New World: a Frontier Fantasy Novel

by Steven W. White

  "I imagine not."

  "You try it and I'll thump you silly."

  "Yes, sir."

  Bogg didn't feel especially mad at the boy anymore. "You standing out there on your lonesome don't serve either of us. Why don't you come over and have some?"

  "I'll come over soon enough," Simon said. "As for breakfast, I've had mine. And I mean it this time."

  Bogg frowned. "You sure? The horses stayed. You've got an easy ride back home. I got no quarrel with you now."

  Simon finished the last of the venison and slapped his hands together up and down, as if his eating it was a job well done. "I was thinking rather the opposite. Since the horses stayed, we can ride on together."

  #

  Chapter 9

  Bogg was so tickled at the notion of a second day clipping along on horseback that he didn't make a fuss about Simon staying with him. Getting the boy safely out of his hair was turning into a real conundrum, so he decided not to think on it.

  The path was still there, but faint -- just a strip on the ground running between the trees where the forest litter was a little thinner. Bogg knew he was on the trail though. Every so often, a clear boot print in an exposed patch of moist ground smiled up at him bright as day.

  Daisy was slower and tireder, sure enough. Both horses needed water. If he remembered his bearings, Bogg thought, there was a stream up ahead. Cripple Creek, it was called, nearer to Driftwood Bay, but that was a stretch from here. Bogg had never seen it this high up. The trail was climbing, away from the coast, heading toward the pines beneath the Starry Mountains, and the hill just slowed the horses down more. They would have to find water soon.

  But even at the pace of a wore out horse, they'd beat the pace of five walking Algolan mercenaries steeped in blood. If this was the way the chase kept going, Bogg would be on those sons of bitches in short order.

  A whispery sound came from ahead, barely more than wind in the trees.

  Bogg called behind him. "Hear that, pup?"

  Simon snapped alert. "What is it?"

  "A chance for our rides to get a rest." They would stop and forage for food, too. Graze a little, all four of them.

  The rushing sound of water grew stronger as they peered through the white-barked birches and here-and-there mossy boulders big as the houses back in Fort Sanctuary. The trees up ahead were missing, and Bogg reckoned that had to be it.

  But it was a canyon.

  Water rushed by fifty feet below, heading eost to the sea. The drop off was pretty sharp, just a downward slope of bare rock for a few feet, then a straight plunge to the rapids.

  "Don't that beat all!" Bogg thundered. The roar of the water swallowed his voice. "I judge this is the tail end of Molly's Ravine. Hadn't reckoned it ran so deep so far downstream. Sorry, Daisy. No drink for you. Must be like smelling whisky through a jailhouse winder."

  "How do we cross?" cried the pup, and he was right. It sure was some kind of obstacle. Down, across, and up, maybe... that meant no more horses. Bogg took a long gander upstream to the left and downstream to the right. Downstream a ways he spotted a bridge... no, it weren't no bridge. Just a bunch of ropes running across. Bogg pointed. "There! Say goodbye to your horses, pup."

  On foot from now on. This slipped an ace to his quarry's hand. Bogg ground his molars over it, then decided it weren't no matter. He'd catch them. It was inevitable. Just postponed a bit. He dismounted and unhitched the saddlebags.

  Simon stepped off and petted Jouster's gray mane. "Will they be all right? They're a long way from home."

  "Don't fret for them. They got more sense on such things than you and me."

  "We should feed them."

  "With what? Our food?"

  "We can't just abandon them. Maybe they'd eat the rice."

  "You don't seem to appreciate what a precious thing food is, boy."

  "I certainly do. That's my point."

  "Listen fast, pup. It's hunger and thirst that will drive them homeward. You feed them and they'll just mill around here. Now, get your pack off."

  #

  Simon was glad to set the horses free, but he thought Bogg was dead wrong about feeding them. This morning had been miserable, the horses gasping and slogging up the hills, their necks straining and their heads low. A little nourishment after their hard work would be the right thing to do. Simon would even split a waterskin between them.

  Bogg slapped Daisy's rump and said, "Git!" Daisy started off, seemed to lose track of where she was headed, and walked a lazy circle back to Bogg. Bogg waved his hand at her and started along the edge of the ravine with the saddlebags over his shoulder.

