Condor's View

Condor's View

'Turning and turning in a widening gyre', the condor disregards humanity entire. Rocks aplenty, snow to spare, light that lambent chilled the air. No straight lines or unnatural masses of a single colour, which usually betokened human activity. It would have been much the same all along the spine of South America. Along the Pacific coast some signs remained, small towns and villages tenuously linked by dirt tracks, very little traveled beyond the adjacent farm plots. Even at sea the small boats did not venture often beyond the fishing grounds.It was peaceful. It was serene. It was dull. Such humans as existed were at one with nature in their simple lives and early deaths. Where nature had not provided a predator to sharpen their wits with fear, they preyed upon each other, although in a desultory way. Occasionally the snow of the peaks might be seen to have been stained by the blood of human sacrifices to appease the spirits of the heights and seek the favour of their fierily irascible natures, which rather than venting their wrath as flaming lava, shaking earth and sullen smoke, might be induced to grant the favour of access to veins of metal and other gifts of heaven and earth.Still more rarely might be found a lonely mystic communing silently with the spirits of sky and mountain, uninterested in gifts of wealth and social status, but seeking to soar in condor form above the concerns of men, yet able to cast a wide ranging eye over the scene
of their activities, passing in spirit over the awesome expanses of sky, ocean and land.

There was no sign of any great state or empire, nor even of organisation beyond a few villages, no sign of commerce or industry beyond the crudest local level, no sign of large scale building or warfare. There was altogether little sign of culture, of arts or sciences or manners beyond the possession and manufacture of some bronze implements, axes, breastplates, mirrors, ornaments, made from the copper still found in what had been Chile and the tin from what had been Bolivia. These, decorated with feathers from jungle birds traded over the mountains and supplemented by pottery and colourful cloth and a little carpentry, joinery and very occasional masonry would have appeared no more than mediocre achievements set alongside any other bronze-age culture. Nor were they distinguished by spectacular or profound mental achievements of myth, religion, astronomy, mathematics or folk-tales. No great kings or warrior chiefs, no merchant princes, no philosophers, no prophets or priests of mighty temples, no great poets, no writers, no thinkers, no sculptors or painters. Nothing to raise them to be worthy of notice, except an inordinate awe of witches and shamans and a great fear that their neighbors were all highly skilled
practitioners of evil, each directed against other.

Had our suppositous condor's gaze drifted eastwards across the continent, what would it have seen? Across it's greatest width sprawled the Amazon basin, a reinvigorated Green Hell of disease ridden swamp and jungle whose heat and humidity was only bearable by a thin population of renewed bands of savages, even more primitive than those of the Pacific coast and mountains. These were an admixture of the original Amerindians and the detritus of the decaying civilisation which had encroached upon them, Darwinian survivors in this world of decay. To its south lay the great and almost empty plains of the pampas. No burning tigers illuminated the nights of these forests either, although the shamans ensured that the villagers were greatly in awe of jaguar and snake spirits.

The collapse of the United States and of Europe so long ago, brutally struck down by the nuclear club of their supposed ally; and the continued depletion of oil, fossil fuels and mineral resources had killed the market for beef which had driven the expansion of ranching into the territory of the Amazon. Now, so many centuries later - seven, eight, nine - ( who was counting?), the jungle had reclaimed it's own and pustulated as violently and vigorously as it ever had, filled with as much disease, distress, venom, vermin, exhaustion, death and despair for all who had no place there, as could be experienced let alone imagined. Now ranching to supply local needs and the shrunken cities of the east coast had retreated to more favourable areas.

Civilisation of a semi-modern sort had likewise ebbed to the Atlantic and Caribbean coast where it had begun.Here the old cities remained, focus of the farmland, mines, plantations and industry not very far away. It was spread out along the coastline, linked by small ships as much as by road. Brazil had retained the most populous economy and strongest state. It had gradually subsumed its smaller neighbors along the Caribbean and Atlantic coasts under its hegemony.This had in part been achieved by marital and economic and political alliances between the prominent families who owned most of the property and claimed the right to occupy public office and to raise and lead military forces. These previously independent countries had lapsed into a series of provinces consisting of jungle outposts with somnolent garrisons,linked by river and sea,receiving occasional orders and officials from the
capital, Rio de Janeiro. The one-time capital Brasilia, had long since been abandoned to the jungle from which it had been pretentiously and pointlessly hacked.The leading landowners, merchants and industrialists of each region ran things more or less as they liked through the agency of their own gangs of toughs, mediating their disputes through provincial assemblies, backed they hoped by the local military commanders in the rare event of local uprisings of peasants or trouble from the savages of the interior, offering fulsome praise and promises reinforced by bribes to El Presidente and his officials far away in Rio.

Effectively this was an empire, which might as well have been called the Empire of Brazil, although nominally it remained a Republic, because the noble families were too jealous of each other to allow any one of them to assume the regnal let alone the imperial dignity. Pettifogging lawyers and historians might even suggest that it was a collection of allied republics, since they had not all been formally annexed by Brazil, but that would merely have been an antiquarian quibble. Nobility, or at least gentility, was fairly easily obtained or attained. It was a matter of social and legal acceptance or recognition. A bombastic legal petition accepted by the provincial assembly, which naturally consisted of gentlemen and nobles, was the formal route. Usually these petitions were stuffed with dubious genealogy and doubtful histories of worthy achievements to justify recognition of a fanciful coat of arms, carefully checked against the central records of the College of Heralds in Rio to ensure that it was different from all the others. Higher titles were likewise self-assumed, granted by the provincial assemblies but severely limited by what a critical and jealous audience of peers would accept. The families of many of the northern barons had come to wealth and social prominence through the sale of drugs, and centuries later more fastidious nobles would still call them Knights of the Needle and sneer that their proper heraldry should be a syringe rampant on a coca leaf. Thus a king or emperor was not needed to grant titles of nobility, so the ruler could continue to be called a President, which conveniently fended off the nitpicking constitutional lawyers.

