A Letter from Gloria for January ‘19

Happy New Year from THE DÚNS (pronounced Doons)

Come take a walk with me into the world after the Desolation. Let’s visit the surviving communities beyond the walls of the Citadel where General Haz continues to live out his dilutional existence inside the pages of the Book of Esther.

Today we’ll stop first at the Indigenous settlement of DúndirkaNoka and then look in on Abbey Trádún.

 

IT WAS EARLY SPRING, ice still obscuring the shoreline and floating raggedly upon the frigid waters of Lake Huron. Against the crimson skies of evening, stately pines, leafless maples, and naked birches sheltered the Indigenous villages occupying the lake’s eastern coast.
On the outskirts of DúndirkaNoka, the satellite community of Noka Run nestled serenely in a forest clearing. The newer settlement was arranged in four concentric rings of sod-covered buildings around a central village green. The rings were separated by wide boulevards and intersected by four additional streets which ran from the green to the outermost road like spokes on a wheel.
Shops and markets encircled the green, while the outer rings were composed of residences, municipal buildings, and other businesses. Farms with their ever-expanding agricultural land stretched out to the north, south, and east. These Indigenous lands were protected by invisi-barriers which animals sensed and instinctively avoided. Humans who roamed the Wastelands also learned to avoid the invisible fences, but only after encountering their impenetrable magnetic force.
Approaching the outskirts of Noka Run, Trillium, wife of Chief Grey Wolf, reined in her horse to greet a young man walking his dog. At her side, her seven-year-old son, Flash, reluctantly slowed his own horse to a gentle trot.
“What brings you out so early?” asked John-A, the dog walker, brushing a strand of unruly dark hair from his eyes.
“Flash and I have started riding a couple of days a week before first school bell. The horses are impatient to be outside after the long winter.” Actually, it was Flash, more than the horses, who had grown restless and sullen of late. Spending private time with the boy had been the recommendation of Midewewin Dancing Crane.
“Guess I’ll see you later this morning,” said John-A. Home on a four-day break from medical internship at Abbey Trádún, he had consented to participate in a story circle for the oldest three classes in Noka’s middle school, led by historian and storyteller Soaring Bird.
“Yes, it seems we’re both speaking at circle today,” said Trillium. After a thoughtful pause, she asked, “Are you all right?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You seem morose.”
John-A shrugged.
“Things okay with you and Zara?”
“Are there no secrets in the Dúns?” Sharing the commonality of dún, or fort, in their names, DúndirkaNoka, Abbey Trádún, and their satellite villages had become known as the Dúns.
“Probably not,” laughed Trillium.
“Zara and I can’t seem to agree on our futures,” admitted John-A.
“Young love is often rocky,” sympathized Trillium. “We’ll talk sometime.”
“Sure. You’d better catch up with your son before he disappears into the woods.”
With a farewell wave, Trillium cantered after the boy’s retreating figure. She pulled up beside him and they rode in companionable silence. As they neared the forest, Flash glanced towards his mother. She sensed that he wanted to speak and smiled encouragement while remaining silent. Finally he spoke.
“Tell me about my real father,” he said.
“Your real father is Grey Wolf. But if you mean General Haz, there is nothing real about him. His life, like his name, is a fabrication.”

