The next morning, the team set out on their journey, following the expected direction. They passed the military outpost just beyond the village to the east and kept trotting along, their packs heavy and awkward to carry.
“Short steps, boys! Let’s drop it down a beat!” Ramius called ahead to his team. He wanted to make sure there were no injuries and that the men’s legs were staying as fresh as possible. Once they were comfortably out of the village, they turned onto the trail heading northward and started climbing the hills. It was steep, but they knew that it wouldn’t be long before they would crest the hills and head back down the other side, so they dropped back to a brisk hike up the inclines.
For men in their late thirties, all five were in superb physical condition. As men who had all served as hunters, military runners, and, thereafter, active runners and outdoorsmen, they had hardly lost a step from their earlier days. It was their way of life.
As they reached the flats on the north side of the hills and were about to make the turn westward, they heard someone calling out. They abruptly came to a halt and looked east to see a patrol squad coming their way with purpose. All five men suddenly had a sinking feeling.
“We might need to head east a while,” muttered Johnny. “That’s a setback.”
“Let me do the talking, guys,” Ramius instructed.
The patrol men were all smiles, excited to see them. But the leader had his arms outstretched as they ran up, making a gesture of confusion. Ramius and most of his team recognized the leader as Sammy, a prominent mid-level military man. The team of ten, including Sammy, all broke stride, breathing heavily as they arrived.
“We didn’t expect to see you. We heard you would be on the east road heading out,” Sammy declared.
“Sammy!” Ramius greeted him warmly. “We wanted to take a different way and maybe change our course a bit.”
Ramius started walking slowly up the trail from which Sammy’s team had just arrived. Ramius’s team followed. “Are you headed back to the village?” Ramius prayed that the answer would be yes.
“We were going to go west all the way and then come back along the river,” Sammy explained.
“I just realized something,” Ramius said, thinking quickly. “I bet there are patrols expecting us to pass by on the east road. It might raise concern when they don’t see us. Can you guys alter your plans and head back now to inform the command of our course?”
“Uh … well … sure,” Sammy responded tentatively as he thought about it. “I don’t think that should be a problem, given the circumstances.” Sammy broke into a smile. “Hey, we are all depending on you guys. Be careful, will ya? I know! I can have a few guys run escort with you for a while.”
“No, no, no. Please don’t. That’s totally unnecessary.
After all, the dangers we might encounter are way off in the distance. You guys head back and get a good breakfast. I’m sure command will appreciate your actions,” Ramius said in a commanding tone. These soldiers were practically boys talking to a council member and decorated former military men—all of them.
“Yes, sir. Thanks for that. We wish you guys the best of luck.” Sammy raised an arm to his chest in salute and out of respect. The others followed crisply. “Squad!” Sammy shouted.
“Let’s move out!” The squad trotted westward and picked up speed quickly to show off their kick.
Ramius and his team saw them make the sharp turn south and start up the hill, all in unison, beginning to chant as they scrambled for elevation. Ramius and his team all looked at one another, without the need for words. They were all relieved that they had avoided having to take a major detour in the wrong direction just for the sake of appearances.
“Nice work,” said Hook to Ramius. The shape of Hook’s nose had been the primary driver behind his nickname. Johnny patted Ramius on the back, and all of them smiled as some shook their heads in wonderment at Ramius’s story-telling and quick-thinking abilities.
They all started off again in their intended direction, walking at first and then breaking into a controlled run toward the west and toward their destiny.
By the time they tackled the low hills once again and reached the river, it was midafternoon. Their plan was to make it across before nightfall. There was considerable apprehension about crossing, as the river was running swiftly in this narrow section. Each of them carried about seventy-five feet of strong, thin hemp cord. As the best swimmer among them, Ramius volunteered to swim across. They all tied the cords together to form a very long, thick one. Ramius shed his pack, and Johnny lashed his sandals and one end of the long cord to the back of Ramius’s belt.
There was a small beach where they had chosen their point of entry, and Ramius waded into the frigid water, splashing himself to become acclimated to it. Because of the temperature of the water, the men knew that they would need to make the swim as short and direct as possible. But they would watch Ramius and judge the current to see whether it would be a problem making it across. Ramius dove in and started swimming. They judged it to be as much as two hundred yards across. If the current carried Ramius too far downstream, their cord wouldn’t be long enough.
At first, Ramius held a relatively straight line, but as he got out into the open river, he started to drift downstream. He tried as hard as possible to swim upstream, but he was being carried. He swam furiously, trying to make it to the far shore.
Meanwhile, Hook was letting out the cord evenly to Ramius, but the men knew that the cord alone would also tend to drag him further downstream. Still, he was making solid progress.
By now, Ramius felt warm and comfortable, even in the icy water; his heart was pumping vigorously, and he was swimming efficiently. After a few minutes, he was already about two thirds of the way, but he had drifted a lot. Hook was getting very concerned, as the length of the remaining cord was starting to dwindle. As Ramius approached the far shore, the men could see that the cord was not going to make it, and they began to panic.
Suddenly, Hook was holding the end of the cord.
Thinking quickly, he started wading into the water. But this was dangerous. The other men followed, and Johnny grabbed Hook’s belt to make sure that he would not lose his footing.
