How Teddy Roosevelt Slew the Last Mighty T-Rex

by Mark Paul Jacobs

  “A sign of good fortune for the entire season,” said the old-time sailors, who still followed the fleets, although too feeble to work.

  Lenna strode down the dock toward the moored ship. Demprias stood on deck lowering a bucket to the water. He raised the rope, seized the sloshing bucket with both hands, and tossed it across the planks.

  Lenna stopped and squatted beside the ship. “How does it feel to be back at what you do best?”

  Demprias held his hand above his eyes to shade the sun. “Lenna! What brings you here?”

  “Fish, what else? Do you have any?”

  “Plenty, but none for you, my friend. I don't like your attitude. You Yaakriders are very arrogant.”

  “Then I’ll find another boat. It’s a big lake. I’m sure Tyrie’s merchants won’t care where I get our fish. They all look and smell the same.”

  Demprias approached Lenna and slapped his shoulder. “How are you my friend?”

  “Fine, and you? I’ve been told that ice still jams the lake. How do you manage it?”

  “Some slabs are as big as a house. Yes, they are very hazardous, especially when the wind gales.” Demprias shook his head. “They’ll be around until Alberon’s next cycle. It’s a dangerous time for fishermen, but the fish are shallow until the waters warm and easy to catch. That alone is worth the risk. How long will you be here?”

  “Until three days noon. The Yaak will be loaded by then, if the fish is ready.

  “Excellent! The spring festival is tonight, and my cousin Azzerian can’t wait to meet you.”

  Lenna rolled his eyes. They both laughed.

  The recreation hall was alive with dancing and song. Jenna was pouring from hardwood kegs set above each table. A stone fireplace, nestled in building’s center, cradled a large fire. Fresh fish sizzled near the flames, and the sweet smell of Olaf engulfed all present.

  Lenna and Demprias, each holding a flask of Jenna, leaned against a table. “There she is,” Demprias said. “Be on your guard! She’s as wild as the winter’s cold.”

  Demprias pointed to two young women serving long plates of steaming fish. The first woman was striking— long, curly light brown hair and light blue eyes. And she wore a long white robe tied in front with a wide, red belt. The second woman was short and petite, with dark black hair tied into a fist-sized ball. She wore a light green robe matching the color of her eyes. Both women wore large, yellow flowers in their hair. They giggled and smiled, glancing teasingly toward the two men.

  Lenna and Demprias strolled over to the women.

  “Azzerian,” Demprias said. “I’d like you to meet my friend from Tyrie, Lenna.

  “Lenna, my cousin Azzerian.”

  Azzerian gave Lenna a mischievous look. “So this is the brave Yaakman you keep telling us about.” She slipped her hand around Lenna's elbow.

  Demprias said, “And this is Azzerian’s friend, Xriera.”

  Lenna was captivated by Xriera’s large, green eyes and charming smile. A moment passed before they spoke.

  Xriera’s voice was soft and playful. “A Yaakrider... how adventurous.”

  “Sometimes, but mostly it’s dull and tedious. And how do you occupy yourself?”

  “We...” Azzerian interrupted. “We clean and prepare fish. So you and your beasts can haul them away to Tyrie or wherever.”

  Xriera laughed. “Not quite as glamorous as a Yaakman.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I’ve always wanted to ride one of your beasts,” Azzerian said. “Is she near here? Perhaps in the morning we can—”

  “For one thing,” Lenna said. “The Beast isn’t mine. No rider owns a Yaak. The Yaak and man are partners. And I’ll most likely be very busy in the morning.”

  Azzerian stood wordless. Demprias smiled.

  “She didn’t mean to offend you,” Xriera said softly. “It’s just Azzerian, being Azzerian.”

  “I took no offense...” Lenna couldn’t help but stare into Xriera’s eyes.

  Azzerian smiled and released Lenna's arm. “I think we better leave these two alone,” she said to Demprias. “Or throw a bucket of water on them.” Azzerian laughed playfully, leading Demprias away.

  Xriera shook her head. “So, tell me about yourself, Yaakman.”

