The Wars of the Stone Ring

We Who Will Not Be Ruled, Chapter II

Slight tremors a couple of days before were the first warning. The complete silence of Old Faithful the following day was the second. The third warning… was more of an announcement.

A great rumble shook the earth, and a dark cloud of ash blotted an otherwise clear sky. The Yellowstone caldera was erupting. The apocalypse was at hand. Some people panicked. Some tried to outrun it. Some held tight to those they loved. Most just stood slack-jawed as the cloud grew. Death was coming.

All at once, the sky went dark, but not from ash. Night had fallen, at 2:47 on a Tuesday afternoon. Bright stars littered the clear sky, stars that seemed to dance and whirl. Stars that no one recognized.

Several hours later, when the sun rose again… it rose in the west. The cloud of ash to the east remained, but did not grow. A great confusion set in, made even greater by the loss of all internet and satellite communications. Some phones miraculously still worked, but could only reach others within a few hundred miles. The few authorities that could function tried to piece together what happened, with no success. Then the cars returned…

From the south, the north, the west they came. The few who had ran during the eruption returned, with strange news. They had driven to the edge of the earth.

To the south, the Great Salt Lake had swollen, and taken over the highway.

To the north, a great mountain range stretched like an impenetrable wall from northern Montana, to Idaho, to Washington, as it arched south, cutting off access to the sea. It was the same to the west, as the “Stone Ring” of mountains severed eastern Nevada and Oregon from west.

Within a day, an Idaho Air National Guard jet had investigated, and several Air Force pilots had confirmed. For reasons unknown, it seemed that all that remained of the entire world was a roughly 900 mile diameter disk of earth ringed mostly by an unknown mountain range, its center being the desert of South Idaho. Past the edge, there was nothing, not even familiar stars. One jet vanished over the edge, and was never seen again.

The pilot's last transmission was simply, “How? What... in the chicken... fried...”

Two things became quickly clear: the “Stone Ring” was quite probably all that remained of Earth, and the ring was not in our solar system, possibly not even in the Milky way galaxy. There were still many more questions than answers.

Why was Yellowstone still erupting, forming a sea of lava along the eastern edge that seemed to simply trickle off into oblivion?

Why were lakes and rivers growing, mountains getting taller?

Where was the rest of the damn planet?

An assumption was quickly made by those in authority, that the ring was all that remained of the planet, and more importantly, all that remained of the United States. And so the power grab began...

The US Congress had been in session at the time of what some were starting to call “the breakup”, so few elected federal authorities were to be found. Unfortunately, one Senator was, one Rodney Mitchel of Utah.

Mitchel quickly declared himself acting President, and Salt Lake City as provisional capital. The commander at Hill Air Base, as well as the 'former' commander at Dugway (which was now under several feet of water) agreed, followed quickly by Rodney's cousin, Colonel Jack Mitchel, acting commander at Mt. Home Air base. Jack actually loathed Rodney, but played along, for a while...

Martial law was declared. Camps were set up for the displaced. Federal abuse grew rapidly. The Utah legislature did not object, as Mitchel appointed them as the new US Congress, even though the fully intact Idaho government was left out completely. The only thing that upset folks in Idaho more than being ruled over by the Feds, was being ruled over by “Utards”, as they referred to their rival neighbors.

Tensions increased when the Feds began restricting travel and seizing food and supplies. When the Idaho Governor objected, Mt. Home responded by flattening Boise.

The first war of the Stone Ring had begun.

Months of bitter fighting followed, as guard units and regulars chose sides, bringing munitions and equipment with them.

Liberty forces were pushed back from the cities. Lines formed. Just when the Feds believed they had total control, a trick shot from a .338 Lapua rifle removed the back of President Mitchel's head from over 1100 yards away.

Almost at that very same instance, guerrilla fighters appeared just about everywhere. The “fat Bubba's” that had been assumed a non-threat struck at the heart of the Fed weak point: the forced labor camps.

Liberated, and now armed Liberty partisans overran Feds throughout the Ring, joined by regulars, and several sheriffs who had been waiting for this very moment. Overwhelmed, the former governor of Utah, promoted from acting VP to acting President when Rodney Mitchel bit the dust, rescinded the order of martial law.

Let's just say that Mt. Home did not agree. A brief fight ensued between the two air bases, and the already flooding Salt Lake City was destroyed. The act was of major significance, in that many believe that the carpet bombing is the thing that awoke the first of the dragons.

Survivors fleeing the flooded rubble reported seeing great serpents in the water, creatures whose deafening screams struck panic in even the hardest of men. The acting U.S. Civilian government, such as it was, perished in such a panic.

