One Hundred Years- A Novel

Chapter 25: " ...till Birnam wood do come to Dunsinane"

2010-06-13T11:36:00.001-07:00

Most people quickly forgot that Dolf was thirteen years old in his presence. His language felt young, but he projected an older presence. He was nearly full grown at thirteen and muscular, and although he would never be huge- he was large enough. He was sitting cross-legged on top of the desk he had claimed from the former commander while the regular officers of the camp stared at him with a mixture of anger and discomfort. Ogre stood at the door- leaning against it and holding it closed. Ogre was ostensibly there to prevent interruptions, but the fact that he stood on their side of the door made the officers think he was there to intimidate.

"Al right my baboochkas let's talk freely here. A small banda led by my bratties- my half brothers- are dancing around us and shiving us every place we turn. The troops are creeped and workers are going missing- maybe kidnapped, maybe escaped. I want to blame somebody, and somebody wants to blame me. But when you cut this problem open and look at the keeshkas, you see that none of us get out of this clean. And worse, we all take the blame."

"Me, and my droogs are top notch hunters and raiders and everyone knows it. But this is our first command, and everyone is watching. You guys got to pick up the pieces either way when I'm gone. All of us have our asses out waiting to be shived, unless we turn this grazhny pile of crap into a victory."

Colonel Springbok was the former commanding officer of the base and now answered directly to Dolf. The Colonel was forty-five years old and wore a short moustache and a salt and pepper crew cut. He cleared his throat and began speaking.

"Everything you say is true. This simple question is how. The troops are as afraid of your men as the are of the raiders- and they are very afraid of the raiders. Not everyone gets trained at Fort Winterheart. These men are simple line soldiers. They are not up to the same standards, what do you want them to do?"

Ogre spoke, "They survived the pits. The tribes have no pits. Do they wish to bow to cowards and weaklings? Remind them who they are, make them angry, and then we may win."

The officers were silent at that. All of them had survived the combat pits of the Winter Wolves, it was a mark of superiority in the mind of any Winter Wolf. Other tribes allowed everyone to reach adulthood just by letting the years pass. The Winter Wolves had to fight for the right to reach adulthood.

"Your droogs aren't trained like my banda is trained. But my banda was weak when I found them. I shaped them from baboochkas with nothing, into killers who would shive the devil himself. You baboochkas and your droogs can be made better, you've been through the pits, its just a matter of putting you all back in the pits to keep you motivated." Dolf was smiling now.

Colonel Springbok cleared his throat, "What does that mean precisely?"

"It means that I sent out a letter this morning. My father will receive it in about five days. It tells him to send a cleaner squad out in another five days if a secret signal isn't sent before then. Do you pony what I'm saying? If we do not solve this in less than ten days, this fort will not just be shived, it will be leveled and everyone on the duty roster will by hunted down and killed. My dad didn't want to send big troops here for a number of reasons. He won't be happy if he has to send them. He'll see see to it we all die- you, me, Ogre, these bratchnies we're fighting. He'll send napalm launchers and flame throwers and purify this place with fire."

The Colonel stared in horror, "That's insane!"

"Welcome back to the pits Colonel. Tell everyone what a crazy bratchny the commander is and what he's done to everyone if they don't kill these raiders. Tell the workers, their names and faces are on record too you know- the cleaners will find them too. Forget having them continue working, they scout for us now. We're all one big banda now, 'cause otherwise we all die. A viking funeral, you know."

Chapter 24: Nugget

2010-06-08T21:35:00.000-07:00

Nugget knew that Widow was behind him. he acknowledged her with a quick series of hand gestures that indicated he knew that she was there and indicated that she should stay back. Nugget liked to look at Widow and Widow knew it. Except for his experience with Dolf, Nugget had no sexual experiences- and he wished his first to be with Widow. This would of course be difficult. Widow hated Nugget and killed any man outside the banda that looked at her for longer than a moment.

Nugget had heard older men talk of smelling fear to scare the inexperienced. Nugget could not smell fear, but he could read it in people's posture. Widow was afraid of Nugget, but Widow was far more afraid of Dolf.

Nugget's mind rolled back to the task in front of him. He had found where the prey left the clearing. He had found where the prey split up, and now he had to decide which prey to follow.
Nugget could follow the prey that walked with the big dog, or the prey that walked alone. Nugget weighed his options.

Both of the prey were heading back to the base, and as such both were likely after more prey of their own. These people were Nugget's prey, but they hunted pack wolves. Neither was to be underestimated.

The prey who walked with the dog would have the advantage of the dog's sense of smell. This was a greater challenge, and appealed to Nugget. But Dolf would want to kill leader himself. Nugget knew this from experience, and the prey with the dog moved like the leader of the group. But the prey who walked alone was clearly older and stronger, perhaps the older prey was in fact the leader. Nugget wished to kill something, he just did not wish to have Dolf kill him afterward.

Which was the leader? Was it the elder one, or the confident one with dog? Nugget decided to trust the tracks. The younger prey walked as thought he were in charge, so Nugget would assume that he was in charge. Nugget would kill the older man. The older man alone was now Nugget's prey. Nugget smiled. And any friends the older man encountered, they would be prey too- of course.

Nugget signaled Widow to follow the younger man and report his destination to the group. Nugget dropped into a crouch and moved along the older man's tracks, following his prey.

* * *

Pike was exhausted. He had been putting Helen through the paces, to see what she knew. And he was both impressed and horrified. Helen was in good shape for thirteen, probably do to the labor was required. Helen had said that she hid when she could, but she could only hide so often without being caught.

Pike was surprised to find that Helen was remarkably familiar with fire arms. She knew how to load and fire a weapon. She knew how to adjust the safety on most weapons, and how to carry them safely. She knew the proper way to hold a pistol and a rifle. She had no idea how to aim because she had learned everything that she knew about firearms from watching the guards.

Helen was also quite good at stealth and hiding and use of cover. This again, she had developed while hiding from the work crews. She was better at hiding than she was at sneaking, able to practically turn into a rock or bush as needed, but she was still decently skilled at both.

Helen had no idea how to use a knife, and no idea how to use a bow, or a sword or a machete or any of the common hand weapons. Her knowledge of firearms was only good as long as Pike was asking about modern firearms. Helen knew nothing about older model firearms that were more common amongst the tribes.

Helen did not know the first thing about building a shelter, or staying warm without a blanket around her and a roof over her head. She could not determine the cardinal directions with a compass or without and barely even seemed to have any idea what Pike meant when he talked about the north or the south, the east or the west. She could not make fire without matches. she had no idea how to cook without a pot and pan and decently stocked mess hall.

Helen also had no idea how to fight unarmed, how to use her body with aggression and confidence. She moved like a deer, ready to take flight the moment a sharp noise startled her. She lacked all the instincts that a warrior needed. Pike decided to start there. He had far too much work to do, but this was the essential part. Helen was desperate to transform into the knights of her clan's stories, so Pike would need to provide that transformation.

He would need to provide some life changing event, something from which there was no going back, something after which she could never go back to who she was before this all began. Pike was mulling this over when he heard something moving about twenty feet into the brush. The thing was displacing enough of the undergrowth to be a wolf or a coyote, maybe even a black bear or a human. Pike drew his machete in his right hand and his straight razor in his left. Helen froze and was about to ask something when Pike shook his head and raised a finger to his lips to shush her.

Helen nodded. And then Pike heard a voice from the brush.

"The prey has spotted me. You're really horrorshow, prey never sees me."

The figure stood up revealing a thin short man wearing nothing but a kevlar vest and a loin cloth. His head was shaved and he carried a wire thin stiletto knife in each hand.

"I am Nugget. Your brattie sends his regards. I will shive you now and he will be happy. Die now."

And with that, as Pike was still trying to decipher Nugget's slang, Nugget broke into a sprint and burst through the bush straight at Pike.

Chapter 23: Hero Worship

2010-05-30T10:08:00.000-07:00

Five years ago...
July 15th, 2115

Helen practically bounced beside Pike as the two waited back at the campsite that Pike, Cooper and Malika were using during their raids.

Pike had used all of his skill to cover Helen's tracks from their trek to the campsite. At thirteen, a child in the Redwing clan would have been ready to begin testing as a warrior. They would have been able to track and counter-track. They would have been able to move silently and blend in with the surroundings. They would be familiar with how to carry and use a knife and a machete and both a hunting bow and a war bow.

Helen was smart, very smart at thirteen. Pike could tell from what he had heard of her and from his conversations with her. She had the right attitude. She was in good shape. She was eager. Still, Pike was worried about her lack of practical experience.

That said, she had been the best choice, because she wanted to destroy the Winter Wolves as badly as Pike, Cooper and Malika wanted to destroy the Winter Wolves.

Now Pike's only immediate problem was how to convince his new student to be quiet.

"So why are you guys fighting the Wolves? You use their snowflake in you flag so I don't get it. Why are you guys fighting them?"

"Maxwell Winters is the father of myself and my half brother Cooper. You'll meet Cooper later."

"Wow, you're fighting you father. Why are doing that?"

"He raped and kidnapped my mother. She escaped with me and Cooper when were very young. We were raised by my great uncle at the Redwing tribe."

"That why you have red wings in your flag huh?"

"That's right."

"So are you married?"

"What? No, I'm twenty-two years old. I've been fighting the Winter Wolves for the last five years. When would I have time to find a partner... ...a wife? Cooper and Malika have been friends forever and have had crushes on each other since they were, well as long I can remember. They fight beside me and despite both of them being here- together- they still haven't managed to sort out their feelings for each other. How was I going to manage that?"

"Oh, well maybe with the right person?"

"I'll be honest Helen, I have my brother, and I have Malika- who is practically my sister. I am fighting for them and I am fighting for my family by in the Redwing tribe. The right person would have to walk right up and smack me in the face, and I would still probably have to make them wait until after this war was finished."

"Oh... ...What's Cooper like?"

"Cooper is very smart, and kind of spooky. He's a ghost dealer; and he and his wolfhound do tend to scare people. He has a learning disability called dyslexia, which means that he can't read because the letters seem to move on the page when he looks at them. Don't comment on that you're upset him. He's very sensitive about not being able to read."

"Oh that's okay, I can't read very well either. My elders tried to teach me, but how do you learn in a prison camp. But he's a ghost dealer, how did he learn that?"

"He doesn't talk about it much. I think he likes promoting the mystery. But you're welcome to try and get him to tell you."

"So you're going to teach my to be a knight?"

"I'm going to teach you to be a warrior. I know of the Wallace clan, but I don't know their specifications. I am going to teach you to be a warrior in the manner of a Redwing warrior, because that's what I am and what I can teach. If there are things you need to learn as a member of the Wallace clan, tell me. If I can teach them to you, I will."

"You know the Winter Wolves killed all of our knights. So I only know a little of what it means to be a knight. Maybe I should talk to the dreamspeakers, they might know. What do you think?"

"You will be speaking to your clansfolk. You will need to inspire them and help them rise up. Because we can't destroy this fortress without their support and your help. But before you do that, I need to teach you enough that you can actually help them."

"I'm ready. I promise you I'm ready."

"You better be, because if you're not this will awful. And even if you are, you're going to hate me by the end of this."

"Oh, I could never hate you."

Chapter 22: Poisoning Young Minds

2010-05-23T11:41:00.000-07:00

Five years ago...
July 15th, 2115

Nugget approached the clearing and observed the ground, took everything the earth told him into his mind and assembled it into a complete picture. Nugget could see the prey carry the sleeping pack wolf into the clearing and tie the pack wolf to the chair. Nugget could see one of the prey walk back and forth between the restrained pack wolf and the table with the medicine several times, several times this action caused the restrained pack wolf's leg t spasm and kick up dirt. Nugget could see the other prey walking around to the hidden speakers each in turn. Nugget could see one of the prey sitting down in the tree chair. Nugget could see the tracks of the wolfhound that had been waiting in the clearing, patiently, the whole time.

Nugget could see the entry of the other pack wolf into the clearing and could see that pack wolf injuring himself on the caltrop. Nugget could see his increasingly erratic movements and his trips and falls and general loss of balance. Nugget could the dead bodies of both pack wolves lying where they should lie- at the end of their trails.

For Nugget everything was a trail leading to the end of a trail.

Nugget saw words on the body of the pack wolf. Nugget hated words. Words were a trail who's marking didn't go anywhere. But Nugget could track words if he had to. So Nugget read.

Nugget was not surprised that the caltrops were poisoned. The trails had told Nugget that much already. Nugget was surprised that the words claimed the ammunition shed was sabotaged. Nugget understood stealth. Prey and predator alike needed to move quietly and leave few tracks. Why would prey leave obvious tracks. The prey was not acting like prey. Predators leave false trails or use diversions to send prey where the predators wishes the prey to go. Prey do not do this. Nugget was worried, the things at the end of this trail were not prey- not his prey in any event. Many predators are themselves prey for predators higher up the food chain.

Nugget felt a shudder beneath his ribcage, and he scanned the clearing again. Nugget realized that his mind had shifted. Nugget had become prey in that instant and didn't know how to reverse it.

Nugget broke radio silence, "Droogs, Appypolly loggy. I screwed up. This is bad bad baddiwad. We ain't millicents or rozzguys no more. We're prey. They be hunting us. I pony everything the ground tell me. I pony what it all means. They're the hunters, we're the prey. They're going toskeeve us and we won't ever see it."

The radio was silent for a moment. And then the unmistakable voice of Ogre crackled in Nugget's ear, "Nugget, your orders have changed. Find them and kill them. Widow will arrive at your position shortly. The two of you will kill them. They day you cease to be hunter, the day you allow yourself to become prey, is the day your 'droogs' have no use for you. So kill them- or kill yourself."

Nugget was quiet, "I pony. Nugget out."

* * *

Helen was actually working when the explosion ripped through the encampment. She had been helping carry loads of cement up to the latest earth works project. Helen had been thinking about how this so-called 're-education camp' was actually a frontier fortress under construction.

But that was then, no Helen was crouched behind a half finished wall waiting to see if another blast would shake the camp.

The silence stretched on, and Helen stood up.

Most of the other members of the Wallace clan were still behind some sort of cover. There was a single guard trying to get the clan back to work, but the other guards had charged off in the direction of the explosion.

They still rush about like panicked chickens, Helen thought to herself. Winter Wolves were tough and not afraid of violence, but they seemed to like to charge right at the point of violence. And these attackers knew this and were using it to their advantage.

Helen realized that she had become lost in thought, when the guard grabbed her by the hair and yanked her almost off her feet.

"You do no ignore me! When I tell you to get you skinny ass over here, you do it!"

"Just because you're scared of them, doesn't mean we're scared of you!" Helen said, and immediately realized that it was a mistake. Simpson wasn't the only cruel guard in the camp.

"What did you say to me? You skinny little tribal whore! I will split you open from bottom to top if you aren't careful."

"Really brave of you to threaten a thirteen year old who never been trained. I bet you mount my skull in you mess hall to commemorate my kill. I'm probably the most dangerous thing you've ever faced in person."

The guard hit her with a gauntlet, backhanding Helen to the ground. Helen was tangled in a mass of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, Helen was terrified. On the other hand, Helen was furious.

Helen kicked out at the guard's shin, which she discovered was armored as she bruised her moccasin bound foot. The guard kicked back and connected with Helen's shin. Helen screamed in pain. Her shin bone held, but the pain was excruciating.

"You dumb bitch! First you ignore me, then you insult me, and now you try to fight me. You tribals really are stupid aren't you?"

The guard stomped down hard on Helen's hip. Helen managed to spit out an insult despite the pain.

"If we're so stupid then why are so afraid of the tribals dancing around the camp killing your buddies?"

The guard kicked Helen in the face and she spat out a bloody tooth, noting somewhere in the back of her mind that none of her clan members were coming to her rescue.

"Those aren't your tribals though are they whore? And if they're so damn impressive, why don't we ever see them?"

A straight razor snaked across the guard's neck and then retracted, leaving a trail of red blossoming on the guard's throat. The guard clutched at his throat gasping.

And then Helen heard a voice from behind the guard.

"You don't see us coming, because we're better than you. You don't see us leaving, because you're dead. Simple enough mongrel?"

The guard keeled over, revealing the most gorgeous man Helen had ever seen. He was dressed in burgundy-brown leather armor and knee high moccasins. His face was deeply tanned and might have been chiseled from marble with high cheekbones and a jawline that belonged to an ancient god rather than a mortal. His hair was wild and thick and luxurious. He cleaned the bone handled straight razor was a confident hand and snapped it closed before reaching out a strong hand to Helen.

"My name is Pike, and very few people fight to the last breath like that. I can teach you how to fight effectively. I can help you free your people."

"Really?" Helen could barely breath. This handsome, and a knight, and he would teach her- Helen was certain now that she was unconscious. The guard had clearly knocked her unconscious and she was dreaming. The man, Pike, smiled a roguish smile.

"Come with me, if you want to be free."

Helen to the hand and let the man, Pike, pull her up as easily picking a flower. Helen was afraid that she was blushing. If this was a dream, so be it, she would dream.

Read the next chapter here

Chapter 21: Man depicted...

2010-05-16T11:27:00.000-07:00

"The Problem with Witch Doctors"
From "Discourses by the Invisible"
By Sorinesti Jones.
Published by University of Toronto Press
copyright 2120

The problem with Witch Doctors is, that despite filling an important niche in a tribal culture, they normalize superstition. The Witch Doctor may act as doctor and therapist and apothecary all rolled into one with a slice of father knows best to boot, but the Witch Doctor also adds a big heaping portion of stage magician and carnival huckster. If there is a single easy reason for the the rest of the world's quick dismissal of North America, it is the wide spread prevalence of folk medicine, hedge magic and rampant superstition.

Even in the UNR (the United North American Republic), superstition is heavy in the rural areas. In the Oil Baronies and the DRO (the Democratic Republic of Oregon) superstition is even more widespread. This makes the challenge of reintroducing progress and science to the wilder areas of North America.

This also puts the Witch Doctor in a strange position. On one hand, he is respected for his knowledge and abilities. On the other hand, he is feared for his mysterious powers. More than a few doctor's on outreach work from theUNR have been executed by superstitious tribal groups after being accused of dark witchcraft.

The Witch Doctor must walk this line with delicacy, but we should dream of a day when the Witch Doctor can put away his bone rattle and his top hat and put on a lab coat and join the ranks of civilization.

* * *

Five years ago...
July 15th, 2115

Devlin approached the clearing with the methodical caution of a bomb technician. He could see speakers- probably stolen from the fort's public address system mounted in trees with rope and duct tape around the edge of the clearing. Devlin couldn't imagine what purpose the speakers had served, but their presence alerted him to the fact that he had probably come to the end of his search.

Devlin listened at the edge of the clearing. He could hear a human voice, but only one, and that voice sounded scared. The scared voice was likely Simpson. Were the raiders still with Simpson? There were no other sounds from the clearing that told Devlin anything.

Devlin weighed his options. He could barge in with his gun up and hope to catch the attackers by surprise. But that plan assumed that the attackers were still there and that he actually had the element of surprise- something that Devlin didn't think that he could count on. He could try to sneak forward and get a better look first, and then devise a plan. But if the attackers were aware of his presence that would simply give them a clear shot.

Devlin nodded to himself. He was dead already, he had decided this before he began. He could hear Simpson's voice in the clearing- he was certain that the voice did belong to Simpson.

Devlin crouched down and then pushed off, launching himself through the wall of leaves. He hit the ground and rolled into a crouch with his Beretta up and ready. He scanned across the clearing. There was a chair with somebody sitting in it at the center of the clearing, the person was draped with a sheet of some sort and was shuddering as though in pain.

Behind the chair was a table and then a burned out black tree. Devlin ignored the tree and the table for the moment and focused on what he was fairly certain was an injured Simpson in the chair. He walked over to the chair, noting that there were bird bones scattered around the chair. And then he felt a stab of pain and looked down. As well as bird bones, there werecaltrops - nasty things made by hammering three nails through small bits of wood so that a point always faced up. Devlin had stepped on one, and although it hadn't gone in deep- it had definitely pierced his foot. He ripped thecaltrop out of his boot and examined it. The device looked relatively free of rust- which was the real danger with such things. He tossed thecaltrop onto the table and continued walking toward the chair, using low brushing steps that swept bone and caltrop both aside as he went.

He reached the chair and looked at the sheet, and then recognized it as a flag. The flag was mostly white with a large red snowflake in the center and red wings spreading on either side of the snowflake.

"It is the Red Snow Raiders." Devlin whispered to himself.

All the guards thought that this was the work of the raiders. Proof was not comforting to Devlin however. The Red Snow Raiders had been active for five years now and had never been caught, never been seen, never taken a casualty. The Red Snow Raiders were ghosts and bogeymen. They only attacked Winter Wolf holdings. And they didn't lose. There was no solid information about the raiders that the commanders were sharing with the troops, but rumors were plentiful. The double red wing design on their logo lent itself to obvious conclusions. But in the five years since the raiders had begun their attacks, they had never once launched an attack near theRedwing tribe holdings. Maxwell Winters had also never retaliated against the Redwing tribe. He had continued to send the usual raiding parties, but had not launched a large force against the Redwing tribe. The snowflake design was also an obvious element, but since the Raiders attacked the Winter Wolves it seemed unlikely that they were wolves themselves.

Still, rumors circulated. Some people thought that the raiders were Maxwell Winter's elite force, testing and disciplining troops. Others claimed that the raiders were the bastard children of both theRedwings and the Winter Wolves and had sided with the Red Wings. Others claimed that the raiders were the ghosts of Redwing members killed by the Winter Wolves. Devlin didn't know who the raiders were, but he knew how good they were. And that worried him.

"Don't leave me like this." the figure under the flag muttered, and Devlin snapped back to reality. The voice definitely belonged to Simpson.

"Don't leave me like this. Don't let me die as a zombie."

Devlin whipped the flag off Simpson and stared. Simpson was tied with wire to the chair. He was bleeding at the wrists and ankles from the wire. His eyes were vacant, staring into the distance. And duct taped to his chest was a cardboard note.

It read- 'The caltrops were poisoned."

Devlin felt the blood drain from his face. He looked down at his left foot in horror.

"Ghost Dealers, ghost dealers, ghost dealers." Simpson muttered to himself.

Devlin collected himself and noticed that the note kept going.

'We've sabotaged one of your ammo sheds'

"Wild man and wolfhound, wild man and wolfhound." Simpson muttered.

"Damn it!" Devlin swore.

Devlin turned away from Simpson and began to scan the table. It was filled with medical gear including a number of syringes filled with various liquids. Nothing that might help him tell with what he'd been poisoned. He looked to the burnt tree, which he now noticed had been carved into a chair, and approached it cautiously. There was a small headset microphone lying on the seat of the old tree- nothing else.

Then he noticed that Simpson had stopped muttering. Devlin ran back, stepping around the caltrops and checked Simpson's pulse. There was nothing, Simpson was dead.

"Crap."

Suddenly a wave of dizziness hit Devlin and he staggered, stepping on another caltrop. He fell onto his hands and knees. He was having trouble focusing his eyes, and was getting headaches.

"Damn, what did they put on those caltrops."

Blackness engulfed Devlin and he lost some time. Clearly he had been unconscious, because he was now flat on the ground. He probably was going to die and probably hallucinating like Simpson had done. He needed to pass whatever information he could manage on to command.

A wave of dizziness hit Devlin, but he managed to switch his radio back on.

"This is Devlin, I have an emergency. I think Simpson is dead- I found him- but I think he's dead. There are caltrops around our position, they are poisoned I am poisoned and hallucinating I think. I arrived before something important what was I going to say I think I'm losing it command do you copy?"

There was a silence that felt far too long and then Devlin heard.

"I repeat, Private Devlin we hear you. Do you copy? Over."

"I think I blacked out again command been poisoned it'll do that to you. Simpson was alive when I found him and he was talking about Ghost Dealers and Wild men and wolfhounds and that might be important and they have and they have and I what was I saying command?"

"Take it slow Private. What to the attackers have?"

"They stole our public address speakers. And I think that they used 'em to mess with Simpson and there are a lot of drugs on a table here but I don't think that any are my antidote and I was afraid to try and check and Oh yeah Simpson was talking about zombies too command."

"Did you say zombies Private? Please confirm."

"Yeah something about not wanting to die as a zombie which is kind of weird 'cause aren't zombies already dead I've seen the old movies you know and it's getting really hard to hold a decent conversation cause this jackass Simpson won't stop talking to me."

"Private, are you still lucid?"

"Don't think so command I think I'm on the way out and I know I need to say something else and ammunition and how we store it or maybe something about going to the store no that doesn't sound right and I'm pretty sure its about the ammunition and the raiders I think and you know they really are the red snow raiders and now I want to know why somebody using our snowflake would attack us and damn it the ammunition thing I don't know how much time we have on that and there may not be enough time if you have to send somebody else up here to read itthereself or is it themself that doesn't sound right either but I know I disobeyed order command but you don't leave a man behind."

"Private, take a breath and let's keep you lucid."

"You don't leave a man behind and I can't let Simpson go out ahead on his own so I'm going with him command."

"Private, You do not have clearance to go with Simpson."

"Sorry command he's my partner I figure I'll probably lose radio contact where I'm going so this's Private Devlin signing off 'n I did my best sir 'n I ain't letting Simpson go alone."

"Private you are not cleared to enter the afterlife! You will wait for debriefing, do you copy?"

"Sorry sir I got a higher authority I'm talking to on the other line and they say that I gotta go."

"Private, do you copy?"

"Private?"

"Preston you damn well better not be dead!"

"Preston?"

* * *

"Anyone still doubting my ghost certified plan?" Coop asked.

"What's your next trick- catch a star like Munin tried to do?" Malika said.

"I think I'll teach the people magic, like Martegas did." Coop answered.

"So, next move?" Pike asked.

Coop nodded, "Malie and I will detonate the ammo shed, you can start the insurrection. Pick carefully."

Pike Nodded, I'm on it.

Read the next chapter here

Chapter 20: White pins and Zombies

2010-05-09T19:48:00.000-07:00

"We've got a tail, you guys," Malika said as she slid out of the brush onto the game trail that Cooper and Pike were using to help lug the sleeping body of Simpson quickly. The drugs they had liberated from the fort's medical tent were more than able to put Simpson out on the spot.

"That's okay, we're prepped for Simpson's partner. He's a piece of work, but we've got something special for him." Pike said.

The team had liberated more toys from the camp to help them in their games. They had done this on the first day, when their surprise attacks had scared guards and disrupted normal patterns and protocols. They took little useful things here and there so that people would be less likely to notice.

Malika shook her head, "I know you spotted the partner, we've got another tail beside that guy. Some creepy little guy in a loin cloth. He's good, I couldn't get close enough to see what he was packing in terms of weapons, but he was wearing kevlar and made good use of cover. I only saw him clear once, and didn't have a shot. After that, I could follow him by brush movement and the sound of animals staying clear of him, but nothing out of him personally. He's really good."

Cooper nodded, "Then we need to pick up the pace, and we need to be prepped. Stay away from us and cover your tracks like never before as you leave this trail. I don't him knowing we have a third person. How much time do we have with Simpson, do you think?"

Malika closed her eyes and estimated, "I'd say you'll have maybe five minutes if you really push it."

Pike nodded, "We need to run then, forget anything else, let's add distance. Let them track us. We'll buy more time by running than by being careful."

The brother's nodded to each and broke into a run as Malika faded back into the brush carefully removing her tracks and adjusting leaf litter on the ground to make everything look natural.

* * *

Devlin had been following the trail for about half an hour. He had crossed a game trail about twenty minutes back and almost lost them, realizing after the fact that his quarry had turned onto the game trail instead of crossing it. The move had seemed silly to Devlin, better to make pursuers work hard by tracking through brush and debris. But the Devlin realized that taking the game trail allowed them to carry Simpson more easily. It made sense, once you thought like your quarry.

Their trail had become hard to follow on the game trail. The dirt was already packed down by the animals that used the trail and the tracks the tribals left were much less distinct on the game trail. Devlin had trouble following them, but would spot tracks that matched the moccasins his two quarries were wearing every so often to prove that they were still on the game trail at this point.

Abruptly though, the tribal's tracks became more distinct, easier to spot and follow. Devlin was able to measure stride distance, the tracks were so distinct. The tribals were running- almost a full sprint. Devlin cursed under his breath.

"They hadn't thought I would follow them, and then I must have given away my position. They were moving at a normal pace before, because they thought that nobody was following. Now they're running because they know I'm on their trail. Fine. Then let's run, I can run all day!"

Devlin broke into a run.

* * *

Nugget paused and listened to Devlin rant. He looked over everything at the transition point. Why had the prey been spooked here?

Was the pack wolf right? Had the pack wolf given away it's position to the prey? Nugget admitted to himself that this was a possibility.

Had Nugget himself given his position away. Nugget didn't think so. If they knew about Nugget, then they knew about the pack wolf much earlier. They would have spooked earlier then.

Nugget looked at the ground where the tracks told him of the change in speed. The tracks lengthened their stride, the pressure releases grew extreme, and the younger man in carrying the front of the sleeping pack wolf had a rock in his moccasin.

Everything else looked as Nugget would expect this area to look. Nonetheless, something bothered Nugget about this scene. There was a smaller game trail behind the bushes on the left side of the trail, Nugget realized. Why did the signs on the ground not tell him there was a game trail connecting with the main trail. The signs on the ground told him that there was nothing beyond the bushes but regular woodland.

Somebody had hidden this game trail, Nugget realized. The person who had hidden the side trail had done it so well, that Nugget couldn't even tell when the trail had been hidden. The trail could have been hidden recently or ages ago. Did this relate to Nugget's hunt- Nugget did not know. Nugget stepped delicately onto the side trail and looked at the ground for signs.

Signs on the trail spoke of deer, many deer, and rabbits, and foxes and skunks and porcupines. The trail spoke of a few bears and many coyotes, and some wolves. The trail did not speak of humans. This bothered Nugget and he sat down more two minutes to think this over.

Nugget did not like not knowing what the ground was telling him, but his quarry was escaping and he would have to deal with his not knowing.

* * *

Private Morgan Simpson awoke to pain in his wrists and a voice speaking behind him.

"Hello Simpson."

Simpson opened his eyes. There was a table in front of him with a large assortment of medical tools: scalpels, pliers, a bone saw, syringes and numerous hunting knives added for apparent effect.

Behind the table was a large chair carved out of a burned out dead tree whose leafless branches stretched out over Simpson's head. Seated in the chair was a figure wearing a black top hat with raven's bones on it. The figure was dressed in a black cloak with a deep red lining and black glyphs stitched onto the red. Beside the figure sat a wolf hound. A wolf hound.

Simpson knew what a top hat and a wolfhound meant. He tried to stand, but felt metal dig into his wrists. Simpson looked and found himself bound by his wrists and ankles to a big old wooden chair, worn down from age, but still quite sturdy. Simpson was tied with some sort of wire, and resistance would cut his own wrists.

"I told you, that we would be meeting."

