Fit for Life

[Kyanimal]

Hmmm ... Most interesting! And, yes!, I'm talking about more than "just" Onatah! (WOW!)

SO ... Her Majesty is embarking on a (possibly) dangerous adventure! Good for Her! I am quite sure all of those around Her shall guard Her well! And, I'm assuming that Onatah shall be one of them.

Can't wait 'til "Our" Snatched get a look at Him!! One more ethnicity to add. And, just where are his People located?

THANK YOU!, Kuli! Always looking forward to More!!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Kulindahr]

158
Demo​

A night in warm quarters in Cavern Hold didn’t change matters. In the morning, those not involved in wedding preparations had to dodge those who were. Mostly, they dodged not only out of the way, but out entirely. Ryan abandoned his castle quarters and headed for Wizard’s Tower. Word of that spread fast; after all, the departure was in plain sight of the bustle on the cavern floor. Rigel found a grinning Austin with their horses already saddled; Anaph joined them at the great arch exit onto the Valley of Horses. Disdaining a saddle, he whistled – Gloaming appeared half a minute later.

Rigel laughed. “He can’t hear you from here!”

“Right”, Anaph conceded. “The whistling is for me, not for him.”

“Like a symbol so you can focus what you’re doing”, Austin ventured.

The Druid grinned. “Bingo.” That was the last anyone said until the pause before fording the river. “I have to go up there”, he announced softly

“Should we turn?” asked Rigel.

Anaph shook his head. “Not today. He... he isn’t complete yet. The Snatcher is doing a pretty complex pattern weaving. After the weddings.” He sighed. “Rigel, I... five weddings at once is a lot.”

“Who said five?” Austin asked. “About thirty.” He pointed and laughed at the horrified look on Anaph’s face. “Gotcha! No worries; Eraigh has Druids from the Hall taking care of the others.
“Oh – Rigel, you can’t leave right away after the weddings. It’s going to be Easter.”

“I’m excited”, Rigel said in an excellent monotone. Deciding Tornado had had his chance to assess the river, he clucked, and they advanced. He was ready for Titanium cutting in on them, not so ready when Gloaming assumed the lead from the king.

Ryan ducked into the building and emerged again before they arrived. He bag he carried he tossed to Rigel. “You might want those – one for each of you. Guys at the metal stamping mill devised them; these are the newer version – try ‘em.” With no more explanation, he swung back into the saddle and led off. “We’re going to the Arsenal”, he called over his shoulder.

Inside the bag Rigel found what the metalcrafters had fashioned out of necessity: ear protectors. These were different, as Ryan had declared, than what he’d first gotten: they qualified as ear muffs, to keep the ears warm as well as sheltered from sound. He put a pair on and marveled at how the sounds of the river and Falls faded. As he tossed the bag to Austin, he wondered if perhaps there was some Druidry involved as well, via Eraigh.

Five more riders came galloping from the Cavern. “Airein, Innis, Earon, Varden, and... I don’t know the other”, Anaph related.

“Innis has outgrown firewood duties, he thinks”, Ryan called back over his shoulder, and slowed to let the other catch up. Earon aspires to be your standard bearer again, Rye. Varden was pretty much Oran’s private attendant, but Oran isn’t around much any more. He thinks he wants to be a Rider, but some days he thinks he wants to be a knight.”

“Make him your squire”, Austin recommended. “You need more helpers.”

Ryan actually turned around and regarded Austin thoughtfully. “I bet that would work. Some Rider-type duties, some knight-type duties, some attendant-type duties.” For a moment he thought about telling Austin he was growing up, but decided the premier squire among them knew it. “Thanks”, was what he settled for.

Around a corner and up the side valley the Wizards had taken over, they stopped by what could only be called a shed. “What the frak is that on the roof?” Rigel inquired. He didn’t want to insult Ryan by saying what it looked like to him.

“Sheet metal”, Ryan answered. “Pretty sad, isn’t it? The metal guys wanted to give a try at crimping whole sheets. We put it on because we needed something after one nasty hailstorm, but it’s almost as much a joke as a roof.”

Rigel laughed. “That’s what I was going to guess! But I thought maybe it was some kind of experiment. Their crimps aren’t even, or parallel – that looks terrible.”

“Makes the sheet crooked, too”, Ryan pointed out. “Then the coating the pottery people gave it crapped out, too. So it’s covered in some gross mix of animal fat, pitch, and redtree sap. The only good thing about it is it works, mostly.” He grinned, then. “Guess how it’s held on.”

“Not nails, or you wouldn’t have said guess”, Austin decided. “Screws?”

“Bing! You’re having a winning morning, squire. Trouble is”, he told Rigel, “quality control on screws is totally not there. Some Yankees joined that team, though, and I bet before Spring is over they’ll have it down. In fact their early prototypes are part of what you’re going to see. Now....” He turned to a small group standing partly in, partly out of the shed.
“Ughyr you know – and he’s got all the bugs out of flamethrowers, and another Yankee solved their last problem with the fuel. If you want dependable, nasty weapons, we’ve got ‘em.”

“Dude... Wow!” Rigel responded with a huge grin. “It’s on my list. How many you got?”

“Six”, Ughyr called, when Ryan turned to him. “We scrapped all the old ones. Since the rolling mill is making sheet metal faster than anyone can use, we helped ourselves to three sheets. Today’s not about flamethrowers, though”, he said, indirectly suggesting that Ryan get on with it.

“Right”, Ryan agreed. “I don’t know if you’ve met Abaca; she’s our ballistics computer – I’ll explain later. This genius is Kamal – he’s good at making the different parts of their projects work together.” He didn’t have to introduce the young man as a Yankee; no one else around would look like an India Indian. The same was true of the next. “Ravi, his other half – he specializes in making sure they get everything right; he’s got an eye for detail and errors that’s scary. And the last member of the team here is the daredevil – Abhay is the lead on the parts that go ‘bang’.
“Oops, I gave it away”, he joked – that they were at the Arsenal already told them that. “So roll it out, people!” he ordered.

It looked a lot more like Rigel’s mental image of honest-to-God field artillery than anything they’d done before: the barrel was longer and more streamlined, the leg or whatever that stuck out the back longer and with a small wheel built in, the balance was obviously better – just four Celts were handling the beast.

“The hook on the back lets you attach a yoke so horses can tow it”, Ryan explained. “The wheels are a lot taller, which makes it easier to manage, too.”

“With ball bearings”, Ughyr added. “They rot – actually merely shooting messes them up. So you’ll carry a bearing kit with you. But even sorrowful bearings are better than none. Thank Patryk we have them.”

“Here.” Kamal pointed, and waited while everyone dismounted and came for a close look. “Patryk’s partner – um, boyfriend, to you – Kor, and his friend Wen , are the ones who got us these. Wen does good work”, he remarked. Looking at Austin, he opened his mouth and bobbed his head, miming a blow job. “Visit their shop later; they’ll be happy to see you.”

“They’re giant adjustment screws”, Ravi explained, picking up where his sharp glance at his partner said the presentation should have kept going. “Two centimeters thick – that’s their smallest dependable size so far, which is acceptable – it’s as fine as we can really use so far, and it makes them rugged.”

Abaca took over. “Line of fire can be adjusted by under two-degree increments”, she said, proceeding to demonstrate. “Altitude has a total eighteen-degree range of adjustment; horizontal has a sweep of six. The altitude adjustment can be relied on for continuous firing. The horizontal can’t; try it and you’ll ruin the mount. It’s for quick shots, when one wasn’t quite on and you need another just a bit different, faster than you could adjust the entire cannon. It can also be used by one gun to judge an adjustment for your entire battery.”

Rigel held up a hand. “Rye, just how big a ‘battery’ are you going to have for me?”

“Six is the plan – but you have to wait till like Wednesday after Easter. Sorry. The ammo carriers and everything are all ready, though – almost even full. Abhay – your turn.”

The slender – most of the Yankees were slender, Rigel had noticed – ‘bang’ expert nodded. He’d already waved out a cart with objects Rigel would not have associated with a cannon; now he picked up something that looked like a round wooden block. “Sabot”, he named it. “Aaron told Ryan about it first. What it does is fit tighter in the gun barrel than the projectile itself. They’re used on missile frigates to give a missile a higher initial velocity – you can’t actually fire a missile out of a gun the way it is, but with a sabot you can launch it with a muzzle velocity in the high hundreds of meters per second. Here, the big problem was good rifling, and making it durable. A cannon ball that fit too snugly tore at the lands, wearing them out. It also picked up a vibration from microscopic bouncing along in the barrel. The best alloy we have turned into a ruined bore in just a few hundred shots. But redtree wood – taken from a tree suffering core blight is best – doesn’t just keep from damaging the lands because it’s soft, it expands enough that it ever-so-lightly engages the grooves.
“The wood holds the projectile, which is now smaller so it doesn’t wear the lands. We gave the projectiles rudimentary fins, which holds them snugly in the sabots, so they come out spinning for more accuracy and greater distance. That meant we could reduce the charge required for a desired range, which also reduces wear on the bore.
“Our biggest problem with the bore now is corrosion. Ravi?” Rigel found he was enjoying the tag-team approach.

“Aye. The period of greatest risk of corrosion is after firing, as the bore cools. What we have for prevention or mitigation is crude, but cheap – and you can make more wherever you go. The basic component is pig fat or sheep fat: boil it down, and add our prepared mix of chemicals. It goes in as soon as the metal is cooled enough the mix won’t scorch. Before that, of course, swab out the bore. After prolonged firing, swab almost continuously until cool enough to use the mix.’

“Now the demonstration”, Ughyr announced. Rigel watched as a team of Celts swung into action. They paused on occasion as Kamal gave commentary.

