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663 lines
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+-+--+-+--+-+ VOLUME SIX NUMBER ONE
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+___________+ FFFFF SSS FFFFF N N EEEEE TTTTT
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| ++ | F S F NN N E T
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| ++ | FFF SSS FFF N N N EEE T
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| | F S F N NN E T
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|_________| F SSS F N N EEEEE T
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/___________\ ==========================================
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| | BITNET Fantasy-Science Fiction Fanzine
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___|___________|___ X-Edited by 'Orny' Liscomb <CSDAVE@MAINE>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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CONTENTS
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X-Editorial Orny
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For the Pot Jim Owens
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*Spirit of the Wood: 3 Rich Jervis
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Father's Fugue Jim Owens
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*Respect thy Elders: 3 Orny
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Date: 100686 Dist: 166
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An "*" indicates story is part of the Dargon Project
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All original materials copyrighted by the author(s)
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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X-Editorial
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Greetings, and welcome to the first issue of volume 6 of FSFnet!
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I am your host, Mr. Pourke, and he is Fattoo...
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Ah, yeah. Sorry about that. You know, school and all. The first
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(serious) order of business is to welcome the new subscribers. Keep
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spreading the word! Secondly, I'm once again attempting to organize
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BITNET Diplomacy games, and anyone interested should get in touch
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with me before yesterday. Thirdly, I'd like to make a comment about
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another fanzine. GateWays is an Arpa fanzine, and is available by
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sending mail to CHUQ%PLAID@SUN.ARPA. Finally, I'd must say that
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since school is back, so are several of our best authors, and I'm
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*sure* (right guys?) they will be more productive than ever.
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Well, I must keep this short. Thanks to everyone for being so
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patient. On to the good stuff...
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-Orny <CSDAVE @ MAINE>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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For The Pot
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Wolf climbed slowly up the hill. The hill was gentle, but Wolf
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had been walking all day, and while he wasn't tired, he wasn't
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exactly fresh either. As he walked he thought of the village he had
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just come from, and the destruction his quarry had caused back
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there. It had attacked several people's herds, killing or wounding
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over one hundred animals in the tight flocks. Before that it had
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performed similar deeds in several villages in a roughly straight
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line extending for many miles. The toll in dead animals was high. He
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felt no anger at that, only empathy for the owners at having lost so
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much. He did not blame his prey; it was its nature to kill.
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Nonetheless, it was a danger, and had to be destroyed.
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He topped the gentle rise, and looked out at the plain that
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spread for hundreds of miles behind him. He then looked across the
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top of the hill. An old road ran across the top of the hill in a
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shallow depression. Tall grass blurred its outline. He remembered
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coming this way once before, in his travels, and he came this way in
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hopes of catching up with his target. It had not been traveling in
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this direction when it had left the village, but its path would
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cross the road after several miles, if it traveled straight, and
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when it did it would follow the road to him. To be sure, however, he
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carefully examined the road. The tracks would be faint, but he was
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good at tracking; he would find them, if they were there. He hoped
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he wouldn't find any. He groaned when, after a few minutes, he found
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traces in the earth; it had beaten him to t he hill. He followed the
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tracks, trying to figure out where it would have gone after it left
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the hill. He tried to think like his prey.
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The hill was part of an outcropping that rose up out of the
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plain to form a ridge running several miles to the right as he
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looked along the tracks. The hill was a reentrant, near one end. The
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old road ran down the other side of the hill, and skirted around the
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near end of the ridge a few miles distant. His prey would follow the
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road around the ridge. If he could get over the ridge, he could wait
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on the road ahead of his quarry, and set an ambush for it.
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Wolf's thoughts drifted as he jogged across the saddle toward
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the ridge. He thought how nice it would be to be home, watching his
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corn grow, watching his flocks grow, watching his children grow. How
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he missed his wife! Wolf often wondered if he shouldn't have learned
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a different way to put meat on the table. He hardly ever got to see
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his family. He had spent the last half of his life living out of a
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backpack. He ran as he thought, hardly heeding where he was going.
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He had no need to fear. There were few large animals in the area. He
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was hunting the only thing that would hurt him.
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Soon he was scrambling down a small rockslide to where the old
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road was visible beneath years of dead grass. He made a quick
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survey: no tracks. He was finally ahead of it. He glanced in the
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direction it would be coming from. The ridge had another reentrant
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here, and the road curved out of sight a few hundred yards away. He
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quickly set his trap, and hid in the grass to wait for his prey.
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As he lay, he counted. He had made five kills in the past year.
