JOURNEY TO THE MIDNIGHT SUN
James Sheldon
LOVE CONQUERS ALL
Book 1 of 3
Chapter 21
Far away in John’s homeland, the search for lost knowledge ran like fever in the mines. The knowledge did not come in the form of writing however, for nothing had been written in stone, or even clay tablets, but the knowledge wasn't lost. For example, while stainless steel deteriorates and is gone in a thousand years; under favorable conditions a DeLorean might be unearthed deep underground, it's body crushes from the weight of the ruins above it and badly decayed but nonetheless intact. Men could quickly ascertain that it had wheels and seats, and the wheels were connected to drive axles, and so on. John’s air rifle had begun as an unrecognizable clump of rust. Other wonders yet to be identified were being brought up. The renaissance was picking up steam. The new breed of men John spoke of had plenty fodder for their fire, waiting for them deep in the mines.
Laureal walked with John to the edge of the surrounding ruin. Normally several men would set out together on a hunt but under the circumstances, there was only one.
“John, please be careful.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” giving her a kiss. “Are you and Jessie going for firewood?”
“Yes.”
“Take spears and bows along with your hatchets.”
“We know to do that.”
“I know you do. Take Yike and Nemo with you also, but keep them tethered. Don’t let them run after anything.”
“Will do,” giving another kiss.
John pushed a few strands of hair from Laureal’s face, “You’re so pretty.”
“You’re so handsome,” smiling up.
John glanced towards camp, “Cody and Mia, can watch over your grandmother and the twins. Cody has the rifle so they should be fine.”
Laureal could feel the strength of John’s hands even through thick layers of fur, “Mr. Summerfield,” gazing into his eyes, “I’m dying to spend time alone with you.”
“I’m dying to spend time alone with you.”
They stood together, alone on the edge of the great wide open. And looking around, John said, “Darn.”
“Yeah, darn is right.”
“We’re out of luck.”
“Yep, probably until we get to our summer home.”
“Oh please don’t say that!”
Finding pleasure in her husband’s pained reaction, Laureal broke into a laughing smile.
John set out across the gentle heights where, from his vantage point, he spotted a coyote crossing the river. The canine did not see the Seeker on the bluff above. It moved with purpose, not wandering, not sniffing about for prey but appeared to be following a pair of crows flying to the west. The coyote, having gone straight as an arrow across the river, went up the far bank and vanished in lowland bogs thick with patches of shrubby little trees.
Setting out after the coyote, John focused his every atom as he must, that he not fall on the snowy incline even as he slid here and there, always keeping balance, weaving between trees and jumping over obstacles on his way down the bluff. At the end he nearly skied down the steep river bank. Then trotting across the frozen expanse, he quickly climbed the far bank and continued at a trot, following the canine’s tracks through a scraggy lowland where centuries of floods had washed away all but a trace of the city that once stood there.
For the better part of a mile John followed the coyote’s trail until quite suddenly he stopped and froze. The coyote crouched with its back to him not a stone’s throw ahead.
Unaware of John’s presence, the canine remained intensely focused. Crouched low, it used a cluster of scrubs to conceal itself from that on which it spied. As John crept forward, it startled and dashed away but ran no further than a stone’s toss to the side where it stopped abruptly. John watched as the coyote hunkered down in an effort to conceal its position. Oddly, it wasn’t hiding from him, or at least not nearly as much as it was hiding from something else.
“What are you onto?” under his breath. Then turning and stepping cautiously ahead, John craned to get a look for himself, and with a few steps more, peering through a ragged stand of scrubby trees to a clearing beyond, he saw a large bull moose surrounded by a surprisingly large pack of wolves.
Had the winter been longer, the old bull may have been worn down and vulnerable. But that hadn’t been the case, and the big old bull was wise. He stood strong, knowing he had little to fear so long as he stood his ground. For the wolves would not risk the peril of his deadly hooves. They had already tried that and suffered the consequences. So it was a standoff, one that had been going on for many hours. And the moose was at an advantage in the bog. Having foliage to eat, it could sustain its strength whereas the wolves had nothing.
Turning again to the coyote, John just could see its golden eyes gazing from the snowy thicket. He knew why it was there. As added proof, several more crows glided in to land in surrounding trees. Scavengers were gathering in hope of getting their share. The word had gone out though the forest.
Judging by the size of the pack, John understood that the cause of their hunger came not only from the Indian Summer but also from sheer numbers. Wolf packs spread out in summer but come together in winter to hunt big game. And being that time of year, John felt certain that an alpha female waited somewhere nearby in a den, pregnant with pups and in great need of food.
