by R.G. Strike
There was a fire crackling in the darkness, but he could not make himself reach where it was. Apart from that, a set of whispering voices hushed from a distant portion – maybe a few meters from his right. But how could he know where was right? He did not even know if he was there – if he was existing. He felt drifting around the darkness, searching for the grate of fortifying flames and the origin of the whisperings. In fact, he could sense that there was life everywhere, but the darkness of the nonexistent place had hovered over happiness. If he could just light up. . . .
Then seemingly unexplainable, his body felt heavy . . . dragged off something that must be veil over a waterbed. And the motion stopped. He was enjoying relief on his back, as though he had travelled a long, dry desert for weeks, and had gone tired, because of bountiful rose petals probably have collected behind so that he could rest . . . for all eternity. . . maybe safe and sound. . . .
He could feel his spirit coming back to his body.... Had he been dead all the while? Or was he just partially deprived from his megalomania? No, that was not right. Now he was feeling heavier and heavier every second, eventually sensing pain on his chest, down to his muscles.
Then a hand – a warm, soft hand, swept past his forehead, caressing his ears, then slithered down to his chin, past his jaw. A sob followed almost after a moment. He felt droplets of tears blotching on his cheeks.
Finally, he got control. His eyelids trembled, agitating. As he popped them open, his stomach belched, sending him up as he coughed for like a few seconds.
Eliezer looked at him, shocked; her eyes red and bulging. She was standing on a ground – literally ground of bare earth – redressed to an ordinary, faded pink t-shirt and short pant that must have been for male.
The place around him was dimly lit by two or three candles; the ceiling and all walls were made out of earth; rocks on every corner. It was after a moment before he realized that he was sitting straight up on an indigenous swing made of thick woven leaves.
After he managed to calm down from the dramatic cough, he spotted two white rabbits with their eyes glowing green amidst the brilliant candlelight inside the cavern. They were erectly sitting on a small tea party table facing each other; chins up as they caught Godfrey’s eyes.
The female rabbit, having a red ribbon strapped at the top of her head, the slivers of which were stretched behind her, was obviously talking to Godfrey as she held the tea cup elegantly breast-level (as though she had breasts), but her words were apparently drowned into Eliezer’s sob.
“El, keep quiet,” he whispered to her, who quite managed to soften her sob. “The rabbits are trying to tell me something. . . . But – wait! The rabbits were talking?”
“Why,” the female rabbit said casually, “is it new to you that rabbits are capable of talking, dear?”
As much as he could get from imagining it, Godfrey was more startled to see the proof. Well, yes, the rabbit just opened her mouth and talked . . . in English, even.
Then, disliking the situation, Godfrey scowled. “Well, of course, yes. That’s not a new thing to romanticize, either. I mean – if other person could have heard you, they will kill you.”
“Kill us of what crime?” the male rabbit had asked. “Kill us of being unable to discipline young children from disrespecting? Well, that’s an odd thing.”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” said Godfrey defensively. “What I mean is they – that is to say the people who haven’t heard rabbits talking – will kill you. Literally, kill you.”
“Hold your tongue, boy,” the male rabbit said. “If talking rabbits are new to you, perhaps it may also be a new thing to know that maybe you’re the only one who aren’t aware of our existence.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are deprived from the outside world. You don’t know what is happening already. And so to answer your question, yes, I am glad to know that there are still people who don’t believe in magic.”
Godfrey frowned. “Magic? Well, I think they only work with plants. They do not work with rabbits.”
The female rabbit gasped.
“You – it’s an insult to call us rabbits! I might have been tolerant lately, but it ends there.”
“What –”
“As far as I can see, we have names!”
“Yes,” said the male rabbit, though slowly this time. “Magic has diverse branches. The one you think that works with plants is called Herbichcraft. We stemmed from other branch – and talking about names, I forgot, I’m Robert Luciens, and this is my wife Sylvana.”
Godfrey rudely pointed himself and said, “Godfrey.” He indicated his sister. “Eliezer.”
The two rabbits did not talk as they stared in disbelief.
“Mr. Luciens, do you have any problem with us?” Godfrey asked.
“None that I’m aware,” said Mr. Luciens, then he looked at his wife, Mrs. Luciens. “I think we have the castle’s heart.”
