Man, True Man E-Book

Mari Collier

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

After a spaceship crashes into the planet of Tonath, the lone occupant survives and fights his way to sunlit part of the planet.

When a passing freighter finds him and takes him to the Western Starshift Institute of the Way, where the Teacher rules the sunlit part of the planet, Tonath is a planet being torn apart by the forces of nature, and only the Teacher can predict the movement of the stars and interpret the prophecies.

Will the Teacher be able to recognize True Man and True Foe in time to save Tonath from a thousand years of burning?

Leseprobe

Man, True Man

The Chronicles of Tonath, Book 1

Mari Collier

Copyright (C) 2016 Mari Collier

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Cover art by http://www.thecovercollection.com/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Chapter 1: A Planet Divided

The man knew he was in trouble as his ship squalled in protest against the physical forces that had battered the shields into oblivion and was now shredding the metal surrounding him. Outside the atmosphere had thickened to a liquid gray-green gelatin. The forces of two conflicting dimensions were pulling and stretching the ship's seamless construction, the stress thinning the hull rapidly. He knew the dangers of a one man flight, but had risked it. When he awoke from his last sleep, the anomaly was there, no longer a subject for hypothetical conjecture in the halls of science: A planet caught between two different space time dimensions existed with life forms.

He locked himself into the scouting craft, his brain calculating the approximate length of time it could sustain him once the main structure failed. He shrugged mentally. Life was life, no matter how long sustained.

He switched on the life support systems and sealed the hatch. A bitter smile snaked across the lean face, the scar on the right cheek barely discernable since his last rejuvenation. What a hell of an end: alone with none to mourn his passing. He had been looking for a new land, not too raw, but a promising land with enough technology to insure more than a primitive existence. He wanted a place where he could match his strength and his wits against nature and physical weariness permitted sleep to overtake the loneliness.

He felt the ship buckle. A quick glance at the instruments showed he had plummeted through the atmosphere into the ocean. With a final, protesting metallic shriek, the outer craft disintegrated, swept away into the roiling, green liquid.

The smaller craft was undamaged, but the vibrating from the force of the rolling water made the craft yaw and the wind pitched the craft as he broke the surface. He kept adjusting the craft's balance while piloting toward the land mass, hoping that it was more than just rock. Land would offer some measure of safety. The planet circling the sun had shown promise of blue and brown belts. The scanners indicated a safe environment for human life and then the storm had swept in and caught his ship in the changing atmosphere.

Beads of sweat dripped from his dark, curly hair as he looked down, his grey eyes roved the panel, hoping for some reassurance. There was none. Already the craft's interior lights were dimming and he could hear the metal buckling. The waves caught the ship, first tossing it upward to slam it down into the froth, and then spinning it towards the rocks. The man had fought and knew he had lost.

With rapid motions he belted a sheathed knife around his waist and tied a rope over it, looping the rest around his shoulder; a rope of twenty feet, no more. God knows, they've saved me before, he thought. Within seconds the small Scout rammed into the rocks and broke, hurling him into the outside.

Wind and green water tore at his body, knocking him flat and tossing him nearer the rocky shore. One brief glance showed him the high green rocks were being scoured by moving water. Still he struggled in the water and prayed to the God taught to him so long ago. As if in answer, the waves lifted him higher, swept him over the crags, and slammed him headfirst onto the rock covered ledge.

Gradually the wind died as the green rain continued to pelt the earth. He came to and looked blankly at his hands, moving them in front of his eyes as if they were some disembodied tool of strange complexity. The heavy air rasped at his lungs and irritated his throat. His clothes were wet and reeked with the odor of the sea. He looked down at the grey-green water foaming around his perch. Obviously, he had come from the water. What if the sea rose higher?

It was, the brain decided, a bad place to be and time to leave. He glanced upward and realized there was no other way and began to climb. Hand pull by hand pull he brought himself to higher ground, his head and body protesting every inch.

Once at the top, he fell forward, panting, looking at the water pounding at the rocks below, the weaker limestone crumbling while the heavier rock glistened dispassionately, oblivious to the forces beating against it. His breathing slowed and he stood

His head throbbed and he noticed his hands were caked with blood. Gingerly, he probed at his skull, wincing with nausea. It's been cut, he thought, the whole left side felt swollen. I wonder where I am, or how the hell I got here. Then a larger puzzle hit at his core. Who am I? He looked down and discerned he was male, not female, but trying to think of his identity increased the pain. His knees met the ground. Not good, he thought. Just keep moving to some place safer.

