Artemis Awakening

by Lindskold, Jane

  “They are,” Adara said, “but…”

  Griffin spoke in unison with her, “… It takes the spring and much of the summer to teach those young idiots what they’ll need come autumn.”

  They laughed all three together, Bruin as loudly as either of them at the repetition of this favorite bit of wisdom.

  “Griffin’s arrival has been noticed,” Adara said, picking up a chicken leg, “but since everyone who spoke to me seemed to assume that Griffin was simply one of your students arrived a bit early, I didn’t see need to say otherwise. Still, we’re going to need to introduce him before our neighbors think we have something to hide.”

  Bruin nodded. “Since we’re ahead on setting up the dorms, I thought an afternoon’s stroll about the town wouldn’t be amiss. How did your queries go?”

  Adara frowned. “Seems the river is running fast this year. There’s talk about sending a caravan overland to Blue Meadow to pick up supplies. As usual, it’s unlikely any of the boats will think it profitable to risk coming up here until the snowmelt abates.”

  “Shepherd’s Call often must go seeking after supplies come spring,” Bruin explained to Griffin. “We don’t have a lot to offer beyond wool, goat cheese, furs, and the like. Later in the year, when the river is sleepier, there will be less risk for the riverboats and so more return on the investment. That’s when we see the traders.”

  “I’d hoped,” Adara said, “to take Foam Dancer at least part of the way, but given how the river is running … We may do better on the road.”

  She glanced at Griffin. She could tell from his expression that Bruin had raised the question of the journey to Spirit Bay. Griffin looked resigned rather than eager but, sitting here in the cherry blossom–scented spring warmth, she could understand why.

  “We’re not going to leave come morning,” she assured him, “but I’d like to join the caravan to Blue Meadow if we can. There’s always more banditry in the spring. I’d prefer we travel in company.”

  Griffin Dane had been spreading sweet butter on a flat cake. Now he put down the treat untasted.

  “Bandits? Here? On Artemis?”

  Adara didn’t want to laugh at him, but she heard the mockery that crept into her voice.

  “You don’t think the world has remained unchanged in the hundreds of years since the seegnur took their leave?” she asked. “Oh, we have bandits and more.”

  “But the village…” Griffin protested. “When you left me on the bluff, I had a good view of Shepherd’s Call. There are no walls, no defenses. I thought that you lived in peace.”

  “No walls,” Adara said and felt very proud, “as such, but certainly we have defenses. Bruin the Hunter and teacher of hunters makes his home in Shepherd’s Call.”

  “And for some years now,” Bruin added approvingly, “so has Adara the Huntress. It would be a foolhardy bandit gang to prey upon this town. Even if they killed me and Adara—and Honeychild and Sand Shadow as well—there are many I have taught who would feel duty-bound to avenge their old master. Why do you think the local shepherds do not protest such large predators living in the midst of their flocks and herds? They know we keep worse away.”

  Griffin picked up his flat cake and took a bite. Wiping crumbs from his lips, he answered. “I see. Superficially, much is the same as the worlds I have known, but those pieces come together differently. Bandits then. I can see why we’d want to join a larger group. What other dangers might we need to watch for?”

  Adara glanced at Bruin, waiting for his nod of permission before speaking. “Here in Shepherd’s Call, the adapted are welcome. Bruin has been a good example, as has Helena the Equestrian. However, this has not been the case everywhere. I don’t know all the world’s lore, but apparently there is reason for the fear.”

  Griffin looked a little sad but not at all surprised. “Those who are different—markedly, unavoidably, different—will always find themselves ostracized.”

  “And sometimes,” Bruin said around a mouthful of the meat and cheese he’d piled onto a chunk of bread, “those doing the ostracizing have good reason. The lore tells how, even before the slaughter of the seegnur and death of machines, many of the adapted chose to believe themselves superior to the common run of humanity.

