Shaman's Warning: Plains Walker, #1

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Chapter 1

My name is Hector Green and I am one of the last of the Chiricahua Apache. My father left us soon after my birth and I grew up never knowing him. I was told many years later that he died, not where or when, just the how of it.

Carrow was my salvation in our world ruined by human greed and technological madness. She kept me alive even when she couldn’t help my half-sister Sophie or my older brother Fredrick. She told me that, of her three, she was proud she kept one through the poison drought. She told me that I would bring great things to pass. Little did I understand then how that would be. Carrow had the sight, just as I have it, my daughter has it and so on to my son and grandson it has passed and grown stronger.

I grew up in the blooming deserts of the Sonora plain, wastelands born of the scientists’ dreams of endless bounty from the earth and its progeny. My mother, alone, found the ways to use many of the poisoned weeds that sprouted from the Techno laboratories. Plants and animals that once were fit to eat had out-bred in a maddening profusion of mutated genetics creating the poison swamps where fields of grain once grew.

That is if you believe the old books.

There was only one constant in that hostile environment and that was change. Each day saw a new crop of strange mutant weeds. Plants and animals that could kill in a multitude of ways crossed with others that used yet other lethal methods and produced newer, more brilliant, survivors.

Every so often a throwback produced something close to the original and it took someone with the sight to realize it. Maybe part of my survival came from my own sight, but much of it came from Carrow who knew instinctively what to feed me and taught me how to avoid the killers.

I have no reason to believe there was geneering in our family but we have always been a long lived group. Carrow was fifty when she had me and was nearly seventy when I left the Sonoran desert. Even now, nearly twenty seasons on, I see no reason to assume she is not still alive. Someday, soon, I will make the long journey south and west to see her again, now that Niamh no longer needs me.

When I was seventeen I left Carrow. She knew I would go, just as I had foreseen it, and she gave me her blessing. The walk into the ruined city of Sacramento was long and hard. The old roads had ceased to exist long before, eroded by time and nature’s new power. I made my way through the heart of a land once destroyed, remade then destroyed again through ignorance and misunderstanding.

The old nation of California was once rich, grown strong on the power of bioengineering. Barren lands had flourished with novel and wonderful crops that tapped the dry infertile soils and milked the atmosphere of moisture and nitrogen. The laboratories of Mongenta had worked tirelessly for three hundred years spawning ever better crops to feed a growing population. Even the massive quakes in the third year of President Calvin could do little to diminish the power of the great corporation that had survived the atomic wars deep in the bunkers of the Sierra Nevada.

In an age where wealth was measured by the ownership of gene sequences the first of the breeder viruses was the simple step that led to total physical and economic ruin.

They were to be the go between. A simple but effective catalyst that would take the drudgery from swapping genetic sequences between species that would otherwise never mate. The virus made it possible to overcome the automatic rejection of alien reproductive material and enabled all manner of plants, animals and fungi to procreate outside the laboratory. What was a marvellously ingenious laboratory tool became a murderous nightmare when it escaped to the outside world.

In the first year of the breeder two hundred and twenty billion people died on the planet, nearly twice the number that had died in the atomic wars. Almost every known species of plant and animal was wiped out and replaced by rapidly mutating combinants. Strange dwarf forests grew where none had stood before. The oceans became a putrid mass of bio distort and mankind dwindled almost to extinction. Only in the coldest areas was some of the Old World preserved, and in time creatures and men from these enclaves came forth to reclaim their heritage.

It was no coincidence that the Amerinds were the people who resurrected the old Nations and became the predominant force in human stock. True, there are still the Technos who describe themselves as human but it was their very lack of humanity that caused the breeder virus. Science without reason or thought caused the great death and even today the people of the Nations believe the Technos hide in the rings to avoid the rightful payment for their crimes. The rarely seen glowing white tracks are a daily reminder that the Technos still look down on the people. They live in undeserved luxury while we fight for survival in a ruined world.

When I walked into the city of Sacramento I saw little that could be called a city. But the mad profusion of mutant life that was the desert had thinned and in the place of chaos I found, for the first time in my life, desolate order. On the outskirts of Sacramento I came across inexplicable patches of bare ground, hard and smooth like the old roadways. I saw the remains of low broken structures made of the same material. I knew these were the ruins of houses because I had read of them in the old books.

In Sonora, Carrow and I lived in a place which had survived the flames of the atomic fire. It was older even than these dwellings if the books were correct but it had weathered better and still stood in spite of the green destruction which surrounded it. Made of stone and rough mortar our home had stood from a time that almost reached back to the time of Columbus.

