The Prophesy: Book 1 - Cave Lupus

 

An hour after the caravan had resumed the slow trek across the flatlands separating the two sides of the narrow valley, a legionnaire came forth to Harold, bringing a horse in full armour, along with an apprentice chariot driver.

Slowing down, he had the young girl jump off the horse saddle and land swiftly in the farrier cart. The girl then sat to the right of Harold, and took the reins, to his surprise.

"Why is that? Has Master Dunbar requested a meeting? I thought we had set everything already."

The legionnaire leaned on the side and stated "No, Legate Harold. We of the cavalry lost our centurion, and by convention, we held an election to designate the replacement. The rules are simple. It is the best at leadership that wins the title."

"That makes sense. But why am I having a strange feeling?"

"There were many officers lost, and quite a few men. The election covered more than the replacement of a centurion, legate."

"You have me even more nervous!"

"It covered replacement of decurions. And also, we need your approval for the rearrangement of the units."

"Why me? I am not "

"Sorry to interrupt you, Legate, but you are part of the legion now. A general election was held and you were elected Legate; what had been an officer's thing has been endorsed by the legionnaires, all the legionnaires. It was proposed by a legionnaire, endorsed by the requested ten out of every unit, and voted on. Everyone voted yes, there were no nays, no abstentions."

"Why me?" asked Harold plaintively.

"Oh, I can list a lot of the arguments in your favour advanced by the legionnaires and their apprentices. First, you have shown, systematically, an innate sense of strategy. Second, you have earned the respect of everyone by your willingness to fight and protect the legionnaires and the caravan. Third, you are fair. Fourth, you listen and do not act without regard for others. Fifth, you have shown knowledge far beyond your realm of expertise. Sixth, you were there for the sick and healed all those that deserved healing. And last, but not least, you showed respect for the dead by creating the funeral pyre ceremony at Command Rock. Everyone lost a friend, a loved one, but by doing this, you honoured the living, but also, more important in the eyes of the legion, the dead. Everyone, from the apprentices to the centurions, are willing to follow you to hell and back."

"But, all I did was from the bottom of my heart, natural, nothing special!"

"This statement, alone, shows to the legion your true value. No sword would have convinced us, but your acts did. Legate Harold, I am here with your horse, as your herald. This girl will handle, henceforth, the task of driving your cart."

Harold jumped down from the still rolling cart, and climbed on the horse's saddle. He noticed immediately that the stirrups had been adjusted to his proper height. The herald then took the weapons contained in Harold's cart and set them properly for easy access. The last weapon taken from the cart was the katana, which was tied on his back for easy extraction by his right.

The herald then unfurled a blazon, attached to his lance. The unfurling of the colors by the herald was accompanied by a thunderous yell of joy from the legionnaires that saw it unfurl, a yell that propagated forward and back along the column as each legionnaire was informed of Harold's acceptance.

The blazon was Sable bordé Or, Loup Blanc dressé trois-quart dextre, exhibant crocs nus²⁴²⁴ ("The description would be a black (sable) background with a golden edge, with a White Wolf sanding on his hind legs facing three-quarters front right and showing bared teeth. Note the use of French, in conformity to heraldic laws.").

Legate Harold's Blason

"This is beautiful," commented Harold, flabbergasted. "But it must have been in preparation for a while?"

"Yes, Legate. The officers had been working on the design even before we left Newbridge. The sable color was the most debated, it being in competition to azure or white. Finally, the selection of Canis Lupus Borealis as the animal of choice to represent your character clinched the colour. We wanted the maximum contrast so the wolf would stand out."

"Why the wolf?" wanted to know Harold.

"The wolf has a sense of duty to his family, courage, cunning, protectiveness to his mate and his pups. He is ferocious in battle, shows no mercy to his enemies, but is protective of those he adopts as his. This is all you. As for the gold border, it tells everyone you have a rich heart. The black background finally won, when one of the centurions reminded us that you have won two major battles against the orcs, at night, on their grounds. This too, is fitting, for a wolf is, by nature, a nocturnal predator. One legionnaire suggested we put a full moon. We will add it when your child is born, top left, just above the head."

"What next?"

"Please follow me, Legate. From now on, the cavalry will escort you. We are your personal guards."

"Interesting. By the way, who won the right to command the cavalry, since it is they that lost their centurion?"

"I am sure this will please you. Decurion Yamato got promoted. He is a good cavalryman, even if he had decided to serve in the infantry under Centurion Annabelle. He has proven his bravery, and his sense of strategy. He fought the last battle with fury, and was the last to jump the barricade defending the back of his decade. He lost no one."

"Yes, I am glad. You said there were other issues?"

"Yes, We have to promote apprentices and legionnaires to replenish the units. All promotions were vouched for by the members of the units involved."

"I shall do as the legion wishes. They know their members best. How do we proceed?"

"We took the liberty to have the charters written by the caravan scribes, with the consent of Master Dunbar. The only need is to have your seal apposed on the charters for them to be official, Legate."

"My seal?"

"You had the hammer and anvil of the Ironsmith Order, with the farrier horseshoe circling the anvil and hammer. We engraved a wolf form matching your blazon. This is in conformity to our belief that who you are encloses all you have done so far. I have the seal, the red wax candle, and the charters with me. I also have the quilt pen and ink so you can sign the charters before sealing them.