He looked at the surrounding strange foliage before moving. He saw green scraggly bushes growing out of ground that seemed covered with reeds or grasses. The ground cover blending into higher shrubs and then becoming a forest of brownish green trunks heading towards where? He forced wobbly legs to move and headed into the forest away from the sea. Once there, he leaned against a tree and considered what he knew.

Nothing, he concluded; nothing but blurred images from a past that wouldn't focus. He knew there had been a storm and a ship. But what kind of a ship? He gulped at the unsatisfying air. It was heavy, irritating, and his lungs seemed filled with phlegm rather than oxygen. Once again he examined his hands, the green light casting a jaundiced color where instinctively he knew pink flesh should be. He shuddered.

“Water,” he muttered. “First I have to find water.”

This much he knew. Man can live without food, but lack of water on the prairie would kill. Prairie? This wasn't a prairie, but the principal remained the same. Men and animals cannot live without water. He wondered if animals could exist in this forsaken land. He felt the strength flow back into his body and flexed his arms and hands. He felt himself and discovered a good body. He could survive. Some dim memory of survival said he had survived worse. But where? Can't think about it. The process made his head hurt and his vision blur. He knew survival depended on all senses being alert and he began to listen: listen to what the forest could tell him.

It was quiet and he was alone. No, not alone. Even on this green, dappled world life fed, propagated, and died. He heard scuttling in the underbrush and spotted an insect, a brown creature with splotches of green and then the forest began to talk to him. Birds flew and chortled in the background, the wind whispered, and the leaves rustled back, the very earth seemed to quiver with the arrival of a new comer.

The bark on one tree was dislodged and he bent over to examine the ground. There was a narrow path that had been beaten down by hoofs. A game trail like those he knew from somewhere long ago. Animals were food and animals knew where water flowed. He had a knife and a rope: tools that animals did not possess. He began following the trail. The pain made his vision blur and his knees wobble, but he kept going, one dogged step after the other.

As the trail led downward, he passed vegetation he could not name. There were huge trunks wrapped with corded vines, ferns that belonged in a climate forever damp, and everywhere the shallow green light highlighted darker shades of green. He stooped once to examine the soil and sniff it. It looked like moss, but it was moldy, dank smelling earth. Then he saw the faint imprint of a larger hoof not obliterated by the others, nor washed away by the rain.

A horse! God, a horse. A horse could be caught and ridden out of this green hell. There had to be a sun somewhere.

The bleeding from his head and hands had quit, but he desperately needed to find water. Follow the trail, he told himself. It means water. Steady, hold your pace; you know you can go for days once you find it.

Hours later the pool appeared in a low area; green, rippling water welling up between green, granite like stone. He circled the spring before approaching. It was obvious that animals watered here, although now it was quiet and devoid of animal life. Was it too early for them? There was still light illuminating this world. He lowered his head and drank, then spat. The water tasted bitter, but not brackish. It was more like the air that didn't satisfy and had a sting to it. He forced himself to drink. There were no dead mammal bodies lying here. Then he washed the wounds on his arm and head before retreating to the trees.

Back in the forest, he selected the moss and ferns that resembled some he must have seen or used sometime somewhere. Sheer instinct guided him now as he applied the mosses to his wounds and used the vines for tying the improvised bandages. Once finished, he used the heavier vines to fashion a small snare and covered it with the fern fronds. It was as though his hands remembered how to do this while his brain could not. He hoped his smell would not be so alien as to drive any creature away. With luck, the strange smell might make them curious. He then used the rope to pull himself up into a tree and lash himself into a crook. Light or no light, he needed sleep.

He awoke to the light of green-grey moonlight and the feeling of being totally lost and disorientated. Then he remembered the pool and the snare. Something gurgled below and then skittered away as a small animal squealed. He loosened the rope and leaned over. Something was thrashing in the bushes where he hidden the snare. He rappelled to the ground.

The caught animal was no larger than a rabbit, but its teeth were sharper, the ears shorter, more like a rat's, and it was busy chewing at the vines clutching its forelegs. It probably has green fur, he thought, as he approached. The creature struggled and hissed, baring long teeth. He threw the knife, impaling the animal and ending its struggles.

He set about skinning his catch, wondering at the two musk glands in the hind quarters. Strange, musk glands aren't part of a rabbit's anatomy. On some level, his mind could still reference past events. Where did I learn to skin an animal so efficiently? Instantly, the throb returned to his head. Quit thinking, he told himself and carried his catch up to his perch.

