“I will not be abused in this fashion. This day you will walk.”
“Damn,” Jeff muttered, “there’s still the burlap bag to go.” He examined the load already on Cynic’s back. It was far too much. “Your point is well taken. It was thoughtless of me. I will prepare a pack animal.”
“Got you, eh?” Carl chuckled. Balko’s grin was as large as Carl’s.
“Just give me a hand, wise guy.”
The packhorses were dismal creatures, but Jeff picked one out and they began transferring bags. Carl watched Jeff pull the burlap bag from an empty stall. It certainly did not look like it contained food or clothing.
“Taking the kitchen sink, Jeffrey?”
Laughing self-consciously, Jeff lifted the bag to a spot on the pack board. “This bag, my friend, contains a basic ingredient of life.”
Puzzled by Jeff’s comment, Carl put his nose close to the bag and sniffed. “Son of a gun. I agree, and good thinking. Makla beans.”
Tying off the last line, Jeff returned Carl’s grin. “Call them makla or coffee beans, but damned if I’m going to leave without enough to get by. Belstan promised to ship a bigger supply before our playmates show up. I figure it won’t take many weeks to hook everyone at that camp.”
“You got that right,” Carl chuckled, and saddled Sam to accompany Jeff part of the way. There was an issue that had to be resolved. They had exited the north gate when the matter was settled.
“Okay, then, we’re agreed,” Carl said. “We use the pipe bombs only if they’ll make the difference in saving the city. If it appears the Salchek may gain or breach Rugen’s walls, I will not hesitate to use them.”
“That’s about as close as we can come to a livable compromise.”
Stopping on the hill above Rugen to make their farewells, Jeff arrived at another decision he had been struggling with for some hours.
“Got something I want you to have.” He removed the Colt and holster from his belt and passed it to Carl. “Put it to good use, buddy.” Jeff handed him a leather pouch filled with spare ammunition. “The city has to survive, and this may make a little more of the difference.” Jeff gazed across the valley. “If those bastards make it into the city, would you look after Zimma for me?”
“Be assured I will do that.”
They clasped hands and Carl turned Sam back toward Rugen. Jeff clucked to Cynic. The packhorse rolled her eyes at Balko and waited until the lead rope pulled tight before she would move.
The Alemanni encampment was situated two hours ride north on the west side of the road. With the packhorse acting like an anchor, Jeff figured it would take three hours if his arm didn’t give out first. There was ample time to consider his imminent meeting with Gaereth. As he did so, a wide range of emotions coursed through his mind varying from excitement to a certain degree of anger.
In spite of what the combined Alarai mind had said, Jeff couldn’t shake the sense that his life had been manipulated to allow only one outcome and no choice. He brushed the anger away.
“So what’s new about that? How much choice did Carl have when he was dumped into the South March? When does the pursuit of choice become selfishness?” Jeff growled frustration and directed Cynic to pick up the pace. “I have got to get some answers! If only Gaereth would have asked!”
Throwing a scathing comment at the packhorse, Cynic leaned into the task. Jeff was nearly pulled from the saddle when the packhorse balked. Stopping abruptly, Cynic decided enough was enough.
“Wolf-brother, would you be of assistance? This beast must learn its place.”
Balko was as irritated as Cynic and trotted to the rear. “I thank you for the opportunity, horse-brother.” Balko snapped his jaws shut with a loud clack. The packhorse gave a jump and nearly ran up Cynic’s fanny.
While still a good distance from camp, Jeff began to hear something that sounded like a sack of tin cans clinking together.
“What on earth could that be?” Another fifteen minutes or so and he suddenly grinned. “Blacksmiths! A lot of them!”
They had no more than turned into camp when Jeff pulled Cynic to a halt and stared.
A large area had been cleared of trees, greatly expanding the original meadow. Scanning the campground, Jeff noted that individual tribes were bivouacked in satellite clearings. The central area, about ten or twelve acres in size, was packed with craft lodges and shoulder-to-shoulder with hurrying Alemanni. Gaereth had given a number to Jeff, but the reality took his breath away.
