The Chronicles of Misty

by Ed Hurst

  “So we keep our eyes open, but simply stick with the ostensible purpose, and the skullduggery will take care of itself. That’s certainly a lot easier than playing at espionage.” Fortis was feeling better about it.

  “Exactly. Those working in darkness will be forced to act, and it will expose them. God will either protect us from harm or take us home to be with Him. Nothing could be simpler.”

  Fortis grinned. “At least you didn’t say ‘easy’.”

  Chapter 29: Canebrake

  They had to dodge between two long, narrow islands to avoid an extra half-day of sailing to go around and come back to the natural harbor on southern Nadul Island. The Captain and his crew seemed to think it a minor task, but Fortis was pretty sure he could have speared any number of trees on either side had he tried with his lance. It was one of those rare places where a strong current had carved out a channel where once had been a narrow sandy shoal. The trees grew out to the edge of land which dropped suddenly; not much from above the water level, but deeply below the surface.

  As he watched from a forward facing railing, he turned to George. “What if a sheikh doesn’t like us having armed bodyguards? What protocol prevents him making trouble for us?”

  George hardly hesitated. “If the twins don’t come, fully armed, we stay on the boat and keep sailing.”

  Fortis absorbed this. “And if they don’t get any students in the academy, they lose leverage for trade concessions?”

  “Obviously. But it also means explaining why they reneged on a Council agreement. Worst of all, it means the suspicion falls to them for all this troublesome espionage.”

  “Humor me a bit more. What if the boys actually decide there’s a threat and injure or kill someone?” Fortis was not thrilled with the idea of bloodshed on his behalf.

  “There are established procedures for inquiry. The boys aren’t that eager to kill anything they can’t eat or skin. They’ll do their jobs, but they stand to become famous, crossing the entire planet with their swords and white belts. They’ll get more marriage offers than you will.”

  “As well they should.” Fortis genuinely liked them. For all their reticence, they made dashing figures.

  “Which reminds me,” George rounded on him like a schoolmaster. “I’ll wager you’ve been slack in your training. We’ll have to arrange some sparring with Nadul’s troops.”

  Fortis groaned, more dramatically than he felt.

  The welcome on Nadul was mostly the same routine. The only difference was the most obvious one: The sheikh and all his people were varying shades of brown, most had almond shaped eyes, and few of them had any whiskers at all, much less significant beards. He spotted one harbor worker who was even darker, and noted mentally the planet was more genetically diverse than he first thought.

  They were welcomed, fed and housed, but this time traveled by wagons pulled by coursers. The ride was very nice, and Fortis noticed the suspension was fairly complex. In just tree days they reached the capital city, and received the normal welcome. They were hosted in their own grand tent. Fortis decided just once to play on a whim and requested a hammock. It appeared within the hour, and was strung from a sturdy frame built just for the purpose. He felt guilty until George told him he was hardly the first to ask for such a thing. It was just highly unusual.

  So was the conversation he overheard the next morning. George was standing halfway in the tent door talking to another elder. This other elder wore the same brown and gray, but with patches and trim sporting the blue and tan of Clan Nadul. They were gazing down at an image displayed on a pocket computer.

  “I didn’t hear about that,” George said.

  “What do you make of it?” the other asked.

  “My first instinct is to say it’s something artificial, very expensive to make. But it’s not simple wood like anything we know about. Instead of mere hollow piping, which I could understand, it has closed cells. I can’t imagine why, nor what it would do to production costs for that.” George shook his head.

  Fortis approached, and asked to see. “Oh, some sort of reed.”

  The other two stared at him. “We’ve never seen them on Misty,” George explained in all seriousness. Turning back to the image, “So that’s what a reed looks like.”

  “Well, somebody is growing them. That or someone has access to off-planet resources.” Fortis wondered what it was all about.

  George looked up again. “What I got regarding our ranger captain’s glider was merely an initial report. The next report bypassed us on our voyage via messenger bird, arriving a couple of days ago. Elder Nassi here was showing me his copy, which included this image. The glider had a unique frame built from these reeds,” pointing to the image. “It explains how he managed it so well, because they are lighter than or typical wood, but they have been enhanced the same way. Being thin and hollow, very sturdy and yet flexible, he could have easily flown much farther than anything we know about, with far less effort.”

  Something clicked in Fortis’ mind. “So that’s how he got away so quickly from the roof of the academy. He didn’t have to wait for the wind to fill the fabric cells; they were already spread by reeds.”

  George turned to Nassi. “Take our suggestion to your academy. With the next bird flight propagate a request about reeds. If these are enhanced by processing, someone has to have at least a substantial workshop with heat and water. Everything else is available on the market. Except maybe those tiny hydrogen cylinders. They would have no other use, so that means a kiln.”

  Fortis and George stared as the elder first walked fast, then began running down the street.

  Later that day came the first marriage proposal for Fortis. He declined. Something inside him knew this was not the time, so he made sure this was understood. He also promised to return on their way back after their tour, though without any commitment to do more than reconsider.

  George seemed familiar with the city, and took Fortis on a guided tour. “Why do I see more than the usual number of fixed buildings?”