Legate Harold's Seal: Silver Wolf, bronze ring.

"Very thoughtful of you. However we are moving a bit fast for me to sign anything, especially on horseback!"

"The legionnaires are aware of this. I only need to give a visual signal, if you say so, Legate, and the promotions will be considered signed by everyone."

"Do so, then."

The herald lowered and raised the colors three times, and the signal induced another roar of approval from the legionnaires.

***

At tierce, the animals were watered again. Dunbar hopped on a horse and, with Annabelle, who was feeling a bit better, rode up with him to where Harold was.

"So, how does it feel to be officially Legate, Harold?" asked, teasingly, Dunbar.

"Overwhelming. I'm still shaking from all the events this morning."

"You will get used to it," replied Annabelle.

"Maybe, maybe not. What brings you to my miserable carcass?"

"In half an hour we will enter the Silent Forest," started Dunbar. "We should reach the Bridge a quarter of an hour later, after a steel decline to the deck of the bridge. Crossing it should take us another half an hour, followed by a steep climb to the other side's flatlands, a fifteen minute climb for an oxcart, but less then five for a carriage."

"If I picture your description right, Dunbar, we will be most vulnerable as we reach the other side of the bridge, since climbing will slow us down."

"Yes, you are right," commented Annabelle. "The caravan will be difficult to control, since we will be still rolling downhill at its end and the head of the caravan will have difficulty climbing at the head."

"I see. Dunbar, is it possible to rearrange the caravan as we move so the carriages and horse drawn carts are in front?"

"Why this arrangement?" enquired Dunbar.

"My idea is this. The cavalry will be in front to charge, followed by the carts, the carriages, and the oxcarts. Note that the speedier will be in front, thus clearing the distance and, by being the first to climb, they will not slow down the slowest who will be able to come at the climb at full speed, since the faster will be well up if not clear when they reach it. By having the rear guard mounted we will have support for their protection, while being able to continue progress forward. As soon as the first carts clear the Forest, the cavalry will come back on each side of the caravan to assist the slower ones in their defences."

"We have half an hour to do this. Do you think it's possible?" asked, worried, Annabelle.

"Yes, most of the oxcarts are already trailing. Only a few carts and carriages need be rearranged."

Turning on the horse to look back, Dunbar had to agree. The caravan had, by a sort of percolating mechanism, organized itself in this fashion. "I shall go complete this rearrangement and formalize it."

"Good. I shall set up a number of visual signals with the legionnaires' assent. It should be possible to get across with as little noise as possible. The only exception will be if we have to charge. I shall ask the herald to blow three times in his horn if we must go from quick walk to full charge."

"Agreed," replied Annabelle.

Dunbar had left the cavalry to give directives to the caravan, and, quickly, the last oxcarts slowed to be passed by the lagging carts and carriages. The caravan then tightened up, four a front, and the rear guard closed the gap between them and the last oxcarts. All was ready on time.

***

The caravan had barely finished its reorganization before the signal indicating that the first horses were entering the Silent Forest propagated down the caravan. Everyone tensed. Fifteen minutes later, the second signal traveled the length of the train, telling everyone the descent to the Bridge had begun.

Harold moved to the forefront of the scouts, much to the displeasure of his escort and herald, but he wanted a clear view of the terrain should their worse fears be realized. The Bridge finally came into view. It seemed deserted, but a deathly, oppressive, silence greeted them as they neared the embankment from the shore to the bridge proper.

Suddenly, a white squirrel, looking like a phantom were it not for his red eyes, darted across the road in front of them.

"Something disturbed that animal for it to cross right in front of us at that distance," commented Harold to his herald. "Look for what it can be."

A legionnaire with very sharp eyes looked at where the squirrel had popped out, and, whispered. "I see something shiny reflecting the sun, even if we have cloud cover. It must be metal. Someone is there, spying on us from between the trees."

"Only the Priests' Hunters would be that foolish. I suspect he is there to give advanced notice of a caravan. Hide me from view, gentlemen," ordered Harold.

One of the cavalrymen placed his body in front, as to protect an important person. Harold leaned on his horse and took his longbow, an arrow, and raised it between the heads of two of the men, waiting for a clear shot at the Hunter.

The minutes passed and the target kept still, unaware of its impending death. Suddenly Harold saw a reddish hue in the dark metal and let go, aiming for the spot. The arrow rose silently in the air and the sound of metal scraping bone was heard along with a light cough.

"That's one of the most beautiful shots I've ever seen." commented the centurion. "Do we retrieve the body?"

"Ask Dunbar if it is safe first, let's slow down a bit to let the reply travel back to us."

A minute later, an messenger told Harold it would be safe, if the retrievers stayed only a short time between the trees. "So be it, then. Put the body in a cart. We will examine it after we have finished the crossing."

The signal indicating the avant-garde had set foot on the bridge propagated back along the column. The last oxcarts had not even seen the descent, and they knew if something turned bad, they would be the least likely to pass.

The bridge was curved and the other side was not immediately visible from the end where the caravan was coming. Furthermore, a slight rise in the middle hid the caravan further from view. Thus, the appearance of the caravan's first elements at the top of the rise took the Hunters by surprise and they had few, precious minutes to organize a valid trap. They had been crossing the bridge themselves, in order to set up a trap for the column. They had severely misjudged their speed from their previous surveillance, estimating the train would not arrive at the bridge before sext. Half of their forces were still walking on the bridge when Harold showed up at the top of the rise.