It should not be thought that the bulk of the population felt oppressed or deprived of some great benefit called Democracy or Socialism. The masses may have huddled, but they definitely were not 'yearning to breathe free'. There were no Marxist intellectuals, no blood-stained young murderers from rich families repeating the crazed mantras of their maniacal professors babbling of smashing the world and remaking it in their own image. Such bandits as existed were more honest about their motives.There were universities, but these had reverted to their proper functions of providing an 'ivory tower' environment for a small intellectual class to pursue academic concerns. There were also training facilities for the professions of medicine, priesthood and law and to staff the upper levels of bureaucracy. These people were neither numerous nor troublesome. They had lost the insolent fancy that
they should be publicly paid to subvert public morals. The collapse and disappearance of the old world had ended the plague of over-education, the proliferation of drones unable to attain or appreciate the achievements of the higher levels of intellect and spirit, and unfitted for anything useful, yet arrogantly and adamantly certain of entitlement to an upper-middle class life with a duty to impose damaging nonsense on the people around them. There were no more 'Lefties' and no one missed them.

On paper, or depicted on a map, although there were few enough of those any more, this was a huge domain, the mighty empire of a whole continent. The reality was far smaller and more ramshackle, although still impressively extensive. The President, for what he hoped would be a long life, could regard himself as the monarch of all he surveyed, provided his survey was sweeping rather than exacting. It would be folly to expect anything so unrealistic as honesty or efficiency from his subordinates, insanity to issue orders which would or could not be obeyed or which might inflame the irritable pride and murderous jealousy of his tin-pot nobles, courtiers and generals. Each of these worthies was equipped with a long roll of sonorous names and titles attesting to immense family pride, ancient claims, rivalries and well rehearsed grievances, their ruthless ambition stoked by less fortunate relatives who all expected to profit from the further advancement of the family member currently best positioned to achieve his and their desires. Not surprisingly, tenancy of the Presidential palace was often short and terminated unexpectedly. A prudent president affected to believe the flattery and lies poured into his ears, maintained a lot of spies and informers who sometimes told the truth, and enjoyed the perquisites of his position for as long as possible. Happily for him, his officials and their rag-tag troops armed with muskets, spears, knives or bows,(supplemented by formidable irregular cavalry) they had no reason to suspect the existence of the zealously Republican Americans, let alone the terrifyingly industrious and imperial Germans. Even more happily, the latter had no interest in them.

The problem they knew about came from their neighbors to the north, the cannibalistic Mexicans. Indeed these were their only neighbors, in the sense of an organised state, and they were not well known. There was nothing so civilised as diplomatic relations with them. They were the sort of 'relations' no one would want to acknowledge, the sort who would be the black sheep in any family of nations, whose existence constituted a blot on the family escutcheon and who would not be invited to family gatherings. In fact the only 'relation' they had was as victims of their savage attacks, which were frequently and indignantly reported to EL Presidente by the officials and leading citizens of the northern coastal regions subjected to terrifying sea raids sweeping away thousands of people for temple sacrifice and sale in the meat markets of Mexican cities. Since they did not scruple to establish temporary shrines and flay, sacrifice and eat victims before they moved on, evidence of their proclivities and intentions was readily available. Horrifying stories of these raids were related throughout the country. The Brazilians did not have an aggressive naval tradition and numerous flotillas of fast moving small ships, which is what they would have needed to intercept the raiding craft and to find and destroy their bases, so they remained invitingly open to attack along a vast coastline. On land the raiders terrified the badly armed, badly trained and badly disciplined local infantry, who would not face the raiders unless behind stout defences. The cavalry was willing and able to inflict casualties on them, but they were not able to cover every point or respond with sufficient alacrity, so they mostly defended the estates of influential landowners, if they were near the main towns. Thus far the major towns in the north, those defended by large garrisons, were safe, but the countryside was being picked bare and the life of the Caribbean coastlands was being seriously disrupted. In reality there was little but their own ignorance, and the current profitability of shorter raids to stop the Mexicans from extending their raids down the Atlantic coast, and perhaps even burning El Presidente's own palace around his ears. This did not reflect well on El Presidente, who began to feel a coup coming on, and who made sure that his governors and garrison commanders knew that it did not reflect well on them or their prospects.

The Brazilians did not know it, but the increasing scale and intensity of the attacks on them was the result of the successful American defence against similar raids. Most of those who raided the Americans died, and the Americans exacted revenge by seizing more Mexican territory and property, killing or expelling the inhabitants, and making very clear that further raids would result in still greater losses. Pressure shifted to the less well armed and organised peoples of Central America, the islands of the Caribbean, and then to the mainland of South America. There was no organised invasion or plan to conquer Brazil, just the initiative of the leaders of many war bands and hunters of sacrificial victims who would extend and expand their raids until they reached some natural limit, ran out of victims, or
were repeatedly and decisively defeated by superior forces. It was not clear whether Brazil would prove to be a superior force.

