Fit for Life

[Críostóir]

Hmm. I suspect the language barrier may be the least of it.

 

[DonQuixote]

Maybe we could send our guys along with Hillary & Tim Geithner as they head off to the Forbidden City to meet w/ the Chinese . . .

Great chapter, Kuli.
The are of shuttle diplomacy and working with authoritarians who put pomp above substance.
Where's that Benefibre? Maybe one of the Lancers can help unblock his colon for him, lol.

Living History Lessons are great.

I'm just wondering if they should have done part of the camp a la Haudenosaunee style, to appeal to the other part of the city-village?

And, how have they survived with out weapons?
Are they that far from the Others?
No Big Cats looking for a morsel now and again?

 

[Kyanimal]

Hmmm ... I'm not exactly sure 'when' and 'where' we are now. I'm assuming The City has been left behind, and we're quite a few days away from there. I'm wondering about the metal gained, and also how Mervynn is doing.

I do recall mention of the Ronams before, as described by the Haudenosaunee, and, like Antonio, my curiosity is being frustratingly held at bay by 'barriers'. So far, though, they don't seem to be what I was expecting. No weapons? Or ... are they hiding theirs, too?

I would think after several days, there would have been a few curious villagers making casual contact with the 'strangers'. However, it seems everyone, except the 'welcoming' detail, have kept their distance. They do seem to be a very tightly controlled people, in more ways than one.

Fascinating chapter! Looking forward to More!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Kulindahr]

Hmmm ... I'm not exactly sure 'when' and 'where' we are now. I'm assuming The City has been left behind, and we're quite a few days away from there. I'm wondering about the metal gained, and also how Mervynn is doing.

I do recall mention of the Ronams before, as described by the Haudenosaunee, and, like Antonio, my curiosity is being frustratingly held at bay by 'barriers'. So far, though, they don't seem to be what I was expecting. No weapons? Or ... are they hiding theirs, too?

I would think after several days, there would have been a few curious villagers making casual contact with the 'strangers'. However, it seems everyone, except the 'welcoming' detail, have kept their distance. They do seem to be a very tightly controlled people, in more ways than one.

Fascinating chapter! Looking forward to More!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

Recall that a few chapters back, Rigel split the "team", starting with sending Conal north with messages.dispatches in case the weather turns bad and they're stuck down south a while. Devon, being the Engineer, headed for the City to get metal, Eldon was appointed to take charge of a number of folks staying behind to settle Rigel's new lands -- and Antonio left to seek out the "Daregoan", whom we now suspect to be the d'Aragon he seeks.


And now, if patience serves me and Murphy visits elsewhere, I'll have the next chapter posted soon.

 

[Kulindahr]

199
People of Peace
​

After all Frank’s effort of learning the language, with the dedicated help of Oran and Cristobal, and the patience of Antonio, the welcome was an anti climax. They were asked if they had any weapons, they declared they did not. The Consil, as the man with the fasces had been identified once their language teacher was satisfied they’d pronounce it correctly – and he required Frank, Oran, and Cristobal to each get it right – recited rules for visitors – they could enter any building marked with a single fasces with no hammer head, they could request entry to any building marked with a hammer head fasces, they could enter the few buildings marked with both only if summoned, and any other buildings they could enter only if the roof-keeper invited them... and requests weren’t allowed; they could walk on any stone pavement at any time, on stone-chip paths only in daylight, and on dirt paths only in the company of a citizen...the list wasn’t long, but some of it was puzzling – like the requirement to declare to a roof-keeper how much metal they were wearing, before entering – and others were humorous yet sensible, like the rule that if one needed to relieve himself of water, the clusters of bushes with red-striped leaves around the black oak were for that purpose, while for solids they had “soil houses”.

The corporal of the honor guard had the lancers recite the rules back until he was sure they understood, leaving the Consil standing looked annoyed. “Lord, these six men can be trusted to go in with you. I stay, to instruct others.” Frank translated that for the Delegation. The Consil’s eyebrows rose, while several others looked thoughtful and lightly pleased. “We honor your customs”, Frank added on seeing the expressions. “In our land there is a saying, ‘When in Rome, do as the Ronams do.” He allowed a small grin to show. “This is not that great city, but you are Ronams.”

That brought approval – the Consil said so: “This is a good saying. We are edified in your knowing it.” Then he turned to Antonio.

“Equis Antonio, what metal do you bear?”

Antonio was tempted to say “only enough to make me sweat”. But he replied with a short list – they’d all purposely worn as little as possible, just because of the question. “Guards on the toes and heels of my boots, a buckle on my belt, my eating knife, and a clip for my cloak.” One by one the others made their own recitations – the lancers shed the metal parts of their armor while the others spoke. And so they entered the town.

Two blocks in they came on the Haudenosaunee scouts. They were involved in a game with sticks and two balls. Antonio stopped and stared.

Oran laughed. “Tepocah asked me not to tell you. The Haudenosaunee are known here. Enough here speak their language they didn’t have to learn this one.”

“How long have they been in the town?” Antonio asked, his irritation softened by Oran’s humor.

