Chapter 15
A New Beginning
Reunion
Doris Jugg paused, and put down her basket of apples. She squinted at the sight of movement on the horizon, narrowing her eyes in an attempt to bring the distant figures into focus. As they grew nearer, her eyes grew as big as saucers, and her face was a mask of terror as she recognised the moving mass as dogs. Dogs walking on two legs, marching three abreast down the track, wearing leather armour and carrying spears and round shields. She had heard the horror stories from the survivors of the battle at Ashers field, and had dismissed them as fantasy, but her opinion of the stories changed instantly as the dogs started howling. It was a drinking song, actually quite funny and very rude, but they sang it in dog speak, not Spanglish so that they didn’t upset Ma Nesbitt too much. The fact that the wily guru knew the words in both Dog and Spanglish was lost on them, so they sang on, not knowing that she was quietly singing the chorus with them.
The effect on Doris was electrifying. At 63 years of age, she was Ibis’s oldest citizen, and she intended to keep it that way, so broke into a shambling trot towards the gate. The nearer to the gate she got, the faster she managed to run, so that when she swept into the farm yard scattering hens in all directions, her extended family looked on in amazement.
“Close the gates,” she screeched, “we’re gonna be murdered!”
Women and girls seemed to be running in every direction at once, but after three chaotic minutes, the gate was shut and barred, and the Sharps and Juggs were on the wall watching the approaching army. With only Polly being part of Ibis’s regular militia, they were armed with whatever they could find.
Through necessity, wood axes and cleavers were the main weapons of choice, but Sarah was carrying Polly’s old sword. Pansy and Flossie were last to arrive, but like Polly, came to the wall ready for anything, with their full armour and shiny shields.
“Steady girls,” yelled a small voice, “keep calm. We can kill one each before we die.”
Pansy leant back from the wall and craned her neck to see who was doing the shouting.
“Who’s that?” she asked her neighbour.
Caroline looked down the line. “It’s our cousin, Sasha. Bit of a drama queen.”
Pansy looked again at Sasha. She was waving a potato knife and had a saucepan on her head. “How old is she?” she asked Caroline.
“Eleven, I think,” was the reply.
Pansy raised her head to survey the oncoming troops. There were warriors coming down the road as well now, but they were just strolling along, unlike the dogs who were now marching past the orchard fence and still singing.
“Sasha,” shouted Pansy.
Sasha turned. “Come here girl, I’ve got a very important job for you.”
“Ready captain,” announced Sasha and saluted, clanging the knife against her saucepan.
Pansy winced. She had to get rid of this menace. “Go to the house and tell Marco to get down here.”
“Who?”
Pansy thought a moment. “The princess. Princess Florabel.”
“Not allowed in the house,” answered the girl, not wanting to leave the wall.
“Do it now, girl. Or I’ll get myself a stick and beat you,” Pansy shouted at her, and instantly regretted it as Sasha’s face fell and she shuffled towards the stairway.
Pansy caught her by the shoulder. “This is important Sasha,” she said seriously. “Perform well today, and I’ll teach you how to be a real soldier.”
Sasha’s eyes goggled and her face lit up with a broad smile. “Wow. Really captain?”
“Really,” answered Pansy softly, not actually knowing how to be proper soldier herself. “Now go and get Marco, or the princess, whoever’s there.”
The wardogs halted and howled out the last long note of the song. The farms defenders howled and screamed right back at them and Toldo, the dog’s leader for the expedition, thought this was high praise indeed, so turned to his squad.
“All right lads,” there was a polite cough. “And ladies,” he added and raised his right hand. “They want an encore, so the last four bars of ‘Whose Turn Is It Anyway’. Ready… and.”
He brought his hand down, and the chorus began again. In Spanglish.
“Rather you than me, I wouldn’t know what to do, I’ll save the sausage for laterrrrrr,… and wait till I get home! GRRROWF”
It was better in Dog. At least then it mostly rhymed. There was a stunned silence from the wall.
“Ouch,” yelped Toldo as a stone bounced off his helmet. “That’s not funny,” he shouted up at Lilibet and Molly, who were preparing to throw more stones at him. “At least they only throw tomatoes in Homestead.”