“The king will think we held them as hostages!” Mrs. Luciens screamed.
“No!” Mr. Luciens snapped. “We’ll have to explain!”
“He won’t listen!”
“Y-you’re hostage-ing us?” asked Eliezer as she fell into a louder cry. “Oh m-my. . . . Please don’t k-kill us.”
“There’s no way we’re hostage-ing you!” yelled Mr. Luciens, who hadn’t noticed that his yell had made Eliezer shriek. “I mean, it’s . . . we didn’t expect this to happen . . . er . . . and, ah, we’re . . . we’re . . . . Would you stop crying?”
Eliezer immediately stopped halfway, her mouth open, and had sounded like a jubilant song suddenly turned off; her eyes red and her cheeks brilliantly shining through her tears.
“El, what are you doing?” Godfrey impatiently demanded, but Eliezer did not answer. She stood there, her hands raised upward; she might have attempted to wipe away her tears, frozen.
“Oh, hey – hey! Did you just – you froze her!” Godfrey quickly came down and scuttled towards Eliezer, damping his hands nervously around her cold, stone face.
“That will make things better,” said Mr. Luciens, again in his casual tone. He grabbed the teapot calmly as though nothing had happened, and poured it on his tiny china, raised it near his snout as he was stirring it slowly. “Now, if you must permit me,” Mr. Luciens added, pausing as he sipped, “well, yes, if you must permit me –”
“REVIVE HER FIRST! REVIVE HER!” Godfrey inhumanly shouted.
“Yes, I will, Godfrey. And I’m not a madman to do it for leisure –”
“THEN DO IT!” he snapped. “DO IT QUICKLY! SHE’S MY SISTER!”
“I know. Calm down,” said Mr. Luciens; Mrs. Luciens was slicing a sort of green-red grass aligned horizontally. “I did it for the betterment, Godfrey. She’s just sleeping –”
“TELL ME HOW TO WAKE HER! I WILL WAKE HER UP MYSELF!”
“That is beyond your ability to do, Godfrey. Only the trained ones can do it,” Mr. Luciens said, Godfrey falling into a deep frown. “Anyway, she will continue on staying that manner if you won’t calm down. . . .”
“You’re blackmailing me!” he said.
“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Luciens, “and it’s for the goodness of this conversation, I suppose. . . . Do you think we will be able to discuss things smoothly if she kept on bragging lies?”
“Maybe,” said Godfrey, still frowning, “maybe El’s right that you’re hostage-ing us.”
“What a very nasty thought. Very nasty, indeed.” Mr. Luciens blew his tea for a second before sipping again. “Now that you agreed to listen, let me say my first few words. I may not as well keep pretending that I don’t know who you are, Godfrey, but I know you. I know the truth. The truth that your dad, King Elvandork, was completely disappointed having you as his son.”
“Nah,” said Godfrey, “if you think that strategy will work, grow up! You cannot brainwash me.”
“I’m not brainwashing you!”
“Well, Dad doesn’t hate me,” said Godfrey, portraying a w
hat-the-hell-are-you-talking-about look.
“I did not say that the king hates you,” Mr. Luciens corrected. “I said that he was disappointed that you existed. I mean, he would have been happier if you were brave. At least he would make himself joyful having a son to be proud of, and not a lame one.”
“How – how dare you tell me that! You’re not even a human!”
“I do not need to be in human form to tell you that. And, ah,” Mr. Luciens sneered, “our kind can read as well. Take a look at this.”
From an earth table, Mr. Luciens indicated a rolled parchment and it unrolled as it flew in front of Godfrey. There were bold letters and blotches inscribed in it:
KING SEEKS SON ADAPTATION
Godfrey laughed.
“No, no, that’s impossible. You – you just made that!” said Godfrey, though feeling heavy and heart-broken.
“Hang on, that’s not the very least, Godfrey,” Mr. Luciens added.
The parchment flipped itself backward. More or less than five seconds occurred before Godfrey realized his father’s signature wobbled there. He stared at it for a long time, and had agreed that he could not do anything to oppose now.
“Come back,” said Mr. Luciens, and the parchment tore itself apart into smithereens and fell gently on the ground.
