by Shawn Mackey
“Bathe the streets in red!” he commanded. “Cull the city of Seth’s intruders!”
The other guard feebly attempted to push away the plank boarding the ship. One of the slaves leaped onto the dock and sunk his teeth into the man’s throat. He grabbed the dying guard’s sword and plunged it between the shoulders of the nearest dockworker. Bedlam ensued before we had even emptied the ship.
A pack of guards foolishly assaulted Broxdor. In one swing, he left three headless. The remaining dropped his weapon and fled howling. The slaves picked up the weapons and continued their massacre. I stood dumbstruck, unsure if I should participate in the mayhem. A fresh group of guards were cut down before noticing the fate of their cohorts, leaving enough arms for us all.
“Brother!” Broxdor shouted, tossing me a sword. I caught the hilt right before it poked me in the chest. “Do not stand idle! Today we avenge our people.”
I parried an incoming blow, kicked my attacker in the knee, and knocked the weapon from his hands. I plunged the sword into his neck, pelting my cheek with hot gouts of blood.
“Not as green as you appear!” Broxdor bellowed in a fit of laughter as he merrily cleaved a man's skull in two. He released his crimson sword from the corpse before returning to the fray.
I reluctantly followed the chaos. The rioters slaughtered assailants and innocents without prejudice. I attacked solely out of self-defense. The streets literally ran red. I felt the thick streams of blood beneath my feet; the coppery scent was unbearable.
The carnage flowed past The Underbelly and back onto the streets. Though our numbers had thinned by at least half at this point, hundreds fled in terror. The city's militia was no match for Broxdor. I was convinced he could have taken on the entire world. Besides his pearly white grin, he was crimson from head to toe.
“Kill the heathens!” shouted the black-robed old man from earlier, his voice easily discernible among the chaos. He walked through the blood-soaked bazaar, brandishing his scepter like a battle mace.
“Seth!” Broxdor shouted, barreling through the fleeing crowd.
Seth tapped his scepter onto the ground. An invisible force flung Broxdor backward. He snarled and rebounded to his feet. Seth sneered wickedly and tapped the scepter again. This time, the sky went dark. The battle went from four men versus an army of ill-equipped militia to four men versus an army of boar-faced demons.
“You send piglets to kill a lion?” Broxdor shouted as he charged Seth. “Death to the traitorous wizard!”
The largest of the boar-men plowed into the side of Broxdor, sending him crashing into a merchant stand. One of our allies swung at the beast, only to erupt into flames. The fire grew brighter as Seth snapped his fingers. The burning body flailed around, screaming, setting as many of his adversaries ablaze as he could before falling to the ground.
Broxdor and the boar-man were locked in combat as I cut down its subordinates. They chose to swing with claws rather than swords, sacrificing length for speed. I side stepped and back stepped to keep a gap between us, suffering a few cuts in the process. Along with my bleeding wounds, the cacophony of squeals and clicking hooves was maddening. My rage increased the force of my blows, the extra effort doing little to quell the relentless creatures.
Our final ally managed to sneak behind Seth. As he lifted his sword for a killing blow, the wizard turned and struck his assailant in the skull with his scepter. The man stepped backward, clutching his ears as his head swelled like a balloon, then popped like one, sending bits of brain and bone in every direction.
With the last of us slain, I set out to assist Broxdor, who was still stuck in a stalemate with the chief boar-man. He clasped the creature by the hands, keeping him at bay, but he was still dangerously close to being gored through the chest by its already bloodied tusks. It wagged its head in frenzy, the tips managing to repeatedly graze Broxdor. I charged from the side and impaled the creature’s waist. It let out a squeal and threw its weight into Broxdor, knocking him backward. The boar-man pulled my blade out with its bare hands and threw me aside. Broxdor retrieved his weapon as the creature turned its attention toward him and plunged the sword into its abdomen. Broxdor sliced downward, splitting its belly and spilling entrails to its hooved feet. It squealed pitifully before collapsing in a heap.