A thick haze of wood smoke from campfires hung over the compound, lending a tangy smell to the air. Jeff breathed deeply and listened to the racket of numerous smithies hard at work. The longer he watched camp activity, the more solemn he began to feel.
“God save me. I’m responsible for all of this. I never imagined that trip last winter would pay off in such a big way. These folks keep their promises.” Jeff pursed his lip and nodded. “You’ve started something; you’ve called them here. Either you follow through or all this, all the death, has been for nothing.” He nodded again, but emphatically. “There’s no making sense of it. Now it’s a matter of doing.”
Jeff guided Cynic through the warren of lodges and throngs of warriors. Excitement permeated the air. There was laughter, shouting back and forth between groups, and many voices were raised in song. It was a time of war, a time to gather honor.
Craft lodges were jammed with customers, especially the breweries, and they passed one smithy that appeared to be hosting a workshop. A number of leather-aproned men and women with massive shoulders and deep chests were peering into the forge and seemed to be debating some aspect of the trade.
The meeting hall was located near the camp’s center, and Jeff guided Cynic in that direction. A vast humming sound pierced the background noise. Jerking his head around, Jeff caught a brief glimpse of a flight of arrows arching high on their way down range. He suddenly noticed that Balko had disappeared.
“Wolf-brother! Return to me at once! These warriors are not familiar with you and may inflict harm!”
A wave front of terrified exclamations worked its way in his direction, then Balko came shooting around a lodge grinning ear to ear.
“They did not have time to do so, wolf-brother!”
“Stay close, wander no more.” The tone of Jeff’s thought was severe; his smile gave the opposite impression.
Dismounting at the meeting hall, Jeff tied the lead rope to the saddle horn and entered with Balko padding at his side.
“See to that dumb shit packhorse, will you horse-brother? We passed the stable on the way in. Somebody will be there to unload her and get the saddle off your back.”
“I will do this,” Cynic replied, tacking on a long-suffering sigh.
While stupid, the packhorse had learned a certain degree of humility under Balko’s tutelage. When Cynic headed for the stable at a trot, he didn’t even feel a tug on the halter rope.
Taking a seat on a bench toward the back of the building, Jeff listened in as Halric and Gurthwin mediated what sounded like a dispute between two chieftains. The men were red-faced and shouting insults across a table.
Jeff murmured, “Yes, you have them, but that’s much less than half the battle.”
His eyes adjusted to the dim light and Jeff spied a thatch of reddish hair behind Halric. Craning his neck to get a better view, Jeff tensed. Gaereth rose and skirted the chieftains.
Jeff stood up but did not advance to meet Gaereth. Longing, curiosity, shyness, anger—all fought for recognition. Balko sensed the origin of the turmoil seething in Jeff’s mind and jumped to his feet. Crouching slightly, he quivered like an arrow awaiting release. Gaereth stopped a good four feet away from Jeff.
Neither moved nor spoke for moment after moment until the tension became palpable. The chieftains stopped arguing and benches scraped on wooden flooring as they were pushed back. Heads turned to witness.
Gurthwin shivered at the ground swell of emotion that radiated from Gaereth’s mind. H
is pain and need were overwhelming. Shifting his gaze, Gurthwin saw that Jeff’s lips were set in a tight, thin line. Muscles along his jaw were bunched and one was twitching. The dim light showed every line on his face, highlighting sharp angles of privation. All softness was gone.
“Gods grant that charity and compassion survive,” Gurthwin whispered.
Getting to his feet, he moved a few steps closer and remained standing supported by his staff. Pride and fear mingled, making Gurthwin’s heart pound.
“O my gods, please let them find love,” he prayed under his breath. “I have served you faithfully, do not abandon my plea.”
Chieftains who had been ready to go at it only moments before stood up, crossed their arms and stood shoulder to shoulder. Their differences were trivial compared to what they were witnessing.
Slowly, Gaereth inclined his head. “Grandson. My life rests in the hope that one day you will find your heart open to forgiveness.”