Polly stopped her trembling. “What the hells was that all about? Why don’t they attack?”
She got no answer as all the women flinched when the dogs broke into a mighty cheering at the sight of Marco.
“Marco, Marco, Marco,” they shouted, as the hero they thought was lost to them waved from the wall. Then several scuffles broke out as they realised that the lottery they had run, to determine who would serve next at Marco’s side, was still valid. The farm’s defenders watched open mouthed at the strange scene below them.
“I was definitely in the next squad,”
“Were you heck as like, you lost your ticket playing dice with Sticker.”
“Well I’m running with the mad sod anyway, like it or not.”
“Who says so?”
“ME!”
“Yeah? You and who’s army?”
They didn’t actually draw knives, but when the tumult settled down, there were several dogs sporting black eyes and bleeding noses. Shaking his head at the mad sight, Marco descended the stairs again and opened the gate.
“Marco! No” yelled Pansy.
“Marco! Yes” shouted Flash.
Pansy ran down the stairs, but Sasha was faster.
Marco and Flash were hugging just outside the gates, but to Sasha, it looked like murder. She screamed her defiance and leapt to Marco’s defence. “Leave the princess alone.” She swung the potato knife with all her might, and kicked the surprised dog in the shins.
Like Sali Vorden and Tanya Vine, she became an instant hero, and another legend in the dogs history was born. Many generations later, the blade of the knife that broke off in Flash’s leather kilt became a sacred relic.
With so many reunions to celebrate, the party around the farm gate went on until after midnight. It had to be at the gate because the dogs, as usual, had set up camp against the outside of the wall. Outside was OK, but to be on the inside of walls was a definite no no. Even on such a joyous occasion as this, the dogs irrational fear of walls and doors couldn’t be overcome. This didn’t stop them enjoying themselves, and none of them was happier than Flash, who insisted on showing off the bruises inflicted on him by ‘Sasha of the deadly shoes’.
There was a quieter, private party in the farmhouse, where Ma Nesbitt a
nd Sylvia were deep in discussion with Tanya, Pansy and Flossie.
Explanations were given on both sides and they managed to unravel all the unfortunate misunderstandings that had taken place.
“All that’s past is forgotten and forgiven,” said Connie in her wisdom, “and you and Pansy will come back to Homestead with us when we’ve settled Marco into his new home, with Maddy at the council buildings.” She didn’t understand their lack of enthusiasm. “There’ll be no more talk of thrashings and the like. Not now you’re so grown up.”
“Aye, Connie,” replied Tanya, and the guru’s eyebrows shot up at Tanya’s familiar use of her first name. “We’ve come of age in the last few weeks, and we know what we want our futures to be.”
“What do you mean girl?”
“We’re staying here with Marco.”
“Well, I’m sure you think that that’s what you want, but you can see that your place is in The Vine, surely?”
Pansy interrupted. “You don’t see the point, do you? This whole affair has been one mistake after another, but if we hadn’t done as we did.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Then Marco would have drowned.” There was no immediate reply, so she continued. “Marco’s one of us now. Me, Tan and Floss are his family. We belong together.”
“But he was promised to Ibis,” Connie blustered.
Tanya was ready with her answer. “Well of course, the Ibis girls can come here to work on the farm, and as they help out,” she waved her hands vaguely, “they will probably get to know Marco a little better?” She sat back and her smile was angelic.
Pansy butted in. “We can’t leave him, because we think that our feet were guided by the gods.”
“They used the forces of nature to send us to Marco.” Added Flossie. “And we can’t refuse our destiny.”
Pansy stood up and raised her arms heavenward. “Lady of the night, we thank you for delivering Marco safely into our hands, and we vow to serve him as best we may. We will shed our blood for him, and will protect him even unto the last breath in our bodies.” She drew a small knife from the folds of her robe and pricked it’s point into her left palm. She passed the knife to Flossie, who stood and did the same. Then Tanya completed the simple ritual that Pan had described to them earlier. They put their bleeding hands together and their combined blood dripped onto a square of white linen that Tanya was holding. Sylvia was mystified but impressed by the ceremony. She liked Tanya and Pansy, and had been anxious for their safety. Connie hadn’t heard of any ritual like that before, so bit off the scathing words she had been about to say about uppity girls. Nobody had seen the blood rite, or even heard of it before, because Pansy had made it up, just like the prophecy of ‘the black goat’.