It took Harold no time to assess the advantage this situation afforded the caravan. They would be able to charge down a slope rather than be fighting an uphill battle. So as to maintain as long as possible his advantage, Harold gave the signal for the charge using the silent hand signals rather than the expected blast of his herald's horn.

The cavalry brought down their pilum, and, taking a V shape around Harold, came thundering down on the back of the Hunters. Those that were nearest the rear did hear them coming but the message of the attack from the rear did not propagate fast enough. The Hunters had grown complacent with each successive victory, and their renown at invincibility. If anything, they expected the leaders of the caravan to bow to their demand, not to attack them savagely.

The cavalry hit the Hunters with such force that they penetrated deeply in their ranks, their mass crushing the Hunters under its impetus, bodies flying over the bridge's side. The cavalry reached the other embankment before it began slowing down due to the mass of Hunters underfoot and the fact that they finally were offering resistance.

"Swords alight!" ordered Harold, taking his own sword in his right hand and discarding what was left of his lance. The sound of a hundred swords leaving their scabbard was heard. The cavalry continued charging along the embankment and then up the climb. The cavalrymen used their sword to cut through the demoralised Hunters, and their shields to reduce the danger from arrows hitting them from above. A few got hit but managed to stay on their horse until they reached the top of the climb.

"Ten to guard and protect your wounded comrades. Short bow! The others, with me, we are going back to the head of the caravan, short bows as well. Try to kill as many as you can of that vermin."

The cavalry opened in the middle, letting Harold and those following him between them as they continued moving up hill. The hurt left the ranks, while those fit fell behind the returning cavalry. In short order, they came thundering down the hill and over the embankment to the bridge, sweeping clean the road of any foolish enough to have thought the battle was over. The ones hidden behind trees only had a single chance to fire an arrow before feeling the cold steel of an arrow tip enter their body. Harold, true to himself, fired arrow after arrow, hitting his targets as if the hands of a vengeful God guided his arrows. A few more horsemen were unlucky and got an arrow, but, overall, the losses were minimal, amounting to another ten wounded. By then, the first horse-drawn carts had reached the flat leading to the end of the bridge. Harold again left the wounded behind and, in a repeat of the previous tactic, turned around and headed back towards the embankment.

This time the horsemen came to the climb at a walk, looking for any target that might be unlucky enough to move and be spotted. A few arrows flew from either side, but the marksmen of the legion silenced the resistance. They then placed their horses facing towards the side of the road, at about every twenty feet, and kept watch, waiting for the caravan to reach them.

The first carriages reached the bottom of the climb fifteen minutes after the cavalry took position, and started the arduous climb. As the last carriages engaged in the climb, the horse-drawn carts closed the gap and undertook the climb themselves. The merging of the different elements of the caravan went smoothly. Finally, the oxcarts made it to the climb and began their arduous progress. Harold stayed with his cavalry until the rear guard showed up and they closed in behind the caravan. They had crossed the most dangerous part of their long trip so far, with very few wounded.

Harold caught up with the hospital carts and proceeded to cure the wounded, using his sword. By nones, all was done and told, and the caravan was starting its climb out of the valley.

Dunbar, well aware that Harold was busy, took the lead of the caravan, and Annabelle handled the military questions. By vespers, they reached a prairie, which seemed fitting for a night's rest. The vegetation showed no mark of the Atom God's curse, and there were fish jumping in the pound that formed one edge of the prairie. A few fish were caught, and showed no signs of deformity, thus clearing the water as drinkable. Nonetheless, the caravan organized itself in a defensive structure. Dunbar had applied his friend Harold's saying: better be safe than sorry.

***

Around a small campfire, Harold, Annabelle, and Dunbar were discussing the day's events. Harold was listening to their observations but not contributing much, as he herald had been true to his word and brought to him the paperwork needed to confirm the commissions and promotions. His right hand, already tired from the battle, was now signing scroll after scroll, as he used the new seal to authenticate his signature at the bottom.

"I hope we won't run out of red wax," commented, disgruntled, Harold.

"I doubt that, Legate Harold," replied Dunbar, winking. "We have a whole cart of the stuff. You are more likely to get writer's cramp than run out of wax."

"I hate paperwork!"

"Don't we all!" replied Annabelle. "You are lucky, Harold. Your scribe will do most of the writing for you."

"I have a scribe? I always wrote my own diary. I don't need a scribe!"

"Oh yes, you do!" answered Annabelle. "You have no idea how much paperwork comes with your new standing, Legate!"

"Mamma! Get me out of here!" lamented, in a melodramatic tone, Harold, eliciting a storm of laughter from his companions.

The good humour from their commanding officers did not go unnoticed by the legionnaires, and they felt better for it. If their leaders could laugh, there was no reason to be paranoid.

"There is one thing I would like to have a look at, before it gets dark," commented Harold, as he signed the last parchment. "Let's have a look at that body we got, you know, the one that was to give the alarm and that I killed."

"Good idea, I think we need to rush that, too, it has been in that cart all day, and must start to smell pretty badly," replied Annabelle.

The three moved to the open cart that had been moved across the road as far as possible from the camp, and downwind. It was apparent the body was beginning its journey back to its basic composition. The tarp that contained the body was lifted, and the smell made them gag.

