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 burned like a fever in the mines. The knowledge did not come in the form of writing because nothing in the 21st century had been written in stone, clay tablets, or parchment. It had been digital, wonderfully fast and easy—light as the wind—and gone with the wind by the year 3011. And yet, the knowledge survived in its own way. For example, stainless steel deteriorates and is gone in a thousand years; however, under favorable conditions, a DeLorean automobile might survive deep underground, its body crushed by the weight of the ruins above it and badly decayed, yet nonetheless intact. Men could quickly ascertain that it had wheels and seats, and the wheels were connected to drive axles, and so on. The renaissance was picking up steam. The new breed of men John spoke of had plenty of fodder for their fires, waiting for them deep in the mines.
Laureal walked with John to the edge of the surrounding ruins. Normally, several men would set out together on a hunt but under the circumstances, he was the only one.
“John, please be careful.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise,” giving her a kiss. “Are you and Jessie and Mia going for firewood?”
“Yes.”
“Take spears and bows along with your hatchets.”
“We know to do that.”
“Take Nemo with you, but keep him tethered. Don’t let him run after anything.”
“Will do,” giving him another kiss.
John pushed a few strands of hair from Laureal’s face, “You’re so pretty.”
“You’re so handsome,” smiling.
John looked towards camp, “Cody has the rifle. Emma’s not bad with a bow. They have Yike, and they have fire. So they should be okay.” Then, turning his eyes to her, “Stay within earshot of camp, stay together, and don’t stay out long.”
Laureal could feel the strength of John’s hands even through thick layers of fur. “Mr. Summerfield,” gazing into his eyes.
“Yeah?”
“I’m dying to spend time alone with you.”
John broke into a smile. “I’m dying to spend time alone with you.”
They stood together, alone on the edge of the great wide open.
“Darn,” John said at last.
“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 flashed a happy 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. It moved with purpose, not wandering, not sniffing about for a scent trail, 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 riverbank. 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. Not a stone’s throw ahead, the coyote crouched with its back to him.
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 even as it remained hunkered low to the ground. It did not run ahead but to the side. Nor did it run far but, surprisingly, it stopped less than a stone’s throw away. It was hiding from something other than John, something it feared more than John.
Eying the coyote, the huntsman spoke under his breath, “What are you onto?” Then, turning and stepping cautiously ahead, he craned to get a look for himself. Seeing nothing at first, he went several steps farther, where, peering through a ragged stand of scrubby trees to a clearing beyond, he saw an old bull moose surrounded by a 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 as long as he stood his ground. The wolves would not risk the peril of his deadly hooves (one of the younger wolves had already suffered a painful lesson). It had become a standoff, and the moose was at an advantage. Having foliage to eat in the bog, it could sustain its strength, whereas the wolves had nothing.
Turning to look back at 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 and landed in surrounding trees. Scavengers were gathering in hope of getting their share. The word of a feast had gone out through 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 dire need of food.
Unable to bring the moose down, some of the wolves stood around. Others milled about. A pair of yearlings tussled in the snow.
Quietly, very quietly, Summerfield stripped down to his buckskins, then hung his coat and trousers on a branch. He didn’t undress to cool down, although, after his trot, getting out of his hot and heavy furs felt like freedom, that is, if freedom had a physical sensation.
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 shoot the moose, thereby relieving the pack’s hunger. The bull’s carcass would keep them feasting for days. But of course, if he fired, 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 scrubby trees, leafless but thick with crowded branches.
Our huntsman had scarcely gotten within 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 in the moose, straight into its lungs. The beast bolted and the wolves sprang into action. Hot on its tail, they exited 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, 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, and long since dried out, was too good to pass up. If she could free that one branch, the other branches would come free as well, and from that one pile the women could gather all the firewood the family needed. So it was that she wrenched the branch from side to side, driving with her legs until it broke free, nearly sending her back onto her tail. Quick to regain her balance, she dragged the branch aside. Then, grasping the next branch, she pulled it from the pile with considerably less effort.
“Mom,” Laureal called, “there’s plenty of good firewood here.”
Jessie turned only to see Laureal backing away from the pile even as her eyes remained fixed on it.
“Get away from there!’ Mia cried, quick to see the ground sifting away beneath the branches, vanishing into the earth like sand in an hourglass.
The ground stabilized, leaving what appeared an eroded hole visible beneath the branches, the result of erosion from rare occasions when extreme rain, channeled by crumbling walls of stone, created temporary surges of surface water, a portion of which filtered underground on its way to the river.
Stepping forward, Laureal squatted down and grasped another branch.
“Laureal, leave it be,” Jessie ordered, fearing it unsafe.
“No problem, Mom. I got this,” and giving the branch a firm tug, the ground gave way and Laureal vanished into the earth.
“LAUREAL!” Jessie cried, scrambling to the edge of what appeared to be a sinkhole—her heart pounding.
A dozen feet below, Laureal sat on a cushion of snow, dirt, and pine needles. The pile of branches, having come down with her, lay before her.
Greatly surprised, Laureal looked up at her mother and cousin, “I’m okay!”
“I’ll get a rope,” said Mia
“I can climb out,” observing the walls of the pit, which, although impossible in some places, were favorable in others, being stitched with tree roots.
Rising to her feet and turning around, Laureal’s curiosity was captured entirely even as she felt a pang of fear. For directly before her, a large manmade tunnel stood beneath roots that dangled like door beads.
“Laureal, get out of there!”