Not everyone was sympathetic to the plight of the North. El Presidente had been present at a gathering of some of the 'best people' where it had been jested that the needle-knights of the north were simply meeting and getting to know their cousins, the flayers and cannibals of a little further north.This gibe contained enough truth, racially and morally, to be mildly amusing. El Presidente however had been chilled by an implication. 'What if they actually joined their no-longer-so-distant cousins? What if they went over to them and helped them to destroy the rest of the country?' Even more ghastly thoughts came to him,'What if, instead of eating the savages of the interior and even those semi-domesticated savages of the great plantations and city slums, the Mexicans recruited them or converted them to their even more savage religion?' 'What if the Mexicans, tiring of long voyages, simply settled in Brazil and ate their way south?'

Glancing around he saw that these were the men who belonged to the longest established and most noble and civilised families, who controlled the greatest estates and the best cavalry units. They would not throw in their lot with savages, but some very disturbing possibilities had arisen. His Excellency became silent and preoccupied.He left the gathering sooner than expected. Speculation and gossip spread in his absence. 'Was he ill?' 'Had he been poisoned?' 'Did he know of some new disaster?' 'Was there a plot afoot?' 'How may I best secure my own position and that of my family in the event of a coup?' Before that evening there had been no coup plot, after it people were looking to join one.

Where men had stood, soon there would be more carrion for condors and other scavengers to devour.

Books and Blood in Future History

Blood of Christ

Father Enrique Hernandez de Mendoza paused in his writing. Laying the fountain pen carefully on the dark wooden desk in front of him, he glanced casually out of the window. In the middle distance he saw a peasant boy in a dirty shirt carrying a long switch over his left shoulder as he guided the wooden plough being dragged through the ground by the two negro slaves shackled to it. A usual scene, the Father noted. The boy's mother, Maria, was sick again, as he had learned when talking to the boy on the previous day. The family had little land and could not afford the attentions of a medico - whatever they, in truth, might be worth. The crops would be poor again this year, he thought.

Little changed here in the pacified region of what had been one of those 'United States' - Texas, perhaps, or maybe it had been New Mexico, as if it mattered, save to the most nit-picking of chroniclers. Now, of course it was part of the province of Central Northern Mexico. Decades had passed since there had been more than minor troubles in this area. The army of His Excellency Don Arturo Gallenos de Columbo had seen to that, in the usual bloody, but unusually thorough, manner. It was still grimly whispered among the peasants that the sighing and howling of the wind carried the screams of those, and they were many, who had been flayed, impaled or roasted. Now there were few white Americanos left to cause trouble. The frontier raids of black and mestizo bandits were far away in the Blacklands of the eastern coast and Caribbean, where the savages ate or enslaved each other, for sale mainly to the plantations of Brazil.

His eyes turned back to the pen in front of him. He was pleased with it.The pen, of black plastic and gold plated steel, was a treasured family heirloom and was the emblem of his status as a cleric, a man of learning and of at least modest position in the Bishop's entourage. His superior, an avid collector of stories about the past had sent him to this monastery of San Geronimo to search what records they might have, seeking anything interesting. The humble brothers were scarcely literate in Spanish, let alone in the infidel English tongue of the previous heathen occupiers of the area. Although welcoming and hospitable, they had not been able to be of much assistance. He had spent a few days leafing through such records and writings as they possessed. Beyond the sparse hand written administrative records of their monastery, which had never had more than a handful of brothers for the century or so of it's existence, there was little but a few old printed devotional works.

The single exception, which might make his journey worthwhile in the Bishop's eyes, was what appeared to be a popular magazine from the latter part of the twentieth century. It had probably survived so long because it had been lost inside the drawer of an old table which he had idly opened.

As an educated man, he had been aware that the ancients had had horseless carriages, but he had never seen one or even a picture of one. He was fascinated to see colourful pictures of what appeared to be these self-moving machines, but repulsed by the sinful avarice with which they were advertised, and the expectation that every common man and woman should have at least one of these, surely noisy, and possibly blasphemous, monsters.They appeared to be each be made out of many hundred kilogrammes of metal, which must have been a grotesque extravagance. He had never seen so much metal in a single object, yet here were streets filled with them. It was most unsettling to see such a disdainful display of extravagance; all the more so as the arrogant attitudes of the populace would have been hard to take in an assembly of nobles and notables, let alone being quite devoid of the humility properly expected of common people.Then there was the scandal of the women.

Many of the pages not devoted to pictures of horseless carriages, were given over to beautiful women advertising clothing as scanty as their morals. Even the pictures of the people in the streets showed that ordinarily the women were indecently, and even lasciviously, dressed. Their attitudes were quite brazen. No doubt all of this had contributed to the wrath of the Almighty which had fallen upon them, as upon Sodom and Gomorrah. Such a thing could not be left to bring confusion and temptation to the simple people and humble brethren of this place.

More troubling to his mind and spirit was one of the stories set amongst the vulgar commercial dross. It raved in a confused manner about how the god Apollo had appeared at least thirteen times; and borne some of the locals, who had henceforth become heroes, into the heavens,even as far as the moon, in some sort of fire-breathing dragon-like heavenly chariot. At least one of these ventures had ended like Icarus, in falling to earth in flames. Father Enrique considered the Biblical story of the Tower of Babel, which had angered The Lord, and supposed this story of Apollo to indicate similar vainglorious folly, probably with similar results, if the contrast between the Florida of that time and now was anything to go by. This open, public, demonolatry and black magic was deeply disturbing. Perhaps these people had derived their power from summoning demons. There were hints that they had indeed drawn power from Hell, from the realms of Pluto and Uranus, and that it had proved demonically destructive.

