A Dubious Peace

by Olan Thorensen

  They rode through Preddi City’s streets, already busy with people going to work, setting up shopping stands, and opening businesses. Ceinwyn kept both hands on the horses’ reins but verbally answered greetings. When they reached the train station, Mark quickly pulled their baggage off the back of the carriage.

  “Thank you for all your help, Ceinwyn,” said Maghen. “We all appreciate it.”

  Ceinwyn smiled. “Many of us are curious to find out if your husband and Heather are as full of wonders as Yozef. I expect not. After all, Septarshes can’t be all that common, even in Amerika. I’ll look forward to seeing you again, either here or in Orosz City.”

  As soon as they and their baggage were aboard the train, the driver urged the horses on. The ride had bumps where the rails met but was smoother than carriages on roads.

  Not too bad, thought Mark, but some leaf springs will make it better. I’ll mention this to Yozef. At least, there shouldn’t be a problem getting them made here, as there was in Tregallon.

  The benches they sat on had firm cushions. Maghen had been awake and bustling when Mark woke earlier that morning, Alys trailing her mother and wondering what was happening. He didn’t know how long they’d both been awake, but both were asleep by the time they passed the last structure close enough to be considered part of the city—Maghen leaning into a pillow and Alys in her mother’s lap.

  “What do you think of all the Septarsh stuff, Mark?” Heather said in English, just loud enough to be heard over the horses’ hooves and wheels over rails.

  Mark started to caution Heather about using English but stopped. Maghen snored slightly. He knew from experience she was well into sleep. Alys hadn’t yet mastered pretending to be asleep.

  He leaned forward, forearms on thighs, coming closer to Heather where she sat on the facing bench.

  “I get the sense he’s uneasy with it.”

  “But he almost seems to have some kind of mythical status,” she said. “It worries me. You know . . . that power corrupts thing. And are we sure he likes us being here? He seems a little anal about not using English. He’s afraid we’ll reveal who he really is.”

  “Well . . . if we have to be somewhere with a corrupt ruler, it could be worse. We’ll learn more about him, but when I met with him, he seemed more than just pleased and, frankly, especially with me. He has ideas and claims he wished for years there was an engineer from Earth here. Well . . . here I am. No . . . I think we’re in a good position. Whatever happens, the two of us will likely benefit from some of his aura spilling over to us. And be honest. Didn’t this Hetman Balwis’s wife treat you well?”

  Heather sighed and relaxed her hands, which had been clutching her knees. “I’m sure you’re right. I guess I’m still looking for a way for things to go bad. After Iskadon . . . you know.”

  She looked out the windows at the countryside sliding by. “I’ll get some sleep. I was awake most of the night.”

  She leaned into the corner of the bench against the coach’s side, using a pillow to imitate Maghen, and closed her eyes. He watched for several minutes. He wasn’t sure if she was asleep, but her breathing slowed into a steady rhythm. She looked so small compared to Maghen. He wasn’t as confident as he sounded. He, too, had enough memories of things going wrong not to be cautious.

  Hours later, they reached the end of the Preddi side of the line southwest of the city of Hanslow. A four-horse-team carriage pulled alongside as soon as the train coach stopped. Transfer took less than fifteen minutes, and they were on their way again. Most of that time they had spent visiting cloth-screened slit trenches used by the railroad workers. The process was repeated in reverse when they reached the Orosz City end of the line. Later, they passed the city of Hanslow. The train station was not in the city but on the other side of a river with the walled city visible on top of a bluff.

  More hours later, Mark wasn’t sure how many, they reached Moreland City and stopped only to change horses at the city’s outskirts. From there, they had a starlit view of what was apparently the city center. When they were ready to proceed, a new driver appeared.

  “It’s dark, but most of the buildings we can see seem almost new?” Mark asked the man.

  “Have to be. The Narthani burned the whole damn city to the ground when their army passed through.” The driver cackled. “This is where we beat them the first time when they had fewer men. The second time they came here, I think they were pissed nobody was here to fight and the whole city was abandoned. They set everything afire. We made ’em sorry they came through when they tried to return past Orosz City.” He pulled up a trouser leg to show a nasty scar on the calf.

