Lingeria

by Daniel Kozuh

  He held the elf’s smooth hand, feeling an electric buzz from where their skin touched.

  Just as they were passing under a fig tree, Norman caught sight of something retreating into an enormous, cone-shaped flower. He froze. “We’re not alone.” He pointed towards the flower.

  “Those are the Kath Fairies. I allow them to live in my flowers because they help with pollination. And their droppings are also quite nutritious.”

  Norman crept up to the flower and leaned in. Two tiny, translucent hands gripped the curling petal and a sleek, triangular head appeared, with enormous, purple, fearful-looking orbs for eyes, skin that was an almost glowing ocean blue with pulsing pink freckles.

  “Hi there,” Norman said, with a smile. Fairies were always throwaway details in the Lingeria books, never factoring into the plot’s seminal decoration. Looking at one now, he wished he had given them a more prominent role.

  The faerie looked at the larger creatures with apprehension, but it seemingly felt safe enough to climb the stamen of the flower. It exposed its iridescent wings, stretching them open and flapping them gently.

  “Oh my god, it’s beautiful.”

  Norman stuck out his finger, anxious to brush it against the paper-like wing. The faerie’s pulled back in fright.

  “It’s okay,” Norman cooed. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  The faerie made a bewildering hacking noise and shot a gob of mucus right onto Norman’s cheek. It instantly seared his skin.

  “Careful,” the elf said. “They spit acid.”

  The elf continued on.

  “I don’t remember writing that,” Norman said, wiping the stinging snot from his face.

  The elf led Norman further into the forest, where even the light of the spores couldn’t stave off the darkness. They came to a tremendously round tree that reminded Norman of the Sequoias in California. At the base of the tree, a knot of roots interwove upon itself like a den of snakes. As the elf approached, the roots untangled themselves, sending a community of beetles scurrying for cover.

  About two feet below ground, planted in the mud, was a decrepit black book, with waterlogged pages and a muddy cardboard cover. The lettering was fading, making the book title read “T V is million.”

  Norman knelt down and reached into the hole. He grabbed the book, which was thicker than most grandmothers’ bibles, and pulled it out of the ground. Suddenly, the roots were active again. They sprung from the ground like a zombie’s arms and grabbed Norman by the wrists. In his panic, he dropped the book back into the hole.

  “Unikü, what is going on?” he shouted.

  The roots grew and twisted up his arms, binding them against his torso. He was lifted off the ground and spun like a spider’s prey. The roots turned him to face the elf, whose eyes now burned pure white.

  “This book is evil. If this is the book you seek …” The elf’s voice now seemed to echo, “… then you must be evil, yourself.”

  “Not necessarily,” Norman said. He was having trouble focusing, with a root twisting around his neck. “You are playing with causalities. I wanted the book to stop the evil.”

  “All men seek power and will destroy anything to get it.”

  “Not true. Not all of us.” The root spiraled down his legs. “My friends will know I’m missing. They will attack you if I am threatened.”

  Like a cruel joke, from the brush marched Tahra, Roe, and Rick, all bound at the wrists, with elves marching behind them.

  “We really have to work on not getting captured so much, you guys,” Norman said. “Tell them! Tell them we want to use the book for a worthy purpose. To stop The Black Cloud.”

  “There is no evil in our lands,” the elf said.

  “For the biggest organism in the world, you are really selfish. It may not be in your lands yet,” Norman snapped, struggling against the vines. “But outside of Unikü, people are suffering. If you took one step away from yourself, you would see that.”

  “But once you defeat this so-called evil, you yourself will be corrupted. Such is the soul of man.”

  “He is no man,” boomed a voice. “He is your god! Your creator!”

  “Is that … Tahra?” Norman thought.

  The elves looked to Norman, unconvinced.

  “He has taken physical form and descended to Lingeria, to battle death itself – and this is how you treat him!” screamed the warrior.

