Reign of the Nightmare Prince

by Mike Phillips

  “Is there any news on that runaway?”

  Captain Smith, his armor grimy with ash and dried blood replied, “No, he’s a slippery little monkey. Not a sign for two miles either side of the river, latest report. It’s been tough going. The jungle is thick and the men are tired.”

  “We can’t risk letting him warn the others, not now, not before we’ve secured our position. That capital city upriver is going to be our new home. If they get the jump on us we’re done for. Do whatever it takes.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll double the scouting party and lead it myself.”

  “No, you stay here. I’ve got other work for you, Smitty.” The Colonel turned to Captain Jones, saying, “Jones, this is your mess, clean it up. You can take the men that were with me. They’re rested well enough. Send the others back.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jones replied dutifully.

  “Good, the rest of us are going to pack up and follow you. If you don’t find him before you get to the village at the next river fork, give it up and come back.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, we finally found us a savage with some teeth. It’s no good having one of their warriors out there knowing that he killed one of us. That kind of thing supports insurrection; and since this has now become an occupation, I can’t tell you how important it is to avoid that little nuisance.”

  “No, sir.”

  “But Hill said the savage didn’t look much like a warrior,” Captain Smith interrupted. “He said he was a scrawny little bugger, like a vagabond or an outcast, maybe even a crazy man.”

  “No beggar could have bested Kimball like that and gotten away from Hill. They’re two of our best men. No, he’s more than he looks. You find him, Jones. You find him and bring him to me, dead or alive.”

  * * *

  Down into the hollow the last of them went. It was Jones, a sign that he was in charge of the affair, that he was their leader. He wore his armor, a bright red in the dull sunlight under the trees, but he had been clever enough to cloak himself in a blanket rubbed in soil to afford him some amount of cover in the wilderness.

  Jones was the head of this conspiracy, as had never been in doubt, and his people were waiting for him now. They had all come to this place in secret, in small groups or alone, being careful they were not followed. The others slept or were off on wide patrol. Jones had thought of everything.

  The hollow was not far from camp. It had the advantage of being well hidden, but it was not a secret place. The bluff on the far side made them vulnerable. An enemy could take that position and remain unseen, as Captain Smith had done as the first dozen or so men left camp. Jones departed last of all.

  Concealed by an old log, the bluff, and some vegetation he had gathered on the way, Smith watched them, his rifle ready in his hands, pistols loaded and holstered at his sides. He was close enough to hear what they were saying, to listen to their plans. That was his mission, to gather intelligence, not to disperse the coup.

  Each of these men was valuable to them now, and Crenshaw wanted none of them harmed unless it was absolutely necessary. They were in a hostile world with no friends. The conspirators were to be thwarted, not killed.

  “Thank you for coming. I appreciate the risk you all are taking,” Jones began. He stripped off his helmet and threw back the old blanket, taking a seat on the ground with his back to a tree, with his back to Captain Smith. “We all know why we’re here so we might as well get down to it. I think after what has happened so far on this little holiday of ours we all know that our friends back home don’t intend for us to return. I don’t know if that were what they planned to do all along, or if it’s because the political winds are blowing the wrong way; but in my book, what you see is what you get. If we go on like this, we’ll all be dead, sooner or later.”

  “You got that right,” Roberts agreed. “We can still make ten times what’s in the charter if we’re smart. All we have to do is survive long enough to find a way off this rock, and we’ll be rich.”

  Collins added, “That’s if the Colonel or his cronies don’t find us first.”

  “That’s right, that’s right,” said Roberts. “It’s him we got to get rid of.”

  “Well, that’s what we’ve come to decide,” Captain Jones said, trying to keep the discussion on topic. “Do we stay and take over, or do we strike out on our own?”

  “Let’s go,” said Roberts. “The dark time is coming. They won’t come after us once they’re settled in nice and cozy. I say we head out over the mountains, try to find one of the colonies. We bring enough gold and gems and no one will ask any questions, you’ll see. We can tell them we were part of some survey expedition.”