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Hunters were not plentiful in these peaceful years after the last
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blowup, and nobody wanted their son to be a hunter. The random
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killers were few and far between anymore, and the occupation of
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hunter was a dangerous one. Often a hunter would get called off to a
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far village, never to return. Another factor was that no one really
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wanted a neighbor who's occupation was such a violent one. It was a
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bad influence for the children. The job needed to be done, however,
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and the bounty was always enough to pay for the things the house
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needed, and perhaps a few things the wife wanted, but didn't really
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need. Soon he would have to think about getting Greta, his eldest
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daughter, a few baubles to teach her the appreciation of feminine
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values. Luxury items were expensive in the village he lived in.
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Fortunately, as the prey became scarcer, the reward became higher.
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He planned to make a good deal selling this catch, if he got it.
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A faint sound brought him out of his musings. He had planted the
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trap at the very end of the reentrant, just on his side. He was as
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far from it as the trip cord would allow. The sound grew louder. It
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deepened, and then he saw his prey come around the bend.
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Grey plates glinted dully, while tank treads spun almost
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silently, barely marking the ground. The noise he had heard was
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coming from the ancient drive unit. Blue smoke, almost invisible,
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blew fast out an exhaust port. The flat turret pointed straight
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ahead, its recently fired gun showing considerable rust. Several
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scanning devices protruded from the remote's surface. One was
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smashed, possibly by an ill-fated hunter who hadn't aimed carefully
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enough. Wolfgang wasn't taking any chances. It rolled in front of
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the concealed weapons, and he squeezed hard on the firing device.
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Piezoelectric crystals sent a burst of voltage down the line, and
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two flashes of flame answered. Two rockets leaped the short distance
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from the roadside to the side of where they seemed to disintegrate
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into handfuls of dust, which blew away in a sudden wind. Actually
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they had fired armor piercing warheads through the plate. Wolf
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pulled the wire out of the trigger and shoved in a backup, but there
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was no need. The tank rolled a short distance, and then the engine
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stopped, dead.
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Wolf waited, but the tank remained motionless. He got up, dusted
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himself off, and walked over to the carcass. He opened the access
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hatch, and examined the damage. His timing had been perfect. The
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missiles had destroyed the main controller, while basically leaving
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the rest of the device intact, ripe for salvage by a parts-hungry
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world. He closed the hatch, laser-sealed it, and burned his brand
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into the side of the tank, in plain view. He then turned and started
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the long but pleasant walk back to his family.
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-Jim Owens <J1O @ PSUVM>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
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Spirit of the Wood: Chapter Three
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Loric thought it was strange to return to the empty hut that up
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until this morning he shared with his grandfather. He looked at the
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lifeless structure and felt the shadows of despair creep upon his
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heart. There was no real use in becoming a man, he thought bitterly,
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for even if he could do everything that the elders wanted of him, it
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still wouldn't bring back Oldsir!
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"I passed the ropemaking and firestarting tests today," he
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thought to himself, "even made my own evening meal from a rock snake
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that I found under one of the logs. But what good is it? I began
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this day a boy with a family; I end it a near-man with little
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family, and in three day's time, even my sister won't acknowledge me
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as kin." Loric decided that being a man was lonely work. He entered
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the hut, and for a moment he started, thinking he saw Oldsir's
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shadow on the wall where the cooking fire always cast it this time
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of day. He could hear the floor creak as his grandfather rocked back
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on his heels, satisfied that the coals were banked just right. He
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would turn like a sighted man, and give Loric a wink and toss his
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head toward the table and say something like "Shuck-ears and crabs,
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burnt the way you like 'em." Then he would join Loric and talk into
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the night until Loric's head started to droop, then he would stretch
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mightily and admonish Loric for keeping an old man up so long. After
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that Loric could hear him moving about stepping out now and then for
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a sniff of air. Loric realized he had never seen his grandfather
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asleep at any point in his life, and with a pang, he realized he
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never would.
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"Oldsir, I always liked your shuck-ears, nobody could burn them
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like you!" With a sob and tear-filled eyes, Loric ran to his hammock
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and fell weeping into it.
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The next day, Loric was put into the Pit. He was given the rope
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he had made the day before and made to watch as a fist-sized rock
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was dropped in. It fell and made a splat at the bottom. "Aiee,"
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thought Loric, "there's no snakes in there, it full of the Domai,
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the cave fungus that eats you alive!"
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He started to back up and found he was surrounded by villagers.
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The other end of his rope was tied to a rock and then Dernhelm
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motioned him forward. He leaned outward and looked down into the
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darkness. The dark gave no secrets away, and he wondered if he
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shouldn't refuse this test. It would mean going back in defeat and
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trying again when he felt he could pass, but what was the point in
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that? He would just return to this spot and he knew he couldn't go
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on then, either. No, it would be better to face this now with the
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teachings of his grandfather fresh in his memory.
