Читать книгу Trekmaster - James B. Johnson - Страница 13

9. THE PRINCE

Where was it? Part of the Trekmaster Log was missing.

Only this day had his father authorized Prince Michale to read the Log. Probably because he felt mortal nowadays, Michale thought. He’d always thought his father invincible, but now? He felt guilty because his realization that the King was mortal did not change his opinion of his father, the Royal Ass. The pompous braggart who knew everything. (Always saying, “I understand you, Mick, hell, I was young once myself, you know.”) God, Michale thought, if I’ve heard that once, I’ve heard it ten times a day. And Mick. Why can’t father say Mike like everyone else? Does even a name have to be tough to meet his satisfaction?

His eyes returned to the tattered parchment. He’d never suspected the existence of the Trekmaster Log. But here it was: continuity of Crimson Sapphire since...since when? Since its establishment? It showed how this part of Bear Ridge began its disorderly progression from isolated spots of humanity barely surviving, to modern times. And from a peculiar perspective. The Log also explained specifically some history he’d learned in academics. And it included information not generally known—and a flavor he’d not expected.

Michale sat in the security of his parents’ suite, in their comfortable and private sitting room. His eyes skimmed back over what he’d read.

The first pages were brittle, written on beaten bark, the words fading, some illegible. A few pages had been traced over with newer ink, others copied on fresher paper where one Trekmaster or another had striven to maintain the continuity of the document. As time and pages progressed, the quality of paper improved. Apparently, one individual, a certain Joshua Jones, had gone on a quest for some obscure reason (a woman’s urging?). As time went on and the humans of Bear Ridge began to regain some of their lost heritage, others followed in Jones’ footsteps. Thousands. Only a few of these questers survived. Sometimes two generations went by without any quester returning alive.

Michale did not understand all he’d read, nor did he understand how the Trek became the prime criterion—besides royal blood—for a man to grasp the reins of royalty—and nowadays, the kingship. His eyes returned to the page. He realized he’d been staring at a weapons display on the wall. One which, because of a disagreement between his parents, alternated every month with local art.

“It was a bear of a ridge, I thought,” wrote Joshua Jones. “Until I surmounted the damned thing and there, in the distance across this enormous gorge, was another ridge. This one dwarfed the one I’d somehow managed to climb. Almost then did I turn back. But she had challenged me and they had ostracized me and I required to accomplish some feat, so on went I. When, after many days, I reached the bottom of the gorge from descending the first ridge, I saw one of those creatures the old folks tell stories about. Tall they were, weird feet with webs and things on them. Faces long with a passingly alien mouth which looked like it was made for straining spinach with and I tell you when they whistled at me (there were two of Them) I turned right around and climbed that ridge fastern I went down it.” Michale scanned excerpts.

—from Chief Mathiew Bearpaw:

I write not well for it was a difficult thing which to learn and my teachers cared not to teach when there was no food in the lodges. But this man Joshua Jones and his people who we chased from this land bid me on his deathpad to continue with learning and with maintaining of this book. Some of the others of my tribe had heard that over the ridge—Bear Ridge, Jones had called it—was much food. For the drout had crapped onto this grate plain and we discussing moving our lodges again toward the west and the coast where it is said that crops grow better and the hunting too is better. The shadow of Bear Ridge looms large upon the land, seems like a mysterious malady, bringing wrath upon us and our people. Lone George claims he seen one of the creatures Jones talked about here lately and I shall clamber the ridge to see if there is food and meat animals before we move the many kilometers or miles I can never keep them straight with baggage and women and children and lodges to the west to look for better hunting grounds.

The sharp lava had cut my feet through the hide sandals, and I feared I would lose the left foot. Nor did I make it to the bottom of the gorge as Jones had done. An encounter with a killer snarv took my left eye. I saw no food and I could not go any farther so I returned and we moved our long-time encampment.

