Ulduk looked at the digditchers, then down into the valley far below, back to the digditchers, and finally to Joao.

  “Impossible. There's no way that can work,” he decided.

  “Why not?” replied Joao. “A simple plan may work better than a thousand complicated ones. When Oort Peak erupts, the molten rock will flow along this network of ditches to the valley, sweeping away the barbarian invaders. Oortou will be saved, the barbarians destroyed, and we can go home.”

  “What about the prisoners in that camp? I don't think they'd approve of this plan. I escaped, but there are many others.”

  “The foreign prisoners can fend for themselves. As for the Atakalans, they have been rescued. Odoacer did not seem that attached to them. Our friend Neb is leading them back to Tsyanou.” Neb had jumped at the chance to do something helpful which didn’t involve loud explosions at dizzying altitudes in thin air, which he was certain would be a miserable experience.

  Ulduk watched the digditchers hacking away at the mountainside. Their progress was slow. Once per minute, there was a loud explosion, and after the dust had cleared, the diggers rushed in to clear out the hole, lengthening the ravine bit by bit.

  “I’ve been with those barbarians for weeks,” he said. “On average, a siege lasts two days before the people surrender. By the time you finish this ditch the barbarians will have cleaned out Oortou and moved on.”

  “Not so sure 'bout that,” said Zartro, joining the conversation. “Southerners are very stubborn. And so are the Germs. The Arush won’t abandon their city for anything, and the Germs want to capture it without destroying it.”

  “Yes,” agreed Corran. “The two sides are waiting each other out. Our main fear is the volcano itself… we know from Umanion that it will erupt this week. If it erupts before we finish the ditch, Oortou is toast.”

  “Quite well done toast,” added Zartro.

  “We're working as hard as we can, but the mountains are sloped towards Oortou. Even with dynamite, we're in a race against time.”

  Ulduk wasn’t sure what dynamite was, but figured it had something to do with the explosions he was seeing. “Why don't you get the Arush to help you? Surely they're concerned about the volcano, if it’s really going to destroy Oortou.”

  “They gave us permission to build the ditch, but they don't believe the words of the Great One. They never have.”

  “Yeah, all they care about is swamps. Atakala has been a nation for two hundred years, but they still won't have anything to do with us. They say our differences are too great; that the northern tribes are their sworn enemies. They say we are responsible for something or other murder, and until we confess our prideful anti-swamp ways, they will have nothing to do with us.”

  Ulduk winced. “Anti-Swamp?”

  “That's what they say. Makes no sense to me,” said Zartro.

  Joao explained: “Unlike the southern tribes, our cities and farms have been growing exponentially. We're not intentionally trying to aggravate the swamp-lovers, but we do have a habit of filling in swamps and wetlands. It really upsets them for some reason.”

  “If they joined Atakala, we could work together to protect the land from enemies. Instead, we struggle just to keep the villages from breaking out in civil war.”

  Ulduk frowned. “I know much about these matters. I don’t see why this should be so difficult to resolve. Perhaps I could meet with the mayor of Oortou? I lived in Oortou for many years. I believe he would listen to me. You are certain this peak is a volcano?”

  Joao looked up at the black peak looming overhead. “The Great One has never yet been wrong. His order is for us to do whatever we can to save the people of Oortou, whether they join Atakala or not.”

  “If you want to talk to the mayor, be my guest,” said Zartro. “He’s actually the chief of the entire Arush tribe, so you’ve got your work cut out for you. He’s really ticked at us Atakalans.”

  Ulduk looked down at the valley. “Um, I’m not sure I want to be in that city when the volcano erupts…”

  “Oh, no, you do not have to go anywhere,” said Joao. “The Arush leader and some others are up here with us! They are here to ensure we don’t destroy any wetlands as we dig.”

  “I think they’re crazy,” said Zartro. “We’re on top of a mountain for heaven’s sake! I think they just want to make sure we don’t point any ditches at Oortou.”

  Joao gestured at a group of men and women sitting in the shadow of the mountain, watching the digditchers from a distance. “That is them over there. If you can convince them of the gravity of the situation, it would be appreciated. Oortou may hold out against these invaders, may even survive this volcano, but unless they join Atakala, these trying situations will never cease.”

