The Prophesy: Book 1 - Cave Lupus

 

The next morning was extremely cold and windy. The people tasked themselves to their assigned work, and, an hour after prime, as the sun rose over the eastern mountain range, it broke through the clouds to find the caravan progressing once again on a road going along a south-western axis.

Paschal had asked Williams if he could ride with Harold, and, after the two men talked about it, Harold accepted to take the boy in front of him on the saddle. He knew why the boy wanted to ride with him, and was prepared for a deluge of questions.

It started innocently enough, with questions about his family, where he was from, and how old he was. Paschal was awestruck by how young Harold was to have reached the status he had.

"First, Paschal, I did not do things to reach a status, I did them because they needed to be done. Status came from the success, hard work and thinking before acting. It did not come from thin air."

"Paschal, Legate Harold is modest," commented Centurion Yamato, commander of the Cavalry. "He won his status because he is a true leader."

"But he never, well almost never, commands people around?"

"Young man, there are rulers and there are leaders. Do you know the difference?"

"Aren't they the same?"

"No, a ruler, like our King, sets rules, and has others enforce them; but the rules do not apply to him, he can change them as befits his whims. He is above the rules of law, since he claims to be the Law. A leader shows by doing what must be done. He doesn't dictate, he listens, and he decides what he will do, and he does it. Legate Harold is like that, he is the first up, hard at work in the morning, and the last in bed, doing a round with the quartermaster before going to his couch."

Harold was pretty red by now, wondering what else the caravan knew of his habits.

"I still do not understand, Yamato. Everyone still does what he decides; isn't that ruling?"

"Paschal, let me ask you a question. Were you an avid reader?"

"No, I had trouble finding books interesting."

"But, yet, yesterday, I saw you read a book. Why?"

"Because I saw Harold and Annabelle read, and I did not want to bother them. And Williams reads too."

"Were you ordered to read?"

"No, I just decided to do like Harold."

"If, say, I had ordered you to read, would you have done so?"

'No, I hate reading."

"If, then, I made a rule making it an obligation to read, you would not have obeyed that rule willingly. I would have had to hire people to force you to read, and you would have done everything you could to escape their watchful eyes, am I right?"

After some thought, Paschal replied a timid "Yes."

"Now, you read to be like Legate Harold; he led you to reading by example. Everyone looks up to Legate Harold and wants to follow his example. That is how he leads, Paschal, not by rules, not by command, but by leading and doing. Do you understand?"

After some further though, Paschal opened his eyes wide and turned to look at Centurion Yamato, a brilliant smile across his face. "Yes, now I understand. But how does someone know what to do?"

"My turn to supply the answer to that question, Paschal," replied a flustered Harold. "The biggest secret is to know our limits, and to seek counsel from those who have gone beyond them to become experts. It doesn't mean we must not always strive to stretch our limits. I am not an expert, by far, in any field, but I try to learn as much as I can in as wide a range of knowledge as I can. No tidbit of knowledge is small enough to be neglected. You never know when that tidbit won't come handy in a bind. But remember, the real secret is to know whom to ask, and what question to ask. If you are an ignorant, you will know neither whom to talk to, nor what question to ask."

"But wouldn't books be better?"

"Books are good to preserve what is known at a certain time, Paschal, they even, sometimes, give you the story behind their contents. But books are static, unchanging, and knowledge is dynamic, meaning knowledge changes with time. Today's knowledge may well be tomorrow's superstitions. Books are good collectors of recipes, but they do not think. They reveal the thought of those that wrote them, when they are well done, but this seems rare, because many writers assume a common compendium of background knowledge that may be lost to today's readers. This is why understanding the Ancients' books are so difficult. We lack that background."

"This is sad."

"Oh yes, it is, Paschal. Sometimes, the most important knowledge is lost because we do not know the meaning of the words used to describe it."

"Thus spoke my dad when he said that will and verb were needed to realize the great sciences of the Ancients. We have the will, but we lack the verb," completed Yamato.

***

By mid-morning, the caravan was seeing parts of a wider valley the road was headed to as it winded down the steep foots of the mountains. The conifers were slowly being replaced by deciduous trees, starting with the gradual return of birch, and further down, maple and finally oaks. The forest had grown in density as well, but this was offset by the absence of leafs and the clear blue sky that brightened as the sun rose ever closer to the zenith, lifting the residual fog off the mountain's side.

The caravan took a well-needed break at sext, and shortly after resuming the trip, left the road and engaged under the trees, winding down a narrow cart path to reach a lower valley. The bridge had been destroyed a long time ago, and the pillars, if ever there were any, were long gone. The forest path, albeit not very used, showed it had been employed for a considerable amount of time, as attested by the depth of the ruts.

Dunbar informed them that the path was a good two days long, if all went well, and would eventually lead them to a ford.

"Why wasn't the bridge replaced?" wanted to know Paschal.

"Well, did you look at the river?"

"Yes, it has a very fast current, but is narrow."

"The fast current is one reason the bridge was not replaced. Do you hear the noise as we go further down the trail?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"It's a fall, where the river drops many feet off the side of the cliff. This is why there is that strong current at the top."

"Oh I understand. But you said it was one reason. There must be another, Master Dunbar?"

