by Mark Boutros
Boofa peered over the edge of the cliff. ‘That’s not normal.’ She caught Grifta’s eye. He gestured for her to stay where she was.
The humming became rumbling. ‘Look!’ Cecil called out.
Boofa ran over and Cecil pointed her to a line of visitors on the horizon, easily over fifty of them.
Cecil’s throat dried up.
‘I’m going down,’ Boofa said. ‘You stay here.’
‘But I—’
‘Stay here, Cecil. And if anything happens, run.’ Her wrinkled brow warned him and she descended.
Cecil desperately wanted to follow, but he didn’t want to add to the stress. He noticed some of the visitors pushing cloaked boxes, and a carriage at the back of the line. ‘Mum!’ he called out, but she was too far. The line arrived at the village entrance. Cecil watched the Oafs gather behind Boofa and Grifta.
Boofa’s worry became a grin. It was the stranger.
Cecil beamed and climbed down the cliff.
Grifta stepped towards the stranger. ‘We’ve missed you… umm… I can’t believe we still don’t know your name?’ He extended his hand to the stranger who folded his arms.
Cecil stopped on the sand and hid behind one of the pillars that held up his home. The coldness had returned to the stranger’s eyes.
‘I’m now known as Lord Ragnus.’ He smirked. ‘Apologies for the delay in returning. I had to work hard to bring you the ideal gift which the Fools have helped me to gather.’ He nodded to the sheet-covered boxes that the small, ugly, grey Fools stood behind.
‘You didn’t have to do that.’ Boofa smiled.
‘Nonsense. I wanted to.’ Lord Ragnus turned towards the carriage. He nodded.
‘Open!’ a whiny voice shouted.
The Fools removed the sheets and opened the boxes.
Horned wolves.
Cecil’s heart raced. A dozen horned wolves chased screaming Oafs around Reech, attacking in packs. A horn pierced an Oaf’s stomach. Teeth ripped a chunk from an arm. Everywhere Cecil looked blood dotted sand.
Some Oafs ran for the sculpted boats on the shore, but horned wolves savaged them before they could untie them.
Lord Ragnus stalked Boofa and Grifta towards the sea. ‘I would’ve returned sooner, but forming alliances and armies takes time.’
Boofa caught Cecil’s eye. Her look told him everything he needed to know, but he crept to the next pillar, wanting to help.
‘We took you in…’ Grifta said, his eyes red with anger.
Lord Ragnus and a line of horned wolves forced the Oafs further into the sea. The water was up to their chests.
‘You did, and I am grateful. However, I have a dilemma. As long as you are alive, I will never be the strongest being in Hastovia.’
Grifta marched out of the sea and towards Lord Ragnus, but a horned wolf pierced Grifta’s calf. His scream stopped any more Oafs from being as brave and he fell onto his hands and knees.
Lord Ragnus stood above him. ‘I’d like to show you a skill I learned from the Boulder Tribe whilst on my travels.’ He put one hand on Grifta’s head and the other around his neck. ‘Sometimes killing is too good for people.’ He twisted Grifta’s head.
Grifta yelled.
‘Stop!’ Boofa yelled.
Lord Ragnus released Grifta, letting him catch his breath, then grabbed him and twisted his neck again. ‘You see, when you don’t submit, your inner strength fights back, like a powerful energy. You know you’re going to die, but you still want to give everything. So I take you to the maximum point of pain, and the energies collide and…’ He twisted a fraction more. Blood replaced the white in Grifta’s eyes and flowed from his mouth.
He screamed and disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Cecil threw up on the sand and fought the urge to scream. He moved behind a sculpture of an octo-eagle. What could he do?
Lord Ragnus kneeled on the sand and picked up a small creature with a big head and little legs. He placed it on his palm. ‘Hello there. It’s your inner strength that is your curse and turns you into this thing.’ He closed his hand, and with a crunch, Grifta was gone.
Boofa placed a hand over her mouth.
Lord Ragnus wiped his hands on his trousers, then he and a line of horned wolves advanced towards the Oafs in the sea. Some backed off and were swept away.
Boofa stepped towards the horned wolves. Cecil watched, hoping, crying.
‘Stop this now!’ Boofa ordered Lord Ragnus. ‘Call them off! You can have your title of strongest, your sculptures, whatever you want. Just leave us in peace.’
