Contact (Crossover Series Book 2)

by Walt Socha

  “Once the body dies, the personality fades.” Matuso picked at a broken nail on his thumb. Although the area was littered with rock, not all of them wanted to be moved. “But we like to honor our memory of the deceased.”

  “Is that the teaching of your Buddha?” Ivar turned to look over the valley.

  Matuso followed his gaze. A tendril of smoke a mile or so to the east betrayed Sanctuary’s cook fire. Hunger twinged his stomach. But the rock monument soured any thought of food. “No, we have little in the way of Buddha’s actual words. Just what one of the Far Ones recorded. The one called Potts. He died protecting Haven before I was born.” He allowed a chuckle to escape. “Before I was conceived.”

  “And the knowledge of Buddha?”

  “Before his death, that Far One wrote all his knowledge in books we call the prophecies.” Matuso’s face lost his smile. “Besides the teachings of Buddha, these books also tell of many things to come. The death of my people in the lands to the west.” He turned to Ivar. “The death of your people by the invasion of tribes from the east. The triumph of the Christian religion followed by infighting between its various heresies. A great sickness and a greater famine. This island will see much pain and death.”

  “The triumph of Christianity is a good thing,” Ivar said. “But can the pain and death be prevented?”

  “We hope to use trade as a force for peace. If people communicate, they are less likely to kill each other." Matuso flexed his fingers, noting several scratches and several more broken nails. “As for the teachings, the man called Buddha preached moderation—a life not driven by wants. And a society where all people are valued.”

  “Is that why you free slaves?”

  “Slavery is just greed, an excess of desire.”

  “Are not slaves just people who have offended God?”

  “We have no gods.” Matuso turned to clap Ivar on the shoulder. “And if gods do exist, I wish to ask them why they created so much sorrow and death.”

  “Without God, what purpose do you give to life?”

  “Only what we chose to give it.”

  Ivar sat, gazing over the evening shadows that crept across the valley. “Tell me of the Far Ones and Haven.”

  “There is a large land to the west. Larger than this island and the island to the east.” Matuso moved a few small rocks and pebbles and settled on the ground next to Ivar. “In the future, it will become a very powerful...” He searched for a word but failed. “A very powerful tribe. My father and Larry and three others journeyed from that future to this time.”

  “I do not understand your words.”

  “We do not really understand either.” Matuso smiled at Ivar’s furrowed frown and tight mouth. “But they know of events, of weapons, and of the lands unknown by any others. My mother, Alita, was of this time. She traveled to the future and returned with the Far Ones, choosing one of them for her husband, my father. She still speaks of that journey with wonder.”

  At Ivar’s nod, Matuso recounted the tale of his father’s fight to save his mother’s people, of the founding of Haven, and the battle with a local warlord. And the battle with disease from lands to the east.

  “A year later, I was born.” Matuso turned to Ivar. “The knowledge the Far Ones brought with them revealed trade routes and the location of distant lands. So we tend to accept their beliefs.”

  “Your story is very strange.” Ivar shifted, placing his hands on the ground. With a grunt he pushed off the ground and rose. “My body is stiff from carrying rocks. And my belly aches from hunger.”

  Matuso rose, stretching against his own aches, and followed the young priest downhill toward the collection of huts called Sanctuary.

  * * *

  Matuso sat, body exhausted but mind racing. He looked at his bag, but decided that update to his map could wait.

  “This would be an adventure equal to that of our parents if it weren’t for the dead bodies.” Fergus tossed a twig into the embers of the cook fire where it burst into a small explosion of flame.

  The three eldest sons of the Far Ones sat around the dying cook fire. The rest of Sanctuary’s inhabitants were sleeping, their snores competing with the croaks of frogs.

  “They had their dead bodies, too. But it's still not the adventure I was expecting.” Matuso stirred the fire with a twisted branch before tossing it into the glowing red embers. “Yet we need access to the continent.”

  “I have doubts about the prophecies. But in case they’re true, I agree with you. But is Eire the best location to maintain contact, discreetly or otherwise, with the main continent?” Fergus asked.

