Lingeria

by Daniel Kozuh

  “Then, I don’t believe in you,” Norman asserted.

  “I beg your pardon?” Xåbaud baulked.

  “You said that your strength comes from those who believe in you. Therefore, I refuse,” Norman pushed.

  “You can’t do that. I am standing right in front of you!”

  “You are superstition. Superstitions only have power if you believe in them.”

  The whole world shook, both in and out of the bubble.

  “It is not that simple,” Xåbaud said. “This reality is young and very fragile. If you do not believe in me, then it shall cease to exist. It took your world hundreds of thousands of years to abandon me.”

  “Master!” Lawrence shouted and threw himself at Xåbaud’s feet.

  “You coward!” Norman yelled.

  “He is wise,” Xåbaud said. “Join me, as well, and this land will be ours. Continue to rule it, like a god, as you always have. Write their stories, mold their destinies, make them love you. I can gift you with powers that will pale in comparison with the sleight-of-hand Wrence was given.

  Tahra let out an angered howl and charged Xåbaud, with her sword raised.

  “Tahra, don’t!” Norman cried.

  Xåbaud raised his hand and froze Tahra in her place. Using his magic, he effortlessly lifted her off the ground, and slammed her down into the dirt. She did not move.

  Xåbaud looked back to Norman. “It would be foolish to oppose me.”

  Norman looked around. He could end all of this with a simple bow of the knee. “Everyone outside of the force-field is dying,” he thought. “Would it not just be better to live under Xåbaud’s rule? Is it better to live under tyranny than to not exist at all?” Norman then realized it wasn’t up to him.

  “Roe,” Norman said, turning to his friend, “if we choose not to believe in Xåbaud, then Lingeria will be punched out of existence. But, if we do, we are slaves under his rule. This is your decision.”

  Roe’s eyes bulged with panic, “Me? I can’t possibly make that decision!”

  “You wanted to be part of the story,” Norman said. “Now, you are the most important part. I don’t belong here, so this isn’t my decision to make.”

  “I choose … neither,” Roe said finally.

  “Neither?” Xåbaud and Norman asked, in harmony.

  “I choose to fight.” Roe quickly pulled an arrow, leveled it, and shot at the knight. The arrow pierced through the knight’s visor and he let out a terrible screech. The Xåbaud’s body trembled and lost formation; he devolved into a black bipedal mass. The dome blockade exploded like glass, the shards drawn back into the gravity of the once glorious knight.

  The fighting ceased for a moment. The nightmarish creatures, connected with Xåbaud’s power, also screamed with their master.

  “You fools!” Xåbaud shouted. “I will snuff you out of existence!”

  “No, you won’t,” Roe said. “You need us. You are too weak without us. We will keep you trapped here, because I believe in you.”

  “And I believe in Roe,” Norman said standing next to his friend.

  “I believe in Roe,” Tahra creaked, pushing herself up from ground.

  “I believe in Roe,” Rick said, joining his party.

  With each utterance, Xåbaud seemed to be struck with another arrow. He grew smaller, and his creatures retreated back to him.

  “We believe in Roe!” Ocnus boomed.

  Rick turned back and looked at his goblin brethren. They saw their master, Wrence, cringing in supplication at the feet of a demon.

  “We believe in Roe!” came a chorus of goblin voices.

  “We believe in Roe, we believe in Roe, we believe in Roe!” the crowd of hundreds chanted.

  “Destroy them!” Xåbaud screamed trying to hold his form together.

  As hurt as Xåbaud’s form appeared his demonic army was still strong enough to fight. The chaotic attackers amassed behind their master into a unified formidable legion ready to advance.

  “Well, at least we stood up for ourselves before we died horrible deaths,” Roe said, semi-optimistically.

  “Hey, we can beat these guys with one arm covered in interdimensional goo tied behind our backs,” Norman joked out of distress. He looked down at his useless engorged arm. His eyes got wide. “Roe, do you still have those figurines we found in the lake?!”

  “Well, yes but …”

  “Gimme one,” Norman held out his infected black arm.

