Historia, Part XXIV

They just stared at each other for what seemed like ages. Clifford reached up to scratch his own chin and realized that he now sported a full beard. As this realization dawned on him, hunger pangs growled from his stomach, “What do we have to eat?”

Schrodinger looked around, trying to find one of the cats, “Mr. MeowMeow, did you find the stock room?”

The cat stopped running long enough to speak, “Yes, down the main hall on the left. There is food for humans there.”

Clifford used his head to point the way and he hobbled after Schrodinger down the main hall. Schrodinger continually glanced back at him as they walked, “I sent some of my people to get your belongings at the house of Shakespeare. We have your bundle and guitar. Any idea where your old travel bag is?”

Clifford shook his head, “I haven’t seen it since....” And he realized that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen it, even though he’d had it in Lithe, which he’d been in at most three days earlier, but his time-sense was so messed up that it might have been decades since he’d been in Lithe, and in his dreams he’d doubted if Lithe even existed.

“No matter,” Schrodinger continued, “We’ll get you some food and talk about your plans for the pyramid.”

They reached the stock room and found cans of food, as well as a running refrigerator, which, after Schrodinger explained to Clifford what it was, Clifford slowly opened it to find cold drinks and cold cheese.

As they sat down to meal at the small table a rumble of thunder echoed down the hall, followed by the soft pitter-patter of rain on the roof. Clifford continued eating.

“Well,” Schrodinger said between bites, “you really think you can get in alone?”

“Hmm-mmm,” was the best Clifford could muster with a mouth full of food. He swallowed and nearly choked, “Yeah, I think it’ll be easier that way.”

The mouse nodded, “I can understand that. My mission here with the cats actually has nothing to do with the pyramid.”

Clifford, for no real reason other than he had loads of pent-up frustration with Historia, found this statement extremely annoying, “So why did you drag me along? And be honest with me, mouse.”

Schrodinger wiped his hands off on the tablecloth, “Okay. Honestly, you were as you said you were. You were a means to an end. I hate to tell you that, because at first that’s all you were. Then I learned of your gift, and realized that you would be excellent for replacing Father Time.”

Clifford just sat there, “So that’s it? You admit then that I was a means to an end?”

The mouse nodded.

“So my being here really doesn’t effect what you guys are doing? You really didn’t need me to get into the sentry station?”

“Actually,” Schrodinger said, “I was testing a theory there. I’m sorry you got shot. My theory was that, since you are here to replace Father Time the sentries on duty would recognize that fact and let you pass. I mean, with the strange crap that has been going on around you, why not?”

Clifford took another bite of the cold cheese, “And so I was your theory?”

“In a way,” the mouse replied, “But not necessarily. My theory was more on the lines of...”

Clifford held up a hand to stop him, “I don’t need any more of your psychobabble. I just want to finish this bite in peace,“ Clifford then stood up and began walking away, “Then I have to go. Now.”

He started for the door and then began the slow walk down the main hall. Schrodinger sat at the table for a few seconds before Clifford’s possible plan dawned on him.

The mouse then leapt from the table, and in his haste stumbled over a crack in the floor. By the time he regained his footing to follow him, Clifford was well ahead, “I understand your desire to leave, Clifford.” Schrodinger half-yelled, “But I implore you to at least wait until the storm passes.”

Clifford continued walking toward the courtyard. Schrodinger went after him, but was far enough behind that Clifford beat him to the open area by nearly ten seconds, which was more than enough time for him to cross to the cot and the shelf and grab the book.

As he turned around he saw a look of fear cross the mouse’s face, “No, Clifford, don’t.”

Clifford returned Schrodinger’s semi-evil grin, “Oh yeah.”

His thought process was actually rather simple, especially when compared to the mind-churning mental arithmetic he did when sorting out who Sora Thii actually was. Schrodinger had told him that his life was contained in a History book, which was impossible. And even if it was, then the likely outcome of Clifford opening the book and looking inside would be that he would enter a continual loop of opening the book and looking inside and opening the book and looking inside and opening the book and looking inside. And let’s be honest, that’s a far less stressful life than the one he’s living now.

Schrodinger, though, knew the truth of the situation.

Clifford opened the book.

Historia, Part XXIII

Personification is that attribution of human qualities to an inanimate object, roughly translated. English majors, especially those focused on poetry will tell you that the concept of personification cannot really be encapsulated in one sentence, and then they will go on to tell you all about personification and provide you with examples from every major literary period.

But in this case, just know that personification is the attribution of human qualities to an inanimate object. Therefore, the mere existence of doctor Sora Thii is reverse, or anti-, personification. She took on the qualities of an inanimate object, the city of Historia itself. Clifford would later learn that Sora Thii had been a real doctor. She was raised by her father after her mother had died in childbirth. Her father was strict military and he’d raised her to be as loyal as anyone to Historia.

