Reign of the Nightmare Prince

by Mike Phillips

  Then Mabetu was overwhelmed by the horror of what he next witnessed. A jungle village was burning, the smoke thick and fetid with death. He saw naked MaShaitani with dark skin being murdered, the women, the children and all. Then, the scene was gone. A dozen different kinds of strange creatures in every imaginable style of dress flashed before his eyes. In a moment, they were all being savagely cut down, their bodies ruined, homes destroyed with smoke and fire.

  “Leave this place,” Mabetu said. “You do not belong here.” And as he said the words, he filled his mind with all the anger and fury that his impudent rage had held since Rakam had told him of the evils these creatures had committed, making it a weapon to be used against the Shaitani Chief.

  The black Shaitani gasped and shook. He wrenched himself free of the contact, falling to the ground in convulsions. His mouth frothed with spittle and dark blood ran from his eyes and his ears. The striped Shaitani quickly bent to his aid, the lesser MaShaitani nearby coming to help, the red standing unaffected as he watched the scene unfold.

  The contact broken, the black Shaitani began breathing regularly. After a short while, he sat up and spoke soothing words to the others. The Shaitani in stripes began wiping the Chief’s face with a cloth, but the black Shaitani took it in his hand and waved the others away. The striped Shaintani, perhaps a Kasisi of his own kind, protested weakly, but the black Shaitani called out in a loud voice and stood.

  Wondering what he had just witnessed, Mabetu let the MaShaitani go on unmolested. There was nothing more he could do, nothing more he could learn. These were not the MaShaitani of his world, those his ancestors had fought against since time began. Of that there could be no doubt. This was an altogether new enemy. Putting these troubles away, he began chanting, following the distant call of his great-grandson.

  Chapter 25

  Feeling as if a hundred small hands were caressing his body, Rakam abruptly awoke. Since receiving the blow to the head in the Gray Rock Village, he had been Timbo’s prisoner, carried in a cage on the backs of four strong men. The warriors of the Sacred Grove were on the run from the King’s decree, escaping their duty and Torbu’s justice through the mountain wilderness.

  In that time, Rakam had passed in and out of dreams so vivid he sometimes thought he had died and had been given another man’s life to lead. But then he would awake from the dreams, find his hands and feet bound, his head covered in a sack that stank of his own vomit, and he would feel the pain of his body and remember who he was and how he had been betrayed.

  As he lay awake on the floor of his cage, Rakam could still feel the gentle hands, tugging lightly at his clothes, rubbing his aching muscles. He tried to relax, to forget the unsettling dream and fall asleep again, but the hands would not give him rest. Recognizing their effect, the caresses became pleading, urgent. If he didn’t know better, Rakam would have thought them children, come to ask him to play a game or to do a magic trick.

  Trying to put the hands out of his mind, Rakam rolled over onto his side. One of the guards spoke a few soothing words, offering what little kindness he was allowed. The guards had been behaving strangely for some time. Though none of them spoke openly about it while he listened, their mood was growing more somber with each step they took, or perhaps it was fear he sensed.

  Something certainly was bothering them. There was a solemnity, as if they were traveling through enemy territory or undertaking a sacred rite. Rakam wondered if this was in some way connected to what he was feeling, a chill that tingled his spine and made the hair on his neck rise like the crowning plumes of the latenga.

  Declining the invitation of assistance, Rakam tried to return to sleep, but he began hearing voices upon the wind. Startled, he sat up. The guard asked him if he needed help, saying he would get Timbo if Rakam wanted food or drink.

  Not wanting to draw the attentions of Timbo, Rakam explained he had been troubled by a dream, an explanation that seemed to satisfy his captors. Settling down, he emptied his mind, focusing his thoughts in the way he had learned to let his soul take flight, the way he used to do before the serpent’s sting had robbed him of his gift.

  With little effort, he was rewarded by the touch of small hands once again. He was not so afraid now as he was curious. There was something here trying to communicate with him. If his gift of True Sight were at its peak, then perhaps it would not be so difficult to find the solution to this riddle, but he could not just give up.