“First, Lord Rigel, an apology: you have bolt-action rifles; our goal was a bolt-action rifled cannon. We didn’t achieve that – casting precisely on that scale is still out of reach. So that got set aside. Breech-loading – sticking it in the back end of the barrel – we figure we could do. It’s really just a simpler version of bolt-action, but we still weren’t confident of the casting. So – again, apologies – you’re still stuck with old muzzle-loading weapons. Breech-loaders – maybe by autumn equinox. For today – the best muzzle-loaders in the known world.” He stepped sideways and turned, right arm sweeping out to point to the cannon, which had been spun in place so Rigel was looking almost straight down the barrel – except it was covered.
“First: travel cover. Without it, you’d want to swab before loading, to be sure the bore is clear. Instead, pull the pin, let the cover drop. The charge first – two standard sizes, with small bags for adjustment. Ram the charge home – hard; there’s a blade down there that has to slice a hole, for better ignition. Now – this part will be ready and waiting, but here you can watch – the projectile comes to the sabot. Underneath, there’s a string; it goes between the projectile and the sabot. When you tip the pair the string goes up. Then set the sabot and projectile, set the ram cup on the tip, and shove.” In quick, practiced motions, the crew did so, step by step with his words.
“Now the charge is snug, the sabot is tight on top, and the projectile is ready. The–“

“What’s the string?” Rigel asked, interrupting.

“I can tell that now”, Kamal agreed readily. “The string hooks to the fuse on the projectile. Another team solved the fuse problem, so this works: the charge ignites from the touch-hole – it’s also a lot better than you had before; it’ll work wet, even – which lines up with the slice the blade made. The powder we have doesn’t actually explode, it burns really, really fast. Burning turns it to gas, and the gas pushes the sabot. While it’s still getting started, the burning charge lights the fuse. Once it’s going, the fuse doesn’t go out, even if you throw it in a river. The string’s job is to make sure the fuse is out there where it will light – without the string, we were getting seven lights per eight firings; with the string, we’re better than forty-nine out of fifty.”

“I figured munitions for your trip were more important than further testing”, Ryan cut in, dry but humorous. “Other Wizard teams are working on the supply end. We’re up against a new problem, here – before, all the materials we needed were things our neighbors at least understood; now we’re looking for things that no one here knows.” He took a deep breath. “So I’m sending some people with you. You’ve got to reach those southern people and find out what they know.” Rigel noted the absence of the word “British” – something to be raised with Ryan later.

“More people – whatever”, Rigel responded. “They’d better be qualified on rifle, though – only people who can fight come along.”

“That will change the list”, Ravi stated softly. “Avon won’t touch a weapon, and if she doesn’t go, Cari won’t, either.”

“She’ll just be pissed”, Abhay added.

“Shards”, Ryan swore. “Rye, Avon’s the best. I – hey, Healers don’t fight! You’ve already got an exception!”

“Frak. What’s her problem with weapons?”

Ravi answered. “She watched her parents killed incrementally when just ten. They used firearms of several sorts. They used knives of several sorts. They took a score items from the house and used them. She doesn’t remember how they finally died. She woke up to her brother pulling things out of their bodies.”

“Holy frak – who would do something like that?!”

Ravi looked bleak. “He was an oil executive. She was a Jew. For some people, either one was enough.”

“Come on – there had to be more than that!” Rigel protested.

Ravi shrugged. “Possibly. Possible not. But you should know, lord, this is not a preference – it’s self-preservation. Avon has learned to control her rage, with one exception: she cannot handle a weapon. Set one in her hands, she enters a mental freeze – if she does not process thought, those thoughts can’t turn to mayhem.”

Even with all they’d seen since awaking on the oak savanna and beginning to make this world home, nothing in Rigel’s experience gave him a hook to hang understanding on. Austin’s pain he could grasp sort of from across the neighborhood, but this – he couldn’t connect to it any more than he could fall in love with someone in a novel. “Wow”, he said, knowing he shouldn’t just stand there. But there wasn’t any feeling to it; what this girl Avon had gone through was off his chart. He told himself he should feel something, but there wasn’t anything there. But that was a connection, sort of, wasn’t it? “I can’t grasp all that”, he admitted. “I can’t think of every kind of pain I’ve had and every kind friends have gone through, and I can add it all up, and I don’t even get close. Frak – I don’t want to get close!” The thought sent a shudder through him.

Ravi nodded. “That’s how I got there – I thought about it and was afraid of it. Now don’t suggest a Healer – tried that, but there’s nothing wrong with her brain. There’s supposed to be a Druid who can help... I don’t remember his name. Cari knows, though – they’ll find him.”

Rigel nodded slowly. Anaph wasn’t saying anything, and he didn’t know what that meant. “Okay – how’s Cari with weapons?”

“Deadly with shuriken”, Abhay answered with a grin. “People say she should challenge First Scout Sir Chen. Some say she’s as good as Count Antonio with knives, too.”

Rigel grinned wryly. Oran’s promotion of Antonio to Count had spread like wildfire – and therefore stuck. “Whoa – sounds like Cari’s deadly enough for two, up close. What about a rifle?”

Abhay grimaced; Ravi responded. “She can hit a Celt shield at fifty meters. Earl Rigel, we’re not seasoned at violent survival.”

“We’re not all, either – just mostly. Do you mean one of the shields they wear on an arm, or the big ones?”

“Like King Artur’s colored one – big.”

Rigel felt a tiny muscle twitch that could have become a wince, but the image in his mind was an Other/Foe/Alien. That accuracy was fine, for one of them.

“Rigel, we’re not going to be running into any armies”, Austin pointed out. “No one else is as crazy as we are, to run all over the world.”

“And united the human race”, Ryan added.

“And spread new species, and knowledge”, Anaph tossed on as a conclusion.

Kamal cleared his throat. “Master Druid, concerning knowledge – will you be helping Druid Eraigh retrieve another book, soon?”

Anaph nodded; he’d had long enough with Eraigh to learn the Druid of the Hall had learned from the previous effort – and that Versorix had control of the “signal splitting” process. “Yes – a single book, three copies. What book?”

All eyes went to Ryan. “First Wizard?” Ughyr prompted softly.

“There were arguments for the rest of the original books”, he noted first. “Good ones. But it came down to this: Optics, a big contender, isn’t worth much until we can grind finely and dependably; Making and Principles of Alloys would be nice except our metals supply is thin, and anyway to make good use of many alloys – well, we lack the tools. So it’s Lord Templeton’s Guide to Tools and Machining – I didn’t even consider Ramasingh’s The Development of Circuits; until we’re a lot farther along, that’s just silly. But I’ve got a couple to add to the main list – first, and I’d like it by midsummer if possible, is called Hydraulics and Simple Machines, by....?”

Ravi smiled. “I know that one: Meditations on Hydraulics, illustrated with Simple Machines, by Sir Edmund Sidney Tarkenton-Lowry, Greve Lillienskjold. He was a descendant of a Danish-Norwegian family self-exiled for some mysterious reason, who settled in the Bahamas with immense wealth of mysterious origin, and dedicated themselves to increasing the wealth and devoting themselves to noble pursuits and pastimes. The House had been reduced to a daughter, so in two generations the Danish name was kept in the title – a ‘Greve’ is like a Count or Earl. Anyway, Sir Edmund loved building waterways on the beaches, which turned him to the study of hydraulics. Professor Jennings said his book is better than any three introductory texts, but no university will use it because it devotes whole pages to stories about the beaches of the Bahamas – except the University of Freeport uses it. He founded that.”

Rigel chuckled. “More information than you can use, Anaph?”

“Never”, the Druid replied. “The more I know, the easier to search. Ryan, write your list down – I don’t need to remember more than the next two.”

"You've got it -- Guide to Tools and Machining, and Meditations on Hydraulics, illustrated with Simple Machines, in that order."

“Ready to finish the demonstration?” Abhay asked. “We loaded this beauty; we’re not going to leave it sitting.”

Rigel laughed. “Sure – what’s the target?”

“See that snowman at fifty meters? I hope he’s not a friend of yours.” Everyone laughed. Abhay put torch to touchhole.

 

[Críostóir]

Well, my eyes glaze over with the ballistics part. It's interesting, but I can't really quite follow it.

Cool about the sabots, though. Originally that word meant a wooden shoe, and the resistance to the industrial revolution was famous for throwing them into machines...hence 'sabotage'.

 

[DonQuixote]

Kuli,
While I, too, got a bit confused reading through "the naming of the parts" as it were, I found it a fascinating exchange - not just the details about the cannon, sbot, etc., but the interpersonal dynamics involved.

The "tag team" teaching about the New, improved canon was great.

The pic is reminiscent of either the Revolutionary War or maybe the Civil War.

How many weddings? lol

 

[Kyanimal]

That, Kuli, is Wonderful, on many, many levels! Entertaining, Educational, and quite Enlightening!

Definitely looking forward to the "BOOM"!

And ... "Southerners", with an accent, as opposed to a drawl ...

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[Kulindahr]

Well, my eyes glaze over with the ballistics part. It's interesting, but I can't really quite follow it.

Cool about the sabots, though. Originally that word meant a wooden shoe, and the resistance to the industrial revolution was famous for throwing them into machines...hence 'sabotage'.

I only knew of sabots from tank rounds and RPGs -- when I learned early ones had almost literally been 'wooden shoes', it was great!

NO sabot-age here... not enough machinery.

BTW, I didn't get into ballistics; that would be math. That was just the mechanics of getting better performance with what was available, including making a near-smoothbore into a rifled cannon.

Kuli,
While I, too, got a bit confused reading through "the naming of the parts" as it were, I found it a fascinating exchange - not just the details about the cannon, sabot, etc., but the interpersonal dynamics involved.

The "tag team" teaching about the New, improved canon was great.

The pic is reminiscent of either the Revolutionary War or maybe the Civil War.

How many weddings? lol

That's an 1861 mobile field piece, extended barrel, which requires an added counterweight near the tail for balance, something easily provided by hanging a rack of ammunition across the trail (sometimes called the tongue, but that really depends on how the gun is towed). I'm not sure if that's a Whitworth or a Parrot... not that it makes much difference.

Weddings? Crio, it just felt right to me that the vernal equinox would be a fitting time for Druidic bonding ceremonies -- comments?

 

[Kyanimal]

Comments? How many same-sex bondings (if any, yet) might there be? And ... are we invited to the consummations?

And, can we look forward to the same descriptive details when those "guns" might get fired?

O.K.! I know! ...

Keep smiln'!!
Chaz

 

[Críostóir]

Weddings? Crio, it just felt right to me that the vernal equinox would be a fitting time for Druidic bonding ceremonies -- comments?

For modern Druids, yes. Ancient ones, not so much. Celts celebrated the beginning of Summer at the the flowering of the hawthorne (called Bealtaine/Beltane/May Day), and the end of Summer/beginning of Winter at the first frost (Samhain/Halloween). The astronomical holidays were from the Henge builders, who predated the Celts in those parts.

