The Story of Sunnyvale Park
Part I of II
The armored war leader from the townbeyond the hills glowered at the massed and muddy group of malesettlers. A paltry forty in number, they gripped their spears(really just long sticks with one end sharpened, some held upsidedown), breathed heavily, and grabbed at each other as feet slipped inthe wet trampled earth of the impromptu practice field. The warleader raised a gloved hand and covered his eyes. His jaw, whatmovements of it to be perceived under the bristling black beard,clenched. “You may be,” he gravely intoned, “the worstfighters I've ever seen.” The settlers, who had arrived the yearbefore from over the mountains and into that empty water-fed grassyvalley on the continent of Korch milled and cleared throats, someyelped and fell in the mud, spears clattering.
“Um,” began the settler's leader, alean man of middling height and slender build, whose apparentyouthful appearance was betrayed only by gray hairs mixed among thedark brown of his closely cropped head. He took one step forward,using his spear as a cane on the treacherous earth, careful to keepthe mean end pointed away from him. “It's true,” he grunted,extracting his trailing booted foot from boggy ground with a suckingsound. “We're not great at the spears and stabbing-other-peoplestuff,” he said, wiggling his spear for emphasis. “We werefairly up front about that,” he said, a bit defensively.
“Which is why,” the war leader, atall and heavily built man, bellowed, “you got your collective butthanded to you in your former home and had to flee here!” Theassembled settlers flinched at the volume and terrible timbre of thevoice. But, they were also growing bored. It was only the gravityand implied threat of the armored and heavily weaponized war leaderand his men from the neighboring town that kept them in place. “IfI wanted to,” the war leader growled, moving a hand to the hilt ofhis sword, “I could single-handedly kill each of you right now andrid the land of--”
“Um,” the settler's leaderinterrupted, raising a hand and gingerly stepping onto the drierturf. The war leader's eyes glared at the other leader, who absentlyregarded the spear before dropping it on the grass and wiping hishands on his tunic. “You see,” he began, not noticing that thewar leader clenched his fist on the hilt of his sword. “You see,”the leader said again, raising his eyes to the war leader andbrightly smiling. The smile dimmed a bit seeing the other man'smalevolent expression. “Um, we're much better at other things. Things that let us survive for so long, until people who have nosense for finer things came along and messed up things for us.”
“What. Things?” the war leadergrowled, each slow syllable dripping with menace, his beard asbristly as a privet hedge and eyes narrowed to glittering slits underthickly bushy brows.
“Ah,” said the settler's leader. “We'd be happy to show you. You and your men!” he announced,waving to the dozen warriors idling behind their leader. “Please. This way.” The settler's leader waved his men to come out of themud and then indicated to the war leader to follow.
The settlement's leader, called Alvin,because that happened to be his name, led his own men and thevisiting war leader and his men to wooden barn-like structure at theedge of the settlement and near a stand of poplars and birch. Theair around the building was rich with a yeasty-grainy scent as wellthe scents of sawed wood and pitch from a nearby building project. The inner walls of the structure were lined with barrels made ofvarious kinds of wood, mostly oak, some large, some smaller, arrangedfrom the floor to two galleries above. “The brewery!” Alvinannounced, clapping the shoulder of an elderly woman holding a copperladle, the action bowing the slightly built old woman and making anamber liquid in the ladle's bowl jump and droplets to spill on theplank floor. “Have a care, Alvin!” the old brewer hissed andshuffled two steps away from her leader, a handful of young femaleapprentices now peering out from behind barrels and around doorways. “You're making a mess, as usual. Not to mention firing mysciatica,” she finished, kneading her lower back with her freehand. The old woman's eyes squinted at the dimming light of thedoorway as it filled with the war leader and his men and theirglittering armament and armor. “Uhh. Guests of yours?” the oldwoman meekly inquired, hobbling a step behind her leader. “Indeed!”said Alvin, brightly. “May I present Axhandle, the king of theneighboring town of the same name.” Alvin waved a careless hand atthe others. “And his men.” Alvin maneuvered around the oldwoman, placed his hands on the the brewer's stooped, narrow and bonyshoulders. “Axhandle and men, please meet Variagote, the finestbrewer drawing air.” Three young men, mud spattered and now minustheir spears elbowed into the building and took positions behindbrewer and leader. “And Variagote's apprentices, of course, someof whom you met.” Variagote's pale blue eyes widened as herapprentices passed. “Here!” she spat, putting down the ladle andwaving gnarled hands at the young men. “Get out, go washyourselves and return at once! Enough of your skylarking andtracking mud when the sun shines and there's work to do! Go on!”and she shooed her male apprentices out the door, the bemusedwarriors parting to let them leave.