Unable to bring the moose down, the wolves stood around, milled about, or sat cleaning themselves. A pair of yearlings played in the snow. Summerfield quietly stripped down to his buckskins, then hung his coat and trousers on a branch. Trotting for miles had changed the cold air into something needed and desired, and getting into it felt like freedom, if freedom had a physical feeling.
With snow in his mouth to hide his breath, John crept forward. He knew he had no chance of harvesting the moose, not with over a dozen wolves to contend with. Still, for the price of a single arrow, he could buy safety for his family. He could tip the balance against the moose and relieve the hunger of the pack. The bull’s carcass would keep the wolves feasting for days. If he fired though, he’d give away his position, and if by chance they came after him, he’d need a quick mind and many more arrows to make the moose their better choice. Such were his thoughts as he inched forward amid the cover of low grade trees, scrubby and leafless but thick with crowded branches.
No more had Summerfield gotten in range when the alpha wolf spotted him. Following the alpha’s line of sight, two of his underlings set out at once, cautiously trotting John’s way while four more stood looking on with interest. John wasted no time. He put an arrow through the moose, straight through both lungs. The beast bolted and the wolves sprang into action. They pulled it down on the far edge of the clearing. As they did, Summerfield crouched and hurried away into the foliage where he picked up his coat and trousers before trotting on. A few yearlings followed him for sport but their effort was halfhearted and when the Seeker turned to face them, they turned back to get their share of the feast.
A stone’s throw beyond the first set of walls that surround the family camp and still very much within the campus ruin, Laureal doggedly struggled to free a modest sized branch from a cluster of dead branches mixed with loose cones and needles all covered in snow. A cluster of firewood obviously washed together in a spring deluge was too good to pass up. If only she could free that one branch, other branches would then come free as well and from that one pile she and her mother could gather all the firewood the family needed. Stubbornly she wrenched the branch from side to side while driving with her legs until it finally came free, nearly sending her back onto her bottom. Dragging the branch out and dropping it aside, she grasped another branch and, as she suspected, it pulled from the pile with considerably less effort.
“Mom,” she called, “there’s plenty of good firewood over here.”
Jessie arrived only to see Laureal backing away from the pile even as her eyes remained fixed on it. “Get away from there!’ Jessie cried, seeing snow and earth sifting down and away like sand in an hour glass vanishing into the earth.
The ground stabilized, leaving what appeared an eroded hole semi-visible beneath the branches, the result of erosion from rare occasions when extreme rain created temporary surges of surface water, a portion of which filtered underground on its way to the river.
Laureal stepped forward, squatted down, and grasped another branch.
“Laureal, be careful.”
“No problem, mom,” and giving the branch a firm tug, the ground gave way and Laureal vanished into the earth.
“Laureal!” Jessie scrambled to the edge of what appeared a sinkhole, her heart pounding.
Fifteen feet below, Laureal sat on a cushion of snow, dirt, and pine needles. The pile of branches, having come down with her, lie before her.
Greatly surprised, Laureal looked up at her mother, “I’m okay!”
“I’ll get a rope.”
“I can climb out,” observing the walls of the pit which, although impossible in some places, were favorable enough in others, being steeply inclined but uneven and stitched with tree roots, making for an easy escape. Escape was not Laureal’s first concern though, for although fearful, her curiosity had been captured entirely and, standing up, she gazed into a large manmade tunnel, its otherwise dark interior brightly lit by the angle of the morning sun.
“Laureal, get out of there.”
“Toss me my spear”
“Laureal, you come up here at once!”
“Mom, it’s okay! Just toss me my spear, it’s leaning against that tree,” pointing towards the tree even though she could not see it.
Gripped with worry, Jessie retrieved Laureal’s spear, then looked on as her daughter, with bow and quiver still in place on her back, leveled her spear and took several cautious steps into the mouth of the tunnel.
Setting her spear aside, Jessie set to climbing down the wall of the pit.
“Mom, what are you doing?”
Jessie jumped the last several feet, brought her bow from her back and drew an arrow, “You are not going in there alone!”
The women could not know it but they had found a 21st century network of tunnels beneath the University of Saskatchewan. The tunnels had been built to protect students from harsh winter weather. An under-ground world of hallways once bustling with students in transit between campus buildings, or gathered in eateries, playing games in arcades, browsing in shops, and studying in study areas.
