Tylywoch ~ 05

 Tylywoch ~ 05 Not a bad days work

By Len Morgan 

Weilla and Mynach made two further trips up and down the mountain before Terrek announced they’d collected enough.   “It’s time for me to return to my forge.”   But, Gardon & Spass declared their intention to stay, and no manner of inducement would change their minds.  Terrek was annoyed.  “You were paid for the return trip, now I will have to hire more help to get my cargo home.”   What made matters worse was the fact that carbon is worthless to all intent and purpose, Its value became evident, only when he’d turned his iron ore into steel and turned that into blades.   Only then could he realise a return on his outlay.

“How will I get it all home when I have only sufficient funds to settle the reckoning at the Inn?” He railed.

Mynach smiled, ”We have friends who could help you, and not necessarily require immediate payment.” 

“How far away are they?” Terrek’s asked. 

“I should be back within the day” Mynach answered, “you will need to negotiate payment with my brother, who I believe you met at the Inn?” 

Terrek grinned, “ah! the man with no name, So be it!   Go find your friends, we’ll wait for you here.”

.-…-.

Mynach returned with Galyx, Soren & Hildi.

“They seem a little puny to me, can they do a day's work?” Terrek asked.

 Hildi answered him by lifting a full sack above her head and depositing it on the nearest mule.

“Ok, so what about payment?”

“We work on a quid pro quo basis” Galyx explained.  “We do something for you and you do something for us in return.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” he said, “let’s get on…”

“Aren’t you concerned not knowing what we might want in return?” asked Galyx.

“Would you ask for some exorbitant sum or make unreasonable demands?”

“No,” Galyx replied.

“Then let’s get to work,” Terrek said.

.-…-. 

Gardon & Spass were not around when they left, at Midday.   Before sunset they were back at the Inn, quaffing ale in the common room, sampling, with their olfactory senses, the fine aromatic meal being prepared in the kitchen by Mistress Karpe. 

Terrek sat back nonchalantly, and turned to Galyx, “have you decided what form of payment you require?”

“Yes, we would like you to teach our local blacksmith how to make that fine steel you boast of…”

“What?” he said incredulously choking on his ale.   “That’s impossible!”

“How so?” said Galyx, “I thought we had a deal.”

“No, you don’t understand.   What does he make, horseshoes, plough shears, tools, hardware, furniture?   A swordsmith's apprentice will spend ten years learning his craft.   He will do little more than look, listen, and make notes for the first five years.   He will start at the age of ten, how old is your smith?”

Galyx turned, and looked askance at the innkeeper.

“HURRUMPH, Grazzek is umm, about my age, forty?”

“And the rest laughed Terrek he’s fifty if he’s a day.  I have spoken with him, he would be dead before he could finish the training, and who will tend his forge for you whilst he is studying with me?”

“We thought you might be able to teach him here before you go?” said the Inn-keep hopefully.  

Terrek and Galyx both laughed uproariously.   “Is there no young ten-year-old you could spare for ten years?"  Galyx asked.  

“You mean some good for nothing lazybones who isn’t worth his keep?” he answered looking towards the fire hearth with a twinkle in his eye, looking at the ever present boy listening in on their conversation.   “Jax!” he yelled, the boy jumped to his feet. “Come here boy, your to be apprenticed to a swordsmith.”

Terrek viewed the soot smeared boy, “your face is black boy,” he said with a smile that broadened as the boy rubbed it with his cuff, only succeeding in making it look worse.   “Don’t worry, you’ll get plenty of that working for me.” He tousling the boy's hair playfully. 

“You’ll take him?” asked the innkeeper with surprise and joy mingled on his face.

“Aye, he’ll do if he’s half as intelligent as he looks.”   He turned to Galyx with a quizzical look on his face, “why are you doing this for them?”

“GYRI!   We owe him for past services, he requested that we help his stepson to learn a trade, when I learned of your need it seemed a perfect opportunity to repay a debt.

“Ten years is a long time to be apart from loved ones.” Said Terrek.

“The Inn-keep thinks Jax is worthy of a chance, he does a man’s job, and never shirks his duties, he’s earned it!” said Galyx.   “How long will this black powder last?” 

“A year, possibly a year and a half” he replied.

“There will be a similar quantity awaiting collection in twelve months, and thereafter, in return for its worth in good honest workman-like blades.

Terrek looked into Galyx’s eyes and knew that he spoke true.   “Accepted,” he said offering his hand. They shook on it.

Galyx smiled.   In one transaction, he’d secured a supply of top quality weapons, and a means of payment.   The gold accumulated by Terrek's helpers, would pay local labour for mining processing and hauling the carbon.   Even as they spoke, Fire & Flood quads were making a start on mining the next shipment.   The Inn-keep would warehouse it for collection later when Jax returned with up to twenty good serviceable blades.

Galyx smiled, ‘Not a bad days work’. 

(To be Continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

Tylywoch ~ 04

Tylywoch ~ 04 Guiding Prospectors 

By Len Morgan

Galyx and Mynach entered the inn unobserved.  They ordered and paid for a room, then sat down with a dish of rice wine, compliments of the house, to await the arrival of their meal.  Two stocky Meyam prospectors eyed them critically, smirking with perceived superiority, 'just a pair of uneducated bumpkins' they thought, as their leader broke the silence with a question.  “Are you lads locals?” 

“We come from the south, trapping fur animals and deer for preserving.”

“You must be well acquainted with the area then?” he said.

“Pretty well,” Galyx answered in a neutral voice.

“Names Terrek.” The northerner said in a friendly voice, offering his hand.  “These are my helpers Gardon & Spass, we are seeking certain ores and rare earth’s, I suspect exist in this area.  I need them to improve the qualities of my steel,” he explained.  Carefully, he removed a dagger from his belt and slowly handed it to Galyx, hilt first.

Galyx tested it on his palm, nodding appreciatively.  “This is indeed an Excellent blade.” He tested its tensile strength, “fine steel, do you trade in weapons?”

Terrek laughed lazily, “I use them when the need arises, but I am a sword smith by trade.  I produce the finest blades you will ever see, as strong and as sharp as any ever made.  Yes, I do sell them, but there are already buyers queuing up for everything I can produce, so I make to order.  There are certain ingredients in my steel that are hard to come by, which is why I am here in your mountains instead of being hard at work in my forge.  I can predict the presence of chemicals by the rock formations and the nature of the soil.”

“You are perhaps looking for a guide?  Such work doesn’t come cheap in the Sabre Tooth mountains, strange creatures and demons frequent the area, a man does not enter them lightly.”

His companion sat silently seeming to follow the conversation closely, but could not be more than fourteen or fifteen.  Terrek smiled disarmingly, 'interesting pair' he thought.

 “I’m sure what you are saying is true friend.  I’m sorry, but I don’t recall your name?”

