The Home: 20 years after The Night of the Falling Star: (OPEN via PM to me please)

Cast of Characters:

PhoenixPrime – Father Charlie
Pywakit - Wren (Scarlet Witch)
AmbrosiaCaress - Alexandria (Scarlet Witch)
Silver Inari - Sierra (Healer)
PogueMahone - Jon Mahor (Chief of Security/Milita)
AriO - Jean (Scout/Explorer/Scavenger)
Drinking Cap - Brother Stewart (Temple Alcolyte)
malcha - Eve (injured newcomer found by Sierra)
krazykoytee - Vincent (guard/blacksmith/armorer)
Paendragon - Marcus the Trader


IC:
As he sits at his desk writing a ritual for the Rites of Spring Charlie is constantly interrupted by disturbing thoughts of Wren and her unexplained and sudden mood shift. Where she has always been a pleasant even happy woman, for the past week or so she’s suddenly changed into a morose and moody person.

The only change within the Temple has been the arrival a month and a half ago of Alexandria as the new Scarlet Witch to replace Joan, when Joan had to be given a full bare body whipping before being banished with just the clothes on her back, a small backpack of food and survival items and a knife.

‘Could it be that Wren was jealous of Alexandria,’ he wondered. ‘If so that would be a violation of one of basic tenets and needs to be immediately addressed.’

This train of though saddened Charlie and caused him to set aside what he’d already written then call out through the open study door, “Wren, please come to me!”
~~~
Elsewhere in the community compound:

Sierra has just run up to the front gate to summon assistance and a stretcher for a woman she’s discovered unconscious on the far edge of one of their fields while off to forage for herbal medicines for her to prepare and dispense as needed to the residents.

Brother Stewart and Alexandria are finishing the spring planting of seedlings in the herb garden behind the temple and Jon, the head of security and The Homes’ militia, is beginning instruction in hand to hand and blade combat with those youngsters just becoming old enough for those lessons.

The other residents are at their various chores or tasks.

The ring of hammer on steel can be heard ringing from the smithy/metal working shop. Saw and hammers tell those listening that construction on additions and a new storage building is in progress.
Members of the militia, on a rotating basis, are on guard at the corners of the steel backed log palisade, out scouting for raiders, or in the armory bunker maintaining The Home’s store of weapons or reloading ammunition from scavenged supplies.
Those who like to farm are in the fields and the younger children and some of the many dogs are out with the livestock.

Eve finds her way to the valley

Flailing blindly through the woods, all Eve can hear is the crunching of twigs and the squishing sounds of the mud between her toes. Even though the sun is shining, the cold Spring wind tears through her tattered clothes. She pauses, resting against a large tree, the roughness of the bark biting at her back. Catching her breath, she tries to orient herself.

'Where am I...' she thinks frantically. 'All I can remember is running. Running from...' a deep sigh ensues, 'running from...I can't remember,' she thinks frustrated at her memory loss. She looks down at her arms and legs and sees deep scratch marks from the woods have painted her skin. 'I feel so weak...I need food and shelter soon,' she continues.

After a few moments she gathers up all the strength she can muster and continues staggering, the air burning her lungs. She still doesn't know where she will end up, but she knows she has to be away from there. As Eve reaches a clearing, she sees a small fortified community down in the valley below. There is smoke coming from a fire and the intense smells of meat. 'Mmmmmmmm foooood, yes! Finally!' a voice in her head exclaims. At 5'2" Eve has a slight frame. The lack of food has left her body deminished, her long black hair lank and pasted to her head. Her tattered clothes barely cover her still ample bosom and hips. She pauses and realizes that she's indeed a fine mess. Using her fingers she combs through her hair and tries to arrange herself, desperate to be taken in and eat -- rest for the first time in shelter and get warm.

Just as she's ready to make her way down the hill, she loses her footing falling down the hillside. The speed increases until she lands in a heap, losing consciousness, the smells of the community permeating her nostrils.

Sometime later, the smell of the grass stirred her senses. Eve realized after trying to move her arms, legs, fingers, anything she could lift, that she must have fallen down the slope of the hill. The pain was excrutiating and her head was throbbing. 'I can't seem to move...' she thought to herself. 'Owww...ohhh not again...shoot, now I'll never get in with these people...must...try...to...mo-ve...' But try as she could, she's unable to budge and again drifted into unconsciousness, the pain in her body the last thing she remembered.

Brother Stewart

It had been one of the first warm days of the year. Stewart had grown accustomed to the cold and the heavy robes he'd worn throughout the winter so it was an odd change to be dressed in a black t-shirt and khakis as he tended to his herbal garden, Lexi at his side.

He was currently planting a patch of basil as well as some seeds one of the older members of the home had given him. Stewart was unfamiliar with this "marijuana" and he'd of course asked Father Charlie for permission. He looked down at the small seeds. Stewart never failed to marvel at how these small seeds could, with hard work and care, as well as the blessings of the gods could become such strong and valuable plants. It was very much like how Father Charlie, through his hard work and care, as well as the fact that he spoke the Gods will was able to turn this patch of land into a beautiful home for so many people. He turned his head to share this profundity with Lexi.

He'd known Lexi for so long and like most of the children of The Home who were near Stewart in age he thought of her as something of a sibling. She'd always been an excellent student and well devoted to their Father. Because of this, as well as her tender and loving personality, Stewart had always seen Lexi as something of a favourite younger sister. He'd been so happy for her when it was announced she was to become the new Scarlet Witch. It was perhaps the greatest honor anyone at the Home could know. He knew she'd be a truly capable Scarlet, giving Father Charlie a great deal of pleasure and would more than make up for the traitorous actions of Joan. He gazed upon her with pride and love and forgot what he had been going to say.

"Lexi, could you pass me the spade by your knee" He smiled down to her. She too was wearing fewer garments and Stewart couldn't help but notice how beautiful a young woman she'd grown into. She handed him the tool with a slight frown.

Ah yes Stewart thought It's Alexandria now

That would take a little while to get used to. He'd called her Lexi as long as he knew her. He still thought of her as one of the children despite the beautiful woman she'd become. He had returned to his garden when a familiar voice called out.

"Brother Stewart, could I speak to you?" It was one of the younger children he instructed, a boy named Kenneth. He was leaning against one of the fenceposts of the garden. Stewart smiled and wiped his hands of the dirt they'd accumulated.

"Of course, Kenneth. Still having problems with your math lessons?"

"No Brother Stewart, it's about my sister" Kenneth said, a look of consternation and confusion in his eyes.

Stewart nodded grimly. Kenneth's older sister had recently been publically punished by Father Charlie for acting with untoward jealousy concering one of the men. She'd received ten strong lashes.

"What of it, Kenneth?"

"Well, Brother it's just, I mean my sister said she was sorry before the punishment. She simply lost her head. Why did Father Charlie have to hit her so many times."

Stewart shook his head as he bent down to one knee so he could talk face to face with the boy. Kenneth and his family hadn't been at The Home for long and he wasn't as educated as most of the children his age.

"Kenneth, we went over this in class. Father Charlie acts with the will of the gods. It isn't nearly enough to simply to say you're sorry. We must atone for our transgressions lest we risk their wrath." Stewart said this calmly. This was well known to all of the residents. Kenneth simply continued, a slight note of anger in his voice

"But she was screaming for him to stop and he just kept hitting her. Now she can't even sit down. Why is Father Charlie so mean?" This brought a frown to Stewarts face. Nobody should speak of the Father in that way. Still, Kenneth was young and didn't know better. Stewart didn't show his irritation at all.

"Kenneth. Father Charlie isn't mean. His actions come from the love he feels for all of us. Your sister needed to make up for her sins so that the gods would be appeased. You remember what happens to a society if they don't please the gods, don't you?" Stewart asked fully knowing the answer

"Yes, they make us all pay, as they did on the night of the Falling Star" Kenneths eyes lit up as he saw the connection "So Father Charlie did what he did for the betterment of us all."

Stewart beamed. He loved it when the children could work out the answer for themselves. He stood back up and patted Kenneth on the back.