Having gone only as far as sunlight allowed, Laureal and her mother stood peering into the pitch. In the silence, they could hear Yike and Nemo whining at the top of the pit.
“We need a torch,” said Laureal.
Returning to his hunt, John walked into camp, his spear in one hand, his parka and pants under his free arm, “How’s everything?”
“Kooky,” Emma replied, somewhat vexed.
“Laureal found a tunnel,” Cody added, unable to hide his excitement, “and when she and mom have finished gathering firewood, we’re going to explore it.”
“We’ll see about that,” Emma stated.
“A tunnel?” with no small curiosity, laying his parka and trousers aside. Then taking up Ellie’s bridle, “I’d like to see that.”
“Your wife is quite excited about it,” Emma reported coolly. “She has asked to use from our lard supply, that she may make a torch. And I said no.”
“I’m sure we can sort this out. I’ll be glad to help when I get back.”
“Where are you going?”
“I shot a mule deer,” John replied. “A big one,” he added, walking off towards Ellie. And turning to walk backwards, “It was luck really…I just stumbled on it.”
“There’s no such thing as luck,” Mia stated correctively.
John broke into a smile. He was high on endorphins, having trotted back to the river only to then climb the bluff like a long flight of stairs. Along the way, he’d surprised the deer on the far side of the river. The muley had sprung from hiding in a spotty stands of trees. With a quick draw of his bow, John had hit it on a dead run just behind the front shoulder blade.
“I hung it up,” said the Seeker, still walking backwards, “and I gotta get back, lest the wolverines tear it up.”
“John!” Mia exclaimed, “the wolves are certain to be there!”
“Yeah, John!” Cody seconded, “Their tracks are everywhere!”
“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about wolves for a few days…not too much anyway. They brought down a bull moose across the river about two miles from here. They’re feasting even as we speak. And it’s going to go all day and into the night. No doubt that, for several days to come, they’ll be sprawled out around it, eating and sleeping like drunkards.”
“Do you know how many?”
“I counted thirteen…and, probably, they have a pregnant female in a den with one, maybe two guards. So that would make fifteen or sixteen.”
“Oh dear,” said Emma, “that is a big pack.”
With a nod, John turned and went to get Ellie where, after installing her bridle, he mounted and trotted away.
Relieved by the good news regarding the wolves, Emma sent Cody to help gather firewood while she and Mia remained in camp with the kids (and rifle) performing small but important chores of maintenance. Soon all were back in camp where they worked to butcher the big mule deer before it froze rock hard. They would not eat from it right away but would give the meat time to age, that it not be tough but tender. To do this, they made simple wood racks from which they hung pine bough backings. They then hung the meat in the racks near enough to the fire so as not to freeze even as it remained cool. The trick was to keep the temperature as steady as possible. They did not cut any of the meat into jerky at that time.
There was always work to do in camp. In fact, camp work equaled and sometimes exceeded the work of walking ten or twenty miles a day. Like walking, it kept them sharp and healthy so long as they followed what Emma and Jessie called “the art of living.” As a result, their vocabulary had no terms such as insomnia, obesity, high blood pressure, colorectal, etc. But as with all things, there was an up and down side. The family simply had a different set of concerns, like deadly predators and brutal natural elements. The trick was in the art of living, and the clan had spent generations perfecting it.
Emma, being against the idea of exploring the Nith, refused to allow lard be taken from their supply for the making of torches. John explained how it was his duty as a member of the Order to have a look in the tunnel. Laureal conveniently claimed it her duty to follow John, being as he was her husband, along with the fact that she had found the tunnel. Jessie, being more lenient than Emma with regard to Niths, suggested that torch fuel could be had by gathering frozen droplets of sap wherever bugs had drilled holes in the bark of pine trees. The frozen droplets, of which there were a great many, could then be pushed into branches whose ends had been split in many directions. The torch ends could then be wrapped in birch bark and tied below the flame line with sinew. Emma insisted that, since they were gathering torch fuel, they gather extra pine sap to be stored for later use as an antimicrobial bonding agent (in part to replace what had been used from their supplies to mend the dogs).
And so it was, the youths, their torches made, set out to explore the tunnel. John was first to climb down into the pit, followed by Laureal and Cody. Laureal bought a pocket full of fodder and a few fire coals in a clay jar from which she got a small fire going. John and Cody added twigs taken from the branches that had fallen into the cavity. They lit only the tip ends of their torches, that they may burn from top down like big candles.
Laureal lifted her torch to the tunnel opening. No longer illuminated in sunshine, it lie cast in dark shadow, “I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“I have.”
