Children of a New Earth

by Eliason, R. J.

  “How do you know we can trust them?” Mark pressed. “They are a strange couple.”

  “Yeah,” Shawn put in, “they’re outlaws and everything. They could be trying to sabotage the mission.”

  “They are not outlaws,” Amy shouted. “They are just a nice, old couple.”

  Shawn fell silent but Mark would not give up so easy. “They were outlaws, once.”

  “So were we,” Daniel muttered.

  “That’s a lie!” Patrick snarled. “Take that back.”

  “It’s not,” Daniel insisted. “It’s like Roger said, the president declared martial law. All our parents were military, weren’t they? Why didn’t they go? Why didn’t they do something?”

  “They had to stay,” Shawn said, “to protect the ranch.”

  “Look, you heard Roger,” Luke said. “It wasn’t the legitimate government anymore. It’s not outlawed if the government isn’t legit. Not for the ranch or for the Akiras.”

  They all fell silent for a long while.

  It was Mark that broke the silence. “I still say they’re weird. Akira. What sort of name is that?”

  “It’s Ruth’s family name,” Kurt replied. “Her family is all dead, except maybe some distant relatives back in Japan. Roger had surviving relatives, but her name would die out. Family is very important to her.” He hesitated like he didn’t know quite how to say it. “It has to do with her religion somehow. Anyway, Roger told me about it this morning, how he took her name instead of the usual way around.”

  “So that’s why she is so sad about not having children,” Amy said. “Her name will die after all.”

  “I think so.”

  “What? The man taking the woman’s name?” Mark interrupted, “I told you they were weird. There’s no way I would ever agree to that.”

  “Carol’s family wouldn’t have let you,” Amy sneered.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know.”

  “A man has the right to establish discipline in his own house,” Patrick said, jumping to Mark’s defense. “It’s one of the rights we fought to protect.”

  “If a bitch don’t know her place, a bitch gotta learn,” Mark said. “If Luke ain’t figured that out yet . . .”

  “Enough!” Luke yelled, turning on Mark. Mark blanched but held his ground. Luke turned beet red and huffed slightly but did not speak. Finally Mark looked away. Luke turned back and led them on without speaking again.

  Is that what they think? Amy wondered bitterly. Am I Luke’s bitch? Just let one of them say something to her. She’d pound them flat. She stared around her, trying to figure out whom to be mad at. Mark? Of course him, but none of the others showed any surprise.

  He eyes narrowed suspiciously. She and Luke were just friends. Had he been giving the other boys the impression there was something more going on? If he has, I’ll kill him, she thought savagely.

  By late afternoon the wide plain had become dotted with trees and started to slope down into a river valley. At the lip of the valley, a solitary form rose. Luke, still ahead and having not spoken since the earlier outburst, stopped and looked through his binoculars.

  “What is it?” Patrick asked.

  “Some sort of pagoda,” Luke replied.

  “What’s a pagoda?” Shawn asked.

  Luke’s brow furled. “It’s like a picnic shelter, a roof but no walls.”

  “Oh. Well, why didn’t you just say picnic shelter then?” Shawn asked.

  “Because some of us have brains,” Amy muttered under her breath. Luke didn’t answer.

  “There’s something in it,” he continued. “But I can’t make out what it is from here.”

  “It’s too early to be the village,” Kurt said.

  “Yes, definitely.” Luke replied.

  “Could be some sort of border station,” Patrick said. “The guards will undoubtedly be armed. Perhaps it would be prudent—”

  “No,” Luke said firmly. “That’s exactly why we put them away.”

  Patrick looked angry but said nothing.

  “I think it’s a statue anyway,” Luke said putting his binoculars away. “It’s not moved at all. Let’s go find out.”

  They made their way forward. Mark and Shawn grumbled to each other about going into danger unprepared. Amy wished they’d shut up. All this talk about hidden enemies was making her jumpy. Enough of it, and she’d be seeing enemies everywhere as well.

