The Castle People: Another Pennsylvania - 2, page 1
The Castle People
Another Pennsylvania - 2
Ward Wagher
Copyright © 2025 Ward Wagher
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To my friends at Grace Community Church of Dallas, Pennsylvania.
Contents
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
EPILOGUE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Bob and Don for editing and feedback. And to Sharon who, once having read one of my books, has rapidly binge read all the others.
1
The summer foliage provided cover as we worked our way along the ridge above the Indian village. The undergrowth probably didn’t matter since it was during the middle of the night, although I wasn’t sure of the exact time – I had broken my watch in the previous week. We were aided by a three-quarter moon, and there was enough light to find our way. I called our enemies Nanticokes because the village was roughly in the same location as Nanticoke occupied in the world I came from. We planned this attack, not because we wanted to, but because of their repeated attacks on what were now known as The Castle People.
Their last attack resulted in the deaths of several of our villagers, including Grant Collins, who had been my friend since childhood and experienced the same jarring transfer to this other place, this parallel world where the mountains and valleys of northeastern Pennsylvania were the same. Still, the people and American civilization were gone.
Although I was now the village chief and had a new wife and friends, I keenly felt the loss of my old world — a wife left behind, parents, friends, and all. I no longer had electricity, motor cars, or paved roads. And the loss of Grant convinced me I was alone in this world, although Mrs. Feather told me otherwise.
“How do we want to do this, Philip?” Birgir asked as he slipped up beside me.
“Let’s try the catapult first. If we have to go down there and mix it up with them, we’ll have our people getting hurt and killed. I want to fire that village and give them something else to worry about for a while.”
“And hopefully they won’t care to bother us anymore,” Birgir replied.
“Don’t hold your breath,” I said.
Birgir looked at me quizzically. The Castle People had rapidly picked up the idioms I had translated into Norse, but this was a new one. I felt the need to explain.
“If you tried to stop breathing while you waited for something good to happen, you might have a long wait.”
He looked blank for a moment and then smiled suddenly. “Another Philip saying.”
“Right. I don’t think they will leave us alone until we go in and subjugate them. But we need to even things up a bit. We don’t want to give them time to stop and think about things.”
“So, we throw meatballs at them, right?” Birgir asked.
I laughed. “That’s exactly right.”
Once the villagers understood what I wanted, they rapidly built the catapult. The payload was a mixture of dry straw and tallow that I had decided looked like a meatball. The description caught on with them. My life in the other North America had instilled in me a wealth of aphorisms and cliches. They listened avidly to me, waiting for the next saying to drop, and they usually did not have long to wait.
“I think we are in range,” he said.
“Okay, get things set up. Let’s try not to start any fires up here. I don’t want them to see the smoke.”
“They will likely see the fireballs when we launch them,” Birgir commented.
“True, but I don’t think they will see the first few. I want them to think the fire is falling out of the sky.”
Lentil chuckled. “They will think the gods are angry with them.”
“Exactly,” I agreed. “Let’s fire everything we have and then beat feet. We have scouted out another high spot. We can get over there and see what’s going on.”
The catapult was not large. The device that Bragi constructed was designed to be broken down and carried in pieces. It was a prototype, and I didn’t want to drag a monstrosity through the woods. As such, the men quickly wound the elastic made from deer gut and locked it to the throwing arm. One of the villagers eased a meatball from a deerskin bag and plopped it into the bucket on the catapult. Another carried a clay pot with hot coals from the previous night’s fire. Using a pair of hickory tongs, he eased a piece of glowing charcoal from the pot and dropped it on the meatball.
The tallow and straw quickly caught fire, and the men lined up the catapult to face the village. I nodded to Birgir, and he pulled the cord that released the bucket. The men watched as the flaming meatball arced away from the clearing on the ridge top.
I held the mini-binocs to my eyes and tried to follow the meatball in its trajectory. It was hard to catch the glow in the glasses, but I saw it splash into the Nanticoke village. We didn’t hit any of the hogans with the first shot, but it splashed along the ground and against one of the buildings, and I saw a blaze start.
I turned to see the men winding up the catapult again and preparing for the next shot. Birgir nudged the base of the device to adjust the aim slightly. After the meatball was burning, he pulled the ripcord and sent another message into the Indian village. He threw his arms into the air when we scored a direct hit. The first building was now gloriously ablaze, and the fire in the second was catching rapidly.
The Indians were now boiling out of the structures and running around in confusion. Birgir lofted another meatball, which dropped into the center of the village, and it looked like he had scored a hit on one of the Indians. From a distance, I could see someone running around engulfed in flames, but details were elusive. I purposely did not focus the binocs on the individual we hit – I did not want to see the results of my creativity.
