Conflict

A Crossover Novel

Walt Socha

Wyeast Press

Copyright © 2017 by Walt Socha

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover by Silvia Frost Designs

Edited by Mary Rosenblum

Contact/Walt Socha - - 1st edition

ISBN 978-1-944753-01-6 (print)

ISBN 978-1-944753-05-4 (ePub)

ISBN 978-1-944753-00-9 (mobi/Kindle)

Created with Vellum

For all the dead people of history. Your struggles and accomplishments shaped the world in which we now live.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Contact (Crossover - Book Two)

About the Author

More About The Crossover Series

Prologue

The officer braked and scowled at the rusty tailgate of a battered pickup that blocked his way. Beyond this barrier, several other vehicles squatted in the remaining few yards of the rutted jeep trail. Damn, they were here.

He shut off the engine and cranked down the window. Heat rolled in, along with the faint honey scent of desert lavender and the dry buzz of insects.

Off to the right side of the dusty iron monoliths, a large canvas tent squeezed itself between boulders and a lone mesquite, the entry flap buttoned up in spite of the heat. A few feet beyond the mesquite, a sweat lodge sat, its entryway uncovered.

No movement. His stomach clenched. Then a slight shift in the wind brought the odor. Damn.

He reported his arrival to headquarters and climbed out of his patrol car. He removed the evidence bag from the trunk, found his camera, and recorded the overall area.

He slipped on surgical gloves and approached the main tent, flinching at the ripe smell. He photographed the zipped tent entrance and stepped around to the side. He unsheathed his knife, slit open the tent fabric, and retreated as his gag reflex took over. After a few minutes of retching, his stomach settled and he documented the bodies.

Back at the patrol car, he ripped off the gloves, thumbed on the radio, and reported in. "Five deceased males in a camp at the end of jeep trail 541. At least several days. Tentative identifications on two. All elderly. No apparent signs of violence. Camp appears to be in order."

He listened.

"Ok. I'll wait." He signed off. Sighed. It would be hours before the Feds showed up and took over.

He shifted in his seat to get more comfortable and shook his head. The conspiracy nuts would start a media circus if word got out that groups of Native American elders were dying all across the continent during some sort of ritualistic ceremony.

He opened his laptop and turned his thoughts to the writing of his report.

Chapter 1

Sunday

Most of the staff and guests were finishing up their coffee or clearing trays as Joe entered the dining hall. Good. He grabbed a clean tray and mechanically filled it from the remains of the breakfast buffet.

Unofficial ranch policy urged staff to mingle with the guests whenever appropriate, but there was no way could he handle small talk after last night. Avoiding eye contact with the remaining diners, he walked over to an empty table and sat down.

Joe took a bite of something. Chewed.

"You’re running late this morning." A voice interrupted his thoughts. "Hey, what’s wrong? You're as pale as I am."

Joe looked up as Brent slipped his wiry frame into the opposite chair.

"Too bad about your color." Larry’s dark-skinned mass filled his vision to the right. "I'd say ya looked like ya lost one of your best friends, but we're both here." The seat next to Joe groaned as Larry settled into it.

Joe grunted. He couldn't really argue. "Had a strange dream last night. Kind of weirded me out." He took another bite. He looked down at the plate he'd loaded without thinking. Egg. "I've been having them the last few nights. Always a view of a village in a large clearing. Surrounded by low rolling hills."

"Sounds fairly pleasant," Brent said as Joe took another bite.

Joe shook his head. "Last night was different. It felt more personal. And evil." He paused and glanced around the dining hall, and then lowered his voice. "In the dream, the moonlit village was nearly obscured by a low mist. I was watching from the summit of a nearby low, squarish hill that barely stuck up above that mist. I was lying on my belly, surveying the land around the village. And I was scared shitless."

Joe stared at Larry and Brent. They sat drinking their after-breakfast coffee and waiting for him to go on.

"My heart woke me, it was pounding so hard. I went to the sink to splash myself back to reality," Joe watched his friends' faces. "Then I went back to bed. Lay there until the alarm went off."

Joe paused to sip his coffee. He needed to get this said. "In the daylight, I could see dirt stains in the sink and on the towel. My fingernails still had dirt under them. I can still remember bracing myself on my hands, fingers dug into the soil of that hill as I lifted my head to look around."

After a few seconds, Brent's left eyebrow rose a fraction of an inch. "When you have a vivid dream, you don't hold back."

"Start shoveling that food, it's getting late." Larry stood, his chair sighing. "We may have students."

* * *

After leaving the dining hall, Joe checked the signup sheet and found no names listed for his scheduled classes. No surprise for a Sunday morning with just over half of the clients either just arriving or leaving. But Brent's always-popular medicinal herb class was half full; Joe would give him a hand. After lunch, maybe he could hang around Larry's forge.

Mel intercepted Joe as he crossed the grassy field toward Brent’s shed.

"Got a job for you." The ranch foreman squeezed Joe’s shoulder. "Schedule has you down for sleeping all day." He grinned. "How'd you like a little ride?"

Joe rolled his eyes. "Can't you white guys run cattle without losing them?"

"It's that fool new sorrel this time." Mel let the rib pass. "A dude left the gate open. Decided to leave. The horse, that is." He gave Joe a few guesses as to where to search as they walked toward the stables.

As they entered the cavernous barn, Tom joined them. "You're sending Joe? You wanna lose another horse?"

"What are your thoughts on our escapee?" Mel asked, ignoring the old poke's wide grin.

"Maybe Spookums headed up either Red Wash or Max Canyon. He was up there several times this past week, hauling pack for the client tours. Mighta got the scent of that band of wild mustangs, the one lead by that paint."

"So you're figuring that damn gelding thinks they'd be better company?"

"Maybe." Tom shrugged. "But if Joe here can get Spookums back, we'll keep 'im corralled here awhile. In spite of being ball-less, maybe he'll remember enough to get friendly with the local mares and wanna stick around."

"Anywhere else?" Joe asked. There followed much contradictory opinion, ending with Joe planning to head up Red Wash first.

Joe kept his face neutral during the discussion. Any of the more experienced pokes would most likely find the errant Spookums quicker, but they were leading client tours. No doubt any of them would rather be riding alone up in the Crazy Mountains than babysitting dudes.

They walked through the empty stables to the outside paddocks. Tom and Mel changed the subject to the merits and deficiencies of various mounts for the daylong guest ride through the foothills.

While they talked, Joe scanned the mountains, locating the fold in the contours that identified Red Wash. A haze hovered over that locale. Couldn't be fog. Fire perhaps? Unlikely with the recent rains. The trails were already dry but the deadfall and duff were likely still moist. Tom and Mel didn't seem to give it any notice.

Joe cut Rosebud out of the herd and saddled her. Rosebud. Not even the pokes knew the origin of the mare's name.

Just before they left, Mel walked out of the stable office with a sheathed rifle. "Been some cougar sightings up that way. Loaded. No shell in the chamber."

"Come on, Mel. No cat's going to mess with a full size man."

"Don’t care about you." He snorted. "I just want to be sure the horse gets back. You remember which end points away?"

Joe laughed and, after checking the safety slide, secured the rifle to the rear of his saddle. It was a Winchester 94, a model he used to routinely beat the other staff on the ranch's rifle range. A flash of sadness reminded him of another Winchester he'd used on his hunting trips with his Grandfather. Back when he had family.

He shrugged off the memory and rode out through the stable gate, pausing to close it behind him. He detoured past the garden to wave to Brent before heading toward the misty canyon.

The early autumn day presented a colorful palette with the Crazy Mountain peaks providing clear signposts to Red Wash. He figured about two hours up, a couple to search, and two back. He'd be back in time for the barbeque and new client orientation if that horse wasn't hiding. A long ride but the day shown clear and the scenery was peaceful.

At a small rise, he looked back at the dim shapes that defined the ranch. It felt like the closest thing to a home he'd had in years, even if it was just a summer job. Closer than the sterile walls of the dorm. After eight years of dropping in and out of college, he only had a few more classes to pass and he'd graduate. Then what to do with a degree in Civil Engineering? Since his grandparents' deaths, the idea of working on water projects for one of the reservations had lost its appeal. Hell, even though he was registered in four different tribes, he only spoke English. A minor in anthropology wouldn’t help his options much either. Joe shook his head and nudged Rosebud into a trot.

The entrance to Red Wash Canyon was wide and deep with grassy patches. Lots of space for the wild band of horses to wander. As Joe rode, he scanned for moving brown shapes or a flash of white from the wild stallion, but not till he came to Red Creek itself did he bother looking for tracks.

The stream came out of the mountains at a meandering late summer pace. Joe slowed his horse as he approached the sandy edge, originally swept clean by spring flows but now posting a record of recent critters large and small. Eyes sweeping the ground, he slowly made his way along the north side until he was well within the confines of Red Wash Canyon. He picked out a few old prints from the mustangs but nothing fresh. No sign of a shod hoof. With a nudge of his knees, Joe guided Rosebud across to the south side.

Within seconds, Joe spied the fresh prints of shod hooves, stark against those of recent elk and deer. The stride was a walk, leaving the creek and moving into a break in the brush that bordered the water like a fence.

Letting Rosebud pause to drink, Joe scanned the canyon. The sun had climbed halfway up the sky but still cast long shadows on the steep terrain. Pines and firs clung to the ragged canyon walls among broken rock. The misty air started about a mile further up. Still no clue to its origin and no scent of smoke; Rosebud seemed unconcerned. What little breeze touched Joe came from the west. Yet the haze appeared stationary.

Joe shrugged and urged Rosebud into the brush. Maybe the mist was just the result of some odd heat inversion. He'd heard something about that on a recent weather report. And these high elevation valleys did have their own weather.

Joe soon found himself ducking low tree branches and dodging heavy brush as Rosebud forced her way along the faint trail into increasingly larger and denser stretches of underbrush and pines.

After a half mile, the temperature dropped and the air thickened into a heavy fog that obscured all but the nearest trees. Joe nudged a reluctant Rosebud forward, blind to anything further away than a few yards.

After a few minutes, the air cleared and they entered a small glade. He let Rosebud slow to a halt. Thick duff covered the ground but showed no impressions of shod hooves. Around them, towering pines, interspersed with an occasional oak, blocked out any view of the mountains. An occasional birdcall pierced the low background drone of insects. Unease crawled over his skin. He couldn't identify the bird or the insect sounds. And oaks? There weren't supposed to be any oaks up here. The hair on the back of his neck stirred as Rosebud sidled nervously, her ears flicking.

A scream rent the air. Human or animal? He freed the rifle and chambered a shell. Rosebud fidgeted. The insect noise ceased. He jerked his head around at the sound of something smashing through the low undergrowth to his right. A young girl exploded from behind one of the pines into the open area just yards from Joe.

Looking behind her, she almost ran into Rosebud, who whinnied and shied. The girl turned and froze, her mouth open but silent. She wore a one-piece leather dress and was shoeless, her skin covered with bleeding scratches. Joe could only stare as Rosebud skittered back a step, snorting.

Then a second figure—a deeply tanned man wearing a leather loincloth and holding a massive club—emerged from the brush and stopped, eyes narrowing in confusion at Joe and Rosebud. Joe watched the man as the girl's footsteps fled around Rosebud and into the brush behind Joe.

The man lunged, his club swinging in a high arc toward Rosebud.

Joe’s arm brought up the rifle. His finger tightened. With the club inches away, he heard the blast.

Surprise registered in the man's upturned eyes. The club fell, grazing Rosebud. The horse reared, seized the bit and, as Joe struggled to remain seated, bolted.

Joe hung on, but they were hundreds of yards away from the attack site before he fought Rosebud to a stop. He rubbed his hand along her neck, avoiding the scratches that oozed blood. "Easy girl," he murmured in a low voice.

Joe chambered another shell and listened. All was quiet. No birdcalls; even the bugs were silent.

He urged the nervous horse back through the broken vegetation. Emerging once more into the clearing, he saw the man lying motionless, face upwards, staring into nothing. A small hole was centered in his chest, the blood already coagulating. A chill swept through Joe's body; he had killed the man.

No sign of the little girl. Fighting nausea, Joe urged Rosebud closer. The dead man was shorter than Joe by a couple inches, maybe five foot nine. White paint, perhaps clay or ashes, outlined his face. Near his outstretched hand lay a wooded club embedded with flakes of worked chert. Joe shuddered and looked around for the girl. Nothing but her footprints.

A faint scream broke the silence, echoing through the old-growth forest from the direction the girl and her pursuer had appeared. What the hell was going on? Should he head back to the ranch for help? But the image of the girl's terrified face flashed through his thoughts. Clutching the rifle with a white knuckled hand, Joe urged the snorting Rosebud back along the girl's path.

Within yards, the broken branches and trodden grass turned into a well-used path. More distant screams rent the air. Joe urged Rosebud into a trot. In a few minutes, they crossed a small stream and broke out of the forest. He reined in Rosebud and gaped at an impossible scene.

A dozen long, bark-covered huts stood at his end of a brightly flowered meadow. At the opposite end was a low square shaped mound. Around the meadow, stands of maples climbed the rolling hills that faded into the horizon.

Shit, he was in his dream.

Not more than fifty yards away, bodies lay among the brightly colored flowers. Over these bodies stood half a dozen men—warriors?—holding bloodied clubs and staring at Joe. The screams were from those on the ground. Beyond them, another group of men herded a small group of crying children.

One of the closer men fitted a long dart to an atlatl.

Joe stared. Had he stumbled on a movie set? Some prehistoric conflict complete with spear throwers?

The man whipped the dart forward and Joe heard the whistle of the long thin shaft as it passed between Rosebud and his head. Shit. Joe raised the rifle and fired. Rosebud shied at the echoing gunshot.

The man clutched his upper arm and added his scream to those of the wounded on the ground. This broke the surprise of the nearby warriors, and they formed a loose line. Behind them, the second group of warriors drove the children toward the opposite side of the clearing. A young girl fell and one of the men picked her up.

"Dammit!" Joe screamed to everyone and no one. Eyes on the struggling girl, he levered another shell under the hammer and urged Rosebud to the right, hoping to outflank the line of warriors.

The man with the child dropped his catch. He glanced at Joe then looked down at the girl. He raised his club.

Joe fired, Rosebud shuddering under him.

The man jerked, dropped the club, and staggered backwards. One of the closer warriors loosed another dart.

Joe saw him and started to turn Rosebud, but too late. He heard a dull thud and the mare reared. Joe dropped the rifle and clawed at the saddle horn. Then Rosebud turned and broke into a panicked run. Joe held on as his mount tore through the brush back the way they had come.

After a mile or so, weariness dissipated Rosebud’s panic and Joe was able to calm her down to a walk and, after a few more minutes, to a stop. He whispered in a calm voice that clashed with his pounding heart as he dismounted and inspected the wound in her flank. The scabbard had taken most of the impact, leaving the point and an inch of the broken shaft protruding from the bleeding wound. Joe removed the scabbard and tied it to the saddle horn. Then he tied Rosebud to a nearby tree with her heavy braided halter, took a deep breath, and yanked out the shallowly embedded dart point. Rosebud screamed, her eyes white, and reared against the rope. Joe grabbed it and, dancing clear of her pawing hooves, hung on for several minutes until the shuddering animal recovered.

Joe wrapped the point in his kerchief as his mind raced. He could hear the murmur of Red Creek. The air was clear. On either side of the valley, mountains rose and peaked into white tips. He thought of the low hills that nestled the broad clearing of the village. Had he gone nuts? If he had, what about the bloodied horse? And the man he'd killed?

With stomach churning, Joe pocketed the point and started walking Rosebud back to the ranch.

Chapter 2

Sunday Evening

Exhaustion sapped Joe's thoughts. He pushed himself upright on one of the conference room's hard chairs and tried to rub his face awake with his hands.

"The horse was wounded." Joe looked at the ceiling. "Couldn't ride her." He stared directly into the sheriff's eyes. The man blinked. "I thought it best to return to the ranch for help."

Some help. Joe glanced at the small room's wall clock. 9:35 PM. He had gotten back to the ranch around 6 PM and all hell had broken loose. Alex, the ranch manager, had called the sheriff and stuck Joe in the staff conference room. The sheriff and his deputy had finally showed up about an hour ago, and since then it seemed like he'd been telling them the same story over and over again.

Joe gazed down at his hands. The hands that had pulled the trigger. Killed the attacking man. Wounded two others at the village. He pushed down the panic bouncing around in his chest. Would he end up in prison?

Joe looked up at the sound of the deputy getting to his feet. The man prodded the chert point—still attached with sinew to an inch of shaft—into a plastic bag with a pen. He sealed it, nodded to Joe and left the room.

The sheriff added a few scribbles to his notebook, stopped, and stared at a spot on the floor that was miles away. "Mr. Kuruk, yours is a strange story." He sighed. "But it’s not the only one I've heard lately."

The sheriff lifted his briefcase onto the conference table, opened it, and tossed in his notebook. For several seconds he picked through a maze of papers, folders, maps and envelopes. He pulled out a well-creased sheet; his eyes flitted up and down its contents before he looked up at Joe.

"Know anything about the activities of medicine men?" His face shifted into a slight frown. "Or is tribal shaman a more PC term?"

Joe shrugged. "I think of them as medicine elders." He gave the sheriff credit for trying to use the right words.

The sheriff stared at the paper in his hands and took a long breath. "Anyway, there are reports coming in from several states as well as Mexico and Canada about groups of elderly men found dead. Apparently in the act of performing some sort of ceremony. Authorities—local, tribal, and FBI—are stumped. A general request for information has been sent to all law enforcement agencies."

The sheriff tossed the paper back into his briefcase. "Anything you saw seem to be related to ceremonies by medicine elders?"

"No, sir, it just appeared to be a mindless attack. The men were all on the younger side of middle age." Joe’s heart speeded up as the image of the swinging clubs flashed through his mind.

"Well, if you think of anything, please give me a call." He handed Joe a business card. Then he closed up his briefcase and walked to the door. "Thank you, Mr. Kuruk."

After the sheriff left the room, Joe continued sitting as his mind raced. Was this why they were called the Crazy Mountains? Did he get into some sort of psychoactive plants up there? But no weird plant had buried that chert point in Rosebud.

"That took long enough. You okay?"

Joe broke out of his thoughts to see Alex coming out of a connecting door from his private office.

"Yeah, but I'm still wondering about my sanity." Joe got up and stretched. "It's been one hell of a day."

"Well the lawyers are clueless." Alex shook his head. "We're not sure what, if anything, we should do." He looked in the direction of the departed Sheriff. "The authorities are certainly skeptical." He smiled. "You do realize that if I didn't know you, I'd assume that you stuck that point in Rosebud yourself?"

"That'd be the simplest explanation." Joe shook his head. "But that atlatl dart point was made from chert not found around here. The stuff I use in my knapping class is obsidian from Oregon. Hopefully, the sheriff will have that point analyzed for origin. We might get a lead on where..."

The ring of a telephone from Alex's office interrupted Joe.

"Hold on," Alex said as he returned to his office. "This may be related."

Joe watched through the office doorway as the tall graying man frowned then nodded into the phone. Now what?

"Well, that was the sheriff calling from his cell phone." Alex reentered the conference room and gazed unfocused in the general direction of the Crazy Mountains. "Despite his skepticism, he's decided to take a look up in the Red Wash area. Tomorrow he's going to do an aerial search, and he plans to get horses and men up there by Tuesday. He may or may not use the ranch as a staging point for the ground search. He's hoping to truck the horses in closer on one of the jeep trails to save time."

"What about me?"

"He said your directions were clear enough." One of Alex's eyebrows rose. "Although I'd want you along if I was running a search."

Joe gave him a crooked smile. "Maybe he just doesn't want a crazy person in the search party?"

Alex laughed. "You best turn in. But before you do, I believe Potts left something for you in the kitchen."

As Joe strode to the outer door, Alex added, "Talked to the vet while you were with the sheriff. Rosebud ought to be good as new in a few weeks. Said it was good that you pulled out that projectile point before walking her back." Alex turned back toward his office but stopped and gave a short laugh. "And after all of that, you practically tripped over that fool stray as you left Red Wash." Alex shook his head and retreated into his office.

Joe called out his thanks and froze with his hand on the doorknob. Everybody had seen him come in. By now, the entire staff of the ranch would have had time to discuss his story. And his sanity. He grimaced. Well, would he believe this story if someone told it to him?

Joe took in a long breath and stepped outside. The full moon was up, casting dim shadows. No one was in sight. One small bit of luck.

A pang of hunger reminded him that he'd have to at least talk to Potts. Joe turned right onto the ranch's outer perimeter walkway to avoid the central area of the ranch where he’d run into anyone still up and about.

* * *

As he approached the kitchen's back door, Joe slowed, giving Potts’s young mix of Border Collie and Terrier time to recognize a visitor. Joe grinned as Zoey's tail wagged so energetically her entire butt shook, almost throwing her off balance. A long scratch behind the ears settled her into a more stable four-feet-on-the-ground stance.

Joe knocked on the door and paused, looking back at the moon shadows stretching the outlines of the ranch's buildings and trees into an abstract of grey and black tones. Before today, this ranch and the nearby mountains had been a scene of peace and tranquility.

Joe opened the door and stepped into Potts’s kingdom of stainless steel. No rustic charm here. A faint, sweet aroma of cannabis wafted over the typical smells of spices, bread, and seared meat. The old chef ran a great kitchen, but the late evenings were his own.

Potts looked up at the sound of the closing door. The tall, scruffy man sat alone at his round table, menu and staff schedules laid out in front of him. Joe glanced at his watch. A little after 10 PM. The last of the evening staff must have just left.

"Check the middle oven. Shouldn't be too dried out." Potts nodded to the bank of stoves and then pointed to the flatware that lay across from him on the table.

Joe removed a covered plate and, holding it with dancing fingers, carried it to the table and sat. "Thanks, I'm famished."

He uncovered the plate and breathed in the steaming aroma of potatoes, mixed vegetables, and a large piece of salmon fillet covered with sautéed onions and mushrooms. He cut off a piece of the fish and felt some of the day's tension fade as the broiled salmon melted in his mouth.

The bang of an opening door interrupted Joe's second forkful. He glanced over his shoulder to see Larry filling the doorway.

"Avoiding us?" Larry moved into the kitchen, revealing Brent behind him.

"You guys ever hear of knocking?" Potts let out a theatrical sigh as he gathered his papers into a neat pile and stood. He strode to the walk-in cooler and disappeared.

A chair creaked as Larry settled next to Joe. Brent took one of the chairs opposite as Potts returned with three beers and a can of juice. The latter he placed in front of Joe.

"You'll have to settle for this fancy Bozeman stuff." Potts levered the caps off the three beers and passed two to Brent and Larry.

Larry nodded thanks to Potts then faced Joe. "Let's hear it. Couldn't get near ya earlier with all the carryings-on."

"Would have thought you'd all have heard everything by now." Joe considered his plate. Food first. He wasn't looking forward to telling his crazy story. He took another bite.

"Well, the pokes and the other staff are rumoring up quite a tale." Larry's booming voice paused as he took a long swallow. "You're supposed to have run into some man chasing a young girl. Killed him. Then shot at a bunch of other guys attacking some village."

Larry swallowed the rest of his beer. "You really Joe? Or did some macho pod alien take over your body?" He lifted an eyebrow at Potts and stood.

Joe speared another piece of fish with his fork. "How about telling me what's happening in the normal world while I finish eating?"

Larry disappeared into the cooler and reappeared a minute later, cradling several more beers. He set them down the table with a clatter and moved one, a can of non-alcoholic beer, in front of Joe.

"A bit of a light day for classes with the ranch guests leaving and arriving." Brent passed Larry an opener.

"Met most of the new dudes and dudettes at the evening barbecue." Larry opened his beer and took a short swallow. "Typical mix of families, couples, and older businessmen with younger wives. I'd guess a few of the latter might be up for some private lessons."

"Especially that young lady here with her father." Brent eyed Larry. "Way too civilized for you, my big hairy friend."

"That's one serious girl. Respectable knockers." Larry ducked as a beer cap clipped his ear. "Hey, at least hers ain't bathtub caulking like some of the trophy wives."

"You guys going tangential on me again?" Potts tapped his beer on the table to get their attention.

"I think our large animal friend is referring to silicone as breast augmentation." Brent furrowed his brow in an exaggerated frown. "Although I tend to agree that industrial sealants lack sex appeal."

"Well, I don't know about all your big words, but she's sharp." Larry put up his hand in mock defeat. "Asked lots of question during the orientation and even seemed interested in the answers. You get her background?"

"She just finished her medical internship. Thinking of working for the United Nations. And her father is some sort of Wall Street type."

"What's her name?" Joe pushed away the empty plate and juice can. He reached for the non-alcoholic beer in front of him.

"Kristi," Larry said. "If you're done with the feeding thing, how about cluing us in?"

"Well, the rumors are pretty much what happened." Joe popped the tab. Avoiding eye contact, he repeated what he'd told the sheriff. "I ended up stuck away in Alex's conference room for most of the evening, the last hour with the sheriff and his man."

Summoning his courage, he looked up to find them exchanging glances.

"So what are you leaving out?" Only a slight upturn of his mouth softened Brent's stare. "Something's bothering you. Something other than the shooting you had to do. You can assume we'll keep our mouths shut."

Joe looked at his two friends. Then at Potts, who slid his index finger and thumb along his lips.

"If someone told me what really happened, I'd think they were crazy."

"We won't." Brent raised an eyebrow at Larry who nodded in agreement. Potts just shrugged.

Joe shook his head. Shit, why not.

"Okay, let's start with the landscape. I wasn't in Red Wash." Joe described the mist, the changed vegetation, and the low hills on the horizon. "The village was the one from the dreams I've been having. And the villagers, as well as attackers, wore nothing even remotely modern. Leather moccasins and loincloths, some with leggings, for the warriors. A few of the villagers had what looked like fiber vests or skirts, maybe made from bark."

Joe closed his eyes and allowed the images to replay. "Even in historic reenactments, someone will be wearing eyeglasses or a wristwatch." He took a long breath. "These people looked real."

Brent and Larry looked at each other.

"Damn." Larry glanced at Joe and then back to Brent. "We did say we wouldn't think he's crazy."

One of Brent's eyebrows moved up a millimeter. "Then I guess we'll just have to believe him."

Joe shook his head. "You can see why I left that part out during the Sheriff's interview. Any of you guys got a better explanation for that point in Rosebud's flank?"

"No,” Potts said. “But did the Sheriff pick up on your leaving out those minor details?"

"He was too preoccupied deciding whether to believe what I did tell him."

"Well, it's late." Brent got up. "I need a night's sleep before we decide what to do."

"Do?" Joe asked.

"Well yeah." Larry rose. "If you're crazy, then we don't know ya. But if all this shit is true, you're gonna need some backup."

"Don't go making any travel plans without notifying us." Brent followed Larry out the door.

Joe stared after them for a couple of minutes. He'd only known these guys for a couple of months. He shook his head. Wow.

"They're good kids." Potts drained his beer. He pulled out a small pouch and performed the ritual of rolling and lighting a joint. "I don't know what's happening to you." Potts inhaled. After a few seconds, he exhaled, squinting one eye against the smoke. "But I'm thinking you'll be needing help."

Chapter 3

Monday

Joe walked through the dining hall's swinging doors onto the covered porch and paused to watch the guests stroll between the buildings under the noontime sun. A faint breeze carried the smell of the freshly mowed lawn that surrounded the ranch's guest cabins, dining hall, and administrative buildings.

Totally peaceful. He shook his head, remembering Rosebud's scream as the spear struck her, and looked toward the mountains. They peered back at him over the top of the stables like old gods, amused at the antics of their mere human subjects.

Joe shivered in spite of the heat and returned his gaze to his surroundings. He had been feeling comfortable here. More than he had in any other place since his grandparents had died. Yesterday had brought back the familiar sense of disjointedness. Where the hell did he belong?

Joe shook his head as he turned to inspect the ranch bulletin board hanging near the hall's doors. Alex had given him the morning off—much needed after a poor night's sleep—but now he needed to get back to work. Posted among ranch notices and events was the signup sheet for this afternoon's classes. Brent's edible and herbal plant walk had several takers, mostly women. Larry's forge class was maxed out. No surprise at either.

Joe had four students listed for his knapping class. Mark and Melinda were repeats, finishing up their obsidian knives. Two new names followed theirs, Kristi and George Khoury. He said their names a few times and headed to his knapping shed.

He paused when he reached his shed. From here, the mountains were in clear view, rising to nine thousand feet from the five thousand foot Montana plains. Joe easily identified the valley that had taken him somewhere else. No mist.

Whoever had named them the Crazy Mountains had certainly gotten it right.

Joe went inside and laid out handle material for Mark and Melinda’s knives. Elk antler would work well. For George and Kristi... That must be the lady that Larry had been going on about last night. Smart and cute he had said. George must be her father. They'd probably be unfamiliar with rock, but he'd been surprised before.

The whole ancestral skills thing was getting trendy, perhaps as a reaction to a world moving too fast. He frowned. Was that why he'd spent several long breaks from school learning this stuff? Or was it just his way of connecting to his ancestry? He shook his head and set out several smaller pieces of obsidian.

He was erasing the battered chalk blackboard when Mark and Melinda walked in.

"Think we'll get 'em done today?" Mark rummaged around in their assigned cubby then held up his knife.

Joe took the elongated sliver of obsidian and inspected each side. "It's looking good. Try thinning it a little through the middle and then start the sharpening process." He handed it back and lifted a second knife from Melinda's outstretched hand. It was smaller, with one end blunt and the other tapering to a point. "Nice. You're ready for sharpening." He helped them get settled at the knapping pit, a circular hole in the concrete floor at the far end of the knapping shed, that was covered with a metal grate and surrounded by wooden benches.

Joe returned to the lecture end of the room and finished erasing the blackboard. He had just grabbed a broom when he heard footsteps.

"Good afternoon, young man," a male voice said.

Joe turned. "Mr. Khoury and Miss Khoury I presume?" He saw an older man of medium height standing in the doorway. He wore a plain, light gray shirt and ordinary blue jeans instead of the faux western clothing favored by most of the other guests.

"Please, just George." He walked into the shed followed by a young woman in her mid to late twenties. "And if you know what's good for you, call my daughter Kristi. I can't imagine anyone calling her Miss Khoury. Or, worse yet, Doctor Khoury."

"Kristi is just fine." The woman faced the older man and gave him an exaggerated frown. "Now Dad, don't give Joe the wrong idea."

Butterflies woke in Joe's stomach. No wonder Larry was taken with her. She was cute. She had some of her father's eastern Mediterranean features–but with maybe some Latin blood? A few inches shorter than Joe and maybe twenty pounds lighter. The rolled up sleeves of her western shirt revealed toned muscles.

She smiled at Joe. "In yesterday's orientation, I heard that you're Native American and teach tracking, basketry, and bow making. I think it's wonderful that these skills are being kept alive on the reservations.

Her voice had a melodic ring. And her reference to a reservation held no judgment. Joe managed a smile. "Actually, I learned from...private mentors." Actually, it was from some white guy back in New Jersey. He hoped he wasn't blushing. "It wasn't a tribal program."

"To which tribe do you belong?" Her face suddenly took on a worried look. "If I may ask?"

"No problem." He shrugged. "I'm a bit of a mix. My grandparents met their respective spouses at government schools with the result that I'm listed in four different tribal registries."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Kristi said. "That was a sad period in this country's history."

"Okay, let's not start a political speech." George's mouth tightened into a thin line. "This is not a university." He looked at Joe and his face lightened. "How do we start?"

"First, we get you some safety equipment,” Joe said, relieved at the change in topic. He handed them goggles, leather palm patches, leather aprons, and copper tipped pressure tools. "Nothing happens without these."

Joe gave them his standard introduction, describing the characteristics of the best rock for knapping and some fracture theory. Then he demonstrated basic hand positions. Soon George and Kristi were sitting around the knapping pit with Mark and Melinda, reducing colorful pieces of obsidian into debris. And occasionally getting some pieces that could actually be functional.

About mid-afternoon, George got up and shook off any errant flakes. "I think this'll do it for me," he said to Kristi. "I got the idea. And not a bad scraper to show the boys back at the office." He held up an oval scraper the size of a child's hand. "Think I'll hole up in the bar for the rest of the afternoon."

"Hope you found it interesting." Joe rose.

"Oh yes, it is certainly more involved than I'd thought." George smiled and pointed at Joe with a bandaged finger. "And please try to keep Kristi from bleeding to death."

"Will do. Just leave your stuff there. I'll sort and put everything away later."

George squeezed his daughter's shoulder. "See you at dinner."

After he left, Kristi turned to Joe. "Don't worry."

Joe raised an eyebrow.

"I saw you glance at your watch when Dad left." She smiled. "He just wants to use the Wi-Fi Internet connection in the bar."

Joe's face warmed in embarrassment. Sometimes it helped having darker skin. "It's a bit ironic that, with the Ranch's rustic no-technology philosophy, we still have a Wi-Fi lounge."

"We may be on vacation but Dad's business is his life." She shrugged. "He takes care to pay attention to me, but making money is his real love."

Joe's embarrassment increased at this personal revelation.

"By the way," Kristi added, "you're cute when you blush." Her voice was even but Joe caught a laugh in her eyes when he glanced up.

Time to change the subject. "How's the edge coming?"

Kristi sighed and handed over her scraper.

"Hey, this is going well." Both of Joe's eyebrows rose as he inspected her rock. Not bad for a beginner. "Let's work on fracturing off longer flakes to thin it down. Don't forget to abrade the edge to give you a stable place to apply pressure. That's your platform. A place to work on." Joe gave the scraper back to Kristi then turned at an exclamation from the other side of the pit.

Mark frowned as he held up his broken knife. "I seem to have transformed my knife into a spear point." Mark's eyes flicked to the pit at his feet. "And a lot of debris."

"Hey, you'd be thrilled if you found all these flakes in your screen." Melinda peered at the broken pieces.

"Screen...?" Joe started to ask. "Oh, like on an archaeological dig?"

"On our last volunteer project, we were skunked on our first excavation and found less than a dozen flakes in the second," Melinda said.

"It'd be interesting to know what some future archaeologist would make of this knapping pit in a few thousand years." Mark stood and shook his apron over the pit. "I'd say we've got a few pounds of obsidian flakes, a couple dozen bottle caps, and a handful of bent iron nails in this hole if my eyes are still working."

"Will those archaeologists be sea otters or chimps?" Kristi raised an eyebrow from the other side of the pit.

"Cockroaches," Melinda answered, straight-faced.

"Okay ladies, this conversation is getting way too serious for me without help of a liquid nature." Mark took off his apron and gathered up his supplies. "I'm going to take solace in a pre-dinner cocktail while I ponder the genealogy of future archaeologists."

"I'm with you." Melinda got up and shook off her own apron. Mark helped her pick up her supplies and store them in their cubbies. "We'll finish another day."

"I'll see you at dinner." Kristi gave them a wave as they left then turned to face Joe. "I'm still not getting the hang of the longer flakes."

Joe returned to Kristi's side. "Let's see the positioning of your pressure point. Remember, if you want to get more controlled pressure on the edge, you need one hand to hold the rock while the other positions the pressure tool. But the actual pressure comes from the squeeze of your leg muscles through your hands."

Joe kneeled in front of Kristi and re-positioned her hands between her legs. He held her hand to focus the pressure of the tip on the platformed edge of the scraper.

"Now squeeze." He watched the tip. If it stayed on the platform, she should get a nice long flake. And if she was successful, she might take more of his classes.

Nothing happened. Joe frowned, and then looked up. Kristi had a wide grin on her face. Joe suddenly realized he was on his knees before a rather attractive young lady with his hands between her thighs. He withdrew his hands and tried to stand up. Too quick. Vertigo dumped him on his butt, the steel grate saving him from landing in the pit. Heat flushed his face scarlet as Kristi giggled. What an idiot he was.

"Joe, you are so cute," she said, smiling. "I'm sorry. I'll behave. Please show me again how you position the hands."

Joe decided her humor was innocent and returned her smile. "Okay. And I'll try not to fall over again."

Safely sitting beside Kristi, and with a comfortable few inches of space between them, Joe demonstrated again the use of the leg muscles to provide the pressure for flaking. After several tries, Kristi started throwing flakes, thinning the scraper.

Joe acutely felt the empty room and the lack of conversation. Maybe he could piggyback on the exchange between Mark and Melinda. "So you're thinking the next species of archaeologists will be sea otters?"

Kristi paused long enough that Joe wondered if he had gotten himself in another embarrassing situation.

"Seriously," she finally said, "I do wonder about the future of the human race. What's going to get us first: disease, the environment, or just plain war?" She sighed. "I guess that sounds sort of negative."

"I heard that you recently completed medical school and are thinking about working with one of the United Nations agencies," Joe said. "That certainly sounds positive."

"Oh, just put me down as schizoid." Kristi grinned. "Or maybe just stubborn."

"I ain't going to touch either comment."

Kristi went back to her knapping. Joe got up and, after putting George’s supplies away, swept Mark and Melinda's stray debris into the pit. They had pretty much cleaned up after themselves and, in a few minutes, he returned to Kristi's side.

"Looks like I've got the shape." Kristi held up her knapped rock. "But I think I'll have to come back another day to complete the sharpening."

"That'll be good." He hoped he didn't sound too eager. "Our class schedules are set by the signup sheets."

"Okay, see you later." Kristi dusted off her apron, picked up her supplies, and put them into an empty cubby. "I'd better tear my father away from the Internet. He might forget to eat." With a wave, she left.

For more than a few moments, Joe just stood there.

Chapter 4

Tuesday

Joe took another bite of Potts’s home fries and glanced across the dining hall. Kristi sat surrounded by several pokes and a couple of the single guests. He shifted his attention back to the children at his table. "Making fire is all about friction, generating hot dust. And allowing that dust to collect and combust."

A flicker of movement caught his eye. Kristi had stood and was laughing at some comment from one of the men at her table as she picked up her tray.

Joe gobbled a last forkful of potatoes and gathered his breakfast dishes onto his tray. "It would be great to see some of you at my fire and friction class." He stood, nodded a farewell, and headed toward the clean up station.

He chose a route that was two tables out of his way and reached the kitchen waste tubs at the same time as Kristi was clearing her tray.

"Good morning, Joe." Her melodic voice sent a stir through his core. "Ready for another day with the greenhorns?"

"I prefer to think of you all as outdoors enthusiasts." Joe helped her with her tray. "Knapping is on the board for tomorrow if you'd like to finish your obsidian point."

"It's hard to choose from all the ranch activities." She started toward the door but moved slow enough to let him finish clearing his tray and join her.

Joe decided that now was as good a time as any. Besides, he'd lose his courage if he delayed. "Say, there's a bit of a break before dinner. Care for a short horseback ride? There's a small rise a few miles away with a great view of the Crazy Mountains." Maybe taking her on a relaxed ride through some great scenery would show that he was normal before rumors of the killing got around.

"Why are they called the Crazies?"

"Couple of possible reasons." Joe's pulse raced. Maybe she'd go. "Some think it's due to the haunting sound of the wind that blows down through the canyons. Another story is that a pioneer woman wandered up there after going crazy when the Native Americans killed her family. The Crow people call them the 'Blue Bird Mountains'."

"The ride sounds nice." Kristi flashed a brief smile. "But I've already got the rest of the day scheduled." She added an apologetic shrug. "There are so many activities..."

"Well, I'm glad you're finding your stay interesting,” he said, relieved that he had managed a gracious reply.

* * *

Joe joined the children for dinner with some trepidation. The rumors of his trip into Red Wash had apparently swept through the ranch's guests during the afternoon. Luckily the present conversation centered on a cougar that had been sighted during one of the afternoon horseback trips so that Joe was able to enjoy their company as well as the food.

During seconds on ice cream, Joe glanced up at the sound of the dining hall door opening. The sheriff and Alex walked in. Alex nodded his chin at Joe and they retreated.

"Shit, now what?" Joe mumbled under his breath. "Excuse me. The boss is calling," he said out loud as he gathered his tray.

He detoured past the bussing station and left the dining hall. Outside, a small figure stood between two sheriff's deputies. A blanket was draped over her shoulders. Beneath it, she wore a one-piece leather shift with head and arm openings. No shoes. She appeared young, perhaps pre-teen.

"Do you recognize her?" the Sheriff asked. "She doesn't seem to understand English or Spanish, and was quite wild when we found her wandering up in the Crazies."

The little girl gazed up at Joe. Her face lightened and she spoke.

Joe frowned at her words. It sounded like "Help me."

She started to struggle.

"It's the little girl I encountered during my ride Sunday." He knelt before her. "It's alright, nobody will hurt you."

The girl looked blankly at him.

Those words were wrong. Other sounds filled Joe's head and he voiced them. "I protect." The sounds he made were foreign to his ears. But the little girl's face brightened again and she stopped struggling.

"Let me try to communicate with her," Joe said to the two deputies. "Maybe in private?" At a nod from the Sheriff, they released their hold on her arms and stepped back, both looking relieved.

Joe took the girl's hand and pointed to his chest with his free hand. "Joe." He then pointed to the girl. "Name?" Again, the word sounded strange.

"Alta," she answered. A tentative smile moved the edges of her mouth.

"Alta hungry?" Joe pointed to her stomach as he spoke the strange words.

Alta nodded. Nothing strange there.

He glanced over to the ranch manager. "Alex, could you arrange for a tray of food? And I'd like to take Alta—that's her name—away from all these people."

Alex looked at the Sheriff, who nodded. "Right away, Joe." He started to go back inside.

"Also, could you ask Kristi Khoury to help? She's a medical doctor."

Alex paused to nod before he disappeared through the doorway.

Joe walked with Alta to the end of the covered porch of the dining hall. "Alta, where is your home?" The strange words seemed less difficult now.

"Know not." Tears started tracking down her dusty cheeks. "I run. Not know land. Strange men captured me. On big animals. I..."

"You safe now," Joe interrupted. He held out his arms, fingers touching her shoulders. Felt her stiffen. Then she grabbed him and buried her sobbing face against his shoulder.

"Perhaps I can help?" Kristi was standing a few yards away. Behind her, a growing cluster of people stood at the dining hall doorway.

With deliberate slowness, Joe disentangled himself from Alta arms and stared into her eyes.

"Alta, this is Kristi," he said. "She is friend."

Alta peered up at Kristi. Her eyes narrowed but then softened.

"Hello," she said. "Help me?"

"Joe, what did she say?" Kristi asked. "I don't understand her."

"She's asking if you'll help her," Joe replied in English. He was spared further questions about language by the arrival of Alex carrying a laden tray of food.

Kristi halted him a few yards away with a gesture and then brought the tray to the child herself.

"Alta, are you hungry?" Kristi nodded to the food on the tray and set it on a nearby chair.

Alta looked at the tray and then at Joe. Brow furrowed, she pointed to a glass of water.

Joe spoke the sounds in his head. "Water." He picked up the glass and took a sip, and then held it out.

Alta reached, eyeing the glass. Her fingers brushed Joe's and her eyes flicked to his. She looked back to the glass and drew it slowly from Joe's grasp. The young girl gulped the water without stopping and drew in a long breath. Then she put the empty glass back in Joe's hand.

"Eat, Alta." Joe set the glass on a nearby chair, speared a couple of green beans from a bowl with a fork, and popped them in his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and smiled.

"Your turn." He handed the fork to Alta handle first.

Alta ignored the fork and took the bowl with one hand. She then used the other to grab a handful of the green beans and stuffed them into her mouth.

"Alta, we... " Kristi started to say.

"It's okay," Joe interrupted. "I don't think Alta knows what a fork is."

"Look, I heard you ran into some strange people the day before yesterday." Kristi shifted her glance from Alta to Joe. "If this young girl can't understand English and doesn't know about eating utensils, then where is she from?"

Alta paused to look at Joe then at Kristi. Then she started on the potatoes.

"I'm just as bewildered as you," Joe said. "If you can get her confidence, maybe you can give her a preliminary checkup after she's done eating?" He nodded towards the girl’s feet. “Maybe check those scratches?”

"Certainly." Kristi focused her attention back to the child. "Here, Alta, let's work on this glass of milk."

Joe got up and, after waiting a few seconds to check that Alta was content to be left alone with Kristi, returned to the sheriff and Alex.

"Mr. Kuruk, to which tribe does the little girl belong?" the sheriff asked. "She was like a wild animal when we found her. No response to English or Spanish."

"Sorry sir," Joe said. "But I really don't know. I just seem to pick out a few words." Of a language he'd never heard.

"Well, you did better than us. And Dr. Khoury seems to be doing okay as well."

The men looked back to where Alta was finishing up the dinner tray with Kristi.

"Going to take her in to Children's Services." The sheriff paused and ran his fingers through thinning hair. "But I may wait 'til tomorrow. The girl seems calm now. Shit, at first she fought like a wild thing. Then she went practically catatonic." He sighed. "I don't want to put her through that again."

"Alex, can I impose on you to talk Dr. Khoury into taking care of the child overnight?" the Sheriff said to the ranch manager. "I'll make arrangements with the Children and Family Services Division first thing in the morning."

"Sure." Alex faced Joe. "Perhaps you can get more information out of the child this evening?"

Joe looked from Alex to the sheriff, and then back to Alex. "Yes sir." Would these guys even believe any information he might get?

The sheriff started to turn away, stopped, and stepped close to Joe. "You didn't hear this from me, but the continent-wide count on deceased medicine elders is over two hundred. And there are unconfirmed reports of similar occurrences in Central America and in West Africa. Any thoughts?"

Joe stared at him for a moment. The last thing he needed was to get involved with some conspiracy nonsense about indigenous spiritual leaders and fatal ceremonies.

"No sir. I can't think of any connection between my experience on Sunday and Medicine Elders. I only saw killings." He looked over his shoulder. Alta was walking toward them with her hand in Kristi's. "And that young girl being chased."

Chapter 5

Tuesday late

Joe knocked and, at a muffled reply, opened the door to Kristi's cabin. Inside, Alta sat on a sofa. Kristi stood behind her, combing Alta's hair. The young girl wore a plaid skirt and white sleeveless blouse that contrasted with her long black hair, now glistening in the light from a nearby table lamp.

"I heard you were sick," said Joe in Alta's language. “Are you feeling better?” He squinted as he entered the brightly lit room. He shifted a desk chair closer to her then paused. What was her culture's personal space? He repositioned the chair a few inches further away and sat.

"Yes, honored Joe." She rose, took Joe’s right hand, and lifted it to her forehead. "Thank you again. Save me from warrior." She lowered herself back on the sofa.

"Please, just call me Joe."

"It was my blunder." Kristi drew in a deep breath. "Alta is lactose intolerant." She reached out a hand and touched Alta's shoulder.

Alta looked from Kristi to Joe, and then lowered her head again.

"I believe her...stomach is now okay."

"Alta, can you tell us about the life in your village?" Joe leaned forward.

"Village name is Stream Crossing." A small smile softened her face. "Small stream near. Flows into Long River. Large trade trail go through village." The smile disappeared.

"Joe, what's she saying?" Kristi walked around the sofa and sat next to Alta.

"Sorry, I'll fill you in later." Joe glanced to Kristi and then back to Alta. "What is wrong?"

Her smile faded. "Traders stopped last year. When Tork invaded land." Alta put her hands in her lap and gazed into some distant place. "Tork warriors wear white clay on faces. Man chase me wear white clay." Alta looked up and bit her lip.

Hollowness crept into Joe's core. She was just a kid, now in a strange country. And it was his meddling that had ripped her from her family and world. Maybe if he hadn't interfered, she would have escaped on her own and would now be with her family.

Joe translated for Kristi.

"When did Alta first know about the white clay warriors?" asked Kristi.

Joe repeated the question to Alta.

"Three moons ago, three white clay strangers visit village. Demand Stream Crossing send food and children to Tork village. At mouth of Long River.”

"Kids?" Joe leaned forward. "Did they explain why they wanted the kids?"

"Say Tork has much new land. Children have great honor, large gardens." Alta paused. Her eyes returned to some distant view. "Father and Omatu not believe. Refused."

"Omatu?"

"Sun Elder of village. Uncle."

"What did he do then?"

"Omatu say leave." Alta glanced down. "Tork warriors say Tork destroy village. Then they go."

"The white clay warrior that chased you. How did that happen?"

Alta sat straighter, head high. "I stay woman hut. My first blood."

Joe's face burned as he translated for Kristi. The young girl was a young woman. So much for his powers of observation.

"Was there more than one white clay warrior?"

"See one," she said, voice now shaking. "Hear birds. Know someone approach. Village no approach. I run. Man hear. Chase."

Joe clenched his jaw. Damn, he was upsetting her. Maybe a different topic would help? "Can you describe the lands around your village?"

Alta's face softened again. "Is beautiful. Even in cold moons when snow cover ground." She held her hand out about two feet off the ground. "Tree-covered hills full of animals and medicine plants, clear water in small stream, open fields for growing eating plants."

As she spoke, images flooded Joe's imagination. She described everything he had seen. More evidence that he hadn't hallucinated. "Food?"

"Much maize, squash, and beans in cleared fields. Rain many times each moon. Long days hot. Many trees have nuts. Many animals for meat and leather and tools. Much fish." Alta smiled. "My brother loves fish." Her smile faded. "I hope he safe."

"What of the small hill with..." Joe paused. No word came to his mind for 'square'. "Straight sides?"

"Ancestors rest there."

"Are there traders?"

"Before Tork traders visit every moon. Clay and salt from south. Shiny rocks from far away for knives and axes. Yellow pebbles to pound into tools to knap rock." She yawned, quickly covering her mouth. "I sorry. Not mean disrespect you."

"You should rest. We can talk more tomorrow." Joe stood.

"We girls will be okay." Kristi turned to Alta. "And tomorrow, a nice lady from the CFSD will be here to help you."

Joe hesitated before translating. His own experience with social services had been traumatic. When he parents had been killed by a drunk driver, he had spent several weeks in state custody before his grandparents had been located. The caretakers had been kind, but a child—or teen—torn from his or her family needs a lot more than strangers.

He walked to the door. "I will see you in the morning," he said to Alta who rewarded him with a much bigger smile.

As he exited, Kristi followed him onto the cabin's porch. "I feel so sorry for her. Do you have any new ideas about what happened?"

Joe looked back. Through the doorway, he saw Alta slumped on the sofa, her face in her hands. Her posture reminded him of the days after his parents' deaths. "Not a clue."

* * *

"So she's older than she looks," Joe said. "Probably mid-teens."

"Well, regardless of her age, you really got our attention now." Larry raised an eyebrow. He was sitting on a cooler by the door of Joe's cabin. "We were working real hard to believe your story. We'd just about got there, sort of. And then ya go and plop the damsel in distress into our midst."

"Hey, how do you think I feel? Hell, I just about had myself convinced I was hallucinating. And now Alta shows up on my doorstep."

"'Curiouser and curiouser' as another famous young girl once said." Brent looked at Joe from his perch on the single chair in the small room. "But one glaring question remains: how do you communicate? Kristi says you and Alta jabber on, yet you claim that you only speak English."

"Why I can understand Alta is actually less of a question then where the hell I was when I was supposed to be in Red Wash."

"Let's shelve the language ability for a moment." Brent held up his hands in mock defense. "Where does Alta say she's from?"

"She talked of rolling hills." Joe closed his eyes, remembering the earlier conversation. "Thick forests. Open fields kept that way by yearly burning. Forest undergrowth periodically burned also. Near a large river."

"Okay, let me play devil's advocate for a minute." Brent tilted his head in a thoughtful pose. "How can we be sure she's telling the truth?"

"Her story is a bit incredible." Joe stared at the can of juice in his hand. "But what she claims matches up with what I saw." He looked at Brent. "So we're either both crazy or she's telling the truth."

The corner of Brent's mouth twitched. "Another option is that you're in cahoots with her." His mouth tightened into a line. "But you'd never deliberately injure a horse, so let's delete that line of inquiry. What of seasons?"

"Summers can be hot. Periodic rain. Leaves turning color in the fall. Snow can get to knee deep in winter."

"So how much of the earth does that scratch off the list?" Larry’s eyebrows rose.

"Sounds like we're left with the temperate regions." Brent stood up and kicked Larry's cooler.

"Let's get back to this language thing." Larry stood while Brent pulled out another beer.

"I hear the correct sounds in my head." Joe sipped at his orange juice. "Just have to get my tongue in the correct position. And when she speaks, the images flash through my mind. Her first words were hard to understand. Barely more than a subject and verb." He downed the remainder of the juice and tossed the can in a nearby bucket already half full of empties. “The more I listen—and talk—the better the sentence structure becomes. At least in my head. No idea how my words sound to Alta.”

"So we got your basic mind reading," Larry said, "maybe a little psychic-transportation and possibly some time travel." He shrugged. "What's the problem?"

"What are you saying?" Joe asked.

"Alta looks Native American, dresses Native American and quite possibly speaks some dialect of Native American. But she doesn't understand English, has never seen a horse, and hasn't a clue what to do with a fork. You figure it out."

"What do you mean about the horse?" Joe stared at Larry.

"I talked with one of the deputies before he left." Larry stood and lifted the lid of the cooler. He smiled and grabbed another beer. "Alta was a wild woman when they caught her. But went limp with fear when the Deputy lifted her up onto his horse."

"So now what?" Brent asked after a few seconds of silence.

"Well, tomorrow, Alta will be in the hands of CFSD." Larry's face slipped into a frown.

"That bothers me, too." Joe rubbed his face with his hands. "Another set of strangers isn't going to do her any good."

"Kristi volunteered to accompany Alta into town," Brent said.

"That'll help Alta, but what about Joe?" Larry shifted his gaze from Brent to Joe. "You're at the center of this. Any ideas?"

"Well, I'm worried about Alta." Joe's shoulders slumped. "But she'll be out of my hands tomorrow." That would be a relief. Then maybe this whole thing would blow over. Joe closed his eyes as the memories of the massacre at the village replayed itself in his mind. "Then maybe life will go back to normal."

Chapter 6

Wednesday

The next morning, Joe entered the dining hall to find Kristi and Alta already eating breakfast. He grabbed a tray, walked through the buffet, and headed in their direction.

Joe pulled out a chair next to Alta. She wore a one-piece shift with a ribbon in her shining hair. Red sandals that matched her pedicured toenails adorned her feet. Iodine stains marred the image.

"Alta, you look very pretty," Joe spoke the still-unfamiliar words as he set his tray on the table.

Alta looked down and her skin darkened.

Joe frowned. Had he used the wrong words? He looked at Alta's tray. It was filled with fruit and a muffin. "How's the food?"

Alta bit her lip.

"I think she'll be okay now." Kristi frowned at Joe.

Joe took a long breath as he sat. Couldn't he say anything right? He concentrated on his eggs for the next few minutes.

As he ate, it became evident that Alta had picked up a few words of English and Kristi a few words of Alta's language. Still, Joe found himself translating frequently. And discreetly.

They were just about finished when Alex stopped by their table. "The sheriff called. The CFSD caseworker should be here in a few hours."

Joe felt a tinge of guilt at his relief. What kind of life would Alta have in a foreign culture?

"Joe," Alex said, "you only have a few clients on your signup sheet this morning. Why don't you spend it with Alta until the caseworker shows up? We'll bribe your students with bar vouchers to move to a different class or to join a trail ride."

"I'll stay with her also," Kristi said.

"Hey great," Joe said to Kristi before turning to his boss. "Thanks Alex."

After Alex left, Joe turned to Alta. "Let us go look at the animals that carried you here," he said. "Not close," he added, as her eyes widened. It would be good to at least help her get over her fear of horses during their last few hours together. Maybe if she could work her way through one fear, it would give her a head start on all the stuff she was going to face living in a strange culture.

"Not close?" Alta asked.

"Not close," Joe agreed. Alta looked thoughtful, and then smiled.

Joe and Kristi bussed their dishes as Alta scrutinized the commotion of the dining hall.

Outside the building, they headed toward the stables, crossing the manicured lawn that lay between the dining hall, guest services, and guest cabins. Nearer the stables, the grass transformed into blown bark dust and finally to hard packed dirt.

"We call those animals 'horses'." Joe pointed toward several horses, inserting the English word when nothing came to mind in Alta's language. She slowed as they approached the stables, and Joe matched his pace to hers. A quick glance showed Kristi, on the other side of Alta, holding her hand. Was cultural space close for females in Alta's world?

Joe explained that people rode on the backs of the horses so they could travel long distances without getting tired. Then he explained the equipment that made riding a horse easier.

Under the shade of a tree near the stables, they stopped and watched one family of guests who were getting riding lessons. Alta seemed mesmerized. Her roaming eyes kept returning to the sight of a young teenage girl riding around the beginners' area.

"May I touch horse?" she asked after several minutes.

"Sure you can, Alta," Joe said. "Let's get a little closer. Then I'll go get one of the older mares. They are very gentle and like to be stroked."

Joe left Alta and Kristi standing at an isolated section of the corral fence and went into the stables. This could be her last chance. Once she got into state care, she might never get to see a horse again.

Joe saddled two horses. Maybe she'd be brave enough to try?