“Before we got here. The ones out front just said hello and went on in as they reached it.” Oran laughed. “Tepocah thought it was funny when he told me. He pushed my chin back up”, the Scout shared.

At that, Antonio laughed. If Oran had gotten hit, too, things felt better. “Well, they did say they knew the way. Just – think of some prank we can play on them.”

Oran frowned. “I’ll try. But I don’t really get their humor. So... when do you bring in the sword?”

Antonio turned to face him. “How do you know I’ll bring it in?”

Oran grinned. “You’re Antonio the Hunter. You don’t wait for your game to come to you.”

Antonio had to laugh. “You’re right. Well, I’ll bring it once I have an idea of who to bring it to.”


So they explored. The town had three sections, one for each of the peoples. Of course they had to visit each, though Antonio’s interest was with the first encountered: though the delegation which came to meet them had seemed Roman, the westernmost section of the town was in fact d’Aragonian. Its architectural style ranged from square-timbered houses with thin bricks between the timbers, to sheer stone.

“They were running out of trees”, Frank observed, stopping in the street. “The buildings near the gate have square-timbered frames. Right back there, they’re about half timber and half brick. Look up ahead – that inn is almost all timber.”

“It’s kind of mixed”, Oran objected. “That one over there is all brick.”

Frank nodded. “They built with lots of space between them at first. Then they filled in.” He noticed Antonio was staring at the inn. “Tell, lord hunter”, he urged.

Antonio blinked and shook his head. “That inn’s a copy of one in Padillo”, he told the softly, marveling. “I wonder....” He set off at a jog, leaving Oran, Tepocah, Cristobal, and Frank to follow, wondering what he was wondering. Down a block and around a corner, Frank nearly ran into Antonio’s back as the lord stopped abruptly and Scout reflexes – and Haudenosaunee; Oran couldn’t decide what their gift was – let them dodge aside.

“The same house”, Antonio marveled. “That’s the old d’Aragon townhouse. They even got the colors right.”

“Earth tones aren’t hard”, Oran pointed out.

Antonio nodded, then turned around to look at the inn. “This isn’t quite right – it’s wider than the original. But I bet Don Ramón could find his way around with no trouble.”

“Let’s go in”, suggested Cristobal. “I’m thirsty.”

Antonio nodded. “The Delegation didn’t say how getting food and drink works”, he mused. “Oran–“

“The guy following us should know”, replied Scout Two. He flashed from relaxed and still into motion, dashing across the street and then cutting left. Scout speed carried him so fast his quarry never guessed he was a target.

“Hola”, Oran said cheerfully, while pinning his target with uncompromising eyes. “¿Quieres ir con nosotros, y beber?” Want to come with us, to drink?

“Ah... ¿como puedo decir ‘no’?” Um... how could I say ‘no’? Oran guessed the man was a few years older than he was. Now he was sure this was a true d’Aragon: he spoke good Quistador.

Caval d’Arboles was his name, and he was a treasure of information. The inn had been built before the Settlement, he related, matching one in the home in the north, except more spacious because the master trader had felt cramped in those rooms. Three other buildings were from before the Settlement, too – a blacksmith’s shop, a stables, and a large house where those who served the two establishments lived. Of course the stables had become a potter’s and a yarner’s, since the last horses had died generations ago. The master in the north had feared trouble, the Great Book said, so the last caravan south had been extra large, bringing many of the family. Then at last had come the pitiful few to escape at the end, with word to remain: their home in the north was gone.

It had taken a number of years for the People to adjust to the fact that the d’Aragon were there to stay, not just visiting to trade. Over fifty years passed until they were invited to be part of the People. That came after the death of the last person not born here. Why? The People never explained. They hadn’t interfered, either, as the d’Aragon turned their trading station into a village that budded off their own. Then once they accepted, a hundred Ronams had come over and announced they wanted to be d’Aragon. That surprised the Master of the House, but he thought about it quickly and decided if their families married in, they could be d’Aragon. There were quite a few marriages between children then – of course they didn’t consummate them until both were fourteen. After that, others joined.

The People have this custom that at whatever age one becomes an adult (Caval explained), one could choose his sept – his part of the People. Mostly, Ronams stay Ronams, and d’Aragon stay d;Aragon, and First stay First. But Ronams becoming d’Aragon isn’t a surprise, or d’Aragon becoming Ronam – that doesn’t happen as often, though. But one of those becoming First, or a First becoming one of those, is really rare.

“Wait – why is it rare?” Oran interrupted.

“Ronams and d’Aragon don’t breed well with First”, Caval replied. “For having a marriage, the Elders first check to determine if there might be offspring.”

“The First aren’t people?” Antonio asked, at the same time Frank queried, “How different from humans are they?”

Looking back and forth between the two, Caval threw up his hands. “Come look!” he declared.

Oran grabbed his shoulder to keep him from standing. “First tell me why you were following us.”

They could tell Caval was weighing choices. Antonio started to speak, but Oran shook his head and put a finger on his lips. The wait was agonizing, but finally the young man spoke. “I am curious. Some friends and I wished to know more about you. I was chosen to observe.”