  As they approached, the pagoda resolved itself into focus. It had a bell-shaped top, like pictures Amy had once seen of China. Inside was a huge black statue of a woman sitting. Her back was to them, but they could see she had her knees up with her hands on them. Her head was thrown back in a silent scream. Amy shivered involuntarily.

  As they got closer, Amy noted some rust spots on the statue. Who made statues out of metal? It made no sense. Amy was drawn to see what lay on the other side of the statue.

  “Gross!” Mark spat as he circled to the front. Moments later, Amy circled around far enough to see what Mark was commenting on. The statue graphically portrayed a woman giving birth. Between her spread legs was the horned head of a bull.

  “What kind of sick thing is that?” Patrick demanded from behind her.

  Amy felt something pull at her gut. She was torn. Part of her agreed with Patrick. But the statue also held a strange power. The woman’s face, thrown back, was not entirely visible. What showed held an unearthly agony. Like she’s suffered so much, Amy thought.

  “It’s ungodly, whatever it is,” Kurt said.

  “Here’s an inscription,” Luke said. He read, “In the third year of our fight for independence, 912 people died here. One year later under a harvest moon, 1,317 weapons of mass destruction were sacrificed to make this. Blessed be the Cult of the Iron Mother.”

  “Cult of the Iron Mother?” Daniel asked. “What’s that?”

  Luke shrugged. “Well, Roger and Ruth said there were Pagans, and that they believed in the mother earth. My guess is this is theirs.”

  “But what’s it mean?” Kurt asked.

  “I don’t know. We’ll have to ask someone,” Luke said.

  Amy put one hand on the statue. Though in the shadow now, it was still warm from the sun. Mark and Patrick both made noises of disapproval. “She touched it,” Shawn commented. Amy was irritated by their juvenile revulsion.

  What did it mean? What were the weapons of mass destruction? How were they sacrificed? Then it hit her. “It’s gun metal,” she said.

  “What?” Luke asked.

  “The statue,” she replied. “It’s made of gun metal. That’s what it means by weapons of mass destruction. Someone melted down over thirteen hundred guns to make . . . this.”

  “What sort of fool would melt down guns to make something sick like this?” Mark demanded.

  “I don’t care,” Patrick replied. “But it creeps me out. Let’s get out of here.”

  After another moment, Luke nodded his agreement and led them off.

  They camped at the base of the valley within sight of the river. A serviceable wooden bridge led across. The next morning, they crossed and continued their journey.

  After a few miles they came to a crossroads. They went straight, as Roger had directed.

  After the crossroads, the road began to look more and more used. Ruts from wagon wheels became more common, and the woods that now gathered on either side had a manicured look to them.

  Just before noon, they woods gave way to a rolling land of farms and plowed fields. Sheep and cattle grazed by thatched barns. Amy followed Shawn’s wide-eyed gaze to a young lady who casually regarded them from the other side of a low stone wall.

  Chapter 6

  THE QUIET EARTH SOCIETY

  Seemingly unconcerned by their sudden appearance, the woman watched them as they approached. She wore a simple blue dress and a small corset of dark brown material. The dress and corset combination showed quite a bit more cleavage than the ranch women would have found
appropriate. At her waist, a leather belt held numerous pouches and a thick wooden cup. She could be right out of a medieval fairytale, Amy thought.

  “We come in peace,” Luke said. He started to describe their mission.

  The woman cut him off. “What’s that oaf staring at?” she asked. “Hasn’t he ever seen a woman before?”

  Shawn went beet red and looked away mumbling. He’s hoping to find a woman, Amy realized with a start. All her life she had moaned and complained about the ranch, about how she had only one friend. What about Shawn? He had friends, sure, but what was it like knowing there was no woman for him? Amy would most likely end up a spinster, but that was her own damn fault. Should Shawn be forced into permanent bachelorhood by simple mathematics?

  “You guys have come from a long way off, by the look of it,” the woman said, her demeanor turning pleasant again. “Do you have any news for a poor girl who has never left her valley?”

  Luke looked uncertain. Amy stepped up. She felt vaguely jealous of the attention the woman was paying to Luke. She knew that was irrational. “Not really,” she told the woman. “We come from up in the mountains and have just left our valley for the first time. I am Amy Beland of Freedom Ranch.”

