A Liar in Paradise

by M H Woodscourt

I halted mid-stretch and gazed at him with narrowed eyes. “What?” Were these people nocturnal?

  Crenen waved his hand at Tall Strong Jerk, who walked to the tent flap and opened it to reveal darkness beyond.

  “Then what did you wake me up for? Again.” I barely kept myself from shouting.

  “We dilemmaed.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Dilemmaed?” Was that even a word?

  “He means troubled,” Tall Strong Jerk said.

  “That, yeah,” Crenen agreed.

  “I see.” I stifled another yawn. “And how do you expect me to help you?” Not that I wanted to, but if it allowed me to go back to sleep, I was willing to do whatever it took.

  “Here,” Crenen crawled on all fours, back to the paper laying on the table in the tent's center.

  I grudgingly, groggily stood up, walked to the torch, and flopped down at the table next to Tall Strong Jerk.

  “Tall Strong Jerk and we have discord,” Crenen said, tapping the map with a claw.

  “About a map?”

  “Basically,” said Tall Strong Jerk.

  Crenen scowled at us. “About strategy on map.”

  “Ooh.” I glanced at the map. “Then I suggest not fighting on the map.” I couldn't help myself; I was irritated and tired and I wasn't about to let Crenen's bad English get him by.

  Crenen reached out and hit me upside the head with his hand. “Not joking time,” he growled. “We have enemy close.”

  “Sorry,” I lied, rubbing my newest bruise. He was stronger than he looked.

  His gold and silver eyes narrowed, but he let me off the hook. Returning to the map, he tapped an area with his claw. “We here.” His claw moved along the map, miraculously not tearing the paper, then stopped at another area. “Kirid here.” His claw punctured a hole on the spot he tapped.

  “'Kay,” I said, guessing that Kirid was the enemy.

  “Quiet Sneaky Thing report that Kirid vanish from here. Tall Strong Jerk guess that Kirid move here.” He tapped a clearing to the east of the Yenen encampment, leaving another puncture. “We say they here.” He tapped a spot to the west, leaving yet another hole, then he looked into my eyes. “What say Strange Coward Boy?”

  I stared at him, then gave the map the same blank expression. “Uh.” I tapped the area to the east. “They're here.” Not that I had a clue, but I figured I had little to lose by siding with Tall Strong Jerk. He was the sensible party.

  Crenen scowled. “Too hard!”

  Tall Strong Jerk cleared his throat. “That's the point, Master. No one in their right mind would make it easy to guess where they were located.”

  Crenen hissed between clenched teeth. “Exactly. Tall Strong Stupid Jerk think we deal with those in right mind. Well, not so. Kirid crazy, yeah?”

  “But not that crazy,” Tall Strong Jerk said.

  Crenen scowled again and turned away. “This is why we in charge, not Stupid Dolt Heads.”

  Oh, whatever. I yawned, stood up, and shuffled back to my bed. “Good night,” I said as I climbed under my covers. It took only a second to fall back to sleep.

  6

  A Moonlit Clearing of Blood

  For the third time that night I was awakened before sunrise. I bolted up and glanced around in a daze, wondering what had alerted me. The tent was dark, the torch was cold, and Crenen's bed was empty.

  I threw my blankets aside, slipped my shoes on, and tiptoed to the flap. It was deathly quiet outside. The hairs on my neck tingled, but I pushed the flap aside and squinted into the night. Light still came from the center of camp, while the rest of the tents stood in shadow.

  Inhaling, I stepped from the safety of my tent, and wended my way around the silent campsites, eyes fixed on the glowing light from the bonfire. As I neared my destination dread washed over me like cold water, making my hair stick up more, prickling now.

  The warriors of Yenen Clan were still gathered around the bonfire. Glowing ashes floated high in the air above the giant flames. The scent of smoke and peppermint filled the air.

  I pushed my way through the throng, which seemed indifferent to my presence. This wasn't a second tribunal—it was something much more serious. Glancing at the faces of the men, I saw a grimness in their eyes that only heightened my dread. Swallowing hard, I pushed aside another dark-haired someone at the front of the group and spotted Crenen standing before the bonfire.