Alvin chuckled, his natural good humorin place. When the apprentices had gone he turned back to thebarrels. “Now, this ale,” Alvin said, slapping a large barrel onits side, causing Variagote to hiss in disapproval. “This ale issummer brewed. Made with dark malt, a fine rich drink. Variagote,if you would?” Variagote clicked her tongue, but, always secretlydelighted to show off her skills, gripped a bronze mug and drew off ahalf measure of the ale. She handed it to Alvin, who stepped forwardand handed it to Axhandle. Axhandle considered the mug, not missingthe metallurgy and skill of the mug's simple yet attractivemanufacture, and gulped the ale. “Good, isn't it?” Alvin smiledand asked. The king pursed his lips and wiped the foam from hisbeard. “Good enough,” he said, not wishing to grant the ale'squality. “Good enough?” muttered Variagote, her natural cautionof the war leader giving way to professional pride. “Right?”agreed Alvin, symbolically connecting the two assessments with armsstretched between king and brewer.
“But, another ale will interest youmore, I think,” Alvin said, taking the mug, drinking off the restof the dark ale and striding to a series of smaller barrels, causingone female apprentice to yelp and drift back into the shadows. “Calmyourself, Merivold, we have guests,” he chided the girl. Alvindrew off a half pint of the lighter-colored brew. “It's a paleale,” he said, “with a fine taste and a property you will findinteresting,” Alvin finished, stepping back to the king and handinghim the mug. “What property?” mused the king, swirling the aleand tipping back the mug for a taste. “It keeps and travels well,”Variagote said before Alvin could speak. Alvin nodded, gesturing forthe mistress brewer to continue. “Using a process and ingredients,which I won't bore you with,” Variagote intoned, certain hercurrent audience had more interest in the product and not its making,“that pale ale is formulated to keep its taste and freshness for along time, properly contained. Ideal for trade and transport.” Alvin nodded, smiling, and announced, “A valuable property and avaluable commodity, gentlemen. Imagine the possibilities of havingthis ale in every garrison, on every ship. A drink you can take withconfidence, not beholden to questionable local water sources while onthe move. All thanks to the particular bounty of this particularvalley.” Alvin heard the brewer's snort and quickly added, “Andto the particularly fine talents of Variagote and her apprentices, ofcourse,” he finished and gave the brewer a curt bow. Variagotesimply snorted again and turned away from the assembled men. Nolonger concerned and judging them useless, she resumed her work.
Axhandle passed the mug to hislieutenant, who also sampled. “We have beer,” Axhandle flatlystated. “Of course you do,” Alvin nodded. “Um. Tell me. What's your current production level in beers and ales?” Axhandledrew together his prodigious black eyebrows. He was in no mood totell this man that his town, much larger than this sparsely populatedvalley settlement, imported most of its beer, and that the beer didnot, as the brew mistress put it, travel well. He let his eyestravel the structure, the ranks of barrels. Enough to put asignificant dent in his town's beer shortfall. He turned hisbear-like head and regarded the workmen outside, framing anotherstructure, the mate of this current one, their wooden, bronze andiron (another metal carefully noted by the king) tools industriouslypounding and cutting and chiseling away. He also noted, with somesurprise, that the work force seemed made up half of women and thatchildren variously played and worked among the adults. “I'd liketo see the forges,” Axhandle stated. Alvin touched the side of hisnose with one finger and winked. “I expect you would,” he saidand stepped between the soldiers and back into brilliant sunshine ofthe late summer midday.
