by Steven Novak
Grimacing, Nestor could feel each and every steel tip collide with his sturdy exterior, tearing away chunks of shell and leaving only rough, deep gashes in their place. When an arrow struck the ground mere inches from Tommy’s face, the Tycarian pulled the squirming boy further underneath him, trying his best to keep him safe from harm. Unable to make out his attackers visually during the onslaught of arrows, Nestor could, however, hear them quite clearly in the distance. The feast of noise his ears were taking in was familiar and uplifting: Ochans choking and gagging as they swallowed their own blood. This was a sound he’d happily grown accustomed to. Defying the dictates of logic, Nestor assumed Krystoph had managed to somehow close the distance between the group and the attacking Ochan soldiers without being struck down. At this moment, he was undoubtedly doing what he did best: killing.
The heart inside his chest pounding, Tommy lifted his head slightly while lying in a fetal position beneath Nestor. Everything was happening so fast. One minute he was floating in a world of absolute nothingness, and the next he found himself smack dab in the middle of a war zone. Though this was something one might think he should have been accustomed to at this point, he unfortunately was not. With so many arrows sticking out of the soil around him and more still on the way, the ground had begun to resemble a bed of nails. As arrows continued to rain down around him by the dozens, Tommy wiped a rather large blob of sweat from his eye, then spotted Staci’s mud covered locks ascending from the sandy drink less than ten feet away. Gasping for breath, the girl was understandably disoriented, her arms flailing wildly, hands opened wide as they grasped for something firm to hold onto to keep her from drowning. Simultaneously, a set of three or four arrows narrowly missed the young girl before being swallowed up by the thick slop.
“Tommy?” Staci yelped though a mouth half full of mud with her eyes shut tight, terrified and unsure of what was happening.
She’s calling for me, Tommy remarked to himself with a hint of surprise, followed immediately by an awkward moment of happiness he was not entirely comfortable with. She’s calling for me and she needs my help.
Choosing to ignore the dangers of his actions, Tommy began crawling toward her, his arms stretched as far as they would go. With the upper half of his body submerged in the sandy mud, he managed to snag her wrist at the exact moment an arrow whizzed by and removed a chunk of flesh the thickness of a pen from his forearm. Ignoring the searing pain, he forced his muscles to stretch further still. Grabbing Staci’s wrist tightly, he began pulling her from the liquid, onto land and underneath Nestor’s massive form. Though totally unaware of doing it, he tugged her shivering body close to his chest, mashing her frightened, mud covered form into the dirt under him. In much the way Nestor was looming over him, Tommy stretched himself protectively over her. A few moments later, the awful storm of arrows reached its conclusion, the final two swallowed whole by the muddy liquid. Off in the distance, away from the eyes of Tommy, Staci, Nestor or Reginald, the last of the Ochan archers screamed aloud before his breath caved in on itself and disappeared from existence. With his stomach sliced open, the soldier’s innards slid to the soil with a disgusting splotchy splat, followed immediately by the remainder of his body.
For the children, again the world was silent …again they were safe.
To Nestor’s right, the Tycarian soldier named Reginald cautiously rose to his feet. His legs were noticeably wobbly, his exterior shell awash in sharp tremors of pain. One by one, he carefully began removing the arrows still wedged between the plates of his shell before tossing them to the ground angrily then stomping them to splinters.
After quickly surveying the area, he turned to his commanding officer and added through gritted teeth, while poking annoyingly at a large section of his shell that had been chipped away, “It would appear the coast is clear.”
Upon hearing this, Nestor too rose into a upright position. “It’s all right, children; you may stand,” he added, offering a paw to Tommy and Staci, both of whom remained curled in the grass near his massive flat feet.
Slowly Tommy peeled his arms from around Staci’s waist. She was shivering beneath him, her breathing erratic and short. Touching her face, he tenderly pulled a few strands of clumpy mud-encrusted hair from her eyes. The tears streaming down her cheeks had left clean rivers across her otherwise filthy flesh.