  “I'd like to talk with them alone if you don't mind.”

  “Certainly.”

  Ulduk wandered over to the Arush, careful to avoid the loose rocks strewn across the mountain. Starting an avalanche just above Oortou would not be a good introduction.

  “Good day!” he ventured. “Can’t beat this weather, eh?”

  A man wearing a necklace of so many bones it could be reconstructed into a young gazelle stood. “What do you want?” His eyes focused on Ulduk's own necklace and his hand clenched around a wooden spear.

  “I would like to talk with you. I have lived in Oortou for many years, and I understand that you, like me, are lovers of the wetlands.”

  “That is… true,” said the man hesitatingly, eyeing Ulduk with suspicion. “We believe the destruction of wetlands is a terrible crime to the Earth. The evil Atakalans have destroyed many wetlands, and for this reason, we distrust them, as you most certainly know, if you yourself are an Arush… though this I cannot believe, for you bear the features of the north.”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “It is true that I was born of the Aketi Tribe. But I left the north long ago, having for many years made my home in the south, furthering the cause of the swamps. Surely you have heard of me. I am Ulduk Penney, head of the Society for Wetland and Marshland Preservation.”

  The Arush rose at once in anger. “Nonsense! Ulduk is long dead. He was murdered by the Atakalans!”

  “But this man bears the fabled necklace,” pointed out one.

  “Yes, I am not blind.” The Arush leader turned to Ulduk in anger. “I demand an explanation. How is it you wear the necklace and name of Ulduk? Was it your clan that murdered him?”

  The men stepped forward, surrounding Ulduk with menacing glares.

  Ulduk spoke quickly, sensing the curtains of life drawing shut around him. “This is my necklace. It was given to me at the first convention of the SWAMP. Were none of you there? Do you not recognize me? I am a huge proponent of paludal environments, one of your own ilk. I have studied swamps my entire life.”

  The man shook his head. “It is impossible. You are not Ulduk Penney. He died two hundred years ago. You are an imposter and a thief!”

  Ulduk was not entirely sure what year it was. He'd gotten the sense that a fair amount of time had passed while he'd slept, but two centuries? He panicked at the thought, the sheer impossibility of it, then recovered. “It doesn't matter how long it's been. I am Ulduk Penney, first leader of the SWAMP. Does the SWAMP still exist to this day?”

  “Of course! All Arush are members. It is our fight, our mission and purpose against the Atakalans, who despise the wetlands and treat them with disdain.”

  “But I–Didn’t Ulduk found the society to bring southerners and northerners together? Was I–he–not a northerner himself? Why do you hate the Atakalans?”

  “We cannot ally with them for two reasons. First, they will use our resources and taxes to further destroy the wetlands. And second, we hold an eternal grudge with them over the death of our leader, Ulduk Penney. We cannot make peace with them until his body or necklace is returned to us as proof of their guilt and a token of repentance. This has been our pledge for two hundred years.”

  “Then consider your wait over, for I have returned.”

  “It is impossible!”

  “Yet he has the necklace.”

  “And Ulduk was from the north, as he says.”

  “Ulduk was a mighty hero, not a miserable wimp as this one!”

  Thus the Arush argued amongst themselves until at last the leader turned to Ulduk. “We will hear your tale. Explain to us how Ulduk Penney disappeared two hundred years ago, yet now stands before us. Tell us your life story, from your first days. If it matches what we know of you, then we might believe you.”

  “And if not, we will toss you down the mountain in the direction of that barbarian camp.”

  So Ulduk proceeded to tell the Arush his life story with the sound of explosions and digging punctuating the background. The memories came back to him easily and he spoke with such speed that the others could scarcely keep up, frequently asking him to stop and clarify points, or to explain inconsistencies with what he said and what was passed down in the lore about the fabled founder of the SWAMP. In time, Ulduk reached the part in the narrative where he was staying in Adaletou, in Smith's guest hut, waiting for Smith to return so that he could award him the prize for the largest fountain in the land.

  “See, here is the certificate with the prize written on it.” He showed the others the note intended for Smith. “But I was not able to deliver it.”

  The men gasped.

  “It is the official seal!” said one. “It’s authentic!”

