NaNoWriMo didn’t end on November 30.
I have been working away on this thing since, more so lately.
If you missed the smaller, earlier installments, and re-read them, some names of places and people/characters may have changed. I don’t know if I like the new ones any better . . .
Now playing: – Wieder Zuruckhaltend by Simon Rattle/City Of Birmingham Symphony Orchestra from the album “Symphony No.2 ‘Resurrection'” | Get it
We followed Anatha to where the others waited. Reckter looked agitated and didn’t look at us as we approached. Erst looked off into the distance, his eyes half-closed and out of focus. They were half-turned away from each other, and it was obvious to anyone they had been at odds. As we stepped within a few feet of them, Erst turned his head with a hint of smile, though his eyes never looked our way. Anatha stepped outside the circle formed by our arrival, and we waited to hear what these questions were.
The silence was broken by Therian, typically impatient with the two of them. “Well, we came to your summons. Have you something for us, or are you planning to sit there like owls?”
Reckter stiffened and his eyes flashed as he looked at Therian, but Erst’s smile broadened and he subtly raised his hand, signaling the other to hold his peace. “None but you would speak to us that way, and we take it as intended. Yes, we have some questions, and some proposals. Come, sit, and Reckter and I will talk about what we plan to do.”
We sat down, I on an upturned stump or round from a tree and Therian on the ground, his long legs and enormous feet dominating the space we surrounded. Anatha had disappeared, and it was just the four of us. Reckter still seemed uncomfortable and it struck me as curious that Erst had questions rather than just a plan or directive. What was going on?
“As you have surmised, Reckter and I have been debating what we should do next. We must inspect the place where these creatures are impounded and verify that they have not been disturbed. They are suspended in a kind of sleep, a state of waking sleep where they can see and hear but nothing more. Their needs and their appetites, if you like, are not active. We assume nothing has happened to alter that but we make know for sure.
“Reckter feels this is too perilous a journey for an old man, but I disagree. I will be borne, making it effortless, and what strength I have I need when we arrive. More importantly, what knowledge I have may be needed there too. I would be remiss if I sent you without me. I know Therian has just returned and reported that all seems well, but there are details he may not have known to look for. I must go if anyone goes.”
Reckter looked still more agitated but angry as well. He turned as if to address but said nothing. I gathered Erst was getting an earful, so to speak, but Therian and I were left out of it. Erst’s head was nodding as he took in what the other had to say. He held up his hand, and Reckter stopped with a sudden intake of breath, as if he had been scolded. Perhaps he had been.
“We leave in the morning, just the four of us. We will take some provisions for the journey as it will take a day or more each way and we do not know what we will find. We must be prepared to spend a few days there.”
He looked at Reckter, his face solemn, his voice quiet but firm. “This is not something I can delegate. There are very few tasks I am required to perform. I have passed many of my duties to you, but there are some things I must see through to their ends, if need be.”
Reckter, for his part, looked like a schoolboy at the wrong end of a rebuke. It was not hard to imagine his anger at being spoken to this way in front of us, but Erst did not seem like someone who did anything without weighing the consequences. He meant for us to witness this.
* * *
We passed the rest of the day getting ready. Anatha and Derwin had begun preparing supplies while the other two had been arguing. They had known the outcome in advance. I suppose Reckter did as well. I helped, not that they needed it, but to keep busy and to learn more about what we were bringing and how it was to be carried. It seemed that Erst was not going to Therian’s only burden. He would also have some saddlebags, but I expect that would not add much to the load. I was outfitted with a bag to carry some supplies over and above what I was expected to need, and they also gave me a staff made of flame-hardened wood and polished to a glassy finish. It was an elegant thing to look at, with a deep, warm hue, a golden-red, the ends tapering out to be slightly thicker than the middle of it’s length. It felt smooth without being slippery. No matter how hard I gripped it, I didn’t feel it becoming sweaty or otherwise hard to hold.
I saw no more of the others. Therian walked off into the grassland, and I suspected he was planning to take on some form and explore, perhaps hunt out there. The other two had walked off together without any conversation I could hear, and I saw that their supplies were also being packed, Erst’s in the saddlebags, while Reckter was equipped with a bag like mine. Reckter and I were each given some extra water for the others, since they would be unable to reach their own rations. All told, it was a substantial load, but the bags provided were light and well-balanced. It didn’t feel so heavy and of course, it would get lighter as we traveled and depleted the contents.
We met again, three of us, when evening arrived. My table-mates spoke little, at least that I could tell, and there was little beyond the minimum of pleasantries. Therian did not join us, as I suspected, and I left as soon as I could without making my discomfort obvious. They barely acknowledged my departure. I found myself outside, looking at the long shadows, feeling the gentle evening breeze, and trying to make out what all the smells I was picking up could be.
I found a place to sit where I could hear and smell the others at their meals, in the huts and seated around fires all around me. The low murmur of their voices and the melange of aromas from herbs, burning fats, and smoke were pleasant and soothing. I had not had much time to sit and take in the society, to eavesdrop and soak in the communal feeling. I didn’t realize how I had missed that these past few days. Even in El Dorado and the other towns I had visited, I had been on the periphery of things, watching and learning. I had done little of that here, and I felt like a thirsty man who can finally drink his fill. I closed my eyes and cocked my ears, slowly turning my head to take in the rising and falling conversation.
It grew fully dark and the flickering firelight was all the light to be seen. The stars were out, cold and distant, the moon a mere nail paring halfway across the sky. The conversations had dwindled to nothing, and people had taken themselves off to finish up what work they could still do or had to finish before retiring. I realized I should be going off to bed myself if we were to an early start in the morning. I looked around in the gloom for some sign of my companions. Erst and Reckter had evidently turned in or gone off somewhere. Therian was perhaps still gamboling in the grasslands, though perhaps he would prefer a less frivolous descriptive. I was sure we would see him in the morning — in fact, I expected he would be first up and waiting on the rest of us.
My name is Abraham Truman. I was born and raised in Hel, though that isn’t as interesting as it sounds. Hel is a staid but safe place, as these things go, and I was able to get an education and exposure to many different professions and schools of thought as time went on. I had always had a scientific and mathematical bent, so working with numbers and facts appealed to me. I was able to spend a lot of my school days in libraries, both public and private, and found there was a lot more unknown than known. This seems obvious, but in my case there was a lot that had been known and forgotten or lost over time.