  He wasn't alone.

  A second man stood across from him in the clearing. He was tall, muscular yet slender (which seemed to be normal for these people), and his clothing was layered, long and flowing; dark with accents of gold, silver and blue. This man had no tatters or wrappings; he wore a type of light, cloth shoe, from which his clawed toes protruded. The night breeze teased his long black hair. He was taller than Crenen, and older; in his late thirties, at least; with the physique of a fully formed adult.

  Glancing at the stranger beside me, I wondered if I should ask what was going on but recalled how hostile Mr. Ugly had been and decided not to take any chances. That, and this man didn't seem to care that I existed. How typical. I should’ve been used to this sort of behavior. It wasn't any different from high school.

  Returning to the center of attention, the discord between the two men was like a tangible force pelting my soul. It was a stare-down from a spaghetti western—minus the dramatic background music and guns in holsters. Instead, claws flexed, and feet shifted minutely. Crenen wielded his permanent grin of doom, while the other man wore only a penetrating glare (or what might’ve been penetrating had he been glaring down anyone but Crenen). I almost felt sorry for the foolish stranger who dared to stand against the master of demonic ninjas. But then, this man didn't strike me as particularly foolish. He was the portrait of calm, especially his black eyes.

  The multitude held its collective breath. I felt like gulping air for all of them. Or shouting. Anything to break up the tension.

  Not a good idea. I didn't really want Crenen to shoot me his trademark grin and exclaim, “Tag! You're it,” then drag me forward to face off with Mr. Creepy in his stead.

  I kept my lips sealed.

  How long we all looked on, I wasn't sure. The perspiration collecting on my skin was sticky as it trickled down my sides, neck, forehead. I resisted the urge to scratch an inch. The bonfire popped.

  Crenen lunged forward, claws extended.

  Some bestial part of me stirred, blood quickening as my heart clamored. My face flushed with heat.

  His opponent stepped back. Knocked Crenen's arm aside while he thrust his knee into Crenen's abdomen. The latter man doubled over, recovered, then jumped back with a hiss.

  In movies, the crowds always cheer.

  The deathly silence emanating from this particular crowd clung to the smoky air like a fog.

  Despite the excitement pacing through me, I couldn't make a sound. If I was breathing or not, I didn't know and didn't care. Despite the heat I shivered, understanding that something huge was taking place; something that meant everything to these people; that meant something to me, though I didn't understand why or what.

  Crenen’s opponent moved with the agility of a cat, shoulders rotating up and down in succession as he stepped lithely to one side. Crenen watched him, showing no sign of injury.

  The offender dropped to a crouch, then sashayed forward, low to the ground, ankles and toes taking the brunt of his weight. He threw his hand up, claws spread wide to catch anything in their way while he dropped one knee to the ground; pivoted and shot out his free leg to kick Crenen.

  Crenen jumped.

  Yes, simple as that. Despite his opponent's swift, agile movements, he waited until the last second and jumped, coming down on one foot after his foe had lost his momentum.

  “Who is that?” I murmured, half aware that I asked.

  “Kirid,” came the hushed reply from somewhere above me (because pretty much everyone stands above me).

  Kirid was a person? I’d assumed it was an army. Or, did this
single individual represent a larger force? Was he an assassin sent to murder Crenen, but caught in the act and forced to duel? Always questions.

  Kirid, or Kirid's representative, whichever, stood. He brushed long strands of hair from his eyes and nodded. Crenen's grin widened in reply.

  This time they struck at once, toes pushing them forward until they clashed, locked arms, whirled around one another too quickly for me to keep up. I saw a blur of red as Crenen circled his dark assailant—or, I assumed that's what he did.

  Their actions slowed marginally, and I watched Kirid dodge Crenen's sideswipe and make his own fluid slash, catching the frayed edge of Crenen's red wrap. The latter spun, not bothering to dislodge Kirid's claws from his clothing before he thrust his own claws at Kirid's neck.

  Kirid bent backward a lot further than I could ever manage and knocked Crenen's hand off course with his elbow.

