001 - Caspian's Call to Adventure

The elf showed up just as Caspian had got the last of his spring hay in. Caspian led the ox team back from the barn to the last of the pile of hay bales in the field. Once these bales were stacked, he could turn to getting the wheat from the millers. As he lifted the hay bales onto the cart his sensitivity to magic tingled, telling him that someone was scanning his farm. A locus of energy started forming on a clear area of the field he worked in. Feeling the magic, Caspian continued working mildly irritated. Anyone from the School Of The Orders knew to land on the stone disk set out for such up by Caspian’s house, as was the convention for all magic users of which ever school.

Caspian stood an average height, and was built like a farmer. He still had all his fingers, which some considered unusual; he just accounted it to being attentive and careful. Caspian had been trained as a Mage, able to use magic from any of the eight schools. As part of his advanced schooling he had spent several years off planet. After finishing his schooling, he had wandered the length and breadth of the main continent of his home world. In this time he had met many people, learned many customs and bits of many languages, acquired a mild reputation, and some likes and dislikes. He had spent the last two years on a farm he had purchased in the Silvona lowlands, and begun looking around in earnest for some woman to strike his fancy.

The gate focused and the elf stepped through. Taking a moment to orient on Caspian, he strode across the hay field to the wagon as Caspian stacked the last hay bale. The bale in place, Caspian turned to the elf.

This male elf stood almost half again as tall as Caspian, had a slight blue tinge to his skin and a tall white mohawk. He dressed in the silks and linens of a city dweller.

“You are the one known as Caspian,” the elf stated.

“Yes,” replied Caspian.

“You are summoned by the leaders of the Nidear Clan. Go to their city Shalaia by the next solstice.”

Caspian knew about where that city was, and that he could not use any magic to get better than close to there, without first traveling there by foot, or sending some specific object to it that he could later find. That this elf could, as demonstrated in coming to Caspian’s farm, simply told of using a different kind of magic training, which they did not deign to share with men.

“To what purpose? I have much of my own business to do here, and owe nothing that I am aware of.” Caspian leaned a shoulder against the cart, folding his arms.

“They will explain as they will, in person. You know where that city is?” The elf was visibly insulted that Caspian had even asked for an explanation.

“It’s in the Shalalerin Mountains. Beyond that, not specifically, but I could find it.” Caspian did not move. Spring in Silvona meant fall in Shalalerin.

“I take my leave.” The elf turned, strolled across the field, opened a gate, and walked off Caspian’s land.

Caspian might have suggested that this elf take something that he could use as a focus for his own magical travel, but elves are jealous of both their privacy and time. The elf would have considered it an insult for Caspian to ask of it any kind of favor.

At the Spring Fair the next week, Caspian purchased a horse to get as far north as he could before winter had set in hard. The cost for this could be easily covered by his inherited wealth. As it was, Caspian had traded part of his hay harvest for it, and sold off the rest of his stores and livestock to good people, as he was anticipating not being around for a while.

After returning from the Fair, Caspian had contracted with his neighbor to the north to tend his farm, after Caspian had closed it up against the seasons.

“Why, Caspian?”

“Jamen, I’ve been summoned north by some bloody elves. I have no idea how long this will take, but I expect I will be some time. Watch my farm. I will try to be back within the year. If not, feel free to use what fields you can.”

The village of Barrowville rested on the east side of a large river valley in the western lowlands of the continent, a little south of this planet’s equator. The not-quite mountains along the east boarder of this river valley were the first range east from the seashore traveling across the continent. The Kingdom that claimed this area covered the large valley and stretched to the north and east. Another kingdom claimed the land to the west stretching to the sea shore.

This area was a flood plane with the roads and fields demarked by rock walls that regularly had silt wash through. Almost nothing exposed to the weather was hewn wood, as it rotted too quickly. Piled or cut stone and concrete were the primary exterior building materials, with glazing filling the windows. Storm shutters could cover the windows, but with the ambient humidity and lots of light the people usually left these open, with the windows themselves open to circulate the air.

Caspian rode the horse north. He wore spun cloth trousers and shirt, leather boots, a cargo vest with his usual expedition equipment in array and attached to its belt, He carried his staff in hand, his coat and cloak tied to the back of the saddle. His food bag and water skin were also attached to the saddle. His familiar Cyrril fluttered about.