The weaker boar-men wasted no time retreating. We cut down the deserters as Broxdor set his sight on Seth. The wizard curled his lips in disgust and swung his scepter in a circular motion. A black swirl strongly resembling a tiny tornado flickered and formed a small hole in its center. It gradually grew into a dark whirlpool, becoming larger and larger each time Seth twirled the scepter.
A black tentacle slipped out of the opening. The wizard pointed his scepter at the incoming Broxdor, sending him flying backward again. He rose to his feet and renewed his attack. The long tentacle swung around blindly, whipping droplets of dark sludge and oil as it smacked the bloody streets in search of prey.
“Distract the beast,” Broxdor commanded. “I will slay the wizard.”
“You can try!” Seth cackled, a ball of fire forming on his open palm. He tossed it at Broxdor, who side stepped it with ease. With a grunt, he swung his scepter, knocking Broxdor back a few paces. The savage retained his footing and charged.
The tentacle must have sensed my presence; it darted toward me so quickly I didn't have the chance to dodge. I swung blindly, striking the wet appendage at its tip. Black goo splattered as it retracted, only to come at me again. This time I was able to move to the side and swipe it with my sword. It rose high and came crashing, narrowly missing and giving me no opportunity to counter.
I couldn't endure it much longer. I was utterly drained from the previous battle, scarcely able to stand, let alone swing a weapon and dodge blows. Meanwhile, Broxdor seemed to be making progress. Seth's face was purple, dripping copious amounts of sweat.
“You'll die for robbing my kingdom,” Broxdor shouted. His energy hadn't depleted in the slightest. In fact, he was growing stronger with each charge. “Your magic has no effect on me!”
Judging by his pursed lips, Seth wanted desperately to taunt his enemy in return. It would not only have been a waste of strength, but an outright lie. As Seth brought his scepter down, Broxdor knocked it from his hands with a blow of his sword. Broxdor's next strike separated Seth's arm from his shoulder. The wizard screamed as blood drenched his robes and face. He collapsed to the ground, clutching the wound, his eyes wide with bewilderment.
Broxdor lifted Seth over his head and tossed him in front of the oncoming tentacle. It hungrily wrapped around the wizard and instantly retracted back into the portal. The black swirl compressed into a tiny dot before completely disappearing.
I fell to my knees, heaving in deep breaths. If not for Broxdor, I wouldn't have lasted more than a few seconds. With a hearty laugh, he heaved me over his broad shoulder. I must have weighed less than a feather to him. I hung my head low, partly out of shame but mostly out of exhaustion.
“You did well, brother,” he said. “We shall rest at my castle.”
“Castle?” I asked. He laughed again.
By the end of our long walk, I was refreshed enough to stand. Broxdor set me down in front of a drawbridge patrolled by guards in similar armor to the men we fought earlier. Rather than attacking, they saluted us. Broxdor grumbled with a small nod as we crossed the bridge to the castle entrance. It was smaller than I had imagined. In fact, it resembled a moderately sized mansion more than a grand structure of antiquity. We passed through the gates to the interior and found ourselves already in the throne room. Rows of vigilant guards lead to the throne, next to which stood a scantily clad woman with quite a bust.
“My king!” she squealed, skipping across the court and throwing herself into his arms. She showered him with pecks on the cheek. I stifled a chuckle when Broxdor actually blushed.
“My queen,” he muttered, reciprocating with an awkward embrace.
“My queen?” she snapped, abruptly tea
ring herself away. She slapped him across the cheek. Broxdor rubbed the red welt with teary eyes. The queen stamped her foot furiously and wailed: “Where have you been? Do you know what time it is? Who is this stranger?”
“I'm sorry,” Broxdor said, his voice barely above a whisper. “We were attacked by a wizard. His name is Seth and—”
“Seth this! Seth that! I don't want to hear any more excuses! Get to your room,” she screamed. With another stomp, she added: “Now!”
“Yes,” Broxdor blubbered, hardly even audible at this point.
The entire court stoically watched this scene without batting an eye. Broxdor sulked toward the nearest door with me at his heels. I glanced over my shoulder to get one last look at the banshee. She was still livid, resembling a scorned mother more than a courtesan queen.