At some point, the sum total of knowledge was greater than it was when I was schoolboy, and I found that surprising at first and frustrating the more I studied. It was as if someone had randomly cut pages from textbook or references, but in such a way it wasn’t obvious they were missing. Only when you tried to follow the thread or draw a conclusion did you find that some key fact was missing or some discovery made undiscovered. One could infer or hypothesize but those were not proofs and I wanted certainty. I was building a bridge from the ignorance of my youth to a learned maturity I could only imagine, but without provable knowledge, it was going to be a flimsy bridge, perhaps not fit to traverse.
My mentors and the professors at the colleges I attended were not as dogged as I was, and more inclined to accept that there were gaps in our understanding of the world, and never worry about filling them. They grew weary of my questions and efforts to learn more than they could teach, and I tired of their lassitude, their lack of interest in what was supposed to be their calling. After one too many requests that I find some research areas for which there was more complete information — I found the irony of this hard to take — I decided to find some way of applying my knowledge and getting my hands dirty.
The bulk of my work had been with minerals and the processes that make them, that build and destroy the lands. I realized that there were exploratory companies that turned the flimsy information we were working with in the academy into real facts in the field, sometimes even into wealth for the luckiest ones. It was without regret that the dean of the college I had exhausted most recently allowed me to suspend my studies and second my self to an exploratory party and perhaps satisfy my curiosity.
An effusive letter of introduction — they didn’t want me to be turned away and have to resume my research — got me attached to a team making a survey that was estimated to take half a year. The pay was awful, the rations likely to be worse, but the opportunity to learn more about the world and myself was too tempting to miss. These missions were partly military in composition, as the leader was always an officer and there were always some active duty soldiers, more or less depending on the planned route and expected risk. Ours was lightly fortified with only four guardsmen and a captain, so it was obvious not much danger was forecast.
We set out in the spring and headed into the foothills of the mountains that separated us from the interior of the country. Nights were cool and days were lengthening without getting too hot yet. We seemed to be keeping pace with the onset of summer as we climbed, as days never got warmer for us, even as we could feel the increase in daylight. We reached a plateau after a couple of weeks of steady walking. this was to be our first camp and point of exploration. Our captain had been here before but never to explore where his orders directed us this time.
We set up camp and within a day, we looked like permanent residents. Tents were pitched, cooking areas built from stones and newly-cut branches, our pack animals at home in a hastily-built but strong corral. The guardsmen had reconnoitered the area around the encampment, quartering the low hills and probing the dry stream beds. They found nothing of note, and the captain gave the all-clear to explore the area. There were several of us non-military types, and we made an effort to share and share alike when we found items of interest. I found little to interest me, as it was a well-documented area, geologically, but the time scale for botanists and other naturalists is shorter than those of us who study the formation of rocks. I found myself chafing to head off into the unexplored crags before we ran out of time. We had taken a couple of weeks to get to the survey site and I was keenly aware than when winter arrived we would be long gone.
The naturalists went about their — to me — uninteresting work and I wandered further and further into the wild, making a series of concentric rings as I went, chipping stones and making notes. I didn’t expect to find anything of value, but this was a valuable opportunity to buttress my lab work and my experience with the few samples we had to work with. I found a lot to look at, some pieces of my incomplete education were sewn together, and I often found the cook’s meal gongs came at the most inopportune times.
After a couple of weeks of this, I persuaded the cook to put aside some of the traveling rations, the dried and preserved items we carried in case fresh supplies were hard to come by, so I could travel more than an afternoon’s walk from the encampment. I made sure I had provisions before I talked to the captain. I expected his first argument would be that there was no food to spare and I wanted to have a rebuttal for that in my pocket. Sure enough, that was our initial exchange, and when he found I had already secured some provisions, he scowled and glared at the cook’s tent.
“You already spoke to cook about this?”
“Yes, sir, I wanted to be sure there were ample supplies before I thought it all through. Cook assures me we used our travel supplies sparingly on the way out, and we are well-suppled for the return.” I didn’t mention that he also expected a resupply wagon in a couple of weeks, which our captain may have forgotten.
“Hmm. Where do you plan to go and how long are you planning to go on this little walkabout?”
“I want to head up to that ridge there. It’s a little too far to get there and back in a day, and if I overnight it, I can spend enough time to learn more about it. If it proves to be worth further exploration, I plan to carry enough supplies for a couple, perhaps three days.” The ridge I had in mind was a prominent line of rock outcroppings, marking by scrubby bushes and streaked by run off from the leachings of seasonal rains.
He looked up at the ridge, weighing his options. Worst case, I go up there, break my neck, and he comes with one less member of his survey company, perhaps not the worst outcome by his lights. Best case, I make a find up there and we take back news of some resources we can reclaim for the city’s use. Again, that might be a bad outcome for him, since he would need to transport samples and make a lot of reports on the trip that would be unnecessary otherwise.
He scowled again. “You want to take a guard up there with you?”
“No, I prefer to go alone. There’s no need to take one of your men up there.” I suspected he was close to yielding and not taking one of his men off on some fool’s errand would make it more likely.
“Alright. See the quartermaster for some signaling supplies. Tell him you want two smokers and a hailer. It won’t add to your burden and you’ll be glad of them even if you never use them.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And be careful. Don’t make any paperwork for me.” He looked me in the eye, and I took that as the closest I could expect to a smile. I nodded, and took my leave. I was already packed, and all that remained was to talk to the quartermaster and collect my provisions from the cook. I would be on my way within an hour.
The smokers were flares, designed to burn with a hot flame and generate a lot of smoke quickly. The hailer was an electric megaphone, with a cranking mechanism driven by the thumb of whoever was holding it. I hoped I didn’t need any of these things but it was better than taking a guard along. I found room in my pack for these things, loaded my provisions from cook, and headed out of camp.
The walking was easy enough, as there were many paths through the scrubby bushes and the bushes themselves were easy to get through. The leaves offered an acrid smell as I brushed against them, a chemical essence that seemed out of place. I found myself avoiding them as much as I could to minimize the smell. The ground started to slope a bit more and I looked for a path or some exposed rock to follow. I didn’t want to twist my ankle or slip on the small rocks that threatened to roll out from under my feet.
There was a gully nearby, not too sharply cut and easy to walk in, and I followed it around behind the edge of the outcropping I had seen from the camp. It was easy to keep walking around that path and climb out on the rocks, looking down into the camp, over the plains we had crossed, and almost to the city we had left. The outcropping made a ledge, like a brow, and I was able to walk across it and look for paths that might lead further up. I wasn’t sure how far I wanted to go. I needed to stay within range in case I needed to use the signaling gear I had been given, but it had been so easy to get this far.
