“Well done young one,” I said. I was rewarded with a smile from the girl and one from Artair.
Another pair of sticks were handed to me and I worked through fourteen more Druids. After each, I was handed a different pair of fighting sticks. Finally, only one old man was left.
“Knight Piran, your last test is against brother Brenton,” the Elder stated as a large man with scarred hands stepped to the center of the room, “You fought our youngest and now face the eldest.”
The old man was wily and he attacked with power I didn’t expect from him. He pushed me hard and the heavy sticks I’d been handed didn’t help. If I’d been fresh, it wouldn’t have been a contest. But I’d been swinging the sticks for over two hours and my arms were tired. As I said, he was wily with skills forged over a lifetime. It took me a lot of backing up before I realized old man Brenton had power in his shoulder, but not in his legs.
I used the knowledge to shift my attack from head on to angular strikes. He did well for a while then began to fade. As I’d done with the young girl Denzilee, I increased the pace and slowed as my opponent faded. Finally, I stepped back and bowed.
“I thank you for the lesson,” I said as I lowered my head.
“He’s got good manners,” Brenton said to Artair, “and he knows how to treat children and old people.”
“That he does,” Artair replied to the old man while handing me a mug of highland style ale, “Come Phelan, let us talk.”
The Elder and I went outside and took chairs on the porch. Brenton walked out and nodded to us as he headed toward the work building.
“He was once a powerful Druid warrior,” Artair stated watching the old Druid limp down the gravel path.
“He still is,” I said setting down the clay mug of ale and rubbing my shoulders, “He hits like he’s wielding tree trunks.”
Chapter 57
“He prefers heavy sticks, that he does,” Artair said and took a sip from his mug of ale, “You have questions Knight of the Clan?”
“I never completed the Ritual,” I began and Artair cut me off.
“And you never will, because you didn’t bond with a Heart plant. Druids must have a unique relationship with at least one color. Some bond with two or even three but, all must have the help of at least one Heart plant to pass the Ritual.”
“And, I didn’t bound with any,” I said, then asked, “Was the second box test a last chance for me to bond?”
“No, of course not,” Artair said while looking hard into my eyes, “It was to make you quit.”
“But all my life, I was raised to become a Druid,” I said remembering the isolation and disappointment of my final years on planet Uno.
“Not everyone completes the Ritual. A few aren’t chosen by a Heart plant,” he explained, “Then again almost no one becomes a Knight Protector of Clan.”
“About the Knight thing,” I inquired, “It a real honor but I’m an officer in the Galactic Council Navy. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be much use to you when the Navy ships me out.”
“The title is for the man, not for a location,” Artair assured me, “You are now, and will be until you die, a protector of the Clan. A Knight isn’t always on a quest nor always with his people. Yet, he is always the defender of his people.”
We talked far into the night. Finally, I climbed the stairs to my room and fell asleep. Dreams of Druids and fighting sticks and Heart plants invaded my rest. Before the sun rose over the mountain, I was up and dressed.
Figuring to slip out while everyone was still in bed, I crept down the stairs.
“Good morning, Knight Piran,” Brenton said. He was standing beside a table eating a sausage.
He waved the morsel around and asked if I’d join him. I strolled over and the aroma of the hot spicy meat settled my thoughts of a quick getaway. It was a long flight back to Base but, I couldn’t turn down a sausage.
We ate in silence and I noticed his robe was dirty. Slivers of wood and reflective shavings of a metallic alloy stained the front. His big scared hands had a few new cuts to go along with the healed ones.
“Been busy this morning?” I asked wrapping a sausage with a slice of bread and taking a bite.
“You could say that,” he replied. A little juice dripped from his mouth and fell onto his beard.
“Brenton are you ready?” Artair called down from the top of the stairs, “Denzilee are you ready?”
The little girl came in through the front door with her arms full. “All ready Elder,” she replied. She was almost hidden under a load of gear. She reached the long table and dumped the equipment.
