Tales of Downfall and Rebirth (35 page)

“Oh, baby. Are you all right?”

“I'm fine, Poppa, I'm fine.” She fought more tears as he pressed her to his hard jacket.

“I have to find Liam,” Momma said.

“Annie said she saw him at the water station, white as a ghost. Take my horse.”

“Right. You two behave yourselves.” She mounted and rode off.

“I think the mess tent is in operation.” There they got plates of scrambled eggs and sausage; Petra was hungry enough to clean hers. A messenger came by and he and Poppa had a quiet conversation.

“Just a local band of bandits, looks like,” Poppa said after the man left. “We'd gotten word of the plans and came as quickly as we could. Fortunately Ezra sent help.” They left the tent and walked to the overturned book wagons.

“Th-that guy in a mask was going through the books,” Petra said.

“I don't think he was after dictionaries and atlases.”

Petra walked over to the riverbank, pointed. The red had disappeared, but a pair of legs still stuck out of the water.

“Come away, honey,” Poppa said.

“What will we do now?”

“Once everything is secure and the wounded are taken care of, Ezra's having a party. And, by God, we need one.”

Petra put on her one dress. Not like the frilly ones from the catalog, but one that fell below her knees and with long sleeves. Mother despaired because it came out of the luggage wrinkled, but Petra didn't care.

Musicians played on a stage and when she danced with Poppa, she loved the way the dress swirled around her legs. There were barbecued pork ribs, chops and chicken; jambalaya, potatoes—both white and sweet—fresh collard greens, beans and corn bread. After dark, Petra joined Poppa, Momma, Liam, Ezra and his petite wife, Adele, sitting in a circle near the fire. Everyone was relaxed, even if there were weapons on belts and bows and quivers within quick reach.

“When the Reckoning came, some folks thought they could enslave the blacks again.” Ezra was a huge man, tall and deep-chested, with a high forehead and wide shoulders. His voice was deep and rumbled in his chest. “But the blacks had tasted freedom for too long. And they had learned history, and they had learned to fight, so it wasn't so easy. So here I am, a black man, descendant of slaves, owning a huge plantation where there once was a country club and an airport. I named it Justice Oaks because it's just that I should be in this position. But I don't own slaves. Everyone who works for me, I pay them well with what is valuable.”

“Must've taken a lot of hard work,” Poppa said.

“Three generations, going on four. All carefully recorded. My great-grandpappy was a kid when the Reckoning came, and he wrote it all down. Wasn't much of a warrior by all accounts, but he was a good . . . what d'you call it?”

“Scholar,” said Adele.

“Scholar. Wrote it all down, then my great-uncle took over, then my pappy, now my son. Complete family history of the After times with a bit of Before.”

“The library at Athena would love to have that history in its files—”

Ezra shook his head. “Those journals do not leave this land.”

“No, no, they'll send scribes here to copy them, word for word, just as they're written.”

“Well, I don't—”

“We would be honored to have our story in the library,” Adele said.

“We would?”

“Ezra, people will read about the Hawks family, our struggles, our deeds, our triumphs, all in our own words. Our family history will inspire future folk.”

“Well, then,” Ezra said, gazing at his wife, “I guess you'd better tell your librarians to send their scribes, Mycroft.”

*   *   *

The next morning Poppa, Petra and Pettibone were removing books from the book wagon with the broken axles when Yates and four convoy masters rode up. Poppa barely glanced at them.

“Yates, bring wagon fourteen, please, there's room around the bottle gourds and clay vessels, we should be able to cram most of these around—”

“Sir, delay could mean we'll miss the salt train at New Iberia.”

Poppa looked at his Second. “We're slightly ahead of schedule, Yates, plus I think McIlhenny will be willing to wait a day or two.”

“Sir, I—this stuff just isn't worth the trouble.”

“I see.” Poppa looked down at the book he was holding. “
A Brief History of Time
by Stephen Hawking.” He held it up. “You think this is junk, right, Yates?”

