Lands of In-Ko-8 Trilogy

By Edward J. Fisher

Lands of In-Ko-8 Trilogy

The planet Earth enveloped Inchoate, a dark-matter world at the birth of the solar system. Each evolved separately but not independently. The civilizations of Inchoate flourished until a disaster flung the world to the Sirius star system where it remained for a millennium. Scientists finally restored Inchoate to its rightful place in the galaxy, but the resulting damage, chaos, and greed led to conflict, confusion, and wars. A few brave leaders of the blue, green, and gray people almost brought order when a totally unexpected visit by star wanderers intervened.

A review by Kirkus Discoveries:

Fishers complex story of faith, political schemes, death, and science brings characters new and old into the fray, and further explores characters in the strange world of Inchoate. The world of Inchoate is on the brink of disaster, leading scientists to return the dark-matter planet to its former haunt within the planet Earth. The task is made possible via the ingenious travalink, a device that allows near-light transport from one part of the universe to the other. The planets inhabitants are no sooner settled in to their old home, however, before unearthing a finding of great political and religious significanceone that threatens to shake the planet to its core. Fishers keen grasp of science helps create a believable, full-bodied civilization. The lands and characters resemble an odd marriage of J. R. R. Tolkiens Lord of the Rings saga and the more recent Dune novels. The authors descriptions of the various languages of Inchoate, and the background of various civilizations, are reminiscent of Tolkiens seminal work. His characters range from religious leaders to criminals, and like the Dune characters, each gets print time in this tale. Inchoate is a land with a varied, rich history, culled from seemingly real-life examples. The authors sharp attention to detail, in elements from language to food, brings an original sense of realism to the talesometimes it appears more of history book than fiction.

A condensed, fast-paced story, whose entertaining intensity will eventually sweep readers away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499083828

Edward J. Fisher

The author has had three careers. He was in the United States Air Force for twenty-one years and worked at Cape Canaveral at the beginning of the Apollo Era, the Pentagon as a strategic analyst and the Air Force Institute of Technology as a professor of quantitative analysis. He then taught about the use of computer applications in large organizations at Central Michigan University for twenty-four years and is a professor emeritus. During these forty-five years, he wrote and presented numerous technical papers, articles, and presentations. Now he is an author. This is his sixth book of fiction.

Book preview

Lands of In-KO-8 Trilogy

The Now Time

The Before Time

The Planet Within

3rd Edition

Edward J. Fisher

Illustrations by the Author

Copyright © 2014 by Edward J. Fisher.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2014918552

ISBN:          Hardcover          978-1-4990-8380-4

                    Softcover            978-1-4990-8381-1

                    eBook                   978-1-4990-8382-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 11/18/2014

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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CONTENTS

Preface

Book 1

The Now Time

Prologue

Chapter 1:   John Narrowpath

Chapter 2:   Rage Of The Legions Of Myrmidon

Chapter 3:   The Monastery Of The Mysterious Whys

Chapter 4:   Brother Nathan

Chapter 5:   The Master Gardener

Chapter 6:   A Change In Plans

Chapter 7:   King Fugal’s Dilemma

Chapter 8:   The Circus Mystique

Chapter 9:   Professor Mystique And The Trip To

Chapter 10: The Hounds Of War Prepare

Chapter 11: The Diversion

Chapter 12: Sylva Sylvaram, Master Of The Polytek

Chapter 13: Princess Deirdre’s Story

Chapter 14: Death At The Polytek

Chapter 15: Engineers In The Unknown Country

Chapter 16: A Kaleidoscope Of Chaos

Chapter 17: The Stormy Petrel Of Time

Chapter 18: The Mirror Of Reality Is Cracked

Chapter 19: Let Loose The Hounds Of War

Chapter 20: Kriegspiel

Chapter 21: Victory And Judgment

Chapter 22: Calamity’s Conquest

Chapter 23: The End Of The Now Time

Book 2

The Before Time

Prologue

Chapter 1:   Beheading The Serpent

Chapter 2:   Home Of The Troglodytes

Chapter 3:   The Snake Handler And The Purple Moth

Chapter 4:   Dolphene And The Polytek

Chapter 5:   The Banishment Of Fides Punica Noah

Chapter 6:   The Kelm

Chapter 7:   A Science Project Gone Wrong

Chapter 8:   Fides Noah And The Troglodytes

Chapter 9:   The Servitor Mark Iii

Chapter 10: The Oceanæ

Chapter 11: The Delay And The Advance

Chapter 12: Gone Is Any Glamour Of War

Chapter 13: What A Tangled Web We Weave

Chapter 14: The End Of The Before Time

Book 3

The Planet Within

Prologue

Chapter 1:   Circling Sirius

Chapter 2:   The Tachyon Path

Chapter 3:   The Awakening

Chapter 4:   The Tricks That Memory Plays

Chapter 5:   Matters Of The Moment

Chapter 6:   Queen’s Gambit

Chapter 7:   Oththe’s Compass And Marevna’s Key

Chapter 8:   Under Another Sun

Chapter 9:   New Nations For Inchoate?

Chapter 10: Provocations Of The Mischief Makers

Chapter 11: Progress And Unraveling

Chapter 12: Will This Madness Never End?

