The First Adventure

by Mark Boutros

  ‘Are you okay?’ Karl took large breaths.

  She nodded. ‘Are you?’

  ‘I think so.’ They sat on the grass, aching and exhausted.

  The bubble returned.

  ‘Nice of you to help,’ Karl said to the bubble.

  It ignored him and floated towards the tree. Slime receded from the branches. The bubble popped and turned into specks of coloured dust.

  Questions grabbed Karl’s wrist.

  The coloured dust joined together and reformed. ‘Please don’t be another monster…’ Karl moaned.

  A three-foot, bald, orange, one-eyed creature stood before them. He had a single spot sized hole for a nose, and wore no clothes. Pointy orange hairs from the neck down covered his body and he had majestic, leafy wings.

  He looked at Karl and Questions. ‘You did it… thank you.’ The creature rubbed his cheeks. ‘How’s my face?’

  ‘It looks like a face,’ Karl said.

  The creature ran to the fountain to check his reflection. ‘Phew, still smooth as a silk sheet.’

  ‘Erm… So what are you?’ Questions asked.

  ‘I’m Scrath. Elder of the Tree-Cyclopsi.’ He approached them.

  ‘And that slime shooting beast thing?’ Karl asked.

  ‘The Putrid Valotaur.’

  Questions jotted it in her book.

  Scrath looked at the mess. ‘This is what we’re meant to stop from happening.’

  Six other bubbles with eyes entered the garden. They gathered around Scrath.

  ‘Family!’ Scrath said.

  The bubbles materialised into wingless Tree-Cyclopsi, thrilled to return to their old form. One turned into a one-eyed girl, only a foot and a half tall. She hugged Scrath. ‘Daddy!’

  ‘Wob!’ Scrath beamed. He turned to Karl, Questions and Tortured Soul. ‘Thank you for saving us. You are true heroes.’

  ‘Heroes? I guess...’ Karl smiled at Questions.

  Scrath looked at the tree. ‘Oh no! If the Heart of Hastovia perishes, so will all the other trees in the land.’

  ‘Why?’ Questions asked.

  ‘It feeds the soil. Trees won’t be able to grow.’ Scrath shook his head. ‘It’s our job to keep this place clean.’ He turned to his people. ‘Tree-Cyclopsi. Let’s do what we were born to do.’ Scrath strained his eye, flew up and sucked the sludge from one of the smaller trees. The filth was processed into hair that sprouted from his already congested body.

  The tree showed signs of returning to its bright, glowing form. The other Tree-Cyclopsi got to work until the paradise was on its way to being repaired. Greenery and light dominated the remaining misery and sludge. The tree shone, nearly fully restored.

  ‘What happened to make this place so gloomy?’ Questions asked.

  ‘All I remember is Arazod coming here. He climbed towards the cave so I flew everyone up into holes in the cavern and we hid.’

  Scrath pointed to the tree. ‘He stood in front of the Heart of Hastovia and demanded the wings. He kept shouting, “Give me wings”, but we ignored him.’

  ‘A wise move,’ Karl said.

  ‘He folded his arms and he waited, for many sunsets, always demanding the wings. All we could do was watch dirt from Flowforn and the rest of Flowfornia build up, unable to clean it. Arazod still waited, obsessed, until the dirt became the lake that ate our homes and gave birth to the Putrid Valotaur, born of extreme filth.’ He shook his head. ‘Arazod only left when it became too dangerous for him to stay. He commanded Fools to wait at the foot of the tree, and they did, until they starved to death or were killed by the beast.’

  So much life wasted…

  ‘It pained us to watch the trees suffer. And finally, when the Fools had died and Arazod was gone, we emerged only to be turned into bubbles by the Putrid Valotaur.’ Scrath rubbed his eye. ‘Arazod was willing to let pain come to this beautiful tree, all for some wings.’

  Karl and Questions hung their heads. Karl clasped his hands together. ‘Erm… I’m afraid I come with the same request as Arazod, but with a less whiny voice and no threats.’

  ‘I’m sorry. But people abuse the gifts the gods left to this land. They always have a selfish motive.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘What do you plan to do with the wings?’

  ‘I plan to leave Flowfornia.’ It felt more real.

  ‘Travelling? Sounds pretty selfish.’

  ‘It’s less about being selfish and more about survival.’ It still sounded selfish.

