by Ryan Tang
He didn't know how to think of his main body. Was it still a part of him? Was it just the thing that carried his head around?
He still hadn't come up with an answer to that one. Now that he was living in Peter's mansion, he had time to think about questions like that.
He still didn't know how he'd survived. He'd heard of nothing like it in the few stories his father deigned to tell him. Falo thought about the famous Lords who'd inscribed their names in history. They all had something unique about them.
There was his namesake, the Hungry Huntsman, a ferocious conqueror known for never missing a shot. The first Falo united all of Earth under the rule of the Lords. The Crimson Mist was the greatest Paragon ace in history. He was revered for his ability to dart in and out of a battle without ever taking a single blow. The Ignorants had slain him through treachery, murdering him in his bed. There was Bria of the Faces, a woman who'd absorbed her two triplet sisters in the womb. Two tiny heads stuck out from each side of her neck. Her Familiar was an almighty three-headed sea serpent, stark white just like her enormous Paragon. In her time, white had still been a hero's color.
He twined his fingers around his hair and yanked his head from the bedside table.
Perhaps Falo the Headless would soon join those legendary names.
The food was already waiting for him - two full trays stacked high on his desk. His mouth watered as the incredible smell wafted into his nostrils. Saliva dripped down and trailed to the floor. He hurried over as a greedy smile lifted his cheeks.
On the first tray, a full plate of shredded potatoes sat next to a thick and bloody steak. When Falo stuck the knife in, hot blood spurted high into the air. A side dish held fat sausages arranged in a loose pyramid, accompanied by eggs stuffed with cheeses and vegetables. The next tray was stacked high with fluffy pancakes, cooked with vanilla and accented with the perfect amount of butter. After Falo mentioned that the pancakes were his favorite, he'd received a full tray of them every morning.
Since moving to Peter's mansion, Falo had eaten delicious meal after delicious meal. There was breakfast food like shredded potatoes and eggs, lunch food like stacked ham sandwiches, and dinner food like pasta with shrimp or lamb chops with roasted vegetables. Back in The Wastes, there'd just been food and not very much of it. He'd eaten more in a week than he got in a full month in The Wastes.
Falo remembered how the Lords had looked during their prime on Old Earth, back when they hadn't yet been Lost. They were all big and strong, broad of chest and thick of limb. He was still young. He could look like that one day, now that he was finally eating well.
Falo carefully placed his head back on his neck. The two pieces fit together well enough. The cut had been very thin, and his head was able to stay in place with only a little wobbling. After falling face-first into a bowl of soup, he'd learned to be careful about leaning over. Peter had given him a collar that helped clamp everything in place, but Falo didn't like it. He hated the feeling of the cold metal ring wrapped around his neck.
He took his knife and fork and started chopping up the steak. The red blood tasted so much sweeter than his goddess's sour black, but it still reminded the boy king of the first victory in his coming conquest of Plenty.
After beating out Bret's stupid fire with his body, he'd crawled on burnt knees and elbows back to screeching goddess. He'd cut himself at the wrist with her shell, a jagged scar that twisted and twined around his arm. Then he'd brought himself up to her mouths – not the painted one on the shell but the true ones underneath. She'd drunk hungrily, and her strength returned as her tendrils slowly flickered from black to burnt red. He'd thought about feeding Bret to her too. She'd hungered for him, especially since his hasty gunfire had burned her sanctuary. But Falo had promised him wealth and prestige to coax him through the dark tunnels of the Spire, and he couldn't break his word, no matter how much he disliked the grasping little man.
After his goddess had taken her fill, it'd been Falo's turn. He'd taken a fistful of tendrils into his mouth and bit as hard as he could. Her blood had gushed into his mouth, stinking of salt and rot and power. With his enhanced abilities, finding the Spire Guardian had been an easy task. He could see through the defaced books. The Eternium tower crumbled before his will. But defeating her had been a very narrow thing. If the Ignorants had remembered, the Spire Guardian almost certainly would have killed him. She still could have, if only she'd been more ruthless. After cutting off his head, she'd gaped in horror instead of attacking any further. That, more than anything, had been why he spared her despite his goddess's wrath. The goddess had been very unhappy, but that was how it'd always been – a sinful god's power paired with a virtuous Lord's just rule. Ignorance paired with a Lord Truthspeaker.
Soon those days would return.
When he finally finished with his meal, Falo pulled his head back off his neck. He wiped his mouth and throat then meandered over to the bathroom.
His quarters in Peter's extensive mansion were larger than Jon's whole house. He could bathe every day, an incredibly pleasant departure from The Wastes, where clean water was best saved for drinking. His skin felt so clear and cool without its usual layer of muck and grime. It was almost like he could breathe through it.
He stepped beside the tub and turned on the faucets to fill his bath. Per his request, Peter had changed the valves to dispense salt water instead of fresh. The sinful gods came from the depths of Old Earth's salty sea, and their blood, freshly thickened, ran through his veins.
He threw his head into the tub first. His tongue slowly flickered in and out as the brackish taste filtered through his mouth then back out again, seeping through the hole at the base of his head.
His head stared through the water as his body leaped in after him.