 

[Kulindahr]

159
Ten Golden Rings​

Slowly, the crowd edged forward into the cavern. From ahead a soft wave of white noise washed back, seasoned now and then with laughter. The sounds were a puzzle to those farther back; words were forbidden until Anaph began the bonding ceremony – and even then, only those whose part in the ceremony called for it would be allowed to speak. Minutes passed, minutes of shuffling along the floor and hearing the white noise grow louder. Rigel understood the reasoning of leaving the highest ranks till last, letting the least in first, but his patience wasn’t so understanding; it chafed. It wasn’t just that he really wanted to sit down somewhere; he wanted to know what the white noise and laughter were about.

He could almost see into the cavern when his brain suddenly sorted the white noise into individual sounds: gasps, murmurs, and those occasional outbursts of laughter. The moment he emerged from the tunnel, he understood:

Not a square centimeter of the great cave showed stone. Vines, and tree branches behaving like vines, covered the pillars and supporting ridges while making more than a few of their own. Flowers – blooming! perched in baskets woven of the living branches of all the trees and vines, hung from what seemed every downward curve. The ceiling blazed white and pale green, looking for all the world like waves on some alien sea.

Rigel, his sight just reaching the ceiling, gasped. He was dimly aware he’d done so once already, but this was a crowning glory to the day’s decorations: spread across the great reach of waves above were five monster pairs of silver-golden rings. Merely being there was impressive enough; knowing the couples to be married as he did, Rigel could tell which pair corresponded to which couple. When that thought struck, he laughed.

“You find something humorous?”

Rigel turned to see Tanner O’Boyle of the Siol Tormod leaning against the entry pillar to the right. “Humorous?” he echoed. “No – laughing in delight. This is incredible!”

“Aye, that. Before you ask, I have stood here nine days while it all grew, to keep others away.” He chuckled. “Mostly have I watched this great garden – the MacO’Shannon guards below, keeping all from the LifeGem.” A grin split his face. “Tempted too greatly, he was; six days now, his hair has been turning dark again, and his beard has lost most all its bits of gray. Anaph-Druid”, the chieftain went on soberly, “was greatly angered, and sent for The Healer. Those two say that the LifeGem makes all things grow, and if a man has an evil growth within, he could die of living.”

Rigel nodded slowly. All gifts, in his experience, had a dark side – just like “every cloud has a silver lining when it’s reversed”... the song came to him, but he couldn’t think of who wrote or sang it. He let the wondering wander, lost in the wonder of the cavern – and the fact that it had all been done in nine days. “How many Druids?” he inquired without looking at his companion – he was trying to decide if the castle was actually covered in flowers, or if somehow there was a living screen hiding it.

“Thrice a dozen. They worked in three circles, making circuits in the Hold. Hall Druid Eraigh set the vines and branches. Field-Druid Torin cast seeds into the air and bore them high on winds. The rest encouraged and managed and aided.” The chief of the Siol Tormod, therefore called by that name, shook his head. “Hall-Druid Eraigh has sent one field-Druid to each clan, yet the Hall bursts at the seams.” He hesitated. “Chieftain Rigel, some of these worry me. Three have departed; it is said they go to wild-Druid Urien. Here... Field-Druid Torin is strong, but unfriendly and possessed of a fierce anger.”

Rigel caught the undercurrent: “possessed of” could mean “possessing”, or it could mean “possessed by”. From O’Boyle’s emphasis, he more than strongly suggested the latter. He suspected the Siol Tormod was testing him, or at least suggesting Rigel could deal with the issue where neither Eraigh nor the clan chiefs could.

“Has he been to the Stone?”

“He asserts he has no need of it.”

Rigel pondered the idea of inviting the young Druid along on his trek. The trip might season the youngster; on the other hand, would he did, without a more senior Druid as a counter? That wouldn’t be surprising; last he knew, his expedition would have twenty-four ful leaf-spring suspended wagons with six people in each – a hundred forty-four people, without any riflemen, lancers, artillery....

Then he wondered about Anaph. The First Druid had spoken neutrally, giving no indication he intended to remain in the north with the Celts, or make the journey south with Rigel. If Anaph were coming....

“Maybe he’d like some instruction from the Chief Druid”, Rigel said in musing tones. “Anaph isn’t as threatening as the Stone – well, generally”, he conceded.

That was enough for the chief to make a guess at Rigel’s plan. “Anaph-Druid is traveling with you to the south?” he asked, clearly concerned. “Friend Rigel, if so he does, Torin-druid must go with you.” He spoke so softly Rigel could barely hear; that and the passion told Rigel this was news that had better not spread.

There it ended. Rigel went back to absorbing the view – there was no other word for it, because the display absorbed sight and smell so intensely reason was left behind. He wasn’t alone in that experience; all across the cavern people stood staring, their gazes drifting slowly at best, dumbfounded smiles on their faces. For Rigel and others, though, it was time for waiting: each member of the five couples had someone to stand with him or her – not to give away, merely to stand, and by silent presence declare that these people were worthy of bonding – or marriage, depending on one’s perspective.

“Life be with you!” Rigel grinned; Anaph’s voice came from everywhere at once. It was a trick that would drive Ryan crazy – that alone was enough to grin about.

“Also with you!” Rigel declared, one voice among hundreds, or thousands. From where he stood, he could see Oran shaking his head and grinning as he said it; a few seconds passed before he remembered that some Christian churches had similar lines in their liturgies. Were Lutherans among them? That seemed reasonable; Lutherans – some, anyway – still had priests, and they all had altars; in his experience, that meant liturgies.

“Life dies, life is born – life joins together”, Anaph declared softly in a voice that came now only from ahead. Rigel was willing to bet, though, that every person present heard that same quiet, fervent voice. The words pulled attention to the five couples standing on a slightly raised platform in front of the castle. For the first time, Rigel realized they were all “sky clad”, but that in all the glory of the cavern, ten nude humans got attention only for being unremarkable. Most of those bodies, on their Earth, would have been rated highly, but in this context, they were nothing more than interruptions in the riot of living things. It was their day, their hour, but the only thing that drew interest in them was the soft voice of the Druid, calling to minds, tugging at hearts.

“Anaph, back home you could have had your own cathedral and been filthy rich”, Rigel muttered. “And hated it”, he added, for the Anaph “the Branch” who could own this crowd wasn’t even interested in doing it. No, his interest was in Life, not gold or silver or fame.

“We come to affirm a binding together, a bonding of couples, a bonding in Life’s greatest energy, love.”

That was Rigel’s signal. Anaph had kept it easy: when you hear the word “love”, come – not walking, but jogging. From other points at the limits of the cave, figures moved forward. Rigel’s mind had gone blank; he couldn’t have remembered who was to stand for whom, to save his castle. His focus was on Ryan, best buddy, who’d once said he didn’t need to get married, because he could have a girl at any party he chose. Rigel was the respectable one, the one they’d both expected to get married with kids in grammar school before Ryan ever got serious about such an arrangement. But here they were, positions reversed, yet it didn’t seem in the least bit wrong: Ryan and Lucinda belonged together, for their own very good reasons, for political ones, and because almost everyone who knew them recognized it.

“How do we do that?” Rigel wondered, mouthing the words. “How can we look at two people and know they go together?” I look at Austin, he thought, and my mental picture says someone’s missing, not some hot guy, but a certain lovely girl we rescued in a cathedral – but I can’t even remember her name! Valina? Whatever. Austin swore to take care of her, and I’m not the only one who saw them together and saw a match.

Hands reached out and decked him with loops of flowers that settled like leis, like sashes, one even like a belt, done by a kid agile enough to slip sideways on his knees, keeping up with Rigel while he hooked end to a loop. He patted Rigel on the rump as though saying, “Got it! On you go!” Instinctively Rigel reached for the Sword of Escobar, to commit that young face to memory; embarrassment struck a microsecond after his hand closed on nothing, and he remembered they came unarmed. He’d just have to do it the hard way.

Then he was vaulting onto the platform. Ryan had turned – they’d all turned – just enough to make contact a lot easier. Ten hands joined ten others, with some “O!”s as they found they were moving in unison – Ryan had wanted to practice that, but Anaph had said not to worry, it would work out. So it had, leaving most of the Snatched on the platform wondering how Anaph’s Druid talent had managed it.

“Who stands for these?” came the question. Feels like a victory celebration, Rigel thought, as joined hands all rose into the air. Yay, us! Glancing sideways, seeing Rita’s beaming face, he could nearly hear her voice: Of course it’s a victory celebration: it’s us binding ourselves to this world’s people, she would say. And Anaph would nod, and say something about Life being one and becoming one.

And in fact he was. “Remaining two, two become one – Life joins to Life, life to life” – a nod of his head told the “standers” like Rigel to cut loose – “bringing the chance for new life”, the Druid concluded. “Friends, these couples now belong to one another: they are bonded.” Cheers erupted as the five couples turned, hands still joined, to face the throng. The tumult quieted as the next player on the stage stepped forward, he and Anaph bowing slightly each to the other as they passed.

The frail figure wasn’t familiar to many in the cavern, but he had presence. Rigel had met him briefly, long enough to be impressed by the energy that seemed to radiate from him. It was the sort of energy that made unruly children straighten and put on their best behavior; that made angry adults lower their fists and beg pardon; that took criticism, gave back love, and made people lower their eyes in shame; that strengthened the hearty-weary and made their eyes brighten. It was an energy that had been forged in the fires – almost, but not quite literally – of the Inquisition, as a battered spirit realized that the life of the spirit remains free, that a free man cannot be broken, he can only be killed. It was an energy not evident until the Padre turned his attention on you, but when he did, made you feel as though the Creator Himself held you in His hand, as on a set of balances. It was an energy that declared, “Never give in, never surrender”, that made clear to anyone at all attacking the Padre that their attacks were useless, because if ever there was one, here was a saint whose life was hidden with God, the body no more than a garment he was willing to shed, if that was what things came to. It was an energy that spoke of wisdom, the wisdom that comes from knowing one’s self thoroughly, flaws and gems alike with the more mundane material that fills most of us, and knowing that that self can be changed only by one’s own actions, that there is therefore no need to bow to any other – and knowing when to bow anyway, and when to be immovable and unyielding. Rigel suspected that if Padre Lente – short for “Lente de Dios”, God’s lens – went to the Pool and the Stone, he could teach the ancient Druids a thing or two.

