by Steven Novak
Pleebo moved closer to his sister, his head tilted slightly, his eyelids hanging low and soulful. “What happened, Zanell? What happened to Tipoloo?”
Reaching up, she touched a fist-sized welt of deep purples, reds and swirly grays pressing outward from under the skin of his cheek. She wished she hadn’t been forced to see everything the Ochans did to her brother while he was their prisoner. She wished she could forget, maybe more than he.
“You know I can’t.” She responded wistfully.
“No, you’re wrong. I don’t know that.” Pleebo shot back. “That’s a load of crap, Zanell. That’s grandfathers’ nonsense, it’s not yours.”
Zanell slid her hand from her brother’s face and let it roam down his neck to the broken bone in his shoulder that was threatening to break through his skin and the discolored flesh stretched to its absolute limit over it. She was so proud of him. She was proud that he held out for so long, despite the beatings and the utter hopelessness of his situation. She was proud of all the things he’d done, and all he had yet to do. She was proud of the fact that he would continue to follow her in spite of what she was about to say. He had too. He loved her too much to do anything else.
“I’m sorry, big brother. We have to keep moving.” Stepping to the side, she slid past Pleebo and continued in the direction of the castle.
For three minutes, Pleebo did not move a muscle. Instead, he allowed his sister and the conjurer to press onward into the forest. For two of the three minutes he told himself he was going to let them go it alone. During these two minutes he didn’t want to forgive Zanell, and he didn’t have any interest in trying. During these one hundred and twenty seconds he could not have cared less what happened to her or the weird old Ochan mystic traveling alongside. If she wasn’t going to offer anything to him, why should he be expected to offer anything in return? He shouldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not anymore. Not ever again.
By the time the three minutes were up, he was jogging slowly in her direction and trying to catch up. He had to. She was his sister and he loved her too much to let her walk alone into the face of danger. Many years ago he promised his mother that he would keep her safe. It was a promise he intended to keep.
Less than thirty minutes later the forest began to thin and the fog to fade slowly away. Trudging just a few steps behind Zanell and the conjurer, Pleebo heard the faintest sound of a ringing bell in the far off distance. Beneath it was the even fainter hum of excited voices and the heightened growling of various beasts of burden. Pushing past Zanell, he sprinted forward with remarkable speed, considering the wide array of injuries plaguing his body. When he emerged from the tree line and the remnants of the forest-fog dissolved into memory, an absolutely awesome sight greeted him.
A mile or so in the distance stood the castle of the tyrant King Kragamel himself. Its monstrous, beyond words imposing walls of coal colored stone sat silhouetted against the rising sun over the cloudy horizon. The ringing was emanating from somewhere deep within its walls. Though they looked like ants from this distance, Pleebo could clearly see that those residing within the castle walls were frantic, possibly even a bit worried. Scanning the horizon, his eyes traveled to the east, following the tree line in the distance to a clearing where the doorway back to Fillagrou lay. Emerging from the massive black hole in the icy Ochan soil was what looked at first glance to be an Aquari sea dragon, though Pleebo quickly told himself such a thing was impossible. Under the enormous, snarling creature, weaving and bobbing between the flapping of its slithery wings, were fifteen foot long snarling fish with bodies as thick as Megalots, and prickly whiskers extending nearly ten feet from the sides of their flat faces. On their backs were rail-thin creatures with transparent skin and heads so large they looked like they belonged on an entirely different body. Watching as more bizarre creatures rose from the black nothingness of the doorway, Pleebo felt his sister step beside him. She was breathing softly, her eyes looking in the same direction as he was. Her boney fingers reached for his and soon their hands were intertwined.
“Who are they?” Pleebo whispered through his cracked lips.
Zanell’s response was something less than a whisper. “This is where it all began, big brother. This is where it will end.”
*
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CHAPTER 30
THE SPARK AND THE FOOLISHNESS
*
It was the young Telengrots who first rushed to support the idea, though it didn’t take long for the older and far more respected members of the community to jump on board. Just as Zanell knew it would, her sudden and unexplained disappearance proved exactly the spark the frustrated citizens of New Tipoloo needed. Very quickly, weapons were dispersed to those willing to fight and those willing to die. What was happening in the forest above the city was something they’d all experienced firsthand. It was something they remembered and would always remember. It was their history, and in becoming their history it had molded them into what they were today. It prepared them for this very moment.
