The Chellion Days

by A.S. Morrison

  They came to the dining room. Ackerley was pushed into the only chair that wasn’t in pieces. Victor sat casually on the table. He stared at Ackerley with pity. “Now you know this is the hard part. I don’t want you to fret, you little scamp. I’ll handle everything.”

  Ackerley tried to get up, but Victor pushed him down harshly. “Nope, not going anywhere.”

  The boy somehow found his voice. “I need to be . . . over there.”

  “I like you, kid.” Victor said, pulling a dagger from his belt. It was plated in gold and had a very ornate handle. “There’s something about you that I like.” He rolled the dagger around in his hand, examining it thoughtfully. “I think it’s your non-Chellness. Yes, I think that’s it.”

  “There is no Chell.” Ackerley whispered, deciding it best to buy some time until his brother arrived. After all he knew this man.

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “And it’s your fault.”

  Victor feigned a look of surprise. “My fault? No, no, I don’t think you understand your history, little boy. Let me inform you of it as it may be the only real history lesson you ever get.”

  Ackerley tried to get up again, and again was forced down.

  “A very long time ago there were was this great empire right here in Chell called the Honias, you’ve heard of it?”

  Ackerley nodded.

  “Great! Well this empire is the exact same one that exists today, just with another name.”

  “No,” Ackerley said, “the Honias leader was different.”

  “Oh dear me,” Victor exclaimed, tossing the dagger in the air, “you know so much. But not really all that much. You see, young man, the emperor had no real power, hadn’t for centuries. The ones really running the show was the family in charge of the military, the Chells. They had all the real power while the emperor was just a figure head. And with that anonymity the Chells were able to engage in huge campaigns in neighboring countries under the banner of Honias.” Victor’s eyes filled with awe. “Oh, and what campaigns they were. Their favorite target was that of little Welgland, a country so small that they were beginning to have boundary issues because their population was growing so large. And can you guess what they did?”

  Ackerley didn’t say anything.

  “Guess what they did?” He said, growing angry.

  “They attacked Welgland.” Said Ackerley dully.

  Victor suddenly pounded the table fiercely. “Did they ever! They destroyed towns and murdered everyone they could. EVERYONE! By the time they were done Welgland was only a shell of its former self.” Victor’s face changed from anger to serenity in an instant. “Now you can probably guess why we are here now, right?”

  “But we didn’t do that.” Ackerley said, growing braver. “It wasn’t the people who are alive now that did that to you. You’re getting revenge on their descendants, who didn’t do anything.”

  “I’m not getting revenge.” Victor said coolly. “You’re right; it’s too late for revenge. I’m only trying to expand our land. It just so happens that your king has become a figurehead himself. He didn’t have any power and he controlled the military. When we saw how little power he had we knew it was time to expand our territory, just like his ancestors did.”

  Victor backed up to the wall, a smug look on his face.

  “I still think you’re terrible.” Ackerley said.

  “I’m alright with that.” Victor said simply. “But now things have to get rough. I’m so sorry, little one.” He stepped forward and brought the dagger within an inch of his face, as if examining a smudge. “This dagger is my favorite possession. I do all my best work with it. It’s freshly cleaned too. I found a Chell earlier and did my best with it. Look how it sparkles now, as though nothing happened.”

  Ackerley stood up. He could no longer feel his body. It was as if he was looking through a window into another world. Very slowly he edged toward the hall, ready to run.

  “I like the sounds, I think.” Victor went on, his voice barely a whisper. “They’re so funny. People forget how to talk. They just make noises.”

  Ackerley couldn’t take any more of this. He started at a run.

  “AAAARRGGHHH!”

  Ackerley tripped headlong on a leg of a broken chair and collided with the wall. His eyes blurred, his head pounding, he could only watch as the fuzzy shape came closer.

  Victor laughed loudly, hopping over pieces of chairs. He kneeled down and held the dagger a few inches from Ackerley’s neck.

  “That’s just it.” He said, his voice trembling with excitement. “That’s the sound I’m talking about.”

  The image cleared. Ackerley lay on the ground, terrified of the man kneeling over him, whose face was contorted with suppressed elation.

  Victor let out a squeak, his hands shaking. “This is my favorite part.”

  With swift hands he sliced Ackerley’s arm.

