Reign of the Nightmare Prince

by Mike Phillips

  “I follow the King’s command, and so will you.” Torbu spoke with a thunderous voice, coming toward Timbo as if he meant to beat him into the floor of the building with bare fists if he refused. “You will tell them everything you know, show them everything you have learned of the Shaintani’s magic. Do you agree?”

  “Yes,” Timbo said, cowering.

  Torbu motioned to four guards, saying, “Go to Timbo’s followers. Bring the trophies won from the MaShaitani, all of them. Gather strength. If they refuse, arrest them.”

  “That won’t be necessary, I assure you,” Timbo said. “Let me go, I’ll make sure they do as you ask.”

  “No, you stay here,” Torbu said to Timbo. “I want you where I can keep an eye on you. I don’t want you getting into any trouble.” He nodded to the guards. Understanding, they bowed and departed.

  * * *

  When the guards returned some time later, they brought with them many people Rakam remembered from the Sacred Grove. These were warriors of the tribe, strong men, good with spear and bow. They wore the traditional garb of their village, an honor in its own right, but their garments were now embroidered with the protective symbol Timbo favored in his new rights. Upon their foreheads, they bore the ashen mark of protection.

  Looking the men over more carefully as they came within the firelight, Rakam saw that several of the warriors had been injured. The blacksmith’s son had an eye that was swollen and bright red. Another man had a bloody nose and yet another held his arm gingerly. The number of Torbu’s guards had grown to a double score, and they were well-armed. Rakam wondered how bad the trouble had been.

  In sacks or netted cord, the warriors of the Sacred Grove carried the armor of the MaShaitani. The trophies of war were set down upon the floor of the meetinghouse with reverence, the light of the fires dancing on the polished surfaces like the light of the sister moons upon a still lake in the Long Night. There were other spoils also. Torbu’s warriors carried the death sticks Rakam had seen the MaShaitani handle like spears in their camp. With a shiver he remembered the loud crack that hurt his ears, the lethal action of the weapon as the invisible bolt had done its work.

  “What has happened here?” Timbo said accusingly. He had been quietly sitting in a chair, holding his head in his hands while discussions were held, from time to time looking anxiously skyward, and in some way trying to regain his dignity. But now his wrath had turned, and he spoke as angrily as he had before Rakam tore the roof from the building.

  The guard said passively, “They would not cooperate.”

  “But to do this is an outrage!” Timbo proclaimed, with several of the Council Elders mumbling agreement. “We are not at war with each other. They had no right to do this. I demand these men be punished.”

  “They were following my orders.” Torbu looked to the injured men of the Sacred Grove with sympathy. “You have my apology for the hurts of your men, Timbo, and I will have an accounting of what has occurred here; but the guards did as I instructed them to do, and they are not to blame. I should have to think on whether to punish your men for disobeying my orders.”

  Timbo was about to protest, but Torbu raised his hand to stop him and said, “Now, I will ask you to tell Negara and Rakam what you know of the Shaintani’s weapons. We can settle our differences some other time.”

  Straightening his robes, Timbo said, “Yes, good Torbu, in this time of uncertainty and fear, we must put aside our own petty interests and rise above ourselves for the good of all. Not through brother bickering with brother will the MaShaitani be defeated, but by the grace of the Almighty and by the hearts of the valiant.”

  Timbo bent down to pick up one of the Shaintani’s weapons, careful not to lose his hat. Rising, he displayed the weapon to all, a thing like an oddly shaped branch. “This, as my dear cousin knows, is the weapon of our accursed enemy. When its mighty power is loosed, there is a sound like thunder.” He nodded to the blacksmith’s son. “We have named it firespear, and you will soon understand why.”

  The young man, yet a boy really, broke free of his escort. The guard was about to seize him again, but the Chief gave an indulgent nod and the young man proceeded to the center of the floor where Timbo stood, taking the firespear in hand.

