Mark walked down to the stream that ran behind the settlement. He was intending to wash his hands. Or at least wet them. This place had no soap, of course. And they probably didn’t even know what disinfectant was.
He sighed. Allowing himself a short moment of rest, he closed his eyes. He was bone tired.
How long had he been awake? He had woken up yesterday at 6 am to get to the airport in time. He hadn’t slept a wink during the flight. Sleeping sitting up was never restful and he hated that sticky feeling after sleeping in his clothing.
Opening his eyes, Mark looked up to the sky. It was afternoon. That meant over thirty hours without sleep. Plus the accident. Plus the hike. He let out another weary sigh. Moment over, he thought.
He picked up the walking stick and rose.
Returning to the girl, Atissa, and the group of women, he avoided looking in the direction of the facilities. A childhood nightmare, Mark had thought he had left behind in summer camp.
Before he switched carriers he’d visited plenty of construction sites over the years so he could live with using a chemical toilet from time to time. But those at least had toilet paper.
He wished he knew where in the world he was. As far as he knew, Canada was quite sparsely populated. Were these people some off-the-grid community of back-to-nature survivalists? Or a cult? He was sure he’d seen a kind of shrine with strange symbols through a doorway and the older woman Reva wore a similarly decorated stone on a cord around her throat.
But why wouldn’t they use iron tools, Mark thought? Something was wrong here. Even Reva had looked at him and his attire with bewilderment. As if she’d never even heard of people who looked and dressed like him.
For now, he would be polite and observe. He needed to learn more and not get on the locals’ bad side. It should be doable. Compared to some corporate cultures, he had navigated over the last couple of years, these people had been very friendly.
When Mark turned around the corner half a dozen conversations suddenly went quiet. It seemed he had given the locals something to talk about.
Looking around Mark noticed with satisfaction that the self-important woman was not around anymore. Walking towards Atissa and Reva, his gaze wandered over the group. There were women and girls of all ages and some younger boys. The women wore clothing similar to Atissa’s, but longer and reminiscent of tunics probably worn by inhabitants of Ancient Greece. Or at least they looked very similar to depictions of that time period he’d come across. History had never been of much interest to him unless it related to his work.
He considered the exposed part of the women’s legs. Let’s get out of here as quickly as possible, he thought, shaking his head.
“Are we ready to go?” he asked the waiting Atissa.
“Sure,” she answered. “Bazia just brought our goods.” She turned to a younger woman standing next to Reva, holding a visibly well-filled sack that reached her to the hip.
“Can you help me carry it?” Atissa asked.
“Of course,” Mark said quickly, noticing the disapproving look from Reva.
He took the sack and slung it over his shoulder. It wasn’t light but carrying it together wouldn’t have worked.
“Mistress Reva”, he turned to the older woman, ”thank you for the hospitality.” He offered her a small bow. Taking his clues from their clothing and conduct, Mark imitated what he had seen in films. The locals seemed to react positively to this kind of traditional politeness.
“It was our honor, master Markdougles,” Reva said. “Please, visit us again when Ipras is back to host you in person.” She bowed and gave the younger woman, who was staring at him, a light slap. Startled, she hurried to follow her elder’s example.
“Goodbye, Reva, bye Bazia,” Atissa said. She seemed to be in an excellent mood.
Eager to get away from the group of women, Mark followed her.
They had walked for ten minutes when Atissa interrupted the silence. “It was great how you handled Ditza! I thought her face would fall off when you just ignored her like that. After you left everybody started talking and she could not stand it. She just ran off.”
Atissa and this Ditza seemed to have a history. Mark considered if he cared. His handling of the situation had clearly endeared him to Atissa.
“You guys are not friends, I gather,” he said, reluctantly engaging in conversation.
“Ditza is… she is mean!”
Mark waited for Atissa to continue, but she did not, staring at the ground instead. Maybe these people considered talking badly of others impolite? This really was a different place.
“Well, she seemed to be quite forward,” he said.
He did not care much to learn about the locals, but the conversation was a distraction from his weariness and aching feet.
Having hit the right note, Atissa perked up. “She is always like that. Speaking when it is not her place. Just because her father is a rich craftsman in Riadnos.”
This sparked Mark’s interest. “She wasn’t born around here?” he asked. He had never heard the name but if this Riadnos was a larger town, it might have a train station or a bus stop.
“No,” Atissa said. “Many of the girls are from Riadnos or villages around it. After the Drive, the men often look for wives, to bring back.”
Mark readjusted the sack. It was filled with objects of different shapes and some of them poked into his back.
“I can carry it for a while,” Atissa said.
Mark considered the young girl. He couldn’t work out her age. Her body hadn’t yet developed the curves of an adult woman. On the other hand, this could be delayed if a girl was very athletically active. Anne had complained about that all the time when she was that age and obsessed with earning sport scholarships.
He quickly forced a smile. “It is fine. You were talking about the women here all coming from elsewhere. Are the girls born in the valley sent off for marriage, as well?”
Mark thought it sounded like a pretty sensible policy. It would keep smaller communities from inbreeding.
“Not always. Reva was born in the valley. They say that she and Ipras’ son….” She paused, looking down.
“They fooled around, and she became pregnant,” Mark said.
Atissa stared up at him, shocked. Mark returned the gaze with an amused smile. It made her giggle.
“Anyway, that’s why Ditza behaves like that. She thinks she’s better than Reva. She actually thinks she’s better than all of us because she’s from Riadnos,” Atissa said. “Reva is older but most of the other women are from Riadnos. Ditza is kind of their leader. At least the younger ones follow her around a lot.”
Mark nodded. A self-confident person gathering an informal group to form her own little power base - he had seen that before.
“And why does she dislike you?” he asked.
The girl’s smile disappeared. “She hates that her family sent her here and looks down on all the people from the valley. At least when Ipras and the older men are not around.”
Mark sensed that there was more and decided not to ask. The conversation was becoming too personal for his taste.
“She says that I behave like a boy,“ Atissa said. “And that I should learn how to behave like a woman.”
Damn, Mark thought. Teenage girl problems in the sticks. He tried to think of a way to quickly change the topic.
“She says, I could never find a husband in Riadnos. I don’t even want to marry anybody from there!”