Axhandle and his men had come asemissary of a confederation of towns, calling themselves The Brave. For some time Alvin and his settlers had avoided notice. But, withtraders from Sunnyvale Park*, for that was the settlement's name,beginning to show up in neighboring towns to trade excellent beer,wine, timbers, animal skins, and small quantities of copper, bronzeand metal finished goods in exchange for pig iron and other selectcommodities and finished goods, the leaders of The Brave decided itwas time to formally visit Sunnyvale Park and take the people's andits leader's measure. The confederation, which its members called aguild, was always on the look out for strong partner towns. WhatAxhandle found, however, was a smallish settlement of residences atthe heart of near and dispersed industries that, while ordered,productive, and seemingly able to expertly exploit the resourcesavailable to them, possessed few martial skills and no apparent lustfor battle and conquest. His request to see their defensive andoffensive capabilities led to the farce at the muddy ground with abemused, but curious minority of the settlement's adult males.
“As you can see,” Alvin said,playing tour guide as he led the group through the settlement, “wehave begun the vineyards, grafting carefully transported cuttings ofour native cultivars onto this valley's robust wild root stock.” He waved an arm toward the neat rows of young vines marching acrossseveral acres of a gentle slope in the valley. In the distanceAxhandle could see other neat rows of the native wild variety ofgrapes, now orderly transplanted and colonizing other gentle slopes. Alvin paused their progress to introduce a vintner and hisapprentices and allow Axhandle and his men to sample the first winesproduced in the valley. “Naturally,” said the vintner, a shortportly middle-aged man with a sunburned bald spot on top of his head,ruddy round cheeks, and an apparently permanent toothy smile, “we'rerelying on the abundant wild grapes in the valley for our currentvintage. You'll find it rich, fruity, with a subtle grassiness and ahoney finish.” Axhandle gulped the offered wine and blinked at thevintner. He belched and shoved the mug back at the vintner, whosename was Sully. Sully staggered back a bit at the thrust and grippedthe mug. He waggled his eyebrows and his toothy smile neverfaltered. “Of course, it will take some years before the newgrafts truly produce, so we're playing with the wild grapes to see--” “The forges,” Axhandle interrupted, turning his face to Alvinand ignoring Sully. Alvin smiled and nodded, patted Sully on theshoulder and continued the tour.
Traversing a well-beaten earth paththrough the grassland, Alvin spotted an approaching lumbering figuredconcealed under several layers of skins piled high upon the bearer'sback and trailing over head, obscuring the bearer's face. “Oythere,” called Alvin. “Oy yerself!” grunted the bearer inreply, the voice muffled and strained with significant effort. Alvinstepped aside, as did Axhandle as the large bent figure, legs bowedabove big leather boots, plodded forward, drawing close. One ofAxhandle's men, one of the younger ones, nudged the mate at his side,crossed his arms and spread his thickly muscled legs, not ceding thepath. “Um,” began Alvin, but he had no time to say more beforethe massive figure weighted down with skins collided with the massivewarrior, causing both to stagger, both staying upright, neithermoving aside. “You wanna move aside, mate?” the weighted figureirritably asked, the tower of skins bobbing. The warrior offered alopsided smile and plucked a piece of straw, which he wiggled betweentwo teeth. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don't,” he lazily replied tothe chuckles of his mates. A huff of exasperation from under theskins. “Then mebbe you wanna carry this lot yerself!” and theskins rose and dropped onto the warrior, flattening him onto his backon the path, buried under skins.
An instant flurry of activity as thewarriors, apart from Axhandle who just rolled his eyes and sighedimpatiently, drew swords and converged around the now-unencumberedattacker. The “attacker” simply rolled her shoulders andstretched her broad back, the bun her long blonde hair had beengathered into, loosened by the skins toss, tumbled in wheat-coloredcurls down her thick neck and across muscular shoulders and a strongback. “Here now,” she said, regarding the warriors around her,her bright blue eyes twinkling. “You lot gonna hit a girl?” Shereached and backhanded one warrior on his midsection, causing him tostagger and choke to draw breath.