Like many archetypical wizard staves, if Caspian was moving, so was it. It stood a cubit taller than Caspian, and was made of seven rods of assorted woods magically twisted together. The carved dragon on the head of it was something to be careful of. He occasionally thumped himself with either end, but the wings on the carved end hurt worse than the blunt foot. A secondary feature that Caspian occasionally used was a socket within the carved dragon that matched to the handle of the bush-knife on his belt. This made the staff a kind of spear or pole arm. The metal blade could occasionally interfere with spells, so most of the time they were separate.

He soon left the extents of the local farms and the road transitioned from that of one maintained by daily village use to a highway maintained by the semi-regular passage of trader caravans, and military patrols.

After six weeks of travel, ending near the height of local winter, Caspian entered the elves city, Shalaia. Despite the depth of snow here, they kept the roads clean, if wet. The cobbles shed the water quickly enough. The Shalalerin Mountains were too hard for a horse from the lowlands, so he had sold it off and purchased some local clothes, and snow gear. Now three days prior to the solstice he had arrived, having traversed a significant portion of the main continent of the planet in latitude from his home just south of the equator to this range of mountains north of the northern tropic line.

As he presented himself to the city concierge he was given instructions on where a room was reserved for him, and where to present himself for further preparations. Caspian went to the appointed inn, and rung the bell on the counter, which sat at his shoulder height. A bluish hewed elf of indeterminate age appeared, and shortly Caspian had a small room. Cyrril stirred and got off Caspian’s shoulders as Caspian removed his outer cloak and set it over the back of the chair. Caspian undressed and went to bed, feeling vaguely like a child, for the size of everything in this city.

The scale of the city and its inhabitants was half again as tall as the average height of the people Caspian was want to be among, while not being correspondingly larger around. Also these elves had varying degrees of blue to their skin tone, in the same way men had varying degrees of browns. Also these elves had white mohawks, where men had dark straight hair. There was the usual personal variation, but it was different none the less.

A messenger showed up just after breakfast. She stood head and shoulders taller than Caspian being slightly shorter than his staff, this marked her as a juvenile, and he had to briefly check himself from any prurient thoughts and look up at her rather than straight ahead. At least it was winter and the locals dressed accordingly. He figured she was still a youth among the elves. She took Caspian to a tailor, where he was outfitted with a ‘presentable’ outfit. Caspian found the costume ridiculous. But he found most formal costumes to be ridiculous. In this case they gave him a long robe that split for his legs and hung to his ankles, with short pantaloons underneath. Over this was a second robe that hung to his knees. The next morning Caspian dressed in the costume after bathing himself, and Cyrril. He wiped the road grime from his staff, left the rest of his things aside, and was ready to go when his escort arrived.

The meeting did not last long, with a terse explanation that satisfied Caspian. The negotiations lasted a bit longer.

002 - Caspian journeys north

“Take whatever you need. Go to Terra. Find our ‘lost daughters’… Secure them from evil. Bring them here to us.” Elves can be exceedingly annoying. Those elves especially. They had given further instructions, but they were very bitter to contemplate. Caspian had been following the first part of these instructions since leaving Shalaia, at winter solstice. “Go to Terra,” he muttered. “How about something simple like ‘Go to Abaddon’.”

After leaving Shalaia, Caspian continued his trek north and west to the high reaches of another mountain range. He learned the name once, but did not care to remember it just now. He was hoping against reason to find most of the snow melting, while arriving early enough to accomplish his task with sufficient time to spare. Being in good health, Caspian had been able to journey through the winter quickly, not bothering with a horse for this leg of his journey.

He could have teleported directly to the circle, but that took more effort than he felt was necessary, and walking gave him time to think things through, and teleport to a few other places to do some research and ask a few questions, think about what he learned, and still have time to spare. A quarter of a year’s time was not much for him to worry about being late; Caspian could get to where he needed to go in just over five weeks from Shalaia. The spring equinox was the start of the best window period, at any rate. The last half moon before the summer solstice marked the end of it. Caspian was good enough that he could bruit-force his way across the distance outside of this time window. Travel between the worlds was as simple as walking, once you learned to do it. However, having the planetary bodies arranged just right made things easier.

