Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (17 page)

Thoughtfully
stroking his beard, Halric said, “The warriors of your tale live in two
villages far to the north. Their warring has endured for so many years that its
roots have been lost, yet is renewed each season by fresh injury and grievance.
That their meeting should occur so near Valholm is what must be pondered. While
we have experienced mild winters for several seasons, the last was most harsh.
Should hunger be severe and the hunting poor, we must be alert for the coming
of their tribes.”

“I
believe it is past time to inform everyone in this village that peace cannot be
accepted as our due.”

Halric
nodded toward Gurthwin. “I have not discounted your counsel. We will send
warriors north to determine the nature of this threat, if any.”

Listening
carefully to the discussion that followed, Jeff began to wonder if the area was
coming out of a glaciation period. He gathered that the two tribes involved
were solely dependent on a hunting-gathering economy, and held themselves aloof
from tribes to the south. A bad winterkill of game or a pandemic would tip the
scales. Living one step away from hunger even in good times, they would have to
move south in search of new hunting grounds or starve.

The
village was in an uproar when Jeff made his way to the meeting hall next
morning. Every able-bodied warrior in camp appeared to be gathered around
Halric vying to be included in the group that was to be sent north. The smithy
was working nonstop completing last minute repairs, equipment was being sorted,
and food supplies loaded onto several plow horses that had been pressed into
service as pack animals.

Jeff
felt obscurely relieved that Cynic was not one of them, and smiled at his
reaction. The horse was a beautiful animal, but there was something else about
him that was appealing. It was puzzling.

The
scouting party set out some hours later amid general well-wishing, scampering
children, and barking dogs. The following days continued to be hectic as a
general mobilization ordered by Halric commenced.

When
Jeff wondered out loud if Halric wasn’t overdoing it a bit, Gurthwin smiled
thinly. “Halric has decreed that the sloth of many seasons be cast aside, that
fat bellies and soft muscles be put to work in the common good. As I have
already said, it is past time.”

Jeff
spent many an hour at the forge talking to Sigwane when the busy smithy had
time, and lending a hand when he didn’t. While unskilled in working iron, Jeff
had spent several summers on his grandfather’s farm helping with chores and
assisting him at an old forge he had inherited from his father. What he
recalled got Jeff off to a quick start. It wasn’t long before he fell in love
with the art of forging steel.

Several
weeks passed before the scouting party returned. During that period Jeff poked
into many aspects of life in Valholm. In the process, and without being aware
of it, he became fast friends with many villagers. Foremost among them was
Gurthwin.

In
the course of one of their late night talks, Jeff shared his origins with the
elderly man he had come to look on as a grandfather. Although Gurthwin did not
appear to be shocked or even surprised, he was silent for some time after Jeff
concluded. When he addressed Jeff, Gurthwin’s expression was animated with
intense interest and what might have been concern.

“Tell
me of your family.”

Jeff
described growing up on the farm, his schooling, and life in Seattle. Gurthwin
interrupted frequently in an effort to understand American society. His
questions became increasingly pointed.

“How
is it possible that men and women of your land form union? Is there no
tranquility in life? Is there no peace with one another? No common ground to
forge deep affection and respect?”

The
expression on Gurthwin’s face was such that Jeff squirmed with embarrassment.
“Man and woman must nearly forgo existence to find repose, for little value is
placed on quiet association and that in large part lip service. To answer your
question more directly, men and women together, in American society at least,
must demonstrate great maturity and resolve to overcome divisive forces that
are extreme.”

“Do
not the strengths of association promise refuge and offer renewal?”

“I
cannot reply to that question, for I feel too much anger and would not do
justice to it.”

Jeff’s
expression was more sad than angry and Gurthwin felt a wave of compassion.
“Perhaps we will speak more of this another time. Tell me of your gods.”

“You
are speaking with the wrong person,” Jeff tersely replied, “and since coming to
this world I have had ample reason to question whether I know anything of
value.”

“That
remains to be seen, Jeffrey, and is not ours to casually decide.”

“Casually?
You believe that I have come to this conclusion casually?” Jeff threw a stick
in the fire with enough force to send a column of sparks spiraling toward the
rafters.

“Do
not confuse casual with frivolous, for a vast gulf lies between them. I am
content to hear of your gods as you understand them.”

“Damn
it, that amounts to nothing! He is a stranger to me! Yes when a youth I was
schooled to believe in the existence of a god, but I have experienced nothing
as an adult that lends credence to what I was taught. All I found were empty
words, ritual, and spiritual leaders that offered no more than banal
affirmation of dogma that was so obscure as to be incomprehensible. You live or
you die, and no god gives a damn either way. The only thing that matters is
wealth. What more do you need to know?”

Gurthwin
left the lodge long enough to dip two tankards of ale from a keg he kept
outside. He handed one to Jeff and resettled himself without saying a word.
Although the silence was not uncomfortable, it was, Jeff concluded over a
period of time, quite pointed. There was no doubt that unfinished business lay
between them.

“Oh,
very well. Since my childish outburst did not dissuade you, let me relate what
I recall of the God of my youth.”

With
no more than a crinkling around the eyes, Gurthwin replied, “I am pleased that
you would share this with me.”

“He
is called Jehovah, or simply God, and sent his only son to Earth to live as
mortal men do in the hope that he could persuade the people of that time to
repent of their evil ways and open their hearts to him.” Jeff paused to look
down in thought and remembrance. “To open their hearts to eternal life through
belief in who he was. The son’s name was Jesus…”

At
the end of the story, Gurthwin had little to say for many minutes. He sipped on
his ale and stared into the fire with an expression of deep sadness.

