Edgar Allan Poe; Derniers Contes

Par "Antoine" "Arru"

À côté de ces qualités vraiment caractéristiques du procédé littéraire de Poe, on retrouvera dans quelques-uns de ces morceaux — le Mellonta tauta, le Mille et deuxième Conte de Schéhérazade, par exemple, — les profondes vues philosophiques, l’érudition étendue et surtout l’enthousiasme éclairé pour les merveilleuses découvertes de la science moderne qui ont inspiré l’admirable Eureka. En allant d’un essai à l’autre, le lecteur sera émerveillé de l’étonnante souplesse avec laquelle l’auteur sait passer de l’examen des problèmes les plus ardus des sciences physiques ou morales à la critique légère des filous et des Reviewers, ou à la charge épique d’un dandy français ou d’un bas-bleu américain.

À y regarder de près, il y a plus de philosophie dans un conte de Poe que dans les gros livres de nos métaphysiciens.

• Langue: Français
• Éditeur: Scribl
• Date de sortie: 17 juin 2016
• ISBN: 9781633480209

"Antoine" "Arru"

Editeurs. Artiste musicien, auteur en littérature d’œuvres fantastiques. Après un parcours professionnel oscillant entre le métier de mécanicien et celui de dessinateur en mécanique, l’auteur donne désormais des cours privés de guitare. C’est seulement depuis quelques années qu’il se consacre à l'écriture de romans de science-fiction. Le fait d'avoir eu l'opportunité de vivre quelques années dans la ville de Vienne en Isère l'a pour une grande part décidé à poursuivre dans une voie artistique, au travers des métiers de musicien et d'écrivain. Profession libérale d' Artiste musicien, auteur Editeur. Il devient depuis 2015 le Fondateur des (Relais D'Artmusiclitte). Il à fréquenté l'établissement : Conservatoire de région, Classe de maître Musique jazz. Lieu de résidence : Lorraine France.

Aperçu du livre

Prologue

Chingas Gerel controlled his first mare as he crested the high mountain. Behind him were his three other horses. He’d been riding this horse for the past few hours and was planning on switching mounts once he dropped down from the crest of the mountain. Voro never tired out their mounts more than was absolutely necessary. This was because each soldier in the Voro army was expected to have three separate horses at the very least. Some of the more well-known warriors had as many as twenty horses, and some of the chiefs had hundreds of horses that no one but themselves ever sat upon.

Expanding far behind and below him were the plains of the great grass sea, the homeland of his people. His village was a small one far on the other side of the plains; it would be ten days travel on his fastest horses to arrive there. But Chingas Gerel wasn’t going to his village. He and his four mounts, three females and a male, were traveling in the other direction, away from the great grass sea where the grass was as high as the belly of a horse and extended for hundreds of miles from its center no matter what direction you rode. Chingas was riding away from his family, his friends and his betrothed, a woman called Sarengerel. In short, Chingas was riding away from every memory he had ever made. But there would be new memories.

And they would be full of glory and conquest.

Below Chingas was a vast expanse of land. He could see a huge valley of partially open fields with large plots of trees and stones. Far away, just barely over the curvature of the earth, (for the earth was a large ball with curved lands that only appeared straight from a horse’s back, the Bolorma had taught them all that) he could make out the top of another mountain range. Two ranges of mountains, the one on which Chingas stood, which separated his grassland home and this valley below, and the other range of mountains far, far ahead, perhaps three days ride with fast horses, maybe four. No Voro knew for sure what was behind those mountains. Rumors said a warrior who traveled over them would eventually reach a great wall of water far larger than the great grass sea of his homeland. On the shores of that wall of water they would find tribes of unconquered men and women. These ocean tribes would have no need for horses, they would need boats. They would have no need for arrows, they would have nets. These tribes would be easy to conquer. And they would be conquered, all in good time. For all lands on earth belonged to the Voro, some had simply not learned that fact yet.

But before they traveled to the ocean lands Chingas would help conquer the lands below him, the land of the people with fire bows and metal arrows, the land of the warring people and the land of the empty cities.

Below Chingas was the Waste. And it would soon belong to his people.

The mighty Voro.

Chingas looked behind him at the trail of horses and men that had followed him up the mountains. There were warriors and horses in a never ending chain as far as the eye could see. The chain of men and horses continued all the way down the thin mountain trail below to the base of the mountain like an unending snake slithering down a pile of rocks. At the place where the line of men reached the bottom of the mountain there was an encampment of Voro, an uncountable hoard of men and horses. There were so many that all the grass within a half day’s ride had been fully eaten by the horses and men still left in the camp would have to ride their horses many hours just to find them suitable nourishment by now.