"The Ancients did not bother building pillars in the river, I think. If you had come close to the edge of the bridge abutments, you would have seen huge pieces of iron, in the form of big blobs of rust, which tells me the bridge was made of iron and collapsed due to rusting. We do not have the technology nor the resources to make these giant beams now."

"Wow, it must have been impressive!"

"Maybe in our eyes, but I have heard of bridge drawings that seemed impossible to believe. One, called the Golden Gate Bridge, shows a span that defies imagination. It must have been quite a sight."

"The Golden Gate Bridge? They made bridges of gold? How is that possible?"

"Who knows, Paschal, who knows. Maybe they found some way to alloy gold to make it harder than our hardest iron or steel. Maybe it was a reference to its colour. Bronze can look like gold when it's finely polished, but I am sure the bridge was not bronze, it is too brittle. And maybe the bridge was just that, a support for a gate made of gold. Why the Ancients would make a gate of gold, no one knows, but who are we to discern the sagacity of the Ancients."

"They may have had a lot of knowledge, but sagacity? I doubt it, or else their world would not have fallen prey to the Atom God!" replied, firmly, Paschal.

That comment brought a roar of laughter to everyone within hearing distance, to the reddening face of the boy.

"Don't be ashamed of saying aloud what we think in silence," comforted Harold. "Ah, too bad old age tempers youth's audacity in saying truths."

"More fear grown out of experience, I'd dare say", replied Annabelle, who had decided to ride with them rather than endure the discomfort of the wheels in the potted trail.

The group became silent, awed by the view of the fall that came in sight at a turn of the trail. The sun shone bright, and the cloud of droplets created a superb rainbow. The scene elicited 'OH' and 'AH' of enchantment from everyone in the caravan. Its beauty moved them. The droplets created garlands of ice on the tree branches, creating sparking crowns; and mirrors of ice could be seen on the rocks that defined the edges of the stream. Paschal looked around slowly, as if he was trying to engrave the scene to memory. After taking in a half-hour break to admire the scenery, Annabelle, Harold and Paschal caught up with the leading carts of the train, and resumed their position within the cavalry guards.

An hour before vespers, Dunbar called for the night's halt. This time, there was not enough place to effectively place the caravan in a defensive circle, so he decided to place each cart side by side across the path, their back to the stream. The legionnaires organized themselves in a flattened arc in the forest, to shield it should any hostiles come from there. The river's strong current gave the caravan's back sufficient protection, and the stiff banks insured that no one would be able to walk along the river to attack them from that direction. Some fish were seen jumping for falling grub, and the avid fishermen in the caravan took to catching a supplement of food for the night. Shortly, the smell of freshly caught trout being grilled could be smelled floating in the forest, bringing water to the mouth of the famished workers.

The legionnaires organized watch, both on the ground and in the treetops, with bowmen comfortably sat in the forks of massive oaks, wearing dark grey wool blankets for the cold night, and watching the snow-covered floor for any dangerous intruders. The fires were dug in, to minimize their visibility from afar, and only very dry wood and branches were used to reduce smoke.

Harold watched Paschal draw as he sat on a log near the fire, his hand sure, as he looked but did not seem to see what was around him. Harold winked at Annabelle, who smiled back at him. Both knew Paschal was drawing something from memory, but the nature of the drawing was Paschal's to reveal.

The night passed quietly, interrupted occasionally by the hoot of a hunting bird of prey, or the distant howls of a pack of wolves. A white fox was spotted near the camp, but it stayed away from that strange herd, which had invaded its hunting grounds. Mice were already growing scarce, and the hardened snow cover made for poor hunting of the rodents, protected by a crust of ice that covered their snow tunnels. More often than not, before the fox could break the ice, the rodent had found cover in one of burrows.

***

Dawn found the caravan slowly starting its slow progression down the trail, as each wheeled vehicle took its assigned position in the train. The arrangement had been maintained since the bridge crossing, with the carriages first, followed by the carts, and then the oxcarts. This was a good strategy as the caravan was arrayed in ever increasing resistance to bad road conditions. The ruts were made deeper by each successive passage of a vehicle, and the last oxen cart driver had his work cut out for him. Fortunately, again, good sense prevailed, and the best cart drivers were the last ones to travel, so they could help those who got stuck along the way.

As the caravan progressed, the trail got ever more bogged, and fallen trees forced the legionnaires to log the trail free of fallen trees so the carts could pass. Some horses were put to use to move trunks, but sometimes the trees had fallen across the path, and could not be moved. That called for the Companion Carpenter Williams, and Paschal, his apprentice, to cut, saw, or axe down the trees. Luckily, the insects were still dormant, or the passage would have been Hell on Earth.

Some trees lay dangerously against each other, and cutting one could make a branch fall on the men working near it. Orphaned branches were everywhere, and widows created each time a tree was brought down. Each situation had to be evaluated carefully, and monkeys²⁷²⁷ ("Monkey: the name of a man that climbs on a tree to tie it with ropes, cut off dangerous branches, or cut the upper part of a tree so its fall can be controlled.") climbed on trees to tie ropes that could be used to pull the trees down from a safe distance, or hold the tree back from falling on Williams.

As the ground became less firm, the wheels began to dig in seriously and at some point, even the horses could not pull the carts any further, as one of them sank to its axels, blocking the passage of the others.

Looking at the hopelessly bogged down cart, the leaders of the caravan met with the driver.