Jeff did not respond; was unable to find words to fit the storm of emotions that threatened to tear him apart. Pain and anger finally gave a focus.
“Why didn’t you come sooner?” Anguished silence. “You played with my head like I was some damn robot, then just tossed me into a snowdrift and left me to die. I may be needed here, but why would my grandfather do that? Please tell me.”
Although Gaereth’s expression did not change, Gurthwin noticed a tremor in his hands and felt a blast of remorse.
“I am defenseless against that question. Only excuses remain. We miscalculated the onset of the earthquake and seriously underestimated how strong it would be. I intended to be at your side well before onset, both to allow you choice and to accompany you here if that was your decision. I was at the lake when it started.”
“Why did you wait until the last minute? Why didn’t you seek me out in Seattle so I could get to know you and have a chance to think about it? Damn it, I would have come!”
“I wanted to, Jeff. I should have. I’ve thought about little else for the last year. There were times when it was nearly more than I could bear not to pull up a chair at that tavern. ” Gaereth smiled wanly. “The night you tangled with that nude hologram was one of them.”
Memories of Seattle hit hard: Gado, Sarah, losing his job. “Lick and Swallow.”
Gaereth nodded, but the smile was gone. “I wanted to be sure, had to give you time to understand there was no place for you on Earth. Watching you take that beating was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. It was only when I returned to Aketti that I discovered how badly our plan had also miscarried here—that you had not landed on Skene as designed but high in the mountains of Arvalia. At that time we had no idea that Carl had been taken as well. As I have said, excuses only. Whatever your decision this day, I will always live with the knowledge that I was nearly the instrument of your and Carl’s death.” Gaereth inclined his head a second time and was silent.
One hand soothing Balko, Jeff’s thoughts tracked forward in time from Seattle. With distant eyes he scanned endless snowfields and a gigantic mountain, heard the forest’s whispering quiet that had nearly unmanned him. Remembered wailing voices singing the sun to a rest that would leave him in darkness.
Those memories abruptly gave way to the vivid image of a woman staring up at him, blood bubbling from her mouth. His sword buried in her chest. Exploding trees, terrifying aloness, dying screams—the memories went on and on. The whirling montage slowed and came into focus. Jeff gathered a desperate bolt and blasted it at the heavens.
Why? Why did it have to be so hard? Why have I had to kill so many people? Tell me! Please!
Gurthwin could endure no more. It had to be stopped. He was about to intervene when a zephyr of air fragrant with the perfume of many wild flowers and a verdant spring wafted into the hall. Pulsing golden light suddenly flooded the hall accompanied by a single crystal chime of such tonal purity that tears sprang into his eyes. Every nerve tingling with joy, Gurthwin held his arms out and bowed.
The door to the hall slammed open.
Formless yet formed of grace and appalling majesty, male and female yet neither, power so vast it exceeded dread but softened by eternal laughter, gods strode into the hall. Afraid to look up yet compelled to do so, Gurthwin raised his eyes. Time stopped and held its breath.
Outlined and suffused by incandescent gold, three forms of exquisite beauty confronted him. Vaguely human in shape and gowned in flowing raiment, Gurthwin perceived their appearance reflected no more than the moment’s requirement. The nature of their faces, although crystal clear to insight and love, defied description. Unable to bear the radiance of their features, Gurthwin lowered his eyes again.
A gentle thought vibrant with power filled his mind. “You have served the welfare of this land faithfully. Know that your place in our hearts is secure. We understand that you grow tired and fear your strength will fail in death ere this task is complete. Be assured your flesh and spirit will prevail. Peace be with you.”
While the first thought had more of a sense of the male than female about it, there was a distinct female cast to the second.
“Though flawed by deeply ingrained anger and self-doubt, the young man has been selected for this task. While we are aware of his pain and would ease its burden, his search for identity often borders on self-destruction. We would have you give testimony of his spirit, for he must serve this land and yet another.”