For an old guy, Artair made quick work of the stairs and was soon standing at the table. He and Denzilee watched as Brenton and I finish eating. Once done, we licked the meat juice from our fingers. I laughed as I remembered my father and I licking sausage spices off of our fingers when I was a young boy.
“Phelan if you would,” Artair said calling me back to the present and motioning me to join him by the pile of gear.
“A Knight Protector of the Clan has a few items to aid him in his cause,” Artair announced pointing to Denzilee.
She held out her hand and opened her tiny fist. In it was a small lapel pin. The pin was embossed with the emblem of a shield. On the shield was a Heart plant and running diagonal across the plant were four bands of color: red, blue, yellow and white.
“Kneel Knight Piran,” the child said so seriously that I almost laughed.
I didn’t laugh. Instead I took a knee and leaned towards the girl. She carefully mounted the pin on the collar of my flight suit. Then she stepped back and ordered, “Rise protector of the Clan.”
“A Knight has a rare badge, one not recognized by many,” Artair said as I stood, “He can call upon any Clan member or Druid for help. They will obey.”
“Hold out your hands Knight Piran,” instructed Brenton as he rummaged through the pile of gear on the table.
I held out my hands. He finished searching and turned to me. Over each of my arms he slid leather arm guards. They ran almost the entire length of my forearms and were held there by two finger holes tooled into the black leather. My palms were left bare while the guards protected the back of my hands and my arms. Next he placed a pair of black handles in my palms.
As he took three long strides back, he commanded, “Release!”
I jerked the sticks to the side violently. The fighting sticks extended in a smooth motion. So smooth in fact, I had to look from one to the other to be sure they had extended to their full length. They had and, I swung them through a small pattern to test the balance. The balance and the way they fit in my hands were perfect. As if they had been custom made for me.
The wood splinters and metallic shavings on Brenton’s robe and the blood shot eyes told me they were custom made. Custom made overnight for me by the old Druid.
“These handle beautifully,” I said weaving a simple pattern in the air, “I thought you’d need to measure and fit me.”
“Why do you think we kept giving you different sticks last night?” Artair asked than answered his own question, “Because Brenton was measuring and judging you during every fight.”
“Asthore’ master craftsman Brenton,” I said bowing my head, “I am grateful for the gift of your skills.”
I refocused on the fighting sticks. They showed polished, wood grain that was inter laced with a dark alloy. The pattern ran from the handles to a wicked, sharp point made of the same alloy. These weren’t the blunt sticks most people knew. These were deadly weapons that would turn a thrust into a stiletto like stab. Or, deliver a slash that would separate skin or body armor. They weren’t the blunt fighting sticks I was accustomed too. These were a killing weapon.
My style of stick fighting used a grip that left a hands width of stick below my little fingers. I glanced at the bottom of the right stick and the end was rounded like any standard stick. However, when I looked at the bottom of the left stick, there was another of the alloy poi
nts. So a strike with that end would puncture or rip an opponent.
I mashed the close buttons and the sticks retracted into the handles.
“A Knight has a visible weapon so that all who see it will know of his pledge,” Artair said stepping forward and placing a strap over my shoulder.
The strap had what looked like a long hand warmer attached to it. He motioned me to put my hands into the leather tube. As I guided my arms into opposite ends, the stick handles slid into hidden pockets, and the leather arm guards remained when I withdrew my hands. On the strap was the same symbol as the collar pin.
“A Knight has an invisible weapon that is only known to himself,” Artair said handing me a small package.
“What’s in this?” I asked holding out the packet. It was the size of my hands squared, exactly. My hand by height, length and width, as if I’d been measured for it. Three clips matched holes in the Clan strap. I fastened it in place.
“I don’t know,” Artair replied, “No one but a few Elders and craftsmen on Uno know. It’s the final piece of equipment for a Knight. It’s a mystery and part of the legend that surrounds the Clan protectors.”