“I didn’t give it," Galyx replied. 

A rather forgettable girl entered the inn, dressed in faded drab canvas clothing & shoes.  She was carrying a well-worn canvas sack over her shoulder.  She walked up to the bar and asked to see the Inn-keep.   When he appeared, she showed him something and spoke in low tones.

He guffawed, “Fools Geld!” he cried aloud.  “What make you of this friend?” he called tossing a speckled black rock to Galyx, who caught it deftly, nodding his head and smiling he said “Fools Gold.”  He drew back his arm to return it.

“One moment if you please?” said Terrek.  Galyx tossed it in his direction instead.  “It’s Quite an amalgam,” he examined it and hefted it from hand to hand as though it were a pebble.  “Yes, It contains iron pyrites, but there is also a large carbon content, which is one of the ingredients I am seeking.  There is also some gold, not enough to make it a viable ore for gold alone, but if we extract the carbon as I intend it would also be a simple matter to extract the gold as a by product.  Which would please my companions no end, both Gardon and Spass would rather be panning gold than looking for carbon deposits.  Fortunately, the purse that financed this expedition was mine.” he said with an open smile in Weilla’s direction.  “What ask you for this rock girl?” 

“If you please sir, lodging for the night?” she answered hopefully, as she’d been instructed.

“Show me where you found it, and you shall have that at the very least.”

“I found it…” she began.

“No!  I would prefer that you show me, tomorrow.” Said Terrek interrupting her.”

She nodded.

“What is your name?”

“Weilla,” She replied in a small voice.

“Inn-keep, put Weilla’s food and lodging on my recconing if you please.”  Then turning to his associates, he said in Meyam “if this is a true sample of what we will find, there is carbon here and even a little gold enough to satisfy you two.” 

Weilla was thrilled to discover that she understood most of their ensuing conversation, thanks to her young fertile mind and Galyx’s crash course in the Mayam language. 

“Come girl,” said the Inn-keep, “Jax will feed you and show you to your bunk.” 

His eyes turned her in the direction of a grubby barefoot scullion, toasting his toes at the fire.

“Thank you sir,” she said to Terrek, who nodded and gave her a warm smile.

'Such blue eyes, just like my father's,' she thought.  She instinctively 'took to him' despite his being an outsider.  A glance at his companions confirmed her initial opinion of them, she mentally named them Greedy & Lascivious.  Ill met companions she thought, accepting a bowl of hot soup and a hunk of dark bread from Jax, it was good, she ate hungrily.

.-…-. 

   She set an internal proximity alarm in her mind that would awaken her if anybody or anything entered the room while she slept.  She dreamt of a blue eyed stranger with steel grey hair, old enough to be her father.  But, at her age unrequited love is the stuff of dreams, and just as easily shrugged off.  She slept soundly despite the unfamiliar surroundings and rose early, before dawn, as was the Tylywoch custom.  Even so, others were already abroad.  She went into the common room, to discover the kitchen staff scurrying this way and that, fulfilling the demands of the cook – a chubby red faced woman in her middle years.  She brandished a large wooden spoon like a mace. 

“In less than an hour, our guests will be rising to break their fast on bacon, eggs, oatmeal, hot oven fresh bread, beans, sugar cake, and endless bowls of tea.  If I receive so much as one complaint about the food or the service, you will all suffer my wrath!”  Her face visibly reddened as she reached a crescendo. 

'good theatrical stuff', Weilla smiled, wondering if she gave the same speech every morning.  Catching sight of Jax standing on a large wooden crate, stirring a cauldron of what her nose told her was barley rice & fish stew, she joined him.  Close up, the aroma set her mouth to watering “Mmm that smells really good!” she said, Jax smiled.  “Can I taste it?” she asked.

“Best not,” he replied, “cook doesn’t allow tasting until it's just right!”

“Is this what you do, cook?” 

“Part of it,” he replied “I stir, lay the fires, tend them.  I help in the stables with the horses and mules, feed the chooks, porkers, and other livestock.  I clear up after meals, tidy the guest's rooms, draw and fetch water from the wells, fetch wine and beer from the coolers, and vegetables from the cellars and root clamps.” His eyes were bright and intelligent but his speech and manner appeared doleful.

“Where are your family?”  

“I have none, I was a foundling, left on the kitchen stoop in a basket.  Mistress Karpe took me in out of kindness, so this is my home, and these are my family” he said fanning his arm to encompass all the kitchen staff.

“And lucky to have them!” cook crooned a foot from his ear.

“She’s a guest, she asked me a question,” he replied “I was only being polite to a guest as you always tell us to be. Mistress Karpe.”

“This will teach you to be polite on your own time, and keep your mind on your allotted tasks,” she chided in an overly gruff voice.  Then she struck him a half-hearted clout across the shoulders with her ever-present spoon. Producing an uncharacteristic smile on his face, mirroring the smile on her own face; the action & reaction totally at odds; 'a bond of the heart' Weilla thought conjuring memories of Aldor & Meillo and the warm accompanying feeling. 

She wandered outside, even as a soft glow heightened the horizon picking out the Sabre Toothed peaks in sharp relief.  She waited patiently to ritually greet the dawn with a deep respectful bow, “Good morning Sun, welcome back.” she whispered, filling her lungs with crisp fragrant spring mountain air.

.-…-. 

   By mid-morning, she was leaping up the treacherous moss covered rocks that made up four-fifths of the stream bed.   Her body was warmed by her exertion as much as by the early spring sunshine.   Her feet, now bare, were numbed by the snowmelt waters streaming down in the opposite direction, which only served to increase her speed.    With an occasional glance back, she climbed relentlessly higher into the dizzy heights.  The Meyam and their string of mules floundered and laboured fifty yards behind and far below her.  Even Terrek who looked to be in the best shape of all appeared to be blowing hard, it was the thining air, which she was used to, she simply felt exhilarated.  Looking back and down at them, resting an arm disdainfully on a stunted overhanging tree she felt like a god surveying her kingdom – laid out below in patchwork – her elation bubbled over and she yelled at the top of her lungs, “Come on you Donkeys!”

“We can’t all be mountain goats!” Terrek yelled back grinning broadly.

“Almost there now.”   She assured them, then continued on up the sream bed at a gallop.

Fifteen minutes later, Gardon & Spass were spread-eagled on their backs, gasping for air, lips blue and faces pale. 

Terrek, hammer and chisel in hand, was already tapping a loose rock from a vertical face.  “We need timbers you two.”  He yelled in Meyam, to be heard over the constant roar from the nearby waterfall.

“What say you?” Weilla asked in Meyam.

“I was talking to those two, don’t want them to get too comfortable, there’s work to be done,” he answered pointing down at his companions.

“I wanted to know what the word meant, ‘Timber’?”

“You want to learn Meyam?”

