War Zone Eden

By George Hibbert

"War Zone Eden" is an ambitious and adventurous science fiction adventure that takes place thousands of years after the Earth was devastated by nuclear war. Mankind has rebuilt itself from the ground up and is on the brink of achieving time travel capability. Although the new frontier is a scientific wonder, it is not fully safe from galactic threats and structural flaws. Throughout this exciting novel, a group of unlikely allies must come together to protect their newfound world from danger and destruction.

Martinez "Marz" Devereaux is a Theoretical Physicist assigned to study this new frontier when he discovers an anomaly in the sky millennium in the past…one that will destroy the earth if not remedied at the source. Traveling back in time, he and his son use mind meld technology to enlist the help of a primitive human male named Jaryl. They must find a way to use an ancient device to move this object in space before it reaches the crucial point in its orbit, sending the moon spiraling into the Earth.

But the key to their plan requires getting Jaryl's betrothed, Kalina, and her unique abilities to the site to trigger the machine before it is too late, and many obstacles stand in their way. Radiation fallout from the wars has created giant insects, and Jaryl must face death in the valley of the spiders while his tribe, the Rashahdin, battles the vicious Kralni, enormous red ants. When scheming members of the tribe arrange to have Kalina banished and transported to the forbidden city, Jaryl finds himself embarking on a strange journey that will test his mental prowess, physical endurance, and faith in his gods.

With help from Marz's son, Ryan, Jaryl races against time to rescue Kalina, as she holds the key to saving both the present…and the future…of mankind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781667800554

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© 2021 George Hibbert

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Print ISBN: 978-1-66780-054-7

eBook ISBN: 978-1-66780-055-4

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Revolt of the Morphytes

CHAPTER

ONE

Jaryl stumbled and fell, his sweat drenched body hitting the rocky slope hard, painting the ground with blood. He rolled twice before slamming against a sycamore. He stopped breathing. Across his field of vision something dark flew among the leaves and branches that danced with the hot winds from the plains. It soared like a bird but it wasn’t a bird. He didn’t know how he knew, he just knew.

His breathing resumed in short gasps at first, and with it came stabbing pain. He tried to sit up but the agony increased with each attempt. Finally, he lay still. Fear and confusion raced through his mind. He had been running, that much he knew. Running from what? To where? He couldn’t remember. Flashes of places he had been, places that had no meaning to him and yet did, burst in and out of his consciousness.

Forcing himself to calm down, Jaryl searched his thoughts for meaningful memories, there were none. He had no past prior to his hitting the ground, no memories of what had happened to bring him to this place and condition.

Gradually his breathing slowed, the aching in his ribs subsided. He sat up, leaning against the tree that had so brutally stopped his descent. Feeling his right foot and leg itching, he looked down and saw a swarm of ants moving steadily up his leg and onto the loin cloth that hung from his waist. In spite of the hurting in his chest, he reached down and brushed away the black horde now entangled in the blood-caked dirt and leaves acquired in his fall. He withdrew his foot from their nest, watching detachedly as the colony ran amok in the wreckage that was once their home. Absently, he felt empathy for these mindless creatures. Like them, his world too had been destroyed, with no understanding of what happened or why. Yet, as he stared at them, a glimmer of memory flashed through his thoughts.

He was running, running from an ant. Not like these tiny creatures at his feet but a stallion sized monster. At first, he recalled, it was he who was the hunter, trailing the giant through the forested hills. Then, having found them, he had rashly revealed himself and the hunted became the hunter. More memories came back now, flooding his consciousness. The bird thing had appeared as he ran, showing a single red eye. The eye flashed at him, and then nothing…nothing until he awoke on an unfamiliar bed in an alien cave.

See anything?

Not yet, answered the large black man at the console. But the courier is still out there looking. There’s an awful lot of forest to search.

We’d better find him and quick, whined the reedy red head behind him. If Marz finds out what happened, we’ve had it.

Jerome Mills turned away from his console and studied his co-worker through the prisms of thin rimmed glasses. Ethan Dixon was white, Caucasian of course, but scared beyond that. Nail-bitten fingers plowed through sparse auburn hair in unsuccessful attempts to arrange it in some semblance of order. A nervous twitch in his left eye characteristically revealed Dixon’s anxiety.