Oran chuckled. “Trying to stalk a hunter – you got caught.” His expression turned serious. “I think you volunteered, too.”

Caval sighed. “More or less. I would have volunteered, but my friends know me. They chose me before I could say anything.”

Antonio laughed at that. “Good to have friends like that. Okay – you want to observe, you come with us. You can be our guide. First – let’s see the First.” Oran rolled his eyes; Frank groaned. Caval gave a slight grin and led off.


The First People had rounded huts, some small one-room dwellings, others two stories high. Some had bulges off to the side, reminding Oran of Casey’s two-igloo shelter after the avalanche. A glimpse inside showed brick and wood under the thatch, though. Caval informed them the outside was a tradition, since when the First had originally settled here. On the way they passed through the Roman section. “Looks just like the movies”, Oran observed. “Definitely Roman.”

“Ronam”, Caval corrected absently. He was very alert, watching everywhere at once.

“You need some lessons”, Cristobal admonished. “All the world can see you wish to see someone.”

“He wishes not to see someone”, Tepocah corrected. “He is alert like prey, not like hunter.” His glance at Antonio brought a chuckle from Oran; their leader was focused forward, on where they were going, like he was stalking prey.

“I... had some problems with some Ronams”, Caval admitted. “I was advised by the elders to avoid them. If they see me here–“

“So let’s hurry”, Oran finished. He moved into a jog, drawing the rest with him. Within a minute they were surrounded by rounded huts, not a Roman in sight.

Antonio looked around at the people, mouth hanging open. “They’re not even human!” he exclaimed softly.

Oran sucked in breath and nibbled at his lower lip. “Frank”, he called quietly, you knew Mervynn before, right?” There was no need to say before what.

“Nobody truly knew Mervynn”, Frank replied. “Why?”

“His face changed, didn’t it?”

Frank snorted. “His whole body changed! Those two thum.... Saints and bards – they have two thumbs!” Their translator started getting excited. “And the legs are longer, like his were, after! These are the people the Snatcher made him more like! Do you think they’re the original race here?”

“No.” Antonio’s tone carried certainty. “Too many human features. Oran, look close, and you’ll see the interbreeding. They may be descended from the originals, but they’ve bred with humans. Question is, why?”

Oran shrugged. “Standing here won’t tell – let’s go ask.”


It was easy enough. Just a handful of minutes later they were seated cross-legged on pillows stuffed with moss, with woven straw covers, in a hut that really was what it looked like: a framework of poles, bundles of thatch tied on with vines. Frank called it a yurt; Oran wondered how bundles of grass could keep the rain out.

“Call it Elder”, Caval instructed as they waited. He knew the question he’d just raised. “When First become elderly, their bodies change, so they aren’t ‘he’ or ‘she’ any more.” Frank started to ask how that fit with breeding with humans, but the Elder arrived.

“I can tell you the history of my people”, it began. “Once there were large cities, and we filled the land. We became too many, so disease struck. Almost all died, but not all. Survivors gathered. One who had been an Elder gave leadership. He bade them search out bands, and bring them together. Those bands came here and joined into one. But they were not yet the People.
“Disease struck again. Skin became black and flaky for those struck. Many died. The rest were changed.
“Some bands had moved into the nearest city. I know not whether the disease struck them. But strange vessels came from the sky. The city threw light and energy at them, and the vessels did so in return. One vessel fell to the earth and struck ground in the city.
“There was much death. So those who dwelt here made a covenant, and swore an oath to never be violent. The People were born.
“Since then, we remain the People. A thousand and more years have passed, and we remain. We do no violence. We make no war. We live, and share life.”

It took Antonio till halfway through the Elder’s speech to realize it was speaking Lost British English. When it finished, he asked about that.

“You are not that people. Yet you resemble then. I ventured that you understood the speech. I am pleased to be correct.”

Antonio nodded. He liked speaking directly instead of through Frank. “How can you breed with humans?” he asked.

“At first, with great difficulty. Some few had a talent which eased the process. Many accepted human partners when they came, to make us safe from the disease, should it come again. None now are purely what we were. Each generation moves slowly away from what the disease will know.”

“Are you sure it’s still around?” Oran inquired.

The Elder nodded. “It lives, in the city. For this reason the city is called Forbidden.”

“Hey! The Escobars call it forbidden!” he exclaimed. “Do you know them?”

“I know not this name. Therefor, we know them not.”

“The Haudenosaunee – I bet they’ve been there”, Cristobal suggested. “The way they move, they could go across the world.”

“Around the world”, Oran corrected. “But I get you’re right. Osvaldo didn’t know why it was forbidden. I bet they said, ‘It’s forbidden to you’, so the Escobars expect other people can go there.
“But if it’s full of disease, Devon and everybody are in trouble.”

Tepocah shook his head. “Oran, I’ve seen that city. They would be there by now, and gone. That’s where they were when you were attacked in the mind.”

“Oh – right. Duh. Memory fart.” He turned back to the Elder. “Sorry. What else should we know?”


“The guidings, you know; else you would not be here itself. Have you questions?”