“I think--” began Alvin. “Forpity's sake!” exclaimed Axhandle, staring down at the big warrior,who was heaving the piled skins from his supine body. “Well, isn'tthis larks?” laughed the large young woman, whose name wasElvavarandoc, but everybody called her Elvie, or Big Elvie when theyfelt confident that doing so would not earn them a sound thumpingfrom the blonde amazon. Elvie reached down and grasped the forearmof the downed warrior, hauling him upright so that skins flew likehuge wind-tossed leaves. “Well now,” she sing-songed, slappingher palms together and walking around the warrior whose face had gonea brilliant red. “Where'd you find this, Alvin? He's a big 'un,”she pronounced and slapped the warrior's buttocks, causing him tojump and spin around to face the woman. “Feisty too!” shelaughed. “Aw now don't get yourself in a state, big fella” shesaid to the warrior, offering a placating palms down gesture. “I'mElvie,” she said, thrusting out one big rawboned hand. The warriorstared at the hand, looked to Axhandle, who simply shrugged, then atElvie's face. She leaned in. “This is where you show you gotmanners as well as yer muscle by shakin' my hand and statin' yername, darlin',” she said. The warrior sucked in a shaky breath,wondering how the world had gotten so mad so quickly. He made afunny sound in his throat, stuck out his gloved hand and croaked,“Warcry.” Elvie gripped the hand and pumped it vigorously. “Funny name, I like it,” she pronounced, broadly grinning. Shelet go of Warcry's hand and slapped his shoulder with force thatwould have toppled a smaller man. The big warrior simply rocked andregained his footing. “And,” she said to Warcry, “seeing asyou were the cause of this little set-to, I think it's only fair thatyou help me deliver these skins to Master Adelvan.” The big womanbent, lifted a batch of the tanned deerskins and heaved them over oneof Warcry's broad shoulders. Warcry turned his head to Axhandle, hisexpression both confused and appealing to his king as more skinspiled onto his shoulder.
“He was rather rude,” murmuredAlvin, confidentially leaning toward Axhandle. “It's only fairthat he now--”
“Help her deliver the skins!”Axhandle barked. Turning to Alvin, “I'd like no more surprises ordiversions, sir. The forges!”
Alvin nodded and smiled. He cheerfullywaved to Elvie who cheerfully waved back, then turned and continueddown the path. The king and his remaining men strode along behind, afew casting backward glances at their comrade. Elvie was deliveringa torrent of words, unmindful of whether Warcry listened or not, andpiled all but a small armful of skins onto the warrior's shouldersand back. At last, just as Elvie began leading the big warrior likea mule, the pair disappeared behind a dip in the path.
The dip ended in a stand of aspensalong one end of a pond bristling with cattails and other fresh watergrasses. Small cabins and open air sturdy wood structures dottedclearings among aspens and the group heard the forges and smithsbefore sighting them. Several clangs of metal on metal and the hissof water, which grew stronger as the party grew nearer. Axhandlespied a group of boys and girls dipping buckets into the pond andloading the filled buckets onto low wagons, pulled by two childreneach. Axhandle let his eyes roam the work area and noted thered-glowing pits in the ground and teams of men, some workingbellows, others engaged in smelting metals from ore. Other teams ofmen—and yes, also women, observed Axhandle—busied themselves withclay casts, sand casts, and other things that Axhandle had neitherseen nor understood to look at them.
“We are lucky that the surroundinghills contain an abundance of copper and some tin. It allows us toproduce enough bronze for construction, work and home items as wellas--” “Weapons and armor?” interrupted Axhandle, who could spynone of either among the items hung and glittering from posts andbeams. “Well,” averred Alvin. “Not as such. Knives,obviously. Is there a good market for weapons and armor aroundhere?” he asked, turning to Axhandle.
“A market,” Axhandle flatly stated. He gripped the smaller leader by his shoulder, stopping theirprogress, and shook him a little. “You,” he said, prodding aleather-covered index finger in Alvin's chest, “are both incrediblysmart and incredibly lucky. I haven't decided if you're alsoincredibly stupid, but the evidence is pointing that way.” Alvindraw back his head and wrinkled his brow. “Stupid?” Axhandlenodded, gravely. “You have turned this valley into one of the mostproductive spaces of its size that I've ever seen. And even a smallband of armed marauders could come in at any time and take whateverthey like.”