She nodded “Yes”.  From then on, whenever he spoke, he repeated what he’d said in Meyam for her benefit.  She was bright, intuitive, and intelligent, nothing like the girl from his first impression as she entered the inn.

They’d set up a permanent camp and completed their sluice by the end of the second day, and were separating gold and carbon from the sludge – neither being soluble in water.  The gold, being heavier sank.  The carbon could then be captured on a sieve of fine muslin then laid out in the sun to dry.  They pulverised the rock with picks and hammers, whilst Weilla shoveled the dust into the sluice, filled with fast-flowing water.  She laid out and washed the muslin sieves, and assisted Terrek in bagging the carbon.  She discovered a means to pick out small particles of metallic gold from the sluice bed with twigs from a resinous tree nearby, its gum exuding twigs captured the metal on contact, and built up a golden shell before needing to be replaced.  The others were not slow in copying her.  On the third day, they loaded up the mules with sacks of carbon. Weilla was instructed to take them back to the inn and return with the eight fresh mules the following day.  Terrek gave her a letter of authorisation addressed to the Inn-keep, instructing him that she was to take charge of the mules and that her expenses were to be charged to Terrek’s account.  She started off downstream, after the mid-day meal, and within half an hour she spotted the lightning blaze sign on a mountain ash, she tied the mules nearby and followed the trail to her rendezvous with Galyx and the other members of her quad. 

She passed on the information she'd gleaned, to Galyx and the others. 

"Fire quad will be observing the camp, in your absence. Terrek's note to the Inn-keep asks him to hire some additional help with the mules on your return trip.   Touching, he is concerned with your welfare.   Take Mynach with you, he can learn mule husbandry, and you can teach him the new words you have learned.   Tell the Inn-keep Mynach is to assist you on the return trip, to save depleting his staff.

Early next morning, they started the return trip.  After a short stop to check with Galyx, to pass on the details in a return note, then the final few miles trudge to the camp, for a nourishing hot breakfast.  They finished day five busy filling sacks with Terrek’s black powder. 

(to be continued)

                                                                                                    Copyright Len Morgan 

Tylywoch ~ 03

 Tylywoch ~ 03 The Natural Disasters 

Len Morgan

    After surviving the ice, Weilla changed.  She became more reckless as if looking hard into the face of death and surviving had wiped away all fear.   Her actions caused concern to those around her.  Even some of her teachers thought her a potential danger to others, yet surprisingly nobody actually got hurt.   Others said it was a natural reaction and, that she would change again if they just gave her a little time.  She wouldn’t be expected to choose a specialisation until she was ten, so she still had five years in which to settle down and find her path in life. 

.-…-. 

When they reached the age of seven there were changes made.  They were organised into units of twelve.  Each unit consisting of three teams of four students, known as quads.  The quad was the basic working unit for the Tylywoch.  They were selected by their trainers, who had intimate knowledge of each student's strengths, and weaknesses.  The members of a quad were chosen to complement each other, to bring out the best in the quad, and help individuals overcome their limitations, together, they would quickly become a well-balanced close-knit team.  Each quad was named, by custom, after successful quads from the past those that had distinguished themselves and brought honour to their name.  Weilla was attached to the ‘Natural Disasters’ consisting of the three quads; Fire, Flood, and Storm.  Storm quad was made up of two boys Soren & Mynach, and two girls, Hildi & Weilla.

Soren had great dexterity and speed, his sleight of hand was legendary, surpassed only by his ability to solve puzzles, and pick locks.  His knowledge of mechanics and all kinds of devices was almost intuitive. 

Mynach even at the age of seven was solidly built like his parents.  His strength was equal to that of the other three quad members combined.  In addition, he possessed a rather unique talent, the ability to mimic and reproduce accurately any sound, after just one hearing. 

Hildi was the antithesis of Mynach.  She was quiet, thin, wiry, and double-jointed.  She could get into and out of spaces and things that others wouldn’t even attempt.  She could move soundlessly like an eel without disturbing a blade of grass.  She was deceptive, a pretty doll-like child with strength, out of all proportion to her stature.

Weilla possessed both physical and mental strength, she was strong-willed, tenacious, and fearless, she would never admit defeat.  She was an excellent tactician, not afraid to be cautious and at times to gamble or sacrifice when it became necessary.   Her mind was logical quick and sharp as a razor.   She would formulate solutions while others were still coming to grips with the problem.

.-…-. 

The Games – were designed to stretch their abilities, reveal their individual skills, and ingenuity, as well as their leadership qualities, and their ability to work as a team.

The rules were simple:  The Games always took place at night, each was of thirty minutes duration, two quads would defend a flag against the third.  Each member of the twelve-man team would be given the opportunity to lead their quad in an attack.  They had to produce their plan on paper and submit it to the invigilators prior to commencing their attack.  They could then be judged on their planning, ingenuity, and flexibility.  There were seven unsuccessful attacks then it was Weilla’s turn to present her plan.

Each quad made four attacks on the Flag and defended eight times, four against each of the other quad’s.  It was Storm’s third attack, Weilla had analysed all the previous unsuccessful attacks and knew that in each, the element of surprise was lacking.  Being aware of the strengths of her quad members, she carefully outlined her plan.  Only Soren was skeptical, but since most of the work would be done by Mynach & Hildi, who were more receptive, she submitted her plan regardless.  The invigilators' eyebrows rose, but he said nothing.  The horn sounded and she rejoined the quad, immediately an altercation broke out within the group.  She called them harshly into a huddle, and for several minutes they were engaged in earnest discussion.  Hildi’s voice raised in protest, Soren answered loudly, Mynach and Weilla joined in the exchange.  Hildi made an abusive comment, which Mynach took personally.  The two defending quad’s edged closer to better follow the heated exchanges, smiling with amusement.  It seemed that Storm quad were having a falling out.  It would make their job easier if they encouraged it.  Weilla shouted for order and was pushed from the huddle, landing unceremoniously on her behind in plain view of the other quads.  Nearly half the allotted time had expired and still, Hildi & Mynach’s voices could be heard, raised in heated disagreement.  The defenders, unable to resist, began to hurl their comment in support of one or the other.  Eventually, they all became involved in good-natured banter with various members of the Storm quad as full time approached.  The horn blew, and the attack was over.  Both Fire & Flood whooped with delight… 

“Attack Successful!”  Announced the invigilator.

The defenders smiles changed to disbelief then horror as they turned to discover the Flag was gone.  As if in answer to their pleading looks, the invigilator held up the flag, as Hildi turned and headed back towards the other Storm quad members. 

“It Worked!”  She yelled in triumph.

“Of course it did, it was Weilla's plan,” said Mynach imitating Hildi’s voice.

There were no further successful attacks that day, so much to the chagrin of Fire & Flood, Storm was top quad! 

.-…-. 