"Exactly. Not only will her punishment dissuade her from transgressing again but it also taught you the same lesson. Father Charlie teaches all of us with his actions. Even if only one of us is actually being disciplined"

"I see. Thank you, Brother Stewart." Kenneth smiled as he ran off. Stewart yelled after him

"Tell your sister I'll stop by your cabin to speak with her." Stewart shouted this but the youth was already running towards a group of children. The tall acolyte couldn't help but smile as he went back to his gardening. He couldn't remember a time where he was ignorant of the teachings but Kenneth's question still made him think of his own younger days. Stewart did so enjoy educating others in the truth. He turned back to see a smiling Lex-, a smiling Alexandria.

"So, Alexandria, how've you been adjusting to life as a Scarlet Witch? Have you and Wren been getting along well?"

Wren

Wren sighed as she pulled the brush through her bright red hair. She could hear the sounds of the Home through the open window of the parlor, yet they didn't bring her any of the peace of mind and joy they had before. They seemed forlorn, aimless, desperate somehow, as if they knew that the sounds of building, of farming, of play could only stave off the coming doom. Yet Wren also knew, at least on some level, she was projecting these feelings into the sounds. It all stemmed from her nightmares.

She'd been having them on and off again for several weeks now, but they'd grown much worse in the last week. The first had begun only a few days before Joan had been revealed a traitor. Her exile had been sudden and shocking, and the fact that it had left Wren the ranking Scarlet Witch had both exhilarated and horrified her. She knew that her position was important to the Home, perhaps the most important role of them all, barring Father Charlie, of course. And yet, when the nightmares began, when she would wake from sleep with a scream pinched off behind bitten lips and her own palms pressed to her mouth, she felt only fear and horror. The feelings faded quickly enough, but it was taking her longer and longer to reclaim sleep after them. She felt that the nightmares meant something... they were a warning, and if she were only a more devout Witch she'd be able to remember them, and to act on their prophecies.

Yet she couldn't remember them. Not a one. She hadn't slept for more than four hours a night for nearly a week now. She was doing what she could to mask her exhaustion, to focus on the training of the new Witch Alexandria. She had real promise, real potential, and would go far for the Home if she had a talented enough teacher and guide. And Wren was worried she was failing her as well.

It all combined to put her in a particularly depressed mood. She knew she needed to maintain her composure in front of the people, but it was growing harder with every day, along with her conviction that doom was coming to the Home. She was convinced the gods had chosen her as their prophet, to warn the people of this doom, but she couldn't remember the damn dreams!

Father Charlie's voice called out to her from the study, and Wren caught her breath in her throat. Father was perceptive. He had his hands full lately, mostly with dealing with Joan, the initiation of Alexandria, and preparing the rituals for Spring, and hadn't been able to spend as much time with Wren of late. But she suspected he had noticed her mood, and the tone of his voice confirmed it. She took a deep breath, set down the brush, and walked softly into Father's study. She tried to put on a smile but it felt fake and distressed somehow.

"Yes, Father?" she asked as she stood before him, the hanging ribbons from her scarlet gown rippling softly in the tiny breeze flowing through the open windows.

Alexandria

She focused on the planting completely, inwardly admiring how past punishments, even healing, heightened awareness of motion. She wanted to give everything she could to the gods, her new position allowing her to do just that.

If she was doing it right. She absently handed the tool to Brother Stewart. She knew she still had to make up for Joan, and again she tried to banish her pride that she was chosen to replace the woman, push away her joy at the trangression against the gods and feel only sorrow for their anger, pure humility so they would not bring ruin on The Home. She would have to tell Father Charlie, so he could help her, if she could not control it on her own.

And Wren. When she was chosen she had envisioned becoming friends with the woman, the beautiful woman who had been her inspiriation for her grown life. But Wren hadn't been the happy woman she remembered from temple, even weeks before. She was withdrawn, andlacking her usual energy. In the deep private recesses of her mind, Lexi tried to face the idea that her role model could not like her, that she could not please the woman. She'd just have to try harder.

"why is Father Charlie so mean?"

Lexi snapped back to reality at the boy's question. Horrifed the child could even say something so untrue. But she calmed again as Brother Stewart calmly explained why it wasn't true, why Father Charlie was the nicest man in the world, and would only act to protect and care for The Home, as he had always done. Finally, she smiled, Brother Stewart was very good at teaching, correcting thoughts so that the child found his way onto the right path and could always thereafter find it again.

Brother Stewart was also very handsome, who would have thought they would have both found ways to serve the gods after some of the trouble they got into as children. If she could manage to be half as good of a Witch as he was a teacher she could imagine the gods to be well pleased.

"So, Alexandria, how've you been adjusting to life as a Scarlet Witch? Have you and Wren been getting along well?"

She smiled again. He remembered to use her full name. He was always so considerate of her. "I love being a Witch, you know I've wanted to serve the gods with all my heart for a long time." She looked around, to make sure no one could hear, this was Temple business. "Actually, maybe you can help me. I do love this position, I am afraid I cannot muster the appropriate humility, and the same for what Joan did. It falls to me to appease the gods for her - and all I can feel is joy to be given the opportunity to do so. I was thinking I should go to Father Charlie with this, but maybe you can teach me, like one of your students, and I won't have to worry him with it." Her tone changed, protective now, "He takes on so much, I don't like asking him to take my weaknesses as well. Not if I can find a way to fix them."

And maybe while you are doing that, I won't have to lie to you about how great things are going with Wren. Because I really can't lie well, and the truth is even less acceptable than a Scarlet Witch lacking humility before the gods.

Father Charlie:

"Come here my dear Wren," Charlie says as he turns his chair and pats his lap to indicate where he wants her to sit.

When she's done so, "Now my lovely Wren tell Father what's troubling you. I couldn't help but notice the change in you, but thought I'd wait to see if you could work it out yourself before asking you."

"However, whatever the problem is seems to be growing worse rather than better and I can't just let it go on like this. The changes are to profound for that my lovely Witch," he says softly, gently as he hugs her to him and his fingertips stroke her cheek, her neck and one traces her full soft lips.

"Now you take your time Wren. Marshall your thoughts and then tell me what's caused you to become so sad and morose and not your usual vivacious bundle of energy and good humor."

Brother Stewart

"Actually, maybe you can help me. I do love this position, I am afraid I cannot muster the appropriate humility, and the same for what Joan did. It falls to me to appease the gods for her - and all I can feel is joy to be given the opportunity to do so. I was thinking I should go to Father Charlie with this, but maybe you can teach me, like one of your students, and I won't have to worry him with it."

Hearing Alexandria say this brought a pause to Stewart, distracting him from his gardening and bringing a thoughtful frown to his face. He was about to offer his advice when she added

"He takes on so much, I don't like asking him to take my weaknesses as well. Not if I can find a way to fix them."

This made Stewart smile. Lexi had always been so independant, so driven. It was reassuring to see that Alexandria would be much the same. He removed one of his gloves and began to stroke his thin beard as he thought on her dilemma. Finally, after a few seconds, he replied

"I'm not sure I should be the one helping you with this Alexandria. I must confess that I'm not aware of precisely what Father Charlie expects of his Witches. What he expects them to think and feel about their role."

"However, if I could humbly draw a line between your most important position and my smaller role, I would only say that I do not share your view when it comes to the joy our faith brings us. I do not have the same chance you do. The gods are not appeased through my body, I do not serve the direct needs of Father. I merely try to serve their will through spreading his teachings."

"And yet I take great relish in every chance I have to serve the gods. The joy I take from teaching is what guides me to do what I do. It's, as my mother says, my raison d'etre if you will. " Stewart smiled, recalling one of his mothers expressions she'd learned before the falling star.

"Our faith should never be a burden to us. An anchor which is used to temper our spirit or a badge that is arbitrarily worn. I truly believe the gods want us to be happy. They want serving them to fill our lives with joy."

He turned to look back at her, casting aside his tools

"You're a Scarlet Witch now. One of the most imporant people in the whole of The Home. You should feel joy that you were chosen as such. It should fill your heart when Father asks to serve the gods through your body. You can't let Joan's misdeeds distract you or rob you of that joy."

He stopped when he said this and turned his attention back towards his gardening. the second part of what she had said was distracting him however and he found it hard to concentrate on his planting. He stood up and walked towards Alexandria, sitting himself down beside her.

"But like I said. I may not be the one who should help you with this."

Stewart looked out to his garden, still a patch of soil and seeds. Another parable came to him.

"You see, when anyone else in the community thinks of my gardens. They think of the vegetables they eat or the herbs they use. That's what they know of them. However I can't help but think of them like this. Before we see the plants. When all I have are seeds and ground. I enjoy the potentiality of it. How the tiny little seeds can become something that the whole community, or even Father Charlie, can make use of."

