Ghost

1. The Stranger-1

1

The Stranger

NAS News – Local Feed

Rychter Celebrates 500 Years

System Rychter: “This doesn’t happen every day,” Planetary Governor Walter Blake said from the steps of the newly uncovered statue celebrating the first generational ship to arrive on the planet. “We’re proud to mark this special event with our loyal citizens.”

The statue depicts the pioneers stepping off the generational ship, Journey, which allegedly landed on the planet five-hundred years ago this week after leaving the planet Claria. Officials kept protesters far from the statue’s unveiling. However, their message could be heard following Blake’s speech.

“This is an absolute farce, and that statue should be torn down,” said Professor Dav Masona of Rychter University. “There’s absolutely no evidence our people originated from Claria and celebrating such a fiction is wrong. It’s a myth.”

According to local folklore, official records were lost onboard the generational ship two-hundred and fifty years into the journey from their origin planet and no effort was made to create a history by the time the first settlers reached Rychter. The system struggled to survive for the first century, and initial settlers paid little attention to recording their history.

The era of generational vessels resulted in a similar fate for countless ships embarking to escape wars, overpopulation, and famine. The three known shipbuilders built generational ships in such quantity that without permanent records, there is no definitive way to discover the origins of any vessel from this era.

The sun dipped behind the Western Forest’s thick trees. Rays of light split across the Katron River as a gentle breeze whispered across the rushing waters.

Henri drew in a deep breath of cool, musty air and plunged his hands into the water. He found the rope and pulled the worn brown container from the depths. The boy stepped away from the riverbank and sat in tall green grasses buzzing with insects. He yanked back the flaps to verify supplies for the first month of winter were in place. Satisfied, he tied the strings of hide and slung the bag over his shoulder.

Henri stood and watched a white bird pluck a writhing fish from the water. It shook its head violently as it gulped the meal. He was about to turn when something near the riverbank caught his eye. He stepped into the mushy ground to take a closer look.

He gasped.

He ran toward the village Ord, careful not to drop any supplies.

“A what?” Jordan asked as he finished loading supplies into the barn. He turned to look at his son. “You ran all the way from the river?”

Henri shifted his weight from one foot to the other and nodded. “A man. Floating in the river.”

“Someone from the village?”

“No. I’ve never seen him before.”

Jordan ruffled Henri’s hair. “What have I told you about seeing monsters in the river?”

“But—”

“Last month it was a snake, before that it was a giant lizard.”

“Father, I’m telling you the truth.”

“Okay, I believe you,” Jordan said and glanced at the sky. “Take me to this man. Hopefully, we have time before nightfall. Grab the torches just in case.”

The sun disappeared behind the mountains beyond the forest. The fading light cast ominous shadows over the path by the time Jordan and Henri reached the riverbanks.

Jordan motioned for his son to stay back as he placed one foot into the water. Henri had been right; a man floated on his back in the water. He wore black and his face was smeared in tar. A bag was around his shoulder. Along his belt was—

“Henri, go fetch Farmer Bolin. Have him and his son come here quick. After you get them I want you to go straight home. Do not come back here.”

“But—”

“Just do it!”

Henri stared wide-eyed before he spun around toward the village, running away as fast as his legs could carry him.

Jordan shouldn’t have yelled, but he didn’t have a choice. He sighed and turned back toward the river. The man’s chest moved. Jordan clenched his teeth. He had hoped the stranger was dead. Attached to the belt was something Jordan had heard about in stories from his youth, tales from myth and legend told by old men around campfires surrounded by wonder-filled eyes.

A gun.

Farmer Bolin and his son, Tod, helped Jordan bring the half-dead stranger back to his home. Jordan took the mythical weapon and the shoulder bag to his barn. He buried the objects deep into the straw. When he returned, Bolin and Tod stood at his front door, grave looks on their faces.

“Thank you for your help,” Jordan said.

Bolin stared at him with his dark eyes. “I’ve never seen anyone dressed like that in Ord or any other village.”

“Me neither,” Tod said, his sharp blue eyes sparkling. “Where do you suppose he comes from?”

“Another village, most likely,” Bolin answered with a worried grin. “It has to be a village far, far from here. What did you hide in the barn?”

“The stranger’s belongings. Nothing more.”

Bolin eyed him. “What belongings?”

He paused. “It was not my place to rummage through the man’s things.” There was an uneasy silence, and he sighed, “It is getting late. Thank you for your help.”

Bolin and Tod moved away into the darkness. Bolin had always been intrusive, even when there wasn’t a reason. But this newcomer from the river gave Bolin more than enough excuse to poke around the farm. They would be back, no doubt. If he had it to do over, he wouldn’t have summoned them.

Jordan stepped into his home and locked the door. Henri sat at the table near a roaring fire. Wood in the fireplace glowed, splintered, and popped, sending sparkling embers rising up the chimney. A howling wind pushed against the roof. A hot bowl of soup was prepared, steam rising slowly from the ceramic bowl.

“You’re a good boy, Henri,” Jordan said, placing his coat and hat on the hook at the door. “You make me very proud. Your mother would’ve been proud as well.”

“Thank you, Father.”

Jordan moved to take a seat with his son. “Our guest?”

“Still sleeping.”

Jordan nodded and dipped bread into the soup. “Tomorrow, we’ll find some answers.”

“Do you think he is from another village?”

“Definitely not. I’ve been to all four villages and have never seen someone dressed like him.”

Henri swirled his spoon in the soup. “Where would he be from, then?”