"Look at this!" exclaimed Dunbar. "That one has a steel mask. It is not a simple Hunter; it's a full-ranked Priest. That must explain why we saw him before he could give the alarm. I wondered how a Hunter could have been so negligent as to give the alarm of his presence to whomever he was supposed to observe."

"Well, now that we have half the question answered, let's see why the priests wear masks!" replied Harold. He moved quickly and, using a fine poniard with serrated edges, cut the straps that kept the mask closed in place around hinges. The mask swung open easily, indicating the hinges were well maintained and the mask regularly opened, probably to let the priest eat.

"I'll be damned!" exclaimed Annabelle, taking a step back.

"You wish, my love, but I'll fight the Devil himself for you," replied Harold. "However, I must agree with your overall reaction."

"No wonder they never let anyone see their face!" commented Dunbar, "And make sure no body ever gets examined either!"

"Do we have a person who can draw well?" wondered Harold.

"That young apprentice to the companion carpenter seems to have an innate talent. I saw him draw a portrait of Command Rock with the burial site, and it gave me the impression everything in it was going to start living," replied Dunbar.

"Paschal? Isn't he a bit young to see that?"

"Not really, Harold. He saw blood and guts pretty close during the battles, and did not throw up as much as some of my veterans."

"OK, if you say so!" Turning to his herald, he asked him to get Paschal, the apprentice carpenter. "And ask him to bring his drawing kit."

"Yes, Legate!" The man took off on the run, more than happy to escape the smell and the looks.

"Let's strip this man, for lack of a better word," ordered Harold, "The rest might reveal more about what happened or what it is."

By the time Paschal had come to their summons, they had removed the clothing and looked, fascinated and disgusted, at what this revealed.

"Paschal, you will draw this to the best of your ability, as quickly as possible so we can dispose of the body. I shall write in my journal my observations. I would recommend that we all do, without talking to each other. Note everything, and then we will have the legionnaires come and see for themselves. The more people know, the less likely this information can be held hidden by the Priests, or, for that matter, the Hierarchy. Someone must have known, and kept a conspiracy of silence!"

"Should I try to colour as closely as possible, Legate Harold?" wanted to know Paschal.

"Yes, but first focus on the details, and note the colours. You can fill in the drawing, colour it later."

Paschal started drawing the head first, then, after quickly noting the colours with a light mark, he proceeded to draw a full frontal view of the body. Meanwhile everyone else was taking notes.

An hour later, Paschal showed his drawings to the others for approval, and they complimented him for the fidelity of the representations.

"I think we should turn the body on his belly so I can draw the back. We may have some surprises," requested Paschal.

The others agreed, and after a serious gagging moment, the body was on the belly, revealing the backside. The others resumed their writings as Paschal drew the other face of the priest. After another hour, Paschal showed the drawings he had made of the back, and got their approval for its exactness.

"OK, I'll start colouring the front, especially the face."

"You can go back to your cart," offered Annabelle.

"No, the smell has stopped being offensive, and I want to make sure I have the exact shades. I shall colour the back first, since it is what I see now. Then we will turn him again, and I shall colour the face then the frontal view."

The colouring went fast, and after about half an hour, Paschal signalled he was ready for the frontal view again. The body was turned again on its back, and the colouring session resumed.

Turning to Annabelle, Harold caught her attention. "Are you done with your report?"

"Yes, Harold. You, Dunbar?"

"Yes, I am."

"Then, Annabelle, it's time to expose the true nature of the priests. Get everyone in line except the guards, and let's get this over with. Will the procession of visitors bother your concentration, Paschal?"

"No, sir, as long as they don't throw up on my drawings, that is."

"Fine, I'll supply a nose clip to each visitor. We may have grown insensitive to the smell, but the greenish look of my herald tells me it will not be the case for everyone! Dunbar, should the caravan members be included?"

"Yes, definitely; we have suffered immensely from the priests' depravations. We need to have every caravan member spread the news as well."

"Fine. Let's proceed. Get everyone not on duty in line."

***

Harold's journal was the most exhaustive, and will here serve as the core of the description of the body.

The mask, made of metal, has three leather straps tied to the left side of the mask, while the right side has hinges. The strap themselves are passed through a mechanism that locks them in place using a pin and holes along the straps. Apparently, pulling on the straps exerts a tension and the rolls also bite into the leather, helping in immobilizing them. Rather than tackle the straps, I used a serrated poniard to cut them loose. Once the mask was opened, this is what I saw.

First, the skin was greenish in color. I first thought this was due to the onset of rot, but under closer inspection, I noticed the scaly look of the skin. I used the tip of my poniard to scrape the skin on the forehead and collected a couple of scales for my efforts. The removal of the superficial scales revealed another layer of the same, with slightly bigger scales.

The nose was almost non-existent, flat between the upper lip and the forehead. The nostrils were small, round, and seemed to be closed by a thin layer of skin, that probably retracted at each breath.

The eyes had prominent eyebrows, but these eyebrows were scaly, and showed no hair. Deep ridges between the vestigial nose and the side of the lips seemed to be designed to evacuate water that might fall on the skull. The eyes had no eyelid, and the iris was vertical, like those that are seen in reptiles. They looked golden in color.