Stewart wrapped his arm around Alexandria and gave her a gentle hug

"See, I remember many years ago when I knew this young girl named Lexi. She was a skinny little thing and with such a wild streak. She always wanted to prove that she was the best at what she did, be it her studies or seeing which of the children could swim the fastest" Stewart said as he smiled, thinking back to earlier days.

"Often, this Lexi would come to me with her problems and questions of faith. I took great pride in helping steer her. Setting her on her path. Seeing her potential be realized." Stewart gently squeezed her to him as he said this "It was in no small part because of this that I realized I wanted to spend my time teaching the other children in much the same manner"

"Anyway, one day, actually it was today and not two minutes ago, I looked up and Lexi was nowhere to be seen. All I could see was Alexandria, a beautiful and intelligent young woman who is so well thought of by Father that he's made her one of his Scarlet Witches at the tender age of 18. "

"And I've realized that though a part of me may think of you as that seed, it is no longer my role to guide you in manners such as these. You must bring these concerns of yours to Father Charlie, so that he may best direct you in how to serve as a Scarlet Witch." He noticed the look of worry on her face, how she still seemed unwilling to bother Father with these concerns of hers.

"Alexandria, if there's one thing I do know about Father Charlie it's that helping us is never a burden to him. He enjoys guiding us as much as I enjoy guiding the children or the newcomers I'm occasionally fortunate enough to show our ways. Father Charlie and you are going to have a deep and special relationship that I'll never really understand and as such you must be able to go to him with your concerns about how to act within that relationship. It is a sacred bond between him and you, where you must be able to communicate your thoughts on it to him."

Jon Mahor, head of the Home Guards

“Congratulations, Mason, you’re dead.” Jon Mahor bellowed at the young man lying on his back in the middle of the training yard. It had been a simple maneuver he had the recruits practicing, how to disarm an opponent wielding a knife, but Mason just wasn’t able to grasp the basic moves. When he stepped forward to seize Perry’s wrist, the older boy had literally tossed Mason into the air and brought the dull practice knife down hard on the boy’s chest. It wouldn’t break the skin but it would leave a nasty bruise that Mason would feel days from now. A slight boy, Mason lay on the ground, his eyes closed as his hands pressed over the red welt left by the “knife”. His lips were moving silently and Jon knew the young man was trying not to cry from the pain. “On your feet, son.” Jon said, his voice resuming its normal volume as he bent down and lifted the boy up. Mason stood there gasping for breath, his body hunched over as his fingers traced over the already darkening bruise. “Head into the barracks and put a compress on it, Mason, then report to the kitchens for dish duty. Maybe washing pans for a couple of weeks will teach you to pay closer attention to my instruction.” Jon said dismissing the boy and turning to the seven other young men standing bare chested in the yard. “That’s it for today, do four laps around Home before mess time.” Jon instructed, starting to head towards his office before turning back. “Perry, stay a moment.” The tall lanky redhead gulped as he watched the rest of his classmates start jogging between the barracks heading to the inside edge of the fence that surrounded Home. “Why did you strike Mason?” Jon asked even though he knew of the friction between the two young men. Perry had come to the Homeguards a year later then the rest of the boys, his family had only been living in Home for two years and no boy could train for the Guards without a year’s residency. Being older and taller then the rest of his class, Perry had started bullying some of the smaller boys, tormenting them when he thought Jon wasn’t looking. Mason the smallest of the eight boys in this year’s class had been receiving the brunt of Perry’s strong arm tactics until he’d stood up to the older boy the previous night.

“I thought it would teach him to be more alert, Sir.” Perry responded swallowing hard as his instructor stood in front of him.

“You thought to teach him?” Jon asked, his blue eyes flashing in irritation as he stressed the word.

“Yes Sir.” Perry replied, “I only thought to instruct him to better learn his lessons.”

“So, Perry, you sought to instruct one of my pupils?” Jon said, slowly circling around the tall youth. “What makes you qualified to teach anyone?” He sneered in derision as he came to stand in front of Perry.

“But Sir, I only thought…” Perry started to protest only to have the wind knocked out of him as Jon drove his fist into the young man’s stomach.

“You are not here to think, Perry.” Jon told the youth as Perry slowly sank to his knees, his arms clasped around his stomach as he gasped for breath. “You are not here to teach. You are not here to do anything I do not tell you to. Now report to the kitchens where you will assist Mr. Mason in his washing chores for the next few weeks.” Jon said as he turned again and started towards his office, stopping after a few paces and looking at the boy as he knelt on the ground trying to get air back into his lungs. “Oh, and if I hear of you bullying any of my students again, we’ll continue this discussion. Understand?”

Perry nodded weakly as Jon continued into his sparsely furnished office, shutting the door as he moved to look out the curtained window. Perry was slowly working his way to his feet, one arm still clutched around his stomach as he walked on unsteady feet towards the kitchen. “He’s a good kid,” Jon said to himself, “If he could lose the tendency to bully the others, he’d make a fine corporal. Learns his lessons quickly and a natural at fighting.”

Turning from the window, Jon sat at his desk reviewing the Homeguards’ patrol schedule for the next couple of weeks. Having only 14 active Guards hindered the scheduling slightly especially now that the spring rituals were approaching. All his men had asked to be allowed to attend the rituals and he was having trouble deciding who he’d allow and who would have to man the defenses. Jon hated the administrative side of his duties but would not relinquish them to anyone. Defending the Home was his responsibility and he would not let shoulder what Father Charlie had designated as his task. It would be the same as idleness to let another take the duties he didn’t want and Jon couldn’t abide idleness. Pushing the schedule away from him, Jon Mahor stood and moved to the window, looking out over the empty practice field.

He remembered the first day he had arrived here, a young boy of eight with his sister in his arms as his mother led them into the secluded valley. His father had sacrificed himself to protect them from a group of scavengers. Jon could still see the image of his father facing the men, a piece of wood his only weapon as they shot him down. Jon’s family had hidden in the bushes as the men searched his father body before leaving him lying there in the middle of the road. Jon had wanted to cry out, to run to help his father even though it was already too late but his mother had pressed her hand over his mouth, silencing his sobs of despair as she whispered in his ear. He could still remember the sound of her voice as she told him over and over again, “Protect the others, Jon. Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain.”

Those words had become the driving force in Jon’s life, fueling his burning desire to join the Homeguards and quickly moving up through the ranks until that fateful day when Father Charlie had called him into his office. As he had stood in the center of the room, Jon had wondered what transgression had called him there. He had always sought to follow the God’s will as Father Charlie had explained it to him but he might have sinned without being aware of it. Father Charlie knew best, Jon believed and would only punish him if it was truly necessary. He remembered the words Father Charlie had told him that day, one simple sentence that challenged everything he’d been taught and knew. “Your mother is hoarding food.”

Jon had felt torn between his love of his mother and his love of community he’d devoted his life to. Hoarding was the same as stealing, it was stealing from the entire community and was punishable by banishment. Protect the others. “Shall I expel her, Father?” Jon had asked after only a brief pause where he decided where his destiny lay.

The following morning after expelling his mother from the Home, Jon had been called once more into Father Charlie’s office and given command of the Homeguards. It was a post that he strove daily to be worthy of, always seeking to protect the community that had given him shelter those many years ago.

Jean looked up from her canoe as she stowed her rifle and pack beneath the seat. "This will be an overnight trip, Tom," she told the young man of 19 who was readying his own canoe. "Do you have your cloak and a spare blanket?"

"No, I forgot -- I'll run and get them," he replied, quickly turning on his heel and heading toward his barracks.

He was new to the work of scavenging; this would be his first long-term voyage. But it was important that Jean train some of the younger members of The Home in exploration. Supplies were always needed, and at 28, she wasn't getting any younger. When her lover, Alice, had been murdered by raiders, she'd barely been 40. She had to make sure the younger generation would be prepared to replace her when her time came....the world today was very unforgiving to those who failed to plan ahead.

Carter, her other helper, had been learning with her for a year now and he was packed and ready to go. The 20 year-old youth sat in his canoe, already pushed away from shore, with his paddle across his knees. Soon, he'd be fully able to do solo voyages. He would make a good scavenger -- and a fine replacement for her.

