Forbidden World

by Jeremy Michelson

  My traitorous passenger.

  What are you doing you bas…..

  Thirty-Six

  The Dendon

  Being the Herald to a King was not a job for the weak minded.

  Or for those without courage.

  Koba leaned on the long, wooden staff of his office. In front of him, the Duke of Evertob scowled and fingered the hilt of his sword.

  There was no joy for the bearer of bad news.

  The duke didn’t worry Koba as much as the ten soldiers to the left of the duke. And the fourteen soldiers to the right of him. Well, and the thirty-eight soldiers arrayed behind the duke’s large posterior.

  A gust of cool wind brought to him the eye-watering stench of the duke’s unwashed army. A pungent aroma that threatened to peel the lacquer off Koba’s ornately tooled leather chest plate.

  The Duke and his army stood arrayed on a flat section of ground below the undulating hills of Parseten Valley. The possession of the valley was a point of contention between the duke and a different duke and possibly six or seven other dukes. And a couple dozen warlords.

  The Valley possessed a river that came directly from the northern face of the Bayet mountains. Fed by icy glacial melt, the river was the only source of clean water for hundreds of miles.

  It had surprised Koba when he learned the northern side of the mountains wasn’t a magical paradise of lush plant life and abundant water.

  The old men of the village had told stories of the northern lands with misty, loving tones.

  Obviously, none of the old fools had been there in recent memory.

  For the northern lands–which might have once been lush and green and a lovely place to live–were a blasted wasteland. The land had been scorched of vegetation and pounded to oblivion by generations of warlords and their armies.

  Every hill seemed to have a rocky fortress on it. From which armies threw rocks at each other with catapults. If they were feeling particularly ambitious, they might set something on fire and fling it at their enemies.

  In short, the northern lands were an utter mess.

  Except for the Parseten Valley. Which had somehow escaped the devastating wrath of the various armies.

  Until now.

  The warlords and dukes of the northern lands were rapidly running out of resources to feed and clothe and arm their soldiers.

  These days, the warlords and dukes had taken to raiding each other more for food and vital resources than for general war-making.

  Such was the state the nobles of Dendon had come to.

  And why the coming of the King was met with so little interest.

  At first.

  “Tell your so-called King to shove his treaty up his ass,” the Duke of Evertob said.

  Sigh.

  If Koba had a piece of silver for every time he’d been told that in the last two years…

  He straightened up. Lifted his Staff of Office and brought it down on the flat stone he had deliberately stood next to.

  The staff made a sharp crack of a sound. It echoed up the walls of the valley. The staff was of the same reddish wood of the king’s staff. Where the king had found it, he didn’t say. Like so many things.

  But the staff was near to unbreakable as far as Koba could tell. And it had other…unusual properties.

  Which he hoped he could avoid using this day.

  “I shall relay your message to the King,” Koba said, “However, the fact remains that the treaty is not optional. My message to you, from the King, is that you will follow the treaty. Whether you choose to accept it or not.”

  The duke’s scowl deepened. His soldiers murmured. The duke had been doing fairly well by them. Their leather armor was in good repair. Each soldier had a long spear and a short sword. In general, they seemed well fed and healthy.

  But holding the valley had to be taking a toll on the soldiers and their duke.

  “Or what?” The duke said, “I’ve heard of this pretender King. Your King has no army. He holds no land. He has no power.”

  Koba gave the man a smile.

  This was always the tricky part. Pretending to be completely at ease while trying not to have rivers of fear sweat rolling down his cheeks.

  This was the hard part. Trusting the King’s true power.

  “If my King has no power then you will have no fear of meeting him, will you?” Koba said.

  The duke grabbed the hilt of his sword. But hesitated pulling it out. If he had heard of the King…then he had heard of the strange things the King was able to do.

  But, the duke couldn’t afford to look weak or afraid in front of his soldiers.

  “Why should I fear a stinking pile of shit like him?” The duke said, “Bring your pretender to me. I’ll separate his foolish head from his body. Then you can take it back to your village on that stupid stick of yours.”

  Dukes and warlords were full of foolish talk. But they were also pretty good about backing up their threats.

  Koba bowed to the duke.

  “As you wish,” he said, “Though my King is already here. Good luck finding a blade sharp enough for his neck.”

  The Duke of Evertob's eyes widened. He jerked his sword from its scabbard. Though the sword was a bit too long for the duke's stubby arms. The tip of the blade caught the edge of the scabbard. It took the duke several seconds to free it.

  By that time, the King had stepped from the band of soldiers behind the duke.

  He had been dressed as one of the soldiers. Wearing scuffed leather armor under a brown cloak. He drew back the hood of the cloak. A stained band of red cloth circled his head. As he walked out in front of the duke, he pulled the red cloth away from his head.

  Several of the soldiers gasped.

  A band of gold circled the King’s said.

  Because, of course. He was the King. Why wouldn’t he wear the crown?

  The King carried a long spear like the other soldiers. Though unlike theirs, the shaft was made of reddish wood.

