Conch

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Nik-Note: This tale crawled out of a weird dream, insisted I reverse-engineer and document it...

Conch #01

The tremble, then long, long rumble woke me from weird dreams. I reached, pulled the shutter ajar, blinked at that misty Summer morning's first light lifting over the Eastern ridge. Had I imagined it ? Then the Hall's two un-tuned bells began to peal.

"Kling-Klang ! Kling-Klang !"

Moments later, Carrath burst bare-foot into my tiny room, long, dark hair a-swirl, her night-shirt loose. "Carron ! Carron ! The alarm !"

"It is the alarm, my sister," I agreed, gathering my wits. "We must pack our needs. I must help Aunt Cotath prepare the Conch."

"My brother, how can you be so calm ?"

"The 'Red Guards' have been sniffing for many, many moons," I replied quickly, while pulling heavy, home-spun leggings over my night shorts. I drew, buckled the waist band, then donned equally coarse singlet and doublet. Sliding slim feet into my simple ankle-boots, Carrath's work, I nimbly drew and tied their neat lacing. "They have long suspected our community of 'Aberrance', 'Small' or even 'Great' Heresy. Perhaps that 'Rock Taster' who struggled over the Ice Pass at the Spring Equinox saw something a-miss ?"

"He did look more 'Guard' than 'Explorer'," she admitted.

"Dress warm," I bid, pulling the big, old case from beneath my simple bed. "The 'Way Between' may become cold as a clear mid-Winter night."

Carrath nodded, dashed to her small room. Though but two Summers older than me, she was now very much a Young Woman, almost weddable. Both of our Hamlet's eligible young men had begun to vie for her hand. Quick-witted, a respected Artisan and mature beyond her years, she would be an excellent partner, a wonderful home-maker. While all Younglings were taught to Scribe and Tally, Mend and Cook, Glean, Scout and Hunt, those with any aptitude for Crafting were cherished, encouraged. Carrath's leather working skill was soon recognised. In fact, she, I and Aunt Cotath were probably the best shod folk here-about...

I shook out, rolled my 'Summer' blanket very, very tight, applied and cinched its leather lacing. The much heavier 'Winter Weight' blanket was already cinched. I opened both pillow case and mattress cover, tipped out their straw fill, folded the fabric. Item by item, though my tears tried to well, the big case swallowed my bedding, my few spare clothes, my carefully boxed scribing tools and materials, my precious, precious library of tubed scrolls.

With case closed, securely bound, I dragged it into the narrow hall-way of Aunt Cotath's small cottage. Her case and Carrath's waited. I could hear my sister was now busy in the work-room, muttering as she coaxed tools, lasts, templates, materials and 'Work in Progress' into her 'Craft' case. Aunt Cotath, dismounting curtain and rail from the kitchen doorway, met my eyes, nodded. She called, "A last hot drink and break-fast bake !"

My palm-sized roll vanished in a scant few bites then, while those drinks cooled, I helped her nest the last of our simple kitchen's few pots, pans, implements and simple cutlery into a big wicker basket. Seeing me look about, she patted the basket, lifted her left hand, said, "The sour-dough and cheese bases are packed, as are my herb-garden makings. Reach down those hung onions ?"

I used the waiting crooked stick, un-loaded the beam-driven pegs. She tucked the knotted roots into basket corners as Carrath stomped in, now home-spun clad like Aunt Cotath, and grabbed for her roll. I waved at the kitchen's three stools, said, "There should be room on the cart for your work-room's stool and bench..."

My sister allowed me a wan smile. Aunt Cotath nodded, putting the emptied pottery plate down the basket's side. She prompted, "And this table if loaded first ? Carron, would you pull the hand-cart from the lean-to, then help me ?"

