From alt.pub.dragons-inn Sat Apr 2 13:09:49 1994 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:7172 Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Path: netcom.com!netcomsv!netcomsv!amd!decwrl!decwrl!hookup!europa.eng.gtefsd.com!howland.reston.ans.net!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!maunakea!li From: li@Data-IO.COM (Phyllis Rostykus) Subject: [begin - HA] [misc] Harvest Time! Message-ID: Summary: lots of fun, random bits Sender: usenet@maunakea.Data-IO.COM (The News) Nntp-Posting-Host: maunaloa Organization: Data I/O Corporation Date: Thu, 31 Mar 1994 22:48:09 GMT Lines: 524 ADMIN: Written by Kelly J. Cooper, HWRNMNBSOL, and I. The song is entirely Andrew's and much admired and slightly corrected by Kelly J.. Much thanks for editorial comments from both on the sections I wrote. I think that this is going to be the beginning of the Home Again thread... from here on out called [HA]!! Well, unless I get a lot of flack from folks about it. Grin. This comes after Kelly J.'s bit for when Jameson wakes up again, LOOK for it, it's way cool... Liralen -------- The fourth section of nettles took nearly three weeks to ret properly, and by the time Kardia took them out, the edges of the pond had frozen crisp and clear, splintering when she stepped in, this time with a pair of grass sandals on to prevent cuts. The barn was cold, as it housed no animals; but it was out of the rain, and that seemed to have helped the nettles in the drying racks lose the after-affects of their wetting. Starting with the first batch, Kardia took a double handful of the now dark, crisp nettle straw and evened out the root ends by settling them on the barn floor for a bit. She then took it over to a hinged device that was longer than it was wide. She pulled the top up, put the straw between the wide jaws, and then brought the top down on the stalks. They crunched. She did it all up and down the length of the double handful of fibers she had, and as she moved it, the rotted, dried pith started flying everywhere. Kardia sneezed violently, and then laughed and dug two cloths out of her pack. The first was a handkerchief, which she used to vigorously blow her nose. The other she put over her nose and mouth, and she went back to work. Two runs through the break and the fibers swung free from the pith -- a smooth, supple flow of silver fiber, still studded with bits of recalcitrant pith. Best of all, with all the lifting and crunching, the exercise had warmed Kardia through. She stepped over to another stand, this one crowned with thorns nearly a foot tall. The hackle was a comb-like device, and Kardia carefully kept hold of the root ends of her strick and just let the hackle comb the tips of her fibers. Slowly, gradually, she gave the hackle more and more of the fiber length as the bundle straightened and smoothed. The combing loosened further clouds of pith. Every few strokes Kardia pulled out the tow, or short bits of fiber that had broken from the combing. She ended up with half a handful of smooth, silver-gold fibers, the longest about five feet in length, the same length as the nettle plants had been from the tip of the root to the tip of the stalk. Kardia twisted the bundle of fibers, doubled the whole thing back on itself and then tied the two ends together, wrapping the slightly wrinkled root ends tightly around and around the narrow end. The whole thing had taken more than an hour. Kardia looked at the racks of dried, retted moon silk and sighed: she was out of practice, and it was going to take a while to get back into it. There was going to be a lot of work. To make it go a little faster, she decided to just do one job at a time. She brought an armload of the fiber over to the break, and ran handful after handful through the break, neatly piling the resultant fiber bundles root end with root end. Two hours saw her through the entire armload. She then took a full double handful from that pile, and gently combed it through, then the next and the next and the next... The crunch of the break startled her in the midst of her concentration with the hackle and she looked up, startled, to meet the green eyes of Jameson. The Walker looked strangely still, the oddly angled light highlighted the planes of her face, almost making her appear harsh. Breaking her own stillness, Jameson stepped forward and the shadows vanished, allowing Kardia to see that the scars were at last gone. The Walker held out the bundle of broken straw. Kardia took it and saw a familiar shape outlined, mirrored on both palms. She blinked but the faint tracing of butterfly wings she had once knit were still there. Kardia looked up at the Walker and then down at the bundle of once broken straw and smiled slightly. She went back to the break and said softly, "It's got to be done along the whole length of the fiber, to break the pith away from