Frank did. “The fasces the Consul carried. What exactly do they represent?” In reply, the Elder turned and took a plaque off the wall, and handed it to Frank with what passed for a smile on the face.

“Whoa – Antonio, there are inscriptions! Both have the initials ‘SPQP’. The hammer-head one also says ‘Senatus’, and the other says ‘Populus’. But it should be ‘SPQR’, not . . . . “ His face lit up. “Yes! Remember we thought the hammer represented peace? It does!” their interpreter said excitedly. “In ancient Rome it was ‘Senatus Populusque Romanus’. This is ‘Senatus Populusque Pacis! Or – why not ‘serenus’?”

“Not ‘serenus’ because we are the People of Peace, not the Peaceful People. The phrase does not describe us; it sets forth that to which we are pledged.”

“Have you ever seen aliens here?” asked Oran. “They come in big groups. They eat human children.”

The Elder shook its head. “Never any such. We would be pressed to remain in peace, should they eat children.”

Antonio’s temper surged. “You’d let them eat children? What kind of creatures are you?!” he demanded.

“Creatures pledged to peace”, came the even reply. “There are other ways. Speak of this: are there ways besides violence to protect the children?”

“Not forever”, Oran informed it grimly. “The best way is to build big stone walls that lean out at the top. But they hate human fortresses, so once they find that, they just keep coming. Oh – and they don’t like to cross water.”

“Thank you for this knowledge”, the Elder pronounced. “Now, I must go, and share it with the others.” Without ceremony, it stood and departed.

“That is not rudeness”, Caval informed them the moment the Elder was gone. “It is custom. Elders think of everything in our lives, so they do not bear a burden of ceremony.” He looked out where the Elder had gone. “In truth, you have been honored: the Elders gave one to speak to you. Doubly honored, for the Elder valued your information.”

Antonio chuckled. “I hate ceremony, but I get stuck with it anyway. Oran, think I could get away with that stunt?

Oran grinned. “At Cavern Hold, sure. At your own place – never. Samson and Montdragón would find ways to totally make you suffer.”

“Yeah – the servants tell the master what to do. And don’t remind me”, Antonio admonished with a wagging finger, “that Rita explained how it was no different back home.”

“Except we weren’t important back there”, Oran replied. “It feels weird, being important.”

“I’d say you’re doing quite well at it, myself”, Frank volunteered. “Your” – he caught himself before he mentioned Rigel, and so changed words – “men obey and respect you, after all.”



Two days later, after observing them and guiding them around, over breakfast at the inn – where Oran still felt odd, not having to pay – Caval announced he would introduce them to someone important.

“Now we’ll find out why we were being watched”, Oran said as they stood, Cristobal downing the last of his herbal tea. The two Scouts and Tepocah grinned at each other, at the sight of the surprise on the other faces. “Don’t worry, ‘Tonio”, Scout Two continued. “They don’t even know how to wrestle here – we three kids could take a dozen of them... if they were dangerous. And there are only two. So let’s go!”

“Friends, the Consil would speak with you”, the man immediately outside the door said. “If you would please come?”

Antonio looked to Caval with a raised eyebrow. “It will be fine”, the local said. “He has no plans for the day.” So they went.


The Consul stood at the edge of the town, by the gate. He didn’t look happy; mostly he looked puzzled. “Ah, Antonius!” he exclaimed as the party of visitors arrived. “Please, you must aid me – the task set to me comes thanks to you. Walls”, he added, seeing Antonio’s puzzled look.

Oran raised a hand. “Actually, that was me. What about walls?”

“The Elders met – all the Elders. The Senate met. It is agreed, we must make the wall of which you spoke. But we, none of us, know anything of building more than small brick walls. Please, show us how to protect our peace.”




<image of townhouse/inn showing yurts to one side>

 

[DonQuixote]

Kuli,
This was a most enlightening chapter. Learning about the first, and the plague, and the limited then slightly increased interbreeding.

Friends, Ronams, Countrymen, lend me your ear - and your engineer!

 

[Kyanimal]

Kuli

I read this when it was first posted, butt was pressed for time, and was meaning to come back to reply later. Well ... I guess 'later' became much later than I intended.

Thanks for 're-aiming' my brain as to where/what/when we are now. I no longer seem to retain things as easily as I used to.

Always fascinated to hear more about The City, and what happened on The Planet. Now I'm trying to decide if The Snatcher is related to The People, of if they're someone else in battle with whoever imported The Others. At least we know The Snatcher brought in Humans to help. And, now I'm leaning toward thinking The People may have simply been caught in the middle of something much bigger. 'Tis fun to 'wonder'!

Always looking forward to More!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Kulindahr]

Kuli

I read this when it was first posted, butt was pressed for time, and was meaning to come back to reply later. Well ... I guess 'later' became much later than I intended.

Thanks for 're-aiming' my brain as to where/what/when we are now. I no longer seem to retain things as easily as I used to.

Always fascinated to hear more about The City, and what happened on The Planet. Now I'm trying to decide if The Snatcher is related to The People, of if they're someone else in battle with whoever imported The Others. At least we know The Snatcher brought in Humans to help. And, now I'm leaning toward thinking The People may have simply been caught in the middle of something much bigger. 'Tis fun to 'wonder'!