“I did not tell you this, however, to make you feel bad. And, also, I do not want you seeing that – ah – fruitful parchment lying around for the next few days.”
“Next few days? You’re absurd. We’re leaving today.”
“I don’t believe that you can do that yourself or with Eliezer around.”
“I – I have the stick!” said Godfrey proudly, looking at the dark, vertical stick beside Eliezer’s ankle.
“What stick?” asked Mr. and Mrs. Luciens together, apparently shell-shocked as they were standing from their chairs and scuttled in front of Godfrey.
Godfrey ducked momentarily, and grabbed the dark stick, examining it once again; Mr. and Mrs. Luciens were watching him closely from below. He moved away the stick from the two rabbits’ reach.
“This stick,” Godfrey said. “It helped us a lot. It could save us.”
The partial inscriptions on the surface of the stick shone through the yellow light. Mr. and Mrs. Luciens quickly turned their heads away as they gasped in total astonishment.
“Is he alive, then?” Mrs. Luciens whispered to her husband. “But it’s impossible! It cannot be, Robert. . . . He’s been dead for a decade!”
“No, Sylvana!” Mr. Luciens answered back, his voice full of happiness. “The proof is in front of us. . . . He has survived. . . . The stick . . . how could we forget . . .?”
“But – but – how? Robert, he – he – the battle will start!”
“That’s what we’re waiting for! If the –”
“Excuse me,” Godfrey snapped. “Any you want to share before my sister and I get back home?”
Mr. and Mrs. Luciens slowly faced Godfrey. Curiosity, amazement, and a file of questions were flooding their faces.
“Sit down, dear, so we can – ah – talk,” said Mrs. Luciens.
Godfrey found no sense in opposing so he obeyed and sat down on the swing of woven vines. The two rabbits followed on a desk right beside him and settled themselves as comfortable as they could. For a few seconds no one talked. Eliezer’s frozen body was gleaming.
“Oh, please, take that down,” Mr. Luciens told Godfrey, pointing at the stick he was holding.
Godfrey placed it on his lap and looked at them.
“That’s better,” Mr. Luciens croaked. “Those inscriptions are reminding us of our own –”
“– terrible past,” Mrs. Luciens snapped, evidently not wanting her husband to let slip of something.
“Yes – of our terrible past. In fact, I’d say that seeing those bold inscriptions might help me to recall pieces and details that are crucial to you. Now let me warn you that the wand you are holding right now is not just an ordinary wand.”
“Oh, yeah, obviously,” said Godfrey.
“Ever heard the names Flynt Scamander, Lara Dogworth, and King Masefield?”
“Ah . . .” – Godfrey shook his head – “no, but I think I stumbled into the name Flynt Scamander . . . and . . . it’s like he appeared – oh yes, he was in one of the fairytale stories, and I think Flynt fought a three-headed-dog in a cave to retrieve his girlfriend, Lara. Yeah, I’ve heard of him.”
“Fairytale stories?” asked Mr. Luciens impassively.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Well, not to disappoint you, but Flynt and Lara’s stories were not fairytales,” explained Mr. Luciens, his wife nodding rudely beside him. “And mostly, Flynt Scamander didn’t fight the Cerberus in that creepy cavern to save his girlfriend.”
“Ah, okay . . . doesn’t seem to mind, anyway,” said Godfrey. “And, no, I haven’t heard of that King Masemilk.”
“It’s Masefield, dear,” Mrs. Luciens corrected.
“It doesn’t matter,” Mr. Luciens butted in. “Masefield’s name isn’t supposed to be respected at any rate. Well, I mean, he was a terrible scoundrel; I would have wanted to smash his face with a plinth when he took our –”
“Thank you, Robert, for showing such an admiring valiance,” snapped Mrs. Luciens once more, eyeing her husband to stop.
But Godfrey felt unsecured being deprived from something. “What did Masefield take from you?”
“Well, it’s nothing, dear –”
“He took our son! Our only son – Masefield stole him! That’s what he did!” Mr. Luciens shouted angrily at Mrs. Luciens, who gasped and shook her head. “Tell him the truth! There’s no point hiding that matter, Sylvana.”
Godfrey felt terrible; he should not have asked that. He just made things worst. And now what if he knew that Masefield took Mr. and Mrs. Luciens’s only son? That information never seemed to help.