  The living rope grew tighter around Norman. He could only take in short gulps of air and small black dots were popping up in his vision. And then, release came. Was this death? Norman fell to the ground, gasping for air. The roots slithered back into the dirt. It worked! Tahra did it. Then, came the shrieking.

  Every elf opened its mouth and let out a piercingly shrill, glass-shattering screech, forcing every non-elf to slam their hands over their ears. The vegetation was pulsating and drawing back in on itself. Norman had never seen a plant be afraid before. The elves, however, seemed petrified – motionless, while they emitted the stabbing alarm from their gaping mouths.

  “Jesus, Tahra, what did you do?” Norman said.

  Rick smelled it first. “Fire!” he shouted.

  A red glow could be seen, a few hundred yards away from the group, near the edge of the forest. It was growing brighter by the second.

  “It is goblins.” Rick was certain. “They know better than to just walk into this forest.”

  Norman got to his feet and shook the elf who had shown him to the book. “Wake up! You have to fight.” But the only response was the ceaseless drone of eventual tinnitus.

  “We have to get out of here.” Norman stated the obvious.

  His party turned to flee but he, luckily, remembered why he was here. He ran to the foot of the tree and snatched the book.

  The fire grew brighter, overtaking the light of the pollen. A curiously-sweet smell also filled the air, like caramel.

  “North, towards the lake, is the only path not burning,” Norman declared. “Let’s go.”

  Norman, Tahra, and Rick raced away, only slowing when they saw that Roe was not following.

  “Roe!” Tahra shouted. “Come on!”

  “We have to help Unikü,” the little man said. “They are killing him… or her… whatever it is!”

  “Unikü just tried to kill me!” said Norman.

  “It was just protecting itself,” implored Roe. “Can’t you hear its pain?”

  The other three cowards looked at one another, all thinking the same thing: What could we possibly do to save an entire forest?

  ****

  From what Tahra could spy, there were about twenty soldiers, burning their way into Kath. At the front of the militia, two goblins were spraying the flora with a thick brown syrup.

  Rick knew this substance well and explained. “We call it Apicairy. It is very flammable material, which we collect in the bogs to the east.”

  Very flammable it was, indeed, for troops carrying torches had to only tap the flame to the coated branches and the accelerant had the tree burning red within seconds – the flame greedily eating its way up the trunk.

  Norman noticed that the treacle caused everything it touched to scorch fast and char. It burned itself out quickly and the fire itself was not penetrating too deep into the damp forest. The shrieking elves drew the goblins directly to them, so the team took cover opposite the path of the oncoming fire.

  “Roe,” Norman said, “I need you to sneak up there and grab a leaf with some of that fluid on it, before it burns.”

  “Why must I do it?” Roe said, scared.

  “Because saving this forest was your idea. Now, go.”

  The Whittle snuck towards the oncoming horde, trying to remain hidden within the that grew taller than he did. He scuttled back, moments later, carrying a plate-sized Empress leaf, dripping with the sticky, saccharine butane.

  Norman took the leaf from Roe and coated The Verisimillion in the tar-like molasses.

  Tahra’s eyes widened. “What are
you doing?”

  “Okay, I’m going out there,” Norman said, boldly.

  “What do we do?” asked Rick.

  “You’ll know when it happens,” he replied, and he was off.

  ****

  Norman circled back on the attackers. He walked out behind them, in the middle of their scored earth. He broke off a still-blazing branch and held it in his right hand. In his left, The Verisimillion dripped goo down his arm.

  “Hey!” he got their attention. “Looking for me?”

  The startled goblins turned and saw their bounty. They stepped forward.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Norman played. He showed them what he held. “I’m sure your boss would be pretty upset if this were to burn up.” He brought the flaming stick so close to the book that even Norman grew nervous, only now realizing his arm would also be engulfed in flame if they called his bluff.

  “The Verisimillion!” one goblin gasped.

  “This guy knows what’s up,” Norman pointed at the goblin.

  Another goblin drew an arrow and set it in his bow. Norman brought the flame closer to the book. “You sure about that?”

  “Hold your fire,” commanded a third goblin.