  As the duke lifted his sword, the King lowered the spear–which suddenly didn't have a point anymore and was simply a long staff. With a twist of the staff, he sent the duke's sword flying. The sword landed several feet away, its point buried in the dirt.

  The King brought the staff back up beside him. He held his head high and slowly looked over the duke and his soldiers. The soldiers, in turn, shuffled and looked at each other. Then to the duke.

  Who was turning livid with rage.

  Koba stayed still. Wishing for invisibility. Or at least some distance from this mess. When the King had told him his plan, Koba wanted no part of it.

  But, of course, the King was persuasive. And here he was, standing out in a grassy field, staring down the face of death. Yet again.

  I never promised this would be easy, Koba, the King had said.

  As the King was typical at understating.

  “I am prepared to forgive you,” the King said, “Swear your fealty to me and you shall be spared.”

  The duke spat at him. Which landed well short of the King’s (still bare) feet.

  “You and the boy think you can best my men?” The duke said, “We’ll be chewing your bones for dinner. Won’t we, men?”

  Koba’s entire body clenched. The situation on the northern side of the mountains was indeed desperate. This wasn’t the first reference to cannibalism he’d heard. Or seen with his own eyes.

  “You wish to dine on my flesh?” The King said, “Are you animals? Or are you men? Will you eat your own children when even this Valley dies from your selfish ministrations?”

  The duke drew a dagger from his belt. This time without catching it on anything. The duke patted his protruding belly.

  “Flesh like yours is as soft as a woman’s,” he said, “Tender and full of flavor. You and your juicy young companion will roast up nicely. We’ll feed well tonight, won’t we, men?”

  Most of the soldiers cast their eyes toward the ground. A few chuckled and thumped the ground with the sha
ft of their spears.

  Koba noted how the King’s eyes flicked over the men. Memorizing their faces. Especially those who laughed with the duke.

  Those men were beyond saving.

  The duke pointed the dagger at the King. “Go slice them up,” he said, “And save the best cuts for me.”

  Koba’s insides tried to turn to jelly. He suppressed the chills that wanted to shake his body. The wind shifted, taking away the rancid, unwashed scent of the duke’s soldiers. But not their hard, hungry looks.

  The King stood still as a statue, his face stony. His long, white hair flowed like a pennant in the sudden breeze. A halo around his head, restrained only by the golden band the circled his skull. His hand held the long, red staff. In his other hand was nothing. It hung loose and empty at his side.

  The soldiers shuffled amongst themselves. But did not move forward immediately.

  The duke turned a let out a blistering epithet. “Move you fools!” He shouted, “Are you cowards?”

  That spurred the soldiers.

  The ones who laughed came forward first. Four of them lowered their spears toward the King–and Koba. The rest drew their swords.

  Koba couldn’t stop the trembling of his body. But he stood his ground.

  Either the King would prevail. Again.

  Or all Koba’s worries would soon be at an end.

  “I give you one last chance to repent,” the King said, “Repudiate your evil ways. Or face oblivion.”

  Some of the soldiers made to stop. But the duke screamed obscenities at them.

  “There’s only two of them, you cowards!” He shouted.

  The King lifted his chin and stared down at the duke.

  “You are beyond saving,” he said, “But you shall be an example to your fellow nobles.”

  With that, the duke gave an incoherent scream. The fat duke thrust his dagger out and ran at the King.

  Who lowered his staff and touched the side of the duke’s head.

  The soldiers rushed the King. The duke collapsed to the ground like the sack of dung he was.

  The King’s staff swung out so fast it was simply a sweeping blur.

  It touched soldier after soldier.

  Each collapsed like the force that animated them had been instantaneously sucked out. Spears and swords clattered to the ground. The sound of bodies thumping on the dirt filled the air. War cries were cut off. Silenced like their throats had been cut.

  It was all over in seconds.

  The King stood unharmed. A half circle of bodies piled in front of him.

  The soldiers who hadn’t rushed him stood wide-eyed. Out of the staff’s reach. One soldier dropped his spear and fell to his knees. He prostrated himself before the King.

  “I swear my undying allegiance to the true King of Dendon!” The man shouted.

  One by one, the other men still upright did the same.

  Except for one soldier.

  The soldier wore a brown cloak with a hood covering his head. The soldier raised a hand and pulled the hood back.

  Ivfa grinned at him.

  “Pity,” she said, “I was hoping for a good fight.”

  Koba relaxed. Slightly. He moved closer to the King.

  “You win again,” he said.

  The King shook his head.

  “This is not a victory,” he said. He waved a hand and the men prostrated before him. “This is only fear. They do not love me. They do not believe yet.”

  Ivfa walked around the pile of bodies–who Koba knew were not dead. Murder was not the King’s method. Ivfa came up beside the King, opposite Koba.

  “They’ll come around,” she said, “Once they get to know you.”

  The King put his arms around them both and drew them close. The pleasant muskiness of the King, was a welcome respite from the stench of the Duke’s men.

  He released them and looked off toward the snow-capped mountains.

  “I cannot be everywhere,” he said, “I need the people of Dendon to find the goodness in themselves. I can only be the spark. They must be the fire.”