Father Charlie had already summoned her earlier that day to tell her to keep her eyes out for fuel. Until they could get a second generator up and running, they needed to stockpile. True, winter had passed and the warmth of spring was fast approaching....but already, they had to think of next winter.

And for some reason, he'd asked her to find clips. At first, she'd assumed he meant ammunition, which would have made complete sense. But no, he'd described them to her as being like clothespins, sometimes linked by a chain...and would only say that they would be needed for rituals.

Jean had shrugged but assured Father Charlie she would do her best. Although she privately didn't buy into the rituals and cult practices that formed the heart of the community, she respected Father Charlie's leadership, and if he said something was needed, she usually found a way to go out and get it.

Tom was trotting back through the compound with his cloak and wool blanket. "Got 'em," he hollered.

"Good, then let's get going. We have a ways to go," she said simply. Most of her interactions with others in the community were simple and sparse. She kept her distance during the rituals, quietly observing from the periphery without being so stand-offish that it would cause unease among the community. It was easy enough for her to joke and laugh light-heartedly with almost anyone, and to talk about work that needed doing. But since she'd lost Alice, Jean had missed having an intimate confidante...someone she could share everything with.

But there was always the river. And her two proteges, Carter and Tom, were good young men in whose company she felt at ease. Work kept her going...there was always work to be done.

The three of them set out on the clear, swift-flowing river. If all went well, they would return the following day with three canoes full of essential gear and supplies. As they drifted away from the compound, Jean glanced over her shoulder and saw that all was right. Jon Mahor stood alert at his post, watching over the defenses of their community. She could hear Vincent hammering away in the smithy. There were women and men in the vegetable garden, planting seeds under the guidance of Brother Stewart.

The rhythms of life in all their strength. As she did before every trip, Jean silently hoped that she would return to find things still thriving, still peaceful...still safe.

Sunlight streaked in the open window of Sierra's cabin, and she stretched, pulling the sheet over her head in an effort to avoid the light. It had been a late night for her, being called out in the middle of the night for one of the horses giving birth. The foal had been laid wrong and needed to be turned, hard work that kept her up thrugh all hours of the night, saving both the mare and the colt. It had been worth it though, once she saw the little one stagger to it's mama's side. A freshly baked berry pie sat on her counter in trade, although at times like this Sierra sincerely wished she could sleep one night through uninterrupted from time to time.

Her mind drifted to the inventory of medicines on her shelf as her eye fell upon them. Her stocks of cherry bark were looking a little low, as was willow and slippery elm. A cough had just hit the Home, and most of the children were
still getting over it. She had best go out and see about harvesting some. Damn it...now she had a plan. She couldn't justify sitting in bed any longer when she had work to be done, even though nobody would fault her for sleeping in a bit after the late night last night.

Yawning, she rose from bed, brushing her long brown hair out of her face, pulling it back into a ponytail and securing it with a fingerwoven braided strip of cord. One vertebrae cracking stretch later and she slipped her nightgown off, grabbing her pants and shirt and sitting back down to get dressed. The bed was tempting and she flopped back down onto the mattress, one of the few genuine ones and not a straw tick over a rope frame. Being the resident healer for both humans and livestock had its advantages.

Not where she thought she would end up. Not where she thought she would end up at all.

Sierra had grown up not too far from this valley, although in the slang of her family it would be more appropriately called 'the holler', a bastardized form of 'the hollow' or valley. Sierra Grace Stewart had grown up near the valley. Before the asteroid. Before The Fall. The Fall, as it was known changed life as she knew it. She was 15 when it happened, and had been living the life of a teen way back in the hills, and so was perhaps more prepared then most. Raised by her grandparents, her grandma and grandpa knew the old ways of doing things by hand, without power, and so they taught her everything they knew. Grandma Stewart taught her every herb remedy there was, and working alongside Grandpa Stewart taught her the ins and outs of vetting livestock.

She had picked up further medical training from the docter that served their small community, and even more from a former combat vet that passed through, to the point where she was a valued commodity to any homestead. Grandma and Grandpa Stewart had passed away several years back, one slipping away the week after the other had passed, neither one wanting to be without the other. She had wept her tears, and followed their pleas for her to move to a more protected community, and so it was that she heeded their wishes and moved to a good sized steading called simply "The Home"

She earned her keep by serving anyone who needed medical attention, and they repayed her on a barter system, there being no real need for money in their situation. Sierra was a laid back, gentle personality, but who could be strong and fierce when it was necessary. One good for nothing fellow had found that out when Sierra came upon him trying to rape one of the young girls of the valley. Her right hook to his chin knocked him out cold, to be dealt with later by the community. It was a poor healer, in her mind, that could not defend her patients.

Her blue eyes drifted to her basket for gathering herbs, woven by her own hands. Right, 'nuff woolgatherin'. Time to be getting to work, daylight was wasting, in the words of her grandpa. She pushed herself off the bed and thrust her feet into her boots, lacing them tight. Lots of plants to gather and make into medicines. The crisp morning air was cool and invigorating, bringing a wide smile to her face and a sparkle to her eye. It was a lovely morning. She watched the residents of the Home as she walked with strong strides towards the forest, greeting those who were likewise heading to their tasks.

The plants in the field brushed against her legs as she slipped through the rows. Squash plants here, bean plants there, oats there. A stand of cherry trees stood at the base of a hillside and she headed towards them, wanting to harvest some of the bark for cough syrups. A strange spot of color near the base of them was out of place, and she frowned, quickening her pace. A moment later she broke out into a dead run, dropping her basket and sprinting as she realized what she saw. It was a person, no, a woman, from the looks of it a bit younger then her own 35. Her fingers brushed over the young woman, checking for obvious injuries and finding a large purple bruise on the woman's head. No wonder she was unconscious.

A close look revealed this girl was in bad shape. She had to get help to bring her back without injuring her further. From the looks of things the petite one would be no trouble for Sierra's athletic form to handle, but she had to be moved carefully to avoid aggrevating any unknown injuries.

She stood up, racing back to the community's gate located on the other side of the field, her breath rasping in her throat. The two on duty, a young boy and an older girl took note of her, coming to a more alert status.

"I've got someone down on the edge of the field and they need help! Send someone for a litter and some people to carry it." Sierra snapped out the orders and turned on her heel, sprinting back to the unconscious girl who was beginning to ome out of it. "Easy....easy sugar, you had a bad fall." Sierra's voice was calm and soothing. "Easy there."

Eve regains semi-consciousness

The jostling of the stretcher stirred Eve back to consciousness. "Where..." she started to talk, her voice dry and raspy from the lack of liquids, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth. "Wh-where? Who? H-h-how?" the words struggled to pass over her parched lips.

"Ssshhh, easy now....easy sugar, you had a bad fall," Sierra said to Eve, watching over her as she was carried back.

"Th-th-thank...you...you're...so....ohhhhhhhh..." Eve barely pushed out the words, the rest trailing off into a song of moans. She closed her eyes to shut out the sun. Eve felt every bump in the ground as the others transported her to the smells of meat, and hopefully shelter.

"Take it easy with her. She'll have to get checked out like all the others...we don't want to cause her more injury than she's already sustained," Sierra stated firmly.

Eve heard Sierra say "checked out" and wondered what she meant by that. But that would have to wait. Her head ached like someone swung a hammer into it.

Vincent

THe inside of the building was dark, only a reddish glow could be seen from outside, looking in the wide sliding doors. A solid clang of metal was heard, constant and steady. Looking inside, a visitor would see a man at a large anvil, large mallet in hand, dull red strip of metal bent over the horn of the anvil. Dipping into a bucket with a pair of tongs, a gout of steam rose up, flowing over large muscled bare arms, well at work. With a foot, Vincent pushed on a bellows on the floor, stoking the coals, a light blue flame dancing over the ret hot chunks. Around him his tools of the trade hung from the walls, clamps, tongs, hammers, tools of every size. Only one side of the large open room consisted of the forge though... the other was taken up with tables and stools, workspace for Vincent duties of keeping up on the weapons of the Valley, and more delicate machinery.

There was a commotion outside, and Vincent did not fail to notice it. Putting down his tools, he reached beside the anvil, taking up a lever action rifle leaning at a angle. Swinging the lever back and forth, chambering a round, he stepped out of his smithy, still in his blacksmith's apron, rifle ready.

What he saw outside had him cocking his head to a side, wondering what was happening. Two of the others had a young woman on a stretcher, doing their best to drop her. Miss Sierra walked close by, giving stern orders to the porters. Slingin his rifle behind his back, he carefully stepped up to the person in front and took the carrying stakes, nodding his head to Sierra. With measured steps, he followed her to their destination.

