On Tarryoh (Part 1) - In the Forest

A thousand years in the future industrial civilisation has faded, and a peaceful society finds itself under threat from inside and out...

 

Algonquin Park, Ontario (Photo: All Ontario)

 



 

A story in 6 parts.

If you would like to read it all in one (7500 words) click here.

 

 

Your feedback would be greatly appreciated to improve this story. Thanks!

 

 

On Tarryoh

 

1  In the Forest

 

“The nomads are coming.” Bernee intoned gravely, then grinned, excitement on his face.

“Don’t say that.” Saleesha elbowed him.

Ashleen caught Darby’s eye. She patted his leg with a slender hand and took a sip of wine from her cup. “The guardian units are doing extra training but hopefully these rumours will all come to nothing.”

Darby nodded but part of him wished it was true. Maybe it was a chance to discover his brother’s fate. Was he dead, or, as some said, a traitor who had changed sides? His hand closed over Ashleen’s. Around them in the cobbled town square people danced to the music of fiddles, guitars, flutes and drums. Others sat at long tables like theirs, laden with food in celebration of the bounty of the harvest.

Bernee guzzled the last of the mug of beer he grasped in his meaty fist and turned to Saleesha. “Enough of all that. Let’s dance.”

She rose with him and eyed Ashleen. “Will you join us sister?”

Ashleen glanced at Darby and shook her head. “No, we’re going for a walk in the forest.”

Saleesha laughed. “You two sneak off there so often lately you’d think you were never going to see each other again.” Her broad brown face was topped with thick black hair, tied up in a coil on the top of her head, in the traditional Tarryoh style. “Don’t break that fine twig of yours Darby.” She winked at him.

Darby’s face reddened. He glanced quickly at Ashleen to see if she registered the implied familiarity. His short life had been filled with an embarrassing array of mistakes but one act was his greatest regret. When he had begun to see Ashleen regularly, more than just the usual sapling fling, he’d ridden out to see her at her family’s farm. When he arrived Ashleen was not here, nor were her parents. Only Saleesha. She had invited him in for a drink, ‘To get to know you better.’ she said, then offered some food and more drink. She had kissed him, pressed his hand to her ample chest, and then...

He shook his head. He wished upon Earth&Sky that Ashleen would never find out. But he knew he would be a fool to trust Saleesha. She didn’t keep her men around for long. And he doubted she would keep a secret forever either.

Ashleen showed no sign that she sensed anything. She punched him on the arm grinning. “Look at the expression on your face!”

His skin burned hotter still.

“Oh, and I’d be careful you two.” Saleesha continued. “You know what they say about the fertility of the forest.” Her cackle carried back to them as her hips, half as wide again as Ashleen’s, swung from side to side as she and Bernee walked away.

Ashleen grinned. “Ignore her teasing. I’ve been getting medicine from the Lady doc. Nothing will happen,” she said emphatically, then paused and gave him a sideways glance, “until we want it to.”

He nodded and tried to give her a grin, but it came out more as a grimace. “Touch wood.” He shouldered his backpack and they picked their way through the boisterous throng.

****

Ashleen looked up through the leaves of the forest canopy of maple, red oak, paper birch and pine at sky above. Grey clouds scudded across the blue pushed by a northerly breeze. She lay on her back, one arm folded under her head, the other at her side. A butternut orange homespun woollen blanket protected her nakedness from a slight autumn chill. “I love it here. Wouldn’t it be great to be able to stay forever?”

“Not by the look of those clouds.” Beside her, propped up on one elbow, Darby smiled and drank in her full red lips, dark freckled face, long brown hair splayed loosely over the blanket beneath them.

She waved a hand at a whining insect above her head. “Darn moskeetahs.” They were more than nuisance, they carried diseases for which the Preservers still struggled to find cures. She met Darby’s eyes. “One last look at the waterfall?”

He nodded. They stood and pulled on their clothes of linen, wool and leather. Ashleen wore a short forest green woollen skirt over her leather trousers that marked her as a member of the guardians. The skirt did not yet carry the light brown stripe that indicated a fully trained guardian or the dark brown and black stripes of more advanced ranks and specialists. She slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder and tied up her hair, shorter than her sisters but long enough for a full coil. She inserted a wooden comb to hold it on place.