The emotion in her voice made it clear that whatever the truth, Ditza’s insults had not left Atissa untouched. Even Mark, who was a stranger to this community, could see that her behavior was very different from that of the other women.
“What do think, they packed for you?” he asked, continuing his efforts to find a new topic of conversation.
“Hm? Oh, bread, goat cheese, and Ipras’ honey biscuits,” Atissa said. “We barter meat for things we don’t make ourselves. Like food and wool clothing.” Her face showed pride when she pointed at her embroidered bandana and at her tunic. Both stood in contrast to her leather bags and her jacket, with their functional appearance and visible stitching.
“I really liked how you told Ditza off!” Atissa said. “I wish I could do that. I always just stand there and take it. I want to kick her in the chin, just once.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I know. Uncle Tatros always says it’s bad to start fights.”
“No, that is not the point.” Mark stopped and turned to Atissa. “If you want to confront her, confront her. If you want to start a fight, I am sure you can easily take her. The question is, does it lead to the result you want?”
He continued to walk. “And I did not tell her off.”
“I don’t think Ditsa would see it that way.” She smiled. “You should have seen her face!”
“Sure, but did I confront her? Did I insult her to her face or tell her to shut up?”
Atissa frowned. “No, you turned away from her and talked to Reva. You ignored her. Are you saying I should just ignore her?” Her tone made it clear she didn’t like the idea at all.
And Mark agreed. It sounded like stupid advice parents often gave to their children.
“Let me explain. When start working with an organization,…any group of people, you are an outsider. They work together, live together… you could say they share a fate,” he said, pointing in her direction with his stick. “Therefore, if you were to start a fight with…”
“Ditsa,” Atissa said.
“…With Ditsa, they will take her side. She is family, you are not.”
Atissa considered Mark’s words. “I think I knew that. I always feel… helpless when she is mean to me. Like I cannot do anything.”
Mark nodded. “If you go against a member of a group, the group will likely turn on you. The best way to go about it is to get the group to handle their own.”
Atissa looked up, her eyes shone with interest.
“When Ditsa interrupted our conversation with Reva, she was disrespectful to her, right?” Mark asked.
“Right,” Atissa said.
“So, while Ditsa undermined Reva, I elevated her by honoring her role as the… person with seniority. I didn't break any social rules. Quite the opposite.”
“I think, they all felt that Ditsa had embarrassed them,” Atissa said, considering his words. “And you were willing to ignore it”
“How magnanimous of me,” Mark said, smiling. “But that was easy because they were so respectful towards me. It’s not always so simple.”
Atissa nodded, deep in thought.
In truth, he could have handled it without embarrassing that Ditsa girl. But she had been annoying, and he had been tiered and impatient. He had enjoyed it, too.
Mark observed the girl walking at his side from the corners of his eyes. She is a smart kid, he thought. Strangely, he found himself enjoying, explaining things to her. He had even forgotten his weariness for a while. I don’t remember enjoying it when Anne was young.
They walked for another hour or so, passing a primitive village, Atissa identified as Logger’s Home. Apparently, the largest settlement around.
Mark groaned inwardly when he saw the barely two dozen wooden houses. No cars, no sign of electricity. Everything looked like some kind of recreation of a medieval society.
To his displeasure, Atissa seemed to become more and more comfortable with him. She talked about the villagers and asked him questions he could not answer.
When they crossed a small creek, she pointed at an opening in the forest. He could see the peaks of the mountain range from this vantage point.
“Those are the Two Brothers,” she said, indicating the two closest mountains. “Between them, the river flows all the way to Riadnos. Did you come from there?”
Mark thought back. It had been late, and he had followed the navigation system.
“I don’t think so. I don’t remember a river.”
“Then did you come from the other side of the valley?”
Mark shook his head. A voice in the back of his mind told him that he was not in Canada anymore. He knew that was impossible. Yet, the landscape and the people made no sense.
“I was driving on a road. My flight from New York was delayed so it was already dark and”, he paused, thinking, “there was fog. I don’t know how, but I must have driven off the road. I crashed into one of these dry riverbeds.”
He looked at Atissa, to see if anything he said resonated with her.
Judging by her expression, it did not.
“I don’t know… New York,” she said, looking uncertain. “There are a lot of dry riverbeds, this time of year. They carry meltwater from the mountains in spring.”
It was obvious that the girl wanted to be helpful. She just didn’t know how.
Atissa seemed to have lived sheltered from the outside world. Mark did not even want to know how it stood with her schooling. On the other hand, he had to admit that here and now her woodsman skills were probably more useful than his coding expertise.
He started to giggle, unable to help himself. This situation was too ridiculous. How would he even begin to tell anyone this story?
Right now, his most useful skills would probably be whatever he could recall from his short stint in the boy scouts as a child. An experience he had detested at the time.
The memory of the past sobered him up enough to get a hold of himself. He straightened up and turned to Atissa.
The girl’s face was a mix of confusion and concern. Poor girl, he thought. Trying so hard to be helpful but doesn’t know what to do with the crazy person that went hiking in a thousand-dollar suit.
“I am sorry,” Mark said, forcefully controlling himself. “I didn't mean to worry you. I haven’t slept in…two days or so. And I seem to be quite lost in these woods. I’m very grateful for your help.”
He realized it truly was lucky he’d run into Atissa. Who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t stumbled across the young huntress?
Atissa nodded, somewhat reassured.
Then she smiled again. “Uncle Tatros traveled a lot when he was young. I’m sure he knows all about… New York.”
“Sounds good,” Mark said. “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”
As they continued, the nagging feeling in the back of Mark's mind returned. Somehow, he doubted that uncle Tatros knew Calgary or New York.
They continued through the woods, following trails. It seemed like Atissa’s home was far apart from the main settlement. Mark had no confidence in his ability to find his way back to the primitive village.
He encouraged Atissa to keep talking. While his weariness had returned, he knew he could trust in his mind’s ability to file away anything important for later consideration.
Atissa seemed to have picked up on his state and didn't ask him any more questions about the world outside the valley. She pointed out landmarks and animal trails. She even showed him a couple of plants and explained their medical use.