Always looking forward to More!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

As always, your imagination amazes.

 

[Críostóir]

"People of Peace" is a translation of Daoine Sidhe, who are the Fair Folk of Celtic myth and legend. They're the subset of the Tuatha Dé Danann who chose to stay in Ireland after their defeat by the Milesians (or Gaels, that is...humans).

 

[Kulindahr]

^
It was also a title applied to the Anasazi of the American southwest.

 

[Críostóir]

"Hopi" also means "the peaceful."

 

[Kulindahr]

200
Gifts​

Oran looked over to Antonio, who just bowed very slightly and motioned for Oran to go ahead. “Fine, but you butt in if I get something wrong. I know what the walls should look like, but not how they’re built – well, not completely.” With a deep breath and a sigh he turned to the Consul.

“First, where to put them. You have a street around most of the outside of the town. Measure out twice that width more. Then make a line outside that, one that curves around the whole town but doesn’t curve inward. It can curve inward in special places – I’ll walk around and mark them for you. That line will be the inside of your wall.
“Here, the wall will be outside the gate. You build another gate out there, and make this an inner gate. Any place you want to be able to go in and out, do the same thing – an outer gate and an inner one. Your inner gates could be the Gate of Peace, the Gate of d’Aragon, the Gate of Ronams, and the Gate of the First.
“To build the wall, start with a ditch. Antonio, you know how deep to go?”

“More or less. The softer the soil, the deeper and wider. Any time you can get to bedrock, that’s best. Um, if the soil drains well, the foundation should go in fast, so you don’t end up working in mud. I learned that from Sir Cortez.”

“Okay – you teach someone that. Now, where to start....” The Scout closed his eyes and thought. “Tepocah, if the Aliens ever came here, what direction would they come from? There’s the Sea, and your people south of it. The Escobars are ‘way north....”

“They would come north of the Sea”, Tepocah answered confidently. “Nothing would stop them, there.” Antonio didn’t like it, but he had to agree; for the present, Rigel would have enough trouble establishing the barrier between the Constant Hills and Hills’ Edge. Now Tepocah closed his eyes, turned slowly, and pointed. After a moment he adjusted his aim. “From there.”

Oran nodded agreement. “Makes sense. Somehow I don’t think any Aliens will ever get past the Haudenosaunee.” He knew it was a boast; no humans could stand forever against a serious attack of those monsters.

“So”, he said to the Consul, “the place to start is around on the side pointing that way. I don’t know where you’ll get stone, but you’ll need a lot.”

“What of all the soil?” the Consul asked.

“Oh – we’ll have to show you where to dig, because that line is the inside of your wall. To start – if there’s a forest around here! – make a palisade just outside that line, and pile your dirt from the ditch against it. The stone will be the outside of the wall – you’ll fill in between with dirt.”

The Consul nodded, and sighed. “Never have the Peaceful People had such a project. For stone, there are benches -- places where rock juts up out of the earth. There are three near the town. We will dig a second ditch, true, one to hold water?” Oran and Antonio both nodded. “Thus our beginning shall be made there: cutting that ditch, and using stone for the wall.” He sighed again and looked around. “I thank you, for the Senate and the Elders. Now, I must find workers.” Oran didn’t think that would be hard; there seemed to him to be an army’s worth of people doing almost nothing, all day long.

The Consul liked ceremony; Antonio and Oran humored him. None of the others counted; only the two Vortex Snatched had leadership rank.


“Hidalgo Antonio, it is my honor to introduce to you my friend, Guillermo Anselmo Marikos d’Aragon de Paz.” With that, Caval bowed to each, and sat beside Guillermo. The introduction had been in Spanish, so Antonio answered in kind.

“We have no such ranks among us”, Guillermo said, almost sluggishly. To the Snatched, he looked like a case of depression – slack face, moody eyes, every motion slow.

Caval intervened. “Guillermo, these are the ones the Elders talked about so long! the ones who waited patiently outside the gate, learning the speech so they could converse with the Consul with respect! Their ways are different!”

“What wrong is there in the ways of peace?” Guillermo asked stubbornly.

“Nothing”, Antonio responded softly. “But not everyone can enjoy it. Many places in the world, if you try to live in peace, you don’t live.”

Guillermo stared sullenly. “I should go to one of those places.”

For a moment everyone else sat in shock. Oran broke the chill. “What, you want to die? You could stop eating, and do that! Why are you acting like you’re doomed?!” And why do we want to talk to him? he mouthed to Caval.

“My years now are five by seven. Soon they will be one more, and one less. I come to this square of years, fully a man, and what have I done? Nothing. I leave no mark, no achievement for my people.” Guillermo sighed, his head rotating back forward to stare at the window, not as by choice, but seemingly by reflex.

“Guillermo, you could!” Caval urged, squeezing a large shoulder, mouthing to Oran, he gets like this often. “Look at them! Tell me what you see!”

With a sigh like he had to face torture, Guillermo turned slowly, though doing little more than glance at the group. “They are from somewhere else.”