Chapter 13: Twilight

Chapter 14: Fin De` Siècle

Endnotes

In memory of my father and mother

Frank and Bertha Fisher

Preface

M uch has happened since the Second Edition. Knowledge of the physical universe now includes gravity waves and additional insight into the Big Bang. Life on the planet in the story has also changed.

Some of the passages have been moved, updated, or deleted. Events have been altered to reflect the new mood.

I want to thank my editors for their patience and precision in making this a more meaningful chronical of a complex story.

Book 1

The Now Time

Prologue

T he universe we see is vast, dark, and lonely. This perception occurs because of the limitations of our senses. The stage on which all occurs is space-time, a multidimensional playground. Indeed, it is brimming with strings (tiny dots that wink on and off, sometimes causing quarks or photons, the building materials of matter), gravity with its waves, light years long (in which everything affects everything else), and electromagnetic waves flashing this way and that.

Nonetheless, matter as we know it is scarce. The evening sky may glitter with the light from billions of stars and galaxies, but the distances between these glimmering dots are measured in light-years. The void between occupies the remaining 99.99 percent of the expanding envelope of space-time. This universe is more than 13 billion years old. Stars blossom, age, and die as must all things. Life is sprinkled lightly on a few planets of some stars. This life evolves even as the environment around it changes. Beings able to survive through change continue, and the rest become extinct.

Very few organisms evolve to a point where they become aware of themselves and of their mortality. These are sentient beings. Most of these think so highly of themselves and their planet that they must be the center of all things important. They group themselves in various lumps of geography and commence to war upon one another. Civilizations come into being, age, and die. In the minute fraction of beings that do not destroy their worlds utterly, they transcend civilizations and become world communities. These have evolved to such a degree they look out at the stars and decide to explore for others like themselves. The space wanderers move from the stars closest to their home system outward as ripples in a pond seek the shore. Along the way, they leave outposts to mark the route they have taken so others may follow. Often, an outpost cannot be detected by the inhabitants of a world.

This story is about one of those outposts during its most trying periods.

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The planet Inchoate is composed of dark matter and has a diameter of 2,114 kilometers. It resides inside the Earth, which has a diameter of 12,682 kilometers, six times larger. Inchoate came into being during the evolution of the older bang over four billion years before the Big Bang; and cells, plants, and creatures evolved slowly.

At the time of this narrative, the largest landmass on the planet is the continent of Gondwanaland. It stretches from near the planet’s North Pole to near its South Pole, from the northwest to the southeast.

Another continent, about a quarter of the size of Gondwanaland, is named Laurasia. It dominates the North Polar area and is mostly covered with glaciers, ice fields, and snow. It is, however, rich in ores and minerals of many sorts.

There are many islands on Inchoate. A large group of these to the south of Gondwanaland comprises the nation of the Oceanæ. There are twelve other major groups of islands and thousands of individual outcroppings of land rising from the often bitter sea.

The year on Inchoate lasts 365 days. There is a table in the endnotes for each day in the year.

There is a description of the languages of Inchoate in the endnotes.

CHAPTER 1

John Narrowpath

H e awoke from a terrible dream and found himself in the middle of a field covered with wheat stubble. The stubble had pierced his hands and face, and he was bleeding. A bell somewhere far away solemnly toned the hour: one, two, three. Dawn was still to the distant east, rushing toward him.

As he tried to pick himself up, he realized that the field was covered in light snow, even the ground under him. This indicated that he had landed here recently, or the snow beneath would have melted and his back would be covered with it. It was so hard to concentrate. His mind was swirling in a clockwise fashion; so, he concluded, he must be in the Southern Hemisphere. How did he get here? He rolled over more stubble and sat up. Why was he so tired and disoriented? Next to him was a hat. It must be his, so he put it on. It fit and warmed his ringing ears. As he put on the hat, however, he felt his hair. It had grown long. He felt his face; he had a great mustache and a long beard! But he had shaved this morning. Or had he?

He rested a few moments and tried to stand. No, down he went, on his face again in the stubble. Once again, he sat and brushed the snow from his jacket and pants. He melted some snow in his mouth and swallowed. It felt good as the coolness slid down his throat, seeking his stomach. He repeated the process several times until his thirst was quenched. By now, the ringing was much fainter and his mind was slowing down, coming to rest as it should between and just behind his eyes.

He stood and waited for his body to complete its wake-up call. To his left was a wooded glen. Where was the Mystic Carousel? He decided to shield himself behind the brush in the glen until he figured things out.

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In the days that followed, he saw workers going to and from the fields, speaking in a language he barely understood. Many of the words were familiar, but the pronunciations were different. He watched animals bury nuts and seeds. He dug them up and ate what he could, washing them down with melted snow. He approached a village carefully. From the brush, he could see people in warm coats bustling from there to here and back, carrying bundles and baskets full of groceries. Their dress was most unusual to him. The cut, fit, and colors seemed bizarre. That night, he borrowed some clothes hung out to dry behind a house. He made a mental note to himself to pay for what he took when he could. He was no thief!

There was a flour mill at the edge of the town. He went to the person who seemed in charge. He imitated the language as best he could. He inquired, Vork todaze?

