《The Amtrak Wars I : Cloud_Warrior》09

The Bears will have to raid other settlements.  There will be blood on
the meat.  Our soul-brothers will not let us take the food from their
mouths without killing."

This time, it was Hawk-Wind who leapt to his feet.  'We are not afraid
to die,' he cried.  'But if we are to kiss sharp iron, we should do it
over the bodies of sand-burrowers!"  'Hey-YAH!"  roared the warriors.

Cadillac rose.  'My brother Bear speaks with the wisdom of a great
warrior.  We must defend our turf against those who have not laid the
hand of friendship upon us but if we cut down those we have made our
soul-brothers, we are no better than the flesh worms that devour the
dead.  The Plainfolk will become as dust, scattered by the four winds
across the empty land."

Mr Snow nodded approvingly as Cadillac sat down again.

'Well said.  If this should happen, not even the power of Talisman
could bring us together again.  Our turf is sacred but we must always
remember that the Plainfolk are brothers under the sky.  Even those who
are dirt in our mouths will one day stand at our side against the
sand-burrowers."

'Those are good words,' said Rolling-Stone, the chief elder.  'Let us
hope that day may come."

'But not before we have filled our head-poles?  cried Convoy from the
rear of the massed warriors.

'Hey-yah!"  replied the warriors, amid peals of laughter.

'You will all chew bone before the moon turns its face away,' said Mr
Snow.  'And if Mo-Town our mother does not drink from your
life-streams, your poles will be heavy with the heads of
sand-burrowers."

'Hey-YAH!"  chorussed the Bears.

Rolling-Stone exchanged a worried glance with the other clan-elders.

'Is this the counsel of the Sky Voices?"

'The Sky Voices advise caution,' replied Mr Snow.  'It will take more
than the hot-blooded strength of our Bears to stop the iron snake.

Cunning and magic are the weapons we must use."

'But can you still summon the earth-magic?"  asked Long-Tooth.

'If Talisman wills it,' said Mr Snow.  'But even if he strengthens my
hand, many who now sit before us will not hear their fire songs.  This
is the year that Mo-Town sits in the Black Tower of Tamla.  Her heart
is filled with love for the She-Kargo but her throat is dry.  She
thirsts - and when she drinks, many streams will run dry."

'She will also have blood to drink from the necks of sand-burrowers,'
growled Motor-Head.

'Hey-yah,' murmurmed the warriors, with the same low, throaty growl.

Rolling-Stone held up both hands for silence.  'Enough talk.  Let those
who would head for the hills stand up and be counted!'

Nobody moved.

'The M'Calls have spoken,' said Rolling-Stone.  'We hold fast to our
ground and fight the iron snake!"  Everyone, from the youngest child in
Mr Snow's story circle to the grey-haired elders leapt to their feet
joyously, arms raised, beating the air with their fists.  The forest
around them seemed to shake with their thunderous roar of assent.

'Hey-YAH!  Hey-YAH!  Hey-YAH!!"  In the evening of the same day,
Cadillac knelt at the door of Mr Snow's hut and asked permission to
enter.  Mr Snow told him to come on in.  They sat cross-legged, facing
each other, on the mat of buffalo-skin.  Mr Snow filled his pipe with
rainbow grass, lit it from his flame-pot, puffed contentedly then
passed it to Cadillac.  They had shared his pipe for a year now.  The
rainbow grass gave the things of the world colours that Cadillac had
not seen before.  Sometimes he saw pictures of a world that was not of
the Plainfolk.

Perhaps it was the sunset islands; perhaps another world beyond the
roof of the sky - like the dream world he entered when his body
slept.

Often, when he drew the smoke from the rainbow grass into his body, his
mind seemed to burst out of his head and float among the stars.  When
that happened, there was a timeless moment of great joy when he seemed
to understand all things.

'Speak."  Mr Snow's voice came from a long way away.

Like a call from a clan-brother floating on the air from the other side
of a valley.

'I would run with the Bears in the battle with the iron snake,' said
Cadillac.

'Are you out of your mind?"  said Mr Snow.

Cadillac giggled at the question.  'The grass gives my head wings but I
speak from the heart.  I would fight at the side of my
clan-brothers."