In the morning, he woke early and watched the rising sun spilling its green-gold rays to illuminate the darkened world with lighter shades of green. In one direction (he presumed it northeast if the sun rose in the east) he could see golden haze spread out like an arc. That would be his destination. There had to be a safe earth away from this green world and air that clogged his lungs and his head.

It took considerable effort to light a fire with rock flints and his knife before the dry fern fronds caught flame and his small fire burned bright and clean. Once cooked, the creature tasted like slime. His stomach protested, but the food stayed down. He scaled the tree again and marked the lay of the land by the high rock towers to point as a guide. He clambered down the tree, coiled his rope, and drank from the bitter pool. He began to run at a steady lope toward the northeast. His arm was better, but the head still throbbed.

He spotted a camp about midday. It was deserted, but man, or man beings, had left their imprint. Their sign was like a letter to him. They had used furs to sleep on. A few scraps of grease and splintered bones were scattered about the fire pit. These were beings not worried about an enemy. They had also ridden horses, or hoofed creatures.

What kind of man beings lived here, he wondered. If they slept in furs, were they primitives? He examined a long strand of hair from the ground. Was it black or dark green? In the canopied forest he could not determine its color. He straightened and considered. It would be best to keep away from them. They couldn't possibly be like him and certain to be distrustful of any stranger. Hunger and thirst gnawed at him. He sniffed the air. There it was: water on the air. He knew water should be near a camp. Primitives would not befoul the water or scare away game by camping too close.

He found the spring several yards away. It was green water again, but water. He bent to drink his fill. He would survive.

Once sated, he continued in the general direction of the far off golden glow. His movements were slower now, the air sticky, scraping at his lungs. At nightfall, he sought another high tree after setting his snare and eating the last of his cooked meat.

Morning brought a soft, green light filtering down through trees and rocks and showing an empty snare. His hands seemed overcast with green and he was afraid that if he had a mirror it would show green eyes in a green face. Careful, he told himself, sanity can slip away. He lowered himself to the ground and squatted. Then he sat still, letting the forest and ground talk to him. Something big was stirring, silencing the wild life.

The morning sound of birds had stilled. When he first looked out from his perch, there had been a large, dark bird swooping in the sky. It had not been a familiar hawk, but the outlines were similar. Now the bird was gone and the forest was quiet, too quiet. Something or someone was hunting and he moved behind a boulder. Wildlife became quiet when man hunted, and instinct told him that he was the hunted.

Some mechanism, deep within him, enabled him to ignore the throbbing pain in his head. Instead, he concentrated on the clopping hooves bringing the beings nearer. The vibrating earth carried the news that there were two quadrupeds. He slunk closer to the ground, easing the knife into his right hand, waiting until he could smell the stink of rancid grease before moving enough to tense his muscles.

The two approaching dark, horse-like creatures each carried a biped being clad in furs and buckskins. One leaned over towards the right, watching the ground for changing signs. Indians on mustangs his mind whispered, they're tracking me.

They stopped when they realized his stride had changed and they caught his alien man-scent. With a scream they rushed forward swinging their clubs of rawhide wrapped sharp stones. Tomahawks registered in his mind and the muscles in his legs bunched and launched upward. His knife flashed and a yell tore from his chest as he leaped to meet them.

The quadrupeds reared and screamed, his unknown odor frightening the beasts into a frenzied fight to flee. The man jumped and caught the weapon arm of the being on his right, the extra weight causing the horse-like creatures to collide. No longer was he thinking consciously, but patterns of training and past deeds worked his muscles and his hands. He pulled the man down and forced the knife through and across the throat, then flung the man from him, stuck his knife into the sheath, and picked up the tomahawk as the other regained control of his beast and wheeled toward him.

He flung the tomahawk directly into the male chest. The being toppled from the bolting creature and in a second he was on top, driving his knife down into the heart, or where the heart should be. Realizing that perhaps this being was different, he used his knife to rip the throat and stomach of the man beneath him and rolled to the side. There was no movement from the two prone beings and a darkening teal liquid pooled the ground beside them.

The reins of one quadruped had caught in the vines and underbrush. The beast was pulling, but the reins remained fast and the creature quieted. Good, he could use it for transportation.

He turned to look at the slaughter and felt no revulsion. It was as though the scene was a replay of long ago events and he knelt to examine the victims.

They were small, compact men with muscular builds, dark, green hair and eyes, olive skin, and wide chests. The chests were probably necessary to utilize the air that dragged at his lungs and left him feeling in need of more. He stripped a rawhide vest off one and put it on. He did not bother with the bows or quivers of arrows. He emptied the bundle tied to one waist and sifted its contents.