“Really?”
“Yes, as a cadet. I went down into a ruin as part of a class.”
“What did you learn?”
“Certainly not what I expected. I was the only one to make it out alive.”
“John, that’s not funny!”
The Seeker remained stone-faced.
“You’re just kidding…right?”
John broke into a smile.
Laureal whacked his arm.
“Hey! That hurt!”
“Would you two just stop it!” Cody chided, himself a picture of restlessness and apprehension.
First to enter the darkness, John pushed his hood back, that he may better see and hear. Directly behind him, Laureal did the same.
“Don’t catch my hair on fire!” she chided, turning to her little brother.
Their torches illuminated the concrete ceiling while, on the floor below, a small dry water trail wound though centuries of dirt and dust.
Having gone some twenty paces, John stopped and turned to Laureal. The look in her eyes showed that she was all in despite her fear. Behind her, Cody appeared a mixture of fear and boyish wonder.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything in here,” said John, his tone uncertain.
“This must lead to something.”
“I say we keep going.”
“I didn’t mean to say we should turn back,” mildly offended. "I was only commenting on the empty state of the place.”
Returning to the way ahead, John led on another ten paces whereupon a side entrance came into view.
“What’s that?” Laureal whispered, taking hold of John’s arm.
“It’s a doorway,” Cody replied, his voice way down low.
Taking two steps more, John held his torch out to it. A dark void, the doorway revealed nothing except to drink up his torch light as if thirsting for it.
Laureal and Cody remained several steps back as the Seeker pushed his torch into the pitch black opening, “Now we’re getting somewhere,” stepping into an arcade, turning one way and then the other, his torch revealing rows of gaming machines along the walls. Covered in several inches of dust, the machines had been spared from the ravages of time thanks to an environment in which plastic and glass could last for a millennium. Other machines made of plywood or fiberglass had collapsed and decayed.
“What are they?” Laureal asked, coming alongside John.
“I have no idea.”
“Hey, guys…what’s this?’ Cody held his torch over a pile of rubble. The remains of an arcade machine, its glass screen leaned over its remains like a tombstone.
Passing his torch to his sister, Cody squatted and reached for the glass. It fell straight back, a puff of dust billowing out from beneath.
Leaning forward, Cody picked up the glass, a thin gray plate about two feet square. Filled with curiosity, the boy set to brushing away centuries of dust in hope that some mystery might be revealed. As he did, the flames of the torches appeared to come alive in the glass.
Cody threw the plate down like a hot potato.
“What’d you do that for?” Laureal hissed, seeing it had shattered.
“It had fire in it!”
“It did not!”
Kneeling down, John picked up a piece of glass and held it between his fingers, “It’s glass.” But of course he could not know the difference between glass and safety glass even as he had seen the remnants of both. It was safety glass, designed to break into pellet sized pieces, a preference among arcade machine manufactures in the 21st century.
“Glass,” Laureal echoed, taking the pellet from John's fingers, herself knowing of glass in pellet form. Glass pellets were sometimes traded in summer camps and used for making art. Glass, unlike wood and steel, can last for a million years. Quartz glass may last three-hundred million years. But glass is inherently susceptible to breakage. Precious little of it had survived in unbroken form, which also explains why it was not used in wares like cups and plates. It was delicate, and producing it was labor intensive, requiring a kiln. Wood, being far less delicate, readily available, easy to work, and lighter to carry, remained the logical choice for daily wares. Also worthy of note, the technology for making plate glass did not yet exist outside a few pockets of civilization such as John’s homeland, and even there only small panes of crude quality were produced at great expense.
“It’s exceedingly rare to find it in its original form,” replied the Seeker, his dark eyes shining in torchlight.
“Was that piece worth anything?” asked Cody.
“To a well-connected trader, maybe twenty caribou hides. But for a perfectly preserved relic of antiquity such as that, the right people, if we were in my homeland, would pay enough gold to buy forty or fifty horses.”
Cody stared at John in disbelief.
Immediately and spontaneously the three set to searching for more glass. And as fortune would have it, finding it was easy as dusting off the machines, of which more than a dozen survived.
“Here’s a piece,” brushing away dust to see the fire reflecting within.
“Here’s another one, darling, over here.”
“Look at this one!” cried Cody, “It’s huge! John, it must be worth a hundred horses!”
“We’ve found a treasure trove,” John uttered in disbelief, examining the large plate.
