ch 2 | Leda

Daylight and the smell of jasmine diffused through the gauze summer windows of the log house. Sacks of dried fruit and sausages hung from the rafters. An ancient set of Encyclopedia Americana, its blue binding stained almost black by the years , dominated shelves filled by salvaged bits of other books and by Nicolai Istoria's transcriptions. Present projects lay over most of the dining table, crumbling, once-soaked books peeled meticulously apart, sheets of handmade paper covered with his tiny, neat script, almost hiding a battered Hewlett-Packard laptop, its tender batteries kept charged by a hand-cranked generator.

Grandfather Istoria had come to call. Leda was tending a pot of three-day stew on the ashlar hearth when the argument resumed. It was an old, old argument, but it had taken on new urgency since Young Nick had taken sick. Granddad was kneeling with his arms outthrust against the sides of the use-polished kitchen chair, knuckles white as they gripped, muscular forearms rippling. A vein stood out on Granddad's temple, beneath the shock of thick black hair. Leda kept the old steel spoon from scraping the side of the kettle and tried to look smaller than her twelve years growth would allow.

"You stubborn little idiot, Nicolai," Granddad was Second Generation. Born after the Rescue, he had passed his hundred and twentieth year and looked perhaps twentyfive. "You must take what the Nobles offer. They will be through here in a matter of months, then we probably won't see them for another year- unless we call for a Mercy flight. I don't know that you'll last through the winter!"

The individual pinned between the arms of kitchen chair and man had grey hair, what there was of it. The joints in his hands were knobby, the skin on their backs starting to go slack. Young Nick was Granddad's youngest son, and Leda's father. He was sixty three, and looked every year of it. He brought one misshapen fist to his mouth and coughed hackingly as he started to respond.

"You're overreacting. It's just a touch of flu."

"The flu used to kill people. Everything used to kill people! It doesn't have to anymore. I don't know what's gotten into you." Granddad shook his head.

"You could go out in the forest tomorrow, your horse could throw you. Break your prime-o-life neck, you'd be just as dead."

"Only if I was too proud to Call."

"Oh! The Continental's precious Sparrow network! Don't you see we're giving up our freedom- our humanity? The Villages have always been independent, and now we're being seduced by security." He coughed again.

"The Villages wouldn't be here if it wasn't for the Rescue."

"So say the Nobles."

"So says Grandsire! Your Grandpa. His being here is a miracle- ask him!"

"He'll be moving to Jerusalem next." The wrinkled mouth turned down in disdain. "We don't know that some of us wouldn't have made it on our own. Then our souls wouldn't be sold to the City!"

Reflexively, Granddad's hand lashed out. Caught by the open-handed blow, Nick's head rocked back against the chair. A shocked silence stretched painfully long. Granddad stared at his hand. Leda stared at its print reddening on the side of her father's face. Nick stared straight at Granddad.

"Oh, don't worry, I know how close to heresy I'm talking. I won't put the village in danger. We'll continue to bow the knee to the City. But I won't come to the Fair of the Tree this September, you can count on that."

Granddad climbed to his feet, his expression distant.

"My son, I'm sorry I struck you. Will you not take the gift of the Tree for your daughter's sake? Will you condemn her to find you cold and stiff one morning? Can she repair a vessel bursting in your brain?"

"Young Nick rose with his father, though more slowly."The answer remains no. Leda and I shall do fine." He remained standing while his father left the house. A bar of yellow sunlight crossed and recrossed his face as the rough hewn door opened and closed on its handmade hinges. The light shone over wrinkles and lines in his face as it did over the erosion gullies in the front yard.

Leda left the hearth and came up behind her father, clasping her slim arms over his chest. She resembled her mother, who had died when Leda was barely walking. Her hair was a deep brown, as were her eyes, contrasting with a complexion of pale ivory. In times past, she would have been called small for her age, but now, few reached their full adult height before the age of twenty. Leda had grown up as Young Nick had grown old, and saw love in a face that others feared; some of the other children shied away when he came to market.

Nick turned to his daughter, cradling her face in his hands.

"My little swan. I didn't intend that you should hear all that."

