(Luis)
The country around Big Pines was different than anywhere I'd been before, and I caught myself distracted by my secondary muse, my nature-boy muse. There was a lot of forest, much of it running strongly to sugar trees, but there were also tracts of towering pines, some of them four feet through, with soft white-tinged needles five in a sheath. (Later I took time to examine some saplings, and counted.) It'd take a lot of time to chop one down, and you'd still have to cut it into logs, drag them up and saw out lumber. But other stands were of a short-needle pine, close-grown, straight and slender, just right for building logs.
I reached Big Pines Township in mid-afternoon. Dinnehville was at its north end—a settlement of scattered hamlets, each a cluster of farm houses and their outbuildings, surrounded by fields and pastures. More or less in the middle of the township was a market village, with a church, a smithy, a tannery (I recognized it by the smell), and a small inn. There had to be a sawmill around, because the larger buildings were of lumber. The homes, though, were of hewed logs.
Just about everyone had dark brown skin, like Lemmi and Stephen. The talking I heard was in a lingo—lots of country villages are like that—but when I asked where I could find the home of Stephen Nez, I was answered in Merkan.
The Nez home was back a couple of miles—I'd passed it without knowing—on a farm that looked typical for the locale. When I got there, his mother told me Stephen had gone "to town" to see the "headman," and wasn't expected home till supper. So I turned around and went back to the village.
The headman's home was no bigger than most—large enough to house a family. Built onto it was a shelter, the south side open to the day, where a woman sat at a thumping loom, while two girls sat spinning, one linen, one wool. A graying woman answered my knock. She recognized my collar, and when I asked for the headman, she called to him. Mostly in Merkan, out of courtesy. "Paul! There's a belagaana here looking for you. A churchman."
Paul Todachene was between middle and old age. "I'm Master Luis DenUyl," I told him. "I'm looking for Stephen Nez."
"He told me you would be. He was here a little while ago. When he left, he was going to the bachelors' lodge. You want to come in? My wife's got a pot of sassafras on."
"Thank you," I answered. "That would be nice."
A brick stove had been built into the wall, opening into both rooms, with the usual (for Sota) flues for heating. He gestured to a chair at a small table, both nicely carved. I sat. Mrs. Todachene filled two mugs with tea, then with a long-handled spoon, added honey from a crock, stirring it in. Her husband handed me one of the mugs, and sat down across from me. "Stephen says he joined your Order. That he's helping you. And that some people out west might be going to make war, attack Sota."
"That's how it looks," I answered.
"He also says Lemmi Tsinnajinni belongs to your Order; that he's pretty high up in it."
"That's right. Lemmi and I trained together. Now he works among the Dkota, and I work in Sota."
"What do those Dkota people want to attack Sota for?"
"They don't seem to like the Sotans."
"Did we do something to them sometime?"
"They think so. Back before Armageddon."
Paul Todachene frowned. "That sounds crazy to me. That's why God shuffled the people after Armageddon, and made them forget. So they wouldn't hold on to old wrongs and hatreds. Don't they learn their catechism there?"
"A different catechism," I said. "The Dkota live a lot differently than we do in Sota. It's grassland there. They make their living hunting, mostly a kind of wild cattle."
Todachene considered that before replying. "Stephen says you want our militia to go and help defend Sota from the Dkota. But we don't have a militia anymore, and when we did, they belonged to the baron."
"I talked with the duke and the bishop yesterday," I said. "The king did disband the militia—but if the Dkota attack, the duke said he'll call them up anyway, as soon as he hears about it. And that I can have the Big Pines militia if I need them."
The Dinneh headman pursed his lips. "I no longer have anything to do with any militia. They are their own men now. If you ask them, or Stephen Nez asks them, they can decide for themselves."
He paused briefly, sorting his thoughts. "We Dinneh don't care who sits on the big chair in Hasty. The elders don't care, the young men don't care. But young men like something exciting to do. Clearing land, grubbing stumps, cutting and hauling hay and firewood and fence rails—those can be tiresome to the young, and tending cattle and sheep takes wolves or bears to make it interesting. So some of them may choose to go with you. Or with Stephen. That is their right, and they will come home wiser than when they left. Those who do not die."
"It's more than just being interesting," I said. "Those who go may save the Dinneh much grief and suffering, so I hope you and your people will give them your blessings and prayers."
Todachene considered that, then told me how to find the bachelors' lodge.
