Finally, he felt something.
Brannon meant to take a step, but he suddenly felt the branch dip ever so slightly, as though someone had landed behind him. He rolled his eyes. “Let me guess…Gibrig,” he said, turning slowly.
“Ye, ye be thinkin’ ye be clever, eh?” said Gibrig, who was surprisingly angry.
“Packy, take sweet Gibrig away, please,” said Brannon.
The backpack did not budge, and neither did the dwarf.
“I didn’t have no Packy when me brother did himself in,” said Gibrig. “But I got him now, and if ye jump off this here branch, I’ll just catch ye.”
Anger flared in Brannon, and he put his dagger to his own neck. “Yeah? And will Packy help you stop me do this?”
“No!” cried Gibrig. His bravado disappeared in an instant, and he dropped to his knees. “Please, Brannon, don’t, just don’t.”
“The love of my life is DEAD!” cried Brannon. “The one person that loved me is gone.”
“That’s dragon shit and ye be knowin’ it,” said Gibrig. “We all love ye, don’t ye see that?”
“Please, Gibrig, if you are my friend, you will go away.”
“Ye got it backwards. Listen, me brother done himself in because he thought there couldn’t possibly be no tomorrow worth wakin’ up to. But he was wrong, Brannon. And ye be wrong. I know that it hurts, believe me, I do. But that be part o’ what it means to be alive. Ye got to fight the darkness at every turn, even when it be inside ye. Ye gotta—”
“Stop!” said Brannon as he slowly inched his way backwards to the end of the branch. “Just stop. Your words are pretty now, but they mean a lifetime of longing, a lifetime of pain. Your words would have me continue in this terrible place, and for what? More pain? More death?”
He took another step back, knowing it would be his last.
“Brannon!” came the voice of his sister.
Brannon let out a tortured groan. “Go away!” he screamed at them both.
Annallia climbed up behind Gibrig and stormed past the teary-eyed dwarf. She stopped before Brannon and extended her hand. In it was a small crystal. The light refracted from the crystal and was split again by his tears.
“Before Valkimir died, I melded minds with him. These were his last words…his last thought. He was too far gone for me to speak to him, but this echoed in his mind until the end.”
Brannon broke down and took a knee before he fell over. Annallia knelt in front of him, still offering the crystal. He reached out a shaking hand and took it. Hesitantly, he stared at the crystal.
“Listen to it, and then make your decision,” said Annallia.
Brannon wiped his eyes and sat up straight before bringing the crystal to his lips and kissing it.
“Brannon, my beloved,” came the voice of Valkimir, true and strong and echoing out through the dark forest. “Do not cry for me. Do not try to avenge me. Remember me. Remember the times that we had together. Remember the love that we shared. Do not let my passing darken your world. Let my memory ever brighten it, and know that I am always with you.”
Brannon shuddered, and Annallia hugged him as he wept.
***
When Brannon came down from the tree, Murland breathed a sigh of relief. The elf prince spoke to no one, but was led by his sister away from the forest. Gibrig walked over to them all, looking quite shaken.
“What happened up there?” said Murland.
“Brannon made the right choice,” said Gibrig, handing him Packy.
“Poor son of a bitch,” said Sir Eldrick. “They really had something, those two.”
“Yeah,” said Gibrig. “Couldn’t have happened to a better elf.”
“They say that God sometimes takes the best, because he wants them for himself,” said Caressa.
“Sounds selfish to me,” said Willow. “Great Turtle don’t take no one. He just watches, letting us live our own lives. Only at the end does he judge.”
“The elves believe that we are born anew after we die, if we so wish,” said Sir Eldrick.
“Why haven’t we ever heard that from Brannon?” said Gibrig.
“Don’t mention that to him,” said Sir Eldrick. “The elven religion also says that men who share their bed with other men cannot be reborn.”
“What about women who share their bed with other women?” said Willow.
Sir Eldrick shrugged. “I think they turn the other cheek.”
