Chapter 15

Two days later, an early morning, Fors, along with Wenna and Kreston, stood in the Star House.  Outside in the pre-dawn gloom lay their packs, loaded with the bare essentials they would need for their journey.  Across the room, their Defender, Boros of the Badger Clan, waited patiently.  Torin gave Fors his final briefing, also sharing kind words with Wenna.  For Star Novice Kreston, he had stern words, reminding the young man of his inexperience and the danger of pride; ordering him to pay close attention to everything that happened.  "Remember above all that a Star Man represents every man, women, and child of the Eyrie.  Your speech, behavior, and habits must therefore be always beyond reproach for their judgement of you will be also their judgement of this tribe.  Do you understand?"

Kreston replied, "Yes Sir."  The Star Captain looked hard into the Novice's eyes, then turned back to Fors.  "Travel well, Star Man.  May the trail you walk be rich with knowledge and free of danger.  We will await your return with hope."

Fors completed the ritual parting:  "I go forth from the Eyrie in peace, seeking knowledge and offering brotherhood with all whom I meet."

Fors turned and left the Star House, followed by the other three.  Seemingly out of nowhere, Nira appeared, announcing his arrival with a soft meow.  Silently, they donned their packs.  Fors slipped the Star Pouch over his neck, and as he had done a hundred times before, turned away from the Stronghold for the open lands beyond. 

He led them down the trail from the West Ridge, winding around to the base of the Southern Escarpment.  There would be some tough hiking ahead, as they left the mountains.  There was no conversation, since each had been thoroughly briefed on the route and destination.  At one point though, Fors looked back.  Kreston was immediately behind, a sober expression on his face.  Wenna followed her son, her face demonstrating deep thought.  Bringing up the rear, Boros strode easily, his head on a swivel as he scanned the surrounding area.  A man reputed to be courageous, deliberate, and highly intelligent, he was also experienced.  This would be his sixth journey out of the mountains.  Catching Fors' eye, he nodded briefly.  The way was safe.

Thus, the hours passed.  The sun cleared the horizon and began its climb towards zenith.  Towards late morning, they cleared the last of the foothills.  Once in the flat lowlands, Fors increased the pace.  Nira began scouting, gliding left and right of their path.  Fors caught a brief flash of emotion from the big cat.  He too felt the excitement of the journey.

Presently, they arrived at a familiar grove of trees.  Fors called a rest.  The day had not been warm enough to require much drinking water, but they topped off their canteens, anyway.  Fors sat down beside Kreston, taking a map out of the Star Pouch.  Opening it, he said, "See if you can find our position."

Kreston perused the map, glancing up at his surroundings.  He put a finger on the map and announced, "We are here."

"What direction to we take now?"

Deftly using his fingers as he had been taught, he measured the sun angle, matching it to the chart on the map.  Fors watched as he identified the required three landmarks, then looking around, pointed just north of west.  "We should go this direction until we reach the river on the other side of the Glentown ruins.  Then we follow the river north to the intact bridge."  He looked expectantly at Fors.

Fors nodded.  "What hazards do you see that await us?"

"Spring in the lowlands is a time of sudden and violent storms.  Also, there are remains of farms along our path where wild pigs and cattle abound.  From those herds we can gain food, but the pigs especially are territorial and will attack without warning."

Fors nodded in approval.  "Well done.  I want you to take the lead when we leave here.  Remember to stop for the mid-day meal, and at least one rest break before we camp for the night."

"Yes, Father."  Kreston was trying hard to be nonchalant, but was not succeeding.  Fors wasn't worried.  He had made this trek enough times that the route was as familiar as the Eyrie itself.  If Kreston led them astray, he would know instantly.  Returning the map to the Star Pouch, he rose and moved to Wenna and knelt down.  "How are you doing?" he asked.

Her smile was genuine, if a bit taut.  "It is surprising how unsettling the loss of familiar surroundings can be."

Fors smiled.  "Try not to think of the familiar you leave behind, but rather the adventure of the unknown that lies ahead."

She looked down.  "I'm sorry.  I should be more...adventurous, I guess."

Fors gently placed his hand on her shoulder.  "I realize this is all new to you.  But know that, over time, even the new can become familiar.  How are your feet?"  Wenna was breaking in a new pair of trail boots, a process that Fors knew from experience could be exquisitely painful.

Her voice became more upbeat.  "Actually quite good.  The socks have helped a lot."

"Good!  Let me know if you start to feel pain.  To walk without treatment will only make things worse."

Fors rose, retrieving the Star Pouch.  The others got up as well, and once again they resumed their march, this time with Kreston in the lead.

It was a pleasant day, and the hours passed comfortably.  Nira came and went, scouting the way ahead.  He, too, knew this path well.  After stopping for the mid-day meal, they continued on their way.  Late in the afternoon, they approached the ruins of a small community, a place Fors had identified as Glentown.  Normally, he would have passed around its perimeter, having explored the place thoroughly many years ago.  But for Wenna and Kreston, this was their first exposure to the flotsam of the Old Ones' once mighty civilization.  In deference to them, Fors allowed Kreston to lead them into the town, walking along the broken surface of its main street.  Surreptitiously, the Star Man strung his bow, not wishing to tempt fate. 

They slowed almost to a crawl.  Kreston and Wenna looked with awe at the broken structures, now overgrown with plants and trees.  Turning suddenly, Kreston stopped at the front of what had once been a small store, it's glass windows long since broken out.  He peered into the darkness, as if trying to divine secrets that had long since died with the inhabitants.  The Novice moved to the doors and carefully entered.  Fors watched carefully as Kreston's eyes swept the interior.  Inside were orderly rows of shelves that had once held veritable treasures.  Suddenly, Fors heard from the boy a sudden intake of breath.  On a countertop, lying on its side was a human skull.  Fors remained quiet, allowing Kreston to absorb his first real contact with the past.  Wenna moved past them.  Removing a pair of gloves from her pack, she picked up the skull, examining it carefully. 

Fors moved beside her, curious about her reaction.  After a moment, she muttered, "Slightly smaller than ours."  She turned it over in her hands, peering inside.  "The brain case seems different."  Placing the artifact gently back on the countertop, she concluded, "They were our past, but we are obviously different people now."

Fors considered her words.  While Star Men had made thousands of journeys through these lowlands, the Eyrie had never thought to send any of its scientists along, thus this critical information would have remained undiscovered. 

"We should move on."  Kreston's voice echoed through the store.  Fors turned in his direction.  Kreston's face bore a questioning look.  Fors answered the question.

"You are the leader.  Give the command."

Kreston held his head high, his eyes steady.  In a voice of decision and finality, he announced, "Let's go."

Regaining the street, they continued their march.  They paused at a few other structures, Wenna spending the most time in what must have been a small hospital or clinic.  Inside, she touched, almost reverently pieces of equipment, technology lost to the ages.  In one metal cabinet that hissed when it opened, she discovered stacks of dark-colored stiff squares.  Carefully drawing one out, she held it up to the light.  Her voice full of wonder, she whispered, "It is a picture...of a person's insides!"  She pointed to parts of the image for Fors' benefit.  "Ribs, spine, hip bones..."  She returned the film back to its container.  "What healing we could do with devices such as these," she said somberly, shaking her head.  Her eyes met her husband's.  "Why would the Old Ones throw away such miracles as this?"

Fors took her hands in his.  "That is the answer we seek;  it is why we come here."

She looked around the clinic room with all of its miracle machines, and murmured, "I think I finally understand."

A few hours later, they reached the bank of the great river.  As planned, they turned north, following the waterway.  They hadn't gone far before discovering a surprise.  One of the great bridges had fallen into the river, spilling the rusted vehicles that had blocked its roadway into the muddy waters.  The ends of the bridge were no longer connected to the roads, but were now dug into the dirt banks on either side.  Fors stood, considering their options.  The way was now traversable, the only question was how stable the bridge was.  There was risk, but if they chose to cross here, they could cut hours from their journey.

Boros approached and stood next to Fors, who asked, "What do you think?"

"If it were just you and I, I'd say yes.  But with your wife and son?"  He shook his head.  "To cross that bridge will require a strong heart and a clear head.  I just don't know our companions well enough to judge them.  We could ask if they are willing to take the risk, but are they experienced enough to properly judge that risk?"