“Toss me my spear,” looking into the tunnel, its opening brightened by the angle of the morning sun, beyond which lay a dark interior.
“Laureal, you come up here at once!”
“Mom, it’s okay! Just toss me my spear!”
Mia retrieved the spear from where Laureal had left it, beneath the trees, leaning against a crumbling section of wall. Gripped with worry, Jessie looked on as her daughter, with bow and quiver still in place on her back, leveled her spear and cautiously stepped to 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 what they had found. The system of tunnels beneath the University of Saskatchewan had been built in the 20th and 21st centuries to protect students from harsh winter weather. Connecting no less than twenty campus buildings, the tunnels had once bustled with university students in transit, some stopping for lunch in eateries, others playing games in arcades, browsing in shops, and of course, studying in study areas. There were also many service tunnels, tunnels that were off limits, tunnels with no obvious purpose, a labyrinth, which, even in those times, led to lore and myth.
Having gone only as far as sunlight allowed, Laureal and her mother stood peering into the pitch, the absolute silence broken only by Nemo’s whines, on his leash, with Mia, at the top of the pit.
“We need a torch,” said Laureal.
Returning from his hunt, John walked into camp, his spear in one hand, his parka and pants under his free arm, “How’s everything?”
“Just crazy,” Emma replied, somewhat vexed.
“Laureal found a tunnel,” Cody added, unable to hide his excitement, “and when they have finished gathering firewood, we’re going to explore it.”
“We’ll see about that,” Emma stated firmly.
“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 coolly reported. “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 backward, “It was luck, really…I just stumbled on it.”
“There’s no such thing as luck,” Emma coolly stated.
John only smiled. He was high on endorphins, having trotted back to camp after shooting the mule deer. The muley had sprung from hiding in a stand of shrubby trees across the river. With a quick draw of his bow, John had hit it on a dead run just behind the front shoulder.
“It was too big to hang up,” said the Seeker, still walking backward, “and I gotta get back before any wolverines or cats get to it.”
“John!” as if to bring an overly exuberant young man to his senses. “The wolves are certain to be there!”
“Yeah, John!” Cody seconded, “Their tracks are everywhere!”
“I don’t think we need 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 a lot to eat. No doubt they’ll be sprawled out around it for several days, eating and sleeping like drunkards.”
“Do you know how many?”
“I counted thirteen. And I’d be surprised if they didn’t 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 securing her pack-frame and bridle, he led her away at a trot.
Relieved by the good news about the wolves, Emma and Cody remained in camp with the kids, performing small but important chores of maintenance. An hour later, and all were back in camp. Emma, Jessie, and Sophie worked on making lunch. Mia, John, Laureal, Cody, and Noah worked to process the mule deer before it froze rock hard. They would not eat from it right away, but would give the meat time to age so that it would 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 on the racks near enough to the fire so it wouldn't freeze even as it remained cool. The trick was to keep the temperature as steady as possible.
Emma, being against the idea of exploring the Nith, refused to allow lard to 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 because 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 store 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 small clay jar in a leather sling, containing a few fire coals with which they started a tiny fire in the mouth of the tunnel, expressly for lighting their torches. They lit only the tips, so their torches could burn from top to bottom like candles.
Laureal lifted her torch to the tunnel opening. No longer illuminated by sunshine, it lay cast in 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 in order to 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 through centuries of dirt and dust.
Having gone some twenty paces, John stopped and turned to Laureal. The look in her eyes showed that, despite her fear, she was all in. Behind her, Cody appeared a mixture of fear and boyish wonder—
“There doesn’t seem to be much here,” John commented matter-of-factly.
“This must lead to something,” Laureal countered.
“I say we keep going,” Cody threw in.
“I didn’t mean to say we should turn back,” somewhat offended. “I was only commenting on the empty state of the place.”
Returning to the way ahead, John led on a dozen more paces before pausing on account of a side entrance that had come into view.
“What’s that?” Laureal whispered, taking hold of John’s arm.
“It’s a doorway,” Cody replied, his voice way down low as though someone, or something, might hear.
With two steps more, John held his torch out to it. A dark void, the doorway revealed nothing except to drink up his torch’s light as though 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 heavy layers 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 only surviving component, 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 seemed 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 inside it!”
“It did not!”
Kneeling, 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 manufacturers in the 21st century.
“Glass,” Laureal echoed, taking the pellet from John's fingers, herself knowing of glass in pellet form. Glass pellets, originally taken from ruins in the east, were occasionally traded in summer camps and used for making art. Glass, unlike wood and steel, can last for a million years. It is inherently susceptible to breakage, however, and precious little of it had survived in unbroken form. Its vulnerability also explains why it had seen no resurgence in use for wares like cups and plates. It was delicate and labor-intensive to produce, requiring a kiln. Wood, on the other hand, was far less fragile, readily available, easy to work with, and lighter to carry—a logical choice for daily living. Also worth noting, the technology for making plate glass did not yet exist outside a few pockets of civilization, such as in John’s homeland, and even there, only small, crude panes 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 frontier 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, oh…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. I am never to raid a ruin for personal gain, but always to 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 that 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 regard 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,” Laureal implored. “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,” and turning back to John, “think of what we could do. We could put every member of our clan on horseback. John, we could rebuild, even better than before the disaster at the river crossing!”
“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—
“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, afternoon, or nighttime.”
“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, having 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 lay on everything.
“John, this looks dangerous,” Laureal cautioned, 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. Then, when at last 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.”