Anaph had set his staff and let it stand; Padre Lente bore one which did a good deal to bear him. This he set and leaned on heavily, favoring his right leg. The wounds there were terrible, but they weren’t what kept the Padre from putting quite his full weight on them; that came from the work of a half dozen Healers undoing the other work of the Inquisitors. Lente had said he had no need of it, but – if Rigel remembered right – Oran had told him it was a chance to learn. The priest had found he needed to learn to walk again, as twisted and tortured muscle and tendon were set aright, and where others would have proceeded in small doses because of the pain, Lente took delight in what he called evidence of God’s grace to a poor slave. He bore the pain, and learned well, but for standing, his body betrayed him, the pain proving too much for his muscles, despite his will. So when he stood, he leaned on the staff – and made it look like fun, Rigel realized.

Padre Lente’s smile sent warmth across the assembly. It was the sort of smile, Rigel thought, expected of a priest in movies where priests were like saints – unlike real life, he recognized sadly, where many priests weren’t even close. “Peace”, said the priest, “from on high to all – and let there be peace from each to all.” Rigel breathed easier; Antonio had said this priest was okay – and a better choice than Dmitri, who had all but resigned as their Christian community’s head.

“We come for a binding, a bonding”, Lente stated, catching each of the ten pairs of eyes in the shallow arc around him. “We do not come to make a bond, or to forge it.” He shook his head. “No, that is done by you”, he declared to the ten. “You are free persons–“ Further words were drowned out by the roar that swept the cavern. The way he blinked, the puzzled look on his face, made evident that he had no idea what he’d just done. Puzzlement turned to speculation as he realized it was approval he was hearing. The grins on faces among the couples told him they understood, and seemed approving. So he smiled back, and waited.

“Free persons”, he began again, then paused in case there was another mass response, “choose. The bond was made by you – by your choice. The bond is your choice; your choice is the bond.” Lente stopped, looking thoughtful. “But it is not only your choice, it is also your sharing – sharing your possessions, sharing your resources, sharing your time, sharing your plans, sharing your dreams, sharing yourselves... sharing your bed.” This time he was ready for the crowd’s reaction, a sea of lusty approval of that aspect of married – or bonded – life. Of the ten facing him, only Ryan and Rita blushed.

“So when, as the rite sets out, I pronounce you man and wife, or rather men and wives, have I made a bond? No. Have I even added to it? No.” As the Padre paused, Rigel considered that there was enough just in what Lente had said here, for the Inquisition to hate the man. “I have only declared what you have made so.” With a tilt of his head, Padre Lente seemed to consider what he’d just said. “No, not quite ‘only’ that. I will also have declared that the Church recognizes your choice and your bond.

He shifted his weight on the staff. “Before I do that, I’m supposed to tell you what a serious thing this is.” His light tone brought quiet laughter and chuckles. “Truly, I think you know that, but it is expected of me.” More laughter forced him to pause.

“So, then.” Lente’s eyes traveled the arc, catching and holding each set of eyes. “The five of you have chosen this bond.” Not many caught his point, as expected. “Yes, five: though you are ten bodies and ten minds, even now, as you by standing here declare your bond, you are becoming only five spirits. That is not a thing done lightly – not that you can back out now”, he commented with a twinkle in his eye, drawing widespread laughter. “I see no one is thinking of it”, he observed. “Though one day, you almost certainly will. You will also almost certainly find other weaknesses in yourselves, also. Do not fear them; they are opportunities, gifts from our Creator, invitations to draw closer, for each to uphold the other, to become stronger as one.
“Always remember that you are one. The affairs of life will now take you apart, then put you again together. The steps between are nothing to your bond – though they may be as great things to your doubts. When parted by distance, doubts may seem greater than your bond.
“But you do not stand alone. Here are those who stood for you; when troubles come, it is their duty to stand beside you. But God will give you others also. In truth, look around you: He already has.” Lente paused. “This day isn’t about that, though. This day is about you.” He chuckled. “It isn’t about me talking, either. So, all of you: do you take each other as man and wife, bonded together, desiring to remain so?” The “Yes!” of ten voices was resounding. “Then I give you symbols of unity, not to mark that you own each other, but that you both belong to what you are together.” A boy stepped up with a pillow that held ten golden rings, in pairs, each pair distinct from the others. The priest nodded for the boy to hold it out. Each couple recognized their designs, and without prodding turned to bestow rings on their bondmates. Padre Lente lifted his hands. “I pronounce you, each with your bondmate, man and wife.”

Austin’s tenor cut through the stomping and applause. “Kiss!”

Of the five couples, two remained sedate: Eron and Crystal were quiet and hardly moved; Kinner’s only sign of passion was widening his stance – not a move to match heights, since he and Ocean matched well. Devon started out quiet and reserved, but Bidelia was having none of that; the stoneworker-engineer’s daughter took charge. Devon balked, then surrendered. The Celt was the aggressor in another couple as well, the generally reserved Aidan went about it in the fashion of the Rider he was setting off with an urgent message, Rita both ground to be conquered and reward for doing the job well.

But it was their Celt-less couple who stole the show. Ryan took Lucinda, with a big grin, but she dove into his embrace before his arms could close. Who put more energy or passion into it would be argued until the festivities ended, but the result was that they were still busy when the other four couples came up for air – and still at it nearly a minute later. When they finally broke, panting and beaming at each other, connected still by hands with arms crossed, a thunder of stomping feet showed the Celts’ approval. In response, Ryan executed a perfect turn, to a swing beat only he heard, putting Lucinda in front of him, enclosed snugly. She laughed in delight, grinding against him.

“And they call it ‘solemnizing’ a marriage”, Devon commented, both disapproving and amused.

Anaph came forward. Some trick of light caused it to appear that his arms reached out around all five couples – newlyweds. Padre Lente stood with him. “Celebrate these five!” the priest declared. “And celebrate the ten”, Anaph added. With that, the two presiders gave the couples gentle shoves, encouragement to join the crowds.


“Let me down!” Ryan protested nearly a half hour later, “before I pee where there’s no life below!”

“But there is life below”, someone called back, “though it would not be pleased to receive your gift!” Ryan’s quip had drawn laughter; the reply trumped it. But rather than let him down, the warriors bearing him on upheld hands started for the archway exits, his fellow comic clearing the way. Outside, he was dropped to the turf. After watering it with what had once been ale, he refused to be lifted again.

“I’m not going to try to eat while you fellows bounce me about”, he declared. “I’m going to go find my wife, and we’re going to have some venison.” Ignoring the ribald double entendres tossed out, he strode into the throng and headed for the table which had appeared from behind a great curtain of flowers and vines in front of the castle.


Much later, five weary couples were carried about the cavern together, a procession that brought them to five huts, symbolic of new homes together. As they were delivered to their respective huts, Padre Lente sprinkled them with holy water as Anaph held a spring of mistletoe above them, then hung one above the door on a hook set in for that purpose.

Arriving at his hut, Ryan stared a brief moment before shaking his head. “Wow – I peed right over there, and these weren’t here. You guys are great, whoever did it.” He turned to the now Lady Swenson and stretched out a hand. “Lucy?”

“You’re supposed to carry her!” Casey called, his diction betraying a drunken condition.

“They are equals”, a Celt pronounced sternly, glaring at the Scout.

“Equals can choose to serve”, Ryan pointed out, then grinned, scooped up Lucinda in his arms, and ducked into the hut. His head poked back out through the soft leather door. “And no bets on how many times!” Laughter followed him back.

“Someone will count”, a Celt said quietly. Devon, with a laughing Bidelia in his arms, turned to face the man. “Whoever I catch near my hut, his village will get nothing from the Engineers till I have a son.” He turned to Oran. “Scout Two, watch my hut for spies, please.”

“You got it”, Oran replied, settling the issue there: the Celts knew that only one person had a chance at all of sneaking past Oran, but since that person was Scout One, Oran would know he was there before he was closer than the Stone. On the other hand, Oran was sure that some of the Scouts among the Celts would find a way to count without getting close.

Ocean and Kinner were the last to go in. The smith turned to Rigel. “Friend Rigel, all my thanks for bringing Ocean to me. Whatever else you may do, of all your deeds I value that the highest.” He ducked in before Rigel could say a word.

Below, near the tidy border which engineers had made along the swamp below the Falls, a much longer row of huts was receiving its own inhabitants.

 

[Kyanimal]

Kuli ...

That was BEAUTIFUL on so many levels! THANK YOU! for writing that! I am both awed, and inspired.

Including the Padre, even with Lucinda there, was a master stroke which could have met resistance from the Celts. I am pleased he was so well received. Another link among varying cultures. A "bonding" in it's own right.

My own history, at the behest of my father, has involved the bringing together of different religions in common events and celebrations. Yes, there was some resistance, as was expected, but, in the end, it all worked out for the best.

Again, THANK YOU!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[DonQuixote]

Kuli,
Our good Bud, Chaz, has put it quite nicely.
I can't think where to begin expounding the beauty and unity of this chapter,
so I thnk I'll leave it here.

Thank you so much for this Beautiful day and night of celebration of love and life.

 

[Kulindahr]

160
Reconstituted​

A day gone”, Rigel muttered, staring at Ocean’s modification of the local version of oatmeal in his bowl.

“Eat your herbs for recovering from festivities”, Austin teased, downing a quivering chunk of his own. “We even have honey for it! Eat!”

“You’re too cheerful”, Rigel scolded, but dove into his breakfast anyway.

“It’s weird, with five of us married”, Austin commented a half minute later. “And they don’t even get a honeymoon.”

Rigel looked at his squire and sighed. The kid was right; their society wasn’t at a point where a big chunk of its core leaders could just take off for a week or two for fun. What he’d be doing, hauling half of them away for two entire seasons, was bad enough. Really, though, it was Ryan who kept the place going, even Rigel’s own unfinished castle down by the Stone. “I promised them three days, they get three days”, he replied. “But we’re back to work today.”

“I know; we’re going to the Snatcher hut”, Austin said between bites. “Anaph has to meet Mervynn. I think he has to break him out of the hut. Anyway, Anaph says he’s done, so we can go get him.”