  Simon took hold of Jouster's head, petted the mare's white star, and looked into her tired, shining black eye. "Go home, Jouster. Go on. Thank you." He hurried after Bogg. The horses watched them go.

  Bogg and Simon marched to an outcrop of rock where the width of the gap narrowed to forty feet or so. At the edge, three posts were driven into the ground.

  "A rope bridge," Simon said. A single rope, tied at the bottom of the middle post, ran across the chasm to the middle of three posts on the other side. Two more ropes, tied at the top of each outer post, ran across similarly. That was all. Simon would have to walk on the middle rope like a carnival performer and cling to the upper ropes for balance. Water rushed by, splashing itself white, fifty feet below.

  Simon swallowed. "Do you really think they came this way?"

  "I do."

  "Why couldn't somebody have built a more substantial bridge?"

  "This ain't a bridge, it's a circus act. Nobody comes this way, pup -- we're lucky to have this much. You stay on this side until I make it all the way across. If I fall... er..." Bogg scratched his beard in thought. "Go home."

  Bogg gripped the ropes tied to the outer posts and pulled at them firmly, then he yanked them and wiggled them so waves whipped across the chasm and jerked at the posts on the other side. All held firm. Then he knelt and whipped the center rope back and forth the same way. He shrugged and started across.

  "Sir? Have you ever crossed something like this before?"

  "Sure. Heck, I crossed a two-roper once. Just don't lose your balance. And stay the hell off until I'm across!"

  Simon watched Bogg to see how he did it. Bogg's head kept moving, flipping the coontail of his hat, looking right as he slid his right hand along that rope, looking left to move the left hand, then looking down to slide one foot, then the other foot. Then all over again, and again.

  Simon waited. The horses wandered over to watch the spectacle.

  "Hey, Sir?" Simon called.

  Bogg's roar was matched by the roar of the rapids. "What is it?"

  "Why didn't they cut it down behind them?"

  "Because they ain't cowards! Now shut up, I'm concentrating."

  Soon enough, Bogg reached the other side. Once he stood on firm ground, his whole body sagged, arms limp, exhausted. He let the saddlebags slip from his shoulder to the ground. He sank, knees wobbly, until he sat down.

  Simon stepped to the precipice.

  Water rushed by far below, and Simon couldn't get away from the idea that he would fall. He didn't think the ropes would break; they had held Bogg, who weighed twice what Simon did, or more. Simon's foot would slip, or a rope would pull free from his fingers. He could see himself rolling and tangling in the ropes for the briefest agonizing moment, reaching and grabbing, then tumbling down to the waves below, his body getting smaller and smaller.

  "I can't!" he cried to Bogg.

  Bogg got up, stretched, and put the bags over his shoulder. "Good! Take care of yourself lad. I'll be back, like as not, with the sword that killed your father."

  Simon's fingertips touched the bristly weave of the ropes. They felt alive, moving slightly as the ropes swayed in the wind across the ravine.

  Why did he need to do this? Why didn't he go home? He could find work
somehow, he could find someone to take care of him, find someone to protect him from Marshall Dunster and the other bullies --

  Simon's body tensed with rage. Would he always need someone's protection? Would he always live at the mercy of others? Would he always be weak and frail, a victim?

  He'd rather cast himself into those rapids.

  His fingers grabbed the ropes and squeezed until the rough fibers prickled his skin. A deep growl crept up from his throat. He stepped onto the center rope and edged his way down the slope of the outcropping, then out into open space.

  He shimmied along as he had seen Bogg do, looking left, then right, then down--

  Down! Water rushed by in the distance under his feet, and every muscle in his body screamed at the sight.

  But he kept going. He narrowed his eyes, trying to tune out the view of everything beyond his hands and feet. There was nothing else in the world, he told himself. Right hand, left hand, feet. Over and over. Right hand, left hand, feet.

  Some minutes went by, and Simon began to think he would make it. It became a matter of simple repetition, simple focus. Simon risked a glance straight ahead.

  Bogg was still there, watching him. But he was so far away!