These high mountains had lost their charm. In his 30 plus years, Caspian had seen most of the major mountain ranges of Tywacomb, his home world. That was a lot of walking. Much had been aimless wandering. Now he had a purpose. The caravan from Krogg he had spotted behind him while climbing a canyon did not improve his mood.

His staff usually marked time when he walked, thumping the ground in tune with his steps; sometimes one hand, sometimes the other, sometimes swinging between them. Just now, the blunt end was a brace, as Caspian forded a stream full of spring runoff. The cold seeped through his boots, but did little more; his feet numb from travel.

Cyrril took the moment to play. The little dragon leapt from Caspian’s shoulders and glided upstream a little. At a point with larger rocks, the little dragon folded his wings and dove through the spray to land on a smooth boulder. The water flowing over this rock swept Cyrril off and down stream for a bit. Where the water calmed, Cyrril crawled on to the bank. Spreading his wings, he shook himself off, drops of water flying for several feet. Even with the road dust rinsed off, his skin was still a light gray. After worrying a few itches, Cyrril spread his wings and leapt into the air, flying after Caspian. He flapped his wings to gain altitude, and then glided to land on Caspian’s right shoulder.

Cyrril weighed little more than a house cat, being longer nose to tail, but not as wide through his body, except for his wings. When he landed, Cyrril tended to look all around him, then once content, to doze on Caspian’s shoulders. For his species, being almost a mammal, he was still in a juvenile stage so he spent as much time on wing as at rest. But he was not native to this planet. His moving around while seeing everything sometimes annoyed Caspian. Because of Cyrril’s claws, Caspian had long since put padding around the shoulders of his coat.

“To the top of the canyon, cross the valley, follow the river approximately east up the next canyon, then up the tallest mountain. There you will find the ring.” Caspian recited this litany, learned from the old man years ago, mostly to hear something besides the stream. He was three days beyond the last village he had stopped in. The caravan had most certainly reached the village by now. Caspian hoped the village would survive.

Caspian stopped and looked around him at the frosty trees and patches of snow among the ground cover, his dark eyes taking in all the life around him. “That caravan will destroy this area going through it.” The area had not changed in the years since he had last been this way. The villagers were nice, giving a reminder of the path and location of the circle. They were used to strangers, but not an army.

The caravan had looked to be mostly soldiers from Krogg. And they were losing ground as they crossed the same trails he was traveling alone. Caspian had an edge with just Cyrril and himself to pack for, even with the closing of winter. When he had last seen them, they were an advance company of around twenty, with some pack animals and a cart.

He started moving again, his mind going full tilt while barely guiding his body up the game trail. The game trail was well used, with most of the scrub clear of it. The caravan would carve the trail into a road, just to get their carts through. Their draft beasts, being lowland animals, would like the thinning air and cold temperatures even less than the men would. Caspian felt the air thinning, having to huff a bit more each passing hour.

The sun had left the canyon in twilight before Caspian got to the top. Once there, he broke back into the daylight, and turned to face the sun for a moment, looking across the canyon he had just hiked. Putting both gloved hands on his staff, leaning with it against his left shoulder, he caught his breath. The sun was warm, but the air was distinctly chilled, his breath visible.

“It’s gon’a be cold up here.”

Cyrril chirped in agreement then nestled closer, under Caspian’s hood.

Caspian turned his back to the sun and continued into the valley. A small stand of trees found just before dark was his shelter. First, he stretched his senses, finding healthy mana, and thus healthy plants and animals. Above, like a large river in the air, flowed the ley line. It pointed better than a compass, to Caspian’s destination. Next, he drew on the ground with the foot of his staff. The symbol complete, he cast the activating spell. That would keep the predators away, as well as render potentially troublesome bugs docile. His place thus protected Caspian set to and gathered some sticks and a fallen tree.

He pulled his bush knife from behind his left hip and hacked the branches off the dead tree. He piled these aside, the longer to use for shelter, the shorter for his fire. Next, he set the log in a low crotch of a healthy tree. Shortly he had a lean-to constructed, and a ready pile of wood. Cyrril then lit the fire.

After dinner and honing his knife, Caspian gathered his coat and cloak about him, and slept under the lean-to. Cyrril went out prowling, but did not go far. This was not dragon country, and a raptor would dive on him as quickly as it would a ground rodent.