Mr Snow waved the smoke away from his face and shook his head
vigorously.  'No way, my son.  The Sky Voices forbid it."

'But I have chewed bone,' cried Cadillac.  'My brothers have accepted
me as a warrior.  I have a pole with two heads outside my pad ' '- and
Motor-Head has let you wear his hat,' concluded Mr Snow.  'Why do you
waste breath telling me things that even the hills know.  Was your fire
song not sung loudly enough?"

'I was not boasting, Wise One.  By talking of these things I hoped to
persuade you to -' 'o to ignore the Sky Voices?"  interjected Mr
Snow.

He took the offered pipe and drew smoke into his chest.  'Not content
with breaking your oath, you seek my help to break it a second time!

Did not Clearwater remind you?  Why do you now make me waste my breath
- forcing me to speak to you as if you were like the others with
nothing between their ears?  Their heads have no pockets to hold the
past.  Words trickle through the holes in their minds like water
through their fingers.  But you -' He stabbed the bowl of the pipe
towards Cadillac's heart, '- you are a wordsmith!  Your brain is not a
lump of buffalo cheese to be spooned out of your skull before it is
stuck on the pole of some roving bonehead!  It is a jewel - to be
treasured, to be guarded night and day!"  'You use strange words,' said
Cadillac.  'Jewel, treasured o what do these things mean?"

'They are words from the Old Time,' replied Mr Snow.

'Jewels were stones dug from the earth and fashioned by those with the
High Craft.  They were small, like eyes, and glittered as if filled
with the light of stars.  Others were filled with red, green and blue
fire.  Men and women of the Old Time loved them greatly and longed to
possess them for they were things of great beauty.  They carried them
tied round their necks and round their fingers.  It was a sign of great
standing."

Cadillac gave a perplexed frown.  'They had standing because they
carried stones?"

Mr Snow shrugged.  'They had many strange customs then."  He paused and
stared reflectively at the firelight flickering in the hollowed
stone.

'Clearwater is a jewel that you must treasure."

Cadillac considered this, then nodded slowly.  'I think I get the
picture.  Will you tell me more words from the Old Time?"

'Some other day,' said Mr Snow.  'First you must show greater regard
for the needs of the clan and less to your own."

'Your words bring me down,' said Cadillac.

Mr Snow smiled.  'There is a saying that comes from the Old Time - "It
is hard to fly with eagles when you work with turkeys"."  He drew on
the pipe, closing his eyes as he swallowed the smoke.  When he opened
them, he saw the uncomprehending look on Cadillac's face.  'Forget it,'
he said, offering the pipe to Cadillac.  'Let's hit the sky."

.The next day, Mr Snow and Cadillac went back to the

plateau and sat amongst the rocks overlooking the plain while a group
of clan-women tended the strips where the bread stalks and the
earth-food had been sown.  Small mixed posses of Bears and She-Wolves
watched the sky for arrowheads while pupil and teacher continued the
conversation they had begun the night before.

'The M'Calls are a clan that have been favoured by the Sky Voices,'
said Mr Snow.  'Consider this.  The D'Vine have no wordsmiths yet we
have two!  But my stream will soon run dry.  That is why you must never
join battle with the sand-burrowers, or challenge the warriors of other
clans, why you must never, ever, put the gift of words at risk.  You
are the guardian of the clan's past and the light of its future.  Your
brain must serve those who have nothing between the ears.  When
Buffalo-Head forgets what the seeds of bread-stalks look like and when
they should be planted, it is you who must remind her.  With the help
of the Sky Voices, you are their guiding spirit.  Since Black-Wing
brought you to the door of my hut, I have poured my mind into yours."

He tapped Cadillac's forehead.  'Nine hundred years of Plainfolk
history is stored in that little bone box.

You know all that I know ' 'Not everything,' said Cadillac quickly.

Mr Snow waved his hand airily.  'What I have not told you, the Sky
Voices will.  The great secrets of the earth cannot rest in the hot,
bubbling brains of young men.  They will only enter when the passing
years have brought a calmness to your thoughts.  When the mind lies
open to the sky like the darkly mirrored surface of a deep mountain
lake, still and unruffled by the winds of desire.  Only then will the
great secrets enter, alighting like white waterbirds in the cool of the
evening."

