Island in the Sea of Time

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

October – November, Year 2 A.E.

"Will the chieftain live?" Ohotolarix said, his voice shaking.

"He'll live," Alice Hong said, completing the bandaging. "Bad scar, and that eye's gone, I'm afraid. Still, it's clean and the stitching was neat if I say so myself," she added, twiddling her fingers before she washed them in the bowl.

The little log surgery-clinic was empty except for the tools she'd just finished using; her assistants were cleaning and packing them as she laid them aside, and she'd been working in her custom-made traveling leathers, black with silver studs. A few more bloodstains wouldn't harm those. She paused to pat Walker's cheek; he was out with the ether, but he'd be awake soon enough. With a nostalgic sigh she looked around the board-and-split-log room, and the cheery little fireplace with its built-in rack for heating irons. Ah, well, there will be other places, she thought.

"Take him out to the wagon," she said, picking up her shotgun and slinging it muzzle-down over her back.

It was raining again outside, so she added a hooded cloak as she stepped out the door and watched the warriors carry the litter to the waiting Conestoga. Drops pattered on the veranda above her and on the canvas tilts of the wagons; people were still running around with crates and barrels, loading the last of the stuff they'd stripped out-what hadn't gone with the first caravans, back before that damned battle. You've got to hand it to Will-he thinks ahead.

Bill Cuddy came up with the big black ex-cadet. "It's Ygwaina," the young man from Tennessee said. "She's… isn't it taking too long? Why doesn't she open her eyes?"

"Bad labor," Hong said absently. "Aneurysm, possibly- it's quite a strain, you know."

"How are we going to move her?" the young man said.

He's actually wringing his hands, by the Divine Marquis, Hong thought. She'd never actually seen anyone do that before-but then, she'd been having a lot of new experiences lately.

"We aren't, of course," Hong said. "First, it would be too much trouble, and second, it would kill her-if she isn't brain-dead already. I'll leave that local midwife, what's-her-name."

"No-" McAndrews began. Then he heard the soft snick of an automatic's slide being pulled back behind him and froze.

Hong brought out the hypodermic from under her cloak and stabbed it through the wool of his jacket, sending the plunger home with her thumb. Two men caught the unconscious form as it slumped; she carefully retrieved the hypodermic and examined it to make sure the needle wasn't bent-no disposables here.

"Neat," Cuddy said. "He'll get over it, especially when we're going toward his Egyptians. Dumb bastard."

"Now, now," Hong said. "What about the slaves?"

"The ones we're leaving? Got 'em locked in the ergastula, like we have since last week," Cuddy said, beginning to turn away.

Behind him Ekhnonpa was handing her swaddled baby up into the two-wheeled light carriage, and climbing in after it. Martins and his wife were in the one behind; that one was closed, and securely locked. He'd been under guard since the day of the battle, also part of Walker's contingency plan.

"Why not set the ergastula on fire as we leave?" Hong said brightly. "It would be sort of… appropriate, wouldn't it?"

Cuddy looked at her with wondering distaste; "You just never stop, do you?" he said softly.

"Well, why should I? Live for the moment and enjoy every day, that's my motto, Billy-boy," she said, fluttering her lashes.

"No," he said curtly, and walked toward his horse. Louder, he called: "Let's get going! Now!"

"I…" Ian Arnstein swallowed. "Most of them are still alive. Some of them ate… well…" He spat into the muddy cobblestones of the street.

Oh, God, he thought. He'd been a classical historian, and he'd thought he knew what latifundium and ergastula meant. I didn't. There was no mind left behind their eyes, most of them, as they yammered and cowered away from the light. He met the captain's eyes, and she nodded quietly in perfect understanding.

Marian Alston stood by the neck of her horse, stroking it absently as she looked about the remains of Walkerburg. There was a giant crucifix of whole logs standing in the middle of the square, with iron shackles dangling from the arms.

"You can see the sort of kingdom Walker would have built," she said quietly. "Two days?"

"Two days," Arnstein said. "Nobody knew which way they were going."

"I can guess," she said. "We may be able to catch them at sea." But Eagle's still halfway across the Atlantic, dammit, she thought with cold self-reproach. With Isketerol's ships gone, she'd assumed the Tartessian had bugged out for Iberia. Instead he waited for Walker. He's probably lying up in a marsh somewhere, or the fenland, or the Thames- could be anywhere. Not many places in Britain more than two days' wagon-travel from the sea. Certainly not this one. Granted she'd been laid up right after the battle, but…

Swindapa came out of a hut. There was a squalling bundle in her arms. Oh, God, not another one… why couldn't it be puppies?