  The woman introduced herself as Wren. Amy introduced the men.

  Wren looked up at the distant mountains and whistled. “I didn’t know anybody lived up there.”

  “We kind of keep to ourselves,” Luke said. “Do you know the way to the village?”

  She gave him a long, patient look. “Road only goes two ways, Honey.” Luke blushed. “Tell you what,” she continued, “I’ll escort you in. A bunch of big, strapping, mountain lads shouldn’t be wandering around all by yourselves, now should you?” She vaulted the wall easily and took Luke’s arm. “Right this way, kind sir.”

  Amy felt another pang of irrational jealousy and quickly squelched it. Wren led Luke off, chatting amiably. The other boys followed close behind, watching her. They aren’t being suspicious this time.

  Just over the crest of the next hill, they could see the village. It was all laid out in one lane, a collection of thirty or so houses of the same earthen material as the Akira’s. While several had heavy sod roofs like the Akira’s, most favored second stories of wood and thatched roofs. At the end of the village, the lane bent around a large community hall.

  The thatched roofs and smoking chimneys gave the whole village a fairytale look. Amy recalled several swords and sorcery books that Luke had talked her into reading; this would the perfect setting for any of them.

  As they approached, Amy saw many distant figures heading toward the village. Their approach had not gone unremarked, and apparently visitors were rare enough to draw a crowd. Then again, how would the ranch handle half a dozen visitors?

  At the edge of town, an old man sat on a stool with his back against a tree and his nose in a book. He wore a simple tunic of rusty brown that went almost to his knees and gray leggings. Beside him was an unstrung bow.

  “Amos Dietrich!” Wren shouted. “Some guard you make.”

  “What’s that, Wren?” he muttered, looking up. Spying the strangers, he stumbled to his feet, fumbling for his knife. “Friend or foe?”

  “Friend,” Luke assured him quickly.

  “You are absolutely hopeless, Amos,” Wren went on. “Just go and get Mr. Quimby, will you?”

  “Yes, Wren,” he said and was gone.

  “I really have to apologize for Amos,” Wren said. “It’s been years since guard duty meant anything except lazing in the shade. Only the worst of the lazy ones take it.”

  Amy couldn’t help but notice that Shawn was still watching Wren, though more discreetly. She had noticed out of the corner of her eye, after being introduced, he had sounded Wren’s name out to himself several times as though trying to be extra sure he remembered it.

  An elderly man approached. He was tall with shoulder-length, dark hair that was peppered with gray. He wore a simple brown tunic as well, with gray leggings and a tooled leather belt. Despite the similarities in dress, his bearing couldn’t have been more different than Amos’s. You could tell he was one of the village leaders, just as you could tell that Amos Deaton ran the ranch. It was something in the way he held himself.

  “I am Johnathan Quimby, gatekeeper for the village of Bullhaven,” he said in a deep sonorous voice. “I bid you welcome and offer you our hospitality.”

  “I am Luke Zachary of Freedom Ranch,” Luke said, taking his hand. “We gladly accept your hospitality. We are here on an urgent mission—”

  “Later, son,” the man interjected with a wave of his hand. “First, hospitality. You must be weary and thirsty.” He turned to the gathering crowd. “We are honored by guests. We will toast their arrival in the hall, and tonight there will be a feast.”

  A cheer greeted this pronouncement. Quimby led Luke off, the two falling into conversation at once. Everyone else followed behind. Villagers started plying the boys with question about the world beyond their little valley.

  Amy could only guess from their reception that the days of bandits must be long over. No one seemed to doubt their peaceful intentions. Maybe they should, she thought as she watched Patrick’s assault rifle bounce across his back.

  They passed into the community building. It was dark and cool inside. The main room was filled with long, low wooden tables and benches. Cups were being filled behind a bar and passed around. Several were brought their way.

  One was pressed into Amy’s hand. She eyed it suspiciously. The dark frothy liquid inside smelled strongly of yeast. She was not sure what she was expected to do, so she held it.

  “To your health and good fortune,” Mr. Quimby told them loudly.