Take it easy, Ethan, Mills said. There’s no way we could foresee a breakdown of the CONSHARE system. It’s a systems error, not a human one, Marz will know that.

But that’s his son running around out there somewhere and there’s a good probability that he has little or no control of the host. What if that crazy native falls off a cliff or drowns himself, what then?

That crazy native has a name, two actually, said Mills. He turned his back to Dixon and taking control of the courier maneuvered it to a new tract of forest heretofore unsearched.

Alright, alright, the native has a name, it’s Jaryl, ok? Dixon replied. But whatever happens to Jaryl also happens to Ryan Shepherd. And whatever happens to Shepherd makes a big difference to the success of this project.

Mills did not immediately respond to Dixon’s distress, but concentrated, instead, on his search pattern looking, he thought, for a ghost in a fog. What had gone wrong, he wondered? Others had gone out before Shepherd, controllers and their hosts, mind-melded by the CON-SHARE process designed to join two consciousnesses into one, but always leaving the man from the caverns in control. With the malfunction of CON-SHARE the shared consciousness process now left doubt as to who was in control, Ryan Shepherd or Dixon’s crazy native. Had everything in the process of CONSCIOUSNESS SHARING gone as planned, the Ryan/Jaryl duo would even now be making their way down the mountain side to Jaryl’s camp where Ryan would begin to gather the much-needed information to make OPERATION SURVIVOR a success.

Shepherd isn’t the first controller to experience difficulties after being sent out, he mused out loud to Dixon. Some made it, others didn’t.

He went on, oblivious to the blank stare of Dixon who listened to the lecture not unexpected from the professor as he had become known.

A lot of intelligence about the status of humanity had been gained over the last thousand years, knowledge needed to determine when to release our people from cyber-sleep to start the rebuilding of civilization. Losing another controller would be a setback. And yes, technically, if Shepherd failed, another could take his place. But if instead we can locate Jaryl with the courier, we can hypnotize him like we did the first time and bring him back here, even against his will, if necessary.

It’s beginning to look like a big if, said Dixon. I think we’ve lost him.

That may be a moot point, Mills uttered in a low voice while pointing to the screen before him. A band of horsemen were slowly making their way through the woods. Mills programmed the courier to follow them, keeping the metal bird hidden amidst the trees.

A search party? Dixon queried.

Undoubtedly, Mills replied, and if they find Jaryl before we do, control of the situation will be out of our hands.

All but one of the men wore the leather skirts, hide boots and feathered hair adornments of Jaryl’s tribe. Across their bare brown backs were slung bows and quivers of long black arrows. Some of the riders wore colored shimmering capes, draped over their left shoulders. A lone rider was just as resplendently yet differently clad, but instead of a bow on his back, a sheathed long knife bumped against his thigh as he rode. The leader of the group, he was a tall man, slender of build and hard muscled, and his narrowed brown eyes searched the ground before them as they rode.

Talin pulled sharply on the reins of his mount, and jumping to the ground he threw his bright yellow cape aside and knelt to investigate the find. Behind him a half-dozen riders raced up and leapt from their horses before the beasts could stop.

Kralni, whispered one of the men.

Beside him another spoke the minds of all.

The print is huge, how large must the creature be?

Our brother, Zeloran of the Mequahdin tribe has seen the beasts, Talin said, turning to the sword bearer. Do I remember correctly that you described them as the size of horses?

‘Yes, and some larger, Zeloran answered. He studied the imprint, for a moment then said, The direction taken by the creature is difficult to determine since its six legs leave such an erratic pattern in the dirt. We must find more prints."

The men spread out to find more tracks and soon the pattern became clear. The trail led downhill and then in the mud near the edge of a brook other prints appeared, those of a man.

The beast stalks our friend, Talin, one of the men said. See, the ant’s tracks overlay Jaryl’s.

Pray to the gods, my friends, that the Kralni have not yet found him, Talin implored the group, then leaping onto his horse called out to his troop.

We must find Jaryl before the ant does.