Joe lead them outside and over to Alta and Kristi. Kristi gave him a questioning glance that he returned with a shrug.

"Here, Alta, this is Bambi and Thumper," Joe said.

"Bambi and Thumper?" Kristi's eyes narrowed.

"Hey, I didn't name 'em." He shrugged again. "Alta, if you want, I can lead Bambi closer."

"Yes," Alta said, eyes fixed on the two animals.

Alta reached out a hand as Joe led the mare closer. Bambi lifted her head and sniffed at Alta's hand.

"Can I ride Bambi?" Alta asked in a quiet voice.

In a few minutes, Alta and Kristi were mounted and walking in slow circles with Joe leading Bambi. Joe smiled up at Alta's beaming face. Whatever fate had in store for her, at least she would have this.

"Hey Joe," a voice interrupted.

Joe turned to see Alex walking toward them, a smiling lady at his side. Joe glanced at Kristi, whose face flashed a frown before going blank.

"Okay, Alta," Joe said in a low voice, "that's enough for today. I think there is a lady here who wants to meet you."

"Hello, Alex," Joe said in English and in what he hoped was a normal voice.

He helped Alta down then waved to one of the stable pokes to take care of the horses.

Kristi dismounted and the three of them left the corral.

"Good morning, Alta," the lady said. "My name is Linda. I'm with the Montana Children and Family Services Division." She offered Alta her hand. Alta backed away and crowded next to Kristi.

"Alta, Linda is a friend," Joe said in English, avoiding any demonstration of his knowledge of Alta's native tongue.

Alta looked up at Joe. Her eyes bored into his. No smile even though she knew the word 'friend.’

"Let's walk to her car," Kristi said to no one in particular.

They walked silently, except for Linda, who kept up an endless monologue about the home where Alta would be living until they placed her with a family.

Joe felt Alta slip her hand into his. A glance showed her other hand clutching Kristi's.

When they got to the non-descript sedan with state license plates, Linda opened the passenger side door. "Dr. Khoury, you needn't make the ride into town. Us girls will get along just fine." Then she reached out and touched Alta's shoulder. "Alta, say goodbye to these nice people."

Joe squatted down before Alta. "My chief tells me that you must go with his woman," he whispered in Alta's language. "She is a friend." Worry cut through his core.

Alta hesitated before she let go of Joe's hand, and then Kristi's. She walked toward Linda.

Linda's smile broadened. She took Alta's arm and started to lead her into the passenger seat.

Alta's eyes widened.

Joe stepped forward. She had never been in an automobile. She didn't even know what it was.

Alta screamed and wrenched her arm from Linda's grasp. Sobbing and hysterical, she ran to Kristi and flung her arms around her. "Help me," she cried.

Joe knelt besides her and held her shoulders. After a minute, she unclasped one arm and reached for Joe's hand.

"Hold her, Joe." Kristi drew in a shuddering breath. "I'm going to talk with Linda."

Joe stood and, grasping Alta's hand, started walking away from the growing knot of staff and guests.

"I want to go home," Alta said in a small voice.

A chill swept over Joe. If the raided village was Alta's, her entire family was most likely dead. Could he take her home? He looked up at the mountains. Red Wash was barely visible but appeared normal. No mist. "I will protect you," Joe said, squeezing her hand. What else could he say?

They walked side by side, behind the stables, past the workshops, and around to the front of the ranch. The CFSD car was gone. Kristi and Brent sat on the administration building's steps. As Joe and Alta came into view, Kristi rose and walked their way.

"I suggested that Alta stay with me for another week," Kristi said. "Linda agreed. Being a medical doctor has some influence, although I did have to sign my life away."

She paused. "Joe, I'm scared." For a second her eyes looked haunted, and then she turned to Alta. "You stay with me many days," she said in Alta's language.

* * *

Joe looked up to see Brent at the doorway. Behind him, Larry stood staring over his shoulder at the Crazy Mountains.

"Come on in." Joe stood and scooted his chair toward Brent.

"You rub any old lamps recently?" Brent swung the chair around and sat, leaning over the chair's back. "Maybe pull a sword out of a rock?" Both of his eyebrows rose.

"What kind of silly ass questions are you tossing out?" Joe shoved a few dirty clothes aside and sat on his bed.

"I'm thinkin' we're way past being concerned about the condition of your mere ass." Larry entered the room and looked around. He shrugged and lowered himself to the floor. "We got Joe living his nightmares, we got a young woman from some other time and place, and now we got a second person magically speaking some unknown language."

"Look, Kristi's not just scared, she's terrified," Brent said.

"Hell, this whole thing is blowing up." Joe stared into nothing. Kristi was now clearly involved. He felt responsible, but what could he do?

"When did she start understanding Alta's language?" Joe shook himself and then looked over at Brent.

"When Alta started screaming at the CFSD lady's car."

"Let's get back to Brent's questions." Larry shifted on the floor. "You do anything unusual lately? Before your little jaunt up into the Crazies."

"Nothing but a few dreams." That and medicine elders dying, but that was just as crazy as rubbing old lamps.

"Great. So we're apparently clueless and have a young lady who most likely belongs elsewhere." Larry frowned. "Or elsewhen." He looked from Brent to Joe. "What are we gonna do now?"

That, Joe figured, was a damn good question.

Chapter 7

Thursday evening

Joe entered the forge, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light from the hanging fluorescent lamps illuminating the now deserted classroom.

"How's Alta?" asked Larry.

"Better. She spent the day in Kristi's cabin." Joe opened the lid of a battered ice chest and twisted one of the two cans of non-alcoholic beer he was carrying into the slushy ice. "Kristi thinks it's just a common cold plus all the new foods. Plus some residual problems from Tuesday's milk products." He swept off a nearby chair with his hand and sat, popping the tab on the second can. "Poor kid."

"Bad enough getting the shits without getting the sniffles." Larry frowned at the can in Joe's hand. "Still drinking that piss-water?" Larry sipped from his own can. The torn, cardboard carton lying next to the ice chest identified his drink as a cheap domestic brew.

"Keeps me hydrated."

"Any ideas pop up since last night?" Larry threaded a strip of leather through a curved sheet of bright metal.

"Nope. No magic lamp, no magic book, no magic nothing."

"Heard from the Sheriff?"

"Not a thing."

"Should we ride up to Red Wash?"

"The Sheriff and his men supposedly combed the entire canyon. Didn't see anything." Joe shook his head. "At least nothing they shouldn't have." He nodded to the metal in Larry's hand. "What the heck is that?"

"Working this into a breastplate. One you can get in and out of without help."

"One of your SCA things?" Joe eyed it. "How’d you ever get into that stuff?"

"Yep." Larry rubbed at the dully-gleaming metal. "Society for Creative Anachronism. As for how I got there, that's a bit of a long story."

Joe raised an eyebrow in encouragement.

"Actually, the SCA activities pre-date my iron-smithing." Larry smiled. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. I guess the SCA thing started with my non-recovery from my tour of the Middle East." A slight frown creased the normally happy face.

"Shit," Joe said. "Didn't know you were ex-military."

"Not a good story. The short version is that I was a medic and got myself wounded. Roadside bomb. I'm okay except for a bit of a twinge in my leg in damp weather."

Larry took another swig. "After I got out, I got into drinking too much." He paused to look at the can in his hand. "Some bad memories." He met Joe’s gaze. "Went to a renaissance fair with a bunch of other drunks. Saw these weird people wandering around in full armor, whacking each other with dull swords."

Larry tossed his empty can into a bucket already half full of empties, held up the breastplate to the overhead lights and frowned.

Joe added a little imagination and could just see the curved metal matching part of a torso. A large torso.

"Kinda strange, but those peoples' idealized Middle Ages fantasies seemed to be an antidote for my Middle East nightmares." Larry turned the metal piece over in his hands. "I'm thinking that the drinking was a reaction to the impersonal killing. The SCA means me and my new best buddy are just beating the shit outta each other for points. The loser buys the beer. Anymore, I'm a cheap winner."

He frowned at his curved piece of metal. "The problem," he said, "is fastening the damned thing together once you get it on."

Larry got up and pulled a second piece of curved metal from the cluttered workbench. Sitting down, he started stitching the two pieces together with a leather strip that appeared from nowhere. "Any more of those dreams?" He glanced up to Joe. "You haven't mentioned them since Sunday morning."

"Last night was the same. Without the evil overtones." Joe said. "When they first started, I kinda wondered if the setting had something to do with being an orphan."

"Yeah, I remember you saying something about that." Larry shrugged. "Can't relate too much. Never was close to my Irish family."

Joe's eyes widened. "Your what?"

Larry inspected the strips of metal. "Well, my mom met this West African guy in college. Turns out he already had a couple of wives back home. But my mom didn't find out about that minor detail until I came along." He frowned, picked up an awl, and enlarged one of the holes. "She took me back to her Irish neighborhood in Boston. Quite the stir, I hear. Hooked back up with her high school boyfriend. Good guy, he treated me right. They proceeded to produce the typical large Catholic family. I got along." A small smile softened his face. "And I was way too big—that from my biological dad—to get much shit in school." He snorted. "Except for the nickname 'Irishman Larry'."

He laced the leather through the final hole and nodded. "That'll work. Anyway, can't say me and my half-family are close. Especially since Mom passed away. But I always make sure to send the nieces and nephews Christmas presents."

Joe sat for a moment. "I can sort of relate to not having a close family. Just had the one set of grandparents for most of my life—and they're gone now. I barely remember my parents." Although the terror when the authorities had pulled him out of school after his parents' accident had lingered in his nightmares for years.

Larry started untying the two pieces. "Me, hard to imagine a family. Especially after the Gulf thing. This world's too fucked."

As he pulled the last of the leather lashings apart, Larry looked at Joe. "Actually, not much feels relevant anymore." He barked out a laugh. "Guess that's why I got into blacksmithing. That's about as unrelevant as you can get."

He turned the piece of armor over. "Enough head talk." He stared out the doorway into the darkness. "Brent doing one of his astronomy things?"

"Yeah." Joe nodded. "But I think he was going to join the campfire sing-along first. Said something about listening to Kristi's singing and guitaring. If she's not still nursing Alta."

Larry looked at his wristwatch and frowned. "Well, looks like I missed it."

"Someone else will have to handle the low parts," Joe said. "How'd you learn to sing?"

"Well, I was raised Catholic, remember?" Larry chuckled. "Didn't stick. But I did kinda like choir."

"You still got time to catch Brent's stargazing class."

"Nah, better finish this." Larry chuckled again. "Now, keeping track of stars, that's another unrelevant skill."

Chapter 8

Friday

"Feeling better?" Joe hoped he wasn't embarrassing her by asking.

"I think yes." Alta kept her eyes forward as they walked to the stables. "Kristi says it is new food and new little animals." She bit her lip. "But not animal milk problem." Her face brightened. "She showed me little animals with her...I do not know word."

"What's that?" Joe looked at her. "Ahh...you mean the microscope in the infirmary?"

"Yes. But I do not understand. Kristi said she show me more later today."

"Well, the important thing is that you're better," said Joe. "Feeling strong enough for a horse-back ride? Brent’s covering my students this afternoon. We could check out some trails for a tracking class I want to start next week."

"Yes. Will you explain leather parts again?"

At the stables, Joe reviewed tack and helped Alta saddle Bambi. After several circuits of the ranch, they stopped at Joe's shed where Brent was teaching Joe's basket weaving class.

After dismounting, Joe led Alta into the back of the class area. Kristi wasn't in sight. Nine students—including two men—sat around the long tables working with rattan, cedar bark and split spruce root, all intent on their baskets.

A few minutes passed before they became aware of Joe and Alta. Several stopped to whisper among themselves. Joe ignored them.

Alta watched the students' progress for a few minutes before turning to Joe with a hesitant smile. "I make basket?"

"Sure," Joe said. "Let me show you how to start."

As Joe gathered materials, he heard Brent interrupt the class to watch. Around him, several of the students repositioned their chairs. So much for a brief visit.

When Joe had finished his demo, Brent gave Alta some presoaked reeds.

"Can I make my basket instead of yours?" she asked, looking at Joe.

"Sure." Joe looked down at the simple basket in his hands, made with a wicker weave on an odd number of spokes. "Make it your way."

Alta started her basket, but not the way Joe had demonstrated. "What is material?"

"We call it 'rattan.' It's the bark of a ‘palm’ plant." Joe paused. Words weren't working. "It looks like a large fern."

As Alta twisted the fibers to form the bottom of her container, several of the students stopped working on their own baskets to watch.

Within an hour, Alta had finished a utilitarian basket of elegant simplicity, small enough to fit in a large man's hand. The woven, oblong, flat bottom curved up into a rounded shape with a matching neck covered by a fitted lid. Several of the students even recorded her efforts with their cameras or phones. And all were watching as she finished.

Joe stared at the tightly woven basket in Alta's hand, now glad that Kristi wasn't here. He glanced at Brent, who just raised an eyebrow. Joe shifted his eye to the open door. The distant Crazies loomed over the ranch compound. Somewhere up there, this young woman had lost her way and her life, negating the usefulness of her skills. Could a teenage woman survive in a world where none of her abilities were relevant?

"That is very good." Joe's eyes widened as Alta trimmed the loose ends of the basket's reeds with an obsidian knife from one of his display cases. He was going to have to get her some steel knives and sharpening stones.

"Excuse me," said one of the students, an older man. "Could perhaps a donation to the young lady's education fund be made in exchange for her basket? Say fifty dollars?"

"Ah, the fund is a good idea, but that's sort of covered." Joe averted his eyes from the man's gaze. "But a wool blanket from the gift shop might be a good trade. Should I ask?"

At a nod from the man, Joe turned to Alta, "This man would like to trade a blanket for your basket. Would you like that?"

"Can I see blanket?" Alta asked without hesitation. Joe translated for her.

The man excused himself, disappearing in the direction of the gift shop. In a few minutes, he was back with a new wool blanket with a blue and red diagonal pattern.

Alta fingered the blanket and smiled. Then she looked up and studied the man with such seriousness that Joe almost laughed.

"And cutting tool," Alta said, pointing to the man's sheathed Bowie knife.

Joe translated. The man frowned and then laughed.

"Sure thing," he said, removing the knife and sheath from his belt.

As the man left with his new treasure, Brent moved to Joe's side. "What he really bought was the story that goes along with Alta," he said in a low voice. "All the guests know by now how you met her. And the basket's new owner also has a video of its construction."

"Well, I was going to get her a knife anyway." Joe shrugged. "But I was thinking of something a bit smaller. Quite a shrewd trader she is," he added to no one in particular.

* * *

Joe looked up at approaching footsteps. "Hey, here's Kristi."

"I understand you had an exciting day." Kristi placed her dinner tray down next to Alta's. Her ability to speak Alta’s language had dramatically improved in only two days.

"I rode Bambi again—even saddled her—and I traded basket for blanket." Alta glanced at Joe sitting across the table then back to Kristi. "And knife." Alta shook her head. "That man is not good trader."

"I can't disagree with that." Joe turned to Kristi. "After lunch, Alta helped me with tracking."

"I saw new animal. Nu-tri-a." Alta said the word slowly and carefully as she looked at Joe. "Joe explained 'non-native' animals."

"I showed her where the Nutria originated on a globe of the earth," said Joe.

"I need to think more." Alta's eyebrows narrowed. "But Joe said Brent could explain 'planets' and 'sun' better." She only hesitated briefly over the unfamiliar words.

"Oh, he did?" Kristi looked from Alta to Joe, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Joe decided to change the subject. "How was your day?"

"I spent some time with Father." Kristi's smile faltered and she shrugged. "I tried to convince him to stay the second week as we had planned. But he's having withdrawal symptoms from his business." Her face brightened as she turned to face Alta. "I have good news. There will be an empty cabin next to mine. I reserved it for you. Starting tomorrow." She spoke in Alta's language.

Alta bit her lip. "I not stay in your lodge?"

"In this world, adults have their own lodge." Joe glanced from Kristi to Alta.

Alta's face relaxed as she tilted her head in thought. Then she looked up at Kristi and smiled. A moment later, her smile disappeared. "In my land, soon have lodge. Built by village men. Grandmothers talk with near villages about man for bed." Alta's eyes lost their focus.

"That isn't..." Joe cut off his comment. Not his place to criticize the social norms in her world. Even if she was barely out of childhood.

"How are a woman and a man married?" Kristi put her arm around Alta's shoulder.

"It is feast." Alta lowered her head, staring at her hands as she opened and closed them. "Males form line in front of lodge. Husband must fight through." She looked up. "Play fight. Not kill fight. Then husband faces Grandmothers. Must convince." A smile brightened her face. "More hard than fight."

"Is there someone you considered for husband?"

Alta glanced at Joe. Chewed her lip. "Grandmothers talk with Grandmothers from nearby village. But talk only." She picked up a spoon, moved a stray green bean from one side of her plate to another. "Mother looks hard at men."

She dropped the spoon. It clattered against the plate before bouncing onto the table. "Mother needs me."

Chapter 9

Saturday

Joe squinted at the early Saturday sun blazing down on the green of the manicured grass that surrounded the mess hall. Already, it was cutting through the last of the cool night air. "I have the day off. Shall we ride the horses again?"

"Yes.” Alta said. “But why horse let us ride?"

"Horses are big and powerful animals." Joe stepped off the building's covered porch, matching his pace to Alta’s. "But they are herd animals. They are born to follow a dominant horse. Luckily, they will follow a human if we treat them properly."

"How?" Alta moved closer to Joe as they approached the stables.

Joe glanced at her. Her step slowed, yet she smiled as her eyes flicked from the horses prancing in the corral to the darker interior of the stables. Would he be so brave if he'd been thrown into an alien world?

"You must be gentle but firm." Joe slowed to match her pace. "And you need to understand their needs. See the brown horse with the white on her face? Watch her ears as we pass."

They continued on past the corral to the main stable door.

"Ears follow us." A broader smile lit up Alta's face.

"Horses are prey animals. They are always on alert. So we have to approach carefully. See how the eyes are on the sides of the head?" Joe stopped. "That lets them see almost entirely around them when they are eating grasses. But don't approach from the rear where they can't see as well."

They continued into the stables.

"Do you want to ride Bambi or Thumper today? Or one of the other horses?"

"They are nice. But I like to ride different horse." Alta's mouth squeezed into a narrow line.

"Maxy and Blaze are gentle horses. Also good for beginners. Let's go introduce ourselves to them. Then we'll review tack again."

After a half hour, Joe and Alta led Maxy and Blaze out of the stables. After another few minutes spent checking the saddles and filling their canteens, they mounted.

"Let's ride around the ranch first. Then head to a small hill about three miles away where we can get a good view of the mountains."

"How far that?"

"About an hour at a fast walk on foot or a slow ride on a horse." Joe sighed; any description using time wouldn't work with someone from a primitive culture. "About as far as you can just see a person moving." Joe laughed. "Or a bear."

"Maybe how far in one hand?" Alta stretched out her hand toward the sun and looked at Joe with a questioning tilt of her head.

"Hand?"

"How long sun move distance one hand." She looked at her outstretched hand.

Joe frowned. Then sighed with embarrassment. Not primitive, just a different measure of time. "Yes, that's about right."

He led her past Larry's forge building. The big man looked up as they passed, his face split by a wide beaming grin. Brent's herb building and garden were empty. Maybe he was off collecting plants. Joe wondered what Kristi was doing.

After one circuit, they headed northeast. Joe noted the time on his wristwatch and the position of the sun. They took their time and in an hour arrived at the top of a small rise shaded by a towering oak.

Through the tree branches, Joe noted that the sun had moved about the width of his outstretched hand.

"Joe, which canyon leads to my village?"

Shit, he should have expected this. He pointed. "See the one with the reddish color on the south side? I rode up there. But I arrived in your shallower valley—not the steep-sided canyon we see. The sheriff's men also rode up there. And found you. But not your valley."

Joe looked at Alta's face. It was stone. Her family was gone. Her world was gone.

"Why can I not go home?"

"I don't know." What else could he say?

"We ride to canyon?"

Joe shivered in spite of the warm sun. What would happen if they did ride up there? It would only take a few hours. They had water. He drew a deep breath.

"We can."

* * *

The clear sky and gentle breeze belied Joe's inner turmoil as they rode across the patchwork landscape toward the looming canyon of Red Wash. He could not deny Alta's wish to revisit the place where she had emerged in this world. But what would happen if they disappeared? Or Alta crossed over alone? Was her family even alive?

He was totally unprepared. No weapons. No shelter. Just some water. He glanced at the young woman at his side. Alta rode with her torso canted slightly forward, body language all eagerness, while her eyes scanned back and forth along the slopes of the mountains. How could he dash that enthusiasm? Confused images of his grandparents taking him back to his dead parents' home to gather his few belongings surfaced. Memories faded but he did remember the expectation of returning to the arms of his parents only to find a cold and empty house.

Within a couple hours the sides of the canyon closed in on them as their horses stepped along the flood-washed flats bordering the sides of the now shallow creek.

"Where we go?" Alta asked as the creek disappeared between walls of leaning trees and bushes.

"I found a game trail and followed it up the canyon," Joe said. "At least until I was not here anymore." He pointed to a break the vegetation. "There's one."

Followed by Alta, Joe nudged his horse up the bank and onto a trail of broken branches and debris. "I think the Sheriff and his men must have come this way."

"I see prints of many horseshoes," Alta said, stumbling over 'horseshoes.'

After an hour or so, Joe reined in his horse and waited as Alta brought her horse to a halt next to his.

"I don't think I came this far up the canyon." Joe swept his hand to encompass the narrower canyon walls. Red Wash creek still flowed, but the small stream they had been paralleling was now just a trickle, as springs provided most of the flow further down the canyon.

"Do not recognize land," Alta said.

Joe watched Alta's shoulders sag as her mouth tightened. What was going on in that pretty little head? When he had entered his parents' home so many years ago, he had run through the rooms calling their names. Flashes of empty rooms overlaid with his screams had invaded his dreams throughout the rest of his childhood. He couldn't let that terror and loneliness happen to Alta.

He just couldn't.

* * *

Joe entered the mess hall. Most of the weekend guests were finishing up dinner or already gone. Alta was nowhere in sight—probably still cleaning up after their long ride. According to Kristi, she had taken to indoor plumbing and used the shower at every opportunity.

He spied Larry at an empty table. The big guy waved. Joe picked up a tray and browsed along the picked-over buffet. His stomach growled.

"Joe is talking a strange language." Alta's voice startled him.

"Sorry, missing lunch is hard on my stomach."

Alta smiled as she filled her tray, avoiding anything with dairy or sauces.

"Missed you at lunch," Larry said as they joined him. "And you almost missed dinner."

"Took a longer ride than we expected. No one in the stables when we got back so we had to brush down the horses," Joe said, avoiding any mention of the detour to Red Wash.

"We went Red Wash," Alta said between mouthfuls of potatoes and beans.

"What did she say about Red Wash?" Larry's eyebrows squeezed together.

Joe hesitated. "We rode up to Red Wash."

Larry was silent for several seconds. "What did I say about not going anywhere without me?" His voice was low, almost growling.

"Nothing happened." Joe took a long breath. "Alta was just curious."

Larry looked down at the coffee in his hand. Finally, after a very long minute, he let out a held breath. "We'll talk later."

He shifted to face Alta. "Did you enjoy the ride?"

"Mountains lonely," she said after Joe translated the question. She smiled with a tight face, and then took another bite and turned to Joe. "After eating, can we see how food is cooked?"

Joe blew out a breath of relief at the change in topic. "Sure, we'll see how Potts and his crew feeds everyone." He looked around. "Where's Kristi? Brent?"

"Haven't seen either of them all day." Larry took a sip of coffee and frowned. "Cold." He set the cup down. "Can I join you in your visit with Potts?"

Joe and Alta finished their dinner and, with Larry, bussed their trays. As they walked toward the kitchen door, they met one of the kitchen staff struggling through it with a mop and bucket.

Larry stood aside, holding the door wide. "Hi, Reata, how ya doing today?"

"Muy bien." She smiled, and then frowned. "How is Señor Brent? No problems?"

"He is doing well. Everyone treatin' ya okay?"

"Si." Reata's smile broadened as she continued pushing the bucket into the mess hall.

Larry stepped back allowing Joe and Alta to enter the kitchen. "Damn well better," he mumbled.

"Trouble?" Alta asked Joe.

"Reata works with Potts. A couple of weeks ago, two of the pokes were rude to her. Brent talked to them. And they kind of fell down and hurt themselves. That's why she wanted to know if Brent was okay."

Larry looked at Joe. "Did you tell Alta what you did?"

Alta stopped and waited.

"The two men who got hurt tried to get Brent fired. I helped Brent keep his job. I had some of the guests—along with Potts—speak up," Joe said to Alta. "I also had to…say some smooth words. Something I'm not good at." Joe unfocused his eyes as he thought back on the meeting with Alex. The ranch manager had been furious.

Alta pursed her lips. "Man in village bad to wife. Grandmothers force him leave." Alta's shoulders sagged and her eyes focused on a far distant image. "I hope they safe."

"I hope so, too." Joe searched for a diversion. "Potts might be in the storeroom. Let's start there." He moved toward the back of the kitchen, trailed by Alta and Larry.

Potts looked up from his clipboard as Joe introduced Alta and told him of her request. "Do I look like a tour guide?"

“Potts wants to know what he looks like,” Joe said, failing to come up with a politer translation.

“He looks like chief,” Alta answered.

After Joe translated, Potts squared his shoulders. "Oh all right, but I still have a lot of work to do yet tonight."

He explained the ordering of food and the delivery schedule, with Joe translating.

"Why men bring food?" Alta asked.

"We give them 'money' to do so," Joe said, failing to find a word in Alta's language for money.

"What is 'money'?" She looked puzzled.

After Joe translated the last question, Potts raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Money is a promise on a piece of paper. We trade promises for food. The men—and sometimes a woman—who bring the food take those promises and trade them for other supplies or for work."

"Everyone must be trustworthy," Alta said after Joe repeated the answer in her language.

After hearing the translation, Potts stood still for several seconds. "That is pretty much the basis of all economic theory." He continued the tour by describing the sinks, dishwashers, and sanitizers.

Alta watched Potts and listened to Joe, eyes flicking from item to item.

Potts moved on to the preparation and cooking areas. Alta pointed to one of the stew pots. Potts nodded and Alta picked it up, turning it to all sides, ignoring the dings and scratches but apparently fascinated at the shiny surface. She rapped it with her knuckles.

She looked at Joe. "How take to Mother?"

Joe hesitated.

At a questioning look from Potts, he translated.

Potts looked from Joe to Alta, a small smile cracking his face. "I'll give you a set of cookware as a gift."

When Joe translated, Alta beamed. She took Potts’s hand and, bowing, brought it to her forehead.

Potts frowned briefly, and then he broke into an embarrassing grin. "Young lady, don't be melodramatic."

Suppressing a smile, Joe tried to translate, stumbling over the meaning of 'melodramatic'."

As they left the kitchen, Larry leaned into Joe. "I think Alta has transformed that old fart into an admirer."

Joe chuckled as he looked back toward the kitchen. Potts stood in the doorway, hand rubbing his chin, frowning at Alta's back.

* * *

"You took her fucking where?" Kristi stood, inches from Joe, glaring up at him.

"Just a short ride part way up Red Wash." Joe stepped back a foot. Then another. Why was she so angry?

They were on the dimly lit porch in front of Alta's quarters. Larry and Brent sat on the edge of the porch, intently watching the bats flitting in the moonlight. Alta stood in the doorway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"You could have warned us or something." Kristi's eyes rolled up toward the rough planking roof over the porch. She shook herself and switched to Alta's language. "What if you hadn't returned?"

"I wanted to see if I could go home." Alta's voice, barely a whisper, cut through the silence of the late evening. She stared at the floorboards, chewing her lip. She looked even younger in the dim light, a stranger in a strange land.

"Sorry, it was a spur of the moment decision," Joe said.

Kristi deflated. She moved to Alta and put one arm around her. Alta stiffened and then leaned into her.

"Apologies,” Kristi said, her face pale in the light of the single light bulb. "I'm just worried about Alta. CFSD is going to be here in a few days."

"I'm not sure more strangers will be best for Alta." Joe collapsed onto one end of the porch’s rough bench.

"I'm thinking of asking CFSD about being appointed as guardian for Alta," Kristi said in English as she sat at the other end of the bench. A bit hesitantly, Alta took a seat between them.

Larry jerked his head around at this statement. Brent continued staring into the darkness.

For several minutes, the only sounds were the hooting of a nearby owl and the distant whinny of a horse from the stables.

"That would be good. I've been concerned about Alta fitting in." That solution would get him off the hook. Joe turned to face Alta. "What do you think? Would you like to stay in this land with Kristi?"

Alta's face was stone in the dim moonlight. Then she collapsed against Kristi's shoulder. "I'm worried about Mother and Father," she said between muffled sobs.

Joe sat back against the wall and stared out into the darkness.

Chapter 10

Sunday

He was running through the forest, heedless of the snapping of twigs or the whipping of branches. He had to warn them.

His breath was ragged, eyes blinded with sweat, feet bleeding. They would die if he didn't warn them.

He broke from the trees, and then tripped and fell into the low brush at the edge of the open fields. He rolled over and froze to listen. The forest behind him was dead quiet. Too quiet. Before him, the village lay peaceful; several children played.

He rose and screamed.

* * *

Joe woke in a sweat. His heart pounded. Ropes bound his legs and torso.

No, not ropes. Sheets. He lay in his bed. He blinked and struggled to gather his thoughts. The green numbers of the clock radio on his nightstand indicated the time was a little after three. He sat up and held his head. His fingers touched something thin and rough. A leaf.

He put the leaf on the clock radio, stumbled to the small bathroom, and splashed himself back to reality with cold water. After washing and treating his scratched feet, he returned to bed.

When the first glimmer of light appeared in his window, Joe gave up on sleep. He rose and dressed. Outside his door, he watched the sun break over the mountains. Light mist dissipated with the sun. Except in the valley of Red Wash.

The Ranch was stirring. Joe collected his dreamed-up leaf and walked over a couple of cabins to rap on Brent's door.

He heard some rustling from within. He looked back at the mountains as he waited for Brent. The view wasn't quite as good, but he could see part of the misted Red Wash valley.

The door opened. Kristi appeared. Her face fell.

Heat singed Joe's cheeks. After a few embarrassed seconds, Joe got his voice back. "Ah...is Brent in?" His face burned even more as he realized how inane that question sounded.

"Yes, just a second," Kristi said. Then she closed the door.

After another long stretch of seconds, Brent came out, closing the door behind him. "Hey Joe," Brent said, "you're up early." He looked about as sheepish as Joe had ever seen him.

"I'm sorry," Joe said. "I didn't mean to embarrass anyone."

Brent cleared his throat. "Kristi had a fight with her father last night and stopped by to talk. And never left."

"Look..." Joe met Brent's gaze. "I had another dream last night. Strong. Disturbing. When it woke me, I found this in my hair." Joe held out the leaf. "It doesn't look familiar. What is it?"

Brent picked up the leaf. "Are you trying to pull some sort of joke on me? Now is not exactly a good time."

"Hey, this is straight," Joe said. "Please, I'm just trying to figure out what's going on."

"This is a red maple leaf. Common in the east. Certainly not found around here." Brent's frown faded as his eyebrows narrowed. "Anything to do with Alta?" He handed it back to Joe.

"No idea. Another dream. I woke up with scratched feet and this leaf in my hair. I'm clueless." Joe put the leaf in his shirt pocket and stepped back. "Sorry to intrude."

"Joe, we thought it was Kristi's father. She wanted to speak to him first." Brent looked down, and then up directly at Joe. "See you at breakfast?"

"You bet." Joe nodded and headed back to his cabin.

"Sorry."

Joe stopped to give Brent a wooden smile.

When he stepped up onto his cabin's porch, he glanced up toward Red Wash. The mist had faded. Was it possible to return to Alta's world? Could he take her back? He took one more look at Red Wash and went back to his room to finish getting ready for another day.

* * *

"Any new thoughts?" Brent grabbed the room's sole chair and sat down. He and Larry had retreated to Joe's cabin after the long Sunday evening's barbecue and new guest orientation.

Joe sat on his bed and looked at Brent. His blank face held no hint of the morning's embarrassment. "Alta?" Joe watched his hands clench and unclench. "Gotta take her home." Any thoughts of Kristi were fading under the continued weight of Alta's situation.

"What if her family is dead?" Larry settled his bulk on the floor.

"Won't know till I go," Joe said.

"How?" Brent asked.

"When I crossed over..."

"Crossed over?" Larry interrupted.

"Don't know what else to call it," Joe said. "I noticed mist in Red Wash right before I went up there looking for that fool horse."

Larry frowned. One of Brent's eyebrows shifted up a fraction of an inch.

"It wasn't rain," Joe explained. "Not fire either. It must be somehow related. And this morning I wake up with that leaf and there was a mist again in Red Wash. I'm putting some supplies together. Next time I see it, we're off."

Brent and Larry glanced at each other.

"Forget it. I'm not sure I'll be able to get back," Joe said. "I have to do this alone."

"CFSD will accuse you of kidnapping," Brent said. "Or worse."

Joe looked at Brent, and then at Larry. Then he gave a short laugh. "And they're going to find me how?"

"Find us," Larry said.

"This is my problem." Joe kept his voice flat. "I'm not going to involve you all in what's probably a one-way trip."

"Let me get this straight," Larry said. "You're going someplace sometime. Where people whack each other over the head with big fucking clubs. Taking a young girl back to her maybe murdered parents. And without us to cover that way sorry ass of yours?"

"We don't know that Alta's parents are dead," Joe said.

"Kristi’s is getting pretty attached to Alta." Brent leaned back in his chair. "They spent part of the day in the swimming pool." His face cracked a rare smile. "I hear Alta's quite the fish in water. I also understand that Kristi had to work hard to convince Alta to wear something when she was swimming. Good thing the ranch's boutique has an extensive clothing section." He snorted. "She's cute enough to cause a riot."

Joe pushed a vision of a skinny-dipping Alta out of his mind. But one thing for sure, she’d need better clothes for a return trip. Maybe wool. “Thanks for the reminder. I’d better gather some stuff to take back with us.”

Brent and Larry exchanged glances. Larry shrugged.

“Kristi and I are making a trip into town tomorrow.” Brent stared at his hands. “She’s borrowing the ranch’s van to take her father to the airport. He’s cutting his trip short to return to his business. As you know, they’re not exactly getting along. Hopefully, giving him a ride will help smooth things over.”

Joe glanced at each. Neither would meet his eyes. “It’d be great if you could pick up some stuff for Alta. Kristi would have a way better idea of what she needs than me.” He paused. “Actually, could I give you a list? There’s some stuff I’d probably need also.”

“Glad to help,” Brent said.

“And I still have to decide on horses and tack,” Joe said. “I figure I got enough in my checking account to cover them.”

“We can help with that also,” Brent said. “And I got some equipment you may find useful.”

“No thanks,” Joe said. “This is my thing. Just getting some supplies from town for me is great.”

“Screw you,” Larry said with a wide smile. “It’s Alta we want to help.”

Joe sighed. He needed to swallow his pride and accept their support. And their ideas. After all, it was Alta’s welfare that was important. And he had no idea what to expect when they crossed back over.

“Okay, okay. You’re right.” Joe held up his hands in mock defeat. “Thanks. And it’s been a long day, I need sleep.”

Brent and Larry exchanged glances again and left poker-faced. Joe lay back on the bed. He had to take Alta back and try to find her family. If they were still alive. He felt her need to be with family. It didn’t matter if he didn’t come back. He had no ties here.

Chapter 11

Tuesday

When Joe got to the mess hall, Kristi and Alta were finishing up their Tuesday breakfast at one of the more secluded tables.

"You're out of bed late," Kristi said as Joe joined them.

"Joe sleepyhead," Alta said in English.

Joe started to tousle her hair but stopped when she scowled. "Nope, just been watching the mountains." He switched to Alta's language. "All the valleys had early morning mist, but it burned off quickly. Including Red Wash."

"Not go home today?" Alta bit her lip.

“No, not today. Did everything Kristi got you yesterday fit?” Joe sat his tray down and took a seat. “Thanks again for dropping my stuff off at my cabin,” he said to Kristi.

“No problem. And all her new wool and fleece clothing fit,” she said then turned to Alta. “Maybe we could ride the horses again?”

Alta's face brightened. "That would be nice."

Joe watched Kristi. She gazed at Alta with an expression that worried him. Way too much like a mother or older sister. He could be taking Alta back any day now.

"I've got students all day," Joe said to Alta between bites of scrambled eggs. "But meet you at lunch?"

"Okay," she said in English before switching back to her language. "And after lunch, Uncle Brent will take us walk for flowers and herbs."

Joe's forkful of eggs paused in mid air. Shit, she was getting way too attached to the people in this world. Temporary people.

"Where are Brent and Larry?" Joe asked as Kristi and Alta stood to leave.

"Brent's out early, scouting for his field trip." Kristi busied herself with her tray. "Haven't seen Larry."

* * *

"Come on in," Brent said as Joe stepped onto the small porch in front of Brent's cabin.

Joe walked through the open door. The interior was similar to his, a combination bedroom and living room with an attached bathroom.

In the middle of the main room was a large chest, usually covered with a small rug and stacks of books. Now it was open, it’s former covering now decorating a lumpish piece of furniture in the room’s corner.

“Holy shit.” Joe’s attention was diverted from the odd furniture by the sight of several guns in the chest. “Is that why you asked me to stop by this evening? And where…?”

"Yeah, there’s some stuff here you may find useful," Brent said. "The short story about the contents is that while in corporate employment, I participated in several botanical expeditions in Central and South America. Most of what you see is what's left from those trips."

"But..." Joe hesitated.

Brent's mouth twitched. "You're wondering?"

"A little." Joe's skin warmed. "From corporate expeditions to a Montana ranch?"

Brent chuckled as he stared at something Joe couldn't see. "I got blacklisted. A bit of politics." He shook himself and turned back to Joe. "I passed some weapons to a tribe that was getting their land stolen." His expression hardened. "The company got me out to avoid a scandal. But I was required to quit."

"Is that where you picked up your shooting skills?" Joe spoke mostly to fill the silence as he processed this unexpected detail from Brent's past. "I assumed you were military."

"Close. Military family. Handling firearms is expected." Brent shook his head imperceptibly. "Didn't get into the shit that Larry experienced." Brent paused. "But I did get myself disowned for refusing to enlist."

"I'm sorry," Joe said after a few seconds. Losing a family in a car crash was bad. But was outright rejection worse?

"Oh, I'm obviously no pacifist," Brent continued. "I just don't see killing people to steal their oil." He snorted. "The discussion came to a head when I accused my father of being a hired mercenary for the oil companies. At that point I was physically thrown out of the family domicile."

Silence continued to fill the room as Joe returned his gaze to the dark shiny metal neatly stored in the nondescript trunk.

"I'm thinking you might need something other than a rifle," Brent said, breaking the silence. "If you're set on going back. Wherever that is." He stepped to the trunk and paused thoughtfully. "How much experience do you have with modern arms? Got an AR15 you could have."

"None. Just the rifle when I was younger. And some practice while helping out on the ranch's shooting range. I'd best stick with my Winchester."

"Well, familiar is best." Brent stared at Joe. "Any skills in fighting? Karate, Fencing?" He barked out a short laugh. "Or wearing armor while whacking people with a dull sword?"

"Just wrestling during high school." Joe shrugged. "And that was mostly just to try to fit in. Did okay with the wrestling. Even won a couple of meets." He scowled. "Less okay with the fitting in."

"That helps some. I did the karate thing in school for quite a while. Including Kendo and Bojujitsu. Eventually dropped out. Too stylized. Nothing to do with the reality of violence." Brent's lips tightened. "In the jungle, I met real violence. Not much one can do to prepare for the mind-altering effects of adrenaline." He crouched over the chest and smiled; then he reached down and lifted out what looked like a pistol. "Now here's an elegant and totally useless weapon."

"Looks old.”

"Flintlock." Brent pointed to a square piece of rock mounted at the end of a lever. "I was going to ask you to knap me a few extra flints. Just never got around to it." He held up the pistol to the light of a nearby floor lamp. "Quite the state of the art in the seventeenth and eighteenth century. Uses black powder. Just charcoal, potassium nitrate, and sulfur. Has quite a following of modern day enthusiasts. Almost as crazy as Larry's SCA folks."

"You one of those muzzleloaders?"

"Back in high school." He smiled. "I haven't fired it since then." Brent's face froze for a moment. "It's about the only thing I kept from home. My mother sneaked it out for me after my eviction."

Joe lowered his gaze as his friend struggled to keep his face neutral.

"But back to reality." Brent wrapped the ancient weapon in a black cloth and placed it back in his chest. "Let's at least get you a basic revolver and a couple cases of shells. I'm thinking this Smith & Wesson 686." He held up another pistol. "It fires .357 magnums or .38 specials. Six inch barrel." He raised an eyebrow. "And don't give me any crap about helping you."

Joe stared at the forged and machined black metal. "I was thinking I should get a pistol."

"Also got a holster for it. But you'll need a heavy belt." Brent paused for a few seconds. "I also have got a Ruger .22 revolver. Used it for target practice. Not much kick." Brent dug out a smaller holstered pistol. "Alta?"

Joe stared at the machined metal. A vision of Alta fleeing the club-wielding warrior flashed through his consciousness. "I hadn't thought about it."

"I'll work with her on the shooting range." Brent had both guns in his hands. "Better some safety than lots of regrets." He placed them next to the chest. "What about a few machetes, water purification tablets, freeze dried food packs, and a couple ponchos?"

"I've got some of that stuff." Joe looked at the chest. "But the machetes and tablets would be much appreciated."

After pulling out various packages, Brent reviewed the breakdown and cleaning of the pistols. "And no worries about carrying either with the cylinders fully loaded. Modern revolvers have a hammer block to prevent accidental firing. So you have six shots for the Smith and Wesson, eight for the Ruger." When he finished, he put Joe's new equipment into a duffle bag. "This ought to help."

"Much thanks." Joe stared at Brent's impassive face as he closed up the chest. He hadn't known his grandparents but they had accepted him without question when his parents died. The idea of being disowned didn't fit his experience. "About your family now-a-days?"

Brent stared at the wall a few seconds. "Best not to go there." He lowered the chest’s lid. "If you need anything else, let me know."

Joe snorted as he stepped toward the door. "Maybe I ought to ask Larry for a sword." He paused. "By the way, where is that guy?"

Brent fastened the lid’s clasp. “No idea,” he said without looking up.

Chapter 12

Wednesday

He ran along a well-trodden path, his breath ragged.

He had to warn them. Pain stitched his side. He stumbled, stifling a scream as a hand caught his arm and kept him upright. He turned to find a leathery face, marked with heavy wrinkles, staring at him. The man wore faded jeans and a worn denim shirt. “Walk a different path to save them.” The man’s eyes bored into his through wire-rimmed glasses. “And save us all.”

He shook his arm free and continued running.

Joe awoke, heart racing. Sweat beaded his face, and adrenaline coursed through his veins. Sleep was shot. He rose, dressed and watched the sun rise on a mist-less Wednesday.

* * *

After dinner, Joe met Kristi in Alta's larger but now crowded cabin. The carpeted floor was littered with full duffel bags and several empty boxes. And an unopened box labeled ‘Stainless Steel Cookware.”

"We go home tomorrow?" Alta asked.

"I don't know." Joe blew out a breath.

Alta lowered her eyes for several seconds. When she looked up, she smiled. "Uncle Brent took us shooting range. I practiced with the revolver." Alta’s smile widened. "I hit the target." She nodded toward Kristi. "Kristi is very good with the big revolver."

Joe glanced at Kristi, who fumbled with the clasp on one of the duffels. She kept her eyes on her fingers.

Joe scanned the cabin. "Are you ready?" He narrowed this eyebrows at the sight of a square mound covered with a blanket occupying the corner of the room. An odd piece of furniture.

"Everything is in there," Alta said, pointing to the duffels. "And Kristi will ride with us entrance of Red Wash." She beamed at the older woman.

"Is that a good idea?" Joe asked Kristi in English. "I'm concerned about Alta saying goodbye to you." Actually, his real worry was Kristi saying goodbye to Alta.

"We girls are good," Kristi said, staring nowhere. "And I'm sending some basic medicines back. Been going over fundamental medical principles with her."

"I worry about my family." Alta frowned. "Danger from Tork's warriors."

Joe exchanged glances with Kristi. They had talked about this man before. But Alta didn't know much more than his name.

Chapter 13

Thursday

He ran. Branches and leaves slapped his face. No time for stealth. Must warn. He broke into the clearing. Huts formed a cluster in the center. The huts were burning.

A few yards off to the side of the clearing, a familiar man rose out of the brush and turned to him with eyes older than his deep wrinkles. “The burden is great.”

Joe screamed.

* * *

Joe woke up, gasping for breath. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, willing his heart to slow.

One of those dead medicine elders? He shook his head against the image of the burning huts. It was now. When the sun rose, there would be mist in Red Wash. Certainty flooded him. It was 4 AM. Sunrise in an hour or so.

He dialed a number. "Kristi, it's now. Give me 45 minutes to saddle the horses."

He listened to her quiet response. No argument. Good. "Let Brent and Larry know. They'll want to say goodbye to Alta." And say goodbye to him. Shit, he was going to miss them.

He dressed. Carried his gear to his porch and ran to the stables, lists scrolling through his head. Two horses for Alta and himself. A third horse for supplies. The fourth to return with Kristi. Three saddles and a pannier. And the envelope containing a check that would hopefully cover the cost of three horses and their tack.

Joe left the envelope in the tack room and saddled the horses. Then he led the horses to his cabin. Once his gear was loaded, he took one last look at his old life and sighed. He didn’t have a choice.

When he arrived at Kristi's cabin, he found her and Alta waiting for him. Alta was a caricature of excitement, in constant motion, but silent. Kristi was subdued as well as silent. Both were dressed in loose jeans and western styled shirts. Alta had her Ruger strapped around her waist.

"Larry and Brent?" Joe asked in a low voice.

"I called Brent," Kristi said. "He'll wake Larry. He said it might take a while. Larry got in late. He said to go ahead. They'll catch up, and then ride back with me."

"I should have stopped by his cabin. But I wanted to get the horses ready before any early risers noticed me.” Joe shook his head. “If too many people are missing when the ranch wakes, they'll have the entire county out looking for us."

"I know we agreed to say goodbye here." She shrugged. "But it’s not working out that way. We’ll see them soon."

"Okay, too late to argue now," Joe said. "Besides, I never was comfortable with you riding back alone."

They loaded up and led the horses out of the ranch compound before mounting. Once they were out of earshot, Alta's excitement bubbled into chatter. Other than answering direct questions from Alta, Kristi remained silent.

The sun rose, and Red Wash remained shrouded in mist. The sky was cloudless and the neighboring valleys were clear except for geometric shadows that moved at the pace of the morning's sun.

It should have been an enjoyable ride in the early air, across open fields and through stands of conifers, but Joe kept glancing back. Where were Larry and Brent? He hadn't realized how much he was going to miss them.

In a couple of hours, the sides of Red Wash rose ahead of them like silent sentinels. Further up the valley hung the low mist.

Just before they reached an open meadow at the mouth of the valley, Joe heard then saw a large number of horses.

"Hold up, someone came after us." Joe held out his hand to halt Kristi and Alta.

Both ignored him, and, with Kristi leading, they broke into a canter. Alta's left arm was waving.

Joe froze, trying to comprehend. Then he nudged his horse forward, the young mare still jumpy at his unfamiliar touch.

About thirty horses were hobbled in the center of the meadow. More than half the horses carried loaded panniers.

On one horse sat a giant…knight? Wearing armor? Shit, it was Larry. He wore his SCA body armor and helmet and had a sheathed sword at his waist. Even his horse, Mojo, wore armor. A gun belt around his waist and a rifle sheath hanging from the back of the saddle ruined the medieval impression.

Brent sat on Flicker. The smaller man wore a black cowboy hat and a dark vest with bulging pockets. Something black and deadly hung from a shoulder strap—must be his AR15—and a gun holster rode his hip. A second gun belt hung from the saddle's pommel and a rifle sheath from a small saddlebag.

Kristi reined in next to Brent who passed her the belt. She strapped it on and turned her horse to face Joe.

Alta slowed and then stopped her horse between Joe and the others, waiting as everyone moved forward.

"What the hell do you all think you're doing?" Joe asked, trying to sound annoyed, torn between a smile and a frown. One weight lifted. Another descended. "I'm still figuring this is a one-way trip."

"Like I keep asking…" Larry grinned. "Who's gonna cover your sorry ass?"

"No intention of permitting you to have all the fun," Brent added.

Joe stared at them, not trusting himself to speak. Then he looked at Kristi. His growing smile froze then faded.

"I wasn't sure 'til now," she said. "I can't make much of a difference in this world. Maybe I can in Alta's."

Walk a different path. The man’s strange words came back to him. Joe nodded toward the horses and supplies. "Should I ask?"

"Blacksmithing supplies, seeds and starts, medicine, clothing, a plow, axes, knives, tents," Kristi said. "Whatever we could think of that might help Alta or her descendants, including a rather eclectic collection of reference books and my laptop." A weak smile curved her lips. "My guitar's in there somewhere."

"Laptop?"

"Brought a solar cell charger." Her smile strengthened. "Which will also charge Brent's night vision goggles."

"Weapons?"

"We settled on Smith and Wesson 686 revolvers and Winchester 94 rifles," Brent said. "And Alta's Ruger."

"What, no flintlock?"

"I brought it. Larry insisted." Brent cracked a small grin. "But I also brought the AR15. Just in case the powder gets wet."

"Gonna need it as a model once my forge is assembled," Larry said. "We just gonna talk?" He looked around. "Or we going? I'll work the horses into a line and bring up the rear." He shifted his gaze to Joe. "We just need a leader."

Joe paused to look at his friends, blinking to clear his eyes, feeling the weight of new responsibilities settling onto his shoulders. Leader? Him? But this wasn’t the time to argue. The mist was now.

"Okay then." He mentally shook himself. "But Brent, best if you're at the rear to watch our backs with that lead spitter of yours. Larry, I'd like you to stay with Alta."

At Larry’s nod, Joe turned to Alta. "Can you take the rope of the lead pack horse?"

The ends of her mouth lifted at this responsibility.

"Kristi," Joe said, "I've seen you on the target range. You okay behind me? Any trouble, use your judgment."

"You got it, boss," Kristi said without hesitation.

Joe flinched at her comment but urged his mare forward as the rest got in line. A glance back showed Larry maneuvering the horses into position. Further behind, Brent waited.

Joe led them up the canyon along the now trampled game trail, the ragged cliffs on either side witnessing their passing.

In about a mile, a coolness touched Joe's skin. A light mist formed, first at ground level, rising higher as they moved up the canyon. Soon all was swallowed. Even sounds were dampened. Only the creak of Kristi's saddle and tack remained to remind Joe of his companions' presence.

Joe kept moving, peering at trees and branches as they emerged from the thick air.

"Joe, I’m scared." Alta's voice cut through the fog behind him. Turning, he could barely see Kristi, but nothing further back.

"We are doing well, Alta," Joe said in a loud voice. "Not much longer now." He hoped.

After a few minutes, the temperature rose and the fog in front of him thinned. Within a dozen heartbeats, he emerged from the mist to face a forest of mixed pines with an occasional red oak. Beneath Joe's horse, a well-used trail was dappled by the sunlight that filtered through the leaves.

To the rear, the mist shrouded the landscape. In front of him, the mountains were gone. Deciduous trees were budding. Fiddlestick ferns poked through the duff.

"Oh, my god," Kristi said, as she rode out into the clear air. "This looks like springtime."

"Well, we sure as shit ain't in Kansas anymore." Larry's booming voice echoed as he rode out of the mist and into the surrounding forest.

"What is a Kansas?" Alta asked.

Chapter 14

Day 1

The child glanced up, his shy smile seeking approval. Between his thighs, his hands held the rock piece and an antler tipped knapping tool as long as his forearm.

"Yes, use the legs to apply pressure." Tork's eyes noted the angle of the antler tool with the large chert flake. This child held promise. He would be an asset to the tribe in a few years. "You will be a great knapper of knives and points."

Tork moved the child's hands into a steeper angle. "More pressure on the platform at this angle." He smiled as the child gazed at Tork's hands. Some day, this child would become the teacher.

Tork stood. The life in his village buzzed around him. This part of the coast was lined with lodges. Soon his people would populate the shoreline as far as the eye could see. Then it would be time to move up Long River and strike overland to Three Rivers.

Moving figures caught his eyes. Mother walked along the path with her guide. The young one led Mother carefully. Good, she had learned her lesson. A flicker of fire swept through Tork's breast at the memory of Mother tripping over a rock.

They approached. The side of the slave's face was still bruised from his blow.

"Mother, how are you this morning?" She looked more frail every day. He must get more slaves. And more children.

"I wake to hear another day." Her milky eyes peered into the distance. "But there is trouble in the future."

His face tightened. "Trouble is my fate, Mother." Another memory surfaced and burned his blood with rage. His mother and father tied to stakes in Three Rivers village, she crying, he limp and motionless.

Tork pushed the vision from the past back into the shadows. Anger must not cloud his planning.

"I will continue my walk." Mother lifted her hand.

The slave girl took the proffered hand and glanced at Tork before returning her attention to the ground in front of Mother.

They walked away slowly, Mother comforted by the chatter and clatter of the village.

Tork returned his gaze to the young shaper of rock. His knife was too thick. The edge would lose its effectiveness after only a few uses. But he was learning.

Tork sat next to the child. "Let me show you how to thin your rock."

"Elder Tork?" He looked up at Tork. "Why is that girl a slave and not a child of the village?"

Tork gazed south along the coast to where Mother's mound dominated, built one basket of earth at a time. Too soon, she would be part of the Hill of Honor.

"Think of the animal people. Each has its place in the world." He paused to gaze at the eyes so full of promise and hope. "Dog is honored for his companionship. Deer for its flesh that sustains us through the winter."

Tork scanned the village. "Our tribe lives to honor our ancestors and to avenge the past. And other tribes live to serve our purposes."

The boy nodded and returned his attention to his shiny rock.

"Now, by adjusting the direction of pressure, a longer flake can be taken. One that reduces the thickness of the knife."

Tork demonstrated. Working rock was a lot like shaping slaves and warriors. His face cracked a smile.

* * *

Around Joe, the hum of insects competed with the rustling of leaves. Above, the sun occasionally sliced through the breaks in the giant trees, warming his skin against the caress of a cool breeze. This was real; he was back in the gentle forested hills of Alta's world, somehow just a few minutes and a few miles from the Montana mountains.

Above the rich odor of humus, he caught a faint whiff of smoke, acrid but familiar, hinting of a village or camp close by, maybe even Alta's village. Joe glanced back, but she was hidden behind four to five foot diameter tree trunks as the trail curved. Kristi appeared in a gap in the trees, eyes darting at every break in the underbrush.

Glints of metal farther back in the thick old growth betrayed Larry's presence.

A sudden wind gust interrupted his thoughts with a sharper sting of smoke, now tinged with burning flesh and hair, giving scent to his nightmare images of a village under attack. His hopes for reunion crumbled into panic and he looked over his shoulder for several pounding heartbeats until Alta came into view. "Kristi, cover Alta." Her face pinched in a puzzled frown as she unholstered her revolver.

As Larry rode into view, Joe caught his friend’s eye. “Larry, with me,” he shouted then nudged his mare into a trot.

The path twisted and forked as Joe stayed to the most traveled route as the odor of smoke thickened. He rode low along paths meant for walking, ducking branches, face whipped by twigs and leaves, physical reminders that this wasn't a dream.

His mare, Snark, slowed as they approached a small stream. Flat rocks on the bottom—shale?—provided the shod horses unsecure footing. A few yards past the water, they broke out of the trees into an open meadow, several hundred yards in diameter, which covered the slope of a low hill. Huts formed a cluster in the middle, some in flames. Joe's gut went hollow at the sight of dozens of bodies on the ground, their contorted shapes making his nightmare real.

Joe halted next to the first body lying about halfway between the trees and the huts. It was an older man, head partly caved in, blood still wet and steaming, his only apparent weapon a digging stick. Memories flashed of the warrior who had been chasing Alta with his swinging club, the chert studs bloody from use.

Larry stopped next to him. "What the fuck?"

Joe glanced at his friend. "My dreams were real." Shit, he'd been delusional about taking Alta home.

Joe urged Snark closer to the center of the clearing, hearing Larry's horse a few yards behind him. Other than the curling tendrils of smoke, nothing moved. Most of the bodies were adults or older adolescents. Several dogs littered the ground, heads smashed. Two infants lay broken like abandoned toys.

"I don't see any younger kids." Joe looked around, his horse prancing at the smell of blood. A nightmare image of warriors herding children flashed through his mind. "Circle right, look for a line of recent footprints. I'll go left."

Larry moved off. Joe urged his mare left, examining the ground, trying to see a pattern in the mass of disorganized prints, some weeks old, others fresh. He hadn’t moved far before he caught sight of prints of a shod horse. Damn, could those belong to Rosebud?

