Jeremy Chikalto and the Hazy Souls

by T.S. DeBrosse



  Jeremy Chikalto

  and the Hazy Souls

  by T.S. DeBrosse

  Published by Viral Cat Press

  Copyright 2011 Tiffany Slotwinski

  “Each man is haunted until his humanity awakens.”

  –William Blake

  PART 1

  Chapter 1

  Choir Song

  Lyrna began coughing up a fur ball. “Don't run from the brush next time,” said Jeremy, rolling his eyes and placing the fizdruft on the ground. A fizdruft was like a talking house cat, except it would decapitate you in a second if mishandled. But Jeremy Chikalto knew how to handle a fizdruft. You have to pick it up by one ear, grabbing only the endmost tuft of fur. Thanks to a peculiar bundle of nerves stimulated in this way, the wild fizdruft would then become tame. Then it would be safe to extend support to its bottom.

  Jeremy loved his fizdruft dearly, and promised his mother that he would always take care of it and allow it to take care of him. It was rumored in Watico that once a fizdruft was tamed, and once its bottom was properly supported, that it would protect its owner by detecting evil presences (Lyrna called them “bad bads”). This was why Jeremy Chikalto needed a fizdruft. Jeremy was the Royal Cajjez of Watico and so was entitled to any object or creature he desired. He asked for Lyrna two years ago following a series of unexplained phenomena.

  Jeremy leaned forward on his dressing stool to check his face once more in the mirror. Yes, he was handsome. Ah, but, a tear ran down his cheek, so much more handsome with tears, he thought to himself. Let them talk.

  Jeremy was fourteen years old, and he had a habit of staring into his mirror. His reflection showed ivory skin illuminated by custom lighting, soft, golden brown hair falling in waves across his forehead and around his ears, and large, electric blue eyes. His eyes were favored by many an adoring girl. Though only five feet four inches tall, his mother predicted he'd grow to six feet by the time he was sixteen. His mother was vigilant about assessing her son for signs of puberty. Jeremy was a late bloomer.

  He stood up and drew back the curtains to his balcony, unlocked the soundproof window, and looked out. Below, the crowd anticipated his entrance. Jeremy smirked and puffed up his chest. Any minute now.

  The royal family had prepared for the Watican Awards Ceremony for months. Jeremy dutifully attended choir and dance rehearsals, and was certain he'd top last year's performance. Three pairs of gloves, each bearing the Chikalto crest and embroidered with gold and silver, lay neatly on his desk. Should he choose the white pair? No, no. He shook his head. Tonight called for a majestic purple. Jeremy surveyed the gloves. Where are my purple gloves!

  The young Cajjez marched to his bedside and pulled back a thin, pink veil that was attached to the wall. Beneath the veil was a large, red button with the letter “J” carved into its center. Jeremy pressed the button.

  “Yes, Cajjez Jeremy?” said the intercom just below the button.

  “I want to see the servant who prepared my gloves.” Jeremy rapped his fingers on the wall.

  “Yes, Cajjez.” The intercom clicked off.

  Jeremy picked up a whip coiled on a hook just above the closet.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come in.” Jeremy gripped the familiar hide in his palm, stroking the metal tassels with his thumb.

  An older, graying woman entered and surveyed the room. Jeremy was alone, cradling the whip. “Stella at your service. Cajjez, what is it? Are you not pleased with your gloves?”

  “You were assigned a simple task. Make the Cajjez four sets of gloves for the Watican Awards Ceremony.”

  “Yes, Cajjez.”

  He smiled. "You were supposed to deliver the purple gloves to my room this morning, but I see only three pairs. There, on my dresser, see?” Jeremy pointed to his dresser. The old woman forced herself to look and nodded. “I'm scheduled to give a performance in less than one minute and your little oversight is holding me up.” Jeremy circled his bed, gripping the whip behind his back. "Where are my purple gloves!” Jeremy gritted his teeth and grabbed the servant's hair, jostling her head. A violent jerk brought her face to face with the Cajjez. “Answer me!”

  Stella looked into his electric blue eyes. She continued, captivated, “I must have forgotten to get them. They were in a... a separate pouch.”

  Jeremy paused, allowing the tension to build. His mind wandered for a moment. Have their own special pouch, they must be lovely! He flexed his fingers, imagining the cool silk sensation. “Hold out your hands.”

  Stella did as she was told. Jeremy tucked his hair neatly behind his ear and then cracked the whip over her hands, splitting the skin just below the knuckles. Blood trickled onto the floor. Three more lashes. The old woman hunched over in pain.