Johnny cried out, “Lock hands! We got it!” Louis was closest to the beach, and he grabbed a tree root that was sticking out of the water. He locked hands with Picket, who was already locked with Johnny. This allowed Hook to extend himself as far out as possible.
They all groaned and gripped tightly under the power of the current and formed a human chain, giving them an extra twenty feet. Then, they felt the pull of the cord, and so did Ramius. Suddenly, he felt his progress being hindered. He was so close. The tension caused him to attempt to stand, and as he descended to neck depth, he felt the bottom. But he was scrambling to gain traction against the rushing water.
Fortunately, the current had slowed near the shore, and he was able to gain some footholds.
The men on the far shore were straining to give him the length he needed and were crying out in fatigue, determined to maintain their hold on the cord. Ramius, in a flash of brilliance, loosened his belt, which essentially pulled his pants down around his knees under the strain. He managed to quickly remove his pants without tripping and held them outstretched to give himself the few critical feet of length he needed. He then dragged himself up to knee depth. Now stark naked, he walked through the knee-deep water, and as he trudged his way upstream, the tension in the cord slackened.
The men on the opposing shore howled in victory, and Ramius laughed out loud, looking down at himself and suddenly thinking that the whole affair was hilarious. His comrades were pointing at him, laughing away and hugging each other. It was a bonding experience, of which they’d had many, but none quite so desperate that they could recall.
When they regained their composure, the team tied all the packs and sandals to the cord and waved over to Ramius, who had his pants back on by now and was ready to start hauling the packs across. He knew that it would be tough. He ran the cord across a small tree at about a forty-five-degree angle to create some friction, and then he wrapped it around a solid stick that he’d picked up to use as a handle. He then leaned forward against the weight of the packs, under the force of the strong current, and began to walk away from the riverbank, pulling the packs across the river with each stride.
When the packs reached the middle, the force became so great that Ramius had to turn around and walk backward, pushing harder with each step. He knew that if it became too much, he could just wait for the guys. But he wanted to minimize the amount of time that their provisions would be in the water, getting soaked. Meanwhile, the four others were making their way across, each at different trajectories as a result of their differing swimming capabilities. Nevertheless, they were all able to reach the shore and head back to where Ramius had just hauled their packs up onto dry land. The known challenge was now over. It was time to enter the realm of unknown challenges.
Had Ramius actually been heading east and then north as proclaimed, he would have eventually run headlong into a nest of trouble. That trouble was working its way slowly toward Victory. Migrating west was a large, brutal nation of misfits, who were unlike the relatively nonviolent nomads of the region. These were outsiders. They were loosely banded together by a leader named Saul, a redheaded, sadistic psychopath who somehow filled a leadership void and whom people with no better prospects followed blindly. Saul referred to all of his followers as the minions, and as long as he kept things moving and kept everyone fed, his horde of minions continued to grow.
They were the nomad’s nomads—true wanderers, who were steeped in the traditions of rape and pillage. It was their brutality, as unexpected as it was, that often left very organized and seemingly superior tribes completely overwhelmed, unable to match their force with an equal measure of brutality. By the time the targeted tribes adapted their approach, it was too late.
Unlike Victory, whose citizens struggled with decisions such as whether to be omnivores or vegetarians, Saul’s subjects were unsuccessfully trying to kick the habit of making a human barbeque out of every village they encountered. The scarcity of resources had set cannibalism in motion years earlier. As neither hunters nor farmers, they depended on the involuntary goodwill of others to survive. Their long journey westward had been slow but deliberate, and they were now bearing down on Victory territory. But they were still over a hundred miles east, and it could be a month before they exhausted the resources at hand.
Victory patrols generally probed out no further than about a hundred miles, which represented only a four-day mission for the able runners of their defense corps. This was believed to give them at least a few days’ warning of any approaching threat. But in the current circumstances, it meant that they were still completely unaware of the demise of a small tribe that was essentially squatting on the fringes of Victory territory.
Manfred led a team of four others on the eastern patrol. They had just reached the far point of their journey an hour earlier and were now in the process of reconnoitering the area. Manfred’s second in command was Dillon, who was surveying the eastern extreme of the trail with two other scouts, while Manfred and one other remained near the outpost hut doing some repairs. Dillon and his crew jogged along, going through the motions, as they were not expecting anything interesting occur.
Suddenly, they pulled up short, seeing smoke rising in the distance. It was far away, and fires were not very unusual, but something didn’t seem right. Lately, it had been rainy and wet throughout the region, so Dillon thought it strange that this fire burned in the distance. Then, it got even stranger, as they heard voices coming their way. The men immediately crouched, Dillon motioning to the others to remain silent. The strangers were coming up a hill from the valley below and would pass directly by Dillon and his men. The voices were strange, and although the people were speaking English, it was not local; it had a very different sound.
“Must be from far away,” whispered Dillon. Then, from their crouched, covered position, they finally laid eyes on the strangers. There were four of them. They were small and bonylooking with shaved heads and some body painting.
“Not very impressive,” Dillon continued his whispered commentary. The strangers were carrying spears, which concerned the Victory soldiers, as they had brought only knives.