The frosty foreman looked at him, noting that he was unshaven but brawny. Jes, the foreman replied, vork filling sacks.

The work was hard for he still had not eaten well, but he kept after it. The gristmill was in the center of the building. There were four spouts, and four burly workers filled empty sacks and took them to the scales. The foreman would look at the weight and add or take out enough to satisfy the label on each bag, a quarter kilogram. Three other men had taken their place filling sacks. As their sacks were full, the original four would take over with an empty sack. He became the fourth member of the small crew. This went on until the two afternoon suns were low in the sky. The foreman blew a whistle, and the workers stopped the mill. Each came, hand open, to the foreman, who gave each a few coins. As the newcomer approached, the foreman looked at him carefully. Vork morrow? he asked. The drifter nodded and was given five small coins.

He hurried from the mill, hoping to catch a store still open. The bakery’s door stood wide open, and in he went. The fragrance of freshly baked bread and cakes caused his knees to weaken, and he quivered as he went to the counter. Vun bred und vun roll? he asked, holding out his coins.

The woman behind the counter looked at him strangely as she placed his order in a bag. Ver you from? she asked, leaving him three coins.

My hom east, he replied slowly. I vork in mill. This seemed to satisfy her curiosity. You sell fresh milk? he asked, holding the three coins out to her. She took a coin and gave him a container of cold pure milk. He smiled and nodded his thanks.

He went back to the mill and entered what he took to be an empty shed. There was straw on the floor and two animals, a feeding trough, and a basin of water. He recognized them as jackalopes, amiable creatures. They were used for pulling wagons and plows. They looked at him shrewdly.

A jackalope has the general shape of what we call a rabbit, with large acute ears and a set of antlers. It is a sentient mammal and with schooling can learn to understand and speak two or three languages. It is a beast of burden as long as it is well cared for. As a steed, few animals can keep up with a good lope. In anger, however, it can be very dangerous. If one bonds to a person, it is determined to protect him or her, regardless of the danger. This male was very large and quite strong. From his chin to his tail, his underside was solid white while the rest of him was tawny brown with black hair scattered well amongst the rest of his coat. The female, a bit smaller, was dappled throughout like the Autumn sun casting shadows through dry leaves about to fall.

The male said, My name is George, and my lady friend is called Gracie. She nodded amiably and asked, What is your name?

Strangely, he understood her to a greater degree than he could the people in town. I don’t have a name. Not one I can remember, he responded.

How about Jack? That’s a nice name and easy to remember. What’s in the bag? Gracie asked curiously.

George interrupted, Jack is all right for a child’s name, but he is an adult. Perhaps John would be more suitable.

John smiled and shared his bread, roll, and milk with his new friends.

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John’s speech had greatly improved. The job at the mill only lasted a few weeks as the Winter store of grain had been ground. John had saved his money carefully and slept each night in the shed with George and Gracie. The foreman asked John if he knew anything about blacksmithing. Yes, he replied.

Well, if you’re up to two jobs a day, the village blacksmith broke his leg and needs some help. He pays pretty well.

At lunch, John visited the smith at his shop. He was brawny as a bear and sat with his bandaged leg awkwardly out and up on a stool. I’m very sorry to hear of your accident, John began. Could you use some help?

The smith looked at him shrewdly. Can you cut?

Yes, with shears on soft metal or a saw on tougher.

Shape?

With a hammer and an anvil.

Braze?

I can join pieces of metal together. Yes, I can, sir.

Okay. Do you see the town hall on the other side of the street?

Yes, sir, I do.

Well, the mayor wants a weather vane for the top of the bell tower. Give me a design, and I’ll consider it.

If you can lend me a ladder, a shingle, and some charcoal, I can.

John rested the ladder against the roof of the hall. Up he went to the roof. From there, he climbed the tower with its big bell and scrambled to the very top. On his shingle, he drew some lines. He took some string and made a few measurements. Retracing his steps and returning the ladder, he showed the smith his design for the base. The smith smiled, revealing a missing tooth. Well, get going on it!

For the next two weeks, John was very busy. He completed the base he had designed and fastened it to the tower with sturdy bolts. There was a pipe brazed to the base. The smith watched approvingly at every step John took. Four brass rods formed the cardinal points, each brazed to a brace collar with a hole large enough to slip over the pipe at the tower’s top. He fastened the letters F, W, N, and S at the ends of the rods and, assuring his bearings were correct, mounted the crossed bars to the pipe with screws.

What do you want the vane to be? John asked.

The smith asked, What would you like since you’re the artist on this job?

John smiled. A jackalope. And so it was done. From brass, he trimmed the profile of George and soldered it to the top of a rod. He greased the inside of the pipe so the vane would rotate freely. He had filed a notch near the bottom of the rod. When he placed the vane into the pipe, he tightened several screws at the height of the notch, short of choking the rod. He was praised by the townsfolk at the dedication and was paid handsomely.

On the last day at the mill, his language proficiency having improved greatly, he asked Mr. Seltzer, the foreman, how much he wanted for the jackalopes. Seltzer rubbed his bristled chin for a moment and said, You’ve been a good worker, and I know you won’t be harsh on them. They are a nice pair. Well, I couldn’t use them until the thaw anyway, so how much are you willing to pay for the two of them? John looked in his string purse and peered inside and pulled out two brass coins. Mr. Seltzer took John as a simple person, not knowledgeable about buying and selling. That would get you one of them.