  “Clean yourself up and then get me my gloves.”

  The lights dimmed in the Watican Concert Hall just below Jeremy's balcony window. The concert performance would begin soon.

  Stella returned with the gloves. A moth fluttered down from the ceiling and Stella clapped it with her hands. Its dead body fell to the floor. Jeremy gasped.

  “I'm sorry,” began Stella. “I'll clean it up right away.”

  “You killed an innocent moth!” Jeremy gripped the offending hand and squeezed. “Why would you do that?”

  “Er...” She knitted her brows together and looked down at her shredded hand. “You know what?” She jerked her hand away. “You're insane Jeremy Chikalto and I'm insane for putting up with this.” Stella made for the door. "Slavery was abolished hundreds of years ago. This is just a job."

  “You're insane for disrespecting me,” countered Jeremy. He was too shocked to come up with anything better.

  Stella turned around, “Ten years and I still don't know who you are.” She bit her lip, turned, and slammed the door behind her.

  Jeremy threw his hands into the air. “Whatever.” He slipped on his gloves and stretched his fingers. This, of course, meant that he had to trade his black cloak for a softer gray. Lyrna ran between his legs, prickling her whiskers and massaging her gums on his trousers. “Yes, Lyrna, I know. It doesn't match.” Jeremy returned to his closet and began perusing his cloaks.

  Three-thousand guests filled the Watican Hall. A few people were still arriving through the high-arched doorways, the sparkling gold and silver interior glinting off their jewelery and watches. A magnificent stage overlooked the hall. It was carved from a single slab of an enormous tree and gleamed with the dull shine of years. The stage was held up by marble pillars, intricately carved with small figures.

  "Cajjez Jeremy Chikalto!" announced the Senior Conductor of the Watican Heldelsa Choir, who was standing at the center of the stage. The conductor was a waify, nervous man, whose mustache twitched at the very mention of the Cajjez.

  The conductor's wife sat in the VIP box to the far left of the stage, her nails digging into the back of the chair next to her. Maren Nononia, Jeremy's Guest of Honor, screamed.

  "Ow! You've got my hair!"

  "Sorry, love." The conductor's wife released Maren's wavy, dark blonde tresses. Maren shaded her brow with her hand and squinted at the stage. Jeremy was late, as usual. Maren straightened her loose, pink dress, draping her lap and knees in its bright floral print. Guests were beginning to shift in their seats. Maren had waited for her reunion with Jeremy for almost a year and the butterflies were beginning to whirl around in her stomach.

  “Will you excuse me for a second?”asked Vinya Raaychila Chikalto, Jeremy's mother, as she rose from her seat and made her way to the stage.

  Maren admired Raaychila, whose looks were sharp and fiery. She had sea-green eyes, a small pointed chin, and long, curly red hair t
hat swirled down her back. She wore a gown of emerald silk and her fingers were bejeweled.

  Vor Wantoro Chikalto, who was sitting next to Raaychila's empty seat, motioned to his excitable wife to sit down. He ran his fingers through his thick, raven hair. “Raaychila, darling, you know Jeremy wouldn't miss a chance to be on display.”

  "CAJJEZ JEREMY CHIKALTO!" yelled the conductor.

  Jeremy appeared at the stage door and was met with thunderous applause. He crossed the stage, allowing the spotlight overhead to follow him at a leisurely pace. He waved his purple-gloved hand at the audience. They love me, they love me, they love me. The small, regal Cajjez reached the center of the stage and bowed coyly, his wavy, golden brown hair falling onto his forehead.

  The conductor lifted his baton and a hush swept over the audience. Jeremy smiled. "Welcome, Ladies and Gentlemen, to the Annual Watican Awards Opening Ceremony, honoring outstanding achievement in Earth Studies. We thank the Nononias for their continued support in spreading peace and goodwill throughout the Farmoore Galaxy, and for their generous foundation, which makes possible this event.”

  The audience applauded. Maren Nononia turned and gave an appreciative wave to her parents, who sat in the row behind her.

  “And now,” continued Jeremy, “'Vordin's Dream,' a Watican hymn dating back to the first years of Farmoore's creation.” The conductor set his baton in motion and Jeremy's treble voice was sublime. The audience leaned in, spellbound.