Jaryl felt better. The pain in his chest was only a dull ache now. Sitting on the bank of a river, he examined the extent of the damage his panicked flight had inflicted on his body. He washed away the dirt and blood and discovered that, except for his aching ribs, minor cuts and bruises were his only concern. Nearby, a small still pool, separated from the surging main currents, allowed him to see his face clearly. The image was deeply tanned and wind-hardened, crowned by thick raven hair falling to his shoulders. The set of his square chin and full lips bespoke a stoic disregard for misfortune. But the distress in his eyes belied the truth.

He stared, for a moment, at those piercing blue eyes, remembering how all his life he had wondered at the fate that had singled him out from all men to inherit such an anomaly. He had been one of two so gifted. The other, a girl, the adopted daughter of the chief of his tribe and Jaryl’s father. That the only two people given blue eyes should belong to the same tribe at the same time was a mystery he had pondered his whole life. He shook his head at the wonderment of it. True, his were the midnight blue of a winter storm, unlike Kalina’s silver blue color, which was reminiscent of a summer dawn. But still, unusual and unique, among the brown and hazel eyes of the tribe.

Turning from the pool he looked around, trying to guess which way he should go. Other than a gradual downward slope, which he had already chosen to follow, the landscape gave no clue. But then there was the river. Staying with the river would lead him down to the plains, and eventually to the camp of his people. His people. He remembered them now, all of them. Once the dam in his mind had burst, the past came flooding back in a deluge of memories of people, places and events he had known all the way back to his childhood. He cherished them all, even the less pleasant ones, because he was a person again.

Yet among these memories were some that puzzled him and some that were frightening because he did not recognize them. Strange people in odd looking clothes moved in and out of his thoughts using unfamiliar language. They moved among things they had made, used them, made them do things that to Jaryl meant nothing. These memories left him uneasy and he tried not to think about them. Whatever they were, at least he now had a past, he was no longer alone.

He was Jaryl, son of Rashahdin. And Rashahdin was the chief of his tribe, one of the heads of the ten tribes of the plains. More people he knew were pushing those unwanted memories out of his mind, and their presence was becoming increasingly welcome.

There was Talin his best friend, and Kalina his beloved blue-eyed adopted sister, and now betrothed. Image after image of childhood friends, and even those not so friendly to him like Shuna and Darin, crowded his memories until his attention was suddenly captured by the snap of a branch behind him. He turned and arose, immediately grabbing a sturdy dead branch at hand and half expecting to be confronted by a giant ant…and was surprised by the presence of a mountain lion. The lion seemed just as surprised by Jaryl’s sudden movement. Then Jaryl saw why. Out of the brush a deer leaped and bounded away. The big cat looked unsure what to do but quickly made up its mind which prey to settle on. Ignoring the deer, the lion crouched, preparing to pounce on its new victim.

Jaryl hesitated. He couldn’t run very far or fast in his condition. Should he stand and confront the lion? Once, he knew, he would have done just that. But the lion outweighed him, and he was no contender for claws and four-inch teeth. Then another option began to play quickly through his mind. He knew he had but one chance to escape the imminent attack. Turning, he jumped into the river and was followed at once by the predator. Big cats, he knew, avoided deep water whenever possible, but if hungry enough would follow their prey into a stream or shallow pond. This one seemed very hungry. Hoping the river was deep enough in the middle to give him an edge, Jaryl attacked the rushing current with ever deeper and faster strokes, slowly increasing the distance between himself and the lion.

Just when he felt he had reached the safety of mid-stream, the water began to grow shallower as he came upon a submerged reef. Desperately turning back toward the safety of deeper water, a sudden immense weight and sharp pain exploded across his back. Jaryl tried diving under water to escape the attack, but could not get deep enough to avoid the lion’s slashing claws. Several of those claws caught his shoulder, tearing a gash in his back to the waist. No longer able to hold his breath, he struggled under the weight to rise out of the water, expecting eager fangs to end his travail.

Nothing happened.

The lion, still now, lay floating on top of him. As he worked his way out of the cat’s embrace, Jaryl saw, to his amazement, three long black arrows, jutting from the head and body of the lion. Blood gushed from the lion’s wounds into the rushing river, red foam making its way downstream, followed by the now limp, body of the cat. Jaryl turned toward the bank from which he had come as the shouts of men caught his attention. They were his kinsmen, some of whom were already swimming out to him, his friend Talin in the lead.