His eyes fixed on Cadillac with a sudden intensity.  'These are the
birds of wisdom.  Their wings have the power to move heaven and
earth.

Be ready to receive them when they come."

'I will be."

'And be patient also,' said Mr Snow.  'These things are not given to
all men -even those with such gifts as yours."

'What of Clearwater?"

'Ahh, yes ..."  murmured Mr Snow.  'She, too, has a precious gift that
Mo-Town, the great mother of the Plainfolk, has given into the hands of
the M'Calls.  As you can never be a true Bear, she can never be a true
She-Wolf."

Cadillac frowned.  'But she has great power.  Is it not the task of a
summoner to aid the clan in battle?"

'Yes,' said Mr Snow.  'But like you she was born in the shadow of
Talisman.  The Sky Voices that spoke at her birth told me that she was
linked to the Thrice-Gifted One.  Just as your life-stream runs
alongside hers, both merge with the great river from which Talisman
draws his strength.  The elders, your clan-brothers and sisters know
this.  Know that you.  are among the Chosen Ones.  That is why you have
no need of standing.  Even though Motor-Head may mock your manhood, he
and the other warriors are ready to lay down their lives for you.

Every man, woman and child in this clan is prepared to die to protect
you."

Cadillac sat back on his haunches, stunned by this revelation.  'I did
not know this.  Talisman!  Is that the truth?"

'I never speak anything else,' said Mr Snow.

'These words are heavy,' muttered Cadillac.

Mr Snow smiled.  'You have strong shoulders.  You will learn to bear
them."

'But -' Cadillac wrestled with this new burden.  'What must I do?"

Mr Snow held up his left hand and counted off his fingers.  'Listen to
the sky.  Seek wisdom, not glory.  Act prudently.  Love your
brothers.

Be worthy of their sacrifice."

They gazed silently at each other for a moment then Cadillac nodded
towards Mr Snow's raised little finger.

'And the sixth thing?"

'Go easy on the grass,' said Mr Snow.

When night fell, the moon glow did not reach the forest floor, and few
stars could be seen through the tree tops.  This enveloping,
suffocating darkness was something that the Mutes feared.  Perhaps it
was a race memory of a distant time when many of their ancestors had
been entombed after the War of a Thousand Suns.  Whatever the cause,
most of the Mutes abandoned the huts they had set up amongst the huge
trees and crept to the edge of the forest where they could look up and
see the sky.  There they slept, wrapped in their fur skins, the
children snuggled against their blood-mothers, all of them secure in
the knowledge that Mo-Town the Sky-Mother of the She-Kargo, watched
over them shielding them from danger with her star-studded cloak.

Cadillac was one of the few who, like Mr Snow, did not go to the edge
of the forest.  He did not fear the whispering, rustling language of
the trees, or the sudden shrill cries of the night birds.  He lay under
his skins and watched the wavering patterns of light and dark thrown on
the roof of the hut by his flame-pot.  Mr Snow had told him that in the
Old Time, people used to sit in huts made of stone that were too heavy
to move and had no doors.  They sat in these houses day and night and
watched pictures of the world outside that they kept in a box.  A magic
box made of frozen water, that glowed with colours and was filled with
the sound of music.

Cadillac's thoughts turned to his duel with Shakatak and his renewed
promise to Mr Snow to avoid risking his life in the coming battle with
the iron snake.  He had shown he possessed courage that had not failed
him even at the point of death but he could not avoid the knowledge
that it was the power summoned by Clearwater that had killed the two
D'Vine warriors whose pierced heads now sat on the pole by the door to
his hut.  Despite everything that Mr Snow and Clearwater had said, he
felt that his manhood was diminished by his enforced non-combatant
status.  Fate might have set aside a place for him in Plainfolk history
but what Cadillac wanted more than anything was to prove himself a
hero.

Not at some indefinite time in the future, but right now.