  The Cajjez had the most enchanting, warm voice. Like a flock of doves ascending in perfect formation, each vibration wove precisely around the other in a tapestry of sound. The Cajjez sang:

  Like storm clouds' onslaught,

  You've beaten back the Light.

  Lesser souls would have you reconciled,

  And urge you to abandon those rebel storms,

  And transmit the light like the blue day.

  They know not; a jilted lover in you rages

  And the wedding guests sway in sad neglect–

  The celestial space invites the angel-child

  to wonder at an outcast's pleading gaze,

  to repeat a history

  and bow to an impious might.

  Let the cinders fall where they may,

  A Kingdom awaits, the balm of vague unrest.

  Jeremy stopped singing and stood before his Watican subjects in a daze. He was staring at something in the empty space. He struck at the air, eyes wide. Then he cursed, turned on his heels, leapt off the stage and ran out the Watican Hall doors.

  Raaychila rushed to the stage. Words like 'mad,' 'delusional,' and 'bizarre' rose and fell, a wave crashing on the prospects of Jeremy's future.

  "Ahem, yes, the lovely voice of Cajjez Jeremy,” said the conductor after briefly exchanging whispers with Raaychila. “We... will now have a performance by the Cajjez's choir, the Watican Heldelsa. This next piece, of the same time period, is entitled 'Jetiun'" The conductor raised his baton and cleared his throat.

  Chapter 2

  Air

  Raaychila slipped out the side door of the Concert Hall. Jeremy needed her. She was met in the foyer by Lyrna, Jeremy's pet fizdruft.

  "Toffee! I toffee!" drooled Lyrna. Lyrna was a gorgeous feline with petite silver paws, a pink nose, and tufts of black fur on the tips of her ears.

  Raaychila folded her arms across her chest. "All right, let's swing by the kitchen."

  "Jeremy?" The Vinya knocked quietly on her son's door, bowls of toffee in hand.

  "Come in."

  Jeremy sat on a pillow beside his bed, his cheeks stained with tears. The window overlooking the Watican Hall was still open, allowing the soft ambience of choir song to spill into the room. "I decided only to sing that one song," said Jeremy, determined to sound in control.

  "That's all right. I'm sure you had your own... private reasons."

  "I do." Jeremy shot her a nasty look, and Raaychila pushed Lyrna towards him, along with the bowl of toffee.

  "I toffee!" Lyrna cuddled up next to Jeremy, her fluffy gray and white tail whipping in anticipation.

  Raaychila sighed. “Do you need more medicine? Do you want me to get the doctor?”

  “No.”

  “Jeremy, your father and I thought maybe we could reschedule your choir performance for tomorrow? Possibly before you and Maren's dance?”

  “No. I'm done.”

  Raaychila walked to her son's dresser and lifted up a green silk scarf. “This is nice, I've never seen you wear this.”

  “Out.”

  Vinya Raaychila frowned and placed the scarf back on the dresser. "Let me know if you want to talk about anything." She allowed a moment of silence to tempt Jeremy into conversation. After twenty seconds elapsed, the Vinya left her son at his bedside, gently closing the door behind her.

  “Why scared?” mewed Lyrna. She tugged at the pillow he held in his arms, hoping to replace it with her own warm, furry body.

  “Air again?” She looked up into his face. He winced.

  “People think I'm crazy.” He began pacing his room, his sandals clicking with each angry step. Jeremy paused and looked up at his whip, coiled above his closet door. “I take it out on innocent people. I am crazy, aren't I?” He bit his lip and braced himself for the verdict.

  Lyrna tucked her ears back. “Not.”

  “Because you've seen the air twitch, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Jeremy sniffled and stared at the air in front of him. If only he could will it to happen, right now, while he was prepared. “Come on air, whatever you are.” He breathed in deeply and focused on a spot ten inches from his face. Everything blurred together: the elaborate tapestries, book shelves with tall ladders set on casters leaning against them, and the large window opening to a dusk sky. Jeremy focused on a point. For a second, he thought he felt a zap. Then, nothing. He shook his head, grabbed his pillow, and chucked it at the wall. A picture that his mother painted crashed to the floor, scattering shards of glass across the marble.

  “Calm down,” mewed Lyrna.

  Jeremy slitted his eyes and felt his rage boil. His vision blurred and his mind swarmed and then everything went dark.

  On a rocky desert plain, baked by the noontime sun, two armies were gathering. One camp was clad in animal skins and armed with crude spears and slings, faces hidden in wild beards and hair. They were banging their spears on their wooden shields and shouting "Yahweh!" The other camp, smaller in size, gathered in silence except for the clanging of iron. They wore iron helmets, breastplates, greaves, and boots, and carried swords and bows. The front line held out long spears behind iron shields as tall as the men.