  Simple focus. Simon kept going. He was smart enough for this. No rope bridge would outdo him.

  His legs began to quiver. The center rope bucked left and right under his feet, and the weight of his body tried to sink down past it. The ropes in his hands seemed to rise higher and higher over his head.

  A tiny dark shape in the water caught his eye. It startled him and he focused on it. It was his own shadow, lonely and small on the rapids.

  His foot slipped, and the center rope snapped up between his legs. He screamed, but held his grip on the side ropes as his body rocked wildly up and down. Eventually it came to rest, and trusting his life to the strength in his fingers, Simon worked one foot up to the center rope, then the other.

  His breath raged in and out of him, the sound lost to the rapids. He wanted to cry.

  Again... right hand, left hand, feet. Right hand, left hand, feet. Hello little shadow. Right hand, left hand, feet.

  And soon enough, Bogg was clinging to the center post, hanging over the water and reaching for him.

  Bogg grabbed Simon by the collar of his shirt and hauled him to solid ground. They both collapsed. Simon's body pressed itself flat and wide on the earth. He had no strength left.

  "Great Jupiter, pup!" cried Bogg in a high-pitched voice Simon had never heard before. His grimy, lined face was flushed red. "You most give me the fan-tods!"

  Simon lay there, grateful to be alive, but in the cellar of his mind he knew that the next stage of this journey -- travelling with Bogg on foot -- could be the real test.

  #

  Chapter 10

  Some time later, Bogg dragged himself to his feet. He let the boy lie for a bit longer while his eyes roved for the marks of his quarry. They were here, most notably an inch of dug-up earth where somebody stuck a sword in the ground. Other signs were quieter. Kicked gravel, a scuffed root at the base of a tree. They'd crossed those ropes late yesterday, then spent some time here. Bogg imagined these five mighty warriors spooked sweaty by that rope bridge and laying about, all noodly, until their nerves cooled off.

  If a sissy rope bridge had made it warm for them, then jest wait until Bogg caught them. Those corkers had no idea what they were in for.

  Bogg hauled Simon to standing and gave him some gear to carry. "Shank's mare, now, lad."

  "Wh-what?"

  "Our feet. Hustle up."

  Off they went. In time, the roar of Molly's Ravine faded, and Bogg could hear the thrush, thrush of his tread in the grass, steady as a heartbeat. From behind him, came swish-swish-swish.

  On this side of the ravine, there was no road, nor trail, nor footpath. Bogg reckoned the sight of those ropes turned most folks back. There were still the marks of his quarry, though, sure enough. So as long as Bogg stayed sharp, he'd keep with them.

  The grass grew knee-high, waist-high in clumps, dry and dusty-smelling. It seemed to hold sway over the land, except for patches of bare rocky ground here and there, and broad stretches of ragged green trees.

  Bogg had played over and over in his mind what these bastards were like and where they might go. This wasn't their country. They didn't know the wilderness, and made it though by sheer muscle and meanness. If they were privateers who had somehow misplaced their ship, they'd want to reach safe ground, familiar territory, friends.

  But they kept going inland.

  So Bogg had no choice but to reckon that they planned to go straight through, cross the Chilly Mountains, down the other side, a straight line to the coast and Pirate's Bay, and one of the towns there.

  Pirate's Bay was hell-and-gone from here. It wasn't the way Bogg would do it. He'd hug the coast and circle around, especially if the sea was what he knew best.

  Bogg walked. This was the real test of the new boots, and he kept his old boots in mind. Out here, foot blisters could kill a man, worst case, because any man who couldn't walk was dead soon enough. But the new boots felt all right.

  His eyes roved spot to spot on the ground, and on those wide stretches before him where there were no marks, he let his instincts lead. If I was a bloodthirsty murderous killer far from home, he thought, would I take that ridge or stay in those trees? The ground sloped up, and sometimes he scrabbled up patches of bare rock, and soon enough the smell of pines was in the air, and the deep green of needles and red-brown of pine bark showed through the thinning birches and hemlocks.

  The pup stayed with him. Bogg wondered if it was only because he was walking so slowly to catch the signs. Simon was indeed a quandary. On this side of the rope bridge, and without the horses, it hardly seemed possible to send him home now.