He pondered these matters, slowly turning his fountain pen over and over in his hands. The more he thought about it, the more clearly he perceived the influence of Satan. It was obvious in these stories and pictures of the ancient people, the Americans. It was latent in such unholy relics, lying dormant for centuries until Satan found an occasion to use them to tempt the unwary, leading them to taste the forbidden fruit. Even publicising such things was dangerous. There was a temptation to seek to advance a career as the discover of something sensational; but this could be to advance the work of the Devil, to say nothing of the uncertain currents of theological fashion and Curial favour, which could as easily lead to condemnation for heresy, torture and imprisonment or death at the stake. He knelt at the old prie dieu beside him, and prayed for a long time.

When he arose, his mind was calm and his duty clear. He could not leave this snare of the Evil One to fall into innocent hands. Nor could he destroy it, for fear that others and worse, for which the Church would not be prepared, might come to light elsewhere.He knew that he lacked the subtlety of mind and depth of spiritual faith required to deal properly with this discovery. It would have to go to the Bishop, with a carefully composed covering explanation, and probably to the Papal Curia at the New Vatican in Mexico City. He saw that the hand of God may have guided his usually more worldly superior to send him here. As he wrapped the offending object in his spare shirt and bundled it into his saddle bag he was thankful that he may have been of service, and thanked God for having brought knowledge of the saving blood of His Son to the people around him, of infinitely greater value than the vain foolishness of the departed world portrayed in the object of temptation. He went to make his farewells to the Abbot and his brethren, looking forward to the long muleback journey home with far more happiness than he had anticipated.


Blood of Holy War

Cadi Mohammed ibn Abdullah was a man at peace with himself, his world and his god. Life was good. Allah was smiling upon him. He sat on comfortable cushions and looked out over his estate, enjoying the sight of his French slaves tending his crops and his rows of orange trees. Just this morning he had completed the purchase of another farm, adding to a satisfying portfolio of holdings in the area, which marked his growing wealth and influence.

He was becoming a man whose views and participation in business dealings were solicited by other wealthy and influential men. He had hopes of marrying his sons and daughters into even more influential families whose interests extended across the whole Muslim world, from the Maghreb to Indonesia and from the Alps and Istanbul to the depths of Africa. Although Valencia was far from the centre of affairs at Al Quds, where the Caliph Hisham reigned supreme, he was happy here. He had investments in the dhows and their cargoes which busily plied the Mediterranean, the Red Sea and Indian Ocean as far as the clove groves of Zanzibar and Pemba. He had been angling for inclusion in a consortium which traded beyond India to Malaya and Indonesia, even to the Spice Islands. He felt confident that this would soon be achieved, as his reputation and assets increased and he continued in the good graces of His
Highness Ali, the local representative of the Caliph (Peace Be Upon Him).

After noon prayers and a light meal of fruit and spiced meat he had decided to devote the afternoon to reading history. He particularly enjoyed reading about the Great Jihad that had brought Western Europe under the control of Islam, and turned the Mediterranean into an Islamic lake. As a youger man he had hoped to participate as a Ghazi in the next great Jihad, which would surely overwhelm the Germans who still controlled Northern Europe, and plant the Caliph's green banner on the shores of the Baltic and North Seas. Alas, such had not been the will of Allah, as shown through the political weakness of the Caliphate at that time, and in the demonstrated superiority of the Germans' weapons and military organisation.

Now he no longer regretted the path his life had taken. Instead, his knowledge of affairs left him uneasily wondering whether his sons would be permitted to enjoy their inheritance for many years before the Germans seized it from them - but these were thoughts which could never be revealed.

He took pleasure in turning the stiff pages of the lovingly printed and lavishly illustrated volume in it's decorative leather binding, a work of art in itself. He was well acquainted with the tale, a story of Allah's providence to his people in bemusing the minds of the rulers of Europe, so that they contrived their own destruction and that of their people who had once ruled the globe. The book was a couple of centuries old, and the tale, of course, even older.The fools had encouraged Muslim immigration, given them favoured treatment, enabled their growth in numbers, wealth and confidence until they strutted the streets beating, burning, looting and raping the natives, needing to fear little reprisal from people whom they increasingly despised. Thus the first and second stages, infiltration and assertion had been accomplished. The final stage of outright conquest had been deferred for a considerable time.

The leading power of the time had been the Americans, based in the north of the great continent on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. They had involved the Europeans in their financial, economic, social and military follies, so both collapsed into confusion together when Allah had willed it, through the debauching of their government finances and the inflation of their currency, and the social unrest consequent upon their inability to keep paying for more and more as oil and other resources became scarcer. As they declined the rest of the world suffered, but relatively less, so were better able to oppose the Americans and Europeans, who became unable to continue paying tribute to the Israelis who were thus no longer able to dominate the Arabs and retain Al Quds. In their desperation the Israelis threatened and ultimately unleashed their nuclear missiles on America and Europe, in what they called their Samson Option.This had destroyed the main cities, armies and military bases of America and Europe, leaving them open to internal uprisings and invasion from the south.