John returned the coins to the purse and brought out a bronze coin. Seltzer’s eyes sparkled and reached for the tempting coin. Jack closed his fist on it, saying, I’d like six brass coins in change. Seltzer smiled; this John was no one’s fool.

Excitedly, John returned to the shed and told George and Gracie the news. They were very grateful. He gave them each a roll and a carrot from his grocery bag. They all slept well. In the morning, John had several chores. He visited the barber for a haircut and shave and the general store for some clothes. He then completed his last chore. He went to the house from which he had taken the clothing on that first night in town. He had cleaned them and quietly placed the items on the clothesline in the backyard, slipping a brass coin in the pocket of the jacket.

In the Spring, John found much work, plowing fields for farmers. George and Gracie pulled steadily and never complained. The hours were long, but the pay was reasonable. He bought them sacks of oats and carrots, which were their favorite. Soon he had saved enough to buy a used wagon with sides and a roof to be his home and well-fitting harnesses for the jackalopes. The three became good friends. When the work was done, they would chat along the way.

One sweet Spring evening, the stars shimmered in the clear blue sky. Work had gone well, and they were returning to their small patch of grass in the glen.

Three large men with scarves over their mouths and wearing long black coats stood in the road, blocking the way. What can I do for you, gentlemen? asked John amiably.

You can give us your cash, and you won’t get hurt, said the tallest of the three.

John looked them over and replied, I don’t intend to give you that satisfaction. Before the men could react, John sprang from the driver’s seat, feet first, crushing the breath out of the largest marauder. Somersaulting forward, he caught the second man in the chin with his boots, sending him sprawling into the ditch beside the road.

That’s enough out of you, acrobat! shouted the third man, holding a hunting knife in his fist, his back to the jackalopes. George took him by complete surprise, rearing up with Gracie rising to her rear paws to give him leverage. Down he crashed, breaking the thief’s right arm and sending the knife into the darkened bushes. The first man was back on his feet, and he too had a knife. He lunged at John, who turned away from the thrust of the blade. Completing his turn, John smashed his fist into the other’s jaw. Down he went. The second man had come out of the ditch and jumped on John’s back.

You never learn, do you? cried Gracie tauntingly. John used his attacker’s forward momentum by crouching until the man flew over his head. He stood, catching the man’s knees and pushing them up. The man landed on his head and did not get up. John picked up the knife before him and turned to the three beaten men. Any more from you, gentlemen? There was no reply.

Spring turned to summer, and summer to Autumn. John learned that he was in a country named Nordlandt and that terrible things were occurring. The year in this place was 959 ASD, and when he asked about the carousel, people looked at him suspiciously and gestured with their hands to ward off evil. He and his lopes kept on the move.

He worked at odd jobs: a field hand, a fruit picker, a bank guard (itself with moments in which his dexterity was quite useful), a pipe fitter—anything that would keep him and his lopes from becoming too uncomfortable. The attachment between the three grew strong.

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He encountered a local war between farmers and uniformed troops. He told the lopes to stay out of sight. Sizing up the imbalance, he fought for those defending their territory from the invaders. The battle reached high intensity. He was good with a bow or a sword or a knife and helped drive back the enemy. His energy and accuracy inspired the others to fight harder. The soldiers decided hurriedly to abandon the attack.

The leader of the defenders was Hiram Goodthistle, a farmer, as were most of the defenders. Goodthistle was a large man, built like a bulldog. His was the largest farm in the county with three barns, a large house, a wife (his equal in every way), and four children, all learning the ways of farm life. He was mayor of the county seat. More though, he was a man who could get things done. Though none asked, all knew he was a Brother of the Pentagon, with connections throughout the land. He bore the tattooed emblem of a pentagon with many curved lines within on the underside of his left wrist. When he spoke, others listened carefully.

That evening Goodthistle threw an old-fashioned all-you-can-eat puppy roast. He was not a man to waste anything. His champion bulldog bitch had delivered a litter of six. (Her name was Cinnamon; she was as large as George and heavier than George and Gracie put together.) A buyer from Pierian Spring, capital of West Centralia, had purchased all but the runt that even the mother refused. Riding bulldogs was a sport for the wealthy. He paid five silver coins for each puppy. On a farm, anything edible that is no longer needed becomes food. Mrs. Goodthistle prepared seventeen varieties of vegetables for the guests.

John was treated by the victors as a hero. When they saw that John took such care of his lopes, they gave him a last name, Narrowpath. Then everyone clinked tankards of boot rear and drank to his good health.

Addressing John, Goodthistle said, Those were Myrmidon soldiers from Sudlandt. They send squads out to lonely corners of Nordlandt and Eestlandt trying to steal grain. Their own farmers can’t grow enough because their sons are all put in one of King Fugal’s legions or the reserves.

John asked if there was any place without war or conflict. Not outside the monastery, was the reply.

He conferred with his jackalopes, and they agreed. Then I shall seek it out. One of the farmers whose land had been spared drew a map for him.

