One Hundred Years: Prologue

Prologue

December 20th, 2120
Sunshine Coast, Democratic Republic of Oregon

"My name is Redwing-lives-forever, and I am dying."

The old warrior gently touched the scar on his right cheek as he spoke to the children of the Redwing tribe. Redwing had protested the name when it had been chosen, but he was only one elder on the council and- at Redwing's own urging- the tribe would never willingly have a chief or king.

"I have seen one hundred winters, and I do not expect to see any more. The Winter Wolves are coming, and it is time to end this blood feud. It is time to pass leadership on to the younger generations."

Light from the clay fireplace flickered across Redwings leather worn skin. His face showed his mixed heritage. His features were unmistakably Coast Salish, with a strong nose, high cheekbones, and eyes that seemed to look into eternity. His features contrasted sharply with his dirty brown hair, kept long and braided down his back. The children around him bore similar indications of mixed heritage. This close to the Pacific coast, after centuries of immigration through the old port cities, most people could trace their lineage in at least two directions on the compass.

"My son, Cooper, will take my place on the council when I am gone. And likely one day, one of you will take his place. That is the way of life and the way of inheritance."

Redwing kept talking in a low calm voice, keeping the children focused on him and not the deathly quiet activity going on behind them. Warriors moved in and out of the story hall collecting weapons and helping each other put on armour. Most of the armour was brigandine- metal rectangles wrapped in leather to make it quiet and reduce shine. Some of the armour was Kevlar, most of which had been purchased through trade with Japan at great expense. The North American nations still able to fabricate Kevlar did not generally sell it to 'tribals'.

"But that is for tomorrow. Tonight we must be ready. The Winter Wolves have been spotted two hours hike from here. The Redwing tribe must engage them before they reach the village. The Winter Wolves, alone amongst the Tribes and Cities, know the location of our village. Your mothers and fathers will go out and meet them and engage them. Your parents will attempt to kill their leaders and break their spirits. They will seek to route them and destroy them as a tribe."

Behind the children a group of three young warriors were loading rifles. The eldest warrior was slapping a clip into her AK-47 Kalashnikov. The youngest was carefully ramming a bullet into a homemade muzzle loading flintlock rifle. The middle warrior was dropping a pair of slugs into a double barrelled sawed-off shotgun. Their short bows and machetes lay on a bench beside them.

"It is bad karma to kill another tribe entirely, but this is what we must do. The way of Sargas is not always appropriate; sometimes we must call upon Gygas to deal with other tribes. When another tribe breaks the laws of the Great Alliance, it must cease to be a tribe lest it destroy us all."

Cooper Redwing walked into the Story hall and approached his father. Cooper was twenty years old and built like hungry wolf, thin and lean and muscular. He wore the standard clothing of a Redwing warrior: knee-high cord wrapped leather moccasins, loose leather breeches, and a brigandine coat. His hair was bright auburn orange and cut into a long flowing Mohawk. Like most of the warriors of the tribe, Cooper was scarred. The young man's scar was a nasty discoloration on his neck that looked like an exploded tangerine.

"Father," Cooper said as he drew near to Redwing, "It is time to move the children to the safety."

Redwing nodded and stood slowly and gracefully. The old warrior reached out and gently spun his walking stick into his hand from where it had been leaning near the fireplace. He put his weight onto the stick and began to move in a deliberate manner.

"We shall finish this story as we travel young ones, because you should know the whole of why your parents fight. Not all of your parents will return to you. Some of them will die. And it is important that you know why they have died and what brought us to this dark solution."

The children dropped into line behind the old man. Cooper walked beside his adoptive father, a hand gently resting on the heavy hand-axe sheathed at his side.

"Tonight Father, we end this forever."

"Forever is slippery my son. It's found me already after all."