“Here,” Larry shouted, breaking Joe’s confusion.

Joe cut over and scrutinized the ground around Larry, immediately picking out the fresh mixture of prints, small and light, large and heavy, all heading northeast. Joe stood in his stirrups, eyes tracing the trail as it moved down the slight slope and up the neighboring open hillside. It skirted a low square mound that was about forty yards on a side then disappeared into forest beyond the second meadow.

He glanced at Larry. Rage flashed in the man's eyes.

Joe studied the tracks. At least a dozen adults, certainly warriors given the carnage, and as many children. The tracks looked to be only minutes old. He and Larry could easily catch up. But then what? Attack a war party?

He looked around the destroyed village. Those children would be traumatized and terrified. And they were now orphaned.

"What'll we do?" Now confusion vied with anger on Larry's face.

They had to act. "We follow. They took some of the kids."

After a few heartbeats, the big man nodded, face hardening. "Brent?" he said in a croaking voice.

"Best he stays with Alta and Kristi."

Joe turned at a shout. Kristi emerged into the village's clearing, pistol in hand, wide eyes visible even from this distance. He pointed to the huts, hating himself for leaving her and Alta the task of checking for survivors. His gut sickened at the possibility that this might be Alta's village. That she was now alone in the world.

Turning his back on Kristi, Joe nudged his horse into a canter. Minutes after passing the low mound, they reined in at the sight of the small body of a young girl lying on the trail. Fresh blood coated her head, and dried blood flaked on her leg.

"Bloody hell." Joe stared at the body. "Old wound. Couldn't keep up. So they killed her." He pushed away the nausea and looked at Larry. The big man was wide eyed, breathing fast, and muttering to himself.

Joe dismounted and knelt by the small body, laid gentle fingers at her throat. Nothing. Jaw clenched, he rose to his feet as anger slowly replaced fear.

"Let's go." Joe mounted and nudged Snark between the small broken body and the hyperventilating Larry. "Right now we got to find the rest of the kids." He watched the muscles spasm across Larry's face; he was close to losing it. "We'll come back for her."

After about a mile of forested trail, they crested a small hill. At the top, four charred and smoldering poles dominated a small clearing. To the east, the land dropped off toward a wide river that snaked through rolling hills. To the south, the trail continued downward through a more open landscape broken by large, isolated trees toward another large meadow.

Movement at the edge of the meadow caught his eye. Squinting, he could make out about a dozen men herding about that same number of children. All the men appeared to be carrying clubs or atlatls and darts. They were dressed like the warriors in his first crossover; occasional flashes of white suggested that they were white clay warriors.

Joe stopped and Larry reined in besides him.

"Our horses aren't used to gunshots." Joe gazed down at the men and children. "We'll have to attack on foot. They have atlatls—spear throwers—and clubs."

At the sound of scraping metal, Joe faced Larry. He had his sword out, not his rifle. Mojo's armor clattered as she pranced. A half-assed idea formed.

"Think you can control Mojo and get around them? Try to get between the kids and those warriors?"

Larry just nodded, his face tightening.

"I'll dismount when we reach them," Joe said. "I'll cover you with the rifle as you herd the kids away. Maybe you'll also frighten the warriors off."

In answer, Larry launched his horse into a run. Joe followed.

Within seconds, they broke out of the trees and into the meadow. One warrior looked back and barked a warning. He and another started the children running. The others spread out facing Joe and Larry.

Larry changed direction as the warriors formed a shaky line. Joe caught a glimpse of wide eyes as Larry drove through them, his arm swinging. One warrior dropped, the rest scattered. The horse must look like a monster to them. Larry kept going in the direction of the children and the two warriors herding them.

Joe dismounted and slapped Snark away. He raised the rifle and fired at the men reforming a line between Larry and him. Several flung six-foot long darts; the shaft of one smacked Joe's leg as it buried itself in the ground behind him.

He kept firing, shifting his aim to the dart throwers. Another down. And another.

The men slowed their advance, and several started backing away. One, his entire face outlined in white, nudged one of the two-slash warriors who was hesitating with his club. The man straightened and the line advanced.

Joe aimed at the outlined skull. Fired. The man dropped. The line stalled.

Click. The rifle was empty.

Joe dropped the rifle, pulled out his revolver. Fired. Reality narrowed to painted faces. Aim. Fire. Aim.

The line broke, and the warriors ran toward the thick forest.

He caught a flash of horse and armor as Larry rode through them again. One warrior's cry was cut short as the sword slashed down.

A warrior jumped on Larry's horse. Larry's axe knocked him off.

Two of the remaining men stopped and faced Larry. Joe aimed and fired. Missed. Larry cut down one. The other ran, disappearing into the forest.

Silence. Joe stood in place, rotating back and forth in a slow arc, pistol at arm's length. Larry rode in a tight circle with his sword held out in his right hand, his ax in his left. Both dripping red.

"Reloading." Hands shaking, Joe emptied his revolver of spent shells.

Larry cantered over and stood guard as Joe reloaded. "Kids disappeared into the trees."

"Check bodies," Joe said. "Confirm dead. I'll cover."

"What about any wounded?" Larry asked.

With his skin clammy and gut hollow, Joe met Larry's eyes. "We got kids to find."

Larry nodded, dismounted, and moved from one fallen body to another. His sword plunged into each. Making sure.

Joe followed his movements with his pistol, forcing his hands steady.

One warrior was playing dead, and his stone knife added another dent to Larry's greaves. Joe's bullet took him in the head.

Silence again.

"We're missing a couple, maybe more." Joe’s body shook as bile rose in this throat.

"And all of the kids."

"Go back and bring Alta. If she's here, they may come out of hiding."

Larry started to object.

"I'll stay in the open. But if you see Snark, bring her back. Rifle cartridges are in the saddle bags."

"On it." Larry remounted and rode off.

After Larry left, Joe gazed at the carnage and his stomach heaved. He staggered and retched, the faces of the dead flashing across his memory. This was way worse than the first time. That had been almost pure reflex, pure response. This had been deliberate.

After the stomach spasms stopped, he scanned the area. He stood in the approximate middle of the meadow. Individual trees towered at the edges, maybe 200 yards away. Beyond that, the dense forest cut off sight.

"Hello," he called out, using Alta's language. "I am friend." His voice sounded weak.

He waited. Nothing. A shiver coursed through his body. He could almost feel eyes watching him.

"I will protect you," he called, moving away from the dead warriors. Hopefully the children wouldn't scatter too far before Alta got here. The sight of one of their own should calm them. If the modern clothing didn't make her seem like an alien. If she was from the burned village.

And if so, were her parents back there among the dead?

After about twenty minutes, Larry returned, leading Snark. Alta rode behind them, tears staining her face. "Mother and Father are dead," she said through a choked sob. "My uncle..."

Joe helped her dismount then hugged her as her tears wet his shirt. No words would work.

"Joe," Larry said.

Joe looked up and followed Larry's gaze. A small boy—maybe in his preteens—stood by a bush a hundred yards away.

"I need you to be brave," Joe said to the crying young woman in his arms. "Can you tell that boy over there that we are friends?" He turned Alta in the direction of the small boy.

Alta screamed a name, shook herself free of Joe, and ran to the boy.

Joe could only look on as the boy hesitated, and then ran to meet Alta. They hugged, both now crying.

Movement caught Joe's eye. "There's another one." This one was at the forest edge. He glanced to Larry. "Remember, we may have a couple of missing warriors."

"Maybe I better take the horses a bit away?" Larry asked.

"Yeah. Load this for me." Joe picked up the rifle and handed it to Larry.

Larry moved off, leading Joe's horse. He stopped a couple hundred yards away at the upper edge of the clearing, a large black frowning man in medieval armor, loading a lever-action rifle.

Joe glanced to the second child, who was now closer. And female.

Alta called out and the little girl ran to join Alta and the little boy.

Alta led the boy and girl to Joe. Then she grabbed one of the boy's hands and then Joe's hand.

"Matu, this is Joe," she said. "Joe is a friend."

"Hello Matu," Joe said.

Then Alta put Matu's hand in Joe's. "Matu is my brother." Alta's tears started again.

"I will protect you." Joe blinked to clear his own eyes.

Then Alta turned to girl. "This is my cousin Sinta." Alta joined Sinta's hand to Joe's remaining hand.

Then a third child appeared. And a fourth.

Chapter 15

Day 1 evening

It was almost twilight as Joe approached Alta's village. Smoke still rose from several of the destroyed huts. At the lower end of the clearing next to the small stream, the horses grazed. Several still carried their panniers on their backs. Between the horses and the huts, a tent stood partially erected.

Beyond the huts, a dark figure on a horse separated itself from the shadow of a tree and waved with his free hand before turning his horse and peering into the distance.

Joe blew his whistle once to announce their presence to Kristi. Then frowned as two figures appeared from behind the tent and ran toward him. A dog followed them.

One looked like Kristi. But he hadn't seen a living dog when they first entered the village.

His eyes widened as he recognized the figure accompanying Kristi. Potts. How?

A child’s cry of alarm from behind Joe broke his confusion. He held up his hand, signaling Kristi and Potts to stop. "Hold up, you'll scare the kids." Joe turned and waved Alta forward. With Matu at her side, she led her horse, who carried two of the smaller children. Behind her walked seven other children.

Kristi gestured to Potts and he walked off to the side calling Zoey, who followed after a long glance at the newcomers. Kristi then ran to Alta and took her into her arms. Matu and two of the other children broke away from the others and approached Potts and Zoey with hesitant steps. At Potts’s smile—and Zoey’s wagging tail—they knelt at the dog’s side and reached out their hands. Zoey quivered with excitement at the new playmates.

The remaining children joined the canine’s admirers. Leaving the children to Zoey’s care, Potts strode Joe and held out his hand.

“You’re certainly a welcome sight.” Joe grasped Potts’s hand. Surprisingly strong. Or maybe not so surprisingly. “But how and why?”

“I believe that I once said that you’d need help.”

“That’s more true than I would like.” Joe glanced at the ruined village, and then faced Potts again. “Let’s get the kids settled and then we’ll talk.”

Larry was still out of sight, disposing of the attackers’ bodies.

* * *

A sharp bark greeted Joe as he walked into the flickering light of the campfire. Only the adults remained around the fire they'd built between the two canvas wall tents. Young voices, several crying, from the tents confirmed that the children had retired for the night, separated—except for younger siblings—into a boys' and a girls' tent.

Brent lounged next to Kristi, his hand withdrawing from his holstered pistol. They both sat in camp chairs. Potts leaned against a saddle on the opposite side of the fire with Zoey, thumbing on the safety of the rifle in his hands. The young dog settled down at Potts’s side after she recognized Joe.

Joe switched off his flashlight and lowered himself next to Potts.

"Been gone a while." Brent said. "You do some scouting after Larry relieved you?"

"Wanted to check along the river while there was still light." Joe laid a hand on Zoey's head, giving the terrier-collie mix a brisk ear rub. "Found two smashed canoes. And the skid marks of a third. Prints match the style of moccasins worn by the warriors."

"So at least one got away?" Brent frowned.

"Yeah." Joe looked around. "Alta?"

"She's settling the children in the tents," Kristi said. "I suspect she's trying to be too busy to think."

"Probably a good plan." Joe stared at the tents. "I need to ask if she has any ideas about this kidnapping thing."

"I asked," Kristi said. "She didn't know any more than what the White Clay warriors told her when they first visited her village. The children you rescued today were too traumatized to talk."

"Understandable." Joe turned to Potts. "And you?" He wore a smile he didn't feel. "What's your story?"

"Thanks for the rifle." Potts held the rifle in his hands a little higher. "Osker almost stepped on it as we entered the village. I figure it's the one you lost during your first trip. Or encounter."

"I was kind of wondering about it. I had seen shod horse prints that were probably Rosebud’s. And a couple of the dead warriors had crudely bandaged gunshot wounds. Both suggest that my first crossover fitted time-wise into this one. Finding that rifle just confirms that idea." Joe gave Zoey another brisk scratch. "But your story?"

"I figured you all were planning something. Everyone was way secretive. So we just made our own plans. Me and Zoey here." Potts’s right hand moved down to stroke the dog's head. He looked out into the dark in the direction of the horses. "And Osker."

"How'd you know when we left?" asked Brent.

"Zoey woke me." Potts chuckled. "We stayed about a mile behind. Got a bit weirded out when I lost you in the fog." He frowned. "Mist. Whatever."

He paused. "Even more weirded out when Alta spoke to me and I understood her."

"I certainly appreciate your presence." Joe felt even more weight settle on his shoulders. This was his nightmare. "But why?"

"Hey, I'm sixty-six." Potts frowned. "Did the Wall Street thing. Got rich. Did the marriage and divorce thing. Went broke. A bit too much alcohol and stuff. Ended up in oriental philosophy and the culinary arts." He shrugged one shoulder. "Figured you'd need a Buddhist cook more than the ranch did."

No one spoke for several minutes.

"What are we going to do for food?" Potts asked.

"All that dehydrated stuff we brought will only cover about a month," Brent said. "But there's enough undamaged jerked fish, dried squash, beans, and corn in the village to last until we can grow our own food. And the villagers had already planted this year's crop. I noticed seedlings emerging."

"Brent was a bit upset," Kristi said, "when he realized we had been carrying bodies through the middle of one of those vegetable plots."

Joe cleared his throat. "Shit, there's no way I could have handled this without you all." He certainly wouldn't have been able to rescue the abducted children.

Kristi's eyes flicked from one tent to the other. "We'll need some sort of ceremony to bring closure for the children."

"You know anything about that?" Brent asked, eyes on Joe. "You did recognize that the low mound was for burials."

"Did some anthropology in school before settling for engineering," Joe looked over his shoulder into the dark. Toward the small mound on which they had laid out the victims. The small fires they had built were still going. He'd need to build them up soon to keep away the scavengers.

"Didn't realize I'd be combining both," he said. "It'll take an entire day to cover the bodies. Maybe add in whatever unbroken tools and belongings we can find and can do without." He paused. "I'll check with Alta in the morning and find out what they believe." His mouth tightened. "Or believed."

Joe looked at each of his companions. "Then maybe each of us can say some words."

"I'll practice a few sentences," Brent said. "It's pretty weird doing this language thing. But I'm getting better at forming the sounds in my head. And at understanding more complex sentences."

"When did you realize you understood Alta's language?"

"As soon as we cleared the mist."

"Talk as much as you can," Joe said. "I can feel new words getting hard to say and understand. I'm thinking it's a short term effect."

"Use it or lose it?" Potts said.

"Yeah." Joe glanced around the fire. "This trip has sure turned to shit."

"Can we return home?" Kristi asked.

Joe sat, gazing into the fire. "I don't know." He looked up. "At first light, I'll retrace our tracks. See what I can see."

"If we can't?" Brent pushed the unburnt end of a log further into the fire with a stick.

"Then I'm thinking we should probably move to a safer location. Someplace easier to defend and where it's easier to protect the horses."

"Something like a long, wide valley with a narrow entrance?" Brent said.

"Yeah. But first, if I don't see anything in the morning, we'll do right with the village's dead,” Joe said. "The day after, I'll start surveying the region. Maybe even figure out where the hell we are." Joe stared into the fire. Could he handle this?

He looked up at his friends. Hadn't really had real friends before. Being orphaned at six years old inhibited early school type friendships. His social skills certainly hadn't been developed by grandparents who had almost completely withdrawn from the modern world. And in high school and college, the interests of his acquaintances had just seemed trivial.

"Joe, you getting all mental on us?" Brent interrupted Joe's reverie.

Joe was saved from answering by the sounds of booted footsteps approaching from the dark.

"It's me," said Larry in a booming whisper.

He entered the firelight and detoured to brush one huge hand over Zoey's head before he took a place on the ground next to Brent. He removed a pair of oversized goggles from his head. "Can you handle your watch a bit early?" Larry handed Brent the goggles. "I'm wiped."

"You're covered," Brent said. "I'm way too wired to sleep anyway." He shortened the straps of the goggles. "These work okay for you?"

"No problem. Much the same as the units I used in the Gulf. But I screwed up by looking at the fires around the mound. Overloaded the infrared sensors for several seconds. Then I was okay."

After Brent left, Joe updated Larry on the plans for the next two days.

"You got it, boss." Larry leaned back on one of the saddles they were using as backrests. There were more camp chairs somewhere in the baggage, but they hadn't taken time to find them with the children to care for.

"What's this 'boss' stuff?" Joe asked.

"Just that." Larry wore a thin smile. "You the man. The only one with a clue about what's going on."

Joe stared at the big guy. Yeah, Joe was responsible for their being here. But knowing what was going on? He thought back to the original trip up into Red Wash, and the encounter with Alta's attacker. The interview with the sheriff. He frowned. Could this have anything to do with the deaths of the medicine elders?

Movement by Larry drew his attention to the present. The big guy had his face in his hands.

"Hey, you did what you had to do today." Joe knew he'd also be dreaming dead bodies tonight.

"Hell with those jerks. It's the little girl we found on the trail while tracking 'em." Larry rubbed his face. "With her skull smashed in."

Joe had carried the little girl's body back himself. And laid her on the mound.

Larry stared at the fire. "I was scared until I saw her body," he said. "After that, I looked forward to killing those fucks. That scares me even more."

Joe remembered his own flash of satisfaction cutting through the horror as he'd pulled the trigger on those men.

"Killed a kid while I was deployed as a medic in the Middle East," said Larry after a long minute. "Was carrying a wounded buddy over my shoulder after a firefight. Pistol in my free hand. Kid popped out of a doorway. I fired without thinking. Blew the kid's head open."

Joe watched the fire for another long minute. What could he say to that kind of experience? He could only stick to the here and now. "Hey, I'm sorry." He glanced at his friend. "And today, we did what we had to."

"Kid's head exploded like a melon." Larry stared at the fire for what seemed a long time. "So nobody fucks with young’uns around me."

Joe watched his friend's facial muscles twitch as he stared into the flickering flames. Killing faceless soldiers was bad enough; snuffing out the life of an innocent child would be hell to live with. No wonder he was so kid focused.

"Thanks for being here," Kristi said to Larry. After a long silence she rose. "I'd better call it a night. I'll be with the girls in case there are any nightmares. Or if they can’t sleep."

"Never got around to erecting my tent, so I got my bag just inside the boys' tent." Larry also rose. "Maybe being around 'em will settle me." He looked across the fire. "Potts?"

"Me and Zoey will stay under the stars for now." Potts scratched behind Zoey's ear. "Want to make sure they're the same ones after that sliver of a moon sets. Although Brent will probably have a better idea about that."

"Well at least the moon looks the same. I'll just snooze here." Joe watched Kristi detour a few steps to squeeze Larry on the shoulder before turning toward the girls' tent.

Joe turned to face the trail on which they had entered Alta's village. Somehow...

He looked back at the fire and doubted that he'd get any sleep. Besides Alta, he now had ten children to worry about. Children without parents. Images of his own lonely childhood surfaced. Joe shook the loneliness away. His lack of family was irrelevant now. Getting these children somewhere safe was the priority.

Chapter 16

Day 2

All eyes locked on Joe as he entered the fire circle. "Did you find anything?" Larry asked.

"The prints just ended. Eerie. The sun easily burned off the morning fog." Joe puffed out a long breath. “Did see more of Rosebud’s hoofprints from my first encounter.”

Alta handed Joe one of the stainless steel bowls and a spoon and then returned to her seat.

He stared at her retreating back for a moment. “And no dreams last night.” He held out the bowl to Potts, who squatted next to the large kettle hanging over the fire. "Not even of yesterday.” Joe shivered, but not from the cool air. “At least nothing I can remember."

Potts handed back the now full bowl. "A porridge of granola and dried squash. Kids seem to like it." Potts stood and stretched. “Any idea how all this happened?”

"I'm still kind of pondering that." He shook his head as he sat and focused his attention on his porridge.

In-between spoonfuls, he looked around the fire. The children lowered their eyes at his glance. Eyes still red from crying. One of the youngest—Sura or Fasa?—broke a smile before looking down. He'd have to work on their names.

"How'd you figure on all the bowls and spoons?" Joe rose after emptying his bowl and glanced around.

"Just figured stainless steel bowls and stuff were good long term investments." Larry removed his bowl from a plastic tub of water, shaking out the last droplets. "Hand me your bowl. Got a wash tub and a rinse tub set up." He reached for Joe's bowl.

"Should have a third tub with bleach," Potts said. "But apparently no one though of it."

"You all seem to have thought of plenty," Joe said. "Still not sure what I got you into."

"Joe, we're needed here," Kristi said from across the fire. She sat between Alta and Sinta. This time he was sure of the name.

The other children looked up from their bowls at Joe.

"Can't argue that point." Joe glanced at the village's destroyed huts. He sighed, looked from Kristi to Potts, and then paused as he faced Alta. "How do your people honor your dead?"

Alta shifted to face the mound. A tear followed a moist trail down her cheek. "We cover them, building the mound higher, and provide special things to go with their memories." Her voice broke. "And their favorite foods for their journey back into the earth."

She stared at Joe. "And words."

Joe nodded. "It will be done." He looked from Potts to Kristi. "After we're done eating, how about you help Alta with the kids. Have them pick out whatever belongings they think should be buried with their dead?" He turned to Larry. "You and me start digging dirt. We'll fix up some sort of travois for the horses to haul it."

"And Brent?"

"Leave him where he's at for now." Joe looked out across the meadow, where Brent sat on Flicker. "Kind of like him wandering around with that AR15 of his. But maybe you and he can switch off later."

Joe helped the others finish up breakfast chores then watched Kristi and Potts lead the children back to the ravaged village. Some of the children started crying again but hopefully the choosing of burial items would distract them a bit.

Joe and Larry strode to the supplies and pulled shovels, axes, tarps, and extra horse tackle from several of the panniers.

"How'd you figure shovels?" Joe asked.

"And knives and axes. Enough for trading." Larry hefted a shovel. "Even a few extra swords, including a katana for Brent. Me and him kinda did some brainstorming."

"Medicine?" Joe asked.

Larry snorted. "Well, Brent brought along all sorts of medicinal herbs. And seed. Witchdoctor stuff." Larry paused, his face tightening into a frown. "But Kristi has an extensive supply of pills and stuff. She even brought a small field microscope and a loaded laptop. She really hit her bank account hard. Even bought a rack of reading glasses from the pharmacy in Bozeman.”

Joe was silent as they cut out two horses and lead them to the edge of the meadow. While Larry and Brent would probably not miss their families, he worried about Kristi even though she and her father certainly seemed to have their differences.

Within an hour, they had cut long saplings and rigged two travois, stretching tarps between the poles. Then they started digging at a cut bank along the stream and moving the rocky dirt to the burial mound at the north end of the clearing.

By their third trip, the children had started laying out burial items with their parents and other relatives on top of the existing mound.

Joe and Larry dragged load after load to the mound, easily keeping ahead of the children's efforts. Alta and the young ones, along with Kristi and Potts, slowly packed the soil in between the bodies.

When enough dirt was at the mound to provide a top cover layer, Joe and Brent—Larry was now on guard duty—started dragging dead wood. Four waist high piles grew around the mound at the four compass points, replacing the burned out fires that had protected the bodies during the night.

As the day darkened into twilight, Joe gathered the children into a ragged line in front of the mound. One by one, each stepped forward and addressed the mound and said goodbye to parents and relatives. As each spoke, Kristi wrote their words in her journal, a small headlamp aiding her in the fading light.

Alta and Matu were the last. "Goodbye Mother, goodbye Father," Alta said. "We miss you and wish you well on your journey."

Matu followed with similar words, choked with sobs.

The siblings started to step back from the mound, but Alta stopped and spoke again. "Do not worry. Joe and his friends are with us." She drew a deep breath, wiped tears from her face, and joined Matu and the rest of the children.

Larry slipped away and lit each woodpile, starting with the East and circling clockwise to finish at the North end. As the last fire took hold and sent yellow tentacles into the now dark sky, Kristi started singing "Let It Be," first alone, and then backed by Larry's low bass.

After they finished, Kristi led the children back to camp for a late dinner of trail mix and dried fruit while Joe remained staring at the illuminated burial mound.

Chapter 17

Day 3

The eyes peered at him through wire-rimmed glasses. “The path is blocked.”

The wrinkled face turned away and faded into mist.

* * *

Chaotic thoughts vied for attention as the vision of an old man faded into the images of dead warriors. Then all vanished as a full bladder and a lightening sky brought Joe to full consciousness."

Here you go. "Potts appeared with a steaming metal cup as Joe crawled out of his sleeping bag. "Finally found the coffee, but it ain't going to last long." He set the cup down. "Boys that way." He pointed to the edge of the forest beyond the boys' tent.

"Any problems?" Joe crawled out of the bag and slipped on his boots.

"Brent's on guard. Just passed here a few minutes ago. And Zoey's been wandering around. Other than trying to keep the horses close, she's been quiet."

"I'll do a quick check on our incoming trail," Joe said. "Then I'll do breakfast."

Potts stretched and groaned. "Damned gravity." He turned and walked back to the campfire.

Joe sipped at the coffee and then visited the bushes. They'd have to work up a better latrine system. Kristi would have a fit otherwise.

When he was done, he rolled up his bag and covered it with a tarp. He downed the last of his coffee and headed toward the horses, detouring to the campfire where Potts was stirring a kettle, to drop off his mug. Once Snark was saddled, Joe rode back along the incoming trail.

It only took a half hour to reach the section of trail where they'd emerged from the mist. No changes other than the tracks being older. He rode another mile. The hills rolled into the distance, covered mostly with a mixture of tall majestic pines and oaks. Their tracks faded and vanished.

There would be no return. Not unless the mist returned.

Deep inside, he knew that it would not.

The path is blocked.

Joe straightened his shoulders. He had to be positive. Too many depended on him.

* * *

Joe waved to the crowd around the cook-fire as he nudged Snark toward where Brent was saddling Flicker.

"Anything?" Brent asked as he lowered the iron-shod hoof he had been inspecting.

"Just our faded tracks."

"I figured that was what you'd find. Go eat. I'll take care of Snark." Brent held the reins as Joe dismounted.

"Leave her saddled," Joe said. "I'm still planning to scout downriver after breakfast."

Leaving Brent shaking his head, Joe walked toward Potts’s smoking fire.

Kristi looked up as Joe joined the fire circle. "What did you see?"

"Faded. Just like yesterday." Joe accepted a mug from Potts. Several of the children shifted to make room and Joe sat, savoring his coffee.

On the other side of the fire, Alta was helping one of the younger children with her spoon but broke off to fill a bowl from Potts’s large bubbling kettle.

"Let me know if you want more," Alta said, handing Joe the steaming bowl.

“Thanks," Joe said. "I am going to scout downstream after eating. Are there any villages in that direction?"

Alta’s eyebrows narrowed in thought then relaxed. "One village is two hands sun movement if traveling by foot. Another fours hands away. There are no villages on the other side of the river. All the main trading trails are on this side."

"Any chance I'll run into traders?"

"No traders for many moons." Alta frowned. "Who is going with you?"

"It is best that I go alone." Joe looked around the camp. "Larry and Brent need to stay and protect you and the other kids."

Alta's face stiffened. "Please be careful." She turned and went back to the children.

Joe watched her walk away as the contents of his bowl turned tasteless. Had he done something wrong?

"She's not a child in this world." Kristi moved to sit next to Joe. "And she's worried about you."

"She's still way young." Joe stirred his porridge. "And I'm worried about everything."

"You think we're here permanently?" she asked in English.

Joe paused, spoon in air. "I think so. I'll check our incoming tracks again tomorrow. And maybe later today."

"Any of those dreams?"

"No dreams last night. Well…leastwise, none like I was getting back at the ranch."

"What do you normally dream about?"

Joe hesitated, thinking of his typical dreams of wandering lost in an unfamiliar landscape. "Just the usual," he said, straight-faced. "Being attacked by sex-crazed women."

"Right." Kristi rolled her eyes. "Still going to look around?"

"Yeah, I'll start out downstream. Alta says I should find villages to the south." He glanced over at Alta. "It doesn't take much figuring to place us somewhere in the temperate zone. Mid spring. Lots of wild greens coming up. And the village gardens have already put up a variety of seedlings." He smiled. "Something for Brent to identify."

Joe accepted a refill on coffee from Potts in exchange for his empty bowl. "So the long term problem—other than staying alive—is preparing for a possible winter. Be great if we knew where we are located."

"This is maybe a weird question," Kristi said. "But are we still working on the premise that this is our Earth?"

"Good as any other," Joe shrugged. "I'd better ride. See if I can figure out where we are." He gulped the last of the coffee and stood, looking around with his empty mug.

"Leave it," Potts said. "We'll add it to the kid's dishes. Take a couple energy bars with you."

"See you all later this afternoon." Joe rose and walked in the direction of the horses where Snark grazed, still saddled. From the corner of his eye, he saw Alta watching him.

Once mounted, Joe nudged Snark toward the center of the clearing where Brent watched him from atop his own horse.

"You sure I shouldn't go with you?" he said as Joe reined in next to him.

"No. But I'm still thinking you and Larry best stay here with the kids in case any more of those warriors return." Joe sighed. "I'll be careful. First sign of any trouble, I'll back off. Should be back mid-afternoon."

"I'm not happy about you scouting alone. But I did talk to Larry earlier," Brent said. "We'll be staying close. I'm planning to review local edibles with Alta later this morning. But we’ll stay within earshot. You be careful," he added as Joe moved off.

After a quarter mile, Joe glanced over his shoulder at the camp. Smoke drifted upwards in lazy curves, following the light breeze. It looked peaceful except for the burnt huts. And the frightening and comforting vision of Brent making a slow circuit on horseback, his black AR15 hanging from a shoulder strap.

Joe nudged Snark into a slow walk. Once he got to the river, he'd go for an hour or so downriver, and then inland for maybe half that distance. He'd see how far he could get before returning by mid-day. Maybe upriver after lunch.

He headed uphill until he arrived at the four burned posts, pausing to eye the remains of carved figures, mostly human interspersed with a few animals. Maybe some sort of creation story or theology? From the shadows they cast, they might also serve as a kind of astronomical timepiece. From this vantage, he could see Long River stretching out to the left and right in a wide, slow moving body of water. This should be a major transportation route. He scanned the horizon. No smoke except for Potts’s campfire.

Wherever they were, it sure as shit wasn't Montana. He sighed and nudged Snark forward.

Within minutes they came upon the field where he and Larry had attacked the warriors who were abducting the children. Joe rode past, trying to ignore the rusty-colored grasses that betrayed the violence.

The path continued to the river. At the shore, the ruined canoes lay, now no more than driftwood. The bodies that Larry had dumped in the river hadn't shifted far in the slow moving river. He'd deal with that later. Maybe drag them out to one of the many islands that peppered the shallow river. It would be difficult to dig holes in this rocky soil.

Joe turned downriver and followed the trail as it followed the river southeast. He recognized pines and maples but he'd have to check with Brent about the others. Definitely not Montana.

The trail paralleled the river, well used but not recently. Unease grew. Where were the people who should live here? This land was rich in life, with deer and elk tracks everywhere. The raccoon and otter prints along the river hinted at a rich aquatic life.

Within an hour, Joe rode through an abandoned village. There was no sign of destruction, just no people. The huts were empty and showed damage from the weather. Seedlings covered the top of the nearby mound.

After another hour, the trail meandered inland, avoiding the distant steeper hills along the river, which appeared to bend to the left. Joe halted. It was about noon and probably time to turn back. He'd gone maybe eight or ten miles.

Clear skies provided excellent visibility. He stared at an isolated line of clouds to the south and frowned. No, not clouds. Smoke. Maybe a mile or two beyond those hills that separated the river and the trail. Maybe from the second village that Alta had mentioned. Joe nudged Snark into a trot and followed the trail inland as it skirted the hills.

The trail led up a slight rise and through heavy forest before breaking out onto a small viewpoint. Joe halted Snark. The trail continued downhill and curved east back toward the river, which appeared from the left to now flow almost due south. A mile below Joe, the forest gave way to overgrown fields. The smoke originated inland. Maybe from a village associated with the cleared fields? But then why were they overgrown?

Movement at the river's edge drew his attention and he pulled out his binoculars. Several canoes slipped into the river. One remained on the sandy beach.

He shifted his view inland, following a branching trail through the open area. About a half mile from the river, he saw a small group of people.

Joe's stomach lurched. One tall individual led two smaller figures. Another adult followed. Even from this distance, he could make out the features of the white clay warriors. Taking children. Maybe from the second village that Alta mentioned.

Joe stowed the binoculars in his saddlebags and urged Snark into a gallop.

At the bottom of the hill, Joe emerged from the trees and halted. The trail forked a couple of hundred yards ahead, a smaller trail heading inland. Tall grasses and small bushes provided minimal cover. He dismounted, led Snark back into the trees, and pawed through the saddlebag. He found a box of shells and poured a handful into each of his shirt pockets, and then pulled the rifle from its sheath on the saddle and ran.At the intersection of the inland trail, he crouched behind a small bush, feeling exposed. The fields were overgrown, but only for a year or so. Unless prone, cover was minimal.

After several long minutes, the lead person walked into view. He was dressed similarly to the attacking warriors. Same facial paint and leather loin cover. And the same chert-studded club. The warrior froze a few feet from the main trail and looked south.

A faint whinnying whispered over the movement of grasses in the slight breeze and the buzz on insects. As he gripped his rifle in white knuckled hands, Joe glanced back toward Snark. Something must have disturbed her.

"Halt," the man called to those behind him in Alta's language. The warrior's eyes scanned along the trail. In seconds, his gaze penetrated the bush and locked onto Joe's.

He raised his club and sprinted toward Joe.

Joe chambered a round as he stood. The warrior's enraged face filled Joe's vision as he fired.

The children screamed as the warrior fell. With a thud of footfalls, another warrior burst into view, club swinging.

As the second man closed the gap, Joe levered and fired again. The man staggered as blood spurted from his chest. He took another step. Joe fired again. The man collapsed.

Silence. Joe chambered another round and looked at the children who remained standing on the trail. He guessed the boy to be early teens, maybe preteen. The girl a few years younger. She cried. He stood still, his eyes wide and fixed on Joe.

Joe looked up and down the paths. No movement. Could there have only been two warriors?

"Are there other warriors?" Joe looked at the children. Why hadn't they run? Then he saw the ropes. Their feet were hobbled. They could walk but not run.

The girl stopped crying. The boy next to her took her hand. They started backing up.

"Wait." Joe held up his free hand. "Friend."

The children stopped backing up. Wide eyes continued to stare.

Between Joe and the children, two bodies seeped blood into the rocky soil.

"Let me help you." Joe wouldn't be doing any more surveying today.

* * *

Joe looked up as Larry entered the flickering firelight and sat with a grunt.

"Quiet. Brent's on," he said. "How're the new kids?"

"Shell shocked but resting." Joe looked down at his hands. Open and closed them, relieved that the shaking had finally stopped. Would he ever get used to death? "The older boy, Daru, told me that they were attacked last year but escaped into the forest. The survivors, including his family, apparently figured that Tork's men wouldn't return. Not a good decision, in retrospect."

"No way I'm letting those assholes abduct kids." Larry's flushed face strained with anger. "No fucking way."

"It would help if we knew why." Joe looked toward the tent where Alta was bedding down the two new kids. "Neither her uncle, her father, or Alta believed what the White Clay warriors had told them."

"You have any thoughts?" Kristi asked.

"If this Tork character is starting an empire, he may want pliable followers." Joe shrugged. "Or slaves to reward his existing followers."

"Whatever. It ain't happening around me." Larry leaned forward, staring into the embers.

"Not sure what we can do." Joe picked up his coffee mug. A thin layer of ash floated on the cold dregs. "The luck thing is getting way stretched."

"Whoever these jerks are, they're going to figure out how to deal with our limited firepower." Kristi sipped from her mug. "You guys ran them down in the open on the first day. And Joe only met two of them today. Both times aided by the element of surprise."

"Why don't they use bows and arrows?" Potts asked.

"Not sure." Joe tossed the remains of his coffee into the fire. "Maybe with food so plentiful they don't need them for hunting. Why deal with warpage and broken bow strings when game is common enough to bag with atlatls and darts."

"The atlatl is the spear thrower?"

"Yeah, the darts are basically light-weight spears. But still deadly."

"Whether they're using arrows or darts, what happens if a larger group attacks with surprise on their side?" Potts flipped the remains of his own coffee into the fire, where they hissed into steam.

"We have Brent's AR15, four hunting rifles and five revolvers." Kristi’s hand slipped to the weapon at her waist. "Plus the flintlock and Alta's Ruger." She glanced at the children's tent. "She's doing real well with the children."

"We probably shouldn't count on that flintlock." Joe stood and stretched. "We aren't going to do the present kids any good if we end up dead." Damn, now he was responsible for thirteen children. Now they were.

"Joe's right." Potts looked at Larry. "We'll save more if we can. But we need to concentrate on protecting the children we have." He paused. "What about that canoe?"

"Snark and I dragged it into the bushes and I muscled it upside down. Heavy. I covered it with branches and grasses." Joe looked around the fire circle. "Maybe we'll have an opportunity to go back and get it."

He looked into the deepening night, listening for the sound of warriors in the underbrush. If they survived long enough.

* * *

Tork made a show of his impatience by extending his hand to the sun as if checking the passage of time. Before him, the four warriors lay on the ground. Two now dead, two still living.

He dropped his arm and looked around. The Skullmen on either side of the Judgment Circle met his gaze. But behind them, sitting in a wide arc, the two-slash warriors dropped their gaze at his look. Let them fear his anger.

He glanced to his right. Nist's eyes met his. His old friend was fearless. And he knew Tork's anger was both real and calculating.

Tork returned his attention to the men on the ground. Two had run from the raid uninjured. And they now lay without breath. He stared at their slack limbs and his face twisted into a scowl. The actions of such men could not be allowed to diminish his power.

Tork shifted his gaze to one of the two living men. "Saluno, the raids on the upper valley yielded many slaves with the loss of only five warriors. You raided three large villages and several smaller ones. So why is it that eleven of my warriors were defeated by two men while stopping to raid one small village on the return trip?"

The prone man looked up. Sweat had smeared his white clay slashes. The wound in his upper arm had been bound and no longer bled red. "Demons, great Tork. I tell you by the womb of my mother, they were demons. One had 4 legs and our darts bounced off his body. The other killed with an extended hand and the sound of thunder." He paused for a breath. "I ran when my arm was wounded by their power and I could no longer hold a club."

"Stand," Tork said.

The wounded warrior rose. After swaying for several breaths, he met Tork's eyes. Maybe he wasn't the best warrior, but he had fought. As he now fought to stand. "Go to your family. Return in a moon."

Tork shifted his gaze to the last prone man. "Tusuto, why did you not help fight these strangers?" He felt a flash of annoyance as the man began to tremble.

"I was assigned to guard the boats. I heard thunder and started running up the trail. I met Saluno running toward me, bleeding from the lightning hole in his arm. Plus them." His eyes flicked to the two dead bodies. "I led them back to the canoe and left with them after holing the other two canoes."

Tork stared at the man for several heartbeats. Not so brave, but smart. He would also live. "Then what?"

"I paddled downriver. We were not able to catch up with the main group of warriors, even though they were burdened with captives. I used your token at the villages next to the rapids to hasten the portage and to demand additional paddlers for the last part of the journey." He nodded his head toward to back of the crowd where the two conscripted paddlers watched with wide eyes.

Tork let his gaze drift around his village. When he, his mother, and Nist had arrived, four hands of the cycle of seasons ago, this had been a small isolated collection of huts along the great Salt Waters. Now those huts and vegetable plots along those waters extended as far as one could walk in one hand of time. Nothing could be allowed to slow his plans.

"Take four hands of warriors and Tusuto," Tork said to Nist. "Return the paddlers to their villages along with a basket of dried fish and a handful of salt each. Then find and kill those two devils. Return with the young slaves."

"It shall be." Nist lowered his head in a brief nod, his eyes never leaving Tork.

Tork smiled. Ever since Nist had rescued him and his mother, his friend had been at his side. And had never failed him. "Watch for the three small canoes still visiting the more isolated villages."

Nist selected his warriors with hand gestures as he strode away. Tusuto rose and followed with eyes cast downward.

Tork watched them leave. Warriors and slaves. He needed more of both. Warriors to avenge his father's death at the hands of the Shawano. His muscles tensed at the thought of his former tribe. But, at the same time, a pang of homesickness flooded him at the memories of his childhood home by the three rivers from which they had fled.

He looked at his mother, who stood at his side. She seemed so stooped and small now. Once she had been as tall as the sky to his childish eyes. He needed more slaves for her burial mound. A mound that would surpass those of the Shawano.

Tork wrenched his mind from the past. Those images only served to cloud his mind with anger. He would save that anger for the day he returned to the land of the three rivers. "Mother, what do you think of four legged demons and their thunder?"

The woman turned her milky eyes to him. "These demons have power. But they can die."

"I also have power, Mother." He banished worries about the mysterious wounds that these strangers had inflicted on his men. At least until Nist returned. "And I will not die until I have avenged the death of Father." And until I have built you a magnificent burial mound, he promised silently.

Tork looked from his mother to the growing mound south of the village that overlooked the wide Salt Waters. If only she could see its preparation.

Chapter 18

Day 7

"Brent." The voice broke through a confusion of fading images.

"What..." Brent rolled onto his back. Opened his eyes to a red tent. Not fire. A red LED flashlight. He rolled onto his left side to see Larry's fatigue-lined face.

"Can you cover the next watch?" Larry’s face disappeared behind a cavernous yawn. "I'm beat."

More images flooded Brent's mind. The ranch. The crossover. Alta's village. A surge of homesickness swept through him. "I'm up. Give me a minute."

The red light faded and the tent flap closed. Brent stared at the darkness for several heartbeats before crawling to his feet.

* * *

Brent turned in place, his eyes sweeping the edges of their meadow. Several heat signatures suggested small mammals. He froze mid-breath as a deer sized blob stepped out of the covering vegetation. The blob froze then retreated into the forest.

Brent exhaled. The animal had probably smelled Zoey. He lowered the night vision binoculars and continued his long walk around camp.

As he approached the hobbled horses, a dark form appeared at his leg, whimpering. Brent bent to scratch Zoey behind the ear. "That deer got you spooked?"

He raised the night vision binoculars again to his eyes. To the west, not yet illuminated by the slowly lightening eastern sky, the tents looked like red boulders. A bright spot hinted at the smoldering campfire. The horses stood between the tents and the destroyed village. Brent frowned. They were all facing south, toward the forest edge nearest the tents.

Should he wake the others? Could just be a wolf or even a large raccoon.

A low growl came from Zoey. Brent scanned the edge of the forest again through the binos. Now several blobs shifted position at the forest edge nearest the tents.

Brent lowered the binos and glanced at the camp, its dim outline just now becoming visible in the pre-dawn light. Were all those Hollywood movies correct about dawn attacks?

Zoey stepped closer and looked back at the horses. She growled again, looking at the forest edge near the tents.

Brent broke into a jog, swinging the AR15 up from his side and flipping off the safety. He hadn't gotten more than a few yards when Zoey started barking.

He slowed. The blobs morphed into figures emerging from the forest. Shit.

The intruders broke into a sprint. Two veered off toward Brent. Both seemed to have clubs.

Brent fired. The shapes abruptly stopped at the sound. Damn. Missed. The shapes continued their rush.

He opened his eyes wide, trying to resolve the nearest shape at the end of his barrel. He fired. The body jerked. Screamed.

Brent didn't pause to confirm the hit. He shifted the tip of the AR. Lined up the next blob and fired again. Another shape twitched and stumbled. Fell.

The dog's barking increased to a frenzied pitch. Horses neighed. He heard screams.

Brent ran forward. Bodies streamed from the forest, converging on the tents. He stopped, aimed and fired. Other shots rang out. Then he fired again and again, his vision a blur of shadowy painted bodies and red. He paused to switch magazines. A flash of nearby motion. One warrior approached from his left at a dead run. Brent started to turn.

A rush of brown and white fur blurred in from the right. The man stumbled and fell, Zoey's momentum rolling her off the man.

Brent pulled and released the charging handle. Fired point blank at the man at his feet.

The warrior's face went wide-eyed as he stared down at his chest. Dark blood gushed in pulsating torrents, the edges tinged red in the new sun's light. He stiffened then relaxed. The pulse of blood stilled.

There was silence but for the frantic barking as Zoey sprinted around the camp.

Brent tore his eyes from the man at his feet. Potts stood in the middle of camp, mouth open, rifle in his hands. Larry whirled in place between the tents and the forest, one hand holding a sword, the other an ax. Both dripped red.

From between the tents, Kristi emerged, her rifle at her shoulder. She nodded. Brent waved back, his gut releasing tension he hadn't had time to feel. She was safe.

Alta appeared. Spinning around, her face taut with distress, she ran to the south side of the tents, away from the attack. She emerged from behind one of the tents, clinging to Joe, who was looking back toward the ground, right hand holding his pistol. Damn, Brent hadn't even considered a flanking attack.

* * *

Joe leaned over, his numb senses immune to the sight of the gaping wound.

“He’s just a child.” Kristi clamped a small artery then loosened the tourniquet. Her mouth tightened into a thin line.

“Yeah, just a kid with a big fucking club.” Larry knotted the rope binding the injured warrior’s feet together. “That ought to do until we decide to shoot him.” He stood and, shaking his head, walked away.

“What do you think?” Joe knelt on the other side of the prone body from Kristi and checked Larry’s knots that bound the injured warrior’s hand to his waist. Tight. They’d probably have to cut them apart.

"Muscles are torn, and the bone is chipped." Kristi probed the wound with forceps. "He won't be walking for a while. But he will walk." She shook her head, sighing. "He's so young. Still a teenager."

Joe shifted his gaze from the wounded man to the camp. Larry was now tending the fire. Potts was sorting through supplies, getting breakfast ingredients together. The children were sitting silently around the cookfire, Alta's arms around two of the younger ones. Beyond, near the edge of the clearing, Brent walked, his black gun hanging from its shoulder strap.

"Well, if you're willing, let's fix him up." Joe looked down at the man-child. "If nothing else, we can try to question him about what's going on." And he'd have one less nightmare. Visions of Larry plunging his sword into the fallen bodies on their first day still haunted his recent dreams.

"What did you find after…” Kristi sighed, setting the forceps on a clean piece of cloth. “After disposing of the bodies?" Kristi washed the wound with a squirt of antiseptic.

"Twelve dead." Joe wondered how long her medical supplies would last. "Including two clubbed to death. Facing back toward the river. The backs of their skulls were caved in."

Kristi froze for a moment. "They ran? And were killed by their own warriors?" She set the antiseptic aside and picked up the forceps.

Joe shrugged. "Don't know. But I'm guessing a bit less than half that same number retreated. And they traveled by canoes. One canoe was left behind, just downstream. It was big enough to hold a dozen men. They destroyed it. It's not repairable."

"How did we survive?" Kristi stopped probing the wound and looked up at Joe. “By the time I found my rifle, it was over.”

"Zoey alerted Brent. Larry was sleeping by the fire, fully clothed and with his weapons at his side. He took the few that got past Brent."

"Alta was frantic until she saw you," Kristi said.

Joe puffed out a breath. "Maybe she still thinks I'm the hero." Joe glanced to the fire circle where Alta still comforted the children. "It was Brent and Larry who saved our asses."

"But you're the one that discovered the two warriors sneaking up on the back side of the tents." Kristi looked up from the hole in the captive's thigh. "How did you know?"

"All the noise was only on one side of camp. It just felt wrong." He shrugged. "A lucky feeling I guess."

"Lucky?" Kristi regarded the fallen warrior boy. "We're alive because of a lucky feeling?"

Chapter 19

Day 9

Joe pulled back on Snark's reins as Brent trotted up alongside him on Flicker.

"I'm still in worry mode." Brent slowed Flicker to a stop.

"It should take days before the attackers regroup." Snark stopped at Joe's second tug as he glanced at his friend. "What little I got out of Samatu indicates Tork's base is on a large lake or sea at the mouth of this river. It's at least three or four days travel one way."

“At least you did get some information out of him before the painkillers wore off.” Brent's brows furrowed, tension tightening his normally fluid motions. "But I still wonder if Larry's not right about just killing our young captive." He uncapped his water bottle and took a sip. "Kristi and Potts may know how to handle guns, but Larry's the only one with actual combat experience. And we’ve now left them with a prisoner to deal with."

"You did leave Larry with your AR15. That's a hell of a combination." Joe let out a noisy breath. "I could have come alone."

"Yeah, like your downriver trip. Two dead warriors and two more children." A faint smile lifted the ends of Brent's mouth. "You're way too dangerous to be left on your own."

Joe shifted his attention back to the trail. The well-used path wove through the low, forested hills along the Long River, sometimes cutting inland, sometimes veering close to the river's edge. Ahead, he could see the summit of a small rise.

Joe shifted his weight and Snark started forward. They had been traveling upriver for almost a full day, searching for a more secure location for a permanent camp away from Tork. They would have to find a place to spend the night soon.

As they topped the rise, Joe reined Snark to another stop. A small slide had cleared the ground to the right, opening a view of the river and the lands beyond. Low ridges, highlighted starkly by the late afternoon sun, scarred the horizon a dozen or so miles to the north. Openings in the forest canopy showed at scattered points along the river. None of the clearings showed smoke.

Brent reined Flicker alongside Joe once more. "I think I may know where we are."

Joe shifted his gaze from the distant view to his friend. "I'm all ears."

"I don't know if I mentioned that I did my undergraduate Biology degree at UMD—University of Maryland—near Washington, DC.” Brent’s brow furrowed in thought. “Went on a few field trips up the Susquehanna River. It runs from Chesapeake Bay up into northeastern Pennsylvania."

Brent paused and looked back over his shoulder, downriver, and then let his gaze drift upriver. "Those geological folds we see lead me to believe this is the Susquehanna."

"Are there valleys beyond those ridges?"

"There are ridges beyond those ridges. And long narrow valleys between them."

Joe took out his binoculars and spent several minutes peering at the distant contours. "It appears that the river cuts through those ridges. Correct?"

"Well, it's been a while." Brent gave a small bark of a laugh. "Or will be a while. When I made that trip, there were highways between the river and the cut faces of the ridges." He had his own binoculars out, also peering northwest. "But right now I'd say there isn't much land between the river and those ridges. Maybe enough for a footpath."

Joe sat for several more minutes. A valley would help keep the horses corralled. And a narrow valley facing the river could be defended. "How high are those ridges?"

"Maybe a thousand feet at the most, four or five times that wide. Passable on foot. But better than nothing." Brent paused, a frown flickering across his face. "If you're thinking security, I agree."

"Yeah." Joe lowered his binoculars. "Eastern Pennsylvania then?"

Brent nodded.

"I've been wondering about the burial mounds. They're extensively used in the Mississippi River region. But the Mound Culture's influence did extend up the Ohio River and into western Pennsylvania. So that sort of matches."

"I'm thinking it would be a day’s ride up to those ridges. Then two days back to the village."

“I hear you.” Joe put the binos back in its case. “But what if the valley is occupied?”

“There are several valleys. And we have to move upstream anyways.”

Joe shifted his weight in his saddle. "Let’s do it." Joe nudged Snark around. "We can camp at the small clearing we passed a mile back and get an early start back tomorrow." He nudged his horse forward. If this was eastern Pennsylvania, then they could plan on resources. He recalled iron ore and coal deposits. Larry might know more about that. And Chesapeake Bay had abundant fish if the Tork problem ever got resolved. The early colonies had had a wealth of resources to call upon.

Joe jerked upright in his saddle, his blood throbbing in his ears.

Snark whinnied and pranced at Joe's sudden movement.

"What's the matter," Brent said and slipped his rifle out of its sheath. "What do you see?"

"Nothing." Joe turned to face his friend. "But if you're correct about this area being pre-contact North America, then Alta's descendants will be decimated."

Chapter 20

Day 10

Joe reined in beside the ceremonial poles and gazed west.

Brent halted beside him. "What's up?"

"No one's on guard." Joe stood up in the saddle, peering at the trail leading west, along the burial mound, toward Stream Crossing. He pulled his rifle from its sheath.

Then resheathed it as a mounted figure appeared from behind the burial mound and waved a sword in the air.

"Shit." Joe let out a long breath, willing his pounding heart to slow.

* * *

Joe accepted the bowl of stew from Alta, giving her a smile in exchange. She responded with her own brief smile then lowered her eyes.

"Thanks, Alta. It smells great." He hesitated then stepped aside to let Brent get his bowl filled. Joe glanced back. Alta had seemed more reserved these last several days. A delayed reaction to her parent's deaths? He made a mental note to give her more room to grieve.

Joe sat in an empty camp chair. He looked at the children sitting in a semicircle behind him. "You all had enough dinner?"

Grins answered him, several with missing baby teeth.

"All quiet here?" Joe asked Larry.

"No dead bodies for two whole days now." Larry's face wore a thin smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You gave me quite the start when I didn't see anyone posted at the top of the mound." Joe eyed Larry with what he hoped was a stern face. The mound was sacred but also had a good view of the camp and the trail to the river.

"Matu was on guard. He ran to get me when he saw you guys." Larry ignored Joe's look. "Good thing he did or Potts wouldn't have left you any dinner." Larry glanced to the top of the mound where Potts sat in one of the other camp chairs, staring in the direction of the river.

"Alright, enough suspense." Kristi handed Joe a mug of coffee. "So what did you see?"

"Brent, it's your story," Joe said as Kristi handed a second mug to Brent.

"Thanks." Brent took a sip. "I'm going to miss coffee." He described the river and the inland ridges. "So I'm guessing that we're on the Susquehanna River, in southeastern Pennsylvania." Brent eyed Joe. "Still thinking that you've a handle on the time frame?"

"Precontact. Some influence from the Mound Culture in the interior." Joe set his mug on the ground and stirred his stew. "Plus or minus a few hundred years, I'm guessing 1000 AD."

"Damnation." Kristi eyes flicked to each of the men. "We're in a culture with no protection from European diseases."

"How about a translation?" Larry raised his eyebrows at Kristi.

"Ninety to ninety-five percent of the inhabitants of North America died from diseases after contact with Europe." Kristi's shoulders slumped. "Early settlers arrived to find empty fields and tended forests waiting for them, the inhabitants dead and gone. I never thought about bringing vaccines." She blew out a breath and shook her head. "Like I could vaccinate an entire continent."

Larry looked over his shoulder toward the children and his face clouded. "Are we gonna give 'em anything?"

All eyes turned to Kristi. For a minute she stared into the fire. "Alta got a bit of a cold back at the ranch." She shifted her gaze to the children. "But nothing else. And we've all been in pretty good health." The edges of her mouth turned up slightly. "I'm thinking they're going to be alright. None of us is sick with measles, cholera, or smallpox, the diseases that killed off most of the people here."

After a long minute, Larry shook himself. "Back to the question about what to do now."

"If we are on the Susquehanna, we at least have a general idea of the surrounding terrain," Joe said.

"Which is what?" Larry scowled at his empty coffee cup and set it on the ground.

"We can see the low hills with thick forest except for anthropological burned areas. Yesterday we saw those geological pressure ridges to the north that form valleys, which run roughly southwest to northeast. So we can expect the Appalachian Mountains to the west and Lake Erie—or Ontario, I never could keep them straight—to the north. And our river drains south into Chesapeake Bay."

"Anthro what?"

"Human caused." Joe stood up to take his bowl to the camp wash station.

Alta stepped in front of Joe. "I will clean your bowl." She kept her eyes down.

"Thanks, Alta." Joe stared at her retreating back for a minute before sitting and turning to Larry. "Regardless of the name of this river or the location of its outlet, it still remains better to move upriver. Somewhere defendable."

"Shouldn't we move away from the river?" Kristi asked.

"In the long term, access to the river for transportation will be critical." Joe said. "And for fish."

"I'm also worried about crops." Brent sat. "And we've been stalling about getting the fruit trees in the ground."

"I think Joe's for moving upriver and settling in one of those valleys." Kristi looked at Joe. "Correct?"

Joe stared at the fire for several minutes. "I think we should leave tomorrow morning."

Chapter 21

Day 11

Larry shifted in the saddle. "Easy Mojo. This armor's heavy on me too." He looked back along the trail, scowling at the trampled trail through the tall grass.

He stood in the stirrups and stretched as he looked around him. They stood at the top of a small hill under an ancient fire-scorched oak tree, surrounded by a clearing several hundred yards in diameter. To his left and hundreds of feet lower, the Long River—or the Susquehanna if Brent was correct—ran to the southeast. The trail ran erratically along the river, breaking in and out of heavy forest.

He'd given them another hour before he'd followed them to the next good lookout. Damn, the children must be getting tired. Almost all of the horses were carrying packs, so the older children were walking. Larry’s scowl deepened. Except for that Samatu.

Mojo fidgeted. He dismounted and let the horse nibble at the lush grass.

Larry considered the terrain. Joe might be right about that anthro-whatsit burning. Small saplings were shooting up among the grasses. Now that the humans were gone—or dead—the forest was trying to take back the land. They'd passed three small villages today, and all had been destroyed. By Tork's men? They'd searched for survivors in the first. Didn't bother after that.

