by Mark Boutros
‘Thank you for saving me,’ the beast said.
‘Thank you for saving us.’ Karl stared at the soil, angry that living things died because of him. How could Arazod discard life so thoughtlessly?
‘I’m Oaf.’ The cloaked beast extended his huge hand.
Questions shook it and smiled. ‘Am I Questions?’
‘I don’t know,’ Oaf answered.
‘She is,’ Karl said. ‘She’s from the Inquiso tribe. They can only speak in questions.’
Oaf nodded. ‘Well then nice to meet you, Questions.’
‘And I’m Karl.’ He shook Oaf’s hand. ‘I’m trying to find out what tribe I’m from.’ He half-smiled.
‘Why are they so desperate to catch you?’
‘Because I escaped before Arazod and Lord Ragnus could kill me.’
‘Lord Ragnus?’ Oaf’s voice hardened, and in his brown eyes Karl saw a sea of sadness, with more turbulent waters than his own.
‘Yes. Overly aggressive. Seems to have an issue with smiles.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In that castle over there.’ Karl pointed towards Flowforn.
‘He destroyed my people. I’m going to become the first Oaf to ever kill by snapping him in half.’
Karl swallowed. ‘I’m… that’s awful.’
Questions scratched her arm. ‘Am I sorry too?’
‘Thanks…’ Oaf stared at Flowforn. ‘I’m coming with you.’
Karl stood. ‘Actually. I was going to sneak in. That’s a bit tricky with a creature as large as yourself, especially if you’re the last of your kind.’
Oaf frowned.
‘Is a team a good thing?’ Questions smiled at Oaf.
Oaf nodded. ‘And how do you expect to sneak in the castle with all the Fools trying to catch you? You’ll need my help.’
Karl huffed. They had a point, and Oaf’s strength was something unique. Also, Oaf was the last of his kind, and so was Questions, and Karl didn’t know what his kind was, so it seemed like a good fit.
Karl nodded. ‘Looks like we’re a team.’
8
The smell of fire-cooked meats and fruity wines blew through the courtyard. Friends and enemies united under one common joy – free food and alcohol. However, the buzz Sabrinia was used to on such an occasion was non-existent. Instead of relaxing, people whispered and watched Arazod in case he erupted into a fury for no reason.
A wall of Fools surrounded Arazod’s table, preventing anyone from getting too close to him, Sabrinia, and the Fool with the keys on its belt.
Sabrinia noticed Fools guarding a structure covered by a huge silk sheet, near the wall. She imagined it was a giant lava pit for Arazod to push people into, or a cage with some violent creature waiting to be released onto the innocent. Either of those sounded likely.
Fools played their dull horns, providing an unpleasant, tinny soundtrack to the evening, while Lord Ragnus sat on his Cyclops and waited by the alleys leading to the gardens. He was probably looking to batter anyone who misbehaved, or just to batter anyone he felt like battering.
Arazod stared at Sabrinia with the tenderness of a predator. ‘When you are my bride…’ He coughed. ‘You will have to wear less revealing outfits. I want nobody else to set eyes upon you.’ Arazod wheezed.
Sabrinia blinked to mask her frustration at being stuck in an eternal cycle of wheezing.
‘In fact, maybe I’ll just pluck everyone’s eyes out.’ Arazod laughed.
Sabrinia covered the top of her low-cut dress with her silk scarf. ‘Don’t you think that’s a bit...’
Arazod’s eyes narrowed.
‘That it’s a bit too much work for you?’ she finished. She tried to read his thoughts, but he was so strange, a tyrant with child-like tendencies, desperate for approval.
‘Good point.’ Arazod glanced at a chef. The chef hurried to the kitchen, knowing that look meant Arazod wanted his food.
The wall of Fools opened. A Fool on a horned wolf rode through, dragging a rope-bound prisoner with a grey sack over his head. ‘I found him, Supreme Man-Hawk,’ the Fool said.
A lump formed in Sabrinia’s throat.
‘Show me,’ Arazod commanded.
Sabrinia wasn’t sure whether to open or close her eyes, so she settled on a squint.
The Fool lifted the grey sack. The gagged man only looked like Karl. Sabrinia’s breathing calmed, but now she worried for the new victim.