Rigel reached over and squeezed Austin’s neck. “You’re a good squire, buddy.”

Austin laughed. “That’s nothing! I already gave orders in your name, so all we have to do is finish breakfast, have some hot spiced wine, and go warm our saddles.”

Rigel shook his head, looking at this maturing squire. “If I hadn’t made ‘Rigel’s Rule’, I’d kiss you.”

“Just on the lips won’t break the rule”, Austin asserted.

Rigel grinned. “You’re right. Let’s–“ But whatever he’d meant next was shut off by two eager lips docking with his own. He rocked back, not from impact, which was slight, but because Austin was half in his lap. Whistles sounded around them, and some feet stomped the stone floor of the hall. What the hell, he decided, and slipped one hand behind Austin’s neck and another low on his back. Austin’s head tipped, changing the feel, and Rigel expected a foray by his squire’s tongue. It didn’t come, but a hand left his back and slid up the inside of his right thigh. It stopped just short of risky territory, then suddenly pulled back, as did Austin.

He started to say something, but the look on Austin’s face stopped him. It went from wondering to confused to surprised to upset to something definitely not happy, with tears. “Hey, what....?” he whispered.

Austin bumped their table, startling two castle staff breakfasting there. That gave him room to actually sit on Rigel’s lap, facing him. Rigel found it odd to be looking up at his squire. “I think”, Austin began, then bit his lip and closed his eyes. “You might not have to worry about your promise. I don’t think I can. I was going to tease you, but...I just couldn’t.” Tears were running down his cheeks. “I want to, but I just can’t.” Rigel waited for more, but Austin shook his head and wrapped him in a crushing hug. That last most of a minute, then Austin slid off. “I’ll tell everyone you’re coming”, he said.

“Park it”, Rigel ordered, slapping the bench. “You still have Ocean’s ‘wonder gruel’ to finish. Then there’s that hot spiced wine.” Austin looked rebellious a hair more than a second. But he grinned and plopped down again.


Oran was waiting when they reached the slope where Mervynn’s body lay, though some distance past it. An irregular row of slender poles, little more than sticks, ran diagonally up the hillside. “I marked it up to a landing, Rigel”, he said when Tornado and Titanium stopped beside him. “No horses. Stay two meters apart. Casey will be with you, in the middle, to check the ground as you go. It’s good, but weight can change that.” He waited expectantly.

“No horses, two meter spacing, Casey’s in charge of the trail”, Rigel recapped. Oran nodded and took off back up the path he’d marked.

“He jogs up that!” exclaimed Aaron Lum.

“If this was summer, he’d run it”, Austin told him. “You really don’t get the Scout gift thing, do you?”

Aaron started to shrug, stopped himself, but did shake his head. “You all say it isn’t magic – fine. But the science I know doesn’t allow for it. That unsettles me.”

Rigel chuckled. “Aaron, it unsettles Oran sometimes – Chen, too. But it is what it is, so they accept it – and there it is.”

Austin jumped down, dropping Titanium’s reins, and came around to offer Rigel help down. “The path isn’t getting shorter”, he declared. Rigel laughed.


On the level spot he’d called a landing, Oran awaited them again. “Freezing makes it unstable – gotta take the long way around. We go due north. Dinganë is marking it.”

“Din-gah-who?” Austin asked.

Oran made a quick shake of his head. “Din-gah-nay – Dinganë. He’s a Yankee – can you believe he’s Zulu? From South Africa. He’s been trying to pretend he doesn’t have the Scout talents. I sort of teased him into using them – now he’s loving it. He came up the side, sorta where Chen and I went down our first time up here. Anyway, let’s move – this’ll be slow.” He turned and led, not doubting in the least that they’d follow.

Slow it was. Down in the valley, the snow rarely reach a quarter meter; higher up, borne by winds funneled by flora and stone, it varied from none to well over a meter. Casey tired of plowing through the drifts Dinganë and Oran after him had left. Rigel knew he was up to something when Scout Three paused and grinned, Anaph’s soft laugh confirmed it. Aaron bumped into Austin from behind; Austin took the weight easily. “Streaker’s coming – he’ll smash the snow down”, he said over his shoulder.

As a prediction, it was a failure: Streaker arrived, along with Oran’s Runner and a third Rigel didn’t recognize. Anaph laughed. “There’s why Dinganë ‘is loving it’ now – he’s been adopted!”

“Looks that way”, Rigel agreed, watching the third cat take the lead and go bounding far ahead in pursuit of his human. Wonder at that relationship struggled against envy. “Good for him.” He started off in Casey’s wake, now following a path where the deepest snow barely covered the toe of his lead boot.


Three hours later – at least that was what Rigel’s muscles complained to him – Oran waited again, on a level spot surrounded by stones.. Too much time in the saddle, not enough on his own feet, was his diagnosis. Maybe if being a lord had a touch of Scout’s endurance...? But no, he didn’t have time for running – or did he? The trip south would be with wagons, and wagons were about as fast as a skateboard with its front wheels broken. If Oran’s Celt scouts – the ones without the talents – could run for hours, he could at least give it a shot. The thought brought determination, if not strength. He looked to Oran for a report.

“Lots of ice ahead”, was what Scout Two had to say. “And no one re-invented crampons.” He looked at Anaph hopefully.

The Druid examined their surroundings, but shook his head. “I can’t melt it – trying would kill all the life in the rocks and ground. With help I could steer wind here and get trees and brush to drop twigs and moss, but that stuff wouldn’t stick on the ice very well.” He poked at a paw print with his staff. “Scratching the surface up might be the best deal.”

“At least Devon carved it into a real path”, Rigel commented. “There’s lots of raised edges for Streaker and friends to hold while they scratch the heck out of the smooth part.” Since he couldn’t command the great cats, he had to ask. “Will they do it?”

Oran looked distant a moment, then nodded. “Runner sees it as a game”, he replied with a faint grin. “Streaker thinks we need real feet, not the wimpy things we have to wrap up in dead skin.”

Casey gave Oran a dirty look. “Streaker’s my cat”, he objected.

“Right – but he’s loud when he thinks we’re all cubs”, Oran answered wryly. Casey laughed.

“Okay, break time”, Rigel ordered. “Casey, you have experience with building things out of snow – let’s have a wind break, at least.”

“Not just him!” Oran objected. So their Scouts conspired, and with some help started on a wall of snow blocks to block the wind – which, although gentle, was still biting. Casey was setting the first block high enough to lean a head against into place when he burst out laughing.

“Okay – tell it”, Austin said.

“Streaker says if we needed snow blocks, why did we ask them to trample all those drifts. It’s funnier in his images”, he conceded.

Rigel chuckled. “Funny enough in words. Tell him if we could see the future like that, we wouldn’t have had to come up here anyway.”


The wall was finished, a meter and a half high, long enough for the entire party not working on it to shelter in, by the time Dinganë’s cat came and tugged at his human’s sleeve.

“Hi, Leaps”, the Scout responded. “Oh. Oran, Rigel, we can go to another flat spot now if we want. It’s a bit sheltered, and for more there’s a deep drift on the lee side to cut blocks from.”

“So ‘Leaps’ is his name?” Rigel inquired.

“That’s the best I can do.” Dinganë seemed embarrassed. “It’s like, ‘Leaps and Bounces Through the World’, but that’s too long to say.”

“It loses something in the translation”, Casey affirmed. “Rigel, we can go ahead and build more shelter while you guys stay in this one.”

Rigel’s smile sparked a bigger one on the small Scout. “That’s what I was thinking. Make it so.”

“Yes, captain!” Casey saluted jauntily and headed up the trail. Dinganë and Leaps followed.

Oran hesitated, looking at the sky. “Rigel, we could get short on time.”

Rigel turned to their Druid. “What’s the weather going to do?”

“It’s getting warmer. We’ll be walking into the wind, going down. Tonight it will snow, but by morning it will be rain. Spring’s here for sure.” Anaph scratched his ear. “Traveling south could get mucky.”

Oh, yay, Rigel thought. “Let’s worry about right here for now. How long are we going to be? Will we be going down in the dark?”

“No worries”, Anaph told him. “I can give light, and the Scouts all carry light sticks. Did you forget yours?”

“I didn’t”, Austin chimed. “Packed his and mine. But will we need them?”

Anaph looked ahead to where the Snatcher’s hut was, still hidden. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going to happen.”


“Better”, Austin grumbled, “but this wind is cold.” The efforts of the great cats had gotten them across the icy portion of trail to the final approach to their goal. Ahead the ice gave way to snow, drifted with small parallel ridges making a serrated crest.

“Don’t try it”, Anaph commanded. “There’s ice under it.”

“Smooth ice”, Oran added. “Nice smooth stone surfaces, nice smooth ice. I think I can get around to the right.”

Anaph considered, but shook his head. “I should have brought Eraigh – and four others. Run a rope from staff to staff....” He slammed his against the ground. “We shouldn’t have to! Everything’s rea–“

A high-pitched scream stopped his words and sent hands to ears. A point of light punctured through the wall of the hut nearest them, and the noise, much like the scratching of fingernails on a chalk board, modulated into a lower, less raucous tone. The light dimmed, to be replaced by a faint fountain of dust as a line invisible when looking at it traced a very visible line in the stone surface. Hands went to weapons. Around that jet of dust went, tracing a rough oval. When cut end met cut beginning, they all tensed, expecting it to fall. Instead, it swung to one side.

A figure stepped out. One hand on the mechanical arm that held the “door” cut from the wall, it regarded them. Dinganë gasped. Aaron muttered something no one could make out. Anaph looked back more intently than the humanoid figure was looking at them.

The figure they took to be Mervynn hefted the Cutter in its left hand. With a quick toss the device landed in its right, which slapped it toward its leg. A click marked its collision with a flat length of – of something very nearly black, like a strip of lathe, something which curled around on contact, sheathing the dangerous cutting filament. The hand released the grip as the dark strip extended tendrils to secure the device completely.

“Remember we thought the handle wasn’t quite right for a human hand?” Oran asked softly as the figure stepped back in through the oval. “Did you see his hand?”

“Yeah, the handles felt wrong until they shaped themselves to fit our hands”, Rigel replied, remembering that creepy feeling of the solid grip shifting, flowing, and resetting itself.

“I saw”, Anaph responded softly. “He has two thumbs.”

Oran nodded. “I wasn’t totally sure.”

