by David Winnie
“…But in the end, they were who they were, always returning to their brutal ways…”
Terrans were never known for their subtlety, even when colonizing their own world. Alien races were encountered, ones less advanced than Terra. Negotiations were considered and attempted. The aliens proved to be less open minded and more obstinate than the Terran negotiators believed possible. Terra returned to what had worked on their own world centuries before; asking the savages to join the Union. If they refused, then they were attacked and their culture destroyed.
This drew the attention of the government of the greater Sagittarius Arm, the Galactic Council. Comprised of two hundred seventy races, the Council watched with concern the spread of the Terrans. In 2512, they authorized the Solarians, a race of a similar technology, to destroy Terra.
The war was short and vicious. Earth had been continuously at war for over eight thousand years of recorded civilization. The Solarians quickly found themselves overwhelmed. In 2516, the Earth fleet orbited the Solarian home world and bombarded the Solarians to near extinction.
Not only was Earth victorious, most of the world had unified. A central government was established in Zurich. As the millennium continued, Earth continued its expansion and Mongolia absorbed more and more power within the Terran government. In 2983, Mongolia, with the support of its old friends; Persia, India, Pakistan and the Ottomans, seized control of the Terran Council. The Leader would be the Headman of Mongolia, the Khan, an ancient God/King title from the days when the Mongolian Empire spread across Eurasia.
It was just in time. Once again, the Galactic Council decided to move against Earth.
"You have been chasing a Legend, small thing. Now see the truth of thy Legend..."
Doctor Boradt was exhausted, his cilia lying flat across his body. “No, please!” he whimpered. Then screamed as the malevolent Guardian poured the story into his head…
Chapter 2
June 3015
“PITTH!”
The two small boys startled. “It’s your mama,” exclaimed the older boy. He looked at his muddy brother. “You’re in for it now! You were supposed to stay clean to meet Father.”
Today was Pitth’s fifth birthday. By tradition, he would be meeting his father for the first time. Headman Tenzing of the Khalkha tribe, first of all the tribes of modern Mongolia. Pitth was excited to be finally meeting the greatest man in all of Mongolia, if not all of Pan Asia.
That he was the second son meant little to the young boy. His older brother, Sui, would one day be headman. Pitth was relieved he would not have to live up to that responsibility. He could largely become what he wanted to be, provided he lived honorably and brought great face to his family and his father.
He swirled his hands in the water, trying to clean them. Sui had suggested they go play down by the slow-moving river. There, they had found sticks and leaves they fashioned into imaginary boats, pushing them along while they scurried along the muddy bank. It was great fun until Pitth’s mother called the young boy.
Sui shook his head. “You’re gonna get it,” he informed his younger brother. “Your mama is going to punish you for sure. And Father…” his voice trailed off.
Pitth stifled a sob as he ran back to the encampment. While his mother was second wife to the headman, she preferred to live amongst the small group of the Khalkha who still roamed the steppe, driving the herds, migrating from the highlands in the summer to the winter pastures. Pitth loved the life of a nomad. He could ride a pony even as he was learning to walk. The outriders kept any predator at bay (no fools, they were armed with modern needle rifles instead of ancient bows) so Pitth could spend the day with his friends riding and practicing with their bows. In an encampment like this, there was the river with its endless games and swimming.
But now he was five and would have to start attending classes. As first son, Sui lived in the Keep and attended classes there. When he turned ten, he would be going to Ulaan Baatar, the ancient capital of Mongolia to attend school there.
Pitth, the second son, would attend classes in the Keep until the time came for him to attend university. Pitth didn’t want to move to the Keep; his heart would always on the endless steppe.
Today he would meet his father. He would ride Father’s car to the Naadam Festival, the ageless jubilee dating back to the Great Khan, Genghis. In modern times, the tribes would be joined by allies from around Pan Asia and friends from around Earth. Pitth hoped aliens would be there, too.