  His boots drew his attention. What was wrong with them?

  Nothing, he realized. The ground was getting softer. He spotted his quarry's leather boot prints to prove it. Shrubs grew here, hip-high, and the tracks worked into the wide spaces between them, clear as day.

  Shrubs and softer ground meant water was close. Bogg couldn't hear any rapids. But by and by they came upon Muddy River, wide, slow-moving, and shallow. It joined Molly's Ravine away upstream, and ran clear through the Chilly Mountains, getting its start in the Starry Mountains, possibly in the vicinity of Hottencold Lake, near Steamy Peak and Boiling Coffee Springs. That didn't mean it was all hot water belched up from the Earth's belly, no. Most of it was Chilly Range snowmelt.

  No bridge across this one. Bogg and the pup were too far from civilization and this river was just too wide. The pines on the far bank looked dark over the sunlit water, maybe two hundred feet away. The water here to there was cloudy brown and flat as glass. No rocks to hop to. "We might get wet on this one," Bogg said. "It's shallow, and right sleepy compared to the ravine. We'll wade."

  Simon eyed the water nervously. "How do you know it's shallow?"

  "Because they made it across, and with their armor and such, they were too laden to swim."

  Simon's adam's apple moved up and down in his throat. "Maybe they got swept away and drowned."

  Bogg glared at the pup. "That would be a real shame."

  "For us..."

  "For us. Them getting away like that. Nope. I don't take no stock in it. We'll walk right across, and shake the grunions and such out of our shoes on the other side." Bogg tightened his rope belt, tossed the saddlebags higher up on his shoulder, and jumped in with both feet.

  Icewater shot up to his knees and into his boots to his toes. Godzooks! That was cold. The bottom was sandy but not soft enough to get stuck in. Bogg waded on.

  Twenty feet out he was waist deep, and looked back to see the pup still on the bank. Bogg almost called to roust him into the water... but then he thought to do the other thing and wave him off. Neither made much sense to him, so Bogg
shrugged and waded on.

  "Sir?" Simon called.

  Bogg stopped again. "What is it?"

  "I can't swim."

  "You see me swimming?" Bogg sloshed on. The bottom was still middling sandy, with some tangly weedy spots to kick through here and there. If it stayed waist deep for all two hundred feet, then the lad would blubber a little and put on a show, and then make it just fine.

  Bogg heard a splash behind him, about right for two little feet hitting the water, and he grinned.

  "It's cold!" the pup shrieked.

  Bogg didn't answer. On his next step, the sandy bottom was missing, and it didn't bother to show up until he was beard-deep. His pack and saddlebags slipped under. Bogg grimly placed his tongue in his toothhole. Everything he owned was wet now. Except his head, he thought. He hoped he'd keep that dry. Maybe the sons of bitches did get washed to watery graves.

  A brown pine needle floated by, under his nose.

  Bogg stomped on. He could feel the current pushing on him now, working him downstream. The only way to hold his footing was to stand still, so he marched and let the current push him.

  Past halfway, his toes kicked into a sandy uphill slope, chucking his balance, and his face almost pitched into the water. He teetered and tried to climb the river bottom like stairs while the current had its way with him. Finally he pulled out and was waist deep again. Cool river breezes blew over his wet skins and chilled him.

  Smooth sailing now. He turned to check on Simon.

  The lad was standing chest deep, brown water easing its way around him. He held his elbows out, looking pale and wet and unhappy.

  Leave him be. Bogg closed on the far shore. When he was knee deep, he checked the bank for tracks in the mud when he heard the cry.

  "Uncle!" The lad hadn't moved. His eyes darted back and forth over the water around him, like he was afraid it would rear up and strike.

  "You'll get no attention from me with that kind of talk."

  "It's too deep!"

  The lad was too small. Neck deep for Bogg would be over Simon's head. If he couldn't swim...

  "Turn back," Bogg suggested.

  Simon splashed his fists into the water. "I won't!"

  Bogg didn't know what to say.

  Simon's gray eyes burned and his lips pulled back from his teeth. He surged forward, head bobbing, and disappeared under the surface.