The figure in the top hat didn't move, and the voice didn't come from the figure. The voice came from behind Simpson. He turned his head to look, and saw a wild haired man in leather armor who was gently running a straight razor across his own face in a pantomime of shaving.

"What do you want?" Simpson asked the wild man.

"You aren't talking to me." The wild man answer, and Simpson realized that the wild man hadn't been speaking earlier- the voice was wrong.

"We should move this along Simpson, you don't have much time." The original voice spoke again, but this time came from his left.

Simpson snapped his head back around sharply, but there was nothing there. His movement caused the wolfhound to growl though and as it did, Simpson heard the voice say, "Easy Phobos."

Simpson turned back in time to see the figure in the top hat gently scratching behind the wolfhound's ear, "Easy boy, I'll let you eat his fear as soon as he's dead." The voice came from Simpson's right this time.

"You, the ghost dealer, you're the one who's talking." Simpson said.

"It's taken you long enough to catch up with the rest of the class Simpson. Time that will work against you." The figure lifted a pocket watch with it's free hand and snapped it open.

"By my measure, you only have seven minutes until you are going to wish you are dead, although it will be days or even weeks until you actually are dead."

Simpson stared at the figure in disbelief, "What do you mean?'

The figure did not answer.

"What do you mean?!" Simpson shouted, shaking the chair and causing the wire to cut into his arms and legs.

"I mean what I say. I have killed you Simpson. Do you know history? Have you heard of Haitian Voodoo? Have you heard of the Zombie?"

Simpson was silent as he tried to process. The ghost dealer's roving voice continued to speak.

"The Voodoo master would make a powder and administer it to a victim- usually orally- you can see from the syringes that we chose a more direct route. The mixture slows the victims bodily functions until they seem completely dead, even most talented doctors cannot tell the difference. The victim is declared dead and buried or cremated. But here's the rub Simpson, the victim is still alive and fully conscious- trapped in a paralyzed body that is slowly suffering brain damage from oxygen deprivation."

Simpson was shaking his head now.

"Normally the Voodoo Master would dig up the victim before the brain damage was too great, and would administer the cure." The ghost dealer held up a syringe and shook it gently.

"The Voodoo Master would then own the cured individual, because- of course- brain damage is incurable and tends to make one highly suggestible."

"But if the Voodoo master didn't dig up the victim, the victim would die a slow agonizing death as the brain- its functions slowed to a crawl- slowly suffered from oxygen deprivation and the victim died while slowly losing everything that made them who they were. They would lose memories, plucked slowly from their minds. They would lose the ability to make distinctions and understand concepts. They would regress to a child-like state, and would rage in their minds at their containment in their grave. And they would eventually despair and breakdown as they lost the faculties that allowed them to cope with emotions- finally sliding away as the last brain cells flickered off. It's a horrible way to die, not one I would wish for any day."

The Wild man behind Simpson spoke, "So my master and I have a deal for you." The wild man placed a hand on Simpson's shoulder.

"Answer a few questions for us," The ghost dealer's disembodied voice said, "And I will administer this to you."

"And that's the antidote right?" Simpson said, trying not to sound desperate.

"No," The wild man answered, "We do not have the ingredients that would allow my master to mix the antidote. This is a poison that will kill you instantly."

"Then why would I tell you anything?"

"Choose not to answer, and we will leave you." The ghost dealer's voice said, "I have added a few ingredients that will delay the onset of the symptoms, but we only have five minutes now before things start to happen. Choose not to assist us and by the time your partner finds you- you will be apparently dead. And then you get to attend your own funeral, perhaps you're own autopsy first though. I can't imagine that would be fun, but probably more enjoyable than slow brain death in a coffin buried six feet underground."

The wild man leaned in and spoke into Simpson's ear, "Four minutes and thirty seconds. You can die now in peace Simpson. My master promises that the poison is tasteless and painless. Or you can die slowly imprisoned in your own body over a matter of excruciating days."

"Time grows short Simpson," The Ghost dealer's voice said quietly from behind, "We do not need you, there are many others who could answer our questions. But if you wish a peaceful death you need to answer us now."

Book Review: Ender in Exile

2010-05-06T10:48:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading Orson Scott Cards's new book "Ender in Exile" which covers some of the territory between the end of "Ender's Game" and the beginning of "Speaker for the Dead" and also wraps up some story elements form the "Ender's Shadow" series.

I didn't care for the last two Ender books "Xenocide" and "Children of the Mind". I thought that they were good, but I had come to expect greatness from Card and so 'good' tasted awfully bitter in my mouth when I read them. "Ender's Shadow" and the subsequent series improved my mood and seemed to find Card back in fighting form.

Fortunately "Ender in Exile" keeps the successes going. Like "Speaker for the Dead" it is a very different novel from "Ender's Game", but still reminds you just how smart Ender is and how capable he is. If there is a flaw in this book, the flaw is that the book feels like two novels and a short story stitched together. They are all great stories, but the work did not feel like a single work. This doesn't bother me because, as I said the stories are all great, but the effect does make the narrative a little bumpy as the author transitions from one story to the next.

I enjoyed the book enough that I bought it, which says something. I rarely buy fiction anymore. And having finished the book, I am still glad that I bought it. I will likely regift it- but even there I think the book will be enjoyed.

Policy on Fanfic

2010-05-06T10:34:00.000-07:00

I don't imagine that I will need this any time soon after I have written it, but I was reading John Scalzi's entertaining blog and noticed Diana Gabaldon's horrified rants against fanfic- which is kinda funny given what she writes in order to make money (but enough of that)- and thought that I should consider my own position on fanfic on the off chance that the world I've created becomes popular.

John Scalzi has a very reasonable policy on fanfic himself that I would refer readers to here.

Further there are a number of strongly argued rebuttals to Gabaldon's objections here and here.

My own thoughts regarding this story and the world I have created to hold this story are as follows.

Fanfic is fine: I accept that much of what I wrote as a young man was explicitly fanfic (even when I tried to be original) and will use this to keep me off my high horse. I also accept that I have a debt of gratitude to James Michener, and S.M. Stirling amongst many others for inspiring the story that I am writing, and as such don't want to sound like a certain Braveheart/Dr. Who fanfic writer who seems to have forgotten her own roots. So yes, fanfic is fine.
Link back to Me in all cases: If you like my stuff enough to do a fanfic, please include an active link back to my current site (probably this site), so that you can help people discover my work. Do this and I will consider your fanfic to be wonderful service done for me.
I would appreciate it if you ask permission before trying to make money off of fanfic: I understand that I can't reasonably except to stop you, but I would like a heads up. The world and characters are my creation after all. In most cases, the response will likely be "Go for it." But I would still appreciate the courtesy.
Respect the world and respect the material: If you want to do fanfic, it would mean a lot to me if you respect the world and the canon that I have established and continue to establish.
If you want to do slash fiction or any fiction that is erotica or similar, I request two things from you: First, put a big disclaimer saying that this is not official canon and not part of the official storyline. Second, let people know that I am not involved in the creation of your work. I am not opposed to erotica or other similar works, but it saves on the explanations to fragile people who are opposed to such things.
If you want to do an alternate retelling of the story where some critical event happens differently: That's awesome! Do it as well as you possibly can and link it to me. Just make certain that you put a disclaimer pointing out that this is not part of the official canon and takes place out of continuity- some of the best graphic novels have been out of continuity.
If you want to tell the story of a secondary or tertiary character: Let me know, I have a huge pile of information that I keep to make certain continuity works (as much as I can make it work) and I will probably be happy to provide you with relevant information. If it is good, I may even ask your permission to canonize it and make it a part of the official record.
The Basics: Let people know that you aren't me and that your work is fanfic. Link back to my site so people can see where you got it. Let people know that your work is not part of the official story (unless it is for reasons discussed above).

This was probably unnecessary, but just in case. I want to be clear from the get go. This is not a carefully protected "We will sue everybody" kind of story thing here. The world that I have built here is huge and well beyond my own ability to properly fill with stories.

I like fanfic and regard it as a compliment in most cases. I will even consider posting fanfic on this site if I like it and think it would work as part of the official story.

Note: People interested in telling stories set in an area other than the Pacific Northwest, let me know. I do have notes on these areas and am willing to help you with fanfic accuracy.

A Little Editorial Note:

2010-05-02T12:31:00.000-07:00

I have gone back and done some minor edits to an old editorial found here, and that got me thinking about the ability to edit posts online and what that allows us to do as creators.

On one hand, the edits that George Lucas did to the original Star Wars series are largely disliked, generating a huge diss from Robot Chicken. At the same time, there have been multiple Director's Cuts that have improved the theatrical release, from Daredevil (which was awful in its theatrical form and solidly decent in the director's cut) and Blade Runner.

The ability to modify what was already published and given to the public is a tremendous power of the Internet.

My personal stance on this is that I do go back and correct spelling and grammar and fact errors in my novel, but do not adjust plotting. If I accidentally change the direction of the plot by doing something where the story gets away from me and that mistake ends up in the post, I will go with it. I plan to post a second version once the novel is complete. This version will be edited, probably dramatically, but it will be posted separately and readers will be able to compare the two on this page. On the other hand I will modify editorials at will, but will add a new post such as this one explaining the edit and the reason for the edit. Finally I will delete without mercy if I think I have said something inappropriate.

So that's my two cents.

Chapter 19: Dead Man Walking

2010-05-02T11:25:00.000-07:00

Five years ago...
July 15th, 2115

Devlin and Simpson walked along the edge of the perimeter. Simpson had an AK-47 assault rifle in his hands as he walked beside Devlin, and Devlin couldn't help but notice how jumpy Simpson was by the way he turned at every sound.

"It's the damn tribal's fault all of this is happening." Simpson said abruptly.

Devlin turned to look at his patrol partner. He was quiet for a moment as he thought Simpson's statement over.

"If they didn't live like animals, and like living like animals, we wouldn't be having this kind of problem."

Devlin nodded without saying anything and kept his eyes on the trees, watching for movement.

"It took us ten thousand years to drag ourselves up from the slime to a state of real civilization. And all it takes is a few hippies to break thousands of years of work. And here they are still fighting as we try to make things right again. Damn them!"

Devlin nodded and then turned back to Simpson, "It's been almost one hundred years since the collapse. People get by as they can, and they get used it. Of course they aren't going to want to change. Yes, civilization is better, but they couldn't know that, there isn't a person alive today who was alive when things collapsed. So how would they know how good things were?"

Simpson shook his head, "I heard a rumor. These little puss mongers we're dealing with right now are supposed to be from the Redwing Tribe. The story goes that there actually is an old man in the Redwing Tribe who was born in the year of the collapse. So that means they do know and the choose to throw it away. I hate that so much I can't stand it."

"You heard a rumor man. Nothing solid, its probably a fairy tale that the tribe uses to impress other tribals and make it seem like they know what they're talking about. People are frightened easily and resist change. It doesn't matter how good that change is, or how bad they need that change, people resist change. People became tribals when things collapsed, because it was how they could survive. Now they're good at it and don't what to change."

"What? Are you on they're side?" Simpson asked.

"No. I'm not on their side. I'm just pointing out that people are stupid and don't like to change. Some people are able to change, but most of them are lazy pieces of crap. They get good at wallowing in the mud and so they don't want to change. Progress is 'unnatural' or 'against god' or 'against nature'. It pisses me off, coal and uranium came from nature just as much as trees and butterflies did. So no, I'm not on their side. I just don't see the point in getting mad about it. These people like living in the mud, because they've gotten good at it. You know humans can do better. I know humans can do better, I just don't expect them to know humans can do better. So we have to go to war against them. We have to drag them back into civilization. This generation is a lost cause, we're not going to save them or civilize them or convince them. We build this despite them, and the next generation - their children- will understand. We do this right and their children will be civilized. They'll understand what their parents wouldn't."

"That isn't going to work. You remember the wars against the Indians from our history lessons? They kept fighting and protesting and complaining all through the golden age, generations after they lost and generations after we civilized them. We gave them paradise and they wouldn't stop complaining. To be honest, I don't know why we're even keeping them alive."

Devlin turned back to watch the tree line as answered Simpson.

"Because we're the good guys Simpson. We're bringing light to a nation that was thrown into darkness. We're going to have to do a lot of awful things in this generation, because there's no other way, but next generation will be better for it. We are the good guys, because nobody else has the guts to do what has to be done to rebuild civilization."

Simpson didn't answer.

Devlin turned around to look back at Simpson, but Simpson was gone. Devlin dropped to the ground, looking under the brush, looking for feet moving or tracks in the ground and listening for the sound a large animal passing through the vegetation.

Devlin heard nothing out of the ordinary. There was wind passing across the tops of the tress in intermittent gusts. He could hear the sounds of small animals moving our of sight, but none of the shuffling sounds were of enough vegetation to be the sound of human, much less two humans. He heard a crow in the distance and the sounds of a few song birds.

No sounds.

Tracks. Devlin could see the tracks. There had been two of them. He wasn't the tracker that the elite Winter Wolves were, but Devlin could see two sets of moccasin tracks beside Simpson's boot prints. They had come upon him from either side- probably while Devlin was lecturing- and had done something quick and nasty. The tracks showed to two people with moccasins had dragged Simpson for a few steps and then one of them had lifted Simpson's feet, because the boot prints disappeared after a short period where they left dragging trails in the dirt.

Devlin cursed silently. These guys were scary efficient. They had grabbed Simpson using Devlin's own speech as a cover for the sound of their movements. They had taken Simpson out of the fight without letting him cry out or resist at all. They had probably drugged him, or maybe put a knife into his lung from behind to prevent an alarm cry. They knew when to move and how to hide their sound amongst the ambient noise of the woods. They were too good. They were beyond Devlin's ability, he knew that. Devlin knew he should go for help, call for back up.

But Devlin knew that it was his fault that Simpson was caught and probably dead. There was a member of the Winters family in command here, and Dolf Winters did look kindly upon failure. Devlin knew he would be punished for letting Simpson die. Devlin also knew he would probably die if he followed Simpson and his captors. But Simpson had been Devlin's responsibility, and Devlin was loyal.

"We're not animals Simpson. We're civilized men, and we don't leave our men behind." Devlin spoke just above a whisper. He closed his eyes for a moment, and got comfortable with the idea that he was a dead man walking.

"Command this is Private Preston Devlin 1126, Simpson is gone. We were checking in opposite directions and when I turned back towards him he was gone. I have a lead on fresh tracks. I will mark the point where the tracks start, and I am going after my partner. Over."

Devlin pulled a bright pink roll of marker tape and tied bows around trees around the tracks.

"Copy that Devlin. Do not proceed. Wait for back up. Over."

Devlin shook his head, "Command, this is Devlin. I did not copy that last message. I need to move now in order to have a chance at catching up with my partner, so I will assume that I have a go on my proposed plan. I am now entering radio silence. Devlin out."

If he survived, Devlin knew he was receive a reprimand for this. But if he survived it would be because he had succeeded in some measure and so the reprimand would be mixed with accolades as well. Better than what he would face for letting Simpson get killed.

He would probably die. These tribals were indeed talented at what they did. But Devlin was a warrior in his heart. If he had to die to bring a better world into existence, then so be it. He would not stand by idly while these savages tore chunks out of this infant civilization.

Devlin slid his shotgun back into its sheath on his back and drew out his Beretta pistol- smaller with less of a profile to give him away as he tracked. Devlin studied the initial tracks and then looked ahead trying to gauge where his enemies had taken Simpson. Once he thought he had an idea, Devlin set off carefully to the northwest. He kept his eyes up, glancing down every three meters to verify that he still had the tracks. Two men carrying another man left deep tracks, even skilled men in moccasins. He would be able to follow them.

Six meters behind him Nugget followed silently, moving when the winds gusted, watching Devlin's progress like a starving wild dog.

Read the Next Chapter Here.

Nadsat Dictionaries for the faint of heart

2010-04-29T10:18:00.000-07:00

I hadn't initially meant to post links to a Nadsat dictionary or translator, in the hopes that what I wrote will prove understandable. But because I may not always be as skilled a writer as I would like to be, and because Nadsat is a cool (if creepy) language/slang, I have posted a few links below.

I included Nadsat as a way of showing how evil Dolf has become. No considering how we met this character, and what he does to his brother at such a young age- we all knew Dolf was a bad egg. But despite this, I felt I needed to ramp things up. Dolf is a fairly smart and far seeing character. He knows his own deficiencies and seeks to correct them. Knowing that he is not a person with an intimidating presence, and wanting to be, I felt that in the intervening years between Dolf's first and second appearance the young man would be working hard to recraft his image. As a result he is a very different person when we meet him next. Nadsat was one of the easy ways that Dolf could make himself frightening to others.

Nadsat and a choice about comprehension

2010-04-25T11:59:00.000-07:00

I've chosen to have one of my primary villain groups speak a slang language called Nadsat- from the novel "A Clockwork Orange". Alex from that novel is possibly one of the most despicable characters in literature. Heath Ledger used Alex as inspiration when crafting his unforgettable rendition of the Joker in Dark Knight. I decided to use Nadsat, because the language crafts such an unmistakably nasty dirty image.

Of course Nadsat is not an easy slang to understand. I have to balance between using enough of the slang to make the impact and using it at the right times and in the right amounts that understanding isn't hampered.

Nadsat is a short hand to me. I use Nadsat and explain what it is when it is first introduced. Most people have heard of the novel it comes from and most people know how nasty the novel's characters were. Additionally the language itself is brutal and nasty.

Shive means slice. In-out-in-out is the term for sex. Cancer is the word for cigarette. The language is steeped in brutality and disrespect for authority. It was perfect to give to a character planning the dark things that Dolf is planning.

Chapter 18: Cuts from a Thousand Razors

2010-04-25T11:49:00.000-07:00

Five years ago...
July 15th, 2115

Helen smiled and watched the guards moving around. They were much larger than her, men all of them. The guards wore Kevlar and machine made blue cloth badges with white snow flakes in the center on their shoulders. The guards wore a plexi-glass face shield that distorted their faces. The guards were imposing and well equipped with modern gear.

They normally scared Helen, but today the guards looked scared. The guards were walking quickly and looking everywhere. A wild cat in the bushes would make half of the guards whirl around in alarm when it pounced on a bird or a squirrel. Earlier that day, one guard had fired his shotgun into the bushes on reflex when the man heard a shuffling. The noise had been made by a chickadee that had miraculously survived the buckshot.

Yesterday morning the guards had found the Trojan horse. Yesterday morning the guards had discovered that three of the prison’s five grain silos were contaminated with the gasoline from two of the prison’s four fuel storage tanks. Yesterday afternoon the guards had discovered that roughly a third of the prison camp’s convoy vehicles had their gas tanks filled with cement powder from the construction shed. Yesterday afternoon a guard had died when he opened the door to that construction shed and triggered a crossbow trap that punctured his Kevlar and collapsed his lung.

That was yesterday.

It was noon now and the workers were eating the meager potato soup that they were allotted. The guards were barely even watching them. All the Winter Wolves were watching the woods around the camp. In one day, Helen had watched her captors fall apart in the face of an enemy who had not engaged the guards in a single battle.

She had heard rumors that something had happened in the guard’s barracks last night, but the guards were not talking about any nighttime event. Helen knew better, because some of the prisoners who woke early had heard cries of alarm from the barracks near dawn.

Helen had a counted, and all the guards were present today. She wondered what had happened in the barracks.

Abruptly Helen heard a whistle and then a thunking noise and turned in time to see a single guard fall over with a war arrow through his throat. Most of the guards scrambled around the fallen man trying to administer first aid. Several guards charged into the woods in the area that the arrow must have been fired from. The woods swallowed them up.

Helen heard a second whistle and thunk, and turned her head towards the prisoners in time to see an arrow quivering in the handle of a shovel that had been shoved into the ground when her clansmen broke for lunch. The arrow had knocked the shovel over, but remained firmly stuck into the wood of the handle. This arrow could not have been fired from the same point as the first. There was more than one attacker, Helen realized. Then Helen saw that there was a cylinder attached just behind the arrowhead- and that the cylinder contained a rolled piece of paper.

Helen scrambled from here hiding place. The guards wouldn’t even go near the construction shed after one of their number died there. She ran to the prisoners as Brennan Wallace was reading the arrow’s note.

“Tell Simpson that he’s next.” Brennan read aloud. Several people made noises that ranged from surprise to admiration. Simpson was one of the more violent guards, smaller and meaner and more likely to rape the female prisoners- none of the clan liked him.

The guards were still busy with their injured comrade.

Helen’s Uncle Asher spoke up, “We should tell the guards about this.”

“They may hurt us for bearing bad news.” Brennan said.

“They will hurt us if they find out we didn’t.” Asher said.

“If we tell them, the Simpson might have a chance.”

“And if we tell them and Simpson is killed anyway, it will rattle them beyond all measure.”

“Don’t you think Simpson will try to defend himself?”

“I think he’ll try,” Asher snatched the note from Brennan’s hand and then hefted the shovel- arrow still in it. “I’m not asking your permission young man. I am telling you for your education.”

Asher turned and walked to the guards, stopping about two meters back and calling out to them. When a few looked up, Asher simply hefted the shovel and note together silently. Sergeant Aspen, a weathered man in his fifties stood up and walked over. He took both items and nodded slightly to Asher.

Aspen was a strong man with a mind that reminded somebody of a large truck with a wide turning radius. Aspen’s mind got the job done, but tended to drive over the garden and other people’s toes in order to do so. He scanned the note briefly and turned and bellowed for Simpson. Simpson approached and Helen strained to hear Aspen’s conversation level statement.

“They want you next kid. Get a buddy and get your head straight. You ain’t sharp enough alone.”

Helen could have peed herself laughing as Simpson’s knees literally shuddered. She held her amusement in as Simpson immediately looked furiously at the prisoners as though they were the cause of his problem.

Simpson was looking at Helen. He didn’t look happy. Helen shuddered. Now she was scared again.

* * *

Dolf stood quietly in the doorway of the administration building, watching the guards moving with distaste. The guards were scared- one day and they were scared. His brothers were not incompetent, although Dolf was beginning to think that his guards were. This did not make Dolf happy.

The teams had been sweeping the woods for nearly three hours, and had found nothing. Dolf had somebody else in the woods as well. Nugget was looking for tracks. None of Dolf's team or any of the guards could track like Nugget. Nugget had orders not to pursue the targets, just as the guards did. Nugget's job today was to look for patterns, hides and caches that his brothers might use. Unlike the guards, Nugget was under orders to maintain radio silence unless he needed back up- the was Nugget's standard method of operation.

"Grazhny eegra," Dolf said to himself, which meant 'dirty game' in the Nadsat slang of the novel "A Clockwork Orange."

Widow placed an arm around Dolf's shoulder. Dolf hadn't been aware that she was behind him and managed not to flinch. She didn't say anything, she simply spooned against him as he stood.

"My bratties are clever," Dolf said quietly, "They've spooked our chasso boys in less that thirty-six hours. Our six are good obviously, but the chasso babies are creeching at shadows."

Widow ran a glove clad index finger along Dolf's chin.

"If Nugget finds anything useful, You and Pillbug will join him in flushing them out. Force them into a fighting retreat towards the open camp. I want them loveted between our best and all of our chasso boys. We'll end this eegra with a britva at their throat."

Widow's hand stopped moving, "Pillbug baddiwad bolnoy"

Dolf's voice hardened, "Cheena, I don't care how sick you think he is. I don't keep you around to think. I keep you around for the old in-out-in-out, and because the way you shive people gives me a pan-handle. So don't think- just do those things that make me real happy. You pony what I'm saying?"

Widow's hand dropped away and she didn't speak.

Dolf didn't turn around as he continued speaking, "Tell you that you pony or I'll give you to Ogre."

Widow shuddered backwards.

"Pony," she said quietly.

"Dolf, We've found the guards who went after the targets." Ogre's voice crackled from Dolf's head set.

"Are the gloopy chasso babies alive or dead?"

"The guards are dead. And they are stripped clean, clothes and gear."

"The sodding sods are going to dress like us and shive us while we're blind."

"That would be obvious, but then why allow us to find the naked bodies? It makes that conclusion obvious."

"They're trying to trick us with a baddiwad eegra. Like their horse trick. Use the obvious trick as a distraction. Did Nugget find the bodies or was it the chasso?"

"The guards found the bodies."

"Charlie Cal!" It meant 'priest excrement', and was a curse of Dolf's, "Now the chasso babies will be even more spooked. Even a gloopy chasso will be able to count one and one and get two. They'll know what those missing uniforms mean."

"Agreed. Dolf I think that I should explain our suspicions about your brother's plans. It may be the only way to counter their fear."

"Ogre, If we tell the chasso that we know my bratties are bluffing us, then they won't bluff us. If we don't tell the chasso, then my bratties get another victory against chasso morale. What we need is not a lecture. What we need is one of the targets being sodded by spear in the center of camp."

"We do need them dead on a pike, but we don't have that option. Do I have your permission to give the guards our conclusions?"

"You do what you think will prod the best results from our chasso babies."

"I will Dolf."

Read the Next Chapter here

Chapter 17: Beware Greeks Bearing Gifts

2010-04-19T17:41:00.000-07:00

Five years ago...
July 14th, 2115

"A horse? You aren't serious? A horse? A Trojan horse? Munin would kill you in shame. Nobody is going to fall for a Trojan horse, its too ridiculous."

Malika was staring in disbelief at Cooper. Pike was sitting quietly looking at his half-brother as Cooper stood grinning at himself.

Cooper stood silently grinning, waiting as Malika stared in disbelief and Pike sharpened his boot knife quietly. Pike always sharpened his knife when he was uncomfortable with something.

"Cooper," Malika shook her head, "If people find a big sculpture of a horse, forgetting of course that we don't have a big sculpture of a horse, but if the wolves find a big horse, they are going to cut it open, they are going to know that its us."

Cooper didn't stop grinning, "Hey, they already know we're coming. And I have a big plan, a special ghost certified plan."

Malika shook her head again, "Coop, I like the fact that Mister Poe taught you his secret medicines, and his spooky secret secret stuff- but I'm a Freeman to the core and I don't believe in voodoo and ghosts and spooks and magic and the secret oil fields of Australia. I generally trust you, but as cute as you are, you can be a total flake some times."

Cooper blushed, "Hey, I've walked inside my own brain, and I've got my own special ghost dealer top hat."

Malika shook her head.

Pike looked up and chuckled, "You look like a dog shaking itself dry Malika."

Malika faced Pike and pointed a finger and Cooper, "A hat is not enough to make a stupid crazy plan work. Your brother is going to end our streak of wins and this time one of us is going to die."

* * *

Helen sat and watched the camp work. Helen was thirteen years old. She had slipped from her bunk in the earlier morning and was hidden under the shed before the workers arrived at the site. The workers had not been at the site long, and had just finished leading the donkey carts full of earth up to the site.

Helen hated watching her clan work. The Wallace clan had been a powerful clan amongst the peoples of the Great Alliance fifteen years ago. But that was fifteen years ago, today the Wallace clan was a tenth of its original size and what remained of the clan was packed into a prison camp. Fifteen years ago the Wallace clan had been conquered by the Winter Wolves, and its warriors were executed and replaced with Winter Wolves. The peoples of the Great Alliance had suspected other tribes and clans of being puppets of the Winter Wolves, nobody had even suspect the Wallace clan. Perhaps that was the Winter Wolves' plan. Slowly, members were moved to prison camps and replaced with Winter Wolves. The Winter Wolves seemed to breed like rabbits, if rabbits approved of raping conquered peoples.

Helen Wallace watched the camp, and watched her clansmen work.

Helen knew that she should be working. She and possibly her clansmen would be punished if the Winter Wolves caught her hiding under the tool shed. But Helen could not shake the fact that as her clansmen were build earthworks and the beginning of a new fort here for the Winter Wolves, they were building the gallows that the Winter Wolves would hang them all from.

Helen was not going to build her own gallows, and she was not going to build one for her clansmen. She was young but she remembered what her great grandmother: Ella Wallace, had read to her.

"At every stage, the oppressor will give you a choice," great-grandma Ella had said, "Go along or risk being beaten and maybe killed. They will ask you to be reasonable, and at every choice the reasonable step will take you closer to your extermination. That is the choice, die now or build your own gallows."

Helen was lying on her belly under the tool shed when a shout went up from the earth works team. Helen scrambled out from under the shed and rant to the edge of the hill that would eventually form the foundation to a quickly built motte and bailey fort. The workers had just walked into the center of the work site and the workers at the center that were yelling.

Helen wriggled between adults until she reached the center of the site, and stared in astonishment.

There was a large, crudely built wooden horse in the center of the motte. The wooden horse stood about ten feet at the horse's shoulder. The horse had been built with the wood that had been left behind at the work site. The sculpture looked ridiculous with a huge belly that the light shone through and clearly contained a chamber with something inside.

Around the horse's neck hung a cardboard sign that read 'Gift'.

None of the workers wanted to get too close to the horse. One of the guards approached the horse and walked around it at a distance of about ten feet. Finally the guard pulled out his sub-machine gun and, as workers ran for cover, sprayed nearly half his clip into the belly of the horse.

Nothing moved inside the horse and there was no sound once the gun was quiet. Then Helen noticed something and pointed at the bottom of the belly.

"It's leaking grain!" She called.

And indeed the horse was leaking grain out of the openings in the bottom of its wooden belly. The guard who had shot the horse grabbed a crowbar from a pile of tools and tore two boards from the horse's belly in short order and then reached in and threw two bags of grain out onto the ground. The bags had been punctured by multiple bullet holes and were leaking grain from their bullet wounds.

Tied to both bags were cardboard signs.

The bullets had mangled one beyond legibility, but the other clearly read, "We're already inside. Your grain was tasty, but I wouldn't eat any more."

The guard read the sign and quickly turned towards the workers. After a moment he pointed at a teenage boy named Niven.

"You, boy get over here."

Niven approached cautiously. The guard grabbed a handful of the grain and thrust it into Niven's hands.

"Eat it."

Niven stared at the grain in horror. His eyes darted between the grain and the guard's machine gun. Finally he drew his hands up to his mouth and put a small amount of the grain into his mouth and tried to chew. He gagged sharply and spat the grain onto the ground.

The guard rammed the butt of his gun into Niven's nose and blood flew as Niven toppled to the ground.

"I told you to eat it boy, not spit it out."

"It's been soaked in gasoline sir."

The guard cursed and began looking around wildly as though he was expecting an attack at any moment. After a minute or so he walked over to the other guards and they began talking quietly to each other. Helen could only catch parts of what was said.

"...has to be our gasoline. They're luddites about..."

"...where did they..."

"...all food compromised, do you think?"

Helen smiled to herself and slipped away from the site while the guards were engrossed in their conversation. She snuggled back into her spot under the tool shed. Somebody was fighting the guards, and they were scared. That made Helen very happy. There were still knights alive and fighting. The Wallace clan would not die on a gallows of their own construction. Helen hoped they were handsome. But more than that, Helen hoped that they would teach her the path of the knight.