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Conch #02

I nodded between gulps of my now-tepid, but still welcome herbal infusion. Out-bound, I hauled the two cases nearest the door to the pebble path. Our simple cottage was low, but the left side of the turfed roof continued by three arm-spans across a slope-cut to a wind-break wall. This sheltered both our wood-pile and small cart. Though barely sized for a yearling pony, it could get into close copses, among gnarled trees that thwarted larger. I worked it clear, then around to our door, where three cases now stood. Lowering its strut levelled the cart as Carrath struggled out with the fourth, dived back inside. I followed her until she turned into her work-room. Aunt Cotath had lowered the kitchen basket to the floor, covered it with the door-way curtain. The table waited. We coaxed it through both doorways. Longer, wider, taller than the small cart's bed, we loaded it upside down.

Carrath staggered out with her bench. Grounding it, she delved her work-apron's big pocket for lacings, began to fasten up-turned table legs to the cart's whittled lashing points. I dashed to the kitchen, returned with its three stools. While Carrath worked her way round the cart, Aunt Cotath and I brought the kitchen basket. Respecting the cases' offset weights, we laid one within the table's under-frame, stood three across between the legs. This gave sufficient gap for the inverted bench, whose under-frame helped hold the heavy basket. Aunt Crotath and I fastened those, Carrath brought her work-room's stool. And, with one stool hooked onto each table-leg, we were almost done.

Our last task was to each grab a big chunk or two of fire-wood, wedge those into gaps. Then, as I took the cart handles, Aunt Crotath and Carrath caught at the rear corners. Fighting tears, we left our home, headed down the simple path. Before joining the barely wider Lane towards the centre of our Hamlet, we paused to let a young shepherd-boy, his weeping younger sister and their yearling Collie chivvy the tail of their small flock of sheep and recent lambs. Above dismayed bleats, the Hall's 'Kling-Klang' still rose.

[Belushi TD]

So, the people are being evicted from their homes. Apparently, its not an infrequent thing, because the village has an alarm bell specifically for this situation?

Has the sister been through this before? She seems far more affected than the protagonist and the aunt, although we don't see much of the aunt.

Will we learn who the "Red Guard" are? Will we learn what their great crime is? It appears to be related to religion?

The sister is apparently the star leather worker in the village. How much do leather working tools weigh? And the stock in trade? Raw materials?

What is the "Conch" that he needed to help Auntie with? Or do we learn that later? Is it related to the crime that is getting the village evicted?

Thanks, and sorry for all the questions.

Belushi TD

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Much, much will be revealed as the tale develops...

'Conch' sorta boiled up from a full week's exasperated attempts to de-spaghettify Fresno draft chapters #134 & #135.
NOW, those make sense.

[Belushi TD]

Looking forward to it!

Belushi TD

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Conch #03

We were nearing the Hamlet's core when motion behind us drew our gaze. Two men running up the Lane ? But, they wore not 'Red Guard' livery. Clad in our distinctive home-spun, they bore staffs, quivers and short-bows, not sword and shield. Seeing the way restricted by sheep, they slowed, matched our pace. And, by their look, were glad to lean on our laden cart but pretend to push while they caught breath.

"What news, Scout Croton ?" Aunt Crotath enquired of the older as his gasps eased.

"Many 'Red Guards', Cousin," he admitted. "Many Squads. Too many. Also Squads of long-bow Archers, Siege Engineers and 'Hill Lancers'. I-- I am still winded. Let Scout Durton recount."

"Mistress Crotath," the other added, "though we loosed the waiting rock-fall to sweep the Canyon's rope bridge and North Abutment, though we set flights into several plumed 'Squad Leaders', we have bought but few hours."

"Unlike 'Great Lancer' mounts, these 'Hill' ponies are slight enough to be slung." Croton found breath to caution. "If they do not cross, sally by Noon, they are badly led..."

"They may be purblind fanatics," Aunt Crotath admitted, "but they seem skilled in their foul trade."

Ahead of us, other families' laden carts were being drawn aside, hurdles placed to guide the small flock directly up the Hall's gentle ramp. Balding Speaker Roton set his troubled gaze upon their approach, called, "You have done very well, Younglings ! Very well ! The Hamlet is in your debt !"

As nearby family groups echoed his sentiment, his eyes found our two scouts. "What news ?"