Fors nodded.  "Still, the best way to build courage is to face risk."  He turned to Wenna and Kreston.  "We can cross this bridge and reduce our journey by many hours.  However, I cannot say how stable the bridge is.  We could cross successfully, or our weight and movement could cause the bridge to pivot and fall into the river, along with us."

Wenna looked at the bridge, chewing her lip.  Kreston took a few steps away and stood for a few moments, then turned and said, "I think we should cross."

Fors looked at Wenna, who shrugged and nodded.  "This is not my area of expertise.  Here, I must trust the wits of my companions."

With the question decided, under Fors direction, each took from their packs the coil of rope.  In moments, they were all linked together.  Then carefully, they worked their way down the muddy bank.  Fors, in the lead, reached the edge of the bridge first.  Cautiously, he placed his foot on the steel and transferred his weight.  It seemed solid enough.  Nira moved past Fors cautiously, then flashed across the bridge with her lightning speed.  He moved forward, the rest following his lead.  Fors kept his hand on the side of the bridge, feeling for the first telltale vibrations that would indicate the shifting of the bridge.  Slowly they moved forward, testing with each step.  Below, the brown waters ran past, gurgling as they washed over the vehicles in the river.  The good thing was the wrecks had gone into the river upstream from the bridge, forming a sort of barrier which slowed the water slightly.  They were now almost halfway across and the span seemed solid.  Fors increased the pace, hoping to get them across quicker.  Just past the midpoint, the bridge had bent slightly, putting part of the roadway under the roiling waters.  Fors moved to the higher railing, and moved them all past the submerged spot.  With that behind them, they returned to the road surface.  Now, the bridge sloped upwards towards the other side.  Their confidence buoyed by the success so far, they moved quickly.  Fors looked ahead, estimating the distance remaining.  They were almost there.  Then, the thing Fors dreaded the most, began.  He felt a slight vibration in the handrail, and the road surface began to flex slightly.  Instantly, he reacted.  Turning his head, he roared, "RUN!"

Now they were sprinting up the road surface.  The flexing began to get worse, making their footing more difficult.  Nira, safe on the riverbank, yowled his concern.  Finally, Fors gained the mud bank that marked the edge of the bridge.  Quickly behind came Wenna, then Kreston.  But as Boros approached, the bridge gave a massive shudder and began to roll sideways.  Fors dived for Kreston's end of the rope and dug his heels into the shifting surface.  Acting on instinct, the other two took hold and together, they all pulled hard.  The bridge had rolled almost sideways, and then paused.  With the rails and crossbars under his feet, Boros began climbing with a will.  Miraculously, just as his feet left the surface of the bridge, it made one final twist and with a loud roar, collapsed into the river.

Fors grasped the Defender's arm.  "Are you injured?"

With his face, still grim and slightly pale, Boros shook his head, and said, "We need to get up the bank.  The bridge may have been holding the mud in place!"

They turned as one and made a mad scramble up the side, finally reaching the top.  They tumbled over a low stone wall and collapsed on the other side, out of breath.  Wenna was the first to move, going to each to check for injury.  As she came to Fors, she leaned close and grimly whispered, "Next time, we walk around."

Fors nodded.  Miraculously, they had survived without injury.  Even Boros with the wild ride on the collapsing bridge had come through with minor scratches.

They rested awhile, then stowed the ropes away.  Fors took his map out and began to peruse it.  He would be taking them through unfamiliar country at this point.  He located the spot where they were and carefully plotted the direction they should travel.  Getting everyone up, he led the way as they resumed their march.

Later, as the sun began to approach the horizon, they approached the ruins  of a farm.  The barn was a pile of rotting wood, but the house, made of stone, seemed to be almost intact.  Fors entered the building carefully.  The upper floors were intact, although the stairs were long gone.  In one large room, there was a fireplace.  The room had no windows and had two doorways that could be barricaded and defended.  Wenna went to work immediately, gathering wood and piling it in the fireplace.  In no time at all, a cheery fire was burning.  As the heat and smoke went up the chimney, they could hear the flutter of birds abandoning their now inhospitable home.  Nira was already on her hunt, so Fors and Kreston gathered their bows and set out to hunt dinner.  They hadn't gone far before sighting a small herd of deer.  Kreston drew an arrow from his quiver, set it on the bowstring, and let fly.  The arrow flashed through the dusk and found its mark, a large doe.  Fors watched as the youngster gutted and cleaned the animal.  Then, together, they carried the carcass back to the farmhouse.  Upon arrival, all four fell to preparing the meat for cooking.  A short time later, the delicious smell of roasting venison filled the room.  As Fors turned the spit, Boros stood in the doorway, idly looking out across the fields.  Kreston was perusing the map with Wenna looking over his shoulder.  It was a quiet evening, with only the crickets breaking the silence.  Presently, Nira returned looking satisfied.  With a heavy sigh, he curled up near the door.

After eating, they cleaned up.  The remains of the deer was taken outside and left a good distance from the house.  Then, with everyone inside, they barricaded both doors, using some of the larger pieces of wood from the barn and large stones.  As the fire burned low, their eyes grew heavy and one by one, they drifted off to sleep.  Sometime during the night, a loud animal scream sounded from the darkness, waking Fors.  Listening carefully, he identified the sounds of combat as two unseen predators fought over the remains of the deer.  Nira had sprang from his sleep and was poised before the barricade, his ears at full attention, and his fur standing straight along his back.  Fors moved to the door and peered into the darkness.  His night vision could see details invisible to others, and he was able to see a small group of coyotes, their dog-like bodies gathered around the deer carcass.  He watched carefully, but they showed no inclination to approach the house.  After awhile, the pack moved off, their howls and barks marking their retreat.  Satisfied, he layed back down.  A hand touched his arm.  He turned to see Wenna looking at him questioningly.  He smiled and shook his head.  Within moments, he was asleep.

Sometime later, it began to rain, a slow drizzle.  Dawn came late, as the sun's subdued light turned the night into a gray, gloomy day.  Wenna and Nira had gone prospecting, returning with a wild hen and a clutch of eggs.  After breakfast, they packed up and left the farm continuing to the north. 

Two days later, they finally reached the outer boundaries of the Plains territory.  They were crossing a small stream when Nira flashed up, his eyes alight with warning.  Waving to the others, they took shelter among some rocks at the stream's bend.  Crouched down, Fors closed his eyes and concentrated.  He heard the thrumming of multiple hoofbeats.  Horsemen were approaching.  Silently, he cautioned the others.  Looking carefully, he saw three Plainsmen as they came out of the treeline.  They rode up to the stream bank and stopped.  One carefully scanned the area.  The Plainsmen were skilled trackers, and Fors had not been careful at hiding their trail.  Tense, he continued to watch. 

Spurring his horse, the Plainsmen approached the stream opposite of the place Fors and his party had entered it.  He leaned forward, frowning as he inspected the area.  He seemed to find something that satisfied his curiosity.  Leaning back, he shouted, "Fors of the Tribe of the Eyrie!  Welcome!"

Chapter 16

Fors rose from behind the rocks, the others rising as well. He placed his closed fists on his chest, then spreading his arms, he opened his hands in the traditional greeting, which the Plainsmen returned. As they cantered over, Fors said, "Sellen, your trail skills are sharper than ever."

Sellen was tall and broad-shouldered. His hair, worn long as a sign of free birth, was held out of his eyes by a leather band displaying his clan symbol. Leather chaps, worn smooth and shiny by hours of riding, covered his legs down to his boots. He wore a leather vest over a shirt of woven cloth. The others were similarly dressed, including the two dark-skinned southerners. Grinning broadly, he said, "I read trails the way you seem to read the minds of men." Leaning down, he offered his hand to Fors, who clasped it warmly. Turning, Sellen whistled towards the trees. One more Plainsman came forward, leading four riderless horses.

For Fors and Boros who were veterans of the lowlands, horses were familiar. To Wenna and Kreston, they seemed huge. Sellen, sensing their discomfort, helped them up and steadied them. Then, swinging effortlessly back on his own mount, he led the procession back towards the trees. They rode through the forest for a time, and then debouched onto a sunlit prairie. On the horizon, Fors could see the smoke from many fires, the sure sign they were approaching a sizeable village. As they came closer, Fors saw sure signs of civilization. Cultivated fields, small herds of grazing horses, all connected by a series of well-worn paths. Men and women were working in the fields, both dark and light-skinned. They crested one last small ridge and the panorama of huts and skin tents was revealed.  It had only been a season since Fors last visit, yet the number of dwellings had grown.  And people.  Everywhere, there were people.  