“Quite the scrap, brother!” Broxdor said as he closed the door behind me. “Nothing rouses an appetite like a good bloodletting. Come! Dine with me.”
The room was small and gaudy compared to the rest of the castle, littered with pictures and other assorted junk. The bed was worn and stank like dirty socks. Two plates of chicken and potatoes lay on the small wooden table. The meal was as tasteless as air, and the utensils grimed with a previous meal.
“What indescribable horrors await Seth in that foul dimension?” he asked, spewing bits of chewed food with each word. I merely shrugged my shoulders. He nodded with a smile, then said: “It is best kept in the back of our minds. I doubt we'll see that scoundrel again.”
“I think you're right.”
“Do you not admire the statues erected in my likeness? Are they not uncanny?” he asked, pointing to the shelf littered with toys. He picked up one of the action figures and fiddled with its arm. “And these paintings! Are they not impeccable?”
The Mighty Broxdor poster behind me advertised a release in the upcoming summer. It depicted the titular hero clashing with a boar-man in the forefront, and the wizard Seth with a helplessly chained queen at his feet. When I turned my head, for a brief instant—less than a span of a blink—the actual Broxdor's appearance morphed and I saw a saggy gut, receding hair, and dispirited eyes. This appeared and disappeared so quickly, it may have just been my imagination.
“It's quite the collection. I must say, I'm very jealous.”
“Bobby,” a voice screeched from behind the door as Broxdor opened his mouth to speak. “Bobby. Bobby!”
“It was fun, Broxdor. Hopefully we can do it again,” I said.
The last thing I saw before being abruptly torn away from the dream was his warm smile. It was so amiable and spirited that I actually did hope to meet him again.
Chapter 6:
The Mermaid and the Sailor
I found myself on a long pier overlooking a vast ocean. The pungent scent of salty air and the cries of gulls were all I needed to know I was near a beach. A high-spirited exuberance beckoned me from the sea. With the variety of fishing boats anchored at the docks, I only needed to choose which vessel suited my needs.
Two fishermen passed by, oblivious to my sudden appearance. One of them seemed furious, while the other spoke calmly, despite the frustration etched across his furrowed brow. I followed them to the dock and crept behind one of the larger boats to eavesdrop.
“That's the third loss this week,” the angry man said. “Do I need to harpoon the wench? So help me, if it comes down to her and going hungry, I’ll strike her dead.”
“She's a lass,” the younger man said. “Nothing more than a harmless prankster.”
“It’s going to cost us our jobs! Are you still telling me she's harmless?” the angry man shouted.
“Excuse me,” I said, barging out of my hiding spot. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Who in the hell are you?” the angry man asked.
“Sorry,” said the young man. “He's a bit of a curmudgeon.”
“I didn't mean to sneak up on you guys,” I said, then jutted my thumb toward the ocean and added: “I heard you have a problem out there. I can help. All I need is a boat.”
“We haven't even explained the problem yet,” the young man said warily.
“Somebody is cutting your fishing lines,” I said. “You're losing business. Have you tried reasoning with the girl yet?”
“She's a slippery fish,” the angry man said, shaking his head and becoming less angry. He rubbed his wooly gray chin and went on: “In my day, her kind always bore an ill omen. We've considered her playful antics innocent thus far, but it may be she means to grab our attention for other reasons.”
“Some kind of warning?” the young man asked. The old man nodded grimly.
“I won't hold a discussion with her ilk. The whole lot is cursed,” he said.
“I've already volunteered,” I said.
“It’s your life, stranger,” the old man said, pointing to a small wooden row at the edge of the docks. “If she drags you to the depths, don't expect an easy end. There's no fate worse.”
“I'm not planning on being fish food, pal. I'll be back before you know it.”
Rowing was much easier than expected, considering the ocean's tide and the rhythmic crashing of waves. The gulls’ constant cries were grating my nerves. They had no qualms swooping inches from my face. As I tried to swat one of them away, a large fish zipped under the boat, then emerged next to me and soared overhead, almost toppling the vessel over. I wiped the sea water from my eyes and spit out any remnants of the salty taste.
