by Steven Novak
The instinct of a mother was one of the few things that all races seemed to share.
Opposite Staci, Nicky leaned against the thick bars. His eyes drank in the strange world around him. From the forest floor, he had not seen the sky, but now, while rocking gently back and forth on the back of the huge gray dinosaur, the whole of this strange world came into plain view. It was covered in dark clouds with a subtle reddish hint that allowed the light of what seemed to be three suns peek through sporadically, something that the boy found to be both frightening and strangely beautiful. At some points, the clouds became so dark that Nicky could swear they almost looked black.
“It once looked very different you know…the sky I mean.”
Nicky turned to his left and spotted a lanky, pale white creature hunched over at a frightening angle with his back to the cage. The creature’s entire upper body was covered in scars and welts. Some of them leaked a dark purple substance that he assumed was blood. The frail white thing looked as if it had not eaten in weeks. Its skin drew so tightly against the bones underneath that it was almost unnoticeable – almost like a living skeleton.
With a faraway look on its face, the white thing gazed wearily at Nicky out of a pair of enormous soft red eyes, “Fillagrou was once the most beautiful place in all of reality, you know. Ah…would that you could have seen it then, my boy…would that you could have seen it then.” Almost in slow motion, the creature turned its wobbly head away from Nicky and stared at the dark red sky though the bars above him. “They took everything from us, everything my father and his father before him had worked so hard to build. My family…my friends…my son…my dear son…Jakka…and why? We did nothing to them. Jakka was such good boy…so kind…always with a smile. He never hurt a living thing in his life, he never even entertained the idea. It doesn’t make any sense… ” The creature’s voice began to trail off.
For an instant, the weary old Fillagrou swore that he could see his son’s face in the clouds above and bit his thin lower lip to keep from screaming. The creature closed his eyes slowly, burying his massive head in his long, bony fingers. He would remain in this position, sobbing silently for the next five hours.
The long trek finally came to a stop outside a fortress with spires so high that they dwarfed even the great beast. The fortress walls extended for miles in all directions. Standing on top of them at perfectly measured intervals were more soldiers armed with massive bows. The giant gray beast lowered itself into a sitting position as guards stood at its hindquarters, tugging angrily at thick leather straps wrapped around its legs. Moments later, a huge crane latched onto the top of the cage holding Nicky, Staci and the rest of the prisoners and dropped it softly inside the fortress walls. A nearby soldier unlocked it, ordered the tired group out and sent them in different directions. When the disoriented creatures became confused or walked in the wrong direction, the soldiers did not hesitate to whip, punch, or crack them in the face with the handles of their weapons. The large commanding officer that had earlier in the day examined Staci’s blood pulled her and Nicky aside.
“NO! Wait! Where are you taking her!?” The skinny pink woman asked as she clutched the fabric of the little girl’s shirt, refusing to let go. A thick-shouldered guard wrapped his arms around her waist and attempted to tug her in the opposite direction, but was unable to pull Staci from the hysterical female’s grasp. Even after whipping her violently, she still held Staci tight. Annoyed with the difficulty his soldier was having, the commanding officer walked over to the woman, lifted his boot and kicked her in the chest. The force of the blow sent the pink woman tumbling into the dirt. She immediately grabbed her chest, rolling around and screaming in pain. Pleased with his ability to gain control of the situation, the commanding officer snatched Staci by the wrist, lifted her violently into the air and threw her over his shoulder. He grabbed Nicky’s arm with equal force and carried both screaming children across the courtyard and into the castle through an enormous door. The interior of the fortress was dark, dank and dusty. The air smelled of stagnant sweat. From the darkened hallways outlining the room, ungodly screams could be heard echoing off the thick stone walls, eventually disappearing into one of the endless maze of hallways. The trio passed a group of guards, ascended a massive staircase, passed even more guards, headed down a long elegantly decorated corridor containing yet more guards before reaching another monstrously-sized door which opened into a long, cold sparsely lit room.
