Chapter 3

I woke as a tall brown-skinned youth. I must have been fairly young as I had no blue worms crawling across the backs of my hands and saw no liver spots. I lay on a stone beir, made of cold black granite. The walls and ceiling soared above me. I could barely see but a small horizontal slit window way up high that gave me enough light to make out shapes. I knew that The Mother held me fast so I didn’t panic. I swung my legs down to the floor where I found a pack bag under a necklace sporting a long straight clear crystal, a soft breechclout, a tunic with a great tree embroidered across the chest, a large hank of very strong woven cord, a copper cup, a spoon, a sharp steel knife, a steel axe with a strong head and a shaft as long as my lower leg, a water gourd, a bag of salt, a fire-making box, four good beeswax candles and a rolled-up waxed linen bag roughly one foot by three feet. A 12x16 canvas sheet was wrapped into a bundle and tied under it.

I knew that the Mother demanded that I use my mind. I took what I could of the room and examined the walls. One was chalky, made of some sort of stone and plaster while the rest were of dressed granite. I used the back of the axed to strike at the weak wall, soon breaking free and opening a way out. I packed the bag and strode out, wondering what would come to me. Outside the sepulcher I found a chest-high altar bearing a spear with a steel blade curved like a sickle and a steel butt-piece fashioned like a faceted gem some two inches across. Also there lay a hauberk of chain mail with long sleeves that would stretch to my calves.

I looked outside to see a decrepit temple covered in vines, brush and moss. I realized that none would be coming to greet me. I opened my senses to the environment.

From the tracks, nibbled shoots and spoor that I saw I knew that many small animals were close. I fashioned four snares and placed them in the animal runs, then gathered firewood and retreated back into the temple. It was dry within, while the afternoon breeze promised rain.

Two of my snares caught rabbits. I quickly cleaned them and had them on spits. It didn’t take long to get a fire going made from the dead, dry vines mixed with the dead brush and trees covering the temple and surrounding it. The corner of the temple chamber appeared designed as a fire pit. The smoke crept up the wall to disappear above. The sight, sound and smells of my little fire were comforting while the rain hammered down outside, lashing the leaves from the trees. I was glad that I had the foresight to gather extra firewood as finding anything dry outside by that time and would be nearly impossible to light unless I split it to find the heartwood.

The rabbits were done. One I left at the edge of the fire to dry while I ate the other with a pinch of salt. I stripped and went outside to wash off the grease as well as clean my body in the cold rain.

Night was coming quickly. I carefully arranged two larger pieces of wood at the rear of the fire on top of each other to provide a gentle, longer-lasting fire then wrapped myself in the canvas. Now that I was mostly dry once again, I dozed off happy, comfortable and safe in the arms of The Mother.

I woke with a curious thought in my head. I knew that it was an old, old temple and I’d never seen a temple that didn’t have inscriptions all over it. Were the inscriptions on this temple still readable? The grooves making up the figures on the outer walls were so weathered that it was impossible to make them out, but inside I had a chance. I used a small torch fastened to the butt-end of my spear to cast long shadows on the walls. Unless I knew what I was looking for the writing would have appeared to be rows of scratches. I knew it to be the language of the Vikings--runic. I couldn’t read it, but I could recognize it.

I felt quite frustrated in being so close, and I didn’t even have anything to write on or write with to record it so that I could translate it later. I sighed and remembered an old homily: Spend yourself wisely. Strive to change what you may and accept that which you cannot. I went on with the rest of my day collecting water for my gourd and setting more traps for food. I had a ready source of meat available. It would be stupid to not take advantage of that.

I dressed and went out to set traps, seek out vines to weave for baskets and to see what else might be near the temple. I slowly walked in a spiral, watching for edible shoots, herbs, useable firewood and game runs. I made certain to keep the temple within sight.

I noted that the vegetation and trees were sparse in a line almost due East of the temple, taking the direction of the rising sun. Each time I set a snare I topped and skinned the bark from a sapling next to it leaving six to eight feet, so that I could locate it later. I had started back down the path to the temple when I heard a frantic squealing and crashing through the underbrush. I planted the butt of my spear on a root with my foot over it while aiming the point at where I thought the noise was coming from. It was approaching fast. I calmed myself, breathing deeply. If it was an enraged animal I would have to act quickly and without hesitation.