"I tried to stay out of the rut, but suddenly the rear wheels slipped, and it sank to the axels, as if the earth wanted to suck the cart in," commented the disconsolate driver.

"I can see the slippage marks," commented Dunbar, looking at the area behind the cart. "The passage of the previous carriages and carts weakened the earth and it suddenly let go as this one passed. Nothing could have prevented this."

The cart driver looked at Dunbar with a sigh of relief.

"Now what are we going to do?" wanted to know Annabelle, looking at the deeply embedded cart.

"Well, first, we empty the cart of its contents, and put it in those carts that have a lighter load," suggested Harold. "Then we get the cart out of its delicate position by using basic physics."

"How so?" wanted to know the dumfounded cart driver.

"We have ropes, we have tools to make strong boards that we will use as levers. We have pulleys. There are enough trees around here to act as anchors for the pulleys, enough rope to tie things together, enough horsepower to pull the pulleys, and we can use logs as fulcrums for the levers."

"That will solve this problem for what, one cart? How many times will we need to repeat this action along the way?"

"I am thinking about another basic of physics, Dunbar. Have you ever seen snowshoes?"

"No, I heard of them, but I have not seen them. How does this relate to our problem?"

"See, snowshoes are designed to let a fully burdened man walk on snow where he usually would sink to his armpits. I plan to have the carts wear snowshoes, my friend, shoes of my own design."

"Could this be applied to animals?" Centurion Yamato was curious, because he had noticed the horses, especially the cavalry, was sinking ever deeper in the mud, which tired the animals considerably.

"Yes, albeit the design would have to be adapted to the animal."

"What's the principle involved?" wanted to know Paschal.

"You are a curious little bugger, you know that?" replied Harold, laughing. "I'll explain each principle involved as we shoe the carts. For now, I need your help and Williams' in preparing the levers, and then I'll explain the cart shoes."

The preparation of the levers was easy, and the setup of the pulley undertaken. Meanwhile others removed the contents of the cart, marking it so it could be returned later. By dusk, everything was ready to pull the cart out of its precarious position. Half a day had been lost, but things had been done as fast as safely possible. Some legionnaires had walked up the trail to see the condition further down, and reported the situation kept getting worse. Others cleared the road ahead, preparing it for the caravan's passage.

That night, the caravan stayed as is, considering the difficulty of moving any cart. Some even had started sinking, as they stayed too long in the same place. Harold had logs put under the carts to halt the process. No one figured out why the idea worked, but since it did, every cart driver began hunting for logs to put under their respective cart.

***

The next morning, the lifting of the bogged-down cart was undertaken. This process was begun under the guidance of Dunbar and Annabelle. Meanwhile Harold, Williams, and Paschal were hard at work making wood planks from the fallen trees along the trail. This was done under the curious, but watchful, eyes of the members of the caravan. By the time the rear of the cart had been extracted off its muddy prison, a dozen planks were already made.

Harold and his helpers brought the planks near the cart and, once the rear wheels were clear off the road, they carefully placed two planks that stuck out on each side of the wheel about a foot. The cart was slowly lowered onto the short planks were then tied to the wheels' spindles. To prevent the plank from bending, a right angle triangle was set against the outside of the wheel and nailed in place. To everyone's amazement, the cart did not sink back in the mud; it seemed to float on it. The other planks were then tied and nailed in place along the entire circumference of the rear wheels. The process was repeated for the front wheels, and the cart slightly advanced so the last missing plank could be fixed in place.

"Let's reload the cart with its contents and see if this works." Everyone gladly did as Harold asked, curious to see what would happen to the cart as the load was restored. To everyone's enduring amazement, the cart barely sank, the mud not even getting over the planks' thickness.

"It's a miracle!" exclaimed Dunbar.

"No, it is applied physics. We have mud shoes for carts," replied Harold. "It will be slow progress, but it won't sink any time soon!"

"Would you care to explain this to us short of a head?"

"Oh, do not underestimate yourself, Dunbar. But the principle is simple really. By spreading the weight of the load on a wider surface, namely the surface of the planks, I have made it more difficult for the cart to sink. It's the same principle as a snowshoe. If you think of it, the needle is the reverse: the very small surface of the tip eases penetration in tissue."

"Well, no that we know what to do, we need to apply this to every carriage, cart and oxcart in the caravan."

"Yes, and since the principle is now validated, and the design tested, we can put everyone with a minimum capacity at handling saws to producing these mud shoes. As for the other carts who had started sinking, I have these long wide planks that will be set in front of the wheels to they can be rolled on them to get them out of their precarious positions. Let's get started. I estimate we have two days of hard work ahead of us before we can resume our progression. Luckily, we have ample water reserve from the river, and it seems there is a lot of fish and game in the forest. The best hunters and fishermen will be put to replenishing or supplementing our diet."

"Agreed, Harold!" claimed Dunbar, dully impressed. "Ladies, gentlemen, report to where you think you can best help us in this situation! Let's get to work."

It took three days to equip every cart, carriage and wagon with mud shoes. Meanwhile, Harold found a way to build mud shoes for the cavalry, as had suggested Yamato. These were simply thin boards strapped to the horse's hoofs. Care was taken to prevent movement of the shoes, as the horse walked, because rubbing the skin would create tear and infection, which was not in the best interest of the cavalry. Similar shoes also occupied the packhorses.