  Crenen jutted out his leg and caught Kirid's billowing clothes between his toes. With a triumphant grin, he whipped his leg back behind him, dragging the robe along, flinging Kirid to the ground in the process. Black hair sprawled around Kirid's form as Crenen threw his other leg on Kirid's back, just between his shoulder blades, keeping him pinned. Snatching up Kirid's considerable length of hair, he tugged until Kirid's head tilted up to view his victorious opponent. The felled man fixed his dark eyes on Crenen, fire blazing in their depths.

  “Deal is deal, yeah?” Crenen whispered, then dropped the hair. Kirid's head snapped forward, face-planting in the mud. The Yenen leader looked like he would let Kirid go, and I almost told him not to, instinctively. I'd seen movies where the hero foolishly let the villain live, and only got himself hurt for his trouble. Not to say Crenen was exactly the hero-type, but it fit him in this moment.

  Before I uttered a word, Crenen pressed against Kirid's back with his right foot, while his left hooked around Kirid's throat and jerked. A sickening snap cut the muted stillness. Bile burned in my throat.

  Kirid's body flopped and went still. As Crenen's foot slid from under his victim's neck, the body shifted, strangely alien. Lifeless.

  Dead.

  Icy heat racked my body and I bent down, vomiting into the mud. Without a second thought, without any show of mercy, Crenen had finished the man off. But even as I condemned Crenen for his act, my mind attempted to justify his actions. Maybe he had simply known that any show of mercy, any speech of civility and moral standing would fall on deaf ears; that Kirid would only stab him in the back, so he’d stabbed first.

  It was possible. Even probable.

  But I couldn't block out the gruesome sound of his neck snapping. The memory played again and again in my mind as I heaved and heaved, until I had nothing left in my stomach.

  I knelt in the pasty mud, shuddering for breath, limbs quaking. Head bowed, hair hanging in my eyes, fighting to support my weight.

  Someone screamed.

  It wasn't the sound of loss. This was the hate-filled cry of war. I knew it had surely as I knew my name.

  Jerking my head up, I spotted men pouring through the crowd like raging water to leap on Crenen. The men who pounced on Crenen wore different apparel from the rest. Instead of wraps and cloaks, they wore flowing robes, much like the dead man, who must have been their leader until moments before.

  I caught Crenen's eye before he vanished under a sea of bodies, a smile crossing his face. I looked away.

  Pandemonium exploded. As I scrambled to my feet, I was shoved forward and back; all I could do was focus on not getting trampled. The surge and clash of men thudded around me as the scents of sweat and smoke filled my nose.

  I tripped, arms flailing. Strong arms snatched me up before I could hit the putrid ground and I was shoved under one arm and carried like a sack of potatoes away from the fray. (I wondered vaguely if Paradise even had potatoes.)

  Glancing up, trying hard to ignore the agony in my stomach from being jostled, I spotted Tall Strong Jerk carrying me. I’d suspected as much, considering the only other person with the physique to manage such a feat was Mr. Ugly, and I doubted he would’ve bothered.

  “Hey,” I said, voice wavering as my warden and I bumped over the ground.

  Tall Strong Jerk said nothing as he headed for the thick forest of maple pines.

  “What's going on?” I asked, pretty sure I already understood the situation, but figuring this was the best question I could ask to get more details under the circumstances.

  “Kirid challenged Crenen to a duel,” was the brief explanation.

  So, Kirid was the dead guy. There was a wrenching stab in my gut as the scene of death flooded through me.

  Either because Tall Strong Jerk felt he should elaborate, or because he was nervous and thought talking would help, he continued. “Kirid is the leader of Kirid Clan, the enemy of Yenen. He challenged Crenen to a duel to settle issues in a civilized manner. Crenen felt that something was suspicious about it, but he accepted the terms honorably.”

  “What were the terms?” I asked.

  “Naturally, the victor commands both clans, while the loser dies.”

  Ah, yes. So civilized.

  I turned everything over in my head as we passed the last of the rawhide tents and made our way into the forest, brambles and sticky leaves brushing against my face and tickling my nose. “So, lemme get everything straight. Kirid is dead,” I swallowed hard, “so his clan—also Kirid—wants revenge, disregarding the set terms, just as their former leader probably instructed, should something happen to him. Crenen won, but now he's getting trounced by Kirid Clan as revenge for killing their leader, while you are removing me from the scene of battle and chaos—why?”