Wren (Scarlet Witch)

Wren smiled as Father Charlie spoke to her. The sound of his voice was soothing. The feel of his fingers against her flesh, the secure grip of his arms around her as he hugged her, they all worked to help ground her back in reality. Yet for a few moments longer, she waited, gathering her courage and wits. She wanted this moment to last forever, but knew it wouldn’t and so eventually, she started to speak, in a quiet voice.

“I’ve been having dreams, Father. Horrible dreams. All the more horrible because I can’t remember them. Well… that’s not quite true. I can remember feelings. Feelings of distress, of running out of time, of doom. But that’s it. And not being able to remember the dreams is worse than the fear they cause. I wake up at night with a scream on my lips and can’t get back to sleep for hours. But that’s nothing compared to the guilt at not being able to remember.”

She leaned back, looking into Father Charlie’s gaze with her own green eyes, eyes that were starting to tear up despite how much she fought against them.

“What if the gods are sending me a warning, Father? What if they know something terrible’s about to happen and since I’m now the acting Mistress of Scarlet, now that Joan is gone, they’re sending me a vision but I can’t understand it because I don’t really know what I’m doing?” A sob cut through her voice, and suddenly she was in tears. Wren buried her face in Father Charlie’s shoulder and wept for a few moments. When the tears finally ended, she turned her cheek to the side, looking out the window.

“I do want to serve you, Father. And by so doing, serve the gods. When Joan was here, I never felt this fear, this terror at being so important. Joan was always there to shoulder the load, and I was there to help her. But now… now that we know she was false… how am I to fill her place? I’m barely 23 years old. I’m no role model, no teacher for Alexandria. She’ll suffer because of my inexperience. I just want to serve you and Home as best I can, but what if I can’t?” She sighed, a long, tremulous sigh, then closed her eyes, hoping he would know what to say to banish her fears, to lead her back to her happiness and joy. If not for herself, for the Home.

Father Charlie:

Charlie sat silently, stroking her, listening to all that Wren had to tell him. When she’d had to stop speaking to cry he hugged her more tightly and kissed away the tears on her cheeks, from her eyes. He then kissing her lips softly most likely letting her taste her tears, then smiled softly at her as she continued.

“Well my lovely Wren in the event the dream is a warning of something we may be able to prepare for, when we’ve finished what I now have in mind that may help you to sleep a deep and restful sleep, I’ll speak to Jon about putting out a couple of extra scouts and adding a couple of militia to the walls as lookouts. Especially after dark and perhaps it would be wise to make certain those tending our herds are alerted too, just in case.”

“As for you not knowing what to do now that you’re the Mistress of Scarlet, perhaps I’ve been to preoccupied lately with the upcoming Rites of Spring and the ritual and have been remiss.
“When we’ve finished talking my lovely Wren, find Alexandria and both of you come to me. The three of us will adjourn to the basement where you can begin her instructions on a more physical level into the duties of being a Scarlet Witch.
“You are every bit as accomplished as Joan is in that area, as we both know,” he says smiling at her and hugging her, “and it’s past time for Alexandria to be introduced into sex involving us both and what I so enjoy sharing with you my sexy and lovely Wren.
“Then, later tonight, you both will join me in my bed and the three of us will spend the night together as we occasionally did with Joan.”

He smiles at her reaction and kisses her deeply as a hand closes on one of her breasts and squeezes it.

“My sweet Wren, Joan taught you all you’ll need to know to fulfill your duties spiritually as well as physically. Go and fetch Alexandria now and I’ll meet you both downstairs in a few moments. I’ll go speak with Jon and also with Vincent first.
“When I arrive you two will undress as sexily as you can as I watch and then I’ll begin the lessons.
“How does that sound to you my Wren?”

Charlie chuckles at Wren's reactions and after kissing her once again sends her to find Alexandria with a playful swat on her barely covered ass.

Rising he heads off and locates Jon.

"Jon, Wren may have had a warning dream from the Gods. Would you send out a couple of extra scouts just in case. Perhaps add a bit more to the wall's lookouts, primarily at night, and speak to the herders and ask them to be extra alert for the next several days.
"There's no sense in not being a bit extra cautious in case her dream was a warning."

When he and Jon have finished talking Father Charlie heads for the metal shop, but is sidetracked when he sees Vincent, rifle in hand, heading for the group at the front gate then taking the end of a stretcher being carried in.

A brief discussion with Sierra as he walks beside her hand in hand fills him in on what's occured.

"Okay Sierra, I know you'll do your best for her.
"Until we're certain that all's as it appears I'd like her to have a guard. One of the older children will be fine. Wren may have had a warning dream from the Gods so we'll be taking extra precautions for the next several days at least," Charlie says before giving her hand a squeeze and moving to walk beside Vincent.

"Vincent, I imagine you heard what I told Sierra about Wren's dream. Would you check the connections to the foo gas detonators both under the double apron wire fence and here in the control bunker. Again just a precaution, but those precautions are how we've survived, right my friend," he says with a comaradily clap on the back.

"If there are any problems let Jon know. I'll be busy for a while with Wren and Alexandria and will check with you both later on. See you then."

On his way back to the Temple Charile snags one of the older children, "Mike come here please, I have a job for you to do for me."

The boy runs up with a big smile on his face and says, "Yes Father Charlie, what can I do for ya?"

"Mike I'll be busy for a little while with Wren and Alexandria in the Temple. We'll be in the basement sanctuary. Why don't you get yourself a book to read and read it at the Temple door while being my door guard.
"If something verrrrry important requires my attention come and use the bell pull beside the basement sactuary door to summon me.
"But if someone just wants to see me and it's not very important write down who it is and tell them I'll find them when we come back upstairs again.
"Do you think you can handle that job Mike?"

Mike's beaming by the time Charlie finishes speaking. His chest puffs out as much as it can and he says in a very 'important', trying to sound very grownup voice, "Yes sir. I darned sure can. As ma says, "It'll be as easy as falling off a log." So don't you worrry Father I'll take care of it for you."

"Good, I know you can and will Mike," Charlie chuckles as he ruffles the boy's hair. "Go get your book and I'll put a chair, pad and pencil outside the door for you to use."

Mike's off like a shot and in minutes Charlie has the things outside and the Temple door closed.

A brief detour to aquire a small flaggon of homemade wine and he's closed the basement door and barred it and is walking down the steps into his private sanctuary.

Vincent

Vincent nodded to Father as he spoke to him, saying nothing until he was finished. Mindful of keeping his burden straight and not jostling, he replied,

"As you wish, Father, so it will be done. I will check the defences along the perimiter, and double check the wall guards and the outgoing scouts weapons, just in case."

When Charlie turned to walk off, Vincent spoke once again, "If you would like, Charlie, I will take the watch on our new guest. If something were to occur, Jon would want an experienced Guard at the ready.."

Vincent stumbled a bit when he finished his sentence, recieving a glaring look from Sierra. With a murmurred apology he took up his task..

Sierra Grace Stewart

After giving Jean a list of plants to find and with the strict instructions to make sure leave enough behind to propagate, Sierra trotted along side the stretcher.

"For cryin' out loud boys, could y'all try a little harder t' drop mah patient?!" Sierra snapped, her accent coming through heavier the more she was irritated. Her blue eyes glared with fire as one of the Vincent stumbled. His muttered 'sorry' calmed her somwhat and she just gave him a pleading look. "Just please be careful boys, she looks like she's been through enough trouble." Thankfully Sierra's cabin was on the edge of most of them, as thought she would disturb fewer people with middle of the night calls that way. "Here, put her on my bed."

At her direction her helpers placed the stretcher on the bed, and she slid the poles from it, letting the canvas holding the woman relax its tautness. Placing them back by the fireplace, she looked the woman over. Her clothing was little more then rags, barely covering a half starved form. Still, she'd need to get it off her to look for injuries. She looked up at Vincent, seeing the man still lingering.

"Thanks for your help Vincent, I can take things from here." She turned to get water and an antiseptic rinse of witch hazel and some clean towels, and saw Vincent still standing there.

"Uh, Father Charlie wanted me to stay to keep an eye on her."