The next morning found Caspian chilled and sore. After breakfast by his fire, which was then put out, Caspian arouse, stretched a moment, and kicked the log that Cyrril was resting on.

“Time to go.”

The high valley was covered with a thick bladed grass and other plants hardy enough to thrive in the climate. As Caspian started out east again, frost highlighted everything to be seen. Lunch found him on top of a foothill, enjoying the scenery, but ruing the lack of trees on the slopes of the surrounding mountains. By dinner, he was crossing a rocky lip with snow on one side and a sharp drop to a stream on the other. He followed this sideways to find another camping spot. The ley line was thickening to his senses, and beginning to be the dominant feature that he observed.

Camp this night was not as warm or convenient as the previous night. But it was just as peaceful.

The last day, he followed the stream on the ground, or the ley line above, as the path entered a draw that would lead to the final ascent. Caspian stopped here, and set up camp in daylight, choosing to rest before starting the final climb. Cyrril helped gather some scrub for a fire, and munched on a rodent he stirred up as he did.

A constant breeze blew down the draw and over them as they rested. Finally, Caspian rolled over to sleep, as the stars began to take over for the fleeing daylight.

003 - Long climb, short hop

Caspian arrived at the western base of the tallest mountain in the range. On a small plateau, half way up, was the goal of this leg of his journey. Fortunately, the stream he was following ran right past the shelf he wanted, and he could go right up from the trail that wound across the face.

Caspian guessed he was right, that the caravan had slowed coming up the canyons. He had not seen any sign of them in four days. As Caspian traveled his awareness of the ley lines and mana became more palpable, all leading to the convergence of ley lines on the mountain side.

“You stay alert here. Your eyes are better than mine.” Caspian turned to look at Cyrril as he spoke. “Also, the ley lines are over-running my other senses.”

Six lines currently intersected roughly half way up the mountain. Four that circle the planet, one that reached to one of the moons, and one that reached to the sun. He would ride the last one. Once at the heart of the solar system he would switch to one that went beyond.

By riding the lines, he would most easily travel to Terra’s system. He could brute force his way across the intervening light-years, but that was like climbing the face of the mountain instead of going up the streambed and game trails. Even so, ley line travel was not very comfortable. Much like climbing the streambed, with the spring runoff up to your knees and running fast.

He started up the trail that wound across the mountain face. It was ancient, with plants growing in it. And it was just wide enough to walk on, his arm against the rock on one side, the other side a long first step with no second. The mountain rose straight up from the canyon floor, as did the others around it. The stream was fed by runoff from all of them. As he climbed the face, he would be visible to any that cared to see him. As he went up, so also the valley below came more into view.

About half way up Caspian stopped to catch his breath. The air was considerably thinner up here. He leaned against the wall where the trail switched back on itself. The view was breath taking. He could see most of the valley stretching away to either side, and across to the mountains two days behind him. Below in the alpine grasslands some movement caught Cyrril’s attention.

He showed Caspian what he could see. Two men, one larger and walking behind, one smaller and walking in front. The larger one glinted metal. The smaller one reflected nothing. They were a good day’s travel away yet, so Caspian did not worry. He had enough air now, and started up the trail again. Caspian was using his staff to ford the stream for a fifth time, when the ley lines flexed and surged. Stopping, he sent Cyrril to fly out and get a closer look. The men were visible to him, but were too far away to see what they were doing. However, they were identifiable as from the following caravan.

They looked like a warrior and a spy, as best Cyrril could tell. The larger had some metal armor on. The smaller one was all black. Caspian recognized what they were almost immediately, and laughed for a good while. While the spy would adapt and blend into the other world eventually, the warrior would have a harder time. Until then, they would stand out worse than Caspian did now against the rocks.

Caspian continued up the trail. Shortly before mid-day the ley lines surged again. Caspian was just below the lip of the ridge he wanted to be on, when he looked out across the valley vainly trying to see what was happening. He had two reasons not to use any magic just now. First, any use would resonate across the ley lines, and be just as visible, advertising his presence. Second, he wanted to save what he could for the journey to Terra, and what he expected at the other end. He turned up the final ascent of the trail. A stream ran down it, and covered his feet in freezing water as he walked up to the plateau. He went around the last bend, glad to be walking on level ground.

