The Boy and His Curse

by Michael P Mordenga

  Our sword and shield

  Our art and bow

  To protect the Queen

  To fight the enemy

  Our bow and art

  Our shield and sword

  To fight for our land

  For our Daysun King

  Our shield and sword

  Our bow and art

  To risk our lives

  And honor our wings

  -The Faeria Warrior Anthem

  XX: What it is to Learn

  The Golden Auditorium filled up quickly when the Queen gave word that she wanted to address the people. Shop owners closed down their tents, Registral meetings were closed early, and many came in from the West to hear this. Every brick seat was filled with a body until the auditorium was full.

  The spagions arrived, announcing the Queen’s arrival. The crowd reacted by kneeling and spreading their wings.

  It was the worst address she had ever given, but she still delivered it with the confidence of the Magistral. Her voice was convicting and rich with determination. Faeria was listening to a great orator. That mattered very little to her because the Queen felt like sludge on the inside. Every fiber of her being did not want to address the thousands of hapless citizens with this news. When she spoke of the Earthian’s stay, her loyal subjects were speechless. Whispers ran rampant through the crowd. Maidens and workers exchanged awkward glances. Sprouts began to cry at the mention of the word Earthian. Some thought it was a joke, while others were hoping that it was a metaphor. When she finished explaining to the crowd that an Earthian would be fighting alongside them and that no one was allowed to harm him, the crowd didn’t even flap their wings in appreciation. They were stunned. A spagion had to remind the crowd to bow. The Queen walked off the stage, appearing as fragile as glass after an earthquake, and traveled back to her castle.

  No one spoke about it for the rest of the day.

  *****

  Caitilin and Hinson were walking through the open shops of the Sprawl.

  Caitilin grinned at him. “He’ll be safe, right?”

  Hinson chuckled. “Of course, the Queen’s rule will be followed.”

  As they walked past a leather tunic shop, a bearded Phaenix was shouting to the crowds, “Free premium leather pouch if you bring me the head of the Earthian!”

  Caitilin shuddered. “I am worried. We had to leave him with the soldiers. What will they do to him?”

  Hinson stared off into the distance. He imagined a warrior accidentally breaking Ethan’s fragile arm, while another warrior kicked him into a roaring fire.

  “He’ll be fine,” he said avoiding eye contact.

  *****

  The morning sun awoke Ethan to the chirping of rainbow birds in the trees and the angry screech of a meagle looking for loose necro rats. He was wrapped in blankets near the dying embers of last night’s fire. He was glad to get out of those bandages and the nasty robe and he didn’t mind being in his underwear because no one was there to humiliate him. Suddenly a shadow fell over him.

  Warriors surrounded him, looking down with wide eyes of amazement. They all wore full Phaenix armor with the proud insignia on their chest. Underneath that armor were bulging muscles, swift arms for bows, and skin calloused and bronzed by the sun. They couldn’t believe they were seeing an Earthian. This was the race that every Readying House scoffed at.

  Whispers circulated through the squad.

  “We can’t touch him.”

  “Is he dangerous?”

  “Why does he smell so funny?”

  “Those eyes are so weird.”

  “Can he communicate?”

  “Where is Adoki?”

  Ethan staggered back, remembering he was still in week-old underwear beneath the blanket. He had never seen so many strong-bodied Phaenix since he’d been here. A wall of beefy flesh was before him.

  Suddenly a small warrior came bouncing through the crowd. He was a fiery sprout, with lively red hair, wearing a helmet three sizes too big. With awe he scanned the outsider: the human's face was funny, his nose was different, his hair was too dark, his eyes were thinner. Thief had been told to report and stay away from all creatures looking like this, but to Thief Ethan didn’t look as dangerous as his Readying Teacher said. Thief put out his hand and touched Ethan’s nose. Perhaps if the boy sniffed it he would see Thief as safe.

  Ethan shooed Thief’s hand. “What is this?”

  A chatter of fierce words bounced between the warriors, none of them sure what he had said or what Ethan was doing. “That was English, right?”

  “Are you sure it isn’t a female?”

