Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (16 page)

“Where
is their land of origin?”

“It
is said they spring from a small land far to the east, one that is bounded by
waters that have no ending.”

An
island? Jeff privately thought. Could it possibly be the land I saw in my
dreams? I certainly got the impression it was an island.

“I
have had visions of such a land. It was given over to rolling meadows and
gentle mountains. It might well be they are the same.”

“While
my people have only stories to remember the Alarai by, no one will forget their
red hair and green eyes. I have seen the Alarai in the mind of my teacher, and
they are you. Thus if the people are yours, it is likely their land would
beckon you in such visions.”

“How
was it they found you?”

“This
is not certain. I do understand that it was only with their counsel that our
people survived the coming of southern Iron-shirts many seasons ago.”

Iron-shirts?
Whoa. Jeff sat up straight and stared at Gurthwin.
“The Alarai took your
part?”

“Without
reservation. Nearly were we all destroyed in those battles. And would have
been, had not the Alarai brought all the villages together and taught us, man,
woman and even child, the manner of Iron-shirt warfare. Season after season,
the invaders fought their way north only to be thrown back. Then, one spring,
they did not return.”
Gurthwin paused, a deep frown creasing
his forehead.

“It
is not understood why they left. We held them, yes. We defeated them in the
forests and hills, but their numbers seemed endless. One day they departed and
were not seen in our lands again. This has caused much discussion and troubles
me still. We have grown soft with peace and arrogant with safety, remembering
the victories but forgetting that we were not victorious.”

“Do
you recall the appearance of these Iron-shirts?”

“My
grandfather said they were small, but fierce and well-ordered in battle. It was
this that nearly proved our undoing until the Alarai took up our cause.”
Gurthwin
studied Jeff’s face.
“My people say the Alarai have returned and rejoice. If
this is so, my heart tells me we must also have war and does not rejoice.”

The
old councilor was called to a meeting with Halric, leaving Jeff to wander the
village for the rest of the day pondering what Gurthwin had shared.

“And
then there’s Gaereth,” Jeff said in a frustrated tone of voice. “While I may
resemble an Alarai, everything I remember about him fairly shouts that he is an
Alarai. Were Mom and Dad right? Did he have a hand in my coming here? If so,
why did he just dump me in the mountains and never show up?”

It
was getting late and Jeff set his feet toward the meeting hall and the evening
meal. He had nearly died in the snowfields. The memories were bitter. If
Gaereth was responsible, he wanted to know why.

Over
ensuing weeks, Jeff became increasingly familiar with the village’s daily
routine. By the end of the third week he found himself thinking in his new
language. Telepathy had proven to be an astonishingly effective teaching tool.
As he gained fluency, Jeff became engrossed in comparing life in Valholm with
the Europe of Antiquity. Adding in Gurthwin’s stories of the Iron-shirts, the
similarities were fascinating.

What
emerged strongly reminded Jeff of the fading years of Roman occupation in
southern and central Europe. He wondered if a similar empire had reached out
its mailed fist to conquer this land, only to be defeated by central rot fueled
by decades of self-indulgence.

If
that were true, Jeff reasoned, then heading south as intended would likely turn
up more advanced civilizations. Certainly, that had been the case in southern
Europe. The Romans had destroyed local culture, but also brought education, a
body of written laws and the concept of centralized government.

“Question
is,” Jeff pondered aloud, “do I really want to leave? These people are so
wonderful.”

At
that moment he was standing near a field being cultivated by a horse-drawn,
steel-shod plow. Next to it, another field lay fallow. Watching the team turn
twin furrows, he concluded that Valholm definitely had been exposed to outside
intervention as earlier suspected. The concept of crop rotation was not simple,
and steel plows a late development in most cultures. The intervention might
have originated with the Alarai, but it also might have come from the south.

As
the plow approached, Jeff’s attention was drawn to one of the draft animals
plodding along in front. In general, it looked like a horse. However, whereas
Balthazar was earthside wolf in every physical respect except size, every
aspect of this animal seemed a little off. The differences were accentuated
when Jeff examined the horses he was pulling with. No more than ponies in
comparison, they would have passed without notice on Earth.

Jeff
cocked his head and frowned as the team approached. “What a strange critter. It
isn’t only that he’s so big. I can’t remember any horse that had such a long
snout, and his ears are certainly a match. They must be a foot long, and look
at the way they arch over his head. How can they be so narrow and stand up at
the same time?”

The
team was nearly abreast his position, and Jeff could only shake his head. “I
can’t see over his back! Six feet tall? He’s built something like an Arabian,
but they’re small and he’s colored like an Appaloosa. Long legs, and look at
those hindquarters! Bet he can really move.”

As
the team passed, the horse stopped and turned his head to look at Jeff. That
was not unusual behavior, but he held Jeff’s gaze for moment after moment. That
was unusual.

“How
could I have missed it? I have to call him something, but this is not really a
horse. Not with eyes like that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that shade of
blue-green in any animal or human.”

Man
and horse continued to stare at one another. “Son of a gun,” Jeff murmured,
“he’s trying to figure me out. And I always assumed horses had the brains of a
chicken.” Jeff moved to get a better view. “Wow. That is a big brain cage. This
might be one smart critter.”

The
youngster handling the team raised a switch, prompting Jeff to hold up his
hand. Although the right words were hard to find on demand, he conveyed the
impression that he wanted to look the horse over. Pleased at the interest, the
boy gestured for Jeff to go ahead. He walked up to the animal but was careful
to stop out of biting range.

“Hey,
big boy, what’s new?” he asked, looking the horse square in the eye and
receiving a look in return that was equally square. “Is he trying to speak with
me?”