* * *

Dolf's team consisted of himself and five others. There were three boys- Nugget, Ogre, and Pillbug, and two girls- Nana and Widow.

Nugget was dumb as a post and thin. He was stronger than he looked, but still not terribly strong. Despite his lack of wit, Nugget was the group's point man. He was fast as deer and nothing escaped Nugget's eyes. He was a master of anatomy, no matter the species, and could kill with the efficiency of a surgeon- only Dolf was a better killer. Nugget kept his head shaved and wore a loin cloth as his only clothing besides sandals and a Kevlar vest.

Ogre was as big as his name suggested. He was also smart enough that Dolf used Ogre as his right hand man and second-in-command. Ogre was slow and clumsy. He knew this, and hated his massive hands. Ogre played the part well, and only the group knew how clever he was. Ogre wore a huge metal breast plate and scavenged leather plates that heightened the effect his six foot seven frame had on people. He carried a huge wooden club; it wasn't for use as a weapon, but as a tool of interrogation.

Pillbug was even smaller than Nugget. His hair was a greasy blond that Pillbug kept in a scraggly ponytail. Pillbug was a scrawny youth who could hide anywhere and who was a better shot with a hunting rifle than most of Maxwell's snipers.

Nana was the group's medic and torture expert. She would have been attractive if she wasn't missing her right eye, lost in training pits. Nana kept her hair in a strawberry blond buzz cut. She dressed in a formal looking grey military uniform that she had bought in the Victoria market.

Widow was the toughest and capable of Dolf's team, and Dolf's unofficial lover. She dyed her hair black and braided it long down her back. Widow fought with two Tokarev pistols, and fought to win. She almost never spoke and enjoyed mutilating her male victims- hence her name.

The team was clustered around Dolf's desk when the report arrived from the work site. The office had belonged to local Camp Director, but Dolf had commandeered it after a quiet conversation with the director.

Dolf was quiet during the report, and after it was done Dolf simply told the messenger to inform the director and tell him to await further orders. After the messenger left, Nugget spoke.

"I don't pony this at all, Wolfman. Why take a britva and shive our toe, then brag about it?"

"They didn't shive our toe to attack us," Nana corrected, " They shived our toe to hurt us and make us creech. This is meant to show us that they can hurt us whenever they want to hurt us."

Ogre shook his head," Not us. This is meant to show the rank and file, as well as the prisoners, that the raiders can attack at will. It is meant to break faith in the leadership and to induce an uprising." Ogre, alone amongst the group did not try to speak like the characters from "A Clockwork Orange."

Pillbug looked around, "You said you know who these lewdies are Wolfman. So who are they?"

Dolf stood up, " The banda is called the Red Snow Raiders. Two of them are my brothers. And so my droogs, we have a very grazhny eegra ahead of us- A very dirty nasty game indeed."

Read the Next Chapter here

Chapter 16: Helen and the Devil

2010-04-12T00:05:00.000-07:00

"Munin flew above the sky and tried to catch a star.
But Jatar said she shoudn't since it was very far.
Munin asked how Jatar knew if she had never tried.
Jatar said that those who tried had failed or even died.
Munin flew out past the sky where stars were said to roam.
And she was gone so long, they thought she never would come home.
But in the end, back Munin came, though with no star to show.
But even though she had no star, the truth was cause to go."

Redwing Tribe Nursery Rhyme

"Once a man has died inside,
No force on earth can oppose him."

Jerome Clan Maxim

Five years ago...
July 14th, 2115

I was born in the prison camp on the day my mother passed away. I am told by my uncle that my father was mad with grief and even blamed me for the loss of his wife. My uncle tells me not to think ill of my father. My uncle says that most people are bound by circumstance, and only the knights can rise above their current circumstances. My uncle says that the knights step into a better future, and then bring that future back to the present for the good of the clan. And so I will become a knight, with the pistols and the boar spears and the leather breast plates, for I have lived all of my thirteen years in a prison camp. And when I bear my children, I wish them to breath the free air of the mountains while I nurse them.

My name is Helen, and my uncle says that I should seek to marry a knight. My uncle says that women do not create the future, they nourish the present like a child. The Winter Wolves have killed of the clan's knights. So unless somebody takes their mantle, my people have no future. My father was a huntsman; not a knight by any stretch, but respected amongst the survivors in this camp. My uncle is a dream speaker, the secret guides of the clan and the knights. The Winter Wolves knew of the knights and killed them in battle or , more often, executed them from afar with high powered rifles. The Winter Wolves did not know of the dream speakers. And so our source of wisdom survives.

But without the knights, my clan has lost the hands with which we act. We have our eyes, but we lack our hands. It is my goal to become the hands of my people and grip the spear that kills the wolves that hold us here.

* * *

Dolf was thirteen now and wore a devil mask. The mask was solid steel, carved and pounded to look like the shimmering blue face of Lucifer. It had long curling horns that wrapped around Dolf's ears and a leering fanged smile with breathing holes punched out of the spaces between the teeth. It attached snugly to his war helmet, but could be worn without the helm. When he wore the mask around Fort Winterheart, Dolf would often wear the mask perched upon the top of his head like a cap.

His father had named Dolf, which meant 'wolf', to make a point of Dolf's lineage. Dolf didn't care about the point his father was making, but liked the name. He also liked the obvious association, which scared people. Certain names would always be associated with savagery and power. Dolf felt that one might as well make use of that advantage. A man could succeed by being clever, by being charming, or by being powerful. Dolf's father preferred to be clever and charming. Dolf wished to be clever and powerful.

Dolf wasn't impressed or concerned by father's dreams of an empire. Dolf still wished to succeed his father as leader of the Winter Wolves. But he has learned some things from his brother Cooper. Cooper had taught Dolf failure. Cooper had also taught Dolf what it was like to be in battle. Dolf was no longer a little boy, puberty had hit and that as well as his training had turned him into a lean densely muscled young man whose hunger was expressed him every sinew of his body.

Dolf wanted a viking funeral- to live a grand and violent life and die glorious in battle at the head of an army. He wanted to die with his brother, to prove to Cooper that things had changed. To prove to Cooper that he was the better of them. That would be enough.

He worked out every day, mostly by fighting until he could fight no more. He didn't drink or do drugs. Alex of 'A Clockwork Orange' may have done these things but Dolf had more than one mentor. He also found virtue in the words of Lycurgus: the founder of Sparta.

Dolf had his gang, three guys and two girls who would all fight and die for Dolf. They were all older than him and been floundering in the training pits when Dolf entered the pits. They would have died in the Winter Wolf Training Pits- as many children did- if not for Dolf. The five had been weak, but Dolf had seen potential.

He had seen people he could shape and mold. He had been small when he was younger, and had seen that weakness can breed strength. And so he taught them. He taught them that the battle does not go to the strong- they were not the strongest. Instead, he taught them that the battle goes to the most committed, the best prepared, and the most brutal. These five were monsters now, but they were his monsters. They needed Dolf's guidance to survive. Dolf liked their relationship that way. Dolf's Dad wanted to rule the world. Dolf just wanted to rule his own life.

His five had names before Dolf took them. Now they were his five, and he named them accordingly.

Dolf had three pastimes: fighting and reading and researching how people broke.

Dolf had a vicious knife that he called 'The Christmas Tree'. The blade had been filed into four inverted V's that hooked flesh and tore it out when the blade was pulled from a wound.

Dolf liked to perform handstand push ups as a part of his regular workout. He didn't do the push ups for any fitness benefit, but to intimidate people watching him.

Dolf was a rapist at thirteen, something in which he took pride. Dolf only enjoyed sex if it was a battle. He only assaulted women that he knew would be able to fight back- the warriors of enemy tribes were popular. He enjoyed the real danger involved. He had been stabbed during such sexual assaults no less than five times, and made no attempt to hide the scars. He had also raped all five members of his gang. Dolf was heterosexual, but he felt rape was an effective way to establish dominance.

Dolf had considered being a vegetarian. Hitler had been one after all, but Dolf had rejected the practice as unworkable given his circumstances. Eating puppies was too useful an intimidation tactic to give up, besides that he had grown to like the taste of puppy meat. It was tender.

The one chink in Dolf's perfection- as he saw it- was his concern for his mother. He should love nothing, should care for nothing but the fight. But he cared for his mother. He had told himself that he should rape her to cleanse himself of concern for her, but he couldn't. His weakness shamed him and Dolf didn't talk to his mother as a result. He could fully not become the monster he longed to be, as long as he cared for somebody as truly broken as his mother Rose. He knew her story. Dolf knew that she had been a truly promising warrior and stateswoman when Dolf's father- Maxwell- had claimed her. Dolf knew that Maxwell had broken her will slowly, painfully and completely. Dolf told himself that he should respect his father's achievement, but he couldn't. He loved his mother and hated Maxwell for the fear his father had placed in his mother's eyes. He hated Cooper as well. His mother talked about Cooper, her kidnapped eldest son, which such pride. She was actually glad to learn that the Redwing Tribe had raised Cooper. Dolf had read a great deal, and knew that it was typical for the younger son to resent the elder son for the respect parents gave to that elder son. This didn't temper Dolf's jealousy and only fed Dolf's hatred of Cooper.

Cooper was the one his mother loved. Cooper was the only foe he hadn't been able to break. Cooper was the one his father still wanted as successor. Cooper was the boy rebel who was embarrassing the Winter Wolves at every turn. Of, course Pike was there as well, but it was Cooper that Dolf hated- the so called Winter Hawk. One might as well call him Robin Hood and be done with it.

Dolf hated Cooper.

He was sitting in the square reading 'A Clockwork Orange' when his father- Maxwell- found him that day.

"Dolf, get your nose out of that book."

"Don't be a baboochka, Dad. This book is a droog. It's a trusted friend, an amigo."

Dolf spoke like the characters in the novel and saw virtue in their savagery. He sought to emulate them, but temper their savagery with the theories of Lycurgus- founder of Sparta.

"I know what that means, boy. I've read the book as well. You should be reading Xenophon or Clausewitz or Machiavelli."

"Machiavelli is real horroshow Dad, but Clausewitz is an outdated baboochka. I've read them all, and I think I pony the important stuff enough to walk the walk."

"Then 'pony' this: I need your little band of monsters to head out a re-education camp on the western border."

"That is one boring rabbit you're throwing me. Give me something with a little ultra-violent."

Dolf saw his father tense at the shoulders, ready to slap Dolf, and then relax. Dolf smiled. Maxwell had beaten Dolf senseless after Cooper and Pike had escaped. Dolf had sworn that it would never happen again. Now Dolf could see that he had succeeded. His father was afraid of him.

"Listen to me. I am sending you there, because your brothers will be there."

Dolf put down the book.

"And you're just real sammy and want to give me that present 'cause you're my droog? What's the catch? I know you ain't telling me the whole raskazz."

"The catch is that we know where they are going to be, but we don't know when. You could be waiting for months. They have deliberately allowed a map of our territory to be found. It marks five targets. This camp is one of the those targets. They have done this before, they have always hit every target the let us know about. They are mocking us."

"So why not just round up all your millicents and razz-boys and stuff these places with enough pooschkas to level the land around them. Why me, if it's so embarrassing?"

"Two reasons. First, they know that Seattle has sent out raiding parties against The Vancouver Territories and Whistler County. They know that I must defend Whistler. This requires a significant show of force, Lilith does not back down lightly. Second. I do not wish the world to see me lock down five obscure holdings with my best men when faced with my own errant children. You and yours are monsters, good effective monsters. I trust you will be able to follow your brothers after they make their raid. I do not expect you to be able to prevent the raid, just that you capture them after that."

"Why should I do that babooshka? You want like Cooper's Hawk to be king and give him all your bugatties. Bratty don't want to be your kid, don't want to be your banda- I do. Why so gloopy anxious to get him back? He ain't all boohoohoo that you're not around. Besides, they ain't got the yarbles to run this place, not like I do."

Dolf didn't even see his father flex, before the blow struck Dolf- closed fisted in the jaw- and sent the youth flying off the stone bench he had been sitting on.

"Do not confuse my tolerance of your methods, with weakness boy. You are a monster, yes. You are a good effective monster, yes. I am proud of you for these things. You are an excellent sergeant, and an excellent field leader. You are not a politician, you are not a king, you do not have the vision to lead anything larger than a war party. You will do this because I told you to. I will have all my sons with you. All of you belong to me. Then, when I have finished with my plans and my conquests, I will decide which of you will succeed me. It will not be you, or Pike, or Hawk. It will be whoever is the leader that the Winter Wolves need. Do you understand?"

Dolf stood up, picking his devil mask on the cobble stones. "I pony mister razz man. I pony real good."

* * *

Pike, Cooper and Malika sat around a makeshift table in an abandoned barn near Hundred-Mile House.

Pike was twenty-two years old now, and had filled out into a strong muscular warrior. He dressed in typical Redwing warrior attire- brigandine and pants with lace up moccasins. He had let his hair grow out since they left the comforts of the village, and now boasted a long wild mane of hair. He still kept his face clean shaven, and kept a straight razor in a case on his belt for that purpose amongst others.

"So, which one first?" Pike asked, looking at the stolen map of Winter Wolf territory laid out on the table between the three young warriors.

Malika studied the map for a long time. She was eighteen now and retained a slim lean build as she matured. Malika had let her hair grow out as well, keeping them in carefully maintained corn rows. To retain this look, she recruited Cooper's assistance. Unlike Pike, Malika was not dressed like a Redwing warrior. She had not taken the warrior test when they left and did not have the brigandine. Malika instead wore a handmade shirt of lammellar style leather scales. Beneath that she had taken to wearing a black leather kilt she had bartered for several years ago, which had become her summer wear.

Finally settling on a position, Malika pointed to a point far to the west they had circled. "The Pass, Roger's Pass. They can't reinforce it in time. We can move faster than any military unit of decent size, and I don't like the idea of charging people money to walk from one place to another."

Pike nodded, "I can work with that."

Cooper shook his head, "It's too easy. We'll get there and there won't be any challenge, nothing to feed the legend, nothing to weaken the WinterWolves ' image. We don't hit them where they are weak. it serves no purpose anymore, we've been doing that for five years. We have to start hitting them where they're strong, to prove they aren't."

Pike shrugged, "All right Sun-Tzu, where do we strike first?"

Cooper pointed to a small mark on the western edge, but much closer than all of the other markings, "We liberate the prison camp. We make a statement. They cannot hold what they have conquered. Nobody should be imprisoned by our father. We show every tribe not yet on side with Uncle Redwing, that this war can be won, and that it isn't luck the Redwing tribe is still free."

Malika shook her head, "You're cute Coop, but you better have a plan. Because we told them where we were going to hit, and that camp is the closest. It will be the best protected."

Cooper leaned forward, disturbing the large wolfhound beside him and tapped the black top hat he was wearing, causing the raven bones tucked behind the ribbon to shift a little, "I've been talking to the spirits of every Winter Wolf we've killed. You'd better believe I have a plan."

The View from the end of the world

2010-04-09T15:21:00.000-07:00

"Saudi Arabia, the world's largest producer of oil, has pumped a total of 46 billion barrels of oil in the past seventeen years, without any decrease in its stated reserve figure of about 260 billion barrels. The world is likely to get no warning before Saudi output peaks — an event that credible authorities suggest could happen soon."

"Diverse events like the Iraq war, the 9/11 attacks, the 2005 urban riots in France, and hurricane Katrina may be the foreshocks of a coming global breakdown."

"About 40% of the world's population now lacks sufficient water for basic sanitation and hygiene, and nearly one out of every five people does not have enough to drink."

"Nearly half of the world's major fish stocks are now fished to their maximum limit; since 1950, industrialized fishing has reduced the total mass of large predatory fish in the world's oceans by 90 percent."

"Over the past twenty years, warming of the Arctic ocean has been eight times faster than it was over the past hundred years."

"Scientists have recently found that the Greenland ice sheet's rate of ice loss has more than doubled in the past ten years, from 90 to 220 cubic kilometers annually. In 2006 the ice sheet will dump into the ocean about 225 times the amount of fresh water that Los Angeles consumes."

"In 1870 the average income in the world's richest country was about nine times greater than that in the world's poorest country. By 1990 it was forty-five times greater."

"The number of overweight people in the world — about 1.2 billion, mostly in rich countries — now roughly equals the number of underfed and undernourished, almost all in poor countries."

All of these quotes come from the fact page for "The Upside of Down."

How would you like the world to end?

You have a lot of choices today. Civilization could end because of peak oil and the resulting collapse of agriculture and transportation. Civilization could end because of resource wars resulting from the loss of arable land and the increasing acidity of oceans brought about by climate change. Civilization could end because of local wars brought on by the economic collapses of nations like the United States. Civilization could end because of civil strife brought on by the discrepancy between the lifestyles of the rich and the poor, which are at their highest ever in history.

Civilization could collapse because of any number of other problems. Climate scientists worry that climate change could potentially shut off the Gulf Stream, dropping Western Europe back into an ice age (darkly ironic). Colony Collapse Disorder is the current phrase used to describe the catastrophic die offs occuring in the honey bee industry. 75% of all plants rely on pollination and 30% of the world's crops rely on pollination. We are currently in the largest mass extinction since the Dinosaurs disappeared. And worse than this, we never know when the loss of a key species will lead to a cascade of extinctions.

The number of challenges currently facing civilization is so large as to be almost unbelievable when they are recounted. Civilizations have faced and survived challenges before, but lesser challenges have brought down longer lasting civilizations than ours. Rome looked invincible, so did The British Empire Babylon and Egypt, and Tokugawa Japan. But civilizations fall, and things change.

It would be foolish to think that our precariously balanced creation, with its myriad problems and self-inflicted challenges, would be immune to this basic fact.

Editorial: The Souls of White Folk?

2010-04-09T13:04:00.000-07:00

This title may have offended you. That was my intent. We are used to thinking about soul of Black people or Native Americans, or Meso-Americans or Asian peoples. It sounds somewhat blasphemous to talk about the souls of White Folk.

We are the villain- repression and conquest personified. To be a white person today is to lay claim to the spoils and crimes of generations of white people who came before. So I think this question is very relevant? What happened to the souls of white folk? Where did those souls go?

The African born slave could dream of returning to Africa. And in that dream there was a connection to an identity- a soul that gave him or her purpose and meaning and validation. An American born African-American can still look to the heritage of that past in Africa. And if that identity is too distant, the modern African-American can find identity in the struggle to be free. Where can white folk turn for an affirming identity that gives them strength and morality?

There is not a square inch of North America that is not occupied land. Every patch of earth is testimony to the crimes of white folk. Every shopping mall or high rise is a tombstone to murdered Native Americans and raped eco-systems. There is nowhere in North America that does not call out to the white person and call them a monster and murderer and betrayer and rapist. What about Europe? There is not a plot of land that is not stained with the blood of women and children. There is no arable land that has not been fought over by kings and conquerors, despots and tyrants and raiders and bandits and butchers. Nowhere is there not an unmarked grave from some injustice. On both continents, the landscape itself indicts the white person for crimes against life itself.

So where can the white person reclaim the soul lost so long ago? Are we doomed to be villains and monsters forever? People better hope not, because if the white folk don't find their soul and reclaim a collective identity that is positive- the world won't survive for much longer.

Editorial: The Avatar Contraversy

2010-04-09T12:56:00.000-07:00

Avatar has pissed off conservatives who feel that it is attacking their way of life, and the movie also pissed off liberals who see the specter of the 'white messiah' in the movie's protagonist Jake Sully. In this case the conservatives have the movie figured out much better than the liberals. Avatar is an attack on the 'traditional' destructive way of life that is typically associated with first world European descended white folk- normally white males. It is not, however a story about the 'white messiah' as many commentators have claimed. It is a story about redemption.

The story of Avatar could easily be told from the point of view of only the Na'vi. It would be simple to make Jake Sully's character a young untried warrior instead of a white guy in a Na'vi avatar. The story would function just fine and most of the relevant plot points would work with very little tooling.

But it would not serve its purpose then. What do I mean? The function of stories like 'Dances with Wolves' and 'Avatar' and even 'Pocahontas' are not to tell non-white people that they need white people to rescue them- at least not when the stories are told well and done right.

Done right these stories are stories told to young white people who want a place in a culture that is not a destructive all consuming demon. For young people- and old people- who do not wish to take there place in the white folk's culture of death, there needs to be an option besides that culture. They need to know that even a white person can peel off the layers of civilization and walk quietly amongst the trees and live in balance.

Going back to the movie 'Avatar'. If white people don't find a better story to be in than the one perpetuated by the villains of this story, then more white people will come, and they will carpet bomb Pandora from space before moving in to extract the minerals. Without another story, these hopeless souls who would rather not destroy the world will step into line and do just that. 'Avatar' is not attempting to accurately represent the world, but to tell those people who are still part of the culture of maximum harm, that there is another way and another story to be in.

Book Review: "The Upside of Down" by Thomas Homer- Dixon

2010-04-09T11:49:00.000-07:00

So, I have decided to add to this blog. In addition to the the progress of the novel that I will continue to do on Sundays, I will be adding a little commentary on how I designed the story, the setting, the characters, and everything that went into this novel.

Today I'm going to start by reviewing one of the books that was my one of primary research sources for designing how the post-collapse world would look.

The Upside of Down, By Thomas Homer-Dixon.

The author is arguing that five systemic pressures are threatening the stability of civilization as we know it. According to his official website:

"Homer-Dixon contends that five "tectonic stresses" are accumulating deep underneath the surface of today's global order:
energy stress, especially from increasing scarcity of conventional oil;
economic stress from greater global economic instability and widening income gaps between rich and poor;
demographic stress from differentials in population growth rates between rich and poor societies and from expansion of megacities in poor societies;
environmental stress from worsening damage to land, water forests, and fisheries; and,
climate stress from changes in the composition of Earth's atmosphere." [See link here]

I found the book's first chapter to be very dense and more than a little dry. The only reason I persisted through the first chapter is book had been highly recommended to me by a friend. After the first chapter however, the author seems to find his flow and the writing mellows and loosens up. The books is still very scholarly and the author has double digit citations at the end of each chapter. Homer-Dixon seems aware that what he is arguing is very contentious, and he doesn't want anybody thinking he's on the fringe.

What makes "The Upside of Down" even more frightening in its predictions is that fact that Homer-Dixon doesn't over claim and isn't given to exaggeration. He consistently draws a less the worst case scenario conclusion and is cautious about reading too much into a single study or piece of evidence. Despite this restraint, Homer-Dixon's predictions are terrifying. The extensiveness of Homer-Dixon's research and the obvious complications that could be the result of his separate predictions interacting is alarming.

When I first read this book, I was studying James A. Michener's writing style and I wondered about the idea of a historical epic set in the future. Looking at books like "The Upside of Down" started me thinking about the concept of this novel and gave me early ammunition for building the setting of the story.

I highly recommend this book even with the difficult first chapter. The book is convincing, compelling and thorough beyond measure. It is also alarming, but unlike many books on this subject, "The Upside of Down" does offer solutions. All things considered, this was a well written, well researched book. Homer-Dixon's style is engaging (excluding the first chapter), and his conclusions are convincing. These factors combine for an excellent book on this subject.

Book 2: The Tale of Pike Vershevin

2010-04-04T01:17:00.000-07:00

Chapter 15: Sorinesti Jones

From "Discourses by the Invisible", by Sorinesti Jones.
Published by University of New Toronto Press, copyright 2120

We are used to reading about North America from two view points. We read about North America from the books that survived the fall, written by people from North America's golden days. And we read about North America from the point of view of academics in Africa, India or the wealthier parts of Europe- but mostly Africa.

I have read nearly everything that I have been able to get my hands on. I have read many African books. The UNR (United North American Republic) publishes a large number of African titles. I think that they should publish more domestic titles. We have ghettoized ourselves. We have allowed ourselves to begin to think of North America, and ourselves by association, as the Third World, and less valuable than the other parts of the world. We should not judge the value of nations simply based on how well they survived the great collapse.

We have a great history behind us as a region. We have civilizations going back to the Iroquois Confederacy and the Mayans and the Anasazi. We housed the UN through the twentieth century and part of the twenty first. We created the first modern democracy with the Declaration of Independence. We mapped the human genome. We have much to be proud of in North America.

Yes, the region was hit hard by the collapse. Yes, we have much to rebuild- but as North Americans, we need to remember our history and use that as a foundation on which to rebuild our pride. Great cultures have slumped. Europe produced Rome and then hit the Dark Ages. Europe had the Renaissance and then declined. Europe build the European Union, and is once again rebuilding after the collapse.

The Oil Barons of the North American prairies are repressive and represent the worst traits of the Christian Religion, much in the way that many Islamic nations did in the twentieth century. But if the history of Islamic nations is any indicator, then the tyranny with which the Oil Barons are currently ruling will simply be a momentary blip.

The UNR remains a bastion of free speech and relative prosperity, even technological progress. They have extensive tidal power and wind power, they have a strong light rail. Yes, North America has the Wild Lands, the waste land of bandit strongholds in the southern USA, but it also has the UNR and the DRO (Democratic Republic of Oregon). Even the RNT (Republic of Northern Territories) deserves a mention, as it is not nearly as repressive as the Oil Baronies, even if it does ally with them on most things.

India holds far more prestige than North America right now, because it was able to remain solvent as a nation, where Canada, the United States and Mexico could not. But India is held together with metaphorical sticks and wire. I applaud the Indian government for being able to maintain solvency. But I think that the UNR is a more prosperous nation than India right now. India receives the accolades simply because it survived in largely the same form as before the collapse.

Of course Russia is the bear in the room that nobody wants to talk about or say 'boo' to. And I think that warrants a mention. Russia is publicly applauded for surviving the collapse intact, but let us be honest- that is not a good thing. Russia has become one of the most repressive regimes in the world, but its control of the Siberian farmland and so much of the remaining oil reserves means nobody wants to be rude to them. They are arguably more tyrannical than the Oil Baronies in North America, and yet it is North America who gets lextured to in the United Nations.

China receives the brunt of Russian aggression. Supposedly unclaimed lands that are clearly Chinese, or at least allied with the reunified North China, are annexed on a regular basis by Russia. And although Russian officials insist that there is no proof, it's is an open secret that Russia constantly incites violence between Chinese nations and then sends in peace keeping forces. The area is still considered to be 'at peace' by the UN. More than half of the Great Wall of China is under Russian 'supervision' as of this writing.

I look at Russia's tyranny, and China's fight to maintain control of their resources. I look at India's bureaucratic nightmares. And I think that perhaps North America is judged overly harshly.

Yes, we have large areas that are undeveloped, and dotted with ghost towns. Yes, we have cities like Seattle that are run by warlords. Yes, we have the Oil Baronies and their affronts to science, freedom of religion and women's rights. Yes, we have the Wild Lands. But that is not our whole story. The rest of the world should not judge North America on its problems alone. The RNT has managed to actually raise the per capita income of people living in that region since the collapse. That's right. The per capita income of people living in the RNT is three times what it was during the golden age. The UNR do not have the per capita income of Africa, or even Europe or Russia. But the inflation in the UNR is almost non-existent and the they are energy self-sufficient; one of the few nations that do not rely on The African electrical network.

We have much to be proud of in North America. Our ancestors left us with a crummy hand to play. They refused to switch away from fossil fuels as oil extraction's peak hit. They clung to coal as other fossil fuels declined. They never invested in an alternative to the car. They were not prepared for the mass migrations caused by climate change. This was the hand our ancestors dealt to modern North Americans.

We can look at surviving periodicals from that time and can see that North America, alone amongst the people of that time tried to deny the problems on the horizon. Given that hand, I think all North Americans alive today can stand tall and stand proud. If life were poker, any player dealt the hand our ancestors dealt to us would be out of the game by now. but we aren't out of the game. We've lost a lot of chips, but we're still in the game, and we even win a hand now and then.

Look at who we are with an eye to history and who we almost were, who we (by all rights) should have been, and we should feel very lucky. The collapse could have destroyed North America as completely as it destroyed Australia. With our massive dependence on highways to transport products and the lack of local food supplies, we should have all starved. With our over-dependence on petrochemical fertilizers and petrochemical pesticides, we should have seen the collapse of agriculture in North America and should have starved a second time. When climate change rendered the majority of Mexican land no longer arable, and Mexicans began a desperate migration northwards, it should have meant a full scale war, instead of the local skirmishes that did occur.

By the forties, the UNR and the DRO were up and running. Europe didn't re-establish a proper rule of law until the fifties. And it was 2045 before North China had any coherence. Cuba didn't re-colonise Central America until the sixties. And it was nearly the seventies when southern China unified under the name of Free China. And even in Africa, it wasn't until 2100 that the United Nations re-opened its doors in Cairo.

There is still much rebuilding to be done on all fronts, but I think that North Americans should remember the progress we have made and the victories we have achieved, even as we remain aware of the challenges that must be addressed.

The rest of the world seeks to label us with a single definition and the safely dismiss us. We are more diverse than that, we are more varied and layered than that. There is not one North America, but many, and all North Americans can take pride in that.

Editors Note: The Editors at U of NT Press would like to take this opportunity to point out that the views expressed by Mr. Jones are his and his alone and do not reflect those of The University of New Toronto Press or the University itself.

Read Chapter 16 Here.

Epilogue: Book 1

2010-03-29T02:11:00.000-07:00

Chapter 14: Good-byes

Ten years earlier...
February 1st, 2110

Cooper and Pike entered Redwing Village quietly around dusk. They did not enter through the main gates where the traders entered. They snuck in through the back ways, skirting the guards. Pike was a decent scout, quiet and confident, but Cooper was a shadow in the night- weightless, silent and invisible. Cooper could tell better than anyone, where a guard would be. And so the brothers entered the edge village unseen.

They had lived at the village for ten years. And as they carefully packed the things they had left, both of them hesitated a little and dawdled more than either would have done intentionally.

Malika was the one who gave them away. She and Cooper were intensely close and Malika seemed to have a supernatural ability to know where Cooper was at any given moment. Cooper was just stowing the last of his belongings while Pike was finishing a note to their family when Malika pulled back the heavy winter flap on the Vershevin earthen hut.

"I thought you guys were back. Why didn't you tell anyone?" She said with a quick look around at the room.

"Why are you packing? You just got back, you're doing it backwards you know."

Pike and Cooper froze for a moment, and looked at each other helplessly. Pike then shrugged and turned back to his note. Cooper looked back at Malika, who was developing an expression that suggested she knew something was wrong.

"What you guys doing?" She said, more seriously.

Cooper considered, then answered, "We're leaving. Really leaving. We have to. There's no other way."

Malika looked confused for a moment as she wrestled with what Cooper had said.

"Okay, that sounded really heavy epic Coop. What do mean really leaving? Like, as in, not coming back ever leaving? You aren't even a warrior yet. And why do you think you have to, what is going on?"

Her eyes fell on the now finished note, and she stepped quickly forward and grabbed it from Pike.