Her cheeks and nose were lightly dusted with freckles, her hair a dark tangle. Nick often grew too engrossed in his research to remember the finer points of grooming, and to remind her that since the ozone layer was still not all it was supposed to be that she should wear her hat more often.

"Daddy, is it so awful to live forever?"

"I'm thankful they don't give the Tree to children. You won't have to decide for years. Leda, if I took one of the little leaves that the Nobles bring to the summer Fair, I might not be myself ever again."

"Granddad seems like himself."

"You're too young to understand, daughter. This world was becoming something wonderful before the City came. We had electricity, swift travel, computers, space flight. We were unlocking the secrets of our bodies- people could be put into suspended animation- we were about to send mankind to the stars! Now we're little better than savages!" Nick's breath came faster, and a flush darkened his seamed cheeks."

"Granddad says we were fighting a big war, and the Nobles stopped it,and that's why we're living in log houses like the American pioneers. Anyway, don't the Continentals fly? I wish I could fly someday." Her face was wistful, looking out the windows towards the sky. She didn't see how Nick's eyes narrowed. He thrust angrily away from her, triggering a spasm of coughing.

"We're living in dignity, the way our ancestors did! Not cozying up to the City like dogs living on scraps. We'll get back to the sky on our own!" his voice cracked as he shouted. "I don't want you going near one of those- those Continentals again! You hear me girl?" Face red, he banged his fist on the corner of the table. Leda said nothing, urging her father back into his seat by the fire and pushing a cup of water into his hands.

Nick calmed a little. He patted her hand. "You are a good girl, Leda. You've read the histories, the Americana. The facts are there for humans to see. We must be men again- we must." He subsided, and sat, his head slowly drooping. Leda busied herself with kitchen work for the noon meal. She set out her father's hand thrown stoneware plates, and tableware- real heirlooms, some Oneida stainless from Before. In the afternoon, Leda was expected to go tend the stock, check the small garden, and generally stay out of the way of Nick's visitors. Regarded by many in the village as a troublemaker and an eccentric, he was valued for his work in keeping the village records and accounts. He was looked on by another contingent as a leader and martyr-in-progress. These were generally young men with serious expressions who tended to ignore Leda completely. This tended to annoy Leda: she stayed away as much as she could when her father's companions came to call.

Leda spooned some stew onto her father's plate, and fixed herself a sandwich which she wrapped in a clean cloth and slipped into a napsack, along with some dried fruit. Bringing the meal to the table, Leda kissed her father on his forehead.

"Time to eat, Daddy. I suppose that Chicago and the others are coming over tonight?" Chicago O'Hara was the son of the mayor. The O'Haras traced their ancestry back to the old Midwest, and were great collectors of Old US relics. They sponsored many trading expeditions out west, hoping to get information about their origins. Chicago had just returned from the last one. The Market was bubbling like Leda's stewpot about its results.

"Hm? Oh, yes, daughter." Nick seemed to return from wherever he had drifted. "Chicago says that he even found an old library, and has some interesting documents for me to look at."

"Well, don't wait up for me. After the chores, I'll go see who I run into at the Market. Maybe I'll stay with Wendy Jeffson, or the twins.

"Whatever,"said Nick through a mouthful of stew. "Just remember what I said about the Settlers. They're nothing but trouble."

Leda paused at the door to slip into her boots, and escaped to the yard. The goats and chickens took just a few minutes to feed and water. With the thunderstorms they had been having for the last few days, the garden was looking healthily green. Granddad had helped Nick raise the cabin, deeding the land to him out of his claim. It was especially desirable because of the cold spring that bubbled out of the rocks a stone's throw from the Chak River. Nick had built a springhouse and a seperate catchbasin that was sheltered by a gazebo just off Village Road. The road was really more of a wide dirt trail that ran along the river in between the water and the loose string of houses, shops and barns that composed Chak Village. Leda filled her waterbottle from the catchbasin, replaced the stopper and settled the earthenware jug in its net sling with the glazed portion at the small of her back. The water seeping from the unglazed side would evaporate and keep the contents cool. Her plans for the afternoon were no more than a vague muddle of discontent in the back of her mind. But she might go for a long walk to help her think through father and granddad's argument. Anyway, she told herself, they did have the best water in town.

