Children of a New Earth (29 page)

They sat quietly for a while. Then Lexa squealed. “What?” Amy demanded.

“You were fertile when you were at our house.” She pointed her finger at Amy, but her eyes sparkled mischievously. “And you didn’t even try. You didn’t do your civic duty.”

“Are you suggesting I should have tried to seduce one of your husbands?” Amy gasped.

“Most definitely,” Lexa replied with a laugh. “Luther would have been a good choice; he’s very gentle. But no . . . we suspect he’s sterile too. So maybe Merlin. He’s apt. Very apt.”

“I don’t want to hear this,” Amy said, putting her hands over her ears, but she was laughing too, glad that Lexa was being her friend again. A little voice in the back of her head said that she bet Merlin was quite apt. She ignored it as best she could.

Chapter 11

THE CULT OF THE IRON MOTHER

That night they camped at a large fueling station. The Redriver tribe maintained fewer stations, farther apart than the Greenbowes, but theirs were larger. There was a single small cabin, not enough for the expedition, but there were semi-enclosed showers and three pit toilets. There was also another gazebo with a dark metal statue.

“What is it?” Amy asked.

“Durgas, the dark mother,” Lexa told her. She opened a small drawer that was built into the gazebo’s railing. She pulled an incense stick from within and knelt before the statue.

“Worshiping pagan idols, now?” Patrick murmured and then more loudly, “We don’t believe in idol worship where we come from.” He stalked off with Mark and Shawn in tow.

“Is he always so cheerful?” Lorn asked mildly.

“Jesus said to be tolerant of others,” Kurt yelled at the retreating back.

“Not the way Minister Posch talks,” Daniel commented.

“Nonetheless, Kurt is correct,” Lorn said.

“How would you know?” Luke asked. “You’re a pagan.”

Lorn produced a small black book from his pocket. Kurt stared at it in surprise. “Just because the tribe is pagan does not mean that we reject other religions. This Bible was the only gift my grandmother was able to give me, back in the dark days of the collapse. It has been a great comfort to me, a connection to a family long dead.”

Luke nodded. “Well, I don’t know about worshiping this, but I am curious about it. What can you tell me?”

“Durgas, the dark mother,” Spider explained, “is a variation of the Hindu Goddess Kali. She was once worshiped in a week-long festival called the Rites of Durgas in a place called India.”

“What I think Luke is after,” Amy interrupted, “is about the statue itself. We have encountered two others. At the village, they told me it was something to do with the Cult of the Iron Mother, whatever that was, or is.”

“The Cult of the Iron Mother was started by Arnie Mauss,” Spider said, “but perhaps that is a story for after supper.”

The two tribe members joined Lexa at the statue. Amy was torn. It seemed a harmless gesture and she was sure that Lexa would be pleased, but the men would disapprove. In the end, undecided, she stood and waited.

Instead, she found herself wondering about Spider. Women warriors were not a usual thing at the ranch by any stretch of the imagination, yet the men from the ranch treated her with a respect that bordered on awe. Luke had told her how Spider had so readily beaten Patrick at the warriors circle. She had also apparently let Mark know that the only use she had for men was as training partners. The implied threat had been taken to heart by all the men.

Unable to deal with such a strong female figure, the men reacted the only way they could: they thoroughly ignored any indication that she was a woman and just treated her as one of the men. She seemed happy enough with the arrangement.

There was one practical advantage to her presence as far as the men were concerned. After supper, she brought a set of shears out of her pack and gave Luke, Patrick, and Daniel their first haircuts since the mission began. None of them had thought it would take nearly long enough to warrant bringing their own shears to maintain their short buzzes.

Kurt declined to have his hair buzzed, stating that he was going to wear it a little longer. He stared defiantly about him while he said it, defying anyone to challenge him.

“I think it will suit you,” Lorn said as he brushed out his own long hair.

While she worked, Spider talked, telling them what she knew of the Cult of the Iron Mother. “Arnie Mauss was a sculptor, and by his own admission, not a very good one, in the days before the collapse. He was a Canadian who made his living doing blacksmithing. While living on a small farm outside of Montreal two years before the blast, he started to have strange dreams.”