The young girl walked through the forest with the surety and understanding of a mechanic moving through his workshop.
“You know a lot,” Mark said, feeling the need to contribute at least a little bit to the conversation. “About the woods, I mean. The animals and the plants. It’s quite impressive.”
Atissa looked at him with a blank face. Then she turned red and quickly looked away as she took in what he’d said.
He had meant it. Mark had never had much time for teenagers, not even in the short period he had been allowed to be one. But he respected competence.
True competence was rare. He believed in the Pareto principle. Any organization he had ever worked with had been carried by a small number of truly competent people. The bigger the organization, the smaller the percentage.
“Thank you,” Atissa said, without looking his way. “But uncle Tatros knows much more. He thought me everything I know, you see.”
This uncle seemed to be the only person Atissa was close to. So far, she hadn’t mentioned any other relatives, nor talked about other villagers besides that Ditsa girl.
Mark appreciated that and carefully refrained from asking anything too personal.
“We’re here!” Atissa pointed at a roundish hut in the middle of a few very old-looking trees.
It was pretty small. More the size of a cabin than a real home. Mark wondered about the height. It looked too low for a grown adult to stand upright.
There was a hole in the thatched roof through which smoke drifted up into the crown of the trees.
“Uncle, I am back!”
Atissa hurried towards the entrance, waving for Mark to follow her.
Mark adjusted the position of the heavy sack on his back for the millionth time and followed without changing his pace.
Firewood was stacked up next to one of the old trees. A simple roof made from needle tree twigs had been constructed to protect the wood from rain. Next to the entrance to the house stood a towering wood bank and the doorway was covered by the pelt of some large animal.
Taking it all in, Mark almost regretted not accepting Reva’s offer.
“Uncle!”
“I heard you the first time!”
A broad-shouldered man ducked through the door, wearing a simple brown tunic that left his muscular arms uncovered. Shorter than Mark, uncle Tatros was built like a bull.
The moment he saw Mark, he froze. Mark was certain he saw a flash of alarm cross the man’s face, which was quickly hidden.
“You brought a guest?” Tatros asked, while his eyes quickly moved from Mark to the undergrowth and back to Mark.
“Yes,” Atissa said. “This is Markdougles. I met him on the hunt.”
Uncle Tatros nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on Mark.
“Hello, my name is Mark Douglas,” Mark said. “Atissa found me wandering through the woods. I was quite lost.”
The uncle nodded, crossing his arms. His right forearm and biceps showed some vicious scars.
“Uncle, I offered Markdougles to stay with us. He is looking for a place outside the valley that I have never heard about. I thought you might know it from your travels.” Atissa’s voice had become careful when she mentioned the invitation.
“Please, call me Mark.” He wasn’t comfortable with the way these people were butchering his name.
Uncle Tatros stared at Mark for such a long moment it started to feel rude. Even Atissa was starting to look uncertain about her uncle’s reaction.
“Are you hungry?” Tatros asked.
Mark saw Atissa relax. “Yes, very much so.”
“Then come in,” Tatros said. “There is meat and whatever you brought with you. Let’s see if it’s enough for three.”
He turned around on the spot and ducked through the entrance. “Did you pick up my axe head?” he asked from inside.
“Yes!” Atissa looked relieved. She smiled at Mark and followed her uncle.
Mark stared at the fur-covered entrance and sighed. He was hungry and very tired, and although he was certain this accommodation would be nowhere near the hotel standards he was used to, he knew he had to get some sleep before carrying on further. He adjusted the position of the sack one last time and followed his hosts.
When he stepped through the entrance, he almost fell. The floor of the hut was two feet lower than the ground outside. It allowed an adult of Tatros’ height to stand upright. Mark still had to duck his head a little.
He waited at the entrance, not quite sure where to turn.
Atissa stored her belongings at one side of the hut and came over to him.
“You can give me the sack,” she said, reaching out for it. “Please, sit over here.”
Mark was happy to hand over the burden before taking a seat on the simple bench Atissa had indicated. It was one of three surrounding the fireplace in the middle of the hut.
Tatros sat opposite him, turning a couple of spits with chunks of meat stuck on them. He gave Mark an unreadable look, before turning his attention back to the food.
Waiting in silence, Mark let his gaze wander. The one-room home was sparsely furnished. Each of his hosts seemed to have a private corner where they slept and stored their things. The wall on Tatros’ side was adorned with four bows of different sizes. Atissa’s only featured one.
Opposite the entrance was a compact workbench with some primitive tools, the shavings scattered across the floor indicating a recent project.
It was small but homely and Mark didn’t like it. But while he had a very modern taste with an emphasis on privacy, he could at least respect the efficient use of space.
On the wall next to the entrance, they had installed a single shelf. On it stood half a dozen figurines carved from wood.
Mark noticed that one figure was placed far to the side.
“Old Horto,” Tatros murmured following Mark’s gaze. “He doesn’t like company.”
Nodding, Mark did not reply. Religion was generally not considered a safe topic.
“Uncle, look at all the things Reva gave us!” Atissa held up a big loaf of bread and a block of white cheese.
“Hm.” The sound was all the acknowledgment that Tatros gave.
Atissa continued to unpack the sack, unperturbed. Apparently, this was Tatros’ usual way of communicating.
Mark tried to relax and remembered that he was still holding on to the walking stick. Not sure where to put it he stood up and walked over to the entrance. He leaned it against the wall outside and returned.
On the way back to his seat he noticed that Tatros was observing him with wide, questioning eyes.
Mark gave him a questioning look, but the man just returned to his work with the spits.
Charming, Mark thought. Although to be fair, he had worked with IT people that had worse social skills than this grizzled hillbilly.
Having nothing else to do, he inspected the state of his clothing. His pants and shoes were ruined. Feeling the deep scratches in the leather of the latter hurt particularly.
His white shirt was stained with sweat and dirt and probably wasn’t salvageable either.
He carefully unfolded his suit jacket which he’d carried over his arm the whole time. Wondrously, it had survived so far without catching much dirt. It should be possible to buy a new shirt somewhere. And maybe a dark pair of jeans. He would still cut a decent figure.
Atissa’s voice tore him from his assessment.