"Many 'Red Guards', Speaker. Too many." Croton reported. "They bring Squads of 'Hill Lancers', long-bow Archers, Siege Engineers with ropes, poles, ladders and tools. Though the bridge is down, and several 'Squad Leaders' fell to our few flights during the confusion, they must surely cross in force by Noon. Our simple traps may delay by an hour at most..."

"Ah." Roton nodded. For the benefit of muttering folk who did not understand this change of plan, he called, "Even with our brave Scouts' advantage of height, they cannot stand against squads of 'Red Guard' long-bow Archers. Those far out-range short bows, would return dozen upon dozen flights to our pair."

With the noisy 'lambing' flock now in-doors, waiting families nodded approval and re-formed their line to the ramp.

[Belushi TD]

It looks like the Hall is a kinda/sorta fortified keep type of thing? Bringing in the livestock and supplies, leaving the cottages to be (presumably) burned.

Sounds like the Red Guard is coming with light cavalry, archers with long bows, maybe pikemen? Or were the poles to describe bridging equipment?

With every question you answer, you generate many more.

Belushi TD

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Conch #04

"Speaker Roton," Aunt Cotath pressed. "All working animals and poultry are surely in-driven. What of our two flocks on the Summer 'High Grazing' ?"

"Returning shepherds may yet bring some. Those that fail to heed their bellwethers are surely lost." He shook his head, dropped his voice. "I pray no shepherd is left behind..."

"Carron and I need time to prepare. We will commit as late we dare."

We stood in silence while the Lane cleared, the last cart, the last basket hauled indoors. Croton and Durton applied themselves to our cart, helped it up the ramp. Within, it was evident our Hall was partly built into the hill-side. Its false back-wall now dismounted, the dim tunnel was obvious. People returned from their allocated spaces, grimly teamed to carry the last benches. The bells fell silent. Several people worked ropes to lower 'Kling' then 'Klang' from their simple belfry onto waiting 'dollies', trundled those into the tunnel. Others worked like-wise to lower, remove the dozen wall-hung lanterns.

As our heaped cart entered the tunnel, our widening eyes needed a few moments to match the gloom. A guide led us along the nacreous, almost marble centre, through a short narrowing. The tunnel widened, though to less than before, now a wedge angled both slightly left and upwards. Beyond each further narrowing, the tunnel chamber was again angled slightly left and upwards. Our duty allocated us the first irregular alcove to the right. Three and a half strides deep and wide, even our small cart claimed much. Facing us across the offset aisle, a two stride niche was half-filled by a tapered stony pillar of similar material to wall, ceiling and floor. As our eyes adjusted, it was evident the very rock possessed a faint glow. Benches and bells passed us, turning, rising towards their left until lost in the gloom.

"Carron," Aunt Cotath quietly warned, "you must begin the first phase of the ritual without delay."

I shivered. As my Aunt's Apprentice, I'd done this many times in training, for she was now too old to carry the burden alone. Our Hamlet had but one girl-child who might have inherited the talent, yet five, six, seven years need pass before she reached 'menarche' and it truly manifested. Though a boy's was not as strong, it began much sooner, allowing me nine years to practice the disciplines necessary to endure.

"Yes, Adept Cotath," I replied formally, crossed the dim aisle, wedged myself between front wall and pillar. I ran my Scribe's careful finger-tips across the pillar, located subtle markings. Closing my eyes, I regulated my breathing, fought my swirling thoughts to order. Woe by woe, I set aside our urgent flight, those absent 'High Pasture' flocks, their shepherds and trained dogs, the approaching 'Red Guards'. Especially the 'Red Guards'. Those were the greatest threat, for they would kill, kill, kill without mercy, or cause beyond vicinity. Worse, by preference, they would kill slowly and unpleasantly, 'To Encourage the Others'.

[Belushi TD]

Ah, the plot thickens!

Magic, delving, and defence!