  “Narthani musket ball hit me when they were breaking through our line,” the driver said proudly. “I got right back up. Didn’t stop me from reloading.”

  He spit to one side. “Damn Narthani. My brother wasn’t so lucky. He was standing right next to me and was hit in the throat. Nothing I could do for him. I was busy killing Narthani.”

  A half-hour from Moreland City, they slowly gained altitude, though the land remained flat. Mountains came closer, and when the flat terrain changed to rolling hills, the driver told them, “We’ll be changing horses after that grade. The pace will pick up at sunrise, and you should be in Orosz City around mid-afternoon tomorrow.”

  The driver was close to his estimate—about mid-afternoon the next day, after following a river the last hour, they saw Orosz City in the distance, Heather making the first sighting.

  “Hey, that’s got to be our destination. Geez! Looks like something out of Lord of the Rings.”

  Mark left his seat to peer out the same side of the coach as Heather. High, craggy ridges were separated by what appeared to be a cleft, though he couldn’t see how deep the gap went. At the base of the cleft was a walled city. South from the walls, buildings spread out to perhaps a mile—he couldn’t be sure of the distance. As they got nearer, they could make out a set of stone buildings one and two stories tall, evidently constructed from the same quarry. Fifteen minutes later, they pass the buildings.

  “Those are Caedellium headquarters buildings the Paramount is having built,” the driver called out.

  They stopped at a train station and transferred themselves and their baggage once again to a carriage. Mark then had a better view of the city’s walls and the bastions situated approximately equal distances apart. When they passed through a gate in the city’s walls, Mark noted a difference.

  “All the buildings we just passed seem pretty new, while the ones inside are obviously much older.”

  “Ceinwyn told me everything outside the wall was leveled in preparation for the big battle here,” said Heather. “She said tens of thousands of people, men and women, dug fortifications from the wall all the way down to the river. She claimed they worked night and day for a six-day.”

  “I haven’t heard the details from Yozef,” said Mark. “Did Ceinwyn say how big the Narthani army was?”

  “She said they don’t know the exact number, but something between fifty and fifty-five thousand.” Heather shuddered. “I’m glad I wasn’t around for that day. I can’t even imagine. Ceinwyn says she was on the line with a unit that was all women. About one in five were killed, and she claims that wasn’t an unusual number for many parts of the defense.”

  I’ll have to get a lot more details about this battle, thought Mark. Hell . . . not just this battle but everything about how these islanders fought the Narthani. If the numbers Ceinwyn threw around are even close to accurate, I’ll have to learn a lot more if I’m going to have a sense of the people here, what they went through, and just what Yozef’s role was.

  The carriage wove its way through the busy city streets. Most people ignored the travelers, though several greeted the driver. There was no north exit gate from the city. There was no need. The city sat directly against not quite vertical rock formations merging into the mountains on both sides as they entered the cleft. The carriage slowed as the road sloped upward for p
erhaps a quarter-mile before leveling where the gap was about three hundred yards wide. There, they came upon the first dwellings since leaving the city proper.

  “Looks like this is where some of the upper crust lives,” said Heather. “The houses are larger than we saw on the other side of the city, and they’re not as close together.”

  “Probably the richer merchants, the hetman, and other ranking officials,” said Mark.

  Four minutes later, they turned left from the gravel road onto a path leading to a large house with several smaller structures scattered among the trees. A child, perhaps five or six years old, sat on the steps of a veranda. Mark saw that it was a girl when she jumped to her feet and ran inside. As the carriage stopped in front of the house, Yozef exited the door, followed by the same girl and two other, younger children.

  “Welcome to Kolsko Manor,” said Yozef as he opened the carriage door. “I got a semaphore message saying when you left Moreland City, so this is about the time I expected you would get here. Come on inside.”

  Yozef waved to someone, and a teenage boy appeared. “Ilmar will take your bags to where you’ll be staying for now. Let’s get them off the carriage and show him which ones are the Kaldwel family’s and which ones are Heather’s.”

  The driver was already off the carriage and unstrapping the baggage area. The three males quickly pulled the bags off and sorted them according to ownership.