Don’t lose them, cautioned the old man as he watched the riders move slowly down the mountain side.

But what about Ryan, asked Dixon, shouldn’t we concentrate on him?

We’ve lost our chance of finding and bringing him back, said Marz. Jaryl’s friends are his only hope, now.

Marz, if we abandon the search for your son, Mills said turning from the console, who knows what might happen to him. Ryan has no control over the native. For that matter, Jaryl has little control over his own fate.

Martinez Devreaux weighed the technician’s concerns carefully, stroking his short white beard as he often did when confronted with difficult problems. This particular problem was not hopeless, he thought, but if there was a solution, if they were to get Ryan back, only the events of the future could determine when and how.

The incomplete mind-meld that now bound Ryan to Jaryl was becoming a hazard to both. Ryan was without control and Jaryl was lost, alone and unarmed in a forest prowled by predators. Their only hope was to get Jaryl and his kinsmen together. If the courier could keep track of the troop and somehow still search for Jaryl, the reunion was still possible.

We’ll wait until they stop to rest, he said to Mills, note their position, and then send the courier out to continue the search for Jaryl.

What if the tribesmen move and the courier can’t find them again, Dixon worried aloud.

Their course seems set, Marz said. If they move, we shouldn’t have much trouble finding them.

I hope you’re right, said Mills. I pray to God you’re right.

When the sun was highest in the sky the riders made a temporary halt at a junction of two streams. Here the waters coming from opposite sides of the mountain became one raging river propelled in turbulent cascades down the rocky slopes to the plains. Talin stood on the rocky bank of the larger watercourse surveying his surroundings. This hardened ground, he thought, would make their search more difficult. There was little chance of finding clues of Jaryl’s passing or those of the ant’s. Unsure of his next move, Talin decided to halt the expedition and call a council of the men, to discuss and determine the best course of action. And so, the men sat in the accustomed circle, waiting for their leader to begin the proceedings

Six settings of the sun have passed since the chief’s son went into the wilderness in search of the giant ant, Talin began, in his customary summing up of the situation. Until today we have not seen him. Now we are following his trail and the spoor of the ant, but both tracks have disappeared in this rocky terrain. If he continues on this hard ground, we will probably lose track of him for good. If he attempts to cross the merged streams, which is now a fast-moving river, he may drown. Added to our difficulties of finding him is the possibility that he may purposefully be concealing his track if he suspects the ant of following him.

His seeking out of this rocky ground and this fast-running river could mean he has hoped to throw the beast off his track. As far as I can see, no immediate solution to our problem has presented itself to me, so I would like your ideas before deciding what to do next.

I would speak, said one of the group.

Darin speaks, said Talin.

As Talin has said, Darin began, Jaryl set out on his own to track and kill the giant ant. We all know this was an unwise decision, but for our chief’s son not an unexpected one. We must all agree that Jaryl is brave and daring, but I am convinced that his very nature has led him into danger. Since we probably won’t find our friend alive, if we find him at all, we should give up this fruitless search and return to the tribe, and help set up defenses against the Kralni attack when it comes.

I agree with Darin, said another, we must return to camp and prepare to defend our people.

I wish to speak, said a man sitting next to Talin.

Varrow will speak now, Talin said acknowledging his second in command. There was no one among the warriors whom he trusted more, and few in the tribe with the depth of insight that this man had. Despite the man’s secret weakness.

Varrow began, From the southern territories our brothers of the Mequahdin tribe sent forth messengers to warn us of the movement of the red ants out of their stronghold across the great river. Zelorin, one of those emissaries, is with us now. He saw with his own eyes one of these beasts in the foothills as he approached our camp. You will recall that he spoke to us at great length of the invincibility of the monsters. They are both cunning and powerful, and because of the hardness of their bodies they cannot be killed by spear or arrow. How then can we talk seriously about defending ourselves against them when even the Mequahdin confess the helplessness of their own warriors? If a hundred able men in our camp cannot defend our people against the Kralni, what difference will seven more make? At this declaration several of the men nodded their heads, seeing the wisdom of Varrow’s words.