After a seemingly interminable ride, they arrived at the complex of structures that served as the center of government.  Dismounting, Fors heard a familiar voice call out.  Turning, he greeted Arskane.  

“Brother, I am glad your journey was a safe one.”  

For the rest of that day, Fors met in council with the Plainsmen and Southerners.  With care, they melded their separate ideas into a unified plan.  After a restful sleep, the morning’s first light saw the travelers cinching packs and attaching carts to the ponies.  Finally, they were ready to go.  Sellen, in his role as Trail Captain, waved his arm and the group moved out at a brisk pace.

They traveled for several days without incident, proceeding in a generally northwest direction.  By agreement, they stayed clear of ruins because they had a long way to go and time was of the essence.  They journeyed through endless prairie.  The land was covered mostly by tall grass, although the landscape was dotted here and there with grains that had grown wild from previously tilled fields.  Game was plenty enough to fill their pots, though rivers and streams were few, forcing them to manage their water supply.  On they rode, a main column of the supply horses and carts with groups of outriders on both sides scouting the terrain.  The terrain was mostly flat and the rivers that had to be crossed were easily forded.  The carts had been built to be watertight, so when the horses and ponies waded into the waters, the carts floated along behind them, like boats.

As the days wore on, the weather grew warmer and more humid.  On the 9^th day, the expedition encountered heavy thunderstorms.  Fierce lightning bolts split nearby trees and hail poured out of the sky, injuring a few riders.  However, Wenna’s treatment was swift and effective, and they were soon on the mend.  While they were stopped, though, a curious event occurred.  The air, so recently stormy grew very quiet, the sky taking on a greenish hue.  To the north, a large cloud began to rotate and out of the bottom came a funnel-shaped cloud.  It roared along the ground for a mile or so before lifting back into the sky.  Later, as they approached that area, they saw that the ground had been scoured and swept clear.  Trees lay twisted and broken along the storm’s path.  The mountaineers were certainly no stranger to violent storms, but this was something utterly outside their experience and it frightened them.

In the third week of the journey, they came upon the junction of two great rivers, one flowing south, the other west.  A large city lay right at the junction, but luck was with them and they found two intact bridges over which they carefully crossed.  The westward-flowing river must have been a transportation system of great commerce, since several very large ruined cities lay along its shores.  However tempting it was for the Eyrie contingent to explore, Fors knew that the calendar was against them.  To avoid any hostile contact, they gave the ruins a very wide berth, though taking the time to carefully plot them on their maps.  Another seven days, and the great river took a bend to the northwestward, again in the shadow of another large city, and they followed it’s shores until they came to a branching river.  At this point, they had to cross the great river. Too deep and swift to ford, and the available bridges too fragile to use, they made camp and spent several days building rafts to carry them across.  The crossing was difficult and dangerous.  One of the rafts snagged on an under water tree limb and upended, spilling its horse, cart and passengers into the brown waters.  Two of their party vanished, a southerner and a plainsman.  The horse, though frightened, managed to make the far shore along with the cart floating compliantly behind.

Grimly, they pressed on.  Another month went by, day after day of endless prairie.  Fors passed the hours learning from Sellen the language of signs they would use to converse. Sellen also told Fors about the tribes themselves, what history he knew and some of their customs.  Fors listened intently.  Even the most primitive groups of humans had rites and protocols which had to be observed.  He had no intention of allowing this opportunity to vanish in the flame of an insult, however unintentional.

They stayed close to a smaller river lined by cottonwood trees.  But even this smaller course held unseen dangers.  Kreston waded into the waters attempting to capture some fish with a net he had fashioned, only to be stuck in a queer kind of wet sand that pulled him slowly under.  Responding to his calls, a rope was swiftly passed to him, although it took four strong men to pull him from the river.  One of the Plains horses was struck by a large snake, its powerful venom killing the animal in minutes.  

For all their encounters, the apparent emptiness of the land was almost overwhelming.  The tall prairie grasses, bending in the ever-present winds, made a steady shh-ing sound that not only became annoying, but also blunted their hearing.  Even Fors had trouble isolating any sounds other than the winds and the grass.  

Then one day, they crested a low ridge to behold a sight that would stay with them to the end of their lives.  Below the ridge was a massive herd of creatures unlike anything they had ever seen or imagined.  Covered in brown fur, the head was massive and fronted by two horns.  Behind the head was a massive hump that tapered to the rear hips.  The legs seemed impossibly small to carry such a bulk.  This herd covered the ground for as far as they could see.  Suddenly, one of the beasts looked in their direction and snorted.  With that warning, the entire herd turned and ran, fortunately in the opposite direction from the expedition.  They stood, awestruck, as the ground shook with their passage.

On a hot day, five weeks into their journey, they made their first contact.  It was a brutally hot day and the heat had made them all somnolent.  Fors had been watching the horizon and glanced away from the endless rolling grassy hills.  When he looked back, he saw a horse and rider at the crest of a ridge.  At first he thought it was one of the outriders, but as he focused his vision, he knew immediately.



“Sellen.  Visitor. Up ahead on the ridge.”

 CHAPTER 17

The Plainsman squinted into the bright sunlight, then raised his hand, halting the column.  Turning, he said quietly.  “Wait here.”  Turning to the mountaineer, he said, “Fors, with me.”

Spurring their horses, they cantered towards the ridge.  As they came closer, Fors saw that the rider was bare-chested, his skin showing a distinctly red hue.  Around his waist, he wore a simple cloth secured by a belt from which hung a hunting knife.  His shoes were made of soft leather and around his neck was some kind of necklace that looked to be made of eagle claws.  The face was angular with dark, piercing eyes.  Like the Plainsman, he wore his hair long, but in braids.  And unlike the light brown to yellow hair of the Plainsmen, the stranger’s was jet black.  On his head was a leather band holding a single eagle feather.  Sellen stopped a short distance away, then after a pause, raised his right hand, open palm towards the mysterious rider, who responded with a like gesture.  Sellen then began a complex series of signs, which were rendered too fast for Fors to follow.  After apparently completing his message, the rider responded with gestures of his own.  Then he turned to look along the ridge, making a minute gesture with his head.  Fors was shocked to see others dressed similarly rise from the tall grass where they had been hiding.  There were about 50 of them, all seeming to appear out of thin air.  The rider signed back to Sellen, after which the Plainsman turned and waved to the column to follow.  They followed down the back side of the ridge and came upon another group surrounding the expedition’s six outriders, obviously captured.

For the next hour or so, they traversed the landscape.  Then they crossed a shallow stream, climbed a low hill and found themselves looking at a village.  Conical-shaped dwellings of animal hide were arranged in circular groups, all lying along the twisting shore of a small river.  They paused at the crest of the hill until they were recognized, and then went down the hill into the encampment.  Intently, Fors tried to take in as much as he possibly could.  There were women and children present, the women and girls wearing dresses of fringed leather, the boys wearing the cloths around their middle.  Remarkably, as they approached, the members of the tribe paid them almost no attention.  A few smaller children stared curiously until rebuked by their elders.  The tribesmen who had escorted them – Fors was still unsure whether or not they were prisoners or merely guests – went their separate ways, going to their individual dwellings.  One of them turned and made gestures to Sellen.  After responding, he turned and told the group, “Dismount and rest, but keep watch over the carts and supplies.”  Turning then to Fors and Arskane, he said, “Follow me.  We’re going to meet the Chief of this band.”

The three dismounted, taking the time to remove their leather chaps.  Three young boys came up and took the reins of their horses.  Sellen nodded at the other two.  “They will see to our horses.”  

Stiff from the long ride, they walked towards the center of the camp.  There they saw one dwelling on one side of a circle of stones.  Sellen murmured, “Watch me carefully and do what I do.”  

Entering the circle, instead of walking straight to the dwelling, he followed the circle around until they came to the entrance of the hide shelter.  There, they stopped.  As they waited, Fors noted with interest that the hide was decorated with pictures, hundreds of them.  They seemed to be arranged in specific ways, and the Star Man wondered if this was a record of some kind.

Presently, a woman approached from the opposite arc of the circle and without a word or glance at the visitors, went inside.  Fors could hear the murmur of some conversation, then the hide door opened again, and the woman bade them to enter.  Sellen gave them one more whispered advisory:  “Remember!  Walk around the circle, never across it.”