  “When the seegnur were no longer present to govern, there were those among the adapted who thought they’d been offered an opportunity to dominate in their place. Even before, our peoples had been divided roughly between the professions and the support. The adapted always were trained into a profession and, so I have been told, this led to resentment even then. But the rules and regulations of the seegnur kept order.”

  “So did the world fall into war and chaos then?” Griffin asked. “When I orbited the planet, I looked for signs, but at this tech level they are not easy to spot. I thought all seemed pastoral, even peaceful. I saw no evidence of great industry. There were a few larger population centers—mostly by bodies of water as would be expected—but nothing that made me think Artemis had departed from her heritage.”

  Adara found herself somewhat lost by much of what Griffin said. It seemed to her that Shepherd’s Call was very industrious. Most people worked in some fashion from dawn until dusk. Even the small children had lessons to learn and tasks assigned according to their size and ability. A boy set to watch the sheep might also carry a spindle and wind wool. Idleness was not prized here, nor in Ridgewood where she had been born.

  But Bruin apparently understood.

  “If by industry, you mean great manufactories, yes, you are correct. Such have never evolved here. Indeed, I think the tale you told us last night about those nanobots released as a forerunner to invasion may be the reason. Gears turn, but efforts to power, say, a millwheel by other means than water—although in some places I have heard they use wind or animals—have not worked. We craft on a human scale, assisted, certainly by tools, but the machines of which the lore holds memory—machines that worked out of sight so that the seegnur might have light without smoke, clean clothing within a span of minutes, food served hot for the asking, those have never been rediscovered.”

  Griffin looked grim. “I see. My shuttle’s wreck is but a part of a larger wreck—a wreck of an entire people, condemned to savagery.”

  He swallowed the last of his flat cake, then burst out laughing, seeing in their stunned expressions the ludicrousness of that last statement.

  “Forgive me, friends. I don’t mean to speak poorly of your world. My mother always said I lived as much in the world of my ideas as in the one whose air I breathed. My brothers were less kind. They said I’d fall on the floor and bruise my butt because I went to sit in a chair I expected to be there.”

  He rapped his knuckles against the table, stroked the use-polished wood of the chair in which he sat. “I’m here. Although Artemis is proving different in ways I did not anticipate, ‘savage’ it is not.”

  Adara asked softly, “Your brothers, do you miss them? They do not sound as if they were always kind to you.”

  “I…” Griffin paused, considering. “We’re all grown men. It has been many years since we lived under one roof or even met all at once but, now that I need to accept that I might never see them again, yes, I do miss them.”

  Adara nodded. “Then we’ll do our best to make sure that if you don’t see them again, it’s by choice, not chance.”

  After the meal had been cleared away, Griffin himself taking a rag and going out to scrub the table clean, Griffin said, “Shall we go into the village? It’s time this stranger met more of the people of Shepherd’s Call.”

  * * *

  Griffin felt acutely self-conscious when they walked out of Bruin’s front gate and turned toward the green that was the heart of Shepherd’s Call. The road was wide enough that Adara walked to his left, while Bruin shambled along to the right. Sand Shadow paced ahead, as if this was some parade in her honor. Behind, making little snuffling noises, Honeychild followed in a slow, sleepy amble.

  They pas
sed several houses along the way, chickens in the doorways scattering in the manner of domestic fowl everywhere, their clucking chorus not greatly intensified by the presence of bear and puma. Birds took wing, but again, not with undue panic. The larger animals—dogs, goats, occasionally a cow or horse—seemed more aware of the potential threat offered by the predators but, while eyes were rolled or the occasional snort or growl reached the ear, most accepted the odd procession as a matter of routine.

  The people they passed offered friendly waves or called greetings as they went about their chores. Without pausing, Bruin and Adara replied in kind. Griffin had thought these neighbors might come forth and make excuses to chat, but the little procession continued on unimpeded. When they rounded a bend and could see the village green clearly, Griffin noticed that several of those who had greeted them were already present. A few leaned hoes or shovels against the trees, dusting their palms clean against their trouser legs or skirts.

