How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex (31 page)

Samael halted and wiped his forehead. “In my younger days… I could make the climb to the ranches… thrice daily. Now I fear death along the way. The trip up to your homestead this morning was worse. I should have met you at the docks.” He plopped down on a rock beside the path and patted his stomach. “There are some drawbacks to a plentiful summer after all, good rancher.”

Balyar smirked. “The life of a merchant makes you soft. Working a ranch for a season would keep you fit.”

“I’ve no doubt. But the upcoming winter will make us all leaner, especially if we don’t plan well. That’s why our voice must be heard at the Council. There are over twelve hundred people depending on our foresight and strength. It’s a responsibility I take quite seriously.”

“Well spoken, my friend. And you feel Tharmstron will be an asset?”

Samael’s eyes gleamed. “Yes, but always remember that Tharmstron speaks for the trappers, much the same as you speak for ranchers and I for the Noreldan merchants. We of the northern communities form a broad alliance born of geography and mutual needs. Our stronger bonds are to our constituents and finally to our families. There may be circumstances where Tharmstron will do whatever is in his people's best interest and not necessarily ours.”

Finally, they reached the settlement’s edge. The sun had burned the morning haze, and Lake Norelda's rippling blue water swarmed with boats of various shapes and sizes.

They entered Norelda's bustling streets, confronted by citizens offering praise, food, and drink. Samael nodded curtly yet ushered Balyar and Kristren away.
  

Samael glanced toward the elevated sun. “Let’s move on. Noon approaches and we’re expected at the ferry dock. Tharmstron and his companion will be waiting.”

The men arrived at a gateway cut through a rock wall. A line of heavily laden Zampha carts plodded through the gate and downward toward the lake.

Samael beamed. “Packs for the giant Yaakraya, crammed with furs and garments stitched in Noreldan factories.”

Kristren’s eyes danced.

The men strolled through the gate and then down to a series of floating docks located several hundred meters below. Balyar noticed a large boat with a flat deck tied to the dock. Several men crisscrossed the deck, checking sails and fastening rigging. Another dozen men used a huge wooden lever-crane to hoist the heavy packs from the carts onto the boat.

Balyar counted aloud. “Three or four dozen Yaakraya packs at least.”

Samael smiled broadly.

Balyar and Samael approached the ferry. Kristren took his father's bag and hurled it aboard. One of the ferrymen smiled at Kristren and tossed the bag below deck. Samael stepped across a plank and onto the boat.

Balyar bid Kristren farewell. Kristren trotted off the dock and up the road. Jett followed, jumping and sniffing at the boy’s feet.

Balyar watched until Kristren disappeared through the gate and then boarded the ferry. Behind him, two burly men approached the dock. Balyar noticed both men carried bags fashioned from hides of wild animals. One man was three or four seasons older than the other and sported a long, dark beard. The younger man was clean-shaven. Both wore fur-lined hats, Mathran jackets, and Alem-hide boots. They strode up the plank, tossing bags to the crew.

The older trapper smiled. “I see you made it, honorable Samael. And you must be the rancher, Balyar.” He reached out and seized the rancher’s wrist. “You have the reputation of a fair and honorable man.”

“Yes, I am Balyar. And I’m honored to finally meet the esteemed Tharmstron. I’ve heard many tales...”

The trapper bellowed, “I hope all you have heard has been good.” He turned to his young companion. “This is Ruppon. He has an interesting story to tell, but only before the Council of Representatives as I have pledged to Master Druiden of Adair.”

The young trapper nodded.

The four men watched as the last gigantic pack was hoisted aboard and secured to the ship’s deck. The ferrymen released their vessel, and three rowboats towed the boat to the bay’s mouth. A southwest wind ruffled the lake, and the ferrymen raised two broad sails. And with the wind at their tail, they sailed toward the lake’s center.

**********

Kristren jogged up the path with Jett following close behind. Kristren halted and turned. Before him, Lake Norelda glistened in the bright sunshine. He placed his hand to his brow, spotting a brown platform with two white blotches amid the field of deep blue.

“My time is coming soon, Jett. Next year, I’ll be the one who goes to Tyrie. I’ll be the one who’ll ride the Yaak to the city of the confluence and beyond. This, I promise, Jett. I promise with all my heart.”

Jett turned his brown eyes to the boy, barked, and bound up the path. Kristren jogged after him.