  “I’ve been a Yaakrider for two seasons. My usual routes are to the north, but I come south occasionally to see my friend Demprias.”

  “My roots are in Norelda,” Xriera said softly. “I’ve been told my birth parents were trappers. I was orphaned when young and have lived as an Adairian since I can remember.”

  Xriera gazed into Lenna’s eyes. “What else do you seek, Yaakman?”

  Lenna stood silent.

  Long after the party was over, Lenna and Xriera strolled hand in hand to Lake Adair’s shore. And under Alberon’s full brilliance, they kissed.

  Lenna returned to Tyrie and worked for several cycles building a homestead. And in early summer returned to Adair where he and Xriera were joined in a simple ceremony under a Sohla tree beside the Great River. And the next morning, he lifted her onto Anderro, and together they rode north to their new home.

  Lenna poked the smoldering logs, recalling with great delight how Xriera’s lovely eyes lit up when she first beheld the grounds and furnishings that he and his father had labored so hard to assemble. And the parties she hosted proudly and thoughtfully and always graciously; although Lenna hardly noticed her intimate struggle within her tiny body until the very end. Within the span of thirty cycles, this vibrant young woman had slowed and her energy waned, until finally she withdrew to the confines of their homestead.

  The hot mid-summer sun shone dull upon the settlement of Tyrie as Lenna ran like a madman through the busy streets. He threw his pack against the steps and burst through the front door of the Academy of Healing. Two Healers cast their eyes downward as he jogged down the long corridor.

  Lenna hesitated before the door of the Chief Healer. He inhaled deeply then entered.

  A frail, bald man in a long red robe glanced at Lenna. He rose slowly to his feet. “She had been ill for some time— possibly before the two of you were joined. I’m aware she had trapper blood— too many generations in isolated communities, I suppose. Her body was returned to the river a cycle past.”

  Lenna dropped to his knees.

  Lenna began to shiver as evening approached, and his world darkened as the shadows crept slowly along the walls of polished hardwood. He glanced upon a sill beneath the window, now bearing several empty vases— where her orange, green, and red flowers once flourished— realizing finally that this home was built for her, and had somehow absorbed her essence, her kindness, her simple beauty. Although their time together was measured in mere cycles and not years as Lenna had first envisioned, he would carry her forever in his heart— and Lenna desired nothing more; this structure of carved logs and shingled roof would be a constant and painful reminder of a future that was never destined to unfold.

  Lenna eased out of his chair, opened a trunk, and filled his pack with clothing. He grabbed a glowing log from the fireplace and placed it gently on a pile of kindling beside the chimney. He seized a chair and smashed a window. A steady stream of nighttime air began to course through the homestead. He slung his pack across his shoulder and strolled to the front doorway, turning briefly for one final look over the smoke filled room. He headed out, leaving the door ajar.

  Lenna halted when he reached the stone walkway. A single, shrunken bud clung to a bush beside the path— a last reminder of a long summer and of the long winter to come. He pulled it from the vine, its withered bulk crumbling between his fingers.

  Lenna buttoned his coat and strode down the walkway and down the road toward the settlement of Tyrie. Flashes of light interrupted the darkening night behind him, and golden flames leaped upwards toward a reddening sky.

  CHAPTER 5 (The Yaakmen of Tyrie)

  Quintar emerged from the Yaakrider Barracks to a predawn sky speckled with fading star
s. Wearily, he slung Shila’s harness across his shoulder and began the familiar trek up the eastern path, passing through forest drawing darkness equal to deepest night.

  Upon the sprawling hillside, the Yaakman exited the path into a clearing occupied by colossal platforms bathed in flickering torchlight. Lying in shadow beyond the torches stood Tyrie’s storehouses— a series of enormous buildings used as a central repository of the settlement’s surplus grains and other staples. A procession of overflowing carts, pulled by snorting Zampha-beasts and piloted by hooded drivers, emerged from the fog-laden valley below. One by one they clomped up the well-worn path, halting amid a cluster of brooding laborers and robed expediters.