  Reaching out, Rakam thought he heard many voices, what sounded like an entire village of children, calling to him, touching him gently as they came and went. Glimpses of strange little people flickered in and out of his mind. Though he could not understand their speech, Rakam knew they were asking for help.

  Calling out to the children, Rakam promised to do what he could, assuring them he would return to this place when he was able. Screams rose in the distance. No longer feeling the hands upon him, Rakam understood that the children were spreading in all directions, flying from him in panic and alarm like a village attacked by raiders.

  An evil presence was coming. Darkness spread before it, making Rakam feel like he was being submerged in cold water. He no longer had a sense of the four guards, the swaying of the cage, his physical body. He was alone, isolated by the blackness.

  No sight or sound no matter how small could penetrate the darkness. His lungs no longer took breath. His heart no longer played the perpetual rhythm that held him fast to the living world. From the depths of the nothingness that surrounded him, Rakam could feel something coming nearer and nearer, a force that was utterly irresistible.

  “Boo,” said a thundering voice, and Rakam lost himself to the darkness.

  * * *

  Having no sense of how long he had been unconscious, Rakam awoke. He could feel the presence of whatever had come. It was watching him, waiting for what he could not guess. He could not feel the air upon his skin or his weight upon the floor of the cage, nor could he hear the buzzing of insects or smell the filth of his body. The thing had brought him someplace that didn’t belong to the world he knew.

  “What do you want?” Rakam snapped, knowing such creatures preyed upon fear.

  “Holy Man of the Falling Lakes, as arrogant as ever,” said the thundering voice with a huff. “Why I bother with an ingrate like you I can’t figure. Must be getting soft. I’ve saved your worthless hide more times than I care to remember, and here you are, getting smart with me already.”

  “I know you,” answered Rakam. “You’re the desert Jinn. What are you doing here? Where am I?”

  “You’re with Timbo’s Army. Now there’s someone who respects power, someone who knows his place and shows a little appreciation now and then. You could learn a lot from that cousin of yours.”

  “Timbo’s an idiot, and you’re one of the fallen. You make quite a pair.”

  “See? That’s just what I’m talking about, you and that great-grandfather of yours, Mabetu. His name is like a ruptured pustule on the ass, always making trouble. Neither one of you can get along. Would it hurt you to be a little more polite?”

  Rakam said, “What have you done to me? I made no bargains.”

  “Yes, yes, no need to hash through old disappointments,” the Jinn said tiredly. “In your self-righteous crusade you follow the inviolate code of your ancestors, blah, blah, abiding the commandments or covenants or whatever else you think makes you so much better than everyone else.”

  “And, may I conclude from your tone that you’ve found someone else to give the service that once you offered to me? Is it Timbo, perhaps? The way he’s been acting lately it wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Your cousin is a clever man, not smart, not talented like some, but wise in the ways of the world. He could see what I had to offer, and he took it. And here you still don’t even understand what you’re up against. Well, I’ll make Timbo conqueror of your Shaitani horde and king of all the lands before I’m finished with him.”

  “He doesn’t know what y
ou are, does he?” Rakam said in a small voice. “Before, I was angry with Timbo. Now I pity him.”

  “No, Timbo doesn’t know what I really am, or maybe I should say he doesn’t let himself know. But listen, friend, you haven’t been so vigilant in guarding your precious people from wicked spirits like me either. That old hag at the Gray Rock saw me. She would have had me in the bottle if I had been as weak as I was in the desert, but you and the rest of your Kasisi pals didn’t suspect a thing. I could have turned the river to blood or eaten all the children for all the good you people did.”

  “No, we would have stopped you. Before you did any real harm, we would have recognized evil at work.”

  “You arrogant fool, I’ve been helping you all this time. I never left your side until I came to the Sacred Grove, and never once did you suspect it was me.”

  Laughing, Rakam said, “Some help you were. It may be that you followed me, but I know better than to expect your hand in any way guided my deeds. Never have you given but to receive in turn. Don’t lie to me.”