**********

Balyar grasped the railing as the ferry listed and bobbed beneath bulging sails. He turned and saw the outline of the distant settlement atop a thin band at the water’s far shore. High above the settlement, his beloved ranch was lost in the distance.

Balyar sighed, watching lakebirds dodge the ship’s mast. Samael meandered across the creaking deck to Balyar’s side. Both men marveled at the distant, snowcapped peaks to the north and northwest.

The afternoon sun drifted downward, and the ferry sailed southwestward driven by a steady wind. By early evening, Balyar spotted the Yaakrider’s base near the foot of the slender lake. Atop the ship’s highest mast, a keen-sighted ferryman studied the distant site and then yelled joyously. The other ferrymen cheered in response.

Samael turned to Balyar. “The ferrymen have spotted the Yaakrider’s banner on the shoreline. There will be no delay. We’ll be underway by morning.”

The ferry moved toward the docks as the sun touched the western mountains. Balyar observed two proud young men standing on the shore: one man was tall with trimmed hair, and the other was shorter with dark hair bound across his forehead. Behind the two men stood a field of huge, stoic Yaak, their whitish-brown hair contrasting the dark forest. Several other stern-faced men emerged behind the row of Yaak.

The ferry eased into the dock. Ferrymen jumped to the wooden planks and secured the ship. The two men on shore approached the dock.

CHAPTER
 
7 (The Yaakmen of Tyrie)

Q
uintar and Carathis emerged from the Yaakrider’s barracks just as the sun poked above Tyrie’s snow-laden ranges. Steadfastly, they strode downward along the settlement’s angled streets, their flowing green robes tucked neatly beneath heavy woolen coats. Upon reaching the settlement’s lowest tier, they approached Tyrie’s Great Meeting Hall. Quintar noticed the Hall’s sloped rooftop blanketed with newly fallen snow. He followed the Supreme Yaakleader through the Hall’s ornate doorway.

The two Yaakmen entered a huge room filled with lavish artwork and polished furnishings. The wall opposite the doorway supported four deep windows facing northeast to capture the morning sun, and between stood wooden sculptures hewed to the likeness of Tyrie’s wild creatures. Quintar noted the Yaak’s proud image displayed most prominently. Quintar rubbed his boot upon a floor constructed of dark Sohla planks, patterned in concentric boxes spiraling inward to the room’s center. There, within an enormous stone fireplace, Olaf firewood crackled and spat, emitting a sweet odor that Quintar inhaled with great pleasure.

A group of robed individuals sat at a large rectangular table located near the hearth. A balding man with a white beard rose to his feet and bowed curtly. “Hail the noble Carathis and young Quintar.”

“And greetings to you, Pincar,” Carathis replied. “Friend and delegate of Tyrie’s merchants.”

Carathis and Quintar removed their coats, and then sat.

Ruma, head of the Council of Representatives and delegate of the confluence’s farming community, sat at the table’s head. He rose from his seat with palms outstretched, his ornamented robe flowing gracefully to his elbows. The conversations ceased and all eyes were drawn forward. “All representatives are present. The meeting can proceed.”

Ruma began with an introduction of the Council. To Ruma's right sat Councilwoman Charon— a proud and noble lady with short, graying hair. She represented Tyrie’s tradespeople: the manufacturers, miners, and carpenters. Ruma’s son Hayden sat beside her. Both Hayden and Ruma represented Tyrie’s farmers: a large and most influential faction. Carathis and Quintar sat to Charon’s left. The noble Adairian educator Druiden sat to Hayden’s right, and next to him, the young scribe Porrias. Beside Porrias sat the uneasy representative of Adair’s fishing industry, Barrazan.

Seated opposite Ruma, were the amiable and wealthy Tyrinian merchants: Pincar and Dumas. Dumas was the eldest representative and respected by all for his wisdom and insight. The Noreldan merchant Samael and the Noreldan rancher Balyar sat near the table’s center. The robust trapper Tharmstron was seated to Balyar's right, and next to him sat the mysterious trapper Ruppon.

The meeting began with a lengthy summary of the past season presented by each group’s representative. Hayden spoke of an excellent growing season and a surplus of grains, fruits, and tuber foods grown to supplement the Yaak’s natural diet. Ruma interrupted Hayden and complemented Druiden on the development of rich, new strains of Charkur and Waax, and grains engineered to resist pestilence and vermin.

