by Ty Johnston
Then he would have revenge. The fools of this world deserved as much. He had played their game, allowing himself to be chained and jailed, had tried to deal with them fairly, but they had not seen it that way. They had no scruples. They were obviously insane, imprisoning a man for life for correcting a brat of a child, imprisoning a man for defending himself from a group of barbarians, taking away that man’s armor and sword and the only other thing he had in all the worlds, his liberty.
Yes, there would be a reckoning. Bayne swore it as he ran. He would break this world, perhaps beginning with its king, if he could ever meet the man.
A wall. Gigantic. Rising before him to the very sky. Gray and cold and smooth. Metal. Doors. Two of them. Also metal. Painted white. Directly ahead just past the end of the rows upon rows of fleeting desks to either side of the bolting figure of Bayne.
His muscles tensed, ready for their freedom. He could feel it.
He was past the desks. The pair of doors right in front of him.
Bayne lunged.
The world erupted. Just as the warrior’s fingers grazed the nearest door, a blast knocked him backward as stone and rock and debris and grit railed all around and at him, slamming his arms and chest and sending him plummeting further back to where he slammed against one of the heavy desks so hard he sent the furniture scooting across the floor with a screeching din.
Bayne came to a standstill on his back, his arms and legs covered in bruises and bloody scratches, gray dust and pieces of rock the size of his fist raining down all around him, crashing into the ground.
He coughed and swatted at the powdery air with a hand as his wounds already began to heal of their own accord, of Bayne’s inner powers, the source unknown even to him.
Through the haze he could make out a ragged-edged breach where the two doors had once been. Now there was this large hole torn into the wall, the edges of broken brick still crumbling and falling.
Most importantly to Bayne, daylight streamed in from above this fissure. His freedom was at hand.
He rolled to one side and pushed himself up on one knee.
A shadow crossed his path.
Bayne looked up. To witness the largest man he had ever seen now standing over him, a man much larger than himself, a man with a chest as wide as a normal man was tall, bulging naked muscles in his elongated arms making him appear almost animal, more freakish than human. All he wore were golden sandals, a simple pair of white legless pants beneath a gold belt around a waist as narrow as that of a girl, and a flowing cape of pale spotted ermine trimmed in gold leaf. And then there was the massive jeweled crown of gold atop his head of long, flowing bronze hair.
This giant of a man smiled, flashing the whitest teeth Bayne had ever beheld.
Then the giant spoke. “Hello, Aris. It has been a long time. You should be dead.”
Part VI: The King
As a monster of a hand, twice that of Bayne’s own grip, reached for him, the warrior encountered the nearest thing to terror he had experienced in his existence. It was not so much fear, though, as a dreadful curiosity of the unknown. Bayne had never seen another man as big as himself, let alone as large as the gigantic crowned figure looking to touch him. Too, of all the strange things he had witnessed in his time climbing that mountain in Ursia and here in this strange world, none could compare to the sight of this bulky, muscled figure standing atop him. All other weird tales lost their luster in comparison.
But Bayne was still filled with battle fury, and his senses and instincts were sharp. He kicked off the ground, away from the giant man who strangely had called him by the name “Aris.” The warrior landed in a crouch, his eyes darting about for anything that could be used as a weapon.
The crowned figure stood straight, towering over Bayne, nearly twice the height of the stranger to this world. “This is foolish,” the giant man said. “Aris, you must come with me. There is much I should tell you.” He held out a hand.
Bayne gritted his teeth. The crown signified this monstrosity as the king of this land. It was time to deal punishment, a harsh lesson on reality. His target, that mysterious figure who had held no face until now, was before him, the man responsible as leader of this world of fools.
Bayne snapped out a hand, gripping the king’s wrist. The limb was too large, however, for the warrior’s fingers to fully encircle. Visions of tugging on that arm and swiping up his other hand to break the appendage danced through the warrior’s head.
But it was not to be.
Bayne pulled.
There was no budge. Not even an inch.
Instead, the king’s hand flipped under and over Bayne’s smaller mitt, engulfing the warrior’s own wrist.
Then the king smiled again.
And there was a flash of light in Bayne’s eyes, a flash similar to the one that had brought him to this world in the first place when he had fallen into the heated pit inside the mountain.
This time, however, consciousness did not wane for the warrior. Inside he seethed with anger, expecting to lose more of his precious memory, but surprise quickly dawned for Bayne. He found himself still on one knee, a wrist gripped by the giant king, himself practically kneeling before the royal figure as they appeared on a long, scarlet rug in the middle of another colossal chamber, though Bayne could make out gray, cut stone walls behind rows upon rows of white marble pillars.
The room was at least as long as a longbow’s maximum range, and it’s width reached a third that distance. As Bayne glanced about, he took note of a pair of tall dark wooden doors far behind him, and in the distance past the king were a half dozen pale marble steps that climbed up to a dais where sat a throne of gray stone, the seat big enough to seat the massive figure in front of the swordsman.
The king loosed his grip and backed a ways.
“Stand, Aris,” he spoke gently.
