A Liar in Paradise

by M H Woodscourt

  “Master, there is no need for self-abuse.”

  Crenen released his hand and let his arms drop. “What will it take? Must I actually give him the Seer for his consent?”

  “Master, this boy is the real Vendaeva, is he not? Why not use him yourself? Then the need for Jenen is—”

  “No,” Crenen said, baring his fangs in a snarl. “This boy’s only use is for Jenen’s acquiescence, is that understood?”

  Something was different in Crenen's speech.

  “Then why did you make him swear to serve only you?”

  “To make Jenen stay. Look at this boy!” Crenen pointed one claw at me while I looked on, still cradling my precious fruits, munching away. “Do you truly believe he has what it takes to save Paradise? He acts like a little girl; does nothing but sleep; lies.”

  I opened my mouth to retort but decided against it. Let them pretend I couldn’t hear. Just so long as I had my gerani…

  Wait. That wasn't right. I shook my head, trying to clear it.

  It was finally starting to click inside my groggy head. Crenen had given me those gerani earlier so I could be visited by the Seer. Crenen had known Jenen would stick around while he waited for me to dream, just to see if I really would be visited. Of all the sneaky, insensitive, down-right wrong, manipulative, jerky things to do.

  “I don’t get it,” I said. “Why can’t I do it? The Ssseer said it was my responsibility to sssave everyone, so why not let me try? Obviously, when I sssave everyone, you won’t need Jenen for whatever reason you did before, right? Ssso, what would it hurt to let me try?”

  “The boy has a valid point, Master. Where is the harm—?”

  “Time! Time, you dolts! We’re nearly out of time. Both of you are useless! Kill! Kill all and be done with dolts.” He wheeled around and buried his face in his hands.

  I took a deep breath and stepped forward, rounding the man until I stood face-to-face with Yenen Clan's leader. “Crenen, look. I vowed to serve you, but I’ll do it in my own way. I gave you my word that I would help your people, and that’s what I plan on doing. I’m gonna fulfill this Vendaeva thing if it kills me, and you’re not going to stop me. Got it?” Part of me prayed he would argue, though my more prideful side was adamant about saving the bloody world just because he thought I couldn't.

  He slowly spread the fingers of his hand apart and his golden eye viewed me thoughtfully, saying nothing.

  “So,” I continued, feeling bolder, “let’s go see this Seer of yours so that she can give me a straight answer about what I’m supposed to do. Okay?”

  His hands slid from his face and he slapped me hard across the face. “Well, yeah!” he hissed and stomped after Jenen into the heavy foliage. I watched him, then sighed, shaking my head as I rubbed my cheek. “Let’s get going, Menen. His Royal Worship has spoken.” I plucked the final gerani from its stem, stuffed it into my pocket for later, then started walking. Menen fell into step beside me.

  “You have grown, somehow,” he said.

  “Really? I don’t feel taller.” I raised a hand to my head and measured as though it would tell me something. Perhaps the gerani was helping me to grow.

  “Not physically,” he said with a small smile. “Anyone who can handle Crenen as you just did—well, you’ve matured.” He wrinkled his brow. “I don’t believe I know your name.”

  “Just call me Key,” I said, a warm, comfortable feeling settling in my stomach. It nearly countered the sting of my cheek.

  “It suits you,” he said, leaving me to wonder if he meant the new color of my face or my self-appointed nickname.

  Soon we caught up with Jenen and Crenen. From then we walked in silence, two in our party brooding.

  We made camp early at Crenen's request. He claimed it was because Jenen looked like he would “fall down and become Dead Smelly Dog if not rest soon,” although I suspected it had more to do with his own injuries.

  My mother had warned me on more than one occasion to keep a civil tongue in my head. Luckily, either because of Menen's sudden faith in my maturity, or because I was still feeling the effects of the gerani, I didn't debate Crenen's reasons for an early rest. That, and I was perfectly willing to kick back and rest my own blistered feet. I’d thought my sneakers capable of handling most terrain—but that was back when “most terrain” entailed paved walkways, topsoil gardens and graveled driveways—not peppermint-scented foliage-infested rock-strewn Crenen-paved (or, rather, unpaved) trails through treacherous forests with the potential threat of Small Red Fuzzies. Now my sneakers were without their tread and it was only a matter of time before I wore holes in the soles.