They threaded their way between the trees and undergrowth back to the path and then up toward a rocky bluff in the distance. The forest chirped and buzzed with life. The forest; healer of the air, restorer of soils, conserver of the waters. People in the old times cut the forests and drove out the animals and birds. It had taken many generations for the trees to regrow and the animals to return. Drought, freak winds, wild fires, snow storms, rain for weeks and months at a time. All had come and gone over the thousand years following the old time carbon maximum. Eventually the climate had settled and people, the lucky ones who survived the wars, epidemics and famine, had found places to start again.

After a short climb they reached the waterfall. Water cascaded from a crack high up in the rock face into a crystal clear pebble lined pool, sending ripples speeding across the surface to where they stood. A rainbow hung suspended in the fine mist which shrouded the clearing.

“I will miss this. And you.” Darby whispered.

“Work camp is only six weeks.” Ashleen squeezed his hand tight. “It will go quickly. Roads don’t build themselves you know.” she said, echoing the slogan of the gummint’s volunteer labour corps.

“I know, I know. And it’s better than dredging canals like last year. I got sick of being wet.”

“And you’ll be back in plenty of time for the solstice Santa Fest. And we will talk on the radio every Sunday, right?”

He nodded. “Of course.” Sunday was public use day for the radio call station. At other times the radio was for government and military use, plus the distribution of news across Tarryoh. Darby had no idea how it worked, something to do with things called valves crafted from glass and metal. The Preserver Society had found a way to make them, and the electric they used, from their study of the old time books.

“If there’s a polar storm maybe they’ll send you home early. I can stay with you in your room at the co-op and we can keep each other warm. Make sure your fire place is well stocked with wood.” One advantage of being a senior apprentice now was he got his own room, cramped though it was. The bed was narrow and the matrass thin, but it was comfortable enough when Ashleen came to visit.

He nodded. But it wasn’t just about the work camp. Next spring she would go to the capital to complete her military training. Six months. She would come home on leave for a short while and then who knew where she would be posted. The western border here was potentially the most dangerous, the nomads roamed the plains with their cattle and horses, but nothing much had happened in years. Far to the north the Inuit still hunted seals and traded furs. The polar bears were gone but their brown and white cousins still roamed the tundra. To the east the Kibbiks kept to themselves and the Irrakoy maintained friendly relations with most neighbours. And south, across the grey lakes where sailing boats criss-crossed the broad waters, lay endless miles of poisoned water and soil which grew only spindly brown blades of grass. Beyond that, desert.

A low noise sounded to their left. Silently Darby unsheathed his knife and bent low. Ashleen smoothly notched an arrow to her bow and followed him around the pond. A brown clad figure lay against a tree trunk a dozen feet back from the water. Darby darted through the trees behind the stranger. Ashleen stepped closer, bow at the ready. It was a man, one leather trouser leg stained with blood. Darby crept up behind the tree, eyes searching for weapons. The man groaned again.

“Who are you?” Ashleen demanded.  

The man raised his head and looked at her. “Help me.” He tried to sit up but winced in pain.

Ashleen stepped closer. “Who are you?” She recognised the clothes now, and the beard. Nomad.

“I am one of you. My name is Arden Royd.”

Darby slid his knife in front of the man’s throat. “Liar. He’s dead.” His brother and Royd were ambitious scouts in the militia. They had volunteered for a mission into the nomad territory to spy on their military strength and find out if they had plans to attack Tarryoh. They were never heard from again. That was three years ago.

The man lifted his eyes to Darby’s face. “Darby Madsin?”

Darby flinched, the knife very nearly slicing the man’s skin open. “How do you know my name?”

“You look just like him. Your brother and I were taken in by a nomad band. Locke is still alive.”

“Tell me everything.”

The man shook his head. “First you must warn the guardians. The nomads are close.”

Ashleen set down her bow and examined the festering wound in the man’s leg. “You need a doc.” she said.

The man nodded.

“I’m Ashleen Linnoy.”

He nodded again and mouthed a formal Tarryoh greeting. Hers was one of many names derived from the places the survivors had left many centuries ago. Place names that were now only found in the old books kept by the Preserver Society in their libraries, like Tronnoh, Skonsin, Eeree.

Darby knelt down beside her. “I think he’ll be all right. The Preserver doc can give him ‘cillin. Go to town and get the guardian captain to radio the generals. I’ll bring him in on my horse.”

Ashleen nodded, picked up her bow and began to run down the path to the horses. Darby looked at the man’s leg again. It was like no other wound he had ever seen. “What made this?”

The man lifted his eyes, liquid with pain and dread. “The nomads have guns.”

 

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Your feedback would be greatly appreciated to improve this story. Thanks!

Read On Tarryoh (Part 2) Into the West, here. 

You can find more post industrial stories here or at the tab above.