Historia, Part VI

The plume of smoke rose from a few miles down river from where Clifford stood on a rocky ledge. Schrodinger poked his head out of the bundle, “What was that?”

“An explosion.”

Schrodinger gave a puzzled sigh, “Right, you people haven’t been able to blow anything up for the last three hundred years.”

Clifford looked over at his furry companion, “And you know that how?”

The mouse withdrew into the bundle and Clifford began the slow, somewhat agonizing climb to the valley floor. They reached the bottom fairly quickly, and when Clifford looked back up the way they had come, he saw a rock wall far steeper than what they had climbed down. Just what were those Historians up to?

The sandy floor of the King’s Valley was, as Clifford noted upon reaching it, was a gradual incline, which surprise him, because the river ran uphill. He reshouldered his bundle and began trudging through the sand. The heat on the valley floor was oppressive, and the sun glare from the crystalline sand-grain was blinding.

It was quiet also, so quiet that Clifford thought he could hear his guitar strings contracting under the burdensome heat.

Ahead stood the ruins of Carnacabidos, once great city of the King’s Valley. Once ruled by the Historians, but free from their tyranny by a rebel leader the elders called Pharaoh. No other name was given for this ruler. Well, that’s how Clifford had leaned it at the only school in Nostalgia, The University.

Trick with the University was that there were no grade-levels. The youngest classmate Clifford had while attending had been four years old, the eldest thirty-two. You left the University when the teacher declared you ready to enter the real world.

Clifford Jenkins stopped on the outskirts of Carnacabidos, kneeling beneath a palm tree. He pulled some of the dried meat, the jerky, from his old travel bag and chewed on it vigorously. He drank water from the river, and sliced off some cheese for Schrodinger, who at least had the sheltering shade of the bundle to stay cool.

After this brief respite, Clifford began moving again, this time into the heart of the old ruins. He thought back to his life in Nostalgia, a life he’d left for no reason other than a sudden desire to go to Historia. He thought of his home. His mother and father, both still living, and probably wondering just where on God’s green earth their son had gone.

“I probably should’ve left a note, or something,” Clifford thought aloud. His statement responded to by none.

From far away, far beyond where Clifford Jenkins could see, another explosion echoed across the valley.

“What was that?” Schrodinger cried, emerging from the bundle and scampering to Clifford’s shoulder.

“Another explosion.”

“I’m telling you, Cliff, that’s impossible. Explosives are gone, dried up, kapoof under the sun.”

Clifford paused and examined the mouse out of the corner of his eye, “And I’m telling you that no mouse can talk, so what are you?”

Schrodinger snickered, “I... I am going back to the bundle. Have fun with your walk.”

Clifford waited patiently as the mouse clambered back into the bundle, “How did I end up with you? Little furry freak.”

“I heard that!”