But even with spears, Dillon assessed that the threat was low.
He and his two men could handle the situation. He motioned to them to stand so that the strangers would not be as surprised, triggering some kind of unfortunate reflex reaction. The strangers came to a frozen halt, eyes wide. They were immediately defensive at the sight of the Victory soldiers. Dillon had experience encountering other tribesmen, and they had been well trained to minimize physical confrontation in such situations. He raised his arms and extended them to the sides in the form of a greeting.
The strangers were still on edge and assumed a strong stance with their legs bent. As they crouched, they extended their spears, pointing them directly at Dillon as he approached them slowly.
“What’r yah doin’ ’ere, ya big bastad?” the presumed leader called out in guttural English. “Getcha big ass back! Yah betta do it, ya mutha.” He used his spear to make short lunging movements in an effort to stir fear. His men moved slowly with him, partly mimicking his motions and grunting affirmations of his tough words. Dillon could now see that he was a full head taller than these emaciated little men and that they were not nearly as athletic as the Victory soldiers. Dillon stopped his advance, not wanting to alarm these men further.
“We are peaceful. Please, weapons are not necessary,”
Dillon responded. He glanced over at his men, who were now wielding formidable knives in response to the advancing aggressors. His men let their hands fall to their sides, which was a less intimidating position. The strangers also stopped and contemplated. They had never encountered people whom they hadn’t ended up fighting. But these were large and very strong- looking men. Even though these bronzed giants were outnumbered and without spears, the strangers were terrified.
“We are from Victory nation, which is about four days west of here. Who are you?”
“Nunna yo dang business, freak!” spewed their leader.
Dillon’s men once again raised their knives. In reality, Victory soldiers spent a fair amount of their idle time throwing their knives competitively. Knife throwing was a national sport, just like running and swimming. They did it so much and had become so adept with knives that they seldom bothered with bows and arrows or spears, which runners generally considered cumbersome. They hunted large and small game in teams, using nothing but knives thrown with deadly accuracy.
One of the strangers flanking the leader suddenly charged at Dillon while issuing a blood-curdling scream. It caught Dillon off guard, and even surprised the other strangers.
This feeble warrior was out to prove himself in a culture in which craziness, brutality, and unpredictable behavior were admired.
Without his knife drawn, Dillon relied upon his lightning reflexes and superb physical conditioning to initiate some backpedaling steps. But, in reality, he needn’t have moved an inch, because just a few steps into his charge, one of Dillon’s men flipped his knife handle to blade in the blink of an eye and, with laser precision, buried it in the thigh of the attacker. The location was no accident, as he had been taught not to use deadly force unless doing so was absolutely necessary.
The would-be assailant crumpled, and his killing cry was cut short, replaced by a scream followed by wails of pain. The strangers ran to him, looking up at Dillon and his giants with anger and fear. One of the strangers immediately took off running down the hill. The Victory men found it a bit funny, but then, Dillon realized that he could have been heading off toward the distant smoke to make a report as soon as possible.
Dillon’s initial instinct was to pursue the stranger, but he hesitated, wondering what to do in this situation. He then made a decision.
Turning to one of his bladed marksmen, he directed, “Go after him, and bring him back here.” His man swiftly ran by the other two and pounded down the hill at full speed. While the leader was tending to his wounded, the other stranger started to make a move to go after the Victorians. Dillon gave a nod, and his last runner sprinted up and tackled the stranger just as he was about to drop down on the eastward trail. The runner disarmed the man of his spear and a knife and held him motionless with a knee pressed firmly into his back.
The stranger protested and struggled, spewing guttural insults, but he was essentially rendered motionless. Dillon walked up to the leader, who was now once again lifting his spear into a defensive position. Dillon crouched and held his knife in a menacing grip, waving it in a manner that demonstrated his deadly skills.
“You fellas are coming with us. You attacked us for no reason on our land. Now, we will determine who you are and what your intent is.” Dillon was eager to get back to Manfred, who could decide what to do.
“You muthas gom be damn sorry you mess wit’ da minions. Saul gon’ mess you up, you big ass bastads.” The leader waved his spear about while Dillon circled in closer, his knife making his presence ever more menacing. The injured man, who was in a lying position, was moaning, but when he caught sight of Dillon moving in, he screamed very loudly, half in pain, half in panic. This startled the leader, who looked down to assess his man. In that instant of distraction, Dillon lunged, grabbed the end of the spear, and pulled it hard, yanking the smaller man in toward him. He then kicked the stranger squarely in the chest, causing the man to release the spear and tumble backward. He looked up with eyes wide and bulging. He was unable to draw breath and fearful that he had already taken his last. But slowly he began to get air in and started to cough and choke, holding a hand to his chest and looking defeated and in pain.
Using the cords that they always kept on them as part of their standard gear, Dillon and his runner proceeded to lash the strangers’ hands behind their backs and tie their ankles together, leaving about a foot of play so that they could walk or trot as needed.
Unfortunately, the stranger with the wounded leg would slow them down. Dillon was relieved to know that standard procedure dictated that any patrol party that was past due by more than several hours would trigger a new patrol party to set out with haste to investigate. This would at least lighten their burden during the last part of their journey home.
