Blood of the Scarecrow: Book 3: Solstice 31 Saga

by Martin Wilsey

  “I'll see it, one day.”

  “The high council is considering a new name for the moon. The high council wants to call it Hume. All of it. Hume Base, Hume City, and just Hume, just as Earth calls her moon Luna.” He stood and continued. “And when it is your turn to be our ambassador to Earth, you will help bring lasting peace to that world, that whole system, as well.”

  “Will I see you again?”

  “Yes. One day. But for now, take this.”

  He drew his Telis Raptor blade from his tunic, sheath and all.

  “Make this a formal token of the Earth ambassador. Just seeing it will make the weak ones think twice.”

  “The Chancellor’s Doom?” Wyn said in reverence.

  She took it from him, carefully; as if it would kill her, if she handled it wrong.

  “Here is another truth. It was Po that saved me. She is the one that killed the chancellor. And I was innocent all along.” He paused. “Well, mostly.”

  Wyn raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  “I never donned a Warmark again, after Solstice 31.” Barcus confessed. “In those early years of unrest, it was always Po. The Altuna riots, the Four Hour War, the Slave market of 41, and even the colony terror reprisal attempts. It was always her. She could have taken that planet if she wanted to. She could have taken Earth. She was fierce, the monster, she could have laid waste to all.”

  “But all she really wanted was to play her flute, honey and nuts in her porridge and to sleep in my arms.”

  “The twelve black flutes remain legend on Baytirus. Po had number twelve. The greatest of them,” Wyn said.

  Elizabeth ran out the gate just then, skidding to a stop. “Lunch is ready!” she said, and she was gone again before the dust settled.

  “Wyn, the road will be long for you. It will not be without challenges. Trust your instincts about people. It will be your greatest strength.”

  “The Atish are strong and loyal. Thanks to you,” she said as she stood, drawing the Telis blade from the sheath.

  “They are the best, most highly respected defense force in the known universe. They think they are monks, artists, not soldiers. Even the provincial constables respect them.”

  “I think it's because they love music as much as fighting.”

  “Why are they called The Atish?”

  “After the first High Keeper. He tried to make super soldiers that would do anything they were told and would always be loyal. It's a kind of reminder.”

  He looked in her eyes again.

  “A reminder for them, and you.”

  “I saw one of the first gens, once. I think she was, anyway. It was in an inn, out west, in one of the new provinces. She played a black flute while she stood on a massive low mantel, on one foot.”

  Wyn was lost in memories.

  “The other foot rested flat on her knee. Steady as a rock. The music was so simple, so pure; no one spoke in the crowded inn for the whole hour she played. They just quietly left coins on the mantel for her.”

  “Was she wearing deep red riding leathers?” he asked.

  “Yes. And when she was done, she nodded to the crowd and dropped down as light as could be.”

  They entered the courtyard.

  “And as we applauded, she used the flute to slide along and collect all the coins into a hat. Then, she just slipped away.”

  “That was Jude. She still wanders the world, playing for people as she goes. The longevity treatment wears well on her. But not so well with Cine or Po.”

  “I am so sorry about Po,” she said.

  “Don't be. The candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long.”

  “She will be missed,” she said.

  “More than you could possibly know,” he replied.

  “I visited her monument just before coming here. Why is it in a ruined Redoubt to the south along the coast? It is so clean, desolate. Polished. So vast and lovely.”

  “It was there that she had her first, best day of her life.”

  “Are you alright?” Wyn asked.

  “Oh, yes. I mourned for her, long ago. While she held me. We were at Foxden, over a hundred years ago.”

  They stopped and looked at the giant willow in the center of the courtyard fountain.

  “I knew the day, the hour, she'd drift away, even then. I knew as I kissed her goodnight, on that far off day, as I held her in my arms that she would never wake.”

  Barcus turned to see a crowd of children gathered, all bouncing with anticipation. A chorus of “Please-Please-Please” began as he turned away and continued talking.

  “I want you to take Stu back with you. I will be taking Iosin.”

  Barcus leaned on the wall by the entrance into the community courtyard, placed one hand behind his back, and bent one knee, lifting up his calf to a right angle.

  “I have already gone over it. He is willing to take on Elkin’s Dock as the station AI. He will be good at it.”

  Just then the girl, Elizabeth, ran up his back, like a monkey. The first step was on his calf, then his hand at his back, then a step to his shoulder, the top of his head, and his raised hand, and then she was on top of the wall, running and laughing. She didn't even use her hands.

  In rapid order, one at a time, almost thirty children flew to the tops of the wall. The last child looked like he was only four years old and struggled up the climb. Hand and feet, eventually he stood up on both of Backus's hands but could not quite reach the top. Then, the girl Elizabeth was there, and another older boy, and they reached down and took the young boy by the wrists and lifted him up.

  And they ran along the tops of the wall. It was a maze of inner court walls.

  “How thick are these walls?” High Keeper Wyn asked.

  “They are all twelve inches wide,” he said, through a wide smile as the children began to sing.

  “Aren’t you worried they might fall?”

  “Worried? No. Because they do fall, now and then. They may even break a bone. But they have learned they are free...”

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  I have several people to thank for their help with this book. I will begin, first and foremost, with my wife, Brenda. Thank you for your patience, as it appears I go deaf while I’m writing. Thank you for your encouragement and ideas. Thanks for all the help and love every time I need maintenance or require repairs.

  Thanks go to my son, Gray, and my daughter, Cady. Thank you for making me proud of you. Thanks for making it so easy to be your dad. I miss you guys.

  I need to thank the Loudon County Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers Group for all their help and encouragement. Thanks to my beta readers, Joe, Kelly, Chris, Dave, Web, Emily, Marilyn, Carrie and Linda. You help more than you know.

  Oh, and my cat Bailey. Best cat in the known universe.

  About the Author

  Martin Wilsey is a writer, hunter, photographer, rabble rouser, father, friend, marksman, storyteller, frightener of children, carnivore, engineer, fool, philosopher, cook and madman. He and his wife, Brenda, live in Virginia where, just to keep him off the streets, he works as a research scientist for a government-funded think tank.

  For more information:

  Blog: http://wilseymc.blogspot.com/

  Web: http://www.baytirus.com/

  Email: info@baytirus.com