A single silent figure stood forty feet away with his back to them, staring out a window overlooking the courtyard of the monstrous structure. Unlike the dark gray armor adorned by every other soldier Nicky had seen up to that point, the coverings worn by this enormous creature seemed to be made of pure gold. Around his waist hung a deep purple sash covered in finely detailed gold stitching. His head remained hidden in the shadows and because of this Nicky could not make out what the figure looked like above the shoulders. He could tell, however, that unlike every other soldier, this silent creature wore no helmet.
Without turning, the figure spoke in a deep voice, “I hope you have good reason for bothering me at this time of day, General Gragor. You know how I appreciate the way the sky looks in this awful place just before nightfall. In fact, it is the only time I can stand the miserable warmth of this world.”
The guard carrying Staci lifted her off of his shoulder and dropped her with a heavy thud onto the ground beside him. Pulling Nicky in front of him, he shoved the boy to his knees, “I do indeed, Sire, but, in fact, this is news of some importance.”
Still hidden in the shadows, unmoved, and staring out the window, the figure dressed in gold sighed deeply, clearly annoyed.
“Do you now? Let me guess, a few slaves giving you problems? Some of the more troublesome guards are complaining about wanting to return to Ocha again? Or wait, no…let me guess, my father would like me to give more detailed progress reports than the ones I am currently required to send to him on a daily basis? Please…tell me what painfully boring bit of important information you feel the need to bother me with that I haven’t already heard a million times before?”
“It involves the prophecy of the pale ones, Your Majesty.”
Immediately the figure spun around, gazing with some surprise in the direction of his underling. For a moment the entire room was steeped in heavy silence. The only audible sound was the soft whimper of Staci, who had yet to look up from the floor and the hurried breathing of an intimidated Nicky.
The figure dressed in gold raised a gloved finger in the direction of the children. “This? You speak of prophecies and this is what you lay before me? Whimpering little children, one of them a female? Have you gone completely mad, Gragor?”
Trying his best to disguise his frustration, General Gragor wrapped his hand around a clump of Staci’s hair, pulling her to her feet. With his other finger he pointed at the cut on her forehead. “She bleeds red, my Prince.”
Once again the creature dressed in gold stood eerily still as he decided how to respond to the situation unfolding before him. For years his father had warned him of the idiotic prophecy made by the Fillagrou Elder. Though he would never have said it to his father’s face, he silently thought the old fool stupid, chuckling at how seriously he took the ramblings of an ancient, decrepit tree-dwelling freak.
After several minutes he finally broke the silence. “Release the poor dear children, Gragor. Where are your manners?”
General Gragor instantly let Staci slip from his enormous gloved hand. She dropped back to the floor where she immediately curled into a ball, tucking her head between her knees. As the creature dressed in gold took a step forward, General Gragor took one back and away from the children.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it, Gragor? Seeing them now in front of me…these, prophecies coming to life…it makes complete and total sense, somehow. Only a people as pathetic as the Fillagrou would send avenging angels even more useless than they.”
He laughed loudly at his ow
n joke. The sound echoed though the room, out the window and across the entire courtyard, eliciting awkward stares from each and every one of the soldiers below. Moving closer to Staci and Nicky, he at last stepped into the light, making his face visible. Covered in dark green scales, his skin had a lizard-like quality to it. His eyes were deep set, his pupils a black so dark they seemed almost to go on forever into nothingness. Raising his gloved hand, he rubbed it across his bald, thickly scaled head. Through a mouth that extended from ear to ear, housing nearly endless rows of sharp, jagged, ivory-colored teeth, he smiled at the children. When Staci looked up, she caught her first glimpse of his monstrous face. It took everything in her power to keep from screaming. His was a race built for war, bred for evil through generation after generation of natural selection.
This was indeed the face of fear.
Standing no more than three feet from the children, he knelt down, putting himself face to face with them. “Hello, little children. My name is Prince Valkea, and I must admit…I am extremely pleased to finally meet you.”