Fors, following Sellen, stooped low to enter the dwelling.  Inside, it was very dim, almost dark.  The transition from the very bright sun outside was abrupt.  They waited for a few moments until their eyes adjusted enough to see.  In the middle was a small circle of glowing embers. What they were using for fuel smelled sweetish, unlike no wood Fors, a veteran of many campfires, had ever smelled.  Arranged around the fire like the spokes of a wheel were robes of leather on one side and masses of long, matted fur on the other.  With a start, Fors realized that these beds were lined with the skins of those magnificent creatures they had seen on the prairie.  The dwellings must also be the hide of those creatures, as large as they were.

Suddenly, a voice, not loud but deep and penetrating, issued from an individual sitting cross-legged on the floor, directly opposite the door.  “Welcome to my lodge.  Sit and we will smoke your arrival.”  Though heavily accented and occasionally mispronounced, it was nonetheless the familiar sound of the Plains tongue.  Inwardly, Fors breathed a sigh of relief.  His task had just become much easier.  The woman gestured to one of the beds to the Chief’s left and the three sat down and crossed their legs.

The Chief produced a curious instrument.  It consisted of a long tube with a small cup or bowl on one end, and decorated with feathers.  Reaching into a pouch, he took some of the contents and filled the bowl.  He then reached into the fire and removed an ember, which he touched to the contents.  Suddenly, the inside of the tent was filled with a delightfully spicy smell.  The Chief then made a series of gestures, which Fors surmised constituted offering the pipe to the four compass directions.  He then placed one end of the tube in his mouth and drew the smoke into his lungs.  He then passed the pipe to Sellen, who imitated the gesture.  Arskane, whose tribal rituals included pipe traditions, drew the smoke easily into his lungs.  Fors was curious.  Being of the mountains, smoking was unknown to them, since tobacco of any kind was never available to them.  Arskane passed the pipe, and after a slight pause, Fors placed the pipe in his mouth and inhaled.  The taste was pleasant, but the smoke was not.  Fors desperately wanted to cough, and he felt immediately light-headed and dizzy, but managed to get through the ritual without falling over or throwing up. 

The pipe was passed back to the Chief, who emptied the remaining contents of the bowl into the fire.  After carefully returning the pipe to its rightful place, he then turned to Sellen and began to speak.

“Horseman, I am pleased to be with you once again.  You have made the long journey in the cause of peace and friendship and my heart soars.  Who are these others you have brought with you?  They are so very different than you.”

Sellen nodded.  “We are different in skin and hair, but our hearts are all straight with each other.”  Indicating Arskane, he continued.  “This is Arskane of the Tribe of Silver Wings.  His great-great-grandfathers once flew in the skies in craft like birds.”  Turning to the mountaineer, he said, “And this is Fors of the Tribe of the Eyrie who live in the Mountains which smoke.  Their great-great grandfathers once dreamed of journeys to the stars.” He paused, “My brothers, this is Dancing Eagle, Chief of the Medicine Wheel band of the Lakota Tribe.”

Turning to Fors, the Chief said, “You are the Peace Talker.  I have been told that you have the gift of tongues and hearts.  You help those who are blind to each other see clearly.”

Fors glanced at Sellen, who nodded, then replied, “We have come in peace, seeking friendship and knowledge.  We desire to help the people of all tribes to live together in understanding, and to forever eliminate the scourge of war.”

Dancing Eagle regarded Fors for a moment, then said, “Your heart speaks honestly, and your words are in harmony with your heart.  Welcome to my lodge.”

The three were then fed a simple ceremonial meal of stew in clay bowls.  They spoke several more times, then the Chief arose and indicated that the three were to follow him.  They exited the lodge as the sun settled into the western horizon to find the entire tribe assembled just outside.  The Chief spoke for a few minutes, a speech animated by gestures with a ceremonial lance.  At the end of the speech, the tribe undertook a remarkable transformation.  Their faces, which had been watchful, yet unexpressive, suddenly lit up with smiles as they welcomed, not only Fors, Arskane, and Sellen, but the entire party.

That night, a feast was given.  The expedition contributed food from their supplies, giving the Lakota a sampling of all three cuisines.  Some of the Lakota men performed a dance around the blazing campfire.  Following their lead, some of the Southerners danced as well.  Four Plainsmen sang a series of their tribal songs.  Fors, lacking any talents for song or dance, presented to Dancing Eagle a silver headband etched with the Eyrie’s symbol and the crests of the twelve clans.  His gift caused a chorus of “How-How” to rumble from the Lakota.  Glancing quickly at Sellen, he was reassured by a smile and a nod.  

Eventually, the celebration wound down and the Lakota began to return to their lodges.  The expedition quickly set up their tent shelters and retired, utterly exhausted.

Over the next week, they all fell into the rhythm of the Lakota life.  They were delighted to discover that several members of the tribe had learned the Plains language.  Through them, they spoke with many others, learning of their culture, beliefs, and traditions of the tribe.  They discovered that the Lakota were a large tribe, numbering in the tens of thousands, scattered in small bands, like the Medicine Wheel across a wide swath of territory.  They also learned that the Lakota had enemies, tribes called Pawnee and Crow, which whom they had fought for centuries even before the old ones had arrived in their territory.

A story was told repeatedly of the old one’s war, a tale of fire arrows rising out of the ground and soaring into the sky.  At first, Fors tended to dismiss the story as part of an imaginative lore.  But one day, a warrior named Rising Star took Fors, Arskane, Sellen, along with Kreston and Wenna, on a journey to the north.  After several hours, they came upon a curious structure.  A hard concrete surface covered the ground.  In the center was a dark, dank hole that disappeared into the ground.  Rising Star took them to a small structure off to the side and into a door.  They carefully descended into the depths on hard, but slippery steps.  Entering one chamber, Rising Star lit a small torch and directed them to a diagram on the wall.  Pointing at the object, he said, “The fire arrow.”  They studied it for a few moments, but it was Arskane who recognized it for what it was.

“This was a missile.  It was how the Old Ones sent their bombs towards their enemies.  See, here at the bottom was where the fire came out that drove the missiles into the air.  And at this end,” indicating a cone-shaped structure at the top, “was where the bombs rode.”  Turning to Fors, he continued somberly, “In another form, this is what your forebears would have ridden to the stars.”

They climbed out of the structure back into the bright sunshine.  Fors felt the old frustration at the Old Ones.  Such magnificent knowledge, and yet they turned it against each other, destroying the promise of the future.

They started on the journey back to the village a quiet group, each alone with their thoughts.  After a couple of hours, they saw Rising Star suddenly wheel to the right, urging his horse to a wild gallop.  The rest followed, slower.  When they caught up to their companion, he had gotten off his horse and was creeping slowly up a low hill.  Following suit, the rest of the party crept up as well.  Looking over the crest of the hill, they saw a herd of small animals, resembling deer, but smaller and with straight horns on their heads instead of antlers.  Arskane whispered, “What are they?”

Rising Star grinned.  “Fresh meat!”

The hunt was planned carefully.  They would approach the herd from four sides at once, hopefully giving them no place to run.  Kreston waited at the west side, Arskane and Fors taking the north and south sides, while Rising Star took the longest distance, and the most critical position on the east.

When they were ready, Rising Star sent an arrow into the animal nearest him.  That sparked the whole heard to turn to the west.  And could they run!  Fors had never seen an animal with such speed.  But before they went too far,  Kreston stood and quickly loosed three arrows, dropping two animals.  The herd then split, half going north towards Sellen, and the other half heading in Fors’ direction.  Fors fired a half-dozen arrows in quick succession, then the herd was upon him.  The animals did not trample him, but rather made quick, graceful leaps over and to either side of the Star Man.  Fors drew his sword and managed to drop four more animals before the remainder of the herd flashed by to be swallowed up by the prairie.  

Fors could see that Sellen had been successful as well, getting three with his rope-and-stone and two with his lance.  All told, eleven of the graceful animals, which Rising Star called Antelope, had been killed.  They dressed the animals for travel and loaded them onto the horses.  Before leaving however, Rising Star summoned Kreston.  When the boy came close, Rising Star cut into the chest of one of the Antelope and pulled out the heart, bloody and still palpitating.  With great relish, he bit into the heart and swallowed it, letting out a joyous yell.  He then held the heart out the Kreston.  The boy paled, but after a bit of hesitation, bit into the red mass.  He had to chew through the blood vessels, but managed to gnaw off and swallow a suitably sized chunk.  Although looking a bit ill, he also let out a yell to Rising Star’s apparent joy.  Immediately, the Lakota removed a claw necklace from his neck and placed it on the boy.  