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He shook with the thought of what awaited him below, but he
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straddled the rope and walked himself down into the darkness. He was
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very cautious, feeling and looking below him and then up at the
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expressionless faces above him. He had gotten about halfway to the
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end of his rope when he felt something below him. It was a sudden
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shock to him when he felt his rope being cut from above. He let go
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of the rope and balled himself for the impact into the fungus, but
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came up short and found that the bottom was only a foot more below
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him. The bottom made of clay and there was a bit of water seeping
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into the corner. The rock Loric had seen thrown in had hit this and
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made him think he was going to be eaten alive! He laughed a bit at
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his fear and sat down on the floor to think his way out of the hole.
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He tested the walls to see if he could carve foot-holds in it but
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the soft clay walls gave no support. He found he could put his toes
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in a hold, and they would slide right out. There was no way he was
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going to trust his neck to that!
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He examined his rope as best he could from the pit floor; the
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other end was still tied to the rock, but it had been cut half
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through. This was a puzzler, thought Loric. If he wasn't supposed
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to climb out on the rope, why hadn't they cut it all the way, or
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just taken it up behind him? He tested it and knew it would not hold
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all of his weight, and he tried several times to pitch the other end
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up and lasso the rock it was attached to.
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Finally he got a good throw and tugged on this. It seemed to
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hold, then he noticed to his horror that the rock was sliding in the
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clay. At this rate it would fall on his head long before he had made
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it out of the pit. Dejectedly he snapped the rope and flipped his
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lasso off the rock. He sat down and noticed that the water had
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puddled up a bit in the corner. He tested it and found it drinkable,
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and cleared an area where he could get an unmuddied drink. With his
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nose a scarce inch from the water, he could almost see the water rise.
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Maybe this was his way out! He used his kesh-knife to dig at the
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spot where the fresh water was coming in, and was rewarded by a
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squirt of water that soon became a small fountain-like stream. He
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drank a long swallow and laughed at his success as his feet were soon
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covered by the cold torrent. He would surprise them all! He would
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rise to the top without any effort at all, letting the water work for
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him! He danced in the mud, and threw gobbets of clay and mud out the
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opening overhead hoping to tag someone watching.
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He howled and enjoyed the echoing sound of his own voice.
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Passerbys would think that he had been taken by madness, but he
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didn't care! All the childhood fears of the Pit had fallen away and
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he felt exalted.
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"Bring on the Domai, bring on the mistle-thratch, I fear them
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not! Oooowwwwwwl!" He howled again and it was quite some time before
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he noticed that the flow of water had slowed. The water came only to
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his knees and after marking the wall a few times, and gauging how
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long it took it to climb the wall, he realized that it would be a
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long time indeed for the water to lift him even a small bit. He
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looked up and tried to figure how much daylight he had left.
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He knew no one would bring him a meal, that no one would bring
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light or even speak to him. He was on his own and had to get out on
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his own. There's got to be a way! He felt in the water and pulled up
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the rock. He frustratedly pitched it up at the opening. A rain of
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clay and dirt was all the reward he got for his effort. "Everything I
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do make things worse!" He moaned inwardly as he dodged the rock's
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return. Crunch! This wasn't going to do. If he stood in this water
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all night, he would die of the shudders before they would come back
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to find him. He didn't even have a place to lie now! Silently
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cursing himself, he leaned against the wall and tried to gather his
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wits. It was small wonder Hiram's brother had come out of this test
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blubbering, he had probably done the same thing and gotten sick.
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They had finally brought him out after three days! "Three days,"
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moaned Loric, "I'll be water-rotted by then! What would my
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grandfather tell me to do? First keep your head. Okay," thought
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Loric. He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.
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"Now, instead of thinking about what you don't have, think about
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what you've got. Fine, what have I got? A pit into the ground, a
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knee-deep puddle of water, and one end of a rope. What is it you are
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trying to do? Say it! I'm trying to get out of this puddle and back
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on dry land. This isn't going like it should," thought Loric, "but
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I'll finish anyway."
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"Is there another way of looking at your problem? How are similar
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problems solved? Well, in a way it's like crossing a stream with no
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one on the other side. To cross a stream you put a stout stick at
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the end of your rope, and toss it across to some forked tree or
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outcropping and test it for fastness. Then you anchor the other end
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and you hang on it, feet toward the opposite side and work yourself
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across. Fasten the other side and make it secure for the rest of the
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party, or the return trip."