  “Yeah, anybody wants to say different and we’ll take care of them,” Collins added, tilting his head so the bones of his neck cracked. “But I say cut their throats first, the Colonel and his lot, pay them back for what they’ve given us.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said another man, Stevens. “Crenshaw has kept up his end of the deal so far.”

  “Oh, he’s half-cracked in the head, he is. When we were on that wild goose chase of his, he fell off his rocker, almost killed me in his sleep,” Roberts said, seeming to relive his fright. “Him and his nightmares, he nearly blew my head off.”

  Collins said, “If you think that was an accident you’re a bigger fool than that Hayes who follows him around like a puppy. It’s all an act, don’t know why, but it’ll come to bite us sooner or later.”

  “Yeah, maybe so, and don’t think he wouldn’t do the same to any of you. Look at him crossways and that’ll be enough of an excuse.”

  “No, none of you know him like I do. If he’s under orders to take us out, that’s just what he’ll do.” Standing, taking control, Jones said, “He’s not crazy, and he’s certainly not soft-hearted. He won’t wait for us to expose him and those big shot friends of his. Even if we get out of here, they won’t be far behind. It’s a long way home and anything can happen.”

  “Enough of this,” said Stevens. “We know all this. None of us would be here if we thought otherwise. We might have a chance if we run long and hard, but the Colonel isn’t the only danger out there. What I want to know is if we have enough of the men to go along with us.”

  Jones said, “Caldwell we can count on, maybe ten or twenty more back at the camp that we know for sure.”

  “Yeah, but I’d bet there’s more than Collins and me what’s got a score to settle,” said Roberts. “Give the boys half a chance and they’ll come our way, I’m sure of it.”

  “Will it be enough?” asked Stevens.

  “I’m not going to tell you it’s going to be easy. We’ll have a fight on our hands no matter what,” Jones said.

  “So, is that it?” said Stevens, raising his hand. “Everyone’s in, right?”

  One by one the rest all lifted their hands into the air. Jones was the last one, showing the weight of the decision. He said, “So we’ve decided what we’re going to do. All that’s left is when and how.”

  Chapter 9

  Upon the wind there blew wicked schemes and portents of evil, for the sun had traveled to the fifth house, and the time of light and warmth was coming to an end. Shadows grew in the wilderness and in the mounting darkness terrible things awoke and prepared to loose themselves upon the world, once again claiming mastery over the sun forsaken lands. The boundaries between the domain of spirits and the living were growing thin. Voices whispered torments in the trees, perhaps looking for some wayward victim with which to share its horror.

  But there were other signs in the heavens, bearing tidings of hope for the people who followed the Will of the Almighty. For also in the fifth house was the crescent moon, gentle sister, with her gifts of light and faith for the Long Night, chasing the collecting shadows away.

  Unseen for three years was Karenik the daystar, shining like a village fire high above the snow-peaked mountains from which the great river flows. With the coming of sun, moon, and star, it wa
s a time for the reading of signs. It was time for the wise to gather at the Sacred Grove and discuss the warnings that were herald of the Long Night.

  Kolojo let the tainted wind brush softly over him, tasting the air, feeling the grains of sand blown from deserts far away, thinking of his lost cousin and wondering if Rakam would find a safe place to shelter when the night came. He had no power like Rakam to listen to the wind and hear of faraway places. He had no finger to put upon the beating heart of the living world. All he could do was wait and hope someone had news or insight he lacked.

  The ceremony of the Sacred Grove had already begun. They were late in coming, he and Mabetu, because it had been a difficult journey. Mabetu had been taken by some unusual weakness, though he little admitted it and could not travel with speed. Kolojo secretly wondered if it were the signs of old age, death come to take his honored great-grandfather at last.

  The two of them had only just arrived before the entry procession began. Mabetu donned his robes and took his place behind cousin Timbo, the Keeper of the Sacred Grove, seemingly a new man. Though he would have it otherwise, Kolojo put on his own robes and took his place, the last in line.