I decided to stop and spend the rest of the day here without distracting myself with thoughts of what might be up the hillside. I hunted out a shady spot, a niche in the rocks, and unslung my pack. I pulled my water skin around from behind me and drank a mouthful of now-warm water, welcome if not all that refreshing. Digging into the provisions cook had put aside for me, I found some small cakes, a mixture of sweet and savory flavors, and quickly ate two of them. I hoped, for his sake, there were more of these on the resupply wagon he was expecting, since they were a popular treat, and it would make him very unpopular if it got out that I had been given a bunch to take away.
I stretched out after sating my hunger and thirst and thought about my next steps. I had a day or more to explore and it seemed unlikely anyone had been up here before, at least not lately. I looked out from my shady niche and studied what I could see. There was some greenery here, benefiting from the rain running down to this outcrop and washing soil or the makings of it — leaves, twigs — down here. There were more small hollows at the bottom of the rock face, some overhung with vines or crowded with grasses.
I studied what I could see, the rocks, sand and greenery, and thought back to my coursework. What could I make of this? What would I look for if I had samples of these rocks in my lab? It was hard to think things through as dispassionately here in the open as I would have done in the laboratory. It was much more distracting than I imagined it would be.
First things first. I decided to take some samples and note where they came from, and see if I could discern some pattern before I thought too much. Thinking could come later, when I had something to think about: right now, I had nothing to work with.
I stepped out to the edge of the outcrop and looked down toward the camp. Nothing to see there, just some tents and a column of light smoke from cook’s stove. A light breeze blowing down from the hills was carrying the smoke away, as well as any sound. I could hear nothing at all.
I turned back to the rocky face of the mountain and worked out where I would start. It looked like there were some exposed surfaces distributed pretty evenly, and if I could get to them, I would have a reasonable selection of samples. I took one last swallow of water and started out. The lowest target I had in mind was off to the right a bit and it looked like I could be able to traverse from side to side across a span of 50 yards or so.
The heat was pretty intense and the exposed rocks had been baking in it long enough to reflect it back as I stooped and bent to chip off fragments and make notes on location and other details. I worked across the rock face and gathered three samples in the process, enough for now. The heat was draining and I didn’t want to find myself summoning help on my first day of exploration. I worked my way back down to where I had stowed my supplies and dropped down next to my pack, fumbling for the water. I pulled out my samples and laid them on the ground, while I dug out my notes and compared them. I decided to stay in the shade a while until the sun worked its way lower and I could put up some shelter for the night. I suspected the captain would send up a guard within a day or so to ensure I was not creating any paperwork or otherwise making him regret his decision. I didn’t want to give him any reason to think things over.
The samples were alike physically. The locations differed somewhat, with one of them in an obvious streambed or gully. I spent a little more time on it than the other two, and resolved to explore the streambed if I could follow it. It might give a clue as to what could be found higher up.
I rested awhile after that, falling asleep briefly, and when I awoke it was dusk. The air was getting cooler and I realized I had better get my shelter together. I wasn’t sure what else lived up here and I didn’t want to invite any curious creatures into my dreams. I got my shelter up quickly and stowed my things inside, hanging everything off the ground to keep it clean and out of reach of whatever. I lit a lantern and walked around outside for a few minutes, peering out at the camp far below me. There were lanterns and fire shimmering there in between the tents and wagons, but I could hear nothing. I stared out into the darkness for a minute or two, then returned to the tent to get something to eat and go to sleep. The climb up here and the little bit of exploring I had done had worn me out.
Dinner was a quick affair: some tea– a collection of herbs and essences, steeped for a few minutes and drunk quickly — and a meal of meats, fruits and vegetables in a leaf wrapping, steamed until heated through. Very sustaining if a little boring, as it lacked texture or color and the flavors merged into one undifferentiated sweet/savory/salty/sour experience. I was hungry enough to eat the leaf wrapping but knew better. Wet and supple as it was, it was useful to wiping up afterwards and was slightly astringent and soothing. Refreshed, I stretched out and looked over my samples once more and jotted down a few notes. If I had a heliograph I could have taken some images of the area to help plan tomorrow’s efforts, but there had been none to spare in the camp.
After a very few minutes, I dropped off to sleep. The night was cool and my dreams varied. I felt as if I were asleep in the middle of a town, and my presence was troubling to those who lived there. I could see no one nor did I hear anyone talking but there was the feeling of someone — a lot of someones — willing me to be somewhere else.
Later I saw some people moving slowly in the dark, and they were hard to make out as they were all dark as well. I could only make them out if they moved. Once they stopped, they were invisible.
I awoke to the dawn, breaking slowly over the mountains and I could hear some distant birdsong. But there was no other sound, no breeze. I stretched and pulled myself to my feet, stamping the stiffness out of my legs and feet, and wrapped myself in my cloak. I stepped out into a misty haze. There was a heavy dew on the greenery, and below me it was an indistinct haze. The camp was obscured and all I could make out was a grey-green field, soft and inviting.
I went back into my tent and broke my fast quickly. A wrapped cake and some water — the tea was not something I wanted to risk on empty stomach — and I was ready. I pocketed my journal with my notes, put my samples and field tools in my pack and walked off in search of that gully I had seen last night.
As I walked along, I mused over my dreams. I was not usually able to recall dreams — my sleep was usually undisturbed and I often wondered how anyone got any rest with all that going on in their sleep. But I felt rested in spite of the picture shows I had seen. The idea of being asleep in the middle of town was puzzling. I gathered some learned expert could frame it as some childhood anxiety come home to roost in my adult life.
I found the path of the gully and climbed up it slowly, keeping an eye on the ground for more evidence of ores and tailings. I was curious that the gully was still so clear, as if it had been washed through by rain. But I knew rain was still some weeks off yet the streambed, narrow as it was, was clear of green shoots or any vegetation. There was enough moisture for that, as I could see around me, but not here in this narrow strip, one or two feet wide at the widest. I stopped a moment to catch my breath and straighten my back and neck. As I looked forward, I realized the path I was following curved behind a large boulder and once there, I would lose sight of the camp and of my own base. I scanned around but could see no sign of anyone or anything. The birds I had heard singing when I woke up had stopped and I had no idea where they had been or where they went.
I got back to work and walked up the path, and walked behind the boulder, a smooth rounded mass twice my height and half as wide as it was tall. The path disappeared here. There was no sign of a gully or flow of water further up the hillside. There was nothing to indicate where the path went from this point. And it was very dark which didn’t help. I looked up and realized there was a flat stone, perhaps half as massive as the one I had just walked behind, acting as a roof and keeping it cool and dark. The sun never reached in here and I couldn’t make out a thing. I stopped to let my eyes adjust but there was no difference that I could see.