  “Mark, your family will have a cottage. Someone will show you later. Heather, we only have one guest cottage, so you’ll be staying with Elian Faughn. She’s an elderly woman who’s been with me since shortly after I arrived on Caedellium. She’s very nice. I think she’ll enjoy having someone share her cottage. But for now, let’s go on inside and meet everyone else.”

  Kolsko Manor might have looked crude when they approached, but a closer inspection as they walked up onto the veranda and through the main door belied that first impression. The woodwork was solid and the craftsmanship, top notch. Inside, Mark was surprised by a glass-door cabinet that was wall-mounted five feet above the floor. Displayed behind the glass were pistols, short-barreled rifles, and shotguns. Yozef noticed Mark’s attention.

  “You’ll see several more of these around the manor. There’s a story about it you’ll hear later.”

  Heather felt something clutch her hand. She looked down to find a brown-haired boy of about four years looking at her.

  “You’re small,” said the boy. “I thought Amerikans were all big.”

  “Amerikans come in all sizes,” said Yozef. “You should tell Heather your name, so she’ll be your friend.”

  “Hello. My name is Aeneas. I’m the oldest boy here.” The last words were stated with pride.

  Heather only had to tilt her head down slightly to look him eye to eye. “Well . . . hello, Aeneas. I’m happy to meet you. My name is Heather.”

  “I know. That’s what Papa Yozef called you.”

  Heather stood and looked at Yozef. “Papa? He’s one of yours?”

  “Yes. Maera is his mother. You might also hear the children say ‘Papa Carnigan.’ The Puvey family lives in the house you passed before turning off to here. Carnigan and Gwyned are so close to us that all the children refer to all the adults by mama and papa.”

  “Bring them on into the main room, Yozef,” a woman’s voice called out. “We gathered everybody together so we can make the introductions. The children won’t stay in one place for long.”

  Yozef chuckled and gestured for them to follow him into a large room with cushioned or upholstered chairs scattered among several tables. Three women and the children were waiting. The group was supplemented when the large redheaded man they had seen in Preddi City walked in from another door.

  “I’ll do the introductions,” said Yozef, turning and touching Heather’s shoulder. “This is Heather Chen. As Aeneas pointed out, she is small in stature, but from what Mark says, she’s impressive with the music she can perform.”

  He turned to the Kaldwels. “This is Mark and Maghen. Somewhere hiding behind her mother is Alys.”

  Maghen reached around and coaxed Alys to peek from behind her mother’s dress.

  “I think I remember that Alys is three years old. Is that right, Alys?”

  A small hand holding up three fingers joined the head.

  “And now for the Puvey family. You’ve already met Carnigan. Well . . . maybe you’ve only seen him. Gwyned is his wife and is holding Siston, who I believe is a year old.”

  Yozef walked to stand behind a piece of sofa-like upholstered furniture holding two seated women, both wearing green. He put a hand on the brown-haired smaller woman’s shoulder. “This is Maera holding Anida, who’s five months old.”

  Yozef gestured to his right. “Aeneas, come sit with your mother.”

  The boy who had held Heather’s hand ran and sat between Maera’s feet. Yozef remained standing in the same place but changed hands to touch to the shoulder of a blonde woman.

  “And this is Anarynd holding Odysius. Xena is sleeping between Anarynd and Maera. Odysius and Xena are twins—obviously not identical. They are about the same age as Siston.”

  “Two months older,” corrected Anarynd.

  “I stand corrected. Well . . . that’s the whole group.”

  “You forgot me!” protested the voice coming from a small, black-haired girl who had appeared from somewhere.

  “Dwyna! No, I didn’t forget you. I just saved you for last. This is Dwyna, everyone.”

  The two parties looked at each other for several seconds after the initial introductions. It was Anarynd who broke the silence.

  “I’ll bet Alys is hungry, and the rest of the children need to be fed, too. Maghen, why don’t you join the rest of us mothers in the kitchen? We can let the Americans and Carnigan talk. We’ll get together again for the evening meal.”