She spent so much time around the military that she enlisted as a medic during one of the wars. No one really knows how she came to take on the attributes of the city, but she did. And as Historia faltered and failed, so did her body, until it became the thing that Clifford Jenkins killed.

Schrodinger had watched the entire conflict. There was no secret mission, and Slagthor was gone to scout out their next position. Everything Sora Thii had said to Clifford was a lie. And Clifford Jenkins was very good with guns.

“What do you mean, she didn’t love Father Time?” Clifford blurted, “If she’s the embodiment of Historia then she should basically worship him, shouldn’t she?”

Schrodinger leaned back on Clifford’s pillow, “Why? Ever since this current Father Time took power this city has crumbled. War has been everywhere, and it seems to have no end. That’s part of the reason why you’re here.”

“To replace Father Time, end the war, yada yada. I’m still trying to figure out how I live in a History book.”

The mouse sighed, “I really wish I could tell you, Clifford. But you know that I can’t. Now, why were you planning to go ahead? According to you I would’ve understood.”

Clifford limped over to the broken wall and sat down, “In my dreams I kept going to the pyramid alone. I think that I have to do just that. I’m sorry, but that’s why I came here. I realized it in my sleep. I left Nostalgia an came all this way, suffered what I suffered, lost you, lost Jamie, all so that I could go to that pyramid alone. I doubt the resistance will be too daunting. The statue toppled, the cannon exploded, and the top of the pyramid burned. I think I’ll be able to get in rather easily.”

Schrodinger rolled a bit to each side, wallowing out a deeper spot in the pillow, “You really think that you’ll be able to waltz into the pyramid without us? If it hadn’t been for us you wouldn’t have gotten this far. Honestly, Clifford, if I hadn’t led the way and Slagthor commanded his fellow cats to attack all who stood in our way...”

“Then I would never have gotten shot and I probably would’ve found my own way,” Clifford leaned forward, “I dreamed about that too. If I hadn’t met up with you after Jamie was killed I would’ve followed the streets to the pyramid, avoided the soldiers, and made it perfectly safely.”

Schrodinger stood up suddenly, “We’re both just conjecturing at this point. You and I both know that conjecturing does nothing but waste time. I’ve tried to protect you so far, Clifford Jenkins. From the moment we entered the King’s Valley I’ve been doing all I could to steer you in the right path.”

“And yet,” Clifford interjected, “when I lost you in Lithe I made it the rest of the way in relative safety and with a fair amount of haste. I probably could’ve done so without Jamie’s help.”

“Once again, conjecture.”

Clifford exhaled, frustrated, “Look, I just need to go on, okay? I shouldn’t have to explain myself.”

Schrodinger nodded, “Absolutely. Go on, then.”

Clifford just stared at him, “What?”

“Go. You’re set on it, I can tell.”

There was a moment, it felt to Clifford like years, that lasted only a few seconds, in which silence reigned over the courtyard of the sentry station. Clifford stared at Schrodinger, who returned the stare with equal, if not more fierce, intensity.

Then Clifford spoke, “I can’t do that.”

Schrodinger grinned, “I knew it. You need us.”

Clifford shook his head, “No, I don’t need you, Schrodinger. I haven’t needed you since Lithe.”

The mouse was, for the first time (Clifford noted it for the first time, and he was pretty sure that it indeed was the first time) confused. He looked down for a moment, then back up at Clifford, “I don’t understand.”

Clifford pointed to the shelf behind the cot, the place Schrodinger had watched the ordeal with Sora Thii from, “That book up there, the one you told me not to open...”

“Yeah?”

“I want to see how it ends.”

Historia, Part XXII

There is an old adage that reads “Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.” This adage has been attributed to many authors, philosophers, and even a stockbroker living in Trenton, New Jersey in the late 1960s, but they all had something wrong. Not a single one of the lot took into account the possibility that somewhere along the way history would be torn to shreds and pieced back together by a scholar, a monk, and a priest. What sounds like the start to a really funny joke actually set into motion a chain of events that echoed across time and space.

This group, commissioned by the first Father Time, had access to a library that had been ransacked and partially burned, and also to a history book in which every other page had been meticulously cut out. The aftermath was that history was pieced together using fiction to fill in the blanks. The Earth had been created by mice as an experiment (or created by God, Clifford‘s Teacher at the University had been a staunch supporter of this theory, if he‘d even existed, that is), after which time dinosaurs arose and dominated the landscape for some time, up until an ice age had forced a giant hairy elephant, a tiger, and a sloth to rescue a baby.

The baby, it was conjectured, had founded the University of Oxford, and then went on to rename himself Nobel. There was the first and second World Wars, and then there were five more world wars, each using the same weapons technology as the second. Once the wars were over it was realized that the planet’s population had been decimated.