the moonsilk..." She crushed it a little more, and the sheen of the fiber showed through. Kardia handed the bundle back to Jameson and she began to carefully break the whole of the stalks, looking up at Kardia for approval. Kardia grinned and nodded and went back to her hackle. After a few minutes, the break stopped and a hank of silvered green fibers was placed next to Kardia's hackle. "Perfect." she said. The break started up again, this time with a steadier rhythm to the work. The rhythm reminded Kardia of something she'd heard a little while back, and somewhat tentatively, she began to sing in time to the break and it synched her repetitive hackling movements to the rhythm as well. "Sweet birch, and chickory Holly boughs, and hickory..." Kardia was surprised to find that the Walker had an alto voice; but wasn't too surprised to find it harmonizing with her own soprano... "Sorrel, oak, and yellow pine: Hey now, it's harvest time Hot grass and hotter sun Cool drinks for everyone Working hard and feeling fine: Hey now, it's harvest time CHORUS: Harvest time is a frame of mind Reaping what you've sown Harvest time's a time to find The ways that you have grown. ** --- < <<< --*-- >>> > --- ** The northeast corner of the field was the hardest to work. It was there that the rows grew uneven, and the line marching stolidly down the furrows had to break up to accommodate. The entire pace of the harvest was slowed. The workers, tired and irritable but close to the end of the day, pushed on. Mikel's scythe whistled through the air, singing a song about hard work and fortitude. The soft 'thunk' of the rakes provided counterpoint. Behind the line, the bundlers wrapped their sheaves to the rhythm of the music of the fields. Mikel swore to himself as the rows became irregular, for the entire set of his body had to change to catch the curving rows. Irina frowned reprovingly but said nothing: her job was made more difficult by the harder ground and the solid chunks of debris; she had no strength to spare for reprimands. Playing in the tallest weeds in the center of the field's disturbance, little Jovan found a casing. He tried to put the shiny brass in his mouth, but Nita took it away. She soothed his vexation with a straw doll which she had only just woven. Mikel's blade chewed through the grain. Irina's rake gathered it together. Marko's fingers, chapped but sturdy as dowels, strung the bundles fast enough to keep up. Slowly, the line ate its way through the disturbance and into the clear. Relieved of the perturbation, the harvesters moved forward at a good pace. After only a few yards they had forgotten the obstruction that marred the field: the twisted wreckage of a Stukka, crashed on this spot late last winter. The fire-blackened metal popped and settled in the afternoon heat. Things such as wars are branches in the stream of life. The water flows around them, and in time they are forgotten. ** --- < <<< --*-- >>> > --- ** Tall grain and mighty blows Threshing sticks and falling rows Keep your pace and watch the line: Hey now, it's harvest time Gather sheaves, and batter straw Work your hands until they're raw Slashing knives and twirling twine: Hey now, it's harvest time CHORUS: Harvest time is a frame of mind Reaping what you've sown Harvest time's a time to find The ways that you have grown. ** --- < <<< --*-- >>> > --- ** Marta straightened carefully, making sure that she used her legs to lift the load on her back. Half of the last row of kanta squash lay within the bag on her back. A young girl who had worked silently opposite her, all day, looked up at her with a bright flash of a smile. "Festival, eh?" the girl said in a quicksilver voice. "Eh." grunted Marta as she walked toward the edge of the field. The youngster, with her long brown legs, kept up easily with Marta, whose knees and hips ached with each step. "All harvests' in. Dese the lasta Tomas' crops. He helped with mine a fortnight ago. Festival tradin' only lasts an hour fer us oldersters. Sa more fer younglin's tarun 'n Daance aboot." Brown leaves crackled underfoot. Their wrinkled and withered darkness matched her own dirt-encrusted hands. "Ne, Gram. What'd it be wit'out ye olders ta tell the Stories 'n teach the Songs?" The youngster's laughter was like golden bells. "Lost..." quavered Marta in the traditional voice of the Ghost of Darkness. "Looost without a hope of bringing the world back to the Light..." The two laughed together as they came up to the cart, and the laughter lightened Marta's mood. As Marta unloaded her burden into the cart, she was again careful to use her legs to shift the burden. No use getting hurt now, there would be dancing tonight. The teenage girl upended her bag into the cart and took up the handles of the cart with unconscious grace. The girl's eyes glowed like pewter when she leaned forward and Marta felt soft lips