   The two women shared an intimate embrace and a few private tears, then Weilla shouldered her small bundle of personal possessions, and left their home as a child, for the last time.  Meillo felt tired and so alone, she wiped a tear from her usually implacable face.  Aldor was away, traveling the Empire, keeping the peace, and winning the hearts and minds of the ordinary folk.  He’d made his views known, that they would have need of friends and allies in the not too distant future, and it was his responsibility to make things happen.

The Natural Disasters would from now on share a Kebu, a communal hut, living as an extended family.  Fishing, hunting, cooking, bartering, and planting, whilst continuing their education as a team.  They would continue to work in quads, but from eight years of age, they were expected to embrace a larger team, the Tylywoch community.  A thirteenth warrior would be joining them, appointed by virtue of his/her age and experience, to be Kebu master.  All the quad leaders would then report and be responsible to the Kebu master.  It was not usual for operatives so young to be used in real operations, but they would have their share of training operations and exercises to test the efficiency of other imperial forces, at the direct request of the Empress.  The Tylywoch were her shadow warriors, answerable to her alone.  They were fiercely loyal and lived by the code: death with honour.  Prior to undertaking a covert operation in her name, they would yell the oath at the top of their voices.  Since one weak link could destroy them all, they had to have complete confidence in every member of their quad or team.  A month after moving to the Kebu, the natural disasters were introduced to their Kebu master, Galyx.  Newly returned from serving as Captain of the Empress’ honour guard.

He was a tall slim serious young man of eighteen, sporting short dark wispy facial hair.  He, it was who began their training in earnest!

.-…-.

  By the time they had reached the age of ten the Natural Disasters had grown hard with work and to the casual observer or outsider could be taken for adults.   Dressed in warm sturdy waterproof clothing hoods and full-length capes that would double as a tent, they headed for Sudoren, the nearest town, just thirty miles distant.  Outsiders were reported to be staying there, asking questions about their mountain homeland, and its inhabitants.  The inn-keep was their eyes and ears in the area and had called them to do a routine surveillance and vetting operation.  They had carried out similar operations many times before, enough to make it routine.  Galyx had delegated Fire quad to slip into the town, locate and identify the tools and equipment the visitors were using.  They had been taking soil, rock & mineral samples, and were studying the geological formations in the area.  They had ore samples, detailed maps, and their tools suggested they were who they said they were, mining prospectors.  Two were pale and stocky wearing heavy animal skin clothing and boots.  Their leader was tall, broad-shouldered with iron-grey hair and of indeterminate age dressed in the local fashion.  “Outsiders,” Galyx said with distaste spitting on the ground.  “They must not be allowed to approach home territory, they must be followed constantly.  Either Fire or Flood will shadow them at all times.  Storm will accompany me into Sudoren.  We are a hunting party, stopping for supplies.  Ask discreet questions, and try to get closer to them, to discover their true purpose on our side of the Saber Tooth mountains.“

 Weilla and Mynach were more obviously mature, and would therefore be the ones to make the closer contact. 

.-…-. 

 “Over the centuries, the Meyam people have panned for gold in the rivers filtering down to the lower slopes of the Sabre Tooth Mountains.  The streams and rivers have provided them and their ancestors with a good living.  Now, they have become greedy, they are seeking the mother lode; the source of all their prosperity.  They come into our lands seeking the source.  They may guard its location jealously, but others will eventually follow.  We will allow them to discover and mine the gold, but neither they nor the gold will leave these mountains.  There are deposits several miles upriver, not the mother lode but several rich veins that will keep them occupied for weeks.  The gold will replenish our coffers, and enable you to gain experience.”  Galyx held up a piece of black rock, speckled with gold pieces, for their inspection.  “This is what they are seeking.  Weilla and Mynach will accompany me to the Inn where they lodge.”  He threw the rock to Weilla who caught it easily.

“You will lead them to the deposits, and stay as guide and hunter, learning all you can of their expedition.  You will need to learn their language, this will be part of your training,” Galyx explained.  

“How do we…” Mynach began.

“You will learn keywords, joining words, common words, and how to create sentences and ask questions.” 

“We will need somebody who speaks both languages.” Said Mynach.

“I speak many languages, one of them is Meyam.  There are tricks to learning language, I will teach you the rudiments and you will learn from our visitors.” Said Galyx. 

“Is one night sufficient?” Hildi queried.

“For the Natural Disasters it will be,” he said, "gather round..."

(to be Continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

 

                  

              

THE IMPORTANCE OF THE WATCH

by Richard Banks 

When Glen was asked which of his grandfather’s possessions he would like as a memento of a long and well lived life he choose his pocket watch. Even in those final, bed bound days Granddad and his watch were seldom seen apart and Glen’s first childhood memory was of sunlight reflecting on its glass face. Determined to continue its working life Glen invested in a made to measure suit that included a waistcoat with a pocket deep and broad enough to accommodate the watch. This he wore at his grandfather’s funeral, and the following day departed to his work in the same suit resplendent with watch and chain. His mother told him that he looked ridiculous, that no one ‘in this day and age’ wore pocket watches but this he was prepared to risk. Indeed the reaction of his fellow clerks was remarkably positive and the watch much admired by old Penrose, a senior partner, who still wore his. It was he who found the catch that opened up the back of the watch to reveal its mechanical workings and an inscription on the inside of the casing.

         “What’s GOPOC?” he had asked and Glen previously unaware of the inscription could only plead ignorance. Whatever the answer to Penrice’s question it was they who had presented the watch to grandfather ‘in recognition of his distinguished service over many years’. The discovery had not only opened an intriguing window into granddad’s life but also attracted the attention of a person well placed to advance Glen’s career. How better to keep that person’s interest than by finding out all he could about GOPOC, but in the days before home computers and the Internet this proved less than straightforward. Indeed after trawling methodically through the reference books in his local library and other libraries recommended to him Glen was none the wiser. It was his Uncle George, a long time member of the Honourable Company of Water Hogs, who suggested that GO probably stood for Grand Order and that the ‘P’ might refer to the printing trade in which grandfather had been a typesetter.

         “Why don’t you advertise for information in The Times,” he suggested. “that way it will be seen by the paper’s well informed readership and the men who print it. Someone’s bound to know.” 

        

                                               *****

         A few days after the placing of the ad three letters were received but they were wrong in everything they said and Glen was in a place that definitely wasn’t England.

 

                                               *****

         How he had got there he had no inkling apart from an open coffin at the base of a shuttered window through which thin shafts of sunlight had come to rest on the wall above him. As his head began to clear he took stock of his surroundings: the narrow bed on which he lay, the half lit room between bed and window and the dark shapes of furniture within it. Outside in the sunlight the sound of many voices could be heard. Were they English voices? He wasn’t sure. An oppressive heat reminded him of Morocco which he had visited on an 18–30 holiday.