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Loric remembered seeing this demonstrated and remembered that
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the man who went across first had made the far tree sag into the
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river. He had gotten quite a drenching before tieing enough
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twist-knots into the rope to take the slack up.
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Some of the streams nearby were home to animals that would think
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nothing of making a meal out of a crossing man. Now, said Oldsir's
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voice in Loric's head. Look at your problem again. "Hmm, I have the
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same problem, I want to get a man to the other side. I already have
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one end tied off, but it slips. I need to tie the other end, and
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take some of the weight off the other end so that it won't slip
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loose. Time to try some different things."
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Loric felt around in the water until he found the rock again. He
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tied the loose end of the rope to it and then swung it about in the
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cramped space he had. It seemed every time he pitched his rock up to
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the ground, it would slide along and then fall back in. It was
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getting harder to see it coming back down as the slanting evening
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rays marked time on the walls of his prison. The thought of some
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unseen observer watching his efforts made him doubly frustrated each
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time the rope and rock back came down. "You haven't beaten me yet!"
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He thought savagely. He knew somewhere up there someone was watching
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to make sure that no one aided him in this test. Probably sitting on
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a lianas log and smoking oxy root! Loric hoped he hit them with the
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mud he had thrown earlier, if not with this rock! "Maybe I did,
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there was one throw where the rock had seemed to have gotten wedged,
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but not well enough to hold."
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I can't get a good grip on anything up there! What do you do
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when your anchor slips? You anchor it to a stake, and achor the
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stake with lots of pegs. Maybe I can get something to catch if I put
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several loops on the end of this rope and toss it over to where I
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thought it had caught!
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Loric quickly cut several lengths from the rope and made four
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loops in the end of it. It reminded him of a tangle foot vine. Which
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is just what he needed now! Now where was that spot? It was probably
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a log set out there for the watchers, but it would do if it caught.
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He had no idea where the spot was, so he marked a slash on the wall
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and started pitching.
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Each time the stone came back he would throw a little to the
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left of it. Once or twice he thought he had found it, but had only
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managed to pull a limb or some brush into the pit on top of him.
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This was a disappointment, but he added it to his 'anchor' and
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worked steadily on. When he was just opposite of where the rope was
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tied, he succeeded in catching onto something. It gave a little and
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then held fast.
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Now he had a line on both ends, and wondered if he shouldn't
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pull the rock down and try the same thing with the other side. No,
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there was another thing he remembered from his grandfather's
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teachings and it was that luck was a fickle spirit and you could
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easily send it flying away from you if you asked too much. Loric
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knew he still needed a good bit of luck for the climb out. No, I'll
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not ask so much from the luck spirits, I'll just use the
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half-severed end as little as I can, keeping it taught as I climb so
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if this end comes loose, I have a chance to brace before I fall back
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in. A chance for what, I don't know, I hope I don't find out.
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Perhaps that's asking too much from luck also. I'll be trusting my
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neck to the hidden anchor, and it could slip at any time. I know the
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other will slip, but I can see it and tell when it's going to give
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way. The best course then is to use a bit of each, cinching it up as
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I go, like the man crossing the stream. Each moment requires the
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judgement of a new moment, as Oldsir used to say.
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Loric said a quick prayer to the Spirit of the Wood to keep luck
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from fleeing, and started out by working out an equal length from
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both ropes. This accomplished, he sat on the knot, trying to judge
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the moment of the rock falling and the fraying of the rope. It
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creaked ominously, but seemed to hold. Loric looked down at the
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water that was still seeping into the pit. At least that water and
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mud will help break my fall, a little. He had the rope looped under
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his bottom and over his shoulder. He lifted his weight off the rope
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and put a twist in the rope over his head. Then he slipped his body
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out of the sling in the bottom and pulled it up with his feet
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through the twist.
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He wormed his feet up and then sat his weight on the new loop
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made by his efforts. He marked the wall and then repeated his
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efforts. This was slow work! He watched with concern the rope on the
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rock. Whatever he had anchored the other end to seemed to hold, so
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he planned to switch all of his weight to it should the rope give so
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it wouldn't snap abruptly. Half a dozen loops and Loric realized he
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couldn't keep this up. The rope was so tangled and knotted that he
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wouldn't be able to slip it through any more. He stood on the knot
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and thought a bit, then held himself up by his arms, he flipped the
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rope around with his feet, and managed to clamp it under his arm. He
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brought the two ropes together and grabbed the rope with the his
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teeth and made a loop a round one arm. then pulled it through again
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with his teeth. Doubled over, he inched up and got his toes into the
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knot and slowly put his weight on it. He couldn't believe he managed
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that and looked up at the rope.