  “Oh, so that’s how it is. Listen, friend, I came here to give you another chance to save yourself. You’re in danger. I had Timbo put a little something in your food. It keeps you from getting out of control, limits those interesting new talents of yours. Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t want you permanently damaged. You will recover in time. I just thought I’d warn you, give you a chance to save yourself.”

  “You had my answer in the desert. Nothing has changed.”

  “Oh, you will come to me when you’re desperate enough, and you will be before this night comes to an end.” The Jinn paused. Sounding smug, it said, “Still you haven’t figured all this out. No singing, no dancing, no hot meals. The reason you don’t know where you are, the reason everyone’s as nervous as livestock at the day feast. It’s because you’re in the Haunted Forest, Holy Man.”

  “I do not fear the Haunted Forest.”

  “That is the answer I expected. Some fear the world because of ignorance, while others fear it not for just the same reason. If you knew what evil had happened here, if you knew what lingered still, then I think you would be afraid. And, it would be right for you to fear. But now you will put on a brave show and deny what is because I was the one who warned you of the dangers. Where is the wisdom in that, Kasisi?”

  “Whatever wisdom you possess you deal out not in good faith, but for your own end. You would use this information as a tool, putting poor Timbo or me or anyone who would listen under your heel.”

  “Yes, well, since you want to know so badly, I will tell you. Your fear will give me some pleasure, and perhaps I will find profit in doing so. Even I cannot see all ends.” Rakam did not respond, so the Jinn went on, “Long ago there was a race of little people that lived here. They liked to make things out of pretty rocks, and they did a bit of farming; but they were small and weak and were no good at hunting or fighting. Your ancestors murdered them in their beds and stole their lands. Ever since that time, the spirits of these poor little folk have wandered the hills. Only in death were they strong enough to unsettle their conquerors, making this a haunted place of terrible reputation.”

  “You think my people have no memory? You think the only knowledge that exists is your own?” Rakam said, becoming irritated. “These games you play do you no credit. My folk know of the little people of which you speak. They are the Choklatan, and though not renowned as warriors, they were good people and our friends. Stories say when the MaShaitani came, these mountains were attacked first and without warning. We could not come in time to save the Choklatan, which is ever the shame of my people, but we did slaughter the MaShaitani, driving them away. These are the spirits that haunt the forest. I fear them not. So, I say to you again, don’t lie to me.”

  “Still not frightened?” said the Jinn, suddenly serious. “You should be. The cause of the troubles here are not from the little people or the MaShaitani. There’s a Mulak out there. I know you can feel it. I know the little people have come to you for help. Your gift of True Sight returns. Use it. Find out for yourself if what I say is true.”

  “What you mean to say is that you fear this Mulak, and you know that Timbo and his corrupted MaKasisi can’t protect you. You need me to keep you safe.”

  “Timbo is my pet. His followers give me strength. If you want me to admit those facts, then I do so. But do not forget that in return, I have given Timbo the power of healing, taught him how to use the poison flower to open his mind to the cosmos, and made him a leader of men. More importantly, I have helped him to understand the enemies that now gather around you all. These MaShaitani are not the enemy of legend, which your forefathers fought on the slopes of these hills.

  “They come from another world, far away across the vastness of the very heavens above. Their ways are far beyond anything you can comprehend. You have seen their weapons, and, yes, you have killed one of their kind, but you really don’t understand what you’re up against. They are going to kill you all and take not only what feeble property you hold dear, but the entire world, Choklatan, Shaintani, and all.

  “And I tell you, Holy Man, if these first few do not succeed, more will come. They are as plentiful as stars in the night sky, as beetles on the plain. They are utterly irresistible. Their world is slowly dying, their people held in bondage from the time of birth until they no longer take breath. They see this place as their salvation. They will wipe you from the face of the world and take their places as the new lords.”

  “Since you cannot scare me with your spirits or your Mulak, now you raise new devils to frighten me. How laughable you are, how pathetic!”

