While a battle was being waged to determine the fate of the West Rumelian Caesar, Merovic stood outside Freya’s home addressing his faux-privy council. They comprised of vǫlur Freya, little Matilde, teacher Arslan, elder Audein, and the merchant Gotheric. After months of preparation and testing, the successful harvest of a test plot of crops, and with the aid of Matilde; Merovic’s “black soil” project has come to fruition. The group surrounded an assortment of clay jars that contained nitrified soil.
Merovic was nine this year, and his proud rooster-like posture made him an adorable figure; as he imperiously declaimed: “Our tests have now concluded; with the addition of “black soil”, we can improve crop yields by at least 20 percent. In addition, with the help of Gotheric in securing a stable line of resources collected from wasted masonry materials, and with the discarded shells from eggs and seafood, we can further improve crop yields by another 20 percent! In time with some of the help from our blacksmiths we can develop better tools for our farms; combined with the aid of Audin and Arslan, in educating our villagers on some of the new farming techniques, implementation of fertilizers, and reclamation strategies, we can potentially double our current crop yields! However, this is going to be a lot of work. Many of these designs and concepts are relatively unknown or underdeveloped; we are going to need more manpower and more resources. We currently stand in a period of humble beginnings; but with your help, we can seize destiny by the haunches!”
Merovic painted a strange picture; his hands clenched the sky, his face twisted jovially, his knees impacted the soil, and his laugh was wicked and vehement: “The Rumelians may have brought us low in the past, but now we can make Gauntal great again! Whahaha!” The joy that radiated from Merovic was sublime in its incandescence. This was his second-life time; the most precious, most glorious, most exulted, and most self-acclaimed deed of his two lifetimes is the creation of this humble pile of compost: For others, its just a pile of dirt; for Merovic, it is the proof of God’s mercy. This pile of decomposed plant corpses represents his resurrection, his new conviction, and a real place he could call his own.
As Henry Titor, after a string of career failures, quashed romantic interests, the breakup of his immediate and extended family, identity theft, home foreclosure, the breakdown of his faithful truck, the death of his beloved dog, the sad discovery that he only had a quarter of a fifth-of-whiskey, and the terrible realization that he could not sing or carry a tune: He decided to quit trying to live in society and he went homeless; he wandered through cities during winter, and the wilderness in spring. He preferred to live outdoors, but taxes and the state will follow you even in the middle of nowhere.
He would carve out little spots in the wilderness making anything he could from scratch and determination, but eventually, foresters or another agency would find his little hideaways; and burn them to the ground when he wasn’t present. He would build it and they would burn it; he would go to the city, and he would get kicked out of the city, this cycle would repeat every few years until he died. As Henry, he could not have his own place, to rest his head; no matter how he begged, fought, worked for, or persuaded other people; he would lose it in the end. As Merovic, it was going to be different; and everything was going to start with these magical jars of dirt.
Concerned, Matilde lightly tapped the shoulder of the manic Merovic: “Are you okay, you are scaring the wildlife with your discordant aura.” Merovic regained his sense of propriety: “Ehem right, well you all know what I need from you; if you have any questions on the tasks, I have assigned you, or on our progress, you are free to ask.”
The group disbursed leaving Merovic with Matilde and Freya. Merovic and Matilde tested each other in the days and months after the birthday party. At first, Merovic was overjoyed to meet another immigrant from another world; then he was disappointed to discover that she didn’t come from the same world that he did. Matilde's old world was Arde, they didn’t develop into the same post-industrial digital junky society that Merovic had left.
What made Arde unique; was the heavy reliance on Bionics and Psytheric technology. The plants of Matilde’s world grew in strange ways, relative to Earth; the relationship of flora and humans as a consequence, was very different. What can only be described as psychic phenomena; grew from the symbiotic partnership of the plants and people. They built technologies that harvested energy generated from the formation and maintenance of symbiotic life. They didn’t need computers and phones; they grew sophisticated mushrooms that they could merge with; and communicate and transmit information from continents away. Ardeans took tree hugging to a new level and fused with various plant life.
