Forbidden World

by Jeremy Michelson

  “Champion,” the thing said.

  Before he could think of another witty phrase, the thing moved on him. Multi-segmented arms shot out. Metal pincers grasped his body and yanked him out of the corner. Threw him on the beast's super uncomfortable back. He put his hands over T&T junior to keep him from getting caught in the thing's segmented plates.

  “Champion,” the thing said again.

  Then it zoomed out of the bone room with T&T flying like a pennant on its back.

  Twenty-Seven

  Chris

  Liz wanted to immediately go out and start looking for things to hurt.

  Somehow I convinced her to wait.

  We sat in the command chairs on the bridge of our mostly dead little ship. Stared out at the dusky, reddish-gray urban canyon in the view screen. Watched the wind swirl dust around the empty towers of the dead city. I tried not to think of the rancid cat food stench hanging in the cabin’s air. The smell seemed to be getting worse. As if whatever Don essence the ship had was slowly seeping through the layers of paint and sealant the guys back on Earth had tried to cover the stench with.

  I had a box of high-calorie nutrient bars on my lap. I'd been stuffing them down my throat for the last half hour, trying to build my energy reserves back up. I was still shaking a little. Both from the energy drain…

  And coming too damned close to losing Liz.

  I gave her a sidelong glance. She had on the light robe she wore off duty as she called. Her hands moved over the controls in front of her. She had the sensor array up. Scanning for movement…heat…anything.

  That thing was out there.

  She wanted it. Wanted to kick its tin can heiney from here to the center of the sun.

  I had (delicately) pointed out to her that we didn’t yet have a plan to beat it. Especially considering her invulnerable Dendon armor wasn’t quite invulnerable to it.

  I’ll figure it out, she said.

  I wanted us to figure it out in such a way that didn’t end up with either of us dead. Especially her.

  I ripped open another foil wrapped nutrient bar and tore off a bite. I actually chewed this one. I must have been getting close to full, because I could almost taste it. Kind of like peanut butter and grape jelly.

  If the peanuts had been ground up between old rubber truck tires, then dried out on the sweaty gym socks of cross country runners.

  The energy I had taken from the L-drive didn’t last once I broke contact with the ship. I had to stagger to the galley and stuff handfuls of nutrient bars down my throat before I could go check on Liz in the little med bay.

  By the time I got back, her wounds had completely closed and were just angry red lines on her skin. In another few hours even those would be gone.

  It was all I could do to stop her from jumping up off the narrow metal bed and running back out the airlock.

  Hold on, I said, gently holding her by the shoulders, We need to regroup before we go look for T&T again.

  Hell with him, was her reply, I want to kill that THING.

  So, she was feeling better pretty much right away.

  Physically, at least.

  After a bit of pleading and getting the icy stare of death, she agreed to wait. To keep her busy, I suggested using the ship’s sensors to scan for anything unusual.

  Like spiky metal murder worms.

  I had a feeling the thing was good at hiding, though.

  What I really wanted was time.

  The Dendon and I needed to have a talk.

  I finished off the peanut butter and grape jelly sorta flavored nutrient bar and pulled another one out of the box. I took my time peeling back the wrapper.

  So, buddy, how about that thing that almost killed Liz? Got any enlightenment for me on that?

  I waited for a reply. Took a bite of the nutrient bar. This one tasted like polished oak flooring. With a hint of sweaty jock strap. I actually looked at the wrapper. According to the bold lettering stamped on the foil, it was toasted oats and caramel with vanilla yogurt flavor.

  And I was the emperor of all space and time.

  You are not an emperor. Or a King.

  Right. Still have no desire to be emperor or king. So you going to tell me what that thing was?

  That information is available only to the King of Dendon.

  Yup, got that. Small problem, though. The Dendon King got all splatted on a mountain in New Mexico. Far as I know, he didn’t appoint a successor. So what was the procedure for crowning a new King if the old one went splat? On a mountain. In New Mexico.

  Or anywhere, I guess.

  Did the King have any kids? Did King Junior get the crown when the old His Majesty bit it?

  The Kingship of Dendon is not hereditary.

  Really? That’s interesting. So how did the new King get the job? Did the Dendon folk hold an election? Was it a popularity contest? Did someone draw a name out of a hat?

  Your disrespect is not appreciated.

  You know what I don’t appreciate? Almost getting killed by metal murder worms. A piece of information that would have been super handy to have before Liz and I went traipsing through the old subway there.

  Silence.

  What? Cat got your tongue? Murder worm got up your butt? Come on, you little backstabber, tell me what needs to be done. You brought me here for a reason. Why don't you do us all a favor and come clean.

  Dendon needs a King.

  I kind of doubt that. Other than murder worms, what’s here to rule? Dust piles that used to be people? They’re kind of beyond the rule of any King, don’t you think?

  Dendon is more than just this world.

  Are there other planets full of tall and skinny people with silver eyes? Hidden off where the Don and the other races can’t find them.

  No.

  Then what need is there for a King?

  The people of Dendon are gone…but their legacy is still very much alive.

  In what? Metal murder worms?