  “Yes, but like the necklace, it may have been stolen off the body.”

  “What happened that you were not able to deliver this prize, if you are Ulduk, as you claim? Why did you never return to Oortou?”

  The angry Arush pressing around him brought back the memories of that tragic night.

  Ulduk’s voice rose over the commotion. “As I was saying, I spent the night in Smith's guest hut, for he was away. In the middle of the night, I was woken by men tearing down the door and destroying the furniture. I was grabbed, tied, and carried off.”

  “Who were these men?”

  Ulduk sighed. “I have no idea. I tried to reason with them, tried to explain that violence was not the answer, begged them to let me go. One of them confided that they’d been promised an enormous sum of money to get rid of the swamp-lover, as I was called. They carried me out of Adaletou, down the mountainside, and into Sped Swamp. I was knocked unconscious at some point. There was a feeling of sleep, a very, very long sleep, but whether I dreamed or thought or waited I do not know. My next memory is waking up, half buried in Sped Swamp, surrounded by mud and curious creatures. It seemed like ages had gone by.” Ulduk held out his curved fingernails. “Look… ages have gone by. Here I am, Ulduk Penney. I have returned.”

  The Arush were incredulous, but found his story unshakable. They were moved by his vivid descriptions of the many swamps he had crossed in his life. “He speaks as one of us,” one whispered.

  “And he has the necklace,” added another. “That is all that matters. It is irreproducible. Had it been found by a swamp-hater, it would have been destroyed, not lovingly borne to the top of this mount.”

  The leader crossed his arms, still wary. “Supposing you were Ulduk. They say he was a man of exceeding wisdom and foresight. What would you do about these cursed Atakalans who mock our swamps and despise our ways? They left you in a swamp to die. Would you stand idle while they putter around the mountains above your home, digging ditches and proclaiming curses of fire and brimstone upon your tribe?”

  “It is true the northerners sought my life, not once but many times over… but we must remember: There will always be people who do not agree with our ways. Yet it is not right to fight them, to mimic their underhanded and prideful ways. War and strife will only bring greater peril.”

  “They ask that we join them. That we forsake the heritage of our tribes–and I speak not only for the Arush, but the Riamb and the other southerners as well–and become Atakalans. Why should we put up with such mockery?”

  “Ah, but this is why I have come to you. Whether you believe that I am Ulduk or not, I ask that you consider what I have to say. My life was devoted to bringing together those who fight over swamps, that they might see the common benefit provided by working together. Just as no good comes out of the destruction of swamps, no good will come if this land is destroyed while our tribes quibble over beliefs and past injustices.”

  “What do you propose then?”

  “I offer an alternative to what you have heard from the Atakalans. Joining them is impossible, for as you say, they are haters of the swamp and their ways are opposite our own. But we cannot ignore them either, for threats against us both will only continue, such as you have already seen with the barbarians. Thus, I propose a compromise. What if, we only half joined them?”

  The leader leaned forward with interest. “You play games with words, tempting us with an aroma of wisdom, just as Ulduk did. Continue, and we will listen.”

  As Ulduk discussed politics with the Arush, the sky grew darker and darker as a thick cloud of ash streamed down from Oort Peak. The ground trembled, lightly at first, then suddenly shifting with such force that the Africans were thrown to the ground. Shouts erupted from the digditchers as red sparks rained down.

  “Abandon the valley! The volcano’s about to blow!”

  “What about Oortou? Our ditch isn’t finished!”

  “Put your shovel down! There’s no more time. We did everything we can!”

  “But the city will be destroyed! We’ve failed them!”

  “They’ll blame us for this!”

  “If there are any of ‘em left to do the blaming.”

  “Move it, move it! There’s no more time!”

  “You heard him. Everyone now! Make for the northern plains; let’s get out of these mountains!”

  Joao hurried over to Ulduk and the Arush. “You have to come with us… this valley isn’t safe.”

  “It’s not a volcano. You northerners lie,” muttered the mayor of Oortou. The ground shook again and he grabbed Ulduk for balance. “Well, okay. Lead the way… we’re right behind you.”

  Smith was off digging ditches around the Romans, as described in History of a Galaxy: Book I – Redbrick.