Merovic could not imagine the world that Matilde came from; conversely, she could not fathom the world that produced him. They both wondered if they would meet other people from different worlds and places. In a way it was a comfort for them to not meet someone from the same world, there is a special trust and honesty that can only appear between strangers. Unfortunately, many of the products from Merovic’s world could be produced within a reasonable time, but the products from Matilde’s world could not. For Matilde this was a non-issue, as her origin was from that world: she had a natural predisposition and instinct toward using those special techniques of living cultivation.
Her symbiotic nature was strong enough that her interaction with fauna carried the same ease as breathing and sleeping. From her birth in this world, she had already begun the process of psionic synthesis with other organisms on a conscious level. The many plants that she had consumed and interacted with had already produced the necessary changes to her physiology to accommodate, to a limited extent, the usage of psycho-aetheric phenomena. The subtle glow that radiated from her eyes was a true expression of bioluminescence; she had already shown Merovic a few minor examples of her abilities. In one experiment she had him whisper in front of a tree outside, while she was indoors, and she returned to him and reiterated the contents of his murmurings. His first response was shock, after all a tree had tattled on him, and then his feelings turned to joy at the discovery of what, for all intents and purposes was magical superpowers. His happiness quickly soured when she informed him that she didn’t know if she could replicate those processes to grant him the same abilities.
Merovic sighed at the thought of that day, they might not have the ability to reproduce such a unique technology now, but perhaps in the future, he could find a way to do so. In the meantime, Merovic and Matilde did their best to persuade Freya to teach them some of her magics. Freya as usual, rebuffed their advances and scolded them for their mischievous behavior; when Matilde showed a little of her skills it caused Freya to pale.
Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
“Lil’ lady Matilde, those are magics of the druids. I’m afraid that what I know can only cause you harm if you learn from me. I in no small sense, can teach or guide you, without incurring the wrath of the Gods and the corruption of your soul. The path is too perilous, and the risks are too great, I am sorry you would have made a fine vísendakona, but such a fate was not meant for you.”
Matilde deflated a little when she heard that; but her disappointment was short-lived as she asked: “Fate may have barred me from such a path, but what about Merovic?”
Freya looked deeply at Merovic; her eyes clouded over, as though she were looking through him. The boy could not help but be mesmerized by the misty evanescence coming from her gaze; in a moment he no longer saw her. He was surrounded by a deep fog, and he could see shadows glide across the mists beyond his sight. Tall mountains shrouded in darkness doted vast distances around him. He looked ahead and saw a vast monolith that radiated the color of the void, its form half-hidden in the grey clouds of his surroundings. The boy sought to see past the fog and gleam details from the monolith; as if he spied upon the forbidden, a deep hum roared from the earth. Its sound washed over him and drowned out his sight. Then the moment passed; Merovic shook the odd experience away and looked back at Freya.
She seemed to consider something looking at the young master of house Salveux; then she said: “You have the attention of a powerful Vaettir; it could be good, or it could be bad. Its power is beyond my ken, and so I cannot advise you to learn or avoid the seiðr. I can only ask that you be patient and grow up a little more, maybe time will tell if this is the right path for you lil’ lord.”
Freya smiled kindly at the boy, as if in consolation for an unfortunate truth. Merovic was uncertain about what to do, what he saw seemed like a dream, and he resolved himself to discover the answer at a future date. He nodded at the Vǫlur, and agreed to wait a few years, before asking to learn magic from her.
Merovic and Matilde left Freya's property and spoke amongst themselves; “Merovic, are you alright? You seem a little distant and your aura disappeared for a second back there, did you see something?”
“Matilde, I’m not sure what I saw, there was mist and mountains; I can’t tell what it means, I only know that I did see something.”
They were both quiet after that comment. They walked together in silence until they approached the Descloix home. Merovic was about to leave when Matilde started speaking: “They say that the Rumelians are losing against Odokar’s army. Do you think it's going to affect the Kingdom?”