  The only good that had come from all this pain was the grove of gerani trees we had tragically left behind. And the fact that I felt this way probably meant I was hooked for life. Make way for the new, inebriated Key. Mom would be thrilled.

  For dinner, Menen passed out a handful of what I assumed was jerky. Again, Crenen was quick to inform the world of how horrible the food was and what he thought of Menen for daring to feed it to him.

  Jenen and I ate in silence, the former chewing his dinner methodically on the far side of the group, beneath a tree whose roots acted as a sort of chair. Crenen and Menen were to my right, the latter enduring Crenen's harassment with the patience of a saint.

  I sat watching Jenen without realizing it until he stiffened, eyes narrowing as he turned his head, one ear tilted as he listened. I turned my own focus in the direction he was intent upon, and after a moment I heard a rustling sound in the leafy brambles. Crenen's distinctive voice trailed off as he too heard the sound, and he and Menen eyed the same spot.

  A figure appeared outside our encampment, a dark splotch against darkness. In case enemies lurked nearby, we'd decided not to light a fire; all I could see by was the light from the moons overhead, and they did nothing but further shroud the figure standing among the trees.

  Jenen leapt to his feet, making no sound, hair falling in his face as he flexed his claws, ready to attack our visitor.

  “Sa Vais.” The phrase was familiar, as was the accented voice that said it, though I couldn't quite place who its owner was. (I only knew it wasn't Mr. Ugly. Not croaky enough.)

  Crenen perked up, eyes widening. “Quiet Sneaky Thing.”

  Jenen relaxed, sitting again as the Yenen warrior entered our campsite. Quiet Sneaky Thing strode to Crenen, and knelt on one knee, bowing low, black hair falling into his face. “Sa Vais, eyias deshe ii cran yas.” He lifted his head but remained kneeling.

  “Cra yas en veikes,” Crenen said, smiling with what might have been relief. “Teishne.”

  “Keis lavun taka lem,” Quiet Sneaky Thing said, then turned his head toward me, a strange glint in his yellow eyes. “Vendaeva,” he said, nodding slightly. “You live.” He pronounced it like it was some sort of miracle.

  I offered him a dirty look, still remembering his height references. “You, too. Wow.”

  His smile widened, and he turned back to his leader, continuing to blather in the Paradisian tongue. I tuned him out, watching Jenen as he proceeded to eat his last piece of jerky. I propped my head against the tree trunk I’d chosen as my own seat-back.

  “Strange Coward Boy,” Crenen said after a while of rattling off Paradisian words with his minion.

  I turned my head, keeping it against the trunk, arching a brow. “Yeah?”

  “Quiet Sneaky Thing bring Bulky Heavy Bag. Wanting?”

  I blinked, surprised as I recalled that my backpack had indeed been left behind somewhere after that first encounter with the Kirid. “Yeah,” I said, leaning forward. “Where is it?”

  Quiet Sneaky Thing stood and offered a playful smile, then he left the encampment. I could only assume he was getting the backpack, and I was to wait here.

  Crenen seemed of the same mindset, because he didn't question the fact that I wasn't moving.

  After a while, the man returned, but this time I didn't hear him at all until he sauntered into camp, back
pack in hand. He threw the bag at my feet and plopped down beside me, eyeing it.

  “What is inside?” he asked, enunciating each word.

  “Books, mostly,” I answered as I fumbled with the zipper until it gave. I unzipped it with a smile, remembering the chips and cookies my mom had packed for me that morning so long ago. Good thing my bag was waterproof.

  “What sort of books?” Quiet Sneaky Thing asked, one hand hovering near as though anxious to help me disclose the bag's contents.

  “Textbooks.” I pulled a cumbersome volume from the largest pocket. “This, my friend,” I said, patting the hardcover, “is the history of my world.” The real world. The one I wanted to get back too.

  He took the book and flipped through the pages, stopping and studying the occasional pictures throughout. “English,” he said with awe in his voice.