  Scrath shook his head. ‘These wings were a gift from the Heart of Hastovia.’ He patted the tree. ‘It was left to us by one of the gods, Naturais.’

  ‘I don’t suppose the tree has any other gifts to give?’

  ‘Actually, it grants wishes, so you can wish for a pair. But only once every two hundred and thirty-six years.’

  ‘Two hundred and thirty-six years?’

  ‘It’s more of an average. We are granted a wish whenever there is a day where nobody, anywhere, hurts anyone else. And on average, that’s every two hundred and thirty-six years.’

  ‘It wouldn’t happen to be time for a new wish would it?’ Karl asked.

  ‘Sadly not…’ Scrath said. ‘We’re about two hundred years away. And with Arazod roaming the land, the average has gone up. It used to be every thirty-three years.’

  Wob stroked her dad’s leg and he held her hand.

  ‘Well then I guess that’s it.’ Karl rested against a miniature tree.

  Tortured Soul jumped on his shoulder and stroked his cheek with her head. The gesture confused Karl but he was too sad to stop her.

  ‘All I want is to go home and find out who I really am. To find my parents.’ He longed for the closeness between Wob and Scrath. He swallowed. ‘I’m sick of having a death sentence over my head. Back home might be a thousand times worse, but at least there’s a chance there. Here I’m just a corpse that walks.’

  Wob tugged on her dad’s leg hair and looked him in the eye.

  ‘Oh… Alright!’ Scrath said.

  ‘Alright what?’ Karl asked.

  ‘I have the power to grant my wings to someone else.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say?’

  ‘I wanted you to be honest. And people tend to be honest when they’ve got nothing to gain. I tested you!’ Scrath smiled.

  Karl wanted to complain but clenched his jaw.

  ‘All these wings have done is attract the wrong kind of attention, you can have them.’

  ‘Thank you!’ Karl trembled. ‘Thank you so much.’

  ‘But. Do you promise to use your wings responsibly?’ Scrath asked Karl.

  ‘Of course.’

  He raised a finger. ‘Do you promise to use them for good and not evil?’

  Karl nodded. ‘Yes. For my definition of good.’

  ‘Do you promise to help all those in need?’

  ‘Yes. Yes. Come on.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s do this!’ Scrath and the Tree-Cyclopsi stood in a circle around Karl.

  ‘The procedure is pretty basic,’ Scrath said. ‘But we’ll put on a show for you because you seem nice.’

  They hummed, and a branch stretched out from the top of the Heart of Hastovia and stroked Karl’s head. Feeling awkward, Karl joined in the humming but his timing was off. He wasn’t sure what the branch was doing. Twigs stretched around his face and grabbed him underneath the chin. The branch retracted swiftly and swallowed Karl into the tree.

  Leaves and twigs scratched him and a blur of orange, brown and green surrounded him. He spun and worried his breath would leave him. Leaves parted and he faced the rocky ceiling.

  Karl's back tingled and warmth surrounded his shoulder blades. Air blew him out of the tree and he fell towards the ground.

  'This seems cruel,' he said.

  Questions held her hand to her mouth, but wings of orange-brown leaf burst through Karl’s top and helped him to hover.

  His heart raced. ‘These are amazing!’ Karl tried to get to grips w
ith his new body parts.

  Scrath held Karl’s shoulders to stop him zipping around. ‘These are the only wings we can grant until we get another wish. They are transferrable to others more in need. So if you find someone more deserving let us know.’

  ‘I can’t see that happening,’ Karl said.

  ‘Okay, Tree-Cyclopsi. Let’s rid our home of this filth.’

  They all went to split off but Karl interrupted.

  ‘Before you do your eye thing… is there any chance you can remove the stench from my hand?’

  Scrath smelled Karl’s hand, ran to a fountain and threw up in it. ‘Oh my! That is horrible! What kind of person puts their hand in dragon dung?’

  Karl huffed.

  They returned to Lake Shizneh, now a thriving, hilly grassland with a small lake in the middle. The Tree-Cyclopsi sucked up muck, reducing the green ooze to tiny pools. Straw huts and trees that were twenty feet under the liquid were free, albeit in need of repair and a good scrub.

  ‘I hope Oaf has had a nice rest,’ Karl said.