Try
as he might Jeff could not reach the horse’s mind. Yet he got the impression
that he should be able to. Growing up on a farm, Jeff had learned to interpret
animal body language. It was an indispensable skill when working with bulls. In
this case he decided there was something going on that was definitely
irritating.

Growling
under his breath, Jeff pointed an accusing finger in the general direction of
the animal’s nose. “All right, fleabag, don’t you give me that smart-ass
garbage, too!”

Jeff
approached the young man and waved an arm toward Cynic, for so he had named
him. “How about that one? Is he difficult to work with?”

“Ever
he wishes to follow his own course, and of a morning may employ devious
stratagems to avoid the harness. Yet he, when willing, needs little direction.”

Throwing
what he hoped was an insult in Cynic’s direction, Jeff wandered toward the
community hall. That evening he listened attentively to a saga being recited by
a grizzled villager named Hagwane. The tale lagged, forcing Hagwane to duck
thrown food and a tankard trailing a stream of beer. Dodging back and forth, he
picked up the pace.

“…And
thus, hearing desperate calls, Tehric quickly slew his adversary. Heart beating
with fear, he burst into a lodge all aflame and deadly. There lay a maiden
languishing in shackles.”

The
crowd shouted encouragement and advice; some leaped to their feet in
excitement. Not letting his guard down, Hagwane darted glances around the room
to make sure no more food was on its way.

“Sundering
the sweet maiden’s fetters, Tehric did lift her to his arms and win through to
the forest’s protection. Then did fair Marsa recover her senses and look full
upon the strength of her savior.” The audience let out a roar of approval and
stamped appreciation.

Back
in control, Hagwane paused to leer around the room. “Fiercely embracing Tehric,
fair Marsa did fall upon him with grateful abandon, ripping his clothing in her
haste to give thanks with her body. Finding her desire, Marsa did grip it most
firmly and led Tehric to a soft bed of leaves.”

More
men and women jumped to their feet, many with ear-piercing whistles.

“Smoldering
desire burst into flame and Tehric thrust her to the ground, yet was thwarted
by her garments.”

A
female voice bellowed, “Cut them off. He must use his knife to free her body.”

Responding
to the crowd, Hagwane improvised the sex scene. From moment to moment, Jeff
couldn’t be sure who was assaulting whom.

“Holy
shit! Are they having sex or trying to kill each other?”

A
bawdy song that left nothing to the imagination drowned out the final portion
of Hagwane’s tale. Although he considered himself inured to a wide range of
sexual preferences, the graphic nature of the lyrics made Jeff uncomfortable.

“They
certainly aren’t sexually repressed!” he laughed under his breath.

Sweating
profusely, Hagwane took his seat to a round of table-banging approval and the
general uproar resumed. A short while later, Gurthwin turned to Jeff with a sly
smile and spoke in a voice loud enough to carry well beyond their vicinity.

“Perhaps
you would regale us with an exploit?”

As
Gurthwin had anticipated, a chorus of voices immediately called for a tale.
Villagers emphasized their desire by pounding flagons on the table. Bending a
sour look on Gurthwin, who only smiled innocently in return, Jeff was soon put
in a spot where he could not refuse as the thumping and shouting became
general.

Okay,
buckos, Jeff thought as he got to his feet, bowing to Halric in the process,
let’s see what I can do. Hope my vocabulary is up to it. Making his way to
center stage, Jeff dredged his memory in an effort to recall the epic poem,
Beowulf. He located a few stanzas and recited them under his breath to get the
meter and style. Jeff abruptly grinned.

“Let’s
do this right!” He leaped on top of a table and held his arms up for silence.

Opening
with his desperate journey out of the snowfields, Jeff gradually became caught
up in the flow of events and new words came in a rush. The barbaric setting in
the hall and emotions that had barely settled spurred him to eloquence. The
tale unfolded as he struggled south, death and destruction at every hand.
Pausing dramatically, Jeff embellished his meeting with the wolves.

In
a quiet setting, the battle he encountered a day later would have been
difficult to relate. The setting was anything but quiet, and Jeff was so caught
up in the tale that he chanted out every detail. The only thing he left out was
any mention of the Colt.

“…Then
did the sun surrender to the night, stricken warriors and their companions
falling asleep where they lay. Long through the night did I pace my solitary
way defending their slumber. No solace for my spirit could I find but the moon,
no reprieve from sadness but that afforded by sweet music.”

The
story was complete, his euphoric state dissolved, and Jeff gazed around. The
hall was silent. Every eye was fastened on him with rapt attention.

“Oh,
no,” he groaned under his breath, “what have I done? If those warriors up north
happen to be related to this bunch, I might have screwed everything up.”

Pandemonium
broke. Bellowing Valholm’s battle song, villagers lifted Jeff from the table
and passed him toward the head table hand to hand. Jeff was flustered beyond
words by the time he was set back on his feet, and felt something like a beach
ball.

Taking
his seat, Jeff was met by a probing look from Gurthwin. There was little doubt
he had learned more from the tale than Jeff would have wished. Halric was
staring at the tabletop with what appeared to be concern. When the crowd
reluctantly cleared out some hours later still singing old ballads, Halric
signaled Jeff that he would like him to remain.

“Your
tale does you credit, and calls to mind those concerning the Alarai and their
manner of viewing the world,” Halric observed. “Long has it been since my
people have tested their prowess, and you must know that they admire yours.
Would you retell the story of your meeting with the warriors? I fear it
contains the seeds of concern.”

Jeff
recounted the tale in a more factual manner, describing as much detail as he
could remember or tolerate. Prompted by questions from one or the other, the
evening was well along before the last point was settled.