Forever Young

Chapter Thirty-two. The Darmyr.

*****

Ruanda, the capital of Myr, was located on the banks of the River Palumbo, in the centre of a huge expanse of what must once have been ideal farming land. Charred stubble now covered the vast plain, dotted with the burned out shells of huge silos and shattered greenhouses 

In the final approach to the city, a large cemetery came in to view. It wasn't overgrown. Someone was obviously tending it. Curious, Leitus asked Lars to exit the highway and pull the jeep to a halt in front of the burial ground. Rows of small graves radiated from a central stone obelisk that bore a carved message in Myrian script. Janik quickly deciphered it. 

                                                                               M198 

                                                    In memory of the Alphega Victims. 

For several days, they kept watch, hoping to catch a glimpse of the survivors. Perseverance paid off. On the fifth day, a group, armed with gardening tools, approached the cemetery on foot. They were a motley crew, some short, some tall, some dark, others fair. Both sexes were equally represented.  

Leitus and the others emerged from their hiding place, and approached the workers with hands held high above their heads, indicating they were unarmed and had no malicious intent. The surprised workers dropped their tools and huddled together. An animated discussion ensued before they approached, led by a tall muscular blonde. He halted directly in front of Leitus. 

"Hi, we were wondering..." said Leitus 

The confused blonde shrugged his shoulders, and turned to his comrades seeking advice. They responded in a strange tongue. 

"What the hell are they saying, Janik?" 

"I'm not too sure, sir, but they seem to be using a corrupted form of Myrian. Let me try." Janik stepped forward and faced the giant of a man. He pointed with his forefinger to his chest and in his best Myrian said, "Me Janik. I am Darsian."  

The workers started to jabber excitedly. A huge grin spread across the big fellow's face. 

"Me Conan. I am Darmyr." 

***** 

After completing the maintenance work in the graveyard, Conan, the obvious leader of the Darmyr, led Leitus and his group to a small settlement, situated on the banks of the Palumbo, just north of the city. They had moved out of Ruanda. The flimsy, formerly solar powered, homes in the city offered them little protection against the vagaries of winter, so they had reverted to traditional ways, living communally in a log longhouse, heated by a wood fire on a central hearth. They had rediscovered the joys of hunting and fishing, and were even attempting to farm, despite the lack of livestock. 

Conan escorted Leitus' party to a one- room cabin, where a welcome meal was provided. Just as they were about to bunk down for the night, they heard a timorous knocking on the door. Lars responded. A tall, auburn haired lady, slightly careworn, but still quite attractive, stood on the wooden step. 

"Conan sent me. He said you might like to talk to me." 

"Is that Darsian I hear?" said Leitus, rushing to the door. "Come on in. It's getting a bit chilly out there." 

Lars cradled his arms around the shoulders of the wide-eyed woman and guided her to a centrally located chair. The others pulled up chairs around her.