  Koba gave a quiet sigh. The King talked a lot about people finding their moral centers. Whatever that was supposed to be.

  But the world was a random, hurtful place. It was so much easier for people to be bad than good. How could the King expect everyone to put in the extra effort?

  The King’s hand landed on Koba’s shoulder.

  “I know you doubt, Koba,” the King said, “And I welcome it. Blind obedience is not love, either. Question me. Question what I do. Let your heart lead you to your own conclusions. That is how true Kings are made.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Chris

  My head pounded like there were a hundred monkeys with little sledgehammers slamming the inside of my skull. I groaned and sat up, grabbing my head with both hands.

  I shivered in the cold, spice scented air and blinked stupidly at my surroundings.

  Which didn’t help at all because I couldn’t see a darned thing.

  For a few seconds, I panicked, thinking I'd gone blind.

  Then I remembered where I was. And what had happened.

  A different kind of panic seized me.

  I scrambled to my feet. The pain in my head stopped me. Sent waves of acidy nausea running through me. I would have heaved up the contents of my stomach, but it was already empty.

  “Liz.”

  The thing that took her…

  Flapping away on huge, bronze wings. A different kind of monster than the metal murder worm.

  Was she already dead?

  No. I refused to even contemplate the possibility. The creature probably took her to wherever T&T was. Assuming he was still alive, too.

  Panicking wasn't going to help her. There wasn't any help coming. No cavalry riding to the rescue here. It was up to me to figure out where she was.

  And how to rescue her from the crazy metal creatures that were the only life on this dead planet.

  I stood still for a long while, leaning my pounding head against the smooth, cold wall. One of the Dendon subway stations. Air moved past me in a rush and low moan. A tingle of electricity went up my spine. There was a stairway to the surface nearby. I’d make my way up top. Get back to the ship. From there I’d tune the ship’s sensors to find her.

  Somehow.

  Images flashed through my mind. A tall, noble-looking Dendon with a gold band around his head.

  The stupid dream I’d been fed.

  “What was it supposed to mean?” I asked.

  My Dendon passenger didn’t deign to reply. Of course.

  Feeding me Dendon history. Which didn’t do me any good. I needed some cooperation. Come on, buddy, tell me what I’m up against? Give me some clue on how I can beat it.

  Silence.

  Fine. Screw you, too.

  I pushed off from the wall. No point in being afraid anymore.

  What had my fears gotten me?

  Exactly what I had feared most. Liz gone. Me alone and powerless.

  Maybe Liz was right. Maybe I had left my balls in my other pants. All the more reason to get back to the ship so I could retrieve them.

  The stupid Dendon device inside me had said kings needed courage. Or something like that. Well, courage also came from having nothing left to lose. My life was already over if I couldn’t get Liz back.

  But if I found those metal monsters…

  I was going to make them pay for every bruise on her body.

  Thirty-Eight

  Titus

  T&T wept with relief when the ship came into view. He never thought he’d be so happy to get back to that ugly, rancid smelling thing.

  The monster carrying him zoomed through the dust covered street. The setting sun made the thing’s bronzy carapace glow with dull light. The spicy dust that the wind swirled around them made him sneeze over and over.

  He could really use a handkerchief.

  And some clothes.

  And a really thick doobie.


  Mom kind of frowned on his wacky tobacky habit. He was never good at hiding it. She’d walk into the house and declare: Damnit, who let the skunk in here again?

  Turns out no matter how much air freshener a guy sprayed in the air, the funk of weed just wouldn’t die.

  And maybe he wouldn’t die now, either.

  Though, at the moment, he was kind of wondering how he was not dying from lack of oxygen. Flapping along on the back of the giant metal terror worm thing, he couldn’t see any bubble. Maybe there was a containment field?

  That would be something Uncle Mattany would be interested in. Come to think of it, Uncle Mattany would probably be real interested in the worm thing, too. It had all kinds of military applications. The thing could sneak up behind enemy lines. And scare half the troops to death before it outright murdered the other half.

  Yup, Uncle Mattany would definitely be interested.

  Small problem of shipping the thing off to him, though.

  And containing the thing if somehow T&T managed to get it back to Earth.

  Lots of details to be worked out.

  Too bad details weren’t his thing. He was covert-ops, not a bookkeeper. Covert-ops was all about being all mysterious and cool. And stuff. Mom had given him a really thick manual on being a covert-ops guy.

  Then, she’d reconsidered and given him a much smaller book that she said covered the highlights.

  But after he didn’t read that she’d given him a brochure.

  And after that, she made him sit through a slide show that had a lot of pictures and some bullet points and stuff.

  Seemed like a big, pointless hassle to him.

  He’d hollowed out the big book and used it to stash his weed. It was really good for that. No one ever cracked open books that thick.

  Not on purpose.

  The giant worm thing jerked to a stop.

  Right in front of the ship’s airlock.

  Wow, that had been fast. He must have blanked out for a minute there.

  The worm thing still had his arms clamped in two of its metal pincers. It reared up and used two of its other pincers to access the airlock controls.