A flicker of movement broke his thoughts. Something moved at the break in the forest. A man. No, several men.

Larry reached for his sword. Stopped. Better do it the easy way. He nudged Mojo behind the tree and tied the reins to a low branch, and then slipped the rifle out of its sheath.

He waited as three men followed the wide beaten path through the knee-high grasses. When they were 50 yards away, he sighted. Had to get them all. If one slipped into the tall grass, he might get away. At 40 yards, he squeezed the trigger. Then twice more.

* * *

"No choice." Joe stood next to Larry with his hand on the big guy's shoulder. Kristi and Alta sat in nearby chairs. Potts knelt next to the fire, stirring a large pot, the children sitting around him amusing themselves as they ate their dinner with metal spoons.

Larry looked up at Joe, and his face tightened. "Yeah, I know." He stared at the fire. "I just gotta think of the little girl with the bashed head when I tighten my finger on the trigger."

"Are we sure no one got away?" Brent appeared out of the darkness, night vision goggles in hand.

"Footprints were a mess. But I'm sure there were only three." Joe took the goggles. “At least on foot. Tork’s men tend to use canoes, so there may be more of them in the area. A canoe would be hard to spot along the thickly forested riverbank.”

He thought back on his frantic ride back along the trail after he'd heard Larry's gunshots, to find his friend dragging one of the bodies into the thick brush at the edge of the clearing. "I'll bring up the rear tomorrow." His eyes peered into the darkness. "Zoey okay?"

"All's quiet." Brent took a bowl of stew from Potts and looked at Kristi. "How's our prisoner?"

"Samatu would be in agony from the ride if not for the painkillers." She shook her head. "Being tied to a horse is aggravating the injury. No help for it though."

"I'm thinking you ought to stay at point tomorrow," Brent said to Joe. "I'll take a turn at the rear."

"Nay, I'll keep the rear," said Larry. "Seems I'm good at it." He watched his fingers opened and closed. Then looked at Joe. "I'll spell you in two hours."

Joe nodded and walked into the darkness.

Chapter 22

Day 12

The trail narrowed as it led between the crumbling face of the ridge and the river. Joe started to slip his Winchester from its sheath but secured it when a low branch slapped his face. He loosened his pistol in its holster. Great place for an ambush. Or a defensive position. Across the river, he could see a matching ridge face. Further north, another ridge paralleled the one he was cutting through.

He nodded to himself. "Snark, we may be home." The crumbling ridge forced the trail to curve close to the river, and larger rocks tangled with high water debris slowed Snark's steps. Joe dismounted to lead the mare among the rocks. Only a few stunted trees struggled in the broken ground, leaving him with an open view of the ridge face and river. The ridge was maybe 700 feet high here. Where it met the river, white water danced over its worn bones. On the other side of the river, it rose up again to continue its march east.

After a couple hundred yards, the broken ground smoothed again into the meandering trail, and Joe remounted.

Another quarter mile or so brought them to the edge of a smaller ridgeline where, this time, the trail remained good enough to ride. In a half mile, Joe broke out of the thick trees into the open.

A large valley lay before him. Beyond rose yet another of these geological ridges. In the center of the mile wide valley stood a large village surrounded by cultivated fields. Joe figured it was a few hundred yards from the river. Smoke drifted upwards in the light breeze from several cooking fires. He frowned. Many longhouses, but few fires.

Joe nudged Snark forward through the tall grasses. His friends were probably only a couple hours behind him. He needed to determine if this village was connected to Tork.

As he rode close, several people gathered a few yards in front of the nearest longhouse. But no barking dogs. And no children.

By the time he reached the closest field, about a half dozen people, women and men, all but one elderly, stood watching. Still no children. The younger man stood about twenty yards in front of the rest, holding a spear. Joe squinted. The man leaned on the spear.

Joe halted his horse fifty yards from the warrior and dismounted. Even at this distance, he could see the man’s eyes widen as he physically separated himself from Snark. His fingers brushed the revolver in its holster as he walked forward. "I come in peace."

"There is no peace," the man's voice rasped.

Joe stopped when he had halved the distance between them. The man wore a leather loincloth, similar to Tork's men. And a leather hat? No, a strip of leather held a layer of blood-clotted moss. Damn.

Joe took a deep breath. "There is peace between your people and my people. We flee from violence. We flee a man named Tork. Do you know of him?"

"His warriors killed my people. His warriors took our children." The man looked back at the others. They stood staring. No expressions crossed their wrinkled faces.

"My people follow me." Joe waved his hand in the direction of the trail he had followed. "We travel from a long distance and now seek a place to live. My name is Joe. May we enter your valley and talk?"

The man looked back at the others for a long minute before turning back to face Joe. "I am Levanu. We will talk..." He collapsed.

For several seconds, nobody moved. Then two of the men rushed forward. One knelt next to the warrior. The other picked up his spear and moved in front of his fallen friend.

Joe hesitated. The man was obviously injured. And his older friends were suspicious. Probably with good reason.

Joe backed up to Snark, watched by the man with the spear. The others now crowded around the fallen man. Joe mounted and faced the small group of survivors. "I will return with medicine and a healer."

* * *

Tork loosened his braid and ran his fingers through his gray-streaked hair. By all the gods, how could this have happened? Over two hands of warriors lost.

He looked at the warrior standing before him. Nist sweated in the heat of the lodge. The man's eyes were fixed on nothing. The tightness in his jaw revealed the pain from the wound in his arm. It was a strange wound. Small hole on one side of the man's bicep. A larger ragged hole on the other side. Could the strangers really call lightning from the sky? Lightning that passed through the arm? Nist had reported that the strangers fought with lightning and thunder when his warriors had attacked at dawn.

Tork glanced to the doorway. Beyond, his warriors milled about, waiting for his decision. A hand of them were injured, one dying. Let them wait.

He closed his eyes. Just one more obstacle to his plans. Only a delay, though. The plan was everything. Resistance along the great Salt Waters he had expected, but not from the fat, soft villages along the inland river.

Tork looked at his old friend. "Nist, please sit."

Nist lowered himself onto the deerskin, moving slowly and favoring his left arm. Relief relaxed some of the lines in his face.

Tork raised his voice. "Bring drink and food."

"It was a black dream." Nist gazed directly at Tork. "One of the devils knew we were about to attack. He had a magic spear that spit lightning and thunder. Three warriors fell within a few heartbeats."

"How did your warriors fight?"

"Two of the conscripted warriors started to flee when the lightning and thunder started." Nist's right hand opened and closed. "The rest—and all the Skullmen—continued the attack until half fell. I ordered the survivors to withdraw."

As Tork watched his friend, old images flooded his mind of a younger Nist cutting an equally young Tork and his mother down from the poles. Of Nist leading them away from his dead father and the tribe that had betrayed them.

"We've done much together." Tork let out a long breath. "Too much for a problem with strange demons to come between us."

"I fear these demons." Nist looked down.

Tork watched his friend for several breaths before shifting his gaze to the doorway. Beyond, his men waited for his orders. Orders that they would follow because he provided them land and slaves. And because they and their families would be punished otherwise. But both reward and punishment depended on success. He returned his eyes to Nist. Failure invited doubt about his plans. And about himself. But maybe...

"Can you say if the demons have power, or if it is the magic spears that have power?"

Nist looked up. His shoulders squared. "The demon that killed from a distance had a lightning spear. But one killed with a short spear with long sharp edges. He is a powerful warrior, but not with magic."

"Maybe not demons. Maybe just demon weapons." A smile stretched Tork's leathery face. "Perhaps we can learn from these demons that are not demons. Their weapons could be useful in the future." And maybe shorten the days until he destroyed the killers of his father.

Tork watched Nist sit straighter. His friend continued to favor his left arm, but the moss tied around his bicep no longer seeped blood. If only he had hands and hands of such warriors.

The lodge skins drew back. His wife entered with a skin of herb water. Two slaves followed, one with drinking gourds and wood bowls. The other carried a clay cooking pot filled with stewed deer and berries and several wooden spoons.

He accepted one of the gourds from the first slave and nodded to the first woman who filled it from the skin. "Inform the Grandmothers I wish an audience. I have additional plans to submit for their approval."

"It shall be." His wife directed the second slave to place the pot of food between Tork and Nist. She then motioned them out of the lodge and followed.

Tork smiled as they left. The Grandmothers would approve further expansion along the coast. For the sake of their children and children's children. His smile faded. It was necessary to finish securing his Salt Waters base before marching up the river to face his enemies.

Tork took a swallow of the herb water and returned his thoughts to the problem up the Long River. "I sent additional warriors to look for other survivors. And to relieve the three uninjured warriors that you ordered to remain and observe."

"Thank you." Nist rubbed his face with his right hand. "I dared not take the time to search." His voice broke.

"It was good that you returned to report." Tork watched the play of emotions across his friend's face. "If Samatu is alive, he will be found." Sorrow at the loss of a son—or a father—was not a weakness. It was a cause for revenge.

But revenge required warriors. Warriors who would not flee.

* * *

As they broke out into the open, Kristi slowed, keeping behind Joe.

Ahead, she could see the village, now in the shadow of the ridge between this valley and the next. Joe was correct. Not only were there too few people for the number of lodges, but several of those lodges had been damaged by fire or were collapsing.

"We'll dismount here," said Joe when they were about a hundred yards from the nearest lodge. He slid off his horse and untied his saddlebag.

Kristi followed his lead, removing her medical bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

After tying the horses to a small bush, Joe walked in slow deliberate steps toward the gathering villagers. Three men and two women faced them, all elderly. The women wore sleeveless leather tunics that reached to the knees. The men simply wore leather around their waists. Their feet were bare.

Kristi scanned the village. "No younger men," she murmured in English.

Joe stopped about 20 yards from the closest villager, a thin elderly man holding a spear. Joe looked over his shoulder at Kristi. "Remain standing while I exchange gifts."

Joe sat, moving with an unhurried motion. He opened his saddlebag and removed a small hand axe, a piece of wood about a foot long and a fist sized rock. He supported the wood on the ground with his left hand and chopped a notch in it with the axe. Then he held up the rock, turned the ax over, and cracked the rock into several pieces with the ax's poll. He stretched forward and placed the axe on the ground. Then he set the rock and wood to the side.

The man with the spear stepped back to confer with the others. One of the women joined them. Then the woman left the group and disappeared into one of the lodges. After a few minutes, she returned with a younger woman carrying a basket, which she handed one of the men.

The elder man approached Joe and sat, leaving a few feet between them. He placed the basket next to the axe and picked up the axe. He felt the metal head and slid one of his fingers along the edge. A small smile softened his lined face.

Joe picked up the basket. It was a foot in diameter, tightly woven with a repeating design of spirals. It contained a dozen or so pieces of dried meat. He picked up one of the smaller jerky pieces, placed it in his mouth and chewed.

After a minute, Joe nodded. "Our healer is young but experienced. Please allow her to treat your wounded warrior."

The old man stared at Joe for several heartbeats before shifting his eyes past Joe to Kristi. "Levanu was wounded in the raid by the men of Tork. His injuries are not healing. Our power was broken in the raid. Perhaps your power is greater." He turned to the two elder women. At their nods, he spoke to the younger woman who had brought the basket, "Sesapa, please take the pale healer to Levanu."

"Please go with the woman," Joe said, turning to face Kristi. "I'll remain here to discuss this site. It looks defensible in spite of the damage done here by Tork's raiders."

* * *

Kristi followed Sesapa through the lodges. Multiple layers of thin bark covered the roof and sides. Several had been fire damaged and revealed the poles that supported the structures.

Kristi frowned. There had to be at least 20 lodges of various sizes. But other than Sesapa, she'd only seen a few elderly villagers.

Sesapa stopped in front of the narrow end of one of the central lodges. A large flap of skins was draped over a peg to the right of a small entrance.

Kristi slipped inside and paused to let her eyes adjust to the dim light. The smell of smoldering herbs stung her nose, but she nodded to herself at this primitive anti-bacterial technique.

A man lay on a low platform along one of the long sides of the lodge. Several furs half covered the shivering and sweating man.

"He is dying." A quavering voice startled Kristi. A wizened woman fanned the small fire in the center of the lodge with a bough of greenery.

Kristi hesitated, not sure how to demonstrate medical knowledge. "I have medicine from a far away land. But first, I must inspect the wound of this warrior."

The old woman glared at Kristi.

"Grandmother Carisa." The voice startled Kristi. Sesapa had followed her into the lodge. "Please allow this skilled healer to attend to your son."

The old woman stood up, favoring her left hip by pushing off the ground with a gnarled hand. She hobbled to Levanu's side. "He has two wounds. One on the side of his head. That will heal. The small deep wound in his side will kill him."

Kristi lifted up an edge of the furs. Just above his hipbone, a raw wound—about two inches long—festered red and oozed pus. "Damn." She resisted a gag reflex. "Please, can you supply boiling water?" Why hadn't she thought to bring a metal pot?

"I will provide." Sesapa stepped to one of the walls, picked up a round object from a shelf of woven vines and hurried to the fire.

Kristi's eyes had adjusted enough to the light to now make out details. Reeds and skins divided the sides of the lodge into shallow cubicles. The middle of the long lodge was open except for three fire pits. Sesapa now hunched over the middle one.

Kristi took a breath and squatted next to Levanu. She unsheathed her knife and cut away the head bandage. Some of the blood soaked moss remained. Dry. No fresh blood. She would have to remember this use of moss.

She leaned closer to the wound in Levanu's side and flinched at the smell of putrefaction. At least it appeared localized.

She opened her bag and selected a scalpel and one of Pott's bottles. The old guy would soil himself if he saw her washing her hands with his 12-year old scotch.

Chapter 23

Day 13

Joe accepted the full clay pipe and tobacco pouch from the elder. Placing the raw leather bag on the ground, he held the pipe in two hands and twisted his torso to the left to face him. "Peace, Tanuhu, between our peoples.” He shifted his attention to the next man, Niminu, repeating the pledge and then to the third elder, Hatimu.

The fourth man was Brent. "Brent, support our pledge of friendship." Brent nodded. The last man around the fire was Potts, on Joe's immediate right. Joe repeated the request, and Potts nodded. Joe fished a glowing ember from the small fire, placed it over the bowl, and sucked in the acrid smoke. He stifled a choke.

He passed the pipe to Potts along with a leather bag of raw tobacco.

Potts set the leather bag between his legs and reached into a pocket. He produced a small bag of dried leaves. He opened and sniffed it. "May we use my leaf?" He passed the bag to Joe.

Joe tensed and brought the bag to his face. It was tobacco. He relaxed and passed it to Niminu.

When the bag had traveled back around to Potts, he filled the pipe. He took one of the bent twigs and fished out another small ember from the fire, and then placed it on top of the tobacco in the bowl and puffed. When it was lit, he inhaled. He repeated the pledge of friendship to each man. Then he passed the pipe and both bags of tobacco to Brent.

Brent refilled the pipe from both bags, lit it and pledged. He passed it to Hatimu.

Hatimu took the pipe, but laid it on the ground in front of him. For many heartbeats, he looked at it. "Your friendship brings much risk. Tork has already punished us. You have stung him." He stared over his shoulder at the ruined village behind him. "He will not forget, nor will he forgive, any that have helped you."

"You should scrape skins, not talk at an elders' fire." One of the women sitting in a semicircle behind the village men rose, swaying, to her feet. It was the woman who had summoned Sesapa to bring the basket of dried meat. "I, Marisa, say that we have already lost everything. These travelers bring hope and bring children. I would die with them rather than live as a mouse scurrying at Tork's name." She sat down.

No one spoke. A log in the fire settled and threw a plume of sparks.

Hatimu gazed past Joe.

Joe turned. The children were attending the horses near the river's edge of the clearing under Alta's supervision. Two were brushing Potts’s horse Osker. An older child led Kristi's horse with one of the smaller children on the saddle. Even from this distance, Joe could see the white of the child's eyes. The horses had caused fear in the elder villagers until they had observed the children working with them. Beyond the children, Larry sat on his horse, both without armor but he heavily armed. He had refused to participate in the council, claiming that someone needed to be on guard.

Hatimu picked up the two tobacco bags. He took a thick pinch from each, placing the dried leaves in his left hand. His mouth tightened as he mixed the tobacco, took the pipe, and filled it with the mixture. "The Moon Elder speaks truth. It is better to die as a man than live like a mouse." He lit the pipe, inhaled and pledged.

Niminu and Tanuhu smoked in turn, each repeating the pledge. When Tanuhu finished, he stood up and addressed the women who sat behind the village's men. "Mothers of Mothers, do you approve our pledges?"

All the men turned to look at them.

Marisa sat a little straighter and glanced at each of the other two women. Each nodded in response to her look.

She returned her gaze to the men, looking at each for several heartbeats before moving to the next.

Joe felt weighed and judged when the woman looked at him.

"I and the Mothers of Mothers," she glanced at the women on either side of her, "approve your pledges."

She rose, and gazed behind her at the partially destroyed village. She locked eyes with Joe for several breaths, and then looked out to the fields at the rescued children and the alien horses. "They came by river. Many hands of boats. Hands of hands of warriors. They bypassed us to attack the villages of Two Valleys and Clear Streams on the other side of the river. Then they crossed to this side of the river and destroyed Spring Fish, a three hands walk upriver." She extended her hand toward the sun. "Our warriors aided Spring Fish's people and were killed. Then the white clay warriors swept through our village, Two Ribs, gathering the children and the younger women. Weary with victory, they laughed at us and only burned a few of our dwellings.

She looked over her shoulder to a mound beyond the village. A fresh layer of raw dirt lay at its top. "Our gods have deserted us, deserted Two Ribs village. Will your gods protect us? Will they honor our ancestors?"

Joe stared. How should he handle this?

"We worship no gods." Potts’s voice cut through the silence. "We depend on each other."

Joe snapped his head toward Potts.

He stared back at Joe for a moment before facing Marisa. "We will honor your ancestors. Our healer will remember their words and deeds." He looked over his shoulder toward the hut at the center of the village where Kristi still attended Levanu. "Their memories will be preserved." He stood and looked up the valley, past the village, to the burial mound. "We focus our minds on the physical resting place of their bodies to allow them to stay alive in our memories."

Marisa stared at Potts for many minutes. Then she nodded.

After several heartbeats, she looked back to Joe and tightened her mouth, adding additional wrinkles to her weathered face. "Guard the children."

* * *

Joe stay seated as most of the Elders rose, nodded their farewells, and returned to their huts. Brent rose and left in the opposite direction to relieve Larry. But Potts sat and refilled his pipe while Hatimu remained staring at the fire. After several long breaths, the Elder looked up toward the retreating villagers. "She is distant blood," he said as Alta intercepted the elder women and walked with them.

"More relatives are better." Joe shifted to sit next to Hatimu. "Elder, I would ask about the burial mounds."

"My grandfather's father moved here from the west. He was a trader. The Grandmothers approached him for my grandfather's mother. He agreed, and brought many presents to the village." Hatimu looked over his shoulder. Past the partially burned village, the squarish mound dominated the cleared end of the burned off valley. "He started the honoring of our deceased in that manner."

Joe paused, chewing his lip. "What is buried with the relatives?"

"Food and tools."

"Anything else? A favorite dog?"

Hatimu lowered his eyes to the remains of the fire. After several deep breaths, he said, "Never here. But I have heard talk of slaves. Young slaves."

"Shit," Potts said in English. "Larry will go ballistic."

"Yeah, but we have to tell him." Joe massaged his face with his hands.

* * *

As Joe strode away in the direction of their makeshift camp, Potts turned to find Hatimu shifting closer.

"Elder, the warrior Joe said that you traveled from far away. Where is your home?"

Potts snorted a laugh. "Thank you for the honor, but I'm no Elder. I just cook the food."

"Cook?" A puzzled frown worked its way across Hatimu's face. "That is woman's work."

"Like Joe said, we are from far away."

"So in your Far Land, men cook?"

"Men and women cook. Men and women are warriors. Men and women are healers." Potts unpacked his pipe and a bag of dried leaves. "Are you the head Elder here?"

The wizen man stared at the embers. "I am no longer the Sun Elder." After several minutes, he looked up. "How can one be the leader of the warriors when they are all dead, the village is destroyed, and the children taken away?"

Potts watched Hatimu's face morphed between anger and despair. A rivulet cut his cheek, leaving a glistening track. Potts looked down to pack his pipe.

"They came. I failed..." Hatimu's voice cracked. "Failed to protect my people."

Hatimu's face iced into stone as Potts filled his pipe and lit it. Well, he had certainly had his own lessons about failure. After puffing once, he passed the pipe to Hatimu. "Bravery is continuing when all appears lost."

Hatimu stared at the pipe, running his finger over the briarwood's surface. "Have you fought Tork's warriors?" Bringing it to his lips, he inhaled once.

"We met them once, but drove them off."

"Only a few?"

"No. About..." Potts looked at his fingers. "About four hands." He lifted his hands in front on him and opened, closed and re-opened them.

Hatimu's eyebrows rose. "But you are few in number."

"We have weapons that kill from a distance. And kill quickly."

"Bravery is easy when one has the power of gods." Hatimu passed the pipe back to Potts.

"Not of gods." Potts inhaled once. "Just the knowledge of those who have lived before us."

"What good is the knowledge of power without children?"

"You have us."

"My family is dead."

"You have a new family." And that was a powerful truth. Maybe for all of them. Potts glanced over his shoulder toward the children working with the horses.

"No blood."

"Blood is not as important as choice." He stared, waiting for the elder to meet his eyes. "Choose these children."

Hatimu finally raised his eyes to meet Potts’s. "I will think on your words."

Chapter 24

Day 14

Joe finished his sketch and stashed his notebook in his saddlebag. He had used the excuse of sketching the terrain to catch their breath from the long climb.

He and Larry stood at the edge of a small open area on top of the Two Rib's northern ridge. Two other geological folds flanked their ridge, one to the north and one to the south. These three ridges formed two long roughly east-west valleys, cut into four by the river.

"Those burnt poles between the village and the river?" Larry looked back at the village. "Or what's left of them."

"I've asked the elders about them. But they just change the subject. I'm guessing the poles are partially religious, given that there appears to be painted and carved figures on them. Tork's men may not have bothered to finish burning the village, but they made sure to burn these poles." Joe shaded his eyes with his left hand and pointed with his right. "Notice the center set of poles? The thick stump with a line of shorter ones to the north? I'm guessing that its original height cast a shadow that formed their calendar."

"Way cool." Larry paused and looked west up the Two Ribs valley. "Okay, what about the burned clearing way up the valley?"

"The cleared land around the village was burned for their gardens." Joe followed Larry's gaze. Several miles up the valley between the two ridges that defined Two Ribs village was an area about the size of four football fields. "But I'd guess the interior burns were for deer habitat. Given the amount of deer scat I saw up there, that seems to be working well.”

And this clearing?” Larry asked, waving his arms to encompass the surrounding knee-high grasses and brush covering this end of the ridge.

“I’d guess they burned it for the view. We wouldn’t see anything but nearby tree trunks otherwise. I'd further venture to say they periodically burned the forests also. The trees are big enough to survive a cool fire. And the undergrowth is just about non-existent."

"Why would they do that?"

"We had a pretty easy climb except for the rocky ground. Movement through the trees is easy, at least on foot."

"Except for the gravity, that it was." Larry looked back up the valley. "Might be a good place to fortify. We could drop some trees beyond the burned area to hold in the horses. Might not be enough forage for them though."

Joe followed Larry's eyes. The river bounded the east end of Two Ribs valley, but the west end opened into the far distance. It would be hard to defend.

Joe scanned the terrain as he turned in place. The river flowed from the north, cutting through the northern ridge before turning east to parallel the central ridge under their feet. As it cut through their ridge, it turned south again to break through the southern fold.

His eyes kept returning to the wide valley across the river, between their re-emerging ridge and the one further north. "The valley across and upriver seems to be larger with many open areas. More burning I suspect. The eastern end seems to be split into two separate valleys by a smaller one of these ridges. And it looks like those valleys may be blocked at the far end if all three ridges merge."

Joe pulled binoculars from the pack slung over his shoulder and focused at the far end of the opposite valley. "Yeah, can’t quite tell from this angle if the ridges actually merge, but they at least get close enough to form a partial barrier. May only need to take down a few trees." He looked again. "The elders report that both villages over there were destroyed. The closest one, I think it's Two Valleys, is barely visible but I don't see any movement. Can't even see any sign of Clear Streams."

"Seems to me that ain't gonna be a good place to hunker down."

"But it is somewhat protected on three sides by the ridges. Won't stop anyone, but will slow them down. And it'll contain the horses."

"And the long river side?" Larry blew out a long breath.

"They can't surprise us if we post guards. And we have to think about planting crops for winter food. And finding someplace for the horses. I'm thinking their mobility is going to be key to the long term protection of the kids." Joe lowered the binoculars and looked up and down the river. "We have to make a stand somewhere. The ridges limit access and may provide lookouts."

"Okay, the river is good and bad." Larry snorted a laugh. "Besides, I kinda like fish."

"Those split valleys may help us separate those damned stallions. The crossover seems to have thrown off the mares' hormones, but I'm guessing that won't last long." Joe raised the binoculars and swept the trails along the opposite riverbank. As he moved the glasses to the southwest, he caught a sudden movement. A log in the water? No, a small canoe.

"Shit. Maybe white clay." Joe kept his voice steady. "Just downriver and across from Two Ribs."

"How many?"

"Don’t know. Just saw a canoe. Let's get back to the village."

They ran and slid down the hillside. At the bottom, they mounted and rode south along the river trail. As they broke into the open, they galloped toward the children attending to the herd of horses.

Joe glanced to the village. A figure—Brent—raised his arms in a question. Joe waved his pistol and Brent sprinted toward the children.

They slowed when they neared the children. Alta was with them. "Move the horses closer to the village," Joe said.

She glanced at the pistol in Joe's hand and immediately gave instructions to the children, nudging the nearest horse toward the tents and huts. Zoey appeared and, sensing Alta’s intent, nipped at the horses' legs.

Joe glanced at Larry. "Let's scout this side."

At Larry's nod, Joe rode toward the river, leaving the open ground of the village for one of the trails that cut through the narrow strip of forest along the water. As they approached the slow-moving water, Joe left Snark with Larry and forced his way through the brush to the river's edge. He worked his way downriver, stumbling over rocks and roots, pushing through branches and vines. After about a quarter mile, he found the fresh imprint of moccasins next to a canoe's skid mark. They were being watched from both sides of the river.

Joe straightened and scanned the shoreline. A peaceful serene world, thick with vegetation and life. He walked back to the trail and mounted Snark.

Larry sheathed his rifle and frowned. "Let's do it. Those bastards'll follow us anywhere we go. The sooner I build some fortifications and put my forge together, the better I'll feel."

Joe looked up. It was about mid-day and the sun had climbed to about 45 degrees, maybe 50, above the horizon. The soil was warming up. They couldn't delay planting any longer. With children and elders, they needed a secure food supply for the winter.

They rode back to the village.

* * *

"Are you Sky Woman?"

Kristi drew in a sharp breath as the brown eyes opened and stared at her. She jerked her hand from his thigh, leaving glistening skin where she had been bathing him with a damp cloth.

Kristi exhaled. "My name is Kristi." She pushed away all thoughts of Levanu's long lean body. "I am a healer from a land far away."

Levanu's eyes continued to bore into her own.

She broke his gaze, and turned to look at the doorway. "I will tell your mother that you are awake."

She glanced back at Levanu. His eyes were closed, the gentle rise and fall of his chest suggesting sleep. His fever had broken.

The sound of Kristi’s blood pounded in her ears.

Chapter 25

Day 17

"Easy girl, it's just some water." Joe spoke in low tones to Snark, calming the nervous mare. They stood on a shallow gravel and bedrock island that lay almost two thirds of way across the Susquehanna. In front of him lay the river's main channel, which hugged its north bank.

He shook his head at this strange river. The Susquehanna made several turns as it broke through the ridges. It first turned east after breaking through the northern ridge then south as it cut through the central and southern ridge. The mile wide river was slow and shallow in this section except for the deeper channel in front of him. The riverbed was broken bedrock, walkable for most of the width provided one didn't fall into a crevasse.

It had taken all of yesterday to scout out a crossing less than a mile above the former village of Clear Streams, one that would minimize danger to the horses. They had decided to use a pair of islands to give the horses a break during the crossing. The easiest section cut across the western end of the long overgrown island that lay along the southern shoreline. Because of all the critters in the trees, the children had named it Bird Island. The shallow smaller island, on which Joe and Snark stood, they just called Gravel Island. Its eastern sand and gravel-covered end lined up with the larger Bird Island's western end with just a shallow two-hundred-yards between them.

On the north bank, water dripped from both Larry and his horse. Joe grinned at the frightening and humorous sight of the big man wearing only his boxer shorts and boots. A rope hung from his saddle horn. Joe held the other end. Several of the older boys surrounded Larry, their enthusiasm greater than their help. Larry showed no sign of minding.

Midstream, Brent and Matu poled a small raft around the river's boulders and outcroppings, easily countering the Susquehanna's weak current. In places, Brent jumped into the water to push the lashed logs carrying their supplies over the shallow sections.

Once the raft reached Joe, he tied Larry's rope to the logs and dismounted to help Brent push the raft into the main channel's slightly faster water.

On shore, Larry and Mojo easily took up the slack and, once Brent pulled himself back onto the raft, towed it the remaining distance to shore. With excited cries, the boys scrambled down the bank to help Brent and Matu unload.

Joe remounted and scanned the shores. They were vulnerable during these crossings. On the southern shore, Potts sat on his horse with his back to the river, rifle cradled in his arms. Fifty yards beyond Larry, in the middle of the trail that paralleled the river, Kristi sat on Sweetpea. She cradled her own rifle as she peered into the dense forest.

Joe blinked to clear his eyes.

By early evening, they had the rest of the supplies and the horses safely across, the horses hobbled in one of the several open areas around the abandoned village of Clear Streams. Tomorrow, they'd move the elders who, after watching the first several raft crossings, were now gathering their own possessions together, helped by Alta and the young girls.

Tonight, Joe would stay at Two Ribs and, before the elders abandoned their village, join in their farewell ceremony at their ancestral mound. But first he would try again to talk with their captive.

* * *

"Are you demons?" The young warrior stared at Joe.

"No." Joe returned his stare. "But we wonder if you are a demon. Why did you attack our camp?"

Samatu stared in response. After several heartbeats, he blinked.

"Why?" Joe sat near the young man's leg. The wound in his left thigh still showed red at the edge of the bandage. Trimmed saplings immobilized his leg from hip to ankle. A chain circled his right ankle, the end link opened and beaten closed by Larry around another link to form a loop. The other end terminated around a two hundred pound section of tree trunk lying just outside the tent. It was an unexpected use for a tow chain Larry had brought along as a source of metal for his future forge.

"You have invaded the territory of our war chief, Tork."

"It appears that Tork is the invader."

"He united the Tockwock and other Salt Waters peoples. And he will bring much honor." Samatu looked away. "Why did you not kill me?"

"Killing the wounded, like killing women and children, is not honorable." Joe closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe evenly. Images of the battle on the first day, the killing of the wounded warrior, churned his stomach. He took in a deep breath and opened his eyes to the boy before him. Would talking with one so steeped in violence do any good? Yet Samatu was what? Maybe 16?

"Why is Tork stealing children?"

Samatu blew out a breath. "Tork is building a great empire. The children will be part of it."

"How?"

Samatu rolled his eyes. "I am not in Tork's confidence."

Joe turned as the tent flap opened and Kristi entered with a bowl of stew. He sat and watched as she gave Samatu the bowl. As the captive ate, she knelt by his side and prodded the still swollen flesh. Face impassive, Samatu only grunted at her touch.

"The swelling's down. I think he's healing amazingly well." Kristi stood and reached down to take the now empty bowl. "Can you help him with the chamber pot? I'll ask Larry to assist." She nodded to the large clay pot set into a hole at the far corner of the tent. The Elders called it the ‘cold moons’ pot.

She left, followed by Samatu's eyes. When she had gone, he shifted his gaze to Joe. "Levanu says she is Sky Woman. Is this true?"

"We think so."

Chapter 26

Day 20

"It is good to see you in the sun." Joe lowered himself to the ground, facing the tent Kristi had appropriated for her hospital. "Can you tell us again what happened?"

Levanu sat in one of the camp chairs to the right of the entrance. On the other side, Samatu lay on a foam pad, his head propped up with a rolled up blanket, eyes staring at the cloudy sky.

"Canoe after canoe passed our village." Levanu's facial muscles twitched. "The White Clay warriors attacked Two Valleys on the other side of Long River while we stood staring like helpless children. But when they moved upriver to attack Spring Fish on our side of the river, we ran to their defense. When we arrived, half of the enemy turned to face us. They started with atlatl darts. Maybe a hand of darts by each warrior. Then they rushed the survivors with clubs." He glanced at Samatu, who continued to stare upwards.

Looking down, Levanu rubbed his face with his hands. "I was hit with a dart. I tried to stay upright, but was felled by a club." His eyes shifted from the ground to Joe. "When I came awake once more, they had already moved downstream to attack Two Ribs. By the time I made my way back to my village, it was destroyed. Only a few elders remained. All but the younger children were dead. Those were taken."

"How many warriors?" Joe asked.

"Maybe four hands of canoes. Each with two hands of warriors."

Joe shook his head. Two hundred warriors? No way could they repel that kind of attack, especially if the enemy attacked with the atlatls and darts. The darts, or lightweight spears, could be propelled up to a hundred miles per hour by the lever arm action of the atlatl.

"Your mother, Canisa, survived. What of the rest of your family?"

Levanu took in a shuddering breath. "My father was killed. My wife and infant son were killed. Mother was gathering herbs."

Joe's mind raced, trying to find words. Nothing came. To his left, Samatu now stared at Levanu.

A shout interrupted any further conversation. From the direction of the river, Matu ran into the village, arms waving.

Joe stood, reaching for his holstered revolver.

"Strangers," Matu said between panting breaths as he approached Joe.

"Where?"

"From upstream. Along the river trail. A warrior and a child." Matu pointed toward the river.

Leaving the two wounded warriors, Joe ran through the village, along the creek path, and into the open field at the river's edge. Several of the children stood downstream of Larry, who stood facing a pair of strangers.

Joe slowed and, with hands held in front of him, joined Larry.

A man, no older than sixteen or seventeen, stood in the middle of the river trail a few feet from where it opened into the west edge of the clearing. A pace behind him stood a young girl, maybe nine or ten years old. The man held a spear with a fire-hardened tip. Around his waist, a braided rope belt held a stone knife. The girl carried a leather bag.

"My name is Nikaku. This is my sister Busa." With slow movements, he lowered his spear to the ground and held out his empty hands. "We are from a small village on the other side of Long River." He glanced back at the girl. "When Tork attacked, I was fishing with my sister. We escaped and hid in the forest to the north of the long hills." He lowered his head. After several heartbeats, he straightened and stared at Joe. "We only returned to this area two suns ago. We wish to join your village."

"Nikaku, Busa…" A scream interrupted Joe’s reply.

Sesapa ran past Joe and flung herself at the two strangers. She held the girl in an embrace with her left arm and held Nikaku's hand with her right. After many sobbing breaths and still holding onto the newcomers, she faced the growing crowd. "These are my sister's children. From Spring Fish village."

* * *

Joe watched as Sesapa introduced Nikaku and Busa to everyone around the fire circle. He smiled for the sake of the children. Now he was responsible for two more. It was some consolation that Nikaku would probably be an asset in a fight. Until he ended up dead.

Joe's smile turned real as Potts shooed the children away from his steaming kettle. Given the news that he had two additional mouths to feed, he'd simply added more veggies to the pot.

As the crowd fled from Potts’s waving arms, Sesapa moved into a huddle with Kristi and Alta. Marisa joined them. Alta's smile widened.

After a few minutes of discussion, Kristi broke from the small group and climbed onto one of the log seats farthest from Potts’s activities. "Attention."

Joe moved closer. The children and elder men milled around the women surrounding Kristi.

"In several hands of days, there will be a new moon," Kristi said, beaming at Alta. "Marisa has told me that this is the time when a girl who has become a woman takes her place in the village. She will lead the re-birth of Alta into a woman of the village."

Joe resisted shaking his head. Alta had been in the woman's hut during the attack by Tork's men; her coming of age ceremony tragically interrupted. Although it would be interesting to learn what rituals were used in these times, she was still very young.

The other two female Elders joined the group around Alta, taking her hand and lifting it to their foreheads. As they turned away, he found Alta staring at him, her head high and posture erect.

Coursing blood echoed in his head. With a shuddering breath, he broke her gaze.

Chapter 27

Day 26

"Take a break," Joe said.

"Damn, I knew we should've brought a chainsaw." Larry straightened up and rolled his shoulders.

"And after the gasoline ran out, it would make a great boat anchor." Joe wiped his face with his bandana. "If we had a boat."

They stood at the edge of the clearing that crowned the small hill, their crosscut saw almost halfway through the three-foot thick pine. At the summit stood four upright poles set deep in the rocky ground. Once they'd felled their present target, they'd split the trunk into flooring planks for a platform about 20 feet off the ground. That should get them a view above the surrounding tree level. Closer to the tree line, two of the older children, Matu and Kidu, trimmed branches from a downed tree, both thrilled to be hefting the metal axes from the "Far Lands," their name for Joe's former home.

To the north lay the remains of Clear Streams, another victim of Tork's men. The two large canvas tents and four smaller ones had risen among the ashes of the destroyed huts, marking the site as their new home. Benches made from split logs surrounded the cookfire while the ribs of several new huts supported roofs of reeds. One collection of shorter poles hinted at a new sweat lodge. Kristi had re-christened their new village Haven. Not a bad name.

"Well, maybe a boat would be a good idea. We are on a river." Larry downed half the contents of his water bottle. "I'm gonna feel way better when we get this tower built. Or at least built enough to use." He set his water bottle down and stretched. "Think this feat of engineering will be tall enough?"

"It'll have to do. It's taking too much time as it is." Joe's shoulders slumped as he shifted his view back to the river. From their position, thick trees crowded out any view of this side of the river's shoreline. In the cleared area where Haven’s stream entered the Susquehanna, squash and corn competed with weeds and saplings. A second open area lay further east and several hundred yards inland. There plumes of smoke rose as Tanuhu and Hatimu supervised the burning prior to the planting of Brent’s vegetable seed and his large variety of potatoes.

A third clearing, just barely a break in the forest canopy, lay a short walk beyond Haven's small stream. The destroyed village's burial mound lay at its center, the remains of the Clear Streams village's former inhabitants now interred in the topmost layer. The mound was no more than twice the height of an average adult—a few generation old result of recent contact with one of the Mississippian cultures.

Two thirds across the river, Bird Island stretched from left to right and, except for a couple of breaks in its trees, blocked the view of the opposite shore.

Joe looked up at the unfinished tower. "We need whatever visibility we can get now. We need to at least be able to watch over the area around Haven." Joe forced a smile he didn't feel. "We're just lucky the previous inhabitants had burned off this hill for deer habitat."

"I wouldn't call 'em lucky." Larry nodded east. "Nor the other village."

Joe looked a mile downriver to where another break in the forest canopy hinted at the remains of the village of Spring Fish. It had its own freshly topped burial mound.

Impatience and worry swirled in his consciousness; time was short. But they'd made progress. In the past week, they had moved into the remains of Clear Streams, deciding that the terrain was more defensible than Spring Fish. The horses not being used for riding had been divided into two groups further inland, giving each of their two stallions a private domain. The two dozen fruit trees, along with various bamboos, berries, and grapes, were in the ground, surrounded by deer-proof cages made of woven cut saplings, at various spots along Haven's streams. In a clearing upstream of Haven, Brent worked an excited set of apprentices with the mares not pastured with the stallions.

Joe smiled through his sweat. The children took to the horses, treating them like overgrown yet younger siblings—probably as a result of Brent's example.

And Alta's celebration—whatever that would be—was providing a needed break from the tension of building Haven, planting crops, and constructing defenses. The women were preparing some ceremony. Even Kristi seemed to be caught up in the mood.

"Hey, look who's out." Larry pointed toward camp.

Joe turned to see Levanu emerging from the tents, supported by Kristi. Her second patient was now walking with the help of crutches fabricated by Larry. She waved.

"Let's take a break." Joe stretched his aching muscles. The ibuprofen was going to run out soon. But Brent had said that the native willows had pain-relieving properties.

"I'll watch." Larry lowered himself to the ground and leaned against their tree, facing the river. Immediately, Matu and Kidu joined him, probably using the excuse of a break to quiz Larry on his previous life.

Leaving Larry to the torments of inquisitive adolescents, Joe met Kristi and Levanu on the trail halfway between Haven and the tower's skeleton. "You're walking much better now."

"My Sky Goddess is a great healer." Levanu stopped and smiled at Kristi.

"I've been going over the workings of the rifles with Levanu." Kristi laid a hand on the warrior's shoulder. "But I don't want to waste rounds on target practice. Would you demonstrate the Winchester's action by doing some hunting? Potts is complaining about no fresh meat. I think he's getting tired of dried fish." She glanced down at her patient's side. "Levanu is up for a horse ride if you don't go too far."

Joe regarded Levanu's torso. The bandage was smaller now. He'd been in quite a bit of pain during the river crossing. But he seemed to be doing better after a week of rest and healing. "I thought Brent was going to take him hunting?"

Kristi was silent for several heartbeats. She looked north over her shoulder in the direction of the upstream clearing where Brent worked. "He decided not to." The muscles in her face twitched.

“Has anyone shown him how to load and aim?

“I did. That and basic cleaning.”

Joe shifted his gaze from Levanu toward Haven. “Was Samatu around during your demonstrations?”

Kristi paused. Then nodded. “Hadn’t considered that. And now that I’m thinking about it, he was real quiet when I was showing Levanu how to handle the rifle and revolver.”

“Afterwards, he asked how it felt to hold the weapons,” Levanu said as he glanced at Kristi.

“Nothing to be done now,” Joe said. “But it does remind us that we have no plan for Samatu’s future.”

“Can’t just let him go.” Kristi turned and gazed back at Haven. “Another week or so and he should be able to start exercising his leg.”

“We’ll have to put off any decisions till then.” Joe turned to Levanu. “But tonight, we’ll hunt. After dinner tonight. We can ride up to one of the burned areas at the far end of the valley." Joe looked to the east where a smaller ridge rose up to split the main valley into two smaller ones. Larry had dragged dozens of fallen trees into makeshift fences, isolating the horses in the farther portion of the southern-most valley clearing. Similar crude fences contained those horses grazing in the northern section. It had been a lot of work but necessary to keep the stallions apart and somewhat controlled.

Joe glanced back toward Kristi. Her face still held a tight smile. Because of Brent or Samatu?

"How are the plans for Alta's ceremony going?" Joe decided to switch to a less tense subject.

"It's an interesting ceremony." A smile softened Kristi’s face. "She will be ritually buried and then re-born. The Elders are excited. Probably because it's a sign of normalcy."

"Am I supposed to participate?"

"Other than the giving of gifts, the men are only observers. Why do you ask?"

"For the last few days, some of the children have started laughing and talking among themselves when they see me."

Kristi paused, her small grin widening. "Well, the next step is to choose a mate for Alta. Or whatever her adult name will be."

Joe bit his lip. "Well, she may be old enough to take an adult name but she's still too young to marry."

"We're not in Montana anymore," Kristi said over her shoulder as she and Levanu walked back toward the tent village.

Joe stared at her back for several breaths before climbing back up the hill to find Larry already standing at the saw. "Let's get this thing done."

"What was that all about?" Larry gave his end of the long saw a jerk to free its teeth.

"The only thing I understood is that we need to give Alta a gift after her ceremony and to start thinking about Samatu’s future." Joe looked at their retreating backs and shook his head. "I'm clueless about anything else."

Chapter 28

Day 28

"Thanks Alta," Joe said as he took the bowl. Her hero worship was a bit embarrassing. It wasn't as if he was doing a good job.

Ganu and Sura shifted positions on a bench to allow Joe to sit between them to eat his breakfast. They giggled.

On the other side of the cookfire, Larry slurped a mouthful of stew directly from his bowl. "We got seed for hot peppers? This stuff is good but kinda bland." He raised his eyebrows as he stared at the bowl of vegetable stew in his hands.

"Try using one of these, big guy." Potts handed Larry a spoon. "Got several varieties of hot peppers. Seed's been in the ground for almost a whole week. Wouldn't leave home without them."

Joe grinned as Larry rolled his eyes.

Kristi entered the fire circle. "Our captive patient continues to do well." She added two spoons and two bowls to a pile of dirty dishes by the wash and rinse tubs. “I’ll have to work up some physical therapy exercises for him soon.”

"And Levanu?" Potts filled a clean bowl with stew.

"Also doing well. Matu's helping him visit the bushes." She took the bowl from Potts along with a spoon. "We really need better toilet facilities."

"I've been talking with Larry about an outhouse on a sled, just a roof over split logs with tarps for privacy." Joe chuckled. "Not that the kids seem to need privacy. I'm figuring we can just drag it over a fresh hole when needed." Joe met Kristi's eyes. "Anyway, you're doing great job here."

"Until the antibiotics give out." Kristi sat on the empty camp chair next to Larry and stirred the stew with her spoon. "Hand washing will be the critical toilet habit. We need to figure out how to make soap. What we brought won't last long."

"Brent's bamboo will make piping for clean water, eventually. But that'll be years away."

Levanu shuffled into the circle, followed by Matu who joined Potts and Alta at the fire circle. Kristi nodded to Larry, who rose from his camp chair and helped Levanu take his place.

"You're walking better," Joe said to Levanu. Before Levanu could reply, Brent entered the cooking area.

"Nikaku's on the tower. He has my raincoat in case it rains." He accepted a steaming bowl from Potts and turned, smiling as he nodded to several of the children. His smile faded as his eyes swept over Levanu sitting next to Kristi.

"Running water and shithouses are good, but I'm thinking we need to build a fort first," Larry said, adding a stray used bowl to his own and striding to the washtubs.

Joe sat up straighter, and looked over his shoulder. The tents, tarps, and partially built huts dotted the area in a random pattern around an open area that had just been cleared of the remains of the destroyed lodges. Too many projects. Joe faced Hatimu. "How would you protect the village?"

The elder placed his spoon in his bowl and set them on the ground. "The time of my father's father was troubled. Huts would be close together and surrounded by a fence of upright poles. They would be set deep in the ground and touching." He frowned as his eyes swept the open village grounds. "Tork appeared during a time of peace."

"What do you all think about building such a wall?" Joe's eyes shifted from adult to adult around the fire. "What we call a ‘fort’."

"With a central hut for the guns. An armory." Brent glanced at the children. "And for bows, arrows, and spears. We don't need any confusion in the event of an attack." Brent held out his bowl for Potts to fill. "And a kitchen for our gourmet chef here."

"Finish the lookout tower’s floor first. Before one of us falls out of it. And a roof. Damned thing is taking too long." Larry nodded his head toward the hill between Haven and the Susquehanna. "Then a fort there," he pointed toward the open ground that was partially surrounded by tents and huts. "And we need to put the woodworking shop inside. The contents are too valuable."

"Both are necessary. Thanks." Kristi took a steaming bowl from Matu but held it as Levanu shifted position in his chair.

Joe glanced at Brent, who had taken a seat on the opposite side of the cookfire and now kept his attention on the bowl in his hands.

"And I'd like a separate building for a medical center," Kristi added as Levanu accepted the bowl. "One that's more permanent and is either off the ground or has a stone foundation. I want to get more focused on medical education for the girls."

"And what of the boys?" Brent stirred his breakfast stew, eyes on his efforts. "They should get some training."

"They will. But I want to offer the older girls a chance to start a core group of trained healers." Kristi scraped the last of her breakfast from the sides of her bowl. "We're facing a future pandemic on this continent." Her face tightened as she stared at her spoon.

"But the boys could be healers, too." Brent's voice sounded unusually stressed to Joe. "You're not getting sexist on us, are you?" He stared at her from his seat on a chunk of firewood.

"Don't be an ass." Kristi glanced at Brent then back at her bowl. No one spoke for several minutes.

Chapter 29

Day 30

"You doing okay?" Potts reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle. He and Brent sat at the top of the hill between Haven and the Susquehanna River, taking a break from splitting planks for use as the watchtower's platform. They had swapped jobs with Larry and Joe in order to spread their aches to different muscles.

"I thought you gave your stash to Kristi for sterilization purposes?"

"Somehow I must have missed one." Potts twisted the top off and dribbled a little into his mouth. "For emergencies. And you've been looking way low." He held out the bottle of scotch. "Thought it was a good time to sneak it out of Haven."

Brent leaned closer to take the bottle. "Kristi's been distant." He paused. "Levanu's been sleeping in her medical tent."

"Doesn't his mother sleep there also?"

"Yeah. Canisa does." Brent took a swallow. "And he is her patient. Still, Kristi's been paying a lot of attention to him." He wiped the mouth of the bottle with his sleeve and handed it back to Potts.

"She's been stressing a bit lately." Potts dribbled a bit more whiskey into his mouth. "Two injured patients and trying to teach modern medicine to both the children and the elders are wearing on her. And Marisa may be sliding back to her own ways." He chuckled. "Although Alta's upcoming rites seems to be distracting her enough for an occasional smile. How much longer?"

"About a week.” A small smile softened Brent's stony face. “Yeah, Alta's sure excited. And Joe has developed a 'deer in the headlights look.' I'm thinking Alta has plans."

"Well, she's turning into quite the young lady," Potts said. "And becoming a quick learner of Kristi's medicine. That probably takes some of the pressure off her."

"Well, I sure as shit didn't help relieve the stress on Kristi." Brent took back the bottle. Took a longer swig. Handed it back. "I sort of blew up on her today."

"Sort of how?"

Brent snorted. "Said something ignorant about women knowing their place in this here world." His eyes unfocused for a moment. "I'm afraid of losing her to our noble savage."

"Everything changes." Potts frowned at the bottle in his hand. "Only thing you can do is try to enjoy the ride."

"That's a useless piece of advice." Brent sighed. "Might have been a mistake taking this trip."

"Yeah, but what would you be thinking along about now if you were still back at the ranch by yourself?"

Brent barked a laugh. "Don't know. Probably be miserable wondering how all of you were doing." He gazed at the village.

Potts followed Brent's eyes. The village was developing. The old burned huts had been removed. The tents had been reinforced with guy-lines. He had an open area shelter for food preparation. And Larry and Joe were presently constructing a shed for woodworking in the cleared area that would eventually become their future fort.

Potts broke the silence. "She's a friend. Not a possession. Possessions make you unhappy."

"Shit, who made you qualified to be my shrink?"

Potts gave him a crooked grin. "A lifetime of doing everything wrong."

"In a kitchen?"

"Not quite." He looked out across the Susquehanna River and then let his eyes unfocus as memories flooded his thoughts. Memories that defined and directed his narrative. His personality. After a few seconds, he shrugged. "Started out as a university professor. Something about having a doctorate in economics. Pissed off the administrators by shacking up with a coed. Moved to a brokerage house. Did the whole money and stuff thing. Lost half to the ex. That same coed. Lost the rest in one of the crashes."

"Sorry. I think you mentioned some of that when we crossed over. But how'd you start cooking?

"In a recovery program." Potts held up the bottle of scotch. "Probably shouldn't be drinking this." Strange how a simple molecule of carbon, oxygen, and hydrogen affects behavior. "But with the stuff thing gone, it doesn't seem to be a problem anymore. And it does help me forget about being an asshole."

"Oh." Brent’s eyebrows narrowed as he studied Potts. "I can see where forgetting can be good."

"Forgetting can be good. Not craving is better." Potts took a sip. Screwed the cap on a half turn and held out the bottle. “I’m done.”

"But wanting is what it's all about." Brent took the bottle and contemplated it. “If I knew what I wanted.”

"Not saying we shouldn't want. Just that basing our existence on stuff or status will make you miserable."

Brent tightened the bottle’s cap. "You ought to start a religion."

"It’s been done. By that Buddha guy."

Chapter 30

Day 37

Joe straightened and stretched as he exited his small tent. He'd have to build his own hut before winter. Not only for better protection from the expected cold, but also so he could stand up inside instead of crawling.

His tent lay at the northern end of Haven, next to Kristi's herb patch. South of the herbs stood the two large canvas tents, one for Kristi's medical work, the other for their supplies. To the immediate east of these, two communal long huts now housed the children and the Elders. Beyond these, a newly built hut waited for Alta to move in after her coming of age ceremony. They had only finished attaching the last of the roofing reeds that morning. Scattered around these were the other small tents used by Potts, Larry, and Brent. They'd also need to be replaced before winter.

He tucked in his shirt. He'd washed it yesterday and hung it from a makeshift hanger to minimize creases. He wanted to look his best for Alta's ceremony. He shook off a twinge of unease; it seemed premature for someone so young to celebrate becoming an adult. But it was definitely a big deal to her. She had been floating around Haven with a wide smile for the last couple of days.

He picked up a long leather tube and, dodging several running children, made his way to the center of Haven. Next to the fire circle, an open area had been cleared of benches and swept clean of debris. There he found a small depression about two strides long by one wide guarded by Carisa and Gusama. Both looked formidable in their cedar bark shawls adorned with shell beads and feathers. The running children gave them a wide berth. Behind the two Elders lay several folded deer hides and several small pots.

Several of the crude benches had been repositioned around the cleared area and were already partially occupied. Joe claimed a spot next to Brent and stashed his package under the bench. "Now what happens?"

"No clue." Brent looked over his shoulder.

Joe followed his gaze to where Potts was preparing several large kettles of steaming food, helped by Sinta and Levanu. Hatimu fed wood to a newly extended side of the fire ring that contained a dozen or so fist-sized rocks.

"All I know is that Potts is preparing a very large feast." Brent groaned, hands clasped over his stomach. "Unfortunately, I'll probably starve to death before it's served."

The appearance of Tanuhu and Niminu, both dressed in leather singlets decorated with shell beads, distracted Joe from replying to Brent’s uncharacteristic bout of humor. Both elders shuffled their feet in time to Niminu’s rattle as they circled outside the bench area, their rhythmic footfalls probably symbolizing a tactile connection to the earth.

At the cookfire, Potts shooed Sinta toward the benches but he and Levanu remained monitoring his steaming kettles. Across from Potts, Hatimu rose and joined the elder men.

“Here they come,” Brent said.

Alta, followed by Marisa, Sesapa, and Kristi, exited the medical tent. Alta wore her clothes from the ranch: her white blouse, black skirt, and red sandals. Her hair fell in braids on either side of her head. Joe's pulse rose.

"Way cute," Larry whispered.

She was, and not really a child either. This was a different world…

Alta led the procession to the cleared area where Marisa and Sesapa took a position on either side of her. Kristi moved to stand next to Carisa and Gusama.

"We are here today to witness the death of Alta the child and the birth of Alita the woman," Marisa said as her hands undid the snaps and buttons of Alta's blouse and skirt.

Joe sucked in a breath. Alta was naked underneath. A snort from Larry revealed his surprise also.

Marisa chanted.

"The Earth grows our food.

The Earth collects our water.

The Earth receives our dead.

To Earth.

From Earth.

Alta dies."

The men on the outer circle reversed direction. Marisa continued.

"The Earth grows our food.

The Earth collects our water.

The Earth receives our dead.

To Earth.

From Earth.

Alita is born."

Joe told himself he needed to look away, told himself it might be bad luck or rude to do so.

It didn't matter.

He couldn't.

He swallowed, thoughts and images flitting through his head that he banished instantly. She was still a child. A girl… He felt his face burning.

As Sesapa held her clothes, Alta kicked off her sandals and stepped to the edge of the shallow depression in the middle of the cleared area. Kristi picked up one of the deerskins and, shaking it open, laid it over the low spot. Marisa led Alta to the center of the skin and helped her to a reclining position. Kristi lifted another skin and lowered it over Alta. Sesapa picked up one of the clay pots and, circling the skins, tossed handfuls of dirt from her pot over Alta. One after another, the other women hefted their own pots and joined Sesapa in circling the prone woman.

In the outer circle, male voices chanted, "To Earth. From Earth."

Within minutes, a thin layer of soil covered the deerskin. Alta was buried.

The men marching in the outer circle signaled the children to joined them. Hatimu nodded to Joe. He stood and joined the end of the line of children in the outer circle, followed by Larry and Brent.

The inner circle of women stopped but the elder men, children, and Joe and his friends continued moving and chanting. At the cookfire, Potts set bowls on a small camp table.

The elder women surrounded Alta. The outer circle of men and children stopped moving. Hatimu retuned to the cookfire where he shoveled hot stones into one of Potts’s metal buckets.

"Behold Alita, a woman of the village, Haven." Marisa, with one hand holding Canisa for support, leaned over and pulled back the deerskin. Gusama stepped forward and helped Alita rise, the remaining women surrounding the naked Alita. Together, they walked to the newly built sweat hut just a few strides south of Alita's new home. There, Sesapa entered with Alita, leaving the others to stand guard in front of the door skin.

