Medieval Mars: The Anthology (Terraformed Interplanetary Book 1)

by Travis Perry

  “We’ve landed?” Grandmaster Justin asked. He winced as he tried to move. “Good job, lad.”

  Brother Lucas scrambled to his side. “Let me check you.”

  Color had faded from the Grandmaster’s face. Sweat beaded around his eyes and mouth; the old bandage was soaked through and stiff with dried blood. Brother Lucas didn’t remove the dressing but carefully wrapped their last bandage atop of the old one. Nothing in the situation looked good. He pulled the riding cloak tighter around the Grandmaster and offered an encouraging smile. “Let’s see if I can find some food.”

  They ate a few handfuls of dried grain and washed it down with water. The Grandmaster ate with his own hands. A good sign, Brother Lucas prayed. They huddled close in the ornithopter, wrapped in riding cloaks and wool blankets as bitter night settled in. There wouldn’t be any fires until they reached home.

  Sleep proved fitful as the temperature fell. The Grandmaster fidgeted and mumbled in the dark, “Stand over there, Lynette. Such a worrisome child. For your punishment, you will recite one hundred times, I will not steal. I will not lie.”

  Brother Lucas chuckled and he was finally able to fall asleep.

  They were already flying when the sun colored the eastern sky. Brother Lucas had been worried, but the ornithopter responded well to him. What was more worrisome was the Grandmaster’s refusal to eat. The pain was visible as he sat. The racking coughs came more frequently and with more force. He still held his journal, determined to lead them home.

  Early afternoon he heard Grandmaster Justin call. For a moment, his heart froze, but the Grandmaster pointed south at the rugged rim wall of the crater Eddie. They were still on course.

  When the sun neared the western horizon, Brother Lucas saw the Corinto Crater in the distance. They had made remarkable time. He felt a surge of strength and was determined to keep flying with home only a few hours away. Foolishness, Lucas, he scolded himself. The Lord didn’t give you night eyes like a bat! You’d probably crash into a Mons somewhere before getting halfway there.

  Reluctantly he landed and tended to the Grandmaster while he still had light. Despite his pleas, the Grandmaster refused food and water again.

  They huddled together that night against the cold. Grandmaster shuddered and whispered.

  “What was that, Master?”

  “I hope there is more,” the Grandmaster said, a bit stronger. “Now that I’m at the door, I pray there is more beyond this life.”

  “Don’t talk that way. Just stay with me, you old goat. You’ll be home harassing Lady Lynette tomorrow.”

  A chuckle turned into a wheezing cough. The Grandmaster drew a ragged breath. “How can you be so sure of an afterlife, something you’ve never seen or touched, Lucas?”

  “That is the essence of faith. It is the evidence of things not seen. All you have to do is open your heart to the Lord Jesu.”

  Grandmaster Justin sank deeper into the heavy covers. “I’ll think about it, my friend. Right now, I am so tired…”

  Brother Lucas wrapped his arm around the Grandmaster’s hot, shivering body. He began to pray the vespers that he’d neglected over the last few days. Heal my brother, my Lord. Give him strength. Forgive me for the doubts that so easily beset me.

  He didn’t really expect a voice to answer his prayer, but a gentle warmth settled over him. Phobos raced toward the east across a backdrop of stars brighter than Brother Lucas had ever seen before. He listened to the Grandmaster’s labored breathing, their chests rising and falling together, until sleep overcame him.

  He awoke as dawn spread across the desolate land. The Grandmaster didn’t stir and Brother Lucas held his breath as he searched for a pulse. He finally found it, weak and racing.

  “Just a few more hours and you’ll be lying in your own bed,” Brother Lucas said. He settled into the seat at the front of the ornithopter. “Just a few hours, I promise.”

  A stiff breeze blew from the west and towering clouds filled the sky. He had to pump harder and longer to fight the wind and soon had the beautiful craft flying straight for the Corinto Crater. “Just a few hours, Justin. Promise.”

  The craft skimmed over a sea of rock and brown scrub brush. Brother Lucas wouldn’t rest even when his legs cramped after what seemed like endless hours. What if they were lost? What if Paradisus was still hours away?