“Sir, I—”

“Fine.” Poppa flipped through the pages. “You're in charge, then, go on, take the convoy, I trust you. We got some nice goods in Lafayette and Ezra's six cotton wagons are valuable, but reserve at least two for Athena. I'm going to salvage what I can because I'm just damn fucking dumb enough to believe there is value here, value beyond the paper and the ink, value even beyond the old metal parts and the cotton and the timber and the crops and the chickens and whatever the God else we carry for short-term gain.”

He waved the book. “This is most definitely pre-Reckoning and I don't have a fucking clue what it's about but that doesn't matter because somebody else will come along and understand it and what it means to us and our future. Odd things are going on in our world right now, Yates, a rise of fear and dark things we once thought we'd put behind us. The Before people valued this book, all of these books, because they realized knowledge was a way of fighting the dark and the terror. All damned worthless now, right, because where are the Before people now? All gone, the Reckoning having swept them all away along with their useless knowledge. Still, the Before people did amazing things whether you believe it or not, and one day perhaps we can do those things again. But even if we don't, we need to know what they once did, what they once thought, how they dealt with darkness and fear, what they once dreamed, because we need to dream, too.

“There's poetry here, Yates, tales of hope and beauty, and knowledge, information to guide and inspire us. The Before people built huge palaces to store these things in and keep them safe. We're trying to do that again at the library at Athena. So I'm going to stay here and save as many of these as I can because by God I think they're important and I will get them to the library if it takes me the rest of this goddamned fucking year!”

He wiped his brow with his sleeve, carefully set the book on one of the stacks. “Be on your way then, Yates.”

Nobody moved as Poppa and Yates stared at each other. Finally Yates straightened, ran a hand over his face and muttered something Petra was sure was a bad word.

“Armandriz, get wagon fourteen, please.” He dismounted, stepped over and grabbed a handful of books. After a moment, the other convoy masters followed.

“Raphael, Manuel, Arlen, let's see if we can right the unbroken wagon.”

Once the work started, more hands arrived and soon all the wagons were ready. Book wagon two was crammed to capacity, wagon fourteen's merchandise was buried under books with a few stuffed into empty vessels. The oxen from the broken wagon were turned over to a couple of Ezra's wranglers.

“Ezra will have the wagon repaired for us,” Poppa said.

After Yates mounted his horse, Poppa called to him.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Sir.” Yates touched the brim of his hat, rode off.

Before giving the go-ahead, Poppa turned to Petra. “Any, uh, funny words you might've heard today are not to be repeated to your mother. Got that?”

She put on her innocent face. “Which words, Poppa?”

He wagged a finger at her. “You little devil.”

She shrugged. “Where's Liam?”

“Riding with your mother.”

“Oh. He gets to ride with the big folk.”

“Because he is one now,
petite fleur
.”

“Yeah.” She shook the memory of the incident that made him one from her mind, then checked to make sure Grandpa's gift was secure under the seat.

“Ready to roll?” said Pettibone as he climbed aboard.

At Petra's nod, Poppa yelled, “Move out!” and the convoy resumed its journey down Old 90.

McIlhenny had to wait only half a day. New Iberia station was a huge yard crammed with ox-pulled merchandise wagons, salt wagons behind their six-horse teams and even a couple of fancy beer wagons pulled by teams of large, beautiful horses. Poppa was a happy man as they left the chaos behind.

“Six salt wagons, three barrels of pickled peppers and nine barrels of beer. With the stuff from Lafayette and Ezra combined with what we brought from Oakton station, this is going to be a very profitable trip.”

“And the books,” Petra said.

“The icing on the cake,” he said. “But, before that, a little bonus.” He opened a small box stuffed with wood shavings, pulled out a small bottle filled with red fluid. “This'll spice up your breakfast tomorrow.”

After New Iberia, the land changed again from fields to swamps and bayous with their strange sounds and odors. Each town seemed pretty much like the last, the days were hot and oppressive and the nights were barely less so as they slept under the stars and a waxing moon. Liam was allowed to break the boredom by riding with the Rangers, aiming a smirk at Petra each time until she was ready to smack him with the Sears book.