“Yes,” said Mr. Luciens. “Listen carefully, Godfrey! After I talk, you decide whether you want to stay or not!” He was raging, his teeth appearing so sharp like stalagmites and stalactites.
“There was once a witch who owned that wand named Lara. Her husband was a very strong knight called Flynt Scamander. Apart from that, he was also the noblest Chief of the Empire Brigade under the evil king, Erikson Masefield.
“Flynt was often secretly opposing and going against King Masefield. When Masefield discovered about Flynt’s rebellion, he called him and told how mad he was about Flynt’s actions. As a punishment, Masefield said that he wanted to take Flynt’s son, Mark, for being rebellious, war-freak, and indecisive.”
“M-Masefield wanted to take his son? I mean – so you’re Flynt and the king took your son?” Godfrey asked nervously.
“No – of course I’m not Flynt. As I’ve told you, I’m Robert Luciens, is that clear?”
“Ah, sort of.”
“So, yes,” added Mrs. Luciens, nodding once more in her rude demeanor. “It’s his habit taking sons or daughters as punishment . . . and it’s not always for punishment, dear. One day, you’ll open the door and find a messenger telling you an order from the king to take your son.”
“But,” said Godfrey, “why?”
It was Mr. Luciens who answered casually this time. “Nobody knows. Anyway, when Flynt refused, Masefield insisted. He impeached Flynt from his position right away. Well, at that time, Sylvana and I had been serving the king as his messengers. Masefield ordered me to tell a guy named Stanley to capture Lara and her son. But I accidentally misunderstood his orders and told Stanley to kill Lara, and I forgot to tell him to capture Mark.
“A day later, when the king found out what I did, he went to our home and took our baby.” There was a sort of regret in Mr. Luciens’ voice as he talked; Mrs. Luciens patting his shoulders.
“You – you shouldn’t have obeyed Masefield’s orders if you knew it was evil!” said Godfrey.
“There are boundaries and circumstances, Godfrey,” Mr. Luciens carefully explained. “And, yes, I
should have done that in the first place. You see, Sylvana and I had been down to earth and hand to mouth at all sorts when we got married. Then we had this tiny baby to raise through only getting employed temporarily under the king.
“But we’ve been fools towards money, and we had huge worries that if we disobeyed the king, we’ll get sacked out of the only job that’s sustaining little life to our tiny baby.”
There was a moment of silence.
“And that is exactly what it was,” Mr. Luciens continued in a worried and emotional tone. “We got sacked off our work. And yet our greatest fear came – Masefield finally took our son without leaving any trace of where he left him.”
“What? Who the hell is this King Masefield?” Godfrey retorted, suddenly pitying the couples.
“King Masefield was the most evil king of this empire, dear,” said Mrs. Luciens.
“Was,” Mr. Luciens repeated. “But he’s gone now.”
“How?” Godfrey immediately asked. “Who defeated him?”
“Your father, obviously,” answered Mr. Luciens. “The whole empire rejoiced when Masefield was dethroned. But for over the years, your father got cold. Rumours said that he and his assistant Adrianne Balescore are deciphering the Sacred Prophecy.”
“The Sacred – what?”
“The Sacred Prophecy. Has it occurred to you?”
“No. What is it?”
Mr. Luciens raised his snout and blew softly, and a very strong wind emerged, dusting off the wall of the cavern. For an instant, Eliezer was standing beside it, looking as though she was about to crack.
“Would you mind unfreezing my sister?” Godfrey pleaded, though he knew that Mr. Luciens would refuse.
As he had expected, Mr. Luciens made a stupid head shake. “A little longer. Now, read what is written on the wall, Godfrey.”
Godfrey carefully shifted his gaze into the wall, where large letters were written in a perfect woman’s handwriting.
“The dragons seek to revolutionize,
In the Switzarnel Empire, war shall rise,
To demise King Alfonso, knights will call;
To oppose the odd lord, a child must fall.”
“Everyone was at lost to explain what it means,” Mr. Luciens continued. “Your father was having depression from that. Over his partial reign, he had been preparing the Brigade and other defense groups for the war mentioned in the Sacred Prophecy. But years and years had passed and no war – nor quarrelling – had evolved, so he thought that he got the meaning wrong.