It was good fortune that Chingas had been ordered over the mountain with the first groups. Suitable nourishment to Voro horses was of the upmost importance. And a man would do anything to find grass for his mounts, for it was the horses which nourished the riders with their mare’s milk, and even sometimes, and especially on the nights of great battles, with their very blood cut from a small incision on the side of the horse’s neck called the ‘erex’, a translation of the term ‘life-giver’. If horses were to carry their riders smoothly so they could fire their bows accurately and if they were to run for days as to encircle the enemy in surprise and if in addition to that they were to nourish their rider’s body and quench their hunger with their very own milk and blood, then it was crucial that the horses were provided the freshest grass.

Chingas, like his horses, hadn’t eaten for over a day. For over a day he had not drank of any of his mare’s milk or tasted any of their nourishing blood. Not all Voro were so considerate to their horses, but Chingas was not all Voro. Chingas was was the leader of his group of five hundred, the great chief. When Chingas and his men entered the Waste below only the Bolorma could give him orders. As a leader of the Voro, Chingas must be an example. Therefore he did not taste his horse’s milk or blood on trails where there was no grass, and these mountains had no grass. Because Chingas did not drink milk or blood from his horses on this day his men did not either.

And their horses stayed strong.

Below Chingas was the Waste, a land where there was much grass. There his horses would eat until they were full. And there, in the Waste, they would all be strong.

Chapter 1

Only if He’s Closed his Eyes

Damn it! shouted Rock from where he overlooked the wild river below. He’d hadn’t seen Dickens for minutes now though he’d been looking constantly.

We have to go Rock, said Caroline from where she sat on top of the horse. She had her rifle out, in case any Vorin had made it across, but from the looks of the wild river, it didn’t seem likely.

I’m not going. I’m not going out into the Wall-without-walls, said Rock firmly.

You have nowhere else to go.

I will travel with the river and cross over when the water calms down. You take the horse.

I’m not leaving without you. You can’t follow the river, it’s apparent that side of the river is swarming with Vorin. You don’t have a horse, you’re low on dusters, you try crossing back anywhere near here and you’re as good as dead.

No, I try walking further into the Wall-without-Walls and I’m as good as dead. I know you’re OK with dying there Caroline, but I’m not. I don’t want my bones lying alone bleached by the sun twenty years from now so some old man can point them out to travelers through a looking glass.

They won’t be alone Rock. Either we get through together, or we die together. But I promise, if I’m alive I won’t let your body rot. I’ll bury you if that is the only thing I can do.

I’m less comforted than you might expect with that, said Rock.

I’m just trying to be agreeable, said Caroline with a slight laugh.

You don’t know how to be agreeable. Perhaps you meant ‘less arguable’. I haven’t seen you be agreeable since I met you in the bandit’s camp. Why now, now that we are finally past the point of no return looking at certain death, have you decided to pretend to be agreeable? asked Rock.

Caroline looked around from where she sat on top of the horse, back and forth from the open expanse of the Wall-without-Walls in front of her, to the Waste, on the other side of the wild river behind her. After a moment she spoke.

I… I don’t really know. But I just feel like a huge burden has been lifted from my shoulders. For the last month, I have hardly thought of anything but this day, the day that I enter the Wall-without-Walls. Every day has led up to this day and every day I wondered if I would have the courage to make this choice. Most days I worried that I wouldn’t.

Didn’t end up being much of a choice, did it? asked Rock.

No, it didn’t, and I think that’s part of the reason why I feel so agreeable. I’m here, my choice has been made. While I don’t know what the future brings, I know that I won’t have to live the past again. And I guess there is just something, well, something peaceful about being on the far side of a hard choice. And that’s why I’m agreeable. That’s why I feel, well, at peace I guess.

Ha! At peace! It’s the Wall-without-Walls Caroline. I don’t think you understand the scope of our situation.

Actually, I do. And you’re right. You should go back. I realize that I have no chance of crossing. I’m not prepared. I don’t have enough food, I don’t have enough water and I don’t have enough dusters. If I was being completely honest I would say that I don’t even have a horse considering this one is yours, said Caroline and patted her mount.

Like I said, take it, said Rock.

Thank you. You are kind. But I accept that my life is likely over. And there is a strange type of peace that comes with that. All I have to do now is walk, just keep walking towards where the yellow sun rises, and eventually I will cross the Wall, or I will die. But either way, I will have fulfilled my part as the daughter of a chieftain. And while that doesn’t make he happy, it does bring me a strange kind of peace.

It’s not all hopeless you know, said Rock softly, thoughtfully.

What do you mean? You said yourself the Wall-without-Walls kills everyone. We never got the map from Dickens before he died. I fail to see any hope.

It’s just what Dickens said about it… said Rock.