There was no hair whatsoever on the skull, but a crest that started at the root of the nose between the eyes, and ran to the back separated the skull, with what seemed to be thick scales are arranged in a parallel fashion from the center of the skull to what I assume to be ear holes.

The thorax showed no tits, however there was a belly button, which leads me to believe they are viviparous, but not truly mammalian.

The genitals were composed of a penis that seemed to retract in a sheath, and the testicles were apparently hidden from view, retracted inside the body.

The hands were palmed, as were the feet, confirming my impression of a water-loving animal. I can no longer talk of this as a man; it is too far-gone to be of our breed.

I returned to the mouth and forced it open with a dagger. It revealed a series of serrated teeth, with prominent canines, clearly indicating a meat-eater. The tongue was, apparently, normal, albeit slightly deformed. That might explain the strange accent the priests have when they talk.

After turning the body on itself, I discovered the crest on the head continued down to the neck, then along the spine, to a short tail, about six inches long, just above the rectum. The soles of the feet, made visible by this change of position, were scaly.

I examined the toes and fingers in detail. Both showed strong claws. No wonder we never see them without gloves.

The colouring goes from greenish to brownish on the head, and there is a prominent reddish colour around the genitals and rectum, probably to help in the mating.

The Master Healer pointed out to me that the position of the eyes indicated a capacity at stereoscopic vision. As I watched her test the body, she described a body frame like none other. There is a dorsal plate (whatever that is) that shields the lungs from blows and bites. Bone plates also protect the front of the thorax, but a thick scaly skin covers the belly. According to the Healer, there are very few vulnerable spots. I asked her what they were so we could devise our weapons accordingly. According to her, the vulnerable spots are the ears, the eyes, the nose, the area between the collarbone and the base of the skull. Luckily my arrow entered the animal in such a way that it pierced the later area, or the arrow would have more likely bounced. Had it not lifted its head to get a better view, I would not have been able to hit this area. The arrow slid on the collarbone and pierced the windpipe and then reached the lower brain stem, she told me. I really need to review my anatomy.

According to her, the genital area would be vulnerable to attack from the front, but the tail protects it from the rear; however a study of the armour worn by the animal indicates it is aware of this vulnerability. Furthermore, the steel mask also protects the facial vulnerabilities. I am surprised they bother with armour given their body configuration. They will be very difficult to kill; I was lucky at being able to hit the only really exposed area, the separation between the headgear and the thoracic armour. No wonder he looked at us with contempt, as we got closer. For him, death by our weapon must have been seen as impossible.

Crocodile Priest Anatomic Plate, as drawn by Paschal

***

The next morning, the body was buried under a pile of rocks, but not burned. Harold had suggested this for two reasons; primarily so that the smoke column would not attract attention, and second, so the skeleton could be retrieved at a later date for further study. The caravan resumed its climb over the mountain range, with renewed awareness of the dangers that were now all around them.

Harold, Dunbar, and Annabelle rode with the cavalry in the front, listening to reports from the scouts and discussing the previous day's events.

"Did you notice the behaviours of the Hunters we met on the bridge?" remarked Harold.

"Sorry, when we reached them, their behaviour was limited to playing dead," replied Dunbar, with a forced smile.

"I noticed that none tried to jump in the river to escape the charge. At the time, this seemed odd, but I did not actually have time to think about it. Now, it's coming back to me."

"I can maybe explain," offered Annabelle. "I was with the rear guard as we crossed the bridge and we undertook the burden of throwing the dead bodies over the side. We noticed the corpses were literally snatched by what we thought were large alligators. Now, I think the alligators may have been either old priests returned to their natural habitat, or hatchlings."

"Are you suggesting the priests are cannibals?" asked Dunbar, uneasy.

"They may not even see themselves as part of our species anymore, you know," remarked Harold.

"That would explain why, when a caravan is attacked, the males are devoured," replied Dunbar. "Could it be that the males are fodder for the priests? Remember, the caravans are usually attacked in places similar to this one."

"Yes, you may be on to something," confirmed Annabelle. It would also explain a lot about how the Temples are organized. Lots of water basins, lush forest covers, an attempt at recreating their natural habitat."

"Remember the Hunter's reaction when I mentioned the reproduction habits of the priests? He committed suicide. I think I may have hit too close to home," added, shivering in disgust, Harold.

Annabelle bleached, and looked at Harold with horror in her eyes. Dunbar looked at each of them alternatively, not understanding the allusion.

"Would you expand on your thoughts?" he asked.

"What I think happens is the Hunters are accompanied by priests during their raid, to supply them with feed, but also, to capture reproductive females." Taking a breath, Harold continued: "The priests are unable to reproduce without the help of female human carriers. I suspect their females are sterile."

"But this is horrible!" exclaimed Dunbar. "And where do the Hunters come from?"

"Once in a while, a captured woman is pregnant with a male human. He is born and trained to become a Hunter. That is why they are not distinguishable from normal humans." Harold then kept silent, as the caravan continued its progress.

The listeners digested these thoughts and at sext, during the meal, the discussion resumed.

"One question remains, where do the priests come from? And for that matter, the orcs?" asked Dunbar.