He raced through the trail between the yurts that made up the camp. A sleek black air car was parked in front of home where he and his mother lived, with important looking men wearing shiny city clothes standing around it. The boy stopped, staring at the tall, dark suited men. His father’s guards. That meant his father was here already. Sui strolled up behind him. “Oh, you’re in for it now,” he told Pitth. “Well, go in, you mustn’t keep Father waiting.”
Mother was standing by the door, angry. She spied her son and waved. “Come here, silly boy. Look at you! I tell you to stay clean. Your father is here and you are filthy.” She tsk’d a few times, dragging him inside. “Tenzing! Here is your son.”
Pitth was in awe. His mother had showed him images of his father and he had seen him on the vid. And now he was here. Tall, long dark hair, the drooping moustache and goatee popular across Pan Asia. He was swarthy, as were both his sons, and had large hands, which he clasped behind his back and leaned down, inspecting his youngest son.
Finally, he asked, “So, my young son, have you been out rolling in the mud with the cattle?”
“No, Father,” gulped the child. “Sui and I were down at the stream, racing boats.”
“Boats, eh,” mussed Tenzing, “and on the Altai river. Astounding. Well, go clean up, boy. We can’t have you going to the Naadam looking like a street urchin.” He spun the boy about and swatted his behind, sending Pitth on his way.
His mother, Qui, gripped his arm and half pulled, half carried Pitth to the back of the yurt, where a heated pot of water sat. Pitth stripped and his mother roughly scrubbed him clean, admonishing the boy for getting so dirty and warning him to behave for his father or she would punish him severely when he got home.
He dressed in fresh trousers, shirt and jerkin, pulled on his boots, kissed his mother on the cheek and scurried out the door with his father. One of the men in the shiny suits held the door for the car as Pitth and his father climbed in.
The interior of the car was smooth leathers and rich woods. Pitth looked about, wide eyed at such luxury. A tall being sat opposite of Pitth and his father in the shadow of the interior.
“Pitth, this is Ryder Finn. He is my advisor and friend. Ryder, my number two son.”
Ryder Finn extended a blue hand. Pitth, slack jawed, looked at the long fingers, then grasped and shook it in western fashion as he had been taught. “I am pleased to meet the son of my good friend, Tenzing,” the blue man said in a low voice with a clipped accent.
“Are you an alien?” breathed Pitth. “Father, is he a real alien?”
Both men laughed. Ryder leaned to the boy and pulled back his cowl, exposing his gentle, handsome blue face and steel hair. “I am Ryder Finn of Mithranderer,” he explained. “She has sent me to know your people. That your father and I have become friends is a welcome result. Meeting his son is an honor.”
“Uh-huh,” was all Pitth could say. The men laughed again and ignored the boy as the car sprinted across the plains. Pitth twisted and stared out the window. How fast his father’s car was! The landscape was a blur as they raced toward the celebration.
Naadam Festival was said to have started in the ancient times of the Great Khan, Genghis and his son, Kublai. Three days in the summer, the tribes would gather to dance and eat, competing in horse racing, archery and wrestling. The festival had developed in the mid-twentieth century as a celebration of Mongolian independence.
Today, the festival lasted two weeks. As the largest and most prominent nation in P
an Asia, Mongolia hosted the event, of course, and invited all the nations of the world. Of late, the celestial colonies attended, along with friendly worlds in the Sagittarius Arm.
Soon, the air car slowed and entered a yurt village at the edge of the festival. A city had grown up of temporary habitations, each a representation of the state of the residents. Hence the Mongolian yurt village sat next to North American tipis, which might be beside a Persian dawah. The car parked next to an ordinary yurt and Tenzing led his son out. “I shall see you tomorrow,” Tenzing told Finn. “We can discuss the African situation.” The car sped off.