Merovic had a thoughtful look for a moment: “Well whether they win or lose; it will affect Kingdom in some fashion. No matter what outcome, there will be an increase of slaves for sale, some displaced Rumelians will immigrate here, and there will be war spoils that will hit our markets. Regardless, we do not have to worry about martial aggression from either the Rumelians, Goss, or the Tutonians for a few years. They will all need time to either absorb their acquisitions, nurse their wounds, or secure their holdings; they will not have time to interfere in our affairs.”
Matilde smiled at Merovic while he spoke, seemingly satisfied by what she saw, she gave him a peck on the cheek and bid him goodbye. The boy realized that she just distracted him from his previous odd mood, when thinking about the vision; he realized that she was rather considerate. He smiled and paid a visit to the small local smithy.
Iron smithing was not a well-established industry in the Gauntal, bronze-smithing and bronze smithing comprised the majority of metallic goods: In the southern interior of the country, known as the Gauntdoc, the situation was different, iron-smithing was a more prolific practice. The Salian Kingdom has a sea border, so we have a good source of tin produced from the mines of Avalon, to our north-east; and with a very cheap supply of copper imported from the Danr, bronze smithing is one of the strongest smithing industries in the region.
Merovic was still undecided on his current plan of action; increasing the supply of iron would be beneficial in the future, but is it something that he needs to focus on in the immediate future? “I want a supply of firearms in the form of cannons or rifles; bronze and iron can both be used in the manufactory of them. The only issue is the logistical supply chain leading to its eventual production. On paper, Iron is easier; there are fewer things needed to produce Iron firearms, however, those few things are all highly labor-dependent and require a more sophisticated technological support structure. Iron has a higher melting point so we need facilities that can handle the heat, again more skilled labor to handle those conditions as well, and the right supply of fuel to consistently produce the temperatures necessary to work with iron. Iron weapons also have the unfortunate characteristic of exploding if they are manufactured poorly: As the saying goes a man of iron will break before he bends the knee.”
“I am currently leaning towards bronze work because of our unique physical location; we are in a unique position where the acquisition of tin and bronze is actually affordable. The only issue is the fragility of the supply chains; we would depend on trade partners for our arms production. In the future, we could simply crush the opposition with superior discriminating firepower. The skill level necessary for smithing is relatively the same, but the metal is easier to work with, and the fuel concerns are also the same as iron, it does however have an inbuilt safety feature. Bronze firearms will bend and deform over time, which is fine. Defects in bronze don’t have the issue of exploding from poor manufacture or overpowder loading. Hmmm there is also the tooling problem to deal with, either way, we go we need to improve the tools of the workmen but where do we start?”
Merovic watched some of the smiths work at the forge while pondered on the question of tools. In the primitive smithy he watched as some worked a furnace, one man sat on the ground as he repeatedly spun a rope stick blower, that forced air into the red-hot flames. Another man battered away on a bronze piece atop an anvil; the anvil looked like a plate fused to a spike made from worked iron and smashed into a large stump; the hammer blows atop the anvil were like a soothing melody, its rhythm was calm and hypnotic. A few people were feeding wood into a separate furnace preparing to make charcoal.
Merovic pondered on the best way forward: “I can develop and introduce different variations of bellows to improve airflow; depending on the method, leather would be required for accordion bellows, they are currently using stick blowers, so pot bellows are moot. We have water, so wheel power bellows would cut down on long-term effort; what I really want is piston bellows, but it requires a redesign and a couple of steps to develop a furnace that we can utilize it with. Our strongest craftsman industry is currently carpenters; so I think I will try to introduce box-bellows first.
Merovic paused on the thought of carpentry: All I am doing is driving myself mad, I am just rolling around in circles… wheels, gears, screws, circles. In that moment he realized an order of improvement. We need lathes, if we have those, we can create a compounding force in the direction of all our innovation. Lathes will give us more precision on tooling for both the machines and the components that comprise them. A combination of worm drives, ram pumps, and water wheels should give us everything in terms of primitive power, before the advent of primitive steam, we might be able to start a faux-industrial revolution in a few decades.
Merovic smiled as he thought about the future. However I’ll just start a project or two in the meantime, and we will see where it takes us. Merovic left the smithy with a few resolutions and ideas for presentations to his father.