Keeping his eyes on the other man, Bayne rose slowly, his feet shifting to add to the distance between the two.
The king guffawed, shook his head and turned his back on the warrior, then proceeded down the length of the red carpet until with legs as wide as a normal man’s chest he climbed the marble steps up to the throne. In front of the chair he spun about, his white cape flapping behind him, then he eased onto the stone throne atop a padded amaranthine cushion.
Bayne had not moved beneath the light of black iron candelabras hanging from the high ceiling, watching all as silence ruled this domain.
The king placed his heavy arms on the wide limbs of the throne, his huge hands hanging over the ends. He sighed and motioned for Bayne to draw nearer. “Approach.”
Bayne stood taller, straighter. There appeared to be no immediate threat, thus there was no need to remain in a defensive stance. Further, Bayne had questions that needed answering. At least before he would pummel this king of fools.
The swordsman approached, taking his time, each step determined and with import. The warrior’s leg muscles were loosened now, his mind sharp, ready to spring to action if needs be.
At the foot of the short stairway, Bayne halted, his eyes glancing about at the foreign carvings of what appeared to be some kind of history in the marble columns nearest him to either side. There were many engravings of battle, men with swords and other instruments more odd, flame and death and monsters and images which Bayne could not describe as they were beyond him.
“Aris,” the king said.
The warrior looked to the seated figure. “You repeat that word. It has no meaning to me.”
The king’s gaze remained steady, though curious. “You are Aris Bloodmaker, god of battle, defiler of peace. Of that there is little doubt.”
Bayne stuck out his proud chest, well-muscled beneath muslin. “I am known as Bayne kul Kanon in my lands.”
“These are your lands,” the king said.
Bayne’s eyes squinted, staring hard at the king. “You must rule here.”
“I do,” the king stated. “My full title is Lord Excelsior Marnok, King of All Cou
nties, Divinity to the Stature, Parvost Post Titular Consul to All.”
“I will call you Marnok,” Bayne said. It was more than a suggestion.
The king grinned. “Very well, Aris-called-Bayne.”
“Why am I here?” Bayne asked.
“You waste no time at the edges of the subject,” Marnok said. “I appreciate this.”
A deep growl furled in the back of the warrior’s throat. “Then answer my question.”
Marnok tossed his head back with a laugh, his long blonde hair shaking about beneath the weight of his heavy crown, the veins and fibers in his broad neck standing out beneath the flesh.
Eventually, once his humor had died, the king lowered his gaze to the man beneath him and spoke. “Once Sheriff Fortcastle judged you guilty of your crimes, you were brought before the court for immediate punishment. As you were --”
“I saw no court system,” Bayne interrupted.
A frown crossed the king’s lips. “It was where you were chained.”
“The place with those in masks.”
“Yes.” The king nodded.
“If that is a court, it is a foolish one,” Bayne said. “And why have a court for after one has been judged guilty? It would seem adverse to the dynamic of a court.”
“Not in this world,” Marnok said. “Not by my laws. Now, I will continue.”
It was Bayne’s turn to nod.
“I suspected you, Aris, as soon as I was informed of what had transpired in the woods,” the king said. “None of my kingdom could have performed such violence. They are not capable of it, physically nor mentally. That left the likelihood of an … outsider. The most logical outsider would be you. I have taken steps to separate my world from those of all others, to diminish the possibility --”
“You speak of worlds,” Bayne interrupted once more. “I was not aware there was more than one, though I admit to feeling out of place in yours.”
Marnok leaned forward on his chair, one elbow resting about an enormous knee. “Are your interruptions to be constant? Or will you allow me to continue?”
Bayne grunted. “Then continue.”
The ruler leaned back in his throne, his eyes narrowing further. “As I was informing you, I have blocked this world from all others. The only exception to this I could fathom would be your return. Upon hearing a description, I knew you had found your way back. Once you were enshrined within the court, it would be only a matter of time before you would break free. Nothing from my subjects would suffice to imprison you permanently, and they would not be able to destroy you. I decided I must step in and take control of the matter. To that extent, no small part of your escape was allowed by myself. Did you not notice once you fled the court system that no guards were immediately dispatched to hunt you? Did you not notice the surprise upon the faces of the personnel when you had made your way to the operative area?”
“Not all of your words are familiar to me,” Bayne pointed out, “but I believe I understand enough. Yes, I was surprised to encounter no pursuit.”
“I wanted you outside the court proper before making my appearance,” Marnok said. “As things stand, you killed and maimed enough of my subjects.”
“For which I feel no remorse,” Bayne said. “Yours is a foolish world, with laws that are nonsensical, and your subjects are all the more foolish for not only standing by, but for actually encompassing the madness.”
The king snickered. “You appraise what you know little of, Aris-Bayne. I have spent thousands of years weighing laws and studying justice. Only in the last few centuries have I settled upon that which is most just, most right, for men to co-exist with one another.”
“Thousands of years?” Bayne said. “Then you are more than a king. You must be a god yourself.”
“At one time I claimed that title,” Marnok said.
