Springing forward, he leapt onto the platform and, one by one, released his friends.
“Who are you?” asked Ushwan. “Are you a man?”
“More than that,” he replied. “I am changed—I am now a king among men.”
“But who are you?” asked Shem.
“Do any of you recognise me?”
He looked at Arwa, who stared at him with a mixture of wonder and fear.
“Do you fear me?” he asked.
“I do not know you,” replied Arwa.
“That saddens me,” said Plant Man.
“Don’t tell me it is you?” said Ffen. “You’re different.”
“It is I,” he announced.
“Ifunka?” gasped Arwa. “My love?”
“It is I—I was Ifunka Kaffa but now I am called Plant Man.”
“But how?” asked Ffen. “You’re entirely different.”
“I was changed through the agency of the Verdant Coin.”
“Verdant Coin?”
“I met a being—a powerful creature which took the form of an owl.”
“Owl?” asked Ffen.
“Yes, the mystic owl, my boy,” said Ushwan.
“What?”
“While in Kubbawa, I found an old book of legends,” explained Ushwan. “The legends from before the revelation of Votsku. The early Tremna used to worship Inta—our great ancestor—and Amon-Ra, the king of the pre-Tamitvaric pantheon. He would take various forms when he appeared among mortals; sometimes as a solar disk or a mighty eye lined with kohl. At other times, he appeared as a man with light-brown skin, or an owl.”
“Interesting,” said Ffen. “Was it indeed Amon-Ra whom you saw?”
“Indeed it was. He appeared to me in the cavern beneath the Ffâna. There, in the midst of an island surrounded by an abysmal drop, is a treasury of gold, jewels and diamonds. In the very centre of this treasury lay the Verdant Coin—Mirad Maitu—which Amon-Ra urged me to take in order to defeat Asharru. I have done as he requested, slain the Sage—our erstwhile companion—and defeated the false god.”
“Marvellous!” exclaimed Ushwan. “Then we can go!”
“Not quite,” said Plant Man.
Arwa still eyed him like a stranger.
“Am I so foreign to you—even my darling wife?”
“No, I am always yours,” said Arwa as she moved to embrace him tightly.
“Why can’t we go now, old boy?” urged Ushwan. “It’s time to get out of here.”
“Where’s Khalam-Sharru?” asked Plant Man, ignoring the question.
“He… he betrayed us to Asharru.”
“What!” Plant Man exclaimed. “Then he must die!”
“No!” Arwa protested. “He is my father.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Plant man sternly answered. “Asharru is sustained by belief. If he has believers, he may return. There is only one solution.”
“You don’t mean…?” Ffen gulped.
“Yes—I do mean it,” he continued. “We must eliminate Shaffnâ and burn this city to the ground—unless the people renounce Asharru.”
“Eliminate!” Shem cried. “Genocide?!”
“It’s the only way.”
“Did Amon-Ra command this?” asked Ushwan. “Is this the will of the Legion?”
“I am the only one who needs to be consulted in this matter. I shall annihilate all the Shaffu, if I must. And I shall destroy the Theocracy and be king of all Tremn!”
Plant Man’s eyes were bright—with an inner fire—not one of faith but of ambition and terrible vengeance.
“You’ve gone mad!” Ffen gasped. “Have you forsaken morality?”
“We cannot follow you in this,” said Shem firmly.
“I’m afraid I have to agree, old boy,” said Ushwan. “Whatever’s happened to you, I pray to the Great Spirit it can be undone. You’ve gone bonkers—absolutely loony.”
“Arwa,” Ifunka turned to his wife. “What say you?”
“You want to kill all my kith and kin,” she replied. “Which I abhor; but I am your wife and I shall love you for all time. I shall never leave you, for you are my heart.”
“And you are mine,” he concurred as he swept his beloved into his rough, plant-like arms.
At that moment, the ground shook and the companions turned to see an immense worm rearing its eyeless, hideous mouth and torso from the soil. It moved, slowly but steadily, towards the platform, used as it was to consuming sacrificial victims.
“Run!” Ffen cried.
“Stay behind me, Arwa!” Plant Man commanded.
The others leapt off the platform while Plant Man remained firm.
“Ifunka!” Ffen called. “Save yourself!”