"To Mother and everyone," She began, "We have found out who our father is. And he has found out where we are. We have to leave or he will destroy the village. He has to know we are not there, and in fact he has to know that if he wants to catch us, he needs to divert his energy away from the village. There is no other way. Everything is on the table, and we have to change the game if we hope to have a chance. We're both sorry. We love you all and will miss you. Your sons in spirit if not in blood. Pike and Cooper."

Pike and Cooper finished putting each other's packs on. and Pike grabbed his spare machete and added it to his sheath.

Malika barred the door, "You aren't going anywhere."

Cooper spoke again, "We have to Malie. He'll look here, unless he knows we aren't here, because we're somewhere else, somewhere so far away that he can't even threaten this village to draw us out."

Malika didn't budge, "Who is 'he'? Who's your dad, and why are you suddenly so scared of him. We weren't even sure your dad was alive before you went out to hunt the old man. What's the deal?"

Pike spoke this time, "Our father rescued us from a snow storm in the mountains. Except he isn't a good person. So we need to run."

Malika still wouldn't budge.

"Who's your dad?"

Copper took a deep breath, "Our dad is Maxwell Winters. And he wants us to join him."

Malika's mouth opened and then closed. She looked from Cooper to Pike and back, clearly hoping for some sign that they were trying to trick her. When neither boy broke her silence, Malika sat down- almost collapsed- in the doorway. She looked dazed.

Cooper spoke again, "Maxwell got Aunt Lana pregnant by force and kidnapped her during a raid. When Maxwell's wife got pregnant with me, Maxwell made Aunt Lana my nursemaid. When she was able to, Aunt Lana took the two of us and ran away, back to the Redwing Tribe."

"You aren't going back to the Winter Wolves are you?" She asked quietly.

Pike shook his head, "No."

"You don't belong there. You belong here, with us." Malika said very quietly.

Pike's voice grew almost angry, "We are not going to the Winter Wolves- ever. We are going to sabotage and raid them along their eastern border. If Maxwell wants his sons, he'll have to move troops away from the village. And it wouldn't do any good to attack the village, because we'll be too far away for that to be a valid threat. We'd never get back in time. It's risky, because we can't help if he actually is that stupid. But he didn't act stupid, so it should work."

Malika nodded, and focused her eyes on the brothers, "Fine, just give me five minutes to get packed."

Pike shook his head, "We're going alone Malika."

Malika shook her head, "Not if I yell real loud you aren't. Even if you get to the trees, not even Cooper can be quiet enough to sneak away from the whole tribe with that much gear. And do you really think Elder Redwing can't track you through anything? Your only chance to get away is to get out before they start looking for you and to put heavy distance between you and them. And that won't happen if you spend time bargaining, or try to leave without me."

Malika looked right at Cooper, daring him to disagree with her. Cooper nodded and then looked at Pike, "We may as well."

Pike's face went through several frustrated contortions before finally flattening into a grimace. He nodded as well.

"Five minutes, or we take our chances with Uncle Redwing's tracking skills."

Malika nodded, turned to go, and then looked back.

"Coop?" She asked, "What happened to your neck?"

Cooper touched the exploded tangerine shaped scar on his neck, "It turns out I have two brothers."

Chapter 13: The Old Man

2010-03-21T11:26:00.000-07:00

Ten years earlier...
February 1st, 2110

The old man lay underneath the overhanging bows of a cedar tree. The snow had weighed down the branches of the massive old cedar and created a sheltered snow cave at the foot of the tree.

The old man had lived on the mountain his entire life, he had been born in the depths of winter. This was years ago, when winters as cold as the current one were more common than today. As the deer grew into the old buck that humans called the old man, he learned how to survive everything, from human hunters, to wolf packs, to sudden snow storms. The old man had smelled the storm well before any other animal on the mountain and had laid down beneath the cedar tree to wait it out.

The snow had piled around the tree, growing deeper and deeper, until it reached a point where breaking out of the snow cave would require serious concerted effort for an animal as large as the old man.

The old man was only a little concerned by this. The storm was at its peak, and nothing but snow and wind were moving about in the open right now. Furthermore, the old man realized that even if a wolf stuck out in the snow had found its way under the old man's tree, it would be foolish for either of them to fight until the storm was over. A storm of this magnitude tended to override all conflicts and force cooperation or a least a truce until the weather had done as it needed to do.

The old man kept his ears down, because the storm was painfully loud. The old man could hear the occasional creaking sound and the occasional snapping sound as smaller trees gave way to the combination of snow and gale force winds. The sound of the wind overwhelmed all but the loudest of the sounds though and so the old man kept his ears down to protect them.

The old man was not sleeping, but was trying to rest, when Pike stuck his head into the snow cave under the cedar tree and stared at the old buck front of him. Cooper's head appeared in the shelter moments later. The brothers stared at the old man. Cooper counted the points on the old man's antlers in disbelief, confirming what both of them already knew. If they hadn't been transfixed by the image of the great old buck in front them, they would have stared at each other in disbelief.

They had been hunting the old man. And now, wounded and battered and almost hypothermic again, the brothers had found their quarry. And they were entirely unable to do anything about it.

The old man stared at the two humans. The old man knew that if necessary he could escape these humans by standing up on all four legs and bolting. But that would involve dumping the entire load of snow on the lower branched onto the old man and it would further mean bolting straight into the storm that these humans were fleeing and the old man himself was enduring.

The old man did not like the idea of fleeing. It might become his only option, but this close the old man could still rely on his antlers if required. Satisfied with his options for the moment, the old man snorted once at the humans and then was still. Let them decide if they were brave enough to share the shelter with one as large as the old man.

The brothers were still staring at the old man. Snow was caked to all sides of them, so much so that one would scarcely believe there were wearing fur rather than tanned leather. The parts of their faces that were exposed were cherry red from the snow and wind and cold. Both brothers were shivering, and neither had taken the time to bind their wounds in a manner that they were satisfied with in the long term.

Cooper looked back at the storm.

"The storm is eating up our tracks. I don't think Dad can track us in this. We should stop here and bind our wounds properly. This burn on my throat still hurts. I'm amazed that I can talk again." He said quietly and gently.

Pike emulated Cooper's tone when he answered his brother, "You still sound like somebody stuffed your voice in a gravel merchant's bag."

"We should stop here," Cooper said, "I think the old man is letting us."

Pike was quiet for a minute or two as the brother's huddled at the entrance, and then answered his brother by carefully crawling into the shelter. Cooper followed as soon as Pike was settled.

The old man smelled the humans as they entered, to take stock of them. They smelled of leather and dirt and grass. They smelled of blood and sweat and that distinctly human smell. They smelled of smoke and pine needles. They did not smell of oil or coal. They did smell of gunpowder, but only a little bit. They did not smell of cows or stink of rotting dairy products. They didn't smell of all the chemicals that civilized humans carried.

The old man was satisfied. Most animals differentiated between two breeds of humans now. There was the quiet human, the hunter who was harder to smell, harder to hear and seemed to move like the other animals. There was also the angry human. The angry human was loud unless absolutely still, every footfall was an earthquake. The angry human also stank of oil and smoke and chemicals and rotting meat and dairy. The angry human moved like a rabid grizzly over the land. If not for the fire stick that the angry human used, letting him kill from so far away that no other animal had a defense against it, no angry human would ever catch dinner.

These humans were quiet humans. They would not be a threat until the storm was gone.

Pike and Cooper settled in on the east side of the shelter. The old man took up all of the west side and intruded a little onto the east side. The artificial cave created by the cedar boughs was nearly packed tight as the brothers positioned themselves facing each other. The three large bodies in the space heated it rather effectively. Cooper took off his outer coat and placed it against the opening on the south side to block the wind, leaving a small opening to aid air flow.

Once he had done that, Cooper turned back and stripped off his under coat and leather shirt so that Pike could clearly see and bandage his neck wound. Pike looked the wound over carefully. He gently pressed against the discolored skin where the boy's younger brother Dolf had scalded Cooper.

"I don't think we should bandage it." Pike said, "The skin is really delicate from the burn and it will probably stick to any bandage I lay on it and tear off when the bandage is moved. I would say you just press snow against it to deal with the burn and leave it at that."

Cooper shook his head, "He threw boiling water on me, this is at least a second degree burn. We both are lucky not to be in shock from our wounds. I agree on the idea of not bandaging it. But ice will be too cold. It might accelerate shock, and either of us could still go into shock from this."

Pike nodded, "Good point, Give me a second I'll get my water skin. We can probably get away with a cold wet compress in here, the heat in here is pretty reasonable."

With that Pike began to rummage around digging out his water skin, quickly used the water to soak a soft leather rag and passed it to Cooper. Cooper tested it gingerly against the burned area of his neck.

"That feels good, I guess we'll find out if this was a good idea by the time the storm ends."

Pike nodded, "Elder Fergus never taught me what first aid to administer if one received third degree burns in a winter snow storm."

"I get the feeling that nothing we do fits easily into an elder's lessons." Cooper answered, "Let me take a look at your back."

Cooper left the compress gently on his neck as Pike swiveled in place and pulled off his two coats, his brigandine armor and leather shirt. The bullet had punched through all four layers but had done the most damage to the shirt on the bottom. The leather shirt was ripped and bloodied and hardly looked like a shirt anymore.

The bullet had just grazed Pike's back, cutting a bizarre and arrow straight line along Pike's right shoulder blade. Cooper examined the cut left by the bullet. It was a superficial wound for the most part. The wound was bleeding visibly, and Cooper quickly wet a leather rag and began cleaning his brother's back. The boys had been out in the storm for less than a half hour, but a large portion of the blood on Pike's back had either dried or frozen. As a result, the cleaning took longer than Cooper expected.

As Cooper cleaned, Pike looked at the wall of snow quietly.

"I'm sorry Coop. You're right, I should have told you about our Dad. I didn't know the whole time you know. I mean I suspected. But I blocked a lot of the memories out. It was a bad time and a bad place. When mom escaped with you and me, I can remember that. I remember the running and I remember the woods and the dark and fear. Other memories from that time are less clear, you know. It's like my brain won't let me remember it properly. Do you remember the night after Rikki died?"

Cooper didn't answer immediately, he just kept cleaning.

"Coop do you remember the night after Rikki died?"

"I remember everything." Coop answered quietly.

"My brain almost shut down that night. It tried to forget everything so I wouldn't have to deal with it. I didn't let it. I fought it and I won. I started to remember more from before we came back to the Redwing Tribe, and I started to make sense of what I was able to remember."

Cooper finished cleaning Pike's back and the wound itself and tapped Pike on the shoulder, "Move your arm for me, I need to see if this needs stitches."

Pike nodded and moved his arm in a slow circle around the shoulder joint. Cooper nodded, "The wound is opened wide enough I think I need to stitch you up. Ready?"

"Go ahead." Pike answered.

Cooper removed a needle and thread from his belt pouch and began the process of stitching Pike's wound closed.

After a moment of silence Pike continued, " I had a pretty good idea where I thought we had run away from by then. So for my first vision quest I decided to go test my theory."

"We're supposed to sit in one of the sacred groves and meditate for our first vision quest, nothing more." Cooper said.

"I know, so I chose a sacred grove way out far from a village so that nobody would be likely to check. And then I went there, and from there I headed to Winter Wolf territory to see if my memories were right. About half way there I..."

Pike stopped and coughed. He opened his mouth and made a few sounds as though trying continue and then went quiet again. Cooper kept stitching quietly. Finally Pike began speaking again.

"I killed him, but I can't remember most of what happened. I get haunted by that hulking Vanya's face every time I take a vision quest now."

"You told father that Fyodor Vanya locked you in a metal cage and dragged you back to Winter Wolf territory." Cooper said.

Pike twitched, "I just moved the order of the events around. I didn't want him to know that I had sought the Winter Wolves out. He would have read too much into that admission. There was an iron cage. And Vanya did drag me around. He was taking me back to the Fort. I was already in Winter Wold territory though, and he never got to the fort. That's the only thing that I changed when I told father."

"How much can you remember?"

"Maybe remember isn't the right word," Pike said, "It's more like sharing a cave with a sleeping grizzly bear. You know its there, but you don't breath loud, you don't look at it, you don't shift your weight. Because if you wake it up, you aren't getting out of that cave alive. Am I making sense?"

"Only in the abstract sense," Cooper answered, "You know me. I always need to stare at the sun. It's not in my nature, I will either triumph or I will be consumed. I know other people don't look at things like this, but it's the only way I know how to live."

"You're a warrior Coop, bold and fearless. Father was right to call you cooper hawk. The Cooper's hawk perfectly suits who you are. I don't know that I was named right. I seem to have more in common with a city rat, surviving at all costs. You have a nobility to your thoughts Cooper. I have to settle for pragmatism."

The old man had been quiet on his side of the snow cave while the brothers were speaking, even the sight and smell of Pike's blood hadn't generated any alarm in the great old buck. But in the silence that followed Pike's final statement the old man snorted sharply, shifted his head and raised both ears turning them repeatedly to catch any stray sound.

The brothers went silent and waited.

The report of a pistol echoed through the storm, far enough away that it was slightly muffled by the wind, but not far enough away to make the brothers feel safe.

"Boys! I know you're out here." Maxwell Winters yelled from somewhere down the hill, "You should come back to the school house. It will be better that way. Because if you don't come back with me and take your place amongst the Winter Wolves, I am going to marshal all my allies amongst the civilized peoples and we are going to march that gun wielding, truck driving army up to the Redwing village. And we will burn every hut and kill every wannabe Indian there until I find the two of you. I'm only making the offer here. If you don't come back now, everything that I do to those crows you pretend are your family will be your fault not mine."

The old man turned his great head towards the brothers and locked eyes with them as the brothers stared at the coat covering the opening that lead out of the shelter. There was something in the old buck's eyes that conveyed a message. The old man did not understand human language, but he could read the meaning in the gunshot and the tone of voice. The old man could read the situation in the sudden posture change of the two humans sharing his shelter. And the brothers could read the old man's answer in the tilt of his great head and the cold certainty of the buck's gaze.

Do not go out into the storm. This is a hunter calling for his prey. Do not go out. You cannot win.

Pike swiveled back face Cooper. Cooper's needle still dangled from the unfinished stitching on Pike's back. Pike quickly signed to Cooper.

He'll do it anyways. He hates Uncle Redwing. It's a family vendetta older than us.

Cooper signed back.

But he'll use it as an excuse. It will be our fault. We can't hold back the full weight of any city state's army. How can we hope to survive multiple city armies? They will scour the land and find the home village and we will all die.

"What will it be boys? Protect your homeland or sacrifice it out of pride? Which would a Redwing do?" Maxwell called and then laughed loudly enough that the boys could catch bits of the laughter even through the storm.

Pike sharpened his gaze.

I am not going back there again. I am not going back to his hell. We will find another way.

Cooper looked at his brother.

What other way is there?

Pike shook his head.

We will find one. I am not letting either of us go back there. You don't remember. I remember. We are not going back!

Read Chapter 14 here

Chapter 12: Family Secrets and Family Lies

2010-03-14T12:29:00.000-07:00

Ten years earlier...
February 1st, 2110

Cooper Redwing was in pain. He could feel the skin on his neck bubbling as the boiling water scalded him. He tried not to touch his neck. ignoring the pain as best he could, Cooper focused on his younger brother- Dolf- who trying to kill Cooper.

This would not normally be a problem. Dolf was younger than Cooper- who was ten- and Dolf was also very small. Normally Cooper would have heavily outmatched Dolf and easily overpowered the younger boy.

That was before Dolf had thrown boiling water at Cooper's face and managed to scald Cooper's neck. Dolf had used this as a distraction to jump at Cooper and bury a knife Cooper's hip. The knife had turned against Cooper's hip bone and hadn't done a lot of damage, but Cooper could feel the wound bleeding, and bleeding rather freely. Dolf hadn't hit an artery, but the younger boy had managed to strike a vein. Cooper was losing blood and needed to wrap the wound before it became a problem.

The real problem was that in order to deal with the wound on his hip, Cooper had to ignore the burn on his neck and deal with his brother. Dolf was crouched on top of Cooper with the knife raised above Cooper's throat. Cooper had both of his hands wrapped around his brother's hands, holding the younger boy back. This wouldn't have been difficult normally, but Cooper was also trying to deal with the multiple sources of pain Dolf had already given Cooper.

"Just die. It will be much easier than fighting me." Dolf said, trying to muscle the knife down to Cooper's throat.

Cooper tried to respond but only managed to produce a growl from his injured throat.

"You don't want it. Pike doesn't want it. I'm the one true son of the Winters clan. You aren't necessary."

Cooper focused on his younger brother, trying to banish the pain at his throat and hip and twisted, pulling with his arms and dragging his brother to the ground with him. Cooper sat on top of the younger boy.

"The Winters clan." Cooper rasped, "Isn't. Necessary. They are. A pox. Less than necessary. Won't die for you. Or any Winter Wolf."

"Greatness is our destiny. The destiny of the strong. This land is ours, will be ours in time."

"Belongs to nobody. it owns itself. Can't own land."

"Listen to you. You understand nothing. You can barely speak after my attack. The strong determine what the weak are allowed to do. And I have taken away your speech."

Cooper yanked his hands upwards, dragging the knife and Dolf's hands up above the younger boy's head.

"And. I take. Away. Your smug. Grin."

Cooper drove his forehead down into Dolf's nose. There was a crunching sound as the nose crumpled against Cooper's forehead. Dolf screamed and Cooper raised his head again, driving it down into Dolf's jaw. Cooper could feel Dolf's teeth cutting the skin on his forehead, but he could also feel his brother's grip slackening. Cooper raised his head and struck again, and again until Dolf was unconscious.

"Teach you. To mess. With a bigger. Monster." Cooper said to the unconscious Dolf.

Cooper knelt by his pack and quickly removed bandages and a compress for the wound on his hip. He stripped off his leather pants and bound the wound after stemming the bleeding. The blood had stained his left leg quite extensively and Cooper was concerned about the effects of blood loss. Still, he could see nothing to do at this point but carry on.

Cooper stood up cautiously. The wound on his hip wasn't preventing him from standing. He applied a burn salve to the delicate raised skin on his neck. The salve helped to soothe the pain and clear Cooper's head. He was carefully hefting his pack and getting his gear strapped on when Pike barreled into the room.

"What happened to your neck? And you leg? Can you walk? We need to go. Dad's isn't dead and he's mad. I stabbed him in the leg. So he's slowed down a lot, but he's still behind me. He's slower now, but he's coming so we have to go. How's your leg. Is that Dolf? what did you do to his nose? Is your neck okay? Can you run?"

"Can run. Can't talk. So well. Grab pack. We go."

Pike looked shocked at Cooper's voice, then took a second to look at the burn on his neck. He nodded, "That should heal, we'll look at it later."

"Where. Do we go? Storm still. Strong."

"Into the storm. We were taught how to survive in a snow storm."

"Never. Had to use. That training. Before. Only this cold. In the mountains. First time we've seen snow."

"So it's good practice. It's better than staying in here with 'Dad' and his big gun."

Cooper nodded. Then he noticed the cup of hot chocolate that Dolf had been drinking. Dolf had set it down carefully to the side before attacking Cooper. Cooper reached down and picked up the cup. He carefully sipped the drink, smiled, and then slowly drank two thirds of the hot chocolate.

"That. Helped." Cooper said, and handed the cup to Pike who downed the last of the hot chocolate.

"You took most of the chocolate." Pike said with a smile.

"You lied. About our father. I know that the adults. Weren't telling me. Everything. You're my brother. I thought I could. Trust you." Cooper said, carefully parceling his breathing out.

"Do we have to do this now? Here? Time isn't exactly on our side right now. Little brother is busted up and Dad is coming. I think Dolf's broken nose will piss him off even more. Do you really want to do this right now?"

"I need to trust. My brother. Before I go into. The storm with him."

Pike was quiet for a moment.

"When was I supposed to tell you? When you were a baby? When you were five? In the beginning you weren't old enough to understand. And when you were old enough to understand, you would wonder why I hadn't told you. I wanted to tell you when you hit thirteen and took the test."

"Why?"

"At least then I could claim that I had waited for a particular event. You know 'Hey Coop, now that you're a man I need to tell you something.' Like that."

"I thought that my. Our parents were dead. You knew. You knew for ten years. Any time would have been better. Than learning it from our worst enemy. Our worst enemy. Our Father. You knew we were monsters."

"No, stop. I knew our father was a monster. Your mom is a nice person that our dad holds hostage, my mom got raped. He's a monster. We aren't monsters unless we choose to be."

"Dolf is a monster. You don't know. If we have the option. To choose."

"Dolf is a kid who only knows what his father shows him. We have other people who raised us."

"What else. Haven't you told me?"

"I didn't tell you about that Winter Wolf who branded my hands. But I never hid the brands from you, and you never asked."

"No I didn't. I thought you would. Tell me."

"Okay, I didn't tell you. What was I supposed to do?"

"Tell me. I told you everything. I told you my colors. My synesthesia. I didn't tell. Any adults about that. Except Mister Poe. And he knew somehow. Besides. I told you. First."

Pike looked down at the fire, and back at the unconscious Dolf. Pike cocked his head and listened for their father.

"Fine. I should have told you. Can we go now? Please."

"We can go. We aren't finished though."

Read Chapter 13 here

Chapter 11: "If you go out in the woods today, You're sure of a big surprise"

2010-03-08T00:25:00.000-08:00

Ten years earlier...
February 1st, 2110

Pike was furious at himself. He was crouched down behind a desk in a dilapidated classroom silently cursing himself. Pike's father, Maxwell, was no doubt armed- likely with a gun. Pike had his six inch belt knife, but his machete had disappeared in the avalanche. His hunting bow law in his quiver by his backpack near the fear. And Maxwell was between him and the fire.

Pike knew that Maxwell had followed Pike rather than Cooper when the brothers had separated. Pike had been slower than necessary just to be sure Maxwell couldn't miss him. Pike was seventeen and of comparable size to Maxwell. At ten years old, Cooper was not a match for the Winter Wolf- if only from weight alone. One day Cooper would be a match for anyone- that was obvious even now- but until then (and likely even after that) Pike would die to protect his brother.

Pike could hear Maxwell's footsteps in the hallway. The sound echoed off the old tiles and was clearly audible even above the sounds of the snow storm outside.

"I know you went this way, Pike. You're a good fighter, I think you broke my finger in that last scuffle, but you aren't the scout that your brother Hawk is by a long shot. I saw your tracks and I heard you moving."

"You're protecting hawk. I know that Pike. It's good to see such brotherly loyalty. You'll do well as a Winter Wolf."

Pike resisted the urge to correct Maxwell on Cooper's name. He also resisted the urge to tell his father where the man could stick his damned Winter Wolves. Pike had only a knife and he would need surprise on his side if he was going to succeed in killing his father.

"I know you don't have your bow Pike. I also know Redwings save guns for war- which means you have either a tomahawk or a machete, and a belt knife."

Pike resisted the urge to respond.

"Do you know what I have Pike?"

Pike remained silent.

"I have a 44. Magnum Remington Revolver. This gun is more than a hundred years old and cost more than the total slave value of your whole tribe. It's a genuine Dirty Harry special. Hmmm, that's a television reference. I don't imagine you would get it. It's a gun that could put holes in the mountain spirit if I could get him sighted. This thing could stop a bear, Pike."

Pike's mind raced. What did he have to use? How could he gain the element of surprise? He opened the old teacher's desk and began rummaging around for something to use or even for inspiration.

Maxwell continued his speech in the corridor, "If I hit you with this Pike, you're losing everything in a two foot radius of where I hit you."

"You're making me wait father." Pike called back. Standing up from behind the desk and waiting for his father.

"What are you talking about?"

"You said you would never keep your son waiting when you had promised something. I'm still waiting for that thrashing father."

"Oh, you'll get it. I'm just adding interest on the amount owed."

"That's banking, isn't it? Redwings don't believe in banking."

"That's one more weapon you choose to do without. you have a lot to learn."

"Perhaps you do as well father. I think we should talk. Before you cripple your eldest son."

Maxwell stepped into the classroom. He looked around the room, even looking up at the ceiling.

"Checking for traps, father?"

"Forgive me for not trusting you." Maxwell said.

Pike shook his head and then he laid his belt knife on the teacher's desk- between him and Maxwell.

"You were wrong about my weapons father. I lost the machete in the avalanche." Pike indicated his empty sheath and then the knife on the table, "All I have is my belt knife."

Pike continued, "And that's no use against a gun. But here's the thing you need to learn. You can't kill me with that gun. If you you kill me, you'll never take Coop alive. So you need to negotiate with me if you want your wife's son back."

Maxwell looked at Pike with an appraising eye, and Pike thought he saw something approaching respect in his father's eyes.

"Cooper's the one you really want, right? He's your heir. He's proof of your alliance marriage and more blackmail to keep Whistler County in line, right? I'm you son, but Cooper is you successor, isn't he?"

Maxwell grinned and stepped closer.

"He's my successor, but you're obviously going to make one hell of a bodyguard for him."

"It's funny that you should say that," Pike whipped his left hand up from behind the desk, revealing the old metal scissors that he had found moments earlier. he swung with the scissors and carved a trail in Maxwell's skin and burst the man's eye in a spray of liquid.

Maxwell screamed in pain and fired the Magnum. But he wasn't aiming, and the shot missed wildly- cracking the blackboard. Pike snapped a kick into the man's groin and dropped Maxwell to the floor. Maxwell fired again and a window exploded, sending a blast of freezing wind and snow into the classroom.

Pike gazed at Maxwell as he clutched his missing eye with one hand and his groin with the other.

"That was from my mother you bastard." Pike said and grabbed his knife off the table.

* * *

Cooper moved a quietly as he could manage, which given that he could see his own sounds, was quieter than anyone else he knew. He hated the idea of going back to the fire, but Cooper knew that he and Pike would need their backpacks. He also knew that Maxwell was following Pike. His father was not a quiet man.

As Cooper approached the fire he could see Dolf sitting quietly sipping the hot chocolate. It would be impossible to get in without being seen. On the other hand, Dolf was slightly built and definitely younger than Cooper, although Cooper still could not tell by how much. He nodded to himself and stood up straight. he considered and then drew his machete just to be sure. The Cooper simply walked straight in.

Dolf looked up, "Hello" he said.

"Hello."

"Would you like some hot chocolate?"

"I'm just here for our backpacks Dolf."

"My father lied to you. He does that." Dolf said quietly.

Cooper stopped and looked at his younger brother, "What did he lie about?"

" Most of it was a lie, but most of the lies were wrapped in a little bit of truth, so it would be hard to explain it."

"Why would he bother?"

"He says that the strong will expect it and the weak deserve it. He says that only a fool gives away the truth when he doesn't need to."

Cooper kept his machete out, although he kept it by his side. Dolf was younger than Cooper maybe as young as five or six, it was hard to tell.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"So you'll hate him."

"I already do." Cooper said.

"I have to make sure. Somebody will kill him one day, because he isn't as strong as he thinks he is."

"You aren't what you seem to be." Cooper said carefully, now unsure whether he should raise his machete or not. He kept it at his side, but Dolf now had him on edge.

"I seem to be little. And I really am. I'm too little to be strong, but that means I'm a target. Bullies pick on me. I could let this be a problem, or I could make it a weapon. If I act wimpy, even once I get bigger nobody will see me as dangerous until I make my move. But if I look wimpy, I have to keep father from naming a 'better' successor. And you're older than me."

"You think that you might not succeed him."

"I'm not taking chances. Pike hates father already and you don't want to be his son, so it doesn't matter if I tell you. I'm the only son that father needs."

Cooper stared at his brother with a look he usually reserved for dogs rolling is sewage, "Why not just kill me then?"

"I plan to, but I'm little, and I need you to hate him in case I fail." And with that, Dolf snatched the pot of boiling water off the fire threw it at Cooper.

Cooper raised his left arm in time to block his face and left side. he hesitated with his right arm, not wanting to cut his face open with a wildly raised machete. As a result the pot bounced off his left arm, burning a black oval into his winter jacket and throwing scalding hot water onto his exposed right side- leaving a splashed burn on his neck that looked like an exploded tangerine.

Cooper screamed and dropped his machete. Dolf was on him in a moment, grasping for the machete as Cooper fought to control the pain. Dolf was smart, especially for somebody that young. He was small and it would have been no contest in a straight fight. As it was, Cooper was struggling to actually make it a fight at all.

* * *

Pike looked down as Maxwell struggled to regain his composure. Pike aimed a kick at Maxwell's face. The blow connected, but Maxwell seemed to wake up at the blow, and he dropped the magnum and wrapped his arms around Pike's leg before the younger man could retract his foot. And then Maxwell bit into Pike's calf muscle. Pike yelled in pain and fell tot he ground. The two men struggled for control. Maxwell kept scrambling for his dropped magnum while trying to keep a grip on Pike's leg. Pike, for his part, kicked Maxwell in the face repeatedly with his free leg.

"I'm going to have to beat a lot of sense into you boy."

"One of us will. let's see, finger, eye and balls. It's looks like I'm taking the little stuff first, doesn't it?"

Maxwell growled, then twisted and managed to snatch up his gun and fired again, the bullet grazing up Pike's trapped leg and across his back. Pike flinched and arced his back in pain, and then refocused as Maxwell managed to catch his other foot and proceeded to wrap his arms around both legs.

Pike swung his torso and buried his knife in Maxwell's thigh.

Maxwell roared in pain and let go of Pike's leg. Pike scrambled to his feet and tested his leg by cautiously putting weight on it. None of the pain seems to be coming from anything load bearing. And so he ran- heading back for his backpack. From there, he would find Cooper.

Read Chapter 12 Here

Chapter 10: Wolf Tales and Bedtime Stories

2010-02-28T10:29:00.000-08:00

Ten years earlier...
February 1st, 2110

The snow had begun to fall heavily and the wind was howling outside the small one story school house in the mountains. Four people huddled inside the abandoned school house: half-brothers Pike Vershevin and Cooper Redwing, and Maxwell Winters and his son Dolf. They were from warring tribes, Maxwell was in fact the leader of the Winter Wolf tribe that was swallowing up other tribes throughout the area. And now Maxwell was telling the brothers that he was their father, that the relationship that they had was his doing.

Maxwell smiled and looked and Pike and Cooper, as they stared at their apparent father.

"I should start at the biggest sticking point. Pike's mother left, fled to be exact, and stole Cooper when she did so. So obviously both of you will be influenced by this fact."

Maxwell settled back into his seat and pulled a pot from his backpack and then removed a small metal stand as well. He quickly set the stand in the fire and then put the pot on top of the stand. He then emptied the contents of a water bottle into the pot and began removing instant hot chocolate packets from his coat.

The boys stared at the packets. It was expensive for tribals to get chocolate.

"No point in denying simple truths, you are both warriors. I can see it in your eyes. You're wolves living amongst crows. So let's start at the ugly part. I took Pike's mother by force. I took her during a raid on the Redwings, and then I claimed her as a prize of war."

Pike glared at Maxwell, the young man's eyes were so intense they almost could have burned like coals into Maxwell's forehead.