Abbey Trádún
SEVENTY-FIVE KILOMETRES SOUTHWEST of DúndirkaNoka across Georgian Bay lay the island monastery of Abbey Trádún. Surrounded by high stone walls and possessing a remarkable gateway, the abbey was an oasis of peace—albeit one equipped for peacekeeping. Its sheltering walls, which had long housed hermitage huts built into its northeast section, steadily thickened over time to incorporate market buildings, stables, and sheds along its length. Interspersed amid its sheds, shops, and huts were bunkers for abbey guards, and secret entryways to hangars below.
One entered the monastery’s courtyard from the south through an archway bearing the Latin inscription Justórum ánimæ in manu Dei sunt, et non tanget illos torméntum malitiæ; visi sunt óculis insipiéntium mori illi autem sunt in pace, allelúja: The souls of the just are in the hand of God and the torment of wickedness shall not touch them; in the eyes of the foolish they seem to die, but they are in peace, alleluia.
The large courtyard contained several small outbuildings along with benches and trellises dispersed along paths that wandered leisurely through well-tended gardens. Irrigation was automatically controlled by a system that drew water from Lake Huron as soil conditions demanded. The abbey’s beautiful stone basilica was centred against the eastern wall. Attached to its north side were four rectangular cloisters with enclosed gardens, three for monks and one for retreatants and guests. On the south side were two cloisters for nuns, one for families, and one for residential students. The entire monastery was designed to sink into rock vaults previously blasted into the earth, leaving only its roofs flush with surrounding terrain in an emergency situation.
Beneath the courtyard, eco-rooms housed animals and growing plants. A secret maze of tunnels, conference rooms, and vehicle hangars joined the abbey to caves where the waters of Georgian Bay lapped at the island’s shores. Before the Desolation, government intelligence meetings were conducted here with personnel from Abbey Trádún, DúndirkaNoka, the Canadian Military, and the Ministry of First Nations.
Recognizing the potential of having Intelligence personnel in both DúndirkaNoka and Abbey Trádún, the pre-Desolation government had arranged for both underground communities to have sophisticated security systems and secret military forces in order to function jointly as a highly secretive Intelligence mission. Between DúndirkaNoka and Abbey Trádún existed a triple precautionary system comprising a secret satellite signal, safe.talk chambers, and use of the redspeak code. To outsiders unaware of their covert activities, the relationship between the centres had seemed innocuously natural because of their shared esteem for creation.
The monastery and First Nations communities were physically linked by an advanced land-water-land navigation system. Lurking in subterranean hangars, spherical vehicles known as Waterbugs could speed without detection beneath the waters of Georgian Bay and thence through tunnels connected to the underground cities. When a Bug emerged from water on either side of the bay, it sprouted legs, enabling it to scale the embankment leading to a tunnel mouth. Even more manoeuvrable and deadly than Waterbugs were the Airbullets, prudently inactive since the Desolation. Housed in hangars adjacent to the Bugs, at both Noka and the abbey, the Bullets waited expectantly, hidden from Shushan spies and the Citadel’s fierce Dragonflies which routinely scouted the Great Lakes area.

DúndirkaNoka

IT WAS EARLY SPRING, ice still obscuring the shoreline and floating raggedly upon the frigid waters of Lake Huron. Against the crimson skies of evening, stately pines, leafless maples, and naked birches sheltered the Indigenous villages occupying the lake’s eastern coast.

On the outskirts of DúndirkaNoka, the satellite community of Noka Run nestled serenely in a forest clearing. The newer settlement was arranged in four concentric rings of sod-covered buildings around a central village green. The rings were separated by wide boulevards and intersected by four additional streets which ran from the green to the outermost road like spokes on a wheel.

Shops and markets encircled the green, while the outer rings were composed of residences, municipal buildings, and other businesses. Farms with their ever-expanding agricultural land stretched out to the north, south, and east. These Indigenous lands were protected by invisi-barriers which animals sensed and instinctively avoided. Humans who roamed the Wastelands also learned to avoid the invisible fences, but only after encountering their impenetrable magnetic force.

Approaching the outskirts of Noka Run, Trillium, wife of Chief Grey Wolf, reined in her horse to greet a young man walking his dog. At her side, her seven-year-old son, Flash, reluctantly slowed his own horse to a gentle trot.

“What brings you out so early?” asked John-A, the dog walker, brushing a strand of unruly dark hair from his eyes.

“Flash and I have started riding a couple of days a week before first school bell. The horses are impatient to be outside after the long winter.” Actually, it was Flash, more than the horses, who had grown restless and sullen of late. Spending private time with the boy had been the recommendation of Midewewin Dancing Crane.

“Guess I’ll see you later this morning,” said John-A. Home on a four-day break from medical internship at Abbey Trádún, he had consented to participate in a story circle for the oldest three classes in Noka’s middle school, led by historian and storyteller Soaring Bird.

“Yes, it seems we’re both speaking at circle today,” said Trillium. After a thoughtful pause, she asked, “Are you all right?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You seem morose.”