All the mayhem of the Battle of Utah came to an abrupt end, as the engaged aircraft simply began to suffer mechanical failure, and fall from the late afternoon sky. Both airbases were reduced to parking lots, as the remaining aircraft became useless decorations. The war ended shortly thereafter, as Hill's commander surrendered to Liberty forces, and all other Fed forces fell within a few days. Except...

Mt. Home fought on, for several days, until some of Mitchel's troops turned on him, and allowed a small militia force to enter a back gate. Jack Mitchel died from a .338 bullet that tore through his office wall and destroyed his upper chest. It was the same rifle that claimed his cousin.

The threat over, the people of the Stone Ring made a pact, between the state of Idaho (the largest remaining state), the Sheriff of Elko County NV, the Montana alliance, the free peoples of Wash-Oregon, and the Cooperative townships of Utah. A ceremony sealed the pact, with the presentation of various war trophies, including the academy ring of Colonel Jack Mitchel, presented to Elmore Smith, governor of Idaho.

A time of unstable peace arrived. The Mormon church erupted into a brief war of succession, until a new prophet came, seemingly out of nowhere. For whatever reason, all sides deferred to him, a man known simply as Caleb, who declared that the Ring was the coming of the promised biblical refuge, and that the faithful were now the Saints of New Zion. He created for them a simple new doctrine of peace and love for simple things. And then he walked away into the mountains, never to be seen again.

The “Saints of New Zion” began to set up new towns and villages throughout the Ring, particularly in farm country. In only a few months, they had rebuilt much of what had been destroyed, and set about realizing their prophet's vision, and bumper crops of both produce and babies quickly followed. It was part of Caleb's promise, that the land, much of it former desert, would become fertile and bountiful.

It all seemed to be true, as mountain ranges grew taller, and great rivers flowed forth from them. Afternoon rains became a common occurrence, and winter simply never came. The fertile lands of the Snake River plain became the land of forever spring.

As peaceful as things were, trouble was never far away. The wildlife in the Ring was also changing, much of it becoming dangerous. The Bison returned, but larger, with bigger horns and deadly spiked tails. There were even reported sightings of the fantastical Jackalope, and stories of strange six-legged cave monsters that could shake the ground and literally make a man shit himself.

Of course, the most dangerous creature within the Stone Ring was still man, and it wasn't long before the peace was shattered. What began as a dispute between a native tribe and the state of Idaho over a piece of land turned into a full-scale eviction. Seeing it as a breach of the pact, several other parties attempted to intercede on behalf of the tribe. Idaho Governor Elmore Smith saw it as an attack on his authority, and used it as an excuse to invade his neighbors. Smith had created the crisis in the first place, and now used it to further his true ambition. He proclaimed that the only way to have a lasting order was to annex all of the Ring, and bring it under his rule.

Many did not agree, and when called up to fight for Smith, declared their oaths were to the pact, to liberty. The dissenters formed their own militias. And so, the second war of the Stone Ring, “The Militia War”, began.

The forces of liberty prevailed, united behind a brave and beautiful firebrand – Idaho Lt. Governor Gracie VillaLobos. Upon their victory, VillaLobos declared that Idaho would never have a Governor again. And so, the position of Lt. Governor became the figurehead of the newly created “Freehold” (a misnomer, but VillaLobos loved the sound of it, so...)

The militias declared their oaths to the Freehold, and to the new constitution, a document that restricted the power of the state to its bare minimum. An order of constables was created to keep the peace, and lead local militias in the event of emergency.

The disputed lands were returned to the tribe, but resentment remained.

In the years after the Militia War, the Ring became even more fantastical, as even the people within it began to change. The peoples of the far north took on an almost elvish look. Farm Folk became shorter and more plump, as they embraced their simple happy lives. Some others became like ogres. Even a few transformed into trolls, stone by day, flesh by night.

And, in a solitary piece of canyon, near the newly-renamed town of 18Falls, a satyr and two nymphs appeared.

A young biologist, Andrew Cole, published the first book on the wildlife in the Ring titled: Dragons of the Snake River Basin, which explained and named the three distinct types of dragons: the Wurm, the Drake, and the Raptyr. Cole followed up with a second book: Fauna of the Stone Ring. It was the last book printed in the Ring, as the last of the electrical grid collapsed, pushing the Ring back to the steam age. But steam quickly became impractical for regular use, and all but a few steam engines were preserved for emergencies.