She strolled downroad, toward the Market at the center of the village. Folk gathered there on the broad lawn that encircled the hilton. John Howard, (a family name) ran the combination inn and stables, and took supplies in trade from the various farmers and craftspeople who brought their wares to the semi-permanent fair. Trade was an easygoing mix of barter and written and unwritten IOUs. Leda had begun to see the round, buttery coins of pure Accord gold stamped with the cube of the City, as well. Settlers came more and more as their numbers increased, though they stayed to their side of the Preserve as far as socializing went.

She passed Granddad's spread, which extended back into the hills above the river. Some of Granddad's children had built houses on their portion of his claim, others had spread further back into the preserve to start communities of their own. There weren't that many young children around, though. Her father said that since the Bad Years, most folk didn't start having kids until they were almost thirty, and didn't have many after that. That was another source of friction between him and Granddad. He claimed the change was caused by the City and used words like slow genocide; Granddad just pointed out that there weren't any unwanted children anymore.

Leda wasn't so sure about that. She believed her father loved her, but it seemed that he spent more and more time with men like Chicago. She passed the Librarian's house, and thought about going in there. Ruby and her husband Richard had a fascinating place, snugly chinked and glassed against moisture. It had been one of the largest structures in Chak village, built with a great deal of community help; the village's children came to them for the book learning their parents thought neccessary. Their walls were lined with shelf after shelf of old boks, and they even had an alchohol-powered generator for a real VCR, a CD and cassette player, even a phonograph that had been an antique Before. But now that she was outdoors, Leda decided that going back inside didn't hold much appeal.

She continued toward Market, tossing the odd rock into the river. Traffic on the road was sparse except on holidays, when the whole population of the area would converge on the hilton's lawn for a common feast or games. The road followed a sweeping inward curve in the river; she was able to look across the water and see the docks. The hilton was built on a low boss of meadow that the river bent around. The change in direction provided a landing for river craft, and the town had built the docks for the larger cargo ships that came occasionaly down from the interior. The village was the last stop before the actual coast. Rarely did anyone go further; the coast was largely composed of the drowned ruins of old cities. Even after hundreds of years, toxics still floated up from the depths, rainbow-filming the waters. Only deep-sea fish were considered safe.

Amid the bulkier short-range craft from the Newly Lake villages, she could see some canoes and cataroos, double hulled craft with a wide platform for cargo, tied up at the docks: Chicago's expedition. They slid out of sight as she rounded the curve and saw someone pushing a cart up ahead. Recognising the red hair peeking out from under the floppy hat, Leda quickened her pace and caught up with the woodcarver's son. She tapped him on his left shoulder, and darted quickly right, but he refused to be tricked. Pretending to ignore her, he continued to push the barrow, which looked like a cabinet mounted on clever spiral spoked wheels. He was several years older than Leda, perhaps ten centemeters taller, but had yet to start the first sign of a beard. His cheeks sported three times the freckles that Leda's did despite the wide brimmed hat that seemed permanently attached to his head.

"Hi Blade, can I help you push?" Leda bumped him offstride with a hip and took up one of the handles. The cart, though heavily loaded with his father's wares, rolled easily along the bumpy road.

"What are you bringing to the market today?" she asked.

"Got some more bowls, carved spoons, some pull toys- animals with moveable heads. Dad says the settlers cleaned him out of those last week. Got a whole string of them that hook together this time. Paint's hardly dry."

"Do you think we'll see any today?"

"What- animals? Sure- horses, goats- ow!" Blade surrendered the other handle to rub a sore arm where Leda had punched him.

"Settlers. Continentals, you bag of sawdust." Leda started trotting between the shafts, causing the spokes to flex alarmingly.

"Hey, slow down, touchy Duckling," Blade protested. "Probably- hey, if you promise not to bust out my dad's wheels, I'll tell you what I heard in the hilton about the Settlers."

Leda slowed to a fast walk. "Okay, what did you hear?"