What he said? asked Caroline.

Yes, he said to ‘cover your eyes’.

Perhaps that’s just to avoid the fear of not seeing whatever monster will end up killing me.

It’s not a monster, it will be a bullet, just a simple bullet, and you can’t see them anyway, trust me, I’ve tried, said Rock.

How do you know that? Just because of the skull Mayer Jude showed up? asked Caroline.

Partly. And partly because I’ve seen it myself. I’ve crossed into the Wall-without-Walls before, and that is the reason I have no desire to go back.

Crossed into the Wall-without-Walls? You’ve never said anything about that? Why didn’t you tell me? asked Caroline.

Because it wouldn’t have made any difference. The Wall is a death sentence. The only advice I could give is to run back very quickly, and that’s advice you wouldn’t care to hear. I’m just lucky I made it back, but I assure you that I didn’t make it very far.

Tell me about it, said Caroline.

I was young, I think eight or nine summers. I stole a horse from the clan that was raising me and crossed the river near where Centralia is today.

Why? asked Caroline.

I was looking for my mother.

Your mother, were you worried she’d killed herself by walking into the Wall?

No. My… It’ a complicated story. The earliest memories I have of my mother are of she and I wandering the Waste together, but alone. We were hungry and tired all the time. I don’t know how she did it. The Waste is hard as a grown man alone, but to be a single woman with a child…

But how did you get separated and why did you go into the Wall? Asked Caroline.

Finally, one winter we were taken in by a larger tribe. They had a need for a washerwoman and the Chief’s son wanted a friend to ride horses with, so we were accepted by them, but it didn’t last very long.

What happened?

"I don’t remember, or at least, I don’t want to talk about it. We lived with the tribe for a summer, perhaps two, then we were back on our own, kicked out to wander together again. My mother would sing me songs to put me to sleep at night, and tell me stories. She’d tell me about brave Dorothy and the Cowardly Lion, she’d tell me about flying monkeys and she’d sing a certain song to me before she’d put me to sleep at night. I don’t remember the music anymore, but I remember the words.

Hide little baby, hide little baby,

the flying monkey's circle with the wicked witch above

Close your eyes, little baby, close your eyes little baby

Stray not from the mornings yellow road or mother's love.

Hide little baby, hide little baby,

When the sun above has dropped, hidden low you'll be

Close your eyes, little baby, close your eyes little baby

The flying monkeys won't see you if you don't see me.

What do you think it meant? asked Caroline when Rock had finished.

"I don’t know. But my mother told me stories that winter, the winter we were alone. She told me stories about crossing the Wall, and how it could be done. She told me she had crossed it, and that if she needed to she could cross it again.

She traded me not long after that. She couldn’t keep providing for me. We were starving. So she traded me to a passing clan. They had thick cloaks and strong horses and my mother thought they would be able to keep me fed. She got 17 dusters for me. I don’t know what she did with the dusters, she didn’t have a gun.

And when did you cross the Wall?

I didn’t cross the Wall. I crossed the river and entered the wall. The clan my mother traded me to was abusive to me. They didn’t see me as one of their own, in their minds they had purchased a slave. I wasn’t given thick winter robes like the rest of them and I didn’t get to ride a horse. I had to run behind them everywhere, I had to ask to sleep near the fires so I wouldn’t freeze. Finally, one day when we were traveling near the Wall I snapped. I stole a horse that night and rode to the river and crossed it. My mother had said she’d crossed the Wall once, perhaps she was out there I thought. The clan realized what I had done and by the time I was across the river the leader of the clan and his bodyguards were waiting on the Waste side of the river. They didn’t dare to cross into the Wall-without-Walls, they didn’t have the courage to do so, Rock smiled faintly as he spoke. "I swore at them from across the river then turned my horse, their horse, and rode away from them, into the Wall, while calling my mother’s name.

I didn’t make it more than a mile, maybe two, before I heard a gun fire. But I didn’t see anything! There was nothing around me, it was all flat. There was nowhere for a man to hide, nowhere to conceal a rifle, but there was a gunshot all the same and the stolen horse collapsed beneath me. When I checked the horse I saw that it had been shot directly between the eyes. A perfect single shot. It was dead and I was terrified. I sprinted back to the river, back towards the Waste. When I got there the entire clan was waiting on the other side. I didn’t even care. I swam the river on my own to get back to the Waste. When I did I was grabbed by the clan leader and beat so severely for running away and losing the horse that I was unable to follow them on foot for the next few days and had to be lashed to the back of a horse like I was a sack of rotting meat. It was weeks until I could walk properly again, and months before I regained any speed. But when I did I left that clan, again under the night sky, this time with two more horses, and I never went back.