The contents of a small, leather pouch smelled like pemmican. He sniffed at the lump and cautiously chewed a bit. It was tough and bitter, but whatever the dried contents were they would sustain life.

The other man had a twisted rawhide rope wrapped around his shoulder and slung under his arm. The man removed it and then coiled it loosely, fashioning a noose at the end. Slowly, he approached the horse caught in the bushes.

The horse had caught his smell and was trying to rear, its eyes rolling wildly. The man's head was still throbbing and his arm was bleeding again, but he started twirling the rope over his head, keeping the noose moving in a circular motion. The lasso whirled over the beast's head and settled around the neck. He dashed in and leaped on the beast's back. There was no saddle, but he managed to slash the longer reins free, grasp the mane, and dig his knees inward to send the creature loping along the bank towards the light.

Bushes and rocks blurred as he urged the creature forward and he fought for control. The golden light crept closer and he knew there were others following. They would want revenge for the olive bodies lying in their dark life-liquid.

The air seemed to lighten and turn a softer, yellow-green. Something whistled past his head as he guided the beast towards the hazy light. There had to be real life sustaining oxygen in that golden light.

Half-way across a low, running river he broke through into brilliant sunshine. He was temporarily blinded and almost lost control of the beast as it fought his every move. He had managed to turn the animal towards the opposite side again when something thudded into his back. Another missive hit the animal. The animal rose on its hindquarters and he slid into the stream.

The cold water revived him and he used his hands and knees to crawl to the sunlit side. He could hear his pursuers screaming at him, but they were not following him. He gulped in the air: real, life giving air. He threw back his head to howl his survival and liquid gushed down his back and his legs buckled. He forced his way up the bank onto beige sand strewn with white and brown-rose boulders.

He rested. Pain wracked his body and thirst burned his throat. Did he dare go back for water? It was a necessary decision or soon it would not matter. He tried to stand and instead sprawled onto the ground.

Chapter 2: The Western Star Shift Institute of The Way

Brother John stood at the wooden gate watching for the wagons to bring the month's allotment of provisions from the settlement. It was his duty to escort them in, enter the offerings into the records, and see to the storing. As much as he preferred to tend his gardens, the new Teacher had been kind to place such confidence in his abilities, and Brother John would never disappoint the Teacher. The wagons were late, but he could see the dust clouds billowing from the east, proclaiming their arrival would be soon. One wagon approached more rapidly than the others.

Brother John recognized the driver as the man called Billings and wondered why he was so far ahead of the rest. He smoothed his rough, grey robe which was uncomfortably warm in this climate and tended to rumple easily. It was, he decided, far more suited to the temperate regions of Anoth where the Eastern Star Shift Institute of The Way of Tonath was located. The last Teacher, however, at his final Reading of the Way Book had given the directive to build a new Institute here. The Starshift had ended. The period of mourning for the old Teacher was almost over and The Way Book would be opened again by the new Teacher. It was possible he had already done so as last week's storm had almost ended the Star Shift. The stars had already moved closer to the Way Reading alignment, or so the more enlightened Brothers informed him. Expectations for the new Readings were building excitement among the Way Brothers throughout the compound.

Brother Calvin was keeping all the lesser brothers away from the Teacher, standing like a shield against all who would intrude. Since Brother John always avoided Brother Calvin, a sharp-tongue and too prudish man, he had not caught even a glimpse of the newly appointed Teacher for the last week.

Brother John, unlike Brother Calvin, enjoyed his cup of ale in the evening and a harmless joke or two. He felt he had given up enough to join the Brotherhood of The Way: the forswearing of all women and material goods. Not that there had ever been much in the way of material goods in his common, working life and since his wife had reached the worthy age, they had executed the Contract of Dissolution and parted. Brother John knew no younger woman would wish to join his Pathway.

Billings interrupted his musings, by pulling the team to a halt and hawking out a yellow stream of dust induced mucus towards the ground. His black hat and simple, grey shirt were soaked and dark-splotched with sweat.

“Better come take a look at what I'm carrying,” he said to Brother John.

Brother John stepped out of the shade of the wooden walls. He noted that Billings was driving a lighter supply wagon as was his right as the owner of the approaching wagon train. Billings climbed down and walked with Brother John to the back of the wagon. He pointed to the human cargo lying on blankets, front side down, the back of the dark head blood-matted and distorted by swelling, one arm crusted with pus and blood. The man wore a Greenie vest and one Greenie arrow protruded from the back and another lodged in the upper right thigh. Any exposed skin was burned to an angry red.