“Look, we also got this!” She held up a sealed amphora.
For the first time, uncle Tatros looked interested. He jumped up and hurried to Atissa’s side as she site as she handed him the clay vessel with a smile.
Holding it carefully in both hands, he inspected the seal.
“From the islands!” he shouted, almost cradling the amphora. “The old woman was generous. It seems we will feast tonight.”
They gathered all the food next to the fireplace and started to eat. There was bread and cheese and pickled vegetables.
Tatros handed Mark a spit.
Mark hesitated, desperate to ask for a knife and fork. But of course, they weren’t using cutlery.
The young girl and old man ate with their fingers and chewed the meat directly off the spits.
Mark carefully pushed his suit jacked to the end of the bench, far away from the feasting barbarians.
He examined the spit in his hand. There were some black spots where the flames had touched the meat. He carefully scratched at it with his fingernail. Was this evenly cooked? On the other hand, there was little as unhealthy as the 21st-century western diet. Except maybe not eating at all.
Hot juices ran over his hand, and he almost dropped the spit.
“Damn!”
His hosts looked up.
“Is something wrong?” Atissa asked. Before swallowing her last bite, Mark noticed.
“No, I am fine. Thank you,” he said, quickly. “Do you have cutlery, by any chance?”
Atissa looked from Mark to her uncle with a questioning look.
Tatros swallowed whatever he had stuffed in his mouth last. Thank god, Mark thought.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Tatros said. “Is the meat not good?” He fixed Mark with that suspicious look again.
“No, it smells great. Never mind.”
Mark gave up. He carefully nibbled on the spit in his hand before taking a small bite. It was unseasoned and smoky, and it was one of the best things he had ever tasted. His stomach suddenly remembered that it had not received anything besides nicotine fumes in almost two days.
Before Mark realized it, he had joined his hosts, shoveling food into his mouth with his bare hands.
After uncle Tatros had licked the juice from the last spit off his fingers, he picked up the amphora. He swiped the knife from his belt and cut away the seal in a quick motion.
Mark noticed the blade’s gold-like color, but he was too busy with digestion to think about it. His mind filed it away for later consideration.
Atissa bounded over to one corner of the hut and returned with five cups. They were simple brown clay vessels without handles.
She placed them in front of her uncle who looked at her, one eyebrow raised. She returned his stare without flinching.
With a sigh, Tatros broke the silent contest of will, filled all five cups with dark ruby liquid, and handed them out.
Atissa placed two on the shelf with the gods. Horto received his own. The others had to share.
Closing his eyes, Mark raised his own cup to his nose and took an appreciative sniff.
Satiated from meat, bread, and cheese, Mark took a swig without much thought. The voice in his mind had some doubt about the hygiene of the cup, but at this point it was too full and tired to be very insistent about it.
The wine bit his throat and he started coughing. “Strong,” he said, covering his mouth.
Tatros laughed. “Do they water their wine down in your homeland?” he asked. He was already refilling his cup and, to Mark’s surprise, held out the amphora to refill his guest’s as well.
Mark accepted the offer, more to establish a better relationship with his host than because he desired more of the strong and slightly sour red. He had never been particularly fond of alcohol. Not even during his university days. Regrettably, it was an unavoidable part of socializing in the business world.
Maybe it was because of his tiredness or maybe the wine was just so strong, but after a cup he could already sense a buzzing feeling behind his forehead.
His host was already on his third cup. Or was it his fourth?
The grizzled man’s cheeks quickly deepened to a reddish color. And he had an expression that could almost be called a smile.
Not a good drinker himself, Mark still wondered how much it would take for his host to get drunk. Recalling his reaction when he discovered Reva had included it in the sack, it probably wasn’t very easy to get out here in the wilderness.
“When I was still in the army, they gave us a cup of wine a day,” Tatros said. “At least when we were not on the marsh. And more if there was some kind of feast.” He shook the amphora a bit to hear how much of the precious liquid remained. “Did I ever tell you?”
“Many times,” Atissa said, nursing her own cup. “You always talk about wine and wrestling. And never about anything I want to know. Did you do anything else when you were traveling?”
Tatros gave the girl a sour look. “Not much I care to remember.” His left hand fingered the scares lining his right forearm, a gesture he didn’t seem to be conscious of.
Atissa saw the look and fell quiet. “Mark, you must have been to many cities?” There was an eagerness in her eyes.
“A couple. “
“How were they? Except for uncle, almost nobody here has been further than Riadnos. I haven’t even been there!”
A worrying pulsing started behind Mark’s forehead. Explaining concepts like airports and rush hour to a teenage hillbilly was the last thing he wanted to do right now.
“Dirty. And smelly,” he said, taking another sip.
“That’s right. All they’re good for is breeding rats and diseases!” While Tatros agreed with him, Atissa looked disappointed.
Mark quickly decided to change topics. “You said you wrestled?”
Tatro's eyes lightened up. “Sure. There was barely anybody in the army that could throw me. Not unless they were much bigger. They even paid me extra to train other men after I almost won a competition.”
“Almost won?”
“The winner broke his shoulder in the final bout. Never quite healed right. He couldn’t hold his shield anymore and was dismissed.” Tatros said without concern.
“How do you win in such competitions? By throwing somebody on his back?” Mark did not really care. He just wanted to keep Tatros talking until it was time for bed.
“Mostly. You can also force the other man to give up,” Tatros said, enthusiastically going into a story of one of his bouts.
Atissa was already having trouble keeping her eyes open.
In the back of his mind, Mark registered that he should probably be concerned about descriptions of an army in which people carried shields around. A problem for tomorrow, he thought. After a good night’s sleep.
“Do you wrestle?”
“I do grappling,” Mark said, his thoughts elsewhere.
“Then we must have a spar, tomorrow. I want to see what tricks they have where you’re from.”
“Hm,” Mark said.
“Great,” Tatros said, standing up. “You can sleep over there. There is a blanket and a fur.” He pointed at one corner of the hut while staggering toward the entrance.
Mark looked after the older man who was probably going to relieve himself against a tree. Shaking his head, he stood and walked over to the corner Tatros had indicated.
After three steps he stopped in his track.
Did I just agree to fight the old man?
