“Fort Veritt was almost wiped out by raids from the Gen army because they settled too near the Gen Territory border and the local Sime town wouldn’t turn out to protect them from the Gens who thought Fort Veritt was the source of the raids into Gen Territory. Most of the Veritt refugees here still have nightmares about the last Gen raid that caught most of their channeling staff in the open and burned down their Fort and all its crops.
“Fort Tanhara,” he gestured to Solamar, their ranking channel, “I’m told was overrun by Freeband Raiders and town juncts who worked in concert to destroy the Fort. That is the most frightening development so far.
“The town juncts and Freebanders hate us more than they hate each other. They hate us because we don’t Kill our Gens. They hate us because we are not addicted to Gen pain and fear and death, not dependent on the Kill to garner enough selyn to live for another month, not junct. They hate us because we are perverts.
“Freeband Raiders have never been any kind of organized menace. Here in the mountains, they’ve never been more than small packs of wild animals that swarm over any unsuspecting road party. Now suddenly they’re mounted, and they shoot fire-arrows to destroy our buildings, cooperate to scale our walls.
“Our scouts report the town of Shifron has been attacked by a very large, organized band of Raiders. A small part of that band split off and chased Tanhara here wanting their Gens for the Kill. Theory is they have taken the town’s Gen Pen and are settling in for the winter. Scouts report the town’s ordinary junct population has fled south.”
Rimon paused to let that news sink in. From Shifron the Freebanders could raid Gen Territory for fresh Gens to Kill during any break in the weather. The Gen civilization out there allowed no Simes to live among them, and kept a standing army to enforce that. But to selyn starved Freeband Raiders who often Killed two or three times a month instead of the normal junct’s one a month, Gen Territory was filled with herds of Wild Gens, not people living as best they could in a harsh environment.
If there was no break in the weather, those Raiders would come to Fort Rimon for their Kills. By spring, perhaps the more peaceful, disciplined junct residents of Shifron would return with the Sime militia to take their town back.
Shifron had been making a good living between furs, lumber and pine nuts. They’d want their town back.
“Rimon Farris,” Del Rimon said, “my grandfather, the first channel, discovered how to avoid Killing Gens, how to take selyn from any Gen and transfer it to any renSime, letting the Gen live to produce more selyn. Most of you are the fourth generation of this dream of a world where no Gen has to fear the Kill and no Sime has to fear dying of Attrition. But in only four generations, we are failing.”
The only sound was the rhythmic snick-hiss-thud of the shoveling.
“Our failure stops today. Today, over the open graves of our parents, children, siblings, and loved ones, we pledge ourselves anew to my grandfather’s vision.
“Fort Rimon will survive this winter, and by spring we’ll be bigger, stronger, and better than ever. Come spring, we’ll clear more land, plant and prepare for the following winter. And we will help the citizens of Shifron take their town back from the Freeband Raiders. Shifron will have no reason to ally with the Raiders against us.”
They might do it anyway, thought Rimon. “To achieve this, we must re-unite these six Forts!”
“Seven,” interjected Solamar.
“What?”
Projecting his voice to the crowd, Solamar said, “...these seven Forts united. I am the last survivor of Fort Faraway. I arrived at Tanhara just after their last battle.”
“What happened to Fort Faraway?” asked Rimon loudly enough for everyone to hear while he masked his renewed grief. Faraway gone too!
“Forest Fire. Just before harvest, a huge firestorm swept down the canyons driven by fall winds. We rode ahead of the fire and then made for Tanhara. We survived junct towns, Freebanders, wild animals, even a Gen army patrol, and then plague destroyed us last spring. I made it to Fort Tanhara with two children and my Companion, but they died within a few days.”
Rimon zlinned that there had to be a lot more to that story than Solamar was telling.
“Seven Forts United,” proclaimed Rimon. “We will be as one, solid, strong, and vital. Our walls will not be broken, our hearts will not weaken.”
The shoveling fell silent, the diggers standing to attention beside the fresh graves. With dense clouds rolling over the surrounding mountains, Rimon signalled the musicians for the final tribute so people could file past the graves, winding through the graveyard to visit each of the fresh piles of earth, murmuring their farewells then starting back, each walking alone in the dark, heading up to the small door in the wall on this side of the Fort.
The Simes lingered to help the Gens who didn’t have the Sime ability to zlin through darkness. The Gens gravitated to the Simes who could use the invisible selyn-glow of the Gen bodies to discern the path back to the Fort. They didn’t separate themselves by their Fort of origin.
* * * * * * *
Solamar was exhausted. After the funeral, he had done a stint in the Dispensary giving transfers of selyn to fatigued renSimes in Need because they had been augmenting, using up extra selyn during the battle or its aftermath so they could work faster and stronger. It was nearly midnight and this was the first moment he’d had to breathe since they’d first spotted Fort Rimon with the Freeband Raiders chasing them.
He’d sent Kahleen, a truly remarkable woman, an exemplary Companion, to get some sleep and knew he had to rest a bit before letting himself grieve for Losa.
He pushed open a wide door in the side of the Dispensary building, a long, flat fieldstone building with a slate roof. It let him out into a space next to the wall. The patrollers atop the wall noticed him immediately and saluted nagerically. He crunched on through the ankle high snowdrifts, hands tucked inside the cloak someone had loaned him.
The Fort was so crowded, it seemed there would be no place for even a moment’s solitude to just let his nager expand without fear of hurting someone. But with the snow and cold wind, he thought perhaps the cemetery would be deserted, so he walked along the wall to the small door. The cemetery would be a good place for dark thoughts.
He heard the donkeys trudging around the well, though it was out of sight across the compound. He’d seen two wagons filled with kegs of river water parked by the stables earlier, and some of that hammering in the distance was the repair crew working on the well outside the walls. How long will the water last with all these people?
He heard a second pair of animals being led out to the well. He walked past the building that housed Rimon’s office, the infirmary, and sleeping quarters for the channels. Someone was emptying chamber pots into the privy pit behind the infirmary. Sanitation. Feed for the animals. It was going to be a very hard, very busy winter and he was already too exhausted to think.
Near the door out to the cemetery was recent construction, rows of family housing right across from the wing of the infirmary. Piles of dirt, split logs for the walls, and detritus surrounded the new buildings. Tonight, each one was accommodating three times the number it was designed for. People were tending crying children, nursing headaches, avoiding nightmares, trying to grieve silently.
He waved a tentacle in greeting to an old man sitting on the steps of a new house whittling what looked like a toy.
The small door in the Fort’s wall was barred with three hardwood planks and guarded by two young renSimes.
“Tuib, the order is that nobody is to go out until dawn after the scouts return. All the gates are shut.”
Of course. “Yes, that’s good. Thank you,” he said as he passed by without breaking stride. A little further on he came to a stair and mounted to the top of the wall where guards paced,