  Removing a small, cylindrical object from a pouch at his belt and holding it up for all to see, Timbo went on with his explanation. “This thing in my hand is what makes the firespear work. As you can clearly see, it is a solid object, but somehow when the firespear is used, something is released. I believe it must be a type of bottle, holding an imp of some kind, perhaps. This imp does its evil and, then, disappears, and soon after the bottle that once held it also disappears.”

  The blacksmith’s son removed a small box from the underside of the firespear. Timbo took the box from him and inserted his bottle into it. “These bottles only work when there is another with it. When we first seized these weapons from our defeated enemy, before we learned how to remove these boxes, a discovery made by my fine young assistant here, one of these Shaitani firespears was used up. But as long as you keep track of how many of the bottles are used and save at least one, the weapon will renew its power forever, a price to its creator, perhaps.”

  Timbo returned the box to the young man. In turn, the blacksmith’s son stuck the box back into the death stick with a click. “Show them,” Timbo said, pointing to a heavy timber supporting the wall.

  Lifting the weapon to his shoulder as experience with the MaShaitani had taught, the blacksmith’s son pointed the end of the weapon toward a spot on the timber. With a sign from Timbo, the young man moved his finger along what looked to Rakam to be a kind of latch on the underside. There was a loud crack, fire spewed from the far end of the weapon like a Kasisi’s magic. The timber exploded, leaving a gaping hole.

  Men and women alike screamed in terror at the sound, many hiding their heads in their hands or diving to the floor. There was a horrible smell in the air and a white vapor that stung the eyes.

  Not having flinched as the weapon fired, Timbo gave a satisfied smile, feeling this display was in some way equal to what Rakam had done. His chest swelled, and he stood tall saying, “Fear not, the worst is over. But look here at the ground. The bottle is empty, and you can see it already begins to fall into ruin. Soon there will be nothing left of it. And when you look in the hole in the post, you will find nothing there either. We have tried to find it, yes, by using a sack of grain or an old log or a barrel of water, but never can the imp be found. Let us say a prayer now that it is truly gone from the world, that it will never trouble us again.”

  Timbo and his followers bent their heads in silent prayer. Others did so after a moment.

  When everyone had finished their prayer, Timbo at last raised his head, studying them intently, giving them all a warm smile. “Here, look now at the armor our enemy wears to deceive us, to put fear into our hearts. We have no weapon that can dent it, not even the sharpest spear thrown by the mightiest warrior. But, now if we drop a large rock from a high place, I tell you now surely the rock will crush this stuff of Shaintani-make like the pestilence of the plains under the foot of a Losli.”

  Timbo selected a damaged breastplate, deeply crushed at the chest with dried blood that clung to the inside. He lifted the armor high above his head, turning slowly so everyone gathered had an opportunity to look upon it.

  “Look now and see, do not fear. The MaShaitani are not some invincible foe. Under this armor their flesh is soft. They can be killed. I led a force against them, not knowing what you now know, and we conquered. You all will conquer, too, when the time comes, for you will have the protection my warriors themselves carried into battle. You bear the mark. You have danced to the glory of the Almighty. You know what this armor is, not so different from what your own warriors wear into battle, and now you know how to defeat it, too. Do not fear.”

  “Can the imps defeat the armor?” Rakam wondered aloud before he had considered the question.

  T
imbo grimaced. “That, my dear cousin, is an interesting question.”

  “A question I pray you do not wish to answer here and now,” begged one of the men from the Council. He lifted his arms toward where the roof had been. “Don’t you think we have had enough excitement?”

  “And, I would rather the Shaintani’s weapons were experimented upon somewhere far away from our women and children,” added another.

  “Yes, well said,” Timbo replied, patting the blacksmith’s son affectionately on the back. “I see your point. If it is agreeable to your Chief, I would suggest we all rest our weary bones and begin again some other time.”

  Torbu had been silent. He waited a moment before answering Timbo’s request. The silence grew long in the meantime. “Timbo, give one of the weapons and a portion of your bottles to Rakam. I will pay whatever price is set upon it. Maybe the protégé of Mabetu will able to discover something of this magic and find a way to defeat it.”