After another hour of waiting with the strangers, they heard the bird call coming from their man who had set out to retrieve the fleeing stranger.
Dillon breathed a sigh of relief and jumped to his feet to survey down the mountain. He could see that the runner had been tied in a fashion identical to the one that he had used for the other strangers, as was protocol. Dillon could see that the man had been bloodied about the face, which was evidence of a struggle. Once all the group members were together, they immediately set out to rendezvous with Manfred back at the hut.
The prisoners were being sluggish and obstinate, but after a couple of shoves, which sent them sprawling painfully to the ground, the strangers were coaxed into a trot, much to the satisfaction and relief of the Victory men. Dillon himself held one arm of the wounded man, whose leg had been wrapped and stabilized, and urged him along as best he could.
By nightfall, Ramius and his team had already made their way several miles farther upriver and set up camp near the river. They would need to rotate watches and ensure that a fire burned all night to keep the wolves at bay. That night, hardly a moment went by that the fire couldn’t be seen reflecting from the eyes of wolves, which were patiently waiting for any opportunity to pounce. The aroma of food provisions, which of course included Ramius and his team, had wafted downwind along the river shores and attracted quite a number of packs.
There was no squabbling among competing packs that night, as there was a more urgent matter at hand.
As Ramius awoke to take the last watch before sunrise, Hook pointed out the hot spots for the wolves, which surrounded the camp on three sides. They would use the river as an emergency retreat route for as long as possible on their journey. On the one hand, it was a safe strategy, but it also left them in areas of higher wolf populations, which was dangerous.
Nonetheless, the men were accustomed to it and knew that their routines would see them through safely.
The next morning, Ramius and his team ran out of camp; headed along the lightly used, partially overgrown river trail; and continued westward. After a long, sixty-mile day, there were signs of nightfall approaching. The men reached the mouth of the steep canyon, which was marked by great waterfalls spilling out into the wider basin from which they approached. They knew that the most adventurous of the Victorians would sometimes come up here to fish in the large pools below the falls, where there was an abundance of goodsized fish. Their plan was to pull out some fish and then go up the canyon ridge and out of the dense wolf country to where the smell of drying fish would not attract every pack in the vicinity.
That night, they camped near the river again, but this time, there were steep, rocky cliffs protecting them, in addition to the river, so the night watch was easier to manage. After their second restless night, the men awoke. Ramius, who again had the last watch, already had his line in the water. Ramius used a cricket and a sharp bronze fish hook tied to a strong fishing line that had been woven from flax linen. The men carried numerous gauges and lengths of linen cord for various purposes, and this one was the thinnest. The line and cricket were light enough to keep the small hook afloat for a while, during which time Ramius hoped that a mighty fish would rise from the depths of the pool to take the cricket.
Johnny yawned and walked over to the big rock where Ramius crouched, waiting patiently. Just then, Ramius yelped in surprise and excitement as he was rewarded with a hook set firmly in the mouth of a big fish. It was a chore pulling it in.
Johnny immediately gave him a hand, and they hauled out a five-foot-long, gray and white monster of a fish with whiskers and a long snout.
They called this fish the water wolf, named for its coloring and whiskers, as well as its size and strength. This fish was more than they had hoped for and enough for their journey. Yet, it was only average size for a water wolf, which were known to grow twice this size.
The team gathered, knives in hand, and divided up the fish to extract the portions they wanted and needed. They would leave quite a bit behind, but none would go to waste— not in these lands that were so teeming with life.
The men laughed and talked as they worked, preparing large, thin slices of fish that would soon be laid out on the hot rocks high above the falls, where they would dry, thereby making them be easier to carry in the coming days. They broke camp shortly thereafter and started up the hill to reach the top of the falls, where the river again flattened out. They then made their way up the river.
When they saw a favorable place to climb up to the canyon ridge, they turned south and climbed to near the top, looking for areas where they could camp and dry the fish. They found an acceptable area with plenty of large granite boulders, exposed formations, and flat areas where they could camp later.
They laid out all the fish to maximize the heat exposure and then waited for the sun to do its work. They had to remain close by, because large scavenger birds would be a problem otherwise. It wasn’t long before the giant bald-headed birds were circling above, looking for an opening.
“I dare them to try. Wouldn’t that be great? We could roast one of those to go with the fish,” pondered Johnny as he surveyed the sky above.
“Let’s get the fire built and get that fish smoked,” suggested Ramius, noting that late afternoon was starting to close in.
The men started carrying stones and erecting a high walled pit. They were all experts in these matters and knew which woods, leaves, and other materials were needed to smoke the fish to their liking.
The fish was already semi-dried from several hours under the sun. The men just needed to get some additional heat and smoke into the meat, and then they would have several days of high-energy food for their long journey.
They built a raging fire in the pit and loaded plenty of wood to get the rocks heated through and through. Then, they used large branches to erect a tripod over the pit. Using a linen fishing line, they strung up all the fish about two feet above the pit and started to throw on oak and other twigs that were known to impart a good flavor. They would periodically add branches and twigs to create dense smoke that would envelop the fish.