  Then a patchwork of fields came into view and next the pale walls of the great hall. Paradisus. “We’re home, Grandmaster!” Brother Lucas shouted.

  He pulled back on the lever and pumped harder. The ornithopter rose. He made a pass over the town and saw people pointing and waving. He banked west. People poured from the town as he eased the craft down onto the Western road.

  He threw down the rope ladder as soon as the craft rolled to a stop. “Hurry! The Grandmaster—” He turned and saw the Grandmaster’s blue lips and unblinking eyes. He stumbled forward, pushing trembling fingers against the Grandmaster’s neck

  Lady Lynette was first to climb the ladder, looking like a commoner again, dressed in a simple smock. “What happened? Where’s the Seeker?”

  Brother Lucas’s throat tightened. “Dead,” he muttered, his voice no more than a whisper. “Both dead. The Seeker attacked Grandmaster Justin.”

  “And the Seeker?”

  “I killed him! Heaven forgive me!” He began throwing what little supplies were left from the craft. “Help me! We must seed the clouds!”

  “Calm down, Lucas,” Lady Lynette ordered. “That can wait.” She motioned and two Brothers of the Shield climbed into the ornithopter. “Take Grandmaster Justin’s body to his chambers. Afford him all the respect due his office.”

  The Brothers of the Shield squeezed past Brother Lucas and lifted the Grandmaster. He bit his lip to keep from screaming or crying as they lowered the lifeless body to waiting hands.

  He spun toward Lady Lynette, yelling, “It can’t wait!” He pointed to the bags of silver iodide. “Justin died getting you what you wanted. I will honor his memory by finishing it. Now, while we still have daylight!”

  Lady Lynette didn’t lash out at him, even though she had every right, being the govness of all Mons Elysium. She gazed at the sky and slowly nodded. “There’s plenty of clouds. We’d better get started.”

  “Lynette?” Brother Lucas stammered. “M’lady?”

  “I’m going with you,” She raised her hands to silence any protest. “I’ve studied the texts from the first colonists. I’m the only one who knows what to do.”

  She offered one of her brilliant smiles. “The two of us together on a grand adventure just like the old days.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” someone demanded. Ronald ambled toward the ornithopter. “I can’t allow it.”

  Lady Lynette pointed to the ladder. “If you’re so concerned about protecting me, Ronald, join us,”

  Ronald stopped. His hand twitched against his sword hilt. “Won’t have any part of that devil machine.”

  “Thought so,” Lady Lynette said. Her smile gave way to determination as she glanced at Brother Lucas. “Let’s fly.”

  Brother Lucas leaned close. “M’lady, I’ve not flown the craft more than a couple dozen meters off the ground.”

  “Then it will be an exciting ride for us both.”

  Town-dwellers, Ronald not among them, turned the ornithopter east and Brother Lucas took off with the wind at their back. He held the rudder control tight to keep his hands from shaking. He pulled back and the craft rose sharply toward the towering white clouds. He pushed the pedals hard in a steady rhythm and the wings of Grandmaster Justin’s glorious machine beat the air.

  His heart racing, Brother Lucas glanced over his shoulder. He chuckled as Lady Lynette sat white-faced and white-knuckled next to a bag of sodium iodide.

  The land and city shrank away. The people looked like ants on the western road. The temperature dropped with each minute. Cold air hit Brother Lucas’s face and burned his lungs. Still they rose.

  The craf
t suddenly lurched in a strong wind gust. The front of the craft lifted, pushing Brother Lucas hard into his seat. Lady Lynette shouted, clinging to the side of the ornithopter’s basket to keep from slipping.

  Suddenly, cold white mist swallowed them. The world disappeared in the heart of a cloud. Brother Lucas leveled the ornithopter’s flight and felt movement behind him. He knew Lady Lynette had opened a bag of sodium iodide from the Time of Magic.

  She moved close to him. “This is for the people of Paradisus and Mons Elysium,” she shouted. She lifted her hand, releasing a trail of fine yellow powder.

  “This is for Grandmaster Justin,” Brother Lucas shouted back as Lady Lynette released another handful of powder. This is for you, my friend.