  “Nadul specializes in designing and producing these small devices.” George produced his pocket computer, unrolled it. “It can’t be done in a tent.”

  Fortis had seen personal communication devices which rolled, but was puzzled by something. “You don’t have plastics here, so how do you get one that rolls?”

  “I’m no technologist, but I am told it’s basically fine threads of glass attached to a swatch of the fabric which stiffens when unrolled. We use microorganisms to coat the glass with nano-circuitry. I don’t really know too much about it, but the whole thing hinges a great deal on the natural silica found on just about every planet in the galaxy. Here it’s a major resource.”

  “So silica mining is a big thing here,” Fortis guessed.

  “Yes. My home clan is involved in processing it. The major restriction we suffer is impurities. We are constantly exploring parts of the desert we can reach for better sources, and so is every clan bordering it. Raw silica of good quality is worth quite a bit. The impurities affect the entire process, because we use micro-optics to control the growth of the microbes. We haven’t found any new mining areas in a very long time.”

  Fortis stood admiring the devices stacked in a stall. “Protocol requires we don’t carry our personal communication devices when we visit a planet; only the equipment they issue from the university when we do a study. I suppose most of planets are touchy about controlling radio wave frequencies.”

  “Pick one. The sheikh will be embarrassed if he discovers you don’t have one already.” George showed something on his unrolled device to the woman working the stall.

  Eventually Fortis chose a flat device small enough to hide in his hand, but folded out to palm size for use. During the ensuing conversation, the woman commented they only recently started having trouble with a declining quality of glass. Their new supplier couldn’t match the quality from the supplier they lost.

  His head cocked to one side, George asked, �
��Where did you get the glass before?”

  “Clan Manley,” she replied. George didn’t say anything, but it was obvious to Fortis his mind was very busy for awhile as they strolled farther through the city.

  The following day they appeared before Sheikh Nadul. He introduced twelve prospects he selected for the new ambassadorial academy. George and Fortis had developed a battery of tests during the voyage north from Johnston. Over long discussions on the rear deck, they hashed out the basic personality traits Fortis felt necessary for dealing with the broad array of human cultures, interlaced with George’s emphasis on mysticism and faith.

  “Our founders had a long history of living with a foot in both worlds. It was the primary reason they were able to stay so long on Terra. It requires parallel thinking, a constant awareness of things on two levels,” George explained.

  “And I am certainly acquainted with the lower level,” Fortis noted. “I found the faculty at Johnston was very adept at getting across a great deal of meaning with a fairly dramatic telling of the Book. I’ll be trying my hand at that technique, since I find it considerably better than the dry, factual rendering required for spooling. Facts are easy, but it’s hard to replace the sense of being transported to the time and place of event.”

  Fortis thought for a moment. “But they are going to need all the faith they can muster to deal with the jolting difference between the meteoric pace of life out there compared to the glacial pace here.”

  Sheikh Nadul presented his dozen candidates. Fortis estimated they were all less than thirty years of age, but clearly adults. After a couple of days interviewing, George and Fortis whittled it down to three. The key was how quickly they absorbed things which made little sense initially, and were able to formulate a response which exhibited transparency and empathy, without entanglement.

  “Mysticism is fundamental to our culture and education, but most people under thirty aren’t quite ready to operate on that level. Still, the basic tendencies which can’t be trained should be visible fairly early,” George had said during their planning sessions.

  Chapter 30: Work and Worry

  The next clan they visited had one of two major hospitals on Misty, with the attached medical college. The one after that was a huge island almost entirely above tree level, where several species of hair and hide producing animals were raised. Another was covered with various fiber producing plants, and another seemed to be doing a little of everything.

  During one of their numerous long discussions, George had explained, “People have to work, but no one should be driven by a clock. Our level of relative comfort has risen slowly, but it will never be that great. First is our fundamental other-worldly orientation. Eldership is granted only to those who prove their ability to maintain that orientation. They control the primary education, which is always conducted by the extended household, and only grandmothers and grandfathers are qualified as teachers. Somewhere around the twelfth year we allow children to enter apprenticeship. Everyone learns a trade, and earns their basic colors, as we say.”

  Fortis noted, “I’ve already picked up on some of the symbolism of costume color.”

  George nodded, “Mine is pale blue for water supply maintenance. We have several springs near my birthplace.”

  “I’m out of place on that one. I’ve never done anything outside academics,” Fortis said.

  George chuckled, “We can give you a trade if you like. But the main point is we maintain a careful balance between too much and too little. Most of our wars have been the indirect result of population explosion, something which seems to come in cycles. Warfare serves the obvious purpose of reducing the population directly, but the destruction reduces it further by starvation, disruption of trade, and too often plagues. We know it’s not possible to avoid it totally, but we minimize it. We strive to balance the forces of human nature as a part of other natural forces.”

  Eventually they landed on the coast nearest Clan Manley. The port was fairly busy and George spoke to one of the senior stevedores. Something he said made George’s face go ashen.