  Quintar looked above and to the east, in the direction of the Yaak colony commonly called the West Meadows by the people of Tyrie. A kilometer into the forest stood hundreds of massive shapes constructed of branches and mud. The creature’s colony was reputed to extend deep into the forest, although humans were, by tradition, ever mindful of entering or disturbing the beast’s domain.

  Suddenly, Quintar saw several gigantic figures emerge from the forest’s shadow bordering the Meadows. Noiselessly, they lumbered past Quintar— a solemn procession of imposing forms against the brightening woodland.

  The male Yaakraya were first to appear. Used to transport goods between settlements, they were considerably less intelligent than their female counterparts yet three times more massive. Quintar recognized a few of the beasts from previous runs, although he’d found distinguishing the Yaakraya more and more difficult as winter approached— a consequence of their long, shaggy mane’s slow transformation from brown to dirty white. The females arrived lastly, including Shila, Anderro, and Thimbar.

  Shila ambled to Quintar and slowly knelt. “How have you been my friend?” Quintar asked, stroking the Yaak’s stringy hair “Are you ready for another run?”

  Shila turned her head and snorted. She turned away, unhurried. Quintar chuckled, securing his harness to Shila’s hip.

  The colossal Yaakraya assembled in a serpentine line. The first beast backed against a tall platform and workers slipped a huge backpack over the creature’s broad shoulders. The laborers hurriedly secured the packs using broad straps bound to the beast’s abdomen and hips. Urging the giant away, they beckoned another to take its place.

  Soon, all the packs were loaded, and the laborers dismissed the remaining Yaakraya. Lenna and Enro meandered amongst the heavily burdened beasts tugging on straps and tightening ropes.

  A Yaakrider Wierta-expediter approached Quintar, pulling a parchment from his coat. “Here are invoices for grains, meats, and dried fish, and contracts for a full load of Noreldan garments and furs.”

  Quintar nodded, stuffing the papers in his pack.

  “I wish you good fortune, good Yaakleader.” The Wierta bowed curtly, before turning away.

  Quintar grabbed the hairs on Shila's hip and hoisted himself into his harness. Lenna climbed atop Anderro and Enro upon Thimbar.

  Quintar urged Shila through a grove of trees and onto the Northern Trail. A line of lumbering Yaakraya snaked behind Shila, followed by the remaining female Yaak and their riders.

  By late morning, the Yaaktroop ambled along a trail west of the Great River’s divergence. Thousands of acres of abandoned farmland bordered the river to the east. Above the plain, Quintar observed patches of homesteads spread over the hillside. Steep, impassable cliffs loomed to the north.

  The path veered northwestward below the river’s northwest branch, and the terrain sloped upward on a twisting path. The Yaak slowed and Quintar ordered rest.

  Later that afternoon, they approached a wide plateau along the river valley carved by the northwest river branch. The line of Yaak meandered along the rocky flood plain toward the northwest. To Quintar’s right, the river widened and slowed. Soon, the trail disappeared into the water.

  Quintar gazed upon the crossing of Sarhelm: a ford offering the Yaak easy passage across a shallow stretch of the northwest branch. Farther upstream, the waterway narrowed to a tight chasm where a sturdy rope bridge allowed men and pack animals a crossing in springtime and summer.

  Quintar raised his hand and the party halted. The heavily-laden Yaakraya gathered beside the river and gently squatted. The Yaakriders dismounted and inspected the beast’s cargo. Lenna and Enro passed huge buckets of water to the resting giants.

  Soon, the Yaakriders climbed upon their Yaak, and the Yaakraya rose on their stocky feet. Shila and Quintar led the Yaakraya across the half-kilometer wide crossing.

  Shila plodded through the swift current, the water never reaching her hips or Quintar’s feet. The remaining outriders entered the water when the last Yaakraya waded midstream.

  After the last Yaak emerged on the rocky northern shore, the Yaakriders wasted no time urging the beasts away from the bank and upward to the east. Just as the sun disappeared behind the hills, the party reached a clearing beside a small stream. Quintar ordered the troop to make camp for the night.