"Well, I was in the kitchen delivering that new serving tray Dad finished last week, you know, the one out of oak, with the scrollwork around the edges? Dad took a whole week of evenings on it. I should know, I have to sharpen his chisels, and-"

"Blade Carverson, so help me, if you don't tell me I'll push this into the river!"

"Go ahead, it'll float. Well, I saw a Settler with John Howard and I think they were talking about setting up a booth!"

"What do you think the Mayor will say?" Leda's eyes were wide.

"What can he say? It's John Howard's market. You know how those people farm- we may get some decent bread around here."

"But what if they bring in high tech in?"

"A-gravs? Who could afford one? Sure, people like your father don't want City goods here, but do you think that everyone in Chak village goes strictly by the Fox Fire Books? Look, can you keep a secret?"

Leda gave him a look. "Nobody knows who drilled the hole in the wall of the hilton's showers- yet."

Blade's face turned a deeper shade of pink. "What hole? Okay. Last summer's Fair there was a bunch of Nobles come through. They were looking at Dad's stuff, and admiring his work, so Dad gave them a bowl with some of his scrollwork on the outside. One of them hands Dad this little silver tube. A blade slides up out of it, the size of a blade of grass. 'A gift, of grace, for a gracious gift,' one of them says. You know how their voices sound, like bells. You can't forget anything a voice like that says. 'Take care, it is as sharp as the Word of God,' Dad won't let me touch it. I've seen him split a red oak plank like a loaf of bread. He does some of his fine detail work with it. Says something about a molecular edge. I'll bet that other people around town have got other stuff, but won't admit it."

Leda frowned. "Blade, are you going to take the Tree?" Their pace slowed as they approached the edge of Market. Houses were clustered more thickly and shouldered the trees aside. The high sun shone warmly on their faces.

"Not for a few more years, Duckling. I want to at least grow a beard. You know the stuff freezes your age for at least five years. But yeah, I probably will." Blade was silent for a moment.

"You know, Leda, everyone is worried about your Dad. Lots of people hold out for a while, but who really wants to die? Oops, that was- hey, I'm sorry, duckling."

Leda had started to sniffle, and she wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her overshirt. "'S okay. It's just that Daddy and Granddad were at it again this afternoon. I don't know what to do."

"Nothing you can do; it's his decision. Look, we're at Market. Give me the cart back before someone sees you doing my job. Grandma's running our booth; I just have to deliver the stuff. Let's see if we can find the twins and go swimming in Loud creek."

Leda smiled bravely. "Sounds like fun. Okay, let's do it."

Leda followed Blade through the market, using the cart to nudge their way through the thicket of legs and elbows, the latter usually festooned with bag or basket. The market was hitting its noonday stride. This was Marketday, first business day of the new week, and every aunt and cousin was out seeing what was fresh on the stands. Feet had beaten down the meadow grass in a more or less random pattern among the booths that had been cemented into tradition with loads of river gravel, brought in over the years to fill the latest mudhole. The rough spiral of paths made a surprisingly pleasant walk around the hilton. The older, established concerns had the choicest spots closest to the center, or under the random shade tree. Newcomers, or more odiferous businesses were expected to keep to the Outer Row. Folk like Mackey the Goatman shared fencing with John Howard's stables under the eaves of the forest.

The Carver's stand was somewhere in between. Like many, the booth was sheltered from sun and rain by a brightly dyed canvas. Blade's father had spent time and effort on the folding shelving and racks that held his work. Thet were as much admired as the items they displayed.

"Hi, Grandma! I've got the new toys," Blade said, slipping the barrow between an arangement of carved spoons and a stack of three legged stools. A tall woman, with thick blonde braids brushing her hips, rose from a leather sling chair behind an inlaid portable desk, where she had been keeping accounts.

"Hullo, Blade, Leda: how's your father?" Janice Carver was a contemporary of Nick, but looked half his age.

Leda busied herself with helping Blade set out the string of animals on an upper shelf. "He's feeling better, thanks. How's business?"

Janice wiped the new spoons with an oiled cloth, hung them on vacant pegs in the display. "Not bad. the young Andersen boy came by with his intended, wants Joshua to make the cabinets for his new house. And you may as well not spend so much time arranging those toys; the settler's already been by asking about them."