The surge that hit the ley lines as he turned onto the plateau almost staggered Caspian. The source of the disturbance wasn’t hard to spot. The spy had set up the locus for a gate, to bring the rest of the caravan up. That changed things considerably. Cyrril alerted that the gate had closed with the whole caravan now in the valley below, most of a day’s travel away. Cyrril then flew up to join Caspian. Here the ley lines were about all either could sense, vision seeming to be shades of gray in comparison.

The view from the plateau was spectacular. Caspian puffed hard in the thin air. He was in good shape, but rarely climbed to such high altitudes. The cold of the season did not help. He looked back at the land he had covered, again leaning on his staff for support. Cyrril circled and landed on the carved dragon at the top, above Caspian’s head. The carving was half as big as Cyrril but gave enough purchase to hold to.

Caspian looked around the plateau, and at the concentric rings of stones. The mountain had too little soil, otherwise Ash trees and mushrooms would have added to the rings. The rings were evenly spaced and arrayed. Caspian had learned their meanings long ago, and had seen enough places like this one that they ceased to amaze him. Smaller stones on the outer and innermost rings, the middle ring having the largest stones being almost as tall as a man. Seven concentric rings in all. Caspian could almost see the stones glowing with power. As it was there was so much potential here, it was hard for Caspian to keep focused.

The sun was approaching its peak, one ley line arcing toward it across the void. Caspian had enough breath to go again, and walked into the center of the circles. First, he cast a spell to soak up as much ambient energy as would fill him, and his equipment. Where he was going there was very little mana, and he had a few spells he would need to cast. These would over tax the area he would be in unless he had reserves to draw from. As the sun paused at zenith, he switched spells. Cyrril crawled down to his shoulders. Caspian then began to draw on the dirt with the end of the staff, singing in several different languages as he made his pattern.

He started with a circle. Then he inscribed this with an octagon, oriented to the ley lines, and compass. Next, he drew another circle inscribed within the octagon. Within the inner circle, he traced more lines, in a complicated pattern. The pattern had a part for each leg of his journey. First to take him to this system primary, Kakou. From there to the hub of the local star cluster. Next to the galactic arm anchor, and into the galactic center. Out to the anchor of the arm he was going to. Out to the cluster. To the Sol system primary. Then finally to Sol 3, Terra.

After completing the pattern and chant the third time, he activated the matrix he had set up. For a brief moment the rock circles gave off light enough to rival the sun, strobe in pattern, and then ceased. The sun continued into the afternoon. Casting the shadows of the stones across each other. The evening breeze obliterated Caspian’s few footprints leading in.

004 - Meet the Caplan’s

Roxanne Caplan stirred, and then slipped deeper into sleep. She dreamed. She was on a ledge on the side of a high mountain, looking west. Footprints that were not hers led into the center of a formation of rocks. Then she was flying. Faster than she had ever moved before, accelerating up, and across space at the sun, until it consumed her.

Rox awoke, just before her alarm started. Carefully she pulled herself out of bed, doing her best not to disturb Steven. After pulling on some sweats and picking up her gym bag, she slipped out the back door and crossed the yard. The crisp Sierra Nevada mountain air refreshed her as she walked. One of the dogs noticed her as she crossed the yard, but did not otherwise stir from its house. Behind the backyard, in her garage, she kept the latest car. She put the bag in the front seat of the ‘67 Camero, and then opened the swinging garage doors. Climbing into the Camero, she started the car up.

The engine growled to life. Rox sat for a few moments letting the custom restored V-8 idle, and warm up. She then backed it slowly out of the garage. The pre-dawn light was bright enough to see by, but she still turned on the marker lights as she stopped, and closed the garage. Rox then slipped back into the Camero, and secured the four point harness. That done, she eased out the gravel driveway to the road, and drove to the gym.

She had had several vivid dreams the last several nights, but no real memories of them. Try as she did with her workout, she could not completely put off a sense of foreboding. This wasn’t about the tournament that night. Something else was going to happen.