“Oh, wake up and think! What do they look like? Remember–“

“I remember the book, Cav. So they look like the old pictures? They’ll just be going away.” He gave Antonio a disgusted look. “Besides, his lancers have armor of wood – they only look like the pictures!”

“Want to test one?” Oran asked, not quite casually. “We could let you test one.”

A flicker of interest showed briefly, smothered by his sullen attitude. “You think I would wear one, and let you strike me? A foolish game.”

“No – I’d wear one, and you could strike me”, Cristobal snapped out. “You’d know it’s a fair test because I’m not even a lancer, so I can’t know any fancy tricks they might have.”

Guillermo’s back straightened like a raft blown up by lung power. He stared at Cristobal, who looked half his own weight. “You offer honestly?”

“He does”, Oran answered. “He’s under my command, so I’ll make sure he’s honest about it. “But, of course you have to do it the right way.”

Guillermo snorted. “A trick! Already, a trick! You will require me to use a sword, and bring me condemnation.”

Oran shook his head, counting to three to reestablish slipping calm. “No sword – a lance.”

“With a sharp point on the end – another weapon.”

“Not a weapon. I’ve seen boys here playing in the street with a ball and sticks for hitting it. A lance, for this, is just a man-sized stick.” He flashed a grin. “And Cristobal is your ball.”

“A game.” Guillermo looked doubtful.

“It is”, Frank assured him. “The French called it ‘jeu de lance’, or ‘joute’. It’s the ‘game of the lance’. The lance has no point; it’s flat on the end. Sometimes the end is carved into a fist. There are points awarded, depending where and how well you strike with that fist.”

“So I run at him with a lance and thump his breastplate. A hammer would be better!” Guillermo’s sarcasm bit hard.

“Um, no”, Oran disagreed. “That’s not how the game works. You charge at him on horseback, and thump him. You want to test his breastplate, so you thump him on it.”

Guillermo stared, then barked a bitter laugh. “I know nothing of riding a horse.”

Oran put on a bright face. “Well, then you’ll have to learn!”

Caval cut in. “Guillermo, when did the last d’Aragon ride a horse?”

“Generations ago. They all died. But–“

“You would be the first of us since we settled here to ride. You would be remembered.”

Oran bit his lip, Antonio held his breath, as Guillermo stared at Caval. “My friend”, he said at last, “you are right. And if I break this breastplate, for that I will be remembered as well!” He turned to Oran. “Scout Oran, teach me to ride. Tomorrow I shall break your breastplate of wood!”

“Let’s go pick a horse”, Antonio said.


“How’s he doing?” Antonio inquired the next evening as Oran stumbled into their brick and timber cabin just ahead of dusk.

The Scout groaned. “He can ride bareback at a trot and not fall off. He complains I won’t let him go faster. He complains about having to learn to put the saddle on himself. He complains when he doesn’t get it right. The biggest lesson today was never, ever take out your anger on your horse. Tomorrow he gets to try riding at a trot in the saddle.”

“That’s easy” Cristobal commented.

Oran grinned. “Try it without stirrups.” He looked thoughtful. “In fact, that’s an order – you be out there tomorrow, too. You got off easy learning to ride because we were moving.”

Cristobal scowled. “You put me where he can laugh at me.”

“Better than hearing him complain all the time”, Oran responded with a grin.


Just after sunup the next morning, Oran and Cristobal found Guillermo arrived ahead of them. He had set his saddle on one of the rails where horses were tied, and was standing on it. Oran motioned Cristobal to silence, and they stood watching. Guillermo shifted his weight carefully, then smoothly dropped to his knees. The saddle rocked, but he reacted smoothly, balancing until it settled, then without hesitation slid his legs apart and dropped into a sitting position. Oran cleared his throat to let Guillermo know he wasn’t alone.

“Good day, Scouts!” Guillermo called. The two Scouts look at each other: the greeting was positively cheerful. “Caval reminded me I used to run on ridgetops, right along the pole. So I came out to reclaim that balance. I was dancing on the rail – now I have balance on the saddle!”

“Good job”, Oran responded. “Now – get your horse. Cristobal is going to do lessons with you today – he skipped some things when he learned.” Despite the reclaimed balance, Guillermo toppled when he tried to dismount. “And that’s why you strap the saddle tight”, Cristobal noted. Almost immediately he winced.

<if student / teacher not> came from Runner, a sharp correction. Oran grinned at Cristobal; he wasn’t about to disagree with his cat.


Guillermo skipped dinner at the inn, determined to make his balance transfer to a saddle without stirrups. When Oran and Cristobal returned, the d’Aragon rider was lifting saddle from steed. “Enough”, he informed Oran flatly. The dirt on his right shoulder was explanation enough.

“Works for me”, Oran replied agreeably. He sighed. “I wish the Romans here had built baths – I’m stiff from cold.”

“There is a bath at the temple”, Guillermo informed him. “But you must bring an offering.”

“There’s a temple?” Oran hadn’t continued exploring the way Antonio had.

Guillermo nodded, seeming surprised they didn’t know. “The Temple of Peace. The offering must be something that once you part with it, your life will be more peaceful.”