Flossie smiled at the dumbstruck Homesteaders. “He stays. We stay. Here in this house, with the Sharps and Juggs as well.”
“How are you going to persuade Maddy to give up her farm?” asked Sylvia.
“We’re not,” replied Tanya. “You are.”
Birth of a city
Maddy finally agreed to sell the farm to Tanya. The point at which she was persuaded, was when Connie suggested that she carefully examine the baubles that she had accepted from ‘the princess of Alacant’, in front of witnesses, for the rental of Toogood Farm for an indefinite period. Flossie had selected the jewellery carefully. Instead of gold, everything was made of base metal, and the gems were only coloured glass. Maddy was furious that she had been tricked by three girls and a man dressed up in women’s clothing, but Connie just sat and smiled until her fury had passed. Then she handed over the chain and medallion that Marco had been wearing when Maddy first saw him.
“What’s this then? More brass?” sneered Maddy.
“No, it’s all gold, but look at it carefully dear,” said Connie softly, “look at the medal.”
Maddy turned over the medallion and shrugged her shoulders. “It’s a bird.”
“Not just any old bird.” The guru paused for dramatic effect. “It’s an Ibis. Seen a picture of it in one of our new books the angels brought us.”
Maddy narrowed her eyes as she tried to see what the evil old bat was getting at. “What are you trying to say then Constance Nesbitt?”
Connie leant forward across the table, and lowered her voice. The others leant forward too in order to hear her better. “What I’m saying is,” she looked over her shoulder as if to make sure that no one was listening, “perhaps Central is too far West to be the seat of government now. Perhaps a royal chain of office would help you to persuade others to vote for a more central city, instead of Central.” she sat upright again and waited for Maddy’s reaction. She could almost hear Maddy’s brain ticking over.
“Well, we are nearer the coast,” mused Ibis’s prima.
“And nearer the Nest,” added Sylvia. “That’s where the new library is going to be. It’s a lot dryer up there.”
Connie could see that Maddy was almost persuaded. “And there would be new clothes, remember those fantastic robes they were wearing? To go with the new chain of course, with the holy bird of Egypt on it.”
Maddy gave up. “Holy bird eh?” Not letting on that she didn’t know what or where Egypt was. “It’s yours,” she said abruptly, “if you’ll promise to help to make Ibis the first city.”
“Done,” said Connie, “Toogood Farm belongs to Tanya Vine.
“And I keep these worthless trinkets,” insisted Maddy. “After all, they were for rent, and they’ve been there a week now.”
The old guru smiled. “Congratulations, Maddy Toogood. You drive a hard bargain, and I admire you for it.”
That night at the farm, Connie called for everyone to gather in the courtyard, and shortly before sunset, Sylvia stood and spoke to the waiting crowd.
“You’ve been through some bad times lately. And not all of your troubles have been deserved.” She looked for Dotty, who she had nearly killed in the market place. “You’ve all been very brave, and I’m sure that we are all going to learn from the mistakes that we’ve made.” She surveyed their expectant faces. “You are not Ibis. You are not Homestead. Your future is in your own hands. This farm is now a stead in it’s own right.” She raised her hand to stop the sudden cheering that broke out. “I name Tanya Vine as your first Prima.” More cheering came after this, and each following name. “I name Pansy Prayerbook as your first priestess. I name Polly Jugg as your first champion. I name Flossie Craken as your captain of archers.”
Then the celebrations started. Long into the night, the sound of drums and flutes could be heard as the Sharp girls danced and Margaret and Marco taught them some new ‘old’ songs from a previous age. Even the dogs joined in. From the safety of the gateway of course. ‘My Way’ went down particularly well and had to be sung again and again, until Margaret complained that she would be physically sick if she heard it one more time.
Earlier that afternoon, Sylvia and Connie had admired all th
e things that the girls had acquired during their journey. Tanya’s sword was nearly identical to Sylvia’s, but apart from them never losing their extremely sharp edges and being very decorative, they were nothing out of the ordinary. Some of the other items turned out to be far more interesting though.