  There was Oaf, beyond some trees, half in the ground, stuck in some sinking sludge.

  ‘Oaf, are you okay?’ Questions took a step back.

  ‘No, Questions, don’t…’ Questions jumped in after him.

  Oaf held her up enough that her head wouldn’t sink.

  ‘Have I been stupid?’ Questions coughed.

  Oaf chuckled. ‘No. You’ve been brave.’ He looked at Karl. ‘Thought I saw Lord Ragnus so ran after him… My eyes were messing with me.’ He craned his neck. ‘Been here a while. Can you get me out?’

  Tortured Soul jumped on Oaf’s shoulder while Karl looked around for a branch or anything to pull them out with.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Oaf asked Questions.

  She smiled. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Thanks for trying to save me,’ Oaf said.

  Tortured Soul tried to nudge Oaf towards the side with her head.

  Karl found a large enough branch but he didn’t have the strength to pull them out. ‘You know what. Let’s just wait until the orange things get here and do their eye magic suck thing.’

  And that’s what they did.

  22

  Sabrinia stood on a cliff edge, gazing down at the still, glass-like seawater in Flowforn Basin, the place her father died. She pictured him sitting at the bottom of the cliff, laughing with Lombus and heaving fish into his mouth. She fought back tears and made a promise to herself that when Flowforn was safe, she’d sit there and eat some fish to celebrate his memory.

  She turned to Arazod. The sun sparkled against the dungeon keys, hanging on a chain around his neck. He tossed his axe in the air and caught it. He seemed mesmerised by the Witches Split waterfall to the north.

  ‘Such a pleasant sight, the sea smashing against the rocks, isn’t it?’ he said.

  Of course he was mesmerised. It was violent.

  Sabrinia considered jumping off the cliff. Why did saving everyone have to be her responsibility? ‘Have any of the Fools caught Karl and Questions?’ It was the question she asked every sunrise since she learned they had escaped the Dead Lands.

  Arazod frowned. ‘Not yet, but I’m confident they will soon…’ He coughed. ‘Don’t worry… I’ve demanded they be instantly executed.’ He shrugged. ‘Hopefully they’ve starved to death by now. Or been eaten by beasts.’

  Sabrinia wished she could do something. She hated that Arazod wore her father’s cloak. Father… he would know what to do.

  ‘Now, we need to name…’ Arazod gasped. He pointed down.

  ‘This cliff?’ She found herself finishing more of his sentences. He thought it was because couples do that, but she was just bored. ‘It already has a name, Celinor’s Sentence. It’s where Queen Celinor used to sentence people to death in the early times of Flowforn. She heard there was a curse over the cliff that damned those pushed off it to never cross into the realm of the dead.’

  Arazod nodded. ‘Well we need to rename it now that it’s mine, and the name needs to scare people.’

  Of course it did. Power through fear.

  He stepped towards the edge and continued speaking, but Sabrinia shut out the noise. Her neck tensed and her head throbbed. She could push him. It would be easy, just one big shove, or kick to the back and she’d enjoy watching his one working wing flap and fail to save him. She wanted to see his head smash against one of the rocks, any rock. It didn’t matter as long as he died.

  She shut her eyes… but she couldn’t go through with it. Lord Ragnus would destroy everything. The point was to marry Arazod so Flowforn felt like his kingdom. He would never let destruction come to a place he called home. But the thought of marrying him and being bound to him for eternity made her want to poke hot arrow points into her eyes.

  She recalled him kicking the baby Fool. Such a casual swing of his talons. Maybe if she pushed him it would inspire her people to swarm Lord Ragnus. She stepped towards Arazod and raised her palms.

  He turned to her and studied her stance. ‘Are you okay?’

  She lowered her arms. ‘Yes. I was just going to rub your shoulders… you looked cold.’

  He smiled, turned around and rolled his shoulders. ’Oh. Go ahead.’

  She rubbed his shoulders and gritted her teeth. She wished she had claws to dig into his feathery flesh and tear it from the bone.

  ‘I’ve got it. The Wrath Of Arazod!’ He applauded himself.

  She stopped rubbing. ‘Perfect.’

  He took her hand in his claw and turned to her. ‘So, I’m thinking we get married in seven sunsets.’