Meanwhile, the moderate heat continued to cook and dry the fish so that it would end up light and easy to carry. By the time the smoking was complete, and the fish was cooled and packed away, it was already getting dark. It was now time to add some logs to get a good fire going to deter animals, comprising mainly wolves that would be no doubt looking to join the party.
The men assumed their normal nightly watch rotation and tried to get a good night’s sleep before their first day of pushing for heavy distances from then onward until they found something or reached a dead end.
Ramius and his team were ever optimistic on the outside, but privately, they feared failure and what it would mean. Would they abandon the entire enterprise and make the best of their nomadic lives? Would they have to admit their deception and beg forgiveness among their community? It was something that they all pondered privately, as it was not worth discussing openly and causing the entire mood of the expedition to sink.
The night was not restful, as wolves did indeed gather and circle at a distance, sending in lone scouts to test the perimeter. Twice, the men all had to get up and display their aggression, hurling large stones and charging at the animals that were trying to venture ever nearer. Finally, the wolves, having tested the resolve of the men and seeing their response, lacked the nerve to push further and settled down to keep watch on the camp, but at a distance.
Upon rising the next morning, the men felt less than rested, yet somehow inspired. They were inspired to drive deep into the unknown areas beyond. So far, they were still in familiar territory—within the range of places to which they and many others had ventured before. But after two full days running upriver, they would enter the frontier, which they had never seen before. That morning, they set out eager to reach the frontier and the places beyond, where they prayed to the stars and moon that they would find Eden.
It had been tedious for Dillon and his two men to get the strangers back to the camp area. Normally, it would have taken them only half a day to cover the thirty miles, but because of the injured man and the obstinacy of their leader in particular, Dillon had to call for a lot of rough handling, violence being the only thing that these so-called minions could understand. After a very long day, and with night approaching, they were still about ten miles out. Dillon made the call to have one of his scouts, Arnie, stay with the injured man and camp while he and his remaining scout herded the remaining three prisoners swiftly back to the hut and reported to Manfred.
Arnie was instructed to see whether the injured man, once alone, would provide more information. Dillon knew that Arnie was very sociable and had the best prospects for gathering any intelligence. The injured stranger had initially acted very aggressively, but since being injured, he seemed very subdued compared to the others. Once they were alone, Arnie examined the wound, which was quite serious, and he tried to make the man as comfortable as possible. Then, as he started to work, gathering wood and rocks in the immediate clearing to build a fire, he struck up a conversation with the stranger, who appeared to be quite a bit older than the others and certainly older than Arnie, who was only twenty-one.
“I have some tea from local plants. It will help you feel better. Do you drink tea?”
The stranger grunted and looked away.
“No?” persisted Arnie.
The stranger looked at Arnie and gave a weak nod of agreement.
“I’m sorry about that leg. We don’t like to fight. Why did you attack us?”
The stranger smiled, exhaled sharply, and looked down.
Arnie brought the dry leaves and twigs to life with his flint and the back of his knife blade. “You know you can sleep anytime.
Me? I’ll have to stay up all night if they don’t come back for us … just to keep the wolves from dragging you off.” Arnie stared over at him, looking for a reaction, but he saw none—only a blank stare off into the distance.
Then, the stranger grimaced, gritted his teeth, and finally spoke. “Aw sheeit, man! Dat hurts like a mutha.
Dammnnn!” He wriggled his body and his good leg while trying to keep the injured leg completely stationary. “What the hell kyna knives you guys … Damnnnnn!”
Arnie was patient and didn’t react. He set up his metal cup of water near the fire’s edge to get the tea going. “How you guys so big and can throw dem knives like dat?” The stranger squirmed a little as he labored to speak in a loud whisper. “You don’t like to fight? Yah, dat’s bull.”
“No, really. We mostly hunt, and we always have to deal with the wolves. We try not to kill ’em unless we have to. We only do it for protection,” explained Arnie. “We can throw spears too; that’s definitely for hunting. But we have used spears to fight men before. It depends on whether the other men are killers. We are not killers; we just defend ourselves.”
Arnie picked up the man’s spear, which he had confiscated. Fifteen yards across the clearing, amidst a stand of dark trees, was a lone tree with white bark. Arnie’s intent was unmistakable as he took one deliberate step and hurled the spear with a power and a velocity that the stranger could barely comprehend. The spear flew without any perceptible arc and buried itself deep into the white tree, dead center. The stranger’s eyes widened with amazement.
“Sum bitch!” The stranger just sat slack-jawed, looking back and forth between Arnie and the tree a few times.
“Mostly, we run. Do your people run?”
The stranger looked Arnie up and down with an incredulous stare that signified his resentment of such physical capability. “Naw, we walk.” The stranger then closed his eyes and tilted his head back, weary from the exchange. Suddenly, he lifted his head and opened his eyes as a question popped into his mind. “How many you all?”
“There are a lot of us.” Arnie knew better than to share specifics. “Maybe you will be coming back with us, then you can see.” Arnie hesitated. “One of you said something about Saul?
Who is that?”
The stranger closed his eyes, smiled, and then broke into a chuckle that immediately became a painful cough as he realized that laughing was not a good thing to do in his condition. “I t’ink Saul would love to meet choo guys,” he said in a raspy whisper, still recovering from his ill-fated attempt at laughter. “He gon’ come heya soon. Always movin’ west, lookin’ fo’ da next t’ing.”
