Chap. 180 Sweet Grass Commune

Chap. 180 Sweet Grass Commune

The mountains forming the Northern Barrier Range were awe inspiring.

K'ndar couldn't tear his eyes from them. Yes, there were mountains bordering the steppe he'd grown up on. They were ancient, though, their heights truncated and their outlines smoothed by eons of rain and wind.

These mountains were youngsters in comparison, their fanged peaks softened only by mantles of snow. Trees grew dark and thick below the snow line. He knew, from seeing them from dragonback, that the mountains went on and on to the north in dark, forbidding ranks, clear to the horizon.

Sweet Grass Hold seemed an insignificant speck in their shadows.

They'd landed in a meadow, the knee high grass turning brown but still rich and lush for the free ranging livestock that had bolted at their approach. He could hear the horses, watching them from safe distance, snorting in alarm.

The air, while cool and fresh, seemed to be lacking something. Ah. That was it. Not a hint of salt spray. He was many kilometers from the sea. Despite his heavy flight jacket, the wind found its way inside, chilling him.

Francie stood by, respectful of his silence.

"How in the world did anybody find this place? What is its history?" he asked, finally.


"I don't know, K'ndar. Our history here goes back a thousand years. If you fly high enough, you'll see that the valley is closed at both ends. At the north end, a large waterfall creates the river. There's a turbine there that provides us some power. No one can remember when it was installed. At the south end, there are rapids that, when the river is low in the summer, are ferocious. Believe it or not, we have folks who have special boats, called kaks, to ride them-for sport! Someone a very long time ago built a bridge across it below the southern pass, but it is routinely washed out by heavy meltwater floods, or destroyed by trees being brought down by the river.

There are fords in many spots, but, again, it all depends on the river. The Lochsa has her moods,you see," Francie laughed, loving her birthplace deeply. I miss it, sometimes, but I am glad I don't live here anymore, she thought. Too cold.

"There are several trails, in some places no better than game trails, into the valley, but most of them entail crossing the mountains. There are two fairly level passes, conveniently, one on the south end and one on the north, which can accommodate wagons and draft beasts. I believe they were intentionally created by the first settlers. Sometimes, in the winter, an avalanche will close them for weeks, or until snowmelt! They're in deep ravines, so they have steep sides and are heavily forested. They are our main form of defense," she said.

"Avalanche? What's an avalanche? And, it's not winter now?" he asked, eyeing the snow on the mountain tops.

She laughed. "No, this is late summer here, K'ndar. The snows are there year round."

He shivered involuntarily. "Brrrrrrrrrrr".

"As for avalanches-it's like a mudslide, but of snow, and far more dangerous," she said.

He shook his head. "I'm not even certain what a mudslide is. The steppe is flatland, FLAT," he said.

"I'll show you a video of an avalanche, someday," she said.

She sat down in the deep grass. Her three fire lizards and Siskin were coursing over the grass half-heartedly hunting.

"Sounds to me as if your village was fairly self-sufficient," he said.

"Indeed, although that's not to say we don't have regular transactions with other holds and halls. There are some resources we just don't have here.

We keep to ourselves, normally. We have just about everything we need.

Sweet Grass was established by people who could be termed "Wanderers" but weren't. They were, um, escapees, misfits and dreamers, rebels from a Pernese culture they didn't or couldn't agree with. They were people who had no desire to kneel to a lord, or pay a tithe, or be constrained by what had become a very stratified society. Some were women who wanted to be scientists, not just breeders, some were men on the run after pissing off their lord, and some were craftsmen who just wanted to do their craft without having to worry about where their next meal was coming from.

The recluses of the world seem to gravitate here. No one bothers you as long as you mind your manners, do your part to keep the village going, meaning doing tasks as we did in Weyrlingschool, and share what you have if someone is short. Those who don't want to go by our 'laws' are 'invited' to leave. Most of the time they finally come around, but I know there are many who left and have never returned. Some come and go; some are born and die here. I'm betting my boots that there are people here who've never seen a dragon, although today they can see TWO!"

She glanced fondly at her green Motanith, who was watching something in the distance. She wasn't hungry, Francie knew that.

"We're a commune. We're the last remnant of what the first settlers called an 'egalitarian' society, with science and industry as the cultural basis. I learned early on about the settlers, about the starships, how Terra was rendered unlivable, there was even, at one time, a telescope, until if fell apart just from age.