  “Um. Yes.” I dug deeper into the bad and withdrew the smashed baggies containing the beat-up contents of my school lunch. Disregarding the flat sandwich with its growing mold, I focused on the bag of chips, probably only powder now, but still edible. As I opened the chip bag, I glanced at my Paradisian companion still flipping through the pages of history, occasionally touching the illustrations with reverent fingers. “That's a gun,” I explained, referring to the picture of a black-powder pistol from the 1800's, before I had time to consider whether I wanted to explicate about advanced weaponry to a claw-toting ninja.

  “Gun,” he repeated, but didn't press for more. He continued flipping through pages, going one direction and then the other. Crenen, his twin, and his slave-for-a-cousin watched, the first eyeing my bag of chips with a glint in his mismatched eyes.

  “Want some?” I asked, offering Crenen the bag.

  He shook his head, probably more interested in the noisy bag itself than what lay inside.

  Shrugging, I returned to the history book in time to meet Quiet Sneaky Thing's yellow eyes. “Vendaeva,” he said softly, a hand resting on the open tome. “You must be he.”

  I offered him a twisted smile. “I dunno about that. Knowing English doesn't make me a hero. There're lots of people who speak English where I come from.”

  He eyed me, then a mischievous smile spread across his face. “True. The prophecy did not say Vendaeva to be short.”

  I scowled. “Ha. Ha.”

  He closed the textbook and handed it back. “I am Hiskii.”

  “Key,” I answered automatically as I shoved the book inside my bag, all the while wondering why I bothered to protect it.

  “Sometime,” Hiskii continued, “I will let you read our history. After you learn Paradisian, yes?”

  I laughed dryly. “Right. Sure. Okay.” Like I cared about Paradisian history; I had enough trouble learning about my own world, thanks.

  We stood before a wall of trees. They resembled Red Pines, so far as I could tell, and grew so close together I couldn’t see beyond them. Did we have to squeeze through to enter the Realm of Yenen? Please don’t let Crenen make me do that.

  We’d gotten up earlier than I wanted and continued on foot through the forest; me dragging my heavy backpack along and wondering how I managed it all those years growing up. Either I was entirely out of shape now, or my body was exhausted. Probably both.

  “Strange Coward Boy go first, yeah?” Crenen said, grabbing my arm and shoving me ahead of him.

  I decided against arguing. After everything else, what did one more adventure up a tree matter? I reached out and poked the towering pine before me. “So, just climb any tree?”

  There was no answer.

  I turned to investigate the silence—

  And found myself completely alone.

  “Uh, guys? This isn’t funny!”

  I scowled at the area at large and squashed the feelings swelling in my chest.

  When I was young, my family and I had gone camping in the mountains. While hiking early one morning, my brother Jeremy and I had wandered off the path, scouting out rare bugs and shiny rocks. My parents told us to get back on the trail or they would leave us behind. Jeremy headed back after a while, but I was too engrossed in a caterpillar weaving its cocoon. When I finally did turn around, I didn’t see my brother anymore. Thinking it was some kind of joke I called out that it wasn’t funny, only to receive silence in response. I wasn’t stupid, so I stayed put, waiting to be rescued. It was several hours later that my father found me, telling me he was sorry for leaving me behind; they’d thought I was with them. Somehow it hurt more to know they hadn’t noticed my absence.

  I shook off the memory and turned back to the wall of trees. Sighing, I tried to wriggle my way between two. The only results I got were scratches, a few purple bruises, and some sticky patches of sap on my palms, pants, and jacket.

  “Just perfect,” I muttered, throwing myself onto the ground, snapping several dead twigs.

  As I sat staring at the leering trees, I noticed that the gaps widened higher up. Terrific. That meant I had to climb. Sighing, I stood and examined each tree. I spotted the least imposing and decided to attempt the climb. I jumped, grabbing hold of the closest limb, pulling myself onto it after a lot of effort and scraping of shoes against the bark. It was hard work, but I slowly made my way up the trunk, heading for the gap, occasionally trying to squeeze through the two trees as I went.

  After forever, when I was pretty much covered in amber sap, hair jutting wildly in every direction, I reached the wide gap and slid through it.

  I found myself standing on a wooden bridge strung from the gap and stretching to a large tree in the most amazing forest metropolis imaginable. Hollywood would’ve been jealous. Countless bridges crossed and crisscrossed from tree to tree at varying levels. The ancient trunks were wide enough to house apartments, and at the bottom of each tree were carved stairs and a wooden door leading inside. Windows dotted the trees; some glowed with light from within, as the canopy above shrouded the city in eternal gloom.