The venerable warrior continued resolutely. As for me, I place my confidence in our gods and in the judgement of our chief Rashahdin, who has, in all probability, moved the camp to hotter regions where the red ants will not go. On the other hand, if we return to camp without Jaryl, or at least without proof of his death, won’t our people lose heart and even question our ability to track and find one man? In my opinion we must move ahead. Finding Jaryl is what we came here to do, let us, therefore, do our duty and find him whether dead or alive. That is all I have to say.

I agree with Varrow, said one of the men.

And I, another added.

Talin looked around the circle and guessed that, by his knowledge of the men present, he would have consensus to go on.

Who agrees with Varrow that we continue the search? he asked. Four chose to go on with the search.

The sun is at its highest now. said Talin. We will rest for a while and then renew the search.

The sun was well past its zenith when the riders set out again. While keeping his mind alert for any signs of Jaryl or the ant, Talin began to evaluate what was so far known about the Kralni. The existence of the red ants was in many of the legends of his people. All of the ten tribes not only knew about them but told stories of chance encounters between humans and ants. Of course, most of these stories were hundreds of years old and had not been confirmed until recently. In the south, however, the Mequahdin tribe, which lived north of the great river, even now told of sightings of the red ants across the river, but mostly of one or two at a time and rarely of larger groups until now. One event told of a Mequahdin sheep herder being chased from his flock for some distance on the north side of the river. Only the speed of his horse over distance enabled the man to outrun the ant and reach safety.

The Kralni, it was said, got their name from tribal ancestors who had come from the far north. In the language of the ancients the word for red was Krasni, which down through the ages had been changed to Kralni, the current name for them in the tribes. During the time of the human migrations south hundreds of years ago, the people had witnessed the ant wars, ongoing battles between red and black ants. They fought, it was assumed, for control of the masses of grass-eating bovines which roamed the plains north of the great river.

Over time, the ants, having reduced each other’s ranks almost to nothing, retreated from the plains, the red ones by way of a bridge over the river, a land bridge that no longer existed, and the black ants to unexplored lands to the east. Having left the plains to humans, both species of ants had all but disappeared from human history.

Engaged thus in his contemplation of the Kralni, Talin did not see, at first, the red glow perched among the branches of the birch ahead of him. The troop moved out of the woods and into a clearing, heading for a nearby river and the birch right in their path. Before he realized what was happening, Talin was fighting to regain control of his horse which was rearing in panic. Out of the woods ahead a large bird-like creature came swooping at him, a single red eye fixed on him as it flew. The other horses shied in turn as the bird-thing sped past them, unseating two of the riders who, regaining their composure, remounted amid a chorus of imprecations. The bird-thing came to rest on a branch nearby, making no more aggressive moves.

Talin steadied his mount and sat watching the strange creature with fearless but unsure regard. A feeling of calm came over him. In his mind he heard voice warning him of danger, but the danger was not to him or his companions.

It was to Jaryl.

Quickly, Marz yelled to the technician. Use the Sub-Con projector. Tell him what is happening. Mills pressed a button on the console causing his voice to convert to thought through the courier.

Jaryl is in danger at this moment. Prepare your weapons and ride to the river NOW! he said.

The speech-thoughts in Talin’s mind had a dream-like quality, as if coming from far away. At first, the strangeness of this intrusion into his mind caused a panic to arise in him. Who was speaking to him? Was it the gods? Were they interceding in this way on Jaryl’s behalf? But he didn’t believe in the gods. How could he attribute any powers to something he didn’t believe in. Whatever it was, the urgency of the command was too real to ignore. He turned his horse and followed by his band of confused men, raced across the clearing to the just visible river beyond. Mills directed the courier to follow them, bringing the mid river encounter between Jaryl and the lion onto the screen. Immediately the horsemen appeared on the river-bank, alighting, weapons drawn, from their mounts. Following a quick assessment of the situation, Talin and his men let loose a volley of arrows toward the cat. Several missiles found their target and the lion finally lay still in the shoaled waters of the rushing stream.

There he is! Dixon said, jabbing a finger at the screen. He’s alive and moving. Jaryl struggled out from under the lion, waded and then swam to meet his tribesmen. In mid-stream Talin caught him and held him close.

My friend, he said with a grin, if there are any, you are, indeed, favored by the gods.

