The next clan they visited had one of two major hospitals on Misty, with the attached medical college. The one after that was a huge island almost entirely above tree level, where several species of hair and hide producing animals were raised. Another was covered with various fiber producing plants, and another seemed to be doing a little of everything.
During one of their numerous long discussions, George had explained, “People have to work, but no one should be driven by a clock. Our level of relative comfort has risen slowly, but it will never be that great. First is our fundamental other-worldly orientation. Eldership is granted only to those who prove their ability to maintain that. They control the primary education, which is always conducted by the extended household, and only grandmothers and grandfathers are qualified as teachers. Somewhere around the twelfth year we allow children to enter apprenticeship. Everyone learns a trade, and earns their basic colors, as we say.”
Fortis noted, “I’ve already picked up on some of the symbolism of costume color.”
George nodded, “Mine is pale blue for water supply maintenance. We have several springs near my birthplace.”
“I’m out of place on that one. I’ve never done anything outside academics,” Fortis said.
George chuckled, “We can give you a trade if you like. But the main point is we maintain a careful balance between too much and too little. Most of our wars have been the indirect result of population explosion, something which seems to come in cycles. Warfare serves the obvious purpose of reducing the population directly, but the destruction reduces it further by starvation, disruption of trade, and too often plagues. We know it’s not possible to avoid it totally, but we minimize it. We strive to balance the forces of human nature as a part of other natural forces.”
Eventually they landed on the coast nearest Clan Manley. The port was fairly busy and George spoke to one of the senior stevedores. Something he said made George’s face go ashen.
There was one clan territory to cross northward by land to reach Manley, and no one raised the slightest objection to going straight there. Indeed, it was quickly agreed Fortis and George would ride on ahead of the slower wagons. He asked the twins to stay with the baggage. “If we can’t be safe here, there really is no hope for much of anything.” As he and Fortis rode away, George eschewed the roads, driving straight across the open land. They picked up food from isolated farm tents or small villages near their path.
It took two weeks sleeping on the ground without a tent, and riding all day and trusting the coursers to warn if predators approached at night. It happened only once. George rolled out of bed, listened a moment, then shot two arrows into the dark. After a few minutes of silence, he dropped back into his bedroll and soon began to snore softly.
Fortis waited until they had gone some ten days like this before asking over lunch one day, “Your intuition is roaring.”
“Our primary glass maker has had access to the best silica on the planet for decades. Suddenly someone downstream complains the supply of high quality glass is declining. That was puzzling, but not disturbing. Then the dock manager tells me not a scrap of silica has come through the port in six months, when previously it was large loads, requiring six or seven wagons three or four times per year. This is no small matter. There is precious little silica or sand near my village, and the glass plant is the only reason that village exists.”
Fortis waited as George chewed. Finally, he prodded. “But there’s more.”
“But I don’t know what.” He started to rise. “It troubles my spirit.”
A few days later, they came down from an almost barren ridge. While Fortis noticed the air was slightly less hazy, and faintly warmer, he didn’t expect to see the huge rising shadow of high land on the other side of the wooded valley. He caught glimpses of numerous windmills climbing the gentle slope, and a cluster of several more in the far distance, just barely visible in the fading light of day.
Several of the people greeted George enthusiastically, then spluttered over the odd visitor with him. George did slow a bit and promised with a smile to talk later, then dismounted in front of the largest tent in the village. Fortis took the liberty of introducing himself, and no one seemed to object. With a dozen offers of service, he asked for, and received, a fresh drink of water from the cistern. Cautiously, he peeked inside the open tent doorway. George was talking to another man who looked surprisingly similar in age and features.
George glanced at Fortis, perfunctorily introduced the man as his brother, Randall. Then the two men promptly began a rapid fire discussion with such abbreviated references, Fortis had trouble following it.
Someone brought in their bedrolls and other baggage from off the coursers. The young man carrying it all shared an obvious family resemblance to George and Randall. Finally, the hurried conversation slowed.
George turned to Fortis. “I apologize for being such a poor host…”
Fortis put up a hand. “I’m in on this whole thing. Just tell me what I can do.”
“Right now, there’s nothing we can do. It’s late. Two tasks present themselves immediately. We need to visit the plant. I have to find out where the supply came from, as they surely know something more than who drove the wagons inland. Then, we have to trace down that supplier and find out what happened. We shall likely meet our wagons well before they arrive here.” George looked very tired.
“So, we will meet ourselves coming and going, in a manner of speaking.” Fortis tried to lighten the somber mood.
George smiled weakly. Everyone who visited that evening was just as somber, as the plant in hills to the north had all but shut down. Only the smaller workshops making goods mostly for local consumption were still running.
For all the hard riding, the coursers didn’t hesitate when George and Fortis mounted them before dawn for the ride up the draw toward the cluster of spinning wind turbines. As they drew closer and higher, Fortis realize these were quite large, much larger than anything he had seen before. He noticed the wind was strong, decidedly warmer than that first taste of polar breeze, yet still the climate was cool enough for sleeves. As the land rose, he noticed it was also somewhat drier. However, the one thing which locked his attention was the noise. The wind didn’t rip stones from the packed surface of the dry barren table land, but the noise was palpable on its own.
They turned into the teeth of this wind as the trail wound around a small hump to reveal an opening in the side of the slope. A great deal of stonework had been added, but clearly this was the opening to a man made cave.
The windmills were clustered on the flat top of the hill, bound together by a solid framework of stone and large beams. The turbines were vertical, covered with complex curved panels of bright fabric. At the foot of each was a sealed dynamo, according to George’s previous explanations. Farther back was another wind turbine by itself. This one dropped a spinning shaft directly into a fitting in the ground. This one met the description George gave for a water well. There appeared little sign of significant wear on anything, but there was no blowing dust. Just a steady blast of stiff wind below the somewhat higher clouds, which were still thick enough to prevent any detectable change in brightness for the dawn. Desert, yes, but unlike any Fortis had ever seen.
They rode up to an awning, then led the beasts under it, tying them to rings set in the stone. The wind was not quite so loud, and only gentle, random swirls managed to tousle the fur on their flanks. The flat entry way was cut out of the hill, so the sides were somewhat protected nearest the facing.
George stood, hesitating a moment before ducking in the wide doorway standing open.