  “Master Crenen ordered me to grab you and retreat if anything happened.”

  I paused, intrigued and horrified by this revelation. “Okay, so you're leaving your master behind because Crenen instructed you to save me, even though I'm just a lowly servant— Oh, but really I'm a prophesied being with some great secret purpose in Paradise. That about cover it?”

  Tall Strong Jerk nodded. “Yes, I believe so. Master Yenen would have been proud of Crenen, despite this madness.” He used his free hand to slash a thorny branch, which fell to the forest floor with a muted thud.

  I blinked. “Yenen?”

  “Crenen's father.”

  I glanced up at him. “And what's your name?”

  “Menen.”

  I gawked. Someone had taken their rhyming fetish too far. “That’s far enough. Put me down.”

  The world whirled for a moment as he stood me on the ground. His red eyes turned toward camp, glistening in the near-full moonlight.

  “You wanna rescue him, so go rescue him,” I shooed, hoping this was finally a chance to escape.

  “I can't. His other command is that I find Jenen.”

  I stared. “Is Crenen right in the head?”

  Menen arched his brow. “Does it matter?”

  “I would hope so. Why do you need to find Jenen?”

  “In case Master Crenen doesn't make it out alive, I am to locate Jenen and force him to take charge of Yenen Clan.”

  “Why?”

  Menen sighed, looking a bit harassed. “There is a reason that Crenen does not go by Yenen though he is leader of the clan.”

  “'Kay?”

  “He refuses to take on the name Yenen as a reminder to his clan that he will not stay its leader. He is desirous that Jenen take on that duty.”

  “But why?”

  “Because as Crenen's twin, it is his right, should Crenen abdicate or perish.”

  Okay, so that—I didn’t see that coming. Relatives, yeah. Brothers, sure. Twins, not so much. “So, what’s your relationship with them? Just a servant with a coincidentally similar name?”

  Menen shook his head. “I am their cousin.” His eyes trailed again toward camp; brow furrowed.

  I bit my lip and gazed at my bandaged hands. I owed him a lot, but I hesitated to help. This was my chance to escape, my sole chance to put miles
between me and Crenen's murderous whims. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I doubt if anything could kill off your master, if it tried.” It was probably true, though the odds were stacked against him. And considering what he'd done, could anyone blame Kirid Clan for fighting back?

  Menen frowned. “The Kirid aren’t known to kill. They only torture cruelly until you take your own life.”

  How pleasant. I was liking this Paradise place more and more.

  I straightened, setting my jaw and swallowing my pride. Crenen was a barbarous person by nature, so far as I could tell, but hadn't it been self-preservation to destroy his enemy first? Who could say Kirid would not have done the same, had his skills been superior to Crenen's?

  “Well, what’re we waiting for?” I gave Menen the most heroic look I could muster, which probably resembled a grimace. “Let’s find Crenen and rescue him.”

  His brows lifted, but he shook his head. “No, my orders are to protect you and to locate Jenen.”

  I offered a grin, looking more confident than I felt. “Okay, tell you what. I'll go after Crenen and therefore force you to chase after me—that way you really can protect me—and then, after we rescue Crenen, we'll go find Sick Nasty Dog.”

  “It will be dangerous, and we will probably die,” Menen said solemnly.

  Oh, great. Forget that then.

  Unfortunately, my nicer side kicked in, and I forced a rather limp smile (deceptive abilities aren't always dependable). “That’s okay. We all die someday, right?” (So why not let Crenen croak now and leave us to die in a less painful manner much later in life?)

  “I did not know you were so heroic,” a new voice said.

  My eyes narrowed as I turned to face the effeminate Jenen, who always seemed to come from behind. He was standing in the trickle of moonlight filtering from overhanging branches. Leaves danced in the mild breeze, casting shadows across his pallid skin.

  “Well, aren’t you coming? I mean, he is your brother, right?”

  Jenen gave Menen a withering glance—probably for telling me the truth about their relationship—before answering. “Crenen fights his own battles. I’ve no desire to become involved.”