Belushi TD

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Conch #05

We'd known so little of the 'Red Guards' beyond whispered atrocity. We dared not ask. Such curiosity was considered dangerously 'Aberrant', nigh 'Heretical'. Any curiosity, mind, not just of them, or their antecedents, or the wider land, or the scant traces of a former great empire. No, merely wondering why a cloudless sky was blue, stars twinkled, most leaves were green or water wet could mark enquirer, kin and neighbours for dreadful death. Perhaps such were 'Heretical', too ? Certainly they had failed to denounce the enquirer...

For the 'Red Guards', the world is, was, would and must be for-ever unchanging. It was their duty unto death to maintain it thus. And if that required razing a fishing port where a drunken net mender had contrived a new knot, so be it.

Our Hamlet was long thought too small to require a 'Pastor'. And, yes, we preferred it that way. Besides, set in this high mountain valley, reached by a most dangerous path, it was not a welcome posting. Low-landers suffered from the altitude, failed to thrive, fled or died wheezing. Those who endured oft met other fates. A slip from frost-heaved path or spray-slick river bank ? A fall of stones or plunge along the truly treacherous 'Canyon Trail' ? Fumes from a Winter's ill-banked fire ? Too strong an infusion of wheeze-easing herbs ? Truly, 'The Dose Maketh The Poison !' The Canyon rapids' whirlpools and over-turns plus plausible report delays conveniently masked any evidence of prior questioning such pests received. This usually revealed but rote-learning, a close-blinkered world view compounded by appalling ignorance of other matters. And, sadly, a mind-set that regarded the least deviation from those narrow norms as a fatal flaw...

We'd learned much, much more from our last Pastor, with us for scant months of last year: Unlike his simple predecessors, who bore only a few short scrolls of essential 'Creed', his baggage held a further dozen, all lengthy. Clever, sharp-witted, dangerously observant, his year in our high valley was meant to 'temper' him for promotion. In truth, our bucolic back-water posting was his punishment for excessive zeal. Yes, that knot was new, different. But failing to document its detail for the Siege Engineers ? Razing the port which supplied the best salted and shell-fish on that coast ?

There had been much argument over my inclusion at his robust questioning: I was but a child, surely too young for such a burden. Yet, as both Apprentice Scribe and Apprentice Way-Finder, I might need to ask detail only my twin skills exposed. I did. Then, after I managed to puzzle oblique confirmation from his longer scrolls' archaic script, few of us slept well for many weeks...

There had been a 'Great War', a 'Wizard War', a 'Great Fall'. Had these been one and the same ? Two conflicts ? Three ? Many ? Only the terrible 'Fall' was certain, a catastrophe much like one our ancestors had fled in this prototype craft. When ? Long ago. Long, long ago. Long enough for most 'Fall Blight' to fade, for rain to cleanse less-stricken places. Long enough for simple farming and crafting settlements to again grow to towns. Long enough for the 'Red Guards' to arise, clamp their authority, suppress novelty, ensure no change could be permitted without their prior approval. For sure, suggesting but the very least change if less than a 'Cardinal of the Red' marked you and yours for ghastly death. Sometimes even then...

That being so, our Hamlet would be utter anathema on a dozen levels. What-ever detail, what-ever report had drawn their wrath, it was time for us to flee.

[Belushi TD]

I would like to revise my previous comment....

Technology, delving, and defense.

Coupled with a nuclear war many, many, many moons ago?

Belushi TD

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Considering how many times OUR human time-line has come close to immolation / extinction, either via 'natural causes' such as Toba, or pandemic or thermonuclear, mutterings about a 'Great Filter' yet un-settle...

Sadly, a woeful lack of 'Common Sense' seems inherent to the 'Human Condition'...

Plus, yes, you must survive and enduringly document 'Purblind Arrogance' and 'Rampant Stupidity' to learn from it.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Conch #06

With my breathing slowed and steadied, my finger tips began to sense the subtle thrum within the pillar's matrix. Gently, gently, I matched my breathing to the rhythm. Thus synergised, dormant power awoke. The pillar began to pulse with nacreous light. The tunnel walls, floor and ceiling awoke in precise unison. A soft sound now arose, rising to a matching throb that I could feel through fingers, feet, legs, guts and chest. The beat strengthened, strengthened, embracing much of my wits. I could now feel the throb in my long-bones, my hips, my spine, my jaw.