  Between the wood planks under my feet, I could make out the forest floor a good thirty feet below, where a multitude of people stared upward—probably looking at the sap-saturated guy who had just invaded their city. Me. If they were worried or confused, I couldn't tell. They considered me with somber faces, each one pale, black- or brown-haired, wearing colorful wraps. I was beginning to think Crenen was in a class all his own, no matter where we went. These people all looked much more like Jenen's kind of crowd: downtrodden and forlorn.

  “Behold, Yenen Clan!” a loud, familiar, irritating voice cried from the other end of the bridge. I spotted Crenen standing on the platform on the far side. “Behold Vendaeva!”

  Muted noises below drew my focus and I watched in stunned silence as the crowd bowed, never making a sound but for the rustling of their clothes and the shifting of their feet.

  Gee. They looked so exuberant.

  The bridge began to wobble, and I whipped my head up to view Crenen ambling along, one hand sliding along one rope that served as a handhold strung along either side of the unsteady, hovering walkway.

  I stayed where I was until he reached me. He halted as he regarded my disheveled condition. “We welcome you to Realm of Yenen, Vendaeva.”

  I lowered my voice to respond, in case it carried to the throngs below. “Could'a warned me, yeah? Were you watching the entire time I tried getting up here? I bet you enjoyed that.”

  His smirk assured me he had. “Must make good entrance. Wouldn’t spoil big welcome, would Strange Coward Boy? Made special for arrival of Vendaeva.”

  Such a warm greeting, too. “I thought you didn’t believe in me.”

  “Don’t. But Yenen Clan do.” Crenen gestured to the still-bowing crowd, as if that would convince me they were glad I was here. “Bow better for Strange Coward Boy or for Vendaeva?”

  Was he doing this to mock me? Or was it to give his downtrodden people something to cling to; to hope for? Crenen had a twisted soul, no question there, but was he really in it for himself, or did he care about his followers enough to give th
em something he, himself, had given up on?

  His character was a difficult one to read.

  “Where are Menen and Jenen?” I asked.

  “Cannot walk on Holy Bridge Thing. Only special persons walk on Holy Bridge Thing, and they too insignificant.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “There are hundreds of bridges here. Why is this one special? Besides, I thought you wanted Jenen to be your leader?”

  “Not leader yet, yeah?” He clapped me on the back, not answering my first question. “Come. Meet Seer.” He turned and padded along the bobbing bridge, back the way he had come.

  Apprehension crept through me as I thought of meeting that ditsy woman again. Pretty as she was, I doubted very much if I could handle the personality attached. Still... “Hey, before I meet her, can I take a bath? I’m sticky.” I gestured at my clothes as I plodded behind Crenen.

  “No bath prepared. Will be ready when done with Seer, yeah?” He bounded across the bridge. I followed like a tortoise. Slow and steady.

  I sighed as I reached the massive tree at the other end of the overpass. The platform was like stepping on dry ground after a long ride on a storm-tossed boat (or what I think it would be like). Crenen led me inside, where my eyes had to adjust to the dim natural lighting. I followed him down a set of carved stairs that eventually led to open ground outside of the tree. Everyone was still bowing when I emerged from the enclosure, and Crenen let them grovel.

  He took me to a wide pathway between the crowds, and we headed toward the largest tree in the metropolis. It was at least four or five hundred feet around, with countless branches reaching toward the hidden sky. Leaves twice the size of my feet fluttered in a gentle breeze. As we approached, I spotted two figures standing at the top of the massive, carved steps that led to an arched, rune-etched opening into the grandfather tree.

  We climbed the steps and I counted each one I passed until we reached the top. Exactly fifty. I looked up as Crenen halted beside me and saw her: Seer Veija.

  Her golden locks tumbled down her shoulders and along her back, nearly reaching the ground, and her stunning pink eyes were shining. She wore a sweeping red gown of satin material, enhancing her slender, curved body. A patch of cloth was intentionally missing on her right sleeve, revealing a strange tattoo: a black sword caught in a red circle. A sheer veil covered Veija's nose and mouth.