Alvin stared around the valley. Sounlike their former home. But, he and his people were adapting toit. They had used their considerable skills, knowledge and inherentwork ethic to find and use the resources available to them to do whatthey do best: create a home rich in food, comfortable lodgings, andcreature comforts, while producing quantities of raw materials andgoods to trade for things not within their valley. Iron had been anissue, the valley and its surrounding hills so far showing signs ofonly small deposits of iron-bearing ore. Still preoccupied withbuilding and establishing, they had had little time for production ofsome finished items and had traded for them, but they were rapidlymaking up for the shortfall in finished leather goods. Flax, grassesand lambs born in the spring were now providing them with fibers forspinning and weaving. With great effort they had turned suitableareas of the grassland and created gardens. They had fenced areasfor pastures. Their first spring and summer had been busy andpeaceful. Groups of Sunnyvale Park traders had set out for scoutednearby towns, bearing trade goods, and had met no dangers. None hadcome to the valley until Axhandle's party appeared.
Alvin recalled the ships that had cometo their former island home, bearing armed warriors who did not careabout the tidy town with its orderly homes, forges, factories anddockyard piled with trade goods awaiting shipment to other shores. They had smashed and burned, loading whatever they could onto theirships. Some had died by the fighter's hands. Most had fled to thehills, waiting to see what the soldiers would do next. After threedays of drinking and further destruction, they left, sailing back tothe north. The wider world had come to the peaceful, industriouspeople, and they were not ready for it. Though they had sailed fromtheir homeland into that wider world, they were still not ready forit. Alvin nodded, understanding the wisdom of Axhandle's words.
“What do we do?” he asked thebigger man.
“Finally,” muttered Axhandle. “You've said something sensible.
Axhandle continued his tour of thetown, further noting the people's cleverness and seeminginexhaustible resourcefulness and effort and, to the warrior's mind,bloody-minded tendency toward cheerfulness. Nobody seemed unhappy,and everybody, including the children, had some role attached to aduty. He noted no rancor, one for another, among the people, andrivalries appeared good-natured and about winning for the joy of it,not for elevation in social standing. Your average Sunnyvaler seemedcontent to let his or her labor and products of those labors speakfor themselves and confer worth upon the laborer.
The trades seemed loosely aligned toone family or family grouping, but there existed considerableopenness for a child with, say, a particular talent or desire tocultivate crops, orchards or vines to leave his family's business inmetal working and enter into the home, say, of a family of farmers orvintners to work and learn, keeping in close contact with his or herblood family, but often pair-bonding within his or her work-adoptivefamily.
The most shocking part for the warriorking was that apart from actual child-bearing and breast-feedingthere appeared to be few distinctions made for gender. Property,what little nod these people gave to the concept, was as likely topass from mother to daughters or sons, not just father to just sons. Girls joined their brothers in education and the ability to read andwrite was judged a universal necessity, not something to be studiedonly by a male elite serving the leader.
The people used a script composed ofcharacters that, strung together, formed words, something the peoplehad picked up over the long generations of contact with other peopleand the practical advantage of a written language for tallies, tradesand record keeping. They had yet to sort out how to producequantities of local paper, lacking their former access to both paperand the materials they traditionally used for domestic paperproduction, but they were on the way toward solving it, and haddiscovered paper among the neighboring towns. Meanwhile, talliescould be done in the dirt, and records, what few were truly necessaryat the moment, could be inscribed on clay and fired; old fashioned,but effective, and kind of fun.
Of tremendous importance to them: thesmall bound collections of written stories, legends and poems, whichhad traveled with them to the valley, now kept safe from the elementsand chance destruction within a huge oak chest in Alvin's modesthome. The chest, which could be fitted with a cleverly constructedtop of joined and finished boards, became a table. Benches producedand placed around it created a dining and meeting spot for Alvin andother leaders in Sunnyvale Park. It was at this makeshift table thatAxhandle, Alvin, and a few of Axhandle's men and a few of Alvin'speople now gathered. A fire burned in the stone kitchen fireplace. Breads, meat, roasted vegetables and pitchers of wine and beercovered the surface of the table and all helped themselves.