  More than that. I am the legacy Dendon. An aspect of it, at least.

  So what else is there? Is there still a fleet of warships out there somewhere in the dark?

  Only the King–

  Right. Sure. Only the King is allowed to know about all the goodies. So why did you bring us here to this planet? Heck, since we're asking about motives, why did you choose me to carry you around?

  You are not a beast of burden. You are…worthy.

  Worthy of what? Getting my ass kicked in every way and direction? Because that’s what’s mostly been happening so far.

  You have the soul of a King. Even if you wear the cloak of the fool.

  You sure say the nicest things, buddy o’mine.

  To become King of Dendon, a being must pass the Three Challenges.

  Oh, come on. Three Challenges? Are we doing a Lord of the Rings revival or something?

  Silence. Maybe I offended the silly thing. Though I doubted it knew what the Lord of the Rings was.

  Lord of the Rings is a work of fiction written by a human and is a common pop culture touchtone among your people. Specifically the subset of humans known as “nerds”.

  Okay, not that’s not cool, dude. We don’t use the word the “n” word anymore. We call them “Alternatively Socialized Sitizens”.

  No, you don't. You still think of them as nerds. Especially since you consider yourself to be one.

  Really? You read my mind now?

  It’s a short subject.

  Fine. Are nerds qualified to be Kings?

  A King must possess honor and compassion. You are qualified. For that much, at least.

  Awesome. Glad to hear it. I guess. Since it appears you’ve dragged me here to audition for King of Dendon, what are the Three Challenges? I’m really hoping one of them is a hot dog eating contest. I could probably manage that. Get me good and drained, I could eat the entire hot dog cart.

  You are very strange.

  Said the disembodied voice in my head.

  Silence.
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  Long silence. I waited, finishing off my oak flooring flavored nutrient bar as I stared at the view screen showing dust swirling in the street ahead of us. I kind of wished I could change the channel. I was getting tired of this show.

  This was my home.

  I felt a pang of longing. Which wasn’t my own. Gauzy images flitted behind my eyes. The towers in front of me clean and gleaming in the reddish sun of Dendon. Thick, leafy green plants grew along the streets–some growing up the sides of the towers.

  Well, that would explain some empty planter looking things along the streets, now wouldn’t it?

  Your rudeness does not become a King.

  And your manipulation is pissing me off. Unlike the last king of Dendon, I never asked for this privilege. As I recall, you were the one who came on to me.

  Would you like me to leave?

  That gave my heart a jolt. A tremor rippled through me. My life would be a lot simpler without the Dendon occupying me…

  But it would be a lot smaller, too.

  Okay, fine, buddy. What am I supposed to do? What are these Three Challenges? And please tell me these are something a normal human can do without dying in some horribly painful manner.

  There was another span of silence. Long enough that I wondered if I’d offended the Dendon enough to actually make it think of abandoning ship. I got a super creepy image of it oozing out of my pores like black tar. Shiny and slick, reaching out to Liz.

  I am tempted, but for now I will continue with you.

  You keep your tentacles or whatever off of her.

  You already injected some of me into her. I would only be completing the migration.

  And you’re calling me rude?

  The Three Challenges must be completed within seven sunsets.

  Seven sunsets? You mean days.

  I mean sunsets. You have already wasted three of them.

  What! We just got here. And I never said I’d do this. When did this start? Were you going to tell me?

  As the closest being in existence to an actual citizen of Dendon, you automatically accepted the challenge the moment you stepped foot on the Dendon homeworld.

  The heck you say. When were you going to tell me about this?

  Those who are given the challenge are not given the opportunity to prepare.

  You mean every aspirant to the throne is just thrown to the wolves?

  So to speak. There were once wolf-like creatures on Dendon. But they were not part of the challenge.

  Oh, good to know.

  However, the first challenge is a test of strength and quick thinking.

  Really not liking where you’re going with this ol’ buddy.

  You already encountered an aspect of the first challenge.

  Aspect?

  You didn’t finish the challenge, though.

  Finish?

  Though, of course, you didn’t know it was the challenge. All Dendons were familiar with the Three Challenges. The Three Challenges formed the basis of many of Dendon stories. In retrospect, perhaps I should have related one or two of those stories to you. To make you aware of the nature of the challenges.

  Uh, yeah. A warning would have been right nice of you, now that you mention it.

  However, this would have been the first pure Three Challenges done in generations. It was too much to expect of a species as primitive as yours.

  Watch it, bucko. My species doesn't go down without a fight. And we fight dirty, too.

  That is something I am counting on.

  I kind of hate you. You know that don’t you?

  The feeling is somewhat shared. But certain accommodations must be made.

  Fine. What’s the first challenge.

  You must best the dragon, of course.

  Of course.

  Twenty-Eight

  Chris

  Liz and I decided getting some sleep would be a good idea before we went out to slay dragons. Or whatever that metal murder worm turned out to be.

  I was still exhausted from the energy draining events of the day. I could barely keep my eyes open as we bunked down in our small cabin. Liz sprayed some woodsy, slightly floral perfume in the air to (temporarily) counteract the rancid cat food odor that literally seeped through the walls.