I took a step forward and put my hand out to find something to use as a guide. I stepped carefully and my hand found the rock. I took careful steps but the darkness was almost complete. I looked behind me and the bright daylight was so painful, I quickly turned back rather than lose what little adjustment my eyes had made. The air smelled damp and I got the sense of a void, of open space in front of me, though I still couldn’t see anything.
Suddenly there was a noise behind me, a scrabbling sound as if someone had kicked a stone. I turned quickly but there was no one there. As I started to turn back, I felt two hands on each of my arms, strong and bony, and was forcefully pulled backwards into the darkness. I looked to see who or what had hold of me, and I tried to pull my arms free, but I couldn’t see a thing and the owners of those hands were determined not to release me.
A couple of turns later, there was no sign of the lighted world I knew and I was heading backwards into a cool blackness, silent but for the light thread of the feet of my escorts and my own stumbling steps. Even though we were in total darkness and I was out of sight of the entrance — if they let me go, I wasn’t certain I could find my way out even on my hands and knees — they kept me going backwards.
We turned a time or two more, and then I was pulled into a chair or seat of some kind, stone, smoothly cut but cold. I could see nothing but two sets of what I took to be eyes, at the height of a man. They were motionless and didn’t blink. I gathered they were waiting for something or someone.
I waited, wishing I had brought an extra layer of clothing. The cold of the chair was chilling me to the bone and I began to shiver, from the cold and no small amount of anxiety. If my captors meant me harm, whatever they did would go undetected, despite my communication supplies. The chattering of my teeth was the only thing I could hear and in that silent world, it sounded like someone rattling stones in a box.
Without warning, I felt something land on my shoulders, something soft and flexible. My hosts had thrown a blanket of some sort over me. I wrapped it tightly around my shoulders and across my legs. I had not seen or heard anyone move, but I was not surprised. This was too different an environment for me to expect to know anything.
I could hear something approaching, a regular scraping or dragging sound and I could make out a dim light growing brighter. I had no idea what this meant and the shivering now had little to do with the temperature. The area where we had set up our camp was uninhabited and inhospitable, according to all the information we had. Had someone omitted something or was there no better information to be had? And was I going to learn more about this than I really wanted to?
The sound was closer all the time and the dim light became two, closely spaced and high off the ground, head height or so. I stared, unable to look away. Whatever happened, I didn’t want to be surprised more than absolutely necessary.
The sound ceased. The lights were no more than two yards away. They were eyes, dimly glowing, but eyes nonetheless. I could just make out the bridge of a nose between them and the orbits above, but no more.
“What do you here?” The voice was like a metal box being dragged across a rough stone floor, the question as direct and unadorned by such niceties as grammar as could be. I made no answer. I was afraid my voice would betray what had been fear and was now refined into shock.
The eyes blinked slowly and someone grabbed my shoulder and shook it. The question came again, more slowly and deliberately, as if I might be slow on the uptake.
“I was exploring. I followed a path and found . . .”
“You trespass. It is not permitted. You would steal from our realm.”
“I know nothing of you or your realm. Your people brought me here.”
A pause, and the eyes fixed on something to my left. There was another deliberate blink from my interrogator and a sighing, whisper from my left. A quiet shuffle of feet and I heard the figure in front of me exhale and saw the eyes return to look in my direction.
“You were seen near one of our gates. Sentinels thought you were trespassing. You say you were not.”
Was that a question? Was I expected to respond?
“I was not. I do not know who you are or where I am. I would leave and would be unable to tell anyone what or who you are.” It was worth a try.
“You would tell. Soldiers will come. We will have to kill many before they leave us. Has happened before, long ago.”
I was more surprised than before. What was he talking about? What soldiers had they killed? I racked my brain for some idea, some reference in my history studies that mentioned some battle in these hills, but could find nothing.
“What soldiers do you mean? Who are you at war with?” A sharper intake of breath and more whispering from right and left, and other sounds, rustling sounds, cloth against cloth.
“We? We are not at war. Soldiers, your men, come here and fight us. We fight back and they go but lose many here in our realm. Mistake to fight us here where we see and hear more than you.”
“I know nothing of a fight between your people and mine. My people know nothing of yours. We come to survey — to explore. We do not come to fight.”
A pause and then the eyes turned away, followed by the shuffle and drag I had heard before, retreating this time. I started to stand but was not halfway up before a hand pushed my shoulder back down, gently but unmistakably. I settled back and pulled the blanket back around me. My interrogator had disappeared and my escorts were once more as silent as stone.
The darkness was total, both around me and in my head. Apparently, I had somehow been mistaken as the vanguard of an invading force or as a spy or some sort. And escape seemed unlikely, given the conditions: these people could see in the dark and hear the subtlest sound. Or perhaps they used hearing instead of sight, like some animals were rumored to do. I didn’t expect I would get a chance to learn the truth.
I took an inventory of my pockets and my pack. No one had seen fit to take anything from me, so I still had some things I could trade with or perhaps use to some advantage. I had water and some food, though not much more than a day’s worth. I had thought to bring one of the smokers and the hailer that had pressed upon me though what good they would do was hard to see.
I was prepared to sell my life dearly, if need be, though I didn’t think of it as particularly heroic. I was young and as befits that age, prone to romantic gestures. I could warn the others and prevent someone else from the same fate. It seemed likely my failure to return would be remarked on and paperwork or no paperwork, some kind of rescue or recovery expedition would be mounted. It seemed likely my captors would withstand any siege a lightly-armed exploratory force could muster and equally likely that they could easily erase any evidence of an intruder force.
But when I thought it over again, what evidence did I have of bad intentions? They were hardly friendly, but they obviously saw my presence as a threat. Perhaps there was some way to correct that misimpression. I decided to give it some time and not over-react. If I were to jump up and try to find the way out, setting off my hailer and smoker for cover, there was no certainty I would make it or that anyone would see or hear them.
The air was still and cold and for all my thinking and strategizing, nothing had disturbed the guards flanking where I sat, nor did any sound come from the depths of the tunnel or the entrance I had been brought down. I shifted in the unyielding stone seat, making my pack rattle and I heard a sharp intake of breath and felt more than saw the guards tense. When they realized I wasn’t trying anything dangerous, I could hear some of the whispered sounds that I understood to be their communication.
I could now access my pack more easily and eat or drink if need be, but decided not to do anything else to arouse suspicion. I ran my hands over some of the items inside, just to remind myself there was more to the world than this cold dark place. I had no idea how big a space I was in: could be a narrow cleft, could be the size of a cathedral. The bookends I sat between could no doubt tell. I wonder how loud a sound they could tolerate. Were they so attuned to this nearly silent world that noises I would never notice would be painful?