“Then you are the biggest fool of them all,” Bayne said. “Centuries upon centuries, and the best you can decide upon is a world where there are no consequences for those without scruples. The only ones punished are those who have something to lose. Those who care nothing for their fellow man, they should be slaughtered as one would a mad beast. There is no soul within them, only a high belief in one’s self-importance, and this when they have accomplished little or nothing.”
The king stood. For a moment, there was a stern visage about him, but then he chuckled once more and clapped his hands together several times, the din like that of soft thunder in the distance. “Very good of you, Aris-Bayne, with your little speech. You spend but days in my universe and you have already decided we are all madmen.”
“Are you not?”
“No.” Marnok resumed his seat. “You see my world only from your point of view, from that of a warmonger, of a savage at heart. Mine is a world of tranquility, where men may roam the streets without fear of murder and thuggery, where women may stroll without despairing of rapine.”
“Warmonger,” Bayne said. “You use that term, and accuse me of being a god of battle, yet I have no recollection of such.”
“There is much yet to explain,” the ruler said.
“Then explain.”
The king sighed. “Very well, Aris-Bayne, but it is a tale which you may not wish to be retold.”
Bayne tightened a fist and held it before him. “Tell me. I am a man with no past, and I wish to learn.”
“First of all,” Marnok began, “you are no man. You are a god, as I am myself. Ages upon ages ago the people of this world were godless, weak, bathed in deviancy. In those withering days, I was one of a group of scientists --”
“I know not that word.”
“Mages, of a sort,” the king explained, then went on. “Our focus was not what you would consider strictly magic, but our great achievements had given us tools that would seem magical to the uninitiated. Taking those tools, and seeing how far had fallen our world, we took it upon ourselves to create gods. We were to bring morality back to mankind.”
“A seemingly impossible task.”
“Yes.” The ruler nodded. “But one we had the power to enforce. It took us years, decades, of study and research and thought, more philosophical than practical, but eventually we decided upon a pantheon of twelve deities, twelve representatives of all that encompassed man. There were six gods for the light side of humanity and six for the dark, though not necessarily evil. The gods were to remain neutral entities, to be but representations of thought, of possibility, of achievement. You were our representative of war and battle, aligned with the darker side, of course.”
“Of course,” Bayne said, adding, “Then … you created me?”
“In a manner of speaking,” the king said. “An egg was taken from a woman, the seed from a man, and those were combined within one of our factories. As to the reality of that woman and man, they were nameless. They were but numbers and statistical information written down on paper. Long ago, millenia, they would have died.”
Bayne cocked his head, frowned, but remained silent on the matter.
“As it was, we had the basics of you, the rudiments necessary for creating a human.” Marnok shifted in his seat as if to become more comfortable, one leg outstretched so one of his golden sandal’s just touched to the top step to this throne. “We … grew you within a special chamber, a room that promoted your physical upbringing. You were a man within months. Then the process became more surgical and mechanical. We melted your bones and --”
Bayne held up a delaying hand.
The king went quiet.
“You are again treading territory unfamiliar to me,” Bayne said.
Marnok nodded as if understanding. “My apologies. We had … healers … who replaced your bones with a framework of steel and diamond, an adamant, if you will.”
There was some, though little, understanding in the warrior’s eyes.
The king went on. “Your strength and constitution were improved drastically, beyond that of any man, by inclusion of biological and nanotechnological forms into your
basic structure, your DNA.”
Bayne’s face had gone blank.
Marnok switched to another route. “We used magical potions to permanently make you stronger and nearly invulnerable to pain and damage.”
Bayne nodded for the speaker to go on.
“At this time you were an adult, but one only a year or so of age,” the king said. “Your mind was nearly blank due to your limited experience and maturity. We were forced to educate you through … more magic, inserts into your mind. As our focus was to make you a deity of war, the majority of your learning was in matters martial, though of course there were basics we wanted all the gods to entail, necessities for daily existence. Then there was the training period, yours tuned to combat. From your birth, it took but five years for you to reach adulthood, experienced adulthood. On that day, after five years, you became a god.”
“And yourself?” Bayne asked. “You call yourself a god. How did this come about?”
“During the five years of cultivating the gods,” Marnok said, “we … lost one of them. It was an accident, devastating to our project and to the future of all men. That being, that poor victim of fate, was to be the chief god, a leader among the twelve to dissuade tensions and strife. We needed a replacement. There was not time to create another specimen. One had to be provided, one knowledgeable enough and experienced enough that he or she could supplant the lost god within the five years of the project. As head of the project, I volunteered myself.”
“You made yourself the chief of the gods?”
“I did,” Marnok said. “You might sneer at that, Aris-Bayne, but my motives were purely unselfish. I took a bold step forward in hopes of bettering mankind, and I did so without knowing my own fate. For all I knew at the time, the project would fail, be a disaster. I gambled with my own mortality.”
Bayne did, indeed, sneer. “It would seem your gamble paid handsomely.”
“In some manners, yes,” the king said with a scowl, “but there were drawbacks … failings, even upon my part.”