The figure came out, bearing two long objects recognizable from the handles on the ends, with the grip and the bulb familiar to those who’d used one. “More cutters”, Austin whispered. The figure strode easily across the snow. “Lord Rigel. One is yours.” The voice sounded odd somehow, high pitched, with rich overtones. Rigel fumbled to catch the devices.

“Mervynn?” Dinganë asked hesitantly. Seeing the form of someone he knew, yet a form not familiar, was disturbing. But the figure didn’t stop or turn, only paused, on the way to swing the slab of stone back into its hole. The surfaces matched perfectly when it stopped. The cutter came out; the one who was perhaps still Mervynn did something to the bulb, then fanned what was no longer a thin line around the edge of the oval. When he put the tool back into its very active sheath, there was no trace of a cut.

“Bloody hell”, Aaron whispered. “It does more than cut!”

“Maybe it only fixes what it cuts”, Austin suggested.

The figure stopped in front of Dinganë. “Yes. Mervynn.” A frown crept across that face. “Mervynn died in fire.” The frown deepened, till it looked painful. “Mervynn died in ice.” Both hands rose to feel the face above. “Mervynn is here.” The last was delivered with confusion evident in tone and expression, but the figure – Mervynn – turned away. Aaron caught his eyes.

“Mervynn. I met you. You were thinking about quitting school.” The Yankee leader stepped up, within a meter. “You liked engineering, but wanted excitement.” Frowning, he scanned the reconstituted Yankee from head to toe and back. “You’re taller.”

Mervynn blinked. “I – yes.” His ears swivelled forward, back. With effort, he turned to Rigel. “Lord Rigel. Descend.”

Rigel waved Aaron away, taking his place and looking Mervynn over. He shuddered a bit at the sight of hands with two thumbs, and of ears that could not just wiggle but pivot. The extra long legs were unusual, but not disturbing. “You’re Mervynn – or you were Mervynn.” There was no answer. “All right – we descend. Austin, catch.” Rigel tossed one of the pair of cutters to his squire. “Mervynn – walk ahead of me.”

Mervynn complied, not without comment. “You must... trust.”

Rigel guessed that was from the Snatcher. “I think that works two ways”, he replied.

 

[Críostóir]

Wow, many thickenings of plot here! If they can seal stone to stone...well, the Wizards are going to have a field day! And having a direct Voice of the Snatcher among them will change everything.

Austin's little epiphany is something, too. Rigel is like his older brother, and it just wouldn't feel right.

 

[Kyanimal]

Awesome! Now that The Snatcher has managed to join them, through Mervynn, not only might they advance their technology, but WE might get some Answers! This could change Everything, on so many levels.

Will Rigel still go South? Will Snatcher/Mervynn go with? One good thing, the Cats don't seem to mind Him.

I, too, am a bit "uncomfortable" with Leaps' name translation. How about Bounder? Well ... just a thought ...

Aw, poor Austin. What he thought he would like to do just doesn't feel right. But, that's O.K.! He's definitely maturing, and still has a way to go. But, I'm sure he's going to turn out to be one incredible Guy, "Forged by Fire".

THANK YOU!, Kuli!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz

 

[DonQuixote]

Kuli,
I must concur with Crio and Chaz.

Mervynn a la Snatcher, with TWO opposable thumbs. Plus, he comes bearing "gifts", including one for Lord Rigel.

Now that the Snatcher is among them, they definitely appear to be in a position to learn more about the tools - the cutters also seal, intriguing.

You must trust - interesting - and a good retort.

Austin. Our poor, poor Austin. But, on the plus side, he is learning how to LOVE, in its many forms, not merely lust or eros. His family fucked him over on their home Earth, he is starting to be able to experience the full, varying intimacies of love - English is such a poor language on occasion.

We have a Zulu Warrior amongst the latest group, eh? And, he has the Scout spark, but was reluctant to accept it, until . . . Who could resist the special bond between man and cat? A Scouting Summer Camp song comes to mind = Aye zickey zumba zumba zumba, Aye zickey zumba zumba zay. Hold 'em down, you Zulu Warriors, Hold 'em down, you Zulu Chief Chief Chief . . . (sung in rounds, alternating full Chiefs with the verse.)

I like "Leaps". The cats are all extremely playful, but very full of seriousness to business when called for.

(Your chapter title reminds me of most Orange Juices, lol.)

Thanks for the updates. And, yeah, it's too bad that our newly bonded/married don't have the luxury of honeymoons in exotic places, but I suspect the Celts are used to having to continue working to survive.

And, I do envision Mervynn of the Snatched journeying with Lord Rigel and his entourage, absolutely.

 

[Kulindahr]

161
Preparations​

Wagons. Rigel didn’t count; the number kept growing. There were eighteen just for the six guns the Wizards had promised! There were three kitchen wagons – a number that had started with one, become two when Rita pointed out that one kitchen could cook for only so many, then three when the numbers of troops had grown. More troops meant more supplies, more supplies meant more wagons, more wagons meant more teams, more teams were more mouths to feed, so Rigel would have bet there would be four kitchen wagons. He knew many of the planned cargos, and tried to pick them out – fifteen John Deere plows, in three wagons; two woodcut presses, each in a wagon; a dozen wood stoves – some assembly required – in two or three wagons. He and Rita had both wanted more, but the smiths got the final word: that was all the iron they would spare for those, or for any other trade goods for the south. There was a wagon of Mark I rifles with gear, for Osvaldo, but covered, there was no way to tell it from ordinary supply wagons – which may have multiplied to fifty, for all Rigel knew.

He laughed at himself – Anaph was coming, with other Druids, and that meant they wouldn’t have to worry about meat. So there wouldn’t be any fifty supply wagons – but twenty wouldn’t surprise him. Altogether there might be fifty, though, a number that made him unhappy.

“Still worried about wagons”, Austin observed. “And they all only move as fast as the slowest one. Rigel, the expedition got slow once you had any.”

“Yeah. I feel like I’m taking an army, though.”

“Not even a thousand”, Austin dead-panned.

Rigel laughed. “Stinker.” He sobered. “But we’re going to need that many.”

“You almost do. There are almost two hundred Rigel’s Riders now, plus four hundred Mounted Rifles. Tanner just promoted a captain for the Heart Patrol, because there’s more than a hundred of them. That’s seven hundred and some mounted. I know we have a couple of hundred rifle infantry, too. Almost a thousand.”

The number didn’t make Rigel happy or sad. He was glad to know; he hadn’t actually tallied it up himself. But it still felt insufficient. “It’s a beginning”, he responded. “Just a beginning.” He wondered if he’d recognize when they had enough – ten thousand? twenty? “So what did you come to tell me?”

“Anaph got another book – but it wasn’t the one Ryan had asked for. He grabbed Meditations on Hydraulics, illustrated with Simple Machines, by Sir Edmund Sidney Tarkenton-Lowry, Greve Lillienskjold’.”

“So Ryan’s pissed?”

“Nope. Anaph grabbed it because they found it fast and it was easy to get. That old Druid, Versorix, he turned it into three copies. Now they’re searching for one called Guide to Tools and Machining, by a guy who might have been my ancestor – our world’s version of him, anyway – a Lord Templeton.”

“That’s good!” Rigel laughed. “That makes two useful Templetons I know of.”

Austin grinned at him. “I’ll just have to make more.”

Rigel’s laugh cut off a moment after it got louder. “You’re thinking about Val.... what’s her name?”

“Valentina Raquel Espinoza”, Austin replied. “It’s weird – I think of her, I feel strong and stuff. But when I see girls here, naked, sometimes I want to barf.”

“Life’s weird”, Rigel responded. “Just don’t barf on the girls.”

“As long as they keep their crotches away”, Austin said. “They look like some gross wound, or disease.”

Rigel looked at his squire in a slightly new light. “You know, if you’d said that back home, it could have got you beat up. Here, it’s worth a chuckle.” He paused, but Austin didn’t say anything. “I like this place.”

“Yeah – me, too”, Austin agreed softly after a half dozen heartbeats.

Rigel noticed someone sitting on a wagon corner, staring out of the cavern into bright sunshine with light rain. “Making a list?” he wondered. “That wagon’s covered.”

“Let’s go see who it is”, Austin suggested. The idea seemed better than waiting around to be caught by someone who needed to pawn off decision-making on the ultimate local authority. They descended and made their way through the circling foot traffic.

It was a Yankee they didn’t recognize. He had a pair of sheets of paper set on top the canvas cover, and was referencing them while writing on a crude tablet. Rigel wasn’t sure he’d seen one like that, and decided he liked the feeling: it meant progress was happening all around. Something about the man conveyed that this wasn’t work, at least not in the sense of lists and tallies, nothing clerical at all. Austin caught it, too, so they waited.

Several minutes passed. All at once a half-smile, a bit sad, creased the writer’s face. His left hand scooped up the two sheets while the right reached out to Rigel. “Lord FitzWin. Call me Landon ap Sukhanov. Bard-Druid, at your service.”

Rigel shook. “Sukhanov – interesting heritage.”

“Oh, it’s not a family name. Alexandrei Sukhanov is a Russian bard I admire – his poetry reflects his mathematical rigor. He’s a professor and researcher at Moscow Imperial University. This is a new world, so I took a new name.” Landon glanced between the two. “And you want to know what I was writing. Well, it doesn’t have music yet, and I’m not sure it’s done, but then it isn’t actually mine. Most of it – you know about Mervynn? He wrote most of it. Last and first verses were done, the middle was a muddle. I thought... not a tribute, but a teagasg, a lesson, from his own words. So.” He put a hand to the wagon rim and in one smooth move was on his feet, balancing, striking a pose.

“I can't say where I plan to go
But don't judge me by that alone
If you knew everything I know
You'd notice I'm in ‘the zone’

I can't change things I feel
I'd never tuck the truth away
I've set goals no one can steal
With new ones coming everyday

Sure, I'll come away with some burns
I gotta keep feeding fuel to the dream
Even if I forget most of what I learn
I'll still know, nothing's what it seems

And I don't break like metal can
No one will find a piece of my heart
And if I turn out a flash in the pan
Oh well -- it sure was a hell of a start

I think if you've cried like I have
You're prolly out of tears as well
So maybe that's why we can laugh
We already lived through hell.”*​

Rigel was silent several seconds. “Maybe Mervynn didn’t kill himself”, he mused. “Maybe he knew something.”