The sun light reached through a window and touched my hand. I had spent the morning receiving secret Clan gear and a mysterious pack. It was time to leave the Druids and get back to my duties as a Navy pilot. As I turned towards the door, Artair called out, “Asthore’ Knight!”
‘My Dear Knight’ I repeated to myself as I rushed down the mountain trail. It was easier to see in the morning sun. Unlike yesterday when I struggled up the trail with sacks of gain in the twilight. My mood was light and I enjoyed the walk to the mountain meadow. It didn’t take long to reach the meadow and my bird.
The helicopter fired up and I called Base.
“Good morning Base, J-Pop ready for assignment,” I reported as I stowed the Clan pack and strap in the cockpit.
“J-Pop, sleep in did you, Sir?” Dunya replied, “There’s a big cargo drop at grain LZ. You and Pancake do a pickup and get the packages to east and west fruit Farms.”
“Rodger Base, grain LZ, J-Pop acknowledges,” I replied confirming the destination as I lifted off.
Once clear of the mountain pass, I soared over west protein Hacienda and skirted west grain Hamlet. The ground went from hills to flat with tall grain stalks and finally became flat plots as I flew over the vegetable region. The split of land between grain and vegetable, even this far west from Base, was a rough edged gash in the planet.
Fruit LZ came into view as the sun flickered to the west. I needed the landing lights to find the pad and Pancakes running lights to avoid setting down on his copter. He’d landed in the center of the pad. I eased off to a side, touched down and I was none too happy about him hogging the helicopter pad.
“Pancake, you could have left some room for me on the pad,” I stated as I strolled towards Lieutenant Piero Ubaldo.
He eyed me hard then pulled the comb from his breast pocket. As he ran it through his thick black hair, he replied, “You know how it is dude. I was tired and guided by the cosmos.”
“And the cosmos led you to take most of the pad?” I asked.
“Look for yourself, it must have,” he responded waving his free arm around to indicate that his helicopter, as I damn well knew, occupied the center of the helicopter pad.
I couldn’t resist so I asked, “Where did you fly in from?”
“Base J-Pop. It was hectic,” he said as he shoved the comb into his pocket, “Dunya made me shower before I left and then I had to get chow, well, you how it is.”
My flight had been thirteen hours. His about four. I didn’t see the purpose in furthering the conversation so I said, “I know.” With that, I ambled back to my bird.
A fuel truck came out of the dark beyond the landing lights and behind it a food truck. I watched them refuel my copter while I ate a dinner of roast beef and steamed vegetables with a side of, what else, fruit.
The fuel truck drove to Pancake and stopped. The pilot immediately began yelling that he had landed first and as such should have been fueled first. After his tirade with the fuel team, he started in on the food truck driver. All I could make out was something about his food being cold and it was the drivers fault for serving me first.
I guess the cosmos didn’t take into consideration the road to the helicopter pad. It ran right beside where I was parked. Cosmos my ass, I know a jerk when I see one and, Piero Ubaldo call sign Pancake, fit the description.
While Pancake was busy harassing the fuel guys with, no doubt, a mouthful of food, I snagged the Clan strap and pack from the cockpit. In the weak light of the cargo deck, I pulled open the pack. From inside, I pulled out a ball of fabric. Shaking out the silky feeling material, I found it was a pair of loose trousers and a long sleeved pullover with a cowl. So the secret equipment of a Knight Protector of the Clan was a fancy black hoodie.
I wasn’t impressed. However, it had been given to me as Knight Protector of the Clan, so I pulled on the trousers and tied them at my waist. Not even a belt, just strings of the same material. I was into it now, so I pulled on the hoodie and flipped the cowl over my head.
Chapter 58
A sharp pain hit the back of my neck and I wanted to grab for the hurt. But my hands didn’t respond and neither did my legs. Paralyzed, I stood half bent over in the cargo deck as more sharp pains hit me, this time on either side of my neck. To add to my misery, I heard Pancake yell for me.
“J-Pop. Want to go into town and get a drink?” he asked as he appeared outside the hatch, “J-Pop, you in the cockpit?”