“We found him by the Daybay River. The Greenies were still howling like dementeds from the other side. He had dried, green slime on his clothes and when I pulled one eyelid open, the white showed light green. I can't figure out if he was storm lost or one of them Halflings.”

Brother John shook his head. “There are no Halflings,” he said firmly. “Sheer folk mouthings.”

“Maybe that's true,” said Billings and straightened his lean frame to shoot another stream through yellowed teeth. “We would have left him there, but he muttered, 'I found the Way' when we asked if he could talk. We figured you and the good Teacher would know what to do with him as he sure won't live long if he doesn't get some kind of care.”

At these words Brother John went into action. “Take him to the Healing Quarter. I'll bring the Doctor and the Healers.” Then Brother John lifted the grey robe and churned his stout legs faster than they had moved in years.

Chapter 3: The Patient

Dr. Crossen was grateful for the time he had been given to watch his patient. It was good to be alone and away from the preying eyes of the ever vigilant Brothers. He especially blessed the time he was away from the reading of The Way Book, prayer chanting, herb dispensing Brother Zack. Crossen wasn't certain whether Teacher had assigned Brother Zack as a Healer or as a spy. It was probably both, thought Crossen. That would placate Brother Calvin. The young man in the bed stirred and Crossen leaned closer. The skin under the dark stubble was clear and pink, the flush of fever ended. Suddenly, grey eyes were staring at him and then the man looked around the room, blinking from the light. Finally, they focused on the doctor again.

“God, you're not green,” the voice whispered in a language that Crossen could not understand. Crossen blanched to almost grey. He did not want to lose his patient at this point. He was too close to thwarting Teacher and the Brotherhood.

“Young man, do not ever use those words again!”

At his words, a puzzled look crept into the grey eyes and Doctor Crossen continued, “Please, never, never use those words again. You are at the Western Star Shift Institute of The Way and the Green language is not allowed.” If Green is the language you used, he thought to himself. “That language, like many other things, is forbidden, punishable by spending the rest of your miserable life here.”

The grey eyes hardened and understanding and intelligence crept into them, the cloudiness dissipating. The young man attempted to nod and then grimaced.

“How do you feel? Is the pain bad? I'm Doctor Crossen and assigned to bring you back among the living.”

The man closed his eyes. Should I tell him that at first his words were gibberish and then, somehow, they rearranged into a language? No, his mind told him. It's best just to answer his questions.

“My head feels like it's three times its normal size. Where did you say I am?”

Doctor Crossen nodded with satisfaction. “I'll give you something in a moment for your head. Right now the time is short and I need to do some explaining. Your head took a horrible blow and you are at The Western Star Shift Institute of The Way under the tender care of the Teacher and the Brethren.”

“Now listen to me,” he hurried on. “I don't know who you are or where you are from, but I am a doctor and your two hearts are not human. For that physical abnormality, you could be condemned as a Green. If someone like Brother Calvin ever found out that you have two hearts, you would be in great peril. I myself have been condemned to remain confined behind these walls for the rest of my life for committing the heresy of questioning their interpretations of the Way Book Readings and teachings. You are my chance to thumb my nose at them.”

The young man laid his hand over his chest as if to verify the statement about the two hearts. The movement caused pain to wash over his face again. Doctor Crossen was struck by how old the eyes suddenly looked.

“Now, are you hungry or thirsty?”

“Yes, both. Water first, please.”

Dr. Crossen complied with a glass of water. Then he took up the waiting bowl of broth laced with Brother Zack's heady concoction of herbs. “There's medication in this broth and it may taste a bit bitter,” he warned.

While he spooned the broth into the man's mouth, Doctor Crossen continued his explanation. “Since you said the words, 'I found the Way,' when you were found wounded on the riverbank, the freighters brought you here. Those words of yours are the reason the Teacher permitted me to heal you. It was obvious that you had emerged from the Green Belt and Belt Lands. The freighters, a superstitious bunch, were afraid you were some sort of Halfling. Since the teachings of the Way Book deny such joining of Greens' and human flesh, Brother Calvin's words were to no avail. You are to be healed and then questioned. It is most important that you be wary of Brother Calvin.”

The man studied Doctor Crossen and saw a small, compact man with white hair, bright, blue eyes, and a mouth drawn into a tight controlled line. Long, slender fingers were attached to rather wide hands. He then ventured a question.

“You said you were here because of heresy. Does that mean you are a prisoner? Is that what they intend to do with me?”