touch her cheek. While Marta was still standing there in shock, the wheels of the cart began to creak. "Tell me, Gram. Tell me about the coming of the Dark..." Marta shook her head and then laughed soft and long. She found that even though the arthritis wasn't gone from her joints, her step was lighter now that there was someone to listen. "Ne, child, you got that wrong. It's the coming of the Light that's the story, the Light taking back its day from the Dark of the long night. Let me tell you..." The old woman halted and looked at her young companion. "Sorrow, me girl, wha's yer name?" The girl gave her that quicksilver glance and smiled, "Joy, olde Gram, Joy." The old woman digested the word, smiled a quiet smile of delight and walked on. "Joy, then, let me tell you the story of the Light..." And the two women walked towards their village where a bonfire blazed in defiance of the shortening days. ** --- < <<< --*-- >>> > --- ** Sun down on empty fields Time to rest and count your yields Time to dance and lift a stein: Hey now, it's harvest time Fiddle-playing on the sheaves Children jump in autumn leaves Company, and honey wine: Hey now, it's harvest time CHORUS: Harvest time is a frame of mind Reaping what you've sown Harvest time's a time to find The ways that you have grown. ** --- < <<< --*-- >>> > --- ** Kam looked miserable. Master Corder had been keeping his eye on him, but he didn't really know what to do. It had been a busy autumn, fixing ploughs and shoeing horses, sharpening scythes and making replacement parts for the various machines of harvest time. It was perhaps their best season in years -- people put a lot of faith into the works to come from the Corder forges, especially after the storm. Not only had the forge itself stood, but everything Corder and his people had built remained solid and his tools had held up against all kinds of abuse. Corder mused for a moment on how it took things like wars or disasters for people to realize what they had was solid and precious. And he wasn't just thinking on a well-made shovel. In any case, now that the work had slowed down some as harvest closed out, Kam obviously had too much time to brood. Running thick and calloused fingers through his short hair he idly rubbed at his scalp in thought. Kam should be putting together winter projects to occupy his time, keep his skills honed through the slow season of cold. Instead he had quietly fallen into some kind of fixation on the woman, Jameson. A strange one, indeed, but a valuable being. However, Kam had gotten caught up in his idea of her, and without her around to discourage or encourage him, he had convinced himself he was in love with the shadow he had created. An image of perfection. Corder stood and stretched. He didn't understand Jameson at all, but he appreciated all she had done for him and his family. He could understand Kam's position, but... something had to be done about the boy. Suddenly a smile lit up Master Smith Corder's weathered face. He had an idea. -*- Kam leaned against the wall, half in shadow, and folded his arms in a position of quiet defiance. Sometimes Corder could be a right pain in the arse, thinking he knew what was best. The lights in the hall flickered and dimmed slightly as the band changed tunes from a bright and lively jig to a slower ballad. Kam couldn't believe he was actually here, at the last Autumn Dance. If Corder hadn't threatened to physically carry him back here he would have abandoned the place. Frowning even more deeply, he decided to drink some cider, wait until the dance was over then go home. At least he'd have done what Corder asked and maybe the man would stop pestering him. Kam's expression softened slightly. He knew Corder was trying to help, but making him do silly things against his will wasn't going to improve anything. But he also knew, although he wouldn't admit it to himself, that he was hoping Jameson might suddenly appear at this silly dance and allow him to sweep her off her feet. He brow drew together in thunderous annoyance with himself and he pushed away from the wall to stomp out of the room and almost knocked someone over. "Hey!" A voice squeaked. "Apologies, apologies. I didn't see you there..." He got a stiff punch in the arm. "OW! I said I was *sorry*!" "Not sincere enough." Kam looked down into deep brown eyes set in an oval face and surrounded by a tangle of dark hair. At first he thought it was a girl, then he realized by her shape that she was definitely a woman, if perhaps a young one. Her fists rested on her hips and she was frowning darkly at him. He backed up a step and swept a low bow, ducking his head nearly to his knees. "My most humble and SINCERE apologies, noble lady. I am a clumsy, shortsighted oaf who does not deserve to breathe the same air with your gentle self." He carefully held the mocking tone from his voice, sure