by R. T. Donlon
The King angled his expression as if peering at the Warrior through the corner of one eye, raising an open palm to the library cradling the walls of his study. Relu suddenly grew uncomfortable, instinctively reaching for the dagger at his waist, but his fingers found nothing but an empty scabbard. Jennison, Relu remembered, had stripped him of his weapon before entering the Glowing Mountain.
“Looking for this?” the King asked sarcastically.
The question held tones of menace, even malice. The King flipped Relu’s dagger in the air, catching it by the hilt, and holding it out toward the Portizu Warrior.
“Why did you really send for me this early in the morning?” the warrior asked.
Altruit rose from his cushioned chair, allowing the armor he wore to clank against its jointed parts.
“Suspicion,” The King grunted. “I’d expect nothing else from you. Very well. We will get down to it. I only have one question for you.” His words cut the air into tiny remnants of cordiality. “What does the word evolution mean to you? Do you have a word for it where you come from?”
It was not the question Relu had expected. He allowed his mind to work, to think.
“The word doesn’t translate,” said Relu hesitantly. “I do not know what you mean.”
A flash of fury shimmered through the King’s eyes. Muscles flexed in his neck and through his forearms. Relu’s suspicion suddenly turned to clarity. The King had finally revealed himself.
Without another word, the King rushed forward, catching Relu by surprise and slamming him hard against the back wall of the room. The bookshelves fluttered against the collision. Relu could only dangle above the floor helplessly, coughing against the pressure of the King’s fingers wrapped around his neck.
Altruit turned his face to the side so to whisper angrily in Relu’s ear.
“A slow biological adaptation to one’s environment, usually by means of survival. That’s what it means,” the King growled.
Relu coughed harder now, fighting for breath.
“I come from a long list of ancestors—the court of Albrien, the court of Saichan, and the depths of the flowing rivers. I was born of the purest Light blood and bred with the strength of the River Giants. I have spent decades honing my strength, waiting…but you…you are certainly not of Light. You are something different, aren’t you?”
“I…don’t know…what you are…talking—” Relu coughed.
In one motion, Altruit threw Relu to the ground only to adjust the gold-plated armor across his chest.
The strength of this man, Relu thought. It’s something unheard of!
Fire filled the King’s eyes—searing, angry fire.
“There is a reason why I’ve lived for centuries. There is a reason why I will continue to live for many more! Albrien sheds his favor upon me. Saichan gives me strength! I am the legacy of Light! With the strength of the Giants, immortal I will continue to be until Light is no more. Get up!” the King spat.
Relu clutched at his throat, still inhaling deep for needed air. This was no longer a battle for knowledge. This was a war of color.
“You are not of Light,” the King continued. “You have Darkness inside of you. I can see it.”
The King—no longer able to withhold his violence—came down hard with a fist to the center of Relu’s chest. The impact drilled the Warrior into the ground, denting the wood floor underneath him.
“Perhaps your Chieftain is smarter than I gave him credit for. There is no alliance between the leaders of the Range. Power only breeds more power. We have been hoping to infiltrate you for some time. The Portizu are only a threat to our end goals…and threats must be eliminated.”
“You have no idea the power of the Portizu,” Relu spoke. “No idea.”
“But I have found your secret!” the King continued. “The Portizu Warriors are not as deadly a group as you have made yourself out to be. You are weak. There is a reason you have kept yourselves in hiding for all of this time—you knew we would eliminate you if you didn’t. The Darkness in you makes you filth.”
The fire present in the King’s glare sent a violent chill down Relu’s spine. He wanted desperately to fight back, to utilize the weri strike pose and bring the King to his knees with one swivel of his legs. It would be easy—an efficient swerve on his ankles to undercut the King’s trunked legs and, before the King could find time to blink, the armor-clad Leader of the Light would come toppling to the ground in a heap of gold, disjointed metal. But what would that accomplish? Yes, he would overcome Altruit’s mighty blows and give himself a much needed boost of confidence, but Relu understood that the King’s jabs and strangleholds were not his true weapons. It was his influence. The Light Empire would still wage a bloody war against his people and, with the numbers of soldiers the King seemed to possess, Relu could not be certain of Portizu victory. More than ever, the peacetime of the Portizu people seemed to be crashing to a halt right before his eyes.