“What thing is he looking for?”
“Uhhmm.” The stranger hesitated, pondering what he should say and, more importantly, what he should not. “Weee nice people. We like ta make friends.” He paused. “Friends fo’ life,” he added with a creepy smile.
Feeling a little unsettled, Arnie handed him the cup of tea. “What is your name? My name is Arnie. I am a second-level army runner.”
“Arnie. Okay, Arnie. Arnie in da army,” the stranger joked. Arnie kept his gaze, expecting an answer. “It’s Fritz.
Okay? My name is Fritz.” Fritz took a slug of the tea and exhaled with relief and surprise at how good it tasted, especially because of the herbs and the warmth of it. He quickly drew it to his lips again and sipped rapidly. When he finished the cup, the return of the pain registered on his face, and he leaned back and closed his eyes, teeth clenched, ready to face a miserable night.
Arnie merely watched him as the light of the fire danced on his face and various tattoos. Fritz also had an earring in one ear and various other articles of decoration, such as two wristbands, an ankle band, crude shorts, and an old, soiled shirt.
Arnie walked over to the tree into which he had lodged the spear. He carefully worked the spear up and down and side to side to free up the spearhead without breaking it. When he dislodged it, he examined it carefully. When he had thrown it, he had been surprised at its quality: it had flown straight and true, without a wobble, and the weight had been on the heavy side and perfectly balanced. All the boys in Victory had to learn spear making, bow and arrow making, as well as how to smelt wrought iron and forge blades. By the time a boy became a soldier, he was carrying a blade that he himself had had a hand in making.
Arnie knew what he was looking at when examining the spear, and he noted its markings and workmanship. This spear was from the Grassland nation, a large nation about three hundred miles east that had had a few run-ins with Victory during Arnie’s lifetime. There had been limited trade between Victory and Grassland but no hostilities, as each nation was large and independent with stable leadership and smooth transitions to new successors. The Grassland people coveted Victorian knives and long blades, just as Victory coveted Grassland spears. But neither Victory nor Grassland would trade in such items, viewing weapon-making methods as strategic technologies that were never to be shared. Arnie wondered how these strangers had come to possess these spears. “Fritz, where did you get this spear?” asked Arnie.
“I made it. It’s a nice one, eh?” lied the stranger.
“Gimme it, will ya?”
“I don’t think so,” answered Arnie with some hesitation.
Arnie didn’t bother to press him on the spear, but he was concerned.
As the sun set, a nearly full moon was on the rise and with it the sounds of distant wolf cries. The stranger started to drift off, babbling nonsense. Meanwhile, Arnie made himself some tea and settled in for a long night without sleep.
Ramius and his team were running upriver at a controlled pace, as they were in unsettled country that had been only lightly explored and had been ruled out long ago as a direction to go in, as the geography was rocky and relatively barren. There were animal trails here and there but mainly obstacles, such as large boulder formations that had to be scaled and descended, and frequent tributaries feeding the river, which they trudged over or waded through. They still came upon the old fire rings of past explorers as they wade steady, determined progress.
The men chanted as they moved along, and they talked and joked to keep their minds off the work and the fear of what did or did not lie beyond. They awoke on the third morning since leaving the falls, and they started moving again, this time early, knowing that they were now entering totally uncharted wilderness.
Now, there was a renewed feeling of hope and anticipation. The men hiked out of the river basin, which had been widening and was no longer a deep canyon. They wanted to get up to a high vantage point and survey ahead to see whether it was better to continue along the river or travel along the ridges of the hills. When they reached the ridgeline, they could see that the river was continuing to bend toward the south and that the mountains on the opposite side of the river basin were growing in size.
They decided to stay high up, as long as the ridges allowed it, so that they could continue to survey from above and maintain perspective.
They soon came upon an elk carcass. Johnny was the lead man, and he was squatting, examining the remains. The elk was under a small but bushy tree. As the others arrived at the scene, they all gathered and observed. “It’s fresh,” declared Johnny. The elk had had its guts torn out, and there was evidence of scratches along the back and rear hide. “Look. It’s not even half eaten. And the scratches. This is not the work of wolves. Wolves would have finished off more of it before moving on.”
“A lion?” asked Ramius, knowing, as they all did, that this was a strong possibility.
“Wow! That’s fantastic!” exclaimed Hook. “Definitely no tribes up this way, if there are lions.”
In reality, none of them had ever seen such a sight, as in their territory, lions were nowhere to be seen and hadn’t been for a few generations. But they had experienced with wolves, and this appeared different from a wolf kill. The men took a few minutes to rest and observe. They pulled some rations from their packs to recharge themselves, and then, they continued.
Hours later, they found themselves descending to stay close to the river. At this point, the mountains beyond the river were becoming even more formidable. Looking to the east, they could see that the mountains were also growing off in the distance, and the river basin was widening into what looked like a valley.