Just outside the huddled anxious masses, the female Huerzo Snub, Lenore Guzarea, sat silently with her children at her side and listened to their gentle sobs. They were scared. Theirs was a life of fear, however, and for them this was the norm. Since the moment of their birth, each of the children had spent their days running or hiding, or watching as someone they loved died. For them, this was normal. Reaching forward, Lenore gently patted the silvery-slick head of her youngest, letting her whisper-thin fingers brush his still forming antennae gently back. Directly across from her and a bit further down the tunnel, she watched as groups of New Tipoloo citizens disappeared into the tunnel that would lead them above ground. Their plan—if it could even be called that—was to attack the Ochan forces at the doorway to the hundredth world from behind. It was believed that catching the dark army unprepared would give them a distinct advantage.
In the mind of Lenore Guzarea, they believed wrong.
There were likely thousands of Ochans at the doorway, possibly hundreds of thousands, maybe even more. By her count, there were barely five hundred New Tipoloo citizens at the most beginning their ascent to the world above. The Ochans were as well armed as any invasion force had ever been, while most of her brethren carried with them weapons that looked frightfully homemade: sharpened sticks with poorly molded steel wrapped awkwardly at the top, digging tools, and bits of tattered netting. Some didn’t even have that. Even with the element of surprise on their side, they would be slaughtered. Of this there was no doubt. And yet, not a single one of them seemed to care. With Zanell gone and the prophecy, on which they leaned so heavily, abruptly pulled away, they were left with nothing. They were tired of hiding, tired of waking up in the same stuffy tunnels with the same drab scenery, and tired of inhaling the thick recycled air of a thousand others. They wanted to see the sun and the trees, and breathe the openness of the world beyond. They wanted more.
“Bunch of fools.”
The voice belonged to Lenore’s neighbor and lifelong friend, Saloe Penache. Like Lenore, Saloe was a Huerzo Snub and a mother of three. Unlike Lenore, Saloe’s mate, Garreth, was alive and well. Gently patting her middle son on the back, Lenore turned to face her friend of many years. Saloe stood stoically beside her with her delicate hands resting on her nonexistent hips. Her tiny head was shaking back and forth as she watched the anxious and angry group of creatures disappearing into the dark tunnels ahead.
Saloe sighed deep. “Don’t they see how foolish it is? How can they not see? They’re going to die, all of them. They’re going to die and they’re going to lead the Ochans right to us.”
Lenore didn’t respond. Instead, she watched as the space between Saloe’s coal black eyes crinkled, her expression turning to one of frustration and anger.
“Garrett and I are taking the children and heading for the Western Passage. If those fools do lead the Ochans this way, we don’t want to be here when they arrive.”
Again Lenore remained silent. Her gaze turned o
nce again to the rapidly filling tunnels and the looks on the faces of those stepping inside. Saloe was right, they were indeed stupid and foolish, and walking with their chests heaved into a situation they were unlikely to return from. They were so very foolish and so impressively stupid.
“You and the children are welcome to come with, Lenore.” Saloe added with a huff, still shaking her head in disbelief.
Among the foolish-tough, Lenore noticed a friend of many years. He was a Galadrian Marestock with a massive fur-covered lower half and a completely hair-free upper. His name was Marcus Malgovanitch. She first met Marcus hiding among the trees of the Fillagrou forest after her home world was invaded. He was near death at the time and just a boy. He too had lost everything. His family was dead and his world a smoldering cinder. He was starving, confused and alone, and knocking on death’s door. He was as utterly defeated as any creature could be, and he had no will to continue.
He did continue, though.
Lenore had convinced him to join her family on their journey to Tipoloo. Forgoing her own dietary needs, she had even nursed the boy back to health with the sparse rations she’d brought along. Over the years Marcus had become one of them, as much a child to her as any of her biological children. Before stepping into the tunnel leading away from the city, Marcus turned to her and bowed gently. The look on his face was both apologetic and determined. Dipping her head slightly, Lenore bowed back. A moment later, Marcus was gone. Despite Saloe’s claims to the contrary, Lenore knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Marcus was anything but stupid or foolish. He was a good boy who had grown to become an honest and hardworking man. She was proud of him.