The fourth day saw the caravan resume its slow progress along the trail, which had been cleared of obstacles by legionnaires over the past few days, as a group of legionnaires continued the cleaning of the trail past the ford.

The ford was divided in three distinct segments, separated by gravel flats deposited by the stream as its current slowed. The banks were low, but muddy on both sides. These would present the greatest challenge, especially extracting the vehicles out of the river. The alluvial flats were packed hard by the constant flow of the river, and were low enough to be climbed on without much of a problem, assured Dunbar. On the other hand, the other side of the ford would be a challenge, as the trail was a mess of mud holes followed by bouts of rocky outcroppings.

"I lost a full oxcart of metal I had recovered from a metal pit along this trail last year", lamented Dunbar. "It was the most precious cargo of the whole caravan, but I had to leave it behind."

"That is sad, my friend. Do you think it is possible to recover it as we pass by?" wanted to know the always-recover-everything minded Harold.

"Oh, if it has not been discovered by other caravans, and pillaged, yes, definitely. I had the cart disguised so it looked like it had been there for a long while. Trees were dragged over it. Leafs and dead branches were spread all over the cart; the broken front wheel in plain sight, its metal recovered, while the other wheels were removed and taken away. It looks very much like it's been rotting away for years. We even took care to plant mushrooms in a moss bed so it looked like they had grown there naturally."

"Cunning, very cunning, Dunbar, but what about the cargo?"

"Oh, that, before we did all this, I had oilcloth placed over it, more to hide it from accidental view than prevent the metal from rusting further. Preventing rust in this place is a lost cause. The oil helped in fixing the dirt to the cloth, and overall, I am pretty sure it escaped detection."

"Well, Dunbar, rest assured if it is still there when we reach its emplacement, we will recover the metal. We have a few carts that were used to carry the caravan's food that are traveling light. Now they will find a new use."

Paschal, who had been listening to the chitchat between Dunbar and Harold, was interested by a comment Dunbar had made. "Dunbar, you recovered metal from a metal pit? Is that like a mine, like for coal?"

"Oh no, Paschal. It seems the Ancients did not value metals as much as we do. I found a pit where they seemed to have dumped metal. There is that strange thing about the deposit I found: there were these black rings all over the place, millions of them, like they were wheels. Some had rusted metal cones in the middle. I have yet to find out what this pit contained as throwaway, but I recovered a full cart of metals. We had to be careful, because the ground was hardened but sometimes caves or small caverns opened underfoot as we walked over the pit."

This left both Harold and Paschal thoughtful. How could a society be so rich that it threw away precious resources such as metals? Could it be that what had caused the failure of the Ancients was their unawareness that, however rich the gift of nature, it is limited and must be used carefully?

***

The progress of the caravan was slow along the path, and many times, one of the mud shoes would break and need replacement. However, a vehicle getting stuck no longer hindered the progress. It took four days to get to the ford, trice the time expected by Dunbar, but they all made it.

Fording the three branches of the stream itself was a breeze, and the use of wood ramps to get into and out of the river was greatly helped by the ramps Harold and Williams had set up with the help of Paschal and two decades of legionnaires. As the last wagon came across, a legionnaire came to report they had finished clearing the path to the main road, four days away by horseback. The legionnaires had set campsites along the path for the coming caravan, so they could at least find some things preset in the upcoming days.

"Did you take into account our current speed?" wondered Dunbar.

"Yes, Master, a few apprentices of your order accompanied us and helped us estimate how far you could travel given the terrain and the amended wheels. We estimate it will take the caravan ten days to reach the road."

"Yes, from what I remember of the path, this would be correct in this season. The terrain is wet, and some steep climbs are to coming up ahead. Too bad we were so much slowed down with all the previous events. Had it been as planned, we would have been here at the end of summer, during the driest period of the year. Now we are crossing it in the dark of winter, and its wet and miserable."

"Dunbar," commented Harold, "do not blame yourself for what was out of your control. Know there are things that can be changed while some others cannot; sagacity is in being able to discern between the two."

"Philosophy used as a balm on a wounded ego, Harold? How nice!"

"What is philosophy?" wanted to know the ever curious Paschal.

"Again with your tough questions, Paschal?"

"Oh, if I am bothering you with them, please tell me," said a pitiful-looking Paschal.

"No, I am only teasing you, your question is legitimate, only my answer was not," replied Harold. "Any question is worth asking; the answers may not fill your appetite for understanding."

"Harold, while you try to satisfy his curiosity, I shall have some water barrels filled from the stream. It may be a while before we meet drinkable water once we exit this ford, and the trail leaves the side of the stream a bit further to climb up the valley wall and reach the road we left at the collapsed bridge up the fall. We will resume our progress tomorrow at prime. I see no reason to rush things, since we are barely an hour away from sunset."

"OK, Dunbar. Come with me Paschal, and as I move forward to the head of the train, I shall try to supply you with a short answer to your difficult question."

The two climbed on Harold's horse, which had been shoed with mud shoes. As they travelled besides the immobilized caravan, Harold began his explanation.

"Paschal, you remember that Centurion Yamato stated that science could not exist without the combination of will and verb?"

"Yes. That still is mysterious for me."

"Do not be afraid of being mystified by things of this nature, Paschal. You are learning logic, and you are a bit young, so your logic doesn't have its sea legs yet."