Her smile changed as the Fiernan lifted the baby up close enough to see. That milk-chocolate color was not something she'd expected to see in the White Isle. McAndrews's child.

"The mother is dead, in the birthing."

"Well," Alston said after a moment. "There's room on Main Street for the four of us, I suppose."

A chill colder than the rain ran down her spine as Swindapa lowered her eyes silently.

"We've won," Alston rasped into the microphone; her throat still hurt. "The question is, what the hell do I do now?"

"You've done a damn fine job," the chief said, his voice clear under the crackle of static-very clear, for a transatlantic broadcast with this equipment. "What you should do now is wait a little. From the sound of it, you're not up for much diplomacy."

She leaned back in the canvas chair, conscious mainly of an overwhelming weariness. Fort Pentagon's HQ hut was chilly and drafty in the aftermath of the week's rains, despite the brazier glowing in one corner. And Swindapa's hardly spoken to me in a week. She turned pale as a ghost when I mentioned going home… home, Christ, where is her home. Enough. There's work to do.

"I got a third of my command killed." She sat silent for a moment. "Christ, Jared, those were kids. They should have been back in the Academy, cramming for exams, with nothing more serious to worry about than zits and their social lives."

"We're none of us where we would have been," the slow Yankee twang said. "Anyway, we've sent some people over on Eagle this trip… That conference you arranged still on?"

Well, I said I was an ass-kicker, she thought wryly, suppressing a tinge of hurt. Jared's taking me at my word and sending someone to handle the problems that aren't nails. Put the hammer back on the shelf…

"Right. We've got a lot of mana with the Earth Folk now, and the Sun People tribes are too scared not to do what we tell them. They lost a lot of their fighting men, especially in the pursuit." She'd tried to keep the Fiernans from slaughtering those who surrendered, but it had cost her a lot of grief and chunks of political prestige.

"All the better," Jared said, a hint of iron in his voice. "If they wanted to stay safe, they shouldn't have started a war. Over."

"Over and out."

She clicked the microphone back onto the radio and sat, silent. It was with a start she saw how much time had gone by, and hauled herself erect. Eagle would be arriving with the flood tide; and for appearance's sake, she had to be on hand. Alone. Swindapa was off visiting her relatives again.

"Oh, Christ," she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut for an instant, gripping the edge of the table to the brink of pain. "Get a grip. Now go."

Jared Cofflin shook Alston's hand at the bottom of the gangplank.

"Martha and the daughter are along, too," he said, grinning. "Why miss the chance?" He looked around, searching the faces. "Where's Swindapa?"

"Visiting her mother," Alston said neutrally.

Cofflin started to speak and visibly switched gears. "Hope the voice is getting better," he said.

"The medics say it will. Inconvenient as hell, let me tell you. If I talk above a whisper for more than a few minutes I'm dumb as a fish. If you'll pardon me, Chief, I have some organizational work…"

He looked after her, then turned to the Arnsteins with raised brows.

Doreen coughed. "Swindapa's people… her family… they've been after her to stay. She won't talk about it. Marian…"

"Damn," he said quietly. "Well, let's get on with it," he said wearily.

He swallowed. The noise from the crowd outside was growing louder, almost a roar until a steady clanging cut through it. He puzzled over that for a second, then realized it was the sound of short swords being slapped against the sheet-steel facings of Nantucketer shields-the American troops reminding the audience of decorum.

"No sense in waiting," he muttered, squaring his shoulders. At least it wasn't raining anymore.

The crowd were standing-some had been sitting, but they stood for him-all around the slopes of the natural bowl. No more than a hundred all told; Spear Chosen of the Fiernans and a clump of Grandmothers to the left, and the Sun Folk chieftains to the right. Most of those were very young or very old, survivors because they'd been non-combatants. They looked at him with sullen, hangdog anger, seeming half naked without their weapons, bright with defiant finery. Along the circular ridge stood the Nantucketer troops, with another two squads on either side of him.

He raised his hand. "Please, sit down," he said. "We have to talk."

The translations echoed him; he forced the distraction from his consciousness, and the feeling of sweat trickling down under his collar. Christ, the fate of nations, and I have to decide.