“I never miss what I aim at,” said Ivy Tulip vehemently. “Thought the arrow must have been bent.”
“No,” replied Tanya, “It was flying true, but slid away at the last second.” She briefly relived the moment when she thought she was going to die.
Sylvia held up the silver mail shirt that Tanya had worn nearly all the time since finding it. “There’s a story my mum told me, about a magic set of armour used in the valley wars by her great, great, lots of greats, grandmother, but I thought it was just a fairy story.”
“Could be true though. I felt my chest go all tight when I saw Ivy loose the arrow at me. Thought it was just me getting scared. But maybe?” She shrugged her shoulders and didn’t finish the sentence.
“Wonder where the rest of it is?” mused Sylvia.
Then there was Pansy’s little horn. After Margaret had roughly translated the inscription inside the box lid, Pansy had put the horn back into it’s box and swore never to play it again. Margaret said it was written in old English, and her best guess at the words was, ‘If you be not pure in heart, then raise not the wind, lest the wind razes you’.
There was a simple melody inscribed on the inside of the lid as well, which meant nothing to most of them. But Pansy could read music, and had memorised the rise and fall of the tune. All agreed it was a mystery, and such an instrument had never been heard of by any of them. The greatest treasure they possessed, however, was the little handcart that they had used to transport the first load of goodies from the tunnel to the farm. No matter how much they had put on the cart, it never got any harder to move. At one point on their journey, Tanya, Flossie and Marco had managed to climb on board together, and Pansy had pulled them effortlessly. But the biggest surprise had come when they had to cross a small stream. They had waded knee deep through the water, but the cart had rolled across the water’s surface as if it was still on the road. Needless to say, they had locked the cart away from prying eyes and meddling fingers. Not even Margaret could explain how it worked. Everyone agreed that Tanya and her followers were rich, both in material goods and companionship.
Connie was happy. She had one eye firmly fixed on the future. Her beloved Homestead was already the main player in the East, and with Tanya in charge here, on Ibis’s doorstep, she was sure that Homestead girls would eventually rule the world. Sure, Tanya was an uppity little madam at the moment, but she would change, and with Homestead’s help, she was going to make Toogood Farm an important little community, and she was sure it would still be thriving when Ibis eventually stood abandoned. Toogood Farm and Homestead were going to be valuable to each other soon. Tanya Vine and Kirsten Vine. Sisters. Tanya at Toogood and Kirsty at Homestead. Perhaps they would even rule sister cities one day.
Bright new day
It was an hour before dawn, but the birds of Burnt Wood took one look at the grey shapes slinking through the trees below them, and called off choir practice for the day. Alain the alpha male felt an urgent need to bite something, as he surveyed the abandoned tents of dog city.
“I know they should have been here as well, but they’re not, so we’ll just have to track them down. Won’t we Colin?”
Colin tried not to make eye contact as he gave a non committal shrug of his grey shoulders at the same time as nodding his head. Alain looked at him and wondered why his mother had insisted that he bring him along.
“Now, should we form a committee to discuss the best way forward cousin Colin? But be aware that if the answer’s yes again, then I might have to bite you again as well. Won’t I?”
Colin winced at the sight of his leader’s toothsome smile, “I’ll, Er, go and sort out the scouts, shall I?” he suggested, trying to sound helpful.
“Don’t bother, Lucy’s already seeing to it, and if she wasn’t, it wouldn’t be your job, worm brain. But I have got a special job for you though.”
Colin’s face did the impossible, as he managed to look even more worried than before. “You’re staying here in case any of those dozy dogs come back this way, and if they do, it’s your simple task to maim them a little and keep them here. No killing, mind, or you’ll feel my teeth again.”
The wolves of both varieties, both two and four legged, headed off down the Homestead trail, leaving Colin on his own in the deserted village. His frightened eyes darted left and right, probing the darkness for the one known terror of the night, namely the killer chicken. It’s scent was all over the place, and no doubt it had driven off the cowardly dogs yesterday.