“I'm sorry!” a high-pitch voice squealed. I looked down to find a pair of black eyes peering through thick strands of black hair. “I thought you were the prince. From far away, you didn't seem like another sailor. A man of regal breeding wouldn't wear whiskers like yours.”
“What?” I stammered, running a coarse hand across my cheek. It felt disheveled and rugged from years of hard labor.
“I'm sorry,” she repeated quietly. “I meant no offense.”
“None taken,” I muttered. “What are you doing out here?”
She answered my question by darting a dozen laps around the boat, gleefully giggling as her scaly green tail waved back and forth in excitement. After expending a fraction of her youthful energy, she floated next to the boat, her thin hands resting on her bare belly, an inch under a seaweed top decorated in tiny pearl white shells.
“An impressive show,” I said. Her toothy smile went wider. “But I wasn't looking for a swimming demonstration. Why are you terrorizing those poor fishermen?”
“Terrorizing?” she cried indignantly. “How dare you?”
“Cut the attitude, kid. These people have to eat.”
“I am not a baby goat! My name is Lady Liliana Fei the Third,” she said proudly, elegantly extending her hand. I shook it with a wry smile.
“Whatever you say, Lady,” I said. Her bottom lip twitched as she narrowed her eyes. With a grumble, she shot back under the water. More than a minute later, she resurfaced. I chuckled and said: “I get it. You're a princess. But do you realize it's very unladylike to deprive people of food?”
“Have you ever stopped to think about the fish?”
“No.”
“They're torn from their habitat and left to sear in the sun. Not to place blame on the sun. It can't help being a big ball of fire. I just wish it didn't burn,” she said, nervously running a hand down her wet arm. “I can't allow them to suffer so cruelly. The poor creatures wither away in agony! Have you ever looked a fish in the eyes? There's no joy. It's as though they're already dead.”
“You have an overactive imagination,” I said. “Fish don't feel anything. They're fish!”
“I thought a sailor would understand. You're supposed to be a man of the sea, after all.”
“If you take the time to dwell on the suffering of everything, human or fish, you might as well start diving to the bottom of the ocean. If you don't drown, you're liable to explode from all that pressure.”
“But they're my friends.”
“Lady,” I
said, sighing. In the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a white fin soaring across the waves. I reached out and shouted: “Lady! Get on the boat! Now!”
She smiled and swam toward the approaching predator. I pried one of the oars off the boat and prepared to lance the shark. Lady snatched the fin and gleefully cheered as it carried her through the waves. I carefully lowered the oar, still on guard. The shark gradually slowed, stopping next to the boat with Lady still attached.
“He's my friend,” she said. “Go ahead and pet him. He likes it.”
“No thanks,” I said, staring at the shark, not blinking. It stared back.
“Sharks are the most misunderstood creatures in the world,” she said. “The only reason they attack people is because they're grumpy. It's not their fault. They don't have hands like us. How are they supposed to scratch their bellies when they have an itch?”
Lady ran her fingers against the shark’s massive white stomach. Its tail wagged in an ecstatic frenzy, opening its bottom jaw as though it wished to speak. She gently caressed the area under its mouth. The shark's tail lashing stopped, and it rolled over, flashing its teeth into a fanged grin of content. Lady continued to rub its chin.
“See? He's so nice,” she said. “Why don't you come in and play with us?”
“I don’t like the ocean,” I said, warily watching the shark. Lady's trust toward the creature didn't rub on me at all. “Something about open spaces irks me. Kind of like claustrophobia, but the other way around.”
“Agoraphobia.”
“Right,” I said. “Lady, you've got to listen to me. There's an old man over there itching to stick you with his harpoon. If he does, who'll be around to rub the shark's belly?”
“I'm not afraid.”
“It doesn't matter. There is no negotiation. That man is going to kill you,” I said sharply. The shark practically hurled Lady off its back and swam away in a hurry.
“Jerk!” she yelped. “You scared him.”
“Are you going to stop ruining these people's lives or am I going to find you an aquarium to spend the rest of your days in? People would pay a lot to see a mermaid,” I said. As she frowned, I shook my head and said: “I was joking. Can't you look the other way when their boat comes around?”