Everyone is expected to read, to write-we have paper, for instance, although not as good as the stuff they're making now. Everyone is expected to teach their skill to children and as many adults as want to learn. Once a month we have a village get together where problems are brought out and discussed and, to the best of our ability, rectified.

One is expected to be productive. It doesn't matter HOW. Even digging up rocks and piling them into fence rows is a respected craft. We're so far off the maps that I'm the first person in years to have been selected for Impression. Because we never reported Thread fall, the Weyrs seldom came this far north."

Far over their head, skeins of avians called, lending a plaintive note to the wind.

"This isn't to say that we're all inbred yokels. Plenty of folks found their way out and moved to Lemos, or Telgar or further. But many of them come back to raise their two kids, bringing in fresh blood and fresh knowledge," she said.

"You never had Thread here?" he said, thinking of his thread maps. Surely they had thread fall here.

"Oh, yes, we had thread fall. It would die in the snow, which never melts on the mountain tops, and the grubs took care of what hit down here. Unlike so many of the old timers, well, remember, farmers were told to 'watch for grubs' and they all thought that meant to exterminate them! But not here. We may be backwoods, but we're not backward. A thousand years ago, a wise man observed the grubs eating thread, and so we were raised knowing that the grubs were our protectors. We may have lost the technology of the Ancients, but we didn't forget the Charter. We kept up on the events of the rest of Pern, mostly through immigrants. Oh, and from refugees, who found their way here when raiders terrorized their cot holds. Fax was just the most recent. Oh, the stories they told!"

"Fax! Is that what you meant by 'defense'? K'ndar asked.

"In more ways than one. We practiced with weapons and tactics; we kept up on protecting ourselves, even though people thought it was unnecessary. We'd gone ages and ages without as much as a frown from someone outside. Oh, it's not to say people didn't argue, and even fight, but it wasn't the same as that when Fax found our valley. You remember your history, I'm certain. Fax tried to add us to his list of conquered Holds," she said.

"Tried," K'ndar repeated.

Fax, a warlord on a planet that had no words for war, had attacked and absorbed seven Holds, murdered their leaders and rightful heirs of those holds and halls, even held Harpers hostage. Only dragon riders evaded him. He'd eradicated anyone of bloodlines that had held Holds for over two thousand years, to include everyone at Ruatha, save for Lessa, Benden's Weyrwoman and Ramoth's rider.

"Tried. We'd never kept our commune a secret, so it's no surprise that Fax learned of us. We must have appeared, well, we DO appear to be a flock of sleepy eyed sheep. He also learned how rich we are, in terms of what we produce. Furs. Woolen goods. Wood. Livestock! Wait until you see our livestock! He believed that we were just another cot hold, one seemingly unwilling to fight. I'm still amazed that he was able to subjugate so many other holds. It may be that ours was his first attempt at conquest. Whatever the case was, he badly misjudged us," she said.

"Was it actually Fax? Before he took Ruatha and the other holds?" K'ndar asked.

"No one knows. We'd never seen or heard of him and it was only long after the fact, long after Lessa brought Old Timers forward, that we began to understand what had happened. One day, seven men found their way through the Southern Pass into our valley. They claimed to be traders, but no one was fooled by that. Traders don't come bearing swords and no goods.

We didn't pay the swords any mind," she said, "we trained from childhood with our own. We just didn't swagger with them at our belts, displaying them as if they were giant penises."

K'ndar roared.

She sat down and pulled a seed head from the grass. She absentmindedly opened it, unconsciously judging its maturity and whether it was time to harvest. Not yet. Maybe another week, if it doesn't rain? Her three fire lizards returned and settled on Motanith's back. Siskin roosted on Raventh. They chittered to each other.

She saw something flit by, out the corner of her eye, but all she'd caught was the motion. The grass was alive with all sorts of creatures, so she dismissed it.

"They'd been in the village for about a week. We took them in as guests, each one lodged in someone's cottage, where they were fed and treated with respect. They asked all sorts of questions, how many adult males were in the home? Who was our Holder, how wealthy were we, how ready were we prepared to defend ourselves. They got noncommittal answers. No one wanted to boast of his or her wealth, and our leadership was…and still is a nebulous thing. We don't have a Holder. It's shared. We have a headman or woman who is chosen by the rest of the village, anyone over the age of 18 has a say. If everyone agrees on the same person, and he or she is willing to serve, for whatever length of time they choose, then…that's who the "head" is. And it's not always one person. If, say, someone knows more than everyone else on when it's time to, for instance, harvest these oats, well, then he or she is the leader of the harvest. Even the "headman" defers to that person in the harvest. It's a shared task, just like just about everything else. Many Pernese can't deal with that sort of freedom, but it works for us."