“Lately, he met with Adrianne, a very famous seer, to work with the real meaning so as to be guided by that Sacred Prophecy. And for a long time, your father has gone silent. Rumors also spread that your father has travelled to another empire to ask for complementary assistance, and when he came back, the most valuable thing, the Leviota, was lost. Now, a very serious search is being strictly conducted over the palace.”
“How important was the Leviota to him?” asked Godfrey.
“As we could see, he wouldn’t have ordered a search that serious if it wasn’t important to him, isn’t it? So it must be very, very important.”
“Oh,” said Godfrey.
“Anyway, I think we’ve gone far from our original topic,” said Mr. Luciens. “So we’re talking about the stick. A day after our son was taken, we ran to Flynt to ask for help and he promised to help us in return of something.
“We accompanied him to a cave far, far away in the Elcid Mountains for days. Before his wife, Lara, died, she left Flynt her wand and a bottle of potion for Mark inside that cave. But Flynt never told us where he left Mark.
“So we explored that cave guarded by a three-headed-dog and found the wand and a treasure box which contained the potion. And our consequence was to keep the potion until he returns with his son.
“But he was killed before he set off, and we saw how it happened. Just as we were walking with Flynt out of the cave, Stanley, Masefield’s assistant, did some magic and Flynt turned to ashes. Hurrying, Stanley took the wand and disappeared in a pop.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Luciens complemented. “That ends all. Our only hope of getting our son back vanished, dear. And since then, we found our safest home here in the Joussan Forest, under the ground, keeping the potion in case Mark found us.”
“Mm-hmn,” Godfrey sounded. “So what now?”
Mr. Luciens sighed. “The wand is at critical state. It means that we need to get it back to Flynt.”
“Robert, you’re insane!” said Mrs. Luciens, standing in front of her husband. “Flynt is dead! We can never bring it back!”
“Yes, we can!” snapped Mrs. Luciens. “If the wand exists – yes, and it still works as incredibly as it had been – so does Flynt!”
“No, Robert, you’re insane,” Mrs. Luciens said. “How unnatural you are to invent such stories!”
“I am not inventing, do you understand?” Mr. Luciens clarified, a little bit annoyed by his wife. “I cannot invent – nor could you! Lies . . . oh, lies . . . such horrible spell –”
“Stop talking about it!”
“Er,” Godfrey bolted in. “Aren’t you supposed to talk to me?”
Mr. and Mrs. Luciens subsided at once, looking directly at Godfrey’s eyes. Mr. Luciens’ were brilliantly shining as he was readying to say something.
“The stick . . . it’s the solution, Godfrey. Your father will be proud of you.”
“How come, eh?”
“You’ll soon know.”
Mr. Luciens snapped his fingers, and there was sudden movement from behind Godfrey. Eliezer momentarily collapsed on the ground, barely able to move as dusts flared away from her skin. She was coughing and looking for support. Godfrey immediately knelt and held her up at once.
Eliezer’s eyes magnified as she caught sight of the two rabbits. She shrieked.
“You,” – Eliezer pointed at the two rabbits – “there’s no way you’re hostage-ing us! You can never have me! Godfrey, kick them off! Kick them off!”
“El, shut up!” snored Godfrey, and Eliezer slowly looked at his face, as though disgusted that he was not saving her. “Don’t look at me like that!”
She did not respond to his statement. “You were convinced, weren’t you? Those two stupid creatures sales-talked to my brother so he could sell me! Great! I’m going home!”
“No!” Godfrey defended. “I did not sell you! They – they froze you because you can never understand what we talked about – and just that you know, we did not talk about you. You were completely out of that business.”
“Fine!” said Eliezer. “Fraternize with them. Kill me, go on!”
“Stop talking to me like that, El!”
“How could I stop if I can’t even trust you? Now, for the last time, I’m going home. If you wanna come, come now. If you don’t, then better.”
“El, you can’t go home! It’s – it’s fatal! The forest is not safe at night!”
“Well, I know that the forest is safer than being held as hostage by two stupid creatures.”
Without any word, she stomped her feet as she climbed the stairs leading upward and had vanished with the trail of dried leaves. Godfrey tailed her quickly, but she was already lost in the darkness.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
THE LOST BOY