With Lenore continuing to be unresponsive, Saloe poked her friend stiffly on the side of her dull red shell. “Lenore? Lenore, are you listening to me?”
Immediately Lenore woke from her daze and turned in the direction of her friend. Garret and the couple’s three children stepped beside Saloe, each of them watching the beginnings of the trek to the world above near the end of the street. Garrett, too, was shaking his head.
Reaching over, Garrett placed his hand softly on the outer shell of his wife. “Come along, Saloe. We must get moving.”
Again Saloe nudged her friend. “Lenore? Are you coming?”
To her surprise, all three of Lenore’s children had managed to fall asleep at her side. She could feel them breathing against her and hear the familiar half-whistle half-snore of her youngest. At first she found it quite remarkable that they could sleep with everything going on around them. Then she reminded herself that this was their world far more than hers. For them this was simply another day. For them this was commonplace. They were hardened, and because of it they were strong, stronger than she’d given them credit for and stronger than she could ever be. Wrapping them in her arms, she pulled all three close.
Turning to Saloe, she stated breathily, “I am sorry my friend, but I cannot go.”
“You can’t be serious, Lenore.”
Lenore’s response came without even a moment of pause. “Oh, but I am.”
Saloe kneeled beside her friend and placed both hands on Lenore’s shell. “There’s nothing left here. There’s no reason to stay. We both know what will happen up there, and what’s bound to happen down here when it does. You can’t stay. Think of your children, Lenore.”
Lenore placed her hand on the face of her friend and patted gently. “That’s exactly who I’m thinking of, Dearie. This is their home. This is our home. I won’t abandon it.”
Saloe grabbed her friend’s hand and tugged softly. “You’re being foolish, Lenore.”
Digging her tiny feet into the ground, Lenore remained firm and stationary. She wasn’t moving. After peeling Saloe’s hand from her own, she gently pushed the confused Huerzo Snub backward and into the arms of her husband.
With the slightest of smiles on her face, she added simply, “I know.”
*
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CHAPTER 31
FIRST STRIKE
*
The reunion of Chris Jarvis and his youngest son was unfortunately short. Nestor lowered the boy from the back of the massive creature he was seated upon and the instant Nicky’s felt solid ground, he rushed into the arms of his father. In this moment, time slowed. The sound of the massive Aquari army passing through the forest on either side of the embracing duo faded away. Despite Nicky’s history with his father, the boy found something undeniably profound and warm and forgiving in the familiarity of his father’s face, and the warmth created by simply having him near. Strangely, it seemed to make sense. It was a feeling he was happy to be experiencing again, and it succeeded in riling up emotions he didn’t want to let go of. After everything that happened on Fluuffytail’s ship, this sort of obvious familiarity proved to be exactly what he needed. His body melted into the arms of his father and his head burrowed into the crook of his neck. Inhaling deep, Nicky smelled what he first thought was distant memory. Absent was the tangy, nose-itching odor of stale alcohol, stained clothes and lifelong regrets. Gone as well was the acid breath he’d become so accustomed to since the death of his mother. In this instant Nicky smelled only his father, as he had remembered him so very long ago, the father he long thought dead.
Pulling his son close to his chest, Chris lifted the boy into the air and squeezed him tight. While trying to speak, he failed. He wanted to say something. He felt like he needed to say something, anything. What emerged from between his lips was more of an excited gurgle, more a tearful explosion than anything remotely resembling coherent thought. It took only a moment for Chris’s life to jump from its absolute lowest to its absolute highest.
It took only a moment more for it to change right back.
Initially, Chris Jarvis was adamant about the fact that both he and Nicky wouldn’t continue onward to Ocha and the castle of the tyrant king. He’d found his son, at least one of them. Nicky was real and he was alive, and Chris wasn’t about to do anything to put him in further jeopardy. Nicky, however, did not agree. Tommy and Staci and Donald were missing. They were his family and his friends. Though he hadn’t bothered to mention it to Nestor or any of the others, Nicky had been unable to shake the uncanny feeling that Ocha was the place he would find them. He didn’t know how or why, or exactly where, he just knew. On top of it all, the boy still believed it was his fault Tommy had even come to this place. His brother didn’t want to follow Roustaf back through the doorway and had tried repeatedly to convince him to do the exact opposite. If Tommy was alive, he had to find him. He couldn’t just leave him.