As I walked through the city I saw more and more evidence of the building material, in some places stacked higher than my head. My surprise was great when I topped the small rise to see a vast expanse of old crumbling buildings that nestled at the base of a forbidding ridge of broken rock and uncontrolled vegetation. A festering quagmire of a river boiled along a kilometer and a half to the West. That was close enough for me.

The old city was an oasis of peace within the sea of rioting genes that surrounded it. I saw one of the desert creatures that had been following me race past at a furious panicked pace, only to dodge madly away from a bare wall and run screeching back to its motley band of companions.

I looked at the mismatched shadows that had followed me for the last few days. They stood in a frightened line, not daring to go further, some more animal than plant, some more plant than animal. Arms, legs, heads, mouths interspersed with branches, flowers, leaves, fronds, ears of fungi. None were ever alike, only the very few ever edible. I always felt guilty taking the edible ones. It seems sacrilege somehow to take the ones that had, against all genetic odds, found the pathway back toward the way nature had intended.

Obviously none of them were coming with me and in a way I felt sad. Sure, some of them were very dangerous to be near, some so toxic that even the others kept away except in the madness of the mating frenzy, but I had always had these creatures for company. They were my sirens. They were what made me sharp.

With regret at the strangeness of life without the chittering, wailing, click-clacking mutants I turned and started into the city. The old books told me of this place but little made sense now. The valley was still as it must have once been, though I could see the savage evidence of the quakes that had torn much of our land after the atom war.

No bombs had hit this city. There was no radiation. This was once a city that had stood at the fork of two mighty rivers. Further west of the Sacramento River the old ruins stretched out across the plains till they were lost once again in the morass of green. North was where I wanted to go and I saw the green swath of another river crossing my path. Smoke rose in a thin, lazy spiral near the river. Someone was on my side. The fire wasn’t to keep warm by. Someone was cooking.

Carrow had told me of the cold northlands where water was frozen for many months of the year, hard to imagine in a land of perpetual wet warmth. She had told me that, from space, a permanent haze of heat and moisture could be seen covering the land where we lived. The furious breeding, growing and dying in the uncontrolled mutant lands created its own biosphere of fetid humidity that further trapped solar energy fuelling the expansion of the desert jungle. She said that the area was growing bigger by the year. I did not know how she knew but I had no reason to doubt her word.

I explored some of the ruins as I walked. Slabs of smooth stone lay in scattered abundance; I was beginning to think the stone might be concrete. Some of the dwellings still stood but most were flat on the ground, the metal or timber that once supported the stone floors having long gone to rust or dust. In places the stone was cracked to reveal festering flowers of red iron. There was nothing of value here. I would have liked to find a better knife but realized that anything of use would have been found many years before.

Around my waist I wore a plastic belt, with a plastic scabbard on my left hip in which rode a long thin-bladed filleting knife with a black plastic handle. The blade was made of Victorinox stainless steel and had survived from a much earlier time but was becoming very thin and was almost useless for killing. For that purpose I relied on my compound bow made from strips of laminated plastic, stainless steel pulleys and nylon monofil. The pulleys were very old and in spite of being stainless were brittle and tarnished.

On my back I wore a plastic backpack which held my cooking equipment, salt, a little food, a quiver of fourteen arrows, and my bedding. On my right hip was my solar still, humming away in the filtered sunlight as it captured water from the atmosphere. The still was important to me as it was the divider between life and death. I could hear the cool water slosh as I walked.

No one went anywhere in this world without a water purifier and the still was the best of them. The camping warehouse in Sonora held crates of the stills and Carrow often made presents of them to the few travellers who came our way. Her generosity was not misplaced. All had been different peoples with different stories, but they shared a common bond. They were medicine people. They had to be. Only people with the gift of sight could survive the wasteland.

The wisp of smoke was still a way off and I was hungry for company. Surely it was human. Hard to tell at this distance but I couldn’t feel the danger.

The lack of life in the streets was eerie. I climbed through a deep semi-circular drain. No plant life, no frothing life filled slush of mud, just the unsettling sight of clear pools of still water. In the Sonora desert there was no standing water and when rain fell it would be immediately inhabited by millions of tiny breeding bodies on a destructive cycle of consumption. The water in the drain looked fresh but I had never drunk anything that had not been distilled. Fredrick had died from something that got into his water and I’ll never forgot the agony and terror on his face as he was consumed from the inside. I was four at the time and Fredrick had the sight, but not strong.

A building on the other side of the drain still stood in a fashion. The Sacramento Police Department was largely collapsed ruins with its entry sign all but unreadable but a strange collection of rectangular spires at one side took my eye. On one of the spires was the outline in the stone of a plaque that I knew would have been a memorial of some kind, long since forgotten. The metal hungry builders of the orbital rings would have scavenged brass. I looked up contemplating the silver ribbons shining weakly through the haze of permanent moisture that was our sky.