  Roe dug into his pocket and pulled out one of the small plastic armored vehicles Rick had fished out of Lake Tarnow. He dropped it into Norman’s palm, careful not to get any of the black gunk on himself.

  The blackness enveloped the toy like liquid mercury. Norman clenched his fist and closed his eyes.

  “C’mon,” he whispered to himself. “Become what Wrence wanted you to be.”

  Norman fell to the ground as a tremendous weight developed within his closed fist. He opened his palm and a black ball the size of a ping pong ball rolled out. Free of his grasp it bloated into the size of an Ostrich egg. Norman looked at his arm, it was clean save for a small black spot in the center of his palm. He watched as his body absorbed the stain. That was a worry for another time.

  The egg was now the size of a basketball. It rolled around on the battlefield, angles and lines burst from within. Within seconds the original shape of the battle-bot was discernable and five-feet tall.

  “What the hell?” Wrence said, taking a step forward to see what was happening.

  The black dissolved away and was replaced by bulletproof metallic plates; hydraulic ungulate legs straightened to raise machine twenty-feet above the ground. It grew a hull, double turrets, side mounted machine guns, and one large cannon protruding from the front. In less than a minute the enemy was confronted by a weapon not of this genre.

  Tahra froze, gaping at the metal beast that just appeared. A toothy smile grew across her face and she, seemingly, fell in love for the second time in her life. As if it were calling her name, she swiftly ascended the legs and sat in the hull.

  “So what?” Wrence’s voice trembled. “You made a bigger toy. Real scary.”

  The walking tank sprung four arms from its hull, each complete with its own, unique, peacemaker.

  “Woah-ho-ho-ho-ho!” Tahra’s uproarious laughter was echoing from within the weapon. As if the machine was made specifically for her, she pulled a lever and revved the chainsaw at the end of one of the arms.

  Wrence stepped back. “Uh, sir, it might be best if we retreat.”

  “Coward!” Xåbaud withered in sublime pain, becoming nothing more than a shadow, balled up on the ground. Tiny shards of tin glimmered within it. Wrence scooped up what remained of the god and held him like a baby.

  A black Pegasus near them and Wrence heaved Xåbaud onto its back. Lawrence clawed, desperately, at the steed’s slick hide but couldn’t get himself on as well. Xåbaud kicked the magician off and took flight.

  “Master, wait!” Lawrence cried, waving his arms, desperately.

  The Pegasus flew east, back towards Wrence’s tower. A fog of demonic forces flew behind it and Lawrence ran along the ground, with the other vermin.

  The armies cheered, but Norman and Roe were silent.

  “He’s going to be back,” Norman said.

  “I know,” Roe said, fearfully.

  “But he’s a living being,” Norman assured. “Just like the rest of us. Roe just proved he can be hurt.”

  “Then, we will fight him again,” Tahra yelled down to them.

  “All of us,” said Rick.

  Suddenly, the machine guns on the mechanoid went off and peppered the ground with bullets.

  “Sorry about that,” Tahra shouted. “My fault.”

  ****

  After Xåbaud’s departure, nobody quite knew what to do.

  “Are we still fighting each other?” asked a confused goblin.

  “I don’t think so,” answered an equally-confused Tribesman.


  Norman watched, as the last of the evil disappeared over the horizon, and took a deep breath. It didn’t relax him. He felt a wetness in his hand, Janey had pressed her nose into him palm, begging for a reassuring pet.

  “So, what now?” Roe asked Norman.

  “I think we need to make our way back to your oven and send me home,” Norman said, distractedly stroking the top of Janey’s head. He scratched behind her droopy ears.

  “But you can’t,” Roe pleaded. “We need you more than ever.”

  “You don’t need me,” Norman said. “And I definitely don’t belong here. This isn’t my world, any more.”

  “Maybe.” Roe shuddered. “Maybe I just don’t want you to go.” Roe stout ears grew pink.

  “Aww, buddy.” Norman smiled. “You gonna miss me?”

  “Not miss you, so much as just ...” Roe was cut off, as Norman wrapped his lanky arms around his small friend, lifting him up into the air.