After gesturing to Joe and the others to take seats on the scattered benches, the two remaining elder men followed the women, still shuffling in time to Niminu's rattle, but now circling the sweat hut. Hatimu carried his bucket to the doorway and placed it on the ground in front of the door. Marisa held back the door flap as a hand appeared and pulled the bucket into the hut.

Within a few minutes, tentacles of steam escaped the overlapping skins of the sweat hut. Every few minutes, Hatimu would switch out a bucket of hot stones for cooled ones. Niminu and Tanuhu kept up their shuffling chant as the Elder Women and Kristi guarded the door.

After a quarter hour, the chanting stopped. The women at the doorway held open the door and Alita emerged, still naked, but now glistening with sweat. Kristi opened a bag that had been lying next to the doorway and removed a towel. Once Alita was dry, Kristi pulled out a one-piece leather dress. With the help of Gusama, she slipped it over Alita's head.

One of the women dropped the red sandals on the ground and Alita stepped into them. She stepped forward, and the other women stepped back as she strode with her head high toward the cookfire.

Potts stepped away from the steaming kettles as Alita approached and handed her a large serving spoon.

As Alita served the Elders, Larry leaned toward Joe. "She's the new cook?"

"I'm guessing her serving food is symbolic of her being a supporting member of the village." Images of Alita's naked body kept dancing through Joe's imagination. "I wonder what's done for the boys?" With an effort, he pulled his thoughts away from smooth skin and smoother curves.

She was still a child…

* * *

The sun kissed the hills on the far side of the Susquehanna, casting long shadows in and over Haven.

Joe stood and groaned, wondering why he’d eaten so much. Around him, a few of the children still showed signs of overindulgence. But several had recovered enough to revived a game of hoops and sticks, each team of changing members trying to drive the hoop between opposing goals of upright sticks placed in the open area between Haven and Snake creek. Frequent arguments interrupted their play. It appeared that one of the more contentious rules was no contact between opposing players. Joe grinned. If nothing else, it prepared the children for adult life.

Now freed from her duties of serving food to the villager, Alita sat on one of the camp chairs surrounded by the Elder Women. Sesapa stood behind the chair, combing Alita's long black hair with a bone comb. To one side, Kristi knelt, working on Alita's fingertips with a twenty-first-century nail-clipper.

As the sun disappeared and shadows dimmed, the Elder men formed a line in front of Alita, each carrying a gift.

"I think we're on," Larry said, as he came over to stand next to Joe. "Hope my gift's okay."

"And mine." Joe pulled his package from under a bench and clapped Larry on the shoulder. "Let’s find out."

Followed by the remaining men, Joe joined the elder men waiting to present gifts to Haven's new woman. He shifted to get a view of Alita, who sat regal as a queen on her aluminum and nylon camp chair. No royalty on this continent ever had such a high tech throne.

In a few minutes, the women finished their ministrations and Alita stood. Niminu stepped forward, holding a leather bag decorated with shell beads in one hand. Alita took his empty hand in hers and brought it to her forehead as Kristi accepted the bag and placed it on the now-empty chair.

As Niminu stepped to the side, Hatimu moved forward and gifted Alita with a cedar bark box also decorated with shell beads. Tanuhu advanced next with a rolled up reed mat. The elder women cut in front of Joe and the others in line, approached Alita, and gave her gifts of clay bowls, pots and clothing.

Joe stepped forward and, with some apprehension, slipped the leather cover off an unstrung bow made from Osage Orange. What if she didn't like it? It had seemed like a good idea a couple of weeks ago. Especially after he'd found a broken branch that was both seasoned and thick enough to have sufficient heartwood.

Alita's eyebrows narrowed as Joe held up the bow. But a smile erased the puzzled frown. She took Joe's hand but, instead of bringing to her forehead, she brought it to her cheek. "Thank you. I will practice." As Kristi took the bow from Joe, she winked and smiled. As he moved away to allow Larry to approach, Joe caught a frown on Marisa's face.

He'd take two out of three.

When the last of the gifts had been presented, the elder women and Alita retired to her hut, leaving the men and children to fend for themselves.

"What do you think is going on in there?" Brent nodded toward Alita's hut.

"Sometimes it's best to be ignorant," Joe said as they walked toward the small field below the huts and tents where the younger children resumed playing hoops and sticks. The men paused as Niminu joined them.

"The ceremony was very good." Niminu glanced back to the hut before facing Joe. "I would talk to you alone."

"I will see if the children will let me play." Brent continued toward the game field.

"How can I help you?" Joe asked with what he hoped would pass for a smile. Niminu, being Marisa's husband, was also very traditional. Joe always found himself being a bit nervous when he talked to either.

"Alita is now a woman." Niminu put on his own smile. "My wife is distant blood to Alita. It is my duty to approach a potential husband. The Grandmothers have determined that you are suitable."

Joe froze, mind reeling. Alita a woman? Well, yes, that was for sure. In some ways. But she was still maybe sixteen years old. And the Grandmothers had decided he should be her husband? Deep down inside, a small voice whispered that he agreed with their choice… He silenced the voice and banished the memory of Alta—Alita—rising naked from the skins. "She is…just a girl."

Niminu took a step back. "She is the most eligible woman in our village. Is she not acceptable?"

Joe's eyes wandered. Niminu sounded almost…affronted. And she was a relative. Could he afford to insult them? He shut his mind to that tiny, whispering voice and pretended to survey Haven for threats. The women were still in Alita's hut. Potts sat next to the cookfire talking with Larry. Brent batted a hoop that fell over to the hoots of the children. All appeared normal. He swallowed and turned back to face Niminu. "Alita is most acceptable to me." He took a deep breath. "But in my world, she is still a child, too young."

"I do not understand your ways." Niminu turned and walked away, his expression unreadable.

Joe could only stare at his back.

* * *

Kristi blew out a suppressed sigh as she existed Alita's hut. The Elder women had offered advice to the new woman on sex, babies, and growing food. Some of which Kristi would have to correct before Alita became sexually active. Their advice on how to delay pregnancy was at best wrong. And at worse dangerous. Maybe Brent would know about any clinical effects of the herbs they used. Once she and mister know-it-all identified them.

Levanu looked up with a smile as she approached the fire circle. "How is Alita?"

"Tired and excited." Kristi smiled. "Can I help you to your bed?"

"My wound is healing. But I would enjoy your company."

Kristi helped Levanu stand and they walked toward the tent used by Kristi for her quarters and as a hospital. As they approached, Alita intercepted them. "Kristi, can we talk?" Moisture glistened on her cheeks in the dim light.

"I am good," Levanu said, reaching for the tent's entrance flap.

Kristi threw him a quick smile of thanks and turned to Alita. "Let's walk."

They circled Haven, heading uphill to the cleared area used for archery. Alita silent.

"What is bothering you?" Kristi glanced at Alita's stony expression.

"The Grandmothers chose a mate. But he..." Alita broke into sobs.

Kristi put an arm around her and led her to a bench overlooking the archery range. "Who did the Grandmothers pick?"

"Joe."

Kristi allowed herself a small shake of her head. Well, that was certainly expected. Men could be so blind sometimes. She sat on the thick grass, not yet dewy from the cool evening air, and drew Alita down next to her.

"Am I ugly?" Alita asked in a choked voice.

"You are beautiful. But although Joe is a good man, he is not very…sensitive to the people around him." Kristi stared into the deepening night. "He is an orphan. So he has been alone a lot of his life. And in his—our—previous world, you are considered too young for marriage. He surely was afraid it was not the right thing to do right now."

"But I am now a woman."

"Here you are. But our world requires much learning before our children become adults." Kristi gave Alita a squeeze. "I am not sure whether that is good or bad. It just is."

"Because of your skills and learning?"

"I am glad that you realize that." Kristi paused. Still, what was to be done with Joe? She'd seen the look in his eyes whenever he looked at Alita. "Joe needs time to adjust to this world. Then he will see that it is the right thing for you, and for him. Can you give him that time?"

"I can."

Chapter 31

Day 39

Joe raised one arm then another, loosening tired muscles, and looked toward the river. He smiled as he watched several of the children working with one of the horses. Brent had them leading Flicker around, getting them used to communicating with the animal using body language. Impatient as he could sometimes be with humans, the guy had a knack with animals.

"Real good to watch the kids, aye?" Larry's adze scraped along a crossbeam, shaving down a high spot. The tower was almost complete, lacking only a few remaining floor planks and part of the railing for the lookout perch. Above him, Matu lashed a bundle of reeds to the roofing beams.

"What about some sort of barrier?" Larry asked. "Don't want to fall off in the middle of the night."

"It would take forever to split planks for walls.” Joe ran his hand along the rough railing. “I saw Sesapa weaving what looked like fish net. Maybe..."

"I'll ask her."

Joe glanced at Larry, but the big man kept his eyes on his adze.

As Joe turned back to his end of the beam, movement along the path to Haven caught his eye. "Got company." Joe pointed back at the rebuilt village. "I think that's Marisa."

"That's one scary old woman." Larry's adze peeled another slice from a high point on the beam. "I'm ready for that next floor plank."

The rough board had just been muscled into place when Marisa reached them. "Morning greetings." The elder woman looked up and slowly shook her head. "You are birds today?"

"Morning greetings to you, Grandmother." Joe smiled. "No, we just want to see what the bird sees."

"I search for Kristi. She planned to hunt for herbs with me this morning." The elder looked east. "Up into the northern branch of the valley."

"I have not seen Sky Goddess this day," Matu said from his perch.

Marisa looked up and frowned. "You should not insult the gods, child."

"I am almost a warrior."

"That you are." Joe turned to Marisa. "And I think your gods would not fault a child. But I haven't seen Kristi." Joe looked at the sun. Almost noon. "When were you to meet her?"

"At sunrise."

"I didn't see her this morning." Larry grunted. “Or last evening.”

"Last time I saw her was yesterday at lunch,” Joe said. “Heard her say something about Levanu and exercise. Was late for dinner, so I didn’t notice she wasn’t around." He dropped his hammer and started climbing down the ladder. "I'll look around for her."

"Joe, over there." Larry pointed to the south. "East. Downriver. Half a mile along the river trail. I see two horses approaching the garden clearing. With empty saddles."

"Matu, keep watch." Joe scurried down the remaining section of ladder and ran, Larry's heavy footfalls behind him.

Within minutes, they reached the river trail and slowed.

Talking in a soft voice, Joe approached the horses and took hold of their reins. One was Sweetpea, Kristi's usual mount. The other was Bitchess, one of the older mares. Levanu had been learning to ride on her. Joe handed the second horse’s reins to Larry.

Sweetpea flicked her ears at the sound of approaching hooves. Brent appeared, halting his horse next to Joe. "I saw you guys running." Brent looked at Sweetpea. "Where's Kristi?"

Joe looked back along the trail. They were at the eastern edge of the riverside clearing, about half a mile from the lookout tower. Two miles to the east, and just past the abandoned Two Valleys village, the river cut between the middle ridge and the river into the next valley.

"Don’t know." Joe mounted Sweetpea. “Let’s go.”

"Easy girl," Larry said over the creak of the leather saddle as he hauled himself onto Bitchess.

Joe nudged Kristi's mare east, following their fresh tracks. Within minutes they passed the remains of the village of Spring Fish. Ahead, the trail narrowed as it approached the broken edge of the river-cut ridge. A small path forked off the main trail and lead to the river. Recent prints followed it.

As they neared the water, a flash of color brought Joe to a stop. A red blanket lay on a bed of moss under a fat oak with a trunk as wide as an outstretched arm.

"Damn." Joe dismounted. Prints. Kristi's boots marks. Many different moccasins. Kristi's jacket hung on a low branch. Joe lifted the jacket aside. Under it hung her gun belt.

"Shit." Brent's face drained of color.

Joe dropped the jacket on the blanket and tried to make sense of the tracks. Total confusion around the blanket. But multiple prints converged out of the surrounding forest. And more traveled down the path. Joe followed.

The path ended in a small sandy backwash. Footprints radiated outwards. But all returned along the path. Joe stepped into the water and looked back at the shoreline, sickness weighing down his stomach. Two canoe skid marks bruised the riverside vegetation, the edges of the disturbed sand and soil already dry and crumbling. They had left yesterday evening.

"Joe?" Larry stood next to Brent at the edge of the water. Both looked at him with the wide eyes of lost children.

Joe glanced once more downstream. The heaviness threatened to overwhelm him. But there was no choice about what they had to do. Only the how.

He looked at his friends. "We ride in an hour. We'll cross the river to Two Ribs and follow the trail on the west side of the river. We know it better. We'll need guns, food and water, and a spare horse each. Plus one each for Kristi and Levanu." He paused, staring directly at Larry. "Maybe two spares for you. You'll want Mojo to be fresh when we get there. Any extra armor?"

"Lighter stuff. Just leather. Maybe enough for another horse."

"Put it on Flicker." Joe took one last look at the empty water. "Potts and Alita will have to take the kids up into the hills. The elders will probably want to stay in Haven. We'll leave Samatu chained up with them. And fence the remaining horses in one of the eastern pastures."

"Sesapa?" Larry asked.

"With Potts. And we better take Nikaku along with us to watch the extra horses when we get there. Wherever that ends up being." Joe slogged out of the water. "Help me pick up Kristi's stuff. Then let's move."

* * *

"I'll take the next watch." Joe wiped his hands on his jeans. Dinner had been jerky and a few of the remaining energy bars.

"Works for me." Larry kept his eyes on the flickering fire. "Still not sure about this fire."

"It'd be all right if it draws attention." Brent's voice carried around the old oak. He was out of sight of the fire to maintain his night vision. "I'm up for a little conversation with those white clay characters."

Nikaku sat silent, the young warrior’s face alternating between terror and pride.

Joe held his face in his hands. "Damn, everything has gone to shit."

"Hey, up until this happened, I was having a ball." Larry frowned, his strained face further contorted by the flickering fire. "Well, except for the dead bodies." He glanced at Nikaku.

"As Potts would say when he's off on that Buddhist stuff, we're all dead eventually." A yawn slipped through the night from behind the oak. "Why don't you guys try to get some sleep? The sooner you do, the sooner I can wake you to spell me."

"Tomorrow?" Larry shifted his frame lower to the ground and leaned against his saddle.

"We'll keep close to the river." Joe unrolled his blanket and readjusted his saddle. "With an eye on the other bank. As far as I can tell, the trail is better on this side. I'm hoping that's to our advantage."

"Any more thoughts on how far we'll hafta go?"

"Brent, how far to Chesapeake Bay?"

"About a hundred miles. Maybe less."

"What was that fancy plan again?" Larry pulled a wool blanket from his saddlebag and flicked it over his torso.

Joe leaned back on his saddle and adjusted his own blanket. "I don't think we'll be able to negotiate." He shifted, moving his hip off a root. "Depends on what we find. The default plan is to try for surprise. I'll take two spare horses and try to get to Kristi and Levanu. The remaining horses and supplies we'll leave with Nikaku." Joe nodded to Nikaku and shifted his gaze to Larry. "You and Brent cover me while I free them. Assume that we won't have time to reload, so make every shot count. If there's more warriors than bullets, we die."

Joe met Nikaku's eyes. "In the latter case, you get your ass back to Haven and let Potts know what happened. From then on, your job is to protect the kids." The hollowness in his core turned into physical pain. "And Alita."

Nikaku just nodded, eyes a little wider, back a little straighter.

"I'll go over Kristi's pistol with Nikaku again tomorrow," Brent said. "I'll load it with .38s instead of the magnums. Less recoil for him to deal with."

After a few minutes of silence, Brent asked, "So, besides wishing we had brought more firepower, any new thoughts on this crossover thing?"

Joe hesitated. There was the one glaring anomaly. It couldn't possibly be connected but his friends deserved to make up their own minds. Especially now. "After my interview with the Sheriff, he asked it I knew anything about Medicine Elders across North America dying in an apparent ceremony. He was wondering if my experience saving Alta—Alita—could be related." Joe looked at Brent, and then Larry. "I told him that nothing I saw seemed connected to their deaths."

“Anything else?” Brent asked.

“I did have a couple of dreams about an older man, maybe a Medicine Elder, babbling about a ‘path’.”

“Could he have been one of the dead men from Alita’s village?”

“No, he was wearing glasses.” Joe glanced at Larry. Both eyebrows were raised. “Wire rimmed.”

No one spoke for many minutes.

Larry broke the silence. "So, if we ignore common sense, we're here because a bunch of dead old men wanted us to be?"

"I would claim that, given the past month or so, common sense is not something we should rely upon," Brent said.

"It's too crazy." Joe slowly shook his head. Maybe they were all losing it.

"Ain't too crazy to connect way crazy events." Larry's hand snaked out from under his blanket and loosened his sword in its scabbard. "Remind me to make you guys some real weapons when I get my forge together."

Joe lay awake for a long time.

Chapter 32

Day 44

Joe rode up as Larry's blade slid out of the white clay sentry's chest. Blood welled then stopped.

They were in a small clearing at the top of a hill. The trail continued downhill in and out of a thick forest and behind a smaller hill. A mile on, a village occupied the area to the right of the river’s mouth. The expanse of water beyond glimmered in the afternoon sun.

Larry wiped the blade on the long grass and sheathed it. "What do ya see?"

Joe raised the binoculars to his eyes. "Hard to tell through the trees, but I think the other sentry is halfway down the hill. Maybe a quarter mile." He shifted his gaze. "Most of the village occupies the land next to the river but extends along the bay. Most activity is centered on what looks like ceremonial poles at the center of the village. I'm guessing that's where we'll find Kristi and Levanu."

"Movement below us." Larry swung up onto Mojo and pointed down the hill.

Joe shifted his binoculars again. “Another man. No, two men joined the sentry. Now one is running down the trail.”

"Plan?" Brent pulled up beside Joe. Behind him, Nikaku entered the clearing, leading the spare horses.

"We need to get to those poles." Joe slipped the binoculars into his saddlebag. His heart pounded. "Brent, you lead with that AR. Larry, next. Rifle or sword." He looked at his friends. "At least two warriors on the trail below us. There may be others. Ready?"

Brent slid his hand under the boiled leather hides that covered Flicker's neck and scratched her. He raised one eyebrow toward Joe.

Larry adjusted a strap securing the armor that covered Mojo's shoulders and withers then looked up and nodded.

"I'll follow with two of the spare horses." Joe paused and looked back at the village. "No, best only take one. It'll be too chaotic leading two in those close quarters. I'll get Kristi mounted and put Levanu behind me. The horses are going to be spooked so I may need help." He resisted the urge to shake his head at this shit plan. "Then we go home."

Joe looked over his left shoulder toward Nikaku and held out his left hand. The young warrior nudged his horse forward and handed Joe the lead rope to Kristi's horse, keeping the horse meant for Levanu along with the spares. Joe twisted in his saddle and held out his right hand.

Nikaku's eyebrows narrowed for a heartbeat before he nodded and grasped Joe's hand with his own.

Larry maneuvered Mojo to the other side of the young warrior to also shake the youth's hand. Then moved out of the way to allow Brent his turn.

Joe checked his pistol. "Let's do this." He nudged Snark forward, left hand holding the lead rope of Kristi's horse out to the side.

In a heartbeat, Brent galloped down the trail, followed by Larry.

They were at a dead run as they approached the two warriors. The nearest raised his club. Two sharp cracks echoed through the landscape and they both fell.

The trail curved through the trees, following the hilly terrain. They passed several burned huts. As he moved into the flatter land near the river, Joe slowed. Ahead, the trail split into two paths into the village. A line of a dozen or so warriors stood side by side across the larger left path into the village.

Brent started to turn to the other path.

Joe's eyes flicked back and forth between the two paths. Too easy. "No," Joe yelled.

Brent swerved back toward the warriors, his AR15 up and stitching death. The line of men dissolved, several bodies staggering or twitching on the ground, others breaking to run. Sword out, Larry slowed to cut down any remaining obstacles. Joe rode unhindered into the village following Brent and Larry, now side by side.

Huts swept past. A woman's face appeared in a doorway and vanished. A dog charged from the left. Flicker ran him down. A body flashed to the right. Larry swung. The body fell with a cry from Larry.

The ceremonial poles appeared. A dozen warriors had formed a line in front. From the right, a larger number of warriors appeared. The other path had been a trap.

Brent swerved toward the larger group of warriors, leaving Larry to rush the men in front of the poles. Joe followed Larry, right hand on his reins, left still leading Kristi's horse.

The warriors fell or scattered before Larry's attack, revealing two bodies leaning against upright poles, hands tied above their heads. Joe pulled up before the poles as Larry circled, his slashing sword keeping the warriors at bay.

Kristi was naked, body smeared with mud or blood. Levanu slumped from a pole a few yards away, something dangling from around his waist. Kristi raised her head and looked at Joe with blood-shot eyes.

Joe slid off Snark, transferring both reins to his left hand. Fighting the agitated horses, he pulled out his knife and slashed her bonds. She collapsed. He resheathed the knife and stooped to get his right arm under Kristi. A hand appeared, grabbing the reins. Brent's.

Joe lifted Kristi to her feet with both hands. "You need to get on Sweetpea." At the horse's name, Kristi blinked, her eyes focusing. Joe moved around Snark and hefted Kristi onto Sweetpea and faced Brent. "Take her."

Joe turned to untie Levanu. And froze. Levanu's abdomen was sliced open, intestines spewing onto the ground. Levanu raised his head, mouth open wide in a silent scream.

A shot cracked and Levanu's head jerked. Brent sat frozen on Flicker, AR at his shoulder, eyes streaming tears.

Joe gasped a breath. "Get her out of here."

As Joe grabbed Snark's reins, Brent shouted, "Behind you." Joe leaped forward, turning to put his back against Snark, and clawed the rifle out of its scabbard. He faced rushing warriors.

Brent's AR spat. Two of the warriors fell, their screams adding to the cacophony of chaos.

Joe got his rifle up. Fired. One warrior collapsed backwards. Two more lifted and swung clubs. Joe blocked the right club with the rifle, the impact knocking him back against Snark. The horse shifted and Joe lost his balance. As he hit the ground, a frantic hoof knocked the rifle from his hand. Joe scuttled backwards, dodging another hoof. He shifted onto his left side and drew his revolver. Two white clay faces loomed above him. He fired. And again.

Another club appeared. Steel flashed and the club fell to the side, a dismembered hand still clutching its handle.

"Joe." A metal clad forearm appeared.

Joe grabbed the hand and felt his arm jerked upwards. Crashing onto Mojo's back, Joe scrambled to get his leg across the horse, and the revolver slipped from his grip. He clutched Larry’s steel armor. "Go."

The edges of the armor cut into Joe's fingers as Mojo bolted.

More warriors appeared on either side of Mojo. Larry's sword flashed. Joe hung on with his left hand and drew Larry's pistol with his right. He twisted and fired to the left. Larry continued swinging on the right. Warriors parted, some fleeing.

A flash. A spear sprouted from Larry's shoulder, and he shuddered under Joe's hand. They were at the edge of the village. Ahead, Brent led Kristi's horse.

Snark appeared beside them as they fled.

At the top of the hill, Brent pulled up and slid to the ground. He lifted the AR to his shoulder and, with a face now naked of emotion, picked off the braver of the pursuers one by one.

Nikaku appeared with the spare horses.

Leaving Larry leaning against Mojo’s neck, Joe slipped from Larry’s horse. He pulled a jacket from his horse’s saddlebags and helped Kristi off her horse and into it. Some blood but mostly dirt. Her skin was pale and she shook. Shock. "Kristi, I need your help. Larry's wounded."

"On the ground," she whispered through shuddering breaths.

Joe signaled Nikaku and, with his help, lowered the swaying man to the ground. Joe steadied the spear shaft and Nikaku held Larry's shoulder as Kristi dug her fingers in between the plates of the armor. In a few minutes, she had the spear point out. Blood gushed, and then subsided. Larry's eyes were wide. "It was just a kid," he said over and over again. He seemed oblivious to his shoulder.

Joe tore strips from his blanket and helped Kristi's shaking hands form a bandage and stuff it under the armor.

"I think you'd better go." Brent grabbed a handful of shells from his vest pocket and started filling one of his empty magazines.

"We all go." Joe helped Larry stand and turned to face Brent. "Haven needs you." Joe looked down the hill where warriors swarmed, keeping to the trees and off the open trail. "They won't catch up."

Brent stared at Joe, his face impassive. After several seconds, he nodded.

Joe helped a muttering Larry mount Mojo as Nikaku assisted Kristi.

They rode.

* * *

Tork smiled at the dejected postures of his warriors. His surviving warriors. The demons had swept through them like a knife through a young sacrifice. But not because of their power or their speed. Their weapons held the power. And their deer-like animals provided the speed.

His core warriors, the Skullmen, had not been present. Divided into small groups, they had been visiting local villages along the Salt Waters, insuring tribute and children. They would return soon. This disaster wouldn't have occurred if they had been here. But out of failure rose knowledge. He now knew the source of the strangers' power.

He studied the hard objects in his left hand. They were smooth like the copper pebbles from the land beyond Three Rivers that his best workers pounded into knapping tools. But these were much harder.

He looked down at the weapons that lay on a skin at his feet. He had observed with wonder the power of these weapons. Now he had two. The smaller had been held with one hand. The long one with two hands. He had moved the hard narrow fingers on the long weapon as he had seen the strangers do. But nothing happened.

He flexed his right hand. When he had moved the narrow finger of the smaller weapon, the thunder and lightning had thrown the hard stone into a nearby water pot, shattering it into many pieces.

Tork rolled one of the small objects in his hand with his fingers. Several of these had fallen from the long weapon. Almost like small containers of magic. But empty. More could be seen in the shorter weapon. Some of them still contained the hard rock. He must obtain more. And their war animals.

"What are your orders?" Nist appeared at his side, face frozen against the pain of his head wound. His faithful companion had led the common warriors in spite of the lightning wound in his left arm. Only to be fallen by the black demon. He no longer bled and would heal to fight again. Perhaps the demon’s glancing blow had been a gift from the gods. It kept him alive to fight another day.

To fight with their new knowledge.

"Find those who fled and assemble the rest for a Judgment Circle." Tork gazed upriver. “First I will deal with the cowards. Then, when the Skullmen return, I will send some of them upriver to study these demons.”

“Study?”

“I want their knowledge before I destroy them.” Tork grinned as he held out his hand holding an empty container of magic. “But they will also free Samatu and obtain these.”

Nist's face broke into a smile.

Chapter 33

Day 49

Joe shifted his arm in a vain attempt to find a position that didn't throb. He hadn't even realized that his left arm had been sliced open until hours after the rescue. Kristi had roused herself from a silent isolation to stitch it the first night of the return journey.

"How the fuck did we survive?" Larry's chair groaned as the big man leaned back, tilting against his right side, his left shoulder thick with bandages.

"Levanu didn't," said Brent. The man's face twisted in pain even though he was the only one without an injury. His impassive demeanor had collapsed during the first evening of their return journey.

Joe looked up at his friends. The flickering flames exaggerated the strained faces. They had reached Haven at twilight, wounded and exhausted after a five-day ride. Too spent for sleep, they sat at the fire circle, staring into the flames.

"And I killed another kid." Larry's voice, barely a whisper, cut through the night.

"He was young but not a kid." Joe took a deep breath. "He was at most a year or two younger than Samatu and would have happily killed you."

Larry didn't move or answer.

"Any problems along the way down or back?" Potts stood, picked up the coffee pot, and filled Joe's cup.

“We only found three villages along the river that were still inhabited. Each next to rapids. Probably part of the river trade system and left intact by Tork to help move canoes and goods through the whitewater.”

"Any of Tork's people there?"

"Didn't see any. And with Larry in the lead and Brent behind us, the villagers scattered. Both ways."

Potts gestured to Larry and Brent with the pot. Both looked up at the movement but didn't acknowledge him. Potts raised an eyebrow at Hatimu who shook his head and remained silent.

"The important thing is that you guys made it back." Potts set the coffee pot down on one of the rocks that encircled the fire. "Back to the children." He glanced at the huts where the children were sleeping—or pretending to sleep. He grimaced. "Focus on that."

Larry stirred. Sighed. Winced at the movement.

Alita walked into the firelight. She wore her .22 revolver at her waist, the heavy gun belt cinched tight around her narrow waist. "I gave Kristi one of the sleeping pills. And changed her bandages. She's sleeping." She looked over her shoulder. "I also gave Canisa a pill."

Alita hesitated, a tear leaving a trail on her cheek. “Canisa took the bed next to Kristi’s and fell asleep holding her hand.”

Joe glanced past Alita to the large tent where Kristi and Levanu's mother slept fitfully, but at least it was sleep.

Joe blew out a breath and nodded to Alita. "Thanks." She had been a very adept student. Now she was the caretaker. A small smile crossed her face before she lowered her eyes.

"I checked on Samatu." Alita's face twisted into a frown. "He still refuses to believe that Levanu was tortured. I think he and Levanu were becoming friends." She glanced toward the hut where Samatu was chained. "He asked again to be freed."

"Not a good topic." Joe glanced at Larry, who continued to glare into the fire. "I'll talk to him tomorrow. Maybe figure out more about this Tork guy."

"I'm remembering something odd." Brent raised his head. His face was still twisted in pain, but his eyes narrowed in concentration.

"When I was leaving, I had Kristi on her horse." He took a trembling breath. "I glanced around. One warrior was standing to the inland side of the village by one of the still standing huts. He was just watching. I've been playing it over and over in my head. Why he just watched."

"What did he look like?" Joe asked.

"He was a large man. With white clay on his face." Brent closed his eyes, looking somewhere else. "But he had more than just the two strips of his warriors. Or the full-face paint worn by a couple of the warriors we had run into before. This man also had white clay markings on his arms. Stripes. Possibly simulating bones?"

"I'll ask Samatu tomorrow."

"Joe," Alita said.

Joe raised an eyebrow.

"Kristi said something as her spirit went to sleep. Mostly she repeated Levanu’s name. But she also said other words." She nodded to Brent. "Maybe something to do with the man with the clay on his body. Something about most of the warriors being sent off. Called them 'Skullmen'."

"More questions for our young prisoner.” Joe nodded to Alita then glanced in the direction of the tower. “But I'd best relieve Niminu. Potts, you still going to be up to relieve me in a few hours?"

He nodded and Joe rose.

"Take this." Brent held out his gun belt.

"Thanks." Joe grimaced. The loss of his rifle and handgun had been a serious blow.

Brent rose. "I should check on the horses."

Alita rose also. "I will return to Kristi. I want to be there if she wakes."

* * *

Once Joe and Brent disappeared into the darkness, Larry slammed his right fist into his left hand. And winced as the movement pulled at the stitches in his shoulder. "What the hell should we do now? Kristi's way messed up. Brent's practically a basket case. And all of Joe's plans are fucked."

"They're here because they wanted to be." Potts reached out and laid a hand on Larry's good shoulder. "We make choices. Sometimes they're not much more than a dice roll." He dropped his hand and looked at the village. "And regardless of all the philosophy, we got a job to do."

"I joined this cluster fuck to help Alita." Larry paused. "And maybe to make up for some past stuff."

Both men jerked as a log snapped, adding a shower of sparks to the glow of the fire. On the other side of the fire circle, Hatimu slept.

"And now what? Am I just one of Joe's guns? What would your Buddha guy say about that?"

"We want everything to be perfect. That's human. But life isn't. That's reality." Potts turned to look at his friend.

"So we shouldn't want? Just give up?"

"I didn't say to give up. Just reject the wanting part." Potts gazed at the fire.

Larry grimaced at a low cry from one of the huts. One of the children was probably having a nightmare. He sighed; this whole thing was a nightmare. But, regardless of any bullshit philosophy, the children needed them.

And he needed to show the kids everything he knew to help them survive whatever shit hit them in the future.

Potts added wood to the fire. "Life is pain. But we continue. It's the only thing we have. We find peace in simple living. Maybe we never get there. But if we're human, we try."

"That's not very comforting."

Chapter 34

Day 50

Joe watched Alita fill a bowl with breakfast porridge and walk toward Kristi's tent. He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath. Opened them as he forced air back into his lungs.

Larry strode into the gathered breakfast crowd. “Brent’s on. Quiet.” He accepted a bowl from Potts and scooped stew into it. "Thanks for breakfast."

The cook nodded. "Getting short on spices. Looking forward to the herb garden."

"They're gonna come for us." Larry sat on one of the benches and stirred his breakfast, tracing the same circle over and over again. "Should we move on?" he asked, glancing at Joe.

Joe stared at his own bowl as the contents cooled. "Crops are sprouting." He looked across the fire circle where Marisa and Niminu sat eating. Behind them, Hatimu sat in one of the camp chairs. "I don't think the elders would move again."

Niminu glanced up, face impassive. Marisa stared at her bowl. Hatimu cleared his throat. "Much time and hard work to clear land. Away from Tork, all cleared land occupied."

"Can't run." Joe glanced around the fire circle. Several of the younger children looked up, eyes watching from worried faces. Two of the older boys, Matu and Daru, frowned. "Look, we're vulnerable from attack from all directions. But we have mobility with the horses in the cleared areas, and we have firepower. But we need to get working on that fort. We need it to protect the kids, the elders, and the valuable stuff."

"I want them to come." Matu's voice shook. "So I can kill them." His mouth formed a thin line. Muscles in his cheek twitched.

"If they come, we will protect ourselves." Joe glanced from Matu to Hatimu. The old war leader slowly shook his head. "But to protect his village, a warrior sometimes must avoid a fight."

Hatimu nodded once.

Larry paused, spoon in the air. "What of the river?"

"The clearing at the mouth of Snake Creek funnels any river attack directly into Haven. That's the most likely route of any attack.” Joe shifted in his chair to gaze in the direction of the Susquehanna, images forming in his head. “Although past burns would probably make detouring through the trees almost as easy as a direct assault through the clearings." Maybe? "What's the first thing we have to do when we drop a tree?"

Larry drew back his head, eyebrows narrowing. "Huh?"

"We clear branches starting from the root end. The branches spread out from the trunk and away from the root end. It's almost impossible to work your way down the trunk from the tip."

Larry's eyebrows remained narrowed for several seconds. Then his face relaxed into a feral grin. "You're thinking of a barrier of downed trees, tips toward the river, all along the clearings?"

"I wouldn't want to work my way through trees from that direction if the trees were close together." Joe sat a little straighter. "And if we widen the river trail into more of a road, the horses would be more effective." He looked around Haven. "But let's get a stockade up first." His eyes fell on Larry. “After we heal a bit.”

"Damn." Larry shook his head. "There goes my vacation."

* * *

Kristi opened her eyes at the sound of her name. Sesapa sat in one of the camp chairs on the right side of Kristi's cot, head facing the tent door flap. On the left, a second cot held a sleeping Canisa.

"Kristi?" Alita pulled the flap back and peered in. "I have breakfast."

"Come in." Claustrophobia crowded Kristi as Alita entered and knelt between the two cots. Why wouldn't these people leave her alone? Let her grieve her pain and loss in private.

"Please eat." Alita held up a steaming bowl and a spoon.

The odor of cinnamon and nutmeg stung her nostrils. Potts must have broken into his dwindling supply of spices. A faint stirring of hunger broke through the pain. Kristi sat up, the sheet dropping, exposing the fading bruises on her arms and ribs.

"Please eat," Alita said again.

"Thanks." Kristi accepted the bowl with her left hand and winced as she took the spoon with her right. A dull ache sliced through her right arm.

"Do you want me to feed you?" Alita's face twisted into sadness.

"I can do it. It’s just a bit sore."

Suppressing a grunt, she swung her legs over the side of the cot and sat upright. After a few bites, she forced a smile. "This is really good. Please give my thanks to Potts."

As she ate, Kristi stole glances at the women with her. Sesapa had lost a husband and child. Alita, both her parents and many relatives. Canisa, everyone. But they were enduring. Could she? Images of Levanu hanging from a pole, his abdomen cut open, played across her mind. She shook herself. She wouldn’t let the monsters continue affecting her life. But, given the chance, she’d end theirs. An ember of hate formed and grew. She closed her eyes, thinking of Tork’s grin and laughter. Her hands shook. The bowl fell to the ground.

“What is wrong?” Alita’s voice broke through her rage.

Kristi froze. She took a long breath, let it out and opened her eyes to see Alita’s concerned look. Behind her, Sesapa’s hand touched her shoulder.

“Sorry,” Kristi whispered as she reached out and took Alita’s hand. Sesapa’s reached her and covered both their hands. Warmth radiated from the contact. Was this what family felt like?

* * *

"The man with white on his arms and legs?" Joe asked.

"Only Tork wears white clay on his arms and legs." Samatu stared at the cut grasses that covered the medical tent’s floor.

"Is he the leader?"

"He is a great leader." Samatu's eyes challenged Joe. "He will unite all the lands of the Great River and the Salt Waters."

"Brent said he saw this man just watching. Not attacking." Joe kept his eyes on the young warrior. "Why did he just watch?"

"It is not my place to question the actions of Tork."

Favoring his injured left arm, Joe slowly lowered himself to the ground in front of Samatu. "How is your leg?"

Samatu’s eyebrows furrowed at the change in subject. After a long minute, his face reverted to neutral. "It is much stronger. The Sky Goddess is a great healer." He broke off to gaze at one wall of the tent, beyond which lay Kristi's quarters.

Chapter 35

Day 52

"Joe." A voice broke through a confusion of bodies, some dead, some alive. Joe rolled on his side, peering at the dim morning light back lighting a large dark face peering through the tent's doorway.

"We're fucked." The voice was Larry's. "Samatu escaped. He took the guns."

* * *

Matu held out his hand for the reins as Joe dismounted with deliberate movements. "Thanks." Joe managed something that maybe resembled a smile. The children were really doing well with the horses. He'd have to keep an eye on the pecking order. The older boys were dominating the handling of the animals.

"What did you find?" Potts handed Joe a cup. "This is the last of the coffee."

"Canoe skid marks." Joe winced as he started to stretch out his left hand. He twisted slightly and grabbed the cup with his right hand. "Thanks."

Joe sat and regarded his companions. Kristi sat in one of the camp chairs, blanket draped around her against the morning cold. Canisa occupied the chair next to her, silent in her support. Alita stood on Kristi's other side, prodding her to eat. She had only yesterday started joining the village for meals.

Potts squatted by the fire, tending the coffee pot. Larry occupied another of the camp chairs, elbows propped on his knees, scowling into the fire. Around them sat the elders and children, silent and watching.

Joe sipped at his coffee. "Looks like he had help. Brent and me found one set of muddy prints heading toward the village from the boat. Two sets returning. Hard to tell how old, maybe six hours or so. The sun hit them before we got there."

Kristi gave a little groan. Covered her face with one hand. "While..." Her voice broke. She sucked in a shuddering breath. "During the torture of Levanu, I revealed to Tork that Samatu was alive and a captive." She looked up at Joe. "I'm sorry. He probably sent his warriors up to get him." She stared into the fire, red shadows playing off her tight face. “And Samatu probably knows how to use the guns.” Kristi looked at the ground again. “From observing while I taught Levanu.”

Joe leaned past Canisa, placed his hand on Kristi’s shoulder, but withdrew as she flinched.

"Let us go back to your tent." Alita helped Kristi rise. Together they walked toward Kristi's hut, Canisa following.

Joe stared at the fire, avoiding the eyes of his companions. He hadn’t dealt with Samatu’s presence and he'd agreed to Brent's idea of a central location for the weapons. So this disaster was really his fault.

"The chain?" Potts broke the silence after several minutes.

"We gave him too much slack. His helper probably just muscled them off his leg. The links are a bit bloody. He left a lot of skin, but probably no real harm done."

"This boat thing." Larry broke his brooding. "We need to build some boats. Fast boats." He gazed toward the river. "Something we can get around the rocks and through any rapids."

Joe looked at Larry. His friend hadn't said a thing about Samatu escaping. Didn't do the 'I told you so' thing, not even once.

Hatimu walked into the flickering light of the cookfire and sat on one of the benches. He held an atlatl in his right hand and several darts in his left. "We have these." He held them out to Joe.

"Would you be interested in learning how to use a bow and arrows?" Joe hefted the spear thrower.

"Bent sticks and short darts are for children."

"How do you hunt deer?"

"The children..." Hatimu choked. After a several breaths he continued, "The young ones drive the animals into the hunting field. Only one entrance. Less chance of injured animals escaping."

"Must be hard to hunt that way in the snow moons," Potts said.

"We store dried fish for those times." A small smile erased a few of Hatimu's wrinkles. "But fish loses taste after many moons of snow."

"We will try your atlatl and darts." Joe sighted down one of the darts. No curve marred its almost man-long length. Fletched with wild turkey feathers and tipped with finely knapped chert, it could bring down a mastodon if his old anthropology texts were correct. But only if one hit it.

"And we will try your bent sticks."

"Joe." Alita's voice interrupted Joe's response. She walked into the circle of chairs, her leather holster in her hands. "Samatu forgot about my gun." She held it out to him.

A small part of the ice in his gut melted as Joe set the atlatl and darts aside and accepted her Ruger revolver. "Thanks. This is great." It was small caliber but had great accuracy. They were down to three guns: this small target pistol plus the rifle and revolver that Brent had had with him while on watch. Four if one bothered to count the flintlock.

Joe turned toward the river. Brent had returned to the watchtower after they'd realized that Samatu was long gone. Taking a second shift so he could privately crucify himself for not detecting his escape. But it had been a moonless night. Zoey hadn't even raised an alarm. She knew Samatu. And from the splattered mud around the intruder's prints, the warrior had probably been covered in mud to mask his scent.

"Ammunition?" Joe asked Alita.

"I have all the small cartridges. I took them back to my hut. I wanted to count them." Her face lit with a brief smile. Then she looked down.

"That's a relief." He glanced toward Kristi's hut. Alita had been working with Kristi on not only medicine but also numbers.

Joe pulled the target plinker out of its leather holster. Alita's counting practice meant that they still had almost a thousand .22 long rifle rounds. He glanced out at the watchtower. But they only had a few dozen shells for the Winchester. Less for the Smith and Wesson revolver. Just what Brent had in his pocket last night.

And they had Brent's flintlock pistol. And about a pound of gunpowder. It was good for one shot. Maybe a second if they had time to reload it.

Joe holstered the Ruger, set it down, and picked up the atlatl. How could arrows and darts help when they next encountered Tork?

Chapter 36

Day 57

"We are gathered to honor Samatu." Tork nodded at Samatu. His wide smile contrasted with the hard gleam in his eyes. "Nist, please prepare the Skullman face."

"Turn toward me, Son." Nist reached down and picked up a red clay bowl filled with a white paste. He dipped one finger in the pounded mixture of white clay and bear fat and drew it across his son's forehead. Another line was drawn beneath that one.

Samatu held his body rigid. His pride swelled. The Skullmen were Tork's personal guard. Only the bravest of warriors joined that rank.

Nist worked his finger down the sides of Samatu's face. As he worked, Samatu felt his father's fingers trace the outlines of his skull, signifying death. He would be one of Tork's warriors of death.

In a few minutes, his father had finished. He placed the bowl on the ground and looked at Tork. "I present Samatu. A Skullman."

"Stand," said Tork. "Tell of your gift of these lightning weapons."

Samatu stood. He stood in the middle of the ceremonial poles. About him were the Tork's personal warriors, the Skullmen. Beyond them were the regular warriors, men assimilated from the conquered tribes, wearing only two white slashes on their faces.

"The outsiders are men. Not demons." A twinge of betrayal swept through Samatu. They had healed him. Treated him with respect. "Their power is in these lightning weapons. The weapons are in two parts."

Samatu described how the long and short hard hollow reeds held the magic containers. He explained that the containers contained a small stone and the thunder and lightning that threw that stone through the reed. He demonstrated loading and unloading, repeating the actions he had seen in Haven. He ignored the AR weapon that Brent used, not understanding its operation.

"There are no more magic containers in this land." He pointed at the leather bags containing the ammunition for the rifles, revolvers and AR. "The outsiders brought them from another world." He glanced at Tork. "They don't know how to return."

At a nod from Tork, Samatu sat, any thoughts of betrayal swamped by pride in Tork's expression of approval.

"Yes, the outsiders are men." Tork stood and looked at his warriors. "When they attacked more than two hands ago, they bled. They only succeeded because of these weapons. They will not succeed again."

"Tork, Tork!" The warriors pounded the butts of their clubs on the ground.

Tork grinned at Samatu. "We learned from the woman stranger that you were still alive. She was weak. Ready to talk when we gutted the warrior named Levanu." He laughed. "She cried when I entered her. Cried more when Nist enjoyed her."

The warriors joined in Tork's laughter.

Samatu felt a coldness spread through his torso. Levanu tortured? Kristi raped? She had healed him.

Tork held up his hand to quiet his men. "Samatu was very clever to insist to not only take the lightning weapons but also the magic containers when Husatu and Muloku freed him." His smile faded as he faced Samatu. "To complete the binding of your life to that of a Skullman, we will feast. But first is the sacrificial taking of a life."

Tork held out one of the rifles to Samatu. "You have described the use of this weapon. Now demonstrate its power."

Samatu took the weapon as sweat beaded on his face.

Tork signaled to his men. Those in front of the poles parted. Two others dragged a body to the central pole and tied it upright.

Samatu looked at the body. It was a young woman. One of the slaves the men used for sex. He shivered. An image of Kristi tending his leg flashed through his mind.

He looked to his father. Nist smiled and nodded.

Samatu levered a hard stone into the long reed. He raised it to his shoulder and looked down the length of the weapon. Tried not to remember how they treated him with respect, even supporting him when he needed to shit.

He focused on the young girl's wide eyes and then refocused on the tip of the weapon. The girl's head turned into a dim image at the end of the barrel.

Samatu pulled the hard finger.

Chapter 37

Day 65

"What do you call that thing?"

Joe looked up. One of Potts’s fingers pointed to the bench that supported Joe. The other fingers held the head of a garden mattock. His other hand held a cracked handle. "You break something again?"

"Yeah, but not doing anything special." Potts shook his head as he peered at the broken tool in his hands. "Anyways, I was hoping I could get another handle." He held out the broken mattock. "You game?"

"One second." Joe gave the partially finished bow another pass with his drawknife before addressing the boy standing at his side. "See how I'm making sure I keep the same grain layer on the front surface?"

Joe took the broken mattock handle from Potts and held it out to Matu. "You want to make a new handle? We have a couple of staves that I don't think would make good bows."

The boy’s posture straightened as he nodded.

Joe switched positions with Matu and soon had him trimming down the rough split stave into a smooth oblong handle. "Remember to keep the end of the handle bigger than that of the opening in the mattock head."

Joe stretched. "Back to your original question. This is a shaving bench. One end for your butt. The other has the incline and foot operated vise that holds a chunk of wood steady while you shave it with a draw knife." Joe pointed to the two-handled knife in Matu’s hands.

“Who made it?" Potts examined the knife with interest.

“Larry brought a large selection of hand tools."

"I meant the bench."

"He made it from an illustration in one of the books he brought along." Joe glanced at the boy. "Matu helped him." Joe watched as Alita's young brother broadened his smile.

“A strong bow is best for killing Tork's warriors," Matu said as he drew the knife along the stave. A long thin wood shaving curled and fell to the ground.

"I hope to avoid that." Joe glanced at Potts who shrugged. "I’m thinking we need to formalize the training of the kids. What are your thoughts?"

Potts tried to loosen the mattock head from the rest of the broken handle. The chunk of wood didn't move. "Larry wants the children to start specializing right away. I'm not sure I agree, but he does have a lot of technology he wants to pass on." He frowned. "How many are there? I've lost count."

"There are pluses and minuses to specializing. I'd have to think about that. But, for the number of children, over a dozen. What do you think?" Joe turned to Matu. "How many of the young ones are there?"

Matu closed his eyes. Scrunched up his face. "Ten-three." He leaned over drew the symbols for a one followed by a three in the dirt with his finger.

"Ahh…" said Joe. Thirteen? Of course. Matu didn’t count Alita or Nikaku as children. “Excellent.” Alita had been working with the children on her new math skills. They had shown enthusiasm for any of the skills from the 'Far Lands.’

Joe looked toward the watchtower where Larry had several of the children and one of the elders with him learning how to use the binoculars. And figuring out signals for the drums Hatimu was making for long distance communications. "I'm thinking we should rotate them through the different skills for a while. Maybe draw up some sort of weekly schedule. Give them a chance to see what they like."

"Probably a good idea." Potts sat on the ground, picked up a fist-sized rock, and started pounding out the remains of the old handle. "They certainly are taking to the horses. And Brent's turning out to be a bit of a horse whisperer."

"Yeah, I'm hoping that working with the horses will be cathartic for him. He's been a bit short since the abduction." Joe nodded his chin toward Kristi's medical hut. "I'm also worried about her. She's barely interacts with anyone except during her morning medical training."

“I’m thinking she’s having trouble interacting with men these days.” Potts followed Joe's gaze. "As for the gals, I think she's got them freaked out. She keeps showing them bugs under her microscope."

Joe nodded. "That doesn't surprise me. Any idea how Marisa's taking to Kristi's science?"

"For what little I can tell, not well. It's a lot of new stuff for the old medicine woman. I'm not sure Kristi has the patience at this point to deal with any resistance."

"That's not good." Joe took in a long breath. "I'm afraid it's going to be a while before she works through her anger." He exhaled. "I just hope she doesn’t blame Brent for putting Levanu out of his misery."

"Maybe you should talk to her?" Potts banged the protruding wood in the mattock head with his rock one more time and the wood fell out. He started to smile, and then frowned. "I'm also thinking that the expected effects of future contact with Europe is freaking her out."

"I'm not sure which one terrifies me the most."

Chapter 38

Day 67

The arrow wobbled as it flew toward the target. The bundles of grass tied into a caricature of a human body shook as the arrow nicked its side and buried itself in the hillside beyond.

"Good shot, Matu." Joe nodded to the youth frowning at the makeshift target. "Only a bit off."

Joe stepped behind the boy and shifted his left shoulder forward a couple of finger widths. "Put your left foot closer to the target." Joe moved to the boy’s side and pantomimed settling into a stable stance and drawing an imaginary bow. "Feel the ground. Use your back muscles to help you draw the bow."

Matu drew another arrow from his quiver, rolled his shoulders, and danced into a stance. He fitted the arrow to the bowstring and pulled back. Drew a breath and let go.

The arrow flew through the target, low center. Kidu and Daru clapped.

"Hey, better." Joe smiled. "I think you're getting it. Don't neglect the stance."

"When can I use a warrior's bow?" Matu looked up at Joe.

"In a few years. You need to build up your muscles. For today, practice your stance and aim."

"We want to kill the white clay dogs now." Daru put one hand on Matu's shoulder.

Joe paused. How to talk to children who had seen their parents murdered? He could barely even remember his own parents and he hadn't seen them die. Would it be better to remember them and their death? Or would it be worse?

"Only if that becomes necessary." Joe hesitated. Nothing he could say would likely reach these kids. "Sometimes it's better to work for the future than avenge the past." The words sounded hollow. "But we can be ready to defend ourselves. Warriors must also protect the village's future."

Joe pointed to the targets. "Okay, line up and take five shots each." Joe raised his left hand and wiggled his thumb and fingers. "Remember, all bows down before anyone retrieves any arrows."

Joe stepped back as the three boys practiced shooting blunt tipped arrows at the targets lining the slope above Haven. All had short, low draw weight bows that could, if used with arrows tipped with one of Larry's hammered metal points, be deadly at short distances.

He shook his head as the arrows impacted—or missed—the human shaped targets. He would have preferred a simple round target of compressed grasses but human shaped targets were the reality in this world.

"How are we doing today?" Brent approached, his own bow and quiver in hand.

"We're just about finished here."

"Good, Potts wants the children to gather firewood." Brent gestured over his shoulder toward the center of Haven.

"Is that safe?"

"Don't get all worried. There's still plenty of wood lying around up by the watchtower." Brent waved his bow toward the children. "Finish up. Potts needs wood for dinner."

Joe eyed Brent as the children gathered up their bows and retrieved arrows. Brent's tone had been sharp. That wasn't like his friend.

"You okay?" Joe said, after the boys started walking downhill toward the center of Haven.

"Yeah." Brent strung his bow. "How are the children doing?"

"They're getting the hang of it. This afternoon I'll work with the older girls. Kristi has them this morning." Joe frowned as Brent's face tightened; he was still pissed that Kristi prioritized teaching medicine to the girls. "I'm still surprised the bow isn't used for anything other than a child's toy in this part of the country."

"If it was, we'd be in deeper shit than we are now."

"I can only think that food is so plentiful that it hasn't been needed for hunting."

"Maybe." Brent aimed and let an arrow fly. It missed. He shook his right hand then wiggled his fingers.

"You may want to try a thumb draw." Joe held up his right hand, thumb upright. A band of leather surrounded his thumb just behind the first joint.

"Who made you the expert?" Brent shot another arrow. It buried itself low in the target.

"Hey, something bothering you?"

"Look, I don't need you telling me what to do." Brent unstrung his bow. "Especially given the mess we're in because we listened to you in the first place." He strode away.

Joe stood, frozen in place, and watched Brent make his way into Haven's collection of huts and tents.

Movement distracted Joe's thoughts. Alita left Kristi's tent. Maybe this would be a good time to get her to talk. He couldn't do any worse then he had just done with Brent.

* * *

"Kristi, may I come in?" Joe peered through the tent's entrance, its flap held back by ties and the netting zipped tight.

She glanced up and nodded. Before her, various vials and bottles along with her laptop crowded their only camp table.

Joe unzipped the bug netting, entered, and rezipped. He unfolded a chair and sat across from Kristi.

She stared at him for several long heartbeats. "I don't know how I'm going to pull this off." She looked at the supplies on the table. "This is it for antibiotics and painkillers. What happens when I run out?" She ran her fingers through her hair.

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't going to cut it." Kristi's voice rose in volume and pitch.

"I've put you in a terrible position. I don't know how to make things better." Joe failed to meet her eyes.

"What if one of the children falls off a horse?" Kristi's voice rose further in pitch. "What happens if Tork attacks again?" She drew in a shuddering breath as she squeezed her hands into white-knuckled fists.

"I don't know any words that would help." Joe clasped his own hands together and squeezed until his knuckles also turned white. "The kids need you. Hell, even Brent needs you."

"That officious ass," Kristi said in a flat voice, her eyes flickering over the contents of the table.

"He's got his own demons to deal with."

"Who made you an expert on human nature?" Her voice dropped to a whisper.

"I'm not an expert on anything. Just trying. Trying to help."

"You just need a doctor." Kristi looked up and stared at Joe.

"Yes, more than ever." Joe focused on her lips, hating himself for not being able to meet her eyes. "But I consider you a friend."

Kristi shifted her eyes to look nowhere into the distance.

"And I do want you as my friend." Joe sagged in his chair. He really wasn't any good at this.

Kristi choked back a sob. Then the tears started, at first in isolated drops, and then in rivulets down her cheeks.

Joe sat for several seconds. What the hell should he do now? He rose and walked around the table. He paused a second before kneeling besides her.

She leaned into him when he put a hesitant arm around her.

He pulled her tight, her face wetting his shoulder.

Joe looked up at the sound of the door screen being unzipped. Alita peered in, her eyebrows raised. She zipped the screen closed and disappeared.

After several long bewildering minutes, Joe felt Kristi pull back. He rose, looking down at her tear-streaked face. Confused thoughts jostled for his attention: her medical skills were crucial, she needed a bath—he should work on plumbing, the terrifying image of her hanging naked on the pole in Tork's village. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

Kristi took a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped her face. "Sorry, I kind of lost it there."

Joe returned to his seat. "Hey, anything for the Sky Goddess." Levanu's face flashed in his mind and he cringed. That was—had been—Levanu's name for her. "Ah, I'm sorry."

Kristi managed a weak smile. "Several of the children have started calling me that. It stirs up memories. But it wouldn’t be right to try to ignore them. Or him." She shuddered. “A very uncomplicated man, very gentle.” She stared out the door. “And the children do seem to like the name.”

"What are your thoughts on the kids?" Joe looked over his shoulder, through the tent's entrance netting. On the other side of the fire circle, the edge of one of the communal huts was just visible.

"I want to continue to have the girls for at least a few hours in the mornings. I need to establish some medical knowledge. Best when they're young." She moved a couple of bottles and held up a field notebook. "Luckily I brought along a couple dozen of these. I’ve been trying to write down everything I know. And transcribing as much as possible from my laptop while its battery and drive are still functioning."

"Great idea," Joe said. "Maybe I should fill one out. Civil engineering stuff. And math. Whatever I remember from school."

“Potts already took a couple.” She met Joe’s eyes briefly before looking down. “No idea what he’s writing.”

Joe watched Kristi's face as she stared at the notebooks. He needed to ask before the subject faded. "What of the boys?"

Kristi seemed to stop breathing. And several seconds, she spoke. "Is this a Brent thing?"

"No. I'm just trying to understand." Joe sat back, putting more space between him and Kristi.