Across the aisle, my sister stood, eyes streaming tears, fists clenched to her mouth. She knew of my priceless talent, my double apprenticeship, my weary hours of training. This, though, was the first time she'd seen me work. Also, the matrix had responded to my urgency. I was much, much further along with the empowerment than usual for training. My short hair would have risen. My very bones would be glowing through my skin.

With every pulse, with every heart-beat, I was further bound by the power of the matrix. I knew, though not how, that we could now leave at a moment's notice. Even the swiftest 'Hill Lancers' could no longer catch us. Yet it is one matter to launch a craft, quite another to set and hold a course. For that, my Adept Aunt must take the helm. And, yes, we must await the 'High Pasture' flocks...

My self-awareness slowly shrank to a corner, replaced by matrix over-look. A slim youth embraced the pillar, now with most bones clearly a-glow. Beyond the tunnel, both Scouts kept watch from the Hall's entrance. One had a sight-line along the Lane towards the Canyon Trail, the other up-hill. No Lancers yet, but sheep were streaming down towards the Hamlet, driven by an arc of urgent Shepherds and nimble dogs. The hurdles were again placed to funnel them to the Hall's low ramp. Two elderly Shepherds and their grey-muzzled dogs waited to control flankers.

Need widened my over-look. Ah ! There were the 'Lancers' ! They were still loose-scattered along the precipitous Canyon Trail. All were a-foot, leading their stocky, sure-footed mounts, yet so wary of that narrow, cliff-hugging path. Two waist-roped Siege Engineers led, testing every step of the way, every scrap of debris, with careful sticks. Clearly, some of the Scouts' simple traps had instilled caution--

Whoops, there went another trap ! One stick-wielder stepped back urgently. A second, unsteady, perhaps clipped by a pebble, was pulled to safety. The rest of that basket of rocks tumbled past without apparent harm, costing them but a few minutes. The 'Red Guards' were not concerned. They had time to spare. This was a 'Blind Valley'. Though today's weather was 'clement', the 'High Pastures' were chill, and even the lesser heights were brutal. No more than a very few of our strongest might flee over the bleak 'Ice Pass'. And, perhaps, a squad of eager 'Red Guards' waited for them in the valley beyond ? No, with our cottages razed, no food or shelter to be had above the tree-line, survivors of the Lancers' first sweep would be hunted out, ridden down like so many den-less wolves. Those found near the Hamlet could be roped, dragged back, killed amusingly.

With those 'Hill Lancers' making such slow progress along the 'Canyon Trail', they could not see our 'High Pasture' sheep were now approaching the edge of the Hamlet. Entering the Hamlet. Crossing the Square. Entering the hurdles' funnel. As if it was happening to some-one else, I half-heard the bell-wethers clatter past, the combined flock pressing close behind. A few flankers were guided through, the hurdles drawn.

Young and old alike, those Shepherds stared in amazement at the tunnel's pulsing light, at the now-bright pillar embraced by my transfigured form. The Scouts moved them along, set two hurdles across the tunnel entrance. Then they turned to Aunt Cotath, nodded, walked further in.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Conch #07

Once upon a time, Aunt Cotath had told, recounting our Founders' tale, three great polities faced the Great Ocean: 'A' from the West and, from the East, our 'B' plus allies, also foul 'R'. Decade by decade, 'R' nibbled away at those allies, subverting support.

Now, open war was approaching. With local allies beset by foul factions, our 'B' decided to repeat a historic trade to 'A' of 'magic' for 'materiel'.

The 'Conch' began as an application of 'Teleparallel Gravity' ('TG'), meant to drive a space-ship from Earth to Mars in a week. A strange accident found that a small version, no bigger than two fists, could jostle reality, wreck all within fifty paces. Small, light, lacking isotopes, poison, even 'gun-powder', it was spun into bombs as 'Project ANTIOCH'...

But, one of the 'A' negotiators was a traitor. He leaked the secret via 'R' to those foul factions. They used multiple 'ANTIOCH' devices to cause chaos, enact a cascade of coups.