K'ndar nodded. It sounded…nice.

"The headman at that time was Andray. The marauders forced their way into his cottage, although, if they'd asked nicely, he would have let them in. They demanded he call the villagers together NOW, to inform the community that Fax was now our lord, and if we didn't obey them or him, we would suffer the consequences.

Andray was quite amused. He realized they were serious only after they stuck a dagger next to his throat.

Then he rang the community bell to summon as many villagers as wanted or were available, to hear him out. He began to tell the crowd that the men had lied to us; they were there to conquer us. He fully expected to have his throat cut then and there, but one of the raiders pushed him aside and told the assembled crowd that the village would be 'wiped out' if we didn't submit.

Someone in the crowd said that she'd had enough of the 'pig' she'd hosted and that they must all leave.

They began to threaten us, and we laughed.

Andray told them flat out, you are no longer welcome. Get on your horses. Now. Leave.

And within moments, their horses were brought out, all tacked up.

Because we outnumbered them, they didn't attack then. I think they left because they had no idea how to handle a village full of people who weren't afraid. One of them said, "You have cut your own throats. We will be back, this time in force," and they mounted and rode away…but not all the way.

There was an old couple who lived on the outskirts of the village. They were both in their 80's, I believe. The two were at their well when the men dismounted. The old man asked them, did they want water for their horses? They grabbed the old man and twisted his arm and said, "Swear fealty to Fax!"

"Whoever he is, he's a pig who I'll do nothing but swear at," he said. That was the excuse the raiders were looking for, any reason they could dream up in order to abuse and intimidate us into submission. Not a one of them had even a single redeeming characteristic. They were rough, cruel men, used to killing people," she said. She shook her head.

"Such brave men, attacking an old couple! "How dare you doubt Fax! We'll make an example of you," they said. They roughed the old man up, threw him to the ground, and shouted at the old woman that she would submit or watch her man be beaten to death. Instead, she ran away, into their barn. They laughed at that.

The old man asked them why, when we'd treated them with respect, they were hurting him, and they laughed. "Your woman ran away!" they jeered. But they'd made a fatal mistake, that of turning their backs on the woman. She was up in the hay mow.

Within seconds, she shot arrows into the backs of four of them. They had armor on their chests, but not the back!! Hee heee! Four of them, dead as hammers as fast as the woman could draw her bow!

The rest were so surprised at the sudden turn of events, they turned to see where the arrows had come from, and the old man-from the ground, mind you-grabbed one of the dead men's swords and stabbed the one closest to him in the back of his knee, severing the artery. No, he almost completely cut off the leg at the knee! THAT one fell down and squawked until he bled out…which didn't take long.

By that time, the entire village had arrived, every one of them mad enough to boil eggs. The two survivors put their backs together and began to threaten our people. But they were surrounded, and now they were the ones who were afraid.

Andray walked up to them, just beyond reach of their swords, and gave them a choice. Put down their swords or fall on them, because we weren't going to submit to anyone. He said, we will let one of you go. One of you will stay here, in chains, until he is ransomed. You choose. The other goes back to Fax. Tell him to go shaff himself," she said.

"Then they did something that shook us to the core. One turned to the other and without hesitation, ran him through with his sword," she said.

K'ndar gulped. "Just like that?"

Francie nodded. "Just like that. THAT is when we realized we were dealing with monsters that had no mercy whatsoever. We suddenly understood what we were up against," she said.

"The remaining raider got on his horse, spat at us and said "You will not be forgiven," or something like that, and rode off."

She stood up, brushing the grass off her butt.

"To this day, there are people who wish they'd killed him, too. But we aren't people to kill without reason."

"Did they come back?" K'ndar asked, hoping to delay wherever she was preparing to go and afraid he'd not hear the rest of the tale.

Francie laughed.

"Oh, they did. They came through the same pass. They didn't know we had many lesser trails into the valley, and we keep that to ourselves, to this day. Remember I told you the southern pass is through a narrow, steep walled ravine?"

K'ndar nodded.

"One day one of our village's Runners came in. She'd been on her way back when she sighted a 'host of armed men, riding toward the entrance to the southern pass, heading for our valley."

"And?"

"Well, the village had been prepared for such attacks for as long as anyone could remember," she said, grinning.