“And
so Jesus died on this cross for speaking the leaders’ sins.”

“From
the leaders' point of view, yes, and because the leaders feared the following
Jesus was developing. But I was taught that the main reason Jesus came to Earth
was in fact to die on the cross as the last blood sacrifice for all of
humanity's sins, and to rise from the dead on the third day in testimony to his
promise of eternal life.”

“For
all those given to believe in who he was.”

Jeff
nodded toward Gurthwin. "Yes. And his disciples reported that Jesus did
rise from the dead three days after his crucifixion. From what I recall of
reading the record of his life, Jesus’ followers truly believed that he did
rise from the dead.”

“But
you do not.”

“In
my life I have found only contradiction, confusion, and a great silence. While
speaking, I recall the terrible sense of spiritual abandonment I experienced
after leaving home. Money rules all. It was a bitter fight before I lost my
belief.”

“Perhaps
more of Jesus remains in your spirit than you acknowledge.” Gurthwin noted
quick rebellion in Jeff’s expression and continued before he could erupt. “Tell
me of the other gods. I assume there are more?”

“Many
more, but my knowledge of them and their teachings is limited.” Jeff quickly
ran out of inventory and was content to work on his ale while Gurthwin
cogitated.

“You
say these gods do not intervene in the madness you have described. Are you
certain? Intervention does not necessarily come like a clap of thunder.”

“I
can only speak for myself. I have never experienced or been taken with
descriptions of direct intervention or divine presence.”

“Yet,
as I understand it, what you have been taught suggests otherwise. Suggests an
interest by the gods.”

“There
exists a large body of written word for every belief system, but each has been
so openly manipulated to set groups apart one from the other, often to
murderous ends, that the whole is now suspect.

“And
conveniently so.”

“Given
my own perceptions I cannot deny that. However, as you have asked, why does
God, or other gods, if they exist, permit such perversion in their names? I
suspect many, many people on Earth would welcome frank intervention, for I must
believe their existence is as heart sore as was my own. I know I would.”

After
a brief silence, Gurthwin smiled gently. “But you are here, Jeffrey.”

They
were sitting on opposite sides of the fire and Jeff could do no more than stare
at Gurthwin. His words had shattered every thought train. Jeff let his eyes
drift deep into the wavering bed of coals in a futile attempt to find the heart
of his emotion.

“I
was brought here by an earthquake, Gurthwin, not God. I do so wish that were
not the case.”

Rather
than reply, Gurthwin suggested that Jeff put more wood on the fire. It had
burned down quite far and required some nursing. Gurthwin waited patiently
until Jeff had regained his composure.

“Please
tell me more of yourself.”

“There
is an event that has long cried out for understanding.” Jeff related the forest
incident in which he met Gaereth.

The
tale startled Gurthwin at first. At the end he was slowly nodding. This common
thread, he thought, must be understood. The Alarai are present on two worlds. I
perceive this young man to be a binding force that promises to reveal the doom
of both. Yet to what end? Good or evil?

“I
will think on this matter, Jeffrey, for I am troubled by the portent of your
coming. While it is certain that Gaereth is of the Alarai, my heart tells me
that much is yet to be revealed.”

Some
days later a sentinel raced into camp shouting that the scouting party had been
sighted and was carrying wounded. Jeff ran from the stable and was invited to
join Halric and Gurthwin when he puffed up to the meeting hall. He did a rapid
head count as the troop streamed by and concluded that the sentinel had
exaggerated.

While
each of the packhorses carried a warrior, neither of them appeared seriously
wounded and they were calling out greetings as loudly as the rest. A few others
had wounds, but they appeared to be of little consequence.

“Let
us converse,” Halric said to the expedition leader, and indicated to Jeff that
he was welcome to join them.

In
the meeting hall, Halric set a foaming tankard in front of Gethric. “Will you
tell us what transpired?”

“We
moved to the north with great care,” Gethric reported, draining half the
tankard, “but saw no one for many days. Fearing surprise, a number of warriors
were sent out to the east and west ahead of our advance. Those to the west were
suddenly attacked. Outnumbered, they were obliged to fall back until reunited
with the larger part of our force. Recalling our duty and mission, I urged our
warriors to retreat south until pursuit was abandoned.”

“They
did obey?”

Holding
his right fist up, Gethric emptied his tankard with the other hand. Halric
chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. Jeff chuckled as well, thinking that
it must have been some kind of urging. What a bloodthirsty lot!

Gethric
continued his report from across the hall while getting a refill. “They left
ample spoor, and by dint of careful effort we discovered their village. The
news is not good, for all that was seen gave evidence of movement to the south.
Understanding the import of this, we set out for Valholm apace.”

Halric
dismissed Gethric to a well-deserved meal and bed. The work of dissecting his
report lay ahead for those remaining. By the wee hours they had agreed on a plan.
The tribes involved were small, and they decided to establish an outpost a safe
distance to the north that was larger than either. The outpost’s leader would
be instructed to offer the olive branch of assistance with one hand, and the
threat of destruction or starvation with the other.

Four
days later the outpost group departed, families included. When Jeff questioned
Gurthwin about that fact, he shrugged.

“Where
a warrior goes to live, so does his family. If the warrior should fall, his
family will die with him.”

Over
ensuing days Jeff became aware of an inner restlessness, a sense of unease that
came to occupy every waking hour. Late one sunny afternoon he retreated to the
stable corral and spent some time with Cynic. Trying to communicate might be a
good way to divert his mind. Cynic just stared at him, which was irritating,
and within minutes the familiar tension was back again.