  Quintar and Enro sat beside the crackling fire with bellies full of warm Chakra-pig. Quintar threw a branch on the flames and glanced out over the camp’s periphery. He noticed Lenna standing in the shadows near the resting Yaakbeasts. Quintar approached him.

  “Do you suppose,” Lenna said, gently patting Anderro’s belly, “she will give birth on the trail, or will she wait until she returns to her colony in Tyrie?”

  “Even the old-timers aren’t sure,” Quintar said. “Some say a Yaak can wait several cycles once their time for birthing is near, although all are certain she’ll disappear without warning.”

  “She’ll just leave?”

  “Yes, but they always return.”

  “Where do they go?”

  “Nobody can guess. No man has ever witnessed a Yaak’s birth. The scholars of Adair say they birth only twice during their long adulthood; although they can produce more if their colonies are stressed.”

  The two Yaakmen stood in silence for a few moments, and then Quintar said, “It is said, Yaakriders whose companions give birth are bestowed good fortune during the coming year.”

  Lenna turned to Quintar, and in the dim moonlight Quintar could detect the faintest grin. “Through the heaviest storms, Quintar, the following dawn always brings new life and new hope.”

  Quintar grasped Lenna’s shoulder, and together the two men returned to the campfire.

  The morning sun greeted the Yaakriders, and they ate a light breakfast before breaking camp. Quintar led the party upwards and along the perilous paths just above the steep cliffs north of the Great Confluence.

  By mid-morning, the path narrowed and bent along a high ridge. The Yaak trudged single file along the jagged cliff, wary of the steep vertical drop to their right. Below and to the south, Quintar beheld the entire valley of the Great Confluence, all the way to the river’s bend below the settlement of Tyrie. Tall hills, capped with rock and snow, towered above him to the north.

  The afternoon turned to early evening, and the sun ducked behind menacing clouds. Eventually, the path meandered east while dropping a few hundred meters in elevation. Quintar spotted the northeast river branch thundering through the valley far below. Lake Norelda lay just thirty kilometers to the northeast, he calculated.

  Daylight waned, and snowflakes began to fall from a darkening sky. Soon, the snow intensified, and Quintar lost sight of the Yaakraya in a veil of whiteness. He ordered the troop to make camp.

  They awoke to a clear morning. The snow from the previous night melted in the early sun, and they continued along the northeast river branch. Through late morning and early afternoon, the Yaaktroop twisted upward along the trail toward Lake Norelda, passing countless swift rapids and gentle waterfalls to their right.

  The river flattened and slowed by late afternoon. Shila led the Yaaktroop through a forest of tall Sohla evergreens. Before long, the woods opened to a grassy meadow surrounded by ten cabins and two enormous platforms, similar to the structures found
beside Tyrie’s storehouses. Two fire pits lay carved into the clearing’s center.

  Beyond the trees and the rocky shore, Quintar saw Lake Norelda's deep blue waters reflecting the bright sun.

  CHAPTER 6 (The Yaakmen of Tyrie)

  “Is she a big one, father?” young Kristren asked.

  “I hope we don’t find out,” Balyar whispered.

  Balyar peered into the darkness yet saw no movement. His dog Jett scampered back and forth sniffing the powdery snow. Before them, Ellini and Alberon cast eerie double shadows across the sloping landscape high above the northern settlement of Norelda.

  Suddenly, Jett paused and began whimpering. Kristren trotted to the dog and then motioned his father over.

  Balyar held a flickering torch close to the ground. He reached down and touched the oddly-shaped imprints. “Fresh.”

  Something made the lanky rancher uneasy, and without thinking, he reached up and stroked a deep scar that crossed his face from ear to rugged chin.

  “Come, boy.”

  Father and son jogged down the hill, pausing before a cluster of sheep imprisoned behind split wooden rails. He and Kristren hurriedly looked the animals over before moving onward. Swiftly, they passed a coop stirring with clucking chickens and then ambled downward into the courtyard. Balyar followed Kristren through the homestead’s door.