  “According to the writings and the maps, it’s remote enough to escape notice and close enough to let us monitor the emerging states.”

  “States that won't even be strong enough to pose a threat to Haven for several hundred years. I can’t even figure how many generations of children that would be.”

  “You've got to start having children to give reality to that concern.” Jessie snorted a laugh.

  “What about our refugees?” Fergus said. “They really limit our options.”

  “It's our oath. Protect women. Take care of the children.” Matuso nudged the wood further into the fire. Small yellow flames licked its peeling bark.

  “I'm not sure if it’s reasonable to protect and care for everyone. We’re not exactly holding a strong position here.” Fergus made a fist with his right hand. Tightened it until the knuckles turned white. “Maybe we should start combat training. Marcan seems able. Maybe the older boy.”

  “The women?” Matuso said.

  “We could make shorter bows,” Jessie said. “But better than those shit sticks the raiders used. I noticed some yew. And ash for arrows. Points could be a problem until we get a forge going.”

  “You think any of the women have the attitude for combat?” Fergus said.

  “Who knows how anyone will act in a fight until it comes. I sure didn’t.” Images, sounds, and smells flooded Matuso’s mind. “My stomach turns every time I think of my sword vibrating against bone.” He blew out a breath. “But Teltina can fight. She certainly saved our sorry asses.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to talk with her. What about the others? That one lady has a don’t mess with me look.”

  “Her friend seems shy. But strong,” Jessie said.

  “So you’ve noticed them?” Matuso stared at his friends, the urge to laugh dying with his next breath. “Deirdre’s tough. Especially after all the shit she’s been through. Same for Anya, although I’d never accuse her of having bulging muscles. Are you sure you aren’t referring to some other part of her anatomy?”

  “Perhaps.” Jessie’s eyebrow rose. “Surprised you haven’t been sniffing around them yourself.”

  “Theirs is not a good story.” Matuso described the attack on Deirdre’s farmstead, ending the story with the discovery of the murderer of Anya’s baby. “Larry strangled the killer. Just stood there, him bleeding from a serious shoulder wound, his hands around the man’s neck.” He stared at Fergus. “I’ve never seen your father so crazy angry.”

  The edges of Fergus’s mouth turned up as he returned Matuso’s gaze. “Yet the old fart is wet clay around children.” Usually. Fergus shifted his eyes back to the fire and his smile faded as memories surfaced of his father berating him and the other children on the practice fields back in Haven. Always ‘shoot straighter’ or ‘hit harder.’ “What is going to happen to them when we leave?”

  “Larry hopes to get a functioning village going here before we leave.” Matuso prodded the fire, accomplishing nothing. “But I’m not sure what good that would be with the Northmen and Ur Neill raiding the countryside.”

  Matuso’s hand jerked toward his sword as a figure entered the firelight.

  “It’s me,” Larry said as his bowed frame emerged into the firelight. “Just checked in on the guards. One upriver. One at the lake.” He turned and looked northwest. “Plus the two overnighters on Sui Finn. Damne
d long hike.”

  “Samatu and Brynjar are staying overnight with our ships.”

  “Good.” Larry stepped close to the fire and lowered himself onto the ground with a groan. “What are you kids plotting?”

  Matuso leaned back against a log, staring at the older man. “Just talking about options.” Fergus’s father was looking far older than someone not quite fifty.

  “And what did you decide?”

  “Get the hell out,” Fergus said, turning to Matuso. “But there’s the issue of the refugees. Not to mention the countering of the prophecies.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Larry said with a sigh before Matuso could respond. “But our recollection of history has been correct so far. Eire is being invaded by various groups of Northmen from lands to the northeast. Eventually, the larger island to the east will grow strong and also invade. That’s the fate of this place that will be called Ireland in the future. Maybe.”

  “And a few hundred years later, a country to the southeast will decimate Haven’s continent with disease,” Matuso said. “Opening up our lands to invaders. We know. And we agree to make plans to counter those possibilities. And, if necessary, use force.”