Mark walked down to the stream that ran behind the settlement. He was intending to wash his hands. Or at least wet them. This place had no soap, of course. And they probably didn’t even know what disinfectant was.
He sighed. Allowing himself a short moment of rest, he closed his eyes. He was bone tired.
How long had he been awake? He had woken up yesterday at 6 am to get to the airport in time. He hadn’t slept a wink during the flight. Sleeping sitting up was never restful and he hated that sticky feeling after sleeping in his clothing.
Opening his eyes, Mark looked up to the sky. It was afternoon. That meant over thirty hours without sleep. Plus the accident. Plus the hike. He let out another weary sigh. Moment over, he thought.
He picked up the walking stick and rose.
Returning to the girl, Atissa, and the group of women, he avoided looking in the direction of the facilities. A childhood nightmare, Mark had thought he had left behind in summer camp.
Before he switched carriers he’d visited plenty of construction sites over the years so he could live with using a chemical toilet from time to time. But those at least had toilet paper.
He wished he knew where in the world he was. As far as he knew, Canada was quite sparsely populated. Were these people some off-the-grid community of back-to-nature survivalists? Or a cult? He was sure he’d seen a kind of shrine with strange symbols through a doorway and the older woman Reva wore a similarly decorated stone on a cord around her throat.
But why wouldn’t they use iron tools, Mark thought? Something was wrong here. Even Reva had looked at him and his attire with bewilderment. As if she’d never even heard of people who looked and dressed like him.
For now, he would be polite and observe. He needed to learn more and not get on the locals’ bad side. It should be doable. Compared to some corporate cultures, he had navigated over the last couple of years, these people had been very friendly.
When Mark turned around the corner half a dozen conversations suddenly went quiet. It seemed he had given the locals something to talk about.
Looking around Mark noticed with satisfaction that the self-important woman was not around anymore. Walking towards Atissa and Reva, his gaze wandered over the group. There were women and girls of all ages and some younger boys. The women wore clothing similar to Atissa’s, but longer and reminiscent of tunics probably worn by inhabitants of Ancient Greece. Or at least they looked very similar to depictions of that time period he’d come across. History had never been of much interest to him unless it related to his work.
He considered the exposed part of the women’s legs. Let’s get out of here as quickly as possible, he thought, shaking his head.
“Are we ready to go?” he asked the waiting Atissa.
“Sure,” she answered. “Bazia just brought our goods.” She turned to a younger woman standing next to Reva, holding a visibly well-filled sack that reached her to the hip.
“Can you help me carry it?” Atissa asked.
“Of course,” Mark said quickly, noticing the disapproving look from Reva.
He took the sack and slung it over his shoulder. It wasn’t light but carrying it together wouldn’t have worked.
“Mistress Reva”, he turned to the older woman, ”thank you for the hospitality.” He offered her a small bow. Taking his clues from their clothing and conduct, Mark imitated what he had seen in films. The locals seemed to react positively to this kind of traditional politeness.
“It was our honor, master Markdougles,” Reva said. “Please, visit us again when Ipras is back to host you in person.” She bowed and gave the younger woman, who was staring at him, a light slap. Startled, she hurried to follow her elder’s example.
“Goodbye, Reva, bye Bazia,” Atissa said. She seemed to be in an excellent mood.
Eager to get away from the group of women, Mark followed her.
They had walked for ten minutes when Atissa interrupted the silence. “It was great how you handled Ditza! I thought her face would fall off when you just ignored her like that. After you left everybody started talking and she could not stand it. She just ran off.”
Atissa and this Ditza seemed to have a history. Mark considered if he cared. His handling of the situation had clearly endeared him to Atissa.
“You guys are not friends, I gather,” he said, reluctantly engaging in conversation.
“Ditza is… she is mean!”
Mark waited for Atissa to continue, but she did not, staring at the ground instead. Maybe these people considered talking badly of others impolite? This really was a different place.
“Well, she seemed to be quite forward,” he said.
He did not care much to learn about the locals, but the conversation was a distraction from his weariness and aching feet.
Having hit the right note, Atissa perked up. “She is always like that. Speaking when it is not her place. Just because her father is a rich craftsman in Riadnos.”
This sparked Mark’s interest. “She wasn’t born around here?” he asked. He had never heard the name but if this Riadnos was a larger town, it might have a train station or a bus stop.
“No,” Atissa said. “Many of the girls are from Riadnos or villages around it. After the Drive, the men often look for wives, to bring back.”
Mark readjusted the sack. It was filled with objects of different shapes and some of them poked into his back.
“I can carry it for a while,” Atissa said.
Mark considered the young girl. He couldn’t work out her age. Her body hadn’t yet developed the curves of an adult woman. On the other hand, this could be delayed if a girl was very athletically active. Anne had complained about that all the time when she was that age and obsessed with earning sport scholarships.
He quickly forced a smile. “It is fine. You were talking about the women here all coming from elsewhere. Are the girls born in the valley sent off for marriage, as well?”
Mark thought it sounded like a pretty sensible policy. It would keep smaller communities from inbreeding.
“Not always. Reva was born in the valley. They say that she and Ipras’ son….” She paused, looking down.
“They fooled around, and she became pregnant,” Mark said.
Atissa stared up at him, shocked. Mark returned the gaze with an amused smile. It made her giggle.
“Anyway, that’s why Ditza behaves like that. She thinks she’s better than Reva. She actually thinks she’s better than all of us because she’s from Riadnos,” Atissa said. “Reva is older but most of the other women are from Riadnos. Ditza is kind of their leader. At least the younger ones follow her around a lot.”
Mark nodded. A self-confident person gathering an informal group to form her own little power base - he had seen that before.
“And why does she dislike you?” he asked.
The girl’s smile disappeared. “She hates that her family sent her here and looks down on all the people from the valley. At least when Ipras and the older men are not around.”
Mark sensed that there was more and decided not to ask. The conversation was becoming too personal for his taste.
“She says that I behave like a boy,“ Atissa said. “And that I should learn how to behave like a woman.”
Damn, Mark thought. Teenage girl problems in the sticks. He tried to think of a way to quickly change the topic.
“She says, I could never find a husband in Riadnos. I don’t even want to marry anybody from there!”