         He sat up and attempted to stand but finding his legs unresponsive to the demands of his brain fell backwards with a loud crash onto the bed. On the other side of a plasterboard wall someone else stirred and a few seconds later the turning of key in lock told Glen that he was about to receive a visit from someone who could only be his jailer.

         He struggled to his feet determined at this first meeting not to put himself at the disadvantage of looking up at the person about to appear. That was for those who knelt, lackeys his grandfather called them, men who touched their forelocks and did homage. Granddad had been a lay preacher in a church of equal, Godly men. There was no room for Lords and Masters in his life and in this moment of peril and uncertainty every word he had said resonated with the power of revelation. This was the moment for angels and heralds, for burning bushes, trumpets and heavenly light. The world was about to change, then the door opened and the world went on much as before.

 

                                             *****

         Nevertheless, there were certain logistical matters that required explanation and although the man entering the room would rather this was not part of his job description the young man in his care would almost certainly be wanting to know why he was here and not in the place from which he had been collected. Indeed, as he would have no recollection of being collected this too would have to be explained, as well as the reason he should feel pleased and honoured to be here. And all this might have to be undertaken while their ‘guest’ was still woozy from the effects of an injection that had rendered him cataplectic across several continents. Fortunately the young man was scarcely able to stand and his fight or flight responses were as impeded as his present ability to take in the geo-political complexities that would also have to be explained to him. For now the best course of action was to assure him that he was safe and among friends.

         The man switched on his smile and explained that he was the Gatekeeper. There was another man who was also the Gatekeeper but he worked only on Sundays and every second Thursday, otherwise it was him. “Call me Gus,” he said, “everyone else does.” The young man’s lips opened and shut but were unable to establish the necessary connection with his vocal cords. The look on his face, however, suggested that an angry confrontation was unlikely to occur.

         “I expect you’re wondering what has happened to you. Of course you do, and all will be explained I assure you, but not before you have eaten. You must be hungry, and thirsty too. What say you to some roast beef, Sunday dinner with all the trimmings?”

         The words lodged in Glen’s brain and assumed an importance that almost dwarfed the mystery that he hoped would soon be unravelling. He was hungry, more hungry than he could ever remember and this hunger was apparently about to end. All he had to do was to signify his agreement with a single word.

         “Yes.” The word pushed roughly through a sandpaper throat. The sound it made was not the sound that Glen was expecting but nonetheless it was definitely a yes. The man was pleased, progress was being made. It was time to take his charge into meeting room A, sit him down at the head of its long table and get him to lubricate his throat with a cordial recommended for convalescents. The liquid enabled further words to be said, although still not yet enough to facilitate the conversation that was forming in Glen’s head.

         The man left the room for the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a large plate of food and a gravy boat. He had, he said, also spoken to the Director who was looking forward to seeing him. If Glen felt up to it they could meet after dinner. There was much to tell him, much that would be to his advantage. After that Glen could, if he wished, take a stroll around the town. There wasn’t much to see now the market had ended but the exercise would no doubt blow away the cobwebs. It was evening now, the most pleasant part of the day. The man hesitated for the want of further things to say but there was no need, Glen was busy eating, for now the talking could wait.

         “Coffee?” said the man as Glen cleared the plate of everything but a thin veneer of gravy.  Normally he also ate a dessert but for once the quantity of food he had consumed was more than enough. A walk would definitely be needed, so would coffee. The man departed the room for a second time and returned bearing a tray on which was a large coffee pot with six cups and saucers. “The Director’s on his way,” he murmured as if this was news not to be mentioned too loudly. He glanced back at the door through which he had just passed. Beyond it the sound of an approaching delegation could be heard. There was a brief pause as they arrived on the other side, a possible reordering of bodies and then the door was pushed open by a middle aged man in a well tailored suit. In his wake followed three other men, the last of whom was dressed casually in a zip-up jacket and jeans. The first man in introduced himself as the Director and those about him as his associates. As of now, he was unable to reveal their names. They could, he explained, have used false names, but this would have been incompatible with the free and friendly conversation they now wished to have. He sat himself down and signalled his entourage to do the same. The last man in occupied a chair away from the table and observed proceedings with a detachment that suggested that as of now his importance consisted only in him being there.

         The Director seemed in no hurry to proceed onto the business that was his reason for being there. First he had to build up a rapport with the young man, gain his trust, ensure he was clear in both his understanding and his choice of words. Finding him both lucid and apparently not ill-disposed to his abductors the Director abandoned small talk for the serious business in hand. Glen, he said, required answers and he was going to get them. His advertisement had asked what GOPOC stood for. Few people knew and those who did were required to keep this information to themselves but Glen was the son and grandson of former members. He had a right to know. 

         The Director reminded himself that this was not a public meeting and that although he expected to do most of the talking it was essential that Glen should also speak. “So, Glen, GOPOC

stands for Grand Order for the Protection of Commerce. Does that mean anything to you?”

         Glen shook his head. “No, Grandad never mentioned it.”

         “Or your father?”

         “No.”

         “Good. That’s the way it should be. Only those within its ranks should know of its existence and the mission it fulfils.”

         “And what is that?”

         “A good question. In short to oppose the Moscow Collective. But what’s that you are thinking. You want to know about GOPOC and I am telling you about another organisation, but with good reason, for without the Collective there would be no GOPOC. What, Glen, do you know about the Bolchevik revolution?”

         “The usual stuff, 1917, Lenin, Stalin, the end of Czars and the beginning of Communism.”

         “Well said, a succinct summary to which you can add world revolution, the destruction of the old order in Europe and its replacement by satellite states subservient to mother Russia. In this were significant opportunities for personal profit, opportunities very apparent to the small and middling entrepreneurs who in 1917 renounced capitalism and belatedly joined the ranks of party bureaucrats and commissars. But how were they to benefit from the opportunities about to unfold? Their past was against them. At the back of every queue they were also the most likely to be purged. The Secret Service was where they wanted to be, stirring up trouble in countries ripe for change, destabilising their economies and taking their cut from the chaos that ensued. But when they failed to get the preferments their talents deserved they decided to form their own secret service, an organisation known only to themselves that would mop up the commercial opportunities insufficiently exploited by the politicos primarily concerned with regime change.”

         The Director took a sip of his coffee. “All clear?”

         Having signalled his response with a nod Glen decided to interpose a few words of his own. “And did they ‘mop up’?”

         “Oh yes, and with great success, extending their operations into more and more countries. In 1952 both their existence and the extent of their operations were discovered by a commercial analyst working for the London Chamber of Commerce. The UK Government was duly informed but on the advice of our NATO allies choose to believe that the only credible threat to our political and economic well-being came from the Soviet State. A few months later the murder of an eminent London banker convinced the City Fathers that if the Government were blind to the dangers they faced there was no alternative but to defend themselves. That’s when the Grand Order was formed, a covert watch and response force that would, when necessary, provide an armed deterrent ready and able to go head to head with the Collective. Recruited from the City institutions its membership passed down families from father to son. If you decide to join you will be the third generation of your House to do so.”