Leda's head came up. "Settlers in the market? Where?"

Janice smiled. "Here and there. They've got a booth near the Music Tree."

"Told you!" crowed Blade. "Let's go see, Leda."

"Take care, kids," called Janice, to their retreating backs. She smiled, shook her head and began finding a place for the new bowls.

The music tree was on the opposite side of the meadow. An ancient deodar spread its spidery needles over a low round stage that encircled the trunk like an overgrown wooden bagel. Most nights it carried an appetizing topping of minstrels and bands for the pleasure of whoever wandered by. The double doors to the great room of the hilton faced the tree, and beyond it the docks and the river. On either side of the doors were broad open porches where customers could dine. The gravel path made a wide loop around the stage.

"Can you see anything, Blade?" asked Leda. Traffic seemed heavier than usual, even for a Marketday. The gently sloping meadow of the Music Tree loop, backed by the scenic view of the river held some of the fancier displays. There was a jeweler and silversmith, and Tommy Tunes, who made musical instruments and gave lessons, among others. At least once a month Angela Dale would set up shop under a huge umbrella trimmed with lace and display her needlework and fancy dresses. Her wedding outfits had been handed down from mother to daughter for five decades and she was still going strong.

"There's someone over in Angela's space, but she was here last week, and that's definitely not her umbrella!" Blade grabbed Leda's wrist, and wriggled through the crush of people.

"Wow! What is that?" burst from them both, when they got to the front of the crowd. Floating above eye level, but staked firmly down with bright flags fluttering from the guy wires was a translucent three meter balloon. The tapering mouth of the envelope was drawn under a glossy blue awning. The effect was like an elephant poking its trunk into a tiny circus tent. The trunk was attached to a gleaming hopper. As the two children watched, a tall dark-haired man shook wheat from the tube into a villager's market bag resting on a set of scales. He tapped on a wide cuff bracelet decorated with tiny LED's, and recorded the transaction, and the man walked off, trying not to gape. The Settler grinned at them and stuck out his hand.

"Hi there. The name's Asher. This's a floater bag." He pointed to a wire emerging from the underside of the bladder leading to a humming silver cylinder. "That's the power source for the gadget inside that makes it float. There's an ultra-ultra high speed flywheel spinning in there in harder vacuum than you find between the earth and the sun. An induction circuit draws power without a physical connection. If an atom or two found its way inside by mistake- blooie!" he smacked his hands together with a sharp crack! The two children jumped. "Takes a lot of juice to keep that much mass weightless. Not to worry, though. It's City manufactured. You could drop it off a cliff and it would just chuckle to itself. Makes a great attention getter, don't you think?"

"Uh- yeah. Yes sir, I mean." Blade's eyes were wide in his freckled face.

"Why is it tied down? Will it fly away if the ropes break?"

"No, there's a feedback circuit, puts out just enough energy to keep it airborn. But it still has x metric tons of inertia. Eventually the wind would start it moving, and we dont want it squashing someone against a tree."

Asher clamped the end of the tube shut and walked over to a table covered with a tarp, dusting his hands. "Now what are you folk doing today?"

"I'm Blade; my Dad's Joshua Carver. I just brought the weeks' work to our booth- my Dad does woodworking. His stand is over on the other side of Market."

"Ah, excellent workmanship, Carver's stuff. I trust you brought my set of toys down today?"

"That was you? Yes sir!"

"My wife and I have two children, both younger than you two citizens. They shall enjoy your father's animals thoroughly."

"Mister Asher, what do you have under there?" Leda plucked at the edge of the cloth."

"That, children, " said a voice from behind them, "Is the 64,000 dollar question."

Blade and Leda turned to find a short, slightly built man confronting them and the Settler. He wore homespun and deerskin, and a blonde beard mostly hid the front of his shirt. A red and white bandana held shoulder length hair back from his eyes. His face appeared youthful- the flesh was firm and clear, but there was a network of almost invisible wrinkles around his eyes like crazing in the glaze of antique porcelain. His eyes rested patiently on the scene before him, seeming to miss nothing. They seemed to say that they had seen almost everything at least twice before, and as he had been almost one hundred ten years old at the time of the Rescue, it might well be true.