The emotion in her voice made it clear that whatever the truth, Ditza’s insults had not left Atissa untouched. Even Mark, who was a stranger to this community, could see that her behavior was very different from that of the other women.
“What do think, they packed for you?” he asked, continuing his efforts to find a new topic of conversation.
“Hm? Oh, bread, goat cheese, and Ipras’ honey biscuits,” Atissa said. “We barter meat for things we don’t make ourselves. Like food and wool clothing.” Her face showed pride when she pointed at her embroidered bandana and at her tunic. Both stood in contrast to her leather bags and her jacket, with their functional appearance and visible stitching.
“I really liked how you told Ditza off!” Atissa said. “I wish I could do that. I always just stand there and take it. I want to kick her in the chin, just once.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I know. Uncle Tatros always says it’s bad to start fights.”
“No, that is not the point.” Mark stopped and turned to Atissa. “If you want to confront her, confront her. If you want to start a fight, I am sure you can easily take her. The question is, does it lead to the result you want?”
He continued to walk. “And I did not tell her off.”
“I don’t think Ditsa would see it that way.” She smiled. “You should have seen her face!”
“Sure, but did I confront her? Did I insult her to her face or tell her to shut up?”
Atissa frowned. “No, you turned away from her and talked to Reva. You ignored her. Are you saying I should just ignore her?” Her tone made it clear she didn’t like the idea at all.
And Mark agreed. It sounded like stupid advice parents often gave to their children.
“Let me explain. When start working with an organization,…any group of people, you are an outsider. They work together, live together… you could say they share a fate,” he said, pointing in her direction with his stick. “Therefore, if you were to start a fight with…”
“Ditsa,” Atissa said.
“…With Ditsa, they will take her side. She is family, you are not.”
Atissa considered Mark’s words. “I think I knew that. I always feel… helpless when she is mean to me. Like I cannot do anything.”
Mark nodded. “If you go against a member of a group, the group will likely turn on you. The best way to go about it is to get the group to handle their own.”
Atissa looked up, her eyes shone with interest.
“When Ditsa interrupted our conversation with Reva, she was disrespectful to her, right?” Mark asked.
“Right,” Atissa said.
“So, while Ditsa undermined Reva, I elevated her by honoring her role as the… person with seniority. I didn't break any social rules. Quite the opposite.”
“I think, they all felt that Ditsa had embarrassed them,” Atissa said, considering his words. “And you were willing to ignore it”
“How magnanimous of me,” Mark said, smiling. “But that was easy because they were so respectful towards me. It’s not always so simple.”
Atissa nodded, deep in thought.
In truth, he could have handled it without embarrassing that Ditsa girl. But she had been annoying, and he had been tiered and impatient. He had enjoyed it, too.
Mark observed the girl walking at his side from the corners of his eyes. She is a smart kid, he thought. Strangely, he found himself enjoying, explaining things to her. He had even forgotten his weariness for a while. I don’t remember enjoying it when Anne was young.
They walked for another hour or so, passing a primitive village, Atissa identified as Logger’s Home. Apparently, the largest settlement around.
Mark groaned inwardly when he saw the barely two dozen wooden houses. No cars, no sign of electricity. Everything looked like some kind of recreation of a medieval society.
To his displeasure, Atissa seemed to become more and more comfortable with him. She talked about the villagers and asked him questions he could not answer.
When they crossed a small creek, she pointed at an opening in the forest. He could see the peaks of the mountain range from this vantage point.
“Those are the Two Brothers,” she said, indicating the two closest mountains. “Between them, the river flows all the way to Riadnos. Did you come from there?”
Mark thought back. It had been late, and he had followed the navigation system.
“I don’t think so. I don’t remember a river.”
“Then did you come from the other side of the valley?”
Mark shook his head. A voice in the back of his mind told him that he was not in Canada anymore. He knew that was impossible. Yet, the landscape and the people made no sense.
“I was driving on a road. My flight from New York was delayed so it was already dark and”, he paused, thinking, “there was fog. I don’t know how, but I must have driven off the road. I crashed into one of these dry riverbeds.”
He looked at Atissa, to see if anything he said resonated with her.
Judging by her expression, it did not.
“I don’t know… New York,” she said, looking uncertain. “There are a lot of dry riverbeds, this time of year. They carry meltwater from the mountains in spring.”
It was obvious that the girl wanted to be helpful. She just didn’t know how.
Atissa seemed to have lived sheltered from the outside world. Mark did not even want to know how it stood with her schooling. On the other hand, he had to admit that here and now her woodsman skills were probably more useful than his coding expertise.
He started to giggle, unable to help himself. This situation was too ridiculous. How would he even begin to tell anyone this story?
Right now, his most useful skills would probably be whatever he could recall from his short stint in the boy scouts as a child. An experience he had detested at the time.
The memory of the past sobered him up enough to get a hold of himself. He straightened up and turned to Atissa.
The girl’s face was a mix of confusion and concern. Poor girl, he thought. Trying so hard to be helpful but doesn’t know what to do with the crazy person that went hiking in a thousand-dollar suit.
“I am sorry,” Mark said, forcefully controlling himself. “I didn't mean to worry you. I haven’t slept in…two days or so. And I seem to be quite lost in these woods. I’m very grateful for your help.”
He realized it truly was lucky he’d run into Atissa. Who knows what would have happened if he hadn’t stumbled across the young huntress?
Atissa nodded, somewhat reassured.
Then she smiled again. “Uncle Tatros traveled a lot when he was young. I’m sure he knows all about… New York.”
“Sounds good,” Mark said. “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”
As they continued, the nagging feeling in the back of Mark's mind returned. Somehow, he doubted that uncle Tatros knew Calgary or New York.
They continued through the woods, following trails. It seemed like Atissa’s home was far apart from the main settlement. Mark had no confidence in his ability to find his way back to the primitive village.
He encouraged Atissa to keep talking. While his weariness had returned, he knew he could trust in his mind’s ability to file away anything important for later consideration.
Atissa seemed to have picked up on his state and didn't ask him any more questions about the world outside the valley. She pointed out landmarks and animal trails. She even showed him a couple of plants and explained their medical use.