         The Director poured himself another coffee observing as he did the affect of his words on the young man. “Any questions?”

         “Yes. I take it from what you have said that my father and grandfather were not permitted to tell me this.”

         “Absolutely not. In the normal way you would have been recruited on your twenty-first birthday and your membership confirmed in a ceremony attended by senior officials and those members of your family within its ranks. Unfortunately the death of your father ten years ago and the more recent passing of your grandfather means that you will be the sole representative of your family; that is, of course, if you decide to join. The Grand Order is not without its dangers – your father’s death may not have been the accident it was assumed to be – but nonetheless you may consider that the benefits of membership are worth the risk. Firstly in serving your country you will be continuing a family tradition; your father and grandfather would have been proud of you. Secondly no member of the Grand Order has ever been unsuccessful in business. Your grandfather took great care in securing for you a position at Penrose Morgan. It was his ambition that in time you would become a partner. We can, of course, make that happen. So, as you can see, there are opportunities as well as danger. The choice is yours. What say you?”

         “But I’m not twenty-one yet.”

         “Two months shy but when you placed that advertisement in The Times you identified yourself to the Collective as a potential threat that must be eliminated. So, early or not, you need to make your decision now. Are you with us or not?”

         Glen pondered briefly on the choice he had been asked to make and decided that there was no choice at all. If Dad and Granddad had been members then so must he.

         “Count me in.”

 

                                             *****

         The Director allowed himself a few moments reflection. It had been a cruel deception, but a necessary one. Once recruited into the Grand Order who knows what harm the young man might have done, but sometimes a family link was not continued despite the benefits of membership; for some a quiet life was better than the uncertainties of one more eventful. He could have expressed doubts, said no, but by his assent had declared war against the comrades that he, the Director of Operations, was duty bound to protect. All that remained was for him to pass sentence in the name of the Collective and watch as the man in the zip-up jacket took aim and sent their enemy tumbling lifeless to the floor.

         The Director placed his cup and saucer back on the tray and retreated without comment to his office. He had a report to write. By the time it was done the coffin would be in use once more and on its way to the crematorium. Everything had been done by the book. The story of Glen was at an end.

 

Copyright Richard Banks             

A bottle of Prosecco 02

 A bottle of Prosecco

By Janet Baldey

It was after seven and the moon was riding high by the time Alicia’s boss had finished with her.

“Damn him to hell!” Grabbing her coat, she burst into the outside world and started to run, but in her six-inch heels this wasn’t easy.  As she lurched along, she seethed. “The bastard…tonight, of all nights, to make me work late.  I hope he dies, screaming in agony. And soon too!”

Blood flooded her cheeks and her eyes glittered.  An innocent dog walker, who happened to be in her path, caught sight of the wild-eyed figure and hastily pressed herself against the wall, tightening the dog’s lead and dragging her pet to safety as Alicia rushed by.

Alicia was not someone to be trifled with and such fits of uncontrollable anger were not unusual, she’d consigned many to a fiery demise, and tonight it was a case of touch the blue paper and stand well clear.  She had plans and her pox-ridden boss had meddled with them.  He would not be forgiven easily and if he’d been aware of the crime he’d committed, he’d be quaking in his brothel creepers.  She started to pant, the party started at eight and she needed to be on time if her ploy stood any chance of succeeding.

“Oh God, I need to take some plonk…”  Skidding to a halt she dived into the nearest off licence and grabbed a bottle of Prosecco, cheap stuff but it was only a token.  Zooming up the aisle she threw a tenner at the till and zoomed out again.

At last, she reached the end of her road, almost there, still time for a quick shower before she donned her finery.  That’s if…..well, they’d just better not, that’s all.   Just because she was their only daughter, it didn’t mean they owned her soul.  It was bad enough having to live with a couple of ancient relics without having to be at their beck and call 24/7. So, they were in their, nineties, so what?  Was it her fault they had her late in life?  Anyway, a lot of folk that age were perfectly hale and hearty - they didn’t need anyone to nanny them.  She flew through the front door and pounded up the stairs.

“Alicia.  Is that you?”  Not stopping, she took no notice of her mother’s shaky voice.

Anyway!  Who did she think it was?  Boris Johnson?  Come to think of it, perhaps he’d be at the party.

“Alicia?”

“Yes”, she yelled.  “What do you want?  I’m in a rush.”

“A cup of tea, would be nice dear.  We’re both parched.”

“I’m late.  You know where the kitchen is surely?”

Her mother sighed and patted her husband’s hand wondering where they’d gone wrong.  Alicia had always been headstrong, but lately she’d become worse. Her sister had a word for it, or was it two words?   Oh well, she struggled to her feet and reached for her cane.  “I can manage”, she thought, “as long as I’m careful with the boiling water, that kettle is very heavy”. 

Freshly showered, Alicia sat in front of the mirror carefully painting on her party-face. As she did, she thought about the coming evening, and in particular, a certain guy called Jeremy.  She would never have imagined that plain as a well-used flannel, Jenny, had snared such a catch.  Not only was he toned as a surfer guy, but he reeked of money.  After their last meeting, she had done her research found out his surname was Coollaire, as in “Coullaire Electricity, Oil and Gas Heating Co. Ltd and they were loaded.  His father, was now Sir William and the family had their sticky fingers in lots of pies.  Just fancy being married to the only son of that family. She looked around her room noticing, not for the first time, how dingy it was; she’d do anything to get out of this dump. Her lip curled like a cat being sick as she saw strands of cobwebs decorating the walls.  Why, on earth, didn’t her mother do something about them?

Her thoughts reverted to Jeremy.  He fancied her, she knew he did, a girl always knows. At their first meeting his eyes almost fell out of their sockets but he didn’t stand a chance, poor love, with that Jenny guarding him like a tigress.  And she needed to.  Whatever had possessed her to wear that unfortunate dress?  Made her look like a clown. 

Alicia sat back and studied her reflection, pouting her full lips she fluttered her eyelashes.  “Looking good, girl! Jenny doesn’t stand a chance”.  As she slipped into a skin-tight dress she imagined slinking towards Jeremy, her lips curved into a seductive smile. 

Suddenly she caught sight of the clock and sprang into action.  She needed to get a move on if she was going to snap him up before some other bitch did.   At last, sliding her feet into a pair of strappy party shoes, she was good to go. 