The survivors huddled together in a large valley between two mountain ranges that eventually came to be known as the Mountains of Antiquity (Antique Mountains) to the east and the Mountains of Convenience to the west. The valley came to be called Historia, and a great city was devised on the models of cities found drawn in scrolls and books in the burned out library.

There have since been seventeen Father Time’s and, if a certain mouse General has his way, Clifford Jenkins will be replacing the current one. Of course, Clifford is passed out on a makeshift cot in a sentry station. He’s just been told that his life is bound by a history book that he used at the University in Nostalgia (or did he?) and that even though he once opened it every day (or did he?) he can no longer open it because he’s not allowed to know the ending.

The cot was very uncomfortable. Even in the fitful nightmares he was having while passed out, Clifford’s subconscious was standing in the corner of his skull complaining loudly about how uncomfortable the cot was.

He opened his eyes slowly, and the first thing he noticed was that it was nearing dawn in Historia. The second thing he noticed was that Schrodinger was not there. Doctor Sora Thii was standing a few feet away, looking out a window.

Clifford pushed himself into a sitting position and then moved his injured leg off the edge of the cot. He put a small amount of pressure on it, just to see if it could hold his weight. There was little pain, and so he stood up.

“Mr. Jenkins,” Sora Thii said, turning to face him, “You’re up.”

“Where’s Schrodinger?”

She stepped closer to him, “The General went on a secret mission with Slagthor.”

“Ah, Mittens.” Clifford grimaced as he took an awkward step, “Not so secret of a mission if you’re telling everyone, is it?”

She laughed, “You are part of the group. I figured it safe enough to tell you.”

Clifford straightened his shirt, “Well, I have to go on. Tell Schrodinger that I had to. He’ll understand.”

“No, you can’t. General’s orders. You are to remain here until he gets back.”

He looked at her puzzled, “I’m not a soldier. He’s not my General. I’m going on.”

She moved to block his path, “No!”

For a brief moment Clifford Jenkins could not understand why this doctor who had been so subdued and docile was suddenly stopping him. His brain began to whir, the synapses firing at about 8500 rpms. He would’ve thought that you could see smoke coming from his ears if he’d been able to think of anything other than Sora Thii.

She just stood there, blocking the door that would lead on toward the pyramid. He studied her, and then he blinked. In that moment, everything changed.

He once thought Sora Thii was beautiful, and she was to him. But now she was scary to say the least. Her skin was somewhat decayed, and seemed to decay more with each breath. Her clothes were tattered and her hair thinned. The eyes that had captivated more than one of his passed out dreams were now sunken pits on a marred face.

He drew back a bit, and did so suddenly. Sora Thii revealed a long dagger and began moving toward him in jerky motions. He stepped backward and found himself talking, “No no no no, you can’t. I need to move on. Schrodinger, your general, he knows that I need to. I’m not even supposed to be here. I shouldn’t even be talking to you. I mean, one day I’m sitting at home, the next day I’m walking toward...”

To explain what happened next in Clifford’s mind would require three blackboards, eighteen cases of chalk, a professor of theoretical physics from MIT, and a congressman to make you believe it all. I’ll try to explain it for you.

Clifford had been babbling nonsense from the moment Sora Thii produced the knife. He’d been backing up to draw her away from the door, hoping he could move past her quickly enough. He was also rather confused and terrified about her sudden change. As he tried to fit everything together in his head, a small gem of knowledge appeared. He simply rearranged the letters in her name. Let’s get back to the action...

“...Historia!”

The half-decaying doctor stopped. She tilted her head sideways, much like a puppy, “What?”

He just blinked, “Historia. You are Historia. Your name has the same number of letters, and is in fact a jumbled up version of Historia. You were never on our side.”

He was shocked to hear himself say “our side.”

Sora Thii gripped the knife even tighter, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Clifford smiled, “I think I do, actually. Father Time sent you to infiltrate Schrodinger’s army. You hid yourself as the doctor, taking on a rather pleasing form, I might add. Once you were positioned at the sentry station you were going to take out all the soldiers that Schrodinger brought and end whatever threat he posed to Father Time. Is that right?”

She grinned very evilly, “Not even close.”

He allowed himself to look disappointed, “Oh well.” He picked up the gun he’d been so deftly maneuvering to and fired once, shooting the good doctor squarely in the forehead.

“I never realized you were so good with guns, Clifford Jenkins.”

He spun around to see Schrodinger standing on a ledge behind him, “What was that?”

The mouse scampered down and jumped up onto the cot, “That was Historia, just as you said. I think you were right in saying that much, but I don’t think she had any love for Father Time. I’d say that she realized you could undo her, and she wanted to stop you.”

“So why was she all decayed?”

“This city is dying Clifford. I figured that you would’ve caught on to that by now.” Schrodinger said, once again grinning.