“I am Plant Man!” he roared as a thousand vines burst from the ground and wrapped themselves around the leathery torso of the worm, which squirmed and flailed as it found itself wrapped within a cocoon of sentiently-manipulated vegetable matter. Ffen drew his bow and fired volley after volley of arrows into the worm’s neck while Plant Man endeavoured, with some success and against unbelievable resistance, to hold the worm down through force of will. Bursting from its constraints and unaffected by the arrows embedded in its tough hide, it fell upon Plant Man, mouth wide open, devouring both Plant Man himself and a large section of the platform. Arwa, who was some paces behind, screamed and leapt off the platform, falling into Meyla’s arms. Plant Man was gone—eaten!
The companions ran—as fast as they could—in order to escape the ravenous behemoth which had obliterated the sacrificial platform and consumed their recently-empowered friend. They fled in the direction of Khalam-Sharru’s house, hoping that the worm would not follow. For a while, it flailed to and fro, divesting itself of excess debris and detritus which had embedded itself in the folds of its leathery hide. Then it lumberingly turned and, building momemtum, charged over streets and through the crowd, which rapidly dispersed in alarm and terror as the worm roamed free on a path of carnage. Sundry civilians and other pedestrians were swept up and devoured incidentally—as collateral damage in its determined path of murderous intent. It was targeting its victims—it heard their footsteps, it smelt their flesh—or the pheromones thereof. It desired one thing and one alone: to devour its intended prey. All others were secondary victims to its onsweeping wrath and terrible destructiveness.
As they neared the district of Khalam-Sharru’s house, the worm caught up with them and reared its bulky head—like Damocles’ sword, dangling over them ready for the oncoming death-blow. At that moment, as they stared up in terror, the worm stalled and began to quiver and tremble. Its motions became yet more tremulous and spasmodic, as if it battled within itself, gripped in agony. Its death-throws grew more and more terrible, until its tough skin gave way to hundreds of bulges which burst open to reveal a myriad thorned vines shooting out like grappling hooks and impacting on the surrounding houses and other buildings, hooking thereonto. The worm was thus pincered and suspended, as if ensconced and embosomed within a living web which grew from within itself like a parasitic fungus, eating it from the very core. It haemorrhaged oozy vital fluids which poured out onto the streets below in a slow-moving deluge.
The worm struggled, in a few more drastic spasms, as its vital energy was depleted and then, sagging, it hung like a leaf caught in a dewdrop-laden spider’s web, forged ere dawn’s first light. Plant Man soared out of its gaping orifice, gliding past its horrendous fangs, borne by countless vines which lifted and propelled him like so many legs on a swift-moving arthropod. Triumphant—victorious—suspended above the ground, Plant Man appeared as a supernatural being—a demi-god like unto the Greek heroes of old—a being not of Tremn, or any world—exalted above the mere mortals who gazed at their saviour with wonder-filled eyes and awe-struck miens. Such was their amazement that they stood motionless and silent—
a silence like the silence before a plunge or before an axe is struck upon the neck of sorry sinner; such, indeed, did they behold him as he descended gracefully to the street-level.
“Here me,” he called out, making a second attempt to address the people of the city. “O people Khanshaff and Shaffnâ beyond”—he pause. “Who shall translate on my behalf?”
A watchman who yet remained stepped forward.
“I shall, milord.”
“Then repeat what I have said.”
He did so: “Ey Ffendh Khanshaff-eym ffi shîb-yaff Shaffnâ!”
“I am Plant Man—whom the world has known as Ifunka Kaffa, son of Kandaspu, aforetime.”
“Reym-Shaff okh-ish—kheym Ifunka Kaffa ffadh Kandaspu-yiftey khôr-ôn areft akhanffon hant-ish.”
“I am your king and sovereign lord.”
“Yish ftâ-ga-n ffi ardheyn avma ftâ-gei-yan okh-ish.”
“I have slain the Sage and banished the false god, Asharru.”
“Metshu aff-ôn ffi darlîsh-tesh Sharru deyanat-ôn okh hant-ish.”
“Ye shall worship him no more.”
“Khû parlâg-ôn ftâ-gei kha khon-ish.”
“Rather, renounce Asharru, worship the Great Spirit and swear loyalty to me and ye shall be spared—nay, ye shall become my army.”
“Haftangey, Sharru khat-krâ, Khan Vabakh parlâg-krâ ffi okh-em zeydh parlîff-krâ ffi harî-m ftâ-ga khon-ish—kha, makhô okh-an galî-yôn ftâ-gei khon-ish.”
