Chapter 7: Stopping By

An excerpt from Our High Calling by Washington Mosely, First President of Hewed Stone, year 25.

There was, before the events that befell our species and displaced mankind from its rightful pinnacle, a glorious time when mankind ruled the entirety of the planet. He pressed his will upon the beasts and the plants, and even upon the very earth itself…

Despite residing in an age of unparalleled human power, nations strove with one another, so that they might dominate each other as they did the planet. Amongst the hundreds of sovereign states that vied for power, there was but one that could provide for their people the basic rights that every human being deserves. That nation was called America.

America provided her people with absolute freedom, unquestionable justice, unceasing prosperity, boundless security, and a vastly enhanced way of life. It was a beacon on a hill, drawing people to it. The single mentionable flaw of the American nation is that it respected other nations’ sovereignty too greatly to conquer them and enforce the superior American governance on them and their people.

While it is true that America was blessed with both an unceasing abundance of resources and a population of a diverse proclivity to exceed, the primary driver behind its unique success was the divinely provided system set forth to govern it and the institutions created by that system. The basis of that system was called the constitution, and the constitution was written by a group called the “Founding Fathers,” true patriots, inspired by Providence to lay out these rules to ensure American primacy…

It is imperative that all good people of Hewed Stone commit their lives to the effort to rebuild America, reunite her lands, and promote the spread of her unique ways to all the world. This is no easy task, and it will require sacrifice well beyond that which has been required of any generation before, but with the combined efforts of we few brave patriots, our offspring will enjoy a life in which people live with the blessings that God set out to give us.

The full, red moon hung over a low ridge as Sergeant Alvin Ryan, Hewed Stone Marines, walked up the ramp into the thinly armored cart and began closing it behind him. “What’s the word, Red Ryan?” Lieutenant Miller asked in the darkness.

“It’s about time we started doing something. All this sitting around has been bugging me.” The Hewed Stone fleet had sat, silent and waiting, for nearly six weeks. They didn’t name their vessies as Whybarr did, they were simply numbered. Ryan sat atop number Eighty-Three.

“Maybe if we win this battle the Captain will let us eat something besides beans with bean broth.” A nervous chuckle rose from the platoon sitting inside the cart. Ryan sat, facing the Lieutenant, his black armor hiding a muscular frame. Sergeant Ryan’s curly red hair seemed to float in the darkness. “What do you think, Lieutenant Miller, will we be eating something of substance for breakfast.”

“I don’t know what they eat for breakfast in Whybarr.” Miller was green; he’d graduated from the academy less than a year before and hadn’t tasted battle yet.

Ryan had seen battle, many battles, and under the jet black armor, held the scars that earned him his Sergeant’s stripes. “So, the rumors are true then. We are in Whybarr?”

Miller’s nod was nearly lost in the darkness. “Well, if anyone asks, you didn’t hear it from me, but yes. We’re in Whybarr.” A murmur ran through the soldiers. “If I’m honest, I hope there’s enough left of the country to look around, there’s something about Whybarr.”

“I hope there’s enough left of us to look around,” retorted Ryan, low enough only the Lieutenant could hear. Ryan knew that every aspect of their military was aimed at taking what was done in Whybarr and improving on it. Hewed Stony vessies were nearly identical to the Whybarrians, except they had more guns, bigger fuel tanks, and better fire suppression. The marine’s armor was aimed at letting the wearer be mobile and agile, but instead of plastic plates that covered only the vital organs of the Whybarrians, the Hewed Stonys wore a thin suit of rubber, from head to toe. And they didn’t swing along on ropes like spiders. They rode onto their enemy’s vessies piled into carts and launched down ramps high above their decks.

Miller tugged at the sleeve on his armor, unaccustomed to its fit. “Sergeant, we are sitting, undetected, inside the great southern kingdom as we speak. Tonight, we’ll destroy the king’s fleet, and within a week we’ll be at the gates of Cauls, demanding they join Hewed Stone or be conquered. There’s nothing to worry about” Alvin had heard that kind of talk before other battles, from other Lieutenants, in the war against Bojuiced. The plans didn’t work out then, and probably wouldn’t now, but it was better the younger soldiers didn’t hear their Sergeant’s skepticism, not just yet.

One of the other veteran warriors didn’t share Ryan’s concern for the rookies. “Then President Mosely will grow wings out his backside, fly down here, and personally give us all big gold medals for our service.” The voice came from the dark, a gruff sound like a cornered bearcat. Ryan knew who it was, one of the few other veteran soldiers, a Corporal transferred over from a different company. He couldn’t recall his name, it started with an “M,” maybe, but the man’s face was easy to remember. “You got any more fairy tales, Lieutenant?”