"You can hate me for that, but it is the truth. What's further truth is that I don't regret it and I won't apologize for it. After I claimed your mother, Pike, I gave her food and lodging and protection, and did the same for you when you were born. I paid full price to your mother for what I took. This is the currency of the strong, and the weak resent it. The weak try to foist ridiculous 'moralities' that have no bearing on real life upon the rest of us in order to tie us down. The weak try to feed off the strong, and use propaganda and 'morality' to justify it. I found your mother attractive and strong, I knew she would bear strong children. I took her for that reason, but I respected her enough that I paid for what I took. I could have left her for the younger warriors, the lower ranked wolves. They would have enjoyed her, but there wouldn't have been much left once they were done with her."

"Machiavelli said that before all else, we should be armed. The strong survive. The strong prosper. The weak either die out or feed upon the strong. So hate me if you need to on this point, but understand the point. I hate many things that my father did, but I have done more and worse to keep my clan alive."

Pike shook his head, "I hear justifications for savagery and greed. I hear the False King speaking to me across the span of history when you talk."

"Ah, yes, the false king. That is a quaint fairy tale. Tell people that he who is using the most effective tools available is evil and you keep people stronger than you from trying too hard."

"Do you want to know who branded me, father?" Acid hung on the final word, "It was some hulk of man named Fyodor Vanya. I was thirteen and he apparently thought I would make a good slave and male concubine. He managed to drag me back to Winter Wolf territory in a metal cage on wheels before I escaped and killed him- slowly. I saw what your lands look like."

"So that's what happened to 'Teddy Bear' Fyodor."

"You aren't listening to me." Pike continued, "One hundred years ago everything fell apart, because people thought they could take as much as they wanted. They thought that there would be no consequences. One hundred years ago we got ten thousand years of delayed consequences! Any yet your lands are clear cut and your rivers are dried or diverted or so poisoned that the dead fish that float on the water will not rot. I saw people in chains working vast fields! I saw that you have coal burning factories in the center of your territory. I saw the smog and the soot. Five years ago you tricked the other tribes, and they didn't condemn you. Now everyone sees what you are. Everything you say is poison and everything you touch sickens and dies."

"And what's the other option?" Maxwell laughed, "Live in the stone age like your little crow tribe? Coal is an intermediary stage, it's the only fossil fuel that didn't peak and crash. With a little more work we can live like the Africans do, with those vast solar farms and all the power they need for a good standard of living. Your adoptive people live like cave men. It's unsanitary, its sub-human. We were meant for better things."

"We have technology. We live simple lives but we aren't luddites, we just don't want to make such a deep footprint."

Maxwell snorted, "The only reason you have metal arrowheads, let alone technology, is because you trade with people who still mine the ore and build the factories and do all of the things that you abhor. Without other cultures to take the blame for you and do the dirty deeds you won't do, you would have stone arrows and mud huts."

"Better than your way. Your actions will bring back the dark years!"

"You're talking about history like it's mythology boy! The Africans, look at them. Nobody alive when the world collapsed would have expected Africa to be the first world in a hundred years. I'm sure you've read about it, even in your little backwater. The rest of the world was pulling in, and cowering, trying to survive." Maxwell was waving his hands now, and actually dropped the hot chocolate packets as he gestured. The brothers were so wrapped up in the argument that nobody reached for the packets.

"But in Africa," Maxwell continued, "A few visionary leaders began to expand- they started building solar collectors and expanding their influence. Expand when others are scared, and now they are the first world and we are the third. Shifts like these happen all the time boy. Nobody foresaw the fall of the Soviet Union. Nobody expected the great Empires of Europe to implode following the first world war. Nobody expected the fall of Rome. But when they happened opportunists were there to take the reins. The Franks took the reins from the Romans. America took the reins from Europe, and again from the Soviet Union. You called it the dark years, well boy, I call it hunting season."

"Enough."

Maxwell and Pike turned to look. Cooper had spoken with such direct finality that both actually went quiet.

"I don't care why you live that way. I don't care why you do anything. Why doesn't tell me who I am. Why doesn't tell me who my mother was and that is all I care about right now. you can argue with Pike afterword. But if you are a man of your word, then you will honour your promise and you will tell me who my mother is."

Maxwell laughed, "Even in that nest, you still became my sons! Very well, I would never keep my son waiting when I had promised him something. your mother is Rose Winters. She was Rose Hunter before I married her, her father is the Mayor of Whistler County. The marriage cemented the alliance between our two groups. I love her very much and she misses you. Although she thinks you're dead."

Cooper shook his head, "A townee. My mother is a townee and my father serves the False King. I may as well fly a locust flag outside my home."

"You mother is a good woman, and you should show her some respect."

"It doesn't make her any less a townee, even if she was an Ascended Master, it still means by rights I should fly a locust as my flag."

"You should really fly a wolf flag. Or a hawk- Hawk is still your name after all. Nothing that nest of crows does changes that. Do you know how it turns my stomach to know that you have been living with Redwing all of this time? Who knows what damage that old fool has done to your education."

Cooper's eyes darkened, "My name is not Hawk. My name is Cooper Redwing. I am named after my Uncle: Redwing-lives-forever. Even if he was lying when he said I was his nephew, he has been more of an Uncle to me, more of a parent to me, than you could ever be."

"Oh he wasn't lying. He is your uncle- your great uncle to be exact. Although I didn't think he was capable of doing anything right, much less telling the truth."

"Why do you hate him so much?"

"He killed my mother: his sister-in-law. You'll have to ask him about that, if you ever see him on the battlefield. I don't enjoy relating that story."

"What do you mean, see him on the battlefield?" Pike interjected.

"You don't think that I'm going to let my sons go back to my lifelong enemy, do you?"

Pike sprang to his feet, but Maxwell waved idly at him, "Don't worry about that until the snow storm has stopped. You can try and fail to get away once the weather is reasonable. Weather this cold can't last too long."

Pike reached for his machete and Maxwell was up in a moment and had his left hand clamped around Pike's right, preventing the younger man from drawing the blade.

Pike reached his free hand around and grabbed his father's pinky finger and snapped it backwards, provoking a yell of pain and a series of curses from Maxwell. Maxwell let go of Pike's hand and Pike and Cooper used the space to bolt out of the room and dash in opposite directions.

Maxwell stared, and then cursed matter-of-factly.

He looked at Dolf, "Stay here, I'll be back and likely, so will they. Eventually they will want their backpacks, so guard them. Dolf nodded his head.

Maxwell turned back to the door and walked out after his elder sons.

Dolf was alone at the fire as his father closed the door to the room behind him.

"Would anyone like hot chocolate?" He said quietly, and then picked up the fallen hot chocolate packets. he tore one of them open carefully and poured thepowdered mix into his thermos and then gently poured some of the boiling water from the pot into the thermos. He replaced the pot on the stand, letting the remaining water continue boiling. Then he sealed the thermos and shook it vigorously. After a minute or so of shaking, he unscrewed the cap and- after letting the hot chocolate cool- began to sip.

Read Chapter 11 Here

Chapter 9: The Serpent that now wears his Crown

2010-02-21T12:50:00.000-08:00

Now...
December 20th, 2120

"I hate the snow." one of the children said as the Redwing tribe continued its trek.

Redwing-lives-forever smiled sadly, "We aren't used to snow anymore. It was more common when I was your age. I remember when Cooper and Pike decided to test themselves in the mountains against the winter. That was a moment that would change everything."

Ten years earlier...
February 1st, 2110

Pike and Coop crouched like stones as the snow fell around them. Snow still fell in the high mountains and the boys were wrapped in furs to guard against the uncommon cold. Snow Snow rarely fell elsewhere and so the high mountains were a test of endurance that most young warriors sought at least once. Pike was seventeen now and Cooper was ten. Pike was warrior and only puberty stood in Cooper's way of being a warrior as well.

The brothers were hunting a white-tailed deer, an ancient buck with a massive sweeping rack of antlers that many young warriors had tried to bring down over the years. The old buck was called the Old Man by the Redwing tribe and nobody had brought it down for nearly ten years. Each year the Old Man reappeared during the rut season in the autumn. And every autumn young warriors would head out to try and bring in the Old Man. Tribe members argued over whether the Old Man should be hunted any more. The argument was that the Old Man had lived so long and so well that he should left alone. Other members argued that hunting the Old Man did a service to the deer population, because if a hunter could kill the Old Man then young bucks would be able to breed and strengthen the genetic diversity of the local deer population.

Cooper and Pike were interested in the challenge of hunting such an old and clever quarry as the Old Man. So the brothers crouched, high in the coast mountains as the snow fell around them and the cold crept into their joints, watching as several does fed in the clearing ahead of them.

Cooper looked at Pike and quickly signed to his brother. He kept his hands behind their deer blind so the movement wouldn't spook the deer.

I haven't seen anything to indicate that bucks are around right now.

Pike signed back him.

Not today, but you've seen the tracks. you know he grazes here.

Cooper gave a slow subtle nod so as not to stand out from the landscape.

The snow is getting to me.

Pike nodded slowly.

The elders say we used to get snow at lower elevations every winter.

Cooper was about to answer when something caught his attention. He froze and moved his eyes without moving his head- scanning everything in front of him and only then slowly turning his head to scan the surrounding area.

It was the does, both does had their tails up in alarm and were looking to north.

Cooper was no longer looking at Pike. So Pike whispered to Cooper instead of signing.

“Can you see what they're looking at Coop?”

“No. and I don't hear anything that sounds like a predator. That doesn't mean there isn't one, of course.”

“They aren't acting like there's a predator.”

Cooper studied the does, they had begun to trot to the south, tails up. They weren't bounding away, as they would if they thought there were wolves or a mountain lion. Something had the does worried, but they didn't need to out run whatever it was that was worrying them. At least they didn't need to outrun it yet.

“It's got to be a change in the weather,” Cooper said carefully, “No reason to run away from any weather short of a avalanche or a tornado, but best to seek shelter if bad weather is coming.”

Pike nodded, “Any idea what kind of weather?”

Cooper listened, eyes closed and paid attention to the colors the sound made. The mountains were very quiet. He could here the dark indigo crunch of the does trotting away, and a light almost invisible green whistling from high altitude winds, but little else.

“Nothing immediate, but if the animals are moving its probably big,” Cooper said.

“A snow storm you think?” Pike asked.

“Maybe, I've never seen one. What do you think it will be like?” Cooper answered.

"Probably colder than this. Probably a lot a wind. Probably really loud," Pike said.

Cooper winced at the thought, if things got too loud he would have trouble seeing. That could be a problem in dangerous weather like a snow storm.

"We should try and find shelter, maybe try to get off the mountain," Cooper said after a moment's silence.

Pike considered and then nodded, "The Old Man is too smart to be out and about if a big storm is coming."

***

Twenty minutes later the brothers were heading down the mountain, when Cooper stopped walking and cocked his head from the left to the right.

Pike looked at his half brother, "What is it?"

"I can see waves of really dark orange coming from the ground."

"Your synesthesia? What do orange waves mean?"

"A really deep bass sound, and its coming from the ground- beneath our feet, and all the way up the mountain."

Pike was silent for a second, "The ground is rumbling?"

"Yeah..."

"I remember reading about avalanches in Elder Wong's library. If snow builds up too much it can break loose and all coming rolling down and its like a tidal wave only made of snow."

"You think this rumbling is one of those avalanches?"

"I can't think what else it could be. Can you?"

Cooper focused on the orange waves rumbling around the edge of his vision. It was getting brighter- meaning louder- although he still couldn't consciously hear the sounds.

"Either way its getting louder, and probably closer, so we should move."

Pike's head snapped up, " I can hear it! And feel it! Run!"

Cooper could feel it too, the rumbling was now shaking his feet and the sound had quickly come out of nowhere to dominate the landscape. He looked up the mountain and saw a wall of snow hurtling down towards them.

"No time!" He yelled at Pike. Cooper cast around wildly and then spotted a large stand of trees directly behind Pike some thirty feet away. They were huge old trees, at least a century old and look well rooted.

"There! Run for the trees, they might shelter us!"

The brothers ran. The looming wall of snow continued to hurtle towards them at an unbelievable speed. Trees and boulders were caught by the avalanche and uprooted or launched ahead of the snow from its weight and momentum.

Pike reached into his backpack as they ran and drew out of length of hemp rope. The brothers hit the stand of trees moments ahead of the avalanche. They dove into the center of the stand and Pike looped the rope around a large tree and thrust the loose end at Cooper.

"Tie it off!" Pike yelled over the roar of the snow, as he tied the end he held around his waist and then gripped firmly with both hands.

Cooper could hardly see, the orange waves were now covering his entire field of vision and in addition Cooper could see overlaying spikes of green and indigo every time a tree cracked in half or a boulder split open against another stone. He worked by feel, wrapping the rope around his waist and had an overhand knot just finished as the wall of snow and ice thundered into the trees!

There was a rainbow of creaks and cracks from the trees and they bent and two smaller trees on the outside broke away. Freezing snow tore through the spaces in the stand of trees and ripped at the brothers. They couldn't see each other, couldn't feel their hands to tell if they were still holding on the rope, couldn't hear anything except the roar of the avalanche.

And then silence.

The mountain was still again. The stand of trees still stood, minus only two smaller trees who had given way. But the trees were now buried in hard packed snow almost fifteen feet deep.

Nothing moved on the mountain.

* * *

Cooper came to consciousness slowly, drawn back by the bright green lines of somebody scraping at the ice.

"Can anyone hear me down there?" Cooper thought he recognized the voice, but wasn't certain.

"He opened his mouth and managed to croak a weak reply, "Here..."

"I saw two of you go under the avalanche, can you see the other one?"

Cooper tried to look around and found he couldn't even turn his head.

"Can't see anything..." He managed hoarsely.

"Well hang in there warrior. That was an impressive display, and I'm not letting anyone with that kind of mettle die without a fight."

The scraping continued above Cooper for several minutes until the ceiling of snow opened above him. Cooper could see the man above him, and recognized him.

It was Maxwell Winters: leader of the Winter Wolves.

Maxwell smiled down at Cooper.

"Well young warrior let's get you out and start to work on your comrade. You're lucky my son and I were hunting the Old Man today, or you would have been finished."

Cooper was too numb to respond as Maxwell and the boy with him, who looked younger than Cooper, pulled Cooper up. About halfway out of the snow, Cooper abruptly caught on something.

Maxwell looked past Cooper and saw the rope wrapped around Cooper's waist.

"Is that hooked to your comrade?"

"Yes."

"Smart move." Maxwell cut the rope with a flick of his bowie knife and re sheathed it in an easy motion.

Then the older man heaved Cooper the rest of the way out and turned to his son, "Dolf, get in there and start digging. Pass the snow up to me and we'll tunnel to the other one."

Dolf nodded and jumped into the hole.

Cooper lay on the snow, he had begun to shiver violently, and the sound of his own shivering was obscuring his vision badly.

Maxwell looked over and said, "Hang in there. I saw an old school still standing in a ghost town nearby. We can camp there and heat you up. You'll make it, you're a warrior. If not, well the winter proves who is worthy."

And with that Maxwell turned back to helping his son Dolf unearth Pike.

And then Cooper closed his eyes and passed out.

* * *

Cooper awoke indoors to a fire crackling. Pike was already awake and warming himself by the fire. The old school swayed in the wind and creaked as snow built up on the flat roof. The brothers stared across the fire at the Warlord of the Winter Wolves and his son. The boys took their gloves off to warm their hands against the heat of the fire. Maxwell Winters eyed the wrapping on Pike's hands.

“Why are your hands wrapped?”

“I'm a boxer.”

“No you aren't. I recognise you. You're Pike Vershevin. Your mother was Lana wasn't she?”

“No.”

“You're lying. I remember her face and you look just like her. Who is this?”

"My friend Coop. Why do you care?"

"Who are you bound to Pike?"

"Nobody." Pike said sharply.

"Does your friend know what's under those bandages?"

"Shut up!" Pike was yelling now.

Maxwell stood up and yelled back at the young man, carefully separating each word as he yelled, "I want to know who my eldest son is bound to!"

"You're not my father!"

With that Maxwell straightened up and stepped straight over the fire and grabbed Pike's wrist. In one fluid motion Maxwell slipped his bowie knife from its sheath and slid it under Pike's bandages. Pike struggled, but he was still too numb from the hypothermia to resist well. He did manage to cut himself on the knife a little, but Maxwell deftly sliced through the bandages on Pike's right hand, exposing the snowflake brand on Pike's palm.

Of course Cooper had seen the brand. He didn't know how Pike had got it, but he knew it happened on Pike's first vision quest. Everyone had secrets, and Cooper hadn't pressed his brother on it; but he knew that snowflakes on the palms were a Winter Wolf sign and it had always scared Cooper that his brother bore them.

"You are my son! Now who are you bound to?"

"You're not my father!"

"Nobody else took your mother that night boy! Your options for a father are limited!"

"You're not my father." Pike sounded deflated now, as though all the air had gone out of him.

"Then who raised you before your mother fled? I gave you food and hearth and care until you were seven winters old. You are my blood and my legacy, as are Dolf and Hawk, whatever your mother did with Hawk."

Maxwell turned then and looked at Cooper. He scanned the boy's face as though something had suddenly occurred to him.

"Who are you?"

Cooper could barely think to respond at this point, his mind whirling as it tried to process what he had heard, "Cooper."
"You were at the meeting of the Great Alliance a few years ago, weren't you? With Redwing-lives-forever, isn't that right."
Cooper nodded. Seeing no point in denying it.

"Who is your father, boy?"

Scared now, Cooper gathered his anger and focused before he answered, "My father is dead. Your people killed both my parents."

Maxwell looked at Pike and then back at Cooper and then shook his head.

"You're lying too."

"I can see the resemblance between you and Pike, and Dolf. So you're Cooper are you? Well you're my lost son Hawk as well- so I guess you're Cooper Hawk now."

Cooper tried to wrap his head around this and failed.

Maxwell chuckled, "Such a charming family reunion. My eldest son is bound to another of my clan and I don't know who. My second eldest doesn't even know his parents. And on top of that, you're both members of my most hated foe. What am I to do?"

Neither boy spoke, Pike was wrapping the shredded bandages around the cut on his arm, and Cooper was looking straight into the fire.

"Such cowardice does not become my sons. Face the truth you two. You are what you are! If you wish I will tell you what Redwing was obviously afraid to reveal. Do you want to know your childhood? Cooper, do you want to know your mother's name? Did you know she's still alive? She's mother to Dolf as well. Pike is your half brother, but Dolf is your full brother. Would you like to know the truth?"

In the silence, the fire crackled away. Finally Cooper looked up at Maxwell and nodded.

"If I am a monster I should at least know what kind of monster." He said quietly.

Maxwell smiled, "There is nothing wrong with being a monster, boy. Monsters tend to live longer. Now let's see. where to begin? Ahhh, I know..."

Read Chapter 10 Here

Chapter 8: A Cultural Interlude

2010-02-14T11:29:00.000-08:00

Religion of the tribes of the Great Alliance
From "A History of the 21st Century", by Zithembe Nkosi
Published by ZuluHeart Press, copyright 2120

The Great Alliance is a largely heterogeneous group with regards to religion and politics. The tribes are held together by a few agreements, which are in fact very similar to the basic functions of the Democratic Republic of Oregon whom they dislike. The functions of the Great Alliance are as follows: allow the various tribes to explain disputes amongst a larger group to socially enforce the laws of the Great Alliance and to act of a forum to raise support or alarms quickly in the event of large threats to all Alliance members.

The basic laws of the Great Alliance are simple. Do not try to be a king or god. Do not expand into the territory of another tribe. Do not conquer (although raiding to prove strength and reaffirm boundaries is allowed, and even encouraged to help the young warriors compete and stay ready). Control one's population. Follow the Seven Generation Law (do nothing that will negatively affect the environment even seven generations into the future).

The laws of the Great Alliance were drafted by the earliest member tribes and communes, and as such have a largely new age/pseudo-Native American feel with a heavy ecological focus. The makers of the law did not trust large groups, civilization, leaders or hierarchy in general, and sought to create a system of rules that was largely enforced by individual members and did not require the creation of separate organizations such as the police or the military.

Historians are uncertain whether these ideas sprang from the most common religion of the Great Alliance or whether the religion of the Great Alliance sprang from these laws. The rest of the Pacific Northwest tends to be aligned with the Unified Church of Healing, which is am amalgamation of the many immigrant religions of the region, from Shinto to Hindu, from Christianity to Buddhism, from New Age to Sikhism. The religion of the Pacific Northwest is a melting pot, but the ingredients are largely recognisable. The religion of the Great Alliance is less easily de-constructed.

The official religion of the Great Alliance is a naturalistic religion. Called the Way of the Seven Siblings, or simply 'the Way' or even 'the Seven', the religion of the Alliance believes in a naturalistic world with no ghosts, spirits, gods, magic or miracles. Many of the individual members of the Great Alliance do believe in such things, but do so from either personal experience or on the basis of personal spiritual convictions.

'The Way' centers around the exploits of a group of seven explicitly mythical siblings, understood to be archetypal representations of the seven essential roles within a functioning society. The siblings are (from oldest to youngest): Munin, Jatar, Sargas, Martegas, Gygas, Rusinas, Kurnos.

Munin is the eldest, she is represented by a raven and her role is to question authority and to play the role of journalist and fool and trickster. Munin's job is to keep individuals from accumulating too much power, or using authority for corrupt purposes. Her name is almost certainly based upon one of the two ravens of Odin from Norse mythology.

Jatar is the next eldest, she is represented by a serpent and her role is to learn about the world and then to teach it to the next generation. She is researcher and teacher in a single package. Some researchers feel her name is based upon the masculineArabic name Jafar or 'a stream'. Other researchers think that the name derives from the Finnish female devil Ajatar.

Sargas is the eldest brother and he is represented by an owl and his role is to mediate disputes and make certain restitution is made. The practices of Sargas are based heavily of Native American concepts of restorative justice. Sargas is the name of a star in the constellation Scorpio.

Martegas is the second brother and represented by the rabbit. Martegas is the history keeper and the storyteller and traditional Master of Ceremonies. His name is likely based on Mateguas- a rabbit spirit of the Northeastern Native American mythology.

Gygas is the third brother. He is represented by the wolf and his role is the warrior. His name is the name of one of the hundred handed who fought for Zeus and assured that God's victory inGreek mythology.

Rusinas is the youngest sister. She is represented by a stalk of corn and is thus the only sibling not symbolized by an animal. She represents nurturing and healing, as well as their own agricultural practises. Rusinas name is believed by researchers to be based on a Roman harvest goddess name Rusina.

Kurnos is the youngest brother and youngest sibling. He is depicted initially as being represented by a mountain lion, and then later by a locust. His role was initially that of leadership through initiative and daring action, but he succumbed to greed and tried to possess the locust spirit and corrupted the power of that spirit, thus becoming the False King.

The False King is the 'Shaitan' or devil figure of the Great Alliance. Seen not as an individual but as a cultural virus. The False King was described to archaeologist Lwazi Silongo this way: "The False King is the idea that people can expand without limit and without consequence. The False King is the idea that you must follow his one way to be right, and if you do not you may be conquered or exterminated. The False King offers everyone a choice, feast with me and die tomorrow or fight against me and die today."

In one of the earliest stories about Kurnos after he has become the False King, Kurnos murders Rusinas and waters his fields with her blood and uses her body as fertilizer in an echo of the Christian story of Cain and Abel. The other siblings cast Kurnos out of the tribe and he leaves. Kurnos then infects other tribes with the ideology of the False King and returns and conquers his old tribe and forces the siblings into hiding.

Kurnos spreads his power across the land devouring or assimilating all in his path until there is nothing left but the five remaining siblings who are still in hiding. In the end of this story, modern people discover the five surviving siblings who reveal the principles by which people may live in harmony with the rest of the world.

This creation story should make it clear to the modern African reader why the DRO has had such a difficult time making peace with the Great Alliance. the ideology of the Great Alliance in fact sees civilization and much of the resulting progress as evil and in fact equates it with their own devil figure.

Read Chapter 9 Here

Chapter 7: The Bitter End

2010-02-07T12:04:00.000-08:00

Now...
December 20th, 2120

"But who was Cooper's real father then" One of the children asked.

Redwing-lives-forever shook his head and adjusted his red and black ceremonial blanket as they walked.

"All in good time. Every part of a story has its own time for telling. Tell me children- do any of you know why the Winter Wolves are not allowed to speak at meetings of the Great Alliance?"

The children were silent as they walked and considered Redwing's question. There was snow this winter, which was especially rare on the west coast. And the only sound was the shuffing and splorching of moccasins in wet cold snow.

"Didn’t you say that they were talking for the False King?"

Redwing nodded quietly, "And what did I say proved that they were speaking for the false king?"

The children were silent again, save for the sound of wet moccasins as the children and their guardians moved through the forest heading for safety. Finally, after several minutes Pike's daughter Sparrow spoke up.

"They want to get really big and they're hurting other tribes and townees to do it. Right?"

"Yes, that is one of the charges that I leveled against the Winter Wolves- that they were expanding without regard to limitation and that they were devouring other tribes in order to expand. The natural world is a world of limits, and anything that seeks to expand without limit is a danger to all life. Anything that seeks to expand like this is a cancer, the false king incarnate. What other charges did I level against the Winter Wolves?"

The children whispered amongst themselves this time, trying to come to a consensus.

"They raid with guns and not raiding staves."

"They try to kill everyone in a tribe, instead of raiding and making peace."

"They're mean!"

Redwing smiled at the last comment and intervened," Being mean is not a crime against the Great Alliance. If it was, the Black Rider Tribe to the north would have been thrown out of the Alliance long ago. The laws of the Great Alliance are simple, but not always easy to follow. To live in the Great Alliance, a tribe must keep themselves in check. They must not expand like a plague. They must not conquer, although they may seek retribution. They must stay light upon the mother earth. For some people this is hard, the lure of the false king and his bargain are too great for many people to resist. And what does he promise?"

Lamont Freeman's daughter Joy answered, "He promises power for you today, at the cost of everyone's tomorrow."

"Very good Joy. He offers all the bounty of the earth now, but in order to have it now, there is nothing left to bloom tomorrow. If you to understand the rest of Cooper's story and how his story relates to my own story and how they both explain the war between us and the Winter Wolves- then you need to hear the story of the meeting of the Great Alliance where the Winter Wolves were forbidden to speak."

* * *

Fifteen years earlier...

June 21st, 2105

The council of the Great Alliance met in a open air amphitheater, carved out a hillside with great slabs of rock dragged in to help stop erosion from reclaiming the land. The Seating areas had canopies built above them and then covered in moss to help hide the amphitheater from aircraft. It was raining lightly as the tribes began to gather.

Redwing-lives-forever walked beside Fergus Wong and Cooper Redwing. Trailing a little behind them were Koko Freeman and Alice Wellington, who were officially here as representatives of the Redwing Tribe and unofficially here as guards for the two elders. Redwing leaned on his walking stick- heavier than needed, but he was playing the part of an old man. Redwing was nearing his hundredth year, but was still strong for his age and more agile than most suspected. Fergus Wong was not much younger, and it showed in his weathered face and wild hair that reminded his contemporaries of Albert Einstein. Fergus also leaned on a walking stick- made from a steel pipe and painted black. Fergus had been a fierce warrior once, and although he needed the cane to walk, his arms were still strong enough to make the cane a deterrent against harm. Fergus dressed in the standard Redwing garb, brigandine armor with no sleeves, the loose leather pants with knee high moccasins wrapped with a leather thong. All of Fergus' clothes were dyed black however, which made him stand out against the red-brown of the rest of the Redwing tribe members. Both Redwing and Fergus also wore ceremonial blankets befitting their status as elders. Redwing's blanket was decorated in northwest traditional red, white and black Native American style. Two bright Red wings spread across Redwings shoulders, wrapped in black and white. Fergus Wore a black blanket with a single white Chinese ideogram on his back "Thunder".

Fergus looked to his left and then coughed towards Redwing, "They're here."

Redwing didn't look, "I know. I can smell the milk from here."

Fergus continued, "I see Maxwell and his entourage. I think he brought every bodyguard he has. Even his 'wife' is here. He looks like he's spoiling for a fight."

"He won't be allowed to bring any more than five members into the council though, so it hardly matters. Everyone brings a show a force to these meetings in order to back up their words." Redwing answered.

"So why didn't we?"

Redwing smiled, "We have something stronger than arms. If we came here with military force and tried to make the argument we are about to make, it would have far less credibility than if two old men and a small child made the argument, protected by only two bodyguards and the good will of their neighbors."

As the two old men spoke another old man was approaching from a different camp. He was dressed in loose leather breeches and wool poncho decorated in brown and green leaf patterns. His head was shaved and his skin was a permanently tanned shade of nut brown.

"Redwing! Fergus! It's great to see you. And who is this?"

Redwing smiled, "Vincent Wilder, it is good to see you too. This is Cooper Redwing; he's an orphan the tribe took in."

Vincent looked at Redwing silently for a moment. Redwing met his gaze calmly. Finally, Vincent nodded...

"It's good to meet you Cooper." He said.

"It's good to meet you too, sir." Cooper said looking up at the man.

"He must be an orphan, no Redwing is that polite to their elders. Show respect for Munin before your elders. Isn't that what you say?"

Redwing chuckled, "When you question your elders, you respect the community and defend it from pride. Yes, that is our way."

"Does that work?"

"It seems to."

Wilder paused and looked over to the Winter Wolves. He pressed his palms together and flexed his fingers, his eyes looking into the distance.

"Redwing, I do not know if you have the support you need. You are making a gamble. I have found no other tribe willing to call the Winter Wolves as conquerors."

"Surely your tribe- The Free Mountain Communes..."

"None of the communes have been attacked old friend. None of my people have first hand accounts they can bring forward. We will support your claims, but on the basis of your reputation alone. And I do not think that will be enough to remove the Winter Wolves from the Alliance."

"Then what about the Caribou Hills tribe? They were attacked. Our scouts were there. We lost five warriors helping the first village evacuate. Surely they will stand forward."

"Old friend, they claim that they were never attacked."

Redwing was quiet. Fergus looked at the ground avoiding Redwing's searching gaze. Cooper had never seen his Uncle look as old as in this moment. But the moment passed, and Redwing's face set into a look of resolve.

"That means the Caribou Hills Tribe was conquered. The Wolves are playing a careful game. They are not admitting to their conquests. This way they can claim legitimacy and still expand. It is a bold move and not a foolish one. What about the Jerome Clan? They also are near neighbors to the Winter Wolves, and what about the Clear Wind Ranch, they are close as well."

"The Clear Wind Ranch claims to have seen no hostility. I spoke with Anne Jerome and the Jerome Clan delegation. She says her clan has seen a lot of movement of supplies and people in Clear Wind Ranch territory, but said that raids have died down well below the level one expects of a neighboring tribe. They are suspicious but they have no proof."

"This weakens our position significantly. I was expecting the support of Caribou Hills Tribe. We will have to take a different tactic then. We shall aim to weaken their influence and try to force an accounting by the Alliance. But we will work with what we have. Take your seats so this can begin."

