Rally Cry (24 page)

"If we love, then it is no sin to my people," the girl whispered.

"Your father," Vincent replied lamely.

"He'll never know, and even if he did he would understand," Tanya said gently. "There might be so little time, Vincent.
Perm understands that."

She flung herself back into his arms, and the question that had started to form over what she had just said drifted away, as ever so gently the two slowly sank to the ground, still locked in a lovers' embrace.

"So it is as I told you," Kal said, once the door had closed.

"It can't be true," Ilya retorted sharply. "Whoever heard of such a thing—a world turned backward, peasants defeating nobles, churches with no power, men fighting wars so that other men can be made free?

"No, such a world cannot be. For it has always been that
peasants
labor, nobles grow fat, and the church grows rich."

"But they made their world different."

"He could be lying," Vasilia interjected.

"I don't think so," Boris replied.

"Go on, Boris, explain why."

"I am in the camp of the Yankees every day, helping to haul firewood. The one-armed ruler, and those who wear swords, I first thought to be nobles. But never have I seen them strike another Yankee. I've seen the other soldiers even argue with them at times, and the sword wearers would listen.

"To even speak a word back to a noble is death for us."

"He is right," Nahatkim said evenly, and all turned respectfully to listen. "These men are different. They all act like nobles, like proud men, but most all of them seem kind as well. Not one has struck one of our people. Many give of their time to help. I saw a Yankee take a bundle of wood from an old woman's shoulder and carry it to her cabin. Would a noble ever do such a thing? Their healer cures children. Our healers of skill only serve the nobles and let the children of peasants die.
And priests—not a single priest with them when they came through the tunnel of light."

The others in the room nodded their agreement.

"What do you say, Kalencka?" Nahatkim asked. "You know them the best."

"Old Nahatkim is right about what he has seen. And the boy called
Hawthorne is a truth speaker, as is Keane. Keane would say nothing of this Declaration thing when I asked. Perhaps he does not want us to know yet. But from what I have learned of Hawthorne, his priests taught him that being truthful is a great virtue, and strangely, that killing another is the greatest sin."

"So that is why he is so sad," Nahatkim whispered.

"He will heal," Kal said quietly, looking over at Ludmilla, who smiled.

"And to heal him is why you insisted that he stay with you while ill," Petrov, one of Kal's cousins, said, laughing. "Or could it be that you wished to find a son, and to talk with him alone and thus learn more truth about these Yankees?"

"He is a good man. I would be proud to have him in my family," Kal said forcefully and with great emotion.

"As for the information, if the mouse cannot hear through the wall, he cuts a hole to listen."

The men chuckled, shaking their heads. None of them was better than Kal at picking up whatever information might be of help.

"So what is the purpose of hearing this?" Vasilia said evenly. "All of you know I would love nothing better than to get my hands around the throat of a boyar, and wring back the sweat they've taken from my brow, but to do so is madness. Hearing these things will only inflame our dreams, but do nothing in the end. If my lord Uthar but heard a single word of what we knew, we'd all be hanging from the wall of his palace before another sun rose."

"There is nothing yet," Kal said quietly.
"But what of tomorrow?
Perhaps something will change the mind of these Yankees to help us.

"Perhaps because of them," Kal said softly, "our own people might learn to dream of this Declaration thing as well. Yet the Yankees must be behind us if our secret desires are to come to pass. For now Keane trusts Ivor far too much. As boyars go, he is a good one, far better than his father."

"Or his father's father, the Terrible," Nahatkim mumbled.

"But that will change," Kal stated forcefully, "for sooner or later Rasnar will persuade Ivor, or Ivor will come to fear the machines, growing wealth, and popularity of the Yankees."

"But what of the Yankees and the Tugars?"
Nahatkim said darkly, and at the mention of the forbidden word the room fell silent.

The mere mention of the horrid name was punishable by flogging if a priest or noble heard. Now, to speak of the Tugars before a Yankee was punishable by being flayed alive.

"They will find out sooner or later," Nahatkim whispered. "Since they are not of noble blood, or the church, Ivor cannot exempt them all. Will they allow their two out of ten to be led away for the feasting?"