NINE

Two hundred and fifty miles to the south of the forest in which the
M'Calls now lay hidden, The Lady from Louisiana neared the
pre-Holocaust state line between Colorado and Wyoming.  Catapulted from
the wagon train, Steve Brickman soared up into the late afternoon sky
followed by Gus White and their section leader, Jodi Kazan.  Their task
was to scout ahead of The Lady, searching the ground for hostiles
before 'circling' the wagons for the night.  Steve and Gus had flown
regular patrols during the two re-supply runs but from here on in they
could not afford to make a mistake.  The Lady was about to enter
Plainfolk territory to begin the eagerly-awaited second phase of her
mission: hunting Mute.

During their patrol, the three wingmen roved independently in wide
sweeps on either side of their allotted course, keeping in contact with
each other by radio.  Apart from scattered herds of buffalo, deer and
antelope, they saw no movement across the overground.  Square mile
after square mile of the vast plains that they had half-expected to be
dotted with fearsome groups of Mutes massing to repel The Lady
contained nothing more hostile than bright red buffalo grass.  Even so,
Steve's sixth sense told him that the seemingly-innocent emptiness
below was unnatural.  He had the distinct impression that the
overground - and its denizens - lay crouched like a stalking beast;
lying in wait for them.

As they approached the pre-holocaust site that had borne the name of
Cheyenne, the three Skyhawks converged to fly in loose arrowhead
formation with Kazan in the lead.  She called up The Lady to get a
check on its latest position.

The wagon train had been trying to follow the route of the old
Interstate 25 highway running from Denver up through Fort Collins in
Colorado to Cheyenne and Caspar in Wyoming.  On the Navigation
Officer's maps, these names were printed in capital letters, but the
ground sites were nothing more than uneven hummocks of earth which the
prairie grass, scrub and trees had reclaimed and held for nearly a
thousand years.  Interstate 25 had long since crumbled into dust, and
the wagon train's progress has been slowed considerably by the
unchecked eastwards expansion of what had once been known as the
Roosevelt National Forest.

Steve was constantly amazed by the number of population centres marked
on the pre-Holocaust maps they now had access to.  If they had all been
as densely packed as a Tracker base, or one of the larger way-stations,
there must at one time - have been tens, perhaps hundreds of millions
of people living in America.  Looking down at the emptiness below the
Skyhawk's wheels, Steve found it difficult to imagine it crammed with
people; teeming with life.  The history videos called it the greatest
country in the world.

The only country in the world.

Since joining the wagon train, he had learned that America lay
surrounded by sea on a spinning globe that sailed through space,
circling the sun once a year.  To someone like Steve, whose horizons up
to his overground solo had been limited by the dimensions of a world
carved from what was known as the earth-shield, the idea that behind
the sky there was even more space that went on for ever was absolutely
mind-blowing.  Even though he had now been flying the overground for
three months, his mind and body still welcomed each sortie with the
same secret, guilty pleasure.  He resented the hours he was forced to
spend in the confines of the wagon train but he could not, dare not,
share this feeling with his crew-mates.  They regarded it as a safe
haven.  A home from home to which they returned with relief from the
awesome vastness that stretched away on all sides.

Jodi Kazan circled overhead while Gus and then Steve lined up on the
wagon train and lowered their arrester hooks.  Throttling back to
twenty miles an hour for the final approach, Gus skimmed along the rear
section of the train, engaged the arrester wire and touched down on the
roof decking of the flight-car.  The plump rear tyres flattened under
the impact, then the nose-wheel hit with its usual jarring thud as the
aircraft rolled forward nose down under the braking action of the
arrester wire.  As Gus cut the motor, five ground crew-men scrambled up
from the side-platforms, unlocked and folded the wings of the Skyhawk
and went down with it as the front lift-section of the flight-deck
retracted into the car beneath.  The Skyhawk was rolled clear and
stowed; the lift came up smoothly on cantilevered rams and locked into
the deck; the second .group of ground-crewmen crouched on the side
platforms on what was known as 'the duck-holes' - ready to receive
Steve.  He skimmed along the tail of the wagon train, 'landing on' just
ninety seconds after Gus's arrester hook had engaged the wire.  Behind
him, Jodi Kazan's Skyhawk angled in on the final approach.

The three wingmen went forward to the lead command car for the usual
debriefing session with the Flight Operations Officer - a dry-mannered,
stubby guy called Baxter.  Steve told him he had seen what looked like
crop patterns about fifty miles to the north-west of the wagon train's
present position.  The three of them checked their own maps against the
bigger one on the plotting table in the ops room.  Gus's general line
of flight had been too far to the east, but Jodi confirmed Steve's
report.