Cooper found the ceremony long and boring, as each delegation was introduced and named. It was more than an hour before members were allowed to speak. However when members were allowed to make claims, Redwing stood immediately. Several other delegates had been moving to stand as well, but all sat when Redwing pushed up from his seat.

"The Council of the Great Alliance recognizes founding elder Redwing-lives-forever."

"Thank you Speaker. I am here for a dark purpose, and for this I apologize. You all know me. You know I do not speak lightly. So I hope you will listen now as I charge the Winter Wolves with being taken by the False King." Redwing said solemnly. The people in the council burst into shouts and murmurs as Redwing spoke. Redwing continued speaking. "They are engaged in an attempt to eradicate the Redwing tribe. They attempted to conquer the Caribou Hills tribe- my warriors died defending a Caribou Village several months ago. I fear that the Caribous Hills tribe has been conquered. The Winter Wolves are further engaged in trade with the cities of the DRO, and while this is not illegal, it does not speak to the spirit of the Alliance Laws."

One of the young warriors on the Caribou Delegation stood up and stepped forward.

"The Council of the Great Alliance recognizes delegate Byron Jacks."

"This is an outrage! We are not conquered. The Winter Wolves have not even made attacks against us. This is baseless! I respect the founding elder, as all of us do, but he is nearly a century old. I doubt his memory and I doubt his judgment. Our tribe prospers and has nothing to complain about. If the Redwing tribe has lost warriors, it was not at our village."

Alice Wellington shot out of her seat and stormed forward, "You bastard! You city coward! My husband died in your village so your children and elders could escape! I watched him die, and couldn't help him because it would have left your people undefended as they fled! You defile the lives we gave, and the lives of your own that died. You disrespect the Alliance and Law of the Alliance and your own ancestors with your words."

"Alice Wellington, you speak out of turn. The Council has not recognized you yet."

Anne Jerome stood up and walked forward. She was tall and willowy with eyes like iron fillings.

"The Council of the Great Alliance recognizes delegate Anne Jerome. “

“My clan has seen disturbing signs,” Anne said, “Supplies moving in greater number than I have ever seen in peace time. Normal raiding has disappeared, like a dangerous calm. Neighboring tribes seem odd. The Caribou Hills delegation is composed of one respected elder who won’t meet my gaze and four strange thugs who I have never seen before. I do not like this, and I do not intend to wait for the day when I wake up to find snowflakes on my palms to realize that I have lost my freedom and my clan to the False King.”

A wave of murmurs ran through the crowd. And as they subsided, Anne continued speaking.

“I have no proof that is conclusive. But all tribes not yet silenced must see what I see. We did not form the Great Alliance to allow its ideal to be compromised by red tape and bureaucracy. These are the ways of the False King. The Winter Wolves and their pawns reveal their corruption by hiding behind them.”

Abigail Driskell, an elder for the Clear Wind Ranch stood up.

"The Council of the Great Alliance recognizes delegate Abigail Driskell. Anne Jerome please be seated."

Anne nodded and sat down. Abigail was shaped like an over ripe apple- round but no longer firm. Her hair was wrapped up into a grey bird’s nest and she wore an overly friendly smile.

“The Jerome Clan is correct to warn against too much bureaucracy. Anne Jerome is right to say that this can be used as a dangerous tool of the False King. But, let us not forget either that the laws of the Great Alliance are also here to protect us from each other. My Ranch does not require new members to marry into the Jerome Clan in order to join. This works for the Jerome Clan, but it bothers me. My Ranch does not send children into the warrior pits in order to be adults, as the Winter Wolves do. I think this throw back to Sparta is horrible, but it seems to work for them. I do not like the secrecy of the Redwing tribe regarding the location of their village. It strikes me as dishonest, but they have been honest in all their dealings with us so I do not complain.”

The council was silent at this point. And Abigail continued.

“We all have laws and traditions that frighten or disgust the other members of the alliance. That is why there are such strict rules regarding the accusations that Redwing has made. I do not dispute the Redwing tribe's accusations. They have seen them they say. That is what we ask of them. For the motion to carry some other member must also have seen this behavior. This is because there are many ways to live in line with alliance law, and many of them would horrify those who choose not to live be them. We must be certain or we cease to be an alliance and become a nation under the rule of the council and on the road to becoming the servants of the False King- one and all.”

Vikram Patara stood up. He was the Captain of the River Gypsies and built like a short nutmeg colored bowling ball. He was missing the first two fingers of his right hand and was bald with chalk white mutton chops style mustache.

"The Council of the Great Alliance recognizes delegate Vikram Patara. Abigail Driskell please be seated."

Abigail sat down and Vikram began speaking in a booming heavily accented baritone, “My people travel the rivers, all river are our home. We trade wherever the water reach. We see many thing and many thing that we see, we see unknown to those who do them. We keep the Hindi language of my great grandfather. So we may speak without the ear of the stranger understanding. We are outsider in everything and this is our strength.”

“We trade with the Redwing. They are honest, we will speak to that. We trade to the Winter Wolf people. They are harsh, and we do not know if they are honest, but we do not speak against them. But we do speak against the Caribou Hills people. We see strange things as well. Like the Jerome, we see things moving more than normal. And like the Jerome we see new people on the Caribou delegation. But unlike the Jerome, we know the new people. They are from the Winter Wolf people.”

The council burst into conversation as delegation began to speak to each other and yell out of turn. Vikram held up his hands.

“This prove none of what Jerome accuse or Redwing accuse. This is suspicious, but people get married and we all know that will small town we must send young people to other tribes to keep us from breeding too close for genetic comfort. So I say this is suspicious, but I do not say this is proof.”

Vikram turned and sat back down as the volume level rose in the amphitheater. Maxwell Winters rose from his chair and the crowd of delegates went silent. Maxwell was of average height and slim with a narrow face and dark hair. He wore a musketeer mustache and goatee with his hair greased back in a ponytail.

"The Council of the Great Alliance recognizes delegate Maxwell Winters."

Maxwell nodded and addressed the council, “We are not a sociable clan. We do not apologize for this. Life is hard and the strong alone are worthy of our time. But we do not follow the False King. The elder Redwing and my family have… history together. I do not think he is unbiased in this. Nobody would call me unbiased were we reversed in this situation. Both sides have inflicted wounds that fester. We raid them and they raid us. This is allowed under alliance law. We do not seek conquest. Quite frankly few of our neighbors would meet the standards to which we hold all Winter Wolf adults. Expansion is of no interest to us. Strength and the ability to survive is of interest to us. I do not think that elder Redwing is senile, as the Caribou Hills representative suggests. I think he is angry and biased by our long rivalry. I do not think that it is appropriate for either of our groups to draw the entire alliance into our feud. That is all I wish to say. “

As the crowd began to murmur again, Vincent Wilder stood up.

"The Council of the Great Alliance recognizes delegate Vincent Wilder."

Vincent Wilder looked around slowly, as though gathering the attention of the delegates. Then he spoke. “I am Vincent Wilder of the Free Mountain Communes. I will put all thought of neutrality aside now. I am not neutral in this. The Free Mountain Communes were home to Redwing-lives-forever and his father: Jack Yellowcrow. This was before there was a Redwing tribe. It is because of the actions of Redwing that The Free Mountain Communes still exist at all. Our parent group, the Hidden Waters Eco-Village has been absorbed by the DRO, out of this were born the Free Mountain Commune and the Redwing Tribe. We are still in their debt.”

Vincent paused and looked around at the groups assembled and then he pointed to one group who had been silent.

“The Black Riders are feared even amongst the tribes of the Great Alliance, but they had their numbers bolstered by Redwing Warriors when the RNT armies swept in from the North.”

Vincent pointed out another group, “The Nova Roma Gypsy clan has been accused of serving the False King before, by a rival clan who coveted the Nova Roma trade agreements. It was the Redwing tribe who insisted upon a multi-tribe investigation so nobody could claim bias in the final product, and it was this investigation that revealed the other clans ties to the Demon City of Seattle.”

“I could go on, Elder Redwing is older than the Alliance itself and virtually every tribe, clan and commune here owes his tribe something. Yes, they are secretive. Yes, they are private. Yes, they are strange. But even the Winter Wolves benefit from the hard work of the elders of that tribe. I have known Redwing for almost my entire life, and in that time the only thing I have ever known him to be dishonest about is his hair color.”

The assembled delegations laughed, and Vincent continued, “But beside the henna Redwing purchases from the free ports, I know no reason not to believe his words. As Abigail has pointed out, the limits of Alliance law are there to protect the independence of each tribe, clan and so on. Nobody else has seen what the Redwing tribe has seen. So be it. The Winter Wolves cannot be banned from the Alliance without additional support. But let us follow the wisdom of Alliance history. Let us form an investigative unit, made up of many delegations, and look into the claims made today. The Redwing tribe alone brings eyewitness accounts, but the River Gypsies and the Jerome Clan both bring evidence that is worrying. It may be nothing. As Vikram says, these things are suspicious by may have reasonable explanations. So let us seek those reasonable explanations. It is within the power of the council to do this. Let us see and end to this.”

Maxwell stood back up, “We will not allow such an attack upon our independence. Any investigative delegation will be turned away.”

Redwing stood back up, “This speaks volumes fellow delegates. If the Winter Wolves will not allow an investigation, then I motion that they be denied the right to speak at council meetings until such time as they agree to allow the law of the alliance to function.”

Maxwell gritted his teeth and glared at Redwing as tribe after tribe rose to support Redwing’s motion.

Read Chapter 8 Here

Chapter 6: A Cold Wind Blows

2010-01-31T09:38:00.000-08:00

It was dark inside Cooper's brain- because Cooper was certain that was where he was at the moment. He could see the light of brain impulses at the edge of his vision. He could see the cerebellum in the dim illumination provides by the brain impulses. He could hear the blood pumping into the skull and feel the rhythm of his body all around him. He did not know what peyote was, but he had chewed on it. Mister Poe had given him some of it and when Cooper had chewed it, he wound up in his brain.

It was dark.

Cooper wasn't claustrophobic and it wasn't the enclosed space, but something was making him feel uneasy. Was he supposed to be inside his head?

"This doesn't seem right. How can I be in my head. I'd have to kind of inside out to do that."

His voice sounded odd and kind of swallowed up by the sounds of blood pumping. Dark red pulses thrumming at the bottom of his vision, caused by his synesthesia, or maybe not if Mister Poe was right. Cooper was not certain that he believed old Mister Poe when the Ghost Dealer told Cooper that the colors he saw were signs of possession by spirits. The Redwing tribe was not terribly superstitious- especially not compared to other tribes.

Cooper didn't really believe in ghosts, but he maybe believed in spirits- although he did not really understand the difference, but there seemed to be one. Aunt Koko would laugh to hear him think things like this. She would laugh about him wondering about the aurora borealis as well, whether it was a piece of the sun or a dancing spirit or the mark of dragons in flight.

"She would probably laugh about me thinking I was in my head as well."

Cooper looked around again at the inside of his head.

"this can't be my head. I'm touching my head- so I can't be inside it. It's still attached to me. This means that I'm imagining this, but this is really real looking."

In the darkness ahead, Cooper saw something moving. Cooper walked in the direction of the movement, his feet sinking into the soft warm skin beneath his feet. He had the sense that walking towards movement in a dark and unfamiliar place was a very bad idea, but wasn't certain what else to do under the circumstances. He hadn't been trapped in his own head before, so he was on unfamiliar ground literally and figuratively.

As he closed distance with the movement he began to make out some shape and color. It was mostly black with a tiny bit of red and an even smaller stripe of yellow. There was also something reflective on the shape. The shape itself was small, about the size of his head- maybe smaller. It was moving in a way that Cooper now recognised as the movements of an animal, a bird in fact. Cooper was training to be a warrior scout and he was familiar with the movements of different animals so that he could spot them and notice their mood and especially the extent to which they were calm and nervous. He was also familiar with the movements of animals as they compared to the movements of humans. This was a blackbird- a red-winged blackbird from the swatches of color. It was perching on a protruding lump of flesh that Cooper decided was a nerve ending. His uncle was named after this bird: Redwing-Lives-Forever. As a result of this connection, Cooper felt confident that the bird was not a bad omen or a threat.

The blackbird cocked its head to look Cooper in the eye and then its beak opened.

"I see that nobody can knock on your skull and claim that nobody is home. But I wonder about your reasons for having your windows so tightly shut." The Blackbird spoke with a rich red voice that rolled around Cooper like smoke from a pipe.

Cooper froze. He had to be imagining this, birds didn't talk- except in the stories. Was he in a story? Was he dreaming? Cooper considered this option carefully, this certainly could be a dream- it had all the markings of a dream. The scenery was unbelievable and Cooper could not remember how he arrived. Things were happening that did not happen in the waking world.

"Peyote," Cooper said, "I was talking to Mister Poe and he told me to chew something called peyote. That's right! What is peyote?" Cooper looked at the blackbird for guidance.

"Peyote is a type of cactus that, when dried, causes hallucinations and draws the user inward. Quite literally in your case."

Cooper considered this carefully, studying the colors left by the blackbirds explanation.

"So I'm on drugs and none of this is real?"

"No, you are on drugs and your mind is constructing this based on the drug's interaction with your mind. It is real, although it is not necessarily physical."

"So I'm creating this dream out of drugged cactus biscuits, and you're just me talking to myself ?"

"If you like. But keep in mind that peyote tends to force introspection and in your case there are many things you wish to pretend that you do not know."

"What does that mean?"

"Its means that not everything that your mind creates from the mescaline will be as helpful and benign as I am."

As it finished speaking the red smoke that coiled off it continued to coil and the blackbird itself dissolved into the coils of red until there was nothing left. Cooper stared in horror, his colors had never done anything like that before. And even though he was fairly sure that the blackbird was telling the truth about the whole experience being a dream caused by drugs, the sight of his colors affecting something physical. Cooper had come to think of the colors as something akin to a sixth sense- even if they were something he saw with his eyes. It was like seeing two worlds at once, but seeing those two world overlaying each other was one thing and seeing them interact was another thing altogether. Cooper almost cried out in alarm at the sight of it.

The setting shifted before his eyes, there was a deep red rumble rising up from the bottom of his vision with the harsh blue tones of high pitched sound punching across his vision. And then the colors ran into the world around Cooper like dye leeching into water. The world before him swam like wet paint as sound and sight intermingled and then sorted themselves out again.

The world before Cooper was now an old building that looked like a city hall or a library. It was almost entirely grey stone with huge glass windows. The build looked old, and had probably been built in the twentieth century. The windows had been replaced with stain glass windows, probably because transporting large plate glass was difficult and expensive and only a few places still made such luxury items. The windows depicted scenes of war and violence- always between people in blue, depicted in large heroic forms, and people in red, depicted as small and always in retreat. Cooper looked around. He seemed to be in the town square, but it was an odd town square- empty of people and hustle and bustle that typified such community centers.

There was a blue, high pitched whistle to Cooper's left. The sound had been like a winter wind or the whistle of an arrow, both had a similar look to Cooper. He turned before the sound had faded from his vision, just in time to see something white or light blue passing behind two buildings. The blue whistle of another arrow passed on his right and Cooper turned to catch the same flash of white or blue disappearing behind another building. Then he heard and saw more whistling, to his left and his right, in front and behind him, things moving like a cold blast of winter air- too fast for Cooper to see clearly. He saw white, maybe blue, fur.

Cooper had heard his Uncle Redwing's stories, he was fairly sure that these were wendigo, spirits of winter, cannibal spirits, fast and hungry and almost impossible to see. And whether or not this was all happening in Cooper's head, Cooper was terrified at the thought of meeting one wendigo- let alone a dozen. There were at least a dozen, darting from building to building, with their whistling bursts of blue speed. Then strange blue green spines began to sprout from the ground as the wendigo began to speak, to call to Cooper in whispers.

"The orphan should come home."

"The orphan should eat his people and grow strong."

"The orphan is one of us."

"The orphan is a spirit of cold."

"The orphan will kill when hungry."

"The orphan is one of the wendigo."

"Wait for the cold of December, wait for the solstice and then the orphan will know its own nature."

The wendigo began to close in, flashing blue from building to building as the closed a net around Cooper. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't talk. He was too scared to do anything.Cooper was trapped in a net of blue and he could see no way out.

"The orphan should come home."

"The orphan should know its place."

"The orphan should show his fangs."

"The orphan is hungry."

The wendigo were so close that Cooper should have been able to see them, but somehow he couldn't. When they moved he could see the trails that the sound of their passage left, but he couldn't see them. They were all around him, less than ten feet away and their taunting whispers were bubbling green and blue around him.

"The orphan will remember."

"The orphan will eat fish and fowl."

"The orphan is hungry."

"No!" Cooper cried out in desperation, "The orphan is not hungry! The orphan has a home and the orphan will not eat his people!"

Cooper ran, barreling straight through the wall of green and the net of blue and charged headlong down the streets of the deserted town. There were guard towers and walls everywhere. Cooper had been mistaken when he described the area as a town, it was a fort. Cooper ran down streets and alleys with a speed borne of fear, but the blue whistles that marked the wendigo were always around him.

"The orphan knows what it knows."

"The orphan can't run from its own truth."

"The orphan can't outrun its past."

"The orphan can't outrun who it is."

"The orphan knows where it belongs."

Cooper rounded a corner and came skidding to a stop. He was looking at a dead end alleyway. He looked around desperately as the blue streaks of wind closed in on him. To his left was a door, slightly ajar- although Cooper was certain that the door had not been there when he first looked down the alley. He yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind him. The door had a dead bolt. Cooper slammed it into place as the blue hit the door like crossbow bolts- leaving sharp holes punched in the oak door- but the door held.

There was a yellow puff of air as somebody gasped behind him. Cooper turned and looked to see a woman crouched behind him. She was faceless, terrifying and beautiful at the same time, with a line for a mouth and two black almond shaped holes for eyes.

She was chained to the stone floor by a huge collar around her neck and dressed in a blue robe, though her features were a sunshine yellow.

She was crying.

Blue and red mixed as the wendigo beat an irregular beat against the oak door. Cooper walked cautiously up to the strange yellow woman.

"Who are you?" He asked carefully.

"I am a memory, not fully remembered by you because you were too young. I am your mother." Her voice was forest green leaves dancing on the wind.

The voices of the wendigo began to seep through the oak door and hung at the edges of Cooper's vision like a toxic vapor.

"Hunger."

"Outsider."

"Freak."

"Killer."

"Monster."

"Orphan."

"Orphan."

Cooper shook his head and looked at the woman before him.

"What else do I remember about you?" He asked.

"I am sad all of the time. I am afraid all of the time."

"Why are you afraid? Why are you sad?"

The pounding on the door was hitting every color in the spectrum now, with waves of color hitting like the beginnings of a great storm and knives of color shooting past Cooper's vision like birds of prey.

"I am sad because everything I love is being taken from me. I cannot hold anything I value, everything is stolen from me."

"Did that include me?"

"I valued you so very much."

"Why are you afraid?"

The door broke in, splinters flying everywhere, blue blasts of cold wind swarmed around him. The wendigos moved so fast that could not see them even as they were directly in front of him. Instead they were a whirlwind of blue that engulfed him.

"Why are you afraid!?" Cooper called as the frigid tornado pulled him into the air.

"I am afraid of the people I love!"

"But you love me!"

The tornado drew him up and engulfed him in bright loud blue and indigo sound so loud he couldn't see or hear anything. Finally everything when white and then stone quiet, and in the quiet Cooper heard his mother's voice, in deadly quiet yellow butterflies that moved across the middle of his vision.

"I do love you."

Cooper closed his eyes.

"But you're afraid of me. Everyone is afraid of me. What is there to fear?"

* * *

Cooper opened his eyes. He was laying on his back in middle of the village. He distinctly remembered being standing when the whole drama had begun.

"Why am I on the ground?"

"You fell, I caught you." Pike said from his left.

"I'm not afraid of you Coop." Malika said from his right.

"What?" Cooper said in alarm.

"You were really quiet, then you fell over and Pike caught you, and then you started asking what we were afraid of and saying that we were afraid of you. I'm not scared of you. You'd never hurt me. I know that Coop." Malika looked at Cooper earnestly, eyes wide with concern.

"You did not free yourself from the spirit haunting you, young hawk." Mister Poe said, suddenly looming above Cooper. "I suspect that you want this spirit."

Booker Freeman looked at Mister Poe, "You can keep your hands Poe," Booker said.

Charon the wolfhound walked up to Cooper and sniffed him over, then gave a mournful howl that started deep orange and ranged up to green at the end. Then the big dog looked back at Cooper and licked the boy's face thee times and sat down beside Cooper like a watch dog. Cooper was quiet for a moment, then finally he spoke again.

"I think the spirit was my mother, or the memory of my mother. I don't remember much of her and it wasn't clear, but I think it was my mother."

Pike looked at Cooper sharply, "What do you remember?"

Cooper thought carefully, "Her voice. I remember her voice and what it looked like. I remember that she was scared and sad. I remember that she lived somewhere with stained glass windows of some war. I remember that there was a lot of stone buildings. I can't remember what she looked like."

"What about our father- do you remember anything about our father?" Pike asked.

"No, I only met my mother in the... dream? Is that the right word for what I did? You gave me drugs right? It was in my head wasn't it? Just my own memories?"

Mister Poe looked at Cooper, and then around at the village. It seemed every tribe member in the village was gathered around Cooper.

"Peyote opens a gateway in your soul to the spirit world. It may have only needed your memories to show you what you needed to see, but you may have actually been talking to your mother just now."

Aunt Koko interjected loudly into the conversation, "Don't fill the boy's head with nonsense. Cooper, peyote works because it contains mescaline that creates hallucinations. Everything you experienced was created by your mind and was something you already knew on some level. You may have been remembering your mother, but you were not in contact with her."

"But Aunt Koko, I was a baby when we had to come here. How could I remember anything when I was that little."

"How indeed?" Poe said with a smile.

"The brain is an impressive organ, it doesn't need hoodoo or mumbo jumbo to explain the things it can do." Koko said firmly.

"And the spirit world does not need the world of the flesh to believe in it in order for it to exist. It does not matter if you believe in the gods, because the gods certainly believe in you."

Cooper was quiet as Poe and Aunt Koko stared at each other, neither pleased with the other's continued presence.

"If it was real," Cooper said slowly ,"then something is hunting me."

Koko and Uncle Redwing turned sharply to look at Cooper, while Poe simply looked at Uncle Redwing with a cold smile.

"What do you mean sweetie?" Koko said carefully.

"When I was in my head, I was hunted by wendigo who said I was an orphan who should come back. They said that I was hungry. It was scary."

The crowd of tribes folk broke into a mass of jumbled muttering. Uncle Redwing and Mister Poe just stared at each other. Pike looked at Cooper and finally whispered to him, "Coop, don't tell them anything more. Keep it to yourself. We'll deal with this together later."

"Why won't they tell me what's going on?" Cooper whispered back.

Pike said something, but Cooper couldn't hear it, instead the whispers of the wendigo massed around him for a moment again.

"They fear you. They fear your destiny, your heritage, your lineage, who you must become, will become."

"They fear your hunger, for you will devour them. The prey should never raise the predator as their own."

Read Chapter 7 Here

Chapter 5: "No One Expects the Spanish Inquisition!"

2010-01-24T11:44:00.001-08:00

Lana Vershevin stood at the head of a growing crowd of angry Redwing tribe members and stared daggers at Mister Poe- the ghost dealer. Lana was a Freeman by birth and a Vershevin by marriage. She was lighter skinned than most of the Freeman's, showing more of her mother's European heritage. She kept her hair cut in a short neat haircut. Lana liked to keep things under control- especially herself.

Behind Lana were the several members of the Freeman family including Koko and Layla, who was Malika's mother. Also behind Lana was Elder Fergus Wong, Sonya Jenkins, who ran the mill now that her father had passed on, and Edie Finch who was the senior bowyer of the village having learned from her mother an taken up the mantle easily.

Behind Mister Poe was Cooper Redwing- Lana's nephew- and Malika Freeman and Pike Vershevin -Lana's son. Pike and Malika were shaking and calling to Cooper, who was standing motionless behind Mister Poe.

Poe had a bright red bruise on his otherwise translucently pale face, courtesy of the slap Lana had given him when Mister Poe had told Lana that he had given Cooper the traditional hallucinogenic herb peyote to chew on.

Five minutes had passed since Cooper had chewed the peyote and gone eerily silent. In that time Lana had not been silent once as she screamed accusations, threats and insults at the Ghost Dealer. This was what had caused the crowd to gather behind Lana, and this was the reason that even the normally unflappable Poe was now looking a little defensive, having raised his arms in front of his body in the 'calm down' way that parents do when children aren't using their inside voices.

Lana was certainly not using her inside voice.

"You fed my boy a hallucinogenic drug! What were you thinking?" Lana had yelled this before, but seemed to derive some benefit from repeating it, because this was the third time she had repeated this phrase.

Mister Poe faced her with the expression that one uses when dealing with small but potentially rabid terrier- a combination of irritation, caution, frustration and amusement.

"The boy was possessed, he needed to confront the ghost that was travelling with him. And as sensitive as the boy is, he could not do that without help. So I..."

"So you drugged him up and sent him a trip! Because that will cure whatever crazy hoodoo you think he has!" Lana interrupted, her voice rising several octaves as she spoke.

"Child, before the fall peyote was studied and found not to have any long term negative side effects."

"You don't believe anything from before the fall unless it serves your own ideas. Why should I take any of that seriously?"

The crowd behind Lana began to murmur in support, and as Poe looked at the growing crowd of people behind Lana, he even spotted Redwing-Lives-Forever standing and quietly watching. This had become a circus event and he was the clown- not the ring master as he normally preferred.

Poe Looked back at Cooper. The eight year old had not moved. His eyes looked into the distance in and unfocused way, and his arms hung limply by his sides. His mouth was closed and he would occasionally chew on the peyote again. Malika was waving her hand in front of Cooper's eyes, looking for a response. Pike was trying to muss up Cooper's hair and was calling his name.

"The boy is deep into the trance and has entered the spirit world. Whether you object or not, he should be treated with more care and respect than this mob is currently managing to muster."

"He's eight years old! You shouldn't have fed him that stuff. I don't think you can lecture on care and respect after drugging and eight year old boy!"

Lana stepped closer and looked up at Poe so that she wouldn't be yelling into his chest. The Ghost Dealer looked straight down at her and then carefully took a single step back.

Lana stepped closer again.

"I have two boys! My son and my nephew! They are all I was left with, and you don't get to go around endangering them because you think you know better!"

Redwing-Lives-Forever moved slowly through the crowd to where Lana and Poe were facing each other. People stepped aside for Redwing without a word, and the elder moved with the slow deliberate grace of somebody who has lived long enough to feel rushed by nothing.

Lana and Poe noticed the crowd quieting behind them and looked back to see Redwing step out of the crowd.

"Honoured elder." Poe said, with a slight bow.

"Elder Redwing, he's poisoned my son!" Lana said, desperation creeping into her voice.

Poe moved to speak, and Redwing held up a hand.

"Lana, he has drugged your nephew. He has not poisoned him." Redwing then directed his gaze up at the much taller Mister Poe, "I do not think administering hallucinogens to a child is wise. But Poe is correct, to the best of my knowledge, peyote has never been shown to have long term side effects. Still this is my nephew, and this is Lana's nephew as well. His parents are not here. And thus, you should have consulted us who are his closest family before you did this."

The crowd was silent as Poe considered this.

"This needed to be done honoured elder. The Lady Vershevin would never have given approval- no matter the need. I do not know if you would have given approval. This needed to be done. I have consulted the bones. I have listened to the winds. Both have brought me here. This boy has trials ahead of him. Somebody must prepare him for those trials- none of you have had the courage to do so. So I did. You will thank me later."

The crowd murmured at Poe's speech, a ripple of fear and anger.

Redwing spoke again.

"Young man, this is not your tribe and not your people. I appreciate your efforts and your work on our behalf, but do not presume too much."

Poe stiffened, he looked around at the crowd assembled and then pointed a skeletal finger at elder Fergus Wong.

"Fergus! I remember you when we were in the prime of our youth. I was a journeyman away from my teacher for the first time. And you were a young warrior, traumatized by the horrors of conflict with the Winter Wolves. The Wolves had taken and raped your pregnant wife, and then slit her throat and left her for you to find. This broke you Fergus! It would break any man. The Wolves had bound the ghosts of both your wife and unborn daughter onto your soul. None of your tribesmen could heal you or free the spirits. Do you remember what happened?"

The eyes of the crowd turned to look at Fergus Wong. The elder looked at the ground.

"You fed me a tea, took me through a meditation and made me relive their deaths," Fergus choked back tears as he spoke, "You let me say good bye. You helped me move on."

The crowd was deathly silent as Poe continued to speak.

"You Layla Freeman! Three years ago your twin was injured in a battle against the Winter Wolves. He was left crippled, and your little sister was haunted by spirits that would not let her forget that her weapon had dealt one of the blows. Who banished those spirits?"

Layla looked directly at Poe, "You didn't banish any spirits, but you did help her deal with her guilt."

Poe continued.

"You who accuse me, Lana Vershevin! You say these boys are all that you have. Why do you have them in the first place? You were taken from this place, from your tribe and everything you knew. When you were pregnant with Pike, who delivered him into this world? When Cooper's mother was pregnant with him, who brought Cooper into this world in the first place? Think Lana, none of those idiots who passed for midwives or doctors there had a clue how to deal with any complications of birth. Would you have either of the those boys if I had not sought you out?"

Lana's head dropped and she started crying.

"You claim that I presume too much, but I say that this whole tribe presumes too much with regards to that boy." He pointed back at the still quiet Cooper.

"You know the path that will inevitably open before him. You know his heritage, who his parents were, and you have not warned him. Every day he faces this wall of silence and knows that something is wrong. His destiny is already calling him, and if he does not know his history how can you be sure he will make the right choice?"

"He's eight years old!" Layla Freeman said accusingly, "We are simply waiting until he is old enough to understand."

"You can wait, do you think his father will wait much longer? Or do you think that he doesn't know yet? I would not depend upon that hope, if I were you."

Lana had dropped to her knees and was crying into her hands by this point. Pike had run to his mother and was trying to comfort her. Malika was still talking quietly to Cooper in the hopes of waking him.

Redwing looked at Poe quietly, "Very well young man, you make a number of good points. I would consider it a personal favor if you would give Cooper's father incorrect advice regarding his son's location."

"I have done that already honoured elder, but I do not know whether or not he believed me."

Booker Freeman stepped forward. Booker was Lana's brother. Older by a whole generation than his sister, Booker looked terrifying even though he was over sixty years old. At six foot three, Booker was one of the few people who Poe did not tower over. Booker kept his head shaved, both for practical purposes and to show off the tribal scars that ran from the top of his skull down his neck and onto his back. He had another scar, this one not intentional, that arced like a crescent moon under his right eye and across his broad nose. Booker was what warriors dreamed of being when they became elders. Booker wore only the pants and knee high moccasins of the tribe- he didn't bother with a shirt. He weighted almost 250 pounds, and very little of that was fat- even now that he was an elder.