Relu rose to his feet to stare deep into the King’s eyes.
“I do not know what you think I am, what my people are, but we are not Darkness,” he growled through gritted teeth.
The snarl of his upturned top lip did the Warrior no favors to sway the King of his civility. Instead, his temperament resembled something more of a wild animal than someone born of honor.
“How dare you lie to me,” the King bellowed.
The King’s anger had reached a boiling point now, spilling over in the form of throbbing arteries and veins displayed across the surface of his neck. His mouth curled in on itself, forming a bit of paper thin, bloodless lips pressed so hard against each other they could pop.
“Was this your plan the entire time? To lure us out? To expose us? I should have never trusted Jennison,” Relu questioned.
“You cannot trick someone who sees through your lies. Jennison believes in you, so much so that he fought valiantly to stop me from having this conversation, but I am charged with the burden of making difficult decisions and I have seen who you really are.”
“You have no proof! You are acting on impulse.”
“Then tell me, of all the races in the Great Range, why are you the only ones with colored skin?”
Relu hesitated. Of all reasons to bury the Portizu…
“You cannot be serious,” the Warrior muttered. “The color of my skin means nothing. My people are neither Light, nor Darkness. We are Portizu, born from the ancestors before us who fought in the Great Wars so that future generations could live—future generations like myself—so that you may live the decadent lifestyle you do. Your people out there suffer from starvation, from the effects of war. I have seen it. I have walked your streets. Tell me—what have you done to ease their pain? What have you done to rebuild your city so that your people can feel safe once more?”
The King scoffed. What Relu had said hit the King like an arrow to the heart.
Don’t stop now, Relu thought. Bring him to the edge.
“You are no King. You are a man who wishes only to be a King, but only sways people to rally around his manipulated beliefs with manipulated information. You are—”
“ENOUGH!” the King barked.
Altruit had heard enough. He pulled back and sent a world-rattling punch straight through Relu’s jaw. The fist sent the Warrior spiraling through the air, landing forcefully onto his chest.
“You have not earned the right to question my authority. I am a just King—a King that has brought his people through the Great Revolts and beyond. I’ll be damned if the Shadows take that from me.”
Relu turned himself around, wiping a dark streak of blood from his mouth. He rose to center himself, then crouched into the wuru defense pose.
“You see, I’ve been granted the best gift anyone could ask for. I am blessed by Albrien himself! It is my burden to protect the Light Empire from imposters like you and your people.”
Relu scowled, baring his teeth once more. Reason and logic, it seemed, would have no place here.
> “But fear not,” the King continued. “If I wanted you dead, you would be. I have bigger things planned for you, Relu of the Highlands. Guards!”
The heavy wooden doors of the Study swung open, revealing a string of four guards waiting intent for instruction.
“Escort our guest to the dungeon. I want him to see his true purpose for being present in the Light City.”
A guard clutched at Relu’s arm, guiding him toward a corridor that paralleled the one from where he had entered. This one, however, diverted from the housing side of the castle and traveled in the opposite direction, descending deep into the mountain’s core. The hallways seemed dimmer here, more daunting.
“Wait,” the King spoke.
The guard did as he was told and stopped.
The King meandered over to Relu with his arms held behind his back. Bending at the hips, he whispered in the Warrior’s ear.
“I must admit, I wasn’t certain I wanted to show you this, but after our meeting yesterday, I’m certain this is the right course of action.”