The F.O.O. marked the agreed location on The Lady's battle map and
reported the find to Commander Hartmann.

The wagon master came down to the ops room with his Navigation Officer,
Senior Field Commander, and Trail-Boss Buck McDonnell.  Hartmann and
the two execs took a quick look at the map, noting the contours of the
terrain around the position marked by the F.O.O. on the southwestern
flank of the Laramie Mountains.

'Did you see any settlements?"  asked Hartmann.

'No, sir,' said Steve.

Gus shook his head too.  'It's hard to spot anything from fifteen
hundred feet.  If we'd been allowed to go lower ' Both wingmen had
taken care to stay above the minimum altitude Kazan had given them
before beginning the patrol.

Hartmann nodded understandingly.  'You'll get your chance to cut
grass."

'It can't come soon enough for me, sir,' said Gus.

'They're down there,' said Kazan.  'When Brickman called me up to
report those cultivated strips, I went on over and took a closer
look."

Steve groaned.  'Are you going to tell me that there were huts as
well?"

'No, but there had been,' said Kazan.  She favoured him with a
tight-lipped smile.  'You can see a lot more when you're six feet off
the ground."  She turned to Hartmann and the execs.  'Whoever was there
moved out in a hurry.  An attempt was made to clear the campsite but it
wasn't good enough.  There were dozens of post holes that hadn't been
filled in and there was quite a lot of ash and charred firewood
scattered around.  When Southern Mutes move camp they usually bury all
that along with the camp refuse.

There were also several long-handled wooden tools lying by the side of
the crop fields.  In my experience Mutes don't throw tools away.

They're too valuable.  I think someone failed to cover them up
properly."  She paused, then said, 'Those crops are still being
worked."

'So they're still around,' said Moore, the Senior Field Commander.

Buck McDonnell leaned forward.  'Any idea of numbers?"

'Hard to say, sir,' said Kazan.  'A few hundred, certainly.

It was a big settlement.  The cropfields are quite extensive."

'Which is an indication that the clan is a strong one,' said
Hartmann.

Kazan nodded.  'Yes, sir.  Those recent intelligence reports indicated
we could run into clans able to field a thousand warriors."

Gus White nudged Steve.  'More than enough to give everybody a piece of
the action."

Kazan tapped the map with her finger.  'I have a hunch they could be
holed up in these woods."  She checked off the distance with the
plotting ruler.  'Two miles ..."

'Close enough for them to run for cover when they see us coming,' said
the F.O.O. He saw Steve's frown.  'Mutes have terrific eyesight,' he
explained.  'They can pick up a Skyhawk at over five miles."

'Which means,' said Kazan, 'that they're off and running before you get
anywhere near them."

'So how do we catch 'em?"  asked Gus.

'With great difficulty,' said the F.O.O.

'You've got to draw them out,' growled Buck McDonnell.

'You've got to lay ground bait.  A downed Skyhawk.  A patrol that looks
like it's lost its way.  You sucker them out into the open, get round
the back of 'em so they can't run, then you hit 'em hard."

'We may be in luck with this batch,' said Kazan.  'It's too late in the
year to start in with new planting.  A few firebombs should bring 'em
out into the open."

The F.O.O. nodded in agreement.  'Right."  He turned expectantly to
Hartmann.

The wagon master looked carefully at the map and weighed up the options
open to him.  He didn't take long to reach a decision.  'We'll begin a
search and destroy operation in the area of Rock River tomorrow morning
- starting with a napalm strike on those cropfields and the forest."

He turned to Baxter, the Flight Operations Officer.  'The attack on
both targets will be made simultaneously using all nine aircraft."

Baxter stiffened to attention.  'With your permission, sir ' 'Yes?"

said Hartmann.

'I'd like to fiy one of the reserve aircraft and take part in the
attack."

Hartmann eyed Jodi Kazan and saw there was no conflict.

'Very well.  Five aircraft under Section Leader Kazan will make the
attack on the cropfields.  You will lead the others against the
forest."

Baxter, the F.O.O saluted.  'Thank you, sir."