  “Carnigan first needs to go next door and bring the basket of bread I baked this afternoon,” said Gwyned.

  Maera’s forehead furrowed. Yozef recognized that she had wanted to stay and talk to the new Amerikans. He mouthed, “We have time.” She nodded and joined the movement of children and women to the kitchen.

  When the three Amerikans were alone, Mark laughed. “Aeneas, Odysius, and Xena? That’s what you named your children?”

  “Oh,” said Heather. “I recognized Odysius, but the other two?”

  “Aeneas is from one of those Greek epics,” said Mark, “I don’t know which one. Maybe The Iliad or The Odyssey.

  “Actually . . . it’s The Aeneid, and it’s Roman,” said Yozef. “Aeneas is the main character. He is a Greek . . . or a Trojan . . . I’m not sure if they count as the same. Anyway . . . he travels from Troy to Italy and helps found Rome.”

  “Let me guess,” said Heather. “I’ll bet Xena also has something to do with the Greeks or Romans.”

  “Well . . . sort of,” said Yozef, then laughed.

  “It was a television show,” said Mark. “Xena, the Warrior Princess. I never watched it myself, but it was on several years. I don’t know where the name comes from. Some kind of Greek goddess?” He looked at Yozef.

  “No, the character was just made up for television. The first appearance was in the series Hercules, with Xena a spinoff starring Lucy Lawless. I think I watched all the reruns so many times, I almost knew the lines. I had a serious crush on Lawless.”

  “A couple of mythological figures and a TV character?” questioned Heather. “Those are the names you gave your kids?”

  Yozef flushed, then laughed again. “There’s one more. My first year here, I had a relationship with a woman owning a farm north of Abersford, where I lived in Keelan Province. After a few months, we both knew it wasn’t going anywhere. I wasn’t going to move to her family farm, and she wasn’t going to leave the farm to live in towns or cities. It was an amicable split, but a child resulted. Someone suggested to me that that might have been her plan all along. With the shortage of men, she might have figured if she could
n’t get a husband, she still wanted a child. She ended up joining her sister and sister’s husband on a neighboring farm, merging their farms, and forming a three-sided marriage.”

  “I would have wondered if that’s where you got the idea about multiple wives,” said Heather, “but Ceinwyn said it was Maera’s idea.”

  Yozef shrugged. “Maera’s the one who first brought it up, and Anarynd liked the idea. It wasn’t something I expected or planned on, but I guess I admit once they were both in favor and gave arguments for it, I didn’t fight it.”

  “You still think it was a good idea?” asked Mark.

  “I didn’t say I thought it was a good idea at the time, only that I went along. However, things worked out and led to Odysius and Xena.”

  “You said you had another child. With the farm woman?” asked Heather.

  “Yes. Bronwyn is her name. And I expect you to ask me which Greek character I named that child after. That’s a story. By that time, Bronwyn and I had split many months earlier. She was married to her sister and sister’s husband, and Maera and I had married not long before that. But I wasn’t aware it was the custom for a child to be formally named at a Godsday service with the father announcing the name. I couldn’t remember anyone bothering to tell me of the naming part. Well . . . Maera later said she had told me, but I only found out when the abbot called on me to give a name to the baby boy. Don’t ask me what I was thinking. Maybe the whole situation, being cast away on Anyar, the adjustment, everything, was all sort of fantastical. Maybe I was reminded somehow of Lord of the Rings. I couldn’t tell you what I was thinking, but I blurted out ‘Aragorn.’”

  “Oh, lord,” murmured Mark.

  “Well, it could have been worse,” said Heather, laughing. “You could have blurted out Gollum or Sauron.”

  “Or Gimli,” added Mark.

  Yozef held up both hands in surrender. “Gimme a break. I didn’t expect to ever meet another person from Earth. Aragorn just popped out of my mouth, but afterward I figured what the hell? My name was firmly fixed as Yozef Kolsko, but I guess I had the faint notion that I could spread other names around that could only have come from Earth. And who knows? Maybe someday . . . hundreds or thousands of years from now, Earth and Anyar might come in contact. If the name Yozef Kolsko is lost, maybe other names might survive to show a distant connection.