Charon talked at length of manufacturing production and the discovery of new veins of salts and metal ore. Barrazan stood before the Council and spoke of a successful harvest of Quidida and Zariema— dried, salted, and awaiting shipment north to Tyrie and Norelda. And Druiden talked with great passion of advancements in education and the sciences.

Balyar spoke of a huge harvest of Mathran wool, which brought gasps of astonishment from the representatives and smiles from the merchants— all except the old and wizened merchant Dumas, who sat stroking his gray eyebrows with wrinkled fingers. Quintar noticed Ruma glancing frequently at the elder councilman, apparently noting Dumas’s reaction to each topic discussed.

Tharmstron rose and talked of an abundance of pelts for sale in the three settlements. “Heavy and rich they are. Never in all my seasons have I seen such quality on the hides of wild creatures.”

Suddenly the elder Dumas's eyes flashed with a mixture of both dismay and concern. He lowered his head, falling deeply in thought.

Finally, Quintar stood before the Council and recounted several successful hunting expeditions into the distant mountainous regions above the northwest river branch. “The lands were strange, and the air was thin but game was robust and abundant.” He talked of expanding trade runs north to Norelda and south to Adair, and of the nature and disposition of the Yaak-beasts of Tyrie. As he spoke, Quintar felt Ruma’s slicing eyes, sometimes glimpsing signs of admiration in his father’s grim face, yet most of the farmer’s expressions faded rapidly to looks of sadness and regret.

Ruma rose from his seat, glancing to both Dumas and Carathis. “And now we shall discuss the reason why I have asked for an extra day of council. I realize this is a busy time of year for all of us, and I know you are all anxious to return to your homes, trades, and loved ones. But I would not have asked for this time, if the matter to be presented were of little significance. I hope we all listen and debate this subject earnestly and with open minds, for it may affect all of our lives during these coming cycles.” Ruma paused. “I will now ask the esteemed Carathis to speak.” Ruma sat.

Carathis folded his hands. He began slowly. “Most of us know that the Yaak is a species of high intellect, which is quite evident in my guild’s daily interactions with the beasts and the cooperation they have offered humans for untold generations— the nature of which even we Yaakriders do not fully comprehend yet accept gratefully.

“But many are unaware that the Yaakbeasts also possess superior instinct. They anticipate conditions in our ever-changing environment far beyond man’s current understanding or reasoning.”

Carathis cleared his throat. “I’ll be direct, good council members. We have observed the Yaak stockpiling huge amounts of Waax and Charkur over the last several cycles.”

“Should this concern us, Master Yaakrider?” Tharmstron asked. “Is it unusual for the Yaak to store food for winter?”

“Because, good councilman, even the old-timers have never seen the Yaak hoard so much, in so little time, and so urgently. More alarmingly, the beasts have actually accelerated their pace of hoarding as winter draws closer.”

Councilwoman Charon spoke: “Has it not been said, good Yaakleader, when the Yaakbeasts store food early in fall, the ensuing winter will be unusually long and cold?”

“You are correct, Lady Charon. The Yaak’s instinct is seldom proved wrong. We can think of no other reason for their behavior.”

“And this may explain the quality of the pelts we’ve trapped,” Tharmstron added. “I fear a good season for a trapper may prove a dangerous omen for us all.”

Carathis raised his hand softly. “Yes, and if I may continue, I’ll add that the Yaak’s hair is of unusual fullness this fall— thick and strong.”

The members sat silently, pondering everything said.

The merchant Pincar spoke first. “All of this is interesting speculation, but I’ve heard this all before. Last year we heard evidence that a certain conjunction of Ellini and Alberon would bring a disastrous winter. The year before we were told a drought would bring a cold and harsh season.” He sighed. “And both years, the winters were average. Why should we think this year different?” Pincar shook his head.

Many representatives turned to one another, nodding.

The Adairian scholar Druiden rose. “Let us not dismiss these observations so hurriedly, good council members. I agree with the honorable Pincar. We must not alarm the public without ample evidence, yet these are unusual signs and call for careful debate.” Druiden sat.

“None can foresee the future,” Ruma said. “Nonetheless, we should always prepare for the worst. A severe winter will cause hardship for all of our people. Only fools would not take precautions. This is the least we owe our citizens.”

Some representatives stared at the table, while others watched the fireplace. Quintar noticed Ruma’s face suddenly flush with shadow.