“Fail to do so and ye shall be slaughtered pitilessly.”
“Fto flôff-ôn ftâ-gei nom-ish, lekh avshaft-îm khakhêm ftâ-gei khon-ish.”
“Heed my command or die!”
“Môn-og okh-an yidash-krâ off hafkha-krâ!”
A large number of civilians bowed and kneeled and began to shout out cries of loyalty.
“Sharru khat-ôn ftâkh-ish (we renounce Asharru)!” some cried. “Khan Vabakh parlâg-ôn ftâkh-ish (we worship the Great Spirit)!” cried others, while yet others shouted “Reym-Shaff lekht-ôn shffu min-ish (long live Plant Man!” and “Yish lekht-ôn shffu min-ish (long live the king)!”
A number of assembled people wavered.
“Slay them!” Plant Man ordered. “And go from house to house and village to village, slaying all who refuse!”
“Ftôn aff-krâ! Ffi ffakhvek-yô ffakhvek-em ffi ffamlîsh-yô ffamlîsh-em dift-krâ, ffi akhav-kheym dhab-ôn-ish aff-krâ!”
Grabbing whatever implements were at their disposal, his newly-minted subjects set upon their fellows and, chasing them down, hacked and rent them to pieces.
“Ifunka!” Ffen cried. “Stop this carnage!”
He raised his arms, pleading to his friend.
“For the love of God, old boy!” cried Ushwan.
They could do nothing as the carnage ensued, blood trickling down the cracks and crevices of the cobble-stone street. The ranks of Plant Man’s army swelled, with two hundred becoming five hundred, and five becoming eight, as they swept through the city purging the dissidents—all worshippers of Asharru, and whoever failed to bow the knee to the self-proclaimed king of Tremn.
“Listen to us, brother,” urged Shem as Ifunka watched the spreading chaos and bloodshed.
“This is not the way of the Right Religion—this is not what Amon-Ra wants.”
“He can stop me if he wishes,” replied Plant Man. “But, behold, have I not begun a great cleansing? Am I not ensuring that Asharru shall never return? The Holy Theocracy is a curse and a plague on this world. I shall rid the world of all false priests and bishops. All shall submit to one rule and one king.”
“You’re mad with power!” Shem protested.
“Would you have said the same to Ishmael the Great when he subdued the accursed Biknogs of Kraina? What about Kubba Gven, the heir of Tsilel, who united all Tremnad under one empire after the demise of Gven Dakit, who had no son? Were these mad with power—or were they heroes of renown? The subtle conspiracy which has hitherto kept the Theocracy under the thumb of Asharru and his minions is over!”
“The coin has changed you, brother,” said Ffen. “Will you expect loyalty from us?”
“You are my friends,” said Plant Man. “Fear not! I shall not harm you. Now, await me in Khalam-Sharru’s house until the city is cleansed. After we are finished, we head for Ffantplain and then Kubbawa, where the cleansing shall be consummated.”
With no way to resist, Ushwan, Ffen and Shem led Arwa and Meyla to the house. Plant Man called the interpreter to his side.
“What is your name?” he asked him.
“Sharru-Khan, milord,” he replied.
He was a watchman of medium-build with light-brown eyes and a narrow jaw. His nose was long and arched and his eyes rather too close together, giving a slightly-ridiculous aspect to the man; but, being a freak in himself, Plant Man appreciated these abnormalities rather than being put off by them.
“That name is blasphemous,” said Plant Man. “Henceforth you shall be called Tesh-Khan, meaning ‘God is Great’. You know these people; therefore, you shall organize our army. I appoint you General. Now go and appoint your commanders and lieutenants. After Shaffnâ is subdued, we gather the army here in Khanshaff in two days’ time. I shall appoint a Viceroy to govern Shaffnâ in my absence and then we march on Ffantplain. All boys and men, aged fourteen and over, of healthy body and mind, shall be recruited into our army. All recruits shall take the following oath: ‘I renounce Asharru and all his minions and take refuge from Afflish the Accursed. I believe in the Great Spirit and His Seer, Votsku. I swear allegiance and fealty to Ifunka Kaffa, Son of Kandaspu, the King of all Tremn.’ Understood?”
Tesh-Khan nodded.