The next morning, as John, the lopes, and the wagon turned the corner of the country road, a farmer asked Goodthistle what he really thought of John. Goodthistle replied, I don’t trust him. He’s a foreigner and may be an Appearer. He went home and sent encoded messages by way of the network, a means for sending information around the world.

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There was early snow, and as it deepened, the pace slowed. John Narrowpath led his little group to a shelter, a wayside inn called the Flying Pig, with a good barn and as good as a bar. The sign above the door indicated that the proprietor was Fiesta Rohling-Boyle. He took his wagon into the sturdy barn, unhitched his lopes, brushed the snow from their backs, and led them to a food trough and water basin. Fiesta was a jolly ample woman.

Had she been twenty years younger, she’d still be more than twice John’s age. That did not matter to her. When he asked for accommodations, she threw her abundant arms around him and gathered him into the globe of pheromones that surrounded her. There were seven guests that night including John. As a friendly gesture, he bought a round of stout for everyone including Fiesta. To while away the evening, each guest told a story, telling not whether it was fact or fiction.

The first to volunteer was Hans Vashre, a soap salesman. He told of a sad maiden whose father, after the death of his wife, married again. The stepmother was jealous of the beautiful child. When the father went on a long journey, the stepmother locked the girl in the tallest tower of the house and fed her only crusts and water. This put the girl in a snit. The next time the stepmother came to bring the crusts and water, the girl kicked her down the stairs—thump, thump, thump. When the father came home, he called out that he had made a fortune during his trip. The sweet girl kissed him fondly.

When he asked for his new wife, she told him of her accident. Ah well, he responded, she was getting a bit crabby, don’t you think?

The second traveler, one Hoist Petard, a metal smith, told of a far-off land where all the days were clear and sunny, the nights were spangled with stars, and everyone ate cake and honey. Unfortunately, this diet caused them all to suffer from gout, and the doctors made a fortune. Petard swore it was true.

Alley Openhiemer, a wheelwright, told the third story, also set in a faraway place where it was always Winter. The penguins were very fussy about raising their chicks. When a mother wanted to feed, she slid her egg onto the feet of the father. When she returned, the father rolled the egg onto her feet, and he went to feed. Unfortunately, an orca convention met in that very faraway place and ate the eggs and the fathers and, when they returned, the mothers as well. Orcas always leave best for last.

Shiraz Merlot, a wine merchant, told the next tale about a great stone through which an ornate sword protruded. Many men tried to pull the sword from the stone, but none could accomplish the task. One day, a mawkish oaf came by and, seeing the stone with the sword in it, pulled out the sword as if from taffy.

Throwing the sword to one side, he said, I’ve been looking for a stone like this for ever so long a time. Merlot admitted he was the oaf. Reaching in his vest pocket, he took out a chip of the stone to verify his story.

Shellby Baksoon, a puppeteer, promised an absolutely true story—he had witnessed it. The fifth story involved a wizard who claimed to be able to break any spell cast by a witch. People flocked to him, paying any price, to break this or that curse. He made the lame walk, the blind see, the crooked straight, the silent speak again. All were cured except the last to visit him—a child who claimed to be an eighty-year-old man upon whom a spell was cast that made him into a child. Why would you want to be old again? puzzled the wizard.

Because I learned that life is meant to be suffered through, and now I must go through it all again.

The wizard offered, The witch who cast this spell on you would cast it on me if I help you. Be gone. Play with the boys in the fields of youth.

Elysium Magpie, a court reporter, ordered another round of stout. She began the sixth tale involving a fly that had been swallowed by a spider, which had, in turn, been swallowed by a bird. The bird had been swallowed by a cat, which then was swallowed by a dog. The dog had been swallowed by a tiger, and the tiger had been swallowed by a whale. Now deep inside the spider, the fly began to buzz, causing the spider to laugh so hard it spit out the fly. The spider shuddered while evicting the fly, which caused the bird to regurgitate the spider and flutter its wings. The fluttering wings made the cat upset, so it cast out the bird and extended its claws, scratching the dog’s stomach. Yelping in pain, the dog released the cat. Doing so made it bark and bite. The tiger did not enjoy being bitten, so it released the dog. The tiger was so moody it started running in circles inside the whale. All this commotion was too much for the whale who beached the fly, the spider, the bird, the cat, the dog, and the tiger upon the yellow ochre sand at the edge of the restless sea, each then going its own way. The moral, children, is to chew your food thoroughly before you swallow.

John Narrowpath would not be outdone by these tall-tale tellers. He ordered up another round of stout and began, When I was very young, I lived near the Mystic Carousel. It had mythical creatures one could ride on as the carousel spun. This was on a world within another world, which revolved about a single sun. The stars there were bright and made curious pictures in the sky. If the storm outside were not so fearsome, we could go outside and look at the stars. They have changed since I was young, and we live on a world within a world circling two suns.

Everyone laughed. All right, John Narrowpath, Fiesta chortled, yours is the tallest tale of the lot. Gentlemen, please finish your drinks. The bar is closed.

The next morning after a pleasant breakfast, John and his jackalopes continued south. As he crested a small hill late in the afternoon, he saw in the distance a monastery, bathed by the slanting rays of the twin stars of Sirius. The rays highlighted the towers, steeple, ramparts, and a small village clustered by the outer walls as if seeking for warmth against the drifting snow.