Living in a small town in western Nevada has several advantages. One was that everybody knew everybody, for good or ill. Another was that Rox had some influence over the gym and it showed. At the gym, Rox changed into her workout clothes, black pants and a torn up red tee-shirt over a spandex top in the ladies locker room. She warmed up on a treadmill, and then started working through the dumbbells. Two brothers were the only other people in the place, and all three kept to themselves as they exercised. Quickly finding her usual rhythm for lifting, Rox lifted mainly for the exercise of it today, rather than to build strength. She preferred to come in the early morning, or late evening, to avoid the posers who came to be seen, not that there were many; most of them preferred to drive north to Carson, or Reno. As such Rox had most of the rack of weights to herself, for most of an hour. She moved through the various lifts in a steady rhythm and then finished, and moved to the rooms where she trained and taught a second level martial arts class.

*          *          *

Steven Caplan got up to find his wife had already left. That was fine. She did not like to be disturbed before matches and tournaments. So he had the kids today. He was going to take them with on the errands, then out to play. A warm shower and clean clothes started the day. He roused Diana and Alex and took then into the kitchen for breakfast. They sat on the stools as he cooked a skillet of eggs, bacon, and toast. They munched on some peaches as the rest cooked.

Diana, ten, and Alex, eight, rarely squabbled over dividing up the food. They preferred to fight over other things, such as who got to shower first. The winner showered upstairs. The looser had to wait, or go downstairs and use that one. Steven cleaned up breakfast as his children cleaned and dressed themselves.

Steven let the dogs in and gave them the scraps, and their normal breakfast. Tyrell and Dru, retriever-mix breeds, then went back out. They were staying home today. Steven briefly wondered if it was yet time to have Drusilla bred or fixed.

He then went into his bedroom, and to the closet. In the side was a small safe. He opened it, and pulled out his gun, and its stuff. The holster would go onto his belt behind his right hip, magazine holder sitting opposite on his lift. His belt went on, with all of its other paraphernalia. His Batman-utility belt was a running joke, and a holdover from his combat gear from his years as an active duty Marine. His cell phone, a leatherman, and one or two other things were threaded through his belt as Steven put it on.

Steven went around the house once, gathering the things he wanted to take, and generating the list of errands to be run. That done, he went to the front garage, which attached to the house, and began to load the truck. The target stands and gongs were put in first, with some 2 x 4’s put over top, and the other stuff put on them and tied down. Diana helped him get the last bit in. Then Alex showed up, and they went downstairs to the locked room.

In here, Steven kept all his other gun stuff, among other camping and similar things. He opened the gun safe, as Diana and Alex each set out an open rifle case. Steven put his ‘toy’ rifle in one, and the kids’ .22’s in the other. These were then closed and locked. Alex then took one case and Diana the other, up to the truck. Steven grabbed a brick of .22’s, and two other boxes of pistol ammo. These went into the range bag with all the ear muffs, safety glasses, and field cleaning stuff. Last he grabbed one of the five gallon buckets of reloaded ammo, segregated into two bags, and closed the room back up.

The range bag and bucket ended up in the bed of the truck, the two rifle cases on the floor in the back seat, and the kids on the front bench with Steven. Alex, sitting in the middle, got to push the button to open the garage door. Once it was going up, Steven started the truck, and rolled out. Diana got to close the door once it was stopped, and the truck out. Steven turned onto the road and headed for Carson, waving to Mrs. Winchel weeding her front lawn as they drove by.

*          *          *

Rox thumped the bag, going round and round, sweat starting to show on her light haired brow. Her eyes focused on the bag, but the tournament this evening occupied her thoughts. Her mood was still set by the unease she felt. With a final set of thumps she stopped, leaving the bag. She didn’t want to wear herself out before getting to the contest.

She went into the dressing room, stripped, and showered. At six foot two, Rox was the tallest woman in the gym, most of the time, and had to duck to get under the shower head. Easily one of the stronger women to workout here, she was considered overly skinny for her height, measuring little more around than a woman a foot shorter. Having those measurements she always looked a bit ungainly. But thanks to daily time at the gym she was too muscled to be called delicate, while not showing excessive overall definition; just a smooth, hard figure.

After drying off she dressed in her street clothes, left the gym, and drove the hour long drive to Sparks, just east of Reno, and the school where the Martial Arts Tournament was being set up. Roxanne’s agitation distracted her from her habitual driving pattern to only moving through the traffic instead of leaving it behind.