Zealous ghazis had launched raid after raid into an undefended Europe. His own ancestors had established their family fortunes with the loot which Allah had enabled them to acquire, and to establish a still flourishing business of raiding slaves from Spain, France and Italy, selling them to the relatively prosperous in the cities of the Muslim world. They were even depicted piously following the example of the Prophet Mohammed (P.B.U.H)in beheading hundreds of prisoners. He still had one of their specially made scimitars. Similar armed bands overran the whole of Southern Europe. Miraculously the chaos had resolved itself into Muslim emirs controlling all this territory and subordinating themselves to Ahmed, the newly arisen Caliph who established himself at Al Quds amidst the most tremendous rejoicing ever seen throughout the Muslim world.It was no surprise that many spoke of him as the Expected One, the Mahdi.

Success, however, had been less than total. The Russians had managed to destroy the Israeli missiles aimed at themselves and the Germans, so they were much less damaged by the Muslim uprisings and raids, and had before long managed to repel and expel the Faithful from their lands, and to protect themselves from subsequent attacks. (Russian and Chinese anti-missile defences had protected most of the Muslim cities, but the American defences were ineffective because the Israelis had their codes and the Europeans had no independent defences or deterrents.)

In succeeding generations, as the oil ran dry, it's use was restricted to the vehicles of high officials and the military, and the public came again to rely on camels, horses,donkeys and their own feet for transport.In truth even the vehicles of the high ones, and most of such machinery as could be obtained, came from the Germans, Russians and Chinese who were not motivated to supply much that was dangerous. They still had large reserves of iron and coal, and the superb tradition of German engineering. Thus as oil disappeared they smoothly converted back to steam power, and overhauled their rail network with a close eye on military uses. They were still able to make some oil from coal,(a process they had pioneered before the Second World War,) so were in an increasingly powerful position to maintain military forces smaller than those of Islam, but superior in every way except numbers. This had been amply demonstrated when they had crossed the Rhine and occupied the coal and iron bearing areas of eastern and northern France, routing the Muslim forces in short order.

Quite recently, the Basques had revolted against their Muslim overlords, and the Germans had conducted a lightning campaign through western France and across the Pyrenees to link up with the Basques and expel the Muslims from northern Spain, leaving the Germans in possession and the Muslims deprived of another area of engineering and it's associated coal and iron resources. There was talk of crusades and counter-jihad.

Already Mohammed felt a chill, and it wasn't just that the evening was approaching and a breeze had started to blow. He recognised the need to submit to the will of Allah, and hoped that he and his descendants would be able to bow with grace to whatever was to be. Then he closed the book, put it back on it's shelf, and went to enjoy his harem.


Blood of the dark haired people

Han Wu loved writing history. He enjoyed the ritual of preparation, of calming his mind, preparing his writing implements, donning his robe, lighting the incense, seating himself on the floor of his study surrounded by beautiful vases, paintings and examples of fine calligraphy. He had consulted the I Ching, deeply considering the meaning of the hexagram which the yarrow stalks had revealed. Naturally he had long since completed his study of the written sources and the interpretations of previous scholars.Now he sat quietly, awaiting the correct moment. When it came he allowed his hand to pick up the brush, dip it in the ink and make the first fluid strokes upon the paper.

He loved best to read and write the history of his own people, the Han Chinese, Old Hundred Names, the dark haired people.He respected their strength and endurance and had on his wall a painting of a twisted pine tree growing out of a sheer rock face, which symbolised their indomitability. Tyrants shed their blood like water, but like water they eventually wore away resistance and found a way to their objective of survival. He had written of their very ancient river-taming works of irrigation and drainage, and of the vast numbers drowned when these had failed. He had written of the Great Wall and the fall and rise of dynasties as the Mandate of Heaven was transferred to stronger and more vigorous hands. Always amid torrents of blood, as if such sacrifice was required to keep the state strong and the land and people
fertile. China was no place for the sentimental, no place for those who babbled of individual liberty, no place for those who disregarded their families and their obligations to state, people and ancestors. In truth, there was no place in China for anyone who was not Han Chinese.

He suited his writing to the seasons. Now, in the winter season, he wrote of decline and death, of hardship, bitter endurance and the hope of better times.

He had written of the impact which the arrival of the Europeans had had on old China, dreaming that it was the centre of existence and unprepared for a spiritual as well as physical struggle with interlopers who denied and derided such an idea. He had noted the response of China in attempting to imitate the ideas and industry of the invaders, abandoning in large measure it's own culture and history in the process. He had noted the similarity of the Tai Ping rebels and the Communists as attempts to appropriate a special relationship to the apparent motivating forces behind the successful westerners, Christianity in the nineteenth century and Marxism in the twentieth.He had noticed that the Chinese response had always been to seek the creation of a new Mandarinate, educated in a different set of sacred texts, to guide the people. He noted how the decline of Western power had inevitably been accompanied by a decline in the status of western ideas and people. The revival of China's traditional culture had been accelerated by the upheavals consequent upon the collapse of the fantasy of 'Chimerica'as the economy built around exporting plastic rubbish to the west and constructing empty cities to meet chimerical targets had imploded, with the usual starvation, bloodshed and eventual transfer of the Mandate of Heaven to a more inward looking and traditional arrangement of power. Now the population, not only of China, but of the whole world, was considerably smaller and poorer, but the Tao had, in some measure, been restored.


Whispers in the blood

Michael O'Malley was tired, and cold. He had spent the night meditating inside a megalithic tomb, at an auspicious season, and he was pleased that he had made contact with the spirits of his ancestors. Not that they had had much to say. They seldom did. Nevertheless, it was important to maintain the connection between the living and the dead, and he felt that they participated in his musings on the old legends and sometimes they added details or even new stories to the traditional lore.