“I'm a prisoner for my unorthodox thinking and written speculations. At this time, you are here merely to be healed and questioned about your arrival and your home area.”

“Since you are awake, I'll need to call Brother John. He at least is harmless. Before I do, we need to make sure that your name is one that is like ours and not unpronounceable.” He looked at his patient and waited for a response.

“My name is…” the man stopped. Utter confusion and panic washed over his face. He tried to heave himself upward into a sitting position and fell back moaning with pain. He looked up at the doctor, his grey eyes wild, the face distorted, “I can't remember,” came out in a hoarse whisper. Then his voice rose in timbre.

“I can't remember who I am. I can't even remember how I got here.” He clutched Doctor Crossen's arm with his left hand and Crossen was amazed at the strength of the grip.

“Take it easy,” soothed the doctor. “It is not unusual to have a slight memory loss after a bad blow to the head. As I said, the freighters brought you here.”

“No, no, I mean I don't remember anything except being in a ship that was being torn apart and landing in that green hell.”

Doctor Crossen's face blanched again. “You must not use words that have no meaning here.” He took a deep breath. “All right, I'll accept the fact that you cannot recall past events. I do not know if the Teacher or Brother Calvin will. You can try to convince them, but in the meantime, I must call Brother John now that you are awake.”

The man continued to hold Crossen's arm while he protested. “No, you don't understand. I can't remember.” The words came out stony and hard.

“How long have I been here?”

“You were brought in almost two weeks ago.”

The man took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Doctor Crossen took advantage of the silence and the loosened grip, removed his arm, and stepped outside. He could see Brother John over at the next cabin plot, tending the herb and vegetable gardens. Brother John insisted on growing plant matter in this root laden soil to prove that anywhere within the proximity of a Star Shift Institute the ground would provide a bounty of food and herbs. That his own diligence could possibly be responsible for all of his produce Brother John was far too modest to claim. Doctor Crossen could only shake his head at such deep beliefs as he walked over to Brother John.

“He's awake now and out of the coma. His fever has gone, but could return. The Teacher asked to be informed when this occurred.” Teacher's requests, Crossen knew, were orders.

Brother John smiled, pleasure flushing his pink, round face. “Wonderful! I'll take the message to him,” he said before hurrying towards the building housing the Teacher.

Brother John was winded when he arrived with his important information. The black robed clerk waved him through to Teacher's office. He was surprised to find both the Teacher and Brother Calvin. The latter scowled at him for the interruption.

The Teacher was seated at his desk and smiled warmly at Brother John. “Do you have news about our patient?” It was no idle guess. He knew a man of Brother John's age ran only when necessary.

Hurriedly, Brother John recited what Dr. Crossen had told him.

“Excellent, Brother John, thank you for bringing the news so promptly. Please return to the Healing Quarter and stay with our patient. Inform Dr. Crossen no one is to talk with him until I arrive. I'll be there as soon as Brother Calvin and I finish our discussion.

As Brother John left the office, the Teacher accepted the oil-skin wrapped packet from Brother Calvin and asked, “Is this from our coastal outpost?”

A tight-lipped Brother Calvin nodded. He disapproved of the new, richly furnished room with the large hanging drapes representing scenes from The Way Book. Teacher's desk was of special dark wood and waxed to mirror perfection by the younger Brethren. To add insult to Brother Calvin's thrifty eyes, Teacher wore a fine black gown covered by a black, satin surplice embroidered with a silver path on both sides. At the bottom of each end there was an embroidered Tree of Life beside the upward spiraling silver path crowned by Stars. Teacher's black satin skull cap sat over straight black hair.

The Teacher detested the overly warm, ostentatious clothing, but wore them to hide his less than forty years and as important symbols for those that wavered in their faith. The mourning period for the old Teacher was over and he no longer was required to wear somber grey. His brown eyes skimmed over the enclosed papers.

When he finished, he set the papers on the desk and looked up at the older, Brother Calvin. As usual, Brother Calvin's face was stern, slashed with thin, bloodless lips, pulled tight in constant disapproval.

“The reports say that the colony sent across the waters by Anoth thirty years ago must have been totally destroyed. The Star Shift has lowered the green veil over the waters and there is no possibility of sailing through or around the green air. No one has entered the coastal ports from there for over three weeks. It looks as if no one heeded our warnings.”

“Heretics all!” burst from Brother Calvin's lips. “Did they not at least send a reason as to why they would not leave?”

“If they did, the letters never arrived. We must assume that all have perished with the possible exception of our uninvited guest. As you just heard, Brother John reports that our guest is awake and his fever is gone. Would you like to accompany me while I question him?”