  “Where was he grown?”

  A booming “Silence!” roared from the back, making every warrior quake in their furry war boots. The crowd split as the one warrior Ethan knew all too well strode toward him. Mollet strolled down the line, the Vota sheathed at his back. His chest plate was painted black and his eyes shot daggers above the nose guard of his helmet. Mollet walked over to the boy and squatted down.

  “You made it,” he said with a smile that screamed violent intentions.

  Mollet spun around and addressed his warriors. “Warriors of the drift, this here is a twig on a dying tree. As custom, we burn the trees that are dying. But not today! Due to the Queen’s orders and some magical prophecy, we are training this dead tree to be like the full-grown tree of might that we are. We do not have a lot of time and the enemy comes tomorrow to meet us. I have no doubt we are a strong fighting team, capable of destroying any force. But this twig…,” he said, pointing to Ethan, “he needs our help. If he dies, every whiny priest and deacon will be at our doorstep. Do you want that?”

  “No!” the Phaenix shouted in power.

  Ethan was lifted up by the Phaenix and dragged out of the clearing. He looked behind him to see that the campsite was missing Hinson and Caitilin. This made his stomach nervous. They had said they would be with him whatever happened. Now he was being taken to the great meadow that linked the Phaenix sections. It was a wide open field with wild weeds, dirt patches, and a backdrop of trees. The warriors dropped him down, right in his underwear, in the middle of their group. They began to form a circle around him, enclosing him from any escape. He watched as they obediently followed every one of Mollet’s orders.

  Thief was in the middle and tapped Ethan on the shoulder. “This is where you die,” Thief said in broken English.

  Ethan gasped out in fear, but what Thief really was trying to translate was, “This is where you fight.” The words fight and die are very similar in Phaenix.

  In the middle of the circle was Mollet, who beckoned the boy to face his challenge. He grabbed his hand and yanked him up. “Do you believe this is where you need to be?”

  Ethan nodded, remembering the faith Caitilin and Hinson had put in him. “Then act like it.”

  Mollet turned to his men once again. “I have fought with the twig and I do not need to share the outcome of how the matches went. I would be a liar to say this man was a warrior that could steal any maiden’s heart. It is more true that this maiden is as much of a fighter that any husband could hope for.”

  The warriors laughed, but Thief didn’t get it.

  “I will show him how a real warrior fights.”

  Suddenly, a blade fell at Ethan’s feet. He was already cold and embarrassed, now he had to fight?

  “Pick it up, boy,” Mollet said.

  “Can’t I get some armor? I’m in my underwear.”

  “With that attitude, you might die in your underwear, now pick it up.”

  Ethan bent over to pick up the sword and immediately saw a huge train charging for him in the corner of his eye. He rolled out of the way before Mollet could plow through him with his Vota extended.

  Ethan got the sword in his hands how he thought it should be held and was ready to do battle. He noticed his blade was a flimsy rapier with a wooden hilt, nothing like the Mollet’s long sword. Mollet held his long blade like an extension of his own arm; the two seem
ed inseparable.

  Mollet came charging at full speed, ready to swing his dark blade and chop Ethan in half. Ethan held up his blade in defense, but Mollet’s fully powered swing knocked him a yard backwards, landing on his butt.

  The warriors laughed, yelling out taunts.

  Mollet ignored the jeers. He looked deeply into the boy’s troubled eyes and beckoned him to get up. He waved his hand defiantly, begging for the twig to show some offense.

  Ethan felt like an overstretched rubber band, he was aching all over and he had hardly begun his training. He looked over at Mollet, wearing a full leather and wood ensemble. His body language suggested he wanted another spar. And then Ethan remembered all the other battles where Mollet tried to rip him open. Well, now he had his sword and the power to dish it back to the warrior. Ethan didn’t have a choice; he needed to survive. He stood up proudly in his underwear amidst the foreign chants and aimed his flimsy blade at Mollet.

