(pain shared = pain ÷) + (joy shared = joy x)
As the warriors of Westerness talked that night, and on each subsequent night, they would divide their pain, and multiply their joy, making battle something that they could live with and could do again if they had to.
“What I am concerned about is another attack. If they come at us again, or if this meat downhill draws carnivores or carrion eaters, we need to be on guard. The men will be tired, but I think it’s necessary to keep double pickets tonight. Do you agree?”
“Aye, sir,” replied Hans.
“Aye, indeed,” rumbled Broadax, sucking deep on her cigar as rain pattered off of her helmet and ran down her beard.
My God, thought Melville, how does she keep it going, even in this rain? It’s not a cigar, it’s a damned nuclear fusion reactor.
“Good,” said Melville. “Sergeant Broadax, your marines will do picket duty by themselves tonight. I have another task for our sailors. Can your men handle the duty by themselves?”
The marine sergeant’s eyes grew wide and she rocked back on her heels. “Sir! None o’ my marines is solar powered or water soluble!” Then, with a scowl, “We’ll handle it.”
Melville tried to hide a grin. “Crater,” he continued, looking at young Jarad Crater, his senior midshipman, “You’ll be the officer in charge of the pickets tonight. I suggest you listen very carefully to any suggestions the sergeant gives you.”
“Yessir!” gulped the midshipman, swallowing in wide-eyed horror at the thought of disregarding any of the Dwarrowdelf’s “suggestions.”
“Hans,” he continued, turning to the grizzled old sailor, “I don’t want to impose upon the hospitality of our newfound friends, but if another group like this attacks us, a retreat up into the trees may be our only hope. Young Aquinar seems to have won their trust. I want you to work carefully with him to get some ropes up into the lower branches.” The old sailor’s eyes lost their focus and he began to scowl with deep thought. You could almost see ratlines and rigging dancing in his head.
“Ultimately the goal is to prepare a method for everyone to move up into the trees quickly, but we’ve got to go about this gradually, earning their trust a bit at a time. If possible, I want Aquinar to spend the night in a hammock in the trees. Have the proper ropes, tackle, and supports ready to go for a larger operation on short notice. Tonight we’ll get Aquinar in the trees, tomorrow night hopefully a few more can sleep there.
“Aquinar will be in charge of all aspects involving interaction with the monkeys. He’ll have final say in all such matters.” Everyone nodded their heads soberly. Word of Aquinar’s “miracle” had spread quickly. Aquinar nodded his head. He appeared to be completely untroubled by this profound new responsibility. The little spider monkey wrapped around his neck looked on sleepily.
“Mister Archer.” Here he turned and looked young Midshipman Buckley Archer in the eyes.
“Aye sir?”
“You’ll be the officer in charge of the rigging and prep for movement into the trees. Remember, Mister Aquinar calls the shots on anything involving the monkeys, and I trust you to listen closely to Chief Petty Officer Hans’ advice in all technical aspects of rigging.” Like Crater, the young man’s eyes went wide at the mere thought of disregarding such “advice.” Chief Hans’ grizzled face grinned appreciatively.
“Think about how to get the wounded up, and how to get our supplies up if we have to. You have full authority to strip anything you need from Swish-tail’s hulk. Understood?”
“Aye sir,” the young man replied, gulping at the responsibility and trying to think how he’d balance it all out. He was an unusually clever lad and Melville felt confident he could work it out, especial with Chief Hans’ “advice.”
“All of you be sure you get some sleep tonight, and be sure your men get a chance to sleep. There are enough leaders and men assigned to each task to go turn-and-turn-about.”
Suddenly, Chief Hans interrupted. “Gawd a’mighty sir. Do ya see that?”
By the last light of day they turned and watched, open-mouthed, as spider monkeys rode the corpses downstream, cheering and gibbering with high-pitched peeping noises, like baby chicks, while their macabre boats careened downstream to the far wood line. Some of them found sticks to serve as poles, and they used these to push and fend their ghastly rafts. As the corpses hit the wood line at the bottom of the hill, the tiny monkeys all leapt off, scampered up the slope, and found yet another “boat” that was about to embark downstream.
When Melville saw the monkeys using poles to assist in their bizarre rafting, he realized that they were a tool-using species. They were tool users, possibly even sentient. And they were friends.
As the last light of day ebbed away, Melville knew he’d achieved something. Just what they’d achieved this day wasn’t clear yet, but it was more than mere survival. It was . . . significant. What more could a young man ask, than to do great deeds and be significant upon the stage of life?
Chapter the 4th
The Ship Returns:
One Nameless,Tattered, Broken Man
Though giant rains put out the sun,
Here stand I for a sign,
Though Earth be filled with waters dark,
My cup is filled with wine.
Tell to the trembling priests that here
Under the deluge rod,
One nameless, tattered, broken man
Stood up and drank to God.
“The Deluge”
G.K. Chesterton
The next morning the wet, rainy world slowly, sullenly dawned, and the men of Westerness began to stir. Every man in their little company was exhausted to the bone. The rain was still warm, but it was beginning to outlast its welcome.
The wounded lay in the few dry spaces that could still be found within the hold of their little cutter. Beneath the branches of the mighty trees were more dry patches where the rest of the company slept.
As they began to move around, some of them found that they had company. Somewhere in the night, soft little spider monkeys had joined them. Melville had his. Petreckski had one. Chief Hans and even Sergeant Broadax literally had monkeys on their backs.
For Melville it was an eerie feeling. He’d turn his head, and there’d be an upside-down face staring solemnly back at him. Broadax seemed slightly embarrassed by hers, but she opted to ignore it, acting as though it wasn’t there.
Little Aquinar still slept in his hammock, a full five yards off the ground, warm and dry next to the bole of a great tree. His little fawn-colored monkey still clung tightly to his neck. Dozens of other monkeys also shared his hammock, sleeping contentedly.
Melville didn’t have the heart to awaken the little midshipman, but he did climb up to be sure the boy was still alive, that the monkeys hadn’t killed him in his sleep. Melville was horrified at the boy’s peril, but he was their best ambassador to the little monkeys. Aquinar was a boy, but he was also a warrior and the right man for this job. Like a loving father checking on his young child in the middle of the night, Melville watched to see that the boy still breathed. Reassured, and observed by sleepy monkeys who seemed completely unbothered by his presence, he slid back down.
At this point the huge Corporal Kobbsven strode up to Melville. He was clearly a man with a mission. “Sir! I am happy to report that there is now vater in the vell that vee bin diggin’!”
Blink. ” . . . Yes. Good. Thank you, Corporal.”
Their first duty that day was to bury their dead. Everyone took turns digging the graves of their comrades. Melville took his turn and made sure that each of his young midshipmen did as well. Little Aquinar awoke and descended from above in time to help dig one of the dogs’ graves.
Six large holes and four smaller ones were dug. The bodies of their comrades were lovingly wrapped in sailcloth shrouds and lowered one-by-one into the graves. They’d traveled far across the shoreless seas of Flatland to reach this world, and now they’d be planted here. They would gain immortality in this land that they had discovered and died to defend. Immortality such as every sailor dreamed of. Future settlers would remember their names. Cities and mountains would be named after them. It would be a fit and proper ending for one who traveled the hidden land forlorn. Provided their mother ship returned and their sacrifice was not in vain.
Now it was Melville’s time to say Words. He’d never felt so inadequate. All he could do was reach back into their heritage and set forth the Words, those ancient Words. Ten thousand applications to the griefs of a thousand years had carved these Words into their cultural consciousness. Thereby giving them the power to heal and strengthen lives in times of sorrow and loss.