"The war is over," he went on. "Too many have died in it, us"-the translators rendered that as Eagle People; he supposed the Americans were stuck with that moniker- "Fiernan Bohulugi, and the eastern tribes. No more."

That got him nods, even from the Sun People. Nobody here had ever experienced war on this scale before,

"We must take council to see that it never happens again, here in the White Isle."

A Spear Chosen shot to his feet, wincing and staggering a little as a bandaged wound on one leg caught him with a spike of pain. "Throw the Sun People back into the sea! They brought nothing but trouble with them. Their tread on the land disturbs its spirits. Let them go, or die if they refuse!"

That brought nods from the left side of the circle, and a sound halfway between a groan and a rising growl from the right. The American pointed to a white-bearded chief.

"My people came here in my father's father's time-" he began.

"Your tribe? One hundred twenty-six years this spring," one of the Grandmothers said dryly. "That is yesterday. Nothing."

The easterner glared at her. "-time out of mind, we have lived here. Here are the graves of our fathers and the holy shaws of our gods, here we plow and sow and herd, here our children are born. This is our home. We will not leave it."

Cofflin nodded. "We could expel you all-or kill you all, we and our Earth Folk friends. Do you doubt it?"

The charioteer lords fell silent again, a shuddering stillness. Jared turned to the Americans' allies. "But we will not, unless they force us to it. If you drive these out, others will come-or these again. You can't take away their knowledge of what Walker taught them… and Walker himself is still out there, over on the mainland."

Great, now I've got them both mad at me, he thought, through the uproar that followed. And Martha was right. The Fiernan Bohulugi were lovely people, but they needed what the charioteers had, or some of it.

Eventually the clamor found a voice: "Would you leave them free to attack us again?"

"No," he said. "Not that." He turned to the defeated, raising his hand. "If you are to live in this land, it's by our say-so-our leave," he added, as the translators looked puzzled. "On our terms."

"What terms?"

"First, you must swear by your own gods that you will make no more war on the Earth Folk or on us."

Slow nods; they'd expected that.

"Next, you will make no war on each other, either. Every teuatha of Sky Father's children must swear to aid us in punishing any tribe that breaks this pledge. In return, we- the Eagle People-will swear to let nobody"-that was directed at the Fiernan, but tactfully-"attack you, either. You'll be guaranteed safety in the lands you now hold, but no more."

That stunned them. "No war?" one young chief with a peach-fuzz beard said, blinking. There were actual tears in his eyes. "How… how will we blood our spears, where will we find honor and bridewealth? Are we to sit in our fathers' houses and never do anything of our own?"

"There are other ways to wealth besides taking it from someone else," Cofflin said. "We'll show you some-new ways of farming, new crafts, and trade. We'll be trading with all of you. And besides that, we're going to be sending more ships out, all over the world. The world is bigger than you can imagine, and a lot of it's dangerous. We'll need marines-guards-more than we can supply. I imagine some of your adventurous young men would find that an acceptable way to gain honor. And wealth."

There were frowns, but the young chief looked interested. So did many of the other younger tribesmen. No grudges, Cofflin thought. From what the specialists had gathered, a straight-up fight didn't breed lasting resentment among the Sun People; they considered it the way of nature.

"You ask no tribute?" the older man asked skeptically.

"For ourselves? No," Cofflin said. "But you can't expect to start a fight, lose it, and go scot-free… I mean, get away without loss. You attacked the Fiernan Bohulugi without cause. You'll give back any lands you took in the last few years, you'll release all slaves and captives of their people you hold-with gifts in compensation-and you'll pay the Earth Folk an indemnity for the harm you caused.

We'll set it; it'll be heavy, but not beyond what you can pay. Consider it a… a fee for learning a valuable lesson. Oh, and some of our holy men would like to travel among you and tell you about our beliefs. You don't have to listen, but you won't hinder them, either."

That didn't seem to make much impact compared to the prospect of having to pay indemnity, but it was far more important in the long run. The full-grown warriors might not want to give up their sky-clan of godlets, but he'd bet others in their tribes would-the women, to start with. Nantucket-style Christianity had a lot more to offer them than their own people's faith; and while they might not convert their husbands, they'd certainly have a lot of influence on their sons. He hid his smile. These people weren't sophisticated enough to see through that sort of gambit- hell, he hadn't been either. Martha and Father… Prelate Gomez had come up with it between them.