“It’s okay, it’s over, ” he whispered softly, staring into her jittery face.
Slowly beginning to regain some semblance of control over her emotions, Staci opened her eyes and smiled back. Tommy felt warm against her, and strong, despite his rather average size. He was covered in sticky-thick brown glop, wadded strands of his once blond hair clinging to his face in matted clumps.
“You look awful,” she said breathily, with just the hint of a smile.
He, of course, smiled back. There was something about being wrapped in his arms, something she didn’t hate.
Less than ten feet away, the dark-haired head of Nicky Jarvis broke the surface of the mud-water, arms flailing in every conceivable direction. Reginald quickly rushed to the child’s aid. Grabbing hold of him tightly, he lifted the boy into the air and onto land.
Once he and Staci were again upright, Tommy turned his attention from her briefly. A little less than a hundred yards away, Krystoph stood motionless among the bodies of at least twenty Ochan soldiers. Breathing heavily, he wiped dark splatters of blood from his blades, random arrows still sticking from various points across his blood stained flesh. Though his face remained emotionless, there was something else going on beneath, something not as easily readable, yet undeniably present. It was an unending, unyielding, undeniable sadness. Holding back a torrent of emotions most could scarcely endeavor to contain, Krystoph closed his eyes and raised his head to the dense clouds above. The pains caused by the arrows still piercing his flesh had resulted in considerable pain. It was a pain he was not ready to be free of. It was a pain he needed desperately to hold onto. This was a pain he needed to experience fully.
Wiping the gunk from his eyes, Nicky paused in the massive shadow of Reginald, blobs of mud dripping from his soaked clothes.
Wide-eyed, he scanned the arrow-filled area around him before adding with a slightly worried whisper, “What did I miss?”
*
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CHAPTER 38
THE STORIES WERE REAL
*
For Chris Jarvis, the moment he at last lifted his head from the murky black water, the very act of inhaling deeply, proved to be a revelation. Moments afterward, he again opened his eyes, quickly realizing the world around him had drastically changed. Gone now was the tree fort built by his sons. Gone was the tiny stream he lowered himself into, and most notably absent was anything and everything he believed impossible in the universe. Wading in a puddle just barely big enough for his entire body to fit, surrounded by a forest of stark reds with various tints of gray, Chris realized that every irrational nonsensical thing Owen told him was indeed true. None of it made an ounce of sense, but it was true. Pulling himself onto land, he stood upright on a pair of unsure legs, every inch of him soaked and dripping and confused. Slowly spinning in place, he examined the strange red forest around him further. Though at its most basic this odd new place was similar to many of the forests he’d seen before in his life, it remained starkly different at the same time. The leaves were the color of blood, alive and vibrant, so deeply red that the hue transformed into something closer to purple in certain areas. The air was thick and heavy, with humidity so noticeable that it had already begun to make him sweat. For miles in every direction, he could see nothing but dense foliage. Above him, just barely peeking through the trees, was an almost white light of what looked like three suns. Save for the flutter of the leaves on the trees brought on by the occasional gust of wind, this weird forest seemed completely and totally devoid of sound. So eerily silent was it, in fact, that he believed he thought he might be able to hear a pin drop.
Gap-jawed, Chri
s timidly began to move away from the puddle and further into the trees when a voice cut through the silence like the flicker of light in a darkened room. “Look at that …you’re right on time.”
Spinning so quickly he nearly fell over, Chris turned to look behind him. Standing among the red bushes less than ten feet away was a tall, lanky feminine-looking creature with enormous red pupils and grayish-white skin pulled tightly over the musculature beneath.
“My name is Zanell, Christopher. I’ve been expecting you.”
His heart pounding, a million ideas began trouncing through Chris’ head, not a single one of them making any sense. Though unaware of it, his body began moving backward and away from Zanell. “H-how do you—how do you know my name?”