The next shot hit another building, and it went up in flames. I was studying the village, and several of the Indians pointed in our direction. I thought maybe they had seen the launch. I looked over at Birgir, who had another payload ready.
“Birgir,” I called. “Shoot that one off and then let’s go. They spotted the launch.”
He adjusted the catapult again before pulling the ripcord. Another flaming message arrived in the village. My people quickly broke down the catapult and were ready to move.
“Let’s head for the next launch point,” I said. “Then we need to get out of here for a while.”
Birgir nodded with enough movement for me to see him in the moon shadow. The moonlight was sufficient for us to find our way. Hopefully, there was not so much that the Nanticokes would spot us in transit. Once we reached our second spot, we quickly got set up again. I held up a hand when Birgir bent to begin winding the catapult.
“Yes, Philip?”
“Do you think we are in range of the crossbow?”
Birgir looked at the village below us and then back at our position. “I think we are well within range, Philip. Whether we can hit anything is another question.”
“Let’s try it,” I said. “We went to the trouble to make the thing. I like to see how it works.”
He beckoned to Njal, who had demonstrated some proficiency in the short time we had to practice with the crossbow. The short, muscular man stepped over to Birgir, who then gave him instructions.
Njal nodded and picked up the device. After sticking the nose of it between his feet, he gave the cocking lever a heavy pull. The drawstring snapped into position, and Njal raised it up to feed in the quarrel. He walked over to where a branch about shoulder height projected from a tree, laid the device on it to steady it, and carefully watched the Nanticoke village below.
“I see a headdress,” Njal said.
“That is probably the chief,” I replied. “I would be happy if you could hit him.”
Njal grunted in response and swung the crossbow around to adjust his aim. I laid the binocs on the chief and observed. The crossbow mechanism was not quiet. I counted on the distance and the confusion to help keep anyone from hearing us.
I jumped at the snap of the crossbow, and a moment later, I saw the village chief spin around and collapse.
“That’s a hit, Njal. See how many more you can take care of.”
It seemed that Njal had a dead eye with the crossbow. I decided we would probably be making more of them. Reloading was much slower than whipping an arrow out of the quiver, but the range and accuracy paid off for us tonight. But he seemed to hit every time as the Nanticokes milled around in confusion.
“Let’s drop a few more meatballs into the village,” I called.
Birgir nodded, and two of our men began winding up the catapult again. We had quickly established a
I studied the Indian village through the binoculars. I think we had generated plenty of confusion. I heard a sharp crack next to me and jumped. The deer gut that provided the motive force to the catapult had snapped. Birgir had a hand up to his face, and his eyes were squinting in pain. I walked quickly over to him.
“Let me see, Birgir.”
He took his hand down, and I could see a long welt across his face and neck, but the skin wasn’t broken. I heaved a massive sigh of relief. We didn’t need an infection. Njal was still sending crossbow bolts into the village. But the catapult was definitely out of commission for tonight.
“Okay, people,” I said, “let’s break it down for tonight. I want to get some distance from here by daylight.”
The men nodded and began disassembling the catapult. Bragi was clever in his design and so built the thing so that six people could carry the individual components and assemble them when needed. I didn’t want to leave any evidence around. I didn’t think the Nanticokes would be able to copy our weapons, but there was no sense in tempting fate.
We stopped for a while at sunrise. The men laid down their burdens and flopped on the ground themselves. Birgir came over to me. The welt on his face was expanding into a livid purple bruise.
“I don’t know if that helped your looks,” I commented.
His grin was a little crooked. “That really hurt. And it still hurts.”
“You are fortunate. If that had opened up your face, we would have had to go looking for Fraujaz Feather. Or maybe amputate your head.”
He snorted. “Perhaps it would be an improvement.”
Birgir was perhaps in his mid-thirties, short and wiry. He was somebody you could miss in a crowd, other than his intensity. His blond hair was shot with streaks of gray, which reminded me of the short life expectancy in this culture.
I nodded. “Don’t let them rest too long, so they don’t stiffen up. I’d like to get back to the castle today.”
He looked around at our crew. They looked exhausted. I was exhausted, and I wasn’t carrying the load they had ported over the hills.
“Everyone up,” he said. “Our wives won’t hold supper.”
Several laughed, but most of the rest groaned when they struggled to their feet. I didn’t blame them, but I wasn’t going to share their vocalizations. We simply had to keep moving. Ivar appeared in our midst. He had been scouting behind us and watching for following Nanticokes.
“What news, Ivar?” I asked.
“The village burned almost completely,” he said. “Nobody seemed interested in tracking us.”