  He was honored to be there at all and knew his position was tenuous at best. He was yet a young man. Though skilled in the arts his great-grandfather had taught, he had not gone out into the world and suffered the Jaribu like all MaKasisi must. He was the most skilled in fire; and even though many of the others would not have it so, his gift had earned him his right among them.

  The procession went from the village tree to the Sacred Well, the waters of which had been tasted by none since having been sealed at the end of the last ceremony. With his staff, Timbo broke the seal, a thing of rope and patterned clay dried in the sun, pulled back the bolts that held the well secure, and lifted open the door. Next, he took a small pot inscribed with the sacred signs of the Almighty, and chanting the ancient rites of purification, lowered the vessel deep into the well on a new rope made from the drawn fibers of the sacred Yenaba vine.

  When he had filled the vessel, Timbo drank of the water and let a green sprig from the Yenaba vine fall into the well. Mabetu drank and let a sprig fall, as did the others as they passed the sacred place, each Kasisi taking his drink and then dropping his sprig of Yenaba in turn. At last, Kolojo’s time came.

  The water was sweet and fragrant, spiced by the living vegetation. He felt the coolness of the water fill him, intoxicate him, cleanse him for the ceremony ahead. And when Kolojo was done, the villagers followed, all those who had come for the ceremony drank and left their offering.

  The procession passed again to the village tree, where dead vines from the Yenaba had been collected into a circle of white stones. There they each took their place round the circle, and Timbo made his blessing as the villagers returned from the well and sat behind them.

  MaKasisi and village people feasted and danced long in celebration. Later when all awoke, the call was made for entry into the Sacred Grove. Again the wise made their procession. Down from the village they went in line, baring nothing but sprigs of Yenaba to give in offering, to purify themselves, and set the work to its holy purpose.

  The Sacred Grove was guarded by a fence of thick reeds, braided together twice as tall as a man. Into the reeds were also woven cuttings of the Tamke, a living tree that would take root and grow from a single green twig. Over the many generations of the ceremony, an impenetrable wall had been constructed for the protection of the Grove so that none, good or evil, could enter the place and disturb the spirits at work.

  There was a high arched gate, alive with the Tamke and the working of the ethereal guides. Like the well, a seal of rope and worked clay had been fastened when the gate was last closed. The MaKasisi muttered words of enchantment as Timbo broke the seal and threw open the gate. All went silent.

  The MaKasisi proceeded down a sort of path, little more than a trail for the scant passing of feet. At a clearing, there was a pile of stones, some of which were very large, and could only have been placed by the hand of the Almighty. For a while the MaKasisi sat in a circle, giving a silent prayer as they crushed Yenaba in their hands and breathed in its fragrance. One by one they disappeared into the forest and began their search.

  * * *

  When he thought he had hunted every inch of the Grove, his feet and knees aching, his stomach rumbling with hunger, Kolojo decided to give up. He had no talent in prophecy and only participated in the ceremony because it was expected of him.

  Exhausted, he made his way back to the clearing where the other MaKasisi had gone their separate ways. Mabetu was there, alone, sitting on a tree and looking absently at the pile of stones.

  “So, any luck?” Kolojo said, as he sat down next to his great-grandfather.

  “My fortunes seemed to have missed,” Mabetu admitted, giving a short laugh. “And, my feet hurt.”

  “Mine, too. So, what happens if no one finds the Sacred Stone?”

  “Then, none are worthy to read the signs.”

  “Well, yes,” said Kolojo, “but I mean, what will happen in the immediate future?”

  “Ah, you’re curious about the feast.”

  “No, not alone,” Kolojo said, but at the mention of food, he couldn’t keep his stomach from playing him false. Mabetu gave him a sidelong glance, and they shared a hearty laugh. From his pocket, the old man produced a strip of salted meat, shrugging his shoulders. Kolojo accepted the offering gratefully; and as he took his first bite, he said, “How long will we stay?”