Fors walked with his son back to their horses.  “How do you feel?”

The boy stopped.  “You know, it was pretty bad at first.  But when I swallowed it, I felt my calves hum like I could have run for days.”  He paused, then looked up at Fors.  “Was this something you call “Diplomacy?”    

Chapter 35

This is out of sequence, but very few novels are written chronologically.  Basically, we pick up the story after the momentous journey to the tribes of the west, which has produced a treaty promising peace and joint ventures of exploration and sharing.  Fors has returned to the Eyrie, where plans must be made.

It was a warm day and in the Star House, every door and window had been thrown open, hoping to catch any vagrant breeze that might stir the otherwise sultry air.  Fors, Lannor, Morden, and Torin had been sitting at the main table for several hours planning future explorations under the initiative offered by the Cheyenne tribe.  Cities in that region, according to maps provided to the Eyrie explorers, were smaller and sparser than in areas usually frequented by the Star House.  But, as Fors reminded them, Dancing Eagle had indicated that there were other locations he had described as underground fortifications strewn throughout the region, places from which the old ones had planned, practiced, and eventually fought their last war.  These places, Fors reasoned, would likely contain examples of the most advanced technology of the old ones, and may even contain records of those last months.  Those records might hold the secrets of why the old one’s civilization self-destructed.  These were valuable lessons to be learned for a human race struggling to rise again. 

Against that argument were points put forward by Lannor and Morden.  These places were far away, the longest distances ever traveled by the Star House.  And even with horses provided by the Plainsmen and carts contributed by the Southerners, it was a long way to try to bring home much of anything of value.  Torin, sat silently as the discussion went on, asking an occasional question, but not giving weight to either point of view, preferring to wait for a consensus to emerge.

At one point, Fors was trying to describe the machinery in the one silo he had visited, especially the equipment that provided the electrical power to the installation.  “It did not seem to be overly complicated and if one or two of our scientists could study it, perhaps we might…”

His voice trailed away in mid-sentence.  His sensitive hearing had heard the approach of running feet through the open doorway.  The terrain in and around the stronghold was rough and rocky, even the well-traveled areas.  For safety, most people in a hurry would walk rapidly or perhaps trot, but never run.   As the rapid footsteps came nearer, he became worried.  There were very few reasons people would have for running.  And none of them were good.

Presently, the others in the room began to hear the steps and as one, all four men rose to their feet and moved through the doorway.  They all saw one of the Defender Officers coming up the Main Path at a full sprint.  He entered the Main Circle heading straight for the Sentry and Defenders House.  Before entering, however, he skidded to a stop, turned towards the Star Men, and called out a single word:

“Talon!”

Torin’s reaction was immediate.

“Lannor, Morden!  Gather the house immediately and issue weapons.  Fors, with me.”  The two jogged to the Sentry and Defenders House.  Fors mouth had gone dry.  For many years, the Eyrie had relied on a simplified system of alerts.  Anticipating the worst kind of disasters, the Eyrie leaders had formulated a set of automatic responses for such things as wildfire, defense against roving wolf packs, or the discovery of highly contagious illness.  Each response mandated instructions for specific people and groups, insuring that situations that required immediate action could be executed without confusion.  Each response was keyed by a single word. 

Talon was the key word that indicated that the Eyrie was under attack, or soon would be. 

As the two Star Men came near, the door to the armory began erupting men carrying weapons and wearing body armor, heading off to predetermined defensive positions.  In this case, it was important to get the Eyrie’s soldiers deployed. The details would follow later.  Torin paused at the main entrance and announced himself.  From inside, came an immediate response and the two entered. 

One of the Sentry novices escorted them into a large room in the back of the House, where the House Commander, Darvid, stood before a map of the Eyrie stronghold, giving orders.  Seeing the two Star Men, he motioned them towards the side of the room.  Without preamble, he spoke quickly.

“One of our patrols was scouting along the South Escarpment when they came upon a slaughtered deer.  At first they thought it might be a large bear, but in examining the carcass, they found two things.  The imprint of a long, flat, narrow foot with six clawed toes.”  Fors and Torin exchanged worried glances.  Fors asked tersely, “And the other thing?”

Darvid’s hand slammed down on the table’s surface.  When he lifted it up, there revealed was the one thing a Star Man hoped he would never find in his homeland.

A Beast Thing dart. 

Fors thought quickly, speaking his thoughts aloud for the benefit of the others.  “They could not have ascended the escarpment, so they must have come in from another direction.  It is their pattern to explore the perimeter before attacking…”  He looked up at Darvid.  “Have all your sentries been accounted for?”

Darvid’s face became even more grim.  “Three posts along the East Promontory and the West Ridge were found to be unmanned, and at each there were ample signs of a struggle.  I sent heavy reinforcements to the other posts, but there have been no other messages as yet.”

Fors’ blood turned ice cold.  The Beast Things were here, and the attack was imminent.

Torin placed his hand on Darvid’s shoulder.  “What do you require of the Star House?”

“Gather your men and make ready.  As soon as we can identify their axis of attack, we will send for you.”

Fors spoke, “Darvid, know that Beast Things are devious fighters.  Their first attack will almost certainly not be their main attack.”

Darvid nodded in thanks, and turned back to his lieutenants.  Fors and Torin departed in haste for the Star House.  Upon entering, Torin quickly briefed the assembled Star Men.  Although small in number compared to the Eyrie Defenders, they were experts on fighting the Beast Things, having drawn their blood countless times. 

As they waited, Fors worried over the danger to his family.  Wenna was tough and resourceful, and while Kreston’s progress with sword and bow had been remarkable, neither would likely be a match for a Beast Thing soldier.   Suddenly, almost in response to his thoughts, the youngster burst through the doorway, carrying sword and bow.  During a Talon alert, the job of novices was to assemble at the Star House and await instructions.  Although they were listed as defense assets, Star Men all grimly agreed that if the stronghold had to commit children to its defense, things would have to be dark, indeed.

Fors quickly guided the boy to the back of the room.  His young face was flushed, his shoulders tense with anxiety.  Yet, when Fors looked into Kreston’s eyes, he saw no signs of panic.  In the midst of his own concerns, Fors experienced a flicker of pride.  “Where’s your mother?” 

Kreston took a deep breath.  “Barricaded inside the hospital along with a half-dozen Defenders.  I wanted to stay to protect her, but she ordered me to attend to my duties.”

Fors nodded.  “Kreston, the hospital is one of the strongest buildings in the Eyrie.  We built it that way for a reason.  She will be safe.”  As he spoke, Fors realized he was not only reassuring the boy, but himself as well.  “The other Novices are assembled in the west classroom.  Go to them and be an example of calm resolution, for some of them will be very frightened.”  He smiled and squeezed the boy’s shoulder.  At that moment, Kreston’s eyes changed.  For the first time, Fors saw a flicker of fear. 

“Fors, I am worried for you.”

Fors crouched down, looking hard into Kreston’s eyes.  “For more than 20 years, I have fought the Beast Things in the lowlands.  Despite their best efforts, I always won.  Now, they have invaded our home, and I will defend this home, and you, at all costs.”  His voice softened somewhat.  “If anything, this will be an easier contest, for today I do not fight alone, and I know intimately the ground over which we fight.  It is they who should be worried.  Now, go to your post.” 

Kreston stood for a moment, then departed.  Fors returned to the clustered Star Men, putting firmly out of his mind all other considerations but the task at hand.  Within minutes, the first word arrived.  Defenders had engaged a force of about 20 Beast Things along the South Escarpment.  Darvid sent reinforcements and messages to all other units to be alert.  Jarl, having arrived at the Defenders House, gave orders to barricade the cave entrances.  Soon after, Torin and Fors returned to the Defenders House to be closer to the information as it came in.  The room bristled with tension, but nowhere did Fors see any signs of fear or panic.  A messenger burst through the door, announcing that a patrol had surprised, attacked and killed another group of 20 Beast Things on the approach to the West Ridge.  Torin rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as he looked at the map, evaluating the latest information.  Quietly, he murmured a question to Fors, “North Ridge?”