"Sea legs?"

"Paschal, you are not experienced in practicing logic. Do not despair, Paschal, you have acquired a sense of concrete logic, which is the base for formal logic." Taking a breath, Harold continued his explanation. "See, philosophy is the study of nature by talking in a logical fashion about it. There are many forms of philosophy, because they start with different premises; the premises are sets of declarations that cannot be tested by logic and must be accepted as facts for the philosophical discourse, like starting points. Coherence within the philosophical discourse is determined by a set of rules called rules of logic."

"Can you give me an example?"

"Well, let's take this trip. It could be seen as a philosophical discourse. We started at some point, our premise; and we try to demonstrate that it is possible to reach another point, our destination, which will act as a conclusion to our trip, following the paths we have taken. Each path is linked to the next, and therefore is logically deducted from each previous path we took. For instance, let's say I state the world is flat. Therefore it must have edges. If it has edges, the oceans must fall off the edges, in great cataracts; these cataracts must feed the clouds, since, otherwise, the oceans would have dried up. This is perfectly logical, given my premise, that the world is flat."

"Oh, I see. But what if the premise is false?"

"Well you reach false conclusions! You get lost."

"What is science?"

"Science is the search of knowledge. There are many sciences. As with philosophies, if your premises are wrong, you end up with a wrong science, because science also a philosophy. It uses discourse and logic. In fact, for a very long time science and philosophy were one and the same. It took the establishment of the scientific method and the creation of the scientific discourse to separate the two."

"This is so confusing!"

"I agree. Let me try to explain things better. Remember the flat earth example, earlier?"

"Yes."

"A philosopher would stop there and be satisfied with his conclusion. A scientist would try to find the edge of the world. He would go out in nature to test his theory."

"Wouldn't that be dangerous?"

"Yes, and many scientists died testing their ideas."

"Wow! They fell off the edges?"

"No. See, one of the fundamentals of science is that for a theory to be scientific, it must be testable, that is, exposed to refutability. A theory that is not testable, that is has no critical prediction where it either survives or breaks, is not scientific."

"But that means science is always false!"

"No, it means it always is liable to change. Science, true science, is dynamic. It changes as new data confronts its models, and forces the scientists to change them to take into account the new facts. Science progresses by refutation. It is by finding that a model has a major flaw that scientists are forced to deal with the need to change their model. Let's take the flat earth theory. Someone undertook to look for the edge of the Earth, and figured if he followed the Sun long enough in its course, the edge would come. The problem is, he got back home rather than find the edge, but coming from the opposite direction he had taken off. There was only one conclusion: the earth was round. Science had to adjust. Note, the shadow of the earth on the moon reassured the scientist explorer, because it shows a round shadow, therefore a round earth."

"Wow, that is neat!"

"Maybe, but some didn't like the idea of changing from flat to round, and wanted to kill the idea, and the scientist!"

"What a bunch of idiots!" exclaimed Paschal.

"Not really, Paschal. We are people of habit, and our thinking habits are as hard to break as our other habits. For them, it was too much of a pain to think of the earth as round, because it required a change of view. The public didn't want to change their view, and the most opposed to change were those who had the most invested in the flat earth concept, the religions."

"What is religion?"

"Fossilised science."

"What do you mean?"

"Religions were designed to explain nature as observed by early men. They were the science of the time. However, religion is a philosophy, like science, but based on premises that cannot be tested, called dogmas. In fact, if you contest the dogma of a religion, you are an unbeliever, and are very lucky to get out of the confrontation alive. Remember the Penis God we talked about some time ago?"

"Yes, I do!" replied Paschal, giggling.

"Well, the Sumerians noticed that rain brought the seeds to life, and they concluded that the Storm God's sperm fell on the earth to fertilize it; they concluded that the earth was a female goddess, that carried in herself the seeds of life. The name God is derived from a Sumerian word meaning Sheppard. The God treated humans as sheep, and took care of them as a Sheppard takes care of his flock. They had the Son of the Storm God come to earth to civilize the sheep, and create the Sumerian civilization. Being a pastoral civilization, Sumerians, though they were the Elected Sheep flock of God. Many sacrifices were and rituals were derived from this idea. Sheep was burned on altars, and circumcision was done to boys as a sacrifice to the Father, the Storm God that fertilized the land with his sperm. Throwing sperm where it would not produce offspring was considered a major sin, therefore masturbation was punishable by death."

"Masturbation?"

"Playing with one's penis until ejaculation, Paschal. You have seen many boys do it, and you do it, imitating them."

Paschal turned very red; he was unaware he had been seen by his hero.

"Wow, this is very shocking. Can you tell me more about religion?" Paschal figured it was the best way to turn the conversation away from where it was heading.

