by John Ringo
The people collected in the line were a sorry sight. All of them were obviously travel worn and clearly not used to it. Many of them just appeared… beaten, as if they were never going to get any better than this, for the rest of their lives. Others, though, were different. They were chatting amiably with others and looking up and around. There didn’t seem to be any difference, any way to spot which was which or any way to guess who would be looking up and who would be looking down. Some of the apparently weakest of the group were the most active and some of the most rugged looking seemed to have just fallen apart.
Beyond that the group was odd in another way; there were very few Changed. Herzer was used to any similar group being at least a quarter Change, from winged men to cat girls. There was one of the latter, a really cute reddish blond tabby, and what looked like it might be a werebear or werepig near the front of the line. But that was it for Change. He didn’t think the town was excluding them, but there had to be a reason they were so few and far between.
The line led into a large open shed that looked almost like a warehouse. At the entrance a bored looking woman was accepting chits from people. She turned one person away who didn’t have a chit, without any explanation offered or given. Inside there were some trestle tables, obviously rough hewn from logs — there was still sap exposed on most of them — with crudely carved wooden bowls and spoons piled up. Following the example of the person in front of him he took one of each and then accepted a small piece of cornbread from one of the servers. At the kettle the bowl was filled with some sort of stew, it looked to be mostly beans, and that was it.
At the far end of the warehouse were more rough tables with benches, most of them filled. He walked almost to the far end before he saw an open space next to a young man about his own age. He walked up and gestured to the spot.
“Do you mind…?”
“Not at all,” the young man said after a quick glance at the girl across the table from him.
“Thank you,” Herzer said, sitting down. “Herzer Herrick,” he continued, sticking out his hand.
“Mike Boehlke,” the young man said, and gestured across the table. “That’s Courtney, Courtney Deadwiler.” Mike was blond with short hair, stocky and about a meter and a half high. He was medium good looking for the period but his muscles had the indefinable look of someone who had worked on them, not just had them sculpted. The one odd thing about him, not quite Change but something close, was his eyebrows. They pointed sharply upward at the end. And his brow had a distinctly strange cast.
Courtney had red hair and was… buxom was the only term that came to mind looking at her. She had bright green eyes with a lively intelligence that did a quick appraisal of Herzer and then seemed to accept his company without any show of other interest.
“Hi,” Herzer said, ducking his head in greeting. Then he picked up his spoon and basically inhaled the food.
“You have to be careful with that,” Courtney said with a snort. “I did that the first night and then threw it up all over the table.”
“I think I’ll be okay,” Herzer said. There was a slight queasiness, but Tom had had some rations left so he hadn’t been starving the last day or so. He mopped up the bowl with the small piece of bread and then ate that. “That’s it, right?”
“Right,” Mike said gruffly. “New here?”
“Just got in,” Herzer said then paused. The details of his journey didn’t make for very good storytelling.
“We’re on our second day,” Courtney explained. “You know you get three days?”
“Yes. And they said someone would be around to find me then. I’d wondered about that; how do they keep track?”
“Some people skate out,” Courtney nodded towards the tent. “But on the third day they stop giving you meal chits if you’re not otherwise employed. They’re talking about some sort of apprenticeship program. We’re hoping to get into that.”
“What else is there to do? I saw a couple of guards.”
“They’re not much,” Mike said. He had a tight, short manner of speaking that was blunt enough to be right on the edge of rudeness. But Herzer sensed it was just the way he was rather than anything intentional. “There’s talk that Talbot’s going to set up a professional guard and police force. But there’s been too much going on with the farm battles.”
“Farm battles?” Herzer asked. “We’re having wars already?”
“No, not that,” Courtney interjected. “It’s just the arguments about how to get the farms running.”
She gave him a fairly concise description of the various positions, then shrugged. “Mike and I, well…” she looked over at him and shrugged again.