that the words would carry his intent well enough. "You don't recognize me, do you silly man?" The voice was definitely laughing at him. He glanced up into bright dancing eyes and was suddenly reminded of the large brown eyes of a gawky girl he had once known -- the daughter of one of Corder's brothers, she had worked their farm better than any of the four sons and grudgingly earned her father's respect. Kam straightened up. Corder himself thought the girl a prize and bragged about her constantly. Kam had met her shortly after Corder had bought his apprenticeship from the local smithy of the next town over. They stayed at the farm while the welts on Kam's back and his all-over bruises healed well enough to let him travel back to Generica. The girl had changed his bandages all that week, but never said a word to him. He didn't know she had had a huge crush on him until Corder teased him about it later. It had made him feel odd and he never knew what to do when she came to Generica during the winters for schooling. This woman looked a little like that girl, but... she had... she was much... more... she... curves... and... "Cara?" His voice almost cracked. "Indeed." Her face appeared quite solemn but her eyes were brilliant now. "And I do believe you owe me a dance." "I do?" He felt rather like an ass. All his sarcastic smoothness was gone now. She was quite beautiful and that odd feeling returned to the pit of his stomach. But now it was joined by a strange warmth and he realized she'd changed quite a bit in the two years since he saw her last. "You do." She grabbed his hand and dragged him into the circle of light where dancers stepped to the rhythm of the music. He couldn't take his eyes off her as they went through the motions of the dance. He felt wonderful. Then she smiled at him and he was suddenly full of light. In the shadows Corder smiled quietly to himself and walked away, stepping lightly to the music drifting behind him on the breeze. ** --- < <<< --*-- >>> > --- ** Autumn's over; harvest's done Now the work has just begun Can't all be pearls and lemon-lime Like it is at harvest time But my heart belongs to you I got a love that burns so true If you'll just put your hand in mine Then every day's harvest time! Yeah, Harvest time's a frame of mind I see that mine has grown Reap my love; reply in kind This bounty we have sown. ** --- < <<< --*-- >>> > --- ** "But my heart belongs to you I got a love that burns so true If you'll just put your hand in mine Then every day is harvest time!" Kardia laughed breathlessly as the two of them finished the song. She was surprised to find that there was a pile of neatly twisted, gleaming strickts in a basket by the wall and the floor was thick with the soft bits of dark pith. The sky outside the barn door was the deep, dark purple of well after sundown. The rack was half empty. "Wow." said Kardia, and Jameson stopped her work as well. "I think it's plenty for a while... and..." Kardia took a closer look at the fourth batch of straw. "Yeah... this one isn't completely dry yet, anyway, so we can't work on it for a while." "My." Kardia said softly as she stretched. Her muscles were warm and limber enough to put her hands all the way flat on the floor. It felt good. When she came back up she said, "Hmmm... I think... yes... there's a compost bin here... and a broom...." And they took some time to sweep all the soft mounds of pith from the floor, using one of Kardia's parchments to get the very last bits of dust. As Kardia went over to pick up the basket full of moonsilk strickts, she paused a moment, looked at Jameson and said, "You know, we were thinking about being housemates at the beginning of the summer, but with all that happened..." she trailed off for a moment. "What would you think about building a house together this spring? Dasham paid me well enough for me to do that, and the Guild's set me up with a couple of local, small jobs that need doing. And..." Kardia grinned, "I'm sure that the 'kan could help us in... uhm... modernizing the place so it fit us better... What do you think?" Jameson settled on a stool and looked up Kardia. "I... um. Ah... Ok." She sighed softly. "Try again. Right. Settle here?" Kardia nodded. "Mm. I haven't stopped in a long time. Such a long time." Her voiced faded and her eyes drifted for a few moments. Briefly, she looked much older and a little weary, then the expression cleared from her face as she focused on Kardia's face. "Settling here. Hmm." She continued very slowly, haltingly, obviously choosing words with care. "I am curious. You haven't talked much about your past... and I have been hesitant to ask. Stones-know I'm certainly not one to easily discuss what has gone before, so I never wanted to pry, but... I do not think that you are of this place. This world. You know a little of what I am... what the 'kan are... Why