So engrossed in my thoughts was I that I didn’t hear the soft footsteps on the hard pavement and it was with deep shock that I heard someone clear their throat behind me.

Chapter 2

Holding my right hand up in the gesture of peace I turned to see three people before me. For a second I gaped. I must have looked a fool. I had never seen such people before.

The man was big, very tall and wide of shoulder with long straw coloured hair. The woman with him was built on the same lines; she had blue eyes, the biggest breasts I had ever seen and wide, wide hips. The whiteness of their skins was a shock. I had read of the white people but to see them in the flesh was another thing.

The slender Amerind with them drew my eyes. She was much smaller than they and she was very beautiful. I’m not just saying that because she became my wife. She was beautiful. I could see that beauty glowing in her. People with the sight recognize it in each other and she had recognized it in me just as she saw our future together. In that instant we divined our joint heritage and, sadly, something of our future. I felt the deep injustice of the burden which had been placed upon us. To know even vaguely how life will treat you is a hard load to carry. We smiled at each other in our sadness.

Who are you, Indian? the man’s words were hard and deep. He had a big voice to go with the body. I looked at him carefully. There could be danger here and I saw trouble.

He had a rugged face covered in the yellow hair and the same blue eyes of the woman. His legs were strong, as were his arms. He would take much beating in a fight. Around his waist he wore a black plastic gun belt and in the open topped holster sat a dark pistol. The loops of the belt held bullets but they looked corroded. I wondered if the thing would fire. I had never seen one in working order.

I am Hector Green, I replied. Who might you be? We spoke in English which was still the universal language even though many of our visitors to Sonora spoke in Spanish or the tongues of the Nations.

I’m Rod Taggart, these are my wives, Nellie Cole and the brown one is Talya.

I knew he lied. She was not his wife though he treated her as if she was. For the first time I noticed a strange collar around her neck. It was made of metal and had some kind of electrical circuit in it because there was a small red winking light in the middle of the band. It was very strange because apart from the obvious waste of precious metal no one wore anything more than was necessary in the stifling humidity.

None of us wore clothes apart from the blonde woman; she had a tired pair of plastic shoes on her feet. Clothes posed an impracticality in the desert jungles, as the only clothes that would last the onslaught of the mutating biology were ones made from certain types of plastic. Anyone foolish enough to wear plastic in the jungles would lose a lot of weight in a big hurry and would soon boil to death.

Where have you come from, Indian? the man asked. I started to take a dislike to him as I had introduced myself and he could have called me by name.

My name is Hector Green, I trust you will remember it soon. I come from Sonora, I said, knowing full well that people such as these would be unable to make it through the jungle to Sonora and most likely they had never heard of it.

He surprised me by saying, Are there still people living in Sonora? It is in the thickest part of the mutation? How can you live there?

I was born there. We learn to look for the danger and it helps to have a medicine woman as a mother.

Hey, that’s what Talya here said too. Do you know she is a medicine woman? He seemed eager to be friendly all of a sudden and I had my suspicions about him.

I know, I said. I didn’t add that I knew she was much more than that. He had no understanding of the truth about the shamans. He looked quickly at Nellie Cole, she nodded slightly, and then he turned to me again.

Would you like to join us for our evening meal, Hector? he said my name with hesitation as if he wasn’t comfortable with it.

Thank you, Rod, that would be nice, Carrow had raised me to be polite to strangers, at least until their intentions were proven.

Most of the people who had come by our home were friendly. Some stayed a while. For the most part the stayers were good people, but there were just the odd few who wore out the welcome. They were quick to protest when we moved them on but just as we were medicine people, so were they and they knew the power we had over them.

A shaman is always strongest in his own home, with the knowledge of territory comes something that only the most dangerous of people might try to fight. Carrow and I made a good team but I was man enough to recognize she was in no way diminished by my leaving. Within Carrow was something that only age and the experience of time would fully reveal to me. I knew it would be a long journey before I would see her again.

Well that’s settled then, Rod said with an easy smile. Come on, we’ll show you where we live. He turned and as he did held the arm of Nellie on one side and Talya on the other forcing them to walk beside him. I was then expected to follow where they led. It seemed a strange arrangement.

Taggart looked back over his shoulder to see if I followed and asked, So, did you leave your mother in Sonora?

Yes, she’s back there. She likes it there.

You’re not worried about her? he asked. I had been worried, but in less than a day of walking I had set my mind to rest. She was in no danger.

No, she can take care of herself.

And what about you, Hector? he asked looking forward, Can you take care of yourself?

Of course I can. I did not feel guilty for giving him the impression that I was a foolish young boy with an inflated sense of my own abilities. An edge might come in handy. I found myself looking at Talya’s legs and smooth buttocks; she was a lovely package from the rear as well as the front.