  “And we must control sulfur and saltpeter resources.” Jessie tossed a small stick into the fire. A small puff of flame illuminated the scowl on his face. “And so, dominate the production of gunpowder.” His facial muscles twitched, lips tight. “So we can kill anyone that gets in our way as we stop the prophecies.” He snorted as he stared at Larry. “One hell of a legacy you Far Ones are leaving to us.”

  “Eventually.” Larry reclined on his back, hands behind his head. “But we gotta stay alive first. And also keep as many of our charges alive as we can.” His head rotated back and forth. “I thought I was done with killing.”

  “So do we deal with these Ur Neill and Northmen or do we run?” Fergus’s tight voice mirrored his facial muscles.

  “Maybe run.” Larry leaned up on his elbows. “Get most of you in Waverider. Sneak out one early morning.”

  Matuso stared at Larry. Not all would fit in Waverider. And no way would he leave anyone behind. He shifted his gaze to Jessie and Fergus. If looks could kill, Larry would be occupying another cairn.

  “Okay, just saying.” Larry’s face cracked a small smile. “Cassan thinks there’s another bay on the south side of this peninsula. I’m wondering if we can move the ships overland. Set up a port there.” He stared upwards. “Get Dreamcatcher fixed and then maybe get everyone the fuck outta here.”

  “How soon?” Matuso followed Larry’s gaze. His fire-blinded eyes could barely make out a couple of stars in the dark hazy sky.

  “Gonna hafta wait until next spring if we want to retreat to Iceland. How was the voyage here?”

  “Weather was clear. We did see one small iceberg. Wouldn’t want to try in a month or so.” Fergus stared at the fire. “But even if we dared use your smaller longboat on the open ocean, we’d have to leave the refugees behind.”

  “Yeah.” Larry shifted to lean on his right side. “A shit idea unless we build more ships over the winter. Don’t think some would go. Teltina probably wouldn’t.”

  Matuso searched Larry’s blank face for several breaths before glancing at Jessie and Fergus. They were also staring at Larry.”

  “And what about now?” Fergus said, breaking the short silence.

  “Food. Got the sheep settled. The pigs are wandering the valley. Some crops are struggling among the weeds in the fields.” Larry sat upright, eyes moving among Haven’s first generation. “Did you bring the seed and saplings that were originally part of Stormchaser’s cargo? If so, we gotta get ‘em planted in spite of it being so late in the season. Gonna need to eat regardless of Northmen or local politics.”

  “We brought them. I think most of the trees survived,” Fergus said. “I also brought your belongings from Stormchaser along with all the trade goods, including farm implements that’ll be useful with your horses. Also, the sea chests of your shore crew. All jumbled together back in Dreamcatcher. Some might be a bit wet.”

  “Thanks,” Larry said. “Let’s get them trees and seed taken care of. Then we'll decide about moving your ships.” He rose. “And after that, maybe I’ll ask Teltina about routes to the south shore.”

  As Larry walked into the dark, Matuso grinned at his friends’ raised eyebrows.

  Chapter 21

  August 5

  The day shone bright and cloudless as Larry hiked up the small tributary of the Caragh River to Teltina’s home. It was a welcome change from the perpetual drizzle. He kept close to the water, enjoying its murmur and splash as it flowed over the rocky ground.

  Ahead, a finger of rock jutted down from the western mountains, cutting into the valley. Teltina’s stream followed the broken rock for several miles before escaping into the main part of the valley. Three more miles later, it joined the Caragh just downstream of Sanctuary. Teltina’s little farmstead hid in a copse of trees on the west side of the stream.

  Once again he felt oddly nervous, and his hand slipped into the bag hung over his right shoulder. His fingers found his recorder, the two whistles, and several small pouches of seed. It had been almost two weeks since Teltina had intervened in the fight with the raiders. Other than showing up for the memorial, she hadn’t interacted with anyone except to visit Anya several times.