Kristi lowered he eyes. "I just don't think men are as good as women at healing." She took a long deep breath. Let it out. "But maybe I’m a little prejudiced these days. I’ll start training the boys, too."

Joe watched her jaw clench. He was way out of his depth here. He switched topics. "What of Marisa?" All the elders from Two Ribs village might have moved across the river with them, but Marisa and Niminu were starting to keep to themselves. Another problem to deal with.

Kristi's face softened. "I'm trying to nudge her. But she's spent her entire life living the shamanistic view of life. It is difficult to go from spirits to bacteria."

Joe hesitated. "And Brent? Will you be okay working with him?" Maybe getting them talking to each other would help her heal. And calm Brent.

"Brent is a black and white kind of guy. That started rubbing me the wrong way." She closed her eyes, frowned. "But maybe this is a black and white world?"

They sat in silence for several minutes.

Kristi locked eyes with Joe. "This is way beyond any one of us, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

* * *

Kristi stared at her table after Joe left. She slipped the packages of antibiotics into a small padded case and set it on top of the notebooks. She should have brought more.

Yes, she was needed here. She snorted. Maybe a dozen of her along with a couple tons of vaccines and guns. She slumped in the chair and rested her head on the table. Weariness flooded her body.

"Kristi?" Alita appeared in the tent's doorway. “What is wrong?” She entered, and moved to stand next to Kristi.

Kristi looked up, her hand reaching for the young woman's. "Nothing." She let go of Alita's hand, pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and cleared her nose. "I'm just thinking too much."

Alita leaned down and embraced Kristi.

"Thanks." Kristi took in a long breath. "I'll be fine. Is there something you need?"

Alita didn't answer.

Kristi noticed wet tracks on Alita's cheeks. "What is the matter?"

A tear formed another trail down her cheek.

Kristi rose. "What is wrong?" She embraced the young woman who stiffened before burying herself in Kristi's arms.

"Are you and Joe...?" Alita voice broke.

"Joe? I don't understand."

“I wanted to see if you were…” Alita choked. “You were holding each other.” She buried her face in her hands.

"Please sit." Kristi stood, maneuvered the sobbing woman into Kristi's still warm chair, and knelt before her.

"Joe is a good friend." Kristi reached up and lifted Alita's chin. "And I was sad. He only comforted me as a friend."

Wet eyes met Kristi’s. "I am sorry. I thought..."

"No apologies needed." Kristi stood and helped Alita from her chair. "These are hard days. But they will get better." Those were words that Kristi didn't believe, but might comfort her young friend. "And I think we are all still learning to accept this world."

She lifted Alita's chin. "Joe came to this land to help you. I know he loves you. Give him time. He does not know his own feelings yet."

Kristi could only hope Joe would find his feelings before he got himself killed.

Chapter 39

Day 70

Brent woke tired from a long restless night. Through the open doorway of his hut, a dim glow heralded the morning sun. Bile churned in his belly.

He sat up and folded his blanket. There was no way he could face another day here. He'd done nothing but screw up, starting with joining Joe's wet dream of an adventure. Not even his South American trip had plummeted so deep into shit.

Brent added the blanket to his pack. Checked that he had his flint and steel. Flashlight. His last set of spare batteries. What of an axe? He'd pick up an axe and shovel on the way out of Haven; they had spares. And a small pot for boiling water.

He crawled through the low doorway, pulling his pack after him. He reached back and withdrew the long leather bag containing his bow and quiver. He looked across the creek to the tack house and the milling horses. He'd walk.

He stood, feeling the loneliness as a physical weight. But not as heavy as failure. He'd driven Kristi away to hang bloodied and broken from a pole. And then allowed the entire village to be stripped of weapons.

Treading silently on moccasined feet, Brent slipped through the fort's doorway, still missing a door, and crept to the central storage hut in the fort. There, he stuffed a small metal pot into his backpack, and then grabbed one of the hand axes and wove it into his backpack's webbing. With a long handled shovel in one hand and his bow bag in the other, he exited the fort and paused to look back. They had finished the last wall yesterday and it would only take Larry a few hours to get the door hung. He strode out of Haven.

* * *

Joe pulled himself up the last step. He probably ought to install a handhold to help get from the ladder to the lookout's observation platform.

"Have you seen Brent?" Larry's eyes remained fixed in the direction of the river. “His tent’s empty.”

"What? Haven’t seen him since yesterday.” Joe stood and scanned the horse corral below Haven. "Flicker is here."

"He was lookin' a bit troubled yesterday."

"Yeah, he blew off some steam in my direction at the archery range."

Larry nodded to the rifle secured in the sheath, which hung from a nail protruding from the tower's railing. "Chamber empty. Loaded." He walked to the ladder then turned. "You piss him off?"

"Just trying to help him with his bow."

"Damn it, Joe." A frown creased Larry face. "Last thing you need to do is to piss off our best marksman."

"Sorry."

"Sorry ain't gonna make it if Tork attacks again." Larry disappeared down the ladder, the tower shaking at each of his steps.

Joe closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing.

* * *

"Uncle Larry?"

Larry stopped and shifted the hoe to the other shoulder. He’d spent most of the day killing weeds; it hadn’t helped. He forced a smile. "What’s wrong?"

Alita shook her head. "Joe's sad. And Brent is gone."

Larry drew a deep breath and composed himself. "I'm thinking Joe pissed off Brent. And so he left."

"Joe wouldn't do that." Alita's eyebrows pulled closer together.

"Well, Joe certainly hasn't handled things well lately." Larry felt his face heating. "All the dead bodies ain't exactly a good sign."

Alita stared at him. Her eyes watered. "Don't blame Joe." A tear rolled down her cheek. "He came here because of me." She turned and ran toward Haven, sobs louder than her footsteps.

Larry stared at her hair flying behind her for a long time before remembering to close his mouth.

Chapter 40

Day 72

The shoreline swung past as Joe twisted his upper body, bracing his hip against the tower's railing to keep the binoculars steady. Trees, bushes, and rocks appeared and disappeared in his field of view. Movement stopped Joe's search. He backtracked along the shore. There. A fox dipped his head to drink, ears flicking as it monitored the surrounding sounds.

Joe smiled. This was a world full of a diversity of life.

Jaw snapping, the fox hopped and ducked its head into the water. When it looked up, the tail of a fish flapped against its muzzle.

Joe drew in a long breath. It was also a world of death.

A jay squawked in one of the nearby trees below the tower. Joe lowered the binoculars, searching for the cause of the bird's warning call. Beneath the jay's tree, a figure appeared on the path that wound up the hill to the tower. Joe grinned as he recognized Alita. Here was at least one person who wouldn't complain. Maybe. He sighed as he thought of her sad glances in the days after her ceremony. But that uncomfortable subject seemed to have faded after Kristi’s abduction.

In a few minutes, she appeared at the top of the ladder. He took her basket and helped her clamber onto the tower's platform. The odor of Potts’s stew triggered a belly gurgle.

"Joe's stomach is talking again." Alita's face lit with a small smile, eyes not quite meeting his.

"Well, it is late in the day."

He watched as Alita sat and unpacked the basket, pulling out a small covered pot, two bowls, and spoons. She ladled out stew into one of the bowls and handed it and a spoon to Joe.

Joe sat next to her, waiting until she filled her bowl. They ate without talking, listening to the rustle of leaves and the chatter of birds.

After they finished, Alita broke the silence. "How are you today?"

"Someone once said that 'these are the times that try men's souls' or something close." Joe turned and looked through the netting that served as a safety barrier. The Susquehanna River provided a scenic backdrop, a bit of peace in a troubled day. He tried to smile for Alita’s sake. "It's hard with Brent gone." And hard with Larry being grouchy and Kristi in total anger mode. He gave up on the smile.

"I miss him, too." Alita leaned forward, her hand resting on the platform, a finger's width from Joe's leg. "What do you mean by 'soul'?"

"That part that feels."

"What do you feel?"

The first word Joe could think of was 'tired.' But it was more than that. "I'm feeling overwhelmed." He shifted his eyes to Alita, and his pulse increased. Her hair shone in the evening sunlight; she must have just brushed it. She wore one of the outfits from the ranch. The upper two buttons on her linen blouse were unfastened, exposing the swell of her small breasts. Her cashmere skirt draped over the smooth skin of her thighs. The image of her rising naked from the ritual death surfaced in his mind and he mentally shook it away. After several long heartbeats, she lowered her eyes.

Damn, he needed to remember that she was just a child. But she wasn't. Not in this world. Joe looked up and down the river and drew a deep breath. "Yet I can't imagine not being here. I'm feeling useful for the first time in my life. I just worry that I won't be useful enough."

"Do you miss anything of your distant life?"

Joe stared at his nearly empty bowl. He spooned up the last remnants then licked the spoon clean. "Well, I do miss hot, crusty bread."

Alita's face widened into a smile. "But no butter." She gave a small lilting laugh. "But I did like the bread with olive oil. Is that possible to make here?"

"Probably not. But if you ask Larry, I'm sure he'll promise to get us some when he gets his boat built." The thought of the big guy's ambitious maritime plans caused him to grin.

Alita bit her lip, her eyes on her spoon as she scraped her bowl. "Are you happy here?"

Joe set his empty bowl next to the basket, stood, and looked east toward Haven. The shadows were lengthening, casting the huts and tents into stark relief. A column of smoke from Potts’s cookfire drifted in the light breeze.

"Yes, I am." He gazed down at Alita. "I have a purpose and I have my little sister." Or more than little sister. Something stirred within him and he pushed that feeling back down. For the first time since crossing over, Joe felt at peace. Yes, he had problems. But because of Alita, he could face them.

Alita's face went briefly slack before her mouth curved into a thin smile. "I should return and help with the other children." She stood, placed the pot and bowls into the basket with exaggerated care, and scurried down the ladder.

Overwhelmed by confusion, Joe watched her walking back down the path toward Haven. What had he said?

Chapter 41

Day 77

Larry kept his eyes on the horse exercises as Nikaku reined in next to him.

"I saw smoke," the young warrior said. “I was scouting along the river trail near Two Valleys, just before Long River turned south, when I saw it. Not much and it faded quickly. Maybe a hand of time walking downriver.”

"Tork's men?" Larry frowned at the watchtower. A figure leaned over the railing. No alarms.

"I think it is Brent." Nikaku dismounted and stood next to Larry.

Sharp snapping sounds drew Larry's attention back to the exercise he was running in the open space below Haven. Kidu was riding Mojo through two rows of standing children. Each held a short section of split sapling and slapped it against their free hands, making a sharp cracking sound. It was the best Larry could devise to simulate a gunshot. Mojo cantered through the gauntlet of noise without flinching.

"Okay, now try it with the whips," Larry bellowed over the chatter of the children. "Remember to just brush the tips along her flanks. Anyone I think hits too hard gets to run through himself." Larry paused, eyebrows scrunching together. "Or herself."

Larry watched a few more runs through the gauntlet. "I'll take a ride down there," he said to Nikaku. "See what I can see."

"You want me to go along?"

"Maybe you should join whoever's on watch." Larry nodded toward the watchtower. "Just in case it ain't Brent."

Nikaku nodded and led his horse away, looking over his shoulder at the training.

* * *

Larry rode Mojo past the remains of Two Valleys. Only two of the huts still stood. He paused at the turnoff to the fish weirs. He could recognize the faded prints of hooves and the children from a week ago. The weirs were mostly intact and reliably held enough fish to warrant a weekly trip.

But no recent tracks other than Nikaku’s. He stayed to the main trail and let Mojo work her way along the narrow stretch between the ridge face and the river. When they reached the area where the trail degenerated into a broken track through twisted trees and stunted bushes, he dismounted and led Mojo.

Once into the more open area of the next valley, Larry remounted and nudged Mojo into a trot. The valley was dominated by an enormous open meadow. They'd have to burn it off this fall to keep it open. If they were still alive.

No trace of smoke. Or of Brent.

The next ridge face presented no difficulty. A wide band of ground between the ridge face and the river allowed for passable terrain for Mojo. Larry remained mounted as his horse picked her way over the rough trail.

After a quarter mile, the trail crossed a small creek. The trees to Larry's left opened to show the ridge split into two, leaving a small narrow valley. He paused, looking at the rocky creek bed. It'd be really easy to walk it.

"If you were any uglier, I'd have to shoot you." A voice rang out, echoing in spite of the dense trees and brush.

Mojo sidestepped away from the sudden voice. Larry willed his shoulders to relax. "Dammit, Brent. You trying to give me a heart attack?"

"I saw you from the ridge top. About a half mile back." A bush rustled and Brent stood, his leather bow bag tied across his back. "What are you doing outside of the valley?"

"Nikaku saw smoke."

Brent flashed a brief frown. "My bad, I was cooking fish. Some of the wood was wetter than I expected." He stared at Larry for several heartbeats before nodding up the small valley. "Can I offer you some tea? Just up this creek is a place for Mojo to hang out. My camp's a bit further."

After unsaddling Mojo and hobbling her in the small nearby glade, Larry followed Brent further up the creek bed, hopping and stumbling from one protruding rock to another. After about a quarter mile, they emerged into a small clearing fifty yards in diameter.

"This is most likely an old hunting camp." Brent paused, eyes sweeping the open area. "It's also fairly well hidden. It had a fire ring and the remains of several shelters." He gestured to a circle of rocks. "Let's see if I can do a fire without smoke this time."

As Brent fussed over a small but deep fire pit, Larry sat and leaned against a flat frame of thick sticks tied together with rough twine. "Where'd you get the furniture?"

"Just because I'm doing the hermit thing, doesn't mean I can't be comfortable." Brent struck a spark into a small ball of crushed leaves and dried fibers. He puffed a bit of air on the tiny flame and smoke curled in response to his breath. "Any sign of Tork?"

"Nope, not a sign." Larry rapped his head with the knuckles of his left hand. "Knock on wood." He stared at the Brent's blank response for several seconds before smiling. "You son of a bitch, you've been keeping watch, haven't ya?"

Brent didn't respond. He placed the smoking tinder ball in the pit and placed small twigs over it in the shape of a teepee. He puffed several more times and the thin smoke broke into flames. After adding several larger pieces of wood, he sat back on his haunches. "How are the kids?"

"Mostly okay."

"Mostly?"

"Still a lot of stress. PTSD even." Larry opened and closed his hands. "Especially Matu and Kidu. They're twelve or so years old and have this 'let's kill them all' approach to the Tork problem. But I think they're starting to realize that a warrior's priority is taking care of the living. And Daru's been really somber lately. Almost depressed. Havin' a hard time shaking the violence I guess."

As Larry related the other children’s recent activities, Brent erected a tripod using thick lengths of saplings over the pit.

In a few minutes, flames appeared over the edge of the fire pit, Brent hung a metal pot full of water over it. "Kristi?" No expression crossed his face.

"Still withdrawn. At least with the guys. She now works with the girls in the afternoons, plus shorter classes with the boys. Otherwise, she keeps to herself. Bit of a balancing act for us; trying to support her yet leaving her space to heal. And deal with her anger." Larry blew out a long breath. "Spends a lot of time tending her medicinal herb garden. Joe makes a point of spending time there. Potts also." Larry looked at Brent. "You planted most of that for her, didn't you?"

Brent stayed silent, looking nowhere.

Larry shifted his weight. Took a deep breath. Stared at the shimmering air above the fire hole.

"What is it?" Brent raised one eyebrow.

Larry's eyes roamed around the clearing, finally settling on Brent. "Alita and Canisa have been taking her breakfast in the mornings lately. She’s started keeping to herself till midday."

"Damn." Brent closed his eyes. "Morning sickness?"

"Probably. But no one—us guys that is—have the nerve to ask." Larry watched the muscles in Brent's face twitch.

After a few minutes, he returned Larry's gaze. "And Joe?"

"A bit on pins and needles." Larry bit his lip. "Afraid of offending anyone, I suspect." He looked off into that same nowhere. "Even I kinda blew up on him."

Brent shrugged. "Well, his grand adventure has gone to shit."

"Our grand adventure." Larry watched Brent's face. It remained impassive.

He added some thicker pieces of wood to his fire and busied himself with adding dried leaves to the boiling water. "Our resident philosopher?"

"Potts is a great help in the gardens. Still doing most of the cooking." Larry stared at the pot swaying in a small arc over the fire. "Been listening to him."

"Is he still preaching that Buddha thing?"

"Only when I ask him questions." Larry shifted position, allowing the backrest to take more of his weight.

"Any recent words of wisdom from Potts?"

"When prompted, he still talks about his version of Buddhism. Stuff like there not being any real self, just some feedback loop in our heads reacting to incoming perceptions."

"Feedback?"

"Kinda like all those stories that our brain cells invent to make sense of stuff."

"Sounds pseudo-scientific to me."

"Well, he uses better words." Larry looked skywards and let his eyes go unfocused. "Says the key to life is to control our response to what hits us. He claims that meditation helps."

"Anything specific?" Brent poked at the fire. "Or is it all generalities?"

"The last time we talked, he went on about triggers. Something he calls 'shenpa'."

"Which means what?"

"Stuff that sets us off. I guess I'm a bit of a poster child. All I gotta do is think about that kid I killed and I get myself into a slump." Larry could feel his pulse quickening. "Part of that bundle of perceptions thing he rants about." He paused, remembering Potts’s words. "The more I think about it, the more sensible it seems."

"What good is it?"

"Once ya recognize the triggers, you can control them." Larry spat out a bark of a laugh. "Although I'm not sure I'd want to control any of my urges around those white clay guys."

"Do me a favor." The edges of Brent's mouth twitched upwards. "Don't."

"So, when are you comin' back?" Larry stared at his friend. "Kinda miss your dour face."

One of Brent's eyebrows rose. "Still have some thinking to do."

* * *

Samatu held out his wooden bowl to the slave, watching her battered face as she ladled the thick meat and squash stew into his bowl. She didn't meet his gaze.

He left the cooking fires and wandered toward the nearby assembly circle where his father and Tork were eating. Several of the other Skullmen sat around the pair, eating their own evening meal.

Samatu sat at the edge of the assembly area, close enough to see and hear Tork and Nist but out of their direct view. Unless summoned closer, this would be as close as the youngest Skullman could approach to any gathering, official or casual.

The two men were discussing the second planting of vegetables when the appearance of Tork’s wife, Manis, interrupted them. Nist rose to help her sit on a skin next to Tork. Several slaves appeared with steaming bowls of stew and gourds of water. The small group ate in silence.

Samatu finished his bowl. Around him the life of the village hummed with unhurried activity as the sun touched the western hills. Beyond the far side of the assembly circle, a large group of Skullmen tossed sticks for rights to the various female slaves. Samatu thought of the bruised face of the young woman who had served his stew. The image of the old man called Potts who served food in the camp of the strangers flashed through his memory.

"Did Mother eat?" The low voice of Tork drew Samatu's attention.

"Only a little in spite of my insistence." Tork's wife shook her head back and forth in slow arcs.

"Her moons are few." Tork's head turned toward the south where the summit of the burial mound appeared beyond the edge of the village. "Most of the planting is done. I will move more slaves to work the Honor Mound."

"Several more of the sacrificial children have started moon bleeding or night spitting. They are no longer suitable for burial."

The muscles at the back of Tork's neck tensed. "Just more problems to solve." Tork faced Nist. "Send scouts east and south, beyond the tribute villages. A midsummer campaign will strengthen the warriors."

"What of the strangers up the Great River?" said Nist.

"We will continue watching until harvest. I want to know of their crops." Tork rolled his head and stretched. "Scouts report unknown plants in their fields. Any new food may be useful when we strike inland. As will the magic for their devil weapons and the animals called 'horses'."

Samatu looked down at his bowl as he rotated it back and forth. Thoughts fought for attention. Did Tork mean to sacrifice the children when his mother died? And what of Haven? Would he be attacking the Sky Goddess and her strange tribe as the days shortened? The stew fought in his stomach.

Chapter 42

Day 79

Brent shook the debris from his foam pad, swearing as the small rip lengthened to two inches. Soon the pad wouldn't be of much use.

After adjusting the foam into the depression he'd dug out over a week ago at the base of a towering oak, he sat and leaned back into the rough bark. Below him, the Susquehanna meandered along and through the multiple ridges that defined this area.

For the past week, he'd been spending several hours up here in the early mornings and the late afternoons. If nothing else, climbing this ridge provided needed exercise. He dug binoculars out of his pack and scanned the river. Nothing floated. A single man, or small group, would be invisible on the trails across the river, but a large force would most likely travel by water.

He held his breath as he peered west at the watchtower, which was only visible with a bit of imagination. It must be at least four miles away.

He let out a long breath as he lowered the binoculars. Damn, had he been an ass for blaming Joe? Shit, no one was perfect. Humiliation rolled over Brent as he thought of his father berating him for real or imaginary failings, his older brothers laughing afterwards.

How long would he suffer from his father's words? Was this one of those triggers that Potts had been going on about? Sure seemed so.

What had Larry said? Recognize and control. Brent snorted. Yeah, like that would work. He started to raise the binoculars. Then lowered them. Why did he let his asshole father affect him here of all places? The jerk wasn't even born yet.

He snorted in a sharp breath. Was he treating Joe the same way he'd been treated?

* * *

Potts wiped his face with his handkerchief as he entered the shade of an old oak. He dropped his hoe and lowered himself to a sitting position next to his pouch and water bottle. A weak breeze rattled the leaves as it cooled his body.

In front of him, the garden plot merged into the river trail. Snake Creek cut through both to empty into the Susquehanna River. Beautiful. If one forgot about Tork and his warriors.

After a quick look around to confirm that he was alone, Potts pulled out his pipe and packed it. Striking one of his last matches, he lit it and drew in deeply. He'd been weeding for hours, and this bit of a break was well deserved.

The sounds of footsteps interrupted his second puff. Hatimu appeared.

"You use the pipe without ceremony?" The Elder raised his eyebrows.

Potts drew another lungful from he pipe. "Not tobacco. An herb. Something for my spirit." He waved his left hand at the ground beside him.

Hatimu sat and stared at his hands.

"How is your spirit?" Potts asked.

"Weak."

Potts shifted to face the elder. "I will listen."

After a long moment, Hatimu met Potts’s eyes. "When Tork's men attacked, I led our remaining warriors to meet them." The elder paused for a deep breath. "I just stood there in fear as the white clay warriors killed our warriors."

Potts knocked the ashes from his pipe on one of the gnarled roots of the old oak. He refilled it and handed it to Hatimu. When the elder held it to his mouth, Potts lit another of his remaining matches and held it over the bowl. Hatimu inhaled.

After two long inhalations, Hatimu returned the pipe. "One of Tork's men knocked my club from my hands. Then he laughed. Several others joined him to prod me with their clubs. More joined in to beat me across the back with the shafts of their darts. I did not even have the honor of death."

Potts knocked the ashes from the pipe once more. "Would the outcome have been any different if you had died trying to repulse their attack?"

Hatimu hesitated before meeting Potts’s gaze. "No. But how can a man live without honor?"

Potts refilled the pipe with hands that now shook. Could he match such honesty? “I have a story also.” He lit the pipe and took comfort in the sweet smoke. “Seven days after arriving in your lands, we were attacked by Tork’s men.” Potts took in a long breath. Expelled. “Brent, Larry and Joe fought them off. Even Kristi prepared to help. I just stood there. Confused and scared.”

He met Hatimu’s eyes. “My lack of action troubles my thoughts.”

“Were you a warrior in your lands?”

“No. But neither were Joe or Kristi.” Potts filled, lit, and passed his pipe to Hatimu.

“We are both pained by yesterday.” Hatimu sucked in the smoke, the tension in his face lessening. “Do you have a way to mend our spirits?”

"Yesterday is gone. One always has the choice to be a better man today."

"Is that what your gods tell you?"

"No god told us anything. Just a wise man." Potts shifted his attention from Hatimu to the sky, trying to visualize the planet moving through space and time. Was that wise man dead, alive, or not yet even born?

Chapter 43

Day 86

Joe glanced at the sun as he rode down the riverside trail. He was late getting out of Haven for his afternoon scouting ride. Daru had slapped his sister—something about her not showing him respect. It had taken almost an hour to calm him down. Maybe Larry was right about some of the children suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. If anyone ought to know, it'd be Larry. But PTSD in an eleven year old boy?

The weight of Haven was choking the breath out of him. And now this. Even Potts seemed stymied by the behavior exhibited by some of the children. He certainly wasn't going to bring it up to Kristi. She was still dealing with her own devils.

The trail opened into a small open area. He couldn’t tell if it was a deliberate or accidental burn but it would be gone in a couple of years. Joe reined Snark to a stop at a break in the shoreside trees and gazed at the riverside foliage at the opposite riverbank. While he hadn't seen any sign of white clay warriors recently, he knew that Tork wouldn't leave Haven alone.

Joe pulled out his binoculars and adjusted the focus as his eyes inched along the riverbank. Anyone trying to hide would probably be invisible, but not patrolling the valley would be crazy.

He slipped the binoculars back into their case and nudged Snark forward. He'd survey as far as the remains of Two Valleys before turning around. Twice more he stopped and scanned. What could he even do if he saw Tork's men on the opposite shore?

As he approached Two Valleys, he slowed. Normally, he'd hear normal bird activity die away, replaced by warning calls, as he rode. But now the feathered critters were already chirping their danger calls. There was a predator around.

Should he get help? The small trail to the fish weir was just past the abandoned village’s small creek. And led to a good place to land a canoe. Joe unholstered the Ruger, cocked the hammer, and nudged Snark forward.

Within minutes they reached Stony Creek. No recent prints, man or beast. Joe nudged Snark again and she scrambled down and up the creek’s banks.

"It's just me," a familiar voice said.

Joe jerked, Snark prancing in alarm beneath him. He uncocked the pistol and slipped it back in its holster as his heart rate slowed to normal. "Brent, you trying to give me a heart attack?"

Ahead, Brent stepped from behind a large oak and onto the main trail. "You're the second person lately who's asked that question." He wore his pack and had the strap of his bow bag slung over one shoulder.

Joe dismounted and, with his left hand rubbing Snark’s head, stood facing Brent.

Brent moved forward until he stood a pace in front of Joe. "I think I've got that thumb grip nailed." He held out his right hand, a ring of leather tied just below the thumb's first knuckle.

The knot in Joe's gut untangled as he grasped his friend's hand.

* * *

As they walked past the river garden plot, Brent pointed to the river side of the trail. "Been a bit crazy with the axes?"

"Now that the fort's walls and gate are in place, we're finally finding time to work on other barriers." Joe eyed the rows of felled trees, all pointing toward the river.

"I'd hate to force my way through all those interlocking branches."

"Got a few hundred more yards of barrier to construct if you're bored."

"Consider it done."

The riverside trail dipped to cross the village's main stream. Brent picked his way across the line of stones. "Larry hasn't built a bridge yet?"

"Actually, he's mentioned it." Joe followed, holding Snark's reins off to his right where the streambed had been cleared of obstacles.

As Joe started clambering up the opposite bank to join Brent, a sharp whistle cut through the air. Joe responded with his own whistle.

Four echoing drum beats sounded from the tower.

“Someone must be approaching Haven.” Joe raised an eyebrow at Brent.

"Nice improvement," Brent said.

"For at least as long as we can keep recharging the batteries in the IR goggles." Joe walked up the west bank and paused. "After that, the tower lookout is going to be blind at night. Going to have to come up with some sort of non-tech security. We're kinda hoping Zoey will entice a mate. She's old enough to breed." He turned off the riverside toward Haven, following the well-used path along the creek north toward Haven.

"I’m still wondering about the absence of dogs."

"I'm guessing Tork's men killed them as a matter of course when they attacked." Joe waved a hand toward the east. "But we have heard barking further up the valley in recent days."

Within minutes, they arrived at a fork in the path. The left branch worked its way up the hill to the tower. The right branch continued northeast to cross a smaller stream that marked the southwestern boundary of Haven.

"Actually, I think Larry's also planning a small bridge across Salamander Creek. Its banks can get a bit muddy." Joe picked his way through the shallow water.

"So it has a name now?"

"The kids came up with it." Joe smiled as he thought of the children’s excitement at being given the task of naming the two streams. "And they’ve named the main one Snake Creek."

"Still restricting drinking water to our newly named Salamander?" Brent asked as he stepped from one stone to another.

"Yeah, especially now that we've permanently moved some of the horses to that cleared area upstream along the Snake."

A figure appeared as they entered Haven's main clearing. "Welcome home, uncle Brent." The form materialized into Matu. "I'll take Snark."

"I'm glad to be back," Brent said. "What have you been up to?"

"We repaired the fish weir at Two Valleys village." Matu beamed as he took Joe's horse. "And we are hitting the target almost every time."

"And what are you going to do with that skill?" Brent asked.

Matu hesitated and glanced at Joe before meeting Brent's eyes. "Protect and feed Haven."

At Brent's nod, Matu smiled and led Snark to the horse corral.

As they entered Haven, Zoey started to bark out a warning that transformed instantly into an excited dance as she approached Brent. Behind her, two shadowy figures rose from the fire circle. The first solidified into Larry as he trotted past Joe and enveloped Brent in a bear hug. "Welcome home, asshole."

Potts clapped Joe on his shoulder as he passed to give Brent a more sedate two-handed handshake.

As the four walked to the fire circle accompanied by a circling Zoey, a smaller figure rose to greet Brent.

"I am sorry for all the problems I've caused." Alita kept her head down as she stood in front of Brent.

Brent froze, his impassive fire-lit face twisting into an anguished frown. His facial muscles twitched and reverted to his impassive demeanor. He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to gaze into her eyes. "Alita, we're here because we chose to be." He looked up at the children sitting around the fire. "Your brothers and sisters need us." He took in a long breath. "And we need to help."

Alita led Brent into the circle, sitting him on one of the camp chairs next to a grinning Hatimu as Potts spooned venison stew into a bowl. Alita took the bowl and handed it to Brent. Zoey settled down at his feet. Then Alita returned to her seat next to Nikaku.

Joe's eyebrows narrowed. He shook himself.

"Ahh..." Larry took Joe’s arm and led him a few strides away from the fire circle. "Daru's been acting up again."

"What is it this time?"

"I caught him throwing rocks at one of the horses. Said the horse wouldn't follow commands." Larry took in a deep breath. "Tried to fight me when I stopped him. Just held him till he stopped."

"Where is he?" Joe closed his eyes. Always a problem to be solved.

"He skipped dinner. I checked on him a few minutes ago. He was a couple hundred yards up the Snake."

"I'll try talking with him now." Joe looked at Potts who was ladling seconds into one of the kid's bowls. "Maybe I'll eat my dinner with him."

* * *

Joe stepped out of the light of the fire circle and paused to let his eyes adjust. The waning moon had risen, giving some visibility. He felt some pride in the toothy outline of the fort’s walls now providing a much needed increase in security. Storerooms and Kristi's new hospital would be relocated inside along with private huts to replace the tattered tents. More projects. His smile faded. Carrying the two bowls, Joe walked downhill to the small path along Snake creek.

Within minutes, he reached a fallen tree that spanned the creek. Even in the dim moonlight, he could see a small figure straddling the accidental bridge.

"Hi," Joe said as he approached the tree. "I've brought some stew. Potts claims it's one of his best."

Daru made no reply.

Joe placed one of the bowls on the log near Daru and sat. He took two spoons out of his shirt pocket, placed one in Daru's bowl and started eating with the other. "Actually, it's pretty much just Potts’s usual. There’s not much he can do with the present ingredients."

Joe ate for several minutes, the silence broken only by the buzz of insects and the gentle murmur of flowing water. "I imagine Potts will put on a better feed once the crops come in." He turned toward Daru. "It’s gonna get cold."

Daru scooted closer to the bowl, picked it up, and started eating.

"I hear you had some problems with one of the horses." Joe licked his spoon and put in it in his pocket. "Something I can help you with?"

A muffled choke rose over the background of insects and water. Joe's eyebrows pinched together and he willed his face to relax.

"You care more for those animals than you do for my parents," Daru said, his words slurred with emotion.

Joe froze. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

Daru threw his bowl in the water. "My parents' bodies are lying on the ground. Eaten by animals." His racking sobs silenced the insects.

Chapter 44

Day 91

Joe set the bucket down and lifted his left arm then right over his head, stretching out his back muscles. A muddy mound rose in front of him, its top layer now containing the remains of the village of Big Elk's deceased. And Daru and Bata's parents.

They had arrived late in the evening, two days ago. Yesterday had been spent collecting the scattered remains. Today he and Larry moved earth while the two children packed the soil around and over their relatives and former neighbors.

Larry rode into view, dragging another load of dirt from the nearby stream's bank.

"This should do it." Larry nudged Mojo closer, dragging the travois up to the mound. It rose to twice the height of a man, maybe four times that in width.

"I hope so," Joe said. "I don't seem to be getting any younger."

Larry dismounted and started filling the second bucket. On the mound, Daru and Bata finished the spreading of soil over the bones of their village's dead. In spite of the bodies being scattered by scavengers, they were confident that they had most of their parents' remains identified by clothing fragments and personal amulets. To those they had added a stone knife and a clay cooking pot in memory of their daily life. Both children worked in silence.

Joe looked at the sun. They had about two hours left in the day. He filled his bucket, climbed the mound, and joined Larry in pouring another load of the loose soil over the packed layer of remains.

The top was stomped flat by the time the light was failing, and they gathered at the base. Larry took out the notebook Kristi used to record daily events and fumbled in one of his pockets for a pencil.

"We are gathered here to honor the deceased members of the Big Elk village." Joe sprinkled a handful of tobacco at the base of the mound. "We ask your forgiveness for not preparing your remains in a timely manner."

Daru and Bata spoke their words of farewell. Squinting in the dim light, Larry recorded everything in the notebook.

Joe stood behind the children. When they finished, they both turned and allowed Joe to wrap his arms around them.

"Please don't leave us," Bata said between sobs.

Joe closed his eyes. "I will try not to." He couldn't promise anything more.

Dinner was a stew of squash and fish, flavored with a few pinches of Potts’s herbs. Everyone ate in silence.

Chapter 45

Day 92

Joe and Bata watched as Larry and Daru disappeared around the bluff.

They had found the canoe that Joe had stashed some three months ago still hidden in the brush along the river. The long spell on shore had opened a few long cracks in its bottom but a repair with heated pine pitch mixed with charcoal from the village's campfires had restored its water-tightness.

When Larry had asked Daru if he'd like to help paddle upstream to Haven, the boy had jumped at the idea. Joe suspected that the opportunity for him to be the sole companion of the powerful warrior was not to be missed. Luckily, Bata appeared content to help Joe with the horses.

"You ready?" Joe had given Bata the task of leading Larry and Daru's horses, hopefully diverting her attention from her ruined village and the newly buried dead. She appeared to take the responsibility seriously.

Bata answered with a smile.

"Then let's go," Joe said. Although both children had still been subdued this morning, he'd been heartened to see Bata taking an interest in her surroundings. "We should see Larry and Daru in about one hand." He looked toward the sun, a bright spot in the low clouds. They might get wet today.

Joe sneaked glances at Bata as they rode. The children had shown an amazing resilience. Could he have shaken off the violence they'd seen? He hadn't witnessed the accident that had killed his parents. He'd only experienced the confusion of a seven year old pulled out of school by a policeman.

The trail veered away from the higher hills along this section of the river. Through a break in the trees at the summit of the hill, they could see the river reappear as it flowed out of the north-northwest from Haven.

"What’s that?" Bata pointed.

Joe eyes followed her outstretched arm. A few miles upstream, three canoes floated in the middle of the Susquehanna. Joe’s pulse pounded in his ears; the canoes’ occupants were unlikely to be anyone but white clay warriors. Most likely with spear throwers. Larry only had the revolver with less than a dozen cartridges. And Daru was with him.

He scanned the trail. The main trail continued downward, disappearing into the forest. But about a hundred yards ahead, a small stream cut across the trail and a smaller path—not much more than a game trail—veered off to follow it down toward the river.

Joe turned his attention back to the river, which narrowed to about a half-mile as it veered around the low cliffs to their right. Larry should be appearing any minute now and when he spied the canoes, he'd head for shore. If Joe could reach the bank before then, he could back Larry up with the Ruger. Or at least distract the warriors.

"Bata, follow me." He led her further along the trail to the point where the smaller side trail forked.

At the intersection, Joe dismounted and led Bata and her horses off the trail into heavy underbrush. "Bata, I'm going to help Larry and Daru. I need you to protect our horses." He helped Bata dismount. "I will be back as soon as I can." Joe paused and held her shoulders. "If I can't make it back, please stay hidden until tomorrow. Then return to Haven by following the main trail upriver."

Bata nodded, her eyes wide and her mouth a thin line.

Misgivings flooded his thoughts as Joe mounted Snark. But at least she’d be out of sight and probably safe. He followed the smaller downhill trail; low overhanging braches forced him to lean low as he rode.

The path disappeared at the water's edge. After urging Snark into the shallow water a few yards, he could just see the lead canoe to the left. Unless he drew them in, they would pass out of his range, six or seven hundred yards out, as the white clay warriors followed the deeper channel on the far side of the river. To the right, the river disappeared as it curved around the hills.

Joe dismounted and stood, the water lapping at the top of his boots. Draw off the canoes or wait? What if they had one of the guns Samatu stole? They most probably lack any long-range skill but there was always a chance they’d make a lucky shot.

He looked at the river. Shallow for at least a hundred yards or so. Walk or ride?

Seconds passed. A second canoe appeared. Joe counted two warriors in each. His pulse raced. Where was Larry? The third canoe appeared.

Joe checked the Ruger. Slapped his pocket. Full of shells. More than he'd have a chance to use. He remounted Snark and urged her deeper into the river.

Eighty yards out in the river, the water just came to Snark’s belly. "Hold on, girl." Joe patted her neck and nudged her around to face the canoes. One of the white clays warriors shouted and all three canoes turned, the lead warrior in each fitting a dart to his atlatl.

Seconds crawled as the paddlers stroked the canoes into range. Each held two warriors, with the face of the front warrior in the lead canoe entirely covered with white clay. The others only wore two slashes.

At a little over a hundred yards, the lead warrior flung a dart. Joe flinched as the narrow six-foot missile flashed past his head, mere inches away.

Joe raised the pistol made for punching holes in cardboard targets. "Easy Snark." He aimed. Squeezed the trigger.

Snark twitched under him. The paddler in the first canoe jerked and fell backward into the cavity of the canoe. The warrior at the front fitted another projectile to his atlatl.

Joe fired again. Wood splinters sprayed the warrior as he flung another dart.

Joe flattened himself against Snark's neck and heard the whistle of the missile's fletching as it passed over them.

The second and third canoes were now within spear throwing range. Joe fired. Again. The warrior in the front of the lead canoe cried out and leaned over, grabbing his right shoulder with his left hand.

Two darts streaked by. Joe fired several more times, but Snark's nervous footing in the deep water and the movement of the canoes spoiled his aim.

Joe pulled the trigger. Click. Damn, he hadn't counted. He fumbled with the cylinder. He ejected the eight spent shells, watching the precious metal plunk into the water. Hands shaking, he forced in fresh shells.

He glanced up. Warriors in the second and third canoes held their atlatls ready, waiting to close.

A sharp crack echoed over the water. The forearm of the first warrior in the third canoe exploded, spraying the paddler behind him with blood and bone. The dart from the distracted warrior in the second canoe flew harmlessly into the water in front of Joe.

A second shot sounded. From around the downriver curve, another canoe appeared. In its bow, Larry held his revolver in two hands as an open-mouth Daru paddled.

Joe thumbed in the eighth shell, slapped the cylinder into position. With Snark dancing beneath him, he aimed at the frantic enemies now attempting to turn their canoes.

* * *

"If you hadn't popped up, they’d have likely surprised us coming around that bend." Larry snatched a glance at Daru.

"I think we're even on this one." Joe grunted as he helped drag the canoe onto shore. "Any thoughts as to why they were even here?"

Larry stood on the bank and rolled his shoulders. "It’s only been a couple of miles and I'm already cramped up." He looked downriver, where the last of the bodies and an overturned canoe floated around the bend, following the single escaping canoe. "That Tork guy is gonna be even more pissed off when he finds out that we just about wiped out another group of his men." Larry shook his head. "Maybe just a coincidence. Or maybe they were coming back after checking on Haven?"

"Very likely.”

“Yeah.” Larry paused. “At least they didn’t have any of our guns.”

“The gun thing did pass my mind.” Joe blew out a long breath. “Still want to take this canoe back?"

"Well, the trail does hug the river most of the way." Larry raised an eyebrow at Daru. "Think we'll be okay with Joe watching us?"

Daru's posture straightened. "We will take canoe back to Haven." He gazed back up the trail. "My sister?"

"She's hidden at the top with your horses. I'll get her now." Joe remounted. "After I send her down, I'll ride back and confirm that the two warriors in the surviving canoe are still heading downstream. Then we'll go."

"Have her bring Mojo down. My gun cleaning kit's in my saddlebag." Larry's mouth tightened into a thin line as he gazed at the river. "Down to four shells." He shook his head slowly. "How much longer is our luck gonna hold?"

Chapter 46

Day 94

Samatu stared as the young slave woman rhythmically pushed the mano stone over the metate, grinding the small grains of corn into meal for the evening meal. Her small breasts swung in opposition to the movement of her shoulders as she leaned her weight on the long cylindrical mano. Only shadows remained of the bruises on her face.

A shout broke Samatu's thoughts. Activity in the direction of the assembly circle drew the attention of all but the slaves, although a few of the braver ones briefly glanced up before returning to their tasks.

Samatu rose, adjusted his loincloth, and joined the growing crowd of warriors, women, and children moving toward the center of the village.

When he arrived at the assembly circle, the common warriors parted at the sight of his white clay face and he moved forward to take a position at the rear of the Skullmen.

The crowd quieted as Tork, standing in front of the ceremonial poles, glared around. The warriors settled on the ground, their murmuring quieting under Tork's gaze. Beyond, the women and children stood silent. Several of the children quieted a barking dog.

Two warriors stood in front of Tork, heads low, looking only at the ground. The one with an injured arm shifted his head to look at his companion. Samatu recognized the man as one of the scouts assigned to watch Haven. Their replacements had left a little over a hand of days ago. But six should have returned.

"Samatu." Tork scanned the crowd.

Samatu jerked at his name. His jaw clenched as he rose.

"These men say that they were attacked on the river, a day's journey down from the strangers. With lightning weapons." Tork's eyes bored into Samatu's. "I thought you took all of them?"

Samatu tried to meet Tork's eyes but looked down within a breath. "I took the weapons that were kept in Haven's central hut." He tightened his leg and torso muscles, standing a little taller. "The stranger in the bird nest overlooking the village had other weapons."

One of the other Skullmen rose to face Tork who nodded.

"I entered the strangers' village to free Samatu," the standing Skullman said. "He spoke of this warrior. Said that the warrior in the nest had magic to see in the dark. Samatu recommended that we not attack this nest." The Skullman glanced at Samatu, his face impassive, and then sat.

Tork shifted his eyes to Samatu.

"The warrior in the nest usually had two weapons." Samatu forced his shoulders back. Tork's anger would only increase if he showed fear.

"A Skullman and three warriors were killed by these strangers." Tork's face twisted in rage. "May dogs eat their flesh." After several breaths he continued, looking over the faces of the warriors. "When the days shorten, we will not only harvest their crops, we will harvest their remaining weapons."

Keeping his eyes lowered, Samatu sat. How long until Tork's increasingly frequent rages resulted in Samatu's own death?

Chapter 47

Day 120 - July 4

Joe rolled over, the fragments of a distorted dream of dead bodies fading into obscurity. He shook the last echo of a scream from his head and leaned on an elbow. Through the tent flap, a pale dawn sky outlined the small hill to the south of Haven. Whoever was on watch would be waiting for him. Probably Brent.

He slipped into his jeans, frowned at the stiff fabric, and pulled on his boots. He'd have to do some washing today. That thought triggered a long list of projects. Soap required fat. They needed to render the fat from the bear he'd shot. Maybe even get another bear. There were the skins to be scraped and brain tanned. The meat had to be dried. Crops would need to be harvested soon. They would need drying frames and probably a root cellar.

Joe shook his head. First, his plumbing. He crawled out of the tent, stood and worked the kinks out of his back. Panic swept over him and he slapped his waist. Then he knelt and pulled the holstered 22 Ruger from the tent. Alita had insisted he keep her pistol with him. Unlike the others, she still acted as if she thought he was some sort of hero.

He strapped the gun belt on, mentally wincing as the feel of the weapon triggered thoughts of Samatu and the stolen weapons. He squared his shoulders.

Joe looked about the village and nodded. With the storeroom now in the fort, the villagers could at least hold off a small attack for a few days. They still needed to build a new hospital inside the walls—something more permanent than a tent. Outside the palisades, several new open-sided shelters now supplemented the collection of tents. Across Snake Creek, an enclosed field corralled the working horses—including two for emergencies—and a small hut contained their tack. To the south, the ridge on the other side of the Susquehanna River rose like a dark behemoth, its crest hinting of green in the predawn light.

He tore his eyes from the peaceful surrounds and detoured on his way to the tower. It'd been hard to agree to a fixed latrine area. Any convenient bush was the local habit. Last thing they needed was one of the children catching him cheating.

The sun still hadn't broken the eastern sky when he climbed Haven's lookout tower.

"Got a couple of things to discuss with you," Brent said as Joe’s head reached the tower’s floor.

Pulse rising, Joe blew out a breath as he scrambled onto the tower's platform. Now what was wrong?

"I talked with Larry at the change of watch." Brent's eyebrows narrowed. "Heard you took down a bear yesterday."

"Wasn't intentional." Joe let his breathing relax. "Literally stumbled upon him."

"With a bow?" Brent shook his head. "Taking down a bear with the Winchester is dangerous. Using a bow is plain irresponsible."

"We can use the meat, and it's fat enough to get a start on candle making." Joe took in a deep breath. "Plus I wanted the skin."

Brent rubbed his face with his left hand. "Joe, we can't afford to lose you."

"It was all reaction. I barely heard it before it heard me. I was upwind." His breath came faster as images of the charging bear flashed across his mind. He’d been lucky to have the bow strung.

"Candles would be nice. What are you planning to do with the skin?"

"Thought I'd tan it and give it to Alita."

"You finally coming to your senses about the young lady?"

"Hey, back off." Joe frowned, because… She was just a kid. Okay, in this world she wasn't and sometimes… He shook his head. She was just too young. "Just want to cheer her up. Give her a surprise."

"All right, all right." Brent's mouth twitched as if he wanted to smile. "Let's change subjects. Take a look." Brent nodded east.

"What am I looking for?" Beneath a dim moon struggling to stay visible against the pending sun, Joe could barely make out the smaller ridge that split the valley and eventually merge with the two main ones to provide Haven's eastern border.

"The bright star to the right of the moon." Brent stretched out his arm.

Joe shifted his gaze upward, following Brent’s outstretched hand. A bright star pierced the impending day. "Venus?"

"Too bright. And it wasn't there yesterday." Brent's face was cracked by an unaccustomed smile. "I think we're looking at the 1054 super nova."

"Super what?"

"I like stars." Brent picked up his canteen. "Not an expert. But it's easy to remember this one. Year is 1054 AD. A super nova—an exploding star—appeared and was recorded by several civilizations. It happened on July fourth.

Joe stared at the bright spot of light. "You saying this is the year 1054?"

"July fourth of 1054. There was another supernova in 1006, but that happened in late winter." Brent stretched. "We had guessed March first when we crossed over. From that estimate, today would be June thirtieth. So I'm now thinking we were 5 days off. Not so bad for amateur time travelers."

Joe stared at the brilliant star, still visible even though the sun was now cresting the horizon. They had a little over four centuries until European contact and pandemics. He looked back at Haven, now visible in the dawn light. Over 90 percent of their descendants would die in the years following the first European footprints on this continent.

If they didn't find a different path… Joe shivered, seeing once more those ancient eyes behind the wire rimmed glasses.

He shifted his gaze west to the ridge across the river. They hadn't had any local contact with Tork's men since the trip to bury Daru's parents in Big Elk village. But that didn't mean that Tork's men weren't here and watching. Why was he worrying about problems centuries in the future? They'd be damned lucky if they all weren't dead by the end of this year.

* * *

Brent paused as he walked down the trail toward Haven and peered back at the tower where Joe stood staring at the river. The guy just didn't perceive how important he was to Haven. That damn bear could have easily killed him.

And what had that bear perceived as Joe's arrow bled out its life? How did that mesh with Potts’s babbling about man being the product of his past actions and sensations or about being only a 'bundle of perceptions?' And what did that say about killing and eating another bundle of perceptions?

Damn that Potts.

Chapter 48

Day 141 - July 25

Joe shifted the rolled up bearskin to his right shoulder as he entered Haven. He'd snuck out after lunch to finish cleaning it up and to brush the fur side until it shone. For three weeks he had used every break he could to brain tan and soften the heavy hide.

Movement at the medical tent signaled the end of Kristi's afternoon training. The girls wandered toward the fire circle and Potts’s kitchen shelter, leaving Alita and Kristi talking outside of the training tent.

Joe smiled. Alita had been somewhat reserved in the recent months. Hopefully, the surprise of a thick fur would cheer her to her former chatty self, something he'd missed.

As he approached, both women glanced his way then continued talking.

"How was class this morning?" He stopped a few feet away and shifted his bundle back to the left shoulder. It felt like all of the several hundred pound bear was in its hide.

"The girls are progressing." Kristi nodded toward the kitchen area where the girls and several boys were slowing Potts’s progress at the evening meal with their help.

"It's hard to understand that everything is made up of little animals," Alita said, a small frown creasing her face. "Animals I can't even see with my eyes."

"I’d better put my supplies away." Kristi disappeared into her tent.

Joe faced Alita and took a breath. "I shot a bear almost a moon ago. Been tanning it in my spare time. I thought you might like the hide for your bed?"

Alita took in a sharp breath, her eyes opening in surprise. On her exhale, her eyes narrowed in thought. She opened her mouth then closed it, a small smile turning up the edges of her mouth. "Thank you, Joe. That is very nice of you."

Joe slipped the rolled-up skin off his shoulder and onto a grassy patch to the side of the medical hut's entrance. Alita unrolled a hand width of the skin and felt the fur as Joe stretched his back. "This will be very comfortable."

"May I carry it to your hut?"

"Please." Alita glanced over her shoulder. "I must help Kristi clean up here first. Then I will need to prepare space in my hut.”

"I’ll just leave it outside.” Joe hefted the skin back onto his shoulder. "Let me know if you need help moving it in."

As Joe reached Alita's hut, he paused to look back. From the entrance of the medical tent, Alita stared at him, her face unreadable. After several heartbeats, she looked away and joined Kristi inside.

As he started to swing the fur onto the ground, a hand appeared and took one end of the fur. "Let me help."

Joe glanced up to see Nikaku. Together they lowered the bundle.

"This is a very fine fur," the young man said.

"I just finished tanning it yesterday." Joe looked up to see Nikaku staring, face blank.

Muscle by muscle, Nikaku's face morphed into a small grin. "You have only been here a few changes of the moon. So you would not realize that a fur like this is commonly given to an unmarried woman by a suitor. Both to declare one's intentions and to impress the woman's family."

Joe closed his eyes. Had he misled her? Or, even worse, insulted her?

Or…had he not misled her? Emotion and thought warred in his head and heart.

"You should not worry. I saw you give her the fur as I walked into our village. From her many faces, I think that she realized that it was a gift with nothing attached but kindness.” Nikaku's face turned neutral. "A very fine gift from the chief of Haven."

"Wait." Joe said as Nikaku turned to walk away.

The young warrior’s eyebrows rose in a question as he faced Joe.

"Alita is a woman in this world." Joe rubbed his face with his hands. "In my world... In my former world, she would still be considered a child."

Joe hesitated. Should he even be discussing Alita with this young warrior? Nikaku was only a year or so older than her. A wave of vertigo swept over him as he thought about Alita with Nikaku. The younger man would be best for her, wouldn't he? She deserved a family. Deserved a family with someone who didn't repeatedly lose family members. His gut churned. "You've been spending time with Alita." He choked the words out. "I just want to know that you will treat her with respect."

Nikaku's eyes widened and he took a step back. "No." His voice broke.

Joe held up a hand. "I am not accusing you of anything. I… I only want her to be happy." Why did the words seem so hard to say? He kept his eyes on Nikaku, watching for his reaction.

Nikaku's posture softened. After several breaths, his face relaxed. "I only talk with Alita about her experience in the Far Lands." He paused, his expression enigmatic. "And about you." He raised his right arm and clasped Joe on the shoulder. After another breath, he let go and walked away.

Chapter 49

Day 150 - August 3

Joe twitched the reins, bringing Snark to a stop along the vegetable patch where Brent was attacking weeds.

"We need to plan for our harvest." Brent straightened and arched his back, a slight grimace on his face. "We'll need to build storage sheds and dig a root cellar." He leaned on his hoe and stared at the river. "Hell of a pretty place."

At the change in subject, Joe followed Brent's gaze. The afternoon sun glinted off small riffles in the sluggish river. Bird Island formed a backdrop to the water, backed itself by the southern ridge. Brent claimed that the ridges were just kinks in the land created by plate tectonics. Whatever the cause, they conveniently formed the north and south sides of the valley and merged in the east to form the third side.

"I can't help but feel we're still being watched from over there." Joe shifted in his saddle and nodded at the tree-covered crest to the south. That was a likely location for Tork's scouts to monitor Haven's activities unseen.

"Unfortunately, you're most likely correct." Brent scraped at the ground around a row of onions, their tops now turning brown. "Need to leave some of these in the ground to form seed next year." His hoe rose and fell, cutting a swath through the weeds. "Remind me to mulch these beds in a couple of months to keep them from freezing."

Joe noticed the twine wrapped around the end of the hoe's handle. "How are the tools holding up?"

Brent stopped to look at his repair job. "Got to keep them fixed." A rare smile escaped. "Otherwise, Larry will salvage them for metal. Until he finds a supply of iron, he's just reworking our existing scrap metal, including any empty cartridges." His smile disappeared.

"His search for iron ore will have to wait. He's got enough on his plate this year." Joe looked inland toward Haven where Larry's forge lay hidden below a low rise and frowned. "He's burning himself out. Lately he's even been helping Sesapa with clay and pottery. Then there's the charcoal works and the weapons. I'm just glad he's able to hammer nails and spent cartridges into arrow points or we'd be knapping rock."

"The clay thing he wants to do." Brent's mouth cracked into yet another rare smile. "Where's Potts? I thought he was planning to weed today also."

"He's tending his special gardens." Joe's frown deepened. Not good, but Kristi wanted some of the old guy’s poppysap and, once they produced alcohol, cannabis tincture for her medical kit. Besides, who was he to deny Potts his recreational plants?

Joe straightened up in the saddle. He'd best get moving; he needed to check on the bow making after finishing his circuit. Joe nudged Snark and they moved downstream. He waved at Canisa and two of the children who were on weeding duty with Brent. Canisa held her hoe up in a return greeting. Joe smiled. The elder woman was adapting well to Brent's plants. Joe suspected it helped that Brent recognized her skills. Even if he did refer to it as 'ethnobotany.'

Joe had just reached the southern end of the garden plots when he heard his name called. He twitched the reins and Snark slowed to a halt. Shifting in the saddle, he saw Alita riding toward him. He started to smile but then frowned as he realized that she was riding one of the horses kept ready for emergencies in Haven.

"Have you seen Matu?" Alita's voice was sharp with tension. "I haven't seen him since yesterday morning."

"No." Joe's pulse quickened. He turned toward the river, scanning its banks. All appeared peaceful. "Hadn’t he been working with the horses for the past few of days? Maybe he’s still with them."

"That's what I thought. I checked with Kidu." Her eyes were wide. "He said Matu left the herd yesterday talking about fish."

Joe's head snapped toward the eastern side of the valley. Near the abandoned Two Valleys village, several small islands formed a narrow channel along the shore, a perfect spot to funnel fish. A couple times a week, some of the children would harvest fish trapped in the newly repaired structures. But only with an armed adult.

"Let's go." Joe urged Snark into a canter. Alita followed.

Within minutes, they reached the ruined village. Joe slowed, scanning the ground. Older prints marked the ground, including his own from a visit to the weirs a few days back. But he wasn't able to spot any more recent prints.

Joe started to cross Stony Creek, the valley's southern creek at the edge of the village, but halted mid-stream. Several fresh prints led out of the water, their edges just starting to crumble after almost a full day of sun. Matu might have been here—the prints were no older than a day. And the correct size.

Joe glanced at Alita. Her strained face indicated she had also seen the fresh prints.

Joe nudged Snark up the creek bank. After a few yards on firmer ground, the trail forked, the main trail continuing toward the steep bank between the ridge and the Susquehanna. The recent footprints turned onto the smaller path to the right. In minutes, they broke through the trees and stood on the river's bank, staring at the protruding poles and rocks that marked the fish trap.

A chill spread over Joe. He couldn't see any prints, human or otherwise, along this part of the narrow trail and shoreline. It was an easily accessible riverbank. Even the scattered pockets of sand and mud among the rocks appeared clear of impressions. He dismounted. "Stay with the horses."

