***
Viven, Manu, and Dirita were given a room for lodging themselves inside the castle. As for the frog lord, Bufo, he had his own house, which was one of the many outside. The preparation for the war began in full force; the Potion Maker soldiers were trained rigorously day and night. Everywhere in the Diamension there was a great rush. Weapons were forged to increase their available stock, and potions, both destructive and wound healing, were brewed. Messages on scrolls were sent to the Macacawks, and soon, a number of them were seen in the Diamension, helping about in various activities.
Viven observed that the way they spoke was strange and difficult to understand. It hadn’t been so during his stay in the House. Tonkeytus and Grandcawk had been fluent with their use of speech. Curious, Viven asked Bufo, who replied that most Macacawks, unlike the Potion Makers and himself, didn’t know Belarian properly.
“But I heard them singing,” Viven said. “And they were good at it.”
“Um, did you turn into a Macacawk yourself and enter the House?” Bufo asked.
Viven recalled himself waking up in the House of the Macacawks, only to find he possessed a tail and was half his actual size.
“Er, basically.”
“Then, that’s the thing!”Bufo said. “You were a Macacawk yourself, so you could understand and talk Macaquek yourself, and that’s why they appeared good talkers to you.”
“Macaquek?” Viven said. “Is it the language of the Macacawks or something?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Okay, but we were talking to Tonkeytus in our human forms and he talked normal.”
“Well,” said Bufo, “Tonkeytus is one of the few Macacawks knowing good Belarian, so that should have been the case.”
Once Viven even sighted Luidhor, the queer tattooed wizard they had first met, talking to some of the councillors. Evidently, he was also a friend of the Potion Makers. The councillors were shivering in fear, though, as Luidhor had brought his wolf monster with him.
Manu and Dirita were not at all considered of going to battle. But stubborn Manu, despite Viven’s repeated attempts of explaining him the dangers, told the Potion Makers he wanted to join the attack. Fortunately, the Potion Makers refused outright.
Viven often had long talks with Bufo regarding his grandfather and all that had taken place between him and the forest folks the many years back. Bufo told him they had found him unconscious and badly injured after some Assurs, Mai Canniola’s demons, had attacked him and his men, and he had been the sole survivor. Algrad had recovered quickly, though, with help from healing potions of the Potion Makers, and made friends with most of the people within weeks of his recovery, including the Macacawks.
“He was fast,” said Bufo. “Fast at making friends, fast at everything,” he added reminiscently. Bufo also advised Viven further about the sword and that he should guard it well and keep it secure.
“Keep the sword safe and see to it, you ought to.” His voice was barely more than an undertone. “The Potion Makers, they are good but not all of them. Some are too thirsty for power. I have known them inside out; you never should trust them on big matters.” He nodded to himself. “Besides, the whole attack is based on the sword. And if it’s lost or stolen, it is simply inviting doom; you won’t be able to rescue your aunt too.”
Then, something took incidence on the third day prior to the attack.
Viven, Manu, and Dirita had just had their lunch when a strange female voice reverberated about their room.
“Potion Makers,” it hissed, giving Viven the jitters. “What is this that you have done? You have broken the truce by deciding to attack me. Do you think I do not know? Well, I know everything. Give Bezon’s grandson to me; I lend you three days, or else, prepare to meet your ends. Also, grandson of Bezon, your dear aunt is with me. If you do not want her to suffer pain or worse, come with the sword. I likewise give you three days.”
The voice then ceased to exist, leaving a ghostly silence.
“What was that?” Viven whispered, looking at the horrified faces of the two boys.
He got the answer soon enough when he went out and asked the people around: It had been the voice of Mai Canniola herself.
Her warning had a considerable impact on the spirits of the Potion Makers. However, the impact hopefully wasn’t dampening. Far from it, it rather increased their will to bring her downfall, and they took it as a challenge. And knowing that the Potion Makers were relying on the sword Navarion for winning the upcoming battle, Viven always kept it in sight and guarded it as per Bufo’s advice.