He was a junior bard, proud of his responsibility for maintaining the old songs and recitations, and even perhaps adding to them, subject to the approval of the ancestors and of his superiors in the bardic order. He had work to do on the words and music of a new composition. His secret hope was that he might be called upon to perform before the guests at the regular assemblies of his order, in the House of Wisdom. Perhaps in time he might even be invited to be heard at the quarterly Courts of the High Kings held in their ceremonial centre of New Tara, where there was feasting and rejoicing, contests of strength and skill, gossip and horse trading, as the business of law and politics was conducted in the atmosphere of a fair. That was where reputations could be made and spread, and where a bard could hope to attract the attention of a noble and wealthy patron.

Putting aside such musings, Michael greeted the sun and the morning breeze, as he strolled through the green meadow dotted with the contented cattle of Leary, the local chieftain. He would certainly mention the inspiring energy in the air and the joyousness evident in nature to his friend Finbar of the Order of Blessed Crombie of Findhorn when he next saw him. They were evidently doing good work contacting and co-operating with the spirits of nature to secure the fertility and happiness of all beings in the environment.

He smiled and waved to Gregor and Connor, the lads who had just brought the cattle back to pasture after their morning milking. The morning bowl of porridge and milk would be very welcome when he got back to the house.As they walked together through the village of thatched and whitewashed houses, with the smoke of the peat or wood fires rising from their chimneys,and the hens clucking and pecking around their feet, the boys were eager to tell Michael the latest news. A small group of travellers had stopped at the village last night, after one of their horses had cast a shoe,and had naturally been invited to accommodate themselves in Leary's house and barn. His smith would see to replacing the horseshoe this morning before they continued their journey.The evening spent around the open fire had been cheerful as the strangers shared around a skinful of French wine they had bought in Dublin.The lads had managed to evade their normal bedtime, and listen from the shadows to the traveller's tales.

Micheal listened with interest. Traveller's tales were usually of intrigues between the various kings and sub-kings who ruled the land, with the assistance of the druids, and of sporting competitions between popular teams of footballers and hurley players, often paid by and wearing the livery of kings or towns.This time the news was of a great war, far to the south of Eire. The travellers had it from a Dublin merchant, one of whose trading contacts had heard from someone on the Continent, who had claimed to have seen the German dirigibles and flying machines as they had passed overhead en route to attack the Muslims in the south of France. Business conditions were disturbed as columns of men and horses and wagons and artillery, some of them drawn by steam engines, had streamed south.This was news which would interest the Royal Courts, as some of the young nobles might well have taken service with the Germans to learn the art of war.

Certainly there was likely to be little sympathy for the Muslims. Memories remained of their sneaking slave raids upon undefended coastal villages;there would be delight at the prospect that they would receive a sound thrashing. Stories of the horrors inflicted when they had infiltrated and assaulted a stricken Europe were well remembered over the centuries. The general feeling was that Europe would be the better for their absence, and if the Germans and Russians could drive them back to the deserts from which these fiends had emerged,so much the better for civilization and humanity.

This information had come from the south. As he sat at table enjoying his breakfast at last, Michael reflected that most of the foreign news they received came from the east, via traders from Britain who brought cargoes of coal and metal ware, and woolen cloth and even guns for the entourages of the kings, in exchange for horses, cattle, linen and whisky. He knew that that country was recovering from the Time of Chaos when the unity of the United Kingdom had been broken.The main power there now was in the Midlands and North as the old industrial areas made a modest resurgence, and there was plenty of room now for a renewal of the herds of sheep in the north and west which had been the mainstay of the medieval economy so long before.

Idly he considered that much less information came from the other directions. The cessation of tourism had left the Highlands and Isles of Scotland almost deserted, and beyond them who hnew whether glaciers had swallowed Scandinavia. From the west, only occasional rumours emerged. Fishermen and a few rare travellers brought stories from Iceland, including a tale that explorers had established friendly relations with Nova Scotia, and even a wild legend that beyond the forests, hills, rivers and badlands, an enclave of Americans might still exist!


Books of blood
James Hopkins sat rocking gently on his porch as he watched the setting sun go down behind the hills. He savoured the tobacco in his pipe, glad that a supply still trickled up from the south. He was tired, but had done a good day's work on his farm and was hopeful that the crops of corn and vegetables and apples would be good. Any surplus beyond what he could sell at the farmers market in the nearest town would go towards making his next supply of moonshine liquor, in itself, like the tobacco, a near-money readily acceptable as a means of exchange and store of value, supplementing the official paper newdollars.

The rocking chair, made by his grandfather, was comfortable and he almost fell into a doze as he rumimated upon the news he had heard in the village. According to the official, and only, newspaper the Pittsburg Gazette, which the government ensured was made available to all settlements within a week or so of it's publication, an incursion of savages from what had been New York, had been repulsed with heavy losses by the local militia supplemented by some assistance from the central government's forces. Nothing in that to alarm him; any more serious news would have spread far more rapidly, and he would again have been called to the colours by his militia captain Geoffrey Hughes, who happened to be a cousin.

He had heard that in the old America, centuries ago, people had played at being weekend soldiers, calling themselves 'militia', and others had squabbled about a right to carry pistols either openly or hidden. What nonsense, he thought, more of the insanity that seemed to have characterised the old times.Now every upright citizen was enrolled in the militia, responsible for a military firearm, regularly inspected, drilled, sent on training exercises. and liable for a stint of border patrolling, as well as being required to assist other areas in the event of serious incursions. It was not a game, certainly no fun, and any loss or misuse of a weapon would be severely punished, not least because they were valuable, scarce and provided part of the superiority over the surrounding savages.The militia system, he mused, was a vital reason for the success of the refounded American Republic, providing relatively cheap and effective local defence and policing assistance to the civil power if needed. If required for a major effort, militia units could be quickly sent to assist those in other parts of the republic, without quibbles as to where and for how long they might serve. Machiavelli would have been proud to have seen such effective citizen forces.

