Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (64 page)

Gaereth
and Jeff could feel Carl’s struggle as his thoughts flashed through a long list
of responsibilities. As Jeff knew it would, curiosity won out.

“You
got it, bucko. I’ll be up later this afternoon and stay the night.”

“You’re
not going to believe this, Carl. See you later.”

Jeff
knew his last comment would drive Carl wild with speculation. They were
chatting about it a few minutes later when Jeff’s hand happened to brush the
hilt of his sword. He stood up to draw the weapon, and handed it to Gaereth.

“Can
you tell me anything about it? I have no idea how long it was in our family
before it was given to me. Grandpa said it’s over two hundred years old.
There’s something about it that keeps nagging at me.” Jeff described what had
happened the night before he left on his camping trip.

Gaereth
listened intently, all the while turning the saber over in his hands and
stroking the blade. When Jeff was done with the story, Gaereth did not respond
for some time. Sitting motionless, his gaze seemed to have wandered light years
away. A deep sadness, perhaps longing, permeated his features. Sighing deeply,
shaking his head, Gaereth looked up.

“I’m
not sure, but this saber might have belonged to my father.”

Jeff’s
face revealed his astonishment. “Your father? This is his sword?”

“Maybe.”
Gaereth lovingly caressed the blade. “Too much time has passed to be certain.”

Gaereth’s
expression was so poignantly sad that Jeff’s heart went out to him. “Why didn’t
you inherit it?”

“I
was quite young when we were separated by war. I never saw my father again.”

“I
am so sorry, Gaereth. How old were you? It must have been a terrible loss for
you and your mother.”

“They
fought together, Jeffrey. They were both killed.”

Silence
settled on the room as Jeff tried to comprehend the magnitude of Gaereth’s
loss. So many years alone. No, he corrected himself, so many centuries alone.
All the while surrounded by normal people whose comparatively short life spans
would make close attachments an agony as they rapidly grew older and died. Jeff
searched for words to convey his deep sympathy, but found none that came close.

“It’s
been hard for you.”

The
compassion in Jeff’s voice led Gaereth to brush a hand across his eyes. There
was only one tear, but it was the first in untold years.

“So
much has been lost.”

After
a pause to collect himself, Gaereth said in a soft voice, “The forests,
Jeffrey. If only you could have seen the forests of Gaul and experienced the
joy our people possessed before the Romans came. I will never forget the music,
the dancing; how many of us there were.”

Plopping
down on a bench, Jeff stared at Gaereth as if he were seeing a ghost. “Just how
old are you, Grandfather?”

“I
hate that word, old.”

“Sorry,
it was a poor choice.” Jeff had to smile at Gaereth’s expression. “Let me put
it this way: what was the year of your birth.”

“I’m
not sure. Calendars haven’t been around that long.”

“No,”
Jeff said dryly, “only since 46 BC, nearly 2000 years, and a lot farther back
than that in China.”
 

“In
terms of human history that span amounts to nothing. We did not keep track of
time in the sense that modern peoples do.” Gaereth looked directly at Jeff, and
said, “I will not play word games with you, Grandson. My people, your people,
have always been technologically sophisticated, although not in the gadget
sense of America. Given some time I could probably hang a number on the year of
my birth based on the Julian Calendar, but I’m not going to. Not now.”

“Okay,
I won’t press the issue.” Jeff folded his arms and sat back. “How about some
hints?”

“Our
family always has been a stubborn lot,” Gaereth replied with an amused chuckle.
“All right, I’m comfortable with giving you a general frame of reference.”

Gaereth
rubbed his chin, wrinkled his forehead, shifted in his seat, and eventually
resorted to counting on his fingers.

“Whoa.
It’s been awhile since I tried to figure this out,” he murmured. “Has it really
been that long?” When he put his fingers away and looked up, Gaereth’s
expression was impossible for Jeff to interpret.

“I
was no longer a youth when I led a contingent of Alarai in the running battle
to slow down Hannibal. When the time is right, we will search backward from
there so you may learn your full heritage.”

“Hannibal?”
Jeff stared at Gaereth as if he were seeing a ghost. “The Hannibal of
Carthage?”

“Yes.”

“My
God. You’ve lived at least 1,700 years. Hannibal crossed the Alps in the first
part of the third century, first millennium. You must have seen Rome at the
peak of its expansion!”

“Let’s
just say I experienced Rome at its peak. If you lived in Gaul, Hannibal was
simply the greater of two evils at that moment in history. That was a time when
there was no winning for losing.”
 

Jeff
jumped to his feet, didn’t know what to do with himself, and sat down again.

“Shit.
This really has me pumped. Rome! And you must have had some contact with the
Greeks when they were dominant.”

“Yes
I did, and they were an arrogant lot. Although Americans think pretty highly of
themselves, Greeks of that period put them to shame. Maybe a lesson there
somewhere. Now settle down, Grandson. Run around the block or something.”

“If
there was a block to run around, I think I would!” Jeff let his breath out in a
whuff of air. “Okay, now how did you ever locate my family? The European
Diaspora went on for centuries.”

“Because
I only lost contact during the Napoleonic Wars, and I had to if I wanted to
remain sane. How many wars do you imagine our people have been through, Jeff?
How many wars can one family go through without being wiped out?”

“No
more than one or two. Europe was devastated for several generations following
World War II. ”

“Then
what about eleven or twelve wars?”

“That’s
how many you’ve been through?”

“Yes.”

“How
did you….” Jeff stared at Gaereth in consternation. “It doesn’t seem possible
that you survived.”

“There
have been times when I wished I had not. As a people we were destroyed. Your
family is all that remains to me in direct line of descent. It took ten years
of sorting through genealogical records across a good share of central Europe
before I was able to trace their path of emigration to Odessa, and from there
to America.”