Brother Calvin opened his eyes in wonder, surprise showing on his face. “You intend to question him yourself? I thought I'd attend to that chore.”

“You attend to enough chores. Besides, I wish to judge him for myself.” Teacher was aware that Brother Calvin, while a superb record keeper and administrator, was conscious only of the misdirections in man's nature. He would miss any subtle signs or utterances that were necessary to confirm or deny the predictions contained in the Way Book.

In silence they walked the one-half mile distance from the Teacher's residence and office compound to the Healing Quarter. Brother John answered the door at Brother Calvin's knock. Once inside Brother Calvin frowned at Doctor Crossen. “Teacher will examine the man. There is no need for you to stay.”

Dr. Crossen relinquished his chair and gave a half-bow that somehow conveyed mockery with deference. The Teacher, however, nodded at the young man lying on the cot, and said, “First I have some questions for you, Doctor Crossen. How is the patient?”

“Unfortunately, the patient is not yet completely recovered and seems to have amnesia, possibly induced by the head injury or the time spent in the Green Belt. He tires easily and may drift off into a light slumber at inappropriate times.”

Teacher looked at the doctor. “Can he answer questions?”

“Of course, he can.”

“Has the fever completely gone?”

Crossen considered the question. He was sure that Brother Zack would make his own report.

“Abated would be a better choice of words,” he answered. “The infections that formed around the arrow wounds, the head injury, and the cut on his arm have mostly disappeared. Brother Zack's herbs are more effective than I presumed they could be. The head wound is not yet healed and the fever will probably return as night falls.”

“Have you had any conversation with the patient?”

“There was very little in the way of conversation with him. It was necessary to ask certain questions about his well being since he is my patient. It was also necessary to tell him where he is to prevent him from becoming completely agitated.”

Teacher considered. “Very well, but my instructions remain the same. No one is to question him until authorized, nor give him any unnecessary information. If it happens again, you will be confined to quarters. Please wait outside until we have finished.”

He nodded at Doctor Crossen as the man left the room and turned his attention to the young man with the steady grey eyes. The eyes locked on him glinted with intelligence. No apprehension showed on the young, face covered with black stubble. If there was any recognition or awe for his office, none showed.

“I am the Teacher of the Way,” he introduced himself. “Brother Calvin, my Administrator, is beside me. Freighters found you in the wilderness close to the Daybay River, just outside the Belt Lands and they brought you here. Your wounds were considerable and we decided to heal you. At this time, we need more information to decide your fate. We need your name and your region of origin.”

The young man gave a bitter half-smile, closed his eyes, and gently moved his head back and forth in a negative motion. “I don't know. I've tried and tried, but I can't remember.”

Teacher ignored Brother Calvin's skeptical hiss and continued. “What do you remember?”

The man opened his eyes. “Not much,” he said wearily. “I was in some kind of craft and the storm tore it apart. I tried swimming, but kept getting tossed under. It was the waves that carried me up and over the rocks. When I came to, I was wedged between some boulders on a ledge and the sea had calmed down. It, it was all wrong. Everything was green and the air was heavy and hard to breathe.”

Teacher noted the slight slurring of words. Was it a provincial speech or an impediment? He would need to question Dr. Crossen later. “What do you remember before that? Surely you recall your mother or your father.”

The face whitened. “I've tried.” The voice was almost desperate. “All I can remember is a woman with white hair and grey eyes and a man: a very big man. I can't even remember the color of his eyes, but they must, they have to be my parents.”

“Why?”

Once again the grey eyes looked at him and locked on. “Because of the way they are looking at me. Whatever I'm doing, they approve. Whenever I try to remember more my head starts pounding and I want more of that broth or tea.”

“What else do you remember?” asked the Teacher.

“That green world.” The man spat the words out as if describing something totally evil.

“Very well, tell us what happened there.”

He told of the forest in halting phrases; the overwhelming green vegetation, of finding the fetid water, the animal trapping and its slimy taste, and the continued journey towards the golden glow. At the last he told of murder done and the wild ride to escape.

“I prayed,” he finished. “I don't know if I've ever prayed so hard in my life.” He laid back, weariness contorting the youthful features into an eerie caricature of old age.

“You killed two Greens in the Belt Lands?” Brother Calvin's skepticism at such drivel burst out of his mouth. It was believed that Greens rarely ventured out of the Green Belt into the Belt Lands.

The grey eyes snapped open. “If I didn't, they have more than one life.”