Fortunately, the 'TG' researchers recognised the damage patterns, deduced betrayal. With mere hours before 'Spetz' forces might seize their site, they and their families stocked this 'Project CONCH' prototype vehicle, fled their polity's 'Fall' into the maze of myriad realities...

Oh, and left a *very* nasty surprise to thwart pursuit...

[Belushi TD]

Time travel AND universe hopping?

Did they create a TARDIS?

Belushi TD

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Just side-ways within wary 'What-If' limits.
Just side-ways...

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Conch #08

As our Hamlet's only Adept Way-Finder, Aunt Cotath knew I could not hear her. She and Carrath embraced, as if for the last time. She stepped across the aisle, eased between pillar and back-wall. She hesitated for a breath, then a second. Setting her nerve, she grasped the pillar.

Suddenly, I was not alone. I felt her swift engagement with the pulse, felt her regard, the warmth of her approval. She studied my over-look. Now the 'High Pasture' flocks were in-gathered, she zoomed closer, tallied the 'Red Guards' and their wary progress. Between the Scouts' simple traps and the Canyon Trail's inherent hazards, our foes were strung out. It would take some time for enough to clear the Canyon, assemble an attack. Yes, we had time to do this right.

Aunt Cotath split the view, set a small window to guard where the difficult Trail clawed up into our valley. She changed the scale on the rest. The over-look widened, widened and lifted until this valley's Alpine range filled our view. She engaged the 'Functions'. Now, Alternate ranges stood before, behind, like carved slices of a fruit cake. This one bore more ice, this less. The third was almost bare. Another had what was surely a wide, wide road snaking upwards from a magnificent, Canyon vaulting bridge to an ice-free Pass. Swift, horse-less carriages moved both ways, but a closer look betrayed their cruel aura. The fourth showed a vast gouge cleaving the towering rock barrier, exposing that former sea-bed's ancient folds. Cruelly, there were other blemes, the wider land pock-marked, smitten. In the distance, on the horizon, vast volcanoes smoked or seethed.

Motion in the small window drew our attention. One by one, 'Hill Lancers' were climbing from the Canyon Trail into our Valley. A squad. Two squads. Three. Their numbers were depleted, perhaps some lost to the crossing and Trail. The Lancers mounted. One raised, perhaps blew a horn. They began a slow canter up the Lane towards our Hamlet.

Sharing the matrix, I felt Aunt Cotath's ire arise. It felt like watching a barn-cat sight, then 'Eck-Eck-Eck' an unwary rat. She expanded that small window, indicated I must study her actions. Thus bid, I shared her wary awakening of the flight controls.

Our Conch rose through the over-lying hill-side with an eerie shiver, found clear air. I'd been taught we might appear as the faintest soap-bubble, a gossamer, plaited rainbow. I'd been taught our craft resembled an ancient, extinct Ammonite. We had the plani-spiral form, but I am sure none could grow beyond a scant fraction of this size. As long within as a pre-Fall 'Express Train', the conjoined chambers held our Archive, Library, Museum, Armoury, Home-steading stores and MREs, tools and shelter makings, animal stalls and family groups with ample space to spare. The still-low sun must have sparkled on the fringe, for the 'Hill Lancers' reined in, urgently pointed our way.

We continued to rise. The riders continued to point higher and higher. We came level with the twin looming glacial walls of the bleak 'Ice Pass', hovered safely above. Below, we could see squads of 'Red Guard' Infantry, Archers and Siege Engineers were now reaching the Valley. All pointed at our gleaming apparition.

Aunt Cotath woke a different function, labelled 'JERICHO'. Initially an un-welcome resonance, it had been solved, weaponised. Our Conch began to 'Sing'. Within, we were mostly sheltered but, even at this distance, the 'Red Guards' clapped their hands to their ears. Two or three at a time, 'Lancers' were thrown as their distressed mounts bucked and stamped. Some ponies bolted, a few dragged hapless riders. The 'Song' rose, louder and yet louder.