CHAPTER

TWO

The silhouette of a man flashed intermittently against the lightning shattered sky. He stood motionless, arms akimbo, facing the wall of the opposite cliff. Except for the cloth wind-whipped at his loins, he was unclad. A long scabbard slapped at his right thigh as the winds grew in intensity. Unbound raven hair thrashed about his head, lending an eerie quality to his painted face. Now and then a full moon, taking advantage of a sudden break in the clouds, flooded the cliffs and the valley below with its ghostly glare, creating specters of every shadow cast in its wake. Something was moving out there. The man watched intently as gargantuan figures scurried toward black holes in the cliffs. This was the valley of the spiders. And the man had come to hunt.

Kaleeena!

The scene faded into darkness and then turned into light as Kalina opened her eyes. She sat up blinking at the brightness coming through the tent opening. From the light a voice, closer this time, called to her again.

Kalina, have you been sleeping in the middle of the day?

Recognizing her friend’s voice, Kalina responded drowsily, I had a dream Etli.

Oh, not one of those again, the girl groaned, slipping quickly into the tent.

Etli knelt and sat back on her heels, smiling as she watched Kalina rub the sleep from her eyes. Kalina eyed her friend’s countenance, and considered that it was a pleasant smile in a comely face, marred only by burn scars on her left side. She knew that Etli considered herself barely pretty, but no more than that. Her figure, hidden beneath a loose-fitting shift, was on the chubby side, but only slightly. She may have been considered an attractive potential mate, but her self-deprecating demeanor left an impression that was not particularly appealing to men.

What kind of dream? she asked Kalina.

Kalina took up a thistle brush and ran it quickly through her soft ebony hair, letting it fall freely against her shoulders and back. She looked intently at Etli for a moment before she spoke.

It was Jaryl, she said at last, seeming troubled. I saw him at the valley of spiders. He was about to descend to his rite. It was only his form I saw. It was night and dark but I know it was him.

Who else would it be? the younger girl teased, then became serious. I want to hear all about it, of course. But first, I have a message for you from your father.

Why didn’t he come himself, Kalina asked, suddenly apprehensive. The ominous effects of the dream lingered, and she felt a shiver of fear run down her spine.

He sits in council with a man from one of the northern tribes, Etli answered, trying to seem nonchalant but not fully succeeding, which did little to settle Kalina’s nerves. The man has brought two women to trade. Etli’s attempt at calm dissolved with this statement, revealing her true frame of mind. Oh Kalina, I’m afraid. What if you have to leave with him? Or I do? We will never see each other again.

Did my father say why he wants me?

No. Only that you should come at once to the council meeting, Etli explained, then added reluctantly. The man has asked for you, especially. That is all I know.

Don’t be afraid my friend, Kalina said more confidently than she felt. I don’t believe my father would allow anything like that to happen to me or to you. Come, walk with me as far as the council grove and I’ll tell you of my dream.

It all sounded so right to Etli, but then Kalina’s dreams always did. Jaryl was going to the valley of spiders to fulfill the rites of manhood and of leadership. The very fact that Kalina had seen him there in her dream indicated that he would perform those rites. It proved that he was still alive and that the searchers had found him and were even now bringing him back.

Etli worried about her friend. Every time Kalina used her strange abilities, and when she did it was always for good, the gossip would start all over again. And it was never complimentary. It wasn’t just the dreams. Few people outside the chief’s family knew of those. Nor was it her ability to predict ahead of time what was going to happen. It was the other thing that led to whispers of witch.

Kalina could make things happen.

Like the time she saved the old woman from being crushed by a falling tree. As the girls walked toward the council grove, Etli let her thoughts wander back to last summer when she and Kalina were helping the women gather dried branches for kindling. In a copse of dead trees, one old rotting trunk leaned precariously toward the gleaners. Seeing a chance to gather some choice branches from it, one of the older women grabbed a limb and gave it a hefty pull. The rotted roots of the tree gave way, releasing their grip of the ground. The tree, being suddenly unfettered, plunged earthward. Etli heard the snapping of branches as the larger branches struck others on the way down and turning at the noise saw gatherers running in all directions. But one old woman who was known to be practically deaf did not hear the commotion, until the tree was well on its way to the ground.