“Well that don’t seem fair,” said Gibrig.
“I imagine that McArgh would like that rule,” said Caressa.
They all wanted to laugh, but this was not the time or the place. Still, the levity did well to lift their hearts from the dark depths from which they had slipped. It was in the air; a heavy thing that was reflected in the blank stares of the elven children bandaged in the infirmary and the scorched trees motionless in the dead breeze.
“They say that it was a witch who attacked,” said Murland.
“This Hazel that Kazimir spoke of?” said Akitla.
“I am afraid so,” said Sir Eldrick.
“What does this mean?” Gibrig asked. “Was Kazimir telling the truth?”
“It would seem so, Master Hogstead. But then again it might be made to seem so by Kazimir himself. Dealing with wizards is always a pain in the ass, as I am sure you have come to know.” Sir Eldrick glanced at Murland. “No offense.”
“None taken, I am often a pain in my own ass.”
This time everyone shared a quiet chuckle, and seeing each other still able to smile felt nice.
“One thing’s for certain,” said Willow. “Brannon is going to be looking for revenge against Hazel, which only goes to suggest that this is all a part of Kazimir’s elaborate scheme.”
Murland was surprised by her perception, though he knew that he shouldn’t be, and even felt a little guilty for it. “That is an excellent point,” he said.
She shrugged and bit into an apple. “I’m full of ‘em.”
“I don’t know,” said Gibrig. “Brannon is pretty bad. He needs to mourn and work toward recovery before he goes after some all-powerful witch.”
“They say that she called herself the Mother of Zuul,” said Murland.
“Just like Kazimir suggested,” said Caressa. She looked haunted, and knowing how fond she had grown of Valkimir, Murland could only guess how she was hurting inside. She did well to hide it— just as she had been trained—but Murland could see through her façade.
“This all leaves me wondering, friends,” said Sir Eldrick. “What is our responsibility here? Kazimir’s words keep echoing through my head. And though I hate to say it, on some points he is right.”
“We did only focus on our own arses when we decided to change the fate o’ the champions,” said Gibrig, looking miserable.
“And we did leave a gaping portal to another dimension open on top of Bad Mountain,” said Murland.
Sir Eldrick nodded.
“Come on now,” said Willow. “What all you nannywiggins thinking about? We fought our way to Bad Mountain like champions. We defeated cyclopes, giant gators, pirates, a fust-dealing captain, and a city of stoners. We braved the wilds beyond the Wide Wall. We turned a horny hag into a princess. Hells, we even whacked a few dozen mole men. And in the end, we defeated Drak’Noir, and that’s all I care to know.”
“And, cut!” came a voice, and everyone turned to see two fairies hovering behind them, one held a tiny crystal up to his eye, and the other, a female, wore a hat that said director.
“Fust’s sake,” said the director. “It’s about time we got something lively.”
“This place is a bum-bum-bummer,” said the other.
“Oh, for queen’s sake,” said Sir Eldrick, swatting at them both.
“Who’re they?” Caressa asked, intrigued.
“The pixarazzi. Bunch of vultures,” said Sir Eldrick. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“Making a movie, if you don’t mind,” said the director. “The forth
story after the trilogy is going to be a crystal picture, didn’t you know that?”
“Since when does the pixarazzi make crystal pictures about anything other than fairies?”
“Since Lyricon pays us a fortune,” said the pixie, holding the crystal as he pointed it at Sir Eldrick. “Please, just act natural, pretend we’re not here.”
“Get the hell out of here!” Sir Eldrick bellowed, and the two pixies shrieked and sped through the air as fast as they could.
“Now that weren’t very nice,” said Gibrig. “Them little fellas was just practicin’ their art is all.”
Sir Eldrick let out a slow, calming breath and forced a smile. “You’re right, Gib. Sorry.”
“Awe, it be alright. Since ye be sorry and all.”
“Great,” said Sir Eldrick. “Now, where the hell was I? Gods, could I use a drink right now.”