“Keep it down, back there. Battle or not, rank is rank. Show some respect.” Ryan had also heard rumors about an easy victory before, but having an officer make the claim in a public setting added a good deal of credence to the plan. No, they probably wouldn’t be in Cauls in a week, but at least Miller had told them where they were. Yes, that meant they were fighting the fabled Whybarrian navy, but at least they knew who they were fighting.

“Aww, give it a rest, Sergeant Ginger.” The Corporal wasn’t in the mood to show any respect and the platoon broke out in another round of laughter. “You sure you’re on the right vessie, you look an awful lot like a Whybarrian to me.”

Sergeant Ryan stood, strode back to the side door, and swung it open, shedding a pale light into the cart. The Corporal had scars from his previous engagements as well, but his ran across a hardened face. One long line ran from temple to chin, another across his cheek and over to the lower edge of his nose. His olive skin was subdued in the dim, but the pale scars nearly glowed. When he spoke, they twisted like writhing snakes. “We don’t need any moonlight, your pasty skin glows enough.”

“Open your mangled mouth again and I’ll strap you to the front of this ride and let you face the guns there.” It was an idle threat, but the mouthy Corporal needed to be put in line. His chatter wasn’t helping anyone with their nerves, least of all Ryan. Corporal M something-or-other didn’t open his mouth again. Instead, he rose to his feet, the hilt of his sword gleaming as he rested his hand on it.

Ryan leaned forward. He had fought inside one of these cramped carts before; he knew better than to draw his sword. Instead, he reached to his waist and clutched his push pin, a small dagger with only a point. “Sit down or taste steel!” he warned the Corporal.

“Stand Down!” The Lieutenant came barreling down the aisle. “Back to your seat, Sergeant!” Ryan made way for the smaller Miller, and backed to his seat, standing in the dark, watching. Miller stopped less than a foot from the other soldier. “Corporal Summers, outside now!” Ryan had been wrong, the Corporal’s name didn’t start with an M. Summers looked at the Lieutenant for a pause, but the academy had taught Miller how to lead, even if it couldn’t teach him about battle. Summers turned his marked face toward the door and walked out, with Miller close on his heels.

Ryan sat in the dark. He could hear the blood rushing through his ears. He could feel the eyes on him. All his life he’d been hearing that crap, how he didn’t fit in, how he didn’t look like a Hewed Stony, about his hair and his skin. He had killed for his country, nearly died for it, and still, as he prepared to do battle yet again, in the name of Hewed Stone, one of his supposed brothers in arms was spouting off. Worse still, the whole platoon thought it was funny. It was enough to make a person sick. Maybe he didn’t belong.

The Lieutenant walked back in, alone and sat across from Sergeant Ryan “Take it easy Sergeant, save all the mayhem for the enemy.” Ryan huffed, blowing a drop of sweat off his brow.

“Where’s Summers?” He didn’t want to calm down; it would likely be better to ride the wave of hate straight into battle, rather than come down and possibly go into the fight unfocused and cold. He also wanted to know where Summers was, the Corporal posed as big a threat as all of Whybarr, as best as Ryan could tell.

“You don’t have to worry about that coward, I sent him back to his old company.” As he said the words, the engines fired up and the cart trembled as the power percolated up through the scaffold the cart sat on. Miller cleared his throat. “Let’s be ready men. Helmets on, no more nonsense. When we hit their deck we need to come flying out of this box with one thing in mind; beating those Whybarrians! We’re going to crush them like wheat in a stone mill!”

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Sergeant Ryan pulled on the rubber hood, then his helmet. Miller’s theatrics were unnecessary, but it was his first battle, let him savor this moment. The taste of the next might not be so appetizing. Ryan thought back to his first battle, with his father. They had fought side by side many times. Then he remembered the frozen field near Bojuiced, where that had ended. It had been a gun that took his father. A horrible wound, but the old man sat and spoke to him for a minute or two. The elder Ryan had told Alvin something concerning Whybarr that day, something that he couldn’t quite remember. It must have been important; his father had spent his final labored breaths trying to tell something. It had been such a long time ago, and so much had been happening. If he lived to see Cauls, he would have to spend a few days there.

The big battle vessie slowly rolled off to the left, lining up on the other side of the worn and cracked blacktop to await their prey. The Lieutenant softly began to recite the Hewed Stone Creed.