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CHAPTER 2

Rage Of The Legions Of Myrmidon

K ing Drosophila was good to his loving family, his efficient administrators, his dedicated army; and most importantly, he was good to the fine people of West Centralia.

This small territory was all that remained of Centralia, which years ago separated Sudlandt and Nordlandt. At its zenith, Centralia had served as a buffer between the tyrannical kingdom to its south and the more benign democratic country to the north. Pierian Spring had been the capital of all of Centralia and was capital of all that remained of it.

The king’s father, Garrulous the Generous, had raised and trained a fine army and led it against intrusions on his lands. Most attacks were from the south. The southern king wanted what his country needed but did not have. In his pride, one of only a few of Garrulous’s character flaws, he never asked for help from other countries. That did not serve him well when things became dire.

The basis for the wealth of Centralia was the tin and zinc mined in the country’s western mountainous region. Farming was also very bountiful in the middle and eastern regions. Indeed, the farms with their fields splendid in abundance, the vast tracts of wide dark forests, and the well-kept towns provided an ideal life for those who called them home. Sales of tin, zinc, and grain brought sufficient wealth that the citizens of Centralia paid no taxes and enjoyed free schooling and health care.

All had been tranquil until 930 AST. Sudlandt’s King Fugal IV had died, leaving his throne to his son, Fugal V. Fugal IV had been hard and trouble enough, but his son took all of his father’s worst traits and polished them until they sparkled. Grasping, unflinching, cruel, he had a temperature so low that Celsius himself could not measure it. His greatest fault was greed. Dread of him came from the measured cadence of his loud voice. He bellowed even in polite conversation. People could not bear to look him in the eyes. The scleras of his eyes were, instead of white, the color of yellow phlegm.

Between 930 and 950 AST, Rumes Acetosa Raphanus Sativus Fugal V—King of Sudlandt, Sovereign of the Tectonics, Liege of the Acidtraine, the Maker of Signals, and Solemn Keeper of the Myrmidon—led three attacks against Centralia.

His marshal of forces was Ciboulette Allium, a wily but secretive man. Allium was large and quick and enjoyed the onslaught of battle. He acquired his many promotions not so much by knowledge and diligence as by the strange deaths of those officers for whom he worked. He literally advanced over the dead bodies of his superiors.

His army consisted of the Legions of Myrmidon. Career legionnaires were very tough and always obeyed their superior’s commands. Each legion could be self-sufficient, having ground troops, cavalry, artillery, and support troops. Many able-bodied men of Sudlandt served in the reserves—mostly in the support activities such as supply, field labor, and cannon fodder.

Garrulous’s army turned back the first war in 930 AST easily. Fugal V had misjudged the size of the attack force needed to break through determined defenders. The second war of 933 AST was better planned. Marshal Allium led four legions, over forty thousand men, and focused only on the eastern fields of Centralia. The defenders were forced to retreat westward, leaving the beautiful forests, fields, and farms. At the signing of the peace treaty, Fugal took full control of East Centralia. He released all prisoners as did Garrulous.

The third attack in 937 AST was even better planned. Garrulous massed his troops along the southern border of what was left of Centralia in small groups that could be deployed rapidly. There were to be no captives. Young Centralian men not already in the service volunteered in the thousands to withstand the enemy. Garrulous had purchased superior weapons from Nordlandt. It was strictly cash and tin, and no alliance had been struck.

Allium employed five legions—one legion each for the left and right flanks, and three in the center. King Fugal and his marshal led the charge into a field shorn of weeds, grass, and stones by legionnaires the night before the battle. The dawn was bright, the air supremely clear, and the raging sounds of the invaders broke the silence into crystalline shards.

The first surprise was not pleasant. In the night, the legionnaires had not discovered a deep trench covered over with light sticks and hay some distance beyond the Sudlandt border. In an enormous charge, King Fugal, Marshal Allium, and about three hundred mounted cavalrymen went into the pit. At the bottom of the trench were hundreds of sharpened stakes to end their fall. That Fugal and Allium survived was unfortunate for the defenders watching from the top of the earthen berm they had built for their defense.

Somehow, Fugal and Allium scrambled over the backs and bodies beneath them. They commandeered new mounts, brandished their shining swords to rally their forces, and crossed the now filled trench over the broken bodies lost in the dark red pit. Instead of stopping the charge, it invigorated the legionnaires to avenge this Centralian trick.

The base of the earthen dam held the second surprise. It consisted of fine sand. The charging cavalry stumbled into the mire of silicon, spraying dust in every direction, blinding those immediately behind the first rank of cavalry. The second rank of attackers had no chance of avoiding the traffic jam in front, nor the third wave. Again, Fugal and Allium survived and attempted to restore order from the mounting chaos of the attack.

Bowmen defenders on the top of the berm showered the Sudlandters with a dense cloud of barbed arrows. Fugal and Allium, unhampered by the arrows by holding up their leather shields against them, shouted orders to retreat to their camp.

At the same time, the right and left flanks of legionnaires had bypassed the wall to the east and west. The defenders were prepared with machines that released hundreds of arrows at once. The centurions, each in charge of a platoon of a hundred soldiers, turned their men around and left with minimum losses but had nothing to show for their efforts.