—from Commandante Walter Hernandez Fernando Coronado:

Yep, we run them injuns off and took this fine farm land. Some little distance from the west coast, but upon a fine plain of its own. Protected on two sides by mountains with a river running between them across our plain. My servant, old Bearpaw, tells tales of strange creatures which we’ve heard was our legacy from the Before Time when our ancestores flew here from the stars and earthe and all, not real interesting if you got to go out and slaughter a sheepalo for evening chow and all, but what the hell, I got Bearpaw for that work, don’t I? Anyway, Bearpaw’s a good old boy and him and me we get along fine, he’s almost convinced me to go to see myself for the adventure. He acts like it’s something he’s gotta do before he ups and dies, but I am tired of working the fields and making other people work them fields so I just might take him up on it.

...so together, me and Bearpaw made it up the second ridge. I’ll tell you, hadn’t it been for Bearpaw, may he rest in peace, I’d of never made it half that far, but I couldn’t very well let a injun do something that I couldn’t do, could I?? That there gorge—a real devil’s dip—was full of snarves, and so was about the first third of the big ridge. The second third of the big ridge was strange vapors, killing vapors, some of which burned eternally flames. No single one man could have lived through that alone. Bear Ridge grows some tough hombres, but.... Anyway, the third tier was hell on weather. Stuff I din’t really understand. But on we went and Christ it was cold as the cellars of hell. Bearpaw was like a man driven by hordes of deevils. Atop Big Bear Ridge, there was this flat place, see? Wind blowing like God was awailing. !But the view! On the other side of the big ridge, what land!! Looked like you could drop seeds on the ground and they’d grow right there without no supervision or any of that farming crap. But clouds and weather moved in ‘tween and couldn’t see no more.

...damn near frozen when we sat to rest it was so high a altitude and Bearpaw, he just stood there and here came these whistles and Bearpaw dropped the vine ropes he was reweaving and ran to them and I never saw him again. Frightening apparitions, the devil’s work. Fat, like inflated sheepalo bladders. Strangest thing I ever seen. I started to follow but they was all gone quick, the two of Them and old Bearpaw, who I’d really got to like even if he was a injun and all. Would of liked to see them better.

...one of Them had dropped this stone, see? It was blue with red fire in it and seemed to dance about...or was it red with blue fire dancing? It seemed to change so often, you coun’t really tell....

—from Chief Mathiew Mohammed Bearpaw II:

My grandfather had called from the dreamworld and I knew what I had to do. First we hunters gathered and provided food for our people for weeks then we burned their crops and scared them off and out of our land. This old mexican man made me take this book and read it. He said I’d know what to do with it. And then I read it and was amazed and had to retrace some of the writings to see ’em, will add pages later it is so interesting.

...on this day I go out to find my grandfather. Or his spirit.

...never did find him. but there was this gem, just like old Coronado had and we had buried with him for it was our and his customs, and the people thought that it was okay since maybe it contained his spirit and nobody wanted to cart around another man’s spirit and ail.

...though the snarv had almost disembowled me, I found this stream and the minnows ate most of the maggots out that I hadn’t ate and I healed well enough...never did understand, for I sensed them around me when I lay unconscious and almost dying. It could have been them for I crossed the first ridge with the help of God and in Devil’s Dip that damn snarv got me—and then I woke and found myself back on this the human side of the ridges...grandfather Bearpaw’s spirit?????

—from Alyouishes Longstreet:

I was the only one who climbed the mother of the mountain; and they’ll probably try again next year when the season is right, but knowing what I do, none of those wimpish limp-dicks will ever return, you gotta be tough, and I mean mean.

—from Sir Lance Phillips:

...of my brothers, I saw nothing after I surpast them in the climbing. Doubtless, their bones add to the soil on the ridges or in the gorge. And the stone? Well and fine it was, almost a gift and I had nothing to give in return, but he seemed, if it was a he, a right fine fellow. And you know? I sort of understood what he was telling me, though the grunts and motions and whistles and sniffs he seemed to be using to communicate were certainly out of my experience. But I felt good about our companionship, you know? Too bad there ain’t a lot of them poor indians left, maybe they couida helped explain. His eyes, like some fish, capable of seeing 2 ways at once. Do their minds register 2 pictures? He....(Note: remainder of this section obliterated with black substance which could have been blood. Francisco Shepherd)

—from Mark Trevan:

...so my father, the King, dispatched all his children—save the girls—and whoever came back first would be King after him. But we had to have proof and obviously the proof is in the gem.