"Oh cut the crap Vincent. The girl is half starved and half unconscious. She ain't no trouble now. If you're so damned insistent, y' can wait outisde, I don't allow anyone in here when I'm workin' on someone! Out!" She grabbed Vincent by the arm and gave him a push towards the door. "And close it behind ya!" She shot towards his retreating figure. She took a moment to close the curtain across her sleeping area, ensuring privacy for her patient if anyone came in. Sighing, she moved back to the young woman on the bed.

"Wh--" the woman began coughing, her throat obviously dry. Sierra grabbed a wooden cup and put just a bit of water in it.

"Careful, sugar." Sierra said gently, her arm supporting the woman's head, holding the up so she could drink a bit. She smoothed her hair back from her face, setting the woman back down carefully. "Now, to answer what I think ya were going to ask. You're at a settlement called the Home. My name's Sierra Grace Stewart, although mostly folk just call me Sierra." She kept her tone quiet and calm, not wanting to disturb the girl. "I'm the healer around these parts, and you look like you could use my help." Her hands were soft, dipping the rag in water to wipe away the dirt from the girl's face. "What's your name, honey?"

"I....I'm not certain....Eve, I, I think."

Sierra frowned, looking at the girl. This was not good. It signified a concussion at the least. Hopefully her head injury was not too severe. She moved to lift the girl's chin slightly, examining her pupils in the light. "What happened, do you remember anything?"

"No...I, I was running....from...I..."

"Shhh...." Sierra stroked the girl's forehead, calming her. "It's likely ya just hit your head in the fall. If ya have a concussion, it can make ya a little confused. Don't you worry, you'll be fine. Now, I'm going to have to check ya over for injuries and get ya out of these rags." What were you running from, Sierra wondered as she kept up a steady stream of gentle comments designed to distract Eve. She cut away the remainder of the rags, wincing when he saw how abused the girl's body was. She bathed all her cuts, bandaging a few of the worst when necessary.

"Now I've got one of my nightshirts here, I think we can risk getting you into it, I think you were lucky in your little slide down our hill, ya don't feel like ya broke anything. Now let's be careful sweetheart." Sierra moved her as little as she could, but Eve was still whimpering in pain by the time she was done. Fortunately Sierra did not have to make any medicines, as she kept a stock of the more commonly needed items on hand. Picking a concoction of willowbark and feverfew she stirred in some honey to sweeten it, knowing from personal experience the thing worked but tasted awful.

"Here now, I'm gonna help you drink this, and then you just lie back and rest. Healer's order, sweetheart." Eve managed to drink enough to satisfy Sierra and fell back against the pillow, her eyes closing. Sierra took in the sunken cheeks and circles under her eyes and shook her head. There was some mystery here, but she wasn't sure what. "You get some sleep sugar, I'll be right here." She patted her on the shoulder and gave her a gentle smile before moving to clean up her supplies.

Her glance fell on the closed door. She had forgotten Vinent was waiting outside. Slipping out the door, she closed it behind her, sitting down on the front step next to Vincent.

"Is she ok?" He asked, his brow creasing a little in something Sierra was hoping was concern. She nodded, brushing a long dark strand that escaped the tail back.

"She's sleepin' now, at least I hope so. I'll be stayin' here with her checkin' on her pretty often for a bit. She's got a conscussion at least, is half starved and all cut up from running through the woods." Her sigh was heavy and she yawned, this was more excitement then she expected this early in the morning. "She ain't the only tired one this morning." Sierra groused, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "If ya could, Vincent, just let Charlie know how things are going here. I honestly don't expect to get anything from her today, she's too confused and hurt right now to remember any details. Maybe tomorrow we can find out a litle bit about the poor girl." She stood up, arching her back, giving him a smile.

"Thanks for helping, you're a good man." Patting him on the shoulder, she went back inside her cabin to keep an eye on her new charge.

Father Charlie over his shoulder to Vincent and Sierra:

"That's fine if Sierra doen't think it would frighten her patient Vincent. If she does perhaps you could be at hand in case the younger 'companion' needs assistance once you've finished the other tasks," Charile replies just before calling Mike over.

Wren (Scarlet Witch)

Wren smiled as Father Charlie spoke to her. His words, as they always did, soothed her and calmed her. When he told her he wanted to be with her and Alexandria, a jolt of happiness sparked in her chest for the first time in what seemed like weeks.

“Now how does that sound to you, my Wren?” he asked as she stood up, smiling.

“It sounds wonderful, Father. I’ll go get Alexandria at once. And thank you, Father. Thank you for being here, for understanding. I… well… yeah. Thanks.” She giggled as he swatted her ass as she left the room.

Back in the parlor, Wren took a moment before the cracked mirror to freshen up, to wipe away her tears and to practice a few smiles. She was delighted when they came easily, and didn’t feel forced in the slightest. She adjusted her robes to cover her body more efficiently; it wasn’t proper for a Scarlet Witch to show too much unmarked flesh, after all. That done, she exited the temple and stood on the stoop, her gaze wandering over the tiny, comfortable valley.

With Father’s words fresh in her mind, the nightmares seemed distant and hazy. It was hard to believe she’d had them at all, except for the general exhaustion she felt from lack of sleep. Yet now, that exhaustion felt more comfortable than burdensome. She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled as she stepped down from the stoop and wandered along the path.

It wasn’t long before she picked out Alexandria and Brother Stewart down in one of the gardens. She stepped off the path and delicately picked her way barefoot through the grass toward them. Wren had always been proud of her grace, and she still enjoyed sneaking up on people. It was the best way to catch them as they really were.

Brother Stewart and Alexandria were sitting at the edge of the garden, their backs to her as she approached. Wren stopped a few paces away and listened, smiling as she realized just how much Brother Stewart cared for Alexandria. It was sweet, really.

As he finished talking, Wren spoke.

“Very well said, Brother Stewart. I bow to your wisdom,” she said, then did just that, a short, but polite nodding of the head and dipping of the knees. The two started as they realized Wren had snuck up on them, causing her to smile again. “I apologize if I startled you. It just seemed rude to interrupt you.” She looked out over the garden, then back to them.

“The garden is looking quite fine, Brother Stewart. Yet I hope you won’t mind if I abscond with your assistant.” She turned to face Alexandria and smiled to her, holding out her hand to help her to her feet. “Come, Alexandria. Father Charlie wants us in the Temple.”

Eve: In Sierra's cabin, Vincent outside

The bed felt soft under Eve's weary frame. Slowly she was coming to again. Blinking her eyes, she tried to adjust to the light in the room. 'I've never felt this bad before. Where the heck am I? Who are these people? How did I get here?' she questioned herself, her brow furrowed and her eyes full of fear. All Eve could hear was a woman barking at the others who must have helped her.

Eve suddenly tried to move again, her limbs heavy like lead, to cover her hunger and thirst wasted body. The woman just smiled and started to look her over and slowly take the rags from her battered flesh. Eve wasn't sure if she was comfortable with this woman poking all about her, but figured she was safe. 'It isn't them -- she wasn't one of 'them,' she thought.

The woman shooed the man out of the cabin -- which Eve was grateful for. It was bad enough that she was practically naked -- exposed before these strangers. The woman had a kind and gentle aura, reminding her of someone close to her so long ago, but she couldn't remember who.

Coughs racked her tiny body. Eve tried to say water, but couldn't muster the words. The woman intuitively grabbed a wooden cup and put it to Eve's lips. Eve was so thirsty and pressed her hand against the woman's to get more into her mouth.

"Careful, sugar," the woman said gently, her arm supporting the Eve's head, holding the cup so Eve could drink a bit. The woman smoothed Eve's hair back from her face, setting her back down carefully. "Now, to answer what I think ya were going to ask. You're at a settlement called the Home. My name's Sierra Grace Stewart, although mostly folk just call me Sierra..."

Eve listened the best she could but couldn't focus on anything but the pain that was still coursing through her body. Sierra asked Eve what her name was...Eve thought for a moment..."Eve, I, I think...I'm not certain, Sierra..." Eve realizes for the first time in days, she really doesn't remember -- doesn't remember anything but the evil ones...running...but running from what? Sierra tells Eve that she has a concussion and that she was going to gently clean and bandage her wounds. Eve nodded and whimpered as Sierra gave her a nightshirt to cover her naked body.