The Master Healer had joined them for their meal, and offered an explanation. "One of the most sacred books of our Guild is titled Genesis of Life and Evolution. It explains how the Ancients saw the birth of life, its progress from simple to complex, and what laws governed this process. According to this book, when there was important stresses in the environment, evolution speeded up; however it did not always go forward, it could regress, if niches were abandoned by the disappearance of their previous inhabitants. There seems to be a record of the evolution of an animal from its very basic form to its current one, a phylogeny of the species history. You can see that in their books. They had stage-frames of the evolution from the egg to a full-grown baby, and for a while, we, humans, share the same stages as fish and reptiles. It is only further down the growth road that we differentiate into human. We even have gills and palmed fingers reminiscent of a potential batrachian ancestry." Taking a sip of water, she resumed her speech: "Another interesting thing in that book was the discussion of genes, and how they worked. It seems that these genes are what tells the body how to build itself. But these genes are sensitive to external influences, including radiation, pollutants, and even bad transcriptions when the cell reproduces, like life had millions of copyists, but some were more negligent than others. From what I understand of what we observed, the priests are regressed humans; that they regressed this far is terrible, but remember they live in these Silent Forests. It's like they have become dependant on whatever kills the other life forms, and that this has pushed their evolution backwards at a high speed. The orcs may be similarly regressed humans, but that took a different path, or have regressed to a lesser degree, if orcs can be seen in that manner."

"This is sobering," commented Harold. "But it leaves open another question. How much have we changed, evolved, as you say, compared to the Ancients?"

"That, Legate Harold, is difficult to ascertain. We certainly have evolved. In which direction is the real question. We might have regressed, but it may be we have gained new capacities rather than lost some," replied the Healer. "If we had the tools the Ancients had, we might be able to verify this, but, unfortunately, we do not. There is a description of the genome of the human species as the Ancients recorded it, but the comparison with ours requires things we do not even know the meaning of, such as computer, electricity, electro-fluorescence; these marvels are mentioned, their use in the study of the genome cited, but what they are, we have no idea."

"This is unnerving, at best," commented Annabelle, touching her belly and thinking about the child she was carrying.

"I understand your fears, Centurion," replied, compassionately, the Healer. "Quite a few babies are born with apparent birth defects. These are the easy cases. Our society has grown accepting of infanticide when a child is born apparently defective and unlikely to survive. However, this does not preclude defects appearing as a child ages, or that a defect jumps a generation to reappear later. These are the most difficult to deal with."

"I hope mine will pass the Healer's exam and be kept!"

"So do I, Centurion. I have had many mothers go mad at the look of their first-born, and it saddened me to have to break the neck of both the new-born and the mother, because both would be burdens to their community."

"This must be a difficult decision to make," commented Dunbar.

"Yes, but we live in a harsh world. We have limited resources, and we cannot afford to sustain a non-viable child. By the same token, a person that becomes mentally unstable and a danger to the community must be removed. We are not able to provide for them. This also goes for the terminally sick, or those too wounded to contribute to their community. It is a sad fact of life, but one must compose with reality, not what once was or what one wishes."

***

By vespers that day, the caravan had reached another narrow pass. The weather had noticeably cooled down, and Dunbar expressed worries about snow in the upcoming days.

"We have to hurry to get by the next pass, and then turn south as soon as we exit this one to go down the valley beyond. We must hurry or we will find ourselves locked in the mountains."

"Well, we might as well get the winter clothes out," remarked Harold.

"And I'll make sure everything is tied securely. It's not in the middle of the night that the covers over the merchandise must be tied up!" replied Dunbar,

"Nor the tents! I'll tour to make sure the ropes are set tight!" commented Annabelle.

Harold, after taking care of his horses and verifying the animals were properly corralled and under tight watch from the carers, moved to his own cart, and set the forge to heat his cart for the night. Wood was plentiful, and would be easily replenished from the forest around the camp the next morning. Annabelle joined him in their couch and the two took a well-needed break from the day.

Over the night, the wind picked up speed; at matins, the rain stated, and by daybreak, the rain fell horizontally, blown by strong winds. Harold, his wife, and a few lucky others managed to get a warm meal by using the forge's grill, but most had to contend themselves with a cold breakfast. Wind made starting a fire a hazardous task at best, and the lack of dry areas to put the fire on was not helping. Those fires that had been maintained over the night were sputtering under the deluge, and barely sufficed to supply a hot drink to everyone, quite insufficient to fight off the cold.

The tents were rapidly folded, and stored on packhorses as the other horses were tied to their proper carts or carriages, and the oxen to their carts. As many legionnaires as possible found a place under the watertight covers of the wagons. The others rode on horses, or seated themselves with the cart drivers.

As the caravan climbed ever higher, the rain was replaced by icing rain, and the animals slipped on the road, making the climb ever more slow and difficult. By tierce, they had reached the pass, and the snow began falling in earnest. The temperature was also dropping considerably. They kept going, knowing that the crossing would be difficult at best.

As they progressed, the wind intensified between the cliffs, reaching gale force, and the snow, that had been a light dusting on the road, now reached a foot in places. Dunbar encouraged everyone to plod on; making sure everyone understood the importance of getting out of the pass as fast as possible. His yells of "Move on! Don't stop or you will get stuck!" motivated the drivers to maintain a steady pace.