A sound came up the passage again, a more brisk and energetic step this time. The old man who had been to see me before had found someone my own age for me to play with. More of the harsh whispering from the statues, and some from the passage, it sounds like. Orders? Questions? I tensed and the metal items in my pack rattled gently, drawing a reaction — more whisperspeech and the sound of feet bracing themselves — but I didn’t move from my seat.
The footsteps came to rest right in front of me but there were no glowing eyes this time. More whispers, this time from the newcomer, and then a light, a flickering glow, impossibly bright for a candle. I had to look away, and gradually turn my head back to face it. As I squinted and looked around, I could see that the others’ eyes were shielded.
My eyes grew used to the light and I looked around at the room. It was a a rough-hewn space, with the seat on which I was perched the only place I could find any sign of handiwork or modification. The stone overhead and behind the new arrival was grey and rough to the eye, flecked with highlights that caught the candle’s light and shimmered slightly. To the left I could see the darkness that led back out to freedom, to the right a carved archway, decorated around its rim with a border a foot wide, encrusted with markings I couldn’t make out.
I looked at the newcomer and found he was staring at me, at least I assumed so. He stood perfectly immobile, clad in a gray-black one-piece garment that appeared to be without seams, pockets, fasteners or adornment of any kind. His hand, the one I could see holding the light, was pale, thin, almost translucent. His face was thin, gaunt, the skin more like paper than flesh. His mouth was lipless, so pale was he, and his scalp was covered by the finest hair I could imagine, in so sparse a quantity, it seemed vestigial and superfluous. His eyes were hidden behind a strip of a glass-like band that covered his face from ear to ear and from brow to the halfway down his nose.
Still no one spoke. I suspected the guards were incapable of what I considered normal speech, and I recalled the harsh, unpracticed sounds the old man had made (Was he old? How did I know?).
“You have trespassed.” The statement was a declaration, not a question or anything that conveyed doubt or uncertainty. The voice was not as grating as the other, but the modulation, the lack of control, suggested its owner was not used to speaking above the usual whisper. Was I to reply?
“With all due respect,” I offered, nodding my head forward in a gesture I hoped would be interpreted as humility, “I was brought here by your guards.” I kept my voice low, in hopes of keeping things from escalating.
“You were within our . . . .” He paused, looking for a word, though I suspected what he was getting at. “Boundary. You were trespassing. You had broken our law.”
“Again, I ask your indulgence but how was I to know of your boundary? I was not aware of any notice enjoining me from approaching your home.”
A lengthy pause and some short jets of whispering between my interrogator and the guards. The candle flame never flickered during all this time, so still and controlled was this person. I waited, looking around at what little I could see. There was not so much as breath of wind from either opening, and I was not aware of even any aroma of food or any other smells associated with living people. There must be more, I assumed but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know more.
“There are penalties for trespassing. You say you know nothing of us. No one has been permitted to trespass. This is our law.”
This was getting uncomfortable. So I was not the first person to stumble into their territory and unless I came up with something, I wouldn’t be the first to leave. I wasn’t without resources but there were three of them and this was their home. Getting out of this was going to take more than the element of surprise.
“What is the meaning of your law? Why do you not warn people of your law?”
“If we posted our law, some would break it. We have left the world of the sun behind and we would be left alone. We have been forgotten and we want to remain so. This is our law.”
“But why? Who decides that you must be apart from the world?”
Another pause. “Why should I answer your questions? Every moment you live violates our law. I am ordered to exact the penalty of the law.”
Another pause. “But none before have asked these questions. Without exception, they have fought with us or begged for their lives.”
That was a shock. There had been others and perhaps recently. I racked my brain to recall if I knew of anyone who had vanished on another survey expedition.But here and now, I needed to keep the talk going, buy time any way I could.
“I would know more of your law. Who made it? Why was it made?”
“It was old before my time. The law was made long ago, when we first left the world of the sun and took up our home here. We were not forced to it. We chose it.”
Some hissed conversation, halted by a sharp exclamation — for a whisper — from my interrogator/historian. The guard on my left had been rebuked, for what I didn’t know. I didn’t know how much they understood of what we were discussing. But something had happened.
“I am told it is unwise, wasteful, even foolish, to tell you all of this.” Here he paused and I could hear a scuffle of feet from my left. Plainly, they had disagreed on educating the condemned. But the balance of power was clear. I had some time left.
“But no one has asked us, no one has paid any heed to us, who once commanded these plains, who built cities and roads when the towns of the coasts were huts connected by muddy tracks.
“We were not a numerous people but we lived well and freely on the lands your people regard as wasteland or see only for what you can dig out of it. And when we were ordered to leave, we did so far as your people knew. We became one with the land and have lived under it since then. Your books may tell of an ancient victory against us, but you did not win.”
“I have never heard of this victory. I have only been told these lands were abandoned or never settled by anyone. I would not have followed the stream bed I found if I had thought it would mean I was trespassing.”
My remarks forced a sudden intake of breath from the man in front of me and a flurry of communication between the three of them, emphatic, intense, perhaps angry. Did they think I was lying? Was this news to them, that no one knew or remembered the one truth that supported their existence?
The one with the candle stared over the flame at me. “What do you mean? Your people never even mention their efforts to uproot us and drive us into the barrens? They claimed a great victory at the time.”
I was at a loss. I had no idea how long ago this battle occurred. What age? Could this date back to when the cities were united and this was all an intact nation? But that was hundreds of years ago. Surely these people were not memorializing something so far back no one could remember it?
“Who fought your people in this battle? Who commanded your enemy?”
A hasty exchange and a reply. “His name was Darwin, General Darwin. His name is never mentioned except to curse it and all who bear it.”
Darwin was one of the leaders of the First Age, the days when the three cities worked together, when travel was safe and easy, and trade flourished. Darwin was well-regarded as a strong but fair politician after he left his military career. He had at one time been honored with a statue, long since melted down. There were only heliographs and other likenesses now, but it had been impressive. Some said it cast a large enough shadow one could tell time by it.
But the First Age had given way to a less harmonious Second, where the ties that bound the nation together began to fray, and eventually devolved into the Third, the present day. Darwin’s time was so long ago, no one in New Bravadim could remember anything about it beyond the basics learned in school or trotted out for commemorations, when anyone remembered to hold them.
“The general you speak of lived hundreds of years ago. The battles for which he won fame are remembered by none but a very few. His fame chiefly lies in his leadership after he stopped being a soldier. No one refers to him as General, but as Premier or Chief Secretary as he served in later life.
“I know nothing of how you measure time but in our reckoning, the battle you speak of took place 600, perhaps 700 years ago. Many lifetimes ago.”