Alvin's wife, Bagrond, patted thetow-heads of the youngest of their brood of children, now fed, andushered them outside and from under foot, picking up the youngest, alittle girl, from Alvin's lap. Bagrond, though she'd borne manychildren and her tanned face showed the lines of age and weather, wasa handsome women, sharing the characteristic good health and vigor ofher people. The husband and wife seemed loving and devoted to eachother. Bagrond smiled and pressed herself into the doorway asElvie's massive frame pushed into it. “Oops!” bellowed the bigwoman, who seemed to have no indoor voice. “Sorry, Missus! Almostcrushed yer little 'un!” Bagrond left the home with her undamagedand giggling daughter as Elvie entered it. The big woman let hereyes adjust, nodding to Alvin who smiled and waved. Elvie's smilebrightened to see Warcry among the group. Warcry ducked his head,began to rise, then changed his mind and sat again, suddenly unableto decide what to do with his hands, which flopped on the table,fingers drumming. Axhandle considered the blush on the big warrior'scheeks as Elvie slung a leg over the bench and bumped Warcry with oneample hip, causing her equally ample breasts to jump and sway under alightweight undyed summer shirt. “Budge up!” she announced andsat, making the bench groan. It did not occur to anyone to ask whyElvie had shown up or who had invited her.
“As to the matter of defense,” saidAxhandle, announcing the end of informality and bringing people backto business, “I propose to leave one of my men behind to work withyou and your people in learning the rudiments of defensivestructures, weaponcraft, and--”
“I'll do it!” blurted Warcry, and,having interrupted his king, his cheeks burned anew. Axhandle didnot allow the smile that wished to appear because of his lieutenant'sill-contained eagerness and its apparent cause.
Elvie's smile never faltered and sheremained uncharacteristically quiet. Warcry's large frameinvoluntarily jolted and flexed, inviting questioning looks from somearound the table. Elvie's hands were not visible, but her left hand,the one farthest from Warcry, appeared above the table and grabbed aleftover chop. Her right hand remained out of sight as Elvie tore abite with a her teeth and chewed.
“Well,” said Alvin, deciding thelieutenant was not suffering a seizure, his voice resuming itsbrightness as he turned to face Axhandle. “If you have noobjection, I guess that's settled. Warcry will stay with us andteach us.” Axhandle dragged his gaze away from his bothered younglieutenant and nodded to Sunnyvale Park's leader. “So it wouldseem.” He turned back to his warrior. “I trust you'll keep yourmind on your mission, Warcry,” he added. “Yessir!” came therapid reply, but Warcry kept his gaze firmly fixed on the wallopposite him, his spine rod-straight and fingers entwined on thetable's surface.
Axhandle sighed and filled his mug. The beer was excellent, he admitted to himself. “The rest of uswill leave at dawn. I'd like samples of the beers, wines andanything else you have for trade. Don't feel abused, we'll make upthe difference over time.”
Alvin nodded and saluted the king withhis mug. “Not at all! We'd be happy to supply you with what youask. It's to our benefit that all know of and desire our goods.”
Axhandle sighed again. “Not all. Heed me. For now, keep your heads down. Warcry,” here the kingnodded toward, but refused to face his distracted and now slightlysweating warrior, “will begin to get you into some defensive shape. Until then, and until I return, you are to limit your contact withother people. Do you understand?” Alvin nodded, as attentive as awell behaved student. “We understand, don't we?” He looked tothe faces of his people around the table, and each nodded agreement. “Good,” said Axhandle and put down his mug. “Now we will allget some sleep.” And the gathering broke up, the Axehandlersbecoming more familiar with the standard and lengthy pleasantries andsmall talk that accompanied any breaking up of Sunnyvalers. By nowmany of the Sunnyvalers knew the names of each Axehandler's parents,grandparents, any significant other, children and preferencesregarding ales and the best times to harvest autumn wheat and barley,the last something which none of the present Axhandlers had anyinformed or interested opinion upon.
Bagrond returned. Seeing the meetingbreaking up she approached one of Axehandler's warriors and pressed asmall piece of homemade paper into his hand. “Bloodruin, for yourwife,” she said, smiling up at the warrior. “It's the recipe formy mutton pie, which you so enjoyed.” She carefully pointed outand explained the characters for numbers and the simple drawings ofingredients until she was confident that the warrior understood themand could relate them to his wife. “Please tell Fire-Eater to usefresh thyme, when available, and to trim the mutton, but not tooclosely,” she said and rubbed her knuckles on the big man's belly. “A little fat never killed a man,” she chuckled. The warrior,who had killed many enemies in his time and earned his reputation forcold courage and occasional brutality, gingerly bent and chastelykissed Bagrond's forehead, thanking her sincerely, carefully storingthe recipe in a pocket inside his coat.