*
*
CHAPTER 17
A HERO’S WELCOME
*
After the Elder had finished regaling Tommy and Donald with the long history of the invasion of Fillagrou, the prophecy, the doorways to other worlds and the general destruction caused by the armies of King Kragamel, he informed them that he needed to rest and would speak to them again in the morning. Pleebo helped him into a comfortable position and escorted both boys out of the modest dwelling. When Tommy and Donald stepped into the street they were greeted with wide smiles by all the creatures that were patiently waiting outside. The wise, ancient Elder had confirmed that the boys were two of The Five, sent to save them all. This fact instantly brought a renewed spirit to their shattered lives. There remained a few looks of worry here and there, concern about the young age and diminutive size of the boys, but for the most part, smiles seemed the norm. Each and every creature in the crowd had been terribly affected by the King’s armies. They were prepared to grab onto whatever glimmer of hope they were given, even if it came in the very unlikely form of two unassuming human children.
Pleebo led the boys through the crowd to his dwelling which was not far from the Elder’s. He offered them a humble meal consisting mostly of what he called boiled Fluto root. The above-ground foliage roots grew deep in the soil and could be easily plucked from the dirt ceilings of every home in the city. The fear of capture had kept them from searching for food in the forest, so the root had become the inhabitants’ primary source of nourishment. It did not taste like much, sort of like chewing on hot leather, but neither Donald nor Tommy had eaten in some time. This made it easier to ignore the bland taste and somewhat foul smell. Halfway though dinner, the threesome were joined by Pleebo’s younger sister, Zanell. Zanell resembled Pleebo quite a bit, only slightly shorter and with softer, more delicate features. Throughout the course of the meal, Pleebo had asked the boys many questions about where they came from. While Donald did his best to answer, Tommy had remained silent. When dinner concluded, Tommy had excused himself. Leaving Pleebo’s dwelling, he headed out into the city streets. Ever since the boys had spoken with the Elder, Pleebo noticed that the seriousness of the situation weighed heavily on the young boy’s mind. While Donald seemed to relish the idea of being a savior to an entire world – or at least doing a better job of pretending – Tommy struggled with the enormity of it all.
Sitting across from Donald, Zanell stared at the boy with a broad smile. Her large red eyes were wide, attentive and dreamy, with an almost star struck quality to them. “It’s strange…to see you in person. I mean…you don’t look anything like I thought you would,” she said in a soft, squeaky voice.
“Oh, no? What did you think we would look like?” Donald responded with a crooked grin. Despite the fact that he was more creeped out by Zanell’s unique appearance, he enjoyed the attention she gave him all the same. Girls – any girls - had never looked at him like this. He found himself liking it on some weird, unexplainable level, even if the girl in question was a waif thin, six foot tall, nearly transparent, root eating, freaky underground monster with fingers as long as his forearm and ears the size of his entire head.
“Beggars can’t be choosers, right?”
Zanell reached across the poorly constructed table and grabbed Donald’s hand, turning it upside down.
With a wide smile, she stared longingly at the strange patterns on his palm. “I don’t know. I guess I always thought you would be bigger…older maybe…and a whole lot uglier.”
Donald choked on the Fluto root. “You…you…don’t think I’m ugly?” He muttered while coughing up bits of the tasteless, half-eaten weed.
“Not exactly, no. You’re unique…I guess. Is it true that your blood is the same color as the forest?”
Donald swallowed deep, “Umm…sure…I guess…ya.”
“I love the color of the forest. I’ve only actually seen it once. Most of my life has been spent here in Tipoloo, hiding. I remember it though…I remember it well…don’t think I could ever forget it.”
Pleebo was watching them from the other side of the table with a concerned look. He had noticed Zanell’s infatuation by the way she stared at Donald, and while he found it a little funny, it worried him at the same time. Fillagrou was no longer a world for love or happiness or childish flights of fancy. It existed now only for pain, suffering, and disappointment. The smile on his sister’s face, though was something he had not seen in a long time - something he missed very much. How could he take that away from her?
