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And why have we, this new people of Germania Borealis come, so quickly to prominence? Is it our luck, our belief or our institutions?

I would say none of the above, because any examination will show that our institutions of government are jealous, divided, localized, in contrast with the unity of the Latin Republic, which has, as we understand it, withstood catastrophe and war for over 300 Trisdekads.

As for belief, our own faith in the savior is matched, at least by their own faith in their own gods, or god. Indeed, having been among them the larger part are true monotheists as we are: their Marduk is the one true lord of good, who battles against Lucifer. And, I would venture to suppose, having nothing but my own faith in the goodness of the Lord, that he must have appeared to them, and they mistook one of his angels for himself.

And our luck? No one but the gambler and the drinker believes in such things.

I will tell you what it is – it is our courage to gamble, it is our courage to risk the use of fire, in this world nearly choked with Satan’s brimstone that is our strength. That, and the great forests of the Germanias which we feed into our growing engines of industry, and the factors which allow us to carry that industry. That there are, from time to time, disasterous consequences for the few is of no matter, for the whole is organically power powerful. The broadleaf tree sheds its leaves, and so must we. It is for the better that we have brought energy and industry to this world, so that it may be brought, by commerce or conquest, under the eye of the lord, and into the bosom of the church, where the warmth of our lady shall bring it a just new beginning.

“A Short Treatise on the Role of The Christ in Commerce” Magisticus, or Malachai Jander Written Long Count 991.12

It was in 681st Annae of Christ’s People on Ishtar, in Waterdon, that there was an event which was to damage the publick mind on the nature of industry, when the factory there spewed out sparks early in the of the 12th of Uriel, in the 4th hour of the day. It was ignored, but the sparks continued, and that morning set fire to the fields of wheat some long distance from it, carried, it is thought, by the winds. Some believe it was the work of maleficium and the outsiders who traded in town.

The field once caught fire then set the barns afire. The barns exploded and set the houses of Row Street on fire, and form there the entire town was laid waste, with some 5000 souls or more sent unblessed away from us.

Chronicles of North Germania 682, author unknown. Long Count 993.2

It was, it can be said, the beginning also of the cult of Marduk began to take hold among us, under the guise of the cult of St. Micheal, who was, it was supposed, to protect us from fire. This disgusting deception has weakened the public resolve and placed us away from the path of risk and industry that we must fulfill if we are to drive out the unbelievers from the Mer Centralis.

It is an example of what happens when we let them among us, and accept the licentious ways, and their weakness of moral resolve. Who can deny that the building of Row Street was to house what they called “heterai” and a place of bawdies and drunkness. Without Row Street, there is no spreading of the fire, and no disaster would have befallen Waterdon. Therefore we must burn the scourage of public indecency from among our towns, and turn out foreign merchants, who sell much more than goods, they sell a decaying of morality which will consume us as surely as the fire consumed Waterdon.

“On The Greater Disaster That Befalls Christ’s People” Magisticus, or Malachai Jander, Written Long Count 993.7

Long Count Date: 998.11.94

The day was bustle, Marchangela returned to her room, packed the books and got help from her two confidants. There were endless questions about what she was doing and why she was going, and of course, those jibes as to whether she and the Magus were anything other than student and teacher. More than any other single thing, the chatter was what convinced her that it was time to leave, she didn’t see how she had tolerated all of this to begin with, and it all seemed empty compared to the current project, which, if vague, was at least potentially important. The sense of being inside was sweet to her.

She met at the appointed place, a rather plainish small square house of no account. They ate little and simply slept through the darkness. Awakening early. Today she opened her journal and noted:

“Long Count 998.11.94”

“Today am going to meet the others, and tomorrow during the day we board the ship.”

This, for her, was enough.

As dawn broke, she could see it through the open skylight, it found her ready for activity. She walked into the central courtyard, and found that they had already prepared raw fish treated with vinegar, as well as pickled vegetables and some fruit, as well as yoghurt, which was a bit rancid but palatable. It was a rather typical meal for those who could not afford kilns, or sealed ovens.

She looked at the thin young man with excitable features who was to take over handling the well. He ate seriously, said little, and made sure that her bowl was always filled with food until she told him to stop. He, apparently, liked his culinary abilities, even though she and, she guessed, the Magus, found them somewhat wanting.

She finally decided she wasn’t going to push the matter, but he beckoned her into the back room. There, hanging on the wall, were a series of slender blades in the German style. She now recalled that he was a nut on everything German, and had been one of the “fencers” who dominated gymnasium. She had attended the matches and learned it, because it was “new” and fashionable. The long slender blades were gaining favor, because they used little metal. Everyone knew that steel was produced by forbidden means, or at least that the Germans seemed to have little concern for proper handling of fire. But this did not stop their blades from finding general favor.

He took one short blade, meant for the off, or right, hand – and then another long one meant for the left hand, and presented both, hilt first, to her. She examined them – the blades were imported, but it was clear that the hilts were made of local materials, and wound with leather, the guards were smallish, and clearly not of German steel. But there was a cross bar, each one sharpened to spikes, on each. Such “cross foils” were of the most recent German style, and highly prized. The moment she grasped them, she knew that no expense had been spared on the blades themselves – the balance was so perfect it seemed to float into her hand. She took a good, if not expert, stance.