And she was right in its path.

Etli screamed a warning, but the old lady didn’t hear her and even if she had there was not enough time to avoid the crushing advance of the falling tree. Etli turned away, unable to watch. It was then that she saw Kalina standing next to her, rigid and with her eyes closed. Suddenly the tree stopped falling. A cloudy aura surrounded it. As if a giant hand had pushed it the trunk moved slowly away from the old woman and settled to the ground next to her.

Kalina opened her eyes. As if nothing had happened, she went on gathering sticks. The other women ran to the old lady to see if she was hurt. Except for being scared, she proved to be fine. Some turned with wide eyes in Kalina’s direction who, intent on her gleaning, was oblivious to their stares. Etli, hoping to divert their attention away from Kalina, offered an explanation for the strange occurrence.

Perhaps a branch of another tree caught the falling tree at the last moment and swung it away, she said to the staring group. Aware that her explanation had convinced no one she turned away from the women, who had now begun to mutter among themselves, and continued gathering branches with Kalina.

Perhaps not, she sighed.

Rashahdin sat in council, listening absently to the visitor as he recounted stories of his past expeditions among the tribes. Markonis was from the Tellahdin tribe in the north country. The man was well known by the ten tribes as trader of women. His standing in the tribes was not in any way to be envied. Although there was no actual stigma assigned to traders, and their function was necessary for the cleansing of tribal bloodlines, their arrival always triggered fear in families not wanting to lose daughters, and excitement in unattached men in search of an acceptable mate. Either way, their presence marred the peace of the community that was the preferred state of the tribe.

Rashahdin, well aware that his beloved adopted daughter, Kalina, could have someday been taken from him by one of these traders to serve as wife of a man in another tribe, had been glad when his own son claimed her for his promised wife to be. They had been raised together since Kalina’s family had been killed and Rashahdin had exercised the chief’s prerogative of adoption, but they were not blood related, so there was no taboo against their union.

But first Jaryl must be found. And then there was the rite of manhood and of leadership to prove Jaryl was worthy to wed Kalina. But what if the search party failed to find him, or if he did not return victorious from the valley of spiders, and died instead? In such a case, the chief of the Rashahdin tribe would, by law, be required to submit to the law of purification.

This law made trading of unmarried women mandatory among the tribes. History had shown that too much inbreeding within a tribe resulted in deformed or mentally deficient babies. And since births had become increasingly rare in these last years, the tribal chiefs’ duty was to do everything possible to ensure the birth of healthy children. It befell a chief to choose the women to send away. That was one of the duties of a chief that he hated most. Separating girls or young women from their families and from all the friends they had grown up with was always painful.

And if Jaryl was not found, or failed his manhood rite, it was a dilemma he now may have to face. It would destroy him to lose his impulsive, charming son, the only son of his body, to either of these calamities…and it would crush his heart to lose this strange, special young woman he had grown to love as a daughter.

…don’t you think so?

Rashahdin forced his thoughts back to the present. Markonis was speaking.

Forgive me, he said to the trader. I was thinking about my daughter. What were you saying, Markonis?

I was saying that it was fortunate that I arrived before your people broke camp and moved on to the plains.

Yes, yes of course, but our departure has been delayed in any event, the chief said. The council of elders felt it was best to wait until Talin and the search party returned. It has been six days since the searchers left the camp. We are ready to move on and only await the elders’ approval.

I hope my presence will not cause a problem, Markonis said. Our agreement could be quickly decided and I’ll be on my way.

As for such an agreement… the chief started to say. He turned at the sound of footsteps. Kalina had arrived.

She bowed to her father and the others. Then she sat down next to her father in a space left for her. Her head remained bowed until Rashahdin recognized her before the council and their guest, as was proper according to tribal protocol.

This is Kalina, said the chief, my daughter.

Kalina studied the stranger through half closed eyes. He seemed, even in a sitting position, to be abnormally tall even for a man. But it was said that Tellahdins were taller than men of the other tribes. His close-set eyes watched her as intently as a bird of prey watched its victim. The faintest of smiles appeared beneath a broken, beak-like nose, and his face was dusky gray, though he didn’t appear to be sickly. So this was the Tellahdin trader, she mused, a man young women feared and families with unwed daughters hated to see. He looked fierce enough, Kalina thought, but looks often deceived. Confident that her betrothal to Jaryl would prevent her from leaving with him, she was willing to stay her opinion of him, for the time being, at least.