Fors nodded.  “It is the best approach for a large attack.”  Darvid, apparently reached the same conclusion, for at the moment, he beckoned the Star Captain.  Indicating a stretch on the map, he ordered, “Take your men to the North Ridge and dig in.  Let me know the instant you make contact with the enemy.”

Minutes later, the members of the Star House were hard at work constructing breastworks along that rocky ridge.  The land below them was steep, but the rocks were smaller, and the trees not as dense.  The novices pitched in, moving rocks and logs into place.  Fors glimpsed Kreston at one point, apparently having taken charge of a group of novices.  Some were older than him, but willingly followed his directions.  Fors kept an anxious eye down slope as he continued to help pile rocks.  Suddenly, he froze.  Far down the hill, his sharp eyes had caught a bit of movement.  He concentrated hard for several moments and was rewarded by the sight of a smudge of gray apparently skulking from tree to tree.  He looked carefully all along his front, but could see only the one.  Quietly, he told the Star Captain, “Torin; scout.” 

Torin grabbed one of the novices.  Go to the Defenders House and tell Darvid there is one scout approaching the North Ridge.”  The youngster sped down the hill.  Quickly, the word was passed.  The Star Men hunkered down behind the stone wall, the novices retreating about 30 yards back.  His eyes focused down the hill, Fors heard the sounds of preparation, swords and knives being pulled from sheaths, bows being strung, and the clatter of steel-tipped arrows being laid on the rocks.  Within minutes, Fors saw three more scouts approaching.  The four were evenly spaced along about a line about a quarter of a mile long.  As they approached, they became more visible, with most of the shielding trees behind them.  With their weapons ready, the line of Star Men laid deathly still.  Fors used that silence and directed his listening downhill, concentrating ferociously.  Suddenly he heard it. A steady sound of many feet striking the ground, dislodging rocks, scraping gravel, and occasionally snapping branches.  Bringing himself out of his near-trance, he turned to the Star Captain and nodded.  Another novice was sent down the hill with the message.  The enemy was coming.  A few minutes later, a large group of Eyrie soldiers arrived and took up positions along the ridge, careful to stay out of sight. 

Torin whispered to Fors.  “Move out to the left and see if you can detect where the end of their line is.”

Fors dropped down the slope below the stone wall and moved rapidly down the line.  He quickly reached the last group of soldiers.  Here, the ridge took a sharp turn to the south becoming a sheer cliff walling off a small canyon.  Here, he paused, returning to his trance.  After a few moments, he began to detect the sounds of the approaching enemy.  The end of the line, he decided, was a bit beyond the end of the Eyrie defense.  Fors was puzzled.  It seemed certain that they had reconnoitered the ground.  Surely they knew they were moving into a blind canyon.  Fors thought furiously.  Something was very wrong here.  He turned to the Sergeant, indicating a point along the cliff.  “Can you place a few archers up there?  It seems that the Beast Things are moving in that direction.”  The Sergeant frowned.  “That makes no sense.” 

Fors replied.  “I know. They fight like that at times.  If nothing else, at least you’ll have some archers protecting your flank.” 

The Sergeant nodded.  “That does make sense.”  He quietly issued some orders and a group of soldiers came off the line and headed for the top of the cliff.  Fors then left and headed back to the center of the line.  Upon arriving, he reported to Torin what he had heard and done.  The Star Captain nodded briefly.  “All we can do now is wait.”

Fors carefully peered over the rocks, looking downrange.  Knowing the maximum effective range of his arrows, he had, as all the Star Men, identified a line that, when crossed, would dictate a response.  Then first line of Beast Things had cleared the tree line and were clearly visible.  Fors looked briefly up and down their own line.  Every man was safely hidden from view.  With luck, the apparent lack of defense would push the grey creatures into a rash act.  As Fors watched, an icy ball seemed to form in the pit of his stomach.  Line after line, the rat-like creatures came out of the treeline, an army of nightmares, more Beast Things than Fors had ever seen in one place. 

Torin’s voice sang out:  “Star Men!  Nock arrows!”

All along the line, steel-tipped arrows were fitted to bowstrings.  Oddly, now that action was imminent, the tension seemed to flow out of them, replaced by the pounding hearts and singing blood of a warrior ready for battle.

“Rise and draw!”  As one, the Star Men came to their feet, drawing their bows taut.

Torin checked the range once more, then gave the order.

“Star Men!  LOOSE!!!”

With a whizzing sound, a forest of war arrows flew into the clear skies.  Already, bows were being reloaded.  Fors watched anxiously as the arrows arced over and descended on the grey horde.  Dozens of them fell, screaming in pain.  Somewhere in their ranks, an order was given, and together they began to run.  On either side, Defender arrows began to fly.  Torin ordered “Loose at will” and the Star Men began firing quickly. 

Fors could see that the volleys were having effect, but the army kept moving forward.  Suddenly, Fors heard a whooshing sound above his head.  Now he could see massive boulders flying through the air.  With the main axis of attack identified, the Eyrie’s catapults had been committed.  Some of the boulders hit and rolled, crushing grey soldiers in their way.  Others hit the ground and shattered, scattering shards of rock in every direction.  More Beast Things fell, bleeding from deep wounds.  Still, they came.

A quiver full of arrows, landed at his feet.  He turned briefly to see the Novices bringing up more.  All along the line, arrows were being expended at an enormous rate.  Fors could see that at least half of the attackers were down.  However, suddenly they reached into their own bags and began flinging darts up the hill.  Despite their scrawny appearance, the Beast Things had strong arms, able to throw their weapons a long way.  A scream sounded to Fors’ right; two more to his left as three Star Men went down, the barbed points tearing bloody holes in their flesh.  The remaining Eyrie men were now firing arrows as rapidly as they could, but the time for arrows was rapidly ending.  Torin ordered, “Star Men!  Ready swords!”

Bows dropped and blades, shining in the sunlight were drawn and readied.  Torin looked up and down the line, seeing that the Defenders also had swords ready.  He drew in a breath, then unbelievably, his eyes went wide and his body collapsed, a Beast Thing dart in the side of his head.  Fors felt a moment of shock, then realizing the whole line was waiting, raised his sword, and with every ounce of voice he possessed, roared, “For the Eyrie!  CHARGE!!!”

As one, every man along the line leaped over the wall and sprinted down the hill as fast as they could.  Within seconds, they met the fore of the Beast Thing army.  Swords flashed and the ugly sounds of torn flesh and gushing blood combined with the shouts and screams of Eyrie men and the guttural roars of the enemy.  Allowing his instincts to take over, Fors swung his sword, slashing, cutting, thrusting while moving side to side in an irregular fashion.  Beast Things did not use swords, but close in, their darts were excellent defensive weapons, their barbed points inflicting ghastly wounds. 

The fight seemed to go on forever.  At one point, Fors spun to his left, beheading one enemy.  He turned back to his right to meet a new attacker when a searing pain flared along his right arm.  The Beast Thing, seeing the blood and torn flesh, grinned evilly.  Then, Fors saw the creature’s eyes go wide, the grey body collapsing to the ground.  He looked, surprised to see Kreston withdrawing a bloody sword from the enemy’s back.  In terror, Fors saw another Beast Thing charging the boy from his unprotected back.  Kreston spun into a crouch, sweeping his blade.  The Thing went down, one leg severed.  Fors quickly applied the killing stroke, then together the two fought on. 

Time went away in a maelstrom of violence.  Fors did not think, but only reacted, his body responding with the training and the dark lessons of combat.  He noted with satisfaction that Kreston did not attack wildly, but kept himself in a position to protect his father’s blind side.  Around the two, the battle raged on.

Suddenly, the field went silent.  Fors spun quickly, searching for a new target and seeing none.  It took a moment to sink in, the knowledge that the battle was over.  The hillside was covered by the grey bodies of the enemy, but as Fors somberly noted, the Eyrie had also paid a terrible price.  The surviving defenders began to move among the bodies, grimly silencing those who still showed signs of life.  Fors felt Kreston pull him to a seated position on the stone wall and began to clean and dress his wounded arm.  Within minutes, the jagged tear was wrapped in white bandages.  It would need stitches, but for now, at least the bleeding was under control.  Nodding in appreciation, he said, “Well done.  Thank you.”

The boy…or rather, the young man shrugged.  “If I hadn’t, your wife would never forgive me.”  His eyes looked across the battlefield, a sober expression on his young face.  “I did not think these creatures fought this way.”

Fors shook his head.  “They have never done this before.  We have fought them in the cities, we have fought them in the fields, but never have they ranged this far and acted with this much organization.”