“I want a farm,” Mike said. “I want my own farm, mine and Courtney’s. I don’t want to farm somebody else’s and I don’t want to share it with a bunch of people. I know I can make it run if I don’t have to worry about sharing it with a bunch of losers.” He gestured at the various people still sitting at the tables.
“I suppose that makes sense,” Herzer said. “I’d never thought about being a farmer myself…”
“Farming is what makes an economy like this run,” Courtney interjected enthusiastically. “It’s hard work, maybe the hardest there is. But it’s rewarding, too, if you get good land and do a good job at it. We’ll succeed,” she reached across and took Mike’s hand. “I know we will.”
“But you’re going to do the apprenticeship program anyway?” Herzer asked. He noticed that Mike seemed uncomfortable with the touch and disengaged as quickly as possible.
“I want to see what else there is,” Mike said. “And there’s more to farming than just putting seeds in the ground. Knowing a little bit about coopering and carpentry and smithing will be useful.”
“There’s supposed to be a week or two of combat training, too,” Courtney noted.
“Well, I guess I’ll see about this apprenticeship program,” Herzer said. The sun was setting in the west and he suddenly realized he was bone weary. “Where do people sleep?”
“There’s separate bunkhouses for the men and women,” Mike said. “I usually walk Courtney over to hers and then find a place to sleep.”
“You can come with us if you want,” Courtney said.
“Uhm…” he looked at Mike who shrugged disinterest in whether he did or not and then nodded. “Okay, if you don’t mind.”
They walked through the crowds in the gathering darkness to one of the many log-frame huts. Up close they were much less sturdy than they appeared at a distance, and the walls were filled with cracks where the logs didn’t meet. The roofs were made from wooden “shakes,” slightly mounded pieces of wood about two decimeters long, a decimeter wide and a couple of centimeters thick. He suspected that they leaked like a sieve in the rain.
He waited as Courtney kissed Mike good night, on the cheek, then followed the young man across the encampment. Mike seemed to find his way in the dark remarkably well for having been there only a day.
“I think you see better at night than I do,” Herzer said as he stumbled on one of the innumerable potholes. The area had been a forest up until a few days before and while the stumps had been rooted out and the holes filled, the rains had caused the soil within to slump.
“A couple of generations back on my mother’s side is a cat Change,” he said. “I do see well at night.”
“Do you know why there are so few Changed here?” Herzer asked, the question that had been nagging at the back of his mind coming to the fore again.
“Not really, but Courtney and I were discussing it. She thinks it’s a matter of adaptability. Most of the Changed take more energy, either food or externally derived, than unChanged humans. So, naturally, they were going to be at a disadvantage when the Fall came. Think about a werebear, for example. They need a lot of food, every day.”
“Yeah.”
“Or, think about a guy with wings. He’s got wings, but he can only fly with external power. And the wings weigh thirty, forty kilos
. Take away power, make him have to walk for days to get to shelter…”
“Yeah.”
“Makes me glad I never Changed. You ever think of Changing?” The question was hard edged, almost accusatory but, again, Herzer put it down to personality.
“Not really,” Herzer answered honestly. “A little bigger, a little beefier…” He flashed back to the scene at the bridge. Bigger wouldn’t have helped unless he was the size of a giant.
“You’re pretty big already,” Mike said with a questioning tone.
“That’s mostly natural genetics,” Herzer replied. “I… the muscle is sculpted but I worked for it. I was sick most of my life and I couldn’t bulk up no matter how hard I tried. So when I got fixed…”
“Yeah, whatever,” Mike said. “Here we are.”
Mike pushed open the flap — which appeared to be made of rough-cured deerskin — and led the way into the interior. Already the room was filled with the sound of snores.
“There’s a spot over here,” he said, pointing down the middle of the room.
To Herzer the interior was as black as pitch and quite cold. “Are there any blankets?”
“Not unless you brought one, but it warms up after a while,” Mike replied. He led the way down the center aisle to a spot between two of the sleeping bodies.
