Trekmaster. James B. Johnson

feet.” She nodded and left as he glared up at Vero and Alfred. “And when I’m well, I shall go and find who is trying to kill me.” He had already disregarded Kellen Sing as a likely candidate. “Everybody’s excused,” he said suddenly.

      The general and the herald left.

      When the door had closed, TJ finished his wine with a gulp, leaned back and closed his eyes.

      Summer Camp stood, and looked at TJ’s sock covered foot. “You’d think the Trekmaster who conquered the mountains of Teddy Bear Ridge and Big Bear Ridge on foot and Bear Ridge the planet also on foot and horseback, could ignore a little boil on his foot and do his job as king.”

      “Infected wound,” TJ corrected.

      “And the legend grows?” said Camp.

      “Take the rest of the day off, Summer.”

      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