  The boy didn’t feel it. Nothing but the sight of the demented Welgo reached his brain.

  “HO—HA!”

  Victor dragged the dagger across Ackerley’s face, drawing blood.

  The boy pushed at the man’s face.

  Victor caught his hand and slowly pushed the dagger into Ackerley’s wrist.

  “I’ve got a basement full of fun waiting for me.” Victor said, his voice growing deeper. “One by one, the rest of Chell.” He took the dagger from Ackerley’s wrist and held it under his chin. “I keep forgetting that I need to hurry.” He swallowed. “Ok, let’s go.”

  Something whizzed through the air. Victor let out a rasping screech and fell to the ground. An arrow sticking out of side.

  Ackerley came back to his body with the noise.

  Old Mr. Jett stood in the hall, a bow in his hands.

  The two Welgo guards stared stupidly at him. They looked to each other and drew their swords.

  Mr. Jett pulled another arrow from his pocket, steadied it, and shot one of the guards through the neck. He crashed to the floor.

  Ackerley jumped up, grabbed the dagger laying near the crumpled, moaning Victor, and plunged it into the other guard’s leg. He stumbled back with a sharp yelp.

  Mr. Jett grabbed Ackerley and together they ran from the room.

  They blazed past several Welgos who were two slow to stop them. He led the way down several hallways until they were in a place Ackerley had never been to. A place with a dead end. It looked to be over. Thundering footsteps grew close. Mr. Jett pulled a small key from around his neck, slid a piece of the wall out of the way to reveal a small hole, plunged the key into the hole, and turned it. The wall to the right slid out of place, revealing a passageway. He pushed Ackerley inside, jumped in, and closed it behind them.

  They stood in the pitch blackness for a while, listening to the Welgos pounding at the wall, unable to get inside.

  “Thanks.” Ackerley panted.

  “SHHH.”

  A minute later the pounding stopped and the Welgos went away. Mr. Jett shuffled around in the dark. A small flame suddenly appeared with a sizzle. The flame lit a lantern and the darkness ebbed away.

  They stood in a comfortable room. A table and a bed sat against the wall and a carpet covered a large swath of the floor. There didn’t appear to be an end to the room, it went on into darkness.

  “Is this your room?” Ackerley asked, his voice echoing.

  Mr. Jett sat down heavily on the bed and wiped his forehead, the bow still clutched tightly in his other hand. “Sure is.”

  “And they can’t get in?”

  “No one gets in ’cept me.”

  Ackerley leaned against the wall, his head swimming. “Thank you. That was—I was about to—”

  “I can’t believe this all happened so quick.” Mr. Jett said, reaching under his bed and pulling out a box. “Here, let me treat ya real quick.”

  Mr. Jett took out several bandages a
nd covered everything that was bleeding.

  And then they rested for a few minutes.

  After a while Mr. Jett stood up, taking the bow with him. “I’m out.” He said, looking at the bow. “But I can still get out there and find your brother. I saw him sneaking around a few minutes before I saw you. I’m sure he was lookin’ for ya. Just wait here and I’ll go and get him.”

  “I need to get to the little garden in the wall, you know it? That was our meeting place.”

  “I know it.” Mr. Jett said wearily. He’ll meet ya there then? Alright, let’s see if I can get us there in one piece. Then I’ll come and get him if he ain’t there.”

  Mr. Jett took the lantern from the wall and started into the darkness.

  Ackerley stood still, watching him.

  “Well, you coming?” Mr. Jett called back.

  Ackerley started after him.

  Footsteps echoed off the stone floor. The passage didn’t seem to have an end. Darkness persisted just out of reach of the light.

  “Where are we?” Ackerley asked.

  “This was supposed to be the family crypt. Each royal who died was going to get a space down here. It never panned out.”

  Ackerley thought that weird that they wouldn’t put the dead royal family underground someplace, but he didn’t want to say anything.

  After a long while of walking into nothingness a wall finally appeared. Mr. Jett took out his key again and the door slid away.

  Ackerley jumped back, his hands instinctively covering his mouth as smoke billowed into the tunnel. The passage led out back. The once beautiful gardens were engulfed in flames. Mr. Jett pushed Ackerley into the shadows as several Welgos danced around near the