  “I’m gonna miss you too, pal,” Norman playfully shouted, as he spun Roe in circles. Janey barked and chased after the twirling couple.

  Across the field, Ocnus and Tahra found one another in the crowd. Tahra kicked at the dirt. “I wanted to … thank you … for coming to my aid.”

  “It was long overdue,” Ocnus said, holding a bloody cloth to his arm, where he was caught by a goblin spear. “We have decided to return home, rebuild the tribe, and try to bring life back into the soil. You are welcome to come with us. As a chieftain.”

  “Thank you, Father,” she said and then turned to look at the human whipping a Whittle around in his arms. “But I already have a family.”

  “I understand,” he said, dejectedly.

  “But that doesn’t mean I can’t visit,” Tahra added, wistfully. “All of Lingeria must stick together, now. Maybe … Maybe you could still give me my first mark to commemorate this battle.”

  “It would be my honor!” Ocnus beamed. He looked just over Tahra’s shoulder and saw Rick walking towards them. “What is this?” Ocnus wondered.

  “Ocnus, Chief of The Marked Tribe,” Rick began. “I have spoken with goblin command and we would like to offer you not only a truce, but an alliance between our two armies. You have proven yourself in war and we will aid you, in battle and in friendship.” Rick extended his wet palm, as is goblin tradition pacts were sealed with slime.

  “The Marked Tribe … and goblins?!” Ocnus said, shocked. “We fought side-by-side today, goblin, but The Marked Tribe would never stoop to an alliance with a race known for backstabbing and cowardice!”

  “His name is Rick,” Tahra said. “And you will accept his friendship.”

  The males shook on it, Ocnus squeezing so hard a pool of Rick’s ooze formed below their fists.

  “Set me down!” Roe demanded, from yards away.

  Norman did as he was asked, and the embarrassed Whittle yanked his shirt straight. Norman felt, however, that he could make out a slight smile, under Roe’s obligatory grumpiness.

  Unfortunately, Norman had also happened to set Roe down near Pasha’s incinerated corpse. Rick and Tahra joined them by the body. Soon, they were all holding hands.

  “God, she was bossy,” Norman said, jokingly but then sniffed hard, as his nose had begun to run and water leaked from his eyes.

  In the silence, Ocnus came up, carrying a boulder with both hands. He squatted down and set it next to Pasha’s body. Behind him, a line of Marked Tribesmen also carried rocks, placing them side-by-side and then row-by-row, until the body was entombed in a burial mound.

  Everyone was soon collecting large stones to cover the dead, erecting an instant cemetery with randomized graves, leaving the fallen where they had died in battle – a tribal tradition. Even the four hairy Baras were given boulder caskets.

  It was night by the time the last stone had been placed and everyone was exhausted from the day’s events. The two armies camped together, feasting, singing, sparring, and storytelling.

  EPILOGUE

  And thusly, Faustian defeated the six-legged dog of Naa’Bkac and whisked swept away with Princess Fairchild [NOTE: Iris, I don’t like the name Fairchild. Think of something better – you are good with that crap.]. T where they lived hapily ever after unlike everyone else in this world cuz they didn’t have to worry about money or sickness and they never got tired of one another and never faught.

  Oh my god, this is so stupid! I’m so damn tired. I need a drink.

  Pink, ponk, pink, ponk: no ideas are coming.

  Clink, clonk, clink, clonk: this whisky’s surely numbing.

  I can’t take this anymore.

  Xjgrhkak 35y2q;hkbav;kiwvey7n6l 64;abui;;ab;8oyn o3

  - Tales of Lingeria: The Somethingorother

  [Tentative Title; Unfinished and Unedited]

  Kroü The Valiant marched down a darkened stone hallway. Torches with no fuel source lit his path. Gorthon and another general walked behind him. He wore a crimson cape, an air of self-confidence, and his armor, which hadn’t been worn in over a year was now brightly polished. He had often been to Wrence’s tower, for food and frivolity, but he had never entered this chamber before.

  He came to a door of thick-cut Blackwood, reinforced with cross-rails of hammered iron. He gripped the solid ring, drew a breath, and pushed the door open.