His finger tapped the top of the table lightly to get their attention. “Excuse me…”
Donald jumped slightly, turning toward Pleebo while trying to act innocent.
“Before this goes any further, Donald, I feel like I need to ask you exactly what your intentions are concerning my little sister.”
Taken aback, Donald tripped over his words, as if he were trying to break into a full sprint after spinning in circles for five minutes, “Intentions? Huh? Wha…I don’t kno…I mean, I’m not sure exactly what…I don’t really have any intentions, I was ju…”
Pleebo interrupted Donald’s sentence when he laughed a little under his breath, as he had done a number of times before.
“It’s okay Donald…I’m just kidding. You know…for saviors, you kids are really gullible.”
Donald relaxed a bit. Once again Pleebo was making fun of him again with the jokes. Donald was quickly starting to dislike the jokes.
Still chuckling to himself, Pleebo exited through the front door of his dwelling and glanced up and down the street. He spotted Tommy Jarvis sitting in a corner at the end of the block, absentmindedly scratching something into the dirt wall with his index finger.
The air inside Pleebo’s home had been too stuffy. In fact, the air in the entire city of Tipoloo felt as thick as paint, sticky and convoluted. Tommy felt hot and heavy, and tired. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. If he had not pinched himself at least fifty times without any effect whatsoever, he would have thought he was dreaming. On top of it all, try as he might, he could not stop thinking about his little brother. “Was he okay? Was he scared, or worried?” He would not be safe alone at home with their father, and because of that, Tommy had to get home quickly.
From behind him came Pleebo’s now familiar voice. “Hey kiddo…how are you feeling?”
Tommy turned briefly to look at him, but could not think of the words to formulate a proper response.
“Do you mind if I sit?”
Once again Tommy did not answer. He hung his head low and stared at the dirty ground. He could not bring himself to look Pleebo in the face for too long. Pleebo’s life had made his look like heaven in comparison. His entire family had been murdered, his home overrun, his friends struck down. The occasional beating Tommy’s dad had thrown his way seemed like small potatoes compared to that. When he got right down to it, in his heart of hearts Tommy
firmly believed that Pleebo and the Elder had the wrong person. He did not feel like the savior of an entire world. He was just a kid. To do the things that they expected of him seemed unbelievable, not to mention impossible.
He was not who these people needed. He never would be, and things would only get worse for them.
“Listen, Tommy, I know it seems like a lot…”
Tommy quickly interrupted. “I’m not who you think I am.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean? Look at me. I’m just a kid. I get beat up on the way home from school. My own father, more times than I even care to remember, has smacked me around. I can’t save anybody…I can’t even save myself. You have the wrong person. It’s not that I don’t want to help, but what is it that you think I can do? I’m just…I’m not the person you need…I’m sorry.”
Pleebo watched the boys fingers move gracefully across the wall. Each line dug into the soft dirt brought whatever he was sketching closer to life. Creating images in this fashion was not a skill his people shared and to see it this closely fascinated him. Turning his head away from the boy, he gazed down the nearly empty street. Most of the city’s inhabitants had returned to their dwellings to rest for the evening – those that required sleep anyway. On a very real level, he more than anyone, understood exactly what the young boy felt. Tommy was wrestling with ideas that he had been forced to face many years ago.
“Tommy, I was not much older than you when one of the King’s armies swept into our underground hiding place and tore it to pieces. It was a lot smaller than Tipoloo – maybe fifty feet long – housing only a few families. Though my parents had known war for some time, they did not understand it at all…could not understand it. We had been a beautiful race once. Maybe the most beautiful and honest in all of reality, but at the same time we had been like children. Our greatest achievement was also our greatest failing. Violence had not been a part of our lives, let alone violence on the scale that the Ochans brought to us. It was not something we understood or even acknowledged. My father was a simple, thoughtful, and extremely proud child of Fillagrou. He had no idea how to react to violence. He had tried to reason with one of the Ochan soldiers because, quite simply, it was all that he knew how to do.”
