by Jim Rudnick
The prime disciple nodded and waved a hand at him. “This will not change your leadership of your team. You will, however, become a slave the next time that this happens, Anqas—do you hear me?”
Anqas nodded, nodded again, and nodded a third time. “Yes, Prime Disciple. That kind of mistake will never happen again. You have my word on that …” he said.
He smiled back and then reached in front of him for the special yellow paper mission orders and handed them to Anqas. “Read them at your leisure, but here’s what you’re charged with now. I want you to take floater U-3 again down to the same area as you were before. I want you and your team—I’ve added twelve more to that team, mind you—to look for where this cadre might have found that truck. A working truck would so much to help the Empire—and I charge you with the duty to find us just that. I understand that they must have found the vehicle somewhere between Maxwell and the spot you found them. Go back there. Search, search every village or town or hamlet and every building and every garage. Somewhere, there are trucks—and we need at least a couple of same,” he said as he leaned forward.
“Should you actually find one or some—take at least three if they’ll all fit into U-3. Throw out anything else that might block you taking that much cargo—even your team. Have them walk but fly the floater back here to Empire City soonest. Stay in touch—you have the means on the floater to radio us … so I’ll want a daily report, Anqas. No excuses this time.
“I understand that being a slave is not a life choice many would make—ensure that you don’t make me choose that for you either. Find the Empire some trucks, Anqas—as soon as possible,” he said.
The younger man nodded and the nods never stopped as he backed away from his prime disciple and bowed three times as well on his way out.
The prime disciple reached for his water once again and thought that it was not cold enough—and he motioned to the closest acolyte to refill the pitcher, and the aide jumped as quickly as before…
CHAPTER FOUR
The Shieldsman cracked the whip, and as the lashing end went out, almost the whole group of slaves flinched. The slave that received the whipped tip cried out, but not a one of them let up on pulling on the large ropes. This was the second stone of the day, and already, the whip had cracked a few times. Many, many more to come, Christian hoped. He didn’t let up on the weight of the rope over his shoulder—he pulled like the rest of the forty slaves in his group.
Forty slaves made up one team, and there were four teams in each of the three hauling routes from the quarry to Empire City and the pyramid being built. In the past week, there had been some talk—gossip, he thought, about the addition of another team, but there had yet been no new slaves to populate that team. His sweat dripped down, as always from his bushy eyebrows, and the salty liquid made his eyes sting. He shook his head but did not let go of the rope, knowing that would attract the immediate attention of the Shieldsmen who policed their block moving along at the best speed possible.
Beside the route that he was on, there were two more, and each had their own slave teams and a block being moved. He almost snorted when he thought of having a race, block against block. Then he remembered that each of the teams had to move eight blocks in one day.
Rushing by him, every few minutes or so, the roller slaves carried the rolling logs from the back of the sledge that the block lay on up to the front of the sledge. Dropping them in place, they then turned to the back of the sledge to get the next roller log.
On the sledge itself, the white granite block was a carefully split stone building block, which was usually eight feet long by four feet square. It was tied always to the sledge, and then it ran on the sledge rails on top of the roller logs. There were usually two men too who had big long wooden pole levers to help restart the rolling of those rolling logs should the team have to stop. “That was the best job,” Christian said to himself yet again, “one day it’ll be mine,” he convinced himself and continued to strain against the rope on his left shoulder.
In front of the sledge, the waterers very carefully dripped water on the sledge rails ahead of the rolling logs so the sledge would move easier. They often had to go and fill up their water skins and were expected to do that lickety-split.; That’s not a job I’d ever want, he thought.
This was only block number two. With eight or more expected each day by each of the three hauling teams, several stones that would be placed in the pyramid were now parked by the pyramid. Each stone waited to be pulled up the ramp to their final resting place on the pyramid.
That job—harder, Christian thought, than my own—was going slower than the builders wanted. The whips flew much more on the ramp. Slaves who worked on the ramp could be seen easier than most, as they almost always had whip burns and scars, and some had, he’d noticed, scars over scars.
Women too, he said to himself, and that made him slough off the pull for a step or two. The watching Shieldsmen couldn’t tell he wasn’t pulling very easily, but that was only because Christian knew to walk just a hair quicker so the rope over his shoulder didn’t go slack between him and the slave behind him. He’d learned this months ago, and it still worked, so he kept the subterfuge up for a minute or two more.
As this block was a casing block, it was one of the bigger ones to be placed at a lower level. He’d heard gossip among the slaves that they’d soon be transporting only five-foot-by-two-foot blocks—or so the story went. No one, of course, had ever built a pyramid before, so no one knew for sure. He slowed a bit at that thought and wondered if in all the slaves there wasn’t an architect or an engineer who’d know.
The crack of the whip came second, as the tip burned into his right shoulder and he cried out in pain.
Damn. And he pulled even harder, and the rope ahead of him had slack but not behind him anymore.
Damn. The tip of the whip had cut him, and the blood dripped slowly off his shoulder down to his armpit and then blew away in the windy day.