The young girl walked through the forest with the surety and understanding of a mechanic moving through his workshop.
“You know a lot,” Mark said, feeling the need to contribute at least a little bit to the conversation. “About the woods, I mean. The animals and the plants. It’s quite impressive.”
Atissa looked at him with a blank face. Then she turned red and quickly looked away as she took in what he’d said.
He had meant it. Mark had never had much time for teenagers, not even in the short period he had been allowed to be one. But he respected competence.
True competence was rare. He believed in the Pareto principle. Any organization he had ever worked with had been carried by a small number of truly competent people. The bigger the organization, the smaller the percentage.
“Thank you,” Atissa said, without looking his way. “But uncle Tatros knows much more. He thought me everything I know, you see.”
This uncle seemed to be the only person Atissa was close to. So far, she hadn’t mentioned any other relatives, nor talked about other villagers besides that Ditsa girl.
Mark appreciated that and carefully refrained from asking anything too personal.
“We’re here!” Atissa pointed at a roundish hut in the middle of a few very old-looking trees.
It was pretty small. More the size of a cabin than a real home. Mark wondered about the height. It looked too low for a grown adult to stand upright.
There was a hole in the thatched roof through which smoke drifted up into the crown of the trees.
“Uncle, I am back!”
Atissa hurried towards the entrance, waving for Mark to follow her.
Mark adjusted the position of the heavy sack on his back for the millionth time and followed without changing his pace.
Firewood was stacked up next to one of the old trees. A simple roof made from needle tree twigs had been constructed to protect the wood from rain. Next to the entrance to the house stood a towering wood bank and the doorway was covered by the pelt of some large animal.
Taking it all in, Mark almost regretted not accepting Reva’s offer.
“Uncle!”
“I heard you the first time!”
A broad-shouldered man ducked through the door, wearing a simple brown tunic that left his muscular arms uncovered. Shorter than Mark, uncle Tatros was built like a bull.
The moment he saw Mark, he froze. Mark was certain he saw a flash of alarm cross the man’s face, which was quickly hidden.
“You brought a guest?” Tatros asked, while his eyes quickly moved from Mark to the undergrowth and back to Mark.
“Yes,” Atissa said. “This is Markdougles. I met him on the hunt.”
Uncle Tatros nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on Mark.
“Hello, my name is Mark Douglas,” Mark said. “Atissa found me wandering through the woods. I was quite lost.”
The uncle nodded, crossing his arms. His right forearm and biceps showed some vicious scars.
“Uncle, I offered Markdougles to stay with us. He is looking for a place outside the valley that I have never heard about. I thought you might know it from your travels.” Atissa’s voice had become careful when she mentioned the invitation.
“Please, call me Mark.” He wasn’t comfortable with the way these people were butchering his name.
Uncle Tatros stared at Mark for such a long moment it started to feel rude. Even Atissa was starting to look uncertain about her uncle’s reaction.
“Are you hungry?” Tatros asked.
Mark saw Atissa relax. “Yes, very much so.”
“Then come in,” Tatros said. “There is meat and whatever you brought with you. Let’s see if it’s enough for three.”
He turned around on the spot and ducked through the entrance. “Did you pick up my axe head?” he asked from inside.
“Yes!” Atissa looked relieved. She smiled at Mark and followed her uncle.
Mark stared at the fur-covered entrance and sighed. He was hungry and very tired, and although he was certain this accommodation would be nowhere near the hotel standards he was used to, he knew he had to get some sleep before carrying on further. He adjusted the position of the sack one last time and followed his hosts.
When he stepped through the entrance, he almost fell. The floor of the hut was two feet lower than the ground outside. It allowed an adult of Tatros’ height to stand upright. Mark still had to duck his head a little.
He waited at the entrance, not quite sure where to turn.
Atissa stored her belongings at one side of the hut and came over to him.
“You can give me the sack,” she said, reaching out for it. “Please, sit over here.”
Mark was happy to hand over the burden before taking a seat on the simple bench Atissa had indicated. It was one of three surrounding the fireplace in the middle of the hut.
Tatros sat opposite him, turning a couple of spits with chunks of meat stuck on them. He gave Mark an unreadable look, before turning his attention back to the food.
Waiting in silence, Mark let his gaze wander. The one-room home was sparsely furnished. Each of his hosts seemed to have a private corner where they slept and stored their things. The wall on Tatros’ side was adorned with four bows of different sizes. Atissa’s only featured one.
Opposite the entrance was a compact workbench with some primitive tools, the shavings scattered across the floor indicating a recent project.
It was small but homely and Mark didn’t like it. But while he had a very modern taste with an emphasis on privacy, he could at least respect the efficient use of space.
On the wall next to the entrance, they had installed a single shelf. On it stood half a dozen figurines carved from wood.
Mark noticed that one figure was placed far to the side.
“Old Horto,” Tatros murmured following Mark’s gaze. “He doesn’t like company.”
Nodding, Mark did not reply. Religion was generally not considered a safe topic.
“Uncle, look at all the things Reva gave us!” Atissa held up a big loaf of bread and a block of white cheese.
“Hm.” The sound was all the acknowledgment that Tatros gave.
Atissa continued to unpack the sack, unperturbed. Apparently, this was Tatros’ usual way of communicating.
Mark tried to relax and remembered that he was still holding on to the walking stick. Not sure where to put it he stood up and walked over to the entrance. He leaned it against the wall outside and returned.
On the way back to his seat he noticed that Tatros was observing him with wide, questioning eyes.
Mark gave him a questioning look, but the man just returned to his work with the spits.
Charming, Mark thought. Although to be fair, he had worked with IT people that had worse social skills than this grizzled hillbilly.
Having nothing else to do, he inspected the state of his clothing. His pants and shoes were ruined. Feeling the deep scratches in the leather of the latter hurt particularly.
His white shirt was stained with sweat and dirt and probably wasn’t salvageable either.
He carefully unfolded his suit jacket which he’d carried over his arm the whole time. Wondrously, it had survived so far without catching much dirt. It should be possible to buy a new shirt somewhere. And maybe a dark pair of jeans. He would still cut a decent figure.
Atissa’s voice tore him from his assessment.