Landon hopped down. “Oh, he killed himself. I tried to watch him – one day eager, one day tumultuous, one day placid, one day frantic. He talked about voices, but he’d done that since our second week here – he didn’t have any meds, and was kind of coming to pieces. He got furious when I suggested a Healer, said they didn’t know enough.” A flash of bleakness passed across his face. “I fell asleep, waiting for him. The next morning I woke up and started looking for him. There was a note – he was wroth with me, and said he had someone better to go talk to, he was done with humans, done with himself.”

“You know where he ended up?” Rigel inquired.

“Oh yes. Died on that slope, but got scooped up just like all of us before, to a new life. I hear he’s got a new body, and is around?”

“Yes, and no.” Rigel wasn’t sure himself what was going on there.

“Ah – of course. But is that ‘yes, he has a new body, but he isn’t around’, or some other option?” The eyes teased.
“So – have you picked a bard yet, for your journey?”

Austin laughed. Rigel regarded Landon thoughtfully. He’d already decided he’d have to bring Mervynn along; having someone who knew him – or had known him – might be useful. “How well did you know Mervynn?”

“Almost as well as anyone, I suppose. Not that anyone really knew him. Manic depression, emphasis on manic, is no social bonus. So you’re taking him with you, and want someone to keep him company? I can do that.”

Grinning slightly, Rigel shook his head. “Smart, too. What kind of engineering do you do?”

“Sonic. Heavy in math and advanced materials. Wonderful if you like music. Oddly applicable to aquatics.” He sighed. “I wrote a piece for closed organ, underwater. Needs electronics, optics, hydraulics – never happen here.
“But I can still write and sing, and apparently I have this idhrûd spark.” He turned his attention to Austin. “Squire, word holds you to be unattached. Would you like to see how I can sing to a penis and make it grow?”

Austin laughed. “Rigel, bring him! Bard, you can sing to it if you can play it.”

“If it has tone, this Bard can make music”, Landon avowed. Austin laughed and clapped.

“What makes you a Bard?” Rigel asked, tacking away from the colorful drift.

“I do. They have sort-of bards, these Celts. But I”, he proclaimed with a half-bow and flourish, “am a member of the Auld Welsh Bard Society, North American band, and I shall raise their eyes to see the true worth of a true Bard.
“Now what, you ask, is a true Bard? He is first a man of ears, to listen to those with a tale to tell. He is next a man of the heart, to hear and to understand.”

“Is this a speech?” Rigel asked, amused.

“A speech?! I am stricken!” Landon jumped down. “You want the short version? Bards are official memory. They write songs to tell impressive deeds or ones with lessons – and to poke fun at what needs deflated, or encourage what should be aided. Their loyalty is to truth, not to men. One who can’t sing can be a lesser bard, and speak the stories and songs. Bards are also mediators, hearing the words of all and making them plain to the rest. Their profession is the ennoblement of mankind, their hobby tweaking the proud.”

“Crystal’s got the music angle”, Rigel noted.

Landon shook his head. “Already talked with her. She’s about as good a poet as a stallion’s balls – she knows things come in pairs and the idea is to point somewhere. She’s awesome with instruments, though”, he said, his eyes going distant. “That crystal organ... She could play me to orgasm, if she tried.”

“I’ll catch”, Austin volunteered.

“It’s a date”, Landon answered with a grin. “If we can talk her into it.”

“I can persuade Eron – he can persuade her”, Austin asserted. “He’ll say it’s for him – if he mentions two guys, she won’t play a note.”

Rigel fumed. "I thought I told her–“

Austin cut him off. “It’s chill, big man. Some people are like that. Remember what I said about naked girls? It is what it is.”

Landon was nodding. “It’s sad, but some people are limited. So, Lord FitzWin, what say you?”

Rigel had to chuckle at the persistence. “Determined, as well as smart. Okay, on two conditions: you keep Austin out of trouble at night.”

Landon waited, then got it. “I thought you said two”, he said, keeping a straight face.

“That was two”, Rigel replied.

Where once Austin would have punched him, the squire laughed. “If you only knew”, he declared.

Landon pretended to examine Austin closely. “I think I can keep him in hand.”

“A third condition, then”, Rigel said. “Learn our songs. Our timelines have whole different styles of music.”

The Bard nodded. “I have heard some from your ‘Beatles’. They were superb. I wish I could hear themselves performing.”

“Yeah – so it goes.” Rigel sighed. “Looks like business found me.” A page was crossing from the castle, headed right for them. “Landon, can you sing him away?”

“Sorry – there is no magic”, the Yankee responded. “I’m putting that to song, if you care to hear it.”

“When it’s finished”, Rigel replied absently. “Let’s go meet him.”


They were barely away from the wagons when another figure came between them and the page. “Mervynn”, Rigel said. The modified man unnerved him; it was hard to make himself sound friendly. He’d left it to Anaph to decide if Mervynn could be allowed to move about freely; apparently Anaph had allowed the freedom of the cavern, anyway

“Lord Rigel FitzWin, all must go.”

Landon came to stand close by Rigel’s left shoulder. “His brain is off”, he announced quietly. “Something else is happening.”

“Tell me about it”, Rigel replied sarcastically. “Mervynn, all who? and go where?”

Mervynn looked pained. “All must g-g-go”, he repeated, stammering on the last consonant.

“It’s like he memorized it, and doesn’t know what it means”, Landon told Rigel. “He’s just a messenger. Let me.” At Rigel’s nod, he stepped forward a half pace.

“Lord Rigel appreciates the message. Thank you”, he declared with a very abbreviated bow. “Mervynn, if you can learn more, Lord Rigel will appreciate it.” He stepped back and whispered in Rigel’s ear. “His brain activity just went normal.”

“I...”, Mervynn stammered. “I’ll try. I’ll listen.” He seemed to cringe away from something briefly. “I go south with you, Lord Rigel.” His tone of voice changed. “Landon, are you going?”

“Yes – Lord Rigel agreed he needs a Bard.” Rigel didn’t quite remember it that way, but he let it go. “Did you learn to ride a horse?” Mervynn shook his head. “I’m not too good myself”, the Bard asserted. “Let’s go see if we can get some lessons. My lord”, he said softly, bowing to Rigel, “with your leave?”

“Good idea. Better to do your falling off now that when you might be in the way”, Rigel agreed. He looked at the nearly-arrived page. “Seems I have something else to do.” With a pair of bows, the two were on their way. Rigel wondered at the change in things since the Yankees had been delivered to them: before, there had been a general inclination to call him “big man” and then “lord”, but they made it seem natural, an attitude or habit that had spread. His own people seemed now as though they’d been dealing with nobility all their lives; it was no longer the sort of stilted, formal thing that gave the impression of people trying to figure out how to do it. The former Quistadors around were adopting the Yankees’ Imperial forms, and even the Celts, with their cultural hostility toward lords, were picking up the habit. All together, it left Rigel feeling more comfortable in his position.


Rigel put two things together and made a decision. He shook his head. “No – I won’t deliver it. You found it, you should deliver it.”

Antonio frowned. “Come along? We don’t even know if they’re really there!”

Rigel snorted. “The way other pieces keep falling into place, the surprise will be if they aren’t. No, the one to deliver the Sword of d’Aragon is the one who found it.”

An attentive squire butted in. “You’re not saying something.”

“Fine – guess.” Rigel didn’t expect it to need a guess.

Austin turned to Antonio. “Mervynn delivered a message from the Snatcher. He said all must go.”

Antonio scratched his head. “You think it means all of us have to go on this expedition. Ryan will be pissed. I don’t think Lucinda will want to come along.” Austin squelched a grin at the wording: Antonio had conceded the point for himself.

Rigel shrugged. “The Snatcher isn’t a prophet, so I don’t think there will be horrid consequences if not literally everyone goes. But if I can see a solid reason why someone should, he comes.”

Antonio sighed. “Well, at least I have people to leave in charge. Samson’s a marvel at running everything, and he grasps the goals well enough to manage the mesa. For the military side, I have Señor Caballero-Ayudante Rodolfo Salvador Montdragón de Blanco. I’ve talked to his men – his loyalty is amazing. And he can’t lead on his own, he needs someone to follow.”

“You gave him a horse?”

“Not yet.” Antonio considered. “What if you do? It would sort of emphasize the chain of command.”

“Line of fealty, I think – same thing, though. Is he an actual knight?”

“I don’t think so. It seems more a military status.”

“Okay – I’ll give him a horse, you knight him. As a Count, you can do that.”

Antonio grinned. “Good thing that doesn’t require a king, since you sure don’t want to be one.”

“May as well be”, Rigel muttered. “I’m in charge of Counts now!”


Earl FitzWin held court that evening. He began in the stables, meeting Antonio, who brought Montdragón. Antonio wore a slight frown. “Señor Montdragón, I’d like you to meet someone who ranks me”, Rigel said, skipping formalities. “This is Titanium, king of horses.”

The Caballero-Ayudante, Knight-Adjutant in Common, didn’t even chuckle. “Of some, or all?” he asked, watching Austin combing the great stallion’s mane.

“All we’ve met”, Rigel replied. “So I bet it’s ‘of all’. Titanium, this is Caballero-Ayudante Rodolfo Salvador Montdragón de Blanco.” He knew the horse well enough to be confident Titanium would understand he wanted a mount picked. Austin finished his combing – which was redundant anyway, since he’d done it in the morning. Titanium cocked his head and sniffed, then bumped the former Quistador in the chest.

Montdragón gave a small bow. “I find myself pleased to make your acquaintance, your majesty”, he declaimed with a sweep of his hat – a cockade, Rigel thought, though lacking the ornate feathers those had in movies involving Spanish, or French, noblemen. He chuckled as Montdragón’s composure suffered a blow: Titanium bent a knee, just barely, but plainly. “¡Intelligente!” he exclaimed.

“Certainment”, Rigel replied, forgotten French popping into his mind. He backed up as he spoke, because Titanium had moved sharply.

“Made up his mind”, Austin murmured, falling in beside his equine companion.

“We follow a horse?” questioned Montdragón.

“This one, we do”, Rigel answered. “I told you, he ranks me. In some things, anyway. He knows his realm; I’d be foolish to ignore him.”

