposal. There didn’t seem to be any harm in letting him show me. “Okay.”
I followed my brother across the meadow, to the edge of the Kalida River. Wild violets covered the ground like a plush purple blanket. A tree of unknown species grew nearby, its chains of yellow flowers dangling over a table with log legs and a gray slab top. He took a black metal box molded with celestial symbols from underneath the table. Opening the lid, Bryce pulled out bottles of colored liquids and a bundled white washcloth.
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