have you never asked about a pathway home?" Seeing the expression on Kardia's face, Jameson hurried on, "Forgive me if I have pushed too hard, it's just that going home seems to be so very important to people. I wanted to make sure you had considered your options before possibly choosing to make a new home, here. I know I would certainly wish for you to stay..." She trailed off, slightly awkward, then began again. "If you would like to stay, I would like to stay with you. Share in the building of a home. If you would like to go, I can guide you. It's your choice." Kardia stood there for a long moment motionless. "I..." her voice cracked. "You..." she trailed off and then took a deep breath. "You really could get me home?" She shook her head, "Of course... I never thought..." She saw Jameson looking at her and then laughed, a laugh that was nervous and tight, "I... I guess I knew what you all were, but never really connected..." she swallowed, "I never really connected you all with... well... home. You're all so different, and folks at home never even think of space as a possibility. The space program was abandoned generations ago, even before the Awakening because the price was too high. Other worlds..." she trailed off again and shook her head. "That was an impossibility." Then she laughed again, a laugh that was more wonder than fear, "Then again, I guess I'm an impossibility, here." After a moment, Kardia looked up at Jameson, "I also have to admit that I kinda thought you were stuck here, and that the 'kan didn't want to leave here. Huh..." the thought struck her, "... you mean you or the 'kan could open up a portal all the way home the same way they opened up that portal to the Guild?" Jameson half-shrugged. "I cannot do that. I travel via the natural pathways linking realities, twists and curves and wrinkles in space that bring worlds together so that they touch on some level. We could travel that way, if you could show me," she gently indicated Kardia's eyes, "what your stars looked like, I could probably find them in our databases and plot a Walk to your world. We might cross several worlds along the way. And if there are no natural paths into your world, well... I have piloted many space-ships. The 'kan," flashing a smile she continued, "They do things a little differently. I move through what is concretely there, I have no magic. They, er, surf the realities and dimensions and time streams. I do not know what effect their presence would have on your world. They would certainly know better than I... And as for a portal..." She frowned to herself and combed her fingers through her hair, "We might be able to buy a portal, through the Mage Guild or through Traveller's GateWay, directly there. That would depend upon how accessible it is..." She stopped and looked directly into Kardia's eyes, "There are ways." Kardia had leaned against the barn wall as she listened, the basket of strickts cradeled in her arms. She met Jameson's look directly, her grey eyes clear. She was quiet for a while, and then said, "I think I'd like to go home, but..." she frowned, leaned back and looked at the ceiling, and whispered, "... I don't think I even have a home to go back to. If I went back my family might all be dead, the people I loved most were already dead when I was put here." Her voice was detached, precise, as she looked down to look Jameson in the eyes, "The only real reason for me to go back would be to destroy, in turn, those that took me and put me here." Kardia blinked and looked away. "I... I think I'm going to have to think about this." She then looked back and smiled a warm smile, "Thank you, though, for offering. It's... it's something I'd given up as impossible for so long... but... if I did decide to go back. I just learned from Dasham that I might have more magical capability than I thought I did and... I think I'd want to gain some of that kind of muscle before I go back so I actually could deal with the kind of mess there was..." At the Walker's decidedly neutral expression, Kardia laughed, "I'll tell you all about it, but over dinner, I'm starved..." The Walker smiled back at her and held out her hand. Kardia took it for a brief moment, a gentle clasp, and used the grip to pull her weight away from the wall. They blew out the last of the lamps in the barn and walked away through the dark into early winter. As the walked off the Walker said "You know, all we seem to do is eat and talk..." -------- Copyright 1994 by Andrew Solberg, Kelly J. Cooper, and Phyllis L. Rostykus. Permission granted for distribution via the usual Usenet channels and for archival. All other rights reserved. -- Liralen Li | "Remember, science is talking about the universe in a li@inigo.Data-IO.com | way you can understand it, magic is talking to the aka Phyllis Rostykus | universe in a way it can't resist hearing." Neil Gaiman