Wolves tried to drag Boofa under the water using their teeth, but she pushed them away. ‘We never leave here, so nobody will ever know you’re not the strongest apart from us.’
Lord Ragnus looked like he considered her words and walked towards Boofa. Cecil hoped some of his friend was still inside this cruel being.
‘I’ll know,’ he said. ‘Like you told me, obsession is a poison.’ He clenched his rock fists; the rock fists Cecil had made him. ‘Consider me incurable.’ He smashed Boofa in the stomach.
She struck back but he bashed her away. Each time, she’d come back that little bit weaker and he’d punch her further into the sea.
Cecil willed himself to help her, but his legs wouldn’t move.
Lord Ragnus grabbed Boofa’s head. He held her under the water until the thrashing stopped.
Cecil stared at the sea, hoping she’d come back up, but she didn’t.
The only thing breaking the deathly silence was horned wolves ripping at Oaf flesh.
Lord Ragnus admired the sculpture of The Stranger. He turned to the carriage. ‘The Charmer is that one.’ He pointed to it.
Laughter came from the carriage and a whiny voice spoke. ‘Bring it with us!’
A swarm of Fools wrapped ropes around it and struggled to pull it into a cart.
‘There’s one more Oaf. There.’ Lord Ragnus pointed at Cecil, and then he and the horned wolves chased him. Cecil sprinted to the cliff and climbed up while the horned wolves ran up the path. Fear drove Cecil beyond the bearded Oaf sculpture and through Reech Forest. The footsteps and growls closed in.
Cecil came to a stream. He knew Lord Ragnus wouldn’t stop until he was dead. He bit into a tree to contain the pain and ripped the horn off his shoulder. He threw it down and blood covered the right side of his chest. He faced the stream. With no idea how deep it would get, he made his choice and ran through it. Sadly he was mistaken and it was a river. The current carried him away. His arms flapped and he struggled for air. The only thing going through his mind was the image of his mother being buried in a watery grave. Water filled his body and everything around him faded into darkness.
He regained consciousness, washed up on the edge of Reech Forest. Cecil went from town to village and camp to castle, hoping he would find Lord Ragnus, but due to Oafs having no sense of direction he kept ending up in the same places. He settled in a tavern to wait until information came to him. The entire time, he thought about his creation being used to kill his mother. He vowed to never sculpt again, to find Lord Ragnus, and to be the first Oaf to kill another being…
The tapping of tiny feet jogged Oaf out of his memory. A tortured soul scuttled by him. Oaf pinched it and lifted it to his eye. He remembered Grifta and his bottom lip trembled.
The tortured soul’s face had female features and her little legs continued running but stopped when she realised she was getting nowhere.
‘Please don’t eat me!’ she said.
Oaf set her on his palm. ‘Don’t worry, I’m full of berries.’ He stroked her head with his index finger. ‘You got a name?’
‘I don’t remember. I’m a tortured soul,’ she said.
He walked back towards the gardens.
‘I overheard that beaked idiot say the only way tortured souls turn back to normal is if someone says their real name to them, and I might remember some things in time.’
‘Hmm… Is your real name… Granilio?’
&nb
sp; ‘Let’s wait and see if anything happens.’
They waited. Nothing.
‘I guess not,’ she said.
‘I can’t think of any other names at the moment. For now I’ll call you… Tortured Soul.’
Tortured Soul smiled but it faded. ‘You’ll ’ave to call me dead if I don’t get in some liquid soon. Bein’ transformed like this comes wiv drawbacks.’
‘I’ll take you to a stream,’ Oaf said, but heavy steps grabbed his attention.
‘Oh no, it’s the nut job,’ Tortured Soul said.
‘Who?’ Oaf’s body tensed.
‘The big miserable fella wiv the stone fists.’ Tortured Soul coughed up water. Her eyelids twitched.
Oaf stepped forward.
Lord Ragnus and his Cyclops emerged from the alley. The sudden sound of horns led them away from Oaf.
A hot energy rushed through Oaf’s body. This was the showdown he had waited for. He’d experienced this in his mind thousands of times, all against different backdrops from snowy mountains to burning deserts. He’d say no words. He’d just smash Lord Ragnus in the face and pummel him to death in the name of all those he had hurt.