“Somewhere upon this field lies the leader…”

Fors rose.  “And we shall find him.”

Together, they walked among the dead and dying.  At one point, they came across one of the creatures gasping from a wounded chest.  Fors began to raise his sword to do what must be done, but Kreston acted first, driving his sword through the sunken chest.  Surprised, Fors turned towards the boy.  The young face was not, however darkened in hate, but instead wearing a look of sad regret.  “Somehow, I felt it would be…easier.”

Fors put his hand on Kreston’s shoulder.  “Only a barbarian loves death.”

In the center of the field, a large fire had been lit and Eyrie men began to carry the enemy dead to the flames.  The two continued to search the field until they found what they were looking for.

Beyond the last rank, a small knot of Beast Things lay.  Four were arrayed in a semi-circle around a single, larger creature.  Just beyond the semi-circle lay the lifeless bodies of three Defenders and two Star Men.   Fors realized that these four were guards who had died protecting the one in the middle.  Coming closer, the Star Man realized with a jolt that this one was still alive.  He was breathing in short gasps and bleeding from several wounds, but what drew Fors’ attention was the Thing’s head.  Rather than the usual flat, sloped forehead, this one possessed a domed skull and a tall forehead.  The mouth seemed more human, and the eyes that looked up at him were different.  There was intelligence here. 

Fors crouched down, eyeing the creature.  Instinctively, he asked a question.

“Why?”

Then, unbelievably, it spoke.

“You…attack…we…homes.  We attack you homes.”  The voice was guttural, but understandable.

“No.  We explore.  We do not attack.”

The Thing snarled, “To explore...is…to…invade.”

Fors thought rapidly.  While the Eyrie had explored dead cities, they had never left an occupying army behind.  But to the Beast Things, such subtleties were probably meaningless.  They would only see strangers among their homes.  Suddenly, a flicker of an idea was born within his mind.  There was perhaps an opportunity here, an avenue that might lead to the end of centuries of violent conflict.  He turned to Kreston.  “Go get a litter and the two strongest Novices and return quickly.”  The boy vanished.

The creature spoke, “You kill me now.”

Fors, surprising himself, placed his hand gently on the creature’s shoulder.  “No. We care for you now.”

The little procession created quite a stir.  Fors, his bandaged arm still oozing blood, walking with Kreston in front of two novices carrying a litter with the captured Beast Thing.  Ignoring the reactions of his tribesmen, Fors went deliberately to the Hospital.  Upon entering, he saw what could only have been described as controlled chaos.  Lying along corridors and in beds were wounded Defenders, Sentries, and Star Men.  Fors looked around, unsure what to do next.  Suddenly, Wenna appeared, coming out of a treatment room.  Seeing Fors and Kreston, a wave of relief washed over her face, before her professional mien regained control.  She walked swiftly over. 

“You’re wounded.  Her voice could not contain her powerful emotions. 

Taking his harm in her hands, she briefly inspected the battle dressing.  “This is excellent work!  Who did this?”

Fors nodded his head towards Kreston, who was looking at the wounded Beast Thing with curious eyes.  Wenna smiled briefly, then said briskly, “Let’s get you stitched up.”

Fors shook his head, indicating the litter and its burden.  “I can wait.  It is important that you treat my…prisoner.”

Her eyes went wide and her face paled.  “Fors…I cannot…”

He took her chin in his hand and lifted it.  “We spoke.  Through him, it may be possible to negotiate; to end uncounted years of bloodshed.  His trust in us begins with our willingness to help him.”  She hesitated, then Fors played his trump card.

“You are a healer.  Heal this patient.”

Her eyes flashed.  “I do not need to be reminded of my responsibilities!  Fors, I do not know this creature’s anatomy, or how his system would respond to our drugs!  I would be wandering in the dark without light or map.”  She paused.  “I could accidently kill him.”

Fors nodded, his voice softening. “I understand.  Nevertheless, you must at least try.  Our future may depend on it.”

She turned, regarding the Thing.  Fors could sense her thoughts at war with each other.  Suddenly she came to a decision.  She pointed at the two Star Novices.  “Bring him.”

She led them to a room at the end of the hallway.  The litter was lifted onto a wooden platform.  The Novices began to strap the Thing down, but were halted by a harsh order from Wenna.  She walked to the head of the treatment bed and forced a smile. 

“I am the Healer Wenna.  What is your name?”

The Thing regarded her with suspicion, but responded, “Tarkus.”

“Tarkus, I will do my best to treat you, but I do not know how your body works.  I could end up doing more harm than good.  Do you wish me to proceed?”

The two locked eyes.  There was a wealth of knowledge that seemed to pass between them.  Tarkus asked,  his voice  incredulous:  “Heal…me?”

Wenna responded firmly, “No promises, except my best efforts.”

Tarkus turned to Fors.  “If my…death you truly…desired, I…would still be on the…field.”  Turning back to Wenna, he said, “Proceed.”

Wenna took a deep breath, then began to probe it’s…his…wounds.  Fors dismissed the Novices and took up station just outside the treatment room.  Emotions were running high amongst his tribe, and Fors wanted to make sure that nothing would happen.  He had been waiting there about an hour, occasionally looking inside the room.  Tarkus was lying quiescently as Wenna worked.  Suddenly Fors could hear the sounds of commotion coming from the front of the hospital.  People who had been rushing around were suddenly standing still, at attention.  Around the corner came the unmistakable form of the Eyrie Guardian, himself. 

Approaching Fors, he stopped.  “Kinsman, I understand the Star Captain fell in battle this day.  I offer my condolences to the Star House.”

The reminder of Torin’s death hit Fors hard.  Swallowing hard, he said, “On behalf of the Star House, I thank you.” 

“My time is short, and therefore there is no ceremony.  I am designating you as Star Captain, pro tem.  The Star Men have been told, and all who survived voiced their complete support.”

Fors’ jaw dropped in surprise.  “Guardian, I –

“You are the senior surviving member of the Star House.  Your peers have chosen you to lead them.  There will be no further discussion.”  Surprisingly Jarl smiled slightly, extending his hand.  “Congratulations, Star Captain Fors.”

Fors returned the grip firmly, meeting the old man’s eyes and seeing his confidence there, felt his own return.  “Thank you, Guardian.  I serve you and the people of the Eyrie in the discovery and preservation of knowledge.”

Jarl nodded.  His head then tilted slightly.  “I understand you brought a visitor with you.”

“And he is ready and eager to talk to you.”  Unseen, Wenna had appeared.  She gestured and the two entered the treatment room.

Tarkus’ wounds had been cleaned and dressed.  His right leg bore a splint, but he seemed to be comfortable.  “I did my best, considering we know nothing about them.  He hasn’t had any drugs, so we’ll have to be diligent in keeping his wounds clean and bandaged.  I took some blood, fluid, and tissue samples for analysis.  I hope that that will provide some information on what antibiotics we can give him.”

Jarl spoke, “Exceedingly well done, Healer.  I’m sure he knows that he owes you his life.  Can you excuse us?”

“I will leave one of my Novices just outside.  If you need me, I can be here in moments.”  With that, she left.

There was a long moment of silence as the two regarded each other.  Tarkus spoke first. 

“Who are you?”

“I am Jarl, Guardian of the Tribe of the Eyrie.”

“I am Tarkus, General of the Southern Army.”  He gestured minutely.  “This treatment I did not expect.  Do you intend to interrogate me?”

Jarl smiled, ever so slightly.  “No.  But you understand that I do have some questions for you to answer.”

Tarkus nodded in assent, although his eyes remained wary.

“Why did you attack us?”

“For years your people have invaded our cities without permission.  You walk our streets, taking things away.  Many of my forebears have died defending our territory from you.  And yet you still come.”

Jarl’s voice remained level, his tone reasonable.  “Our people are seekers of knowledge, Tarkus.  We try to understand how the Old Ones could have risen to such heights and then destroyed each other.  In those ruins lies also technology and information that will help us regain what we once were.  I tell you, Tarkus; in the many years of my life, this tribe has added not one acre to the land we call our own.”

Tarkus’ voice rumbled ominously.  “And yet you come to our homes, treating them like the territory is yours alone.  You steal from us.”  He paused.  “And you kill us.”

Fors listened, amazed.  With each passing moment, Tarkus was becoming more fluent in the Mountaineers’ language. 