  There was one clan territory to cross northward by land to reach Manley, and no one raised the slightest objection to going straight there. Indeed, it was quickly agreed Fortis and George would ride on ahead of the slower wagons. He asked the twins to stay with the baggage. “If we can’t be safe here, there really is no hope for much of anything.” As he and Fortis rode away, George eschewed the roads, driving straight across the open land. They picked up food from isolated farm tents or small villages near their path.

  It took two weeks sleeping on the ground without a tent, and riding all day and trusting the coursers to warn if predators approached at night. Such a warning happened only once during the trip. George rolled out of bed, listened a moment, then shot two arrows into the dark. After a few minutes of silence, he dropped back into his bedroll and soon began to snore softly.

  Fortis waited until they had gone some ten days like this before asking over lunch one day, “Your intuition is roaring.”

  “Our primary glass maker has had access to the best silica on the planet for decades. Suddenly someone downstream complains the supply of high quality glass is declining. That was puzzling, but not disturbing. Then the dock manager tells me not a scrap of silica has come through the port in six months, when previously it was large loads, requiring six or seven wagons three or four times per year. This is no small matter. There is precious little silica or sand near my village, and the glass plant is the only reason that village exists. It’s a small facility, so we export most of what we mine.”

  Fortis waited as George chewed. Finally, he prodded. “But there’s more.”

  “But I don’t know what.” He started to rise. “It troubles my spirit.”

  A few days later, they came down from an almost barren ridge. While Fortis noticed the air was slightly less hazy, and faintly warmer, he didn’t expect to see the huge rising shadow of high land on the other side of the wooded valley. He caught glimpses of numerous windmills climbing the gentle slope, and a cluster of several more in the far distance, just barely visible in the fading light of day.

  Several of the people greeted George enthusiastically, then spluttered over the odd visitor with him. George did slow a bit and promised with a smile to talk later, then dismounted in front of the largest tent in the village. Fortis took the liberty of introducing himself, and no one seemed to object. With a dozen offers of service, he asked for, and received, a fresh drink of water from the cistern. Cautiously, he peeked inside the open tent doorway. George was talking to another man who looked surprisingly similar in age and features.

  George glanced at Fortis, perfunctorily introduced the man as his brother, Randall. Then the two men promptly began a rapid fire discussion with such abbreviated references, Fortis had trouble following it.

  Someone brought in their bedrolls and other baggage from off the coursers. The young man carrying it all shared an obvious family resemblance to George and Randall. Finally, the hurried conversation slowed.

  George turned to Fortis. “I apologize for being such a poor host...”

  Fortis put up a hand. “I’m in on this whole thing. Just tell me what I can do.”

  “Right now, there’s nothing we can do. It’s late. Two tasks present themselves immediately. We need to visit the glass plant. Until recently, they had a very high quality supply not locally available. I have to find out where the supply came from, as they surely know something more than who drove the wagons inland. Then, we have to trace down that supplier and find out what happened. We shall likely meet our wagons well before they arrive here.” George looked very tired.

  “So, we will meet ourselves coming and going, in a manner of speaking.” Fortis tried to lighten the somber mood.

  George smiled weakly. Everyone who visited that evening was just as somber, as the plant in hills to the north had all but shut down. Only the smaller workshops making goods mostly for local consumption were sti
ll running.

  For all the hard riding, the coursers didn’t hesitate when George and Fortis mounted them before dawn for the ride up the draw toward the cluster of spinning wind turbines. As they drew closer and higher, Fortis realize these were quite large, much larger than anything he had seen before. He noticed the wind was strong, decidedly warmer than that first taste of polar breeze, yet still the climate was cool enough for sleeves. As the land rose, he noticed it was also somewhat drier. However, the one thing which locked his attention was the noise. The wind didn’t rip stones from the packed surface of the dry barren table land, but the roaring was palpable on its own.

  They turned into the teeth of this wind as the trail wound around a small hump to reveal an opening in the side of the slope. A great deal of stonework had been added, but clearly this was the opening to a man-made cave.

  The windmills were clustered on the flat top of the hill, bound together by a solid framework of stone and large beams. The turbines were vertical, covered with complex curved panels of bright fabric. At the foot of each was a sealed dynamo, according to George’s previous explanations. Farther back was another wind turbine by itself. This one dropped a spinning shaft directly into a fitting in the ground. This one met the description George gave for a water-well. There appeared little sign of significant wear on anything, but there was no blowing dust. There was just a steady blast of stiff wind below the somewhat higher clouds, clouds still thick enough to prevent any detectable change in brightness for the dawn. Desert, yes, but unlike any Fortis had ever seen.

  They rode up to an awning, then led the beasts under it, tying them to rings set in the stone. Here the wind was not quite so loud, and only gentle, random swirls managed to tousle the fur on their flanks. The flat entry way was cut out of the hill, so the sides were somewhat protected nearest the facing.

  George stood, hesitating a moment before ducking in the wide doorway standing open.

  Chapter 31: Source of Sorrow

  They stepped inside the cooler, darker opening, which turned out to be a foyer. Directly in front of them was a large wooden door almost closed, but George turned and walked down a narrow hall to another, smaller door set in the thick stone wall. Without knocking, he turned the handle and entered.