Oaf followed Lord Ragnus but a cough drew his attention back to Tortured Soul. Her colour drained from a pale, ghostly blue to a rotten old grey. ‘Don’t mind me. I’ll be fine.’ She coughed up little dusty puffs of air and her skin cracked.
Oaf’s breathing quickened. He carried on, but another cough stopped him. As much as he wanted revenge, he couldn’t let an innocent creature die when he could do something about it. For Boofa, he would put saving a life before ending one. He watched Lord Ragnus head back to the courtyard. He’d waited seven years for revenge. Now he’d have to wait that little bit longer.
11
The Fools played their monotonous fanfare on their horns, triggering a collective groan from Flowfornians and other guests.
‘Ah! It’s time.’ Arazod turned his stool and faced the centre of the courtyard. ‘Look, look.’
Sabrinia turned and dreaded what it might be time for. She wondered why Karl was in Flowforn. He was meant to be as far away as possible. She wanted to find him but there was no way she could without Arazod following her.
Lord Ragnus, wearing steel armour, walked into the middle of the courtyard and waited for silence.
‘You get to see him in action,’ Arazod said.
It was among the last things she wanted to see, right after Arazod eating, Arazod talking, and… Arazod. No. She could do it. She could marry him. She tried to blink the negativity out of her mind but when she opened her eyes it came flooding back.
A Fool shepherded ten trembling Flowfornians and one of Proster’s brutes towards an array of weapons, laid out in front of Lord Ragnus.
Sabrinia’s eyes widened.
‘It’s okay,’ Arazod said. ‘He won’t kill them. He’s just going to hurt them a bit. For entertainment.’ He wheezed. ‘Tomorrow they can return to following their dreams.’
Sabrinia couldn’t take her eyes off the helpless Flowfornians, people who just wanted to live a life of peace.
‘Attack me,’ Lord Ragnus demanded.
Proster’s brute picked up a mallet and stepped forward. ‘Come on.’ His voice quivered. ‘There are ten of us. We can take him.’ He swung the mallet. Lord Ragnus caught it in his rock hand. With his free hand he punched the brute in the gut. The brute fell to his knees and vomited blood.
Sabrinia’s toes gripped the insides of her shoes. Her eyes filled with anger. This was not entertainment.
‘Who is next?’ Lord Ragnus asked.
The other Flowfornians ran away.
Arazod laughed.
From the corner of her eye, Sabrinia caught him staring at her, waiting for approval, but she remained frozen, horrified, wishing there was something she could do.
‘Behemoth Fool!’ Arazod yelled. ‘Bring it out!’
A six-foot Behemoth Fool, wide as two people, wheeled a large, cloaked cage into the courtyard. The Behemoth Fool’s lips were squashed against its face and its nose was so flat you couldn’t call it a nose. It pulled the cloak off the cage revealing a Lionbear, taller than Lord Ragnus. The hairy, muscular beast roared. The sound shook Sabrinia’s bones.
The crowd backed away.
Sabrinia noticed the scratch marks on the bars from the creature’s sharp claws. She swallowed her sadness.
‘Release it then get out of the way,’ Arazod commanded.
Lord Ragnus stood in front of the cage. Behemoth Fool unlocked it and fled.
The Lionbear leapt out at Lord Ragnus and dug its claws into his armour, knocking him off balance.
Please kill him, Sabrinia found herself thinking.
Lord Ragnus steadied himself and pushed the Lionbear away. It shook its head, grunted and leapt again. Lord Ragnus grabbed its arms and slammed it off the ground. He pressed its head against the pebbles, then lifted it to its feet and punched it in the stomach.
It buckled to its knees and whined.
‘Quite the fighter, isn’t he?’ Arazod said.
‘Quite…’ Sabrinia pressed her hands together to fight the shaking.
Lord Ragnus raised his fists either side of the Lionbear’s head, ready to crush it.
Flowfornians turned away.
Sabrinia’s heart raced and she stood. ‘No!’ Her neck was hot and sweat formed on her forehead.
Lord Ragnus turned to Arazod, who looked at Sabrinia’s face and then shook his head at Lord Ragnus.
Lord Ragnus sighed, changed his stance, and simply kicked the Lionbear to the ground.