Colin had been with the small pack that had attacked the fishing village a year ago, (Mona the guru had later found Albert abandoned and empty) and the five scrawny old women there had all said the same thing before they were killed and eaten. There were no more men in the world! And now the killer chicken was the only thing that the wolves were wary of, and the last obstacle to Alain’s dreams of world domination.
“Now,” Colin thought, “if only I could stop that awful whistling coming from the cave.
The village was roused, not with gentle and insistent bird song, but by the wolves howling from South Farm, as Ronald and Sheila’s pack reported back to Alain that the farm was deserted. Then Basil howled the news that the North pasture was also empty, but there was a fresh trail of many animals and people leading West. Alain surveyed the village across the slow river, noting the sudden noises and hasty movements of people in the grey morning light.
He turned to Lucy and Brian “Lucy, go with Basil and get after them. Brian, tell Ron and She to go as well, I want them all back here, or dead.”
Brian had done this before, and suffered for it, so moved a discreet distance away before loudly barking out the chief’s orders.
All that Jade could think was, “too late, I’ve left it too late,” but she eventually brought order from the chaos of panicking women and girls.
“Jan,” she yelled as loud as she could and waving frantically, “gather on the Vine.”
Jan waved back and relayed the message to those nearest to her. The milling crowd became two distinct groups which disappeared into the Vine with Jan, and into the bakery under Jade’s command. Those with bows stood on the roofs, watching for movement within the boundary fence, while those with sword and spear could only sit and wait behind the barricaded doors and windows.
Jade frowned and ran round the flat roof, desperately scanning the visible parts of the village. “Jan!” She shouted. “Where are the dogs?”
After a quick look over the roof tops, Jan shrugged her shoulders. Jade chewed at her lip in quiet desperation. The dogs had run off in the night. Whate
ver had to be done would be done by the women of Homestead on their own.
“What are we up against?” asked Sara in the Vine.
“Don’t rightly know yet,” answered Rachel, “but that bird said that about a hundred wolfs were coming our way.”
Sara shuddered. She’d been trailed by two wolves the winter before, and after climbing a tree to escape them, had managed to wound one with an arrow, and she remembered vividly the way it had been despatched and partly eaten by it’s starving companion.
“Lady, help us. We’re gonna be eaten.”
“Steady lass, there’s still thirty of us here. Be strong, stand firm and do your bit and we’ll be alright.”
“Where’s that Beryl when we need her,” said Sara bitterly, “loafing about in Central, playing the great lady in front of all the temple trash, that’s where.”
A cry went up from the bakery roof as the archers there spotted grey shapes flitting between the cottages over the green, and although they started to raise their bows, the wolves were gone as quickly as they came.
At day break, Denny was still two kilometres North of the village, where she had at last tracked Betty down again, and was in deep and silent conversation with Robin.
“Show me one more time Robin.”
"It’s here," her mental lodger replied, and Denny felt a vague tickle deep within her brain behind her right ear.
“Got it.”
“Now squeeze,” said Robin, “Whoa, that’s scary. Better than I could do in the suit”
Betty just watched and carried on chewing her finger nails. Denny was still trying to come to terms with the awesome shape that her shadow had flowed into.
“But if that was real, and it felt real enough, then where does all the extra flesh come from?” she asked.
“Don’t really know, but the psycho manual says that it can be paid back a little at a time,” replied Robin.
“Not really sure that I know what that means,”
“Well, if you want to be big, then you’ve got to be small some time. I think? But if you want to be small, then it’s like saving up for big time. Maybe?”
Denny thought about it briefly, “that’s about as plain as anything else round here at the moment. Now, what can we do to help out?”
“We could do some digging I suppose.”
For about three hours, nothing much happened, except the villagers nerves grew a little more ragged as they caught occasional glimpses of the wolves circling them at a safe distance. Occasionally, the sound of breaking glass could be heard, as the wolves systematically destroyed everything that they could not use. Good glass was a rare commodity now, and if Homestead survived this day, the window panes would have to be replaced by cow hides or dull panes made of ox-horn, until someone from Tintown could show them how to re-use the broken glass again.
The old adage about wartime being hours of boredom, followed by minutes of panic and terror, still held good, as the waiting suddenly came to an end.