Everyone offered him a concerned look.
“I’m kidding, queen’s sake. It’s just…I don’t know what the hell is going on.”
“It’s alright,” said Murland. “Neither do we.”
“All I know,” said Gibrig, “is my friend needs me right now. And until Brannon is ready, I’m not going nowhere.”
“Now that sounds like a hell of a plan,” said Sir Eldrick.
Chapter 11
Aftermath
Brannon lay in bed for a week. He did not eat, and he did not speak. His eyes did not move from a point on the ceiling the entire time, and his ears reacted to no sound. The healers thought that perhaps he had gone catatonic, and the companions feared the worst. Even Annallia could not get through to him, saying that he had put up a strong mental wall, and she dared not push him too hard.
The companions did what they could to help the elves tend to the injured and rebuild. Hazel’s attack had left dozens of elves dead, and many more injured. The worst of the destruction had been wrought on the palace and the surrounding area. The royal tree had been split in two, held together precariously near the trunk by splintered wood. A thick dark sap spilled from the tree like blood, pooling in the pits left behind by Hazel’s terrible spells. There were other elves skilled in floral magic, and many more so than Brannon, but those trees hit by Hazel’s spells did not react to the beckoning of the flora domini, and had begun to rot from the inside out. The bestia domini employed the help of grizzly bears, strong horses, and oxen, and anyone who was fit to do so lent a hand.
Slowly, Halala began to heal.
As the days dragged on, the companions began to think that perhaps Brannon might never come back. But on the morning of the eighth day, the prince arose from his bed, saying that he was hungry.
The companions had just heard the news and rushed into the dining room of the new royal tree to see their friend. Brannon sat before a buffet of fruits, fish, vegetables, and fowl…and he had shaved his head bald but for a single thick braid in the back of his head. His makeup was different too, and not pretty. Two dark red streaks ran from his eyes out in points, and his lips were painted black. Sir Eldrick and the others approached him slowly as he stuffed his mouth with fish cakes.
“Heya, buddy, how you doing?” said Sir Eldrick.
“We all been real worried ‘bout ye,” said Gibrig.
“You gonna eat all this?” said Willow.
“Help yourselves,” said Brannon, grabbing a boiled potato and stuffing it in his mouth.
“You look great,” said Murland.
“Yeah,” said Willow, helping herself to the spread. “I like the hairdo.”
“It is a symbol of mourning,” said Brannon between bites.
“So…what ye thinkin’ ‘bout?” said Gibrig.
“Revenge.”
The companions glanced at each other.
“We’re with you,” said Sir Eldrick. “But we need to know who the enemy is before we strike.”
“Hazel, Kazimir, Zuul. The Twisted Tower,” said Brannon before finishing his half-full glass of wine in one gulp. He gave a contented sigh and wiped his mouth. “Now, if you don’t mind. I must speak with my father. Please do help yourself to anything.”
With that he turned and left them staring after him.
“I got a bad feeling about this,” said Willow, staring at her bread.
“Me too,” said Gibrig.
“I’ll third that motion,” said Murland. “I’ve never seen Brannon like this.”
“What?” said Willow. “No, I mean I got a bad feeling about this bread. There ain’t no mold on it.”
***
Brannon marched into his father’s study, knowing that the king was waiting for him.
“Hello, Rimon,” he said as he entered.
The king was taken aback but quickly composed himself and nodded for the guard to shut the door.
“Brannon…”
“You will offer me a glass of rum,” said Brannon, moving to the sofa overlooking the newly renovated gardens. “When I decline, you will then offer me a smoke of Vhalovian sweet leaf. When I again decline, you will pace among your books, searching desperately for a quote from a poet to speak the words that you surely cannot muster. Please, let us just get to the point. Shall we?”
“Son,” said Rimon, and the word was like daggers on glass. “Let me begin by telling you how much I respected Valkimir.”