The smell of roasting meats made Pitth’s tiny stomach growl, remembering it had been hours since he had eaten. Dutifully, he followed father into the yurt. On a table at the center of the tent sat a steaming pot of buuz, dumplings stewed with chicken gravy. “Only one bowl, son,” his father said. “We have many pleasures to indulge today! I do not want you being too stuffed to enjoy them!” Tenzing began to change into traditional garb. “It is important we honor ancestors, Pitth,” he explained. “Our planet is going into the cosmos now. You are growing up in a world with one foot on Terran steppes, the other in the stars. If you lose your footing with ancestors, you will become lost. So, today, you and I will honor our ancestors on your special day.”
There was a shout outside the door as Tenzing finished dressing. He pushed back the door and waved to Pitth. A group of musicians and dancers in colorful clothing cried out and began singing, patting drums, crashing cymbals, and wailing stringed instruments. The dancers kicked and twirled, kneeling and leaping. “They are dancing the Tashi Sholpa for you, son,” Tenzing told the wide-eyed boy. “Our dance of good luck and fortune.”
A dancer held out her hand and pulled Pitth along, showing him how to stamp his feet and spin. It was great fun!
The song ended with a clash and everyone cheered and wished Pitth a happy birthday. Tenzing smiled and surreptitiously handed the troupe their payment. He took his son’s hand and they wandered into the fair.
Pitth never had a better day in his short life. His father led him through the fair, showing exotic animals not just from here on Earth, but from the planets Earth had colonized and from planets friendly to Earth. They laughed at the tiny, orange furred monkeys from Centauri, marveled at the shape shifters from Galamon 3. Pitth backed away from the pen holding a fierce meat eating cat from Vespa. It stood when it saw the small boy and crept toward the bars of its pen. The boy was mesmerized by the cat’s slitted golden eyes, its blue tongue panting hungrily over a double row of yellowed teeth. Pitth slid behind the protection of Father’s leg, certain Tenzing could protect him from the leering creature. Tenzing chuckled, picked up the small boy and sat him on his shoulders as they moved to the next display, that of a pink tufted bird from Luftstra.
After the menagerie, they went to the games of skill. Father demonstrated his prowess with a bow to his young son and was proud when Pitth showed he could shoot a child’s bow with skill. Tenzing entered Pitth in a pony race. He didn’t win, but finished a respectable third among the hundred five-year old riders.
They ate a hearty beef dinner and Tenzing allowed Pitth two sweet cakes for dessert. The child grew tired. Evening fell and Tenzing awoke his sleepy son to watch the dazzling fireworks. Pitth fell back asleep as Tenzing carried him back to the air car.
The great man delivered the sleeping boy back to his mother. “Thank you, Husband,” she told him. “He was so looking forward to meeting you.”
“He is a fine boy,” her husband answered. “He will make a fine addition to the Khalkha. You will have him ready in the morning?”
“By the sixth hour, as agreed,” she replied, but pursed her lips. “I am not sure he will understand.”
“He does not have to understand. He has to fulfill his duty.” He took her in his arms and they kissed. “Until morning, my wife,” he breathed.
“Until morning, my husband.”
Pitth woke with a happy groan, to the sound of his parents’ voices in the next room. He stared at the roof of the yurt, remembering the wonderful birthday he had spent with his father. At the chamber pot, he stood when he finished. The adults went silent.
His father regarded him and said, “It is time now, my son, to discuss what my plans are for your schooling. Doubtlessly, you expect to come with your brother and me back to the Keep.”
“Yes father,” Pitth exclaimed.
Tenzing shook his head. “No, Son, I have plans for you. You will accompany Ryder, who will take you down to Khmer, there to enter their great temple, Angkor wat.”
“Father!” gasped the boy, struggling to hold back tears. “I do not wish to be a priest!”
Tenzing pounded the table with a fist. “You will go to the temple as I have ordered,” he thundered. “You will go there, work hard, and study hard. You will be an example of my Khalkha tribe and you will bring honor to your people!”
Pitth lowered his head, hiding the tears in his eyes. “Yes, Father,” he answered. He would not lose face by crying in front of him now.
“Your mother has gathered your things and placed them in Ryder’s car. Say good bye to her and go.”
Pitth hugged his mother fiercely. “I don’t want to go, Mama,” he wept.