“Was he one of the visionaries we’ve been told about?” Luke asked.

“Not exactly,” she replied. “The visionaries had already appeared, and at first he attributed his dreams to their message. However, his dreams were of a different nature. He dreamed of large armies clashing in violent waves. He heard the screams of dying men and saw the blood run in graphic detail. Then a large, dark form rose over the fields of battle, and peace came onto the land. He thought deeply about these dreams but could make no sense of them.

“One day he was in Montreal. He met an old lady. She was crying and holding a small box tight to her chest. He was moved and began to talk to her, asking her story. She told him that her grandson was dead, killed in a senseless act of gang violence. The box contained the gun that had killed him. She intended to throw it into the river to be rid of it.

“Instead, Arnie convinced her to give it to him. He had no idea what he was going to do with it. He took it home to his studio and started to work. He used an acetylene torch to break the temper on the gun’s metal. Then he slowly melted it down and worked the metal.

“When he was done, many hours had passed unheeded. In his hands he held a goddess statue, his first. The work was simple but more powerful than anything he had ever done before.

“He gave the statue to the old lady. The news spread by word of mouth and soon people were coming from all over, bringing Arnie guns and the stories of those the guns had killed. He did about a hundred pieces over the next two years.

“He became famous. He was showcased in several galleries. He even published a book showing pictures of the statues he did and the stories behind them.”

“We have a copy at Tir-Na-Nog, if you are interested,” Lorn added.

“After New York, when the civil government collapsed,” Spider picked up her narrative again, “the military declared full martial law and called up all the National Guard units for service. The governor of Minnesota refused. He declared that the state of Minnesota would not be party to a military dictatorship.”

“That took balls,” Mark commented.

“They let him do that?” Patrick asked.

“No, they didn’t,” she responded.

“What about the National Guard? What did they do?” Luke asked.

“Some went and some stayed.”

“They should have all gone,” Patrick declared. “It was desertion. Disobeying a direct order from the president?”

“That was one of the things at issue,” Lorn said. “The civil government was in a state of collapse. Supposedly they had approved the military takeover, but it was never confirmed.”

“So, those who went felt they were doing the right thing,” Spider said, “as did those who stayed. A few men, loyal to the military, tried to stage a coup and take the governor out. It failed and quickly led to a pitched battle in the Twin Cities.

“In the end, the regular military stepped in, as much to enforce peace as to take sides. After three days of intense fighting, almost six thousand were dead. Many were innocent civilians.”

“Any hope for peace ended with that battle,” Lorn said.

“What does this have to do with the Cult of the Iron Mother?” Amy asked.

“A digression, but a necessary one,” Spider said. “You see, the St. Paul Massacre, as it was named, was Arnie’s call. He felt drawn to the US, believing he now understood his vision.

“His work was well known by then, and word spread quickly. He was in town just days after the fighting stopped. Survivors came to him in droves.”

“You have to understand,” Lorn said, “that most of the guardsmen were no older than you guys yourselves. They fought for what they believed was right, but still ended up killing thousands of civilians, their own people. It was a terrible tragedy. Their grief was too much for words.”

“Yes,” Spider agreed. “They came silently and laid their guns at his feet. Many vowed they would never fight again. Soon Arnie had piles of weapons, everything from pistols to rocket launchers. A local steel works helped, providing torches and operators. All the guns were destroyed, and Arnie began to work on a new scale.

“Now, Arnie was a visionary and an artist. In St. Paul, he met a woman who would change his life forever, Jennifer Orenson. Jennifer was a healer and a born leader. She had an incredible intuitive grasp of human nature. She recognized right away that those who took part in the fighting, regardless of which side they were on, were ticking time bombs. The intense guilt and horrific exposure to death and destruction would give way to depression. Depression would lead to madness. What they would eventually become was anybody’s guess.