The City of Hewed Stone sat on the edge of the northlands, on the coast of the Quite Sea. The snow had begun to melt, and soon the fields would be alive with farmers, rushing to grow and harvest in the short season that passed for summer in the north. But tonight, the sun had already set, and the world outside showed no life. Inside the city walls, there was a chill in the air, but on Floral Street, the halls of the president’s white house were warm. “Let us get on with this, patriots.” Zane O’Reilly had settled his lanky form into a nice leather chair when President Taylor Mosely began to speak from the far end of a long table. “We’ve waited six long weeks with this army in the field, and I’m anxious to hear what you’ve come to tell.”

Hewed Stone City sat in a giant’s grocery, but unlike Cauls, it had no skylights. A few leaks had grown large enough to let beams of sunlight in on warm sunny days, but all winter and every night, the only light in the whole town shown from the tiny fires of the Hewed Stony people. President Mosely’s meeting room was bright by comparison, with a roaring fire at each end and candle-lit chandeliers lining the ceiling. It was the nicest place Zane had seen in the whole city.

“The Whybarrian fleet is proceeding into our trap, from the north, a pleasant surprise that puts us between the fleet and the capital. We expect to make contact between midnight and dawn.” General Lowe gave the report. He was old, his jowls were hung from his face like banners on a parade float, and the small amount of white hair he still had on his head long ago moved down to his upper lip to see the spectacle. “Once they do, we will make quick work of them. We will have the element of surprise, numerical superiority, and we will deny them their communications. Our tactics and armament surpass theirs as well. Before lunch, we will crush their ‘king’s fleet’ and be headed toward Cauls to hunt down the remainder of their vessies.”

President Mosely stared at his own portrait on the wall, a ghostly visage, pale and wrinkled. His knotted hand stroked the polished oak table as he considered what Lowe said. To Zane, Taylor looked to be nearly as skeptical as Zane. They’d both heard those kinds of brags before. Taylor turned to General Strauss. “How well is our radio jamming system working?”

Strauss was the youngest man in the room and had no signs of developing any awe-inspiring jowls. Zane noticed he did share Lowe’s confidence, however. “Better than expected, we have been able to prevent any Whybarrian communications within five hundred miles of our fleet, and are still able to communicate ourselves.”

“Good,” Taylor said after a pause. He turned his wrinkled face on the table at large. “What intel do we have of the Whybarrian fleet?”

At the far end of the table sat Caleb Fisher, slim with jet-black hair, even at an elevated age. He and Taylor were the only two at the table who weren’t wearing a uniform. “The King’s Fleet is ten strong, plus at least two refuelers. They will likely all come into contact with our fleet. The Queen’s fleet has two battle vessies being overhauled, along with two refuelers. Two vessies have been sent to Rawlledge, though we’re not sure why.” Fisher was a spy, but Zane felt at home around him. “Our assets in Rawlledge are very limited; I’m not able to get any information on where in Rawlledge the two Whybarrian vessies are. I wouldn’t imagine they’ll be of any consequence, though. That leaves at least six at Caul, ready to fight. Incidentally, the rumor is that the king’s brother and sister are onboard a vessie in the King’s Fleet.”

Taylor rubbed his chin. He looked to his left, at the room’s only woman, “Any word from our newfound allies?”

Julia Church was nearly as old as Taylor, but age had been softer on her. “Nothing to speak of. Tome has grumbled that they need help to suppress a potential rebellion. I informed them we would only be available to aid them in the event of significant and real rebellions. Gemesea has done nothing but praised your judgment in entrusting them. I suspect they will all wait to see who has the bigger stick before they grow bold enough to earnestly pick a side.” Zane sat back, enjoying the warmth of the room far more than the conversation. The orange fire reflected off his skin. He’d heard of Tome and Gemesea, but wasn’t quite sure where they were. In fact, he wasn’t certain of where Whybarr was, only that it was warmer than Hewed Stone.

Taylor’s gaze lingered a moment more on Church, processing all that she had said. “Yes, I’m sure we’ll see the facts of the matter then. What about the Llenesee?”

“They are cold, as usual, but would likely come to our cause quite quickly if we take Whybarr. They can barely afford to guard their northern borders as is; they’ll have to align with us if they find we share the old Whybarr border with them.” Church’s smile was cold enough to make Zane want to put another log on the fire.

Taylor looked back down the table, his eyes pausing at each face as they passed, making sure he hadn’t missed anyone. “Does anyone else have some insight into our battle?”

Zane perked up. He leaned forward, slowly raising his thin hand. Taylor stopped him “I haven’t forgotten about you, Captain O’Reilly, I just wanted to make sure we discussed this battle before discussing yours.”