  ‘Why so soon?’ Sabrinia enjoyed the frustration in his eyes but she knew she couldn’t stall forever. Her last excuse was that the suggested day was exactly ten years since she lost her first cuddly Lionbear toy, so the next ten sunsets would be dedicated to mourning and not right for marriage.

  ‘Because I can’t wait to make you my wife,’ Arazod said.

  ‘And I can’t wait to be your wife,’ she forced. ‘But seven sunsets from now is bad. It’s the anniversary of the day Flowforn first created toilet buckets, and we don’t want to share our wedding with that, do we?’

  Arazod sniffed. ‘Why do I feel like you’re stalling?’

  Because I am. ‘I’m not. But our souls are going to be bound, in life and death for all eternity…’ She fought the lump in her throat. ‘I want the moment it happens to be perfection.’

  Arazod smiled. ‘Eight sunsets from now then.’

  ‘Let’s see in a few sunsets time. Perfection is hard to plan.’

  ‘Very well. If it’s what you want, our souls will be bound together when it is truly special, but soon.’

  Sabrinia smiled and nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Now… Showtime!’ Arazod declared.

  She bit her lip, fearful of what was coming.

  Arazod led her past the quiet crowd of Flowfornians and back to their table, on a platform facing the cliff. Arazod’s part of the platform was, of course, slightly higher. Flowforn Forest and the castle stood in the background, with the bendy, white trees of Herbis Forest to their right.

  Arazod gestured for Sabrinia to sit and then he faced the crowd. ‘Let today mark the first…’ He wheezed. ‘Arazod Fest!’ He placed his axe against the table.

  The Fools played their horns out of sync. Lord Ragnus applauded, so everyone followed his lead.

  ‘I’d like to dedicate this event to my not too distant future wife, Princess Sabrinia.’ Everyone cheered.

  She smiled; proud she still had their love.

  Arazod sat and winked at Sabrinia, but he couldn’t wink, so his face just scrunched and contorted.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m winking.’

  ‘That’s not a wink.’ She couldn't hide her disappointed look.

  ‘Yes it is!’ He tried again and failed. It looked like something was exploding in his head. If only it was.

  ‘Wait, watch.’ He tried a few more times, but it
just got worse. ‘Better?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sabrinia lied, wanting to look anywhere else.

  Arazod addressed the crowd. ‘Before we…’ Arazod struggled and huffed. ‘Begin. I want you to have your say.’

  Sabrinia leaned forward. Hargon, stood by the platform, smiled at her. Was Arazod changing? Was her plan working?

  ‘I’ve heard rumours of people being worried about what life is like under my rule. So if…’ He gasped. ‘So if you want to raise any issues, please do. This is after all, a free kingdom.’ He smiled at Sabrinia.

  This was what she wanted, a good and fair king.

  Arazod waved his arm in the air. ‘If you have a quibble, form a line.’

  Everyone shuffled into a line.

  Arazod grunted and waved for Maladin, a goblin, to step forward. ‘What can I help you with… Mister… strange… gobliny thing?’

  ‘That’s Maladin,’ Sabrinia said. ‘One of our bakers.’

  Arazod gave half a shrug.

  Maladin trembled. ‘Your… Your Highness. While I… I admire the statues of you… your glorious self. There seem to be… a lot. One became two. And two is now ten. While beautiful… they block the sunlight from… from coming into our rooms in the morning. Plus, we need… we need to spend resources on new bakeries. There are lots of extra mouths to feed… with all the Fools. Erm… please consider allocating more resources to us bakers.’

  The other bakers nodded.

  ‘Thank you for raising your concern, Mal... Mel…’ Arazod looked at Sabrinia.

  ‘Maladin.’

  ‘Yes. That.’

  ‘He’ll think about it,’ Lord Ragnus said.

  Maladin, sweating, walked away from the line.

  ‘Wait! Wait,’ Arazod called. ‘I’ve thought about it.’ He stood.

  Sabrinia shuffled in her seat.

  ‘I’d like you to submit…’ He gasped. ‘The request in writing, officially, and put it in my Realm Improvement Box.’

  Sabrinia relaxed.

  Maladin bowed his head. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much! Where can… I… I find this box?’

  ‘Lord Ragnus. Show him where the Realm Improvement Box is.’ Arazod’s beak curled into a little smile.

  Lord Ragnus grabbed Maladin by the back of his neck and dragged him towards the edge of the Wrath of Arazod.