Corr Syl on Ghost is a serial publication launched in February 2024 by Garry Rogers. When you subscribe, you get full access to published chapters as well as email notices of new chapters. The first month (five chapters) is free. Your subscription makes this project possible, and allows the Corr Syl saga to continue. Click here to go subscribe on Ghost.

Corr Syl on Ghost chapter posts comprise the full and final history of Corr Syl, from his first problems with humans to his confrontation with powerful interstellar creatures and the complexities of the multiverse. I serialized the work on Ghost to  encourage reader interaction. Your comments and suggestions are welcome, especially if they incorporate levity the Tsaeb would appreciate.

Corr and his closest friends, the members of his Wycliff Battle Group, needed a future. Having mastered their genetics long ago, most of the Tsaeb will outlive the author. Besides, so much has happened since H Sapiens ended in 2017, an update is necessary. Serializing the story will surely spark incredibly interesting feedback.

The Agua Fria Open Space Alliance, Inc. (AFOSA) is supervising this writing project. The company is a nonprofit organization focused on natural ecological systems. AFOSA acts through projects that support research, education, environmentally aware entertainment, and natural resource management. AFOSA is tax exempt under section 501(c)(3) of the Internal Revenue Code (EIN:  26-0378948). Subscriptions to Corr Syl on Ghost are tax deductible.

Let’s begin (the first ones are free):

Intelligence appeared in Earth’s first complex creatures a billion years ago. Inconceivably, love of slapstick humor came with it.

Part I

Over countless millennia, the warrior guild’s origins trace back to the escalating conflicts among Earth’s sentient species. As sapience gradually blossomed through the ages, the era of wars subsided. The warriors waned in numbers, yet they never vanished completely, and always retaining and strengthening their extensive reservoir of strategic and tactical wisdom for the art of conflict.

In their roles as guardians of peace, warriors coexisted within ordinary citizenry, awaiting the infrequent moments when aberrant individuals or species would surface, threatening civilization. Their enduring presence functioned as a bulwark against the resurgence of chaos and disorder.

From: Historical Insights by Morgan Silverleaf, the astute Librarian of Wycliff District.

Prolog: The City Manager

In the early hours of a Tuesday morning, Ivanstor Peter Johns, the ambitious young City Manager of Mountainview, swiftly exited his City Hall office. His mind was occupied by the impending meeting with regional military leaders and thoughts of the enigmatic Tsaeb, an intelligent group of species living north of Mountainview. The Tsaeb, known for their furry and feathery appearances, were a mystery to many, and Johns aimed to change that.

As Johns reviewed his grand plans for the Tsaeb and Mountainview, he envisioned bringing progress to the borderlands. Roads, shops, schools, hospitals, and the trappings of civilization would soon follow. A pristine lake in the wilderness north of the Tsaeb border held the key to the city’s water problems, and Johns was determined to tap into it.

While there was a treaty with the Tsaeb prohibiting construction beyond the border, Johns saw it as a mere formality, a relic of the past. His conviction was that the treaty could either be renegotiated or quietly disregarded.

His vision encompassed the construction of roads and a canal to channel water from the lake to Mountainview, resolving the city’s water shortage. Johns had already started the process by proposing a modest road construction project and enlisting the support of local military leaders to survey the area.

Johns assumed the military commanders would help him. He knew of nothing they were engaged with and couldn’t help but wonder about the necessity of a military force standing by in this tranquil land with no apparent external threats. His dedication to the principles of sustainable development and thriving communities was unwavering, and he believed the military, like the Tsaeb, would be eager to aid a cause just and beneficial for all.

Chapter 1

The White River carves its meandering channel through soft white limestone in a broad desert valley. West of the river, a granite inselberg budges up in front of a tall cliff. A path carved in the cliff face switches back and forth past the colorful doors of the apartments of Wycliff District public servants.

One such servant, a human-shaped character with pointed ears and gray fur, stood beside his bed in an apartment midway up the cliff. The young warrior, Corr Syl, stretched his full five feet six inches, and became utterly still under absolute control. But as he reviewed recent events, he recalled the howling laughter in the Tavern last night when he and Allysen tried to harmonize with Ralph’s big voice. The corners of the furry rabbit descendant’s lips rose an almost invisible millimeter and his long pale gray whiskers twitched a full centimeter. Aargh! The whiskers added a whimsy to his face that he believed improved his comedic ambitions, but if he couldn’t stop the twitches, the whiskers would go.