“There is something else,” Ruma said gravely. “But before we debate this most controversial issue, my friend and senior representative, Dumas, has requested some time to address you. Dumas has asked only for our patience and for us to kindly listen to his statement.”

Dumas lifted his frail body gently from his seat. He nodded curtly to Ruma, steadying himself against the table’s edge. “Fellow representatives, I have seen by my calculations the better part of thirteen springs. I know but a few in all the lands who can make such a claim. Maybe now, there are none still alive.

“For this, I consider myself most fortunate, not only for a long life, but also for the opportunity, so freely given to me, to nobly serve my guild, my city, and our civilization.”

Dumas's gray eyes darted from person to person, catching briefly the transfixed gaze of each. “But, alas my bones grow old, and I’m fast becoming weary, and I’m confident that I will not witness winter’s end and spring’s golden renewal. Yet perhaps before I depart, I can still be of use to the Council and to Tyrie. And I’m grateful the Council has allowed an old man his opportunity to ramble onward once again.”

Carathis said, “I speak for the entire Council, Master merchant. We are all honored to be in the presence of one who has served Tyrie with such dignity and for so long. Your opinions will always be heard with earnestness and given the greatest reflection and consideration.”

There was a murmur of consensus around the table. Dumas lowered his head, seemingly eager to continue.

“My earliest recollections are of the winter preceding the spring of my second year. My father was a simple merchant, selling Noreldan pelts in the winter or grains in summer and fall. My mother was a strong woman, kept busy raising two daughters and five sons for which I was youngest.

“We were not a wealthy merchant family, yet we managed to survive living in a cabin somewhere to the northwest of Tyrie— the exact location I’ll never know, but I do recall our home was located on the wilderness’s edge. As you all know, many homesteads in those earlier times were dispersed many kilometers from Tyrie’s main settlement, even though our population was less than half what it is today. These pioneers did not depend on the settlement for their daily needs, and they remained self-sufficient even through the harshest winters. I don’t recall many neighbors, nor contact with humans other than my family, until my father brought me to Tyrie’s settlement the following spring.

“That particular winter was unusually long, and I can still feel the bitter cold in the depths of my bones. The storms raged for days and days, and sometimes a single storm would pile snow higher than the height of a man. I recall that by mid-winter, the drifts covered our cabin’s roof.

“On a clear and cold afternoon, a strange man arrived at our homestead. He was tall and rugged, and his face was scarred and his cheeks burned from cold. A dark beard hung beneath the burn, speckled with frost that stuck to the strands like ice on trees. We had never seen a man like this before, so quite naturally my brothers and I became quite fascinated with the stranger.

“My older brothers urged me outside the cabin and through a tunnel of snow, and up a wooden stair we had built to reach the snow’s height. There, I remember seeing a huge, white figure. My five brothers and I circled the furry creature, studying its sturdy legs and stroking its gnarled, white pelt. I noticed a freshly healed wound above a greenish stain on the Yaak-beast’s side. The misfortunate creature carried a harness and pack upon its arched back.

“Yaakman, my eldest brother said, motioning toward the cabin where the stranger rested.

“Long past the afternoon and into the evening, the stranger and my father spoke in hushed tones. Their speech was laced with anxiety and their faces flushed with anguish. To this day, I never forgot the look of absolute fear upon my father's face. My mother trembled with dread and huddled her children, sharing the stranger's secret with only the eldest, whom she reasoned old enough to understand.

“Before dawn of the following day, the stranger was gone.

“For some time thereafter, my father and my eldest brother Gerrob would leave home for days on end, returning exhausted and anxious. Many strangers came to our home, some staying hours, some staying days; all seemed to bring sorrowful news. Food was scarce and my family sometimes went for weeks without meat, surviving on meager rations of stale grains and wild roots.

“One fateful night, my father returned alone. He bled from the head and arm and lay weakened from blood-loss. My mother tended to his wounds and then gathered the family. With her head held high, she told us that our father would recover from his wounds, but she sobbed uncontrollably while reporting Gerrob’s death.

“Was it a...? My older sister asked, daring not utter the unspeakable word.

“Yes, my mother said grimly. It was Ordai.”

Ordai!
Quintar thought.
Ordai! Someone still lives who witnessed a time when the legendary snow-beasts invaded the Valley of the Great Confluence. It was as if a tale told in folklore burst into life through a single eyewitness. No other name could exact a more emotional response from Tyrie’s citizens.