  Mollet came charging again, just like he had said the Kalhari would. Suddenly Ethan whirled away from an overhead strike, just inches away from Mollet’s blade. Mollet would not relent. He was closing in on him and Ethan needed to think fast. Some piece of advice Mollet had told him niggled at his brain.

  Mollet growled and tried to shoulder check the boy into the circle, but Ethan dodged again. He couldn’t jump out of the way forever; he needed to stop Mollet from moving forward at him.

  “How about we stop for lunch?” Ethan pleaded.

  Mollet ignored him.

  “What if I surrendered?”

  Mollet turned to his warriors. “What do we do with prisoners who surrender?”

  “Cut off their thumbs so they cannot fight!” the soldiers echoed back.

  Ethan didn’t want that either.

  The great black warrior was readying for a charge. This time he was going to chase the boy until he presented some kind of attack. He couldn’t spend the war avoiding everything—not on Mollet’s battlefield. He wound up his legs and ran with his dark hair waving in the wind.

  Ethan froze, this time not even moving. His sword was at his side, not even ready to parry the attack. But his other hand was clamped tightly around something. Ethan released his left hand, letting dirt and grass fly into Mollet’s eyes and mouth. The warrior doubled over, transferring his efforts to getting the sod out of his face. It was too late for the seasoned veteran to know where the twig boy was going to strike next.

  Ethan let all of the adrenaline in his body rise up and exit into his fists. Using the hilt of his sword, he swung it as hard as he could at Mollet’s face. The hilt made a hard thud on Mollet’s nose. He staggered backward, feeling a branch of red hot pain. His eyes opened with pure rage, but this time Ethan was ready for him. He looked deep into Mollet’s eyes. Lifting his sword he pointed it at Mollet. He was ready.

  Mollet’s face cracked a smile. “A cheap shot, but I like it.”

  He thrust his hand out unexpectedly and grabbed the rim of Ethan’s underwear. Yanking upward as hard as he could, Ethan floated painfully in the air. If only Mollet knew this was the primary method of torture in his high school.

  Mollet wasn’t finished yet. Amidst the roaring fans, he flew into the air, flapping his mighty wings. He found an outside tree and tossed the boy to one of the limbs. Pain gripped Ethan’s face as the white linen rode up. He was wedgied into a tree!

  Unbelievable, Ethan thought.

  He began to reposition his body until his underwear was free from the tree branch. He clawed on for dear life, until his legs and arms embraced the sturdy limb.

  Mollet gave him a stern look. “When you can get down, we’ll fight some more.”

  Suddenly, staying in the tree did not look so bad.

  “But if you don’t get out of the tree I will burn it down.”

  Ethan wanted to get out of the tree.

  He couldn’t fathom how tree climbing contributed to training for war, but he was too busy clinging to the branch for life. He looked down to see a good twelve feet of space between himself and the ground. It made him dizzy.

  “Guys,” he called, “a little help?”

  Thief flew over to him.

  Thief was very curious why the boy could not fly. He flapped his wings, lifting his small body with ease, but Ethan looked more like a caterslug making a home on the branch.

  “That’s no way to climb down a tree. You need to jump from ledge to ledge.”

  Ethan shot him an annoyed stare. “Well, I can’t jump that well. I’m not that good at climbing. I’m kind of afraid.”

  “A frayed, afraud, afraid, what is this word, afraid?”

  Ethan realized that a tike with wings had many advantages over him.

  Thief continued, “I liked the way you stopped Mollet. You blocked some of his punches with your face. That’s a new way to fight.”

  Ethan stretched out his arm to an adjacent branch. If he could grab it, he would be able to get his feet on the branch below.

  “There you go, stranger,” Thief said. “Now bounce down to the lower branch.”

  Ethan was not about to bounce, but he did see what Thief was talking about. Using his left foot, he steadied himself on another branch and found a lower branch he could stand on.

  “Now kick off the tree and do an aerial back flip, and you should land on your feet. Watch, I will show you.”

  Thief rammed the tree with his feet and kicked off into a perfect back flip. His body arced in a crescent shape and he landed on the ground with the utmost grace.