By sext, the first carts were out of the pass and on their way down. Now the fight was to prevent the animals from running downhill and risk getting overrun by their trailers. The snow was thick and the road surface under it icy. Nones saw the last cart exit the pass, followed by the rear guard on horseback. The lead had entered the lower forest, and was now back under rain, they continued their walk down until vespers, at which time the caravan readied itself for the night near a series of strange structures that were apparently artificial in nature, but whose use completely baffled them. While the carts and wagons were arrayed defensively, the horses and oxen were put in a sheltered area near the center.

Harold surveyed the area and, noticing Dunbar, gestured to him.

"What do you make of this strange place?" he asked, curious.

"Apparently, the Ancients build these things so two roads could cross and exchange traffic without ever a cart having to stop. It's very ingenious, but some have collapsed, and others are unsafe."

"Yes, that seems a very strange arrangement. You mention roads. Will we be taking these?"

"Yes. See that one there, it goes towards the southwest, our preferred direction for a while. The roads are very wide, and we can put 6 carts side by side on this one for a very long stretch. There is another one, exactly parallel to the one we will use. There is an area between the two that seems to have acted as divider."

"Couldn't we occupy both?"

"Yes, but this would make the overall protection of the caravan more difficult, because the divider is uneven, and sometimes occupied by lush forest, or even a cliff."

The next morning, the caravan woke up to discover a scenery blanketed in ermine, white, snow-covered. The rain had turned to snow overnight, and it now covered the ground in a thin layer, blown wildly around by strong winds.

"We will have the wind to our back, and, to be honest, I prefer this to having it in the face," commented Dunbar. "The road continues to drop regularly to the great valley of the Hippy."

"Will we meet more obstacles?" enquired Williams, who had done little travel outside of his trade's Initiation road.

"I do not know. Given how the crossing of the mountains went, I would not swear on a peaceful walk to Lois."

"Has anyone kept count of the days? It seems an eternity since we left Newbridge," commented Annabelle.

"Yes, my dear. Tomorrow will be the Winter Solstice. You will be slightly over four months pregnant by then.

"What makes that day so special?" wanted to know the always curious Paschal.

"Well, Paschal, you certainly noticed that days do not last the same length over a year. Some days are longer than others, and are associated with summer, while other days are shorter and are associated with winter. Now, there are two solstices in a year. One marks the shortest day of the year, tomorrow, and is the Winter Solstice. Notice how we have been forced to travel less and less, because the night has become longer than the day? It also marks the beginning of the New Year. The other solstice is called the Summer Solstice, and is the longest day of the year."

"Oh. That means there must be two days in the year when the length of night equals the length of day?"

"Bright boy! Yes, there are two days were the length of the day equals the length of the night, they are called equinox. Can you name them?"

"Let me see, if there is a Summer Solstice, and a Winter Solstice, that leaves two seasons without special days, spring and autumn. So they must be named Spring Equinox, and Autumn Equinox."

"Good reasoning, and correct."

"But how do you know when these special days come to pass?"

"That's a more complicated question, young man. There are people who specialize in the study of these things, and keep track of the length of days. The Ancients had special places, called observatories, which were dedicated to the study of the stars. Nowadays, we have observatories too, but they have primitive instruments. When I travelled with my diviner, we visited one of those places, so he could drop one of his young charges off. The Astronomer told us how it had been built."

"How did it look? I never saw one!"

"Oh, they had these tall rocks, standing in a circle, and linked by huge horizontal slabs. They showed us a huge one, standing in the middle, which was pointed and cast a shadow on the surrounding pillars. According to him, the longest day was indicated by the sun rising to the east and projecting its rays to the base of the huge rock to a mirror. Before and after that, the mirror was in the shade, and never reflected light. The shortest day was also detected by a similar means, although I got lost in his explanations. He told me there was a thing he called the precession of the Equinox. According to him the Equinox changed days over time, but he lost me completely."

"Wow, that must be fascinating to study."

"Yes, if you have nothing else to do."

"You said he called himself an Astronomer. Is that the same as the Royal Astrologer?"

"Oh boy, when I asked him that, he told me that he abhorred the ignorant bastards that tried to read into stars the future of a puny man. He said we were mere dust specs and that the Universe was not designed around us. He called astrologers something really funny. It made me laugh. Let me try to remember his exact word. Ah, yes: phallocrats²⁵²⁵ ("Phallocrats: two Greek words, phallos, penis; and kratos: power; therefore a person who thinks that the penis gives power over those who do not have one.") that used their penis as sundial to measure the flow of time, and their belly button as focus to know when sext was reached. He wanted to say that for these men, the universe rotated around their puny selves, or, by extension, the human race. I have met many iskurians in my life."

"What does iskurians mean?"

"Oh, it comes from a very old civilization, the Sumerians, who saw in the storm god, Iskur, the fertilizer of the land; as you know, thunderstorm clouds have a mushroom form, reminiscent of a huge penis, and they named the storm god Iskur²⁶²⁶ ("Iskur: description taken from The Sacred Mushroom and the Cross, by John M. Allegro, edited by Doubleday &amp; Company Inc., Garden City, New York. See this <a href=\"http:\/\/www.docstoc.com\/docs\/1723273\/The-Sacred-Mushroom-and-the-Cross\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"><span style=\"text-decoration: underline;\">link<\/span><\/a> for the book."), the Penis God. I must admit that, given the context, every rain produced bloom, and, to confirm things, at least in their minds, the first thing that showed up after a storm was a red, toxic mushroom which their priests used to have visions."