Gurthwin’s face blanched at the responsibility assigned him. “I am only mortal and love Jeffrey. How can I render judgment to the gods?”
Delighted contralto laughter caroled like a thousand silver bells. “Come now! When have your people, and it must be known the people of Jeffrey’s world, been reluctant to do so? We are not immune to the many pleas cast into our realm on his behalf, and your love for him is clear, but open your heart to us. We expect no more.”
Reviewing his conversations with Jeff, Gurthwin lifted his eyes with stern resolve.
“Then I shall do so without stint. This young man has been used most foully by his homeland, yet ever strives to find truth. Yes, he is flawed by anger of such degree that it has slowed maturity. While destructive at times, his is an anger that seeks reprieve from injustice and the repression of meaningless existence.
“Will you argue that he has not been badly used? Cast from his profession and society without cause? Thrust unknowing into this world to live or die? Maneuvered, not asked, to undertake a task that would daunt a lifetime of informed preparation? Wherefore should he experience aught but anger and a lack of self-definition? Yet he has failed no portion of this task though on repeated occasion it has forced him to the brink of death more severe than any which might be self-imposed.” Gurthwin paused to consider his next words.
“Yes, I do love him and would not see him destroyed by this conflict. Yet it may well be his destiny. In the end, whether he is to live or die, his spirit is worthy. I would have none other lead us in this time of great peril.”
Opening his arms in submission, Gurthwin bowed his head. After a period of intense silence, his mind was caressed as by a loving hand.
“Well spoken, and nobly so. Be assured the burden of testimony we placed on you was necessary. Jeffrey is not to lead immortals, but men.”
A third distinct personality emerged. Crisp and lively, its aura seemed unconcerned with gender but overflowed with a type of energy that Gurthwin could only define as mischievous.
“Yes—a worthy young man and fit to lead. He has confronted anger, is open to self-examination, and shows promise of growing beyond the limitations of youth. I greatly anticipate the outcome of such growth.”
A brisk wind flowed into the hall, sweeping the three forms into a single iridescent column of golden light filled with sparkles. Rotating rapidly, the column rushed over to surround Jeff. He faded to an indistinct shadow.
While unaware of any unusual presence, different memories eased bitter pain aside: Magda standing like an ivory statue and beckoni
ng to him, Heideth and Balko loping through the forest, the moon’s silver pathway, Valholm on a spring day. An image of Zimma standing with arms outstretched and smiling glowed into existence. A single thought formed a halo around the memories and image: is this not enough?
The reproof was so gentle that its message was crushing. Turning his face up as if to bask in the sun, Jeff closed his eyes.
“Yes, it is. Thank you for being tolerant of my immaturity. For helping me find the way. I will try and do better.”
“We are pleased.”
Time let its breath out and moved on.
Opening his eyes, Jeff noticed that everyone in the hall except Gurthwin seemed frozen in place. While Jeff watched, they began to move. He walked toward Gaereth with outstretched arms.
“Grandfather.”
When Gaereth and Jeff separated, all they could do was grin at one another. Gurthwin took each by an arm.
“Now we must truly celebrate. This day has been blessed by the very gods!”
Leaving Jeff and Gaereth seated with tankards of beer, Gurthwin and Halric shepherded the chieftains from the hall. Gurthwin hesitated at the door to glance back at Jeff before stepping outside singing under his breath.
While Balko and Gaereth were getting acquainted, Jeff attempted to reconstruct what he had experienced. A few hints and it slipped away like a dream. What remained was a clear memory of being cherished, and laughter that eased all pain. Feeling immensely comforted, Jeff turned his attention to Gaereth.
It had been fifteen years since they last met in Iowa, but Jeff could not identify any changes. Gaereth’s hair showed no gray, his face was youthful, and there wasn’t an ounce of fat on his lanky frame. Jeff thought Gaereth could pass for thirty. Even his attire was the same—tall boots, leather pants and soft leather tunic.
Gaereth finished his conversation with Balko and turned his attention to Jeff. “Still don’t know how I lived through that quake, Grandson.”
Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) Page 43
