Apparently they had also brought along rifles.
Whatever organization had remained on Terra to earn money and ship them supplies, was disbanded when a reactionary government came to power on the home world and cut off all the colony planets that weren’t self-supporting. Claiming that the colonists were impoverishing Terra, the reactionaries only kept up relations with the older colony worlds, the ones that had been established so long that they were able to export raw materials to Terra for its orbital factories, and to buy the goods those factories produced.
Suddenly tractors became fabulously precious. Shortly after, they became useless because there was no fuel. People began to plow with oxen again. The forgotten hay rakes and reapers were reconstructed from history books, farmers learned how to use scythes again, and people reinvented the wagon wheel. Agriculture staggered on, but without pesticides or fertilizers, save manure, and yields dropped dramatically.
Livestock could graze the marginal lands that weren’t fit for tilling, so sheep, goats, and especially cows became vital to survival—which meant that bulls also became important. Most were gelded to make draft animals or meat, of course; each clan kept only one or two of the strongest and most massive for breeding. Then the Belinkuns’ bull died. Faced with no new calves and knowing the Farlands had prudently kept two bulls, they organized a midnight raid and stole a Farland bull.
That, of course, was a life-threatening action, since there was no guarantee the remaining bull would prove potent in the spring. There was recourse, though, and Rogan, the clan chief, sent a dozen clansfolk to the High Druid to petition for justice. The party had a great deal of difficulty getting there; the roads had deteriorated sadly since the enchanted machines that built and repaired them had expired. The Farlands’ magic chariot kept breaking down and needing new spells, but there were few wizards to re-enchant it and get it going again.
Finally, though, they did come to the High Druid and laid their case before him. He gave them his judgment; the price of the bull must be a hundred cows and the first bull calf of the next season. He wrote that judgment on paper in magical runes and gave it to the Farlands to take and show to the Belinkuns, but he could send no guards to enforce the penalty; all his men had gone home to farm, since they could no longer be fed from the surplus that Homeworld magic had created.
The enchantment on the Farlands’ chariot had now worn off completely, so they had to walk home. The clan rejoiced at the judgment and went as a body to present the High Druid’s letter to the Belinkuns.
They brought their rifles, of course. No one ever went anywhere without one in those days. There were snakes to kill, and always a chance of a rabbit or even a wild pig for dinner.
Rogan laid the High Druid’s judgment before the Belinkuns. Orbin, the leader of the party who had gone to the High Druid, recited his threats of supernatural punishment for the Belinkuns if they disobeyed his edict.
They laughed.
Worse, they mocked the High Druid and jeered at the notion that he had any authority to judge them. Worst of all, they mocked Rogan. Angered, he struck Enoch—the Belinkun leader—slapped him across both cheeks, then turned on his heel and strode away.
A ratcheting sounded behind, the noise of flintlocks being cocked, and many of the Farlands glanced backward dubiously, lifting their own rifles—but Rogan strode angrily onward, never glancing back, and his people turned to follow him, each expecting at any moment to feel a rifle ball in their backs. Enoch bade his people not to fire, though, for he would not have it said that he was so cowardly as to attack his enemy from behind.
It was the last time such honor was observed between the clans.
Outraged at the Belinkuns’ impiety and even more at their insolence, the Farlands attacked in force and stole their bull back—leaving half a dozen Belinkuns dead and carrying home two corpses of their own. Each clan hated the other as murderers, and the stolen bull’s price had been increasing for centuries, paid in the blood and life of clansfolk.
When the song was done, Gar and Alea sat stunned while the clansfolk cheered around them.
“Well sung,” Grandma Em judged, nodding with satisfaction. “He’s a rare fine singer, our Tull.”
“It always feels good, being reminded why we’re fighting.” Martha drank off the last of her ale and stood up. “But the morning doesn’t start any later just because we have guests. May I help you to your bedroom, Aunt?”
“Yes, thank you, Martha.” Grandma Em stood without assistance, though both Isaac and Martha sprang close to catch her if they were needed. “I’ve managed,” she told them with an impish smile, then turned to nod graciously to her guests. “Thank you for your song.”
“It was our pleasure,” Gar said.
“The least we could do to repay such excellent hospitality,” Alea added.
“Isaac will show you to your rooms.” Grandma Em turned away, leaning heavily on Martha’s arm and on her cane. “Sleep well.”
“Sleep well,” Gar and Alea replied, “and thanks.”
They watched the old lady hobble away, then turned to Isaac who said, “Come. I’ll show you where to sleep.”
They lay awake in small whitewashed rooms surrounded by darkness, but their thoughts sounded in each other’s minds.
How much of that story was fact, Alea wondered, and how much fiction?
Legends do turn into better stories as the years pass, and they’re told and retold, Gar admitted, but there’s always a core of fact. One thing we know is true—that when the PEST party came to power on Terra, it did indeed cut off commerce and aid to the colony planets.
Alea nodded, though she knew he could not see. And I think it’s not too unlikely that whatever kind of central government this colony had, just withered up and died without Terran money and equipment to keep it going.
Certainly it would have lost communication with the towns and villages, Gar agreed, when the road-repairing equipment ran out of gas and spare parts, and the radios and computers broke down and couldn’t be fixed.
The dwarves of Midgard learned how to make their own. Alea couldn’t hide a bit of gloating when she found something to be said in favor of her home planet.
Gar took it as a good sign. Not all colonies were lucky enough to have people who learned electronics so quickly—and you must admit the dwarves weren’t big on road-building.
Well, no, but the giants were. I take your point, though—there aren’t any giants here, either.
They do seem to be excellent farmers, if the crops and orchards we’ve seen are anything to go by, Gar pointed out, and skilled fighters, from what we saw in the satellite photos. Maybe that’s why the central government had a system for resolving disputes between clans.
Yes, a system headed by Druids. Alea frowned. That’s the only evidence of religion I’ve noticed around here.
At least when the central government died, there was some form of law left, Gar said, even if it was only religious law.
The Druids were supposed to have been skilled as judges according to their own legal code. Alea had read the books more recently than Gar. It only works as long as the people believe in the religion, though.
Yes, and if Enoch Belinkun’s reaction to the High Druid is any indication, these people had lost their faith pretty thoroughly, Gar said. I find it in me to wonder how deeply their ancestors believed it.