"Mister Poe. My family does not generally believe in your witchcraft. You are a capable surgeon, but your eccentricities make you dangerous. You are dangerous to yourself. If my sister's nephew does not recover, I will have my son Lamont crush your hands on his anvil as payment for your crime."

Booker then stepped past the Ghost Dealer and stood beside Cooper, with a hand gently resting on the boy's shoulder.

Read Chapter 6 Here

Chapter 4: The Arrival of Mister Poe

2010-01-17T12:20:00.000-08:00

The Beginning of the End
From "A History of the 21st Century", by Zithembe Nkosi
Published by ZuluHeart Press, copyright 2120

Our ancestors built a grand global empire. Held together by a massive transportation network, a world wide computer network, and a global agricultural system, everyone in the world was tied to everyone else. Of course, it was not an empire in the sense of the old British Empire- there was not a single ruler, and no single group dictated politics. Recovered documents from that era suggest that most groups though their rival was secretly in control of the empire, but modern historians feel it is more likely that the bureaucrats were in control- and even they likely didn't act out of a sense of the big picture. In a sense, the global empire that dominated the mid and late 20th century and early 21th century ran itself like a mighty headless giant.

At it's height, the giant seemed invincible. And in many ways it was, being able to handle almost any one shock at a time. And so, it was many things all at once that killed the old world order. They should not have happened all at once, but they did. If one of the disasters had not happened or had happened at a different time, the old empire might have survived. I do not know whether this is a curse or a blessing.

In 2020, the Saudi Arabian government admitted that the Ghawar oil field - the largest oil field in the world- was functionally dry. The government admitted that they had concealed the true extent of the field's depletion, and now were unable to extract further oil even with the most advanced drilling methods available. Less than a month later the government was forced to admit that the Safaniya-Khafji Field, which was the country's second largest reserve, was also depleted. The Saudi Royal family lost control of the country in a matter of days following the second announcement, which further damaged the world oil supply.

This alone would have been bad enough- and records recovered from Wall Street computers indicate that the market went into a tail spin from the news- but a record storm season in the Gulf of Mexico had sidelined many offshore drilling operations for heavy repairs. This had become frustratingly common since the start of the 21st century, but together with the collapse of the Saudi Oil industry, the storm season was catastrophic.

The sudden loss of Saudi oil exports put huge pressure on other oil producing countries. Venezuela and Iran both fell quickly to military coups. The Venezuela coup is believed to have been an internal affair, but documents recovered from the site of the former Iranian government indicate that those in power when Iran fell blamed the United States for the coup. Consequently the oil production of both countries collapsed as battles were waged over who would control the flow of oil. Oil prices sky rocketed worldwide.

Saudi Arabia was the third largest supplier of oil to the United States at the time (formerly the second largest, Mexico had surpassed the Saudi's between 2008 and 2009), and the loss of the Saudi field put tremendous stress upon the US economy. Canada and Mexico, the two largest suppliers of oil to the United States struggled to keep up; but with the collapse of the Venezuelan government (the number four oil importer) the US economy was crippled. Driving become an economic impossibility for all but the richest people. airlines went bankrupt beyond even the ability of the government to protect. The Shipping industries ground to a stand still.

The USA sent troops into Kuwait to protect the Burgan field, and effectively annexed Kuwait in the process. Meanwhile the Cantarell field in Mexico, already declining at a rate of around 10% per year, was pushed to the breaking point by increased US demand.

This was the point of no return for the old order. At this point nations could be neatly divided into those who saw the writing on the wall and those who did not. Ironically, those nations who were then poor- and thus had less dependence upon oil- turned out to be in the best position of all.

This was the birth of Africa as part of the first world. It would not come to be for decades yet, but it was here that the winds first changed. As the USA, China, Russia and India fought over the dying scraps of oil, a few African leaders began planning and coordinating the greatest energy project in the history of the world.

This was the beginning of the end for North America as the first world.

* * *

... Twelve Years Earlier
May 4th, 2108

"Read it to me again."

Pike nodded to his brother. Cooper's eyes were closed as he spoke, and Pike knew that Cooper was doing so to concentrate on the colors that he saw when people spoke. Pike was fifteen now, and very close to being a warrior. Cooper was eight and although still unable to read at all- was quickly becoming brilliant in everything that he was allowed to do. Pike had started to cut his hair short and added bear grease to it in the mornings to shape the hair into spikes- a compromise between style and function. He rubbed his palms together and looked at his hands and the snowflakes branded onto his palms. One day he would have to tell Cooper about the what he had learned on his first vision quest- but for now Pike felt he could better protect his little brother by keeping it to himself. The brands still itched from time to time. He had only acquired them two years ago, and was still occasionally surprised when he looked at his hands and saw them there.

The children were sitting on a lightly wooded hill that overlooked the village and trail that led up to village entrance- a small trading post along the side of the road. The trail passed by the Trading Post as it snaked along the hillside heading north, but behind the trading post was a small foot trail that the led to the Edge Village itself.

Malika hung upside down from a tree branch beside the boys, trying to look disinterested. The brothers did not normally let other people watch while they studied. Malika was an exception, because she was Cooper's closest friend beside Pike himself.

Pike looked back to the book and read, "Synesthesia is a neurological disorder that causes the brain to perceive one sense as another. It is common for numbers and letters to seem colored even if they are not, and for sounds to generate colors and shapes before the eyes in people with synesthesia."

Coop was silent. It was a nice day, with a clear sky. But the wind was blowing and so it was a little cooler than normal.

"It said disorder," Coop said," So I'm broken in my brain. That's why I see colors."

That didn't make sense to Malika. Cooper was smart- too smart to have wrong with his brain.

"I think that the book is broken." She said aloud.

"Do yo feel broken?" Pike asked.

"No. Not really. I like the color thing most of the time. I mean, I didn't say that I was broken. The book said that I was broken."

"The book doesn't know anything. It's just a bunch of townee doctors from a hundred years ago."

"But synesthesia doesn't make letters move when you look at them, does it?" Cooper asked.

Pike scanned quickly through the whole section.

"Doesn't look like it."

Malika piped in, "Then maybe the book's wrong like I said. Just dumb townee doctors who don't know anything real."

Cooper shook his head, "It just means there's more than one thing wrong with me."

Pike looked at Cooper," I don't know if having this synesthesia means that anything is wrong. The way you describe it, it sounds like its useful even."

"Its also distracting, and sometimes, if it gets bad, the colors can block my vision."

"Okay, that could be a problem in the midst of battle."

"I get used to it."

Malika swung up to sit on top of the tree branch that she had been handing from, "I guess that's why you like it better being a scout."

Cooper nodded, "Its quieter."

"So how do you know this stuff is real?" Malika asked.

Pike saw Cooper wince and looked at Malika sharply, "It isn't real, that's the whole problem. Coop has at least two things wrong with his brain and how its wired together. One means he sees colors when he hears things, the other one means letters move around when he tries to read them. It's a problem because it means that Coop has to fight his brain to figure out what's real."

"It kind of weirds me out Coop, do you think its going to get worse?" Malika asked.

In answer, Cooper looked at Pike, who looked back down at the book. He scanned carefully for several minutes.

"It doesn't look like it gets worse."

Cooper was silent considering all of this.

"Okay," He said finally, "Let's move on to the memory book."

Pike nodded, " Well I looked at the table of contents already. There's a lot of stuff you already got hunted. The books starts with picture association and mental pegs. It does memory journeys and memory mansions. But they have something here that we've read about but never seen the system for before- the Major System"

Cooper nodded, "It used letters didn't it? We're going to have to adapt it for somebody who can't read."

"Can you use colors instead of of letters?" Malika asked, "I mean if your brain likes colors, shouldn't that make it easier?"

The two boys looked at each other, and Cooper smiled. Finally Pike spoke, "We'll need to read the section first to see."

As the children were struggling with the memory system at tall red capped figure swung around the bend of the trail below and into view. The children looked down at the figure on the path and stopped talking. They were quiet as the tall figure in the red hat and the black cloak swayed gracefully along the trail, a large dog at his side.

Malika spoke first, "It's Mister Poe."

Mister Poe was as tall at the chest as most men were at the shoulders and thin as a daddy longlegs. He wore a red top hat with a snow goose feather in the brim and and a rat skull sewn onto the black ribbon that wrapped around the base of the hat. Mister Poe was dressed otherwise in a midnight black suit that was carefully tailored to his unique frame- although threadbare in the extreme with a few obvious patches made at the elbows that were not quite the right color. He wore a long black wool hooded cloak with a white silk lining. Strange sigils were sewn onto the white lining with iridescent red thread. The cloak too had several conspicuous patches. He carried a long cane that was almost as tall as Cooper himself and had a big gaunt Irish Wolfhound at his side named Charon. Instead of a tie, Mister Poe wore a necklace of delicate bird bones spread out in an eerie sunburst across his chest.

Mister Poe was not a young man. Cooper suspected that he was in his sixties. Mister Poe was entirely devoid of hair and was gruesomely pale, and his translucent skin was pulled tight across his tall frame and face, such that his mouth seemed as though it was rip in his face rather than a natural opening. Poe's face had heavy scarring- a huge horizontal scrape from one side of the temple to the other. The scarring started just above where his eyebrows should have been and ended at his upper lip. The upper lip itself had been heavily ground away by whatever scarred him. His nose had been likewise scraped almost entirely away, adding to Poe's already skeletal appearance. The scarring also left his eyes looking oddly sunken.

Mister Poe walked everywhere. He carried very little, some travel food- jerky, dry rations, coffee grounds, salt, and dried fruit- all wrapped up in a burlap bag hanging at his hip, and a haversack full of his gear and his wares flung over his back. Finally, Poe carried an array of thin and clinical looking knives and scalpels in leather cases within his vest.

Mister Poe was older than most people in the Redwing Tribe, and not fully understood by even them. Uncle Redwing alone seemed comfortable with the old man, and referred to him as a 'fragile shell of a hero who understood too much' when Cooper asked about Poe. Poe was certainly a tribal, he knew the stories of the the free peoples and would tell them whenever he arrived in town. He also told other stories. Stories about far off places like Troy and London and Kyoto and Beijing and Bangkok. These were stories of blood, where the children's DNA sprang from, even if their heritage lay in the tribe.

But as much as Mister Poe liked the stories, this was not Poe's profession. Poe was a ghost dealer. He claimed that he exorcised demons and possessing spirits and purified places tainted by the spirit of the broken gods of Civilization. He was also an excellent doctor and knew more about obscure ailments than anyone in the area, although he had odd ideas about a number of illnesses. Malika's family did not much like Poe- calling him a deluded fool, but most of them still showed him respect to his face. Cooper's Uncle Redwing seemed to pity him, and the rest of the tribe's adults seemed to be somewhat afraid of him.

Poe cured those who seemed beyond help and fixed the most intractable of problems, all through his claimed dealing with ghosts. In his haversack was a collection of glass bottles, filled one quarter with salt and painted with odd symbols that Poe said held captured ghosts. He would- for a price- barter with, bribe, coerce, blackmail or torture his ghosts into helping the living when he arrived in town.

Malika's mother Koko was the most tolerant of the Freeman family regarding Poe. She described the man as equal parts surgeon and witch-doctor, psychiatrist and conman, genius and fool. He was not welcomed into town by most adults, but there was normally somebody who felt that they needed to talk with Poe privately when the tall specter ambled into the village.

The Children watched as Mister Poe walked up to the trading post, nodded gently to Uncle Lamont- now crippled by a badly healed hip- and swung around behind the Trading Post to head up to the Village.

"Let's go see why he's here!" Cooper said, standing up and bolting off before the others could object or agree. Pike was running behind him in a moment.

Malika swung down from the tree calling angrily after the two boys, "No fair, you got a head start."

"I'm little! Deal with it!" Cooper called back without looking.

"Fine then, I will!" Malika pushed herself into a run, her corn row hair bouncing in front of her eyes occasionally. Idly Malika decided that she needed to get a string to tie the rows back for when she became a warrior.

"I'm still going to catch you!" She called out.

"Big talk!" Pike called back.

* * *

When the children ran into the center of the village, Mister Poe was sitting on a log by the communal fire pit throwing what looked like the knuckle bones of a bear onto the ground and staring at them, then scooping them up and throwing them again.

Mister Poe had not yet unpacked his wares, which was strange. He seemed quite preoccupied by the knuckle bones. Pike put a hand on Cooper's shoulder as Cooper moved to approach Mister Poe.

"He isn't all there, remember Coop." Pike said.

"I see dancing letters and floating colors, big bro. I'm not all there either."

"He's creepy Coop. Why do you want to talk to him?" Malika asked.

"Because, he's who you talk to when you can't figure out what's wrong with you."

"Why don't we asked one of the Healers first. We have really good medical training here, you know that." Pike said.

"No! I can't do that. It isn't fair."

"You aren't making sense Coop." Malika said.

"I don't have to. I'm asking him."

Cooper approached the tall figure in the top hat, leaving Pike and Malika standing nervously behind him. He couldn't explain why, but it felt weak to tell the adults. It felt like making an excuse, and admitting that he wasn't normal. He knew he wasn't normal, but he wanted the tribe to think he was at least a little normal. At least normal enough to be part of the tribe. Cooper didn't want to say anything to endanger that.

"Well met young hawk, am I your quarry?" Mister Poe said without turning around.

Cooper jumped and his mind flailed about for a response.

"Umm. I have have a question, if you mean that. And why did you call me a hawk?"

"Cooper hawk, although its the chest that's red not the wing."

"Um, Oh. Redwing is my Uncle's name- he lets me use it."

"Strange to see a blackbird give a hawk a name. But your uncle is blackened by the ash of a hundred years of war and strife, so perhaps he is a hawk too underneath all that black, eh?"

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Better you don't, people who stand under things tend to get crushed by them. What is your question? Or shall I tell you eh?"

"I want to know what's wrong with me. I want to know why I can't read."

Poe turned to face Cooper and then stood up until he towered over the boy. Poe looked Cooper over and then stepped in closer. He crouched in front of Cooper and opened the boy's eyes wide and looked at Cooper's pupils.

"Open you mouth, let me see your tongue."

Cooper stuck his tongue out. Poe made a clicking noise- apparently to himself as he looked at Cooper's tongue.

"They say that you can't read. Why not?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do. All Redwings read. Why don't you?"

"I can't make sense of the letters."

"You said letters and not words. Why?"

"I can't put letters together into words."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

Poe grasped Cooper's shoulders and shook him.

"Yes, you do!"

"No! I don't!"

"You do." Poe said with finality, "You just don't think an adult will believe you."

Poe paused.

"So I'll ask the bones." He twisted like a snake, snatched up the knuckle bones in a single swoop and tossed them at Cooper's feet. Poe examined the bones for roughly a minute and then looked back up a Cooper.

"Letters shift on you, don't they? They move when you try to read them don't they?"

Cooper's mouth dropped open.

"And they change color too." Cooper said quietly.

Poe's eye's widened and then narrowed.

"We'll deal with the colors later. The moving letters mean that you are dyslexic. Depending on how severe your case is, you may be able to learn to read, you may not. Even if you can learn to read, it will be very hard. It's the way you brain is wired."

Cooper shook his head, "So my brain is double broken."

"No! Your brain is not broken! Who told you that? You are simply not meant to learn by reading. You are a wide thinker, a body thinker. Nothing is broken. you simply think in a rare and little understood manner. Nothing in you is broken."

Cooper was silent for a long moment then. He closed his eyes and tried to process this idea. That there was not something wrong with him, but that he was simply a rare type of mind. It appealed to him- this idea that he might be rare and special. But it also made him an outsider, just as the synesthesia did, just as his arrival into the tribe did. More and more, he was a strange visitor. More and more, he was other than everyone else.

"Do you understand?" Mister Poe asked.

"I do, but I don't know if I like it."

"The mark of a brilliant person is the ability to accept uncomfortable truths. Most people prefer to see only what they prefer rather than what is actually true."

"I'm going to be lonely, aren't I?"

Cooper heard a clatter and a spattering of colored triangles flash in the darkness. Realizing his eyes were still closed, Cooper opened his eyes and saw Poe staring at his knuckle bones again. He pointed to spots where the bones touched as he spoke.

"This is the wolf pack. It means that you will have a family to fight beside you. This is sturgeon. It means you will lose something ancient and valuable. This is the spider. It means many things will draw together around you. This is the moon. It means you will lose a woman who loves you."

Cooper stared at the bones, and couldn't see any of the things that Mister Poe Described.

"This is a difficult life, but not a lonely one. Now, we must deal with your haunting."

Cooper looked up into the old man's eye's sharply. "My what?"

"You see colors. This is a classic symptom of ghostly possession."

"No it's not. It means I have synesthesia."

Poe sniffed is disgust. "Such and old city idea. People in the old days would be possessed for a lifetime because they didn't believe in ghosts. You are possessed. The only question of any importance is whether you are possessed by a good spirit or a bad spirit."

Poe uncoiled to his full height and began moving with alarming speed. He had his haversack completely unpacked before Cooper could finish processing Poe's bizarre diagnosis.

"Sit in the center of the circle" Poe instructed. Cooper looked down and saw that Poe had already placed thirteen mason jars with herbs and salts around him in a circle. Intimidated by the larger frenetic man before him, Cooper sat.

"Good now close your eyes." Cooper did so, " Now I want you to clear your mind. We are going to draw your ghost out and you will talk to it. You must find out who it is and what it wants. And you must master it. Even a good spirit is dangerous if it runs lose in your body. It could possess you when you sleep, or say things when you wish to remain silent. You need to show it mastery of yourself. Collect yourself. Are you ready to battle your possessing spirit?"

"Umm. Yes."

"Good, then chew this." Poe placed a small cookie sized thing in his mouth. Cooper began chewing, and discovered that it tasted awful. He wanted to throw up. Then slowly he felt something at the edge of his vision. He wasn't sure if he eyes were still closed. They felt open, but everything was dark except a slight redness at the extreme left and right on his field of vision.

He wasn't even sure if he was still chewing.

The last thing he noticed from the regular world was his Aunt Lana- Pike's Mom- screaming at Poe.

"What did you give to my boy!?"

He heard Poe's answer, although he didn't understand it.

"Peyote. He needed to enter the spirit world."

Then there was a loud sound, like fish's tail slapping the water and the regular world slid away.

Read Chapter 5 Here

Chapter 3: Blue Dragons

2010-01-10T12:00:00.000-08:00

It had been midday when the Winter Wolves launched their attack upon the Redwing Edge Village. It was past midnight now. But most of the villagers were still awake as they waited in the hidden shelters, only the youngest children were sleeping. There was almost no light in each shelter- a traditionally built pit house with a earthen roof to hide it from prying eyes. The fires had long since burned down to embers. The night was still and the smothering black-blue color of an oil slick.

Cooper was not asleep.

Pike was not asleep either. The older boy was sitting cross-legged by the glowing embers of the fire sharpening his knife. He had been sharpening his knife for over an hour, but Cooper wasn't about to say anything to his half-brother. Before sharpening his knife, Pike had spent two hours unpacking and repacking his belt kit. When Cooper had asked- well into the first hour- what Pike was doing, the only response had been a string of distracted mutterings.

Cooper understood. Pike needed to think about something else. Earlier Fergus Wong- one of the elders present in the shelter- had told the story of the Oil Barons War. And he had told the long version, the epic poem version that took three hours to tell. It was a good story with a strong group of villains and good heroes and even a good ending.

Cooper understood the need to not look at things that were painful. But as much as Cooper understood, he didn't share the need. For as long as he could remember, Cooper had wanted to stare at challenges and not step away. His Aunt Koko, had told Cooper that he used to stare at the sun as a toddler, and had to be told repeatedly not to do so.

Some adults would still tell him not to stare at the sun, when he was persisting in trying to do something past when it was a good idea.

Cooper couldn't help it. It was in his nature.

"Know Thyself," was the first command given to the children of the Redwing Tribe. Children were to taught to question what they knew and what they did and why they did from the earliest ages. The Tribe's nursery rhymes were questions. Most of the stories taught to children under the age of five were about Munin the raven, and most of them were about self knowledge versus group knowledge and tradition. Munin taught the tribe to question everything.

Cooper worked very hard to know himself. One day he would be an important part of the tribe. One day he would be able to protect people and responsible for the safety of the tribe. So Cooper worked hard at everything he did. And that meant that he spent a great deal of time studying who he was.

He knew how much sleep he needed in order to feel rested. He knew how fast and how far he could run. He knew how far he could throw and under what conditions. He knew what food his body worked the best on and how different activities changed things. He knew what made him angry and what made him sad, although knowing these things didn't allow him to manage his emotions as flawlessly as he had first hoped. He knew what he knew and he attempted to keep track of what he didn't know.

Aunt Layla said that Cooper was born an elder. Uncle Redwing said that Cooper had the eyes of an immortal.

This was who Cooper understood himself to be. He wasn't the fastest. He wasn't the strongest. He wasn't the most knowledgeable. He didn't take naturally to many of the skills of the tribe- although he could do them. Cooper was not naturally good at anything as far as he could tell, except thinking. Cooper was a thinker and a learner. This was who he saw himself to be.

He could learn. He could break down what he knew and what he didn't know. He could determine what was needed and how he needed to go about learning those things.

Reading still intimidated him, and Malika didn't let him forget it. Her taunts irritated Cooper. The letters didn't sit still on the page. They shuffled around like children lining up for a meal, and they even changed color. Cooper didn't mind the color changes. He was used to color changes in his vision. Cooper saw colors at the edge of his vision when he heard certain sounds, those happened a lot and he could interpret what they meant. The shuffling letters frustrated him. He had found other ways of learning though. He had learned memory tricks from the elders and used them excessively. Pike helped Cooper in this, reading too the younger boy so that Cooper could listen and sort the information into packages that he could remember.

He would rather have been a warrior, or a leader, but he didn't seem to fall naturally into those things. He could learn them, but he was not them. No matter what he learned, it would not come naturally.

Cooper was intent on learning now. In the gloom of the pit house, as the people around him consoled each other and dealt with their grief in their own ways, Cooper sought to learn- to teach himself and know himself.

He was five years old. Once he hit puberty he could begin to undertake the warrior tests and become a man. Most people became warriors by the age of seventeen. Cooper was determined to do it before he was fifteen. He was certain that he would have hit puberty by then. He couldn't be sure when it would hit. The minimum age a child was allowed to take the tests was thirteen. Very few people become warriors before the age of fifteen. That was not a lot of time. Cooper couldn't add above 100 easily yet. But he could add five and five and five together to get fifteen. He was five now, that left five and five years- just ten years- to be ready for the warrior tests. And so he sought to know himself.

He had panicked at the sight of Rikki's body. He had frozen and only Pike's declaration that he would not leave without Cooper had snapped the younger boy out of his panic. Cooper didn't like this. It was something that he would have preferred not to have to learn about himself. Rikki was already dead. People died, especially when at war. His panic and shock had endangered living people around him, and the reaction did not help Rikki- who was already dead. Rikki had been Cooper's friend, but Cooper had been unable to do anything to help Rikki. And his reaction after was even less helpful.

So that was something to work on. Don't freeze, don't stop, don't panic.

His aim had been off when he had sought to help Aunt Koko and Uncle Lamont with the rock he had thrown. He would need to practice his throws further. His aim hadn't been off by much, but it had been off by enough.

So that was something to work on. Get better, don't let down your family, practice more.

Pike had brought Cooper out of his shock by appealing to the mutual loyalty the boys shared for each other. That was good, Cooper could use that. He would work on remembering that. He would work on keeping that in his mind to drive him to action.

Cooper stood up. he walked over to one of the narrow openings that served as doors in the shelter and sat down. He looked around at the pit house. There had been no sounds of gun fire for hours now. The adults were largely talking to children and trying to console them. Cooper knew that there were two guards outside the pit house hidden in the trees watching and listening.

Cooper also knew that he did his best thinking alone.

He moved slowly, trying not to make a sound, practically hugging the ground until he was outside the pit house. Once outside, he continued his inchworm movement into the trees and up to where he knew was a hill with a good view of the sky. He could feel grass and moss against his belly as he undulated along the ground. Cooper knew that there was very little chance that the Winter Wolves were still in the area. The remaining adults had not returned, but the alarm horn had sounded a pursuit call roughly two and a half hours ago. So both the adults and the Winter Wolves were not likely to be nearby. But Cooper was still nervous. There might still be raiders around, in hiding. And if an adult caught him outside, Cooper knew he would be in trouble.

But he needed to talk to the sky. Uncle Redwing talked about spirits of the earth. Great Uncle Luther and his children always claimed that there was no such thing as spirits. Cooper wasn't sure, but thought he should be polite just in case. Beside that, it helped to talk to something as vast and eternal as the sky.

As he inched out of the trees, Cooper looked up and almost gasped. The aurora borealis was twisting through the night sky, sea greens and deep blues hanging above the earth. Aunt Koko had said that the aurora was made when bits of the sun came loose and burned up as they entered earth's air. Uncle Redwing said they were the dance of the spirits. Pike said that he had heard that the aurora was the sky writing of dragons. Pike swore that the color was how he knew which type of dragon it was that had left the aurora. Blues and greens were left by the Northern Dragon, also called the Great Norwegian Blue. Cooper had heard adults talk about the Norwegian Blue Dragon, and had not decided if they were trying to trick the children or being serious.

Still, Cooper was impressed. Maybe, if there was a Great Blue Dragon, the Dragon had left its writings in the sky to honor the dead of the Redwing Tribe. Cooper felt a little silly when he thought this. But he also felt a little better, after he thought it.

If even the sky can honor the dead, Cooper decided, then he could as well.

He spoke quietly to the sky, "I don't know if you are real, I think it would be nice if you were. I hope you don't mind if I don't know for sure if I believe in you."

"I lost my cousin Rikki today. He died. He wasn't just my cousin. He was my friend. And I couldn't help him at all. And I cried, and I almost hurt by brother too. And my Uncle got hurt really bad. He hasn't come to the shelter yet. I think he might be in the medical hut, but I don't know for sure. I don't want to have somebody else die today. But I don't get to choose that. And I'm scared, and I don't want to be scared. I'm going to take the warrior test one day, and then I'll be a warrior. A warrior has to fight and defend the tribe and people around him die, like friends who are warriors too. I get scared. But, they're my family. My Mom and Dad aren't here. I don't know who they are even. The adults won't tell me, but I think something bad happened to them. So I don't know who my Mom and Dad are, but they let me stay here. And they like me here, and its almost like I belong here. So I want to prove them right. I want show them that I do belong here, that I am part of the Redwing tribe. I'm not theirs, they didn't have to take me, but they did. And I have to pay them back. I owe them that, for letting me have a home. I have to look after them. I have to look after Pike, 'cause he looks after me. I have to look after Malika and I have to look after Uncle Redwing, because he's really old. I kind of want help, because sometimes it seems like I'm all alone, and I'm not alone, because everyone is always around- but I feel lonely anyways. I don't want to be alone."

The sky looked down at Cooper, dark and open. Cooper could see constellations, the False King's plow, the rabbit Martagas, the great serpent, the wolf Gygas. Cooper watched the the trails of the aurora and was quiet for a long time. The sky was a good listener, but rarely offered obvious advice.

"You're going to get in trouble if the grown ups find you out here." Malika hissed from behind him. Her words caused a burst of deep blue lines to snake across his vision.

Cooper didn't turn around, but noted that he needed to work on paying attention to sounds.

"You'll get in trouble now too, you know."

"Why are you out here?" Malika asked as she shuffled in beside him, nuzzling against him as she did so.

"I needed to be alone and think."

"I'm sorry." She said quietly.

"It's okay, I think I'm done now."

"Elder Fergus is telling the story of the Seven Siblings now."

"I know the story, none of them were orphans."

"We don't know your parents are dead."

"Something happened to them or Uncle Redwing would have told me."

Malika was quiet for a long time at this point. She was quiet for so long that Cooper started to wonder if she was okay. Finally she spoke again in a small voice.

"It doesn't feel like Rikki's dead."

Cooper considered this. Rikki certainly felt dead to him. But Cooper had seen Rikki dead on the trail, and wasn't sure if Malika had seen this as well.

"It doesn't feel fair that he's dead," Cooper finally answered.

"It isn't fair! Rikki wasn't a warrior yet. Why would you attack us? We're kids! It doesn't prove anything if you kill us. That guy was a total loser coward! He wasn't a tribal, he was a total townee! No tribal would attack kids like that."

Cooper noticed that Malika was crying. She was quiet about her crying, but when she tried to hide a sniffle or control a hiccup the color of her words changed.

"It isn't fair. But I'm going to make sure its not fair for them either. I'm going to be a warrior."

Malika wiped her nose and nodded, "Me too, and I'm going to make all the Winter Wolves pay for all of us they killed."

Cooper could feel the pain of seeing Rikki's body rising up in him. He found himself wanting to cry. Cooper didn't like crying in front of people. He tried to hold the tears back, but the best he could manage was to cry quietly beside Malika.

They were quiet then, crying softly beside each other. Then Cooper's thoughts got the best of him. He didn't mean to say anything out loud, but suddenly he was saying it anyway.

"I don't want to be alone." He whispered, and instantly wished he could take it back.

Malika looked at him in surprise, "Coop, you're Redwing Tribe. None of us are ever alone."

Cooper couldn't talk for a long time after this. The emotions were too strong.

"The grown ups are going to kill us if they catch us out here." he said finally.

"Yeah," Malika agreed.

Neither of them moved.

* * *

PIke sat before the fire, sharpening his knife. He hadn't actually been sharpening the blade for quite some time. He was aware of the damage that his constant filling against the blade was doing on some level, but it didn't matter to Pike at the moment. Pike didn't want to think about Uncle Lamont and the man's broken hip bone. He didn't want to think about Uncle Lamont's knife wound- inflicted accidentally by Aunt Koko. But Pike really didn't want to think about his cousin Rikki.

The event had happened so fast and so slow at the exact same time. One moment the path ahead of the children was empty, the next moment a pitch black giant was looming ahead of the children and firing two guns. Pike remembered seeing RIkki freeze- his mouth open. Pike remembered grabbing RIkki, and he remembered dragging RIkki to the cover of a tree as the children around them scattered. Pike could remember how slow it had seemed, and how desperately they needed to move quickly. The event had seemed to occur in a nightmare where molasses wrapped around his ankles and slowed him down to prolong the horror.

Pike remembered all of this. Pike could remember looking down at RIkki once Pike and Rikki had reached the tree. And then? And then Pike couldn't remember anything. It wasn't until PIke found himself staring at Cooper frozen on the road that Pike could remember anything again. Pike couldn't even remember what he said, or what his little brother had been looking at, although in both cases PIke knew what he couldn't remember- at least on some level.