  “To your health and good fortune,” Luke returned. A cheer showed that he had made the proper reply. Following Luke’s and Quimby’s example, Amy tilted the mug back to her mouth. She nearly spit the liquid back out. It was bitter and foul, as bad if not worse than it looked.

  “What is this stuff?” she whispered to Luke.

  “To long life and happiness,” someone shouted at the back of the crowd. Luke responded in kind, and there was another long drink.

  “It’s beer,” Luke whispered back as he lowered his mug.

  “Beer?” Amy replied. “Doesn’t look anything like the stuff Dad drinks.”

  “That’s the O’Malley’s home brew,” Luke told her. “I’ve had a taste or two. This is much darker and stronger, but it the same stuff, I’m sure.”

  The toasting went on for some time. Even taking the tiniest swallows, Amy had drained half her mug. Most people had been through at least one refill.

  Amy looked around her. The hall was an amazing re-creation of a medieval feasting hall. It had a large fireplace on one side, which was quickly being filled and a fire lit. Heavy tapestries hung on the other walls and oil lamps were spaced evenly along the wall.

  The people helped to complete the image. The men and several of the women wore simple tunics of earthen colors and leggings. Other woman wore floor-length dresses, with or without a corset like Wren’s.

  Amy felt a tug at her sleeve. How long had she been spacing off? Luke was pulling her through the crowd after Mr. Quimby. She managed to deposit her mug on a table and shake her head to clear it as she followed.

  “He wants to discuss our mission,” Luke said. They broke through the crowd and were led down a back hallway. They were shown into a small side chamber that housed a short table and a half-dozen chairs. An elderly lady in a floor-length white dress was already seated waiting for them. She rose as they entered.

  “This is Irene McKinis,” Mr. Quimby told them, “the head of the village counsel. You’ll deal with her.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Luke said taking her offered hand. “I am Luke Zachary of Freedom Ranch.”

  Amy had thought Quimby was the leader. Now she discovered the village was led by this woman. She was impressed by that fact.

  Luke impressed her eve
n more. He didn’t miss a beat. If a woman leader surprised him, he didn’t show it one bit. After introductions, he immediately began to describe the plight of the ranch, with an occasional nod to Quimby, to whom he had already spoken. Amy listened in silence, unsure what her presence was meant to imply. Surely they had already proved their goodwill?

  Luke produced a neatly folded stack of papers, the list of what the ranch needed, and handed it to Quimby. The older man read it intently while Luke finished his story.

  “Our village has always been ready to help those in need, even in the early days when we had little ourselves,” the elderly lady told him. “However, charity breeds dependence. That’s bad for both sides. We would work a trade, if possible.”

  “Of course, I agree totally,” Luke said. “I’ve been thinking about that. To be honest, we didn’t expect to find any civilization . . . quite like yours. I am not sure that we have anything you would want or need. But we do have six strong men willing to work, and Amy here.”

  Amy squirmed uncomfortably as she became the center of attention.

  “The mechanic?” Quimby asked mildly. Luke nodded.

  As if in answer to Amy’s unspoken question, Irene said, “Perhaps you think we are too primitive to need your help?”

  Amy shrugged noncommittally, not sure what to say. It certainly seemed primitive, even by the ranch’s meager standards. Irene chuckled. She drew a flashlight from a drawer on one side of the table and flicked it on, shining it at the ceiling. Deep in the shadows above the sputtering oil lamps were dark, long panels: fluorescent lighting.

  “I saw the wind generator on the way in,” Luke said. “It was not running, so I took a chance and dropped the hint that we had a mechanic of sorts along.”

  “The oil lamps are quaint, but I’d really like my real lights back,” Irene said.

  Amy was startled; she had missed the generator. Lucky that Luke hadn’t.

  Irene went on. “We don’t know what’s wrong. It went out during the last storm. We have a backup biodiesel generator. We use it for some things, but it is too resource-intensive for everyday use. We have sent to the Greenbowes for a repairperson. Spring is their busiest time, and the usual repairwoman is out. It could be several months before she’ll be able to find time for us.”