The King offered a final flick of his wrist and the guard pushed Relu forward into the labyrinth of stone walkways, descending a flight of stairs that twirled into a spiral that ended at a strange cement foundation. Water dripped incessantly in every direction, echoing eerily in the dim light. The King followed a few steps behind—chin tilted upward, content with his decision.
“Where are you taking me?” Relu asked. “If I do not return to my people, my Chieftain will come for me. By my rank, I am collateral. Surely you know this.”
“There,” the King spoke, pointing toward a metal door about fifty feet ahead. “Open it.”
Relu hesitantly stepped closer to the enclosed opening, then reached out to grab the gate’s handle. He wrapped his fingers around it, took one final glance at the King, and swung it open.
At first, nothing but darkness filled his field of vision, but as his eyes adjusted to the room, he found that he was walking into yet another musty corridor. This passageway, however, was unlike the other pathways. Prison cells lined the walls on either side of him. Each had been fitted with its own metal door and a thick-glass window. A quiet buzzing sound amplified to the level of annoyance from behind each gate.
“Go ahead, Portizu,” the King whispered smugly. “Take a look inside.”
Then, as if the King’s voice was some sort of summoning, Relu saw them.
Clouds of Dark energy swarmed in on themselves, as though they were constantly imploding. Glimpses of sharp teeth and claws formed from its core, then dispersed back into the collective energy of its suspended body. Several loud bangs echoed through the hallway simultaneously. The Shadows had felt their visitors’ presence.
“You rile them up,” the King spoke. “They sense something in you.”
Relu turned to Altruit, offering nothing more than a stern glare.
“It is not me that they are waiting for,” Relu growled. “It is you they want.”
The grimacing scowl returned to the King’s pompous visage. Through his grinding teeth, he spoke.
“It’s time,” the King continued. “Guards, bring Relu to the cage. If he will not admit his true self, I will force it out of him.”
The guards grabbed at Relu and moved forcefully through the dungeons of the Mountain. With every turn, Relu lowered his hanging head. They pulled at him—dragged him at times—but Relu walked with no hurry in his step. Whatever the cage held could—and would—wait for him. The King had disappeared from his spot behind him, now nowhere to be seen.
“The King would like you to see what we have been working toward,” a bulky guard spoke conspicuously from his side.
Relu remained silent.
Behind a series of doors, the guards stopped at a final, wood-framed entry. A blanketing sort of heat emanated from it as though the room behind it were filled with an overdriven furnace. A soft buzzing, similar to the buzzing he had heard in the Shadow dungeon, broke the silence of the enclosed space, but it was less chaotic, less frantic than what he had heard only a few moments prior. He watched as the hair on his arms stood on end, pulling toward the unknown source—a glowing forcefield flickering in front of him.
One of the guards glanced at Relu with distrusting eyes.
“What’s wrong?” he said. “You’ve never seen electricity before?”
Electricity, Relu repeated, unable to conceptualize the word.
He reached his hand out in hopes to touch it—mesmerized by it—but the guard struck it down with a violent, angled fist.
“Believe me. You don’t want to do that,” the guard explained. “If you wish to keep you arm attached to your shoulder, that is.”
“Why is this necessary?” Relu asked. “Why must you have this much power?”
The guard smiled through sinister intention.
“It’s called a cage for a reason.”
The industrial sound of draining power cut the forcefield for just enough time to push open the door and throw Relu to the dirt of an inner circular arena lined with thick, overhead bars. The lighting was suspect inside—dim, barely distinguishable remnants of dangling, sparking nodes—but Relu stood against it anyway, gathering his bearings, and listening to the new sounds of slamming doors and violent kickstarts of the electromagnetic forcefield buzzing once again to reach its maximum surge. The metal sphere of the enclosed cage illuminated white-blue with energy, roaring with electric life, charging the air with particles that forced Relu’s skin into an awkward tingle.