"Sure. The Sumerians established what were to be the bases of religions to come. Egypt had Amon Ra, the Sun god, that made things grow in their valley after each flood, and also a Son of Ra, which, according to them, brought the Egyptians out of Barbary into civilization. They too had erected the phallus into a god. Obelisks were erected to symbolize the phallus of their pharaoh God, to prove to the Sun God that he was honourable and honouring his father. Look at an obelisk: it is a stylized circumcised penis. The Israelites took their religion directly from the source, from their slavery under the Sumerian empire and its follow-up, the Babylonians. Christian and Muslims, however hard they tried to distance themselves from their origins first as a Jewish sect for the Christians, and as a Christian sect for the Muslims, kept most of the original Sumerian religious premises. Consider the Saviour, a Son of God, found in both the Jewish and Christian faith; consider the ritual of circumcision, which is mandatory in the Jewish and Muslim faiths, both as a sacrifice to God. What other god but a god of fertility would ever ask that of his people? The Christians had escaped this ritual because the Romans, the dominant empire at the time of the establishment of the Christian faith, laughed at circumcised penises. Consider how masturbation is portrayed in the Christian sect, in direct line with the Sumerian religious view on the topic."

"What about today?"

"Oh, the Cataclysm wiped out these religions, but not the need for it. It seems humans are unable to live without some sort of belief in a supreme being."

"But were the Ancients as attached to this symbolism?"

"Oh yes they were!" exclaimed Harold. "There was a big city, called the Big Apple, that was probably dedicated to a God of Fertility, named Greenback, probably because what is green grows. There were huge Temples that looked like penises, called skyscrapers, and power, probably a measure of fertility, was measured by how high you climbed in these penises. They even called this process climbing the ladder of power. Once you reached the top, you had to fight to stay there, or change for a bigger one by ejecting those that were present in it. Those that were ejected found themselves in places of regeneration within mother earth called basements. Again, they had the tips of the constructions look like circumcised penises, and they even went so far as to imitate ejaculate with what they called antennas, located at the tip of the construction."

"The Ancients were really weird!"

"Oh yes! The Ancients had these trees dedicated to their God Greenback that produced leafs to feed their God. These trees were very special, they were of a type we have never found trace of called Corporations. Each tree was in constant battle with the other, much like trees in a forest compete for resources. The biggest were housed in the tallest skyscrapers, shadowing their competition to nothingness. From what I understand, these trees had huge branches, and once in a while one of these branches would fall off, killing thousands of the Ancients that had elected to live in it or under its protection. It was a horrible life, full of dangers and stress."

"I have to think this out, Harold. In a way, I am glad the Cataclysm occurred. Maybe we will not repeat the errors of the past!"

"Oh, the optimism of youth! How I wish I could believe that! Human civilizations come and go, Paschal, but human nature stays. We are already repeating these mistakes, under other names."

***

That night, Paschal brought out his drawing he had been working on ever since the caravan had left the falls. It showed the falls in its pristine beauty, in full colours. The trees were laced with crowns of ice the stalactites and stalagmites of ice reflecting the rainbow created by the dust of water droplets. It looked as if, at any moment, the water would wet the person looking at the drawing.

"This is a magnificent painting, Paschal. It is a work of art that rivals those I have seen from the Ancients," commented Annabelle, to the approving nods of Dunbar, Harold and Williams. "Where will you store it?"

"It is for you and Harold. You remind me of my mother; and he reminds me of the dad I never had."

"Why, thank you! Where can we store it safely, Harold?"

"Where I store my books, Annabelle, it will find itself well protected amongst the books and scrolls. But you need to sign it, Paschal, to say it is your work."

"Sign it?"

"Yes, write your name at the bottom of the painting, to say it is Paschal that made this work of art. Keep the sign small, so it will be discreet, but distinctive, so it will be hard to copy."

"Oh, OK."

Paschal signed his name and gave the painting to Harold, who wrapped it in a satchel to protect it. He then placed it besides his Journal, and closed the box.

***

The next few days progressed without much to be noticed, except that the weather became very cold and the soil hardened considerably as the trail rose out of the bog. Dunbar found his cargo of last year, still hidden under the oil tarp. It took half a day to move it to a new oxcart, but everyone figured it was worth the trouble. Even the oiled tarp was recovered. Harold, with the help of Williams, disassembled the cart and moved its components to another empty oxcart. Dunbar honoured Harold's request, knowing quite well that he probably had some ideas stored in his bag of tricks.

Eventually, the mud shoes were removed from both the horses and the vehicles. The shoes were not thrown away, but kept in storage for future use, as other wood trails would need to be negotiated along the way. The removal of the mud shoes made for faster travel, and even the horses seemed a little more alert.

As they moved ever further south and west, traces of war became more apparent: burned out farmsteads, and broken down or abandoned homes. Carrion eaters were seen flying high in the sky on the western horizon, indicating that it was still a very present war. However, the road travelled by the caravan only gave cold ruins, and no smoke indicating a currently burning home. The air did not carry the smell of any burns either.

The centurions used the days to produce arrows, lances, pila, and bows. Harold left the girl drive his cart, while he busied himself in repairing swords, and building crossbows. The least able were systematically invited to hunt for rabbits, as they were both numerous, thus supplying meat, and good target practice for those that needed it.

The caravan started early and stopped early. Each day was the same: by nones, the caravan would take a defensive posture, and everyone would practice swordsmanship, and the defensive and offensive tactics of the legion. No one was exempted, as everyone might one day have to defend his or her life, or be called upon to contribute to the collective defence of the caravan.

Williams designed special defensive shields with the help of his apprentice Paschal. These shields could be raised on the sides of the different types of vehicles that were in use by the convoy. The mechanism was simple: each eight foot high shield would be raised from front to back, interlocking with each other to create a continuous wall. At the appropriate height, narrow slits let archers fire arrows at attackers while staying relatively protected. The rears of the vehicles were similarly protected, albeit the tops of the shields were curved to follow the form of the arches that supported the protective canvas. The canvas itself had been redesigned so it could be easily collapsed clearing the way for battle, while reducing the chance they could be set on fire. Even the front driver's seat was redesigned to allow continued advance while remaining protected.