It wasn’t far to the venue; it was just that she found it so difficult to walk in her shoes which she was beginning to have serious doubts about; maybe she should have got a size larger but Alicia was sensitive about the size of her feet.  Gritting her teeth she tottered along, trying to ignore the pain.  At last, she came to a fork in the road where there was a choice to be made.  If she turned left, she would continue following the road that curved and would take longer but if she continued straight on, she could cross the field which was more direct.  It was a dry night with no cloud, she looked up to make sure and as she did, she saw an oblong shape hovering in the sky.  Strange, she thought it looked like some sort of doorway, iridescent pink and fuzzy, pretty really.  Vaguely, she wondered what it was, maybe some sort of drone?  Although she wasn’t normally imaginative, the word portal flashed into her mind.  She pushed the thought away as she looked up, the night was calm and clear, it obviously wasn’t going to rain, so she’d chance the field.  With that in mind, unknowingly she took her first step into another life.

***

Professor Zoort studied his latest specimen.  He was searching for a prime example of the species homo sapiens, at present inhabiting the planet known as Earth.  So far, he’d been unsuccessful.  His criteria was strict – to be of any use to him they needed a flawless skeletal system, flawless intestinal system and flawless nervous system.   It was obviously asking too much.  There was an awful lot of disease in the creatures he had studied so far.  Heart disease, lung disease, crooked backs, deformities of all kinds, he had almost given up.  They were obviously a thoroughly inbred and unhealthy race; either their brain was let down by their bodies or vice versa.   His tongue flicked in and out of his mouth with exasperation.  No wonder their planet was on the brink.  However, there was always hope.  With a soft hiss, he picked up his ossiculator.  As he began to work, his skin lightened as his mood improved.  The body in front of him looked promising.  Although he still couldn’t get used to his feeling of revulsion at the creatures’ physiology, the lack of a third eye for instance, so far, his instrument had picked up no anomalies. It seemed to be a perfect example of an, admittedly primitive, life form and both his hearts started to beat faster.  However, when he reached the creature’s brain, the red warning light at the tip of the ossiculator began to flash and disappointed, his skin darkened to emerald.  There was always something, even this superb specimen was marred and useless for his research. His ossiculator began to buzz as well as flash, and if the professor had any eyebrows, he would have raised them.  There was obviously something seriously wrong inside this specimen’s cranium.  Now, Professor Zoort was an Eriscean of some note and top of his field.  As such, he sometimes felt he lacked challenges. To put it bluntly, he was bored, the intricacies of space time continuums had that effect on him.  Slowly, he flexed his digits, and, feeling magnanimous, decided to sort out this creature’s problems.  Picking up a blade of metal as thin as a strand of silk, he opened up Alicia’s skull and peered inside.   At first the tangled mass of neurons appalled him but he tutted and carried on and the scientist within him soon took over as he delicately untangled her neurons and tidied up the havoc inside Alicia’s head, all the time making a strange hooting noise which was as near to humming as he could manage. Even so the sun had risen and gone down again before he’d finished and all was tickety-boo. 

***

Alicia’s mother sat before a roaring fire inside a room that gleamed with polished wood.  A fresh cup of tea steamed by her side and she could smell the delicious odour of roasting vegetables coming from the kitchen where her daughter was bustling about.  She should have been content but she wasn’t.  Ever since Alicia had been found unconscious in a field, an unopened bottle of Prosecco still clasped in her hands, she felt she was living inside a surreal dream from which, one day, she would be abruptly shaken awake.  For things were not normal. Ever since Alicia had regained consciousness and, much to her mother’s astonishment, had clasped her in her arms before showering her with kisses, the old lady had waited in dread for the old Alicia to return.  She took a sip of her tea but it didn’t calm her.  Alicia had started to make that strange hooting noise again.  She had worked out that it meant that Alicia was happy but then again, it wasn’t normal.   There were other things as well, the slight greenish tinge to her skin that she wondered if other people had noticed and, of course, the vegetables.  Formerly an avid carnivore, Alicia now declared that eating meat was murder and instead concocted strange vegan dishes which, although delicious, were yet another sign that things were not as they had been.  On edge the whole time, the old lady waited, in dread, for the norm to revert.  Truly, there is no pleasing some people.

However, unknown to anyone on Planet Earth, in the process of restoring order to Alicia’s cerebellum, a particle of Professor Zoort’s DNA had infiltrated that of the young woman and this accounted for the changes her mother had noted.   It seems that Professor Zoort was not as clever as he thought he was.  Or was he? As to that, only time will tell.

Copyright Janet Baldey

Tylywoch ~ 02

 Tylywoch ~ 02 Early Years I

By Len Morgan

 In primitive societies, female children were considered of little value.   The poor in particular, regard them as a means by which the Gods display their displeasure.   Many newborn girls were abandoned to the elements and allowed to die.   In some circles, this was considered a kindness considering the life that awaited them.   So, a foundling girl child would be left to her fate as a matter of course, this being the common view of most people.  General Aldor was not most people.  His view was, that Weilla’s family had valued her highly enough to hide her from the Huren, so he in good conscience should accord her at least an equal respect. 

 So, He and his wife Meillo took her into their home and loved her as their own.  They were childless, and had long ago given up any hope of having a child by natural means.   His wife had not conceived after two years of marriage, in most societies at that time, this would be sufficient grounds for divorce or having her put to death.   Not so in this mountain village, where men and women were considered equals.   Aldor knew that the fault was his own, and had offered Meillo the opportunity to have a child by another man, but this she had refused.   She was not a bought concubine; they had married for love, such a rare and somewhat strange phenomenon in those times.  She’d refused to conceive by deception, denying herself the comfort of a child when Aldor was away administering the provinces.  Many of the Tylywoch envied their love match, but lacked the vision to emulate it; that was their loss. 

At three, Weilla was fully integrated into the ways of the 13^th clan.   She was treated the same as any native born child. As soon as she could walk and talk, her training for life began.  At this early age, children have no fear, prejudice, or precognitions.  The Young Tylywoch were taught contrary to other societies.   Girls and boys were regarded as equals in every respect.   They were taught to fight, kill, and survive for long periods without food and water.   They were taught where to procure many things they could drink or eat in times of attrition, and where to find them.   They ate foods that would not normally be considered edible by conventional Cheilin society.  Outsiders; would often die of hunger and thirst in the midst of plenty.   They were simply not aware that Insects, grubs, plants, carrion, tree sap, lizards, toads, snakes, and many other exotic life forms were freely available and quite edible. 