A yearling pig burst into view. It saw me and headed straight for me. Something had terrified it. It seemed bound and determined to go right through me. I caught it at the base of the throat with my spear, which gratefully did not slip or snap. The head buried itself in the pig’s body at which time the animal grunted and fell to its knees, then to its side. Luckily I’d managed to cut open its heart.

I put my hand on it shoulder as it lay there. “I would have rather had you as a companion than dinner, but in your rush to meet your end I couldn’t stop you. I thank you for your gifts and promise to make the best of them as I am able. Rest well, sister.”

I carefully removed the spear and made two cuts. One was to slit its throat to let it bleed out, and one down her belly to the anus which I ringed. I thrust my arm deep within to remove the entrails. I had to reach in with my other arm, delicately controlling the knife to sever the throat and windpipe, then cut away all the connective tissue.

I was covered in blood by the time I finished the carcass. It was but the work of a minute or two to cut two larger saplings and fasten the body to them as a travois. Once I had the pig back at the temple steps I carefully skinned the carcass, cut it down into portions that I could handle then stripped and cut the meat thin--just the thickness of my smallest finger. I then wove an open dome of the small withes that would fit over the fire and lay as much salted meat as would fit over the coals. Next I remembered my lessons--I speedily wove a broad twisted-grass basket that would cover the dome and the meat. When completed I gently placed it over the meat to capture the smoke and greatly speed up the drying process. I had a lot of meat to prepare and had to force it. Cold smoking the meat would have made for a better product, but hot smoking it until it was leathery or even brittle would do fine for travel rations.

I was still a sticky, bloody dirty mess. I took my tools and searched out a small stream I’d seen while setting my snares. A good scrubbing with the clean bottom sand did wonders for my attitude. I came away with my spear, axe and knife clean as well. I walked the path I’d taken when setting my traps, removing them. There was no sense in trapping rabbits with all that pork available.

On the way back to the temple I harvested more long grasses and withes. I’d need something hold the dried meat.

I spent the latter half of the day gorging on freshly cooked meat and feeding the little fire with damp wood, so as to cause smoke and not burst into flame. By mid-afternoon I removed the covering basket, which was hot to the touch. The first batch was smoked dark and cooked down to shoe leather. I set aside the first batch and prepared a second. While that processed I wove a basket nearly a foot across and deep as my arm out of tightly twisted grass twine. I could not see daylight through it which was my goal. I packed away what meat was ready and continued to gorge. I wanted to waste as little of the porker that I could. I stayed busy scraping down the pig’s hide. I wanted to make sandals out of the strongest part of it.

By nightfall the second batch of meat was finished. The third was started, after which I again packed away the finished product. For dinner I removed the pig’s tongue and roasted it in the coals. Peeled, it would make a wonderful meal. I had cut my oversized sandal soles out of doubled hide from the top of the back where the skin was the thickest. I treated it like the meat by smoking and heating it against the bottom tier of the roasting rack. I’d cut some half-inch strips of the hide for laces and punched holes about the soles before they dried and became much harder to work. Just before going to my pallet I turned the pigskins while I fed the fire once more. The tongue was done. It looked like an old stick from its time in the fire, but after peeling it with my sharp knife and dusting it with a bit of salt I found it a very tasty, if chewy delicacy. If I ever had the chance I would cook one in a clay vessel with some spices and liquor thickened with gelatin from boiling the hooves. That would be fit for royalty.

I thanked the mother for her bounty and prayed that I had made sufficient use of her gifts. I fell asleep after reminding myself to awaken as the fire cooled to tend to things again. I had much more meat to process and hoped to complete the task before it ‘went off’.