Sierra gave Eve a concoction to drink. It tasted awful but Eve didn't care...it was taking the edge off the pain; all she wanted to do was sleep. Sierra lay her head gently on the pillow and Eve felt her eyes close slowly, the lids locked shut, her mind slipping off again. 'Safe for now,' she thought. 'Safe for now...' she repeated to herself over and over until she fell asleep.

Jean: At dawn, return voyage on the river

The first rays of light were filtering across the sky as Jean stirred beneath her cloak. She'd taken the first watch the night before, then roused Carter sometime after midnight to take the middle shift. He slept beside her now, having awakened Tom for the pre-dawn watch. Traveling in threes definitely made it safer and easier to protect the hauls they scavenged. Not to mention the fact that it was more comfortable having at least one other body to share warmth, although all three of them had been taught by Jon Mahor how to prepare a toasty coal bed for sleeping on the ground. A few times, when Jean and Carter had traveled the river alone, they'd shared more than just warmth. It had been both an honor and a pleasure for Jean to initiate Carter in the ways of making love to a woman, and afterward she'd found herself chuckling as she observed more and more of the young women of the camp gravitating toward him. He'd grown in knowledge, skill, and confidence this year...he'd be a strong member of the community.

Tom greeted her as she sat up in the cocoon of her blanket and cloak.

"Mornin', Jean."

"Morning, Tom. No excitement last night?"

"Nothing serious. No raiders. Just a wolf pack on the other bank of the river, but they didn't stay long."

Jean nodded. "I think I heard them."

Carter roused himself at the sound of their voices, and soon all three of them were busy packing up their sleep gear and preparing for breakfast. They ate well out on the river -- better than Jean sometimes ate at The Home, since she tried to be as sparing with the community's resources as she could. Tom had already set a line out and caught one fish during his early morning watch, and soon there was another tug on the line. Jean went inland, looking for anything that might supplement the fish. Since it was spring, it was still too early for them to find apples or berries, but to Jean's delight she discovered a few potatoes in the soil that had survived the winter cold. They would eat well this morning indeed.

When she returned to the shore, Tom and Carter already had a pot of water boiling over a fire. They'd waited until she could fill her mug with the hot, purified water before tossing the fish in, and both young men helped her wash and cut the potatoes to add them as well. With a little salt and pepper, it was a decent fish boil.

As they ate, conversation turned to the rich rewards of their journey.

"So...that was a city?" Tom ventured. He'd been born after the Night of the Falling Star, and had never really known anything other than The Home.

Jean nodded, spooning a steaming bite of fish and potato into her mouth. "Mmm hmmm...what's left of one, I guess."

Privately, she felt it was more what would have been a small town. They'd been able to walk through the cluster of buildings in about thirty minutes, and many of the prime materials had already been picked over in the decades since the disaster. Still, Jean knew how to think creatively -- it was what made her a good scavenger -- and they'd managed to find a great deal in the post office.

Packages that had been waiting for years and years to be delivered...most likely to people who were all dead now. But they'd found a camp stove (and in one of the houses, Tom had discovered several canisters of white gas), several plastic bins (they dumped out all the letters and saved the bins, which could be useful for storage back at The Home), a great deal of clothing in varying sizes, colorful, fancy-smelling candles, and even a deluxe tool kit with a card attached to it that read, "Happy Father's Day".

They had spent the entire day scouring the town for anything useful, and by the time they'd left to begin paddling back up the river, dusk had been approaching but their canoes were laden with essentials. Carter had even found five chickens and a rooster, scratching around in a field near the edge of the town, and had the quick wit to nab them. They now sat in his canoe, trapped beneath upside-down milk crates. With any luck, they'd be producing eggs (and hence more chickens) for The Home in no time.

It was slow going up the river for the remainder of their journey home, given how heavily the canoes were loaded. But by early afternoon, the familiar sight of the dock greeted them. They pulled up and tied off, leaving all of the gear save the chickens, the ammunition, and the medical supplies in the boats until Father Charlie could command the distribution of resources. There was a standing rule that livestock would always be taken to the pens, anything related to healing would be immediately conferred on Sierra, and all ammunition was at the disposal of Jon Mahor.

"Carter, since the chickens are your prize, you take them over to the pens," Jean told him with a proud pat on the back. "Tom, why don't you take the bullets and those two rifles over to Mahor's post to see what use he can make of them. Oh, and here's a hunting knife I found in one of the houses, add that, too. I'll drop the herbs and linens over at Sierra's."

Jean made a quick run over to the healer's quarters, where she saw Sierra tending to an unknown woman who must have just been brought into The Home, since her injuries looked very fresh. Not wanting to disturb Sierra's work, Jean merely nodded at her and set the box where Sierra would see it. There were several sheets of linen which could be torn into strips for bandages, bundles of various herbs they'd found growing wild, and a few bottles of iodine and rubbing alcohol scavenged from various houses in the town.

After her brief stop at Sierra's, Jean went up to the Temple and found one of the youths who served there as a cleaner and messenger for Father Charlie. "Please let Father Charlie know there are supplies at dock ready for him to partition at his convenience. Don't disturb anything important, there's no rush," Jean advised the youth, who nodded at her with a smile and went back to sweeping the entryway.

The youth's slight, enigmatic smile suggested to Jean that Father Charlie was indeed "preoccupied" deep within the temple, which brought a knowing grin to her face. She chuckled as she sauntered back toward the dock.

It had been a good trip. And now, the spring sunshine warmed the air and the water, making it too tempting to resist. Her work done for the moment, Jean stripped off her cloak, hiking boots, and socks, sat down on the edge of the dock, and dangled her legs knee-deep in the refreshing water. Sighing, she lay back on the solid wooden boards and relaxed as the sun's rays bathed her cheeks.

Roaming the river was in her blood...but she always loved coming back to this small haven.

Jon Mahor, head of the Home Guards

Jon had been surprised when Father Charlie had entered his office. It wasn’t very often that the leader of the Home came to visit him and each occasion had heralded a trial of some sort, whether it was fighting off a party of raiders or the expulsion of the traitor Joan. Jon listened gravely as Charlie told him of one of the Scarlet Witches’ dreams which might or might not bring a new danger to them. “It will be as you wish, Father.” Jon had agreed, bowing his head in respect as Father Charlie had instructed him to increase the guards and warn the herders to be extra alert when away from the protection of the walls.

He had just sat down at his desk again to revamp the guard schedule when a commotion outside caused him to peer out his window again. An outsider had been found and brought within the walls of Home. Jon’s teeth gritted almost reflexively as he saw the litter bearing the unknown woman carried into Sierra’s cabin. He had an almost instinctive distrust of anyone who did not belong to their close knit community and this sudden arrival coupled with Wren’s warning dreams had his nerves suddenly on edge. He had just picked a pistol up out of the rack he kept next to the door when he saw Vincent moving to guard the Healer’s door. He’d keep a close eye on things, Jon thought to himself as he let the pistol slip from his fingers again. Vincent was a good man although he had a tendency to take too much on himself at times. He should have settled for just being the community’s blacksmith, a highly respectable and sought after profession but he insisted on being a member of the Guards.

An outsider meant that Jon would have to question her once she was deemed fit enough, it was one of his many duties to meet and interrogate each arrival to see if they were a threat to the community’s survival. In the past four years he’d only judged against five people but he knew that each person they let in endangered them more. One time he would misjudge someone and doom Home. This was the thought that woke Jon up in the middle of the night, the recurring dream that his actions would someday bring about the downfall of the community that had adopted him.

Pushing these thoughts aside, Jon moved across the large open area that bordered the compound, moving around to each of the guard towers to speak with every person on duty, trying to convey the urgency of the warning contained in the Scarlet Witch’s dream. Having spoken to each of the guards in turn, he worked his way around to the herder’s, seeking each one of them out in turn to speak to them personally. A general announcement would have achieved the same ends but Jon felt that by talking to everyone individually he might convince them of the dangers Wren’s dream warned them about. Having spoken to the herders, warning them to be extra alert when they ventured outside to Home’s protective enclosures, Jon moved down to the riverbank. He had intended to speak to the Scavengers about keeping a sharp eye for danger when he saw Jean sitting on the dock, her legs dangling down into the cool water as it flowed by.

His footsteps resounded loudly on the wooden dock as he walked up behind her, crouching down beside her as she lay in the warm rays of the sun. Looking down at her, Jon smiled at the independent woman who seemed never to really fit into their community and yet had become such an integral part of it. “Good trip?” He asked her simply as his eyes ran over the contours of her body. “See anything of special interest our there?” He queried as he thought of the impending danger that the Gods were trying to warn them about.