...would have made it too, goddamn their tough hides. Damn sister hadn’t beaten me to it. Amazing Grace had disobeyed father. Maybe old Aygee had talked or communicated better with them, those strange ones, weather was horrible, poor sister, and she fell down on this side of Teddy Bear ridge and broke her neck. I buried her there, and took her gem, for I was certain father wouldn’t want a girl to take over the kingdom, which he renamed for the stone I then carried to Crimson Sapphire. And I was correct, he believed I had made the Trek, which I had, and I told the truth. After all, I could have lied, could I not?

...and both my sons, the twins, returned alive, too, which was unusual since I had not completed the Trek myself and knew what it was like? Now I am pressed with making a decision about a successor before I allow them to write in this here log?

—from Francisco Shepherd:

Forced out of the mountains, we migrated to Crimson Sapphire, and brought our books with us. The joint rule of the twins had torn the kingdom asunder and there were no further entries in the Log. I, the youngest son, had worked my way up in the army for a while and, then discovering my book learning (for did not our family religiously maintain secret and sacred tomes for our children?) the generals took me as an advisor. In that capacity, I was able to locate more written word. My position became quite secure. Because of the fine army, we had no competitors within our territory now—but the twins were ruining the kingdom with their bickering. The generals asked me for a solution and did not like my answer. Learning? Education? These qualifications for the Kingship? Not hardly, they replied. These were fine fighting men and understood only the sword and bow and tactics. I could, at least, applaud their loyalty to Crimson Sapphire in not overthrowing the twins. For they were smart men and saw the example of what had happened to the twins. The Trek book interested them and they were intelligent enough to choose from royal blood or at least blood of nobility for continuity of the crown. Unfortunately, by that time, I was a nobleman, and when the plan was announced, my son determined to go.

Though I am not a Trekmaster myself, I make these entries in the interest of both history and continuity since the twins failed to carry out their responsibilities in these pages.

My son, I am now proud to say, stole off in the dead of the night.

Along with the sons of many other noblemen, he crossed the great plain. He climbed T. Bear Ridge, fought his way through the gorge called Devil’s Dip. surmounted Big Bear Ridge and spoke with the mysterious inhabitants. His account follows.

—from Thornton Shepherd:

It was the mountain training my father gave me which gifted me with the techniques and abilities to climb the ridges. Out of many, I alone survived. And talked to the people, or whatever they are, over there. And they gave me a stone, this thing the kingdom was named after. They seemed to actually understand me. And I got some of the concepts they expressed. One day, I would return for study and leisure to communicate further. My observations of the Webbines are attached on separate sheets. (NOT FOUND: perhaps my father was updating these pages when he passed on? Solomon Shepherd)

But going back there may be a bit difficult for there are other kingdoms now encroaching upon my territory and I must prepare the army and make arrangements. Fools. Civilization is returning, and so must wars? I have heard that all over this vast continent, at least on this west side of the great divide provided by the two Bear ridges, that other towns and villages are growing and joining, becoming feudal kingdoms of which I’ve read from books of Olde Earthe. I foresee that these next years shall be trying to our people. Fortunate that we’ve built a fine kingdom, a strong people, and common goals. (Save those pesky priests.) Personal tragedy aside, I still look at the stone, the badge of office won, and become calm again and am able to plan. I see that the future holds much, and should be accounted for in any actions I take as King.

—from Solomon Shepherd:

...but my father insisted, else the people and particularly the army would not follow me. I used the landmarks he told me of: the spire atop Teddy Bear ridge called The Finger of God, and the peak dwarfing Big Bear ridge, seen by few men only. (INSERT NOTE: this latter peak has since been named Forty-K. TJ Shepherd) And when I returned with my stone, he was dead in battle. How could I forgive myself for not being there? Only Felicia could console me. Now I understand. I face the same problem my ancestors did: I must commit my sons, one of which I hope will master the Trek as I did. But so many have died making the Trek. Should I not consider ordering it ended? My advisors counsel against it. Not knowing what to do, I asked one of my sons, Thomas Jefferson, for his opinion. “Opinions are like assholes, father,” he told me. “Everybody’s got one. Yet it seems to me that there is value within the doing,” he said enigmatically, and I saw this was true. Did not taking the Trek make me a better, more understanding man? Perhaps. But to balance this off with the death of one’s fine sons? TJ seemed to have a grasp of man’s inner nature. But the hordes press in upon us and our isolated little kingdom. And TJ is a fine warrior already—those in the army who personally know him idolize him. He is one of them more than one of us, the royalty. Thinking upon it, I realize that TJ recognized the value of the Trek, not just in personal terms to those who have conquered it, but in importance to the people of Crimson Sapphire. We are the most stable and strongest community that I am aware of now. And for that reason, and our natural wealth of tillable soil, others clamor on our borders. The entire continent is seething with battle. Armies and raiders are all about and it takes much of our energy and production to maintain safe borders. It is draining us. Unfortunately, this is giving the Church new life; that entity is resurging in importance, political importance. They want to return to the days of church domination. Hang infidels, nonbelievers, and blasphemers (being “Jerked for Jesus” they call it, an old SowestAm tradition, they claim). What with the external threats to the integrity of Crimson Sapphire (I’m beginning to sound like an officious monarch, part of the bureaucracy—TJ will fix that when I see him next. If.), I believe the crown is temporarily safe from the priesthood for they need warriors to protect the kingdom they wish to manage.

—from Felicia Shepherd:

My husband, the King Solomon Shepherd Rex, died in battle before he completed his obligatory entries. Currently, the army suffers my rule, for is there another option in this time of crisis?

It saddened me to send my three young sons across the plains to the mountains and chilling ridges to those strange peoples whom I read about in these pages. Odds are against any returning. But the eldest. Thomas, shows promise. Stonewall Jackson has a slim chance. But the youngest, Theodore Roosevelt, though the most agile of the three, is not sufficiently cunning, I fear, to complete the Trek. What will I do should none live through it? Am I up to handling the crown? But my money is on Thomas. The rogue. Many young ladies about Crimson Sapphire will miss his presence, even though he was most of the time with the troops and fighting. Even as a child, he was a fighter. Tossed off pneumonia and other illness. Frankly, he was a hardheaded little rascal whom I called Rowdy. The other two? Fine sons, aye, that they were. (Were? A mother knows.) I sent them off with nary a tear. They took my heart with them; for you see, I knew I’d never see them again. Is this a job for a mother? To bear sons to die? But go they did, for the kingdom my husband was trying to save, and for our heritage. I had no choice. The more I write, the more confident I become that Thomas shall return. I shall have one son left to me. (Should The Good Lord be Willing and Give Blessings.) Thomas is a natural leader of men and an expert swordsman. Expert with almost any weapon. Though he does not seem to be growing into a philosopher-king like the other Shepherds, he is worth reckoning. Our land needs men, leaders and fighters and builders like Thomas. It can do without a philosopher-king for a generation or two.

I find I ramble. There are matters of the realm to attend to.

Respectfully signed and submitted,

Felicia Shepherd, Queen Regent.

Addendum: The men from the stars have arrived. Thank God they landed on our countryside, and not that of some others. Oh, I do so wish Thomas would return from the Trek. FS.

Mike knew that after his father had finished the Trek, he had conquered the planet of Bear Ridge. That simple—ignoring the twenty or so years it took. Possibly the richest entry was not here in the log: that of Thomas Jefferson Shepherd. He was irritated and relieved at the same time. Relieved so that he would not have to read how tough things had been for his father and thus have to empathize some with the old bastard. And irritated because he wanted to know what the King had gone through. How did his father complete the Trek? Did he go only to the top of the first ridge? Or did he continue and cross the gorge and climb the second ridge and reach the home of those mysterious inhabitants? Mike felt somehow cheated.

“Michale?”

Visions of ridges, volcanic remains, monstrous jigsaws of ruined terrain, snarves, ice, burning gas, bleeding fingers, dead Trekkers, and mysterious inhabitants faded. He looked up sharply. “Mother. Hello.”