Years passed, and the Ring knew a relative amount of peace. Occasional skirmishes happened, usually quickly resolved. Most folk in the ring just didn't feel the urge to force their will on others. Something else happened that seemed to aid in keeping the peace: the worst among the population, criminals, narcissists, the petty or cruel, just began to disappear. Rumors abounded, that they had all just moved to the dark land to the east, or that they were hiding in caves, or that the dragons had eaten them. No one much cared. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

The peace, however, did not last. A charlatan appeared. A politician from Oregon, Warren Eliza, had been hiding in a bunker in eastern Oregon since the start of the first war. Warren was laughed out of the Great Wood  when he appeared and immediately declared himself President, being the last surviving member of the old US government.

His further attempts at seizing power were dealt with the same way in the Elven lands of Idaho. He was told simply to “take it up with the LT.” Eliza was foolish, but not a complete idiot. He knew enough about the Ring to know that Lieutenant Governor VillaLobos would gut him with her sabre if he tried.

So Warren Eliza hatched a new plan. He had always claimed native ancestry, something he used to further his career on many occasions (despite DNA evidence to the contrary). He now figured out a way to once again capitalize on it.

Eliza began to travel, to visit all the tribal lands within the Freehold, fomenting old resentment. Many of the northern tribes had already broken apart, as people changed to other creatures, and moved on to live with those more like them. Others simply left the cold north to join with the tribes to the south, where game was plentiful and they were welcomed, despite old tribal grudges.

Warren interjected himself in the tribal relations, and made himself into a prophet of sorts, leading an exodus of the handful of remaining natives in the north to the great grassland along the Snake River. The tribes became one, or so it seemed. Eliza quickly found his true strength, manipulation. Soon he had played rivalry and resentment to propel himself to leadership.

Many in the Freehold, the LT. included, watched with suspicion, though the affairs of the tribe were outside of the realm of the Freehold.

I didn't take long for Eliza to turn the free tribal grass land into a socialist toilet. Many tribal members left, joining the Saints in their farm towns, or the Pescador villages along the Bonneville Sea. This didn't look good for Eliza, and he ordered that anyone leaving would be captured or killed. Now he had the attention of the Freehold.

A civil war broke out on the grassland. And so began the third war, “The Tribal War” or, as it would come to be remembered... “The Goblin War”.

Villalobos called her bannerman. The Utah Confederation joined, as well as Deputies (militia from Elko County), and even a few outlaws, former Feds and Smith partisans, hoping for redemption. It should have been easy. It was a trap.

Had anyone understood why Warren Eliza’s complexion had turned to a pale green, or why his ears had become a bit pointy, his fingernails black, they might have suspected.

When the allied forces of the pact arrived, most of Warren’s supporters among the tribe surrendered without a fight. Eliza, however, would not, and he retreated, once again to a bunker, this one of his own making, a log fortress that was supposed to be a “community center” when he sold the tribe on the idea. Resolving that it would be easier to just wait him out, many of the allies simply went home. The Freehold militia could deal with this idiot, or just leave him in his log tower to rot.

Night fell, and at last, the fortress gate opened, and Warren Eliza stepped through. Behind him, a countless horde of goblins rushed forward. The small log fort was built at an entry to what was actually a massive cave system. The Freehold forces were quickly overrun by the horde. Warren stood gloating, immensely pleased with himself in his trickery. Then a rifle round wiped the smile from his face.

Leaderless, the goblins lashed out like blind pitbulls. The battle became a brawl. The fight raged into the night, as allied forces got word of the deception, and rushed back to join the fight. All became a noise of clashing steel and snarling and gunfire. Men, goblins, and horses littered the field. And the goblins kept coming. Somehow, Eliza had drawn them to him, to carry out his commands. Without him, they may not have been as effective, but they were still formidable. Leader or not, their lust for blood drew them to the battle.

Now wildly outnumbered, the forces of the Freehold were about to break, when something miraculous happened. A piercing shriek penetrated the noise of battle, and a great number of goblins turned in a panic, and slaughtered their way through their companions, literally cutting themselves an escape path through the horde. A rumble shook the ground, and many of the remainder fell down, doubled over in pain as the foulest stench lingered in the air. Their pain was quickly relieved, as their bodies began to smolder and then burst into brilliant flame.

For reasons still unknown, it seems, three dragons had joined the fight.

You see, there is a reason the three distinct kinds of dragons all fall under the family draco as named by the naturalist Cole, and are not considered completely different creatures: their songs.

Drakes, Six legged wingless cave dwellers, have a song so deep, it can shake very ground. They produce what was once known as “the brown note”, which can literally make men (and goblins, apparently) shit themselves.