The young are trained progressively, to control and live in harmony with their environment.   They are taught to harness the power of their mind.   To control their body functions, enabling them to enhance their physical and mental capabilities.   The best students are able to slow their heartbeat and control the flow of blood to any part of their body or to increase the speed of their heart beat.   Enabling them to cope with sudden heavy physical demands, resulting in increased strength, in short bursts, moving at speeds beyond anything thought possible by outsiders.   In extreme situations they could emulate animals, by entering a state of near hibernation.  They could control bowel and bladder movements, suspending them for days, or evacuate at an instants notice.   They are taught always to be mindful of bad character traits that could get them killed in combat or covert operations:  Traits such as Laziness, Anger, Fear, Sympathy, and Vanity, all are the common enemies and are severely punished when identified.   Lives depend on unquestioning loyalty instant obedience, and the ability to act in the best interest of the community as a whole without thought of self.  Their skills ideals and abilities are tested daily, in life and death situations, where weakness or a wandering inattentive mind could cost lives.   All the basic human virtues, faults, and failings are tested for on a regular basis.  The physical, mental, spiritual, and emotional attributes of each student are known to their trainers.   By the time they reach the age of five (some do not), they are highly trained and valued members of Tylywoch society, as formidable as any adult from outside their mountain stronghold.   By the age of ten, they have been tested to their limits many times.   The numbers that do survive are a testament to the dedication and skill of their trainers.   At this age, they are expected to begin specialised training, according to their talents, personal skills, physique, and natural ability.

.-…-. 

   Weilla and nine others in her group of five-year-olds were to be tested.   A hole had been cut in the ice, and one by one they were lowered down into the swift flowing but ice cold river.   They were suspended there completely immersed for three minutes, then hauled out and revived.  To survive, they had to slow their whole metabolism, selectively shutting down body systems to conserve air, body heat, and energy.   Effectively suspending all body functions.   Weilla happened to be the last one waiting to be tested.  She knelt on her cloak, beside the frozen bank, concentrating her mind in order to enter the necessary mental trance state required to survive the ordeal.   Her Preparation was distracted by a state of agitation in the people around her.  A tendril of her mind took a peek and discovered somebody frantically attempting to cut another hole in the ice, a hundred yards further downstream.   Others insisted it was a waste of time, the boy would already have been swept past the hole.  The water was flowing much stronger than expected in the open channels, so the search would be more fruitful further downstream.  She gleaned from their urgent discussions that Ferrice; the boy tested immediately before her; had been lowered into the water and his line had snapped, he had been swept away downstream.  Weilla roused instantly on realising the danger to a friend and dove down into the murky waters.  Without the benefit of a trance state, the shock of the cold instantly drew all the strength and heat from her body.  She allowed herself to be carried by the strongest flow; in the direction, Ferrice would have been taken.  Though vulnerable outside the trance state, she did at least have her wits about her.  She intended grabbing her friend and signaling to those above, to rescue them. 

She rose to the surface briefly, to signal to the searchers.  That was when she realised, she was on her own.   She had already been carried way beyond the second hole.   Mind destroying fingers of fear sprang from nowhere determined to undermine her, but her determination was stronger, and she banished fear from her mind contemptuously.  If… WHEN I find Ferrice, she thought.  I will have to haul him to a hole, or to the bank and smash the surface ice.  If I can stand, I can accomplish it, then find us shelter where we will be discovered by the searchers.  Her lungs were now bursting for air.  Forcing her face up close to the ice, she found the free air space she’d been taught would be there; not for a second had she doubted.  Taking three deep breaths then a shallow one, She dove down again, deep into the swiftest flowing part of the stream.  Her body was now completely numb but, it was not necessary to feel it to use it!  Not for an instant would she indulge in self-pity.  She would locate Ferrice and they would survive.  Failure was not an option for the Tylywoch.  Something hard banged against her head and she grabbed for it instinctively, realising immediately that it was a leg.  She had him!  Now all she needed to do was get him to air, then get him to the bank, then get him to shelter.  It was simple, one step at a time, and they would survive. 

.-…-. 

Aldor and others had been called by horn to aid in the rescue.  At that very moment, the rescue party was being briefed.

“They’ve been down for nearly six minutes?” Aldor repeated looking for confirmation, with a sinking feeling in his stomach.  The invigilator nodded in affirmation his distress, plainly evident.

“Then Ferrice is nearly out of oxygen, and Weilla who is not in trance will have been breathing from the ice-water Gap.”  Grabbing a heavy metal bar, he ran along the bank at breakneck speed for about a mile, until he felt he’d outdistanced them.  Then he started urgently cutting holes in the ice.  Holes large enough for a five-year-old to scramble through. 

As Aldor dug furiously he was aware of others running past him at speed, each with an ice breaking implement in their hands. When he’d dug holes for the fastest and most obvious channels he ran on, leapfrogging the others in the rescue relay.  Half a mile further on, he dug more holes, then he ran on and started again…  He kept relentlessly on until he heard the recall horn signifying the search was being called off.  He knew as well as any, that nobody could survive for more than half an hour in water at close to freezing.  Sick at heart, he returned slowly to the assembly point, his wife Meillo waited stony faced, wearing her stoic mask, showing bravery to the world.  Inside, Aldor knew she would be dying slowly by degrees.  He knew that Weilla, their belated gift from the gods would never again jump eagerly into his arms to be hugged, or simply to be near him.  At that moment, he knew that he was more likely to break down than Meillo.  The trainers spoke with admiration of Weilla’s bravery and the selfless way she went to the aid of a fellow student fearlessly putting her own life at risk…  Aldor heard the words but could take no comfort from them.  It was a freak accident they said.  The rope had severed on a sharp shard of ice, and two valued young people had died. 

At their lowest ebb, a trapper arrived hauling a sled behind him.  “Found two strange looking critters huddled together in my canoe, under my new pelts, anybody want to claim them?” he asked, unaware of the drama being played out before him.  Incredibly, he was referring to Weilla and Ferrice, both in a deep trance state, their life signs barely discernible, but they were alive and stable.  They were rushed to the nearest hut where they were revived gradually, over a period of twenty-four hours.  Both had passed the test, though Ferrice remembered nothing and Weilla recalled too much!

 

(To be Continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

 THE WAITING

By Rosemary Clarke

Shaking, quaking now it's time

Can't pretend that I feel fine.

Needle's coming, tension grows

Can I dodge it, I don't know.

Painful though it is to me

Others all go through it, see?

I have to really do my piece

To keep Nat working, that's my niece.

For she's a Carer, they care for all

Tall or short or big or small

whatever creed, whatever race;

they care for all, they find the space.

All it takes is one quick prick

help stop them all from being sick.

And so I wait here in the Mill line ... 

 not feeling good or even fine.

I'm doing this to help and save

many Carers being brave.

I do not aid the sick and dying

I feel inside like I am crying.

I want so much to run away

but, come on girl, you've got to stay!

They lead me round into a chair

I wish I wish I wasn't there!

I must sit down and turn my head;

I'm trembling with certain dread...

What's this?  She says that it's all done!

I can't believe it, I am stunned!

One jab in upper arm is it

Oh now I feel a proper twit!

I don't mind that!  I feel ok!

I'll go home now, begin my day.

 

Copyright Rosemary Clarke