‘Nope. Not ugly enough.’ Arazod groaned. ‘End him.’
The man pleaded through his gag.
‘Wait!’ Sabrinia said. ‘He’s done no wrong.’
‘But he’s annoyed me, by not being Karl. Surely that is something wrong?’ Arazod said.
Such muddled logic. ‘If you kill people for not doing anything, then they won’t be as obedient, because they will think there is no point, that they could die at any moment.’ She watched him, his mind turning.
Arazod tapped his claws on the table. ‘Very well. Get him out of…’ He wheezed. ‘My sight. But no killing.’
The Fool nodded and took the man away.
‘Thank you.’ Sabrinia smiled. ‘Why is it you are so eager to kill Karl? He’ll likely die in the wild anyway.’
Arazod’s beak twitched. ‘Of the hundreds of prisoners I’ve given a choice to, he’s the only one to not save himself.’
Sabrinia scratched her arm, proud of her friend.
‘My world has no place for people like him.’
Good people, Sabrinia thought. ‘And what world is it you want to create?’
Arazod pulled a feather out of his neck. ‘I plan to make sure peace is maintained, as that is what my future bride would like, no?’ Arazod smiled.
‘That’s good to hear, my dear. And one of the reasons our marriage is so important. A representation of peace.’
‘As well as… love.’ Arazod scratched the feathers under his chin.
‘Yes. Of course. Love…’ Sabrinia politely smiled. She hoped she could trick herself into loving him. Despite his thirst for violence, he did, when prompted, show mercy. Perhaps there was hope and being bound to him for eternity wouldn’t be so awful. Perhaps love would calm him down and her people would be spared.
Perhaps…
9
Karl and Questions hid between two sheets on top of a horse-drawn carriage.
Karl held his breath to avoid inhaling the stench of weather, travel, and bird dung that was smeared into the material. At least it temporarily diverted his thoughts from how bad this plan was.
He peered through a gap in the sheets.
Oaf, his face covered by his hood, rode the horse towards Flowforn Arch. He stopped behind a short, bald woman, who wore a thin robe and carried a small wooden box. Curved markings covered her muscular legs and small, shiny stones lined her forehead.
Two Fools either side of the arch crossed their spears to stop her.
Karl slid back into the sheet and turned to Questions. She lay face down, somehow resisting the stench.
The woman identified herself as Syla from the mines of Klesper on the southern isles, and she mentioned a gift of golden-handled throwing daggers.
That’s what Arazod needed, more things to kill people with.
The woman proceeded into Flowforn.
‘Hello,’ Oaf said.
‘Pull your hood down,’ a Fool replied.
‘What are you?’ the other Fool said. ‘You look familiar.’
‘Just a beast. I’m here to deliver some rare foods. They call me… the beast.’
Then the Fools said nothing, and that couldn’t be good. Footsteps neared.
Oaf coughed. ‘Nothing in the back apart from the best berries and salted beans you could eat.’
The doors clicked open. ‘We’ll have to try them, just to be sure,’ one Fool said.
Karl held his breath as the Fools chomped.
‘Hold on, one more check,’ one of them said.
Karl clenched his fists, knowing they wouldn’t
do much against spears, or clubs, or other fists. He had to look so peered over the edge. A Fool ducked and searched under the carriage. Karl threw himself back before the Fool looked up again.
‘Go on through then,’ one of them said.
‘Thanks,’ Oaf replied.
The carriage continued and turned along a pebbled path, then stopped by several other carriages. Karl wondered how Questions had remained so still, then realised it was because she was asleep. Annoyed at her ability to sleep through a stressful event, he prodded her with his foot.
‘Are we in the castle yet?’ she mumbled.
Karl shook his head.
Oaf pulled the sheet off them. Karl and Questions climbed down and ducked behind a carriage wheel.
Syla approached the trio.
‘Thanks,’ Oaf said.
‘As promised.’ Karl took three gold pieces out of his pocket and handed them over.
Syla smirked. ‘You’re not the brightest. You could’ve just walked in. The parchment says all welcome.’ She chuckled, grabbed her boxes of food and walked towards the crowded courtyard, packed with guests and Fools.