Pike also knew that he had to deal with this. He was being eaten by a slow creeping amnesia. He could feel it. Any time he got close to a memory that might draw up... then it changed and he couldn't remember that either. Pike could feel his sense of self trying to drown itself to hide from the pain. Pike couldn't allow that.

His Mom needed him and Cooper needed him. His Mom could maybe get by on her own- she was strong. Pike could vaguely remember her fleeing from the dangers that one night with him and baby Cooper in tow. He couldn't remember who or what they were running from, and he suspected that these memories too had been buried by some survival mechanism to help him go on. His Mom would be okay, PIke thought, Cooper wouldn't be so good.

Cooper was smart. Most Redwing children began to read around five years old. Pike knew that this was considered early elsewhere and he liked that. Cooper was therefore a slow reader. The grown ups thought this mean Cooper wasn't quite as sharp as the others. Pike knew better. He read to Cooper and knew how much his brother could memorize and learn and keep and even sometimes improve on- already at five. Cooper said the letters would move on him. Pike didn't know why this was, but he believed his brother. So Cooper was smart, very smart. But he was little- even for his age. And he would never be able to read if the letters didn't stop moving on him. Cooper was fast. But being little and feeling as though he had to help everyone, Cooper was always getting in over his head. And PIke was certain that no matter how good Cooper got at what he did, and Pike suspected Cooper would get good at virtually anything except reading, Cooper would still end up in over his head. It wasn't hard to notice- Cooper headed for deep waters every time. Without Pike there to pick up the slack, Cooper would be in trouble.

Pike wasn't going to let Cooper down. Mom and Cooper were all Pike had. During the scary weeks when they were fleeing the dangers, Pike's mom had always stressed that it was her job to look after Pike and Pike's job to look after Cooper. Pike had taken that seriously and never forgotten it. If something happened to him, there would be nobody who knew Cooper well enough to look after him and keep up with him.

And so, Pike had to find a way to beat this overwhelming devouring amnesia that was stealing any memory that might... be bad from him.

"Rikki." He said the name aloud to test the results. It hurt him mind, because he could feel the guilt and the loss and pain pushing at the edge of his mind. He could feel another part of his mind trying to steal the word to protect him.

"Rikki is dead." He said, still quietly.

"I didn't kill Rikki. I tried to save him. But because I tried to save him I almost didn't save Cooper." This worked for him. His need to be there for Cooper was more powerful than his guilt over Rikki's death. If he looked through the eye's of Coop's big brother, he could deal with his failure as Rikki's cousin. Rikki didn't matter, because RIkki could not save Cooper. This wasn't a good way to look at things, on some level Pike knew this, but he could think about things through this lens. His mother mattered, and Cooper mattered, nothing else was worth worrying about. Through this lens Pike could manage himself again. his world contracted in other ways as he got used to this lesson, but that was acceptable.

Pike looked up and around the darkened. He paused.

"Elder Fergus. Where are Cooper and Malika?"

Read Chapter 4 Here

Chapter 2: The Scars of History

2010-01-03T10:23:00.000-08:00

The alarm horn echoed through the dense trees of the Pacific Northwestern forest. As soon as the alarm horn had sounded, everyone began moving. Cooper and Pike and the other children in the Soccer field clearing immediately began running for the hidden shelters. Adults already carrying weapons ran in the direction of the alarm horn. Unarmed adults ran for their weapons. Those adults on guardian duty ran alongside the children collecting stray youngsters who hadn't learned what the alarm horn meant.

As Cooper ran he could hear the sounds of battle. He could hear a lot of gunshots. The Redwing tribe didn't use firearms unless the other side did as well, firearms and ammunition were hard to get a hold of these days- especially for the tribes of the Great Alliance. Cooper was certain that this meant the attacking force was a city folk force. He was almost certain that it was the Winter Wolves. They knew Redwing territory better than any outside group.

This was a edge village, one designed to be found-by traders and raiders alike- and thus protect the hidden central village where food was grown and most of the tribe lived. Edge villages were populated by dedicated warriors and their families- people willing to act as a human barrier for the rest of the tribe. Cooper was scared now that he was faced the reality of an attack, but also very proud to be one of the people living in an edge village.

The Winter Wolves had been a tribe once, and still claimed that they were to all who would listen. They had even been part of the Great Alliance. The Great Alliance was not the only tribal group in the Pacific Northwest. Many other groups had opted to avoid civilization after the horrors of the collapse. And many of those groups that survived had opted to stick with the quieter existence offered by a less technologically complicated existence. Inevitably these groups came into conflict with city folk as the latter tried to expand and re-establish the roads and farms and vast networks of resource extraction needed to maintain any large industrial population center. Cities didn't trust tribals and tribals didn't trust cities.

It was mostly a clash of ideology- the ideology of progress versus the ideology of simplicity. The Winter Wolves followed the ideology of power. Cooper understood the need to acquire a certain amount of power- enough to protect one's self, one's family and one's tribe. What Cooper didn't understand was the desire for power over others. Cooper had learned a fair amount of the tribe's history and the history of life before the collapse. Leaders had built great cities on the backs of everyone else- human and non-human alike. Cooper knew this was the way of the False King, the dark tempting force that offered short term power in exchange for long term poverty. The False King's deal was simple- you take from the generations of the future in exchange for power and luxury in your own generation. The city folk followed this bargain, but most didn't seem to realize it. The Winter Wolves seemed wholly devoted to it. It made Cooper sick.

Cooper had been allowed to go with his Uncle Redwing to an Alliance Council meeting at the Summer Solstice, and the Winter Wolves had sent a party to the meeting. The council had not thrown them out, as his Uncle had requested, but had also not allowed the Winter Wolves to have a vote. They were on probation- too many complaints had been made against them and too many suspicious things happened along their borders.

An attack like this, in broad daylight with guns, was against the code of the council. Tribes frequently had disputes. If those disputes couldn't be settled by conversation, then the tribes would raid each other. But tribes generally raided at night, and normally with only short staves as weapons. This would prove who were the better warriors without the need for armed wars- the point could be made without bloodshed. The Winter Wolves seemed to love bloodshed and were experts at creating situations where they needed to 'defend' themselves.

"Come on little cousin" Koko Freeman-Singh said, snapping Cooper out of his thoughts. He looked at Malika's mother, nodded and picked up the pace. As he ran, he fingered his belt knife. At five he was only just allowed to start carrying a tool knife. It would be eight years before he was allowed to carry anything large enough to be an effective weapon.

Ahead of him Pike and Rikki had drawn their belt knives and quickly concealed them by palming them with the meat of their thumbs and keeping their palms facing their bodies. Other older children had done likewise. Cooper knew how to do the palm in theory, but his hands weren't big enough to pull the trick off, and so he left his knife in its sheath. He hated being little, and he hated feeling helpless.

As the group ran, weaving in and out of the trees and heading for the shelters, Cooper heard the crack of a firearm ahead of them. Children at the front of the group screamed. Cooper strained to see over the crowd, but he was too short. Instead the five year old worked his way around to the left to see what was happening at the front of the line.

A monster of a man had charged the group and was firing a pair of nine millimeter pistols at the assembled children and their protectors. He was clad in full body Kevlar with a black snowflake inside a wolf paw print blazoned on his chest. Fear and adrenaline ran through Cooper and he instinctively dropped to the ground to minimize the size of the target he presented. Ahead of him he could see that several children and an adult had been hit by the bullets the attacker was firing- three people in all. Cooper wanted to cry, but he also wanted to live. The tribe's teaching had been clear on this. There is nothing wrong with fear and there is nothing wrong with grief, but don't die because of them. Cooper sought the the shelter of the nearest tree for cover and watched as most of the children did likewise. A few of the really little ones didn't and adults were hauling them along as the little ones screamed and cried in panic. Cooper was focusing on not panicking, repeating a mantra to ward off total surrender to fear.

"When I am older I will fix this. When I am older I will fix this."

He could see Pike dragging an injured Rikki behind a tree as well, their knives discarded in the middle of the trail. Cooper noted that even Rikki and Pike hadn't been big enough to do anything about the attacker. On the other hand Pike had probably saved Rikki's life- and that was something.

The attacker was now grappling with Aunt Koko and her brother Lamont. Uncle Lamont and Aunt Koko weren't armed except for their machetes and Lamont didn't have his out of its sheath. His Uncle probably hadn't taken the time to draw his machete, Cooper realized, before rushing the attacker. Lamont had put himself in harm's way, even at a disadvantage, to save Cooper and the other children. Auntie Koko had her machete out, Cooper thought he remembered it in her hand when she had spoken to him- but he wasn't sure. The machete was helping significantly in the struggle. The attacker had dropped one of his guns to grasp Koko's wrist in an attempt to keep the blade from killing him. Lamont had both arms wrapped around the gun the attacker still held and was fighting the larger man, trying to prying the gun loose without letting the gun point at the children or himself.

They weren't far away, Cooper realized. Closer than the goal had been. In fact, now that he was thinking calmly, Cooper realized there were within his accurate throwing distance. His Aunt and Uncle weren't gaining any ground on the attacker and the free gun was still very dangerous. Cooper knew what he was considering was dangerous, and that there were risks involved. But Cooper wasn't going to let any tribe members -especially his Aunt and Uncle- fight alone.

He cast around for a weapon, something he could throw. There was his knife, but he wasn't willing to risk the consequences of accidentally injuring his Aunt and Uncle with a badly thrown knife. He just needed something that would distract the attacker. He picked up a stone from the ground. The stone was round and polished and clearly very old. It was a little small, but close enough that Cooper felt it would do the trick.

He stepped out from the behind the cedar tree and watched the struggle for a moment more. Watching the flow of the fight, Cooper tried to guess how much the attacker would move. Then he saw the attacker twist his hip and kick into Uncle Lamont's stomach. And he saw his Uncle lose his grip on the attacker's gun hand.

Cooper knew he couldn't wait any longer. He stepped and threw, aiming for the faceplate on the Kevlar armor the man wore. The stone arced threw the air and knocked loudly off the helmet top of the attacker. Cooper winced in frustration at his aim. In the next second the attacker turned his face and gun towards Cooper and Lamont Launched himself bodily into the attacker. Cooper dove behind the tree and heard three gunshots as he did and the unmistakable wet chopping sound of a machete carving through flesh and bone. There was a pause and then two more wet chops.

And then there was silence.

Cooper counted to ten and then looked at the site of the confrontation. As he did so, he could hear Koko calling for help.

"Medic! I need a Medic!" She cried.

Cooper stared in horror at the situation. Uncle Lamont lay prone on the attacker. He had a large gash in his left leg and he was bleeding from a gunshot wound in his hip. The Attacker was twitching beneath him, his neck almost separated from his body by an awful ragged cut that split the attacker's face width-wise just above the lower jaw. The attacker's helmet and face plate were a few metres away from the body, and the blood on the face plate made Cooper think that the face plate and helmet had been knocked loose by the first machete blow.

A moment later a medic ran into the clearing. Cooper could still hear the sound of gun shots off in the direction of the main camp. This wasn't over yet. Cooper was pretty sure that the attacker had stumbled upon the children by chance, but that didn't mean that they were safe.

As if reading his mind, Koko stood up and faced the children and the adults who were again shepherding them onto the trail.

"Children, I know you're afraid. This has been a very scary day. I need you to be brave, to be good warriors and look out for each other like Pike and Cooper did just now. I need all of you to be strong."

Cooper felt uncomfortable with the praise. he wasn't sure he had helped and wasn't sure he hadn't been the reason that his Uncle was shot.

His Aunt continued, "We need to hurry now children, I need you to be fast and quiet. I now you're scared. And if you need to cry when we get to shelters, you can cry- even warriors are allowed to cry, but you must wait until we reach the shelter."

Cooper nodded, as much to himself as to his Aunt, and fell into line as the group began to move towards the shelters again. He saw most of the other children doing similar. Most of the children were able to deal with such situations by age five or six. One of the realities of the Redwing tribe was that you were always at war.

The Winter Wolves craved power and luxury, but they would not get this from destroying the Redwing tribe, and yet the Winter Wolves had been at war with the Redwing tribe for decades. No adult had ever explained the reason for the war to Cooper in a way that satisfied him.

Cooper understood why the Redwing tribe was at war with the Winter Wolves. They were a tribe who had decided to follow the path of the False King. This alone meant that they must be expelled from the Great Alliance. They were constantly attacking the Redwing Tribe. Cooper understood why his tribe was at war with the Winter Wolves, what made no sense to him was why the Winter Wolves would seek to attack the most secretive and deliberately ascetic of the tribes. The Winter Wolves gained nothing that they seemed to value from this war, not power, not useful land, not influence. Indeed, the war had cost the Winter Wolves influence and power as they had to spend much of both in the war effort. So why would the Winter Wolves go to war and remain at war with a people from whom they could not plunder anything useful?

Looking back Cooper saw that the group was leaving Aunt Koko and the medic behind as the two tended to Uncle Lamont. Neither smiled, and Cooper was not encouraged by the look of agony on his Uncle's face.

Then Cooper saw Rikki's body. Rikki "Slow Train" Singh, lay prone on the ground. His eye's looked glassy and Cooper could now see that a gun shot wound had punched through his cousin's neck like a pick axe blow. Cooper gasped and dropped to his knees.

He could feel tears on his cheeks. His mind was reeling. This was war, this happened in war. This was the Winter Wolves' fault! he had to get up. He had to be strong!

But he couldn't.

A moment later, or maybe and hour (he couldn't be sure), he heard Pike's voice.

"Come on little brother, I'm not losing you too." Pike hiccuped as he spoke. Cooper looked back and up at his half-brother. Pike was crying too, and his voice was ragged when he spoke.

"Come on Cooper. I can't run if I have to carry you and I'm not leaving you behind."

That did it. Cooper clenched his hands into fists until his nails dug into his palms. The pain helping him focus. He hauled himself to his feet and grabbed Pike for support. Together they ran. Cooper could still see Rikki in his mind, laying on the forest floor. The gaping hole in the boy's throat and the unnatural angle at which his head lay tore at Cooper's heart. He could his Uncle Lamont as well, the man's hip shattered and leg cut open from the battle. But he kept running.

"One day I'm going to fix this big brother. When I'm a warrior, this war is going to end."

Pike looked down sharply, and Cooper realized how fierce and angry his voice had become.

"The laws of Gygas say we can destroy the guys who follow the False King, that it's the only way." Cooper reiterated.

Pike spoke as they ran, "Some adults say we used to be friends, you know. I don't know how. None of the adults will talk about how it started."

"I was never friend with them! I don't care how it started. I just want it to stop."

Read Chapter 3 Here

Book 1 The Tale Cooper Redwing

2009-12-26T23:21:00.000-08:00

The History of the Pacific Northwest
From "A History of the 21st Century", by Zithembe Nkosi
Published by ZuluHeart Press, copyright 2120

The roots of the Coast Mountain range that acts as a border for the Democratic Republic of Oregon rest one hundred million years in the past, in the Late Cretaceous period. It was then that the land began to awaken and volcanoes began to form. The great tectonic plates of the Pacific ocean began to press against North America. As the great Kula and Farallon plates pushed beneath the continental plates, the edge of the continental shelf was pushed upwards forming the great Coast Mountain arc of what would eventually be Western North America.

It was this great natural barrier, combined with the protection and trade advantages offered by the Pacific Ocean that allowed the Democratic Republic of Oregon to form in the years after the Great Collapse, and those same natural wonders that allowed the DRO to survive the War of the Oil Barons, which pitted the early Oil Baronies- still rich in energy and technology against the all out lying areas with arable land. It was the Coast Mountains that afforded the DRO geographic protection necessary for them to leverage their position as the primary trading partners with the surviving Asian nations.

As time passed, and the multi-racial population of the DRO began to merge beliefs, nobody was surprised when the Coast Mountains themselves were named as a Kami- or great nature spirits- by the Unified Church of Healing which emerged as the standard religion of the region.

Respect for the Coast Mountains is found everywhere today in the culture of the DRO. Most politicians begin their speeches by giving thanks to the mountains and the sea- generally in that order. Even in Victoria, the infamously independent 'free port', visitors can see great wall murals of the Coast Mountain Range.

The Mountains serve as a diplomatic zone today as well. All Meetings with the Republic of Northern Territories or the Oil Baronies are held at Council Pass, the site of the Pre-Collapse toll both on the Coquihalla Highway, rebuilt in 2089.

Any storyteller speaking of the DRO would find it very hard to tell their story without paying their respects in story to the Mountains that are the father and the protector to the six or so million people who live within DRO territory.

The DRO was founded in 2040- fourteen years after the collapse of most North American Nations- when the more powerful villages and surviving cities in the region banded together for mutual benefit and protection. The Democratic Republic of Oregon was designed to maintain the independence that many of the communities had developed during the intervening years since the collapse. The Republic still operates as a collection of communities, some cities, some farming collectives, some villages, some large ranches, each with a representative from the community and a single vote- and decisions have to pass with an eighty percent majority. Larger communities have no extra weight, but the Republic itself only has the right to convene on matters of collective defense. Everything else is decided at the local level. The capital of the DRO is the walled city of Astoria, in what was originally Oregon state.

Astoria was a town of about ten thousand people when the collapse occurred. A local resident and librarian, Virginia Marshall, managed to convince the city to begin preparing for a large scale governmental collapse when the oil markets fell apart in 2020 after the fall of the Saudi Arabian royal family. by 2026, the town had food reserves, an official militia, independent partial electrical supply and was far better prepared for the chaos that ensued than most cities. When the United States Government did collapse, the town elected to build a medieval style wall around the town as defense against the already burgeoning bandit population. Astoria is now a prosperous city state of nearly forty-five thousand people.

Astoria built their reputation by sending help to other communities. The didn't send food (they didn't have extra), but rather education and training. They helped communities rebuild infrastructure. They trained teachers and nurses and medics and farmers. They set up a system of alerts to warn neighboring cities of bandit armies or hordes of looters. It was from this start that the seed of what would become the Democratic Republic of Oregon grew within the confines of the Pacific Northwest.

DRO is, in essence, a large assortment of strangers who have agreed to circle the wagons against outside threats. But inside threats exist as well. Not everyone who lives within the territory claimed by the DRO is under DRO protection or control. The Squamish Nation has lived on the land that lies between The Vancouver City State and Whistler County for as long as anyone can remember. They made agreements with the DRO, and tolled DRO citizens when they passed through Squamish territory, but they have always maintained their diplomatic distance. Likewise, to the north, the island of Haida Gwaii (the Queen Charlotte Islands) is once again an independent nation- who occasionally raids the coast line as they did hundreds of years ago. To most people living in the Northern half of the DRO, the Haida are the bogeymen and the stuff of nightmares.

Seattle is also not associated with the DRO. Seattle was built on a swamp, and during the great collapse an earthquake decimated the city's foundations. The once prosperous city suffered the fate of many large cities- abandonment. In the years following its abandonment, Seattle was claimed by a warlord calling herself Lilith. Leading a horde she called "The Demon Children", Lilith lined the city with corpses on spears and practiced human sacrifice. In the chaos between the initial collapse and the rebuilding that began near the end of the century, Seattle was a place other community leaders simply didn't have he resources to deal with appropriately. By the time leaders were willing to turn their eyes towards 'the Demon City', Lilith and her group had become well entrenched both militarily and culturally. Lilith, it seemed, was quite a leader beneath her ghoulish exterior. And so Seattle- The Demon City- was denied a seat in the DRO council. The City sits like a tumor near the geographic center of the DRO and is the elephant in the room that few council members like to mention at meetings.

Another ongoing problem for the DRO is the ongoing blood feud between DRO member: Fort Winter Wolf, and the non-DRO member: The Redwing Tribe. The feud has been going since before Fort Winter Wolf was even a DRO member, more than fifty years. There is no love lost between the two sides, particularly amongst the leaders. Whatever the cause of the feud was, neither side was sharing with outsiders. But both sides were certainly enlisting the aid of outsiders. Fort Winter Wolf has expanded its influence in the DRO council by forming an unofficial alliance with nearby members to create an unofficial voting block. Other members have whispered that Fort Winter Wolf actually conquered these members covertly, but nothing has ever been proven. The Redwing Tribe was one of the founding members of a group that called themselves the Great Alliance. Including many of the first nations groups and other groups that had embraced a less technological solution to the collapse, the Great Alliance is hard to find, and harder to talk to- but its members run as far east as the Rocky Mountains- outside even the control of the DRO. Some sources claim that Fort Winter Wolf was once a member of the Great Alliance, but this is disputed by multiple other sources.

The Great Alliance has no leader, but the founder of the Redwing tribe was as close to a leader as one could get during the 21st century. His name was Redwing-lives-forever, and although he was not chief or king or president, when he spoke it carried more weight than when others spoke. Redwing had no children of his own, but most outsiders believed that his unofficial successor would be his nephew Cooper Redwing.

* * *

This is his story.

Chapter 1: The Meaning of Prophecy

Fifteen Years Earlier...
August 2nd, 2105

Cooper gave the soccer ball a sharp kick, sending the ruddy brown leather ball tumbling towards his half brother Pike. The ball bounced along the pockmarked field towards towards the older taller boy. The ball had nearly reached Pike when his cousin, Malika Singh, darted in like a dark blur and snatched the ball from its course and took off running.

"No little kids allowed on the field!" She called back at Cooper as she ran.

"I'm not little! I'm five now!" Cooper called back in frustration at his cousin.

Pike broke into his usual loping run, an odd animal-like trot that looked slow until the watcher saw how much ground Pike was covering with every step.

"If little kids aren't allowed, then I'm going to evict you until you turn at least ten." Pike called as he rapidly closed the distance between the two."

"No!" Malika called back, "Five is little, eight isn't little!"

Cooper struggled to keep up. He'd been playing soccer since he could walk, and could run practically forever, but Pike could run faster than anyone Cooper had ever seen- even most adults. Malika wasn't terribly fast for an eight year old, but she was noticeably taller at eight, and had longer legs than Cooper. Still Cooper could sprint very well for his age, running was a highly praised skill amongst most of the tribes of the Great Alliance. Horse ownership was rare, and car ownership was almost unheard of amongst the tribes. Elder Janet Pattinson still owned an old electric car that she had to keep plugged into a waterwheel full time just to use it once a month in emergencies. In the tribes, running was freedom. If you couldn't run, then you were unable to travel.

Cooper didn't like being last. He didn't like being left behind. It made him feel like an outsider, and he felt like that too often anyway. People were nice to him, but he hadn't been born here, and he didn't have a Mom or a Dad here. He called Pike's Mom: 'Auntie Lana', but she wasn't really his Aunt. Pike and Cooper had the same Dad, but their Dad didn't live here. Pike didn't talk about that to Cooper. Even Pike didn't talk about their mutual father, though Pike told Cooper almost everything else. And so, even though people were nice here, Cooper often felt like an outsider. Cooper didn't like feeling like an outsider. He pushed into a sprint and began to close the distance between himself and the spot of grass where Malika and Pike were struggling for control of the soccer ball.

Pike noticed Cooper closing and winked at his little half-brother. Cooper grinned and nodded back. Pike was twelve, a whole seven years older than Cooper and seemed so much smarter and cooler than Cooper himself. Cooper thought though, that Pike felt a little like an outsider too. It gave the two boys a strong bond. Cooper idolized his big brother and Pike was always there to look out for his little brother. And so Cooper pushed himself even faster to make sure he didn't let Pike down.

"You play soccer like a townee!" Pike taunted Malika abruptly.

Malika's face opened in shock and then tightened into a snarl and she pushed the bigger boy with both hands, "I do not! Take it back!"

Pike easily gained control of the ball and shot it to the incoming Cooper, who scooped it up with his moccasin clad feet and continued passed without pausing.

"Okay, I take it back, but I take back the ball too." Pike said with a grin.

Malika glared for a few seconds and then bolted after Cooper. She was faster, even when Cooper was sprinting, and was closing ground quickly.

Cooper was close to the net, but he knew exactly how far he could kick accurately, and he was still too far out.

"Coop! Kick it now!" Pike called from behind him.

Cooper nodded. Trusting his big brother, he shifted his weight a let go the hardest rocket of a kick he could, aiming the ball at the nearest upper corner of the net. A half moment later Malika plowed into him. She had been running so hard that she couldn't stop in time, and the two children tumbled to the grass together.

Cooper heard a familiar dull thud that he knew meant the soccer ball had bounced off the trunk of the oak tree that they used as a goal post, and his heart sunk. Then, he suddenly heard the sharp smack of a foot hitting a leather ball. Then Cooper heard the rest of his team cheering.

"Not fair! You're too good Pike!" Rikki Singh called out. Rikki was Malika's older brother and always played goalie. Rikki was possibly the best distance runner amongst the children Cooper's age, but was also the slowest. His grandpa Booker called him: 'Slow Train'. Cooper knew what a train was- although he'd never seen one, much less ridden on one. Most of the working ones were way out east.

Pike laughed, "Then maybe next time you should be on my team Slow Train."

"Next time I'll bring a fishing net and have you for dinner, fishy Pike boy." Rikki shot back, grinning.

"Only if you catch me!" Neither boy sounded angry. Rikki was almost Pike's age and the two were good friends.

Cooper sat up and checked the straps that wrapped up the length of his mocassins, to make sure they had survived the fall. Malika was doing likewise.

Abruptly Malika turned to him, "You're good for a little kid."

Cooper blushed, "You're only two years older than me."

"When we're old enough, I'm going to marry you." Malika said with a wicked grin.

"We're cousins, that's gross." Cooper said, not looking at her.

"We're only cousins 'cause you and Pike have the same Dad. We aren't related by any blood. I checked with Mom. So I'm going to marry you when we grow up."

Cooper looked studiously at the floor, unsure what to say. The topic embarrassed and confused him.

Abruptly Malika changed the subject, "Do you think I should keep my hair short like my Mom, or let it grow out and do corn rows like my Auntie Layla?"

Cooper looked up at Malika and considered it. She was a darker chocolate brown than her mother more like the deep near black of her Aunt Layla, but also showed a strong edge of her father's Indo-Canadian heritage in her almond eyes.

"Go with corn rows," Cooper said eventually, "Corn rows are cool."

"Thanks!" She said with a grin as she stood up, "I need to know what my husband likes!"

And before he could object, she had giggled at her joke and darted off.

Other children were milling around the field. The children always played first to three points, and the game was now over. Pike walked over as Cooper stood up.

"Good job Coop."

"I missed." Cooper said in frustration.

"You were too far out to have a good shot when I told you to shoot."

"I still missed."

"Yeah but it was that or lose the ball. You almost scored, and I was able to rebound it 'cause you hit the oak."

"I still missed."

"Okay, yeah. You missed- but we didn't. I'm your brother Coop. I got your back. You got mine. I couldn't have scored if you hadn't been there to pass to. You're only five Coop, that means you're still little. Malika's right. But you won't be little forever. Uncle Redwing always says that forever is slippery. You won't be little forever, and you're good now. So when you're big, you'll be great."

Cooper nodded, then stopped.

"When I'm big, I'll be the best."

Pike shook his head, "Nah, 'cause I'll always be bigger than you. You can be as good as me. But you're never going to be better than me."

"That's cool too. I can share."

An alarm horn's sharp triple note cut through the quiet air. Coop and Pike's heads cocked as one and listened. The first three notes were followed by a pause and then three notes again.

Pike looked to Coop, "It's a raid. Who do you think?"

Coop looked back, "Who is it normally?"

Pike nodded, "The Winter Wolves."

Read Chapter 2 Here

Prologue

2009-12-20T17:19:00.000-08:00

December 20th, 2120
Sunshine Coast, Democratic Republic of Oregon

"My name is Redwing-lives-forever, and I am dying."

The old warrior gently touched the scar on his right cheek as he spoke to the children of the Redwing tribe. Redwing had protested the name when it had been chosen, but he was only one elder on the council and- at Redwing's own urging- the tribe would never willingly have a chief or king.

"I have seen one hundred winters, and I do not expect to see any more. The Winter Wolves are coming, and it is time to end this blood feud. It is time to pass leadership on to the younger generations."

Light from the clay fireplace flickered across Redwings leather worn skin. His face showed his mixed heritage. His features were unmistakably Coast Salish, with a strong nose, high cheekbones, and eyes that seemed to look into eternity. His features contrasted sharply with his dirty brown hair, kept long and braided down his back. The children around him bore similar indications of mixed heritage. This close to the Pacific coast, after centuries of immigration through the old port cities, most people could trace their lineage in at least two directions on the compass.

"My son, Cooper, will take my place on the council when I am gone. And likely one day, one of you will take his place. That is the way of life and the way of inheritance."

Redwing kept talking in a low calm voice, keeping the children focused on him and not the deathly quiet activity going on behind them. Warriors moved in and out of the story hall collecting weapons and helping each other put on armour. Most of the armour was brigandine- metal rectangles wrapped in leather to make it quiet and reduce shine. Some of the armour was Kevlar, most of which had been purchased through trade with Japan at great expense. The North American nations still able to fabricate Kevlar did not generally sell it to 'tribals'.

"But that is for tomorrow. Tonight we must be ready. The Winter Wolves have been spotted two hours hike from here. The Redwing tribe must engage them before they reach the village. The Winter Wolves, alone amongst the Tribes and Cities, know the location of our village. Your mothers and fathers will go out and meet them and engage them. Your parents will attempt to kill their leaders and break their spirits. They will seek to route them and destroy them as a tribe."

Behind the children a group of three young warriors were loading rifles. The eldest warrior was slapping a clip into her AK-47 Kalashnikov. The youngest was carefully ramming a bullet into a homemade muzzle loading flintlock rifle. The middle warrior was dropping a pair of slugs into a double barrelled sawed-off shotgun. Their short bows and machetes lay on a bench beside them.

"It is bad karma to kill another tribe entirely, but this is what we must do. The way of Sargas is not always appropriate; sometimes we must call upon Gygas to deal with other tribes. When another tribe breaks the laws of the Great Alliance, it must cease to be a tribe lest it destroy us all."

Cooper Redwing walked into the Story hall and approached his father. Cooper was twenty years old and built like hungry wolf, thin and lean and muscular. He wore the standard clothing of a Redwing warrior: knee-high cord wrapped leather moccasins, loose leather breeches, and a brigandine coat. His hair was bright auburn orange and cut into a long flowing Mohawk. Like most of the warriors of the tribe, Cooper was scarred. The young man's scar was a nasty discoloration on his neck that looked like an exploded tangerine.

"Father," Cooper said as he drew near to Redwing, "It is time to move the children to the safety."

Redwing nodded and stood slowly and gracefully. The old warrior reached out and gently spun his walking stick into his hand from where it had been leaning near the fireplace. He put his weight onto the stick and began to move in a deliberate manner.

"We shall finish this story as we travel young ones, because you should know the whole of why your parents fight. Not all of your parents will return to you. Some of them will die. And it is important that you know why they have died and what brought us to this dark solution."

The children dropped into line behind the old man. Cooper walked beside his adoptive father, a hand gently resting on the heavy hand-axe sheathed at his side.

"Tonight Father, we end this forever."

"Forever is slippery my son. It's found me already after all."

Read Chapter 1 Here