Jarl leaned forward slightly.  “One cannot negotiate with a drawn sword, or in your case, a flung dart.”  Our explorers are sworn to never show blade nor bow unless attacked.  It has been our primary law these many years.”  The Guardian leaned back, his face grim.  “You are angry; doubtless do you feel the desire for vengeance in your heart.  Your comrades and friends lie dead upon the field of battle, a battle you have clearly lost.  For decades, this hate and bitterness has been a cloud between our two peoples.  Perhaps that cloud has kept us from seeing each other clearly.”  Jarl thought for a moment.

“Tarkus, when you are fully healed, you will be free to return to your people.  I hope you will share with them the truth of how you were treated.”

Tarkus was clearly taken aback.  “You surprise me, Human.  Surely you know what fate awaited any one of you who lay in our hands.”  The Beast Thing thought for a moment.  “Perhaps…perhaps it is not too late to try to wash away the bitterness between us.”

Jarl nodded.  “It is never too late for peace.”

Surprisingly, Tarkus heaved a sigh.  “This road we choose, you and I;  it will be long and difficult.”  His eyes came up and met Jarl’s.  “But it seems to be the right road for the journey we must make…together.”

Unexpectedly, the spindly, yet powerful arm came up, the clawed fingers extended.  Without hesitation, Jarl extended his own hand, clasping the proffered hand.  Solemnly, the two shook hands.  Tarkus spoke,

“Our people are called “Hamassa.”  I think it is a far more agreeable term than “Beast Thing,” don’t you?”

Jarl smiled, an expression of genuine warmth.  “Indeed.  I must go.  Heal quickly.”

Tarkus hesitated a bare moment, “Thank you…my friend.”

Jarl nodded.  “You are welcome, my friend.”

The two left the room, Fors’ head swimming in amazement.  Jarl murmured, “History has been made here today.”  Raising his hand, he summoned two Defenders, who came with alacrity.  In his sternest voice, he said, “His name is General Tarkus.  His people are called Hamassa.  Him you will defend as you would me.” 

The two responded with startled looks, but quickly replied, “It will be as you wish, Guardian.”

As they made their way out of the hospital, Jarl said, “Star Captain, return to the Star House and see to your duties there.”  He turned briefly to Fors.  “I apologize for the lack of celebration.  I promise you there will be one when the time is more propitious.” 

Fors replied, “That I have your confidence is ceremony enough, Guardian.”

With a nod, the two parted.

Fors, seeing Wenna busy with another patient, waved farewell and left the hospital.  As he strode steadily up the Main Path towards the Star House, he tried to settle his swirling head.  It was almost too much to take in at once.  A battle won, an historic meeting of the minds, and his ascension to the leadership of the Star House.  Thus preoccupied, it was almost too soon that he found himself at the doorway.  With just a moment’s hesitation, he pushed the door open and stepped in. 

“STAND!”

With that word, the Star Men rose to attention and saluted Fors.  He returned the honor, grimly noting that this group was noticeably smaller than it had been this morning.  Marshalling his thoughts, he spoke to them.

“Star Men of the Tribe of the Eyrie, today we have seen a great battle, and an even greater victory.  But as in all battles, we have seen our brothers fall.  We mourn them all, especially Star Captain Torin.  Know that this sacrifice was not made in vain.  The Eyrie, threatened as it was, has been saved.”

He paused, then continued.  “Star Men have always been explorers first, and warriors only when that choice was forced upon us.  Yet, today you fought with great courage and skill.  Your valor and sacrifice has saved the lives of our tribesmen, and preserved the legacy of our people.”

He moved to the head of the long table, his head down, deep in thought.  “We captured the leader, and he has spoken with Jarl.”  At that, several Star Men exchanged looks.  “It would seem, based on that conversation, that the first step towards peace between us has been taken.  Those who we have always known as Beast Things call themselves Hamassa.  Our explorations of the dead cities they have seen as invasion and pillage.  What we have seen as cruel violence they see as defense of their homeland.  What the future may bring I do not know.  But clearly on this day we possess new knowledge.”

He paused again, then continued.  “We have lost several of our brothers, including our Star Captain.  We will honor them in the full tradition of the Star House.  And their memory we will carry with us always.”  Fors looked slowly around the room, carefully studying each face before him.  His voice softened.  “Let us prepare our fallen brothers.”

Over the next few days, burials were held for the dead, the numbers of which were far less than Fors had originally feared.  There were many wounded and some were permanently crippled, but the excellent care of the Eyrie Healers were bringing them back to health.  Fors had tackled his new duties, finding out how complicated the leadership of the Star House was.  But as time passed, he became much more familiar with the required tasks, the most important being the restoration of the ranks of the Star Men.  Eleven members of the House had fallen in the battle.  Nine others were nursing wounds of differing severity, two of whom had been permanently disabled.  In essence, the Star House’s effectiveness had been reduced by two-thirds.  After consideration, Fors canceled all remaining explorations and put the entire house to work training novices.  Three weeks after the battle, Jarl presided over an unprecedented Council Fire, a second night of choosing.  Fourteen new Star Novices were chosen and immediately placed into training. 

General Tarkus had become a familiar site as he took the walks necessary to his recovery.  At first, his appearances inspired fear and even hate.  Over time however, as more and more people spoke with the Hamassa leader, they were won over by his sincere expressions and desire for peace.  He was always accompanied by two Defenders, more for his safety than any real security concerns.  He and Jarl spoke often and at great length as they planned the most important diplomatic effort since the end of the War.   A runner had been sent to the River City and brought back Arskane and Markanna, who also met with Tarkus several times. 

The sun was low in the west and a cool north breeze was flowing through the Eyrie.  Fors, Arskane, Markanna, and Jarl were seated around the table in the Star House.  Their faces were grim.  Arskane was speaking slowly, but with seriousness.

“I have seen and spoken with Tarkus, and despite my initial…cynicism, I am of the opinion that he is sincere.  But I know that my people, who have fought the Beast Things and seen their kinsmen fall will find it difficult to extend the hand of peace after so much death.”  He gestured minutely at Markanna.  “Of course, I would not presume to speak for my Plains brothers.”

The banded head of the Plainsman nodded in sober agreement.  “The Plains tribes are people of great passion, and the passion that lives in their hearts towards the Be— the Hamassa, “ he corrected himself,  “has always been one of fear.  And hate.”  He sighed, then looked up at the two Mountaineers.  “I too fear that they will be slow to recognize the opportunity handed to us all.  Were I to show up at the Council of the Tents with Tarkus in tow, I fear I would meet a council of firmly closed minds.”

Jarl spoke, “Once many years ago the two of you met on another field, determined to kill; and yet today you live as brother and sister.”  He leaned forward, his voice gently persuasive.  “Brothers, I have come to know you both as warriors of uncommon courage and intelligence.  But over the years, I have also seen in you the gift of vision; the ability to see beyond the present to the future.  Clearly we have two choices before us.  We can make peace and bring an end to war.”  He leaned back in his chair, his voice going flat with finality, “Or we can go the way of the Old Ones and watch the slow destruction of all that is left.”

Markanna’s eyes flashed, but kept his voice level.  “Guardian, none here deny knowledge of that choice.  But to offer it to our people without…preparation would be folly and would risk losing all that has been accomplished thus far.”

Arskane said, “Markanna speaks wisely.  It is clear that we must prepare our people before the leaders meet with Tarkus.”  He paused and frowned, “But the question that I cannot put behind me is this:  Does Tarkus speak for the Hamassa?  Will his people require ‘preparation’ as well?”

The four were silent for a time.  In the quiet, Fors could hear the breeze rustling the trees.  Idly, he watched as a few leaves were dislodged and fell, the first of harbingers of autumn.  Inwardly, he felt that old familiar frustration, borne of trying to get people to see the same vision; to lay aside the blood of the past for the brotherhood of the future.  He turned towards Jarl, watching as the familiar mien of decision came over the Guardian’s features.  He spoke.

“Arskane and Markanna, I honor the efforts you have made, and the wisdom you have shared.  I agree that we must not rush forward; we must not attempt to force an idea on people who still have to put the past behind them.”  He paused, then continued.  “You are not of my tribe; I hold no power of command over you.  However I urge you, as men of courage and vision, to undertake the mission of convincing them.  To you, they will listen.  And perhaps, in time, they will listen to Tarkus.”  He paused again, then turned to Fors.

“Kinsman, I have a task for you.