"I think not," Boris replied. "All know how when the boy Hawthorne was a prisoner, the one-armed man raged, ordering all his men to make ready for war to free him. That of
itself
stunned me, for whoever heard of a noble that cared if a peasant was taken, unless it was a woman he wished to use at the moment?

"Keane will not stand by as more than a hundred of his are led away to the slaughter pits."

"But to resist is madness," Nahatkim whispered. "A single death to a Tugar and a thousand more are slain. If they fight, all of Suzdal go to the slaughter pits."

"So would you agree that we should stand by in the end, do nothing, and let our dream die?" Kal asked, his voice laden with sarcasm. "We know what the church wants, to surprise them some night and murder the lot, or what I suspect Ivor wants, to use them to destroy the church and his rivals, and then to betray them as well."

"What else is there?" Vasilia retorted.

Kal leaned back in his chair and smiled.

"Is it not obvious, and must we not now start to plan? Until the coming of the Yankees I never imagined that the world could be any different from what it is. Now I have heard of another way, and in my heart I want it to be so for my people."

"And the horde?"
Nahatkim whispered.

"They are still three years away, and we could do much before they come, if we and the Yankees were one."

The group looked at Kal in amazement.

"You dream too much," Boris replied nervously. "You dance too close to the flame, moth Kalencka. Watch or your wings will burn and all of us will be turned to ashes with you."

"We shall see," Kal replied, looking craftily about the room.

Kicking his mount into a gallop, Muzta moved forward, letting out a whoop of triumph, for his goal was at last in sight.

The first snows had started almost half a moon before, and the grumbling in the yurts had been loud. Their marches had always been of an even pace, timed so that the large cities of the cattle would be reached before the coming of winter. Supplies would be waiting then for them, the wood cut, tributes piled, the choosers ready to begin the selection.

He was nearly two weeks' ride ahead of the main host, for in his eagerness he wished to make sure that all was ready for the arrival of his people. Now the city was before him.

They had gained almost a year on their march, but the traveling had been hard. Many had sickened and died, thousands of horses had been lost, and the surviving mounts were gaunt, their ribs showing, their coats mottled and dull.

But they had perhaps outraced the wasting sickness of the cattle at last, and could eat here at their leisure until spring. Replenished, they could again perhaps go at their old pace. Perhaps he would have to wait two seasons for the Rus people after all, instead of forcing the march in one.

Cresting the top of the hill, he looked down upon the city. How strange the cattle were, he thought. The Tugar horde, all the people who wandered the world Valdennia,
were
as one, with same speech, customs, and dress.

But those who stayed in one place, the cattle, all were different. The Maya cities were one of the more interesting to him. Stepped pyramids
rose
heavenward, the tallest the greatest structure he had ever seen, reaching the height of thirty or more Tugars into the sky.

From atop the pyramids great fires were burning, and on the breeze he caught the faint wafting of burning flesh. These alone of the cattle ate of themselves. The thought struck him as slightly repulsive.

Tula
came galloping up to join the host chieftain.

"It'll be good feasting tonight," he said eagerly.

"Let us hope so," Muzta said evenly, "but where is Qubata? He should be here to meet us."

As if answering the Qar Qarth's question, from out of the gates of the city a band of Tugars emerged and started to gallop back up the hill.

"Smells like something good cooking,"
Tula said jokingly, pointing to the smoke coming from the pyramids.

Muzta merely grunted a reply.

An eddy of snow swirled about the two leaders, blocking the rest of the world off from view, and then drifted away.

Qubata was galloping hard, and Muzta felt a growing uneasiness.

"Something's wrong,"
Tula snapped.

"Let us see."

The old general came up, reining his mount in before the Qar Qarth.

"The pestilence, my lord," Qubata gasped.

"How?
My announcers were here early this year," Muzta cried, "and said there was nothing. The first choosers arrived here a month back, and they said all the cattle were clean."

"It started only yesterday. By some mystery it has come even as fast as we could fly before it."

Kicking his mount, Muzta turned away.

"What are you going to do?"
Tula shouted, pulling up before Muzta's mount.

"We must get ahead of it," Muzta said as if to
himself
.