  Timbo bowed graciously to the Chief and presented the firespear to Rakam. “I will accept no price for this no matter how high. I make it a gift to my dear cousin and make my hopes in kind to your own, good Torbu.”

  “Thank you,” said Torbu.

  Taking the weapon, with Negara looking on jealously, Rakam said, “And, I thank you also, Timbo. I am honored and humbled by your gift.”

  “Now I am sure we are all ready for sleep,” said Chief Torbu, still finishing the business by the symbolic rubbing of dirt from his hands. He put an arm around Rakam’s shoulder and laughed as he added, “And since the hospitality here in our meetinghouse has somewhat lessened, and finding the lover’s time of these two young people must certainly not yet be over, they shall come with me to my house and stay with me, as long as it pleases them to do so and our time here remains.”

  Surprised but grateful, Rakam bent to pick up his things and said, “Thank you. My good wife and I would be honored to accept.”

  “Excellent, I will send a messenger ahead and have everything ready by the time we arrive.” Dropping the formal tone he had used in his speech so far, Torbu took Rakam’s and Negara’s packs in one hand and slung them over his shoulder as if they weighed nothing. He said conspiratorially, “Here, let me take these for you. I don’t get enough work for my limbs anymore, not since I left the mines to become Chief. I’m as weak as a yearling goat.”

  “You look as strong as the katabo. I wouldn’t want to wrestle against you in the midnight festival,” said Rakam as they moved into the street.

  Torbu laughed a great, thundering laugh. “But that’s as it should be. Folk don’t want their Kasisi to be able to beat them in a scrap.”

  Rakam was delighted to have made such a friend. For once, everything wasn’t going to be a struggle. With other Chiefs like Torbu, he thought they might have a chance of defeating the MaShaitani after all.

  Clasping the big man on the shoulder, Rakam said, “No, you’re probably right about that. By the way, sorry about the roof.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Torbu assured him, walking, swinging the heavy bundles in a carefree, almost childish, way. “You did the right thing. Some of the Council members think well of Timbo. You needed to make a little show for their sakes, to convince them of the right thing to do. He’s not all bad, that cousin of yours, but he has some crazy ideas. He likes to get people stirred up in a way I don’t think is good for them.”

  “His spirit dance?” asked Negara.

  It was obvious Torbu was more at ease talking with Rakam than the Princess. He said haltingly, “Yes, your majesty. He, ah, he has this way of talking that makes folk unhappy. I think he likes to have people do things for him, not that there is anything wrong with having servants, begging your pardon, but the way he, well, I guess it’s hard for me to put into words.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” said Rakam. “He doesn’t realize that gifts of power and influence are not given due to some extra portion of worthiness, but to those who must act as stewards for the benefit of all.”

  “Yes, that’s it,” Torbu said, then hastily added in deference to the Princess, “if it’s not out of my place to say so.”

  Torbu gestured toward a sprawling, but modest, house that was alive with activity. The windows were full of light and many voices clashed from within, a terrible din of an inestimable number of personalities competing with one another. The house was built of stone and had a low, wooden roof like the other structures of the village, but seemed to have soaked in all the life that had lived within its walls, making it a happy place, taking on an existence all its own.

  A smiling young man, behind whom several younger children hid for safety, greeted the three at the door. The children were each the likeness of their father, even the girls. For the girls, mercifully, their father’s looks had in some way softened into something wholesome, if not exactly pretty.

  Each of the children bore Timbo’s mark of protection upon their foreheads. The boys displayed the mark with pride, and they held small, crudely made weapons in their hands as if ready to dance death with their sworn enemy. They all looked sweaty and tired, and Rakam guessed they, too, had been part of Timbo’s mysterious ceremony.

  The young man held the door wide for them, bowing as if at court. Negara smiled and traded the young man a practiced curtsy, which made the young ladies of the crowd giggle behind their hands.