***
There was a massive rush the last day before the attack, which, as decided, would be straightforward and bold. The allied armies of the Potion Makers and Macacawks were to surround the area around the axe hill and inflict as much damage over it as they could. Mai Canniola would be forced to reveal herself, and then Viven could have a shot at destroying her by using the sword.
As Bufo told him, the last time the allied armies had waged battle against Canniola, she had replied to it by unleashing a monster land vamfant on them. This time, however, the Potion Makers, who had witnessed Viven bringing the vamfant crumbling down, were confident that if Canniola was to send any monster, then Viven could bring it down using the sword.
Viven spend the whole of the last day building, or trying to build anyway, his confidence and calming his nerves, which had become extra alert to the smallest of sounds. He was impatient so much, he couldn’t sit in a place for anymore than a couple of minutes, and kept pacing in circles about the room for hours at length. He almost found the idea of himself going to battle ironic, but he was acutely aware it was all real. He wished he was back at Tempstow, trying to get something going with Meela instead.
Finally, the day came to an end, and Viven, tired due to all the pacing, was happy because the tire lowered his anxiety. It did nothing to boost his confidence, though, which remained low as ever.
After dinner, Bufo visited their room with some words of encouragement for Viven. He had to squeeze himself through the small door.
“You look pale as parchment, lad!” he joked, looking not so gleeful himself. “I suppose it’s because of tomorrow, eh?”
Viven nodded, very much grave.
“Well, it’s natural for first timers. I would advise you not to give a thought to the thing, not until tomorrow, that is. When you are in the midst of battle, you won’t have much time to worry, to be true; your instincts will take over and your body will do stuff on its own.”
“Thanks,” said Viven as Bufo departed. Heeding what the latter had said was a task that sat next to impossible, for however he tried, Viven couldn’t not think of tomorrow. He shuddered. Tomorrow would be a big day.
***
The Helper
The following day, after a quick fitting breakfast, they set out toward the hill. Most of the Potion Makers, including King Atomus, had come, and only a few were left behind in the Diamension as guards.
“Don’t worry, boy,” said Bufo, Viven riding on his back. “Your aunt will be with you by the end of this.”
Viven looked at the many soldiers all around him, making their way through the forest. All to rescue his aunt. He gripped the sword in his hands tighter.
“Let’s hope for it.”
The Macacawk army joined them at a point in the forest. Grandcawk didn’t come, being too frail for anymore of war. However, Tonkeytus did, and he was among those in the lead, looking enthusiastic and ever ready for what was to come. There was a younger Macacawk beside him, whom he was patting now and then, and who resembled him a lot, probably his son. Tonkeytus smiled broadly when he spotted Viven, who did the same.
The armies rendezvoused with Luidhor at another point. It turned out he had more than just one wolf monster—about a hundred. The savage animals, a mixture of several animals in themselves, apparently were way more disciplined than what their appearances suggested, and followed Luidhor, who was grimmer than usual today, with
obedience.
The Macacawks, marching alongside him and his beasts, did not seem fond of them. Some even kept stealing scowls and frowns at them.
Upon reaching the hill, they stopped. It was Mai Canniola’s territory from here on. A knot tied in Viven’s stomach, the arms of fear closing on him like some cold vibe. He had no idea what lay for him ahead.
The king climbed down from his horse and boldly went a few steps forward.
“Mai Canniola—” he began, but was cut short by the witch’s voice itself, which rang about the area as the boom of some cannon fire.
“I know, I know,” she said. “You have come here to war upon me. I am giving you your last chance. Leave the grandson here and return to your home.”
“We have come to help you meet your end,” the king replied. “How can we go back without helping you, eh?”
“Ah, big words!” snarled the voice. “But if that is what you wish, then so be it!”
“Yes, and do show that beehive of a face you possess. We’d like to punch it.” The king was trying to agitate her enough so she would reveal herself and Viven could make use of the sword. He was doing pretty well.