"Our people are exhausted," Qubata interjected, "and the snow will soon lie heavy."

"Stay and feast here,"
Tula replied, "and if need be harvest all the cattle by spring."

Muzta looked back at Qubata, who nodded in agreement.

"My Qarth, stay here at least until the snows start to melt. Our horses, our women and children will be fat again. Then we shall ride hard. We'll cover two seasons' march in one and harvest the Rus before the disease marches yet again."

Muzta looked back down at the city. If the pestilence was here he knew that half the cattle, including many of the fattest, would die, and the horde, hungry as it was, would devour the rest.

There would be trouble in this, he realized. For as long as most of the cattle had hope of life, and their leaders were exempt, there had not been trouble, not in the hundred generations since the first of the cattle had appeared.

Before winter was done, that might change. But there was nothing else to be done, he thought grimly.

"This is my command," Muzta replied sadly. "We stay here for the winter, until the sun starts the snow to melt. Then the host will move hard, covering two seasons in one yet again, to next winter with the Rus."

Tula
smiled outwardly, but the thoughts of his heart he did not show. The Qar Qarth's decision had saved his own life, for if he had tried to press on it would then have been possible to depose him.

"And the announcers of our arrival?"
Qubata asked.

"Yes, we'd best send them forward at once to the eastern cities of the Maya, telling them we shall be there come early summer, and then on to the Rus, to prepare them for our wintering when the snow falls again."

"They might not be ready for us," Qubata said evenly. "We shall be coming two seasons early."

"Then tell our announcers to make it clear that early or not we expect them to be ready. Have the Namer of Time gather several pets that speak the Rus tongue. Start him riding tonight—he must ride as swift as the wind and get there before the snow stops all from travel."

"Shall we eat, my lord?"
Tula said, pointing down to the city.

Muzta looked at the man coldly.

"Not until my people are here," he said evenly, and then, turning back to the west, he disappeared into the storm.

Rasnar looked across the table at the soldier. Forcing his best smile, he reached into a small box on his desk, pulled out a gold coin, and tossed it across the table.

"I don't want it," the soldier replied, his voice edged with sarcasm.

"And why not?
I assume that is why you've come to talk to me."

Searching for the right words in Russian, Private Hinsen spoke slowly.

"I am no fool. I know you or the nobles will kill us all."

Rasnar did not reply, barely able to understand the atrocious accent of the infidel before him.

"I want a promise of my life in return for service."

Rasnar nodded slowly.

"And gold, silver, or women in return as well?" Rasnar asked.

Hinsen's eyes lit up in spite of his desire not to reveal his other motives.

Rasnar laughed softly.

"I can use someone like you, and reward you well," the prelate said, pouring out a fresh cup of tea for the both of them.

"I always reward my friends as they deserve," Rasnar continued, his features lighting with a smile.

Andrew looked up from his desk for a moment, and adjusted the wick of the single lamp that lit his cabin. There was a chill to the cabin, and rising, he opened the Franklin stove and tossed in another log. Winter had settled in over a month and a half ago, but then there had come a long break, which felt almost like Indian summer creeping back again. The weather had held until lowering clouds and cold rains
came
lashing in during the afternoon.

Tobias had finally returned last week from his explorations, and the camp had been abuzz with stories as the sailors swaggered about, boasting of the things they had seen.

The sea was indeed landlocked, as he had suspected, with the Rus on the northern edge. Rarely was it more than a hundred miles in width, but it had stretched nearly five hundred miles southward, bordered by wide-open steppes to either side. Hardly anyone had been spotted until the southern end of the ocean was reached.

"Carthaginians," Andrew mumbled to himself upon first hearing Tobias's account of what had happened. The architecture and ships Tobias described sounded like accounts of
Carthage and their colonies in
Spain. Unfortunately there'd been no communication with their city, for at the mere sight of the
Ogunqu.it
a host of rams had sallied forth. Without artillery, Tobias had fled, pursued eastward to where the sea apparently doglegged into another ocean. Finally turning back northward the captain rounded back up the east coast of what he now called the
American
Sea
. To the amazement of all, a type of freshwater whale was spotted. Boats had been lowered and the chase was on.