After a good bout of giggling, Paschal looked back at Harold with water in his eyes. "Tell me, Harold, isn't the universe rotating around us? Look at the stars, the sun, the moon, they all seem to be rolling around us, like the astrologers are right."

"You sure are asking tough questions this morning! Let me see, he showed me a spinning sphere, and asked me to try and imagine how the world around the sphere would look to me if I was standing on its surface. It took me a while, but I understood. I never forgot that lesson. He was a marvellous teacher."

"Can I try to figure out what an ant would see if it clung to a spinning sphere and come back with the answer?"

"Sure boy; the best discoveries are those you make by yourself, they mark your imagination for life!"

The procession continued for the day under the assault of a strong snowstorm moving from the north and pushing snow on them. By nones, Dunbar called for a halt for the day, because the night was closing on them fast and he felt safer staying in the open where things could be seen coming.

The next day, the caravan did not move, but took a break, to celebrate the Winter Solstice and the arrival of the New Year. The day was not lost, however. Carts needed repairs, horses needed shoes, and wood was collected from sheltered spots under logs, trees, and other hiding places. The water barrels were low, and needed to be replenished, but Dunbar discouraged the collection of snow.

"Why is that so?" wanted to know the always curious Paschal.

"The snow has travelled over the Forbidden Lands, the lands that belong to the Atom God, and is unsafe to drink. It collected whatever kills life as it blew over these forsaken lands. That is why I have encouraged the sheltering of the horses with branches and other means. We will wash the animals thoroughly as soon as we cross a safe stream. We will also wash the carts and wagons, and any piece of tissue that is washable. And, you, young boy, will wash in the river, even if it is freezing, understood?"

Paschal shivered at the mere mention of having to take a dip in an icy brook. "But I shall have to be nude in front of the girls!"

"So will the girls be nude in front of you, boy! And so will everyone else. No one, not even me, will escape that ordeal. It is a question of life or death!" The tone of Dunbar left little doubt to Paschal: the man meant business.

The next morning, the caravan resumed its walk down into the valley of the Hippy. By sext, they had reached a narrow brook that cascaded into a pool of clear water that showed fish swimming at its bottom. Careful watch showed no sign of anomalies, and the water was deemed safe. The first order of the day, after calling a halt, was to bring the animals at the exit of the pool so they could drink. The sun finally showed its face and everyone rejoiced at its presence. As each animal drank it got thoroughly washed, and its blankets, and leather washed, downriver from where the animals were drinking. The coverings of the wagons, carts and carriages were washed with pails of water repeatedly thrown on them until they were soaking wet and dripping. Then the body of the carts, carriages and wagons were thoroughly washed as well, again in such a way that the runoff would preserve the safety of the water supply. Special care was given to wheels, and undercarriages, which tended to collect dirt and crass.

Next came the washing of beddings and utensils, and the inner contents of the carts that had been exposed during the trip. Not a single piece of hardware was left unclean. Harold took meticulous care of his farring tools because they had been seriously exposed to dirt while he was working on the horses the previous day. He washed them with a steel brush and oiled them to prevent any rust, after drying them with an oily rag.

Finally came the nightmare of Paschal: washing his own clothes and himself in front of everyone else. The first part was the hardest. Stripping to nothing but his birthday suit in front of all those strangers. Then he had to wash his clothes and hang them to dry near the fire pit, and then, horror amongst all horror, jump in the stream and wash himself thoroughly under the supervision of Williams. Not a square inch of his body was spared, not a single indignity. In the end, he was crying more of shame than out of the cold, even if he was blue from the nose down. Finally having satisfied the expectations of Williams, he made his way back to the fire pit to warm up and get dry, before putting on his now dried up clothes.

The healers had kept watch on everyone, on the lookout for any indication of anomaly. The few found were sent to Harold, who used his newfound healing powers to dispose of the problems.

At vespers, Harold went to find Paschal, and enquire about his feelings. He and Annabelle noticed that the boy had been miserable all day, and carried red eyes from crying.

"So, Paschal, how are you doing tonight?"

"I feel ashamed. I am so small down there!"

"Paschal, we all start small. You were not the only one that was small."

"But the girls looked at me all day!"

"Maybe so, but has it ever occurred to you they might be wanting to know more about what you have that they do not?"

"That's one thing I wanted to know. Why don't they have "

" A penis? Girl are built for another role in life, Paschal. We give seed, they give egg; and they carry the baby until birth. You certainly noticed Annabelle's tummy is bigger than for other girls. She is carrying my baby. It is inside her."

"But doesn't that hurt?"

"Annabelle says the baby kicks so she knows it's alive. And she was pretty sick when the pregnancy started. It has stabilized. If you want to know more about this process, you should ask the Healers."

"But why were the girls always whispering when they looked at me? I am sure they were laughing at me."

"Oh boy. No, I think they were comparing your assets to the assets of other boys, much like you were, Paschal. Girls are size queens! They think bigger is better, but that isn't true. It's how a person uses a tool that makes an individual a good workman, not the size of the tool."

"But I'm so small!"

"No, Paschal, you are average. You are neither a horse nor a mouse. Yes, some are bigger, but some are also smaller, for the same age. Come here boy!"

Harold spread his arms and hugged the boy, comforting him as best he could.