Oran stood thinking while his two students for the day put their gear away and led their horses off to be brushed down. Finally he gave up – he couldn’t think of anything he owned that fit the description. But if he slept on it . . . maybe tomorrow.



A child screamed. Antonio, Oran, and Cristobal responded by reflex, dashing toward the sound. Not far inside the gate, something that looked like a snake slithered across the street, the girl standing terrified in its path. Adults yelled at her to move. While it was still two long paces away, a young man dashed in and carried her clear.

Antonio didn’t think; he reacted. His right hand snaked inside his vest and came out in one smooth motion; a metallic string of glitters erupted between his hand and the creature. When a man cried in protest and tried to block Antonio, Rigel’s Hunter ducked low and flipped him over his shoulders. The snake-thing was wriggling, trying to get free; Antonio dove.

“Don’t permit it to bite!” someone yelled. Antonio had no intention of giving it a chance: he caught it just behind the head with his left hand, pulled his steel star free of the packed dirt with the other, rolled, and came up holding the thing at arm’s length.

“It’d be beautiful if it didn’t have feet.” Oran peered at it with Scout sight. “More, if it wasn’t dusty.”

“A snake with legs”, Antonio noted. “I wish it would hold still so I can count.”

“Eight”, Cristobal reported. “The front ones are smaller, but they bend more.”

“You used a weapon!” a voice accused. Antonio turned to see an Elder.

“Here”, Antonio responded, handing his star to Oran. “Show ‘em. Elder”, he went on, “it’s a tool. See the tips? Those are pointed, sort of like a hay fork. They’re made to stick into the ground or a tree or something. The fingers are long, and narrow. That leaves lots of room between, so if it lands right, it traps what I aimed at and keeps it from going anywhere. All I did was use a tool to stop this... from chasing anyone else.
“What is it, anyway?”

“We call it a rizelni.” The Consul came to look at Antonio’s star. “If you threw this at a man, it would do great harm.”

“If I hit you over the head with a hoe, it could do great harm”, Oran pointed out. “That doesn’t make a hoe a weapon.”

Consul looked at Elder looked at Consul. Oran had the feeling they were communicating by thought, though the only evidence was changing expressions. Finally the Elder bowed to the Consul, who turned to Antonio. “We accept that it is a tool. But I keep it. Perhaps it can be a useful tool for us.” He looked at the rizeni, which had no marks on it – and which to Antonio’s relief had calmed down. “How long did you require to learn it so well?”

“About twelve years. It’s not easy.” Antonio sighed in relief at the sight of two women with a tightly-woven basket coming for him.

“Twelve years. You should give some lessons. Tell, please, when was the last time you erred, and did harm with it?”

“You mean missed?” Antonio thought while he dropped his mellowly squirming prize into the basket. “Wow. Two years... no, almost three. It was the night Ronnie and I–“ He bit his upper lip to stop the reaction...

...he and Ronnie and the two girls, and Ronnie agreed to smoke something with them; Antonio went out to look at the stars and drink his Olde English; a crash brought him running back, minutes later, to find Ronnie and the girls in convulsions, foaming at the mouth... the coroner’s report said the cocaine/meth/oxy mix had been cut with rat poison and laundry powder. Antonio had gone hunting for the murderer who had done that to his friend, but he arrived to find the dealer already tied up, a funnel duct-taped to his mouth, and two guys looking over an array of bottles, jugs, and jars. They let him pour the vinegar to wash the mix they made down the killer’s throat.

He and Ronnie had picked up the girls by showing off with throwing stars. He’d missed one toss, trying to pierce a bottle cap from twenty feet with only the indirect light of a street lamp to show it. One of the girls had said, “Bad luck! We’re all in trouble now!”, and giggled. Ronnie had said, “Antonio sheds bad luck”. An hour later, they were dead.

“Hey, ‘Tonio.” Oran’s soft voice cut through. “Tell me about it, later, ‘kay?”

“Yeah – almost three years ago, was the last time I missed”, Antonio declared confidently, as though he’d been thinking it over to be sure.

He got invited to give an exhibition. His response was that people should bring things they could imagine might need trapping.

“Have fun”, Oran told him teasingly. “I think horse-riding lessons will be more relaxing.”


Where there should have been a pair of riding students Oran found just one. Before he could ask where Guillermo was, Cristobal pointed and laughed: there on the rail for saddles – so they wouldn’t have to touch the ground – was a saddle and blanket and bridle and lead... and a neat stack of clothes. “He’s off naked”, Cristobal reported through continued laughter. “He put the saddle on the rail, said hello to her, then suddenly stripped and climbed up!” The Scout pointed again. “He went what you call counterclockwise. They were starting a canter when they disappeared.”

Oran shuddered at the thought of riding a cantering horse... naked. A canter was a jarring enough ride without sensitive things to worry about. With a saddle, a guy could stand, if there were stirrups, but bareback – it wasn’t safe. “How long ago?”

Cristobal considered. He didn’t have the innate time sense Oran did, but his guestimates were rarely off by more than fifteen percent. “Maybe fifteen minutes.” He grinned. “He’s going to freeze his arse off. He can’t be even half way.”