‘What do we do now?’ Questions asked.
Oaf folded his arms. ‘I can’t go storming in there. Six to ten Fools I can handle. Maybe eleven. But any more than that and I’m done. I’m going to find somewhere and wait for Lord Ragnus to come to me.’
Karl frowned, sad to lose Oaf’s strength, but he understood. ‘Well I guess this is goodbye. Thank you.’
Oaf removed his cloak, revealing his leather vest, trousers and a circular scar on his right shoulder. He handed the cloak to Karl. ‘You’ll need this.’
‘It’s a bit big, and the blood stains might draw more attention to me than my own face.’
Oaf chuckled. He turned the cloak inside out and tore the bottom off it.
Karl put it on. ‘Thanks.’
Questions smiled at Oaf.
He smiled back, turned and walked towards the gardens.
‘What’s the plan, Karl?’ Questions asked.
‘I have no idea.’ He pulled the hood over his head and he and Questions walked into the courtyard, staying close to the wall.
‘There they are.’ Karl pointed at Arazod and Sabrinia, surrounded by Fools who only allowed other Fools and chefs with food and drink into their inner circle.
Arazod took a plate of dead rabbit-mice from the chef and handed it to the Fool with the keys.
The Fool tried the food and nodded.
Arazod took the plate to eat.
Karl turned to Questions. ‘I’ve got it. I need to borrow your quill.’
Karl entered the kitchen, busy with activity and hot with the smell of flaming dead creatures. ‘We need to find Arazod’s next dish.’ He wiped sweat from his forehead.
Questions nodded.
A muscular chef approached them. She ran the back of her hand along her runny nose. ‘If you’re not a chef or a Fool, you’ve no place in here.’ She pushed them towards the exit.
‘Wait, we just want to ask you a question,’ Karl said.
‘And what’s that?’ The chef folded her arms.
Another, smaller chef placed a bowl of lumpy liquid and a plate of chicken-cow leg and one leaf, onto the table. ‘For Arazod and Princess Sabrinia!’ The smaller chef returned to his station and bashed some potatoes with a stone.
Karl knew the leg and leaf was for Sabrinia, it was her favourite meal.
‘So what’s the question?’ the muscly chef asked.
Questions smiled and turned to the chef. ‘Can you catch me?’
‘What?’
Questions snatched the chef’s rolling pin and ran around the kitchen.
‘Come here! I don’t have time for this,’ the chef moaned.
Karl seized the opportunity to slip a piece of parchment under Sabrinia’s lump of leg.
A wooden table stood between Questions and the two chefs. They trapped her on both sides. ‘I think the answer is yes, we can catch you,’ the muscly chef said.
Karl scanned the jars for inspiration, but couldn’t think of anything. He studied the small morsels in the lumpy liquid, then glanced at the rocks used to tenderise meat and beat potatoes.
The chefs grabbed Questions by her arms.
‘Let her go, please. We’re leaving… we just wanted to have some fun,’ Karl said.
The muscly chef pushed Questions towards Karl. ‘We don’t need idiots in here. We’ve got enough of them out there.’ She threw Questions out, and pushed Karl after her.
Karl barged his way through the crowd so he could see Sabrinia, but he maintained a safe distance from any Fools.
The muscly chef delivered the meals to Arazod and Sabrinia’s table. ‘Here you are, Supreme Man-Hawk.’ She placed the bowl of lumpy liquid in front of him, and the plate of meat in front of Sabrinia. ‘And for you, Princess.’ She bowed her head and left.
The Fools closed the circle behind her.
‘My favourite, tortured souls.’ Arazod pointed at his bowl. ‘When Lord Ragnus tortures something, this is what it becomes.’
Sabrinia looked into the bowl and didn’t seem impressed.
Arazod smiled and handed the bowl to his Fool.
Sabrinia stared at her chicken-cow leg. Karl hoped she would notice the parchment.
She used her fork to lift the meat and she looked around.
Arazod coughed. ‘You see, Lord Ragnus can easily kill anything, but sometimes he feels people deserve torturing. Some victims do die from the agony, but the stronger ones, their souls twist from fighting back and they burst into these little soul puffs.’ He wheezed. ‘It’s their inner strength that ends up being their curse! He learned it from a tribe!’ Arazod laughed and pointed to the bowl. ‘One of them is a king from across the sea, but I can’t say his name to him or he’ll turn back into his true self.’ Arazod waved at the tortured soul and clapped.