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He was shocked by the amount of fraying that his acrobatics had
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caused. Now he was within a man's height of the top, but he realized
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that one more attempt like this was more than the rope would take.
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It was one more than he had in him, anyway.
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"Think Loric! What do you have to work with? Nothing I'm not
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using, My whole body aches from just hanging here, and there's
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nothing else up here but empty space and me! I don't have a use for
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my kesh-knife, I don't want to cut anything..."
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"Do I? Can I tie another knot and then cut a length of rope off
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the bottom and pitch it over the rock?" Loric knew that as soon as
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he thought it, it was impossible; the rope would sever before he
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got the first knot tied. "I might as well cut it now and get it over
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with!" Loric drew his knife and held it in one hand as he used the
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other to pull up on his braced rope taking some of the tension off
|
|
the severing rope.
|
|
"It would be simple," thought Loric, "all I have to do is let go
|
|
with this hand and the jerk would cause that rope up there to snap
|
|
and I'll fly into the other wall and then down into the muddy water
|
|
below. I wonder how many bones I'll break? Maybe I'll just be
|
|
knocked out and drown in the water below. Maybe the slam into the
|
|
wall would be hard enough to knock me out? I wouldn't even know it
|
|
when hit the bottom. No one would blame me, I've tried to get out,
|
|
and I can't! There's always a test you can't pass right?" It was not
|
|
the way of Loric's people to give up, but they were not immune to
|
|
despair. Loric looked up and watched the slow fraying of the rope,
|
|
now seconds away from separating. He looked at the kesh-knife he
|
|
carried, it had a long history, and had been made from kesh-wood
|
|
three generations before and passed down from father to son. "To me,"
|
|
thought Loric. "I'll never pass it on now." He leaned out and started
|
|
slicing the knife into the clay walls of the pit. "If I can't pass it
|
|
on, at least I can see to it that it isn't damaged in my fall." If he
|
|
could strike some kesh-root the properties within his knife would
|
|
hold it fast. "The men that would free it later would know that I had
|
|
honored the memory of all it's owners by not letting it lie with me
|
|
when I died. If it fell too, it would be burned on my burial pyre,
|
|
and that would be a loss more grievous than that of a near-man who
|
|
failed his tests!"
|
|
With that Loric thrust blindly into the wall and felt the knife
|
|
bite and hold. It melded to the living kesh-root and held fast. He
|
|
grasped the handle and pulled himself over to it. It took all his
|
|
weight and did not move. The rope he hung from gave way and he
|
|
slipped downward. He made a quick shift of weight and a mad grab for
|
|
the kesh knife as the rope fell into the pit below. His slight frame
|
|
shook with the effort to get one arm over the handle and the other
|
|
gripping the hilt. His toes dug and dug in the clay wall but could
|
|
find no purchase. Hardly daring to breathe, he slid his hand over as
|
|
far as he could without touching the cutting edge of the knife. Then
|
|
he brought one knee up and rested it on the handle. The gnarled grip
|
|
bit his skin mercilessly, but he held out.
|
|
"Oh Spirit!" thought Loric, "perhaps you have use for me yet!"
|
|
With one hand, he creeped up the wall and tried to judge how far
|
|
from the top he was. He couldn't guess so he finally looked up. He
|
|
was relieved to find that he was close enough to stand up and reach
|
|
the opening. That wouldn't be easy; it was almost dark now, and the
|
|
opening was dim and unclear. Not easy, but not impossible either.
|
|
Loric had balanced on thinner limbs when he was younger, but now he
|
|
was fatigued and rattled. He bit his lip against the pain and stood
|
|
on one foot. He looked for something to grip but had to settle for
|
|
knotting his fingers in the grass. He hefted up his other leg and
|
|
rolled onto the turf. He gazed up at the dark canopy of the forest
|
|
and moaned at the wave of pain that hit him.
|
|
Every strained muscle and scraped shin made itself known to him,
|
|
but his thoughts were on the pit. He looked at the one remaining
|
|
piece of rope and saw that he had not caught a log as he had thought
|
|
but the watcher who had been sitting on it.
|
|
All this time he had been silently sitting with a loop of rope
|
|
over his head and around one shoulder. He sat motionless as stone,
|
|
lest he somehow interfere with Loric's trial. Loric recognized the
|
|
villager as Minial, a man about his sister's age who was trained in
|
|
the art of vining and knotting. As Loric hobbled over to him, he
|
|
winked and rubbed his neck where the vine had rubbed it raw.
|
|
"You best be thankful that I'm as stout as I am, or we would
|
|
both have greeted the Spirit before our time. I wanted to start you
|
|
over, but Dernhelm wouldn't let me. As far as he was concerned I was
|
|
a knot on a log." He stood and clasped Loric on the shoulder.