"Grandsire!" gasped the children.

"Founder," said Asher with a respectful nod. "You're looking well for someone staring down the barrel of his three hundred and fifieth birthday."

"Thank you and don't change the subject. Blade, Leda, raise your jawbones. You look like you're trying to catch flies. Asher, you know Chak village was founded on low tech principles. People trying to live quietly, trying to disturb things as little as possible. I come to market and see a high-tech grain silo waving under my nose like the Wizard's own hot air balloon, I wanna know what you're peddling!"

Asher grinned. "Wheat, sir. The finest durham wheat, grown without pesticides and only organic fertilizer. Mother Earth News would have given it five stars. You can take it down to Loud River Mill and have it stone ground before your very eyes."

"Who's the Wizard?" Whispered Leda.

"Of Oz," rasped her great-grandfather. "Don't they teach you kids any of the classics anymore? And I suppose that you have hand-dipped candles under this sheet? Made from the wax of contented honeybees, no doubt?"

Asher swept the tarp aside. "Now, Founder." he soothed. "We're here to sell wheat. I just brought a few things that might be handy. As for disturbing things, I brought three hundred fifty bushels of wheat here leaving only two sets of horseshoe prints."

The founder of Chak village ignored him, poking at the items on the table with a desultory finger. Leda saw what appeared to be oversized spools of yarn, some socks with thick, ridged soles, and some necklaces bearing cylindrical pendants made of some milky substance.

Asher continued. "You'll note there's nothing here with moving parts, just superior materials. Why-"

"I suppose we're supposed to knit with this stuff?" Grandsire Istoria growled, indicating the spools.

"Well, you could, if you wanted to make bullet proof vests. The stuff's expanded monomole cord. You might try pulling a tree out of the ground with it. We don't even know how strong it is. You know how vital good rope is in the wilderness- it's so light it'll float."

"It slices it dices it makes julienne fries," chanted Istoria. Blade and Leda exchanged mystified shrugs. "And the bedroom slippers?"

"Boots. One size does fit all- the sole expands to fit the foot of the person who wears it first- their weight pops microencapsulated catalyst in the top layer. The shell is actually knitted out of a similar material to the cord. It breathes, but they're waterproof, and they'll turn an axe blade. You might break a bone, but you won't cut your toes off. The cuff unrolls to the knee."

"What about the jewelery? I gotta tell you, Stephan won't be worried. Workmanship is nice, but the design is boring as all get out."

"It's straight from the City. It's a Sparrow Chirp."

"A sparrow cheep? That's an emergency transmitter?"

"They're working it into something that someone could wear without notice." Asher lifted out one of the necklaces and slipped it over Leda's head.

"Little girl gets into trouble, she grabs the pendant and bends the tube in half, or bites on it. It works like the old-time cyalume sticks, only inside is City-grown nanoware that operates on a chemical fuel. Puts out a radio pulse using the chain as an antenna. The Rangers pick it up and help comes a-runnin'. It's a little more complicated than a hand axe, but I didn't think you'd mind."

The self-described 'last of the flower children' grunted and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Just making sure you weren't trying to slip hand lasers in on us. Considering that the City pulled my old bacon out of the fire long long ago, I sure can't complain. Just between you, me and the fence post, I'm a closet gadget freak, but I try to control it. Put my descendant's necklace on my tab."

Asher laughed. "You old fraud, sir! You know that we don't charge for them. They're nano grown- including the chain. It's pure silver, but the atoms are so well compacted that it would take heavy cutters to sever the links. "

The buckskin-trousered city founder shook his head. "We were just starting to imagine such things, back in the old world. Little robots the size of viruses, each programmed to do a single job. We imagined it could be possible to 'grow' jet engines from vats of chemicals."

Asher nodded, his face serious. "Between the imagining and the doing is sometimes a long, long step. Even with scanning electron microscopes, we can't follow what goes on, let alone understand it. We stick with the tech that we can handle, and are grateful for the ideas and suggestions for research that we pick up from some of the Nobles. I can imagine that the City could give us plenty that we couldn't handle."