“Here they come,” yelled Lily as several wolves made a dash towards the West wall of the bakery, the side furthest away from The Vine. With little time to take proper aim, the five bakery archers loosed their arrows quickly, but only managed to wound two of their attackers. Leading the wolf pack was Ivan, and reaching the wall safely, he stood as a man again and wrenched the shutters effortlessly from the window.
Two wolves leapt through into the room beyond and were met by screaming women with spears and sharp swords. Eventually both of the whirling grey beasts died and the open window was defended again with the long spears, but as bandages were hastily tied round arms of two of the wolve's victims, Susan Brand died with her femoral artery spraying her life blood over the wall and floor. The attack had been short but violent, and as they retreated, two more grey beasts fell victim to the rooftop archers.
“Mmmm. Time for a different approach, I think.” Mused Alain, “They’re better than those miserable dogs, but let’s see what they’re really made of.”
He waved towards Trudy and Karl, “Bring her now,” and they came forward between the cottages across the green, directly opposite the Vine.
There were many farewells as the Homesteaders and wardogs set out a few at a time on the road home. Margaret’s farewell to Marco was in private, and took a little longer than Pansy cared for, but Tanya pointed out to her that they had many happy years ahead of them, and they shouldn’t hold a grudge against someone as ancient as Margaret, who was about thirty six and obviously way past her best.
And then they were all gone. Just the four adventurers, plus the Sharps and the Juggs were left, and soon the everyday routine of farm life took over their lives. Evening came, and Marco instructed them all, even Edna and Doris in the art of march and countermarch. Tanya insisted that everyone there should be proficient with sword, spear or bow, and for a while, it was just like the good old days on South Farm. Marco was still less than average with a sword, but when a spearhead came off in the middle of a fairly physical practise session, he used the spear shaft as a quarterstaff, and successfully fought off Polly and Sarah for several minutes, until Sasha took a hand and started throwing stones at him. “You leave my mum alone, you big bully,” she yelled at him. “You should know better than to hit a lady with a baby.”
Stunned silence fell on the farmyard, quickly followed by the cheers and congratulations of Sarah’s excited kinfolk, then the inevitable question. How? Two months previously, Beryl, Basher and Glen had been escorting Ricky and Walter to their temporary homes in Altmore and Lakeside, and they had stopped overnight in Ibis. Walter’s sleep was interrupted by the adventurous and amorous Sarah, who crept quietly away before dawn, feeling more than satisfied with her night’s work.
Later that night, inside the house, Flossie broke down and cried her eyes out. She clung to Pansy as if her life depended on it.
“It’s not fair,” she blubbed, “why isn’t it me Pan? I should be first.”
Pansy tried to reassure her that she was normal. “Doesn’t always happen straight away, love.”
“But I need his baby. Then I’ll know Marco’s really mine. I’ve always been a nobody. I want to be important.”
“But you are important. You don’t need a baby to be important, and you certainly don’t need his baby for him to be yours. Marco loves you. We all love you and need you.” Pansy listened hard, but there were no approaching footsteps. Where was Tanya when you really needed her?
“But why haven’t I got his baby then? We’ve been trying hard.”
Pansy winced at the thought of them ‘trying hard’. “It’s probably from that time you spent on the mountain.” Pansy’s imagination went into overtime in an effort to reassure Flossie, who was still crying fitfully. “Your body hasn’t recovered from not eating properly for all that time, and you won’t have a baby till… Ouch!” She stopped suddenly and held one hand to her shoulder, then looked wildly round the
bedroom. “It’ll be about this time next year,” she said hurriedly, “Twins. A boy and a girl.” Then she fainted.
“Wake up Pansy.” The voice was alternately loud, then soft, like waves breaking on a distant shore. “Come on priestess Pansy, we need you to wake up now.”
She opened her eyes slowly, then quickly shut them again. “Too bright,” she whispered.
“Close the curtains please,” said the all too familiar voice. “Is that better?”
Pansy opened one eye, then the other. “Hello Rocket, sorry. Mistress Turnbuckle.”
“Hah. Rocket indeed. You’re the ‘rock it’ this time,” said Rosalind, smiling. “You’ve rocked the boat a little bit too much Pansy, and we need you to put the world to rights again.”