That’s terrible Rock! said Caroline.

I didn’t tell you that story so you could feel bad for me. Life is hard for a lot of people. I told you that story so you would understand what you are facing in the Wall-without-Walls, what we are facing. There is something unnatural there. There are bullets, but no guns to be seen. There are dead bodies, but no stories on how they got there. I knew the beating I would get when I crossed back over that river and into the arms of the clan leader, but I did it gladly, willingly, because at least that beating was something, anything, unlike the death that awaits in the Wall, which is instant death, unseen and unanticipated.

But you said you have an idea? asked Caroline.

I hardly think it will make any difference, but at this point it’s worth trying. The skull that Mayer Jude showed us from the Wall had been shot directly between the eyes, my horse had been shot directly between its eyes, my mother, who claimed to have crossed the wall, sang a song about the flying monkey’s and closing your eyes. Dickens, who claimed to know a way across, told me not to trade the Wizard of OZ…

…and to cover your eyes, said Caroline.

Yes.

So, that’s it then, just cover our eyes and walk into the Wall? she asked.

As you know, I’d prefer to keep my eyes open and walk away from it, but as long as you keep insisting on walking into it then I think at the very least will do just as much good being blindfolded as we will seeing. But I’m not going anywhere until the sun, at least, comes up, and we have a few hours until then.

Why wait for the sun if we’re just going to cover our eyes? asked Caroline.

Because that is what my mother’s poem tells me to do, so that’s what I’m doing. When the sun above has dropped, hidden low you’ll be.

So you’re going to come with me then? asked Caroline.

If I want a chance to ride a horse I will, said Rock with a smile. Caroline smiled back.

Thank you, Rock. And whatever happens to us, I want you to know that even though we have only known each other for a few weeks that I consider you one of my best friends.

Thank me when we get across, said Rock. If I was really a good friend I’d tie you up, thrown you over the horse’s ass and take you back across the river. At least, that way we have a better chance of surviving.

If you really think you would have a chance keeping me away from my responsibility then you’re blind Rock.

Well, in about two minutes we’ll all be blind, said Rock while he ripped three blindfolds from a cloth he pulled from his pack, two human-sized blindfolds, and a horse sized one.

The blind leading the blind, I think I heard a joke about that somewhere, said Caroline. Do you think we have any chance of finding the horse that Dickens was riding somewhere out there? Caroline asked Rock and measured the blindfold over the horse’s head.

Only if he’s closed his eyes, said Rock.

Chapter 2

It Will be a Long Walk

Riding a horse while blindfolded was quite different from riding a horse while not. This seemed like an obvious thing to Rock, but he still couldn’t help but think about it. He couldn’t help but think about it because he couldn’t help but do anything but think. He couldn’t look at the mountains as he passed, he couldn’t scan the land ahead, looking for dips or raises that could hide bandits, he couldn’t keep his lookout for small game to hunt from his horse’s back. Riding blindfolded Rock was left with nothing but his thoughts. And when you had the sort of memories Rock had, your thoughts weren’t something you wanted to spend an inordinate amount of time with.

Rock had thought this would be the perfect time for Caroline to talk and talk and talk. But for once she was as silent as Rock. They took turns riding the horse, one person riding, one walking and leading and made slow progress because the leader had to make due with peeking at the upcoming ground from beneath their blindfold. No staring ahead, no planning routes, it was just dull and dreary plodding forward, marching ahead into likely certain death at any minute. It wasn’t good for the nerves.

But what they didn’t make in speed they made up for in time. Neither Rock or Caroline wanted to spend any more time in the Wall-without-Walls than was absolutely necessary so neither wanted to stop for more breaks or rests than were necessary. By the time evening fell they had walked slow, but they had also walked far. At least, twenty miles, maybe twenty-five was Rock’s best guess. He would have likely had a more accurate guess if he would have been able to see where he was going, but even blindfolded, the consistent pace for close to ten hours assured him they’d gone quite a way.

That was when they found the horse, the Vorin horse that Rock had stolen and Dickens had been riding when they escaped from the Vorin. They didn’t find the horse necessarily, at least to a degree, because with the blindfolds on they weren’t really looking for it, but towards the end of the first day of traveling, while the sun was setting and Rock was guiding the horse with Caroline on its back, Rock stumbled on the Vorin horse. More accurately, he stumbled over it.

The horse was dead, as dead as a dead horse could be. Like Rock had seen so many years ago, this horse was laying on the ground like it had fallen suddenly, unexpectedly, to the ground below it. The horse had a bullet hole, again, right between its eyes.

What is it Rock, asked Caroline.

The Vorin horse, I found it. Rock heard Caroline moving in the saddle behind her.

"Keep your blindfold on! Just look out