I started to describe how the cities had changed, but anyone who nursed the pain of loss over several centuries might see the weakened cities as ripe for reprisal. I had no idea how many of these time-stopped people there were. I was struck by how little the defeat or strategic retreat of these people had mattered in our histories, while for them it was a unifying event, one that seemed to inform their daily lives, even now.
For all I knew, survivors of that battle might live on in the city below my feet. How long did people live underground, without the exposure to sun and wind? It was difficult to tell how old my interrogator was, but he seemed no too much older than me, in his prime, not like the older man who had spoken to me earlier. How old was he?
Some more whispering, longer, modulated, like a conversation, and then the two guards stepped off, the sounds of their footsteps fading down the corridor away from where I was brought it. When I had first arrived, I would never have heard their steps, but now I was surprised how loud it seemed.
“You will come with me. If I relate what you have told me, there would be questions I could not answer. It will be better if you tell what you know. Come.”
And with that, he tapped what I later saw was a staff on the ground, and a small globe at the head of it, perhaps four inches in diameter, glowed with a yellow green light, just bright enough to illuminate our path. I stood up, shifted my pack so it was more comfortable and so I could reach into it if needed, and followed.
The path was a squared tunnel, wide enough for two men (or two columns of them, I reminded myself) to pass, not much taller than a man, with a smooth floor, and rough-hewn wall and roof. The air was still and warm as we walked down the gradually sloping path. If the light we used had been a candle, I suspect the flame would hardly have flickered at all. We walked a good while before crossing any other paths and the first I saw was sealed with an old wooden door, propped in place with some rocks at the bottom. There were no hinges, not any kind of latch. The doorway on the other side was open but dark, not a glimmer of light.
We kept on, the path still sloping slowly, the air feeling warmer and taking on a smell of dampness and people. Large number of people living in close quarters take on a certain smell, and it was no surprise to find it here. A more perceptive nose would have been able to hazard a guess as to how many people, but I was going to to have to be content with finding out some other way.
With the increasing warmth came a low buzzing murmur, punctuated irregularly with low sounds or vibrations that I felt more than heard. But it grew no brighter as we went along. The darkness was as total here as it had been where I had been questioned earlier.
Suddenly we entered a large space. I couldn’t see anything beyond the faint glow of the light on the staff ahead of me but I could feel that the hall or tunnel we had been walking through had given way to a large space. What little I heard of our passage, our footfalls and scuffs, was lost in the larger space. We kept walking in single file and I took that to mean the path had become a bridge or catwalk. Over what I didn’t know. The room was noticeably warmer but I couldn’t tell if it was coming from below us.
We walked on and re-entered a tunnel, or a narrower space. The air was cooler and I would once again hear my own feet. I scuffed them once to make sure, and found my arms grabbed immediately. I couldn’t if I was being protected from falling or warned to keep quiet. I realized these people could hear much better than I could: an unexpected scuffed foot was a loud noise to them.
The path began to lead up and as I looked ahead I could see light, lots of it. A rich gold light, shimmering gently, or perhaps flickering. I couldn’t look at it for long after spending so long in the dark. I looked down and bumped into the back of my guide. Again the firm hands of my escorts or guards grabbed me, this time by the shoulders, pulling me back upright. The one I walked into stumbled but used his staff to recover, and turned to face me. There was enough light to see that but with the light behind him, his face was in shadow.
“You are to go on. We will stay here and await word as to your . . . disposition.”
He stepped aside and turned so I could pass. The tunnel was wide enough, two columns wide as the others had been, but it was plain I was not to be allowed the option of going any way but forward.
I paused a moment, wondering if they dared push me onward. Or would my resistance decide things? I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and walked slowly past him. I heard the sound of moving feet and guessed they were closing ranks behind me, lining up across the path. I didn’t give them the satisfaction of looking back but kept walking up the inclined path toward the lighted space ahead.
My feeling that the light shimmered was accurate. I could see it more clearly now, and it almost seemed liquid in the way it illuminated the rough hewn walls and the smoother surfaces that rimmed the end of the tunnel and entrance to the lighted space. The last few feet were on smooth carved steps, low, wide, and deep. They seemed ceremonial or in some way intended to prepare anyone walking on them for something unusual or important.
The path continued up into the light, with the walls around me growing brighter the higher I went. I had to look down at the step and my feet, as my eyes hurt the more I tried to look around. I ventured a look back but could see nothing. It was like looking down a well. The guards were lost in the gloom, a darkness so deep I could only see back 10 or 20 steps.
I could see an opening ahead of me, a round passage, as tall as it was wide, and looked as smooth and soft as milk. The light was so intense, it was physical, it could be seen pouring from the round portal, but the darkness was undiminished. I stepped up into the opening, squinting my eyes and finding that I could see more easily here. There were surfaces and textures, something other than the bafflingly featureless surfaces I had seen. I stopped and looked around. The room was hard to take in, as it was so much larger than the passages I had come through. I could make out walls to either side, tall but with some rails or other detail around the room. The ceiling was likewise adorned with some details to make it less imposing. Geometric figures, as best I could make out. I stepped forward and looked for whoever I had been sent on to meet.
“Come in, come forward, come on,” came a voice. It was trying to be imposing and commanding, but failing. It was a thin voice, a bit reedy, and it seemed to be out of practice at commanding, perhaps even at speaking. I looked for its source, but saw no one. I took two small, slow steps.
“Come, come, come,” commanded my unseen host. I walked on, slowly, looking around in the direction the voice seemed to come from. Now I could see that there benches, carved from the same smooth, soft-looking stone as the walls, around the perimeter of the room, with a few arranged in the middle. I wonder if I should sit and wait for someone to appear as more than a voice. I stepped to the side and made to sit on a bench nearby, but as soon as I bent my knees, the voice came back, “no, no, no. You must, you can not, you dare not sit.”
Now the voice came from behind me. I turned and saw someone off-balance, wringing his hands, a look of distress on his face. I don’t know what upset him the most my attempt to sit or that I had turned and seen him. “No, no, no, not to look, not to see, not yet,” he muttered, clearly but unintentionally. I stopped and stared. I had expected an old man, from the voice, but it was not. It was someone younger than me, pale, dressed in a loose-fitting wraparound garment, with bare feet. His hair was dark and pulled back behind his head. He was plainly discomfited by my sudden moves, and was unsure how to get control of things again.
“You were not supposed to sit, to stop, to look. You . . .” the voice trailed off, the hands wringing each other, the face contorted in a look somewhere between fear and anger. I hadn’t moved again. I stood still waiting to see what he would do or say, but nothing was forthcoming. I looked him in the eye and held his stare, then slowly turned to face away from him, in the direction I had followed as I entered the room. I took another step to let him know I was doing as I was asked. I heard a couple of quick shuffles that sounded like footsteps, but didn’t turn. I waited.