Another news item had been that the fur trade with the northern people was steadily expanding. Not really news, of course, but the government and their journalising academics at the university, loved to instruct people, and liked to fill the pages of the Gazette with improving knowledge. The population of wildlife, including the fur-bearing varieties, had naturally grown a lot since The Collapse, especially because of the colder weather of recent centuries. It was another sign of the insanity of the ancients that, just before The Collapse they had been obsessed with the belief that humanity, particularly the Americans, had caused the earth to warm irreversibly! Sometimes when surrounded by winter blizzards or long lying snow obstructing movement, he wished that this part of the earth would become rather warmer. He had a beaver hat and a bison coat and stout leather boots and glooves lined with fleece, so he was equipped for winter weather, along with a good supply of logs for his hearth and stove to keep his house warm so he was not unduly worried.

Thoughts of his warm and heavy bison coat reminded him of the time when he had joined the hunters on the plains beyond the Mississippi. Over the centuries the herds of bison had returned and resumed their wandering, accompanied by herds of wild cattle, and even herds of horses. These were culled and preyed upon, not only by wolves, but also by Mexicans and Americans, the latter of whom at least tried to prevent excessive hunting. It was well organised, with wagon trains accompanying the hunters to collect, skin, butcher and salt the carcasses, which were brought back to the light railways and rapidly transported east.He thought that bison meat was probably more popular than the tough and stringy beef. At any rate the plains provided plenty of leather and tallow for candles.These were valuable resources, and the government would be reluctant to lose them should the usually lethargic Mexicans attempt to assert effective control over this almost uninhabited area.

The governments of Mexico and the American Republic, he knew, were well aware of each other's existence, but usually tried to ignore each other and avoid precise claims which might give rise to grievances and conflict or force them to deal with each other. Bitter memories were recorded of the way in which the Mexicans and their criminal allies had almost overrun the United States at the time of The Collapse, raping and pillaging, looting and murdering as far as the Great Lakes and almost to Pittsburg itself, before themselves falling victim to a series of civil disorders and military coups. Subsequent incursions across the Mississippi or Ohio, once the American Republic had been refounded or re-organised - and he knew that different opinions were held about that - had been bloodily repulsed. He recalled the dark saying attributed to Heraclitus of Ephesus, that strife is the father and origin of all things, so found it in no way surprising that fear of the Mexicans had stimulated the Republic to seek to strengthen itself through more efficient armed forces, recovery and re-development of old technology, economic development, exploration of it's surroundings, and the education of it's citizens.

The American Republic found itself to be surprisingly well situated strategically and economically. It had good defensible boundaries, forming a rough triangle with the Great Lakes to the north, the Mississippi to the west and the mountains to the south and east.Some called this 'Fortress America'.It had the famously fertile farmland of the Mid-West, as well as the coal and iron of the mountains and the engineering and organisational capacity of it's major surviving city, Pittsburg, which had soon become it's natural capital.It had a relatively numerous, homogeneous and active population which retained it's culture and sufficient social cohesion and political organisation to constitute either the successor to, or the surviving remnant of, the old United States, depending on how one wished to look at it. It had plenty of water and timber, a reasonable climate and the priceless advantage of having, with the rather distant exception of Mexico, no civilised states as neighbours or rivals. Population had dropped by at least half to three quarters in the area of the Republic following The Collapse, and by even more in the rest of the old America. Numbers were slowly growing, as the productive capacity of the Republic slowly increased, but no one wanted the uncontrolled growth of the old times. It was strange to think that the people of old had been been so worried about running out of resources. Now people were the scarce resource.

Canada had dissolved under snow, distance and social disorder. There were pockets of subsistence farmers and scattered tribes of wandering hunters. Some of these people traded furs or timber in exchange for axeheads, fish-hooks, pots, traps and liquor with Americans who crossed the Great Lakes in small sailing boats. Now there were even a few steamships.The probibition on selling them firearms or powder and ball was strictly and quite effectively enforced. Prospectors searched for minerals which might later be explioted, and there would be no nonsense about needing permission from another government if that ever happened.

Indeed, the Republic had sent cautious expeditions all the way to the Pacific and the coast of Alaska. These had found no extensive settlements or sign of organised government. Expeditions which had penetrated the area that had been California reported that it was more or less under Mexican control, quite extensively populated but squalid, dispirited and crime ridden. No doubt such reports were kept in a filing cabinet in Pittsburg, to be dusted off and re-considered if circumstances in future centuries made it necessary to seek control of more natural resources, but for the moment they merely provided reassurance that the Republic need fear no threat from those directions.