“You dare call me that, you filth?”
“I do,” the king said. He was forcing himself to grin so that he would look like he was enjoying himself calling her names, but the underlying shiver in his tone was evident. “And you actually look better—a beehive covered with Assur dung! But still, I think an improvement has come over your looks after you stopped being women.”
The king’s mockery, along with the fake laughter of the allied army, did the job.
“You shall pay!”Canniola’s voice yelled.
“Well, we can definitely hand you some potions, if you insist,” the king retorted, and waited for a while, but no response came; knowing that the job was done, he hurriedly climbed back onto his horse.
“Prepare yourselves,” he shouted over at the army. Right after that, a great clap of thunder occurred in the sky. What followed were strong tremors that made the ground shake like it had become alive.
“Stay put! Stay put!” King Atomus kept encouraging at the top of his voice as the quake grew in intensity, the soldiers crouching to keep their balance.
“Keep your sword ready,” Bufo told Viven. “Anything can come from anywhere.”
And it did.
A great crater appeared in the ground just at the foot of the hill. No sooner, troops of demons—half men and half bugs—and abnormal gigantic cockroaches and other insects all swarmed out of the crater in uncountable numbers.
Viven knew it was his moment of action.
“Try to be steady,” he told Bufo, and Bufo did all he could against the dancing earth.
“Yeah, burn them up!”
Viven took a deep breath and raised the sword. Gulping, he said, “Navarion, destroy the demons!” To Viven’s instant glee, a blue magical flame shot from the sword toward the crater. Turning into a large fire, the flame spread rapidly among the demons, and in minutes, it had engulfed the majority of them, leaving only ashes behind. The few who were fast enough to escape fell prey to the arrows and spears of the soldiers.
Viven expected more of the demons to come out of the crater. They, however, didn’t. Certainly Mai Canniola had other plans, he found himself thinking. Didn’t she?
However, the allied army was cheering at the small victory, the display of Navarion’s power refreshing their spirits.
To add to that, the tremors ceased. Viven couldn’t shake off the nasty feeling they were merely being tested, and that there was more and worse stuff to come.
“Hey,” said Bufo, the curiosity in his tone taking Viven’s attention.
“What?”
“Isn’t that your friend Dirita’s cat?” He pointed at a small creature behind a shrub.
“Mr. Mekuri?” It was then that Viven realised how beautiful Mr. Mekuri’s eyes were. Ah, those eyes! And Mr. Mekuri was the cutest pet in the world, the cuddliest one. In fact, he could be king of Belaria! Why hadn’t he been already given the throne? Viven had an urgent want to complain to someone, anyone. Mr. Mekuri should be made king immediately; and oh, he could levitate too! He was floating seven feet above the ground and was coming toward Viven.
Viven felt himself return to the world. There was no sign of Mr. Mekuri any longer, and hordes of demons were playing havoc over the ally army everywhere, gigantic cockroaches flying about the sky.
“Viven, can you hear me?” He realized only now that Bufo was earnestly calling him.
“Wh-What?”
“Why did you give it the sword, and . . . why didn’t I stop you?”
“Give it the sword? What are you—no! Wait!”Viven fumbled for the sword. It wasn’t in his hands. It hadn’t fallen to the ground. It wasn’t anywhere.
“Oh no! No!” Viven said, so desperate he was sweating. “I have lost the sword!”
“The cat,” said Bufo. “It wasn’t any ordinary cat. It kept both of us under some kind of spell and took the sword!”
“What are we going to do now?” Viven asked, worried as hell. He had failed Manu. He couldn’t rescue Aunt Gina now, never without the sword. As for the allied army, every single one of the soldiers would die.
“I don’t know,” said Bufo. “I think we must retreat—HEY!”
Viven was thrown off Bufo’s back and landed on the ground as a powerful tremor hit.