  “The Keeper of the Grove says if and when we return and rest. In my time, that happened often. But you know that many wish the honor of reading the signs. Timbo and the others will not give in as easily as you and I have.”

  “Especially since Rakam is gone.”

  Mabetu nodded, smiling and saying, “Yes, your cousin is blessed with an extraordinary gift. He entered the Grove three times before he left us on his Jaribu. At the time it was thought scandalous. But it was he who found the Stone and made the predictions, a thing that could not be denied him due to his talents.”

  “Like my gift with fire.”

  “Yes. Such gifts from the Almighty are only given in times of great need. So, it is the wise man who follows those especially blessed by His Will. Never before Rakam had anyone read the signs with such clarity, never before has so much sorrow been avoided through the vassal of the Almighty.”

  Kolojo added with pride, “And, he had a very good teacher.”

  Mabetu shook his head. “No, that is none of my doing. Though I was his teacher, I have very little ability in the ways of prophecy. You could say that he has come to his abilities in spite of my teachings, a thing that you would do well to learn yourself.”

  “But you have a great gift in fire.”

  “No, my strengths lie elsewhere, in healing hurts and sicknesses. I taught you what little I know, but then only guided you in finding your own path. It must be so for every person, finding his or her own path. That reminds me, that sister of yours needs instruction before she burns the whole forest to the ground. I’ve had that old woman, Numatma, after me every spare moment.”

  “But I can’t.”

  “Oh, you need not worry about proving yourself. Your Jaribu is coming all too soon, I fear.”

  “Then you have had a vision?” Kolojo replied, breathless.

  “Yes, I’ve seen some strange things, shapes in the forest on our journey, and noises, I’ve heard things I cannot explain.” Mabetu put up a hand. “No, ask me no more. I don’t know what it means.”

  “But maybe Rakam is on his way.”

  “I can no longer feel your cousin in my heart. I don’t know if he is alive or dead, something that has not happened in a long time.”

  “And you have had no news from the others?”

  “There is very little news, so little news of any sort. The land is hushed, or perhaps made silent in some way. No one has seen or heard from the peoples who live near to the sea.�
��

  “Strange. Another sign?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Kolojo said, “Maybe the Grove is silent for a reason, too.”

  “That is an interesting point. I will consider it.”

  Just then, Timbo walked by, looking serious. He was short of stature, and wore a tall hat richly decorated. His robes were very fine, richly appointed and shining white. A sash of deep red was hung across his chest. He paused only long enough to look Kolojo and Mabetu up and down, seeming for a moment guilty, but then returned his gaze to a frantic search of the ground.

  “You think he’s lost?” Kolojo asked when Timbo had left the clearing.

  “Perhaps,” the old man mused. “But he has a peculiar bulge in his pocket. Don’t you think?”

  “You don’t think he’s found it and is….”

  “No, no,” Mabetu interrupted, “you know your cousin better than that. It never took Rakam any time at all to find the stone, and so Timbo would want to show his worth by doing the job speedily himself.”

  “What then? Not a cheat?”

  “His pocket is bulging, and no one else is having any luck. It would be shameful to him if the stone was not found, especially with Rakam absent.”

  “But it is no shame to him that Rakam has had such success. Like you say, it is a gift from the Almighty.”

  Mabetu sighed, “I fear Timbo has been outshined by my two best students, and even amongst Makasis, there is jealousy.”

  Flushed, Kolojo said, “But he looks after the Sacred Grove.”

  “An honor, to be sure, but he is ambitious in ways that are not fit for a man of his responsibilities.”

  * * *

  Smoke rose upon the wind but the smell was sweet. It did not at all carry the foul taint that had blown down from the heathen lands as the ceremony at the Sacred Grove began. The others around him sleeping, Kolojo sat up, thinking he was still in some dream. He inhaled deeply, taking in the pleasant odor of the smoke, a thing very like the Tamke he thought now that he had greater possession of his senses.