  Just as her copse of trees came into view, Rory appeared from behind a ragged bush, his smile stretching his face and puffing up his cheeks. He lifted one hand, fingers waving.

  “Hello Rory,” Larry said. “May I visit?”

  Rory’s smile widened as he flashed his fingers before turning and scampering up along the streambed. After a few strides, he stopped and looked over his shoulder.

  Larry waved and followed.

  * * *

  Larry watched as Teltina poured hot water into the mug that sat on a flat-topped rock at the side of her outdoor cook fire. Her face revealed nothing. She had a great poker face, if anyone played poker in this century. “Thank you for visiting Anya,” he said. “She needs all the support she can get.”

  Teltina looked up, her eyes meeting his. “To lose a son…” She looked across the small clearing. “A terrible grief.”

  Larry followed her eyes to where Rory sat twisting fibers into string, his left hand feeding fiber—hemp or flax?—to his right. His movements mimicked exactly those of the various peoples back in Haven.

  “I am honored to help her.” A small smile lifted the edges of her mouth. “You and your men have treated her as kin.”

  “Our actions define our life,” Larry said, his eyes returning to Teltina’s. Shit, he was now talking like Potts. He wiped his hands on the rough texture of his leather trousers. “We believe that all people are kin.”

  Teltina turned her head, cocking it barely a finger width to the left as one eyebrow rose.

  Larry picked up the mug and sipped the minty tea, buying time while his thoughts coalesced. “Maybe that’s more of a hope than a belief.” The knot in his stomach loosened as Teltina smiled. He turned as Rory appeared next to the cook fire with a mug in his hand. Teltina took the mug and, after adding a pinch of leaves from a small covered jar, poured hot water into it.

  “The men in the new ships brought vegetable seed and fruit trees. Including two types of flax, one for oil and one for fiber.” Larry nodded to where Rory was resuming his activity with a small pile of fiber and a coil of thin rope. “I brought a selection. Would you like some to grow?”

  “I would try your seed,” Teltina said. She opened her mouth, froze for a heartbeat, and closed it. With a small smile, her eyes shifted downwards to her hands.

  Larry stopped breathing, mind clouding with thoughts unfamiliar these past years. Had her face, raw with sun and wind, just darkened? He slipped his pouch off his shoulder, hands seeking distraction. “Great. May I give Rory and Agnes a small present?”

  “Rory,” Teltina said. “Our guest has a present for you.”
>
  The boy left his task and walked to her side.

  Larry removed two wooden whistles from his bag, spares he had recovered from his sea chest that Fergus had brought, and blew one before holding it outstretched. Rory cocked his head, smiling as he accepted his gift. He blew it once and smiled, fingers moving.

  Rory’s eyebrows narrowed as Larry pulled the recorder from the bag. When Larry played a simple scale and then his attempt at Greensleeves, Rory’s eyes widened in amazement. Even wider when Larry handed the musical instrument to him.

  “He thanks you.” Teltina’s face softened with a smile at she looked at her son. Rory blew into the mouthpiece as his fingers moved over the tone holes.

  Larry’s own eyes widened as the boy nearly completed a musical scale. “I only have one,” Larry said. “But I thought he’d like…” He paused, unsure if he should bring up Rory’s silence.

  “It will help him communicate.” She smiled. “I find it interesting that a warrior is interested in music.”

  “I will make one for Agnes…” He paused. Shit. “When events calm down.” He sighed. Shifting his attention to Rory, Larry explained the three basic signals for the whistle. “I’m sure you could make up more signals. We try to have everyone know at least the basic ones. He nodded to the musical instrument in Rory’s hand. “Nanisu…”

  He choked. Paused. “Hatimu is a better musician than me. Ask him for help with the recorder.”

  Teltina looked toward the main path that led out of the clearing through the copse. “Agnes is collecting herbs. I will give her your present if she’s not back before you leave.” She shifted her gaze to Larry. “Would you stay to sup with us?”

  “It would be my honor.” Larry hesitated. “Is it safe for Agnes to be wandering out alone?”