  “Well, hello and welcome,” said a cheery woman nearly as large as Torbu. “Come in, come in. Children, get along now! Goodness me, if the whole bunch of you were ever not standing in the way it would be a blessing. I’m Senala, your majesty, the mistress of the house,” she rolled her eyes, “though I’m sure that husband of mine hasn’t bothered to say a word about me, and he’s blabbed on about the whole history of his fathers and their silly hole-making since the world began.”

  Negara curtsied to her hostess and said, “From pleasant sleep to happy waking to you, good wife Senala, and to your household. I meet you with gladness in my heart.”

  Blushing, Senala bowed once again, wiping at her brow with a towel and saying, “Dear me, thank you, ma’am. I’ve put you and your husband up in our bedroom, a husband and wife need somewhere quiet with a family this size, and it will be as private as can be.” She removed a restless child from behind her and sent the little boy toward an elder sibling. “It will be like you had the entire place to yourself. I promise.”

  “Thank you. You make it sound most hospitable.”

  “I hope so, your majesty, what with your lover’s time and having to spend it out in the wilderness, calling up armies. Shameful, but I’ll do my best to make it right while you’re under my roof.”

  Blushing at the reference to the lover’s time, Negara pulled Rakam forward, much in the way Senala had brought the young boy from behind her, and said, “This is my husband Rakam, Kasisi of the Falling Lakes, great-grandson of Mabetu the wise.”

  Staring in open-mouthed disbelief, Senala could only stand in her spot, blinking dumbly at them until she managed to say at last, “My own mother was saved by his medicine. Oh, bless you, if there is any extra kindness I may do for the two of you, it would be my honor and pleasure.”

  “I’m glad to meet you, as well, good wife.” Rakam bent to one knee, taking her hand and kissing it. “Thank you.”

  Torbu had been busy while the introductions were being made. When Rakam stood, he traded him a wink and a smile of appreciation, knowing the pleasure his wife had taken in the exchange. In each hand, the Chief held a cup made of the orange metal that was the foundation of his wealth, richly carved and full to the brim with his best brew. He handed one of these to Rakam saying, “Bless you and your good wife. May you find joy and happiness when the Long Night has passed.”

  Taking the cup gladly, suddenly weary of travel and away places, Rakam said, “Thank you and bless you, Torbu, the finest man I have met in all my travels.”

  “Oh, stop that now. They’ve been at the drink already, haven’t they?” Senala burst out i
n disgust. “They’ll be holding each other like babes if they’re not breaking the house apart if we let them get on with any more of that.” Less than gently, she relieved her husband of his brew. Negara did the same to Rakam.

  “Now, you two, get off now. I see my girl is done and everything’s ready. The house won’t wake early, and I’d feel better if you slept as long as you like.”

  A young woman had appeared at the other side of the room, holding a bundle of cloth in her arms. Taking the queue, Negara pushed Rakam in that direction, saying, “Thank you again, dear Senala. Sleep well.”

  Chapter 22

  Troubled by dreams in which he was pursued by some shapeless, malevolent spirit, Rakam awoke with a start. But he found no evil creatures lurking in the far shadows of the room, ready to spring, eager to devour him. There was only his new bride, her face looking as a child’s in peaceful slumber.

  The dreams had been so real, so much like the dreams of True Sight that he had to see if the world would open its secrets to him once again. Try as he might to use that gift, he saw no more than the narrow vision his two eyes could reveal. As restless as his wandering mind had become, the great gift of sight was not there.

  Waking the lovely woman at his side with kisses, Rakam and Negara spent the time given to lovers well. When finally they felt the urge to eat, they dressed and went in search of food, but found a plate on a stool outside the door already prepared for them.

  The bread was still warm, and there were a variety of dried fruits. A tall pitcher, made of Torbu’s metal and most elegantly shaped, held a cool liquid. The water was fragrant with some herb Rakam did not know, a rare species of the mountains perhaps. Everything tasted wonderful, and they chatted while eating, taking time to trade kisses between mouths of food. When they had been given sufficient time to feast, there came a quiet knocking at the door.