Corr relaxed and reached for his jar of nuts and dried fruit, but as his fingers touched the glassy surface, his eyes widened in pretended surprise.

A human assassin in smooth black leather came with quick light steps swinging a gleaming blade. The blade sang a deadly whisper as Corr recoiled, jerked his short sword from the weapons harness beside his bed, and spun to block the whirling assassin’s rising cut.

As his attacker recoiled, Corr considered drawing his long sword and attacking in his current favorite, Two-Heavens form. His piercing warrior’s cry, mind-numbing wave of mental threat, and rotating blades would drive his enemy backward. In seconds, Corr’s short sword would capture the enemy blade and give his long sword the assassin’s neck. But Corr sighed and merely drove his short sword directly into the assassin’s chest. The imaginary assassin disappeared; the practice ended.

Corr considered himself a nominal warrior. He had never fought a real adversary, and he knew he shouldn’t expect or even want to do so. He smiled, thinking how naïve his urge to be a protector was when he embarked on the seven-year training journey he undertook as the only student of the old warrior Halbert Sims.

As he ate, Corr considered ending the thought stream he had devoted to Rhya Bright. Corr scanned memories of past encounters with the aloof young warrior trainee, soon to become the only other rabbit warrior in the District. Romantic progress appeared impossible.

Another of Corr’s thoughtstreams examined a problem as exasperating as Rhya. Yesterday, as he strolled toward the river enjoying the warm sun on his fur, thinking of slicing into the cool water beneath the old sycamore, wondering if the pretty new librarian would come, a large shadow swept over and Arden Aquila, abdominous chairperson of the District Council, swooped to a landing and made a befuddling statement. “Warrior Syl, the Council has voted to offer you the position of Council-Warrior Liaison. We want you to attend all council meetings and report important decisions to the Warrior Guild.”

In the glare of the old golden eagle’s gaze, Corr’s hands drifted down from the sword hilts projecting above his shoulders and his thoughts whirled in tight circles, searching for a response.

“The Council meets at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. Take questions to Councilor Korhonen.” And leaving an eye-watering back draft of leaves and twigs, Aquila flapped away. Swerving as mirth overcame restraint, Aquila wondered if Corr’s teacher, Halbert Sims’ assessment of Corr’s potential for leadership, was correct. But right or wrong, the dumbfounded look on the young rabbit’s face had been worth it.

Corr stood on the trail blinking, his whiskers drooping. Why was the great Arden Aquila coming to him? Too much. There was no sense to this. There were always warriors at the Council meetings. And everything that the Council proposed or decided instantly spread on the thoughts of all the attendees. He would appear to be telling another stupid joke if he came out of a meeting and began telling people what they already knew.

The Council had already given him a job. Now another? Who dreams up this stuff?

Two weeks past, in a council meeting his friend Allysen had insisted Corr attend, Aquila had called for a motion to form a new battle group. Tau Korhonen, a large elk descendant, stood and moved to form a group with Corr Syl as its leader. Unprepared, Corr was forming a polite refusal when Allysen stood and said she would join the group. Corr began trying to blend that twist into his refusal, but the Council immediately approved the motion without discussion. Aquila thanked the two warriors and opened another topic.

Five other warriors volunteered for the group. Every one of them was older than Corr and they all had seen actual combat in the war with humans. It was absurd to ask him to lead such a group.

Allysen suggested Corr invite the warriors to meet for lunch. Amidst the laughter and friendship of beings aware of the extreme effort required for membership in the warrior guild, Corr relaxed. He was certain there was no need for a second battle group and absolutely no need for one with him as leader, but nothing would be better than traveling about the District with a band of warriors; and besides, he need do nothing but ask the others where they wanted to go.

Wild Bill proposed the term “pod” to replace “group”—they would be a battle pod. Adamant vetoes quenched the idea, but the suggestion left them all glaring at Bill knowing they would hear “pod” again.

Rhya Bright congratulated Corr on the appointment, but not with the warmth he would have liked. Would becoming the Council’s Liaison impress her more than becoming a battle group leader had? It was bigger—wasn’t it? He imagined her expression. It was blank. Could it be his jokes? He clamped his jaws and made his best hard-eyed intimidating glare.