The place they called home was an old car park and it was cool and dark under the slabs of concrete. They had been living there some time if the soot-covered ceiling was anything to go by. A fireplace had been constructed in the centre of a circle of cracked stones. They had set a fire of broken timbers and on top they laid a buckled plate of what would have once been shiny metal. This was their sole cooking utensil I was to learn later. I sat down on a broken block of concrete and watched Nellie Cole pull one of the little mutant hoppers from a bag and began skinning it. It had six legs that I could see and a long pointed head but its blood was red and I could tell it was good food.

How do you catch the hoppers? I asked.

Talya is our food adviser, Taggart said. "You have no problem finding the good stuff, Hec?

I didn’t like people calling me Hec. No Rod, I haven’t a problem finding food, it’s all around. What about you, how do you people come to be here? You aren’t descended from the original people are you?

I guess we probably are, Taggart answered. But what you meant was, were we born in Sacramento. No we weren’t. We wouldn’t be here now if we hadn’t done something stupid. Nellie Cole looked over with a warning eye but Taggart wanted to tell his story.

We’re what you might call outcasts, Hec. We come from up there. He pointed to the roof. I knew he didn’t mean the next rotting floor up. They were from the orbital rings.

How did you get down here then?

Scientific team flew us down and kicked us out. We were supposed to die. It’s not going to happen. He had a bad look in his eye.

Why did they want you to die, Rod? I asked.

Because were bad-ass people, Taggart replied.

Really, I knew what he meant. I’d read enough books to know he wasn’t talking literally about his ass or about a bad donkey.

Yeah, I killed a shit load of people up there. They don’t like that even though the rings are starting to get overcrowded. Nellie here, she made the mistake of sleeping with her brother then he got the guilts and wanted to tell. She knocked him out and stuffed him into a molecular breakdown unit. Only problem was it was on video surveillance all the time. You probably haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about, being a savage and all, but we’re not people to mess with, kid. Anyhow, we come from up there so we’re like gods to you, huh? He had a pushy way about him I didn’t like. I didn’t answer and he got irritated.

What do you think, kid? You amazed to be sitting having dinner with a couple of gods?

No, Rod, I said. I’m happy to eat with you but please don’t pretend something that you and I both know not to be true. I sat casually on my rock. I hadn’t let go the bow and could knock an arrow quicker than he could pull the pistol from the holster. He tried to stare me down for a moment. In the corner of my eye I could see Nellie’s worried glance at Talya.

He gave in quickly with a loud laugh, Shit no, kid. You’re good, I’ll give you that. We won’t bullshit each other, okay. Nellie looked relieved. I was even more wary of the man now.

Nellie had three of the hoppers skinned and gutted now. All were different but without the hides looked remarkably similar. I had noticed this in the meat animals before. Without the legs, antlers, spines, and other odd growths they all looked remarkably like pictures I had seen in books of skinned rabbits. The plate was hot, the fire a mass of crimson embers, and the hoppers sizzled and popped as Nellie lay them down. They smelled good.

So, Rod, how did you get on before you found Talya? I asked. The question wasn’t one he’d wanted the memory of from the look of his face.

Bad, kid, real bad. She’s the best thing that happened to us. Had to convince her she needed us as much as we needed her though. Talya kept her eyes down and I knew what form the convincing would have taken. She needed them as much as she needed a tail and horns.

Oh, right, was all I said. Rod took to fiddling with the fire to get more heat from it. I looked over at Talya; she was looking out into the shattered city of fading light. She knew the time was coming, just as I did. She looked quickly over to me and gave me a smile before looking quickly away again.

The hoppers were good, perhaps not quite as good as I would have done but rudeness never won over friends, or enemies for that matter. I didn’t offer to season them with the herbs I had in my pack. I kept that to myself and availed myself of the freely given hospitality. These were dangerous people and I knew the gift of food would have a price and through my sight could see that price being paid on one pathway. I would stay well away from that possibility.

Once we had eaten we were at a loss as to what to do. There were no dishes to clean as there would have been in Sonora; we ate with our fingers and the bones thrown into the coals of the fire. The flames were strong and lit the cavern of the old park with dancing flashes of light.

What did you do back home to entertain yourselves? Taggart asked me.

Oh, we’d play cards, or tell stories or sing songs, I replied.

You can sing? he asked as though surprised.

Of course, can’t everyone?

Hey, not well, he laughed. Why don’t you sing us something?

I thought why not and said, Okay, I’ll give it a go, ever heard of Michael Jackson?

Nope, who is he? One of your friends from Sonora?

Yeah, sort of, I said. Thriller had been one of the solid stage digital recordings that