He lathered soap all over his body then started washing his face. He pulled his head out of the water and set it at the side of the tub, grabbing it by his hair, which had finally begun to thicken again now that he was back underneath the false sun. Elaine was always joking that he'd go bald before he became an adult.
He'd show her his new hair after he freed her from The Wastes.
He hoped she'd find it handsome.
The boy king winced when he thought of Elaine's terrified face after she'd realized she couldn't speak.
He shook his head. He didn’t have a choice. Jon, Elaine, Tall Paul, and Simon. None of them would let him leave that night. He’d done what he had to, and it’s not like they remembered.
When he was clean again, Falo stepped out of the water, shivering a little as he dried his body. He beamed proudly at the sight of his new clothes.
Peter had given him countless perfectly tailored garments, all in purple and gold. Today Falo chose loose-fitting and comfortably baggy purple pants, a flaring gold sash at the waist, and a long-sleeved purple shirt with a proud golden kraken embroidered on the front.
Falo loved that shirt. It was just like the design on his shield.
He wondered what the people in The Wastes would think if they saw him now. He wondered if Jon or Elaine would care that he lost his head. What about Jon's parents? What had happened after they woke up and found him missing?
Falo thought of his excellent breakfast, his daily baths, and his beautiful new clothes. The people at The Wastes would like those too, and they shouldn’t need to wait for Falo to be king. The boy took a long gaze around the exquisite bathroom. Peter had everything. He could make the people of The Wastes full and happy with a snap of his fingers.
The boy king paused for a long moment.
Then he shook his head.
Peter was loyal because Falo was his Truthspeaker. The people of The Wastes were nothing to him.
How would it appear if Falo’s dearest friends were all Ignorants? His father had warned him what would happen.
He’d scream and threaten and curse and yell every time he saw Falo playing with his friends. The words still echoed in the boy king’s ears.
"There are
only exiles and losers here. If you want to be a Fred your whole life, then keep playing with these kids. But if you want to be king one day, then shut up and do what I tell you to do."
"These people are already losers! And look at how they treat us. Why would you join them? What will the Lords think when they return and see you playing with them? Do you want to be a Fred for the rest of your life?"
Fred was what Falo had told his friends to call him. Elaine had pestered and pestered him for his name until he made something up. To the Ignorants, names like Falo were cursed. It’d been a good name, until his dad found out about it.
Falo did not want to be an exile among exiles. He did not want to be a Fred his whole life. He wanted to claim his birthright. He wanted to be king. His father had gotten himself killed trying, but Falo would be better. Guilt coiled through Falo's stomach, but he shook his head and shoved the thoughts out of his mind. He couldn’t afford to lose Peter’s respect.
____
There was a knock on the door when he finished dressing. By now, Peter was used to Falo's schedule. He was a fastidious servant, careful never to interrupt or come too early. Falo stepped across the room and twisted the knob open with his left hand. His head swung back and forth in his right, peering at the giant looming over him.
The big man fell onto one knee as soon as he crossed the threshold. Compared to the people he knew in The Wastes, Peter was almost ludicrously large. His arms and belly bulged out against his short-sleeved shirt. The powerfully-built man had a full head of black hair and an enormous beard to match it. The neatly-trimmed hair went down past his chest.
"Lord Falo."
The boy gestured for him to rise and clasped him on the shoulder, stretching his arm to wrap around the big man's girth. He wondered if he'd ever grow as big and tall as Peter. His father had been a dwarfish little man, but he'd spent the better part of his life hiding and starving in The Wastes.
Meeting Peter had been a tremendous relief. The big man was powerfully built and genuinely loyal to the cause – everything that Bret was not. Peter spent no time fantasizing about his own desires. He simply provided Falo with everything he wanted.
"How is Bret?"
Peter chuckled a little.
"Good. Good. Per your recommendation, I gave him the Contract. He's doing much better now."
The journey into the Spire had been very difficult for the little man. He'd spent the last week raving like a lunatic, screaming about false women and black fires. He'd already attacked three of Peter's servants to see if they were hiding tentacles inside their chests. If Bret kept his memories, he would have gone mad.
Falo nodded briefly.
"I must return to the Spire and refresh my bond."
Her long imprisonment had severely weakened his goddess. She'd been slowly contaminating her prison for many years, but there was still so much more work to be done. So long as enough of the Spire's texts remained whole, his goddess remained bound by the tower. The bond between sinful god and Lord, between patron and worshipper, was the only way to increase her strength.
Concern flew across Peter's face so quickly that Falo had to swallow his smile. The big man's expressive face exaggerated his every emotion.
He was guileless, a worthy servant for a Truthspeaker.
"Are you sure you've recovered enough?"
"Yes. I'm ready now."
Falo had tried to return to the Spire after his first night at the estate. That time, Peter had been right to stop him, but now the boy king was stronger than he'd ever been.
The big man scratched his beard thoughtfully. His pensive expression deeply furrowed his wrinkled brow.
"The Spire is still under a full guard, one that far exceeds what you found that night. The colony has called in their Security Force and the woman you encountered has returned to the black tower, accompanied by a full squadron of scholars just like her. The risk is too great."
Falo grimaced.