It was the middle of the night when I next woke. The temple was warm from the fire working all day despite the heavy dew and spots of frost in the deep shadows outside. The gentle glow from the coals made it feel home-like and welcoming. I flipped the pigskins once more and replaced the meat on the rack with another batch. I found it a bit difficult to cut it properly in the dim light. A few small branches set on the fire gave me enough flame to guide my hands. I broke up the flames, put some larger wetted wood on the fire and covered it all with some damp leaves. Once again, I covered the wood frame with the prepared meat, dusted it with salt and covered it over for another long smoke. I lay back on my cot wondering again at the writing on the wall. I found it such an odd thing to be found deep in what was obviously a jungle. I thanked The Mother for her gifts, her puzzles and the rich life that I had been given.

I woke as the forest creatures began stirring. The fire was almost out yet the residual heat of the hearth kept the morning dew out of the temple. I stretched in my place and thanked The Mother for another night safe in the comfort of her arms. I found it still too dark to work with the meat. I saw my hands pick up the necklace and place it about my neck. Then my voice said two very early Runic words--’stone light’. The necklace was shining so brightly that I had to shield it with a hand as my eyes were watering and I saw purple spots. Wow! A flashbulb that keeps on giving!

It was then that I realized I KNEW Runic. I also knew what every incription on all the walls read. It contained a pean to The Mother, celebrating her gifts and her awesome foresight. The runes had been cut over twenty two hundred years in the past yet their words still rang with power. The walls and ceiling of the small sepulchre in which I had lain was covered in lessons in how the runes fitted together to cast spells. I saw it all in a flash--the structure of how it all worked. I was terrified.

I abased myself and called upon The Mother. “Please take this from me. It is like giving a child a loaded gun. I don’t have the wisdom to use such a gift without causing unmeasurable harm in my ignorance.”

I felt the warmth of her approval. “Be calm, little one. Do you not realize that I have given this gift many times before and know its pitfalls intimately? All magical power springs from me. I can allow or disallow the desires of a magic user, or even repudiate or call them home to me if their minds should not prove up to the task.”

I sighed and gave my thanks. I had nearly fouled my clout when I realized the true power of the spells. I could see how to call and dissmiss cyclones, open fissures in the land and cause great waves which would resculpt an entire seacoast. I wondered at what extreme condition would require a magic user to need such a thing. I hoped rather that it was an open-ended system in which power simply was and its use was a matter of judgement. I began to see more moderate uses of such structures.

I took a deep breath and centered myself. I still had the tasks before me to complete that I had set myself days before. I set my next batch of meat on the fire to smoke and cure. My sandals had finished smoking and drying. I ground a little pig fat into the edges of the smoked rawhide to keep it from cutting me as it aged and conformed to my feet. I whip-stitched the doubled layers together, wove and knotted in the basketry to cover over my arches and set in the heel bands. I thought them rather handsome and utilitarian for a first attempt. I realized, however, that any hungry scavenger within smelling distance would follow closely and attempt to eat them.

After gorging on all that pork I got the expected result. I certainly fertilized a patch of trees and bushes. Upon waking I was but skin and bone. I noticed that I was gaining muscles and wind.

The sun was up so I quenched my necklace. I considered my next step to be to gain knowledge of the area. I contemplated the wealth of spell structures I had been gifted with until I came upon a pair of already prepared spells that seemed perfect for my needs. I cast a spell upon myself for true sight. At first I was overwhelmed by the complexity of all that was around me. I saw the life in every growing thing and couldn’t help but notice useful plants and tubers all about me.

Next I cast a spell on myself granting strength, dexterity and wind. I found myself immediately ravenous! I cut thicker slabs of pork to cook while I cut a digging stick and pulled up some nice starchy tubers. They were cast into the coals to cook. I feasted, then drank my fill of water and cleaned up. The last of the pork was put onto the rack to cure as night was falling. I deeply thanked The Mother for the skills and eyes of an experienced hunter-gatherer and the body of a Zulu warrior in his prime. I slept once more, secure in a place that celebrated The Mother, no matter how old and disused it may be. The Mother may have been almost forgotten in that land by most but she had at least one true devotee--me.