“Keep your boots on and double knot the laces,” his guide said. “I had somebody try to steal mine the first night.”
“Okay,” Herzer said, sitting on the floor. It was dirt and both moist and cool, and the air in the room was damp and filled with odors. He was suddenly glad that the problem of human body odor had been solved generations before, otherwise the room would have been truly foul.
He fell asleep on that happy note.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Rachel woke up with a face peering at her upside down.
“Who is this sleeping in my bed?” the girl asked. Her voice was low and sibilant with odd under and overtones, as if she was speaking through the opening in a cello.
Rachel sat up, pulling the bedclothes to her and spun around so that she could see who she was addressing.
The girl standing arms akimbo by the bed was short, no more than a meter and a quarter, and very oddly dressed. She had a sharply pointed face and long, black hair that dropped in curly waves down her back. She was wearing what could only be described as a green leather bikini made of some soft, washed leather. Leaves were entwined in her hair. On her left shoulder she had a pauldron while the other was bare. On her right calf she had a metal greave while her left calf was covered in a fur leg warmer. She was wearing sandals with a very slight heel and on her left forearm was an archer’s brace. That appeared to be the only bit of her ensemble that wasn’t for show since it was heavily scarred on the inside.
Her ears were pointed and her eyebrows curved upwards sharply…
“Are you an elf?” Rachel exclaimed. She had met a few. They were all tall, slender, and wore refined delicate clothing… the exact opposite in many ways of the caricature before her.
“Hai,” the elf exclaimed, sticking out a hand. That was another oddity; most elves avoided personal contact. “Bast the Wood Elf. Pleased ta meetcha. And who might you be?”
“I’m Rachel, Rachel Ghorbani… Edmund is…”
“Oh, aye! I know you! Haven’t seen you since you were a wee brat, though. No wonder you’re fillin’ up my bed. I nearly snuggled in with Edmund but he seemed as if he needed the sleep.”
“O-kay,” Rachel said. “Snuggled in…?”
“Oh, aye,” the elf replied. “Yer father an I go way back,” she added with a wink. “Before your mother, actually. And after a bit. Not during, though. I think Edmund had been hit on the head one too many times those days to toss me out of his bed for that wee slip of a lass. And you do be favoring her. You’re not going to go doing the same, are you?”
“With my father?”
“Ack, guess not. Good. We’ll be friends then.” Bast grabbed her by the shoulder and dragged her out of the bed, still clutching at the covers. For all her diminutive size the elf was enormously strong. “Come on, gal! Day’s a wastin’! Time to be up and about! Time for singin’ and dancin’. Wine, men and song!”
“Oh, Good God,” Edmund said from the open doorway. “I wondered what that racket was.”
“Mundi!” Bast yelled and ran across the room to swarm up the smith. She wrapped both legs around his waist and planted a kiss on him that would have scorched most men to the floor.
“Father! I’m not clothed!” Rachel snapped.
“I’ve seen it. Hell, I cleaned it as a baby,” Edmund answered in a muffled tone. “Bast,” he added, unwrapping the elf from his body and lowering her to the floor, “where in the hell did you come from? I thought you were in Elfheim.”
“And on that we need to be talking, Edmund Talbot,” Bast said with a tone of sadness. “We’ve much talking to do. But as I was tellin’ yer daughter, when I got in last night she was in one bed, Daneh, as I now take it, was in another and you looked all done in. Badly in need of a bit of snugglin’, but all done in. So I slept in the forge.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Edmund said.
“Eh, Carb’s good company,” the elf said with an eloquent shrug of her shoulders. “He knows some right good dirty jokes.”
“Yes, he does,” Edmund said, shaking his head. “And you’re too old for them. Rachel, for God’s sake, get some clothes on and then join us in the kitchen.”
“I will if you’ll get out of my room!” Rachel snapped.