It was late in the day. “Let’s get back to the river and look for a place to camp,” declared Ramius. Johnny took the lead and veered westward and downward, back toward the river. Ramius felt excitement building, as he knew that there was one positive aspect of their current course. It was geographically isolated from Victory due to the long canyon, and now that it was opening up, he was hoping to find a space in which settlement might be possible. But he knew that they were still too close for comfort and needed more distance between themselves and Victory before they could consider a settlement. Nevertheless, he was seeing a positive picture develop.
When they arrived back at the river, covered in dust and sweat, the men dumped their packs and clothes and charged into the river to refresh themselves. The river had become wide and docile with sandy banks. As the men splashed, swam, and then settled into the shallow water to relax, they looked to Ramius for an assessment.
“Let’s keep to the river and see where she takes us,” started Ramius. “This river will be our water.”
“And what we piss, Victory will have to drink,” Hook said, to which they all laughed out loud and splashed him in a form of applause.
“Better not piss, Hook; those are our kids down there,”
Louis warned. There was a look of surprise among the men.
“Yah, Hook. Wait until we get them out, and then you piss all you want,” Johnny exclaimed, and the laughter continued.
These were lifelong friends, and when they were together, they were a lot like the young boys who had played together, learned survival together, served in the army together, and raised families side by side.
They were united around a cause that had first been articulated by Ramius and had now become internalized and allconsuming. As they exited the frigid water, feeling the warmth of the last beams of sunlight, their spirits were high.
The next morning, the men stuck to the river, and as it had widened, so had the surrounding basin. It was still relatively rocky, and there was still a slope to the land running down to the river, but this kind of semi-barren hard surface was good for making headway and the men took advantage of it. But as they proceeded, the vegetation began to get more intense, as more tributaries spilled out into the valley, making for some soft and sometimes muddy areas.
“We will need to cross. The other side is drier, and we can stay near the river and gain some elevation,” observed Johnny. The river was now close to the rising mountain range on the west side, and it was becoming wider and wetter on the east side.
“Yah, let’s get out of this. It’s going to be a mosquito trap later,” Louis added.
With that, the men moved to the shore, which was now covered with high grasses and very shallow, with wide areas of water. The men walked across the shallow areas, which were ankle to knee deep, and they got most of the way across before the river deepened suddenly. The flow was still modest, and the men just quickly paddled their way across, trying to keep their packs high on their backs and minimize water ingress. Once they were on the other side, the going was much easier, and they gained some elevation to enable them to get a view farther upriver.
It was a hazy day, and it was hot and humid from the bright sun and all the water in the lowlands of the valley, so they didn’t have a clear view of the distant valley. But they could see that it was enormous, and the mountains they skirted were becoming even more prominent. They decided to go for even more elevation to improve their vantage point and plot their route.
They reached a small summit about one thousand feet above the river, and there was a breeze coming off the mountains. Visibility had improved, and when they stopped to survey the area, there was only silence and the sound of the gusty breeze as they looked below and off into the distance.
“Is that water?” Johnny asked and turned to Ramius, who was squinting and trying to make sense of it.
“I think it is,” answered Ramius, maintaining his intense gaze into the distance. “Look at that,” he uttered involuntarily as his mind worked on deciphering the visual image. “I think it is,” he repeated. He smiled, chuckled, and then turned to look at the group. Their eyes all on him. “This is incredible. We need to get closer.”
With that, the team whooped and hooted as they danced down the hillsides, trying to get closer to the river, where it had a flatter approach. Ramius knew that he was looking at something significant. But it still appeared quite distant, and they wouldn’t reach it until late tomorrow or maybe even the next day. The hazy conditions made it difficult to judge the distance, but energized by what they had seen, the men moved with purpose, trying to beat the day and its relentless pursuit of the night. Finally, when they knew that they had pushed daylight as far as they should, the men stopped to scout for the best defensive position.
After a big fire had started roaring and the men had all shared a hot drink and had their rations, they went into their normal rotation. They were all restless with excitement and having trouble sleeping; yet, the physical exertion of the day finally pulled them into a deep sleep.
In the morning, as Ramius waited for the sunrise to wake the men, he realized that it had been their first night completely free of wolves. This had made for a much better night’s sleep by far. The air had cooled compared to a day earlier, and Ramius could see from the sunrise that it would be a clear day. There was hardly a cloud above, and the air was crisp and bright in the early morning sun. By the time he noticed the visibility and beauty of the sunrise, the others were up without having been coaxed, for they had all had a premonition that the day would reveal something of significance. There was a lot of banter and high spirits among the group, with the jabs and insults flying at Hook being the primary measure of positive attitudes. Hook was immune to such comments and knew that it was all done out of affection.
Besides, he was on his own high, dreaming of finding something new and magical.
The men broke camp in record time and hurled themselves against the obstacles of nature, be they wet, steep, or worse, to see what lay ahead. This time, Ramius fell to the very back, wanting to be the last to see any marvels that awaited them and allowing any glory to shower his comrades first.
The men pounded away into the afternoon hours, near river level, speedily making their way toward the middle of the expansive valley. They navigated rocky terrain, having to go in and out, away from the river, and then back to its edge. But given their conditioning and skill, nature was unable to tame these determined running men.