He leaned back in his seat. “At your leisure, Patriot Mosely.” O’Reilly was an immigrant from Anahlesee, and spoke with the accent of his people, a slow drawl with little regard for consonants. “It won’t take much time.”

This intrigued Mosely. “She hasn’t had much to say?” Mosely couldn’t stand to see her in person, but Zane seemed to have a way with her and reported back to the president. Not that he had any choice in it.

“No sir, she’s had a lot to say, but precious little was addressed to me and even less was in English. She appears to be conversing with the Almighty again.” Zane paused, scooted his chair forward, and leaned his elbows on the table. His long smooth face and dark hair stood out against the weathered complexions around the room. They’d given him a white army uniform, but no rank or insignia to go with it. The plain white suit only amplified his own skin tone. “I’m sad to say, she did mention the man that would order your death, again.”

He was not particularly sad. It was an expression. The dungeon Zane worked in was as much a prison for the jailor as it was for the inmates. And he was old enough to remember the war Hewed Stone had waged against Anahlesee. No love was lost between him and Mosely. However, lying about what the oracle said didn’t sit well with Zane, excepting figures of speech.

There had been a lot of good news for Taylor at the meeting. He almost seemed amused. “Did she? What did she say about him?”

“That you’ve sent him into Whybarr, to fight a war that she…might not understand the motivation for.” She understood the motivation and thought it was stupid, but Taylor already knew that and didn’t want to hear it again. “She said he won’t be stopped now, basically that you’ve about gone and done it, so to speak. More or less what you’ve already heard, except the part about him being in Whybarr.” Zane nodded and shrugged all at the same time, with a sort of understanding look, as if it was a common occurrence for a half-crazed witch to predict a person’s death, as if it had happened to him twice already this week. The fact was, it had.

“I see, well keep me informed of any changes in her refrain, Mister O’Reilly.” Taylor took a moment, as if waiting for Zane’s voice to wash away. “As for the rest of you, I want to be notified immediately of any new developments. Now get some rest, this will be your last chance for some time.”

Zane was glad the meeting was over, but sad to walk away from a roaring fire. He made his way down the wide corridor to a small staircase at the back of the building. The president’s staff was kind enough to send a coach for him when he was expected to attend a meeting. However, he was not permitted to enter the building through the front doors. Jailors shouldn’t appear as the president’s guest, that’s what they said. The truth was that Mosely and his staff didn’t want word going around that the president had locked up the oracle, or that he wanted reports concerning what she had to say.

Zane stepped out the back entrance, the brisk air hitting him full in the face. “Lord, but it’s cold tonight, Lee. Why aren’t you waiting in the coach like I said?” The trim, dark-skinned driver sat up in his seat, shivering.

“I was, Zane, then I saw all the high rollers start to leave, figured you would be out shortly, so I climbed on up here.” Lee held the reigns loosely. The two rat team was curled up together, sleeping. Zane climbed up next to him. “You should ride down below, no sense in both of us being in the cold.”

That’s okay Lee, it’s not far enough to get really cold.” Lee and Zane had met after arriving in Hewed Stone, but they were both Anahlesee. They had been boys when the war was lost and Hewed Stone came into their towns. Lee tugged on the reigns until the rats rose and began to pull the wooden cart along.

“Back to Obscurity?” Lee knew the answer, but it was only polite to ask.

“Yes sir, back home to Jils.” The little lanterns on the coach shed only enough light to see the end of the rats’ whiskers, not much else. Zane stared off into the dark, wistfully.

“So, what has she got to say about attacking Whybarr?” Zane shot a sideways glance at Lee, then relaxed again. Sometimes he forgot that all Lee did, every day, was cart around important people. It wasn’t too surprising he knew of Taylor Mosely’s latest war.

“I’ve been trying to puzzle that out for two months now. One minute, she is as clear as can be, the next, I’ve got no clue what she’s talking about.” He sighed. “But best as I can tell, Bojuiced will look like a dance party compared to this fight. She’s talking about all the folks that are going to die like she knows them. As best as I can tell, she’s saying that there will be Whybarrian marines running up and down the aisles before winter comes.”

Lee shivered next to him. “Comes? When did it leave?” That prompted a laugh that echoed along the streets. Here and there, people still had lights burning in their rooms, and a few even had their yard lights on. The flickering flames and the laughter made for a macabre feeling. “Tell me something, Zane, if you don’t mind. How often is this Oracle of yours wrong?”

Zane chuckled at that, not the happy laugh from a moment ago, but the laugh that hides fear. “Never Lee, She is never wrong. You just have to listen to what she’s saying; you’ll know what’s coming. And war is coming here.”