This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening, and yet it was happening.
Zanell took a single step toward the frightened man, cautious of her speed with her hands raised, hoping that it might calm him. “I imagine this is going to be a bit hard to accept, but I know everything one could possibly know about you, Christopher.”
While moving backward, Chris tripped over a loose log and fell hard onto his rear in the dirt. On the brink of losing control, he instinctively lifted his hands into a defensive position while at the same time frantically searching the ground around him for a rock, stick or anything else he might be able to use as weapon.
The moment his hands raised, Zanell halted her movement. “It’s okay, I’m not going to harm you,” she said in her absolute most steady voice, deciding she might be better served taking a step backward and giving him his space. “This is Fillagrou, and this is my home. It isn’t by mere chance that you’ve found this place; you’re here for a reason, Christopher. You’re here to make right those things you’ve done wrong. You’re here to save the lives of your sons.”
Almost instantly, the rabid thumping in Chris’ chest slowed to a crawl. “My—my sons? W-what do you know about my sons?”
While still practicing extreme caution, Zanell opted to again take a step in the direction of the now motionless form of Chris Jarvis sprawled out in the dirt. “Like I stated before, I know everything,” she added with a bit of a grin.
Slowly Zanell extended her hand in Chris’ direction; opening her palm, she offered her long bony fingers to him.
The most obviously malnourished part of her body, Zanell’s fingers were covered in strange winding veins with a slightly darker grayish tint than the rest of her skin. Staring up at her, Chris found himself lost in the redness of her eyes, moist and enormous, the light glared off her pupils in flashlight-sized circles. For reasons he couldn’t fully explain, Chris reached forward and took her strange hand in his. Maybe it was the odd truthfulness in those bizarre looking eyes or the soothing patience of her voice. Whatever the reason, without knowing anything about who or what she was, he trusted her—maybe not completely, but enough— for the moment, anyway.
With a tug, Zanell lifted Chris to his feet once again, his backside caked in grayish-brown Fillagrou soil. “I would love nothing more than to fill you in on all the details,” she added with a slightly wider grin than before. “At the moment, however, I need you to come with me. You see, a patrol of very large, very mean Ochans will pass through this exact spot not too long from now, and it would be in our best interest to not be standing here when they do.”
“Wait a minute, Ochan what? Where are you taking me? Can I see my boys?” Chris quickly shot back, now more confused than ever.
“All in good time, Christopher. I can’t take you to see Tommy or Nicky right at this moment, I can, however, offer you something you desire just as badly, something that isn’t often made available in life: a second chance.”
Turning, Zanell took two steps in the opposite direction before again coming to a halt. “Oops, I almost forgot,” She added while lifting a finger and pointing behind Chris.
His mouth hanging low, a look of utter confusion on his face, Chris glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Owen Little break the surface of the water. Gasping for air, the boy pulled himself onto land and buried his face in the mud while shaking it back and forth.
“What the heck am I doing here? This is so stupid, what am I doing here?” He mumbled to himself before looking up briefly to wipe the mud from the lenses of his glasses.
Zanell smiled brightly while chuckling just a bit. “Okay, now we’re ready to go.”
*
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CHAPTER 39
FEAR OF THE UNDERDOG
*
Still brushing caked mud from his hair, Nicky Jarvis lifted his nose to the clouds and inhaled deeply the stark saltiness of the air around him. To his left, less than a mile away, he spotted a beach with a sandy shoreline extending for a few miles before turning back on itself and heading in the opposite direction. To his left there was much of the same. At first glance, it seemed that Aquari was little more than a rather small island with a mud pit leading to Fillagrou and a single, rather crude looking stone castle off in the distance. Built into the sandy beach at precisely mathematical intervals were long wooden piers—hundreds of them, maybe thousands—each leading maybe two hundred or so feet out over the water, then abruptly stopping. Beyond the sand and the piers, there lay only a crystal clear ocean with a subtle bluish hint not too dissimilar from those he’d seen back home. The ocean breeze was remarkably cold, causing Nicky to shiver and making his teeth chatter together loudly. Dropping his backpack to the ground, he opened it up and pulled out a sweater, pleased with himself for taking the time to pack earlier and come prepared.