  The room was a cavernous, empty space, two-stories high and half the width of the castle itself. The walls were bare, even of light fixtures, and there were no windows, but the room was somehow dimly illuminated, in a swampy green light. The only appointment was a carved marble throne, directly opposite the door. Wrence sat on the cold floor, at the foot of the throne, in a hunched, crestfallen posture. His greasy, black hair hung in front of his decrepit, miserable face. He had lost a lot of weight very quickly – his once tight, swollen skin hung loosely off his tired face.

  “Ah, Kroü, good,” came a heavy, raspy voice. A skeletal hand from the throne beckoned the knight forward.

  Xåbaud had gelled into a permanent physical form – he was a satyr, with the head of a goat coated in a sleek, black pelt. Two sharp, blood red horns protruded out of his skull and curled above his head. He had bulging, golden eyes, with thin, unsettling, vertical irises, and a set of long, splayed teeth at the end of his extended jaw. The rest of his body was hidden beneath the folds of a raisin-colored, robe apart from his long hands, also coated in goat fur. Black fingernails were manicured to sharpened points.

  It took a moment for Kroü to adjust to Xåbaud’s grotesque appearance and he was quite relieved to take a knee and bow, peeling his eyes away from the demon before him. “My lord,” he said, humbly, removing his helmet.

  “Wrence tells me that you have been most loyal to him,” Xåbaud said, with perfect diction, the elongated goat face not interfering with his language skills. “I trust that loyalty will continue, during this peaceful transition of power. There is a war coming, and I want to ensure you have not sided with that miserable Author.”

  “The Author?” Kroü found it better for his nausea to stare at the floor and not look at the malformed monster before him. “Word is that he is returning to his world.”

  “I do not believe that will be the case,” Xåbaud said, clacking his nails on the armrest. “I am not through with him yet.”

  “Then I am your sword and shield, my lord,” Kroü said, even if he wanted to turn down Xåbaud’s non-offer, he knew he would be promptly executed if it did so.

  “Excellent,” Xåbaud said, with a sharp cruelty. “Return to your fortress and assemble your army. I want it fivefold the current ranks.”

  “Fivefold!” Kroü exclaimed.

  “Is that a problem?” Xåbaud placed his angled fingertips on the back of Wrence’s skull and, as best as Kroü could described it, took a sip of the once-great wizard’s soul.

  “No, sire. It is just that enlistments have been rather thin lately,” Kroü muttered.

  “Then, go to villages and force them!” Xåbaud screeched, like an owl. “The race of man, o
nly. The goblins have let us down, I want them eliminated,” he added. “I do not want the unevolved, mutated aberrations of this world.” He said this without a hint of irony.

  “Yes, my lord,” Kroü said.

  “Be gone with you, then!” Xåbaud shouted.

  “Oh, yes, my lord.” Kroü and his men stood and backed out of the room, keeping their heads down. As he closed the door, he caught sight of the pale, shrunken wizard and realized Wrence had not spoken a word.

  ****

  The journey back to Highpoint was mostly uneventful. However, Norman kept finding excuses to veer off course. He convinced everyone to assist Ocnus and the Marked Tribespeople back to their homeland. He wanted to visit every inch of Lingeria before he would say goodbye to it forever. He fished in Bh’ani Cove, bartered in the bazaar of Frankshine, visited The Eremites in Otho Mountain, and rode the giant butterfly of Kavapour. In every village they passed, he took time to teach the children a game that reenacted the mythical battle between pirates and giants, played with a small “magic” orb. Soon, teams were created and neighboring towns started to play one another in Diamond Ball.

  Tahra and Rick got so restless with Norman’s vacation mode, that they took a detour to collect the bounty on a Harpy that had been raiding pullet coops. When they met back up with the group, Tahra sported a nasty claw mark on her face, and a smile. Roe privately suggested to Norman that they had been doing more together than collecting a bounty.

  What should have taken a week turned into months when they eventually crossed the border of Highpoint. As they made their way towards Roe’s house two farmers gossiping over a fence spotted them.