Wurms, legless and often aquatic creatures, emit a shrieking song that can cause severe panic in any creature with half a brain.

And lastly, the Raptyr, a four legged winged nocturnal beast, produces an inaudible high pitched scream that can blister skin, boil fluids, and cause anything remotely flammable to burst into flames.

And for reasons still unknown, all three of these songs had saved the night, as the frightened goblins scattered in all directions.

Understanding the weight of what had just occurred, the exiled tribal elders added their signatures to the Constitution of the Freehold, and shortly thereafter, adopted the word “Idaho” into the Shoshoni language.

Several weeks passed, as Freehold forces hunted goblins, searching for the escaped Warren Eliza. Finally, a group of rough crazy cowboys from Burly (revised spelling) wrangled a hungry Drake into the cave system, thus ending the hunt. There was no way anything was ever getting out of the caves alive.

A new pact was drawn, as more surrounding territories adopted similar Constitutions to the Freehold. The final Pact of the Stone Ring recognized six realms:

Elko, land of desert creeks which feed the mighty Elko River that spills into the Bonneville Sea, protected by the Elko Sheriff and his appointed Deputies.

The Wasatch Confederation, a patchwork of villages from the high mountains down to the eastern shore of the Bonneville Sea, loosely administrated by a council of elders of the Saints of New Zion.

The Pescador Islands, an association of Spanish-speaking fisher-folk in the Southern reaches of the Bonneville Sea

The Great Woodland of Washoregon, from the western border of the Freehold to the northwest Ring, a mostly anarchist cooperative of pixies and wood-elves.

The free cities of the Montana Wild Lands, fortified townships along the Southwestern side of the lands east of the Freehold, the east mostly occupied by feuding bands of outlaws. The new pact made the free cities into outposts of the Freehold, in hopes of someday eliminating the orc-like outlaw bands.

And of course, the Freehold of Idaho itself.

In a lavish ceremony, the new pact was signed. Outlaws who had joined the fight were granted pardons, and the right to settle in whatever land they wished.

In a final ceremony, Gracie VillaLobos, Lt. Governor of the Freehold of Idaho, presented her nine bravest warriors with a gift. She asked each to kneel before her, and to swear to never kneel again. With her cavalry sabre, given her by one of those very warriors, she knighted them. Then she presented the blades.

Gracie VillaLobos, granddaughter of an Argentine blacksmith, now leader of what remained of the free world, presented her 9 knights with blades she forged herself, each unique, each a work of art. These were no mere weapons, they were a symbol of the office. The knights would serve as the arbiters of justice, the teeth of the Constitution, the Freehold in the flesh.

They would be her judges, her generals, her guardians of peace and liberty.

Unto her greatest knight, she gave an axe, forged into the shape of the Freehold itself. It was set with two stones - a blue stone from the Air Force Academy ring of the despotic Colonel Mitchel, and a red stone, a star garnet taken from the tie pin of deposed Governor Elmore Smith.

Gracie had no idea that leaving a blank space for a third stone would create a sort of curse for her knight, and the Freehold, one that would not be broken for many years.

In the years since the Goblin war, things have slowly settled into much the same as the old world. Corruption and selfishness has crept into the Freehold. Marauders have gone unchecked. Goblins, once killed on sight, have been left to flourish in the dead cities without calls to exterminate them. Avoiding the dead cities, or accepting that one may have to pay a “goblin tax” is just a given among most folks.

Aside from that, most dwellers in the Freehold live peaceful, happy, free lives as farmers, traders, miners, woodsmen, fishermen etc. The tribe, upon fully joining with the Freehold, opened up the grassland to all who wished to live upon it. They have since become a culture of horsemen not seen since the days of the ancient Scythians, something akin to Tolkien's horse-lords of Rohan. Of all the peoples of the Ring, the riders of Idaho are quite probably the freest.

It's only reasonable, since the tribe adopted the word “Idaho” into their ancient Shoshoni language. A nonsense word, made up by politicians, arbitrarily assigned to a territory accidentally shaped like the head of a tomahawk, was given a meaning.

This new Shoshoni word, Idaho, means:

WE WHO WILL NOT BE RULED

So there it is. I’m working on another chapter and a half or so of my own, but… I’m pretty much setting this thing free.

This is your playground. Please clean up after yourselves. Please use it in the spirit in which it is given. Please keep the social and political statements to a mumble. This is about letting readers see what you’ve got.

Display your talents, not your ass. If you don’t mind.

Love you, you magnificent bastards.

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*Posting all of this in reverse order, so this should be the last substack in the chain.