After my morning prayers and ablutions I sat on the temple steps to plan. I knew that Mother had plans for me that involved more than me parking my fat butt on the temple steps and basking in the sunshine like a family dog. If I didn’t seek out my fate I knew that Mother would prod me into action in a most uncomfortable manner. I grinned to myself, remembering an old homily from my original life: “If momma ain’t happy, nobody’s happy.” I felt a ghostly pat on my head. Well, back to planning. I couldn’t carry all that preserved meat in just one basket. It would be unbalanced and tiresome. I had to carve a shoulder yoke and weave another basket to level out the load. I was strong enough to carry quite a bit since the effects of the second spell had turned me into the very image of a pro football lineman. I had the eye to find roots, leaves and fruits locally that may not be available elsewhere. I had already spotted feverfew, ginger, garlic and burdock. I could see the purpose to which I would put that waxed bag. My herbs had to be harvested and most of them dried, which would take perhaps a week with the aid of the temple’s warm air flue. I wanted a distance weapon, and an atl-atl seemed ideal. The darts were much more forgiving to make than arrows and took less skill, and primitive bowstrings were a nightmare.

After casting the true sight spell I could easily make out the old road leading off to the east. I spent a couple hours weaving a harvesting basket, took my metal tools and started down the path to see what I could harvest or make use of. I had to cast a re-sizing spell on my jerkin and scale armor to make them fit my new larger size. I taught my eyes to watch for what would make a throwing stick, and to look for flint. Before leaving I set some strips of hide to slowly simmer in water next to the fire. I’d need some glue.

I found the remains of an extensive village. I was happy to find within one building several fat lamps. They were made from glazed clay and several were in nicely intact. I took two. Another place had glazed pots the size of my head hidden under a foot and a half of soil. Two were filled with salt and had been covered by pieces of leather tied around the lip. Those were prizes that I would have been foolish to ignore. There was no iron or bronze. If there had been any to begin with it had gone back to nature over time. I was, however, amazed to find someone’s cache under a hearth stone. A tiny bag held some twenty three little flattened lumps of gold. I thanked The Mother for this unexpected gift. It would make working with men much easier. It was then that I realized I could call wealth. I could see a spell to call to me any wealth within a day’s walk that was either lost or buried and forgotten. Since the village was ancient I didn’t see the harm in trying it out. A moment after casting the spell I heard a coughing noise and found six finger-sized round bars of gold and a gold bowl that would fit in my open hand. There were carvings and places for jewels all around the lip. This was quite a haul! I carefully cut off the end of my clout to wrap all the gold and placed it securely in the bottom of the basket.

I spent a little more time looking for more ceramic pots as I wanted to refine and carry along some lard for the fat lamps. My luck had been used up gaining me the gold, though. I did spot a beautiful bent branch low on an Osage Orange tree which I had a difficult time cutting free. That would be my throwing stick once I did some carving and allowed it to dry. On a rise I also found some tinder fungus. I harvested some for my fire kit.

Once back at the temple I smiled and relaxed, happy with my foraging. Then I frowned and called myself a fool. Why was I foraging when with a well-thought-out spell I could summon or create whatever supplies I desired. I sighed. I knew that it would take some time to get used to this magic business. I wondered how to strike a balance between foraging what was available and creating it on the fly. I was certain that there was some sort of logic--some ethical boundary or concept that I hadn’t concieved of. I resolved to consult the definitive source--The Mother.

I deliberately and clearly phrased my question, called wisdom from the mother and fell asleep where I was.

When I awoke I found that I’d been given a master’s class in ethics for a wizard. I could create anything that would not imperil, undercut, disenfranchise or dishearten others. I could not create anything living for that was the purview of The Mother alone. Any action of mine which caused physical or mental suffering to another were my responsibility to address, and if it were NOT addressed as soon as possible then there was an excellent chance that The Mother would turn me into fertilizer, and take her time doing it so that it would HURT. Now that was a threat that I could understand.