  “I have demands,” Norman stalled.

  The last goblin looked at him, confused, “Demands?”

  “Yes. That’s how this works,” Norman said. “I’ll give you The Verisimillion and you let me – and my friends – go.”

  “Okay,” said another goblin.

  “I’m not done.” Norman wasn’t looking at the goblins but at the burning trees behind them, “I want one thousand unmarked gold pieces. And a helicopter.”

  “Hella? Copper?” the goblin tried.

  “Yeah. And, uh, Lingerian Whiskey … single malt … aged no less than 12 years.”

  “I mean, uh, we’ll have to check with Wrence.”

  Norman watched as the last lick of flame burned off the trees into a white whisp of smoke. The goblins were so focused on The Verisimillion that they didn’t even notice the sudden absence of fire or elvish cries. A fresh, green vine slipped past the charred vegetation and yanked a goblin into the forest. The other goblins turned to find the assailant and Norman pitched his flaming stick at the one who carried the vat of Apicairy. The vat and the goblin were enveloped in brilliant blue fire.

  Tahra, Rick, and Roe burst through the bush and attacked the arsonists. The goblins had no time to decide if they should defend against vegetable or hominid, before both were upon them. Some were tripped to the ground and dragged, screaming, into the darkness. Others were beaten savagely by Tahra and Rick. Calamity Jane even bit into the ankle of the archer, allowing Roe to pry the bow and arrow away.

  Roe strung arrow to bow and pulled back. Proudly, aiming at a goblin’s head, he released. The arrow curved sharply to the right and stuck into a burnt log. The second, third, and fourth shots also widely missed their marks – most simply flipped off the string and fell at his feet.

  The entire melee only lasted a few minutes before our heroes stood among a pile of goblin corpses. Thin, stringy roots emerged from the ground and coated the deceased in silken cocoons. The soil swallowed its enemy, pulling them deep underground to decompose and feed the elves.

  The bold survivors took stock of their injuries, which were, for the most part, only minor scrapes and bruises. They commended each other on a job well done. Tahra even complimented Rick on his inimitable maneuvers and attacks. Then came that feeling again.

  They were being watched.

  The elves stood around the perimeter of the burnt alleyway.

  Nobody was sure if they would have to fight again.

  Then, an elf stepped over the charred remains of its greater self and onto the dead ground. Unikü looked at Norman, with thankful eyes. The elf lifted its skinny arms, placed its hands on the side of Norman’s head, and pressed its forehead against his.

  “Thank you,” whispered Unikü. Norman felt that same familiar buzzing as when they held hands, like a sugar rush.

  “You are welcome, but it wasn’t me, really.” Norman motioned to Roe. “He convinced us to stay and help.”

  Unikü knelt to Roe’s height and gave him a most grateful smile. Unikü’s tapped Roe’s forehead, but Roe also received a gentle kiss on both cheeks, turning his face as red as the fire they had just vanquished.

  “You will always be welcome to enter me.”

  Norman bit his tongue.

  Unikü stood up and said, “You have proven yourself to be keepers of the book. All I ask is that, if ever you feel its evil pull, you will return it and I will hide it within my bounds. I do not know what it does but I know it wields amazing power.”

  “I promise,” said Norman, and he meant it.

  Tahra and Rick pillaged two goblin swords that had fallen during the fight and Roe held onto his bow, yanking the errant arrows from the dirt and trunks of trees. Norman decided to only hold on to the book.

  The travelers followed the burnt path out of Unikü (they no longer called it “Kath”). Unikü retreated back into the safety of Unikü. When Norman looked back, he saw tiny, curled seedlings, in the shape of footprints, sprouting out of the ash.

  THIRTEEN

  The monks stood outside their stone monastery, watching the flames devour it from within like an infection. The fire painted the brick outside the windows with tall flags of black.