  Epilogue

  Brother Lucas knelt in the wet grass, his cuculla soaked through, as rain continued to fall from a slate-gray sky. Lady Lynette stood at the foot of the grave, wearing a heavy cloak against the weather, her head bowed.

  Brother Lucas inserted a small wooden cross into the soft dirt next to Grandmaster Justin’s Royal Order of NASA. Silently he prayed his friend had found peace before he died. He didn’t know if the Grandmaster had opened his heart, but he felt something deep in his own heart that bordered on peace, and that was enough.

  “You won’t change your mind?” Lady Lynette asked. “I need you on the council.”

  Brother Lucas shook his head and stood. “My training starts in three weeks. Others are able to fly the ornithopter now. It’s time for me to go, m’lady.”

  “You know I’ll miss you.”

  Heat bathed Brother Lucas’s cheeks as he nervously brushed dirt from his hands. “I’ll be back in one cycle. The children need a teacher.”

  “Grandmaster Justin would be proud of you,” Lady Lynette said and smiled. She walked to his side and poked his arm. “I wonder, should I call you Brother Lucas or Master Lucas when you return?”

  Brother Lucas lifted his head to the falling rain and smiled. “Either one is fine, m’lady. I’ll answer to both.”

  End

  Mark Venturini’s short fiction and flash fiction has appeared in various print and electronic magazines over the years. His middle grade fantasy novel, Whispers from Forbidden Earth, came out in 2013. Mark’s short story compilation, Darker Passages, and the science fiction series, Colony Zero, came out in 2014. Blood Tithe-Volume 1-The Chosen was released in April 2015.

  Mark enjoys the outdoors and loves to kayak and backpack through the beautiful mountains of Southwestern Pennsylvania.

  The Dragon’s Bane

  by Cindy Koepp

  Most people wish for a soft life in the courts of the various govnors. There’s food and spirits, songs and dances, beautiful clothes and interesting company. I been to Mons Olympus and Mons Ascraeus to deliver messages for the Brotherhood of the Shield, and I couldn’t get out of the bitter cold and thin air fast enough. And the crowds? Well, some people are meant for life at court, and there’s nothing wrong with that if it suits you. As a circuit rider for the Brotherhood with a special dispensation to ride alone, a man can do pretty well for himself and rarely step into anything more confining or crowded than his tent. That suits me.

  I been riding this circuit for more cycles than I bothered to count. The pastores at the Gran Templo Bautista of New San Diego have tried many times to get me to retire to an easier life, but I’m just not ready to turn in my spurs. Most likely, I never will be. Ranger, my horse, feels the same, I’m sure. Ranger and me, we ride our patrol, rooting out bandits and protecting pilgrims on the way to Gran Templo. If there’s a better life, I don’t know what it’d be.

  The days don’t really matter to me anymore. I get up with the sun, ride along my way, deal with whatever bandits come along, and then set up camp and tend to Ranger before I bed down for the night. My supplies? I get them from the towns I come across or from the pastores at Gran Templo if I’m riding with a group of pilgrims.

  Just a few days ago, I left my last group at Gran Templo on the shore of the Chryse Sea. Now I’m headed back along the path, checking out rumors of shady characters along some of the less-used routes. You’d think that my job would be easier if travelers would just stay to the major paths, but that’s not the case. See, if I didn’t patrol these back roads from time to time, some group of riffraff would set up and get themselves established and start harassing villages and travelers. Then instead of dealing with them myself, I’d have to round up some help, and that means a trip to one of the mons or the larger holdings in Chryse, which neither me nor Ranger are terribly interested in.

  So, I never take the same roads twice in a row, and I never publish which routes I’m going to take the next time I go out. The pastores used to ask me about my plans, but after getting a few answers of “Whichever road God sends me on,” they don’t bother me about it.

  The road I’m on today takes me straight inland from the sea along a winding path that’s hardly big enough for a good-sized wagon. The dark grass is dense and cattails are already taller than Ranger’s head where the water has collected. This area of Chryse becomes a wetland this time of year when the snow melt off the mountains swells the streams and fills the valleys, and just about any other low spot. That’ll make finding a place for my campment a bit of a challenge, but a little water never hurt no one, long as you keep your face out of it.