“John!” exclaimed Laureal, “We’re rich! We’re…
Her words fell away as he turned to her, his eyes filled with ambivalence.
“Darling…what’s wrong?”
“I took an oath that I would raid no ruin for personal gain, but would turn all findings over to the Order. For me to use the assets entrusted to me for personal gain, would be a grave violation of my oath.”
“That hardly seems fair,” Cody protested, “after all, Laureal found it, and it’s in our territory.”
“My people see it differently. They see it as belonging to all humanity, and…they are only its guardians.”
“How do you see it, darling?”
His countenance a picture of confliction, John shook his head, “I honestly don’t know anymore. I only know that having accepted all that I have been given, I cannot break my oath to my Order with regards to this, at least not with regard to my own personal gain. But, perhaps, for the sake of helping the family recover, I can take myself out of the equation this one time. I can step aside with regard to that part of my oath that pertains to protecting ruins from pillagers.”
Laureal spoke in a hurt tone, “Is that how you see us John…as pillagers?”
“No, of course not!” backpedaling.
“I would hope not, I’m your wife after all!”
“I know that!”
“John, think of what we could do! We could buy the horses we dreamed of!”
Cody looked back and forth between them, his expression speaking to the gravity of it all, “Guys, what if there’s ten more rooms like this one?”
Laureal turned to her little brother, “There might be, but even if there’s only this one room,” turning back to John, “think of what we could do. We could rebuild our clan. We could return it to what it was before the disaster at the river crossing! And John, we could put every member on horseback!”
“John!” Cody cried in sudden realization. “We could throw back the flood you spoke of!”
Summerfield glanced from his wife to his brother-in-law and back again. Their torches, having burned half their fuel, were at their brightest. And looking into their eyes, it was impossible to determine which was more determined. At last, thinking fast, he found a way out at least for the time being, “Let’s take this matter to Emma.”
Laureal and Cody thought it a good suggestion. And when John proposed they explore a bit further, they were all in. For at least in that moment, their fear of the dark, so very instinctual, had vanished.
Continuing through the arcade, they moved towards a doorway at the far end. Along the way, Laureal held her torch up to a round glass disc recessed into the wall, “What’s that?”
“As I understand it,” John replied, “it’s a device by which people could know if it was morning or afternoon, or day or night.”
“Didn’t they have the sun and stars?” Laureal asked, somewhat perplexed.
“They lived underground,” Cody stated as if anyone with a brain could figure it out.
“I seriously doubt that!” Laureal scoffed.
“A long-long time ago,” Cody began, his imagination running wild, “they were just like us, but then some took to living in burrows, and as the years passed, they became…mole-people.”
“Cody—” musically expressing her disdain.
“I would think they only came down here in winter,” John interceded.
Laureal glanced behind them, into the pitch black, “We’ve lost sight of the tunnel opening.”
“We can follow our tracks out,” John said over his shoulder.
“How will we know if it’s day or night?” Laureal asked. Keeping close behind, she was beginning to have second thoughts.
“We’ll ask the mole-people,” Cody replied.
“Would you please shut-up!”
At last the hall emptied into a surprisingly wide area and, walking into the midst of it, John held his torch up high. Laureal and Cody followed suit. Their torches, although impressively made, did little to reveal the extent of their surroundings.
“Looks like this is some kind of central hub,” said John, looking to the shadowy openings of connecting tunnels.
Some of the tunnels were small like narrow halls, others were quite large. Most prominent was the dust. Layers upon layers lie on everything.
“John, this looks dangerous,” seeing that several areas had caved in.
“It’s amazing,” turning and shooting her a smile.
“John, did you hear me?”
“What?”
“I think we should go back now,” worriedly.
Cody, meanwhile, looking about with boyish curiosity, suddenly exclaimed, “John! Look over here! There are symbols, like the ones you drew in the snow!”
The symbols, mostly filled with dirt and dust, had to be cleaned out with knives and fingers. At last, when John and Cody had finished, they stood back to see what they’d uncovered. Someone or some group living untold years before had used hammer and chisel to cut big bold letters deep into the concrete of a prominent wall. Apparently, the authors did not want their message to be overlooked. And sure enough, centuries later, it danced in torchlight before a trio of survivors. The Seeker, like a warrior monk trained in the ancient script, read the verses aloud,
“To those in need of shelter,
may these tunnels protect you.
To those on the hunt for treasure,
look not in tomb nor mine, but to the
life within that consumes the dead.
To those that seek the knowledge,
it has died here but lives on,
forever in the wolves.”