Andrew looked up again at the lamp. Whale oil gave a good light, but somehow it bothered him. First of all, the stink from the rough tryworks down by the docks had been horrendous. Second, he felt a strange sympathy for the innocent beast that had been so gleefully slaughtered by Tobias's sailors. He wished somehow that he could order them to cease hunting, but knew that the oil was needed, and thus his personal feelings could not intervene.

Standing, he stretched and went to the door. The rain had eased off, and brief glimpses of the second moon, Cysta, shone dimly through the passing clouds.

Work was going far better than expected. To his amazement,
Ferguson seemed to be right on schedule. Kal's work gangs were now almost as good as anything he had seen back in the States. By the hundreds they'd been grading the trail and hauling up tons of crushed limestone as ballast. H Company's ferry service was running full-out from dawn to sunset, carrying the limestone both for the ballast and the foundry, with a second boat coming on line early last week.

The first trip-hammer had finally gone into operation, drawing its power from an undershot wheel hastily constructed in a side channel above the foundry's main wheel. It was barely adequate for the job, but would do till spring when the twin twenty-foot wheels, now being laid out,
were
put into place. Even with the weak power provided, the iron straps needed for rails were starting to come out, and track had been laid from the dock nearly halfway up to the sawmill.

The boys of E Company had gone into round-the-clock work at the foundry, finally persuading C Company, which had yet to latch on to a project, to throw in with them for a quarter
share
of the profits. Some of them only came down the hill for morning roll, and the mandatory regimental drill which was still held each afternoon.

There was now even a banking system of sorts. The various companies had elected corporators and a board. It took some rather difficult calculations, but somehow a system had been worked up whereby each company would shift paper credits back and forth for exchanges of goods and services, turning half of all newly created wealth over to the regimental account.

Bill Webster, of Company A, whose father had been a banker back in
Portland, was now president of that operation.
Andrew had to confess that most all aspects of finance were beyond him and had simply entrusted the bald-headed nineteen-year-old with the task. The boy was obviously delighted with the task normally reserved for someone nearly three times his age, and had set to with a will. Shares for capitalization were being sold to the various companies, and Gates's paper company was turning out a special run of green-dyed currency. They were planning to put the seal of
Maine
on the back of it and engravings of Andrew, O'Donald, Cromwell, Weiss, and even Ivor on the front.

That had been a source of a rather amusing argument as the four officers bickered over who would get which denomination, since they thought it best that Ivor get the top-valued fifty-dollar bill. Finally they'd drawn straws, and though he hated to admit it, Andrew felt a touch of chagrin at drawing the lowly dollar slot. As luck would have it, Tobias pulled the twenty-dollar slot and had been visibly puffed up as a result.

Turning back to his desk, Andrew looked over the work rosters.
A and
K Companies were now primarily devoted to lumbering, since most of the boys had been recruited out of the Skowhegan area where the great northern woods was the major source of industry.

C Company was working alongside of E at the foundries and ore mines, while D still held sway at its sawmill, which had finally received its new eight-foot blade that tore through the lop like a banshee gone berserk. H was still taken up with its boats and G with the grain-mill operation, which was running twenty-four hours a day as well. B was over in the limestone quarries, and J had found itself recruited to be dam builders, ready to go in a couple of days with Weiss to start the largest project of all.

O'Donald's men had gravitated to the foundry and the forge of Dunlevy, where the metal was being worked into wrought and cast iron, and just the other day
a passable
steel had been turned out for the first time.

This didn't even begin to take into account the dozens of smaller projects that had been started by various individuals, including paper-making, and a printing press that was ready to turn out the regiment's first newspaper.
Hawthorne was in high demand from the nobles to make more clocks, and Tobias's sailors were turning out oil.
Jackson had his bakery—the only problem was that he was still learning how to turn out quality bread, and if it hadn't been for the intervention of Ludmilla and her friends, Andrew believed, they all most likely would have been poisoned by now.

Dr. Weiss was even working on the idea of a small glass works, believing it would trigger a thriving business with the nobles if he could ever master the art of making spectacles.