About one more mile, he thought, to the pyramid, and he just wanted to get to that spot and turn over the block to the pyramid builders and their procedures of parking the stone and getting them all unhooked and then marched back to the quarry those three miles behind them.
Only six more of these today, he said to himself, and he just pulled.
An honest pull … at least for a slave …
#####
Kyle Stone, on point, noticed it first, and as he held up a silent hand, the whole group stopped in their tracks.
Being on point held a bit of a responsibility that involved security for the whole hiking team, so his call to stop and be quiet was met with instant obedience. In the bright sunlight that came down dappled between the big huge trees around them all, they stood still.
They had pushed on hard today and had made almost ten more miles since dawn.
He stared ahead, then turned, and said loud enough for them all to hear, “Move as close as possible to tree … and stay still.”
The forest was quiet as all of the ears strained to hear anything at all. Yet there was nothing to hear. Normal sounds of wind, branches, and leaves rustling, yes. A small brook must have been close, and they could hear the bubbling of water faintly.
Kyle pointed directly ahead of them on their path. Something was coming toward them—but not on the ground.
Ahead, the sunlight could be seen in bright shafts of light as far as they could see ahead. But there was darkness too. A shadow moved toward them, a big dark shadow that blocked out the sun completely. The shadow appeared to be hundreds of feet long, and it was a solid black.
Whatever it was, Javor thought, it was big, it was solid, and it was coming towards them.
He hoisted his shotgun, took off the safety with a loud click, and took aim alongside the trunk of the poplar he leaned against.
The shadow never stopped.
It never slowed nor wavered.
It just came toward them.
As the front leading edge cove
red Kyle first, he sort of squatted down and yet looked up.
Nothing happened, and in moments, they were all swallowed up by the shadow.
And nothing still happened. The shadow drifted and slowly went over as they all looked up to see if anyone could determine what it was that was looking at them.
As the far end of the shadow came up and then the forest was back in sunlight, they left their protective trees and gathered in a loose circle to talk.
Sue looked at them and said, “Okay, any ideas what that just was that went over us?”
Bruce said, “No animal that big ever lived on Bones.”
Sandy, one of the Shorecroft Patrol group, nodded. “Agreed. Not an animal on Bones has that size and can fly.”
Jon added, “At least not in our experience …” and that got a nod or two as well.
Javor said, with a small degree of new-kid-on-the-block interest, “So then what was it—and more importantly, does anyone think that it saw us?”
That stumped them all. No one had an answer to that question.
Sue nodded and said, “I’ll take point now—Jon and Sandy, on the rear, and the rest of you spread out—let’s say about twenty yards between us all,” and she turned to take the lead.
Javor walked and he wondered where Bixby had disappeared too—and he whistled. And whistled again and no Bixby.
That bothered him, and he knew that under the current circumstances, whistling was not such a good idea, so he gently called for his dog, but Bixby never came to him.
That bothered him even more, and he trooped along but watched the area around them.
In about an hour, Sue called for a break, and as they slowed down, Bixby came trotting out of the woods off to the left of them, went right over to Javor, and sat looking at him.
He looked fine, Javor thought as he took a quick audit of the dog. As he ran his hands over the dog, he didn’t find a single cut, scrape, or wound.
He tucked a hand in his shoulder vest pocket, and Bixby barked—a jerky bar lay there, as they both knew. But the dog didn’t seem to be interested. Instead, he got up and moved away, back toward the woods off to their left. Like he wanted to lead them that way, Javor thought, and while it was out of their general north-northwest path, he figured it might be a short trip or a long one—but one that they should at least attempt.
He spoke to Sue, and she nodded, eventually, and once the break time was done, Bixby led off with Javor on point just behind him. The dog went along, between trees, around logs, over little rills, and even up and down a hill that they could have gone around easily, Javor noted. He was just about to think that maybe this was not such a good idea when he saw a row of alders ahead of him appeared to have a glade on the other side.
The group came upon a clearing similar to the one now more than twenty miles behind them. Same tower of poles, and same long clearing about twice as long as it was wide. Over on one side, there were again stumps—but more importantly, there was still smoke rising from the fire-pit. The fire had been drenched with water perhaps but had not gone out, and the smoke, while thin, rose above them as they all looked down on the pit.
Jon said, “Fresh fire. So whatever else we think, someone was just here …”
That got nods all around.
Bruce said, “And the question is, whoever was here with this fire—do they have anything to do with that shadow we just ran into?”
No nods now.
Bixby barked and Javor fished in his vest pocket for the jerky bar—and gave him all of it too.
“Don’t know the answer to that one, but interestingly enough, Bixby found this one. Why or how, I’ve no idea, but for the rest of this march north, I’m going to be watching him a bit more closely. Good boy, Bixby,” he said as he leaned down and ruffled the dog’s ears.
“Good to know,” Sue said, and she kicked some dirt onto the remaining embers and then stomped out the fire to put it out for good.