“Come, come,” this time from in front, as before. I walked toward the far wall, where a rectangular outline showed itself as an opening the closer I got. The brightness of the rooms and the featureless walls made it indistinct. The voice was coming from whatever was behind that opening, so I walked on. I grew more relaxed now that my eyes were adjusted to the light, and I walked more easily, not feeling my way or taking small steps. The light seemed to come from everywhere. I couldn’t make out any shadows nor could I tell if it was brighter in any one place.
I walked up to the doorway, paused a moment, and walked through. This room was circular, lit the same way, with walls that were similarly featureless. There were some circular benches in concentric rings, broken by openings on the quarters, and in the middle of the room was a half sphere with it’s flat side facing upward, about four feet tall.
Suddenly the room was plunged in darkness and I could hear some sounds in the room, and in the dim light from the room I had just left, I could make out some movement. Then just as abruptly, the room was lit once more and someone or something was sitting on the central platform, the half-sphere. It was the same person who had been distressed earlier when I turned around too soon. Rather than looking agitated and wringing his hands, he was sitting with his legs crossed, hands draped over his knees, a bland expression on his face, as though he had been there a long time and was prepared to be there longer still.
I waited to find out what was expected of me. Did I approach? Did I sit on one of these benches, if that was what they were? My host or guide seemed content to sit and stare in that bland and uninterested way. I considered turning and walking back, to see what his reaction would be, and to see if the others who had escorted me were still there. Perhaps they didn’t expect me to return? Perhaps they were just there to ensure I didn’t leave this place.
I looked up and around the room, trying to make out what I could of what it was made of, how it was lit, whatever I could learn. The caves and tunnels I had been in had been too dark and I had come on this journey to learn about the rocks, minerals, and the like. I walked over to the nearest wall and ran my hands over the surface, testing it with my fingernails for hardness, examining the texture. I leaned in and smelled it, breathed on it, and watched my breath fade away. Behind me, I could hear something that sounded less like a stoic or content watcher and more like an uneasy hermit.
I turned slightly so I could see from the corner of my eye, and his easy posture of before was gone. He was leaning forward trying to see what I was doing without getting up and spoiling the effect. I stopped my examinations and he stiffened, as if afraid I was going to turn and catch him out again.
What could this fellow want? And why was I brought here? I turned away, counted to ten, then turned back around to face him. He almost fell off his pedestal in surprise. I walked along between the benches until I reached one of the breaks that allowed me to approach the center to the room, faced him, and then walked up to last of the benches, about six feet away from the half-sphere.
“Who or what are you and why have I been brought here?” I asked in a quiet but forceful tone.
“Back! You are not to address me!” came the unconvincing reply.
“Who are you? What is this place?” I now asked in a quieter but no less forceful voice.
“I-I am the Mage of-of the Cavern,” he said, stammering slightly. “This is my domain and you are my pr- guest for now.”
I would hardly have called these surroundings, clean and bright as they are, a domain. Perhaps times were hard in the Mage trade. But I think he started to call me a prisoner. What was that about?
“Your guest? Would you be willing to let me return to my work and not burden your hospitality any further?”
His eyes widened. “No, that would not be possible. You must stay for for — until I say you may leave. You cannot leave now.”
“But I insist. I would not put you to any trouble. Surely your servants waiting outside will be willing to escort me back . . . ”
“No!” He paused, looking very alarmed, though I was not sure for whom.
“If you try to return, they will kill you. You cannot leave this place.”
“So I am not a guest, but a prisoner in fact. You meant to say that. Why not say it, if that is the truth?”
The Mage of the Cavern looked defeated and deflated, and put his head in his hands. He wasn’t a very believable wizard, and this posture didn’t help make his case. I waited, looking around at the room or rooms, as much as I could see. The room I had come through was a kind of receiving room or entrance hall, perhaps at one time manned by guards. Then this room, with it’s concentrically arranged seating was a theater or place to hold audiences. Further back behind my host or reluctant captor was a darkened room, perhaps a hallway to the living quarters.
“Yes, you are a prisoner, by the old rules. Anyone found near the entries to these lands forfeits … is a prisoner and is brought before the Mage for judgment,” came the explanation. His voice dropped to a hoarse, half-strangled whisper. “I have never had to deal with a prisoner before now. Nor had my father. The lands above have been empty so long….” His voice trailed off.
It was plain we were both captives, the Mage of his responsibilities and me of him and his people. There were rules or traditions to be upheld, even though no one in living memory had ever followed them.
On closer examination, he was younger than I first supposed, perhaps not long out of adolescence. The robe or cloak he wore was old but well-cared for. He wore no shoes that I could see. I suppose if he never left this place, he had no need of them. The room was impossible to age by sight. The carved stone surfaces could have been 10 years old or 1000.
He raised his head again to meet my gaze. His face was emotionless, his eyes a vacant stare. Had he come to some decision and what did it mean for me?
“The rules are clear, the traditions inviolable. Your fate is sealed.”
I started and my face made clear my reaction. Who was this boy to speak of my fate? I suspected his power was not so reliable, especially if he had to rely on the men who escorted me here.
“You jump to conclusions. Your fate is sealed, but the manner of it’s fulfillment is not. The ancient rules state that no one who enters this realm from the lands above can leave. But it is not written anywhere that your life be cut short.”
He stopped speaking and visibly relaxed, as if he were glad to have finished an unpleasant task.
“But I never entered your realm,” I replied, trying to keep the rage out of my voice. “Your men, those who brought me here, captured me and brought me here. I had no intention of entering your realm. I did not know there was any such place, nor did I see any entrance.”
He frowned. This story didn’t match what he had been told, if I was reading his expression correctly.
“I was exploring some distance away when I came across some footprints in the soft sand of a streambed. I followed them. Evidently, they led me to someplace near your realm’s gates and from there, I was brought here.”
His frown deepened, and his brow furrowed, darkening. His carefully composed posture slowly crumbled. He was visibly angry. It was one thing to be the guardian of whatever secrets and rituals he had be entrusted with, but another to be expected to exercise his responsibilities under false pretenses.
“So you were not sneaking around the gates?”
“No.”
I considered how I would explain that no one even knew of his peoples’ existence, that their history might conform to some legend of the distant past, but they had no place in the present.
“Come. You are hungry, I expect, and I need time to consider what I am obligated to do. We will eat and I would learn more of what you say.”