Jean opened her eyes and offered a smile to the disciplined man who loomed over her. Mahor was as dedicated as they came and took his position with dead seriousness, which definitely earned her respect. Knowing that Home security was no lackadaisical matter to him, she rose up to her feet. She could laze in the sun for a few minutes more when he was gone.

"Yes, it was, thank you...we brought back a good load," Jean answered as simply and directly as he'd asked. "I hope it will serve the community well. As for sightings...nothing that appeared to be of immediate danger. A wolf pack near our camp site, but that was a good thirty miles down river or so."

She stood with her hands on her hips, furrowing her brow as she scrutinized every image in her memory from their journey. Jon always carried the weight of the entire community on his shoulders, it seemed. If she could lighten the load by giving him accurate information, she would.

"I did see signs of relatively fresh horse manure in the town we scavenged. We kept on guard there, but didn't see anyone and figured they probably passed through a day or two earlier than we did. Neither Carter, nor Tom, nor I saw any further signs like that closer up river toward the Home, but we didn't pull ashore very often -- we had a hard paddle to get back here in decent time. If you'd like, though, we could go out and do some scouting this afternoon."

At Jon's reply, she nodded agreeably. Jean trusted his judgment, and the one thing she felt most comfortable doing was helping out wherever it was needed. Well, okay, she also felt damn comfortable with her feet dangling in the river on a sunny day!

"By the way," she added, nodding toward Sierra's quarters. "What's up with the stranger? When'd she get here?"

Vincent

To the passerby, Vincent did not look the happy man. Sitting with his back to Sierra's housing, rifle in his lap, his eyebrows were furrowed in thought. he did not like the idea of leaving his heathfires unattended. One floating ember might set off a flame, leading twoards a fire in the smithy..or worse. Vincent took his guard duties very seriously though, and would not leave his duty until releaved. An answer came in the form of a young boy, of about twelve years. With the bounce of youthful playfulness, the boy stepped up and took a seat next to Vincent on the step.

"Vincent, I didnt see you at the smithy, are you here watching the stranger? What does she look like?" siad the booy, looking over his shoulder.

"I am protecting her from much too curious boys as you, Peter," replied Vincent, giving the boy a nudge. "Since you are here, and not at home with chores, I take it your ready for today's lessons?"

Peter's eyes lit up. "Oh yes, what am i to learn today, Vincent? Can i make a sword today?"

Vincent waved a dismissive hand twaords Peter. "What good is a sword? Can't plow a field with it. Can't cook a meal with it. Can't cut wood with it. Making weapons is always a last resort, my pupil. No, today I give you an important task, and today I trust you to do it alone. Are you ready for that responisiblity?"

Quick as a light Peter was up, standing straight. "Yes sir. What am I to do?"

"Go to the smithy, and close it down for today. Stoked the heathfires down as ive shown you, and put up the tools in their places. Give it all a good sweep. Then, find me and tell me of your work. That is your lesson for today."

With a bit of dejection, Peter said nothing and walked off to his tasks, dragging his feet a little. Vincent grinned a bit, then resumed his own task of keeping the curious away from the new arrival.

Erin

Erin had been up with the dawn and, before the dew was off the grass, she’d herded the Home’s sheep and llamas up the steep wooded hill to the higher pasture that was west of the compound. This was the first trip to the field this spring, since the snow melted off. The new, green, tender shoots gave off a sweet scent in the warn spring sun and the natural bowl of the clearing, ringed around by trees and undergrowth made it a perfect pasture.


After her first circuit of the clearing, looking for tracks or other signs that might indicate trouble, Erin settled down against a sun-warmed rock to keep watch, her longbow and quiver of arrows at her side and a pistol in her lap. She pulled out her drop spindle, a foot long wooden shaft about as big around as her little finger with a three inch diameter wooden “wheel” about an inch from one end, and a handful of soft, fluffy, redish-brown llama fiber and began spinning thread.

As soon as she was set, Bitsy, her huge grey wolfhound, flopped down beside her, grinning, tongue lolling and rolled over on her back for a tummy rub, wet feet in the air and tail thumping the earth. From her vantage point on the hillside Erin could see most of the valley that was her home. A flurry of movement on the far side of the compound caught her eye. It resovled itself into a small group of people carrying someone on a stretcher. Her instant concern that someone was hurt, eased a little when she realised Sierra was directing those carrying the person.

By late afternoon, Erin had made several more circuits of the pasture and was thinking of taking the animals home when Bitsy raised her grey head and growled while looking into the deepening shadows across the clearing. With a gentle hand on the furry back, Erin quieted the huge dog. She wanted to see what Bitsy had sensed. If it was a four legged predator, she’d use her bow so as not to scatter the flock like a gunshot would.

Then she saw a darker shadow moving beneath the trees. When Erin heard a loud crack, as of breaking wood, then a hushed curse, she knew the danger was two legged and readied the 44 caliber revolver. If there was gunfire, the Home Guard would hear it.

Since her brown and tan homespun clothes were made from fiber of the very animals she was tending, Erin hoped that that, coupled with her small size, would have kept the poacher from noticing her. Then she saw the other shadows moving toward the clearing, she counted half a dozen. Bitsy was vibrating with the strain of holding still when she wanted to attack.

The first rifle came up to shoot into her flock and, as much as it sickened her, Erin knew what she had to do, the flock was hers to protect. She shot first. She watched the man drop to the ground while all hell broke loose. The animals scattered in all directions as guns went off around them. A grey blur streaked across the clearing as Bitsy launched herself at the nearest man and Erin dove behind a tree and picked off three more attackers.

When she peeked out again, fear knotted her stomach as a dozen armed strangers cautiously made their way into the clearing. This was no band of poachers, it was a raiding party and Home needed to know.

Whistling for Bitsy, Erin sprinted for the path down slope just as the herd made a frenzied rush in the same direction. Throwing a quick prayer to the Gods that the fleeing animals wouldn’t trample her before she could warn Home, she tried to blend in with the herd long enough to make it out of the pasture.

A harsh voice yelled, “There! A woman!” Erin heard one last gunshot and screamed as searing pain exploded in her right hip. She fell, tumbling down the hill. Then Bitsy was standing over her, protecting her. In a weirdly clear, seemingly frozen moment, Erin noticed the drops of blood hanging from the wiry fur on Bitsy’s muzzle and that the shadows had hardly moved since the attack started. The whole thing had only taken a few minutes. Then she blinked and everything was the same as it had been before.

She heard shouting and more gunfire but this time it came from Home. Erin used her two remaining bullets on a couple of raiders who got careless, thinking her dead, then whispered, “Bitsy, down,” hoping to keep the dog out of the line of fire until help could come.

Marcus

He walked beside the wagon, his left hand on the lead horses flank. He wore a wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun from his eye, and rough, worn leather coat, and some sort of heavy trouser he traded for in the last town. They were new to him, but fit comfortably, and held up well as far as he could tell.

He was close to the Home now, and could see it in the distance. There were no highwaymen here, usually, and so far this trip seemed no different. The scavengersd tended to stay far from civilization, where there numbers were an asset to a small group of travelers. Still, he kept his weapons close at hand just in case, with the new one he had traded for well hidden.

His eyes scanned the horizon for any signs of life, or more acurately anyone from the settlement. For people who spent the majority of their time behind walls, their scouts and soldiers were remarkably good at remaining unseen this close to their walls. They knew the terrain well, every nook and hole, and used them to perfection.

As the town grew larger in front of him, he saw him. A scout from the look of him, he unfolded himself from a small hollow in the ground about forty paces ahead. Marcus was well-known to the camp, and that familiarity got him the benefit of the doubt. Still, he wouldn't bet his life on the belief that the scout was alone.

He stepped away from the horse slightly, and held his hands outward. The scout could no doubt see the two dagger at his belt, and the long, single edged blade slung across his back. He debated whether he should make a move to show the crossbow, or longbow, or the new weapon, but decided against any quick movements.

His eyes moved to the settlement behind the scout, and he smiled.

The Home was familiar to him. They had some unique beliefs in comparison to some of the other settlements he'd been to. Not unique enough that he minded them of course. It wasn't his way to judge others. None of his business really, as long as they treated him fairly, as he saw it. And thus far they had.

When he got to within a low shout of the scout he called out his name, and waited for an answer.