Alvin and Bagrond stood togetheroutside their door, children noisily careening back and forth and inand out of the doorway, and waved good night to the retreatingAxehandler's and Sunnyvalers. “Nice people,” Alvin stated andhugged his wife close. “Mmhm,” she agreed. “Though they couldbathe more,” she finished, waving a hand before her face. Turningout of her husband's embrace she pushed the door wide open andentered to begin tidying up. Alvin smiled at his wife's back, thenturned and continued to watch the retreating figures. He noted thatall the Sunnyvalers had turned aside to the paths to their dwellings,leaving only Elvie. Elvie and Warcry had tarried until both were atthe back of the column of Axehandlers. He watched as Elvie stoppedand tugged Warcry to the side. The warrior hesitated, lookedfurtively around, and then chased after Elvie in the direction of thebarns and lofts. “Good for her,” Alvin muttered. “And,hopefully, she doesn't damage Warcry any more than the lad seeks tobe damaged,” he observed. As the last bit of the sun disappearedbehind the western hills, Alvin turned to assist his wife in tidyingup and getting the children ready for bed.
The Axehandlers left at dawn the nextmorning, mounted on palfreys, some of the war horses enlisted to pullthree wagons loaded with Sunnyvale Park goods. Most of the townturned out to see them off. Warcry watched his townsmen's departure,feeling suddenly a little lost, a little out of place. He had neverbeen outside the company of his people. Alvin moved forward to standbeside him. “They'll be back,” he casually commented. Warcrynodded. “In the meantime,” Alvin turned and faced his people. “You have an eager audience and the resources of the valley at yourdisposal.” Warcry, reminded of his purpose, raised his chin andturned. He also scanned the faces of the Sunnyvalers. “Right,”he announced. “Let's get to work.”
The days passed, piling up into weeks. Leaves changed color and fell as the days grow shorter, the nightscooler. Sunnyvale Park still hummed with all of its usualactivities. Now, though, teams of men and women, according to tradeand augmented by able-bodied workers, had been formed to beginconstruction of defensive fortifications. Trees were felled anddressed. Trenches dug. A tall palisade ringed by a dry moat slowlyformed around the town proper. At the approaches to the valley tallwooden watch towers rose with great bronze cauldrons installed,filled with pitch and kindling to be lit by torches as a warning ofthe approach of any outsiders. Everybody oohed and ahhed andapplauded at the twilight testing of the watchtower fires.
The miners, dye makers and barbersconspired to produce powders and crystals of ores, metals and saltsthat would give the fires different colors. Warcry was shocked bythe small demonstration of brilliant red, orange, purple, green,yellow and even blue fires. It was suggested to him thatpreparations could be used to symbolically indicate types ofapproaching dangers. Warcry had never heard of this innovation andhe sighed to find that, once again, his simple plan had been easilyand industriously innovated upon by the keen-minded Sunnyvalers. Asecond, longer test of the watch fire color system was staged duringa massive town picnic in the central field which afforded the bestview of all the towers. The oohs and ahhs and applause this timewere much louder as a light show of various colors flared into thegathering night. A group of young men and women created a rhymingsong, with exclamations of each color and its particular meaning,which was quickly learned, the song picked up by all. TheSunnyvalers and Warcry sang and drank and laughed, crying out themeaning of the particular fire as soon as the color appeared.**
Warcry did his best to introduceregimentation into the random and seemingly chaotic daily routines ofthe Sunnyvalers. He instituted a system of Calling the Hours, acustom in Axehandle to remind people of the passage of time, the endof some activities and the start of others. The Sunnyvalers, thoughthey grasped the concept, had little need of being reminded of thetime, each acting in accordance with the needs of trade or craft andthe passage of the sun the only necessary reminder of time's passage. Still, at Warcry's insistence, teams of older children learned theshort sequences of horn calls that sounded the Hours, six in total,through the day. The horn, a piece of long and highly polishedbronze, had been installed at the top of a central tower within thepalisade. In the event of attack, the central tower, along with sixshorter towers spaced throughout the community, had archer stationsprotected by thick oak shielding. The palisade had ladders that ledto interior walkways where Sunnyvalers could fire bows, hurl spears,or drop things upon would-be attackers.