Joe removed his boots and socks. He shuffled into the water until he was a couple of yards from shore. Then turned. With the mid-afternoon sun at his side, any small indentations in the sandy or muddy downriver should pop into view. Joe's pulse sped up; all flat spots in the immediate area were free of debris but showed faint parallel scratches. Water filled several small depressions. Further up and down stream, debris and rocks littered the bank. The stub of a branch protruded from one of the nearby trees.

A couple hundred yards downstream, a small branch had snagged itself on a protruding rock. Joe's sinking gut fell further.

Joe moved back to the shore and gave his gun belt to Alita. Tears formed in her sad eyes.

He walked upriver a hundred yards and waded into the water. Sweeping the river bottom with his feet, he moved out until he couldn't keep his footing. Then he returned to the bank. He repeated the pattern, always moving downstream.

About fifty yards downstream from where the trail opened into the shoreline, he felt what he feared, a soft snag in about four feet of water. He could see an almost imperceptible outline in the rippling water.

Joe inhaled then squatted into the cool water, slipping his arms under Matu's body. He lifted, grunting at the unexpected weight.

Chapter 50

Day 151 - August 4

From his seat around the central cooking fire, Brent watched Kristi leave the village and walk toward the river. He let out a long breath. She remained civil, but talking with her left his gut in a tangle.

"Damn. That was the last of her immediate family." Potts sighed as he stood to pour the last of the mint tea into Brent's cup, splashing some of the warm liquid on his hand.

"Thanks." Brent's eyebrows narrowed. Then relaxed as he realized that Potts had meant Alita. Brent focused beyond Kristi at the two figures of Alita and Joe walking back to the village. She appeared to be leaning on him. "She still has a cousin and the distant Elders. But losing Matu really shook her. She's now got the older sister thing to haunt her. Blames herself for not keeping tabs on him."

"Then to see his body with those stones stitched into his belly." Potts shivered as he set the pot to the side of the fire. He used two sticks to grab a small glowing ember and place it over the bowl of a small pipe that appeared out of a pocket. He inhaled. Held it and exhaled slowly. "And his head bashed in. It's all pain and suffering."

"Easy on the philosophy, my aged friend." Brent took a sip of the tepid tea. "The poor child probably stumbled upon some of Tork's scouts. I guess they didn't want their presence known." He watched Potts slump in his chair. "You want me to cover your shift tonight?"

"Nah, I'll be okay by then." Potts contemplated at his pipe. Then shook his head and put it away.

"I thought you Buddhists accepted life's trials and so on?"

"I never said I was a good Buddhist." Potts’s face twisted into a smile. "Maybe I joined this party partially to get away from life." He snorted. "Was I wrong or what?"

"I don't care what kind of Buddhist you are as long as you shoot straight." Brent gazed south. "Here they come."

Brent stood and watched Joe enter Haven, carrying a shovel and bucket. Behind him, Alita now leaned on Kristi, supported by the older woman's right arm.

Kristi's left hand rubbed her abdomen as she walked, her eyes unfocused.

Brent stopped breathing. Damn. His eyes shifted to Alita's tear stained face and he stepped forward. As the two women approached the fire circle, he held out his arms. Alita let go of Kristi and slipped into Brent's embrace. He could feel her gasping breaths. "We will keep his memory alive."

He felt her pull back and he let her go. Then watched as she was enveloped in Potts’s arms.

"I'll write down some of my recollections in Kristi's journal," Potts said as Alita returned to Kristi's side.

After Kristi led Alita to her hut, Brent glanced to Joe. "How'd it go?"

"Not sure." Joe dropped his tools and fell into a chair. "I still don't know why she only wanted me to help with the burial." He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the small mound that overlooked the river. Tomorrow, everyone would gather to say his or her remembrances.

"I'm guessing she figures you're her only family?" Potts voiced slurred slightly.

Joe didn't seem to notice Potts’s voice. "I pulled him out of the water. Then I put him in the ground." He leaned forward, head in hands. "Yeah, I'm a real help to Alita."

"Hey, you're here for her." The slur in Potts’s voice was more pronounced. Joe still didn't appear to notice.

"Given the situation, we aren't doing that bad." Brent didn't feel that way, but Joe needed something to hang on to. "Hell, Joe, we're trying to save a bunch of children in the middle of a war."

"Do what you can." Potts looked up, pupils wide. "Don't obsess about what you can't."

"Sound advice." Brent stood. More words he didn't believe in. "I got to make the rounds and then relieve Larry." He sized up Potts. "I'm not even close to tired. I'll take an extra shift tonight."

Chapter 51

Day 160 - August 13

"Make her squeal." His father's words followed Samatu as he led Nika away from the grinning Skullmen. He had won her for tonight. His first night with a slave. Samatu could feel the grinning Skullmen behind him.

The conscripted warriors kept their eyes down as he passed through them. They treated their women, free or slaves, better than the Skullmen did. Almost gently. Like Father had treated Mother before her death a hand of seasons ago.

His hut was small, just enough room for a sleeping skin and a small fire. But it would shield his first coupling from the laughing men. Moving through the low doorway, he led her to his sleeping skin. Nika followed his hand and knelt, passive. What should he do now? The other Skullmen called her the 'leather bag,' saying that penetrating her was like entering a hole in a hide. No response, not even fear.

After his eyes adjusted to the dark hut, lit only by stars through the smoke hole, he watched her face. Her eyes were closed.

Samatu pressed his hand against her shoulder and she lowered herself to the ground. He knelt and lifted one of her shoulders to turn her onto her back.

Uncertainty cut his excitement. He laid his hand along side of her face, smooth, now, with healing. His fingers brushed the hair, encountering knots. With open fingers, he combed her hair. Hair so soft.

Samatu shifted closer to her head. With both hands, he spread out her hair, sliding fingers through the rich strands. Over and over again.

A small whimper, almost inaudible, froze his motions.

"Why do you cry?" Samatu heard slaves crying as the Skullmen enjoyed them. But he hadn't even penetrated her yet.

Nika covered her face with her hands and rocked back and forth.

Samatu shifted back onto his heels. Should he just enter her? His excitement had softened. He lifted her leather skirt. Felt along her thigh. Stopped when the muscles in her leg tightened.

Her sobs increased and her body shook.

"Why do you cry?" He asked again.

"I thought you would be different." Nika's voice was low, barely audible.

"How?"

"You seemed kind."

The words destroyed any remaining excitement. He lay down next to her. She stiffened, but relaxed when he didn’t touch her.

"Tell me about your previous life."

* * *

A sliver of the new moon shown through the smoke hole. He rolled onto his side to discover Nika awake and staring at him.

Samatu smiled at the pleasant experience of her closeness.

Nika touched his arm. "You should enter me. If I do not please you, I will be beaten."

* * *

Samatu woke to shouts. At his side, Nika slept, face soft in the grey light of the quarter moon falling through the smoke hole.

He shifted from her contact and rose. Pulling back the entrance covering, he looked around at the dim village.

Movement attracted his attention and, leaving his hut, he followed the sounds of running feet toward the shore of the Salt Waters.

"What happened?" Samatu called to another running warrior.

"Strangers."

"From upriver?" Samatu's heart pounded in his chest.

"From beyond the Salt Waters."

When he reached the shoreline, he found a giant canoe rocking in the waves. A thin tree grew from its center, trailing vines and ripped leather.

"Look." Someone pointed.

A shaggy man with hair the color of dry grasses stood at the front of the canoe. He raised an empty hand before swaying and falling out of sight into the interior of the boat.

Samatu froze. In the moonlight, the stranger's skin had shown pale. Like that of the Sky Goddess.

Chapter 52

Day 186 - September 8

Kristi straightened and brushed the dirt from her skirt. She pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and wiped her face. Brent claimed this was the year 1054 which put them in the middle of a global warming period. It certainly felt like it. She cast a careful eye around her little garden. Along with the herbs, the weeds thrived in the heat. She tolerated help with the weeding but preferred to work alone, enjoying the mindless, cathartic activity.

Kristi scanned the sky. No clouds. They'd gotten rain no more than once a week, another effect of the warming trend. She'd need another few buckets of water today to keep her plants happy, and that wasn't cathartic. Larry had brought a roll of plastic tubing, but not enough for an irrigation line. Just another item on the long list of things they wished they'd brought.

Kristi stretched, sighing as she gazed around at Haven. Further down Haven’s shallow hill, Marisa knelt on the ground, scraping a deer hide from one of Brent's kills. The Elder had started resisting her medical teaching. To the north and uphill, Brent worked with several of the children on the archery range. She needed to make peace with him for the good of Haven. It wasn't his fault he was a man.

And what of being a woman? She resisted the impulse to rub her abdomen. What was her share of guilt, if any, for Levanu’s death? Dead because she wanted…what? Love? Adoration by a kind and gentle man? Or had it just been lust? Even now, she didn’t know.

At the south end of Haven, a rider crossed Salamander Creek and turned to cross the Snake to the horse corral. Larry? Something large lay across the back of the saddle. Several of the children appeared to run toward him, but he waved them off, arms wild and angry. One boy turned and ran her way. Panic surged through her. She had never seen Larry gesture to the children like that before.

Dropping her hoe, Kristi hurried out of the herb patch and toward the running child.

"Larry captured a white clay warrior," the young boy said after he came to a stop in front of her and took a deep breath. His face flushed with excitement. "Larry wants you to look at the captive. He is sick."

As Kristi ran, she saw that Larry had crossed the Snake. He'd dismounted a few yards from the small tack shed at the east side of the horse corral. Several children milled about on the village side of the stream.

She waded through the water and climbed the shallow bank. Larry stood over the body, tightening the rope that tied the stranger's hands together. Another rope bound his feet.

"You may not want to get too close." His eyebrows pinched together as he nodded toward the bound man. “I found him a mile or so past the fish weir. I’m guessing I spooked his companions and they left him. Saw a canoe disappearing downriver when I looked around after tying him up.”

Kristi glanced at Larry and knelt a few feet away from the man. Sweat poured from the unconscious man's face. A rash covered his forehead.

"I've already touched him." Larry knelt on the other side of the man. "He's got a fever. Just tell me what to do."

"Open his mouth."

Larry pulled the man's mouth open. Blisters covered the inside of the mouth and tongue.

"My first thought is smallpox," Kristi said, scrutinizing the sweating warrior. "But how? Is Brent way off on the supernova date?"

Kristi looked back at Haven. The children were lined up on the other side of the stream. How should she handle this? "You're ex-military. Were you immunized against smallpox?"

"Yeah, that and a lot others." Larry nodded toward the opposite side of the creek. "The young’uns sure ain't."

Kristi stepped back. She felt a slight breeze from the west. She was north of the sick man. She stepped back further. "I'm immunized. Part of my medical plans." She gazed across the stream at the children. "Look, whoever comes in contact with the patient can not interact with the village." Damn, but what else could she do? "Can you handle taking care of him?"

"If it protects the kids?" Larry didn't wait for an answer. "Yes."

"Make him comfortable. Give him water." Kristi moved toward the tack shed. "I'll strip the hut. Move him in when it’s empty. We need to quarantine this side of the Snake."

* * *

Joe watched as Niminu stared into the fire for several breaths.

"We should kill him," the Elder said, passing the pipe to Brent.

"He is an enemy." Using a green stick bent back on itself, Brent picked up a small coal and placed it on the bowl. He sucked in a short breath. Looking puzzled, he glanced at Potts, who gave a small shrug. "However, we believe in helping all peoples." Brent shook out the ashes.

Joe accepted the pipe and leather bag of tobacco. He sniffed the bag. Potts had added a little of his cannabis. Probably not a bad idea. Joe filled the bowl, lit it, and puffed once. "He has knowledge of Tork. If possible, we should heal him."

Joe paused and eyed the clay pipe in his hand. The bowl mimicked a gaping mouth. The artist had carved minute animal heads along the sides of the short thick pipe stem before firing. The Elders claimed that it was made from high quality clay that was no longer available. Another trading casualty of Tork's war.

Joe looked at the villagers around the fire. Kristi, Brent, and Potts had argued for keeping the sick warrior alive. The male Elders all recommended death. The elder women were split, Canisa siding with Kristi. No surprise there, she'd been a fan of Kristi ever since she'd healed her son, Levanu.

Joe shifted his gaze across the creek toward the former tack hut where Larry was quarantined with the patient.

Damn this leader thing. But the village was split. "We will do our best to keep the warrior alive. Kristi, please continue helping Larry from a distance." Joe looked at each man in turn. "If the warrior recovers, we will ask him about Tork’s plans.”

Most nodded their assent immediately. Niminu finally lowered his head, and Joe exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Maybe Potts’s herb had helped.

Joe then stared at the grandmothers. Canisa met his eyes and nodded. Marisa and Gusama both frowned. He continued gazing at them. Finally, after several minutes, they glanced at each other before turning back to lower their heads in assent.

"Kristi, will you please tell us about quarantine procedures?"

As Kristi described cells and viruses, Joe watched the villagers' faces. Almost all had peered through Kristi's microscope. But not all accepted what they saw, especially Marisa and Gusama. He suspected it was a power and prestige problem. Another problem to be solved later.

He caught Alita's eye. She held her fist in front of her chest, thumb up. He smiled at this gesture that she'd learned it back at the ranch. He also felt oddly comforted by it.

Chapter 53

Day 188 - September 10

Joe stepped off the ladder onto the tower's platform to face Potts.

"Hope he'll be okay." The older man leaned on the tower's railing as he gazed east across Snake Creek.

Joe joined Potts at the railing. Haven filled the triangular shaped clearing between Snake Creek and the smaller Salamander. The collection of huts, tents, and small fort presented an idyllic scene in the later afternoon light, with the shadow of the trees at the summit of Haven’s small hill just starting to darken the ground around the dwellings. But on the far side of the Snake, a lonely Larry squatted in front of a small fire. "He's been immunized against most every infectious disease there is."

"Is today's smallpox the same as in the twenty-first century?" Potts lifted an eyebrow in Joe's direction.

"Never thought about it." Joe heaved in a breath. "But probably."

"I think some of the Elders are having second thoughts about their gods." Potts pointed to the edge of the tower's clearing. "Check that section of log over there. Niminu started carving on it this morning."

"Could it just be something traditional?"

"After our meeting yesterday, Marisa and Niminu were chattering away. Mostly Marisa was talking. Too low and too fast for me to catch." Potts shook his head. "I'd hate to be married to her."

"Just so they don't cause any disruptions."

"Well, I better get back and check on dinner." Potts picked up a jacket lying in the corner of the platform. "The kids sure have an appetite."

"Say..." Joe hesitated, looking at his hands, the right one worrying a finger on the left. Should he even talk about it? He dropped his hands and looked at his friend.

Potts’s eyebrows rose.

"It's about Alita."

A smile cracked Potts’s face. "What about the little woman?"

"That's the problem. She's not a woman no matter how much…I might want her to be." He swallowed. "She's only a young girl." Joe gazed toward Haven. Figures bustled around the cooking fire. One was probably Alita.

"She's a woman in this world."

"And she's about half my age."

"Is that a problem for her?" Potts shook out the jacket. "Or is it a problem for you?" He slipped on the jacket and stepped to the rail alongside Joe.

"Any relationship beyond friendship would be taking advantage of her. I'm not really a person to her. I'm the hero from the Far Lands." Joe watched Potts as the old cook stared toward Haven. In spite of the months spent here—or because of them, he looked healthy. His eyes were clear and his muscles toned. The only obvious wear was the increased number of wrinkles radiating from those eyes.

"Biologically, it's not a problem. And younger may even be better for childbearing." Potts turned to meet Joe’s gaze. "The only other factor is social. And that’s not a problem here." Once again, his eyebrows rose.

Joe walked to the southern rail and peered at the Susquehanna. "It's…just not right."

"That's all in your head." Potts moved to the ladder and descended a few steps before pausing. "And she's damned cute. But you know that." The footsteps continued to descend.

Chapter 54

Day 191 - September 13

Joe climbed up through the floor of the tower platform, gasping for breath.

"Didn’t need to run. Ain’t like they’re going away." Larry knelt and, using the railing for support, sighted down their remaining rifle. "Should I take a shot? I could get lucky. It's only a mile."

"You're unlikely to drop one. Save the cartridge." Joe picked up the binoculars and viewed the opposite shore. "Actually, I'd like to keep them in the open so we can see what they're up to."

"I know what they're up to." Larry grimaced. "But you're right." He stood and let out a deep breath.

"What's your count?"

"About seven canoes so far." Larry squinted. "Eight. Each about ten warriors."

"I just don't get it." Joe lowered the binoculars. "Why even bother with us?"

"Well, we did royally piss him off." Larry grunted. "Several times."

"Yeah, but if Samatu was correct about Tork’s main base being on the Chesapeake, then he ought to be busy. That area was a major population center. Or is, if the year is 1054." Joe's shoulders drooped. "Shit, we can't be a threat; we moved upriver to get away from the guy."

"All I'm wondering is how to kill almost a hundred warriors." Larry gave up on his attempt at a smile. “They’re bound to have our guns. Just hope they can’t shoot straight.”

“Probably can’t. But luck hasn’t been with us lately.”

"Just too fucking bad we weren't able to get any info out of my captive. He may have had some news about that." He stretched. "All that work nursing the jerk and he died on us." He looked down at his clothes. "Cost me a set of clothing and us a couple of good blankets."

Joe let out a breath. Kristi had explicitly instructed Larry to burn his clothing as well as the blankets that he and the sick warrior had used. An action that resulted in more disapproval from Marisa.

"Any further thoughts on our defenses?" Joe pulled out a map and unfolded it against the tower's railing.

Larry moved to Joe's side. "Hey, another nice contour map."

"Yeah, well I did Civil Engineering in school. Map making was useful."

Larry's finger stabbed the mouth of Snake Creek on the map. "All that open area will tempt them into a direct attack. And those downed trees'll help keep 'em in a tight bunch." He blew out a long breath. "At least near the clearing."

Joe shifted his eyes from the map to the clearing along the Susquehanna. "I get you. Maybe put in some shooting blinds or barriers in the middle?"

"Yeah. I'll get with Brent. Not like we ain't got plenty of wood."

Joe folded and replaced the map in his pocket. "A killing field," he said in a flat voice as he stared at his friend.

Larry's face clouded. "Until we run out of ammo."

"At short range, the Ruger is deadly." Joe watched his friend's face. "And we still have over 900 rounds for it."

Larry closed his eyes, breathing deep. "Okay, how about we put Brent with the Ruger in the middle. The revolver and rifle on either side, backed by bows. Me and you?"

"Better you on Mojo. Full armor. Up and down the riverside trails."

Larry paused, eyes distant. "Yeah, they'll try to flank us." His eyes shifted back to the present. "What of Brent's flintlock?"

"Good for one shot in a fight. Won’t be time to reload." Joe gazed at the ground around the tower. "Maybe leave it here for whoever is on watch? Fill it with shot?"

"Yeah. Anyone hitting the tower won't know it takes time to reload," Larry said. "And maybe on the tower, there'll be time?"

Joe looked back at the canoes disappearing behind Bird Island. Another canoe appeared from downriver. That made nine canoes if their count was correct. And those were just the ones that they had seen. What could their few guns do against a mass attack? His eyes unfocused. Tork knew the effectiveness of their guns. Could he be fooled?

Chapter 55

Day 199 - September 21

Samatu stumbled, grabbing a tree branch to stay upright. He had to keep moving. He leaned against the tree and dropped the two heavy leather bags and his sleeping fur. His thigh throbbed as he bent his left leg to lower himself against the tree. He had walked a long distance in the Great River to escape detection by Tork's scouts, but stumbling along the broken river bottom had aggravated his healing leg—that impossible wound that the Sky Goddess had healed even though he was their enemy. He gritted his teeth against pain that had nothing to do with his leg.

He leaned back, his heated body relieved by the moist bark. Beads of sweat cooled his burning face. Memories flashed through his head: Nika hanging by her wrists at the sacrificial pole, his father laughing as he held the long lightning weapon, her head jerking back, exploding into a spray of blood, flesh, and bone.

His jaw clenched as the image of Nika transformed into an unnamed slave at the end of the long weapon during his Skullman ceremony.

In spite of a churning stomach, he forced himself to chew a strip of jerky. He must maintain his strength. He must return the bags.

* * *

Kristi stopped to catch her breath when she reached the river path. Tanuhu stood at the top of the trail that led down to the Susquehanna. Across his chest, he held his branch, carved to resemble a rifle, painted with mud and ochre. He pointed to the small canoe holding a position about 200 yards out.

She glanced up at the tower; two flags still fluttered in the light breeze. Two flags meant warning. Two drumbeats signaled those not in sight of the tower.

She slipped her own dummy rifle off her back and, holding it prominently in front of her, jogged down to the river's edge and looked out over the water. A single canoe with a single paddler held position mid-stream.

"White clay markings."

Kristi jerked at the sound of Potts’s voice. He probably had been working one of the nearby vegetable plots along the path. Now he stood beside her, peering through a pair of binoculars. Zoey sat at his side, ears cocked toward the sound of paddling.

"May I?" Kristi shifted position to stand closer to Potts, slipping her painted stick over a shoulder by its strap.

He handed her the binoculars.

Kristi adjusted the focus, and then gasped as she recognized the man paddling midstream. White clay covered his face, leaving holes around his eyes and mouth, creating the image of a grinning skull. He had held her as Tork raped her. Then he had taken his turn. "He's Tork's right hand man." She fought down a wave of nausea and white-hot rage. Felt Potts’s hand on her shoulders.

The sound of hoof beats registered through the turmoil of her emotions. "What's he want?" Larry asked.

"Not sure. He's just holding his position." Potts sounded thoughtful. "But maybe he wants to talk."

"I'd rather kill him," Kristi said in a hoarse voice.

"Maybe talk first?"

Another horse rode up. "He's just about in rifle range," Brent said.

Guilt stabbed her, chilling her rage. If she hadn't gone off with Levanu, all of this wouldn't have happened. Maybe Tork would have ignored them.

No. He would not have ignored them. Levanu would be alive, but Tork would still be here. Kristi breathed deep, her anger now cold and focused. "That's Nist. I think he's Tork's second in command." She turned back toward the river, her expression carefully neutral. The canoe still held its position, maybe 200 yards out.

"He's pointing upstream." Potts waded out into the water, looking upstream. "To Gravel Island?" He pointed to the low collection of sand and gravel halfway between the western end of the much larger Bird Island and Haven's side of the river. Other than scattered clumps of driftwood at the upper end, no features marred the flat surface. "Now's he's paddling."

"I'll ride up there." Larry mounted his horse.

"I'm with you." Brent pulled Haven's remaining rifle out its sheath, checked it and slid it back in place. "Potts, you armed?"

"The bow's stashed by the garden along with my carved stick."

"Best get both."

Larry and Brent rode up the shallow bank and turned left onto the river trail.

Kristi walked to the water's edge for a better view as Potts and Zoey headed toward the garden. A mile upstream, the canoe beached on the far side of Gravel Island. Nist got out. He wore only a loincloth and carried no visible weapons. He walked about fifty yards away from his canoe to the middle of the island, and stood watching Haven's side of the river.

In a few minutes a swimming figure came into Kristi's view. Dark skin identified Larry. Wearing only his briefs, he slogged out of the shallow water from Haven's side of the river.

She turned at the sound of footfalls. Alita joined her and grabbed her hand with her free hand, the other holding her painted stick. Behind them, Potts now stood with his false rifle in his hands, bow and quiver over his shoulder. Further inland, Joe came into view riding Snark. He halted, looking upstream along the trail and then to Kristi.

She waved him upstream and watched him nudge Snark into a gallop, arm waving his wooden rifle in the air.

"I'm worried, too," Kristi said to her young friend.

On the island, Larry faced Nist, both men gesturing with flailing arms. After several minutes of talk, the two men parted, the Skullman walked back to his canoe while Larry reentered the water and started swimming.

"If they're talking, they're not fighting." Kristi put her arm around the young woman's shoulders.

* * *

Joe held Larry’s clothes as his friend trudged onto the shore.

"Tork wants us to surrender." Larry said in a low voice, as he shook himself and grabbed his clothes. "He says he'll let us go if we give him the guns and horses." Every muscle in his body was tense.

Joe waded into the river as Larry dressed. Beyond Gravel Island, the tree-covered Bird Island blocked the sight of Tork's main forces. Downstream, several diminutive figures waved their dummy rifles. He waved his own back, pointed in the direction of the tower, and slogged back to shore.

"Now what?" Larry said, mounting Mojo. Behind him, Brent sat on Flicker.

"Let's assemble up at the tower. Where we can see if this is a diversion. Nikaku's there now."

Larry nodded and rode up the shallow bank, followed by Brent.

Joe mounted Snark and followed his friends. A sense of deep hollowness crept into his core at Tork's message. End game?

At the top of the bank, Joe turned to follow his friends along the riverside trail. As they approached the clearing at the mouth of Snake Creek, the trail widened. Although rough with stumps and broken brush, it provided quick movement along the river. Along the river side of the trail, the downed trees pointed their tops like spikes toward the water, their interlocking branches impeding any easy access from that direction.

The trail broke out into the west end of the clearing, an area about a hundred yards deep by two hundred yards long, cut by Snake Creek into two unequal parts. The smaller western area had most of the access to the river shoreline as well as the smaller trail that ran along the Snake to Haven. Their vegetable fields filled the larger, eastern side, which narrowed to continue the river trail.

Joe halted and nodded with satisfaction at the three shooting blinds that faced the shoreline. The sets of upright logs formed a protective barrier about chest high at the pinch point between the shore-side clearing and the larger interior field.

Joe looked over his shoulder as he headed inland toward Haven along Snake Creek trail. He could just see the smoke from Tork’s cooking fires rising over the thickly forested Bird Island. It drifted upward in slow arcs, catching the occasional puff of wind.

Halfway along the trail to Haven, he turned onto a side path that wound up the hill to the tower.

Within minutes, Joe reined in next to Mojo and Flicker under the tower. Nikaku, now joined by Brent, looked down from above. Tanuhu and Niminu stood next to Larry. Kristi leaned against one of the tower's supports. At her feet, Hatimu sat as he attached one of Larry’s hammered points to a shaft with sinew.

"Where's Alita? Potts?"

"Alita wanted to check that Sesapa moved the children and Grandmothers safely into the fort. She has the Ruger. I asked Potts to go with her," Kristi said. "He took Zoey, too."

"Good," Joe said and nodded to Larry.

Larry repeated the message from Nist. A heavy silence formed.

Joe gazed at the opposite shore. From their position at the base of the tower, they weren’t able to see beyond Bird Island. But smoke continued to curl upwards into the still air.

"Brent, what do you see?" Joe looked up at the tower's perch.

"Only can see a few canoes lined up on the opposite shoreline through the trees on Bird Island. Could be more."

"They're not going to let us go," Kristi said in a flat voice.

"That's a given. But hopefully our carved sticks fooled Nist. And his words do give us another day to prepare." Joe turned to Larry. "Just in case this is a feint, how about if you scout along the river trail for the rest of the day?" Joe looked up. "Brent, I'm also thinking that you and me should add shooting barriers where the river trail enters the clearing in case of flank attacks."

Joe turned to face the river. What else… Damn. They hadn’t considered the tree cover along the river. “Elders, can one of you please stand guard at the mouth of the Snake? Watch up and down river in case they try to approach by canoe along the shoreline? Much of the river’s edge is invisible from the trail and from the tower. Switch off as needed.”

The three men nodded.

“Tonight?” Brent asked.

Joe blew out a breath. “We’ll have the tower manned. But let’s also have one of us patrol riverside clearing with Zoey. And the Ruger.”

"What if we just run with the children?" Kristi stared across the river at the rising plumes of smoke.

Joe faced east. Haven presenting an idyllic landscape framed by low hills. "We can't ride faster than a running man on the trails in this terrain, even with the undergrowth burned off."

"Hide them?" Kristi asked.

"He's likely to have people posted on the ridges. It’s best that we stay together." Joe took in a long breath. "As long as we can."

He looked at Larry, and then up at Brent. "But if we can cause them enough damage, maybe they won't pursue the kids. They can take off and scatter if…things go against us."

It was more a matter of 'when' rather than 'if,' given the number of Tork's warriors across the river. In the silence, Joe could hear the soft movement of the water, the calls of birds, and the breathing of his friends who followed him into this mess. He watched Larry raise his face to look at Brent, who raised an eyebrow and nodded.

Larry's face broke into a cold smile. "We'll hold 'em off long enough."

* * *

Tork stood watching as Nist climbed out of the small scout canoe. One of the ordinary warriors helped pull it onto the shoreline.

Nist glanced upstream and, at Tork's nod, walked in that direction. Tork joined him and they walked in silence until they were out of hearing of the warriors.

Nist stopped. "They obtained more weapons. Even the elder fools are carrying the long lightning weapons."

Tork gazed across the river. The nearby island blocked any view of the devils along the shore but he could see several strangers in their bird perch.

"I do not think they are the weapons that the boy who is no longer my son stole from us." A wave of emotion flickered across Nist's face. "We had three of the long lightning weapons. Only one had been left with the strangers. But today I saw over a hand of the long weapons."

Tork scrutinized his friend. The pain in Nist's face told of his sorrow at Samatu's treachery. "The boy's prints traveled south before disappearing into the river. None of my scouts found any sign that he reversed direction."

Tork's eyes unfocused as images of many battles passed through his memory like fleet clouds. If only he had more warriors like Nist. He shifted his mind back to the present and the warriors he did have. "Because of their families, the common warriors will be willing to die in battle against the devil weapons. But I prefer not to lose them. I will need them when we move against Three Rivers."

Tork looked back at their camp. At the nearer end, several warriors lay on their backs, weakened by the blister fever. Their healer cast the blame for this weakness on the strangers and swore his medicine was stronger. He was a powerful healer and would overcome this demon curse. Tork shifted his gaze upriver. His fate lay there, but first he must consolidate the tribes around the great waters and control this river.

He walked toward camp with Nist matching his steps.

As they approached, he could see the slave women preparing the evening meal around the central fires. Maybe he would enjoy one after he ate and the sun slept. Around the cooking area, the Skullmen tossed sticks, wagering for their own use of the women.

Tork stopped mid-stride. Samatu had reported that, without the lightning weapons, only the dark one had power. Perhaps entertainment would distract his warriors from the sickness. And demonstrate his own power and break the spirit of the strangers.

Tork faced Nist. "Tomorrow morning, you will call the dark demon again."

Chapter 56

Day 202 - September 24

Joe glanced over his shoulder as footsteps approached. Potts jogged down the embankment to join them at the mouth of Snake Creek.

"Now what?" Potts looked from Joe to Hatimu to Alita.

Joe pointed upstream to Gravel Island. "Nist signaled and then paddled up to the island."

On the island, two figures parted, Nist walking to a canoe beached on the opposite side of the island. As Tork's second-in-command pushed his canoe into the water, Larry walked into the river.

"Who's covering him?"

"Brent went with him."

In a few minutes, Brent rode into the river clearing followed by a bare-chested Larry still dripping water.

Larry dismounted and dried his hair with his shirt before putting it on. "It gets better and better."

"Now what?" Joe felt his heart thudding in his chest. Larry's expressive face was stone neutral.

"He's calling for a duel now." Larry tucked his shirt into his jeans and buckled his belt. "Unarmed and 'til one of us is dead." He looked at Joe. "I offered to represent us. Nist just laughed."

"Who?" Alita's voice quivered.

"Tork and Joe. A duel on the island."

Alita grabbed Joe's right arm. "No." She started sobbing.

Joe felt a momentary shudder run through him. He put his left hand on hers as he stared at the island, its open sand and gravel surface a perfect stage for a fight.

"Tomorrow morning as the sun hits the island." Larry's shoulders slumped. "If you win, they leave. If you lose, we surrender."

"Any idea why he changed his mind?" Joe felt Alita lean against him, a refuge of warmth as a cold flood of fear washed over him.

"I think the fake rifles worked. Maybe they gave him second thoughts about a direct attack." Larry eyed Hatimu who was leaning on the carved wooden stick. "But that may not be true now."

Joe followed Larry's eyes. "Do you think he recognized the wooden rifles?" Beyond Hatimu, Kristi jogged down the shoreline to join them. Alita released Joe’s arm and went to her. A pang of loss swept through him.

Larry faced Joe. "I was watching him through the binos as he floated off shore getting our attention. I swear his eyes flicked past me, and widened. But only for a moment. Then he was back to his poker face."

No help for it. "What are the rules for a duel?"

"One dies. One lives."

"Weapons?"

"No weapons. Loincloths only."

Joe glanced over his shoulder to see Kristi put her arm around Alita. "How many cartridges do we have for the rifle?"

"About a dozen," Larry said in a low flat voice.

"Revolver?"

"Four. But hundreds for the Ruger."

"I figure there are at least a hundred warriors across the river. Probably more." Joe shifted his gaze past Kristi and Alita. Several of the children had appeared along with Sesapa and Canisa.

"They will attack regardless of who wins." He stared into Alita's eyes. "But if I can kill Tork, their attack will be weaker."

* * *

Tork watched Nist glide the canoe onto the sand. One of the warriors grabbed the prow as Nist stepped into the water. His eyes remained on the ground.

Tork walked upstream. He'd known Nist all his life. Something was bothering his old friend.

In a hand of heartbeats, he heard footsteps overtaking him. "What worm is crawling in your gut?"

"My eyes have deceived us." Nist's voice breathed shame. "The demon weapons are false."

Tork stopped and gazed into his friend's eyes. "Explain."

"Yesterday, everyone in the strangers’ tribe carried the long weapons." Nist hesitated, lowering his eyes to the sandy ground. "Today, they also carry them. But one of the elders used his as a walking stick." Nist raised his eyes to look at his chief. "I now think they are carved from wood. The devils have made a fool of me."

Tork gazed north. The large island blocked the view of the river's opposite shore, but the watching nest stood stark on its small hill. The demons who were not demons were capable of treachery. Maybe he had underestimated their cunning.

He breathed deeply, struggling under the weight of duty. He stretched, arms in the air, allowing his hands to tighten into fists. He flexed arms, moving the muscle tension to his chest, torso and legs. Finally, his feet dug into the soft sand. He had power and he had his own cunning; he would avenge his father and honor his mother. These strangers were merely another obstacle to overcome.

Tork relaxed his muscles and stared at the tower. "My friend, they only fooled you once." He laughed. "They are cowards. I will kill this Joe. Then we will attack and take any remaining weapons and their horses. Killing them will provide the men an easy distraction from the fever."

He placed one hand on his friend's shoulder. "Tonight, you will swim."

Chapter 57

Day 203 - September 25

As the sun broke over the eastern horizon, Brent climbed onto the tower's platform to find Larry gazing upstream through the binoculars. The night vision goggles swayed in a small arc from a hook on the railing. "Anything?"

"No. But the batteries gave out again a couple hours before dawn." Larry nodded to the goggles then peered downstream. "I just know Tork has warriors crossing the river to hit us from the sides." He lowered the binoculars. "That's what I would do."

"Kidu will be here soon. Then I'll help you with your armor." Brent glanced over the railing. Below, Mojo grazed next to a pile of armor. Larry would be watching their flanks and rear when the attack came.

"You still good with our half-assed plan?" Larry gazed into the east. "Can't see shit with the sun still low."

"Flicker and I will accompany Joe along the trail then wait for him on the bank. I'll have the 22 Ruger and have a rope handy. And I’ll have the rifle for Joe in case Tork’s men try a direct attack by overrunning the islands."

Larry interrupted Brent with a low snort. "I'm not happy about not being there."

"I'm not happy about anything." Brent met Larry's eyes. "But you're our knight in not-so-shining armor. You got to keep those trails clear."

Larry grimaced as he nodded.

"Once I get Joe back to shore, we'll head back to the Snake Creek clearing." Brent tried to keep his voice confident as he looked at the clearing that connected the trails along the river to the one that lead to Haven and the tower.

"That'll be when and where everything goes to shit." Larry forced a tight smile. "Right?"

Brent kept his expression neutral. Larry was just letting off steam. Besides, he was probably right. "Yeah, the white clay horde's going to attack regardless of the outcome of the duel." Brent tried to imagine various attack strategies and how best to counter them. Resisted shaking his head. "When I get back to the clearing, I'll keep Flicker by me. She's got the leather armor. And I'll switch my jacket for my own leathers."

Below them, not far from Mojo, Flicker grazed on the long grasses surrounding the tower. Layers of boiled leather draped her shoulders and flanks. A leather tunic was tied to the back of the saddle.

"Kristi, Nikaku, and Potts will have their mounts at the sides of the clearing's mouth," Brent said. "The elders aren't comfortable on horseback, so their plan is to slip into the forest if it becomes necessary."

Brent paused to take in a deep breath. He had to maintain his optimism for Larry's sake. "I'll take a position behind the middle barrier with the Ruger and a bow. After the duel, Joe will have the rifle behind the barrier to the right of me. Kristi to the left with the revolver. Nikaku will cover her with a bow." Brent's mouth tightened. Kristi had insisted on fighting. Which was probably a good sign, but he wished she'd stay back. "Kristi and Nikaku will retreat to the fort when she runs out of shells. When Joe runs out, he'll back me up with his bow."

Brent sighed. Repeating the plan out loud didn't make it seem any better. "Potts and Hatimu will man the downstream trail barrier. Tanuhu and Niminu will be at the one upstream. All with bows. Niminu said he’d also have his atlatl."

He contemplated the clearing. Set back from the river, the football-field sized clearing connected to the river with a fifty-yard wide funnel, maybe forty yards long. Downed trees strengthened the edges of the clearing and the edges of the funnel. Any warriors attacking them directly would be forced to approach through the open area. Hopefully.

Larry shook his head as he let out a long breath. "So the optimal outcome is to break the attack then retreat to the fort?"

Brent nodded. "If we do enough damage, they may hesitate to carry the attack to the fort." He frowned at his optimistic words. "Kidu will monitor the attack from here." In case they were overrun, the twelve-year-old boy would be responsible for signaling an evacuation of Haven. The elder women would slip into the surrounding forest and light fires to draw Tork's men. Hopefully that would give Alita and the children an increased chance to travel a greater distance before they had to abandon the horses.

"Four drum beats?" Larry pressed his lips together.

"Yeah. That will be Kidu's signal if the fort's under attack." Brent pointed at the trail below them. “He’s coming now. Good, he’s got the case with the flintlock, shot, and powder. I reviewed firing and loading with him yesterday. Hopefully, he won't need it." He fingered the netting strung between the railings and the floor. "Wish we had solid walls on this platform instead of just netting."

“Daru?”

“Already in place with spare mounts at the point where the trail from Haven breaks out into the clearing.”

"Sesapa?" Larry's face twitched.

"Ready to head up the valley with the extra horses." In case Haven fell, her job would be to scatter them and try to rendezvous with Alita. Brent looked toward Haven. "Alita should have been here already."

"What?" Larry jerked his head around.

"I'm getting worried. She was supposed to bring me the Ruger. And Joe was asking for her. No one has seen her this morning." And they'd all been up for hours.

"Where's Kristi?"

"Looking for Alita."

"Oh shit. Is she gonna try something?"

"I don't know." Brent closed his eyes. It hadn't started yet and already things were going to hell. Alita was supposed to be in Haven with the children, ready to retreat into the hills on horseback if it became necessary. "She's really ripped up about Joe accepting the challenge."

The tower vibrated. “Here’s Kidu,” Larry said. "And Potts? Is he still okay?"

"He's already in place." Brent pointed toward the main clearing that straddled Snake Creek. The clearing’s eastern end was visible, showing the vegetable plots and part of the river trail. Several upright logs formed a barrier next to the trodden trail. A saddled horse grazed near a sitting figure beside the downstream barrier. "I believe the old fool is meditating." The figure rose. “But he’s up now. There’s Nikaku; he just dropped off Joe’s bow at his barrier. And Hatimu’s in place. Can’t see Tanuhu and Niminu but their position is hidden by the trees.”

"I'm impressed that Potts is staying away from that pipe of his." Larry hung the binoculars on a protruding nail. "Joe’s riding down the trail. Hopefully he has the Ruger. Let’s get Kidu settled then get me armored, I want to scout the trail before you and Joe get to the island. The duel will be a good time for a flank attack."

Brent glanced at the opposite bank. Tork had built bonfires up and down his side of the river. It was a good psychological ploy to demoralize them. And totally unnecessary.

* * *

Kristi emerged from the Haven trail onto the river trail just as the sun touched the top of the ridge on the opposite shore. She tugged the reins with her right hand to bring Sweetpea to a stop, her left caressing her swollen abdomen. Where was Alita? She trotted into the clearing far enough to view the tower. She saw two figures on the ladder, descending. A third remained on the perch. None appeared to be Alita.

A hundred and fifty yards to her left, at the downstream end of the clearing, Potts and Hatimu stood by their barrier, stringing their bows and checking arrows. Nearer to her right, Tanuhu and Niminu did the same at the upstream barrier. The elder men had taken to Joe's more powerful bow design, their enthusiasm greater than their accuracy.

Behind Brent’s barrier in the center of the clearing, Nikaku set out boxes of 22 caliber shells on a small skin. This would be the pivotal point of their defense, relying on Brent's accuracy with the small Ruger to defeat a hundred warriors. Who hopefully hadn’t figured out how to use the stolen guns.

Kristi drew in a long breath, trying to settle her stomach. Nikaku would be her guard while she tried to kill four men. Kristi shivered but not from the cool morning air. She had insisted on being here because she was a better shot with the revolver than Potts. To the right of Brent’s position stood the logs that formed Joe's barrier. His bow and quiver already leaned against its side and he'd have the rifle with twelve shells. If he made it back from his hand-to-hand duel on the island.

Kristi nudged Sweetpea to the barrier about thirty yards left of Brent's and next to a row of downed trees. There, she hung her own bow and quiver on one of Larry's precious nails. The barrier's three vertical logs would provide some protection if they didn't collapse on her. She glanced up at the lookout tower. A figure waved. It wasn't Alita. Hopefully, she was giving Brent the Ruger.

She touched the whistle that hung around her neck and loosened her sheathed knife. She unholstered the revolver and spun the cylinder. Still only four shells. She repositioned the cylinder and reholstered the gun. After her four shots, she’d run to the fort to join the children, leaving the men to die. She closed her eyes. Men who were different from any she had previously known in her old life. Even Brent. Damn, maybe she had pushed him away.

Across the water, figures appeared on Bird Island. What little she could see of Gravel Island remained empty.

Kristi tied Sweetpea to one of the nearby downed trees and unhooked her medical bag. Slipping its carrying strap over her shoulder, she walked down to the water to get a better view. About a mile upstream, Gravel Island lay midway between their side of the river and Bird Island. The low mound of gravel and sand lay bare in the morning mist, broken only by debris at its upper end.

A few minutes passed. More spectators appeared out of the trees and thick shrubbery of Bird Island, crowding its west shoreline for a better view.

The sun crested the eastern ridge, dissipating the early morning mist. Over the lapping of the river around her knees, Kristi heard hoof beats. She glanced up the bank to see Joe and Brent disappear along the river trail, heading upriver to the duel site. Kristi's blood iced in spite of the warming sun. She turned to face the tower. Even at this distance, she could make out Kidu leaning over the rail, binoculars in his hands. A hell of a job for a child.

She started at the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Is he there yet?" Potts asked.

"Any time now." Kristi looked back upstream toward the two islands. From the trees along their side of the river, a figure appeared, wading then swimming toward the smaller Gravel Island. From Bird Island another figure entered the shallower water between the islands.

"I don't like the look of all those guys on Bird Island." Potts pointed toward the larger island. "Other than a few deep spots, it's just a shallow slog of a few hundred yards to Gravel Island."

A thunder of hooves turned her head. Larry rode down the shoreline on a lathered Mojo, one waving arm holding out a rifle.

Kristi snapped her head upstream. Brent was supposed to have their remaining rifle. What had happened?

As Larry brought Mojo to a halt, Kristi glanced at Gravel Island. The two figures stepped onto the gravel and sand and started to circle. Even at this distance, she could make out Joe’s smaller frame.

"Here." Larry leaned over and handed her a Winchester 94. He withdrew another from a bundle of rifle sheaths tied to his saddle's pommel and passed it to Potts. Another rifle remained. From a leather bag hanging at the back of his saddle, he withdrew two boxes of shells. "Probably needs cleaning. But there's no help for that. Target the Skullmen."

"Wait." Kristi slipped the rifle under her arm and stashed the shells in her jacket pocket, confusion clouding her thoughts. "How?"

"Samatu's back. Brought the guns. But he's sick with blisters. Shit, there may even be pox residue on the rifles. Left him back about a half mile down the trail." Larry nudged Mojo into a turn. "He's half delirious. But he kept saying to kill the Skullmen. The ones with white clay outlining their skull." He nudged Mojo and they galloped up the clearing toward the upriver trail.

"Damn, maybe we will live after all." Kristi looked down at the rifle in her right. The exterior was sticky with mud and other residue.

Besides her, Pots tugged out a kerchief and wiped off his rifle. "Better than nothing."

Kristi's hand moved to her medical bag but paused. Better save the clean bandages. She unzipping her jacket and tugged the bottom of her shirt out of her jeans. Pulling out her knife, she cut off the lower third of her shirt. After sheathing the knife, she wiped down the stock and barrel of the Winchester, eyes flicking up to check on the men on the island.

* * *

Brent worried his left hand along Flicker's neck as he watched Joe slog out of the water onto Gravel Island. On the opposite side of the small island, Tork waited, hands at his side. Brent drew in a deep breath. Tork was a large man, as tall as Larry.

At the sound of hoof-beats, Brent twisted in his saddle to find Larry approaching, left hand out. A gun belt? Had Kristi decided to stay in Haven's fort? He felt a brief wave of relief then glanced back at the island. The two men circled, sizing each other up. Worry gnawed his stomach. Joe wasn't a fighter, in spite of his claims to being a high school wrestler. Tork wasn't going to play by any competitive rules.

Brent shifted in his saddle as Larry halted next to him, Mojo's agitation causing Flicker to prance.

"Here." The big man was flushed, his eyes wide with excitement as he held out a gun belt to Brent. It was the Smith & Wesson. "Samatu brought back the guns and shells. But no AR15."

"Why? Where is he?" Eyebrows pinched together in a question, Brent buckled the belt around his waist.

Larry opened the mouth of a bag attached to the saddle and pulled out a box of shells. "Dunno. He's way sick. Not gonna worry whether it's smallpox right now. This is for the revolver. He kept saying to kill the Skullmen first." Larry handed the box over and withdrew another box. "For the rifle." Then he stood still, squinting at the island.

Brent poured one box of shells into one of his shirt pockets, the second in another. As he followed Larry's gaze, his hands quickly filled the revolver's cylinder. At this distance, he could only tell the two men apart by Tork's size and white clay markings, still prominent in spite of Tork's swim.

As Brent started loading the rifle, Joe and Tork closed, both men low. Then Tork leaped, slamming blows into Joe's body. Joe staggered, and Tork closed again. Joe grappled with him this time, getting inside of Tork's blows.

The sound of metal on metal broke Brent’s gaze. Larry had stripped off his helmet and was worrying at the straps of his armor. "No, stay armored. I'm lighter and Flicker's good in the water."

"Then get ready." The big man said, readjusting his helmet. "And keep an eye on those assholes on Bird Island."

As Brent faced the nearer island, Joe stumbled and fell. Tork started kicking; Joe rolled away. Then Joe rose, one of Tork's feet in his hands. Joe lurched forward, flipping Tork onto his back.

Tork crabbed backwards, hands digging into the sand. He yanked something from the sand and Brent stopped breathing. A club. Joe was already in mid-leap as the war chief swung the club, impacting Joe's head in midair. Joe spun sideways and fell.

"No!" Brent kicked Flicker into the water, eyes never leaving the island. Too far away to risk a rifle shot.

Joe started to rise. Tork raised the club over his head in both hands.

A pistol shot rang out. Tork's club fell to the side. He grabbed his arm.

From one of the snags just upstream of the island's graveled area—no more than fifty yards from Joe—a figure stood, arms outstretched. More shots rang out. Tork staggered, turned and ran.

"It's Alita," Larry shouted. “Go. Go. Go.”

Brent urged a reluctant Flicker into the water.

On the island, Alita holstered the Ruger as she ran toward Joe. Tork fled in the direction of Bird Island where several of the figures started wading into the shallow waters between the two islands. Alita reached Joe and cradled him in her arms.

"Alita," Brent screamed. "To us."

Alita started dragging Joe toward the water. After a moment, Joe struggled to his feet, and they entered the water together.

Brent urged Flicker forward until she started to lose her footing. Then he threw his rope. "Alita. Catch."

She pulled Joe deeper and, grabbing the rope with one hand, twisted it once around him. "Pull."

Brent headed Flicker back toward shore, passing Larry on Mojo in ankle deep water. Larry reached down and, one handed, lifted a bleeding Joe onto Mojo. Abandoning the rope, Brent swung a dripping and muddy Alita up behind him and glanced back at the islands. The white clay warriors had disappeared.

Once on shore, they urged the horses into a trot. In a minute, they passed Tanuhu and Niminu, both waving their bows in the air. As they broke from the trail into the clearing, Kristi's voice cut through the air. "Canoes in the river."

Around the east end of Bird Island canoes appeared, a continuous line of them, filled with warriors decorated with white clay. Their chants echoed over the water.

"Wait until they're close," Larry bellowed as he brought Mojo to a stop. "Take out the Skullmen first."

Nikaku appeared as Brent dismounted and both helped lower Joe onto the ground with Alita hovering beside them. Kristi slipped between them and pressed a wad of gauze against the gash on the side of Joe's head.

"Alita, press here," she said. "Don't release pressure." Kristi peered into Joe's eyes. "Good." She wound a bandage around Joe's head, tucking in the end. "It'll have to do for now. Try standing." Kristi tucked the rest of the gauze into her shoulder bag.

Joe blinked and struggled to get to his feet.

"Kristi, get Alita into my jacket. She's shivering." Brent removed his jacket. "I'll help Joe get into his own clothes."

As Brent helped Joe back into his jeans and shirt, Kristi helped Alita replace her dripping mud-covered shirt with Brent's jacket. Brent told Joe briefly about the return of the guns. He nodded, his expression clear now. Hopefully, he'd be okay to shoot. They needed his aim.

"Kristi, help Alita get Joe to his position," Brent said. Kristi nodded and, with Alita's help, guided Joe toward his barrier.

Brent turned in place. Nearby, Larry sat on Mojo scanning the river, his eyes half hidden behind his helmet. A few feet away and further up the bank, Potts stood, rifle in hand, his own eyes flicking from the downriver trail to the upriver one.

"Aim for the warriors with the most white clay first," Larry repeated. "Brent, here's another box of shells. Kristi, best get back to your position."

Brent reached for the box and faced Alita. "Alita, still got that 22?"

She looked over her shoulder from Joe's barrier and nodded, slapping her holster.

"Keep it," Brent said. "Blow out any water that's in it when you load. Nikaku, give her the 22 shells. Then get back to…” He reconsidered the positions of the blinds. Kristi was fully armed now. “Best you stay with me at the center barrier. You can cover all of us better. Larry, got a weapon for Joe?"

Larry nudged Mojo toward Joe's barrier, lifting the last rifle's strap from around his pommel. "Here, I won't need it. I got one of Samatu's revolvers."

"Thanks," Joe said. "Shells?"

As Larry dug another box from his bag, Brent led Flicker to his barrier, donned his leather tunic, and checked his rifle. In the river, the lead warriors had passed the halfway point.

"Come on, motherfuckers!" Larry's voice rang out over the war cries of Tork's men.

Chapter 58

Day 203 - September 25

Potts could hear Larry calling for everyone to target the Skullmen. How the hell could he tell who they were?

Eight. Nine. Oh shit. Twelve or thirteen canoes swept around the downstream side of the island. As they approached, the answer became obvious. Each canoe held about ten warriors, two of which wore white clay that covered most of their faces. The clear regions around the eyes and mouth gave them a skull-like appearance. The others only had two slashes of white on their cheeks.

Two of the canoes veered east, probably to land downriver, releasing their warriors to work their way overland. One turned west. The remaining canoes powered directly toward the clearing.

Potts glanced toward his station. Hatimu waved, palm up, signaling that no one was in sight. He ran to his station.

"No one on the downriver trail," Hatimu said, his face blank, as Potts stopped by their barrier.

"I will join Kristi until warriors attack from that direction. Are you ready?"

"What do people in the Far Land do when facing death?"

Potts grinned. "We deny it." He glanced toward the oncoming canoes. "But maybe today, I will greet it."

Hatimu gave Potts a long look before he returned the grin. "I am happy to greet death with you." Hatimu faced the east road once more. "I will watch. And signal with the whistle if any warriors appear. Help the Sky Goddess."

Potts untied Osker, mounted and rode to Kristi's barrier. "I'll join you here until Hatimu sees something."

Kristi nodded, finished loading the rifle, and chambered a cartridge.

Potts dismounted and tied Osker next to Sweetpea. He returned to the barrier and sighted down the rifle. His pulse thumped in his ears. What was a burned out cook, a wannabe Buddhist, doing in a war?

He tried to keep the sights on a white face, but the distance was still too great and his hands shook.

At 100 yards, he started to make out individual faces. At 50 yards, the Skullman at the end of Potts’s sight opened his mouth. Potts pulled the trigger.

It didn't move.

Potts froze. Was the rifle damaged? Should he run? He looked at the weapon in his hands. The safety was on.

Sweating, he flipped the slide forward, rested the rifle on the barrier and sighted. He found his Skullman. He pulled the trigger, felt the kick. Looked up. He'd missed. No, one of the two-slash warriors had crumpled into the canoe behind the two Skullmen. His breakfast threaten to escape. He'd never before shot a human.

He levered in another round. Found his Skullman. Pulled. Missed.

The men in the canoe shoved a body out of the canoe. The two Skullmen shouted at the remaining seven warriors, and the canoe leaped forward.

Potts wiped his right hand on his jeans, willing it to stop shaking. The canoe was 40 yards away. He could hear the cries of the warriors. The crack of gunshots.

He again sighted along the barrel, found a white clay skull in the lead canoe. Fired. The warrior staggered and fell back into the lead rower. The canoe slowed as the paddlers hesitated.

At his side, Kristi's gun fired. Then again. Out in the water, the wounded Skullman slumped against the canoe's prow while the other gestured at the two slash warriors. They leaned into their paddles.

Four whistles rent the air. Then drums. Haven was being attacked. Potts dared a glance over his shoulder to see Brent leap on Flicker and galloped toward Haven, leaving Nikaku with only a bow behind the center barrier.

Over the screams and gunshots of battle, three sharp whistles sounded. Potts turned and saw Hatimu waving. They were being flanked.

He glanced around the clearing. The others were oblivious to Hatimu’s warning. He could just see Larry and Mojo thundering down the river trail past Tanuhu and Niminu toward a distant group of approaching white clay warriors.

Potts brought his whistle to his lips and blew three times. "Kristi, I'm back to Hatimu." He slung the rifle over his shoulders and hesitated next to Osker. Quicker to run. He untied the reins, slapped her rump, and fed a couple of shells into his rifle as he ran.

As he approached Hatimu's position, he could see charging warriors no more than a hundred yards away. Probably came ashore beyond the end of the downed tree barrier. Maybe they'd previously scouted it out?

"I'm here," Potts said to Hatimu as he reached his friend and slid in behind the barrier, bringing up his rifle. A screaming face came into focus at the end of the barrel. He fired. Levered. Fired.

"Look out," Hatimu shouted.

He looked up. Hatimu was drawing back an arrow, aiming to his right. He let it fly as a war club hit him in the chest.

Beyond Hatimu, warriors climbed through the intertwined branches of the downed trees that lined this section of the trail. Potts swung his rifle around and fired. A warrior staggered. At his feet, Hatimu choked out a breath.

He levered and fired. Again. Click. When he lowered his rifle, three warriors lay, twisted among the branches.

War cries turned his head. From down the trail, a dozen or so warriors charged, mere yards away.

"Dammit." Potts rose, blew his whistle, and fed a cartridge into the rifle; no time for more. Time slowed as he levered the shell into the rifle and brought it to his shoulder. He breathed in and concentrated as he breathed out. Felt the sun on his skin and smelled the rich scent of disturbed soil under his feet. He hoped Osker and Zoey would be okay.

He fired as a screaming face filled his vision.

* * *

Joe leaned against the log barrier, feeding cartridges into his rifle. There were too many. He felt Alita's presence at his side firing the Ruger. He should have thought to send her back to the fort to lead the children away.

Joe risked a glance as he inserted the eighth round. In the middle of the clearing, Brent knelt next to his barrier, rifle at his shoulders, Flicker dancing in agitation beside him, her heavy leather armor flapping. On the other side of Brent's barrier, Nikaku knelt, firing arrow after arrow.

Beyond Brent, Kristi and Potts stood, firing over their own barrier.

Four blasts of a whistle cut through the air. Followed by four drumbeats. Haven's fort was under attack.