Feeling abused, the new battle group leader skipped the next weekly council meeting. Why go? The Council deliberated on food storage, birth planning, celebrations, and, amidst bursts of laughter, passed resolutions on everything from Agave Day to Week’s Worst Joke (Corr had two of those), and on and on and on.

The liaison appointment had spurred Corr to speed up his travel plan: Everyone traveled—for birthdays, holidays, friends’ birthdays, equinoxes, solstices, ending planting, completing harvests, and more. He had finished training, a fine reason for going away, and he was curious about the ocean. He would tell Korhonen he would consider the Liaison appointment after his trip. With that comfort, he had continued to the river. He swam, chatted, napped in the sun, worked on his next story. It would be great if some of his friends would also make the trip to the ocean.

* * *

Cool air through Corr’s window signaled sunlight had warmed and lifted the air in the mountains above the cliff. Corr took climbing pegs from a shelf by the door, reached for the doorknob, and paused, whiskers twitching, as he pulled an ivy shoot back inside the window.

Corr went to the brink of the ledge outside his door and gazed east. From his vantage midway up the face of White Cliff, he looked across White River Valley to the Black Hills, a line of cold, dark volcanoes casting long shadows across the valley.

Corr glanced up at the stubby trail of a jet passing high overhead and turned his gaze toward the lingering glow of Mountainview, the human city beyond the southern border of Wycliff District. He considered devoting a thoughtstream to the humans. But humans weren’t his problem. Did he have a problem? He raised the two cylindrical climbing pegs and recalled the rusty pipe his friend Allon Trofeld carried as a pretend weapon when they were children. Corr’s brow wrinkled. Allon had appeared in a dream last night.

A grass sparrow peeped in Corr’s ear as it streaked past. Corr grinned at the small bird’s obvious joy as it flew through the crisp morning air.

Rhya closed her door two ledges below. She glanced up and their eyes met. Did she smile as she turned and started down? Down meant a run on the east bank of the River. Corr took a step and stopped; she would ignore him if he followed. He recalled every detail of Rhya’s perfect face, its dark auburn eyes, pale eyebrows, the rose-pink tip of her nose, the longer hair on the tips of her ears (which was both odd and exquisite), and the full lips.

It was time to go. Corr sent waves of energy through his body, lubricating every joint and loosening every connection. Then he turned to the cliff. As he ascended, using the climbing pegs hand over hand, he remembered the first time he saw Allon almost 21 years earlier. Corr had been standing in front of his new home in Nursery Canyon when a tawny creature with white spots tottered out of a nearby doorway. Corr jerked back a step when an enormous creature lunged out and snatched up the small one, turned its huge yellow eyes on Corr—and smiled, exposing large sharp teeth. The captive twisted and squirmed as its captor carried it inside. Corr hurried through his own door, and his mother explained a mountain lion family was moving in. She reassured Corr there was no danger; mountain lions were friendly.

“Corr,” she said, “the mountain lion species appeared late in the Age of War. They ate other animals and rabbits avoided them. Now no Tsaeb eat sentient animals. You saw your new neighbor’s attempt to go exploring and his mother’s cancellation of the plan.”

A year after Allon moved to the nursery, a bear family arrived. One morning, their child, a furry ball with hands and feet, hurrying to catch up with Corr and Allon, tripped, rolled, and bumped into the back of Allon’s leg. Allon jumped and made a high-pitched squeak. After that, Allon often shoved the bear. Sometimes it rolled, but most times, it stumbled or skidded.

Funnny! The children laughed when silly Allon shoved the bear. But soon, they quit laughing. But the lion couldn’t get enough of bear rolling. Once, the bear dodged Allon’s shove and said, “Stop it.” Allon, in a fateful reaction, tapped the bear’s head with the pipe.

Allon didn’t tire of bear rolling and now and then added a tap on the head. Another child came to the nursery, and Allon shoved it, too. Corr hadn’t known what to do. He spent more time indoors or in a little cave he had discovered. When Corr encountered Allon, the young lion often stared at Corr, but Corr turned away. I shouldn’t have. Allon needed me. But now he turned his thoughts to the day’s contest and formed no inkling of the horror to come.

Chapter 2 is coming soon.