“What they needed was a way to atone. They needed an outlet for their grief. Jennifer gave them that. She formed the Cult of the Iron Mother. She trained the men in first aid, herbal medicine, and healing. Her pagan connections kept them supplied with food. Not much food, but no one had much in those days, and they survived.

“Wherever a big battle was fought, Arnie went. Thousands traveled with him. They scavenged or begged what food they could and shared it with all. They healed the wounded when they could, and helped bury the dead. They collected guns for Arnie’s monuments.”

“Didn’t the military try to stop them?” Luke asked. “There was martial law, wasn’t there?”

“The military was afraid of them,” Spider answered.

“Why?” Mark demanded. “This Arnie melted all the guns down, so they were unarmed.”

“And they took vows not to fight,” Kurt said. “You said so.”

“Yes, both true,” Spider replied. “Still, they were feared. Anyone could lay down their arms and join them. Desertion rates leaped whenever a military unit got too close. That was one of the big fears.”

“But some units were too hardened to fear that,” Lorn said. “They were just armed thugs. They had already lost anyone willing to desert. They tried to take on the Cult more than once.”

“Think about it,” Spider shuddered. “For all their talk of peace, these were thousands of ex-soldiers. Most were suffering from shock, grief, and near-suicidal depression. In the few cases where they were forced to fight, their death toll was high, but they always won.”

Chapter 12

SABOTAGE

Early the next morning, Amy, Lexa, and Spider quietly left the camp. There was something Amy was determined to do. She knew the men of Freedom Ranch would not approve, so they would not be told.

On the far side of the hill, they reached a small meadow. Spider silently sat down on her knees and pointed in front of her. Lexa and Amy sat where they were shown and bowed to the woman.

After a short warm up they began. With a gesture, Spider brought Lexa to her feet. Amy watched as Lexa punched at Spider. Spider gracefully moved alongside Lexa’s outstretched fist, ending up behind her. She spun Lexa around. Just as Lexa stepped around, regaining her balance, Spider’s forearm caught her chin, and she was thrown to the ground.

“Aikido is about blending with your opponent’s force, not fighting against it,” Spider lectured. “Now, let’s try it, slowly at first.”

Amy nodded and rose. Since she had met Ruth and learned that some women could defend themselves, she had resolved to learn. If there was anyone willing to teach her, Spider seemed the obvious choice.

Forty-five minutes later, the three sweaty women made their way back to the camp. Lorn and Kurt were awake and talking, but everyone else was still asleep.

Lorn was cooking breakfast while Kurt showed him passages out of the small Bible he carried. As Amy passed them, Lorn was shaking his head emphatically. “A short reference, made by Paul even. Jesus himself is all but silent. This should be telling, shouldn’t it?”

Curious though she was, she did not stay to find out what they were discussing. When she returned from the shower, the whole camp was up. As the girls dried off and ate breakfast, the men made for the showers.

“Really, this sexist shower arrangement is going to take some getting used to,” Lorn groused.

“Can you honestly say that you object to showering with six young men?” Spider joked.

“Point taken,” he replied and bowed. Amy was glad none of the men heard that.

The day passed slowly. Amy rode all morning with a taciturn Patrick. Her afternoon shift was with a now contemplative Kurt.
The idea is that a companion keeps you from falling asleep
, she thought.
What good does it do if they don’t even talk to you?

They were driving a very long stretch today. Yesterday, they had touched the edge of the Redriver tribe’s territory, and today they would cross over into the Roan’s territory. Dusk was already turning rapidly toward darkness as they finally pulled up to the fueling station.

Amy’s subconscious mind immediately picked up that something was wrong, but it took her a minute to figure out what. “The pole, oh shit, look at the pole.”

Kurt just shrugged. “Looks like an ordinary pole to me.”

“It shouldn’t be. Where’s the wind generator?” Amy said as she swung herself out of the truck. Lexa had spotted it too and was already out of her truck, heading for the station itself with a flashlight in hand.

“Wait,” Lorn’s voice called out, bringing them both to a stop. He was carrying a flashlight as well. He pointed it at the door, which swung loosely in the night breeze. “That was deliberate. Better let me go first. Luke?”