John-A shrugged.

“Things okay with you and Zara?”

“Are there no secrets in the Dúns?” Sharing the commonality of dún, or fort, in their names, DúndirkaNoka, Abbey Trádún, and their satellite villages had become known as the Dúns.

“Probably not,” laughed Trillium.

“Zara and I can’t seem to agree on our futures,” admitted John-A.

“Young love is often rocky,” sympathized Trillium. “We’ll talk sometime.”

“Sure. You’d better catch up with your son before he disappears into the woods.”

With a farewell wave, Trillium cantered after the boy’s retreating figure. She pulled up beside him and they rode in companionable silence. As they neared the forest, Flash glanced towards his mother. She sensed that he wanted to speak and smiled encouragement while remaining silent. Finally he spoke.

“Tell me about my real father,” he said.

“Your real father is Grey Wolf. But if you mean General Haz, there is nothing real about him. His life, like his name, is a fabrication.”

 

Abbey Trádún

SEVENTY-FIVE KILOMETRES SOUTHWEST of DúndirkaNoka across Georgian Bay lay the island monastery of Abbey Trádún. Surrounded by high stone walls and possessing a remarkable gateway, the abbey was an oasis of peace—albeit one equipped for peacekeeping. Its sheltering walls, which had long housed hermitage huts built into its northeast section, steadily thickened over time to incorporate market buildings, stables, and sheds along its length. Interspersed amid its sheds, shops, and huts were bunkers for abbey guards, and secret entryways to hangars below.

One entered the monastery’s courtyard from the south through an archway bearing the Latin inscription Justórum ánimæ in manu Dei sunt, et non tanget illos torméntum malitiæ; visi sunt óculis insipiéntium mori illi autem sunt in pace, allelúja: The souls of the just are in the hand of God and the torment of wickedness shall not touch them; in the eyes of the foolish they seem to die, but they are in peace, alleluia.

The large courtyard contained several small outbuildings along with benches and trellises dispersed along paths that wandered leisurely through well-tended gardens. Irrigation was automatically controlled by a system that drew water from Lake Huron as soil conditions demanded. The abbey’s beautiful stone basilica was centred against the eastern wall. Attached to its north side were four rectangular cloisters with enclosed gardens, three for monks and one for retreatants and guests. On the south side were two cloisters for nuns, one for families, and one for residential students. The entire monastery was designed to sink into rock vaults previously blasted into the earth, leaving only its roofs flush with surrounding terrain in an emergency situation.

Beneath the courtyard, eco-rooms housed animals and growing plants. A secret maze of tunnels, conference rooms, and vehicle hangars joined the abbey to caves where the waters of Georgian Bay lapped at the island’s shores. Before the Desolation, government intelligence meetings were conducted here with personnel from Abbey Trádún, DúndirkaNoka, the Canadian Military, and the Ministry of First Nations.

Recognizing the potential of having Intelligence personnel in both DúndirkaNoka and Abbey Trádún, the pre-Desolation government had arranged for both underground communities to have sophisticated security systems and secret military forces in order to function jointly as a highly secretive Intelligence mission. Between DúndirkaNoka and Abbey Trádún existed a triple precautionary system comprising a secret satellite signal, safe.talk chambers, and use of the redspeak code. To outsiders unaware of their covert activities, the relationship between the centres had seemed innocuously natural because of their shared esteem for creation.

The monastery and First Nations communities were physically linked by an advanced land-water-land navigation system. Lurking in subterranean hangars, spherical vehicles known as Waterbugs could speed without detection beneath the waters of Georgian Bay and thence through tunnels connected to the underground cities. When a Bug emerged from water on either side of the bay, it sprouted legs, enabling it to scale the embankment leading to a tunnel mouth. Even more manoeuvrable and deadly than Waterbugs were the Airbullets, prudently inactive since the Desolation. Housed in hangars adjacent to the Bugs, at both Noka and the abbey, the Bullets waited expectantly, hidden from Shushan spies and the Citadel’s fierce Dragonflies which routinely scouted the Great Lakes area.