“Well, maybe later,” Bast said, glancing at her again. “I’ve been known to care for the fairer sex as well…” she added with a wink.
She left Rachel sputtering.
* * *
When Rachel entered the kitchen she was surprised to see both Bast and Edmund looking sad and somber. She’d gotten over her surprise at the awakening and was looking forward to talking to the wood elf who had been the first person since the Fall who seemed actively cheerful.
“What’s wrong now?” she asked, scooping up a bowl of cornmeal mush, loading it with sorghum syrup and sitting down.
“Elfheim is closed,” Edmund said, seriously. “Closed from both sides, apparently.”
“The Lady does not want to be involved in your human war,” Bast said with another elegant shrug. “So She has closed Elfheim. All of the openings are shut.”
“But it’s not just a ‘human’ war,” Rachel said. “Paul is against all the Changed as well!”
She looked at Edmund’s wince and Bast’s amused expression and shook her head. “What did I say?”
“Elves are not Changed,” Bast said. “We were before Change. We are ourselves. Not human, not half-human. Humanlike, but not human. We are Elves.”
“Paul won’t care,” Rachel pointed out.
“Ah, agreed,” Bast said. “But the Lady makes the decisions for Elfheim and all the Race. And Her decision is to sit this one out as we sat out the AI wars and the Final War. In all of those, individual elves chose sides. It was from the group that fought in the AI wars, on both sides, that the wood elves arose. But the Lady stays neutral.”
“Not if Paul wins,” Rachel said. “If he wins he’ll destroy the elves.”
“Maybe,” Edmund said. “And then again, maybe not. The Lady has power in her own right. A lot of power. I wouldn’t want to go up against her. Is it just you on the outside?”
“No, Gothoriel and others are in exile. I don’t know where Gothoriel is now, but he said that he would come here anon.”
“And you?”
“I think for a while I will guest with you humans,” Bast said with a smile. “The woods are lovely in spring, but after a while hunting for the pot day in and day out begins to pall.”
“It’s not all beer and skittles here, Bast,” Edmund warned. “We’re all working as hard as we can.”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find a place to fill some need,” the elf said. “There
are so many opportunities!” she added with a wink and a wiggle that would have been banned in most ages.
“Minx,” Edmund said, standing up. “I’ve got another meeting to attend in just a few minutes so I had better go get cleaned up. I guess you two can keep yourselves entertained for the day. God help me.”
“Oh, I’m sure that Rachel won’t let me get in much trouble,” Bast said with a wink. “Go scrape a razor on your face, you look like a yeti.”
“They’re just legends,” Rachel said.
“Tell that to the one I was married to for a while,” Bast snorted.
“You were married to a yeti?” Rachel snorted. “Even if they were real, I mean why?”
“You ever seen their hands?” Bast said with a laugh. “Now think lower!”
“Argh, I stepped right into that.”
“You know you like it,” Bast chuckled.
“As the master said to his slave,” Rachel retorted then slapped her hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe I said that.”
“Neither can I!” Bast said with a glower. “You beat me to it!”
“Bast, there’s something important I have to tell you,” Rachel said.
“It’s okay, I don’t really go both ways,” Bast replied. “Often.”
“No, not that,” Rachel said exasperatedly. “I’m serious. On the way here my mother… we ran into some men.”
Bast leaned forward and stared into Rachel’s eyes. “She had a bad time with them?”
“Yes,” Rachel replied, thankful that she didn’t have to say the words.
“Where?” Bast asked.
“On a trail. South of the Via Appalia.”
“Hai. Take me to the place. They will not make same mistake twice. I’ll use hot irons, they’ll even be able to walk after a few days. If they survive the shock.”
“It’s a long way from here…” Rachel said.
“Not so far, I’d make it in one day,” Bast replied.
“And they’d be gone from there…”
“Am I not Bast? The greatest tracker in all of Norau, perhaps all of Elfdom?” Bast said.