I realized that keeping everything looking natural was my best way of not drawing attention to myself or my belongings. I was already a blinding flash and a deafening report when I considered walking into a village as a six-foot-four nubian warrior dressed in iron scale mail and bearing an eight foot iron spear. I wasn’t what you’d call “innocuous”. I thought about it for a while, then called up a limited glamor, or a seeming. Whoever or whatever saw me was going to accept what they saw as natural, normal and nothing to get thrashed about. I carefully cast it with a loop-hole. I could suspend it at any time and turn into a roaring billy-badass barbarian at the drop of a hat. Of course, that would blow my cover so I’d have to be judicious in its use, such as convincing a bar keeper not to beat a servant or to keep a guard from thrashing a child or raping a girl--abuses of power. I would feel completely vindicated halting that sort of thing.

That brought up another thought that I had to address before I went much further. What was my mandate? What did I see as my mission? What course lay before me? The Chinese had some great homilies. One was, “With great power comes great responsibility.” Damn. I wasn’t just some kid anymore. I was in the bigs. I had to keep myself under control with a strict thumb and mash down any inappropriate tendencies before they had a chance to actualize. I wanted The Mother to be proud of me, not consider me a problem child that should be recycled for my weight in fertilizer or animal feed.

I couldn’t fix the world. I shouldn’t go trying to search out the world’s evil either. Life was balance and every time the balance fell to one strength or another, populations died. Wolves had their place. Ecology was a hard taskmaster--or rather Mistress!

I spread out my possessions on the altar. I started in making adjustments. My carry sack got a hickory frame, shoulder straps and a belt strap. I rebuilt the bag to hold my possessions as well.

The two salt jugs became four square very strong ceramic jars with closely fitted wood lids, sized so that all four would fill the bottom of my pack in two layers. I called up a wood box with a sliding top to hold the gold. I called into being cabochon cut and polished rubies to fill the voids around the lip of the gold cup. Another box was called up to hold my cooking bowl, spoon, a horn of hide glue, a large flask of oil and another small steel knife. I knew what a fork and a spoon looked like so I made myself one of each. Instead of carrying a water gourd I created two water skins to hang off of the frame. The top layer of the bag held my cord in a canvas bag and my firekit. It was a hefty pack, but not too bad. When I added the food panniers I was a bit unhappy with the load.

I called a mule. I knew that it may come from a ways away so I occupied myself creating my atl-atl thrower and flights. I saw no reason not to just call up the flights, but the thrower I took my time with. I gradually carved and hand-rubbed the thing into existence. When I went to use it, I felt as if it were a part of my arm. It quickly became an accurate and powerful weapon in my hands.

I made sure that my foodstuffs would not go off on me. After all, I didn’t use the best method of preservation for all that pig but I’d be awfully put out if it rotted. I put preservation spells on both panniers. Then I wondered what would be my cover? I needed a legend--a story to tell and a reason to be wandering around. Hell, itinerant traders and spice merchants had a long history of running around loose, and nobody bothered them unless they were flat out nuts. That brought other traders around in groups with bad attitudes. Besides, among traders I figured I’d get the freshest news and find out where the markets were.

Hmm. What to put together for inventory? It couldn’t weigh too much or both the mule and I would founder. As it was, I was going to lose one of those boxes of salt. In its place I was going to carry a ceramic spice box. I knew what black pepper was, where it came from, what it tasted like and what it looked like on the tree. The same with cloves, cinnamon and nutmeg. Now, it was possible that The Mother had a taste for practical jokes and this culture had railroads, ironclad steam ships and maybe even the telegraph, but I somehow doubted it. I was hoping for a pre-gunpowder civilization, and one that stayed that way! No electricity, no buildings over three stories tall, no jet engines, no internal combustion engines and no goddamned cell phones. I hoped that the lever and rollers, block & tackle and the Archimedes screw were as far as technology had progressed. I carried cards of straight pins and cards of needles, twenty sheathed knives with good steel similar to my own, a half dozen axes, six pointed shovel blades, a few copper cups, a dozen packets of dry ink and a handful of steel writing nibs.

I ‘told’ Mother what I had planned and didn’t get any flack. Hopefully she wasn’t feeding me enough rope to hang myself. We’d see.