As to the Atlantic coast, this had become the Savage Lands.This had been achieved instantly, as soon as the Israeli missiles had struck what had been the most densely populated and culturally and politically dominant part of the country. Not only had they eliminated the seat of government and the main cities, but the prevailing winds had driven the plumes of radiation contamination across the whole area.The region fell into the most savage disorder, which persisted for generations. There had been no recovery, no restoration of civilization.The Atlantic coast became the regular home paddock and exercise ground for the Four Horsemen, although they took outings over the rest of the country. In the early years there had been serious incursions and infiltrations into the mountains, which had helped to solidify a sense of separate identity from the mongrels, mutants, monsters and misbegotten maggotty varmints of the coastlands. Outbreaks of disease had been a serious risk until the Republic had become strong enough to implement consistent interdiction of contact and strict quarantine from the lowlands - which generally took the form of a warning shot quickly followed by a lethal one into anyone foolish or desperate enough to continue advancing. The effectiveness of the militia was honed by their border patrolling. There was no trade across this boundary. Occasional stealthy expeditions confirmed that radiation levels were still high, that the wretched inhabitants had no significant government, social organisation, manufacturing or resources.There was still a surprising number of them, and they did sometimes form gangs or warbands, large or small, to attempt to raid the Republic. Much of the area was reverting to jungle, providing animals for the spears and arrows and clubs of the locals.Unfortunately, it was also improving their woodcraft, so they would probably attempt more sneaky infiltration of the Republic.

Far to the south it was reported that the Mississippi had burst it's man-made restrictions and it's silt was rebuilding it's delta.In the opposite direction, beyond what had been New England, there were said to be small numbers of farmers and fishers. An expedition down the St.Lawrence had reported friendly contact with these people, who seemed to receive irregular visits from Iceland. Whatever might be happening throughout the rest of the globe was beyond the Republic's ken, and they had little appetite to learn. Failing to mind one's own business, and becoming entangled in the business of others had worked out very badly for the old America, and he heartily hoped that the Republic would continue to avoid this error.

Fortress America contained all that was needed to provide the material base for a good life for it's citizens. They did not need to import anything exotic, even were there people from whom these things could have been imported. Not even the legendary 'tea' and 'coffee' and 'sugar' so casually mentioned in the texts from the old America. Strangely or not, these things were not mentioned in the texts from the much older republic - Rome. What was emphasised however was the deleterious effect of 'luxury'on the moral fibre of citizens and their state. The old Americans seemed to have been enslaved by this vice.

The new Republic had a high moral tone. It expected much of it's citizens, and expected them to have similar expectations of it. Serious efforts were made to encourage people to improve their minds.This was quite separate from technical training for work skills, which the old Americans seem to have confused with education, or even with religion.The government press,and there was no other, produced and distributed as much as it's scholars had managed to salvage of the literature and history and philosophy of Greek and Roman antiquity, and of
the Renaissance. It did so alongside the publication of practical manuals, knowing that philosopher kings would feel a greater need for plumbers and plasterers than the latter might for the former. Books were relatively expensive, but free public libraries were maintained even in villages, even if they had to double up with the other public buildings such as schools or post offices or town halls. The carrot came with a stick. A high standard of literary culture, not just bare literacy, was expected of all who wanted a government job or who aspired to a political career, or even to social acceptance as a respectable person beyond the condition of a mere yokel or labourer, who would probably not be allowed to participate in any political activity. Even those who had no nobler ambition than to make money, had become ambitious that their sons at least should acquire some of the polish they had themselves missed.

The Republic admired, demanded and encouraged talent. Quality ordered Quantity, not the reverse. The old American competition between 'Dimocrats' and 'Risibilians' for the votes of the stupid and ignorant, the foolish and feckless, who always outnumbered the more worthwhile people, was quite absurd; so it had ceased. Another absurdity which had ceased was the practice of taxing the decent and productive to pay the vicious and idle to proliferate and live at the expense of the public. Such vermin had been a major cause of chaos at the time of The Collapse. Now those who could not afford to bring up a family were discouraged from marriage, those who produced bastards outside marriage were punished, and only the deserving poor were given alms if their families were unable to support them.Criminals and dubious characters were few, and received a quick death. Everyone was known in their local community, so this presented little difficulty, and there was no need for hordes of bureaucrats. Certainly the notion of importing low class, disorderly, philoprogenerative foreigners to live off the public whilst insulting and commiting crimes against their benefactors,was a notion so outrageous James had had extreme difficulty in crediting it, even of the insane old Americans, until he had been shown surviving accounts of such things. Obviously the ancients had transgressed so blatantly against the laws of nature that their destruction had been a blessing to humanity.

Some of this high seriousness had been forged in the fiery crucible of war, and war to protect one's people and their land and society and future destiny from destruction by savages cunning, evil, strong and numerous. Some rested on the fortuitous recovery and acceptance of the Elizabethan humanist curriculum. A diet of learning which had produced Shakespeare and the English Renaissance, including schooling for twelve hours each day but Sunday in the complexities of Latin language and literature, whilst speaking only Latin, was meat too strong for the stomachs of Republican America.It had, however, given impetus to their education programme, and to their sense of Republican virtue, which sometimes attained an almost French Revolutionary fervour. Another, more practical strand of sobriety and seriousness was contributed by the influence of the Amish. These people were already living
a simpler and more neighbourly life than those around them at the time of The Collapse, and their example had helped to bring about the recovery of an orderly society.

That night James Hopkins, after his humble but satisfying supper of boiled vegetables, washed down by a mug of home brewed cider, lit a candle and opened the volume he had borrowed from the village library, an English translation and commentary on Plato's 'Republic'. As he studied and pondered along with the author and his students on questions like 'What is Justice?' or 'What is the Good Life, and am I living it?', he did not stop to think that this night, in the Republic of America, more people were studying the philosophers of Antiquity than over the rest of the earth, or had anywhere done so for many centuries. Maybe, just maybe - a renaissance was beginning.