"Good evening, sir."

Andrew turned in his chair and looked to the door, which he had left open.

"Well, hello,
Hawthorne. Out for a walk on a night like this?"

"It's rather nice, actually,"
Hawthorne said softly, and behind the boy, Andrew could see Tanya.

"That it is, son," Andrew said, looking at the girl, "that it is."

"Well, I saw the door open and thought I'd say hello. We'd best be going now, sir."

Andrew smiled as the couple walked into the darkness, and his thoughts turned back to Kathleen.

What had happened there?
he
wondered. Since that day over four months back with James she had kept herself removed, spending time with Emil, tending the steady trickle of sick that always came in and the men who had yet to return from insanity, or walking in the evenings by herself.

She had politely refused all his offers for rides, or visits to the city. Was it him after all? Had Mary scarred him so deeply that he could never open up again, and had Kathleen, sensing that, simply backed away? Or was it the blood of the war that had wrapped itself so deeply into his soul that Kathleen could see him only as yet another killing machine, who all too easily could be killed himself? Could he ever find happiness, he wondered, or had that possibility been half killed by Mary and finished forever at
Gettysburg?
—leaving him now with nothing but the fear of being hurt and the nightmares about his brother that still came to haunt him.

"Your colonel always looks so sad, so distant," Tanya said softly, pressing her warmth up against
Hawthorne's side.

"I can understand."

"The same way the sadness is still in your eyes."

Hawthorne
was silent. Every night was haunted by the look that man had given him as the life drained out of him, or the scream of Sadler, or that moment as he hung drifting into the darkness. How could he ever explain?

"You are alive,
Hawthorne. We have a saying, life is for all, peasant and noble, love is for the young, with Kesus's grace contentment and peace for the old."

Trembling, she stepped in front of
Hawthorne and looked into his eyes.

"I love you," she whispered, pulling him close, her lips brushing against his.

"You're trembling, Tanya," and his arms went about her, holding her tight, and at that moment the nightmare thoughts were gone.

"Come away with me. Leave with me tonight," she whispered, between kisses.

"What are you saying?" he whispered back, brushing her dark flowing hair.

Tears started to flow.

"Just leave with me," she whispered. "We'll run away to the east. Perhaps there nothing will hurt you."

"Desert?"
He started to laugh softly. "Tanya, Tanya, I'm a soldier. I cannot desert. These are my people and friends."

"Please, my love," and in her eyes he saw terror.

"What is it?" His hands tightened about her slender arms. "Why are you so frightened?"

"I can't say," she whispered. "Oh, my love, trust me. We can leave tonight, long, long before . . ."

Her voice trailed off. She was frightened to tell him that she knew for certain that a new life was stirring within, a new life she never wanted to place at risk. The whispered conversations of her father and his friends terrified her. She feared he was mad with this wild dream that they were starting to hatch. For surely it would fail. He would die, as would her beloved, and even if she was spared, surely the unborn child would be sent into the pits as punishment when the Tugars came.

"The colonel has that Rasnar fellow in check. Don't be afraid of what he might do."

She shook her head.

"It's not that."

"Then what?"

"I can't say. Just leave with me before it's too late. There are people we call the Wanderers who forever travel eastward. We can join them and be safe there."

"Tanya, what is it you aren't telling me?"

She turned her head away, shaking with sobs.

"Is it the Tugars?"
Hawthorne said quietly.

Shocked, the girl looked back at him, terror in her eyes.

"It's this thing called Tugars, isn't it?"
Hawthorne asked insistently.

"Where did you hear that word?" she gasped.

"Once when I was sick and you thought me asleep, I heard you talking to your father, and that word was spoken. He slapped you lightly as if to warn you. Again I heard it whispered while passing two beggars on the
road who were
gazing at one of those ghastly statues. Tanya, what are the Tugars?"

"I can't."

Taps started to echo in the background.

"You must go back," she said, trying to pull herself loose from his grip. But he held her tight.

"Tanya, I love you," he whispered. "You must tell me what they are."

"To do so means death for me, my entire family."

"You must tell me, please. I will not run away, I cannot. But if there is something that can hurt my friends I must know."