“You hated him,” said Brannon. “You hated him because he was my lover.”
“Damn it, Brannon, not everything is about you!” said the king before pulling his robe straight and pacing once more. “Valkimir was the greatest elven knight of our age. And he shall be remembered as such.”
“I am here to ask you for something, Rimon. I have never asked you for anything, but this thing I must have.”
Rimon came to sit across from Brannon. “What is it that you want?” he said, and Brannon could just see his wheels turning. He wondered what calamities his father might be imagining.
“A hundred ships,” said Brannon. “The witch named Hazel was behind the attack, and I happen to know that she resides in the Twisted Tower. With your fleet, and the best battle domini that we have, I shall destroy the one known as the Mother of Zuul, and I shall raze the Twisted Tower to rubble.”
For the first time in his life, Brannon saw pride welling in his father’s eyes.
“I will give you two hundred ships, my son.”
“Good,” said Brannon, and he rose from his chair abruptly. “Have them prepared to leave the day after next.”
“Brannon!” said his father just before he slipped out.
Brannon stopped, waiting.
Rimon wrung his hands. His face twisted, and that pathetic look intensified. “I truly am sorry for the loss of Valkimir.”
Brannon left before he said something that might sour the meeting.
He made his way to the barracks, where soldiers were just returning from their lunch and hastily preparing for the rest of the day’s training. Brannon walked down into the barracks made of snaking roots like the prince that he was, and he took a mental hold of the root system connected to the bunks and sent the beds all crashing to the floor. All the elves, male and female, stopped what they were doing and, upon seeing that it was their prince, they all stood rigidly at attention.
“Such a well-trained lot you are,” he said as he walked the ranks. “Your bunk house is clean and orderly, but I must say…” he stopped before a male soldier taller and thicker than he was and shook his head. “You have no scars. You call yourselves the soldiers of the woodland realm, but not a fortnight ago, you allowed a witch into your city, and now, the ashes of the greatest knight that Halala has even known sit upon my mantle!”
The soldiers stared straight ahead, looking terrified. Brannon stared at the elf in front of him, waiting for him to look him in the eye. But the soldier was unflinching, staring straight over Brannon’s head.
“Where were you when the witch attacked?” Brannon demanded.
“I was off duty, Sire!” said the soldier.
Brannon moved d
own the line and glared at another, this one female. “Is a soldier of Halala ever off duty?” he asked.
“N-N-No, my liege,” she replied.
“Where were you when the witch attacked?”
“On patrol by the eastern perimeter, Sire.”
“Show of hands. Who here was in or around the palace when it was attacked?” he asked, and seven soldiers reluctantly raised their hands.
“And how many of you saw the witch?”
Only one hand remained.
Brannon marched over to the short elf and looked him square in the eyes. The elf never flinched. “Tell me what you saw,” said Brannon.
“Well, Sire, I was patrolling the south side of the palace when I saw a great explosion hit the top tower and sever it, sending it crashing down to the branches below. I ran with my fellow guards around to that side, and that is when the second explosion shook the palace. It was like a writhing ball of green lightning that the witch sent at us, and it killed everyone in front of me in a heartbeat. Then Val…sorry Sire, but it has been hard to speak about.”
“Go on,” said Brannon evenly.
“Then Valkimir leapt in front of the blast meant for the king and queen, and, well…”
“Did you get off a shot?” Brannon asked.
The soldier hesitated and finally shook his head. “It all happened so fa—”
“Did you see any domini retaliating against her?”
“No, Sire.”
“Do you remember what the witch said before she tried to kill the king and queen?”
The elf didn’t have to think long. “I remember,” he said, head bowed.
“What did she say?” asked Brannon, leaning in.
Everyone waited.
“What did she say?” Brannon demanded.
“She said, ‘This is just the beginning. Soon Fallacetine shall be painted in the blood of the royals.’”
The Mother of Zuul: Humorous Fantasy (Epic Fallacy Book 4) Page 9