“Very good. Change all blasphemous names and ensure all recruits are armed from the armoury. Gather all ffentbaffs and other beasts of burden so that a cavalry can be organized. Dismissed!”
Tesh-Khan bowed and began carrying out his new master’s orders. Pleased with his progress thus far, Plant Man surveyed the city, cruising across its streets, filled with blood and severed limbs. Along the edges of the streets and plazas, new trees sprung up at his command and raised their lofty boles to shade the thoroughfares and great open squares which characterized the city of Khanshaff. A thousand thoughts coursed through his evolving mind—how he would revolutionise society, open the frontiers of learning and banish ignorance and corruption. A new Ishmael, a new Kubba Gven, he would revive the glory of Tremn, explore beyond the coasts of the mighty continent of Tremnad and colonise the remaining uninhabited and uncivilized regions of the world, spreading the light of the Tamitvar and banishing unbelief through hilt and blade. A new era would soon dawn, he believed, and a new dynasty be born, through the agency of Arwa’s maiden womb.
As he approached the central plaza, he espied a figure amidst the blood and mangled cadavers. It was a lone priest who stood armed and poised for battle.
“You’ve ruined everything!” he cried. “By Asharru, you have ruined everything! I shall not allow it, Ifunka Kaffa!”
“I am Plant Man!!!” he cried. “Bow the knee or die in your wrath, Khalam-Sharru!”
Chapter XXI.
Banners Raised!
The two men—if men they both be called, circled one another like two entangled predators locked in combat. Not touching—at least an oksha apart, they regarded one another, visages locked in steady gaze, contemplating their next moves. Plant Man, the newly-minted supernatural being, knew he could, with but a flick of verdant finger, quell his enemy and shatter his bones into a thousand sundry fragments. He could strangle Khalam-Sharru with a dozen thick vines, thorns protruding viciously like straws to pierce flesh and drink deep from his bloody veins. The pagan’s eyes, deep-gazing, full of rage and abundant determination, were those of a man who saw that his world was ending, like the last ray of sunlight upon the hill-top, reflected on the petals of a soli
tary flower ere dusk wiped away all trace of illumination; mighty Khanshaff, once the true power behind the Theocracy—the master puppeteer in a performance of falsehood and deception which held all men upon the face of Tremnad within a perpetual delusion! Like the captive in Plato’s cavern, the inhabitants of the Theocracy had for centuries lain trapped within a chamber of illusions, ruled over by power-hungry High-Priests and bishops. The benumbed and subdued populace were under the thumb of these theocrats, with Khanshaff serving as a mighty gameskeeper, culling the breeders of discontent.
Khalam-Sharru, a priest of Asharru, a cog within this mechanism of oppression, had lived happily aforetime; yet now his felicity was marred by a small band of khaffshik monks who sought to overthrow all things. Why did not Plant Man strike this inveterate infidel down? Why did he tolerate the existence of this traitor? Arwa, his true beloved—her pleading voice rang within his mind, reverberating with words of mercy and compassion.
“Khaffshik!” Khalam-Sharru spat his words. “Will you slay me as you have slain my brothers? Will you tear me flesh-from-bone as you have killed the watchmen?”
“What fate they received was born of their infidelity to the Great Spirit.”
“What of your lust for power? What of your cruelty to fellow man? Torturer! Murderer! Usurper!!!”
“Hold your tongue, foolhardy mortal!” Plant Man retorted. “I am not that simple monk you encountered as your erstwhile captor! A force of immense power runs through my every vein and sinew—a power of regeneration and vegetative generation.”
“Kill me where I stand, filthy dog, or fight me as a man, blade-in-hand!” he challenged him.
Intrigued by this proposal, Plant Man had found a way to eliminate the traitor without bearing responsibility for the act, because the challenge was initiated by Khalam-Sharru himself.
“Equally matched,” he said in soliloquy. “Equally matched, the balance hangs level; Arwa cannot blame me for his death. So shall it be then!”
“Do you think, monk, that Arwa can ever forget her father?”
“I am the father of her spirit, as I have freed her from the shackles of Asharru, while it was you who forged those same shackles, link-by-link, and weighted her down with the burden of impiety!”
The Rise of Plant Man, Lord of War, Conquest and Revenge: Green Monk of Tremn, Part II (Coins of Amon-Ra Book 2) Page 16