|
|
"A knot who is thirsty and wants a bit of octli."
|
|
He led Loric back to the village, and talked with him almost as
|
|
he would any other man. "Almost," thought Loric happily, "Almost!"
|
|
-Rich Jervis <C78KCK @ IRISHMVS>
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<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
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|
Father's Fugue
|
|
Timmy watched the water roll down the shallow slope, cutting
|
|
dark channels in the dust. The fat tip finally reached the bottom,
|
|
where it settled down into a brown blob. Timmy watched it for a
|
|
moment, then tipped the bottle and poured some more water after it.
|
|
He had been playing in the dust for about an hour, a remarkable
|
|
feat for the active young boy. His hands still carried a few red
|
|
smears, residue of the tomatoes he had helped his mother can. He had
|
|
hurried to finish his share of the work, so that he could get out
|
|
into the bright sunshine. Now he stooped lower to stare at something
|
|
he saw shining under the stream of water he was pouring. He played
|
|
the stream of water around, until the edges of the shiny piece of
|
|
metal could be seen. He dropped the bottle and dug the shiny yellow
|
|
disk out of the mud. He examined it, and then gravely washed it off.
|
|
Images could be seen on it's surface. He stood up and ran towards
|
|
the house.
|
|
As he ran, Timmy passed a man leaning against a light post. The
|
|
man smiled at the young child, who dashed past, totally oblivious to
|
|
the world. Timmy raced up the front steps of his house and into the
|
|
foyer, where Mr. Johnson stood rubbing stain on an old clock.
|
|
"Dad! Dad! Dad!"
|
|
The elder Johnson stooped down. Timmy was his first child, and
|
|
Mr. Johnson enjoyed watching the boy.
|
|
"What is it Timmy?"
|
|
"Look what I found!" Timmy held up the coin. Mr. Johnson
|
|
immediately recognized the shape, and the material. He smiled wisely.
|
|
"It's a coin, Timmy. People used to use them for money."
|
|
At the sound of the past tense, Timmy's eyes lit up.
|
|
"Can I take it and show Grandpa?!"
|
|
Mr. Johnson paused. "O.K., but go right there, don't stop at all."
|
|
"Yessir!" Timmy was already halfway down the steps. He ran down
|
|
the sidewalk, away from the house, away from the sand lot, toward
|
|
the alley that was the shortcut to Grandpa's house. His short legs
|
|
got him there in what seemed like a short time, and he turned down
|
|
the alley. He ran through the dimness towards the light at the far
|
|
end. He had made it part way there when a glint of light caught his
|
|
eye. Visions of coins filled his mind. He turned back, his father's
|
|
command forgotten. The light turned out to be a bottle in a pile of
|
|
trash, but to Timmy's treasure-hunting eye, the junk pile had
|
|
promise. He started pushing it around, uncovering more glass, paper,
|
|
bits of wood and metal, but no coins. He pocketed the gold coin, and
|
|
really got down to his search.
|
|
"Timmy!"
|
|
Timmy jumped up guiltily. Mr. Johnson's form stood framed
|
|
against the light at the mouth of the alley.
|
|
"I told you not to stop! Now get moving!"
|
|
"Yessir!" Timmy turned back to his original task, fearful of his
|
|
father's wrath. He ran down the alley, and out onto the street,
|
|
where he found his grandfather sitting on a porch, ready to receive
|
|
the precious gift from afar.
|
|
Mr. Johnson watched until Timmy turned the corner, then turned
|
|
to look up the street to where a rowdy group of unkept youths stood.
|
|
He had seen them coming up the street, and had gotten nervous about
|
|
his only child being out of adult supervision. Having seen Timmy
|
|
step safely out into the light, he turned back to his house.
|
|
Manual watched Mr. Johnson close the door to his house. He
|
|
glanced back up the street at the youths. Feeling unaccountably and
|
|
suddenly uncomfortable, they turned back down the street and soon
|
|
disappeared around a corner. Manual turned back to his task.
|
|
Manual stood across from an old abandoned store. The ancient
|
|
glass doors were patched with plywood and tape, but footprints in
|
|
the dirt outside lead in, and not out. Manual didn't need to see
|
|
them to know what was going on inside, but it was always nice to
|
|
have independant confirmation.
|
|
Manual turned, and watched a white van turn a corner far up the
|
|
street. It drew near, and pulled up beside the streetlight Manual
|
|
leaned on. Four men got out, wearing uniforms as white as Manual's
|
|
turtleneck pullover and neatly pressed slacks. The driver approached
|
|
Manual, followed by the other three.