Harold used the salvaged iron to build protection for the horses and oxen that offered them minimal defences against arrows. Where plates were not essential, he replaced with thin wood planks, thus saving on a limited resource. The looks of the completed assembly gave the impression of a miniature fortress on wheels pulled by beasts from Hell.

"Hey, Dunbar, Harold!" exclaimed, one day, Paschal, as the caravan was moving along the road. "Don't you think the oxen and horses look like mythical animals, like the dragons our mothers used to tell us about to keep us quiet?"

"Indeed, they look like that from very far, but the illusion gets lost as we get closer," replied Dunbar.

"Maybe I could draw and color the boxes so the illusion would persist for a lot longer. It might even scare some potential foes from attacking us!" thought aloud Paschal.

"OK, young man, I'll let you work on my protective box. Have a run at scaring the wits out of me, Paschal," proposed Harold.

Harold let Paschal draw on the box enclosing the horse that pulled his cart, busy as he was preparing additional swords, and a new type of arrow for the crossbows, made of steel rods.

Paschal worked all day as the caravan progressed, and after weapons practice, resumed his artwork on the box. He worked until sunset and was up early the next morning to get the finishing touches, which included gluing some strange bits of curved wood that he painted blood red.

Paschal asked for the help of a few apprentices to put the box sides together over the horse so he could judge the impression, before Harold would be up. This elicited some grumping from the volunteered help, but all was ready by the time Harold came out to get rid of his morning pee.

Harold had left his cart with Annabelle from the rear, and had not yet seen the result. As he came back he spotted the horrendous looking animal that seemed to be waiting for him near his cart. His yell of terror and anguish woke up the entire camp, and the alarmed people looked at the terrible animal seemingly keeping guard on Harold's cart.

"Conclusive!" exclaimed a pleased Paschal, smiling from ear to ear.

Annabelle, coming back from her own visit to the latrines, heard the yell from Harold and hurried to see what was causing the commotion. Luckily, she heard Paschal's exclamation and was more prepared for the scene that appeared in front of her eyes. There, in full glorious color, was a fire-breathing dragon, with forked tongue, teeth that would put to shame the sabre lion, breathing flames through the nostrils, a bloody horn on top of the nose and what appeared to be black scaly skin. The area where the horse looked out had been painted to give the impression of deep, malevolent eyes set in recess around a ridge of bones. On the sides were drawn folded wings that completed the illusion, as the 'underbelly' of the animal had grey-white scales, and the corners of the box showed a very realistic quadruped with claws to make the devil run for his life. As the horse took a breath, tiny reflective metal tied to the box just seemed to give life to the fire.

"Well, young man, you surpassed yourself this time!" she said, looking at the 'animal' with a critical eye. "For a bit, I thought it was real!"

"Wasn't that the goal of the exercise?" replied an innocent looking Paschal.

Dunbar had crept from behind, and tickled Paschal. "You are lucky I didn't make into my pants, young man, when I saw that! You would have had to wash them for me!"

"You wouldn't dare ask that from your favourite artist!"

The quick reply made everyone laugh, and everyone wanted to know how this was done.

"Oh, I used oil-based paint to which I added a fixative. Remember that book you told me about and that contained all sorts of information about chemistry, Harold? You let me read it a lot while I was researching some stuff about inks and paints. One thing they talked about was how some products would bind and fix a color to make it washable. That was interesting, and after following all the cross-references, I hit the jackpot. Something could be added to an oil paint to polymerize it, this making it water-resistant and long lasting. It took me some trial and errors, but as we got out of the forest, I found what I was looking for. And now, you see the first application of this principle. The dragon won't wash away in the rain. In fact, the entire box is covered with a thin layer of lacquer, as they called it, and is protected from being weathered."

"Remarkable, young man. This is truly remarkable. I wonder how come I seem to be in the company of geniuses," commented Harold.

"My turn to preach, Harold. You teach by example," replied Dunbar. "Your engineering skills have inspired each of us to look at what can be done and do it, and to consider the word 'impossible' no longer part of our vocabulary. I am sure you will show us many wondrous tricks as the days progress."

"Well, Paschal, if you feel like it, you are now in charge of Project Dragon. That will take you a full two months to complete, I would say, even with the help of every apprentice, but we have time. The valley of the Hippy is still a long distance away, and our progression is slow."

"OK, but I shall need to collect more colours. I am running low on some of them. That means I shall have to keep an eye for some types of red rocks, especially the black and the white, which I use profusely. I get them from grinding rocks, such as chalks or quartz for the white, and burnt wood, for black. I also need red rocks for the red, that I shall reduce to a fine powder using mortar."

"Oh, OK, young man, Black will be easy as the legionnaires will collect the burnt wood from the fire pits before leaving each morning. Do you need the ashes as well?" replied Annabelle.

"Yes, I add some ashes to get some colours, especially the grey underbelly scales."

"And I think that rust would be good for some types of colour, such as dark reds?" enquired Harold.

"Yes, In fact I salvaged some from cleaning your forge a couple of times."