‘Remove it!’ Arazod waved it away.
Behemoth Fool chained the Lionbear and lifted it back into the cage.
Arazod applauded. ‘With him on our side, we’re unstoppable. Now follow me.’ He leapt off his stool and waved the circle of Fools to open.
Sabrinia dragged her legs behind Arazod to the covered, rectangular structure at the foot of the King’s Tower. She cast her eye to the Lionbear, battered and barely breathing.
‘This is your… is for you.’
She didn’t want whatever it was.
Arazod nodded to the Fools. They pulled the sheet away, revealing cages. Twenty of them, with iron bars twelve feet high.
Sabrinia stared.
‘This way, instead of a stu—’ He wheezed. ‘Stuffy dungeon, we can look at the prisoners as they rot here—’ He struggled. ‘It’s more of a spectacle. And we can throw things down at them, because I’ve put holes in the top of each cage. There’s even a points system. Ten for hitting the prisoner in the head, twenty if you can injure them.’ His beak curled into a smile.
Sabrinia had not received such a bad gift since Karl gave her a rock, thinking it was a two-headed turtle. Karl… She hoped he was okay.
‘Thank you…’ She smiled to mask her concern.
Arazod pointed to a hole in a room at the top of the King’s Tower. ‘I’ve had my…my…’ He struggled. Sabrinia wished he’d just write things down. ‘Quarters opened to look down on them.’
‘That’s nice…’ She wanted to end the topic. She pointed to a fat Fool, sat on a cart. Flab covered it from head to toe, and rolls of its loose skin hung over the wood. With every slow breath its paunch would ripple. ‘What’s that?’ Sabrinia asked.
‘That’s the Birth Fool. The Fools have no gender so that’s where they come from. It gives birth to Fool eggs that turn into these useless things. In fact, we need to make Fools faster.’
Several Fools ran up to Birth Fool and pounded its stomach.
Birth Fool retched and cried.
‘It looks distressed,’ Sabrinia complained.
‘It’s used to it,’ Arazod replied. ‘Faster!’ he commanded the Fools.
The Fools hammered at it.
‘How did Fools even come to be?’ She kept her eyes on the suffering Birth Fool.
‘I heard they were created through magic. But I also heard they were people who had a curse pla
ced on them.’ He wheezed. ‘Doesn’t matter. Father took them and now they’re mine.’
Sabrinia nodded. Of course it didn’t matter to him.
Birth Fool heaved and groaned. A rubbery, gooey, grey egg stretched Birth Fool’s mouth to its limit, then fell out, bounced down Birth Fool’s stomach and settled on the ground in front of Arazod. The egg cracked open revealing a tiny Fool with one leg.
‘Ugh. A dud.’ Arazod kicked the creation away.
Sabrinia gasped. The tiny life squirmed on the pebbles.
‘They come in random forms. Sometimes these dim Fools you see everywhere. Sometimes conjurers, big Behemoths, and then these pointless little ones that can’t do anything.’
‘What will you do with it?’
Arazod shrugged. ‘Chuck it in the sea,’ he ordered a Fool.
Sabrinia’s throat burned.
‘Get another egg,’ Arazod commanded more Fools. They rushed over and pounded Birth Fool’s stomach.
Birth Fool looked desperate for rest, but couldn’t communicate, probably due to the fat clogging its throat. It made a whistling noise, failing to squeeze words out.
There was no way Sabrinia could ever trick herself into falling in love with Arazod.
12
Karl rushed through the dungeon. He looked over his shoulder and tricked himself into thinking that he was being followed.
He examined the doors. ‘One A, One B, this should be easy. Hold on, Two F? This is a terrible numbering system. What kind of idiot?’ he muttered to himself.
He approached another corridor and poked his head around the corner.
Hargon painted.
Karl waited until Hargon turned to dip his brush in the paint palette, then he snuck across. He wished he could have said a proper goodbye to Sabrinia, but it was too risky. He spotted barred cells on his right, and ones with wooden doors on his left that must have been the old luxury cells.
SQUAWK.
Peezant flapped above him, wearing a shiny new anklet.
‘Be quiet!’ Karl said.
‘You’d find what you’re after a lot quicker with my assistance.’
‘Well then stop flapping around and help me find Two B.’