  Kaspar had escaped, narrowly, falling into the mud with a lungful of smoke. In his arms, he clutched the metallic lock-box he knew the arsonist had hoped to destroy. The blaze had baked the chest’s ornate ironwork inlay, until it glowed red. Kaspar – one of only two Eremites aware of its contents – wrapped his arms around the heavy chest, instantly branding the wrought flourish deep into his skin. He carried it to the safety of the frozen mountainside.

  - Tales of Lingeria: Sinister Awakening, Chapter 2

  Some distance away from Unikü, the group took a moment to regroup and collect themselves. Norman spent a good deal of time scraping The Verisimillion against a rock, to remove all of the Apicairy. His arm burned bright red and he lost all of his forearm hair – peeling the flammable gunk off his body was agony.

  The contents of the book itself seemed like the scribblings of a madman – pages and pages of uninterrupted miniscule, handwritten block font and cyphers, followed by psychedelic drawings and what looked to be poetry. As the book progressed, the handwriting became stilted and manic. Angry splotches of ink were smeared over the thick, homemade paper.

  “So,” Roe asked, after Norman had studied the book for a while. “How do we stop it?”

  “I have no idea,” Norman said, flipping the pages.

  “You should have burned it in the forest, and we should burn it now,” suggested Tahra.

  “We don’t know what that will do,” replied Norman. “That could just make things worse – tear open a black hole in the middle of Lingeria and negate all of existence. Obviously, the book, Wrence, The Black Cloud, and Lingeria are all linked, but we don’t know how and to what extent. Two years of high school Spanish isn’t going to help me decipher whatever language this is.”

  Norman fanned the pages again, in hopes an answer might expose itself.

  “Norman?” Rick asked. “Are you okay?”

  Norman looked up from the book. “Yeah, why?”

  “You haven’t spoken for hours – you’ve just been flipping the pages of the book.”

  It was dark. A fire had been built and lit, everyone was eating food Norman never saw them collect or cook, and Janey was snoring.

  “Yeah,” said Norman, shaking off the lost time and closing the book. “I’m fine.”

  ****

  The next morning, the entire party was in a sour mood. They were ornery and over-tired. They snapped at one another over breakfast. Nobody could agree what the next move should be.

  “The book is messing with us,” Norman said. “Just carrying it around isn’t going to do us any good. We need to take it to s
omeone who would know what to do with it.”

  Unfortunately, the vast majority of Lingeria was illiterate.

  Then, it dawned on Norman. “What about Pasha the Bibliothecary?”

  “Who?” Tahra questioned.

  Roe then added, “And what is a Bibbycarney?”

  “In Unfortunate Immortals, Book Seven of The Tales of Lingeria, much of the plot dealt with a mad cleric, named Ismo, who attempts to rule Lingeria by converting it to a universal religion. He called himself a “Prophet of Xe” (the spirit that poisoned the first tree of Lingeria). As part of his revolution, Ismo ordered all texts, scrolls, and books – not written by him – destroyed,” Norman explained. “A lone hermit, Pasha the Bibliothecary, began collecting and hiding all written materials in the labyrinthine sewer tunnels, beneath The Red City. Pasha single-handedly saved the history and traditions of Lingeria. Citizens would wrap any books they had in fabric and leave them in secret caches around the city. Pasha collected them, under cover of night. If anyone can help us, Pasha can!” Norman exclaimed.

  Norman’s exuberance was met with blank faces.

  “Seriously? None of that happened? Pasha? Ismo? The maze library under the city? That was some of my best work.”

  Vacant stares returned to him.

  “Well, it seems that no matter how diverted the timeline of this Lingeria is from my books, the characters still seem to exist,” Norman said. “My thinking is that we go to The Red City and find Pasha. She was always a book nut, even before books were outlawed. She knows the language of the ancients. She is our best bet since the Pinnarchs are corrupted.”

  While no one seemed to like the idea very much, no one had a better plan. The team set out on the trek to The Red City. Norman’s mind and legs no longer complained about walking – it had become a natural part of life and was now quite enjoyable, actually. He looked forward to the changing landscapes and sleeping under the stars. It seemed like no time had passed at all before The Red City appeared on the horizon.