Again, the grumbles came from both sides of the circle. "We've suffered, we've bled at your side! Many of us have lost everything-we've lost homes, fields, flocks, brothers and parents," a voice from the Fiernan ranks called. "What do you have for us?"

"You fought and bled for your own land and your families," Cofflin said sharply. Then more gently: "We don't forget our friends.

"You have our word-and everyone in the White Isle knows what the Eagle People's word is, now-that we'll stand by you if you're threatened again. You'll have peace, the first real peace you've had in centuries. Freedom from fear. Isn't that something for the Fiernan Bohulugi?"

"It is a great thing," one of the younger Grandmothers said firmly. "We do not wish to see our sons ever returning on their shields. Moon Woman did not mean mothers to bury their children."

Cofflin nodded. "There's more than that, as well," he said. "You Spear Chosen are great traders-well, there's going to be more trade than you can imagine. As you say, there are many of your people who've lost their homes, lost their kin, in this war. We Eagle People have need of new helpers. We'll welcome them; we'll adopt the orphans, give homes to the displaced. Those who wish can learn our ways and become part of our people. Those who don't will return here with new wealth and new skills, because they'll learn from us. You'll be the first people to learn our arts, and it'll make you rich and strong beyond your dreams."

And Angelica will get that damn settlement on Long Island she's been wanting, he thought. The adults might never fit in really well, but their children would-universal schooling was a wonderful thing.

"Besides that, we'll send skilled folk here to set up new things-mines, forges, water mills." Brand and Leaton thought that with a little technical aid they could just about quadruple the Earth Folk's productivity in a single generation. "Wealth for you, and for us. We'll also send our healers"-thus ensuring a population explosion, but we can deal with that later-"and wise folk. Your Grandmothers will learn more of the stars than they ever knew before." Which will gradually undermine their religion, but sufficient unto the day is the evil or not-so-evil thereof.

There was a fair bit to recommend the cult of Moon Woman, but it did breed an unhealthily otherworldly attitude, and excessive fatalism-sort of like an astrological Buddhism, as Ian had put it.

The uproar began again; this time it got to the fist-shaking stage and the soldiers had to start thumping their shields again. He sighed. This was going to take a good long while.

He took off his coat and shifted his shoulders, as if settling a load. This was his work, and he was going to by God do it the best he could.

"We're going to need someone to stay here and ride herd on this bunch," he muttered. "Ayup. I can't stay, Martha can't stay, Marian's got too much else to do…"

He turned his head and looked at the Arnsteins. Ian raised his hands.

"Now, wait a minute, Chief-"

Marian woke to find the bed empty. She ran a hand into the spot where Swindapa had lain; it was still faintly warm. The children were sleeping in the next room, from the sound of it; the wet nurse was with them anyway. She slipped out into the chill and dressed quickly. The sanded log planks were warmer than any tent or the locals' housing, but she'd never felt entirely easy sleeping in the house Walker built. I'd rather have burned it. That would be far too wasteful. They'd take what he'd made, and put it to better use.

Or Swindapa will, she thought. God, God-

Outside the stars were frosted across the arch of heaven. The full moon was setting, casting a bright glimmer over dew-wet fields past the guards pacing their rounds. She found Swindapa standing in one meadow, her arms raised with palms up, swaying and chanting. The half-song broke down in sobs, and the Fiernan girl covered her face with her hands.

" 'Dapa?" Alston asked softly, touching her shoulder. "Can I help?"

"I want to stay, it's my home, they're my family, my people, they need me! I want to stay!"

Alston stood frozen. I need you too flashed through her, and her lips clenched on the words. And I cannot say that, not when you're in pain like this.

"I want to stay, and I can't," the Fiernan went on, and turned to grip with bruising strength. "You're my life."

Alston wrapped the cloak about both of them; they stood in silence, watching the moon-the Moon, she thought- fade below the horizon and the first stars turn pale in the east.

"We'll come back here, again and again," she murmured at last. "Believe me, 'dapa-your people and mine, we'll never be apart, now."

"Yes," the other sighed. Then, later: "I'm cold. Let's go back to bed."

I'm not cold, Alston thought, as they walked hand in hand through the chill wet grass. Birds were piping, fluting greetings to the coming dawn. Never cold again, I think. The years stretched ahead, and the work that filled them stoked the glow below her breastbone.