He nodded.

“You will need these, it is dangerous out there.” Such blades were dangerous because few had good metal armor of heavy plate – instead, most soldiers wore leather and woven wicker armor, which blocked arrows and bludgeons, but left ample openings for these thing blades to pierce and kill. The German armies – armed with long shafted pikes, thin swords, having mounted troops they called cavalry – were growing more feared and more bold in their attacks on the Latin Republic and the Caliphate of Kentaurus. These swords bespoke of why: they were a people who did exactly what was needed to get what they want.

But the feel of it! The blade cut and sliced through the air, it seemed an extension of her arm. She knew she was hardly very good, but these made her feel good. The year of living athletically had left her with good habits and these, these were a gift of great price.

She turned the weapons down and did the formal kneeling gesture that said that live steel would be set away. She placed the blades on the rack for the moment, and gave the one thing she had that really might be worth anything: she embraced him and gave him a short kiss on the cheek.

The response from the other party was, in order, a short blush, a shy smile, and then pushing her away. “I bought them, truthfully, for you, some time ago. I had. Well, let’s just say I noticed you first.”

She smiled, glad, on one hand, to have been noticed, and glad, on the other hand, that he hadn’t done anything about it. He was simply not what she wanted, and if he had approached her, well her rebuff would not have been gentle. This way was better. She noted that she would by a belt from the market at the same time she said good bye to the Sybil.

She told the Magus where she was going, he warned her to come back quickly, and she was off.

Walking through the market by broad day light was a treat, and she realized that this was probably the last time for a long while that she was going to be truly free. Kicking herself, she remembered she needed to study the text that Amalthea had given her. She first converted most of her money to the highly spendable silver denarii of the Republic, and then spent some time haggling over a weapons belt, finally selecting one that fit around her waist, and had decorative inlay on it.

She arrived at the Sybil’s tent, and found it closed. The tent next door had noted that the Sybil had left early, to visit the old lady, though the tent owner did not know who that was. Swallowing up courage – Marchangela had unconsciously decided not to say good by to the old lady, because despite her visible gentleness, Marchangela always found her harsh, and was, if she would think about it, afraid.

But no matter, she went to the town hall, bribed for a permit to carry live steel openly, which cost her a good deal of her stash, but a Teloikopolis write was good anywhere in Helos, and then went back to the small house to arm herself.

She reached the door at the same time as another figure coming from the other direction, who was garbed in older style of a long hanging tunic and cloak, which was hooded. It took Marchangela a moment to recognized it as the Sybil, and the moment she met the eyes of the older woman, it was certain that bad news was in hand. It must be Amalthea, Marchangela thought, because that is where Sybil had clearly been.

It was at this point she paused, not quite knowing what to do, she had come bouncing back, proudly wearing her knew weapons belt, carrying a permit, and ready for adventure. She had never felt so untethered and ready to go in her life. This brought her crashing back down to the ground, and put her in a completely different frame of mind. The Sybil turned and knocked on the doorway. The Magus himself let them in, he looked. It took him a moment to understand that these two grave faced women had something to say.

“Livia, I had not…” his voiced trailed off as realization that she did not come there merely to say good bye. She leaned over and whispered in his ear. His face changed, he slowly sank down to his knees and cried into her hand. Marchangela was not surprised by this, it was the custom for men to cry to the messenger who brought news of death. Marchangela simply hung her head, she could not muster tears for the lady who had drugged her and dragged her into this, even though she was now glad to be on the expedition. However, she did shed a tear because it was clear that her friend, the Sybil, was heavy of heart, and the Magus’ own tears moved her has well. The young man, whose name constantly escaped Marchangela’s memory came out upon hearing the crying. And he looked quizzically at the closely clustered triptych.

Marchangela had the presence of mind to mouth to him: “Amalthea is dead.”

To which he mouthed back “How?” At which point Marchangela gave a shaking of the head to indicate ignorance. Sybil was looking down at the Magus and the two were absorbed in each others presence, and so took little notice of the younger two, who both kneeled and did their best to do reverence to the old lady.

And then, as swiftly as he had knelt, the Magus stood, dried his tears, and his face returned to normal. He gave the Sybil a kiss, with more intent than mere camaraderie, but yet short and distant enough to indicate that it was merely the twilight of what had once been day. She smiled, slightly awkwardly, and whispered something in his ear, he nodded, and before anything else could be said, took a voice that shattered the calm, simply by being at normal volume, and said.

“I must be off. Amalthea had very specific wishes and I do not have time to wait on them.”

She turned to Marchangela, embraced her, and looking into the eyes of the younger and slightly taller woman said: “Remember to see, remember to dream, remember to think, remember to feel. There is a great deal riding on this enterprise, and, while you don’t know it, the hopes of many are riding on you.”

“Vale Livia.” Using the tradition Latin farewell – for Livia was of that people.

“Be strong (vale) Marchangela.” Livia was solidly upright, but not stiff, through this whole affair, she had seen, spoken of, foretold, explained and remembered death every day for as long as she had been working her trade, so she was practiced at handling it, and it did not weigh upon her heart, though she knew to maintain the proper face.

She bowed to all, turned, and closed the door gently behind her.

And with that she was gone.