Clifford and Jaime Conner, post-boy of Historia, had been walking west for two days. The City of Lithe was now many miles behind them, and for that Clifford Jenkins was glad. He could live a thousand years and never see that city again and he wouldn’t regret it.
They’d left The City of Lithe and climbed over the mountain to the west and began their downward trek into the valley, realizing that they’d be climbing another mountain in no time flat. Jaime said it was the last mountain between them and Historia. Clifford walked in relative silence. He was still in a state of shock.
He glanced backwards at his bundle, which felt curiously light with Schrodinger inside. The talking mouse, his companion for many miles and more than a few adventures, was gone. Swept away in one of Lithe’s pseudo-regular floods.
Jaime Conner knew all about Lithe’s flooding. He had been telling Clifford about how things were in Historia. Father Time, Jaime said, was ill. He was the leader of Historia. When Clifford had asked about the Historian meddling with time and events Jaime had just looked at him blankly.
“I don’t know, Mr. Jenkins.”
“Call me Clifford. I’m forty years old. I don’t think of myself as a “Mister” just yet.”
Jaime nodded, “Sorry. Clifford. I don’t know of anything like that happening in Historia. Father Time just sits in his pyramid and everyone else goes about their day.”
“What about Guevara’s gorillas? Last I was in Nostalgia they said that Guevara’s gorillas were attacking the vikings. Or some such nonsense.”
Jaime nodded, “There are a group of people living in the north of Historia calls themselves Vikings. Guevara is a name from the south, so it’s likely some kind of blood feud. Probably dates back decades. Most likely thing is someone’s granpappy ticked off someone else’s granpappy somehow.”
Clifford had noticed some time back that they’d started uphill once more. This meant that a view of Historia was only minutes away. Jaime, as if hearing Clifford’s thoughts, spoke up, “You’ll be able to see Historia once we reach the top of this hill. I have to warn you, Historia is a lot different from Nostalgia.”
“How so?”
“More people, mostly. The last census put the population at about 45 thousand. Probably more, there’s a bunch of people who never respond to that thing, but use the paper as kindling.”
Clifford shrugged. He’d never heard of a census. For some reason, as they climbed higher on the hill, his thoughts went back to his time at the University. He’d been an average student; the teacher had released him to the real world at the age of eighteen. His classmates had been a little surprised that he’d made it out that early, but given that he had a thirty-two year old classmate at the time, no one seemed to argue with the teacher’s decision.
By the age of twenty he was working with his dad, building houses and other buildings in the town. At twenty-three, an odd age for most men in Nostalgia, he’d set off to the south. He came back six months later, twenty-fours years old, and having completed the unwritten rite of passage for Nostalgia males. He’d gone south and returned. Left with nothing, came back with a pocketful of tree bark.
Now the top of the hill neared. Nostalgia was far behind. Historia was just ahead. And as they topped the hill, they saw that much of Historia was on fire. The pyramid loomed over everything, and smoke billowed from the windows at the top.
Clifford looked at Jaime, who was terror-struck. Jaime screamed and began running down the hill. Clifford just stood there for a moment. He was okay with Jaime going away, he honestly didn’t like the guy. As he watched Historia burn, he thought of nothing but Schrodinger.
Then he began walking downhill. He still had to reach Historia. The actual town. The pyramid. Now that he saw it, he knew that he had to reach it. He had to reach it fast.
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