“Javor and Bixby—you’ve got point,” she said as she handed the compass and map to him, “and I’ll take the rear this time—let’s go, one and all …”
#####
The prime disciple, the head of the Disciple Apostles and the head of the Forest Empire, slapped his chief acolyte, and the man recoiled and fell on one hip. He slowly rose, gripping his side, and turned to face his leader one more time.
“Tell me again, Head Acolyte, why we might consider the delay of the next Autumn Games?” he said.
He knew the answer, of course, as the chief builder stood watching, transfixed, as he was the one bearing the bad news. His chief acolyte was only trying to help the builder by getting him to consider this before he got the news.
An admirable trait, the protecting of the leader by his chief, but this had to be quelled at the earliest rearing of this kind of news, bad as it was going to be.
He looked at the acolyte and noted the man was tongue-tied. He didn’t know what to say nor for that matter how to even get out of the fix he found himself in. Good. This is good, and he didn’t even have to turn his head to know that the whole audience room was quiet. Not a sound. Not a movement. Not a thing was done to draw his attention away from the acolyte.
So he turned to the chief builder and said, “Would you care to speak on this matter, Chief Builder?” before he went back up the dais stairs and sat in the only chair in the large room.
An audience was held daily, and he sat and listened to issues having something to do with the Forest Empire. And made decisions. And slaves. So his minions, who were here today, like always, were on their best behavior trying to make their reports.
The chief architect of the pyramid stepped forward and up one step to now stand on the dais itself, and his voice was soft and quiet, but it was all bad news. “Prime Disciple—it has fallen to me to report on the current state of our progress with the building of the new pyramid. The truth of the matter is, is that we cannot make the current deadline of the autumn equinox—with the current level of support, Prime Disciple.” He stood still. He was more than arm’s length away, so that was one thing. But then around the dais stood Shieldsmen guards, all with their spears at the ready should they be called to use them.
The prime disciple nodded and looked away. As he suspected, with a slave population of only about four thousand and some, they were just too thin, too lean, to get all the jobs done. Even finding qualified stonemasons to work on the finishing of each of the thousands of stones in the pyramid had been almost impossible, and he knew that teaching went on over every single stone too.
“We need more slaves,” he said to himself as he waved the chief builder to step down and resume his place below the dais.
He stroked his cheek, thought for a minute or two, then waved over his chief acolyte, and made motions for him to take notes. “As of now—today—there will be new bounties established for new slaves. Notify each and every single slaver that we use—plus all the tribes that sell to us too—that we will double our bounty for new slaves. Strong young men will bring a triple bounty too. As well, should these tribes and slavers fail to bring in new slaves numbers-wise, we will then take them in as slaves. I want our pyramid up and built and ready for our Autumn Equinox Games, and I want no equivocation on that matter,” he said to his acolyte.
He looked down at his chief builder and then half-smiled. “Chief Builder—you now have the authorization to go to our justice division and have them move each and every single prisoner doing time over to our slave gangs. From this day on, if someone breaks the social contract and gets found guilty and gets a prison sentence, they’ll do their time hauling stones from the quarry to our pyramid. You are also hereby authorized to notify justice that there will be no time off for good behavior for anyone in your care. You are also authorized to add a new shift to all of your slave routes—we need more stones at the site. You will also notify the quarry supervisors to also add a new shift too,” he said, and as he said it, the acolyte wrote it all down.
He was s
till in the same foul mood he’d been in all day. The daily report from Disciple Anqas, the team leader charged with the duty to go out and find the Empire trucks of any kind or shape, was still the same—again he’d reported no finds.
Later they’d be in the town of Walkerville and he’d report on what that town held, and then again when they reached Adair. Perhaps one of those towns would bear fruit for the Empire. He shook his head and thought that perhaps he might have made a mistake in keeping Anqas as the mission team leader. He can always be a slave, he rationalized, and that made him feel a bit better. Not better than he’d felt when he’d sent back a message of FIND THE BLOODY TRUCKS NOW to Anqas—he hoped that’d work. He’d even given him full authority to fly the floater right out in the open. No need to hide them anymore, he reasoned.
He turned to the chief Shieldsman beside him. “Chief Shieldsman—you are also to hereby double your forces on the slaver groups. I want them whipped for the slightest of infractions to increase their efficiency. We want more stones quarried, transported, and then ramped into place,” he said as he turned back to face the whole room once more.
He looked at them all and then spoke once more, banging his hand into the armrest of his chair with each word. “Is there anyone here who does not get what it is I want done?”
The room was dead silent.
The prime disciple smiled at them.
“Then go … and build the Empire our new pyramid!” he said grandly.
#####
As they walked on, the boreal forest was changing, but it was noticeable only in one way.
It was not as wet as it had been, perhaps, Wayne noted, and that made them all think for a moment.
The trees were once again mixed coniferous pines, spruces, and firs with stands of alder, poplar, and aspen too. It’d been miles and miles since he’d seen a maple or even willows along a creek, but Javor didn’t think it was important to point that out.