Chris tried to convince Nicky to stay behind, telling the boy that he would go ahead with everyone else and look for Tommy. He even tried to talk Fellow Undergotten into remaining in the forest with Nicky to keep him safe, an idea the Chintaran briefly supported. Nicky would have none of it. He was going to Ocha. Something or someone was telling him that he needed to go to Ocha. It was as simple as that.
Though Nestor believed Nicky and his amazing abilities could undoubtedly help, he too fully supported the idea of the child remaining behind and out of harm’s way. When Nestor refused to lift the boy onto the back of the slimy-blue, four-legged fish monster, Nicky climbed up the long fin dangling from the rear of the huffing beast on his own and plopped into the saddle. There was no changing his mind. Once again the stubbornness of Nicky Jarvis eventually won out. Even if his father had no idea of what he was capable of, Nicky knew exactly what he could do. The invasion force was going to need his help. No matter how scared he was and no matter how much simpler it might have been to stay behind with his father and hope for the best, he had to go. He had to. If they hadn’t agreed to take him, he would have walked.
From atop the enormously muscled beast with Nicky pressed against the rear of his shell, Nestor extended his paw in Chris’s direction. “There is room for one more, my friend.”
As Chris Jarvis stared in the direction of his mulish son, for an instant he could see his wife. Though she and Nick
y shared very little resemblance physically, they were alike in so many other ways. He missed Megan.
She would have been proud.
A bit farther away, Fellow Undergotten watched as the remaining members of his haphazardly constructed rescue party peeled away and hitched rides on the backs of the various creatures passing in a blur. The sheer size of the invasion force was astounding. In the distance he watched as another four-legged fish with a body as thick and imposing as two Megalots stacked on top of each other passed through the trees with a snarl and a huff. Bouncing wildly on its back, he believed he saw what looked like a very dusty, very filthy looking rabbit in a pirate hat.
Nearly thrown from his perch, the pirate bunny kicked at the thickly scaled beast with his fuzzy, oversized feet and screamed angrily, “Slow down, ya slimy, foul-mouthed scallywag! My backside wasn’t made for this sort of travel!”
Most of the aliens riding atop the various creatures were tall, lanky things with strange transparent flesh and tiny facial features set in the center of their oversized heads. As one of them passed by, it nodded in Fellow’s direction and lifted what looked like a sword constructed of a substance vaguely resembling coral. Unsure of the appropriate response, Fellow waved back awkwardly.
Standing alongside Fellow, Owen Little’s eyes were having trouble determining exactly where to settle. The array of wildly different creatures seemed to extend forever into the recesses of the forest. Every time one of the weird transparent creatures passed by, they would gaze at him with confusing non-expressions on their equally expressionless faces. It was almost as if they were honored to be in his presence, as if they couldn’t take their eyes off him. Needless to say, it was making him more than a little uncomfortable. From high above in the softly orange-red sky, something roared. Owen looked up in time to see what he could only describe as a dragon swooping down from the silhouetted trees, bathing him and Fellow in shadow. Pulling its wings closer to its body and carefully avoiding the closeness of the densely packed timbers, the creature navigated its way to the forest floor and landed less than fifteen feet away. The breeze created by its flapping appendages nearly knocked Owen from his feet. If Fellow hadn’t wrapped his arms around the boy, it might have done exactly that. The snarling head attached to the sea dragon’s neck swept over Owen and Fellow, sniffing them momentarily before moving away and cawing like an angry bird in the direction of the waiting sky. Though Sea Dragons as a general rule despised using their wings for anything other than underwater maneuvering, they were quite capable of taking to the air when necessary and extremely adept at maneuvering once there. What they hated most of all was standing on solid ground. Instinctively Owen reached up and held his nose. The Sea Dragon’s breath smelled awful, like a pile of poop slathered in guacamole and left to bake in the sun on an uncomfortably hot day. On the back of the anxious creature, where its elongated neck met its muscled torso, sat yet another alien with see-through skin.