He stepped down from his pedestal and walked back into the darkness. The space was illuminated as he walked through it, by glowing lights along the walls at his feet. It was not bright enough to do more than see where we were going, but that seemed enough. We walked along a corridor that shared the same floor material as the others. Of the walls and ceiling I could see little or nothing. Suddenly it became brighter as we left the corridor and entered a room with a table, chairs, and some serving benches. There also some pitchers of water and perhaps some other beverages.
Evidently there were some servants at my hosts disposal, though none were in evidence and without further delay, we sat and served ourselves. The dishes were simple and not unfamiliar. There were root crops I recognized, some meats or fishes I didn’t, and lots of cool clear water. There were also some flat breads, useful for scooping up the various foods. Most of the food was of a very soft texture, for reasons that were revealed later.
As we finished eating and drinking, my host started looking for more information on what I was in what he considered his land. I realized the facts, as best I could relate them, were my only bargaining chip. We pushed our platters aside and refilled our glasses with a golden drink, bejeweled with fine bubbles and crowned with a creamy foam top. I took a deep draught of mine, and prepared to lay out the facts as best I could.
“I appreciate your generosity and kindness. I am interested in learning more about your realm, your people, their way of life.” His face brightened as the flattering words hit home. He made as if ready to launch into an explanation right then and there. I waved my hand to gently remind him I had more to say.
“I would explain some things as we see them in our world, our realm. You may recall the cities on the edge of the sea, the city of rulers, of traders, and of warriors.” Here I paused to see how much he knew.
“I had been told about them, but they were all pushed into the sea. The people built too close to the cliffs and their arrogance took it’s toll. Why do you bring them up?”
“They did not tumble into the sea. They live and thrive today. The cities still exist and the people, though not as powerful as they were, still live in them.” I waited to see his reaction, to see how well-informed he was.
His face turned into a scowl, a mixture of anger and confusion. “Do you think we know nothing of the world above? We — the ancestors of my people — once lived up there and traded with those cities. We came from them to start this community. When their fighting destroyed so much of the land between them, we took refuge here and fashioned a new community that would not be threatened by the city folk who lived on the edge of the world.”
He paused and took a large mouthful from his glass, never taking his eyes from my face. I waited to hear what else he had to say. I thought it best to let him tell all he knew, that I might be able to determine if he could be made to understand how things had changed. It would be easy to believe that time outside this place was as unchanging as it was within. No seasons here, no phases of the moon, none of the rhythms we live by, and yet they had derived or invented their own.
“No, I think you play the fool. Those cities vanished long ago, before the days of my father’s father’s father’s father. Where you come from may be built on the ruins of one of those great cities, but there it stops.”
He stopped once more and looked around the room, as if to reassure himself he was in his familiar surroundings. He picked more food, ate it almost absent-mindedly. I gathered he was weighing the chance things were not as he had been told.
I took a few bites, drank again, and considered how to proceed. It wasn’t important that he believe that the past was not as he had been told, but I assumed it might help get me out of here. Either the threat of a rescue — and it was plain there was no love lost between these people and what they remembered of the city dwellers — or the chance to come back out to the surface, now that the wars were over, might serve.
“So you know of the old cities of New Bravadim, Hel, and Armana?”
His eyes immediately met mine and he stopped in the middle of chewing, frozen.
“I would guess that your ancestors came from New Bravadim, where I and the rest of my party live also. I was born not far from the shores of the Rat in Ditchtown, and I live now in the the Quarter, not far from the University, what’s left of it.”
He remained frozen, sitting so still I expected him to start drooling. He nodded for me to continue, after I had waited for some response, and he slowly began to chew, visibly relaxing ever so slightly.
“The cities are still there. They are not what they once were, I’ll grant you. I have been to Hel once as part of a research team, but I know no one who has visited the Bone Kingdom, I mean Armana.” He had jumped at the mention of the Bone Kingdom: I had barely remembered its old name, and had lapsed back into using the more familiar one. “At least I have never known anyone to come back.”
I stopped to give him time to ask a question or just to digest what he had heard so far. It gave me time to sample a couple more bites. The food was simple, bland, but wholesome. It seemed to consist of roots and some basic herbs, making me wonder how these people farmed. It seemed obvious they didn’t trade with anyone, had there been anyone to trade with.
“I don’t know whether to believe you or not, friend. I suspect there is some truth in what you say, or at least you understand enough about the past to spin a convincing lie. I have not heard those city names from anyone by my father. No one else remembers those times. Everyone else thinks we have always lived here, hiding from those above, and protecting our realm.
“If what you say is true, what does this mean for us? Can we rebuild our lives, our world, on the surface as it once was? I don’t think anyone has ventured more than 500 paces from any of our entrances, and not all of the ones that we once had can be used. There have been floods and rockfalls and we have had to close some of them for good. So we have not been looking outward to see that world we were no longer part of. We were, when we lived above, an inward-looking people. Our history tells us that we left New Bravadim to escape the crowding and disease, and we formed a community as we banded together to leave. It grew stronger as we — that is, they, my ancestors — traveled here, and built their homes.”
From what I saw, the fertile lands that had drawn them here and allowed them to build their community were long gone. It was by no means a desert but nor was it a lush grassland as it must have been centuries prior. I could not imagine leading a group of city dwellers to settle it, let alone a bunch of people who had never seen the sun in hundreds of years. As confused and inept as the city folk seemed to be, my money was on them, if I had to choose.
Anyway, I knew most of the story of why the Pioneers, as they had been called, had left. They felt the people of New Bee, as it was known, were becoming more coarse and that society was becoming harsh and cruel. They had been disappointed in this, in what they saw as a break with the principles of the colonists who founded the city. Theirs had been an egalitarian ideal, but things were becoming too egalitarian for some. So they decided to start over and see if they could get it right. It was a small group, 200 or so, 50 families and some unattached folks who were likeminded or otherwise adventurous.
The place they chose was just beyond the agreed-upon boundaries governed by the city-states. (The combined state was called New Bravadim, named for Bravadim, the city the colonists and founders had come from. The first city they founded took the name and since it was the largest and most influential of the three, the name was part of the formal name for the nation, but no one used it. One’s first loyalty was to one’s city. This attitude could be blamed for the eventual breakup of the state and its devolution into three city-states.) They called their enclave Haven, and while there was intermittent contact with New Bee — the mails and other essentials — neither side put a lot of effort into an ongoing relationship. New Bee didn’t want to be seen as discouraging or encouraging separatists: if they succeeded, it could be attributed to their good fortune and hard work, but if they failed, no one wanted the Pioneers to claim there had been any tampering. And separatists were what they were: they were not colonists or in any way interested in extending what they saw as an empire of arrogance and greed.