|
|
"Here we are. What now, Michael?" He glanced around nervously.
|
|
"Follow me. It'll be all right."
|
|
With that simple instruction Manual walked across the street and
|
|
up to the old store front. The door opened silently for him. Inside
|
|
a thick layer of dust held clear footprints. They all formed a path
|
|
that entered a dark doorway. Manual followed the path.
|
|
Manual stepped into the dark doorway. He turned to face the
|
|
guard he had seen from outside the windowless building. The guard,
|
|
startled by the silent intruder, leveled his automatic at Manual.
|
|
Before the guard could pull the trigger Manual had snatched it
|
|
easily away. Manual grabbed the guard by the lapels and lifted him
|
|
effortlessly off the ground.
|
|
"What you're planning in here is wrong. You must stop." Manual
|
|
said it as if he were discussing the weather.
|
|
The white clad men stepped into view behind Manual. The guard's
|
|
eyes widened further. He snatched a knife from his belt. Manual
|
|
tossed the automatic to one of the other men, and grabbed the knife
|
|
by the blade. There was a small sharp sound, and then Manual opened
|
|
his hand and allowed several metal fragments drop to the floor. They
|
|
bounced, but made no sound.
|
|
"Tell you what. Why don't you sleep on it." Manual set the guard
|
|
down. The man blinked. He opened his mouth, as if to shout. He then
|
|
closed his eyes, and slid to the floor. Manual turned to the others.
|
|
"Two of you take him out to the wagon. The other two come with me."
|
|
Manual and the other two traced the footprints to a thick metal
|
|
door. Manual pushed it open. It opened into what had been a walk-in
|
|
freezer. Now it more resembled a barracks. Maps hung over dirty
|
|
cots, and rifles were leaning against the walls. The image was
|
|
further enhanced by the three sleeping forms by a table. Manual
|
|
walked up, bent down, and lifted two up to his shoulders.
|
|
"You two get the other one and meet me outside." With that he
|
|
walked out.
|
|
The two men looked at each other, and at Agent Michael's
|
|
retreating back.
|
|
"What does he need us for?" One of the two asked as he stooped
|
|
to lift the sleeping rebel.
|
|
"I guess someone had to bring the wagon."
|
|
They carried the insurgent out of the building. Manual met them
|
|
at the door, and carried their load the rest of the way to the van.
|
|
Their criminal cargo loaded, the four climbed back into the van.
|
|
Manual stepped up the the driver's door.
|
|
"I'll hold them asleep until you get them in custody."
|
|
"Uh,... yeah. O.K., Michael." The man kicked the van into gear,
|
|
made a U-turn, and drove off.
|
|
Manual looked toward the Johnson's house. He could see Timmy,
|
|
who had returned from Grandpa's, and Mr. Johnson prepare a place on
|
|
the mantel for the gold coin. Manual smiled at their ignorance of
|
|
the danger they had been living with. Manual wondered briefly what
|
|
they would think if they knew what had just happened. He then shook
|
|
his head, rejoicing that they didn't have to know.
|
|
Out in the reaches of space, beyond even Manual's searching
|
|
vision, a spaceman carefully placed a critical control pivot into
|
|
the ships main thrust unit. The space suited man sighed with relief
|
|
when it clicked safely into place. He carefully closed up the access
|
|
panel, then pushed himself down and away from the ship's hull. He
|
|
struck the planetoid's hard surface, crouched, and then leaped back
|
|
up towards the netting slung around the open hatch far above his
|
|
head. As he drifted higher and higher, he breathed a silent prayer
|
|
of thanks that the ship had been near a fairly large mass when the
|
|
pivot broke. Repairing it had been difficult, but the task would
|
|
have been impossible without some orienting force, and without the
|
|
drive to spin the ship or provide thrust, the only force available
|
|
had been gravity.
|
|
Once inside, the spaceman called up the bridge with the good
|
|
news. Within the hour the main drive fired, heaving the massive ship
|
|
off the large asteroid and back on course. The planetoid recoiled
|
|
from the liftoff, in perfect accord with the laws of physics. It's
|
|
new course was not far different from it's old one. The difference
|
|
that push had made would only become visible years later, when it
|
|
passed another body of rock, rather than slamming into it with the
|
|
attendant destruction such an impact always created. The other rock
|
|
had life on it, human life that would survive because the asteroid's
|
|
course had been altered somehow, life that rarely took the time to
|
|
think about the things that fathers did for their children.