  Remembering the plan of the village as he had seen it from the bluff above the river, Griffin understood. Adara and Bruin were taking the long way around, partly, he thought, in deference to how their neighbor’s livestock might react if bear and puma prowled through the narrower back roads, partly to give time for the word to spread that the stranger was coming forth to be met.

  Griffin’s supposition was confirmed when, soon after they crossed from road into green, the door to a large house set just off the main street flew open and a plump, well-dressed woman emerged. Her bustling manner reminded Griffin of one of the hens, but her course possessed nothing of their erratic scattering. The woman was followed by a flock of young women and small children. She bore down upon them, arms outstretched in welcome.

  “Well, Bruin, my girls have been buzzing all the morning about your visitor,” she said, as soon as she was close enough that she could not be said to be shouting. Nonetheless, there was a booming quality to her voice that could not be ignored. “You selfish man, keeping him to yourself all the morning. You know how we all look forward to fresh faces after a winter of being snowed in with only ourselves to look at. Is this the first of your students, then?”

  Although this was phrased as a question, the matron did not pause for an answer, being, as Griffin did not need to be told, certain of the answer. What else would he be? As Adara had reported, the river was too rough to bring the merchants and there was little other reason for anyone to come to Shepherd’s Call.

  The woman turned her attention to Griffin. Sand Shadow had moved to one side and now lolled on the grass, her manner one that Griffin knew all too well indicated amusement. Unimpeded, the woman bore down on Griffin. From where it rested upon her formidable bosom, she removed a wreath made from a many-petaled white flower with a golden yellow center.

  “Welcome! Welcome!” the woman exclaimed, draping the wreath around Griffin’s neck. “I am Mistress Cheesemaker. I have the honor of being the spokesperson for our little community. Let me have the pleasure of being the first—other than your hosts, of course—to welcome you to Shepherd’s Call. What shall we call you?”

  “Griffin,” he managed around a potential sneeze. The flowers had a strong, not completely pleasant odor, as might be expected of an early spring blossom that wanted to keep from being eaten before the bees might find it. “Griffin Dane.”

  Mistress Cheesemaker seemed a bit puzzled by these few words—although whether it was Griffin’s accent or his name that caused her face to go momentarily blank, Griffin could not guess. Nevertheless, she was not so puzzled that the flow of her speech slowed for more than a breath. “Griffin … Let me introduce you to my daughters. This is Martine and this is Laura and the one with the baby on her hip is Suzie.”

  Other people were pressing forward now. Griffin, struggling against the impulse to sneeze, saw with alarm that several others bore floral tributes. Adara and Bruin had dropped back a few paces, but weren’t so far that they couldn’t help him if more than his name was asked. However, the people of Shepherd’s Call seemed starved for talk, though not nearly so starved for listening.

  Griffin had just shaken the rough, callused hand of Master Miller and accepted a wristlet of violets from his doe-eyed wife when he caught a glimpse of the first face that did not look particularly welcoming. It belonged to a strongly built man with shoulder-length dark brown hair. The man looked as if he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days, but otherwise wasn’t unduly untidy. From how his blue eyes flickered between Griffin and Adara, this was one person who was not pleased by the idea of them both residing beneath Bruin’s roof.

  Having helped Bruin set up the dormitories, Griffin understood why. Most of those who came to learn the hunter’s trade from Bruin and Adara would be between ten and twelve years old. Even by the standards of this culture (and certainly by Griffin’s own), these were mere boys. By contrast, Griffin was definitely a man—and a man, he would guess, apparently this one’s own age and therefore a potential rival.

  The two men’s gazes locked in mutual appraisal. Mistress Cheesemaker immediately caught the scent of acrimony. Showing herself no fool, she set about defusing it with introductions.

  “Griffin, this is Terrell the Factotum,” she said, “who came to us last autumn to study the finer points of riding with our resident equestrian. Terrell’s a relative newcomer, so I’m sure he’ll be glad to show you around when you have some free time.”