  “All I tell you is true.”

  His words full of scorn, Rakam said, “My patience has come to its end. Be gone, spirit of the barren lands, or I will drive you away.” Knowing he should have done so long ago, Rakam began chanting the ancient defense against evil spirits, saying the rites over which the Jinn could exert no power. And as he spoke the prayers, he heard the gentle tinkling of bells, and it seemed as if he were being joined by another voice.

  “Shut your filthy mouth. I am in control here,” the Jinn began desperately, but suddenly stopped. Joined with Rakam the power of the other voice seemed to build, penetrating the emptiness, weakening the Jinn’s hold upon him. After a moment of strained silence, the Jinn said, “Now you will see I tell the truth. Now you will see what your arrogance has cost you. The Mulak has come.”

  But it hadn’t been the Mulak. Chanting still, the young Kasisi smiled to himself as at last he recognized the voice. It was Mabetu. Of all people Rakam expected to come, his great-grandfather was the last. The Jinn was gone. The darkness vanished. Once again Rakam could see and hear and feel the world around him.

  “Mabetu, is that you?” said Rakam in disbelief.

  “Yes, but the forest is deep, and I am far away. Keep talking so I can find you.”

  “But the guards,” he began, but then realized he was alone, hidden in a thick growth of bushes. Drums were rolling in the distance, the beat calling men to gather for war. Rakam wondered if it were the Mulak that Timbo’s Army was going to battle.

  “It may be too late for them,” Mabetu said sullenly. “Timbo was ill-prepared for the dangers of the Haunted Forest.”

  “Poor Timbo,” said Rakam, reaching out to his cousin.

  Whatever strength he had found in speaking with the Choklatan now failed him. His head ached. He could not even get a clear image of Mabetu, with whom he had already established contact. But something was trying to find him. What began as a sense that something was wrong grew into dread, like a many-legged insect crawling on the skin during sleep.

  “Stop,” said Mabetu in a desperate plea. “Think only of me. Pray now, close your mind, and keep going until I have found you.”

  “Yes, honored grandfather, but…”

  “You will draw them to you like the hunting throngs to blood.”

  “But they still come,” Rakam insisted, feeling helpless. �
�It feels like a thousand threads of gossamer upon my mind. If only I wasn’t so weak.”

  “Then do something else, anything you can to pry your mind away.”

  Rakam’s reply was far off, almost sleepy. “But what? It grows stronger. I cannot resist. The call is so sweet.”

  “You must try. You have to break the connection.” Thinking quickly, Mabetu said, “Can you free yourself?”

  “Timbo put medicine in my food. It makes me weak.”

  “Yes, I should have known as much. I’m coming. Do not give up,” Mabetu shouted. “Do it now!”

  Turning his bound hands, his wrists chafing on the coarse rope, burning his skin with pain, Rakam began trying to free himself. In his mind, he thought he could see his hands, the rope, the knots that held him. Thinking only of the rope, he focused all his efforts into breaking it. Nothing happened.

  Hoping to weaken the rope, he tried to light fire upon it. Again there was something wrong. He could not summon fire. The effort sent a stabbing pain into his forehead, draining what little strength remained, leaving him panting on the floor of his cage. At the moment he stopped, the penetrating voice from the emptiness began its pleasing call anew.

  More from fear than from an expectation of success, his thoughts returned to breaking the rope. It was like a bundle of sticks, that rope, gaining its strength from the multitude of fibers. Though he knew he was not strong enough to break the entire thing, he thought he could perhaps break a single strand.

  Turning his mind to the prospect of the single strand, Rakam was pleased to find success. The strand broke. It hadn’t been easy. Destroying the roof of the common house at the Gray Rock Village had been simple in comparison, but he had done it. Encouraged, he tried again, calling to mind the strength in a bundle of sticks.

  This time five strands were broken. Again he tried, thinking about breaking one strand, but all the other strands that made up the rope at the same time, holding the idea of a bundle of sticks in his mind. The rope snapped. His hands were free.