I can add nothing to reports of your loveliness, Kalina, the trader said, his smile broadening.

He surveyed, and without embarrassment, the feminine attributes that had gained this woman such renown even beyond her own tribe. The flawless shape of her body was evident, even beneath her clothing. Wide hips, narrow waist and more than ample breasts filled out her dress with unrestrained generosity. Her bronzed face, a lovely countenance, was framed in a perfect oval beneath an unbound cascade of glistening black hair. And yet it wasn’t that or the well-shaped nose and full lips that finally made him catch his breath when she looked up and straight at him. It was the eyes. Clear blue as a summer’s sky and set beneath brows gently arched, those eyes gazed unflinchingly at him through long dark lashes. The total effect of the woman was overwhelming, certainly provoking.

We have heard from passing travelers that an exquisite flower of the rarest beauty was to be found in the tribe of Rashahdin, said Markonis. A maiden blessed by the gods with eyes like the skies. If it is possible, what I see exceeds even this praise.

Your words are kind, my brother of the Tellahdin, Kalina replied, demurely. But I am an average woman set apart from others of my tribe by blue eyes - with which, as you say, the gods have blessed me.

My chief’s son would argue the point, I assure you, the trader returned. My name is Markonis. I have come on behalf of this young warrior to procure a bride for him. He is so intent upon his quest that he has sent two women from our tribe to trade for you. He is prepared to do more, if necessary.

May the gods favor your chief’s son and bring him many blessings, Kalina said, hiding the irritation she felt by bowing her head again. Yet I cannot help but wonder, if the maiden he seeks is so irresistible, why he chose not to seek her out himself rather than send a trader to fetch her to him.

The veiled rebuke did not go unnoticed around the circle. Amid mumblings and nervous shuffling of bodies the elders made their disfavor known. Rashahdin, though in sympathy with his daughter’s response to the Tellahdin, could not let her retort go uncorrected.

My daughter, he said, speaks unwisely but not without truth. It is not my purpose to cast doubt on the practice of trading marriageable women through the office of a Trader, but if the son of the Tellahdin chief had come himself, he would have greatly enhanced his chances of achieving his goal. Nevertheless, it is not a woman’s place to pass such judgement. That will be all my daughter. I will see you in my tent when I am finished here.

Her face hot with anger, as well as embarrassment, Kalina arose and walked slowly away with her head down. She dreaded the coming interview with her father, but more than that she regretted causing him to lose face in council. In any case, she had not helped her cause by her shameful fault-finding of the Tellahdin’s chief’s son. When she reached the place on the path where a little-used trail branched off through the tall grass, she followed it to the river. She sat for a while on a fallen tree and stared at the rushing flood, worrying about Jaryl and wishing she could follow it to a place where her many troubles were far behind her.

Jaryl was glad the long night was over. His dreams, like before, had been filled with visions of strange people, unknown things and far-away places he had never been to. Words and phrases kept intruding into his mind that should have made no sense. Yet he knew exactly what they meant. Knowing and not knowing how he knew was frustrating. But he felt better as he busied himself getting ready to hit the road.

There - he’d done it again! What was a road and why would anyone want to hit it? But, as before, the explanation would come into his mind a second later. Now he knew that a road was a wide path that people traveled on. And hitting it just meant getting back to traveling on it again. Perhaps, he hoped, once he was on his way the alien ideas would leave him. He would assist their departure by flooding his mind with the familiar, and with thoughts of his beloved, Kalina.

You seem distracted, my friend, Talin said as they rode along. This experience has changed you I think.

More than you know, Talin, Jaryl replied from his perch behind the horseman with whom he was riding double.

You still are not able to remember what happened to you or where you were for the last five days?

There are no memories at all, Jaryl answered. Only the gods know.

The gods, if they exist, have a habit of telling us little of what they know, said Talin.

I forgot, you don’t believe in the gods of holy mountain, Jaryl observed.

When I was a child I did, said Talin softly.