  Griffin wasn’t at all so certain but, under Mistress Cheesemaker’s authoritarian gaze, there was nothing he and Terrell could do but clasp hands. If Terrell’s clasp met one stronger than he expected, he gave no sign. Griffin had too many brothers not to recognize the challenge offered by Terrell’s gripping fingers, but he only gave as much as he was offered, no more. After all, Griffin wasn’t looking to make an enemy, even if this Terrell seemed inclined to think of him as one from the start.

  With Terrell’s advent, another element of village dynamics fell into place. Not surprisingly, given that this was the middle of the day, most of those who had flooded out to meet the new arrival were either females or older men. Doubtless the rest of the menfolk were out getting in the crops or whatever it was men did in a farming and sheep-herding village at this time of year. From how the girls giggled and looked between Griffin and Terrell, it was quite evident that Terrell was a favorite with the ladies. However, it was also apparent that at least a few thought the new arrival might be even more interesting.

  Great, Griffin thought as yet another floral tribute was draped around his neck. Just what I need. On the other hand, what does it matter? Adara and I will be leaving soon for Spirit Bay. I probably won’t need to deal with this Terrell for months—maybe never again—and I certainly don’t plan to start courting the local ladies.

  He wished he thought the young ladies didn’t seem to think otherwise. Even Mistress Cheesemaker was examining him appraisingly, as if contemplating which of her daughters he might suit.

  As Griffin was exchanging handclasps with the village’s senior cobbler, a high, shrill scream ripped through the pleasant chatter. The scream stilled all sound in a single breath. Adara’s voice sounded a moment later.

  “What’s that? Sand Shadow! No! Don’t!”

  Turning, Griffin saw Adara running in the direction of the tree beneath which Sand Shadow had been lounging. With a graceful leap, the huntress was up into the branches, climbing to where she could get a better look at whatever had so disturbed the great cat.

  Long body in a tense line, Sand Shadow remained near the tree. It was evident from the puffing of her fur and the lashing of her heavy tail that she’d been about to take on whatever it was that had made her let forth that blood-chilling caterwaul.

  Ignoring the babble around him, Griffin noted that Adara was looking in the direction of the forested mountain slopes from which they had descended—was it only the night before? At first he saw nothing but the vari-hued greens of the mixed evergreen and deciduous foliage. Then, where a gap in the trees marked a clearing of some
sort, he saw a flash as of light reflecting back from metal or glass.

  Adara’s vantage point gave her a clearer view.

  “There’s something,” she said, “something large—at least the size of a cow—coming through the forest. I can’t see all of it, but it’s moving fairly quickly, on long legs, like those of a spider.”

  She paused, checked again, then added. “I don’t ask you to believe me, but whatever it is seems to be made all of metal.”

  Interlude: TVC1500

  Target found.

  Hasten!

  Peace comes with success.

  Peace comes with death.

  7

  Metal and Fire

  At Sand Shadow’s scream, the villagers had fallen silent. Now the babbling resumed, cordial gossip vanishing beneath the shrill notes of panic.

  Mothers began hurrying small children toward the houses. Most of the older children went scurrying after, but a few—bolder or maybe just less wise than their fellows—were copying Adara and climbing up the trees that shaded the edges of the green.

  Bruin, Griffin saw, was also up a tree. He was momentarily surprised that such a bulky man could climb so easily, but then he remembered how well bears were said to climb. Honeychild was guarding the base of Bruin’s tree as Sand Shadow was Adara’s.

  Some few villagers remained on the green. Mistress Cheesemaker and the old cobbler were hurrying toward the space between two of the larger houses. Remembering his earlier conjecture that the village might be defensible if the areas between the houses were blockaded, Griffin wasn’t completely surprised to see the pair tugging at what looked like segments of an old gate. Glancing to one side, he saw Terrell helping the miller with a similar task.