  She tossed off her robe and lay down. Completely naked, except for the golden disk below her throat.

  I wished I had enough energy to do more than sleep.

  She lay there with her eyes closed. I had told her the conversation with the Dendon inside me. Her eyes had taken on a gleam when I told her about the first challenge.

  Slay a dragon. Or how did he put it? Best a Dragon.

  I can do that, she said.

  I didn’t point out that, technically, I was the one who was supposed to slay the dragon. If she wanted to slay it, I wasn’t going to stand in her way. Mostly because she would definitely hurt me as she went through me on her way to battling the dragon.

  I wasn’t looking forward to it.

  I wasn’t sure either of us could kill that crazy metal murder worm. Broken images of it flitted through my mind. Hard, faceted metal and what seemed like a million thin, slashing arms. How were we supposed to fight that? Liz was my weapon. And the thing had already beaten her once.

  No matter how much she wanted a rematch…I wasn’t going to lose her to some stupid challenge for a kingdom of dust and ash.

  I slipped into bed and we snuggled up together. Her silky smooth skin touched mine and I felt the same thrill I did every time we touched. We were meant to be together.

  Forever. That was how I wanted it to be.

  Comforted by the furnace of her body against me, I lay my head down.

  Moments later I was asleep.

  And sometime in our night, the Dendon slipped into my dreams and told me a story.

  Twenty-Nine

  The Dendon

  Near the end of the Ten Thousand Year War, and before the rise of the Shining Civilization, a man walked out of the Great Southern Desert.

  The first to see him were two children in the impoverished village of Galveen. This man was unlike the other men in the village. The village men–those who went out every day to hunt on the wasteland border–were little more than skin stretched over bones.

  As was everyone in the village. The women of the village foraged in the scrub forest below the jagged feet of the Bayet Mountains. The children stayed behind in the village with the elders who were too infirm to provide for the village.

  Generations and generations and generations of war had taken the once proud people of Galveen and shriveled them to shadows of their former selves. Shorter, smaller, weaker…all the people of this village–and most villages–knew was hunger.

  And fear.

  The people of Dendon had fallen into war long ago. So long ago, they had forgotten where it had started. Or why.

  Of course, the people of these tiny villages held no desire to war against their neighbors. Given the choice, they would have built bridges and farmed their land peacefully. For at heart, the Dendon folk were always generous and kind.

  Those of royal blood, however…

  They lusted for power. For land. For wealth.

  But they also lusted for something else.

  Vengeance.

  To hurt those who wronged them. To punish by a thousandfold those who offended them.

  The children watching the strange man walk in from the shimmering desert feared he was one of those kind of men.

  For the man was tall, his shoulders broad and his head held high. His limbs were thick with muscle. His lustrous skin glowed with health. He wore leather armor over his chest and loins. A band of gold encircled his head, holding back the thick mane of pure white hair that flowed over his armored shoulders. In his left hand was a long staff of reddish wood. In his right hand was…

  Nothing.

  And on his feet were…

  Nothing.

  The two children, a boy of ten summers named Koba, and a g
irl of nine summers named Ivfa, were cleaning fragrant untoal seeds at the edge of the village. Ivfa saw the man first. She drew in a sharp breath. Which drew the attention of Koba. He looked up. Saw her silver eyes staring off toward the wasteland.

  Turned his head to see the man nearly upon them. Koba jumped to his feet. The small knife in his hands was good for cleaning untoal seeds. But useless against a warrior of nobility.

  Which the stranger surely had to be.

  But Koba held the knife up and pushed Ivfa behind him.

  Ivfa, being an independent-minded girl, promptly shoved Koba's arm aside and stepped away from him.

  There was no time to argue, however.

  The stranger was upon them.

  Out of the shimmering heat coming off the red sands of the Southern Desert, the man stepped. Onto the hard packed pale clay of the village of Galveen. He stopped in front of Koba and Ivfa. He brought the end of his staff down on the ground. It made a heavy thump, like the heartbeat of a great beast.

  Up close, the man was even bigger than he first appeared. He seemed huge. His shoulders looked capable of carrying mountains. His arms thick as haega trees. His face was finely shaped. His hair clean and free of tangles.

  There was no doubt he was of nobility.

  And it could only be sorrow for the village of Galveen that he was here.

  The man looked down at the children. Koba edged toward Ivfa, still wanting to protect her. His palm sweated around the small knife in his hand. It was death to threaten nobility with a weapon.

  But this was their home. Galveen didn’t belong to the man.

  “Go away,” Koba said, “You’re not wanted here.”

  The man smiled, showing even, beautiful white teeth.

  “I know, little one,” he said. His voice was deep and commanding. “But I have need of your hospitality for a short time.”

  Ivfa put her tiny fits on her hip and scowled up at him.

  “Who are you?” She asked.

  Ivfa had always been bold. Standing up to elders and asking questions long after adults had told her to stop.

  The stranger smiled again and got down on one knee before her. Even kneeling, the man towered over her. Koba stepped closer. He held the knife at his side. Ready to slash if the man tried anything. The man would surely kill him, but it would buy time for Ivfa to run.