One afternoon a big jack mule wandered into camp. He was a big fella. I fed him a few ripe apples and two quarts of cracked wheat out of a wood bucket. While he was chowing down I contemplated if I knew any ‘Dr. Doolittle’ spells. I didn’t know any know-all-languages spells, but I did have a way to learn one language or talk to one animal. I tried my talk-to-a-mule spell. My eyes crossed and I damned near fell over from balancing on two feet instead of four like a rational person. The clover smelled delicious! I grinned. That was pretty cool.

I rubbed down Atlas (hey, it was his name.) as I talked to him. I said that I wanted him to carry a pack for me as I wandered around. In return I promised to keep him fed, find good water, not overload him and protect him not only from humans and animals but the winter weather too. Hell, I didn’t want to walk around in cold miserable rain when I didn’t have to any more than he did. He thought about it for a while. I added that there wouldn’t be any bits, snaffles or reigns on him. Then he gave me a horsey-head nod and blew a snort in my hair. I figured that was close to a hand-shake that we were going to get. I measured his back by hand, then called up a saddle pad and a pack saddle. I fiddled with things until he seemed happy with the fit. Then I added my food panniers and another pair that held food for him. I had a twenty-pound bag of dried apples up there across from a twenty pound bag of white flour too. Strapped over everything was a bucket, a 30x30 canvas tarp and a couple blankets. We were ready to go. I cast a small spell to clean up my mess in the temple, then a ‘finder’ spell to see where we should be going next. Something inside me said that repairing or fixing up the temple would not be appropriate.

The magical compass in front of my eyes took us due East, down the road through the ancient village. I said, “Looks like we’re headed this way. Let’s see how far we can get before we find fresh fodder for you and good water.” We set a good pace off into the woods. We had half a day to see what was store for us.

The next morning the temple floor was covered in large pit vipers, which had been out of sight in the hidden ways deep inside the walls. None would use the mother’s temples without her blessing.

The land soon became rough, then more and more mountainous as the trail led ever upward. The trees shifted from deciduous to coniferous. The lowland animals thinned and ony a few fur-bearers or larger predators ruled. Atlas and I were attacked late one evening by a pack of wolves. Despite my size and skill, without magic I doubted that we would have survived. I quickly learned to shoot pebbles like a rifle bullets, and thereby dispatched the entire pack. They had been eating well, living off of travellers on the trail. Well, I put the finish to that. I used magic to tan and sew together the skins to make a hooded cloak and a generous sleeping fur. I duplicated my wool blanket twice and sewed them into a thick quilt to keep Atlas comfortable enough at night to stop his grumbling. He was happy enough that I cleaned stones from his hooves twice daily and thanked me, in his way. As it got colder I made a warm grain mash for him each evening. I nearly filled the bucket but as I previously noted, he was a big fellow, and ate it all. I let him know that he’d better eat whatever grasses he could find or he’d get bound up from all the grain. We stopped whenever we could so that he could crop a few mouthfuls of sweet grass.

We came upon a shelter in a valley. It boasted a clean if cold little stream and a lush patch of grass which Atlas soon set about devouring. Two other parties of traders were already there, sitting before the fire while sipping buttered tea. They offered some which I tried and thought delicious. In return I offered a pound of my dried apples which made marvellous dough puddings and pies. They had been on the trail quite a while and had long before run out of any fruit, including dried so they were quite happy in their turn. The conversation turned to news of the road. They were quite concerned about stories of a rapacious pack of wolves that was said to be large enough to take down a short pack train. I grinned and showed off my new sleeping furs. “You mean this wolf pack?” They asked my name. I drew a blank until I said out of nowhere, “Simon from Casablanca, near the Gates of Hercules”. One man said, “You must have itchy feet to have travelled so far. The mountains of Romania are far from your home.” I nodded. “I have a religious calling. I judge for The Mother.” An old man spoke up. “You travel a difficult path, warrior.” I smiled. “I am pointed the way. Though the steps be many and the path difficult at times I always find times to enjoy, such as this.” We tapped cups then made our ways to our sleeping pads. I prayed to The Mother giving thanks for this chance to speak with others on my lonely road, and fell asleep.