"Where do we put everything we salvage for our little artist, here?" wanted to know Yamato.

"The last cart is almost empty, why not put everything in barrels there, sorted by types of products, and Paschal can go pick what he needs from there," suggested Dunbar.

From then on, the search for added sources of colours also occupied the eyes of the members of the caravan. As the days progressed, the tempo of conversion for the boxes increased as those that had decided to help Paschal learned what was expected of them from him.

Others found barks, seeds, and other sources of colour, and a group of legionnaires even managed to get him a full barrel of quartz from a river they were crossing. Clays of different colours were also extracted and left to dry in barrels. Even a vein of marble was used as the caravan passed near it.

***

The careful monitoring of the environment for Paschal's needs may well explain why someone spotted a lone figure hiding behind a pile of rocks. The alarm was sounded, and a group of cavalrymen raced to the rock pile, encircling it.

"Get out from under these rocks, whoever you are. We know you are there," ordered the decurion that led the cavalry.

No sound was heard, but the emplacement of the individual could be guessed from the condensation that rose in small puffs from behind a boulder.

The decurion repeated his command, with no more result than the first time. She then gave a hand signal, a circular motion, telling two to crawl around and try to get to the figure without being detected. Two legionnaires in the rear silently dropped off their horses and, using every possible means to stay out of view, began circling the rock pile.

The decurion kept encouraging the lone figure to venture out, in the hopes of getting the cooperation of the individual, but also to distract as the two legionnaires made their progress.

Suddenly the two legionnaires were on the spot where the breathing could be seen and fell on the unsuspecting individual. The fight was brief but intense.

"Let me go! Let me go!" was heard from a breaking voice that alternated between the deeper sounds of a man and the treble of a prepubescent child.

Suddenly, one of the legionnaires let out a yell of pain and turned to figure out who had taken a bite at his leg, only to be met by the enraged fury of a four year old boy telling him in no uncertain terms to let go of his big brother, while threatening the legionnaire with a tiny poniard. The legionnaire simply immobilized the wrist and removed the puny weapon, mindful not to hurt the child with the blade. The tiny warrior kicked him in the shin with fury, but, controlling his pain, the legionnaire simply lifted the furious boy off the ground at arms length, while immobilizing his head by the neck to prevent a repeat of a visit to his anatomy by the sharp teeth.

"Beware of this little fury, he did more damage than his big brother in the fight!" he said, as he handed the still kicking terror.

The two children were carried across the field to the caravan who had kept progressing while the incident occurred. The two were brought to Harold, Dunbar, and Annabelle.

Annabelle looked at the two children, and was appalled at how the youngest was being held at arm's length by a weary-looking legionnaire.

"Why are you holding him so?"

"The best reply is with Seiko," replied the legionnaire. "Look at him limp. According to him, this boy took a bite at his left leg, and not content with that kicked him in the shinbone, while threatening him with this poniard adapted to his size."

"Go see the healer, Seiko. A bite is the most dangerous type of wound short of a poisoned blade. The mouth is a cesspool."

Seiko gladly retired to have the healer see to his trophy for capturing a four year old, to the ribbing of his fellow legionnaires.

"Now that this is being resolved," started Harold, "we need to know who these two boys are and what is their story. How about telling me your names and ages, to start with?"

The older boy looked fearfully around, and finding no reason not to reply to that question, answered for both boys.

"I am Sitar and this is Harp, I have seen twelve springs so far and Harp has seen four. What will happen to my stuff?"

"It's being retrieved as we speak, boy. I can see the legionnaires coming back with a package. I shall let you and Harp inventory the contents to make sure they have everything that is yours, so you will not lose anything."

"Even my flute?" wanted to know Harp.

"Even your flute, little one."

"But it's hidden in a hole in the cave we were living in, and unless they know where to look they will not find it."

"I see. Describe to this young boy where it is," replied Dunbar, as he pointed to Paschal.

"But he won't steal it, will he?"

"No I won't, Harp, I draw, I do not play music, and even if I did, it is yours, not mine."

The boy gave a description of the hiding place; Paschal and two legionnaires took a run for the pile of rocks to retrieve whatever might have escaped the eyes of the search party.

They were back half an hour later, with, not only Harp's flute, but also a rusty sword, a short bow, and a few arrows.

The two boys and their treasures were taken to Harold's cart, and the stuff inventoried. It was meagre, at best.

"Is anything missing?"

"No. I see you even found my little brother's and my amulet. They were gifts from our mom."

Harold took the two amulets and examined them "Nice silver work, they would look much better if you cleansed them. I shall show you how later. But aren't they a bit small for you?"

"Mom made them to protect us when we were babies, I used to wear mine around the neck with a string, but the string broke a few days after we found that shelter. Since then, I have left them in the cave, since it is the only thing left of our parents, apart from that bow dad made for me last fall."

"I see, I think I can do better than that. Would you like to be able to wear them around the neck as part of a necklace? I can probably recover enough silver from the junk pile we are carrying to make two good-looking, but thin, necklaces," offered Harold.

"You would? What will you ask of me? You can have me, but my little brother is off limits! I shall kill you like I killed that orc that tried to take him for his pleasure!"

"I shall ask nothing of the sort, Sitar, from either of you. All I ask is that you become an active and contributing part to this caravan. But first, you will tell us your story."