Altruit appeared from a catwalk above the dome. At his side, Leridian and Harmon stood stiff against the weight of the moment. Harmon was the first to notice Relu below. He pointed vigorously, tugging at the Elder’s shirt like a little boy. In that moment, judging by the sudden expression hidden behind Leridian’s eyes, it was clear to Relu that Altruit had kept his intentions hidden from the others. A bit of relief edged the uneasiness amidst the tides of electric current.
“You cannot do this!” the Elder spat. “No one deserves this! Let alone a guest of your court!”
“Elder,” Altruit spoke. The King’s demeanor exuded nothing short of calming reassurance. “This is not a spur of the moment decision. It is something we must do. It is something that has been in the works for years now. Relu of the Portizu Highlands is not who he says he is.”
“What can you possibly mean?” Leridian continued. “Surely what he has done cannot equate to the punishment of execution!”
“Let me ask you a question,” Altruit persisted. He folded his arms in front of him. Bulging muscles ran under his golden armor and flexed the armored metal as if it were mere cloth. “How have the Portizu remained a secret for so long?”
“Why does it matter?” Leridian barked back. “The Portizu should not be any of our concern. There are bigger concerns abroad.”
“The Portizu are not of the Light Race!” Altruit heightened the level of his speak. His voice bellowed through the chamber. “And if they are not Light, then they must be—”
“Dark,” Markiss interrupted.
The Clansman’s rolls of fat had been tucked away under a loose-fitting cloak, but no darkened shade of fabric could hide the belly as he strut in from the opposite side of the catwalk above. He smiled, seemingly well-rested and well-fed.
“Surely this man cannot be of the Dark race,” Markiss continued. “Look at him! He resembles nothing of those maddening creatures in your dungeon.”
Another wave of shock filled the Elder’s face. This one flashed with anger, not simply aggravation.
“You have Shadows? Here?”
“Calm yourself, Elder,” the King continued. “The reason I have called you here has not changed. We must find a solution to the problem in the Tension Fields. This man—Relu of the Highlands—is part of that problem.”
“We must put a stop to this now!” Leridian barked. “Now!”
“It is already too late,” said the King. “What’s done is done.”
Altruit tu
rned back to Relu, keeping his eyes fixed on the Warrior. Relu stared back. No fear could be found there.
“Leaders of the Range,” the King barked. “I have recently come upon new information that I have withheld from you. It is time that I fill you in. This man—Relu of the Highlands—is not who he says he is. Evidence suggests that he is of more Darkness than of Light and, today, I shall show you that I am correct. I will prove it to you.”
Leridian scoffed in disgust. He turned away, ashamed to look down into the pit. Markiss placed his hands on his hips, slightly intrigued.
“Portizu,” Altruit addressed from his catwalk. “If you fight your way out of the cage, I shall let you live.”
For the first time, rage filled Relu’s mind. This was a trick. If he won, he would prove his power over the Shadows. If he lost, he would be consumed by them. Either option seemed to prove the King correct.
The only way to preserve the Portizu name, he thought, is to die.
“I have been foolish to believe we could coincide as people united by a common enemy. I see that now, but I will not allow you to tarnish the Portizu name. I will not allow you to spread your lies of my people.”
A new figure surfaced from opposite the King. Jennison approached with wet sadness in his eyes. His shoulders hunched. His head drooped low. From a single, quick glance, he mouthed the words I’m sorry to Relu—genuine, honest words. The Warrior nodded back quietly, unafraid.
“It is time, Relu. Survive…or die,” the King bellowed. “If you deem necessary, your last words should be spoken now.”
Bowing his head, Relu opened his mouth to speak with courage and without regret.
“I ask only one thing from you,” the Warrior continued. His eyes darted now from the Elder to the Clansman until settling definitively on Jennison. “Please do not accept the King’s word as truth. He knows not who my people are. We are kind. We are honest. We, above all, are peaceful.”
Leridian turned to Harmon and placed a firm hand against his apprentice’s shoulder.