“Wouldn’t do any good anyway”, Austin called over his shoulder. “He tells the horses what to do, and they don’t listen to humans then.”

The horse king led them several rows over, to a stall slightly larger than most, in a row of such larger stalls. Austin’s eyes had gotten larger when they turned down the row; now he whistled. “Rigel, these are tough cases! And this is one of Titanium’s, by a mare who won’t be ridden!”

But the king of horses knew his business. He picked his colt, and kicked at the stall door, which Austin opened automatically. The colt inside, a deep red with near-black streaks, snorted and looked at his sire. A toss of a head was all that was needed to convey Titanium’s intent. The colt came forward and deliberately knocked the former Quistador down. It wasn’t rough, though, only just enough force to topple the human.

Montdragón rose and brushed himself off. “I suppose you’re a prince. Pero esta grosero, usted.” He stepped forward and planted both hands on hips. Exijo satisfacción.” You’re rude. I demand satisfaction.

The colt regarded the man for several heartbeats, then snorted and tossed his head. Then that head lowered, the great nose bumping Montdragón gently in the chest.

“I foresee that you’re going to need a horse, señor”, Rigel said. “What do you think of this one, besides that he’s rude?”

“You offer him to me?!”

Austin laughed. “Titanium did that, and Rojoro volunteered.”

“Rojoro? Him? Negroro would be better”, opined Montdragón.

Austin shook his head. “You haven’t seen him in the sunlight.”

“Ah”, the caballero-ayudante temporized. “I understand. Well. Lord Fitzwin, your majesty Titanium, and Prince Rojoro, I accept. – and thank you greatly. This is an honor I do not deserve.”

“He won’t be as easy to ride as that lazy mare you’ve been learning on”, Austin warned. “Probably he’ll be teaching you things – I think he’s as smart as his dad.”

Curiosity boiled over. “What’s ‘rojoro’?” asked Rigel.

“Rojo plus oro – red-gold”, Austin explained. “You should speak Spanish more – use it or lose it.”

“So make me, squire”, Rigel countered.

Court, once inside, had some surprises, but was otherwise unexceptional. After a string of lesser matters, Rigel called Lord Perez forward. “Don Manuel, how many vassals do you have now?” he asked.

“Three, my lord.”

“I think that deserves a higher rank.” Austin handed him a silver pin in the shape of a 'V', motioning at the same time for Perez to kneel. Rigel leaned forward and hooked the device to Perez’ chest. “Rise, Visconde de Montenuevo.” Perez’ eyebrows rose. Rigel smiled. “If you don’t like the name, we can change it. It’s short for saying your hold is rebuilt, new, and is on a high mountain. I wanted one word, and didn’t want to try to get that all in.”

Perez nodded. “My lord, I accept this honor, and will strive to live up to it.” More quietly, he went on. “Will you match the Duke, then, notable for notable?”

“My advisors says I should at least get close”, Rigel admitted. “Though the way things are going, I don’t know if I’ll get there before we face off.” He grinned. “At least you know you don’t have to worry about someone with hundreds of men knocking your walls down with cannon.”

The new Viscount laughed quietly. “I stopped fearing that when I met your lord Ryan. Whom you should also raise.”

“You’re right on that. For convenience, he’ll rank you.” Rigel watched to see how that would sit with his vassal.

“That is wise”, Perez responded.

“Glad you think so. Okay, stay.”

Austin guided Perez to the right, then turned. “Lord Ryan of Cavern Hold, come forward!”

Ryan came and knelt right off. “Aaron said you’d do something like this.”

“It’s not all I’m doing.” He pinned the E Austin had handed him on Ryan’s vest. “Okay – rise, Earl Ryan.” He looked out over the assembly. “Many of you have been saying I need a higher rank. Well, I’m not ready to go toe-to-toe with El Duque up north, so I’m not taking that big a step. But one of our Yankees who knows a bit of history suggested one day I should be a Grand Earl, so I’ll accept that. So whoever back there was going to bring the petition to promote me, you don’t have to bring it forward.
“After all, it would seem a little strange, to me anyway, to be leaving a regent behind whose rank matches mine. Ryan, kneel again. There isn’t a ceremony for this, so I’ll do it my way.
“Ryan Swenson, I trust you better than a brother. While I’m away, I set you over all my affairs here. Your voice will be mine, your decisions mine. Do you accept this charge?”

Ryan tipped his head and pretended to consider. Aaron had said Rigel should do this, too, which meant Rigel would hear of it, so it was no surprise. But he did have a question. “What if someone doesn’t agree with a decision I make?”

That was an issue Rigel had already discussed with Rita, as well as Ocean, because she’d been there. “They can appeal to me when I return. In the meantime, they do as you say. If I agree with them when I get back, I’ll decide if there’s any penalty to you. But if I decide they were wrong I’ll decide if there’s a penalty for them to pay.”

Ryan nodded. “Then I accept this charge – and thank you.” They both knew the thanks were actually for the guarantee that Ryan wouldn’t be traipsing south with the rest.

Austin pointed out a messenger waiting to the side. Rigel nodded, so Austin waved the boy forward. The message was written. Since it was in Rita’s new alphabet, and the cursive form at that, Rigel had to struggle with it. A brief grimace was covered quickly as he folded the note, then looked up. “I meant to call Scout Oran, but duty has called him away. I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise, so I won’t announce why I was going to call him forward.” He grinned. “So, onward. Austin?”

The squire took the role of herald again. “Caballero-Ayudante Rodolfo Salvador Montdragón de Blanco, come forward!”

The former Quistador came confidently, as he always did, yet looked puzzled. Seeing the sword bare across Rigel’s knees, he didn’t change expression. “I am to kneel, yes?” he inquired. Austin nodded, then stepped back as Montdragón did so.

“I have heard”, Rigel began, “that there is uncertainty as to Señor Montdragón’s status. I judge him worthy of the status his title suggests, so I wish to remove all doubt.” He swung the sword easily out over the kneeling man’s right shoulder. “Señor, I hold the most noble sword of your heritage, L’Espada d’Escobar. But there is another, perhaps its equal. It is borne, for the present, by the one who will be your lord. I think it fitting for him to wield that blade for this honor.” He restored his sword to its former position. “Don Antonio?”

Antonio kept his expression calm; he now understood why his own weapon had been oddly unavailable when he dressed, and why Austin had insisted that he wear the Sword of Aragon. He took station to Rigel’s right. His soon-to-be Captain was there when he arrived, guided again by Austin. Steel sang, blade on scabbard rim. “I find you worthy as well, Don Rodolfo. Here you see L’Espada d’Aragon, noble blade preserved from ignoble foes. Its story, you shall learn later. For now” – he was quicker than Rigel, flicking the blade from shoulder to shoulder, finishing with a twirl of the blade on its axis – “I call you knight, for your heart is knightly. Rise, Sir Montdragón.”

“I shall strive always to be worthy of this accolade!” the knight vowed. “I know some of its story – the d’Aragon were hounded for envy, and for speaking the truth – naught else. Don Antonio, lower the blade, if you please.” Puzzled, Antonio did. Montdragón kissed the blade, then finally rose. “Would that their House had not gone.”

“Don’t be so sure it has”, Rigel told him. “Don Antonio knows where the heirs might be found. And I think he has something else to say.”

Antonio nodded. “Don Rodolfo, I go to seek them, soon. While gone, Steward Samson will manage my affairs. But he is no military man, so I have need. Will you accept the charge to be my Captain, whilst I am gone?”

That rocked the man back, but only a pair of heartbeats. “I accept this charge, most gladly!” Those on the dais knew he meant it; his life wasn’t whole without someone to follow.

“Good”, Rigel told him. “As Antonio’s lord, I have some orders for you – get your men and a score of Riders, and get back to Mesa de la Vega. Find Scout Oran – he’ll have more instructions. Help him, then assume your command.” Antonio nodded, his glance toward the folded note laying on the small table at Rigel’s right elbow a curious one.

“Final item of the night”, Rigel said then. “I’m going south to visit the Escobars, and then the British. Of my people, only a few will remain. Ryan is one, to be my regent. Lady Crystal is another. Master Dmitri is the last.” He grinned. “I’d say when I’ll be leaving, but apparently I have to wait on all the people who have charge of the different elements of this venture.
“And that’s all.” He let Austin dismiss the assembly, quite content with the way everything had turned out.

* with thanks to ShihTzuTylenol

 

[DonQuixote]

And now we have a bard to listen, discern, record and recount for posterity.
(And, someone whose apparent idruhd spark can untangle the understanding of Mervynn's brain for others. as well as help Mervynn de Snatched rewire his synapses to a finer, more fully functioning cranium, as well.

Plus a few promotions among the faithful, including "not-quite-ready-to-be-Ard-Rye" he, himself. And what rank shall he be bestowing on Oran? Count?

We will have to wait and see.

Thanks for the update!

 

[Kulindahr]

Plus a few promotions among the faithful, including "not-quite-ready-to-be-Ard-Rye" he, himself. And what rank shall he be bestowing on Oran? Count?

I just searched parts III, IV, and V, because I can't remember if Oran's even been knighted. I don't think so, but later I'll look at Part VI, then the loose chapters that will probably become Part VII.

"Count"? Do you really think Oran would stand still for that? Who would he have as vassals?

 

[DonQuixote]

I just searched parts III, IV, and V, because I can't remember if Oran's even been knighted. I don't think so, but later I'll look at Part VI, then the loose chapters that will probably become Part VII.

"Count"? Do you really think Oran would stand still for that? Who would he have as vassals?

The scouts and putty tats? All the furry woodland creatures that are blossoming in variety since the druids played with their genes?

Of course, Chen might take exception to some of that, too, lol.

 

[Kyanimal]

That was quite a delightful chapter!

Everyone is "chill" from the weddings, etc. All are bustling about their duties, but still relaxed. Good things are happening for good people. And, all seems well with the world (for now)!

There is a line of defense to the North ("Here!, Inkie, Inkie!"), and there are friends to the South eagerly awaiting a visit (or so we think). The Celts have their King, so things at Home are tame (for the moment), and Snatcher Mervynn is adapting, with help, for his future participation. My only "concern", at this time, is Urien. I'm getting a little uncomfortable that he's not readily accounted for.

Looking forward to the Journey!

Keep smilin'!!
Chaz