Warcry found that what the Sunnyvalerslacked in martial discipline they made up for in creativity andproblem solving. His simple idea for the palisade, once its purposewas explained to them, was quickly improved upon by Sunnyvalerwoodspeople, engineers and craftworkers. Warcry found that simplyordering something only sometimes met with success. He learned toexplain concepts, reasons, purposes, and was then satisfied withresults that often exceeded his expectations and usually his timelines.
The Sunnyvalers picked up weaponcrafting fairly quickly. Soon, the blacksmiths were turning outswords and spear and arrow points as often as mugs and hinges andnails. Creating an army and teaching that army how to fight? Another matter, and Warcry found the daily drills and sparring afrustrating chore. No matter what he did, he could not instill inthese clever, industrious and otherwise intelligent men a martialspirit and military discipline.
As the pleasant early autumn daysprogressed it became common knowledge and accepted that Warcry hadbecome Elvie's man. At first Warcry had tried to keep their liaisonsa secret, but Elvie seemed to have no pause or even a hint of shameabout emerging from their nightly partnering as blithely as anybride. It slowly dawned on Warcry that the only person who seemed tocare was him. The Sunnyvalers now routinely asked after Elvie ofhim, and about Warcry of Elvie. Within a couple of weeks Warcrydropped pretense, as shown when he walked with Elvie to an early fallfeast, reaching out to hold her hand in his. The huge pair arrivedas a couple to the nods and greetings of all.
In the end, it was Elvie who providedWarcry's needed military breakthrough. During the day, Elvie usuallydisappeared to work with the tanners. Her family, all huge or atleast very large people, worked as miners or at the forges andsmiths. But, Elvie had no talent or patience for that. She hadbounced from trade to trade, never quite finding her niche andparticular talent, but always a welcome source of muscle power andher own brand of loud good cheer.
By his third week with the Sunnyvalers,Elvie had taken to accompanying Warcry on his rounds and duties. “Won't you be missed?” he asked her. “I mean, at the tannery.” Elvie considered the question, bent her head and spit. Wiping herchin she said, “Naw. If they need me, they know how to find me.” Warcry accepted the answer and her company, and little by littleElvie insinuated herself into Warcry's military master plan forSunnyvale.
Elvie sat her plump rear end on ahillside and watched Warcry leading yet another, in the end,ill-coordinated defensive maneuver by her people's biggest andstrongest males. She tsked and rose, brushing grass from her skirt. She marched away, returning before long with some of the biggest andstrongest women among the Sunnyvalers, including three of hersisters, two aunts, and four cousins. “Not like that, ya bunch ofconfused hens,” she bellowed at the men. She and the other womenstrode into the midst of the men. Elvie tickled Warcry under hischin and snatched his Sunnyvale-made spear, a proper one this timewith an iron tip. She extended her arm, circling, making the menjump back. “Treat it like a game!” she barked. “Us women arethe defenders. You lot are the attackers.” The women snatched upswords and spears and shields from the wooden racks and joined Elviewho arranged them in Warcry's phalanx formation. A tiny andtherefore ineffectual phalanx, but Warcry raised his eyebrows at howquickly the women seemed to grasp the concept of the defensiveformation. “We're the turtle!” Elvie bellowed. “You all arethe foxes! Come and get us!” The men at first were hesitant. But, the women's catcalls and name-calling got the better of them anda few of the men nudged each other rushed the turtle with swordsbefore them. And just as quickly rushed back at the blood-curdlingcries and thrusting spears of the women at the leading edge of theturtle.
After that, there was no keeping someof the women out of the military training. To Warcry's surprise andsome chagrin, he counted his best students and quickest learnersamong the women. But, with the addition of the women, the men seemedto catch on much faster. Together, and with Warcry's and Elvie'sshared leadership and instruction, the now-larger number of rotatingdefender students learned discipline, technique, coordination, andgreater familiarity and skill with weapons.
End of Part I