"Like giving a child a chainsaw," said the Founder. "It's a simpler life, here, away from the Continent. Many of us New American Aborigines have trouble with what you folk take for granted." He waved a hand at the floater bag, serenely ignoring the earthy tug of gravity on the riverbank.

"We try to respect that, sir." said Asher gravely.

The eldest Istoria turned to Leda. She only had to look up slightly to meet his eyes. "Hello, Leda. I hear how your Dad is getting on. He's a good, sincere man, he's just taken my ideas farther than I meant them to go. You tell him that the necklace is my gift. If you need it, use it. If you need my help, you know where the Lady and I live. You come see us."

"Now, Mister Settler," he said, pulling a cloth bag out of a deep pocket, "Some of your good durham wheat, even if it does come out of a consarned flying silo! And where did a whippersnapper like you hear of Mother Earth News?"

Blade tugged Leda away from the booth through a thickening crowd. Since the Founder hadn't thrown the Continental out on his ear, that was good enough for the rest of the shoppers.

"I'm impressed," Blade told Leda. "A personal invite from the Founder himself."

She shrugged. "Well, I am family."

"Yeah, but he hardly ever comes down out of the woods anymore. I don't even know where his place is."

"I've not been there since I was a baby. I think I could find it- but, well, Daddy and Grandsire aren't on the best of terms lately. Let's get moving- I'm famished."

They worked their way back past the Music Tree and ducked inside the open double doors of the inn. They entered a semi-circular log-raftered barn of a room. Its focus was a huge field stone pillar containing a fireplace. In bad weather and winter the tables were brought inside, but today the room was almost empty. Leda followed Blade to the kitchen counter, a half wall built across most of one side of the room, where meals were served out, buffet fashion. He greeted a chubby woman with her hair tucked into a bun who was wrestling a haunch of venison into a roasting pan.

"Hi, Aunt Margaret. Got a spare sandwich? We're going up to the swimming hole on Loud Creek. Can the twins come with us?"

"Yes, that's nice, and yes, so long as they finish with the horses." Margaret Howard was Aunt to the whole Preserve. She kept her family busy making the hilton a cheery place for wayfarers to stay, and the center for most social events within two days travel. "There's bread and cold cuts on the buffet, hon. You help yourself- oh, and tell your father we have need of his handiwork about the place. Please tell him to stop by when he can."

"Yes ma'am!" Blade began piling bread and meat on a napkin, interlacing cheese at judicious intervals. Leda stood by and looked over the room. There were one or two tables left, pushed over near the fireplace, and three men leaning back from the remains of lunch. Leda nudged Blade.

"Who's that?" All three were dressed in well worn leathers and denim. Two of them were sitting on the far side of the tables, older men, with full beards and broad shoulders. The third figure was of lighter build, with his back toward Leda so that all she saw was his dark, wavy hair drawn back into a short, conservative ponytail. He was leaning forward in the chair with a catlike grace to the lines of his back, listening intently to a tale one of the others was spinning. The story must have reached its point just then, because all three sat back and laughed, and Leda caught a glimpse of his face. Brown, windburned cheeks, a wide smiling mouth and the hint of a moustache. A young man, barely into his 'tweens, the years between ninteen and twenty nine., but evidently well seasoned. His calf-high boots were travel stained, and he sported an antique survival knife with a molded plastic handle clipped to his belt.

Blade spoke around a mouthfull of cold chicken as he finished his construction. "I'd say they were some of Chicago's expedition. I've never seen the older men before, but if I'm not mistaken, that's Chicago's younger brother, Mitch."

"That's Rolly-polly?" Leda gaped.

"Yeah, it's amazing what hormones will do, once they finally kick in." Blade thrust the napkin-wrapped sandwich into a pocket. "It doesn't seem like it, but Chicago's team's been gone almost a year. Let's go find the twins."

They made their way to the door, with Leda casting several backward looks at the group by the fire. Just before they reached the opening, Mitch looked their way and waved. Curiously, Leda felt herself blushing, and escaped to the outside in some confusion.

Chapter 3