"We were prepared, when and who concocted the plan is lost to history. Long ago, the villagers pre-positioned boulders and limbed logs, on the slopes above the pass, piled up, held back only by bulwarks. We'd clear paths below the bulwarks, on those steep slopes, taking out plants and saplings. They'd been there forever, it seemed to me. The ropes were routinely inspected and replaced as they'd weather.

One of the jobs I had as a kid, like the rest, was to maintain the ridgeline trails to the deadfalls, as they're called; making sure it's easy to get to them in a hurry. You didn't go to a bulwark without inspecting it, making sure the bulwarks were still solid and ready to be dropped at a moment's notice. And four times a year, we'd have drills. When the headman rang the bell in a certain sequence, everyone dropped what they were doing and prepared for attack. Some ran to the deadfalls, some drew weapons, that sort of thing. We thought the drills were a nuisance, just busywork…until that day. Now? No one here will ever think that again.

"When they heard that attackers were coming, everyone ran to their stations, with bows and crossbows, and waited. Kids served as runners, tasked to keep the archers supplied. Teens were runners, too, tasked with maintaining communication between the two sides of the valley. That was a dangerous job, because it meant crossing in front or behind the attackers. But the boys, especially, they wanted that job. It was a challenge, you know? Who was the bravest?

The oldest folks, who couldn't manage the steep trails anymore, barred the doors of the cottages and waited, too.

Not long afterwards, here came the marauders. Legend has it there were about a hundred, give or take a few. As we'd trained for generations, we let the entire host enter the valley. They never looked up!

Andray's whistle was the signal to cut the ropes holding the piles back. WHACK!" she cried, imitating someone with a big axe, severing a cable, "and dozens of cables all cut at the same moment! Whooosh! Two hillsides, suddenly pouring down boulders the size of a pony, rocks, logs, roaring downhill FAST, both sides right at YOU, and you have NO where to hide from them!

It took out the entire column of raiders, blocked both ends of the ravine, trapping them. The ones who survived the original slide were then hit with arrows and bolts. They never knew what hit them. Some of them tried to escape,but the horses, the ones who could still move, poor things, couldn't clamber over log piles and boulders, and the raiders who tried to climb up the side were filled with arrows."

She exalted in the totality of victory.

"Then it was just a matter of shooting them all down, like shooting fish in a barrel. Only one escaped, he'd been at the back on a particularly fast horse, and it seems, the moment he heard Andray's signal, he bolted back the way he came. I guess he made it back and reported to Fax because we were never bothered again. We got some really nice horses and a lot more weapons in the bargain," she said, in a hugely satisfied tone of voice.

"The only regrets we had was that a lot of innocent horses had been hurt or killed, and some believe that one survivor was Fax. Too bad we didn't kill him then, our world would have been better off," she said.

"Wow, that's incredible! Is Andray still alive? I'd love to meet him," K'ndar said.

"No, he died about …" but she was interrupted by Coora, her bronze fire lizard, who leaped from his perch on Motanith with a loud screech. Siskin was right behind him, and the two males arrowed into the sky.

"What in the world?" he shouted.

Francie shouted, "Look! A gold! They're after a gold fire lizard!"

The gold fire lizard circled overhead, screeching, and then shot off, flying straight up.

"SISKIN!" K'ndar shouted, knowing it was useless.

"What in the world! We don't HAVE fire lizards here!" Francie cried, astonished. "They're chasing a gold! A queen! Here? This isn't fire lizard habitat, I've never heard of one here!" she said, equally confused.

He will be alright. Siskin and Coora are chasing Zeta Raventh said.

ZETA? Lindea's gold?

Yes. She followed us here. She's in heat.

You're joking.

No

K'ndar looked at Francie.

"Did Motanith tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"That gold fire lizard, it's Zeta, Lindea's queen," he said. "Raventh told me she followed us here," he said.

Francie looked troubled.
"She must be in heat, the way Coora and Siskin are after her."

"That's what Raventh said," he said, all sorts of explanations sparring in his head.

"Yes. Motanith just confirmed it. That's a mating flight," she said.

They could see the three fire lizards in the sky overhead. The gold stabbed her head at Siskin with a loud hiss, making the blue back off. But Coora was flying after Zeta with fierce determination.

"Francie! That's LINDEA's gold! Why would she be here??" he wondered, and then suspicion hit him. "Why would she follow our dragons all the way here, when there's plenty of males, wild and tamed both, close to home?"

"Maybe…to spy on us?" Francie said, shaking her head. "Ah, K'ndar. This is a tougher nut than I expected," she said.