She patted his back. “It is time for you to learn and grow into a man,” she whispered. “Your father is showing you a great honor sending you to the Khmer. Go now, I will see you return a man.”
“Yes, Mama,” he replied and kissed her soft cheek.
Pitth rubbed his tears away with his sleeve. He marched across the room to the door, stopping only to glance around the room where he had spent his whole life. Mother’s sleeping area where he would crawl for protection when the terrifying thunderstorms swept across the steppes. His own sleeping area, the soft furs he would nest in when it became too dark to read or too late to stare at the stars. Mother and Father sat at the table in the middle of the room watching him leave. Father gave a small, understanding nod. Pitth brightened and left his childhood home.
The village was already bustling. Goatherds snapped their switches, directing their flocks to the feeding grounds. Women and girls sat in the morning sun, their hands slapping the loaves of the day’s bread. Night watchmen shuffled wearily to their homes, their needle guns over their shoulders, to eat, to sleep and ready themselves to protect the community at the next dark.
“Boy, come along.” Ryder Finn was standing beside the shiny air car holding the door. Pitth set his jaw and marched to his future.
They made the long journey in silence. Pitth watched out the window as the steppes turned to mountains, then into forest. The mountains returned as they approached Khmer, poking their white tips through lush jungle.
Ryder Finn circled the vast temple complex. The center was an ancient cluster of stone buildings with domes and spires. Further out were modern building surrounding the ancient complex. All the buildings were of grey stone, brightened by colorful gardens, banners and garlands. From each spire and many poles around the place, prayer flags lazily hovered and danced with the breeze.
The air car settled on a flat grassy area. A tall, bald man wearing a bright yellow robe with a red sash bowed as Pitth approached. “Greetings, Pitth, son of our benefactor Tenzing who is a great friend of my master, Tok. I am Adept Nom Ng, and I am to be your proctor during your time here at the temple.” Two bald boys appeared. Older than Sui, they wore only wrappings over their privates. Adept Ng spoke to them in a language foreign to Pitth. They took his belongings and raced away.
“Thank you for delivering my charge, Master Finn.” Ng bowed deeply to the blue man.
Ryder Finn returned the bow and said, “He is a good boy. You will, of course, notify us when he is ready.”
Ng nodded. Satisfied, Finn turned and re-entered his air car. It whined to power and flew away as Pitth followed Ng’s path leading away from the grassy knoll. Their path twisted through the ancient stones, revealing patios and gardens
. Males and females intersected their path, and not all the beings were human. A green, feathered girl (at least young Pitth thought it was a girl) smiled at him and bowed her head as they hurried past.
They arrived at a large garden, a fountain mounted along the wall. Another bald man, wearing the classic saffron robe but with a green sash, sat on the grass, his eyes closed.
He was old, older than even Grandmother, Pitth could see. He was shaven as any other in this place, but with heavy white eyebrows and a long, thin strand of white sprouting from his chin, reaching the middle of his stomach. “Enter, my young friend, Pitth.” The ancient priest’s voice was thin, but strong. “Please, sit here with me.”
Pitth sat close to the priest, Ng kneeling gracefully at Pitth’s side. “I am Tok, master bonze. Your father has requested that I oversee your education while you are with us. My student, Ng, will be your proctor, but I am here to show you your path and lead you to becoming a pious, modest man.”
“I do not wish to become a priest!” blurted Pitth.
“I am pleased you can see that much of your path,” Master Tok’s answer was kind. “Though a shame. I can see you have a powerful spiritual center, even if you cannot. Pity. So, where does your path lie, young Pitth?”
Pitth stared at his fiddling fingers. No one had ever asked him that. There were many things he liked to do; ride horses, hunt, and play with his friends. His future was as clouded as the winter sky. “I don’t know,” was his weak response.
“Excellent!” Tok exclaimed, “It leaves us so many more venues to explore if you have no idea where you want to go. Come then, young Pitth, Ng and I will accompany you on your journey.”
Chapter 3