What could have gone wrong?
The Ignorants had forgotten why the Spire was built. They’d forgotten the creature hidden inside. When he visited, they were hosting reading sessions and game nights inside, and he hadn’t been able to decide if that was more sacrilegious or stupid. Some Lost Lords had been exceptionally ruthless, sacrificing countless subjects in dark rituals to build their god's power. Falo would never commit such a heinous act, but it would have been so easy on Plenty.
Peter shrugged when he saw Falo’s consternation.
"Something must have aroused their suspicions."
“But what?”
The Guardian should have forgotten everything, and he'd planted a careful lie in her friend's head after making him do the same. In Jared's mind, he'd found her as soon as he stepped into the Spire. The Guardian had fallen from a high shelf and injured herself.
“My sources didn’t say. All we know is that the guard around the tower has dramatically increased.”
Falo flexed his left arm, the one with the marks from the goddess's teeth running all over it. The Spire Guardians were clever, but he was so much stronger than he'd been before.
"Surely I can defeat them!"
It was a well-known, even among the Ignorants, that a Paragon amplified a man's strength by a thousandfold. A sinful god had an even higher power.
The big man unleashed a booming laugh, his black beard rising along his lips. He lifted his palms high in the air to display his deference. His broad and earnest face glowed.
"I'm sure you could! But there would be an undeniable risk. I have another way. A safer way. Bide your time. Grow strong from the safety of my mansion. And then sweep away your enemies all at once!"
The big man turned and began walking down the hall, his long strides echoing against the sleek white floor.
"I have spent my life dreaming of the return of the Lost Lords. If you want to strike now, then we strike now! I am honor-bound to obey your every command. But please. Hear me out. Let me show you what I've prepared."
Falo hurried after him.
"A good king always knows his people."
That was one of the two rules, along with "A good king always protects his people."
As a boy, Falo had first read those lines on a tattered old scrap of paper stuffed haphazardly among his father's bag of old things, jammed awkwardly against the angry old man's gray model Paragon and the tip of the wooden sword he used to beat his son.
That scrap of paper was the only item he'd taken from the messy pile of his father's belongings. His father had treated it as a pointless afterthought, but Falo knew the paper's worth. The words had been written by a true Lord - not a powerless pretender like his father but one of the wise rulers of Old Earth.
Falo knew Peter was a man worth listening to, and one day, when Falo came into his power, he’d make sure to protect Peter too.
The two of them walked past sleek white walls and countless little glass cases filled with tiny ornaments and trinkets. When Falo asked about them, Peter laughed and said they were designed to look like artifacts from Old Earth.
The doors were circles that hoovered nonsensically in the middle of the wall, forcing the two of them to hoist their legs over an annoying ledge every time they went down a new hall.
"Why are the doors built like that?"
Peter chuckled and gave a dismissive wave of his hand.
"It's just for appearances. It's how Stock designed his company headquarters. We made ours look the same, so he'd think we were loyal."
Falo grinned savagely.
When the time came, Falo would pay Stock back a thousandfold for what he'd done to The Wastes.
A sly smile played across Peter's lips as he walked past yet another unmarked circular door, a grin Falo didn't understand until he walked by it himself.
He froze in place. His power swelled like a rising tide. He suddenly felt very light-headed. It was like his mind had surfaced to a higher plane. It was a feeling not unlike visiting the false sun after spending weeks lock
ed in The Wastes.
Peter's proud and booming laugh echoed along the hall.
The door opened, and Falo gasped.
The room was built for Truthspeakers.
He stepped over the stupid little ledge and let out a joyous cry.
"I present your study."
The room's high ceiling was identical to the one in his bedroom. False sunlight radiated through an impeccably clear window. A woman with jet black hair carefully balanced on a rickety ladder as she vigorously buffed the glass.
Falo fought down the undignified urge to raise his arms and soak it all in.
He was free from The Wastes now and could get sunlight whenever he wanted.
Three of the walls were filled with books, stacked top to bottom, just like in the Spire. Some books had been torn and sabotaged, stained with ink and ravaged by the elements. There were even two with knives sticking through the covers. Others were pristine, but Falo could almost taste the lies printed on every page. These were the books he needed, the sort that the goddess had slowly created from her underground prison.
Falo ruefully scratched his half-stump. Once he ruled Plenty, he'd have to hide away books like the one the librarian used to hurt him.
Peter pointed proudly.
"You wouldn't believe it, but we just bought those. We were able to use a machine to instantly damage them. We'll bring more books as soon as we get them. There aren't too many left on Plenty, so we're planning on printing our own."
Then the big man gestured at the farthest wall, which was stacked from top to bottom with ream after ream of clean white paper.
"We don't need you to act personally until all the pieces are in place. With your Contracts, you'll be able to conquer all of Plenty right from this study."
Peter took a scroll and laid it out in front of Falo. The boy king dipped his fingers into his neck, and the blood ran again. The red and black ink burned on his fingers, ripe with power. He dipped his hand down.
Falo paused.
"What should I write?"
"Just one word is fine – OBEY."
Falo touched the page. The blood dripped across the page of its own accord, forming the word in giant spiky letters.