It turned out to be a longhouse, also of logs, with two rows of bedsacks on a plank floor. The sacks, Stephen told me later, were stuffed with dried sphagnum. Each had a striped woolen blanket folded on one end. Two young men were preparing supper while another watched. One of the cooks said that Stephen had gone to have supper with his parents. "His mother cooks better than we do," he added, and all three laughed.
"Are you going to talk to us about the militia?" asked the onlooker. "The rest of us will be getting here pretty soon to eat. You can eat with us, and tell us about this business with the buffalo hunters."
"Maybe later," I said. "I need to talk with Stephen first."
I left them and started back to the Nez farm. As I trotted my horse down the dirt road, I felt my com buzz; I'd turned audible all the way down. I took it off my belt. The call light showed Lemmi's quick-pulsing green, but this was way early for him. "This is Luis," I said. "What've you got for me, Lemmi?" I waited three or four seconds with no acknowledgement. "Lemmi?" I said, "are you there?"
The light blinked off, leaving me staring. A mistake, I told myself, but I didn't believe it. I wished I hadn't answered. How far away from his set might my voice have been heard? Three feet? Four? As much as ten, depending on the volume setting. It could have been activated manually, instead of by voice, in which case only I'd have been buzzed; I was his default recipient. Speaking brief code, I called Carlos. In a few seconds he answered. "What is it, Luis?"
"Did you get a call from Lemmi, half a minute ago?"
"No, I sure didn't."
"Uhm. I did. I'm his default connection. But when I answered, he switched off."
"What do you think's going on?"
"I hope nothing's going on. Meanwhile I'll leave well enough alone. The odds are, it was an accident." If it was an accident, why didn't he answer? Maybe it wasn't safe to talk just then, and he had it on buzz mode, instead of audible. Maybe. "I'm going to wait and see if he makes his evening report. If he doesn't, that still doesn't mean anything is wrong, but it's grounds for worry."
"Right. Anything else?"
"Nope. That's it. Luis out."
I didn't feel good about it at all.
Stephen's mother invited me to eat supper with them. After eating, Stephen and I walked down the Big Pines Road, south through forest, talking about how he might prepare a platoon of young Dinneh militia. He'd never yet commanded men, but his aura said he was meant to, and he'd begun believing it. Said it felt natural. After a bit the road curved past a mostly open swamp—exposing a pink and gold sunset. We watched without speaking. Gradually it faded to dusky rose and finally deep violet.
It was Stephen who broke the silence. "Master Luis," he said, "you're an example to the novices."
He took me totally by surprise.
"Master Carlos is very smart," he went on. "And wise. He knows more than seems possible for one man. And he says the right things, so the novices live in harmony with each other. While Master Peng has a different wisdom. With him, each action is correct, flowing from his muse.
"But you are different from both of them. Master Carlos told us what you did in the Lizard War, before you became a master. He says you have the greatest talent of all: you make very bad situations turn out well."
Which hit me right in the gut, because at that moment I realized that answering that buzz would have bad results. "Thanks, Stephen," I said. "But there are few guarantees in the physical universe."
As we walked back to the farm, it occurred to me that Carlos's praise, and Stephen having it fresh in mind, simplified something I needed to do. Some short-term spot planning. Though my muse wasn't really pushing it. Maybe the vectors and probabilities were too poorly defined.
"Stephen," I said, "I'm going to leave you here to recruit a militia platoon of your own, to be under your command. Your authority comes from Duke Noncheba. Recruit veterans so far as you can, and re-train them as necessary, keeping in mind what you've learned from Peng. Your muse will guide you.
"Now, two things to remember: First, my muse says you and your platoon will play an important role in this war. And the other is, I don't know yet what that role will be. But you'll hear when the war has started. Someone will tell you." I was talking off the top of my head now, and believing every word of it. "That's when you'll start south with your platoon, to Soggo unless it seems unsafe there. Otherwise to the church at Sugar Grove. Have you got all that?"
He nodded, looking at me intently. Peng did good work.
"If I can," I went on, "I'll try to leave instructions for you with the duke or the bishop, or with Pastor Linkon at Sugar Grove. But mainly you'll have to decide for yourself what to do. You'll be the boss."
I clapped him on the shoulder. It was as hard as Paddy Glynn's, if not so thick. "Now, tell me back what I told you."
He did, without a stumble.
"Stephen," I said, "you're going to be a very good Higuchian."
And it seemed to me he would, if he came through this alive. That's the part I wasn't sure about.