But the former Quistador was wrong: Guillermo was considerably more than half the distance around the town, more even than two thirds. Shouting began near the work site for the town’s walls, shouting that mixed with laughter and then cheers as the d’Aragon rider flashed by. Workers, just getting started, gaped at the sight of a naked man racing by on a horse early on a day when the morning’s frost would last past midday – all the day, in the shadows – and some dropped tools in their amazement.

As the galloping pair came around the gate toward their starting point, Oran waved for Guillermo to stop. The response was a whoop and words shredded by the speed of his passage. On the next circuit, Scout Two fared no better. Guillermo didn’t do more than wave until he’d made five trips – by that time, people were laughing and cheering the whole way around their town. He didn’t slow down when he reached Oran, either, just rode on by, then started slowing, and looped back. When he came up, he was sitting straight and relaxed, as steady as any of Antonio’s lancers.

“She had a teaching for me, this mare”, Guillermo explained as he came to a stop. “Just her, and just me – no saddle, nothing else at all.” His grin reminded Oran of Casey in his most delighted-kid moments. “So I went.”

“Cool her down”, Cristobal snapped, staring at the mare’s heaving chest.

“She’s fine”, Guillermo countered calmly, patting the steady neck. “But she does need dried for the blanket and saddle.” He slid down, grabbed a towel, and went to work.

Cristobal started to say something else, but Oran grabbed his ankle – Cristobal was mounted; he’d wanted to chase the two down, but Oran had decided against it. “They linked”, he said softly, low for just Cristobal’s ears. “Like Austin and Titanium – they know what each other are feeling or need.” His voice was a little strained.

“You’re envious”, Cristobal accused. “You with the Scout gifts, and you’re envious!”

“Wouldn’t I want that, too?” Oran inquired softly.

“Maybe it’s a ‘horseman spark’”, Cristobal suggested. “Maybe it’s a talent like ours. Why should you want more than one?”

Oran opened his mouth, froze for several seconds, then closed it. His fellow Scout was right: being envious of someone else’s gift was foolish. Why should someone who spent most of his time on foot, often barefoot, expect or want a gift that benefitted people for riding? It would hardly be worth it – it would be unfair to Scout, his horse, who would spend so much time without his rider, yet aware of his rider’s joy that didn’t need the horse! How cruel that would be! For a cavalry scout, it would be a great thing, but not a real Scout, on foot.

In his head there was laughter: Runner, not quite mocking him. Oran grinned at the ridiculous irony he’d made: he had a bond with the fiercest creature they knew, and he was envious over a connection with a horse? Briefly he felt like a total idiot, then burst into laughter – laughter at himself, at Runner’s humor, at Cristobal’s good sense, laughter of joy at being just what he was: Scout Two in service to Rigel the First of whatever.

<image of guy riding naked>​

 

[DonQuixote]

Kuli,
A great update! The study in international relations continues.
The Ronams and company begin to learn more AND accept more of their honoured guests.

The beginnings of the construction of their defenses against "the others" starts in earnest, while the d'Aragon descendents become reacquainted with their equestrian friends - and discover innate skills they didn't know they had.

 

[Críostóir]

I especially liked the backstory for Antonio.

 

[Kulindahr]

I especially liked the backstory for Antonio.

Explains a little, doesn't it?

 

[Kyanimal]

A rizelni? Seems more scary than actually dangerous, or is it? Interesting that it "chilled". So, it must have 'moods', rather then sheer primal attack urges when cornered. Sounds like it might be a few rungs higher on the mental scales than a snake. I'm guessing they're indigenous?

And, seems Guillermo certainly came around quite quickly! Amazing what happens when we can establish a bond with an animal, whether horse, dog, or Cat! Then again, we're all animals, too, which makes those Connections possible for all of us.

Always looking forward to more adventures of 'Our' Snatched, whether BIG, or small.

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Críostóir]

Explains a little, doesn't it?

Just so. blah blah blah

 

[Kulindahr]

I'm pissed -- I had things set up for a final edit of the next chapter, and after a computer problem, the array of documents was gone. So I started sorting through to do the setup again. I was getting to where I thought posting would be happening soon, and the computer lost the set up again.

I don't know if there's a bug in the WP or what, but this is getting old. Anyway, I'm trying to have patience....

 

[DonQuixote]

Sorry to hear you're having systems issues somewhere along the line.

Been hoping you found the time and artistic muse to have been developing the story - I know you've had a lot going on in the real world.

 

[Kulindahr]

Sorry to hear you're having systems issues somewhere along the line.

Been hoping you found the time and artistic muse to have been developing the story - I know you've had a lot going on in the real world.

It's been developing, but with other issues around I can't seem to hold the whole thing together in my head at once. I relied too much on that and haven't been keeping notes the way I should, so I have to go back (again) and rebuild. Fortunately I don't think I have to start at the beginning again; I feel the link I've forgotten is in Part IV or later.

Right now I'm reading again about the preparations for departing on the "Great Trek South", where Rigel meets Eldon for the first time.