I was looking at him and he was looking around the cargo deck as if it were empty. The paralysis was still on me but I had the beginnings of a tingle in my fingers and toes. Pancake got an exasperated look on his face. He pulled out the comb and as he turned away he began preening.
“Didn’t want your company anyway,” he whined, “Only did it to keep Javelin off my back.”
A few minutes later I was able to move my head. The first thing I looked at were my legs. What I saw were the plates of the cargo deck behind me. It was as if my legs weren’t there.
Reflective camouflage it was called. The fibers of the suit made you invisible by reflecting an image of what was behind the suit. It wasn’t good up close in direct sunlight, but at night or in low light, the camouflage was as close to invisibility as technology could come.
The Galactic Council Marine Corps had tried out a few units with the tech. Power supply issues shelved it in short order. It was great for a time but once the energy drained, you were left in a very visible tin foil suit. I assumed the Clan had solved the power issue and the black color wasn’t so bad. If you discounted the fact the outfit looked like black silk pajamas.
As soon as I had feelings in my arms, I ripped the hoodie off. Three metal objects bounced off the deck. I leaned down and retrieved them. One was a thin needle. A drop of blood ran down the short length and fell to the floor. The other two were thick injection tubes. I automatically reached up and felt my neck. Small dry puncture wounds on either side identified where they’d broken the skin. The tubes, unlike the needle, had no trace of blood. I figured I’d been injected with control units for the suit. At least I hoped that was all.
I checked the pullover but couldn’t find any additional sharp objects. Not wanting to wait, I slid it back on and tugged the cowl down.
The world around me lit up. Objects outside the hatch ran from images with heat signatures to soft colored shapes that were amplified by moon light to objects in black silhouette. I could even see Pancake’s foot prints where he’d approached my helicopter and more prints where he’d walked away. I lifted the hood and the world was again divided into impenetrable shadows and pools of light.
Hood down and the carnival of images returned. Unhooded, and the world was back to normal. So, the secret of the Knight Protector of the Clan was invisibility and enhanced night vision. Not too shabby for hunting enemies of the Clan.<
br />
I felt good. The suit left room to move so I slipped my arms into the Clan strap. The arm guards and handles slid easily out of the holder. I hopped out of the helicopter and walked beyond the lights of the landing pad.
The sticks extended and I began my patterns. Slowly at first and once I’d warmed up, I increased the speed. With the superb fit of the handles and the perfect balance of fighting stick, the speed increased to my normal level. And then I found myself moving faster, my arcs crisper, my strikes harder, every move was assisted by the suit or the implants or both. In any case, I was moving like a Druid weapons master.
A buzzing in my ear was followed closely by words. I looked around and two crewmen from fruit Landing Zone were cutting across the landing pad. They were on the far side of the pad and heading my way.
I stopped and listened to a conversation about a dark haired cutie, who was going to get…Oh, that didn’t sound romantic. They walked by and while they couldn’t see me, I could see the stubble on their faces and hear their voices as if they were standing next to me. I realized enhanced hearing accompanied the invisibility and spectrum vision of my Clan gear.
Two aftereffects from the use of the suit hit me. I was tired and hungry. I stowed the Clan pack and strap in the cockpit and spread out my sleeping bag. After consuming two energy bars, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Before the sun came up, I knew this because I opened one eye and saw it was still dark, fruit LZ came alive. Out on the fruit Shuttle area, loaders were stacking containers. The usual team of riggers were crawling up the stack as each was placed. Suddenly, the area went quiet. Their jobs done, the crews parked the loaders and faded into the shadows.
Now I was wide awake and hungry so I rolled out of my sleeping bag. From the cockpit, I retrieved a couple more energy bars. I had breakfast while sitting on the edge of the cargo hatch. The sun’s rays painted a brilliant pink on the blue black horizon. As the sun rose, a point of light grew in the sky above the helicopter pad.
Galactic Council Realm 1: On Station Page 31