Gwen had come into the sitting room. “Your grandmother’s entries always fascinate me,” she said, “more from what she doesn’t write in them than what she logs.”

“After all, she is a Shepherd,” Michale said and immediately regretted his caustic tongue. He saw that his mother understood. “Where is father’s book? His pages?”

Gwen shrugged. “He is still working on them.”

“Naaah,” Mike stretched the sound out. “It’s been many years, mother. And one as fond of administrative matters as he is would not fail to accomplish so sacred a duty.”

“Michale, sometimes I think you are part volv the way your tongue flickers and hisses.”

“Mmm sorree,” he mimicked himself when he was a child.

She smiled at the memory. “I’ll tell you about the Trek—what little I know.”

He looked questioningly at her.

“Yes, he does not confide totally in me.”

Mike snorted.

She ignored. “Your father was the first one, the first Trekmaster—they were called Trekkers while doing it—to reach the Webbines’ Home Ground. Except perhaps the first Bearpaw, and nobody will likely ever know what happened to him. TJ actually spent some time there at their Home Ground, communicating, talking, or whatever they do. He doesn’t feel right in putting his thoughts about the episode and all the data he learned on paper yet.”

“God, wouldn’t Sharon Gold just rape him for that information...oops, sorry, mother but you know what I mean.” He felt a compulsion to cross the ridges himself and meet with the mysterious inhabitants, the Webbines. But he wasn’t ready to make the Trek. “Perhaps it is a foolish custom, mother. Grown men dying for the sake of a throne? A throne which may be much diminished in importance soon should we gain entry into the Federation.”

Her voice took on a strained tone. “The Federation will leave us alone. Planetary matters are internal, and there will be no interference. At least that’s the way I understand it. Sharon Gold said that’s why they still use the archaic term ‘Federation.’ “

“And if Sharon Gold doesn’t recommend us for the Council seat, then what?”

“It is all academic then,” she answered.

“Mother, I don’t think I like the idea of a high percentage chance of dying in order to become King.”

“I’ve told you,” she almost shouted at him, “the Trek is custom. It will be honored.”

Mike saw the strained look on her face and understood for the first time. She didn’t want him to go on the Trek either. But she had no choice. She was more bound than he was by custom and tradition.

She slumped to a stool and her shoulders dropped. “What do you want me to say?” she demanded.

Michale’s resentment grew. He could not stop himself. “So, one day, TJ Shepherd is going to turn me loose with a bunch of his illegitimate children he calls ‘kinglets’ to make some insane trek and probably get killed?” Instantly, he wished he could have said it differently. He knew he’d hurt her. “Mother.” He shook his head. “That wasn’t fair of me. Forgive me, formally, mother. I didn’t intend to hurt you. It was foolish of me to say.” The subject was an unspoken taboo. Mike knew his father would do anything to insure the continuity of the Shepherd rule and prevent the re-emergence of the nobility as a ruling class.

“Don’t you see he had to do it?”

“No,” Mike said flatly, still understanding only partly. But he knew it was one of the many crosses she had to carry. After his own birth, she had been unable to have other children. A price she had to pay. One taken from her heart every time her husband fathered another child to insure Shepherd succession to the throne of Crimson Sapphire. A self-sacrificing concept TJ had come up with. Or so he said. Mike knew these things instinctively, and felt closer to his mother than a few minutes before when he was faulting her for his father’s shortcomings. At least, he thought ruefully, the crusty old bastard hadn’t dumped her like he could have. Could TJ really love her? She must love him, for why else would she put up with him, and his foibles? His profanity, his “official” affairs, his boorishness. Mike felt a pang of jealousy. Always had he fought for his mother’s affections. Always had both he and his father put her in the middle of their fighting, their arguing, always relying on her and her wisdom to arbitrate, to keep them together as a family—to maintain the uneasy peace.

“A time of trial, nothing will remain the same.”

“What, mother?”

“This Federation business. We’ve enough problems as it is.”

“Have you told father what you think about it?”

“What I think is unimportant. Except about you.”

“I know,” he grinned suddenly. “What I need to do is find some nice young girl and settle down, right?”

Gwen smiled and nodded—too enthusiastically, Mike thought, but that was understandable.