From behind Nicky, Tommy patted loose the bits of remaining crud on his little brothers back. “Hey, you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Nicky responded from underneath his sweater as he struggled to work it over his head.
Tommy helped his younger brother get himself into the sleeves while keeping an eye on Nestor, Reginald and the third Tycarian soldier huddled ten feet away, whispering amongst themselves.
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Staci asked, suddenly standing alongside the brothers still pulling chunks of mud from her long brown hair.
“I don’t know,” Tommy responded, his eyes unblinking, brow furrowed quizzically. “They don’t look happy though.”
With Tommy’s response doing little to quell her growing uneasiness, Staci turned and looked out over the beach. Frothy white waves crashed with a violent gentleness against the shore. The sound created was unmistakable and familiar, and it was a sound she didn’t particularly like. Staci hated swimming, she always had. She didn’t like water and it was because of this very fact that she was finding herself significantly more nervous about this new world than any other she’d encountered thus far. Suddenly, staring down the gaping maw of a giant stampeding dinosaur with horns as long as her body didn’t seem all that bad.
Biting down on her lower lip, she continued running her hands through her crusty hair. “What’s with all the piers?”
“I don’t know. I guess they’re for boats,” Tommy answered, his attention slowly moving from the Tycarians to Krystoph, who was standing a bit further down the shoreline with his back to the group.
“If all of those piers are for boats, then where the heck are the boats?” Staci responded while pulling her arms close to her chest in an attempt to keep from shivering.
Tommy made no attempt to answer, as he had no answer to offer. He didn’t like this situation, not one bit. Near the opposite end of the island stood a fairly decent sized castle, as castles go, though it looked to have been built in a rush, and the only opposition they had encountered was a measly twenty or so Ochan soldiers. It didn’t seem to make sense. Despite only being fourteen years old and not exactly well versed in the art of war, even Tommy understood there should have been more resistance—there should be a lot more. So where were they?
Not far from the children, the Tycarian contingent remained huddled together, their normally verbose voices purpose
fully reduced to hushed whispers.
“Every ship on the island has set sail? How can that be?” Reginald stated with some surprise and just a hint of worry.
“It would seem so, and I do not know.” Nestor responded calmly.
“Realistically there could be a thousand ships on the ocean, maybe more,” The third Tycarian added, his voice deeper than the others, more of a growl than a whisper.
“I am well aware of the situation, Tennission,” Nestor remarked quickly, rubbing his hand across his sweaty, clammy scalp, “and yet this information changes nothing. Even with five thousand ships, finding a single artifact in all of Aquari while having no idea of where to look is a daunting task, to say the least. Unlike the rest of them, OUR Ochan knows exactly where he is going and because of this, the advantage remains with us.”
After a brief pause, Nestor’s facial features stiffened, twisting themselves into an expression that could only be described as steely determination. His deep green eyes moved from his fellow soldiers to the endless ocean behind them that stretched outward for as far as the eye could see. Reflections of the soft orange hue created by the Aquari sun sparkled atop the waves, shimmering like the leftover glow of stars resting somewhere on the sandy ocean floor. Without a doubt, Aquari was an astoundingly beautiful place. Discovered very early on by the Ochans, it had remained mostly untouched by the atrocities of war. A world made up almost entirely of water offered few resources and no real creatures of which to make slaves, thus it proved of little interest to King Kragamel. In fact, it was not until he discovered that this world was the hiding place of the Rongstag that the king even bothered to station a regiment or build a castle. Shortly after the first group of Ochan soldiers arrived an outpost was established, ships were constructed, and the scouring of the seas for the artifact began.