“Look, we also got this!” She held up a sealed amphora.
For the first time, uncle Tatros looked interested. He jumped up and hurried to Atissa’s side as she site as she handed him the clay vessel with a smile.
Holding it carefully in both hands, he inspected the seal.
“From the islands!” he shouted, almost cradling the amphora. “The old woman was generous. It seems we will feast tonight.”
They gathered all the food next to the fireplace and started to eat. There was bread and cheese and pickled vegetables.
Tatros handed Mark a spit.
Mark hesitated, desperate to ask for a knife and fork. But of course, they weren’t using cutlery.
The young girl and old man ate with their fingers and chewed the meat directly off the spits.
Mark carefully pushed his suit jacked to the end of the bench, far away from the feasting barbarians.
He examined the spit in his hand. There were some black spots where the flames had touched the meat. He carefully scratched at it with his fingernail. Was this evenly cooked? On the other hand, there was little as unhealthy as the 21st-century western diet. Except maybe not eating at all.
Hot juices ran over his hand, and he almost dropped the spit.
“Damn!”
His hosts looked up.
“Is something wrong?” Atissa asked. Before swallowing her last bite, Mark noticed.
“No, I am fine. Thank you,” he said, quickly. “Do you have cutlery, by any chance?”
Atissa looked from Mark to her uncle with a questioning look.
Tatros swallowed whatever he had stuffed in his mouth last. Thank god, Mark thought.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Tatros said. “Is the meat not good?” He fixed Mark with that suspicious look again.
“No, it smells great. Never mind.”
Mark gave up. He carefully nibbled on the spit in his hand before taking a small bite. It was unseasoned and smoky, and it was one of the best things he had ever tasted. His stomach suddenly remembered that it had not received anything besides nicotine fumes in almost two days.
Before Mark realized it, he had joined his hosts, shoveling food into his mouth with his bare hands.
After uncle Tatros had licked the juice from the last spit off his fingers, he picked up the amphora. He swiped the knife from his belt and cut away the seal in a quick motion.
Mark noticed the blade’s gold-like color, but he was too busy with digestion to think about it. His mind filed it away for later consideration.
Atissa bounded over to one corner of the hut and returned with five cups. They were simple brown clay vessels without handles.
She placed them in front of her uncle who looked at her, one eyebrow raised. She returned his stare without flinching.
With a sigh, Tatros broke the silent contest of will, filled all five cups with dark ruby liquid, and handed them out.
Atissa placed two on the shelf with the gods. Horto received his own. The others had to share.
Closing his eyes, Mark raised his own cup to his nose and took an appreciative sniff.
Satiated from meat, bread, and cheese, Mark took a swig without much thought. The voice in his mind had some doubt about the hygiene of the cup, but at this point it was too full and tired to be very insistent about it.
The wine bit his throat and he started coughing. “Strong,” he said, covering his mouth.
Tatros laughed. “Do they water their wine down in your homeland?” he asked. He was already refilling his cup and, to Mark’s surprise, held out the amphora to refill his guest’s as well.
Mark accepted the offer, more to establish a better relationship with his host than because he desired more of the strong and slightly sour red. He had never been particularly fond of alcohol. Not even during his university days. Regrettably, it was an unavoidable part of socializing in the business world.
Maybe it was because of his tiredness or maybe the wine was just so strong, but after a cup he could already sense a buzzing feeling behind his forehead.
His host was already on his third cup. Or was it his fourth?
The grizzled man’s cheeks quickly deepened to a reddish color. And he had an expression that could almost be called a smile.
Not a good drinker himself, Mark still wondered how much it would take for his host to get drunk. Recalling his reaction when he discovered Reva had included it in the sack, it probably wasn’t very easy to get out here in the wilderness.
“When I was still in the army, they gave us a cup of wine a day,” Tatros said. “At least when we were not on the marsh. And more if there was some kind of feast.” He shook the amphora a bit to hear how much of the precious liquid remained. “Did I ever tell you?”
“Many times,” Atissa said, nursing her own cup. “You always talk about wine and wrestling. And never about anything I want to know. Did you do anything else when you were traveling?”
Tatros gave the girl a sour look. “Not much I care to remember.” His left hand fingered the scares lining his right forearm, a gesture he didn’t seem to be conscious of.
Atissa saw the look and fell quiet. “Mark, you must have been to many cities?” There was an eagerness in her eyes.
“A couple. “
“How were they? Except for uncle, almost nobody here has been further than Riadnos. I haven’t even been there!”
A worrying pulsing started behind Mark’s forehead. Explaining concepts like airports and rush hour to a teenage hillbilly was the last thing he wanted to do right now.
“Dirty. And smelly,” he said, taking another sip.
“That’s right. All they’re good for is breeding rats and diseases!” While Tatros agreed with him, Atissa looked disappointed.
Mark quickly decided to change topics. “You said you wrestled?”
Tatro's eyes lightened up. “Sure. There was barely anybody in the army that could throw me. Not unless they were much bigger. They even paid me extra to train other men after I almost won a competition.”
“Almost won?”
“The winner broke his shoulder in the final bout. Never quite healed right. He couldn’t hold his shield anymore and was dismissed.” Tatros said without concern.
“How do you win in such competitions? By throwing somebody on his back?” Mark did not really care. He just wanted to keep Tatros talking until it was time for bed.
“Mostly. You can also force the other man to give up,” Tatros said, enthusiastically going into a story of one of his bouts.
Atissa was already having trouble keeping her eyes open.
In the back of his mind, Mark registered that he should probably be concerned about descriptions of an army in which people carried shields around. A problem for tomorrow, he thought. After a good night’s sleep.
“Do you wrestle?”
“I do grappling,” Mark said, his thoughts elsewhere.
“Then we must have a spar, tomorrow. I want to see what tricks they have where you’re from.”
“Hm,” Mark said.
“Great,” Tatros said, standing up. “You can sleep over there. There is a blanket and a fur.” He pointed at one corner of the hut while staggering toward the entrance.
Mark looked after the older man who was probably going to relieve himself against a tree. Shaking his head, he stood and walked over to the corner Tatros had indicated.
After three steps he stopped in his track.
Did I just agree to fight the old man?