Then the 'Ice Pass' walls failed. Small, large, larger ice slabs detached, plunged onto bare, frost-weakened slopes. A glacial avalanche developed. A great, roiling cloud of crushed ice admixed with rocks and stones and scree roared down the Valley slope. It fell upon, swept the 'High Grazing'. It swept the 'Upper Grazing', our cottages and gardens, our Hamlet's Hall. It engulfed the 'Red Guards'. It swept the 'Lower Grazing', used for lambing. It poured from the Valley side into the Canyon. The thunderous shaking dislodged many small falls along the Trail. Some 'Red Guard' Infantry were struck by such debris, sent pin-wheeling into the chasm below. Some were trapped between gaps in the Trail.

[Belushi TD]

Oh, fun! So the walls came a tumblin' down.

Interesting type of transportation device. Sort of a ship and a weapon and a hotel all combined into one.

Also fun to look at the possible worlds out there. I'm interested in seeing if they're going to move to a different place in this world, or if they're going to go to another world.

If they go elsewhere, what happens to the Red Guard? Do the protagonists maintain the ability to to ride their Conch, as how would the Red Guard follow them?

Belushi TD

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Conch #09

I could feel Aunt Cotath's grim satisfaction as she muted the 'Song', further widened both the scope of our over-look and the Alternate limits. As she rapidly sought options, the Alpine range writhed like a great river within its flood-plain. Where that met the Great Ocean, the coast pulsed in and out, marking how that had variously opened. Despite the vast scope, we could see ample, unwelcome evidence of cultivation, habitation. To the South, Central Sea shore-lines ebbed and flowed. East and West, straights variously opened and closed to the Great Ocean, Dark Sea and arms of the Southern Ocean. One even opened South, then South-West, to the Great Ocean bend of the Southern land ! If isolated, the Central Sea shrank to a vast desert, former Deeps now salt lakes fed by alkali springs. In-flowing rivers cut canyons to dwarf ours, then sank into their beds. I felt Aunt Cotath's revulsion, her shudder.

A decision reached, Aunt Cotath flew our Conch up, up and away. Long, long hours carried us Westward, far Westward, beyond the Great Ocean's few, far-scattered isles. A coastal range arose, birthed by the Ocean's ancient opening. In this Alternate, mostly capped by ice, it was not welcoming. She sought Southward, to more clement latitudes. Some Alternates were cold and grim. Some, milder, showed settlements along variously wide or narrow coastal plains. Two showed the vast whorls of great storms. No, such were not for us.

She turned our search inland. Beyond that coastal range, the land slowly, slowly dipped, small rivers trending West to become tributaries of a vast, near-central, South-flowing water-way with a wide, wide flood plain and bird's-foot coastal delta. Such low-land was fertile but unsafe, proven by how Alternates' channels and coastlines writhed.

To the West of the wide flood-plain, though, I noted where another tributary approached that vast water-way. Here, flanking the tributary, the land rose steeply to wooded hills, un-marred by roads, fields, villages, towns or the least clearings. There was fertile valley bottom-land, ample upper and lower pasture, enough timber for careful first-felling, enduring forestry. Exposed rock seams suggested many useful minerals might be gleaned.

Aunt Cotath followed my interest. Warily, she cast about, checking adjacent Alternates. Soon, she confirmed this area would likely stay clear for many, many life-times. Satisfied, she steered the Conch towards a good place for a 'New Hamlet', brought us to ground.

As the pillar dimmed, releasing my slim body, hunger, thirst, utter exhaustion set in. My legs began to fail, my wits to dim. I knew I would be bed-ridden for a week, as if from a high fever. But I'd done my duty. I'd helped us find a safe home. We had tents, food and tools for home-steading, the makings for pole weapons and cross-bows, even a few pre-Fall 'Guns'. We should have time and space to live free, grow from hamlet unto village, town, city, then a place of great industry and learning. Perhaps, perhaps some of those future students might master 'Great Calculus', grok the symbol soup of our Archive's 'TG' arcana, claim the Moon, Mars and stars without number...