A Meeting at Corvallis Read Online Free Page B

rockets and all that hooey.”
    Chuck Barstow caught that, and reined in beside them. The other children grew a little silent, but Rudi grinned up at the middle-aged sandy-blond rider; Uncle Chuck had been as much a father to him as any man.
    But Lord Bear’s your real body-father, he thought, then let his mind shy away from the knowledge. He wasn’t sure what he thought of that at all, and he’d only learned it for sure last year at the Horse Fair.
    â€œWhat about King Arthur and Robin Hood and Niall of the Nine Hostages and Thor’s trip to Jotunheim and A Midsummer Night’s Dream ?” Chuck asked.
    â€œOh, that’s different,” Rudi said confidently; there were nods of agreement from those within earshot. “That’s more like real life, you know? Those are the cool stories. They mean something. They’re not just weird names like Liam said.”
    For some reason Uncle Chuck gave a snort of laughter at that, and rode away shaking his head. “People that old are weird, ” Liam said.
    Rudi nodded thoughtfully. Of course, there weren’t all that many really, really old people around at all. They’d mostly all died the year he was born. Uncle Dennis was fifty-eight, and the oldest person in Dun Juniper by a decade. There were only six or seven people here older than Mom, who was forty.
    Then he called out to the leader of the little column. “Aoife,” he said. “Do you think all the old folks are weird? I mean, you’re grown up but you’re not old—not real old.”
    â€œThanks!” the woman who’d turn twenty-one in a few months said.
    The lantern wavered a little as she looked over her shoulder, and paused to brush snow from her plaid. “Not really, sprout,” she went on. “I was…just a little older than you are now, at the Change. I remember riding in cars, you know? And TV and lights going on when I pushed a switch…sort of. We were in a school bus when the Change happened, Dan and Sanjay and me; I can remember that . But I’m not really sure if I’m remembering all the rest of it, or just remembering remembering or remembering what the oldsters told me.”
    That got a chuckle; but then he thought her face went uncertain and a little sad in the white-flecked dimness. “And it gets more that way all the time; more like remembering a dream.” More cheerfully: “But they do go on about it a lot, don’t they? Even Dad.”
    There were more nods and mutters of agreement.
    â€œHey, I heard that!”
    Chuck’s voice came out of the snow-shot darkness. Rolling eyes and sighs were the younger generation’s only defense against tales of the days before the Change. There wasn’t much point in talking about it among themselves.
    â€œLet’s have a song!” Rudi said instead.
    That brought enthusiastic agreement; it usually would, among a group of Mackenzies. They passed a few moments arguing over what tune, which was also to be expected. At last, exasperated, Rudi simply began himself and waited for the others to join in:
    â€œThe greenwood sighs and shudders
    The westwind wails and mutters—”
    There were a few complaints, but the song matched the weather, and most of the youngsters took it up with bloodthirsty enthusiasm:
    â€œGray clouds crawl across the sky
    The moon hides her face as the sunlight dies!
    And mankind soon shall realize
    The Bringer of Storms walks tonight!
    No mortal dare to meet the glare
    Of the Eye of the Stormbringer
    For he is the lightning slinger
    The glory singer,
    The gallows reaper!”
    The road wound along between the muddy, reaped potato fields and truck gardens covered in mulch of wheat-straw and sawdust and spoiled hay; a whiff of manure came from beneath. A rime of ice was forming in the puddles along the water-furrow from the pond that watered them in the summer; they tramped on over the plank bridge, then past fenced