  The sea of iron parted and Vordin Chikalto, the founder of the Farmoore Galaxy, galloped to the front on a white horse. He wore white chainmail greaves and was naked from the waist up. A hot desert breeze blew back his long brown hair. He was sharp-featured and carried a massive flail.

  "Is this it, then?" he shouted. "The blessing of the Lord is a curse on the righteous, and his curse is a blessing for the fool! In his mercy he is cruel, and in his cruelty he is merciful. Since I defied you by showing mercy, am I in your graces for butchering your people? And what does the Lord love more than an offering of flesh?"

  Vordin swung his flail, and the iron men began to march forward. The men in animal skins, who had no leader save the One, roared and charged towards the wall of spears. Arrows flew, and the sky was darkened. Right before the contact, there was a cascade of lightening bolts, and the air tore open. Vordin and the iron men were sucked into the rift, and it closed. The people of Yahweh fell to the ground and worshipped the One.

  Jeremy came to and sat up from the floor. His brow was covered in sweat. "I blacked out. Lyrna!"

  Lyrna ran to him and licked his hand.

  “I need fresh air!” Jeremy jumped to his feet. "I need to keep it together." Jeremy ran out into the hallway, slamming his bedroom door closed behind him.

  Chapter 3

  The Diar
y

  After the Watican Awards Opening Ceremony concluded, Maren excused herself from her parents and walked to Jeremy's wing of the castle. She moved slowly down the hallway towards Jeremy's room, watching her reflection in the polished oak surfaces of the furniture as she passed. No doubt she'd changed since he last saw her. She was taller now and had lost the baby fat in her cheeks. She fancied herself poised, and smiled, but then something shattered somewhere in the castle and she jumped. When she regained her balance, she noticed the family portraits.

  Vordin Chikalto. She admired the handsome face in the oil painting, the golden brown hair, the electric blue eyes – just like Jeremy's. Jeremy eerily resembled his esteemed ancestor, Vordin Chikalto, founder of the Farmoore Galaxy. She blushed at the thought that someday Jeremy might share the physique of Vordin Chikalto, the swell of muscles under the short sleeves of his tunic, the broad shoulders. But Jeremy was still boyish, and altogether smaller than herself, though they were the same age. She doubted he'd ever be as exalted as his ancestor before him. Jeremy was far too whimsical, far too... sadistic. Still, it didn't seem fitting that someone with such an angelic voice could be so cruel. At last she came to his door and knocked.

  No answer.

  Maren nudged the door open. Jeremy wasn't there, but Lyrna greeted her happily.

  “Maren!” Lyrna wove herself around Maren's legs and tugged at the skirt of her dress.

  Maren scooped her up using proper technique. “Where's Jeremy?”

  Lyrna averted her gaze and wriggled in Maren's arms.

  “Sorry I asked,” said Maren, putting Lyrna down.

  Lyrna gave Maren one last mew and scurried back under Jeremy's bed.

  Maren then noticed the broken picture frame on the marble floor and wondered what his outburst was about this time. Probably went to find a servant.

  Jeremy's room had an impressive collection of books, each bound in sky-blue leather. The tapestry on the wall behind his bed depicted the ancient battle on Earth that resulted in the creation of the Farmoore Galaxy. God's faithful remained on Earth and the rebels were banished to the Farmoore Galaxy. There was a flash, so the story goes, and everyone woke up far, far away. Olg, the planet Maren grew up on, was in the Farmoore Galaxy, as was Jeremy's planet, Watico. Legend taught that it was Vordin Chikalto who led the charge against God's people on Earth, though he later repented and urged his followers to seek God's forgiveness. Maren considered the elaborately embroidered gore surrounding Vordin Chikalto. Such a violent tapestry, how can Jeremy sleep with this next to his bed? Maren had never been to Earth, though the journey was possible with modern technology. She had learned in Earth Studies that it was a twenty-three year round trip journey, and one that was rarely made except by certain ambitious Earth Studies scholars and their families. The Earth observation missions were kept secret because the people from Earth were unaware of the existence of life on other planets and had a habit of destroying or exploiting each other, a practice the Ckikalto dynasty strove to do away with. Maren guessed that Earth probably smelled bad because of an elaborate description she had read somewhere about something called a “swamp.”