*          *          *

Steven’s first errand was to get some hiking boots for Diana and Alex. They would be camping over summer vacation, and neither had adequate footwear. Diana had outgrown hers. Alex had worn his out. Steven considered getting a new pair for himself, but there were none in stock to fit his size 12 feet that he liked. And his were not worn out yet.

With new shoes on, they went shopping for new binoculars. Alex kept quiet about this, and seemed extra careful about what he touched in that store. Steven had said very little about ‘the binocular incident.’ Alex had learned that lesson very well. On the bright side, Steven ordered a new top-end set with an integral digital camera. He then purchased for each child a quality mini set.

Steven was pleased to see how much care Alex took with his; Diana dropped hers twice, to no effect.

Next, they traveled to Reno for lunch.

005 - Meet The Caplan's part 2

The staccato of gunfire had echoed in the small box canyon all day. Vehicles of various kinds cycled through the parking area of the narrow valley in counterpoint to the shooting. They parked in a rough line at the base of the shorter hill on the south side, facing the larger one to the north. The intervening valley was about the size of a small athletic field, and strewn with mostly biodegradable debris. Several metal targets, and other larger objects, stood in rough order across the valley. Sometimes the gunfire ceased and figures would walk out and add, adjust, or remove things.

As it was, the sun was now behind the high hills to the west, and the shadows were disappearing. There were only three trucks left scattered across the informal line. It had been a good day of shooting, but there were other things to do. Steven had put the long-arms away, while his two kids picked up the loose brass. The targets were still set up, for one last drill.

Diana and Alex stood aside, Diana holding the stopwatch. Steven waited, standing as relaxed as he could. He stood in about the middle of the firing line. The other men were sitting on the tailgate of one of the trucks several yards away, watching while talking to each other. Everybody had earmuffs and safety glasses on. When Diana was ready, she pushed the start button. The beep from the watch was Steven’s cue.

In one movement Steven bent his knees slightly, shoulders dropping, head going forward, right hand going under his jacket to draw his gun. He pushed the gun forward at the targets, left hand wrapping around the right. Starting on the left, Steven squeezed the trigger before he was at full extension. Each steel circle, mounted to its post, rang as the bullet hit. Steven swept to the right as each gong rang once. The cardboard targets were in the middle with the steel silhouette plates, and more gongs to finish.

The last gong rang as the slide locked back. The magazine dropped from the pistol as Steven’s left hand went for the next one on his belt. His focus did not leave the front sight of the gun as it he brought it back to reload. Slamming the magazine home, he thumbed the slide return, his left hand resumed position as the pistol went back forward. Steven swept back across the targets. After reloading a second time, he swept across a third time. When his slide locked back again, he ejected the last magazine.

As soon as the third magazine dropped, Diana stopped the watch. 45 rounds, 2 magazine switches, all swept across ten gongs, three steel plates, and two cardboard targets. All fifteen targets had been hit three times. All in under 25 seconds.

Not his best, but Steven was satisfied. He did not compete, but he practiced regularly. He checked and then holstered his pistol, and picked up his magazines. While Diana and Alex gathered his spent brass, Steven knocked the little bit of grit and dust from the magazines and turned back to the truck.

Looking at the other two guys at the far end of the line, Steven saw that they had removed their earmuffs. He took his own off and put them into his range bag that sat on the tailgate. Pulling out a fresh box of shells, he reloaded the magazines with fresh carry ammo. When full, two magazines went back into his belt. The third reloaded the gun, which was then safed and reholstered. By this point, the kids had put all the brass they could find in a stuff sack, and dragged in a gong each.

Alex climbed into the bed of the truck, as Diana handed up first the gong, and then the stand. Steven took the bag, and put it in the back seat of the cab as they got the second gong into the truck.

“Climb in.” Steven got in as Diana climbed into the bed. He then backed the truck up to the arrayed gongs. Alex and Diana began loading these as Steven walked to the steel plates, and pulled them over to the truck. While Alex stood on the tailgate and held the plate, Steven disassembled the bolt and spring that held it to its post. These were stored away, and then the other plate was likewise disassembled. Diana had the close gongs loaded. They quickly retrieved and loaded the last four gongs and the target stands.