Karl could tell that Sabrinia’s smile was forced.
‘They have no memory, although after a long time they remember tiny, insignificant details.’
The Fool scooped up a tortured soul and bit down.
CRUNCH.
Its eyes watered and it shrieked. ‘My teeth!’ It spat blood, tooth shards, a small rock and a tortured soul.
The tortured soul stumbled towards the gardens.
‘I’ll get that little runt,’ Lord Ragnus said, mounted on his Cyclops. He hit the Cyclops on the back of its head and it stomped after the tortured soul, passing so close to Karl he could smell the stale sweat from the Cyclops’ skin.
The Fool held its mouth. ‘It hurts!’ Blood dripped onto the pebbles and onto Arazod’s axe, which leaned against the table leg.
Sabrinia lifted the meat and glanced at the parchment again. ‘Maybe it should go and wash its mouth in the water buckets. To stop the pain,’ she suggested.
Arazod nodded. ‘Fine. Go and get the chefs to cook this properly and to bring it to me when it’s done! Then wash your mouth in the water buckets.’ He slammed the bowl into the Fool’s stomach.
The Fool ran into the kitchen, passing Questions who nodded to Karl.
Karl waited and followed the Fool from the kitchen to the water buckets. It rinsed its mouth and spat blood. It raised its head, took a breath and touched its aching face.
‘Sorry,’ Karl said.
It turned around.
Karl smashed a bucket over its head and removed the keys from its belt. He had hope in his hands.
Questions pulled the rope from the bucket handles and tied the Fool’s hands and legs and gagged it.
‘Thanks for everything, Questions,’ Karl said. ’I hope you get to go on all those adventures.’
She smiled.
Karl ran through the crowd, keeping his hood down. He stood in front of the administration building doorway and noticed a parchment of himself stuck to the wall. It offered a reward of fifty golf coins for his capture. Soon he would be free.
He had to look back at Sabrinia’s tabl
e and he caught her eye. He lowered his hood enough for her to see. He smiled, a mixture of relief, thanks, and sadness that their lives were on different paths.
She smiled back then looked down.
Syla, the bald woman, guzzled from a flask of wine and looked at another parchment of Karl’s face on another wall.
Karl turned and descended into the dungeons.
10
Oaf pulled the iron garden gate back and forth. His breathing matched the movement and the creaking soothed him. He was calm, ready for revenge.
The middle of the garden had a statue of Arazod wrestling a dragon. The four, imposing columns around it gave the garden a fake, grand atmosphere. Bright blue and white vines choked the columns and nothing flowed from the symmetrical water features, sculpted in the shape of children.
Oaf didn’t care for it, or for anything he’d seen in Flowforn. Nothing beat the sand and sea air of his birthplace, Reech.
Laughter burst out of an alley, so Oaf clenched his fists and crept over.
‘Brilliant!’ a drunken woman slurred to her small, hairy husband.
The man spat on the ground. ‘For all his frowning, that Lord Ragnus must have a good sense of humour to have brought this with him.’
They laughed at a sculpture of a grinning cat riding a dragon, made from purple-black rock. Oaf’s eyes widened and a sick feeling filled his throat…
The Fall of the Oaf
On the west coast of Flowfornia, where white, sandy beaches were pimpled with purple-black, shiny rocks, was the village of Reech. The rocks fell from cliffs believed to be part of an even bigger, magical rock that hit Hastovia from the sky. That’s why they called them the sky rocks of Reech.
Eighteen Oafs inhabited the beach village, which was strange, as they couldn’t swim, so you’d think they’d get as far away from the water as possible. But no, they loved the rocks of Reech too much and passion came before sense. You see, while the Oaf may be a big, brutish creature, those big brutish hands don’t exist to destroy. They exist to create. To sculpt.
One of the most obvious characteristics of the Oaf was they all looked the same. Brown eyes, grass green solid frames and no hair. The differences were only in size and each Oaf had a unique feature to tell it apart from another.