Just outside of Berwick, a line of horsemen passed in formation. The riders rode with backs straight and faces stern. The metal in their armor gleamed in the sunlight, and round shields were slung on their backs. Red plumes curved down behind their helmets; their white tunics were short, leaving their legs bare. Spear shafts protruded from sheaths attached to their black and silver saddles. Their white flag was emblazoned with a golden shield crossed by a red lightning bolt above two green branches.

“The Athena Legion in fancy dress,” Pettibone said. “Show-offs.”

The convoy stopped in the center of Berwick while, as Pettibone said, “they figure out what it'll cost us to cross Miss Atchafalaya.” He and Petra bought roasted chicken pieces stuck on a stick from a nearby stand. Just as they finished, the word came to move out.

Once again the teamsters yelled their peculiar calls and once again the convoy creaked forward. The road went straight through the town, then began a slow, angled climb up a huge embankment. Petra climbed onto the driver's bench.

“Long climb up the giant levee,” Pettibone said. “These towns'll wash away without 'em. When Ol' Man River came, he took no prisoners. In the Before time, it was different. The Before people, see, they wanted the Ol' Man to keep going on down to the Old City where they and their machines lived. The Before people did that a lot, making Ol' Man River go
here
but not
there
, not where
he
wanted to go, but to go where
they
wanted him to go, to make him toe the line until he got to the Big Water. Miss Atchafalaya, now, she knew the Ol' Man be gettin' tired of the old ways. Oh, she worked her wiles on him, sayin' sweet things, flatterin' the old coot, telling him she knew a shorter way to get to the Big Water. But the Before people didn't like this, not at all. So they built levees and dams and ditches to keep them apart. Miss Atcha, though, she was patient. She knew the truth about the Ol' Man, and all she had to do was wait.”

Petra had learned about the Atchafalaya and the Mississippi in her schooling, but Pettibone's singsong version was a lot more interesting.

“Then the Reckoning came. The Before people had other things to worry about 'cause they were becoming the After people and that wasn't an easy thing. So Miss Atchafalaya pushed, she dug, she scoured, trying to get to the Ol' Man. Then she got unexpected help: the Big Devil Wind came roaring up from the south after drownin' the Old City. And finally Miss Atcha could speak to the Ol' Man, and she asked, just as politely as could be, if he'd like to go with her to the Big Water, and he said ‘Ma'am, I'd be obliged. It's been a long time I've been runnin' the long road, and I'd be happy to join you on the Short Road.' So, Ol' Man River and Miss Atcha carved a new route, drowning towns and sweeping away many of the After people. The Old City in the Delta died and the new city on the banks of the new river rose. 'Course, these big levees had to be built first to contain the power of the new Miss Atchafalaya.”

Pettibone timed his tale to end just as the wagon topped the levee. Stretching before them was a high, wide bridge with a stone road four lanes wide. But it was the river that made Petra gasp. The landscape itself was moving, sliding under the bridge in a massive and constant flow. The shores were reduced to irrelevance the farther out on the bridge they rolled. Petra saw a path where people were walking right along the edge of the bridge, so she leaped down, stopped, looked both ways for horses, then ran to the path. She raced along the sidewalk, dodging the other strollers, until she came to an overlook. She could see just enough of the bridge's shadow in the water directly below to make out the shapes of the tops of the arches. A log rolled and bumped between the massive piers.

She raced down to the next lookout next to a tower. The river was the only thing in her view now. She began to feel like
she
was moving, not the river, she and the bridge receding backward toward an unknown destination.

The illusion was dispelled when horses rode up behind her.

“She acts like she's never seen a river before,” Liam said.

“Cut her some slack, son,” Poppa said. “She's never seen
this
one before.”

“It is an awesome sight,” Momma said as she stepped up to the railing on Petra's right, Liam and Poppa on the left.

“It's smarter than us, too,” Petra said. “In school they say we aren't sure what's in the places north of us, the interior, as teacher calls it. But this river has flowed past all those places, so it knows what's there and we don't.”