King Garrulous strode along the top of the wall, shouting encouragement to his men. His clear voice was powerful and gave confidence to his soldiers. When the enemy was in confused retreat, he turned to his cavalry below the north side of the earth wall and commanded them to ride. Half went around the west end of the berm, the rest around the east. Converging, they drove their chargers at top speed and felled the slowest of the fleeing foe.

The heat of the day was fierce, and the air was dry as alum. The combatants’ sweat evaporated instantly, providing some relief; but without water, they began to dehydrate. It became an agony just to raise a sword or shield. Then came the haunting sound of Garrulous’s trumpets, and the defenders so quick to appear were almost as fast in their disappearance.

That night, the invaders counted their losses—more than three thousand soldiers and their animals. They posted their guards, made their plans, ate some rations, and slept in sullen silence.

Dawn too chose to be sullen. Guilty clouds slid endlessly across a pale gray sky. Gusts of hungry wind twirled cones of sand and grit into the faces of the awakened forces. Allium suggested a phalanx of bowmen at the front of the attack followed by foot soldiers. The cavalry and the reserve troops would be held back to be used when warranted. Fugal, as gloomy as the dawn, agreed.

As the legionnaires lined up for the attack, they looked across the trampled and bloodied field. There were neither enemy soldiers nor corpses to be seen. The front lines of bowmen strode in unison, marking every noise, every tiny movement of flotsam on the ground they walked on. They noticed that the Centralians had filled the ditch with all the Myrmidon corpses and with compact soil. Carefully, they crossed it and began up the earthen wall of the berm, without a sign of danger. Had King Garrulous’s men deserted him?

Up the hill they strode, shoulder to shoulder. At the crest of the wall, they could see only a broad grove of trees nodding in the heightened wind but no defenders. Somewhat perplexed, they started down the north slope, others marching behind in broad ranks and long files. When the slope was full of targets, snipers hidden in the tall swaying trees opened fire. There was not much need to aim; all arrows flew into the crop of the potentially dead. Fugal had ridden with his troops but stayed on the crest of the berm. As soon as he saw the danger, he raised a brass trumpet to his lips and sounded an alarm.

At once, the Myrmidon cavalry charged to the left and right of the marching men, bypassed the wall, and moved into the forest, sending flares into the trees. It being almost Autumn, the leaves were dusty dry and the branches were as brittle as kindling. Each tree burst into a ball of flame, encapsulating the defending archers with withering heat and fire. The Centralian cavalry sprang forward, led by Prince Blendenpeal Owltufts, Garrulous’s courageous son, to engage the enemy. There beneath a sky of flame and falling branches, the foes entwined as two deadly snakes. Ringing this battle, the foot soldiers and archers of both forces surrounded the molten core of combat, running and striking at what they could. The trees dropped burnt offerings, indifferent as to who might be struck. Round and round, the attackers and defenders swirled, like a great wheel, in a clockwise direction. Would they run so fast as to turn into butter? Not unless butter is bloodred.

Only Fugal held back on the wall, contemplating the scene before him, infatuated with the fury and balance of it all. Allium joined him. Send in the reserves! the king blared. Ten thousand had been stationed south of the wall. They went left, right, and over the berm, surrounding the turning wheel.

On command, they thrust their spears into the rim of the rotating mass of warriors, not caring who were struck. The wheel slowed and fell apart. And so it was that the army of Centralia was overcome. By nightfall, each side offered up their corpses in two blazing pyres, designating the end of battle.

King Garrulous was dead among his men, sword still in hand. When all the niceties of the two armies cremating their dead and the flourishes of the opposing ministers were done, the treaty was harsh. Fugal took the central provinces to become part of Sudlandt. What remained, the mountains and valleys of the west, became West Centralia. Fugal might have taken that portion as well, but Garrulous had the foresight to withhold his reserves to create a strong, fresh line of defense, blocking access in that direction. The splendid course he took saved the western portion of Centralia. Fugal’s forces were too weak to attack again.

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And thus it was that Prince Owltufts became King Drosophila III and was good to his loving family, his efficient administrators, his dedicated army; and most importantly, he was good to the fine people of West Centralia. The remainder of Garrulous’s army acknowledged Drosophila’s sovereignty over them as did the citizens. The tin and zinc mines still provided a steady income because everyone in the world needed it. In the valleys, the farmers turned to growing grapes to make exquisite wines, which soon became a major export.

As soon as he and his army had returned to Gaingull, the capital of Sudlandt, Fugal sent his spies to snoop among the farmers, villagers, and ministers of West Centralia. In the Autumn of 949 AST, he sent for Marshal Allium and his advisor, Abbot Bryllyg Millitus. Fugal tasked them to develop a plan to absorb West Centralia. He wanted the tin and zinc mines, and they would be his!

Allium assured him that the legions would be back to full strength in the Spring. He and Millitus studied the terrain maps for the best routes to West Centralia and the spies’ reports of the disposition of King Drosophila’s forces. They drew up lists of lies the spies would spread to deceive the king and his ministers.