“I
can’t imagine what it must have been like.”

“It
was all I had left to hold onto, Jeff. You are indeed my grandson through your
mother’s line, and a sword much like this one was described in several records.
Regardless of who it once belonged to, this saber was forged in what is now
Poland by Alarai artisans, using techniques and technology that are to this day
unknown on Earth. Tell me—have you ever nicked the edge or had to sharpen it?”

“Not
even a scratch, and I touch up the edge for my own benefit not from need.”

“There
you have it,” Gaereth replied with satisfaction. “You will never dull, notch or
break this blade, Grandson, and it will never rust.”

Standing
up, he pushed the saber’s point deep into a thick beam and slowly flexed the
blade. When it was nearly bent double, Jeff leaped to his feet.

“Stop!
That’s not a foil!”

“You
need to know what you have, Jeffrey. I would never do this to an ordinary
saber. Or this.” Gaereth released the haft, and the sword snapped straight with
an audible hum.

“That
scrollwork on the blade? It’s not only decorative.” Gaereth carefully examined
Jeff’s face. “Do you want to take the final step with this sword?”

“What
do you mean?”

“While
I understand nothing of the technology, I do understand that each sword was
designed for a specific person’s stature, reach, and so on.”

“That
was common practice from the Middle Ages on,” Jeff said with a shrug.

“Yes
it was, but Alarai artisans took it several steps farther.” Gaereth frowned.
“Damn, how do I describe it? Look, each sword was tuned not only to stature,
but in some manner also to the individual’s personality. There are words of
passage on every Alarai blade that permit it to be reassigned. I have no idea
how it works, only that it does—maybe harmonics. The sword is imperishable,
humans and Alarai are not.”

“I
want to take the final step and have the sword reassigned to me, Gaereth. There
is nothing I would like better.”

The
excited and determined look on Jeff’s face underscored his words, but Gaereth
hesitated.

“It’s
a serious commitment. The words of passage cannot be revoked unless the sword
is voluntarily given to someone else. Should there be a conflict between your
behavior and what this saber stands for, it could mean your death. Are you
sure?”

Sobered
by the severe tone of Gaereth’s voice, Jeff thought it over again. “I have
never been more serious about anything in my life, Grandfather.”

Pulling
the saber from the beam with easy strength, Gaereth said, “Hold your hands out.
Now, rest the blade on your left, grasp the hilt with your right.”

When
Jeff had done so, Gaereth closely examined the scrollwork, muttering under his
breath as he read it over several times. When he spoke, Gaereth’s voice was
pitched so low that it seemed to vibrate in the air.

“Berold
am I called, hear my creed. Honor in truth, justice in honor.” Gaereth spoke
again, but this time the words shattered into Jeff’s mind. “Regeth et mora, num
sella egath.”

A
singing tremor worked up Jeff’s arms and through his body until his entire
being was saturated with ancient power.

“I
am so happy for you,” Gaereth said with great emotion. “Now it is truly yours.
Jeffrey, my grandson.”

Shivering
violently, Jeff whispered, “What is the power I feel, Grandfather? Is this,
then, magic?”

Gaereth
smiled softly and shook his head. “No, not as earth legend reports it. No
lightning bolts, no humming or singing. Berold is now forged to what you are,
to your mind, body and skill. Never forget Berold’s creed, Jeff. I do not
understand the power, only that it is compelling. I must also tell you that only
time will reveal the full import of your joining. Whoever this sword was forged
for, it became yours in part many years ago and will not be left behind. It was
you who put it on that pile of camping gear, even though you don’t remember it.
You couldn’t have left it if you wanted to.”

Lost
in another world and age, Gaereth fell silent. After a period he shook himself
and went to fetch coffee. Jeff held Berold up to a shaft of sunlight and turned
it this way and that, the blade shooting beams of light around the room.

When
Gaereth returned with two steaming mugs, lopsided smile back in place, they set
to discussing strategy.

Carl
turned Sam into camp late that afternoon. Capitalizing on the Telling, Halric
and several other chieftains had organized a songfest to channel energy away
from bloodier competition. When Carl entered, warriors from an entire tribe
were in the middle of a song. He drew Sam to a halt so he could listen better,
and thought he had never heard anything so beautiful.

The
language was different enough that he missed many words, but those he
understood were heavy with autumn’s reflection. The men and women were singing
in parts, and the refrain wrung his heart. It soared then ebbed in a tempo that
reminded him of wind sighing through trees and falling leaves.

The
day was getting on. Carl let Sam pick his way toward the central hall while he
listened. There was a lot of interesting activity in the craft lodges, but it
was the music that held him in thrall.

“Now
I know why Jeff loves these people. I am so glad I came. It’s good to know what
you’re fighting for.”

Jeff
and Gaereth heard someone dismount outside and hurried from the hall to find
Carl hitching Sam. Suspecting he was about to be zinged, Carl’s expression was
ripe with suspicion. He looked Gaereth up and down then stuck his hand out.

“Well.
Finally! May I assume, sir, that I am greeting an honest to god Alarai?”

Taking
Carl’s hand, Gaereth laughed and nodded. “A solid assumption, sir. Good to meet
you, Carl.” Gaereth took Carl’s arm and guided him inside the hall. “Before
anything else is said, I want you to know the Alarai stand forever diminished
for allowing you to be enslaved.”

“Forever
is a long time, Gaereth,” Carl soberly replied. “I don’t know that I will ever
get over what the Arzaks did to me, but everything else considered, where else
would I want to be?” Carl looked around the hall. “Where’s the coffee?”

Once
coffee mugs were full, Carl rounded on Jeff with a severe look. “All right.
This better be good. What’s up?”