  Ethan watched impressed. He wasn’t about to go jumping in the air like an acrobat. He could remember a gym class when he had been so proud of himself for almost doing a complete split. Then his pants had ripped open and his parents taken him home early. No, he wasn’t going to risk good underwear for acrobatics.

  “Fine,” Thief said, unimpressed. “See that cave in the trunk? Try getting your foot into it. You can hold onto the lower branch to support you. After you have that, you can drop down with minimal caszatees, cazaltiees, cazule….”

  Ethan admired Thief’s English vocabulary: even though it was not quite as advanced as the adults, it was still impressive. He hadn’t known any languages at that age.

  Following Thief’s instructions, Ethan dropped down and dangled his bare feet. They kicked wildly until he found that cleft in the tree. Closing his eyes, he leaped down toward the grass. He was supposed to hit the grass a lot harder, but Thief cushioned his fall with his body.

  “We did it, we did it! You got down the tree, stranger. Say, what do your people name you?”

  “Ethan,” he said, putting out his hand.

  Thief looked at his attempt at a handshake and put his hand out in midair. “You are right, Ethan, our hands do look like sword blades. You are very obserrrrv, observiii.”

  “Observant,” Ethan finished. He decided that Thief was his favorite Phaenix in this place. It was nice not being intentionally insulted.

  “You got down, twig!” A growling and familiar voice beckoned.

  Ethan suddenly recalled what the other Phaenix were like. Mollet was walking over with a band of his fully armored warriors. They had been waiting for Ethan to get down from the tree. Now they wanted to finish his training.

  Ethan gulped.

  “Are you ready for more fighting or do you need to lie down and rest?”

  Thief bounced up and spoke for him. “We will learn and train until we are deathly weak and we can no longer feel any of our body parts.”

  Mollet curled his nose. “What is that pungent odor?”

  Ethan turned his face away. “I don’t smell anything.”

  Thief sniffed the air too. “I smell something. It’s strong.”

  Ethan got to his feet quickly. “Let’s keep training.”

  Mollet snorted, “It’s an ammonia smell.”

  Ethan got bright red.

  Thief snapped his fingers. “I learned that Earthians often emit waste to show their enemies how disgusted they are.
”

  Mollet cracked a grin. “C’mon twig! You wanted to stop and rest. Answer the question. Did you spill your food waste?”

  Ethan could not face his inquisitors.

  Thief got excited. “Wow! If he is spilling waste for us, I can’t wait to see what he does for his enemies!”

  Ethan spun around. “You woke me up abruptly! Earthians have a morning routine. I got most of it on the tree. Some of it might of...you know what...can we just go back to training?”

  The soldiers circled around Ethan again. The sparring continued. They trained for an entire day until the bruises on Ethan’s body had their own bruises. Mollet would come crashing toward him with his deadly sword and Ethan would feel the adrenaline rise into his system, telling him to dodge. By the end of the night, the adrenaline had become second nature to Ethan and he was able to use it to his advantage. He even paid Mollet back with some bruises of his own. There was the punch to the teeth he delivered, the bite to the ankle, the attempt at a knee to the groin and the accidental swipe on the face that gave Mollet’s cheek a fresh bloodline. Ethan hadn’t even realized he had used his sword. There was cheering from the surrounding soldiers by the end of the training. They decided that he wasn’t such a disgrace to all creation and even wanted him to succeed against Mollet. All the while Mollet was feeding him advice as they fought.

  “Your sword is an extension of your hand; use your whole body to contain it. It’s not just a swinging tool.”

  “You mez, keep your eyes on the enemy. Don’t turn your head away or you will miss the opening he gives you.”

  “Do not stop attacking until you know the enemy has stopped breathing. Rest assured that the enemy will make sure you aren’t.”

  As darkness fell, every one of Ethan’s muscles felt tense and every fiber of his being was drenched in sweat. He surrendered to gravity and let his restless mind watch the colorful stars. Tomorrow, he was fighting in a war. Not his war, not his battle, not even his people, but he was still fighting. It never occurred to him that he would have to kill someone tomorrow. That is what the enemy wanted to do to him.