During one of these gyrating cycles, Johnny, the lead runner, stopped abruptly as he approached the river’s edge. The area across the river remained as wide and shallow as it had been when they had crossed it the day before. But this time, Johnny and his followers were stunned to see a huge herd of cows grazing just at the water’s edge across from them. “Hey, you!” howled Johnny with excitement, and others called out in a similar fashion. They made a rough count of about eighty cows, among which were several bulls.
“This place is totally untouched!” said Ramius. “What have we stumbled into?”
After their gawking had run its course, they broke for a quick snack and continued on with renewed vigor. As Ramius noticed the onset of late afternoon, he opted for higher ground once again to survey where they were. He’d had the impulse nearly all day to climb up and take a look, but he’d decided that it would be better to keep their heads down and cover more distance. There would be time for visual rewards at the close of the day.
They targeted a spot high above them—maybe five hundred feet in elevation. It was a steep but direct climb that wouldn’t take long. As they worked their way up, the features once been glimpsed in the distance were now much closer.
They could see that the valley had widened out significantly on the east side of the river and that the distant mountains demarcating its edges were formidable. Near the river on the far side was marshy and low, teeming with life and heavy vegetation. But beyond the lowlands, the land elevated to an expansive plateau of grasslands dotted with various trees.
They were about halfway up at this point, and they still could not see to the south along the range of mountains they were now scaling; this direction was still blocked from view. They climbed even more rapidly, eager to see the entire panorama.
It wasn’t long before they could see the ridge ahead, which was the top of the foothill they were on. This time, Ramius pushed himself to the front, as if possessed, hopeful that he would see something interesting. As he crested the hilltop, what he saw was not only interesting but also magnificent; it was the most beautiful scene he had ever laid eyes on. His men all scurried up behind him and gasped in surprise. Looking south, they saw a mighty lake representing the origin of the river. The lake was blue, pristine, and extended nearly as far as they could see on this crystal-clear day.
The lake was close to the tall mountains extending south of where they stood, and the mountains formed something of a ring around the south end of the lake. So, the whole valley was closed, except for the direction from which they had come. It was remarkable. Ramius stared in awe, speechless, as he admired the place that he had known that he would find—the place they called Eden. The men shouted as loudly as they could.
That evening, spirits soared. Hook threatened to push on in the pitch blackness to get to the edge of the giant lake as soon as possible. The others just laughed, looking at him as if he were crazy. But he was actually serious. He was so taken by the vision that had been emblazoned in his mind that he felt an irrepressible urge to continue.
“Go on, then, you madman. We will look for your bones in the morning,” suggested Johnny. “Eden’s first dead patron.”
The others roared. Hook finally laughed out loud. He had felt so light and carefree that he’d simply wanted to be dramatic and raise the levity, and it had worked. That night, they would all have trouble waiting, so eager to reach and explore their destination. Meanwhile, Ramius’s thoughts were darkening as he raced ahead in his mind to a time of anticipated confrontation and difficulty.
One option was to simply bring their own families and then see whether others wanted to join them over time as they became established. But Ramius presumed that Marco would still seek to interfere. This scenario was also difficult in terms of establishing a strong beginning for their agricultural plans, as it required more labor than they could muster among just their immediate family members.
The other option was to try to draw a sizable community to settle there. This could be done with the blessing and cooperation of Marco and the council, which was the preferred scenario, or it could be very problematic and perilous for Ramius and his men. If this option was considered traitorous, they could be executed.
“It has only taken us five days to find this place, and I figure we have two more weeks before we need to get back. So, there’s a lot of exploring we can do,” pronounced Ramius. “Let’s put our minds to it and look at this land from every angle. We need to understand it.” The others voiced their full agreement.
“I suggest we split up to cover more ground,” Ramius continued. “I will go with Louis along this side all the way to that southern mountain slope and the end of the lake. Johnny, you lead Hook and Picket down and cross the river. Then, skirt the east side of the lake all the way around and meet us at the south end, coming the other way.”
“Got it,” said Johnny.
“Let’s start at first light,” Ramius instructed.
The next morning, the men embraced and shook hands.
“Be careful, Ramius,” cautioned Johnny. Then he, Hook, and Picket started down toward the river. It was relatively narrow at this spot—only fifty yards across. They realized that the lake provided only a fraction of the total river flow, with most of the water coming from the various streams and tributaries that they had passed along the way. This made it easier to traverse the river, which they did, swimming nicely in unison.
Meanwhile, Ramius and Louis started along the river, eager to get to where it flowed from the lake. It took them about half a day to reach there, and it was an exciting thing to witness. The outflow began as serious rapids and falls tumbling down to a lower pond. They assumed that this would be a favored fishing spot; so, they quickly placed their lines in the water. It was indeed abundant, and they could see fish of all sizes rising and jumping at various points. They managed to bring in one of reasonable size; it was the one they called red fish because of its deeply colored flesh.
This was a fish that was eaten raw as much as it was cooked, and Louis immediately butchered it into filet strips, which they ate right off the clean, smooth rocks as he cut. The meal was quick and satisfying, and they were now ready to move on and gain distance.
The view across the lake was breathtaking. They had never seen such an expansive body of water, and it was difficult to judge its true size. But it was clear that they would probably need the remainder of the day and at least another full day to get to the point just below the high, steep mountain ahead.
Comments