Drosophila was not a fool, nor did he tolerate fools when they were caught. His police captured six of the spies and interrogated them somewhat insistently. They quickly revealed their task. Five were sent to a distant prison and kept in solitary confinement. The sixth was one Shellson Carapace, who would do anything if the price was right. They gave him a false report to deliver to Allium, indicating that the plan was working beautifully and that Drosophila was oblivious to any danger. Carapace received a small bag of coins for his effort. When he had carried out his mission, he would obtain evidence that he had done so. He then would travel to a monastery in Nordlandt and seek out the librarian there who would give him a much-larger sack of coins and another mission. He was assured that he could make a small fortune if he remembered who employed him. As a further incentive, he was told that he would be watched, even in Fugal’s palace; and should he decide to reveal to the enemy this charade, he would die in a truly disgusting manner.

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King Drosophila knew he did not have a large enough army to fight the Myrmidons. He sent his chief minister, Thurgood Maelstrom, on a secret mission. He was to travel to Dolphene, the capital of Nordlandt, with a vital proposal. The minister and a small band of bodyguards left Pierian Spring in the darkest time of the night on the last train north. Winter was now middle-aged but could be fierce if offended.

Maelstrom was a faithful and very wise counselor. Tall, lanky, and quick, he and the rest of his party were among Centralia’s best diplomats. They had the last car all to themselves, specially built for the purpose; there was a separate bathroom and berths for the guards who took turns on duty and an ample separate bedroom for the minister. Oh yes, the inside walls of the car were armored.

The steam locomotive, far ahead, braced itself against the blowing and drifting snow. Its pistons pushed and pulled mightily on the rods and links that made the drivers go round. Its great headlight pushed a cone of light ahead, revealing a chaos of snow, yet its beam was bright enough to allow the engineer only a hint of what lay ahead. The train itself was but a snow snake twisting and turning in the blackness and in the howling, relentless snow.

The timetable insisted that the arrival time would be at dawn. The storm had other plans, and it was near noon when the train pulled into the sprawling terminal in Dolphene. Great clots of ice and snow splashed from the cars onto the platform and melted rapidly, making large black steamy patches on the concrete.

There was a metal barrier on the platform that protected the last car from the rest of the train. Two guards emerged from the car, weapons drawn. When they were sure all was in order, the minister and the remaining guards came forth. They were met by an official cluster of important-looking people. Ms. Phyllis Inownit, the vice president of Nordlandt, stepped forward briskly and shook the minister’s cold hand. She looked accustomed to welcoming important guests. She had a set face caught in what might be a smile. The group moved quickly to one of the side exits of the terminal where vehicles awaited.

The Palace of Peace, which housed the government, was modern, grand, and by its sweep, intimidating. The vice president took the visitors from Centralia to a suite of rooms where they could freshen up before meeting the president.

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The somber and determined Maelstrom brought an idea from his king so startling that the visit turned into a diplomatic conference lasting three days. Arthur Pholde, president of Nordlandt, and his staff looked at every detail covered in the draft document. At last, they weighed the costs and the benefits and found adoption beneficial to both sides.

The presidential train was quite splendid; a sleek, polished streamlined locomotive with matching tender pulled twelve passenger cars, a kitchen car, ten freight cars, and the armored car that had brought the Centralian contingent north coupled on the end.

It sped swiftly south and west; the glittering snow brushed aside by the locomotive sparkled past the windows. The presidential car was magnificent, divided in two major sections: the sleeping quarters for the president and a conference room with an intricately carved table with matching armchairs, which while attached to the floor could be maneuvered back and forth, right and left. Most convenient and very comfortable. The cars were so well suspended one could hardly feel that the train was moving.

The train arrived at Pierian Spring and coasted to a gentle stop in a well-guarded fenced siding. King Drosophila and his ministers waited at the platform. When the door of the president’s car opened, a band struck up the Nordlandtic national anthem. Pholde, in perfect protocol, clicked his heels, removed his hat, and bowed his head. The king responded by touching his crown and extending his hand. As they shook hands, the president commented that it was cold here and escorted His Highness to the car’s conference room. Both sides introduced their various officers and sat down. At each place, there was a small teapot, cup, and saucer.

Pholde began, Your Highness has surprised us with this offer, but we find it most appealing. It would certainly stop Sudlandt’s marauding ventures, at least for a while.

The next morning was New Year’s Day of 959 AST. At the royal palace, stewards opened the doors to the many citizens eager to hear the king’s New Year address. He then announced to all present what was to happen.

"My loyal subjects, it is with your greatest interest in mind that I have asked aid from Nordlandt. King Fugal and his legions will regroup and attack us again, given the chance. I am about to reduce that chance to nearly nothing. This document that President Pholde and I are about to ratify unites West Centralia and Nordlandt. Our mutual forces can withstand the Myrmidons. Better, you all shall become free subjects of Nordlandt.

Our heritage, our language, and our beliefs are nearly identical. You shall elect those you wish to govern you and abide by the Nordlandtic Constitution that makes the governed the masters of their fate. I leave the throne with a happy heart, knowing you shall all benefit from this action.

Then with a stroke of his pen, he signed the official treaty. As he set each letter of his name on the page, he hoped the poet who wrote The hand that signed the paper felled a city was wrong. Without a word, Pholde followed, signing the pact with a flourish.

Since there was no longer a need for a king, Drosophila dropped his royal name and reverted to