Teacher shot a warning glance at Brother Calvin to be silent and turned to the young man. “You were fortunate. The closer you moved towards the Daybay River, the Star Shift was displacing their foul air with decent air. They were probably having as much difficulty breathing as you.” The young man's eyes clouded in puzzlement again.

“Difficult as it may be, try to remember something about your life before entering the Green Belt,” prodded the Teacher. “Perhaps you can recall something from your childhood days.”

“No, I haven't been able to remember anything but small glimpses of people. I'm not even sure if they are people I know or just dreams.”

Brother John decided to break the silence that followed. “When he was delirious, he kept calling for someone named Tony.”

Teacher nodded a thank you to Brother John and returned his attention to the patient. “Do you remember someone named Tony?”

The man rubbed his jaw, momentarily hiding the cleft in his chin, and sighed. “Yes and no,” he answered. “Tony should be a boy's name and in the dreams Tony is a girl, no a woman.”

“Please describe her,” came the Teacher's request.

“Why? Does that help tell you who I am?” There was eagerness in the man's voice.

Teacher looked at him. “Perhaps not, but if you are from New Anoth it might help to verify that fact.”

The man considered and then winced as he shrugged. “She has dark, curly hair and blue, very blue eyes. The eyes are so blue they are almost violet. She doesn't even come up to my shoulder. She's beautiful and has a very graceful…,” he stopped speaking. “That's all I remember about her.”

“Do you remember anything else?”

“Only the white-haired woman I told you about. She has grey eyes like mine and the same type of cleft in her chin. Then there is the big man I mentioned. He's tall, taller and wider than anyone I've seen here. He can lift me clear off the ground.” The young face began to whiten under the strain. That's all that's clear,” he finished.

The Teacher considered. “How did you get into the Belt Lands? How did you find your way out?”

“I've told you what I recollect,” the words came out harsh and grating. “I've tried, but I can't even remember why I was in that ship. I do know that I don't ever want to feel that alone and lost again.” He paused and his face began to flush from the returning fever.

Teacher persisted. “You claim that you killed two Greens, yet you did not know who or what they were. How do you explain your actions knowing that you were outnumbered?”

The grey eyes locked with the dark ones of the Teacher. “They were going to kill me.” His voice was flat and toneless.

“Undoubtedly,” returned the dry tones of the Teacher. Something in the man's voice and demeanor told the Teacher that this one would kill again if his life were threatened. Brother Calvin, he knew, was mentally rehearsing his arguments as to why this man should be confined. ”I would like for you to tell us again how you were able to come directly out of the Belt Lands and how you managed to live in there for almost three days.”

“I survived. That's not living,” was the same flat response. “When I was on the high rocks and when I climbed up into the trees, I could see a green-gold light. Somehow I knew that had to be sunlight and if there was sunlight, there was a chance I could get out of wherever I was. There was no true sunlight there, so I headed toward hope.” He closed his eyes, weariness overwhelming him.

The Teacher saw that the young man slept. “We'll talk again,” he said to the patient and to himself.

The high prairie's long twilight was bringing softness to the day's harsh light and a small breeze sent the heat waves backward into time for another day. As they stepped outside, Teacher asked Doctor Crossen, “Will you answer a few questions? Brother John can tend him if necessary.”

Doctor Crossen breathed deeply, partly from relief and partly to steady himself for the coming questions and nodded his head. He stood waiting.

“Just what transpired during your conversations with the patient?” asked Teacher.

Doctor Crossen answered without a pause. “He kept asking me to tell him who he was, where he came from, where he was, and if I knew who Tony was.”

“That is all?” asked Teacher.

“He hasn't been awake long enough to say much else. I suspect that flower concoction from Brother Zack is more potent than most realize. However, the herbs used on the wounds, that potion, and his special willow tea seem to have done more to restore normalcy than all of my doctoring.”

The Teacher considered. “Very well, I'll accept that for now. You will inform me if his memory returns. I am curious about the condition. Is there a cure and how common is it?”

“There is no cure except time. Folklore has it that another blow to the head would restore his memory. In his condition, it might kill him. Amnesia is a tricky thing. It is rare, but it does occur,” replied Doctor Crossen.

“In other words, it could be real, or it is just a pretense to conceal the truth.” Brother Calvin felt that his common sense perspective was needed and could contain himself no longer.

Doctor Crossen smiled. “I have no reason to doubt the man. If he was in the Belt Lands for over two days, he went a considerable time without sufficient oxygen. That could be more damaging than the injury.”

“How long until full recovery?” asked the Teacher.