Once everything was loaded and secured, they did one last police of the area picking up the smaller trash, and some of the larger junk and putting it in the truck to be tossed in a convenient dumpster. It was getting dark now. They all climbed into the cab, and left the practice range. Steven drove quickly west back to Sparks, and to the high school where Roxanne’s tournament was being held.

They got there and parked next to Roxanne’s custom ’67 Camero. After securing the guns inside the cab of the truck, they entered the school building. Their reek of gunpowder put a few people off, but Steven’s six-and-a-half-foot height, close cut brown hair, and martial build discouraged anymore than slightly annoyed looks. On the other hand, most of the populace of the area shot, or had friends that did at some point. Steven’s slightly amused and benign expression discouraging any further curiosity. Diana and Alex quickly wended their way out front to watch, while Steven scanned the room, and then moved to sit on one of the upper bleachers.

All attention was on the martial arts tournament. It had been going for some time, but there were a lot of contestants. Three rings filled the gym, with matches going on in each one. As Steven scanned the room, he spotted many familiar people. There was his wife over by the left ring. Steven first spotted the outfit, and knew it was her. Roxanne wore a white gi and black belt, with most likely her usual black spandex top and trunks underneath. The school logo was printed on the left side of her sports-bra, and on the back of her gi. She also wore slippers, until she stepped onto the mat to fight. Her mid-length hair was pulled into a tight, short tail. She kept the front long enough to be even with the back when tied together. And like all the competitors, she had removed all her jewelry, what little she wore.

All the rest of the competitors, students and instructors alike, were similarly dressed. White gi with the school logo on back for those from Rox’s school. Black gi with logo on the left breast for a second school. A tan gi with a logo on back for a third school. A few were in generic gi’s with no logos. Everybody had his or her various colored belts.

Roxanne stood out from the rest on the floor just by her unique build. Her skin was as pale as herself-tailored gi, but always looked a bit blue under stadium lights. At the moment, she stood by as one of her students fought with one from another dojo. Her bright amber eyes did not miss a move. A hesitation, a stutter in movement, an opening. Her open smile showed approval as her student scored a point.

As the tournament had progressed, Roxanne encouraged her students. She also kept notes on what to drill them on. Occasionally she yelled instructions and compliments. Only half of her class entered the tournament, though most were in attendance. Being second level students, she had to be careful not to push them too hard. But more were winning than not. She was pleased with that, compared to the last tournament.

Then her class level was done. One of her girls had fought one of her boys point for point for the final. He was better, but made a mistake, and she won the group. Roxanne’s notebook was full of things to review over the summer when she put it away in her gear bag, next to her towel and water bottle. The instructor of the other school came over and congratulated her. They would meet again in less than half an hour, when they took to the center mat for the top level adult competition.

Everybody took a few moments to mull about as the outer ring mats were folded and the adult contestants introduced. These had drawn for a best-of-three round robin course. As he sat and watched, Steven could see that something was bothering his wife. But he kept his place, as she had previously asked him never to come to her during a tournament. The kids respected this as well, waving from among their friends, but staying put. Roxanne waved back, and then spotted Steven and blew him a kiss. Steven caught it, and blew one back. Then the matches began.

Roxanne’s first match was the third on the mat. The adults went faster than the children, and were more aggressive, fighting without pads. There were also fewer of them. Roxanne lost this match, but won her second and third matches. Steven could see that she was off her concentration. She had won only by reflex.

Roxanne next faced the instructor from the other school. She was taller and faster than her opposite number, but he was stronger, and got inside her guard. She was distracted, not concentrating from the start, so she lost. After her round was done, she sat down off to the side. But she was not overly upset. She had won this tournament twice before.

Steven got up, went down the bleachers, and gathered the kids. Together they went and sat by Roxanne. The tension in her was almost palpable to Steven. He began massaging her hand and arm, working on the bruises, to keep them from getting too black and blue. She sat quietly as he did this, watching the contest. But her mind was obviously somewhere else.

Finally Steven spoke. “What’s wrong?”

Rox shook her head. “I don’t know. I just have a strange feeling that some thing is going to happen, soon.”

“What, when?” He moved her hair over her left shoulder, to massage her neck.

“Something both good and bad, and soon. I haven’t been able to shake it for a while. I’ve had a hard time focusing lately.” She shook her head.

“When it happens, you will know it. Until then, don’t worry.”

“Easy for you to say.”