|
|
-Jim Owens <J1O @ PSUVM>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|
|
Respect thy Elders: Chapter Three
|
|
Kite was beat, yet his spirits were high. He had actually
|
|
managed the more difficult portion of his quest: finding the Elder
|
|
Isentraum and convincing him to heal heal his fiancee, Pecora
|
|
Winthrop. In exchange, all the Elder desired was for Kite to fetch a
|
|
certain herb from a druid who lived outside a village named
|
|
Greenmont, which he had found rather easily. Now he was headed down
|
|
a footpath outside the village, towards the area where the druid,
|
|
named Hartley, made his home. After a brief walk, Kite came upon the
|
|
druid, sitting beneath the boughs of an ancient pine.
|
|
"You are Hartley the druid?"
|
|
"Yes, my son."
|
|
"My name is Kite, I am upon an errand from a man named
|
|
Isentraum..." Kite paused as a look of recognition came across the
|
|
druid's visage.
|
|
"Ah, no man there, but an Elder, and a good one, at that!" He
|
|
helped himself to his feet with a driftwood staff and brushed the
|
|
sweet-smelling pine needles from his tunic. "Come, tell me why you
|
|
searched out this Elder, and what I may do to help you, young lord..."
|
|
|
|
Despite Hartley's invitation to spend the evening, Kite insisted
|
|
that he depart as soon as possible, but he promised to return and
|
|
visit Hartley after he had seen to Pecora. The druid had gathered
|
|
the Elmin quickly, and had spoken with Kite at length about his
|
|
quest, his fiancee, and the rest of the duchy. But Kite eventually
|
|
insisted upon being off, and started his journey back to the
|
|
mountain where Isentraum could be found.
|
|
|
|
The elder sat gazing into the fire for some moments. "Kite, the
|
|
disease which grips your fiancee is strong. I have felt it." After a
|
|
moment, he went on. "I shall need your aid if I am to heal her."
|
|
"You have it... what do you require of me?"
|
|
Isentraum smiled inwardly. Such youthful courage gave him heart.
|
|
"I am old, and my inner strength wanes. I shall begin the spell, and
|
|
you will merely have to concentrate your will, and believe with all
|
|
your heart that your woman is well. It is not difficult, although it
|
|
will weaken you temporarily. Do you wish to go on?"
|
|
"Definitely."
|
|
|
|
Kite could feel his skin taughten in anxiety. He was sitting in
|
|
the center of a vast design that Isentraum had drawn into the dirt
|
|
with a cane. The old man whirled his hands in odd gestures as he
|
|
drew, speaking in a tongue that fascinated Kite. The old man
|
|
motioned to the youth, and Kite closed his eyes and began to
|
|
concentrate. He closed out the chanting of the Elder, and tried to
|
|
visualize Pecora, standing in the Boar Hall, laughing with him. He
|
|
saw them riding through the fields outside Dargon, and walking by
|
|
the riverbank hand in hand. He could sense the power around him, and
|
|
somehow he reached a rapport with it. It was a force for good, yet
|
|
it could not be used lightly. Only with great effort was he able to
|
|
shape the force to his will. He was beside and within Pecora,
|
|
feeling her hurt and her fear, and he took it inside himself. He
|
|
retreated back to reality, and the force drew the pestilence from
|
|
him, and away.
|
|
|
|
Kite opened his eyes. Isentraum was before him, leaning heavily
|
|
on his staff, wide-eyed. After a moment, he slowly shuffled to Kite,
|
|
and plumped down with him, a smile etched on his severe features.
|
|
"Well done, my pelan, well done. How do you feel?"
|
|
"As if I had been dragged behind a horse for a league. But we
|
|
did it?"
|
|
"Yes, pelan, we did." They sat in silence and caught their
|
|
breath. Kite sensed that Isentraum was going to say something to
|
|
him, so he waited.
|
|
"Kite, you may not understand it yet, but what just happened was
|
|
primarily of your doing. I did not intend for you to work such
|
|
magic, but you did. I have rarely seen such talent!" Kite was too
|
|
busy catching his breath to really contemplate the man's words as he
|
|
continued. "I am old, Kite, old even for an Elder. My power wanes,
|
|
yet the world needs such a power in it. Would you come back to
|
|
become my pupil, and become as I have been?"
|
|
Kite looked at the elder and laughed. He was a young noble, and
|
|
the court held some promise of advancement for him. Yet it also held
|
|
danger and difficulties which he could foresee. To leave all that,
|
|
with Pecora, and take up the occupation of a living legend was
|
|
tempting, and the awareness of the many people he could help still
|
|
burned bright from his recent encounter with that unnameable force.
|
|
He looked to the ground, then at Isentraum and said, "Yes... I will
|
|
do it."
|
|
-Orny <CSDAVE @ MAINE>
|
|
|
|
<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>X<>
|
|
|