The earth split apart, and humongous cracks appeared here and there, consuming not only trees and plants but also the allied army soldiers by the dozens.
The pandemonium in the air heightened as the quake climaxed, so that the earth’s stability was comparable to that of water. Viven lost all control over his body, which rolled off toward the edge of a large crack nearby.
“BUFO!” he cried, trying to cling to whatever plants and roots he could grasp along the way, most getting uprooted easily. “HELP ME!”
Too late. In a wee moment, Viven found himself in mid-air, after having bounced off the edge.
“Arggggggh!” he yelled, closing his eyes and accepting the worst.
Peculiarly enough, when Viven opened his eyes next, he hadn’t died yet; neither had he reached the bottom of the crack.
He was still in mid-air.
Refusing to believe, he looked down. Leaving aside the fact he was levitating fifty metres above the crack—a height double that of the trees— what blew his mind was that his body had gone entirely purple. Within seconds, he realized it was due to a sticky substance of the colour that had covered his body.
Weird.
He couldn’t feel the substance on his skin at all.
His thoughts channelled to the purple cat that had taken the sword from him, and he suspected a connection.
Below, the ground still shuddering, Viven saw Bufo take a leap into the air toward him. Come, Bufo, come fast!
Bufo ascended higher and higher. However, when he reached Viven, Viven shocked himself by grabbing hold of Bufo’s head. He spun him trice in the air as though he were not the frog lord but rather a small stone. Viven released Bufo after the third spin, and his boulder-sized body flew a long way and landed against some trees, not showing any signs of movements.
“Why did I do that?” Viven asked himself. Why had he done that? He could just not swallow the thing.
“Because it is I who controls your body,” a soft voice replied behind his head.
Under normal circumstances, Viven would have never believed anything of the kind. But levitating tens of metres above the ground, covered in a strange substance, and being answered by an unseen voice was anything but normal.
“Get off me!” he protested. “Get off me, whoever you are!”
“Shut up for the time being,” the voice said.
“Get off—” The sticky substance covered Viven’s mouth too, preventing him from making a sound.
In the distance, Viven saw massive chunks of soil fall off from the hill.
The allied army
soldiers were watching it in raw terror as well, as they suffered at the hands of the demons that seemed to think of the soldiers as nothing more than game animals. They were relishing the weak resistance provided by their enemy, now that they were deprived of the sword.
In about ten minutes, most of the soil had fallen off. However, it was not like the hill had collapsed onto itself. Instead, the process had led to the revealing of a mighty castle that had been inside the hill the entire time.
It was quite a stupefying sight to withhold. Viven had never known there was a castle beneath his feet when he had climbed the hill. The thought was eerie to an extent, considering the castle, almost the height of the previously standing hill, was far from magnificent. It was a piece of horrifying architecture, endowed with a crude appearance increased by the debris and dirt settled over it. The stone slabs and bricks that the castle was made of were black in colour, and its entrance door had large stone fangs on either side.
“Come, let’s go there,” said the voice behind Viven’s head, and it was clear to him that there meant the castle. It was the last place he wanted to visit, but try as he might, he could do nothing to not go there. His body was no longer his belonging. He drifted toward the castle, his mind resenting; the gory terror of battle went about on the grounds below him.
***
Reaching the castle, Viven descended and landed in front of the unwelcoming entrance.
It opened. It was pitch black inside. He didn’t want to go in, but he did nevertheless. The door closed behind on its own, and Viven was surrounded by the ethereal darkness. His legs kept walking for a couple of minutes, knowing much more about the place than himself, guided by the mysterious voice’s owner.
Viven heard gibberish sounds ahead and realised somebody was talking. They were speaking in an odd language, with lots of clicking of the tongue and gargling. But they stopped talking once he reached them, and his legs stopped walking too.
A sharp, splitting pain erupted inside Viven. It was intolerable and beyond, so much he cried out madly, and again and again.
The Sword of Tropagia Page 14