“Like I said, we’ll find out tomorrow.” He sipped. “If you’re finished, why don’t you get some sleep? I can clean up here. The south woods are ready for cutting. We should get firewood while the weather holds.”

“Yes, Father.”

When his son left the room, Jordan finished his soup. Now in his thirteenth year, Henri was becoming a man. In time, he would take over the farm. All of that would be a fading dream if this stranger changed it. Would he be friend or foe when he woke?

The fire snapped and hissed, waking Jordan from a nap on his couch. He cleared his throat and sat up. He froze.

The man in black stood next to the fireplace. His face was emotionless. His small gray eyes perched atop slender cheekbones. His eyelids fluttered as his body swayed. He placed a hand on the hearth for balance.

“You think you can hold me here?” he hissed.

Jordan frowned. “What?”

“I don’t—”

The man slumped into the wall.

Jordan leaped from the couch and kept him from falling. “You’ve been injured. I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Fortunate for you,” he growled before his eyes rolled back.

Jordan shook his head and helped him to the bedroom.

Two days passed as the stranger slept. Father and son lived in one room for the time. They took turns giving the man food and making sure he had enough water. Sometimes the newcomer would wake and stare at them with bloodshot eyes. Most of the time, he simply lay there as if in a coma. He said nothing.

Jordan left Henri to gather firewood at the beginning of the third day in hopes to find some answers. The village elder, Lovick, lived at the edge of Ord. People came from surrounding villages to ask his advice on all manner of topics, from crop placement to how to raise children. As he walked the winding dirt path to the Lovick homestead, Jordan realized he had never asked advice of the old man. His last visit several years ago was not for advice, but for medicine when his wife had become ill with the river sickness. However, his father certainly had sought council with Lovick. Jordan remembered father traveling to see Lovick at the beginning of winter.

A frigid breeze blew swaying trees and brown grasses. Jordan’s hands trembled. He made tight fists, turning his knuckles white. Winter would be here soon. With the cold northern winds came dark days of snow and hours near the fireplace. But his home wasn’t safe at the moment—not with the visitor. He needed answers.

Lovick’s son, Edward, worked in the front yard as Jordan approached. He looked up from the soil and smiled. “Well hello, Jordan. Hadn’t seen you on this side of the valley in a long time.”

Jordan returned the smile as he stepped down the stone walkway. “It’s been a long time.”

Edward brushed the dirt off his hand before shaking Jordan’s. “What brings you this far?”

“I need to talk with your father.”

The large wooden door creaked as they entered. The inside of Lovick’s home smelled of dust and spices. Colorful quilts, created by Lovick’s late wife, covered the living room.

“Son?” Lovick asked in a raspy voice.

“It’s all right. We have a visitor.”

Lovick appeared from the bedroom, shuffling his feet over the uneven floorboards. Jordan tried to hide his surprise. The man had grown frail since the last time they had met. The once salt and pepper beard now completely white fell over his chest. His hair spilled to his shoulders. Deep wrinkles splintered his face.

“Ah, Jordan. How are you, son?”

“Fine, sir.” Jordan bowed slightly. “I do hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all. Make yourself comfortable.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

Edward nodded. “I’ll leave you two. Winter’s on the way, after all. I have a lot of work to do.”

Long after Edward had left, the older man emerged from the kitchen carrying two steaming mugs of tea.

“Wish I could offer you more, son,” Lovick said as he blew the steam.

He shook his head. “I hate to put you out. I appreciate you speaking with me.”

Lovick handed over the mug and waved his hand in front of his gray face. “Forget it. We don’t get many visitors here in the outskirts. Not anymore. Seems the new generation has no need for the babblings of an old man like me.” He sat on the tan couch with a grunt and released a sigh. “Besides, knew your father. He was a good man.”

“Thank you.”

They both sipped on the tea for a moment. Edward chopped wood in the front yard as a bird sang from the branch of a small tree. A cool breeze whistled in through the windows.

“So what brings you out here?” Lovick asked.

“Kind of hard to explain, I’m sure you’ve heard about our visitor.”

Lovick grinned. “Sure. The entire village has heard. If winter’s impending arrival wasn’t tying up the trade routes, I’m sure the other villages would’ve heard as well.” His face turned stoic. “And speaking of winter, you know what the others will say.”

“I know.”

“There won’t be enough supplies.”

“I know.”

“What will you do?”

“My family will support the visitor. We found him. Well,” Jordan said after taking another sip of the tea, “there’s something I haven’t told everyone.”

Lovick blinked. “And?”

“I don’t know how to say it. It sounds crazy.” He stepped over to the window and stared out at the dark clouds looming over the snowcapped mountains. “The stranger had, well, he had a gun.”

The old man lit his pipe. He watched the smoke rings form silvery snakes in the air. “That is crazy.”

“I don’t believe in gods or any of that. Immortals clashing in combat amongst the stars in great battles. I’d always heard those stories were myths.”

Lovick’s hand disappeared into the fluffy white beard. “It is thought man once wielded weapons known as guns. I suppose it is possible someone out there could still have one.”

“Oh, come on. You’re not saying the stories of men flying on star chariots are true, that men used these magical guns to end another’s life. I can’t imagine such barbarism.”

Lovick puffed on the pipe and rubbed his beard. “Our people have been here for a dozen generations. Before that, no one knows. Our history stops. My Father and Mr. Billick—you remember him? They’d talk for hours about where we came from. They’d do that behind closed doors or on the front porch because the women folk don’t like that sort of talk. I remember they’d wonder if we came from another land far away. They would dream of man being able to cross the Great Ocean where the Katron ends. Sometimes they dreamt of the chariots through the stars and wondered if the myths were true.”