  There’s a village called Lanatae up ahead. It’s situated on a shallow rise, not nearly enough of one to bother calling it a mesa. I expect to find a decent site for my tent near there. Lanatae’s a simple place, couple dozen families of shepherds, mostly. Not rich, but not starving, either. That’s about all the blessing a man can hope for.

  The sun’s headed for the horizon now. The air will turn colder, but nothing like up on the mons until well after midnight, and I plan to be sleeping by then. I need to be thinking about a campment on this higher ground. Once I pass Lanatae, the ground drops off again into almost swampy conditions. I near the rise up to Lanatae and find me a good spot amongst the scraggly brush, out of the water but with a flooded stream near enough that Ranger can have a good long drink. He deserves it, and I’m upstream of town, so it’s safe enough.

  I’ve just about got my campment set when the wind carries some shrill voices hollering from nearby. Might just be some of the villagers in Lanatae fussing about something, but there’s quite a ruckus, and maybe there’s something I need to know.

  I swing up into Ranger’s saddle and ride on to Lanatae less than half a kim farther on the trail. What looks like most of the men in the town and a few of the women are gathered in the street yelling loud enough to be heard clear to Mons Olympus. They’re so intent on shouting each other down, they don’t even notice me. The way they’re carrying on, I doubt they can hear each other let alone a rider coming up the hill. I know some of the more prominent men, and later I’ll have to remind them about keeping a better watch. If I’d been here to cause some trouble, they’d have let me get too close unchallenged.

  For now, though, their lack of watchfulness works in my favor. Gives me a chance to listen to what the fuss is about. I can only make out a few words here and there, but there’s enough to get me real curious. If I’m making good sense of the squabble, there’s a fire-breathing dragon or two killing sheep, and that’s awful strange.

  See, there are dragons, of course, but they live in the desert, not the wetlands, and they spit acid, not fire, and they do their business in the daytime, not at night when the cold slows them down too much to be any good for much more than bedding down in a nice, warm burrow. Sure, there are rumors of fire-breathers, but for all the traveling I’ve done, I’ve never laid eyes on one. They’re supposed to live way south of here, far away from any decent folk.

  Finally, someone notices me. That’s Luse Meyers, the mayor of this tiny town. His graying brown hair’s starting to fall out, and he’s put on a bit of weight. If he’s not careful, he’s going to have a belt the same length as his height. Still, last time I wa
s this way, I found him a decent enough fellow, but a little too fascinated with the latest gossip, if you ask me.

  Luse draws a deep breath and somehow manages to out-shout the crowd. “Quiet down! Quiet down, please! A circuit rider’s here.”

  A couple gents get their last say, and then everyone turns to stare at me, which makes me sick to my stomach. That feeling just gets worse when the crowd starts coming my way. I hate crowds.

  I back Ranger up a few steps to keep our distance. “That’s plenty close enough.”

  The crowd stops, an amazement but a welcome one.

  “Now what’s all this about fire-breathing dragons and dead sheep?” I lean forward in the saddle.

  Everyone starts hollering again, this time to make sure I hear them, but with everyone talking all at once, I can’t hear a whole idea from anyone. I tug off my leather helmet, scratch my head, and put my helmet back on. This is getting me nowhere.

  “I’m going back to my campment. Pick one spokesman to come tell me what’s going on, if you want my help at all.” I turn Ranger back toward our tents.

  If anything, the noise gets louder and the whole group follows.

  “Wait, rider!” Luse yells over the noise. “You’ve got to quiet down now. This here’s Dannel Canterel.”

  No one’s more surprised than me when the mob quiets down. Really didn’t expect anyone to know my name, but I been past here a few times every year, so maybe that’s enough of an introduction. I rein in Ranger and turn back toward them. “Now, what’s the problem?”

  One tall, gangly fellow who’s going bald before his hair can turn gray steps closer. “These people are expecting me and my boys to look after sheep with a fire-breathing dragon around.”