"Brent," Joe screamed. In his peripheral vision, he caught a blur of motion as Brent mounted Flicker and raced away from the river and toward Haven. He risked another glance but Larry wasn't in sight.

Empty canoes dotted the shore, the swarm of warriors now halfway up the short bank, some throwing atlatl darts.

Three whistles cut through the screams of warriors and the sharp reports of the rifles. Joe glanced left. Potts was running toward Hatimu at the far end of the clearing. Beyond, he could make out a mass of warriors on the path running in their direction.

The snap of Alita's Ruger turned Joe's attention back to the river. He levered and fired at the mass of warriors charging up the bank.

A long drawn out whistle sounded over the screams and gunshots. A fleeting glance revealed Potts falling under swinging clubs.

* * *

Kristi froze. The fort was under attack, Potts was down, and the warriors on the trail were closing in. She glanced toward the river; most of the attackers were heading toward the center blind where Nikaku held his position alone.

She turned back toward the river; she could only cover her position. Kristi raised the rifle to her shoulder, and sighted. Fired. Her hands moved in a lethal rhythm, levering and firing.

She wouldn’t be taken again.

Click. No time to reload. She dropped the rifle and pulled out the revolver. Faces outlined in white clay filled her vision.

Chapter 59

Day 203 - September 25

Fear boiled in Brent's mind as he kicked Flicker into a gallop, slipping the empty Winchester into its sheath. They didn't slow as they passed Daru holding spare mounts, but a passing glance showed Brent the boy’s fear and confusion.

In seconds they passed the turnoff to the tower and flew over Salamander Creek and into Haven. Breaking out of the trees along the creek, Brent saw two club wielding Skullmen being hoisted onto the forts walls by several two-slash warriors. Another group of warriors hacked at the gate's leather hinges with knives.

Brent nudged Flicker directly at the warriors as he drew his revolver.

As the Skullmen swung their legs across the spiked tips of the upright logs forming the walls, Flicker's hoof-beats alerted them to Brent's presence. The warriors on the ground turned to face Brent.

He fired. One of the Skullmen on the wall fell backwards into the fort. The other jumped, jerking in mid-air as Brent's second shot connected.

Brent nudged Flicker to the right as he continued firing at the rushing warriors. As Flicker circled around the fire circle and kitchen shelter, Brent holstered the empty revolver and started feeding cartridges into the Winchester.

A dart flashed through the edge of his vision and Flicker jerked then reared, screaming. Brent kicked his boots out of the stirrups and slipped off. He hit the ground and rolled, rifle cradled in his arms, a few shells spilling from his pockets.

He rose, slipped two more cartridges into the rifle's loading gate and lifted it to his shoulder. A half-dozen warriors filled his vision beyond Flicker's thrashing body. He fired. Dodged a spear. Fired again and again.

A spear brushed his leg as he stepped. He tripped. He hit the ground and rolled to face the warriors who were now just a few yards away with raised clubs. He fired three more times.

A horse filled his vision. "Behind you." The horse danced as Daru let fly an arrow.

Brent turned. From behind one of the huts, two warriors appeared, holding spear throwers, arms cocked back. Brent fired as they threw. One of the warriors lurched as something slammed into Brent's right thigh. He dropped to his left side, twisting to keep the rifle clear. Fired. An intense heat began to spread through his leg, pulsing in time to his heartbeat. The second warrior collapsed.

Brent fought to clear his vision as he fumbled more cartridges into his rifle. A few strides away, Daru shot arrow after arrow into the prone bodies as his horse performed an agitated ballet. Two bodies twitched in response. In front of the fort's open gate, Sesapa pulled a sword out of the body of one of the warriors. At her side, Ganu stood, arrow fitted to his bow; the eleven-year-old's face was a mask of terror, but his hands were steady as he searched for targets. Beyond him, a screaming Canisa repeatedly smashed the head of each fallen warrior with one of their clubs.

Zoey's frantic barking cut through the shouts and cries.

To the left of Sesapa, Flicker screamed as she struggled to get to her feet, two darts protruding from her belly. Bloody froth dribbled from her mouth.

Brent pulled the trigger and Flicker collapsed into silence.

"Sesapa," Daru screamed over his shoulder as he dismounted at Brent's side. "You must go back," he said to Brent in a trembling voice. "Hold your leg."

With tears blurring his vision, Brent squeezed his thigh with both hands as Daru, with Sesapa's help, jerked out the dart. Brent screamed in spite of himself. Blood spurted, pulsed, and then the flow slowed. No artery was cut. Damn. He might live yet.

Sesapa unsheathed a knife and cut off the lower strip of her leather skirt.

As she wrapped his thigh tightly, Brent fed cartridges into the rifle with trembling fingers.

Daru held out the reins of his horse. "They are still fighting." Shots and screams echoed from the river.

Chapter 60

Day 203 - September 25

The wall of warriors closed, yards away. Joe pulled the trigger. Click. He dropped the rifle and lifted the bow. Fitted an arrow. Drew and let it fly at a wall of faces.

A flash of steel as Mojo crashed through the line and disappeared.

Joe loosed another arrow. The Ruger spat. The line broke, the surviving warriors running toward the river.

* * *

Kristi fired. A face outlined in white jerked in pain. Click. Two raised clubs filled her vision as her hand reached for her bow.

A body crashed into the two warriors and they all fell to the ground in front of her. A third white clay warrior appeared and lifted his club. And screamed as a swinging sword severed his arm. The sword slashed twice more at the warriors at Kristi's feet. Mojo's kicking hooves stirred the air in front of her then disappeared.

Silence.

At her feet, Nikaku rose to his feet, his left hand squeezed around a long gash in his right arm, his dangling right hand holding a dripping knife. Around him, three warriors lay unmoving.

At the east end of the clearing, maybe fifty yards away, a half-dozen warriors stood, eyes staring from sweating white slashed faces. Behind them, spread out along the trail, lay bodies twisted in death. Two were Potts and Hatimu, their heads misshaped and no longer bleeding.

On the riverbank, only three warriors still stood. Faces only wearing two white slashes. Behind them, a dozen warriors frantically pushed canoes back into deeper water. Bodies littered the gravel shoreline.

Silence continued for several more heartbeats.

"Hold off." Joe's voice carried over the quiet murmuring of the river. "They're sick."

"Skullmen?" Larry voice strained with emotion.

Kristi glanced along the bank. Larry and Mojo now stood in front of Joe and Alita. Larry held a dripping sword in his left hand, ax in his right.

"Execute." Joe's voice sounded dull, weary with pain.

Kristi looked down the bank. Only faces with two slashes returned her gaze. No, one Skullman crawled toward the shore, blood pulsing from a shoulder wound.

Her heart skipped a beat. It was Nist.

Kristi took a step forward.

"Don't." Larry's voice sounded far away.

She walked down the bank, feeding shells into the revolver's cylinder as she stepped around and over twisted bodies. The remaining warriors backed up, leaving a growing void around her.

Mojo's hoofbeats sounded behind her.

When she was five paces from Nist, she raised the gun and blew a hole in his other shoulder. He collapsed into the river, and then crabbed his way back to the shore with his legs. Raising his head, he looked up at Kristi. His pain-contorted face filled her vision. Background sounds dimmed.

"You are with child." His harsh voice twisted in pain and rage. "Tork's manhood is empty. It is my child you carry. My gift to you."

Kristi stared, and resisted the impulse to rub her exposed abdomen, the stretched skin cooled by the slight breeze flowing over the water. This was the father? No child should have such a man as a father. No child of hers would.

Kristi looked down. Nist's head was bowed in pain, his movements slow and jerky. Hate faded, replaced by a cold clinical evaluation of her child's future. She walked closer and stopped at the edge of the red water. She fired again, and the front of Nist's lowered head exploded into a spray of brain and bone. One less risk to her child's future.

Kristi straightened as a terrible tension dissipated. Her lungs expanded as she gazed at her surroundings. In spite of the blood and the bodies it looked…new.

She turned at the sound of hoofbeats. Brent rode into the clearing on one of the spare horses, He reined up beside Larry and swayed in the saddle. Blood seeped from beneath the leather wrapped around his thigh.

At the water's edge, the three remaining warriors dropped their weapons, backing toward empty canoes, faces blistered, eyes bloodshot. Along the downstream trail, past Potts and Hatimu’s bodies, other warriors fled.

"Everyone away from the river." Larry's voice broke the relative silence as he slipped from Mojo's back.

Kristi's eyes swept the clearing, settling on Larry. He looked even more frantic than during the fighting, waving Haven's survivors away from the river as he jogged down the bank.

She took one more look at Nist's body and started up the bank. Up on the trail, she could see Tanuhu and Niminu standing by their barrier, looking confused. Likely because they were alive. Closer, Alita wrapped a piece of Joe's shirt around Nikaku's arm.

Larry dragged one of the wounded enemy onto shore. Blood gushed from a thigh wound. Larry hesitated a second, and then ripped off the man's leather loincloth and pressed it against the flow of blood.

Kristi changed direction, sprinted to Larry's side, and knelt.

He opened the man's mouth with his free hand. "He's got those blisters in his mouth just like that warrior I captured."

Kristi stared, her elation at being alive plummeting into an icy new fear.

"Smallpox?" Joe's question carried over the gentle whisper of the slow flowing Susquehanna.

Kristi nodded. She glanced across the river. Two canoes disappeared around Bird Island. A third drifted downstream as the three paddlers struggled to steer the heavy boat.

She opened her shoulder bag. Found a hemostat and, nudging Larry away, clipped the artery closed. The warrior's forehead was hot.

"This one's sick too." Larry held one hand around the arm of a second warrior. Blood oozed between his fingers.

Kristi glanced up to see Brent sliding off his horse. She hesitated. His bandage didn't seem to be bleeding enough for arterial damage. "Alita, help Brent. Then get him and everyone away from the river."

"There are four more wounded." Joe pointed along the bank.

"Leave them for Larry and me. No contact by anyone." She looked directly at Alita, now supporting Brent. "Make sure."

Alita nodded and helped Brent up the bank.

Chapter 61

Day 203 - September 25

At the base of the tower, Joe lowered himself into a camp chair brought by one of the children. Most of the adult survivors sat around him in a semicircle, the Grandmothers also in chairs. Above, Kidu peered over the edge of the tower's lookout platform, binoculars in hand. Behind the adults, the rest of the children stood in a larger arc. Maybe not all were children. Several had killed today.

"We're not facing isolated cases. It's an epidemic." Kristi stood twenty yards downwind from Haven’s inhabitants. Next to her, Larry sat on Mojo, neither one now in armor.

Joe watched Kristi's eyes. They were wide, flitting from person to person, only meeting his for short seconds before moving on. Her facial muscles quivered, her composure barely under control. She'd just finished remotely supervising Alita's patching up of Brent and Nikaku.

Joe shifted in his camp chair. His head wound no longer bled, but he was still unsteady. Minor concussion, he thought. He'd been damned lucky. His eyes fell on Alita. If not for her… Warmth rose through him and, as if she'd felt his eyes, she turned and smiled at him briefly. A woman in this world...

And Samatu? He looked over his shoulder toward Haven. Larry had housed Samatu, and the few white striped warriors who still lived, in the tack hut, now a quarantine area once again.

As he turned back to his group, two plumes of smoke across the river caught his eye, betraying the presence of Tork's remaining warriors. He hoped it was only the presence of those able to re-cross the river but too ill to attempt the journey downstream.

Joe turned to meet Larry's eyes. "We need more information. I think Tork is broken, but we need to make sure. Are you able to row?"

Larry nudged Mojo a few paces closer. He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the river's edge beyond and below their hill’s surrounding trees. They now had several of the long war canoes. "I'd feel better if Brent..." Larry stopped and slumped in the saddle. He shook his head. "Kristi, are you able to cover me? I'll drag our old canoe into the river. Tork's war canoes are too big for a single paddler."

Kristi’s eyes flickered from Larry to Brent who lay on the ground with his bandaged leg stretched out in front of him. He held a whimpering Zoey. Next to Brent, Nikaku sat with his right arm bandaged from wrist to bicep. Kristi took a long breath. "Yes." She looked over her shoulder. "But no one's to approach the sick hut."

"Good," said Joe. He looked across Snake Creek in the direction of the small burial mound, not quite visible through the trees. He didn't need to see it to imagine the bodies of Potts and Hatimu lying on its summit. Or Flicker lying at the base of the mound, too heavy to drag to the top. They would enlarge the mound to include her. "Let's meet here in four hands," he said, glancing up at the sun.

* * *

Joe allowed Alita to help him to the chair, very aware of the warmth of her shoulder beneath his arm. At least she was safe. For now.

He settled into the chair, still weak. The Elders sat on chairs or lowered themselves onto the ground around him, once again putting him at the focus of Haven. Behind them sat most of the children. Above, Daru leaned on the tower railing, binoculars hanging from his neck.

Kidu approached from the direction of the burial mound, his face haggard. He'd taken on the job of opening the bellies of the dead. Marisa insisted an exit be made for their spirits. Kristi supported her, probably thinking to avoid any bloating. Even Flicker's belly was cut. The elders were not happy about the horse being buried in the mound. But none of them were willing to argue to Brent's cold face.

Joe breathed in, exhaled, and nodded to Larry.

"We had no problems checking out Tork’s camp. They're all sick." Larry stood downwind from Haven's inhabitants as Mojo grazed nearby. "I found Brent's AR15 in the largest hut." Larry looked at his friend who sat with one leg stretched out and a hand on Zoey's head. "But let me clean it and the ammo first. There may be pox residue."

Joe closed his eyes, breathed. Opened them. The small band that had circled to attack the fort had almost breached the walls by the time Brent swept through them. Two had been on the palisades and had fallen, wounded, within the walls. The women and the older children had killed them as well as the wounded attackers outside the fort. No child had been injured, but they had come in contact with the bodies. Bodies with blisters.

"Most of Tork's surviving warriors fled downstream." Kristi stood next to Larry, her voice calm, without any hint of her earlier terror. Fatigue filled her features. "The remaining warriors are almost too sick to take care of themselves." She looked at Larry. "A few of the slave women were left behind. They're also ill."

"They have some food and water. I'll go back tomorrow morning and take them additional food." Fatigue also colored Larry's voice. "And I'll make sure they've still got lots of clean water." Larry's head turned toward the clearing at the mouth of Haven's creek. "And I'll start doing something with the bodies."

"Your recommendations?" Joe felt Alita's hands on his shoulders. She had remained behind his chair after helping him. He leaned back and allowed himself to take comfort from her presence.

"There's been too much contact." Kristi’s voice broke. "It's too late for isolation."

"What of making an inoculant from the existing sick?" Joe met Kristi's eyes, and then glanced toward the former tack hut.

"The results will be totally unpredictable." Kristi slowly shook her head.

"It was done in the eighteenth century." Joe thought back to his anthropology classes in school. Way back—or was it forward?—in time. A lifetime ago.

"Any inoculant I make could kill as easily as protect." Kristi said, gazing at Joe. "There's no time to test anything."

Joe lowered his eyes at Kristi's gaze. He watched his hands close and open. Contact with European diseases had killed up to ninety percent of the population of the Americas. A haunting number. The elders and the children had no immunity. None at all. Nor did he. He glanced up at Kristi, Brent, and then Larry. They had been vaccinated at one time or another.

Walk a different path…

He gazed at Kristi. Fear and indecision clouded her face. He took a deep breath. Shit, it had to be done. But if he was wrong he'd be killing Haven.

"Our people were decimated by smallpox. If you don't prepare a powder or liquid from the sick, then I will." His words came out harsher than he'd intended, but Kristi's face relaxed a little as she took in a deep breath. Because he had taken the burden from her? Was that what it meant to really lead?

She nodded.

Joe looked around at Haven's inhabitants. "Kristi will prepare a minor sickness. It will be made from the killing sickness that afflicts Tork's warriors." He glanced at Kristi. She gave one small nod, eyes leaking tears. "A few will die from the minor sickness. But all will die without it."

Furrowed brows and scowls met Joe's gaze.

Marisa rose, using Sesapa's shoulder for support. "You would pass the sickness from the dying to us?" Fear and anger contorted her face. "You did not have the power to save that sick white clay dog a partial moon ago. Why do you think you can give us the sickness and then save us now?"

Joe felt a cold dread surge through his core. He had to convince them; they would die otherwise. He glanced at Larry who shrugged and looked down. But Brent met his gaze. Kept it as he raised his right hand in front of his chest and made a tight fist.

Joe closed his eyes. Would he kill these people?

He stood, feeling Alita's hands slip from his shoulders. They had what? Two weeks of incubation period before people started to show symptoms? Maybe less? "I command you to accept Kristi's small sickness." He took a deep breath. "Kristi, Brent, and Larry took the small sickness while in the Far Lands so they will not get sick. I did not. I will take it first, and while I will get sick, I will not die as the warriors have died and as you will die if you do not obey me."

Joe felt hands grasp his arm.

"No," Alita said in a small voice.

Chapter 62

Day 204 - September 26

Joe poured a bucket of dirt over Potts’s body. Slowly. Allowing the sandy earth to flow into the crevices between his torso and arm, between his legs.

He felt a hand take the bucket from his fingers. Allowed Alita to lead him down from the mound.

He watched as Larry refilled buckets from an earth-filled tarp. They would need to work out a better method of moving earth than dragging it; their last remaining tarp was ragged and torn. It would be useless after today.

Joe watched as Haven's inhabitants covered Potts and Hatimu. And Flicker. After the ceremony, the hard labor of adding a topping layer of several feet of rock and earth would begin. Later.

Kristi poured the last bucket of the funeral ceremony. Her shoulders slumped as she climbed down from the shallow mound. "Joe, would you say a few words?" she asked, her eyes red.

He stepped forward, leaving the comfort of his companions, and stood alone at the base of the mound. "We are gathered here today to honor the memory of two great men and one faithful companion." At the edge of the mound, one of Flicker's stiff legs protruded from the fresh, sandy earth.

Joe glanced at Kristi. She was writing his words in her journal.

"Potts accompanied us from another world. From the Far Lands. He came here to help us, to help Haven. Yesterday, he gave his life to protect us, to protect Haven." Joe drew in an unsteady breath. "Hatimu joined us in spite of danger. At no time did fear deter him. He, too, died to protect us, to protect his new home of Haven."

Joe looked at the largest bulge of dirt. Brent had covered her head with one of his shirts before pouring the first layer of coarse sandy soil. "Flicker had a big heart. Big in working for us. Big in protecting us." Joe felt his voice break. A gentle hand guided him back into the small crowd.

Joe heard, as if from a long distance, the others saying words. He would read Kristi's journal later.

Finally there was silence. And the movement of people as the small group milled around, talking in low voices.

* * *

"Joe?"

Joe looked up from his seat around the fire circle. Kristi stood in front of him.

"I went through Potts’s things. I found these." She held out two worn spiral bound notebooks. “I had given them to him a few days after he joined us.”

Joe took the notebooks and squinted at them in the dim evening light. Opened one. The title page read 'Economics, Trade, and History.' Below was written 'Jess Bosley.'

Joe stared, started to shake his head, and stopped as a wave of dizziness swept over him. "I never knew his real name."

"The second notebook is on Buddhism."

Joe opened it and read 'Buddhism as a Journey.' Below was the same name.

"Could I look at that one?" Brent's voice sounded as if it came from far away.

Joe held the two books for several seconds before handing 'Buddhism as a Journey' to the man seated next to him. He glanced from Brent to his other companions. Companions who had just survived a war. And now faced a new battle. If they survived this second one, they would need all the information they could acquire.

"Do you have any more empty notebooks?" Joe asked, looking up at Kristi. "We had talked about filling them with what we know. But I never followed up."

"Had a couple dozen. Used about half of them recording medical knowledge from my laptop," she said. "They're field notebooks; the pages are a mix of plastic and plant fiber. They should last centuries."

Joe faced Brent. "Would you record everything you know? Botany, geography, whatever?"

At Brent's nod, Joe looked at the others. "We need everyone to start recording everything. Not just medical and botany. Also iron, weaponry, technology. Even geology. Anything that will help our people."

Our people. He felt his face relax into a smile for what seemed like the first time in days.

Chapter 63

Day 205 - September 27

Joe stepped outside into the late September sunshine. Still plenty hot. And dry. They might be in the middle of the Medieval Warm Period, but winter was only a few months away. He straightened up. Pulled back his shoulders. The sooner he got this over, the sooner he could get back to the crops.

As he walked around his tent, he saw that most of Haven was already assembled in front of Kristi's hospital. The large canvas tent was showing wear, dirt, and several rips. They'd need to construct a more substantial structure before winter. Something with a fireplace. Larry had promised them a stove and chimney when iron ore was found. Not this winter.

Alita ran to meet him and took his hand. He returned her squeeze of greeting. He needed her touch and it suddenly hit him just how much he needed it, needed the courage it gave him.

Kristi sat at the table set up in front of the tent and looked up as they approached. He nodded.

"Roll up your sleeve." Her tone was matter of fact, but her haunted eyes betrayed her. She took a small square of cloth—probably cut from one of her own shirts—and wet it from the last bottle of Potts’s scotch. Wiped a section of his upper arm.

She met his eyes again. Joe nodded a second time.

Kristi took a small scalpel and dipped it into a battered steel cup containing an inch of the scotch. Then, after removing the cap from a small jar, she lowered the tip into its contents, a powder made from the dried scabs of the dead warriors. She removed the scalpel, closing the jar immediately. She stood, held on to Joe’s arm and made two quick puncture marks.

She placed the scalpel in the cup of scotch again and applied a small bandage to the punctured area.

"Keep hydrated." She let out a long breath. "Good luck."

"I am next." Alita stepped up next to Joe.

Joe looked at her, and his blood pounded in his ears.

It was right. He knew that now. He just hoped that he wasn't too late. He reached for her hand and held it while Kristi swabbed Alita's arm.

Within minutes, all of Haven's inhabitants had been inoculated. Except two.

Joe looked around. As expected, Marisa and Niminu hadn't shown up. He sighed. The old medicine woman hadn't wanted anything to do with Kristi's inoculation. She and her husband had moved into one of the huts that still stood in the village of Two Valleys. And took Niminu’s carved totem with them.

Chapter 64

Day 207 - September 29

Joe lowered the binoculars as footsteps vibrated the tower's ladder. He helped Alita onto the platform. "Hey, thanks for bringing lunch."

Alita set the covered bowl on the platform's bench. "Brent said it was his best stew yet." She bit her lip. "I think it burns too much."

Joe laughed, his heart lightening. "I take it he added some of the hot peppers?"

Alita gazed over the river. "Potts had been very excited that the hot peppers were growing well."

Joe followed her eyes. The river presented an idyllic landscape, a shimmering reflection of sunshine flowing through towering green ridges.

"Is that Larry?" Alita pointed to a canoe at the downriver end of Bird Island. "Brent cooked a large pot of soup this morning for Tork's sick warriors and cook women."

"Yes, Larry mentioned this morning that he planned to take food to them."

"Helping an enemy is strange to us."

"I believe that all people are alike inside. And most want to do what is right. Their mistake was to follow a bad leader." Joe leaned on the tower's railing. "But it's hard sometimes to know what is right."

"Usually, disputes are over hunting and gathering lands." Alita moved to his side, staring at Larry as he disappeared around Bird Island. "But Tork's warriors traveled far outside their lands."

"Perhaps we can find out what his motives were from Samatu or one of his warriors. People don't always know the best way to act. Especially in new situations. And some are forced to act in bad ways by bad leaders. But people can change when given a new situation." Joe looked toward Haven, to the former tack hut. "Samatu is an example. I hope to find out his story." Joe took a deep breath. "If he survives."

Alita turned to Joe. "I am afraid. I helped Kristi with Samatu and the three warriors this morning. They are very sick. Their skin is very ugly." She chewed her lip, lowering her head.

Joe paused, trying to find words. "We have Kristi. And each other." He reached out to give her shoulders a squeeze, managed a smile, but failed to control a shiver. She looked up at him, her wide eyes boring into his. After several heartbeats, Alita shifted under his hands and Joe stepped back, dropping his hands.

"What of you, Joe?" Her voice deepened suddenly, in a way that made his heart start pounding. "You are in unfamiliar lands among unfamiliar people. Do you know how to act?"

Joe couldn't tear his eyes Alita's stare. He forced himself to breathe. "I…was not sure." But he was, now.

After…

Alita broke her gaze. "Do not burn yourself with Brent's stew." He caught a glimpse of a small smile as she turned away and climbed down the ladder.

Chapter 65

Day 227 - October 19

The face appeared out of the mist and nodded, a small smile softening the deep wrinkles. “The path has changed. You have changed it. We chose wisely.” The face receded as the mist dissipated.

Path? What path? Light and shadow solidified around him. He was on the ground, a blanket twisted around his torso. In Kristi’s hospital tent.

Alita?

Joe pushed himself up from his blanket on the floor, fighting a wave of nausea and a pounding headache. Pain was good. Pain meant he was alive. On his knees and leaning on Alita's cot, he reached with a hand covered with small sores and felt her forehead. Still burning. He dipped a stained cloth in a basin of water and bathed her sweating skin. Water. He had to get more water into her.

He reached for the water bottle. Unscrewed the cap, and held it over her mouth. Tilted the bottle until a few drops fell on her lips. They opened slightly.

"How is she?"

Kristi's voice jarred his concentration. Water splashed down Alita's cheek. She didn't respond. "Still feverish." A voice spoke and it sounded weak and far away. After a few heartbeats, Joe realized it was his own.

"Let me watch." Kristi knelt beside him. "I have some cooled broth for her. And Brent has breakfast for you."

Joe continued dripping water into Alita's mouth.

"Go. I'll call you if there's any change."

He capped the bottle. "Okay." He felt a flicker of a smile. "I'm about ready to piss myself anyway." Dizziness flooded him as he tried to rise. "Need to get some more moss. She's soiled herself."

"That's good. Means she's hydrated." Kristi helped him stand.

"How are the rest?"

"I'm worried about Sura." The weariness in Kristi's voice cut through Joe. "Larry will be going down to Two Valleys later to check on Marisa and Niminu. Samatu is still very ill; I'm going to move him in here. The three warriors are dead. Not sure about those on the other side of the river."

"The rest of the kids?" Joe forced his eyes to focus on Kristi as he swayed.

"I'm very hopeful. Most are still feverish. But not nearly as bad..." Kristi's voice trailed off.

Chapter 66

Day 230 - October 22

Kristi stumbled with weariness as she entered her tent, reaching for the chair at the entrance for support. She leaned on it as she let her eyes adjust to the dim interior, which was barely lit by the early morning light. It should all be over in another week.

She maneuvered around Samatu's pallet, reaching down to brush her hand across his forehead. Not as hot as yesterday.

At the side of Alita's cot, Joe lay on Alita's bearskin, curled up in a fetal position. Kristi sighed and leaned over the accidental barrier to feel Alita's forehead. Slightly warm to her cold hand but no longer hot. Kristi closed her eyes in relief for several heartbeats.

"Wake up." She nudged the body at her feet.

Joe jerked awake, hand flailing. He froze, blinking. "Alita?" Reaching for Alita's cot, he struggled to get up.

"Her fever's broken." Kristi smiled through her exhaustion.

Joe teetered to his knees and stared at Alita. Her face was relaxed in sleep, her chest quietly rising and falling.

He rubbed his face with his hands. Then lowered his head next to Alita's shoulder, his breaths choked with sobs.

"But Sura died an hour ago." Weariness surged through Kristi once more. With luck, Sura would be the only one. Kristi turned to glance out the tent opening toward the river. Other than Marissa and Niminu, who were already lying under fresh soil at the top of the burial mound.

Chapter 67

Day 237 - October 29

Joe sat on one of the camp chairs in the late autumn sun, enjoying a few minutes of rest from tending the remaining sick. Haven buzzed around him. A few of the children were strong enough to work the harvest, slicing the native pumpkins and squash or puzzling over the unfamiliar tomatoes and peppers with Brent at the drying racks. They had yet to start digging a root cellar to store the onions and potatoes.

Barely visible at the mouth of Haven's little valley, the golden tips of the remaining cornstalks swayed in a gentle breeze. Tanuhu promised the fall fish runs were only days away. Winter promised to be fat.

He smiled as one of the children rode up bareback. Sometimes it was hard to tell where the child ended and the horse began. Their normal enthusiasm over the horses was now at a fevered pitch as several mares showed swollen bellies.

"Nikaku instructed me to tell you that Larry is returning from across the river." Daru's voice cracked with excitement. "He has three people in his canoe."

"Thanks. Please find Brent and tell him." Joe rose, and then paused at the sound of Kristi's voice. He turned. Outside of her tent, Kristi stood in the sunlight, her face pinched. At her side, Alita stared at the ground.

"It's great to see you outside," Joe said, feeling as if his wide smile would split his face.

Alita just stood there.

Joe looked from her to Kristi, who lifted her index finger to her face.

He walked to Alita and took her face in his hands. Lifted her head. A dozen small pox scars marred her smooth skin.

"I looked in Kristi's mirror," Alita said, locking her eyes on his. "You deserve a beautiful woman."

Images flooded Joe’s thoughts as he stared back. The young girl fleeing a warrior. The young woman nursing Kristi. The terrified but brave woman who had stopped Tork's treachery and saved his life.

But everyone he loved died.

He drew a long, slow, breath. He had already almost lost her. And…he loved her. But that didn't frighten him anymore. "Look at me." Joe lowered his head a few inches, so that his eyes were level with hers.

Alita gazed back at him as a tear formed at the corner of her eye.

"Alita, you are beautiful." Joe felt his pulse beating in his ears. His own words sounded far away, the noise of the surrounding village even farther. "Will you be my wife?"

Her eyes widened.

Joe stopped breathing and closed his eyes. Was he too late?

A body crashed into his. He stumbled backwards and fell to the ground as the weight of Alita knocked the wind out of him.

As he managed a breath, he heard distant hoots and cheers.

* * *

Joe resisted the urge to shake his head as Alita moved the camp chair to the open area between the fire circle and the fort. She insisted that he be sitting when Larry brought the survivors into Haven. She pointed to the chair. He sat.

Alita then scurried around rearranging chairs and benches, conscripting several of the children and an amused Nikaku to help. Once she was satisfied, she returned to stand next to Joe.

He took her hand. Holding it felt natural.

The rest of the village congregated as Larry approached with two men and a woman. Children shrieked and chatted. Brent emerged from the hospital tent carrying one child followed by Samatu, Zoey prancing at their feet. Kristi helped a second child to one of the camp chairs. The remaining Elders trickled in, taking seats among the children on the rearranged benches. In minutes, all of Haven sat or stood in a two half circles, with Joe and Alita at one end, Larry and his charges standing at the other. Alita moved to stand behind Joe and rested her hands on his shoulders.

Larry grinned at Joe as he walked forward to the middle of the assembly. "Well, I'm glad that finally got settled."

Joe tried to scowl at his friend's beaming face, but couldn't erase his blushing smile.

Larry turned and gestured the two men forward. They moved in a shuffling gait, the first helping the second. Thickly clustered pox marks scarred their features. These men had felt the full impact of the disease.

"I present Slatuk and Trebun." Larry turned to the two men. "This is our leader, Joe Kuruk. He will decide your fate."

Joe kept his face expressionless as Larry spoke. Well, he was the leader. It struck him like a bolt from the sky. He had accepted it—back when he had ordered everyone to accept vaccination. He lifted his head. As a leader should. "Speak."

"These men are originally from the coastal region at the mouth of the Susquehanna. What we know as Chesapeake Bay." Larry nodded to the first one.

"I am Slatuk. I will speak for Trebun. He does not know your language." He met Joe's gaze. "We were taken by the warlord Tork. Our families were required to live in Tork's main village as hostages." He paused, glanced at Larry. "We offer our loyalty to you in exchange for our lives." He knelt. Trebun collapsed to his knees next to him.

Joe stood, immediately missing Alita's touch as her hands slipped from his shoulders. He glanced around the village. Everyone's eyes were on him. This leader thing needed to be handled with care. Precedence was a powerful force.

He kept his tone flat. "Why did Tork capture children?"

Slatuk glanced at Trebun before looking down. "We were told that if we did not obey Tork, he would sacrifice our children in the burial mound to honor his mother."

Joe closed his eyes as he processed their words. Burial goods. The children had been taken as damned burial goods. Hatimu had hinted at such. But he hadn't known for sure. He opened his eyes and stared at the two men, whose families’ lives had been dependent on their loyalty to a psychopath. "Look at me."

After several breaths, they met his gaze.

“Stand.”

As they struggled to their feet, Joe turned to Kristi. "What say the Mistress of Healers?"

Kristi's expression was stony. "They killed. They must offer restitution."

Joe turned to Canisa and Gusama. "What say the Grandmothers?" They sat on either side of Kristi in the camp chairs.

The elder women winced at the title. They were now only two. Gusama spoke, "Make them slaves."

Joe shifted his gaze back to the two warriors. Sweat beaded their faces, but both managed to stand tall. What would he have done in their place? "No, there will be no slaves in Haven." He faced Gusama then at Canisa. "There are other ways of making restitution."

"I agree." Kristi stretched out her arms to lay a hand on each of the women. They hesitated, and then nodded.

“What says the Sun Elder?” Joe met Tanuhu’s sad eyes. That title fell to him as the only remaining male elder. He only shook his head, declining to answer.

"Keeper of the Horses?" Joe faced Brent.

"They must make amends for their actions.”

Joe turned back to Larry. "What are the thoughts of the Master of Iron?"

"They must make restitution." Larry took a quick breath. "Before you decide their fate, please hear my request."

Joe raised one eyebrow.

"I seek permission to travel to Tork's main village." Larry glanced to the side where several of the children sat watching. "Some of the kids there may have survived. Winter's coming."

"You don't need my permission." Joe frowned; he should have considered the survivors downriver. But it was no surprise that the big man had thought about them.

"My absence may affect Haven." The edges of Larry's mouth twitched.

Joe let his gaze wonder around the gathering. All stared back. Larry would be missed, for his skills as well as for his sword arm. It could take weeks to journey downriver and back, and it would be a dangerous trip. They all expected that Tork’s empire had been broken by smallpox but there still could be violent survivors. His eyes moved to the two men.

"I accept your pledge of loyalty." Joe stared at the two men. "To atone for your past actions, you will accompany Larry to the mouth of the Long River, what we call the Susquehanna River." Joe nodded at Larry. "You will guard his life with your own. You will obey Larry; he will speak for me during this journey."

Joe met Larry's gaze for several seconds before turning back toward the two men. "Do you accept this quest?"

The two murmured between themselves, throwing glances at Joe and at Larry. Failing to look somber, their faces cracked with smiles. "We accept," Slatuk said as they stood tall.

Joe allowed the edges of his mouth to turn up in response to Larry's wide grin. "Take extra horses and supplies." Joe glanced toward Brent, who nodded. "And the AR15."

Larry's smile widened as he breathed in. It faltered on the exhale.

"And?" Joe asked. His friend was still up to something.

"Sesapa has asked to go with me." Larry turned as Sesapa rose from the watching crowd and joined him. They clasped hands. A murmuring spread through the watchers.

Joe nodded his approval and sat down smiling. No surprise. And if there were children in need, Larry would need her help.

"You will guard both of them with your lives," Joe said, shifting his attention back to the two standing warriors. They nodded and stood straighter.

Larry and Sesapa took several steps to the side, leaving Joe a clear view of the remaining stranger, a young woman from Tork's camp who stood alone, staring at her feet.

Larry said something in a low voice and she stepped forward. "This is Missama." He paused, eyes studying the ground briefly before looking up. "Ahh...she was forced to cook for Tork's warriors."

Kristi rose and approached the woman, stopping next to her. "I have spoken with her." Kristi turned, eyes traveling, momentarily pausing at each of the surrounding adults and children. "I will prepare a cleansing with Canisa's help."

Canisa rose. "This woman who was Missama will be given a new name after the cleansing. She will be reborn a new woman." She held out her hand, and Kristi accompanied Missama over to sit with Canisa and Gusama.

As Larry and Sesapa stepped back into the crowd, followed by his two charges, Brent stood. "Now?"

Joe shifted in his seat. He still wasn't sure how to handle this. "Bring him forward."

Brent limped to the center of the circle and signaled Samatu to join him. The young man shuffled forward, favoring his re-injured leg, until he stood next to Brent, facing Joe.

Joe studied the young warrior. He had also born the full effects of smallpox and his face was badly scarred. "You have been both an enemy and a friend. How do you explain your actions?"

Samatu took a step forward and straightened. "I followed my father. I thought his path was correct. Only after returning to Tork's village did I realize that my father was misled by Tork."

Joe stood. "Who was your father?"

"The warrior named Nist."

A loud gasp jerked Joe's head to the right. Kristi held her right hand over her mouth. Her left hand rested on Missama's shoulder.

Joe turned back to Brent. "What do you say?"

"Restitution is complete."

Kristi rose again. "It is not complete." Her voice trembled but her expression was resolute. "If you are to remain here, you must make a vow to be a warrior of Haven. To be a protector of women and children. To be an ally to all who befriend the inhabitants of Haven. What do you say?"

For less than a breath, confusion flicked across Samatu's face, and then a small smile softened his features. "I am honored to accept this vow from the Sky Goddess." He gave her a small bow. "I will be a warrior of Haven. I will protect Haven's people with my life."

Kristi stared at Samatu for several heartbeats before shifting her gaze to Larry and then to Brent. "Train him well." She turned to Joe. "I accept Samatu and his vow."

Larry didn't wait to be asked. "I also accept his vow."

Joe looked toward the Grandmothers who smiled and nodded their agreement.

Joe took in a long breath and relaxed. This had gone better than he had expected. "I welcome Samatu as a warrior of Haven. We will feast this evening."

He held his hand out to Alita as he shifted his gaze to Larry and Sesapa. Why not? As he felt Alita take his hand, he turned to face Kristi. "Will you perform two marriages before this meal?" He allowed a grin in response to the surprised look on her face. They wanted him to be chief? Okay, he could damn well make up a few rules.

Chapter 68

Day 267 - November 28

Joe watched Samatu running through Haven, his slight limp barely noticeable. "Larry is back!" A weight Joe didn't know he carried lifted. He signaled to the young man, who changed course and in a few heartbeats stood panting in front of Joe.

"I saw horses. Many people on foot." Samatu's smile split his pox-marked face.

"Who's on the tower?" said Joe.

"I sent Ganu up." Samatu stood taller. "The tower must always be manned," he said, repeating one of Haven's rules.

"Good." Joe glanced to the hills on the other side of the Susquehanna. "Please take Larry's canoe across." He paused, looked around the village, and then pointed toward the tack hut where Nikaku worked with one of the horses. "Better yet, please ask Nikaku to help you take one of the larger canoes. Use signal flags to let us know if additional assistance is needed."

"Yes, Chief." Samatu ran downhill to the horse corral.

Shaking his head, Joe watched the retreating young warrior. He refused to call him by anything but 'chief.' He could see several of the children heading toward the tower. Larry's return would be a cause of celebration. Best to call a formal gathering. He checked the position of the sun. Already, the days were short, but there should be enough time to meet before the evening meal.

Joe strode to the kitchen shelter. He'd arrange for some food to be offered to the travelers to tide them over until dinner. And some extra clothing against the late autumn chill.

* * *

It was mid afternoon before Larry, Sesapa, seventeen children, and an older, blond man were ferried across the Susquehanna to Haven. The entire village buzzed with rumors of the children and the stranger. Joe put off hearing details from Larry until all of Haven could be gathered. Samatu took the tower without comment, probably having heard most of the news during the transit of the river.

Larry's posture slumped with exhaustion as he waited with his traveling companions for Haven's inhabitants to assemble in the fort, but his face wore a wide smile. Joe walked to the large chair at the north end of the enclosure. The chief's chair. Brent and the Elders had insisted that he direct Haven's affairs with ceremony. Joe didn't particularly like the idea of symbols of power, but it did allow him to separate himself from the leadership position by simply walking away from it.

"Grandmothers, do I have your permission to sit?" Joe looked at Canisa and Gusama.

At their nods, he repeated the request to Tanuhu, Kristi, and Brent and, getting their acceptance, sat in the large but uncomfortable wooden chair. It wasn't too bad, given that it was the first chair that Brent had ever made. One of the children had leaked the rumor that Larry had already decided to replace it soon. Joe mentally winced at the thought of the elaborate medieval throne that Larry would probably construct.

"Brent, will you record Larry's report?" Joe took in a long breath; paper was another project they needed to work on. Along with language, given that all their notes were recorded in English.

At his nod, Joe turned his attention to Larry. "I wait your report." Joe tried to make his voice sound formal without laughing at his efforts. Larry stood in the middle of the fort's open area with Sesapa at his side. Behind them stood the stranger, a blond, middle-aged man, heavily scarred by smallpox. Further back, arrayed in a semicircle, sat the new children, similarly blemished, their wide eyes flicking around the fort but always returning to stare at Joe in his strange chair.

Larry responded to Joe's cue with his own solemn demeanor. "We successfully journeyed to the mouth of the Susquehanna river." He worked himself into storytelling mode.

"All the villages along the river were deserted." Larry shook his head. "Except for the dead. It was good we were on horseback, as no one was alive to help boats traverse the rapids.

"Tork's main village on the shore of the Salt Waters was almost deserted. Only a few were left alive. I figure the mortality rate had to be well over nine out of ten." He held up nine fingers, and then ten. "A few surviving kids had living relatives. But the orphans we brought back." He paused to glance at the new children.

Joe caught the expressions of the new children, their stares now fixed on Kristi. Larry would have told them of her skill in fighting the blister fever, losing only one youth in Haven. Joe saw their lips whispering 'Sky Goddess,' probably picked up from Samatu during the river crossing.

"I believe that Tork's ambitions had previously cut contact with surrounding tribes," Larry went on. "That’s probably the reason for the limited spread of the sickness."

"I ordered Slatuk and Trebun to remain at the mouth of the Susquehanna to assist the survivors. Each had at least one relative alive there. Unfortunately, none were in their immediate family. They will remain there as representatives of Haven for now. In the spring, they will move to the villages along the rapids.

"I found Tork." Larry's eyes flicked to Kristi. "His body was at the top of a burial mound. He had died while burying an elderly woman." Larry's shifted his gaze back to Joe. "I suspect his death was the result of both infected gunshot wounds and smallpox. Several of the survivors identified the body of the elderly woman as Tork's mother."

Silence met this comment. Joe grimaced. This was why he had wanted all those children.

Brent spoke up. "What did you do with the bodies?"

Larry looked around the assembly, and lowered his head. "I finished burying the woman." He raised his head and met Joe's eyes. "Tork, I hung in a tree for the scavengers to eat."

Joe kept his expression neutral. That was probably not a good precedent. He glanced at the remaining elders. They nodded, broad smiles cracking their faces. Popular, yes. He shrugged mentally. Nothing could be done about it now.

Larry introduced the new children, noting that only a few of them knew Haven's language. Their ages ranged from 5 to 14 years old. All seemed somewhat bewildered but were accepting of their new home. Joe figured this had been helped by Larry's gentle hand and their pre-dinner snack.

Finally, Larry turned to the stranger and gestured for him to step forward. "This is Torben. He’s the sole survivor from a Viking ship that wrecked near Tork’s village three or four months ago."

Torben stepped forward, his eyes roving over the assembled villagers, meeting each gaze for a heartbeat before shifting to the next person. He stood taller than Joe and, in spite of his recent illness, probably weighed thirty pound more. All muscle and bone. With streaks of grey in his hair.

As Torben took his place in the center of the assembly, Joe realized that this man had also lost his place in the world. Another refugee of fate and, perhaps, a new member of Haven.

Larry described Torben’s attempted voyage from Denmark to Iceland, the storm that crippled the ship, the breakout of smallpox onboard, and the winds that blew them randomly until grounding them near the mouth of the Susquehanna River. Larry hesitated. “His shipmates who survived the storm died later of smallpox.”

Larry looked at Joe with raised eyebrows.

Joe regarded the first man to introduce smallpox in North America. Joe nodded for Larry to continue.

Looking relieved, Larry clasped Torben on the shoulder and looked around at the attentive crowd. "I'm teaching Torben English, which is closer to his own tongue than the local language." A broad smile lit Larry’s face. “He’s a shipwright. Gonna help me build boats capable of ocean sailing."

Joe stood, stepped forward, and held out his hand. Torben took it, his grip hesitant then firm.

"Welcome to Haven," said Joe in English as he released his grip on the scarred and calloused hand. He would need to decide about the language issue soon.

He returned to his chair, leaving Torben to the ministrations of Larry. But instead of sitting, Joe nodded to Brent, who stood and walked toward the fort’s open gate. Brent had organized an extensive feast, including several varieties of stews along with roasts of deer. And a small pot of vegetarian stew for himself.

As Brent disappeared in the direction of the cookfire, Joe climbed onto the shaky chair and addressed the assembled Havenites. "Now let us feast. We have much to celebrate on this day of thanksgiving."

The villagers parted between Joe and the gate but he shooed them out. "I will eat last." If he was stuck with this chief thing, then he would continue to make the rules.

Joe stepped down onto firm ground and waited until the fort emptied. After a few minutes, he exited to stroll around the perimeter of the fire circle where Brent served the elders first, then the children, followed by the adults. A not-quite-yet-familiar contentment flooded his being as his eyes found Alita helping the new children with the unfamiliar bowls and utensils. Kristi thought that Alita would be showing by Winter Solstice.

Joe nodded to Nikaku as the young warrior, carrying a bowl of stew, left for the tower to relieve Samatu. With him walked Bukama, carrying her own bowl. The former slave had adapted well to life in Haven after her cleansing.

As he passed Kristi, he noticed her guitar case at the side of her chair. A good sign. “Going to entertain us?”

She looked up and nodded, one hand cradling her swelling belly. No one had the nerve to ask about the father although it was an open secret that it was Samatu's father.

Brent approached her carrying a steaming bowl. Another good sign.

Larry interrupted Joe’s walk. "What do ya think?"

Joe clapped his big friend on the shoulder. "You did a great job." Joe nodded toward the fire circle where the new and old children were mixing. "So how does it feel to be a dad to all those kids?"

"Exhausting." Larry chuckled.

"How are you on the inside?"

Larry stared at the excited children. "No nightmares for weeks now. Saving those kids..." His mouth tightened for a moment before he smiled. "Anyway, any chance you figured out how we got here while I was downriver? I keep wondering about your dead Medicine Elders."

The image of the Sheriff appeared in Joe’s mind, whispering yet again the tales of dying Medicine Elders. The Sheriff faded, replaced by an older face, one he remembered from a fevered dream. The path has changed. You have changed it…

Joe shook his head. “I just don’t know.”

"Well, what I do know is that, in our old world, this continent was conquered by disease. And in this one we just beat the first epidemic of smallpox."

"What would have happened if we hadn't been here?"

"Tork had his empire so isolated that the disease would have likely died out." Larry shrugged. "But we met it outside of his territory and, except for a few cases, beat it." Larry eyes bored into Joe's. "We brought knowledge of guns, germs, and steel. Maybe your old dead guys wanted us here?" His eyebrows narrowed. “And maybe they even had something to do with Torben landing where he did. It’s a long way up Chesapeake Bay to the mouth of the Susquehanna. It’d be hell just intentionally navigating that route.”

"I must admit, I was kind of wondering about that. But guns?" Joe frowned. "We'll run out of ammunition soon."

"No way can we manufacture cartridges for our existing weapons. Not until we get a machine shop set up. But gunpowder ain't that hard to make." He shrugged again. "Although finding sulfur might be a pain. And iron's easy to smelt. So if Brent can explain how his flintlock is put together, I can make 'em."

"Well, I’m not sure you're correct about those Medicine Elders." A shiver ran up Joe's spine again, or was it a feeling of anticipation? "But I don't know that you're wrong either."

"Whatever the reason, you pulled it off." Larry opened his arms, taking in all of Haven.

"With a lot of help from my friends." A welcome but unfamiliar emotion swept over Joe. A year ago he hadn't even known any of these people. Now... He breathed deep, allowing a small smile. Now, these were his people.

His family.

<<<<end of Conflict>>>>

Contact (Crossover - Book Two)

Chapter 1 - July 7, 1075

“Weapons, armor, and overnight packs,” Larry said as Stormchaser drifted alongside the old pier.

“Armor and packs?” one of the men asked.

“Yeah. Too damned quiet.” Larry looked at the shit pier. Should be swarming with curious locals.

“Trade items?” Samatu looked up from where he was helping one of the shore party strap on a metal breastplate.

“Just a dozen knives and axe heads for now. And maybe a couple pouches of seeds.” Larry frowned as the ship bumped into the crude catwalk of planks and upright logs. Old Ros had promised to rebuild it when they had made contact last year. Hopefully, he'd done better at collecting the sheep, wool, and bees they wanted. And cats. The breeding pair they’d taken back to Iceland had been a hit and had become quite fat from all the rodents.

He blew out a long breath. It had been a bit over two decades since he and the others had journeyed back to the eleventh century and founded Haven. Now they were expanding, following Potts’s notebooks, trusting his advice that trade was necessary for Haven to develop into a world power. But it wouldn’t be sufficient to just prosper. They had to both monitor emerging nations and influence their development. And, if trade was insufficient to influence them, take them out.

At least these trips got him away from Haven and the life he’d fucked up.

While the shore party assembled their equipment, the remaining six men secured Stormchaser. Larry turned to the men who were not donning armor. “No fretting. You’ll get a chance to stretch your legs after we secure the area and set up guards.”

He looked toward the small farmstead that occupied the location that would become the town of Dingle, Ireland—or Eire as it was know in this century—in his mother’s day. Built of wattle and daub with a timber frame, the large house was surrounded by several outbuildings to the east and green fields to the west. Beyond the farmstead, ancient, twisted trees hugged the slopes that led up into the mountains, the nearest peak maybe three or four miles away and bare in spite of only being a couple thousand feet high.

Maybe four hundred strides away, two men stood on the small rise midway between the water’s edge and Ros’s sprawling complex. Another man stood outside one of the many outbuildings. Larry squinted but didn’t recognize any of them.

He turned to Cassan. “Any thoughts?” Ros’s son had spent the last year in Iceland with Larry, teaching the Havenites and Icelanders the Eire language. He was the only member of the shore party not wearing armor.

“I don’t recognize those men.” The Eire youth’s brow furrowed as his eyes swept his home. “It’s too quiet. And where’s my family?”

“Yeah.” As he adjusted his chest plate, Larry glanced at Torben. “Stay here but be ready to cast off. And keep the sail ready to hoist.” The old Viking nodded but kept silent, his eyes flicking over the terrain.

Larry joined the dozen armed men clambering out of the knarr. The large ocean going cargo ship barely rocked at the change in weight. But the dock creaked, shuddering under the increased load. From within Stormchaser, Samatu held out two long leather sheaths.

“No, best keep the flintlocks here. Guard the ship and that damned clock.” Larry turned once again to gaze at the farmstead. “I’ll be okay with the revolver.” And the last ten remaining cartridges. It would be another decade at least before the industrial base in Haven could machine the presses, dies, or bullet cases. At least they had the ability to produce the much simpler flintlocks.

“Signals?” Samatu asked.

“The usual three, but if you hear four then get the hell outta here.” Larry patted the whistle hanging from his neck as he turned to the other men. “Form up. Cassan with me. Matuso, keep an eye on the rear.” Still staring at the farmstead, Larry walked to the front of his men. Where were the dogs? They’d been barking and growling like crazy during their last visit. Had to kick a couple to prevent his ankles from getting chewed.

“Bows strung?” Matuso asked.

“No. Better not look too aggressive.” Larry looked over his men. “But I still want a show of strength.” He paused, turning back toward the buildings. This was supposed to be a trading visit. They’d been welcome when they made contact last year. Ros had been cautious but understandably so with armed men that arrived out of nowhere on boats. But he’d fed them and, when he'd been presented with the gifts of steel, he'd been more than friendly.

Yet the two men between the pier and the main building just stood there. “Just make sure your swords are loose in their scabbards. And keep your bowstrings handy.”

With his men behind him, Larry started up the rocky dirt track that weaved through open—but unoccupied—fields for a quarter mile to the haphazard collection of buildings that made up the farmstead. He could see what appeared to be onions, carrots, and possibly some stunted version of wheat. One of the more distant fields hinted at the potatoes and beans he had given Ros.

The two men standing halfway up the track nodded as Larry approached but, before he got within talking distance, they turned and walked to the bare area in front of the largest of the wattle and daub structures.

Larry hesitated then stopped, his men crowding up behind him. Except for the lack of people and dogs, all still appeared as normal. The track, not much more than a trail, meandered through the farmstead and up along a shallow valley beyond. Fields to the left of the central compound were also devoid of people. A shiver ran down his back.

“I’m thinking this ain’t…” he started to say before a scream ripped the unnatural quiet. A young woman burst from the main house followed by a man.

“Orla,” a voice choked from Larry’s side. He turned as Cassan’s hand grasped his forearm. “My sister. Trouble.”

As Cassan let loose of Larry’s arm and took a step toward the farmstead, Larry grabbed the youth’s shoulder. “Hold.”

At the farmstead, the man tackled the woman.

“Fuck this. Let’s go.” Larry said over his shoulder. “String those bows.” He broke into a run, hand still on Cassan. “Stay behind me.” Cassan tried to pull away but Larry tightened his grip.

As they charged up the path, a dozen men appeared from around the main building. Flashing short swords, the rough-clothed warriors wore dull plate metal armor over coarse jerkins and leather helmets and carried torso-length shields of a colorless metal. Another half dozen men with bows erupted from one of the outbuildings.

“Halt. Riders to the right along the shoreline.”

Larry stopped and turned to see Matuso pointing to a large group of mounted men breaking from the dark trees that backed the small trail that hugged the shoreline. “Where the fuck did they come from?”

“More men.” Matuso pointed toward one of the outbuildings.

“Back…” Larry started to say but a quick glance showed that the riders had them cut off from the ship. “Into a retreat wedge.” He lifted his whistle and blew four times. Then again. His head snapped back and forth as he surveyed options. Nowhere to go but the trees beyond the still empty fields. “Cassan, lead us the fuck out of here.” Larry pointed north, and then shoved the youngster. “You can’t help your family by getting killed.”

The riders continued toward the pier and the Stormchaser. .

As the men jogged toward the safety of the thick trees, Larry slowed and drew his revolver.

Planting his feet, he exhaled, and fired three times at the first group of attacking men. Two men dropped, and their companions scurried back behind the main building.

“Shields up,” someone shouted.

The advancing men from the two outbuildings had parted to allow bowmen to fire through them. Pulling Cassan close, Larry flipped his shield over his head and knelt behind it.

Through a flurry of arrows, Larry saw that they seemed to be directed by two individuals on horseback.

“Keep retreating to the trees and higher ground.” Larry’s mouth tightened into a thin line as he lifted his revolver. Two shots. One rider fell. Another shot and the second one fell. The advancing line of men halted. Another hail of arrows arced into the sky.

A cry of pain sounded behind Larry as a quick look to the pier showed Stormchaser being poled away from the pier, her partially raised sail fluttering in the light wind. A wind to the south and safety. More attackers on foot joined the riders on shore. Several shot arrows toward the fleeing vessel.

“Cassan, go.” Larry stood and pushed the youth behind him toward the north, away from the attackers.

Larry knelt behind his shield, loading his last four cartridges. “Form a retreating wedge and follow Cassan,” he said over his shoulder as he fumbled with the cartridges. “There’s too many of them. Get them bows strung.”

Larry fired again. One bowman fell. Another cry of pain came from behind Larry as the third wave of arrows hit the Havenites.

As Larry followed his men, Matuso slowed to join him at the rear.

“Where to?” Matuso asked, looking from the attacking warriors to the Havenites. “Fire at will.” Long, steel tipped arrows flew in a shallow arc. Screams rent the air from the attackers.

“Away,” Larry glanced at the bay where too few hands were raising Stormchaser’s sails. “Anywhere. Follow Cassan.”

Larry fired again and one of the enemy bowmen dropped. The attackers stepped back, several dragging bodies, into safety behind the outbuildings.

With Cassan in the lead, the Havenites fled north, skirting the tilled fields and breaking through fences. Larry maintained his position at the rear, hoarding his last two cartridges.

At the pier, the mounted warriors turned from the disappearing Stormchaser and kicked their mounts toward the Havenites.

“Keep moving.” Slowing, Larry waited until the lead horsemen were 40 strides away. He turned, exhaled, and fired twice. Two of the mounted men fell, and the remaining horsemen jerked their frightened mounts to a halt.

In minutes, with the attackers indecisive, the Havenites fled into the tree-covered hills behind the farmstead.

Through a break in the gnarled oaks, Larry watched the attackers spreading out in cautious pursuit. Beyond the fleeing Stormchaser, a ship appeared at the mouth of the bay.

<<<<end of excerpt>>>>

About the Author

Walt lives in Portland, Oregon with his artist wife Gretha and two cats (named Schiz and Zoid). When not writing, he plays jazz piano, performs labor sacrifices to the food chain goddess in the vegetable garden, and cleans litter boxes.

www.waltsocha.com

walt@waltsocha.com

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