“Maybe they’ll wait long enough that the spoor will disappear,” I said. “So we are clear for now?”
“Yes, Philip,” he said.
“Good. I think you should keep watching, though. We will try to get back to the castle today.”
“That would be a good idea, I think.”
I nodded to Birgir. “Let’s go.”
I was happy to allow Birgir to take point. I followed behind him and tried to enjoy the morning. Once we got back to the castle, I probably wouldn’t be able to move for a couple of days, and the rest of the troop would be worn out too. And I looked forward to having Revna fuss over me. We had been gone for just a little over a day, and I missed her badly.
2
My name is Philip Smart, and I don’t belong in this world. A little over a year ago, my friend Grant Collins and I took a day off from work to go deer hunting. The weather was colder than usual for the late-fall deer season. While I was not initially enthusiastic about tramping through the woods that day, as we climbed the hill to our deer stand, I got into the flow and began to enjoy myself.
The morning was interrupted when we both felt a piercing pain in our heads. Deciding to call it a day, we headed back to the truck. But Grant’s truck wasn’t there, and neither was the road. After a long hike, we arrived home that afternoon to an empty forest clearing. Jamison City was not there. We saw no signs of our homes or of civilization anywhere we looked.
The missing signs of civilization worried me deeply that we weren’t in Kansas anymore, so to speak. I think the clincher came that evening when Grant looked up at the sky and observed that the star fields were different. The Big Dipper was badly distorted, and the Little Dipper was unrecognizable. We weren’t in the same world or the same time. And the people were gone.
Our mindset turned to survival. Although we didn’t voice it, I think we both knew we would never see home again. We were beset with a combination of fear, grief, determination, and finally curiosity about the place where we found ourselves.
The event that changed the course of adventure was our encounter with the enigmatic Mrs. Feather. The woman was stocky, white-haired, and undeniably ancient. Her invitation to follow her to the village led her to walk us into the ground. Her stamina was incredible. And she intimidated us, particularly Grant. But the village was… interesting. It seemed that a northern European Norse village had experienced something similar to what Grant and I had weathered.
Mrs. Feather told us that a failed scientific experiment from our future had caused the unintended trip to this world. The old lady refused to explain much about the process that brought us to this place, but I gathered that our event was somewhat different from what other travelers had experienced. Sometime between the Norse village’s transfer and our arrival, a European medieval castle landed near the hamlet.
Grant and I settled into the village and worked to help people survive. Mrs. Feather clearly communicated that this was our mission and that we would spend the rest of our lives here. The work was consolation and helped me cope with my grief at leaving my wife, family, and friends in another world.
Along the way, I married a village girl and was elected village chief. I felt guilty about abandoning my past, but after six months in another Pennsylvania, I had reluctantly concluded that I would not return home. Ever.
As we returned to the village following our attack on the indigenes on the banks of the Susquehanna River, I pondered the near-term future of the settlement. We had suffered multiple attacks from the Nanticokes, the most recent resulting in the loss of my friend Grant, who took an arrow through his chest.
Losing Grant hurt worse than getting lost in this place. For now, I was alone in this world. Mrs. Feather rebuked me, pointing out that I had a new wife and friends. She was intolerant of my pouting.
“Do you expect the Indians to attack us again, Philip?” Birgir asked as he slipped up beside me.
Slightly winded from the hill we had just climbed, I took a couple of quick breaths before answering.
“I hope not. I want you to rotate the scouts along the ridge above their village. We will at least have some warning if they get frisky again.”
“Rotate?” he asked.
I tended to automatically translate my idioms into Norse, only to have to explain myself. This usually provided entertainment for the people, and they were unrestrained in their teasing. They obviously enjoyed the sport, and it also kept me humbled and grounded.
I held up a hand and twisted my wrist. “We change out the scouts often, like a rotation.”
He grinned. “I see. I will rotate the scouts, and we will rotate back to the village.”
“I’m glad you understand,” I growled.
He chuckled and moved ahead of me to check the villager who had the point. And he wasn’t breathing hard. I had spent time working in Bragi’s smithy and also helped carry rock out of the fields. I thought I was in shape, but Birgir really shamed me with his endurance.
I noticed the villagers who had marched with me surreptitiously watching me as we neared the village. As we followed the path that lay between our fields, the field workers waved and shouted. And then I spotted the thin blond woman drifting across the field like smoke, and I felt a grin crease my face.
The Norse warriors with me hummed in appreciation of my reaction. This was what they were watching for. While I was tired from the long hike, I now felt breathless as Revna trotted towards me. She moved awkwardly due to her advanced pregnancy, but then she was in my arms.
